#like yes hes still a snotty piece of shit

[yumeurl]

thinking about the way draco introduces himself from first book to the last

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." (PS, ch. 6)

vs

“I’m Draco Malfoy, I’m Draco, I’m on your side!” (DH, ch. 32)

maybe im just reading too much into it, but him using his first name to refer to himself in the end rather than his family name speaks sm to me. and i know this is when he was trying to convince a death eater that hes on their side, which tbh is kinda weird already considering out of all the students, he has the dark mark, and even if the malfoys are treated like a joke rn on the DE's side they havent Exactly betrayed voldy yet, just failed at their jobs, why would draco need to convince the guy that hes one of them? and not even trying to use his family name like he did before?

its such a subtle change but shows clearly the changes he went thru under those 7 years

[kingminie]

until forever falls apart | 01.

pairing: kim taehyung, reader 

genre: angst, exes au. 

warnings: emotional cheating, infidelity, swearing, detailed smut, chain smoking as a coping mechanism.

word count: 11.8k

description: you’ve never been much of a believer in the phrase ‘first love never dies’ but it seems as if the universe badly wants to prove it to you — and you’re absolutely and royally damned the moment you find out that the phrase holds truth. 

or alternatively, you come as a stand-in photographer for your cousin’s prenup shoot and you find out that it’s your secret ex who’s about to get married, and kim taehyung really doesn’t make it any less easy for you. 

01 | ongoing.

Love has always been easy for you — both falling into or getting out of it, but more of the latter, really. 

However, there are things about this so-called ‘love’ that you don’t quite get — will probably never get — and it leaves you in a sticky position when friends come to ask advice that roots from such a concept.

It always ends in a snotty mess and a sigh of I don’t know why I came to you for this at the end anyway. It makes you feel like shit; a clueless, ignorant, wondering piece of shit because how is it that everyone seems to have been looking at love and defining it from a single different lens with a unified perspective, and you’re stuck at seeing it from the other endpoint.

It isn’t your fault you don’t assimilate hurt with loving, is it? It isn’t your fault that you don’t expect to clean up a colossal mess every time love comes to its end. And it most certainly isn’t your fault that when love ends, you let it go. It ended, and that’s that. For you, anyway. So, why exactly, do people fault you for having such a reaction at the conclusion of a relationship?

Why does it seem to be a taboo and something that’s unheard of when a month after a relationship ends, you find yourself not grieving over a love that’s lost? When and why does it seem to have become the standard to mope and pine and cry as if acceptance and moving on is an outlawed concept right after a relationship ends?

That’s because you’re a heartless, unfeeling bastard, that’s why, as your best friend, Jungkook, so likes to put it every single time. And maybe, it is the defeat and the eventual acceptance that people will never see things in your perspective that you just roll your eyes and move on with your day. 

Love, for you, is something that ends when it ends. A wound that closes, heals. It leaves a scar, sure. You remember the hurt, yes. But the initial peak of pain wouldn’t be there again if it healed, would it.

With all that, you’ve become unsure — of what to do, of what to say, of how to act — when people lament over a lost love. Which, at this very moment, is what exactly your sister is doing. 

All tears, snot, and hiccups under your blankets. 

Sobs wrack her body in an uncontrollable shake, a vibrating mess under the sheets as you’re left to wonder what the fuck to do with your hands. But you never get the answer because she wails, head lifting from the blankets, “How could he do that to me? Six years, six years! Six years he threw away for what, a year of meaningless sex with his assistant?” 

You don’t really think it’s meaningless when dear, dear respectable Hyunwoo decides to break off the engagement, but you keep your mouth shut and continue to awkwardly pat your sister’s back. 

Your hand stills just an inch away from her back when she looks at you, wet eyes and mouth set in a downward curve, and whispers, “What should I do now?” She sniffles and you flinch. Because her goddamn snot is staining your bed but fuck, okay, you can’t think about that now, “I love him.”

You hesitate, weighing the words you’re about to speak in your head and thinking about the consequences before settling for a question, “You–you’re not thinking about giving him another shot if he asks for it, are you?” 

At this, your sister remains silent and you sigh because yes, yes she will give him a chance in one heartbeat if the bastard do so much as give her a fucking petal and a printed ‘I’m sorry’ hallmark note.

“You don’t get it.” 

Ah, there it is. 

Of course, it’s always going to come down to you not getting it. 

Maybe your sister sees it, the anger bubbling in your gaze as you glare at her, because she scrambles to sit down with her legs underneath her, knees parallel each other as she kneels on the bed facing you.

And it would have been funny, seeing your older sister like this, but the searing exasperation breaks through and you let it, mouth opening, “No, you don’t get it. See, this is not just a matter of moving the fuck on. He fucked you over, Hana, so much that there’s no amount of apology or groveling he can do to fix that. He fucked his assistant when he’s due to walk down the aisle in a year with you and if that doesn’t spell out how much respect he has for you, for our family, and you still choose to remain blind despite that, then you came to the wrong person because I won’t coddle you.” 

“I care about you,” your voice softens and you see her shoulders slump, “This is not just about my once-it-ends-then-it-ends view on relationships. Hyunwoo did an unthinkable, unforgivable thing and there’s no going back from that. I’m not letting you walk back to the person who lacks respect for a relationship, much less for you. Do you get where I’m coming from?” 

Hana nods meekly, head hanging low before you hear her sniffle once more. It hurts to see her like this and you want nothing more but to pummel the son of a bitch who did this to her, “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head and you let out a breath, all air knocked out from your lungs when she slumps forward, arms snaking around your shoulders as she pulls you in for a tight hug, the phrase of ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ a litany on her tongue.  You squeak as her legs slither their way around you in a tight grip and she lets out a weak laugh that sounded much more like a wheeze before you push her off, feeling a wet blot on your shoulder. 

“I want to be you for a day. Not like you,” she mutters as she gets comfortable on the pillows, your pillows, “But be you entirely. I want this pain to vanish in a week and just forget about him.” 

She pauses, “Maybe after I key his car.” 

The pain doesn’t vanish, you think and tell her. “I just learned how to deal with it, Hana. And it isn’t overnight that I do it. And you will get over it too. Heal from it. Someday, one day.” 

The silence that follows is comforting, and you think she must’ve fallen asleep, just as most do after a good cry. But she hasn’t, you realize, when she rolls over once more and speaks in a quiet voice, “The way you are right now,” she pauses, only continuing when you give her a nod, “is it because of him?”

There are only a handful of people that could fit about who she means, you know that, but you refuse to speak of any of them and opt to ask her a question instead, “Which way that I am exactly are you referring to?” 

“The closed-off you,” Hana replies, a soft tilt to her words, “I had a theory, you know, that you moved on so fast from the relationships you had after because you were never really invested in the people after him. That he broke you, enough for you to place that, whatever you have around your heart that doesn’t allow people to hurt you. You love other people, but you never really allow them to love you as much because of it which makes detachment and parting easier when it ends.” 

You don’t really mean to, but the words Hana speaks are like a vacuum, drawing you into a place you’ve managed to tuck away in the very back of your mind. Memories rush in and you drown in it — of honey blond hair, rectangle smiles, and skin that smelled of oakmoss and jasmine. 

“Am I right?” 

You let out a laugh as you nudge a pillow towards your sister, “You and your unending theories. No, Hana. It’s not because of anyone in particular. This is just how I am, how I think. It’s just unfortunate that it's only the minority that shares the same sentiments as I do.” 

Hana looks as if she’d try to refute before deciding against it, groaning when her phone rings and you raise an eyebrow because who in hell would be calling her at midnight. She shakes her head, twisting the phone around so you can see who’s calling and you see the word Studio and you shrug before she takes the call, only hearing snippets of the conversation and it seems as if it's about work. 

Hana owns a photography studio — a hobby turned business venture with her friends. Your parents were against it initially, deeming it a ‘not suitable’ business for Hana, but your older sister is a head-strong bull and proceeded with her plans without a single support from your parents and of course, because she’s Hana Park, she can make anything succeed if she puts her mind to it. 

“—yeah, you goof, I’ll be right there, don’t worry. Why are you so stressed about this anyway, is this your secret wedding or something?” You lie closer to your sister and she mouths ‘Jimin’ before returning to picking her nails, “I get it, okay. Stop freaking out, I promise to be there tomorrow. M’kay, bye.” 

She heaves a dragged-out, exaggerated sigh just as she tosses her phone on the bed where it bounced, “You know, I’d assume it’s our dear brother’s prenuptial photoshoot tomorrow with the way he’s freaking out over the details. I’d actually think that if I didn’t know of him and his single ass and his emotional attachment to his bachelor title.” 

“It’s Sunday tomorrow, and you’re booked because of that phone call,” You list, “So I can only assume Jimin knows one of them and used his connections to book your exclusive ass into working on a Sunday.” 

Hana laughs, “You’re not wrong. Soyeon made the reservation for November, which is like, a month from now. Jimin moved it for tomorrow in such a rush last week for reasons I don’t know why.” 

“Soyeon?” You gasp, eyes going wide, “You’re not talking about Yang Soyeon, are you? Oh my god, how did I not know about this?”

Your sister snorts, ungraceful and loud, “Who would have expected for the youngest cousin in the family to be the first one to be wed, huh? Date’s set for April next year and I don’t even know who she’s marrying,” But she pauses and a frown mars her features, “I would’ve been the first one to walk the aisle and yet, here I am.” 

Wait. 

“Hana,” you start, “aren’t you meeting Hyunwoo’s parents tomorrow for brunch? To formally call off the wedding? Isn’t that what you came here for tonight, because you were having second thoughts of actually calling it off tomorrow?”

You see the realization dawn upon her, her eyes widening in recognition of the planned confrontation, her mouth dropping to a comical shape of the letter ‘o’ before she sits up so fast you actually ask if her back’s okay and you hear the frantic hits of her nails against the glass of her phone, the worry leaking thickly in her voice as she speaks to multiple people, all of which ending in a frustrated sigh and groan from your older sister. 

“Fuck!” she screams as she disconnects from a call once more, “I can’t find anyone to replace me, everyone’s either booked already or have plans for tomorrow. Fuck, shit, I’m screwed. Jimin’s going to kill me. No photographer’s available tomorrow, what am I going to do now, I—you.”

You still, nailed in place by her stare, “Fuck are you looking at me for?” 

It’s in this moment you feel the doom coming down on you from all the corners of the universe when Hana smiles, actually feeling it that you shiver. She picks up the phone, calls Jimin, asks if 10 o’clock is okay for everyone to gather tomorrow, kisses your cheek good night. 

Kiss of fucking death, you feel like. 

You’re never a morning person — nor do you have plans to become one — and you aren’t used to being awakened by a goddamn wet, slimy tongue licking your face all over. 

Hana’s laugh echoes around your room, followed by hushed good job from her and a shrill bark from her dog (you really did not know how Orion arrived here when the dog wasn’t even here last night), and you are never one to have thoughts of murder so early in the morning but your family has really been testing your limits. But then you remember that you willingly handed over to Hana the passcode to your apartment, something for emergencies and shit like that, but of course, she took it as an invitation to come and go as she pleases. 

Fortunately, she cleans up after Orion’s mess, thank god. 

Rolling over, you prepare to squint as protection against the glare of the sun since Hana had already pulled back the curtains, but you sit up at the lack of the sun’s intrusion into your eyes and see that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. The city that you can see through the glass window is quiet, still in deep sleep. As you should be just before Hana woke you up. 

“Dad’s going to have a fit when I tell him what you’re blackmailing me to do,” you groan, falling back on your pillow, “I’m running his business and here you are making me take photos of people Dad hates, well, by extension.”

Hana does nothing but flash you a grin, “You’re the only one I can trust to be on par with my skills, honey. Besides, I already have Dad booked in the freaking out area ‘cause you know, I’m a bachelorette now.”

You roll your eyes and you move off your bed, making it neat and tidy to which Hana scoffs before grabbing the mug of cold coffee right from her hands and chugging it all down. Looks like you’ll need more than a cup with what you’re going to be faced with today. 

“Is Jimin coming? My car’s in the mechanic, I’m getting it tomorrow.”

Hana nods before telling you just how far Jimin is from your apartment, “About Jimin, actually.” Your sister trails off and you feel an oncoming headache because of course, there’s more. 

“I didn't exactly tell him I can’t make it today so I’m trusting you to, um, calm him down when he freaks? He’s only weak to your charms and absolutely immune to mine.” 

Turns out a little while after that, Jimin’s absolutely immune to the both of you. Especially you.

“No, what the fuck. What—no.” 

Jimin stands frozen, fingers gripping the edges of the kitchen island. His eyes are wide, mouth open in disbelief as he listens to Hana’s explanations of why she can’t go today, her eyes flashing as if to call you for help but you only shrug because there’s really nothing you can do to help her out of this. She made her own bed, might as well let her lie in it. 

It irks you quite a bit though when Jimin starts to become unreasonable despite Hana’s crystal clear explanation as to why she’s unavailable today, and on a typical day, you know Jimin would understand, and would easily let it go because obviously, Hana’s life matters take precedence over a photoshoot that can be scheduled on a different day. Jimin today, however, is extra adamant on not having you take over the shoot and it might have very, just very slightly struck the wrong nerve in you.

“You know, Jimin, if this is a matter of your trust in my abilities, I’d gladly back out of this. I’m doing this as a favor to Hana, I’m not here to help you,” you quip, tight and low as you regard the both of them, “So, if you refuse to accept my help, then call your friend to find another photographer, better yet schedule another one with Hana.”

Hana starts to protest but Jimin shakes his head, turns to you with soft eyes and a pouting set of lips, “I’m sorry, that came off wrong. Really wrong. I swear I wasn’t trying to undermine your abilities, nor am I saying that there is anything to undermine because you’re good as shit at this, maybe even better than Hana, it’s just that—”

He cuts off his ramble mid-sentence as if to catch himself — to keep from spilling whatever his reservation about you being the stand-in for Hana, which you don’t really know what. 

Three things about Jimin are these: he rambles when he’s extremely nervous, fidgets with his thumbs when he’s scared, and refuses to make any eye contact if he believes he’s done something wrong. It’s always one of the three when it comes to him and never altogether. And yet, he stands in front of you, doing all three simultaneously and your heart plummets to the marble flooring beneath you because what is he so scared of, really, to be like this in front of you. 

“Look, if you don’t want me to do this, that’s okay,” You start to speak and Jimin turns to you and opens his mouth to speak when you shake your head. You aren’t finished speaking, “That is, if you have an alternative, if Soyeon agrees to reschedule, I’m sure Hana can fit them right in some other time—” You give a pointed look at your sister who rolls her eyes but nods, “—but if they don’t, you have no choice, Jimin. Unless you want to take the photos yourself.”

Jimin lets out a breath, agrees, and proceeds to call whoever he needs to and converses in a low tone that isn’t discernible to you, but Hana can hear and your eyebrows furrow in concern when her head turns so fast towards Jimin’s direction, panic clear-cut in her eyes as she picks up on whatever it is that Jimin is saying. She curses under her breath, turns ghostly pale before she pulls Jimin into one of the guest rooms, leaving you to your thoughts and your second cup of coffee. 

“You kept this?”

It’s a good three minutes after that Jimin’s voice pulls you out of your trance — your attention previously held by the large black ant that is now on top of an apple. You turn and your breath hitches at the rough sketch of the overly-familiar Pomeranian in his right hand. You shrug, “Jungkook must have left it there when he came over.” 

At this, Jimin raises his eyebrows. Stares at the picture a little bit too long before putting it back in place, under Jungkook’s purple-pink painting of a sunset, to the right of Jimin’s present two years before. He then looks at you, really looks at you, that you become unnerved enough to look away and pretend to busy yourself with some imaginary dust on the counter. 

You know. You know how the framed sketch is too clean, too in place, and too taken care of to be something that your best friend accidentally left behind. And you know Jimin knows this too with the way his eyes turn to you and you fear. Fear that pity would be reflected in them and so you stand abruptly, deaf to the frantic calls of Hana and you head straight to the building basement and settle comfortably on the passenger seat of Jimin’s car. 

You ran because you’re a coward — afraid to face questions you know you have no answers to.

Jimin enters not a minute later, silent and mum, but the silent looks your sibling keeps giving you is not something you miss no matter how discreet he tries to be about it. You brush it off though, citing the tense atmosphere to be the reason he’s doing so. 

But little do you know that this is the first of the many mistakes you will be making — the tiniest among all others.

The theme is simple. Glamour, editorial-esque Vogue-spread motif. Fit for the rich. Something that exudes elegance and opulence. Classy, simple, and elegant. You nod as you skim through the print-out Hana rushes to get to you through one of her employees, one hand busy writing ideas and suggestions. 

It warms your heart that despite all the things Hana has to face today, she hasn’t failed to make everything easier for you, as she always does. And everything’s in accordance, just as they should be. That is, except for one, someone. Jimin really cannot stop himself from shaking and you actually fear the poor boy is turning into a leaf, dancing in the wind, with how he physically cannot stop himself from moving. 

You’ve had enough of it — his nervous fidgeting, the frantic scan of his eyes among the crowd, the unending bounce of his knees — so you move to approach him, just in time to pluck out the cigarette he’s about to light in his hand and he jumps, “Minie, you’re making me nervous here. I’ve seen you nervous but it’s never been this bad.” 

Jimin looks at you and your chest constricts at the face he’s making. A beat, two beats before he lets out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry.”

You think of the exchange back at your apartment, the one where it came off as if he had no faith in you as Hana’s substitute and you let out a small laugh. You know Jimin would never think that. Flicking his chin, you shake your head, “It was me who took your words the wrong way, Min. You don’t need to apologize.”

He looks as if he wants to say more but a car pulls up, red and ostentatious with the way the roof is folded down, and you grin as you see your cousin, a matching upward curve to her lips. 

It isn’t new, really, when you catch sight of her hair — beautiful shades of cotton candy pink and pastel blue glinting under the sun. 

Beautiful, daring Soyeon, the darling of the Yangs. 

You nearly meet your end, though, that day if it isn’t for Jimin cursing and pulling you back when Soyeon isn’t able to stop her car at the designated yellow parking line and she too squeaks a wheeze when she steps on the brakes. The car comes to a stop, and you see her breath does too, before she throws her head back and laughs. 

“You’re fucking crazy.”

She sticks out her tongue before she jumps over the door, her flimsy taupe pants billowing after her. You only manage to let out a yelp of protest before she has you and Jimin in a bone-crushing hug and you feel your chest rasp to get some air in when she squeezes once more before finally letting go. 

“This is a two-people marriage we’re having today, right? You’re not marrying yourself here?” You ask and laugh as she rolls her eyes. It’s definitely her thing and it wouldn’t be a surprise if she did. “I didn’t even know you were in a relationship and now you’re getting married?”

She shrugs, a wide smile still on her lips, “It just happened,” Her eyebrows furrow when she looks over at Jimin who’s uncharacteristically silent and nudges him, “I still won’t forgive you. I know my groom’s your best friend but it doesn’t really give you a free-pass to have him here at six in the morning to get you coffee. Who does that?”

You don’t really hear what Jimin has to say to her because you’re bidding your goodbye to them both when one of Hana’s assistants — the one she had assigned to brief you over all the details of today’s shoot — pulls you from the conversation, apology written all over her face at the thought of interrupting you but as soon as she open her mouth to speak, you dismiss it with an its okay and you signal for her to go ahead. 

“This is the final list of the concepts Hana had brainstormed which one of the client is yet to choose from,” she hands you a thin stack of paper, a portfolio sandwiched between two clear binding covers, “The bride has already chosen the concepts she wants that are to be included for today’s shoot, so, all that's left is to hand the checklist to the groom for the shoot next week.”

Nodding, you skim through the portfolio and shit, it’s definitely good. 

You’re whisked away towards the building, directed towards the seventh floor of the rented building in which you’re told Soyeon’s groom is, handpicking his outfits for the day. 

You give the door a knock, hearing a bustle of people talking on the other side of the door, and when no one answers, you push the door open. You’re immediately greeted by a flurry of people walking back and forth, all of them either with stacks of paper in their arms or Brioni and Gucci suits in tow. 

It’s a mess, a downright mess you want to run from because you haven’t ingested enough coffee to face this. 

Which is exactly why you nearly cry when someone steps in front of you, a neat smile in place and a large cup of iced coffee in one hand, a hand extending towards you, “You look like you need this.” 

He tilts his head once, gesturing inside the room, “I’m Yoongi, Min Yoongi. Jimin texted me earlier that his other sister is standing in for Hana and I assume that’s you.” 

Something feels vaguely familiar about Min Yoongi and you list it off as a passing name Jimin had mentioned in the stories he had told you. 

“There’s a meeting room on the very far left, grumpy groom’s there,” Yoongi smiles, “Nice meeting you, um—”

“(Y/N). My name’s (Y/N), nice to meet you too, Yoongi.”

You think as you walk that there’s no point in going over next week’s concept today since Hana can already make it by the next photoshoot and she would’ve understand better the dynamics of it all if they talk then, but okay, since you’re already here, might as well help all the way. 

Through the frosted glass of the meeting room, you see a silhouette, tall and broad. You have never been a people-person and meeting new ones really isn’t your strong point so you take three deep breaths, hand tightening on the cup of coffee Yoongi handed you, before pushing the glass door open. 

“Hi, I’m sorry I ran a bit late. It’s—” 

And you stop. 

You stop because you suddenly can’t feel the cold cup slipping from your grip. You stop because you feel the liquid pool at the very bottom of your shoes, sticky and wet and messy. You stop because you can’t breathe. You stop because your heart fucking stops too at the sight of Kim Taehyung. 

Beautiful, dazzling Kim Taehyung. 

First boyfriend, first love, now ex-lover, Kim Taehyung. 

Soyeon’s groom and soon-to-be husband, Kim Taehyung.

“Everything okay here?” Yoongi. You hear his footsteps behind you before you see him and you can’t be thankful enough at the interference that’s very much needed. 

But you allow yourself to be pathetic, just as you always are around Kim Taehyung. And because you can’t help it, frankly, when your eyes meet his and all sense that is good and common jumps out the window behind him. Because he looks fucking beautiful — him and his honey hair that’s now framing his face, a little bit longer, lighter. Because the room reeks of him, jasmine, vanilla, and oakmoss and it consumes you. The part of you that, despite it all, still longs for the Kim Taehyung from four years past.

On a good day and you meet him once more, you think you would have laughed. A fake smile and a head held high would’ve done it in front of him. But all it takes is one look now. One look, at the time when all your defenses are down, for the self-imposed chain that blocks it all to break and give, a domino effect in your mind as it all comes back; the whirlwind of feelings and emotions that the calamity of him brings forth. 

You nod, feeling the light touch of Yoongi’s fingers around your arm, and you anchor yourself with it. Pull yourself from drowning in him once more. “Yeah, sorry,” You breathe, “It slipped. I’m really sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll have someone take care of it, don’t worry,” Yoongi waves you off when you bend down to start cleaning up your mess, nods toward Taehyung, “Go on, he gets grumpy if he’s left to wait.” 

Oh, you know. 

So, you do. 

You drag your legs to where Taehyung stands, feeling like you’re hauling wet logs for limbs. It’s silent, save for the sound of Yoongi’s shoes against the floor as he kicks at the fallen blocks of ice, and maybe, he takes the silence for Taehyung’s bout of pettiness because he hisses a quiet behave before he walks out. The silence becomes even more suffocating when now it’s just you and Taehyung. 

“So—”

“I—”

You shut your mouth when he speaks at the same time as you. 

You decide, though, to continue because you’re here for one thing and that one thing entails that you have something to say to him. But he doesn’t, he shouldn’t. 

“So, let’s talk about concepts. I’ve been told that Soyeon has already chosen the ones for today — for both your individual and couple shots, and you get to choose the ones for the shoot with Hana next week. Here,” you slide the portfolio across the table, taking a seat across his own without waiting for him, “Hana already made an outline for everything so, this, is basically a checklist you just have to choose from and—”

“How are you?” 

“—I’m just going to wait until you’re done filling them out so I can bring them back and start with—”

“(Y/N).” You finally look at him then and you look away the second you do because you’re trying so hard to keep yourself whole and you feel like one second more in his gaze and you’ll fall apart, “I’m sorry.” 

And you try. God, you try so hard to repress the tiny, evil voice that pushes you to throw reason out the window. But it comes out anyway, and there’s no stopping what flows out of your mouth after, “Why,” you laugh, “Sorry because you wouldn't have chosen Hana's studio if you knew I was the one to take your photos? Or sorry because you had my brother acting like a train wreck just to keep this from me? Don’t worry I won’t be here next week.” 

His face pinches, tongue rolling out to wet his lips, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then don’t apologize to me—” you grit, fists clenched and heart thundering, “—as if you assumed that seeing you has put me in a position that hurt me. Because it really doesn’t. Not anymore, Taehyung. So if you have anything to apologize for—” 

You cut yourself off because no, no he has nothing to apologize for. He doesn’t have to say sorry. One person deciding to walk out of a relationship doesn’t warrant an apology from them. An explanation, sure, but you don’t really need it from him. He made it clear enough all those years ago just before he slammed the door of your apartment shut that he just didn’t love you enough — not anymore then. 

It’s been four years. It’s been four long years and you should be over him — and you are, you’re certain that you are. But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt because it does, fuck, it still hurts so much and you don’t know why. 

“—apologize to Jimin because I just know he feels like shit for lying to me because of you.” 

You commit your second mistake that same day in the middle of shooting Taehyung’s individual photos. Soyeon had gone for a nature theme this time and so you find yourself in the middle of the forest with a near-naked Taehyung in tow and thank heavens it rains because one more glimpse through the viewfinder at his well-oiled torso and you might have combust and run away from the photoshoot, Hana’s reputation be damned. 

Jimin seems to be attached to you now, becoming a human magnet not long after he had apologized so much he knelt, snuggling to your side every chance he gets that it’s suffocating you because he’s overcompensating but you don’t really have the heart to call him out. Not when he looks like a puppy whose tail got accidentally stepped on when you get around to even do so much as try. 

So, you let him become your shadow for the time being, finally letting out a huge breath of relief when lunch time comes around and everybody takes a break and you slip past him to the very back of the dilapidated cabin you stumbled upon just before the last shoot ended, not too deep into the forest that faces the river. 

Finally, you think, as you savor the peace, even though momentary. You’re glad to be away from the commotion and it makes you realize once more why you choose to be cooped up in an office. It’s because you really can’t handle this many people and it physically and emotionally drains you that you can’t think.

You pause when you reach into your pockets, the gritty warning from Hana and Jimin an alarm ricocheting in your mind how it’s an unhealthy habit and it’s going to fucking ruin you someday. But the short-lived guilt is replaced by justifications of how it’ll be a free-pass and your siblings can fuck off because they’re the reason you’re here in the first place. 

Besides, burning through one stick won’t hurt them if they don't know. 

So you let your fingers feel for the familiar leather case, pull the only stick inside and you’re so, so close to reaching your sweet release from this damned mental pressure when you realize you left your lighter at home. Letting out a curse, you clamp your mouth around the unlit cigarette, letting it hang and opting to indulge in its semi-sweet smell that goes so well with the rain. 

“Want a light?”

You still, the cigarette falling from your lips at the sudden fright. Down, down, and down until it’s washed away by the rain. What a waste, you lament. Sighing, you turn and see Taehyung who’s sporting a sheepish smile, the same familiar white in between his own mouth, lit unlike yours, “I’d accept, but there’s really nothing that needs lighting anymore.”

He has a shirt on now, you notice, flimsy and buttoned up halfway. His hair is tousled messily, now free from the rigid form it previously had, and you give him your back when you feel the urge to fix the fraction of hair that has fallen forward. You hear him take a drag and you smell before you see the tendrils of gray smoke when he releases and god, the small whiff, even in the tiniest fume, has your shoulder relaxing. 

“I’d offer one but I don’t have any spare with me,” you hear him say before you feel him move, “I’ll get the fallen one for you, if you want.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off before you see him lean against the other column, the change in position means that he’s now closer, closer than he’s ever been since the day you last saw him, years ago. And he’s close enough that the thin material of his shirt brushes against your hoodie when the wind moves. And you want to move too, only if it isn’t for the fact that one move and you’ll either fall into the river or be skewered by the worn down wood and you don’t really feel like dying today. 

Ironic, how you went for a smoke break to relieve the stress of the day, only to have it doubled. 

Now, this is where you make the second mistake. 

Because you really don’t mean to stare at Taehyung. You don’t mean to let your stare at his mouth linger a second too long that he sees.  It’s just unfortunate that the cigarette is in his mouth, and you stay fixated on the damn cigarette that you fail to see him catch your gaze and hold it. 

It’s unfortunate that you don’t take a step back when he takes one step forward. 

It’s unfortunate that you become pliant when his cold fingers softly grip your chin, coaxing your mouth to open and welcome the smoke that he blows from his own mouth, hot and intoxicating and tinged with the memories of all the nights past that he’s done this. 

It’s unfortunate that you take a long drag when he places the soft end of the cigarette from his mouth to yours, unhesitating and eager. 

“Feeling better?” He asks, gentle as he pulls the stick, planting it back to the hold of his mouth. You see a slight upward curve at the corners of it. 

This is bad. Wrong and unacceptable and absolutely inappropriate, you know. But you can’t help but accept when he offers one more drag, an offer of release. This time you pluck it out from his fingers, feel the warmth of him around the smoke, and inhale. 

It’s only when the embers die out that you feel it, the heavy feeling coming back tenfold as you realize the gravity of what you just did. Not for anyone else, but for you. The toll this will have on you when you go home and have all the time in the world to think about your stupidity. So before you get sucked into the void of self-destruction, you excuse yourself, not caring about the delicate drops of rain that fall but not before you turn back and shout your thanks. 

“Okay, you shared a smoke, so what,” you mutter to yourself as you dry yourself off. You’re two people who share a history, a history that’s now dead and gone. A flame that was once bright but has now burned out, never to be rekindled again. 

You enter the building with thoughts of rationalization that tries to justify what you’ve done as something harmless, clouding your mind enough that you don’t see Jimin barrel towards you with a smile on his face, only to be replaced with disgust when he breathes and chokes at the ghost of smoke that clings to your clothes. 

He rummages through a nearby luggage and returns with a bottle of perfume, “If you want your head still attached to your shoulders by tonight, you’d know better and douse yourself in that shit because Hana’s here to take over and you only have two minutes to shove Listerine down your throat before she finds you.” 

In the haste of trying to avert your sister’s wrath, you damn near shower the entire contents of the bottle, only to realize that night when you come home that despite the endless showers you take, you still smell like him. Because of all people, Jimin just had to take from Taehyung’s things and now you’re doused with him all over again. 

It’s later that night that you’ll fall asleep to the smell of jasmine and vanilla despite years of trying so hard to rid your apartment of any scents. 

Of any trace of Kim Taehyung.

The third and fourth mistake, you make five days later. A Friday that you’re miraculously off work early. Well, technically, you can get off whenever you want but as the faithful, loving, and overworking youngest child that you are, you’ve assimilated longer hours at your father’s company to productivity and so you’ve never really found reason to clock off early when you can do so much more if you stay a bit later than most.

Besides, the company won’t run by itself, so there’s that. 

Now, though, you wonder why you thought like that because as you walk down the street, everything looks divine. The setting sun settles on the horizon, sandwiched between two skyscrapers, bleeding purple and orange and pink and it’s breathtaking. Painfully so. For the first time, you indulge yourself in the sounds of the busy city and for a change, it’s peaceful despite the loudness. You can’t remember the last time you took a stroll like this, having been so immersed in work. The last time you walked down the street the like had been years ago, with—

The breath you take is sharp and sudden that it has you bent over on the sidewalk, coughing and wheezing your lungs out that people start to look. You flash a smile, sending a quick thanks to your sister’s ex-lover for choosing to establish the studio within a five-minute walk from the company building, and nearly combusting on the spot when you pull their glass door that clearly says push right after you nearly heave your lungs out from climbing 10 sets of stairs because the elevator isn’t working, coincidentally.  

“Hey,” you greet the people on the lounge before specifically turning to Younha — the one who had walked you through everything on the previous shoot, “Is Hana here? I have the initial photos ready if she wants to see. Played around and edited most of them.”

Younha looks sheepish as she raises her hand to her nape where she nervously scratches, “About that,” she grimaces, “Hana phoned earlier that she’s running a bit late tonight so she told me to look over the photos and pick the final ones with the client, but I don’t trust myself enough to do that just yet, so would it be okay if we go through it together?” 

You assure her it’s okay. And really, it is, because you’ve finished work anyway and it’s a Saturday tomorrow. You can afford to be late an hour or so. You watch her plug the USB on one of the computers lined up against the wall, see her gasp when she pulls up the photos. 

“Oh my god, these are beautiful. You’re telling me you shot each of these by yourself, edited them all on your own, all in less than a week,” Younha turns to you, eyes wide, “Can’t you come and work with us?”

You laugh, genuine and loud, “The raw files were already beautiful untouched. Just touched up some lighting here and there.”

“Yeah, and who took those raw shots, hm? Who coordinated every single thing that resulted in those shots looking like that? You, that’s who,” Younha seems to realize who she’s talking to and she blushes before muttering something else you can’t hear, “Also, about Hana—” 

Uh-oh. This can’t be good.

“—so she told me earlier if I can pick out the final photos with the client, right? And since you’re here,” Younha trails off and you still there is no way, no way that you’re going to sit hours dissecting each photo with Soyeon, worse if it’s Taehyung. You have your pride and you’ll cling to that even if it’s the last thing you do in this world.

No way in hell. “Hana’s on her way here, right? I think she can make it.”

Younha nods, a low hum before she answers, “She can. In two hours. Maybe. Not sure. Our client, however—” She tilts her head to the right. Towards the direction of Hana’s office. “—is here.”

It’s a sigh of defeat you let out. Walking away from here means you admit you’re a coward, walking in Hana’s office will mean you’re weak. See, it’s always a lose-lose thing for you everytime a certain Kim is involved. The very, and only, Kim who seems to be haunting every part of your daily life the past five days. Or in this current case, a future Kim but a Kim nonetheless. 

Younha smiles, the sly fox, when you place your bag back down on the table, “If I’m going to stay here for the night, might as well ask for coffee. Lots and lots of it.”

You only barely get the full sentence out but Younha is already on her heels with a mock salute.

You push the door to Hana’s office, making sure (twice) not to pull this time, and your eyes land on Kim Taehyung whose eyebrows rise in surprise upon seeing you. If he thinks you’re meaning to keep on meeting him like this, well, he’s wrong. The universe likes to spring surprises down your path of life and it just so happens that for now, Kim Taehyung might be its play thing — to torment you with, most probably. 

He sits on the couch that rests against the white wall, beside the windows that occupy the whole one side of the room that overlooks the city. Hana’s office is more like her office and a miniature studio, exclusive for her and whoever she decides to let in here, separate from the lounge and the main studio. It’s an industrial loft, made modern and more suited to her taste and it’s just so goddamn bright in here, you realize.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you mutter as the door clicks shut behind you. 

You head straight to Hana’s computer, turning it on and plugging the USB before you plop down on the office chair. “I had the photos with me and I dropped by to leave it for Hana but she apparently has things to attend to for the next two hours and you’re here already so, yeah.”

Taehyung only nods, silent and awkward when he stands. 

You sigh, “Grab a chair and come here, I guess. We have, like, a thousand photos to sift through. See if you’d like any changes done to them. The earlier we finish, the better.”

Three hours pass after that and you’re left with no Hana in sight, 325 file numbers listed down, a faint headache and tired eyes, a hungry stomach, and three accidental brushes of Taehyung’s hair on your cheek because what before is a ruler-long distance between the two of you has been reduced to mere centimeters, and Jesus Christ, you don’t know who moved between the two of you that it has come to such. You’re firm to say it isn’t you because your ass remains frozen, stiff as a board everytime Taehyung does so much as inhale. 

“Can you—” Taehyung clears his throat, pointing to the keyboard, “—move to the next one, please.”

You mutter an apology, pressing the right arrow and you see the photo move. Frankly, you aren’t paying attention. Not to anything, least of all the photos. It’ll be like knocking consciously on Hell’s door if you do pay attention. 

Because you can take being around Taehyung, you can easily detach yourself from reality when you are — and not feel anything, to look at him alone and think of him as an ex-friend, an ex-lover without the rest of the titles attached. But to look at the photos, the pictures you took, there’s no detaching from that reality. The reality that the man you had feelings for — might still have feelings for, but you push that thought back — is getting married, of all things. 

And you list this off as feeling weird, an ex marrying a cousin. You aren’t jealous, god, no. It’s just that — weird. Well, you think. 

“Okay, I can’t take this anymore,” Taehyung breathes and you still, unmoving as the statue on the corner of the room, “I’m going to order Chinese. I’m not going to last the rest of these photos if I don’t eat. Anything you want?” 

He might as well have slammed the mouse he’s holding with the way he casually lets it fall off from his hand to the table, leaning back on his chair and oh god, his head is leaning on the back of your chair. One move of your shoulder and the back of it will touch the side of his head. He has his phone over his head, elbows hanging in the air as he opens his phone with a click. He hums as he scrolls and this is so, so painfully domestic that you struggle to breathe. 

It’s been push and pull the whole night. He asks, you answer, and never the other way. 

Fifteen minutes that you’re plunged in deafening silence and you punch the air in your mind when Younha knocks, take-away bags at hand and a smile on her face. 

Taehyung hands you your food, places the utensils in neat order, pokes the straw through your bubble tea and gently places it in front of you and you stare. You stare because never in your life did you ever think you and Taehyung would ever be in this situation. Toeing around each other, walking on eggshells. 

There had been a time that silence wasn’t an option — it’s either you filled the quiet or he did; mouths off about Pokemon and stickers and dogs he met on a certain day, or silence filled with wordless communication through flesh and skin and heavy breaths. 

Never this — a fragile silence that no words could ever fill. But of course, Taehyung knows how to break that. Break you when he speaks, “I think we’ll have this one framed for the reception.”

You blink at the photo on the monitor, big and taunting. In it, Taehyung smiles, a wide rectangle stretch of his mouth as his chin rests on top of Soyeon’s head, the latter leaning her weight on Taehyung. It’s evident, palpable even, the happiness that’s shared between them. A running joke between the two of them captured on a permanent photograph only they can understand. 

“Yeah,” you nod, a smile, or an attempt at it, stretching your lips, “it’s beautiful. Definitely worthy for the reception. You can hang it in your home after.”

It’s an instinct – you’d like to believe so – when you feel Taehyung move beside you and you mindlessly mirror him, freezing the moment you take in the miniscule space that’s left as you both huddle to look at the monitor. A good couple inches you can count on one hand. And you refuse to move away because no, this is not at all affecting you. And it’s Taehyung, you justify, who’s currently invading your space. 

The third mistake is when you try to steal a glance at the corner of your eye because you think he’s engrossed with the picture. 

But then you see that he isn’t. Not when his stare locks with yours the moment your eyes move.  Had been on you all this time. 

The fourth is when he moves and you don’t. 

Not when his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth to wipe whatever it is he sees there. 

Not when he flashes you a smile – something so fond and warm and tender that renders you mute. 

Not when he succumbs to sleep an hour later, head lolling on your shoulder.

But the entire world moves when he stirs and the overhead lights hit something golden. It crumbles and caves beneath your feet when a locket falls out of the top of his loosely buttoned shirt. An identical locket to the one that now sits heavy on your chest – once heavy with the broken promises, but now empty of the love that first came with it.

You see his forehead wrinkle as he slowly wakes and you feel the start of the burn that first settles on your chest before it moves and starts from the corners of your eyes. You train your eyes on the monitor, fingers clicking away on the mouse and the keyboard faster than ever.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him say. His head stays on your shoulder as he speaks. “What time is it?” 

“Quarter before ten—”

“I missed you,” he breathes and you hear him let out a soft laugh before he whispers, “I always miss you.”

It feels as if all the air in your lungs has been knocked out and you turn to speak when you see that he’s fallen back asleep. And god, you wanted to shout at him, let out the years of pent up frustration and grudge you’ve had all these past years and ask all the unanswered whys and hows. But looking at him now, after so, so long, you realize you do too. 

A tear drops and a multitude of realizations follow. 

You missed him. You missed him. You miss him. 

And fuck, you’re still in love with him, you realize. So much and enough to make you not think of the consequences of the realization that you do.

Not when his fiancée finally comes and places a chaste kiss on his lips.

Not when a wedding invitation lands itself on the desk towards you.

And especially not when the ghost of him lingers when they’re gone and you find yourself praying for it to stay just a little bit longer.

You did not plan for your Friday night to be like this at all. 

The initial – and final – plan was this: show up to the club your sister wanted you to show up to, make it look like you’re genuinely happy to be there, flee the moment midnight hits when your sister and her friends are too drunk to realize you aren’t there anymore, and sleep away in the solace your tranquil and quiet apartment offers. 

The night and plan had been going well, much to your delight. 

Just until the fleeing part, that is. Because the moment you press the unlock button to your car half past one in the morning, you see a very drunk Kim Taehyung eagle spread on the hood of your car, with only a rumpled halfway-buttoned shirt that’s tucked into his pants, one of his shoes already on the roof of the Mercedes. 

And so instead of proceeding to the sleeping part of your plan, here you are now, struggling under the weight of Taehyung as you try to push in all his limbs in the passenger seat because he refuses to go away. Why, of all people, must you be the one to find him like this? Other people would’ve paid no mind leaving him on the pavement but of course, the universe had to make sure it just had to be you because old, cruel fate had it out for you and your demise.

Two weeks spent in isolation from the rest of the world in an attempt to justify and get over the realization you had of still being in love with an ex and the world just dumps him in the hood of your car of all cars. 

“Kim Taehyung, I am not above violence, I will fucking knock you out if I have to if you step your foot out and kick me once more, for the love of god,” you heave, “Are you with Jimin?”

At this, he grins and nods, eyes half-closed, “Jimin went home. I think. Or wait, maybe he’s passed out in Yoongi’s tub. I think. I don’t know, do you think he’s still here? Wait, do you know Jimin? How do you know Jimin?” 

You sigh, “Give me your phone. I’ll get Soyeon to pick your ass up.”

Taehyung lets out a loud gasp, proceeds to choke on air before he looks up at you, “How do you know my girlfriend?” 

You pause for a second before rolling your eyes, “Phone.”

“It’s in my left pocket, can you get it for me? I’m so tired,” he whines, wincing as his head lands on the head rest. You reach over to pull his phone out, only to retrieve a pack of cigarettes but no phone. You freeze when his hand grips your wrist that’s still in his pocket, feeling your heartbeat in your ears when he leans forward, so close that you feel his breath on your cheek, “Butt pocket, sorry.” 

You take a deep breath as he continues to look at you with a grin. You move closer, angling your head away because you would be fucking cheek-to-cheek if you don’t and you pause just before you touch his back pocket, “No, you know what, you can get it yourself. Either that or I leave you out here on the streets.” 

Taehyung pouts but he moves his arm behind him nonetheless, proceeds to feel his other pocket when he finds the first one empty.

“My phone’s gone,” he huffs, “Oh! It’s in Minnie’s car!”

You let out a loud groan, rounding the car to open the driver’s side to look for your bag so you could use your phone and you let out another sound of frustration, louder this time, when you remember the picture of a beige bag being left underneath your couch’s pillow. You look over at Taehyung, a war in your head as to what to do with him, before you finally settle on the choice that you never, ever think you would’ve made. 

“Fine,” you grit as you turn the engine on, “I’m going to drop you off your house but I’m not gonna be held accountable for the reasons you’re going to have to explain to your girlfriend if she greets your drunk ass as to why the fuck her cousin’s dropping her fiance off, alright? Now, are you still staying in the same apartment ‘cause I’m going to drop you–”

Taehyung snores, body folding in on himself as he slightly shivers. You sigh, dropping your forehead on the steering wheel, enough to hurt and make the horn whine, “This is fucking unbelievable. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Hey, Taehyung,” you shake him, poking his shoulders the way you know he hates, “Wake up and tell me your address, asshole. I’m not driving to the other side of the city only to find out you changed address. Hey.” 

He makes the tiniest wave of his arm before he goes back to sleep. 

You glance at the clock that says it’s now nearing three in the morning and you run your hands over your face because fuck this. 

Now, you head to your apartment with the plan of just dumping Taehyung in the foyer and letting him sleep there until he has his mind back in the morning – you figure he’d probably run off the minute he wakes up. 

“Hey, wake up.” You nudge him when you arrive and you sigh once more as he merely stirs, opening his side of the door before attempting to move out of the car only to heave when the seatbelt he still has on pulls him back.

With a grimace, you round to his side and lug one of his arms around your shoulders and basically carry all of his weight towards the elevator. You give a tight smile to the staff at the reception as you pass by, dismissing the offer of help. You nearly drop to your knees as soon as the elevator doors close, exhaustion flooding you all of a sudden. 

As soon as the door opens to the penthouse, you remove your hold on Taehyung and he slumps against the wall. You let out a breath before pushing him to one of the guest rooms where he immediately plops down on the bed after knocking his shoes off.  A small smile plants itself on your face and you reach over to pull the covers over him. 

Kneeling down on the floor beside the bed, you brush off the loose hairs that cover his face and you whisper, “You’re making it so hard for me.”

Deciding that you’ve helped him enough, you head to your room to change and shower – a long bout of internal battle against yourself as you try to wash off all that happened. 

It is an hour later when you’re already in your bed, tossing and turning that you find yourself a long way from sleep, and so you push the covers off of you to head towards the kitchen to find something to drink. The sun is starting to rise, you see, as you stare at the large windows, uneasy at the thought that Taehyung is there. Here. 

And you know you shouldn’t care anymore. You’ve done enough and beyond to help him, you remind yourself. But that doesn’t matter, really, because here you are, pushing the guest room open to check on him, a bottle of water in hand. He remains as he was the second he got here and you sigh as you pull one of Jungkook’s shirt and sweatpants from the cabinet, a spare he leaves in the case he unintentionally sleeps over, and you walk towards Taehyung before slowly shaking him awake. 

“Hey,” you speak softly as his eyes crack open, mind still swimming in alcohol, “you should change into this. Your clothes must be uncomfortable to sleep in. Here’s some water too.” 

His eyes open a little bit wider, voice hoarse when he speaks, “(Y/N)?” 

You swallow, “Yeah, it’s me.” 

“I can’t remember most of tonight, how did I—”

You smile, “And you probably won’t remember all of this when you sleep once more. Just change and drink this, Taehyung.”

A part of why you’re doing all the things you’re doing is the fact that you know he will forget this. 

He sits up, swaying as he does so, twisting the water open. You greet him good night, and just as you turn to head back to sleep, his hand dart out to grip your wrist – as tight as the grip that has your heart beating so loud in your chest as he does, “I’m sorry.” 

Without turning around, you answer, “You don’t have to be. I would’ve done the same for anyone else.” 

“No, you wouldn’t have.” 

Pressing your tongue against your cheek, you rip your arm away from his hold, now turning around to face him. He slowly stands, eyes trained on you. You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, “I’m not saying sorry just because of tonight,” he speaks quietly, “This is an apology that’s long overdue. An apology I never had the courage to give you. An apology that I owe you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being the coward that walked away without an explanation. For not being the person I promised you I would be.”

“I told you,” you say through gritted teeth, “You don’t owe me an apology, Taehyung. It’s over and done with. Apologizing to me would mean that there’s still loose ends between us, and I’m telling you that there’s none. You may have burnt those ends the moment you walked away and I have burned mine in the years that followed. You don’t owe me anything.”

He’s closer now, so close that you feel yourself getting overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol and his perfume. “Then why are you still wearing this?” 

You feel all the walls come down, then, when his fingers trace the golden chain of the locket. The once emblem of young and promised love, of an oath, of Kim Taehyung. The necklace that never was once removed from you since then. 

You chuckle, bitter and harsh, “You’re still wearing it too, Kim.”

You flinch as you feel the pad of his thumb wipe away at the trail of tears that has somehow escaped, “Leaving you was the only choice I had then. It killed me to walk right out of that fucking door but it was the only choice. For you, for me, for us. Even if it meant me becoming the asshole, it was the only choice.” 

“Don’t feed me that bullshit, you left me. And in my vocabulary and everyone else’s, leaving the person you claim to love without a single explanation is a shit move,” you nearly damn snarled, “I could’ve accepted you telling me you didn’t love me anymore but you fucking walked out without a single word. Well, I guess it worked out great for you, huh? You’re getting married now.” 

“I did l—”

“Don’t fucking dare say it,” you sob, feeling all the energy draining out of you in a second, “You’re four years too late, Taehyung.”

The chains that hold all the hurt and grievance of the past four years had been unlocked and with the thought of Taehyung not being able to remember this tomorrow, you let it all out. 

“I lied,” you whisper, lips and chest shaking as you breathe, “It hurts me seeing you now. So fucking much. Because you never wanted to get married. I remember when we were together you said that we could live without the titles, the labels, and the technicalities of it all, because you’d love me the same. So yes, it hurts. I can’t deny that it does when the things you didn’t want with me, things I wanted to have with you, you learned to want with someone else. Shit like this hurts because even if I was okay without all the titles, I thought then that spending a lifetime with you wouldn’t be so bad. But you made it seem like you never wanted marriage, not with anyone ever and so I accepted it, content even with just being with you.”

“But then you show up like this,” you say so quietly you don’t know if he can hear it, “You can’t expect it not to hurt, Tae, because it does. So, so much.”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung lightly rests his forehead on yours, “I’m so sorry.”

“Answer me this one question,” you look up at him, “Please.” 

You feel him nod, “Anything.”

You feel it again, the suffocating claws that grips around your chest, the pain of unanswered questions and doubts, “Was my love not enough for you?”

You feel it before you hear it, when he nods against your head, hands coming up to hold your cheeks, “No, no, god, no. It was more than enough. It was so much more than enough that you became someone who didn’t deserve someone who couldn’t reciprocate the amount of love you were giving me. I’m sorry.”

“I miss you, Tae.” You whisper, and you can barely see him through the tears, “And it’s so, so wrong and I shouldn’t be doing this but fuck, I do. Four years and I still miss you and now you’re here, back in my life, and yet you’re still the farthest you’ve ever been from me.”

Maybe it’s the realization that he is – so far away from you and will never be close enough anymore – that you think maybe this is the long-awaited end. The closure you’ve once longed for but never had. Maybe there really was no reason for him leaving you beyond the fact that he didn���t love you anymore – and maybe that was enough reason. You just didn’t want to accept that fact. Maybe it’s time that you do. 

After Taehyung, you’ve become someone who believed that love is something that’s easy to let go, when in fact, all this time, it is the love you had for Taehyung you’ve never let go of. And maybe, it was never love for the people that came after him and so it became easy for you once it’s over, once it ended. Because what has started that really counted has never reached its end, for you anyway. Because it will never be the same. 

Because they weren’t Kim Taehyung. 

“Don’t cry for me. I don’t deserve it,” he smiles a small smile as he wipes a tear away. 

“Then stop making me cry, asshole,” you softly retort, hands coming up to wrap around his own to pull them away from your face. You can’t think straight when he has his hands on you, “I’m not asking for you to love me again, not anymore. Maybe we could be friends?”

It’s a weak attempt at humor, you know. And you really don’t think you can be just friends with Taehyung. But you’re weak for Kim Taehyung and you’re still so fucking in love him that you’d settle for whatever there can be between the two of you. He doesn’t need to know the specifics.

“Can we, really?” He laughs softly, a sad smile appearing, “I’m about to do something very stupid, for the very last time, so please, stop me if you don’t want to because I don’t think I can stop myself.”

He leans forward as the inches between you decrease down to a zero, his lips pressing against your cheek, your forehead, your eyelid, and to the corner of your mouth before he pulls away. “No, you had something to drink too, I’m drunk, you’re drunk. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, ” Taehyung breathes against your cheek, eyes shut tight. 

“I’m not.” 

Whether that’s an answer that refutes your state of intoxication or a statement that debunks Taehyung’s apology, you don’t know. Because the next moment finds you pulling him forward, arms snaking around his shoulders as you kiss him. Soft and unhurried and sad – a declaration of what had remained unsaid for the past years. 

The last time, you swear, and from tomorrow then on, you’re going to be friends. This night will be void – forgotten and discarded. Taehyung is going to continue with his life and you with yours. 

It’s so easy to become so lost in Taehyung that you forget the rest of the world. 

That you don’t hear the sound of the door opening. 

Or the second set of drunk footsteps that follows the first one.

“What in the fuck is going on here?”

[thefamilyeldritchabomination]

The Wayfarer: Halloween Special Pt. 2

“Yes Dolly, yes you are.” Lust simply answered, her pursuit of Envy having to be put on pause as the doorbell rang, forcing Lust to go answer the door.

 “Just let that Reptile scare the living shit out of that little monster Dolly, this is the only time I’m supporting this.” Freddy spoke after concluding his wheezing fit from the physical attack.

 As the party started to get ready to roll and Dolly had to scramble at the last minute with the final dessert, Envy had placed the feral child on a chair for the time out. There had been some thoughts of having to get welding gloves given that Carmilla had started to bare her teeth in a vicious fashion. It was a child modeled after Envy’s own heart with just how violent she was and how ready this kid was to resort to such things. It had taken Envy some convincing on their end to prevent being viciously mauled by a human child before Carmilla was willing to listen to anything Envy would say. Afterall, it was a strong warning to the small child to not believe everything Envy says, especially if they’re bored or annoyed. With the bag of Halloween candy as a bribe, Carmilla awaited what Envy had to tell her.

 “So, Carmilla, wanna hear a ghost story?” Envy started with that signature rock munching grin of theirs at the less than impressed toddler.

 “Is it the same lame Fuhrer ghost story?” Carmilla retorted in a snotty tone. “Seriously, that’s now a ghost story? No, I’m not telling yah that one. I got a far better ghost story, a real one.” Envy was surprised by the fact the whole incident with Pride was now a ghost story amongst children.

 “It sounds like bullshit.” Carmilla sneered a little bit as she shifted about on the chair. “Well I’m surprised what they’re teaching kids these days in preschool. I promise you, it’s not bullshit.” Envy said with a bullshit eating grin on their face.

 “Okay, tell me the story so I can eat the candy.” Carmilla was growing impatient over the entire conversation so far.

 “Okay, right, you know that Alchemy lab that your grand uncle Face Fur owns and pretty much lives in?” Envy began, their manipulation tactics were still on point for the job they had in mind.

 “Yeah? So?” Carmilla crossed her arms and narrowed her green eyes at Envy.

 “You know how weird it is that he always stays here when Halloween and the Yule comes up?” Envy continued, monitoring Carmilla’s responses as they laid the starting points of the story rather heavily. 

 “Where are you getting at?” Carmilla snapped a bit, taking Envy a bit by surprise by how articulate this speech pattern was for a four year old.

 “Well you’re inquisitive for a child your age, but fine, I’ll get to the point. That Alchemy lab your grand uncle purchased all those years ago, well it was the site of some awfully gruesome experiments.” Envy had to give credit where credit was due to the kid’s intelligence as they got to the meat of this story.

 “I want to hear more, keep going.” Carmilla for once was holding still for Envy as she listened to the story.

 “As you wish, well the Face Fur didn’t know about this until after getting about refurbishing the lab for his own set up. There were bodies, so many broken apart bodies in a sealed off room. What made things worse was, they weren’t dead. You see, the previous guy was experimenting on how to keep things alive even after a body had been broken up into pieces and Face Fur was so grossed out by it.” Envy made sure to be as gory as possible as they merged bits of the lab with that of the old apartment complex wall mummies. “What happened to the bodies?” Carmilla was fully invested in this story, it had the magic words of living dead bodies. “Oh, I shouldn’t say, it’ll give you nightmares.” Envy teased, their story was doing the trick they wanted it to.

 “I want to hear it! I won’t get nightmares! I heard scarier things from great grandpa Joel!” Carmilla protested at once, demanding to hear the rest of the story.

 “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you what happened to the bodies. They escaped the lab.” Envy sort’ve winced at the mention of Joel, still surprised that one too was still alive and kicking. “They escaped the lab? Then why do they come back to the lab?” Carmilla had pretty wide eyes at that point as ideas swimmed in her little head. “Honestly, I don’t know, personally I think they just want to eat the Face Fur for his rudeness.” Envy strained their mind a bit trying to figure out why exactly horribly reanimated corpses would want to return to a place of torment during holiday seasons.

 “They sound stupid.” Carmilla snorted a bit at that reasoning. “True, it is pretty stupid to keep going back to a gross lab, but it is what it is, kid.” Envy shrugged, figuring they could stop the story there as it had done its job. “I want to go to the lab.” Carmilla demanded, catching Envy off guard entirely. “Now why would you want to go out to the lab while you have a party right here waiting for you?” Envy attempted to backpedal on this whole new can of worms that it opened up. “There’s horrible dead people over there! I wanna see something scary!” Carmilla pointed out, scary stuff being the better deal than some party.

 “I don’t know, you might have a better time scaring your grand uncle with what I told you, maybe prank him a bit. The household has a lot of fake body parts in your great grandpa’s medical office to use for said prank. ” Envy spilled what their original plan was right away so that one would happen rather than running off to the Alchemy lab alone at night.

 “Okay..I’ll prank grand uncle Freddy.” Carmilla said in a sweetly sing-song like voice. “Good, now stay there for a bit while everyone thinks you’re in time out so you can prank your grand uncle properly.” Envy got up and left Carmilla to her own devices for time out to traumatize the elderly Freddy further.

 “Sucker.” Carmilla grinned as she had her stubby little sausage fingers crossed behind her back.

 Stealthily, the little monster named Carmilla, removed herself from the chair and quietly made her way to the backdoor to sneak off to her grand uncle Freddy’s Alchemy lab for some Halloween fun on her own terms. It was an easy enough task for the small child as the household was filling up with some guests like Uncle Greed and his chimera crew arriving. There was a bit of a pause on Carmilla’s behalf as Uncle Greed always brings something fun to these gatherings. However, all interest about staying was dashed away when the topic about the moldy old Elrics came up and how their lives have been so far. That was such boring things to little Carmilla as she left the family household for the Alchemy lab. With everyone thinking Carmilla was sulking a bit in time out, the party went on for a bit with Envy glancing about every now and then for any signs of a prank coming up. Clearly any moment Envy would hear the sweet wails of the Face Fur upon getting a good scare as they wanted. This train of thought would be ripped out of place when Dolly came to sit next to Envy after greeting the last arriving guest.

 “Carmilla sure has been quiet, she’s normally throwing a full scale tantrum by now.” Dolly remarked, becoming concerned with the silence from the four year old monster.

“Yeah..wonder why..” Envy echoed, becoming nervous that they got outsmarted by a horrid little toe fungus of a child.

“Yeah, I do wonder why. It’s way too soon for someone her age to mellow out in this family.” Dolly started to get up to check up on Carmilla before Envy decided to try and follow her.

[kitten4sannie]

groupie anon back at it again!! also this nickname has me BLUSHING grhsfbksj also reading your replies is always so fun because I get to see my original message too (I have a terrible memory and so it's always a surprise for me too)

my rant is significantly shorter this time, though I do have to address one thing: calling yungi the 'twin towers' was FOUULL. it had me wheezing, that shit was hilarious and I will be using that from now on.

I write for different anime fandoms! (I feel like I gave my account away hahaha oh well, oopsie). see, I prefer writing fluff because it makes me blush and act even more delulu than I already am, but smut is your forte. you write it so well it makes me curl up into a ball and wonder what good I did in my life to deserve such immaculate pieces of literature.

also I spent almost all day at work today thinking about what I could write about for my first kpop fanfic and I've circled back to this one idea like 5 times.... sannie sick fic. SANNIE SICK FIC!!!!! no seriously imagine him all snotty and flushed, BEGGING to be cuddled but you can't because he's contagious, so you make him soup and tuck him in and he's so cute and soft and his hair is definitely greasy because he's been in bed for almost a week straight (but you give him a scalp massage because he's sannie and nothing can keep you away from him) but not even a yucky virus can stop his talkativeness and he keeps rambling until you shove a spoonful of soup into his mouth to shut him up and he's so FLIRTY like sir are you sick or are you drunk?? he's so in love and reader is just as in love with him back.

phew.

okay so sannie came up and suddenly I'm a liar for saying my rant would be shorter this time (isn't this the longest message I've sent so far??). I think you can tell why I enjoyed that san fic so much ahdbsjfbs he's got me in the tightest chokehold, there's nothing I wouldn't let him do. absolutely nothing, anything that was once off the table is very much on the table if he wishes it to be. the man can reach inside my body, pull out one of my kidneys, sell it, then fuck me into the mattress, and I would still get on my knees and beg to suck his dick afterwards. seonghwa, too, can treat me like I'm nothing but a couple holes to play with. I genuinely need to censor myself right now because if I say any more, the psych ward people might come for me.

also drummer jongho is so... yes. despite not reading any jongho fics, I will be found dead before I ever deny that that man does not give off the most attractive energy ever, but he's also a cute little teddy bear. personally, I love fics where he's my little brother hafjdbf, they're literally always the best ones ahaha.

uni started again for the year and I thought I'd be more busy with that and work, but I will personally make time to write that sannie fic because it's life or death at this point tbh. happiness doesn't come from grades, it comes from booseoksoon and sannie sick fics. also it would be nice to actually chat normally rather than through asks hahhaha.

until next time!! (I will read the valentine day hwa fic tonight, so you will probably get another message from me soon - I read the tags, I need a couple hours to mentally prepare for it)

P.S., my laptop crashed three times while I was writing this, but the universe will never stop me from sharing my love.

hey!! blushing pleaseee stop being so wholesome rn i can’t take it 😭😭 i love it too it’s like we’re public pen pals ;;;; pffff no same i have the memory of a fruit fly i prob won’t even remember what i typed out after i finish this sentence jshdgd

it was so foul fnrrrr but also so true!! i actually saw someone else on here use that term so kudos to them for coining that shit’s funny af and i’m glad you could get a good laugh out of it!

anime fandoms hmmmmm i’m gonna do a little investigating 👀🔍 ughhh i love fluff that shit makes me blush harder than hardcore smut i swear ??? pleasee you’re gassing me up sm it’s making me feel like debby ryan in that one movie 😭

little cut here

SICK SANNIE FIC ???? my third eye is open and my chakras are aligned like - you’re a genius dude!!! NOT FEEDING HIM SOUP AND GIVING HIM A SCALP MASSAGE AND HES ALL FLUSHED AND HES STILL FLIRTINGGGG EVEN THOSE HES DYING THATS SO FUCKING SWEET IM GETTING A CAVITY RN,, sorry for yelling but damn son

BROOOO I CANT - the thirstiness for san is so fucking relatable it hurts like i swear i’ve never been down this bad for anyone before but i would actually sell my soul to lucifer himself rn just to be a hole for that man but honestly anyone and everyone in ateez could get 25/8 and it’s cool the psych ward is knocking at my door as we speak 💅🏼

jongho was actually my very first bias!! his stage presence and voice during the their first mama performance (which was the first ateez thing i ever saw) blew me away and THEN i find out he’s the sweetest, softest, most respectful man to ever exist ??? and his gummy smile broooo holy shit

i hope uni and work goes well! exactly you should do the things you love 💕 feel free to send me a message! i don’t bite <3 i hope you enjoy it! i don’t blame you every time i see a tag for sub hwa my brain feels a little fuzzy ngl. i’m sorry it crashed ;; i appreciate you sharing it with me 💜

nooo i’m sorry it crashed! my phone closes tumblr all the time when i’m in the middle of typing and it takes years off my life 😔 god you’re so sweet 😭

[muffindaddystyles]

Summary: Y/N's feeling icky about her body, but Harry loves her to bits and pieces, through thick and thin, in health and sick — and he always waits for her to come back to him.

TW: Body dysmorphia.

Y/N's healthy.

All she sucks in is having a sane sleeping schedule due to her UNI otherwise she eats natural goodies, cook and bake home because it comforts her more that way and she works out every evening to stay fit.

Sometimes though, she’s lazy and lacks behind which’s proper humane but deep down it effects her and her mental health more than she admits and she isn’t able to start over again – it mostly happens after her periods.

Harry loves her the way she’s.

Even if she’s clumsy, bumbling, procrastinating, overly enthusiastic to mend her life at 3 am, snotty and sloth-y in her periods, confident and positive around people, kind and loving whenever she comes to meet him, whiny and cuddly when she’s sick, jealous and grumpy with his attention not on her —- he loves her in every way possible, to rivers and to sea his love could never stutter for her ever.

He loves how she’s not overly toned, having soft squishy spots which Harry undeniably wants to admire and kiss shamelessly amount of times -- like -- her plummy pretty thighs that Harry likes to nestle his head in-between making her wriggle and squirm under his grasp, her overly cute tummy that Harry dies to pepper sweet adoring kisses and petal his lips round her belly button, everytime they’re cuddled up his bicep’s always looped her around her tummy to feel it rising up and down in calm rhythm, and oh! her tender titties, they’re actually his favourite babies and he loves to fondle them in his big calloused palms brushing his thumb over the sensitive perky nub and basks in the glittery whimpery mewls of hers.

He loves that she’s curvy and gives zero fucks if she’s skinny or not.

He thinks his baby’s perfect.

So perfect he actually feels the bubbling of devotion and affection filling to the brim of his heart’s chambers and leaking out and upon his ribs tickling him.

Y/N's his person and he worships her with his whole heart.

From some days though, she’s feeling devastatingly insecure about all her things Harry’s in love with and she has no-control over it how much she tries.

Harry’s observing that all with optimism (one of his great quality's that like a lion sly about his prey, he keeps an eye on everything but pretends otherwise). He has his intense gaze fixed on her when she’s taking a look of herself in the mirror for rather too long, running her hands down her body and practically shuddering.

He glances from over his laptop and drops everything he's doing watching her go monkies, sweating buckets and over exercising than her usual time.

He brings her closer and infront of him, pressing her to his chest and coiling his forearm around her shoulders whining a, “Baby..!” when they were brushing their teeth and despite of standing beside him and teasing him occasionally like she usually does she stuffs her face into the crest of his back and hides herself there to have minimal contact with her reflection in the mirror.

Her body dysmorphia spiking dangerously high.

“Deprived me of your cuddles. woke me up so early, granny.” She huffs lying through her teeth and how much his embrace was strong enough to keep her in place she still managed to wiggle out taking her previous cosy position, but he could feel her muscles tensing and an awkward silence falling over them.

He didn’t pry much. He wants to give her as much space as she requires to come back to him hale and hearty, as she always does and whatever happens he never forgets to remind her how much he loves her every night.

..

They were watching rom-coms on Netflix back to back with her curled up into his side with a spongy white wool knitted blanket thrown over them and his cheek was smashed atop her head popping in peanuts every now and then when out of certain she spoke pointing at the actress, “You know she got her ribs removed to get that shrinky waist.” Harry frowned at that. His face itching into disbelief and concern under the bouncing glow of telly.

He affixes his gaze down at her trying to read what’s cooking up in that genius brain of her's which isn’t being very rational and genius right now, they immediately turns soft and caring when she blinks up at him purely.

She squeaks, nose crashing against his collarbones when he scooches her up in his lap grabbing onto her knees to make her straddle his torso and he grumbles cutely when she tries not put all of her weight on him and doesn’t melts into him as his sweet lovie would used to do receiving a smack on her bum on his end.

He’s afraid that an evil version of her chomped onto his dear baby alive.

“Nothing else matters if all ye’ organs are packed safely and healthily inside you,” He tells her brushing loose frays of her hair behind her earlobe and rubs his thumb in gentle strokes over her treacly pulsing point, “Was just telling you ...” She mumbles, dotting touches on his knuckles and playing with his bare cold fingers.

It’s true, she was rambling out facts about the movie and cast out of habit because no-way she’d ever go through any surgeries to change herself to become someone she isn’t.

“Swear!” She yawps out in convincing high pitch when Harry squints down at her with his lips scrunched, one eye twitching in doing so.

“Alrighty. I believe you.” He cradles her cheeks in his palms and brings her mighty close to him to peck her cupid bow, then her bottom lip and the corners of her smiling mouth to suckle generous amount of whines from her and then kisses her lovingly – hands streaming down her spine and then resting atop her dip.

He thought she was ready to come back to him, to share her problem with him and Harry really wanted to bug in, to not let her fight her battle alone and take half of her hardships from her fretting self but guess not.

They were about to have sex when panic seeped in Y/N's eyes and her cheeks blazed up in that of embarrassment as she rushed to switch off the lamps that were the only source of light in their room.

“Moppet.” Harry sighed, knowing exactly what’s happening and she isn’t as foxy in covering it up as she’s thinking herself to be.

“Why wouldn’t y'want me t'see gorgeous self of yours?” His tone punctured and hurt, feeling useless for not knowing how to cheer her up and break her worries down. He smoothens his hands behind her to lock his arm around her waist, fingertips making grape sized indents into the flesh of her hip-bone as she streaks the tip of her nose up and down the crook of his neck, murmuring meekly against his salty skin while he hugs her warmly.

“’M just feelin’ shy.” He giggles at her response puckering his lips against her hairline to pet tiny, tiny kisses there as she fists her hands against his taught chest.

“Not somethin’ I haven’t seen before, love bug.” He blows raspberries against the underside of her jaw and their mouths meet into a messy, giggling, teeth clanking kiss when she sinks into pillows allowing him to cocoon her in his heat.

“I love you, Y/N. No matter what.”

.

The last dam breaker for them was this little get together at Sarah and Mitch's baby shower.

She matched her outfit with Harry. Cute lavender coloured little sweater blouse that was familiar to the baggy baby yarn cardigan Harry was wearing, it accentuated her curves and her bosom so prettily -- her midriff peeking from where the buttons weren’t closed and their jeans were painted (they did it themselves one Sunday when it was extra boring and inactive).

Y/N felt uncomfortable in her own clothes. A bitterness spreading inside her for herself and all she wanted was to escape away from her own skin.

She knows she’s loved and welcomed and cherished by her friends and family and the love of her life, most importantly. Then why was she feeling so icky about herself? Why everything's draining her and exhausting her?

Harry obviously could see through the gloomy tenebrous energy overshadowing her as he stood in the corner of the room grabbing the sorbet he poured in two glasses for them.

A sour guzzle of tears choking his throat and his limbs weakening letting the painful heartbreak seep into him when he watches her being fidgety and fiddling with the loops of her jeans, tugging her blouse every passing second and he’s sniffling a hiccup deep in his lungs when she shrinks into herself in dejection staring out of the window without any purpose.

Harry feels awful to startle her when he plops down beside her, coodling her closer to himself and tucks her head beneath his chin subtly and cups his palm under her jaw to make her look in eyes his eyes.

“Hi beautiful,” His tone had a saddening waver in it and his irises mossed bleak when Y/N remains unresponsive, zoning in and out of her own head feeling herself prisoned into her own invasive thoughts.

“You w'na go home darling?” He gives her a wet smile clearing his throat and blinking the stubborn moisture in his eyes away when Y/N nodded without any vivid expression.

All the way back home he denounced himself of not making her feel loved enough, to not to pest her soon about what she’s feeling and letting her slide deeper into the dark hole.

He thinks he’s a piece of shit.

.

Y/N wanted to dig the earth with her own nails and hide into it and never show her face again, she was overly ashamed of herself.

His hand was holding onto hers tightly, never letting it go as he led them through the hallway and his head perked up in confusion when she stopped them abruptly and lunged to wrap herself around him like he’s the last silver of her hope and the reason to live.

“I’m so sorry, so sorry.” There comes the first sob after ages of suffering and bottling it all in, not shocked at all he was expecting it to happen. Gently he picks her up and wraps her legs around him, keeping his support firm under her bum as she cried into his soft white t-shirt.

Carefully he sits them on the edge of the bed and tries to pry her soaky flushed face in his cradle but she refuses to show him, clutching onto his cardigan and whimpering brokenly.

“I just feel so disgusting,” Her sob scratches out of her throat and for a second he thought he heard her wrong, that her feeble crying’s playing some kind of a sick game with his heart.

“Harry do something I don’t want to feel disgusting.” But, when she pleaded helplessly a cold shiver settled in his bone marrow spreading an agonising burn in his stomach.

Gently he stirs her away from his chest to look at her, meeting their foreheads together while his thumb wiped her tears away and smoothed over her wabbly lips in profound tenderness.

“My beloved,” He whispers fondling his nose against hers and her eyes flutters into realm of calms, shaky breath falling over his lips as he brings her trembling fingertips towards them and pecks them feverishly.

“The love of me life, me heart.” He continues, “Shhh. Shh baby ‘s okay to cry but don’t tire y'self.” He hushes her when she whimpers loudly at his coy affirmation.

“I’m here with you, waiting f'you, watching y’goin’ through a stony path so I could be there to hold you whenever you trip –-,” He pets her hair, cupping the back of her neck to plant his lips bitten red from worry to her puffy damp eyelids and Y/N becomes a gooey lax of candle that’s been burning for tiring amount and finally her lover came to blew the agonising flame away putting her to peace as he coos snuggling her in his cordial embrace, “You’ve been so strong to yourself and ‘m so proud of me baby.”

“I’m always here. Never away from you, always right by y'side.” His palms bending around her ribs to smush her as intimately close as possible.

“How d'ya want your huggies babylove?” He simpers down at her darlingly, huffing out in relief seeing her relaxing -- her shoulders sinking from him massaging the knots in them.

“Tight.” She mumbles timidly. The gleam in her glossy eyes returning when Harry hugs her as she wished, squishing her in right places and not suffocating her at all – their breaths in sync chests flushed against eachother.

“I love you cuddly, and care f’you.” He kisses her on lips then goes to hug her right back.

“I love you too, Har. Thank you.” She sniffs in his woodsy scent grazing her touch up and down his back, smooching a soft kiss at his cheek.

[imaslutforremusandsirius]

Soft

Hi, i was sad all day so i wrote this to cheer myself up lmao, please enjoy people :) This is really soft lol, don‘t expect hardcore shit

Warning: 18+

Right, lets go

---

It‘s been about two weeks since you and Remus have had a moment for yourselves. Everytime you decided to make time for each other something came up or he wasn‘t feeling well because of the moon. Both of you were angry and stressed and moody, because you wanted each other so bad, but the universe just seemed to be against the idea.

„I don‘t want to fight with you right now!“, Remus let out, voice loud, proving that he in fact did want to fight.

„Why are you yelling then?“ Your tone matched his, your mood quickly turning sour.

„I‘m not bloody yellin, you‘re jus‘ being a sensitive wuss. Fuckin‘ hell.“ He whispered the last part as fingers pressed against his closed eyes. He had fucked up.

Your jaw dropped, a disbelieving laugh escaping you. „A wuss!? You must be bloody joking right now! You utter ass, Remus Lupin!“

He groaned with annoyance, aggressively packing his bag as he made his way out of the common room. Stopping midway he turned around sharply and said in an overly cheery voice, „Whenever you decide to stop being a snotty brat, come find me!“ Bowing he gave you a mocking smile, not staying long enough to witness you giving him the finger. He did have an idea what you did though, hearing the others gasp as they watched the whole ordeal.

„What a prat“, Mary said, plopping down on your side as Lily took your other.

Lily rubbed your arm soothingly. „Hey, don‘t worry. Every couple fights and with the amount of stress weighting on us it was bound to happen...“

You let out a breath and leaned back against the couch. „I know he didn‘t mean it, but god-“ Your voice cut off, choking slightly as you tried to calm yourself. „I miss him and he‘s acting like I‘m being clingy. We haven‘t kissed in three days!“

Mary let out a sympathetic sigh, taking your hand. „I‘m sorry, I know it sucks. But I‘m sure that he misses you just as much. This is Remus we‘re talking about, the bloke never shows his emotions.“

„I agree“, Lily joined in, „besides James has been telling me that Remus has been shitty to them as well. It‘s not your fault, he just doesn‘t cope in a healthy way.“

Now you felt bad for riling him up. Remus must have been feeling really down lately for him to react like he did minutes ago. Of course he misses you goddamn it, the boy can‘t sleep through a single night if your aren‘t there.

„Merlin girls I feel so bad now. I need to make it alright again. I never even asked him how he‘s feeling..“

Mary smirked suddenly, giving you a pointed glance. „I mean...You did say that you needed some alone time..“

You smirked back, albeit blushing a little, and told her to continue.

„There is this muggle clothing brand Lily told me about...“

„Victorias Secret“ Lily offered, now smiling as well.

„Exactly! We should check it out. Besides our dorm will be empty tonight, we‘re planning to sneak out and stay with the girls from Ravenclaw.“

„I love where this is going“, you beamed, „Let‘s get going, I need sexy lingerie.“

---

The girls were bickering about what color suited your skin best, when you zoned put a little, remembering a conversation you had with Remus before youe started dating.

„I really like your sweater. Where‘d you get it?“

You smiled at Remus, thanking him. „Got it from a second hand shop in London. I just couldn‘t resist the color.“

Remus smiled back. „Yeah, emerald green is my favorite color. I‘d kill to have something in that color“, he joked.

You giggled, giving him a shy smile. „Well, maybe you will.“

Beaming you swirled around, grabbing their shoulders to get their attention. With a handful of underwear in their hands they turned around, raising their brows simultaneously.

„Girls, I remember his favorite color! It‘s emerald!“

It took you another hour to finally find the shade of emerald you were looking for and when you did you squealed with joy.

„It‘s perfect!“, you gasped. „Oh my god, he‘s going to love it! It looks just like my sweater!“

The girls grinned at your happiness, immediately pushing you towards the cash desk.

God, Remus is gonna love it.

---

You let out a breath, finally sitting down.

Lily emerged from the bathroom. „Alright, lets check. Bed clean?“

„Check.“

„Shower and lotion?“

„Check.“

„Washed the underwear?“

„Check.“

„Good. That should be all then. Mary and I are leaving now, if you want any snacks there are some in my trunk. Just take whatever.“

You hugged them gratefully. „Thank you girls, I love you.“

„We love you too. Have fun!“

Mary peaked her head through and laughingly let out a „Don‘t break the bed like last time!“ before Lily pulled her away.

You fondly shook your head and glanced at your bed where the pieces were laid out. It was a beautiful emerald lacy set, with a bra and panties with attached garter belts. James and Sirius had promised to send Remus up, so now it was time to wait. Putting the underwear on you lit some candles, fluffing your bed. Just as you slipped one of Remus‘ old shirts over your head the door opened, revealing your boyfriend. He shuffled inside, simply dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black sweater, closing the door. Neither of you said anything for a few seconds, stranglely nervous.

„I‘m sorry-“

„I shouldn‘t have-“

You cut each other off trying to speak at the same time. You flushed as Remus chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Remus finally walked towards you to pull you in, his hands gripping your waist tight. You put your face in his neck to breathe in his familiar scent. Books and chocolate and safe and warm. He smelled like eveything you love.

„I‘m sorry I never asked how you‘re doing. You never let it show and I forgot that even if you‘re my rock, you‘re human. You have the right to be overwhelmed Remus...“

He pressed a kiss on your crown, muttering in a soft tone. „I know, I‘m working on the communication part. I‘m sorry too, love.“

You pulled back, your chin resting ln his chest amd you gave him a coy smile. He raised his brow, smirking.

„I have something for you“, you drawled, pushing him on your bed to stand between his legs, „but you need to unpack it.“

Remus tilted his head to look at you, his gaze questioning.

„Take my shirt off.“

His lips parted and you could see the anticipation in his eyes. Slowly he glided his hands up your bare legs to grip the shirt, holding your intense gaze he pulled it up, groaning softly when he saw the garter belt peaking out. You let him pull the material over your head, your hair falling onto your shoulders.

He let out a breathless laugh.

„You look stunning.“

A kiss on your sternum.

„The most beautiful person in the world.“

A kiss on your belly.

„So fucking perfect.“

A kiss on the hem of your panties. Another on your hipbones. The last ones on the tops of your thighs.

You tugged at his hair to make him look at you. Bending down at the knees you kissed his mouth. He looked up at you with pure adoration, as if he was looking at a goddess.

„Remus“, you called his name softly, „Will you let me fuck you tonighg?“

He closed his eyes groaning. „Anything“, he breathed.

You smiled softly. „Take of your clothes and lay on the bed.“

He complied immediately, taking his clothes off and rested on the bed. You straddled his waist, his hands coming up to rest on your thighs, his fingers playing with the garter belts. Remus is usually very dominant in bed, throwing you around and making you take him. But in times like this, where he lets you take the wheel, you know that you have to treat him very gently.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. He parted his mouth with a single breath and you connected your lips. Moaning, his arms snaked around your waist to pull you closer and he kissed you deeper. Your tongue licked at his bottom lip and he opened his mouth to let you in. Dominating the kiss, you bit his lip teasingly.

„Love, please I need you.“

You shushed him, kissing his jaw and chin, sucking on his neck. Your lips brushed against his chest, lips locking around his nipples, licking and bruising them. Moving further down his body, you sucked at his hipbones, your nose brushing against his happy trail. He bucked his hips moaning your name.

You wrapped your lips around the tip and massaged him with your tongue, tasting the precum. You hummed softly and he hissed, hands stroking your hair and he parted his legs a little. Your hand tugged on his heavy balls, your mouth taking him deeper.

„Fuck baby, yes!“

You sucked hard and he whimpered, hand tightening in your hair. Your tongue played with the vein on the side of his cock, making him twitch inside of your mouth.

„If you ah don‘t stop-“

He choked on his words and you pulled off, wanting him inside of you when he came.

„How do you want me?“, you whispered softly as you moved to take off your panties.

„On your back, wanna see your face...“

You laid down and he sat there for a second, admiring your beauty. The way your hair sprawled around you, the swell of your breasts in the emerald bra, your soft skin and parted lips.

He placed himself between your legs, hands on either side of your face. Remus‘ cock brushed against your slit, slowly sliding in and you let out a breath against his lips.

He groaned, holding your gaze and pushed inside, a vulnerable glint in his usually guarded eyes. You pulled him closer, his chest brushing yours and looped your legs around the back of his hamstrings. He was going in deep and slow strokes, just wanting to feel close to you. Hitting the spot inside of you, you let out a broken whine, pushing youe hips up to meet his thrusts. He went faster, still a tender look in his eyes and his other hand rubbed your clit.

You gasped at the contact and whimpered. Tightening around him, you mewled „Remus m‘gonna cum-“

„Cum love, fuck“

You came at the same time, looking at each other lovingly as he kissed you. His hot seed spilled deep inside of you and you smiled breathless.

„I love you so much“, Remus whispered, kissing all over your face.

„I love you too.“

[whumperooni]

smile for the camera

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Tags/Warnings: toxic relationships, violence, fingering, choking, degradation

Word count:  1.4k

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Dabi, lemme go!”

“Shut up.”

A hand slams against the wall- scarred, flaming, way too fucking close to your hair. Before you can squirm away his other hand slams against the other side of of your head- this one flaming too; this one scratching chipped nails down the wall until his fingers are curling into his palms, until his fist is beating against the wall and making you cower.

Shit- he’s really pissed. What the fuck did you do?

“You just had to open your legs for him, didn’t ya? You just had to be a stupid little slut and let that piece of shit fuck ya.”

“Dabi, I didn’t-”

A phone is shoved in your face before you can get the words out and you wince at the video that plays whenever Dabi smashes his thumb on the screen.

Shit.

It’s an old video from fucking last year. Hawks had recorded it when you were fucked up and you didn’t even know about it until months later- and that was only after you kicked him out of your apartment, told him to go fuck himself.

Something sick and pissed snakes through you and bile raises in your throat, shame and rage has your cheeks flushing as you watch yourself moan and fist sheets, as you watch Hawks’s hand wrap around your throat as he laughs and fucks into you hard.

How the hell did Dabi get a hold of this? Did- did fucking Hawks send it to him?

Oh, that bastard.

“Dabi! Dabi that’s-”

“That’s not what it looks like. That’s not me getting fucked into the bed by some piece of shit like a goddamn whore,” Dabi sneers, mocking you and slamming the phone into your cheek, grinding it against your face. You flail at him, try to push him away, but he’s too strong and he’s too pissed- he grabs your throat and pins you to wall, squeezes your neck until you’re wheezing and scratching at his hand in a desperate attempt to try to make him loosen his grip.

“Hawks? Really? I know you’re a fuckin’ slut, but you gotta have better standards than that piece of shit.”

“D- Da- Dabi-”

“What happened to all that crap about you loving me, huh? What happened to all that shit about you bein’ my girl?” he hisses- ignoring your gasps and the way your face is flushing and your eyes are starting to roll back. “Knew I couldn’t trust you. You’re just another fucking whore.”

You’re not! You’re not!

You thrash in his hold and it’s only by the grace of god you manage to kick him in the balls. Dabi goes down with a grunt and you frantically suck in air as soon as your throat is free, rub at it with your hand as you glare down at your asshole of a boyfriend- face red, cheeks wet, hurt in your still wet eyes.

“You fucking- you fucking dick,” you manage to rasp out. “He’s just- he’s just fucking with you! That was from last year!”

Snarling, Dabi ignores you and makes a swipe for your ankle. You manage to stumble away in time, but you trip over one of his stupid fucking boots and land on your ass- a whine ripping from your poor throat and your eyes stinging as frustration surges through you like a summer storm.

Fucking men. Why is your taste in them so fucking shitty?

“You’re such an asshole!” you spit out at Dabi- words too close to a shriek, so fucking angry and hurt. “I would never cheat on you! Never! You knew I used to date that prick! I told you about that video!”

Dabi’s eyes narrow and he sets a glare on you- watches as your faces scrunches up in upset and as your mascara runs, as furious tears stream down your cheeks and your throat start to bruise. It’s quiet for a moment save for a snotty sniffle from you and then there’s a huff from Dabi, a scowl as he runs his hand through his hair. You sniffle again and he rolls his eyes, leans forward until he can wrap his skinny fingers around your ankle and yank you close.

“Get off of me!”

“Shut up,” he snaps, crawling over you and pinning your legs down. He crushes his lips against yours and you squirm at the way he bites into your lip, whine whenever his knee slides between your thighs and right up to your crotch.

Fucking jerk- he always goes to this in the middle of a fight.

And you always fall for it.

Like Dabi said, you’re a slut- his slut.

You’re so fucking pathetic.

“Dabi- Dabi, stop! You can’t just-”

His hand finds your throat and he squeezes it- looser than before, still tight enough to have you whimpering and trembling underneath him. Dabi growls as you squirm and then he’s kissing you again, making you choke on his tongue and spit as he takes out all his misplaced aggression on you.

Some of that spit clings to his lips whenever he pulls back- clings and then snaps, sticks to your chin in a glistening strand reeking of cigarettes and booze. You glare up at him, weakly, and he presses his forehead against yours, bares his teeth in a grin.

“Fine,” he snarls. “Birdbrain likes movies so much? We’ll just have to send him one back then. Won’t we, princess?”

“What? Dabi, no-”

Another kiss smothers your protests. The hand around your throat tightens its hold and the other grabs onto your waist, digs spindly fingers in until you’re whining and squirming underneath him. His knee presses tighter against your crotch and your squirming makes you grind against him- makes you gasp into his mouth and fall past your upset and into something that you should be far, far away from right now.

Dabi only pulls back once a tiny moan sounds from you and he does so with a grin- eyes hooded, arrogance just fucking radiating from him as he sits up and looks over your flushed cheeks and bruised throat, the smeared makeup muddied all across your face.

He pulls his phone back out and aims it toward you- grin still in place even as you shake your head in some last ditch effort to pretend you’re not really going to give into Dabi after he choked you out and accused you of cheating on him.

Again.

A huff and a roll of brilliant blue eyes and then his free hand is snapping out to grab your face, squeezing your cheeks until you squeak and whine. You glare at him and Dabi only huffs again, squeezes your face tight and lets go so he can pat your cheek- a little too rough, a little too hot.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he croons with a sneer. “Smile for the camera.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the plan,” Dabi snorts. You scowl and get another eye roll for that, get his free hand running down until he can cram his hand down your shorts and below your panties, until he can roughly thumb over your clit and slip his skinny, scarred fingers into your shamefully wet cunt. “Come on, doll- don’t you wanna throw somethin’ back in birdbrain’s face? Don’t you wanna show him who you belong to?”

Shit. Yes? No? Fucking maybe?

Hawks would fucking deserve it, certainly. And it’s so hard to say no whenever Dabi’s curling his fingers deep into your cunt, when he’s grinding his thumb against your clit and making you bite back moans.

“You know you want to.”

“Fine- fucking- just- just- oh!”

Dabi grins as you throw your head back with a whine and he wrenches his hand from your cunt so he can grab onto your face again, snaps it back to make you look at him once more.

“That’s right, darling,” he praises- rough and jeering, full of a satisfaction that makes you want to both spit in his face and pull him down for another kiss. “Now, smile.”

You roll your eyes- cheeks still flushed, back arching as his hand slides down to your throat, lashes fluttering as he squeezes at your bruised flesh. He chokes a whine out of you and you give in- give in to your pathetic little desires and your boyfriend’s will like you always, always do.

You smile for the camera and Dabi grins when you do- hand easing up and his cock digging into your hip as he presses tighter against you.

“That’s my good girl.”

Your smile grows and you relax underneath him, close your eyes as Dabi starts to burn your clothes away.

[king-finnigan]

5 times Jaskier got sick and 1 time Geralt did

As part of my 500 followers celebration! Masterlist!

CW: being sick, vomiting

***

I.

He sneezes, and Geralt looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you getting sick?”

Jaskier scoffs, shakes his head, and continues prodding at the fire. “No.” He sneezes again. “Okay, maybe.”

“Hmm.”

He frowns. “Ooh, now that’s a ‘hmm’ I haven’t heard before. What does it mean?”

Geralt rolls his eyes and looks away, as Jaskier sneezes again. “It means I’m not going to take care of you if you get sick.”

Jaskier sneezes again. “Yeah, I figured that much.” He rubs at his eyes, which are slightly swollen from all the sneezing. “I’ll just firmly tell my body not to get sick, then. That always works.”

“Hmm.” He recognizes that one as a slightly amused ‘hmm’, and he smiles in triumph. Over the past few years, it has become a bit of a personal challenge to make Geralt laugh or smile as much as possible, and, while low on the tier list of ‘how amused is Geralt of Rivia?’, an amused ‘hmm’ is better than nothing. At least it’s better than an unamused ‘hmm’.

Like the one he gets, now, when he suddenly dissolves into a bout of coughing. “It’s fine,” he chokes out when he finally regains his breath. “Not getting sick.”

“We’re stopping at the next inn. You’ll stay there until you get better, and I’ll get some contracts.”

He wants to whine, tell Geralt he’s fine and he’s coming along with these contracts, but when he starts coughing again, he can’t help but admit that the Witcher is right. Though, when Geralt leaves him behind at the inn the next day, he finds himself wishing Geralt would stay.

 II.

He’s performing ‘Toss a Coin’ when he sneezes. The audience laughs, and he plays it off as a joke, making fun of himself, so the audience won’t, before he continues with his song. After he’s done, he graciously accepts his payment and a pint of ale, before he saunters over to the corner of the tavern, sitting down opposite Geralt.

“You sneezed,” is the first thing the Witcher says to him.

“Hello, Jaskier, what a lovely performance, Jaskier, thank you for paying for our dinner tonight, Jaskier,” he says in a mock-gruff voice. He sighs, rolls his eyes. “Really, Geralt, we talked about your conversational skills.”

“You sneezed.”

He dramatically lifts his hands. “So what? People sneeze all the time! It’s dusty in here, Witcher.”

“Your voice is rough.”

“Yes, that’s what you get for performing for three hours straight. You’re welcome, by the way.” He plonks his full coin pouch on the table, gesturing at it, eyebrows in his hairline.

“You’re snotty.”

“Well, now you’re just being downright insulting, Geralt. After all these years of me traveling by your side, and you have the audacity-“

“Jaskier. I can tell you’re getting sick.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s fine.”

Geralt looks at him, blinking slowly, almost lazily. His expression is almost bored, but Jaskier can tell from the little muscle that’s pulling at his lips, that the Witcher is getting annoyed. “Hmm.” Now that’s an ‘I don’t believe you for shit but I’m tired of arguing’-hmm, he can tell.

“Alright, maybe it’s not fine.” He points at Geralt. “But don’t you dare leave me at an inn again, like last time.”

“Why not?”

Cause it hurt my feelings, and I would love for you to take care of me when I’m sick. “I don’t want to miss out on any contracts and potential inspiration.”

“Hmm.” An ‘I can tell you’re lying’-hmm.

He simply changes the subject, for now, and hopes he doesn’t get sick in the next couple of days. He thanks all his lucky stars when he doesn’t.

 III.

He tries to keep quiet as he leans one hand against the tree, the other on his stomach as he retches, emptying the contents of his stomach in the leaves. He must’ve eaten something bad, or caught a stomach bug. He decides it doesn’t really matter, though, as another wave of nausea rolls over him. He gags again, trying to not make any sound.

Of course, it doesn’t work, and he soon hears Geralt’s voice behind him. “Jaskier.”

He closes his eyes, trying to keep down the bile that rises in his throat. “I’m fine.” The clipped and strained sound of his voice begs to differ.

“Hmm.” A ‘not even Roach would believe that’-hmm. Then: “Are you done?”

He holds up a finger, chokes down one last gag, before he stands up straight, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. “I’m fine, let’s go.”

He turns around to find Geralt frowning at him, confused. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“No. We’re not going anywhere but back to camp.”

He sighs. “I’m fine! We can go to the next town, don’t worry about it.”

“Hmm.” He narrows his eyes. Once again a ‘hmm’ he can’t identify. Strange. “Come on, Jaskier.”

He sighs, but follows Geralt back to camp, laying down on his bedroll when the Witcher motions at it. He does have to admit, laying down makes him feel a lot better, and pretty soon he finds himself dozing off to the rhythmic sound of Geralt sharpening his blades.

When he wakes in the morning, the Witcher gives him a piece of… some sort of root. “Ginger,” the Witcher explains roughly. “Helps.”

Jaskier shrugs and eats it. It doesn’t taste entirely pleasant, but it does make him feel better, and by midday, he’s ready to set out on the road again.

 IV.

“You’re limping.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “No, I’m not.”

“Hmm.” Another ‘I don’t believe you’-hmm. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

Jaskier stops walking when he no longer hears Roach’s hooves on the dusty path behind him, and he turns around. “Nothing! It’s really fine, there’s nothing going on. I appreciate you worrying, though, it’s very endearing.”

“Jaskier.”

He sighs, then shrugs. “Okay, maybe I got a cut on my leg last week that healed badly. So what? I assure you I’m perfectly fine, Witcher.” He starts stammering when Geralt dismounts Roach, stalking towards him. “A- and there is absolutely no reason for you to walk towards me, in- in a vaguely threatening manner- Geralt!”

He lets out an angry huff when the Witcher bends down, yanking the leg of his breeches up. “Hmm.” An ‘I’m very angry right now, but not at you’-hmm. “It’s infected.”

He shrugs again, pointedly looking everywhere but the reddened skin that surrounds the cut. “It’s fine. Nothing to worry about, r-really, and-“

He scrunches his face in confusion when Geralt lays a hand against his forehead. “You’ve got a fever. Get on Roach.”

“Geralt, as much as I have longed for you to say those three words for the past ten years, I assure you I’m perfectly fine.”

“Get. On. Roach.”

He holds his hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright! Melitele’s tits, Geralt, if I’d known you’d kick up such a fuss over a simple flesh wound, I would’ve been more careful.”

“Hmm. You should be.”

He sighs, rolls his eyes, as he climbs on Roach. Geralt climbs on the horse behind him, and Jaskier tries to fight the furious blush that starts spreading across his cheeks at the feeling of Geralt’s chest against his back. They set out to the nearest town, where the Witcher gets a room at the inn and drags him to the herbalist for something against the infection.

The ointment the old lady gives them works wonders, and within two days, the infection has cleared.

 V.

It’s hard to breathe. Harder to move. Opening his eyes for more than two seconds isn’t even an option, anymore, and every time he does manage to pry his eyelids apart, the world is swimming around him, making bile rise in his throat. He’s hot. No- he’s cold. But now he’s hot again, and he’s sweating, but he’s also shivering, and good gods, what did he do to deserve this?

He sighs when he feels something cold and wet and rough against his forehead, seeping away some of the heat. He doesn’t know whether the droplet that slides down the side of his head is sweat or water, but he decides it doesn’t matter when a bout of coughing wracks through his body.

He’s tired, he’s so bloody tired, but he can’t fall asleep when the temperature keeps changing from hot to cold to hot again, when his lungs keep constricting in his chest pathetically, making him cough and wheeze, desperate for any gulp of air he manages to suck in. The shivering becomes uncontrollable, unbearable, even though he’s sweating, still. He finally manages to pry open his eyes, finding the room around him blurry and dark. He looks around, desperate for anything recognizable, anything that doesn’t give him the feeling that he’s floating in a vast ocean of his own goddamn sweat. Finally, he finds something silver, to his right.

“Geralt,” he manages to croak out, desperately gasping for breath soon afterwards.

“I’m here.” He could cry at that familiar voice, and he might actually be, when he feels another droplet slide down the side of his head.

“I feel like shit.”

“Hmm.” And amused ‘hmm’. But slightly worried as well. “Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

“It hurts.” It does. Everything hurts. His muscles hurt, his lungs hurt, his head hurts, his eyes hurt. It fucking hurts.

Someone wipes his sweaty hair away from his forehead, knuckles trailing down his cheek lightly, and he figures someone else must be in the room because Geralt would never be this gentle with him. It’s already a bloody miracle he’s still here, really. “I know, Jaskier. I know. Try to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

“Will you be there? When I wake up?”

“Hmm.” That’s a ‘yes’-hmm.

He sighs, his lungs aching. “Good. Cause I don’t want to wake up at all if you’re not there.” His eyes drift closed again, and he finds himself slipping into unconsciousness.

---

When he wakes up, he finds Geralt next to the bed, stuffed into an entirely too small chair, asleep. No way the position he’s in is comfortable – his neck craned at an awkward angle, his back barely supported by the hard wood. But he’s there, just as he had promised to Jaskier.

The bard smiles, and reaches out, pushing at Geralt’s knee. The Witcher wakes, amber eyes widening when he sees Jaskier. He immediately bends forward, laying his hand against Jaskier’s forehead, eyes studying his face. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit better.” He smiles. “You’re here.”

“I told you I would be.”

He laughs softly, eyes drifting closed again, sleep pulling at him limbs. “That, you did.” He shivers, the heat of the fever no longer keeping him warm. “Geralt, I’m cold.”

“There are no more blankets.”

He pouts, reaches out, eyes still closed. “You’re warm.”

He hears a long-suffering sigh, then the creaking of the chair. Footsteps across the room. He feels the dip of the bed behind him, feels strong arms closing around him, and he sighs in content, before frowning. “Won’t you get sick?”

“Witchers don’t get sick.”

“Okay,” he whispers, before falling asleep in Geralt’s arms.

---

By the time they finally leave the inn, several days later, neither of them has mentioned what happened, and Jaskier doubts either of them will.

 + I

He doesn’t think much of it when Geralt coughs a few times. He does find it strange when it happens more and more in the next few days. He grows suspicious when a fine sheen of sweat appears on the Witcher’s forehead, even if he says he’s fine and tells Jaskier to stop fussing over him like that, he’s just hot, is all. He’s had enough when red spots start to litter Geralt’s skin.

He forces the Witcher to go to an inn, and he’s glad he did, by the time they reach it. Geralt’s hunched over Roach’s neck, sweat dripping from his brow, his skin so spotted with red he almost looks sunburnt. Jaskier barely manages to get him up the stairs, and immediately drops him on the bed, where Geralt lays very still, staring up at the wooden ceiling, breathing heavily.

Jaskier helps him out of his armour, uncovering more and more red spots as he works his way down to Geralt’s boots.

“I’m fine,” Geralt rasps to him. He doesn’t believe it for shit.

“Yeah, no you’re not, Witcher. Looks like you’ve got yourself some measles.”

Geralt scoffs, though it sounds more like two pieces of sandpaper rubbed together. “Witchers don’t get measles.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, taking a washcloth, wetting it with some water from his waterskin. “Well, you did, so I suggest you change your views on that, Geralt.” He sits down on the side of the bed, gently laying the washcloth over Geralt’s brow, softly pressing it down. “You’re burning up,” he whispers.

“It’s fine.”

He smiles. “Go to sleep, Geralt. Get some rest.”

The Witcher sighs. “Hmm.” A ‘fine, alright, I’ll listen’-hmm. “I’m cold.”

Jaskier laughs softly, climbing over Geralt, laying down on his other side, hugging him to his chest. “Better?”

Geralt shakes his head frantically, weakly pushing at him – the fever’s clearly already taking a toll on him. “You’ll get sick,” he rasps.

“I had the measles as a kid. I’ll be fine, Witcher.”

“Hmm.” A content ‘hmm’. Then, suddenly: “Thank you, Jaskier. I love you.”

Geralt’s breathing evens out, as Jaskier pushes himself up on one elbow, looking down on his Witcher. Geralt is fast asleep, breathing deep and steady, face relaxed from its eternal frown. Jaskier smiles, laying down again, pulling his Witcher closer. “I love you too,” he whispers. Of course, Geralt doesn’t hear him, but he’ll say it again when he wakes up.

He’ll say it a million times if he has to – and he would mean it every time.

[binniesthighs]

can u do an enemy to lovers au with han jisung where they are in a hidden fwb relationship? thank u~ 🥺

I really look some creative liberties with this one HA but the product...hehe, I hope that you enjoy it love! I also kinda accidentally made it a period piece??? Like 50′s-60′s? Idk how this happened but the vibe and the music I was listening to while writing really put me in that mood haha

blue velvet | reader x jisung |

Paring: self insert, gender neutral reader x han jisung

Genre: smut n’ angst

Tags: stripper!jisung, stripper!reader, bi!jisung, enemies (competitors) to lovers, secret relationship, friends with benefits, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, degrading names, choking, spanking, v mild spit play, unprotected sex (wrap it before you slippity slap it friends), creampie, cum eating, scratching, oral (reader receiving) semi-public sex, hello yes this one is kinda filthy ooooops

Word count: 3.2k

Recommended listening: Blue Velvet by Bobby Vinton

Fuck. It’s hot in here. Too fucking hot.

Reconnaissance. That’s what you were doing. It was fucking disgusting. Everyone in the room was just as fake as the pleather belts that held their guts in. You had never seen anything more embarrassing in your whole life. Desperation was sweating off the walls and sunk into your skin. It made you feel sick.

You scoffed and took a long sip from your drink.

“One more?” An attentive maître d' asked you--if he could even been called that in a place like this.

You covered your hand over your glass. You refused to pay for any more of that cheap tasting shit.

Next to you a rapt group of men in suits wagged their tails at the view. She wasn’t even very pretty.

Rolling your eyes, you scoped out the rest of the room, adorned in red velvet and gold nearly everywhere. What was this? A high school musical? Even those had more class than this place.

You checked your sliver wristwatch lined by dainty diamonds. You always did like gifts. Too bad rarely anyone would get anything in return.

The girls on the stage twirled around, giving the audience the best view that they could, tiger-prowling to those waving bills in their grabby hands. They were tanned and fashioned into strappy and lacy pieces that looked like they all must have shared them. Pathetic.

“You come here often?”

He swirled some clear looking liquid in his crystal glass, the little string of olives clinking the side.

“Are you speaking to me?”

“No, I’m talking to them.” He head nodded to the same group of greasy businessmen. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“It’s my first time...and likely my last.”

“Huh. Tough critic.”

He didn’t look like the rest of them. Younger, reeking less of starved attention. He had golden blonde hair, and a silk white shirt unbuttoned far into a deep V. He was toned: the muscles on his arms were visible under the thin fabric and his abs made a show thanks to the abandonment of buttons. He wore dress pants perfectly fitted for his thighs. He was...attractive...but not your type.

“What’s not to like? Beautiful people, drinks to make you forget your mistakes? Not your scene?”

You rested your chin in your palm. “It’s my scene, but not this scene.”

“Suit yourself.” He took another swing, pivoting his body towards you, legs spread wide. “I think I know someone who can change you mind though.”

“In this place? Unlikely.”

“Come on...just stay a little bit longer and they’ll come out. They’re the last act of the night for a reason.” He signaled to the maître d' and whispered something into his ear. “Drinks on me. If you’ll stay?”

“Free drinks?” You put down your empty glass. “I suppose I can’t say no to that.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

It was thirty minutes till closing, and you had stayed much longer than you had liked. After all the drinks you had to pass the time, you were starting to feel a little buzz, but nothing much really phased you these days. You started to wonder if he had been pulling some kind of prank. Nothing you had seen was what he had hyped it up to be.

The lights dimmed behind you, making the room dark enough for the tiny white candles at the tables to provide the only light. Spotlights flashed on from behind you too, illuminating the U shaped stage. With the lights, the music faded into something much more sultry.

The first two girls stepped out, both of them wearing white sets that were nearly identical with sheer robes. Two others stepped out after them, this time wearing red and black. It was the same thing you had been seeing all night.

The spotlight tightened.

It was him.

He was wearing a button down and those same pants, everything seemed so tight on him, accentuating every curve of his body. Strangely, when he walked out, he was greeted with wolf-whistles and hoots. He winked back at his spectators, nearly falling out of their chairs to see him better. It was even stranger considering the audience was filled with men.

He walked around the girls on stage as if he was inspecting them, his eyes eating up every bit of their skin. He confidence was unparalleled. He would run his hands down their sides, digging his fingers into their hips. They circled around him until his body was covered with their hands, teasing the audience, just barely touching around his dick, which with his pants...there was little room for imagination.

Silent moans left his lips once they started undressing him giving him their full attention. The cheers grew even louder. Before long, he was nearly fully undressed swaying to the music. He wore nothing special, just some briefs, like any normal person would. It was...confusing.

He took turns “giving attention” to every girl, looking at them like he worshiped the ground the walked on. They would grind their bodies together, or he would pick them up in his arms, and they would wrap their long legs around him. He would pantomime fucking them from behind, screwing up his face as if he really was. Everyone went crazy for that.

It didn’t last for very long and the lights soon went all the way down, leaving the stage scattered with sweating bodies, panting as if they had just cum, entangling themselves all in eachother.

You were a bit unenthused, but it was different. There was something about him that was different.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Were the drinks enough for you?” His voice called to you just as you were about to leave. This time, he returned wearing the same silk shirt.

“I hope that I didn’t make you pay for too many.” You pouted with faux empathy.

“And the show?” He grinned a little.

“Interesting. Considering a place like this.”

He laughed a little. “I help with...the imagination.”  

“So they pretend that you’re them. I’ll admit, it’s smart.”

“You’d be surprised, somedays I get more male customers compared to most of the girls here.” He bit his lip as if recalling a memory. “They pay well too, pay for whatever they aren’t getting at home. Who am I do deny them that when it’s my job?

“You sleep with them?”

“The ones I like.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Can be. In a good way.” He let out a sharp laugh. “So. Did I prove you wrong?”

“Hmmm. I could do better.”

He popped his brows up. “You could?”

He was intriguing. You decided to give him a bite. “I dance at La Rose Rouge.”

“You dance at that overpriced, snotty ass place?” His words turned poisonous.  What’s it like dancing for a guy who’s got a stick so far up his ass--”

“--The price is right, and you get what you pay for there...especially if its me.”

“How am I not surprised?”

“I need to go, I’ve seen all I could here.” You bowed at him a little.

“Wait.” He grabbed at your arm. “I’ve still got one more thing to show you. Follow me.”

 ╚ ——————————————— ╝

Your insides were on fire as he fucked into you. Every time that he thrust into you, he was relentless and unforgiving. He was going so fast you could barely catch your breath. You were bent over some dusty old sofa in an equally dusty dressing room. You would kill him if he left bruises on your hips from how hard he was holding you.

“fuck. shit.” He panted, then reached one of his hands around to rub at your sensitive sex, slick with your excitement.

He was so fucking cocky, but he knew what the hell he was doing. He bent over your back, sucking into your skin, wrapping his arms around you to tweak your nipples. He was wrecking you from the inside out, devouring you like he had never tasted anything like you.

He kicked your legs open even farther. “Fucking moan for me, slut.”

You had barely let him hear more than a few gasps, he didn’t deserve it. You wanted him to moan for you.

“Who are you calling slut?” You said with venom.

You shoved off of him, and he looked devastated. He was cute. He even frowned regretfully like he had done something wrong.

The metal of your rings dug into his neck when you grabbed it, squeezing as hard as you could. Your hot breath snuck into his ear, “No, you fucking moan for me...slut.”

You attacked his lips, tracing the insides of his mouth with your tongue. He moaned right into you and grabbed handfuls of your ass with his two hands. Your teeth bit his lip and pulled. His dick trembled between the two of you and he rutted against your stomach to get some kind of relief.

He took one of his hands to your hair before resting his glossy brown eyes on you. “I’d do anything for you.” His voice quivered. “You ruin me.”

“Get on the floor.” You commanded him, and he did as he was told without a question, laying his bare body on the cold concrete.

The chill of the stone stung your knees, but that didn’t matter, you just wanted to see him unravel. You straddled down onto him, taking him in as you sunk down.

“oh shit,” slipped off your tongue without you having much control over it.

You rolled your core over him, back and forth, circling yourself and bouncing up and down as he rolled his eyes back, licking his lips while you did everything that you wanted. As you bounced he held on to your ass, digging his fingertips in. You had your eyes closed, so you didn’t see it when he rose is hand to slap you hard. It burned beautifully.

“—Jisung? Are you done yet? The rest of us are going out.” A female voice called, and rattled the locked door.

“FUCK OFF.” He groaned, and held onto your ass even tighter.

You let out a unamused tsk. “Jisung? That’s your real name?”

He didn’t say anything, but instead swiftly took you in his arms to lay you down. The chill of the floor startled you into wince, but it felt amazing compared to how hot you were. He entered you immediately again, then slung your legs over his shoulders. His blonde hair appeared to bounce a little with each thrust.

You knew exactly what you were doing when you dragged your nails down his arms, waterfalling pink, perfect, lines. His whole body seized at the sensation, sending him into a fury. He licked his hand from palm to fingers, not breaking your gaze as he used it to rub relentlessly at you.

You were on the edge.  

“Want my cum, you whore?”

You were close as well, and it clouded your senses--you felt yourself slipping into him after holding back for so long.

“ye-yes, I want it.”

He came in seconds, doubling over you when he did, panting like a dog, with you gasping just as hard from your own orgasm. He seemed to shake a little as he came down, nearly suffocating you with his body weight. You jiggled your hips just a little to get a rise out of him. You had guessed correctly, someone like him couldn’t take overstimulation.

“Fuck, wait, wait. I-I can’t take anymore.”

You laughed a little and stopped. “You’re no fun.”

“I thought I literally just proved to you that I’m loads of fun.”

“Mmm, I suppose.”

“You liked it?” He ran his hand through his sweaty roots.

“You made me cum, so...usually I have to fake it.”

“Really?”

You nodded.

“I’m honored.” He grinned a little pridefully.

You reached down to your hole to catch a few drops of his cum on your fingers, stretching it out a little and playing with it. He watched you as you did so, eyes wide. You stood to grab his jaw, sticking your fingers in his mouth which he eagerly sucked.

“Where have you been my whole life?” He looked up at you in wonder.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that...Jisung.”

He watched you then as you dressed, careful not to forget your gorgeous silver wristwatch.

“I won’t be coming back, so don’t expect that this will happen again.”

“Wait--” He stopped you before you grabbed the door handle. “You didn’t tell me your name--”

“--That’s something you don’t need to know.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Darling, is there anything that I can get you?”

Your manager swept a caring hand to hold you by the small of your back.

“No, thank you though, love.” You shone brightly back to him.

“Just let me know? So far we’ve got a queue for you. Four gentlemen and three ladies. I expect that the tips tonight will be generous...it’s payday.”

You politely nodded. “Of course.”

“Have you been having a hard time with any of the new faces?”

You took a sip of your brandy. “Some of them have some mouth, but I’ll make them dignified. You can trust me.”

“I always do.” He gently kissed your cheek. “Ah, I forgot to mention, one of your customers brought you a gift. It’s in your dressing room; he wants you to wear it for your dance tonight.”

“I do love gifts.”

“Go get ready darling, you haven’t got much more time.”

Once you were in your dressing room, a medium sized white box waited for you on your vanity. There was no labels; no indication that it was from a luxurious brand. You opened it, and the shirt was wrapped in light pink tissue paper. It was too short to be a robe, but it was silk and white with buttons that looked more decorative rather than useful. You figured it must have been your customer’s: many of them got off to you wearing their clothes. It wasn’t your usual style, but you knew how to make anything work.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“And for our last act of the night: the wonderful, the illustrious...”

You walked out to the silent stage: meant only for you, the stage lights yellow, shrouding you in their brilliance. Your chest was bare, save for the silky shirt falling off your shoulders. They were cheering for you, throwing paper bills at you and calling your name, but you couldn’t hear them at all. You had never felt so whole in your life since being on the stage. It seemed like the rest of your days were just spent chasing some kind of feeling that merely resembled that.

Barefoot, you pranced along the stage, twirling like a ballerina even, letting the shirt billow up just so they could see your perky bottom. With all of their eyes on you, you felt like an absolute vision--like an ethereal being, desired, but impossibly attainable.

The jazz song played on by the live players, a muted trumpet and violins accompanied you. Your eyes swept across the blue velvet curtains of the booths, to every man and woman looking at you in awe. You let the shirt slip just a bit farther, revealing your back, winking. You never had to show them much. It was your charisma that they thirsted for--and that they could only get a small taste of.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Darlin’ you’re a catch, an absolute catch.” Your manager snuck up behind you taking your makeup off to hand you the ridiculously fat stack of bills. “You keep us afloat baby, you know that I can’t thank you enough.” He bowed.

“Stop flattering me.” You remarked with a smirk. “I know.”

Your manager left, then the curtain to your room screeched again. He slowly stepped into the light, applauding slightly.

“He’s right you know? Even I can’t get enough of you.”

It was him, cocky smile, swept blonde hair and all.

“You again? I’m surprised that you even made it in here at all. Considering who you are.”

“What? The competition? You didn’t tell them about me, did you?”

You patted some serums into your face. “Better leave soon before they rid you of that handsome face of yours.”

“You saying that I’m handsome?” He snarked.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“Seeing you, I thought I made that clear? Isn’t that what you were doing when you came to my club?”

“Like what you saw?”

“I stand corrected.” He let up, advancing towards you at your vanity. “And you look just as stunning in my shirt as I thought you would.”

“Your...this is yours? How the hell did you mange that?”

“I have my ways.”

“I suppose you want it back then.”

“No...you can keep it...if you promise me one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

He reached out for your hands, which you tentatively took. He swept you up, pulling you into his chest with eyes dipped in lust.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” He spoke onto your lips with heated breath.

You would’ve been lying if you had said his lips didn’t look appetizing.

“One more time.”

“Bold of you to assume that I’d want to fuck you again.”

“You haven’t been thinking of it too? My hands on your body...”He caressed your body down, “My lips on yours?” He pulled you in by the chin to carefully part your lips with his. “My dick filling you up?” He pulled you in closer to feel his pulsating dick. “You don’t think about it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That you want me. All you have to do is say it and I’m yours.”

“You’re looking to get killed if they know you’ve touched me.”

“I’d happily die for you.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that...Jisung.”

His lips fell to your neck where he pressed slow kisses onto it. “Just say it...”

The cool of his saliva on your skin met the air, tingling. You couldn’t believe you found yourself considering...

“I know you want to...”

“This won’t be a common occurrence.” You got out, suppressing your moans.

“Is that a yes?”

“...yes.”

“And we’ll see about that.” He slyly grinned, meeting your lips once again.

He swept you up, and your legs naturally wrapped around him. He carried you out of the dressing room to the main hall, pulling you both into the nearest booth, drawing the blue velvet curtains behind him. His eyes devoured you, casting aside his silk shirt that loosely clung to you. You threw your weight onto the table, opening your legs for him, inviting him. He chuckled a little at the action.

“I can imagine you must’ve been thinking of this as well then.” He kissed down your stomach, removing what underwear you were barely wearing. He kissed and sucked at the skin in your inner thighs, kindling your excitement. Spit gathered on his tongue, which he let drip down to your sex which glistened for him.

Your core begged for that feeling once again, that feeling only he could give you: the one that made you feel alive, like you weren’t just chasing some impossibility.

He lapped at you slowly with his tongue, awakening your whole body.

“I fucking want you.”

[justonemorechapternicercy]

For the rare pair (if you are still doing it and have the time to do it), could you do will/percy/Nico? Thank you and I hope you have a good day!

Sorry for the late answer, but I had no idea what to write about them. There are some nice Willercico (?) fics out there, but it's not exactly my OT3. Still, thank you for your prompt :) <3

Having said that, I'm also sorry for the fic ^^ I'm pretty sure it was not what you wanted, but it was what I could write ^^

Percy was… not well.

Well, that might been an understatement; Percy was freaking the fuck out. He was freaking out, and had no idea what in Hades he was going to do.

Sitting on his bed, he groaned loudly as he threw himself backwards, spreading himself over his bed like a starfish.

He had no idea what the fuck he was going to do now. Nothing went like he planned, even less how he hoped.

"Fuck," he murmured to himself, repeating the word again and again, sometimes sprinkling in some "shit", until he was basically shouting the profanities. Times like this, he was really thankful for having a cabin just for himself.

As the shouting increased, he slammed a fist into the mattress, as if it was the one that caused him the distress, but it didn't help. The pain in his chest, in his heart was way too much.

Rolling onto his stomach, he buried his face into the blue sheet, hiding his tears even in the loneliness of his cabin. He felt like a mess; a crying, snotty, bitching mess.

It's not like he has any reason to cry! There was nothing going on, was there? Probably - surely - not, if Nico was so casual about what he was doing! Everything between them was obviously only in Percy's head, and it was his fault if he thought more into their interactions.

Still, even if they were not in a relationship, they were friends, right?! So he couldn't be blamed for feeling used for being dumped by Nico, could he?!

Percy sniffed, just remembering what happened a few minutes before brought back a new wave of hurt.

--

"Hey," Nico said, patting Percy's back, maybe a bit stronger Percy felt comfortable with. But it was Nico, who didn't initiate touchings, so he didn't complain. "I haven't seen you since breakfast. Where have you been?"

"I…" Percy frowned. "I taught sword fighting with you," he mumbled, confused. Okay, they didn't talk during the class, as both were occupied with their group of demigods, but they were at the same place. How did Nico miss…?

Oh.

Right.

He was there. Sitting on the stand, looking at Nico with heart eyes.

"Really? Huh," Nico said, shrugging. "Sorry," he added, just as an afterthought.

"It's fine." No, it wasn't. Yet, Percy smiled, and changed the subject. "So, you are still coming over to my cabin tonight's right?" The green-eyed demigod asked, light pink dusting his cheeks. Nico asked him a few days ago, making sure to let Percy know that it was going to be a "special night", just between the two of them.

"I wouldn't miss it," the son of Hades winked, and put his hand on the lower part of Percy's back. They walked towards the dining pavilion, chatting amicably, until a golden form attracted Nico's attention, who snapped his head towards it, like a dog sensing a running squirrel.

"Hey, Will!" he called out for the son of Apollo, slightly pulling away from Percy. The older demigod glanced to his left side where Nico was looking, and kind of smiling, just to see Will hurrying towards them to jump in Nico's arms in a dramatic rom-com fashion.

Percy didn't know what in Hades was going on.

"Hey, Will," he said awkwardly, going with the flow, as always. He wanted to demand answers, he wanted to know what's going on, but he just stood there, rooted down, with his voice gone. And after everything, all he got back was a half-hearted, slightly antagonistic "Hi" from Will, who never looked away from Nico.

Percy felt like a third wheel - a broken, loose wheel that had no reason to be on the vehicle.

"You free tonight?" Will asked sweetly, suggestively, luring Nico in.

Percy was going to be sick.

"Actually, he-" Percy started to answer, just to be cut off by Nico's quick "Yes," making Percy feel like his heart shattered into a million pieces.

Nico…

Nico rejected him?

Without even rejecting him?

After he led Percy to believe that Nico said that he wasn't his type because he was confused, and that he really wanted to try out something with him? After telling Percy that he and Will were just friends? After making him believe that they were going to be lovers? Boyfriends?

"You, Percy?" Percy only listened to their conversation when he heard Will ask him reluctantly, as he finally leaned away from the son of Hades. As if he really wanted to know.

"Not anymore," answered the question he assumed he was asked, forcing out a fake smile, and without waiting for a reply, he rushed away, feeling angry and humiliated.

All he could think of was the rejection, not hearing Nico's yell, calling him back to talk about what was the problem.

He just wanted to bury himself in his bed, crying his heart out.

So he did.

[cheeriecherry]

Space Between [8/9] [Aizawa Shouta x Reader x Yamada Hizashi]

EraserMic x f!Reader

Part 8/9

Warnings: mentions of panic attacks, some fluff, no beta we die like men

It’s dark. So dark that you can’t see your hand in front of your face, or your breath in the air as it heaves from your lungs. The cold is all encompassing, and the damp chills your bones and makes them ache.

Where are you?

Water drips from a leaking pipe somewhere off to the side. You feel like you should know the place, but the name escapes you. A basement? A warehouse?

Where are you?

“Tell me who you work for boy, and who you brought with you.”

You whip towards the sound of the voice, a shiver crawling down your spine. You’d know that cruel, grating lilt anywhere...but if she was here, did that mean you were…? No, you couldn’t be back there. It was too dark, too silent, to empty…

“I’m not working for anyone! I’m loyal to-”

A slap cracks in the quiet, cutting sharp into your ears. You take a hesitant step towards the flurry of sound, then another, and soon you’re sprinting through the darkness.

A little piece of you knows you’re not getting anywhere.

“I’ll give you one more chance, hero scum. Give me the name of your partner, and I’ll let you live.”

Your foot catches on something unseen, and you topple forwards, colliding heavy with the wet ground. Your palms sting against the grainy floor, and your breathing is thick and laboured.

You look up to try and something, anything, in the pitch black.

“I...don’t...have one…”

You gasp and fling yourself away from the sudden and intrusive gurgling voice in your ear. So close, but so broken and distorted. You squeeze your eyes shut and fold your hands over your ears in preparation. You know what happens next. You know, and you don’t want to see, don’t want to hear it. Not again.

Just give her my name, you beg silently, wishing more than anything that the outcome of the situation would be different this time. Just give her my name!

A gun cocks, loud and violating, despite your covered ears.

A cold, violent laugh.

“Then you die alone.”

You gasp awake to the sound of a gunshot ringing in your mind. You’re covered in a cool sheen of sweat, trembling like an earthquake. You glance frantically around the room, looking for any signs of danger, and only when you find none does your heart begin to slow. You sit up.

Outside the window, the sky is lightening. The sun hasn’t risen yet, leaving the dawn greenish and undisturbed.

Shouta appears in the doorway, and you regard each other silently. He clearly hadn’t expected you to be awake at this hour, but everything in your panicked expression tells him why you are. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, half-dressed.

“Nightmare?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. Still, you nod weakly.

“You were talking in your sleep,” he says quietly, as unthreatening as he can manage, “in English. Something about your name.”

That’s all it takes for you to burst out crying, tears exploding forth and pained wails breaking from your chest. Shouta moves towards you slowly and wraps his arms around you in a tight hug.

“My name,” you weep, leaning heavily against him, “why didn’t the stupid kid just give her my name?!”

Your boyfriend rubs soothing circles into your back, not truly knowing how to answer you.

“She made him give everything else! Why wouldn’t he give my name?! I was right there! I could have helped! I could have fought! He’d still be alive-”

You cry harder into his shirt, and remain tucked in Shouta’s embrace for several minutes. Your sobs eventually turn to snotty sniffles, though neither of you pay any mind to the mess you’re making on his shirt.

“He...he didn’t even give me the option to try and save him. If my cover had been blown, then I…”

“Would probably be dead, too.” Shouta’s voice is low and pained, as if merely speaking the words caused him distress.

You peek up at him through wet lashes. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says, “Up until a few days ago, you were in no shape to fight Akuma and win. If you’d stood up back then, your partner would still be dead, and you’d be beside him, and every bastard you’ve put behind bars would still be out there.”

“But how do you know?” your voice crackles, fresh tears springing up. “How do you know I couldn’t have saved him?”

“How do you know you could have?”

You’re both quiet for several beats, before you sigh deeply and set your head back on his shoulder.

“I...don’t.”

You stay like that for another couple minutes, listening closely to the beat of his heart and the steady thrum of his breathing. And once your anxiety begins to settle, you start to squirm.

“You’re gonna be late for work, Sho.”

He pushes the hair off your face, and lays a tender kiss on your forehead. “The kids will understand.”

You grumble a little, and offer him a tired smile. “Thank you. But really, I think I’m okay now. It’s easier getting through this when you or Hizashi are around.”

Shouta looks like he doesn’t quite believe you, but he knows coddling you will only make you mad. You’ve come far enough, trusting him to see you during a vulnerable moment. He wasn’t going to push it further.

“Promise you’ll call me if you start feeling less okay.”

You roll your eyes lightheartedly. “Yes, dad.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. Me or Hizashi. We’ll talk with you through whatever’s causing you problems.”

You avert your gaze from his, inklings of guilt creeping into your heart. “You’re not my therapists,” you tell him softly, “You shouldn’t have to talk me through anything. It’s not your job to deal with all my fucked up shit.”

“But we do love you.” He reaches down and takes your face in his hands, thumbs gently stroking over your damp cheeks. “We’ll support you however you need, no matter what. We want to be there for you, okay?”

You lean into his touch for a couple seconds, letting your eyes fall shut.

“Alright,” you relent, “if something happens, I’ll call one of you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He leans forward and kisses you, then stands to continue dressing. You watch him as he moves around the room, collecting his various accessories and pouches, pointing things out to him whenever he can’t find it.

He’s out of the house a few minutes later, leaving you with a warm goodbye and a tight hug. Hizashi had gone even earlier, which now left you completely alone in the house.

It seemed more spacious than it usually did, now that you’re on your own. No background din of partners moving around, no sounds of quiet conversation, or television music. Your chest dully aches as you flop back onto the bed and pull the blankets over your body.

You didn’t particularly want to go back to sleep, but you could feel the tiredness still in your limbs, and the heaviness behind your eyes. On top of that, your therapist had suggested you try some breathing exercises when trying to fall asleep, and you’d yet to try them out. Even if you didn’t pass back out, it might still be enough to allow you to lay there with your eyes shut.

Lo and behold, not thirty seconds after you start measuring your breaths, you begin to drift off.

----

The next time you wake, it’s nearly one in the afternoon. You feel surprisingly rested with the extra couple of hours, but you’re even more amazed with the lack of recurring nightmares. Plain, decent rests were few and far between.

Feeling revived, you’re able to look at your earlier dream more logically. It’s obvious now that your past is still haunting you, and that you’re even further stressed about the events to come. Your confrontation with Akuma is less than a week away, and you can finally see how much it’s weighing on you.

You’ve been trying your best to remain optimistic, to prepare yourself mentally for the oncoming fight, but you’re just so...tired. All the time. Exhausted down to your very core. You know that therapy will help you in the long run, and that’s what you’re planning for, but you know it’ll be months until you start feeling the affects.

You might not even have months left to live.

You sigh deeply, wishing your negative thoughts would leave you alone. Your phone sits on the bedside table beside you, silently taunting you. You could call one of your boyfriends...but did this count as a stressful time; dealing with the very hard truth?

Probably not.

And you don’t want to feel like a burden, like you need help with every tiny thing.

You could get through this on your own, you decide. You had an appointment in three hours, so if you could make it that long, you’d be okay.

But...maybe you’d leave a little earlier than usual. Getting out of the house would probably be good for you, so maybe you’d stop to get a coffee before your session...

Your heart warms at the thought of a warm drink and a snack, so you roll out of bed and start going about your day. No more moping around, you tell yourself. You were going to hold your head high, and hope your mood gets the memo.

----

It’s a nice afternoon for a walk. Not too hot, not too cold, sunny with white fluffy clouds dotted around, and a light breeze. You sip at the drink in your hand, letting the sweet taste soothe you from the inside out. You weren’t entirely sure whereabouts you were, having been wandering the city aimlessly for the past half hour.

Oddly enough, it didn’t bother you. Most often, you liked to know your exact location, to know which way you could run if you needed to. But today, despite your earlier panic, you feel...good. Light. You can’t describe the sudden onslaught of positivity, but you know it’s there. Maybe because Shouta and Hizashi are just a phonecall away, maybe it’s because you’re taking the time to care for yourself, maybe it’s-

You nearly jump out of your skin when a car alarm starts blaring beside you. Anyone around you would probably chuckle at your actions, and you take a second to smile at yourself.

A shop owner must have seen your distress, because he nods apologetically at you as he rushes out of his store to turn the alarm off. He looks tired and spread thin, not unlike your own reflection, and you pause momentarily to watch him walk back into the shop.

You glance over the flyers pasted to the windows, and an odd tremor crawls up your spine.

You try for a moment to chalk it up to your regular anxiety returning, flaring up from your spook a few moments ago...but something in the back of your mind tells you otherwise, some intricately honed survival sense that you’d obtained from years of being under threat.

You look a little closer at the papers in the window.

Most of them are outdated; old advertisements for food deals and community events, images of a couple lost pets. But there’s one sheet at the very center of the mess that catches your eye.

The paper is so pink it’s nearly blinding in the sunlight, but you’re still able to read the details. A charity event at the shop where it’s posted, one day only, when proceeds from every order will be donated to local food banks.

Usually something like that would have you scribbling the date down to participate...but this one freezes your heart to ice and sends another peculiar tremble through your body.

It’s dated for next week. The very day Akuma is meant to attack.

You skitter back a few steps and look up at the store’s sign, fear beginning to roil around in your gut.

Chicken shop. Cartoon chicken mascot.

This is wrong, you think. She’s not meant to attack until next week.

You hurry along from the shop, nearly running as you try to get out of the immediate area. You cut and dive around various slower-paced people, paying them no mind as they scold you for your rudeness.

But no matter how quickly you run, you can’t shake the feeling of impending danger.

You duck into a small nook beside a larger building, a building you’re fairly certain is the radio station from Oracle’s vision, and pull out your phone.

You feel so stupid, while the phone rings and you wait for Shouta to pick up. Oracle has said they couldn’t confirm the date for sure, but you’d pitted everything on them being right. They’d even warned you to be careful about where you go, until the event happened, but you hadn’t listened.

“Shit,” your curse, when you get put through to your boyfriend’s voicemail, bouncing back and forth from one foot to the other.

“Shouta, listen to me,” you tell the recording, “We got the date wrong. I was stupid. I wasn’t careful enough, and I’m downtown. I don’t think this is my mind playing tricks on me, not this time. It feels different. I think Akuma-”

Your breath freezes in your lungs when something cold and pliable wraps around your throat, and a warm body presses against your back. You try to squirm away, but more icy tar wraps around your extremities, holding you in place.

“Hello, little mouse,” Akuma coos, sickly sweet in your ear, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Your phone falls out of your hand, landing on the sidewalk with a wet splat. It feels disgusting as Akuma’s tendrils wire and snake around your body, soaking through your clothes and into your skin. Your vision is already beginning to fade, and your breath is laboured as the air is choked out of your lungs.

“Your little partner resisted his death, but I have a feeling you won’t make the same mistake.”

The final thought you have is one of Shouta and Hizashi, holding you close with warmth and affection.

Then the world goes black.

[muffindaddystyles]

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

Where Harry's five years old bubba gets lost in a park while playing hide and seek. You help her to find her daddy.

Warning: Emotional and whole lot of fluff <3

Pastel tutu frock, a lil bucket hat and shoes that makes 'puch.' 'puch.' noises when she waddles with her adorable toddler gait chasing her father.

It's still early in the morning less people more relieved Harry that he could spent some affectionate time with his lovin' little girl of four out in the park, as a single father he dresses her with more fashion indulgment than any mother could.

Cheeky smug He's. Kinda proud of it.

They were playing hide and seek a bit far from their picnic basket ontop of checkered blanket along her toys. She came all the way from their home to car and car to park sitting on her daddy's shoulders.

"Dawwy! That's cheatin'." She stomped her dainty feet into sodden lush grass underneath and Harry grinned booping her button nose just like his's, "cheeky bugger." He watched her in amusement when she caught his slender finger with her chubby ones, pouting cutely at him.

"Kay. lovie' we're gonna play, again." He assured her raising his palms in air taking two steps back at once, "this time no cheatin', promise." She bobbed her head enthusiasticly running to hide behind the nearest largest oak tree as her daddy told her not to go too far from him ever.

Harry was rounding her from other side when too impatient she went to found Harry on other side, "daw'wy!?" Her flight of run like a dove in sky was startled when she found her tall, curly head daddy nowhere in sight.

She toddled further away even though Harry has instructed her never to leave a certain place no matter what, her daddy would find her at the same spot if something happens.

"Bubba? love bug'?" He frowned as his daughter who just hid behind the same bark vanished. Not getting anxious he strided back to their spot but she wasn't there.

She has come so far away in search of her daddy at first she told herself that "she's daddy's big girl." . "she would get back to him and he'd give her alot of kisses." But then she got scared seeing alot of people here and there. Her ending point of bravery was when some little pal hit her with soft ball.

The pool of tears bursted like rainfall from her soft warm eyes, staining her coral chunky cheeks and she rubbed her glossy eyelids with the back of her hand with series of hiccups making her vision more blurry.

You were sitting under a shade reading a copy of Little Women. Eyes flickering when you poked your tongue out to collect some moist on your finger to turn the paper, right then your eyes fell over the cutest fuzz of a lil girlie crying with painful fat tears waddling her way lost towards the pond and with a loud gasp you left everything running towards her before she was too close to it.

"Hey. hey kiddo." You reached at the mean time quickly scooping her up in your arms and she sobbed out loudly, "dawwy!" You stroked her hair as she snoggled her snotty nose and moist face in the crook of your neck.

"Honey are you lost?" You tried to calm her down by rubbing soothing circles at her back and she nodded with incoherent blabbering.

"Lemme me help you, yeah? Do you know your parent's names." You asked her politely taking her back to where you were sitting under the large tree and she pulled her face out murmuring a tiny, "yesh." You beamed at her giving her a thumbs up.

"You're doing so good, darlin'." You tucked her loose curls under her ear and she tells you her father's name, "Hawwy. S'tyles." She doesn't have her way with 's and t's.' sounds so it was 'yles.' coming from her mouth and you had to comprehend it yourself.

"Honey you know his number?" She counts on her fingers as Harry made her learn his phone number in case of any emergency like this but she's so anxious she forgot, silent tears again spilling out from her struggle. "Sh. sh. lovie'. S'okay, you're okay. you're safe with me." You cooes at her softly wiping her tears and kissing her cheeks gently rocking her on your knees.

"B-but. dawwy!" She hiccups badly and you made her sip water, feeling pitiful for the poor bub.

"Bubs we're gonna find your daddy, yeah? you and me together are a whole power puff team!" You again rock her cheerfully standing up with her on your hip. Taking the challenge on yourself to find her daddy in no less time.

On the other hand Harry was loosing his mind. He pulled at his hair anxiously, worry drowning him into deep. Scared for his bubba. She's so little im this huge park. Harry never lets her dodge from under his wings and now he's on verge of getting a panic attack. He should have never came to park. He went from one person to another showing his petal's picture to them hands trembling as he did so.

"Sh-she's fou'. Little pink hat, tutu frock. Chocolate c-curls in specific." He gesticulated voice wavering and with everyone denying he went absolute crazy.

Tears glistening in his eyes and he's feeling as if he'd stop breathing. Putting his hand over where his heart is he took long strides of the whole park which's too big and in the end he fell on his knees with a thud onto grass when he couldn't find his only life, the piece of his heart nowhere. Sobbing loudly that made him bent outwards.

They live near by so he quickly dialed gemma. When she heard him sobbing onto speaker she abruptly stood up scaring Anne too, "Harry what happened?" She asked worriedly.

"Harry talk to me." She tried in a calming voice and he stuttered even causing Gemma to lost her breath, "d-dovie. lost her gem. fuckin' lost her. Couldn't find her." She was quick to act not telling Anne and assuring her she would in their car ride.

Harry was falling into his mum's embrace when they rushed to security department where Harry's at as the cops assured him that they'll find his daughter safe and unharmed.

He whimpered soaking her shirt. Whole body shaking, "can't lost her mum, she's the only one I've." She tried to calm him getting rid of her own tears.

"S'been two hours I've been searching her like a mad man. I'll fuckin' die if somethin' happens to her." At this Anne scolded him as gemma hugged him reassuring him. "It's m'fault. All m'fault." His tears and emotions were all where and he blamed himself.

"Shit father. never gonna forgive myself." Anne sighed shakily stroking his head. She has never seen her son crippling to this edge.

"She's fine. We'll find her."

Your back sweaty as the sun shines on you mercilessly while you hurriedly walked with Dove on your hip, her head on your shoulder resting sadly while you fanned her continuously with the paper fan and you breathed hunching a little seeing that some security department's few steps away from you. But, it's the one opposite from where Harry and his family are.

You immediately went to first table not waiting for your breaths to get back to normal, "hi. This's Dove Styles. Four. Lost." You informed them and they made you sit at the bench.

She was getting all tired and limpy from the crying. So you took her in your lap tucking her head under your armpit, "daddy's soon gonna come okay dove darlin'? Then he's gonna collect you fuzz baby in his arms." You took out a box of juice from your backpack tapping the straw against her rosy lips and you took in her features thinking how beautiful her daddy must be to her be this cute.

Even though her daddy has sternly taught her never to accept things from strangers but the poor babe's so exhausted she did.

Some cop came cop telling you they've found her daddy that he's at the other security building but you shook your head stubbornly squeezing her near to your chest. Because well you don't trust anybody not even the cops, most importantly not when it's a child.

"Tell her daddy to come take his child from here." The cop grunts at you. "Annoying lady." but you ignored him checking on dove cleaning her hands that were sticky from her drinking juice like how toddlers do.

You were hot on your feet when three panicked figures came rushing inside Dove on your hip and you asked her, "is that your da—" but you were cut off from her yearning cry.

"Dawwy!" It was like sky and ground meeting as Dove latched into Harry's arms, he was too ripped to shreds and with a loud whimper he feel stingingly onto tiled floor firm grip around his dovie's neck, forearm wrapped around her little body protectively. He clutched onto her for dear life, sponging endless kisses to her visible skin.

"Thought I lost ye' bubba...really thought–" He said in between wet kisses his tears smudging her cheeks and the duo's reunion infront of you made you sentimental too. "Never scare daddy like this dove. m'heart stopped." She muttered a 'sowwy.' At his anxious rambling.

"Forgive me, dovie. Daddy's bad." She shook her head. The four year old's too soft from heart to know what emotions are scowling at her daddy with her chubby palms pushing into his cheeks, "no dada." You smiled at her when she glanced back at you.

"Y/n helped mew. She say we were power puff girls." You chuckled that she still remembers ruffling her hair, "see? Told ya daddy was gonna find you." Harry rubs his nose wiping his tears standing up.

"Thank you so much, can't thank you enough." You found his voice so mellow even after hoarseness, "s'okay. She's safe that all matters." Anne and gem nodded while talking to Dove in baby voices telling her how worried they all got.

You were walking outside while talking to Harry, "and thank ye' fo' not trusting anybody you know...and no' lettin' her go." You assured him shaking his hand.

"No problem." You leaned down a little kissing her cheek, "and dove honey never go near to ponds, yeah?" She said a lil 'okie." wrapping herself tight around her father.

"Oh my god, dovie?" He asked her horrid at what could happen taking her chin but you quickly rambled not wanting to make him feel more panicked and anxious.

"She was crying and in haze that's why, she's okay now Mr. Styles."

"I owe you y/n. And please just call me, Harry." You nodded sheepishly now. Muttering a what the hell you fool at yourself and gemma quipped.

"Yes. Please have lunch with us?"

"Pwease?" You laughed out aloud at dove's innocent pleading deciding to let your English class go and bobbing your head at which Harry grinned, "perfect."

.

[imnotwolverine]

The Accidental Family - Chapter 7

Henry Cavill x OFC - multi-chapter

< Chap 6 | Chap 7 The Accidental Family 

Disclaimer: fluff and mild bit of angst

Word count: 1.790

Author’s note: Okay, this was so much fun! And, I know it’s a little early, but let me hereby send you my well wishes for the new year. May the new year be accident-free, healthy, happy..and hopefully involving some much missed hugs with friends and family!  ❤️

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

How much can change in three months? Apparently everything. Just three months ago Henry had been the lead actor in a successful tv hit-series, father to a brood of children at home whom he barely ever saw in between shoots. Then, one unfortunate accident on his motorcycle later, he forgot about the life he had led the past 5 years, the scars beneath his hairline reminding him that it wasn’t a dream; this was real. One day he was a single man, the next he was a husband and dad.

And now here he lay, in bed, four kids sprawled atop him, a slight sheen of sweat covering his hairy chest as he woke from a restless dream, his limbs all tangled with his children who were still fast asleep. 

It was the end of summer and they sure felt like tiny little furnaces, their hands and feet poking awkwardly in his ribs and thighs. 

Not that he’d ever complain. 

They had been the most happy little outcome of one not so happy accident; where he had dreamed and wished and hoped for a family five years ago, here it was. All feet, clingy, sweaty hands, and drooling, snotty noses that prevented him from moving, even if he wanted to.

Trying his best to reach out his right arm, he blindly searched for the soft skin of the other adult in this bed; another happy outcome of the accident. A wife, her fingers entangling with his as she slowly sat up a little, Piper, one of the twins clinging to her neck like a little koala bear.

‘Hey,’ She murmured, squeezing his hand.

Henry grumbled something indiscernible, Phoebe’s chuckle warm in Henry’s heart as she slowly shook her head, falling back into her pillow. All the while, Piper could not give a damn about her mother waking up; she remained completely knocked out, arms hooked around her mom’s neck as she dreamed about becoming an elephant trainer..or perhaps an equestrian - the strong headed little girl hadn’t quite decided yet. 

‘We need a bigger bed.’ Henry yawned, trying his best to stretch out his legs, only to be welcomed with groaning children and even meaner hands fisting into his chest hair. ‘Ooooph. Okay. Max. Maxxy-max. Wakey-wakey.’ Henry tried.

‘No.’ The youngster said, smiling with shut eyes as he kept his hand firmly fisted into his father’s chest hair.

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘Well, what I say goes. And it’s a yes from me.’

Max finally opened his blue eyes, his lips jutting out in disagreement. ‘But you told us we could be in bed ALLLLL day.’

‘I said all morning. Since you all slept the whole night through, the lot of you. But now it’s time for some food. And Kal needs a walk - as do you.’

‘But he’s a big dog,’ Max whined, splaying out his limbs, hitting little Cole smack-bang in the face.

‘WAAAAAAAAA.’ The young one cried, but Max didn’t care, continuing undisturbed:

‘..and big dogs can take care of themselves.’

‘Ah, so you did listen yesterday. Haha. Now..Is this you telling me you’re going to make us breakfast? Are you a big boy?’

‘No!’

Henry snickered as the young boy shot an annoyed look at Cole who was crying his eyes out. Cole seemed to have an endless supply of tears - and every single little thing could get the toddler to show just how good he had gotten at crying. 

‘Pfft dadddyyyy.’ Max sighed.

‘Yes?’ Henry smirked as the boy let go off his chest hair. 

‘Only if its pancakes.’

The other children also blinked open their eyes; ‘PANCAKES?!!!’ 

--

Yawning with mild exhaustion, Phoebe shuffled into the kitchen, being welcomed by the smell of pancakes, freshly ground coffee and something sticky that was now dragging behind her slipper.

‘Shit,’ She mumbled, looking down at the sticky wrapper that had stuck to her slipper, smearing something honey-gold over the kitchen floor. ‘dammit.’

Looking up, she wanted to ask Henry for a wet cloth to clean up, only to notice that he had totally zoned out, slightly melancholic eyes staring out at the kitchen island as he leaned into the kitchen counter.

‘Babe?’

Henry looked up, blinking away his thoughts.

‘You okay?’ Phoebe kicked off her soiled slipper, walking with one bare, one slippered foot towards him, the children all somehow keeping it relatively quiet at the kitchen table as they snacked on their favourite breakfast.

‘Yea..’ Henry’s melancholic eyes wrinkled as he forced a gentle smile, hiding what was going on being those crystal blues.

For a moment Phoebe felt her heart sink at the sight of this. She knew there could be relapses. That it was still very likely that Henry would become overwhelmed, forget again or decide this life was not for him.

With a hesitant hand she touched his arm, his eyes looking down at where her fingers traced his skin, burning him with the gentlest of touches.  

‘I could have died that day.’ He said softly, looking at the long trail of honeyed residue that had smeared out over the kitchen floor. He sighed. ‘I could have never woken up. Left you alone in this mess.’

‘Hey..where’s all this coming from?’ Phoebe quickly looked at the kids sweetly munching on their pancakes, their faces messy with powdered sugar, before hinting they’d best have this conversation in the hallway.

‘No, no. It’s…’ Henry sighed and opened his arms for her to melt into, her body eagerly doing just that; she could never get enough of his hugs, especially now she had to savour every moment she got with him - the gnawing fear of him leaving her was present everyday, especially now the kids were back home. It wasn’t easy to fall into a life of taking care of four very demanding kids. Let alone suddenly having a wife.

Even if he might have always wished for it, it could still be too much. Would he tell her if it was too much? 

‘Feebs..don’t worry. I just, I mean. I was thinking, this morning, in bed, with the kids in our bed, I...’ He sighed and let his hand trail over her cheek, brushing a rough thumb over her smooth skin, some blond hair catching between his fingers. He looked at the gold in his hand, twirling it a little through his fingers as he felt his wife’s arms tangle around his back, pulling herself even closer to his chest.

Perhaps it was better that he lost the Witcher gig. Had to look for a different career. Perhaps he could be..home more. Could..

His eye caught the movement of one determined four year old climbing off his year, mug of juice precariously held in chubby little fingers. Anddd…

‘Sam!’ Henry called out for him, but it was too late, blue eyes looking up from his little task of walking over to his mom and dad, to miss the slipper that his mom had discarded in the sticky residue, his little mouth making a comical little “o” as he tipped forward, plastic mug falling from his fingers and…

Henry snorted out laughing as the juice flew all the way up to Phoebe’s legs, her lips letting out a little squeak as she quickly looked around.

In moments the calm kitchen was chaos again, the other kids wanting to leave the table, Sam crying out loud for thinking he had done a bad thing, Phoebe trying to clean up the mess and Henry squatting down to console the crying wee one.

‘Hey hey hey - it was only an accident. I’m here...daddy’s here.’ He wrapped his large paws around Sam’s little shoulders, pulling him in for a hug that was eagerly accepted.

Sam snottily nodded into Henry’s shirt; it was like laundry day never ended with four kids ruining every piece of clothing one could own. But, in that moment Henry didn’t care, his arm lifting up Sam before he looked back at Phoebe, who was now rinsing out the juice-soaked cloth, her midnight blues looking back at him with curiosity.

‘And in case you wondered; I’m not going anywhere mama-bear.’ He stepped in and waited for Phoebe to dry her hands before he could lean in for a kiss. 

Phoebe hung the drying towel back on it’s hook, mischievous eyes looking back at him.

‘You better not. Memory or not..you did kind of knock me up with four kids.’

‘Mommy..what’s knocking up?’ Sam blinked up at Phoebe, who now used both hands to grab Henry’s jaw and pull him in for a kiss. Henry half chuckled into the kiss, his face leaning back again so he could look down at Sam, Sam’s mouth and nose a mess after something that must have been close to inhaling the marmalade he had smeared onto his pancake.

‘Matter of fact..I think I can’t remember, either.’ Henry’s face kept a playfully unabashed facade and Phoebe couldn’t help but gasp. 

‘OH! No you…’

‘Maybe mommy could refresh my memory when we have some alone time again? Hmm?’ Henry cheeks turned up in a most mischievous smile.

‘And accidentally get me knocked up..again? Hmm? You want that?’ Phoebe laughed as Henry shrugged indifferently, not minding the idea one bit - what else was he to do with all this free time? Leaning forward she kissed him again, Sam squealing now he felt it was just a bit TOO much mommy-and-daddy-PDA for the moment.

‘Who said THAT was an accident?’ He grinned, before swiftly adding: ‘Later?’ Henry winked, carefully putting Sam back down on the clean floor. Clean for now.

Phoebe laughed and pulled him back in for another delightful mommy-daddy snog, shirts covered in kiddy drool, marmalade and what not.

‘Mmm..Sounds like a plan. I’ll make sure to ..refresh your mind.’

--

Henry tugged down his shirt to be somewhat presentable after having spent most of his Sunday stretched out on the couch, reading. He wasn’t sure who’d be at the door, but he had a hunch it were the neighbours who wanted to apologise for the slightly too loud birthday party they had yesterday. 

Honestly, he hadn’t minded it one bit; he enjoyed a little bit of life in his ever quiet house. 

Turning the lock, he swung open the door, expecting the apologetic face of Rita or James..but it wasn’t either of them. Instead he was greeted by a very different apologetic face, golden locks making his heart do a confused little flip in his chest. 

Biting her lip, the blondine - Bee, was it? - shyly shuffled on her feet. 

‘Hi.’ 

Henry quickly straightened up, scolding himself for looking so terribly disheveled in his sweatpants and wrinkly white t-shirt. 

‘H-hi..Bee.’ 

‘Remember me?’ She smiled - she didn’t wear any make-up and he liked it.  

‘Of course. Ha..Eh..’ Henry felt a slight blush creep up his cheeks. ‘Want to come in?’ 

Bee smiled. ‘I hope I don’t interrupt any..-.’

‘Oh no. Please..’ He stepped away to let her inside and blabbed on: ‘I was rather bored actually. Home alone..the usual. It’s nice to see you, I thought -’

Bee halted before him, raising her eyebrows as she waited for him to quiet, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of pink. And Bee? She laughed. Of all the scenarios that had played out in her head, this one was the sweetest, funniest, bestest thing that could have happened. For a moment she didn’t scold herself for getting much too drunk three months ago. For a moment she thought that perhaps this one tiny accident in one bathroom stall at an after party, was the start of something good. 

‘Tea? Wine? Eh...’ 

‘Oh! No wine...no..wine.’ Bee quickly followed Henry out into what she learned to be the kitchen. And what followed next was the most life changing cup of tea she ever had. 

--

The End

(For now. I maybe kind of enjoyed writing about these two and their kids a bit TOO much 👀😸Would you like to read more, dear readers?)

--

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama

@tryingtoliveonmywishes @ceilingfann @do-youseeme

[amphtaminedreams]

Sitting Front Row at...(On a Budget Obvs): Lookbook no.15

Hey to anyone reading!

And welcome to my fave lookbook I’ve done in a longggg ass time! Yes, that’s partially because it involved making collages and doing the low effort work of scouring Vogue Runway for “research purposes”, but I promise, that statement wasn’t made out of COMPLETE laziness-I am super happy with it too. It’s been a good use of pre-part-lockdown-lift time in the interim between that brief period of Christmas celebrations and eateries finally fucking opening again because let’s be honest, I always knew I was gonna get distracted by oat milk vanilla lattes and veggie all day breakfasts once I could actually sit down with them at my fave local cafe. You could say I was very much operating on a self-imposed deadline.

The “what I would wear to sit front row at...[insert designer here]” TikTok/Instagram reel trend was something I wanted to get on board with ever since I first saw one and whilst the option of doing my own live action take-I really cannot bear the thought of having to edit footage of myself awkwardly attempting to sit nonchalantly in front of a camera for hours on end-was off the cards considering my complete lack of screen presence, I decided a Tumblr text post would work just as well, and if not even better in a way. Given the absence of the time limitations you face when you’re making a reel or a TikTok I thought it’d be cool to present the looks as part of a mini moodboard for each designer which adds a bit of context to each look even if you aren’t familiar with their past collections and establishes the general vibe of the brand I’m attempting to replicate. Not to sound snotty or as if I am the font of all knowledge on anything high fashion related but even with my amateur knowledge I noticed that as the video trend took off and was adopted by big name influencers, it became less about the average person putting their own personal spin on the aesthetic of the labels we can’t ordinarily afford and more about them building outfits that only vaguely resemble the general public perception of the brand around the real corresponding (and often gifted and thus inaccessible to someone who doesn’t makes thousands for a sponsored post) pieces they own SO I thought I’d take the trend back to its roots and get a bit resourceful. All that being said, in no particular order, here are the outfits I would wear to sit front row at Gucci, Vera Wang, Miu-Miu, Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Brock Collection, Alexander McQueen, Etro, Burberry aaaand Saint Laurent based on their past collections and guess what? They didn’t cost a shit tonne of money :-)

-disclaimer: will include an asterisk before any new purchases if from a high street store though to be honest, I don’t think there are any, we shall see! I do include where I got old purchases from in case anyone wants to search anything on Depop/Ebay-

1. Saint Laurent (formerly Yves Saint Laurent)

-blazer from identityparty on Depop, pleather trousers from Zara, jewellery from Dolls Kill-

I know technically abbreviating Saint Laurent to YSL doesn’t really make much sense anymore given the brand’s name change in 2012, but I’ll always think of it as that in the same way I’ll always associate it with the slightly dishevelled yet simultaneously glitzy rock n’ roll aesthetic. The thing is, whilst YSL hasn’t done anything wildly out of the box for a long time, it’s rare they put a look on the runway that I wouldn’t wear; they never end up being a fashion week standout but the Parisienne take on grunge we’ve seen Anthony Vaccarello establish as his go-to will always have a place in my heart. 

2. Alexander McQueen

-embroidered leather jacket from Ebay (originally Topshop), harness from Amazon, dress from ASOS, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

Alexander McQueen is a brand that is pretty much universally liked, from the historically extravagant and groundbreaking shows the man himself put together to Sarah Burton’s more toned down but still beautiful collections. Obviously I didn’t attempt to do justice to the former, so I tried my hand at putting together a look inspired by Sarah’s blend of delicate femininity and nomadic edge, and it went...okay? Like it’s definitely not my favourite of all the looks because it does give off slightly cheap copycat vibes buuut outside of the context of this lookbook it’s cute.

3. Brock Collection

-boater hat from Ebay, midi skirt from morganogle on Depop, corset top from ownmode_, heels from amybeckett1, bag from Primark-

Brock isn’t as well known a brand as most of the others in this list but I adore everything Laura Vassar Brock does and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try and channel the vision of one of the OG pioneers of the cottagecore vibe through my own wardrobe. I mean fr, this woman’s work as a steady provider of meadow photoshoot worthy dresses and corsets and skirts is v slept on and I will not stand for it. I will sit in front of a camera and then write a paragraph in my blog post begging anybody who reads to give LVB (an abbreviation I acknowledge is unlikely to catch on because Lisa Vanderpump anybody?) some form of acknowledgement for her services to period romance novel inspired moodboards everywhere.

4. Marc Jacobs

-coat from House of Sunny, white shirt from Retro World Camden, co-ord from Sugar Thrillz, bag from Poppy Lissiman-

If there’s one thing Marc Jacobs always does, it’s COMMITS. TO. HIS. THEME. I just KNOW he has a secret Pinterest with separate boards for every fashion era of the 20th century and he is putting those boards to good use providing us with collections that are as immersive as they are eclectic year in year out. 

5. Miu Miu

-beret from H&M, hair clips from H&M, jewellery from Primark, coat from mollyyemmaa on Depop, shirt from YesStyle, sweater vest from YesStyle, skirt from Depop, diamanté belt from Brandy Melville, shoes from Koi Vegan Footwear-

We all like to talk about Bratz dolls and Monster High dolls and Barbies as fashion inspo but can we all focus on Cabbage Patch dolls for two secs so as to acknowledge the fact that a Miu Miu collection is basically all their fits grown up? And made boujie as fuck? If I want my fix of Wes Anderson meets Scream Queens (what a combo) inspired outfits, if I want prissy and girlish but also glam, if I want to look like a bratty rich girl whose one redeeming quality is her eye for vintage clothes, I know where to look and that is the Miu Miu section of Vogue Runway. 

6. Vera Wang

-blazer as in no.1, velvet bralet from catdegaris on Depop, harness from Amazon, skirt from Ebay, knee high socks from Ebay, lace up boots from Ebay-

Vera Wang’s RTW aesthetic, a blend of the ethereal, ultra-feminine bridal designs she’s known for and British style punk rock influences, is something I feel has only become firmly established in recent years but it is everything I ever wanted and more. I always find myself trying to balance the part of me that loves everything girly and delicate and pretty and the part of me that would love to be in a biker gang and Vera’s collections are always an inspirational reminder of just how well it can be done.

7. Burberry

-coat from charity shop, suit from emmafisher3 on Depop, top from simranindia, shirt underneath from Zara, jewellery from ASOS-

Now I’m not gonna lie, I’m not the biggest fan of Burberry but there have been a few looks over the past few years I’ve really liked and as someone who owns numerous trench coats, high necks and way too much plaid, I thought it’d be an easy one to replicate. Plus, if you can count on Riccardo Tisci for nothing else you at least can rely on him giving you some layering inspo which is very much needed in a country where it literally just snowed in April and where my plans for today have just been cancelled because the iPhone weather app did a Karen Smith and didn’t predict rain for today right up until it started raining so thanks for that one British meteorologists. Your incompetence strikes again.

8. Etro

-corset from Urban Outfitters, vinyl trench coat from Topshop, boots from Ebay, black slip dress from kaoanaoleinik on Depop, fur trim afghan coat from louisemarcella-

Like with Brock Collection, Etro isn’t a hugely well known brand, but it is always one of my favourites-to add a spanner into the works of any attempts to cultivate a firm sense of personal style, I live for the ornate Bohemian look that Etro does so well just as much as I love both grungy and girly pieces, and so I really wanted to include a brand whose collections go down that route. It was a toss-up between this and Zimmerman, the flirtier, free spirit counterpart to the dark romance of Veronica Etro’s designs; her vision really shines through the most when it comes to the brand’s winter collections, imo, and given that I live in a country where winter or some weather state resembling it does seem to take up 70% of the year, I did decide on channelling her work rather than that of the equally talented Nicky and Simone Zimmermann this time round.

9. Dolce & Gabbana

-flower crown from ASOS, tiara from Amazon, earrings from YesStyle, dress from alicealderdice1 on Depop, opera gloves from Ebay, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

D&G is a brand I felt really conflicted about doing-I don’t include their current collections in my fashion week reviews based on the actions of designers Stefano Gabbana and Domenico Dolce over the last few years because I don’t want to mitigate the collective effort of fashion critics to push them towards irrelevancy. Though people like to claim the brand has turned a corner since Lucio Di Rosa was brought on board as the manager of celebrity and VIP relations last year (they are as prolific a force on red carpet fashion as ever), we haven’t seen any real meaningful apologies or reparations made by Dolce and Gabbana themselves which once again leaves us in the all too familiar quandary of whether or not we can separate the art from the artist especially when it is far too much of a simplification to only credit the two men for their work given there’s a whole design team behind them. There are a LOT of shitty people working in fashion, the whole industry is a bit of a cesspit if we’re honest, but I don’t think that should stop us from at least being able to appreciate old collections if we make sure we aren’t engaging in any kind of promotion of current works whilst doing so. D&G are a brand of high highs and low lows, with looks that range from hideously ugly to showstoppingly beautiful in a single show-when the looks are good, they are GOOD-and their presence in the fashion world is most definitely felt whether we want it to be or not. It would just be shit to refuse to recognise the existence of some real iconic runway moments, the practical work that went into the ornate detail and opulence that helped cement D&Gs place in sartorial history, the styling that’s made goddesses and fairytale queens out of modern day women as they’ve glided down catwalks, the far more extravagant and, let’s be real, sexier version of our world D&G shows have transported us to in the past. Will I talk about D&G ever again? No, and if you Google the scandals their brand has faced over the past few years, there are more than enough reasons why, but just this once I did want to pay homage to some of the collections, the snippets of which I saw on my Tumblr dashboard back when I was about 13, that first got me into fashion.

10. Gucci

-fur coat from Topshop, clips from Zaful, glasses from Ebay, dress from gracewright246 on Depop, shirt from Boohoo, blazer from charity shop-

Now last but, if you ever read any of my fashion week reviews (the likelihood of someone actually having read one of them and reading this is incredibly, incredibly slim lol, I wouldn’t read me either) you’ll know, definitely not least, is Gucci because Alessandro Michele comes through every!! single!! time!!

The man is truly the king of quirky throwback maximalism and it hurts my heart that a lot of people seem to think of it only as a brand associated with ostentatious displays of wealth. Year after year since Michele was made creative director he has released purposeful, fully-fleshed out collections which unravel themselves to us on the runway like time capsules containing the belongings of the rich and whimsical and yes that can sometimes result in outfits which are *ahem* a bit mismatched but it doesn’t matter because through fashion he manages to take us to a vivid version of the past where people could dress as freely and lavishly as they wanted to, into the wardrobe of a person unaffected by the side-eyeing of others. You get the impression he doesn’t design so much as plays around with some kind of enchanted dress up box and takes inspiration from there and to give that impression is only a credit to his talent-to make outfits so kooky and extravagant look like they were meant to be takes a boldness and genuine love for clothes that I do tend to feel a lot of the big name designers have lost in the pursuit of profit and the necessary placating of the dying customer base that keeps that coming in. Of course I'm not for a second saying Gucci does not care about profit, but at the very least, they have on board a creative director who genuinely has fun with what they’re putting out there and wants to make a statement too and that really shows; you can rest on your laurels and sell tweed boucle jackets to rich old white women for eternity but nobody’s going to mention your brand name and the word groundbreaking in the same sentence ever again unless they’re talking about what it was a century ago, you know (mentioning no names...unless...did I hear someone say Chanel)? That feels like such a shady way to end, lol, but I’m sure said brand will survive-to be fair, they’ve been included in every other What I’d Wear to Sit Front Row At video I’ve seen so although I’m always slagging them off for doing the saaaaame thinggggg year after year, for that same reason their aesthetic is instantly recognisable and so will always be a source of imitation. There are obviously pros and cons to being a brand which constantly reinvents itself but I think it’s totally possible to do that whilst maintaining an overall mission, and Alessandro Michele’s work at Gucci demonstrates that with ease.

Anyway, if you got to here, thanks for reading! I know I’m super behind on this whole TikTok trend and I know a Tumblr post instead of a video is a bit of a cop out but all the real, physically awkward ones out there know that watching yourself back is excruciating lmao, so I hope this does the trick. After this, I’m gonna get back to the reviewing S/S21 collections post though knowing me I’ll probs take a few days to get back into that because I feel like since I left full-time education (RIP me going back in a few months) writing continuously like this for any longer than about 15 mins fries what brain cells I have left. Again, thank you for reading and if you are, sending many good vibes your way! Stay safe!

Lauren x

[nautilusopus]

do you have any favorite books?

Coraline by Neil Gaiman is the obvious answer lol. Still my favourite book to this day, obviously hugely influential in my own bullshit. Seriously check it out if you can find a copy, it’s pretty short and absolutely worth your time.

The Devil’s Storybook by Natalie Babbitt and its sequel (The Devil’s Other Storybook) are more of an anthology of short stories starring the Devil, who occupies every role from vague background presence to put-upon protagonist that are funny and thought-provoking and genuinely clever and that pissed enough people off that it was a banned book for a while. “The Imp in the Basket” is the kind of short story I wish more people knew about and wanted to sincerely discuss what actually happened at the end.

ugh i haven’t read a book i actually enjoyed in over ten years at this point uhhhhhh

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I think potentially the only classic I had to read in school that I genuinely liked and actually finished in one sitting on my own time. And I think the first time any themes a book had for me actually clicked and I was able to do any kind of meta analysis of it completely unprompted. Baby’s first literary comprehension. Slaughterhouse-Five is a semi-autobiographical piece set during the bombing of Dresden in WWII, and also some period in the “future” (the 80s lol), and ALSO on an alien planet as the protagonist is abducted and taken to a human zoo. The story is told achronologically, and I feel is hugely influential to my own shit where it skips around, building a narrative almost entirely by juxtaposing specific moments in time against one another. It's surreal and thought-provoking, and if you only ever make yourself read one classic, it should be this one. *

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C. O'Brien. Bear in mind this thing has fuck-all to do with the movie, and while in retrospect I now am able to enjoy the Don Bluth movie as its own thing, I remember being fucking furious when they busted out a goddamn magical amulet. It’s a different kind of story, but is more magic realism than outright fantasy, and the titular rats get a lot more backstory, as does the late Mr. Frisby iirc.

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo. God that book fucked me up. It is about a snotty porcelain toy rabbit that gets dropped overboard a ship into the ocean one day, and the various owners he has over the years as he changes hands, and the impacts they have on him, and it makes me fucking cry every time and is to date the only book to ever do so so fairly warned be ye. Fucking shit I wish I could dish out gut-punches half as good as that book could.

The His Dark Materials trilogy by Phillip Pullman, which in and of itself is an angry rebuttal against everything the Chronicles of Narnia has to say, as well as Christianity in general. You’ve probably seen shit floating around about the HBO series, which I have not watched. Lyra is a horrible gremlin child running wild around a parallel universe Oxford until she accidentally stumbles onto a conspiracy that goes all the way to the Church which unofficially runs the government and eventually starts an interdimensional war against God. The first two books I think are better than the last one, which really drags in spots (and in a twist of irony had Lyra’s sexual awakening censored from the North American release which like... come on man). Absolutely worth checking out though, especially if you’re an angry pedant like I am.

Tales from the House of Bunnicula, by James Howe. Honestly the entire "Bunnicula Expanded Universe"(???) is great, but in particular I'm mentioning this sub-series because I think it actually kind of taught me to write. The framing device used is that they're being written by Howe's pet dog and sent in to him to publish by proxy. On top of having just a lot of good storytelling tips for beginners (how to create a plot! how to create character motivations! how to write female characters like actual people!), they're also fun little satire pieces of various kinds of genre fiction. Like, the third book is a riff on Harry Potter and making fun of all of JKR's worst writing tendencies, like her compulsion to phonetically write out everyone's fucking accent.

these days i'm just too picky to enjoy books anymore idfk. you have no idea how fucking disheartening it was growing up with actual taste (snooty snooty snoot) and watching everyone go nuts over stuff like divergent and eragon and maximum ride and fuckmothering twilight and shit. like, yeah misogyny absolutely played into why people shat on it because teenage girls aren't allowed to like anything, but lest we forget they were still shitty books guys. that never stopped being true or anything. and you were a social pariah if you didn't like them and that sucked. and then a couple ostensibly good series, like harry potter and artemis fowl and hunger games just dropped the fucking ball for one reason or another as they went on and never picked it back up. i think the mid 2000s almost singlehandedly just killed any real enthusiasm i had for reading altogether (this is not even getting into the fact a lot of really fucking bad "grown-up" novels came out around that period too. whole era was a baaaad time for books). so here i am writing, i guess, because i've decided you fuckers can't be trusted to make anything good yourselves. if you want something done right...

(*I like to think if Cloud wrote a book he’d write something like Slaughterhouse-Five. I think at one point I was even working on a fic along those lines -- a fictional story vaguely based off the burning of Nibelheim and the fall of Shinra that was written, in-universe, by Cloud several years later. Abandoned it just because of how fucking complicated it would be to do. Might come back to it one day.)

[fearfulkittenwrites]

Gala and “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

Word count: 2244

Link for it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180371

Notes: Hey! This was beta'd by @3ambird​ , who is an amazing sweetheart and improves evertything they touch. Thank you for the help!

Galas were never fun. Bruce had hated them as a kid, and hated them as teen, and he hates them as an adult. Still, he has to maintain appearances, so he always attends. And as his family grew, his kids were forced to attend as well.

Dick Grayson was particularly good at socializing. After he moved past his teenage rage, of course. He used to get in passive aggressive arguments with the rich CEOs and company owners all the time. He still does, but at least now he was good at it to the point where it almost couldn’t be recognized as an argument, instead of jumping on the necks of greedy millionaires that bought land out of poor people.

That was an interesting headline.

Jason sucked at galas. Soon enough, he figured out that if he started enough awkward conversations, people wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore. Especially the creepy single older women, pinching his cheeks and squeezing his biceps.

“Say, Claire, what’s your opinion on the alarming rate at which the bees are disappearing? They say that’s because of all the chemicals we put in our food.” He’d smile, carefully holding his glass. Bruce would struggle to hide his gasp, because Jason, that’s the owner of the highest earning pesticides company in the country.

“Well, Roger, I’m certain that the legalization of abortions would be a great thing, considering that now your mistresses won’t have to be sent overseas to terminate the unwanted preganancies you give them, right?” He’d say, and Bruce would nearly have a heart attack, because Jason, that’s the president of Gotham’s conservative party.

“Oh, you see, Sandra, I think that gay marriage should not only be legalized, but encouraged. If straight couples were to cease existing, then no more children would be born, and honestly, no one needs any more of those snotty gremlins running around, ruining perfectly good tapestry.” And Bruce would faint, because Jason, for God’s sake, that is the leader of the Gotham’s Motherhood Association.

Tim wasn’t all that bad. He could be social with a little effort, and he was far more used to galas than any of the other family members, having grown up attending them. Of course, all of that was only valid when he wasn’t sleep deprived, which, considering all he had on his plate, was roughly 32% of the time. When he was running on three hours of sleep and seven cups of caffeine a day, trying to finish a project, run his share of the Wayne Enterprises, and manage school work, he became a bit more irritable and impatient. And extremely impulsive. Which is mainly why Bruce asked Dick to stand by his brother through most of the night.

“We both know you’re his impulse control, Dick.” He said, adjusting his oldest son’s tie “Remember what happened the last time he was left unattended for fifteen minutes?”

“He got into an argument with a young Creationist and dunked his own head in an ice bowl after screaming ‘Fuck God! I can hear colors and dinosaurs rule!’” Dick sighed, “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Cass despised them, but Bruce insisted she should attend anyway. More often than not, she’d just stay at the table, tasting as many appetizers as the waiters would bring her, and shooting murderous looks at anyone who sneered at her. Bruce was relieved that at least she wasn’t cracking any bones.

Damian was... Better than Jason and worse than Dick. He had an unamused expression through most of the event, and would unceremoniously swat away any hands that tried to pinch his cheeks. Other than that, he wasn’t much trouble. The real trouble were galas all Wayne kids attended. The five of them could cause enough trouble when they were apart, together they were the embodiment of chaos.

And this was supposed to be a calm, slightly boring family evening. It really was.

But Bruce just had to bring all five of them.

Everything had to go just right. As they walked in through the red carpet, the media was eating up the image of the six Waynes dressed formally; Each of them had a tie color matching their hero uniform (a cheeky thing they enjoyed doing to play with the theorists minds), Dick had a dark blue one, Tim and Jason slightly varying tones of red, Damian had a green one and Bruce had a black one. Cass wore a long black dress that sparkled when it was hit by the light in just the right way.

The first sign was the reporter, who, while aggressively pointing a microphone in their faces, asked pushy questions about relationships and the like, nothing out of the ordinary, until he shoved it in Cass’ face and asked her if she could even speak. Jason almost broke the man’s nose. Bruce silently thanked God for Dick, who stepped in front of the man before that happened.

“Try some shit like that again pal, you’ll hear from our lawyers.” He led his sister inside, a protective hand on her back.

They calmed down. And Bruce still had hopes that this would be a quiet evening.

Looking back at it, he doesn’t know why.

Because as Dick and Cass were at the bar, ordering drinks, a woman stood next to them, trying to make small talk. Neither of them seemed too interested in her; she is a hassle at every gala, making weird advances on all of the boys. Today, however, she was a little more tipsy, and Bruce couldn’t quite make out what exactly the conversation was about, but Dick was clearly uncomfortable and Cass was fuming. The woman kept grabbing at him, sliding her hands over his tie, squeezing his arms. And then she squeezed his ass, and it took Cass less than a second to break her nose.

If they were any other family, Cass would have been thrown out of the party, but they were the Waynes, and you do not throw a Wayne out of a party. If she punched a middle-aged woman, then she punched a middle-aged woman. Bring her a glass of water and some ice for her injured hand.

Of course, it didn’t end there.

Bruce was still surprised he didn’t have gray hairs yet.

Because Damian had discovered and made friends with a stray cat in the garden, and Jason had a laser pointer, because of course Jason had a laser pointer, and the cat ended up knocking down not one, not two, but three expensive pieces of pottery, shattering them on the gravel floor. And when the house owner saw the damage, he turned pale and had to hold back his tears. Jason laughed.

“-tt-.” Damian stated, adjusting his suit “You owe that cat a favour,those vases ruined the garden’s aesthetic. Regardless, I’m sure father will be more than happy to compensate you for the damages.”

He walked back to the party slowly, passing by the man who would need some time to make it back.

Once Jason broke him the news, Bruce thought (and hoped) that that would be it.

But no, the night was young, and there was so much time left and the batsibilings for sure wouldn’t waste it.

The previous statement about sleep deprived Tim?

Well.

Tonight, he had to pick a fight with an essential-oil-loving, antivax mother. Simply because he liked to torture himself. And because nobody realised he was alone until Bruce spotted him in the crowd, eye twitching as a woman rambled about all the heavy metals and chemicals that vaccines had in them. He thought about getting to him, but he knew it was too late. There was no going back now.

“Well, you see Karen,” He started.

“Uuum, my name’s Patricia.” She interrupted.

“I’m a billionaire’s heir, I don’t give a shit.” He said “Anyways. As I was saying, the thing is, I’d rather take the chance of being injecting myself with mercury than, oh, I don’t know, get meningitis and fucking die?”

The circle went quiet. Another woman, wanting to dissipate the tension, tried to restart the conversation.

“I-I mean, I don’t understand why can’t they make something safer, right? Like, when we used to throw those smallpox parties, why won’t they make something that works like that? So that we can build a natural immunity instead of all of those chemicals.” She laughed awkwardly.

Tim slapped his own face so hard that it attracted a lot of eyes.

“How. Do. You. Think. Vaccines. Work. Susan?”

“M-my name is Mary.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He answered. And just in time, Dick swooped in.

“Hey, Timmy!” He greeted “Can I borrow this guy for a second?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he guided Tim out to the garden.

“Fucking idiots.” He muttered “I don’t know how they have so much money. They’re all fucking idiots, Dick. I’m surrounded by dumbasses.”

“There, there.” He said “Okay, we’re far enough.” He looked around “Go ahead.”

And Tim let out the most horrendous, rage filled scream any of those guests had ever heard. Because of course they heard it. Bruce sighed and shrunk on his chair.

“Better?” Dick asked as he finished, patting his back.

“So much.” Tim answered.

“You should’ve slept a little before this.”

“No way. I’m totally fine.” He answered “I had three cans of monster before we left, so I feel great.” Dick raised an eyebrow, worried.

“Whatever you say, buddy.” He led him back inside, tidying up his brother’s hair “Just... No more picking fights with moms tonight, okay?”

And Bruce thought that was enough. Bruce was certain that this would be the last incident.

But his kids just loved proving him wrong.

He thought that the best strategy would be to ask them to stick together, so that Dick’s responsibility and social skills would keep his feral siblings under control. He should’ve known it would backfire.

The last he checked, they were making small talk with some CEOs on the edge of the room, away from the dance floor. Jason, Cass and Damian seemed completely bored, Tim was clenching his jaw for some reason, and Dick tried his best to look polished and polite.

“So, I heard that Wayne Enterprises have a new project?” One of them asked, chest so projected forwards it looked like it was about to explode.

“Yes. Yes we do.” Dick said, smiling politely “We’re opening up a refugee housing program.”

“Oh, so that’s what those buildings are for?”

“Yes, exactly!” He exclaimed, opening his arms in a seemingly natural manner “We are building apartments to shelter them. It’s nothing fancy, but we can charge a cheaper rent than most, and not charge at all for the first six months, giving them a chance to properly establish themselves here.”

“Well, I must say,” Puffed up chest guy stated, “I can’t see why not to give them to good old Americans instead. There’s a lot of homeless people nowadays, you see.” He leaned forward as he talked.

Damian perked his head up, but didn’t say anything. Cass and Jason seemed to be listening. Tim’s left eye twitched.

“Actually,” Tim started “The company has very stable, successful projects to help the homeless.”

“I’m familiar with those, yes.” He arrogantly dismissed the teen “But, you see, I just can’t understand why not open the housing to tax paying Americans instead of some...”

“Potential terrorists?” Damian suggested, arms crossed, scowl on his face.

“...Foreigners.” He completed.

“Well, since you ask, we are currently planning on the possibility of eventually opening vague apartments to Americans too.” Dick answered, swirling the liquid in his glass around “But the priority now really are the refugees.”

“I don’t see why can’t we prioritize our own people.” He insisted “I’m simply concerned for the well being of our poorest patriots.”

Dick blinked.

And here’s why Bruce should have known it would backfire.

Because, yes, Dick was able to cool them down...

But they were able to fire him up.

And so, like the charismatic man he was, he covered his nose a little, rubbing at the end, and faked a loud sneeze.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” He started “You see, I have this strange condition.” Dick stared at the man in the eye, the guy who had bought an old building people were squatting at, just to demolish it and doom them to the streets with no care or compensation, and, knowing this and so much more, said “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

And his siblings went feral again.

Tim and Jason screamed an ‘Oooooooooh!’, Damian pointed at the man and laughed loudly, and Cass snorted, covering her mouth in surprise.

Dick didn’t break eye contact as he drank the last of his champagne.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” He said “I have to go look for better company.” Dick left the empty glass at the nearest table and adjusted his suit, smiling “Have a nice evening.”

As he walked away, the gang followed close behind, all of them very excited about how Dick, the composed, calm, cool, polite and polished Dick Grayson-Wayne, had just burned a millionaire in front of his economic allies. As the party reached Bruce, the man once again seemed to sink into his chair. Dick sat next to him, radiating confidence and charm.

“Do I wanna know?” The man asked.

“No,” Dick answered, grinning but not looking at the man “No you don’t.”