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sincerelytan · 3 years

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Girlfriend V / S Bestfriend

Girlfriend v / s Bestfriend

Word count: 4245

Prompt: “Free Day” Day 7 of Digiweek 2021

Features Characters: Yamato, Mimi, Taichi, Sora, Takeru, Kari, Koshiro and Joe

A / N: I had written this a while back and thought I would post it during day 7 of free day. Hope you enjoy my attempt at this little humours fic.

Also Today is August 1st - Happy Odaiba Day

@digiweek

Summary: Yamato finds himself in between yet another argument of Taichi and Mimi, but this time Sora has a solution that just might solve the age old question or just make things more awkward for Yamato

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“I hope we are not too late,” Sora commented as she, Yamato and Takeru were making their way to Taichi’s house.

“We are very late,” Yamato replied blandly.

“We would have been on time if you hadn’t taken so much time in picking out a gift for your girlfriend,” Sora shot back caustically. “besides, you asked us for our help.” she further pointed out.

“She’s right you know,” Takeru added; “who knew you would take so much time!” he muttered “in choosing a dress,” last part almost to himself.

“Yeah, whatever,” Yamato said rolling his eyes, clearly having heard what Takeru said.

“Thanks for helping though,” Yamato murmured after a bit of walking in silence. “I really want this date to be special.” And Takeru; Yamato said halting and turning towards his brother, “She better not find out about this surprise.” Yamato commanded Takeru in a playful warning tone, remembering how Takeru had a habit of confiding in her in just about anything and everything.

“My lips are sealed!” Takeru said enthusiastically. “Relax, she will love it! I’m sure, besides your anniversary is next week! He said beaming at a nervous Yamato.

Sensing Yamato still needed some assurance, Takeru added, “You got the black dress, the necklace, you booked the table at Il Ristorante - Luca Fantin,” he stopped and looked at Yamato, “You booked it right?”

“Yes, of course, a month ago” Yamato added.

“And we got the limo, I know because I booked that one, Sora’s going to give you the flowers in the morning” Takeru added counting down the list on his fingers, “We have the perfect coverup story so now,” he continued as they reached Taichi’s house “let’s just hang out with the others and not let her suspect anything.” He said beaming to a somewhat confident Yamato.

Great, poker face, Yamato thought as they rang the bell to Taichi’s door.

When they arrived at Taichi’s all 3 of them were revising their excuse as to why they turned up together and that too late. The excuse was going to be that Yamato and Takeru were held back by their mum and on the way to Taichi’s place they bumped into Sora who was going to say she came from her tennis class that was near Takeru’s place and thus they ended upcoming together.

As it turned out they didn’t really have to worry about their excuses because they could hear Taichi and Mimi arguing while they waited outside for someone to open the door.

“What’s the argument about this time?” Sora asked as Joe opened the door.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you” Joe sighted back rubbing his forehead.

“Are they finally here?” Kari called out from the room.

“Yeah,” Joe shouted back.

“Tell them to come here and end this now.” they heard Koshiro say clearly sounding annoyed.

“We have been friends forever.” They could hear Taichi claim loudly at Mimi.

“So have we! and we’ve been dating for 3 years now.” Mimi shot back.

“Ha please, you’ll didn’t even talk with each other during elementary school.” Taichi declared assuming his victory.

“So what! I know things that you would never ever know,” Mimi replied back with a smirk, “I am the one that sleeps with him.”

Yamato blushed bright red overhearing this conversation as he, Takeru, and Sora entered the room.

“Are you two fighting; over who knows Yamato better?” Sora asked with amusement.

“Obviously I do!” Mimi smiled as she approached Yamato and gave him a quick kiss.

“Kissing someone doesn’t necessarily mean you know them,” Taichi said shrugging his shoulders. “I kissed Catherine a couple of times; didn’t know she already had a boyfriend.”

“That’s because all you guys did was kiss,” Sora commented back dryly.

“Touché!” Taichi smirked at the guys as Sora and Kari shook their heads.

“Anyway,” Yamato said butting in “I guess I would say, Mimi does know me better than you, sorry Taichi.”

“That’s my man,” Mimi said happily sending an air kiss in Yamato’s direction.

“Whipped” Taichi smirked as he received a glare from Yamato.

“Anyway, I know you are just saying this because you want to continue sleeping with her.” Taichi continued now rolling his eyes at Yamato. “and you know I am right, thus further proving my point that I know him better,” Taichi concluded with his hands gesturing and looking at everyone to agree with him.

As Yamato opened his mouth to argue back, “A quiz!” Sora chimed in quickly.

“I will ask both of you’ll a few questions about Yamato, and whoever answers most of them correctly is the winner.” Sora continued excitedly as Yamato, Mimi and Taichi looked at her with confusion.

“That’s a good idea but obviously Yamato will agree with Mimi and cheat,” Taichi said shooting a look at Mimi.

Before Mimi could argue back to that, “Written cards” Koshiro butted in. “Sora can ask the question, all 3 of you’ll get a card to write the answers and then everyone can reveal the answers that they wrote at the same time, so no one can cheat,” Koshiro explained.

“You can’t be serious!” Yamato said facepalming while Taichi and Mimi were giving it a serious thought.

“This is a great idea” Takeru chimed. “Although technically I am supposed to know him better than both of you’ll.” He said pointing at Mimi and Taichi, “but this way I will find out things I don’t know about you” he added with excitement.

“This is going to be so much fun” Sora smirked with gleaming eyes as she looked directly at Yamato.

“I’m sorry Yamato”, Joe added sympathetically patting Yamato on his shoulder.

While the others prepared the questions, Yamato, Taichi and Mimi waited in the other room.

“Better game up Tachikawa,” Taichi said stretching his neck, getting his game mode on.

“You’re going down Yagami,” Mimi said narrowing her eyes at Taichi.

“Oh Boy!” is all Yamato could mutter.

“Okay, we are ready,” Kari giggled as Taichi, Yamato, and Mimi entered the room.

“Please sit at your assigned seats,” Joe said, pointing to the chairs that had each of their names, a bunch of empty cards, and a marker for them to write with. “This way no one can cheat,” he said as Yamato, Mimi, and Taichi took their seats.

“Rules are simple,” Koshiro continued, “Sora will host, asking you’ll questions about Yamato, you get 10 seconds to write your answers on the cards and when asked you will reveal what you have written after which Yamato reveals his answer, Kari keeps score, and we can see which one of you’ll knows Yamato best.” He finished taking his seat near Joe and Takeru as Sora stood in front of the three participants.

“Welcome to the game of Girlfriend v/s Best friend; a game where Mimi, the girlfriend, and Taichi, the best friend or is it the other way around?” Sora spoke commanding everyone’s attention as she began the game joyfully in her best host voice.

“Anyway, where both will try and answer some questions about Yamato. The person with the most correct answers wins the game and proves to the other that they do indeed know Yamato better.” She continued gleefully.

“Okay, let’s do this!” Mimi said with a determined look on her face.

“Bring it on!” Taichi answered equally determinedly.

“You all are enjoying this way too much,” Yamato said annoyed.

“You have no idea,” Sora replied giggling.

“Starting off with an easy Question, Question 1 for girlfriend vs best friend is What colour M&Ms are Yamato’s favourite?” Sora asked grinning at the three.

As soon as Sora finished asking the question Mimi, Taichi, and Yamato quickly wrote down their answers as Koshiro timed them.

And “Mimi” Sora said pointing at Mimi as Koshiro gave her the nod indicating the time was up.

Blue – Mimi’s card read. “He always snatches up the blue ones while I go for the red ones.” She said smiling broadly.

Blue – Taichi’s card also read “this is too easy.” He said lazily.

“And now for the reveal, Yamato?” Sora asked turning to Yamato.

Yamato sighed and held up his card, where it was written Blue, “remind me why I agreed to this again?” he asked in a defeated tone.

“Because it’s fun and we get to take your case,” Sora said with a bright smile. “Also, I get my revenge on you for dragging me through 20 different shops” She added the last part softly to Yamato while Mimi and Taichi were busy taunting each other. “A point to both Mimi and Taichi” She concluded loudly pointing at Kari who giving a thumbs up and wrote down the score on the board.

“After an easy start moving on to Question 2!” Sora continued with the same enthusiasm; What is Yamato’s favourite food?”

As before all 3 of them wrote down the answer as soon as Sora asked the question and Koshiro began his timer. With a nod from Koshiro, Sora asked Taichi and Mimi to reveal their answers.

Pizza – Taichi’s card read. “obviously” he muttered while showing his card.

Onigiri/Mochi – Mimi’s card read “I know this because I cook for him.” She answered giving Yamato a sweet but dangerous look indicating his answer better be this.

Onigiri – Yamato’s card read. “I like pizza and mochi as well,” Yamato said looking at Taichi apologetically, while Mimi gave him one of her widest smiles.

“Oo bad luck Taichi, looks like Yamato’s favourite food is Onigiri.” Sora concluded in her host voice. “and that’s a point to Mimi." She said pointing at Kari who put another point up for Mimi.

“Whose favourite food is not Pizza!” Taichi said out loud and annoyed as he threw his answer card down.

“We all like pizza but you have an unhealthy obsession with it Taichi,” Kari said sighing. “Seriously I once saw him finish 2 large pizza’s in 1 go,” she added looking at the group.

“Hey, those pizzas were to die for,” Taichi said defending his love for pizza.

“Oh, is it the place you insisted we go for my birthday?” Koshiro asked. “Oh yeah, those pizzas were really good” he agreed, much to Taichi’s delight.

“The very same” Taichi answered happy that Koshiro was there to back him up.

“Which reminds me, we should order some food for later,” Joe said taking out his phone to place an order. “Any suggestions?” he asked looking around.

“Pizza” Taichi answered before anyone else could. “And Yamato my Pizza is on you for not answering pizza.”

“And mine too” Mimi added. I agree with Taichi on this, she giggled much to Taichi’s delight.

“Wait, What! But Onigiri? Fine!.” Yamato said just throwing his hands up and giving up.

“Hey, I am the host, my Pizza is on you as well,” Sora added to the mix.

“I keep the score” Kari chimed in.

“and I time you guys,” Koshiro added.

“and I am your brother,” Takeru said giving his best puppy dog face.

“you guys torture me like this and expect the pizza to be on me?” “Some friends you are!” Yamato started protesting.

“Pizza is on me and Yamato,” Joe said giving Yamato an apologetic look as Yamato put his hands on his face in annoyance.

“As Joe orders the Pizza, we move on to Question 3, What is Yamato’s preferred pizza topping?” Sora continued in her host mode.

“Was that question on the list?” Koshiro asked giving Sora a confused look.

“Well, I just thought of it” she added. “come on guys it’s a relevant question!”

Alright, muttered the three as they wrote down their answers.

“And for the reveal,” Sora said pointing towards her best friend, “Mimi”

Double Cheese – Mimi’s card read. “Yamato really loves cheese”

Double Cheese – Taichi’s card read as well; “you better not answer anything else, our friendship is literally at stake now” Taichi said dramatically.

Double Cheese – Yamato’s card read, “you know it” Yamato exclaimed as Taichi grinned chanting, “Our friendship is saved.”

“Mimi leading by a point, we move on to Question 4,” Sora said laughing at the exchange. “Which is Yamato’s favourite band?”

“And answers,” she said as she got the nod from Koshiro.

Mimi and Taichi held up their cards at the same time

Nirvana – Mimi’s card read, “Yamato absolutely loves them, he also likes Linkin Park though.”

Nirvana – Taichi’s card also read. “Yeah, I remember this from elementary school.” He said shooting a look at Mimi.

Nirvana – Yamato’s card also read. “I think everyone knows this.”

“Apparently they do, adding a point each to Mimi and Taichi.” Sora concluded.

“For Question 5” Sora continued; “Which sport does Yamato least suck at?”

“Thanks for putting it that way,” Yamato said rolling his eyes at Sora.

“My pleasure, and Mimi?” Sora smirked, clearly enjoying her role as the hostess.

Basketball – Mimi’s card read “He loses against Takeru every time,” she said earning a grin from Takeru and a very annoyed “hey” from Yamato.

“Taichi?”

Basketball – Taichi’s card also read. “He really sucks at soccer.” Earning a further “hey!” from Yamato.

“I can beat every one of your asses in Basketball,” Yamato stated as he showed his card that read Basketball.

“and yet somehow you always lose to me”

“Shut up Takeru.” Yamato glared at Takeru as everyone laughed.

“Moving on to Question 6,” Sora continued. “What is Yamato’s favourite guilt trip series to binge?”

Doctor who – Taichi’s card read when Sora called out his name to reveal his answer. “I don’t know why but he loves that show.”

Glee – Mimi’s card read next.

“Mimi that’s your favourite guilt trip series, not mine” Yamato said, showing his card that read – Doctor who.

“but you always watch glee with me” Mimi pouted.

“yes, because you enjoy it, I watch it with you,” Yamato said smiling at her, at which she further pouted.

“Looks like Taichi knows Yamato’s Tv preference here better than Mimi” Sora concluded. “With a point to Taichi, he is now caught up with Mimi.”

“And for Question 7,” Sora continued in her best hostess impression. “If Yamato could have anyone’s superpowers from the Avengers team, who’s powers would he want to have?”

“Great question!” Kari said looking at Koshiro, who had suggested the question. Blushing at Kari’s comment, Koshiro nodded to Sora as the time ended.

“Mimi? Your answer please” Sora asked her friend.

Captain America – Mimi’s card read as she looked at Yamato with a dreamy expression.

“Oo Captain America, that would be a hot choice,” Sora giggled. “Taichi?”

Iron Man – Taichi’s card read. “Please, Yamato is more like Tony Stark, also he��s the coolest.

Thor – Yamato’s card read. As everyone gave him a bland expression. “What?” he added.

“Seriously? I thought you like Captain America, you have a keychain of his shield” Mimi squealed, somehow offended, “also he’s the hottest! and you definitely have the Ass, perhaps not America’s but definitely Japan’s Ass.” Mimi added winking to a very red Yamato.

“Hmm I don’t know, maybe; Yamato, give us a twirl now, will you?” Taichi said trying to check out Yamato.

“And deleting that image from my mind,” Takeru said making a face at Yamato.

“Yeah, but I would prefer Thor’s powers, I could fly and manipulate thunder and also not to mention I would be a God.” Yamato tried defending his answer.

“Okay, no points for anyone, looks like you guys need to buck up your game, if you wanna win who knows Japan’s Ass better,” Sora concluded laughing.

“Shudd up.” Is all Yamato could say red in his face as everyone laughed.

“Moving on to DC, Question 8!” Sora continued as the laughter died down. “Who is Yamato’s all-time favourite DC character?”

“I actually like DC more than Marvel” Takeru added to the room.

“Nah aa, marvel all the way” Kari shot back at Takeru. “They have better movies”

“Please, who can compete against Batman?” Takeru chimed in.

“Have you read any of the comics?” Koshiro asked them both.

“some” Takeru mumbled while Kari shook her head.

“And before this gets into a Marvel vs Dc or TV vs Comics, answers please!” Sora slipped in halting that discussion.

Batman – Taichi’s card read. “obviously”

Nightwing – Mimi’s card read. “This time it’s definitely the butt," she added with a squeal.

Nightwing – Yamato’s card read. “It's not because of the ass” Yamato added to a gleaming Mimi.

“Okay, seriously Yamato, you have got to give us a twirl!” Taichi exclaimed.

All Yamato could do was glare at Taichi as the girls giggled and the boys laughed.

“We are just getting started on to the good questions” Sora added cheekily as the laughter subsided. “Moving on to the next question! Question 9” “What age did Yamato have his first kiss?”

Yamato and Mimi both blushed hiding their faces behind their cards as they wrote the answer.

“And Mimi?” Sora asked

13 – Mimi’s card read

16 – Taichi’s card read. “He was a late bloomer” Taichi teased

13 – Yamato’s card read as he held it up to cover his face.

“13? Really? Who?” Sora asked surprised, asking the question that was on everyone’s mind as Yamato was extremely closed off as a person that time.

“Mimi,” Yamato answered slowly “the day she was leaving for the states”

“But you guys weren’t together that time,” Koshiro asked. “or were you already secretly dating”

“Well, it was unexpected for me as well, I mean I did have a crush on him that time but didn’t think he had, so imagine my surprise when I went to tell him goodbye, he kissed me.” Mimi smiled at the memory, “And he’s really improved a lot since then in that department” she added in a teasing tone.

“I knew I saw the two of you kiss, you told me I was seeing things,” Takeru exclaimed at Yamato.

“I didn’t really want anyone to know,” Yamato said apologetically to Takeru.

“Those mood swings make so much more sense now” Takeru added laughing.

“Okay, moving on” Yamato gestured to a smiling Sora.

“This game is just getting started,” Sora said amused at Yamato’s embarrassment.

“I am going to kill all of you,” Yamato replied pointing towards Sora and the other spectators.

“Kari, would you tell us the score please,” Sora said sticking out her tongue at Yamato.

“Taichi needs to game up, as Mimi is leading by 2 points.” Kari added with a giggle.

“Revealing more secrets of the lone wolf, moving on to Question 10” Sora smiled “What is Yamato’s favourite alcoholic beverage?

Even before sora could ask for an answer,

Beer – Taichi’s card read. “phh please” he added with an air of confidence.

Old Fashioned – Mimi’s card read. Please, Yamato likes his classic gentleman’s whiskey drink”

Old Fashioned – Yamato’s card read.

“What old fashion? Are you kidding me!!!! We always drink beer together” Taichi bellowed.

“But I like a good whiskey, bourbon, or scotch.” Yamato tried to defend himself.

“And you don’t like the beers we drink together?” Taichi asked absolutely furious.

“Yeah, of course I like beers but that’s not my favourite alcoholic beverage Taichi” Mat tried to explain.

“oh! So now beer isn’t sophisticated enough for you! First, you turn your back on Pizza and now Beer!” Taichi crossed his arms absolutely fuming.

“Taichi” Yamato tried to continue.

“Next boys’ night you get your own fancy-ass drink” Taichi pouted cutting Yamato off “Sora, next Question”

“Taichi” Yamato tried again.

“Next Question Sora”

Giving Yamato an apologetic look, Sora continued “Moving on to Question 11, What is Yamato the most afraid of?”

Ghosts – Taichi’s card red. “Remember the time when me, Takeru, and Mimi pranked Yamato” Taichi said laughing at the memory as they had spooked Yamato quite badly.

Ghosts – Mimi showed her card, smiling at the memory.

Ghosts – Yamato’s card read as well, cursing Takeru for revealing his secret.

“With Mimi still in the lead, Question 12” Sora continued with a knowing smirk towards Yamato. “Which celebrity is on Yamato’s list? Basically, which celebrity does Yamato wish to sleep with?” she further clarified.

Mariya Nishiuchi – Taichi held up his card excitedly

Merei Kiritani – Mimi held up her card with a stoic expression.

Mariya Nishiuchi – Yamato held his card, looking anywhere except at Mimi.

“oo she is pretty” Joe let slip to everyone’s amusement.

“Didn’t she come for one of your shows?” Takeru asked with an innocent curious look, while Mimi looked surprised, and Yamato tried to signal him to shut up.

“I don’t know what you are talking about” Yamato dismissed Takeru.

“Hang on!” Mimi added looking at Yamato now. “When was this? And how do I not know about this?”

“She came backstage as well” Takeru added. “I remember it was when you were in New York for your work visit,” Takeru said looking at Mimi.

“Mimi, I swear, nothing happened. She came to meet the band and that was it, I walked out of my dressing room when she came in”

“Okay this even I didn’t know,” Takeru said amused. “I just remember she came backstage to tell you guys she really enjoyed the show.”

“Are you telling me, you had the opportunity and you chickened out?” Taichi roared with laughter.

“Excuse me?” Mimi said tartly to Taichi.

“I didn’t chicken out Taichi, I didn’t want anything to do with her.” Yamato replied just as tartly.

“Not what you said when we were watching ..” Taichi continued in a teasing tone

“Shut up Taichi” Yamato cut Taichi off. “Mimi, babe, its not ..”

“We shall talk about this later,” Mimi said narrowing her eyes.

“Is this over yet?” Yamato asked to the room where the others were just giggling at his misery.

“no no, I want to see what else I don’t know about you.” Mimi replied in a teasing manner.

“Is it lets torture Yamato Day, today?” Yamato asked rhetorically.

“Mimi,” Joe asked cautiously, still not convinced of her mood, to which the ever bubbly girl just smiled and winked. Satisfied that Yamato won’t be in much trouble, Joe cleared his throat, “I think we have 3 more questions” to which Sora and Koshiro nodded.

The bell rung indicating the pizza was here. Joe and Yamato went to get the pizzas and pay for them, with Yamato insisting to pay for the whole thing and Joe politely but sternly telling him that they can split it amongst both of them.

Handing everyone their food and beverages, as Yamato and Joe got back in their place, Sora continued the game.

“To continue on to Yamato’s torture, Question 13,” she asked, “What type of porn category does Yamato like?” in a very serious and calm voice.

Joe almost choked on his drink while Koshiro spat out his drink, as the remaining two roared with laughter.

“Taichi?” Sora asked barely able to contain her laugh,

Cheerleader – Taichi’s card read. “I remember the time when he used to fantasize about Mimi in her cheerleading outfit all the time. I don’t think he’s gotten over that.” Taichi said raising his eyebrows cheekily at Yamato and Mimi.

Threesome – Mimi’s card read. “Really? You used to fantasize about me back then?” she asked amused. “And here I thought you were dropping hints for a 3way.”

Cheerleader – Yamato’s card read. “That wasn’t a hint, Mimi. I told you it was a misunderstanding.” He said blushing furiously than he ever had.

“Shame,” Mimi said casually checking her nails, “I might have been game.” She added with a wink towards him.

Taichi nearly fell off his chair, while Koshiro did fall off his chair, his mouth open with shock.

“You lucky lucky son of a gun,” Taichi added to a blushing Yamato, with a slight hint of jealousy in his voice.

“Misunderstanding?” Sora asked trying to fish for the story, while Kari just laughed and Joe looked down embarrassed.

“Okay, too much information for me,” Takeru said clearing her throat. “Next question please,” he said gesturing towards Sora.

“So having that opportunity taken away from him, moving on to Question 14.” Sora continued still between her laughs. “What is Yamato’s safe word?”

Sora wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks and gestured for all of them to reveal their answers.

Orangutan – Taichi’s card read.

Orangutan – Mimi’s card also read.

Orangutan – Yamato’s card read as well.

Seeing the shocked look on everyone’s face, Mimi looked over to Taichi’s card and in a very loud pitch voice, almost shouting exclaimed, “What!!”

“What! No way, What! How do you even know that?” Mimi bellowed.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Taichi laughed falling off his chair, as Yamato just stared at Taichi with total shock. “Dude we really are soulmates.” Taichi managed to say between laughs as he struggled to get off the floor.

“I’m done, you know what I am done. All the other questions are irrelevant now” Mimi dropped her cards, got up, and walked out the room.

“Mimi come back,” Taichi tried calling behind her. “Princess,” he called after her as he got up and ran behind her still laughing his head off at the coincidence.

Yamato just shook his head, covering his face with his hands, as the rest of the people in the room erupted in laughter that went on for quite a while.

#digimon #digiweek2021 #day7 #digimon adventure #taichi yagami #Mimi tachikawa #yamato ishida #mimato #Sora Takenouchi #my fic #august #fanfiction #Happy Odaiba Day

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adastra121 · 3 years

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Green Thumbs

Book: The Elementalists

Pairing: Beckett Harrington x Wood-Att MC (I didn’t specify a gender)

Summary: Beckett struggles with a Wood magick spell, so the Wood-Attuned MC helps him understand a bit better.

A/N: So this is a short fluffy one-shot of Beckett and MC that I started writing when The Elementalists first came out (yeah, as you can tell I’m often really late with things). I had the idea when I read a line about Metal magick and Wood magick being opposites and I really wanted to explore how magick worked and why an Attuned of one type would have trouble with the other. Obviously, I didn’t expect to see something like that happen in the books, because it would be difficult to code with differently Attuned MCs, but this is how I imagined a scenario where Beckett is struggling with Wood magick and a Wood-Att MC helps him grow as an Attuned (as Wood-Atts do uwu). Also, this is told in second person from Beckett’s perspective.

Beckett could feel the frustration building up as the potted plant wilted yet again after he performed the spell. He’d always had difficulty with Wood magick, but he had been working at this spell for over an hour. This was just getting ridiculous. And it wasn’t so much that he was killing the plants, rather, the plants simply refused to work with him. Like they knew exactly what the spell intended and, by virtue of it being something Beckett wanted to happen, decided to do the exact opposite.

“Beckett,” your voice chimed from right beside him. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. Didn’t you say it was natural for Metal-Atts to have trouble with Wood magick?”

“Well, yes, I did say such a thing, but…” He ran a hand through his hair, breathing out a frustrated sigh. “Not for a Harrington. It shouldn’t be…and if I cannot master even a basic Wood magick spell like this…”

“It doesn’t make you any less of a brilliant Attuned,” you cut him off, slipping your hand in his and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

Beckett felt the flush creep up his neck when his eyes landed on your bright smile, before he glanced away and awkwardly cleared his throat. One would think that after all this time together, he would get used to your random displays of physical affection. But no, of course, Beckett would still get flustered around you like some school boy around his crush. It didn’t help that you loved to tease him about it as well, even more so after you two decided to get into a romantic relationship. Luckily for him, you decided to spare him the teasing and get straight to the feedback.

“Wood magick and Metal magick are opposites,” you continued. “It makes sense why an Attuned specializing in one would find the other difficult. I know it took me a while to get Metal magick down.” You let out a little laugh to yourself. “Or any magick, for that matter.”

Beckett bit back a smile. “And how did you get around it?”

“Well, let’s see…” You hum for a moment, tapping your chin as you thought, lips pursed in an adorable pout. Honestly, how could you make such unsolicited comments all the time about his own “cuteness” when you acted like this?

“The way I see it,” you said, drawing him out of his thoughts, “Metal magick calls for mastery of the self. And it suits you perfectly. You are always striving to be better. Always pushing yourself to your full potential. And you rely on nobody but yourself to get to where you are. It actually amazes me how much you have accomplished, how you are so willing to go even further.”

Beckett didn’t think his face could grow any warmer, yet you seemed to love proving him wrong. His heart warmed with immense affection at your praise, every word filled with more sincerity and openness than he’d thought possible. How could you be so open, so willing to share your heart with everyone around you? With someone like him?

He couldn’t understand. Perhaps that was his problem.

“Wood magick, however, is not self-reliant,” you continued, turning your gaze to the potted plant. “You are not bending and moulding a form to the best of your ability. You are guiding a living thing. It requires you to listen, cooperate, and most importantly, trust. You need to trust that you don’t have to do everything yourself.”

Your eyes caught his for a moment, and he could have sworn he saw something flicker across their brilliance. A hint of knowing…reassurance. Were you still talking about magick? However, as quickly as that unspoken message played out in your bright gaze, your attention shifted back to the plant before you.

Beckett watched, inexplicably enraptured by your magick brought the wilted plant back upright. Your magick…it didn’t demand control over the plant, didn’t bend it to your will. It was patient, trusting, and…warm. Just as warm as it had been the first time he truly felt it.

One of the leaves continued to extend towards you, towards your open palm. Enraptured with his own curiosity, Beckett was wondering what sort of complicated spell you were preparing to demonstrate when you simply met the leaf with your palm. “High five!”

He paused, blinking a couple times, before letting out a groan.

“I have finally done it—I have failed the Harrington name,” he murmured. “I’ve resorted to asking for help from a Wood-Att who has not only just recently been introduced to magick, but also uses the art for handshakes with houseplants.”

“Oh, no need for the dramatics, you dork,” you beamed, sidling up behind him. “Let’s start small and build from there. Kind of like relationships.”

You placed your hands around his, your magick still so inviting and warm like sunshine, and he realized then that you were sharing your magick with him. Not so much in a way that lends him your power, though, you weren’t giving him the materials to build something great. It was more like you were leading him along a dance, magick guiding him into a certain direction but also listening to his magick, his heart. You were always frighteningly good at that, reading his heart.

He didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

“It’s okay. It will listen to you. Don’t force it, just let it respond to you in its own way.”

Beckett nodded, taking in a deep breath and letting his eyes drift shut to relax. It was strange, he realized. He never felt more vulnerable than when he was around you. You were always so open and free with your thoughts, your feelings, with your love. One would think that made you too trusting, naïve, defenseless to anyone who wanted to hurt you — in fact Beckett did think exactly that before you became friends. That was when he realized that as much as you allowed him to know more about you, he was letting himself be known as well. All his failures, his insecurities, his weaknesses. It went both ways.

And being known — having people know not only your name, not only your pride and accomplishments, but knowing and seeing you — was a terrifying thing. With you, he couldn’t hide behind any of those, he had no shield, no armor. He always thought that one would be weak without them. But you had long known that wasn’t true.

It had never occurred to Beckett that an open, unguarded heart could have been hurt before. He’d always thought it was a result of never experiencing pain. But that wasn’t true. Your openness and kindness weren’t out of naivety, they were a choice — one that took strength, resilience, and so much bravery. You chose to open yourself to the world because you knew before he did that there was more to vulnerability than weakness. There was joy and friendship and growth. There was love.

You made him vulnerable…and you made him stronger.

It was a simple thing to place his trust in you.

“Beckett, open your eyes,” you whispered, breath brushing against his ear.

He did as you told, and saw a leafy tendril reaching out toward his hand, brushing tenderly against his fingers. Beckett breathed out an incredulous laugh.

You threw your arms around him, wrapping him in a warm, giddy embrace. “You did it! I knew you could!”

He was at a loss for words, choosing instead to watch your smiling face, your eyes filled with pride in him, in a way that was somehow worth more than all the awards in the world combined. He only wished you would pull him in closer.

Something suddenly wrapped around his arm and yanked him out of your embrace. “Gah!”

And then he found himself entangled in the vines of the plant, leaves tickling his skin, gently swaying as if he was being cradled.

“Oops,” you said, chuckling at the display of open affection. “I forgot to warn you how enthusiastically they can respond to you once you’ve formed a bond. Alright, buddy, you can let him go now. Thanks for the help.”

You stroked a hand along the stem, which relaxed under your touch and eventually dropped Beckett back onto his feet. His face was flushed a bright red in embarrassment as he attempted to straighten out his clothes.

“I think I’ll stop here for now. As much as I would love to continue cuddling the university’s flora, I do have other classes to study for.”

He sent an apologetic look to the plant as if to say “no offense.”

…God, you might be rubbing off on him a little too much.

“They don’t usually react like this one you’ve gained their trust,” you mumbled, rubbing your chin thoughtfully. “What were you thinking about before it pulled you in?”

How much I wanted to sink deeper into your embrace until I’m forever lost in your warmth and affection. “Er, I was just…nervous, I suppose,” he fibbed, feeling his face warm yet again as he stuttered.

“Well, whatever that was about, you still performed the spell successfully! And the plant seems to like you,” you said. Your smile turned mischievous, a bit too pleased, and Beckett knew what that look usually meant. “I knew you’d grow on each other eventually.”

“…If that was intended to be a Wood magick joke, I am breaking up with you.”

The plant beside them shuddered as if agreeing with him about his partner’s corny humour. You let out a bright giggle and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Nah, you wouldn’t. I’ve grown on you, too.”

At that, Beckett allowed himself a fond smile, even as you were already turned away, starting off in the direction of the library.

“Yes,” he admitted quietly to no one in particular. “You have.”

You looked over your shoulder with a radiant smile that, Beckett was starting to realize, he couldn’t remember his life without.

“Come on, Harrington, Wood magick’s not the only attunement we have to review!”

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bugsbucky · 4 years

Text

No More Games

Jealous!Bucky x Reader

Prompt: “When we get home, I’m cuffing you to the bed and going down on you all night.” “Fine by me, you look hot with your head between my legs.”

Warnings: Jealous Bucky, on and off relationship, dance floor grinding, saucy ending, smuttish (a little start of female receiving oral), language.

Word Count: *takes a deep breath and speaks quickly* 1,507

Authors Notes: this is for @the-ss-horniest-book-club extended quarantine drabbles. Thank you @jobean12-blog for the title suggestions and checking this over for me since my brain is incapable of reading😂 anyway, here is some jealous Bucky for you ladies :)

If looks could kill, you would most certainly be dead by now from the look alone on Bucky’s face. He was leaning one elbow on the bar and his narrowed eyes at you on the dance floor, grinding and moving your body with a stranger.

The on-and-off-again relationship with Bucky was making you crazy, as far as you were aware the two of you had broken up weeks ago. Bucky has made no attempt to talk to you and every time you walk in the room, he walks out of it. So when the team proposed the idea of going out to the club on a Friday night to let loose and dance the stress away, you saw no harm in making your ex a little bit jealous. After all, he had been teasing you since you recently broke up by having random blonde women enter and exit his bedroom like a damn McDonald’s drive-thru. They came and left, literally, judging by the loud screams coming from his room.

You turned in his arms and wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands on your waist to pull you closer as he wedged his thigh between your legs. You shamelessly rubbed against his thigh muscle and threw your head back, feeling the intense glare from the bar.

“You’re so gorgeous.” the stranger whispered against your ear, nipping at your neck as you got lost in the bass music. Feeling dizzy as the effects of the alcohol run through your veins and just knowing you were driving Bucky insane.

Bucky would deny he was a jealous guy of course. He believed as a boyfriend he was just doing what any other partner would do and protect what was theirs. You were his girl for years. The two of you started dating 4 years ago when he first moved into the compound, hitting it off almost instantly. That relationship lasted about 1 year before Bucky had decided to take a break, to reel in his freedom and explore other things in life. You and Bucky had other relationships with different people too, but for one reason or another they never seemed to work out and the two of you would find your way back to each other sooner or later.

The second time you got together, it lasted a lot longer than the first. 2 years to be exact before it was once again his decision to take a timeout. Then you got back together for a further 6 months and broke up again. You remained friends until he started to sneak into your bed naked in the middle of the night. Then you got back together until a few weeks ago when he decided for the third time to break up, you figured it was a permanent breakup this time and here you were now, currently single and free.

“You’re pretty hot yourself.” you teased the stranger, rubbing your noses together. Bucky’s jaw was clenched and his grip on his beer was close to shattering as he watched the two of you basically fuck each other.

“You okay Buck?” Steve wondered amused by the look on Bucky’s face.

“Fine.” Bucky gritted through his clenched teeth.

“You’re grinding your teeth man. Should see a dentist about that.” Steve humoured, taking a swig of his beer that had absolutely no effect on him but he enjoyed the taste regardless.

Now it was Steve’s turn to receive the death glare from his pal as Bucky spun in his seat and narrowed his eyes.

“Seriously man, what’s got you so tense?”

“Y/N.” he answered simply, flicking his eyes back over to you where you were bumping your ass against the stranger's crotch. “She’s fucking mine,” he stated, slamming his tumbler glass down on the bar and waving the bartender over.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but… didn’t you break up?”

“We never truly-” Bucky stops talking when his eyes zoom in on the stranger's hand that’s crawling up your thigh. “That’s fucking it!”

“Go get her tiger,” Steve mutters with a knowing smirk in Nat’s direction.

“I gotta go!” The stranger said quickly looking over your shoulder. Before you could stop him from leaving to ask what was wrong; a strong arm gripped your elbow and dragged you through the crowd of dancing people. The crowd parted as the 6ft man of muscle and a metal arm walked through everyone, literally shoving anyone out of the way who wouldn’t move. You offered them an apologetic look on your way out, not that they were even paying much attention to what was happening around them anyway.

Bucky pushed the exit door open with so much force he almost took it off the hinges.

“What’s your problem?!” you shouted, attempting to shake your arm from his tight grip. Bucky ignored you as he marched the two of you down the road and into the side of an alleyway. He shoved you up against the red brick wall. Anger radiating off of him. You chuckled and licked your lips. “Took you long enough.” You smirked, watching his eyes darken.

“Is this a game to you?” He growled, caging you in.

“I don’t see why you would care. We’re both single, I’m allowed to do what I want when I want. Unless you’re jealous or-”

“I’m not jealous.” he defended, earning a laugh from you.

“Not jealous? Then why did you march me out of there like you own me?” Bucky nuzzled his face in your neck, nipping your earlobe.

“You’re mine. Let’s stop fucking around.”

“Says the man who keeps breaking up with me.”

“I’m fucking serious. I’m never letting you go again, you’re mine! In fact… when we get home, I’m cuffing you to the bed and going down on you all night.”

His words went to your ears straight down to your core. You always remember Bucky being the passionate one in bed, always preferring to give rather than receive and he was damn experienced with that long hot tongue of his.

“Fine by me, you look hot with your head between my legs.” you countered with a smirk. He laced his fingers with yours, pulling you along with him and hailed a cab.

The ride back to the compound was intense. Bucky stared at you the whole time, his eyes never faltering and his breathing was erratic. Your plan to drive him insane tonight clearly worked, and the triumph victory you felt was nothing compared to the prize you would be receiving later.

The cab pulled up outside the compound and Bucky tossed the driver a couple of notes, swiftly getting out and pulling you out with him. He remained quiet as the two of you walked through the compound hand in hand to the elevator, ignoring the looks of bypassers who were working late tonight.

As soon as the elevator reached your floor, he took your hand and marched you down the hall like a man with a plan. He kicked your door open and you followed him inside. Closing the door behind you and locking it, you turn quickly and his lips are on yours. His kiss is heated and hungry, his fingers fumbling with the zipper of your dress, letting it pool around your ankles as he walked you backwards towards your bed. Your knees hit the side of the bed and you fell back with a slight giggle. His eyes were dark as they wandered over your half-naked form. Kicking your heels off, you shift yourself up the bed and he reaches into your nightstand drawer, pulling out a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs. You realise he’s going to keep his promise as he grips both of your wrists with his metal hand, handcuffing them to the metal headboard.

He left you like that for a few minutes, ridding himself of his own clothes and crawling up the bed with a predatory gaze. He kneels between your spread thighs and moves your legs over his broad shoulders, the muscles in his back flexing as he worked his hands to pull down your soaking wet panties. He growled against your thigh, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin there as he got closer and closer to your aching core.

“Buck please,” you beg, bucking your hips near his face. Your swollen clit is desperate for his tongue. “Please baby I need you. I promise no more games.”

“No more games? You gonna be my girl?” he asks, darting his tongue out, you buck your hips again, hoping to touch his tongue before he pulls it back in his mouth. You groan in frustration when he does just that. “Answer me doll.”

“Yes, Buck. I’ll be your girl. Just please…” your chest heaves and your eyes close as his tongue manoeuvres between your folds, opening your lips in the process.

“Oh yeah. Just like that. More, give me more!” Bucky chuckles, enveloping his lips over your clit and sucking harshly.

“Get comfy baby. It’s gonna be a long night.”

Taglist: @jobean12-blog @marvelgirl7 @godofplumsandthunder @hawksmagnolia @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @deanthedemon @kitkatd7 @littleredstarfish @sarge-barnes-sir @crushedbyhyperbole @emilylyoness

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prettywordsyouleft · 4 years

Text

Inferior

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: angst / self-growth / established relationship au / fluff

Warnings: an argument / inferior complex and self-sabotaging mentioned

A/N: So Jinyoung and I had a fight… in my dreams haha. And I was surprisingly really affected by it so I had to write it out to get it out of my head. Of course, I should have left this completely angst due to how much he annoys me, but I wanted to be cheered up so it has a fluffy ending. Sigh. If he could stop infiltrating my dreams now, that’d be good thanks. Special thanks to Zili and Nim for letting me use them in this story.

Word count: 3645

“Are you really going to let it end here?” your friend Zili asked incredulously, your eyes unable to lift from the mug you held within your hands. “Y/N, you love him.”

“I really do.”

“Then why aren’t you racing to Jinyoung’s office right now and letting him know?”

“Because love can’t save everything,” you announced sadly, smiling weakly at your beverage instead of your friend. Even the warmth radiating into your hands couldn’t take the chill away from your soul.

The fight, although frustratingly stemming from something mindless, had shown you the truths you hadn’t wanted to admit all along.

You could love Jinyoung with every breath you took but if you couldn’t love yourself first, the problem between you would continue until he finally did what you worried so often about – leave you.

It would be best if you called it quits now.

“You need to at least resolve the fight, Y/N,” Zili urged and you nodded, blinking back the tears. “He must be feeling lost right now too.”

“I hurt him.”

“He hurt you too,” she reminded, and you sighed, leaning back in the chair and closing your eyes, a tear finally slipping down your cheek.

“I couldn’t get any closer to you if I tried,” you proclaimed as you threw your leg over Jinyoung for good measures. You grinned when his laughter reverberated against the cheek you placed over his chest, your eyes closing in content. Even if you were a tangled mess with your boyfriend, you were already comfortable.

Sleep wouldn’t take long to arrive.

“Am I your pillow?” Jinyoung wondered and you nodded repeatedly. “But what if I don’t want to be?”

Reluctantly lifting your head up to pout at him, he chuckled and leaned in to kiss you. “Love you even if you give me a dead arm.”

“Love you even if you complain before I give you one,” you retorted, nestling back down and kissing his warm chest. “It’s been a long day.”

“What do you have to do tomorrow?”

“I’m going out for lunch with Zili,” you mentioned, imagining your good friend and her infectious smile. “We’re going shopping for her engagement party outfit.”

“It weirds me out to think my junior will beat me down the aisle.”

“It’s not a race,” you told him but when you glanced up at Jinyoung, he seemed unconvinced. You laughed. “You need a ring in order to propose to someone, Jinyoung.”

“Who says I don’t have one already?”

Propping yourself up onto your elbow, you nudged your boyfriend as you stared at him with wide eyes. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Can’t do that if I’m not,” Jinyoung replied with a smug smile, leaning in to nuzzle you with his nose. “Zili and Yugyeom might beat us but we’ll have the better wedding.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ll be marrying you,” he announced proudly and you melted back to your previous position over his chest.

“You and your words,” you mumbled, trying not to get too far ahead of yourself. You couldn’t wait to tell Zili about this over lunch tomorrow.

You yawned, and Jinyoung patted you gently on your back. “Time to sleep, hm?”

“But I want to talk more about this ring.”

Jinyoung laughed heartily. “No, you need to rest.”

“Why?”

“You need your beauty sleep,” he answered and you smiled.

“Beauty sleep?”

“Mm, if you’re going to be hanging out with a glowing bride to be, you need to sleep peacefully tonight.”

Giggling, you poked Jinyoung in the chest. “Then you don’t need any sleep.”

“Hey, I need some, I have work tomorrow!”

“I mean beauty sleep. You’re too handsome; it would be unfair if you got even more ridiculously good looking. But just one night isn’t enough for me. I’d need weeks of beauty sleep in comparison.”

It was meant as a joke, the humour evident in your voice and lit up expression. However, even with the dim lighting in the bedroom, you could see the way Jinyoung’s eyes grew harder, the smile now long lost from his tightly pressed lips. It confused you.

“Why did you say that?” he asked, shifting back from you, the warmth you were experiencing leaving with his retreating body.

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you have to say that about us? About yourself?”

“Jinyoung, it was a joke!” you attempted but his eyes were now dark obsidian, and you recoiled from the intensity.

“I don’t find it funny. I didn’t find it funny the first time you did it, and I certainly don’t find it humorous now.”

“Why are you taking it so seriously? I honestly meant no harm by it!”

“You know, if this was the first time, maybe I’d be okay about it. I’d tell you to stop being so silly because to me you’re gorgeous. But how many times do I have to do that? Even if you don’t intend to, it hurts to hear you degrade yourself.”

“I was just telling the truth!”

“Well your truth and the way you see us is painful for me.”

Sitting up as you willed the rising tears not to spill out of your eyes, you let out an exasperated laugh. “Jinyoung, come on, this is ridiculous to fight over.”

“What’s ridiculous is even after two years together I still have to hear you put yourself down physically. You’re the woman I love and I wouldn’t love you if I didn’t find you amazing inside and out.”

“Okay so I’m sorry I said the wrong thing,” you announced, your nostrils flaring with how heavy your breathing was. You didn’t like confrontation and even if Jinyoung meant well, his words carried a sting that felt as if they were lashing right down to your soul.

You knew you suffered from an inferior complex. And you had in the beginning of your relationship confessed to feeling out of your depth dating him. You hadn’t expected someone like Jinyoung to even look in your direction, let alone find something captivating about you. Although you had battled through it, those insecurities remained and caught you out even when you weren’t consciously aware of them.

But… you had been genuinely joking. You couldn’t believe how serious he was being right now, his cold demeanour making you shiver, your arms wrapping around yourself, seeking out comfort.

“Will you ever see us as equals?” he questioned, swallowing visibly. “Will you ever let it go and realise what we have together is what I see a future with? Or will you keep doing this because of some incessant need to point out I’m handsome and you’re, what, just average? Ugly even?”

You didn’t answer, ashamed that he felt the need to scold you like this. You could hear the frustration and pain in his voice, the strain in the latter half of his statement causing you to bite at your trembling lip. You didn’t want to hurt him.

You didn’t want to be hurt yourself, either.

“Please, just let it go.”

“Why, for it to come up another time in the near future? Y/N, we need to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to okay! It’s my problem and-”

“You can’t even open up about it anymore?”

“It’s not that I can’t, I just don’t want to. As you said, I’m the one who thinks I’m inferior to you!”

“And I’m asking you if there’s a way we can move past this!” Rubbing his face, Jinyoung then sighed. “Why be with me?”

“Wh-what? How can you ask a question like that?”

Jinyoung stared at you. “I was just talking about marrying you before but if you can’t see us on an equal playing field as a couple, why would you say yes?”

“Because I love you!”

“I’m flawed too. I have insecurities also.”

“And I accept them,” you assured, Jinyoung shaking his head at your answer.

“I can’t accept you constantly putting yourself down at my side though. Could you if I did the same?”

“It’s hardly the case-”

“Can’t you see how hard it is for me to hear you like this?! What more do I need to do to show you that you’re the one for me? I couldn’t love someone more than I do you!”

“We’re getting nowhere apart from more upset,” you managed to say, closing your eyes. “Let’s just drop it and go to sleep.”

“And avoid it? Should I just swallow back the feeling each time you feel the need to bring it up? Just let you have your moment and let it slide even if my heart is breaking from hearing you talk like that?”

It was too much, and the tears now streamed down your face. “Please Jinyoung, just stop.”

“I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. But sometimes I wonder why you are with me if you can keep pointing out reasons why we don’t match.”

You lowered your head, your hand clutching at your damp nightshirt. You wondered if this was how it was meant to go. Over the time together, you had suffered from moments where you were painfully aware of how your relationship could end. Your self-sabotaging ways were always right behind you, waiting for a moment just like this. You knew all couples fought, and you and Jinyoung weren’t immune to them. However, when it was on this topic, you could feel a defence mechanism kicking in.

You’d had a good run together, and the end was always somewhere around the corner waiting for you both.

“Why be with me?” Jinyoung breathed, his emotions getting the better of him and he roughly wiped at his face.

There was no comforting answer that you could give him or yourself right now. Nothing stood out in the middle of the night to assist you. The love you felt so deeply for him was crippled by your inner critic, telling you what more did you expect.

It was all so unfair, so heartbreaking.

“You need to sleep for work tomorrow,” you told him in a detached tone, reaching for your pillow.

Jinyoung was faster, yanking his own up and throwing the blankets back. “Don’t bother, I’ll leave first.”

As Jinyoung got up and retreated to the couch in the living room, you clung to the blankets you drew up around your chilled body, shaking as the tears and pain consumed you.

Jinyoung didn’t come home until late the next evening and you had already gotten into bed without him. You listened to the sounds around the apartment, hearing him heating up the meal you had left for him, the low hum of the television as he ate. The shower turned on and off, and the sink ran for brushing his teeth.

Still, when all was done, he never came into the bedroom.

You fell asleep waiting for Jinyoung and when you opened your eyes again, it was just after four in the morning. Slowly, you padded out into the living room, expecting to find Jinyoung asleep on the couch. It was vacant, the blanket he had folded up from last night untouched at the end of it. You went into every room of the apartment, finding it devoid of the man you loved. Dropping to hug your knees by the front entrance, the sobs racked through you, sending an indescribable pain throughout you.

With Jinyoung lost from your world, you hadn’t expected it to hurt this much. Didn’t believe you would feel this empty so fast. You hadn’t comprehended just how the man had grown into every part to you, depleting your lungs of oxygen, your heart of blood to pump and your mind of any logic.

The end you had often worried about now felt too real, and it frightened you entirely.

The sun rose and yet you were still stuck in the same position by the door, waiting for Jinyoung’s return. You didn’t even know what the time was when you heard your phone ringing from the other room, your limbs protesting when you stood up and went to answer it.

You noticed it was Namra who had called and you sighed, not having the energy to try and converse with anyone aside from Jinyoung. However, you knew her persistent nature all too well and your phone began to ring again, her name flashing up on the screen. You connected the call and lifted the device to your ear.

“You know, if you hadn’t answered, I would have come and found you, right?”

“I’m amazed you’re not at my front door already,” you admitted with a sigh, climbing onto the bed. “Did Zili tell you?”

“Jinyoung himself,” Namra confirmed. “He stayed at ours last night. He didn’t say much but he’s a wreck, Y/N. I’ve known Jinyoung for almost as long as I’ve known Mark and I’ve never seen him cry before. He couldn’t stop.”

Looking up at the ceiling, you willed yourself not to cry for the umpteenth time, wondering where the tears even came from with how many you had used up already. “It’s so stupid, Nim,” you mentioned, clasping the blanket at your side to anchor yourself against another wave of crippling emotion. Composing yourself, you tried to laugh but it sounded like a choked on gurgle. “It came from something so dumb and yet, I get why he reacted how he did.”

You really did. Even if you were so frustrated that a joke had ended up being the reason for the fight, you could understand his frustrations. Sitting at the front door waiting for him had lent you enough time to process it all.

“Still, everyone knows how much you love that man like no other,” Namra pointed out. “You’re the couple that even if you’re saying contradictory statements at one another, are madly into one another.”

“Well, we’ve derailed now,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. “I … I have a problem with how I see myself, don’t I?”

“When it comes to anyone else, you accept compliments well enough. Why do you always have to make it harder for yourself when it comes to Jinyoung?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“I didn’t expect to love him like this,” you whispered, cheeks wet with the tears streaming down your face. “I think he has a ring somewhere and I want to wear it. Yet that’s off the cards now if he’s going to leave me.”

“You and I both know if there’s a ring, Park Jinyoung won’t leave you.”

“He asked why I’m with him. I said because I love him but when he asked again, I couldn’t answer him with anything else. My mind was blank. Ever since he asked that, I’ve been looking for the right answer.”

“Have you found it?”

“Only a bunch of reasons why I don’t want to be without him.”

“One time I didn’t realise I had made Mark feel insecure about us, and when I finally found out, I figured the only way to fix it was to tell him how I felt about him. Sounds to me, Jinyoung might have reacted as big as he did because he’s feeling insecure himself.”

You pondered the idea. Whilst your boyfriend maintained an image of being in control of himself and his feelings, you knew that he was just as indecisive and troubled as you could be. Smiling softly, you got to your feet.

“Nim, I have to go.”

“To your man?” she guessed and you nodded determinedly despite her being unable to see you.

“I have to let him know right now how I feel.”

You knew that during this time of the day that Jinyoung would only be at the office. It didn’t take you long to change into clothes and dash out of the apartment, taking the quickest route you could to him.

You had expected to be nervous. You were never the best at approaching a situation first, even if you had all the opinions in the world about it. You always waited for someone to open the floor first, ensuring that you didn’t speak out of turn or cause any harm to yourself and what others viewed you as.

But right now, you didn’t care for any of that. You walked through the lobby of the company he and Mark ran together, not stopping at the reception as you usually would to ask if now was the right time.

There would never be a time dedicated to speaking how you truly felt scheduled into a workday.

You barely greeted those who recognised you as you walked down the hallway, hitting the elevator button at the end. When the doors opened, you stopped momentarily, Mark appearing from behind them. His eyes widened but he didn’t say anything to throw you off. Nor did he step out of the elevator and so you climbed inside, hitting the floor number he had no doubt just come from.

“This is unexpected.”

“Is it really?”

Mark grinned. “I can’t say I’m not grateful. He’s been an asshole to deal with all day.”

“When he’s moody he’s insufferable,” you agreed, however you smiled, adding another reason to your list.

When the doors opened again, you stepped out with a wave to your friend, your eyes now firmly attached to the office door ahead. You saw their secretary from her desk pick up the phone to call in your arrival but you shook your head to deny the announcement, going right up to his door, twisting the handle and entering quickly.

“Mark, I said that I didn’t want lunch,” a monotonous voice stated, and you continued to move across the room until Jinyoung swung his chair around. He was surprised, hitting his knee against the desk and yelped in response. He then stood up rapidly, hitting his thigh this time.

You couldn’t help but giggle. “I thought I was the clumsy one.”

“Y/N,” he breathed in disbelief, blinking constantly to wash away his stunned expression. “What are you… I mean… and you’re-”

“I’m here,” you stated, stepping over to the frazzled man, taking his hand. It shook in your grip and you squeezed it. “I’m here for you.”

“But I was such an asshole and I haven’t apologised yet,” he mentioned, looking away from you as the guilt surfaced in his eyes.

Your fingertips brushed over the side of his jaw as you slid your hand up to guide him back to looking at you, smiling encouragingly when you saw the hesitance in his eyes. He blinked slowly. “You’re not mad at me?”

“I think we both overreacted in the heat of the moment and took things to the extreme, but no, I was never mad with you.”

“But you went to bed before me yesterday.”

You nodded. “I had no energy to wait up for you. I’m not here to pick at what happened. I just want to answer your question.”

“My question?” he echoed, his forehead creasing with thought. “What question?”

“Why I am with you.”

“Y/N, you don’t-”

You held up a hand to silence him. “I need to tell you this. At the time, I couldn’t believe why you asked me that. It was obvious to me, at least, why I am. Because I love you. That’s what I told you. And yet, there’s so much more to it. I’m with you because even if I thought I was always ready for an end, I don’t ever want there to be one. When I came out and found you gone last night, I was faced with the reality that you and I could actually end. And the idea of you not being in my life was the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

“I’m sorry, I should have left you a note or something for where I was.”

You shook your head. “I’m grateful because even though I was struggling to breathe, it made me realise all the reasons why I can’t leave you. The list is endless, you know.”

“It is?” You could tell Jinyoung was beginning to relax, his thumb over your hand now tracing circles over your skin. He even smiled. “You could continue to think of reasons why you need me?”

“Even Mark helped me just before,” you confirmed with a laugh. “How could I possibly manage going a day without your insufferable ways?”

“Hey! I’m not that bad.”

“I love you, Jinyoung,” you confessed, shifting closer. “I love you even when I want to kill you.”

“A passionate demise.”

“See, how could I go without your witty comebacks?”

“Is there something else you’re forgetting to point out?” he wondered airily, pursing his lips together and jutting them out.

You nodded in agreement. “How would I go back to sleeping on just a pillow instead of your arm?!”

“Y/N!” he whined despite laughing, pulling you into him with one arm whilst using his other to brush the hair away from your face. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll try harder to not feel low about myself but when I do, I’ll tell you upfront.”

“And I’ll try my best to accept a joke when you make one.”

“I’m sure you want to kiss me now,” you pointed out and he nodded happily, lowering his mouth to yours, sweetly encompassing you with his love. When the kiss ended, you sighed in content. “I couldn’t go without that either.”

“There’s a whole lot about you that I can’t give up too.”

“We’re stuck with one another even if we have our insecure moments, huh?”

Jinyoung smiled, nodding softly. “Thank you for coming here. I was struggling with knowing how to fix things.”

“It’s not all on you to do that. I can do it too. We are more balanced than we thought.”

Jinyoung kissed you again before resting his forehead on yours. “You know what? We really are.”

_________________

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12tardis · 4 years

Text

My Funny Valentine (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Warnings: none Requested: Yes! Lovely anon asked for ‘some funny moments with Newt and reader? Like those moments that make you laugh but at the same time you say ‘oh God I love him’ and vice versa...” I really hope you like it! Like I said I have a weird/dry sense of humour so I’m super unsure about this one!

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Reader Summary: A collection of short moments wherein Newt makes the reader laugh and vice versa. Includes colour blind Newt, exasperated Theseus, a misshap with some Billywigs and a lousy take on the Erumpent dance. A/N: I read somewhere once that Eddie is colour blind and I really have the NERVE to post this wearing bright purple thermal stockings, tan uggs and a green and blue flannel?? Thank you anon for requesting this I seriously hope its okay! Guys I dunno what I’m doing my brain broke . Thank you to everyone that reads my stuff , you make my day x Words: 3,324

Newt was one of the few people that could make you laugh, a proper full-bellied laugh no matter what mood you were in. And little did you know that he’d made it a personal goal to make you smile at least once everyday ever since your days at Hogwarts. He would usually achieve this by doing or saying sweet things to you but occasionally he’d do something so outrageously ridiculous or dorky that you couldn’t help but laugh.

Usually he would feel insecure and flustered when people would laugh at him but with you he didn’t mind. You would never mean anything out of animosity. In fact he only felt pride that he, Newton Scamander could draw such a beautiful musical sound from you.

It was a little known fact that Newt was colour blind and you were one of the only people to know about this fact because it rarely came up. There’d been a few questionable wardrobe choices over the years as a result but for the most part no one ever suspected a thing because he tended to wear the same staple outfits day in and day out and you were always there to fix him up if he was ever dressed too outrageously.

You were only fairly recently an official couple when you found yourself waiting for Newt at the bottom of the stairs in your shared apartment. Standing with his older brother Theseus and chatting away as you were all about to head off to one of Newt’s book signings where many more of his friends and family would be. Of course, Newt was the last one to get ready though, having gotten carried away in his case while you had busied yourself getting all dolled up.

“By Merlin’s beard”, Theseus suddenly breathed out, looking up the stairs at his brother who was rushing down towards you, wearing at least 4 different colours and 5 different prints. You didn’t even recognise half of the ensemble he was wearing.

Theseus quickly looked away from his brother and down at his watch, trying to hold it together but you didn’t even attempt to hold back your laughter as you slapped a hand over your mouth, gaping at your boyfriend.

“Newt, did you let the creatures dress you?”, you gasped, gripping him by the shoulders as it was Theseus’ turn to gape at you.

Newt blinked back at you and then glanced down at his own outfit before looking back at you “I-I thought you liked this shirt!”, he huffed as you openly started to laugh now.

“Goodness Newt I do! I love this shirt. But not with that green paisley waist coat. Not with the purple tie,” you breathed out, gripping his shoulders harder as you couldn’t control your giggles any longer. You cupped his cheeks as you looked him over, shaking your head “I love this shirt and I love you and you look utterly adorable but I’m just not sure this is the look you were going for.”

And Theseus looked on in bemusement when Newt just gazed back at you with bright eyes and a smile of his own, taking you in properly in your own gorgeous gown and perfectly done hair and make up.

Newt only held you closer as he smiled back at you, beginning to laugh too because your laughter was infectious. “I thought you were going to wear your blue three piece”, you eventually managed to say to which Newt shook his head with a frown “I can’t find it anywhere!”

You rolled your eyes fondly in response before you jogged up the stairs to fetch the outfit, leaving Newt gazing after you. He yelped when Theseus slapped him in the chest, staring at him incredulously “what the hell was that?!”

Newt looked back at his brother with his eyebrows drawn together, holding his hands up “what was what?”

“That!” Theseus huffed, gesturing in the direction you had gone “I laughed at you for the very same reason once and you didn’t talk to me for a full weekend but she does and you stare at her like she hung the moon and the stars!”

Newt pursed his lips together for a moment as he looked back at his brother “Right, well for one - you were being a jerk that day. Two, it’s not the same at all because you’re not her, I mean did you not see how she lights up? And three, as far as I’m aware-“ he paused as he fixed Theseus with a deadpan expression “she did hang the stars and the moon.”

Newt grinned back at his brother obnoxiously causing Theseus to groan in frustration. “Gross!” he said as he threw his arms up in exasperation before he stomped out of the apartment to wait outside, just as you came back down the stairs thrusting the suit bag into Newt’s hands.

Newt grasped the bag in one hand and pulled you close against him with the other now that the two of you were alone. He pressed a long kiss to your lips, humming as he pulled back “hmm, how do I know this isn’t just a ploy to get me undressed my darling girl?”, he murmured as he squeezed your hip, causing your cheeks to warm in response.

“Newt! Go and get dressed we’re already late!”, Theseus shouted, banging on the front door.

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

“My god, I swear he does stupid things just to make her laugh”, Jacob murmured in disbelief as he shook his head to himself , watching you bent over, clutching your stomach as you cackled with laughter while Newt smiled back at you over his shoulder.

Theseus nodded furiously, looking over at Jacob “YES! Thank you! I’ve been saying this for years! This one time for an event I swear he purposely dressed like a muggle clown just to amuse her.”

“Yeah jeeze”, Jacob nodded, slightly distracted as Theseus continued to recount all the times he’d witnessed Newt doing something dumb to woo you. He barely registered a word, too preoccupied watching Newt continue to dance around in the snow looking like an absolute buffoon.

He was apparently performing a mating dance to try and lure the escaped Erumpent back into his case while Y/N was too busy laughing in the distance to help him lure the creature with the vial of musk in her hand.

Newt picked up on your giggles in the background, smiling slightly to himself as he continued to wiggle his ass in the direction of the Erumpent, eventually looking back at where you were almost wheezing with your laughter “Come on Y/N! A little help here!” he called, and you quickly pulled yourself together when you saw the Erumpent begin to huff in Newt’s direction.

Newt ran towards you and the case when you finally pried the lid from the vial, narrowly avoiding being gored by the Erumpent as he skidded to a halt in front of you. You quickly snapped case shut and shouted when Newt slammed into you, knocking you both back into the snow, the two of you collapsing into a fit of giggles a moment later.

Jacob rushed towards the pair of you to make sure you were okay, Theseus hot on his heels as he continued his story of something embarrassing Newt had done in school. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw the you both clutching each other in the snow.

“Oh! And in school he used to eat these lollies that make you hiccup bubbles. They taste absolutely horrid but he kept doing it and she thought it was hilarious! They’re both insane”, Theseus said passionately as he gestured to you tangled in one another’s arms and giggling still.

“Insanely in love,” Jacob countered wondering if that’s what he and Queenie looked like to the outside world when they were absorbed in each other.

Newt was the first to climb to his feet, helping you up and brushing the snow off of you as you turned to Theseus with a frown “Drooble’s gum was the best!”

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

Newt was just finishing tending to the Mooncalves when he spotted a stunning flower growing in one of the nearby enclosures. He hummed to himself as he wandered over to get a closer look at the flower, looking down at Pickett when the Bowtruckle climbed over to the flower, chirping up at Newt as he gestured at it. “Yes I was just thinking that myself. Y/N would love it”.

He hummed as he leant forward over one of the trees to pluck the flower out from its spot, completely oblivious to the Billywig nest that was hanging over his head. You were always warning him about this particular tree.

He stood up quickly when he had the flower in his hand, yelping when he felt a sting in his neck, his other hand flying up to grasp his neck. He sighed when he caught a glimpse of a Billywig buzzing away and he quickly jogged back towards his shack where he knew he had some anti venom stashed away.

He made it, only a few steps away from the shelves of vials when his feet left the ground and a few giggles began to spill from his lips as the effects of the Billywig sting set in quickly. He rushed to grab his wand, crying out in frustration punctuated by more laughter when it slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor along with the flower as he was left levitating in the air.

As the time wore on the giddiness symptoms wore away but much to Newt’s dismay the levitation side effect didn’t so he resigned himself to flailing around along the ceiling of the shack while a small group of the creatures gathered below him and paced nervously. He had tried and failed several times to coax the creatures to rescue his wand for him.

You arrived home from work not much later, calling out to your boyfriend as you wandered into the apartment, frowning as you wondered where he was. He was usually waiting for you with a pot of tea and biscuits ready, waiting to tell you something exciting about his creatures. You checked in the bedroom and frowned when you couldn’t see any sign of him, calling out for him again “Newt?”

You paused when you thought you heard him shouting in the distance, nodding as you headed straight for his case and climbed down the stairs into his shack.

“Y/N thank Merlin you’re home!”

You gasped and jumped back clutching your chest when you heard Newt’s voice from above you, staring up at him in shock “Newt, goodness are you okay?! Are you hurt?”, you panicked, rushing towards him trying to reach up to him.

Newt waved his hands when he saw your panic, shaking his head “I’m fine I got stung by one of the Billywigs”, he sighed when he tried to reach for you and couldn’t quite stretch far enough.

You looked back at him in silence for a moment before you suddenly burst into full bellied laughter, tipping your head back. “Y/N! can you help me down first before you spend the afternoon laughing at me”, he called, pouting at you when you continued to laugh, grabbing your wand and pointing it at him. You paused your laughter long enough as you flicked your wand at him.

“Levicorpus!”

Newt shouted when he suddenly flipped upside down, “Y/N!”, he huffed in exasperation but he softened slightly and couldn’t help but smile at the way you giggled in response. His face was now roughly in line with yours and he was able to reach out and grasp your shoulders. “I thought Billywig stings were supposed to make you giddy?” you murmured as you gently stroked Newt’s face and he leant into your touch instinctively “that symptom wore off about 20 minutes ago.”

You giggled again and nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his lips causing Newt to hum in surprise as he closed his eyes and took in the new sensation of kissing you while hanging upside down. You let go of him and stepped back to give him room as you cast your wand at him again “Liberacorpus” and Newt closed his eyes as he suddenly spun upright again, still levitating above you.

You wandered over to the storage cabinet, scanning the shelves and grabbing the anti venom vial, setting it on Newt’s desk before you walked back over to him, trying to tug him down by his ankles. You huffed and puffed as you eventually managed to get him a safe distance closer to the ground, holding the vial up to him.

Newt quickly skulled the liquid, scrunching his face up in disgust and not catching himself in time to land on his feet as he hurtled towards the ground. Your eyes widened and you quickly grabbed him, letting out a yelp when you crashed to the ground under Newt, the two of you a mess of tangled limbs.

Newt quickly shifted his weight off of you, checking you over for any injuries as he lay over you, smiling as you began to laugh again, cupping his cheeks “darling, are you okay?”, you murmured, looking back up at him in amusement. Newt nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your lips “I’m fine. You saved me, my love.”he murmured, smiling in amusement when you let out another giggle “goodness, it’s almost as if you were the one that got stung with all that laughter”

“I can’t help it! You should have seen your face when you were flailing around up there! What were you even doing near the Billywig nest you goose?”, you grinned at him, your lips then pulling into a small frown when you noticed the angry looking welt on his neck, skimming your fingertips over it.

Newt hummed when he saw the concern wash over your face, quickly hopping to his feet and pulling you with him “I’m fine my darling, I promise.” he soothed knowing you were prone to worrying over him. He squeezed your hand before he quickly snatched up the flower from where it had fallen, holding it out to you.

“I spotted this and thought you would like it, it’s not my fault that Pickett was a terrible watch guard”, he murmured, poking his tongue out at the Bowtruckle who squeaked in offence.

You held the flower up and admired it with a wide smile, shaking your head to yourself because Newt’s thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze you “Thank you, Newt. It’s beautiful.”

You leant in to kiss him again before you pulled him upstairs into the apartment where you set the flower into a vase on the dining table and Newt let you fuss over the his sting welt.

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

You were sitting at the small makeshift desk in Newt’s shack in the case, having decided to use the desk to repot a bunch of your plants while your husband was nearby. You claimed that the desk was just a convenient height for your planting needs and that you wanted to spend time with him but Newt had caught on to the fact that you were really just taking the chance to ogle him as he tried to train a father cranky Kelpie.

He had been suspicious immediately because you’d never had any issue with your work bench in your greenhouse he’d built for you before but he fell easily enough for your excuse of wanting to spend time with him.

So he worked in the room beside you, trying in vain to slip a bridle onto the agitated Kelpie, catching you leaning back in your chair dangerously several time’s to properly look at him. It wasn’t until he caught sight of your slightly heated gaze that he realised what was really happening. You’d always had a thing for him in a wet shirt, he remembered because you’d told him as much once before you had practically tackled him in a very heated kiss.

You knew you’d been caught out from the look of realisation that passed over Newt’s face followed by the faintest blush on his cheeks and you nibbled your lip slightly before you smiled teasingly at him. Newt still wasn’t used to this openly flirty side of you that had seemed to emerge after the wedding but he couldn’t deny that he loved it.

“Perhaps you should take off your shirt”, you said as flirtatiously as you could muster, throwing in a wink at the end and letting out a chuckle when Newt grew flustered in response.

“Y/N, I am trying to do serious work here! I do not need you trying to distract me with your charms”, he huffed, rolling his eyes at you fondly when you only smiled innocently back at him.

You held up your dirt covered hands and shrugged “I’m just saying you will probably be more comfortable without that sopping wet material weighing you down. And Kelpie will probably like you more, because I know I certainly do.”

Newt snorted in response and turned away from you and back to the creature that was still splashing around in protest. He had to admit he was flattered by your blatant ogling but he had a creature to train! Plus it couldn’t hurt to tease you a little in return. Merlin, knows you deserved it after every stunt you’d pulled on your honeymoon.

He tried a few more times unsuccessfully to slip the bridle over the Kelpie before he climbed up onto his step ladder, reaching up and rummaging around through his storage for the other bridle he had that the creature would sometimes accept.

He glanced over at you, biting back a laugh when he glimpsed you leaning back in your chair again, your eyes fixated on where his shirt had ridden up, exposing the lower part of his abdomen.

His smile dropped however when the chair slipped out from beneath you and you let out a yelp as you fell backwards, potting mix flying all over you as you landed on the ground with a soft thud.

“Y/N!”, he shouted, leaping down from the step ladder and kneeling down beside you quickly, relaxing in relief when you grasped his hands, assuring him you were fine. Though you were clearly a little embarrassed as you lay there covered head to toe in dirt and the Flitterbloom you had been planting had landed in your hair and was squirming around your head, tousling your hair up.

Newt looked down at your vexed expression, laughing loudly as he carefully removed the plant from atop your head “My darling girl, I told you you would fall if you didn’t stop that.” he chuckled, setting the plant on the desk before he helped you sit up, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and pure adoration.

You huffed and brushed the dirt off your dress, “well it’s partially your fault for being so handsome,” you grumbled, only making Newt laugh more as he pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you tightly and effectively drenching you with his soaked shirt too. “It’s entirely your fault for being such a tease”, he countered, holding you tighter when you scrunched your nose up at the damp hug.

He grinned as he nuzzled his wet hair into your neck and you squealed at the ticklish sensation before you too broke down in a fit of giggles in his arms. “Merlin, I love you so much”, he breathed into your shoulder, groaning when you lifted your hand and smeared some potting mix over his face “Y/N!”.

You snorted in response and pecked him on the nose, closing your eyes when he rubbed the dirt over your face in return “I love you too, even when you make me fall out of my chair.”

Title: My Funny Valentine- Ella Fitzgerald (her voice is so beautiful. But also Michael Buble does the BEST arrangements Lyrics r kinda mean :( but makes sense in the musical) -MASTERLIST HERE-

#newt scamander x reader #newt scamander #newt scamander x y/n #newt scamander fluff #newt x reader #newt x y/n #newton artemis fido scamander

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worldcrawlerhp · 4 years

Text

Draco and Hermione flirt at a party...

Likely to be the first draft of the first chapter of one of my WIPs, but can stand on its own(ish)... not the same one as what I had posted a while back but I am nothing if not working on multiple things in one go!

So enjoy the snippet - set a few years after the war, picture university age characters.

-----

Hermione flounced into one of the quieter rooms off of the main party. She found Theorode Nott, hands entwined with Pansy Parkinson, sharing a love seat, and the sight of a rather disheveled Draco Malfoy on one of the comfy armchairs. There was an enchanted gramophone in one corner, playing out some tranquil music which seemed to starkly juxtapose the ferocity of the party in full swing downstairs.

The smell of cigars permeated the air, and there were two bottles of fire whisky on the table - one empty, and one well on it’s way to be so. Draco sat on the armchair sideways, his legs up on the armrest, his jacket slung over the backrest. His bow tie had been undone, formal shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and he held whiskey tumbler in one hand.

When she stumbled in, she thought about turning around and moving away to find an empty room in which to sober up, but she hesitated in the doorway long enough for Malfoy to take notice of her. A drunken grin split is otherwise sour face, and Theo’s amused expression turned from Pansy to her at the door.

“Granger! What a sight for sore eyes! Come join us,” he called, amusing himself by putting her on the spot.

Hermione stepped into the room, thinking she must be even more drunk than she initially thought if she was actually about to crash this afterparty.

Draco straightened up his posture, swinging his legs around to sit normally on the large armchair.

“Plenty of room here Granger,” he drawled, indicating his lap.

“Keep dreaming Malfoy,” scoffed Hermione, head high with determination as she headed across the low table and collapsed on a longer sofa. She quickly turned so she was lying down, head to the armrest closest to the door, and heels on the other.

“Oh I do, Granger, I do,” he chuckled, pale cheeks rosy with alcohol.

“Bit drunk Granger?” asked Pansy, a touch of her school-time haughtiness still about her, but no malice in her tone.

“Just a tad. Don’t worry I only need to sober up enough to apparate and then I’ll leave you in peace,” replied Hermione, groaning and throwing one arm to cover her eyes as the room spun around her.

Theo and Pansy went back to slowly kissing one another as if there were nobody else in the world, and she could hear Draco pouring himself another glass of firewhiskey.

“You know,” started Draco, pointedly ignoring the couple in the corner, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk Granger.”

“Well feast your eyes Malfoy,” she laughed, turning to face him. She knew this tone from him. He was bored, and looking to get her riled up for his own amusement. Not tonight she thought, as she held up a hand to stop him from speaking as he opened his mouth.

“Let me guess, is my hair even more of a mess than usual? Lipstick a poor attempt at making my mouth look appetising? ‘Why bother wearing heels Granger when you totter about in them like a giraffe on a tightrope’” She said imitating his voice, putting as much scorn into insulting herself as she could while sporting a teasing smile. She swung her legs from the armrest onto the low table in front of her so she could sit up and look at him better. “‘And what are you wearing! Merlin Granger, a bit of class might improve you somewhat!’”

There was a silence, and then Draco laughed - a sound so foreign to her and even to Theo and Pansy to some extent - that all eyes looked at him. It wasn’t a scoff or a chuckle, but a real laugh.

“Actually Granger, I was going to say you look more ravishing than usual in that number, but I can see I will have to work harder at changing your opinion of me if you believe I would still say any of that shit about your looks.” He told her, leaning forwards and looking deep into her eyes. “Securing your affections is further away than I had imagined!”

“Ha! Securing my affections Malfoy?” She raised one eyebrow at him.

“Yes, have I not mentioned I intend to marry you?” He slurred, gazing at her longingly.

“You may have mentioned it last time you were sloshed,” she countered, rolling her eyes. From the way she saw Nott sit up a bit straighter in the corner she realised he had not been in on this little joke.

“Well then, it cannot come as a surprise,” continued Malfoy, leaning back in his armchair looking rather smug with himself that she remembered.

“Oh please Malfoy, just drop whatever little game it is you are playing - I know this is just your latest scheme to ridicule me. I’ll humour you for a bit but it’s going to get old really quickly,” she replied, mirroring his behaviour and falling backwards into the couch.

“No games here Granger, not this time. See I’m absolutely smitten with that big brain of yours, and the way your body turned out isn’t bad either,” he said with a smirk over his whiskey glass.

Hermione snorted.

“Right, and you’ve come to this life changing realisation when exactly?”

“Oh… probably third year when you punched me…”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to laugh out loud.

“Like a bit of rough and tumble do you Malfoy? Hoping I’ll slap you up a bit in the bedroom?”

Had Hermione been sober, she would never have engaged in this level of banter, even if she might have thought about the witty response in her mind. But drunk Hermione had no such filter, and was feeling exhilarated with her current verbal sparring match with her ex-nemesis Draco Malfoy. And she she didn’t even feel slightly embarrassed herself but was solely focussed on seeing how far Malfoy would push his apparent flirtatiousness. She would make him crack. Hopefully before she threw up all the vodka currently flowing through her body.

She took in Malfoy’s shocked expression and hoped she had pushed far enough, smirking at him in a way she had actually learned from the Slytherins that surrounded her in her life.

The shocked expression melted off of his face in an instant, eyes smouldering with something dark.

“For you Granger, anything,” he said darkly, holding her eye contact. “When we’re married we can try all manner of things your heart desires. You can have a whole wing of the house to play out your little fantasies ”

“And here I was thinking we were talking about your ‘little fantasies’, Draco” she purred, leaning towards him. His eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“Oh Granger, I already have my own wing,” he murmured, “I’ll gladly show you any time you want.”

She was opening her mouth to retort, sure she had him on the run from her, but Blaise Zabini sauntered into the room, greeting them all, and placed himself next to Hermione on the sofa, seemingly taking her in for the first time that night.

He raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow at her and gave her a the smile of a predator having just caught sight of his prey.

“Well Granger, so lovely of you to join us this evening,” he said smoothly, arm coming to rest over her shoulders.

“Oh please not you too! This is ridiculous!” She spluttered, taking his arm off of her shoulders and depositing it by his side.

“I’m not sure I follow? I see a beautiful girl sitting here by my side - I cannot help but try,” he said smoothly, never one to take a rejection.

“Zabini. Non sono interessata,” she hissed at him in Italian. It was more than passable - as was everything she tried to study to perfection - but her cheeks burned as the words left her lips, making her feel stupid to have thought to speak to him in his mother tongue at all. The game was up - she couldn’t handle two Slytherins mocking her at once.

Blaise laughed and relaxed away from her, leaning over her outstretched legs to grab a whiskey tumbler and pour himself a glass.

“Message received Granger. Don’t mean to interfere where I’m not wanted! How has your evening been?”

“Bizarre,” she huffed, glancing over at Draco who was watching them intently. “I only came in here to sober up a little, but if you’ll excuse me I think I’m going to hunt down some water and leave now.”

Hermione stood up, pleased with the way she was no longer wobbling so much.

“Have a good night,” she called to the remaining occupants of the room, and then headed off to the bar without a backwards glance.

Back in the room she just left, Theo and Pansy no longer tried to conceal the fact they had been listening to the whole exchange.

“Did you just admit to Granger you’ve been in love with her since third year?” Theo blurted, twisting to look his friend in the face.

Zabini raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting between his friends. “Is that what I interrupted?”

“No, you interrupted Malfoy fucking it up,” replied Pansy.

“Well I couldn’t not tell her anymore!” said Draco, a scowl starting to form on his face.

“We know that! But she doesn’t know that!” Theo sighed, slapping his forehead in frustration. It had taken them an eternity to get Draco to admit it to himself, and now he springs it on Granger - not the first time either!

“Look Malfoy,” cut in Pansy, “you can’t just tell her you love her and then have banter about some fucking sex dungeons - she’s not going to believe a thing! You need to show her!”

“Show her a sex dungeon?” asked Zabini, somewhere between confused and intrigued.

“No! Show her he is serious about her!” cried Pansy, getting frustrated.

“And is he serious about her?”

“I’m literally right here,” growled Draco, irritably, “and yes, I am serious. I have to get married or lose the inheritance, and with the ministry finally passing a ban on all familial contracts stipulating anything to do with blood status, legally, I can choose to marry her… if she’ll have me. Otherwise I will face being forced into one of the Greengrass’ arms, and then I’ll never… never get a chance… to be with her…” His voice was pained and longing, having lost all the protection of the walls he had built for himself during his upbringing.

“Hmmm. She won’t just fall into anybody’s arms,” said Zabini, thinking out load “and especially not yours mate, not with your history.”

“Great thanks for the votes of confidence —“ started Draco, slamming his glass onto the table. Zabini held up a hand to indicate he wasn’t done.

“So, we will need to do this the hard way,” he continued. “We will have to train you to get her to fall for you. And unfortunately your pure-blooded, rich arse is a negative when it comes to the girl of your dreams,” he sighed.

“So what do I have left?” asked Draco, feeling a little despair creeping in.

“Why, your fabulous personality of course!” Cried Theo, grinning at him.

Draco Malfoy groaned and downed the rest of his drink.

#dramione #snippet #worldcrawler #wip #my writing #harry potter #fanfiction #dramione fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione

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btsmosphere · 4 years

Text

When You Know | KSJ x MYG

~summary: Seokjin and Yoongi aren’t just neighbours. They are enemies. Well, either that or they were destined to be in each other’s arms, but Yoongi can’t see that happening (nor can his cat). Let their friends try all they want, but they’d have to weather storms together and stand back to back in battle before Yoongi would look twice at Jin... Jin x Yoongi ~word count: 3.3k ~enemies to lovers, soulmate au (you have the name of your enemy AND your soulmate tattooed, without knowing which is which), neighbour au, crack, humour, fluff, angst if you squint? Rating: pg13 Warnings: swearing, that’s it :) ~a/n: welcome to my first mxm fic! This is for a special occasion as it is the wonderful @eternalseokjin‘s birthday!! To celebrate Dean’s birthday over at @thebtswritersclub we were sent a bingo card and a challenge to include everything on it in one fic. Our regular mxr content will resume soon, but this has been super fun to write, even if the outcome is -ahem- quite chaotic. So, enjoy, but don’t ask me what’s going on here. I don’t know, and the characters certainly don’t either...

At the end of the fic, I will include what was on my bingo square, in case anyone wants to know, and some basics about d&d for those who (like me a few weeks ago) know nothing about it, but I promise you don’t need to know this to read the fic!

“You’re not serious.”

“I am totally serious.”

Namjoon’s straight-faced response matched Yoongi’s exactly, leaving the two in a sort of staring contest. Seeing no change in the other, Namjoon cracked first, slumping back into the sofa with a sigh.

“Yoongi, come on. It’s not that big of a deal-“

“Why would I want to do it?” Yoongi grumbled.

“it’s just a bit of fun-“

“Then go and do it with Seokjin. I’m sure you’ll have a great time playing wizards, or whatever the fuck-“

“That’s the entire point!” Namjoon threw his hands up in frustration, “we will all be playing, you and Jin included, and we will have a great time.”

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he had ever been threatened with having fun before. Staring back at his friend, his expression remained guarded. Eventually, he sucked at his teeth, turning his eyes away from the younger man.

“Fine,” he bit out.

“Thank you,” Namjoon huffed, pushing on his knees to stand up, “we’ll start at 5 on Sunday, but I’ll get here earlier. Jin will bring food to make up for the trouble.”

Following Joon out to see him off, Yoongi’s brows furrowed.

“Wait- what trouble? And what do you mean you’ll get here-“

“You’ll be hosting. Okay, bye!”

The door was shut in his face before he could protest any further. Cursing Namjoon for knowing him so damn well, Yoongi stomped to the kitchen and soon began scrubbing the teacups to within an inch of their life.

He’d heard of dungeons and dragons before. Well, vaguely. It hadn’t occurred to him before to pay attention to Namjoon whenever he spoke about it, because surprisingly enough, he hadn’t expected his friend to suddenly whip it out as a method of forcing him and Seokjin – his mortal enemy – to bond.

The whole mortal enemy thing wasn’t even an exaggeration.

What else were you supposed to think when the new neighbour, whose name happens to be printed on your wrist, tries to turn your cat over to the authorities on their first day after it launched a ‘targeted attack’ on their pet sugar gliders.

Yoongi was yet to meet the mysterious V that graced his other wrist, but he knew for sure that Kim Seokjin was his enemy. He could not be soulmates with someone who thinks it’s okay to leave a pair of sugar gliders by an open window and not expect a cat to see them as a tasty meal.

When they had learned each other’s names, and of course connected them with their tattoos, an icy silence fell between the neighbours.

Every now and then, Yoongi would get a reminder of the fact his mortal enemy lived next door. Like this morning, when Seokjin’s wheely bin had blown over and spilled rubbish onto his lawn.

Yes, that man’s evil knew no limits.

And if Yoongi would have to endure his friends’ attempts at reconciling the two of them, in his own house, then he was sure of one thing. He was not going to eat Seokjin’s cooking. It was probably awful, anyway.

That Sunday, at precisely five minutes to five, Namjoon arrived. Yoongi’s eyes widened in alarm at the bulging folder held under his arm. He really had come prepared. Yoongi had barely spent twenty minutes scribbling down some things about his character. Well, except when he had to read all about the different class choices… and then when he needed to select the perfect traits… and picking his spells was quite tough too…

“Are you excited?” Namjoon grinned as he set his stuff down, but then he faltered, “…I did tell you Jin would bring food, didn’t I?”

“Can’t remember,” Yoongi muttered.

He slouched over to the sofa while Namjoon shrugged, grabbing a bite from the nearest bowl of snacks. The table was littered with them, and Yoongi would never admit just how early he had got up that morning to start cooking.

Jungkook turned up next, and of course the brat would instantly wolf down the tub of popcorn rather than the bites Yoongi had been slaving over.

Seokjin’s was the last knock on the door, and a timid one at that. Although it may have had something to do with the food his arms were laden with.

As Yoongi opened the door (Namjoon had shoved him towards it before anyone else had the chance to respond), he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit guilty. It seemed his neighbour had worked just as hard as him on preparing it all.

But still, more of a grimace than a smile showed on his face.

“This way,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

His guilt was short-lived, irritation setting back in as Seokjin invited himself into the kitchen to put down his things. Jungkook bounded after him almost instantly, the pair’s loud greeting audible from the next room.

Turning away bitterly, Yoongi sat in the empty seat between Namjoon and Taehyung, determined to keep his distance from Seokjin.

In time, however, he came to regret this decision, if only because it put Seokjin in full view of the eyes Yoongi so desperately wanted to roll when he announced he wanted to attempt to charm his way to free dinner at the first inn they got to. His reason? His stupid elf claimed to be ‘worldwide handsome’.

The infuriating smirk on his face as he declared this (and then proceeded to pass his roll, because of course) left Yoongi with little doubt this arrogance was nothing but a projection.

After introducing themselves, Yoongi slumping back in his chair the whole time, he let the others take the lead as they set off to find monsters, or something. A pointed look from Namjoon prompted him to pay more attention.

In fairness, he had been a bit creeped out when Taehyung announced he had named his character ‘V’, but he tried his best to listen to the adventure as Namjoon described it. And so they went along, the supply of snacks steadily dwindling as they made their way through some ruins.

The scene was quite vivid, until-

“That’s cat food, Jungkook!”

“Urgh, gross,” Jimin groaned as Jin pried the bowl away from the sheepish-faced younger.

If it had been anyone else, Yoongi would have returned the fond-but-exasperated look they were all well practised in, given the nature of their younger friends. As it was, he ducked his head, scribbling nonsense on his notepad.

It would be a lie if Yoongi said he wasn’t quite proud of himself for solving a riddle to get them into the final room, and getting the final hit on the hellhound inside. And maybe, just maybe, he was a little excited for their next game.

Shutting the door at long last, Yoongi paused for a moment.

Screw Namjoon and his good ideas.

Clearing away the dishes, Yoongi couldn’t help a glance out the window to watch as Seokjin let himself in to his own place, his own stack of plates in his arms. Not that he would ever admit it, Yoongi hadn’t been able to resist just one bite…

Well, it turned into a lot more than that. Maybe Seokjin was a good cook after all.

But that was just one redeeming quality. Best not get ahead of himself.

Yoongi was in trouble.

It had only been a couple more weeks, but he knew that much. As they sat around his table, he caught himself laughing along to Jin’s jokes. And look, he was already calling him Jin! No, he had to stick to Seokjin, the evil neighbour, his enemy.

If he got fond, he would only be sorry later when Jin – Seokjin – did something to remind Yoongi of what a terrible person he was.

Shame all of this seemed to slip his mind the moment Jin came around again.

“The slope is steep, with rocks falling where you move your feet. You can still hear the song, though, and you are certain it’s coming from inside the dark opening you can see at the bottom of the path.”

“No. Absolutely not,” Yoongi was the first to speak.

“Are you kidding? We just spent like an hour trekking over here specifically because of that music,” Taehyung was next to chip in, jabbing his finger into the table.

“It wasn’t an hour,” Yoongi rolled his eyes, “Joon told us it was hour, it was what? One minute?”

A high pitched giggle from Jin was overtaken next by Jimin.

“No, I can feel the weariness in my bones! It won’t be complete until we hear the song!”

“We’ve been hearing it all this time! Aren’t you guys sick of it by now?” Jin retorted.

“No! Joon specifically said it’s the most beautiful music we’ve ever heard,” Tae insisted.

“I don’t give a shit if there’s a chorus of angels in there, my dexterity is not gonna let me get down that cliff,” Yoongi folded his arms to punctuate his argument.

“Ugh, fine, well I want to go down with V,” Jimin said.

The two factions that had emerged looked expectantly towards Namjoon.

“Okay, so V and Christian want to go down and Genie and Suga want to stay here. Anyone else?”

“Yeah, I’ll go down,” Kook shrugged.

All heads turned now to Hobi. Unease written all over his features, he glanced between the two groups.

“Come one, don’t be boring, hyung!” Jimin elbowed him.

“Yeah, come with us!” Kook bounced in his seat as Taehyung switched on the puppy eyes with a string of ‘pleeeease’s.

Cracking under the force of the youngers’ begging, Hoseok laughed and agreed.

Folding his arms, Yoongi leant back in his chair, more than ready to be a bystander to whatever the hell the others were about to get themselves into.

The others of course had an irritating success rate, somehow making it down the cliff without plummeting to their deaths. Not that Yoongi would ever wish death upon his own party members. Of course not.

It would have been funny, though.

Anyway, despite his aversion to following them, Yoongi admittedly was a little curious about the mysterious music they had followed here.

“Stepping inside the cave, the party hears the music louder than ever, ringing in their ears as it bounces off the rocks, making its source unclear. However, it doesn’t offend your ears. The cave extends further into the cliff, and you follow the sound further in. But as you take a step, a great groaning drowns out the music. Behind you, the mouth of the cave shifts, everything around you going black.

“Those of you at the top of the cliff stumble back from the edge as they see the path crumble away into the sea from the shaking of the earth.”

Namjoon sniggered softly at the silence that followed.

Staring at him with comically large eyes, Hobi and Tae looked terrified. As Yoongi watched, Tae slowly turned his head, a smirk turning the edges of his mouth underneath puppy eyes.

“Come rescue us?” he asked sheepishly.

Before Yoongi could respond, Jin was cutting him off.

“Well, that was a fun detour! Where was it we were heading again, Yoongi?”

Yoongi had been preparing to be mad at Seokjin, but his glare dissolved quickly into a snort.

“Yeah, that demon up the road needs seeing to,” he agreed, creating instant uproar from the others.

“You can’t leave us!”

“Justin’s scared of the dark!”

“Traitors!”

However, Jin’s squeaky laugh as he revelled in the others’ pain was all Yoongi could hear. Then Jin leaned closer.

It was all Yoongi could do not jump from his seat when Seokjin’s voice spoke in his ear.

“Shall we leave them?” he was barely containing his mirth.

Feeling rather like he was plotting a prank in the back of the classroom, Yoongi grinned and agreed with a nod. He didn’t quite trust his voice to function as Jin’s breath tickled his cheek.

“We’re leaving!” Jin declared, sitting back in his chair, satisfied.

Before any more chaos could erupt, Namjoon continued with a smirk.

“Okay, so Suga and Genie carry on their previous path, away from their friends and the cliff…”

This was officially getting out of hand.

First of all, Yoongi couldn’t believe how eagerly he was anticipating the weekend, when Seokjin and the others would come around.

Particularly worrying, however, was the way Yoongi had to restrain himself from going to see Jin before Sunday rolled around. It was as if that writing on his wrist was staring at him. The more he tried to look away, the later he would find himself sat up at night, glancing between his wrists and what was written there.

Surely, if Kim Seokjin was his enemy, he wouldn’t be dying to ask how he makes his ramen taste so good. Or how his day was, or any trivial thing, just to be able to have Jin’s eyes on him and his voice in his ears.

Second of all, he had no idea how their campaign had devolved into such utter chaos.

Since the party split, the others made friends with the sirens they found in the cave, and ended up at a drinking party with some demons while Yoongi and Jin were nearly killed by one some miles away on the surface. The demons had apparently taken a particular shining to V, as a tiefling, which resulted in the group they abandoned somehow siding with the very demons they were trying to kill at the start.

Last Sunday had seen Yoongi and Jin going out of their way to find random things to beat to death in the forest, trying to get as many points as possible to face off against four members and goodness knows how many demons.

Yes, this had got rather out of hand.

Two old foes stand face to face on a precipice. Around them, fire blazes. This battle has ravaged the very land they stand upon, whipped the air into a frenzy.

Admittedly, they can barely remember what started this feud. Rumour has it these two great powers were friends, once. If that was so, it was a long time ago.

V stands, battle-worn, waiting for his adversary to make a move.

Suga looks at the body of his fallen companion.

“I’ve only got one spell slot left.”

“Use it,” a whisper returned.

“Aren’t you dead?! Stop talking to each other!” Jimin exclaimed, finger pointing accusingly towards Jin.

“Okay,” Yoongi cut in before they could start arguing, “if this hits, I can take him down. But there’s a fat chance of that, with his AC…“

Trepidation filled him as he looked across the table to Taehyung, a small but unmistakeably victorious smile already on his lips.

A dry chuckle came from one side.

“It’s been a good run,” Jin clapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you accepting defeat?” Joon prompted.

“No…” a hand ran down Yoongi’s face, “I’ll give it a go…”

“There’s no way! If you succeed…” Jin laughed, “if you succeed, I’ll kiss you.”

A quiet round of laughter went around the others, too focussed on the dice in Yoongi’s hand to pay it any mind. But Yoongi could no longer concentrate on that. What did Jin just say?

He couldn’t mean that.

There was no way he would kiss Yoongi. Was there?

All he could hear was the slow drumming of his heart rushing in his ears. The breath caught in his throat as he reminded himself to raise his hand, dice cupped inside.

It wasn’t just the defeat of V he hoped for as it rolled off his fingers, dropping onto the tabletop.

The faces flipped over, every eye trained on it. Around the table, there was no sound. Even Jungkook had stopped munching his popcorn, mouth hanging open.

Round, round, round…

Yoongi caught a glimpse of 20, the magic number, right within reach.

A small thud, the dice settling. A number glared up at him.

All the air left his lungs, deflating as he stared at the number. For a second, the table remained silent as everyone came to terms with the roll, the only sound the tapping of his cat’s paws-

Wait.

When Yoongi turned to find his cat leaping onto the table, it was already to late to grab her as she dashed across the surface. As she went, her paws caught a bowl of snacks, Joon’s notepaper, the dice. Hobi exclaimed with shock, several yells going up as everyone snatched their own stuff out of her way. Jungkook had dived after the snacks.

“Hey!” Yoongi shooed her as he stood up, watching her dart out into the hall.

“Oh my god…”

The small mutter from Jimin caught his attention. Looking around, Yoongi found him staring at the table and followed his gaze to the crime scene. In the centre of which, the dice still lay.

But now, a different number was displayed.

Yoongi’s jaw dropped. It was 20.

“That’s not fair!” Taehyung cried.

“Shush Tae, Jin has to do what he promised,” Hoseok teased, nudging a very red-eared Jin.

“Yah! Hey, I-I, that’s-” Jin spluttered, mouth seemingly fixed open as his cheeks warmed, growing defensive.

As Yoongi watched, Jin only stuttered more under the teasing cries erupting from the other boys as they egged him on with an array of ‘go on’s and ‘you said you would!’

“I-I-“ his eyes flickered over to Yoongi’s.

And despite the jeering and laughter in the background, neither of them looked away. Jin’s lips remained parted, ears pink with embarrassment, protests lodged in his throat.

Yoongi stepped forwards and kissed him.

The distance between them closed in the blink of an eye, Yoongi’s hand flying to Jin’s jaw as he pulled him in, turning his back to the gasps and cheers of their friends.

But they didn’t hear it. Not when their lips were pressed together like this, lighting fireworks in Yoongi’s stomach until he felt like sparks might fly out of his fingertips, the ones he was trailing down Jin’s neck, the ones pulling at the small of his back to bring him closer.

The others had gone quiet.

By the time he groggily pulled away, Yoongi seemed to have forgotten what the world looked like. Were his feet even on the ground?

In what was probably a mirror image of his own face, Jin stared back at him, eyes wide and those perfect lips round with shock. Jin’s fingers trembled as he brought them to his mouth.

“Holy fuck.”

“U-uh, guys,” a small voice from behind them did little to snap them from their trance.

“That was-“ Yoongi breathed, words escaping him.

“It’s you, you idiot!” a grin broke onto Jin’s face.

A laugh left Yoongi’s throat, taking him by surprise.

“It- really?”

“Did you not feel that too?”

Eyes still not leaving the beautiful man in front of him, Yoongi realised. Jin was completely right. Everyone had always told him how it would feel, when he kissed his soulmate. Like butterflies, or a flame, or like the world turned golden.

But through all the different feelings people described, there was one common thread. When you know, you know.

“You’re my soulmate.”

It wasn’t something he had to question, the words leaving him as easily as air.

“You’re my soulmate!”

And then he was wrapped up in Jin’s arms, his lips captured once again, euphoric feeling surging through his body once more.

“Come on, guys…” Namjoon’s groans were completely ignored.

Taehyung was still a bit put out that V had been slain at the last hurdle, but it hardly seemed fitting to be angry about it anymore, what with his two friends falling in love in front of him.

Everyone left together after the revelation, and pretty swiftly at that, deciding to leave them to it. And for once, Jin wouldn’t be leaving with them, even if he would only be one house away.

Smile never once leaving his face, Jin turned to Yoongi after shutting the door.

“So, what are we going to do about my sugar gliders?”

Thanks everyone for reading!! Reblog if you liked it xx

Taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @kb-bangtanenthusiast

Okay, for anyone interested, my bingo card contained: dungeons & dragons, neighbours, enemies to lovers, namjoon, yoonjin, cats, fluff, music, soulmates And here are some dnd basics for those who want them: you have a dungeon master or dm (Namjoon here) who tells a story. The others play as a character and choose what they want to do in the given situation. There are scores that dictate how good your character is at certain traits, and you roll the dice to see whether you succeed in your choices. That’s really all you need to know for the purposes of this fic, but you can ask me any questions too!

Lastly, I have to give another HUGE happy birthday to the amazing writer and friend and person @eternalseokjin!! I hope you have the best day, you really deserve it! I’m so glad to have met you and of course played dnd together in the net! Lots of love xx

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xhanisai · 4 years

Text

Wo Ai Ni !

AO3 / FFN

Summary:

Plagg thought that having his holder moon and squeal about Ladybug this and Ladybug that was utter hell. . He should have realised from day one that it was absolutely nothing compared to his babbling adoration for the heroine's civilian identity and now, his waxing poetry for the raven haired girl as he finally shattered the whole 'She's just a friend' delusion and accepted his feelings for her.

A/N: I am sick and tired of all the work I've been doing for finals and honestly need my break. Anyways, here's a sweet, fluffy fic to get the stress out of my system and hopefully make your day a bit better :) The fic's title is inspired by Hitomi Takahashi's song: Wo Ai Ni (which most of you would find familiar as ending 14 for Gintama) Aaaand special thanks to @Word_Devourer for giving me the idea for the operation's name and thanks to @gale-of-the-nomads for giving me the push to write this~ Takes place after Party Crasher/ Trouble Fête, enjoy! ~(x)~ . . . Plagg thought that having his holder moon and squeal about Ladybug this and Ladybug that was utter hell. . He should have realised from day one that it was absolutely nothing compared to his babbling adoration for the heroine's civilian identity and now, his waxing poetry for the raven haired girl as he finally shattered the whole 'She's just a friend' delusion and accepted his feelings for her. Mm-hmm, there are no words in the french vocabulary that could even describe half the agony that Plagg's enduring right now, right this second as Adrien floated around in his room, hugging the gift that Marinette gave him earlier on at school with a disgustingly hopeless grin plastered on his stupid blushy face. 'Is it too late to go back to napping for a few more centuries or so? Cos I am way too old to be dealing with this fuckery again.' Plagg scowled, feline eyes almost like slits as he slouched on his pillow. He didn't even get a chance to take a bite out of his beloved Camembert! Why was he always the one stuck with the lovesick kittens again...? "-and our hands touched when she gave me the gloves! TOUCHED! I am never washing my hands again~" Adrien wiggled on the spot, nuzzling the soft present against his cheek and hungrily memorised the delectable vanilla scent that lingered on it. "Oh Plagg...did ya see the way she smiled at me? That soft, pretty, beautiful smile? Her lips so glossy and kissable AND mon dieu! I was tempted to just gather her up in my arms and kiss the living daylights out of her!" The blonde teen let out another high pitched squeal that sounded quite close to a kitten's meow and flopped on the bed, his weight causing Plagg and his pillow to bounce up and send the yowling kwami flying. Plagg. Had. ENOUGH. Darting towards the boy's face, fur sticking up making him look like a fuzzy ball, Plagg grabbed Adrien's collar and yelled. "CAN YOU JUST SHUT UP AND GO ASK HER OUT ALREADY!?" The force of the little God's voice caused Adrien's fringe to blow back comically, surprising the teen in which he merely blinked back like a kitten. After realising what he's done, an apology was quick to make way on Plagg's tongue for snapping like that only to disintegrate immediately when Adrien's reaction turned into one of a typical, shoujou, love struck schoolgirl. "I can't just ask Marinette out! She's too amazing...too cool...so awesome...oh man I love her so much! I have to get cooler and be at least half as wonderful as her before I could even dream of asking her out." Adrien was blind to Plagg rolling his eyes like it's the end of the world and kept on rambling, gloves pressed to his lips. "Besides, she doesn't even love me that way...she's always so jumpy around me..." Just as Plagg was about to scold him for being so self-deprecating and maybe give a boost of encouragement, Adrien suddenly shot up from the bed with his fists pumped up in newly found determination. "Which is why I should get better at wooing her! I'm gonna call the boys and come up with a plan to get Marinette to fall in love with me! It will be called: Operation Marry-Nette. What do you think?" Adrien looked genuinely proud of his plan like he's just won the lottery and Plagg couldn't help but sigh endearingly at him. Maybe for the last time, just for him, just for Adrien, Plagg will humour his holder through their terrible love schemes. Who knows? It could be quite entertaining and finally end this tiring love square that has lost its charm many months ago. "You were never this obsessed when you were claiming about how Ladybug and you were meant to be. Were your feelings not deep enough for her?" The kwami settled back on his pillow, stroking his wedge of cheese and glanced at Adrien through his peripheral vision who looked sheepish for a split second. "Don't get me wrong, I do love Ladybug still- but because she's my bestest friend and I admire her so much. It's just not as romantic anymore and a guy can only pursue for so long before it starts to grate on the pursued. I must have annoyed her quite a bit..." "Just a bit~?" "...okay a lot. I deserved all those bops to the head by her yo-yo and I already did apologise to her for being so obnoxious. Anyways, the point is that even though Ladybug is amazing...Marinette is Marinette. Marinette was always there for everyone, there for me. It's like my feelings have been building up for her throughout the whole time and my feelings for Ladybug was the dam. The dam's now broken and all my pent up love for Marinette is flooding all over the place...and I don't regret it one bit." Adrien hugged the gloves again with his standard, warm smile that the God always spotted when Marinette was nearby. "It wasn't easy, keeping those feelings away to avoid feeling guilty about loving another girl. Now, I don't have to worry about that. I can love Marinette all I want...if she wants to have me." Plagg rolled his eyes fondly this time, cuddling into the crook of the boy's shoulder with a fanged grin. He couldn't wait to see the delight and happiness when his chosen finds out that he's been in love with one girl all along and that his feelings were absolutely mutual. ~(x)~ "Oh! A-A-Adrien!?" "M-M-Marinette! You there- I mean hey there! Hahah...longtimenosee-" Not too far away, Alya and Nino watched the scene before them with exasperation as Marinette and Adrien started their daily stammering ritual for the umpteenth time. The model being the new addition. Sure, the first few times watching the two of them become a flustered mess when coming across one another was an entertaining prospect. Now it was absolutely painful seeing the two beloved idiots so stupidly in love with one another, blinding them from the fact that it's in fact requited. And what answers were they given when they attempted to convince said idiots that they should ask each other out? "Ah! Alya-aaa! You know I can't do that yet. Adrien still sees me as a friend so don't get my hopes up. But that doesn't mean operation secret garden is finished. I will get him to fall in love with me!" "Nino!? How many times do I have to tell you? Marinette's more interested in my clothes than in me! She's yet to fall for my suave, meow-tastic self~ Also, operation Marry-Nette is now a go-go. You, Agent Best Man have to make sure that the rose petals are ready as soon as she steps into the art room." Needless to say, Adrien's scheme failed catastrophically. So bad that not even the nerdy model took the opportunity to make a pun about it since they ended up jamming the large fans for a 'wind' effect with the rose petals and thus causing a fire. All the boys from the class ended up with a week's worth of detention much to their dismay and the girls' curiousities. Did Lahiffe even need to mention how Agreste begged for them to keep their shenanigans in helping him woo the girl he loves a secret? Despite the fact that the whole school pretty much caught on? So that's how the bespectacled couple felt like they've aged for like a decade or so thanks to their oblivious best friends who were still exchanging word soup and frazzled gestures. "-no no! You're beautiful- not that you're not beautiful everyday! Oh- erm- agh-" Adrien bit his tongue by reflex and shoved his hands inside the pockets of the designer hoodie he threw on this morning. His cheeks matched the Asian girl in front of him in a raspberry tinted flush. "YOU THANKS! I mean...thank you..." Marinette took a deep sigh before determination settled on her face. She gently clutched one of Adrien's sleeves, letting her dainty fingers brush against the back of his hand and smiled sweetly. "You're beautiful too," She flashed a toothy grin and then immediately speed walked away, leaving behind her gaping friends. A high pitched kettle like sound escaped from Adrien's throat and then he immediately shoved his hood over his head and used the drawstrings to fasten the hole in order to hide his discombobulated face. Alya and Nino carried on gaping as the usually cool model chanted 'Mon Dieu' over and over again, clutching his fabric covered face and wiggling on the spot. "Either things will get much more interesting or we're about to hit the peak of idiot one's and idiot two's stupidity." Alix quipped from the background, joined by a mutter of agreement from the other students. "Oh Marinette just hurry up and marry me already~" Adrien swooned, ignorant to the chuckling crowd as he was still stuck in his bubble. The bubble was mercilessly popped by Kubdel. "THEN GO PROPOSE TO HER ALREADY LOVER BOY!" This snapped Adrien out of his daze in an instant, prompting a feminine squeal from him and his body launching up in the air like a scaredy-cat. Heaving, he clutched Nino who was the closest to him and glared at the short girl before scoffing and scurrying away. His hand covered his face in embarrassment throughout the whole time as the students in the vicinity guffawed at him. Adrien decided that he was going to hide his face for eternity and avoid everyone who's not Nino. Representing the Gabriel brand be damned! ~(x)~ Adrien.Exe has stopped working. No, really. His soul pretty much abandoned his jelly like body and his brain has turned to mush. 'Adrien Agreste has unfortunately stopped working for the time being. Please leave a message after the meow.' Was the only comprehensible sentence that ran through the teen's mind. Marinette was sleeping on him. Sleeping on him! Again!!! Her soft, pretty, serene face hid in the crook of his neck, causing him to inhale the lingering bakery scent of vanilla and strawberries every time he dared to breathe. One of her hands latched onto the front of his shirt adorably, knuckles against his chest and Adrien could swear that the erratic beating of his heart would disturb her slumber. Yet, by some miracle he remained calm and cool on the outside despite his inner turmoil. Inhaling sharply, Adrien willed for his heart to calm down as he bravely rested a hand on the girl's waist before allowing his cheek to lean against Marinette's smooth, silky locks. He took this as an opportunity to study her up close. Marinette had her hair loose today. The long, petal thin strands fanned just below her shoulder and her fringe tickled his neck pleasantly. Her long lashes created a subtle, curved shadow on her cheek bones and had Adrien been an ordinary boy, he would have missed the expertly applied concealer below her eyes. She seemed to get more and more exhausted everyday. His poor princess... "I wish I could just hold you in my arms and keep you safe and happy forever..." He mumbled into her hair, placing his free hand on top of Marinette's which was still grasping his shirt and squeezed gently. Gathering what's remaining of his courage, Adrien puckered his lips and pecked her head, face flaming throughout the whole time. It lasted no more than a moment. Yet it was a moment that Adrien will cherish for the next few decades to come. CLICK. Reflex kicked in rapidly and by muscle memory, Adrien shielded Marinette's body with his, wrapping his arms around her and was quick to flash a dangerous glare at the intruder that dared to make an appearance. The sight of a cheeky Alya and the rest of the cooing girl group, all waving their phones and giggling on the spot drained his wrath and replaced it with shyness. "How much did you see!?" Adrien rasped, unconsciously holding Cheng closer to him, not realising that she was starting to stir. "All of it~ but don't worry Sunshine, we won't tell or show her a single thing." Alya winked slyly, wriggling her phone for emphasis. "It's just going to be in our collection for the amazing album we'll be showing you on yours and Mar's wedding day," Adrien stumbled on his words next, ears and cheeks redder than Nathaniel's hair before hiding his face in Marinette's locks as the girls snickered louder. Thoughts of Marinette in various wedding dresses, floating down the aisle with a loving smile on her face, slipping a ring on his finger as she recited her vows, leaning up as he leaned down to kiss her, all ricocheted within his mind without mercy. It was then that the boy noticed that Marinette was fidgeting in her sleep and panic started to settle in his body. "You evil people...you're waking her up." He hissed tiredly but without any venom and made soft shushing sounds to lull the designer back to sleep. The girls had other ideas however and without wasting a second, they made their moves in sonic speed. Juleka was the first to strike, lifting Marinette up bridal style whilst Rose firmly pushed Adrien back against the library's beanbag in a more comfortable way before the tall girl gently placed the snoozing girl on the boy's lap. Alix and Alya struck next, positioning Adrien's and Marinette's arms so that it looked like the former was cradling the girl protectively against him and the latter snuggling up to him with her arms around his neck. Throughout the whole time, Mylène recorded the entire endeavour with a happy hum. "You should have involved us in Operation Marry-Nette. Look how much more successful we were in a matter of minutes compared to the painful weeks you guys went through with your schemes. I still can't believe that one of them involved you acting out a stunt in order to impress her only for you to fail terribly and bruise your ribs. You should never listen to Kim." The chubby girl smiled, grin only widening as Adrien's blush deepened when Marinette cuddled closer to him in her sleep. The raven haired girl's lips were brushing against his collarbones. It took everything for him to not combust. "Nino blabbed didn't he?" The blonde teen accused. "My babe is terrible at keeping anything from me, boo. But to be fair, it was super obvious from the start. Don't be mad at us~?" Alya pressed her phone against her lips, batting her eyes cutely, prompting the boy to roll his eyes and look away but the way he squeezed Marinette closer to him didn't go unseen. "...m'kay...just send me the pics afterwards please?" Adrien's question was answered with a cheer from the girls. . Nino on the other hand was chased around the school by Adrien with his sabre for ratting out the plans to Alya. "Bro! I'm sorry! PLEASE STOP TRYING TO STAB ME- SOMEONE HELP!" "You broke the bro-code Lahiffe! Now you must suffer the consequences!" "BRO!!??!!" ~(x)~ "...Are you okay Chat Noir?" As soon as Marinette placed a tentative hand on the hero's shoulder, he leapt up as high as his namesakes before quickly composing himself with an awkward laugh. "Kine...I MEAN- FINE! I'm fine...hahah..." Chat's faux ears plastered themselves against his unruly locks as he gripped his tail in front of him with both hands. He internally thanked the Gods (more reliable than Plagg at the very least) that his hair was covering his human ears otherwise Mari would have seen that they were as red as Ladybug's suit. The heroine in disguise raised a brow in worry, lips pursed with confusion. The silly boy has been acting very odd for the past few months. In fact his behaviour right now was starting to resemble a certain blonde sweetheart in her class- 'No! Snap out of it Marinette. Don't start comparing them both again!' The girl warned herself in her mind, shooting down the blush that tried to fight its way to her cheeks and then plastered on a polite smile. "Thank you for saving me and sorry for being in the way. I was trying to get away from the akuma, honest." Marinette fibbed, hoping that her partner would simply tease her with a few puns before vaulting away. Instead, the black cat stammered incoherently. "Oh hahah! N-N-No! You weren't in the way. You can never be in the way, it's never too much of a big deal- NOT THAT I'M SAYING YOU'RE NOT A BIG DEAL! You are one heck of a deal haha- oh the akuma is going that way. Stay safe pretty girl whose name I don't know- IMEANGOODBYE! ADIOS! Gahhhhhh..." Snapping his jaw shut, Chat Noir zoomed away with his staff in hand, hitting himself on the head repeatedly as he muttered 'Stupide!' over and over again. Marinette was left blinking owlishly at the boy's strange antics. The familiar feelings that has been gnawing on her mind for the past half year or so simply grew, causing her to nibble on the tip of her thumb. Yet, she couldn't identify what it was for the life of her and it was driving her insane. "Tikki, first Adrien has started to act like me when I'm around. Now Chat Noir? Have I done something to offend them both?" Marinette pouted at her kwami cutely which elicited a giggle from the tiny Goddess. "Oh no, no no no. I think they've fallen for you Marinette- isn't that exciting? The two boys you love? Flailing around you because you make them so shy and nervous? I can't wait to see how this plays out!" The knowing smile that Tikki had on annoyed Marinette. "What do you mean 'the two boys I love'? I'm not in love with Chat Noir! And them loving me? Impossible. Chat Noir loves Ladybug and Adrien hasn't shown any interest in me other than being 'just a friend'." The face that the little Ladybug wore was drier than the Sahara desert. "Marinette. Are you really going to argue with a being that has existed before time itself about this?" The designer only stared back stubbornly before answering. "Tikki, transformer-moi!" "You know I'm ri-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight-" Was the last thing Tikki managed to say before encasing Marinette into her standard suit. Ladybug snorted, hands on hips as she tried her best to ignore everything that has happened prior. "Liking Chat Noir as well doesn't make this any easier dammit..." ~(x)~ Adrien tripped over his shoes and fell on his face as he was too preoccupied in watching Marinette (with a dopey smile etched on his lips) chatter with Marc and Nathaniel. He was rewarded with the love of his life helping him back up on his face and cupping his face tenderly as she worried over him and checked for any injuries. Chat Noir pestered Ladybug over and over again about allowing Marinette the mouse miraculous once more or even letting her try a different one as he tenaciously believed that she would make an excellent part time hero like Rena Rouge and Carapace. The silly cat ended up receiving a playful chop to the head and a 'I'll think about it' from his Lady. He never noticed how she was oddly flustered as he was too busy doing victorious acrobatics and dances during the rest of patrol. A student from the nearby lycée took interest in Marinette after seeing her a few dozen times since he was a local at the Dupain-Cheng bakery. His attempt in asking her out however was sabotaged by a group of peculiarly dressed, short 'tourists' asking for directions to the nearest Parisian attraction in their painfully broken and accented English. The boy missed his chance to seek her out when she skipped out of his sight with Alya and co and then gave up entirely as Marinette ended up going off on a heated rant about how she was getting sick and tired of strangers going up to her and asking her out when she's never really acknowledged them. He missed the way the supposed tourists removed the disguises from their faces, revealing Adrien, Nino, Kim, Max and Ivan as they 'Ho ho ho'd away. During his patrol, Chat Noir spotted Marinette conversing with both Luka and Kagami near La Seine, the latter two sporting a fond look towards the short designer. Fonder than usual...Noir didn't like it at all. It didn't help that he knew that the musician harboured some feelings for Marinette and the fencer has mentioned numerous times how cute Marinette was. So, with his usual dramatic flair, Chat vaulted towards them, staff slamming between Marinette and the other two friends and then slid down to their level. His body slightly shielded Dupain-Cheng from Couffaine's and Tsurugi's view as he exchanged pleasantries with a slight bite to it. The trio happily conversed back instead, sending guilt down Chat Noir's spine for acting a bit bratty in the beginning. The guilt transformed into second hand embarrassment as Luka and Kagami admitted that they started to casually date and was asking Marinette for advice on where to go for a proper date to make it official. There was no need for the green cat to make its appearance to start with! ~(x)~ Marinette gave Chat Noir a pleasant kiss on the cheek, thanking him for escorting her home and her warm smile never wavered when he went through his customary babbles. The kitten ultimately gave up speaking, gathering back what's left of his dignity and grasped Mari's fingers, kissing the knuckles chastely before saluting and leaping away. The heroine in disguise let out a happy smile, a soft blush flared in her cheeks as she leaned against the top of the balcony and perched the side of her head with her fist. A few stars twinkled in the dark, clear sky and the breeze was soothing enough to clear one's mind. "Oh Adrien, you poor kitten...now what am I gonna do with you?" Marinette's quiet giggles were joined by her kwami who flew out of her purse and nuzzled her holder's cheek. "Told you he's in love with you. You owe me those tasty triple chocolate chunky cookies with your Maman's special tea." "Oh well. A deal's a deal. I still can't believe he's my Chaton- no, wait. I can believe it. Who else would be my silly, dorky, wonderful partner? Did you see how jealous he looked when he saw me with Luka and Kagami? And I thought I was bad! Hahah!" "At least he didn't get them akumatised like he got Theo once." Tikki chimed. "Oooh! Can you believe that he wrote 'Adrien Dupain-Cheng' on your notebook a few times without realising it wasn't his? And then proceeded to steal it for a day so that he could get rid of the pages he's written on? Plagg almost choked on his cheese laughing about it!" "If he hadn't missed that one page, I'd have never known why he stole it in the first place. Makes that time I borrowed his phone for the day to delete the voicemail seem minor in comparison." "He has a folder in his phone dedicated to pictures of you and another folder dedicated to you and him! His current lock screen is of him and you~! So cute~!" "We're both so horribly obsessed with each other. How is that cute- hey! Stop laughing!" "And his name for the operation to make you notice him; absolutely adorable~" "Pfft. I'll give him that. It's not too bad." A comfortable silence settled between them as they happily stargazed. For once, Marinette didn't feel exhausted or being pulled apart in numerous directions. Figuring out that her crime-fighting, pun loving partner was none other than the shy, sweet boy who sat in front of her in class soothed her heart and eased her mind. Accepting that he was head over heels for her to the point where he turned into a nervous, stammering, hot mess did nothing but fill Marinette with giddiness and perhaps be less harsh on herself when she was in his shoes. He fell for her twice. Twice! Just like she did! How could she not be floating on cloud nine after that? For once, her hectic life ever since she received the magical earrings has hit a calm and Marinette couldn't wait to see what adventures would follow next as she and Adrien would face them on unmasked, without anymore secrets. Speaking of secrets. "Hey Tikki? When should I come clean to him? There's no way that I could keep this hushed. I have a feeling that Maître Fu is aware of everything too with how I've seen him lurking left and right with that stupid knowing smile you both always seem to have on. So it should be alright, right?" "Since the Guardian has given you and your partner more freedom with your secret identities now, it's up to you when you want to tell Adrien everything. Bu-uuuuut...I kind of want to see him confess to you. Maybe figure it out himself. It's more fun that way, no?" Tikki's grin widened at Marinette's rosy cheeks, the former looking away bashfully, eyes sparkling with joy. "Do you think he'll figure it out?" "Plagg told me that he figured it out the day Mme. Mendeleiev got akumatised but ended up having to scrap that idea when he saw that illusion you created to throw him off. Adrien was so sure that Ladybug was you and seemed pretty down when you disproved that theory." 'So he did know it was me...' Marinette thought with awe, recalling how much happier and excited Chat Noir was during the battle, thinking that his Lady was his Princesse. "I'll give him a couple of days to confess or figure out my identity. Otherwise I'll just grab him by the collar and smooch his stupid face like no tomorrow." Tikki kissed Marinette's cheek in response, delighted with the girl's answer as they made way back into her room. ~(x)~ This was it. He was going to confess. Adrien has had enough of the way Marinette's lips would taunt him with the way they glistened under the lights and he couldn't escape the sweet scent that wafted from her every time she moved. It was so much more easier to deal with her when she was flighty and shy! Now? She was so much more sure of herself, bold, coy, dare he say...flirty. It went from squeezing his fingers to reassure him to smoothly kissing his cheeks as a thank you for whenever he's helped her out or did something she thought was 'adorable'. The tight hugs, the hair ruffles, the lip biting, the cheeky smirk that eased its way to her face whenever someone mistook them as a couple and the lack of denial or correction she gave in response. If he didn't confess at the end of the day, he was going to explode! With the help of the founding members of Operation Marry-Nette along with the new members, they have arranged a successful scenario. One that was working way too smoothly compared to the previous hundred or more plans that went haywire in an instant so Adrien kept a look out for anything strange or bizarre. Knowing his lack of luck, Le Papillon would strike now. Luckily, this didn't seem to be the case as he found Marinette waiting for him by the Arc de Triomphe. The place where he asked her to meet him. "Marinette! Hey!" Adrien jogged towards her, mentally patting himself on the back for not stammering. That thought process was quickly wiped away when he realised what she was wearing and how beautiful she looked. Dupain-Cheng was decked up in a simple but stylish red blouse with a high waist, short black skirt. Following her long legs were black tights and black ankle boots that had a red ribbon on the zippers. Her hair was kept up in space buns, also adorned by red ribbons, making her sky blue eyes pop. Lastly, her lips were glossed in a cherry red tint. The urge to kiss them increased by ten folds and all the words that Adrien has taken months upon months to plan and say turned into goop. 'What the fuck!? This isn't fair. This is so not fair. Why the hell did she have to dress up so prettily and look all cute and innocent now of all times? Why now!? Fuck! It should be illegal to be this beautiful! Damn you!' "Hey there Handsome! You said that you needed to tell me something?" Marinette peeked below her dark lashes and fiddled with the gold necklace that adorned her neck. A necklace that he gifted her a few weeks ago. She was going to be the death of him. "...Adrien? Are you okay?" Her hands reached up to cup his red cheeks only to be intercepted by his in an iron grip. "Adrien?" The boy squinted his eyes shut, blush never leaving and finally blurted out his feelings: "Wǒ ài nǐ!" . 'I love you!' . . . A few seconds of silence went by. The sounds of the chattering crowd in the background faded into nothing as all the boy could hear was the harsh pounding of his heart. Fearing the worst, Adrien refused to open his eyes and his ears and cheeks burned with both shyness and embarrassment. Dread began to build up in his heart when he felt Marinette wriggle her hands out of his grip and his shoulders sagged, awaiting the rejection that was clear to follow. His spiralling thoughts were halted by the contact of Marinette's fingers brushing his cheeks, slipping through his hair before getting tugged down sharply so that his lips crashed into hers. Adrien's eyes snapped open for a split second in surprise as a shocked mewl escaped his throat but then the warmth and softness that was Marinette's lips took over and he couldn't help but shut his eyes again. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her small frame tightly against his and he couldn't help but smile into the kiss. Before Adrien could deepen the kiss, Marinette parted much to his dismay but her lips still brushed against his. He got an eyeful of her cheeks turning as rosy as his and her lips darkened into a kiss bruised state. An image that burned into his mind pleasantly. "So...d-does that mean you love me too?" Adrien couldn't help but whisper, lips tingling as they brushed against hers. "Silly Chaton. In China, we don't outright say that! But...wǒ zhǐ shǔ yú nǐ." "My Lady!? Mmph-" The boy was silenced with another kiss and this time, Marinette's words played in repeat over and over again in his mind. Wǒ zhǐ shǔ yú nǐ: I only belong to you. . . . ~(x)~ A/N: I'll proof read tomorrow. N I G H T. And Ramadan Mubarak~

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dracosearlgreytea · 4 years

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indelicate marks (7)

indelicate marks: chapter seven - the second lesson

A/N: as promised, the second celebration for dracos birthday! i hope you enjoy the drama and thanks again for your support, it means the bloody world - ivy

warnings: language, gryffindors being shite part two, blood, like quite a bit of blood, descriptions of deep cuts

lovely tags: @h-annahayy @okaydraco @fanficflaneuse @thatoneasrastan

indelicate marks index

By the time Thursday rolled around, Draco couldn't tell if he was dreading your meeting, or rather disgustingly, looking forward to it. You were... interesting, to say the least. He could admit, that it was nice to be able to focus on someone else's problems rather than his own for once, with your memories acting as a distraction from his. And, you were complex - that much was obvious. Hard to read. Draco had found himself trying to determine what was going on inside your head as you looked at him - anticipate your next move. Yet, he never could. It was ridiculously annoying. He knew he was skilled at Occlumency, he prided himself on it - and yet, he never knew what to expect from you. Lent against the wall, his eyes snapped up to the door as it creaked open. You pulled yourself in after it, shooting him a quick glance as it fell shut behind you. Before he could raise his wand, however, you flicked your own up. "Colloportus." You dared him a quick smile. "Y/N." He greeted, coolly, clearly taking you off guard as you paused. Smug, he watched as you quickly attempted to cover your shock with the arch of your eyebrow, scanning him as you settled yourself couple meters away. "You do know my name." Your mouth twitched as you spoke, before pausing. "One second - I thought we weren't on a first name basis?" "We aren't," Draco scoffed, wishing he didn't pay as much attention as he did to the way you bit back your self-satisfied grin. Pushing himself off the wall, he withdrew his wand from his back pocket. "Ready to start?" You swallowed, steadying your expression before sending him a quick nod. Directing his wand at you, he noticed a flicker of discomfort in your eyes, but the spell was already on his lips. "Legilimens." The hardness of your conscious was more noticeable this time - you'd definitely been able to put more force into it, your eyes fierce and clear. Lips dragging down in struggle, he pulled back a little, only to push forward again, sharp. You gasped, and then reality fell away. Draco recognised the two Gryffindors immediately. There was a terrible, searing pain in his left arm. The ragged breaths coming from him tore his throat apart, hands keeping him in place against the wall. They muttered stomach churning comments under their breaths as the blade pulled across his skin, evoking a much louder wail from within him - but it wasn't his. It was as though the blade was scalding hot, digging deep into the skin of his arm, a hand harshly clamping his mouth shut. "Shut your fucking mouth, Deatheater." A hiss in his ear. His skin crawled at how close he was, breath tickling his neck. The door burst open. Before he could get a glimpse of his own face, Draco was stumbling out of the memory, having to take a step back to catch himself at how hard you had pushed him out. Taking in a deep breath, he finally noticed you opposite him, shoulders hunched and face hidden. Not as though you were going to be sick, like the last time, but more rigid. In shock. There was a pang of concern in his chest that he instantly passed off, and he edged closer to you, uncertain. "You okay?" Draco asked, frowning. Jumping back, you stared at him with wide, frantic eyes, chest heaving. You looked utterly horrified, staring at him as though he was the one to have been attacking you. Something in his chest twisted, and he forced himself not to acknowledge it. "It's only me." His tone uncharacteristically soft, you were silent for another moment, before staring back down at your arm, which you cradled to your chest. Blood was rolling down your fingertips, dripping onto the floor. "What the fuck-" "Don't!" You threw yourself back as he reached out to grab your arm, shaking - only to wince, letting out a small moan of pain. "Give me your arm." Draco demanded, and you shook your head, even as your features pulled in terribly. Not wanting to come closer and make you panic even more, but also growing increasingly concerned about the amount of blood that was starting to stain your shirt, he stood helplessly, heart hammering in his chest. After a second, you grimaced, shifting. Your hand quivered as you tried to undo the button keeping your sleeve fastened, shooting a look of desperation at Draco. Taking that as a prompt to help, he practically lunged forward, hand wrapping around your wrist gently to try and hold you still. Nimbly, he opened the sleeve, and you shakily pushed it up, blood thick, sticking the fabric to the cuts. You hissed, and Draco felt dizzy as he took in the state of your arm. It was even worse than it had been the first time he'd seen it. "Wand," You grunted, and Draco snapped his eyes back to your face, features wide with alarm. Whatever you said didn't seem to resonate in his mind, and you let out a much louder groan. "Give me your wand!" Grabbing it from his back pocket, he shoved it towards you, and you took it along with another gasp of pain. Each cut was reopening, agonisingly slow, as though the cuts were being made all over again. "What the fuck did they do to you?" Draco growled, but you only shot him a brief look, before steadying your hand as much as possible to hover his wand over the wounds. You swallowed, taking in a deep breath, and muttering a spell that Draco had never heard before. "Abscondere veritatem." He watched, amazed and slightly horrified, as the blood began to withdrew back into the cuts. Once your arm was almost clean, they started to heal over, leaving behind pale lines in your skin, the word remaining identifiable. A shaky breath came from you, and Draco realised you were staring directly at him. His hand was still wrapped around your wrist. Snatching it away from you, you slumped yourself on a desk, flicking his wand over your opposite hand with a mumble. The blood that stained your shirt and hands vanished, and you finally offered his wand back to him. He took it quickly, waiting for you to speak with an expectant, desperate in his eye. You didn't. You just stared at him. "Are you going to explain what the fuck just happened?" Draco snapped, raising his eyebrows at you wildly. "Your wand doesn't agree with me," You only grumbled, eyeing it in his grip. Are you fucking kidding me? She nearly bleeds out and she wants to talk about my bloody wand? "My wand is perfectly fine. Fucking explain. Now." He fixed you with a hard glare. Swallowing, you sighed heavily, avoiding his eyes. "They enchanted the blade," You murmured. "Whenever someone sees - or finds out - it reopens." It took everything in Draco not to immediately march over to the Gryffindor tower and strangle the first one in sight. Instead, he just ground his teeth, fists clenching at his sides. You were shifting your glance anywhere but him, tugging at the cusp of your sleeve, which you'd yanked back down over the scars. Lip pulled in through your teeth, it finally dawned on Draco that you were ashamed. Embarrassed. "What was that spell you used?" He asked, keeping his voice mild, swallowing back his anger and attempting to take the pressure of silence off you. Blinking, you finally glimpsed at him again. "Abscondere veritatem." You repeated it, lips pulling into a frown, shuddering. "It's a combination of healing and cleaning spells I put together." "You did that yourself?" Draco raised his eyebrows, admittedly impressed. Not many students your age would even dream of producing their own spell, especially one you had been able to perform injured, with someone else's wand. "Don't look so surprised." You shot back, edged with a good humour that prompted Draco's lips to twitch. "It took a few visits to Madame Pomfrey before I could get it right, I'll admit." "That I'm not so surprised about." Draco found his eyes shifting back to your arm, and he forced himself to pull them back to you. You were already watching him, lost in thought, and he raised an eyebrow. "What?" "It's - it's nothing," You shook your head, averting your gaze, but then you were looking back at him again. "I just - Why didn't you tell anyone?" Draco's brow knitted for a second, and you rushed to elaborate, cheeks flushed. "About when you - er, found me?" Oh. He should have known that question was coming, but he had not prepared himself for it. A million reasons ran through his mind, but he ignored them. He really did not want to have to delve into his psyche and explain his undying hatred for Gryffindors. Or, the stupid soft spot he managed to develop for you before you'd even spoken for the first time. Keeping his expression blank, he only offered you a shrug. "It wasn't my secret to tell." Your eyes searched him, clearly unconvinced by his vague answer. For a second, he thought you were going to push further, but then you nodded, gaze falling off somewhere behind him. "I suppose we're done today," He stated, wanting to escape before you could ask him anymore questions. As he took a step towards the door, however, you abruptly jumped to your feet. "Wait!" Draco stared at you. Every time he thought he'd managed to figure you out, you proved him wrong. Moments ago, you looked exhausted - but now, your eyes were alight again. She's going to give me bloody whiplash at this point. "Yes?" He flicked his eyebrow up, and you paused, tugging at your sleeve. "I - er -" You let out a sigh, before digging your hand into your robe pockets. Draco watched you, not quite sure what he was supposed to expect, when you finally found whatever you were searching for and shoved your hand in his direction. His gaze shifted from you, to your hand, and then back, before he rolled his eyes and stretched his hand out to take it. What you had been searching for was a Sleeping Draught. "I know you said 'not friends'." You sounded nervous, the emotion unfamiliar on your tone, and he looked back at you from where he had been examining the small potion in his palm. "But you do look like shit. I thought you could do with it." Draco had to bite back a laugh. Because, you looked so worried, standing there under his intense glare, attempting to hide your hesitation. Because Sleeping Draughts had stopped working for him at least a month ago. He must have been staring for too long, however, as a look of pure regret stretched over your features. "Shit," You finally breathed, pulling back from him. "I didn't mean to seem like an arse-" He wasn't sure quite what it was. Your utterly ridiculous, out of character, nervousness - the lingering, shaken up feeling from you bleeding on him, again - or the fact that no one, except his mother, had ever tried to help him because it was him, and not because they wanted something. But Draco had taken two long strides and pulled you into a hug. You froze, dead, as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, tucking your head under his chin effortlessly. Then, just as Draco was beginning to bitterly regret his spontaneity, you snaked your arms around his waist and melted into him, shoulders dropping with a release of tension. He couldn't even deny it to himself, this time, letting his eyes flutter shut for a second, taking note of how good your shampoo smelt. Draco couldn't deny that it was the lightest he had felt in a long time.

#draco x you #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy angst #harry potter fanfiction #slow burn

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

Negative Space || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Following Lydia’s death, Morgan and Deirdre search for ways to pick up the pieces.

CONTAINS: discussions of death, dying, and grief. brief mentions of Lydia’s human captives.

“The clinic was a mistake.” Deirdre grumbled as she drove, hissing her complaints as she pulled the Subaru to a stop, massaging her temples in a desperate attempt to summon back her vision and the senses it offered. Her mind had been imprinted with the beeping and whirring of the clinic’s machines, the very same that had kept her sustained, and lent her the energy now to be driving at all; the doctor’s droll voice, asking her to stay another night, because she needed it; and the whispering of other fae, annoyed that a non-fae was in their presence, in their space, and her own voice, shushing them. She slept well, with Morgan in her arms and medicine in her body, but time had a horrible way of eating at memory, and a worse way of moving things around. Lydia’s body might not be in the alley she was murdered in anymore; if someone went to such lengths to kill her, they’d be disposing of her too. The two of them weren’t just too late, it was like they were operating on a whole other timeline. Deirdre hated it. She hadn’t touched the rest of her vision of Lydia’s death; the faces, the voices, the sounds and scents, those she wanted to save for when her mind needed them. Right now her mind needed a location...and a drink. Deirdre groaned and threw her head back. “If she was trying to leave town, then she should be here. But I’m not feeling anything.” She eyed her doctor-recommended crutches and then the sidewalk. “Maybe we should go by foot.”

“The clinic made you better,” Morgan mumbled. She didn’t especially enjoy being looked at like she was a dog wetting the living room, or being whispered about in Gaelic like she hadn’t made time to learn the words for ‘human’ and ‘filth’ online. But Deirdre had held her all night and she’d been able to follow the monitors tracking her recovery and listen to her heartbeat and believe, to an extent, that they would be okay. “I can pop out the wheelchair they gave us, if you want to take a swing around the next block or two,” she suggested. “I can take over driving, if it’ll help you concentrate. I won’t go so fast, or slow or…” Or whatever she’d done that had contributed to missing Lydia and her body. She knew by the light of day that there wasn’t much to be done about having a mental breakdown under the double trouble trauma, but having some responsibility meant she wasn’t completely helpless.

“Not the wheelchair,” Deirdre grimaced, turning the car off. “Anything but the wheelchair.” She didn’t have the energy to be wheeling herself around, and there was something deeply embarrassing about having Morgan push her. By comparison, the crutches were slightly less embarrassing, though still enough for her to forgo them as she stumbled out of the car. “Let me use you to lean on?” She called out, hobbling towards the passenger side to meet Morgan outside. “It’s better than anything else.” She smiled bright, and though she’d spent most of the car ride tensely silent or cursing at the air, even in her state, it wasn’t hard to see Morgan wasn’t doing well. Lydia’s death was a rumbling echo, but time had moulded her sadness into anger—her depression to urgency; guilt to stubbornness. She hadn’t asked what plagued Morgan, she’d almost forgotten to. Maybe she didn’t conduct the same alchemy of emotions that Deirdre did. “Do you want to take another break, my love?” She asked, for all her desperation to find Lydia, she was continually astonished and horrified at the ease in which she could offer pause and rest to Morgan. Caring for her girlfriend was not a task that she deliberated on, or regretted, she only hoped that Lydia beyond the grave didn’t hate her too much for wanting to care for the woman she loved. Even if respite was the last thing she wanted. The clinic had been agreeable only because pain and medication captured her brain, if they stopped now, she would start thinking. In that moment, Deirdre could think of no greater torture—except, of course, everything Lydia endured. But that was just it; that was the thinking. “We can think of this as a nice stroll if you’d like. Like we’ve always taken.”

“Sorry. I just thought…” The wheelchair would be faster, smoother, easier on Deirdre’s hands and the rest of her body. Morgan could wheel them around in a few minutes. Even sidewalks without accessible ramps wouldn’t be a problem with her zombie strength. She was three days without a meal now and could bust through or lift most things she put her mind to. “Anyway, you should at least bring your cane. I’ve already ordered a nicer one, but it’s not going to come in for a couple of days.” She stumbled over her words to appease Deirdre’s hardened grief so much she almost missed her love’s gentle offer. “Of course you can lean on me, if that’s what you want,” she said. Her eyes nearly watered at Deirdre’s smile. It wasn’t even twenty-four hours out from when she had stopped breathing in her arms, since she had run and disappeared and fallen apart in bloody pieces and stopped speaking to her altogether unless it was to give instructions. As Morgan got out of the car to meet her girlfriend and pull her into her arms (gently, so as not to upset her healing sores), she couldn’t help but feel like some part of her was still cowering in the driveway, stuck to the ground with all that blood. “We don’t need to stop,” she said into Deirdre’s shoulder, carefully giving her a squeeze. “I know we need to do this. I know why we’re here. Just tell me what you want me to do. I’ll--” She shivered. “I’ll do it. I’m doing a lot better today, and I can carry you if you get tired, and I um…” She couldn’t think of anything else to specifically offer. She looked up into Deirdre’s eyes, promising her anything with desperate intensity. I’ll be good. I’ll find a way to make this better.

Deirdre glanced over at the shoddy stick, more tree branch than cane. The fae enjoyed their ties to nature, Deirdre would sooner use the crutches—which were grey and dull but notably not dirt-stained. “I...think I’d rather just lean on you.” Even in sickness, there were standards to be upheld. And while Deirdre found a measure of humour in it, she looked to her girlfriend to see that she didn’t. “We have time,” she smiled softly. They really didn’t, her stomach churned and her mind battled with her to assert a timeframe. They didn’t have time, except that Deirdre smiled as though they did, and spoke slow, measured, as though there was no rush. She pressed her body beside Morgan’s, just the way the two of them knew how to walk tangled in each other, with added weight against the zombie’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” she gestured for them to walk forward with a careful pace, seemingly unbothered. She felt fractured; there was the part of her that cared so deeply for Morgan that even against her own desperation, she could summon whatever kindness Morgan needed. And the part that burned for Lydia; the slow growing storm that just wanted to find her. In these moments, it was easy for her to remember that Morgan was suffering too. When left to herself, everything else seemed to slip her mind. Storms were often consuming, but she had practice taming them. “We can talk about it, if you want; whatever’s bothering you. Besides the obvious, I guess.” She laughed weakly, staring up at the sky. Something about the early morning air was always acrid, it stung her eyes, but it was of great importance to her that they left the clinic as soon as she woke up. She’d forgotten to ask what Morgan thought. “I’m sorry I haven’t been exactly…” she looked to Morgan with her own desperation. “...like I should be. I just want to find Lydia, I just want to get to her.” Deirdre shook her head, sighing. “You’ve been very good to me, despite everything. And I haven’t even thanked you for it. I’m sorry, my love. Will you let me ask after you now?”

“O-obvious?” Morgan wasn’t sure what counted as obvious and what didn’t. She averted her eyes and started to hobble with Deirdre the way she wanted to go. “No, we can just…” Morgan swallowed thickly, trying to summon up some wall to put between herself and the fear and guilt she didn’t know how to relocate. But she was always herself around Deirdre. She didn’t know how to pretend around her, even if it was what would help the most. “You don’t have to be anything more than how you are. We can go find her, we don’t have to stop for anything, I’m sorry if I’m...I’m not trying to hold everything up, I don’t mean to be so…” Her eyes were burning again and she tried to focus on walking with Deirdre. She never would’ve thought walking up and down their house wrapped up in each other would come in handy before. But here they were, stepping in the way they knew so well, enough that Morgan could remember how they usually were. Not the happiness, but the ease, the intimacy of their openness.

Morgan met Deirdre’s eyes for a flash of a moment, hoping that she could be good and find whatever strength she needed, however unfamiliar, to pull herself up and help Deirdre find what she needed to. But as Morgan held her gaze, the tears came free and her insides crumbled. “You don’t need to thank me, or be sorry. Honestly, I don’t really feel like I--” she hesitated. “I know I...I tried, I did, but I screwed it up...” she clenched her jaw and tried to keep her composure as much as possible and brought them slowly to a stop near a sidewalk bench. “I know I can’t do anything to fix what happened, but if I could just do something to make any of this better or easier for you…” She clenched her jaw and breathed again. “I know you’re angry. And I know I’m at least partially responsible for us being in this situation. But…I’m sorry. I feel like I’m making everything worse right now. I should be comforting you. You shouldn’t have to worry about me after losing your best friend, your family, but...you were gone. I got off the floor and you were gone and then you were bleeding and you wouldn’t tell me anything and you wouldn’t stay or take me with you and...I should’ve just gotten the car, fucking stars above, I should’ve just gotten in the car and picked you up and maybe then we… but I just thought ‘she couldn’t have gone far, we’ll figure it out.’ I didn’t understand what was happening, and...you were dying! You went from running away to looking me in the eye and saying you weren’t going to live and then you couldn’t walk or use your hands and there was so much blood everywhere and I was scared! Out-of-my-mind scared! I would do everything different now, I would, but...I didn’t know anything except that the world was ending. You were dying and it was the end of everything and I was scared and it broke me. I didn’t even realize you’d gotten up after the call, you were just gone, and nothing felt real anymore and I couldn’t...be what you needed. I tried, but I couldn’t. And I’m still--between failing you and almost losing you on the fucking driveway with no warning, I’m just not back together yet...” her voice petered out. Morgan could only just push through her shame to look at Deirdre again, searching for someplace safe in her gaze to hole up in.

“Lydia, I mean….” Deirdre breathed with trepidation; confessing the truth so bluntly was not something she had grown accustomed to in the time between her scream and now. She would have preferred, in fact, to never speak of it. But such wasn’t fair--Lydia deserved to be spoken of, remembered, loved. Even if it would just be her who held the leanan-sidhe in her heart. She frowned and anchored herself to Morgan’s side, pressed as tightly as she could manage. With great imagination, she could pretend this was one of their strolls around White Crest, at some point they’d turn a corner and make their way into a cemetery. But the gravestones in her head all read Lydia’s name. “You didn’t screw anything up…” She fell on to the bench, gesturing for Morgan to sit beside her, nearly pulling her down too. “You don’t have to be sorry about anything, my love. I wouldn’t have gotten myself anywhere on foot, you know that, and it is true that my body needed rest. You can imagine the state I would be in now if you hadn’t chased after me.” Deirdre tried to laugh, the gentle, light way she did when she wanted to lift Morgan’s spirits, but the sound came out as a cough. And then another. And then a tug, taut and strange in her chest. She grimaced, leaning forward to clutch the rough fabric of the clinic-lent sweatshirt she was wearing---equally as gaudy as the cane and wheelchair. Morgan’s voice throbbed in her ears, she made out a few sentences and a handful of words. Distantly, she knew Morgan was talking about her near-death, and the trauma that followed it, but her head pulsed; vision spotty. “You don’t need to...do anything...different…” She spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. I don’t need you to be anything but how you are. It’s oka---” The cemetery with the Lydia gravestones screamed at her, ringing loud and demanding. Deirdre stumbled off the bench. She stared down the road, watching it narrow. The pull she had been searching for was clear, and it was persistent. It tethered her, strung her limbs up and pulled her like a doll.

If she was thinking, she’d realize it was in poor taste to be running off again. But she wasn’t thinking, she was sprinting down a foregin street. Pain forgotten, she burst forth with temporary speed and composure. “Morgan!” She called her girlfriend’s name just once before she turned the corner. The cemetery. The Lydia gravestones. They lived in a nameless alley; not that alley’s often had names, but she’d make sure people knew this one--the place where good died. Deirdre stumbled into it, filled with perverse relief to find Lydia. To find Lydia. To find--Where was Lydia? Deirdre threw herself to the ground, equal parts frantic and too weak to hold herself up. Where was Lydia? She committed herself to vision, to everything her death-cursed body could drum up.

Morgan thought the clinic and the waking up and the sitting tensely in the car was a trick and this really was a magic nightmare drummed up to torment her. Deirdre coughed, ragged and painfully unlike herself. Morgan scrambled for the water bottle in her bag and handed it off to Deirdre. “Drink slowly, babe,” she whispered. “Slow, okay?” She felt brave enough, forgiven enough, to stroke Deirdre’s cheek the way she liked to when it was her turn to comfort her. But Deirdre shuddered and sank against her body. “I’ve got you. What is it? Hey—” And then Deirdre was up, running away from her again, knocking her way through the street, drunk with pain. “Deirdre! Deirdre, please!” Morgan didn’t care about the pedestrians turning their heads to look at the crazy woman shoving past them. She was just seeing their street and the trail of blood and Deirdre’s dead, icy look. Morgan couldn’t do this again. She didn’t have it in her.

Morgan turned the corner and caught Deirdre’s hand as she called her name. “I’m here. Tell me what’s happening, just fucking tell me, I don’t even care what it is!” She pleaded, falling to her knees with Deirdre, holding her up in her arms. “Are you in more pain? Do I need to drive you back to the clinic? What do you—did you find something?” She brushed back her love’s hair, searching her face for some tell about what new twist of the cosmic knife was working through them this time. She held onto Deirdre, too tight for her to break away from easily. “Please. I can take it. Just talk to me…”

Where was Lydia? Deirdre burned, clawing at her skin with bandaged fingers. She felt cut upon cut across her chest, the weight of wounded wings she didn’t own, spear through her shoulder. She felt Lydia’s pain, splashed up against the walls and spilled across the floor, but she didn’t know where she was. Her body took flash fever, starting at her knees against the ground. Where was Lydia? She heard voices, saw figures in the dark of her vision–one, two, three...just how many people had watched Lydia die? How many of them caused it? At the center, a blonde girl flared to mind, but Deirdre already knew about her; had already committed herself silently to dealing with it. She began to paw at the ground. Perhaps Lydia had been buried below, somehow, but she searched and searched and found nothing. Her body burned.

Deirdre blinked, turning slowly to her girlfriend. The apology for her actions that wanted to sit on her tongue had been swallowed down. She took dirt and ash into her hands, letting them stain once pristine bandaging before peeling Morgan off of her. The process was slow, she was in no rush now. She had found Lydia, after all. Once unfurled, she opened Morgan’s palm and dusted ash against her skin. “That’s Lydia,” she said, “we found her.” Deirdre turned back to the ground, the ash was nearly indiscernible from the rough cement, but she leaned down and scooped it all up into a pile—every grain of dirt along with it. In time, by hand, she would pick everything that wasn’t Lydia out. For now, she just wanted it all. She thought she could mold her back, like clay. She tried it; holes for the eyes first. But the nose wouldn’t stick. “How is she going to wear something nice, for the funeral?” She asked, “what if she wanted to be buried? Didn’t they ask her? Didn’t they think about her family? This is all they get to see of her now. Who would want that? Who would want ashes?” In her scraping the ground, the charred remains of Lydia’s phone mixed with the pile. Deirdre plucked it out. There was Lydia, pile on the floor, and this was the place she died. This was the place she saved Deirdre’s life. And they gave her ashes. “Didn’t they know…” she sobbed, unaware she had begun tainting the ash with her tears (she would apologize for this later, seek repentance in the familiar places she knew). “....didn’t they know? Didn’t they know that I loved her. Why would they—what did they think I would do with a body? Couldn’t they have just left her in a river or—“ Deirdre curled up on the ground, pulling Lydia to her chest. There wasn’t much left of her now, even with the ash; a byproduct of the time she wasted (she would apologize for this too). “She couldn’t stand looking at a dead body, not the beautiful decayed kind. But I think she—I think she wanted a coffin. Didn’t they ask her? Why didn’t they ask her?” Deirdre sobbed, a horrible and pathetic whimpering sound, but she knew the answer.

Morgan tried to fasten Deirdre’s hands together in her grasp to no avail. “No! If you can leave me behind like I don’t matter you can use your fucking words and tell me what’s happening!” She shook her, aching and desperate, but Deirdre was somewhere else, and nothing Morgan said meant a damn thing, if they’d even registered as words at all. And then she spoke and all of Morgan’s fear and grief punctured, crawling miserably into some dark corner inside herself to hide. There wasn’t time for this. If Deirdre was right (and when it came to death, Deirdre was always right), then Morgan didn’t get to matter right now. She quieted and let Deirdre have her way, carefully folding away her hurt in box after box to fester out of sight.

Morgan had never looked at flesh ash before. Somehow she thought it would look different, more distinct and impressive. But aside from being a little paler, there wasn’t anything to differentiate it from the dregs of a regular bonfire. Morgan closed her hand around the grainy nothing Deirdre had put in her hands. Lydia. If she hadn’t been an alchemist in another life, she wouldn't know the connection between these little particles and the woman they had both known. But Morgan did, just as she knew that whatever kind of soul fae had, Lydia’s was off becoming part of something else. Strangely enough, Morgan couldn’t find it in her to hope for peace for Lydia so much as a second chance, an opportunity to be kind, to understand that the world wasn’t stratified the way she’d been raised to believe, to feel connected to the affection that had vanished from her life over its final weeks. That’s what Morgan wanted.

But death didn’t care for wanting. Deirdre had explained that to her plenty of times. And as Morgan held her girlfriend, rubbing her back and stroking her hair as she sobbed, she reminded herself that she was part death too. She could hold and speak and not want anything. She could, if she remembered the pit inside her and let it take her a little. After watching her tiny world implode on a loop so many times in less than a day, it was almost easy. “I don’t know, my love. I’m afraid I don’t know.” she said faintly. “But I do know that her soul and her energy have already passed on and transformed. Maybe she’s in the winter flowers, or the wind, or some happy, gentle creature that was just born. But we can put what’s left of her in a nice urn, maybe something from her house. I don’t think she’d mind her house pieces being with someone who can appreciate them. Or we could get an alchemist to turn her into something you can keep with you always. She would like her body turning into something beautiful, I think. When you’re ready, you’re going to finish the water bottle, and I’ll clean it out and we’ll put her in there for the time being. And we’ll go home, and you’ll decide what you think is best for her remains when you’re ready for that too.”

“There’s no winter flowers in an alley!” Deirdre bellowed, rumbling the world around them. Her tears felt like fire against her cheeks now, and she pushed herself off the ground. “This stupid man-made shit. She doesn’t get to go anywhere! Not back to the earth that bore her, not the forests of her ancestral home. This human garbage is what she gets. You can’t grow a tree in cement! They killed her here! And they didn’t even leave a body.” Deirdre slammed her fist to the ground, shattering bone on impact and undoing her body’s attempts at healing her torn nails; she reacted to neither, an instrument of pain and anger. “You don’t know what they did to her,” she spoke to Morgan now, trembling in the force of her words. “We didn’t even get to hear all of it. But I saw, I heard, I know. They took Lydia from this world, she begged and they ignored her and now she’s ash. She didn’t want to die this way. And I promised her, I promised her—“ ‘A good death’ shouldn’t have been something impossible to give. It was her job, her livelihood; everything she was born for. “She was my sister and they took her.” Deirdre huffed, calming herself just enough to remember who she was speaking to, and what had been said. “Not unless you can dry it all out,” she gestured at the water bottle, gently taking it with her good hand. If drinking water would please Morgan, she would do it, but the point of the gesture was lost on her now. “Water will ruin the ashes. Or taint them. Nothing touches Lydia anymore, nothing that will hurt her. No water.” She took a sip, hissing as it went down. Drinking water felt like a waste of time, so much so that she stopped at just the first sip. “And no home. We go to Lydia’s.” Deirdre pulled off her sweatshirt, pushing the ashes onto the fabric. She considered that the water bottle just might have been better, but she wanted everything and she wanted it pure. “No one will be turning her into anything, not unless I know I can still feel her like that, and, anyway, not a human. I’m not letting another human touch her. Her family will decide what’s best. I’ll leave that to them.” A work of art might’ve sounded good to Deirdre, if her mind could bear to stir itself from thoughts of rage. “Are you good to drive?” She asked Morgan, speaking mostly to the ash though. “We can take a break, if you don’t want to. But we’re not going home. I don’t want to go home now. We need to go to Lydia’s, as soon as we can. Time—“ she snarled, “—clearly has done terrible things to my sister.”

Morgan took back the water bottle as soon as Deirdre made her disgust for the idea apparent. She had dumped out the rest and begun cleaning it with her sleeve when Deirdre dismissed the idea. Morgan stopped, screwed on the lid, and put the empty bottle away. Nothing to do about it now. Taking off the sweatshirt from the clinic was a stupid mistake. The ash would get caught in the fibers and almost impossible to fully separate. Some of Lydia’s remains would end up in the wash, or some cotton blend would end up in her urn, or whatever happened in the end. And Deirdre shouldn’t have promised a good death, not when she knew from Morgan’s death that sometimes there wasn’t time enough to fix anything. But nothing in Morgan’s head mattered, and nothing broke the surface of her blank face except a ‘fine,’ and later, when the silence had been long enough to make Morgan sure that Deirdre was finished, she said flatly, “You just re-broke your hand, of course I’m driving. We’ll go to Lydia’s and then swing by the clinic again.” Deirdre didn’t have enough clarity of mind to set her own bones, and she probably couldn’t, with her fingers in their state. She scooped Deirdre up in her arms and walked them back to the car. She buckled both of them in, started the car, and took them away.

Time washed away funny when you were in the pit. It was both a long time and a short time back into town and up to Harris Island. The light had changed, bright and desaturated. Morgan pulled up the drive and turned off the car and came wordlessly around to wait for Deirdre to let herself out whichever ways she was going to insist on next. Deirdre had been right about time, the air crackled with the sound of tarp bubbling in the wind. New windows still had the stickers on them, ready for the final approval that would never come. At least the security team was absent, now lacking someone to follow and crime scene tape had been strung around the perimeter. Morgan only needed to twist the handle hard enough to break it free and let them in.

Deirdre hated being carried, despite its convenience. It made her feel like a child, and of all the things to be, a child was the worst. But she did not argue this time, she had her eyes glued to Lydia, and they remained there. In the car, which she hadn’t noticed they’d gotten into, she tried whispering her friend’s name, as if coaxing her out of her ashen hiding place. Then she spoke to her softly in Gaelic, mostly nonsense, but partly apologies she could not find the words for in English. Every so often, she subjected herself to the vision again, this time she took account of every detail. She had been cataloguing sounds by pitch by the time they came to Lydia’s. “We’ll be back,” she told the ashes, which was a silly thing to do, but Deirdre’s mind had gone to a strange place. A different place. She made sure Lydia was comfortable before she left, wrapped safe in the cheap sweatshirt. Inside, there would be nice vases for Lydia to go in until she found a more permanent home. It would be better than her shirt, at least. Deirdre looked at the ashes. “Do you want to come?” She asked them. They did not respond, but she turned back and picked them up carefully, unable to part with Lydia anyway. Lydia’s house was not even in an acceptable state; too messy, too taped up and put together all wrong. Lydia wouldn’t want that. “I should clean up,” she announced to no one in particular. “But first a good home for the ash—for the ash—for the—for Lydia.” But everything was toppled over, not where it should be. Her mind was still reeling from visions, she didn’t have the capacity to log every change here. Her eyes raked over the sheer number of them, and she felt sick. “This isn’t good.” She said, sitting on Lydia’s couch. The same place she would sit, feet tucked under her, as her and Lydia chatted over wine. Deirdre’s gaze settled on Lydia’s empty spot beside her. “This isn’t right.” She looked to the ashes again, bundled with more care than she had ever held anything. “What do you think?”

“You’re not gonna clean anything. It’s a crime scene,” was all Morgan said. She walked through the first floor of the house, or as far as she could manage while keeping Deirdre in her sight. There had been a struggle, and there had been an investigation underway. Spots were marked up with numbered tags as evidence. If they only knew the worst of it, they wouldn’t have bothered, Morgan thought. She went systematically through each room, stopping in the kitchen to work on the cabinets. It was fitting and cruel and pitiful, to put Lydia in something meant for food, but there weren’t going to be many options on this floor. She took out a sculpted rice serving pot and a ceramic sugar tin, both more form than function. She washed and dried them carefully by hand. There was a lot wrong with this place, a prickling awfulness that wanted to pull Morgan out of her numbness and shoo her out the door. But Morgan didn’t matter right now, and neither did Lydia’s crimes. Maybe another day, but not right now. Morgan brought the two vessels out to the living room where Deirdre still sat. “You don’t care what I think,” she muttered, setting them down in front of her. She’d found fault with everything Morgan had put forward so far, and this was probably going to be more of the same, so Morgan stepped away in an effort to get ahead of the next blast. “I’m going upstairs. Don’t do anything to hurt yourself.”

“What crime happened here?” Deirdre turned to the ashes, whom she thought might laugh and tell her something silly. But with things numbered up, the humans hadn’t infested Lydia’s home to try and look for her; they didn’t care she was ashes. But what crime happened here? Lydia had never done anything wrong, as far as Deirdre could think—which wasn’t very far, now. “The vases and art are missing.” She assumed because Regan had done her number against them, but it was wrong to see Lydia’s house so barren. She would’ve hated this. Likewise, she would’ve hated the options Morgan presented. Deirdre eyed them, and a moment too late, spoke softly. “I always care what you think, Morgan.” But Morgan had gone already and left Deirdre in the place that was wrong and empty. She pulled the serving bowl close, and carefully poured Lydia inside. “I’m sorry,” she told the ashes, and though she was vigilant not to spill anything, she couldn’t help but think she was losing some of Lydia in the transfer. She slipped the sweatshirt back on, bundling the ash-stained front in her hands, tugging them close to her chest. Deirdre turned her attention back to the house, she thought about mixing the numbers around, rubbing dirt over the places they thought were evidence. She didn’t know what crime they assumed was committed here, but they were wrong, and Deirdre needed to protect Lydia’s legacy. But instead she hobbled to her feet, and stumbled her way up the stairs. Falling down and over, revisiting old scrapes against her legs, wasn’t so terrible now that she had no space in her mind to think of it. “Morgan?” She crawled to the bedroom, “what are you looking at?”

Morgan had only been upstairs to visit Remmy before, and so wandered the rooms on rooms on rooms without purpose. She found Remmy’s first: empty. Morgan frowned to think that she and Lydia felt the same way about them and their absence. But there it was, a hollow shell where a life used to be. If Morgan didn’t know any better, she would have taken it for some overly personal art installation. It could be called something like, ‘regret’ or ‘disavowed’ or ‘why the heck did you stick around for so long if you were going to make me feel bad for what I need and fuck off’? That last one was more about her than Lydia, she liked to think, but she shut Remmy’s old door and moved on all the same.

There were more spare rooms and suites, some that looked lived in recently enough to make Morgan’s stomach clench. Clothes folded with neurotic care. Pencils and paper on a desk. Shoes tucked under a bed like they were hiding. It had to be Chloe. Other, too, from the looks of things. Where had Lydia found the time to take more people? How long after leaving Chloe or Sammy dying had this happened? Morgan lingered for several moments. She was one of the few people who could begin to understand the crimes that had happened here, she owed Chloe that much. How many times had she been tormented here? How many times that this felt like some sick safety compared to the torture basement? How much harder was it to bear this alone? Morgan didn’t have the stomach to bear it at all, not with the memory of Chloe’s cries in her ears. She stumbled backed away from the hallway and turned down a different one. The house seemed to change, performance and display falling away to simpler aesthetics, cozier furniture. Morgan entered the room at the end of the hall and found herself in Lydia’s bedroom.

It was the kind of room someone’s mother would have liked: soft textured fabrics fresh out of a bedding catalogue, warm light coming through the curtains, fat photo albums and well-loved poetry books stacked on the nightstand, and on a vanity shelf, miraculously intact, were arrays of trinkets and knick knacks. Morgan went up to look at each one, noticing the particularities, the mish mash of styles. This wasn’t curated the way the sculptures and paintings downstairs were. If there was any logic here, it was known only to Lydia, mysterious and personal. There were runes and gaelic dialects that must have been fae and off in a corner was a collection of bones, including a bell jar terrarium arranged around a racoon skull.

“My bones,” Morgan whispered. She had given Lydia the gift on their last planned meeting. She always came with a gift for Lydia, but this one had been her most involved; crafted by hand instead of purchased. “I thought you hated this,” she said. “I thought you hated all my presents, but I worked on this for days, hoping you’d be impressed. I wanted to remember what it was like creating something, and I thought you of all people would understand. But you never really said you liked it, so I figured you put it in some reject closet...” But it was here, carefully tended to along with Lydia’s other treasures, the moss even looked like it had been nurtured recently. Morgan surveyed the collection again, the strange hodge lodge of it, and the care they were curated with. These were gifts. These were people she wanted to keep close to her heart, and for some reason she had chosen to remember Morgan along with them, even after everything. And looking at this, how could Morgan not think of Lydia over at the house, sipping wine with Deirdre, or next to Morgan in the car, begging silently to be accepted? And then all the times they fought online and Lydia’s patience when Morgan said something stupid and offensive to her fae ears and that time they sat in the warmth of a fae funeral pyre, pressed together with Deirdre in the middle? That was real. As real as Chloe’s cries in the basement and everything else that had happened here. This stupid terrium that only mattered because Morgan had made it--this was Lydia too.

Morgan lifted the bell jar terrarium and held it to her chest, bundling her arms tight until the glass broke. Morgan whimpered. No, she didn’t matter. None of this mattered. Not the glass pressing into her skin, not her hurt, her betrayal, her grief. And yet. “What was wrong with you?” She asked Lydia. “Why couldn’t you have been this kind to—what was wrong with you?” She sank to the floor, staring into the broken offering like it might hold any answers. She reached deep inside herself for that calm, dead balance again, but it was no good. It wasn’t a place Morgan had ever known how to keep herself in. As she curled her body over the mess, sobbing into hand, it seemed that it, too, had abandoned her completely.

Morgan sensed Deirdre only faintly. She gasped for control, scrambling for something inside her heart to protect herself with. She wiped her eyes furiously and curled her body away, crunching the glass further. It came apart on her shirt, but Morgan didn’t care. She wasn’t ready to get off the floor and face whatever Deirdre would do to her next. “...Stop.” She said, her tear-choked voice just above a whisper.

“Morgan?” Deirdre called out again, crawling across the floor. If she had sense, she would have hated the child-like quality of it. If she was thinking, she would have apologized for it. “Are you oka—“ Stop. Deirdre flinched, Morgan would not catch the flicker of pain across her features, though her whimper was audible. “But—“ her argument caught in her throat. Somewhere beyond her, there were the words of care and love: you’re not okay, I won’t stop. But there, right then, all she had was quiet. Tell me what’s wrong, turned into the slow reaching for Morgan, grimacing at her flinching of the touch. Whimpering as it happened again when she wrapped her arms around her love. The Lydia spilled across her shirt spread on to Morgan, but Deirdre’s mind was a simple beast now; it did not possess the intelligence to consider intricacies. “Let me see your hands,” she asked softly, then set about picking the glass out of her. That, like all of the Lydia that had been defiled around her, was also wrong. She was learning that she didn’t like seeing the people she loved in ways they didn’t belong; Lydia to ash, Morgan to pincushion. “You were right about the water bottle,” she said, “but I do like wearing Lydia. It feels like she’s hugging me again….almost. I miss that. I held her while she cried, in that bed right there, and at the time I didn’t think to cherish the feeling. I thought I’d always have it.” She paused, trying to pull Morgan close to her, like always was—like she also imagined she would always be able to. But she had lost Morgan once, a few times before if loss by her own doing could be counted, and she knew to always hold her as if committing the feeling to memory. “What’s wrong?”

Morgan continued to cry, shrinking and cowering from Deirdre’s touches as she searched for the cold, effortless grasp of death, and a voice that at least resembled her own. She tried pulling her hands away (the cuts didn’t matter) and she tried dissolving out of Deirdre’s arms and slithering back to the car alone. But Deirdre had her, and she was trapped, and maybe it would have been the only trap she wanted to fall into if it wasn’t all a meaningless lie. “I said stop…” she croaked. “Stop lying, stop touching me like you…” Her voice snagged and whined in her throat. “Like you suddenly care. Just stop, please…” The back and forth felt more cruel than the rejection; at least when Deirdre had abandoned her before, Morgan never had to question their reunions. She could count on at least a week, often more. Deirdre’s strong, slender arms had pushed her away so rarely before today, Morgan had thought they were the key to knowing she was safe. But that had been before the nightmare day, before she’d stopped being able to do anything right or important in Deirdre’s eyes.

“I can’t do this again,” she begged in a whisper. “Don’t act like you want to stay anymore. I believed you—I believed you last time and—” And Deirdre couldn’t have been bothered to do things differently even once. For all Morgan knew, she hadn’t been listening all. “I can’t anymore. Please just stop and tell me what you’re angry about next. Were the dishes I picked out too ugly? Do you hate the windows being messed up? Do you hate me for wanting to go back to the clinic? Or do you—stars, I don’t even fucking know anymore because you’re never going to tell me what’s really wrong or listen to when I try to explain, you’re just going to leave!” And in that case, why was Morgan saying so much now? Catching the irony, Morgan slumped in on herself, trembling as she searched in vain for the dead, nothing parts of her for comfort. “Please, don’t lie anymore. I don’t understand what I ever did but doesn’t matter, so just do it...” Just go. Leave me behind.

Deirdre pulled her hands back, tucked carefully in her lap, as she listened to the strange words tumbling out of the strange Morgan. She thought it was a dream, for a moment, until a dull pain throbbed across her hand, and she noticed for the first time how swollen and misshapen it was. She couldn’t remember when or why, but she noticed it. And she looked at Morgan, and she noticed more—the betrayal claimed in her features, the torment in her voice. “What did I do?” She asked quietly, she tried to search her mind for the answer but could not remember anything outside of entering the peculiar dimension that housed this wrong imitation of Lydia’s home. “I do care about you. I always care. I don’t understand…” she blinked, found herself crying, and blinked some more. She wanted to touch Morgan, but Morgan had told her to stop, and in her obedience, she did not dare. She thought the good Deirdre, the one that could have kept her promise to Lydia, would have known how to fix this. She wouldn’t have brought Morgan to this point to begin with. But as she was now, she couldn’t logic out what was wrong, what she needed to apologize for, and what she could do to make it better. Her mind was jumbled with thoughts of Lydia, memories intertwined with regrets. She could feel the leanan-sidhe on her chest, holding her steady. “The dishes were ugly.” But that was only because any dish would be ugly to hold Lydia, it wasn’t Morgan’s fault. And she didn’t like the windows being all broken either, but Morgan had nothing to do with that. “I don’t understand,” she said again, usually Morgan was good at explaining for her. And so she waited. And waited. And blinked, and cried, and waited. “I love you. I promise I love you. I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you, I promise I do. More than my life, if I could do that. It would be such a great honour. It is the only thing I want, everyday.” Deirdre cocked her head to the side, as if the new angle might provide answers. “Do you….want me to leave?”

There were limits to how much a zombie could shrink her body, as it turned out. Morgan’s bones bent as she tried to shield herself from Deirdre’s next absence and the hateful, drowning feelings that would take her after. There were limits to her nerves too. How did Deirdre not understand? What part of anything she’d said had been unclear, now or anytime before. She lifted her head, bewildered and horrified. Was this some sick joke? Was she toying with her now? (She wouldn’t. Even like this, she wouldn’t, right?) “All I have ever begged you to do since yesterday was stay with me!” Morgan tried to scream, as if climbing near banshee decibels would make Deirdre finally hear her, but her voice came out ragged and choked with the hurt she was too frightened to let go of. “How can you…” And Deirdre cried and promised and Morgan couldn’t bear it. The two pieces didn’t match up and she couldn’t keep guessing wrong forever. “Do you not even hear me right now? Did I die again with you in our driveway? Because I have told you and begged you! All I did today was try to please you, to make anything up to you from before, and you told me it was okay! You told me you were here, you asked me what was wrong like you wanted to know and it mattered and I believed you! And then you left me! You can’t say these things and make me feel--” Safe. So safe that she never had to hide, that even when it made no logical sense, she mattered in a way that was only possible with love. “You can’t do things like that and then leave me behind like I’m not even there!” Morgan’s voice broke with an ugly sob, forceful enough to make her sit up on her knees. “If I didn’t do anything wrong, why are you punishing me like I did? Why...why are you acting like everything I say is awful if you’re not mad at me? Why can’t you stay with me when I need you if you don’t hate me for letting her die? Why can’t you tell me anything if you love me? My whole stupid little life is built on you, and you were gone. You were dead! And then you couldn’t get away from me fast enough or bear to talk to me and I know I was too busy being broken over your bleeding fucked up body to get to her in time, but you keep acting like you forgive me and then taking it away!” In a way that struck Morgan as cruel now, she still felt too safe around Deirdre. She could hear the pitiful, child-like anguish under her cries. There was no dignity, no mask of anger or cold, deathlike apathy. She was just hurt and afraid, and though she hated herself for the pathetic quality of it, in a way she was still begging, too.

Deirdre sat very still and listened. She repeated Morgan in her head to make sure she was understanding the words, she asked herself their meanings and parsed them from English to Irish to English again until she was sure she understood. “I would’ve died for Lydia,” she said softly, picking at the ashy remains of Lydia on her shirt, rolling them against her palm. She wanted to weave Lydia into her skin, she wondered if it was possible. “I would die for Lydia. Still. My only regret with that promise was that she had to take it back. I would’ve died on our driveway for her. I would’ve died and thought nothing of it. I think of dying for her now. I think it’d be nice. I understand why my family spoke of our lives having no value, why we take no ties. We are fae, we carry their deaths, we avenge them; no matter the cost. I would die for Lydia.” Dread dug its cold fingers into her stomach, churning and pulling. “I’m so sorry. I would’ve died and left you, and I wouldn’t have regretted it. I would still do that now, and I can’t---I can’t shake it from my head. I want peace for her so badly I would wrench it from myself. But that’s not fair to you. I’m so sorry, my love.” The things she had to do, and the new life she carved with Morgan, never had learned how to fit nicely together. But her love for Morgan was not a whim to be cast aside, and not a treasure she would so easily give up. It was that same perseverance that marked her love for Lydia, too. “It’s not your fault Lydia died. It’s not your fault she’s ash. I don’t blame you, I’m not angry at you. I’m trying to stay with you. I’m trying because I want to. But it’s hard because---” Deirdre lifted her bandaged hands, one bent wrong and one normal, and tried to demonstrate a split road. “But I’m sorry.” She dropped her hands, lacking the energy to keep them up. Deirdre, unlike Morgan, had no torrent of emotion inside of her. There was anger and pain, neither she showed now, and then deep, unshakable, sadness. Something like self-loathing, but more desperate around the eyes. “I’m sorry.” Was all she could think to say; was all she knew how to say now. “I’m sorry.” And she sat very still and straight as she offered it, just the way she’d been taught. She could be a stitching of instincts and half-feelings, a mannequin of memory. But she could not be Deirdre anymore.

Morgan shook her head. In her awful, bleating explanations, she’d closed some of the distance between them on instinct. She was close enough to touch Deirdre now, and her arms twitched, aching for her, but she held back, still tense with fear, like an animal that had been hit too many times. Morgan scoffed at the idea that Deirdre was trying, that forgetting her not five minutes after insisting she bare herself counted as trying. “I knew,” she croaked. “You would never choose me over a fae. I knew that when we started. I just thought… you would care enough by now to try to take me with you. Or to tell me that’s what you were doing. I would’ve driven you anywhere if you’d just said she was in trouble. You think I don’t still love her? That I don’t hate what they did to her? I would go with you anywhere if it would just occur to you to ask me, especially for her. I’d pack you a bag if you swore to me you could only do it by yourself. I don’t need you to look at it like it’s one or the other. I needed you to choose me too.” She looked up at her, eyes searching her strange, faraway face. “How do I know you aren’t going to drop me in five more minutes if I believe you right now? How do I know anything will be different? That this isn’t going to be like every other sad choice I trusted in before you? How can you tell me that you can choose me too?”

“I did choose you.” Deirdre blinked. “Always. I did when I said I loved you the first time, I did when we drove to the clinic instead. I am choosing you. Do you know it’s sacrilege to let a non-fae hold a dead fae’s body? But I gave you that ash.” She didn’t exactly get it, but she understood enough to try and wrap herself around Morgan again. “But this isn’t about choosing, I don’t think…or maybe...maybe it is. I don’t know. Is it? Is it?” She buried her head into the crook of Morgan’s neck, taking her in by way of her senses. With her nose pressed up against her like this, she could smell the decay--Morgan was due a meal soon, she realized, then tried to think back to the last time she ate. “I’m sorry.” How had she let them go so far without noticing? Why didn’t she stop to ask if Morgan wanted something to eat? “I could give you a promise,” she said, wincing as she realized her offer was in poor taste. “I don’t want to leave you, Morgan. I just don’t know what to do. I didn’t think Lydia could die, and I didn’t think there was time to say anything about it. I don’t---I don’t know what to do. I said it’d be okay when we found her, but it’s not. She’s ash, Morgan. Ash!” Deirdre trembled, clinging tighter to her love. “Y-you don’t know, I suppose. Can you trust me? Can you trust that I love you more than that?”

Morgan sank into Deirdre and let her hold her. “I didn’t ask for her ash, I know she’s yours. I just want us to have gone together,” she whimpered. “I just want you to take me with you next time so we can go together. Or talk to me. I can be strong with you. Don’t you believe in me enough for that?” She latched on tighter as she felt Deirdre shudder and cry. She could’ve sworn they’d each been so strong before, that they could each stand on their own two feet without being afraid. Maybe, when the worst of this was over, they could be again. Morgan flinched and clutched Deirdre tighter at the mention of a promise, but in this moment, it still looked to her like salvation. She was so tired of holding herself in, she ached with hunger and grief, and even as her heart expanded to accommodate more anguish, there didn’t feel like enough room to mourn Lydia as just herself. (She didn’t want to, she didn’t have the same blinders that Deirdre did. She knew too much, enough to think that she and Deirdre might be the only ones crying over the good in Lydia that was lost. Grief was a cruel feeling, but grieving alone was punishing.) One death she was old hat at managing. Two, this close to her heart, and she didn’t know which end was up, even if Deirdre had come back in the end.“But I trusted you before--” she said pitifully. “You can’t do this to me again, Deirdre. And don’t tell me you’re ready for something you’re not. I would’ve waited for you to ask me later, I would’ve tried…” She might not have succeeded, but she wouldn’t have given up everything to Deirdre’s deaf ears if she’d known better. “I was right there with you on the bench, you didn’t even take my hand. I would’ve gone with you…” She shuddered, crying into Deirdre’s shoulder, trembling with tension her body was desperate to release. None of this was fair, or right, she didn’t even want to be crying over Deirdre when there was someone else who was never coming back. Not by zombies or necromancy or anything else. Her fingers dug in, heedless of any limits or habits she’d learned. Her body wanted to fasten itself to safety and hear the heartbeat that she had come to think of as safety. Somewhere, in that desperate, pitiful place, Morgan realized they already had a promise thread between them she could pull on. “Can I ask for you…?” She said in a shaky voice. “I feel like I lost you too and I need you. I want you. Can I ask you to come to me? Stay close for just… you haven’t even let me have you back for a day, can I at least ask for until morning? Can you love me enough to give me that?”

“No, you have to hold her,” Deirdre explained quietly, “you know who she was, so you have to hold her. No one else knows and loves like you do.” But her words fell away in a matching whimper, her body slumped against Morgan and the rest she just gave up on. All the fire and brimstone raged quiet and frail. She was tired now, as she had been for so long. But that was only this Deirdre; the woman who loved Morgan. She was not whole; she was part anger, part sadness, part ash. As the parts could not exist together, not any more, she hand-picked the one that needed to perform. “I’m sorry,” she said again, “I love you.” The only things that remained feeling right inside of her; apology for her inadequacies and love that would forever hold for Morgan. “Of course you can,” Deirdre pulled back and smiled, running her broken hand against Morgan’s cheek, as if nothing was wrong with it or her; a facsimile of the affection she knew to offer. “Of course.” She couldn’t tell the promise apart from her own desire to be by Morgan’s side, and she didn’t exactly know where she had been lost, but she nodded and urged for Morgan to take it. “Ask for me,” she smiled again, a small thing though her face pulled in memory of a larger one. The corner of her lip twitched. “I love you. Ask for me.” She pitched her voice up, the way she remembered warmth and affection sounding. She was trying, but she wasn’t sure if it looked more like lying. She wanted to be good, that was it. She summoned the woman who loved Morgan and told her to sit still and smile, even if emotion was a strange taste on her tongue now. She wanted to be good.

“Okay, I’ll hold her. We won’t tell anyone, but I will,” Morgan whispered, her voice smoothing out as her body eased to the tune of Deirdre’s assurances. The tune was familiar, even if it was off-key. Deirdre was hurt. Deirdre was lost, in a way. Latched onto her the way she was now, with permission granted and settling over her like a shock blanket, she could sense that as easily as the tremor in her love’s voice and the quiet outside. The rest of Morgan’s heart unlocked and she sagged,nodding and nuzzing into Deirdre’s hand as she stroked her cheek. “I need you. Will you please come to me, Deirdre? Just until morning?” She said softly. And in the saying, she knew that it was a question and no question at all. Not just because of the magic threads Deirdre had given her outside Al’s that sad night, but because that was how Deirdre loved her, as a matter of course. Morgan took Deirdre’s broken hand gently in her own and kissed her wrist, pressing in as hard as she could. “I’m sorry I need you,” she murmured. “I love you too.” She took several deep breaths. “Thank you for trying for me right now. I just need a minute…” She breathed deep again. “We shouldn’t stay here much longer, in case the police come back, and you can’t set your bones with your hand like this, we really do need to go back to the clinic. But we can take a minute…” She breathed again. Deirdre was here. Deirdre had promised. Deirdre loved her. They were both just lost and spun in different directions, groping clumsily for some kind of stability. They’d never both needed each other so badly at the same time before and they stumbled through the crisis like idiots. Morgan looked down at the terrarium pieces on the floor. Would you be angry with me, for using our promise? She silently asked Lydia. Would you be proud that losing you didn’t break us? Morgan breathed again. “We can take that jewelry box on the vanity for her ashes, if you think that would be better than what I brought you downstairs. I think everything up here is a gift.” Morgan gestured to the array of knick knacks above her. “It could be like being held by a friend…” Morgan stroked Deirdre’s cheek and searched her eyes, wondering if there was enough of Deirdre leftover to latch onto her as dearly as Morgan latched onto Deirdre’s efforts at gentleness.

Deirdre sighed in relief, falling against Morgan like the steadiness of a bed. She could rest there, she thought, and maybe when she woke there would be more of her to work with. “Of course,” she mumbled, and couldn’t tell if the promise blossomed warmth in her chest or if her love for Morgan did. She always felt tethered to her with something far stronger than a promise. “Don’t be sorry about that,” she breathed, “I need you too.” And though the fact made her feel horribly selfish to admit, it was a truth she could unearth from herself despite her state. “We can stay here for a minute.” It sounded nice, or it sounded like it should be nice, Deirdre wasn’t sure. She only had one hand to cling desperately to Morgan with, and she gripped the fabric of Morgan’s clothing tight between her fingers. She didn’t want to lose her, that was another truth easy to unearth. “And the clinc’ll be okay. I’ll be okay to go there.” Her gaze followed along to the jewelry box. “I’m worried…that if I move her again, there’ll be less of her. I know that box is better looking, I know she’d like it more, but whenever her family comes, they might want to move her into something else. And I was thinking---she gave me that vase, the one I have the magnolias in. Maybe she’d like it there. Just for now.” She closed her eyes, and shooed away the sight of Lydia’s empty bedroom for her memories of the one she occupied. Deirdre had always been so pleased to watch Lydia go about her day, as if she might learn from her how to be just like that. This house would never know her again, and she’d fit so well here. She’d been Lydia for so long, Deirdre thought it suited her. Maybe she liked it too. Maybe she found a place to stay. Maybe this was home. She wouldn’t know now, no one would. “Lydia cared about her friends,” Deirdre opened her eyes, “people didn’t care enough about her, as it seems. But she was good. She loved, just like everyone else. And she did care. She did. I know it seems weird to you, because of how she could treat--” Deirdre swallowed thickly, leaving those words about Lydia in a different place and time. “---When I first came over, I gave her this deer skull. I thought she hated it. It wasn’t pretty like a work of art to her, and I knew she didn’t like death much. But she kept it, and she liked it. And she cared. About me, about the people she loved. They’re not going to see that, are they? They’re going to find the basement and--” She swallowed again. Deirdre didn’t know how many people knew how Lydia liked to feed, but she had a feeling that the number of them that knew and were okay with it was something she could count on one not-broken hand. Except for the fae, she reasoned, they’d get it. “I want to take some things she liked; dresses, art...I don’t know what’s going to become of this house and its belongings. But I want some things to be hers, for as long as I can keep them.”

Morgan stroked Deirdre’s hair and wove careful kisses around her temples as she spoke. There was relief in knowing that she wouldn’t have to fight her on going to the clinic, or on staying huddled together on the floor. Deirdre had promised, and so there was no need to hold onto her fear and no need to cling, except to give comfort to one another. “Then we’ll keep her where she is until we can put her in the vase. Nothing else will be lost, not anymore.” She listened to Deirdre’s story, more attentively than she had the others, and made a note to ask her for more, as many as she would give, over the next several days, which were doomed to be awful. “I know she did. I don’t know if you could hear, but her last words were to you. She loved you more than anyone else here. And I have to believe that love goes somewhere too. No energy is completely destroyed. Her love still exists, and it’s yours. And--” Morgan swallowed thickly. She had just regained her composure, but with her fear for Deirdre abated, Lydia rushed in to fill those empty spaces. “I know she loved us. I don’t know why she loved me too, we argued so much, and I think I got on her nerves--” Morgan sniffled, gasping out a sad laugh. “But I know she did. She wouldn’t have kept this stupid terrarium if she didn’t.” Morgan looked down at the mess she made of her own present. There was no more chance of repairing it now, just as there was no turning Lydia’s ashes into the woman they knew again. “And I...I don’t understand how what she did was good, but I would’ve given anything for her to be here to explain and argue with me about it.” She shook her head. “No. No, they aren’t going to understand. But we know she wasn’t just anything. Stars, she was so many things. And we’ll remember the truth, okay?” Her heart sank at Deirdre’s simple, heartbreaking request. She pulled away enough to look at her girlfriend so she would know how disappointed she was to not be able to grant her this to the extent she wanted. “We can’t, my love. Not as much as I know you want to. This is a crime scene, and people took pictures and inventory of the things that happened here. It’s risky enough taking one of her dishes to put her in. Whatever you take, it has to be small. Something easily missed. She wouldn’t want you to get involved in this mess. She spent her last time protecting you, and I want to do that too.” Morgan stroked her love’s cheek. “One or two small things. Nothing more. Do you want me to help you up?”

“I wish I could feel it, the energy that’s left. The only thing I get is her death.” Deirdre slumped further against Morgan, as if she might mold their bodies into one. Shell of herself, she would’ve died to be filled with something else, someone else. If only she could let Morgan carry her all the way, out the otherside of time where everything was okay. “But it’s better than nothing. It’s always better than nothing.” She had heard enough prattle about grief and bereavement, some she had offered and some offered by her family. But in actuality, loss was something she had experienced very little of--a child by banshee standards, emotionally unattached by every other. She didn’t know what to do about it. But Morgan did, Morgan understood it very well. “When you lost your father…” she started quietly, “...how long was it until you started to feel whole? Did you ever?” She couldn’t live like this, she was admitting in her own way. With all the pain she held for Lydia. She felt each cut, every stab, the desperation in her cracked voice--she knew her death, and she knew the ways to cleanse herself of it. The peace she could bring was not one she wanted to commit, for the quiet of the moment, sheltered in Morgan’s arms, she felt safe enough for one last truth: she didn’t want to hurt anyone, not really. She had grown tired of it, and she knew better now. Quickly, the thought would be swallowed by ones of anger and revenge, but she offered it to Morgan, asking her to keep it. One day she would need to remind her that she didn’t want this, and she feared that day would come very soon. Lydia’s peace would be a hurricane. “We’ll remember the truth,” she repeated, “Lydia as she was.” With weak strength, she tried to nudge Morgan up; silent answer to her question. Her own legs couldn’t hold her, and she needed Morgan in more ways than she knew how to admit. “Then I’ll leave it. I can come back...later, maybe, when it’s not a crime scene anymore. I-If it’s---If they found the---this stuff might not be Lydia’s anymore. I don’t know what they do about kidna---kid--” Deirdre swallowed. “A-are you good to leave now? I think I want to---I think I--I just---I don’t want to think about huma--people--people...t-touching her things. I don’t--” Her words trickled off into whimpers and sobs.

Morgan cradled Deirdre as close as she could. Without her fear clouding her mind, she had enough wherewithal to take care with how she used her hands, her grip firm but not painful, her soothing strokes gentle but not too soft. “Oh, my love…” she sighed, pressing a long kiss to her head. “It felt like so long. It felt like...there was this heavy spiked weight inside me, and I couldn’t move without getting hurt or crushed by it. For the first week, it felt like that pain was all there was of me.” Another kiss. “But in time, the weight gets smaller. The cuts it sliced into you scar over. And eventually it’s so small and light, rattling around your chest, you don’t really feel it cut you at all, except on a bad day. You’re whole already, my love. There’s just something else for you to carry now. And you can. It’ll be a little while, but you’ll be able to as it gets lighter. And I’ll help however I can.” She looked into Deirdre’s face and smiled as tenderly as she could, trying to offer her the best hope instead of the recollections of her worst nights. I came out okay, right? I was happy again, and sometime so will you. I’m here, and I carry this, and I love you.

Deirdre’s face seemed to be reaching out with a message of it’s own, some strange thought, embarrassed, even ashamed. It seemed to be asking Morgant to help her, to get her out of whatever sunken place she was in. If it were as easy as getting to her feet and lifting Deirdre up, she would have done it in a moment. “I’ve got you,” she whispered in her ear. “We’re together, and I’ve got you, okay?” She half carried, half dragged them to the nightstand where the picked up the first book she could reach before scooping up Deirdre’s legs and walking out with her, bridal carry, and coming down the stairs. “I’m going to bend without putting you down, and you’ll get the dish you put her in, and then we’ll go, okay? We’ll go by the house first and put her in your safe and get you a change of clothes, and we’ll go back to the clinic, and if you want, I’ll read to you from her book, and we’ll be together. Is that okay?”

“But I have so much to carry…” Deirdre half-whined, half-sighed. She nodded along to Morgan’s words and willed them to help her, somehow. She latched on to Morgan’s expression of love and devotion, and willed that to stick with her too. She found they fluttered down, like someone trying to press paper to a wall, but she picked it up and tried again. And again. “Thank you, Morgan.” She said, slumping as the last of her energy drizzled down. The last words she managed to get out were a grumble, petulant in a way that felt familiar even to her now, “I hate being carried.” But she smiled softly, in a flicker, and didn’t protest. She nodded along to Morgan’s plan, though she would have agreed to just anything then, and let herself be carried away. She picked up the dish, just as Morgan said it would happen, and cradled it against her. Then she was in the car, as planned, and fatigue set into her. Her spiked weight was foregin, and heavy, and she could only just imagine how much worse it would be alone. Whenever she would wake next, memory jumbled, she would thank Morgan. She might just have died on their driveway, but the only reason she was breathing around the spikes was her love. When she woke, she would thank her. When she woke, she would...

#negative space #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #domestic abuse tw #wickedswriting

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