#missing the brown carpeting from my childhood hours

[horsetailcurlers2]

“you think millennial gray is bad? at least it’s not gen x orange!” i actually find “ugly” gen x trends so nostalgic and comforting. at least things had WARMTH back then and weren’t all white shiplap and slate gray wood and black fixtures. “everything was brown :(“ YES EVERYTHING WAS BROWN AND I LOVE IT. i love u honey oak cabinets. i will never paint over you. i love the way light reflects off the “ugly” orange stained hardwood.

[aphrogeneias]

it's been seven hours and fifteen days —

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (soulmate!au)

summary: you and eddie find each other again at the deuce. your reunion is surprisingly easy, but your past was from it.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: angst, fluff, some soulmate lore, childhood memories, small mentions of sickness and death (eddie's mom). reader is referred to by a nickname (joan).

series masterlist

It started with a book.

At first, you weren’t sure if that’s what it meant, though you were taught to expect it ever since you were able to understand the concept of soulmates, right about the time you were taught how to read and write.

Everyone had one, or at least that's what you were taught as well. As soon as you were able to remember, you'd hear stories about people finding their other half through their lost belongings, objects traveling around the world to the hands of the ones who held their owner's heart. 

Quite a simple concept, really. Everything that is lost by someone is never really lost, only found by their soulmate, and that was how they are supposed to find their way to each other. A trail of crumbs to your final destination, your fated pair.

You didn't understand how it worked until you started school. Then, it would become a reality, and not just the stories your mother would tell as she put you to bed at night and filled your little heart with wonder. Classmates would come in with their soulmates' things in their bag, eager to show them off — toys of all kinds, notebooks written in entirely different alphabets, earrings missing one pair, blankets, teddy bears.

In the year you started middle school, there were around four billion people in the world. You'd figured you would be one of the kids who's soulmate lived on the other side of the world, rather than the ones who found their other half on the next town over, or just a state away. It would be just your luck, of course.

It turned out you didn't have to look that far. He lived in the same neighborhood.

Your mom had a friend called Jane. You remember Jane because you thought she was beautiful, with her kind brown eyes and long flowing skirts. Jane seemed to you like a fairy from your storybooks, shrouded in ethereal mystery. She was always in your mother's kitchen, both of them sitting on your dinner table, and talking for what felt like hours, and she always brought along her son. A boy your age called Edward, or just Eddie, how he always liked to be called.

You barely remember a time where Eddie wasn't in your life. His mother would bring him along and you'd spend your afternoons together, playing and building worlds of your own on the carpet of your childhood bedroom. You were knights and princesses, pirates and mermaids, aliens and astronauts, but most of all you were free to be whoever you wanted to be in those golden-tinted days of your childhoods.

One day, when you were eleven, a book appeared on the floor of your bedroom. You recalled it just like that, because it wasn't there in one moment, and all you had to do was turn your head the other way, and when you looked back to that same spot, there it was.

A 1965 edition of The Fellowship of the Rings, by Ballantine Books. It had a blue cover with red details, and you knew right away it wasn't yours. You didn't own any of the Lord of the Rings trilogy books because you had never read them, and Eddie, already your best friend by then, never let you forget it.

Upon further inspection, you found two notes written on the first page. One was a note written in red ink, addressed to Jane by someone named Al — Eddie's das, that much you knew, and you also knew he wasn't around much — and below that, a more recent note written in blue ink that said:

"To my precious son,

Happy Birthday!

May you always find your way home.

From your mother.

06/11/1976"

At first, you'd thought Eddie had forgotten it on your last playdate, though you didn't remember him carrying a book with him that day. Your answer came a few days later when Jane was visiting, and you overheard her saying to your mother that Eddie was distraught upon finding that he'd lost his favorite book. He had brought it to school with him, and when he went home, it wasn't in his backpack.

It didn't take too long for you to put two and two together.

Scared of everyone's reactions — your mom's, Jane's, Eddie's — you hid it. The book and the truth, hidden in a box under your bed. You didn't know how to react, much less how to disclose this in a way that wouldn't change everything around you. You were a child, after all. Years later, you wondered how different your lives would have been if, instead of eavesdropping on their conversation, you had just told them what had happened. 

Jane Munson died not long after that, and you couldn't stop everything from changing, then. You didn't understand much, just that it was sudden, and fatal, and in the span of less than a year, she was gone. Eddie was distraught, and for weeks after the funeral, he was not the boy you knew and loved. He was a shell of himself, after losing his mother and moving to the trailer park with his uncle, since his father was in jail — something you'd just found out too. It was too much to assimilate, and even at twelve years old, you understood.

He started losing more things in that meantime.

You stared at a blank point that was vaguely at the height of the bottom of your bed as if it hid a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any minute.

Eddie was sitting on the chair of your vanity, going on and on about the new friends he had made at Hawkins Middle School, friends that didn't include you, since you were still at that phase where hanging out with boys, boys that weren't Eddie, gave you nausea. He was starting to feel a little more like himself again, his buzzed hair growing into small curls, his dimples giving a sign of life again as he started to smile more.

Still, though you were relieved, you were nervous. More of Eddie's things were finding their way to you. An action figure, a set of dice, a plastic mug. You did not know how to approach the subject, and it got more and more difficult as time went on. You felt like you were losing your timing, like the opportunity was slipping through your fingers each time you chose to stay quiet.

"You ever thought about what you'll do when you find your soulmate's things?"

Eddie groaned at your sudden interruption. "Really? That's what you're thinking about?"

"It's just that… See, this girl in my class…" Sighing, you give up making sense. "Whatever. Just answer the question."

"I don't know. That shit isn't real." 

You were still getting used to Eddie's slight change in demeanor. He was still the sweet boy you've known, but a little rougher around the edges. Angry at the world for taking away his mother, full of resentment towards his father, confused and scared. Though that anger was never directed at you, you felt some ripples of it, like right now.

“Of course it’s real, we see it all the time.”

Unable to meet his eyes, you hear a scoff coming from his direction. “I don’t know. My parents weren’t soulmates, your parents weren’t either. What are the chances?”

“Don’t say that. There’s always a chance…” Your voice got smaller and smaller, trying to take back what you’d said. It wasn’t the right time, and it wasn’t right for you to force this conversation with the grieving boy in front of you. He didn’t need one more thing to worry about, you told yourself.

“I don’t care. I think I’d just leave them alone.”

Nodding, you moved on to a different subject. It wasn’t the right time.

It would never be.

You thought you had forgotten what he looked like.

Which was impossible, because you saw him everywhere. You saw him in the long haired, rowdy boys you saw up and down Sunset Strip. You saw him in crowds of headbangers with their fists in the air. You saw him in guitar shops, in fantasy novels, in cans of spray paint and black pencils. In tight hugs and loud laughs. In the little kids playing at the park, holding hands and exchanging vows of eternal friendship. In yourself, whenever you look in the mirror.

You wondered if he saw you too. If he looked around at every corner he turned and there you were. A missing limb he could still feel even though it had been gone a long time. Twin ghosts haunting each other.

You couldn't forget even if you wanted to, and you never did, because he was a part of you — and now he was here, in the flesh, as if no time had passed between those five years you were gone. That’s what it felt like to you, at least, although both of you had changed a lot since then. From a distance, you could see Eddie stood taller, had a more confident stance to him. His shoulders were broader, his arms filled his jacket’s sleeves a little bit more. You fought the urge to let out a dreamy sigh, almost forgetting you were on the verge of tears not two minutes before this.

The urgent phone call you were having with Robin had to be cut short when you heard a series of impatient knocks on the door of the staff room. It was Linda, asking you what you were doing there. You mumbled something about needing to make a quick call, but that went through one ear and fell out the other, as Linda was locking your arm with hers and leading you to the front of the small stage where Corroded Coffin dealt with their equipment.

Trying to disguise your trembling, a sinking feeling that took over your whole body, you held tightly onto Linda’s arm, and planted yourself firmly to the ground where you stopped. 

“Boys, boys! I want you to meet someone. This is Joan, everyone’s favorite waitress.”

He was the first one who reacted, while his friends, your old friends, only gawked. Gareth dropped his drumsticks, Jeff had opened his mouth three times before deciding not to say anything — which made you realize he didn’t have his braces anymore — and Grant, ever the expressive one, had both eyebrows raised, giving away all his surprise.

“Joan?”

“Because I’m a runaway, like Joan… Jett.” That wasn’t the first, the second or the hundredth time you had to explain that dumb nickname. Joan was not your real name, it wasn’t even close to it, but Linda was insistent on calling you that. She thought it was funny, a runaway girl from the midwest trying to make her way through Los Angeles, and she’d been calling you that since your first week working there. “Not her most creative moment.”

“It’s so fucking good to see you!” Jeff was the first to break the silence, and then the other boys followed suit, engulfing you in tight hugs, releasing all, or at least most of, the tension inside of you. Giggling softly, you hugged them back.

“It’s good to see you too, guys. It’s been a long time.”

The only people who didn’t join were Linda, who stood confused to the side, and Eddie, who stayed in place, looking paler than he already was, like he would pass out at any moment. You felt the same, but Eddie was the one who always wore his feelings on his sleeve, not you.

“What exactly is this?” Your boss asked, pointing her red stiletto nails at the scene unfolding in front of her. “Where do you know her from?”

“From our hometown.” You explained, tucking your hands into the back pockets of your jeans, trying to make yourself smaller. “We went to the same school.”

“More like the only school in town.” Gareth laughed. “It’s a small town but an even smaller world, I guess.”

“Just wait until you get settled here. Everyone knows everyone, it’s worse than Hawkins.” You scoffed, trying to lighten up the mood. “How long have you been here?”

“Almost a month.” Eddie was the one who answered, finally finding his voice. “We’ve been bouncing from bar to bar until Linda was kind enough to take us in now.”

“You’re welcome, dear. It will be a pleasure to have you here. Now…”

As Linda started to explain some of the basic rules of operations of The Deuce — opening and closing times, where to find everything, introducing them to the other staff members — you and Eddie stayed behind, a thin veil of tension still standing between you, but then, Eddie reached out, an outstretched arm forward, beckoning you with a soft voice, “C’mere.”

And you went, with no hesitation. For a moment, you even felt silly for all that fuss you made moments before, that anxiety that threatened you to burn a hole on the ground and swallow you whole. It was just Eddie, the boy who used to hold your hand whenever you felt this exact same way, all those years ago. Ironic how he was the cause and the cure to all of your problems.

You let him wrap his arms around you, closing the gap that the red thread connecting you was pulling and pulling until you were pressed together again, bodies joined like two pieces of a puzzle. You stayed like that for a full minute, your arms around his narrow waist, his squeezing you to his chest until it hurt, but you didn’t dare let go, and for the first time in a long time, you felt right. You were home again.

“I missed you so much.” You found courage to say something in your hiding place, your head pressed to his chest. His smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne was oddly calming, making you breath in deeply. 

“I missed you too.” Eddie took a small step back, raising one hand to the back of your head, holding you in place. You were pretty sure you had the dumbest lovestruck look in your eyes while you looked at him, but you couldn’t really care at that moment. You could be embarrassed later. “How have you been?”

“I, uh…” 

“Hey, Van Halen!” Linda called out from the other side of the bar, snapping her fingers at you, “you can catch up later. Get your pretty boy ass over here.”

Untangling from each other, you’re both clearly flustered, Eddie’s face a blooming shade of pink. You’re quick to remedy it. “We can talk later, after your show. After I clock out. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure.” 

He walked away, then, still looking back at you. Both smiling, both feeling the relief of that red string, now much less strained, but no less beaten. Far from healing, but one step closer. At least, that’s how you felt, but you knew that was only the beginning of a long and winding road to the recovery of your friendship. You didn’t dare to think of something more, crushing the seeds of hope that threatened to take root in your heart.

They were just as stubborn as you, though, and settled anyway.

[firefly--bright]

the drywall confessions.

jean kirstein x fem!reader , modern a.u

summary ; making a home out of the walls that surround you was easy when it was the two of you.

warnings ; none! what a shocker

a/n : something short and sweet! im still in the process of writing d2d and masquerade hehe. summer break just started so it might take just a little more time :3 inspired by this reel i saw on instagram. also requests are now open since i'll have more time to write!!

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeancremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes .

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ join my taglist ✿ requests are open! ✿ songs to listen to while reading !

If walls could talk, they’d sing praises of your love.

the dark brown scuff against the right wall of the living room that was left when you and jean tried to move the couch by yourself was all but proof of that moment. He almost stubbed his toe, and you almost tripped over the carpet, but after the couch found it’s new home only a tad bit to the left from where it was before, the two of you heaved a breath as you reaped the rewards of your hard work on the couch, wiping the sweat off of your forehead. Jean grumbled about how it didn’t really make a difference. You had a ready answer on your tongue; pointing to the now one inch of extra space – “look at all this free space we have!” with a sarcastic grin on your face. Jean took one glance at you and knew he had to laugh, if only a little, if only to please you, if only because he loved you.

if walls could talk, they’d tell jean about how much you missed him while he was gone.

The business trip wasn’t even that long, only about two weeks, and it wasn’t even the longest the two of you had gone without each other, but it was enough for you to notice his absence after your move into the apartment together. The walls watched softly, reflecting the sunlight off of themselves, as you accidentally pulled out two mugs instead of just yours – your see-through, glass mug with small hand drawn flowers on it with a thin crack along it’s base that you were only mildly concerned about and his usual mug that said, in big bold letters, “NUMBER 1 COUGAR”. the walls noticed how often your eyes strayed away to the screen of your phone, hoping every time that it would be his message lighting up your screen. And later at night, when everything was dark and he finally did, the walls observed, that you eagerly picked up and talked and listened and talked until the only thing they heard was your small snores. The phone call ended three hours after you had slept, they’d note.

If the walls could talk, they’d whisper critiques about your decoration choices.

It didn’t make sense, really. Everything on the shelves was eclectic and without any structure. The bookshelf was really just a name of what it was supposed to be, but held objects that were far more precious than pages. Jean’s hereditary vinyls that he’d unapologetically stolen from his childhood home along with the record player, small plants that each had their own names, pictures from photobooths that you had taken throughout the years – some with just the two of you, some with your friends, some with you and your cat. lamps with warmly lit bulbs in them of varying heights and colours, collecting a small but unseen amount of dust on their bases simply because “jean. This looks exactly like the lamp that crushed pixar’s 'i'” “why are we supporting an abuser, then?” and “this one looks like a mushroom!” “babe, we have so many lamps already-“ “jean, this one is a mushroom.” They were good lighting for your old and new artworks, some of them messily made but with more than enough personality for the walls to be able to speak through them. And if they could speak, they’d tell you about all the sketches of you they’d see jean draw but never show; all his loving being silent but all-consuming.

And the walls would scold you for ruining their perfectly white canvas into something better-worse.

Jean agreed that maybe the smudges could be fixed by painting over the whole damn wall. “im getting sick of this white.” “that’s very racist.” followed by a scoff from the former, as he opened the pinterest browser on his laptop, asking you to shift closer to him to get a better view at his screen. Not because he thought your warmth was mandatory for him to function, of course not.

The walls would retell how scared they were when jean got those small pots of paint, you sat in your most worn-down and ruined pair of pyjamas infront of the white wall that currently had too many stains for it to go unnoticed. Jean opened the can with a butterknife with a, “dude, couldn’t you have gotten, like, a popsickle stick?” “a whole pack of fifty for one paint can?” “we could’ve made popsickles.” “uh huh. You just want an excuse for something sweet.” to which you only smiled ear to ear and jean wondered if you knew that he didn’t need something sweet as long as you were infront of him.

The painting job inevitably failed. Two sort-of artists that thought it was something they could accomplish ended up with a wall of mismatched paint and aching shoulders and stained fingers. You called it a night with pizza and washed hands, jean cradled calcifer – your adorable but petty cat – in his arms like a spoiled baby and placed several kisses on his furry forehead as you sat down with plates in your hand. jean joined you on the ground, letting the furball run free across the apartment before resting his head on your thigh.

The walls would have notes of what not to do while repainting them as one of those two sort-of artists waited for her beloved to leave the house the next day and once again, sat down and drew a small heart with the residual pastel paint left in the pot, a small and satisfied smile on her face even if it was only for a small mark.

The day after the next, when she took the paint, her fingers itching to claim the walls as theirs again – she found three small stars around the heart that she did not remember drawing. Smiling, you put down your signature flower and leaf combo before closing everything back up and waiting for the vandalism wars to begin.

By the time the walls could recall how jean proposed to you, the bottom of the bedroom wall that was conveniently covered up by the bed held countless doodles. Some of them were smaller, cuter versions of the two of you with big eyes and small bodies holding hands, some of them were far more detailed version of them – just their faces with their eyes looking at the other -  despite their small size. The most remarkable ones, however, were your initials written on the wall. Bottom corner of the bedroom wall were the initials of the people that loved the most while residing in their walls that could only be seen if anyone was actively looking for them, seeking them out.

 If the walls could talk, they would talk about you and jean.

Despite the bustling and distracting city outside, jean’s vinyls played their safe melodies as you pulled out two mugs from the cabinet in the kitchen, jean’s arms wrapped around your back as you prepared coffee for the pair of you in your respective mugs. Jean would hold back a small grin at the mug that was now his signature – the one that you gifted him when you were only friends and just getting to know each other, the one that made him know that he’d want you in his life for far longer. The walls would sing the songs of jean’s record player as you sat near the coffee table in your living room and typed away on your laptop, calcifer snoring peacefully on his father’s lap, the latter with his own laptop infront of him. The walls would tell you how much he loved you because he would look at you so often they wondered if he ever got sick of the view – but they didn’t. the walls didn’t talk because they knew you knew. They could tell you accounted all his actions and return them tenfold, in your own silent but all-consuming ways.

If the walls could talk, they wouldn’t want to because you slept on his shoulder after coming home late from work and finding him on the couch with his eyes closed. They wouldn’t talk because they’d see you wrap a blanket around his shoulders before snuggling up next to him – gently, softly, so as to not wake him up.

If the walls could talk, they’d say nothing because everything was already said and known.

If the walls could talk, they wouldn’t have to.

[fanficfanatic000]

eddie x female reader

Chapter 7 (Fred?) Story :I just moved to hawkins Warning 18 plus Spoilers ahead Goes with Story of ST kinda

The group was concerned about you having a panic attack. "Does that mean you still have powers?" Dustin asked. "I have no idea maybe but maybe not." "Steve: Well we will figure it out later but we gotta go Nancy has work me and Robin have work Dustins mom is probably looking for him and um max has…..has…" "hasss to find more things about this"

They left you and eddie Sitting on the train "Eddie?" "Yes sweetheart?" He raised an eyebrow "So i was picking up your guitar pick and i saw a name on it percy munson" He gulped his Adam's apple visibly moving "Well story time i guess… percy munson was my mom. She was in a band she was the best person of my childhood but my father was not a good person he cheated on my mom he was abusive to both me and my mom he would shave my head cause long hairs for girls he said. But I was 11 years old until one night he was driving drunk to drop my mom off at a concert and they crashed… they both died so I got left with my uncle Wayne and now here I am 18 with long hair accused of murdering a girl I was selling drugs so that's pretty wild " He looked at you his brown eyes had tears falling from them. You went closer and you hugged him tightly. His tears dried up "Im sorry you went through that… im always here to listen " Rose pink blush spread visibly across his cheeks then he sprang a sweet smile

(Maxes pov) She's at school Hmm I need to find more about this qhole thing what if there's something chrissy and patrick shared if I could find that out then I might find out the rest come on think think She went through her memories and found something. The fact that she's seen Chrissy and patrick walk out of ms Donald's office. Ms Donald was a therapist for the school she is my therapist so maybe I could ask her for the files on chrissy and patrick I mean they're dead anyway so why not. Max went through her classes and now it was time for her therapy She walks in "oh hey max take a seat get comfortable" "thanks ms donald" "Okay max what do you feel like discussing in todays session?" "Well i was wondering if i could maybe see the files of chrissy and patrick?" "Max files are completely confidential" " okay well i dont feel like talking today maybe tomorrow?" "Okay just remember the door is always open ".

(Nancy pov) Driving to eddies trailer "Stop what are you kids doing at this crime seen?" "Hi im nancy wheeler this is my colleague fred Benson" "Hm your that kid that got in that car accident murderer murderer murderer!" Fred was acting off hm it's probably nothing right? "Fred are you okay?" "Hm i-i im fine" We pulled in at the side of the road maybe we can manage to find something here Eddie's trailer Nancy walked in and saw blood from chrissy Cunningham on the carpet but there was like black mold on the ceiling hm? -hours passed it was sunset and Nancy found out literally nothing "Fred I think there's nothing- she turned and Fred wasn't there "fred?!" She walked outside he's still not there Oh maybe the cop from earlier saw where he went "um hey my freind is missing hes short glasses has a scar…" "nope havent seen him for quite sometime now" Frederick where are you?… after some time Nancy decided to leave without him Fred was smart so if he was lost he would find his way.

[writersbloxx]

Haunted House Part 2

Prompt: Good news; That ‘haunted house’ you just snuck into to hunt ghosts? It’s definitely haunted! You have a very talkative ghost right in front of you! Bad news; the ghost only died about 1 hour ago, and the killer is still in the building. You can’t find the exit.

Part 1 

!TW!: Blood

As soon as I step through the window, the urge to walk right back out overwhelms me. The heat in the house is even more unbearable than outside. Despite the lack of curtains and the intensity of the sun, the room is extremely dark. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, turning on its flashlight. 

I'm in a bedroom. It looks like a little kid lived here. A small twin bed sits to my left, neatly made with various stuffed animals resting against the pillows. There are bookshelves lining the wall above the headboard with titles I recognize from my own childhood. The bright, flowery wallpaper looks as good as new, and even the small light fixture above my head has failed to collect dust.

 A large fluffy carpet is splayed across the dark hardwood floors, muffling my steps. In contrast to the rest of the room, I notice large dirty splotches stark against the color of the carpet. Footprints. The hair at the back of my neck seems to stand as I’m filled with a feeling of vague unease while leaning down to take in the reddish brown prints. Well, it would make sense for there to be footprints here. I tell myself. I ignore the nervous pinch in my chest, as well as the budding question in my head about where around here this person could’ve been for their prints to be that hue. 

Against my better judgment, I groggily advance towards the doorway to see that the rest of the house is just as dark, and just as hot. Like the exterior, the inside of the house is surprisingly normal- considering its abandonment. No mold, creaky floorboards, or broken glass littering the seemingly swept carpets. 

I slowly make my way through the hall, peeking into neighboring bedrooms as I move towards what seems like a living room. It surprised me that so much of the house’s furnishings were left behind. As if the family here just wordlessly disappeared. There’s a white rug matching the lush throw pillows decorating the old couches. It’s peppered with identical footprints to the ones I saw in the bedroom. 

I start to feel the same apprehension as before and resolve to move on to the kitchen. 

But someone is here. Because I hear noises. I hear a voice. 

As soon as I step onto the dull tile floor, the room reverberates with agonized groans and whines. The tormented cries are broken with aching sobs. The voice seems to bounce off the walls, growing louder. I can feel the sound in my bones. My insides rattle, making me feel nauseous. A ghost. 

As suddenly as they started, the suffering screams came to an abrupt stop. At that moment, something, or someone jumps out at me and I fall back, startled. I prop myself up on my forearms, still on the floor as I quickly scan the room in front of me. An ice cold chill runs up my spine and I whip my head around to face what looks like a girl, but not quite. 

She looks unreal, like a vague apparition. As if she’d been constructed by my mind, but only halfway. Her eyes are colorless and small. Her face looks flat and is missing any definitive angles and curves. Yet, she looks familiar. 

Her mouth doesn't open but I hear her again. She's talkative but not very helpful and sounds delirious. The kitchen shakes with more miserable groans, her form spasms with the weight of her sorrow. Or is it fear? 

I try to speak, to ask her what’s happening, what she's trying to say, but I get the feeling she doesn't know. I can only catch a few accessible snippets in her rambling.

“Leave”. Oh that's no good. Her sound intensifies and the windows looking out onto the yard shatter. 

“Still here”. Is that what she just said? The tiles creak and rattle, and an unbearable screeching erupts from the refrigerator and other appliances. 

“Too late”. Oh hell no. I rise to my feet and quickly make my way through the house, back the way I came. But something's off. I came from the living room, why am I in a hall right now? I start back for the kitchen- where I think the kitchen is. Where’d this staircase come from? Am I lost? This is all wrong. My chest heaves and darkness stains the corners of my vision. The heat really doesn’t help; I feel like I forgot how to breathe. I’m lost.

I could have sworn I took a right here… or was it a left? I continue to wander when something catches me from the corner of  my eye. 

I’m standing in yet another hallway that I don’t recognize. From underneath the closet door at the end of the hallway, there is a pool of blood. It’s unmistakable. Thick, sappy blood is spilling through the gap at the bottom of the door frame. I feel my body move towards the door on its own as my brain screams for me to run the other way.

I kneel down in the puddle, praying my suspicions are wrong. It’s warm. Somehow finding the courage to move, I reach for the door handle, my hand shaking as I thoughtlessly pull the door open. I step in the closet and the heavy door swings shut behind me. There’s a body. It’s her. Her face looks more fleshed out, brown horrified eyes and pink slack jawed lips. 

But this isn’t right. She’s not stiff, or pale, or cold, or overrun with maggots. I would have assumed she was asleep if it weren't for the gash set deep across her abdomen. The dots connect. Her words echo in my head.

 “Leave”. The body is warm. 

“Still here”. The window I came from was open. 

“Too late”. The prints on the carpets.

She was killed. I'm lost. A killer was here.

 “Too late”. The killer is here. I hear a slow creak as the closet door opens behind me.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Push

Warnings: noncon sex, oral, mentions of violence, abuse, and death.

This is Lee Bodecker (who is already dark!af) and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your daddy’s in business with the Sheriff but a dirty cop has not limits.

Note: This is my first Lee Bodecker fic. Obviously it’s a dark on so mind the warnings. Lee is just awful. Like what a bastard, the worst!

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

‘She said "I don't know if I've ever been good enough I'm a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in”’

-Push, Matchbox Twenty

🚔

You traced the small crack along the lip of the plate. The dinner set your mother had been so proud of was wearing away. Everything had started to since her death. The farmhouse seemed darker, more desolate amid the sentinel pines, your father's shed more sinister though the childhood tales of what was within had long since been dispelled. The walls shuddered with each gust of late autumn air.

The house was empty but for you. Your brothers were at about their usual business, Arn and Cal at work at yard and Will in his classes, though more likely bumming cigarettes behind the church. Your father had rumbled off in his old Ford pick-up not an hour ago but hadn't given you a reason. He never did and it was better that way. Better you didn't ask questions or speak out of turn. Focus on yourself, in the work that needed to be done as the men bustled in and out of your purview.

You set the plate on the mat to dry, a soapy bubble dripped down the back as you plunged your hand back into the water. You piled the dishes one after the other, scrubbing and scouring. The clink of the thick glass painted with faded petals and the old silverware was thunderous in the chilly kitchen.

You heard an engine, quieter than your father's cantankerous truck. The gravel mulched under the tires and you grabbed a rag to dry your hands as you walked through the front door. You peeked out the window as the cruiser pulled up; the old black and white with its blue and red crown.

Sheriff Bodecker came around maybe once every two weeks. You didn't keep track, you never spoke to him. Your daddy always took him to the shed for a beer and a chat. The uniform took a cut of the profits from your father's sill. The moonshine sold better than the beer sold at the store in town but wasn't allowed on the shelves. the lawman turned his eye for a percentage and the occasional jug of the brew.

You watched the sheriff brace himself against his door and lift himself out of the car. His jacket was zipped up against the impending winter but could barely contain his stomach. He reached into his car and plopped his hat on his head before he slammed the door. His boots were just as loud as his tires as he rounded the vehicle and paced towards your daddy's shed.

He turned back, hands on his hips, and peered across the empty lot. The big blue truck always greeted visitors, not that there were many. You watched the sheriff retreat and as he neared the porch, you let go of the curtain and pressed yourself to the door.

Your brothers and your father were the only people in your life. You minded the house and spent your spare time with one of your mama's old books or a needle and thread. 

The door shook as he knocked. You blinked and slowly turned. You grabbed the handle but didn't pull. He must have known your daddy wasn't there. A fool could guess that.

He banged again and you twisted the knob. Slowly, you pulled the door open just a crack. You looked through with one eye as the sheriff felt around impatiently in his pockets.

"Daddy ain't here," you said quietly.

He tilted his head and grinned. He scoffed and ripped his hand out of his jacket.

"I guessed that. Be a shit officer if I couldn't," he snickered. "Pardon the language, miss."

"I don't know when he'll be back," you said.

"I got time," he checked his watch.

There was a moment of silence as he looked at you. You gulped, uncertain.

"Sorry, we don't get many visitors. Guess I should invite you in… I got coffee? Tea?"

He considered you through the inch between the frame and the door. "You gonna have to open up for that," he said, "you got anything sweet?"

"Some leftover cake from Arn's birthday. It's probably stale." You answered as he placed his hand flat on the door. "It's strawberry cream."

"Mm, you make it yourself?" He asked as his other hand rested on his belt.

"Mama's recipe," you explained.

"Well,” he pushed on the door, "Can I come in then or am I eatin' on the porch?"

You stared at him and slowly stepped back as he put more weight against the door. He dropped his arm as you were flush to the wall and he stepped inside. You looked at his boots as he pulled the door from your grasp and threw it shut behind him. He chuckled as he turned to you again and looked at his feet.

“Not meaning to mess up your floors, miss,” he wiped the treads on the mat.

“It’s fine. My brothers never did care much either,” you waved away his words and retreated, “I’ll get you that cake.”

You went to the kitchen and took the glass lid of the cake dish. That was your mother’s too. The long crack up the side made you want to cry. If she could see how the life she’d left behind had become so distorted. You took a plate from the mat and dried it before you laid it out. You cut a slice from the cake and carefully angled it onto the saucer.

“Should I put the kettle on?” You asked as you looked over your shoulder.

He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over a chair before he sat. The wood groaned under him. He put his hat on the table decisively.

“You got milk? I had a coffee on the way.” He sat back in the chair and spread his legs wide.

“Milk,” you repeated as you neared and set the plate on the table then grabbed a fork from the drawer. You handed him the silver then went to the fridge, “Should be enough.”

You poured him a glass and put it down beside the plate as he greedily cut a bite out of the sponge with his fork. You went back to the sink and stuck your hands in the tepid water as you fished out the last few bowls and scrubbed them one at a time. You could hear him chewing behind you as the metal hit the porcelain with each bite.

“You really don’t entertain much, do you?” He asked.

“Sheriff?” you pulled the stopped and grabbed the dish towel to dry your hands.

“You know, I go ‘round folks’ houses and the wives, they smile, flip their hair, even excuse themselves to powder up,” he remarked, “And here you are doing your washing. Your back to me and everything.”

“I told my daddy I’d have ‘em done,” you shrugged. “Besides, I wasn’t expecting ya.”

“I rarely announce myself to shiners,” he rolled his eyes, “Must be quite the life, hmm? You cleaning up behind four boys. You look old enough to have a man of your own to worry about.”

“Maybe,” you wrung the dish towel. 

“Most girls your age are outta their daddy’s house and settled down with a babe on their hip. Even two.” He said.

You frowned. “Well, Sheriff Bodecker, are you married?”

He squinted and tilted his head. He smirked and said ‘no’.

“You’re older than me. Maybe you’re the one who’s overdue.”

“Not too old,” he stabbed the last morsel of cake.

You turned away and grabbed a cup and wiped it dry. You went about drying each piece as he sat quietly. You sensed his gaze as you put away the dishes. The tension mounted as you snapped shut the cupboard and he tapped the plate with the fork.

You were relieved when you heard the gravel crunching outside. Your daddy was back. The putter of his old truck was a welcoming sound.

“That should be him,” you said as you went to the table and picked up his plate. 

He set the fork atop it and grabbed your wrist before you could back away. “You take good care of a man.”

You swallowed and resisted the urge to pull away. “Not too many men can take care of themselves,” you uttered.

He laughed and let you go. He stood and you quickly scurried away to dump the plate in the sink. “Probably right,” he said as he took his jacket and pulled it on, “Definitely not in the ways a woman can take care of a man.”

You turned the faucet as the front door clattered. “Sherriff?” You father called down the hall, “You in here?”

“Here, Rhett,” He flipped his hat on and winked at you, “Son of a bitch, I’ve been waiting long enough.”

🚔

There was a cluster of brambles deep in the woods. A carpet of red, orange, and yellow leaves slowly wilted to brown beneath your feet as you climbed through the brush. You clutched your basket in one hand, your fingers cold even inside your gloves as the winter crept nearer with each day. 

You were the old scarf with the uneven edges. The first one you knitted yourself after your mama had shown you how. Your fleece jacket was hand-me-down from Cal, the sleeves were too long and it puffed out from your body when you zipped it, an old oil stain along the left side. Your skirt, your own creation from two of your mama’s, hung to your knees, your stocking barely thick enough to keep out the chill. The heel of your right boot flopped as it threatened to fall off entirely and made the trek all the more treacherous.

You tossed walnuts into your basket every now and then if they weren’t crushed or caked in mud. The trees muffled all noise the deeper you got and the trees loomed darker above. You stopped at the overgrowth of leaves and vines. Blackberries and raspberries hung plump in the last harvest of the season. You preferred the wild berries to the grocers; they were larger and juicier.

You set down your basket as you pushed through the sharp, thin branches and began to pick. You knelt to grab those hidden at the bottom, dumping handfuls atop your collection of walnuts.

You heard a rustle behind you. Subtle, soft. More likely a deer than a bear. You peeked over your shoulder but didn’t give much heed to the disturbance. There was always some creature flitting around in the forest. You tuned back to your work, your gloves dappled with the dark juices of the berries as some were so soft the burst on touch.

The bushes behind you shook and a twig snapped.

“What you doing out here all alone? I thought you were a bear.”

You stood as you recognized the voice. You dropped the berries in your hand into the basket before you turned and clapped off your gloves. “I thought the same of you.” You blanched as you saw his gun in hand. “You hunting out here with that?”

Sheriff Bodecker looked down at his pistol and scoffed. “Maybe,” he looked up as he kept his gun in hand, “How you know about these berries?”

“They’re wild. There for the taking,” you turned back and pushed through the brambles as you plucked berries from the bunch, “Mama used to take us here when we we’re kids.”

“You lookin’ to make another cake?” His boots crushed the leaves and sticks as he neared.

“Conserves; jams,” you answered bluntly as your basket filled with each handful. “Too bad strawberries are all gone for the season.”

You sensed him watching you as you stooped again. He reached down to your basket and took a raspberry. He popped it in his mouth as he straightened. You glanced over, his gun was pointed at the ground but still in hand. He knocked it gently against his leg as if thinking.

“Tart,” he said, “I prefer strawberry. Sweeter.”

“Mmm,” you grumbled as you dug through the bush, “Well, they charge too much down at the grocer for ‘em.”

It was quiet but for you pushing past the bramble and filling your basket. You could hear him breathing above you as he watched, transfixed by your simple ritual.

“Never told me why you’re all the way out here,” you said as you contented yourself with your haul. “Should I be worried? Some criminal out here hiding in the branches?”

“Sitting by the river on my break, as I do,” he shrugged as you lifted your basket. “It’s a far way back to your daddies. My cruiser’s closer. I can take you home.”

“I prefer the walk. Gives me an excuse to be away.” You smiled and made to step past him.

“We can take our time,” he caught your arm.

“Thank you, Sheriff, but I can find my own way back.”

He turned you to him and raised his gun. His eyes searched your face as he pressed the muzzle to your cheek.

“Ain’t much on the first look but after a while, you’re not so bad,” he said as you stiffened, “If you didn’t dress like a matron, you might even be pretty.” His gun fell to the collar of the jacket. “Usually men don’t offer favours to girls who ain’t pretty.”

“Let go of me,” you pleaded softly, “Sheriff…”

He pointed his gun skyward and released you. He holstered the pistol and laughed to himself.

“You go on lift up that skirt and give me a good look. Then I’ll drive you back to your daddy’s. You have my word as an officer of the law.”

“Pardon--”

“Shhh,” his hand lingered on the pistol, playing with the little strap that would snap it into place, “No one needs to know. Just a peek.”

“Sheriff--”

“Girl,” he cleared his throat, “Ya gonna do what I tell you or I’m gonna make you do worse. Now go on.”

He snatched the basket out of your hand and you let out your breath, relieved at least that he no longer had his fingers on his pistol.

“It’s cold out--”

“You argue with your daddy this much? He don’t seem the type to bide it and let me tell you, he seems a lot more tolerant than me.” He took another berry and chewed it, “So lift your skirt and we’ll be on our way.”

You stared at him. He smirked and licked the dark juice away from his lip. You hands shook as you bent and clumsily felt your skirt. You gathered the hem and stood. You bunched up the fabric around the bottom of the coat and he tutted in satisfaction.

“Turn around for me, girl,” he softly swung the basket, “Bend over so I can get a nice look at you.”

“Sher--”

“I really don’t wanna knock ya around and you don’t want that either,” he warned. “Two seconds. That’s all it will take.”

You gulped as bile burned your throat. You turned, careful not to catch the loose heel of your boot, and held your breath. You bent forward slowly.

“Further,” he ordered. The thin cotton of your underwear stretched across your ass. “Well, you got a much nicer backside than I expected.”

You let out a sharp breath as he pinched your ass and you stood suddenly. You stumbled forward and dropped your skirts. He laughed as you spun to face him. He shoved the basket against your chest. 

“See how easy that was,” he leered at you as you took the basket. “Who you hidin’ that body from? Maybe your daddy’s a selfish man, hmmm? Keeping you from all the men.”

“Can we go?” You muttered as you tried to hide behind the basket.

His blue eyes bore into yours and he shifted on his feet. His hand rubbed the front of his pants as he side stepped you.

“Sure, cruisers ‘round the bend.” He waved you past him and waited. “Come on, you said you wanted to go.”

You walked past him along the trail and he followed, close as his loud breaths filled the air. He pointed you down the path with curt orders and you came into sight of the broad river. His car was parked just off the sideroad that led back to the town. 

His keys jingled as he brushed by you, dragging his hand across your rear as he did. He opened the passenger door and looked at you. You neared and quickly got in, sitting on the long seat within. He closed the door harshly and rounded to the other side. The car dipped with his weight and he shoved the keys in the slot.

“Come here,” he gestured with two fingers, “Closer.”

“What?”

“Put the berries down,” he pointed to the other side of you and you placed the basket on the seat.

“I should be home sooner than later. I gotta start cooking--”

“I’ll get you there,” he grabbed your arm and slid you over the seat. He flipped his hat off and dropped it over the basket. He slung his arm over your shoulders. “Go on, put me in first.”

He gripped the wheel with his other hand and you blinked dumbly. You realised what he meant and pushed the shifted into gear.

“You cold? You’re shivering,” He said as he carefully turned the car, “Just tryna warm you up, girl.”

“I’m fine,” you crossed your arms as he drove at a snail's pace up the dirt road.

“I’m cold,” he gave an exaggerated ‘brrr’, “Do me a favour. Unzip me.”

“What?” You tried to pull away and he bent his arm around your neck, his hand along your chest as your head was nearly on his.

“I’m hard as fuck. You did that. Now take care of it.” He growled. “Get these damn pant unzipped and finish it.”

“Let go--”

“You don’t start listening and I’ll tell you’re daddy what a whore you are. Up in the woods flaunting your ass to the wind.”

You stared down at your stitched skirt. Your mama’s. You only wore her clothes. They were modest. You’d once worn a dress your friend Laverne had given you, more modern, with a shorter skirt. Your daddy belted you until it was ruined.

Your hands trembled as you felt along the Sheriff’s stomach and fumbled beneath. You unbuckled his belt clumsily and found his fly ready to burst. You pushed his zipper down as he groaned and he lifted his arm over the seat. His underwear was tight to his bulging cock.

“Now don’t keep wastin’ my time and take me out,” he snarled.

You pulled the elastic down and he popped out above it. You hesitated as you stared at his throbbing tip.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” You confessed.

“Christ, girl,” he snickered, “Grab it and just… move your hand.”

You shuddered and wrapped your fingers around his cock. It was as thick as the rest of him. You gripped it but still had no idea what to do next.

“Up and down. Like your polishing a shotgun,” he urged, “A nice long barrel.” You bit down and slid your hand along his length. “Tighter,” he gritted through his teeth, “Faster…”

He purred as you played with him. He drove a little faster and steered with one hand as his other hand clawed the back of the seat.

“Fuckin’ don’t know, girl, feels like you know exactly what to you,” he uttered, “Got me close already.”

You stared at the middle of the steering wheel, the silver emblem, and tried not to think about what you were doing. His hand fell to your back and he caressed the back of your coat. He grasped the cloth in his fist as his grunts grew louder and longer.

“Grab that coffee cup,” he demanded, “Go on, you don’t wanna make a mess.”

You took the cup with one hand and popped the top off with your thumb. It flew onto the floor and he hummed.

“Hold it at the tip, before--” He choked on his words and you quickly moved the cup. 

He hit the brake and white ribbons streamed from his cock and laced the rim of the cup and your fingers. White globs slid down the paper and you slowed as a chill went through you. You pulled away your slimy hand and the cup. He took the latter and tossed it out the window and sighed.

“Shit, girl, that was good,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped his glistening cock before covering himself up and zipping up his pants. “Get cleaned up.” He tossed the cloth on your lap, “Not far from home, now.”

🚔

Your days passed like molasses. Ever since your venture into the forest, your life slowed to an interminable pace. Your thoughts were darkened by the sheriff’s shadow. You scrubbed, scoured, and swept but could not rid yourself of the memory. The scene played over and over in your head. You swore you could feel him still spread across the palm of your hand.

A week after, when he drove up behind the boys on their return from town, you watched through the window in dread. Cal, Arn, and Will hopped out of the truck and greeted the sheriff. The four of them went to the shed where your daddy was, the latter peeked over at the house as he passed.

You were reassured that your brothers were there. The sheriff wouldn’t, really couldn’t, try anything more. You went back to basting the thick chops. As you made to cap your homemade sauce, the back door opened and your daddy looked in from the mud room.

“You bring out some glasses for the lot of us. And put an extra chop on for the sheriff,” your father slurred. He’d already started drinking. “He be joining us tonight.”

He left before you could respond. He usually drank his swill out of old jars and saved your mother’s dishes. You coated another chop in spice and set it with the rest before slipping them in the oven. You washed your hands and counted out five glasses. You hugged them in your arms and stepped into your boots. 

You pushed the screen door open with your elbow and tramped down the steps. You crossed to the shed and kicked the door with your boot. “Daddy,” you called through the wood.

Will slid open the shed door and you stepped inside. You went to the table and placed the glasses down on the old chipped surface. You stood and looked around. Your father filled each with the clear shine from a large jar.

“Isn’t he a bit young?” You said as Will sat back down.

“Not your business, woman,” your daddy spat, “Go back in the house. To your business.”

“Yes, daddy.” You sniffed and looked at Will. He gave an apologetic smile but none of your brothers ever stood up against your daddy.

“Lady not joining us?” Bodecker asked.

“Ha, that girl gets a whiff of this stuff and she’d be on her back. This ain’t no drink for ladies,” your daddy chortled. “About time you tried it. What you been doin’ will all that swill I give ya.”

“Boys at the station like it. I think they’re some of your best customers, ain’t they?” Bodecker countered. “Besides, I been tryna stay clear of the drink.”

“One night won’t hurt,” your daddy coaxed.

You went back to the door and slid it shut behind you as the men continued to chatter. Well, they would at least drink themselves too senseless to bother you much.

🚔

You cleared the table of the empty plates and scraps left by the drunken men. They had been loud and raucous, so much so you’d eaten your dinner at the counter to avoid them. When they finished, they left in a stumble, though the sheriff seemed as steady as ever as he trailed behind. He stopped at the door as he held it and peered back from the mud room at you.

You washed the dishes and put them away. You wiped down the table and fixed the chairs around it. The night was moonless and eerie. The wind wailed and shook each window and door in the house as it seemed to blow right through the walls.

The mud room door clattered again. It had been over an hour since the men returned to the shed. Their voices no longer carried in the air but the shed remained alight from within. You turned as Bodecker closed the door. He carried a tall glass of swill as he stopped in the door frame.

“Lightweights,” he said, “All your men passed out. Think one of ‘em pissed in their pants.”

“You’re drunk,” you said as you kept behind the table.

“Not really. I couldn’t finish mine,” he crossed to the other side of the table and set down the glass, “Why don’t you finish it for me?”

“I don’t drink that stuff,” you said, “Dump it out on the grass.”

“You work so hard. You should have a little fun,” he rounded the table and slid the glass across it as he neared, “Come on. Have a drink.”

“I don’t--” He grabbed you suddenly, wrestled you down into a chair and held you there by your shoulders.

He lifted one hand and felt around his belt. He flicked his holster open and rubbed the pistol with his thumb. 

“Drink it.” You watched his hand on his gun. He slid it out just a little. “Ugly things men do when they drinking. “Playing with guns… sometimes don’t always end up so fun. Don’t think the young one would make it in the hold.”

“No, you--”

“Drink,” he sneered. “It’ll loosen you up.”

You reached for the glass and he nodded. He snapped his holster closed and pulled a chair over to sit in front of you. You put your lips to the edge of the glass and the alcohol stung your nostrils. You tipped it, slowly, and tasted it with a gag. It was vile, stringent, and fiery. He pushed it up with two fingers until you were choking on it. He didn’t let up until the glass was empty and the shine dripped down your chin.

You slammed the glass down and coughed. You touched your throat as your head spun and a warmth nestled in your cheeks. You tried to shake away the haze that washed over you.

“That’s it, girl,” he purred as he leaned forward, “You feel better, don’t you?”

“N-no,” you stammered as you gripped the chair.

“’Daddy’,” he said, “Girl, you had me hard in there… you too old to be callin’ that man, daddy.” He stood and shrugged off his leather jacket, “But you be right to call me daddy.”

“I don’t feel…” Your stomach burned and you tried to stand. You stumbled and he caught you.

“Don’t you get all jumpy on me, girl,” he sat you back down. “You gonna hurt yourself.”

You slumped in the chair and braced your head. You felt terribly dizzy and your inside were alight. You heard a jingle and looked up as Bodecker unzipped his pants. You recalled the day in the car and filled with panic. You stood again and this time staggered, falling onto your knees with a cry.

“Mmm, it’s okay, girl, you can stay down there,” You looked up as he pulled his cock out through the vee of his pants, “Come here.” He grabbed your chin and yanked you forward, “Open up.”

You snapped your mouth shut and tried to wriggle free of his grasp. His other hand came up behind your head and he pulled you close. His fingers spread across your head and he used his other hand to poke his cock against your lips.

“I’ll break that pretty little jaw of yours and tell your pa he did it,” he growled, “Now come on.” You shook your head and he slapped you, hard. He seized you again. “Open!”

Your mouth fell open and your vision blurred as he shoved his cock inside. He forced himself down your throat and you kicked your feet as you grabbed at the front of his pants. He groaned and held his cock at its limit.

“And I thought you were good with your hands,” he pulled back and thrust back in. Your eyes rolled back as they teared up and you choked. “Mmm, much better.”

He started slow at first, though each tilt of his hips was relentless, deep and painful. You struggled to breathe around him and it only seemed to feed his lust. He gripped your head between his hand as he fucked your mouth, the sloppy sounds made your head swim as the slobber leaked down your chin and his shaft.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pulled out of you suddenly and shoved you away. You fell back onto your ass and wiped your mouth. “You tryna end this night early or something.”

He let out a breath and watched his cock bob before him as he grunted.

“Get up and get your drawers off.” He ordered, “Then I want you like you was in the woods, huh? Skirt up.”

You wavered as you tried to climb to your feet. He caught your errant arm and pulled you up. He spun you and you swayed. He bent and his hands crawled up your skirt as he felt around. He ripped your underwear down and let them rest at your ankles. He turned you to the chair and pushed you forward. You fell and caught yourself against the seat. He threw your skirt up and bared your ass.

Your legs quaked as he pressed his hand between your legs and felt around. He rubbed your cunt as you squeezed him with your thighs. He pinched you and drew away.

“You don’t wanna make this harder than it needs to be girl,” he sneered, “You’re in no state for that.”

He stepped closer and bent over you. His arm wrapped around your middle as he felt around below you with his other hand. He caught the tip of his cock and guided it to your cunt. He pushed it along your folds, sliding it up and down until he found your entrance. You whimpered and pushed back against him, too weak to break free.

“You fight and it’ll hurt more,” he grunted as he pushed his tip into you and you yelped. “Fuck, you’re tight.” Another inch and he stopped as he took a breath, “Holy hell, girl, you really weren’t lying. You ain’t been touched.” 

He growled and inhaled the scent of your hair as his hand gripped the chair next to yours. He thrust into you in a single tilt and you exclaimed as he stretched your walls. You reached to the back of the chair and latched onto the crossbar as you tried not to sob.

He stood, slowly and pushed deeper into you as he grabbed your hip. His other hand kneaded your ass as he began to rock. His groans were as steady as his motion as he dipped in and out of you. He curled his fingers and dug his nails into your flesh as he panted, his stomach bouncing against your ass.

“Be as loud as you want, girl,” he barked, “No one gonna hear you.”

He rutted into as the chair shifted below you. He kept a hand on your hip as his other trailed up to your shoulder and he arched your back. His zipper bit into your flesh as he sped up, slapping against you harder and harder as you whined louder and louder. It hurt terribly and your entire being thrummed with an unknown sensation. 

You closed your eyes as your vision swirled and your arms shook. He pulled you back so you stood against him, your back curved as he hammered into you. You were on tiptoes as he didn’t let up and turned you against the table. Your fingertips brushed the top as you reached out blindly and his hand stretched across your neck as he forced your head back against his shoulder.

“I’m gonna cum, girl,” he hissed, “You fucking whore. You’re going to make me cu--”

He grunted and his hips spasmed as a warmth seeped into you. He gave several, final snaps of his hip and slowed. He fell forward with you bent beneath him against the table. Your legs were limp as he crushed you with his weight. His heart pounded through his chest and he gasped for breath. 

You sniffed and pushed back against him. You were suffocating. You needed him off of you. You needed him out of you. 

“We ain’t done yet,” he hooked his arm around you and pulled you back to sit on his lap as he fell into the chair. “You got two minutes to get me hard again or you can clean me up with your mouth.”

[babybottlepop96]

Basement (Levi Ackerman)18+ Only

Summary: Levi saves you from an abusive Ex.

Warnings: Abusive relationship, Yandereish situations, graphic depictions of blood, death, murder, weapon use

This is for @welcometotheclubhoe ‘s all around the world collab

A/N: Thank you for letting me apart of this and thank you @spellcasterlight for beta reading this!

WC:1584 "I did this for you." He spoke, his hand trailing down your red, tear soaked cheeks. His thumb lightly running along your bottom lip, swollen and bruised from his insistent kisses. 

"But why?" You managed to choke out, throat raw from crying.

"I love you and he wasn't good for you, (y/n)!" His voice rising in anger from just the thought of your abusive boyfriend.

~~~

You cowered in the bathroom after another fight with your boyfriend, Erwin. You had approached him, yet again, about his drinking habit. Missing the days before he lost his business, the days where he would take you out every weekend to either dance or have a romantic dinner. The days where you would cuddle on the couch and watch the worst B rated horror movies you could find. The nights where your bodies were covered in a sheet of glistening sweat, chest heaving as he hovers above you, eyes looking at you with admiration as you both cling to each other, thrusting against one another with silent words of love and praise.

Those are the days you wanted back, those are the days you once lived for.

But everything changed that night, things were broken, the picture of the two of you on your one year anniversary now laid shattered on the hardwood floor. Harsh words hissed towards you, “You inconsiderable bitch! Don’t you care that my life is ruined?! You have no right to say anything!” Ribs were bruised as his foot collided against your side, sending an agonizing pain throughout your trembling body as you held yourself, desperate to hold back the vomit that threatened to expel from your mouth. You went to the only person you knew you could talk to, the only person who knew Erwin better than you did, Levi. Levi had been best friends with Erwin since they were wearing diapers, Levi knew Erwin like he knew the best tea shops and cleaning supplies in town. They were basically brothers and Levi was furious at Erwin for treating you the way he had, but you made Levi, you begged Levi, to not do anything or say a word about this. Levi reluctantly agreed, having been harboring feelings for you for years now. But he was furious at himself for introducing you to his best friend when he wanted you for himself. Besides, he trusted Erwin then, he was sure Erwin would've been the most amazing person for you, but now? All he wanted to do was put his best friend six feet under in an unmarked grave. 

Every night from then on, you called Levi, crying. Crying about the words Erwin would say to you, calling you pathetic and worthless. Crying about how every night you would worry yourself about his whereabouts just for him to come home, reeking of alcohol, hitting you when you tried to voice your concerns. Crying about how much you missed the old Erwin, how much you wanted that Erwin back. How you still loved him even though he gave you every reason to hate him.

Levi listened, his own heart aching for you. His mind tells you to run away to be with him. He voiced that once, offering you to stay with him, to escape from the toxic environment that you once felt safe in. Somewhere far away, away from the heartache that was Erwin Smith. But you refused, adamant on staying, believing that you and only you could bring the old Erwin back. It broke Levi's heart that night. It tore his heart in two hearing how you still wanted to be with a man who abused you emotionally, mentally and physically. 

And then that fateful night happened, the night where Levi got a call from you, voice barely above a whisper. "Levi? Levi! Please! Please help me! I'm so scared!" You quietly sobbed into the phone, Levi already out the door, keys in his hand.

When Levi had to resort to kicking the front door of your shared home with Erwin down, he knew things were going to be bad. He heard Erwin yelling down the hall and made his way there, finding him yelling and pounding away at the bathroom door. Your sobs coming through the splintering wood between each hard pound. Erwin's knuckles were bloodied, whether it was his own or yours, Levi didn't care. You were scared and he was going to save you. 

Levi tried to calm Erwin down, he really did, but once Erwin brandished the kitchen knife he had in his other hand and made a dash for Levi, he had no choice. He drew his gun and before anyone had time to react, before Levi himself had time to think,  it went off, hitting his best friend right in the chest with impeccable accuracy. He collapsed on the floor, holding the wound in his hand as he drowned in his own blood. The blonde gurgling on the thick, sticky liquid was the only sound filling the home before he took his last breath, collapsing on the floor in a puddle of his own red fluids.

You opened the door a few seconds later and screamed as your boyfriend’s blood continued to pool around his cold lifeless body. Crawling over to him, you placed his head in your lap, angrily looking at Levi as tears streamed down your cheeks. 

Levi had to forcibly remove you from the floor, leaving Erwin's now limp and lifeless body on the floor, taking you back to his place. 

~~~

"You… you did all this," motioning around the room under his home. The basement that he had spent countless hours cleaning and disinfecting, de-bugging, just for you. The room he filled with your favorite colors and small knick-knacks he thought you would like, stuffed animals on a queen sized bed and movies filled the tall, dark brown shelves he installed. Just for you. "You killed Erwin, my boyfriend, your best friend, your brother, just for me?" You were so confused, between knowing Erwin was no longer the man you loved and still loving him even through all the shit he put you through, you didn't know how to react. 

You were angry at Levi, he killed the only guy you really seemed to love, but you were also thankful for him. He saved you from a quest you could not complete because the old Erwin was already too far gone to be saved. 

"You're safe now, (y/n)." Levi spoke gently to you. You looked up at the man who seemed to show no sign of remorse for killing his lifelong friend, but instead his eyes showed worry, concern and love for you. You're all he has ever wanted and now he has you. He was a killer, but he was your hero. Saved you from Erwin and yourself because you knew you would have never had the balls to leave him.

You flung yourself onto Levi, knocking the two of you back onto the freshly cleaned carpet underneath. Your lips met his in a wet, sloppy kiss. Coming together like two missing pieces of a puzzle, not even the events of what had just happened minutes before could ruin what was happening. Levi gripped the back of your head and the back of your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he kissed back. Your hands gripped the front of his ironed white shirt, now wrinkled and stained with blood of your deceased boyfriend. This felt so terribly wrong, kissing the man who killed Erwin, his best friend, but nothing has ever felt so right either. Levi was always the one you ran to when Erwin was hurting you, Levi was the one who offered to take you away from the abusive relationship, Levi was the one who saved you. Levi saved you, he would've died for you, he killed for you. Maybe it was Levi all along, the one who you should've been with. The one who you should've chosen since the beginning, someone whom you had a small crush on when you first met him but decided on the blonde instead.

You pulled away from Levi, looking straight into his steel grey eyes. "I was wrong." You whispered just centimeters from his lips.

"What are you talking about?" He asked as he caressed your cheeks.

"I was wrong for choosing Erwin. It should've been you, it was always you Levi. I was just too blinded by my own heart to see you, right in front of me, the whole damn time. I'm so sorry." Levi then brought you in for another passionate kiss, flipping you over and running hands up and down your sides. 

"I love you, (y/n)." He said as he started to nip at your neck, nimble fingers swiftly lifting your shirt over your head.

"I… I love you too, Levi." You repeated his action and took his shirt off, running your fingers over his toned stomach, tracing scars from childhood and sport related injuries. "There is nowhere that I'd rather be than with you, right here, right now. Even if we had to stay in this basement for the rest of our lives, I don't think I could ever be happier."

So you and Levi spent the next few hours in that basement, the basement where you found yourself in love with the man who saved you, even if that same man was now a killer. He was yours and you now belonged to him.

[marshmallow-phd]

Bottom of the Glass

Genre: Bodyguard!AU, Angst

Pairing: Jinyoung  x Reader

Summary: It’d been almost ten years since you left the life of glitz and cameras behind, never looking back. But someone refused to let go. When danger comes knocking, your father insists on hiring the best to keep you safe. Reluctant, you agree. Park Jinyoung is constantly by your side, but as the stalker gets closer, will he be able to keep you safe without getting too close himself?

Part: 1 I 2

**

This was the kind of life you always should have lived.

Teenage you wouldn’t be able to understand. That girl was too lost in the flashing lights and the glamor of magazine covers to understand the sacrifices that came with that lifestyle. Those things felt trivial: regular school, normal sleeping hours, being in charge of your own image and your daily activities. What was a classroom compared to flying to Paris for Fashion Week and being photographed on the red carpet?

As a child, you were used to being told what to do and how to behave, so it seemed like routine when your handler changed over from your parents to your manager. You understood that doing what you were told kept you on schedule and in work. They say that hindsight is twenty-twenty. An understatement if you’d ever heard one.

The paperwork and awaiting decisions could feel overwhelming at times, but at least you were the one making the decisions. You had a say and you weren’t treated as a money machine. Yes, as someone with employees, you had people depending on you for their paychecks, but the relationship was different. You weren’t being exploited. Rather, you were looked to for guidance. You might not have been the head honcho of the hotel business, but someday you would be. That was a legacy you truly held on to.

“A package arrived for you, Miss.”

You didn’t even bother to look up as you waved uninterested to your assistant. “Just set it down on the table.” Right now, these budget papers needed your attention. “I’ll open it later.” You hadn’t been expecting anything, but that wasn’t unusual. Partners or sponsors occasionally sent new products to test out or as a gift to keep the mutually beneficial relationship going strong.

“Yes, ma’am.” Jun put the small cardboard box on the coffee table set up on the other side of your office before bowing and leaving.

For another hour, you poured over the suggestions from the different departments of what they believed they needed to fully function for the upcoming fiscal year. All the numbers were beginning to blur together as a headache was starting to pound against your skull. You needed a break.

Yes, this was a much better career for you. Although those looking from the outside might see it as a step down, they didn’t fully understand. It was easy to look at the smiling face on a promotional campaign and stop. They didn’t dig deeper. The need to appear perfect but never reaching that level, the lack of decisions placed in your hands, the lack of privacy. What extremes had you gone to avoid paparazzi or overly adoring fans? How many dates had you gone on that were ruined either because the guy didn’t want all the attention or because that was exactly what they wanted?

Standing up, you stretched your legs by pacing around your office. Thankfully it was spacious enough to give you a good amount of room, letting you make large laps to get the blood flowing again. It was an office fit for a director with its tall windows on the top floor. Your father’s office was a few doors down the hall and even larger than yours. Maybe you should pace in there instead, to get more steps in. With the sun going down on the horizon, the chances of your father still being around were slim. Unlike you, he tried to keep to normal working hours. It made your mother feel more at ease about his health. A troubling concern that bothered you, too. When you were child, your father was Superman, invincible. As an adult, you were no longer shielded from the truths of an ailing body.

Before you could decide to check if his office was indeed empty, the package caught your eye.  The return address was a P.O. Box, absent of a name of whom it belonged to. Strange. It was also addressed directly to you, no formal title preceding it, as was often the case with promotional packages. You didn’t get too many delivers in this manner that weren’t of the router or legal envelopes variety. Grabbing a pair of scissors from your desk, you cut the tape and pulled back the cardboard flaps.

And then you screamed.

The box fell from your hands as Jun came running back into the room.

“Ma’am, what happened?” he asked frantically. With a trembling hand, you pointed to the package that was now spilling out all over your carpet.

Old magazine clippings covered in red smears - smears that were obviously made of blood.

“Don’t touch anything,” Jun swallowed thickly as he backed you away. “I’ll call the police and have security review who dropped it off.”

You nodded, unable to voice anything, too paralyzed by fear. Because this was no ordinary threat. This had nothing to do with who you were today. You knew those clippings, those old articles that you hadn’t thought about in years. That part of your life had long been behind you. The only remnant of it was the rare “Where are they now?” tabloid entry that no one read. So why had someone done this? Why now?

**

No.

No, no, no, no, and no.

There was no way you were going to agree to this. Your life was exactly the way you wanted it to be and you didn’t need some over muscled buffoon messing it all up. In your opinion, you should let the detectives do their work while you let this creep know that you weren’t scared of him. The initial shock of the first package had worn off and now you were just pissed.

“I don’t think that this is necessary. At all.” You were determined to with this argument as you sat across from your father in his living room. His face was scrunched with worry and dark circles pulled at the skin underneath his eyes. When he called you over to your childhood home, you thought he was simply going to give you an update on the police investigation into your stalker.

Hah.

Instead he had a bomb to drop on you – no pun intended. His idea of keeping you safe with this stalker on the loose. If it had just been the one package, you would have had a stronger argument. But the phone calls started two days later. No words were spoken, just heavy breathing. You couldn’t even get a creative psychopath.

“I will not lose my only child,” your father insisted.

“I can take care of myself,” you said. “Increase security in the main lobby and start screening all packages that come in. We don’t need to go to extremes.”

Your father was much better at presenting counter arguments. “What if the stalker manages to get through the front lobby? Or if the mail comes to your home next time? Or if he approaches you at a restaurant or the park? Distanced security will only go so far. I need someone who will be there in a split second if something were to happen.”

“Father, please, do not stick some stuck up, full-of-himself babysitter on me at all times.”

“A babysitter is meant for children, and from what I see, you’re a grown woman in trouble.”

In the doorway leading from the main hallway to the living room stood three very different, yet very imposing men in tailored black suits. The one who spoke stepped forward. His black hair was parted on the side, curling slightly over his forehead. Two little dots sat below his left eyebrow. He possessed a fierce sharp face that had the ability to look… bored, almost. The others that flanked either side were complete opposites: one short with light brown hair and a stocky build, the other tall with platinum hair and a lankier frame. Not exactly the run-of-the-mill bodyguards. Were these the ones that would be stuck with you all day and night?

“Ah, Jaebeom,” your father greeted as he stood from his spot on the couch opposite of where you stood. Walking around, he shook this Jaebeom’s hand enthusiastically. “Thank you for coming. Your agency came highly recommended.”

Jaebeom placed his hand against his chest, bowing gratefully. “We’ve worked hard to gain our reputation.”

“And will one of you three be guarding my daughter?”

“Only in the areas where extra protection is needed,” Jaebeom said. “Given the gravity of the situation, I’m putting my best man on this.”

Crossing your arms, you felt like the child who got caught with their Halloween candy under the bed and now the parents were talking about what punishment to deal out. “And who would that be?”

“Park Jinyoung,” the silver haired one smirked.

“He’s finishing up another assignment at the moment, so he couldn’t be with us today,” Jaebeom said.

You raised an eyebrow. “What kind of assignment?”

“A short term one.”

A bit cryptic, but you were smart enough to know when a battle wasn’t worth fighting. Whatever this Park Jinyoung was doing before he would stick to you like flypaper, it was none of your business. A small little prayer that his assignment would take longer than expected and wouldn’t show up at all was cited in your head. Pointless. Surely, Jaebeom would just insert another guard until “his best man” was available again. Your father would insist.

“I thank you for your attentiveness on this.” For the first time in weeks, the tension in your father’s shoulders released. Guilt twisted at your stomach. Though you were sure that, with a little bit of time, this stalker would get bored and move on, your father’s worry was unsurmountable.

You didn’t want to deal with this. Turning away from the others, your arms moved from a defensive position to one where you were holding yourself together. Life wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not now that you were the boss, now that you were behind the scenes, away from the red-carpet premieres and flashing bulbs that burned your retinas. You had a grip on all aspects of your life. Your apartment was decorated the way you wanted, not your mother. You made final decisions for the company. That package was snatching the control of your life from your hands.

“Hey.”

You turned your head to glance over your shoulder. The stockier bodyguard had approached you, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. A sympathetic expression softened the sharper features of his face. He could be intimidating, with his broad shoulders yet lithe build shown off by the tailored suit.

“Jinyoung really is the best among us,” he said. “He’ll make sure you’re safe and I wouldn’t be surprised if he caught this guy in the meantime.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” you sighed as you turned around fully, “but it's not the stalker that I’m worried about. I like my privacy, my life the way it is now. With a guard following me around all day, word about this will get out. And then the paparazzi will be back on me like clumps of sticky rice.” They wouldn’t be able to resist a story like this.

“I know it sucks, but it won’t be forever.”

You nodded, but more in acknowledgment that he had spoken rather than in agreement. It was easy enough to say that something would end; everything does. But what you wanted was to be able to physically be close to the end. You wanted to see it, reach out and graze it with the tips of your fingers. But there was no light in this tunnel. If you ever met this stalker, you would make sure that at least one of you ended up in the hospital.

“Jackson,” Jaebeom called out, catching both of your attentions. The leader motioned out the door with his head. “Let’s go.” He turned back to your father. “We’ll make another round at the office, get to know your security there, and create a rotation that will cover the area sufficiently.”

“I thank you again for all your work. I look forward to meeting this Park Jinyoung.”

“He should arrive by tomorrow evening. If something holds him up, we’ll contact you.”

Your father shook his hand before the three bodyguards left. When it was just the two of you again, you leaned up against the wall and let out a rather unseemly raspberry between your lips.

“Please, don’t be like that,” your father begged. “I’m only trying to do what I think is best to protect you.”

“I know, I know,” you said, exasperated. “I just… I feel like I’m sixteen again.”

Your father chuckled. “If I remember correctly, you enjoyed your bodyguards back then.”

“Because I was stupid and it made me feel important.” Very important, indeed. Not just anyone had big burly men surrounding them as they walked through airport to get to the blacked-out van waiting for you in the car park. They were the ones who kept the photographers and overzealous fans at bay. When you were young, you looked at those pictures where you were wearing sunglasses to block out the flashing and thought you were one of the coolest people in the world. Now the very thought of that situation made you feel pity – whether it was old pictures of yourself or newer one of the latest generation of young stars. There was nothing to envy. Not when all you wanted was to be able to walk through the airport and make it to your flight without worrying around being crowded or pulled at or hear the constant screaming. And you weren’t even a heartthrob popstar. You’d dated a few, though.

“Well, things are different now,” you father said in an attempt to be comforting. “and I spoke to others who had used Lim Jaebeom’s services and they said it was like his men were hardly even there.”

It took a lot of self-control to bite down and keep your tongue from spouting off. Because it didn’t matter how invisible the guards felt to the others – they were probably used to treating employees like they didn’t exist. You were not going to be able to do that. You were going to be too hyperaware of the extra presence in your life. Like a shadow creeping behind you down a dark alley. Always there in the corner of your eye, lurking and waiting.

“I should probably be getting home,” you said.

Your father nodded in agreement. “I’ll have Seonjo see you there.”

“Father, I-” One quick, stern look cut off any argument. “Yes, sir.” So much for being a grown woman.

Seonjo was one of your father’s own security. He was loyal to the family, your father most of all. He once sent a disgruntled employee to the hospital for trying to harm your father. He never directly admitted to having a license to kill, but you wouldn’t be surprised. As a child, he’d intimidated you. One time, he caught you trying to sneak out through the back kitchen door past midnight so you could go hang out with your friends. You thought that being thrown over someone’s shoulder was a stunt you would only have to perform in front of a camera. Needless to say, you didn’t try that again.

Out front, Seonjo was already leaning up against your car, waiting for you to unlock the doors. You didn’t fight him on who got to drive. You simply pulled your keys out and tossed them to the bodyguard before jumping into the passenger’s seat.

“How do you plan on get home?” you asked once you were down the road a ways.

“Rideshares are very common, you know,” Seonjo snorted. He’d become more playful as you’d gotten older. Your only guess as to why was perhaps he wasn’t very comfortable around children. Those little creatures were even more unpredictable than adults and from you had observed, Seonjo liked things… quiet. And orderly. Kids tended to be neither.

“But wouldn’t that break protocol?”

“They won’t enter the property,” Seonjo countered. “I’ll have them drop me off a little down the road and walk the rest of the way.”

“Always the man with a plan,” you laughed.

“That’s the job,” he replied with a smile.

Safe and sound in your own apartment, Seonjo bid you a goodnight and headed down the elevator to meet his rideshare driver down on the sidewalk. You were a bit surprised that he wasn’t staying the night to watch over you, but you were thankful. One last night of freedom in your own home before the lion came a’ prowling. It didn’t feel fair at all. But it just goes to show that the past never stays asleep for long.

**

“So, wait, let me get this straight: you… are… complaining at the fact that a man has to protect you and keep you safe from your crazy, maniacal stalker?”

You rolled your eyes at your best friend, knowing that you should have been prepared for this.

Dan had been by your side since the two of you costarred in a short-lived comedy series about high school students. Not that either of you were that sad about its less-than-a-season lifespan. Right after that, you snagged the lead in the show was the defining role of your acting life and Dan was able to move on to create his own fashion line. You couldn’t say what your other costars were up to now, but Dan was always – and would always be – a constant in your life.

“Its not that serious,” you said again as you leaned forward on your desk. Dan had come to your office to have dinner with you since he was sure that it wasn’t safe for you to eat out in the open in a crowded restaurant. You know, where witnesses were present.

“See, you keep saying that, but I’m not sure if you’re aware of the actual definition of serious.” Dan folded his hands and pulled up on his knee as he crossed his legs. “The phone callss might be passable, but the package of pig’s blood with old magazine articles about you isn’t as easily overlooked.”

“I get it. I really do. But I like how my life is right now. I don’t want to think about that pompous brat of an actress I was.”

“Okay, first of all,” Dan held up a finger, “you weren’t that bad because I never would have been your friend if you were.” Now a second finger. “Second of all, you can’t control other people, honey. I don’t know why they’re suddenly fixated on you after nearly eight years, but they are. And you have to deal with it.” A cheeky look came across his face as he lifted his glass of wine to his lips. “Besides, you never know. Maybe this Park guy will be handsome and the two of you will fall in love while he protects you from the axe wielding maniac.”

You gave him your best deadpan look. “You’ve watched The Bodyguard too many times.”

“Whitney Houston is an icon. She created one of the greatest ballads of all time with that movie.”

“Actually, the song was originally written by Dolly Parton.”

Dan jumped at the third voice, nearly spilling his wine. Thankfully, the liquid didn’t leave the glass, and he was wearing black pants anyway.

Standing in your open doorway was a man in a sharp black suit with a simple cut. It was the causal kind, like your father never wore. Hair almost as dark as the suit was parted on the side and slicked back away from his forehead. The smallest of smirks rested in the corner of his mouth, giving a little bit of light to his otherwise serious expression.

Surprised that he finally showed up after waiting all day, you stood to your feet and walked over to your new bodyguard. You held out your hand for him to take. It was a strong grip, but not so much so that it was intimidating. He kept eye contact with you, but in a way that was creepy or uncomfortable. “Hi. I’m (y/n).”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, (y/n). My name is Park Jinyoung. Jaebeom already informed you that I was assigned to watch over you until this stalker is caught.”

“Yes, he did.”

Dan hopped up from his seat and came to stand beside you. With his own hand stretched out, he took the liberty of introducing himself. “Hi, I’m Daniel Larken. The fashion designer? You might have heard of me.”

Jinyoung shook his hand, obviously amused by the forwardness. “The one with the reflective suits?”

“It’s actually a shimmer sewn in with the thread,” Dan corrected.

“Ah,” Jinyoung nodded. “Good work.”

“Thank you.”

Jinyoung’s eyes flickered back and forth between you and Dan, smirking. He was enjoying this. Well, at least one of you would be. And now that Dan was fully onboard, there was no one left to stand by you. It was official. You were stuck with this Park Jinyoung. As long as he agreed to stay out of your way and not completely upend your life, then this shouldn’t be too bad of an arrangement.

With a brewing smile of his own, Dan turned to you. “I want one.”

You crossed your arms sternly. “No.”

[passivenovember]

Sometimes I get really high and cry about how I don’t have anything from my childhood home. So here’s this.

WARNINGS FOR: mentions of suicide, Billy healing from the incident at Starcourt.

--

He’s never been fed by what is inherently sentimental. Even as a little boy, those precious creatures that lived on the highest shelf in his heart were easily destroyed or ripped away by the person he was becoming. Stuffed toys fell to pieces under the heat of his anger, the toxic potion that was brewing under the surface of his skin ate away at the rose-colored hue surrounding his childhood home to the point of absolute degradation. 

Billy doesn't remember a time when he longed for the sanctity of his bedroom. For the pale yellow sunlight streaming past blood stained Thomas the Train curtains, or the box of broken toys that Neil had left alone. He doesn't remember when it happened, when the flip switched and his longing went from missing Saturday morning cartoons in his parents bed to simply missing his mother and all the things she had taken when she jumped off the roof.

It wasn't always like that. Billy remembers something else. He remembers a blanket that smelled like cinnamon toast crunch, adorned with microscopic holes he liked to such his thumb through. He remembers a set of roller blades the color of crushed mustard seeds; Neil taught him to skate. No one knows that, no one remembers, but Billy. Does, he. Remembers strong fingers laced with his own, holding tightly while Billy figured out how to maneuver the cracks in the sidewalk. 

Billy is haunted by a time when his fathers hands were good for other things. 

--

Before Hawkins. Before that night when the demon punched a hole through his chest, Billy had been giving things away. To lighten the load, he supposes, that which had become unbearable.

First it was his skateboard. 

Max wanted it.

At the time he didn't think it was as simple as all that; his bitchy kid sister begging, day in and day out for access to the magic carpet that sat entombed in Billy's closet. He hadn't used it in years, ever a slave to the bright blue ocean, but it didn't matter. It was the principal of the thing, the skateboard to his kneecap.

Max took and took and took until Billy had nothing left to give. She said you don't even use it anymore and Billy said doesn't matter, you can't skate.

Neil told him it could be good for bonding.

Neil told him Max was a good kid, she deserved to have something of her own in their house on Willowbrook Avenue.

Neil told him to hand it over before I stick it up your ass, kid.

So Billy ground his teeth together and tried to push down the aching emptiness at tossing away the last thing his grandmama had given him before she passed away. It was the principal of the thing--if Ruthann were still around she'd tell him to let the kid have it. Let her have something of her own, so. He polished its bearings and left it outside her bedroom door, pretended to read until she came knocking an hour later with confusion twisting her freckled face to shit.

You're sure I can have it. She asked.

And.

Yeah.  I'll teach you. 

He wonders if Max remembers those afternoons in the driveway that morphed into weekends at the skatepark with Max scuffing up the wheels and Billy tapping into his thin line of patience. Wonders if she's plagued by the memory of hidden smiles and misplaced affection, because. Billy had thought it would hurt more, giving away a piece of his childhood like that, but. He had long since stopped attaching emotional worth to things that broke. Things that crumbled.

He wonders if Max remembers a time when his hands were good for other things.

--

Billy made a habit of throwing away the things that weighed him down. 

The skateboard, the blanket that smelled like cereal milk, he thought all of it made him weak. The more shit he had that mattered to him the more he had to lose, so. Every Spring Billy would wrap his fingers around the mouth of a big black trash bag and lighten his load. Scoop armfuls of his childhood into the abyss that always, somehow, incredibly operated as a portal to Max's room.

Sometimes he wondered if she even had a personality or if everything she had, everything she was, came directly from Billy's dumpster.

One man's trash, and all that. 

She wore his old shirts. Read his books, hung discarded posters of naked chick's on the insides of her closet doors for some fucking reason, and. In a weird way Billy felt like maybe he was being immortalized. Every phase of his life was shone back at him like the surface of a lake, or a shiny new penny on the dashboard of the Camaro, and he felt good. Useful, for his trash becoming someone's gold. 

So Billy kept tossing things out.

Reorganizing and downsizing until his room looked like a generic movie set for a troubled teen. Every weekend Billy packed the little pieces of himself into neat trash bags, tying the lip closed and leaving them for max. Nestled at the foot of her door, like a bargain brand Christmas gift that was not at all what she had asked for. Gifts that came 52 times a year.

The bags always vanished. Billy felt heavy and light. Heavy and light. In the end he wasn't sad to see it go.

--

Maybe it was just a side effect of growing up in the big, empty house on the hill and fighting the incessant need to fill it with shit but Steve Harrington was a packrat. The kid never got rid of anything. Before Starcourt. Before that night when the demon punched a hole through his chest, Billy would tease him about it.

What, like you need five binders full of empty laminate pages?

Steve's tongue would poke out of the corner of his mouth while his fingertips brushed the offended plastic. I'm going to start scrapbooking. 

And that was is usual way, to find an explanation, a inarguable reason for all the junk in his life, but.

Billy thought it was okay to have things around for comfort.

Wasn't really his style, but it was Steve's and Billy didn't stop the kid from collecting whatever he could get those slim fingers on. Old NATARI cartages, broken HAM radio antenna's, torn polaroid's, annual Moms of Loch Nora Bake sale t-shirts; he kept everything in case an old timey push mower could prove itself to be useful.

Before that night when the demon punched a hole in his chest, Billy would smirk. What sad sack wants a MILF's face on his chest?

Steve just shrugged his shoulders. Someone could need it.

And Billy just snorted, because.

Harrington's a weird guy.

Thoughtful and pretty and so, so fucking weird.

When they brought Billy home from the hospital he slept in a shirt with Karen Wheelers face on it, every night for a week.

Funny how it all comes back around.

--

He spends a lot of time in bed with the covers pulled up under his chin. Draped in Steve's ridiculous knit sweaters and thick woolen socks because everything is cold, now. As if winter has settled rough and desperate into the very marrow of his bones and even though the fabric rubs too harshly against the healing rise of his stitched skin, Billy can't shed even a single layer for fear of freezing to death.

That's what it had felt like Before Starcourt. Before the monster punched a hole through his chest, when it just had its fingers inside his skull.

Endless winter.

Steve buys every type of heated blanket on the market. Searches high and low for expensive down t-shirts that will help you feel more comfortable, but. Billy doesn't even remember what that's supposed to feel like.

Steve says comfort feels like sleeping in on Saturday mornings because you don't have anywhere to be. Home sounds like your mother fixing pancakes just before lunch time but--oh. Everyone always remembers half a second too late. Billy tries to smile, tries to accept the help Steve gives him--he wears the sweaters and keeps the socks on after his morning bath even though he's not really a sock person because Steve is so hopeful.

Bright.

Steve smiles over the mug of hot cocoa he fixes Billy every morning and hopes. If we start the day warm, who knows?

Billy doesn't have the heart to tell him.

--

Steve spends a lot of time in bed. Plastered to Billy's skin--chest to back because Billy needs to feel like he's protecting something, after Starcourt. After that night when the demon punched a hole through his chest. 

Sometimes Billy feels like Maxine. 

Stealing bits and pieces from someone's garbage can. Here he is, sleeping in Steve's bed wearing Steve's clothes taking up such a large part of Steve's life, and.

Pretty Boy just snuggles closer and lends his warmth in more ways than one.

Billy doesn't always know how to handle it when those milky brown eyes watch him roll around under the covers until his body finally feels at peace. Every night Billy closes his eyes says the same thing. "I can be out of here by next week, if you--" Afraid to look for fear that he'll see relief reflected back at him.

Every night Steve says the same thing in return. "You're my whole world now, Billy." 

As if that's supposed to get the car back on track. As if Billy hasn't veered off the road and crashed into a tree every single day since--

"Maybe it would make you feel better if, you know." Steve shuffles impossibly closer, the hot line of him charring Billy's skin even through the layers of wool. "If you had something familiar."

"You're familiar."

Steve's flesh burns even hotter. Eyes shining even bright, at that. Something almost like love. "I meant something from your childhood."

Billy rolls onto his side.

Steve moves with him without even thinking about it--chest to back because Steve needs to feel useful, after Starcourt. After that night when Billy hit the floor and the light went out of his eyes. Billy's chest rises against the palm of Steve's hand, where it's pressed against him. Steve will never get tired of that motion.

"I don't have anything from my childhood."

Which. "Not even at home?"

"This is home now." Billy sounds like he doesn't want to talk about it, but.

Steve can't bring himself to care. Or maybe stop caring. "I meant at Neil's."

"Got rid of all that shit." He can hear the tremor in Steve's voice, when the boy finally finds it.

"Neil got rid of your--"

"No." Billy says simply. "I did."

He can hear the wheels turning in that beautiful head. Steve swallows, the movement palpable in the thick night air. "But. Don't you miss it?"

After a while Billy shakes his head in the darkness, curls catching on the plaid pillowcase. It takes Steve a moment to decipher what it means, how it makes him feel that Billy can so easily toss away the things that no longer serve him. 

They're quiet for a while. So long that Billy's breathing goes deep and even, a clear indicator that he's fallen asleep. Steve knows it won't last long, knows the nightmares wake him up, and.

Steve always stays awake through the first three to give Billy something familiar to hold onto.

[five-hxrgreeves]

I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 1,982

You can stand me up at the gates of hell But I won't back down I'm gonna stand my ground Won't be turned around And I'll keep this world from dragging me down

1 |  2  | 3 |  4 |

Pt. 3- Monday, April 1, 2019

The morning of the first dawned with a bright blue sky and perfect spring temperatures, almost in  mocking irony of the fate it would meet later on that same day. Suspecting nothing amiss, Lola began her usual morning routine of getting ready for school. After brushing her teeth, she went to her closet and decided on a pair of jeans, a white, long-sleeved v-necked shirt with black polka-dots and after brushing her hair, hesitated over a choice of hats that she owned. While there was no strict dress code at her school, she did like to make a good first impression on Mondays. The rest of the week was up for grabs.

Coming to a decision, she reached for a yellow hat with a navy-blue ribbon around the crown that was tied in a bow and placed it jauntily on her head. The brunette was somewhat known around school for her unique accessories so she’d only been indecisive over which style she’d wanted, not actually whether or not to wear a hat. She then pulled on a pair of riding-styled boots and picked up her backpack, sliding her deck of cards into the back pocket of her jeans. Lunchtime was usually a boring affair so it was often when she would practice her magic- sometimes with a crowd to entertain.

On her route to school, Lola passed the familiar Umbrella Academy house and wondered what transpired within the walls, remembering the strange man she’d met the previous week. She wondered how long it had been since all of the siblings had seen each other since from Vanya’s book, it hadn’t seemed like they’d lived under the same roof for a long, long time. A smile flickered across her face as she thought of grown-up superheroes attempting to act like real siblings and the interesting, chaotic bickering that might ensue.

(Of course, she had no idea that such arguments might result in the end of life on earth.)

After that, the day passed as it usually did, with millions and billions of people completely unaware of what the night would bring.

--

Once dinner was over, Lola scraped her plate clean and set it in the dishwasher before turning it on to run, blatantly unaware that this would be the last time she did such a mundane action for a long, long time. Then, she made her way into the family room where her mother, father and uncle were sitting on the couch about to watch TV. Both men had their traditional after-dinner drink of two fingers of whiskey while her mother sipped on spiked hot coffee.

“Mom?” Lola asked.

“Yes, dear?”

“I’m going to the basement now, all of the dinner dishes are cleaned up.”

Her mother’s blue eyes- the ones she’d inherited- flicked to the younger girl, “alright, but don’t stay up too late. It’s a school night, you know.”

Her uncle grinned, “yeah,” he said, breaking to take a sip from his glass, “wouldn’t want you to show up all grumpy for school tomorrow.”

Lola sighed and nodded in acceptance, “alright, I’ll do my best,” she said, knowing it was more than likely she’d lose track of time anyway.

Moving first towards her mother, then father and finally her uncle, she gave them each a goodnight hug and exchanged their daily I love yous.

(She would be grateful that these were the last words she’d ever said to her family. At least she wouldn’t have to live wondering if her family had known she’d loved them.)

Then, she went to the basement.

Not even a mile away, the beginnings of an altercation were occurring at the house the size of a single block where the seventh, disregarded member of the family of superheroes was receiving a hostile welcome at the introduction of her new boyfriend, Leonard Peabody.

--

Lola liked her basement. It wasn’t terribly large but it wasn’t terribly small, either. Half of it was unfinished and the other half was lived-in, creating a perfect balance. In the unfinished side, metal shelves that one might see in a hardware store stood floor-to-ceiling with various tools and stored holiday items. Paint cans, electric machinery, extension cords and other items one would normally find in a shed were scattered haphazardly along the shelves.

In the other half, a carpeted floor of some green color stretched from the back wall to right before Lola’s writing desk. On top of it sat an old, brown-leather couch, a black wooden coffee table from IKEA and a TV hung mounted on the wall. After the carpet ended, removable foam-padded tiles formed the floor. This was the area where Lola’s desk sat which was a large, white table. The desktop itself was almost empty except for her half-filled notebook, three different-sized candles, a pencil sharpener and a pencil holder. Her papers- both for school and other things- were stored in a hand-me-down brown file cabinet that stood to the left of her workspace.

Before sitting down to write, the brunette carried out her ritual warm-up: lighting the candles, flipping to the next available page, sharpening her pencil and placing her reference books on her desk- The Book Thief, of course, and her new book from Vanya Hargreeves. Then, she pulled her deck of cards from her back pocket and placed the rectangular box carefully on the lower-left corner of her desk, making sure to match up the corners of the box with the outlined shape created by the corner. She wasn’t sure why she did this, it just was something she absolutely had to do before she finally sat down.

Once finished, Lola made sure to flip the electric lights off and returned to her seat which was a rolly-chair with one broken wheel. She began to write surrounded by her small pool of glowing, flickering light.

Today’s memory is from when I was six. (Note to self: find a better opening.) It was my first time at the store for hours on end. Usually, a babysitter would come by and pick me up but I suppose she cancelled. (NtS: get more details. Just kidding, nobody cares about that.) Anyway, I was super bored and since I was little, I didn’t have any schoolwork to do. I wandered around the store for a bit, probably causing mischief. Anyway (you already said that, dummy) the funny part is that I sat down at a group of mannequins because there weren’t any other seats and I must’ve sat so still that everyone thought I was one because when I finally stood up, a woman screamed. I didn’t know why at the time but it happened again when I was older. Then I started doing it for my own amusement. It was funny to see people think that I was a fake, plastic doll only to realize I was actually real. Sometimes, I even went to the back and dressed in clothes that would soon be modeled by the mannequins- although I think the effect was ruined because I didn’t fit them.

--

A story up and a block over, the altercation had grown to a full-blown verbal assault, the main four members of the family heatedly questioning the new boyfriend’s insistence on them coming to their sister’s concert. The seventh member, feeling hurt and angry that her family wouldn’t, just once support her, felt the tension build up within her, her emotions unusually high from the lack of medication she’d consistently taken for years until this week.

--

The spot was also great for people-watching. While Gimbel Brothers has mostly ordinary clients, there are some cases that are more noteworthy (NtS: fix wording, sounds awkward). There are many people who bring children to the store as well. On Mondays, there is an average of twelve children, usually after school. The number varies throughout the week until Saturday where there are usually fifteen or twenty. One time, as an outlier during the holidays, there were twenty-five. I know this because I counted them. I don’t usually do it intentionally and I’m sure I miss some customers but for some reason, all the numbers stick in my head. The funny thing is, I’m terrible at math. I’m also really good at cards, though. I’ve never lost a game of War or Go Fish. My uncle says I’m a counter, which I suppose is true. I’ve also counted all the sequins on one of our formal dresses, just for fun. There were two-hundred and eighty-six.

--

As the sky grew dark outside, the argument in the large house had reached an all-time high with Leonard Peabody outwardly insulting his girlfriend’s largest brother, inciting his anger and riling him up purposefully, causing him to throw the first punch. The seventh member of the family desperately tried to pull her boyfriend away, to save him from an assault that he would surely not survive. She was right about that, but there was nothing she could do. There was only one person Number One listened to and it wasn’t her.

--

Anyway, back to people-watching. There was once a rich woman who came to our store. No one could figure out why; we’re not exactly the high-end type. She brought her daughter with her, a pretty, blonde girl with bright blue eyes. Almost like mine, I think, but they looked better on her. I heard her tell Brittany that she wanted to get her granddaughter ‘normal clothes,’ except she said it like an insult. I figure that when her granddaughter came to visit, all she provided were expensive outfits and the girl spilled on them, teaching her the lesson of buying cheaper clothes for little kids. She didn’t say all of that but I made up the story to go along with her request.

--

Standing over Leonard’s body, the seventh member of the Hargeeves turned on her brother, eyes shining white against her pale face. In his hand, he held a bloody, glass eyeball. Her siblings crowded together, trying to calm her, but she spent all of her life being calm and she was tired of it. Turning her gaze to the academy, the building shook under a ten-point-zero earthquake, the bricks and concrete falling down in rapid succession. Tearing her gaze away from the sight of her childhood hell, she let sound waves resonate through the street, knocking over buildings and causing them to collapse, burying her siblings in rubble. Carelessly, she walked away as anger, sadness and hatred fueled her steps to her apartment where she changed and gathered up her violin for the world’s last performance.

--

She was very posh too, with fur and everything. She stood still long enough that I could study her coat, which had thirty spots. I’m not sure if it was real fur (if it was, she’s a horrible person), but she certainly acted very high-class, even speaking a little nasally and tilting her head up to look down on Brittany. I think it might’ve been because of Brittany’s skin color. The woman didn’t seem to be very accepting of hard-working people that looked different from her.

--

At ten o’clock pm, the close of the concert, sound waves so large they felled the building and many blocks over swept through the city. A short, dark-haired woman with a glowing white light in the center of her chest rose above the destruction, sending out pulses of sound to the far-reaching corners of the world. With no one to stop her, no one to shoot a gun next to her ear, the bottled power exploded from her chest sharing with everyone the feelings of hurt and neglect that she’d been forced to endure throughout her childhood. One person alone survived in a basement not much deeper than the fictional character’s she admired, writing away and completely unaware that the world above had changed beyond recognition.

[starcountesseevee]

Becoming A Leader (1)

I had this cute little image of Cliff growing up and thought maybe I could turn it into short clips of his childhood. This is 100% based off my headcanon from ARC where Cliff has a loving mom (now named Alyce), a sister (now a younger sister named Faye), and deadbeat dad (now named Carlos).

Part 2

A small boy peeked around the corner to the bedroom as he shyly eyed the woman that lay napping on the bed within. She had deeply tanned skin with dark hair that hung in curls around her face and was very visibly pregnant. 

"Mommy?" The young boy called quietly, not quite wanting to wake her up but his stomach was growling and breakfast had been a long time ago. 

Alyce’s brown eyes fluttered open and she immediately broke into a smile as she spotted the boy. "Cliff, sweetie, what is it? Come here." She scooted over on the bed as best as her pregnant belly would allow as Cliff eagerly ran over to climb up next to her. 

"Mommy I'm hungry." He looked up into her face with pleading eyes. 

"Are you?!" She gasped, ruffling his hair with a laugh. "You know what, I think I am too. But I always am nowadays aren't I?" 

Cliff glanced over at her stomach as she gave it a gentle pat, a familiar feeling of sadness washing over him. When he didn't respond Alyce frowned and gently stroked the side of his face. 

"What's the matter, sweetie?" 

"Will you…" Cliff sniffled as he tried his best to hold back his tears. "Will you still love me after the baby gets here?" 

"Oh honey!" Alyce pulled Cliff to her in a tight hug. "Of course I will! What makes you think I won't?" Her mind immediately went to her husband but pushed the thought aside as she began wiping at her son's tears. 

"The other kids in school. They said...they said when you get a little brother or sister your mommy doesn't need you anymore." 

Alyce's heart felt like it would burst, she hated to hear that he was getting picked on at school. "Sweetie, look at me." She cupped Cliff's small face between both her hands. "Of course I'll still love you. Just because there will be a new baby in our family doesn't change how I feel about you. Don't listen to those bullies." 

"But what if you love the baby more?" 

"I have enough love for both of you equally, don’t you worry about that." She smiled, using her thumb to brush away the last of his tears. "Now, no more tears, okay? Mommy will always love you." 

"Okay." Cliff smiled as Alyce planted a big kiss on the top of his head. 

"Now, how about we go make some lunch, hmm?" They both laughed as his stomach let out a rumble. Cliff hopped easily off the bed and waited for his mom as she swung her legs over the edge and got to her feet but immediately stumbled back into the bed as she clutched her stomach. 

"Mommy! Mommy!" Cliff was at her side in an instant, grasping at her skirt as she tried to catch her breath. 

"Sweetie, I think…" She took another shaky breath. "You need to call your father. The baby is coming." 

Hours later, what seemed like an eternity for Cliff, and he was still waiting in the playroom he had been left in when they got to the hospital. Bored, he used a toy car to retrace the streets on the carpet for the dozenth time as he fought to stay awake. He had already taken a nap, although he hadn't intended to in case he missed the baby, made a house with some blocks, destroyed the house with a Tyranitar plush he brought from home, and still had not eaten - although a very nice nurse brought him some crackers and a soda. 

He was almost slumped over on the carpet when a familiar voice called out for him. 

"Cliff? You awake? Hey kiddo." His dad knelt down next to him with a smile. 

"Mhmm." Cliff kept his eyes glued to the car he was half-heartedly pushing back and forth in front of him. 

"You want to come meet your little sister?" 

Cliff's eyes went wide as he finally looked up at his dad. "I have a sister?" 

"You do, kiddo!" Carlos stood and extended his hand for Cliff to take. "Let's go see your mom." 

Alyce looked tired but smiled wide when the two came into her room and she shifted the small bundle in her arms to make room for Cliff on the bed with her. "Say hi to your sister Faye." 

"Faye." Cliff repeated in awe as he watched the baby wriggle about in the pink blanket it was wrapped in. She was smaller than he had imagined, although he didn't really know how big babies were supposed to be anyway, with wisps of dark hair and brown eyes like his mom. When he reached out to touch her tiny hand he was surprised when she wrapped her fingers around his. 

"My family." Cliff heard his mom whisper happily as she squeezed his shoulder. Maybe having a little sister wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Part 2

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Shards of Glass 2/2

After over thirty years, Ma is getting paid a visit, all thanks to the persuasion of a sweater-making, pig-loving teenager. (Here’s part 2, as promised. Hope it lives up to everyone’s expectations!)

@thestanbros

~~~~~~~~~~

Despite it being over forty years since he had been home, Stan found it so easy and so familiar as he walked down the sidewalks with his family that he could probably travel blindfolded. So many times he and Ford had walked down this way for home from the beach, just in time for dinner.

It was sad how much anxiety Stan was having over visiting his own mother, how badly his stomach was turning; he attempted to distract himself by observing his childhood home. The buildings hadn't changed much, except for the interiors. Almost every business that was here in his youth was either replaced or drastically renovated. Except for the Belgian Waffle Store, that place was bustling with people eating a late-breakfast or an early-lunch.

And there it was. Sandwiched between the waffle joint and a new shoe store was the old pawn shop that had been transformed into a comic book store. Mabel grinned and rushed up to the windows, pressing her face against it to get a good look at the displayed comics. "Wow! You should feel right at home, huh Grunkle Stan?"

He snorted a quick laugh. "Bet this place'll make more money now than it ever did for our old man."

Mabel entered with Dipper by his side. The old men lingered but eventually wandered inside. Ford was gently reminded of a comfortable library. Where Pa's shelves of expensive products used to be now had beanbags and a coffee table in its place. A desk stood where his desk once stood, now hosting a young lady with brown hair in a ponytail and she smiled. "Hi! Finding everything okay?"

Mabel hopped on over while Dipper stalled, intrigued by a science-fiction comic book he had heard of but never read. "Hi! I'm Mabel! Is Caryn Pines here?"

The young lady grinned and nodded. "Oh yeah! She's home, just go up these stairs here and knock. Sweet lady, let me and Lindsey room with her for cheaper rent, she's the best roommate anyone could ask for. Friends of her?"

"You could say that," Dipper said easily and started for the stairs, the ones that led to the door for the living room. "C'mon."

Mabel and Dipper entered the closed-in stairwell with the grunkles behind them, halfway through, Ford stopped them. "Wait, kids, maybe… maybe you should say hi to her first."

Mabel turned and gave him a warning look with her hands on her hips. "You're not gonna run away, are you?"

"No, that's not what I had in mind." Ford said, though it didn't sound like a bad idea. "This is a lot to take in, so… maybe we should do this gradually."

Stan nodded. "Yeah, let her say hi to your kids first, okay?"

Dipper and Mabel exchanged looks and then nodded, agreeing that this was a good idea. Mabel then hurried to the door and knocked cheerfully.

"C'min."

Mabel opened the door and grinned at the sight before her. Sitting at her window, though her glowing pink eye long gone, Ma Pines sat with her ankles crossed and some knitting in her hands, still in white heels, but now sporting a red skirt with a white sweater and her long hair, now silver-white, was still up in her bun and she could never say no to her golden earrings and bracelets. Her eyes were just as keen as ever and she held herself up with that same confidence she always had. At the sight of her great-grandchildren, she smiled calmly and said spookily as she sat her knitting aside, "Ah, I've been expectin' choo two."

Mabel gasped with shining eyes. "Really?!"

Ma laughed and waved her little fib away. "Nah, that's just something I used to tell customers." No longer playing pretend, she grinned and opened her arms, "Now c'mere and hug this old lady!"

Mabel had never seen such a beautiful smile. She ran into her arms and hugged her tightly. She smelled like an old lady, maybe too much perfume with a hint of freshly baked bread and… vapor rub? Some sort of lotion? Whatever. Dipper soon joined the hug and Ma's thin arms hugged them tightly. The twins wondered if she would ever let them go, but soon she held them by the shoulders to look at them.

"Look at choo." Ma awed. "Just look at choo… You're both so beautiful. You're both almost adults. Holy Moses, who gave choo two permission to grow up?"

Mabel giggled and squeezed her hand. "It's so good to see you, Ma! We've really missed you!"

"I've missed you, too. Your father doesn't brin' choo down here nearly enough. Speakin' of which, where is Alex? Browsin' the store?"

Dipper rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Actually, he's still in California with Mom."

"We came here with someone else," Mabel said open-ended.

The older pair of twins, who were listening at the door, exchanged petrified looks, but they knew they couldn't leave their mother waiting any longer. Ford opened the door and they both stepped in silently to allow Ma to react as she saw fit.

Stan pulled off his beanie and held it with both hands while Ford pocketed his hands in his jacket. The old scientist swallowed and looked down at the carpeted floor. His twin did the opposite, his eyes locked on his mother as he took in her appearance and how she had changed. At the same time, she was staring at her sons with a hard expression on her face, both stern and difficult to read.

Ford took in a deep breath and muttered, "Hello, Ma."

Stan cracked a nervous smile and quipped, "You look good." And then he mentally kicked himself. What the hell was that?!

Ma stood and Dipper and Mabel moved aside. Everyone in the room was nervous, except for the old lady, who had a collective atmosphere to her that terrified everyone even more, unsure of how long it would last. When she was only a step or two away from her grown children, Ma said quietly, "So, choo finally decided to come clean?"

The men whose father named them both Stan stared at her in astoundment. "What?" They both gasped.

"Stanley, sweetheart," Ma sighed with a smile and she shook her head. "Choo might pull a great impression of your brother, but I know choo better than that. Even as kids I could always tell the difference. Always." She bit her lip as her eyes filled with tears. "Now, do I get to hug my sons or not?" She croaked with open arms.

Stan's bottom lip trembled and Ford just stared as he realized just how wonderful his mother truly was, and then both grown men quickly embraced her and held her tightly.

"We're so sorry."

"Please forgive us."

"We're so sorry."

"Please forgive us."

"Choo darlin' idiots," Ma said and squeezed them back tightly, as each face was buried in her shoulder and everyone's breathing was much more controlled now. "It's okay."

"Ma, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Stanley…"

"No, I mean it. I should've…"

"I should have done more when I had the chance…"

"Stanford…"

"We're so sorry."

"Please forgive us."

"Hey, hey," Ma was now rubbing circles into their backs. "It's alright. It's alright. I always knew and already forgave choo."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Stan asked.

"I knew choo had your reasons." Ma replied calmly. "I trust my little free spirit."

They heard a sniff come from behind Ma and they all looked at the teenagers to find Mabel scrubbing her eyes with a fist and Dipper rolling his eyes at his sister with a small smile.

"Sweetheart, you're not cryin', are you?" Ma asked lightly.

Mabel shook her head. "N-No…" Her smile unwavering through her white lie.

Ma chuckled and let her boys go. "Well, you two owe me an explanation, and I got a feelin' it's gonna take a while. How 'bout some tea and cookies?"

"Yes, please." Mabel said and followed her great-grandmother into the kitchen to help.

It was like when Ford first came out of the portal all over again. Except this time they were in the warm sunshine, but the cold basement. Except this time they sipped on hot tea and nibbled on old gingersnaps. Except they began the storytelling from when Ford sent the postcard and skipped to when Dipper and Mabel first arrived in Gravity Falls. Except this story had a much happier ending. And the four visiting Pines silently agreed to keep Bill Cipher in the dark and they made it sound like at the end of the summer Ford and Stan rekindled their relationship on their own without needing a mind-wipe to do it.

By the time the sun was setting on the buildings, Ma was wearing Mabel's new purple sweater and she was nodding and satisfied with the tale. Really, when her sons gave it some thought, it was ridiculous to think they could pull the wool over the eyes of not only one of the greatest conmen they have ever known, but their own mother.

Now it was time for Ma to have some fun. When filling her in was over, Mabel gleefully requested, "Tell us embarrassing stuff about our grunkles!"

Ma laughed and stood. "Hold that thought, sweetheart. I have something you'll like…" She went to a bookshelf and pulled out an old black photo album. She opened it and sat next to Mabel, lying the book on her lap. Mabel gasped and grinned to find two newborn babies lying in a crib and sleeping together, wrapped burrito-style in blankets and they had little hats to keep their heads warm.

"AW!"

"Yup, that's when we brought the boys home." Ma laughed as Dipper looked down at the pair of twins in the black-and-white picture. "Choo know, Stanford was born first, but the whole time he was without Stanley he cried his whittle heart out…"

"Ma!"

"What, it's true."

"Since when do you love the truth so much?" Ford asked cheekily and smiled at her playfully.

"Alright, mister, let's see how your niece likes this picture…"

"SAILOR SUITS!" Mabel screamed and her eyes grew to the size of saucers. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, OH MY GOSH! You guys were so cute!"

"Oh, this is them getting a bath…"

"MA!"

After half an hour of embarrassing her sons without mercy, Ma gave Mabel the scrapbook only asking that her great-granddaughter take good care of it and use it to blackmail her sons. It was time for the sailors to return to the boat, so she stood at the back door in the neatly-kept alleyway and hugged the kids goodbye. She snuck in a kiss on each of their cheeks before looking at her sons.

Immediately her expression turned cold and she growled, "And if any of choo knuckleheads pull a stunt like that again…"

It didn't matter that the twins were in their sixties; they were just as terrified now as they were in their youth. They nodded in sync and Stan said, "I swear, Ma. And… we'll do a better job staying in touch. I promise."

Ford nodded in agreement and Ma's expression immediately softened. "That's all I want." She said with a smile. "A phone call every so often is all I ask for."

Ford nodded and smiled. "We'll call you. We love you."

"I love you two, babies, c'mere." With one last squeeze and a swift kiss on each of their cheeks, Ford and Stan finally found the strength to let her go.

As they walked down the sidewalk and headed for home, the two pairs of twins looked back and found Ma still standing there and waving them goodbye. They waved in return and turned around for their next adventure.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

Tea For Two

Characters: dad!Bucky x reader

Summary: You come home from grocery shopping to find Bucky having a tea party with your daughter.

Content Warning: tooth rotting fluff, a smidge of first base at the very end.

Word Count: 1.4k

Author’s Note: Hi lovelies. I know I have my Loki fic going on right now but I couldn’t wait to share this with ya’ll. This little fic popped into my head earlier today and I just couldn’t shake it loose. And honestly, we all need a little extra sweet fluff in our lives right now. XOXO - Ash

Tea For Two

The house is quiet as you lug your groceries in from the car. It’s suspicious at first, but short lived. Peals of laughter echo down the backstairs and into the kitchen. 

“No, daddy! Bubby-bear can’t drink tea!” you hear your four year old daughter shrieking with laughter. 

“What?!” your husband gasps dramatically, “Are you sure? ‘Cause I think he would love his own cup.” 

“No, daddy. It’s tea for TWO.” 

“Okay, princess. Tea for two.” 

You put the groceries away quickly, wanting to get a glimpse of the tea party before it’s over. Your daughter usually cons her daddy into wearing his own tiara and sometimes even some glitter. It’s worth shoving everything in the fridge to deal with later to see what was once the world's deadliest assassin sporting purple glitter and an Elsa crown. Even after four and a half years of parenthood, it still melts your heart to see Bucky be so soft with your daughter. 

Bucky had been terrified for most of your pregnancy. Scared he would lose you or the baby. Scared one of his old enemies would resurface and come after you. Scared he wouldn’t be a good father. It was a very long nine months but you had managed with lots of patience, love, and therapy. Bucky had taken to parenthood like a fish to water. He loved Rebecca Sara Barnes more than anything else in the world from the moment she took her first breath. It was almost annoying some days how all the little things that should have been annoying he seemed to love. He didn’t get upset when she woke up in the middle of the night, or when she got super whiny when she was tired. Those were the times Bucky shined. He was endlessly patient and loving, swooping in to fix whatever was wrong. You didn’t think you could love him more when you had married him, but after Becca, you learned your love for him was infinite. 

You slip upstairs quietly, padding down the carpeted hall without a sound. Well, at least none that your daughter would hear. There was no way to out-stealth a former assassin. You peek around the door frame to see your daughter’s back, your husband facing you from across the Disney Princess table. He dwarfs the pink chair he’s sitting on but he’s perched on it all the same. As expected, Becca had conned him into wearing a crown and there’s a smear of glitter on each of his cheeks. He hates getting the glitter out of his beard and long hair, but he loves his little girl more. A small shiny blue cape is hanging from his neck, barely draping down past his broad shoulders. A matching pink cape hangs from your daughter’s shoulders, fitting her like it should. Her little Anna crown is lopsided and she pushes it back with a huff of exasperation. It’s hard not to laugh, that expression is one she definitely gets from you. 

Bucky looks up at you, giving you a lopsided smile and a shrug. He should have started her bedtime routine fifteen minutes ago and he knows it. You can’t be upset though. It’s a weekend and they both live for these little quiet moments together. You shoot him a smile and lean back against the door frame to watch their party. It’s quite a spread tonight. Bucky had set up her Frozen tea set and they’re drinking strawberry tea and have plates of goldfish and fruit gummies on the table too. Becca’s stuffed bunny is one chair, and her favorite bear is in the other, both with their own empty cups in front of them. The bear was a gift from Steve when you’d announced your pregnancy. It was weird how the world had monetized the likenesses of the Avengers. Some things the team agreed they wished they’d never seen, but when Steve found a Bucky Barnes teddy bear, complete with a silver arm, he couldn’t resist. It had ended up being Becca’s favorite toy and she never slept without it. As she learned to speak, the Bucky-bear became her Bubby-bear and the name had stuck. 

Your daughter is chattering happily to her bear and bunny, making sure they’re having a nice time at her party. You know what’s coming next when she asks Mr. Flopsy if he would like to listen to some music. It’s not a tea party if she doesn’t get Bucky to sing. You had stopped dead in your tracks the first time you’d heard Bucky sing. It was shortly after Becca was born and he was lulling her to sleep, crooning some old song from his childhood. His voice was dark and smooth like good whiskey, and you’d thanked god for bringing this amazing man into your life. 

“Daddy, can you sing us the song?” Becca asks, looking sweet as can be.

Bucky smiles at her indulgently, but mischief sparks in his grey-blue eyes, “What song, princess?” 

“Daddy!” she scolds him, her chocolate brown curls flying as she shakes her head, “The tea party song!” 

“Oh!” Bucky acts surprised, “Of course I can sing the tea party song.” he takes a sip of his tea and then the old song spills from his lips, “Tea for two, and two for tea. Me for you, and you for me…” 

You head down the hall, giving them their peace. The parties normally wrap up soon after she gets Bucky to sing. You’re still tired from chasing her around all day, Friday is playgroup meetup after preschool, and then running errands once Bucky got home from work. You never expected Bucky to be able to work a nine to five job, not even when you’d found out you were pregnant. It was a bombshell on everyone when Bucky had handed in a formal resignation letter, apologizing to the team but making it crystal clear where his priorities lied. They had compromised with him working normal business hours, helping to chase leads and decrypt files from the office instead of the field. It had worked out for everyone and while you sometimes wondered if Bucky missed being in the field with the team, he insisted he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

An hour later you were relaxing in bed with your newest Nora Roberts book when Bucky appeared in your doorway. “Hey mama.” he called to you.

“Hey you.” you set your book down on the nightstand when you see he’s carrying two cups. They’re the oversized china teacups you had bought a few years ago at an estate sale. You love them despite how completely over the top they are.

“You up to an adult tea party?” he motions with the cups in his hands.

“What kind of tea do we have?” 

Bucky hands you a cup, “I managed to snag a bottle of the good champagne they had for that diplomats dinner going on tonight.” 

“Champagne in tea cups?” you giggle, sipping the bubbly golden drink. It was the good kind; slightly sweet with sharp bubbles bursting on your tongue. 

“Gotta take care of both my girls, don’t I?” Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead before going around to his side of the bed. 

“You do.” you agree, knowing full well Bucky is the best partner anyone could ever ask for. “But the real question is, will you sing the tea party song?” You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, feeling playful and wanting to be a little needy like you know Bucky loves.

“Oh darlin’,” Bucky sets his cup down and slides over so he can lean over you, “All you had to do was ask.” he kisses you firmly for a moment before his lips slide to the edge of your jaw by your ear, “Tea for two” he sings in a low whisper, “Two for tea.” he trails kisses in between notes along your jaw and down the column of your neck “Me for you.” Bucky grinds gently against you as his kisses trail further down your chest, “And you for me.” Bucky stops singing as he buries his face between your breasts. You never do get to hear him sing the whole song, but in that moment you can’t seem to mind at all. 

[earliebirb]

our tales are the building blocks of home

superfamily, steve/tony, domestic fluff, 1790 words

“Hey, Pop.”

Steve looks up from the book he is reading, thumb slipped between the pages.

“Yeah?”

Peter is lying across the long couch situated beside the armchair Steve is sitting in, tossing a Rubik’s cube up and down. It’s a lazy Sunday. Tony is still away on a business trip to Japan and Steve hates the thought of lingering in the too-wide bed without his husband, so he decides to make his way into the living room and make a dent in his reading list for the year. So far, he’s in the middle of his thirty-fifth book out of a hundred. Peter joined him in the living room an hour into his reading session, remnants of sleep in his heavy eyelids, sporting an impressive bed hair, and still dressed in his pajamas.

“Do you know that we’re getting into, like, the history of you in history class?”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, we’re studying about, uh,” Peter says distractedly as he catches the cube as it falls down, “the history of Captain America, and stuff?”

“Really?” Steve smiles, intrigued.

“Yeah. And I have to say— Seeing pictures of you in my history textbook or pictures of Dad in my science textbooks? Weird. Still super weird. Probably will never stop being weird. Pictures of Uncle Bruce, too, for that matter. And Aunt Nat. And so many others.”

Steve chuckles. “Weirder than the detention video?”

Peter groans. “Oh, no. Of course not. That will always be the weirdest. They don’t really take into account the fact that having Captain America preach at you about following the rules isn’t really that effective when you’ve seen him cheat countless of times at Monopoly.”

“It’s not really cheating. There are no rules against hiding a secret stash of money before bringing it out when it truly counts to subvert your opponent’s expectations. It’s called being a good strategist,” Steve attempts to defend himself, even as his lips curl up into a helpless smile when he thinks of Monopoly nights with his family, always super loud, messy, and chaotic. Steve wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Ha. I beg to differ. Dad would certainly beg to differ.”

Steve leans back in his seat, raises his hands, palms out. “I rest my case.”

“Anyway… It got me thinking, I guess.” The tone of Peter’s voice morphs into something more serious. Contemplative.

“About?”

“About… It’s just—” Peter takes a deep breath, catching the cube for one last time before holding it against his chest. “You went through so much to get here today. It must have been terrifying. I can’t imagine what it would be like to wake up in an entirely new world. New technology, new way of life, new everything. All the places I usually frequent are gone or have changed in some way. All the people I know and love are dead. You must have felt really alone.” Peter looks at him, his gaze heavy and wistful.

Steve smiles ruefully to himself, remembering those first few months after waking up, a time when everything was so new and foreign and terrifying to him. Misery had settled deep within his chest, refusing to budge and sucking the life out of him like a parasite. He couldn’t stop feeling like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. Some days, he wished for death, or for him to go to sleep and magically wake up back in the forties where he belonged.

“I did,” Steve concedes, holding his son’s gaze.

“And it just made me think,” Peter says, breaking eye contact as he turns to lie on his side, cheek mashed against one of the couch cushions, one of his hands reaching down to the carpeted floor to trace random swirls with his fingers as his eyes follow the movement intently, “do you ever regret it?”

“Regret what?”

Peter shrugs, or moves in a way that is akin to a shrug in the position he is currently in. He is still not looking at Steve. When he speaks, his voice is small.

“Coming to this century. Meeting Dad. Meeting us,” Peter mumbles, and when he says “us” Steve knows he means not only himself and Tony, but also Harley and Morgan.

Steve’s heart twinges painfully as he gazes at his middle child, uncertainty present in every corner of his body, eyes still fixed on the carpet below. Steve knows him well enough to know that this question is something that must have been bothering him for quite some time, that the casual way in which Peter has approached him with the subject is a façade, that Steve needs to tread carefully here because whatever answer Steve gives him right in this moment is going to stay with him for a long, long time.

Steve takes a deep breath before moving to the couch Peter is lying on, lifting up Peter’s long legs and sitting down at the opposite end of where Peter’s head is resting, his son’s feet in his lap.

“Peter Stark-Rogers,” Steve calls gently, “look at me.”

Peter does so obediently and Steve thinks he sees something akin to fear flit lightning quick in Peter’s eyes.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Steve begins, slow and steady, making sure to look Peter in the eye. “There were times, those first few months after I woke up, when I felt like there wasn’t anything I wanted more in the world than to go back to sleep and wake up in the forties again.”

Something shifts in Peter and there is a shuttered look in his eyes.

Steve squeezes one of Peter’s ankles reassuringly.

“But,” Steve continues, maintaining Peter’s gaze, “when I look at you, at Harley, at Morgan, at Dad, at this little family I have right now?”

Steve allows himself a moment, glancing at the row of framed photographs on a nearby bookshelf. A photo of eleven-year-old Harley at his soccer match. A photo of Morgan, dressed in a purple tutu at her ballet recital. Another one of Peter and his best friend Ned, proudly presenting their project at a science fair. Another older one of Peter, Harley, and Morgan all crowded around a science experiment Tony was showing them in his workshop. A photo of Steve and Tony doing the first dance on their wedding day, the two of them utterly lost in each other, paying no mind to the onlookers surrounding the dance floor. Finally, at the end of the row, fitted in the biggest frame: a family photo of them taken on Steve’s birthday just last year. Steve’s eyes linger on that last photo in particular, taking in the details.

Steve was sitting on the very couch he is sitting on right now, Morgan in his arms, planting a kiss on his cheek. Seated on his right was Harley, hugging his arm with a bright expression on his face, mid-laugh. Peter was sitting down on the floor in front of them, back leaning against the small expanse of the couch between Steve’s legs, grinning up at the camera. Tony was standing behind the couch, hands pulling at Steve’s hair jokingly, a crazy expression on his face.

Steve looks at his own figure that was immortalized in the picture. Seated in the middle of his crazy bunch, he had tears of laughter welling up in his eyes, smiling so wide and looking like he was about to split his whole face in half. The winning detail of the photo is, of course, that each and every one of their happy faces was marred by bits of red, white, and blue icing here and there.

Steve meets Peter’s gaze again and with every bit of sincerity he can muster, he tells Peter what he knows is true:

“There is no part of me, right now, that wishes for things to be different from the way they are. I wouldn’t trade this for anything. Ever.”

Peter’s eyes are searching his own for the truth. Steve lets him, because there is nothing to hide.

Steve smiles, caressing Peter’s ankle with his thumb. “If I could travel back in time to before the serum, knowing what I know now, what I would have to go through, the people I would have to lose… I would still do all the things I did. Because I wouldn’t be able to give this up. You. Harley. Morgan. Your dad. Our family.”

Steve takes a deep breath and leans back in his seat, looking up at the ceiling wistfully. “Yes, I do miss the forties sometimes. I certainly miss my friends. I still think about them a lot. Almost every single day,” he confesses, Peggy’s brilliant smile clear as day in his mind’s eye. 

“But this?” Steve punctuates his question with a pat on Peter’s shins. “I can’t imagine my life without all of you. I don’t even want to imagine a world without all of you. You guys—”

Steve pauses, his heart clenching with longing as he thinks of Tony resting in a hotel room somewhere in Tokyo after a day of meetings. He thinks of Harley with burgeoning pride in his chest, his eldest son who is away at college, the brightest freshman at M.I.T. He thinks of Morgan, the little rascal still asleep in bed in her room upstairs, a fierce need to protect her washing over him.

He thinks of Peter, his second child, who is currently looking up at him and hanging on his every word. Peter is a junior in high school now. His mind is brilliant as ever, his brown eyes always wide and curious. He reminds Steve a lot of Tony. He has a quiet and pensive side to him that shows up in rare quiet moments like this, showing that his tender heart feels things so much more deeply than he lets on. His middle child, slowly growing into adulthood faster than Steve would have liked. Affection surges through his veins.

“You guys make me so unbelievably happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. Happier than I thought I ever had the right to be.”

Peter swallows, sitting up on the couch. Steve doesn’t comment on the way Peter’s eyes glitter with something that looks suspiciously like tears.

Steve opens his arms wordlessly and Peter falls into his embrace, his thin arms looping around Steve’s shoulders.

“I love you, Peter Pan,” Steve whispers, turning his head to plant a feather-light kiss on his son’s cheek. 

Peter sniffles against Steve’s shoulder and instead of complaining about the childhood nickname Steve and Tony had lovingly bestowed upon him like he usually does, he burrows further into Steve’s arms, whispering a quiet confession, voice low and rough with emotion:

“Love you too, Papa.”

[loreofthekidults]

Cocoa & Chili | Yoon Jeonghan

focus: jeonghan

words: 2k

genre: stranger things au / high school au / marching band au? / fall themes

description: I’ve been really missing stranger things this year, and with the onset of fall, I decided to start writing instead of just moping around bc lets be honest, without svt I’m not sure we could remain sane this year. Thank you to all the hosts of the #caratrevival event, it’s really motivating and inspiring to see all these creators! This week’s themes were Jeonghan and your Favorite Hip-Hop Unit song, which in my case is Chilli. Hope you enjoy the references!

a/n: Thank you to @woozisnoots​ for making such an amazing banner for this fic. Check out her writing too and enjoy!

Also, happy birthday Jeonghan!

____________________

Jeonghan stomped down the stairs into the warmly lit basement. He scanned the room for the small, black case, but blankets, board games, and backpacks were strewn into every corner and across every surface. He stalked past the group crowded around the round table staring intently at their character sheets. 

“Have you seen my flute case, Seokmin?” Jeonghan called out to his younger cousin behind him. He threw a pile of jackets off the floral armchair and rummaged a hand through the cushions. Nope, not there. 

“No idea!” The kid didn’t even lift his head from arranging the grid with the figurines of his new campaign. 

“Are you really not going to tell me?” Jeonghan gushed as he hopped over and encased Seokmin in a suffocating bear hug. He pulled his scrawny cousin off his chair and began to swing him back and forth in the air. “Pleeease? Please please please? Just give me a hint.”

Seokmin, ever the happy bug, screamed his head off like a pigeon in fright while intermittently shrieking in laughter. 

Across the table, Mingyu giggled but continued to roll for his stats. Vernon spared them a glance, but simply chose to ignore the chaos beside him while Hoshi guffawed his distinctive laugh and clapped his seal clap. Seungkwan sighed dramatically but couldn’t help joining in on the attack.

“Come on, tell him! Then we can finally get him out of our hair and start playing!” Seungkwan protested as he tickled his helplessly flailing friend. 

“Okay, okay!” Seokmin gasped, “Check the vcr pile—it’s probably somewhere there.” He pointed to the corner of the room where a mountain of plastic cases rose beside their boxy television. Jeonghan immediately let him go, letting him drop heavily onto the carpeted floor. It only took a moment of scavenging for him to spot his flute case stacked underneath Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and his collection of Twilight Zone tapes.  

“Is it a home game today?” Vernon asked, glancing at the marching band helmet lying on the table.

“Yup, glad we don’t have to travel an hour to Soomantown just to watch their football team wreck ours again. We can get wrecked 10 minutes from home this time,” Jeonghan chuckled as he grabbed his shako helmet and ruffled Seokmin’s chestnut-brown hair. “Thanks, bud.”

“DM for us next time,” Seokmin hollered after him, his head a mess. “We miss your campaigns!”

“Alright, maybe next time.” Jeonghan stuffed his instrument and shako into his Jansport and threw on his periwinkle blue marching band jacket. “Don’t forget there’s Grandma’s chili in the crockpot if you guys get hungry.” He clamored back up the stairs, out of the toasty basement of his childhood where he used to weave magical stories of monsters and heroes with them. 

It wasn’t as if he no longer liked Dungeons and Dragons and the crazy storytelling that came with it, but he had other things to fill his time than sitting at home playing make-believe, especially with—as much as he loved these kids—newly minted freshmen.

As Jeonghan opened the garage door, he was met with the crisp smell of decaying leaves and fresh air of October. He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath in. Oof, so chilli. 

A slight moldy stink tickled his nostrils, though. Crinkling his nose, he opened his eyes just to see another kid speeding on his bike up the driveway to the house.

“Hey, Jeonghan,” The kid hopped off and threw his bike haphazardly onto the grass. “Nice outfit.” He swung his backpack at him as he dashed past him into the house. 

“You better hurry up Dino, else they’ll start without you,” Jeonghan called, half-heartedly dodging the swing.

By the time Jeonghan parked his car behind the high school and strolled onto the fields toward the rest of the marching band, he couldn’t help but miss the cozy heat of the basement. 

Rubbing his hands together desperate for any warmth, Jeonghan walked towards where Joshua was kneeling in the grass assembling his clarinet. They waved at each other in greeting and began sharing complaints like two elderly patients deeply offended by the cold seeping into their joints.

Seungcheol shuffled over and pointed a gloved finger at Jeonghan. “Late! That’s going on your record Yoon Jeonghan.” He made an overly exaggerated effort in taking out his pen and writing Jeonghan’s name in his notebook. 

“Chill, man. What’s the point of being friends with the drum major if I can’t dodge the rules sometimes?” Jeonghan whined despite laughing at his friend’s antics. 

Seungcheol just wagged his finger at him accusingly. “Make him run laps,” Joshua softly suggested with his mischievous smile. 

“No time, unfortunately. We gotta go warm up soon.” Eyes scanning the expanse of light blue uniforms, Seungcheol was back into drum major mode. “Oh hey, the trumpet girl is late, too.”

They turned to look at the new girl in town stepping onto the field. It wasn’t often their small town had any visitors, even rarer a new resident family. 

“Anyways,” Seungcheol clapped his hands, “let’s get into your sections.” He wandered off into the crowd, ordering his classmates to start warming up while brandishing his trombone in one hand like a disgruntled substitute teacher. 

Joshua stopped Jeonghan for a moment before they separated and handed him a hand warmer. “Thanks!” “Nope, I’m keeping the other three.” Jeonghan snickered as he shoved Joshua away and joined the rest of the flutes in their warm up drills.  

As expected, their marching band show was performed without a hitch, and the spectators gushed over the color guard with their periwinkle blue and rose pink flag formations. 

And as expected, the opposing football team with their star players totally squashed Pledies High’s football team. 

When half-time finally crawled into view, Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seungcheol could not be more ecstatic. It was only 7pm, but the autumn chill settled like a thick blanket over the field. Playing bleacher features to a futile game on cold metal seats didn’t do much to keep them warm either. 

So when they were finally allowed to put their instruments away and take a break from the disaster of a game, they quickly squeezed their way through the crowd to get to the snack shop and raffle tables. 

Leaning against the fence by the edge of the field, the trio cuddled their cups of hot cocoa in their hands and inhaled the sweet steam like desperate sharks around blood.

Jeonghan scrunched his eyebrows as he detected the funky scent that he couldn’t quite identify mixed in with the sugary smell.

A presence softly rustled behind Jeonghan and murmured slowly. Shivers shot through Jeonghan, and he whipped his head toward the quiet voice. His sudden jerk sploshed some of the hot cocoa onto his hand, burning his fingers and making him even more panicked. He instinctively leaned in towards Joshua, away from whatever creeped up next to him. 

Jeonghan let out a breath as he recognized the figure. The tall, lean person next to him wore a fitting varsity jacket from the visiting school. His face wore a nonchalant expression that morphed into one of surprise as he did a double take when he finally got a good look at Jeonghan’s face.

“Oh, wait. You’re not Johnny.” He turned away in embarrassment and sauntered back into the crowd, presumably to find his not-Jeonghan friend.

“He thought I was one of their star football players?” Jeonghan asked incredulously, looking bug eyed at his friends. Seungcheol giggled and flicked a strand of his hair. “Must be the silky locks.”

As Joshua and Seungcheol played with his hair, Jeonghan saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. He caught a whiff of that same moldy funk.

“Guys, do you smell that?” Jeonghan pushed himself off the fence and squinted at the dark foliage behind the bleachers.  

“Smell what?” Seungcheol sniffed the air and rubbed his nose. Joshua followed Jeonghan’s gaze. “Is that trumpet girl?”

The blue uniform could just be barely made out against the shadows of the tree line. She appeared to be climbing into the thick shrubbery.

“Maybe she lost something?” He gestured for his friends to follow him. “Come on, let’s go help her.” Jeonghan discarded his empty cup in the trash bin and walked towards the trees. Joshua calmly blinked a few times before trudging along forward with him.

“What could she have lost so far into the woods?” Seungcheol whined. But he couldn’t hide his concern in his voice as he also curiously, and apprehensively, peered into the darkness after her. 

They ventured past the bleachers away from the stadium lights into the trees. Here, among the branches and brambles, the shadows blended into each other and the volume of the crowd behind them was muffled.

Joshua took out a small keychain flashlight attached to his swiss-army knife. With its measly light, they made their way through underbrush, past twisty trees, and around thorny vines. The football field was only a short distance away, but the atmosphere felt heavy with the night and the trees seemed to be watching them.

“Guys, are you sure she went this way?” Seungcheol’s voice climbed higher by a few pitches as he reluctantly fell in step behind them.

Snaps of twigs and distant growling could be heard ahead of them. Jeonghan coughed slightly as he breathed, the moldy scent creeping through the air formidably. It felt like the air was lined with layers of webs of sticky mold, and no amount of flailing could unstick the smell. 

“Man, you weren’t kidding earlier. This smell is nauseating.” Joshua whispered nasally, fingers pinching his nose.

They came to a clearing where a creature seemed to be digging at the roots of a tree. Jeonghan couldn’t quite make out what it was. But he was sure it wasn’t just a dog that escaped their yard. It’s movements were… off.

It was about the size of a medium-sized dog, but without any of the expected pupper qualities. Its leathery skin rippled like damp velvet and slime was oozing off in tiny droplets. When the brightness from Josh’s flashlight hit its back, the creature whipped around immediately. Where there should have been a face, its head opened up like a blooming flower, with five petal lined with rows of teeth. It screamed a bobcat scream and pranced forward at the trio. 

Stumbling backwards, Jeonghan grabbed a stick from the ground and swung it wildly in front of him. Joshua was crouched in a defensive position with his flashlight in a trembling hand but was frozen shock-still, swiss army knife totally forgotten. Seungcheol grabbed Jeonghan’s shoulders behind him, holding him as a barrier between him and the creature. 

Shrieking, Seungcheol mustered all the courage he had and threw the remaining bits of hot cocoa in his cup at the creature. The liquid hit it square in the face, making the monster rear back in surprise for a moment. But after a wary lick, it seemed to lap up the spilt drink deliciously.

“Did you just feed the monster?” Jeonghan hissed.

“It’s all I have on me! What else could I throw at it?” Seungcheol waved his arms wildly as he returned to his post behind Joshua and Jeonghan, pulling on their jacket sleeves to get them to back slowly away from the clearing. 

“I don’t know, maybe a rock or something?” Joshua whisper-screamed in a very un-Joshua manner.

“Chill, buddy, Chill,” Jeonghan held the stick in front of him and waved it gently to the left. And right. Then left. 

The creature closed its face petals to form a bud-like head which followed the motion of the stick curiously. Right and left and right.

Jeonghan winded up his arm and threw the stick to the distant side of the clearing. The creature turned and ran after the branch, demolishing it with its teeth. Splinters flew everywhere.

“Go, go, go, go, go!” Jeonghan turned and shoved Joshua and Seungcheol. They scrambled blindly past the thorns, out of the woods, and into the bright lights of the field. They reached the back of the bleachers, and Seungcheol grasped them deliriously into a tight embrace. Josh was still wide-eyed while Jeonghan was giggling half hysterically from the remnants of the adrenaline. 

“Whoa, what happened to you guys?” The trio looked up and saw trumpet girl standing before them, eyebrows raised and a leaf sticking out of her hair.

“You’re alive!” Jeonghan gasped. The trio looked at each other bewildered and cackled deliriously.

[softlyjiminie]

sempiternal | k.s.j

⇢ pairing(s): gryffindor!seokjin x hufflepuff!reader  ex-slytherin!yoongi.

⇢ word count: 8.4K

⇢ genre: angst, fluff, hogwarts!au.

⇢ summary: love has many obstacles, more often than not, it is eternal and unchanging; an everlasting love.

⇢ warning(s): please read! swearing, breakups, semi-violence.

⇢ author’s note(s): hey guys! here’s another Harry Potter inspired fic, i worked real hard on this one, it’s been a year in the making so i hope you enjoy! you may read slytherin!yoongi here to understand.

the summer of your fourth year had to be one of the worst summers you’d ever had. your heart broken and torn and ripped and hurt from the year’s endeavours. you had wasted hours with soggy cheeks and a hoarse throat, the other girls in your dorm smoothing down your hair and whispering ‘he didn’t deserve you’’s into your ear as you fell asleep. 

min yoongi. the boy you trusted with all your heart, and gone and ruined it just for a bit of fun. you could still feel the ringing in your ears as the howler spat his venomous words. the ringing didn’t stop after that. 

at least not until seokjin came along.

you were back in the muggle world, with your muggle things and muggle life, trudging through your local corner shop, just looking for something, anything that you could stuff your face with and have no regrets. you wanted to forget. with tired feet, dragging across the store’s floor, you had finally reached the till, plopping the almost melted tub of ben and jerrie’s ice cream onto the counter.

you looked up with a sour face, trying to ignore the fact that the flavour you’d picked had been one of yoongi’s favourites when you introduced him to muggle treats. with a pang in your heart you met a pair of whisky coloured eyes and plump pouty lips that belonged to none other than kim seokjin.

kim seokjin.

fuck, it was kim seokjin.

the gryffindor boy with the soft blonde hair and sweet grin, who was a favourite amongst all of the houses. jin had been popular from his very first year at hogwarts, winning over everyone with his kind heart. he’d soared through the ranks in his house’s quidditch team, now acting as gryffindor’s prized seaker. the girls loved him, and you could see why. gasping, you looked away from the older boy, in his sixth year moving onto his seventh. 

you missed how his lips twitched up into a soft smile as he scanned your tub. you shoved your fingers into the depth of your pocket, ready to pay with a bill or two before seokjins’s soft voice filtered through the air between you. “hey, YN. don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.” 

you felt yourself melting at his soft tone, his honey brown eyes causing warmth to drift over your skin. how did he have that effect on you? You barely knew him. “t-thank you seokjin-“ you blushed, scooping up your bag. the older gryffindor offered you a dreamy smile before shaking his head and running after you once he realised you were leaving.

“you know-“ he hummed, walking you to the sliding doors. “i’ve seen you around, you seem like a nice girl that i’d like to get to know better,” his words sent a pang of warmth to your heart. “if you don’t mind waiting for me, my shift ends in a few minutes and we could hang out for a bit.”

you were hesitant at first, but stayed nonetheless, jaw dropping when seokjin rolled out of the store in a fitted white t-shirt and black skinny jeans (after changing out of his uniform.). he really was effortlessly beautiful. some would have called you foolish for trusting a boy you’d just met, but he was sweet, walking you to the nearest park and devouring your ice cream with you. 

cookies and cream had never tasted so sweet, the memories that go with it becoming much fonder.

“i’m sorry about what happened with yoongi,” the blonde mumbled, as you spooned the last of the frozen desert into your mouth. you flinched, suddenly feeling the ringing from the howler again, and seeing the slytherin’s vacant expression as you ran past him. seokjin knew he had hit a nerve, his hand quickly engulfing yours. “you were really brave for handling it the way you did, i-it gave me the courage to talk to you today,” his thumb smoothed over the back of your hand, and you gulped, losing yourself in the coffee of his eyes. “you deserve better-“

‘i deserve someone like you.’ you had finished off in your head, leaning into him. your vision became clouded just at his touch, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. the moment was rushed, you’d only just met him, but you’d never been treated with such gentleness, like you were the most expensive thing in the world. seokjin’s eyes flicked down to your lips and then back up to your eyes and you so desperately wanted to meet him in the middle. just a kiss. 

but he was gone as soon as he came. disappointment burying itself in your chest as your eyes fluttered open once again. seokjin was still holding your hands when your vision refocused, his grip on you not loosening. his whisky eyes noted how you posted and looked away from him. “Y-YN... i’m sorry,” he sighed, causing you to gently switch your gaze over to him again. “i know you’re hurting still and trust me, i really do want to kiss you but i don’t want you to feel like i’m taking advantage of you. i’ll wait until you’re ready, if you want me to. ” 

your heart fluttered at the blonde’s words, but you could still feel the disappointment in your veins at the thought of waiting, even if it was best for you. “come on now,” Seokjin grinned, trying to make eye contact with you as you looked away from him to cover your pout. “don’t  be upset YN, won’t you give me a smile?” 

he was crouching in front of you now, palms resting on his knees as he pulled funny faces to make you laugh. you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up in your throat when he sent a particularly weird one your way. 

the gryffindor boy beamed adorably, his dark eyes twinkling under the light of the rising moon. “there’s that smile, pretty girl.” 

a romance bloomed for you that summer, with seokjin being a muggle himself it was easier to meet up and organise dates. true to his word, the soon-to-be seventh year refused to kiss you or carry out any public displays of affection with you until you were ready so it took you almost two weeks to convince him to let you hold his hand. 

he treated you like a delicate and wilted flower, watering you with the affection that you craved and might not have gotten with yoongi. he tended to your bruised petals, and lifted them high once again, the colour returning to your life. 

seokjin was what you had needed all along. 

you hadn’t kissed, like he promised until one night where you had invited him to meet your family, they were comforted and surprised at the fact that seokjin was a muggle like yourself. your mother even more so when she pulled you aside to comment ‘that’s not how i expected yoongi to look’ in which you blushed, catching the blonde’s eye from across the room as he wrestled your little brother into the carpet (much to your father’s delight). 

“that’s because he’s not, mum,” you’d said in a hushed whisper, helping her to whip the cream for desert. “that’s seokjin...”

your mother hummed, staring between the two of you before giving you a small nod of approval. “well, i think he’s cute.” 

after a dessert of warm apple pie and cream (or ice cream for your brother.), yourself and seokjin had headed up to your room for some alone time together. You’d shut the door behind you, turning around to find the tall blonde laughing at an old photo of you, which you’d swatted away with a pout.  “your parents are really lovely,” jin whispered when you’d decided to curl up for some cuddles on your single bed, even if it was quite the squeeze. “your brother too.”

you smiled at him, twirling a golden strand of his around your finger, feeling his eyes drifting of your face.  “they really like you seokjin, if you’re not careful, mum might not let you leave, you’ll be on washing up duty for life!” you gasped between small pockets of laughter, causing the boy you’d been dating to laugh loudly.

“so they really like me?”

“Indefinitely.” 

“maybe more than your other boyfriends...?” 

you knew he’d been referencing yoongi, careful not to mention his name. you’d  never had a boyfriend before the slytherin boy anyways. 

“hmm, i’m not sure...” you pretended to tease, almost instantly regretting your decision when Seokjin rolled over your smaller frame, leaving your side. His palms fell flat either side of your head, sinking into the memory foam mattress as he caged you in. suddenly one hand was at your stomach, pinching your side until you were crying from laughter and gasping for air. you had no idea he knew you were ticklish.

your brother must have told him.

“s-seokjin!” you cried, burying your face into his hard chest as he tickled you mercilessly. “i can’t-“ 

he didn’t allow you to finish, tickling you further with a devilish smirk spreading across his lips. “say i’m the best!” 

“y-you’re the best! seokjin-“ 

his fingers paused, palms stretching out by your head again as you tried to regain your breath with a smile. you noticed then, how the pretty his eyes looked when the light hit them properly, how plush his lips were and soft his hair. it seemed as if seokjin was looking down at you with just as much awe, because suddenly he was swooping in, hands finding your cheeks as he sunk lower to brush his lips over yours. “c-can I kiss you?” he mumbled nervously. 

you nodded. “please...” 

his lips touched yours ever so slightly, and it’s only when you parted yours that he begun to kiss you fully. the plush pillows melding with each other perfectly, as your fingers threaded through tufts of his golden locks. jin’s hands slipped down from your cheeks to just under your shirt, soothing your heated skin as you worked your lips against his in a desperate attempt to taste more of him. 

one kiss turned to two, and two to three and soon enough you were full on making out on your silly childhood bedsheets. it was only when you could hear the little thump of your brother’s footsteps against the hard wood of the stairs that you jumped apart, straightening your clothes.

seokjin was the first to stand, knowing it was him that your younger sibling sought. with careful steps, he made his way over to the door, offering you the brightest of smiles before saying. “there’s more where that came from pretty girl.” 

you could have passed out on the spot.

confessions of love came not long after, with your impending return to Hogwarts coming up. seokjin had come to pick you up from your house in his parents’ car at around seven, promising your father you’d be back by eleven-thirty at the latest. he drove you both to the highest point in your home town to watch the sun go down and the city lights switch on, the sight taking your breath away. 

the blonde had treated you to an elaborate picnic of home cooked goodies that he’d made and a tub of your new favourite ice cream of vanilla cheesecake. you’d sat munching the treats on the hood of the car, before laying back and watching the stars, pointing out constellations whilst holding hands.

and whilst star gazing reminded you of yoongi, you couldn’t find it in you to miss him. 

seokjin looked down at you, your head resting on his chest with the stars pairing up in your eyes and he couldn’t help but blush when you met his gaze. “will it be the same?” you mumbled to him, thinking of your return to hogwarts. the older boy was to become a seventh year, and it would be his last year at the legendary school for practicing magic. He would be busy with his N.E.W.T.S and you with your O.W.L.S since you were moving into fifth year. would the feelings that sparked between you both change? for better or for worse? you heart couldn’t decide. 

as if he was reading your thoughts, jin silenced your raging mind with a soft peck to your lips, which deepened when your fingers met his hair, pulling him closer. “i’ll still love you all the same.” he whispered against the seams of your pink lips, not quite wanting to pull away.

“you love me?” you gasped, voice barely above a whisper. all you could see was jin , all you could taste was jin and all you could breathe was jin. all you needed was jin. you heart pounded viciously against your rib cage as he slotted his body against yours, looking down at you with so much love. 

“i do.” 

and then you smiled, with bleary eyes and a raging heartbeat because not once had anyone of romantic interest said those words to you, not even yoongi. so whispering back, you uttered the words. “i love you too,” 

your first few weeks back at hogwarts went smoothly, with you settling into a routine and managing to get top grades in the first-term assignments. your professors had suspected that you’d do exceedingly well in your upcoming O.W.L exams. 

you heard tales of jimin and jungkook’s adventures with taehyung in the muggle world and secretly wished that next time they’d invited you. although you’d run into Yoongi on the first day back, seokjin never complained about you not introducing him as your boyfriend, nor did he push for any explanations when he’d walked in on yoongi trying to make amends, resulting in you becoming a blubbering mess the second you’d left that room.

seokjin was an angel, a sweetheart and you’d never been so happy, memories of your ex becoming faint as you made new ones with the blonde gryffindor . people called it the honeymoon phase and maybe it was, but you wouldn’t let other people’s spite get in the way of you being happy. at least that’s what you hoped for.

a few weeks at hogwarts turned into a month or so, with the winter air fast approaching and first signs of snow fall around the corner. you’d  found yourself scurrying through the halls of the ageing castle, desperate to find your boyfriend; who had promised you an evening of hot chocolate and cuddles to make up for a date night you’d both had to miss. 

seokjin was busy, being the headboy of gryffindor had started to take up a lot of his time that he usually left for you, on those nights where you’d meet outside the kitchens for a quick kiss before bed. quidditch practice had also picked up a tonne, with an important gryffindor vs slytherin match coming up that even jimin was training for. 

it wasn’t just those things, that took up your time with him. the older boy had started hanging out with his teammates more, cutting into scheduled dates and even went on trips to hogsmead without you, only remembering when he found you half asleep outside his common room waiting for him. ‘darling...’ he’d say, lifting you bridle style, and humming in content as you nuzzled into his chest. ‘what’re  doing out out here?’ 

‘waiting for you’ you’d mumble back, still half asleep. ‘we have a date planned don’t we?’

‘maybe another time.’

sometimes it felt like you were giving more than you were getting. you didn’t want to fall into that trap again. 

your winter robes swished at your feet as you trotted down to the gryffindor common room, trying to meet jin before he had the chance to run off with one of his mates. you were walking so quickly, you hadn’t had the time to slow down before you collided with the gryffindor girl jimin had the hots for. “on YN! i didn’t see you there!” she exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders and giving you the once over to see if you were alright. 

you smiled at her softly. “sorry, i wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“ah, it’s alright,” she blinked, looking at you as if there was something more to say. “did you need something? last time I checked you were a hufflepuff, no?” 

the pair of you shared a sweet laugh before you managed to calm down enough to tell her where you were headed. “i-i’m looking for seokjin,” you strung together the words through your final puffs of laughter. “we-we’re meant to be hanging out today...” 

you bite your lip, refraining from mentioning going on a date and watched with a patient stare as the gryffindor girl wracked her brain for memories of her headboy’s location. “he’s  in the library!” she nodded, furrowing her brows as if to confirm her guess. she took note of the way your eyes lit up, sure, the library was an odd place to host a date, but you didn’t mind. “with Namjoon, I think he’s studying.”

you tried to hide the drop of your smile as you thanked the girl, heading towards the library in an even bigger rush than you were in before. you were mad, borderline livid, storming through the rows and rows of books that decked the shelves of the dusty library, your nose twitched at the musty air, but you chose to ignore it, waltzing right over to our target. You couldn’t believe seokjin was willing to miss yet another date.

you found both boys tucked into a corner of the room, books of charms and defence against the dark arts spread across the sleek mahogany table. you allowed yourself a few seconds to calm down, knowing that your face was probably heated high with rage and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of namjoon. 

you didn’t know the purple haired boy all too well, but knew enough to be aware that despite having a quiet and perhaps even shy exterior, he was one of the best and bravest wizards in hogwarts. he was also in the year above you. when you’d finally worked up the courage to approach the table, namjoon was the first to notice you, his quill pausing midair as he glanced between your - still raging - face and his older housemate. “uh- hyung,” he coughed awkwardly as you silently seethed above him. seokjin didn’t budge, too focused on his notes. “hyung-“ 

“what namjoon-ah? i swear to merlin if you’ve spilt your ink again i-“ the blonde looked up, exasperated expression falling away as his quill stopped dead on the page. jin could practically feel your anger, washing over him in boiling waves like heated lava. He was in trouble. “oh.”

Your nose scrunched up. “damn right, oh.” you watched as your boyfriend’s face contorted into a sheepish expression, his gaze flittering down to his stilled hands. 

“i’ve forgotten something haven’t i?” he whispered, the swell of his lips caught between a set of perfectly straight, pearl white teeth. 

“oh of course not, only another date.” 

both males seated at the table flinched at the sarcasm that dripped from your voice. namjoon raised his hand slightly, cowering under your sharp glare when you turned to face him. “t-to be fair, he does have N.E.W.Ts to study for-“ 

“shut up namjoon!” yourself and your boyfriend, very nearly, shouted earning yourself vicious hushes from students that were also in the library. the purple haired boy shrugged, trying to turn back to his work, leaving you and seokjin to deal with each other. 

you felt your heart sink when he looked up at you, this hadn’t been the first time Jin had skipped out on a date, and you doubted it would be the last unless you put a stop to things. you couldn’t help it when a sad pout pushed at your lips, your boyfriend’s large hand coming round to cup your smaller ones. “oh honey. please don’t give me that look,” You turned away, opting to look out of the window instead of into his eyes, you were more likely to give into him then. “YN... i know you’re upset with me, but i promise to get better at this, i hate seeing you sad and the fact that i caused it makes it worse. i’m such an idiot.” He brought your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss atop your knuckles with a downtrodden look.

you blushed, feeling the weight of his stare get under your skin. he was always able to do that, make you smile. 

“won’t you give me a smile pretty girl?” 

And with that you broke out into a large, unstoppable grin. 

the air was cold against your cheeks and nose, the bobble hat and scarf your mother had sent you, doing their best to shield you from the cool, crisp weather. hogsmead was littered with crystal snowflakes, blankets of the thick white layers stretching as far as the eye could see. you rubbed your gloved hands together in order to create some form of warmth, or perhaps it was to do with your nerves.

a few days after your confrontation in the library and some seriously overbearing affection from your boyfriend, he had decided to treat you out on the next trip to hogsmead. you had been bursting with excitement at the thought since then, every date with seokjin was just as nerve wracking as the last. 

from inside the three broomsticks, the boys you had known to become your friends observed you with care and curiosity, the stomachs filled with warm pie and sweet butterbeer. “someone should go and  get her,” jimin mused from over his plate of half eaten pie, he was starting to lose his appetite as he watched you through the window. “she’s bound to catch a cold out there.” 

jeongguk looked up from his plate, crumbs dusting the outer corners of his lips as he munched on his slice of cherry pie. “what’s she waiting for again?” the younger asked, spraying his slytherin and hufflepuff companions with an assortment of pastry crumbs. 

the pair cringed with disgust, wiping away their clothes as taehyung looked up. “she’s waiting for jin, they’re supposed to have a date today...” the Hufflepuff boy was already trailing off when his housemate hoseok let out a deep snore from his seat, slumped over the table. he’d  had a late night sneaking around with his newly found slytherin girlfriend. “i saw him earlier on though, with his quidditch team...” 

the boys fell silent, hoseok’s snores filling the air between them. jimin sighed; pushing his seat back to stand up and meet you outside. with a hat tugged over his luscious silver locks, he left his friends sitting solemnly at the table. the fifth year slytherin resisted the urge to retreat to the warm arms of the establishment once he was outside, his arm sliding around your shoulders for warmth. you jumped when you noticed.

“what’s been keeping you outside, away from the pie, YN?” the boy asked from beside you, you craned your neck to look up at him allowing your breath to catch at the sight of the snowflakes resting on his lips. jimin had always been charming and you would be a fool to say that you didn’t think he was attractive. so it came as no surprise when girls went after him, deeming him the catch of the century. the heartthrob of your year. and still, park jimin had always remained the humble boy you had met during first year, never letting the attention get to his head. park jimin may have seemed like a player, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, but what no one seemed to notice is that girls only wanted him for his pretty face and toned body. you only hoped that certain people saw past that, looking at the sweet boy who looked out for you so much. 

you could see the concern wavering in his dark eyes, so you grinned up at him ignoring the cold dry stretch of your lips. “i’m waiting for seokjin,” you hummed, watching a puff of air fade into the snow scene. jimin flinched from beside you, arm tightening ever so slightly before he relaxed. “we h-have a date...”

jimin would have never missed the little tremble in your voice. part of you already knew that your boyfriend wouldn’t show up, you’d seen him babbling away with his teammates already and yet, you trusted him. trusted him not to break another promise. to not let this be just another honeymoon phase. 

“at least i thought we had one.” 

the silver haired slytherin sighed down at you, squeezing your smaller frame into the warmth of his body. “how about we go get you that pie, yeah?” he offered in a whisper and you nodded, ignoring the swell of heart break in your chest. 

the halls were empty, as they should’ve been that night, with seokjin on hall monitor duty since we he was a prefect. he didn’t mind being up that late, seeing as it was a late start for him the next day. that didn’t stop him from feeling tired though, slips of exhaustion tingling in his brain as he walked mindlessly through empty halls.

the elder boy rounded a corner, only to be met with a shadowy figure at the other end of his path. as they stepped into the candle light, the blonde deemed the figure to be park jimin, his moonish hair was ruffled and a smirk lay delicately on his lips. some people called him a bit of a sleaze but seokjin knew better than to tell you that. 

“jimin!” the gryffindor called out, earning a look of surprise from the younger boy, before a deep scowl. “what are you doing out here all by yourself?” 

the silver haired boy rolled his eyes with a ‘tsk’ storming last jin, who held a look of shock before running to catch up with the slytherin. “it’s none of your business, is it?” 

“i mean it’s awfully late,” seokjin tried to reason, carefully matching his steps with the boy. after all, jimin was yoongi’s cousin and their families had quite the reputation. “i could always deduct house points you know...”

jimin froze, closing his eyes as if to calm himself before turning to face the older boy. “you have a thing for being late or on time don’t you?” he paused, allowing seokjin to think. “you’re  never late to class, to meals and most certainly quidditch practises, but you never seem to be on time for dates with your own girlfriend...or do you even show up at all?”

the gryffindor seventh year froze in his spot as jimin spun on his heel, walking backwards in the direction of his dorms. a cruel smile of a true slytherin crawling onto his lips. “deduct house points for that, why don’t you?” 

whispers trickled through the classroom as a ravenclaw prefect slipped into your class, handing a note to your transfigurations professor. your eyes barely peaked up from your scroll, where you furiously scribbled ahead in your notes, desperate to finish your work ahead of time. your professor had a thing for letting students leave early if they completed their work.

the professor cleared their throat from the head of the classroom, silencing the whispers from your classmates. a mixture of ravenclaw and hufflepuff. your heartbeat soared when you made eye contact with the prefect, gaze skittering to jeongguk who was sitting beside you with lips pursed in curiosity. 

the professor coughed again, causing your line of vision to shoot to them, and he offered you a gentle smile. “YN, you’re needed just outside the classroom.” 

“now?” you stuttered, anxiety sky rocketing. 

he nodded, opening the door for the prefect who was leaving. “now.” 

you swallowed nervously, packing up your belongings as jeongguk gave you a reassuring grin. the class talked in hushed mutters as you passed, your body twitching with anxiety as you left the room. with your eyes trailed on your feet in shame, you lifted your head onto to be met with a familiar stare. “s-seokjin?” you asked in surprise, truth be told, after the incident at hogsmead, you had been hesitant to see him. it turns out he felt the same. “wh-what are you doing here? did you pull me out of class?” 

he nodded, answering the questions swirling in your mind. “i needed to see you, it couldn’t wait,” the blonde paused, as if to seek your permission. he owed you an explanation and you bobbed your head slightly, an indication for him to proceed. “i-i know it looks bad, that i didn’t show up to hogsmead and that i’ve been ignoring you, but trust me YN, when i say that i’m going to make it up to you.” 

you swallowed thickly at his words, folding your arms so that one hand could desperately clutch an elbow as if to soothe your nerves. with a bite of your lower lip, you glanced up at seokjin once more, an earnest and sincere expression painting his heavenly features, an expression you had seen many times before. you could feel yourself melting into the warmth of his gaze, your mind screaming to forgive him just so you could be close to him once more. 

“i’m so sorry, pretty girl,” seokjin added, noting your hesitance to reply. the seventh year took a step forward, closing the distance between you as he reached out to brush a finger down the apples of your cheeks. you could feel yourself keening into his touch, giving into that guilty pleasure. To the risk of heartbreak again. “i promise i won’t miss out on another date again, i’ll treat you to a nice night out and we’ll spend the evening together and-“ you frowned at the familiarity of his words, each syllable recognisable to your ears. seokjin had said it all before, so why did you give in every time?

did he really care about you? were you really just a mindless fifth year, blindly following someone she loved? insecurities  crept up your throat at the thought, choking you from the inside and tearing apart every fibre of your being. it’d only be a matter of time before seokjin left hogwarts and found someone his age. someone he could make it out of the honeymoon stage with. the blonde noticed the frown on your lips and the creases at your forehead. “pretty girl, please give me a smile?”

not this time. 

“seokjin,“ you sliced through his words with a wavering voice, your boyfriend’s hand retreating from your face as he looked at you in shock. “you know i love you, you know i do but i-i think we should take a break. recently it feels like... i’m not getting what i give and i want to say but until you can prove me wrong... i just don’t want to end up like how yoongi and i did before. i don’t want to be your temporary fix.” 

you stood still with a clenched fist until you finished, eyes that were screwed shut opened to find that your boyfriend was completely silent. his eyes told you that he wanted to speak up and you wanted that. you wanted him to say something, something to convince you that you didn’t need space or time apart, and that he wouldn’t let you be just a passing phase. seokjin stood before you, mouth opening and closing as he fought an internal battle. 

with a shake of your head, you stepped away from him, a cloud of disappointment settling between you. his silence was enough. “i’ll see you around then, seokjin .” you breathed, gaze falling to the floor.

“YN..” 

“please don’t pull me out of another class unless you have something important to say,” you cut him off bitterly, turning away with a swish of your golden embossed robes. “my grades are important to me.” 

the halls were once again empty, a sort of coldness settling in them as seokjin patrolled them once more. paintings talked and whispered about his heartbreak, the frown on their golden boy’s face was far too much for them to handle. leaving them to turn away in despair.

he’d fucked up, he really had.

in his mind, seokjin had been doing right by you. he told you loved you, he made you laugh, he made you smile. but telling someone you love them and loving them are two different things. seokjin didn’t know that you felt abandoned, he didn’t take into account that he was creating a repeat of your last relationship. he wanted to do better for you, and he wasn’t. 

so here he was, the gryffindor boy finding comfort on the cobblestone floor of his favourite place away from home. his dark eyes following the magic sprouting from his wand, casting his patronous just to keep his bitter heart company. the scops owl danced around him, wings of blue flapping and shedding its diamond tears. the blonde could only watch with parted lips as his patronous burst into pieces, revealing a munching slytherin before him.

it was common for yoongi and seokjin to cross paths when the elder was on hall duty, more often than not the slytherin boy found himself talking to the house elves who gave him cookies and milk late at night when he couldn’t sleep. the two would bump into each other in the winding halls and magical staircases, share an awkward smile and wave (more like yoongi was grimacing) before heading in opposite directions. tonight was no different, except yoongi noticed something.

seokjin was sad.

the younger boy, with his hair dyed a simple black, knew the familiarity of sadness’ wake. he knew how much it would help someone to offer them a smile or a hand in times like this. yoongi chewed the dry skin at his bottom lip before taking a step towards the elder and holding out half of the cookie he had left. “it looks like you could need it.” the slytherin mumbled gruffly, looking away for a second.

seokjin’s lips parted once more, the words catching on the rim of his mouth as he stared up at the younger boy. not once had they had such a, for a lack of better word -civil- interaction. there had always been the space between them, the elephant between the two. you. but, now it seemed, they shared common ground. you had left both of them. 

“thank you.”

yoongi looked conflicted for a second, debating whether or not he should stay and comfort the elder. his bed seemed much further from his mind than he had hoped for, at this point. “are you...” he started, tongue peeking out to wet his lips. “are you okay, seokjin?”

the question startled the elder, perhaps just a bit, still not used to this level of attention from the boy who’s girlfriend he’s stolen. he couldn’t help when his lips begun to form the words. “no, not really.” 

“wanna talk about it?” 

“y-yeah, sure.” 

at this point the slyhterin had bunched himself up beside seokjin, looking at him with sleep ridden eyes but an expression that said he was ready to listen. and yet, the blonde felt himself hesitating. why did it have to be yoongi? of all people, to find him here in this vulnerable state, it had to be the boy who probably hated him most. 

“YN left me,”He muttered, throat closing in fear of judgement from the very boy who lead him to YN. “we, uh...she broke up with me.” 

a pause. 

yoongi gasped. “Oh wow.” 

seokjin looked up, a fire ready to set ablaze in his eyes as he stared the slytherin down with ease. “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

yoongi shuffled, looking up at the ceiling as his dark hair fell over his eyes, it was almost as if he hadn’t been sure what to say, then again he’d never expected to find himself in kim seokjin’s company. 

“it’s  just that...it’s clear as day to anyone...how much she loves you,i don’t think anyone thought it would end. i never thought it would end. you were her forever it seemed.” yoongi confessed with a slight frown and a crease to his brow, the storm of hurt rumbling behind his black magic eyes. “yoy were her forever and not me,” he turned to seokjin, angry at him, angry for him, angry at himself. “you were supposed to be her forever and not fuck up like me, for merlin’s sake you piece of shit.”  

the gryffindor blinked as he shuffled away from his younger, not quite expecting him to lash out in such a way. “yoongi...” 

“no, shut up!” the latter growled, his voice eerily hushed for the venom laced in his tone. yoongi stood, past emotions rushing through him as he tried his best not to combust. thoughts and feelings of that fateful day blasting a chill through his veins. “I bet you promised not to hurt her, I bet you promised not to be like me.” The words spilled before Yoongi could stop them, white hot anger flashing behind his eyes as his word slurred with fury, Seokjin flinched at every syllable of truth hitting home. “Didn’t you?”

“i did,  I promised…” the elder remembered, frowning at himself as yoongi sat down, the anger having rolled out of him by now. the two sat together in the dark halls, emotions swirling through their minds and hearts as they reflected. 

a moment passed.

“so, how do you intend to keep that promise?”

“wh-what?” the blonde babbled sheepishly, surprised by the slytherin’s sudden change in attitude. Yoongi smiled sadly at his elder, running a hand through his blackened locks, pushing it out of place as he eyed Seokjin. “What do you mean?”

yoongi hummed slightly, kicking his foot on the cobblestone floor as he chewed on his lip. He hadn’t meant to blow up at the gryffindor earlier, too many feelings from the last year still resonating within him at the time. however, now he felt a sense of guilt, wanting to help the poor headboy especially if it meant helping YN, who deserved all the best. “I just mean… you promised her that you’d be better than me, so you have to show her that.  I didn’t mean to blow up at you so bad, but I felt like we both had things to say.” 

“what i’m trying to say, is that if you’re going to make it up to her, you need to show her what she means to you.” the younger noted, distantly. 

seokjin’s brow creased. “how do I do that?” 

yoongi smiled softly this time as he stood, placing his hand on the older’s broad and firm shoulder. “that’s for you to figure out what I couldn’t.” he mumbled softly, bidding the gryffindor a good night as he stepped out into the darkness.

your shoulders sagged as you dumped your bag against the door, shrugging off robes and collapse on your bed. You’re exhausted, the hours of herbology notes you’d written up had finally taken its toll on your cramping hand. 

you desperately want to nap, just a few seconds before the girls get back from their classes and start to squeal over how your infamous best friend kim taehyung snuck his muggle pet into hogwarts. you swear their giggles and claps gave you more migraines than watching jimin endlessly flirt. 

you’re only two steps away from your bed, the smooth honey yellow sheets drawing you in when a warm hand slips over your mouth and another pulls you into a firm chest. 

a horrified scream escapes your lips, was this a prank? were you being attacked? did one of those horrible slytherin boys that picked on everyone sneak into the dorms? a million and one thoughts popped into your mind, and you only wished you still had your wand on you. you’d stupidly left it in your robes.

the stranger whispers short shhs into your ears, but you’re too busy rustling and kicking your legs to care. with heavy breaths you bite on the hand, gagging at its salty taste and jab your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, pulling yourself away from their rather large frame. 

“hey hey! YN, it’s me!” the stranger cries, holding a hand to their ribs as the suck the blood from their wounded hand. he pants, his robes disheveled as you eye him up and down. 

you’re mad, more than so. how dare he come into your private space uninvited, holding you in such a way and giving you such a fright that you screamed louder than the herbs you’d been studying earlier. “by merlin! seokjin what the hell? what do you think you’re doing?” you start, face heating up at all the fury you’ve kept hidden. you try to convince yourself that the anger you feel is because of him sneaking up at you, and not because of the yearn in your heart that comes after seeing him for the first time in a while.

the blonde wipes his hand on his robes, crimson blood blending in with the red of his house. the colour stings your eyes, a reminder of his place in hogwarts. above you. the doubts from times with yoongi creep into your mind, and it takes you a second to remind yourself that you’re better off without him. both of them. 

“i’m sorry, i know i shouldn’t be here, but i had to see you.” 

the words, as sweet as they sound, make you curl into yourself. they would have made you blush before, they would have made you smile. but your heart still hurts from where be betrayed your trust. your eyes meet his, they’re still as warm and as inviting as you remember, and maybe a little more dull. you wonder if he’s taking things well. you know that you aren’t, you miss him.

you want him to stay, but you don’t want to give in.

“you have three minutes to talk, starting with why and how you’re here.” you say pointedly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you cast your gaze aside. your ears detect the small gasp of joy that the gryffindor lets out and your body reacts to the steps, desperately needing his touch after all these weeks.

he blinks as he shuffled towards you, rubbing his thumb over his own knuckles. “i missed you,” seokjin breathes, he knows that he shouldn’t have said it. He can tell by way your face contorts in a slight pain and the way your hand comes to grip your chest from over your shirt. ‘don’t’ he hears you mumble and closes his eyes softly. “i used a disguising spell so i could follow some girls in, and hid behind your door. i’m here because...because i realised how foolish i’ve been, i know that ive hurt you and im here to desperately ask for your forgiveness,”

you blink, frowning at him as he speaks, you’re not used to apologies. but this isn’t yoongi, this is seokjin. “i don’t care how long it takes, i’ll wait for you because i realise how much i need you here.” the blonde finishes, grasping your hand with need. the simple touch sends you into a spiral, your cravings for his closeness raging on as he pulls away. 

“seokjin...” you whisper, so close to him that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. 

“i don’t need an answer from you now, just for you to come to the quidditch match on friday.” the taller asks, his tone pleading slightly. he doesn’t know what he’ll do if you say no, fear wrapping around his heart and squeezing. 

you shook your head, not sure if you were agreeing or disagreeing. you watched with forlorn eyes a the elder wizard moved to kiss your knuckles, standing upright to exit through the door. “i can’t promise you that.” you mumble quietly, letting him walk toward it.

“then just seeing you is enough.” 

the cold air nips at your cheeks as you stand in line with your fellow hufflepuffs. the hands of frost pinch at your skin, and tickle your nose, wrapping their evil arms around your waist as you shiver with annoyance. taehyung looks down at you and smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into him. his sweater is warm like the honey yellow that drips from its fabric, and you cling to him more in search of it. 

girls squeal around you, they chatter about their favourite quidditch players. jimin is all that they mutter, and while he’s your friend you can’t help but he chanting for someone else in your head. 

“seokjin’s playing today,” a ravenclaw giggles, casting you a side glance as yourself, taehyung, hobi and little jungkook advance in the line. “i wonder who she’ll be cheering for now that she’s had a taste of both houses.” 

the snide remark sets a blaze off in your chest, but you instead, squeeze your housemate’s hand tighter. the boys continue excitedly, going on and on about how jimin trained on end for this. yet your mind lingers on the gryffindor himself. you wonder if he’s thinking of you, of how you would calm him before every match. you feel your heart skip a beat at the thought as you pass through the gates, into the stalls.

students from all years, hufflepuffs from all ages sit with one another and chat excitedly, but you don’t miss the way their loud words become hushed as you and your friends walk by. “don’t worry about them,” jungkook reminds you when you sit down, his bright doe eyes giving you comfort. “they’re just jealous.” 

“of what?” you mumble; there’s nothing that you have. you’re no longer with the golden boy of hogwarts, what else is there to be jealous of? 

hoseok leans over taehyung’s lap to reach for you, his mouth covered in the chocolate frogs that he’d brought from hogsmead. “you’ll see!” 

the boys all share a look and a giggle, you swore they acted like gossiping girls sometimes. you shake your head and roll your eyes, settling into the seat. the hard wood makes your thighs uncomfortable and your teeth still chatter from the cold. a tap on your shoulder makes you turn around. 

“YN LN?” the boy asks, adorning the signature ruby robes. you nod, and he looks relieved, pulling something from his cloak and passing it to you. “this is for you.” 

he speaks, but doesn’t saw where the brown paper package is from. you allow your fingertips to touch at the material as the boys around you stare. you gasp in awe when you tear open the paper, revealing seokjin’s deep red sweater, his name printed on the back. 

‘i love you, please wear this.’ the note reads, and you clutch the clothing to your chest, catching the eye of seokjin as he whizzes out into the pitch.

screams echo in your ears as the final minutes before half time tik closer and closer. you had never understood sports, muggle or wizard like, you had always found them particularly boring. quidditch in a way reminded you of the football your father watched on a sunday down at the pub, either coming back extremely heartbroken or so excited that he’d press sloppy kisses all over your face. 

the students around you jeer at slytherin players as the zip past on their broom, chasing after the infamous golden snitch. you pay little attention, playing with the loose thread of the gryffindor’s sweater, having slipped it on. the fabric smells like him, like comforting nights spent by the fireplace in his common room. you close your eyes and can almost feel his arms wrap around you, and his plush lips press soft kisses to your hair. if you close your eyes you can imagine what it’s like to be with seokjin again. 

the excited chanting suddenly turns into worried gasps, and your eyes shoot open. you seem him, seokjin, spiralling down from the highest point. his broom appears busted and the other players of his team are chasing after him. your heart stops in your chest as you notice jimin heading down after him as well, the mop of silver hair fluttering with the rapid breeze as he zooms after your lover. 

you can feel fearful trembles start to wrack your body, your friends beside you holding you close as you all sit on the edge of our seats. waiting for impact. waiting for the scream of pain.

it doesn’t come.

instead, the blonde stops inches from the ground, his broomstick shooting up into the sky. the wands of his fellow housemates on the ground, follow him and suddenly the sky appears less grey and more...

orange. 

bursts of red and yellow spout from his broom, the petals coating the entire pitch and all the stalls as seokjin circles it, followed by his team mates. the students of hogwarts look up to the skies in awe, giggling and dancing in the petals. you catch two, holding them in your palm as you rub the silken petals. red and yellow, tangle together. 

jungkook shakes your shoulder, pointing up. “what?” you mumble, but replace the tone with a surprised gasp as seokjin comes to a halt on his broom in front of you. he holds out two whole flowers, one a deep rouge and the other a sunset yellow. he looks to you with shy brown eyes and parted pink lips, and you can feel a thousand and one pairs of eyes on the two of you.

“chrysanthemums,” you whisper, taking them lightly and tilting your head to meet his gaze. “they’re my-“ 

“your favourite... i know,” the gryffindor smiles, pointing to the plants in your grip. “yellow is for love and red for loyal love.” he explains, nearing you and you tune out the squeals of girls nearby. “YN i know, that these last few weeks have been hell without you, to which is a fault of my own. i let myself take you for granted, instead of showing you what love should be. you deserve every ounce of love and everything good from then on. i promise from this forward; to love you eternally...that is, if you shall have me?” 

“seokjin...i love you too.” you whisper, rushing forward through the stands to capture his lips in a soft, emotional kiss. you feel the truth in his words and the love that he once gave, relaxing into him as you fight the tears of longing in your eyes.

the klaxon sounds for the end of half time, but you ignore it, kissing him until the moment remains eternal in your mind.