#like nothing he had the charm of a potato. except i like potatoes. i sound like in middle school dissing but i’m being so serious

[fappellmoan]

my one friend going to LA on this trip is gonna make me spend time around her boyfriend 😐 can he just go sit in a room somewhere instead while we go out.

[1d1195]

The Lottery V

Read The Lottery here | ~8.7k words

From me: the idea of making this two shorter parts or one long part was a very difficult decision. Hopefully you'll enjoy 💕 I think you'll see Peach and Harry again soon 🥰 you get to find out why I named it The Lottery too

Warnings: you get to find out why Harry is so grumpy so it's angsty and sad af I think. There is def some fluffy and love parts for sure!

Summary: Harry loves peaches. And Peach. She is quite possibly the most important person Harry has ever met.

*I highly recommend listening to Home Run by The Man The Myth The Meatslab*

After work, Harry ran errands. He went to the grocery store for his own house and planned on ordering take out because after working and all the errands, making a whole meal sounded horrible. As he approached the door with arms full of grocery bags, he swore he heard music playing loudly from inside.

He had to be imagining it.

But he tried the handle and was surprised (but also unsurprised) that it was unlocked. The second the door was out of the way she was in front of him. “Hi!” She cheered excitedly, grabbing two bags from his arms and turning quickly to the kitchen to bring them to the table. He stared at her, nearly unblinking as she continued stirring something on the stove. “I found this recipe that I wanted to try,” she explained. Was he dreaming? Most of his dreams involving the pretty bookstore owner and town princess were similar to this moment. Nothing really out of the ordinary except she was in his house, maybe he called it their house in his sleep. But the groceries were heavy on his arm, and he didn’t usually feel pain in the dreams.

“So y’broke into m’house?”

“You break into my house all the time.”

“Because y’leave the door unlocked. You had t’use m’key.”

She huffed. “Look.”

But there was nothing to look at. She kept watching her food cooking. Harry ignored it and put his groceries away. “Do y’need help?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I thought you were going to be home sooner. It’s almost done. I hope you didn’t have plans.”

Any plans Harry would have had would be canceled the moment he saw her. “No plans,” he assured her. “M’jus’... gonna put this stuff away,” he mumbled referring to the bathroom and cleaning items. Harry returned to her putting a plate together and setting it on the table before putting her own plate together. Then they sat and ate at his small dinner table in the middle of his kitchen. It was quiet, they didn’t speak, and she scrolled on her phone as she nibbled on her food. “Peach?” He said quietly. “Something wrong?” He asked.

“What could possibly be wrong?” But whether she realized it or not, she was holding the little moon charm between her fingers, rubbing her thumb along it like it would fix everything.

“Peach. Shouldn’t y’be... I don’t know... out with Malcolm?”

She paused very briefly and put her phone aside before she cut into the delicious-looking fish she prepared. It was covered in a layer of crunchy breadcrumbs and spices. It was beside roasted broccoli with a sprinkle of the same breadcrumbs and spices. Along with cheesy yet somehow creamy scallop potatoes. It smelled incredible and Harry didn’t think he deserved such a nice welcome home. Especially when she was seeing someone else. “No,” she whispered quietly.

Harry wasn’t going to harp on it if she wasn’t. Especially when she looked so upset about it. “Alright,” he said simply and dug into his own delicious food. They ate silently, her scrolling on her phone, reading emails and work orders. She had her to do list notebook beside her as well and she scribbled some thoughts onto the paper. Harry grabbed his book when he got up to grab them drinks. He put more potatoes on his plate and returned to sit across from her reading silently while they ate.

Harry cleaned up while she found a TV show to watch. Something silly and easy to watch. She was snug in the corner of his sofa and Harry sat at the other end. Once he was seated, she stretched out putting her feet in his lap and throwing the blanket along the back of the couch across them. Harry dropped his hand onto her legs and mindlessly rubbed over her blanket covered body. They silently watched TV like they silently ate dinner.

She was used to long periods of silence with Harry. This time was no different. But it was. Because Harry was her very best friend and she was in love with him but couldn’t have him.

“Peach?” He asked. “You’re crying,” he murmured, concern laced in his voice.

“Fuck,” she whispered and turned her head the other way swiping at her cheeks. His grip tightened on her leg.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just... don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” he assured her quickly, squeezing his hold on her shin. “What happened?” He asked.

“It’s not like we were in love or anything,” she mumbled. “I just... I feel so underestimated all the time and so...” she swallowed. “No one in my life seems to believe in me... and not like the people in town. Everyone is so lovely for accepting me. I don’t even know why I need approval from people who I hardly see anymore or new people who hardly care about this place... but I do. I need it more than I realize, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why they don’t believe in me,” her voice was so quiet and soft.

“Then fuck them,” he squeezed her leg again. It was the only thing he could do.

She laughed, tears leaking from her eyes again, but it was an honest to God laugh. Harry hated seeing her vulnerable like that. She was amazing in every possible way. It was a tragedy that she could ever see anything but perfection. He smiled. Not quite those rare, genuine smiles that she saw in his eyes that only really appeared around Gemma or Louis. But it was gentle, warm, and made her feel like she would really be okay. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Yeah, Peach. Of course. Thank you for dinner. Y’didn’t need to do that.”

“Well, I figured if I only ever made food for you when you were sick, you would think we weren’t really friends,” she smiled.

He chuckled quietly, a huff of laughter that he covered with a shake of his head. He turned back to their show and kept his hand moving along the blanket.

“Peach?”

“Hmm?”

“Think you’re m’best friend.”

“Me too, Harry.”

*

If Harry wasn’t working, he would find himself at her bookshop, sitting between shelves on the floor, reading and watching her at work. Watching her during reading-hour was one of his favorite things. Watching her tutor was also a delight. But watching her read while waiting for customers behind the checkout counter was by far the best. The quiet of the moment, the beautiful, peaceful expression on her perfect face.

“You’re staring at me,” she nearly sang while flipping to the next page.

He looked back at his book.

“Now you’re blushing,” she giggled.

He put his book in front of his face to hide from her.

“Do you like it?” She asked.

“It’s cathartic,” he mumbled.

She grinned. She loved it when Harry read his books in front of her while she worked. There weren’t many ways he could reciprocate the way she sat at his counter and watched him cook breakfast and serve lunch. He was handsome and sweet. Her very best friend.

*

She came home to find Harry on her sofa laying across it with the clicker in hand. “Hi,” she blinked in surprise.

“I ordered pizza, s’in the kitchen,” he told her.

She nodded. “Sure,” she glanced at him curiously and walked to her bedroom to change into something cozier. The entire time she heard the TV going, which meant Harry was still there. She didn’t mind his presence. Not in the slightest. But she wasn’t used to seeing him laying on her couch like he lived there. He was usually fixing something or making dinner. This was peaceful and gentle. She went to the kitchen next, grabbed the pizza and headed to the living room again. She curled in the chair turned toward the sofa and TV for conversation and Harry merely continued watching TV as if this wasn’t a crazy moment.

“Everything alright?” She asked.

“Mmm,” he hummed.

“So, it’s okay when you break into my house?”

His lips twitched in his signature smirk, and he shrugged one shoulder. She nodded, biting into her pizza and turned her attention to her TV.

*

They traded off randomly appearing in each other’s homes. But it didn’t take a genius to recognize she wasn’t in his house when she was seeing another guy. Harry still visited her at work but when she talked about the guy she was seeing, he tried to keep his distance at her home to a minimum. It wasn’t fair to her to make that choice and if she was going to be in love she deserved to be in love with someone that wasn’t so grumpy and irritated with the town she loved so much.

But she still came to the diner and even introduced a few of the men in her life to Harry. She convinced Harry to help each Christmas and had him make hot dogs and hamburgers for cookouts in the summer. During the fall he provided hot apple cider per her request and helped her decorate the outside of the bookstore. In the winter he checked on her pipes and after her washing machine broke, he went with her to purchase a new one to make sure they didn’t try to swindle her of more money just because she was sweet and pretty. He even installed it himself.

But one day she came home to get ready for her date with Bodie. She liked him a lot. He was kind, funny, and intelligent. He worked hard and appreciated her love for the small town.

However, instead of heading to her bedroom to change and do her hair and makeup, she found Harry on her sofa. Which was weird as she had noticed the pattern of him staying away from her house when she was in a relationship. “Hey,” she frowned. “You okay, Harry?” She asked.

“Yeah,” his voice was quiet. He was turned toward the back of the couch. “Are y’busy tonight?”

She frowned. “Um... not till later. What’s wrong?”

“Jus’... wanted t’see you,” he mumbled. “Feel like I haven’t seen y’much.”

Did he sniffle? Her heart was going to break. She set her stuff in the middle of the floor and approached him like he was a wild animal. Not because she worried about her safety or that he would attack her. But because Harry was grumpy and angry. He was short and hardly smiled.

Harry was never vulnerable and that terrified her. If he cried, she was done for. Quietly, she sat on the coffee table facing him and watching for signs of trouble or something worse. “Yeah... sorry about that. I’ve been a bit busier than usual lately.” He didn’t respond, just stared at the back of the couch. She reached out. “Harry—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said quickly, his voice shook, and it felt like a knife to her heart. Quickly, she dropped her hand to her lap. After a moment, she nodded, and he turned to lie on his back. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed heavily. “I shouldn’t have come over,” he said. “I don’t mean t’bother you,” he pulled his hand away and she noted how red his eyes looked. Like he had been crying and so that knife in her heart turned into an entire sword.

“Course you should have, Harry. That’s what friends are for,” she promised.

“Y’have plans,” he mumbled.

She shook her head. “My only plan right now is to be here for you, Harry,” she assured him. “Move your head.” He sat up. She quickly got herself situated at the end of the sofa and then pulled him gently by the shoulder to lay his head in her lap. Her hand immediately dove into his hair. This was the closest they had ever been, and she knew it wasn’t a good move for her heart or her head, but her best friend was sad. So, she couldn’t care about that.

Instead, she watched the show he put on, combed her fingers through his hair, and ignored when the tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

*

At some point she must have lost track of time, her leg was numb, her fingers were still curled around his soft locks. The TV show had caught her attention more than she thought. Harry was asleep, peaceful and she wished she could have pressed more. It killed her to not help him more, but he was quiet as always. Never letting her in deeper than need be. Sure, she read between the lines, but it hurt a little that he didn’t feel he could open himself up to her. But she understood. Harry was closed off for a reason and that was very okay.

The only reason she ignored the way her leg was losing circulation, and she wasn’t lost in the way his hair felt between her fingers was because of the knock at her door.

Fuck. She mouthed to herself. Slowly she untangled herself from Harry. She carefully lifted his head and placed it gently on the sofa. He turned, settling into sleep and she limped to the door with her leg nearly asleep.

“Hey, love,” Bodie smiled leaning in to peck her cheek. “You ready to go?”

She smiled softly. “I’m so sorry, I should have canceled,” she whispered. “Something’s wrong with Harry and he’s—”

The smile on his face immediately disappeared. “Oh, for the love of God,” he rolled his eyes.

The frown on her face settled and she tilted her head. “What?”

“It’s just... you talk about Harry all the time. He’s your best friend, I get it. But don’t you understand how difficult it is to think about you with another man?”

She bit her lip and looked at her feet. “We’re just friends.”

“I understand, but are you going to put him first forever? Everything you do revolves around this place, the diner, your bookstore. Don’t you want to live?”

She frowned. “I think you should go,” she whispered without looking up.

“Yeah. I was thinking the same thing,” he sighed and headed back to his car. She watched him leave, her heart aching, but it wasn’t hard to notice that it didn’t ache nearly as much as Harry’s sadness made her feel.

When she closed the door, she found Harry sitting on the sofa. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey,” he murmured. “Sorry, I fell asleep.”

She shrugged, sat on the chair. But she missed the way his head felt on her leg and how his hair felt between her fingers. “It’s okay.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are y’doing here, Peach?” He asked.

“I live here,” she laughed.

“Peach,” he sighed. “Here. In this town. Y’could be running a company, or... mayor of an actual town. Y’would probably be making more money in a city with a bigger house that didn’t have bad pipes even after y’replaced them.”

“Well... that’s not—”

“He was right,” Harry interrupted making her chest hurt again. The sword turned into a harpoon. “Don’t y’want t’live, Peach? There’s no living here. S’nearly the same thing all the time.”

She swallowed. “Harry,” she frowned.

“I’ve been here m’whole life and s’not...” he rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re too good for this place.” She felt tears prick her eyes. The heartache about Harry’s sadness, Bodie’s uncalled for breakup (even if she wasn’t upset about the breakup), and now... “Stop, I didn’t mean t’make y’cry,” he said hurriedly. “Fuck. Don’t listen t’me. M’jus’...” he shook his head. “M’fucking sad and m’taking it out on you. After y’were so nice t’me and I ruined your date and—”

She smiled, her heart aching a little less. “I’m glad you did,” she sniffled. “I guess—”

“Peach.”

“—I guess I just never liked the city, and I just wanted the feel of being known and not—”

“Peach.”

“—and not just some random person that no one would ever really know because it’s too big out there. There is so much and I’m not—”

“Peach,” Harry’s voice was soft, and he pulled her toward him and cupped the back of her head as he pulled her into his chest. His chin resting on top of her head and he sighed. “M’sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t want you t’go anywhere,” he promised.

She clung to him and nodded. There was nothing else to say.

*

For all the guys she brought around, Harry never brought a single girl around and she could never figure out why. But she never asked. She assumed if he didn’t want to tell her, then he didn’t want to talk about it. So instead, she asked him for pancakes that he didn’t want to make. Ordered pizza and only went over to his house when she wasn’t in a relationship.

He smacked her hand when she reached for sugar and cream. He rolled his eyes when she left her stuff on the counter for hours at a time. When she needed help stocking the shelves he was there. When she shoveled the driveways of everyone in town so did he. He hung up her Christmas lights and made sure she had hot chocolate on cold days.

She made him soup when he didn’t feel well. Made sure she stocked books that were cathartic. Helped serve at the diner when it was busy. And most importantly didn’t tell anyone he was dressed as Santa each year.

“Can I have a white chocolate chip pancake and a peach pancake?”

“No.”

“Please, please, please, please!”

“No.”

“Did you see the moon?”

“Yes, Peach, s’very pretty today.”

“Do you know how to change a lighting fixture?”

“I’ll come over later.”

Whenever he returned from the kitchen with pancakes, there was always a peach pancake hiding the one white chocolate chip below it.

“Muffin today?”

“Please.”

“Did you rotate your tires?”

“Every time I drive.”

“I need some new shirts, could y’go with me?”

“Is this so you can take my car to the shop?”

“Yes.”

“I would love to.”

And so, it went on.

*

Then there was Alex.

No one liked him. They tolerated him for her benefit. There was honestly nothing wrong with him. He was a lot like Bodie. Smart, funny, kind. He had his own business in the city. He supported her. Appreciated her kindness for the small town and like her business. He was also handsome if you were into that sort of thing (which Harry begrudgingly accepted). He didn’t feel threatened by Harry and thought that the idea of settling in a small town was going to be great for family life.

Which was probably why they had been dating for a year. There was sincerely nothing wrong with him.

Except he was not Harry, and everyone in town noticed that for sure.

Alice had no trouble telling Harry that.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Alice,” Ed sighed.

“Harry, we’ve been coming in here for ages and you have never looked at anyone the way you look at her.”

His lips twitched but he hid it because she was still his best friend, and he wanted her to be happy. Harry wasn’t a happy person. Perhaps he never would be. So, if she was in love with Alex, then she was in love with Alex.

And if she stopped coming to his house unannounced then he was fine with that.

Totally, completely fine with it (and he definitely didn’t need to buy a new refrigerator for opening the door so hard it broke at the hinge).

*

“Did you see the moon!?” There was so much delight in her eyes. Harry had heard her say it so many times, it instinctively brought a smile to his face (internally). He had never met anyone so excited about the moon even when it was out seven days a week.

Harry discreetly glanced out the picture window of the diner and caught a glimpse of it. Alex was looking at his phone while she nearly snapped her neck to get a better view of it.

“Honey, seriously! It’s so pretty today, and you can see Venus next to it and it’s just so lovely,” she sighed and got up grabbing his arm. But he nearly paid no mind to her.

“Alex, look—”

“Oh my god. I don’t want to look at the moon! It’s the same moon I’ve seen for years. I don’t care.”

She swallowed the words in her throat. She took a deep breath and returned to her seat. Not at the counter. Quietly, she poked at her food and sipped her tea. Harry thought her eyes looked shiny. The whole diner heard it. Harry felt the smile (internally) fall off his face.

How could he hurt her like that? He wanted to kill him. It was much too quiet and uncomfortable. Clearing her throat, she started with small talk. Things she was going to do that day, errands she needed to run.

The entire time, her fingers danced along the charm around her neck.

*

Hey

Hi...

Everything alright?

Yeah, why?

You don’t usually text me. Unless you want to tell me I’m not allowed to leave my stuff at the counter even though I’m coming back later.

He sent an eye roll emoji. It was hard to be nice to her when she was annoying. But not really.

Yeah... fine. Just...

I was taking the trash out behind the diner... and...

The moon looks really pretty tonight. Have you seen it?

Her heart softened reading the message. She knew what he was doing even if he was trying to be sly about it. But she loved the moon. She stretched in her hammock to look between branches of the trees she was sitting below. Yeah, she had seen the moon already. It was all she could look at tonight. But when Harry said it, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him she already saw it. Not ever.

Oh! Yes, I hadn’t seen it yet. Look at that :)

Hope you’re relaxing. You deserve it. Night, Peach.

Night, Harry. Sleep well ❤️

There was something about looking at the same moon Harry was at that moment. Sharing something that they weren’t even in the same room for. But maybe, mostly because he had remembered how much it meant to her when no one else did.

Harry continued to message her about the moon every time he saw it over the next few months.

He took a screenshot of that sweet message she sent with the little heart emoji. He wanted to frame it and put it in the diner.

Maybe one day he would.

*

Harry entered his place, and it smelled like baked goods. But to his knowledge they hadn’t broken up. In fact, she hinted that wedding bells were in her future, (so Harry now needed a new stove because the oven door faced the same fate as his refrigerator).

He also wasn’t sick. So, she wasn’t making soup for him. There was no holiday or festival in sight, so she didn’t need help. It wasn’t winter so her pipes probably weren’t broken. So why was she there? Baking in his house? “Peach?” He called.

“Did you move the flour?”

“The cabinet on the right.”

“I’m making cookies for the kids—”

“Peach.”

“—they have their big exams coming up—”

“Peach.”

“I saw this recipe and thought I would give it a try.

“Peach.”

“I thought I had everything, but I always forget something.”

“Peach. Why aren’t y’with Alex?”

She stopped, gripping the side of the counter in front of the sink. She looked at the ceiling. “Because I need my best friend,” her voice cracked, and she sniffled before she wiped her arm across her nose. She shook her head and turned the sink on to wash her hands again.

Harry nodded to himself. Not knowing what was happening but couldn’t bring himself to care. He put his hand on her back briefly and she sniffled again as he grabbed the flour for her. He settled it on the counter and turned her toward him and cupped the back of her head the way he did when Bodie broke up with her. He rubbed his hand up and down her spine while she sobbed into his shirt. The ache he felt for her sadness made him want to cry himself.

He kissed the top of her head. “M’sorry, Peach,” he whispered.

She continued crying for a while. Her hands covering her face as she leaned into Harry’s embrace enjoying the feel of him cradling her like she was something precious. “Did y’see the moon, Peach?” He hummed quietly.

She shook her head. “It’s a new moon today,” she told him.

He snorted. “S’what I get for trying t’help.”

She laughed through her tears making him smile. Perhaps it was because they were in the privacy of his home, and he was heartbroken by her sadness.

But his smile was real and stretched across his face for anyone to see.

Even if it was just the sweet girl in his arms.

*

Harry didn’t ask any more questions about why she needed him. They baked cookies in silence and Harry made her dinner because it had been a long while since they had a dinner in his place. He made her favorite pasta dish and packaged it up so she could take it home when she ate no more than five bites of it.

Instead, they watched TV in silence. Seated on two different pieces of furniture and he glanced at her way too often assuring himself that she was okay when she didn’t seem to be at all. Eventually, he noted her eyes were shut, her neck awkwardly turned and slumped against the corner of the sofa.

Carefully, he took her shoes off. Brought her feet onto the couch turning her ever so gently because he didn’t want to wake her. He made sure the remote was within reach on the coffee table. Then he covered her with a blanket.

He would be up before her for the early morning breakfast, so he left her a note to come get her silly pancakes. Or her weird omelets if she wanted them. He would even throw in a muffin to go, and her coffee would be cold just the way she liked.

Then Harry went to bed with the sweet bookstore owner on his couch.

*

They didn’t talk about the night before. Harry didn’t smack her hand away from the cream and sugar but only because she didn’t reach. When she only ate two bites of her pancakes, he packaged them up for her to take home.  They didn’t speak and Harry didn’t read her little to-do list.

“Have a good day, Harry,” she murmured getting up from her seat.

“Peach?” He asked.

She looked up at him, her fingers touching the moon charm once more. His eyes flicked to the movement and then back to her eyes. Saddened, exhausted. God, was that what Harry looked like? No wonder she was constantly trying to make him better.

But she couldn’t look that way. No. She was perfect. Pretty and lovely. Intelligent and kind. She couldn’t get grumpy the way Harry had. “New moons symbolize new beginnings.”

She smiled, it hardly reached her eyes, but it was better than the flat expression across her face. Her cheeks glowed a little brighter, her eyes a little less sad. “Yeah,” she nodded. “They do.”

“So... every twenty-nine and a half days... y’can start over if y’have to. If y’need to.”

She nodded again and smirked. “Twenty-nine and a half? Did you do some research?” She laughed from the doorway.

“Something like that.”

*

What Harry hadn’t anticipated was her coming back for dinner. He assumed with all the leftovers she would be happy at home. Her dose of her grumpy friend no longer necessary. Perhaps she would call Bailey, who was arguably a much better person to assist her in relationship troubles. Or even Louis would have been a better call. At least that may have ended in some laughs at Harry’s expense.

But instead, she was back at the diner. Sitting at the counter as if it were the morning.

Harry headed back to the grill to get plates of food and returned to find Alex sitting beside her. She faced forward. No food in front of her, just her eyes focusing on the pots of coffee that were empty—waiting to be refilled for the morning.

“I didn't mean for it to happen. But when I look at her, my bones ache, love. I want you to have that. I want you to have a love like that. But you won't have it with me,” he told her.

She continued staring at the back wall behind the counter. Swallowing hard. Trying to ignore him. He pleaded with her. Only to make himself feel better for breaking her heart, Harry was sure. For stringing her along. How could she love so hard and not have someone love her back? She won’t ever forgive him. She can’t do it anymore. It’s not fair.

“Alex, just go,” She closed her eyes, and her voice felt weak. She was exhausted. It was plain on her face. She didn’t want to talk anymore. Especially not to Alex.

“Honey...”

“No.” Her voice was just a hair stronger than it was a moment before.

“Please just let me—"

“I really need you to leave,” her words were shaky. Cracking on every other syllable. She squeezed her eyes closed tighter. Like she could make the image of him breaking up with her in front of everybody go away. This was a dream. She was going to wake up any minute. But the pain was a lot. It felt like someone had ripped her tired, broken heart out of her chest.

“I don’t want you to think—"

Without warning, she slammed her fist on the counter gathering the attention of everyone in the diner. “I need you to leave,” her voice was so quiet. So different than the shake she just gave the counter, let alone the entire diner. Harry felt horrible. So completely horrible.

With a long look, Alex stared at her before leaving without so much as another word of apology.

Without truly realizing, Harry had followed him outside after the unending silence.

"Hey!” Harry had never confronted one of her boyfriends before. Not the one that told her she ate too many pancakes. Not the one that told her that her bookstore wouldn’t survive in a small place like this. Not the guy that told her she looked better when she styled her hair on special occasions. Or even Bodie who thought she was more than this town and even if that was true, he could have supported her anyway.

But this one... this one that just stopped loving her. Because of someone else. As if someone else could possibly compare to the most beautiful, kindest, most intelligent person he had ever met.

Alex turned around and sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. "Harry, I didn't mean to—"

"You jus’ lost the lottery,” he interrupted. His heart was pounding, and it felt separate from his brain. Like he is all too aware that his heart shouldn’t beat that fast nor be beating so hard for the girl that was heartbroken at the counter. But he couldn’t figure out why he chose today to confront Alex... and even his own feelings.

There was a deafening silence as he processed Harry’s words. "One in a billion. No. One in eight billion." Harry didn't move, just stared at him. "And you're throwing her away," he shook his head slowly. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed, defeat falling over his posture.

"I'm sorry,” Alex said. “But I couldn’t... we all deserve happiness,” he promised. “Even idiots like me.”

Harry had nothing else to say to him, so he returned inside. People were staring at her silently as they pecked at their plates of food. Individually, Harry headed to each table and quietly requested that every one of them leave.

Food’s on the house.

I think she needs a minute alone.

Please, just go quietly.

Once everyone was outside, he left a crate in front of the door for empty dishes for people to finish and return once they left. Harry flipped the open sign to close. He headed to the kitchen and whipped up the fastest batch of pancakes he had ever made: one peach and one white chocolate chip.

“I wish someone loved me that much,” she whispered to no one.

Harry came from the back and set the two pancakes in front of her. He met her teary gaze with his.

“Eat your pancakes.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Peach,” his voice was gentle but still very firm. “Eat them, please,” he repeated.

She picked up her fork and drowned the plate in syrup. Harry wondered why she didn’t just drink it straight from the bottle. Mum was insistent that food would cure anything. A cold. a broken leg.

A broken heart.

She had tears rolling down her cheeks as she ate but Harry ignored it. “Never had a peach and white chocolate chip pancake before.”

She sniffled. “Yeah?”

He smirked. “Been making them for you for so many years. But no... Never.”

She smirked through her tears. “Figured you were eating them back there to keep your ratios on par,” she cut a piece of each one off and held her fork out to him. He took the bite enjoying the little piece of her that existed in her favorite breakfast. It was delicious. He could see why she would want one of each.

He chuckled around the bite. “Gave up on worrying ‘bout the ratios,” he shrugged.

“How come?”

“Y’eat them enough t’save the ratio in spades.” Harry felt like he won the lottery just by hearing her laugh; especially when she probably didn’t want to. “Do y’want t’watch a film?”

She nodded. Harry picked up her plate and let her lead down the hall. He flicked the lights off to the diner as they walked back to his little apartment home. She fit in the room so easily. Quickly, she made her spot on the sofa, Harry sat close beside her. Harry didn’t pay any mind to the movie he picked. In a matter of minutes, she was drowsy. The movie was nearly irrelevant because she was nearly asleep half a dozen times throughout the movie.

“Did y’fall asleep?” There was a smile in his voice when he asked the first time.

“No,” she mumbled.

“Peach... y’fall asleep?” She muttered a quiet no, again. She could still hear the movie. But the third time, she was simply too tired, physically and emotionally to respond. “Kitten, are y’awake?” She couldn’t speak to even register he called her something new. She was too tired. She simply continued listening to the movie playing and Harry asking her if she was asleep.

“My mum died out of nowhere,” he told her. It felt like someone punched her in the stomach. “It broke me. Broke me t’pieces,” his voice was nostalgic. “I was twenty almost twenty-one. She didn’t even see me graduate.” She should have told him she was awake. He didn’t want him to spill his secrets to her if she was awake. That much was clear in the way he asked the last two times. “Gemma had been stuck here t’see the aftermath of everything. I needed t’finish school even though I didn’t want to. She tried so hard t’keep this place afloat, but she didn’t like cooking, and she didn’t know how t’run a business. I didn’t want t’come home. It broke me all over again. Because I was already weary. Didn’t want t’relive the hometown heartbreak I suffered. This girl I dated from town. She wanted nothing t’do with this place, but I loved this town so much, Peach. I loved it like you do. So maybe s’on me. Because she said she wasn’t going t’stay and it broke m’heart. It broke m’entire plan t’stay here. I hated it here. I hated that it wasn’t enough for her. For us.”

This wasn’t right. Listening to him when he was sharing something personal that he clearly didn’t want to tell...but she was in too deep now. “M’plan turned t’helping Mum find people t’run the diner for her and then move away. Find m’own footing. That had been the plan since I started college. And then Mum...” he sighed and paused. She wondered if he could hear how fast her heart was beating. “I graduated. I cried. I drank.”

Her heart hurt. “I thought maybe I’ll jus’ burn the place down. If Mum’s not here, what’s the point?” His voice was so quiet. “Gemma was heartbroken. She was there when it happened, and she couldn’t stay. Didn’t want t’stay and how could I let her? She was holding everything together. She’s a superhero m’sister,” he whispered so quietly. “She didn’t know what t’do. But she knew she wasn’t any help. She told me it was okay t’sell it. T’move away. T’escape the heartache.”

She tried to think of this little town without the diner. Without Harry. It would be missing something. She was sure. But staying here, the ghost of a girl who was clearly just not good enough for his sweet heart and the ghost of his mother and the family that had to leave because it was too much, she understood. Of course he wanted to leave. How could anyone blame him? “I had a realtor. I had a buyer. A lawyer. I had it all. It was only days away from turning into something and I jus’ had this horrible breakdown before I opened,” he reminisced, his voice was far away. She heard him swallow audibly. His voice cracked. “I was sobbing on the floor over a dozen broken eggs.” The sound of the movie was gone. She couldn’t hear anything but Harry and his soft breathing. Her stomach hurt at the thought of his distress and wanted to make it go away retroactively. If only she had a time machine. If only she could have known him and done something. If only his mom was still there. “I begged Mum for a sign. I wanted her approval. Afraid I wasn’t doing the right thing. Afraid she would hate me for running.”

Of course she wouldn’t have. Harry was... Harry. No one could hate him. Especially not his mother. “I think everyone kinda knew it was coming. Even though I didn’t tell them. I was going t’tell them that day, actually. That I was selling and moving and... the diner would be no more. End of a chapter. End of a life. End of a story.”

She could hardly take how sad it all was. No wonder he was grumpy. She couldn’t figure out why he was telling her. She inhaled a little deeper, ready to tell him she was actually awake and that of course his mother wouldn’t hate him. Never. Not even from wherever her soul was out in—

“But then this insanely intelligent, beautiful girl sat at m’counter. Asked for one peach and one white chocolate chip pancake. Told me the ratios didn’t matter. That she would like t’open a tab.”

She swore her heart stopped. Time stopped. Everything stopped.

“Y’can’t have a tab if there was no diner,” he said simply, a shrug in his voice.

Like it was that simple. That in asking for a tab erased all that heartache. How different her life in this little place would have been without Harry through the years. She couldn’t imagine it. Her best friend just not there. Who would dress as Santa? Or help her rake leaves in the fall? How would she set off the fireworks?

“I didn’t think I would ever be happy again and y’jus’...” there was a quiet pause that seemed to last for hours. Harry’s voice sounded wistful. Like he was remembering every moment since she moved. “Y’were opening a bookshop and y’moved into a house with bad pipes. I didn’t want you t’be stuck in the dead of winter with no hot water,” he continued. “Y’jus’ wanted pancakes and cold coffee, and I didn’t want t’be the one t’stop y’from getting whatever you wanted. Peach, y’love this town like y’grew up here. Y’take care of everyone and everything. Y’are endlessly kind and wonderful and the most annoying person I’ve ever known. Y’love the moon when all anyone can talk about is how nice and warm the sun is. You are everything I wanted and all y’did was waltz into m’diner on one of the worst days of m’life.”

There was no way Harry couldn’t hear her heartrate flying. It felt like a hundred dragonflies were trapped in her ribcage begging to get out. “M’nearly certain I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you. The moment I met you and made you your ridiculous pancakes and all those omelets. M’never going t’stop loving you. No matter how many stupid men you date that don’t know that you’re the best thing that’s ever graced this town, this world, and especially my life.”

The sound of the movie seemed to come back as Harry stopped speaking for a bit of time. The movie filled the silence instead of his words and she felt like she might need to cry again. For several moments she kept quiet, trying to calm her heart. When she felt a sufficient amount of time had passed, she reached up to rub her eye with an exaggerated yawn. “Fell asleep again,” she sniffed turning to Harry. He was smiling at her with a little nod in the way he always did. A smile that didn’t spread across his face, but it was in his eyes.

“I know,” he whispered very softly.

“Sorry. Can we watch the movie another day?” He nodded again, still gazing at her. “Are you okay?” She asked.

“Should be asking you that.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I think I’m okay.”

“Y’sure?” He asked. “I... I wanted t’kill him. T’be honest.”

She shook her head. “He’s not worth it.”

“No? Thought y’wanted to marry him.”

“He...” she sighed. “He doesn’t like the smalltown life after all,” she shrugged then looked at Harry with a smile. “He doesn’t care about the moon.”

He grinned ever so gently at her. Not quite those secret smiles that he hid from everyone, but it was more than his signature twitch of the lips. “Yeah?”

“I can’t be with someone that doesn’t care about the moon.”

He felt his cheeks warm and was glad the room was dark aside from the glow of the TV. “I never really thought ‘bout the moon until y’rolled into town.”

“No?”

“M’more of a sunrise guy with the diner.”

She smiled. “I like the sun too.”

“The moon is better. Y’can stare at it without hurting y’eyes.”

She giggled. “That’s true.”

“I think ‘bout y’every time I see the moon,” he murmured.

She was closer to him than she ever had been even when he held her the night before and kissed the top of her head. She could feel his breath on her face, and she loved his eyes so much. They were so pretty. “What about when the moon is gone?”

“I think ‘bout the moon in the middle of the day, as soon as I wake up, and as the sun sets.”

She doesn’t know why it was then. Why she didn’t know...how she didn’t know. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. The way he looked at her. The way he always looked at her. Harry was her best friend, and she never thought he loved her beyond that. She thought he only barely tolerated her as a friend. But the look on his face...

“Oh,” she managed. Breathless, her heart pounded. Harry didn’t date. Harry didn’t... love... right? Harry didn’t really love her, did he?

But he did. He told her (albeit, what he thought was her sleeping body). So, she wasn’t supposed to know that. Not really. Maybe he was just saying it because he felt bad for her and how upset she was. But he shook his head and smiled—really, really smiled.

“Peach, y’have m’whole heart,” he shrugged one shoulder as if this wasn’t the biggest deal in the entire world. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said simply. “M’not going anywhere.”

*

She woke up and it was still pitch-black out. With a glance at the clock on her bedside table she found it was only four thirty and she was so awake. Even Harry wouldn’t be awake yet. She didn’t feel sad about Alex. Why was she crying about him yesterday anyway? He wasn’t Harry. He wasn’t someone who anticipated things she needed done and offered to do them before she knew it. Harry thought about her like she was an extension of him, which is exactly how she thought about him. He showed up when she least expected it but he was there.

Her fingers skimmed the moon charm on her necklace. Something she couldn’t stop wearing if her life depended on it. The thought of losing it made her nauseous. It was so comforting to have a piece of Harry with her all the time. How could she think she could marry someone that wasn't him?

Was it too soon? Maybe. But it was a long time coming. Had been for so many years. Harry was hers. Maybe whether he wanted to be or not. Because she loved him from the moment that she met him, and she couldn’t have imagined a more perfect person than him.

Hard pass. You need a nice bubbly guy like you.

Harry wasn’t bubbly. But he was nice, and he was more than perfect.

Suddenly, she was out the door running. Running through the quiet, sleeping town. Did she close her door? Maybe Edith or David would do it for her. She barely stopped when she got to the front of the diner. Harry wasn’t down yet—of course he wasn’t, it wasn’t even five—so she knocked on the door rapidly; peering through the glass waiting for the most perfect man she knew to appear. She could have used the key, but this was important, and Harry needed to open the door.

After what seemed like eternity, Harry came from the back: hurried, no shoes, and still in his sweatpants.

“Peach, what are y’doing? I hate when y’come here this early when s’dark out. On foot. What if someone snuck up and kidnapped you?”

“Oh my God, Harry. Shut up about being kidnapped. Everyone in town knows me.”

He snorted. “S’not good t’run in the near dark—Fine, whatever. Peach, what’s wro—”

She pulled his face to hers and kissed him. For so many years she dreamed of his lips. How soft they would feel, how nice they would feel. It felt electric. He tasted like toothpaste and summer. His skin was warm, and he loved her.

Harry reached down and cupped the back of her thighs, pulling her legs around his hips. She looped her arms around his neck, clinging to him wishing she could get closer somehow. He closed the door to the diner and fiddled with the signs. Opening late. She imagined the sign was being placed in front of the closed sign. Harry kept one arm beneath her butt, supporting her against him as he walked across the diner and placed her on the same stool she sat on each morning.

He brought his hands to her face, sliding his fingers through her hair, his thumbs skimming across her cheeks as he kissed her again. Her mouth was so warm.

“I could hear you talking last night,” she whispered against his skin as his lips moved to her jaw. "During the movie." She had to tell him the truth about some things. Many things. Some things she hadn’t thought about in ages. Some were still fresh. If this was going to work, she needed Harry to know everything.

“I know y’could, Peach,” he hummed quietly and moved across her collarbone, pausing to kiss the moon charm around the chain. His lips started their ascent up the other side of her throat. Her skin felt hot, tingly from head to toe. "Wanted you t'hear."

Her heart ached a little less. “Is this too soon?” She asked.

He shook his head. “Feels like s’been too long,” his kisses worked up the side of her face, skimming every inch of her like he was going to draw her face with kisses on a canvas and he was measuring what that would look like with an outline.

“Harry,” she whispered, shivering slightly. He didn’t respond as his lips were at the top of her head, kissing her hair line. “I’ve... I’ve known your mom passed away... since I moved in. Alice told me the first week I was here.”

Harry paused his kisses. He drew back to look her in the eye. There was a pucker of confusion between his eyebrows, and he looked at her like he had never seen her before. “Y’never said anything,” it wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t mad. It wasn’t sad. A statement. That’s all he said.

“You clearly didn’t want to talk about it.”

His heart swelled. “Y’never... treated me differently.”

“I never asked about your mom, Harry. You didn’t notice?”

Well, now it seemed so obvious. “No,” he mumbled.

She smiled weakly. “You weren’t ready to tell me.”

“Y’didn’t look at me with pity.”

She shrugged. “You did that in spades.”

He smirked and rubbed his thumb on her lip before he took it between his again. “S’much as I want t’make more memories on this seat, s’going t’get light soon,” he pecked her lips and scooped her back up. There would be someone walking their dog and they would peer in and see something they shouldn’t. “But ‘ve wanted t’kiss y’in this seat for ages,” he assured her. He gripped behind her thighs again rewrapping them around his hips and lifting her into his arms again. He kissed her the entire way down the hall to his little home behind the diner that made his heart hurt for so many years. Now it was filled with peaches. So many sweet memories to take away the hurt.

“Harry,” she whimpered as he nipped at her skin.

“Y’taste so sweet, Peach,” he mumbled into her mouth. She shivered, making Harry squeeze her tighter. Then she smiled against his lips. Her fingers tangled in the back of his hair. She ground her hips against him in a needy fashion that she never imagined she’d ever get to do to him. He groaned softly into her neck kissing a path across her collarbone again. “Easy Peach,” he hummed. “M’pretty... starved for attention.”

She huffed a breath of laughter. “You can have all my attention,” she promised. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry Styles,” she pulled his face back so she could read his eyes. “Ever. I’m going to die on that stool in your diner eating peach and white chocolate chip pancakes when I’m a hundred years old.”

He smiled. That genuine, gorgeous smile that she loved so much but he kept so hidden. “Perfect,” he whispered and captured her lips in his again.

“I’m glad it was a new moon,” she whispered.

“Me too, Peach,” he laid her gently on his bed, stripped his T-shirt over his head. “I needed a new beginning.”

“Hey Harry?” She whispered.

“Hmm?” He pulled his sweatpants off next. Leaning to get them off his legs which left him in the perfect position to kiss the length of her leg, starting with her ankle and working his way up to her hip.

“I love you too. In case it wasn’t obvious at this point.”

He stopped, looked up at her, peering into her eyes like he was going to gaze at her for eternity. “Peach,” he said simply. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

--

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[the-universal-sun]

little!stan crying for his mama on hanukkah with cg ford and/or fidds?

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy First Day of Hanukkah! I set this to post at 8 am but it looks like I set it wrong, my apologies! Thank you so much to this lovely anon for the idea of Stan crying over his mother, this helped me form the direction of the drabble-the part that kept stumping me and to @thehessianslady for the sweater idea! I enjoyed writing this so much, and I hope you all enjoy reading this!

I hope you guys had a lovely holiday/will have a lovely holiday, but to any who are struggling or are feeling alone right now, know that I am always in your corner. I will always believe in you and I will always be proud of any of your accomplishments, little or small, nothing is insignificant. I am always open to talk if you need someone, for anything. To vent, rant, or to just chat so you have something to do! I am always here for you guys, and I thank you all for giving me so much love and support!

I truly AM sending all of you all the Love in the entire world!

XOXO

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

     The winter air was crisp and freezing outside the Shack, wind howling against the windows, promising frostbite for any who dared to venture out unprepared. Inside, however, was warm and cozy, the scent of cinnamon mixing in an oddly delightful way with the scent of potatoes. The soft glow of twinkling lights and flickering candles lit up the living room of the Shack-a fun mix of Christmas and Hanukkah decorating the space. Stan sat on the floor, bundled in a sweater two sizes too big for him, a homemade gift by Fiddleford. It was matching Ford's, both sweaters reminiscent of their childhood Dreidal sweater, but softer and with snowflakes adorning the ends. Stan had begged and begged for his twin to wear the sweater, giving him his patented Puppy Dog Eyes and wobbling his lips for added effect. It worked like a charm, Ford being weak to Stan when he was feeling small. Too bad Fidds didn't want to wear his special sweater that he picked out himself. Stan smiled widely and giggled as he built and knocked over his new blocks, Poindexter sat next to him and his new friend, an Oppossum he named "Shanklin 2". He woke up to so many presents for him; presents for when he's small and presents for when he's big! Stan thinks he loves Christmas if he's getting gifts just for being good. And he got to play with his new toys all day long, neither Sixer or Fidds telling him to grow up or anything. He felt free-free to play and to indulge in his fuzzy mindset, the holiday spirit soothing him and wrapping around him like a warm blanket. The only thing that's missing is an ugly sweater on Fidds and his Ma'. Except he can't talk to his Ma', not now when he knows the old man's home, surrounded by the super annoying aunties and uncles who were probably told to shun him back when he was kicked out. His head's too fuzzy and small to talk to her now anyways, his tongue not wanting to move to speak right, if he managed to say anything, he'd probably sound like a baby. Or drunk.

     Stan shakes his head to get rid of those sad and grown-up thoughts, grabbing his sippy cup half full of warmed cocoa-he can't stand to wait for hot drinks to cool down, burning his tongue too many times but never learning his lesson-and trying to focus on everything else. The pretty lights and ornaments in their tree-he's never had a Christmas tree before, Stan got to help decorate it and he even was allowed to put the star on! The Menora and the first two candles, the flames looking super pretty against the rainbow-colored Christmas Lights. He let it all wash over him, feeling his head get fuzzier and fuzzier, feeling even smaller than before. He chews on the straw of his sippy before a six-fingered hand replaces it with a pacifier; he giggles when the fingers tickle his chin before ruffling his hair. Stan feels so warm and happy right now, happier than he's been in forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "Merry Christmas, Fidds," Ford said, clinking his glass of cooled-down hot chocolate-he can never wait for drinks to cool down-against Fiddleford's piping hot glass. He had never felt so peaceful this time of year, always surrounded by fast-moving and loud noises during the season, family he hadn't seen in a year pinching his cheeks and giving him wet kisses. And when he left for college, he stopped celebrating entirely-aside from that one Krampus incident with Fidds a few years back-having no desire to surround himself with noisy relatives, to sit beside an empty chair. But this year is different, he's with his friend and Lee, and it's just the three of them in their little shack, it's peaceful and nice. Being here and in the moment with the two closest people in his life, fills him up with such a fiery warmth that his heart aches and his breath gets caught in his chest; he can't stop smiling and laughing, even when all that's happening is Lee staring at the lights, that's how all-encompassing his happiness is. Ford couldn't ask for a better first Christmas.

     "Happy Hanukkah, Ford, Lee." It was the first night of Hanukkah, a holiday Fiddleford's never celebrated, growing up Southern Baptist and all, so the traditions are all a bit new to him. Thankfully, as Ford and Stan both told him, it's just the three of them so there's no nosy fourth cousins to tell him he's not lighting the candles at the right angle or saying the Shehecheyanu wrong. He sat up, going to the kitchen to bring out the little gift he's been making for Ford and Stan; Sufganiyot. He's been working on the recipe he found in Ford's things-their mother's recipe he reckons-for a week now, and Fiddleford believes this batch to be a success. He knows neither of the men have had it for over a decade, but with how they're establishing all these new traditions in the house, he thinks it'd be nice to have an old one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Stan, who's been watching to doorway since Fidds left, perks up when he returns. He wiggles in his spot, hoping he's bringing another present or another tasty treat. He's been eating lots of them today, Latkes and gingerbread cookies and cinnamon pancakes, but he can't help but want more-Fidds' cooking was so good! Better than Ford's at least. He clapped lightly when Fidds came back in with a plate full of something he couldn't see from the floor. He gets to his feet, grabbing Poindexter and Shanklin 2, and walks towards Fidds, but Ford guides him to the couch instead, ignoring his pout and hand rubbing his stomach so desperately. Stan's starving, he deserves to have first dibs on the food!

     "Don't give me that look, Lee, you just had dinner an hour ago, you can wait a few more seconds before you have dessert." Ford takes his pacifier and taps the corners of his lips, getting a smile and giggle out of Stan. Ford laughs too, slinging a warm arm over his shoulder and pulling him in for a big and warm hug. Ford's hugs always make Stan melt, he feels so safe and protected, like nothing can come and get him and hurt him or scare him, not with his brother there to protect him from the outside world. It brings nice squiggly feelings to Stan's tummy, Ford's hugs, and sometimes those feelings make Stan wiggle in place from how nice they are. Like now, he relishes in Ford's and Fidds' breathy laughs as he wiggles under Ford's arm. The wiggles intensify when Fidds brings the plate closer to them, getting a good look at the delicious morsel he made them. Stan gasps with excitement. He made Suf-Sufgina-

     "Fiddleford, you made Sufganiyot?! Where'd you even find a recipe for that?" Yeah, that word Sixer said! Ma' made it all the time back-back in Jersey. How did Fidds know to make it for Hanukkah? Stan thinks he must be psychic or something, how else would he know and find a recipe?

     "Well, m'a bit ashamed t'say that I found it riflin' through your stuff. I assumed your mom must've sent it, so I'm sorry if it tastes piss poor in comparison." Fiddleford blushes, rubbing a foot on the ground and looking down, not meeting their eyes. Stan just giggles, Fidds said "piss".

     "Nonsense, F, I'm sure it's fine. If this is what you've spent all week in that kitchen working on, then they'll be great. Right, Lee?" Stan nods absentmindedly, almost drooling over the plate of Suf-goodies. They smelled so good, he needed to eat one right at this very moment. He looked pleadingly at Ford, pouting and whining, ignoring his and Fidds' conversation. He dives right in when he gets simultaneous nods, scrambling for the powdered-sugar-coated goodness. He takes one and shoves it in his mouth, doing happy wiggles at the taste. Fidds was so good at cooking, it tasted just like Mama's! Stan hasn't tasted this in ages, he forgot how good they were! He knows if Mama were here now she'd be fussing at him for being messy, wiping the powdered sugar off his cheeks with a wink. Sometimes Sixer does that, mostly Fidds, but it's not the same as when Mama did it. She'd probably get on to them about the wrapping paper still in the living room, making them clean it up before getting dessert. He misses her, now more than ever. Phone calls every month or so can only do so much. Stan feels his lips quivering, he hasn't cried over her in years, but something about this day, about tasting her recipe, he can't help it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "Lee, are you alright? You're crying. Is-is something the matter?" Ford's looking back and forth between Stan and the dessert, glaring at the Sufganiyot as if it was personally responsible for making Stan cry. Both he and Fidds startle when Stan gives a hiccup, his crying-silent up to now-beginning to have noise, sniffling, hiccups, and sobs emanating from Stan-the dessert plate having been moved from his lap at some point-as he curls over his lap, fisted hands rubbing his eyes. "Lee, come on. What's the matter, you were fine just a moment ago," here Ford pauses, hands hovering over Stan as he thinks. This is the first holiday they've celebrated together in over 12 years, a decade of holidays Stan spent alone and probably cold. Taking a deep breath, still unused to emotional talk, Ford asked, "Was it a bad thought, Lee? Some nasty thought ringing around in there?" Ford softened his voice like Fiddleford does, bringing a hand up to rub Stan's back, patting it to help dislodge a cough or two. He's not good at talking about emotions, at not being dismissive of emotions, but he's getting better. And these are Stan's emotions, not his, he's more open when it comes to helping his brother than he is when confronting his own issues.

     "Ma'..." Stan whimpered between sobs, his small and croaking voice cracking Ford's heart. He's missing their mother...It's understandable, really, Stan may have talked to her a few dozen times over the years, but he hasn't seen her since he was kicked out, hasn't had the nerve to, not with their father still kicking around up there. And with Fiddleford making her dessert while Stan was in his headspace during this holiday, all these big emotions must have collided with each other, causing Stan's tears. Ford goes to quickly console Fiddleford, to tell him that it wasn't his fault, because if he still knows his friend, he knows that he'd blame himself. He was right, Fiddleford looks absolutely downtrodden, his lips and brow furled down into the deepest frown Ford has ever seen on the man-rivaling his expression when he's furious.

     "Oh, St-Stan I'm so sorry-"

     "Nope. This is not your fault, Fiddleford, and it's not yours either, Stanley. We are not playing the blame game, not on Hanukkah. Fidds, Stan misses our mother, he hasn't seen her since he was 17, there was always a possibility that he'd cry today given the timing and his headspace-I should have accounted for that." Ford quickly assures Fiddleford, needing him to know how much it is not his fault. He turns back to face Stan, who's still crying but at least is looking up at him, "Stanley, it is completely okay to cry over missing Ma', it's been years since you've seen her and you're in a more sensitive headspace right now. So please don't call your tears stupid," here Ford wipes a tear trailing down Stan's face away, "they never are. I'll tell you what, first thing tomorrow morning, I'll call Ma' to get her alone, maybe to a pay phone, and then I'll put you on, feeling small or not, and we'll explain to her that we've made up and are living together, sound good?" Ford may be rushing this whole "consoling" business, but they've been having such a good day all day, which is a rarity with the three of them, and he wants to keep the good mood going. Usually, this would be Fiddleford's job, but Ford figures he can, in the spirit of the season and his friend's own feelings of guilt, be the uplifting and guiding person today. He wipes more of Stan's tears, bopping his nose to earn a smile out of him-that action always does-and brushing his hair back.

     "Now," Fiddleford's weak voice came a few minutes later from his place kneeling in front of Stan, "Is there anything we-anything I can do to cheer you up, Sugar Plum?" Ford knew that was the worst question to ask as soon as he saw Stan's lips curl, tears drying on his face but slowly stopping with the comfort of his caregivers. Ford knew this smirk well-it was the type reminiscent of the old Grinch movie they watched as children. It promised mischief. That look soon transformed into a teary eyes and a begging look, his brother even clasping his hands together with a pout. Ford had to give it to Stan, small or not, he knew how to play Fidds for a sucker. He burst out laughing as soon as he hears Stan voice, his tone quiet and childish but adorable, his request.

     "The sweater." Fiddleford's face dropped dramatically, but he was no match to Stan's puppy eyes. With a distraught look towards Ford, he heaved himself up and trudged off to his bedroom.

     Ford's suddenly glad to be wearing a matching sweater with Stan because Fiddleford comes out a moment later dressed in the ugliest sweater Ford had ever seen. It had lights, some form of discombobulated configuration of what he believes to be Rudolph, and a "HU HU HU" sewn into it over a dozen times. It physically hurt him to see. It physically hurt Fidds to wear, if the pained and cringing grimace was anything to go by, the wool looked incredibly itchy.

     But Stan was happy, smiling and clapping, wiggling around in what Ford and Fidds have deemed his "happy dance", so Fiddleford can suck it up. In the spirit of the holiday season.

[sherewrytes]

Dream Team Gojo/Geto x black reader

Gojo and Geto enjoy their fav band groupie after getting home from a long tour.

Title: Dream Team Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru x Black!Fem!Reader Rating: 18+ (Explicit)

Rockband au, smut, breeding.. thats the warning

didnt proof read, just wrote and thats it

she and her was used interchangeably with you and yours. I messed it up

The smell of thyme and roasted garlic filled the apartment as Y/N adjusted the apron around your waist. She leaned down to check the oven, the bubbling juices of the steak confirming your timing was perfect. The rest of the meal—creamy mashed potatoes, sautéed green beans, and freshly baked rolls—was already set on the dining table, next to a bottle of wine she’d been saving.

You stole a glance at your phone resting on the counter. No new messages. With a sigh, she leaned back against the counter, wiping your hands on the towel at your side. They’d been gone for weeks. Sure, video calls and late-night texts helped, but nothing could replace their presence. Their chaos.

A buzz from your phone broke your thoughts. Gojo: We’re coming up! Hope you’re ready to see your favorite people.Geto: Ignore him. But yes, we’re almost there.

Your lips curled into a smile, anticipation lighting your chest. It didn’t take long before the sound of keys jingling outside the door made yourheart race. A second later, the door swung open, and there he was.

“Honey, we’re hoooome!” Gojo’s voice rang through the apartment as he strode in, his sunglasses perched haphazardly atop his messy white hair. He spread his arms wide like a conquering hero, grinning from ear to ear.

Behind him, Geto walked in with a quiet confidence, his dark hair tied back except for a few strands framing his face. His smile was smaller but no less genuine, his dark eyes soft as they met yours.

“You didn’t burn the place down while we were gone?” Gojo teased, setting his bags down in the corner.

“Missed you too, Satoru,” Y/N shot back, rolling your eyes, though the warmth in your tone betrayed you. Before she could say anything else, he swept you into a bear hug, effortlessly lifting you off the ground.

“You’re sweaty! Put me down!” she laughed, swatting at his shoulder.

“Not until you say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you missed me,” he teased, his grin widening.

“Fine, I missed you!”

Satisfied, he set you down, planting an exaggerated kiss on your forehead. “Knew it.”

As soon as she was free of Gojo’s grip, Geto stepped forward, pulling you into a gentler hug. His arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting briefly on your shoulder. “We missed you too,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

Your heart squeezed at the quiet sincerity in his tone. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

Dinner was everything Y/N had hoped for: laughter, banter, and a slow unraveling of the tension that had built during their time apart.

Gojo, true to form, couldn’t resist stirring up trouble. “Are you seriously stealing from my plate?” Y/N glared at him as he shamelessly speared a piece of steak from your dish.

“Quality testing,” he replied, popping the bite into his mouth with a wink. “What if it’s poisoned?”

Geto smirked, casually reaching over to take a roll from her plate. “He’s got a point. Can’t be too careful.”

Y/N threw up her hands. “Unbelievable. I make you this nice meal, and this is how you repay me?”

“It’s our way of showing love,” Gojo said, his grin far too charming for his own good.

“You call this love?”

Geto leaned back, his voice calm and teasing. “It’s the only kind we know.”

Their laughter filled the apartment, their voices overlapping as they traded stories from the tour. As the night wore on, the playful teasing became heavier, their compliments more lingering

By the time Y/N was rinsing plates at the sink, she could feel their eyes on her. It started as a light, almost imperceptible pressure—a gaze she was all too familiar with.

“Leave that,” Gojo’s voice purred from behind her.

Warm hands slid around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. She felt his lips graze the shell of her ear. “We’ve got better things to do.”

Her smirk was audible in her response. “Better things like helping me clean up?”

He chuckled, spinning her around to face him. “Better things like making up for lost time.”

Geto appeared at her side, his presence grounding. He reached out, his thumb brushing against her cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve done enough for us tonight,” he murmured, his gaze heavy and intent.

The air between them grew thick, charged with an energy that made Y/N’s pulse race. Gojo tilted her chin up, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to her lips. “Missed this too,” he whispered against her mouth.

Gojo's fingers trailed along the delicate column of your throat, applying just the slightest bit of pressure. The masculine scent of his cologne mixed with the savory aroma of the Creole food cooking on the stove, creating an intoxicating blend that made your head spin.

"Gojo," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. Your body pressed back against his, relishing the feeling of his firm chest and strong arms encircling you.

Suguru's hands roamed your body, his touch both gentle and demanding as he explored every curve and dip. He dipped his head to nuzzle into the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

"We want you, yn," Suguru growled in your ear, his voice low and rough with desire. "We need to feel you, taste you, make you ours all over again."

Gojo's grip on your throat tightened slightly, sending a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. You could feel the heat of his body radiating through your clothes, his hardness pressing insistently against your ass.

"You're playing with fire, love," Gojo murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "Teasing us like this, cooking up all this delicious food… it's driving us wild."

You let out a shaky moan, your hips rolling back to grind against Gojo's straining erection. "Then take me," you challenged, your voice thick with need. "Make me yours, show me how much you want me."

Gojo's eyes darkened with lust as he watched Suguru's fingers disappear beneath the waistband of your shorts. The sight of his lover's hand rubbing your most intimate parts sent a jolt of arousal straight to Gojo's cock, making it throb and twitch with need.

"Her mouth," Gojo growled, his voice rough with desire. "I need that slick mouth wrapped around my cock. Want to fuck that pretty face until my cum is dripping down your chin."

you whimpered, your pussy clenching around Suguru's invading fingers. "Yes, fuck," you breathed, your eyes glazed with pleasure. "Use my mouth, make me choke on your big, hard cock."

Suguru chuckled darkly, his fingers pumping in and out of your wet heat. "You heard her, Gojo. She wants to be used, wants to be our little fucktoy. Think you can handle that?"

Gojo smirked, already working at the fastenings of his jeans. "Oh, I can handle anything she throws at me," he boasted, freeing his throbbing erection from its confines. "Gonna make her scream on my cock, make her beg for more."

He gripped the base of his shaft, giving it a few rough strokes as he stepped closer to you. "Get on your knees, baby," he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. "Time to put that mouth to work."

You complied eagerly, sinking to your knees before him. You looked up at him through your lashes, yourr eyes filled with love and submission.

"Use me," you whispered, parting your lips in silent invitation.

Gojo's cock throbbed in your mouth, the velvety softness of your tongue driving him wild with lust. He gripped your hair, holding your in place as he rocked his hips forward, fucking your face with short, shallow thrusts.

"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back in ecstasy. "Your mouth feels so good, baby. So fucking hot and wet and tight."

Meanwhile, Suguru was sprawled out on the kitchen floor, his face buried between your thighs. He lapped at your dripping cunt like a man starved, his tongue delving deep to taste your essence.

"Delicious," he murmured, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers of pleasure racing through your body. "Love the way you taste; love the way you squirm and moan for me."

your muffled cries around Gojo's cock grew louder, your knees beginning to tremble as Suguru worked your closer and closer to the edge. Your hands fisted in Gojo's thighs, nails digging into his flesh as she fought to maintain your balance.

Gojo could feel your struggles, could sense the impending explosion of pleasure building within your. He pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, his cock slick with your saliva.

"Gonna make you cum so hard, baby," he promised, his voice rough with lust. "Gonna fill up that pretty little pussy, mark you as ours inside and out."

Suguru pulled away from your cunt with a last, long lick, his chin glistening with your juices. "Then what are we waiting for?" he asked, his eyes dark and predatory. "Take her."

Gojo's eyes gleamed with primal hunger as Suguru's words hung in the air. Without hesitation, he seized your hips and spun your around, bending your over a nearby countertop. His muscular thighs nudged your legs apart, exposing your glistening folds to his hungry gaze.

"You ready for this, love?" Gojo growled, notching the broad head of his cock against your entrance. "Ready to take everything I have to give you?"

You whimpered, your back arching as you pushed your hips back, desperate for more contact. "Please, Gojo," she gasped, your voice ragged with need. "Fill me up, make me yours."

Gojo obliged, slamming forward to bury himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. your cried out, your nails scrabbling at the countertop as he stretched and filled you completely.

"That's it, take it," Gojo grunted, setting a punishing pace. "Take my cock like the good little slut you are."

Suguru moved to position himself next to Gojo, his hand snaking across to rub on your clit. He began rubbing it in time with Gojo's thrusts, adding extra stimulation to the already intense sensations.

"Harder," your demanded, your voice breathy and insistent. "Fuck me harder, Gojo. I can take it, I need it."

Gojo complied, his hips snapping forward with increasing force. The obscene sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoed through the kitchen, mingling with your wanton moans and Gojo's guttural grunts.

Suguru's hand never faltered in its rhythmic flicking and rubbing of your clit. "Fuck, Gojo," he breathed, his lips brushing the shell of Gojo's ear. "Look at her, taking your cock. She's perfect, a goddamn dream."

Gojo groaned in agreement, sweat beading on his brow as he pounded into your willing body. "yn," he gasped, his thrusts growing more erratic as he neared his peak. "Shit, baby, you're so fucking tight. Gonna fill you up, make you mine."

Suguru reached around to palm Gojo's balls, rolling them in his palm as he felt the heavy sack draw up in preparation for release. "Do it," he urged, his voice low and filthy. "Paint her insides, mark her as our woman."

With a final, brutal thrust, Gojo buried himself as deep as he could go, his cock pulsing and twitching as he emptied his load into your spasming cunt. "Fuck, yes," he snarled, grinding his hips against your ass as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

Suguru stroked gojo''s cock, milking every last drop from Gojo's spent cock before gently easing him out of your clenching heat. "Beautiful," he murmured, watching as Gojo's cum leaked from your well-used hole.

Gojo slumped forward, his forearms braced on the countertop as he caught his breath. "Damn," he rasped, turning his head to shoot Suguru a lazy, satisfied smirk. " It's your turn, fuck her good, breed her."

Suguru's eyes glinted with a feral hunger as he stepped up behind you, his hands gripping your hips possessively. "You heard the man, baby," he growled, his voice low and rough with lust. "Time for me to fill you up, make you carry my child."

Gojo smirked, reaching out to tangle his fingers in your hair, forcing you to look at him. "You're gonna look so fucking sexy, you," he purred, his thumb brushing across your swollen lower lip. "All round and glowing with my baby. Can't wait to see you like that, love."

You whimpered, your eyes glazing over with love and desire. "Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, please. I want it, want both of you inside me, claiming me, filling me."

Suguru pressed forward, notching the head of his cock against your slick entrance. "You'll get exactly what you want, baby girl," he promised, his hips rocking forward to sink into your welcoming heat. "Gonna fuck you so deep, so hard, you'll be feeling it for days."

Gojo held you steady as Suguru began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, before gradually picking up speed. The room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, punctuated by your breathy moans and the men's guttural grunts of pleasure.

Suguru's thrusts grew harder, faster, rougher, his breath coming in harsh pants as he chased his release. "Ngh, fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure. "Shit, you feel so good, so fucking tight. Love being inside you, love filling you up."

His fingers dug into the meat of your hips, bruising your skin as he yanked you back onto his cock over and over again. The wet, obscene sounds of their coupling echoed through the l

Gojo watched them with hooded eyes, his hand still fisted in your hair as he forced you to look at him. "Such a good little breeder," he murmured, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. "Can't wait to see this belly swell with our child, watch your tits get even bigger with milk."

You keened, your head thrown back in ecstasy as Suguru pounded into you. The image Gojo painted with his words, the filthy promises spilling from both their lips, combined to push you closer and closer to the edge.

"Please," you whimpered, your walls fluttering around Suguru's pistoning cock. "Please, Su, fill me up, give me your baby. Want it, want it so bad."

Suguru snarled, his hips stuttering as he neared his peak. "Gonna give it to you," he vowed, his rhythm growing erratic. "Gonna flood this pussy, make sure it takes. Knock you up nice and proper, just like you deserve."

Suguru's thrusts grew more frenzied, his hips snapping against you as he chased his rapidly approaching climax. "Ngh, fuck, baby," he panted, sweat beading on his brow. "Love the way you squeeze my cock, love the way you take it."

Gojo held you steady, his fingers gripping your hair as he watched the scene with rapt attention. "Don't run from it, baby girl," he purred, his thumb brushing across her swollen lower lip. "Embrace it, let us fill you up, make you ours in every possible way."

You whimpered, torn between the overwhelming pleasure and the fear of the unknown. "I-I don't know if I'm ready," you gasped, your walls fluttering around Suguru's pistoning cock. "It's just so much, so intense, I..."

Suguru pulled out abruptly, leaving you bereft and aching. "On your back, baby girl," he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. "Wanna see those pretty eyes when I fill you up, wanna watch the moment our baby is created."

With shaking limbs, you obeyed, flipping over onto your back and spreading your legs wide. Gojo moved to prop you up, his strong arms cradling you as he held you open for Suguru's viewing pleasure.

"Look at you," Suguru marvelled, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of your glistening folds, flushed and swollen with arousal. "So fucking beautiful, so perfect. Gonna make you a mommy, yn. Gonna give you everything you've ever wanted."

Suguru positioned himself between your spread legs, his thick cock bobbing heavily as he gripped the base. "That's right, baby girl," he growled, rubbing the swollen head through your slick folds. "Gonna give you everything, fill you up until it takes."

He notched the blunt tip at your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts that had you writhing beneath him. Gojo held you steady, his hands roaming your body possessively as he watched Suguru's cock sink deeper and deeper into your welcoming heat.

"Fuck!" Suguru grunted, his hips snapping forward to bury himself fully in one smooth stroke. "Shit, you feel incredible, so fucking tight. Love being inside you, love the way you clench around me."

You keened, back arching off the counter as Suguru set a relentless pace. The wet, obscene sounds of their coupling filled the room, mingling with the savoury aroma of food long gone.

Gojo leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as Suguru drove into you again and again. "Our good girl," he praised, his voice low and rough. "Taking it so well, letting us use this pretty little pussy. Gonna fill you up."

Suguru's thrusts grew harder, more erratic as he neared his peak. "Ngh, fuck, gonna cum," he panted, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs. "Gonna fill this cunt, make sure it takes."

Suguru's grip on your thighs tightened some more, his eyes blazing with determination as you tried to pull away. "No, baby girl, don't fight it," he growled, leaning over you, his chest pressing against your breasts as he pinned you in place. "Gonna give you what you need, what we both want. Trust me, let me fill you up like a good little breeder."

Gojo held your wrists, keeping you from scratching or pushing Suguru away as he continued his relentless pace. "That's it, yn," he cooed, his voice a sinful purr. "Take it, take everything he has to give you. Let us mark you, claim you, make you ours forever."

You whimpered, torn between the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins and the fear of the unknown. Your body betrayed you, hips rolling to meet Suguru's thrusts despite your attempts to resist.

"Please, Daddy," you gasped, her eyes glazed with lust and unshed tears. "It's too much, I don't know if I'm ready, if - ah!"

Suguru cut off your protests with a searing kiss, swallowing your whimpers as he plundered your mouth with his tongue. His hips never slowed, never faltered, driving into your welcoming heat with brutal precision.

Gojo leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Shh, baby girl," he soothed, even as his hands roamed your body possessively. "Let go, give yourself to us. Let us take care of you, fill you up with our seed."

Suguru paused, and said"Shh, baby girl, I've got you," he murmured, his voice low and soothing even as his cock throbbed within you. "Gonna make you feel so good, gonna fill you up so full of my cum you'll be dripping for days."

Gojo pressed closer, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples. "That's it, baby, let it happen," he coaxed, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't fight it, just let go, let us take you there. We'll make it so good for you, love, promise."

You whimpered "P-please," you gasped, your hips twitching restlessly beneath Suguru's bulk. "I can't... it's too much, I... I..."

Suguru leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. "I know, baby girl, I know," he whispered against your mouth. "But you can take it, you're so fucking strong. Let go, cum on my cock like a good girl. We'll catch you, I promise."

Gojo pinched and tugged at your nipples, sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. "Cum for us," he demanded, his voice rough with desire. "Now, love. Show us your pretty cum face.”

Suguru's hips snapped forward, driving his cock deep into your spasming cunt. "That's it, baby girl, cum for us," he growled, his voice low and filthy. "Milk my cock, squeeze me tight. Gonna flood this pussy, fill you up so good."

You wailed, back arching as the orgasm tore through you. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in sensation. Your walls clenched and fluttered around Suguru's pistoning length, the friction sending him hurtling towards his release.

Suguru pistoned his hips, his thrusts growing erratic as he neared his peak. "Gonna cum," he snarled, "Gonna fill this cunt, make sure it takes. Knock you up nice and proper, just like you deserve."

With a final, brutal thrust, Suguru buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing and twitching as he emptied his load deep inside your welcoming heat. His seed spurted out in powerful jets, painting your walls white as he claimed her, marked you as his.

Gojo held you steady, his strong arms cradling you as you shuddered and moaned through the aftershocks of you cumming.

Suguru collapsed on top of you, his hips still nestled deep within your cum-filled cunt. "Fuck" he panted, his forehead pressed against yours as he struggled to catch his breath. "So fucking good, baby girl. Love being inside you, love filling you up."

Gojo ran his hands over your body, soothing and caressing as you trembled beneath their touch. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and reverent. "So perfect, so beautiful. Our good girl, taking everything we give you."

You whimpered, her walls fluttering weakly around Suguru's softening cock. The sensation of being so full, of feeling his seed sloshing inside her, was overwhelming in the best possible way. "It's so much," she gasped, her voice thick with satisfaction and exhaustion. "So deep, so hot..."

Suguru chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "That's because I pumped you full, baby girl," he purred, nipping at her bottom lip. "Gave you every last drop, made sure it took. You're going to bloom so beautifully, yn, watching your belly swell with our child..."

Gojo captured your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her moan as Suguru shifted slightly, his cock stirring the cum inside her. "Mmm, and when you do," he promised against her mouth, "we'll take care of you, worship this body, keep you full of our seed."

Suguru pulled out slowly, a low groan escaping him as he watched his cum leak out of your abused hole. "Fuck, look at that," he growled,

"So fucking hot, the way you take my load, baby girl. Marked you deep inside, filled you up so good."

He reached down, scooping some of the excess seed from her thighs before bringing his fingers to her lips. "Clean up the mess you made," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "Show me how much you love tasting our cum."

Your parted her lips obediently, her tongue darting out to lick Suguru's fingers clean. The taste of their mixed fluids - musky and slightly salty - coated her tongue, sending another shiver of desire through her overstimulated body.

[ratherbefangirling]

Belong pt.7

Pairing: ot7 x reader

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort, Omegaverse

Synopsis: The pack seems to be falling for you but Jungkook doesn't like it one bit. What happens when he learns you are his mate

Masterlist

Previous / Next

Jungkook walked into his professors office. Along with Namjoon as his guardian. The instinct to hide behind his pack alpha was pretty strong.

"Don't worry." Namjoon comforted rubbing his back. "I have all the papers here about Y/n's friends admittance to the hospital. I'm sure we will figure it out."

Jungkook nods biting his lip in worry.

They knock the professors door.

"Come in." The voice calls.

"Oh Jungkook ssi. And this must be your guardian."

"Pack Alpha. Kim Namjoon."

"Yes. Please take a seat."

Namjoon explained the situation to the professor.

"I'm not sure how much I can help you. You understand that he could have submitted before and its an important project for the final grade."

"Ofcourse professor. But it would be very gracious of you if you could offer us any solution."

The professor thought for a moment.

"While usually I don't do this but to raise your grade you may volunteer to supervise the freshmen trip. I'm the Head of the committee and we could use some man power."

"Thank you. Thanks a lot professor." Namjoon says flashing her a very bright blinding smile and Jungkook would be jealous except he knew how Namjoon always giggled when he was truly happy. The professor seemed charmed.

Namjoon rubbed Jungkook's back reassuringly.

"Everything will be fine now."

"Thanks hyung."

"You're welcome."

Jungkook fiddled with his thumbs. Unsure how to broach the topic of you. He almost hated that you came in their lives but in reality he hated himself for being insecure.

"Hyung." Jungkook started.

Namjoon's phone began to ring.

"Give me a moment Jungkook." He said before answering the call.

From the end of the corridor, a figure waved. Jungkook waved back to his friend Eunwoo.

"Hyung, I'm going to go meet Eunwoo. See you later."

Namjoon nodded and gave Jungkook a side hug before leaving.

"Still need Mr. Alpha to protect you." Eunwoo joked as Jungkook neared. Jungkook only rolled his eyes in response. He had enough of his friends teasing. Yes they had to listen to him show off about his pack and he might have gone over board. But nobody can blame him, he felt so good with his pack.

"What are you doing here?" Jungkook asked.

"Nothing important just dropping off some forms. You?"

"I kind of missed an important deadline so Namjoon hyung came to talk to the professor."

"You should be careful kook-ah." Eunwoo cautioned his friend.

"I know. I know."

Working together with your soulmate had to be the best thing ever. Jimin thought.

The two of them had been very busy after their break they had to set up a new exhibition. And setting up a new theme was never easy from looking into artworks, their aptness, setting them, having the backdrop and lighting changed to fit the new theme, archiving carefully the old ones, separating the loaned ones and returning them before their due. Making sure new pamphlets and posters are printed according to the guidelines.

The two of them had been working overtime because of all that. So when their boss instructed them to overlook installation of some of the artworks that had been bid on previously. They took the time to have a lunch break.

The restaurant was nice and casual. It was famous for its latest addition. A Polaroid wall for people to make memories. They gave you a free picture if you left a review. Otherwise they'd just put your picture on the wall. Whoever planned it, their plan was working the place was packed.

"What do you want to order?" Jimin asked.

"Chese burger and potato wedges." Taehyung answered perusing the drinks section.

"Fine I'm having the lemon chicken bake pasta. What about drinks?"

"Mojito." Tae decides

"The Berry slushie sounds good to me. You want dessert?" Jimin says.

"We can grab churros on our way back from that bakery we saw while we came here." Tae suggests.

"Ok. I'm going to go order now." Jimin replies.

"Am I seeing things or is that y/n" Tae wonders aloud.

Jimin turns and there you are. A sight for sore eyes. He misses your company but there is nothing he can do about it.

Taehyung tugs his sleeve. "Jiminie ok"

Jimin nods.

You too seem to notice them as the server guides you to the table. You nod your head in greeting but focus on Yeonjun.

Jimin feels a flash of possessiveness and jealousy.

"Do you want to share the milkshake?" Yeonjun asks. "Their large one is cheaper but I can't finish it alone."

"Yes, it's fine." You reply. It's weird to sit across Jimin and Taehyung and not with them.

Their faces look tired but you suppressed your curiosity about them. There was no point of being overly friendly.

"Are you going to the camping trip?" Yeonjun asks.

"I think I will Suyeon send me the brochure. It sounds fun. What about you?"

"If you're going I'll go." He says smoothly causing you to blush.

Jimin can feel his temper rising. My omega his brain screams.

"Yeonjun." You whine and hit him playfully.

"It's true I've already been there with my pack so I'm only going if there's good reason."

"So I'm your good reason?"

"The best."

Taehyung's eyes narrow. Both of them can't help but eavesdrop on your conversation.

You chuckle.

"Sure sure. I'm sure I'm not that special."

"You are. You are special to me." He replies.

The server comes with your meals.

They try to ignore it. They really do but you sharing the Milkshake with Yeonjun's the last straw.

When the time comes to pay the bill you learn that it has been paid and they leave you a note.

Have a nice day Y/n

Love jiminie and tae

"Do you know them y/n?" Yeonjun asks.

"Yes they are omegas I'm close with."

"Oh." Yeonjun said. It wasn't unheard of for omegas to court omegas but it was odd for friends to behave this way. Maybe they were trying to warn me. Yeonjun thought.

Taehyung and Jimin share a look. They need to tell Jungkook. If he doesn't get his act together now he never wouldn't even get a chance to try.

You call your mom when you reach home. You hope she'll let you go on the trip.

"Hello?" You ask as soon as she picks up.

"Hello Y/n everything ok?"

"Yes everything is fine? How's your day going?"

"Good good things have been busy here but it's nice. How's the pack?"

"Good... they're fine." You answer.

"I remember courting your dad. What a time it was. Make sure you enjoy it."

"Mum actually our college is going on a trip can I go. I'll send you the details."

"Ah my baby has grown up. Ofcourse you should go. I will send extra money ok. Buy yourself nice clothes and things you need too. "

"Thank you mum."

"Anything for you. Now I'll check the brochure send me any forms I might need to fill."

"Ok understood. Thank you. Love you. Bye."

"Bye love you too." Your mum replies before hanging up.

You feels so happy you do a little dance of celebration.

You text Suyeon.

Y/n: I got it. I got permission. This is going to be the best trip ever

Suyeon: fr fr. I'm so happy congratulations 🎊 👏 💐 🥳

Y/n: ☺☺

Y/n: let's go shopping 🛍 for cute outfits.

Suyeon: 🤑

You giggle to yourself.

•○•○•

You called Suyeon. You were supposed to go shopping together but you hadn't heard from her all day.

"Hello y/n. What's up?"

"Where are you ? We were supposed to go shopping today?"

"God that was today. I'm sorry actually Soobin's birthday is coming up so I'm with his pack. Rain check. Let's go tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I have to study for a class test."

"I'm sorry. Honest mistake... why don't you go with the pack."

"The pack."

"Yes its not like you are not close to them. Things might be awkward because of a certain someone but that doesn't mean you shouldn't hang out with the others. I mean you always miss them. And you did go out shopping with them before."

You find yourself being convinced. So you knock on their door.

Yoongi opens the door.

"Is everything ok?" He asks looking over you to see any signs of panic and injury.

"Hi yeah. It's just that Iwasgoingshoppingandwonderedifanyonewouldaccompanyme?"

"Slow down biscuit."

"I sorry I'm a bit nervous."

"No need to be nervous. Now did you need something? Why don't you come in first huh. Its so hot you might get a sunburn."

You nod and follow him inside.

"I wanted to go shopping because there is a University trip and I was wondering if anyone would like to come with me?" You tell Yoongi.

As you enter the living room. You see Jin and Taehyung snacking watching anime in the living room.

"Y/n!!" Taehyung is the first to notice you and calls you excitedly.

"Y/n come sit we were just talking about you. You'll like this one." Jin said patting the empty space next to him.

You felt your heart warm.

"Y/n needs to go shopping for... where are you going?" Yoongi tells them.

"Camping." You supply.

"Oh I have just the thing for you. Guys take care of her."

"Do you want to go right now." Jin asks turning of the TV.

"Yes I was supposed to go with Suyeon and she's busy and then I'm busy so today I'm hoping to find something good but if I go by myself it'll take longer to find myself things."

"Give us 15 minutes." Taehyung says and he rushes into his room.

You nod. Jin goes to the kitchen and brings out cookies.

"Here's a little snack. I will be back quick." Jin says.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome sweetheart."

As Jin leaves you sit on the couch and munch cookies. You feel comforted by the packs scent. You didn't realise how much you missed the pack. In a way you were grateful your best friend made you come to the pack.

Yoongi enters the room smiling fondly at you. He places a box infront of you.

"What's this?" You ask.

"A first aid box and some camping essentials. If you need anything else ask me. Me and Jin hyung go fishing so we have enough camping supplies no need to but things you will only use once. I can teach you some things if you want as well. There is basic first aid supplies and then there are fire supplies to light up campfire post rain as well and other things."

"Thank you." You say touched.

"Anytime biscuit." He replies feeling good.

Taehyung and Jin come out of their rooms dressed up. You can't help but admire how good they look. Jin is dressed in a button down and black ripped jeans and Taehyung's dressed in a tshirt with rips and faded blue jeans and a beanie.

"Come on let's go. Y/n." Jin says.

"Ah yes." You look at the kit.

"You can take this when you come back." Yoongi says.

"Thanks."

"Come on Y/n-ie we are getting late." Taehyung says.

Yoongi comes to drop you all out. Even opening the door for you.

"See you later. Have fun." He says.

You all wave him goodbye.

Jin turns the radio. You sit next to him and Taehyung is in the back but leaning front.

"So do you have any outfits in mind?" Taehyung asks.

"No not really. Something comfortable but also I look good in and avoid material that can get damaged in a camping trip." You reply.

Jin's and Taehyung's phones both go off at the same time. Taehyung looks at the phone and his expression turns into neutral, Jin looks at Taehyung via his back mirror, Taehyung mouths 'tell you later'.

"Is something the matter?" You ask.

"Nothing. Why don't you tell me have you thought about buying boots?" Taehyung answers.

Namjoon: pack meeting to discuss Jungkook and Y/n situation. Everyone needs to be present tonight.

All I'm going to say is that rereading this to collect info I just made up along the way makes me reflect on the bizarre writing process. Anyhow I made notes not to forget from now on.

When I write it feels like going up a mountain but reading was just like walking down a hill.

It's been a while I got busy with life and a little writers block I hope you like it. Let me know your thoughts.

Taglist @jaiuneamesolitaiire ; @mintsugarmy ; @goooood-vibes ; @juju-227592 ; @singukieee ; @zae007live ; @rainbow-bunny-bts ; @fluffy-canada-pancakes ; @bleubirdinthesky ; @kyrah-williams ; @thedarkwinterrose ; @realswimshaddy ; @emu007 ; @jcrml ; @scuzmunkie ; @angel-121 ; @passionandsuga ;@popcatx0 ; @exfolitae ; @raineandskye ; @notsooperfect ; @toriluvsfics ; @northspiritstorm

[julesthequirky]

Broken and Unfixable - An Angsty Ficlet

Broken and Unfixable

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam.

WC: 882

Warnings: Angst. Hitting insecurities deep. Dean is toxic and cruel.

A/N: Honestly think I went a bit too hard with this.

You caught Dean’s wrist, but he shook your hand away. He didn’t even regard you. He just continued walking down the hallway.

“D.”

His long strides carried him down the corridor faster, and you had to speed up to match him.

“D. Why are you avoiding me?”

He whipped his head around to you, sending a nasty glare your way.

“Dean, Y/N. It’s Dean.”

Your stomach twisted. A few days ago, everything was alright. Perfect even. He had been charming, flirting and smiling. He had given you kisses and whispered sweet nothings all night long as he made love to you. You didn’t understand what was with the cold shoulder he was giving you.

“Dean. Please. I need to understand.”

You saw the back of his head shake in annoyance. Then, his shoulders tensed from behind, and you just knew that he was grinding his teeth from putting too much pressure on them. You got the distinct feeling that right now, you were something he’d rather flick away or crush under his boot. You’re glad he wasn’t looking at you.

He spun on his heel at his room, spreading out his arms, blocking you from entering, as he held the door frame. You nearly stumbled into him.

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“You do?”

He gave you the same look he gave you the other night, except this time, it was tinged with something malicious. It was in his eyes.

He leaned forward.

“Sure. But I want you to tell me.”

You hesitated. This Dean was not the one you had come to know and love.

“Dean.”

“You know what. I’ll spare you. It meant nothing to me.”

His words hit you like a suckerpunch. They knocked the breath outta you, and it left you reeling.

“You were just a body. A means to an end.”

He wasn’t stopping. Why wasn’t he stopping? Your world was imploding, but you stood there listening, hanging on to every word.

“Were you gullible enough to believe any of the crap I spewed out? That’s on you, sweetheart. Not me.”

You felt your lower lip tremble. No. He wouldn’t get to see you cry. You strengthened your resolve even though everything inside was crumbling.

He sent a condescending smile your way. “Darlin’, I could never love someone like you.”

With that last admission, Dean slammed the door in your face. The emotion you’d locked away broke the floodgates. All the strength in your legs disappeared, and you crumpled to the floor. His words ripped a gulf-sized fissure into your heart, and you sat head to your knees, arms wrapped around yourself, and you gave in, the emotional pain too much to bear.

Why did this always happen? When was it your turn for a happy ending? Each time. Every one. They all ended the same way. A means to an end. It’s nothing personal.

But it was personal. Each knock set you back ten steps, and you had to pick yourself up and start again each time. Each time the pain and rejection greatened. There was never enough alcohol or drugs to numb it.

You deserved love. Deserved to be loved. It was all you wanted, with your crappy broken scraps of a heart. What was wrong with you?

Sam had warned you, of course. He’d told you plenty of times not to get involved with his brother. “He’ll drop you like a hot potato.” Sam’s words opened the chasm all that bit wider, and you cried harder.

*

Your throat and head hurt, and your eyes stung from the tears clinging, refusing to fall. But you didn’t want to get up. Time had slipped away from you as you sat hugging yourself. The sound of heavy boots came from down the hallway, and they were coming closer with each step.

“Y/N?”

At Sam’s voice, a fresh bout of tears started up. This was it. He was gonna tell you that he told you so. It was what you deserved, after all.

“Oh, Y/N.”

You felt Sam’s hand on your head, stroking your hair in a comforting manner. This was new. And it felt nice.

“Tell me what happened.” His voice was soft against your crushed soul.

You gave a barely noticeable shake of your head, but he noticed. His fingers were tender as he raised your head, so he could see you. He cradled your face in his hands.

You could barely see him through the blur of tears.

“Why?” You hoarsely asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

You faced reality.

“I’m unlovable.”

Admitting it allowed the pain to crash into and onto you. Admitting it allowed the pain to pull and hold you down with its full weight. Drowning you. But this time, you didn’t fight it.

Your eyes scrunched up, and you sobbed. Sam pulled you tight against his body, wrapping as much of himself as he could around you.

“No. No. No. That’s simply not true.”

It sure was. You had experienced it enough to know. You were worthless. That’s how it was. That’s what the world was shoving down your throat. Day in. Day out. You’d denied it for long enough, but it was impossible to run from. Letting the truth in shattered you. You were broken and unfixable.

[yunohentai]

TEACH ME ?!?

paring: roomates!reader x mark.

warning: dom (kinda?) reader, horny!mark, masturbation, voyureism (?), virgin mark, seems kinda rushed.

proof-read lazily because the writer's been gone for too long and they just want to post smth even if its bullshit

its been a few days since you started college and moved into a dorm. you were a foreigner in korea, and there was no room available except a few that were supposed to be shared with boys. you hated the sound of that but having no option, you had agreed and moved into this warm & comfortable dorm with the college topper, mark lee who was korean yet a foreigner like you. at first it was very awkward because of how he just couldn't stop staring at you. but it took a few days, and you two felt more comfortable with each other and even became friends. mark helped you get better at korean and also finish your homework.

"y/n you don't find the value of x like that. okay look–" he said and moved closer as his pen was gliding on your notebook while he taught you how to solve the math problem. you would be lying if you said mark wasn't attractive, he was super charming and others would realize that too if he wouldn't wear his nerdy glasses and oh those oversized hoodies. but somehow he still looked exceptionally gorgeous to you.

————

its been almost 6 months since you two have known each other, and in all this time... one thing was clear to you. mark lee is a innocent virgin boy, and you knew you'd love to corrupt him. just that thought was enough to make you wet your panties, but the question is... how are you planning to bring your fantasies to life? that thought made you sigh. you were sitting on you study table as thoughtlessly your hands went down to your wet pussy.

you pushed your fingers inside yourself and moved them fast, chasing your orgasm as you let out soft moans. little did you know, that mark was standing outside your room... and he himself was pumping his hands up and down his cock... while watching you. he then reached his high as he released over his hand while he watched you. you were done too... as you discarded your dirty pantie and changed.

mark's been wanting to touch, for the first time in his life, a girl and its you. but he has no idea.... how to give pleasure to a female, and it sucks. he's been watching porn, just trying to know how this works but all they showed was... how to pleasure a man. he sighed giving up as he noticed his boner. "ugh what the fuck." he sighed and decided to jerk off, to relieve the stress. "oh y/n..." he moaned out.

you stood outside the room, your mouth open wide as you looked at mark masturbate to the thoughts of you. you were utterly shocked. "oh mark..." she said, shocking mark as he looked at her with wide eyes. "i'm sorry for disturbing i just wanted to ask if you wanna watch a movie" you asked acting as if you heard nothing. he quickly covered his lap with his blanket and nodded. "okay your room." you smiled and walked to the kitchen to bring snacks, well not really.

you were shocked and a little flustered. "this is going to be so fun..." you whispered and grabbed two packets of potato chips walking to his room, he had already cleaned up the bed and changed too as you smirked to yourself. "hey y/n" he said in a super shy tone as you smiled.

"so can i play the movie?" you asked and he nodded as you grabbed the remote, playing a nice movie. the two got comfortable together on the bed as you looked up at him. "so mark... do you have a girlfriend?" you asked. "N-no" mark stuttered nervously. "have you ever dated one... or like touched?" you knew what you were doing as you smiled to yourself when he started stuttering.

"N-not really.." he said and you held his hand. "would you mind if i teach you, baby?" you said while taking his hand inside your shorts as the two held an eye contact. you held his finger and slowly pushed it inside you, leading him. "that's how you finger baby." you said and he removed the blanket just to see you. you, to him, were too gorgeous to be real.

like, a girl with nice ass and even boobs... is pretty hard to find, then a nice attitude too. "do it like this now.. hm?" you told him and he nodded, slowly fingering you. your hands flew to his sweatpants as you pushed it down with his boxers. you spat on your palm and rubbed it on his cock, pumping it. "do you like that?" you asked in a low voice as he moaned in answer.

"i've already made you loose your mind." you grinned and actioned him to pull out his fingers as you got on top of him, slowly pushing off you underwear and all other clothing. your ass was pressed to his dick as you kissed his lips while slowly grinding on him. "i hope you're not too sensitive, pretty boy." you said and continued to grind. "now, take my nipple between your lips and suck it, while you do so caress the other boob baby" mark nodded and did as you told him to, maybe even better cause you let out a soft moan of his name.

"oh... you're- doing a great job baby." you whispered. "thank you.." he said breathlessly and started sucking your other nipple. "are you ready?" you asked softly and caressed his head as he snuggled his face between your breasts. he bit your breast and nodded. "Yes please.."

he whined out softly and you positioned herself on top of him, quickly discarding any sorts of clothings you wore. you then started moving your hips slowly and steadily against him, as mark let out loud groans in pleasure. "fuck... oh god y/n." you smiled and pressed your hands to his chest, riding his cock. you moaned his name.

"you look so pretty with your eyes closed... and those pretty lips moaning my name. oh baby.." you said and he gasped. you increased your pace, and with it... his moans & groans got louder. "fuck y/n, you look gorgeous...ugh you make me feel so good." you let out a moan at his words. the two of you were near to your orgasms.

"i hope you don't have some fucking std." you joked and he grunted, slapping your ass. "please let me come inside you." he begged softly and you caressed his head.

"okay baby" you said and clenched now his already sensitive cock, making him whine and release inside of you. he hooked his lip on your boob and bit your nipple, making you clench on his again as he groaned again.

you giggled. "sorry baby." after apologizing you got off him and snuggled against him. "uhh.. y/n? did you— you know, finish?" he asked and you shook your head. "i didn't come, but you'll make me... after you practice more .." you smirked and he blushed, understanding what you're suggesting.

"i felt enough pleasure though, goodnight!" you said and slept comfortably while he, snuggled his face in your warm breasts.. slowly dozing off.

a/n: happy new year in advance! love y'all<33. sorry if the smut is kind of weird, i stopped writing for a while so yeah. hope you enjoyed though!! reqs are open.

[supernatural-bias]

SBI x GN!Reader

━"Living Nearby"

━Sleepy Boi's

━Tw: None

━Notes: Short hehehe. Just like you-

━Song: "Love Taste" Moe Shop

Being neighbors next to the ever infamous Sleepy Boi's Inc was quiet an experience. Not necessarily a bad one; the word interesting comes to mind instead.

Everyday was a new possibility. Would you wake up to your house being egged by the little blonde boy known as Tommy (only to see his dad chew him out and bake you cookies later to apologize.) Or would you be harshly jolted out of the realm of sleep to the sound of the blood god hacking away with his sword at a tree while simultaneously mining potatoes. He'd offer you a little wave from outside your window with a minuscule smile only to go back to his "training" like you were a shadow.

As far as you had been living next to the three, you knew that they used to have a fourth inhabitant in their small wooden cottage that sat next to your own, but he had long since left with the promise to bring back fame and fortune to them all.

Wilbur hadn't been seen in years.

But from what you could remember, Wilbur was as charming as any man could get. Your most prominent memory of the tall brunette was him offering you an orange rose on Christmas morning along with a warm smile and tip of his hat. (Er- beanie I guess) But they all were delightful, with the exception of Tommy's habit to break into your house and bother you until Techno and Phil had to drag him away from your abode.

Of course, living so near these widely known people had its ups and downs. One of the more negative points of the so called living area was at least once a month a trio of men would knock on your door and berate you with questions about anything and everything under the sun. The supposed leader of the group was always the most rude; with his ceramic mask and black pinpricks for eye holes. His little posse was also strange looking, with fire tattoos and big white goggles. But they'd leave conveniently after about a half hour of breaking and entering- which you would constantly point out and remind them that was illegal. (Also conveniently, the Sleepy Boi's never appeared to be home on the week that they would all visit. But you just kept your mouth shut and moved on like nothing was amiss.)

Stray fires, loud yelling, the sound of clashing swords, and multiple crows were your daily life style. But you sure as hell wouldn't ask for any other neighbors.

Life had never been better for you.

I am going to go sleep for seven millennia now. Wake me up when the school system has been abolished and Techno had dissolved the government.

482 words

-WayToSarcastic

[wisteriashouse]

training.

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2213

“Remember our deal?”

Kyoujurou calls from the other side of the dojo with a bright grin as he points his bokken straight at you, stance firm and eyes unwavering. In response to his enthusiasm, you only let out an exhausted sigh as you grab your own wooden sword from beside you, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the sleeve of your kimono. In contrast, Kyoujurou still looks totally unruffled after two hours of sparring, not a strand of bright yellow hair out of place even as he smiles radiantly at you. 

The man before you is so annoying.

“I would like to remind you that I never agreed to this.” You counter loudly, but grip your practice sword tightly with both hands, shifting into a defensive stance. Not a second too soon, as the moment you do get into position, the Flame Hashira is already flying straight at you, so quick you see nothing more than a vibrant blur of orange across your vision.

Somehow, you manage to bring up your sword to parry the attack, the sheer force from his blow leaving your sore arms shaking. Ducking to the side, you swing at his legs, but he easily leaps over your sword, laughing the entire time.

“I decided it for both of us!” Kyoujurou’s laughter echoes through the dojo, and as much as you want to refute the fact, the sound of his happiness is one of the sweetest to your ears. “Whoever loses this match pays for dinner afterwards!”

“You eat far more than me, this isn’t fair!” You protest as the tip of Kyoujurou’s wooden sword nearly takes out one of your eyes, and would have if it weren’t for a quick dodge on your part. “And besides, it’s clear you’re going to win this match! You shouldn’t be using your friends as a means to free food, Kyo!”

The Flame Pillar lets loose a booming laugh at your accusation, twirling backwards out of the reach of your sword as you lunge forward. “You know I treasure you far too dearly to ever do that to you, my friend! Simply treat this as motivation to overcome your opponent, me!” 

At his words, you blink once and shake your head hard to get rid of the blood in your cheeks. A friend, you remind yourself sharply. As kind, as courageous, as honorable of a man Kyoujurou is, he is also a Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps. His mind is set on one thing only, slaying demons to save other humans, and he doesn’t have the time to even think about relationships.

“Perhaps when all this fighting is over.” He had told you once over tea on his engawa, smiling thoughtfully as he whisked the matcha in your cup. “For now, I do not have time to find a lover, nor the energy to give them my all. But a loving family,” he’d stolen a glance behind him at the Rengoku Estate, where you knew his father Shinjuro was perhaps lurking. It was only for a short moment, but you had understood the emotions in his heart. “That is something I dearly wish to have, someday.”

His dedication to saving others was, and still is, an honorable goal. You’re already grateful enough that he takes time out of his meagre rest periods between missions to spend time with you. You would rather not burden him with your feelings.

You’re so lost in your thoughts for a moment that you don’t realise that Kyoujurou has already darted within striking distance, his bokken colliding with yours with a resounding clack. Unprepared for the force, you stumble backwards over your own feet and fall flat onto your back, wheezing when all the breath is knocked from your lungs. The tip of a wooden sword comes to a halt squarely between your eyes.

You look up along the line of the blade to see Kyoujurou grinning at you, looking thoroughly pleased at his victory.

“Seven to two!” He announces proudly, sword still pointed straight at you. You’re going a little cross eyed looking at it. “Why did you falter?”

At his words, your heart skips a beat and you shake your head, trying to rid your head of all thoughts. Stupid Kyoujurou and his stupid charming smile. “It’s nothing, I’m just tired out. You’re the one who’s too energetic.” You try to play it off, reaching for your sword. “That’s enough training for today, I think. I’ll pay for your roasted sweet potatoes later at dinner-”

“That’s not what I asked!” Kyoujurou moves the tip of his sword down to your sternum, preventing you from getting off the training mats. You stare up at him in surprise. “My question was, why did you falter! Concentration and focus is of utmost importance in a battle, and I would hate to think that you would get hurt because of a lapse in attention! So tell me, why?”

“Kyoujurou, really, it’s nothing.” You insist, grabbing your sword. Your friend peers at you from above with slightly narrowed eyes, but eventually relents, taking a step back and holding out a hand. You take it gratefully and he hauls you to your feet with a little too much strength, your nose colliding with the firm muscles of his chest. 

At the contact, you let out a small ‘eep’ and Kyoujurou grabs you by the shoulders to steady you. Even through your clothes, wherever he touches, fire burns at your skin in the most pleasant way possible. You can’t help the feeling.

“You are sure you’re alright?” You glance up to see Kyoujurou’s face mere inches from yours, golden eyes fixed on you in concern and so close that you can feel his warm breath on your cheek. You flush this time, unable to stop it, and quickly extricate yourself from his grasp before you spontaneously combust into flames.

“I’m fine!” You manage to get out, perhaps a little too high pitched to be believable. Kyoujurou stares at you for a moment more and you desperately hope that your face isn’t as red as you think it is.

Luckily for you, Kyoujurou seems to buy it, stepping back and thankfully allowing you to catch your breath. “One last match!” He tells you insistently. “We were supposed to go for the best out of ten for this bet!” You let out a pitiful groan at the thought of taking another beating, but at least he seems like he’s forgotten about what happened earlier.

“There’s no way I’m winning this.” You mumble under your breath as you ready your sword again, more than prepared to just get bonked over the head again with Kyoujurou’s bokken. The Flame Pillar hums thoughtfully, before his face brightens all of a sudden.

“If you win this one match, dinner will be on me tonight! As long as you get me onto my back, it’s your victory!” He suggests. You squint at him with narrowed eyes, but his offer has perked you up just a little more, even though your odds of winning are still close to none. 

“Alright.” You agree, raising your sword once more. Taking in a deep breath to calm yourself, you ready your stance and shout at him. “Come at me!”

“That’s the attitude I like to see in you!” Kyoujurou laughs, before he’s before you in an instant, bokken weaving about in a series of complicated strikes. Forcing yourself to focus, you parry every single one of them before going on the offensive, driving your blade straight towards his neck and putting all the power into your legs.

“Faster!” The Pillar cheers you on excitedly even as he sidesteps you, bringing his blade up to knock yours to the side. “You’re improving, surely! That’s a great thing!”

You can’t even find the time to retort with a smart ass comment, too busy blocking his barrage of strikes and trying to keep your sword from flying clean out of your hands with each blow. He isn’t even breaking a sweat! Completely exhausted, you decide to end this match with a last ditch effort on your part, flipping your sword in your hand and throwing it blade first at Kyoujurou with all the strength you can muster. His eyes go wide with surprise for a second at your unexpected gambit and he raises his sword to block it, but that leaves him unguarded for the briefest moment. With a shout, you launch yourself straight at him, wrapping both arms around his waist and knocking him down to the floor.

The two of you crash heavily onto the mats, your sword clattering to the ground next to you. For a moment, the dojo is silent except for the sound of your heavy pants as you attempt to catch your breath, sweat dripping down your forehead and neck.

“That was a very surprising move! You have gotten me onto my back.” 

You look down to see Kyoujurou pinned beneath you, your legs straddling either side of his waist. He’s strong enough to pull you off him easily, but he’s smiling up at you, and you’re not sure which would be more lethal to your heart.

“However, that wasn’t a very smart thing to when you’re fighting a demon.” His voice is firm, but a little quieter this time. You instantly wince when you think it through, throwing the only weapon you can decapitate a demon with is surely not a plausible battle strategy. 

“Sorry, I got desperate-” You begin to say, but suddenly an iron grip wraps around both your wrists and your field of vision flips. Yelping in shock, you glance upwards and Kyoujurou is the one looming over you this time, both your hands and your lower body pinned down by his.

And he isn’t smiling.

“Kyo?” You squeak out hesitantly. There’s a different sort of fire burning in his eyes, unrelenting even as you try to tug your wrists free of his grasp. “Kyoujurou? What are you doing?”

“Throwing away your sword could put you in danger. The nichirin blade is the only thing we humans can use to fight against demons.” Kyoujurou’s voice is perfectly calm, but you’ve never heard him talk like this before. For some reason, it makes you squirm a little under his gaze; its almost predatory. “If I were a demon, what would you do?”

“I-” You flounder for a moment, trying to think of a strategy, but before a thought can so much as cross your mind, Kyoujurou shakes his head. “Too slow.”

He leans down, dangerously close, until all you can see is a head of yellow and red hair, feel the stray strands that have fallen out of the ponytail he put it in earlier tickling your collarbone. Your heart is pounding so hard you wonder if Kyoujurou can hear it, like a war drum beating in your chest.

“If I were a demon...” his breath is warm against the skin of your neck, and you let out a startled cry when you feel his teeth latch at the sensitive spot there. A shudder runs down the full length of your body, and you freeze, mortified. “If I were a demon, I would eat you up in an instant. You’re completely defenseless against me right now.”

His face is buried in your neck, so you can’t see the expression on his face. Mildly panicking, you open your mouth, and the first words to leave it are a breathless whisper.

“If you were the demon, I don’t think I would mind.”

Kyoujurou doesn’t reply for a moment, and what you’ve just said hits you like a punch straight to the gut. Before you can get the pieces of your frazzled mind together to explain yourself, Kyoujurou suddenly releases you and sits up to grin brightly at you.

You don’t know whether you’re relieved or disappointed.

“Now that won’t do!” Kyoujurou scolds you affectionately, ruffling your hair with one hand. You let out a noise of protest and bat his hands away, patting down your hair frantically. The two of you rise to your feet, your battered body protesting with every movement. “Even if I’m the demon, you mustn’t hesitate at all to cut off my head! Understood?”

You let out a sigh at his words and nod your head, already feeling the beginning of an ache settling into your muscles. You’ll have to soak in the hot springs after dinner to loosen them up, you think to yourself. Kyoujurou laughs at the expression on your face.

“Since you did get me on my back, however, I shall take it as your win!” He says cheerfully, and you immediately look up at him with excited eyes. “I’ll wait here while you get your kit, then I’ll treat you to dinner tonight as a reward.”

“Yes!” You cheer, looking positively delighted. “Thanks, Kyo!” 

You wrap your arms around him for a quick hug, before running out of the dojo with a skip in your step. Kyoujurou watches you until you’re out of sight, before he lets out a long, drawn out sigh and squats on the ground, his face buried in his hands.

“So cute.” He murmurs to himself softly, and no one but the wind hears him.

[fw00shy]

hello!! i see that you're taking prompts 👀❣️ i would love to see your take on hitman draco - whose next target is harry

hello shal!! I loved your prompt and wanted to write something super dangerous and sexy for it, but instead I wrote this. 😅 

Horrible Luck

Harry/Draco | M | 2.8k | Hit-Wizards, Humor, Catsuit, brief mention of dudley working out in front of the telly | ao3 link

When does a relationship stop moving forward and start looping back like a broken time-turner, intent on rewinding the same disagreements in perpetude? When did all the little quirks Draco used to love about Harry turn into a list of things he wouldn't need to deal with if he were alone? Draco's mind is on his kitchen table this morning — specifically, the half-eaten plate of eggs that Harry left behind; Harry knows the kneazle will sick up from it — so Draco doesn't notice the name on his latest assignment until he's already signed off the disclosure forms.

Harry James Potter.

"We don't need him dead for a few days," Pansy's saying. "Just get it done before the Rodney Snyder Bill comes to a vote in Parliament on Monday."

"Get it done..." Draco trails off, swallowing sickly.

"Yes, Draco? Sorry — oh-thirteen. Blast this numbering system. It isn't as though you're on my payroll as 013. I'm tempted to order a hit on you just so I won't need to write all five bloody titles of yours every two weeks. Only joking, of course — Draco? You alright there?" She taps the heel of her stiletto against the desk, where she has it propped up next to her coffee.

Draco blinks. "Right, yes. Before the Rodney Snyder Bill. Which bill is that again?"

"It's the usual hem-haw about how life is so unfair blahblahblah." Pansy waves the peacock-feathered quill in her left hand. "Don't worry yourself over it. Are you all worked up because it's Harry Potter? I know you had a bit of a tiff with him back in school, but hadn't we all? Potter's an absolute waste of breath if you ask me."

"It's not that..."

"What is it? If it's because of his involvement in the last war, you needn't worry about that. All our sources report that he's nothing more than a tax acrobat for Muggles now, on the days that he's not wreaking havoc with his voting powers in Parliament. I don't know what half those words mean, but I want a drink just for saying them out loud."

Draco decides that it is probably not in his best interest to tell Pansy that Harry was actually a tax accountant, and yes — it is indeed as dull as Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom if their dinnertime conversations concerning the subject matter are any indicator.

Draco's mind flits briefly back home. He hopes their kneazle didn't manage to eat any of the eggs before Draco cleaned up Harry's forgone plate. Who knows where she'll puke it up this time. If she ruins his pillow again... Potter is in for a slaying. Only verbally, of course.

"Don't worry about me," Draco says.

"I never do," Pansy says far too flippantly to be a lie. "As I said, you have a few days, so finesse it however you like. Toy with him a bit, for all I care. Get him in bed, then turn a wand on him — go wild. Now doesn't that sound exciting!"

Draco decidedly does not tell her about the last time he "turned a wand" on Harry in bed. Let's just say that it was both slippery and steamy and smelt faintly of strawberries.

"Alright, Pan — sorry, P. I'll get it done. You know I will."

"That's my boy," she smirks. "Now come give me a kiss before you go."

Pansy started demanding that sort of goodbye after she picked it up from a Muggle romcom. "Absolutely disgusting," she'd proclaimed, kissing Draco's cheeks. But the kisses stayed while the mocking subsided. Don't let it fool you, though — she still has plenty of unlearning to do. They get along fine as long as Pansy keeps her mouth shut.

Which is practically never. This is Pansy, after all. Her father liked to joke that she was born wailing for someone to wipe her arse. But Pansy is the only family Draco has left.

The next few days pass in the doldrums of a daily routine. Draco goes off to the local library and does his usual research (a combination of Muggle Internet and blood spells for tracking; Find My Friends is a godsend) despite knowing full well where Harry is at all times. He watches Harry's green dot make its way down the tube to the financial district by way of the Pret a Manger on 3rd Street. The blinking green dot doesn't move for several hours (it never does; Draco knows because he tracks Harry every few weeks out of paranoia). Draco is starving by noon, but he hangs on until three to see if Harry's dot will move the slightest; but alas, Harry is as much the meticulous Gryffindor hero at tax accounting as he was at Horcrux hunting; he doesn't do so much as grab a bite at the cafe in the lobby.

Harry heads home at precisely five-thirty. Draco waits a respectable fifteen minutes before doing the same, so Harry has time to put dinner on the table. The spread tonight smells delicious as it always is: roasted chicken and potatoes, broccolini, those purple carrots that Harry covets from the Muggle farmer's market; homemade treacle tart for dessert. Sometimes Draco wonders how Harry can manage all of this in the fifteen minutes he has before Draco gets home, but he never questions it for long. Who knows how cooking charms work. Not Draco. He's still a Malfoy, after all.

Harry kisses him good-evening before they sit for dinner. They share meaningless conversation about their day. Draco makes up some story about how Hannah in Marketing took the last premade salad he wanted from the deli down the block and is appalled over how, even in his made-up life, he's about as dull as Neville's — well, you know.

"If I hear another word about Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom, I'm going to start thinking you want to fuck it," Harry declares while savagely tearing into his chicken thigh. Draco shudders at the sight; whoever taught Harry how to cook clearly forgot to teach him how to eat.

Still, it's a clear opening for a fight. Draco welcomes it as one does a summer storm, and soon they're throwing plates at each other. The kneazle (Morticia; Granger's idea) scampers out of the kitchen — that Hufflepuff coward — and Draco manages to graze Harry's left cheek before they stall to catch their breath.

The calm is a fallacy, of course; the eerie stillness of a storm's eye, broken up in the next minute with a low growl, and they're clawing at each other again. Except now, Draco is inexplicably hard.

But still, so incredibly bored.

What is the standard deviation of the time from start to Scourgify? Draco wouldn't be surprised if it's less than five minutes.

Monday comes and goes. Draco's thinking about Harry's dirty socks, the ones he tucks between the sofa cushions, while Pansy dresses him down for his latest failure.

"I swear, oh-thirteen. If we weren't like family..." Pansy trails off, her crimson-lacquered nail pointed threateningly at Draco.

"Sorry, Pans," Draco says, trying his level best to look his most innocent. It's not his fault he's an awful hit-wizard, alright? They should've known from his resume. Ronald Weasley, Katie Bell, Rosmerta, Dumbledore... mainly, he kills his marks by accident. He's got horrible luck.

Pansy declares that this is Draco's final chance. And then a week passes, and Harry stays alive. Draco's dead bored staring at his boyfriend's unmoving green dot all day on Apple Maps. He's made friends with Stephanie-the-librarian, though; they go out for a pick-me-up around three pm, and then Draco makes up stories about how she sends him racy pictures of their fake manager and this and that over dinner with Harry. All's okay if not precisely thrilling until the bill passes with Harry still alive, and then Draco reports to Pansy's office with Theo also in the room.

Theo is wearing a full suit, which is par for the course. But Draco knows he's in trouble because Pansy has her heels off her desk.

"Oh-thirteen," Theo booms. "You let the James Buckles Bill pass."

"Which one is that?" Draco asks between nervous swallows.

"Ten-percent increase in taxes on long-term capital gains," Theo explains the same time Pansy snaps, "None of your business."

"Right." Draco has no idea what these words mean. "Umm... sorry?"

"And the week before," Theo says, pacing now, "you let the Rodney Synder Bill pass."

"Ten-percent increase on income tax for those who make more than seven figures a year," Pansy says before Draco can ask.

Figures? Income? None of this means anything to Draco. If he wanted to be a solicitor... well, he's a Malfoy. Malfoys solicit, never solicitator. Or whatever the word for it is.

"It's only two bills, sir," Pansy pipes up in Draco's defence. "Meaningless in the grand scheme of things compared to the Pepper Oakley Bill tomorrow."

"What is —"

"Thirty-percent increase on property tax on all parcels of land within major metropolitan districts, and a twenty-percent increase on all property over two acres, compounding," Pansy hisses to Draco before turning her full attention back to Theo. "Which will not pass. Draco's been building up a relationship with the mark, hasn't he?" She kicks Draco with the pointed tip of her heel.

"Yes!" Draco yelps out in pain. "Yes, absolutely. I've been building... a relationship with Ha — the mark. He's umm. He thinks we're in love."

Theo regards Draco with narrowed eyes. "In love."

"Turns out he's desperately lonely," Draco says with a mocking sneer, though the truth is that they were both rather pathetic in the beginning.

Draco's story passes Theo's muster. He straightens up and gives them one last menacing glower before he leaves. Draco and Pansy stare at the door for a long, vacant second.

Pansy turns to Draco with a sigh when Theo's footsteps retreat down the hall. "Are you really seeing Potter?"

"Oh. Umm... sort of."

"I'm happy for you," she says. "You worry me, you know. Can't be too healthy for the aura with you sulking about all the time."

"Right," Draco says.

"Right," Pansy agrees. She schools her features. "Sorry about the, um — having to kill your boyfriend."

"It's alright," Draco says.

"Right." She coughs. "Well, then. I suppose you ought to go prep. Remember to get it done before tomorrow morning. If I were you, I'd get it done tonight, so you can stop worrying about it and have a decent night's sleep. Now come and give me a kiss before you go."

Draco short-circuits his usual trip to the library and heads straight home. The midday sun comes in too bright from the printed kitchen curtains. He's never noticed how disproportionately large the clumsily illustrated lemons are in comparison to the cherries and ice cubes — but that's what he gets for letting Harry pick the print. When Harry's dead, he'll replace them with a pattern worthy of the Malfoy name. He's always liked snakes and daggers (just the image of them; they're ghastly in reality).

He gets hungry enough around three to rifle through their cabinets for a snack. All he finds are two expired Twinkies and a can of tuna that he realises only after his first bite that it's meant for Morticia. He briefly considers popping by the library to see what Stephanie's up to before deciding against it. He needs to focus on murdering his boyfriend.

Draco is in the middle of purging his wardrobe when he finds his hit-wizard uniform hanging in the back. It's all black and one-piece, like a Muggle wetsuit but much sleeker, like a seal. But not as adorably chubby. More like Catwoman. Lithe, but deadly. Unfortunately, it's not a very practical uniform for murder, so Draco hasn't worn it in years. He slips it on out of morbid curiosity and is pleasantly surprised to find that it still fits him — especially around his arse. Morgana and Mordred both, his arse.

He loses track of time admiring himself in the mirror. And that's when Harry opens the bedroom door.

"Fuck," Draco says. His wand is out and trained on Harry's chest. (Hit-wizard reflexes; Draco's terrible at murder but surprisingly adept at keeping himself alive.) "I — um. I can explain."

"Merlin, you look hot in that," Harry says. He sounds like he's come back from running. "I've always wanted to see you wear it."

"What?"

"Your hit-wizard catsuit." Harry holds both hands up and steps toward Draco. "So fucking hot. I'm going to fuck you into a wall if you let me get any closer. Promise."

Did someone start up the fireplace? "I knew you stared a bit too hard at Halle Berry's arse the last time we watched Catwoman."

"Can you blame me for imagining what you'd look in it?"

"You don't look so bad yourself," Draco purrs. He can't help himself; Harry hasn't looked so fit in years. What is it about him today? Did he do something different with his hair? No...

Harry disarms Draco's wand hand and pushes him up against the wall. He's always been good at following through on his promises.

Draco's washing up in the shower when he realises what's different about Harry today. Harry's wearing an Auror uniform.

Draco bursts out of the shower still wet and dripping. He finds Harry in the living room with the telly on.

"You're going to ruin the carpet with all that water," Harry says, his nose scrunched. He's still got his crimson Auror robes blatantly bunched over the sofa.

"You're a fucking liar," Draco says. "Muggle tax accountant? I can't believe I bought that lie."

Harry remains painfully nonchalant. "We both had our secrets."

"But you knew mine." Merlin, for how long? Was their whole relationship a sham to —

Harry sighs and spells Draco dry. A bathrobe — plushy and cottony, Draco's favourite — flies in from the bedroom to wrap around Draco's shoulders.

Draco begrudgingly shrugs it on.

"Sit down," Harry says, patting the space next to him. Draco almost does as asked, but stops when he spots the smelly old sock peeking between the seat cushions.

"You're an Auror," Draco says. His lips sneer involuntarily at the betrayal.

"And you're the hit-wizard out to kill me. Yet we're both still here," Harry says. "Come on, Draco. Sit down."

Draco eyes the sock.

Harry's face purples. "Is this about the bloody sock? For the thousandth time, it's not me leaving them about. It's Morticia!"

Harry vanishes the sock. Suitably appeased, Draco walks over to their sofa and sits primly at the edge of it.

"I wasn't actually going to kill you," Draco says by way of an apology.

"I know that," Harry says. "You're an idiot. Hit-wizard, really? It's a wonder how I ever thought you were my nemesis."

"That is absolutely rude and uncalled for," Draco says. "I was plenty good at Quidditch."

Harry grins. "I'll give you that. Most distracting arse on the pitch... some things never change."

"You don't look so bad yourself in those robes," Draco says. He coughs. "I mean. We should... talk."

"Yes."

They've never been good at talking.

"So..." Harry says slowly. "What are you going to tell them when I'm still alive tomorrow?"

"Oh, I dunno. Can't you pretend you're dead? Please? For me."

"I'll be helping a lot of people if we pass this bill," Harry says apologetically.

Right. Saviour complex. Draco's painfully familiar with compromising around that character flaw. "Pansy's going to kill me," Draco sighs. "Well, unless we kill her first. But I'd rather not. She's my favourite person in the world — besides, you, of course."

"She's actually. Um." Harry coughs. "I think she's going to be fine."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... err."

"No," Draco gasps. "No, don't tell me she's been a mole this whole time."

"Err. Well..." Harry scratches the back of his head. "Did you know she's getting married to my cousin Dudley?"

"The awful Muggle bully?"

"He's um. He turned alright in the end? He's been working out in front of the telly. Bought these free weights and all... says it's really changed his outlook on life."

"Sweating in front of the telly changed his life?"

"Something like that," Harry says.

"That sounds disgusting."

"Yeah... I try not to think about it much either. So, err… takeaway? Greek, maybe? You loved the rotisserie chicken we had a few weeks ago. Before um, you started throwing it at me."

Shouldn't they be discussing something serious? Draco already forgets what. "Takeaway? But don't you —"

"Right," Harry laughs. "Now that everything else is out in the open, I suppose there's no harm in you knowing that I order takeaway and vanish away the boxes before you come home."

"I..."

"Draco? You aren't mad, are you?"

Mad, no. Surprised — absolutely. But Draco should've known that dating Harry Potter would never be boring.

Read on AO3

[ghostofstudentspast]

More than Perfect

Sirius x Reader 🌻

This was requested by @kashishwrites and I loved writing this so much! Hope you love it too!

After a year of imprisonment Sirius comes home to find you and three little ones. I got very invested in this and I love Sirius so much. It’s entirely fluffy!!

“Harry, honey don’t touch that!” you rushed to grab the toddler off the floor as he made to stick his fingers in the fireplace. He let out a disgruntled shriek as you put him down in his chair next to the twins. “You’ll burn your fingers darling.” you kissed his forehead and placed his plate of food in front of him.

While your babies were all munching away on their mashed peas and potatoes you cast a quick charm on the dishes and ran around wiping up the spilled food from their little hands. Three kids was a lot to deal with in any given situation, but yours was even harder. After Sirius had been imprisoned for a crime you knew he wasn’t capable of committing, you were left in the early stages of pregnancy. You hadn’t even had the chance to tell him. On top of that, you’d taken in Harry after his parents died. Dumbledore had thought giving him to his wretched aunt would be the best idea but you fought to have him stay with you. You were his godmother after all.

No time to dwell on that though, there was always something to do. The four of you had been staying in the Black family estate. Sirius was the last of the true Blacks which meant as much as his mother’s portrait hated the idea, the house was legally his. Which meant you could stay there and raise his children while he resided in a cold cell, a hundred miles away.

Tidying up the mess your little ones had made you shook the image of Sirius wasting away in a cell for the millionth time. There were people who needed you here and they needed you to be present. Balancing your twins on each hip, Harry clutched onto your trousers as you guided the three of them over to the little play pen in the living room. You were thankful everyday that Harry could walk now as the other two took up your arms. Balancing three babies was not a skill you had mastered. Harry was almost two and a half now and proud of it. He had been a quiet baby, he rarely cried and preferred to sleep in your room for the first year you’d been his parent. Now he was a bright eyed little boy who loved to prattle on using the small vocabulary he had. It never ceased to amaze you how much he understood.

Your little boy, Leo, was the spitting image of his father. The same dark curls and dark eyes that looked at you as if you held the world in your hands. He was fussy, just like his dad, but in a good mood he was the funniest baby you’d ever met. He was keen to try and stand on his own and spoke often with his three word vocabulary.

Your little girl, Lyra, was a very clever baby. She looked a little more like you, though she still had her fathers eyes. She was quieter than her brothers and liked to sit and play by herself most of the time. She had the chubbiest cheeks and the roundest eyes and her smile was radiant. She usually wouldn’t say much and preferred to point at things to communicate.

They were the loves of your life and you did everything in your power to give them a good childhood. But it was hard. Alone you had to dedicate all of your attention to the three of them. The minor improvements to the house you’d been able to make had been painstakingly slow and required a lot of energy. The kitchen was clean and painted a light white now, the upstairs bedroom had been mostly cleared out of old Walburga’s stuff and the nursery was Sirius’ old bedroom. Gryffindor paraphernalia still glued to the walls. But his mother’s portrait was still a screaming mess and the dining room held an ungodly amount of black magic and there was little you could do about it.

Sitting down on the carpet with your kids you made to entertain the little ones with their plush toys until they’d tire themselves out. Somewhere in the back of your brain you registered a faint click, followed by a knock on the door. You shook your head, you must’ve been tired, the fidellus charm kept you hidden away safely and no one was due to visit until later this week. A second knock made your heart race however.

“Mummy will be right back,” you whispered to the kids and stepped over the side of the playpen to tiptoe through the hallway. You cracked open the door slowly and peered outside, promptly dropping the stuffed dragon you were still holding. “Sirius?” You flung open the door to look at the man standing on the other side.

“Y/N,” his skin was grey and he’d lost weight but his eyes sparkled just the same when he looked at you. A smile broke onto his face and he looked just like the handsome man you’d seen shipped off to Azkaban a year ago.

He let out a roaring laugh and scooped you up into his arms, pressing you close as tears escaped your eyes and a sob escaped your lips. He was home. Your legs were shaking when he put you down and held your face in his hands.

“How-“ he cut you off by pressing his lips to yours desperately. You’d almost forgotten how he tasted, how his lips fit perfectly against yours and how he made you weak in the knees every time.

“They let me out, they found Peter and they let me out. I tried to write to you but they wouldn’t let me until the trial was over. They kept it completely under wraps, afraid of public backlash. but they let me out love,” his eyes shine with tears as they flicked across your face, desperate to memorize every detail.

You’d barely noticed the muttering of Walburga’s portrait, rudely awakened by your laughs and shared sobs. But Harry’s little voice cut through them and reminded you where you were.

“Mamma, lady’s mad!” he called from the living room as Mrs. Black started shrieking at the sight of Sirius.

“Who do you think you are showing your face here again- this halfblood scum has been all over my house and not a word from your cousins-“ you flicked your wand violently and the curtains shut on her once again.

“I couldn’t figure out how to remove her,” you fiddled with your wand awkwardly as Sirius never took his eyes off you, afraid you’d disappear.

“We’ll figure it out,” he smiled gently and kissed you again, everything falling away for the two of you. He finally felt safe, after a year of absolute hell, he was home and you were still there.

At the sounds of your kids making a ruckus you drew back and sighed dragging Sirius down the hall. All he could think was how beautiful your hair was, the low light bouncing off of it. Nothing else mattered but you, except you were talking to him and he hadn’t heard a word.

“Sirius?” You waved a hand in front of his eyes.

“Sorry love, you’re just even more beautiful than I remember,” he smiled his charming smile and you felt your cheeks flush the same way they did in school.

“This is serious,” you looked at him with a small smile.

“No darling I’m Sirius,” he teased and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Siri...”

“Fine,” he dropped his arms and looked you in the eyes, you had all of his attention.

“I have Harry,” you smiled softly, “Dumbledore wanted to give him to Lily’s sister but I know that’s not what she would have wanted so...I’ve been raising him.”

“Harry?” his eyes lit up as he glanced behind you at the closed door where you knew you kids were playing, “that’s amazing I- you’re amazing,” he smiled brilliantly at you.

“That’s not all though,” you hesitated, would he be happy? “I was pregnant, when you- when you-“ you took a shuddering breath and looked to the floor. “You have kids Sirius, twins.” You refused to look up.

“I’m a dad?” he whispered as the wheels in his head turned, “we have babies?” he felt himself smile as he tilted your chin up to meet his eyes, “We have kids.” he grinned and wrapped his arms around you in a hug again as pure joy filled his chest for the first time in a year.

“And they’ve been alone for the past few minutes so I think it might be time for you to meet them,” you chuckled through the happy tears that streaked your face.

You turned and opened the door to the living room again to find your babies playing happily with their plush toys and Harry colouring on a piece of paper with a marker. You led Sirius through the room and let him step into the play pen with you.

“Harry, this is Sirius,” you said softly to the little boy who was staring curiously at the new stranger.

“I’ve met you before Harry,” Sirius said with a small smile, “you might not remember cause you were only this big,” he held out two hands to show how little he had been.

“Now I’m two!” Harry held up two little stubby fingers to show his age, “I’m big!” he exclaimed with a smile and kept colouring.

Meanwhile you had pulled he twins into your lap as Sirius asked Harry about what he was drawing. Harry told him in great detail about how the orange blob was actually a werewolf, like Mr. Lupin.

“Sirius, this is Leo and this is Lyra,” you held the twins who were looking at Sirius with big eyes, “darlings this is your daddy,” you whispered to the twins. You’d shown them all pictures of Sirius over the year of course but they were only little and didn’t understand.

“You named them after constellations?” his voice was small, hesitant almost.

“I wanted them to have a little bit of you, even if you couldn’t be here,” you stroked Lyra’s little arm with a gentle smile.

“You’re amazing,” he sighed and looked at you in that same way, as if you held his world. Which to Sirius, you did. “You never fail to remind me how absolutely incredible you are.”

“Mamma?” Leo looked up at you in confusion.

“No baby, that’s dad,” you chuckled and kissed his little head as Sirius fawned over the twins.

“She looks just like you,” he whispered, not taking his eyes off the babies.

“And he looks just like you,” you laughed quietly.

Harry took to Sirius very quickly, recognizing him from old photos you’d shown him. He was happy to try and explain all of his favourite dinosaurs to his new father figure and Sirius was patient as could be. Leo was also happy to have another person to annoy with his grabby hands and loved to be carried around by Sirius because it was “High!!”

Lyra was the only one a bit hesitant to accept Sirius into the household. She was so used to the way things were and always got a little uncomfortable around new people. It took weeks for her to let Molly hold her, let alone Remus. But Sirius was kind and much more patient than you remembered him. He’d sit down next to her and just do his own thing, letting Lyra get used to his presence. Slowly but steadily she too started to warm up to the idea of him being around.

For the first month you constantly had things to do. Friends were desperate to pop round and reconnect with Sirius, he and Remus had a good heart to heart in your kitchen for a few hours while you took the kids out for a stroll. On top of that, Sirius was all for tackling the horrid left overs of his ancestors, happy chucking things in the garbage or destroying them with a curse. You’d managed to get his mother’s portrait unstuck from the wall eventually and burned it in the backyard with a lot of shrieking from the woman.

Things were more than perfect. You could see the effect home was having on Sirius. His bags disappeared, he bulked up well from how much you were feeding him and he almost constantly had a smile on his handsome face. Everyone could see the love radiating between you two. The way Sirius would wrap his arm around your waist and kiss your cheek as you cooked. How you would fix his shirt collar without even thinking. How you looked at each other as if there was no one else in the world that you could love as much as you loved each other.

Before you knew it a year had gone by and your kids were becoming their own little people. With big ideas and bright little minds. You made sure they were kind and that they knew that no matter what, you would always be there for them. Sirius made sure they knew how to have fun and how to stand up for themselves when push came to shove.

When the kids went to bed, you would share a cup of tea or a glass of fire whiskey and talk about everything and nothing at all. Reminiscing about your days at Hogwarts and planning the countries you would visit once the kids went to school. Sirius always held you as close as he possibly could, never wanting to forget the way you fit against him. You constantly reminded him that he would never have to try and remember, because you would always be there with him.

You got married once the kids were less of a handful, always joking about how you did everything in reverse. Kids, house then marriage. Neither of you minded. While you hadn’t planned to have three kids before the age of twenty five, your family was the most perfect thing in the world to you.

Sirius knew he was loved for the first time in his life and he could never be more grateful that he had you. I love you tumbled from his mouth more freely than he ever thought possible. He was determined to show his kids what happiness looked like and how healthy love felt.

House Black would from now on be filled with laughter and smiles and love.

[twstdtales]

Since the ask box is open, may I get headcanons for Malleus, Cater, Riddle, and Vil when fem!MC asked them to take a picture together with her? Thanks!

Thank you for sending in the request, dearest anon!  ♡

- Mods Kiara & Banzai

“...A picture? I’ve once been told that these ‘images’ capture a portion of one’s soul, trapping it inside of them until the end of time. Is this your way of saying that you wish for a part of us to remain together, forever?”

There’s a teasing note to the tone Malleus uses when you approach him with the request. You’re not entirely sure if he was kidding or if part of him believed that to be true. Regardless of his own beliefs, he’s content to make an exception for you.

The height difference between you two proves to be a challenge, and Malleus’ horns are the second one. A single picture turns into several, purely because of one-too-many comical shots taken.

In the end, you are left with more than one memory of today’s events. It made your cheeks burn as the thought crossed your mind, but forever didn’t sound that bad at all, if it was just the two of you.

“A selfie?~ Are you gonna post it? Guess we’ll have to make it a good one! Ah… That reminds me. I haven’t updated my feed since this morning. You don’t mind if we take a couple more for me to post, right?~ I’ll make sure to tag you!”

You have no room to specify what the photo is for, be it social media or a personal memento. Cater is immediately pulling you in close for a few dozen selfies of varying poses, which you mirror clumsily, some of them a little more buddy-buddy than anticipated!

Without much surprise, Cater is extremely photogenic. Even with your slightly amateur selfie taking skills, there’s nothing about him that is out of line in any of the pictures you take.

He comments teasingly on how good you two look together before offering to take the picture for you. His arms are longer, after all… Plus, this way, the light will shine better on your face. It’d be a waste not to show off your best feature, right?

Later that night whilst scrolling through social media, you find a picture of the two of you (one he must have taken when you weren’t paying attention) laughing together, genuine smiles plastered on both of your faces. The caption reads:

“I h8 to admit it, but my looks are no match next to @y/un! xx”

“Hm? Is this why you sought me out? Well, I suppose it’s fine either way. How would you like to do this?”

Despite being more rigid, Riddle allowed you to guide him through this process. He diligently conformed to your request and tried to mirror your pose, despite looking a little silly while doing it.

It was entirely by accident that you ended up snapping a second and third picture — in typical fashion, Riddle questioned it. Your clumsy explanations only earned you a teasing remark from him; “If you wanted to take more pictures, all you had to do was say so.”

He’s happy to comply, naturally. The faint blush coating your cheeks might have something to do with his resolution.

By the end of the little photo session, you had introduced Riddle to various filters and whatnot, some of which he found interesting and others, downright silly or even cute. As your next destination coincidentally happened to be the same, you two walked there together, merrily chatting all the while.

“How very bold of you to request something like this of me. Frizzy hair and clothes askew? This might be the regular image for a potato, but it just won’t do.”

Although you don’t get a direct response from the get-go, the fact that Vil begins to fix up your clothing while going on about how one’s appearance speaks volumes about themselves suffices as a confirmation that he will take a picture with you. There’s just a process to undergo, beforehand. It didn’t matter that it was all happening in the hallway and that other students passed you by — your attention was strictly on one another.

He’s as intense and meticulous as ever while fixing up your appearance. Despite this, there comes a point where Vil has to admit two things. One, that frizzy hair of yours has its particular charm; it didn’t need to be tampered with. And two, you didn’t really need makeup to enhance your features — save for a bit of red lip tint and some gloss, which he believes to suit your complexion.

Pride swells deep within Vil’s chest by the end. The transformation is complete, meaning the two of you could finally take that picture. He poses together with you, giving off an air of refinement — by the end of your little session, there are more than a handful of pictures that you have taken together with him.

[olivinesea]

A Mixed Blessing

Chapter List

chapter two: the faces are all the same

a/n: Warning for substance use/abuse & domestic abuse. Feeling a little weird about this but also feeling a little weird about everything so it’s probably fine, right? ~2.2k

Though memories of that first experience still turned his stomach, Aaron wasn’t deterred from drinking. Instead he pushed any concerns away with the promise of oblivion. He stole single beers from the fridge and dug to the back of the liquor cabinet, taking the dustiest looking bottles, long forgotten. He figured if he limited himself to taking small amounts here and there, the thefts would go unnoticed by a man who could drink his way into unconsciousness every night. He’d take his treasures out to one of his hiding spots, behind the garden shed, or deeper into the woods, to a tree with tall roots shaped like a bowl, where he could tuck himself in and focus on recreating the feeling he’d enjoyed so much.

The beer was warm and watery, directly contrasted by the syrupy sweet liquors. More than once he found himself on hands and knees, retching back up the liquid he had only just managed to swallow down, pushing past the foul flavors. It was proving difficult to get back to that place he’d found initially, where the world melted away and everything felt meaningless. Where he could forget who and what he was. That didn’t stop him from trying.

It didn’t take long to run through the supply of unwanted alcohol in the house and it wasn’t easy to find another source. He kept an eye out for his father, trying to gauge when he could sneak a few sips from whatever open bottle he kept close at hand. Eventually he decided it was more risk than it was worth. Each time he got close enough to smell the liquor on his father’s breath, his skin rippled with goosebumps, fear making the hairs stand on end. It was never enough anyway.

Disappointed but not any worse off than he’d been before the discovery, Aaron resigned himself to ongoing sobriety for the time being. Plus there was now a baby in the house, a useful distraction for everyone. Sean, only an infant but already fully present in the world, captivated him. He could spend hours standing over his crib, unmoving as Sean gripped one of his fingers with his chubby baby hands. Sean’s birth had shifted a lot of things in the Hotchner household. His father wasn’t any nicer to him but he surprised everyone by showing affection towards Sean, by praising his mother on occasion for the good job she was doing as a mother. Whenever he made a comment like this, not demeaning her or demanding anything, she would only stare like a deer in headlights.

Like Aaron, she didn’t know what to make of this side of her husband. He’d been charming when they met, lavishing her with love and attention until the reality of a marriage and a child set in and unveiled something sinister within him. She hadn’t expected to see this side of him again. Hadn’t believed he was still capable of kindness, that he could be gentle without a price. Aaron, who had never known this version of the man, wasn’t convinced and made even more effort to stay out of sight, stay off his radar.

It was hard to believe, hard not to feel that it was some sort of cruel joke. Mother and son waited for the other shoe to drop, for this facade to crack. Each kind word tightened the frayed strings of her nerves. She was so apprehensive she began dropping things, crying and scrambling to pick the pieces up as her husband watched without comment. When she forgot things, having to return to the store again and again for basic items, never once did he complain about the extra trips. One day, perhaps overwhelmed by the cognitive dissonance, she fainted and, acting directly contrary to all Aaron had learned about him, his father took her to the hospital.

After that day she seemed calmer. Much calmer. Aaron watched her closely, trying to figure out what had changed for her, how she was able to move through the minefield of their house without intense caution. His father hadn’t stopped hitting her, Aaron saw the bruises, heard the yelling. And yet, she had found some sort of inner peace that filled him with jealousy. He hadn’t thought it possible but he felt even more alone. It wasn’t much but at least they had been scared together.  

He observed his mother from his spot at the dining room table, distracted from his struggles with a math worksheet. He saw her stop, midway through peeling vegetables for dinner. She stared out the window, peeler and potato resting uselessly in her hands. He said her name but she didn’t respond. He repeated it again, an irrational fear pulsing through him, he needed her to acknowledge him. It was like he had suddenly ceased to exist. His voice rose sharply, waking Sean who began to fuss. Finally her eyes turned to look at him but even then she was only half there.

“What?” She blinked heavily, like she was barely awake.

He didn’t know what to say. He’d had a question, he thought, but it had dissolved in his fear that he’d become a ghost without realizing it. “Um…I think Sean’s hungry?”

She looked confused for a moment, then surprised, as if she had forgotten she had an infant to care for. She walked away from the counter, not noticing as the potato rolled onto the floor and went to Sean who was now actively crying in the living room. Once she was out of the room, Aaron got up and walked to the kitchen, picking up the half-peeled potato. He brushed at the little bit of dirt it picked up from the floor, pressing harder with his thumb than he needed to. That surge of fear and unreality crested again and he squeezed it in his fist with all his strength. The uncooked flesh was crushed, some of it splattering away from him. It wasn’t enough.

He dropped it back on the ground and stomped it with his heel. Satisfying chunks of potato sprayed out across the cabinets and floor. He looked at what he'd done, knowing it wouldn’t end well for him but he didn’t care. No one cared about him, why should he care about himself either? He heard his father’s car pulling into the driveway and instead of trying to clean up the mess, mitigate the damage, he ran out the back door. He ran as fast as he could but in the back of his mind he knew no matter how far he got, it would never be far enough. He would get dragged back every time. He was only prolonging the inevitable, eking out a few more moments of safety that he knew he would pay for eventually. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to be free of this place and these people and himself.

~

Not long after that afternoon, he discovered the key to his mother’s newfound equanimity. It was hot and Sean wouldn’t stop crying so he was looking for her. She sometimes disappeared and he would find her laying on her bed, not quite asleep but not awake either. Looking into his parents’ bedroom, he couldn’t see her from the doorway so he crept further into the room. He spotted her through the open bathroom door, her back to him. As he watched, she poured a bottle of blue pills into her hand and then slowly dropped them back in one by one. The action mimicked the sound of dripping faucet; he thought he might go mad listening. She stopped when there was only one left in her hand. She looked at herself in the mirror as she placed it on her tongue. He could see himself in the mirror too but if she noticed she didn’t say anything. He left the room silently, still hearing the steady drip of each pill hitting the plastic container.

He snuck back later and took one, curling it into his warm palm as he raced away from their room and outside. It was the first time he’d taken something from her and he felt a petty satisfaction overriding the guilt. He was eager to see how it felt, how it was able to so thoroughly transform her reality. At first nothing changed and he suspected he had somehow gotten it wrong. But as he wandered further away from the house he found his limbs growing heavier. It was as if the air had thickened and was resisting his every move. He slowed and slowed until he stopped and just lay down in the scratchy grass. He rolled onto his back and stared at the sky, watching the clouds change shape. He didn’t feel anything except the slow turn of the world. This was the feeling he’d been looking for.

He went back the next day and stole several more, hiding them carefully in his sock drawer. When he took one he no longer felt his heart racing, didn’t jump at every sound, every click of a door latch. When he was knocked down he didn’t try to get back up or even get away. He just lay there. At first this made his dad angrier but then, something about how limp Aaron was, more shell than human, it was no longer gratifying. He walked away, muttering about unnaturalness as his son lay on the floor dazed, blood trickling from his nose along the sharp planes of his cheek, catching in the curve of his ear.

Softly detached from the world, he could spend all afternoon laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. He was barely aware of his own existence. He had never felt more at peace. But the peace had a timer on it. Each time he swallowed a pill the feeling faded faster than before, leaving him with a prickling sense of dread. He was anxious as he watched his collection grow smaller. He created rules for himself, a schedule to follow to try to spread them out but the high felt too good. Every other day became every day became twice a day.

He ran out so he waited for his mother to be occupied with Sean, another ear infection causing him to wail at all hours. Aaron wondered idly what would have happened to him had ever made so much noise, taken up so much space. He took the bottle from the cupboard and eyed the level. There still seemed to be plenty so he took a handful more. School started again and he didn’t want to go, didn’t want to give up his time spent lulled by the chemical comfort he’d stolen. He took one at school and no one noticed, no one said a word, so he did it again.

The cycle repeated itself. He felt secure with his secret trove of pills. Counting them out when he was sure no one would come looking for him. Making patterns and putting them into various groupings. He could finally understand division. But despite his best efforts, they disappeared, faster than he told himself he was taking them. So he changed their location but they only continue to disappear. The anxiety grew intolerable and he needed to take another to balance that out but he was left with nothing, checking and rechecking every hiding spot he’d ever had. He retraced his steps in case he’d dropped one but he was too careful for that.

He accepted that he’d run out but that was okay, he could just steal some more. Just needed to find the right moment. Maybe he would take a few extra this time.

He slipped back into his parents’ bathroom only to find the bottle was missing. He ran down the stairs, nearly falling as he missed his footing, grabbing the railing at the last possible moment. Still pulling against that to keep himself upright, he saw his mother standing in the kitchen. She looked up at him, her eyes sharp for once, aware of his presence in a way she so often wasn’t. His cheeks are flushed and accusations burned his lips.

You took them from me.

They don’t say a word, speared by this identical thought, anger and fear fusing them, their shared existence crashing back together after the weeks since he’d discovered her secret, made it his own. Sean crawled to her and pulled on her skirt , wanting to be picked up, demanding her attention with half formed words, the sounds still new in his mouth. Aaron knew he wouldn’t be able to find the bottle again, knew that escape route had been closed to him. He stalked out of the house, slamming the door on the way.

Outside, his vision blurred by resentment, he couldn’t see how his mom jumped at the crash, didn’t hear how Sean cried out as her arms squeezed him too tightly. He wouldn’t care if he did though. It wasn’t fair that she had taken this from him. That she could be so selfish while he was just alone.  

chapter three

[crystaljins]

River lead me home | 01

Characters: Seokjin x Reader

Word count: 9.2k

Synopsis:  Ever since coming to the human realm when you were child, nothing seems to fit, and this was just supposed to be a simple roadtrip to help you find yourself.

Is that too much to ask for?

Spin-off to A long journey home

Rating: Teens

Notes: You guys are gonna laugh... I tried to upload this yesterday but it screwed up and only the title got posted! Naturally I deleted the post and didn’t get a chance to fix everything up, but it’s finally here! My monster of a fic !!!! Updates will be weekly. Honestly this fic took a lot to write, and it’s been 8 whole months of working on it!!! So I hope you guys enjoy it T.T If not I won’t be made though LOL (edit: @blue1928​ forgot to tag u soz)

p.s. I AM working on the HP prompts I’m just really busy this next couple of weeks LOL

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 FINAL

You’ve never really been particularly fearful of getting in trouble with your mother. She has always been a sweet and timid lady, the kind who would let her daughter get away with murder. And you are an adult, even if you don’t act like it, and so it’s not like your mother can do anything other than express her disappointment with your actions. 

Kim Seokjin, on the other hand, can have you quaking in your shoes with just a look. He was your nextdoor neighbour growing up, even before you all fled your home realm. He has since moved out of his parents’ home into his own apartment to pursue his dream as a doctor (and to take home as many lady friends as he likes without his parents’ knowledge), but he is still very much a stern presence in your life, even as one of your closest friends. He likely feels responsible for you, since though the two of you were young when you were driven into the human world, he is three years older. He did once refer to you as something like an untrained puppy, which you guess is very reflective of how he views you. The result of such feelings of responsibility is him trying his best to fulfill all the duties of being your legal guardian despite having no obligation to do so. The effect is him being terrifyingly stern with you, despite him being a calm, good-humoured guy with everyone else he meets.

Which is why, when you wake up in a hospital bed with your leg wrapped in a cast, you know that today is the day Kim Seokjin kills you. If the job interview that you completely messed up isn’t enough motive for him to seek you out, then the fact that you tried to stop a purse snatcher and ended up breaking your leg in the ensuing scuffle after said thief’s motorcycle fell on you most certainly is. 

In your defence, it wasn’t like you could just leave them be! Yes, you had not been back to your home realm once in the thirteen years since you and every other guardian were driven out, but at your core, you like to think you are still a Guardian. And so, as is custom, you cannot turn down a plea for help. And the young woman screaming in distress as a man on a motorcycle drove past and snatched her purse straight off her shoulder had certainly sounded like a plea for help! Really, Jin should be impressed, because the ensuing chase was something straight out of a movie, what with you in hot pursuit on your own bike (the one both your mother and Jin do not know you own). And you totally would have gotten the purse back if it wasn’t for the slight motorcycle crash. You’re not exactly sure what you hit since the events are a little blurry, but whatever it was, it ended up knocking you out and breaking your leg. 

A slight commotion breaks out at the entrance to the room and by the way onlookers swoon, you know that your time on earth is up. For the only person that can stir such a reaction upon entering a room is Kim Seokjin himself. Guardians naturally fit most of the qualifiers of what humans consider attractive, but even by Guardian standards, Jin is ridiculously handsome. Even though you find him boring and the biggest nag to walk the planet, not even you are immune to his disarming good looks. You could probably sense his aura blindfolded and your eyes are always drawn to him in a crowd and so you easily pinpoint him amongst the crowd of onlookers before he spots you. Today is his day off and so he does not wear his usual doctor’s gown. Instead a well fitted button up shirt and trousers highlights the broadness of his shoulders and the elegance of his figure as he strolls through the room as if he owns it. You recognise the style- that particular combination of button up and trousers are his date clothes. Your heart plummets when you recognise the outfit. Jin will be extra irritated about having to check on you in the hospital on his day off. Why did the paramedics have to take you here of all places? You’ve really signed your life away this time.

He pauses to smile at a nurse who passes by and she is immediately dazzled. Though he is no doubt furious with you, and is frequently irritated by your shenanigans, to the rest of the world he is charming and funny and good-tempered. You watch the exchange with curiosity- the nurse laughs at something Jin says and there’s a faint flush to her cheeks. You will probably never have such an exchange with Jin- even if he relaxed enough to make a joke in your presence, it would probably be at your expense. Jin’s taste in women is very obvious- he likes women that match him in beauty, ones that are fantastic at making you feel like a potato in comparison despite your guardian heritage, however unintentionally. Something in you twinges at the thought- you wouldn’t mind having a normal relationship with Jin. One where he smiles at you and makes jokes and actually enjoys your presence. But he’ll probably never view you like that- he’s made it very clear throughout your friendship what you are to him.

The nurse points in your direction and takes Jin’s distraction as an opportunity to trail her gaze appreciatively over his figure, settling on his profile. She must be new to the hospital if this is the first time that she is experiencing what Jin’s coworkers at the hospital describe as the “Jin effect”. Any humans (and most guardians for that matter) who meet him instantly succumb to his charisma and absurdly handsome face and find themselves desperately in love. This nurse is no exception and you decide to utilise the momentary distraction she has provided Jin when she attempts to get his number by attempting to slide off your bed and scurry away.

A tug at the back of your collar has you stiffening. If this were a movie, there would be an uneasy swell of high-tension violin as you turn your head to find Jin has grabbed the back of your shirt to stop your slow escape. He must have utilised a spot of enhanced guardian speed to be able to cross the room so quickly. The violins in your head begin to screech in terror. Jin merely smiles and it is eerily charming. His cheeks puff out and his lips curl in a way that would dazzle the average onlooker but you see the lethal intent in his eyes. You barely manage to hold back a fearful shudder.

“Nurse Jo!” He calls, and his tone is playful and sweet which contrasts directly with the venom in his dark pupils. In their depths you can foresee your death. “It seems one of our patients is trying to escape.” His tone darkens and drops on the last word and you flinch, preparing for the end.

Only it never comes, and you find Jin hoisting you up by the back of your shirt and with the help of security rushing forward they wrangle you back into bed. They do well- the average human doesn’t stand much chance against the superior strength of a guardian, and you are currently fighting for your life. But with Jin in the mix, they have you strapped to your bed in no time, forced to listen to whatever longwinded and painful lecture Jin has prepared for you

He stands at your bedside, arms folded across his chest. You mentally write your will in your mind- Taehyung can have your Nintendo switch and his girlfriend can go through your clothes and take any that she likes. Your mother gets anything worth more than $20 in your bedroom (though she might be searching for a while to find such an item, if it even exists) and Seokjin can get custody of your evil cat. Maybe it’ll scratch his stupidly handsome face up and you can get revenge from beyond the grave. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Jin asks, and his voice is surprisingly calm. You look away, scratching at where the cast on your leg rubs at the skin of your shin. It’s stupid to wear the cast since with your enhanced healing abilities the break will be better by tomorrow, but the doctors of this world do not know that. 

You are not fooled by the almost friendly, interested tone to his voice- there is anger bubbling behind the mask of polite curiosity. Likely he is holding back to full force of his fury because this is his workplace.

“Well, I’d like to preface by saying I had no choice. Was I supposed to just let the robber go?” You say. You were attempting to placate him before elaborating on the full story, but it appears to have the opposite effect. Jin’s eyes bulge out of his head and his face goes that interesting shade of red that only appears when he’s very, very angry. 

“Robber? You took on a robber?” He says slowly, and you can tell it takes a few moments for the words to process. But gradually, the veins in his neck bulge and his eyes gradually widen and you wince as Jin erupts into what you like to call his “jants- Jin Rants.”. “Ya! Are you crazy? What were you thinking? What if you had been killed? I would have had to tell Auntie and then I would have had to organise your funeral because she would be inconsolable! If I even survived my parents trying to kill me for letting you die at the hands of a ROBBER of all people!” The impressive thing about a jant is the speed at which it is spat out. You are sure that professional rappers have nothing on the way Jin can spill out verses in a rage. He shoves a hand through his hair in distress and the ensuing messy look it generates is unfairly attractive- you think you see a middle-aged woman swoon in the hospital bed across from yours. Or faint. It’s hard to tell in a hospital. He continues screeching. “And then they’d PROBABLY make me MOVE BACK HOME as PUNISHMENT and there goes my social life! You could have ruined MY WHOLE LIFE, (Y/N)! What is wrong with you? Why do you always go making trouble like this?” It is those words, out of his whole rant, oddly enough, that causes you to stiffen. The implication that all you do is cause trouble. Which in a way you suppose you do. You cause your mother unnecessary worry- Jin is constantly sacrificing things to take care of you. Even your friends are constantly having to shout you meals due to your perpetual state of unemployment.

“I... couldn’t just leave it- they needed help, Jin.” You admit softly. Jin somehow hears your quiet admission over his furious jant and falls silent. He stares at you in confusion for a long moment, like he was expecting more of a fight, or some sort of annoying comeback. But the confusion is enough to subside his rage. The jant is over, with minimal damage. He drags over a chair and slumps by your bedside, once more running a hand through his hair. 

“You’re so reckless. Robber’s rarely pull stunts like that unarmed! You may have enhanced healing compared to a human, but you still die if someone stabs you! And this is your third ER trip this month!” He scolds and his tone is far gentler than before- not unlike how one might speak to a child, rather than someone a mere three years younger than him. You meekly bow your head, chastised. “How do you think auntie would feel if anything happened to you, (Y/N)? You may be a Guardian, but Guardians aren’t invincible. You, of all people, should know that.”

You flinch, feeling as though he’s slapped you. He’s clearly furious with you if he’s willing to choose such a sore spot to shame you. For the thirteen years you have been in the human realm, it has just been you and your mother. You have not been able to forget that fact for a single day. Every day you awaken afresh with the reminder that there is a third member to your family who should be there but is not. Your father’s life was lost as you all fled, and your mother had found herself widowed with a headstrong young child in a foreign and unfamiliar realm. Jin’s family have always been around to help because you haven’t exactly been an easy child to raise, but there are some burdens that no one can lift from a single parent.

 And you love your mother, and you really would do anything for your her. It’s just... you don’t want to pretend that you’re a human. For your entire time here, your guise as a human has felt like an itchy, poorly fitted jacket that you want to peel off and throw away. Humans are selfish and lazy and would leave a child on the side of the road and they’d been very quick to notice that you were different and target you for it- these are all things your father hated. To be human is to spit on the sacrifice he made for you... and yet to continue to fight it is also disregarding that he gave up his life to let you live in comfort. 

Jin, with his handsome face and ability to charm anyone he meets instantly, has never had an issue settling into the human realm, and so he’s never really understood why you cling so much to your former home realm. He knows that you’ve never truly stopped grieving the life of your father, but he cannot understand why you do not see the human world the way that he does. He had very much taken to being a human and enjoys all the perks that come with it- the technology, the fawning women, the interesting and unique cuisines... Jin adores human culture. And so, it irks him that you constantly seem to be sticking out like a sore thumb. 

“I’m sorry.” You say in a small voice and you’re so downcast that you miss the way that Jin’s face crumples with guilt. 

“Just... try to be safer in the future. This realm has its own law enforcement. We don’t need to be guardians here.” He tells you softly. Then he clears his throat awkwardly. “How was the job interview?”

It’s an act of mercy- he’s trying to save you any further misery by changing the subject. Unfortunately, you have yet to break the news to Jin; you bombed the interview. Massively. It’s not like it was even a job you were that invested in. Just a fulltime job that involved doing some admin in an office. The exact, safe, boring job your mother has dreamed of for you since coming here and the exact job Jin has been pushing you to apply for because he’s sick of his parents nagging him to lend you money or take you out for dinner or give you lifts because your car broke down and you can’t afford to fix it. But you messed it up and you hate yourself for it. Hate yourself for disappointing your mother, and, if you’re really honest with yourself, for disappointing Jin. You’re already so aware of how lowly he views you and this just makes it sting that little bit more.

But it is the exact kind of job that will slowly kill you inside. You are trying to kill the part of you deep down that longs for something more. You don’t even know what it is you want. But killing that part and settling into this world and its ways and its customs mean giving in. It means forgetting. And for thirteen entire years, you have not been able to forget. How can you, when you left a piece of yourself back there, on the battlefield where your father had lost his life for your sake? He was not even given the luxury of a grave and yet you are supposed to be comfortable and post pictures on Instagram about how happy you are and go to brunch and just enjoy life? You... you can’t do it.

“I... don’t know.” You finally say. You shrug and glance away. “It felt like it went well. We’ll see if they call me back.”

Jin visibly brightens, unaware of your lie. 

“I knew I had a good feeling about today!” He says warmly. “You’re totally going to get that job, I can feel it in my bones. Finally, my parents will get off my back!” He cheers. He probably means the last part as a joke but it’s just another sting; another reminder that Jin just sees you as a burden.

His celebration session is interrupted by an alert on his apple watch. He glances at whatever notification appear and winces. He glances at you like he’s done something wrong.

“I’ve got to go. I uh… I have a date.” He confesses. Jin is always tentative when he talks about the women he sees, like he’s anticipating some sort of reaction from you. You don’t know what reaction that would be, though, and you don’t think you’d ever feed his ego with any reaction other than a mild disgust and indifference. When you just continue to stare, he nods, more to himself than you. “I still have to sort all your paperwork to make sure you can get discharged so I probably can’t stay with you for your discharge. You don’t need a lift home, do you? I’ll probably have to drive straight there.”

Normally you would accept- though your broken bone heals faster than a human’s, it is still highly painful and inconvenient. But the thought of being in the car with Jin right now is highly unappealing. For some reason, lately when you spend time with Jin, you just feel more and more aware of how inadequate you are. You can’t help but notice the way people gravitate towards Jin. The way their eyes are constantly seeking him out or how a room brightens when he steps into it. And it’s not just his looks- it’s his everything. His demeanour, his smile, his success. He has taken to the human world like a fish to water and you just can’t. It’s not like you don’t want to. But his presence, his nagging, his constant disappointment with you… it’s a persistent, painful reminder of everything you can’t bring yourself to be. Not even for him, as much as you sincerely hate constantly disappointing him like this.

He adjusts his watch as you shake your head.

“I’ll just get the bus. I can still walk.” You say, plastering a smile on your face that hopefully seems sincere. Jin glares at you and reaches out to tap a finger against the firm plaster of your cast.

“Fine, but this stays on until tomorrow. I don’t care how fast you heal- I don’t want that leg healing crooked. Your mother will definitely notice if you suddenly have an extra bend in your shin. And no more chasing robbers- not even if it’s an old grandma with a cane being robbed. We stopped being Guardians for a reason.” He warns you. He adjusts his shirt cuffs and pulls out his phone to adjust his hair in the selfie camera before glaring at you. “I won’t tell Auntie about today because I don’t want her to worry. You can stay at mine tonight, so she doesn’t ask any questions when you hobble home in a cast.”

“Thanks.” You say and he’s oblivious to the bleak tone in your voice and the way your expression is downcast. If there’s one thing that has Jin oblivious to the rest of the world, it’s the prospect of a date. “Is the code to get in still the same?”

“I changed it to your birthday because that stupid pixie that always hangs around you worked out the code and keeps leaving my sugar open on the counter. I’m getting so many ants. I’m pretty sure he’s leaving it open for them.” Jin tells you already halfway turned around. You wisely choose not to tell Jin that you had told Jungkook the code to Jin’s apartment. Jin pauses before he can stride off. “Oh yeah. Auntie texted me- she wanted me to make sure you remember to come to dinner tomorrow and that you dress nicely. She has something important to say.”

“She could have just texted me herself.” You mumble, but Jin has already walked off, probably to sort the last of your paperwork before his date. A trail of sighing onlookers watch his departure. It just makes you scoff as you return to glaring at your cast. It itches.

You make a promise to yourself to use Jin’s kitchen scissors to remove it tomorrow so that he has at least some kind of inconvenience in his life. Nothing is more irritating than a blunt pair of kitchen scissors.

++++

Despite seeing Jin’s mother every other day, and renting the apartment directly across from her, your mother always acts like the president is coming over whenever Jin’s family comes for dinner. She pulls out the fancy glass bowls and the plates she bought with her first paycheck from the diner she was employed at when you were small. She vacuums the whole apartment and checks your room to make sure you’ve cleaned it in case Jin needs a bed to nap on after a long day at the hospital. 

She’s never quite managed to get the hang of human cuisine and since the human realm doesn’t hold the magic stores available to cook Guardian food the way that she learned, you are always the one to make dinner. You’ve never once complained because you know that on some level, this is your mother’s attempt to compensate. This is the closest you will ever get to having a community with other Guardians, and Jin’s dad is the closest thing you will ever have to a father. 

But even despite her usual frantic state whenever there’s a joint family dinner, she definitely seems more frazzled than usual. 

“Is it meant to smell like that?” She asks with a grimace, leaning in to look at the salad you’ve thrown some vinaigrette over. You glance over your shoulder from where you are checking on the food in the oven. 

“Yes, mum.” You say, standing and gently nudging her from the kitchen with a smile. “It’s vinaigrette- you liked it last time when I made it, remember? It’s why I made it tonight.” 

Your mother digs her heels into the ground before you can drive her from the kitchen and send her back to wiping the already sparkling cabinets in the living room. She turns to scrutinise you carefully. 

“Are you going to do your hair? It looks a little messy.” She frets. You raise an eyebrow. This is new. Your sweet, doting mother has never once criticised your appearance, not even when you went through that phase where you had an eyebrow piercing and dyed your hair neon green. Something is up. 

“It’s just Auntie and Uncle, right?” You say suspiciously. “They used to bathe me when we lived in magregnum, mum.” You say. Using the original term for your home realm feels foreign on your tongue and your mother’s expression shutters at the sound of her original home. 

“Well, a lot has changed since then.” She says softly. You’re about to question the strange, unfamiliar expression on your mother’s face. Something looks different about her... you squint when you recognise the shimmer of your favourite eye shadow on her lids. 

“Are you wearing makeup?” You question. Her eyes go wide, and you can’t help but notice that her lashes are curled. But her answer is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Your mother pales and instantly she switches back into her jittery, pre-dinner self. 

“Quickly, quickly!” She urges. “Dinner’s not ready yet!” 

You shake your head with a smile at your mother’s familiar antics. 

“It’s probably just Jin- Auntie and Uncle always make him come over earlier to help.” You call over your shoulder. You’re in a far better mood than you were yesterday, particularly after bending Jin’s kitchen scissors beyond repair during your attempts to remove the cast this morning before heading out and pretending you hadn’t been fired from your part-time job the week before. You had punched one of the senior managers for bullying the new hire. Your leg was mostly healed at that stage and Jin had told you that you could take the cast off before he left for work that morning. When you arrived back home in the afternoon, your mother had either chosen not to comment on your slight limp or had been too distracted by the stress of having dinner to notice. You are glad to have evaded her sad, disappointed eyes and the unwarranted comparisons to Jin for the day.  

After a long few moments of peace in the kitchen, you can’t help but notice the lack of an annoying presence hovering over your shoulder. Usually when Jin arrives, he makes a beeline straight for the kitchen so that he can sample whatever it is you’re making and proclaim it decent (and then try and sneak some extra portions later in the evening when he thinks you aren’t looking). The complete lack of Jin’s presence to do whatever the kitchen equivalent of back seat driving is has you pausing with a sense of unease. It is the first clue that something is up- the door opens and yet the older guardian doesn’t make an appearance. Confused, you pause midway through pouring out melted chocolate from a glass measuring cup and glance over your shoulder. 

“Minyo Dolkara,” is your mother’s tentative call and your eyes widen at the term of endearment. It is a common one back in your home realm, but your mother only uses it to comfort you when she feels you are truly upset. She is knotting her fingers anxiously together and beside her stands an unfamiliar middle-aged man. He smiles warmly at you, and your gaze lands on the arm he holds carefully around your mother’s shoulder. Your grip tightens around the handle of the measuring cup. 

“Mum?” You ask, your tone laced with confusion. “Who’s this?”

Your mother swallows nervously and glances at the man in question. 

“This is... my love.” She confesses. “Nigel. We met at my night classes and I... He...”

“I’m her fiancé.” The man, Nigel corrects. He is a friendly, round sort of man. The kind of man often seen on tv playing father to a rebellious teenage daughter in a sitcom. And his smile is warm and excited, like he’s happy to meet you. He directs that smile to your mother, and rather than look disgusted or uncomfortable, she merely beams back at him.

That’s probably what this night was for, in hindsight. And why your mother was so nervous. She planned this to introduce her new boyfriend... no, her new fiancé to you, and to Jin’s family. Dimly, in the back of your mind, you register all the unusual signs about tonight. The way she’d messaged Jin to make sure you were at the dinner despite the fact that she’s never been able to bring herself to make you do anything you don’t want to.... the way she’s been commenting on your appearance despite it never having bothered her before... how long has she kept this from you? How... how could she be seeing another man?

No words form in your mouth- instead, the face of your father hovers in your mind. After thirteen years, you can’t fully recall what he looks like and you weren’t able to bring any pictures over to the human realm with you. It has been long enough that you cannot recall his face or his voice. So, in theory, why can’t your mother meet someone new? Did you expect her to live as a widow until she died, alone and far from the home realm she grew up in? Of course, you didn’t. But for some reason, this man’s presence right now leaves a bitter sting like she’s plunged a knife into your chest.

The smile drops from Nigel’s face after a few moments of you staring blankly and his smile is replaced with concern. It takes you a while to understand it is because you have crushed the hand of the measuring cup in your tight grip. It falls to the ground and shatters, followed by a few drops of blood as red rapidly spreads over your clenched fist and lands on the ground. You haven’t used your enhanced strength in so long you almost forgot you had it. 

“Fiancé?” You echo at last and though it is your own voice, it sounds distant. Like your ears are suddenly submerged under water. You don’t know what hurts you more in that moment- the painful reminder that the world is moving on without your father... or the fact that your mum has kept such a huge secret from you for who knows how long, probably because she was scared of how you’d react. “You’re engaged?”

“(Y/N),” your mother says, taking a step forward, perhaps to comfort you. She does it tentatively, like you are a beast she needs to placate. The people in your life- at least the ones who know your true identity- often approach you like that. Slowly and hesitantly, as if they don’t know how you will react. Like you are a ticking time bomb, ready to go off and cause trouble. Which in a way, you suppose you are. Things have always been difficult with you, after all. You never settled into human schooling well and you didn’t get into a good university like Jin, and you’re always getting yourself into trouble trying to help random people off the street. And your mother, your poor placating mother, is prepared to do the same thing she always does. Apologise that you had to leave your home, that the new human world isn’t to your liking, but gently remind you that it is, in fact, your real home now.  

But you do not give her the chance to feed you the same tired lines. You’re so sick of hearing this lecture. Every time you wind up in hospital because you’ve interfered with a fight or been hit by a car trying to save a random puppy, Jin gives you the same, frustrated lecture. When you fail another interview or get fired from a new job, your mother is there to try and fail to hide her disappointment that you aren’t leading the life she’d planned for you. But not this time- this is too far. You’ve been trying to squash the part of you that is a guardian for their sake for so long now, but you cannot do it for him. For this man, this stranger, who has waltzed into your home like he owns it and announced that he’s marrying your mother. As if he has a right to just join your family. You are out the door before she or Nigel can offer a word of explanation. 

You don’t see Jin until you crash into him. He steadies you with a hand planted on either shoulder. You glance up at his face, barely registering what he looks like through the blur of tears spilling forward. For a brief moment, the sight of Jin’s face (even blurred) and the familiar set of his broad shoulders fills you with relief. Even if Jin’s always viewed you as a bit of pain, he’s always been an important person to you, always ready to provide support. But then you see the look on his face.

Jin actually winces when he sees your expression. Perhaps he is realising it’s going to be one of those nights, where he sits up on the roof with you for hours and comforts you as you spill your guts. That’s how it’s always been, after all, ever since you were a small child and would run to him when you scraped your knee instead of your own parents. You would cry and he would offer some wise words mixed in with a stern reprimand and then his parents would congratulate him for being such a good influence on you. Even when you hit high school and started to realise for the first time that Jin didn’t view you with the same adoration you viewed him, he never stopped being that person for you. The shoulder to cry on, the rock to lean on. But now, he stiffens, as if steeling himself for the explanation behind your tears and he probably already has a speech half prepared in his mind. That’s the job he delegated himself, after all. To look after you, for as long as you are alive and giving him headaches. So, if it’s always been his job to do just that, why does he look like he’s just been asked to help clean a public bathroom at the sight of you in distress? 

He... he doesn’t want to deal with you. That’s why he looks so uncomfortable. 

You feel something inside you crumple. You can’t identify what feeling it is but, in that moment, you realise something. Everyone in your life... they all view you as a burden. Your mum had delayed telling you about her boyfriend until the last possible moment because your response would be difficult to handle. Jin’s parents see you as a hopeless child that their perfect son must look after. And Jin.... well you can see from the look on his face how he views you. It reminds you of a dark day, all those years ago in high school, a memory you thought you’d pushed down, and it surfaces now, before you can push it back down like you normally do. But then you set your shoulders- you were over the things Jin had said that day, and you aren’t going to allow the way that he looks right now to be the thing that resurfaces those feelings.

You shove past him. Over the past few months, you’ve been avoiding Jin more and more as your self-esteem plummeted lower and lower but today something tips over the edge for you. You don’t know how or why it happened but at some point, Jin has stopped being the person you can turn to when things get rough. And you have just realised that he no longer wants to be that person either, which hurts far more than you ever thought it could. 

“(Y/N)!” You hear him call out to you, probably shocked that you aren’t caving immediately and telling him what’s wrong- after all, there’s probably only been one time in your life before this that you’ve done so. You ignore his call though, making a beeline for the staircase, and he does not follow you. 

The place you usually go to when misery strikes is the rooftop of your crappy apartment building. You’ve spent countless hours up on the rooftop, watching the sky. It’s oddly therapeutic- the thing you used to miss most when first moving to this realm was the stars. Back home, they sparkle different colours like precious stones scattered across black velvet. Here, the smog of humans blocks their stars from the sky. But the brightest stars are somewhat visible on clear nights and they are the closest reminder you have of home. That’s probably why you have chosen the roof as your refuge. Since beginning to take refuge here when things go bad, you’ve accumulated a small collection of old furniture from whenever your mum goes on a redecorating spree. 

What has resulted is a comfy little corner of the world you can call your own, away from everyone else. No one else seems to use this place, even if the rooftop is accessible to everyone in the complex, but that suits you just fine. It’s perfect for curling up and wallowing, much like you are desperate to do right now. There are a lot of confusing, painful emotions swirling around inside you, ones that you aren’t really sure how to deal with or process. 

You slump down against the old picnic blanket you have stretched across the floor and let your head collapse against an old cushion your mum threw out years ago and peer up at the sky. Wincing, you idly pick out pieces of glass from your hand and watch the skin seal over almost immediately as you wonder if the sky really as beautiful back home as your memory tells you it was. Or, do you just want to believe things were better in the other realm? You’re not really sure but it really would be nice to go back. Not forever- as much as you hate to admit it, your family is here now, which makes this realm your home. But you want to see the place you came from. You want to see the stars and the valleys and the rivers. The night before you and your mother fled, your father had told you that everything about Magregnum would change by the time you were old enough to go back, except the landscape. Mountains cannot move, after all. A part of you longs desperately for that- to see the things that will not change and the landscapes that could not leave your father behind. The only reminders that you aren’t just a random human washed up in the bleakness of life, but a guardian. Something special and precious. Something better than what you feel like you are.

An annoying buzzing in your ear breaks the bubble of your pondering. You blink a few times and then sigh, turning your head to the side. A small figure, no taller that the height of your handspan, stands beside you with his arms folded. Small, insect like wings flap so rapidly they are little more than flashes, catching the light of the fairy lights you’d strung across the fencing of the rooftop a few weeks ago. The figure tilts his small head to the side and at this proximity you can see the way he frowns. He always has the oddest tendency to pop up whenever you are alone and miserable and likely he is displeased to find you in such a state yet again.

“Do you ever do anything other than sulk?” The creature asks. He is a pixie, as you know from your first interaction where he had very indignantly informed you that no, he is not a cross between a mosquito and a human in-between your attempts to squash him with a fly swatter. You grimace. 

“No.” You snap, rolling onto your side to face away. Alas, the small pixie merely lifts easily into the air and sails over your face like he’s an Olympian performing high jump. He lands neatly in front of you once more and grins. 

“What happened this time?” He asks, settling down into the picnic blanket cross legged. He plants an elbow on either knee and rests his chin in his hands. The buzzing of his wings slows to a gentle flap, which allows you to discern the thin, silvery veins that lace across the delicate membranes of his wings. You’ve always secretly thought it a shame that Jungkook is just a pixie, given his handsome face and charming nature, but being a human would mean the loss of his gorgeous wings. “Did Jin ground you again?”

“He’s never grounded me before.” You snap defensively. “And even if he did, it’s not like I would listen to him. He’s not my parent.”

Jungkook shrugs, leaning back to press his weight into his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him. 

“Yes, you would.” He points out. “You always complain about Jin, but I know you always do what he says.” 

You purse your lips and sit up. Jin is one of the last people you want to talk about right now. Jungkook stands up too, launching himself into the air so that he can settle on your knee. 

“So what did Jin do this time? Change the code to his apartment again? Find out about your motorbike? Treat you to dinner?” Jungkook questions eagerly. You’ve never seen the pixie interact with another living being other than you, Jin or Taehyung (and on occasion your mother) and he had sadly informed you that he was the only one of his kind in this realm when you first met thirteen years ago. So, you have a theory that he lives out his need for drama and gossip and social interaction vicariously through you. It’s the only way to explain his constant interest in your life and the things that are making you sad. 

“It wasn’t Jin.” You finally admit, lifting your gaze once more to the sky above. “Why are you even here anyway? Did you run out of YouTube dance covers to copy?”

Jungkook nods and settles down beside you. “It’s all pointless after a while.” He says forlornly. “It’s not like humans can see me. Only guardians will ever see me dance and they don’t care. I figured I might as well talk to one sentient being before I go crazy. The moths just aren’t great conversation partners these days.” He pauses. “So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Jungkook’s confession has your resolve crumbling. Sometimes it is easy to forget that you, Jin and Taehyung are the only people Jungkook can mix with, as a pixie in a human world. Even if humans could see him, the government would probably deport him back to the other realm the second it found out he was threatening exposure of magical beings to humans. A strange sadness on his behalf overcomes you and that is the thing that makes you willing to confess what’s bothering you. “It was... my mother.”

Jungkook is silent and when you glance down at where he is seated upon your knee, he is also gazing in wonder at the sky above. He doesn’t press further but you still somehow feel compelled to share. 

“She’s engaged.” You admit and the words feel oddly piercing amongst the soft hum of city traffic. They hang in the cool night air and suddenly the warmth of the night seems stifling rather than comfortable. 

“I thought the Q’uvar were happy when that sort of thing happened? Don’t you all have those huge festivities in your village whenever a marriage ceremony happens?” Jungkook questions. The natural way the original term for your people rolls off his tongue testifies to his origin- despite him living in the human realm, there is no doubt he comes from Magregnum, just as you do. Even when you were living in the other realm, your people would refer to themselves as guardians. Only the really old-fashioned members of your race would use the language that had slowly died out over the years as the common tongue became the norm. Not for the first time, you are curious about Jungkook and where he popped up from. Jungkook turns to look at you and tilts his tiny head. His inky black hair flops to one side with the motion. “Shouldn’t you be happy that your mother is engaged?”

The unintentional reprimand slaps you across the face and you wince. In theory, you should be thrilled that after so much difficulty and hardship settling into this realm, your mother has found a source of happiness. She has worked so hard on your behalf to make sure you grow up safe and secure in this foreign realm and so the least you can do to repay her is to be happy when she is happy. But the niggling fear that always chases you holds you back. It’s a fear of change- of the way life seems to move too fast for you to catch up. Here you are, stuck in the past when even your own mother has managed to move on and build a life for herself. 

“I should be.” You answer softly. You lift your knees and hug them close to your chest- Jungkook falls off with an indignant squawk. Moments later he rises in the air until he is eye level with you- even the buzz of his wings seems irritated. 

“Well then, why aren’t you?” He asks, but the tone of his voice implies that his patience has been lost with you. Since the moment of meeting you all those years ago, Jungkook had assigned himself as a sort of pseudo-counsellor and confidante, but it does not mean he enjoys the position. No, more often than not, he is annoyed and puzzled by your seemingly trivial problems. You kind of enjoy such an attitude though- it makes the things that feel insurmountable to you become small and insignificant. Jungkook makes you feel like problems can be overcome. This time, however, his dismissive attitude has you feeling worse. 

“Because I’m homesick.” You admit miserably. “Why does everyone seem to settle in here so well? Why am I the only one struggling? Why could everyone leave things behind so easily? How can they just pretend that they’re humans, and completely ignore the fact that they are Guardians?”

You press the palms of your hands against your eyes and release a long exhale. No one has followed you up here, after you rushed out like that. Who even knows what state your mother’s dinner is in? Hopefully she remembered to get everything out of the oven. Are they having fun without you? Is Nigel charming them, winning them over, getting them excited about the possibility of a wedding? Are they… are they really happy, in this realm? “Do you ever think about going back?” You question, after a long moment of silence. You drop your hands from your eyes.

“Sometimes.” Jungkook admits. “I wonder what it looks like now. Taehyung says it’s largely the same, it’s just the cultures and people that change.” 

You stare out across the ugly concrete buildings that the rooftop view provides you. In this realm, everything moves fast and changes quickly. In the blink of an eye, a new building can pop up down the road or an entire family can move away from their twenty-year-old restaurant and close it without any warning. Back home, you remember things being steady and unchanging. Every morning, you would rise to the same mountain ranges, to the same fringe of forest, to the same river song. The only guardian you know who has gone back is Taehyung, and he validates that impression- forests and mountains do not change. 

“I wish I had half Taehyung’s courage. I want to go back.” You confess.

Jungkook hugs his knees into his chest and mirrors your position beside you. 

“What would it achieve?” Jungkook asks curiously. You shrug, picking idly at a stray thread on your jeans. 

“Hopefully something.” You say. “I feel like I’ll never know what could happen if I don’t take the risk. I just… I feel like it’s calling me. It doesn’t want me to forget what I am. This realm doesn’t suit me because this isn’t my realm. Maybe I’ll find a place that fits over there.”

Jungkook nods sagely. A moth flaps past him and he smiles at it as it goes past.

“And what would you do once you’re there?” He questions. It does not take you long to give an answer. You’ve had this adventure mapped out in your mind since you were a miserable, homesick eleven-year-old.

“My dad used to have this phrase. “The river loves those who take the plunge.”. He’d always say it in the old tongue, and apparently it was an old guardian phrase that meant sometimes taking the risk was worth it. But apparently the phrase comes from a river to the east of our home. Dad said that the river is home to a special migrating plant, and it lights up and looks like shooting stars. They call it ‘the dancing river’. He promised to take me there, one day when the war was over.” You explain. “If rivers and mountains don’t change… then that’s that last piece of him I can find in that realm.”

“And that’s what you want to see, if you go back?” Jungkook asks. You nod and shift your position to the side of some old drawers you had rescued from your mother’s bedroom. Inside are a bunch of wrinkled old papers that you pull out and show him. 

“Taehyung always brings me back a map whenever he gets back from over there to show me how things have changed. Look.” You point at a small blue line that trickles across the painted landscape of the map. The label is written in the common tongue. “River of stars” it says in sleek cursive. You know from matching it up with an older map that the name has changed but it’s the same river your father told you about. “It’s only a five-day hike from the portal.” You point at a small mark on the map- this has Taehyung’s writing scribbled on it, marking the join between the human realm and the magical one. “I could go and just... get it out of my system. See the river. Like a road trip but in another realm.” 

Jungkook flutters over to peer at the small distance between the river in question and the portal on the map. 

“I just have to go once. Just once. And see it- see the places he loved. And then I’ll settle into this realm and get the boring job Jin and my mother want me to have and marry an equally boring human. I’ll go to her wedding and watch her pretend like my dad never existed and like I’m not a Guardian.” You tell him. “I... we didn’t even get to say good-bye, Jungkook.” 

Your voice cracks and Jungkook glances up at you in surprise. You rarely open up about your father to the pixie but he’s always curious when you do, like you’re sharing the story of an ancient war hero. Which in a way, he is. Though the war is fresh and recent in your mind, over a thousand years have passed back home, since your people roamed freely there.

“We just got word that he was dead, and we had to go, or we would be too.” You tell him, recalling the way Jin’s father had woken you two up in the middle of the night, pale as a ghost and drenched in your father’s blood. You remember running a lot that night and clinging to your mother’s hand. You had tripped and scraped your knee and you hadn’t been able to cry. And when you reached the human realm, your mother had shed a single tear and then shouldered on into your new life. No time or space to grieve. Not when there was so much uncertainty ahead. “No funeral or anything. I just... I want proof, that he was alive. I want to see the places he saw and just... I want to get a chance to say goodbye. I never even got to tell him that I love him one last time.”

Jungkook holds a hand to his chin as he ponders your words and then he looks at you. Though he is small, you can make out the dark colour of his eyes. His expression is soft and gentle. It reminds you of the look Jin used to give you when you’d come up here because the kids had made a mean comment about you not understanding their weird meme jokes or you were sad because you’d seen a kid hanging out with his father. Back before Jin had lost his patience with you, when he just got that the reason you couldn’t settle in was because of the cost it took to get to this realm safely. 

“You know it wouldn’t bring him back, right?” Jungkook asks softly. “Everything you knew about that realm faded thousands of years ago. You won’t find home there anymore than it is here. And it won’t stop your mother from getting married.”

“I know.” You answer forlornly. “But maybe things will be better if I just get to… acknowledge what I am. Even if it’s only for five days.” Jungkook stares for a long moment and then nods, his shoulders set with sudden determination. 

“Then let’s go.” He announces. You blink in surprise at his proposition. 

“Go?” You echo. He nods and straightens, planting on hand on his hip and pointing the other directly at you. 

“I am the first person to point out that you’re spoiled and selfish.” Jungkook reminds you, which has you wincing. “You don’t even know how lucky you are, to have so many people who love you. Do you know what I would give to be human? To have a friends and family like you do? And every day you spit on it. If this is what it takes for you to finally be content, then do it.” 

You frown and look away from him. 

“I don’t want to go when you put it like that.” You say, resenting the slight way your voice wobbles with hurt. You feel the slight tickle to your cheek and find Jungkook has pressed his tiny hand comfortingly to the side of your face. 

“Don’t be hurt.” He says softly. “I do know why you’re struggling.” He offers you as comfort. “And I do understand why it’s so hard. To live amongst humans every day and pretend like none of the terrible things that went down over there really happened. But in focusing on the things you’re missing, you’re missing out on the things you have.” He explains. “So, let’s go, (Y/N). Let’s go see the Dancing River and find the peace you’re looking for.”

You stare at Jungkook for a long time, before offering the slightest nod. He’s right. What’s the use of waiting and hoping and holding out for something? Why not just go and find out if seeing this river will solve any of your problems? The river loves those who take the plunge, after all.

“Let’s go, Jungkook.” You agree, with the faint hint of a smile on your face.

What you don’t see, as you converse with Jungkook, is Jin slowly closing the door to the rooftop, first aid kit in hand. He gives one last glance at the doorway, wondering if he should join you and Jungkook before shaking his head with a sigh. He turns around and makes the slow trek back downstairs with a troubled expression on his face.

[when-a-humble-bard]

in ways that can’t be said

Summary: Geralt lives in a very dark and violent world. Good things are few and far between. He doesn't know what it means, really, to be in love.So when he falls in love with Jaskier, it happens slowly. Gradually. Reluctantly.Or, 10 moments where Geralt falls a little more in love with the bard no matter how much it scares him. Geraskier.

Companion piece to this fic but can be read separately.

Word Count: 6961

Warnings: canon-typical peril and violence, blood, injury, death mention (but no actual death), light Geralt whump, feral!Jaskier, headaches, fear of sensory overload, cursing, interpretation of canon scene with shipping lens, Yennefer makes a brief appearance, Ciri is part of this at one point, emotionally constipated Geralt, and then emotionally-overwhelmed Geralt, lots of softness and hurt/comfort elements, let me know if other warnings should be added.

A/N: These two have so much story to explore together, and I’m apparently just along for the ride. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

Read on AO3!

...

I.

Geralt is on his second ale when the bard starts his set. The Witcher stays tucked away in the corner of the tavern where he usually prefers to sit, as it provides a decent vantage point of the room. That it also encouraged other people to leave him alone was, really, just an added bonus. Tonight seemed to be no exception that rule. Jaskier had sat across from him and jabbered on as he always did—his energy especially heightened given that it was right before a performance—but he had been the only one to engage the Witcher in conversation thus far.

The bard usually burned off his excess energy during his set. Geralt finds himself hoping the bard doesn’t expend too much of that energy, as they needed to head out early in the morning. Tired Jaskier was an even chattier Jaskier, and Geralt wasn’t sure he had the patience for it.

Jaskier is standing on the small stage across the tavern. Through the haze of idle chatter and drinks being poured at the bar, Geralt listens to Jaskier finish tuning the lute. The final string the bard plucks sounds slightly higher pitched than usual to the Witcher. He sees the tip of Jaskier’s tongue poke out between his lips in concentration, adjusting something on the instrument. He plucks it again. It sounds right to Geralt now, and the bard seems to agree if his satisfied nod is anything to go by.

He starts off with a popular tune—the one about the daughter of a fish merchant—and Geralt turns his attention to the venison and potatoes the barmaid sets in front of him before she quickly ducks away. Geralt stops paying close attention to Jaskier’s performance as his mind drifts to the rumors he’d caught wind of regarding a wraith. The trick would be finding someone who could confirm or deny the rumors; and if confirm, then someone who would pay him a fair price to deal with it.

He could also go kill it himself and hope to be able to sell it for parts, perhaps. That was riskier business, though. Still, Geralt considers the merits of it as Jaskier performs.

“Bard!” A sharp voice yanks Geralt from his thoughts. An older man, with thinning blonde hair and a stocky build, has leapt to his feet and immediately claimed the attention of the room. “If you keep singin’ the praises of the fuckin’ Butcher of Blaviken, I’ll break that fuckin’ lute o’er your fuckin’ head.”

Geralt’s jaw works. He’d always hated that name. He hates how it follows him like a shadow, the way it makes his arms feel heavy with Renfri’s unconscious weight every time he hears it. Still, it’s not a fight worth starting when he needs work and the man’s worst offense is using a name that travels with Geralt like a curse he can’t get rid of. He flexes his grip around the tankard in his hands instead.

“Sir,” Jaskier says, an odd and barely constrained edge to his voice, “the White Wolf is widely regarded as a hero across the Continent.”

“The Butcher ain’t no hero,” the man spits. “Just a monster gettin’ off on the sufferin’ of others.”

It’s an unoriginal insult, Geralt thinks. The Witcher’s lips press into a thin line before he swallows down more of the ale in front of him. If Jaskier is smart, he’ll let it go. He’ll stick to the songs in his repertoire that aren’t about Geralt, and he should still be able to charm the audience enough to earn a bit of coin for his trouble.

But Jaskier is—evidently—not a smart man.

“Bold words coming from someone who is too much a coward to face down the wraith plaguing his own town. The only thing you have less of than honor, sir, is shame. You slander the name of the very person ready to risk his life so that your crops don’t wither.” The bard’s eyes are aflame with indignation so strong it brings Geralt up short. “You call Geralt of Rivia a monster, but he is twice the man you will ever be.”

It’s such an impassioned, sincere defense… and all Geralt can do in the silence that seems to echo in the tavern after it is stare at the bard as something knots in his chest.

One of the man’s friends tugs on his arm and he sits again. Jaskier’s gaze doesn’t waver as he starts the next song.

“When a humble bard…”

II.

Jaskier drops a bucket of water onto his head, and Geralt hums at the welcomed shock, scrubbing the metallic, rancid scent of selkiemore off his face. The water smells faintly of rose, which the Witcher knows to be Jaskier’s doing. It’s… pleasant, if unnecessary.

“Now now,” Jaskier chides, “stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night of bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?”

Geralt glances over at the bard. “I’m not your friend.” He wasn’t sure what Jaskier was to him, but friend seemed like the wrong term. It didn’t fit right in his mouth as a way to describe the bard.

“Oh, oh really? Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?” Geralt levels a glare at Jaskier, but the bard seems unphased. “Yeah, well, yeah exactly. That’s what I thought.”

It’s all Geralt can do to not roll his eyes, watching Jaskier cross back to the salts and oils in front of him as he rambles. “Every lord, knight, and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!”

It’s a deflection at best, even as Jaskier throws some added salt to Geralt’s bath, and the Witcher just stares at the bard framed in the candlelight around them. He has the feeling Jaskier may be hiding something. Or rather, trying to redirect attention from something else.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?” Geralt asks flatly.

Jaskier’s façade deflates just a bit. “Hard to say,” he replies, and Geralt is reminded once again of how openly honest Jaskier tended to be. “One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.”

Geralt could do without the list, really. It sends a twist of unexpected annoyance through his chest. Jaskier notices—but then again, he’d always had this habit of paying more attention to Geralt’s expressions than most humans did. The Witcher isn’t sure why.

The bard sits on the edge of the tub, framing Geralt’s form with his outstretched hands. “Ooh, yeah, that face! Scary face. No lord in his right mind will come close if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that.”

Geralt reaches for his ale—he’s really not drunk enough to deal with this—when Jaskier snatches the cup out of his grip.

“Ooh, on second thought…” Jaskier continues, because he never seems to stop talking really, “might want to lay off the Cintran ale. A clear head would be best.” He pats Geralt’s shoulder as he stands.

It an unusually casual touch and Geralt’s skin tingles with it even after Jaskier steps away. Still, Geralt tries not to dwell on it. “I will not suffer tonight sober,” he growls, “just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” comes Jaskier’s voice from behind him. “You never get involved. Except you actually do, all the time.” Geralt snaps his gaze over to him, but he can’t find it in himself to argue with the bard on that point. Perhaps Jaskier had a point. At least on that front.

Jaskier crosses back in front of him. “Ugh,” he continues. “Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous?”

Geralt sighs, pulling his arms off the edge of the tub in the hopes that it will ease the way his shoulder is still tingling slightly from where Jaskier had rested his hand on it a moment ago.

“Actually, I’ve always wanted to know. Do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah,” Geralt snaps. “When they slow and get killed.”

“Come on,” Jaskier says, his voice softening just a little. “You must want something for yourself when all this monster hunting nonsense is over with.”

“I want nothing,” Geralt replies immediately. Instinctively, more than a legitimate answer. He hadn’t wanted anything for a very, very long time. And anything he may have wanted at one point certainly had proved itself impossible for a Witcher like himself to achieve, so what even would be the point to desire it in the first place?

There’s a waver to something in Jaskier’s eyes that puzzles the Witcher, but it’s gone before Geralt can put a name to it. “Well, who knows?” the bard says, crossing to the tub to crouch in front of Geralt. Jaskier is abruptly close like this, facing Geralt head-on while the Witcher sits in the wash basin. Geralt averts his eyes. “Maybe someone out there will want you.”

The idea that someone might want him one day like that—like how Jaskier is suggesting—sends a thrill of something almost like fear through the Wticher’s stomach.

“I need no one,” he replies immediately. Then he looks back at Jaskier. “And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet,” Jaskier says softly, meeting Geralt’s gaze unwaveringly. “Here we are.”

And that—well. The almost-fear feeling in Geralt’s stomach turns to something a little less sharp. A little warmer. No less terrifying, and yet somehow… nice.

Geralt tears his gaze away, desperate for a distraction from that feeling. “Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?”

III.

Geralt has lost track of just how many performances of Jaskier’s he has sat through over their years of travels together. He knows the bard’s musical repertoire nearly as well as he knows monster classifications. So really, the Witcher does not have an explanation, even to himself, of why this time is different.

But the bard is making his rounds, strumming his lute with a practiced ease, singing an exaggerated song about Geralt fending off a bruxa with one hand tied behind his back… and Geralt can’t take his eyes off him.

The Witcher had never enjoyed being the center of attention. A part of him had gotten used to it a long time ago—in his line of work, looking like he does, one has a nasty habit of drawing unwanted gazes—but he’d never sought it out. Then there was Jaskier, who thrived in environments just like this one, where he could command the center of attention. He thrived in backwater village taverns full of people desperate for mediocre ale and a good story.

And Geralt has to give credit where credit is due—Jaskier can spin a good tale. The bard reveled in it, even. Geralt hadn’t asked him, but he could tell from the man’s unrelenting enthusiasm that as much as Jaskier was a performer, not all of it was an act. There was an earnestness to him every time he sang. A genuine belief that what he was doing mattered.

Geralt takes another bite of the stew in front of him, his gaze not wavering as Jaskier finishes the song to enthusiastic applause. He grins, thanks the crowd graciously, and launches immediately into the next song. And still, Geralt watches.

The bard had discarded his blue doublet several songs ago, tossing it into the seat across from Geralt as he passed. Jaskier’s off white shirt is tucked into the blue pants that are several shades darker than his eyes, and those eyes are really what Geralt keeps finding his own gaze drawn to. Eyes that are vibrant with energy and life when they briefly meet Geralt’s across the room.

There’s a very unexpected, soft squeeze in Geralt’s chest.

The bard had always radiated light and joy on a level that Geralt privately thought outshone most other humans. Jaskier is a beacon—evidenced by the near-blinding grin that the bard throws to him before turning away—and Geralt feels the odd urge to shy away from it. As if that light might expose all the parts of him that he’d spent years hiding away.

But Jaskier is nothing if not relentlessly and stupidly persistent. And he seems—had always seemed—entirely unaware of how rare his own vibrancy truly is. It is an integral part of him that chooses again and again and again to share with others. And no matter how much they take from him, Jaskier seems to always have more he is willing to give.

It seems like a kind of selflessness to Geralt, and the tightness in his chest gives a sharp, aching clench.

IV.

Geralt and Jaskier end up at the same party completely by accident, really. The Witcher didn’t even know that the bard was in town; the last he’d heard of Jaskier’s recent exploits had him giving a guest lecture at Oxenfurt. Geralt had been passing through Temeria when he was approached and none-too-kindly asked to attend the king’s banquet. Geralt had almost turned the offer down—he didn’t like being seen as some novelty to be ogled at—but the promise of good food and decent drink didn’t sound horrendous, and besides. The king had demanded it, and Geralt really didn’t want to deal with the bloodshed that could’ve resulted from his refusal.

So he begrudgingly attended, and did his best to stick to the outskirts of the collection of boisterous ladies and lords that had amassed in the banquet hall. He’d seen Jaskier the moment the bard stepped into the room—sporting a golden doublet and a beaming grin—and Jaskier had seen him almost as quickly. There’d been a flicker of surprise, but then Jaskier was being asked to play a song to start things off, and he’d busied himself with performing.

The food is good, Geralt will grant that much, and the wine is some of the best that he’d consumed in a long time. He’s ribbed for a story or two by curious nobles, and Geralt tells them enough to pass for stiff politeness and little else. Jaskier had always been the one to fill in the details. Besides, Geralt finds that he doesn’t like telling them to the men who appear to only listen until they feel insecure in their own manhood.

Jaskier wasn’t like that, Geralt finds himself thinking. Jaskier listened for other reasons. Always attentive. Always… enthralled. Even when he was “stingy with the details”, as the bard often accused.

The party has stretched for hours when Jaskier finally takes a break and Geralt sees him starting to weave through the drunken crowd towards him. Geralt takes a long swallow of wine and arcs an eyebrow at the bard as he approaches. Jaskier smells of honeysuckle and sweat, his doublet open to reveal the light blue shirt underneath.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright, but there’s a slight crease between his brows. “How are you managing, Geralt?” he asks, with far more sincerity than Geralt is prepared for.

Geralt arcs a brow at him.

Jaskier just tilts his head, then gestures vaguely to the drunken dancing the attendees are doing. “It seemed a question worth asking, given tonight. It’s rather loud, even for me, and Temeria always overseasons their food in my opinion, not to mention the smells involved what with sweat and ale and food. I can’t imagine the assault it is on your… Witchery senses.”

Geralt stops, blinking at him. Jaskier was worried that he—a Witcher—was… overwhelmed? Geralt wonders if he should be insulted, but he isn’t. There’s an odd feeling in his gut, something warm that isn’t alcohol, that stirs at Jaskier’s explanation. Geralt doesn’t know what to say. He just stares at him.

Jaskier holds his hands up as if in surrender. “Forgive me for checking in on a friend.” He drops his hands, the tilt to his head returning and his gaze… softening somehow. “You’ll tell me, though, won’t you, Geralt? If it gets to be too much?”

Suddenly, that soft, concerned look in the bard’s eyes is too much. Geralt looks away and distracts himself by taking a swallow of wine. “Hm,” he agrees.

V.

Geralt hears Jaskier scream something that sounds almost like his name before he even feels the bite. The sharp jaws clench around his thigh and Geralt grits his teeth, swinging blindly with the silver sword. It makes contact with the basilisk enough to make it shriek and pull back. But it already released venom, and Geralt feels it pulse with a blinding pain.

His vision swims. His knees buckle, slamming into the stone floor of the cavern.

“Fuck.” The world tilts sideways as the rest of him falls.

A voice, high and panicked and oddly familiar, is yelling something distantly. Far away. Too far away to help him, really.

He has to get up. He has to. Geralt grinds his teeth and pushes against the ground with as much strength as he can manage. He gets his chest off the ground but his legs won’t cooperate and then suddenly someone is leaping over him and snatching the silver sword beside him.

“You want him? You’re gonna have to go through me, fucker.”

Jaskier?

Geralt watches in a haze as the bard lunges at the basilisk with the silver sword in his hands.

“Jaskier!” he shouts, because the bard is stupid and reckless and he is going to get killed.

But the bard doesn’t respond, and Geralt watches as the blade flashes in the dark cavern. The Witcher struggles to push himself up but now his arms won’t even support him and he’s going to die, but first the world is going to make him watch Jaskier die and that thought fills Geralt with a cold, desperate dread.

“Jaskier!”

There’s a sick squelching sound and when Geralt looks, he sees the bard is up against the creature with the hilt of his sword buried into the basilisk’s chest. It screeches and thrashes, and Geralt’s breath chokes in his throat. But Jaskier is nothing if not nimble, and he rolls to avoid the wings that whip around towards him. The screeching gets louder for a moment. The creature stumbles. Collapses.

There’s a sudden, echoing silence that is filled only with the sound of Jaskier’s labored breathing and, at least for Geralt, his pounding heartbeat.

“Jask—” Geralt rasps, wanting to ask if he’s injured but his voice cutting out with the sharp burst of pain as the venom seizes.

He’s going to die.

“Geralt.”

Jaskier is suddenly right above him. When did that happen?

Geralt feels Jaskier brush a hand back through his hair and cup his head. Something is getting pushed against his lips.

“Drink it, darling,” Jaskier murmurs, so softly that Geralt wonders—perhaps deliriously—if the bard is even aware that he’s just called Geralt darling, of all things.

When he looks back on this moment, Geralt will say that the venom coursing through his system made his thoughts hazy and his will pliable. That his weakened state is why the warmth in his chest happens even before the potion Jaskier is forcing to his lips reaches his mouth. It has nothing to do with that term Jaskier used.

Nothing at all.

VI.

It’s the soft gasp that really gets Geralt’s attention, causing him to halt Roach and glance at the bard beside him. They have maybe about two hours before sundown and had spent most of the day traveling along this road headed towards Kaedwen.  Jaskier had filled most of the long hours with aimless chatter and half-composed songs. Geralt half-listened, grateful for the familiarity of the lilt in the bard’s voice even if he wasn’t constantly tuned in to the precise words the bard happened to be rambling on about. He’d missed the way Jaskier filled the silence since their parting after the dragon hunt.

Then Jaskier’s musings had broken off with a sudden, sharp inhale.

“Oh, Geralt, look!” Jaskier breathes with surprising reverence. Geralt doesn’t have time to ask the bard what caught his attention before he’s rushing off into the field of wildflowers just ahead of them, nearly 70 yards away.

The Witcher goes to call out to him, but something makes the bard’s name die in his throat. He watches as Jaskier spreads his arms out as he rushes into the expanse of yellow and violet and blue. The sun sits low in the sky and frames him in a soft halo of light as he rushes delightedly through the flowers. Geralt’s chest warms slightly.

Jaskier looks over his shoulder at him then, like he can sense it, and offers Geralt a dazzlingly bright smile. He kneels then, in the middle of the field as if he’s about to meditate, and his fingers brushing softly against the petals of the flowers around him before he flops onto his back. Sinks into the flowers around him.

Geralt had never really known what it meant to love. He’d read once that most people learn of love from their parents when they’re children, but his own mother had abandoned him to become a Witcher—a process so few boys survived that, really, she might as well have abandoned him to die. Geralt refuses to believe that was what love was supposed to look like. Or how it was supposed to feel.

Earlier in his life, Geralt used to ask. He’d see couples who claimed to be in love, and he’d wonder what that meant. What did it feel like, because Geralt didn’t know. The answers others provided to him were either full of derision—what does it matter, Witcher? You’re not capable of it anyway—or too vague to be of any help—it’s just something you feel, I think.

Then he met Jaskier, who seemed to be brimming with love all the time it was a wonder the bard didn’t burst. He sang songs that talked of love in romantic, elaborate metaphors that Geralt understood at surface level, but that gave him a bit of a headache when he thought too long about them. Jaskier seemed to understand this concept of love so readily and intrinsically that it was, in truth, a little intimidating.

But when Jaskier sits up as Geralt approaches him—flower petals and grass clinging to his hair, his blue eyes sparkling in the near-setting sun, a warm and content smile gracing his lips—the thought whispers unassuming in Geralt’s mind.

Maybe, just maybe, this is what love feels like.  

VII.

“You, Princess, are beginning to take after Geralt with the amount of brooding you’ve been doing today,” Jaskier chimes lightly, but Geralt looks up and sees the crease of concern between his brows. “And that will simply not do, because I can’t very well be surrounded by brooding, angst-ridden individuals, now can I?”

Geralt glances over at Yennefer, who merely arcs an unimpressed eyebrow at the bard. The cottage Yennefer had recently taken up residence in was small and unassuming on the outside. It seemed larger on the inside, more spacious, and Geralt knew it to be the work of an enchantment set on by the sorceress. Ever since Sodden, Yennefer had needed to be careful in her own right about avoiding and evading the ever-growing presence of Nilfgaard. She moved every few months, but had taken Ciri under her wing the past few weeks to teach her control her “chaos”, as she’d called it. Geralt called it magic.

They’d been dropping by to check in before moving on, and Jaskier’s comment wasn’t off the mark. Geralt had noticed it as well.

There were days when Ciri’s quietness rivaled the Witcher’s own. Where the Lion Cub of Cintra seemed saddled with a weight too heavy for a girl of her age. On those days, Geralt thinks he understands more than most would—the dullness in her icy blue eyes is brought on by the fog of grief of losing everyone she loved in a night and watching her city burn as she fled. It reminds the Witcher of how he’d felt following sacking of Kaer Morhen.

But just because Geralt understands doesn’t mean he’s known what to do on those days. He hates it. Hates that he doesn’t know how to help her, because nobody had been there to help him.

Ciri glances up at Jaskier from where she sits beside Geralt. “I just… miss home, Jaskier. That’s all.”

Jaskier’s lips press together in thought, his head tilting slightly. Geralt watches as something brightens in his eyes before he says, “Well, I have just the thing for that.” He glances over. “Yennefer?”

The sorceress looks as surprised as Geralt feels, but Jaskier just quirks a brow at her and Yen smiles faintly before inclining her head. Geralt doesn’t have a clue what silent request the bard has made, but he starts strumming a familiar song on the lute in his hands for several seconds—it’s upbeat, and though Geralt can’t place the title of it, he knows he recognizes it as one of Jaskier’s jigs. A few seconds go by, and then Jaskier’s fingers stop plucking at the strings but the music continues to fill the space.

Jaskier grins, and when Geralt glances at Yennefer, he sees that she’s got a faint smile as well.

The bard sets the lute aside and jumps gracefully to his feet. He extends a hand out to Ciri, his smile soft and sincere. “Will you dance with me, princess?”

Ciri hesitates for only a moment before she takes Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier’s grin brightens, and the two of them fall into a dance that Geralt recognizes as one usually done at court amidst nobility. It doesn’t surprise Geralt that Jaskier knows the dances of court—he has to play them often enough so it makes sense to Geralt that he would also know the steps—but a part of him is surprised when he hears Ciri laughing.

As she and Jaskier spin in circles and the bard adds an extra flourish to one of his steps, Ciri smiles and laughs and something in Geralt’s chest gives a sharp squeeze. Jaskier grins back at her, looking as relieved and content at the spark of mirth in her eyes as Geralt feels, and the Witcher feels a very slight, and unexpected lump in his throat.

VIII.

“Geralt?”

“Hm.”

“Will you let me try something?”

The question is asked surprisingly quietly in the dark forest around them, barely louder than the crackling fire between them. Geralt doesn’t know why Jaskier would be speaking so quietly, but a part of him counts it as a small mercy. Because the pressure behind his eyes that had started this morning had steadily grown to a dull throb up through the top of Geralt’s skull by mid-morning. By late afternoon, the headache wasn’t quite so dull anymore.

Geralt hadn’t seen a need to say anything about it, though. He just rode on Roach and tried to not squint too much against the blinding sunlight that made his head spike. Jaskier had seemed to lose steam in conversation as Geralt was even more unwilling to engage with him than normal. He hoped the bard wasn’t too offended, as by the early evening, it was really all Geralt could do to stay upright on Roach and keep moving forward.

“A new song?” Geralt muses, and carefully manages to keep the internal wince off his face.

Jaskier huffs something that’s almost a laugh. “No. Just… here.” He turns to the bag beside him and rummages through it. Geralt watches in the dim light of the fire as the bard pulls out a small cloth and a vial. He dampens the cloth with part of the contents, then pushes himself to his feet and crosses over. He kneels beside him.

There’s something soft in his eyes, Geralt thinks. Or maybe it’s just the way his face is shadowed that makes his eyes look bigger than normal. “Close your eyes, Geralt.”

And Geralt does. He tries to tell himself it’s because even the firelight is too much with this pounding in his head, but he knows it’s not just that. It’s such a simple, easy request and it’s Jaskier that makes it. So Geralt lets his eyes fall shut.

He feels Jaskier drape the cloth over his face. “Breathe in for me.”

He does. It’s lavender oil, he realizes. The scent is faint, diluted—careful to not be too overpowering, even given his enhanced sense of smell—but it blocks out most other scents around him. Geralt feels part of his jaw untense just a fraction.

“That’s it. Keep breathing.”

He feels Jaskier’s hands brush against his temples, then a slight nudge and some shifting and suddenly, Geralt is being guided to rest his head against something softer than the log it had been on a moment ago. Jaskier’s lap. Through the lavender, this close, Geralt can smell the faint honeysuckle traces that seemed to cling to the bard.

“Let me help,” Jaskier whispers in the dark, and then his fingers are moving deftly against Geralt’s temple, gradually up through his scalp, encouraging Geralt to breathe.

Through the ease of his muscles and the lightening of the tension in his head, Geralt becomes aware that somehow, Jaskier had known exactly what was wrong. Geralt is sure he hadn’t said anything about it, and a headache is hardly a life-or-death situation. But Jaskier knew and, more than that…

Let me help.  

The Witcher feels a little dizzy all of a sudden and so abruptly vulnerable that it scares him a little bit. It sends a jolt of something sharp and electric up through his core but Geralt swallows down the urge to pull away because… it’s nice. This softness, this gentleness that Geralt does not and has never deserved is offered so willingly, and Geralt cannot bring himself to pull away.

Instead, he breathes and listened to Jaskier’s fluttering heartbeat.

IX.

Geralt feels the drops hit the top of his head seconds before the rain begins a steady sprinkle. Geralt isn’t shocked, exactly. The sky had been a flat overcast since this morning, and he could smell the promise of rain clinging in the air as he and Jaskier had gathered herbs about a mile outside of the village they were staying for the time being.

But then the sprinkle turns to a downpour. “Fuck,” Geralt sighs under his breath.

He glances over at the bard beside him, who a moment ago had been rambling about his recent lecture at Oxenfurt regarding the role of narrative music in shaping cultural perspective. Geralt had a feeling that the bard had, in fact, just delivered the exact speech to the Witcher, but he hadn’t minded. Not when Jaskier’s voice carried that familiar, melodic lilt that underscored his excitement and passion on the subject.

There’s a teasing mirth in Jaskier’s bright blue eyes that eases into something softer. Geralt doesn’t know why. For a moment, it looks like the bard—for once—is lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t speak aloud. It’s… unusual.

Geralt opens his mouth to ask him or tease him—he’s honestly not sure which is about to pass from his lips—when Jaskier cuts him off.

“And you thought the lute case was a poor investment. Well, how do you feel now, Geralt?” Jaskier sets his hand on the strap across his chest, almost protectively. “We still have a mile to go before shelter, and such time for a lute to spend in rain like this…” He shakes his head, his dark hair dripping rainwater onto his nose. “It would be nothing short of an absolute, irrevocable tragedy.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replies, because perhaps the bard has a point. A raindrop unceremoniously drips into Geralt’s eye and he blinks, then shoots a glare up at the sky.

“Not a fan of the rain?” Jaskier asks.

The truth is, Geralt isn’t a fan of the rain. Not really. It makes it harder to see, and it clings to his lashes in a way that makes his already sensitive eyes sting a bit. Which isn’t anything he can’t handle—he’s done it hundreds of times before, he’ll do it hundreds of times yet to come—but the rain would also wash away most of the tracks he’d been hoping to follow later this evening to the kikimora that was terrorizing the town.

“It will make it harder to track—what are you doing?” Geralt cuts himself off when he looks back at the bard, who is half-way to shedding his violet doublet. Jaskier finishes pulling out of it. His dark blue shirt underneath is immediately drenched.

Unfazed, Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You left your cloak back at the inn and I know, though you will adamantly deny it, that the real reason you hate the rain is because it gets into your eyes and makes it harder for your sensitive, Witchery eyes to see. So, here.” He holds the garment out, his gaze looking down the road ahead of them.

Geralt stares at it. This was… ridiculous. Jaskier was sacrificing his own comfort so that Geralt could… what, block some of the rain a bit easier? Not only did Jaskier gain nothing from this but he actively lost something in the name of Geralt’s comfort and… the Witcher doesn’t know what to do with that. It was such a small, simple gesture but there’s a weight to it that Geralt cannot ignore.

Something heavy, warm, soft sits in his stomach as he stares at it.

“Jaskier…”

“Honestly, Geralt, you’ll be doing me a favor. Wet doublets are dreadfully heavy, and as I am already saddled with carrying the weight of this lute and your reputation…” Jaskier glances back then and offers a smile.

It’s a flimsy attempt to make Geralt feel better about accepting Jaskier’s simple selflessness. A part of Geralt wants to refuse. But when Jaskier is smiling at him like that, offering such a small piece of him that doesn’t feel that small to Geralt… well. Geralt finds himself taking the doublet from his hands gently.

And if Jaskier spins away to welcome the rainfall as Geralt holds the doublet above his head to shield the rain, well. Maybe that heavy, warm, soft feeling spreads through him in a way that makes the rain feel not quite so cold and annoying.

X.

Geralt hears it first. There’s the sound of something snapping with a flash of green light behind him and it’s all less than a second but Geralt still feels that he should have been faster.

Because he looks over his shoulder, sees Jaskier hit the ground with the sound breaking bones echoing in his ears.

Jaskier screams.

“JASKIER!” Geralt roars, but panic closes his throat in the next moment. He slashes viciously at the figure in front of him, and the head of the injured soldier in front of him rolls off his shoulders. Geralt growls low in his throat—Jaskier is silent and Geralt is shaking—and hurls the knife at his belt towards the mage almost blindly.

It sinks between her eyes. The sting of copper in the air barely registers to the Witcher because all he can focus on—all he can smell—is the acrid, sharp scent of pain that radiates from Jaskier on the forest floor, several feet away. Geralt’s eyes snap to him before the mage has even hit the ground and he sees the way Jaskier is trembling so hard he’s vibrating but at least he’s moving. At least he’s breathing.

Geralt makes sure the mage isn’t, and then he’s sprinting the short distance to Jaskier and sliding to him on his knees. Jaskier is on his side, his back to the Witcher. As gently as he can, Geralt places a hand on his shoulder and rolls the bard onto his back.

Jaskier whimpers, his face ashen, and the sound turns Geralt’s stomach. The bard’s eyes clench shut.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s slow-beating heart is hammering so loud and so hard he wonders if the bard can hear it. This close, the scent of Jaskier’s pain is so pungent and potent that it clogs Geralt’s throat. He dove in front of a spell for you, a voice hisses in Geralt’s mind. That pain should be yours.

“Fuck,” Jaskier manages to wheeze out weakly.

“What the fuck were you thinking, you goddamn idiot?” Geralt grits out, and his voice very nearly breaks. It’s the wrong thing to say—Geralt always says the wrong things. Always, always, always. And always when he’s afraid. But it’s the only ones of the words he can think to say that will push past his tight throat.

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier replies, his own voice strained but for a different reason, “you’re quite lucky I love you, or else I might be insulted.”

The words echo in Geralt’s mind. I love you, I love you, I love you. Over and over and over. They ring with an ease and sincerity, because Jaskier never did anything by halves, even when he may be dying. Dying. And Geralt feels something breaking inside of him.

And still, the words repeat. I love you, I love you, I love you—Until the words sound less like Jaskier and a lot more like his mind repeating it back to the bard.

“Jask,” he whispers, his throat too tight to even get the bard’s full name out. His hands are shaking a bit, but he thinks Jaskier won’t mind, and he brushes his hand against Jaskier’s face. “You can’t—you…” He can’t just… just say things like that, so boldly, so cavalier.

With a courage that Geralt cannot match.

“Fuck,” he says instead. Because the words that flood him cannot find their way through his chest to his lips.

His swirling thoughts cut out as he sees Jaskier try suddenly to push himself up. Mindful of the damage to the human’s ribcage, Geralt lets the hand on his face slip to the back of the bard’s neck and grabs his less-injured arm to ease him up. Then Geralt just holds on tight. An irrational part of Geralt thinks that if he lets go, Jaskier might really slip from him in a way that Geralt cannot fix.

The Witcher breathes in, and the sharp scent of Jaskier’s pain is starting to lift. Jaskier offers a faint smile. “Not a lethal spell, it would seem.”

A distant part of Geralt goes a little weak with relief. The rest of him wants to shake the bard. “You didn’t know that,” he snaps. Because Jaskier didn’t, he’d just decided to dive in front of a spell that could have been anything. He could have… he almost…

“A moot point, really, Geralt.”

And that… that hurts, in a different kind of way. There’s no regret in Jaskier voice or his scent or his eyes. He would do it again, Geralt knows this, and it terrifies him. Jaskier would risk himself for Geralt.

Geralt shakes his head a little and starts to reply, to ask why, but the breath he takes still has that haze of acridity to it. He frowns instead. “You’re still hurt,” he says. It’s not a question.

Jaskier then has the audacity to wave a dismissive hand. “Some broken ribs.”

“Hm.” He could help with those, he thinks. His gaze flickers over Jaskier’s chest. He knows how to help with those injuries. The spell wasn’t lethal. Geralt should be feeling relieved and a small part of him is. The rest of him feels like the ground has shifted beneath him and Geralt still doesn’t know how to hold himself steady. I love you, Jaskier’s voice echoes in his mind, but it only makes Geralt feel a little more cracked open. Because maybe Jaskier didn’t mean it. Maybe it was just something he said in the throes of dying--

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, so unbearably soft. He instinctively meets the bard’s gaze. Jaskier’s bright blue eyes are remarkably steady. “I meant it, you know. I do. Love you, I mean.”

Geralt’s breath hitches in his throat. Because here was this remarkably fragile person who had followed him across the Continent for years, had seen the absolute worst that Geralt had to offer… this person who radiated warmth and light and love, so much love, and was everything Geralt wasn’t, and was saying these words so easily. Geralt’s fear had come true—Jaskier’s light had seen the darkest parts of him, but Jaskier chose to love him anyway.

“Jaskier,” he manages, and his own voice has never sounded quite so weak to his own ears. He leans forward until his forehead is against Jaskier because Jaskier was that beacon of light calling to him. Grounding him. “I… fuck.” He can’t find the words again. “Fuck.”

He does the only thing he can think to do in this moment, to try to convey all the words he can’t find. He brushes his lips against Jaskier’s, softly. Afraid to demand or hurt, afraid, afraid, afraid. So he presses his dry, cracked lips against Jaskier’s impossibly soft ones. Questions he dare not ask taste like salt that he passes to Jaskier’s own, and Jaskier answers with silent promises and a breathless little huff of contentment.

Jaskier is more than a beacon. He is a lighthouse, calling Geralt home. And Geralt cannot help but feel that he’d follow that light to the ends of the world.

[justahopelessssromantic]

Jax and the reader have been dating for a while. Started a month or two before Abel was born(no Tara) and it’s about two years later and they’re having a family dinner at Gemmas. Maybe a cute moment of the reader and Gemma cooking. Then Jax proposing at the dinner?

*Thanks again for the request! Our boy Jax needed some more loving 🥰. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! 💕*

*gif not mine*

Warnings: Fluff

“Damn that roast smells delicious Gem,” You commented as you walked into the Teller-Morrow residence with Abel sat on your hip.

“Thanks baby,” Gemma smiled as she pulled you in for a hug and a kiss, before scooping her grandson into her arms, giving him a kiss as well as she rocked him, “Where’s Jax?”

“He stopped to talk with Clay outside. He said he had some club shit to discuss real quick before he came in.” You said as you walked over to the sink and washed your hands.

Gemma smiled to herself while your back was turned to her, “As long as they keep it outside and don’t bring it in here. Tonight is for Sunday dinner, not club business.”

”Agreed,” you smiled turning off the faucet before drying your hands off, “Where can I start?” You loved Sunday dinners at Gem’s. It was a great way to get together with everyone outside of the club and just enjoy some good family time, but your absolute favorite part of them was helping Gemma with the cooking. You thoroughly enjoyed spending time with her and got along really well plus she was always sharing tips and recipes with you to take home.

“How about the mashed potatoes, sweetheart,” she said as she set Able down in the high chair before joining you in peeling the potatoes.

The two of you chatted as you finished up the mashed potatoes and Gemma pulled out a sheet of fresh rolls from the oven. The house was now filled with members of the club and their families, the sounds of voices and laughter filling the home.

“Do you think you could give me the recipe for that delicious pineapple upside down cake?” You asked as you scooped the potatoes into a serving dish.

“Sure thing,” she replied, “It’s in the box in the corner.” Scooping Abel up she exited the kitchen to gather everyone to come eat.

Opening the tin you rifled through the different cards until you saw the one you were searching for. Plucking it out you smiled to yourself thinking about how you wanted to surprise Jax one of these days with his favorite cake.

You turned around leaning your back against the counter as you read the ingredients and instructions for the recipe.

“Whatcha got there?” Jax’s voice startled you as he swayed into the kitchen, his charming smile plastered on his face.

He had been in an exceptionally good mood, not that you were complaining. You loved to see him happy and just chalked it up to getting to get together with everyone again for dinner. It had been a while since you had one with things getting hectic within the club but it had finally settled down some and you were all in much need of the tradition.

“Nothing,” you sang as you slipped past him to sneak the card into your purse making a mental note to write it down when you got home and remember to return it the next time you saw Gemma.

Spinning back around you caught Jax just as he was about to snatch a fresh roll off the cooking sheet, “Hey, wash your hands first Teller. I know where those things have been.” You teased, “And then stick them in the basket and take them out to the table.”

“As you wish Mrs.Teller,” Jax whispered as he reached for the small box in his cut, smiling to himself as he watched you take some dishes out to the dining room.

—————————————————————————————————————

“Alright everybody shut up,” Jax said as he stood from the table after everyone had finished their meal, “I have a little something I’d like to say.”

Everyone quieted down turning their attention to Jax, you included. Facing you he extended his hand out, pulling you to your feet with him.

“(Y/N), you’ve been my rock, my refuge after a long day, the best damn mother to my son I could have asked for, and an even better Old Lady. Not only have you given all of yourself to me and my son, you’ve also been there for the club, always. You’ve helped every single one of us here at this table more than once.” He turned to the smiling faces of all his brothers as they nodded in agreement before locking his eyes on yours once more, “I’m all yours darlin’, and you mine in every way... except one.” Licking his lips he reached into his cut, pulling out a small black box, before kneeling before you, his hand still holding yours.

Gasping you covered your mouth with your free hand, your eyes welling with tears, as you watched the small box pop open revealing the most beautiful diamond ring you had ever seen.

“Will you-”

“Yes!” You cut him off, wiping away a stray tear.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he chuckled with everyone else while he slipped the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit thanks to the help of Gemma.

Standing up he cupped your face in his hands, his eyes sparkling even more through his own tears, before pulling you close for a kiss as your family cheered around you, congratulating the two of you on your new engagement.

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