#it was the first wave of first year move ins and I am over two first year buildings so it was busy but we did it

[loving-jack-kelly]

got really terrible news last night and then didn't sleep because my sleep ecosystem is so delicate that being sad throws me off and then proceeded to have my first day of intense getting things done at work so yeah you could say it's been a rough 24 hours <3

[finding-you-in-any-world]

Prompt for procrastinatic writing: anything time-travely (theres not enough of those 🥲)

Hello, anon! Thank you for sending me a prompt - I hope this is okay!! I am not very well versed in time traveler fics 🥲 sorry!

But I hope you enjoy this little Drabble!!

If you’d like to send me a prompt, please do!!

Dan and Phil are moving from their first London flat in 2017, but when they wake up for moving day they’re in a strange room that looks like a hotel - but has some of their stuff.

“Do you have any more boxes you need to tape up, Dan?” Phil asked, walking into the bedroom. He almost tripped over Dan’s feet, but was thankfully able to keep himself from falling. Dan was laying face down in the mostly void bedroom. Phil could see that his eyes were open, staring off into space. Lately, if Dan was alone for the better part of an hour, Phil would find him like this. Dan did not acknowledge Phil’s question, just continued to stare off into space.

Phil stepped over Dan’s torso to have a seat by his head. He crossed his legs, and decided to card his fingers through Dan’s hair one time, feeling the waves bounce through his fingers. He took a breath, waiting for the rant that usually follows him finding Dan in this position. It did not come. Instead, Phil asked “What’s wrong?”

Dan shrugged his shoulders, letting the silence sit before he answered. “What if they find out?” Dan asked, voice slightly muffled through the carpet.

“What?” Phil asked. By this point in the day, he had been packing for hours, and even though the gas man assured him that it wasn’t, he was starting to feel like the gas leak was getting to his head.

Phil felt like normally he would have been able to know what Dan was talking about, without having to ask - Phil took a lot of pride in their almost telepathic connection after almost eight years together. But Phil was too tired today to allow his brain to work.

“About the - you know…” Dan continued to mumble. When he was met with silence, Dan huffed. “About the two flats, Phil.”

“Oh… Oh. We will be extra careful this time, Dan. Don’t worry. Don’t forget - this is only temporary.” Phil’s fingers found their way back to Dan’s hair, attempting to smooth the worries he could feel radiating from Dan’s mind. Phil would take them away, if he could. “We will only live there as long as it takes us to find a house we like, okay?”

Dan nodded. Phil looked down at Dan, could see the tears begin to bubble up in his eyes. “Hey, no - no, come here.” Phil whispered, sliding his thighs under Dan’s head. “We will find a house, and it will have a - a cherry blossom tree right in the middle of the house. And a slide that delivers you from the bedroom to the kitchen, where a robot has automatically made you a coffee - okay?”

Phil watched Dan’s face, the bubble of tears that threatened to spill over, turned into a wet giggle. “And a room that’s like no windows - and everything in it is black. And we will have the biggest tv, and all the games.”

Dan nodded, quietly resting his head against Phil’s thighs. “Let’s go to bed, we can finish the rest in the morning when the movers come, okay?” He felt another nod, and stood up carefully. He grabbed Dan’s hand and helped him up.

*

Dan woke up in a strange room. Dan looked around, trying to take in the room. It was fairly dark from black out curtains that reached the floor.

He could feel Phil beside him, still soundly asleep. After so many years, he’d be able to recognize the feeling of Phil beside him. Dan tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes to get them to focus on his surroundings. From what he could make out of the room, everything was black and white. There was a set of built-ins to his left, mostly black, and a chair in the corner. Did they somehow end up in a hotel room last night? Dan attempted to sort through his memories from last night.

After crying on the floor of the bedroom, Phil pulled him to bed, offering him distracting videos and kisses until they fell asleep.

A globe of light began slowly rising next to him. He couldn’t remember where he was, and it was starting to freak him out. As the light began to illuminate more of the room, he tried to take in more specific details.

Is that - is that the butt chair? Dan rubbed his eyes, trying to get closer. And - and is that his teddy bear? And a picture of Phil’s family? What the fuck was happening?

He turns over to shake Phil awake, he could hear the fear in his voice. “Phil, Phil. Wake the fuck up. Where the fuck are we?”

Phil began to stir, blinking at Dan. Dan watched Phil glance behind him, eyes squinting trying to focus. He naturally reached behind him, trying to find his glasses. His hand found a pair, and without looking, put them on his face. They were a clear pair of glasses that Dan had never seen before.

“Are we at a hotel? What happened last night?” Phil asked. Dan tried to fumble with the fancy ass lights beside him, trying to get more light in the room.

“No,” Dan answered. “This is our shit, Phil.” To emphasize the point, he stood up and grabbed the picture of Phil’s family from the shelf it was on. He handed the picture to Phil and threw himself back onto the bed.

He put his head in his hands and felt Phil touch his shoulder. “Dan, where the fuck are we?”

[wormoracle]

head empty, just…Colt Grice in his baseball uniform at games, you’re watching from the bleachers as his muscles flexing when he holds the bat, how he bites his lip when he’s concentrating, and ofc he has a crush on u too and wants your attention so when you’re looking, he lifts his shirt up in the dugout to “wipe his face” showing off his rock hard abs and smirking to himself when he sees your jaw hit the floor 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

A/N: This really has the bees in my brain in a frenzy crashing into my skull thinking about this thank you sdfkjg. Side note, I know exactly 0 things about baseball – I learned so much while writing this, most notably that I am in love with Shohei Ohtani now lmao

Pairing: Colt Grice x fem!reader

Tags: fluff, sfw

Word Count: 1.3k

It was your first time going to a baseball game, or any sports event for that matter. You weren’t particularly interested in the game, in fact, you didn’t have a clue what was going on or what you were watching. Well, you weren’t really watching the game, you were there for one specific reason, and that reason was tall, handsome, and currently lifting up the hem of his uniform shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, conveniently exposing his glistening and defined abs. 

It felt almost hedonic watching Colt like this, knowing everyone around you was enjoying the game while you were enjoying this show all to yourself, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away. What you failed to notice in all your shameful ogling, however, was neither could he.

Colt had had a crush on you for over a year, ever since you started tutoring his little brother Falco. He would set out snacks during your tutoring sessions, make pleasant small talk and walk you home when it got dark out, but he never worked up the courage to make a move. He was nervous about making it awkward if you didn’t like him back and still had to go to his house every week to tutor his brother. He just didn’t want to make it weird, and, frankly, he was a little intimidated. You were beautiful, intelligent, funny and so friendly to everyone that even Falco (who had never been the most outgoing person) warmed up to you quickly. He couldn’t imagine you would ever be interested in someone like him, all Colt could do was swing a bat, he was sure you were out of his league.

So imagine his surprise when he spotted you in the bleachers at the bottom of the second inning, cheering him on, your bright smile standing out from the crowd like a ray of sunshine.

It was Falco’s doing. The two of you may have been blind to each other’s obvious feelings, but all those secret glances, wistful sighs and nervous smiles couldn’t slip past Falco unnoticed—not to mention how Colt wouldn’t shut up about you.

“Good work today, Falco!” You praised at the end of your session. “You got any plans for the weekend?”

“Just hanging out with friends, but it means I’ll have to miss Colt’s game.” 

“He’s playing this weekend?” You blurted out, before you could stop yourself.

“Why don’t you go, Y/N? I got a free ticket, you can take it.”

“Huh? I don’t really know anything about baseball, I’d be totally lost the whole time.” You waved your hand, laughing because you were a little embarrassed.

“Well, it’d be a shame for the ticket to go to waste. Anyway, I know Colt would be happy to see you there, if you change your mind.”

He… would? Your surprise must have been written all over your face in bright red permanent marker because Falco only smiled, his expression somewhere between smug and exasperated as he handed you the ticket wordlessly.

Whether it was from adrenaline of the game pumping through his veins, or feeling a surge of confidence at finally being able to show you what he was best at, Colt seemed to shine in a way you’d never seen before. The focused glint in his eye and the way he bit his lip concentrating on the ball, strong hands tightly gripping the handle of the bat, the way his muscles—that you didn’t even know he was hiding under his usual clothes, and were a very pleasant surprise—flexed powerfully as he swung. He struck the ball with a deafening crack which echoed across the field as he sent it flying, his sculpted body evident as he set off sprinting. He was usually so mellow and easy-going, this was an entirely new and intense side of him you were seeing and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip away from him. His heel kicked up a cloud of dust as he slid into third base and he caught his breath for a moment, hands on his knees and peering from under his batting helmet to glance at you, smirking in surprise at the way your eyes widened and your jaw hung open, amazed at what you just saw, before he channelled his attention back to the field. Just knowing you were watching, watching him specifically, Colt was at the top of his game.

By the end of the match, his pristine uniform was scuffed with dirt, a sheen of sweat glistened over his face and body, his broad shoulders and chest rose and fell heavily from the exertion (causing you to imagine all kinds of things). You watched as he celebrated with his teammates briefly, a contagious smile beaming across his face as they laughed and cheered together, before he waved them a hurried goodbye and jogged over to where you were sitting in the bleachers. You were surprised, not expecting him to even notice you were here let alone come over to you. He took off his cap and ran a hand through his short golden blond hair, and you greeted him with a smile, handing him the extra sports drink you brought with you for no reason in particular.

“Hey, Y/N, thanks!” He breathed out, “I– didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

“Yeah, neither did I,” You laughed, “but it was a ton of fun, you were amazing, Colt!”

“Oh, thanks!” He chuckled nervously, it was unclear if the flush on his cheeks was just from the game or your compliment. “You’re into baseball?”

“To be honest I don’t know much about it, Falco gave me his ticket since he already had plans, so I thought…” You trailed off, and a faint look of confusion crossed his features.

“Huh? I didn’t hear about any plans, he said he was just gonna stay home cos he was feeling sick, it’s weird since he felt fine yesterday.”

“Hmm? That is weird, is he okay?”

“Yeah I mean he looked fine when I left so–”

It took a moment, but realisation slowly dawned over you both, leaving the two of you standing in silence until it was broken by your muffled giggles, a combination of impressed and embarrassed that Falco pulled something like this off—and it actually worked. Your laugh was so sweet, the way your eyes creased in amusement and you covered your face with your hand, Colt finally steeled his nerves and worked up his courage.

“Y/N, um, are you doing anything after this?” You smiled and shook your head.

“Mm no, why? You got anything in mind?”

“Dinner. With me.” … “Only if you want to! You totally don’t have–”

“It’s a date.” You nodded, a delighted smile appearing on your lips.

Colt let go of a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, a cheesy grin stretching over his own face.

“I don’t know if I should thank Falco, or kill him when I get home,” Colt laughed, “I better change outta my uniform and get cleaned up, do you mind waiting a sec?” He asked apologetically.

“I’ll be here.” You nodded assuringly, I’ve been waiting for a year, I’m sure I can manage a little longer. With that, he set off running to the showers at a pace that rivalled his game speed.

His teammate Porco tried catching him in the changing rooms, the team were all planning to go out for pizza and drinks afterwards and he didn’t want the life of the party running off before the celebration. 

“Woah there, how come you’re in such a hurry all of a sudden?” He teased as Colt finished tying his shoes and stumbled off the bench, heading for the door.

“I gotta run! I have a date!” He called out before disappearing in a flash.

Porco shook his head and laughed, about damn time.

— — —

A/N: making out with colt under the bleachers when

[dreamescapeswriting]

Unrequited Love ~ HHJ [Request]

WORD COUNT: 3.9K

PAIRING: Hyunjin x GN!Reader (If there are any mistakes please tell me so I can change them 🥰♥)

Terms: Mx - Used as a replacement for Mr/Mrs/Sir/Ma’am

GENRE: AU, Hanahkai AU, friends to lovers, angst, fluffy, pining, 

A/N: You guys know how much I love AU’s so I had so much fun with this!! 

Hanahkai Disease: This is a fictional disease where the victim coughs up flower petals when they’re in one-sided love. It ends when the love returns (Can’t be a strong friendship, only romantic feelings) or the victim will die. The disease can be surgically removed but the feelings for the crush will be gone.

Unrequited love. Something that had been written about in all forms for almost 5500 years. There were always the stories of the person finally getting the one they truly wanted. Beating the Unrequited love and overcoming everything to be with the one you loved. This would be fine and dandy if you had a normal crush on someone and weren't like Hyunjin.

Hyunjin had something different about him, something that he'd never heard about until he'd been online researching for hours. Hanahkai Disease. Besides all of the troll accounts talking about how the disease wasn't "real" there were so many other articles and medical documents to back it up. The one thing that stuck out to Hyunjin the most about it all was that it could kill him. From anywhere from 2-3 weeks or 18 months. Being told you had anywhere between 2-3 weeks and 18 months to live was never anything good.

All of this because he had a stupid crush on somebody. His lungs were filled with roses that would gradually get bigger until they rendered his breathing useless. All he could do whenever he thought about his crush or even spoke to her for too long was cough up flowers into his hands or if he could make it, a bathroom.

"What's on your mind? You've got that weird look in your eyes." Your voice broke Hyunjin out of his daydream and he turned to look at you. Blushing a little as he realises he was spacing out in the middle of your study date. 

The two of you were sitting in the back of the college library trying to cram for an upcoming test but his mind was elsewhere. What was the point in studying when he knew he was going to die? There was no way Sooyoung was going to like him back. 

Waving your hand in front of his face again he looked at you nervously. There was clearly something bothering him and it wasn't the study material. Hyunjin could take this test four times over in his sleep if he really wanted to.

"I want to tell you something but you have to promise me that you won't laugh." Putting your pen down on the table you looked at him. 

Whatever it was, was clearly serious. Hyunjin had never been so serious about something before and you'd known him almost your whole life. 

The pair of you had been best friends since you moved to his neighbourhood when you were six. Growing up together, going to the same schools until you both attended the same college.

"What is it?" You questioned softly as he looked at you. The idea of telling you about the disease toying in his head. The fact that he had been dealing with this alone for the last three months was beginning to bother him and he knew he could tell you anything.

There wasn't a single thing in the world that you would ever judge him for. You were the one person he knew he could count on for anything and the same was for you with him.

"Have you heard of Hanahkai disesase?" The name rang a bell and you began to think about it.

"I think-"

"The rare disease that some people get when they're in one-sided love?" You nodded at him. You'd heard about it a lot. Super rare, hardly heard of really. Doctors had done all of the research that they could on it. It could be surgically removed but it all risked permanent damage to the lungs and it would cost forgetting the person you were in love with altogether,

"I have it," The world seemed to stop spinning as you stared at your best friend. Laughing a little you shook your head, there was no way he had it. 

"What do you mean you have it?" You questioned a little harshly as you stared at him. All thoughts of studying going out of your head as you stared at your best friend.

"I mean, I have it. What else could that mean?" He snapped a little angrily at you, you leant back against the chair shaking your head. Letting it sink in that he had this disease as well as was in love with someone and hadn't told you about it. 

The two of you told each other everything.

Or so you thought. Why hadn’t he told you he was in love with someone? Or that he suffered from this in the first place? When did the two of you begin to keep secrets from one another?

"You can't...I mean who do you have a crush on?" Racking your brain you tried to think of someone Hyunjin had mentioned even briefly but there was nothing. Nothing and no one that you could think of that he would have a crush on.

"Sooyoung," 

"Sooyoung?" You looked behind him down a couple of tables to see her sitting there. 

Sitting at one of the rounded tables as she did nothing but brush her hair and look pretty. There was no denying that she was gorgeous but you never thought Hyunjin would go for someone like her.

Someone so perfect.

Jet black hair perfectly straight, wearing designer clothes and always had boys surrounded her. Waiting on her hands and knees as if she was some kind of queen. The whole college seemed to fall in love with her. 

"Sooyoung?" You questioned again, a little more unimpressed this time. Hyunjin could already tell you hated the fact that it was Sooyoung of all people and so did he. It wasn't as if he wanted to feel this way about her.

"I'm telling you because I want your help," Help? What did he want you to do? Go up and tell her that if she didn't love him back your best friend was going to die?

"What am I meant to do?" You questioned leaning forward a little to see what his plan was for all of this.

"You're good at this, tell me what girls like." You blinked at him

"What on earth makes you think I'm good at this? I know what girls like but Sooyoung isn't like every other girl...She's a different breed." The woman had exquisite taste and clearly liked things differently from those around her.

"Will you help me at least get her attention," Smirking at him you nodded. Getting her attention was going to be easy enough.

"Sure." Picking up the rubber from the table you launched it across the room hitting one of the boys in the head before it dropped down in front of Sooyoung. 

Gasping a little she looked down at it and then around the room to figure out who had thrown it but you'd already turned to Hyunjin.

"Fetch." You mumbled to him watching as he glared at you. 

Oh if looks could kill. 

"Sorry, my friend is stressed." He whispered as he bent down in front of Sooyoung. Their eyes locking as she giggled at him, reaching down to touch his long dark-brown hair. It was always the hair that people fell in love with first. Smirking a little you were glad you had french-braided one side and put it into a ponytail.  

"Cute," She whispered as she twirled a strand of his hair around her delicate fingers. Instantly Hyunjin felt his throat beginning to clog up with petals so he smiled before calmly walking to the door. Frowning as you watched him you waited to see what he was doing. Before you could even get up he was racing down the corridors to find the nearest bathroom.

"Sorry, he's a little shy...Here," You scrambled to write down his number on a random post-it and gave it to Sooyoung. Her eyes were wide as she looked from you to the door, 

"Shy? Around me?" You nodded gently ignoring the weird looks you were gaining from the boys around her. 

"I'll text him," She whispered as she began punching the numbers into her phone.

Hurrying after Hyunjin you stood outside the bathroom looking at him as you held your bag and his. The colour had drained from his face as he stood there. Hair messy and petals were strewn about all over the place.

"Here," You reached up to take a petal out of his hair and smiled sadly at him. The last thing you ever wanted was for Hyunjin to be in pain. You knew how badly this thing could be. 

"I'll help you...She has your number," You nudged him softly and he began to blush a little as he looked at you. He was thankful he had you to help him through all of this.

"Thank you," He breathed out bringing you into a tight hug as you whined that he was hurting you. 

"We can go to my dorm, I'll do your hair and we can begin planning how to get the girl to love you back." You promised him as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder beginning to walk with you towards the exit of the campus.

"First things first you're going to have to talk to her without...Coughing up flowers in front of her..." Turning to look at him from the other side of your dorm room you raised an eyebrow. You didn't know the ins and outs of how it all worked so you were going to need his help with it all.

"Is there a way you can control it?" He shrugged his shoulders as he sat on the floor against your bed. There wasn't much he knew about it either. He'd never tried to control it, all he knew was when he was around her his lungs filled with rose petals until he coughed them up. Even when he thought about her too hard it could sometimes bring some flowers up.

"I'm not sure," He whispered playing with the teddy he'd gotten you for your birthday while you began writing down on a large whiteboard on your wall. 

Learn to control coughing up. You were going to treat this as though it was some kind of study material. Have all of the facts laid out in front of you before you tried to find a solution to it.

"We need to learn what her favourite flowers are, what snacks she likes, then you're going to slowly woo her." Hyunjin stared up at you with a raised eyebrow. Not believing for one second that he had just heard you use the term "woo her".

"Woo her? What are we? 91?" He mumbled sarcastically only for a chocolate button to be thrown against his head. Your aim was impeccable. 

"Did you or did you not want my help?" You questioned as you stared over at him. Hand resting on your hip as you tilted your head to the side.

"Yes, Mx!" He fake saluted watching as you began to write her name, getting ready to list things she did and didn't like underneath it. Hyunjin thought back on all of the times he'd seen her getting gifts from people. Remembering the way she reacted to each of them.

"She likes sunflowers and roses together, I've seen her get them from one of the jocks before a game." He looked up at you.

"Sunflowers and roses," You mumbled as you wrote them on the board in green ink.

"We can get some from the store tomorrow morning." You told him as you turned to look at him. The thought of losing your best friend to something like this was eating you up inside but you were going to be strong for him. 

The look on his face made you feel bad about teasing him earlier in the day. All he wanted to do was get help and you had been a little mean about it.

"I promise I'll do everything I can Hyunjin." You said sweetly as you walked over to the bed, sitting behind him on the bed as he sat on the floor. You ran your fingers through his hair and began to braid it. Something he found extremely relaxing whenever he was stressing too much over something.

"I don't deserve you Y/n." He hummed as you began to french-braid the sides once again before joining them together in a ponytail at the back of his head. Just as it had been that morning when he came to get it done.

"I don't know how I can repay you," He added on as he looked at your whiteboard of information. If anyone came in now it would look as though you were stalking Sooyoung but of course that wasn't what you were doing.

"With food, comics and helping me cram for tests." You told him as you smirked, patting the top of his head as you got up from the bed.

"I'll go and order some pizza...We can talk pick-up lines and dates while we eat." He nodded watching as you left the room leaving him to overthink everything. Groaning when he felt the pressure of the petals begin to build as his thoughts went to Sooyoung.

As time began to progress the only thing that seemed to be happening was Hyunjin was getting worse. It seemed as though no matter what happened with Sooyoung nothing was going to happen. The flower petals began to grow in size and he felt sick almost all of the time.

"Maybe she'll never love me back," He said to you as you sat in a small cafe together. Sharing a plate of chips as you spoke about his date with Sooyoung that he had just gotten back from. He'd taken her ice skating since it was one of her favourite things to do but nothing else happened. They held hands around the ice skating rink and that was all.  

"It can take time," You reminded him, waving a chip in front of his mouth until he took it from you. 

"It's been three months...I have six months to make her fall in love with me." The never-ending ticking time bomb.

"Do-able." You were trying to remain as positive about all of this as possible. You never wanted to lose your best friend. 

"She has too many guys after her. There's no way I can do this Y/n." He put his head down onto the table and you reached around to run your fingers through his hair. Tears beginning to build up in your eyes at the thought of him giving up on this so easily. It wasn't like Hyunjin to just give up on anything.

"Give it a chance Hyunjin...Please." It came out as a beg but you didn't care. There was no way you were going to let your best friend give up on this and accept that some kind of disease was going to kill him. The plea didn't go unnoticed as he looked up at you, eyes bloodshot as he was on the verge of tears. 

He'd been researching the surgery without telling you. Deciding that it was probably easier for him to go through that than try and force somebody into loving him. It was dangerous and irreversible.

"One more month," He mumbled sitting up and back against the booth seat. Laying his head against the wall and looking at you.

"Want to practice date talk?" You questioned. He nodded at you and you smiled before going back into your dating impersonation. The two of you had been doing this whenever you went out to eat or ate at the dorm so that he could get used to it. 

"Come and sit next to me, whenever we eat together she sits beside me." You nodding sliding out of your side of the booth and into his. His arm wrapped around your waist and you seemed to freeze. A weird tightness began to grow in your chest and stomach but you ignored it. Turning to him and feeding him a chip while looking at him. Hyunjin leant down and bit into the chip slowly. It was the first thing he'd eaten all day and he was thankful you were with him to eat with. 

"Talk to me as if I was Sooyoung," You grumbled at him as you looked down at the plate. Suddenly losing all sense of appetite the longer you stared at it. 

One month came and went as though it was on fast-forward. You barely remembered anything that Hyunjin had planned for his time with Sooyoung. All you knew was that he was giving up. Telling you that all of this had been a waste of time for him.

"Hyunjin you can't do this," Your voice heightened as you looked at him. Reaching your hands out to touch him as he began packing up clothes into his bag. The moment he told you that he was going through with the surgery you panicked. There were so many horror stories surrounding the procedure.

"I've already booked it," He mumbled at you, moving away from your grasp to collect more clothes from his wardrobe. 

The two of you were in his dorm room that night when he decided to drop the bomb on you that he was going to have the surgery. 

"It's experimental! Something could go wrong," You whimpered as you stood in front of his wardrobe. Blocking him from getting inside. There was no way you were going to let him go through with something so idiotic that could kill him or leave him with no memories.

"It's worth it to not feel like this! To not die!" He yelled at you as you moved out of the way. Watching him as he began to shove clothes into a bag instead of folding them. There was no way you were going to be able to change his mind but you were going to try. 

"So you're just going to leave? What about exams?" You questioned as you tried not to bring the focus on why you needed him to stay around.

"I don't see a reason for staying, I'll get the surgery and be back in time for exams." He grumbled not looking at you as he reached into the back of his wardrobe for shoes.

"Hyunjin you have five months-" 

"She's in love with someone else! She's dating someone else so there is no help for me. Don't you get that!?" He yelled as he cut you off. Turning to face you, he was red in the fact of anger and his eyes were tearing up. 

Pushing past you he walked towards his bed, putting his bag down as he began to pack his study material up. If he was going to be stuck in a hospital he might as well make the time useful. 

"You think that you're the only person in the world that has that disease?!" You yelled back at him. Not meaning to snap and sound as angry as you did but you had enough.

"I'm not going to sit around and wait for the flowers to kill me." He grumbled keeping his back to you. 

"I'm not saying that! I'm saying give it time...M-maybe you'll fall in love with someone else." You were grasping at straws and he knew that as well as you did.

"You sound pathetic. There is no one else Y/n. There will never be someone else." He said in hushed tones as he flicked through some of his notebooks. Debating to take them with him or not. 

"Never?"

"No. Never," He mumbled at you.

"But I love you," Your chest swelled and you could feel yourself beginning to sweat as you finally told him. 

The months you had been helping him with Sooyoung you had begun to fall more and more in love with him. The fake dates you would have didn't help as you only fell harder for someone you knew would never like you back.

"Yeah but friendship love isn't enough to cure it!" He yelled slamming his book down onto his desk. Taking in deep breathes as he tried to calm himself down. He knew you were trying to help but nothing you had done was working. 

"You asked for my help-"

"Now I'm telling you to back off." He came across so cold you felt as though ice began to run down your back. Your chest burnt as you put off the cough that was itching to come out. Holding your hand over your mouth you let out a tiny cough. Wincing as you felt the petals fall down into your hands. Three white-budding roses sitting in your hand, large enough that you knew you didn't have much time left. Hyunjin didn't even notice you coughing as he rushed to put everything away into a bag.

"Call me when you've decided to get over this." You mumbled as you left his room. Dropping the petals into the bin by his front door before you left.

As Hyunjin was about to leave the dorms he went to through away his rubbish when he saw the flowers. They weren't his since his seemed to be a little more than two petals at the moment. These looked as though they were just beginning to grow larger. None of the boys was home which only meant that they could have been yours,. 

"Y/n." He breathed out as he looked at his phone. Hitting your name to call you but there was no answer. It just rang and rang. 

You stared at the phone while it lit up. There was no use talking to him when he was going to go through with the surgery no matter what.

"Call me when you get this, I need to talk to you." The message rang out as you deleted it. Walking to the kitchen to get something to eat but nothing seemed good to you. Everything you thought about eating made your stomach churn. Nothing had seemed appealing to you for months.

After a few days of staying in your dorm and ignoring Hyunjin, you began to feel the need for fresh air. There was no use in hauling yourself up inside of the dorms all day. You had no idea how much time you had left so you needed to do something with it.

Swinging the door open you almost screamed seeing Hyunjin standing. His hand raised as if he was about to knock on the door right before you answered it. 

"Did you get the surgery?" You questioned harshly as he stared at you. His eyes fixed on your face as he said nothing in response to you.

"Hyunjin?" Instead of responding he grabbed you close to him and kissed you roughly. The breath felt as though it was knocked right out of your chest as you collided with him. Your hands pushing into his long hair as he pushed you into the apartment. Holding you close to him as he ran his fingers up and down your back. Needing to feel every inch of you as close to him as possible. Tears rolled down your cheeks until you both could taste them. 

"H-Hyunjin." You breathed out as you both pulled away only to rest your foreheads on one another. Neither of you wanted to be apart for any longer than you had to be.

"I love you," He breathed out as he held your hand in his, squeezing them softly. 

"I love you too," You hiccuped through the tears, sniffling as little as he pulled you into his chest. Resting his chin on your head as you both stood there together.

 Another month passed both of you scared that the flowers would begin to come up again but they hadn't. Not once had you coughed up a petal, bud or a whole flower. Your appetite had come back and Hyunjin was feeling better than he ever had. The two of you had beaten the Unrequited love and overcoming everything to be with one another. 

Tagline: @minholuvs @taestannie @sw33tnight @acciocriativity @mwitsmejk @taeechwitaa​ @justbangtanthingz​ @stillwithlix​

[tooktheladdedgbtq]

....and the Oscar goes to.. | Tom Holland X Male!actor reader. 

A/N: this was just something I wrote because I got inspired I guess. Happy Pride everyone!

——————————————

You couldn’t decide whether time was slipping through your fingers too quickly or if this had been the longest night you’d ever experienced.

seconds slowed to a crawl while you tried to gather yourself before it was your turn to take the stage. You were nervous. Not about being at the oscars or presenting for the first time. Not even about being nominated for your leading role in the second installment of a critically acclaimed trilogy. No, you’d been used to these sorts of things, you’d been an actor since you were a very young kid. Starting on television before film, and you even got to hold the Emmy the show had won when you had just turned a teenager.

No, you were nervous about who exactly you’d be presenting to. Of the five nominees and potential winners, only one could cause such an intensive feeling in your chest. Only one could awaken a sense of dread that battled with a feeling of intensive happiness mixed with anticipation, and it was Tom.

You’d known each other for years and had come to fall in love. You’d met as young co-stars on set and eventually grew into an inseparable friendship that progressed into something far more. Neither of you were sure when the feelings started but it felt like they’d always been there and you weren’t exactly complaining.

Your blissfulness with Tom was beautiful but short lived. After almost a year of being official you both agreed to take a break from the relationship. Unbeknownst to Tom you were just agreeing to save face and hadn’t pried for an answer out of fear of being hurt. You just accepted that this was how things were now, and took a step back.

You’d still kept in contact with him. It was hard not to. He was still your best friend. But whether it was the business of work or something a little more awkward, distance grew between you both as the multi-hour long facetime calls and text threads became once-a-week check-ins to just make sure you were alive and okay.

Time had passed, and you didn’t have a clue what you could possibly say to him now. You certainly didn’t want to ruin his special night. But you’d missed him so much and felt like you would implode at the first sign that he’d be interested in getting back together with you. But you also didn’t want to seem desperate or needy if he’d moved on. You didn’t want to slip and say those three words again in the moment.

Father time showed you no mercy as the sand in his hourglass suddenly shifted from a slow-motion drip to a flood. The seconds you’d spent daydreaming of your past with Tom and pondering about the your potential future had passed and left you with little time to gather yourself before presenting. still you shook your hands, arms, and lastly shoulders, putting all your worries aside and waited for introduction from the host.

Before long you’d been counted in to walking on stage, and heard the host over the microphone. “Ladies and Gentlemen, to present the award and introduce the nominees for Best Supporting Actor, please welcome one of this year’s nominees and one of our generation’s greatest talents: Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

The applause erupts from the audience like a revved up engine as you took center but it was nothing compared to the standing ovation you’d receive later on that night when receiving your own award for Best Actor.

You were stood promptly center staged with the towering Oscar statue reflecting onto the black stage floor beneath your feet. Your outfit was alluring and would surely be the next hot topic which is rare for male stars. You looked like a million bucks. Everyone knew it, most of all, Tom.

You smile and wave as you approach the microphone, your teeth shining a blinding white, and wait for a hush from the crowd.

You chuckle lightly as a few hoots and hollers sound out as the cheers subside.

You eye the monitor across the room and start to read, your nerves dying down as your jokes land and laughter echoes around the room.

As you finish the introduction, clips start to show behind you to accompany the names of the nominees as the cameras catch a glimpse of each of their reactions.

You couldn’t help but notice how tough the competition was as each actor was called. Steven Yuen playing a detective in a thrilling murder mystery. John David Washington in a fictional film playing the world’s first black astronaut aiding in the discovery of lovecraftian horrors. Andrew Garfield for his role as a psychotic narcissist and genius businessman. Oscar Issac acting in a sci fi space opera asking questions of existentialism.

Finally, you had to withhold your smile as you called out the last name. He had returned to his Billy Elliot roots being nominated for his role in a astonishing musical romance film. “Tom Holland.” You’d been ecstatic when he’d told you about it as you’d always recommend he tried it again since it made him so happy in his younger years.

You spot him a few rows from the stage, making eye contact with him and wondering if he was thinking about you the way you had done with him earlier. You couldn’t help but notice him squirming in his chair and fidgeting with his hands. Selfishly asking yourself if this wasn’t just about the award but about having you present it to him.

Seeing you here after what felt like an eternity apart and your reunion potentially being the greatest achievement of both your careers. Making it the greatest night of your lives, that is, if you were still together. But you were still best friends. That’s what mattered. So you push your self centered thoughts aside and shoot him a small wave that he returns with a smile and thumbs up. letting you know he was okay and that you could continue as the camera pans back to you capturing your not so hidden giddiness.

This awarded some small oos and aahs from the crowd as your relationship with him had been a wholly celebrated one. especially among your marvel peers.

You’re handed an envelope and statue as the music ends and the applause dies down and you take one final glare into the camera before beginning to open the envelope.

“....and the Oscar goes to,” you take a peek at the crowd and see some of the nominees holding hands with loved ones. others plainly

awaiting your next words with bated breath. The anticipation shone on everyone’s faces. Even those that weren’t nominated. Your not-so-hidden grin giving away the answer mere milliseconds before his name escaped your lips. “Tom Holland!”

Tom shot up with a shared expression of shock and happiness on his face. Pecking his mother on the cheek as she wipes the tears of pride from her eyes. His best mate Harrison gives him a quick embrace and a pat on the back before he moves on to shake hands with the director and smile at everyone cheering him on as he gradually moves toward the stage still completely baffled at the victory.

As he walks towards you in his pink pastel colored suit and brown leather dress shoes you can’t help but swell with an overwhelming feeling of joy having been here to share this career defining moment with him. You thought about how far you’d both come to get here and almost started tearing up remembering all you’d been through together.

He skipped up the miniature steps and blanketed you with both arms. You didn’t want it to end as you hadn’t felt it in a while. You threw your arms around his neck and he tightens his hold around your torso. Before you could even process them, your blunt thoughts spill out as whispers.

“I’m so incredibly proud of you. you deserve this and so much more.” you hear a small chuckle escape him as he responds. “I am trying not to cry y’know mate?” a wolf whistle comes from the crowd as you apologize for being so sappy and before he can tell you off for it you hand him his award and shove him off toward the microphone.

As he takes center stage you stand off to the side to watch him give his acceptance speech. He pauses and takes a second to gather himself before he starts talking straight from his heart with nothing prepared.

“Um, Wow. I really can’t believe this is really happening and I probably still won’t believe it happened tomorrow. Just.. wow.” his words were filled with that charmingly British accent you’d come to love so much.

“First I would like to thank my mother, without whom of course, I would not be here. I would like to thank the academy and everyone who worked on this movie from the producers and camera men, make-up and costumes, to our wonderful writers, composer, back up dancers and vocalists, and of course my friends, my co-star and the director Damien Chazelle.” whom he gestures to sitting in the second row. “I share this with all of you and I can’t thank you enough for awarding me with the opportunity to create something I love so much.”

He thanks the other nominees before turns towards you to end his speech. you felt your heart in your hands when you saw his big brown puppy eyes dart in your direction with an intensive glare of admiration.

“last but most importantly, I want to thank the inspiration for all of the love songs I sung in the film and the reason I decided to take the role. The person standing here on my right.”

Your jaw drops and your eyes widen when his words hit you like a speeding semi. you realize that he’d just called you his muse in so many words. the inspiration behind the love songs in the film no less. Meaning that with every lovestruck note his character sung he was reminded of you. All that time spent worrying if the distance between you two would cause him to forget about you, or if he’d maybe moved on and found somebody else. But no such thing had happened. He was relating his character’s longing in the film to his longing for you this entire time and that made your heart do a backflip.

You blush and cover your still ajar mouth with your fist whilst trying not to pay attention to the crowd who’s attention was fully focused on you.

He takes a deep sigh before continuing. “Y/N you’re not only the reason I took this role, but you’re the reason I was able to play it with such sincerity. You’ve been a unwavering beacon of support throughout my career in general but here you really gave me the inspiration for something special. He faces the audience again as the all follow his words with whispers of how adorable you both were. “from reading lines together in the middle of the night, to keeping me company when i’m on the brink of a meltdown.” It was all true and it only made you miss you relationship more and you found it difficult to hold back your tears.

“Y/N is the kind of best friend everybody needs, the kind of partner everybody deserves, and the person I’m so incredibly lucky to have known for so long. ..and I still can’t believe he never figured out the lyrics were all about him, It was kind of obvious-” the audience laughed you’re so close to swooning as he turns toward you again. “But, with all my heart, I love you, Y/N. Always will.” you feel as if you’re floating.

He shifts to the crowd one last time to say a final thank you before you both walk off stage one arm around one another’s shoulders. You have a short but sweet conversation backstage with him where reassures you that everything he said on stage was true and completely unscripted. He wants to talk more but knows your category is coming soon so he asks for a later opportunity and you agree before returning to your seat in the crowd.

The rest of the night flew by with you winning the award for best actor and receiving the biggest applause of the night. Tom joined in the standing ovation. You thanked everybody involved in making the film, the academy, and squeezed a little joke directed towards Tom that garnered a shared laugh from both him and the audience. You were the last award of the night and after the celebrations it was time to return to your place, where Tom was waiting for you. Wanting to talk about everything that had happened not just tonight but everything leading up to it. He also hoped you’d kept a spot open in your heart for him to return to.

[fruitcoops]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could do another fic involving jules and coops together? Just like sweet moments between the three? I loved the baby sitting series you did and could not stop thinking about it❤️❤️ Thank you!!

Yeah, of course! I love writing my boy at any opportunity. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but the relatives are my ocs!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sirius asked under his breath as Remus finally—finally—appeared from the mass of people.

“It’s fine,” Remus said around a forced smile to a middle-aged man across the yard.

Sirius hid his mouth by pretending to look down at the nearest casserole dish. He didn’t even know what was in it; nobody had bothered with labels, and everyone’s dishes were the same basic florals in different colors. “I love you, Re, and I totally get the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing, but this is a bit much if I’m being honest.”

“Honey.” Remus’ shoulder pressed against his own. “I’m sorry you’re not having a good time, but my Aunt Jen would skin me alive if I didn’t bring the man I’m marrying to the family reunion. We can leave tomorrow if you really hate—oh, no.”

“Remus!” a shrill, excited voice called. Sirius felt his fiancé straighten up as a tall, redheaded woman in star-painted jeans hurried across the grass with three other women in tow. She reached up and gave Remus’ cheeks a squish, then leaned in a planted a lipstick-stamped kiss to his forehead. “How are you, my duckling? Was your flight alright? Make sure you stay away from the salt or else your feet will swell.”

“Hi, Aunt Jen,” Remus said, grimacing a little at her rib-crushing hug. “I’m doing well, and our flight was fine. How are you?”

“Peachy keen,” she assured him. Dark brown eyes lasered in on Sirius half a second later and he felt his fight or flight kick in. “And who are you?”

“Aunt Jen, this is—”

“It was rhetorical, honey,” Jen interrupted with a pat to Remus’ arm as she stepped closer to Sirius and immediately hauled him in for a hug. She was as tall as Remus, but broader in the shoulders and hips; he had never felt so engulfed by someone. It was a strangely enjoyable feeling.

“Aren’t you a handsome one?” the shortest of the group cooed, as if she was talking to a particularly small dog in a purse. “Our Remus always knew how to pick them.”

Remus furrowed his brows. “Aunt Lisa, this is the first boyfriend I’ve—”

“But he’s not just a boyfriend!” Jen trilled, giving Sirius’ cheek a pat. “He’s a fiancé, something I learned from your mother. Not from your father—oh, I gave him a talking-to about that—and not from you, duck.”

Sirius bit back a laugh at the nickname and spared a glance to his left, where Remus had gone pink all the way to his ears. “Sorry.”

“Introduce us!” the shortest insisted, taking the other two by the hands as pulling them forward with an eager smile.

“Everyone, this is Sirius Black, my fiancé.” Remus gestured between them, and the four women beamed at him. “Sirius, this is Aunt Jen, Aunt Lisa, Aunt Allison, and Aunt Mary, my dad’s sisters.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Sirius said, holding a hand out.

“No need to be so formal,” the brunette grumbled with a teasing grin. “We have heard so much about you from Lyall. After those damned pictures—”

“Allison,” Jen hissed.

“—after the damned pictures,” Allison repeated with a pointed look. “I was about ready to drive up to Gryffindor myself and give that lousy son of a bitch a piece of my mind—”

“Allison!”

“—but Lyall talked me down and I have been waiting to meet you ever since.” She finished with a soft huff and gave his arm a quick squeeze. “Remus is a lucky boy to have you. It’s very exciting to see you in person at last.”

Sirius’ heart gave a happy little ka-thump and he smiled. “I’m glad to be here. Thank you for having me.”

“He is so polite,” Lisa said to Remus out of the corner of her mouth with a wink and a thumbs-up. “Good choice.”

“You know what I just realized? We haven’t said hello to Jules yet. We’ll see you in a few, yeah?” Without waiting for an official answer, Remus wrapped an arm around Sirius’ waist and practically carried him away from the table. Once they were out of earshot—and the aunts had busied themselves with one of the younger Lupins—Remus relaxed with a slow exhale. “I am…so sorry.”

“For what?”

“I had no idea they were going to corner you like that. I mean, I did, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be for another few hours. They tend to move in a pack at reunions, like sharks. Or wolves.”

“They’re really sweet.”

“They are,” Remus said grudgingly, though Sirius could read the affection dripping off him like his favorite book. “My dad’s the youngest of five, and I was the first nephew. You can imagine how that went.”

“Baby of the baby?”

“Exactly.”

“Can I ask one thing?” Remus nodded, visibly confused, and Sirius found he couldn’t keep his grin down any longer. “Duckling?”

“I hoped you didn’t hear that,” he groaned as they headed toward the kids’ play area beneath a large oak. “Long story short, it involved five-year-old me, a pond, and a sinus infection that made me sound like a duck when I sneezed.”

“Oh my god,” Sirius laughed, earning himself a light elbow to the ribs. “And the name stuck?”

“Considering she was the one that had to stay with me while my folks were working, she could call me whatever the hell she wanted. Please don’t ask her about it unless you want a thirty-minute TED talk about the ins and outs of my sinuses.”

“She’s a doctor?”

“No, she just overshares.”

“Sirius!”

Sirius looked up and saw a herd of small children racing toward them, led by his favorite person under the age of eighteen; Jules crashed into his legs and squeezed him tight around the waist. “Hey, I missed you!”

Jules propped his chin below Sirius’ sternum and stared up at him with the classic hazel-gold eyes that were far more common than Sirius believed before they arrived in the Lupins’ backyard. “I missed you, too! How’s the team? How’s Harry? Is he still super small or did he do that weird thing that babies do where their legs grow and the rest of them still looks normal? How was your flight? Did you have turbulence?”

Sirius thought for a moment. “Good, also good, growing normally, and yes.”

“Sweet! Come play cornhole with us!” Jules grabbed his hand and dragged him along the grass at the closest thing he could manage to a sprint with Sirius’ added weight—the pre-teen years had lent him gangly legs, though he didn’t seem quite sure how to use them yet. He looked more like a foal than a sixth-grader.

“What the hell is cornhole?” Sirius muttered as the flock of kids ran ahead to grab armfuls of beanbags.

Remus grinned. “Something I’m about to kick your ass at.”

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

By the time the sun set, Sirius was exhausted. He had been introduced to dozens of people who looked just enough like Remus to be eerie, as well as plenty who seemed to have been acquired by one Lupin or another over the course of their life. Jules fluctuated between laminating himself to Sirius’ side and disappearing for an hour at a time, only to return more grass-stained and rumpled than ever as he begged Remus to swing him around by the ankles again. His ass had been thoroughly kicked at cornhole and freeze tag; it was a true miracle he hadn’t already passed out into a food coma. For all of his earlier griping, Sirius couldn’t think of a time in recent months when he had been more content.

“You’re a brave soul,” Remus remarked as they sat in the grass together and watched the fireflies wake. Though it was a warm night, it seemed the citronella candles littering the tables were doing their job of chasing off mosquitoes.

Sirius leaned his head on Remus’ shoulder. He smelled like grass and summertime and sunbaked warmth. “Am I?”

“Mhmm. I’m sure most people would have run screaming by now.”

“I like your family.”

A beat of silence passed; Remus rested his temple against the top of Sirius’ head. “I’m really glad to hear that. They’re weird and loud, but I love them.”

“And I love you.”

“Are you saying I’m weird and loud?”

“On occasion.”

“Asshole,” Remus laughed, giving him a nudge that hardly qualified as more than a gentle sway.

“Language, there are eight million kids around.”

“They’re busy.”

Sirius watched as small group run by in a wave of giggles, all clutching mason jars of fireflies with their names written on masking tape. “Thank you again for asking me to come with you.”

“Like I said, Aunt Jen would—”

“Remus.” He fell quiet. Sirius didn’t remember the last time he said Remus’ full name aloud. “Your family loves you so much. They’re everything I ever wanted growing up, and it means the world that you wanted to share them with me. All they want is to see you happy. It was amazing to finally meet them.”

“They really, really love you,” Remus said softly, his voice a little thick. “I had about twenty people tell me how wonderful you are. They all thanked me for bringing you, and not a single one mentioned the celebrity thing. Even my Uncle Jay didn’t say a word about hockey.”

“He was the one in the jersey?”

“I’ve known him for my entire life and I’ve never seen him without one.”

“Huh.” Sirius tucked his face closer to Remus’ neck and let the sound of the bullfrogs in a distant marsh lull him. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. The adults will be up for a while, but the kids will start crashing soon.”

Footsteps on the cool grass rustled to their right and Sirius looked up. “Who wants pie?” Aunt Allison singsonged, breaking their quiet bubble with paper plates and utensils. “This one is blackberry, but we have peach, pumpkin, and a few others on the table if you’re still hungry.”

“Just a small piece, please,” Sirius said.

Allison paused and cocked her head, then burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re funny!”

“I am?”

“Don’t fight it,” Remus whispered.

“You are a growing boy,” Allison said as she cut a thick slice and plonked it onto his plate. “And there’s no such thing as too much pie.”

I’m 26, Sirius wanted to say, though he held it in. “Just a small one for me, as well,” Remus said.

“Ha!” Allison snorted. “You’re already too skinny. Eat your pie or you’ll end up a string bean like your father. The NHL might have given you muscle, but it’s useless if you don’t enjoy some of your favorite aunt’s—”

“—woah, hey now—”

“—pie once in a while.” Allison kissed the tops of their heads once both plates were secure and bowing in the middle. “I’m going to make sure the kids aren’t poking around in the river again. Sleep well, you two.”

Sirius stared down at his plate as she wandered away. “I’m honestly going to die if I eat this.”

“Yeah, please don’t make yourself sick on pie. You really don’t have to eat all of that. The aunts and uncles are convinced that none of us are eating properly once we turn eighteen.”

“Really?”

“I wish I was kidding. You’re going to sleep so well tonight, though.”

As if on cue, Sirius stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and cuddled under Remus’ arm again. A familiar shadow bounded over not two seconds later and he barely held down a groan. “Hey, can I join you?”

Remus shrugged. “ ‘course.”

“Sweet.” Jules settled himself across their laps, staring at the sky with his head pillowed on Sirius’ thigh. “Did you have fun? I’m really glad you could come.”

“I had a great time,” Sirius answered honestly. Now please move on so I can take a nap.

“Mom and dad and me got here yesterday, and Aunt Jen kept checking the door for you guys even though she knew you weren’t coming until today. She was worried you wouldn’t like us, I think.”

“That was never an option, Jules.”

“Yeah, I know.” A devilish grin flickered over his face. “Remus is the weirdest of all of us, and if you want to marry him—”

“Get off,” Remus grumbled, shoving Jules’ legs onto the picnic blanket. “You know, you were a lot nicer before you turned eleven. Can I return you and get a new one? I have the receipt somewhere.”

“Nope.”

“That’s all a birth certificate is, right?” Sirius raised his eyebrows. “If you bring it back in good condition, I hear they give you a ten percent discount.”

Jules scowled. “That’s so not true.”

“How do you think I got Regulus?”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Remus asked with a pointed look. “Run along, problem child.”

“Of the two of us, I’m the least problematic.” Despite his words, Jules clambered to his feet and dusted his hands off over Remus’ head. “I’m not the one that got a secret boyfriend and got engaged in a year. I’m so easy. Mom and dad want two of me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Remus sighed as he stretched out on the blanket. “They had a second kid because they wanted two of me.”

“You’re adopted.”

Remus cracked one eye open in disbelief. “No, I’m not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because—y’know what, go to bed. Or go find the stampede, I think they’re by the river.”

Sirius whistled lowly as Jules scampered off again. “That was impressive. Isn’t your aunt over there?”

“Yep.”

Realization clicked into place. “She’s going to make him go to bed.”

“Yep.”

“You’re brilliant.”

Remus smiled without opening his eyes, and tugged Sirius down by the sleeve to lay next to him. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

The stars were brighter than anywhere Sirius had ever seen; for a moment, he was struck speechless by the endless rivers of sparkling white overhead. He stared until his eyes burned from dryness, then put his head on Remus’ chest and kept on looking. There was no way he could tear his gaze from it. A few shooting stars streaked across the clear sky and he felt his heart skip a beat in pure amazement when he realized there was nothing else he would wish for in that moment. He could listen to Remus’ heartbeat and the sound of his new family talking against a backdrop of the night, relishing in a full belly and cool wind, and simply stay there for as long as he liked.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Are very, very old friends

My Masterlist 

Your heart and my heart (first part of this)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: A second part to Your heart and my heart, where Ivar and Reader were childhood friends (and pretended to get married when they were children) and got separated by circumstances of life, only to meet again on a battlefield in Wessex.

Word Count: 9.8k (I am so fucking sorry, holy shit)

Warnings: My unwavering state of denial over Aslaug’s death, mentions/descriptions of injury/battle, allusions to sex (nothing graphic), and my terrible writing lol

A/N: I hope you are no longer surprised by how I seem to be able to focus only on the stuff I need to focus on the least, bc here we are. Writing has been very difficult lately, so I am not so sure this is any good, but I still hope you enjoy.

As a reminder: In this universe the brothers (minus Björn) are in Wessex with the Great Heathen Army but Aslaug isn’t dead (Lagertha never took over). This is an almost 6a in age Ivar, but of course a different canon where he has stayed raiding in England. And Princess Blaeja (who was briefly mentioned in the previous part) is engaged to be married to Sigurd.

Your eyes cannot move fast enough to take in the field ahead of you, trying to check every trap and every barricade. Even if you were to find a fault, you remind yourself, you wouldn’t be able to change anything.

Hlíf comes to you, brisk pace that you can still see the exhaustion in, and stands at your side, shield with your colors and your symbol. It looks heavy.

“They are coming, Dane.”

“I know,” A deep breath, and you signal with your head to the center of the camp, “Go back, you’ll lead them to hold the second line. The Saxons will breach the first one.”

“You are not staying here.”

You don’t meet Hlíf’s gaze, instead meeting the eye of a few shieldmaidens that stand tall ahead, waiting for the Saxons to come. They nod their heads once, they know what they are agreeing to.

“We are.”

The forward scouts sound the horns, and before long the marching feet of warriors makes the unfamiliar ground tremble under your feet. Your hands tighten on the handle of your sword, and you take a breath.

Hlíf steps closer, but her gait ins anxious, “You better retreat to us when the time comes, Dane. You are not allowed to die here.”

“Says who?”

Hlíf grunts a curse, but retreats behind the second line of spike barriers.

You’ve been hounded by this group for weeks, ever since you and your warriors departed for York back from a successful raid. You aren’t sure if they are from that city or sent to intercept you from somewhere else, but they are bloodthirsty and determined.

Making camp was a necessity, especially with the wounded and weakened you have in your group, but the years have made you ingenuous, and the months you’ve spent with the Great Army have taught you to use the surroundings in your favor.

Your warriors dug ditches and laid spikes within them, much like you remember hearing Lagertha did when she assisted Aslaug in defending Kattegat, and while you didn’t have the defenses of walls, you made sure to draw passageways with the placement of the tents, to lure the Saxons to follow a path you know by heart when they came.

And now you stand, restless in your spot, waiting for them to get close enough for your archers to thin their numbers, for the frakka’s of those closer to you to take down the stronger ones.

It is not enough, but you never expected it to be.

Once they get close enough, you shout the command to march, and your forces and theirs clash.

The sound of battle deafens you, shouts in two different tongues and death in the same language echoing around you. Still, you seem to hear the faintest of rustles, and you lift your shield as you turn, stopping the downward strike of a Saxon.

Pushing back while you bend your knees, you unbalance him, slashing at his thighs before you plunge your sword in his chest. He meets your eyes, and spits blood in your face before his strength leaves him.

So, it is personal then.

You keep moving, blunt hits of your shield and quick strikes of your sword, taking down as many as you can, worrying more for injuring them and weakening them before they reach the more vulnerable in the camp more than for killing them.

Maybe that is your mistake.

The sword slashes at your leg, the pain sharp and weakening, and your stance buckles. You turn around with a raised shield to try and defend yourself, but you are too close to the ground and the warrior puts all his strength behind his kick and forces you to the ground.

Scrambling to turn on your back and grabbing a discarded axe, you stop the advance of his sword, but your arms burn under the strain, and his snarling face reminds you of a chained dog too close to breaking free.

It isn’t enough. You have no choice.

Releasing the strain of holding him back, you are able to swing your arm back and hit the side of his neck with the hand axe, but not before his sword pierces your shoulder, drawing a scream of pain from you.

Pushing him off you, you stand on uneven ground, trying to make sense of the battle around you and keeping your defenses against the Saxons that are still very much after your blood.

Your shield once again on your hand, you stop the attack of a younger warrior, slashing his chest with a move of your arm that feels weaker and trembling even as you manage to deliver a fatal blow.

Another manages to get close enough to bit the edge of his shield against your wounded leg, and his sword slashes at your side, drawing blood and blinding pain in its wake. He is taken down by a snarling shieldmaiden that comes to stand at your side, and your eyes scan the first line of the camp’s defenses already breached.

You are outnumbered, you are not going to win. Not like this.

“Through the east!” You call out in your own tongue, not waiting for any of the few that remain able to fight to acknowledge your command before you dart for the passageways you can make use of.

You are close enough to the second line of barricades to cross it if you wish to, but your mind is made. The Saxons trailing after you and the few others that still stand, they make quick work of your shieldmaidens soon enough, and you grit your teeth at the screams of pain you can do nothing to stop.

Most of them were foolish enough to think you were retreating, and they trailed after you and the remaining warriors.

Reaching the end of the alleyway, you turn around, standing on shaky legs and lifting one hand. Breathing past the pain is proving difficult, and there’s black at the edges of your vision, but you can still make out the shapes above you, and those that stand next to you.

You close your hand into a fist, meet the eyes of the Saxons that seem to hesitate to approach. They will always fear a heathen woman that smiles while surrounded by blood and death, the fearful -faithful- will call her a monster and insist she is not human.

They fear, they hesitate. And that is enough.

And you drop your hand, the weakest of smiles on your lips as you give one last command,

“Loose.”

____

The first thing you can sense when you awaken is the pain, and the weight keeping you down. Awful, but at least you aren’t dead.

You open your eyes slowly, half expecting to see the murky forests of the Isles towering above you after having been left behind by the Saxons to bleed out slowly and painfully; half expecting something with women on winged horses and a lot of golden shades.

But all that greets you is wood.

Inconsequential, unimpressive, mediocre wood. Yet, your body is filled with such a relief you almost give in to the temptation to doze off again.

Still, you force your body to answer and you sit up on the cot, breaths ragged as the wound on your shoulder sends pain like lightning through your very veins. And slowly, painfully, and with more curses than your mother would like out of a princess, you stand up.

Just when you are considering what the plan after standing up actually was, a woman barges into the room.

“Oh, you’re standing,” She says, and you lift your eyebrows but say nothing. She tsks her tongue, and approaches, her eyes focused on your upper chest, “You shouldn’t be.”

“I would think it was a good sign.”

“Which is why you do the fighting, not the thinking,” She quips, a quirk of her mouth as she glances at you. Quite mean, for an old woman, but still you offer a smile as well. Her palm presses lightly against your shoulder, before going to your side. “You’re not too hot.”

You pout, “Aw, shame.”

“And you seem to be in good spirits.” She chuckles.

You meet her eyes and lean closer, asking quietly,

“That will change soon, though, won’t it?”

“You are the reason a lot of people are angry, yes,” She confesses, before stepping back, “You also are the reason a lot of people are alive as well. Make sure they remember that, and you may keep your head.”

With a non-committal gesture you step past her, a hand on the doorway keeping you upright as you meet the gaze of the expecting shieldmaidens. They call your name and a few expletives in greeting, some in anger, some in welcome, but all in relief.

“While I love seeing you all alive and well, I…have a feeling at least one of you is here under specific instructions.” You state, a quirk of your eyebrow when one of the younger ones stands up, and slips out of the house quietly, with a murmur of being glad you are alright.

You sigh, and though one of them offers you a seat you highly doubt you’ll be able to stand if you sit down, so you wave away her offer, and lean on the doorway.

“Did the rest make it?”

“Most of them, yes. The injured are going to be escorted back, they couldn’t make it on their o-…”

The words die in a gasp as the door to the humble home is kicked open, and a tall shieldmaiden strides in, eyes blazing and set on you.

“You mad Dane bitch!”

“I have a name,” You quip as the shieldmaiden advances towards you. “It is a very pretty one, my mother chose i-…”

She shoves you forcefully, stopping whatever it is you were going to say.

You stumble back but catch yourself before falling, and you can’t help but let out a grunt of pain as your side is pulled tight by the sudden and forceful movement. The healer quips from the room at your back something about not injuring the already injured further, but you both ignore her it seems.

Hlíf still pushes on, “Of all the hare-brained, reckless, st-…”

“Hey!”

“You don’t scare me, Dane,” She huffs back, stepping forward until the shieldmaiden towers over you. “Half dead as you are because of your stupid decisions, you aren’t a threat to anyone, least of all me.”

In the back of your mind, a voice that sounds so alike your brother’s, always calm and collected; begs you not to do this.

You were never good at listening to him, though.

Headbutting one of your oldest friends wasn’t high in the list of things you wanted to do if you ever came back from the dead but…here we are.

Hlíf stumbles back, holding her nose and setting incredulous eyes on you.

Strangely enough, the tension seems to slowly ebb away with the unexpected action.

“I like proving people wrong.” You tell her around a shrug, slowly betraying a smile that she returns, even if there’s a resentful sort of relief in the way she approaches again and presses her brow against yours.

“You are so lucky you’re injured.”

“I wouldn’t call it-…”

“I would. I’d be knocking your pretty ass to the ground if you weren’t,” She promises, and scoffs a laugh that sounds like a reprimand, “You scared me, Dane.”

You meet her eyes, study the dark circles under them, the haggardness on her face, the stubborn tremble in her voice; and realize maybe you weren’t the only one to believe you’d die in that forest.

“How long has it been?”

“A little over a week since we made it to York.” She tells you, motioning for a seat, and motioning again when you refuse it. Stubborn.

You carefully sit down before the fire, narrowing your eyes at the girl that attempts to cover your legs with a fur. You are injured, but you’re far from an old woman.

Though you do accept the awful-smelling brew of herbs the healer presses into your hand before scurrying off back to the room where you were sleeping.

Watching the herbs swirl in the cup, you mumble, “You know, I did the right thing there.”

Hlíf’s kohl-lined eyes narrow, “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”

You gesture with the arm of your good side, “I wasn’t the one leading them! For once I followed orders and we got stuck, it isn’t my fault!”

Hlíf’s eyes only grow bigger and bigger in affront and fury at your insistence, and you decide to shut your mouth.

“You defended when you could have retreated, even though you were wounded, and alone.”

“When you put it like that of cou-…”

She interrupts you, her tone cold and imposing as she repeats, “You defended when you could have retreated, even though you were wounded, and alone.”

“I heard you the first time.”

She offers a side smile, head tilted to the side, “Huh, you listen. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“That is uncalled for, come on.”

Hlíf looks at you, blinks slowly two times, and takes a breath.

“You defended when you could ha-…” She starts again, but you interrupt her with a shove of her good shoulder and a huffed laugh. She does have a point, however insistent she is at repeating it.

“I panicked, I…I needed to give you more time to leave safely, without Saxons trailing after you. I needed to stall them.” You confess quietly, fidgeting with your fingers, elbows resting on your knees, ignoring the soreness on your side as your position strains at the healing wound.

“You agreed to retreat if you were outnumbered, but you didn’t.”

“There were still some traps that hadn’t been used, I could lure them to the east side, and it worked, the archers made work of the thick of their numbers.”

“You were half-dead by the time that happened.” She insists, biting.

“All that matters is that most made it out. It was the right call.”

“If I hadn’t insisted we go back to find you, you would be dead,” She argues, though her voice quietens as well. “You’d be alone in that damn place, we wouldn’t even be able to bury you.”

That is not something you want to think much about, and with your gaze on the flickering flames you press quietly, “Do you want me to apologize, is that it?”

“No.”

“What do you want then?”

“I don’t know, Dane. What do you want?” At your confused frown the shieldmaiden shrugs, “Coming back from the dead and all, figured I could grant you at least one thing.”

“Those Saxons that hunted us down strung up on a tree?” You ask, only half-jesting. Hlíf doesn’t laugh though, she only presses her lips together.

“Can’t do that, Dane. They have been handled already.”

You really shouldn’t have expected otherwise. Still, you ask the question to which you already know the answer,

“Ivar?”

“Poured melted crosses onto their heads, left some alive after it too. Gruesome thing,” She explains, and you nod your head with a hum, wondering how long ago that was and trying to imagine how exactly they were captured so quickly. Hlíf watches you with growing worry, “I don’t know if I should be concerned about your reaction, or…lack of it rather.”

“You get used to it after a while.”

She scoffs, shaking her head, “You do.”

After a few breaths of silence, Hlíf calls your name quietly. She usually calls you ‘Dane’, a habit that never left her since the first days you were fighting together, when you first were able to call yourself a shieldmaiden.

When your attention turns to her, she says, “I’m sorry for shoving you.”

You look into her pale eyes, offer a smile and a nod.

“You should be.” You quip, and after an incredulous breath Hlíf heaves a sigh.

“You could say you’re sorry too, Dane.” The shieldmaiden chuckles, still oddly fond in her defeat.

“I’m not, though.” You reply around a shrug, sharing a smile with her.

The conversation ebbs away as you hear a voice distantly shouting commands, a voice you know well.

“Where is she!?”

“Oh, great.”

Furious stabs of a crutch on the hard ground, and the door opens just as many shieldmaidens scurry away, making way for Ivar the Boneless. His eyes meet yours with a fury you have never seen before, a snarl on his lips and tension coiled around his body like a vine.

When he speaks, though, his voice denotes none of that. His voice is carefully even, dangerously still, reminding you of a beast stalling its breath before it strikes.

For a man as explosive as him, calmness is never a good sign.

“What. Were. You. Thinking.”

Your nose furrows, and you offer with a grimace, “I…wasn’t?”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“I know. I’m the one that almost died, remember?” You prompt, but he doesn’t answer. You nod your head, not really sure what to do, muttering to yourself, “Serious business, dying.”

Hlíf lets out a choked groan, before advising, voice low, “You should really just shut your mouth, Dane.”

Ivar turns to her, the sharp focus of his pale gaze making the shieldmaiden straighten in her seat.

“Get out.” He orders, voice low. You see it in her, the pride insisting on resisting and the instinct pleading to obey.

Instinct wins, and after sparing you a look Hlíf stands up, and motions with her head for the other shieldmaidens to follow, leaving you and Ivar alone in the small home.

It feels even smaller as his gaze returns to you, it even feels almost suffocating as Ivar takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders but says nothing.

You clear your throat, and start what you hope will be a conversation and not a screaming match.

“I am not apologizing for the choice I made.”

An angry breath leaves him through his nose, sharply. His eyes remain on you, quiet intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Of course you’re not,” Ivar bites out, before shaking his head at himself, “I can’t believe you’d be so-…”

“It was the right call, Ivar.”

He wrenches his gaze from you, looking straight ahead. For a moment you wonder if he refuses to look at you because he thinks he can hide anything from you. Because he should know better, because he should know by now you are aware of the way his jaw tightens, of the way his breaths are intentionally -forcefully- even, of the way anger and pride are the only thing keeping his control from slipping.

“You could have died.”

“And?”

His focus returns to you, and you snap your mouth shut.

Wrong thing to say, wrong thing to say, wrong thing to say.

Ivar’s eyes widen in anger, and when he takes a breath he seems to be twice as tall.

“And!?” He repeats, voice thundering, “You almost died! You…” His nose curls in anger, but there’s something more fragile in his wide eyes, something like fear, “You spent days in that damn bed, they told me it was in the hands of the Gods whether you survived or didn’t.”

A pit of worry forms in your stomach, and you quieten your voice, trying to offer reassurance, “I pulled through, I-I am alright.”

But it falls on deaf ears.

“You were there, dying, and there was nothing I could do,” A sharp breath, but it sounds choked, “You would have gone where I can’t follow, I-…there was nothing to do, nothing I could-…I c-couldn’t-…”

“Ivar…”

He turns to you, accusing, “I was unable to do anything while you died, while you left me.”

“I didn’t die, I am alright.”

“You almost did.”

“That’s-…”

His lip curls into a snarl and your eyes are drawn to the scar on the right side of his mouth, the scar you are responsible for. The process of healing from the deep cut you left that first day you were reunited was a slow one for him, especially because of how much you insisted on finding ways to make him smile and then grumble at the sting of a reopened cut. And now your eyes are drawn to that scar, watching it follow the movement of his mouth as it curls in anger.

“No, I don’t want to hear it,” He interrupts you, a gesture of his hand. “You made the wrong choice. You put yourself in danger when you didn’t need to.”

“If I hadn’t, most of my shieldmaidens would be dead now. We couldn’t fight them directly, Ivar, we had too many wounded.”

He walks past you, the stabs of the crutch on the ground still more forceful than they need to be, and pours himself some mead in one of the unused cups, his back to you.

A deep breath, and before he drinks he offers, “You should have left them behind.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You move to walk forward, but putting too much weight on your injured leg makes pain shoot through you. You falter, and you try hiding it but you know Ivar notices, judging by the way his eyes narrow.

Still, you insist, slowly walking closer, “What is a few shieldmaidens against all the people we went there to aid? It is a sacrifice we all were willing t-…”

He gestures with his free arm, stopping you, “Well it isn’t a sacrifice I’m willing to make! Not if it costs me you!”

You are stunned into silence, whatever words that were to leave your mouth dying on your lips with a gasp.

Ivar glares at you as if you were somehow responsible for him saying something he hadn’t meant to, a twitch of anger that makes his furrow his nose and his lips press together in a line.

He moves to one of the chairs by the fire, taking a few breaths through his nose that you are sure are meant to be calming but sound equally as angry as before.

You still have nothing to say, no words to leave your lips.

There’s a part of you that never let go of him in all those years you spent -grew- apart, and in these months you have spent with the army, leading your own forces under Ivar and his brothers’ commands, learning from them -from him- many things and offering a few tricks of your own, conquering new lands and fighting new battles; your foolish heart has started to speak of hopes that could never be, has started to feel light like it never did before, as if it and his own heart recognize each other even after all the years and the scars.

Ivar takes a breath, discarding the crutch on the chair by his side.

“I…I never forgot you, you know. Not when you left Kattegat, not when father died and we came to England, not-…I never forgot you,” His eyes linger on yours for a moment, before Ivar turns his head and looks back ahead, clear tell of gritted teeth as he confesses, “I kept an eye on you, through the years. I had men near Ribe when you and your brother fought for it so that they could tell me the outcome of the battle.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and you slowly take a seat by his side.

“I…I never knew.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” He retorts without missing a beat, hesitating before continuing, “I always hoped we’d meet again. With what I’ve done, with what I’ve accomplished, I hoped that maybe I’d find you again and I could give you enough reasons to stay this time.”

Quietly, you offer, “I never wanted to leave.”

“I know that now,” He assures you, the slightest of movements of his head that you think was supposed to be a nod. Ivar’s eyes lift to yours, and he says, so low you almost miss it, “I just found you again, I can’t…I can’t lose you.”

You don’t know what to say, you don’t know how to put into words what his words are doing to your foolish heart, to the heart that has always been his.

“Ivar…” You start, not certain of what you’re trying to say.

But it doesn’t matter.

Ivar leans forward surprisingly quickly, pressing his lips against yours. The touch of his lips on yours is urgent and hurried, shaky and inexperienced; leaving behind wide blue eyes that look into yours as if desperate for an answer to a question that isn’t a question at all.

You sigh shakily, but your mouth trembles into a smile, and with barely a moment of hesitation, you cross the distance between you again and kiss him, this time deeply, this time eagerly, this time ardently.

There’s the desperation of having lost too much time without this in the way his hold on you is tight and frantic, there’s the anguish of having thought lost you forever in the way your name leaves him in a choked gasp when you part for air, there’s the relief and the elation of finally having you within reach in the way he doesn’t let your lips part from his for any moment, a faint sound of protest from somewhere deep in his chest whenever you pull away.

You finally part but don’t move too far, it seems both of you unwilling to let much space come between you. Breaths labored, you whisper,

“I have wanted to do that for a long time.”

“You have?”

In any other man the question would be a blatant seeking of praise, and maybe it is in him too, but there’s something else too, something more fragile, something more vulnerable. Like some part of him never ceased to be the boy you kissed before you were to leave Kattegat, like some part of him will never truly believe how wanted he can be, how loved.

“I never forgot you either, Ivar,” You confess quietly, lifting the hand you can and tracing the side of his face, the scar on his cheekbone, the scar you claim of your own over his lip. “I could never forget you.”

His smile is awed, and softer than you ever thought it could be, and more boyish than it should be allowed to be for the sake of your foolish heart, that skips a beat in your chest.

With the crackling of fire and the feel of him under your hands, you forget the passing of time, you forget the soreness of your body, you forget everything except him.

You exchange secrets and promises in the shape of kisses that linger always in between adoration and hunger; and after a while, with your fingers trailing absently over the scar on his mouth, you offer your regret.

“I was reckless,” You tell him, resisting the urge to curl the hand on the side of his face into a fist when you notice how much it trembles. “I…I should have retreated. I am sorry.”

“I was…I was stuck here, unable to do anything. I couldn’t go fight with you, I couldn’t go search for you,” There’s the familiar resentment -at the world, at Fate-, and you say nothing, but your hand moves towards the back of his neck and tries to offer a soothing caress. Ivar continues, “I can’t will my stupid legs to work as they should, but I can…I can keep you safe. You have to let me keep you safe.”

“You cannot keep me from death, no one can,” You remind him, before acquiescing, “I promise I…I will be more careful, I will not make pointless sacrifices.”

Even if it wasn’t pointless to you at the time, it is the best way you can word it.

And, judging by the faint and almost shaky nod Ivar offers in acceptance of your words, it was the right thing to say.

____

Ivar had planned to make the journey back to York and raid from there one more time, while matters about his plans to settle in the Isles are solved, and originally you were planning on going with him.

However, he insists you need to rest and heal so he won’t let you fight, and you insist being bedridden will only make you go mad, so you reach a compromise. You and Ivar discuss the details of the agreement as the healer checks the wound on your shoulder, and when he is to leave you notice the way he hesitates before he does, eyes travelling to your lips before meeting yours.

You smile, but then his pale eyes travel to the woman that is cleaning her hands with her back turned to the both of you, and you understand the question.

Being Ivar the Boneless’ woman is not something you would ever feel shame for being, or wish to hide, and though you do have your reservations about what it would mean as a commander of your own share of forces within the Great Army to be so close to one of the sons of Ragnar, you know no fear of rumors is with making Ivar believe you are ashamed of being his.

Instead of voicing your answer to the question he doesn’t ask, you just tilt your chin up, eyes on his.

Ivar’s smile is a tad on the shy side, a tad overwhelmed, but he still dutifully leans down and captures your mouth in his, promising to meet with you again after you’ve spent time with your warriors.

He leaves, and before long, as the healer changes the bandages on your leg and shoulder, you hear the familiar sounds of your friends settling again in the small home. It makes a pang of what you refuse to call regret go through your heart, at the thought of how easily accustomed they are to spending time at this home, waiting to know if you would survive or not.

You take a breath, and walk out to meet them.

Vígdís, one of the elder shieldmaidens, doesn’t even look up from the piece of chicken she is carefully pulling apart with her fingers as she states dryly, “I was betting he would kill you.”

“I’m glad you gals are on my side, really.”

Hlíf swallows a mouthful of chicken and points the drumstick at you, “Hey, I bet you’d kill him.”

You look at her with a frown before conceding, “Actually, that’s flattering.”

She offers a toothy smile, and encourages you, “Yeah, you could take him!”

Vígdís scoffs, “Oh, she wants to,” At your glare the older woman only shrugs one shoulder, “Or the other way around. You don’t have a preference, do you, Dane?”

“Anyhow,” You drawl out, turning to the others, “I suggest you prepare your belongings and say your goodbyes. We won’t raid with Ivar and Hvitserk in these lands, our forces are needed elsewhere. We will be travelling to East Anglia in a fortnight.”

Hlíf scoffs, “One hell of a spat you two had, huh?”

“Wh-…? You know, I really don’t want to hear it. Just…do what you must.”

“I’m just saying, your love life is taking us all over England, Dane.”

“Shut your mouth already.” You grumble, but Hlíf’s brazen laughter resonates in the small home.

____

In the days that go by -way too quickly for your liking- before you are to depart to East Anglia, you find yourself drunk on the foolish happiness of having within reach what you never truly thought you’d have.

It is three nights before you leave that in the quiet of your shared room Ivar presses his lips to yours with a softness that is jarringly unlike him, and breathed over your lips the most hushed I love you.

It was that same night that you tangled your fingers in his hair and drew him back against you, not able or willing to resist the temptation to flick your tongue over the scarred side of his lip to make one of those choked little sounds leave his lips; and when he kissed you back hungrily pulled back to promise the same, just as softly even if you vowed it fiercely, I love you.

And now you are to depart. Standing in the stables and watching as your shieldmaidens and warriors finish loading their belongings and the supplies for the road.

Ivar is next to you, leaning against a wall with an arm secured around your waist and allowing you to rest slightly on his chest.

“Take some of my men with you.” He insists, for what must be the thousandth time since you made the agreement to part until the last month of the spring.

“I don’t need protection,” You remind him, leaning back a bit so you can see his face, “If I remember correctly, and I do, last time it was you who needed help from me.”

“I didn’t need help.”

“Of course not, love.”

Ivar takes a deep breath at your mocking tone, choosing instead to insist, “Just take those men with you.”

“No.” You tell him, one last pat of your hand on his chest before you turn to walk away.

Before you can pull away his free hand grasps yours, and you easily give in to the slight pull, turning back to met him and stepping closer again.

Ivar tilts his head down so he can look you in the eye, something dark and tempting shining through his expression as his mouth curves into a crooked smile.

“I thought wives are supposed to obey their husbands?”

Your heart does a foolish thing in your chest, beating out of rhythm as if trying to leave your chest and burrow into his. Still, you stare him down with your head tilted to the side, and all the answer you offer is a dry reminder,

“‘Countless sons and daughters’, Ivar. If we are holding each other accountable for those promises, we ought to start there.”

He wants to argue, you know he does. And you aren’t entirely convinced some of the warriors that join your forces because they want to aid Ubbe are there at all for him, but you have no evidence, so you shut your mouth and just make sure to keep an eye on them.

As you expected, they act as your bodyguards, no matter how much you try pushing them away.

And so time passes, and in your time on the road towards Soham you are able to heal well enough, slowly getting back to training with Hlíf and Vígdís. And by the time you reach Soham, where Ubbe awaits support to hold on to the city, you are able to fight once again.

And how you dearly missed it.

Time becomes a blur after that. Soham proves to be more difficult to hold than expected, and so your forces remain a while longer before moving to Dunwich where you manage to take over relatively easy, since the Saxon forces retreated from the coastal city.

The years made you capable, and the Gods made you arrogant.

Which is why, as the warriors from Dunwich start retreating, following their Lord’s commands, you, standing still close enough to the edges of the frontlines that Saxons scurry around you, take a knee and pretend to catch your breath.

The footsteps behind you are predictable, and you tighten your hold on the shield. When the warrior gets close enough and tries striking, you lift your shield, catching his arm on the edge of it as you stand up.

You twist your arm holding on to the shield, feeling the strain in his own and hearing his surprised scream of pain.

It snaps out of place under the strain, and satisfied, you let go of him with a push. He stumbles forward and tries grabbing onto a dropped sword with his uninjured arm, and you let him.

Readying your stance, you notice two others refuse to retreat as well now that their countryman is fighting, but make no notice of them as you stride forward, driving your sword through him, ignoring his pitiful attempt at deflecting it.

You approach the other two, shield tightly grasped, and push back against the strike of the first one against your shield, deflecting the sword of the second one with your own.

Making use of your smaller size, you quickly spin in your place and slash the neck of one of them, lifting your shield just in time to stop the attack of the second one.

But he lets out a grunt, falls down before you can kill him. The Saxon falls on his face, an axe protruding from his back.

You lift your eyes to meet those of an unfamiliar warrior, who stands proudly and offers you a nod.

“You’re welcome.”

Walking past him and not bothering to hide your distaste, you insist, “I didn’t need any help, and certainly not from you.”

He proves to be more insistent than you would have thought, and for too many nights you have to bear him sitting close by to you, trying to impress you with one tale or another. The man is unbearably persistent on either bedding you or courting you, and as the days go by after the fight for Dunwich, he proves to not be the only one.

Until, eventually, you can’t take it anymore.

____

“I’m going to need an explanation for that.” Hlíf asks, a broad smile on her lips and eyes shining with mirth.

You grit your teeth and start walking away, but of course she follows.

The winds of East Anglia are biting, and the ground under your feet is still softer and so different than that of your home, but in the time that has passed since you and your warriors joined the Great Army you have learned to be as familiar with this foreign land of England as you once were with your own.

Granted, the incessant waves at the coast and the ever-present sea salt in the air that characterize Dunwich are not something you are planning on getting used to any time soon. You really just want to get back to York.

“I shouldn’t have saved her ass at Soham.” You mutter to yourself, even if you know you don’t mean it.

“I heard that!”

“You proved you have ears, congratulations.”

She skips the few steps she was lagging behind, walking at your side and matching your stride with a wide grin that you choose to ignore.

“Thank you, but I’m married,” She quotes, the mirth coming through in her voice, and she laughs to herself, “Gods above, Dane, what kind of answer is that?”

“He was insistent, and I couldn’t exactly fist fight one of Ubbe’s trusted men,” You explain, your voice a grumble when you add, “Tis not my fault if the prick heard I was a princess and suddenly decided he needed to have me.”

“You sure it was your title? After seeing you fight when we took this city, I’m not surprised so many want you.”

“Hey, I appreciate the compliment, don’t get me wrong,” You quip, sparing a glance to her, “But if you’re trying to court me, I’m afraid it will go as well as it did for Olvir.”

On her lips grows once again the mischievous and devilish smile, and the shieldmaiden tilts her head to the side as she says, “Oh, I know that, because you’re married.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why lie?”

“It wasn’t a lie.”

“If you think you’re making sense, prepare for disappointment.”

You shrug your shoulders, “It’s…complicated.”

“Well, the whole camp will soon hear about you telling Olvir you’re married, so we might as well get the story right: are you taken, Dane?”

Blunt, and to the point, not that you expected anything different from Hlíf.

You consider your words before answer, slowly, “Yes.”

She chuckles, shoulder knocking against yours playfully, “Ah, so who is the fool that has your heart but isn’t staking a claim?”

“He has, you just haven’t noticed.”

She stops walking, and so you too stop, turning to look at her wide eyes and offering a shrug of your shoulders again.

“You mean…” You nod, and past the surprise she finds it in her to laugh, shaking her head in amazement, “Oh, you really are a mad woman, aren’t you?”

“Well, we are technically married. I can’t turn my back on a bond before the Gods, right?”

She shakes her head with a chuckle, “So that is why you have been so insufferable, you miss York. I just thought you really hated East Anglia.”

“I really hate East Anglia.”

“Of course, Dane.”

____

You return to York as dawn breaks, and you don’t have time to get off your horse before Hvitserk is standing there, arms crossed over his chest and leaning with one shoulder on the entrance to the stables.

He offers his older brother a nod of his head as greeting, but Ubbe passes him by and Hvitserk keeps his eyes on you.

He blurts out, “You are married?”

“Hello to you too. I am glad to see you alive and well, dear Hvitserk.”

“You are married.”

You look at him, at his smug little smile and his warm eyes shining with mirth, and take a deep breath.

“You should know, you were there at the wedding.”

His sniggering laughter follows you as you walk away, but you forget your irritation quite quickly as you find Ivar in the rustle of movement, determined and uneven steps carrying him towards you.

Your smile is wide and lovesick and foolish, but you do not care for hiding it. His is quieter, more secret, but it doesn’t fail to make your heart skip a beat in your chest.

Ivar’s free hand grasps at the back of your neck once you are close enough, bringing your mouth to his with urgency, quickly letting the kiss become passionate as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Your hands find purchase on his hips, and more than ever you hate the armor that doesn’t let you feel him his warmth, his strength- under your fingers.

“I missed you.” You whisper quietly when you part, your brow pressed against his.

He blinks his eyes open, more than a little dazed, and the look in his eyes -the need, the adoration, the everything- makes a pang of heat go through you, threaten to set you alight with only a look.

“And I you.” He finally tells you, quiet voice rough.

You barely have time to be alone with Ivar before obligations pull you apart, a feast to welcome back the forces Ubbe and the Princess of Ribe, a reunion to exchange tales of victory and be together with those that were missed in the months apart.

Granted, that means that they don’t let you be together with the one you missed the most in those months apart, but you don’t have it in you to complain. Except you do, but that is not the point.

The night dies down and you roll your eyes at a few pointed toasts in congratulations for your marriage, but remain sitting at your place beside Ivar, pretending not to notice his hand on your knee or his arm around the back of your chair.

You grab his hand when it starts trailing up your leg and making you feel the effects of his touch like lightning crawling over your skin, and you could swear the smug bastard chuckles at the way you have to stop him.

“Eh, sister!” Hvitserk calls out, and with gritted teeth you turn to look at him, sitting by Sigurd’s side with an arm over his brother’s shoulders, “I am glad you are back, truly.”

“Thank you, Hvitserk.” You tell him, immediately feeling like you are about to regret accepting he doesn’t mean to tease you any longer.

“If only because I cannot stand my brother’s moping any longer. Who would have thought a son of Ragnar would be so loyal to his wife?”

You dismiss him with a gesture, but you cannot help but chuckle alongside the others.

Ivar turns his head towards you, nose almost nuzzling at your hair as he moves closer to speak by your ear,

“Why did you tell people you’re married?”

You don’t lift your gaze from your joined hands, following the trace of your fingers as they trace over the back of Ivar’s hand, “So that they would leave me alone.”

“No one is leaving you alone now that they think you are my wife.”

You spare him a look, glancing up, “The men that insist on either bedding me or courting me will, and that is enough for me.”

Ivar, of course, clings only to part of the words you speak, and his voice lowers, expression hardened with what you would swear is jealousy -pointless, unfounded, stupid jealousy- as he asks,

“Who are these men?”

Your eyes narrow, you honestly cannot believe this man.

“Are you serious right now?”

“I just want to know who they are.”

“I-…” Running your free hand through over your face, you bite back a groan, “Everyone thinks we are married now, shouldn’t you be worrying about that?”

He shrugs, “You were the one that told them you are married.”

“You are the one that I told them I’m married to!” You tell him, exasperated. He says nothing, and in the two blinks that he offers you somehow find it in you to be even more offended, “You truly are not worried?”

“Why should I be?”

Slowly, you remind him, “We are not actually married, Ivar.”

He shrugs, “We could be.”

“But we aren’t.”

“But we could be.” He insists easily.

Deep breaths, you tell yourself, taking a moment to bite back irritation, you love him, even when he is being intentionally insufferable.

“Is this your way of asking me to marry you?”

“You seem to have done that for me already,” He replies instead, raised eyebrows and another shrug of his shoulders that only makes you angrier. “You seem to have done more than that.”

You sigh, and shake your head at his mocking, only to make him chuckle at your reaction. Gods, he is infuriating.

Ivar’s smile loses the mocking edge as he leans even close, pressing a soft kiss by the side of your mouth in an attempt to make you stop pretending to be angry.

“What’s the harm in that, hm?” He asks, eyes falling from yours to your lips when you finally turn your head to face him, “They know you’re mine now.”

You almost want to argue there’s no way they wouldn’t know judging by the way the two of you have been joined at the hip since you returned from Dunwick, but you won’t deny a part of you grows darkly proud at knowing everyone knows he is yours and yours alone.

“And you are mine.” You remind him lowly, the beginning of a smile on your lips. His eyes linger on the curve of your mouth, lids growing a little heavier at your words and tone, and you have never felt more powerful.

Ivar nods his head,

“I am, wife.”

____

As you come down from both of your highs you find out Ivar is as unwilling to relinquish the closeness as you are, and in between soft touches and breathed presses of lips on heated skin, you find a kind of peace you never realized how much you missed.

“I was thinking,” He starts, and you cannot stop yourself from teasing him, so you let out a soft, uh-oh, and he scoffs, biting down on the side of your neck in retaliation, “We will be settled in the Isles by next winter.”

Ivar pulls back to look at you, holding himself up on one of his arms. At the strange expression in his pale eyes, you reach up with one hand and caress the side of his face under the guise of moving his hair back.

“We will.”

“Let’s go back to Kattegat,” He tells you, a tad rushed, “For this winter. Let’s spend one last winter in Kattegat.”

“Are you homesick, love?” You drawl, a side smile that he rolls his eyes at.

“What do you say?”

You search his gaze, because something tells you there’s more to the question, more to the action of spending your winter in Kattegat.

You won’t lie and pretend you haven’t missed the town, you won’t lie and pretend the memories you made there aren’t still with you, kept safe by some nostalgic and soft part of your heart.

Fate has a funny way of working, you’ve learned, and time brought you back to the side of the boys you made so many of those memories alongside of. Time brought back to you the cadence of Sigurd’s voice as he hums in par with his oud, time brought back to you Ubbe’s easy companionship as you train together, time brought back to you the secret smiles you share with Hvitserk over a joke only the two of you know of. Time brought back to you the one you’ve loved since before you even knew what love was, brought back to you the heart that your own finds itself familiar with.

But there is a part of you that misses Kattegat and always will, the sinuous streets of your childhood, the foreign scents and sounds of the bubbling market.

Instead of giving your answer outright -you always did like making things harder than they have to be-, you muse aloud,

“Having married you when we were children should keep me safe from your mother’s wrath, shouldn’t it?”

“Wrath?”

You let your fingers trace over the scar over his lip, the one you are very much responsible for. In these last few months, you’ve grown quite fascinated with it, with how it stretches when he smiles one of those big and crooked smiles, and especially with how Ivar trembles when you run your tongue over it before kissing him.

But that is not the point.

The point is you are very much responsible for at least one of the new scars Aslaug’s youngest son bears, and she will know, and she will look at you in that way you remember from your younger years. It is enough to make a grown woman shiver.

Ivar chuckles as he understands your hesitation, “You don’t need to fear her.”

“Easy for you to say.” You scoff.

“And if I tell you she still remembers fondly that childish wedding? Will you agree to come then, hm?”

“No,” At his frustrated sigh you tighten your fingers on his hair in silent reprimand, “Now I know you’re just saying that to appease me.”

“I would never.” Ivar mocks, earning another tug of his hair that he breathes a laugh at. You don’t fail to notice the way the laugh stutters a bit past his lips, you are very much aware of your effect of your hands on him.

Said effect is very much evidenced in the way he doesn’t resist the temptation to lean down and steal your breath with the slowest of kisses, his nose nudging against yours softly before he speaks again, voice low,

“What if it wasn’t just that wedding?”

“W-What?”

His eyes open to look into yours, an edge of anxiety, of hesitation, that he -of course- pushes past anyways, clearing his throat and asking, “What if there were something more…permanent than that wedding from our childhood?”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

“A second and last time.” He vows, a quirk of his mouth that speaks of jest but does nothing to hide the apprehension that shines in his eyes.

There was never anyone else, not for you and not for him.

Your answer leaves your lips in a breath that Ivar doesn’t hesitate to taste against your lips, with a gentleness that speaks of adoration and desperation, stealing your breath much in the same way he stole your heart.

____

Aslaug almost wants to laugh at the irony that it was the youngest of her boys that was the first one the be married, not once, but two times. And, surprising only those that don’t know him well enough, to the same woman both times.

Older but still holding that arrogant pride at the announcement -the same pride she saw in him when you walked Kattegat’s streets with your hand in Ivar’s- Ivar sat down in front of her and told her he had found a woman he wanted to marry.

And her heart felt a surge of a warmth she had long since missed with all her sons fighting their wars and their father’s across the sea; not willing or capable to hold back the wide smile that blossomed in her face.

Her hands cupped her son’s face, and the small, almost shy smile he offered her reminded her so much of the boy he once was. She promised her blessing and vowed how proud she was, and in silence, as she looked into her youngest son’s eyes, she thanked the Gods for being allowed to live to see this, to see him happy.

She knows there are so many twists of Fate that have let this happen. She knows -like she knows the streets of her kingdom- of the paths their son’s life could have taken, almost took. She knows of yours, and what could have been.

Even if she hadn’t heard of your close encounter with death in England, she would have the moment she was forced to see in her dreams what had happened across the sea, she would have the moment she saw the way it still haunted Ivar today.

For almost two weeks she dreamt of her son’s voice, the same repeated pleas to the Gods -to whatever would listen- said so many times his voice grew ragged and broke. Still, he did the one thing he could, and pleaded with the Gods for more time, for anything other than this.

He needn’t know she went to the Volür and they all made a sacrifice praying with the Gods to give a Dane shieldmaiden strength and health. He needn’t know, and he won’t.

Because it is past now, and you have healed and learned, and he has healed too. And there is no use in resurfacing pain in an occasion such as this.

Kattegat is lively even as winter approaches fast and cruel, the flurry of motion increased even more now that a Prince is to get married.

Your smile is the same mad little smile she remembers from your younger years in Kattegat, and Helga’s hands are more worn and her smile is a tad dimmer, but her fingers are still nimble and gentle as they braid the wedding crown of winter flowers.

Aslaug feels the pull of emotion when Ivar cups your face between trembling hands and kisses his wife for the first time, she feels the tears prickling at her eyes at the lovesick smiles on your faces as you remain in that moment after a kiss for a few breaths, eyes locked together and futures intertwined.

Ubbe stands tall as he watches his younger brother get married, and Aslaug’s heart grows warm at the easy smile that curves her son’s lips. She still cannot help herself, and finds herself hoping before winter is over and her sons are to depart from her side again, that she can see him with a woman by his side as well. For too long Ubbe carried a burden he shouldn’t have, shouldering the brunt of the world for the sake of his brothers, a boy trying to stand as tall as the man that left an absence in his place after Paris. Even if she once argued she cares not if they find love as long as they find a good woman to breed and form a family with, she holds the secret hope that she can see Ubbe happily settled with someone that he can love.

She hopes the same for Hvitserk, who watches the ceremony with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, but she knows better than to expect him to settle anytime soon. Before the celebratory feast is halfway over, he has teasingly held a young girl to his side and exclaimed, mother, I am getting married as well, three times, with three different women. She doesn’t hold much hope he will settle soon, and has to bite her tongue and tell herself she is happy for him even if he insists on sleeping his way through Kattegat.

Reluctantly, she admits it is Sigurd who might follow in Ivar’s footsteps and marry next. He and that Christian girl have been promised to one another for years now, and the excuse of war and distance has kept them safe from their obligations to marry. But Aslaug knows it is a matter of time. For all her demure and shy nature, Blaeja’s eyes shine with something like amazement as she takes in the wedding ceremony even if a faint blush covers her face at yours and Ivar’s displays of affection. And she won’t pretend she doesn’t notice the way Sigurd lingers close to the princess, irradiating that gentleness of him that Aslaug is still regretful for having made so fragile in her carelessness.

Winter lets her have all her sons with her, though she knows it is probably the last time. Ivar has plans to settle in the Isles, the title of king and the promise of advantageous positions for his war against Alfred enough of a lure to keep her son across the sea; Ubbe has intentions to settle and take families with him to England even if he has to wade through blood to do so, Sigurd won’t stay too long away from his princess anymore, and Hvitserk will nevr bear to stay apart from his brothers.

But she has this winter, and it is enough. She will sit with her sons and have dinner while they talk and argue and laugh, and she will hear Ivar and Sigurd go for each other’s throats as if they haven’t spent these years fighting side by side, and she will watch you and Ivar get drunk on nothing but each other, and she will thank the Gods for all of it.

____ ____ ____

Thank you for reading, I apologize if this isn’t very good, I tried my best. Love ya!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @1950schick @ietss @peachyboneless @encounterthepast @maggiescarborough @chibisgotovalhalla @fae-sedai @zuxiezendler @crazybunnyladysworld   @stupiddarkkside @northumbria @aprilivar

[inctlife]

20 Years | LTY ~ Siwoo, Nari, Wonsik

genre: fluff

summary: growing up with the lee family

warnings: none

________________

Siwoo = 5 / Nari = 4 / Wonsik = 1 week

"Nari, Siwoo!" Taeyong called, his voice still soft, so as not to disturb the sleeping baby in the car seat in your arms.

"Daddy!" Nari exclaimed, running into the hallway, Taeyong scooping her up into his arms and spinning her around.

"Oh, baby girl!" Taeyong cooed, "I missed you!"

"Where's baby?" she asked, peering over Taeyong's shoulder.

You laughed, "he's here, Nari, don't worry."

"My little brother!" Nari cooed, wriggling out of Taeyong's arms to see the baby in the driver's seat.

“Our little brother!” Siwoo shouted, running after his little sister, crouching down to see the baby in the car seat.

“Careful, careful!” you chuckled, “you two have all the time in the world to see him, okay? He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Siwoo = 9 / Nari = 8 / Wonsik = 4

“It’s okay, Wonsik-ah,” Taeyong smiled.

Wonsik frowned, turning to you; that was not what he wanted to hear at all.

“Mummy, I’m nervous,” Wonsik pouted.

You chuckled, taking him into your arms and kissing his head, “I know you are, baby boy, but everyone has to go to school some day. Aren’t you excited to play with some new friends? And some of your cousins will be there!”

Wonsik protested, wriggling around in your arms.

“Look, Lee Wonsik, that’s not going to do anything. Why are you so nervous about going to school?” you asked, pulling him away from your chest so you could see your son’s face.

“I miss you and Daddy,” he whispered.

You laughed, pulling him close, “we’ll miss you too, Bubba.”

“Wonsik-ah,” Taeyong cooed, “Mummy even cried last night because of how much we’ll miss you! But school is fun, okay? You’re gonna have so much fun, buddy!”

“Wonsik-ah!” Siwoo called, “I’ll be at school too! And Nari! You can stay with us at break time and lunch.”

“I can?” Wonsik asked, his big eyes shining with the threat of tears, until his big brother spoke to him.

“Of course!” Nari smiled, “come on! We’re already dressed!”

Wonsik giggled, wriggling; now to get out of your arms, and down to the floor, ready to get dressed for his first day of school.

Siwoo = 11 / Nari = 10 / Wonsik = 6

“Wonsik! Throw me the iPad,” Siwoo said, motioning for his little brother to pass it over to him.

But Wonsik’s head hadn’t wrapped itself round all the different ins and outs of language yet, and his brother said what his brother said.

Lifting his arm into the air, he threw the iPad across the room.

“Wonsik! What the heck?!” Siwoo exclaimed, as the flying metal hit his arm and landed on the floor beside him, the screen cracking.

“Wonsik!” Nari shouted, the iPad being a shared possession between the three.

“What happened?” you called from the kitchen, Taeyong stood beside you, rolling his eyes.

“Wonsik threw the iPad!” Siwoo yelled, storming into the kitchen.

“He told me to,” Wonsik said, waddling in after him, a sad look in his eyes.

“Why would he have told you to throw it?” you asked.

“He said ‘throw me the iPad’,” Wonsik repeated.

“Yeah! And that means give it to me! Oh my god,” Siwoo seethed.

“Shh, calm down, Si,” Taeyong said, stroking his eldest son’s hair, “it was just a little misunderstanding, okay? We’re not mad at either of you.”

“Yeah but dad, look at the iPad!” Nari exclaimed.

“Is it cracked?” he asked.

“All over!” Siwoo huffed.

“We can get you a new iPad, guys,” Taeyong said, “can you two just apologise to each other please?”

“I’m sorry for throwing the iPad, Siwoo-hyung,” Wonsik muttered.

Siwoo frowned, “I’m sorry.”

“For...?”

“For... For shouting at you,” Siwoo said.

“Okay, I’ll get you guys a new iPad. Why don’t you play with Legos for now?”

Siwoo = 14 / Nari = 13 / Wonsik = 9

“It is 3 o’clock in the morning!” you yelled, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Taeyong, you’re killing yourself and you’re abandoning us!”

“I’m not abandoning anyone! I’m fucking working all for your guys!” Taeyong yelled back, both of you heated as you shouted back insults and arguments, most of them not even making sense.

“Wonsik-ah?” Nari called gently, pushing her younger brother’s door open, “you okay?”

You never meant for the kids to hear you, but you two were loud.

Wonsik nodded slowly, moving up in his bed, Nari coming to join him.

“You two are babies,” Siwoo said, but still came quickly into his little brother’s room, joining the two on the bed, “I’ll protect you.”

Siwoo = 17 / Nari = 16 / Wonsik = 12

“Hey, Siwoo-hyung?” Wonsik called sheepishly.

“Hmm?”

Siwoo didn’t look up from his textbook, furiously writing out notes.

“I– I just wanted to get your advice on something.”

“I’m a bit busy,” Siwoo sighed, looking up at his younger brother for the first time since he entered the room, “what’s it about?”

“Um... a girl.”

Siwoo smirked, sitting back in his chair, “oh yeah? Then I have plenty of time, what’s your question?”

“W-Well I wanted to confess. And I was going to on White Day but I don’t really know how...” Wonsik trailed off, he was so embarrassed, but he didn’t know who else to turn to, “can you help?”

“Our baby!” Siwoo cooed.

“Oh my god, fuck off,” Wonsik whined, going to leave, when Siwoo rolled his chair over and grabbed his wrist.

“Wait, wait, wait!” the elder laughed, “I’m just joking with you. What’s she like? Did she give you anything on Valentine’s Day?”

“Oh my god, who?” Nari asked, stopping her journey past Siwoo’s door.

“No!” Wonsik whined.

Siwoo cackled, “Wonsik has a crush.”

“Shut up!”

“Wants to confess,” Siwoo giggled.

Nari laughed, catching her little brother as he tried to leave.

“I’m helping,” Nari announced, shoving Wonsik onto the bed and sitting on the floor in front of him, “so, what’s she like?!”

Siwoo = 18 / Nari = 17 / Wonsik = 13

“Can you just fuck off?!”

“But you’re crying,” Wonsik said.

“Wow,” Nari scoffed, “really? I didn’t know.”

“Who’s crying?” Siwoo asked.

“Go away!” Nari yelled, throwing a stuffed toy from her bed at her brothers.

“Woah! That was so unprovoked!” Siwoo exclaimed.

“I just wanted to know why!” Wonsik laughed, “I’m sorry.”

“Why?! Why am I crying?!” Nari yelled, “I don’t know, maybe it’s because Hyunjin fucking cheating on me!”

The brothers were speechless, stood in the hallway as Nari slammed the door in their faces.

“Nari?” Wonsik finally said, after a pause.

“Just go away.”

“I have chocolate. I bought it on the way home from school today,” he continued, “do you wanna share?”

Siwoo smiled at his little brother’s heart, “I have this really good series we should watch as well, Ri!”

“What kind?”

“Plain.”

“Comedy.”

Nari paused, picking the toys up from where they’d landed by the door, “come in.”

Siwoo = 20 / Nari = 19 / Wonsik = 15

“Okay guys, we should leave Siwoo alone now,” Taeyong smiled, watching as you gave your son one last, long hug.

Nari sheepishly approached after you, her brother pulling her into a hug before she could.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered.

Siwoo chuckled, “no you won’t.”

Nari scoffed, pulling away with a sad smile.

“I’m literally gonna be back at Christmas!” he exclaimed, pulling his little brother into a hug, “next you’re gonna say you’ll miss me.”

Wonsik sniffled, “I will.”

Siwoo smiled, “you finally admit I’m cool, huh?”

“I’ve always said you were cool, actually,” Wonsik said, Siwoo laughing as he pulled away.

Siwoo put his hand on his little brother’s head, “be good, okay?”

Wonsik whined, joining Taeyong outside the door as Siwoo laughed, looking at Nari, “you too.”

“I’m going to college next year, don’t get too cocky.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go,” you chuckled, wiping away your tears, “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Bye Mum, bye Dad,” Siwoo smiled, waving, “bye guys!”

Wonsik and Nari laughed, walking backwards and waving until the moment they were out of sight from each other. Maybe they liked each other just a little bit more than they were each willing to admit.

Siwoo = 25 / Nari = 24 / Wonsik = 20

“Happy Birthday our Wonsik! Happy Birthday to you!”

“Don’t forget to make a wish!” you exclaimed, watching your youngest son blow out his candles.

“Does this mean we’re getting cake for breakfast?” Siwoo asked, looking at you and Taeyong.

Taeyong laughed, “buddy, you’re all adults now, we couldn’t tell you what to eat for breakfast even if we wanted to.”

“No! I’m not listening!” Nari exclaimed, “no way! I’m still 14!”

You laughed, “of course.”

“Hold on, why are you more distraught about your age?! Wonsik’s an adult, Nari,” Siwoo cringed, “how?! You were born like yesterday!”

Wonsik rolled his eyes, picking at the chocolate on top of his cake, “I really wasn’t.”

“It felt like it,” you commented.

“Yeah! I remember it!” Siwoo exclaimed.

Nari smiled, “so do I. Uncle Jisung was looking after us for a whole weekend.”

Taeyong sighed, “and now you’ve all become adults too fast.”

“I wouldn’t say it was that fast,” Wonsik said, “felt like fucking ages.”

“Oh you would say that, youngest sibling,” Siwoo tutted.

“Um, Wonsik! Language,” you scolded.

“Seriously?!” Wonsik exclaimed, Nari and Siwoo laughing at him, “Mum! I’m 20!”

“And I’m still your Mum? I’ll shout at all of you for swearing.”

“Not Siwoo!” Wonsik exclaimed.

“Well he’s the oldest, it’s different,” Taeyong shrugged.

“So unfair,” Nari laughed.

“Says you! Dad buys you literally everything!” Wonsik shouted.

“Oh my god no, you’re the most spoilt!” Siwoo cackled.

It didn’t really matter if they liked each other or not, in the end. They were still siblings; that’s all that matters.

[anntoldst0ries]

The Signs (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart 3, post Chapter 11 Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: 1.6k, T Summary: After moments of passion and confessions, Ethan finds himself unable to fall asleep. Category/Warnings: Fluff, None

A/N: They are riding on Hawaiian waves, I am riding on the wave of fluff.

He witnessed the scene countless times during his career.

People squeezed in hospital corridors on horribly uncomfortable plastic chairs, air filled with hope of receiving the good news on their loved ones’ health, shared by many souls simultaneously. Wives resting their heads on husbands’ shoulders, mothers holding children perseveringly, their arms and legs numb and asleep. Some of them unmoving, save for shallow breaths and occasional blinks. Tired, on the verge of emaciation, haven’t had a wink of sleep in god knows how long.

How were they doing this? Where did they take this superhuman strength from?

Ethan could never fully comprehend this.

It was the sort of power he never really experienced in his life.

Until now.

Because when Noelle’s head found its haven on the sea of his chest, there wasn’t anything he wanted more than to become completely still, to hold his breath and be the pillow of safety she nestles up to.

He’d do whatever it takes to preserve her sleep, which, right now, was the most fragile and precious thing in the world to him.

It was a sign.

They lay in the aftermath of the afterglow, two castaways of the storm called life which, despite hurting them both really badly, also helped them find each other.

Them against the world.

Tropical Hawaiian air, sticky and dense, filled the room already soaked with lust.

It was heavy, failing to provide even the slightest relief amidst pervasive heat.

Because it was the type of heat that didn’t have much to do with the temperature.

It was the ardor of lovers.

Written on their curves were the stories of worship and promises of stories yet to be told.

They claimed each other's bodies a couple of times this night, engulfed in waves of desire bigger and stronger than the ones breaking on the shore outside the hotel windows.

The tidal waves hitting them, every next one with more might then its predecessor, their whole world encapsulated in the sounds of pleasure.

And something else.

In those moments, they were so much more than just a combination of skin, bones, muscles and ligaments succumbing to the march of time.

They were everlasting.

As doctors, they were reminded of their own mortality every second of every working hour.

But now, they were invincible, only if for a night.

When they moved in perfect unison, he saw something in her eyes.

He didn’t know what to call it, but he knew what it felt like.

Unconditional.

Their clothes and belongings were scattered all over the floor, the only witnesses of the wedding night fever.

It was the type of mess that was actually a proof of a perfect order.

The only kind of disarray he could live in permanently.

Signs.

Every cell of Ethan’s body craved sleep. But his eyes were wide open, defying the laws of gravity. And his mind was on overdrive. He couldn’t help but reminisce.

Two years ago he kissed her for the first time.

He could tell you exactly what happened right before and after the kiss. He could describe every second, every detail, every thought. But when their lips touched, he forgot his own name. And everything else he thought he knew.

A year ago he was fighting for her life.

Back then, Ethan didn’t know how strong he really was. Until being strong was the only choice he had.

Today, she was right here beside him and it was almost surreal. She was so close that he would notice the rising and falling of her chest. The rhythm of her breath.

It took him long to believe they could have a happy ending.

Too long, he kept reprimanding himself.

Yet the signs were there, if one only looked.

They were all around.

Ethan thought of all the people who made him the man and the doctor he was today.

Dolores. His first patient turned friend, the tragic and unjust loss. Baby Ethan’s fight. The night when nature played the cruelest eye for an eye game. Life for life. The night he started seeing Noelle Valentine through a brand new lens. He never told anyone, but seeing them so vulnerable awoke something in him. His own sensitivity, buried beneath the layers of grumpiness and indifference. Thick doctor skin.

Naveen. Ethan wished he could wipe the images out of his head. Seeing the man who taught him everything shrink and almost disappear was one of the hardest things he had to face in his whole life. Truth be told, he only made it through because she shared the burden with him. Because she saved Naveen. This delicate, slightly-built woman. The warrior. His Noelle. She made him so proud.

Louise. What his mother did to him was beyond repair. The cross he carried with him, anywhere he went. But in a short period of time Noelle achieved something he couldn’t do for years. Forgive. Never forget. Forgive and finally understand that even broken souls deserve the unbreakable love.

Dad. The man who, despite all the adversities, always had time for his child. But that didn't stop Ethan from resenting Alan for always justifying what Louise did. He couldn't understand, even though it was so simple. Love. In the realms of medicine, Ethan was in his element. But the concept of unconditional love was estranged. Until he met her. Not only did she mend the broken fence between father and son, but also showed him that some things truly are unexplainable and can only be understood with heart, not mind.

Tobias - his former best friend then best rival and now...best not to talk about it too much. Only Noelle had the power of talking Ethan into considering looking at Tobias in a different light. She laughed at the idea of holding the grudge forever. She challenged him and called him out on his bullshit.

Every relationship that meant something to him, had irreversibly been impacted by the force of a once clueless intern.

She signed them all.

Suddenly, she peeled away from his chest and rolled over to the left, so that her back was now facing him. Having covered her with a thin sheet, his fingers brushed her shoulder blades ever so lightly, as if anything more than this could hurt her.

It took all the willpower in the world to stop himself, for he wanted to touch every single millimeter of her being.

He wanted to draw the maps on her back. Maps of all the places they are going to discover together. The highways of their world. The plans of all the cities they will tower over. Write the words of pure adoration. The stories yet to unfold.

At the risk of looking like a creep, he slowly inhaled her smell. He wished there was a way to capture and bottle it, so he could carry it with him everywhere. His favourite perfume in the whole wide world.

Noelle shuddered lightly and the tiny movement startled him. Maybe she was trying to shoo a bad dream away.

“You are just a few inches away… and this is the longest distance between us I’m willing to put. No more running.” He whispered and kissed her hair lovingly. As if on cue, her breath returned to its regular rhythm, the tension leaving her muscles.

Part of him hoped she was asleep. Another wished she’d heard every single word. After all, he wasn’t best at translating feelings into words. Or maybe he was actually afraid that once he started, nothing would stop him.

Not only from telling her how he’s never felt this way about anyone, but also how everything fades whenever she’s around. How all the hospital drama dissipates, because everything is figureoutable as long as he knows she’s safe and sound. How, if he couldn’t run, he’d walk. If he couldn’t walk, he’d crawl. To her.

Today has done something to him.

Celebration of Ines’ love. Zaid’s speech. Being surrounded by people he no longer considered co-workers only. His friends.

Ethan lied. “I've never felt this way about anyone... and I don't know if I ever will again." Because he is certain he never will again. But more importantly, he never wants to.

Words echoed throughout his head.

“What I didn't expect was to meet the kindest, sweetest, most amazing doctor I've ever known... and the best friend I've ever had.” That was exactly what happened to him when one intern crossed the threshold of Edenbrook hospital...and inadvertently his life.

A crazy thought was born in his head. Completely irrational. And not a bad idea.

He hoped Zaid wouldn’t mind if he’d stolen the line and used it for his wedding vows. That is, if she agreed to share the rest of her life with him. There was always a dose of uncertainty.

But the idea certainly didn’t sound so scary anymore. Quite the contrary.

~~~

Noelle woke up in a couple of paradises simultaneously.

The tropical paradise.

The physical paradise of total satisfaction.

The paradisiacal view of Ethan Ramsey’s perfect body.

“Good morning.” She murmured to the man on the balcony, who, despite the heavenly view of Hawaii stretching behind him, had his eyes set firmly on her.

“Good morning indeed.” He replied with an unknown sweetness in his voice, that surprised even him.

And he really meant it.

This was a good sign.

Fantastic even.

Maybe the best one ever.

~~

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@openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

[a-cupof-jo]

Pitcher’s Plate

Y/n loves baseball. Has since she was a child. After giving it up her freshman year, she never thought she would play competitively again. That is until baseball star and long time friend Jung Jaehyun needs her help.

High School Baseball Star!Jaehyun x childhoodfriend!reader

friends to lovers 

Words: 2.9k

Warning(s): a few swear words, baseball inaccuracies

~~

In through the nose.

Out through the mouth.

Elbow aligned.

Back Straight.

Don’t freeze up.

Just breath.

You wind up, adrenaline running through your veins.

You lunge forward and release.

~

You gasped as the sound went through the park. Jung Jaehyun had never been an idiot. Everyone knew that the school’s star pitcher was smart and quick on his feet. Usually, that knowledge was used more on the field and less in the classroom, but this time you weren’t sure as his bat clattered to the ground. His face twisted with pain as he held his arm to his chest. It’s broken.

That idiot blocked the baseball flying for his head with his arm.

Taeil, the assistant coach, jumped out of the ball pit and ran towards home plate as the umpire called for a time out. Your view of their conversation was blocked by none other than Kim Doyoung. The raven haired baseball captain quickly joined their conversation.

You gave up trying to see Jaehyun and looked out to see the other pitchers team gathered. Kim Mingyu is easily Jaehyun’s biggest rival. Ever since freshman year both Jaehyun and Mingyu had been starting pitchers for their respective schools. Your blood boiled as you saw the smug look laced across Mingyu’s face. Of course he did it on purpose. Bottom of the last inning, down 2 to 3, and our star pitcher, one of our last chances for winning, down and out. You were half way out of your seat when a hand grabbed your forearm.

“Go Jaehyun! You’ve got it.” you glared at Jungwoo and looked back at the park just in time to see Jaehyun throw a single finger jester at us. You thought you heard a couple of girls gasp. Their image of kind, calm star pitcher Jaehyun completely shattered. Doyoung shook his head in amusement. Jungwoo shrugged and tried to hold in his laughter. After knowing the three of them for over 11 years, you knew a little teasing would be fine, but concern slipped back to the front of your mind.

Jaehyun threw his good hand up at what Taeil said. Words spilled out of his mouth and Taeil pointed to the dugout. He continued speaking and threw his hand to first base.

“That idiot,” you muttered as he kicked his bat away and stalked to first base. You watched as Taeil and Doyoung exchanged a look. Taeil sighed and picked up Jaehyun’s bat making his way to the dugout.

Doyoung took his place at the batting mound. While he didn’t seem like the athletic type, Doyoung always surprised others. He wasn’t the best on the team, but he had a natural way of leading others and knew how to play in order to win. There were two people on the bases, Jaehyun and Mark. Doyoung just needed to hit it far enough to get Mark to score a run. They could tie up the game. You watched as Doyoung swung one strike, then a second. Miraculously, the third pitch connected with his bat and the ball was sent flying. The crowd yelled as the players shot across the bases. Mark hit home plate as Jaehyun came around third. The baseball flew back towards infield. Taeil yelled for Jaehyun to stop, but Jaehyun didn’t listen. He raced for home plate trying to beat the ball. Chaos sounded as Jaehyun slid forward and a ball hit the catcher’s mit.  

“Safe,” the umpire called. The crowd went in an uproar, but you couldn’t look away from where Jaehyun lay his arm tucked between his chest and knees.

~~

You stormed through the crowd. “Excuse me,” you heard an indignant scoff from behind you. Jungwoo was by your side. His tall frame looked over the crowd, leading you towards Jaehyun.

“Weren’t we amazing,” you hear Jaehyun crooned as you slip through a gap of people.

Jungwoo smiled and hugged Doyoung, “You were both spectacular."

"I don’t think that’s the word I would use,” Taeil greeted from behind the two. He frowned at Jaehyun. “I’m not happy with the fact that you went against what I suggested.”

“Like you just said,” Jaehyun grinned. “It was a suggestion."

Taeil frowned, “I don’t wanna be the one explaining to your father why you didn’t come off the field.” He nodded as Mr. Jung walked up to talk to the head coach. Taeil sighed as he walked towards the two.

“You know y/n,” Jungwoo spoke with a slight lith. “You should fill in for Jaehyun.” You stood still. The last time you had played competitively was freshman year. You had made it on the high schools varsity softball team as a pitcher. You guys had gone to state, but in the last game you froze. You couldn’t throw a pitch. The team had lost and you walked away from competitive baseball, permanently. You couldn’t join the boys team as a pitcher. Besides, the coach and the boys wouldn’t let you.

“No way in hell,” Doyoung stepped in. “Y/n cannot join the boys baseball team. Especially not as a pitcher."

You started to defend yourself, but Jungwoo had already called over Taeil.

"Taeil, don’t you think y/n would make a great pitcher in place of Jaehyun?”

Taeil stared at you for a second before nodding, “It would be a difficult transition to the men’s team, but y/n has the skill."

Doyoung grunted at Taeil’s words. He went to insert his 2 cents when a voice spoke. "Jaehyun,” Mr. Jung rested a hand on the shoulder of the uninjured arm. “Come on. We need to get that looked at as soon as possible.” Jaehyun’s face fell as he looked down at his arm.

“Hey, chin up,” you grin. “Now you can focus on other things, like your school work. I thought I heard Ms. Joy say something about some missing work from you."

Jaehyun shot a glowering look at you. You grinned and blew a kiss at him. He promptly grabbed it out of the air before throwing it to the ground a grin now on his face. You smiled back at him as he walked away. You turned back to your friends as a look passed between them.

"What?” You tilt your head.

“Nothing,” Jungwoo sang. He wrapped an arm around you before pointing at Doyoung. “We still on for tomorrow?"

Doyoung nodded as he walked away, "I’ll see you both tomorrow.” He turned to walk backwards, “10 am. Don’t be late.”

~~

You loved the small ball park. As a kid, you, Doyoung, Jaehyun, and Jungwoo would come down on Saturdays and practice throwing, catching, and hitting. The tradition continued as you guys got older, eventually Jaehyun and Doyoung started to invite a few guys to play small scrimmages. Jungwoo walked next to you as you entered. Doyoung stood stretching his limbs. “You’re late.”

“Only by a few minutes,” you check your watch, seeing 10:07 flash across. Jaehyun sat on a bench nearby, his arm wrapped in a cast. “Hey, sunshine,” you sit next to him taking note of the splotchy skin and bags under his eyes. “Rough night? How’s the arm?”

“Fractured. Of course we couldn’t figure that out right away because my dad wanted to go to Urgent Care instead of the ER,” he sighed.

“Hey there’s nothing wrong with urgent care.”

He shook his head, “I’m not saying there is, but there is a problem when he gets lost, can’t find it, and refuses to use a GPS. I had to wait another hour and a half after the game to even see a doctor”

You cringe, “I’m sorry.” He gave you a sad smile. A sting came from your back and you yelped, “Hey!”

“Come on, we need our pitcher!” Doyoung stood at the home plate. You glared at him.

“I thought you didn’t want me as your pitcher,” you brought up the conversation from the night before. You wave as you notice Yuta and Winwin standing at two of the bases. It was nice to see some of the team out playing recreationally. “But, now you do? Make up your mind. Am I good or not?”

Doyoung ignored your malice, “You’re not a bad pitcher, y/n. You know that.” He watched you as you stood at the pitcher mound. “I just don’t want you on my team.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just because you’re the captain doesn’t mean you own the team.”

“Can we just play, please,” Jungwoo spoke up from the third base.

You grinned at him. Turning to Doyoung you adjusted your grip on the ball. You could easily strike him out with a few curve balls. It was your best pitch. You’d perfected it at a young age. Since your older brother, Taeyong, also played baseball he took it upon himself to teach you everything he knows, and you’re thankful for it. You knew he was never devoted to the sport like you are, but he had a natural talent for it. Before Jaehyun was the star, it was Taeyong. You loved your older brother. Expectations were high for you. Everyone thought that you were going to be the queen of softball. Between being best friends with Jaehyun and Doyoung, and having Taeyong as an older brother you knew you had to be the best. The pressure was too great and when push came to shove you broke. So, despite your gut telling you to become the next varsity pitcher, you decided not to. You pull your arm back before letting the ball fly. Strike one.

~~

Crushes are weird things. You can never be certain the other person reciprocates your feelings. You also can’t be sure that it won’t ruin a friendship. You’ve known Jaehyun since he moved across the street from you when you were five. Through every period of life you’ve grown with him. When the summer after sophomore year started, so did another period of life. Jaehyun had always been a handsome kid, you’ve thought that your entire life, and the pictures you have from your childhood prove that. When you had entered high school, you noticed that other people also noticed Jaehyun’s looks. It didn’t bother you. Jaehyun could like whomever he wanted. Until, you realized that you also started noticing Jaehyun. Not only for his looks, but also for his kind heart. And how he always smelled so nice.

Why did he have to smell so nice? You tried not to breathe deeply as he stood close to you. “Show me how you pitch.”

“Why,” you broke out of your reverie. The two of you stood in the middle of the playing field after the scrimmage was over and everyone had gone home.

He shrugged, “I just want to show you something.” You frown before preparing to throw. “Stop,” he put his hand on your shoulder. “When you’re preparing to throw you need to make sure you keep your back straight,” he pulled back on your shoulder. “We can’t have you slouching like an old lady.”

“I thought you were trying to help.”

“I am,” he grinned. “Now show me what it looks like when you throw it.” You rock forward to throw it and he stops your arm before you release, “You need to keep your elbow in line with your body. Here,” he stepped up behind you and adjusted your arm. “You’re a great pitcher but your form is terrible. I guess Taeyong can only teach you so much.” he quieted.

“And what does my form have to do with anything,” you asked, standing up straight. “It doesn’t matter if I’m only playing recreationally.”

Jeahyun took a deep breath and stepped in front of you. “It matters because,” he looked you straight in the eye. “I want you to try out as the new pitcher.”

~~

“Don’t you dare try out.”

“I’m having a great day. Thank you for asking.” You close your locker. Doyoung stood next to you.

Doyoung frowned, “I’m serious, y/n. Don’t try out today.”

“How did you even know that I was thinking about trying out today,” you crossed your arms. Doyoung shrugged but his eyes moved down the hall to where Jaehyun stood. “Don’t worry Doyoung I’m not trying to upstage you. I won’t be trying to get into your guys testosterone party.” You turned and walked to your next class. It was going to be a long day. Tryouts were after lunch, which was after this class. Even though you brought your gear you were still trying to decide if you actually wanted to join tryouts.

“I don’t get why he’s so adamant about me not trying out,” you confided in Jaehyun as both walked towards the lunch room. “I know that I can make it through.”

“He does too,” Jaehyun stopped as you opened your locker. “That’s what he’s afraid of. That you’ll actually make the team and then when it matters you’ll freeze.”

“So he doesn’t believe in me,” you turned. At Jaehyun’s hesitation, you felt yourself heat up. Slamming the door shut, you stormed to lunch. It doesn’t take you long to see him. His back was towards you as he conversed with Jungwoo. You saw a variety of emotions filter across his face. He pointed at you. Doyoung turned and stood as you approached him. “I can’t believe you! You think that I’ll freeze up.”

“Who told you?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I knew I shouldn’t have told Jaehyun.”

“So it’s true you think that I’m going to freeze up,” you felt tears sting your eyes. “Screw you, Kim Dongyoung. That happened once.” You turned on your heel slipping past Jaehyun. You rushed towards the locker room. You don’t need his approval. You’re going to tryout if not for anything more than to spit, Kim Dongyoung.

~~

You looked up as you heard people walk in. The current team made their way through the room. Jaemin, the current relief pitcher, stopped as he spotted you, “You’re a girl.”

“What gave it away,” you spat. Jaehyun stood next to you grinning.

“Are you sure you want to be trying out for a guys team?” Jaemin raised his eyebrow.

You glared at him, “What are you insinuating.”

He raised his hands, “I’m just calling it like I see it.” He leaned forward, “And you look like you’re about to be eaten alive.”

You gulped slightly as he grinned and walked out of the room. “Don’t worry about him. All the guys are harmless.” You tried to give Jaehyun a confident grin, but you went so sure. Even Yuta and Winwin, whom you played with on the weekends, seemed intimidating right now. “Just go out and show ‘em what you got.” You stood and wiped your hands on your pants. Grabbing your mit you gave Jaehyun a small smile. He smiled back, “Good luck.”

You kept to yourself as you warm up. Taeil walked by and gave your shoulder a squeeze. “You’re going to do great. You’ve got the former pitcher vouching for. Coach values Jaehyun’s opinion.” You took a breath as confidence filled you.

You stopped as Jaemin moved in front of you, “I’m sorry but I was warming up here first.” You told him with as much authority as possible.

“I’m actually on the team,” he crossed his arms.

You started to tell him off when a voice called out, “Jaemin, come warm up with me!” you looked over to see a shorter tan boy you recognized as the second baseman wave him over. He smiled as he saw you look over at him. Jaemin frowned and stalked away.

You took a deep breath as Taeil called you over. Stepping up to the mound you looked over to see Jaehyun sitting in the stands. Taeil stood ready to track your ball speed.  You paused as you watched Jaehyun give you the sign to throw a four seam fastball. You gave him a confused look to which he re-signed a four seam fastball. Maybe he thought that pitch  was better than your curveball. In this moment, you had to trust. You adjusted your grip on the ball.

Straight back.

Elbow aligned.

Lunge and release.

The ball thudded against the catcher, Kun’s glove.

Taeil stared down at the number. “83 mph.”

That’s fast. That’s really fast. You knew that you had a fast pitch but to be at the top of the average for high school guys.

Shit.

You are damn fine.

~~

Your heart hammered as you walked through the room. The tension was different. After the coach called you last night, you knew that you had to wait to tell your parents. Jaehyun already knew. You couldn’t tell Jungwoo. You weren’t sure if Doyoung knew. The two of you hadn’t spoken a word to each other since the afternoon before. After today, you weren’t sure the two of you would ever be friends again.

You stepped into the light and walked towards the group of boys that stood facing Taeil and the coach. Taeil smiled as he saw you approach. “Okay team, I’m sure you all are anxious to know who your new pitcher for the rest of the season will be,” Taeil glanced down at the clipboard in his hands. “We saw a lot of promising talent yesterday, but had to make a decision. So in addition to Jaemin I would like to introduce the new pitcher. Please make her feel welcome,” he gestured to you. You felt frozen as all eyes turned toward you.  “Y/n y/l/n.”

~~

*Reposted from previos blog*

~~

Tag list: @qianinterprises @stayctday

[wwilloww]

tell me what you want | myg

pairings: Yoongi/Reader, (mentions of Yoongi/Namjoon and Namjoon/OC)

genre: 18+. nonidol!au. friends to lovers.

word count: 5.7k

warnings: alcohol use. pining. some minor angst. smut. pwp. penetrative sex. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). creampie. fluff.

summary: Yoongi teaches you how to ask for what you want.

a/n: This is my very first attempt at writing fanfiction and smut! Thanks so much to my friends Carl and A for supporting me through the writing process and for encouraging me. If you enjoy this, leave a comment: I am so excited to hear what you think!

do not copy, repost, or translate without explicit permission from the author.

The pounding in your head matches the pounding in your chest.

You thought you would be fine, surrounded by your friends. And you are, in a way. After a couple of drinks the tension in your chest has eased and it’s easier to fall into conversation with strangers and friends alike.

After years of hard work and careful saving, you’ve purchased your first apartment. Tonight, you’re hosting a housewarming party that has quickly turned into a full-on house party. There’s nothing like a little spilled beer to baptize a new home.

With the music blasting, and good friends at your side, you almost forget why you’re feeling uncomfortable in the first place: Yoongi.

He’s been a good friend of yours for a long time. You had met back in college, having been paired up for a group project. But when the assignment was completed and turned in, you never stopped hanging out. He kept showing up at your door, beer and pizza in hand and a gummy smile spreading across his face until he was a steady constant in your life. But recently things have started to take a turn. It was a gradual process. Like water slipping underneath the door, your feelings snuck in quietly and devastatingly. And like a slow flood, there was no stopping their gradual rise.

At first you admired him. How caring he was. How intelligent he was. The way his signature no-funny-business attitude took over when he was deep in the process of his passions. How he always seemed to know exactly what to say, while it always took you an extra second to come up with that snappy comeback. How, when he took a second to put his thoughts together, his words spilled like poetry from his lips.

Before you knew it, there was something strange and fluttery pooling in your stomach everytime his name popped up on the screen of your phone or when your friends mentioned he would be stopping by.

You didn’t expect Yoongi to return the feelings. He was always kind to you, helping you with the move, showing up for you at a drop of a hat. But that’s all you thought it was: kindness.

Still, knowing he didn’t feel the same way about you didn’t change the fact that it felt like you had been punched in the gut when you walked into the kitchen and found a very tall and wildly handsome man draped all over Yoongi.

It seemed effortless, the way the strange man so casually ran his fingers through Yoongi’s hair as they chatted with some of your friends. What was this sinking feeling in your gut?

It wasn’t jealousy. At least not over Yoongi’s redirected attention. Instead, you envied the ease with which the beautiful man held onto Yoongi. The way his desire pooled openly in his eyes and settled comfortably throughout his entire body.

Even if you had enough courage to make a move—and enough validation to know it wouldn’t be squandered—you had no idea how to. Every time your interest rose, it became trapped in your throat, leaving you frozen and confused.

With the pit in your stomach still open and yawning, you proceed into the kitchen, slipping your hand into one of your friend’s and tugging her to the counter where you uncap a bottle of vodka out of the cabinet and pull two shot glasses towards you.

“Hana, who—,” you begin to whisper-ask, but you’re interrupted.

“Shots!” a familiar baritone sings into your ear. Yoongi was standing wildly close, his arm already reaching around you to grab a shot glass and then to press you into his side. You stiffen, feeling your heart jump out of your chest at the sudden proximity. “You want one?” he asks the beautiful stranger.

“Only if you’re having one,” the man winks at Yoongi.

“Of course,” Yoongi replies with a coy smile. You feel oddly trapped between the intensity of the two men, the chemistry between them burning. Still, Yoongi winds his arm tight around your waist and, as if its second nature, your hand comes to rest on his stomach. You two could look like a couple like this. You’re not sure if it’s just you, but you think he pulls you closer and when you instinctively grab onto the thin fabric of his shirt, the smooth planes of his stomach tense under your touch.

“Oh,” Yoongi breaks his gaze from the man to look down at you. “By the way, this is Namjoon.”

Your eyes widen for a moment. So this is the infamous Namjoon. Yoongi’s ex. You had been hearing about the complicated ins and outs of their relationship for the past year, usually only after Yoongi had a couple of beers. But Yoongi had never brought Namjoon around to meet his friends, because, quote, “It’s just not that serious.” But here Namjoon was, standing in front of you. While Namjoon had ended things in their most recent breakup, it seemed as if tonight he was doing his best to mend his relationship with Yoongi. Either way, you wipe the surprise off of your face and smile at the man.

“And Namjoon, this is one of my closest friends in the world. She’s the best.”

The f-word hits a little harder than you’d like it to, but you grin up at Yoongi anyways, giving him a playfully light shove.

“Ah, stop, you flatter me,” you tease, but the words seem to fall flat.

The four of you take the shots of vodka with hisses and groans as the burning liquid slides down your throats. Slamming his glass down on the counter, first, Yoongi watches you finish your shot straightfaced.

“Never seen someone make taking a shot look so attractive,” he teases you, laughing.

Still, you blush from his comment. It’s too much. You pull away from Yoongi’s unwavering hold on your waist and tug Hana towards the living room where dancers have congregated.

“I want to dance!” You say, a little too cheerfully.

Hana throws you a sideways glance but ultimately understands. She wraps her arm around your shoulder as you join the group of bopping dancers.

“Let’s distract you,” she says, dramatically spinning you into a dip and you can’t help but giggle at your friend’s absurdity. She holds you tight against her for a song or two, before you break away to dance sporadically as one of your favorite songs comes on.

Here, away from Yoongi, it’s easier to lose yourself, surrounded by your favorite people, the vodka paving a liquid ease through your body. It’s easier to close your eyes and let the bass carry your thoughts.

When you open your eyes, you see Namjoon twirling Hana in a clumsy rendition of a jive, and Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

The lights go out and a cheer rises up from the living room. The music pauses for a moment before switching to a more sensual groove. You let out a whoop, throw your head back, and start to roll your hips. The only thing lighting the room is a lava lamp that is precariously passed around.

It’s not long before you feel a gentle hand on your back and you find yourself leaning into it, not a single question in your mind. Without looking to see who it is, you reach behind you and pull them flush against your back. It feels good to lean into someone, to have someone wrapped around you--not to mention the hand sliding up your side to rest on your waist does wonders for your bruised ego.

Namjoon is smirking at you as he sways against Hana.  

You push your hips back. They meet your movements with their own grinding hips and you can feel strong hands tracing up your sides to guide you into them. Closer. Tracing circles against one another, following, as if with one mind, a shared rhythm.

You know the heat building in you is part this, part the worn-out out tension you feel whenever you’re around Yoongi. But you want to let go. You want to lean into this stranger and just let them take it all away. They press you against them, and you can feel their breath brush against your neck--hot and light and so delightful. You let your neck roll to the side, giving them better access to your warm skin. Fingers trace down the slope of your neck, skate down your side, and press into you. But the pleasure of their heavy touch only lasts for a second because then those same hands are turning you around and you’re face to face with Yoongi’s blooming red cheeks and warm, indecipherable eyes.

You falter through your next movement and Yoongi takes the opportunity to maneuver you through a graceful twirl out onto the dance floor and then back into his arms. It only takes you a moment before you catch up and soon the two of you are dancing, too close for your own good.

If you could just fall into this. Into his hands, into his touch—without explanation, without expectation and let the sinful pleasure of the moment cradle you. Yet, you know that it will never be enough. To answer this desire, even for a moment, is to split yourself open for him.  

He meets your movements with his own hips, and this small moment of synergy is enough to send a wave of warmth shooting up your spine.  

He leans down, and tucks your hair behind your ear.

His lips brush against you as he whispers, “I want to talk.”

“Not now.”

You try to pull him back into the music, but he steps away.

“We can continue when we can talk,” he says sternly, but his eyes betray something kind as he pinches your chin.

Namjoon leans over to you, as if he had heard the entire exchange. “His bisexual ass is so hard to pin down, you know, metaphorically—but also physically,” he winks at you.

“Let her be,” Yoongi chuckles, but there’s an edge to his voice. Still, he takes Namjoon’s arm and pulls him to the kitchen, reaching up to his ear to say something to him that you don’t quite catch. The pair step into the adjoining room, where Namjoon proceeds to wrap Yoongi in a hug that feels almost too intimate to watch.

You do your best to distract yourself in the blaring music and your friends, but you can’t help but keep Yoongi in the corner of your eye. Within you, a new and uncomfortable tension rises—and you don’t understand it. You already knew he wasn’t interested. Nothing tonight has proven you otherwise.

By the time the party begins to wind down, you’re left stunningly sober and with glasses and half-eaten food all over the apartement.

You wave goodbye to your friends as the crowd trickles out of your new home. Yoongi helps you find misplaced jackets, and as Hana and Namjoon collect their things and head towards the door, Yoongi leans up to Namjoon and presses a kiss against his cheek.

“Get home safe, okay?” he says, chuckling at his ex’s inebriated stumble towards the door.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he does,” Hana sings as the door closes behind the pair.

Yoongi immediately turns to start picking up glasses and brings them to the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you go back with him?” you ask.

“Hana seemed like she was perfectly capable of taking care of him tonight.”

You shot him a confused glance, which he caught. He sets down the glasses he was holding in the sink and turned to you.

“You know me and Namjoon are over right?”

“I don’t know if he knows that.”

Yoongi laughs. “You know—He and Hana—they’re hooking up. He was here for her, not for me.” He chuckles, leaning back with such composure against the kitchen sink. “Sure, we’re still close, but that’s over.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well, you know you don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

“I know,” he says gently, coming over to where you’re drying some dishes to lean his head on your shoulder. “But I want you to know these things, I—,” he takes a deep breath as if he’s steeling himself. “I want to talk about what happened earlier.”

You push away from him and head to the kitchen. “I don’t think there’s really anything to talk about,” you gulp. He follows you anyway.

“I want to talk,” he says again. His voice is level and dry.

“I don’t.”

Your eyes widen as he steps closer and leans over you.

He’s got one hand pressed firmly against the wall by your head. With the other hand, he pulls a streamer out of your hair. But that’s not what you’re focused on. He’s caged you in, towering over you, something dark and unknowable in his gaze.

“Then why make eyes at me all night?” he asks, slowly. “It seems like you want to talk.”

You don’t have an answer, but still you manage to stutter, “I...I just...I have nothing to say.”

“Ah. So this has nothing to say to me?” His hand comes up to cup your face, a calloused thumb running over your burning cheek. As if on instinct, you lean into his touch. It’s been so long since someone touched you like this, like you were something delicate.

He watches your expression carefully, a glimmer of a smirk playing on his lips. “Or this?” He reaches down to grab your hand before drawing it up to brush your palm against your ribcage. Beneath your hand your breath is fluttering—heavy and inconsistent. “Or this?” He draws the pair of your hands upwards to cup the swell of your breast. He spreads his palm over yours, fingers pressing into you. Despite the audacity of his current moves, his touch is gentle and feather-light.

He can feel your heart pounding beneath his touch, pounding like it wants to escape.

“I affect you...” he said, as if the notion surprised him too.

“No. You don’t,” you stutter, your face flushing with the lie.

“...just like you affect me,” he finishes.

“What?” You’re shocked to hear those words fall from his lips.

He smirks down at you.  

“Mhmm.”

He leans down to press a kiss against the corner of your mouth.

You stiffen and he pulls back slightly, searching your eyes, waiting for you, waiting for permission. Some very loud voice tells you that to give in is to give yourself up. But then, if his lips on yours isn’t a sign, you’re just not sure what will be.

You barely give it a moment before you pull his taller frame fully to you and press your lips against his. He falters, shocked by the crack in you that he’s finally seeing through. And then he comes to his senses and kisses you back, wrapping his hand behind your head where his fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of your neck. His other hand comes to the gentle valley of your lower back, pressing your torso to his. This kiss is a gentle and nervous search and you find your insides fluttering against his touch.

And then he’s pulling away, taking a half step back and the fear that you thought you had put out of your mind is rushing back in like the tide.

As Yoongi pulls away from your lips, he can feel the crack closing. He can feel you slipping away again. Your eyes shift downward, and you use one arm to wrap around your torso.

“Does that give you anything to say?”

If you didn’t before, you definitely don’t now. It’s as if his touch has stilled every thought in you. Has quieted the voices—all of them—the nagging voice, the one that tells you he’s too good to be true.

“I don’t know how to say it,” you finally murmur.

The silence draws out between the two of you.

“You have to tell me what you want,” he says, shaking his head. “I can’t keep guessing.”

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to say something.

There is this gnawing ache in you, a dull throb in your chest that wants so badly to reach out to him and pull him back into your arms and never let him go. From this place comes a desperate need for him to know just how you deeply feel about him. And yet, as the words rise to your throat, they stop on your tongue. As if by uttering your own desire you will shatter into a thousand pieces.

Fear. That’s what this is.

Your name falls off his lips and you bring yourself to look him in the eyes, your hands still gripping the front of his shirt.

Looking down at you—your eyes wide, your flushed chest, your lips blooming red from his attentions—his heart breaks as he says these next words, “I can’t do this if you can’t talk to me.” His words hit like a boulder dropped on your chest. Your eyebrows shoot up in shock but still, you say nothing.

He nods. Your silence is enough of an answer for him. He turns away from you and swings his jacket over his shoulder, his heart shattering. His hand is on the doorknob.

“Yoongi,” you call. He stops in the doorway. He thinks his name sounds like a song when you say it. “I’m sorry.”

He turns back to you  just enough that you see a sad smile tugging at his lips.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hating everything you’ve done up to this point. Hating your cowardice. Hating the part of yourself that stops in fear at every chance of getting close to someone. Of opening up and allowing someone to see that you want, that you crave.  

With every ounce of strength you can muster, you push past the doubt, you push past the fear. At last the words are tumbling from your mouth:

“Yoongi, I want you.” Your eyes are still squeezed shut, as if by keeping them closed there’s a chance you can reel your words back in. “I want to let go.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

He strides back from the doorway to you, his eyes burning, a real smile spreading across his face. He presses himself against you again, but this time his movements aren’t searching and hesitant. You’ve both waited so long, there’s nothing to hold back. He lowers his lips to yours before letting his mouth travel over your chin and down your neck. Goosebumps spread like a tide across your skin.

“I need to know you want me too,” you gulp, your fingers tangled in his hair.

“Good girl,” he mumbles against your neck, working his teeth and his tongue against the sensitive skin. “Telling me what you want.” You flush at the praise. “I want you, not just this, but you.”

He bites down on your lip, loving the way your grasp tightens around him and a small oh slips out of you. “I want to wake up with you and fall asleep with you,” his eyes meet yours, “and see you like this, all fucked out and needy for me, every night.” He runs a thumb across your lower lip, loving the way the swollen flesh parts for him. “Do you want that?” You gasp against him, barely getting an mhmm out as he sucks a bruise into your neck.

“Use your words.”

“I do. I want it, too.”

He pulls away from you, holding your head in his large hands. The soft smile spreading across his face is the most delightful thing you’ve seen. It gives you courage.

He’s not lying. He wants you.

Before you can unravel and doubt the thought, you take his hand, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it as you lead him to your bedroom. He follows without a second’s hesitation, and this moment—you leading without a single question fluttering in your mind—brings something singing and happy to the surface. All that is left is clear and clean and throbbing.

Gently, he guides you onto your back and crawls on top of you, lifting your shirt to kiss and nip up your belly. When he gets to your chest, he pushes your shirt and bra up and latches onto one of your nipples. Your back arches and the buds raise and pucker as his tongue swirls around one before he bites down.

“Oh,” is all you manage to get out. It comes out breathy and Yoongi thinks it’s the most divine sound he’s ever heard.

“All good?” he asks.

“Good—good, keep going.”

Yoongi pays each breast due attention, sucking and biting in the perfect mix of pain and pleasure, before sitting back on his heels. Beneath him, you couldn’t be more gorgeous, hair spread against the pillow, face and chest flushed. In this moment, your guard is down and he’s never seen you this stunning, your body relaxed and preened with desire. Desire for him.

His bulge strains painfully against his jeans. He wants nothing more but to rip off your pants and take you right now, but first he wants to draw more of those beautiful sounds out of you.

Yoongi smirks, an idea crossing his mind, as he continues to play with your nipples. Just enough to keep your eyes fluttering in pleasure, but not nearly enough to bring you the sense of fulfillment you’re desperately searching for.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” he says.

Your eyes snap open, searching his. All you find is mischief.

“I want you to touch me.”

“I am touching you.” He slows his ministrations to mere palming.

“No,” you whine, “I want you to touch me.”

“Don’t make me pull it out of you. Tell me exactly what you want.”

He wants to see you beg.

“I want you to touch my pussy. I want your fingers in me. I need you closer,” you all but gush.

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos at you. “Get undressed.”

Hastily, you move to slip your shirt and bra over your head and shimmy your jeans down your legs. Once you’re left in nothing but your underwear, he leans down to kiss you gently, like all of the tenderness in the world could be captured between your lips.

“Turn over.”

You roll over, onto your belly, twisting back in time to see him pull off his shirt. He moves towards you, straddling the backs of your legs and spreading his palms across your ass. “So pretty,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. He slides his finger underneath the band of your underwear before roughly tugging them down, but not all the way off.

Before you know it, the pads of his fingers are brushing against your dripping cunt, exploring the part of you that he only imagined ever getting to see, let alone touch.

“So wet already. Is this all for me?” he asks. You nod into the pillow. With one hand still drawing lazily through your folds, he grabs your hand and guides it to the prominent bulge in his pants. You gasp when you feel how hard he is.

“Do you see what you do to me? I’ve been this way since you thought it would be a good idea to grind your pretty little ass on me in front of all of those people.”

You moan at the words dropping freely and easily from his mouth—a moan cut short by Yoongi thrusting two fingers into your cunt and starting on a nearly punishing pace. Your hands come back up to grab onto the sheets beside your head.

“I want to get you nice and ready for me. Can I stretch you out so you can take me?” It’s more of a statement than a question, but still, you nod, desperately wanting him to, desperately wanting to please him. With two fingers in you, his thumb begins to press at and circle around your swollen clit.

You moan incoherently into the pillow and push your hips back towards him.

He’s watching your every move, lapping up every delicious sound that falls from your lips. He wants to know exactly what will make you tick, what will bring that gorgeous flush to your face—and he’ll do anything to earn it.

All of a sudden, he’s hitting someplace soft and spongy within you, over and over, and it’s like you’ve been shoved off a cliff, tumbling forward in your pleasure. Your orgasm washes over you before you can even say anything. It comes fast and hard and breathlessly. You clench helplessly around his fingers and he outwardly groans at the sight.

“Did you just come?” he asks, incredulously. He pulls his fingers from you and wipes them on his pants.

“I think so,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath, rolling over and propping yourself up on your elbows.

He chuckles.

“That was the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your already rosy cheeks somehow manage to flush even more. He reaches forward to brush your hair out of your face.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks. “We don’t have—”

“No, I want to,” you sit up to reach towards his lips and hook your fingers into the belt loops on his pants. “I want you.”

“Yeah?”

“I want your cock. I want to make you feel good.” You slide your hand to cup his growing erection through his pants and he trembles under your touch.  

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Take your pants off,” you order, not sure where this boldness is coming from, but relishing in the way it courses through you. The clarity of it, like a rain-bloated river flowing after months of drought.

He does as you say, standing up from the bed to roll his pants down his legs. When he rejoins you on the comforter, he’s just in his boxers.

“Off,” you say as you kiss him. “Take them off.”

He peels them off.

You lock gazes with him and reach down to wrap your hand around his cock. You don’t look away: You want to see every moment of pleasure unravel on his face. You want to know you are the source of his pleasure.

You are rewarded with a moan as you begin to stroke him, rolling your thumb over the head to collect the precum that’s gathered there. He thrusts up into your grasp as you tighten your grip and begin to move a little bit faster. But then just as you begin to lean down to take him in your mouth, his hand comes to rest on yours and he pulls you back up, stopping your movements.

His hand soon comes down to rest on yours, stopping your movements.

“God,” he gasps. “I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”

You pout. “But I want to make you feel good.”

“Don’t worry, you are,” he chuckles. But you’re still frowning. He presses a kiss to your lips, pulling your torso against his. “There’s no rush to do everything tonight. We have all the time in the world.” His words make your heart swell.  

He guides you onto your back as he comes to straddle you again, hand slowly stroking up and down his length.

“And you want to do this?” he asks. “Like I said, there’s no rush.”

You nod eagerly, biting your lip.

“Good. Spread yourself for me.”

You reach down and spread your lips apart. Despite the simplicity of the action, you can’t help blushing at the sudden and explicit exposure. But it quickly morphs into pleasure as he grasps himself and slides his length along your slick folds, teasing your clit and your entrance.

“Please…” you whimper, your need building to a desperate ache in your abdomen.

“Please, what?”

The words come tumbling without hesitation.

“Please. I need your cock in me now.” He pushes his cock against your clit just to see you gasp. “Please, Yoongi. Please fuck me.”

If he had any resolve to continue teasing you, it is completely dissolved by your begging. He leans forward, placing one hand for support next to your head, and with the other hand, guides his cock to your entrance and slowly begins to slide in.

“Oh god, it’s like you’re fucking made for me,” he groans, pressed in to the hilt. He stills when he’s all the way in, loving the fit of your tight cunt around him.

Finally wrapped around him, you’re entirely blissed out. If only he would goddamn move.

“Yoongi,” you moan, “I need you to move.”

“Alright, baby girl,” he says cooly—but it takes every ounce of strength he has to keep from pounding into you like an animal. He starts moving, slowly, relishing in the drag of his cock against your snug, wet walls. As he begins to set a pace, these warm, wonderful sounds begin to slip out of you. Each one twists something deep in his gut and he groans out your name. “You’re so good for me, making these pretty sounds, taking my cock so well. Making me feel so good.”

You clench around him at the praise and he moans.

The room fills with the sweet sound of skin meeting skin, your breath tangled in a game of push-and-pull.

His hair has fallen onto his forehead, and with the sweat, stuck there, divinely dark. You reach up to push the strands out of his eyes, hooking your thumb in his mouth. He bites down lightly on the digit, his breath coming heavy, his eyes boring into yours. Just the sight of his own pleasure makes you tremble.

You can feel a second orgasm building.

“I-I’m close,” you tell him.

“Come for me,” he pants in your ear. “Be a good girl and come for me again.” You close your eyes and allow the sound of his voice to roll through your body. You can almost trace the pleasure through your veins. It’s building, like a spring in your abdomen, reaching out into your limbs, your throat, your mind—and then it hits something hard and solid. A block in your chest. A place where you want to keep things tight and close and unseen. Let go, you repeat in your mind as you begin to lose acceleration. Just let go!

But it’s gone, that breaking point seems so far away now.

“Baby, come back to me,” he’s saying, and your eyes shoot open. He reaches up to the hand you’ve tangled in your own hair and guides it around him so that it presses against his back. “Just hold onto me. You don’t need to do anything. Just sit in the space in your body where it feels good. Let it feel good.”

He starts rocking against you again. You take a deep breath and wrap your arms fully around his torso. This slight adjustment allows his pelvic bone to rub up against your clit and you arch your back to push as much of yourself towards him as possible.

“Take it slow,” he says, kissing along your collarbone.  

You take a deep breath in. On the exhale, you imagine unwinding the wall within your chest. As you continue to breathe, to just feel the way your chest rises, other sensations begin to rise to the surface. Like the sinful sound of  Yoongi’s ragged breath edged with the smallest groan every time he exhales. Or the way his consistent pace seems to press deeper into you with each thrust, building a sensation split between pressure and pleasure. And finally, the way there’s an unending heat simmering in your belly, just waiting for you. Just waiting for you to dive in.

Is this what it meant to let go? To give yourself—your pleasure—your control—up? Finding a space to ebb and flow with sensation instead of trying to track pleasure down? As his hands run over your body, you shudder, allowing the sensation of his rhythm, his warmth, and his affection to rip through you.

“Let go, baby. Let go just for me. Let go,” he pants.

That’s all you need. The pool of pleasure growing in your abdomen explodes, ripping through your entire body. You throw your head back, mouth gaping in a silent scream.

Yoongi hisses at the tight sensation of your warm walls are clenching around him. Looking down at you, spine so delicately arched, sweat pasting your baby hairs to your forehead, your nails leaving small half moons in his lower back, it seemed impossible to hold on any longer. With a grunt, he pounds into you, chasing his own high and loving the way you too are unraveling beneath him. With a final thrust, he comes, thick ropes shooting into you.

He collapses on top of you, making sure to roll to his weight slightly to the side so as not to crush you.

For several minutes the only sound in the room is the sound of your panting. Yoongi props his head up so he’s looking up at you from between your breasts.

“You good?”

“More than good,” you smile.

He looks sleepy, eyelids heavy and pleasure-filled. You made a mental note to get up and wash off and pee in a couple minutes, but for now you just want to stay here, your hands tangled in his dark hair, bathing in the comfort of his weight and rhythmic breath against your skin.

There was no denying the pleasure he had led you through in the past hour. But this, his arms wrapped securely around you, with no doubt that he wanted them there, that he wanted you here, was the kind of pleasure that coursed slowly and gently through your entire body.

“Will you stay?” you mumble into his chest.

“I’m staying,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “For a while.”

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[amxranthiine]

c i c a t r i z e (aragorn x reader) pt. ii

cicatrize (v.) to find healing by the process of forming scars. Pronouns: She/Her 

 A/N: Welcome to part two! I’ve been working on this part for three days and it was getting a little long, so I saved Weathertop for chapter three. This chapter is 2.7k (or more) words. I hope you enjoy! Warnings: Some swearing, alcohol consumption, Nazgûl, the usual. Summary: Y/n is Aragorn’s childhood best friend. However, when they got older, Y/n’s feelings towards her long time friend changed, but he is infatuated with the Evenstar. Out of heartbreak, she leaves Rivendell and sets off on her own, leaving her love and all she ever knew. When Elrond’s Council takes place, Y/n is forced back to her home and everything she ever knew.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙  Present Time Y/n POV Ale dribbled down my chin as I gulped down what seemed to be my hundredth Pint. In truth, I lost count after my... sixth? Seventh? I needed to drink away my sorrows after the day I had. I received a letter from Gandalf the Grey when the sun was at it’s peak, babbling on about the One Ring, how it was in the hands of a Hobbit named Baggins, and how I needed to make my way to the Prancing Pony in Bree as soon as possible. And, of course, that I needed to keep a look out for the Hobbit in the Prancing Pony, and bring him to Rivendell. What a way to start the day, I had only awoken not an hour prior!

Gods, I needed a drink. After the initial shock of knowing that the One Ring had indeed been found, I, not so happily, packed my few possessions into a warn out bag and went on my merry way.  After leaving Rivendell almost seven decades ago, I had travelled all across Middle Earth, never staying in one place for too long. Though it’s been sixty-seven years since I left my entire life behind (in more than one way), I was still frightened- or was it ashamed? Ashamed. Yes, that was it. I was ashamed of how I left, why I left. Just leaving everything I’ve ever known because I was jealous and heartbroken. Over a guy! Only, he wasn’t just any guy. Yes, he is. I am and have been over him. Are you absolutely positive? No. Exactly.  Fine, I admit! But how could I get over someone I’ve known since I learned how to walk? Not so easily, it seems. Perhaps that was why I was sulking in the Prancing Pony, downing ale after ale, trying to ignore the pure dread of having to see him again. Maybe he won’t be there? Maybe his adventures led him elsewh- My “what if’s” and “maybe’s” were cut short by a large shadow looming over me. Peering up at the owner of said shadow with the mug raised to my lips, I nearly choke at the sight. There he is, the man who has haunted my dreams for sixty-seven years. And, oh Valar, he aged like the finest Mirkwood wine. Sobering up immediately, I quickly placing the mug on the table and wipe my mouth with my sleeve, I greet him with a quiet “Hello?” Though, it sounds more like a question.

He doesn’t greet me in return, much to my pleasure. He just gestures to the seat next to me. “May I?” I numbly nod, though my eyes don’t leave him. Once he is seated, I glance down at my hands and take a deep breath. “What are you doing here, Aragorn?” My tone takes him off guard, it’s cold, hostile. As if I was talking to a stranger, which, in a way, he was. His face holds nothing but shock, with traces of hurt within the grey depths of his eyes. “Business from Gandalf,” Aragorn mumbles as he waves down a waitress. I look at him again, but this time I notice everything that’s changed about him. His hood is up, covering his eyes for all but me. His face is more defined, and there is a trace of stubble along his sharp jaw. He’s buffer, too. His muscles are prominent even under his many layers of clothing. I would be a liar if I said he didn’t look good. However, he also looked... nostalgic. Memories upon memories rushed to the front of my brain as I relived what we used to be.  Oh, Mandos, I think I’m catching feelings. Again. “It’s been a while, Y/n.” I blink, looking away from him with a blush. You foolish woman, Y/n! He most definitely knows you were checking him out.  Clearing my throat, I simply say “Yeah,” and look around for the Hobbit I’m supposed to be watching for. I could his gaze burning into the side of my head, watching my intently.  “You left without saying goodbye,” he mentions with an edge to his tone. I sigh and close my eyes, I really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. Or ever. Never would be good.  “Didn’t think you’d care.” I said, shrugging. Good going, Y/n. Is that really the only intelligent thing you could come up with in that tiny head of yours? In my peripheral vision I see him tense, and his eyes widen considerably. What did he expect me to say? That I was sorry for leaving all those years ago? That I was so desperately in love with him that the sight of him embracing Arwen Undómiel was too much to bear? No, my pride could never admit that, especially not now. “You didn’t think I would care? Y/n, are you ins-” Aragorn starts with what sounds like a hiss.  I hold my finger up to shush him as four Hobbits walk into the Inn, soaked to the bone. The leader, a tall-ish Hobbit with curly black hair, approaches the bar and I can practically feel the evil radiating off of him in waves. I knew he was the one I was looking out for, he was Baggins.  Aragorn gives me a ‘we will talk about this later’ look, yet still follows my gaze. His body language changes drastically when he spots the small men and I instantly know we were sent here for the same reason. “Gandalf sent us on the same quest, it seems.” I mumble as my eyes follow the Hobbit’s every move. Something was... off about them, ignoring the presence of the Ring. They seemed nervous, as though they were waiting for someone. Baggins, or Underhill, as he was called, looked exhausted. The true weight of the Ring was finally making itself known.  As the four sat down at a table in the middle of the room, my eyes wandered over Underhill’s companions. The blonde next to him was on the bigger side, he had unruly curls as all Hobbits do, and he seemed the to the more cautious one out of his companions. The two across from him carried a carefree and youthful energy, both with almost golden hair.  The blonde one looked around the room with distrust before his eyes landed on Aragorn and I. We were watching them carefully, Aragorn had his pipe in his mouth, and I held my mug snuggly within my fingers. I suppose our watchful gazes set off alarms in the small Hobbit’s head. He elbowed Underhill and whispered something to him, nodding his head towards the two of us. Underhill eyed us, I could see the suspicion and fear growing within him as he took in our appearances. Suddenly, he gestured to Butterbur as he passed by, and over the loudness of the Inn, I barely heard him ask, “The two in the corner, who are they?” Butterbur glanced at us warily before replying, “They’re two of them Rangers; dangerous folk they are, wandering the wilds. What their right names are, I’ve never heard, but round here they’re known as Strider and Randir.” Underhill looked at us again, “Strider and Randir,” he seemed to whisper as he nervously played with something under the table. Time seemed to slow as the younger one of the golden haired Hobbits seemed to yell for all the world to hear, “Baggins? Sure I know a Baggins!” Every pair of eyes flew to the young Hobbit, but he seemed oblivious for he kept speaking.  “He’s over there, Frodo Baggins!” He pointed to Underhill, “He’s my second cousin, once removed, on his mother’s side and my third cousin, twice removed on his father’s side... if you follow me.” I sighed deeply and watched as Frodo raced to the golden haired boy, gripping his arm and shouting, “Pippin!” “Steady on, Frodo!” Pippin says, then pushes Frodo away. Frodo stumbled back, losing his balance on one of the many pairs of feet crowded around him. He falls, the Ring flying out of his pocket as gravity takes control. Aragorn and I watch with steady eyes, we could not let anyone near the small, childlike creatures. You never know who may be a spy, waiting, like a jaguar, for the precise moment to pounce. A small hand reaches out to grab the evil jewel, but it just slips through his fingers a moment too late. I wince as Frodo hits the ground, a loud “oomph!” leaving his mouth at impact. Though, my eyes never leave the jewel that seems to be calling my name, tugging at my heartstrings, as it made it’s graceful down a child sized finger.  The owner of said finger was none other than Frodo, and the entire Inn gasped in horror as he vanished from sight. There is complete silence for a moment, and Aragorn and I jolt up, preparing ourselves for the chaos that is to come. And chaos it is. Excited, and slightly horrified, chatter explodes throughout the Prancing Pony. I look to each of the Hobbits once more. The blonde hobbit is as pale as a ghost, looking deathly ill with panic. Pippin, who seemed to realize his folly quickly, sobers up quickly. The unnamed one seems to be a mix of the two, a look of complete and utter bewilderment clear as day on his features. Aragorn and I spot Frodo as he reappears in a dark corner, shaking like a leaf and as pale as the wraiths that hunt him. Hidden in the shadows, we stride over to him, unseen by all in the Inn. The man reaches him first, however, and grabs Frodo by the cloak and drags him up the stairs to a dark room. “You draw far too much attention to yourself.. Mr. Underhill.” Aragorn hisses. I roll my eyes at his actions. “You could have been a little kinder to the poor boy, look at him! He looks like he’s seen Sauron himself.” I point out with a small grin, but it vanishes in a second with the look Frodo gives me. It was wide eyed, portraying the terrifying truth in my words. He had, indeed, seen Sauron himself. Aragorn ignores my statement and draws the attention back to himself as he looms over Frodo. “What do you want?” The quiver in the Hobbit’s voice is prominent when he asks this. Estel turns away for a moment to put out the bright and blazing candles. “A little more caution from you, that is no trinket you carry.” He replies.  “I carry nothing,” Frodo lies. I watch the situation with interest, though I say nothing. The terror of the Ring was clearly effecting him, and having Aragorn and I practically kidnap him was likely not helping. “Indeed?” The taller man hums. “I can avoid being seen if I wish. But to disappear entirely? That is a rare gift.” He states as he finally reveals his face and the mess that is his hair. I gape at him as I take in his aged features, this time I really inspect him. His grey eyes, his lips, his hair...  He was seemingly flawless. Stop it, you stupid girl! You have a task at hand! Shaking my head to clear those impeccably true thoughts, I barely hear Frodo whisper, “Who are you?” “Are you frightened?” This time, it was I who spoke, bringing the attention of both males to me. I say those words with a slight edge to my tone, and it could sound like mockery if we weren’t currently in a dire situation.  Frodo looks me dead in the eyes. “Yes,” he says honestly, I almost laugh. “Not nearly frightened enough,” I uttered lowly, and narrowed my eyes. “We know what hunts you.” Aragorn adds, making me grimace. The Nazgûl were nasty, terrible creatures who should have stayed dead and rotting in their tombs. A noise from the corridor bursts our eerie bubble, and the three of us jump towards the door.  In come three determined Hobbits carrying a chair, a candlestick and fists as weapons. I had to admit, their bravery was to be commended. The blonde one bellowed, “Let him go or I’ll have you, Longshanks!” I couldn’t help it, but I burst into laughter, giggles spewing from my mouth as I recounted what just happened. Maybe it was the ale, or maybe the fact that I haven’t spent more than thirty minutes in another persons presence in sixty-seven years, but that comment was the funniest shit I’ve heard in a long time. Everyone in the room turned towards me with bewilderment and confusion written all over them, making me laugh even harder. I had tears rolling down my face and my cheeks and stomach hurt from my sudden chortling.  After a few moments, my hysterics died down a bit, demoting themselves to light chuckles every so often. “I- I’m sorry,” I babbled. “Please, go on,” I smiled and waved my hand in a dismissive manner. The five men looked utterly disturbed and puzzled, but it was Aragorn who finally said something, though it was quite dark and ominous. “You have a stout heart, little Hobbit, but that alone won’t save you.” He turned to Frodo, “You can no longer wait for the Wizard, Frodo. They are coming.” After that we quickly devised a plan, and quietly made our way to the Hobbits room and stuffed pillows under the sheets to make it look like little people sleeping. Then, we grabbed all of their packs and brought them to Aragorn’s room, and we waited for the inevitable.  It had to have been two hours of silence before a single word was said by any of us. The Hobbits had already gone to bed, snuggled side by side on the large mattress. Aragorn and I sat across from each other by the window, watching for any sign of the dark servants.  I was playing with my dagger, twirling it between my fingers and stabbing it into the wood of the window sill, lost in my many degrading thoughts.  “Why did you leave?” Aragorn finally asked. I looked up to see him watching me intently. I stilled, dumbfounded. Out of all the things he could have said, he asked that? Gracious me, we are supposed to be watching out for the Black Riders, not sharing sob stories!  Trying to think of a semi-intelligent, semi-vague answer, I finally came up with “My heart led me elsewhere.” It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the truth. Before he could respond, however, I spot four Nazgûl riding into Bree. “Aragorn,” I call out and point to them as they make their way inside. The air thickens as heavy footsteps come up the stairs. I hold my breath, as does Aragorn, even the Hobbits seemed to stop breathing. Please, Valar, let us go unnoticed. It seems fate was feeling generous, the Ringwraiths strut right into the trap. And they stab. Over and over again, right into the pillows we set up just for them. I wince when I realize that it have very well been the Hobbits in place of those pillows if we hadn’t done something. Suddenly a deadly screech fills the air, followed by three others. No doubt they discovered the trap, and were positively pissed. I listen intently as they fled the Inn, and as they mounted their black steeds and left Bree, I hear multiple identical screams in the distance. My shoulders drop and I instantly breathe a sigh of relief. It worked. Our plan worked.  “What are they?” Frodo’s quiet voice questions from behind me. I look back to see him wide awake and seated on the edge of the bed. “They were once Men. Great Kings of Men. Then Sauron the deceiver gave to them Nine Rings of Power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will.” Aragorn answers grimly. Sensing that he wasn’t going to say any more, I add on to his statement. “They are the Nazgûl, Ringwraiths, neither living or dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring, drawn to the power of the one...” I trailed off. Our two voices fill the air in unison as we conclude,  “They will never stop hunting you.” ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ TAGLIST @entishramblings (please tell me using my ask box if you want to be tagged in future chapters)

[iamdunn]

Miraculous Flash Forward Part 15: Twinning 

A Miraculous Fan-Fic

Written By 

AJ Dunn

Adrien shook the door knob to his bedroom. It was late and he was tired from the day’s activities. Kung Fu lessons, two which the girls were now a part of, plus tutoring them. It had been a long day and he wasn’t in the mood for this, again.

“Plagg.” with no answer. “Plagg, open this door will yeah, I swear I will go buy you some Camembert even if I have to fly to Paris tomorrow to get it.” Still no response.

“What’s wrong?” Marinette yawned out her bedroom door. Adrien shook the door knob again with a scowl. “Again?” She sighed. “No wonder Plagg decided to spend the night in the box.” 

“Great, it’s one thing they locked me out last time, now they are teaming up with the Kwami’s.” Adrien sighed and turned for the stairs.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Marinette called, “It’s too late at night to get a key here.” She stepped back into her room holding her hand out to him. His heart skipped a beat at the invitation but hesitated. It was so exhausting and the couch wasn’t as inviting as her bed. He could hear giggling coming from their room as he stepped into Marinette’s room and closed the door behind him. It’s not the first time they had shared a bed, it was however the first time in her bed. Which somehow made it more alluring. 

“Do you think this was their scheme all along?” He asked as he pulled the blankets over them. “Do teenage girls actually do stuff like this?” He couldn’t see very well in the dark of the room but as the moon cast it’s glow over her face he could see how red it was. 

“You have no idea.” She giggled. 

“Oh, so did you pull pranks on your parents too.” He asked filled with curiosity despite his weariness. 

“Not… my parents but someone else… and it wasn’t like…” She began to stammer as she had as a teenager.

“What did you do?” he asked. “Other than sneak into the pool to see me in my speedo.” She buried her face in her pillow. He pulled her onto him as he rolled to his back. She covered her face with her hands as she sat up on his waist. 

“There’s a lot of things.” she said. “Like the letter I was supposed to give you instead of the prescription. The various random run-ins around town during your photo shoot…” He laughed.

“I take it they weren’t by chance.” He pulled her hands away from her face, holding them to his chest. “You really had it that bad for me?” she nodded still flushed red. “You didn’t help the girls with this scheme, did you?”

“NO.” she said, more flushed than before. 

“Because if you wanted me to sleep with you all you had to do was say something.’ He pulled her face down to his as he pressed his lips to hers. His heart raced inside his chest as her hands slid from his chest to his hair. Her kiss was more passionate and hungry than it had been before. He rolled her over until he was on top of her. He trailed his kisses to her cheek then to her neck. She squealed quietly as his lips parted gently biting her neck before he sucked on it gently. Her legs tightened around his waist as he let up and rolled off of her. She was frozen in that position until he rolled her on her side back facing him and pulled her closer to him.

“Think about that the next time you want to scheme about getting me into bed with you,” he teased.

“I didn’t…” she whimpered but didn’t argue anymore. 

The girls were sitting on the stairs whispering to themselves when Adrien left Marinette’s bedroom. He crossed his arms as he gave them a ‘seriously?’ expression. They laughed at him. His face softened as he smiled at them then gave them a thumbs up before going into the bathroom. 

“Keep laughing like that and you’ll wake Marinette then she’ll make you try on more outfits.” He said as he closed the door. The girls followed him downstairs.

“What are you going to do with the rings?” Stasia asked. 

“Well that’s up to Marinette.” Adrien said as he scooped pancakes and eggs onto their plates. They were seated around the table in the dining room next to the kitchen. 

“But she’s not even a Graham De Vanily.” Anna complained. 

“Not yet.” Adrien looked up at them. “And Technically neither are you.” 

“Well, I mean, now we are right?” Stasia spoke up. 

“Only because I changed my name and the paperwork isn’t finished yet, Gabriel has to sign over his rights first.” Adrien scowled at the thought, wondering if his father would actually sign them over. He saw their faces go south. He could feel the tension in their air between them. He didn’t know the same father they did, they had described him as loving and caring he had adored them, but ignored him. 

“Smells good.” Marinette said coming into the dining room. The sun shone brightly through the wall length windows. The patio outside of the dining room held many flower planters and several lounge chairs. Marinette and the girls would spend hours enjoying themselves reading books and just hanging out there. It was the only window not covered with the electric blinds, also the only place the Kwami’s didn’t go unless they were hidden. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him up.” Adrien said as he sat down to Marinette’s right. “But Ladybug is our leader, and we all trust her to know the right thing to do.” 

“What’s this?” Marinette asked. 

“We were just asking about our family's rings.” Anna told her. 

“Well, they will stay in your family of course,” Marinette started. “As soon as I know you won’t be using them to pull pranks and stuff.” she gave them a wink as they laughed at her. 

“We have NO idea what youre talking about.” They said in sync. 

“Plagg already told us everything.” Adrien scolded. “By the way, where did you guys find Camembert?” the girls laughed. 

“Uncle Cheng ordered it for us.” they said together.

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me.” Marinette said with a chuckle. They worked on their breakfast and began to get ready for their day of kung fu and tutoring. The twins had been out of society for so long that, even though it only felt like days to them, it had been years and society moved on leaving them in the cold. There was a lot for them to catch up on. 

Adrien was glad he had Marinette to handle the more feminine side of things as he was socially hindered to begin with, trying to understand teenage girls was a challenge he was not prepared to face. Not to mention, his older sisters who were now younger than him. A dynamic that was hard enough to explain let alone live with . The girls hadn’t mastered Mandarin so it wasn’t going to be possible to enrol them in school here in China. 

Adrien arrived at the temple and found the first class of students were ready for their lessons. The girls took their places giggling to themselves as if Adrien had a kick me sign on his back. He had to check casually just in case. He walked around calling out stances and watching the youth change their stances moving in sync with one another. He monitored their movements making them hold their position until he was sure everyone was ready to move on. 

Occasionally, he would have to form the stance himself to demonstrate but otherwise he simply walked around. After the initial exercises he moved on to demonstrate a few new techniques. Each new technique would be added to each day's drills. Until the movements were memorized by their muscles so they wouldn’t even have to think about them before performing them. 

The first class was over and the kids ran off to school, while Adrien took the girls into the temple for their lessons in Mandarin and history. Before he could get started with their lessons his phone ran. It was from Paris, from the Paris branch of the G brand. 

“This is Adrien.” he said, assuming it was Felix as he hadn’t heard from him since the battle with Tempest. 

“Adrien, it’s Margaritte, I am Felix’s assistant and I was wondering…” She paused with a worried sound in her voice. “If you knew where he was?” 

“Wait, so he’s not there?” Adrien said confused. 

“We haven't seen him in awhile now. And I am afraid the board is afraid…”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, try to hold the board until I get there.” Adrien said. He really didn’t want the company but he couldn’t let the board take over his company because his brother went MIA, he would rather give the company to Marinette. He hung up the phone and looked at the girls, how had that idea never occurred to him? She wanted a job based solely off her skills not because she was dating the owner of the company. 

“Girls, we’ll put your studies on hold for a little while, go outside and spar.” The girls ran outside pushing each other playfully. Adrien dialed up a Shanghai number, one he only used in an emergency. 

“Fei. I need your help.” Fei had become like family to Marinette after the first time she visited Shanghai and got lost. She had no family so Wang Cheng took her in, though her passion and her primary job was protecting Shanghai with her own Miraculous powers. “I have to leave town and I need someone to stand in for me with my students,” he told her. 

“I would be honored Xiongdi. ”She said “I will be over in a few hours.” 

“See you then.” He hung up the phone then watched the girls spar. His mind was far too preoccupied with the now confirmed disappearance of his brother to even think about tutoring his sisters. His phone rang again.

“Mr. Agreste would like to meet with you to discuss the petition of guardianship.” the voice spoke before Adrien could respond. It was Gabriel’s lawyer. “He also demands visitation with his daughters.” 

“Funny, he never asked for a visit with me.” Adrien said coldly. “I don’t think that is going to happen.”

“Considering he still maintains his parental rights, you don’t have a choice but to comply.” the lawyer said

“You can discuss that with my lawyers, from now on, you contact them not me.” Adrien said then hung up. ‘FUCK’ he mutted to himself. 

“I’m not sure what’s going on but it sounds like you could use some cheese.” Plagg offered him a chunk of Manchego. Adrien waved him away placing his hands on his hips. He looked back out the window to find the girls were gone. He rushed out to search for them. He searched all over the grounds with no sign of them. 

He heard giggling coming from a room in the basement of the temple. He headed for the stairs then heard another giggle coming from outside. 

“Plagg, head downstairs, I’m going outside.” Adrien said. 

“It’s not like I can throw her over my shoulder.” Plagg said. Adrien scowled then through his hands into the air slapping them hard against his sides in exasperation. 

“What’s wrong?” A voice came from the doorway. It was Fei.

“Great you're here, help me find my sisters please?” Fei laughed at him.

“Their playing hide & seek.” She leaned against the door frame folding her arms over her chest. “I already found one and froze her to stone.” She laughed. Adrien’s mouth twisted into shock as he rushed past her. How could she use her powers on his little sister. He saw her in the front courtyard standing still. He sighed when he realized she wasn’t frozen just standing in a running away pose. 

“It’s part of the game.” eie laughed at him. “Shall I go find the other one?” Adrien nodded. He was in over his head with these two. Stasia tried to hold her pose, but gravity gave in and she collapsed to the ground laughing. Adrien smiled as he allowed his body to relax, crossing his ankles and dropping into a seated position on the deck. A few minutes later Fei retired with Anna over her shoulders pretending to be petrified. 

“I have to go back to Paris, and I think it will be more of a permanent situation.” Adrien said as Fei sat down next to him. 

“Does this have anything to do with them?” She whispered nodding towards the two girls who were now sparring. Their actions moved in sync as they faced each other. Their movements timed just right as they dodge and kicked, punch and swerved into a martial arts dance. 

“Partially.” He said. “I have to talk to Marinette, I have uprooted her once already to bring her here.” 

“I’m sure she would be happy to return home.” Fei said. 

“I called her, she’ll be here for lunch.” He looked at his watch. “Any minute now.” He felt anxiety rise up in him as he recalled how she had always been late as a teenager and she must be really busy, but he needed her right now. Adrien got up and walked over to the girls. He needed a distraction. 

“Now for your punishment of locking me out of my room.” He said taking a defensive stance. They knew exactly what to do. They both jumped on him tackling him to the ground then began to tickle him as he tried to fight them off. He could hear Fei laughing at him. 

“Well, I think I should be recording this.” Marinette said from the gate as she walked in carrying a bag with the Thousand Delights logo on it. 

“Adrien pulled himself up with the girls still attached to him as he ran to her pulling her into a hug. The girls hung off his back like monkeys trying in vain to defeat him. 

“I think we should have those growths on your back checked, we may need to have them surgically removed.” Fei teased coming up behind them to tickle the girls into letting go of Adrien. Marinette frowned as she watched Fei. Was it jealousy?

“Fei, what are you doing here?” Marinette said with an obviously forced smile. 

“Adrien was just telling me he needed my help with the girls.” Fei decided not to tell her the whole reason he had called her over. This seemed to make Marinette’s face tighten more as her face blossomed into hues of red. 

“We need to talk to Marinette.” Fei can you watch the girls for a minute while I take her inside to tell her. Marinette stiffened. She looked up at Adrien, his clenched jaw now a look of horror as she allowed him to lead her inside. He took a seat at the table he used for the tutoring sessions and motioned for her to sit too. She just set the bag on the table and crossed her arms. Adrien looked down at his hands folded together in his lap. 

“Marinette, we have to…” 

“Don’t…” Marinette interrupted. He looked up at her, tears began to stream down her face. 

“What.” he got up moving around the table to grasp her arms. He turned her to face him but she looked away. He lifted her face to meet his eyes. “I was just going to say, we have to go back to Paris.” Her face changed to a look of surprise as she reached up, wiping her tears from her eyes. “Why are you crying?” He was dumbfounded. What did she think he needed to talk to her about. Her eyes darted to the window looking out over the front courtyard as Fei sparred with the girls. 

Adrien pulled her into a hug, suddenly realizing how this might look to Marinette, she had been so sensitive about their relationship for so long of course she expected him to leave her for someone else. He sat her down and explained the phone calls he got and what he was thinking would now require them to move back to Paris. 

“Marinette, you were the first girl I ever loved, and the second all rolled into one.” He kissed her lips. I loved you for the amazing woman you are, you're a superheroine with or without a mask, and I couldn’t replace you with anyone else.” He said. 

“She is too, and she has more powers.” Marinette choked back more tears. He watched her eyes look out the window again. 

“She also stole from a girl I love, left her stranded in a foreign country where she didn’t speak the language, and played her for a fool.” Adrien said. “I could never abide in someone who could lie and be deceitful for the sake of her own gain.” 

“I’ve lied.” She whimpered.

“Not to hurt someone.” He said. She sighed. 

“I guess the only way to save you from this fear of losing me is to just simply do it.” He said sliding out of his seat to his knee. 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, will you Marry me?”

[lululawrence]

I posted 9,644 times in 2021

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#i looooove using mirrors like this in photographs and it’s so difficult to get the angle and focus on the reflection and what’s in front of

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Maybe You’ll Like the Way I Am by lululawrence

Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson  |  56k  |  moodboard by @rishimaaaaa

Harry stood on his doorstep, waving a little as he shuffled his feet. “Hi, I brought you some cookies.”

Louis finally realized Harry was holding a plate with at least a dozen chocolate chip cookies.

“How’d you know chocolate chip was my favorite?”

Harry scrunched his nose. “I, uh, they’re actually peanut butter chocolate chunk, so I really hope you don’t have a peanut allergy. There’s a lot of peanut butter and chocolate in these. But also, I just hoped that was something you liked because I actually have a favor to ask?”

When Louis' alpha neighbor asks him to pretend to be his omega for a week, Louis immediately says no. He has too much he's dealing with on his own, and he swore to himself he'd never get that close to an alpha again. Unable to hold to that resolve once guilt sets in, Louis finds that maybe fumbling his way through a fake relationship for a week was exactly what he needed to finally be able to move on.

Written as a part of @1daboficfest

Buy me a coffee?

422 notes • Posted 2021-06-21 12:00:45 GMT

#4

Caught In Your Gravity by lululawrence ​

Harry/Louis   |   63k   |   with art by @rishimaaaaa

“Liam, what the fuck,” Harry cried, bursting into Liam’s office.

Liam looked up from his computer and smiled widely at Harry. “Hey! How’d the first day go?”

“Liam,” Harry hissed. “This is a soccer team.”

Liam stared at Harry as if he was waiting for more information to explain why Harry was acting the way he was. 

“Yes, I do believe that’s what most Americans call the sport.”

“I am American!” Harry cried, flapping his arms a little, looking around the room as if that should help clarify. “You know I’m a dumbass kid from Salt Lake City who loves football. Football! What the hell gave you the idea that I knew anything about soccer?”

As Harry spoke, Liam’s face paled and his expression fell›› into one of fear. 

“All these years, when you were talking about football, you meant American football?” Liam asked slowly.

“Yes!” Harry punctuated his affirmation with a hysterical sounding laugh. “Of course I did!”

Now Posted as part of @onedirectionbigbang!

Buy me a coffee?

429 notes • Posted 2021-03-16 03:27:52 GMT

#3

Caught In Your Gravity by lululawrence

Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson  |  63k  |  13/13 Chapters

Written as part of @onedirectionbigbang​ with art, including this lovely moodboard, by the incredible @rishimaaaaa​

It felt like the blood froze in Harry’s veins even as he got a bit lightheaded. He hadn’t even made it two practices, only one of which he was remotely in charge of, without giving it all away and now he and Liam were both absolutely fucked.

“Shit,” Harry breathed out. “Who all have you told? Does everyone know? I thought I covered it better than that…”

“No, no,” Louis said quickly. "They’ll figure it out soon enough, though, because they’ll get used to you changing things up, but you’re only going to trip over your so called Americanisms for so long before they realize it’s because you don’t actually know fuck all about football.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah. I figured. I just need to bullshit for long enough to allow Liam to get the situation figured out from his end.”

“Right, which brings me to my entire point. I think we can find a mutually beneficial arrangement with all of this.” Louis leaned forward. “You need to learn the ins and outs of the sport incredibly fast. I can help you with that.”

“What do you want in exchange?”

Or, an AU inspired by a 30 second trailer of Ted Lasso that doesn't actually have much in common with the show at all.​

Buy me a coffee?

433 notes • Posted 2021-04-23 12:00:57 GMT

#2

I'M SHAKING AND TRYING NOT TO CRY OR SCREAM IN STARBUCKS SO I APOLOGIZE IF THIS DOESN'T MAKE SENSE BUT PLEASE GO BACK WITH ME TO 2014.

back when rbb first appeared with his ORIGINAL twitter. the very first things he did on that twitter? he documented a night in the hotel room getting drunk on stella artois and watching the wizard of oz.

we asked for rbb and he did us one better. what the fuck is he gonna do tomorrow?

501 notes • Posted 2021-10-31 01:40:18 GMT

#1

Listen. I’m proud of Harry and all, but I will never get over my bitterness at the fact songs like Golden and Adore You were overlooked and Watermelon Sugar is the one getting all the awards. I love WS, but I just... Golden!! ADORE YOU??

Anyway. That’s all.

575 notes • Posted 2021-05-11 21:58:19 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[lightsaberupmybutt]

Three’s a Crowd - Reader/Ben Solo/Poe Damerson (Modern AU)

alright so Ben/Kylo is a big ego kid in this, because of course. Also, Rey is ACTUALLY Lukes daughter in this, making them cousins. Ive fiddled with the plot okay sue me. 

Summary: Poe, Finn and their roommate have been living in a harmonious tenancy, but when Finn decides to move out for a year of travelling, the two are left with no option but to look elsewhere for their third body. Rey Skywalker, a friend of the group, proposes her cousin for the role. He's in a band, wears all black and all in all is somewhat of a social reject - but he's also all theyve got.  

“I think that one was actually somehow worse than last weeks” You tell Poe, as he pours himself a juice and settles down next to you on the sofa. You'd just finished showing around another possible roommate and you felt exhausted in every sense of the word. 

“How can he be worse than the neo nazi?” Poe shot you an unbelieving look and rolled his eyes, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and knocking some of your papers in his wake. 

“Alex was a she, and they asked if they could hang their deer head in the front room” you grimaced even thinking about it, weren't all artsy college students supposed to be vegetarians anyway? why did you have to get saddled with the only blood thirsty one on campus. 

“Thats not so bad”

“Poe she showed me a picture of her taxidermied cat”

“Oh”

You had tried to find a polite way to stop her from passing you her phone, but you were too nice to make her feel uncomfortable, and now the image of the long dead tabby would remain behind your eyes for god knows how long. 

“was she hot?” You shook your head, causing Poe to sigh wistfully. 

“Not hot enough to cancel out her obsession with dead bodies anyway” you informed him, the hopeful look from his eyes gone. 

“Face it Poe, were doomed” You let your head fall into your hands, Poe letting out a laugh before wrapping his arm around your shoulder. 

“Hey we’ll get someone! who wouldn't want to live here?” You knew his question was rhetorical but when looking around the cleaner than usual flat, you had to admit it was missing something. Bare spaces on the walls from where Finn had taken down his pictures, the empty side of the kitchen counter that had once houses his overpriced coffees. You even missed picking up his empty cups after him, the room feeling like it had less character without them. It truly hadn't felt the same in the flat since Finn had left, and although Poe concealed it well, you could see it was getting to him too. Poe had, after all, known Finn first; Finn managing to get a very drunk and outspoken Poe out of a sticky situation he had found himself in when running across a local gang in a dive bar. The ‘first order’ as they so called themselves, had an infamous reputation around campus for being trouble makers and general doers of bad deeds. Ever since that night they had been an unstoppable duo, until they met you of course, and their duo became three. 

You loved Finn, and you knew told miss him like hell, but you also knew that Poe must be feeling that ten times over. 

“You wanna do something tonight?” You asked, changing the subject before his mind  drifted to where yours had. 

“what kind of something?” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, 

“Gross” 

“hey I'm serious!”

“what about Razor Crest, they are open late, we could grab some drinks and meet up with some people” 

Razor crest was the only worth while bar in town; it was certainly nothing to write home about, but it played fairly decent music and it had a marginally less sticky floor than others. Additionally, your other friends lived just over from the humble saloon, making it the perfect watering hole for you guys. 

It didn't take much convincing before you had Poe out the door and ready to socialise. Upon arrival, he headed to the bar while you were waved over by Rey, who had already found a booth and was already at least a few drinks in. 

“Look, i think i have a solution to your roomie problemo” She told you, peeking over her straw, a gleam in her eye that made you feel not all too confident in her yet to be spoken plan. 

“Go on” you told her, cautiously. 

“My cousins back in town” She told you between gulps. 

“The weird one?” You asked, 

“Hes not weird, just ...eccentric” the last word was more of a question, but you could tell she was on a roll, 

“He's just joined one of the college bands and Auntie Leia says him and Uncle Han are butting heads” 

“ah cool, weve always wanted  live music in our own flat at 2 am” Poe injected, rejoining the table and placing a drink in front of you before taking a sip of his own. 

“hes not BAD at it, he just plays loud i think” She corrected him, “anyway, he's not a total twat, I'm sure he would be considerate of your sleep schedules” 

“didn't he try and stab you with a stick when you were five” you asked her, you'd heard stories of this cousin before and none of them were quite savoury, 

“that was ages ago! he's like way old now” she was starting to slur her words, but you had a feeling this was something Rey was quite set on. Rey was stubborn, and when she got something in mind she would move hell to make it happen; she was also your best friend, and someone you trusted the judgment off. Had she gotten you into some weird shit in the past? sure. 

Did you have any other options; nay on that. 

“Fine, get Han or Leia to bring him round at some point next week and one of us will give him a tour” You tell her, and she lets out a little happy shrill at her own personal win. Poe, not so much. 

“Speak for yourself, weirdo cousin can see himself around” he crosses his arms and pouts, you give him a little nudge. 

“Hey, maybe you'll be best mates” you offer, but when he shoots you a death stare you go back to your drink.

The family turmoil must have been more vicious than Rey had let in on; It was barely the next morning before you had a tall, intimidating male knocking on your door. 

“Hey!” you offered him, in as cheery a voice as your hung over self would allow.

He looked down at you from his towering height, but gave no verbal response. 

“You must be Ben?...”  He offered you the slightest nod you'd had ever seen in response. Okay so, not much of a talker, noted. 

You waved him in, shutting the door behind him. God, he looked even bigger inside? is that possible? Rey had failed to mention the sheer height on the boy. You'd seen pictures of her and her aunt and uncle, it seemed like Ben was a scientific and biological mystery. Like how did he get clothes to fit? did he have to shop somewhere special or

you were snapped out of your thoughts by a clearing of a throat. 

“So, how much is the rent” so he DID have a voice, 

You informed him automatically, still part dazed. 

“Ill be in by the weekend” he told you, and with a nod he moved past you, making his way back to the door.

“But wait .. y .. you haven't even seen your room yet?” You stumbled, dumbfound by the lack of foreplay. The previous people you had shown around were full of questions; they wanted to know the ins and outs of the place. Ben had seen all of the door way and the front room and he was already signing the lease. 

“See you then” he didn't stop, hand on the door knob as if you hadn't spoken.

“But i don't have your phone number” you don't know why that came to you first, but it was true. At no point had Rey offered you direct contact with Ben, probably assuming he would. It seemed reasonable, that you'd need his number before he moved in, didn't it? Poe was always texting you about random shit in the flat, arguably too much, but it seemed like the norm for people coexisting in such a small space. 

He turned back at you and gave you a confused look, 

“why would you need my number?”

“erm... to talk to you” your condescending tone not completely masked, 

“but ill be living here” he stated, which, he had you there. 

Before you could even think of a response  he was out the door.

True to his word, Ben had his things over by that very same weekend. Although it was unsurprising considering just how light he packed. In fact, other than his bass and musical equipment, you couldn't really think of anything he had actually brought with him to the flat. You got to meet his parents when they dropped him off, both of whom seemed leaps and bounds more conversational than their son. Ironically, you got Leia’s phone number before her sons; her telling you to message if you ever needed anything. It felt like an indirect jab at Ben, a ‘if he fucks up let me know’, but you digress. The tension between Ben and his dad was blatantly obvious, them sharing no words before he got back into the car and Ben into the house. He did give his mum a small hug goodbye though, and you thought you saw a small tear in her eye before she managed to wipe it away. 

Since his move in, Ben had kept painfully to himself. You barely saw him at all in those first days, just heard him through the walls the odd time he dropped something - or saw a plate or cup gone from their places in the kitchen. To be honest , it felt more like a paranormal haunting than a new roommate. Poe was vocal of his apprehension to the situation, sharing glances with you when you would both be in the living room and you'd see ben scurry by or passive aggressively texting you when his favourite cup had been used by someone who wasn't him. it was a relatively small issue, but Poe had blown it so out of proportion that you had ordered a new set of cups from Amazon and sent him the link, shutting him up for a while before he found something else to complain about.

it was the fifth day before you actually bumped into ben again. He was on the sofa with his base set up, twiddling with his amp. The sight surprised you so much you physically jumped back, causing him to look up. crap. act cool. act cool. 

“hey” you offered him

“hi” hi replied back, looking back down at his amp. 

right, yer. his space, give him his space. Just get your stuff and go back to your room. don't speak to him, leave him alone. he clearly wants to be left alone. 

“nice day isn't it” you wanted to cover your mouth, the words coming out against your will. Truthfully, you had no clue why you said it. You hadn't even looked at the weather this morning. Its just what people say right? 

“Erm” his eyes shot to the window and then back to yours,”no”

sure enough, it was pissing it down outside. The sky was actually comically grey and you'd have laughed if you werent so angry at yourself. You were unsure of what to do, and he was still looking at you, almost assessing you. His eyes were so serious and dark they felt like they were burning tiny holes into your skin. shit, you had to speak now right?

While regretting every single life decision that had brought you into this kitchen at this time, Poe sauntered into the room like your night in shining armour, ignoring Ben all together and coming straight over to you, placing a big arm around your shoulders. You saw Ben drop his head back down to this bass, and you used all your might to not let out a sigh of relief.

“Tonight, I'm taking you out” He offered, a cheeky gleam in his eye. 

“Are you now” 

“Razor crest, drinks and dancing, be there or be square” He lists off as if he's a paid promoter, causing you to let out a giggle. 

“Whos invited?” 

“just the gang” he said, causing you to shoot him an eye roll, knowing full well you ‘gang’ consisted of all of three people, yourself and Poe included in that number. 

but then you remembered, there was another person now, whether they liked it or not. Poe’s eyes followed yours to Ben and then back to meet yours again, you saw the realisation change to disgust, as he shook his head silently at you. 

you knew this look, the ‘don't you dare’ look, the ‘not in 1000 years’ look. But you couldn't help it, your lips were moving before you could stop them for the second time this morning. 

“Are you free tonight, Ben?’

The look of sheer betrayal on Poe's face made you wince, surely he'd understand right? he knew you well enough to know your verbal diarrhoea  problem. 

Ben didn't even look up, but he did let out a small laugh that felt quite antagonistic. 

“i dont go to Razor Crest” 

“i don't go to razor crest ugh” Poe mocked, causing Rey to let out a hysterical giggle, and you a sigh. 

You'd been out for all of three hours and you were all already feeling the effects of the alcohol. It was late and the bar was jam packed with students all raring to go. Poe had been making eyes at one particular red head  almost all night and you were half surprised he hadn't already made his move. Poe put out, it was a fact. You and Finn had at one time made a fridge chart for him, a gold star awarded every time he brought  girl home. Whether the goal was to make him feel proud of his conquests or embarrassed, you still weren't 100% sure, but after a month or so you had both lost count and given up. You told yourself it didn't bother you, that he was just a friend, and that he owed you nothing, but every time he left you at the bar for another girl something stung inside; something you pushed deep down but regrettably was still there none the less. 

Sure enough, as the night progressed, you and Rey ended up fending for it alone, and instead of feeling sorry for yourself you decided to do the responsible thing and drink more. 

After the third round of shots, Rey calls it in. 

“I think I'm gonna be sick” she tells you sheepishly, and you can't help but belly laugh in response. She starts to shuffle towards the door and you go to follow.

“Hey don't leave on my behalf” she tells you earnestly, but you wave her off. 

“Nah I've had my fill, I'm starting to forget which flat number i live at” you tell her, causing her to giggle this time. 

You both stumble out the bar, past the smokers and up the cobbled road towards her flat. She unlocks her door and lets herself in, not before giving you a drunken hug and a sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

As you ready yourself to make your way back to your own flat, you come back past the bar entrance; a particularly prominent cobble causes you to trip ever so slightly and gain a whoop from a group of boys who were passing round a box of marlboro straights. 

You suddenly realised just how dark it was and just how alone you were. Most nights you wouldn't stay out this late, and if you did, then you'd normally be walking back with finn. You let out a shiver, a mix of both the cold night air finally breaking through your drunken daze and a smidge of fear. The Razor Crests entrance lights were getting progressively further away, and although you know that you only had a maximum of a half mile walk back to your home, it felt like ample distance to get kidnapped or murdered in, most probably both. 

How many true crime stories started with a young drunk girl, scantily clad and out alone at night? You could hear the police reports now, which photo would they use? you prayed it would be a hot one, at the very least one after your thin brow phase. 

Being literally bumped back into reality, in almost a cruel humorous way, you felt yourself walk head first into a figure, their arms coming out to catch you as the sheer momentum bounced you back. 

Oh god, I'm dead. I'm literally going to die.  

“Hey, chill out” The voice made your heart beat both slow and race again, 

“Ben?!” you shrieked, voice hoarse through pure anticipation of your thought to be demise 

“Are you okay” he asked, and only then did you realise you were shaking like a leaf. 

“Im fine” you let out in a small voice, looking down at your shoes. You could feel the redness in your cheeks through pure embarrassment alone. This was not an ideal situation for him to see you in, and you kind of started to with that he had been a murderer, at least then you wouldn't have to deal with the second hand embarrassment in the morning. 

“What are you doing out here”

“why are you out alone” 

you both asked simultaneously,

“I was coming out for a smoke” He told you, flashing his tobacco pouch at you from inside his coat. His very warm looking coat, might you add. Another shiver ran down your body. 

“Im coming home from Razor Crest” you tell him, trying to be matter of fact but slurring your words just enough to spoil the show. 

“Yes obviously, but why are you alone” he shoots back in some what of a patronising tone, it wouldn't sit well with sober you and it definitely doesn't go down well with drunk you. 

“Im a big girl” 

“clearly” he makes, making extra sure to look you up and down from his towering distance above you, causing you to huff. 

“well i can take care of myself” 

“you shouldn't be out alone around here, its not safe” he ignores your response, looking you dead in the eye. 

You feel something inside you flutter, a warmth that you can't quite control. Okay, ben might be weird and a bit annoying it would seem, but he was handsome, thats for sure. The limited light danced off his strong features and dark shaggy mop of hair, making him look both dangerous and appealing. 

As if you were standing here mentally flirting with the idea of being with Res cousin; you made a mental note to punish yourself for the ludicrous thoughts in the morning. 

“Okay well I'm going home now” you tell him, attempting to push past him, but his large hand finds its way to your forearm and pulls you back,

“yes, you are, come on” If what he said before was patronising, he was now speaking to you like you were a dog he was walking. 

“go have your nicotine, ive got this one covered” you tell him with a mock salute, causing him to roll his eyes. He lets go of your arm and you take your win, trying to step confidently away without falling. You're proud of yourself for handling the situation when you realise he's following all  of 10 steps behind you, rolling a cigarette in his hands while holding a filter between his teeth. 

when he catches you looking, he nods down to his hands, 

“want one?” he mumbles between his lips, still holding the filter pride of place. 

“no thanks” you snap, picking up pace. 

Ben smirks at you, but you miss it, too focused on not embarrassing yourself and keeping your feet in line. 

[serenade-meow]

Paul/Jane excerpts (within the context of Beatles’ details)

MEETING THE BEATLES:

On 18 April 1963 Jane did a photographic assignment for Radio Times at a concert called ‘Swinging Sounds ’63’ at the Albert Hall... When the Beatles came on stage she screamed. Jane met all four Beatles backstage – apparently all four were very impressed by her – especially George, it was alleged later – but she got on better with Paul. They were seen in public together for the first time shortly afterwards and from then on Paul was continually asked whether he was going to marry Jane. Paul even made fun of this in ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ when answered ‘No, we’re just good friends’ even before the question was asked.

— Richard Porter, Guide to the Beatles London

They invited her back to their hotel, the Royal Court in Sloane Square, before moving on to the Kings Road apartment of Chris Hutchins, a journalist.

The others left Paul alone in the bedroom with Jane, after a lot of winking. They set the evening talking about gravy and what was their favourite meal. ‘I realized this was the girl for me. I hadn't tried to grab her or make her. I told her, “It appears you're a nice girl.”’

‘They couldn’t believe I was a virgin,’ says Jane.

— Hunter Davies, The Beatles

[John’s masturbation comment]

Previously John, Paul, George, and Ringo had hoped to end their evening at the Ad Lib club, a celebrity hangout that had lately become a favorite late-night stop. But as the throngs of girls outside continued to wail, they realized they had better stay out of sight. [Chris] Hutchins invited the entire group back to his apartment King’s Road in Chelsea, so off they went, with two girls in tow…

Whether it was her cool confidence or her posh accent, something about Jane goaded John to direct his caustic eyes in her direction.

“Well. Let’s all play a question-and-answer-game!” He announced a bit too cheerily. Then he turned to Jane. “So tell us, luv, how do girls play with themselves?”

Silence. Jane’s eyes widened. Paul, sitting close to her on the floor, put his hand in the air, as if he could wave John’s words back into his mouth. “John! John!” he yelped. “Stop it. You can’t do that.”

John just smiled, peering intently through his glasses. “No, you can tell us. Come on. We all want to know, come on.”

Paul, looking aghast, shook his head vehemently. “John. For christsakes, John.” 

By now Jane was climbing to her feet, muttering icily that it had grown quite late, clearly it was time to go. Paul stood, too, glaring at John while he helped Jane into her coat, saying he’d see her into a cab. The pair of them walked outside quickly, the door clicking behind them. It was late by then, already after midnight, and the dark London air was thick with fog.

The cultured, self-possessed Jane Asher may have intimidated John Lennon, but she was exactly what Paul had been looking for. When Hutchins looked out the window, he saw the Beatle holding the actress’s arm, walking into the midst. “And he never came back,” Hutchins says. “I just saw both of them disappearing down King’s Road.” 

— Peter Ames Carlin, Paul McCartney: A Life 

RELATIONSHIP:

[Paul on status]

Living in the Asher house gave me the base and the freedom and the independence. That, alongside all the other things, because I wasn't married to Jane. I was pretty free. I remember John very much envying me. He said, 'Well, if you go out with another girl, what does Jane think?' and I said, 'Well, I don't care what she thinks, we're not married. We've got a perfectly sensible relationship.' He was well jealous of that, because at this time he couldn't do that, he was married with Cynthia and with a lot of energy bursting to get out. He'd tried to give Cynthia the traditional thing, but you kind of knew he couldn't. There were cracks appearing but he could only paste them over by staying at home and getting very wrecked. 

— Paul McCartney, Many Years from Now

[Jane’s concerns]

That’s typical Paul (wanting me to stay inside the George V Hotel with the band instead of going out by myself to see Paris). It’s just so silly of me to stay at the hotel. It’s just that he’s so insecure. For instance, he keeps saying he’s not interested in the future, but he must be because he says it so often. The trouble is, he wants the fans’ adulation and mine too. He’s so selfish, it’s his biggest fault. He can’t see that my feelings for him are real and that the fans’ are fantasy. Of course, it’s the trouble with all boys. When I first met the Beatles, I liked them all. Then, when I found out that I liked Paul more, the others became angry with me.

— Michael Braun, Love Me Do! The Beatles Progress

[Image wise, George didn’t stay angry with Jane, there’s several cute candid photos of them looking rather peaceful.]

[London Life]

The socially omnivorous Beatle profited from his Asher connection when the world wasn’t watching, too. For now Paul had entree into the cloistered world of old money… So many secret rituals to learn, so many hands to shake and stories to hear. “It was stuff happening that I’d only ever read of in books,” Paul said. “An overhang from Britain’s genteel past.”

John, stuck out in his golf-course home with his wife and a toddler son whose emotional needs he could never quite fathom, envied his partner’s more fast-paced urban life. Though the three suburban Beatles and their wives weren’t exactly stranger to the London nightlife, Jane clearly set a very different standard. “Jane was a teenaged film star so she was part of the glitterati of London before the Beatles even appeared,” NEMS employee and Beatle wingman Tony Bramwell recalls...

If the other Beatle couples bumped into Paul and Jane in London on a night off, Bramwell continues, it was usually a night club such as the Ad Lib or the Scotch of St. James. “Paul and Jane would be there, probably with some strange people. So you’d have a drink, and that’d be it. They’d be off.” 

— Peter Ames Carlin, Paul McCartney: A Life 

[The Turtles run into Paul, John, Jane, and Ringo] 

Inside the speakeasy, all the girls looked like Twiggy, the iconic pixie-haired waif model whose London fashion had taken the world by storm. We must have walked past fifteen look-alike on our way to our next destination and we actually heard the Beatles before we saw them. It was like being in A Hard Day’s Night. 

“Aw, come on John. Leave the candles alone. You’re gonna start a bloody fire in here.”

“I can’t see anything down here, Paul. It’s as dark as a hooker’s heart.” 

And then, a female voice.

“Please, Paul. Don’t humor him anymore. This is getting ridiculous. I’m going to leave.”

Graham led us around the corner, where the Fab Four were hanging with their dates at a private table in the back of the room. Well, actually it was the Fab Three — George Harrison was not in attendance. The deal was, Lennon was actually under the table taking Polaroid pictures up the skirts of his female companions while Paul lent a hand. Ringo laughed at everything, and Paul’s then girlfriend, Jane Asher, was doing her best to drag him out of there. Dressed in Carnaby Street’s finest, the Beatles were dimly lit, and a halo of light illuminating their mop-top hairdos added just the right ambience to make this already bizarre scene more surreal. 

Paul was ducking under the table himself now, helping his business partner illuminate the proceeding with his disposable lighter, and Jane was searching the booth for her coat as we approached them, with Graham in the lead.

“I’ll be leaving now, Paul,” Jane said through clenched teeth as she pushed her way out of the booth and stood there, staring him down.

“Hi, Jane.” Graham was friendly but she didn’t even acknowledge his presence.

“I’m going home, Paul. And I don’t mean your home.” She made her way toward the exit as we walked up in a pack. Jim Tucker actually grabbed her army to stop her en route.

“Hey, Miss Asher. Hi. My name is Jim Tucker and I worked with your brother.” He extended his hand, only to have her push him away.

“Piss off, wanker!” Jane just blew him off and brushed past us on her way out of the club. Jim stood there examining his hand for a long moment.

“Hey, guys,” Graham greeted as Paul frantically scrambled to his feet.

“Jane! Jane! Aw, come on, baby. We’re just having a little fun.” Jane kept walking. 

— Howard Kaylan, Jeff Tamarkin, Shell Shocked: My Life with the Turtles, Flo and Eddie, and Frank Zappa etc.

[Vacationing and songwriting — Yesterday]

McCartney played it so often on the set of The Beatles’ first movie, Help!, that director Richard Lester once threatened that he’d throw the piano off the set if McCartney didn’t complete it. Lennon tried to help his pal with the song, but this was entirely a McCartney joint. Lennon's only contribution was the suggestion that the song title just be one word, but beyond that, he was just about useless.

After months of struggling with the creative process, the lyrics suddenly came to McCartney in a very unlikely (and very inconvenient) place: driving down the winding hills of Portugal, where he was on vacation with Jane.

“It was a long hot, dusty drive,” McCartney told Miles. “Jane was sleeping but I couldn’t, and when I’m sitting that long in a car I either manage to get to sleep or my brain starts going. I remember mulling over the tune ‘Yesterday,’ and suddenly getting these little one-word openings to the verse.”

McCartney and Asher were going to stay as guests in the vacation villa owned by his friend Bruce Welch, who was also a musician. When they made it to the villa, McCartney rang up Welch and asked him if he had a guitar. Luckily, there was an acoustic guitar in the house, which made the arduous songwriting process just a bit easier. It took two more weeks to nail the lyrics… and then there was more waiting to do.

— Jordan Zakarin, “Paul McCartney Came up With the Melody to One of the Beatles' Biggest Hits in His Sleep.”

[Thoughts on marriage]

“I enjoy acting. I didn’t want to give that up.”

“I know now I was just being silly,” says Paul. “It was a game, trying to beat you down.” At various times, one of them wanted to get married but the other didn’t. Jane says it was usually something happening with the Beatles, just when it looked all settled, which made her change her mind. Paul says it was her acting, although he agreed when the big tour of America came up that she had to go on that. 

“When I came back after five month [tour], Paul had changed so much. He was on LSD, which I hadn’t shared. I was jealous of all the spiritual experiences he’d had with John. There were fifteen people dropping in all day long. The house had changed and was full of stuff I didn’t know about.”

His life is much quieter and more ordered now, since Jane returned. Paul, unlike the others, is very communicative about himself. He does talk everything over with Jane. She knows what he’s thinking.

“Another problem,” says Paul, “was that my whole existence for so long centered round a bachelor life. I didn’t treat women as most people do. I’ve always had a lot around, even when I’ve had a steady girl. My life generally has always been very lax, and not normal. 

“I knew it was selfish. It caused a few rows. Jane left me once and went off to Bristol to act. I said okay, then leave; I’ll find someone else. It was shattering to be without her.” This was when he wrote “I’m Looking Through You.” Jane has inspired several of his more beautiful songs, such as “And I Love Her.”

— Hunter Davies, The Beatles.

[Chasing after Jane in Bristol] [Writing Eleanor Rigby] [Busy]

The other three Beatles had already moved out into the London suburbs, with lush gardens and rolling lawns, while Paul was in the heart of London in an old period house. When I complimented him on the house, and admired his possessions, he said: ‘People think we are not conceited — but we are’.

I then got him to explain where the words of Eleanor Rigby had come from… The name which first came into his head was a woman called Daisy Hawkins, ‘picking up rice in a church where a wedding had been’. He had no idea where that line had come from. In Bristol, where he had been visiting Jane Asher who was acting there, he was walking round and saw the name Rigby on a shop, and thought that would be a better name.

— Hunter Davies for the Daily Mail 

[Magical Mystery Tour]

By 1967, McCartney was making experimental films, and he traveled everywhere with his video camera. While filming Jane Asher at Denver’s Civic Center Park, he was struck by an idea. It combined the randomness of his amateur films with the stories of the Merry Pranksters that he heard during his time in San Francisco and the mystery charabanc tours that took vacationers from Liverpool to Blackpool on a bus filled with beer and accordion players. Maybe the Beatles could create and film a mystery tour of their own.

— Scott Freiman, “Magical Mystery Tour: Some “Mysteries””

[India]

Brian Epstein’s death was a heavy blow to Jane. She, too, found comfort in the Maharishi: She went with Paul to Rishikesh and felt the experience to have been rewarding. With LSD banished, their understanding returned. Paul, at long last, made ready to commit himself. They announced their engagement at a McCartney family party on Christmas Day, 1967. 

— Philip Norman, Shout! 

[India]

When they got engaged on Christmas Day 1967, all these problems were in the past. Maharishi for a long time was the only little point of difference, although it was all amicable. Jane didn’t fall for him when the others did. She said that she and Paul together reach a spiritual state on their own. Paul wasn’t as committed as George and John, but still felt there was something there which would help him, which might answer his questions. 

The questions he’s referring to are about the purpose of life, not about the Beatles. Paul has some well-worked-out views about the Beatles, their changes, and the future. 

— Hunter Davies, The Beatles

BREAKING UP:

[John starts bringing Yoko to studio — meets Jane?] [Paul reacting] 

Fully aware of the enormity, John implied it was just a one-off visit, because Yoko had been depressed and needed cheering up. ‘I had no idea what he’d told the others,’ she would remember. ‘I couldn’t understand why they kept asking me if I was feeling better.’ It being unthinkable for Lennon to enjoy a privilege that McCartney didn’t, Jane Asher soon afterwards found herself invited to her first Beatles recording session in five years with Paul. As his relationship with Jane began to peter out, he took to bringing along Francie Schwartz, the New Yorker working in Apple’s press office who’d recently caught his eye.

On 17 July, John once again showed off Yoko–now no longer dressed in shapeless black but tailored white–at the London premiere of Yellow Submarine. That evening, very noticeably, Paul had no Jane doing her usual royal duty beside him.

Three days later, on the BBC’s Dee Time program, she told host Simon Dee she was no longer engaged to Paul and that their five-year relationship was over. ‘I haven’t broken it off but it’s broken off, finished,’ she said. ‘I know it sounds corny, but we still see each other and love each other… but it hasn’t worked out. Perhaps we’ll be childhood sweethearts and meet again and get married when we’re about 70.’

— Paul McCartney: The Life by Philip Norman

JOHN: So it was always the family thing, you see. If Jane [Asher] was to have a career, then that’s not going to be a cozy family, is it? All the other girls were just groupies mainly. And with Linda not only did he have a ready-made family, but she knows what he wants, obviously, and has given it to him. The complete family life. He’s in Scotland. He told me he doesn’t like English cities anymore. So that’s how it is.

MCCABE: So you think with Linda he’s found what he wanted?

JOHN: I guess so. I guess so. I just don’t understand… I never knew what he wanted in a woman because I never knew what I wanted. I knew I wanted something intelligent or something arty, whatever it was. But you don’t really know what you want until you find it. So anyway, I was very surprised with Linda. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d married Jane Asher, because it had been going on for a long time and they went through a whole ordinary love scene. But with Linda it was just like, boom! She was in and that was the end of it.

— John Lennon, interview w/ Peter McCabe and Robert Schonfeld. (September, 1971)

“I've always felt wary including Jane in the Beatles’ history. She’s never gone into print about our relationship, whilst everyone on earth has sold their story. So I'd feel weird being the one to kiss and tell.”

— Paul McCartney, Anthology 

I've never particularly liked the idea of looking back; I'd rather look forward.”

— Jane Asher