#i need to get through today and then tomorrow I can wallow and curl up and do whatever

[lux-scriptum]

Using my journal isnt helping so tumblr as my journal it is

[ghostiexe]

Hello! Could you write some angst about missing Wilbur cause of his touring, but then he comes back and you get to finally see him again and its all fluffy?

Ty<3

yeah of course :D wordcount: 825

You haven’t seen your boyfriend, Wilbur, in months. 

Okay, scratch that, you have seen him. On FaceTime, on Instagram, little clips of him singing on Twitter. Old VODs you’ve been listening to so you can fall asleep.

You’ve seen him, but it’s not enough. You want to hold him, to be held. You want to fall asleep with him on the couch watching movies, and listen to him sing. Not to the crowds, not with his band. The kind of half singing, half humming he does whenever you’re having a hard time falling asleep, or when you’re having a bad day.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the tears dripping onto your hand, and you look down at them blankly, sucking in a deep breath when you realize you’d been holding your breath. 

You glance to the other side of your bed, frown deepening when the sight just reminds you that Wilbur isn’t there. You sniffle and climb out of bed, glancing at the clock and groaning. It’s only like 11:00AM, and Wilbur isn’t meant to be back until 2:00PM tomorrow. You’ve been counting the days since the moment he boarded the plane two months ago, which… probably hadn’t helped you feel less lonely, but at least he would be back soon. 

You sigh and walk to the closet, rummaging through it until you find one of his jumpers, slipping it off the hook and burying your face into the soft material. 

The jumper is probably years old, honestly, and you’ve only seen Wilbur wear it a couple times. It’s thin, with loose threads and what seems to be cat hair stuck to it. You can’t help but chuckle at the sight, then walk back to the bed and sit at the edge of it, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it inside the jumper. You should probably be up and ready for the day at this time, but you don’t really care. It’s not like you have anything you need to do. 

You figure that it’s fine to wallow in your loneliness for a couple more hours.

You flop back onto the bed and roll onto your side, curling yourself around the pillow and burying your face into it, shutting your eyes and squeezing it in your arms. After a minute, you lift your head slightly and grab your phone from where it’s resting near your hand, connecting your Bluetooth to the small speaker on Wilbur’s nightstand, pulling up one of his random podcast episodes and pushing play.

You fall asleep eventually, listening to Wilbur ramble about bugs and little ecosystems. 

–

You wake up a couple hours later to the feeling of the bed dipping, and you mumble incoherently to yourself, rubbing your eyes and starting to sit up. You feel a hand slip into your hair and a hand press against you, gently pressing you back down onto the bed. “Hello there, sleepyhead.” You hear a voice coo softly. You’re immediately wide awake, sitting up quickly and staring at Wilbur, who’s hovering above you with his fingers gently running through your hair. Your jaw drops and you stare at him for a moment before shoving away the pillow and wrapping your arms around him. “Wh-what? When did you get home?” You ask, eyes wide. You turn your head and grab your phone to check the date, leaving you even more confused. He giggles a little bit hysterically. 

“Surprise!” He says, tackling you and forcing you back onto the bed. He starts to kiss you all over your face, and you weakly attempt to push him off of you. “Gah, Wil!” You complain lightly, wrapping your arms tighter around him as he presses a quick kiss to your neck. 

“I know I told you I’d be back tomorrow, I just wanted to surprise you.” He explains, putting his hands on either side of your face and smiling down at you. You match his expression. 

“I wish you’d told me you’d be back today so I can clean up a bit, at least.” You say, lifting a hand to cup his cheek and lean in to kiss him once. He chuckles into it. 

“Well, at least I’m here, yeah?” He asks, dropping one hand away from your face and reaching for your hand, lacing your fingers with his and gently squeezing it. You squeeze him back. “Looks like I was right on time, too.” He notes, dipping his head to kiss your forehead. “You were practically strangling that pillow.” Your face flushes and you smile shyly at him. “Just missed you.” You mumble, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. He sighs softly and lays down, pressing you against his chest and curling around you. “I missed you too, my love.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your hairline. You smile gently and let your eyes fall shut. 

You can’t wait to make up for the lost time with him.

[wincore]

field day | jung sungchan

pairing: sungchan x fem!reader

synopsis: when you, as cheer captain, are best friends with the pride and joy of the soccer team, rumors are bound to fly around.

genre: high school au, soccer au, bff2l, fluff

words: 7.5k

warnings: language, jung “the risk i took was calculated but man am i bad at math” sungchan

request: sungchan + ball + “ everyone is looking at us. is that a good or a bad thing? ” (from the first option) ^__^

song recs: after school - weeekly / pleaser - wallows / some - bol4 / sweet talk - saint motel / love so sweet - cherry bullet

a/n: i tried recalling some hs memories for this and im hoping i wasnt the only one that went through the “shipped with a random dude” ordeal LOL. i haven’t written shorter fics in a while so i’m glad i got to. tq for requesting, lovepie <33

In high school, peer pressure tends to come in different forms. For you, it’s taken the shape of this.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” 

You look around your classmates, scanning each and every face chanting with glee like you’re a star player scoring the winning point. The tall figure shifts beside you, glancing at you like a blinking idiot. You’re not even on the losing team but it feels just as frustrating.

You glare at the boy beside you. The trouble is Jung Sungchan. The trouble has always been Jung Sungchan. 

“Come on!” Chenle calls with a teasing grin from the buzzing crowd. The little shit. It’s getting hotter with each minute you spend by the green soccer field and its dusty chalked lines, just at the tip of the bleachers. You didn’t even get enough time to breathe before you were surrounded, the soccer team pushing a stumbling Sungchan onto you. It’s too sunny for this today.

“The star soccer player gets a kiss from the lead cheerleader after a winning game! That’s the rule.” Chenle announces.

Sungchan looks at you and you turn to him, the both of you looking at each other like fish out of water. Even though you’ve clarified at least a hundred times that you’re just friends, your peers don’t seem to be satisfied. (“Famous last words,” they say.)

“No,” you say, firmly. 

“No,” Sungchan agrees, nodding his head wisely.

“Don’t copy me,” you say, smacking his chest, and a quiet ‘oof’ escapes his mouth.

The fact that you’ve been best friends since Sungchan offered you a light green crayon in elementary school just fuels the idea that you have to date. There’s this difference between elementary school kids teasing and high school kids teasing—it was so much easier back when boys were afraid of cooties from girls. It was innocent too. Now, it’s more of nudges and sly grins, teasing with unnecessary innuendo. (What else do you expect from teenagers experiencing puberty?) It doesn’t stop you from being best friends though. Sungchan still visits on Fridays to get on your mom’s nerves and help you with homework (or try to). You still have all the little trinkets he’s gifted you over the years and the lock to his phone is still your birthday. You’re best friends and strictly that. 

When you got into the same middle school though is when it started going downhill. Holding his hand was awkward, touching him in any way was awkward and god forbid you compliment him on something. The kids around you would run across the halls saying “(name) likes Sungchan!” or the other way around sometimes. Heathens, the lot of them. But at the very least, he wasn’t too fazed and you wonder how he could be that even-tempered. If it was just you feeling that way, then maybe you did like him more than he did you. 

You shake it off. 

Sungchan’s much more grown now and at least a foot taller since his awkward adolescent years; he looks handsomer too but you wouldn’t be caught dead saying it out loud. After all, it’s only going to spark another debate on the anonymous school forum. (“(name) finds Jung Sungchan attractive, they’re totally dating.” “I knew it. A boy and a girl can’t be friends, especially if they’re both good looking.”) If you’re being honest, you hate the rumours so much—it’s one of the reasons, apart from puberty, stopping you from being as close as before. However, you do understand that this is how the passage of time works. You’re not going to be spending all of your time with each other, yes, but you still regard him as important. Your life is too busy now, with exams and practice—and you’d think a busy bee would get some honey as reward.

Sungchan’s curls stick to his forehead, unruly after he wiped at them with a towel. The sunlight plays with his eyes when he looks at you intently and you shrug. The smell of sweat is starting to make you nauseous. You remember that you too need to take a shower.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you mumble.

“Not today?” He asks.

You shake your head. “The girls have a plan.”

It’s not just the sweat. Or the crowds. You don’t like being here at all. There’s one more problem with this place.

You hate soccer. 

And by hate, you mean you despise it. Like you’ll throw up at the sight of it. What’s so riveting about a bunch of smelly, sweaty guys excited about chasing a patterned ball? You’ve tried to understand it but every time your dad explains the rules, you find yourself zoning out of whatever alien language he speaks. 

Sungchan has been the closest to getting you to understand the game and even then, you refused to learn. It’s not like you’re society’s definition of girly—but you’re not a tomboy either. The school has granted you the “ice queen with a warm interior” stereotype so you’ll just go with that. To be honest, you’re just a little more awkward at open affection than your friends. (And Sungchan has the “friendly beagle” stereotype which you’ll agree is partly true. He’s more of a retriever though, with that size.) It’s just funny how you can never seem to know who you are but other people see so clearly.

You hurry up to the locker rooms and hope for a better evening than this afternoon.

-

The sky burns blue and you wipe the sweat off your brow once you step out of the changing room. Cooling off from your shower has gone to waste. Adjusting your school skirt, you take your usual strides to the school gates. 

Ryujin seems to be showing Yuna a very flamboyant dance move while the latter hypes her up. Ryujin is in her gym uniform because she has no care for her reputation apparently, but she makes it work. Yuna’s about to show her own move when she notices you and waves at you vigorously enough to make you jog towards her and stop embarrassing herself in front of the after school crowd. But then again, she’s too cute for that.

“We got bored waiting for you,” Yuna explains, voice hoarse from her cold. Poor thing wasn’t let into performing because of it. “Do you wanna see our cool new move? Ryujin came up with it!”

Ryujin rolls her eyes. “You’re trying to advertise me to (name) so she can recruit me into cheerleading, aren’t you?”

You smile and cross your arms, facing Yuna who’s been caught mid-act. She smiles sheepishly and pats your shoulder like she just said a funny joke.

“Actually…” You begin and Ryujin holds up her arms in a cross.

“No. Never. I’m already part of the hip-hop dance club.”

“I was going to say that I’ll join you instead.”

Yuna gasps in betrayal, big eyes widening, and Ryujin grins before sticking her tongue out and potentially ruining her image with that expression. She doesn’t care, however.

“Anyway, I can’t wait to get to college and join a dance club.” Ryujin looks at the two of you excitedly. “I keep getting snaps from Yeji and feel so jealous.”

Yuna pouts. “Don’t be so happy about leaving me.”

“Aw, is the baby afraid of not getting any more sisterly doting?” Ryujin teases and you laugh at the disgruntled expression on Yuna’s face. 

“Don’t worry,” Ryujin continues with a sly grin. “Taehyun’s here to keep you company for another year.”

Yuna turns red in the face, a high pitched complaint emitting from her throat. “I told you to keep quiet about that!”

“Oh, what’s this?” You wiggle your eyebrows. “We’re starting boy talk early today.”

Yuna huffs. “At least, mine’s just a crush. I don’t know what relationship status: complicated you have going on with Mr. Soccer Captain.”

You flush hotly. “There’s no relationship status to be complicated about! Seriously, why does everyone think we’re a thing?”

“You’re cheer captain and he’s soccer captain,” Ryujin answers logically. “Plus, you’re best friends.”

“You have a lot of sexual tension,” Yuna answers honestly.

You make a face, slipping your arms into theirs and pulling them along the sidewalk. You better get something to drink before the sky starts to turn purple from pink tinged blue. 

“Ooh, another desperate attempt from (name) to not get teased,” Ryujin leans back to whisper to Yuna.

You stop walking. “Wait. Where are we going?”

Yuna shakes her head. “I’ll lead the way.”

Skipping over the concrete sidewalk, you laugh at your friends and their stories (read: Ryujin gushing over Yeji’s college dance club and Yuna’s newfound crush on Taehyun). The blue sky has tinged orange by now but it’s the sort of colour that sits in between more significant timeframes, like night and evening. Passing by a city square, you eye the people with wonder. A girl in a pink skirt skateboards smoothly over the concrete, her boyfriend filming her with a loving smile. 

“We’re here!” Yuna announces.

You look around the large open plaza, with people of all ages and in different attires trying out skateboarding and rollerblading over the grey concrete. It’s been getting popular lately, with idol pop stars taking to it too but you never knew there was this big a community. There seems to be a few stalls renting out skateboards too. The wind caresses your hair, evening cool settling in nicely on your skin. The sky is purple but it’s lit up with the city buildings and street lamps flickering on. It’s not a bad day at all.

Someone catches your attention. A boy that sticks out like a sore thumb everywhere he goes. 

“Sungchan?!” 

Your eyes somehow always settle on his figure, tall and standing out in the crowd of teenagers. He clutches his blue bag, the one he’s had since third grade, close to his chest and looks more like a tourist in this place than a frequent visitor. He’s not the only one in school uniform now that you’re here.

“(name)!” 

You hate how you love the way his face lights up when he sees you. You’re not actually into him. It’s your friends brainwashing you.

“I was going to invite you,” Sungchan says, a sorry smile on his face. 

Ryujin and Yuna frown at each other but you can’t exactly ask the reason for it.

“Isn’t it great we had the same plans?” he beams at the three of you.

Yuna suppresses a smile and you wonder why. It’s not like your friends would know he’d be here—you’d know first as best friend.

"How did you guys come across this place?" He asks, eyes round with curiosity. 

"Somi's Tiktok," Yuna answers, smiling. "We thought she works here but if she really was, guys would be swarming this place."

Ryujin raises her eyebrows. "Speaking of which, I can clearly see why there are so many girls here."

Sungchan beams, turning to you for affirmation and when you don't give him any, he drops his grin to a more polite smile.

“I don’t work at the stalls though,” he answers. “I’ve just been here a few times.”

“You’re trying to learn, aren’t you?” Ryujin asks, raising an eyebrow.

He nods. However, you furrow your eyebrows at her. How does she know? Eyes widening, you realize it must be the school forum. You remember reading a post about a student wanting to learn skateboarding and the wording felt familiar but you didn’t think much. How they figured it out, you will never know.

“Oh! Oh, I think my nose is bleeding. Oh god.” Yuna sniffs vehemently, her finger at her nose. “I think I’m going to need Ryujin to get me to a clinic.” 

Linking her arm through Ryujin’s, Yuna makes an apologetic expression and runs off into a particularly crowded area.

You blink. The realization dawns. 

"They just left me," you tell him, exasperated. "How could they just leave me?"

He shrugs. "My team left me at a rival school's field once."

Great. Your last outing before midterms and your friends have abandoned you. If this is the case, you wonder why they complain about you spending so much time with Sungchan and allegedly ignoring them.

You regain a sense of your surroundings and turn to him. "Wait. They really left you?"

He nods diligently, eyes trained upwards as he tries to recall the memory. "I told you, didn’t I? On the plus side though, I made friends with the opposite team."

"That's so… cute."

Your cheeks heat up at saying it out loud. If Sungchan is affected by it in any way, he doesn't show it. Instead, he has his usual smile on. 

“Do you wanna try?” he asks. “Skateboarding. Or rollerblading but I personally don’t recommend that.”

He curls his lips, shaking his head slightly. You laugh. Of course this beanpole has trouble balancing on skates.

"I- I figured you'd be good at skateboarding. Since, you know, you're so balanced and all."

You raise an eyebrow. "You wanna add skateboarding to your resume or something?"

"Yeah, that and the ability to imitate dog sounds. Wanna see?"

"No, thanks. I’ll pray this weekend to cure your furry behaviour."

Before he can respond, you’re interrupted by a whirlwind of colours and excited calls. A few girls run up to the two of you, younger and probably in middle school, flocking to Sungchan like bees to honey. Never in your life have you felt so ignored as in this singular moment.

You blink, turning to Sungchan who looks like a rather helpless, flustered eye of the hurricane. The winds don't seem to be stopping any time soon.

You clear your throat trying to get their attention. 

"Wow, you brought your girlfriend?" One of the girls exclaims, sounding disappointed.

The other girls make similar whines of disappointment and you have half the heart to whack them over the head and tell them to focus on their academics instead of boys. 

"You're so lucky to have him as your boyfriend," a girl comments, round eyes brimming with jealousy. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you declare sharply.

Sungchan looks at you with his doe eyes, blinking cartoonishly. You nudge him with your elbow.

“Yeah!” He agrees, with far too much gusto to be believable. “I’m not (name)’s boyfriend. I have no idea why everyone keeps saying that.”

“Let’s go, babe,” you say, resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at the girls. They’re younger than you and you have high school dignity, you remind yourself.

Slipping your hand into his, you take a few long strides away from them before you realize what you said.

“I- I did- I didn’t mean to call you babe,” you sputter, pulling your hand from his to look at him with wide eyes. 

“It’s okay though?”

Sungchan raises an eyebrow and slips his hand back into yours, smiling. 

“I don’t mind the rumours, you know?” He says honestly but his smile feels all too teasing. “Maybe we should go out for real.”

You huff, separating yourself from him again. “Maybe you just love attention. Disgusting.”

You point an accusatory finger at him and he bites at it playfully.

“While you're here, wanna see a cool trick I learned?" He straightens only having to tilt his head to look at you.

"If it's you falling on your face, then yes."

"I mean, hey, I could totally do that. Done that several times actually."

You smile despite trying your hardest not to. You like this about him—that he’s easygoing enough to make you look at life less seriously. If it’s with him, you could quit everything that makes you unhappy and start everything you love. 

“So where is your skateboard?” you ask, walking side by side with him, who has finally learned to match your pace.

“It’s with one of my friends,” he answers, and points to a tall girl with long brown hair, wearing a pair of tomboyish shorts and T-shirt. Another girl with short hair and a bucket hat accompanies her, wearing a long hoodie and shorts, but she leaves before you reach them. They must be from a different school because you’ve never seen them before. The first thing that pops into your head is that they’d be good replacements for your cheerleading position if you were ever to leave. You shake your head. Now is not the time.

“That’s Jimin!” he introduces, and you wonder how he’s this way—how he makes friends so easily.

Jimin waves at Sungchan and then proceeds to ask if you’re his girlfriend with a big smile, like a script being followed everywhere you go.

She seems a little disappointed at the answer. “Well, I was going to suggest one of the couples skateboards.”

You flash her an awkward smile. 

“But those are pretty difficult! I’ve been here for a month and my idea of skateboarding is still sitting on it while Soeun pushes me around. That’s my friend, by the way.”

“Ah.” You nod. “This is my first time skateboarding, actually. The only ‘sport’ I’ve ever done is cheerleading.”

Jimin furrows her eyebrows before her eyes widen. “Wait a minute. You’re the cheerleader best friend that Sungchan wouldn’t shut up about!”

Sungchan flusters, in the subtle way he usually does, and waves his hands robotically trying to explain. “I was just saying- that- that you’d be good at skateboarding. Because of the cheerleading.”

A boxy grin accompanies his explanation. 

“Right.” Jimin covers her face and sends an obvious wink your way. “Anyway, you can have my skateboard for the day.”

She hands over a smooth black skateboard with white wheels, but on closer inspection you find that they’re light-up wheels instead. It’s oddly fitting for someone like Jimin even if you’ve known her the entirety of ten minutes. Sungchan is good at finding friends, rather. Soon enough, she runs off after making Sungchan promise he’ll deliver the skateboard home.

The trick Sungchan wanted to show you was a failed kickflip. At the very least, it made you laugh so hard you almost spit out the strawberry milk he’d bought you. Sipping his own banana milk, he sulked for a moment or two, telling you to try it out and see how difficult it is.

On the contrary, Sungchan was right. You are good at balancing on skateboards. But that’s where it ends. You don’t think you’ll be naturally good at kickflips, though being able to glide through the plaza while Sungchan runs after you with the drinks puts a big smile on your face. It’s the most fun you’ve had in a while.  

Accompanied by Sungchan’s panicked “oh no”s and “oh we messed up”s, the two of you try the couple skateboarding move too; no one’s watching you here. It’s fun to see him stress over a skateboard because frankly, you’ve never met anyone as easy-going as Sungchan. (“I’ll figure it out along the way,” he says when you ask if he’s studying for finals, and proceeds to get a decent enough score). Suddenly the wandering gap is closed again. You’re not going to worry about stupid rumours from now on. 

But for some reason, ‘you like him as a friend’ doesn’t sound right either. Despite having said it so many times, you might not believe in it. You shake off the thought. This evening, at least, you’re going to enjoy with Sungchan without thinking of teenage drama and hormones. 

"You still don't think you and Sungchan make the perfect pair?" Yuna pouts. 

You narrow your eyes. "I don't take opinions from traitors."

Chaeryoung leans back on her chair, and whispers to you asking if you’re okay. At least someone is concerned about you.

“It hurts to be left by my own friends but—”

“No, I meant, are you okay? Why aren’t you dating Sungchan already? You’re so cute together! And you’re best friends—Netflix writers literally daydream of this.”

You groan, throwing up your hands in defeat.

“And,” Yuna adds, knocking her chair closer. “Who’s really the traitor here? Us who ditched you with the love of your life—or you, who runs off every time she gets a call from her boyfriend?”

“Sungchan is not my boyfriend.” You cross your arms.

“She even shares her lunch with him more,” Ryujin complains from the side. “And they’re not even in the same class. Unlike me, by the way. Class 1 Shin Ryujin. Same class as you, (name).”

You slump, resting your forehead against the desk. At this point, you wish the teacher would walk in and start the class already. Unfortunately, lunch break isn’t over for another ten minutes and lady luck clearly isn’t smiling upon you. 

“Speak of the devil!” Ryujin announces monotonously, leaning against her desk.

Sungchan and a few of his friends from the soccer team wave at you and the girls from the classroom door. Noticing Taehyun, Yuna quickly fixes her hair and you would tease her if Sungchan hadn’t casually strolled up to your desk and sat down on the chair in front of you. Long legs barely contained in the space, he adjusts himself by resting his arm on the headrest and his chin upon it. It’s all normal. However, when he leans down to match your eye level, you hear the sudden pit-a-pat of your pulse in your ear. At this proximity, you can even see the mole on his lip that he’s pointed out before. The sunlight from the open windows is pulling golden strings over his eyelashes and his lips aren’t dry as a desert like you expected. You know he uses the watermelon flavoured lip balm. 

“Too close,” you croak. Embarrassed at your own voice, you rise sharply and glare at him.

“Is your heart fluttering?” Sungchan asks, smiling as he looks up at you.

You roll your eyes. 

You can hear Yuna’s giggling and before you can shoot her a glare, Sungchan calls. 

"Do you have any bandaids?" 

He points to a rough scratch at the base of his palm, fingers slender and less calloused than what you'd pictured. Then again, soccer players don't use their hands much, do they?

You blink. "You came all the way here for bandaids?"

"Well… I remembered you keep band-aids in your phone case. And the nurse hates me."

You giggle.

Yujin mouths from behind Sungchan, “He just wanted to see her.” 

You would feel flattered if you didn't know these people and their shenanigans. They'd do anything for some drama (and to get two innocent people into the dating trap).

“Why would I waste my cute band aids on you?” you mutter under your breath. “They’re limited edition, you know?”

No way are you sticking Ice Bear on your urban hazard of a best friend. A tall, cute, surprisingly polite hazard but he still annoys you nonetheless.

However, Sungchan's pleading smile has grown on you.

You reluctantly take the band-aid out of your clear phone case, the pink panda doll attached to it swaying with the movement. Proceeding, you take Sungchan's hand and lay it on your desk. With careful focus, you place the band-aid, admiring the size difference of your hands before snapping to reality.

Enough with the pink cloud of thoughts, you scold yourself.

When you look up, the proximity makes your heart skip a beat despite the logical part of you saying you shouldn't. Your faces are too close and this time, you don't even have the energy to croak it out.

"Thanks, (name)," Sungchan smiles at you. 

Right then, the sound of a chair sliding harshly against the floor makes the two of you jolt away from each other. All of your friends and his friends seem to be sporting Cheshire cat grins and you don't like it one bit. You don't like not being in on the gag.

"Anybody up for gaming after this? My treat." Chenle looks around. “Sungchan is banned from the arcade soccer game though.”

"'Ey," Sungchan complains.

"Hey, Jisung and Ryujin are banned from DDR too but that's because they almost broke the handles off last time."

The memory makes you smile. Sungchan was there too, and you don’t know why you’re only just recalling all the memories with him in it, carefully and in detail. Every one of them seems to have been amplified, the little interactions suddenly coming to mind. 

“(name)? You’re coming?”

You take one look at Sungchan and give up. Even if this is another childish ploy by your peers, you don't mind spending some more time at the arcade with infuriatingly addictive games. A tiny part of you is even willing to go along with them and see if it turns out the way they want it to.

“I’ll go,” you mumble, and the rest of the group cheers. 

“But I have cleaning duty today.”

The group groans. 

“Just get someone else to do it. Like a junior.”

“Isn’t that bullying?” You ask, frowning.

“Ask nicely. Anyone would be willing to do your bidding, (name).”

“Chenle, will you do it?” You give him a sickly sweet smile. “You’re class president after all.”

Chenle wrinkles his nose. “You’re getting stupider every day, (name).”

You sigh. “Fine. I’ll ask one of Yuna’s classmates then.”

“By the way,” Chenle announces. “Only twelfth graders are invited—”

A bunch of groans interrupt him. 

“Quit whining.” He crosses his arms, glaring at them. “What do you even have to worry about? We’re preparing for the exam of our lives. Oh, and Jisung is an exception.”

“We’re only two years apart,” Yuna mutters under her breath.

“Oh, and from class 5, only Sungchan is invited.”

Another round of complaints pass and Chenle breaks into laughter. “Just kidding.”

Your friends are and will always be an odd bunch. Sungchan has previously proved to be the weirdest (several times) and it makes him the most lovable too. But then again, you don’t have free space in your timetable to put in teenage crushes, much less falling for your best friend. What you do have time for this afternoon, however, is relaxing at the arcade. 

-

“Let’s go! I am so good at this. Think I’d impress your Steve Curry?” Ryujun gloats, after having scored three hoops in a row at the arcade basketball game.

“It’s Stephen Curry,” Chenle corrects. “And no, let’s focus here. Our goals are—”

He points to the two figures by the DDR machine, looking like a real couple. He’s been acting as damage control for the rumours and making sure you don’t drift apart because of it. They really don’t make guys like him anymore, Chenle sighs. He should get a friendship award or something.

“—those two.”

Really, Sungchan better be thanking him by the end of this. He’s never met anyone quite like Jung Sungchan, especially because Chenle cannot picture himself liking the same person since elementary school.

“Man, now I wish I had a girlfriend,” Chenle mutters.

Ryujin snorts. “Who’s going to date you?”

“You don’t have a boyfriend either,” Chenle reminds and gets a basketball to the shoulder.

“Why are you playing that when you don’t even know how to use it?” Your voice rings through to them.

“I said I’ll figure it out!” Sungchan reasons.

Chenle and Ryujin stare at the two of you blankly, as you bicker over a claw machine game and they share a look.

“Do they need our help?” Ryujin whispers.

Chenle shakes his head. “I think they’ll figure it out from here.”

Soon enough, you were laughing at Sungchan’s failed attempts and trying to outplay him. Your friends have already given you the shove. Chenle and Ryujin share a high five and that’s where the new story begins.

You finally know the thrill of a teenage crush. It makes you so damn infuriated that it had to be Jung Sungchan. 

Now every time he waves at you from the field or hands you a bottle of strawberry milk or explains the calc notes you missed or does the bare minimum, you need to deal with the quickening of your pulse and a few butterflies loose from their cage in your stomach. It doesn’t help that you’re almost always together.

The two of you currently sit by the school field, Sungchan tying his shoelaces while you cool off with the water bottle he offered you. Practice ended a while ago for you and the girls have receded into the air conditioned indoor gym. The indoor gym is apparently occupied by the gymnast club and you couldn’t be more disappointed that you didn’t join them instead. 

If anything, however, you’d rather leave this whole thing and focus on your academics. Hobbies shouldn’t be draining you—they should feel like skateboarding on a lilac evening with the wind in your hair.

With a friend you like very, very much.

“Sungchan,” you call quietly. 

“Hm?” 

When he looks up, you can’t hold in the urge to fix the hair out of his eyes. You’ve never been very physically affectionate so it might have come off strange. Sungchan looks at you quietly, stars in his eyes and you clear your throat.

“How long have you been playing soccer? It was before we met, right?”

He hums, eyes traveling up and then back to you when he remembers. “Since I was six. You were there at my first soccer match actually.”

“I was? Oh my god, was it the one you lost horribly and the whole team started crying?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

You giggle. “Six year old you would be so in awe now.”

Sungchan beams at that. 

“Who knows?” he smiles, looking into your eyes with firm determination. “Maybe I’ll be the next Son Heungmin.”

“Even I know who that is so… no.”

Sungchan pouts and you make a face in disgust. “Don’t act cute, it gives me hives.”

“Okay, maybe not Son Heungmin. I could definitely be the next Park Jisung—and I don’t mean him.”

Sungchan points to a boy passed out on the benches, his exhaustion typical of any high schooler while another boy sits beside him, fanning him with a bunch of assignment papers. Jisung and Chenle really are more entertaining than any game on this field. 

You turn to look at Sungchan, who’s moving his head around trying to catch their attention. When he finally does, he waves at them and gets big grins in response. He’s not all that bad, you think. In fact, he’s quite possibly the most amiable boy in senior year.

“Just be Jung Sungchan,” you mutter. “Not Son Heungmin or Park Jisung.”

Sungchan turns to you, smiling wide. “Advice taken.”

You scoff. “Whatever.”

Maybe it’s just you but Sungchan has been glancing at your lips very frequently today and mentally thank Chaeryoung for letting you borrow her lip tint. You didn’t know something so subtle could get you this giddy.

“Are you… going to give the CSAT?” You ask, glancing at him nervously. Part of you is sad you only developed your first high school crush in the very last semester. Or if it’s comforting, you could believe you’ve liked him all this time.

“Nah. Sports scholarship,” he says nonchalantly. “I was going to tell you but… I’ve been scouted already.”

You gasp. “That’s… great. Your future’s all settled.”

Sungchan seems to dislike the idea, lips pursing. “I don’t think anything’s settled except for the next step.”

You nod, somewhat understanding. 

“What about you?” He asks. “Any university in mind? SKY? I’ve seen you study extra hours at the library.”

You look away, not feeling ready for the conversation.

“I don’t know,” you say quietly. “I don’t know what I like and what I want. I don’t even like cheer anymore.”

Sungchan gazes at you wordlessly but it’s the most comfortable you’ve felt talking about this.

“Maybe I should quit,” you mumble.

You don’t want to commit to something you no longer have passion for. But then again, you’ve spent so much time on it that it’s hard to leave. 

“You should,” he responds, honest. 

You scoff, shaking yourself from that moment of vulnerability. “But why would I quit something I’m good at?”

“If you don’t like it. If it hurts to leave but isn’t any better when you stay, you should leave.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re quite the philosopher.”

“I’m smart, right?”

You smile. 

“Oy, you two!” Chenle calls, making his way to you two with Jisung trailing behind. “I don’t mean to interrupt your flirting but you got a spare water bottle?”

“Are you two going out now?” Jisung asks as a follow-up, and you feel a hot flush for some reason, unlike the previous times you’ve been asked this question.

“No,” you answer. You don’t mind the idea though now.

“Don’t lie,” Chenle complains. “I saw that picture of Sungchan teaching you how to kick a ball. You? And soccer? Something’s up.”

You throw up your hands in exasperation. “Seriously, who keeps up posting to the school page? And where do they get the time?”

"Two people with this much compatibility will always be a hot topic."

"We're not compatible," you retort quickly.

"Wait," Jisung says. "I know how to resolve this."

You raise an eyebrow.

"How do you have your cereal?" He asks, looking from you to Sungchan.

"Cereal first, obviously," you answer.

Sungchan looks up, finger below his chin as he thinks. "I drink the milk first, then eat the cereal and then breakdance to mix it all together."

You pinch your nose. "I swear I question your sanity all the time."

"Hah! That means you're thinking about me all the time."

You look away, rolling your eyes. He responds with an open-mouthed smile and finger guns.

"See?" Jisung grins. "Compatible."

The gruff voice of Coach Lee startles the four of you and Sungchan leaves with a sigh and a promise of meeting after practice. Jisung leaves with Sungchan and Chenle gives you one last teasing smirk before sitting down and going through the assignment papers he was using as a fan previously. You will never understand his miraculous ways of performing his presidential duties.

You don’t have a good feeling about the next match. The only reason you’re even sticking around anymore—as embarrassing as it—is to spend more time with Sungchan. Being with him puts you at ease, even if the school tries to wrap the two of you in a rope of uneasiness. This is your very last practice, for the next match is the final one of this year and then you’ll be back to spending even longer hours at the library with a stack of textbooks. It’s supposed to be a carefree age. At least, adults say that. Your high school life seems to be riddled with worries, and with that thought, you head into the air conditioned room to take a breather off your anxieties. 

Only one more match, you remind yourself. 

The pre-match buzz is driving you to the edge.

Your form is off, you can feel it already and Coach Kim isn’t as sunshine-as-rainbows as she usually is, courtesy to it being the last match of your life. She’ll never know though, how much you don’t want to do this. 

Sungchan waves at you as he usually does before a match, disappointing a third of his fangirls, but it helps you ease. One last time, (name).

Watching the crowd of people, parents and siblings and friends, all excited and talking makes you take a deep breath. You practiced but it wasn’t good enough. You can never do well at something you don’t like anymore. This time, you feel guilty for committing to things half-heartedly. You want to start that fresh new college chapter already, with all of this behind.

There’s ten minutes left. You go back to the empty hall outside the lockers only to pace. This isn’t helping.

“(name)!”

You turn around abruptly to find Sungchan’s tall figure, and you must be looking miserable because his smile falls.

He doesn’t even ask what’s wrong, only takes careful steps towards you. “Do you need water? Medicine?”

His hands hover over your shoulder but he doesn’t burden you with them. You put your face in your palms and sigh, sinking down to the floor in a crouch.

“I want to quit,” you whisper. Your voice comes off more brittle than you’d like, and you realize that Sungchan hasn’t seen you cry since seventh grade when you failed a math test. You didn’t tell him then but you appreciated him studying extra hours for math just to teach you.

“You don’t have to go out there if you don’t want to,” he says quietly, dropping to the floor beside you. “I’ll stay with you.”

You stare at him dumbfounded. “Don’t be ridiculous! They’ll lose without you—you’re the ace, Sungchan!”

“There will always be an ace,” he retorts. “Maybe Jisung will finally get to shine. Or anyone else. I don’t mind spending an hour with you alone.”

You feel a hot flush spread over your cheeks. Looking away to the side, you mumble an ‘alright’ and only glance from the corner of your eye to see him smiling. Jung Sungchan is the most unreasonable boy you’ve ever met. Perhaps it makes him somewhat loveable too.

“It’s your last match,” you whisper helplessly.

“I’ll join the college soccer club and get to play more matches.”

You sigh, giving in. If he’s so adamant, you think that perhaps there is something in you worth sacrificing his game over. It makes an oddly warm feeling bloom in your chest. Sungchan is so damn convincing with his words. You wonder if it’s really okay.

With shoulders touching, an awkward silence takes over in the next second. You turn to him and open your mouth, watch him do the same and close it at the same time he does.

“You know,” he begins, “I was kind of lying about not worrying because I get the feeling coach will evaporate me tomorrow but—I can handle it. Mostly.”

You stare at him with wide, worried eyes. “You don’t have to do this, Sungchan. I’m the one running away.”

You slouch, pulling your knees closer to your chest and burying your face in them. The urge to scream is boiling within you but you can’t get caught. Not now.

“Sometimes to run is the brave thing,” he responds, insightful. “If you’re not up for it, it’s better to quit early than to regret it in the long run.”

You don’t know if it’s the fact that he just quoted Taylor Swift or spoke like your old school counselor—but you find yourself laughing. He makes sense. Sungchan, in his weird, oddball ways, always makes sense. And in that same way, he feels like home.

“You’re so good to me,” you say, looking up at him and at a proximity you’ve never been before.

It’s his turn to fluster, though he doesn’t do so as visibly as you do. He clears his throat, shifting his eyes around before meeting yours. “I- This is bad timing but… I like you. I really do. Since third grade when you drew that birthday card for me. I have it in my bedside drawer, by the way.”

He looks away and makes a face, probably wondering why he said that out loud.

You press your lips tight to prevent the smile that tugs at them. He looks at you with a wobbly smile, trying his hardest to resume his usual dignity—but he’s just a boy, after all. 

“My type is dumb and pretty, though?” You tease, the smile escaping. “You said it yourself.”

He blinks. “Well, I am pretty but if you want me to be stu—”

You shake your head. “I like you too. You don’t have to act cute.”

He pauses, thinking. “I have never acted cute in my life ever. I was born cu—”

You hold his face between your thumb and forefinger. “You do that again and you die.”

He breaks into a smile. 

“I’ve never met someone quite like you,” you whisper, embarrassed of your own feelings bubbling up from the bottle you had kept them in.

He laughs, open-mouthed and pretty. 

“Actually, hey, I didn’t like you all this time from fifth. I liked you and then I didn’t like you and then I liked you again—”

“Okay, I get it.”

His shoulders relax and he smiles at you. You look up at the clock on the wall by the entrance to the field and bite your lip. You don’t love performing anymore but you know all the girls do, even the stand-bys. Jisung might not have to take over Sungchan’s position but you bet one of those tenth graders would love to take yours, the same way you did back then. They’ve practiced harder than you too and it’s only a matter of deserving.

You take a deep breath and get up, pulling up Sungchan by the hand. He raises an eyebrow, inquisitive eyes scanning over your face and you smile at him, strengthening your resolve. You should have done this way sooner.

-

Sungchan plays. You don’t let him sit it out with you. 

Halfway through, you cheer the hardest you ever have, plastic decorative gemstones stuck by your eyes borrowed from the other girls cheering. It’s much more fun, you think. You’ve never experienced soccer like this. You’d love to sit at stadiums and join in victory chants. There’s enough weight off your chest to yell your lungs out.

Sungchan scores a goal almost immediately after and sends a thumbs up over to you. You laugh. This is the best break you’ve ever taken from cheerleading. 

“Ooh, is this perhaps the (name) effect?” Chenle’s voice rings through the speakers and you feel yourself shrink slightly under the eyes. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see your homeroom teacher signal very angrily to the commentator box. You shake yourself off it. So what if everyone’s looking?

Sungchan places his hands on his hips, chest heaving and sends another signal to you before beelining for a straight goal. You whoop and the girl with a notebook beside you is visibly annoyed at this point but you don’t care. 

Without doubt, your school wins and you watch as Sungchan runs to his team, a big smile on his face. The second he’s done getting pet by the team, however, he rushes to the bleachers, skipping over the steps to you, panting when he stops. The risk he took was definitely not calculated. He holds up one finger while he heaves.

“My cheering worked best this time, it seems,” you say to him, laughing.

His face is flushed from the exertion but he laughs heartily. “You could be yelling profanity at me and it’d still encourage me.”

You shake your head at the cheesy line. He takes a step forward, well inside your space but you don’t mind. He leans in.

“Everyone is looking at us,” he says under his breath. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

You look behind him to find the whole team, along with your girls sharing furtive glances and giggling at the sight of the two of you. A few of the junior girls slap each other’s arms, bouncing on the balls of their feet in excitement. You’re not a celebrity. But everyone wants to cheer things on once in a while, don’t they?

“Good,” you answer, before pulling him by the shirt into a chaste kiss. When you pull apart, Sungchan’s face is so struck with awe that you want to look away but instead you bite back an obvious smile. It’s about damn time, someone from the soccer team yells.

“Woah. I think I scored a goal either way,” he says, an offbeat smile on his face.

“Oh come on, we didn’t even get to chant ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’ yet—oh shit, the mic’s on.”

Chenle is definitely getting an earful from your teacher after this. The two of you wave at him at the box and end up laughing at him trying to hide behind the desk. 

As expected, the whole crowd surrounds the two of you in less than a minute’s worth of time, with several congratulations and “good score” offered to the two of you. The boys mess up Sungchan’s hair while the girls compliment you on how cute a couple you are. There’s also the question of when you started dating that pauses the buzz and makes everyone look to the two of you for an answer. Sungchan turns to you and you turn to him, and there’s no way you’ll tell half the school that your confession came in a private hallway outside the field—teenage imaginations run wild. 

Instead, you slip your hand into Sungchan’s and run down the bleachers and towards the exit, laughter spilling from your lips. There’s only one place you can think of going to spend a cool blue late afternoon with.

“Skate plaza?” He asks.

“Skate plaza,” you answer.

[snackhobi]

Had the worst day at work. 🗣🗣Need fluffy soft android tae to make it better

this is set in the human touch verse / part 1.5

Part 1 / [1.5] / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: android!taehyung x reader / word count: 1.4k / genre: fluff (sfw/general) / warnings: none! (this is set after part 1, no spoilers for part 2!)

ANON I GOT YOU! 😤 I’m sorry your day at work was bad but I hope this lil oneshot makes it a little better!! ✨ and I hope tomorrow is better for you! this hasn’t been beta’ed, I typed this out as soon as I saw your message, I’m sorry for any mistakes! was a fast one!

You love your job. Honestly, you do. You know you’re lucky and that a lot of people hate their jobs, slog away at them just to make ends meet, no real passion for what they do. You’re lucky that you have a good job that you like with coworkers that you love. Really lucky. Extraordinarily lucky.

But everyone has bad days.

Days where clients are rude and brash. Days where the ideas you submit aren’t right, aren’t good enough, where everything you come up with gets sent back to the drawing board or scrapped altogether. Days where the café down the road from work is out of your favourite pastry, the last cinnamon roll stolen out from your very eyes by the person in front of you, your little guilty pleasure gone just like that.

(You watch, aghast and agape, as the other customer takes one bite into that last cinnamon roll, wrinkles their nose, and discards it in the trash. It would be one thing to have stolen it so brazenly from you, but they didn’t even finish it. You’re in disbelief.)

Your usual coping method for days like this? Get home, flop on sofa, eat takeout, feel sorry for self. It’s something you’ve gotten good at over the years, wallowing alone in your empty apartment, feeling angry and sad and small; left to stew and circle on those Really Rough Days that everyone has, unfortunately. Compounded by your solitude, your own lonely, echoing chamber. You could complain to your friends, of course, co-workers who would understand what you’re going through—but you feel stupid. Selfish, even, in complaining about these little things. So you keep it to yourself.

Or at least, that’s the plan.

Taehyung’s greeting is vibrant and bright, as it always is. His hair is red today, a shock of scarlet that fizzes on his head and frames his lovely face—he’s even changed his eyes too, a rarer occurrence, muted hazel, almost-green, an autumn forest at dawn. Seeing him makes everything a little better, an ice-pack on the mottled bruise of your day, a warm compress against an aching pain.

A little better, but not entirely.

“Hey, Taehyung,” you reply, trying to etch a smile across your lips.

Instantly, his LED flickers yellow.

“Y/n.” His voice is soft and low as he watches you kick your shoes off, hang your coat up, going through your usual daily motions, smooth with ease of practice even if your limbs feel heavy. “What’s wrong?”

You pause.

“Nothing,” you say. “I’m just tired.”

You hadn’t realised you were so transparent. Hadn’t realised that it would be so easy for Taehyung to see that something’s off, that the levity behind your words is forced, today.

Maybe, back when he’d first stepped foot in your apartment, your lie would have slipped past him. But he’s been here for a few weeks, now, and he’s grown to learn your idiosyncrasies so fast it should be frightening. (But it’s not. It’s… comforting, actually. Knowing that he can read you and does so because he cares about your wellbeing, worries about you, just as you worry about him.)

“Y/n,” Taehyung repeats. 

There’s something a little more emphatic in his tone, something firmer, and you can’t help but look at him.

His LED is yellow and there’s a little frown laid across his brows, his smiling mouth set in a pursed line as he looks back at you, but he’s still soft around the edges. Concern. It’s written all over him, across every inch of his face and body, curled in the curve of his fingers as he reaches out to take your hand.

“What’s wrong?” He says, again, and something inside you dissolves, melts from black ice to gentle water under his warm touch.

“Just a bad day at work,” you admit, an almost embarrassed murmur at this confession of weakness. “I’m feeling a little stressed, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s okay.”

Taehyung’s LED is flickering, swirling yellow, before it transitions into that soft blue you love so much. “Go sit down.” He squeezes your hand. “I’ll make you something.”

Taehyung is still learning, far better at art than most other things, but he knows exactly what you like. The hot chocolate he presents you is piping hot, thick and creamy, and he’s even arranged some of your favourite biscuits on a small plate for you, set in a neat half-circle, a rainbow of cookies and otherwise. And when he sits next to you, he reaches for your hand, holds it loose but safe, looks at you with his big, big eyes—eyes that are back to their usual brown, now, his hair black atop his head, his default settings. 

(You’ll never say it out loud, because Taehyung looks incredible no matter what, but you love this look. It’s your favourite, his dark hair and darker eyes, because it’s what makes him look the softest. It’s entirely Taehyung. There are no remnants of V.)

“Do you want to talk about it?”

And… you do, actually. You do want to talk about it. But still, you hesitate, until Taehyung squeezes your hand again, and all the tension rushes out of you like the air out of a balloon.

It’s weirdly easy to talk to Taehyung, someone who listens intently—like he always does—his LED a gentle looping river that flows on his temple as you spell out the minutiae of your day, each rock caught in the shoe of you life that you’ve struggled to kick out.

It’s strange, to feel coddled like this. Strange to have someone just want to listen to you, someone who cares about the things in your day that had built up into a mountain. Strange, but… nice. It leaves you feeling lighter, buoyed up, like you’ve shed part of the burden on your shoulders, like Taehyung has helped you lift it.

Things are better, the next day. Everything is fine, and your day is good; you know that yesterday was just a blip, something easily dismissed, all the easier for Taehyung’s unswerving support. A bad day is nothing important and doesn’t need thinking about. So, you put it out of your mind as you work, all but forgotten when you get home, back to Taehyung’s glittering eyes and wide grin.

His fingers are stained with paint and there are swipes of it down his apron, staining the once unmarred fabric, evidence of his endless creation. You love it, love that he loves to paint, to create, making things just because he can. For himself.

“I made something for you,” he says, and, oh. 

Oh.

For himself, and for you too, it seems.

It’s a series of tiny, beautiful canvases. There’s an incredible floral display, chrysanthemums and peonies and roses and lilies and more, more, more, paint layered so thick that the petals literally rise from the page. Each one fits in the palm of your hand, so small and gorgeous, so much wonder contained in each small canvas; you’d forgotten about these. Wonder where Taehyung unearthed them from, without leaving chaos behind, your studio as organised as always.

“Do you like them?”

“Taehyung,” you murmur, staring at the canvas of forget-me-nots that’s cradled in your palm, each petal warm blue with softened hints of pink and purple, so pretty as they sit atop their stems. “I love them. They’re for me?”

Taehyung’s smile is warm, warm, warm. “I thought you could keep them on your desk at work. That’s why I painted them so small,” he says.

No one’s ever painted anything for you before.

“They’re so beautiful, Tae,” you say, and Taehyung’s LED flickers in delight at the nickname, the endearment, familiarity.

“You had a bad day yesterday and I thought you might like something nice to look at while you were at work,” he says, and his voice is so yielding and sweet, marshmallow soft. “Looking at your paintings makes me happy, and I thought you might be happy if you looked at mine, too.”

Your fingers tighten around the tiny canvas in your hand. You do feel happy.

You feel happy looking at Taehyung’s paintings.

(You feel happy looking at Taehyung.)

(The forget-me-nots sit next to your monitors, your eyes resting on those tiny, delicate blooms more often than you realise. Forget-me-not, you think, and then smile. As if you could ever forget about Taehyung.)

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Meant To Be // G.W.

Request: Hi! Could you do a George x Reader where he asks her to teach him to dance for the yule ball, because he wants to impresses somebody else, but then they ✨fall in love✨, maybe they didn't know each other before this for that extra awkwardness? Thank you 💕 - anon

A/N: This is so utterly self indulgent and heavily inspired by that one scene from Anastasia. Dimitri was my first love, not even gonna lie to you all. Also, I am the furthest thing from a dancer so if I have explained anything wrong in this, I am so sorry! Despite that, I hope you all enjoy!!

Warnings: she/her pronouns, pining, feelings, emotions, dancing, mentions of food, feelings of sadness, very very light angst. THIS HAS A HAPPY ENDING!!

Word count: 4.1k

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry had many traditions that dated back to the time of the four founders; the houses and their competition, the Quidditch tournaments, but the one that excited the entire student body had to be that of the Yule Ball.

The Yule Ball accompanied the Triwizard Tournament – a competition held between the magical schools of Europe to promote cooperation and boost friendly relations between students. From the very announcement of the Triwizard Tournament, the student body of Hogwarts became more focused on the Yule Ball and what to wear rather than the dangers posed by the trials being faced by their fellow students.

“The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the other houses for over ten centuries. I will not have you, in one night, besmirch his name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons,” McGonagall’s voice calls out across the hall; her eyes steadily meeting every single gaze of the students sat around her.

Those in the hall seem to cower under her scrutiny; the power that she wields over this house being enough for every student in Gryffindor to try their best to impress the head of their house.

George has very little faith in himself at this point. A master prankster, and secretly one of the smartest wizards in the school, he has little talent when it comes to dancing. As he watches his youngest brother take to the floor with the head of Gryffindor, George feels something close to dread settle like lead in his stomach.

He would need help, and he would need it fast, especially if he wanted to ask Margot Banbridge to the ball. Margot – the girl who had caught his attention at the beginning of the month with her secret smiles and wide blue eyes. George so desperately wanted to be the one to take her to the Yule Ball, but then again, so did many of the other lads in the year. George needed to stand out and being able to dance would be the perfect way to do so.

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

The common room is loud that very evening. All students talking about the upcoming ball and the lessons completed today. Ron’s face was still red from his dance with McGonagall; he would never live this down. However, for now, George wasn’t too concerned on joking with his brother, but rather how he was going to solve the predicament he finds himself in.

“What do I do, Fred?” George pleads to his twin, “I have no idea how to dance!”

Fred laughs, “Can’t help you there, mate. I’m just as clueless as you.”

George groans; resisting the urge to shove his face into a cushion and wallow in self-pity. If he didn’t know how to dance, how could he impress Margot?

“Talk to (Y/N),” Hermione offers, absentmindedly turning the page of the heavy hardback laid in her lap, “She dances as a hobby. She might be able to help you, George.”

“Do you think she would?” George asks, worry niggling the back of his mind. He had so rarely spoken to you before despite being in the same house, “We’ve never really spoken before.”

Hermione nods, “I think she would. She’s always been kind to me when I’ve asked her for help.”

George smiles; nodding at his younger brother’s friend. “Alright,” He decides, “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

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

You could feel his gaze burning a hole into the back of your head. All morning, in every class your shared with the Weasley twin, his eyes had rarely left the back of your head. By morning break, it had started to get on your nerves. By lunch, you were more than ready to accost the redhead and demand the reasoning behind this newfound attention he seems intent on giving you.

Pausing outside the Great Hall, you move to one side to let younger Gryffindor’s pass. Out of the corner of your eye, you see George pause, turning to his twin to look as if he wasn’t just following you for the sake of it.

“Weasley!” You shout. George jumps; not out of terror, but out of being caught ogling so openly. Fred laughs as he leaves his twin to talk to you. George rubs a hand across the back of his neck, “(Y/N)… fancy seeing you here.”

You roll your eyes, “What do you need?”

“What? What makes you think I need something from you?” George questions; slightly affronted at your sudden jump to his needing of something, even if it was right.

You place your hands on your hips; shooting him an unimpressed look, “This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had in our whole seven years of education so it’s safe to say you want something from me. That, and the fact that you’ve been burning a hole into my head all morning so what do you need, George?”

George sighs; running a hand through his too long hair, “Hermione said you would be able to help me.”

Your face softens at the mention of the bright witch; you had a soft spot for the younger girl, her knowledge and thirst for witchcraft something to be found as inspiring. “What did Hermione say?”

“That you dance as a hobby and that you might be able to teach me.”

“Hermione is right on both counts. I do dance, and I am able to teach you,” You state, “But why do you need to be taught, George?”

George leans closer to you; his voice dropping to a whisper as he confesses, “I want to ask Margot Banbridge to the Yule Ball.”

“Ah,” You sigh, “So it’s all for one night with a girl.”

George frowns, “It’s for more than one night. Hopefully something will start after the Yule Ball, but I need to be able to impress her first and not step on her toes.”

A small smile graces your face as George struggles to get through the sentence without blushing. “Meet me every Saturday in the Room of Requirement. I’ll teach you how to dance.”

“You will?” He asks; hope shining in his voice.

“I will, but I’m doing this to protect the poor girl’s toes, Weasley,” You state sternly; your smile lingering at the sweetness of the redhead.

George nods solemnly, “And it’s a service you shall be recognised for. Thank you, (Y/N).”

Without helping it, a smile crosses your face. Grabbing your bag, you hoist it up on your shoulder, “Room of Requirement on Saturday at 10am, Weasley. Don’t be late.”

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

By 10am on Saturday, George can only be described a bundle of nerves. He had barely made it through breakfast; Fred teasing him all the way through it as Ron and Harry laughed along with him. The only support he found was in Hermione who seemed genuinely pleased that he had asked for help. George sent her a small smile as he managed half a piece of toast before rushing from the Great Hall; frantic about not wanting to be late for his first lesson with you.

His hands shake as he walks past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, thinking of you and your whereabouts. The door appears after his third walk past and George hurriedly tugs open the door before he can talk himself out of it.

The room in which you have conjured reminds George of the Hall in which McGonagall had taught her first and only dance lesson. However, you’ve conjured a whole wall of mirrors that have a bar running across the middle.

George pauses in the entryway as the large wooden door slams shut behind him. The noise still hasn’t alerted you to his presence as you fiddle with a record player, a small collection of vinyl’s laid out on the small table. He watches you twiddle with the settings; the volume dial and checking that the needle is secure before turning to survey the room.

You jump when you spy George standing by the door. You greet him with a large smile, beckoning to him with an outstretched hand, “Come on in, George, I don’t bite.”

George laughs despite himself; stepping further into the large room. “What is this place?” He asks.

You turn around; arms stretched wide as you explain, “This is what the dance studio back home looks like. It’s where I spend all my time when I’m home for the holidays, so I bring it here when I can.”

“It’s wonderful,” George comments; breathless at the sheer amount of detail and personality personified by the room. He barely knows you, yet he realises he’s standing in an incredibly personal room that you’ve trusted him with. He feels honoured that you’ve put this much trust in him already.

You smile at him in thanks before turning your attention back to the vinyl’s littering the small table. You tap your fingernails against the table as you sift through the records, trying to decide which would be best to start with.

It takes a moment or two, but eventually you settle on a vinyl catering to classical music. You turn to George, holding the cover up for him to see much to his dismay, “The first few dances will be to instrumentals I’m afraid, so it’ll be classical for now.”

George frowns, but he nods, nonetheless. He’s never been a fan of classical music; not understanding the feelings that could be evoked from it. He needed lyrics in order to feel something; he needed to hear the pain or joy in the singer’s voice for him to feel the true extent of the song.

“First things first, show me what you think a hold looks like.”

George raises his arms; only feeling slightly foolish as his right arm stretches out and his left arm curls around an invisible body. His left splays across an invisible back, and he watches you appraise him.

“Am I okay to touch you?” You ask; not wanting to make him jump as you start grabbing his arms. At the nod of his head, you start to feel his framework, checking for where it lacks in definition.

It takes the better part of fifteen minutes to explain why his frame is essential to the dance when George believed that it would be his footwork that solely mattered, but by the end of your rant, he understands it all a lot better.

Then you move onto the footwork. Explaining to George that spending every minute of the song staring down at his feet was going to cause more issues than anything. You can’t help but laugh slightly each time he steps on your foot; he apologises with such sincerity that it’s hard not to forgive him either though you know your feet will be bruised tomorrow. However, as the song finishes and the needle begins to click onto empty record, you feel that George has what it takes to become a good enough dancer to woo Margot.

Breaking the hold, you rush to the record player, lifting the needle from the record and setting it to one side. “Tell me about Margot, George. Why her?” You ask as you pat your face down with a towel and grab a bottle of water, offering another to George.

George shrugs, taking the offered water bottle, “She’s gorgeous, and she’s ridiculously talented in Charms and Transfiguration.”

“Huh,” You comment.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” You reply, shaking your head with a smile George couldn’t define, “I didn’t think you would favour brains over looks for some reason, but you’ve surprised me.”

“Have you got a date?” He asks; curiosity getting the better of him.

You shake your head, “No date, but I am going to the ball with a group of my friends. It’ll be a good night; I’m looking forward to it.”

“It will,” George echoes; mind faraway, to a night in the future where he grabs and keeps the attention of Margot.

“All we need to do now if get you ready for it. You’ll be a pro in no time, Weasley.”

“You think?”

“I don’t think, I know,” You gloat, a smile crossing your face, “If we continue to meet every week until the ball, you’ll be waltzing Margot into a tizzy.”

George barks out a laugh at your words, heading for the door, “I’ll see you every Saturday then.”

“Every Saturday,” You echo as George leaves. You shake your head; vaguely wondering about the outcome of these lessons.

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

Two weeks into the lessons and a friendship forms between yourself and George. He was so enthusiastic; he was happiness personified. It was hard not to find yourself caught up in his retellings of pranks he was behind, or stories of being at home over the holidays. He had a knack for storytelling; punctuating in the right places and creating a set up that had your sides hurting from laughing so hard.

You find yourself sitting with his friends more – at meal times and in the common room; getting to know the rest of the golden trio other than Hermione, and finally meeting Fred Weasley.

“So you’re the one who’s been teaching our Georgie how to dance,” Fred states; mischief in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“I am,” You comment, smiling politely, “He’s doing well, if you wanted to know.”

Fred grins, reaching for the jar of orange juice in the centre of the table, “I don’t doubt it.”

George rolls his eyes at the small conversation taking place between you and Fred. You smile at his reaction, but also at the blind faith placed in George by his twin brother.

“You should have seen him the other night, (Y/N),” Fred cackles, “He was practicing some footwork, stating that he needed to get it right before your lesson.”

“You weren’t?” You ask George; delighted in the blush staining his cheeks.

“I was,” He admits shyly, “But it was that really tricky part that I couldn’t get last time.”

“That’s adorable, Georgie,” You coo; reaching over to pinch his cheek. He bats your hand away with a laugh but keeps hold of your fingers for a tad longer than he should have, enjoying your attention and the sound of your laugh.

“How did you get into dancing?” Ron asks; voice curious as he munches on a piece of toast.

“It was something my mum signed me up for when I was four years old and it grew from there.”

“Do you mainly dance ballroom?” Hermione asks; eyes bright as she basks in the happiness to have her older friend sit with her usual friends.

“Not just ballroom,” You state, “I tap dance too as well as some ballet.” At their wide eyes you backpedal, “My mum wanted me to have the grace and dexterity of a ballerina before she realised I much preferred the other two. I finished ballet when I was thirteen, but I still do the stretches,” You shrug, “They help with the warm ups for other dances.”

George grins; eyes darting between you and his friends, “What did I tell you? She’s a wonder.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re only calling me that because you feel guilty for how often you step on my toes.”

Fred snorts, “Does that often does he?”

George blushes; reaching for his drink. You shake your head with a laugh, “Not now. He did a lot in the beginning, but he’s much better now.”

George’s blushes deepens as the warmth of your words settles on your skin and he meets your eyes. The gaze holds; both of you forgetting you’re sat at a table with friends as you both smile softly at the other.

Someone clearing their throat has you breaking the gaze with George. Your face heats as you meet the interested stare of his twin brother; Fred’s eyes darting between you and George as if seeing something that wasn’t obvious for the two of you.

Conversation starts up again; Fred talking to George and Ron asking Harry about a piece of homework. As their voices gather around you, you give yourself a moment to come to terms with the feelings raging in your body. You let yourself have a single instant in which you wonder whether this friendship has developed into something more for you.

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

A week before the ball and you’ve accepted your feelings for the redhead. You’ve accepted that in just over a month, he’s not only formed a friendship with you, but he’s also gotten you to fall in love with him. At eighteen years old, the world tells you that you’re too young to know the meaning of the word, but what else could describe the way you feel when you look at him? What else could explain the racing of your heart when he meets you outside your classes, an arm ready to grab your bag?

At eighteen years old, the world expects you to know so much, but not your own mind. However, at eighteen years old, you know that you’re in love with George Weasley, and all from him asking you to teach him how to dance.

“What do you think? Ready to practice a waltz, George?”

He laughs lightly; the sound being music to your ears, “Let’s try a waltz.”

From the moment the needle meets the vinyl, George has his hold ready. You glide into it seamlessly; hands joining together as George begins to lead you through the one, two, three steps of the waltz.

Distantly, you hear the music sounding from your record player. Distantly, you hear your footsteps on the wooden floor, but all you can focus on is how good it feels to be in George’s hold. To have his hands on you; how warm they feel against your skin and just how much you want him closer to you.

He continues to lead you round the floor; his eyes not leaving yours as his grip on you becomes tighter. Your mind heads into overdrive; wondering how it would feel to have his hands on different parts of your body; how he would react if you leaned forward that little bit and kissed him.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy…” You murmur; whether it’s from the spinning or from the close proximity of George, you can’t tell.

“Kind of lightheaded?” George asks; a small smile on his face, “Me too.”

“Maybe we should…” You trail off; truly not wanting this moment to end as George pauses mid spin.

“Stop spinning? I think we should too.”

“We have stopped,” You say; refusing to drop the hold, refusing to leave him.

George shakes his head; his mind becoming clearer as he comes too from the daydream he found himself in as he spun you around the Room of Requirement.

Neither of you know how long you stand there; his hand on your waist and yours on his shoulder. Neither of you know how long your chests heave; from the breathlessness of the dancing, but also from the hormones and emotions flying about the room that neither of you are truly ready to address.

Stepping back - protecting your heart mainly - you drop the hold, moving off to the side where your bag waits for you. George opens and closes his mouth a few times; unable to find the words he wants to say, unable to comprehend the feelings coursing through his body this very minute.

Holding your bag to your chest, as if having a physical barrier between yourself and George will stop the cracking of your heart, you whisper, “I think you’re ready, George.”

“You do?” He asks. They aren’t the words he wants to say; they aren’t the words that are carved into his heart, mind, and soul, but they are what he says because he can see the look on your face, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You nod, trying your best to stave off the wobbling of your lip and the breaking of your heart until you’re back in your room. “Yeah,” You say; smiling weakly, “You’re ready, Georgie. Go get your girl.”

You leave him there; rushing from the room with the last of your broken heart trailing behind you. The tears begin to fall on your way back to the common room; unable to look anyone in the eye as you sprint to your room and throw yourself on your bed.

Hiding your face in your pillow, you barely repress the scream that’s been working its way out of your chest. The way your heart was cracking in your chest, you felt certain the whole school could hear it. You felt the fool; how could you not fall for him? How could you not fall for every aspect of him? You saw him at his most nervous and you saw him at his most confident; you saw every aspect of him, and your heart gave itself so willingly that you hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

It was too late. He was ready; he could waltz the night away with Margot and he would be none the wiser to your feelings. There was no need for him to know just how he made your heart race, or how he was the reason behind most of your smiles these days. He didn’t need to know how he featured in your daydreams; distracting you from classwork.

He didn’t need to know any of that because by the end of the Yule Ball, he’ll have wooed Margot and you’ll have returned to your dance studio alone.

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

The dance studio feels cold without him; as if in the sort time you had been teaching him, it had also gotten used to his warm presence and the light he exudes.

Following your old routine, you select a record and place it on the player. Setting the needle down, you roll your neck, stretching your muscles out as the first song begins to play.

Needless to say that while you lose your body to the music, the steps being second nature to you, you do not lose your mind. Your feet follow the steps, but your mind does not quieten as it flips through images of what George could be doing right now. How his hand would feel on small of Margot’s back; how his hand would clasp hers tightly as he leads her confidently around the dancefloor.

You hadn’t been able to attend the ball in the end. Too afraid of what you might see, and what you might feel. Too afraid to meet the eyes of those you now class a friends and see the pity reflected in their eyes as you realise that your feelings for the Weasley twin had been obvious to everyone but him.

You gasp as you catch movement in the corner of your eye; regretting leaving your wand so far away on the table. You hold a hand to your heart as you face whoever had found your room.

He stands just in front of the door; chest rising rapidly as if he ran to all the way here.

“George?” You question; automatically stepping closer to the redhead, your heart starting to sing at his very presence. Every part of you wants to reach for him, but the logical side of you makes you wait.

“I waited for you,” He states plainly with no greeting, “I waited for you and you didn’t come.”

Your eyes drop to the floor as you confess, “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t watch you with her.”

You couldn’t watch from the sidelines as George danced the night away; dancing what you had taught him. It only felt like further punishment, and for now, you had had enough of that.

“I waited for you,” He repeats.

“Why?” You ask; needing to know.

“I couldn’t take her. Not after our final dance lesson, it wasn’t fair to her or to you. So I didn’t take her. Instead, I waited outside the Great Hall for over an hour, hoping you would make an appearance. When you didn’t, I had to come find you. I knew you would be here.”

You sniffle, “You came for me?”

George nods, “I realised something after our final lesson.”

“What?”

He steps further into the room; striding forward until he stands in front of you. He tilts your face up sing two fingers; his eyes shine with happiness as he whispers, “I don’t want to dance with anyone but you.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t. If I’m to dance with anyone, it’ll be you. I think we were meant to be; don’t you agree?”

You nod your head, faintly brushing your lips against his as you whisper, “I agree. I think we were meant to be.”

********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @birdie-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @xfirstfemale-marauderx @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ithilwen-lionheart @ilovejjmaybank​

George Weasley taglist: @susceptible-but-siriusexual @ickle-ronniekins

[bloody-bee-tea]

It’s just a sitting down in the shower day

Me processing my feelings by putting them into fic instead of writing what I really should? More likely than you think though I don't have a Nie Mingjue to cuddle me through it

Title from Shower Day by The Amazing Devil

When Jiang Cheng wakes up he thinks that this is another pretty meh day, but he knows better the moment he picks up his phone.

There are three unread messages waiting for him and Jiang Cheng already feels like he’s crumbling under the expectation of answering them.

So his mood finally tipped over into pretty fucking bad, he thinks and then puts the phone away before it can show him another thing he should react to, face down so that he doesn’t have to see the notifications glare up at him and feel even worse about not being able to answer anything.

At least today. He hopes tomorrow will be better.

When that is done, Jiang Cheng turns around for good measure too, puts his back towards the room and whatever is waiting for him outside of bed, pulls his blanket up under his chin and then he just lays there, staring into nothing, before he closes his eyes and pretends to simply not exist for the day.

It doesn’t work all too well because his mind keeps reminding him that there are people waiting for an answer from him probably, but Jiang Cheng feels like crying when he just thinks about reading the messages and so that makes his mood plummet even more.

Awesome.

Jiang Cheng pulls his blanket up over his head because maybe it doesn’t just keep the monsters at bay but also bad thoughts—one can hope, right—but his mind won’t shut up.

There is one thing that would make Jiang Cheng feel better, but for that he’d have to pick up his phone and actually go to his messages and then ask for help and he’s not about to do that.

Not normally and especially not today, when he could burst into tears at even having to explain what is wrong with him, and so he simply continues to exist in a small space in his bed, curled up and sad.

He thinks he dozed off at one point, because the next thing he knows is that Wei Wuxian is sitting down on his bed and Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to see him, doesn’t even want to speak to him, but so he also can’t tell him to go fuck off.

So he simply continues to lay there.

“Jiang Cheng, it’s past noon on a Saturday and you’re still in bed?” Wei Wuxian asks, his usual cheer lacking from his voice and now Jiang Cheng feels bad about worrying him.

“Yeah,” he croaks out, his voice probably pretty muffled through the blanket, but he can’t find it in him to even raise his hands to pull it down or anything, so Wei Wuxian will just have to deal with it.

Or not, Jiang Cheng bitterly thinks as Wei Wuxian peels the corner of the blanket away. Thankfully he stops when he uncovers Jiang Cheng’s face, though, so Jiang Cheng will let it pass. At least this once.

“Don’t you have stuff to do? You always have stuff to do on Saturdays,” Wei Wuxian says and Jiang Cheng can hear the frown in his voice, he doesn’t even have to look at him for that.

And it’s true, too. Jiang Cheng usually has stuff to do on Saturdays, or on every other day, and the work will not get itself done. But Jiang Cheng is pretty sure that if he gets up to work on it today, he’ll either break down, scream until he’s hoarse or delete and destroy every last thing he has already done and he does not actually want to do that.

So laying in bed it is.

“Are you still tired?” Wei Wuxian asks next and he leans over Jiang Cheng to get a glimpse at his face. “Is this a symptom of the virus? Did you get the virus?” Wei Wuxian goes on, getting more and more frantic with every question and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“We both know that between us, it’s your immune system that is shit. So if I had the virus then you would most definitely have it too and I don’t see you being sick,” Jiang Cheng says and then he feels like he ran a marathon because speaking is actually pretty damn exhausting.

“Rude,” Wei Wuxian huffs out, but he sounds calmer already and a calm Wei Wuxian means that Jiang Cheng will get to wallow in peace much more easily and sooner at that.

“Why won’t you come out?” Wei Wuxian wants to know and Jiang Cheng heaves out another sigh.

“Leave me alone,” he says, his voice listless and low and he can practically feel the worry radiating off Wei Wuxian at that.

“You’re not yelling at me,” Wei Wuxian whispers. “You’re not even cursing at me. Are you dying?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng gives back, but he also turns his face further into the pillow. “Go away.”

“I guess I will,” Wei Wuxian hesitantly says and Jiang Cheng feels him getting up from the bed. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?”

“I need you to go away,” Jiang Cheng tells him, though a tiny part of himself panics at the thought that Wei Wuxian might really go away, and not come back, but even that is not enough to get Jiang Cheng to explain more or even turn around.

If Wei Wuxian really does want to leave and not come back like ever, then Jiang Cheng guesses it was inevitable and it’s not like his mood can get any worse anyway.

“Alright,” Wei Wuxian whispers but he hesitates in the doorway. “I’m here if you need anything, though,” he then adds and Jiang Cheng does have to admit that he relaxes slightly at hearing that, even though it doesn’t improve anything major about his mood.

At least his mind can shut up about Wei Wuxian leaving him now. One thing less to worry about.

Once Jiang Cheng is sure that Wei Wuxian left the room, he pulls the blanket up over his head again, because like this it’s warm and dark and it’s about the only state that Jiang Cheng can endure at the moment and then he continues to simply not do anything besides existing for the next however long it is.

At one point Jiang Cheng’s stomach grumbles, but it stops after one sound and it’s not enough incentive for Jiang Cheng to actually get up and do anything about it, so he doesn’t pay any more attention to it.

He maybe dozes off again, because he wakes up to the door opening again, and usually he would snap at Wei Wuxian for coming back when he’s so clearly not wanted right now, but Jiang Cheng can’t muster the energy to do that.

He’ll just deal with whatever annoying shit Wei Wuxian wants now and then he’ll go back to his wallowing.

It’s sounds like a pretty decent plan, if Jiang Cheng is being honest, especially since he knows that he can out-stubborn Wei Wuxian on any day, but he was not at all prepared for someone to slide into bed with him.

Jiang Cheng tenses for a second, before he’s being pulled against a very familiar chest and then he simply goes boneless.

Though he does muster up enough energy to turn around so that he can hide his face in Nie Mingjue’s chest, because obviously no place is better than that, even on bad days.

“Wei Wuxian said you’re not doing so well today,” Nie Mingjue mutters and presses a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head. “So I thought I’d come over.”

Jiang Cheng has to swallow against the emotion lodged in his throat before he can actually speak, but there is nothing at all he can do against the burning of his eyes.

“I don’t want to do anything,” Jiang Cheng says, because he figures it’s better to manage Nie Mingjue’s expectations immediately instead of making him think that Jiang Cheng will get a grip in a few minutes and they can do something.

“Okay,” Nie Mingjue easily agrees and then wriggles around a bit.

Jiang Cheng slightly starts to panic when he thinks that Nie Mingjue is going to leave again, but apparently Nie Mingjue is just getting more comfortable, because he lets out a sigh and then goes boneless.

“You don’t have to stay,” Jiang Cheng mutters, hating that he’s robbing Nie Mingjue of his Saturday now, too, but Nie Mingjue only hums.

“Dozing the day away sounds actually pretty good,” he mumbles into Jiang Cheng’s hair. “The guy above me was throwing a party. At least until the police came and crashed it, because you know, throwing parties is kind of illegal in this day and age, and it turned out he was actually alone up there. I don’t even know how he managed to achieve that kind of noise on his own, but I certainly didn’t get much sleep,” Nie Mingjue explains and then pulls Jiang Cheng even closer to himself.

It’s a good explanation; at least like this Jiang Cheng doesn’t feel too guilty about ruining someone else’s day, and that makes it a lot easier.

But he still feels the need to reiterate that there will be nothing at all happening with him today except this.

“I don’t think I want to do anything later, either,” Jiang Cheng tries to explain, because he never knows how to put these bad days into words, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem to care.

“Hush, I’m trying to doze and cuddle my boyfriend,” he sleepily mumbles and it’s actually enough to make Jiang Cheng’s lips twitch, though with the new burning of his eyes that could have multiple reasons.

“Fine,” he says and then they both fall silent.

Jiang Cheng is pretty sure that Nie Mingjue falls asleep mere minutes later, because his breath is deep and even and it’s doing a lot for Jiang Cheng as well.

He guesses he will have to thank Wei Wuxian for this, but that will have to wait for tomorrow.

Today he’s going to stay in bed, and feel bad and have his boyfriend be understanding of his moods. That’s got to be enough for one day.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar

[caramelcal]

someone you loved

Request: Hi, could you write some Luke Patterson x Reader based on Someone you loved from Lewis Capaldi, please? But I also would like a happy end if it is possible, although the song is sad one. Thanks in advance :)

Word Count: 2k

a/n: hellooo! its currently 1:15 am and i have school tomorrow lol...im so tired but i needed to finish this so enjoyyy! 

Masterlist

I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy I need somebody to heal Somebody to know Somebody to have Somebody to hold It's easy to say But it's never the same I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain 

Remembering that day was something that you found yourself doing constantly, which was incredibly unfortunate. As you sat up in your room, curled up in a ball your mind drifted to him, the way the other girl had her arms around him, something you and only you were supposed to you.

You remembered the way she leaned against him, her body against his, her short tank top doing nothing to stop her skin from coming in contact with Luke.  Anger had bubbled in your chest as well as your throat tightening up, fists clenching at your sides. You saw the way her lips were pressed against his. Against your boyfriend’s. He pulled back away from her, and the way she went up to his ear, whispering seductively before her eyes caught onto you. Then she smirked.

Luke’s bandmates surrounded him, Bobby with two girls, both with the same minimal clothing that the one that was all over your boyfriend was wearing, Reggie was pawning over one that walked slightly in front of him and Alex looked dreadfully uncomfortable. Yet, you didn’t care about them, all you cared about was the way that girl was all over Luke. And if things couldn’t get any worse, whilst she maintained eye contact with you, she whispered in his ear again, why the hell was he not pulling away from her? Suddenly, after the girl said something, pointing a manicured finger in your direction, and his head snapped over to where you were, your eyes flickering between him and the girl, who was now walking backward away from him like her job was done.

“You know what, Patterson?” You shouted angrily at the boy, getting the entire group’s attention, “Fuck you, we’re over.”

And with that, you stormed off. Yet, it was weeks later and you were still crying about it, you missed the way put his arms around your stomach, pulling your back against his chest, the way he laughed with you, the way he cried with you, how he would have one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh when he was driving, you missed the way you blasted songs and just sang together. You missed everything and even though he hurt you, you still love him.

Now the day bleeds Into nightfall And you're not here To get me through it all I let my guard down And then you pulled the rug I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

Trying to convince yourself to get ready and go out after so many days of staying in your dark room, in pajamas, and wallowing in self-pity was hard but you did it. You got out of bed, got ready, and went on your way to get a drink at the local cafe; a hangout place that a lot of the students at your school used. You planned on meeting a friend here, but as you walked in and you saw him in there you knew it was a bad idea.

It wasn’t only him either, his bandmates were there too, talking, conversing and he had his arm around another girl. You shouldn’t have been surprised if he was willing to get with a girl when you guys were together, why would it be any different in the weeks after your break up? You’re staring at them for a while before one of them notices you, Reggie, smiling at you and waving you over.

“Y/n! Come over and join us for a milkshake!” Innocent Reggie. You don’t miss the semi-discrete nudge that Alex gives Reggie. He always did seem like the one person in the band with half a brain cell, and he was nice too. He looks up at you, casting you a sympathetic smile as Bobby, who again has another girl with him informs Luke that you’ve arrived. Yet, as your eyes catch onto him, you can’t help walking out.

He frowns at your retrieving figure, his body itching to run out and ditch everyone here to get you but he doesn’t as Bobby nudges him again, “Dude forget about her.”

Luke doesn’t say anything as he hesitantly nods, looking down and meeting eyes with Alex, who is sitting across from him. Luke had known Alex long enough to know what look he was giving him: almost begging him to chase after you, knowing that both you and Luke would benefit from it. But he didn’t. Luke stayed exactly where he was, arm slung over the girl’s shoulder.

He didn’t even remember the girl’s name, she wasn’t a bad looking girl but she wasn’t you. She was nice, but she didn’t know Luke as you did, she didn’t have a laugh that she hated but Luke found so adorable like you. Bobby said that these girls were distractions, to get Luke’s mind off of you but even as he sat there at that moment, not a single one of his thoughts strayed from you.

I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to turn to This all or nothing way of loving got me sleeping without you Now, I need somebody to know Somebody to heal Somebody to have Just to know how it feels It's easy to say but it's never the same I guess I kinda liked the way you helped me escape

Sleep did not come easy to you that night, it never did without Luke there but after seeing him today at the cafe, you couldn’t even take a sip of water without being reminded of Luke. You knew it wasn’t a great idea, but you needed to clear your head, and if this was the only way to do it then so be it.

With your coat clung tightly around your body, you venture down the street, the window blowing softly against your face. It’s creepy, not something you saw in the peppy little town but as you walked down dimly lit streets, the streetlights buzzing slightly overhead you couldn’t help but feel a little jumpy. 

“You shouldn’t be out here at this time,” You hear a voice call from the shadows, making you jump around with eyes wide. You walk backward slightly as your head whips around, trying to catch where the voice came from as you catch onto his figure.

Clad in a plaid red flannel, Luke leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest with eyes trained on you. You clear your throat, feeling a blush rise to your throat at the thought of Luke seeing you so on edge as you speak, “Luke.”

He’s rather far away from you, still lazily leaning against the building wall with his hair in its usual messy way. You liked it like that. The chain on his jeans rattles slightly as he shifts to face you, but still stays leaning against the wall, “y/n.”

It’s quiet for a few moments and for the first time in forever you feel incredibly uncomfortable around Luke. Even before you two got together you had always felt comfortable with Luke; at home. He can feel how much you don’t want to be there, he’s always been able to read you and you aren’t hiding your awkwardness well.

“Well if that’s all,” You say, clearing your throat as you eagerly swivel on your feet to go in the direction you came in, suddenly feeling like going home.

Yet, as you start to walk, you can’t help but stop when you hear Luke chuckle. Did he find this funny? When you peer back at him, seeing him shake his head as he continued to chuckle quietly, “What?”

“Nothing,” Luke dismisses but yet continues to laugh. His hands are in his jean pockets now, a smirk evident on his face.

“Clearly it’s something, what are you finding so funny?” You ask, not hiding how defensive you are you speak. You’ve completely turned towards him again, eyes watching the guitarist’s figure as he calms his laughing down.

Kicking his feet off of the wall, Luke stands up, walking closer to where you stand in the middle of the sidewalk. He pretty much closes the gap between the two of you, until he’s about a foot away from you, peering at you with hazel eyes.

“I just think it’s funny how because we broke up you think we can’t even speak to each other anymore.”

You almost stutter as you break eye contact with the boy. You knew that whatever you said was probably going to lead to an argument and honestly, that was the last thing you wanted right now, “I have to get going.”

“No you don’t,” Luke swiftly responds, shaking his head at you as your eyes snap back up to him, leaving him to rock on his heels.

Your eyes close into slits as you feel annoyance bubble in your stomach. Even if Luke did know when you lied, he should know to let it go, to avoid confrontation but maybe he wanted this, “I left without letting my parents know. If I’m just missing from my bedroom they’ll probably be worried.”

“Your parents aren’t even home, y/n, they’re away on a trip,” You can’t hide the surprise on your face when Luke says that. How he knew that was beyond you because no one else knew but you and your parents. Yet, he elaborates, eyes never leaving you, “even if I couldn’t tell when you’re lying, y/n, I would still know. Your parents stopped me on the way out of town saying they were leaving town for a bit and wanted me to keep an eye on you. They’re worried y/n, ‘said you haven’t been yourself lately. You didn’t tell them we broke up, did you?”

Lips apart, you stare up at Luke, shaking your head, voice quiet and low, “I couldn’t. They really liked you. I couldn’t tell them you cheated.”

“You wouldn’t have to because I didn’t.”

“I saw you, Luke! I saw you with that other girl!” You yelled, your voice no longer low as you felt the rage start to bubble at the bottom of your chest again. The fact that you caught him in the act and he still denies it angered you, why couldn’t he just own up to it? “Are you going to say I imagined it? That I didn’t see anything?”

“I’m not, no,” Luke replied, keeping his voice calm as he shook his head, “What I am going to say is that you don’t know what you saw.”

And I tend to close my eyes when it hurts sometimes I fall into your arms I'll be safe in your sound 'til I come back around

For now the day bleeds Into nightfall And you're not here To get me through it all I let my guard down And then you pulled the rug I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

Suddenly, everything made sense. It wasn’t his fault and you felt so dumb. You were almost speechless after he finished talking, leaving both of you in silence for several moments.

“I-I’m sorry,”

“Why are you sorry?” Luke asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked down at you.

“I should have let you explain and we wouldn’t be in this mess, we both wouldn’t have been-”

Luke doesn’t let you finish, almost feeling how guilty you felt for immediately assuming the worst of him. He knew it wasn’t your fault, he would have been just as angry if he was in the situation you were, “Hey it’s alright. I should’ve run after you and explained everything then.”

You don’t say anything as he pulls you into a hug, a warmth that you had yearned for over the past few weeks. He has a hand on your back, holding you close, and a hand on the back of your head, softly running his fingers through your hair.

“I missed you so much,”  He whispered to you, leaving you to hug him closer to you, to enjoy the warmth before it disappeared again. You never wanted to let go, you felt safe in his hold, you felt at home.

He placed a soft kiss against the top of your head, still holding you close before you looked up at him, “I missed you too, Lu.”

He flashes you a soft smile, one that had always melted your heart, “How about we go home, huh?”

[nyxdelanuit]

We All Fall From Heaven

Hello my little constellations! Here is the third chapter of mine and @mammonrightsYandere House of Lamentation series c: Please be aware of the tags, and enjoy! I also will not be adding my usual tag list to this due to the themes involved, so please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: YANDERE THEMES, DUBCON/NONCON, Abusive/Obsessive Relationships, Branding/Marking, senpai/kouhai kink, Anal, uHH,,tails... and of course, SMUT ABOUND~ Please be sure to mind the tags <3

It was easy to convince Lucifer to let you stay home that day, your throat, raw from crying, conveying a sickness you didn’t have even through the shut door. You waited until all noise faded away, longer still until you were sure all the brothers were gone for the day. Only then you changed into loose sweats, comfy clothes for a day of wallowing in bed. You considered using any of the presents Asmo left in your room, but the thought churned your stomach. Maybe another day. Maybe when your head was a little more clear.

 Food you could handle. You didn't bother with making yourself presentable, merely padding through the halls on bare feet. The kitchen was only next door, after all. It still took you a bit of time to recognize what foods were okay for you to eat, avoiding Beel's food and any that wasn't… fit for human consumption. The names still threw you off a bit, but it tasted close enough to what you were familiar with that you could stomach it. You had to, at least for now.

 You were so caught up in searching for food so that you could lock yourself away for the day, that you didn’t notice another presence in the kitchen. Turning around with arm-fulls of food, you ran into another sweat-clad figure. Both you and Levi jumped back, nervous and flushed, for entirely different reasons.

"Oh… I was coming here to grab some of those snacks." Levi looked away nervously, and you were tempted to just thrust all the food into his hands and run back into your room. "You're skipping today, right? Come watch this new anime I found with me! T-then we can share the snacks…" Your every cell was yelling, begging at you to run. But this was Levi, he was just as touch-averse as you were now, he just wanted someone to share his hobbies with. Plus, what better way to distract you from all the problems rattling around in your head than escaping into some fantasy world, where things were predictable and made sense.

 So with that, you followed Levi to his room, the swirling blue bringing a sense of calm you hadn’t felt in days. You weren’t sure you even felt it now, but the ambiance sure helped you pretend. It was even… comfortable, lounging on Levi’s couch as the two of you bickered about whether the protagonist was good or cheesy. You could almost forget. At least Levi could be your safe haven.

 Your eyes lit up when you remembered that he was the third brother, above both Belphie and Asmo. If you told him, would he protect you? He was stronger, after all. Maybe you could make an actual pact with him. If he believed you at all. You fidgeted as you thought about it, not noticing the shrinking space between you and Levi.

 Static passed between you as your fingers touched his, both of you pulling away. Levi yelped, and you couldn’t help but chuckle nervously. Even so, you put your had back where it was and focused on the show while Levi… red-faced and not looking at you or even the show, slowly encompassed your hand with his own. There was something so sweet, so innocent about it that set your heart thundering.

 The credits rolled on the last episode. Your hand was still nestled in Levi’s carefully, kind of clammy grip. His nervousness helped ground you, and you couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach every time his eyes drifted to yours only to look away and blush.

 “Levi… the show’s over.” You didn’t really want to leave, but if you didn’t go now, the rest of the brothers would get home before you could lock yourself in your room. “I should go, for now.”

 “W-wait!” Levi jumped up from his spot on the couch, offering you a hand. “Let me walk you to your room?” You chuckled and took his hand, letting him help you up.

 “I’d like that.”

 You walked in silence, Levi's grip on your hand feather-light. He wanted to be sure you could pull away if you wanted to; in fact, he almost seemed certain that you would. He stopped at your door, staring at your intertwined hands.

 “D-do you want to skip tomorrow too? We could cosplay together… I found a few premade outfits on Akuzon I could have ready for you.” He rubbed his neck nervously until you nodded. One more day locked away in the sanctuary of Levi’s room felt just like what your heavy heart needed. With a furious blush, Levi placed a chaste peck on your lips and slithered away, leaving you blinking at his quickly moving back.

 For once, you laid in bed with a smile on your face. You couldn’t help but trace your lip lightly, daydreaming of what tomorrow would bring.

 Lucifer was not as accommodating the next morning, and you were glad you passed out dressed in your comfy outfit from the day before. He forced you down for breakfast at the very least, and you felt the tension in the air as Asmo and Belphie abandoned their usual seats to place themselves on either side of you. One hand fell to your hip, one to your thigh, and you could feel your breath catch.

 Across the table, Levi caught your eye. The look in his eye was indecipherable, but you hoped that he saw your plight. You shuffled the food around your plate, your appetite suddenly gone, pulling worried and hungry stares from Beel. He accepted the plate when you slid it over to him, but the look on his face was akin to a kicked puppy.

 Breakfast passed with a quiet tension as Levi’s eyes hardened on his brothers, the grip on his silverware turning his knuckles white. As soon as his food was clear, Levi pushed away from the table. He grabbed your arm, dragging you from your seat and the grips of the hands on you.

 "I'll make sure the normie stays in bed today, so she feels better tomorrow." Lucifer rolled his eyes at Levi's tantrum but nodded.

 “It is important that they stay healthy and do not miss too many classes. Please see that you do.”

 You thought that maybe Levi had meant it when he said he’d keep you in bed by the way he stomped out of your room after breakfast, but after an hour or so, a timid knock sounded from your door. Levi stood at the threshold, looking nervous.

 "You ready?" He couldn't meet your eyes, but you timidly reached for his hand, and he didn't pull away. The two of you walked the halls much like you had the night before, hand-in-hand and bashful. "I got a couple different ones for you to try on… I have a matching one for each cosplay… like a c-couple's cosplay." You thought you had seen the full range of red that Levi could display, but it seemed as if you had been wrong with how his face burned. You nodded, escaping to his bathroom to try the first one on. "I-I'll change out here!" He called after you.

 You examined yourself in the mirror as much as you could. All things considered, it could have been worse. All your bits were properly covered, and although you couldn't see too well from the waist-down, it didn't seem like the skirt was too short.

 You had barely stepped out of the bathroom when Levi suddenly appeared in front of you. He seemed frozen in time, taking in your figure with an ever-reddening face. You went to reach for him, but he crushed you to his chest, kissing you fervently. He pulled away panting. “I’m sorry… you just look too cute.” He allowed himself a touch to your cheek before he pulled away, but your hands tangled in his shirt. “P-please. I don’t know if I can control myself,” He covered his face with his hands as he whined, trying to distance himself from you.

 He was giving you a chance to go. To run, but you were still here, clinging to him. Why were you still here?

  He peeked through his fingers to see you standing before him, not even a step where he left you. His eyes roamed your figure like he was seeing you for the first time, stopping where your hem ended against your thigh. Your breath hitched as he took in the delicate lines of Belphie’s mark peeking out from the delicate fabric. Horror raced through your veins as you saw the red fade from his face only to be replaced by the look he sported during breakfast.

 Jealousy

 You took a step back as he approached, and another until your back hit the tank's glass wall. His arms caged you in, and he gave a hollow laugh.

 “I should be excited, it’s my first time actually kabedoning anyone, but for some reason I’m not happy about it.” You barely registered his shift, unable to tear yourself away from the look in his eyes. His tail wrapped around your bare thigh, tightening over Belphie’s mark before continuing its ascent. His eyes widened as the tip of his tail brushed over Asmo’s mark.

 "It's not fair," he whined, closing in on you. "I understood! You weren't going to be my Henry, but you were supposed to be my player two." The warmth of Levi's tail trailed over your panties, mixing with the icy chill of his eyes and sending a shiver through you. "Still you let them touch you, take you from me, it's not fair."

“L-Levi, I didn’t ask for this.” You trembled under his gaze.

 "Taking their older brother's things…" He tilted your head up with a firm grip on your chin. "I'm going to show you that you're mine." His tail slipped under your panties to rub against the slick, slowly accumulating, the tip of his tail curling gently around your clit as he kissed you.

 It was different from the kiss from last night, more malicious, but your head was full of soft, nervous Levi. You couldn’t help but give in as he bit at your lip, letting his tongue consume the moans falling from your mouth. His tail kept moving, eventually sliding into your heat with a lewd sound. You were filled so suddenly that you had a hard time keeping yourself upright, your legs shaking underneath you.

 Levi chuckled mirthlessly, grabbing at your arms to keep you from tumbling to a heap on the floor as his tail writhed within you. "Uwaah! It's just like in those H-games. Keep showing me that face." He quickly slid the fabric of your outfit under your chest, wasting no time in propping you against the cool wall so he could sink his fingers into each breast, his face joining soon after.

 It seemed the further he indulged himself, the more his jealousy faded. He might not have been the first to have you, but he at least got to have you like this, trembling as he smothered himself in your tits. He gave one nipple a gentle lick, testing the water as you squirmed, the mild pleasure mixing with the overpowering passion of his tail and coalescing in a rising heat in your stomach.

“I’m not going to stop until you make that face." He chuckled, enveloping a nipple with an amateur suck, too harsh and painful, but your body responded all the same. The sharp cry that left your mouth only pushed him further as he rolled and pinched the others in his fingers. The pain drug you further to your peak, and with a last thrust of his tail, you came.

 Levi watched you the whole time, enraptured as his tail worked faster to prolong your release. Your mouth fell open as your cries echoed through the room, and you could feel drool spilling out the side as he brought you to the edge over over-stimulation. Levi followed the trail from your chin to your lips with his tongue, giggling as he covered your mouth with his own.

 "So good, what a good kouhai I have." He picked you up easily, keeping his tail planted inside you as he walked the two of you over to the couch. The same one you spent the day on yesterday, watching anime and holding hands like first-crushes. He maneuvered your limp body over the arm of the couch, your bare breasts roughly rubbing against the coarse fabric. He flipped the skirt of the cosplay over your ass, clearly enjoying the sight of your tail-filled pussy covered by the wet fabric of your panties. You keened as he slowly removed his tail, enjoying the way you squirmed at the sensation.

 Once it was fully removed from you, he used his tail to rip your panties from your body, baring you to his sight. You weren't sure what embarrassed you more, the knowledge that sweet, nervous Levi was staring at your bare core or the obscene noises coming from the demon behind you. He wasted no time in pulling himself from his pants, palming himself with quick strokes before plunging into you. His tail had prepped you well, only the pleasure of being filled consumed you, causing you to arch off the couch.

 Levi was clearly inexperienced, his thrusts much too quick for your liking, but your body still hadn’t recovered. Bliss flowed through your veins unbidden, and you tried desperately to hide your reaction in the cushions. Levi didn’t seem to mind, gripping your hip and pushing down on the base of your spine to keep you pinned.

 “They got you first, used you like some toy, but I wonder if they got here too?” Levi’s obsessed voice drifted through your ears, but you were unable to decipher their meaning until you felt the tip of his tail trailing above your slit, circling the tight ring of muscle.

 “Levi, please-”You tried to plead with him, but before you could finish your sentence, his tail was breaching your ass.

 “Begging for me already? You really are the perfect little kouhai.” He ignored your struggling as he pumped his tail in and out of you, going further with each pass.

 "Please, it hurts, Levi!" You cried out. Levi chuckled, realizing his guess was correct: You hadn't been taken there, not yet.

 "Call me your senpai, and I might listen to you." He mocked, "But since I'm such a nice senpai, I'll help distract you from the pain until you get used to it. The hand on your spine heated, and you tensed for the pain you knew was coming.

 It seemed even worse this time, the pain traveling through your spine and spreading to every nerve throughout your body. You faintly recognized the moans drifting through the air as Levi's as your body tightened and locked up against the pain.

 Marked, again.

 At least Levi was true to his word, once the burn subsided, all you could feel was the bursting pleasure of Levi’s tail rubbing the thin tissue separating it from his cock pistoning in your heat. It was overpowering, feeling both at once. Each thrust made you more sensitive, and you could feel your mind start to fade as his dick and tail worked in tandem.

 “S-Senpai, please.” You had finally broken, bending to Levi’s will. Anything to get you just a little further, to let this pleasure finally crest.

 “Such a good little kouhai, cum for me.” He purred in your ear, spurred on by your words. He thrust into you mindlessly, losing himself in the tightening in your cunt. With a press to the still tender skin of your lower back, you came, clenching so sweetly around Levi’s dick that he had no choice but to follow you over the crest.

 He panted on top of you for what seemed to be hours. “My heart is beating so fast. You’re so cute like this, begging for me.” He talked about you like you were one of his idols, cooing over your every reaction. You felt exhausted, your limbs not responding to your urge to make them move. Levi seemed to prefer this, posing you on his lap when he plopped onto the couch as if nothing had happened. He fixed your hair and outfit with tender fingers, wiping your face until he deemed you satisfactory. Your stomach turned as he fidgeted with his DDD, opening the camera to snap a few pictures of the two of you in your cosplays.

 You only hoped that no one noticed the fucked out look on your face, and that the cum you felt seeping onto your thighs wasn’t visible.

taglist: @marvel-imagines-yes-please @johannakhalafalla

[lauras-collection]

missed opportunities ⭐︎ h.o.

Harrison Osterfield x Reader

Summary: You’re a living high school cliche having a crush on one of your closest friends, and despite him giving you more than one reason to think he might feel the same, you don’t do anything about it.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, angst, pining, don’t be fooled there’s gonna be pure fith in part 2 :D

A/N: my first Harrison fic is here!! I’m not a 100% happy yet but i’m running out of time :D let me know what you think.

I’ll reblog with my taglist later today or tomorrow! ❤️

People say you only regret the things you didn’t do. And you agree with that whole heartedly. It’s been years since you graduated high school, but you still think back to that time and wonder what if.

What if you had told Harrison you liked him as more than a friend? What if you had just let him kiss you that one time? What if, contrary to what you thought back in the day, your pining wasn’t one sided and he actually felt the same? 

*

It all started with him sending you winks from across the classroom and sharing the muffin he brought for lunch with you. You didn't really think anything of it at first. Harrison was a flirty person and he’d never been on your radar as anything other than your friend. Not even when he gave you your first kiss during a game of spin the bottle when you were 14. 

But then suddenly you're constantly thinking about him and blushing at whatever cocky remark left his pretty mouth. You were confused by your own feelings. You never expected to develop a crush on your friend and you couldn't stop analysing the little moments you shared with him. Even years later.

Like that time he gently helped you detangle your hair from a hair-tie, his face so close you would’ve only had to lean forward the tiniest bit to kiss him or every time he’d run his fingertips over your forearm during class, gently caressing you as if you were a fragile vase he was afraid of breaking but couldn’t keep his hands away from. 

You always thought those moments were just significant for you. Not for him. The more certain you became about your own feelings, the more you told yourself that what you were feeling for him was completely one-sided.

It’s only when you're looking back that you realise he might have felt the same. But if your insecurities weren’t already enough to stop you from doing anything about it, the moment Harrison showed up with a girlfriend was reason enough for you to take a step back.

You had clearly interpreted too much into his little acts of kindness. Why else would he show up to this party with his arm around Becca? To say you were in a sour mood all evening would be an understatement. But Tom and Harrison weren’t the only ones who could act, so when Harrison introduced her to you, you put a smile on your face and told her it was nice to meet her. And it was, she was nice. And they looked good together. But the way he gazed down at her made you feel sick.

Your heartbeat was pulsing in your ears and you just wanted to get out of this conversation. You couldn’t bare the sight of him pull her close. 

Using your empty drink as an excuse, you finally managed to get away. You grabbed another beer from the kitchen and found a quiet place somewhere in the backyard, allowing yourself to wallow in self pity for a few moments.   

But the universe didn’t grant you much peace. 

“Hey, why’re you sitting out here all alone?” none other than Harrison pulled you from your thoughts. You didn’t turn around to look at him, afraid he’d be able to read you like a book. You shrugged your shoulders as he sat down next to you on the edge of the patio. 

“Just wanted a moment for myself.” You mumbled and then finally brought yourself to look at him. “What’s up? Why’re you out here with me and not with your girl, huh?” You nudged his shoulder with yours and force out a laugh. Harrison let his head fall between his shoulders and chuckled.

Instead of answering your question he asked one himself. “So what do you think? D’you like her?” He turned to look at you, his brows a little furrowed. You didn’t know why, but it seemed like your opinion of her mattered to him. You weren’t going to talk bad about her just because you wanted him. It wouldn’t change the fact that he wasn’t interested in you. And you couldn’t deny that she seemed to be a good person. You could see why Harrison liked her.

“Yeah, she’s nice.” You give him a smile. “Very cute.” You nudge his shoulder again. “I’m happy for you, Harrison.” And you were, or you tried to be. 

“Thanks.” He whispered, a small smile on his face. Then he turned to look at you again. “So, do you have your eyes on anyone? Want me to play wingman?” He wiggled his eyebrows and you have to roll your eyes. 

“Not really, no. Besides, the one I want is taken.” You hold your breath for a moment your eyes locked on Harrison’s. Did you really just say that? What if he reads between the lines and makes the connection? Maybe a small part of you wanted him to.

He’s quiet for a moment, then opens his mouth to say something but the sound of the door opening interrupts him.

“Here you guys are!” Tom exclaimed “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” He crouched down behind you and Harrison throwing one of his arms around each of you. “You’re aware the party is inside, right?” He looks between the both of you. 

“Yeah, yeah Tom. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” You laughed as you got up. “I just wanted a moment to myself, but that seems to be impossible with you two divs around.” You placed your hands on your hips ignoring Harrison’s gaze that felt like it was burning holes through your skin. “So are we going inside to party, or what?” 

Tom threw his arm around your shoulder again. “Now that Harrison and I are both taken men, we need to find someone for you.” He poked his finger against your chest a few times.

You rolled your eyes again and pushed Tom off of you. “What is it with newly in love people wanting to set their single friends up? I’m good, you guys.” Mumbling, you add “Feelings are stupid anyways.” Before the boys can say anything about it you slip through the door, back inside where it was too loud to have a conversation. 

*

At some point you had gotten used to Harrison having a girlfriend. That didn’t mean your feelings for him went away, though. Your heartbeat still skyrocketed whenever he looked at you in that special way that was just so Harrison, the corners of his lips pulled into a little smirk and his eyes glinting with mischief.

You had tried to shove your feelings for him in a box and put them away somewhere deep in your subconscious, but you couldn’t stop the fluttering feeling in your chest whenever you touched him, or the sharp pain in your heart when you saw him with Becca. 

“What do you say, boys? We go back to my place and watch another movie?” You asked as you exited the cinema, your breath creating little clouds in the cold December air. 

“I can’t” Tom sighed “I promised Mel I’d go over to her place after the movie.” 

“Oh, bummer. What about you, Haz?” You turned to the blonde who had just pulled a beanie over his head, his dark blonde curls sticking out of it in the most adorable way.

“Yeah, I’m game. As long as we don’t watch another one of those romantic comedies.” 

“You’re no fun!” Laughing, you pushed him playfully before shoving your hands into your coat pockets. You said goodbye to Tom and started your walk home. 

Even though it wasn’t far you felt the cold creep into your bones, the tips of your ears already numb.

“You don’t happen to have another beanie with you, do you?” You asked pulling your shoulders up in hopes of keeping the little warmth you still had. 

“Are you cold?” 

“Yeah.” Your teeth were already chattering. You had a habit of not dressing right for the weather, and today was no exception. Harrison was quick to pull the beanie off his head before halting you with a hand on your shoulder. He stepped in front of you, placing the beanie over your head, tugging at the sides a little before he was happy with the position. You immediately relished the heat that the beanie was giving off. But your cheeks warmed for a complete different reason. Harrison was standing only a few inches in front of you, his hands now on your shoulders as he looked at you with a grin.

“Cute. You’d definitely win the who wore it better contest.” He gave your shoulders a squeeze before you both continued walking. 

When you arrived, you reluctantly handed the beanie back over to Harrison with a thank you. As much as you wanted to hold on to it. It wasn’t right. Maybe if you had been his girlfriend, you would’ve sneakily kept it. But that title belonged to someone else. 

Now you were sprawled out on your bed with an action movie that Harrison had picked playing on the tv. You were laying on your side while Harrison was perpendicular to you, his head resting against your belly and his long legs dangling off the edge of the bed. You weren’t really paying attention to the movie, too in your head about the position you were in, aware of every spot of your body that was in contact with Harrison’s. It took everything in you not to reach out and run your fingers through his hair.  

“Hey, Y/N?” 

“Hm?”

“D’you think I should break up with Becca?” His question came out of nowhere. And you had to pull yourself together for a moment.

“Why are you asking me that?” You were asking him two questions at the same time. 1) Why are you asking me that and 2) Why are you asking me that. 

“Dunno, I just-“ He turned to look at you, and you were hyper aware of his touch again.  “I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, I like her. And these past couple months have been nice. But something doesn’t feel right.” 

You blew out your cheeks and released the air with a slow breath. 

“I’m not sure I’m the right person to answer that question. As cliche as it sounds, you should to what your heart tells you.” Now you were the one to shrug your shoulders. You didn’t want to be selfish and tell him to break up with Becca. You didn’t know why he was asking you this in the first place. Maybe he wanted to break up with her but wasn’t sure about it? Did he just want someone to give him the courage? And why was he asking you out of all people? Why didn’t he ask Tom? 

“But I don’t know what my heart is telling me.” He looked at you desperately and you felt a wave of anger breaking the surface. Because you knew what, or rather who, your heart wanted. And he was right here, leaning against you, asking you for relationship advice. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Haz.” You grumbled. “If you don’t want to be with her anymore, break up. It’s as easy as that.” You bit your cheek before you could let anything slip that would hint at your feelings for him. You were surprised he hadn’t already picked up on it. Maybe he had and was sparing you the embarrassment.

*

Not long after that conversation Harrison broke up with Becca. But you didn’t really feel the relief you had expected. Yes, Harrison was single again but that didn’t change anything between the two of you. 

At least not until a few weeks later when you were at yet another party. Harrison was drunk. He’d taken part in one too many drinking games. Leaning against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest, you watched him in amusement as he moved his lanky body to the music, doing cliche and overused dance moves just to make you laugh. And he succeeded. When he saw you chuckling he pretended to throw a lasso, ‘catching’ you with it. With a groan you do him the favour and unenthusiastically walk closer to him. He wraps his arms around your body, swaying you from side to side. All you could do was laugh, your arms pinned between you, your hands resting against his chest. 

“C’mon, Y/N, dance with me.” He chuckled, his chest rumbling under your hands. You swear your brain short circuited for a moment. 

“You call this dancing?” Instead of answering Harrison buried his face in the crook of your neck, goosebumps immediately covering your whole body at having him so close. You stayed like that for a bit before you had to detangle yourself from him. You weren’t sure you would survive tonight if he kept holding you like that. So you found a seat on the sofa to sit down while Harrison found himself another drink. You should’ve probably stopped him from drinking even more, but you were too preoccupied with getting your heart rate back to normal. You didn’t even realise when Harrison came back from the kitchen. 

“Hey.” He sat down on the coffee table in front of you, caging your legs in-between his, the denim of his jeans rubbing against the exposed skin of your thighs. He drunkenly smiled at you with glossy eyes, his face so close you could have counted his lashes. 

“Hey.” Your voice was a small whisper, overwhelmed by his proximity. Suddenly you felt his hand on your knee, your skin burning at the touch. His curls tickled your forehead and the tip of his nose touched yours. Your lips started tingling with anticipation. Your hand found his, that was still resting on your knee, as if it had a mind on its own. His fingers effortlessly tangled with your own.

“Harrison.” You pressed out. “You’re drunk.” There was nothing you wanted more than for him to kiss you. But not like this. Not when he was so drunk he could barely stand straight. Because you were sure that when he was sober tomorrow, he wouldn’t remember. Or worse, he’d regret it. 

Harrison leaned back and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “You’re right. And you” He pointed his finger at you “are not drunk enough.” With that he detangled his hand from yours and got up from the coffee table making his way to the kitchen. You followed him with your eyes, watching as he ran a hand through his hair before vanishing in the crowd of people. You let out a breath and buried your face in your hands. 

Looking back now, you always wonder if you should’ve let him kiss you. If that would’ve changed anything. But you had been too much of a coward. Too scared you would ruin your friendship. But now you didn’t even have that anymore, so what was holding back good for? Nothing. Nothing but the big old what if.  

-

second chances 

[pepethehobbit]

A Second Chance

Based on this gifset by @azozzoni .The dialogue between Jens and Lucas at the start is completely taken from the gifset. (Thank you for inspiring me to write this and for allowing me to post this! I hope you like it!)

Also on ao3.

“So now you finally know what it's like to be stood up. About time someone is making you check your ego,” Robbe says cheekily. It's accompanied with a gentle push of Jens' shoulder, probably in an attempt to lighten Jens' mood.

It's not working.

Jens simply scoffs and looks back down to his text messages with Lucas. His last one still unanswered even though he send it on Friday, three days ago now. He is staring at it maybe in hopes of Lucas finally texting back. All it does though is stare back at him, mocking him for his hope.  

You could've at least send a text.

But Lucas didn't. There has been nothing but radio silence on Lucas' end for the whole weekend. The whole weekend Jens fought with the urge to send another one, wanting to ask him why he didn't just say no, why he agreed to a date when Jens had finally collected his courage to ask him out, after weeks of what Jens thought was mutual flirting. Not only that but Lucas' confirmation came with an excited nod of his head and an elated smile, that made his ocean eyes shine with anticipation.

He was so excited when Lucas has actually said yes, so happy that he didn't read the signs wrong, that the little dance around each other and all those stolen glances meant something, that Lucas was actually interested in him. Jens feels so stupid. Whatever feelings made him say yes must've vanished in the meantime or, as Jens has not allowed himself to really think about, must've simply never existed.

The first half an hour he was a little worried but still chill, Jens doesn't have the best track record with punctuality either. At the forty five minute mark he started to worry a little more and had send the first text, asking him if he was okay, if something happened. When he didn't get an answer to that after another hour Jens had finally accepted that Lucas simply wouldn't come, that he has been stood up. Which is when he send that last text.

He called Robbe instead, who immediately picked up with worry in his voice, knowing that Jens was supposed to be on a date with the boy who his best friend couldn't stop talking about in the last few weeks. They had a good old fashioned sleep over and even with Sander there, it was exactly what Jens needed to not wallow in self pity. He really, really liked Lucas. When he first saw him enter the classroom, introduced by the teacher as a new student from Utrecht, he felt this inexplicable pull and this inability to take his eyes off him. His pulse quickened when those eyes were set on him and a tiny, surprised smile pulled at the corner of Lucas' mouth.

The rational side of Jens can't make sense of it, especially when his brain supplies with him with enough memories of Lucas that made him so sure that there was something between them. The blush on the other boy's cheek when Jens had reached out to tuck that one curl behind his ear, claiming that he had something in his hair. The way Lucas' hand would brush against his one too many times to be a coincidence. The compliments that Lucas would accept freely and give back with a smile that made Jens want to kiss it off. That one time he almost did.

He is too lost in his thoughts to notice someone approach until he hears Robbe's voice next to him: “Look who's coming this way. The boy who broke Jens' hea-” Jens quickly slaps Robbe's arm to stop him from finishing that sentence. There is no way that Lucas needs to know how hurt he was by him.

Jens has a hard time trying to figure out what Lucas' expression could mean. He looks apprehensive, as if not sure what to do or say now that he is actually in front of Jens. What he settles on only infuriates Jens a little bit more. If only because the answer to the question is most definitely yes, despite how much Jens tried to forget about Lucas over the weekend.

“Hey, you miss me?”

Jens doesn't give him anything, tries to keep his reaction to a minimum. He raises his drink to his mouth and takes a sip, letting Lucas cook in the uncomfortable tension between them.

“I'm sorry I didn't come the other day. I can explain.”

At this point, Jens' disappointment, anger and wounded pride prevent him from actually wanting to know the explanation. He also doesn't want Lucas to think he still cares. It would be nice if he could convince himself of that as well.

“No need. I get it,” Jens says, voice cold and final. The pained look on Lucas' face momentarily makes him want to take his words back. But the memory of waiting for him in the skate park for nearly two hours makes him stick to his decision.

Lucas holds his gaze for a few more seconds, looking defeated and sad and Jens nearly breaks. But then he simply turns around and walks away. Jens watches his retreating form with a thoughtful expression, still fighting between the feeling of having done the right thing and the regret for not letting Lucas explain.

Robbe's “Maybe you should hear him out” is not really helping him sort through his confused feelings. “Shut up, Robbe,” Jens replies more irritated than he meant to.

“Jens, he looked really–”

“No, Robbe. Just drop it. I don't wanna talk about it anymore. Are we going to skate or what?”

His best friend eyes him with a concerned expression, probably considering if it is a good idea to push right now. He must decide against it because he simply shrugs his shoulders, sets down his board and skates off, looking over his shoulder to check if Jens is joining him. Jens tries to shake off his confusing feelings and follows his best friend.

* * *

It's only in the evening when Robbe has already gone off to his date with Sander that he sees the messages. He wishes his best friend would still be here, so he could advice him what to make of it.

Jens, I'm really sorry.

Please give me another chance.

I swear I can explain, something happened but I don't want to tell you over text.

He sounds sincere enough, but what could've happened that he can't just explain over text? Admitting that he simply doesn't feel like that about Jens would probably be easier to text. Cowardly, but easier. So maybe it's not that? Maybe he is saying the truth and something did really happen. But again, he couldn't even write one single text message for the whole duration of the weekend to explain or even apologize?

Either way, the regret of not letting Lucas explain has won over the certainty of having made the right choice since the skate park. If Lucas is as sincere as his message seems to be he deserves a chance to explain and after some consideration Jens is willing to give him one. He just hopes Lucas doesn't break his heart a second time.

Tomorrow after school?

The answer comes immediately, even though Jens has responded nearly five hours after Lucas' initial message.

Thank you, Jens! I hope you can forgive me.

Part of him hopes the same thing and an even smaller part, not ready to be acknowledged or questioned, tells him that he already did.  

* * *

It was nerve wrecking seeing Lucas at school the next day. They only have one class together so at least that made it easier to avoid him until the end of school today. But during that one hour Jens was so distracted by the presence of the other boy just two tables ahead of him that he has a hard time even recalling the topic they were talking about. It didn't help at all that Lucas has turned around to Jens every few minutes, catching him stare at him every time. Lucas had send him a shy smile the third time it happened and Jens was too weak to look away until the teacher called on him and he was at a loss of words. He tried his best to ignore Lucas the rest of the lesson after that.

When the last bell of the day rings, Jens reluctantly gets up from his seat next to Robbe, who sends him an encouraging smile and says: “It's the right choice Jens. Everybody fucks up sometime. He seems honest, I don't think he would have stoop you up if he didn't have a very good reason. I've seen the way he looks at you. There is no way that he didn't want to go on that date with you.”

It does little to actually settle his nerves but it does give him hope. Robbe has always been way too perceptive for his own good and he trusts his best friend's intuition more than his own right now. “Thanks, Robbe,” Jens replies, his voice stronger than he expected considering his nerves. He doesn't even know why he is that nervous. All he has to do is listen to Lucas' explanation and decide if he wants to forgive him.

Robbe nudges his elbow into his side and nods towards the school gate, where Lucas is already standing, looking over at them, fidgeting with the sleeves of his pink jumper which stick out under his jean jacket. He seems even more nervous and that actually helps Jens to calm down a little bit. At least he is not in the position where he has to explain himself. He simply has to listen.

Jens turns to Robbe, says his goodbyes and makes his way over to Lucas, his pulse quickening with every step he gets closer to him. Once he reaches him he doesn't know how to start this conversation but he also thinks that maybe this isn't his responsibility right now. He looks at Lucas expectantly, raises his eyebrows, silently asking him to begin.

“Can we not talk here? We could go to the little park around the corner?” Lucas asks timidly, still fidgeting with his hands, avoiding Jens' gaze. Jens would actually rather not, would like to know sooner rather than later, but he guesses somewhere more private would be more comfortable for both of them. “Sure, lead the way.”

The walk there is unsurprisingly very silent. What is surprising though, is that it's not entirely uncomfortable or awkward. Jens did not realize just how much he missed just being in Lucas' proximity. He was in general a very chill person but, as every ordinary person, still had thoughts and  anxieties haunting him. When he had spend time with Lucas though, his mind was completely quiet. With Lucas everything had felt so easy and uncomplicated and sure. Well, until now. Even though the silence is not uncomfortable, it isn't exactly comforting either, making Jens' thoughts race with possibilities of what Lucas is about to explain to him.

Lucas is leading them to a swing set and sits down on one of the seats, swaying back and forth with his feet on the ground. He looks up at Jens and motions him to sit down next to him on the other swing. Jens does, wanting to turn towards Lucas but choosing against it, thinking maybe it would make it easier for him to tell him, if he doesn't feel like Jens is watching him, maybe choosing the swing set for this exact reason.

“My mom is ill. She has bipolar disorder.”

Whatever Jens was expecting, it definitely wasn't this. Before Sander and Moyo and Robbe, he may have reacted differently, but he learned through them and has at least an idea what this actually means. Lucas has never mentioned his mom before, Jens notices now, not once in the four weeks they know each other now. He only knows that he moved here with his father and he figured if Lucas would want to talk about his mother he would someday tell him. A vague idea is developing in his head about how this relates to their situation now and he feels a sense of regret for how he reacted when Lucas first came to explain. But it's clear to see that the last thing Lucas needs right now is to make it about Jens.

“Okay. And how is she now?”

Lucas turns to him, seeming surprised at that reaction. “Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah, Moyo's mom is bipolar, Sander too. I thought he already told you?” Lucas turns away from Jens again, seeming confused and caught off guard at the revelation. Jens gives him a minute to adjust this to the picture of Sander he is sure Lucas already had in his mind. Out of all the brothers Sander was probably the one closest to him (excluding Jens). “No, he didn't,” Lucas simply states, seeming a bit lost now.

“So, how is your mom?” Jens asks, trying to get the conversation to what is was originally about. Lucas looks up with a calculating gaze as if to try and figure out what to make of Jens' reaction.

“She had a manic episode on Friday. She called me and from the sound of her voice alone I could already tell that she was manic. But what she said made me freak out even more. She said that she misses me, that she doesn't have a car right now but that she could simply walk to Antwerp, that she only called to let me know that she was on her way. I…, I managed to avert her from that idea, promising her that I would make my way over there right now. By the time I arrived she was mostly out of it, but… but then the depression has already hit. Harder than I have ever seen with her before. I tried to take care of her as much as I could but I just … I just couldn't do it alone and I had to call the hospital where she had already stayed once. They came to pick her up on Sunday which is when I went back to Antwerp. I just left her there all alone.”

Lucas' voice sounds thick and heavy with emotions and when Jens looks up, his eyes are filled with  tears, not yet ready to fall. A heavy feeling overcomes Jens, seeing Lucas so sad and overwhelmed with guilt. He wants to reach out, comfort him in any way but he is not sure if Lucas needs that right now. Instead, he tries to recall a conversation he had with Moyo once.

“Lucas, it's not your responsibility to take care of your mother. You did the best you could do in a situation you shouldn't even be put in. I'm sure your mom knows that and wouldn't want you to beat yourself up about something that isn't even your fault. You could not have prevented your mom from getting an episode.”

“It is my fault though, Jens. Don't you understand? She had a manic episode because of me, because she missed me and because I haven't been there to take care of her when she needs me. I –”

The tears have started to roll down Lucas' face. Jens reaches across the distance to take Lucas' hand in his, making him stop mid-sentence, eyes shining with vulnerability.

“Luc. Stop.” Jens tries to make his voice soft and understanding, but firm enough that his words will get through to Lucas. “She is not your job. She is your mom. You shouldn't have to be there just in case she has an episode. It's her illness, not yours. Whatever triggered her episode, it wasn't your fault. You shouldn't be her caretaker.”

Lucas meets his gaze, looking conflicted and looks down again at where Jens rests his hand on his. Jens is about to take his hand away, interpreting this look as discomfort but then Lucas is slowly turning his hand around so they lay palm to palm and gently intertwines their fingers. He shudders at the cold feeling of Lucas' simple silver ring on his skin and his heart starts beating faster but he simply squeezes Lucas' hand softly and sends him a reassuring smile.

“That's what Kes is always saying,” Lucas admits quietly and with his free hand he brushes away the fallen tears on his cheek. Jens smiles at that, who knew Lucas could be this stubborn.

“And we are both very right. This is too much for any teenager to handle.” This wins Jens a soft scoff but there is also a small smile tugging at Lucas' lips so he counts that as a victory.

“How do you know so much about this?”

Jens thinks about how much he wants to say because it doesn't really portray him from his best side but Lucas has been so honest with him and it's the least he could be in return. “Well, I don't know if you know this, but last year Robbe's mom got admitted into a mental health facility. It was pretty bad, I think even worse for Robbe. He had to stay over at my place a lot of times, even before that happened and even though we spend a lot of time together, I didn't really…, well I didn't really notice how much Robbe was suffering. And then the shit with Sander happened and I realized what a shitty friend I have been the last year or so. And then when Moyo told us that his mom is also bipolar I was so shocked that I didn't even know that about one of my best friends. I tried my best to make up for that, tried to show my support, googled a lot and asked Moyo if I could ask him some questions. He basically told me what I told you.”

Lucas' prolonged silence is making him a bit anxious and when he is finally meeting his gaze he looks at him with an expression Jens is not sure how to interpret. But then Lucas smiles fondly, squeezes his hand and says: “You are an amazing friend, Jens.”

Jens has to duck his head to hide the small smile, pleased that Lucas still sees him like this. He has never been good at accepting genuine compliments, ones that are about his personality instead of his appearance. Mostly because he is probably still struggling with the guilt of not being there for his best friend and the whole mess with Jana. “Thanks,” he mumbles softly.

Lucas doesn't respond and the silence stretches on for a few peaceful minutes. They swing gently back and force on the swing, both of them seeming to have no intention of letting go of the other's hand.

“I'm sorry for how I reacted when you came to talk to me yesterday. I should've let you explain. I was…, well, I guess my pride was quite hurt that you stood me up,” Jens admits after a while with a small deprecating laugh and looks over at Lucas even though he is worried about the reaction.

“Jens, you have no idea how much I wanted to go on that date with you. I was over the moon when you asked me. Believe me, the last thing I wanted was to ghost you, I'm the one who is supposed to apologize here,” Lucas says disbelieving, as if Jens doubting Lucas' feelings for him was the most stupidest thing he heard today.

It makes Jens smile uncontrollably, unable to hide it away from Lucas fast enough. He gets up from the swing to stand in front of Lucas, takes his other hand in his as well and pulls at his arms, motioning Lucas to stand up. Lucas looks up at him smiling but with questioning eyes. Jens simply pulls again and doesn't step back when Lucas enters his space. Their faces are close and Jens is tempted to close the distance when his eyes track the motion of Lucas's lips falling open slightly. But then he tears his eyes away from Lucas's lips and moves on to his eyes. They are still a bit wet from the tears and it makes his blue eyes sparkle like sunlight on a clear mountain lake.

“So, about that date. Wanna have a second chance at that tomorrow?” He can see Lucas trace the movement of his lips with his eyes and it makes Jens' pulse quicken. When Lucas finally meets his gaze again he looks hypnotized and a little breathless he asks: “Sorry, what did you say?” It makes Jens laugh, happiness overflowing with how obviously Lucas is distracted by him. He is scared that Lucas is hurt by the laugh he couldn't stop from bubbling out of him but he just looks up at him with a smile that is so beautiful it makes Jens' heart skip a beat. He lets go of one of Lucas' hand to brush a stray curl away from his face and it has the desired effect of the lovely blush spreading over Lucas' cheeks.

“Do you want to go on a date with me tomorrow?” Jens repeats and lets his hand fall to back of Lucas' neck, gently caressing him with his thumb. The smile he gets in return is almost as blinding as the very first time he asked Lucas that question. It makes Jens feel giddy with anticipation.

“Yes. I absolutely want to go on a date with you tomorrow,” Lucas answers and even though Jens was pretty confident that the answer would be yes, the actual confirmation makes him even giddier. This time it's his eyes that can't leave Lucas' lips and he finds himself closing the distance as if pulled in by an irresistible force. Jens' nose brushes against Lucas' and he feels his eyes fluttering shut when he feels a warm gush of breath across his lips. The moment their lips finally touch Jens lets out a quiet satisfied sigh and he barely has time to feel embarrassed about it, because Lucas simply puts his arms around Jens' shoulders and pulls him even closer. The movement of his lips against Jens' is soft yet urgent, careful yet demanding and Jens melts into his arms. He buries his hand in Lucas' hair and gives it an experimental little pull. The reaction he gets nearly makes Jens forget that they are still in public. And even though the playground is empty he gives Lucas a few lingering pecks before he takes a step back, ignoring the quiet sound of protest from the other boy, moving the hand from Lucas' hair to gently stroke his cheekbone.

He can barely take his eyes of Lucas' kiss swollen lips but he knows that he should go now, otherwise he won't have the strength to let go of Lucas. “I should go,” he whispers quietly into the little space between their mouths. It looks like Lucas wants to protest but then he purely gives him a last gentle kiss, nothing more than a soft press of lips and steps out of Jens hold. “I'll see you tomorrow then?”

Jens smiles and nods, takes a step back as well, their hands still holding on to each other not wanting to let go. With each step back he feels their palms sliding together, then their fingers and lastly their thumbs before Jens pulls back for good, making him trip a little bit on his last step back. He sends Lucas a giddy smile, not feeling even slightly embarrassed and Lucas lets out a small huff of laughter, shaking his head slightly before he turns his back on Jens and walks in the direction they came from. Jens watches Lucas' retreating back for a few more seconds before he makes his way home as well. Somehow, he can't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

[sakamakisaywhat]

can you do hc for kou , shu , ruki , subaru , yuma ,and ayato when their s / o seems depressed and quiet and they try to cheer her up

SHU

- Shu is pretty perceptive in most situations and if you’re being quieter than usual he’ll mostly notice it instantly - He’ll point it out pretty bluntly though - “Hey... you’re so silent. It’s weird. What’s wrong with you?” - At first he might brush it off, thinking that you’re sulking, but Shu would realise something really is wrong when you don’t respond to his teasing with one of your usual witty remarks - If the cause of your depression is obvious, while Shu won’t go out of his way to help while you’re watching, you’re likely to find that it mysteriously... vanishes within the next few hours - However, if it’s something Shu really can’t solve, he’d comfort you by offering you companionship - “You’re quiet enough, so come and sit with me. Just this once, I won’t mind if you put on a movie or something.” - Before you know it you’ll be snuggled up in Shu’s arms - Shu would secretly be pretty eager to make you feel better - Don’t tell anyone, but he misses your noise and chatter - even if he insists it’s ‘annoying’

AYATO

- Ayato might not notice your change in demeanour straight away, but he’d definitely notice it when he tries to chase you or suck your blood and you don’t resist at all - “Titless, what’s with you? Has something happened?” - Ayato will basically prod you incessantly until you confess the reason for your sadness - Despite his usual attitude, Ayato is... surprisingly empathetic and willing to help, even if he only knows how to suggest things that make him feel better - “Oh. That’s pretty bad, huh. Wanna go eat takoyaki or somethin’? Or should I suck your blood? I dunno, that always makes you feel better.” - If your situation is a bit too complex to be solved by takoyaki, Ayato would initially be stumped on what to do - But, just like in most situation where you’re not feeling your best, everything can be solved with a good laugh - Ayato is naturally a bit of a prankster so this is where he really shines when trying to cheer you up - It’s what he always did for himself when he felt down as a kid, so a few jokes and you’re feeling a bit more like yourself again 

SUBARU

- Subaru has a lot of emotions, like, a lot - He’s no stranger to feeling down and depressed himself, but he’s not quite sure how to handle it when he finds you in your room with your eyes red from crying - “Shit, I knew you weren’t acting like yourself today. Why didn’t I pay any attention?” - Usually Subaru kind of wallows in his feelings until they go away (or don’t), but he wouldn’t like to see you be emotionally hurt like that - He’d ask you what the problem is, and even if you declined to answer, then ask you what he can do to make you feel better - Subaru is young though, and a bit clumsy, so have patience with him - “I-I heard this thing happens to girls every month - oh, it’s not that? Well, uh, d’you want a hug or somethin’?” - When you nod sadly, before you can blink the two of you are curled up in his coffin together, your head tucked into his chest - Subaru would let you cry and vent your feelings to him as much as you needed - If you needed to work through your emotions physically Subaru would be more than happy to help you, whether that would be through a walk in the gardens or some more intense exercise - He also silently resolves that whoever or whatever caused this episode will be found dead in a ditch by the end of next week

RUKI

- Ruki might call you Livestock, but it has to be said that he’s an attentive master - You might not notice but he pays attention to even the subtlest of changes in your behaviour, whether that’s in bed or life in general - He might come off a little cold or intimidating, but that’s just Ruki for you - “Livestock, I’ve noticed you aren’t eating as well today. Care to share your thoughts?” - When you just silently shake your head, Ruki takes that as something of a personal challenge to get the information out of you - “Remember, the problem can only be fixed if you share it with me. Tell me what’s on your mind, and I’ll reward you.” - When you eventually spill the beans, Ruki will spring into action - He’d praise you for sharing your emotional troubles with him and reward you with kisses and his undivided attention - However, once you fall asleep beside him, he’ll start to take some different steps - Whether the cause of your sadness is a person or an event, you’ll wake up with the difficulty totally resolved - Ruki is nothing if not efficient, and when it comes to you, quite ruthlessly so

KOU

- Kou figures out you’re not yourself so quickly, it’s almost like he can read your emotions - No, really, he can, so there’s no point trying to hide it from him - Kou comes off as a happy-go-lucky guy, but he’s got a past that has given him a deep understanding of the dark places a person’s mind can go - His first instinct is to cheer you up the traditional way: jokes, words of reassurance, and copious amounts of affection - His concern for you could even become a little suffocating - “Are you feeling okay, M-Neko-chan? Should I send my agent to get us some ice cream? Wanna watch that chick flick on TV tonight?” - You might have to remind him that you just need a little calm, but Kou’s gestures are so insistent you find yourself with a tub of chocolate ice cream on your lap anyway - He’ll pester you all night until he sees a smile on your face again, no matter how much effort that requires - “Cheer up, M-Neko-chan. You’ve always got me!” - He might even offer to send his legions of fan girls to hunt down anyone that’s hurt you, but you might not want to take him up on that - conspiracy to murder might hurt his image as an idol

YUMA

- When you’re with Yuma, he’ll probably be ordering you around from the moment you open your eyes in the morning - What clues him into your emotional state is the fact that you don’t respond with your usual sassy retorts - you just get up, get dressed and get to work in the garden - Needless to say he’s shocked and also kind of terrified - “Oi, Sow. You feelin’ okay? Maybe you should take a break. You’re not even payin’ attention. Go take a breather, you’re just gonna ruin the tomatoes if you keep doin’ it halfheartedly like that.” - If you refuse to go inside, Yuma will take matters into his own hands by picking you up and putting you there himself - When you start to cry he’ll wrap a strong arm around you and push a sugar cube into your mouth - Yuma isn’t great at comforting people with his words, but his gestures more than make up for it - “What the fuck’s happened, huh? Some kid at school or somethin’ else? Whatever it is, I’ll fuckin’ destroy it.” - You might have to remind him that depression is kind of an abstract concept that can’t be punched - Regardless, his threats make you smile, and Yuma will give you special attention for the rest of the day to ensure you’re up to your best again by tomorrow

[esmealux]

The Devil Doesn’t Do Children

Part: 3 / ?

Setting: About a year after 5a

Word count: 3.9K

Rating: T

Warnings: There’s a flashback to their first night together which is not exactly graphic but not entirely innocent either. Skip if you like.

Summary: ‘Yes, well, colour us both fooled, Detective,” he cuts her off, “because based on some deduction I did today, and a not entirely ludicrous theory Linda had, it might be, in fact, possible. And I… I need to know for sure, so,’—he nudges the small package further in her direction and looks back up at her with pleading eyes—‘would you care for a wee?’

Author’s note: This is all I have for now, but I’ve already got some ideas for a part 4, so stay tuned. I would love to hear your honest feedback on this and/or your wishes for what the next part should contain. (Second time posting this part, because I accidentally reported my own post and then tumblr took it down (*cosmic face palm*) — and it’d even gotten more notes than any of my other pieces and some really heart-warming comments. Alas. They can’t be deleted from my heart.)

It’s not exactly unlike Lucifer to disappear for half a day—still, it makes Chloe anxious, and she doesn’t like wasting her energy on being anxious. When she had checked if he had answered any of her calls or texts for the fifty-sixth time in an hour, Chloe had put her phone in a Tupperware, placed it on the kitchen counter and retreated to the couch with a glass of wine. She knew he would come back; he always did. But until he did, she would need a 16% Zinfandel. God knows she deserved it after a day like today.

Even wrapped in a plaid and with candles lit around her, she’d still felt restless. The wine hadn’t calmed her nerves quickly enough. She hadn’t been in the mood for watching TV or putting on her usual pick-me-up playlist—instead, she’d felt an urge to do something she rarely had time for. With her wine glass in hand, she’d gone to the bookshelf, her free hand instinctively reaching for the photo album with ‘November 2007 - May 2008’ scrawled on the back. She’d dusted it off, sat down on the couch again and carefully opened it, as if the photos she knew it held might fly out like butterflies freed from a cage.

She flips through the pages. Nostalgia flutters in her chest and her head is now comfortably fuzzy from the wine. Most of the pictures in the first half of the album are candid shots of her and Dan, together and alone. From January and onwards, the ones of her are mostly taken from her chest and up. She hadn’t wanted her body to be documented, having felt self-conscious and uncomfortable, and most of all big. Now that the bump has turned into a strong and independent teenager, she wishes she’d wallowed in it a little more, enjoyed it while it lasted. She’s proud of Trixie, of who she has become, and it is nice to do some things with her now they couldn’t do when she was small. But sometimes, just once in a blue moon, a part of Chloe kinda longs for the time when they were inseparable; when she could carry Trixie on her hip; when they would play hide ’n’ seek in their old garden; when she could feel her little monkey snuggle into her side as they both fell asleep. The latter still happens sometimes, but the once little monkey has now outgrown her soft polar bear PJ, and her hair doesn’t smell like baby anymore.

Chloe has just reached the end of February when there’s a rhythmic knock on the door. Sighing at her guest’s unnecessary (albeit heart-warmingly considerate) politeness, she puts the photo album and the glass of wine down on the coffee table, wraps the blanket tighter around herself and yells, ‘You have a key, Lucifer!’

Five seconds later, he’s standing in her living room. He’s changed his clothes, looking impeccable and completely overdressed as usual, but his hair is in a disarray, like he’s been tugging at it, and his face is grey. He looks tired.

‘Where have you been?’ she asks him, her voice softer than she expected it would be. He sits down on the couch beside her, and she grabs one of his hands with both of her own.

He studies their fingers. ‘I just had a tête-à-tête with Linda.’

He’s been gone for seven hours, but she doesn’t ask what he’s been doing apart from seeing his therapist. She trusts him, and she trusts that whatever he’s been up to, it was what he needed to do to deal with… Yes, what exactly is it he’s been dealing with?

‘Wanna talk about it?’ she asks, reaching for her wine glass and raising it to her lips in an attempt to appear nonchalant. Before the delicious, dark red Zin can flow into her waiting mouth, the glass is removed from her hand.

‘What in Dad’s name are you drinking?!’ he berates her, as if she was chugging down Roundup directly from the jug.

She stares at him with wide eyes, trying to figure him out. ‘Uhm, a small glass of wine?’

He gives her a disapproving look. ‘When you’re-’

For some reason, he doesn’t say the rest, so she finishes for him, ‘Working tomorrow? Well, yes. I am. But in my defence, I really needed it. And since when are you one to deny me alcohol anyway? Just yesterday you put whiskey in my coffee—at work!’ She reaches out to get her glass back, but before she can get a hold of it, he leans his head back and downs the rest of her drink in one go.

She closes her eyes for a second and lets out an exasperated breath through her nose. ‘Seriously, what has gotten into you?’ she inquire, her eyes narrowing as he wipes her Zinfandel off his lips with the back of his hand.

He snorts and glances down at where the throw blanket is covering her abdomen.‘You’re one to talk.’ In any other situation, she would think he was making a lewd comment, but there’s something about his tone that throws her off. Annoyance? Frustration? She opens her mouth to ask him but stops when she notices his eyes are fixed on something beside her. Turning her head to see what has caught his attention, she realises it’s the open photo album. He carefully grabs the cover between his fingers and pulls it towards himself on the table, not taking his eyes off it. She’d just turned the page when he’d knocked and hadn’t seen the photos that are now displayed in front of them. Two of them are pictures of a very new-born Trixie, both taken at the hospital. One is a close-up of her perfect, little face and the other is of Dan nervously cradling her in his arms. Chloe feels warmth prickle behind her eyes.

‘Is this you?’ Lucifer asks, pointing to the photo in the top right corner on the left page. She feels heat creeping up in her cheeks as she takes in the photograph that actually caught his eye. She’d remembered it wrong when she’d thought there weren’t any pictures of her body in her third trimester. There was—is. Just one. Dan took it a couple of nights before she (finally) went into labour, insisting they ‘commemorate her strong and beautiful body’, or something like that. (She’d only given in because he’d promised her a back rub afterwards.) The picture is taken from the side, showing her form from mid-thigh to her head. She’s practically naked, only covered by a pair of white panties and her arm as it rests across her enlarged chest. Her hair is curled up into a messy bun on top of her head, her neck bent as she smiles down at her round and enormous belly.

She senses him gulp beside her and looks over at him, expecting some comments—either in the category of ‘How many humans did you have in there?!’ or a delighted exclamation like ‘Your breasts, Detective!’—but he doesn’t say anything. He just sits there and stares at the fourteen-year-old photo of her, silent and unreadable.

‘Okay, that’s it,’ she says, a little too sharply, shutting the album. Once she’s put it back on the shelf, she comes to stand across from him on the other side of the coffee table, arms crossed.  ‘What’s going on with you?’

He looks so shocked she feels a little bad, but then a mix of unsettling emotions set in his face and she knows she was right to confront him so directly.

With a deep sigh of surrender, he reaches inside his jacket, pulls out something from his pocket and places it on the table. It’s a flat and rectangular box, light blue and bright pink—medical and feminine.

‘Lucifer, I’m not in the mood for jokes right now,’ she tells him tiredly when she realises what the box contains. His brown eyes are sombre as they stare into her own.

‘As much as I wish it was, it’s not a joke.’

She eyes the small package before looking at him again. ‘So you actually think that I’m…?’ She trails off, suddenly finding it hard to pronounce the word. He nods.

Well, that explains a lot.

‘But that’s not possible,’ she states. ‘I mean, not just because you can’t, you know, but also-‘

‘Yes, well, colour us both fooled, Detective,” he cuts her off, “because based on some deduction I did today, and a not entirely ludicrous theory Linda had, it might be, in fact, possible. And I… I need to know for sure, so,’—he nudges the small package further in her direction and looks back up at her with pleading eyes—‘would you care for a wee?’

As she takes in his exhausted and anxious expression, she knows he won’t rest until they settle this once and for all. With a shrug and a ‘If it makes you feel better’ she grabs the unwrapped pregnancy test between them and climbs the stairs to go to the bathroom.

 *

 He’s pacing her living room to the point he might wear a hole in her floor, and his Italian wingtips, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Never in Lucifer’s incalculable lifetime has he waited this long for anything. He may have waited millennia upon millennia for her—his love, his saviour, his sun—but not consciously. And that makes all the difference.

Because waiting when you know you’re waiting, is torture. So he’s come to realise during the past thirty-six seconds. (Well, one hundred and sixty-eight, if you count the time it took her to get upstairs and urinate on the stick—but only thirty-six– thirty-seven seconds have passed since he’d finally heard her flush.) And now a little more than two minutes remain before he definitively finds out whether he really has made Chloe pregnant.

He needs a drink, or a bottle. Or five.

Momentarily breaking off his aimless parading, he goes to her kitchen in search for that zinfully strong wine he’d taken away from her before. Before he can find it, he changes his mind, remembering that he’s upgraded her tea selection to a hand-plucked assortment of fine liquor. He grabs the strongest spirit in sight and gulps down a good half of it before once again finding himself pacing the floor just in front of the stairs, bottle to his lips.

Fifty-eight seconds passed.

He tries to distract himself with happy thoughts, but his happy thoughts involve sex with Chloe, and that’s what got him into this imbroglio in the first place. Oh, how tainted some of his best memories have become now. He reminisces on that... incredible first night in his penthouse a little less than a year ago, when they had—finally—given into their incandescent desire and thrown themselves at each other. He remembers, clearer than anything, how she’d lied there, naked and glowing against his dark sheets. How he’d been completely overwhelmed with awe. How he’d kissed her swollen lips and dug his fingers into the soft skin at her waist as he’d slid into her, bare; how he’d savoured the feeling of her and nothing but her—no cheaply produced rubber between them. Just lust, and love, and warmth. Because, for the first time ever, there was only one, the one, and it was her, and they could feel every inch of each other without worry.

It’s his single sweetest memory, the best night of his infinite life, and now all he can think is how moronically naïve he’d been. How utterly stupid he was to believe that the rules that applied to everyone else also applied to her—her. The one person who was immune to his charms, the one person who made him vulnerable, made him human. The person who was created with him in mind.

But alea iacta est, the Rubicon is crossed, and he’s bought a lifetime supply of condoms (he’d donated his stock to a frat house a week before the aforementioned night)—just in case she doesn’t want to stuff herself with hormones again. That is, if the damage isn’t already done.

One minute and forty-two seconds till they have an answer.

He empties the bottle nestled in his arms and goes to find another one. Even in the Detective’s proximity, the alcohol won’t have the effect he’d wish it would, but the delectable taste and the comfortable burn in his throat might get his mind off things, if only for a couple of seconds.

It doesn’t. Two empty bottles later, and he’s still walking up and down her living room floor, watching the milliseconds pass on his pocket watch.

He tries focusing on objects in his surroundings—fixating a vase, or the offspring’s artworks, or the empty wine glass on the coffee table. But his eyes keep flicking back to a certain leather-bound photo album on the bookshelf, perpetually reminding him of the picture that had aroused a polyphony of unwanted emotions in him. First came astonishment (he’d never seen a picture of her pregnant body, and Dad help him, was it in an eyeful). Then came fear, adoration, panic, lust, despair, pride, jealousy—not in any particular order, one following after the other. No, they’d washed over him all at once, like razor-sharp darts hitting him from every direction, poisoning him, each inflicting him with their own flavour of pain. He knows he’ll never forget the picture, that it’ll pop up in his mind when he least expects it, and that it’ll take his breath away every time. But he doesn’t know what to think or feel about that, so he tries not to.

One minute and three seconds to go.

He reaches into his pocket, wanting to occupy his mind with some endless scrolling through photos of beach parties and prime suits and other uncomplicated things, but remembers his phone died somewhere between flying to France for comfort foods and seeing Linda. So instead, he pictures his Detective in her bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub, or perhaps pacing the room like himself, waiting with him. She hadn’t seemed too concerned when he’d voiced his suspicion—surprised, yes, but not concerned. Maybe she hadn’t completely believed him when he’d assured her it wasn’t in jest? Maybe she’d already been too tipsy to actually comprehend what he’d told her? It seemed implausible that she wouldn’t be the least bit anxious about the thought of a baby-Satan living in her womb. When she’d learned she was pregnant with Beatrice, she had, to quote her, been ‘absolutely terrified’. But when Lucifer, the Devil himself, had told her his progeny might be growing inside her, she’d just shrugged! Of course, genetically, she did have more to worry about with Daniel (with his unfortunate looks and all)—but still. Why hadn’t she been more scared? Why hadn’t she freaked outand stopped functioning altogether, like he had?

 Had she been…

 happy?

 Does she want to have his baby? Is she sitting in her bathroom right now, hoping he’s right?

They’ve never talked about having children. He had, between grunts and moans and hungry kisses, assured her he was sterile, and she’d seemed more than happy to ride him bareback without getting back on the pill. But she has never told him—and he’d never seen the point in asking—whether she’d want a child together if they could.

Consequently, he has absolutely no idea what she’s feeling now that she might actually be carrying his spawn. He doesn’t even know if she’d want to keep it. He has an inkling she would.

 He hopes she would.

 Not because he longs to play house—he’s not insane—but because it’s always nice when people keep the gifts you give them.

Not that he sees having a dependant for eighteen years as a gift. But maybe the Detective does. After all, she does look at the urchin like she’s nothing short of a miracle—and not a messy adolescent who always throws her purple Chucks where people are bound to trip over them.

Just last week, he had (or the teenager had) ruined one of his favourite Prada shirts as he’d caught his foot on her misplaced footwear and spilt Pinot Noir all over himself.

And yet, he would do anything for the little slob. At the beginning, it’d been about keeping Chloe safe and happy, and with that came the side gig of protecting her child. But he can’t deny it’s more than that now. He doesn’t just tolerate Beatrice anymore; he likes her. Chloe would protest and say he more than likes her, but he’s not quite ready for that other L-word yet (Dad knows he doesn’t speak it easily). He must confess, however, that it’d done something to his heart when Trix, a month ago, had posted a picture on her Instagram of herself, Lucifer and Chloe on the beach, laughing about something he doesn’t remember now, and simply, without a second thought, had captioned it ‘family 💜💗🧡’.

He’d tapped the like-button but hadn’t commented something clever and witty like he usually does on her posts. Instead, he had taken a screenshot and made it his lock screen.

Even as an empty battery has left his phone screen black for the moment, he easily recalls the photo. They do resemble some sort of a family, the three of them. Trix might not have his genes, but she’d been wearing his spare pair of Ray-Bans, and the necklace he’d given her for her thirteenth birthday had, as per usual, been resting around her neck. And that is more than enough for him.

In fact, he couldn’t ask for more.

Which is why it is exceedingly exasperating and so damn confusing that this relatively new family of his may now be growing. What exactly is he supposed to think of that? He’s already struggling to not let Chloe and Beatrice down, to be as good as they so confidently believe he is—why does he have to deal with a third one? Someone who is his own flesh and blood, at that. Not that it matters; he’s learned a long time ago that blood is not always—aka. never—thicker than water. Nonetheless, he won’t let history repeat itself; he won’t– refuses to fail his child.

 But what if he does?

 What if he fails his own child?

 What if he fails the only family he’s ever had?

‘Negative,’ the Detective’s voice suddenly sounds as she descends the stairs, startling him out of his thoughts. He gives her an apologetical look when their eyes meet. ‘I know, I’m sorry. I am trying my best. It’s just, as tiny as it is in size, it’s a lot to wrap my head around.’

‘No, the test,’ she clarifies. ‘It’s negative.’ She walks over to meet him in three steps and hands him the white stick. ‘Not pregnant’ it says on the digital display.

‘But,’ he finds himself objecting, taking his eyes off the test to look at her face, ‘your morning sickness.’

She furrows her brow. ‘It was food poisoning, like you said. Trixie got it too—at school of all places. Dan had to pick her up and take her home.’

Having witnessed her mother’s reaction to their shared dinner first-hand, Lucifer is struck by empathy for the urchin. He makes a mental note to send her a funny video—later, when he’s sorted out the more urgent matters at hand.

‘But you’re late. Your menstruation was due nine days ago,’ he informs Chloe, presenting his other piece of evidence. She doesn’t bat an eye. ‘Well, yeah, it was late, but I was probably just getting back in sync with Ella or something, ‘cause I got it yesterday.’

Annoyance simmers in his chest. ‘Well, then why didn’t you bloody say so?!’

All the trouble—all the emotional torture he could have saved himself if she’d just thought to keep him updated on her menstrual cycle.

‘I tried!’ she defends. ‘But then you cut me off, and I figured you wouldn’t believe me before you saw a negative test anyway, so…’

‘And you didn’t think to tell me yesterday?’

‘Well, I first got it when I came home from work, and you got here late.’

He’d slipped out of Lux relatively early, considering he was the owner and the host of the night’s event, but it’d still been past 3.00 before he’d arrived at her flat and had found her and Beatrice snuggling on the couch, both sound asleep. Even as he’d gathered his snoring girlfriend in his arms and carried her up to her bedroom, she hadn’t stirred (if anything, she’d snored louder) and he had, in lieu of surprising her with some late-night cunnilingus, simply slid off her sweats, left on her knickers and t-shirt, and let her sleep.

‘Still, we live in the twenty-first century, Detective; the Short Message Service has been invented,’ he reminds her.

She glares at him, as if he is the one who’s being unreasonable. ‘You want me to text you when I get my period?’ He solemnly raises an eyebrow, demanding she take him seriously. ‘Okay, fine. If it means that much to you, I promise I’ll… notify you next time.’

That only irks him even more.

‘Well, it won’t matter next time, will it?! Because, evidently, I am as sterile as a castrate!’ There’s a loud clack as he puts down the negative pregnancy test on the shelf behind her, more forcefully than he intended. She stares at him with an expression he can’t quite read.

‘Are you not happy about this?’ she asks him.

A strident snort fills the room. ‘“Not happy”? Did you hurt your head, Detective?! Of course, I’m happy! I’m thrilled as a matter of fact. I mean, can you imagine me, the Devil—Lucifer Morningstar—with a baby? Dad no!’

She steps closer to him, reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers. Her eyes are big and clear—shining with so much sympathy it makes him uncomfortable.

‘It’s okay to be disappointed, too, you know?’ she tells him softly, staring into his eyes, reaching for his soul. He looks up at a point above her head.

‘Well, I’m not,’ he assures her, articulating each word.

He senses her nodding, but she doesn’t seem entirely convinced. Annoyed at her scepticism, he looks back down at her and opens his mouth to stress just how delighted he is with the news. But before he can say anything, she squeezes his hand and leaves him with a tender smile as she goes to discard the test. Once done with the task, she heads for the stairs, but instead of going up to her bedroom immediately she pauses at the second step, hesitating. As she turns to face him, the hint of a smile remains on her lips, even as her expression remains concerningly grave. ‘I can, by the way,’ she says.

He knits his brows, not following.

‘I can imagine you—Lucifer Morningstar—with a baby. But if you’re not ready for that conversation, that’s okay.’

And then he is left at the bottom of the stairs, breathless and paralysed. Inside him, something shifts ever so slightly—yet just enough that he will never be the same again.

[ajokeformur-ray]

I'm so sorry for sending all these asks in today! Please only answer if you're feeling comfortable and well rested, I would never want to make you feel pressured, annoyed, overwhelmed or anything similiar ♡

I hope you don't mind me asking this; How do you cope after a stressful/exhausting day or when you've been hurt by someone or when you're not feeling the best?

If there's a comfort activity, person, song, musician, movie, show, character or anything else really, could you (please) recommend me something?

I really hope that you're feeling better, more rested and less stressed today! I'm wishing you the absolute best and a big comforting hug♡

Luna, my darling!!!!🥰💗

Honey, there's no need to apologise! I adore hearing from you, it always makes me smile to see you in my inbox and I promise I'll respond to everything you've sent me, though it may take me some time to do so!💕🤗I never feel pressure, annoyed, overwhelmed or anything like that to respond, I promise! I adore speaking with you and hearing things you want to tell me or ask me, it's a joy and so are you.💜💙

How do you cope after a stressful/exhausting day or when you've been hurt by someone or when you're not feeling the best?

I'm going to respond to these one at a time, my love, so that I can give each section my full attention! You deserve nothing less!💖

(Long post under the cut!)

After a stressful or tiring day, I reward myself with something I really enjoy physically and emotionally. Physically, I reward myself with a cup of coffee with some extra honey in it, or a snack which I don't have often because it's a bit pricier (which gluten free food usually is because people with coeliacs disease are penalised for being sick). Just something to thank my body for getting me through the day. This also includes a hot shower and maybe I'll massage my legs, too, to help my body relax and to realise that the day is over. I'll also watch a favourite show or listen to my favourite song seventeen times in a row because the day is done and I deserve to enjoy myself!

When I've been hurt by someone, I let myself feel. It's unpleasant, yes, and it hurts, but emotions are visitors - they come and they go as they please and the only way they're happy to leave your house (mind) is if you pay attention to them. I don't wallow in my pain when I've been hurt by someone, but I let myself cry, I let myself get angry, I let myself feel what I'm feeling, and I say hello to the emotions and let them do their thing while I do mine. I also try to consider the situation from the other person's perspective because most people are well-intentioned but clueless, though of course this is no excuse for the harm they caused, but rather an explanation. If it's a major injury I sustained from someone, I'll write them a letter and pour out all of my emotions, and then I'll set fire to the letter and watch it burn (if you're doing to do this, do it somewhere safe and with water near by to put it out!) so that I can cleanse my emotions with fire. Sooner or later, I put the situation to rest and move on from it. I don't like to dwell on the wrongful things which have been done to me; I'd rather process the emotions and be on my way.😊

When I'm not feeling my best, I try to be kind to myself. Humans are such messy creatures and sometimes we just need to bit of extra care, so in these instances I try to treat myself the way I would treat someone else if they felt the way that I did. I acknowledge my feelings and I try to feel them while also carrying on with my day; sometimes self-care is resting and going to bed earlier, but sometimes self-care is discipline and doing what needs to be done. It's a very fine line to walk but whichever side of the line I fall, I know that that night, I can crawl into bed and fall asleep watching one of my comfort films. When I feel myself lagging during the day, I tell myself, I know darling, but you can do it. You've made it this far - just a little more, honey pie. I talk to myself the way I want someone else to speak to me when I don't feel so good, because I deserve that tenderness especially from myself. I know that no matter what happens, I've got my own back.

If there's a comfort activity, person, song, musician, movie, show, character or anything else really, could you (please) recommend me something?

Well, you already know Ash, Arthur, Mary Reilly is one you'll know soon... Liz Taylor from AHS is another massive source of comfort from me; you can find a compilation of her scenes here. She's my wife and I love her very much. She's the reason I am the way I am today. Long story.🥺😭

I also really recommend BTS, so many of their songs really resonate with me but I especially find comfort in Spring Day, The Truth Untold, Idol, 4 O'Clock, Serendipity, Euphoria, Nothing Like Us, So Far Away, Epiphany, Winter Bear, Stay Gold, Magic Shop, 21st Century Girl.

(I enjoy many more BTS songs but these ones are my comfort BTS songs, so for that reason I didn't list any more than that).

Another comfort I can recommend, angel, is getting into bed and curling up with some pillows and putting on your favourite songs and keeping your eyes closed so you can really feel the music. Just do whatever you want to do in that moment and let yourself be. You deserve that, angel. 🥰💗

Thank you, darling!!! I'm feeling better today skskskskk got another busy day tomorrow but for now I'm treating myself to a night of kdramas and tumblr'ing!!! I love you so much darling and I hope that you feel better soon asdfghjk if you want to vent some more, then I'm here for you!!! I hope something here is helpful to you, angel. I love you and I'm sending you lots of cuddles!💕🤗

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Worth

I’M BACK BITCHES!!! It’s been a while since I’ve written anything and posted it, mostly because I’ve had stuff to do, plus it’s been an emotionally draining month so I haven’t had much inspiration. But now I’m back, and it’s with another KISSteriaverse story!!! It’s pretty long (SEVEN PAGES in the Word document), but I love it all, and I hope you all like it!! This story was inspired by the song “Heroes” by Mans Zelmerlow (it’s a great song, please go listen to it). Happy reading!

After his tumultuous breakup with Nikki, Starchild has confined himself to his bedroom, miserable and lonely as he mourns. But the memory of an old legend will send him on a journey searching for a way to start healing himself...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Tell me about the cliff, Mama!”

“What cliff, my little star?”

“The special cliff! That everyone in our family climbs!”

“Ohhh, I see. Well get comfortable and I’ll tell you. Far away from here is the Sacred Cliff of Valkun, one of our oldest worshipped Gods.”

“Do we still worship Valkun?”

“No, I’m afraid; time has left him to be forgotten. But his temples and cliff remain. The cliff is a sacred place, said to hold a waterfall with the purest of water. You can see it outside your window, that high cliff to the right.”

“I see it! It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Mama?”

“Yes, it is, my love. But it is also dangerous, and said to have claimed many lives. It is said that only those who are royalty can climb the cliff and survive. It became a sort of rite of passage for our ancestors to test their worth by climbing the cliff. If they survived the climb and drinking the water, they were worthy of their title and crown.”

“Did you climb the cliff, Mama? Before you became Queen?”

“Well, that tradition has long since died. But yes, I have climbed the cliff. It was treacherous and strenuous, but I was able to prove my worth. And someday, so will you.”

“By climbing the cliff?”

“Yes, perhaps by climbing the cliff. But know this, my son: you do not need to do those sorts of trials to prove your worth to others. You must be the one to measure your own worth, and it comes from within. And if you show no fear in the face of challenges, you will overcome them all.”

-KISSTERIA-

The sky above was overcast, painted a light grey and seeming to threaten rain. But Starchild still opened the doors of his balcony and stepped outside anyway, wrapping his blanket tighter around his shoulders. He knew it wouldn’t rain, today or tomorrow; he supposed it was his foresight allowing him to know.

Funny, he thought, almost bitterly, how his foresight allowed him to know whether or not it would rain and yet he was never warned he would have to go through so much.

Starchild had been in his bedroom for almost a month. He couldn’t face the world just yet, not after what happened. He knew he had done what was best, severing his String of Fate to Nikki and permanently ending… whatever it was they had. But it still hurt… Gods, it still hurt so much. He couldn’t believe what a blind fool he’d been, couldn’t believe he let himself stay in a rapidly souring relationship, just because he thought he could “save” Nikki.

But that was exactly why he stayed in his bedroom for now. It felt shameful, almost, to want to show his face to other KISSterians with the risk that they knew their Prince, the one that would lead them as King one day, had been so blind and naïve.

Starchild sighed, curling his fingers around the blanket. People were worried about him—Demon, his mother, Fox, all of them tried to get him to come out. There had even been that odd occurrence where Satchel of all people briefly visited him. He knew it was because they cared (well, except for Satchel), but still… he just wanted to be alone.

This was his own doing, but he still felt incredibly broken. He felt so alone, so weak, so incapable of doing anything right. His friends were probably losing their faith in him—they would soon join the Council, who never had much faith in him anyway. He didn’t have any faith in himself either, not after everything that had happened on Earth.

A bird suddenly fluttered past his vision and landed on the stone railing. He looked down at it for a moment, recognizing it as a hummingbird, and watched as it inspected the flower pots he kept on his balcony. For a moment he wondered how nice it would be to be a hummingbird; flying around, doing as he pleased, free to do so without any fear of rejection, manipulation, toxicity, or low self-esteem. All he would have to be afraid of were predators.  

The hummingbird suddenly chirped and took off again, and Starchild watched it fly away. As it did, his eyes suddenly caught of something to the very right of his balcony, far far off in the distance. It was a gorgeous cliff face, with the rock colored deep hues of red and purple. The top was so high up it was covered by the grey clouds.

The Sacred Cliff of Valkun. The highest cliff in KISSteria, rivaling perhaps even the volcano the Destroyer was sealed into. He suddenly recalled a memory from his childhood, of the time his mother told him a story about the cliff. How his ancestors had a tradition of climbing it to prove they were worthy of ruling the realm. That tradition had died out centuries ago, before even the Elder was born, but it was still thought that only a member of the royal family could survive such a treacherous journey.

I wonder if I could climb the cliff face…

It was one thought, one little, idle thought as he gazed out at the cliff. And yet it was enough to give him pause. His gaze became more thoughtful, more considering. If the goal of the climb was to prove someone was worthy…

His fists clenched over his blanket. Then he turned on his heel and went back inside his bedroom to put on a pair of boots specially designed to handle long journeys. Then he grabbed a black cloak and threw it over his shoulders, and lifted the hood over his head. He went back out to his balcony, and took off into the air, flying straight towards the Sacred Cliff of Valkun.

-KISSTERIA-

A little while later, Demon strode up to Starchild’s bedroom door, Fox following at his heels. He approached the door and rapped his fist on the door. “Starchild! I don’t care if you’re wallowing in misery, you need to get out of your bedroom!”

“Please?” Fox added. “We’re here if you want to talk to us about it.”

They both waited for Starchild’s usual answer, a tired request for them to leave him be. But there was no answer.

Demon banged on the door. “Starchild! Did you hear what we said?”

Still no answer. Fox bit his fingernails anxiously. “Do you think he’s all right?’

In response, Demon lifted his foot and kicked the door open. “Let’s find out.”

When they entered the room, they were surprised and very confused to see that the room was empty. Starchild’s bed was unmade, like he had spent time in it like he usually did these days, and a purple throw blanket was tossed haphazardly onto the comforter. The doors to the balcony were open, the curtains lightly waving from the wind outside. But Starchild was nowhere to be seen.

“Starchild?” Demon called out. No answer. The Star Prince had mysteriously disappeared, from the one room of the castle he had been in for weeks.

“We didn’t see him when we were headed here,” Fox mused aloud. “Where did he go?”  

-KISSTERIA-

A large part of him was telling him to turn back.

The cliff face towered above him, so much that if he leaned his head back anymore he would fall backwards. Clouds covered the top, hiding it from view. And yet it was even more breathtaking up close than from a distance; it really was a beautiful cliff.

Then again, hadn’t he heard once that many in his family had died trying to make the climb?

Starchild clenched his hands. What were you thinking? You thought you could climb a huge cliff face, even though you have no gear, no water, and no guarantee of survival? How many people would laugh at you if they knew you were doing this?

There was plenty of reasons to give up while he could and turn back. Of course he couldn’t climb a treacherous cliff. The idea that he could even attempt it was crazy. He should just turn around, fly away, and go back… back home, back to his bedroom, ignoring everyone and wallowing in his own misery, in the knowledge that he was foolish and naïve, in the fact that he would never be good enough…

Starchild frowned. He couldn’t keep living like this. He couldn’t keep drowning himself in a pit of grief and self-loathing. Even if he probably wouldn’t make the climb… he still had to try anyway.

So he reached out and grasped a rock, and began to climb.

-KISSTERIA-

Like all the stories he’d heard said, it was a treacherous climb.

The higher he went, the stronger the winds were. He could feel it blowing through his hair and at his back, and felt it making his cloak blow to the side. It was difficult to find stable footing, and he’d come close to slipping at times. If he ever lost his grip or footing, it meant he’d be surely sent falling to his death. He didn’t dare look down, afraid he’d lose his nerve if he did.

A part of him wondered why he didn’t just fly to the top and save himself all the danger. But he refused to do that. He didn’t want to cheat. If this was what he had to do, he was going to do it as it should be done. So he kept climbing, slowly and diligently.

He wondered briefly if anyone had noticed he was gone. Maybe Demon or Fox came around like they usually did to try and get him to leave his room. Perhaps his mother had come to try and coax him out. How would they react, he wondered, if they knew he was trying to climb the Sacred Cliff of Valkun?

If the Council knew, they’d be making preparations for a royal funeral right now, he thought sardonically. They would never in a million years think he could do something like this.

A thought suddenly popped into his head: what would Nikki do if he knew he was doing this?

… Would he even care?

His hand accidentally grabbed hold of a loose rock that broke free of the mountain. He let out a yelp as his arm swung out wildly, and his head couldn’t help turning to watch as the rock fell below him, all the way back down to the ground. Oh Gods… he was so far up now…

His remaining hand gripped tighter around its crevice. He turned his head back around to try and find another stable rock. He braced his feet against the rough stone and reached up. Then he kept climbing.

Why did he care what Nikki would think anymore? He had never cared about what Starchild thought. He never cared about what Starchild wanted. He laughed the first time you said you loved him. You let yourself be vulnerable and he laughed at you.

Why had he ever thought that Nikki would be different than how he appeared? Why had he ever considered someone who drank, snorted, and fucked whoever he wanted without a care in the world—why had he ever thought someone like that would be able to have a stable relationship? Of course he wouldn’t. There had been so many signs, so many red flags, and he’d ignored all of them. Gods, you really are better off without him.

The air began to grow thinner and thinner as he kept climbing. He had no idea how much time had passed; had it been hours? Should he stop and rest?

“After all I did for you, you fuckin’ ditched me!!”

No… he should probably keep going. He reached up to keep climbing.

The air grew colder around him, and it seemed as if fog was obscuring his view now. Was the thin air getting to his head? Keep going… Find the stable footing and keep going… and keep breathing…

“Look at that!” The voice of a snide little bully suddenly echoed, almost as if he’d actually said it out loud. “The freak thinks he’s going to climb the Sacred Cliff of Valkun!”

He shut his eyes briefly as laughter seemed to erupt around him.

“What do you think you’re doing, freak? You’ll never make it!”

“Your family’s already ashamed of you, why even bother trying?”

Keep climbing…

“I hope you slip and fall, freak!”

His hand began to shake.

“I bet he will; he can’t do anything!”

Why was it suddenly so hard to breathe?

“And you never will, freak!”

“Freak!”

Freak

Freak

FREAK

His feet slipped.

Starchild could feel himself beginning to fall. His hands clawed to get a grip on the rock.

How he regained his grip on the cliff was a blur, but what mattered was he stopped falling. He pressed his face to the stone and panted hard for breath. His heart was racing in his chest. His back hurt from all the climbing. His mind felt disoriented from the thin air. The wind blew at his hair and through his cloak. He had no idea how far up he was, or how close he was to the top, but he didn’t care. All the voices in his head had fallen quiet. He was alone again, alone up on a cliff face, with no one to save him if he fell, no one to watch while he tried… what was he trying to do?

“Did you climb the cliff, Mama? Before you became Queen?”

Gods, how young had he been when his mother first told him about the Sacred Cliff? So young…

“Yes, I have climbed the cliff. It was treacherous and strenuous, but I was able to prove my worth. And someday, so will you.”

He remembered how his mother had smoothed back his bangs and kissed his forehead. His mother had never given up on him. No matter what he did, she never lost faith in him. She never stopped loving him.

He could do this. He could prove he was worthy. He could prove to himself he was good enough.

He had to start climbing again. He was probably so close now.

“But know this, my son: you do not need to do those sorts of trials to prove your worth to others. You must be the one to measure your own worth, and it comes from within.”

His hand moved to grip the stone. He began to climb. One foot in front of the other.

“And if you show no fear in the face of challenges…”

He could do this. He could prove he was worthy. He could prove to himself he was good enough.

“… you will overcome them all.”

The sky was starting to grow a little darker. Twilight was beginning to appear; he could see it on the cliff. His back hurt, his hands hurt, everything hurt, but he kept going. He kept climbing. If he did this, if he climbed the cliff and drank the water from the waterfall at the top, he could know once and for all if he was worthy. He so wanted to succeed; he so wanted to know he was worthy.

He had to be close now. He reached up to grab onto another rock…

… and his hand touched a flat surface.

His heart skipped a beat. Hope flared up. Just a little more…

And then finally, he was climbing over the cliff ledge and collapsing onto solid ground.

Dark spots clouded over his vision and he very nearly passed out. He could hear his heart pounding like a drum in his ears. His entire body was aching with exhaustion and he could feel the sweat on his brow. For a second, he wondered if this was a fever dream created from the thin air. His hands patted the ground beside him. Solid. Flat.

… And was that the sound of rushing water?

He rolled onto his side and heaved himself up onto his hands and knees, then looked up. There, just a few feet away from him, was a waterfall. It was smaller than he’d expected, but it was housed in a beautiful, layered rock formation and rushed down into a waiting lake. There were statues carved into either side of the waterfall of men, perhaps distant ancestors, pointing their spears at the water. Moss and grass covered every inch of the area around the falls, and the whole picturesque scene seemed almost ethereal in the twilight sun.

I did it… Holy shit… I did it…

Starchild managed a shocked smile as he lifted himself to his feet. He had climbed the cliff face. Now, only one more thing left to do.

He stumbled the entire time, but he never fell as he made his way towards the waterfall. His heart began to pound again. It was said if the royal drank from the waterfall and lived, they were worthy of ruling the realm. But the legends never said what would happen if they died…

His hands shook slightly as he cupped them and inched them into the waterfall. The water was ice cold. He lifted his hands to his mouth and drank.

The water rushed into his mouth and down his parched throat; it felt so good to finally drink water. It tasted sweet and so pure, and strangely from just one little handful of water he felt replenished completely. He lowered his hands and waited, holding his breath.

… Nothing happened.

His breath came out in a gasp and his knees finally gave out. He sagged against the rock wall, and strangely, he began to laugh. Or cry, he wasn’t sure which.

He’d done it. He’d really done it. He’d successfully climbed the Sacred Cliff of Valkun and drank from the waterfall. He couldn’t believe it.

He ran to the cliff edge, stopping a few inches away, and looked out. He could see everything there was for miles around from up here. In the far distance he saw the capital city, with the Sisterhood’s Temple and the palace rising up over everything. It was so beautiful… Everything looked so beautiful.

Starchild threw up his hands euphorically and let out a scream of joy. “YES!!”

He really was worthy. Perhaps he always had been. But after so many years of painful doubt, he finally believed it. How could he not, after what he’d just done?

“I am worthy,”

It came out in a whisper, but Starchild’s heart soared when he said it aloud. A tear of joy rolled down his cheek. He would never forget this, ever.

-KISSTERIA-

“Where the hell have you been?!”

“You’ve been missing for hours! We were so worried about you!”

Starchild couldn’t help smiling affectionately at Demon and Fox. He’d discovered them waiting for him in his bedroom upon returning to his balcony. He had such wonderful friends.

“Even Demon was worried about you!” Fox added.

“I was—okay, fine, I was worried,” Demon reluctantly confessed. “You just disappeared the whole day, and when you come back it’s almost dark. Where were you?”

“I was outside,” Starchild responded as he unfastened his cloak… that would have to be cleaned extensively.

“You look exhausted,” Demon stated. “What were you doing?”

“You should eat something,” Fox suggested. “Have you eaten anything? Are you all right?”

Instead of answering right away, Starchild’s eyes strayed out the window to look back at the Sacred Cliff of Valkun. It looked so beautiful in the sunset, set against the pink and purple sky.

He smiled and turned back to Fox. “I’m fine, Fox, really. Better than fine, actually. And food sounds lovely right now.”

Demon nodded and stood up. “There should be food in the kitchens. C’mon, Fox.”

“Actually, I think I’ll come with you.”

Both of them stopped and turned to him in shock. “Really?” Fox asked hopefully.

Starchild’s smile widened and he nodded. “Really. I think I’ve spent enough time in my bedroom.”

“Great!” Fox leapt forward to hug him, then bounded towards the door. “Come on!”

“I don’t know where you went or what you did, and sooner or later I want to know,” Demon stated to him as they followed after him, “but it seems like it did you good.”

Starchild smiled as he thought of the waterfall on top of the cliff. “It did.” Then he left his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Dear heart, it’s me

Jiang Cheng has been standing outside Lan Xichen’s apartment for at least five minutes now. Jiang Cheng has promised to come by his place after dinner with his parents, but now he’s regretting that.

He wants to do nothing more than curl up in his own bed and wallow in his misery in peace, but if he steps through this door then he can’t.

He’ll have to pretend for Lan Xichen.

Jiang Cheng is still debating weather he should turn back and simply write Lan Xichen once he’s home, telling him then that he’s too tired and that they’ll see each other tomorrow, but then his phone chimes in his pocket.

Where are you? 

Jiang Cheng stares at the message and then puts his phone away with a sigh. He opens the door and calls out for Lan Xichen as he gets out of his jacket.

“I’m here!”

“There you are,” Lan Xichen greets him, before he pulls him into a soft kiss. “I was starting to get worried.”

“I’m alright,” Jiang Cheng gives back, though he can’t look at Lan Xichen as he says it.

He had hoped for a relaxing dinner with his parents, for once just him and them, without their siblings, but of course it turned out completely different than that.

Jiang Cheng fights the urge to curl into himself, or to lean down and press his head to Lan Xichen’s shoulder to just breathe for a second, and instead he straightens his shoulders.

“How was your day?” Jiang Cheng asks him and manages to drag up a smile for him.

“How was your day?” Lan Xichen immediately shoots back and Jiang Cheng turns away from him, knowing that he can’t lie Lan Xichen directly into the face.

“It was okay,” he says, and marches over to the kitchen.

He doesn’t know what to do once he’s there; his only real goal was to get away from Lan Xichen and going by the telling silence, Lan Xichen knows it as well.

“What’s really going on?” Lan Xichen asks once he followed him into the kitchen, and Jiang Cheng works his jaw.

He doesn’t want to unload all his bullshit on Lan Xichen; doesn’t want to burden him with his family when Lan Xichen is already busy mediating between his brother and uncle for Lan Wangji’s choice of a partner.

“Everything is fine,” Jiang Cheng presses out and then startles slightly when Lan Xichen hugs him from behind.

“Everything is not fine,” Lan Xichen mutters and brushes a light kiss over Jiang Cheng’s throat. “My heart, it’s me. It’s me. You don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not. I know you’re not okay. You don’t have to talk about it, but please don’t lie to me about it, either.”

Jiang Cheng has to close his eyes when hot tears threaten to spill over, and he spins around in Lan Xichen’s arms, desperately gripping the fabric with his hands.

“I’m not okay,” Jiang Cheng mumbles into Lan Xichen’s shirt and feels how Lan Xichen presses a kiss to his head.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lan Xichen carefully asks and Jiang Cheng hesitates before he sags against Lan Xichen, trusting him to hold his weight.

“I don’t want to burden you with this shit,” Jiang Cheng eventually tells him and he can feel Lan Xichen smiling against his hair.

“You’re not burdening me, you’re sharing,” Lan Xichen reassures him and then drags him over to the couch, where Jiang Cheng sinks down when Lan Xichen tugs on him once he himself is seated.

Jiang Cheng cuddles up to Lan Xichen, who simply holds him until Jiang Cheng is ready to talk.

“Today’s dinner was—bad,” Jiang Cheng says, even though bad really is an understatement.

“What happened?” Lan Xichen gently prompts him when Jiang Cheng falls silent again, and moves his hand up and down on Jiang Cheng’s arm in a comforting gesture.

“My mother—,” Jiang Cheng starts and then has to swallow before he can continue, “my mother made it yet again clear that a male artist is not who I should be with,” Jiang Cheng whispers. “She thinks your profession is shit, and it doesn’t matter to her that you make more than enough money to live a comfortable life.”

“And you got angry about that,” Lan Xichen suspects and Jiang Cheng nods. “My heart, you now I don’t care about her opinion. I don’t care what she thinks about me.”

“But I do,” Jiang Cheng hotly gives back, because how dare his mother disrespect Lan Xichen like that.

“And I love you for that, but there really is no need for it,” Lan Xichen reassures him and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“I know, but I can’t help myself. She hasn’t even seen your work, she doesn’t get to judge.”

“That’s true,” Lan Xichen amends and then presses a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head. “What else?” he then asks, because he knows Jiang Cheng too well to believe that that is all that went wrong with today’s dinner.

Jiang Cheng works his jaw a few times, because this almost hurts more than his mother shitting all over Lan Xichen.

“My dad he—,” Jiang Cheng tries but he has to swallow back tears before he can even continue. “He had a file he wanted to go over.”

Jiang Cheng can feel how Lan Xichen tenses under him and then he forcefully relaxes himself with a sigh.

“Didn’t you have an appointment with him today?” he then asks and Jiang Cheng nods miserably.

“Yes. But I had to cut it short, because it dragged on for longer than I anticipated and I had a video conference to attend to.”

“So your father decided to bring it up at dinner again,” Lan Xichen summarises and Jiang Cheng nods again.

“It was a business dinner,” he chokes out and hides his face in Lan Xichen’s chest. “I thought they invited me spontaneously because they wanted to see me for a change, and instead it was a simple business dinner with my own parents.”

“I am so sorry, my heart,” Lan Xichen breathes out and Jiang Cheng presses his face further into Lan Xichen, knowing damn well that it does nothing to hide the hot tears that are spilling over.

“And to think that I was so happy about their invitation,” Jiang Cheng presses out eventually. “I was so happy it was just me, without my siblings for once. But of course they didn’t want to see me. And of course they wouldn’t invite A-jie or Wei Wuxian to a business dinner. They don’t want to bore them with that shit,” Jiang Cheng sobs out. “I am so fucking stupid.”

“You’re not,” Lan Xichen decisively says and pushes Jiang Cheng away from him, so that he can look him in the eyes.

Jiang Cheng wants to hide his tears, but Lan Xichen doesn’t seem to care about them at all.

“You’re not stupid. It’s them, my heart. It’s their fault. It has nothing to do with you,” Lan Xichen promises him as he wipes away Jiang Cheng’s tears, but it’s hard for Jiang Cheng to believe.

If both his parents are acting that way, surely it must be his fault.

“It is not!” Lan Xichen says again, as if he can read Jiang Cheng’s mind. “You are a joy to be around and this is your parents’ fault.”

“If I had just made more time for my dad today,” Jiang Cheng starts, but Lan Xichen shakes his head.

“I’m sorry to say this, but if you had made more time for your dad, they wouldn’t have invited you to dinner,” Lan Xichen softly tells him and even though it stings to hear it, Jiang Cheng knows it’s the truth.

“It’s just—what’s so bad about me that they can’t love me?” Jiang Cheng whimpers.

“Nothing,” Lan Xichen firmly tells him and cups his face in his hands. “Nothing about you is bad, and loving you is so damn easy,” Lan Xichen promises him. “And there are so many people who love you. I’m sorry your parents can’t, but that’s about them, and not you.”

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath, because logically he knows that. He has made great friends and he believes Lan Xichen when he says he loves him, but on days like this it’s hard to remember.

“You love me, right?” Jiang Cheng asks, voice small, because he needs to hear it again.

“I love you so much,” Lan Xichen says without hesitation. “More than I can ever tell you.”

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng says between tears and leans in to gently kiss Lan Xichen. “Okay.”

Lan Xichen chases him for another kiss before he tucks Jiang Cheng safely under his chin again.

“I’m not letting you go to dinner to them alone ever again,” he decides and Jiang Cheng chuckles, despite the still running tears.

“I wouldn’t mind having you there with me,” he admits and feels Lan Xichen nod.

“I’ll make sure to tag along next time. But you will not go back there this month. Probably not even next month. I forbid it.”

“Alright,” Jiang Cheng agrees with a smile, and he feels better, just for knowing that he has Lan Xichen in his corner. “I love you,” Jiang Cheng tells him, and it’s suddenly the most important thing in the world that Lan Xichen knows that.

“I know, my heart,” Lan Xichen immediately gives back and presses another kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng says and snuggles closer.

Now he’s glad he came here instead of going home and wallowing in his misery alone and he just hopes that he can be the same source of comfort for Lan Xichen as he is for him.

Jiang Cheng kisses Lan Xichen’s chest, right over his heart, and then he rearranges himself until he has his ear right over his heart, the rhythm sure and steady in his ear.

Jiang Cheng drifts off to that sound and his last thought is that he hopes to hear this for the rest of his life.

{Buy me a kofi}  

[dogfatherpads]

Remus J. Lupin with a FUCKING BEARD

I just know he gets extra hairy around the full moon. What if one day he just decided he wasn’t going to shave it anymore?

Tbh this is just Wolfstar Slowburn sort of but not really

He sighed as he looked in the mirror. He was already running late and it would take at least 15 minutes if he didn’t want to add new scars to his face. It was just so bloody hard to get up in the morning around this time of the month. His skin itched in anticipation of the pain they would go through in a few short days. His bones hurt, his muscles felt heavy, who cares if he showed up to transfiguration with just a little bit more hair? He could shave it tomorrow, today he was just too tired.

“Moony!! We’re gonna be late lets go!!” James hollered, banging on the bathroom door.

“To hell with it,” Remus threw his razor back in the drawer and pushed his unruly curls out of his face. When did that grow out? He’d just gotten his hair cut three days ago. He huffed aggitatedly and stepped out into the room. “Sorry to keep you lads waiting. Im just so tired this morning,” he began to pick up his books, straightening up just a little when he noticed their staring. “What?”

“You’re um,” Sirius spluttered.

“It’s nothing,” James held up a hand, “now lets go before Minnie gives us detention again. I’ve got a date I don’t want to miss.” Remus rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face when looking at James’ fond one. He and Lily were so disgustingly in love and it was wonderful because James in love and happy was less awful than James in love and pining.

“I found a hidden hallway we can take. I was trying to put it in the map last night, I’ll need your help with the spell Prongs,” Remus ran after them, breathless with excitement. “It ends behind that suit of armor just outside of Transfiguration.”

“Brilliant. Stupid staircases are not working in our favor today. Lead the way Rem.”

They’d made it with ten minutes to spare thanks to the hidden hallway and James grinned thankfully at Moony before walking over to Lily’s desk for a chat. Remus slumped in his chair, wishing desperately for the day to pass by quickly so he could get back into bed.

“You look tired Remus,” Lily commented, “go back to bed, I’ll take notes for you.”

He smiled greatfully, “Thank you, but I’ll survive. I will however, steal that hair tie,” he pointed to her wrist and she grinned.

“I wasn’t going to comment on the hair. I like it though, may I?” she asked, moving to stand behind him when he nodded. His eyes seemed to close on their own accord as she raked her fingers through his hair then scooped it all up and tied it at the back of his head. “Looks good. All the muggle rock stars are rocking the messy bun.”

He chuckled and shrugged, “Don’t feel so rock and roll right now, but I like it if it keeps the hair out of my face. Thank you,” he smiled gratfuly. He pulled his things out of his bag as McGonagall started the lesson. “Hey Pads,” he whispered, still searching through his bag, “do you have an extra quill I can borrow?” He looked up to meet Sirius’ eyes and froze. The storm in his eyes was clouded by his furrowed brow, his lips parted slightly. He gulped inaudibly when Remus’ bewildered gaze dropped to his lips. Sirius slid the quill across the table, his eyes never leaving Remus’ face before he stood abruptly, causing his stool to tip over.

“Mr. Black?” McGonagall turned, a frown quickly forming across her face, “are you alright?”

“I’m actually feeling quite ill,” his eyes bore into Remus’; Remus who wanted so desperately to look away but couldn’t tear his gaze from the tempestuous glare. “Please, may I be excused to the infirmary?”

“Very well, do you need someone to accompany you? Mr. Potter,” she motioned to James who was already getting out of his chair, a look of alarm on his face as he looked between Remus and Sirius.

“No,” Sirius finally tore his eyes away from Remus who gasped raggedly, unaware that he’d been holding his breath the entire time. “I think I can manage thank you.” And he was gone.

It took Remus a second to collect himself and when he looked up he met James’ confused stare he could do nothing but shrug as he tried to think of what he had said or done to Sirius this morning or even the night before to make him look at him with such... anger? There wasn’t anything Remus could think of. Sure he’d teased Sirius a little the night before about wearing Lily’s shirt to bed, too be honest it was kind of hot, but no way was Remus going to allow himself to think about that right now. Not about how tight the t shirt had been as it was three sizes too small. Not about how it exposed his hips when he stretched his arms over his head to yawn or threw his head back in boisterous laughter. No, it wasn’t the time to think about that now. Not when his glare had been so intense. The daily lessons seemed endless and Remus was glad when finally it was time for dinner and he could stop pretending to listen about mugwort or goblin wars. He loosened his tie and dumped it along with his books on his bed before stepping into the bathroom. He promised to meet the boys in the dining hall after they visited Sirius in the hospital wing. He hadn’t returned to any of their lessons and James’ expression only grew more suspicious when Remus declined to join them.

“Did you have a fight?” he inquired as he and Peter hurried and stumbled up the stairs to catch up to Remus.

“I’m telling you I don’t know what happened,” the fat lady scoffed when Remus practically snarled the password at her, “one minute I was asking if he had an extra quill, the next he was storming out.”

“Maybe there was a misunderstanding?” Peter suggested, looking to James for an answer.

“Come with us Moony. We’ll sort it out, whatever it is,” James insisted once more at the foot of the stairs to their dorms.

“I’ll meet you at the hall. No way Sirius would willingly spend the night at the infirmary. We’ll sort it out there. Promise.” He hammed it up a bit to get James off his back. It had failed miserably but James didn’t press the issue and escorted Peter out of the common room.

Remus shut the bathroom door and flicked the light on. He startled at his reflection before leaning in a little closer. His usually green eyes were beginning to turn that hazel, almost vile yellow color they usually did when the full moon neared. His skin was pulled almost a little tighter across his face, giving his nose and jaw a sharper more defined look. His canines were becoming longer too, the pointed end sharper. He admired that the beard covered most of the scars that marred his face. Perhaps he wouldn’t shave it off it all. He scoffed at himself. He looked like a crappy extra in some muggle teen romance about vampires and werewolves with the over exaggerated features that somehow no human could seem to realize were not human.

Not human.

If this is what Remus saw... Had Sirius been cowering away from the wolf that lingered so close to the surface now? Had he looked at Remus with disgust in class now that his features reflected the monster within? He stumbled away from the mirror. Of course. No one else has to risk their lives for their werewolf friend. 

Some friend! 

Asking his friends to join the wolf to keep it from destroying itself. If Sirius had come to resent him, well, Remus couldn’t blame him. The grumbling of his stomach resurfaced him from his wallowing and he sighed. If he didn’t join the others in the hall, James would surely convince himself that something had happened between he and Sirius. Perhaps something had happened. Perhaps he was no longer Remus’ friend. Remus swallowed down the pain of the thought of losing Sirius and locked it away where he kept hidden all of the other feelings he had about the grey eyed man. There was nothing he could do about his appearance now. Concealing charms and even beautification charms were tricky things. He’d learned simple ones to keep the werewolf teltales away. He chanted a few then removed Lily’s hair tie, hoping to receive some coverage from the too long curls now. That was all he could do. The boys would see past his charms. They always did. It didn’t matter now. He had to face Sirius eventually.

But he wasn’t there. “Madame Pomfrey says he’s got some stomach bug. Wouldn’t even let us see him.”

“Hmm,” Remus stabbed at his peas with a sigh. A stomach bug, please.

“Won’t you pay him a visit?” Peter asked around a mouthful of potato and Remus grimaced.

“For what? You already said Pomfrey wont let us in.”

“Yeah,” James interjected then motioned towards himself and Peter, “US. But you? She’s got a soft spot.”

“So do most new borns. Regardless of the fondness or not, she wouldn’t let a stomach bug,” he said sarcastically and around air quotes, “spread. Not a chance.”

Peter and James shared a glance that Remus wanted to question but was interrupted by Lily’s arrival, a pretty brunette in tow. “James, I’m sorry to do this last minute. Do you mind if we reschedule tonight? I’m a little behind on the Transfigurations essay,” she admitted sheepishly, “mum was sick this weekend and I didn’t get around to it.”

“It’s no problem Evans,” James smiled and took her hand, “I could help you with it. Top of the class remember?” he grinned and she rolled her eyes but smiled fondly.

“That’s just because you managed to win McGonagall over with your stupid charm and clever spell use in your pranks.”

“You think I’m clever?” his grin widened and she smacked his arm. “Im only joking. Im happy to help. We can reschedule for this weekend. The Hogsmeade trip?”

Remus tuned out the rest of the conversation when he realized Lily’s friend had been staring. He panicked momentarily. Had the charm worn off? Was his werewolf showing?

“Hey.. Remus,” she smiled shyly.

Oh.

But what was her name. He was sure they shared a class but which-

“Have you started your essay for History of Magic? I can’t decide which war I want to write about,” she sat across from him and smiled politely. Alice?

“Umm, I’ve outlined a rough draft on The Goblin Rebellions.” Emma? Samantha?

“Oh, I thought about the Gargoyle Strike of 1911 but I’m a bit confused about one of the events. Do you think you might be able to tutor me some time?” She smiled and Remus blinked. What the fuck was her name?

“Uhh..”

“You can join our study group, Charlie,” Lily gave Remus a pointed look and he smiled gratefully when the girl turned to look at Lily. “It’s currently just James and I but I think Marlene and Dorcas might join.”

“Oh,” she smiled ruefully, “I wouldn’t want to fifth wheel... maybe if Remus came?” she turned to look at Remus once more.

“Fifth wheel? Who’s the other couple?” James whispered to Lily who shook her head and sighed.

“You can be so oblivious Potter...”

“Sure,” Remus finally smiled politely, regretting it almost immediately when he heard the girl’s heart leap.

“Okay! Great! Thank you, I’ll get the details from Lily,” she smiled and stood up. “I like your new hair by the way,” she threw over her shoulder with a smirk before striding away.

“Are Marlene and Dorcas dating?” James asked loudly and Lily sighed.

****

It was almost nine when Remus returned from the library, leaving James and Lily alone to flirt. Peter had gone off to meet some lass he was seeing who, if Remus was being completely honest, was sporting a mustache much greater than Peter’s. He tugged on his cloak and tossed it over his trunk, beginning to unbutton his shirt when he stumbled over a shoe. A doc marten to be exact. He turned to look in every direction of the dark room, his eyes not needing to adjust in the dark, until they landed on the figure perched at the window. Those very hostile eyes met his again. Was hostile the right word? It was a mixture of dismay and confusion and maybe... lust? That was ridiculous, but Remus wasn’t going to be the first to drop his stare this time.

“Thought you were ill.”

“I was.”

So that’s how it was going to be.

“Sick of your own bullshit?” Remus raised a brow and Sirius frowned. Remus had to remind himself that he didn’t have any right to be angry with Sirius. He asked a lot of him when he expected him at the shack every night. “If you don’t want to come anymore,” if you hate me now and despise me and resent me for risking your life every month, “I understand.” But Sirius looked confused.

“Sorry?”

“I know I... around this time I start to show... I’m sorry if it bothers you more now. I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to.” Sirius had hopped off the window sill and begun walking towards him, making him stumble again when he took a step back and took a hard seat onto his trunk.

“Remus,” he was so close now that he could feel Sirius’ breath on his face, “you don’t have a clue..” Sirius’ fingers had began toying with the collar of Remus’ shirt, tugging ever so gently as his eyes flashed up to meet Remus’.

Sirius wasn’t ready to confess. It wasn’t a secret that he was gay. All of the Marauders knew and a few blokes he’d hooked up with did too. But Remus? Remus who was too kind and too smart and too good for him. He had his own problems he didn’t need to take on more, especially not the kind that would surely come if they ever... If they ever what? Hooked up? Moony wasn’t hook up material. Not with his warm skin and needy fingers in the morning. It wasn’t like he and Remus hadn’t shared a bed before. They all had at some time or another. Platonic cuddles were important, James had said. But Sirius hadn’t expected it would feel like the waves crashing against the shore when Remus pressed his cold nose against his neck in the morning, his lips brushing there too as he mumbled sleepily about chocolate pudding. He didn’t feel that way when James threw a haphazard arm around him or even Peter wiggled in too closely. With Remus it always felt like he wasn’t close enough.

And it had been so easy, so bloody easy to ignore it. To ignore the need to be closer and to want to crawl into his bed every night instead of taking turns with James who thought Peter’s elbows were too knobby. If he could wake up every morning to Remus’ cold nose he could take on anything. It had all been so easy until this morning. They had all teased Remus about how high maintenance he was about his hair. He was always cleanly shaved, he got up extra early every day to do it. He had his hair cut every two weeks and he even made sure to trim across his chest. Yes he was a werewolf, but he didn’t have to flaunt it, so he had said. The last few weeks leading up to the full moon had been tough for him, however. He’d been much more tired, much more reluctant to get out of bed. The stubble last week had already made Sirius stare for just a little too long when he thought no one was looking. He didn’t expect that Remus would be sporting a whole beard just a week later. He looked older even, especially with the way his features were beginning to sharpen. Sirius longed so much to run his fingers along the slope of his jaw. He wondered if it would be as sharp, if it would cut, if the hair that hid it now would make it softer. Would it tickle his skin? His face if he just leaned in now? He swallowed audibly when those golden eyes, nearly hidden behind the over grown curls, glanced briefly at his lips.

“Don’t know what, Sirius?” Remus whispered. He wanted so much to believe that the question in Sirius’ eyes was the one he wanted to hear.

“Hey Moony we went to check on Pads but he’s not,” James barged into the room with Peter in tow and they froze. Sirius took a step away from Remus and smiled.

“I’m feeling much better now. Pomfrey let me sleep in my own room,” he smiled as convincingly as he could.

“That’s great! Was it something you ate? I thought the biscuits at breakfast were a little off,” Peter had pushed past James and was already undressing to get into his pajamas.

“That must’ve been it,” Sirius gave him a small smile that disappeared when he met James’ eyes again. Remus looked between them. Between Sirius’ pleading eyes and James’ knowing ones.

Oh.

He had to pay a certain red head a visit.

*****

He sat still in the girls’ dorm, watching through the mirror as Marlene pouted. “Are you sure you want to cut it all off Remus?”

“Marlene, I already promised to keep the beard. The hair keeps getting in my eyes though. Please? Just some length.”

“Oh alright,” she sighed and she picked up the shears. Mary tapped her chin.

“What if we kept the length at the top.”

“Whatever just get it out of my face.”

“Ooo a werewolf with a temper, how original,” Lily grinned at his scowl. And then he remembered he was supposed to make nice because-

“Hey Lils?”

“Hmm?” She was distracted. The girls had taken advantage of Remus asking for a hair cut to have a spa day. Marlene was the only person that Remus trusted with his hair. Supposedly she’d taken lessons over the summer with a muggle cousin of hers. She’d made quite the profit dying and cutting hair when lessons were over. “If I wasn’t so sure I wanted to join the ministry, perhaps I’d open my own salon,” she had mentioned the first time she cut Remus’ hair. She was the only one who could get it exactly the way he wanted it.

“Want to play a game to pass the time?”

“Does it involve using my hands, kind of occupied..”

“No, Marlene would kill me if I moved a muscle.”

“Got that right,” she huffed.

“What game?”

“I’ll ask you yes or no questions and you have to answer with the first one that comes to mind.”

“You’re looking for trouble, me thinks,” Mary lifted a cucumber from her eye to peek at Remus, “there’s something he wants you to confess. Don’t do it Lily.”

“Remus is smarter than that. If he wants answers he should ask like a big boy, isn’t that right Remus?” Lily laughed at his scowl through the mirror.

“I’m not certain you’d tell me.”

“Alright Remus, I’m in good spirits, I’ll humor you this once. Go on,” and she was back to painting her nails.

“Do you like chocolate ice cream?”

“No.”

“Do you prefer McGonagall over Bins?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like Shakespeare?”

“Absolutely not. That won’t change, leave me be!!”

“Yes or no only!”

“Alright!”

“Do you prefer butterbeer over fire whiskey.”

“Yes.”

“Do you fancy James?”

“Yes.”

“Does Sirius fancy me?”

“WAIT!” Marlene shouted making them all jump.

“Oh no,” Lily groaned at her ruined toes, “Marlene you’ve bloody ruined them.”

“No no no,” Mary was removing the cucumbers again, “forget your toes for a minute. Remus,” she smiled condescendingly, “sweetie,” Remus growled lowly but she persisted, “do you fancy Sirius?”

“Stupid question babe,” Marlene laughed and Remus sputtered.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh Remus really,” Marlene gave him a tired look, “it’s so bloody obvious. You practically drool over him.”

“Fine. I’m in love with the idiot is that what you want?” They all froze before sharing a look and then turning to him.

“You’re in love with him?”

“I thought it was obvious?” Remus scowled and Lily waddled over to sit in front of him next to Mary.

“Well I mean it was obvious you were totally gone for him but, in love? That’s different...” Mary shook her head. Remus was starting to feel nervous. Maybe love was more than he bargained for. Here he was confessing and he wasn’t even sure. He was sure of his own feelings but what did they matter if Sirius didn’t feel the same?

“You didn’t answer my question...”

“He doesn’t fancy you,” Lily shook her head and Marlene snorted, “he worships the ground you walk on.”

“Get stuffed,” Remus rolled his eyes and Lily flipped him the bird.

“Do you know how before James and Lily were dating, they would go on and on and on about each other? And if they were having a conversation, they acted like they weren’t aware that anyone else was in the room?” Marlene had taken up the scissors again as she asked.

“Come off it,” Lily blushed.

“Sirius is like that about you. Only worse.”

“Worse?” Remus breathed almost inaudibly. He didn’t believe it when he asked. He wondered and he hoped so much that it were true but having it confirmed felt like a glacier melting in his chest.

“He pines,” Mary grimaced.

“Merlin, does he pine. And he rambles too,” Marlene shook her head.

“He whines! That’s the worst part,” Lily laughed.

The floor beneath him felt unsteady. Was the chair swaying?

“Get a grip Remus,” Marlene’s brow furrowed, a bit if concern on her face, “is that not what you wanted to hear?”

“I- yes but...”

“What is it?” Lily asked.

“What now?”

“Men are impossible,” Mary rolled her eyes then placed fresh cucumber rounds over them.

“You know he has feelings for you, the same ones you have for him, and you don’t know what to do now? Do you need to hear about the birds and the bees too?” Marlene laughed and Mary snorted.

“Birds and the birds Marls.”

“I think men are the bees?”

“Can it you two,” Lily grinned, “Remus... you have to tell him. When you’re ready of course. Doesn’t have to be today. But also what are you waiting for!”

“Poor Charlie will be crushed,” Mary chuckled and Marlene’s fingers froze in his hair.

“Charlie... Charlotte McLaggen? Yuck please, you can do better than that, Remus.”

“Mean, she’s a nice girl,” Lily frowned.

“Better than Sirius?” Marlene countered and they burst out in laughter.

“That’s really a matter of opinion,” Lily shrugged and Remus sighed.

“I can hear you lot laughing from down the hall,” Dorcas came through the door, arms full of sweets from the kitchens. “You started without me!!” she feigned a look of disbelief and pouted.

“Are those for me?” Marlene smiled at the chocolates in her hands. Remus didn’t hear the rest of the conversation however. He was too focused on Marlene’s face. She was looking at Dorcas.... he had to look away, it felt like intruding to keep staring. He could only smile when he realized that Sirius had looked at him that way the night before.

*****

It’d been a week since the night in the girl’s dorms. Remus, who now found himself trapped between a bookshelf and Charlie’s fingers in his hair, regretted most deeply that he had not yet confessed to Sirius about his feelings.

“It’s such a shame you cut so much of it off Remus,” she frowned and Remus smiled politely. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gently removed her hand from his hair and placed it in her own lap.

“It’ll grow.” He was ashamed of his inability to conceal his irritation. The full moon had come and gone and he was tired, his body still feeling the effects of the change. He’d managed to get a new scar that split his left eyebrow and he was happy now that he had allowed Marlene to leave his hair just a little longer than he usually wore it. But oh how Charlotte loved it.

“You just look like such a bad boy. Its sexy.”

Remus wanted nothing more than to be done with this damn study group so he could find Sirius. He kept waiting for the right moment but maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe any chance to tell him was the right moment. Any chance to be able to press his lips against his-

“Remus?” James snapped him out of his trance.

“Hmm?”

“Same time tomorrow? The weather’s too nice out we aren’t going to get anything done now. Even you seem distracted,” James grinned and Remus smiled sheepishly.

“I apologize I-“

“Maybe we can skip off to Hogsmeade, Remus,” Charlotte interrupted him and Lily began to pick up her books faster when she noticed Remus’ tight lipped smile, “visit Madame Puddifoot’s tea shop?”

“Charlotte-“

“Charlie,” she grinned and Remus all but screamed.

“Charlie,” he stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder, “it is never gonna happen between us. I’m sorry I wasted your time. I just don’t see-“

“Oh... oh you’re joking!” she laughed and shoved his arm, “you’re so funny.”

“I’m not funny, I’m gay. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Remus strode off then, leaving behind an open mouthed Charlie and a laughing Lily and James.

Remus ran out of the library and out towards the lake. It was common to find Sirius under the tree there, having a nap and ditching study hall. Remus could see his boots protruding from behind one of the roots and smiled. He sped up, wincing as his muscles protested. He dropped his bag at the edge of the lake, leaning over and bracing himself on his knees as he wheezed for air.

“Remus?” Sirius sat up, a look of alarm on his face, “are you alright?” he scrambled to his knees and made his way over, pressing his hands to Remus’ shoulders. “Hey,” he tilted his head and smiled when his eyes met Remus’, “alright Moony?”

Remus had just begun to settle his heavy breathing but he was suddenly breathless again. He straightened himself and Sirius dropped his hands, taking a step back before Remus caught his arm.

“I’m not... I mean..” he shut his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before looking at Sirius again. “I’m much better than alright.”

“Is that right,” he reached up, “you’ve cut it.” Remus wrapped his fingers around his wrist, chuckling at the familiar action. Except he didn’t mind these fingers in his hair as much. He kept his hold on Sirius’ wrist and smiled.

“It wasn’t very me... plus it tickled my nose,” he grinned wider when Sirius laughed, “I think I’m in love with you.”

He’d stopped laughing then. “Think you’re still under the effects of the full moon there Moony,” but his smile never faded.

“Oh I definitely am. My legs are ready to give out actually,” he released Sirius’ wrist then, leaning into the fingers that had tangled into his hair and were now pressed to his face.

“I’m so stupid,” Sirius laughed, “I’d hidden it so well... who knew I had a thing for hairy men.”

“Everyone. I might be a little ashamed to say I asked Lily and Marlene.”

“Moony!” He exclaimed, “I didn’t take you for a gossip.”

“Be nice,” Remus’ face hurt from smiling, “I had to be sure... didn’t want to make a fool of myself or even push you away. I’d rather be your friend and keep my feelings to myself if it means you’d stay in my life.”

“What made you change your mind? Seemed to be in a rush when you got here,” he chuckled, “so eager to give me a half arsed confession.”

“Half arsed!” Remus’ eyebrows shot up.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Sirius repeated and Remus grinned.

“I know that I am... you however, I think you’re just lusting,” he teased and Sirius dropped his hand, giving him a small shrug.

“Mayhaps I am. So what now?”

“I think that’s up to you,” Remus couldn’t help but be surprised at the shy smile that Sirius offered him. Sirius reached forward once more to grip the front of Remus’ shirt, stood on his toes, and pressed his lips to his.

“The hair I can part with, but please... never shave that beard,” he mumbled against Remus’ lips.