#my muse would not let me steer the story back to pure fluff

[katelynn-a-fan]

hey sweet darling, you offered fluff? could i request dukeceit, or if you don't like dukeceit then any other janus ship? it was very kind of you to offer - imlovethomasssanders

(no prob. who knows? this might even revamp my creativity! Also, I am a multishipper, so I can absolutely do dukeceit! And I apologize if the brief tension/angst? hurt/comfort? makes it just a little too much over into not fluff. An idea took hold...) @imlovethomassanders​ 

Janus was... helplessly in love with Remus. It was just a fact. Janus could almost say he wanted to change that, but then he would always think of Remus’s stupid grin and be right back in pining city (hell).

And other than the fact that whenever Remus lobbed that grin at him he swears he’s on the verge of a heart attack and he can’t stop thinking of his jaw... it would’ve been manageable if it weren’t for Roman.

At first Roman was none to keen to have the ‘snake in the garden’ pining after his brother, because come on, Janus was a helpless gay and wasn’t subtle at all when it came to actual feelings. But once Janus had apparently shown he wasn’t a bad influence on Thomas, Roman had actually started to....

Ahem. 

Set Janus up in.... situations.

The latest way Roman tried to get them together involved way too much glitter for Janus’s liking, which was to say, basically any at all, and Janus was now just bidding his time until the next one. He had already caught Roman staring at him, the ghost of a smile on his lips, which Janus had made sure to excuse himself as quickly as he could nonchalantly do, just to make sure Roman had not somehow done something to Janus’s face.

But as he sat on the couch, lounging across it with no regard for anyone coming to sit on it, dozing, Janus heard Roman scream from down the hall.

Now this wasn’t just a normal Roman scream, it was raw and grief filled.

Immediately, Janus was running, he didn’t remember getting up, just that he was now running to the source of the sound.

But when he turned the corner, his blood turned ice cold.

Roman was staggering out of his room, an unconscious Remus in his arms. This wasn’t unusual for Remus, to be knocked out like this, but Janus immediately saw his eyes, they were open and blank, there was no life in them, not even sleep looked like how Remus’s eyes looked. His body looked strange in Roman’s arms.

Roman was haggard, his princely uniform disheveled and unbuttoned, tears rolling down his face and his expression was pure anguish. Roman blubbered, “Spell, true love’s kiss, help!!”

And Janus didn’t question it, surging forward just knowing  Remus needed help and he love Remus and-

They were kissing.

God how Janus wished this had happened in a more romantic way, but when he started to pull back, all his doubts stopped as he felt Remus grip the back of his shirt, but instead of addressing Janus, Remus immediately looked at Roman, who still had Remus in his arms.

“You ASSHOLE!” Remus shrieked, punching Roman in the jaw, but even Janus could tell it was only to get him to drop him from how light the punch was.

Janus was confused at Remus’s reaction, letting out an uncharacteristic “Wh-Wha?”

Remus whipped back to face Janus when he spoke, fire in his eyes, but it wasn’t directed at him.

“Roman, the assprince, decided to speed our relationship along apparently!” Remus yelled at a pouting Roman who was nursing where Remus’s punched him.

“What- What do you mean? Wait-” Janus blushed, realizing what Remus said.

“Roman apparently decided that if you weren’t going to confess your feelings for me, that he would trick me into pricking my finger on a stupid sleeping beauty flower, ya know it has the same ability spindle on the spinning wheel but instead it’s a flower? Anyways! You know the rest, a true love’s kiss blah blah blah. I’m furious with him because I was letting you take your time to come to me!!! The hopeless romantic doesn’t know when someone needs to take their time apparently!” Remus growled, Roman having the decency to deflate a little, avoiding eye contact.

“Wait, so you- you-” Janus floundered.

“I love you, Jan, yeah.” Janus sobered at those 3 words, those words helping him focus on other more important matters at the moment.

Janus smirked.

“Well, my first act as your lover is totally not going to be getting Roman back for what he did.” 

Remus cackled. “Oh, I love a nice protective lover, how about we make some moves.

Janus summoned his cane, and Remus summoned his morning star, both of them turning to Roman, who gulped at the look they were giving him.

“Let’s have some fun.”

(They aren’t gonna beat him up... well, maybe a bonk or two, but he’ll be in one piece, just unconscious) 

[softowlhours]

by the lakeside

bokuto koutarou(horror!AU)

it should’ve been the perfect summer getaway. you were both in need of some down time away from your busy careers. but things get a little eerie when there’s a voice in your head that isn’t yours and you find out that you’re not alone in that pristine white house on the hill.

genre: horror, angst, fluff if you squint

tw: descriptions of drowning, asphyxiation, strangulation. suggestive sexual situations.

a/n: i promise i’ll proofread this later and also write an epilogue but until then please enjoy this story it took me way longer than necessary to write. i’ve read it so many times that i don’t find it scary anymore. but i hope you do! :)

word count: 6k

my body feels like an empty shell sometimes, a carcass I am dragging around. when I look into the mirror I don’t recognise myself. i don’t recognise him, either.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

bokuto’s hair gleams silver in the glorious morning light. wind blows through your own strands as you zip past the lush green meadows. you could see the sheep dotted on the grassy planes like puffs of pure white clouds. far away, there stood giant mountains. their high peaks looked like they were breaching the baby blue ceiling of the sky. you only notice your gorgeous surroundings with half a mind, because your eyes keep trailing back to the man besides you. you admire his profile, the sharp slope of his nose, the chiselled cheek bones and jaw line. you zero in on the plush of his lips and it is then that you notice his teasing grin.

‘admiring the view?’ he asks.

‘mhmm. a sight for my sore eyes.’ and he truly is. your gaze drops a little lower. his toned chest peeks from where the buttons of his shirt have come undone. his biceps flex and strain against the fabric as he manoeuvres the steering wheel. he looks like a movie star, straight out of the golden age of film. the red vintage convertible he drives only adds on to your day dream. you can’t help but feel like a heroine starring in your own block buster romance. heat rises to the tip of his ears and the back of his neck at your shameless appraisal. bokuto notices the way lust is barely concealed on your face. he fucking loved the way you looked at him, like he was the guiding star you were always attuned to. the one for whom you’d always search for in an endless night sky.

‘your eyes are sore from staring at your computer screen all day everyday.’ he  ignores your attempts at flirting,  and instead addresses what has been eating away at his mind lately. he’s been worried about you. you often called him out for pushing himself to the point of breaking when it came to volleyball. but, you never noticed how you were inclined to do the same when it came to you own work; buried under papers and ink, day after day as your work ethic kept you confined to your study room. you being a best selling author, him a pro volleyball player; you truly were the power couple worthy of everyone’s envy and admiration, but your lives could get stressful at times.

‘kou, I’m sorry ‘m dragging you away from your routine. the game season starts in two months. you should be hitting some balls right now.’ you withdraw your hand, and he instantly misses your touch. you appear a little crestfallen as you opt to idly fiddle with the lace bordering your sundress.

‘hey,’ his voice is silky, tone slightly chastising. ‘don’t apologise. this was my idea anyways. we need some time away. from everything.’

‘you know that,’ he continues, ‘i’ll never be too busy for you, right? it makes me feel lonely when you just withdraw from me... shut me out.’ his face eyebrows furrow a little. ‘for you I’ll always carve out  time.’

bokuto had a way with words that always left you stupefied. they weren’t embellished and gaudy, like yours. all you ever did was spin fairy tales. Yes they were beautiful, but they were also false. unlike you, he always spoke from his heart, and you wonder if that was why his sentiments without fail reached others.

‘oi- don’t fall asleep.’

‘i’m not sleeping!’ you snap out of your reverie. ‘i’m sorry i… never realised you’d feel that way’ puffing out a sigh, you lean back lazily on the leather seat. ‘i haven’t been feeling much inspiration lately, and when i do write i just hate every word of it.’ 

‘maybe I should retire,’ you muse. ‘never write a word again. let people remember me as the genius author I’m not.’

‘but you are a genius writer!’ bokuto insists. ‘give it a fifty years and they’ll be teaching your work as a part of the curriculum. i’ve never read anything better!’

‘that’s because you rarely read!’

‘i am a picky reader,’ bokuto shrugs, cocking an eyebrow as he looks at you haughtily. ‘so congratulations that your writing actually piqued my interest.’

snorting, you pinch his thigh.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

it’s almost evening by the time you drive past a small sleepy town. the few houses have their curtains drawn. there’s a small supermarket and a polyclinic but you notice how the streets are mainly empty, save for a couple of children who play seven tiles on the roadside. fifteen minutes and more grassy meadows and sheep later, you arrive at what looks like the edge of the world. surely you’re being a little dramatic calling it that, but the road winds up the gentle slope of a hill and on top of it sits a pristine white house. bokuto pulls up the car in front of massive wrought iron gates, a chain holds it shut.

‘okay, but when nori said ‘vacation home’, this is not what I had in mind. Is he actually the heir to a conglomerate or something?’ you observe, definitely appalled.

‘uh- knowing his stingy ass, i’m not sure?’ bokuto sounds and looks puzzled as well, so you know he wasn’t expecting it either. he reconfirms the address konoha had messaged him. ‘do we climb the gates? because he never gave me a key or anything. he said the place has a caretaker who’d-’

‘how can I help?’

your heart leaps to your throat, and both you and bokuto snap your heads to your left to look at a man who stands on bokuto’s side of the car. neither of you had seen him approaching and it  was as if he were a magician, materialising out of thin air. old, sinewy and dressed sharply in a suit, he’s hunching to be at your eye levels. upon closer look the fabric of his clothes looked worn out and they fray at the edges. his hair is slicked back and he wears gold rimmed spectacles, its lenses the shape of half moons. his smile is serene, demeanour dignified but there’s shrewdness in his tone.

‘um- hi.’ bokuto greets recovering first. ‘i am konoha’s friend. i assume you’ve been expecting us?’

a beat passes.

‘indeed. allow me to show you around.’

bokuto parks the car under a shed close to the gates and you walk down the stretch of the garden. it is immaculately kept, and roses of all colours bloom neatly in rows. a giant sycamore tree stands close to the house, its branches brushing the roof. when you stand on the porch of the house the gate seems miles away. bokuto wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close to his side. he sneaks a soft kiss under your left ear as the caretaker opens up the door for you.

the inside of the house is splendidly furnished and it leaves you awestruck. simple but gorgeous, a modern castle of sorts. a cream colored leather sofa sits in the centre of the living room, the rug in front of it is white and fluffy. There is a box television- the kinds popular decades ago, and you wonder if it actually works or if it’s just for show. the chandelier above is a million crystals and an open kitchen makes up the far end of the living room. a stair case winds its way up. but, what truly catches your eye are the massive french doors which open up to the stretch of a green lawn. calling it a backyard would be a bit inadequate; for the trimmed grass meets the surface of a great lake, its water like molten lava reflecting the evening sky. you can see the outline of ducks waddling away, probably on their way home. the lake stretches out for almost a mile and after that you see nothing but the thicket of the woods. it is almost the end of july, so while the days are warm, the temperatures tend to dip quite a bit at night. you shiver a little and snuggle closer into bokuto’s side. the caretaker, in his monotonous voice,  explains to you how your room shall be upstairs,  the one to the right. there were four other rooms which were mostly empty and locked for the sake of easy maintenance. you tune him out when he moves on to the instructions regarding the heating and locking systems.

you’re entranced by the house, and standing there in its magnanimity you feel like you’ve been drawn into a picture book. you can imagine breakfasts every morning on the front porch. afternoons spent lolling on the grass besides the lake. you would keep a vase filled with freshly cut roses from the garden, in the centre of the kitchen table. spend the nights sitting in front of the fire place when winter laid its thick blanket of white snow outside. your high flying careers felt like a distant dream. your laptop back home could collect all the dust it wanted to. you could just stay here forever wrapped up in each others arms.

i’m lonely. i hate how you’re always away from home because of volleyball.

bokuto notices your distant look , the slightest way your lips are set in a grimace. it tugs on his heartstrings. makes it difficult for him to breathe.

bringing his mouth close to your ear, he whispers your name bringing you out of your head. you blink, biting back the ugly realisation that had just intruded your brain. you had never felt that way before, you had forced yourself not to. it was long ago when you had decided that you’d never make him choose between you and volleyball. or maybe that loneliness was something you’d always felt. but because you were afraid of it; you had hidden it under your skin, in between your bones.

if i could, i’d steal you away and keep you all to myself. in a cage just for me and you.

too afraid that he’ll somehow read your mind, you step away from him, disoriented by the venomous voice of your subconscious as you look around for the old man.

‘he left while you were zoning out, princess. said he’s going home.’ he pulls your back against his chest, long fingers begin snaking up a well known trail up your thighs. your cute little sundress does little to stop him. ‘he’ll be back by noon tomorrow, to tend to the garden and all that.’ bokuto speaks in between the kisses he’s placing along the side of your neck. ‘apparently, he lives in that town we drove by earlier.’

‘mhmm.’

‘want to live in a house like this someday.’ he asks you, his voice hushed.  you rest your head back on his chest, as love and lust pools in your stomach and clouds your thoughts.

i’m scared someday you’ll leave me behind.

“me. you. maybe a dog. maybe… children?” he continues and your eyes widen at that.

‘you want all that?’

‘with you? yes I want everything. i’ll take everything that you can give me.’

liar.

you turn around and pull bokuto into a heated kiss. his chapped lips meld into yours and your teeth clack a little from the suddenness of your movement. by now it is completely dark outside and the living room is dimly lit by a lamp. bokuto seems unaware, too lost in you to be notice space and time. but, a weird sensation surrounds you. you feel the whisper of a cool breeze, a murmur disturbing the stillness of the house. with one hand, bokuto cups your behind. the fingers of his other rake through your hair. it’s a buzz now, like a thousand bees hovering over your heads. you feel dazed, you’re needy, you’re confused.

there’s someone else here. the two of you are not alone.

‘ow,’ you yelp in pain.

bokuto jumps away from you, but his hands are badly tangled in your hair.

‘I told you to tie your hair in the car!’ he is laughing. ‘it’s a nest in here!’

the buzzing dies down. the silence that follows is deafening. you wonder if you’re delusional with the lack of sleep.

as bokuto carefully weaves his fingers out he places a chaste kiss on the little crease in between your eyebrows. he finds you so cute, it physically hurts him.  

‘don’t worry, babygirl,’ his voice drops a few octaves. ‘windswept looks sexy on you.’

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

later that night as you are lie under the drapes and canopies, you notice how the bedroom is much like the rest of the house- fit for royalty. bokuto snores softly, but you lie awake with your head on his chest. his heartbeat is a mind-numbing rhythm. a thin sheet of sweat covers your bodies and you try to ignore the wetness in between your legs. you should probably change the sheets as well, but your body refuses to move and you don’t know where to find any new ones. sleep evades you so you let Bokuto’s question roll around in your mind. a forever with him. of course you would say yes. there was nothing more that you wanted than that. but the dread from earlier which you had managed to keep at bay with lust, slowly begins to resettle in the pit of your stomach.

he promises you an eternity now, but he’ll leave you behind soon.

you somehow clamber out of bed, making sure not to awaken bokuto. picking up his shirt from where it lies on floor, you put it on. the bedroom has identical doors from the living room, made of glass, and they open onto a small balcony. you draw open the lacey curtains and step out into the chilly night air. the sight that awaits you makes you gasp.  a fine mist rolls over the water, but the lake itself is still.  its surface is like taut cellophane. beyond the lake where the woods begin, it is pitch black darkness and you cannot tell where the woods meet the moonless sky. it’s a new moon night, but where you expect to see the stars is an empty hollowness. its eerily silent. too silent. no insects trill. no wind blows. you stare intently into the water for so long that you swear you see something lurking just underneath its surface.  the mist that hovers slowly inches towards the house, coiling like endless bony fingers.

that pool of velvety darkness, i wonder what it’d feel like against my skin.

come to me then. feel it for yourself. your voice, no, her voice purrs.

you whirl around to see bokuto. he’s standing a feet away from you, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

‘whoah! easy,’ bokuto exclaims, surprised by your jumpiness. no way it had been him who had spoken moments ago. ‘what are you doing outside?’ he asks. ‘i nearly got a heart attack when I saw someone standing out here.’ 

you look back towards the lake, and you’re utterly confused. the mist seems to have instantly vanished. you can even hear the water now, softly undulating. it appears akin to a creased sheet of silk.

had you been hallucinating? dreaming with your eyes open?

you fight down the growing panic and instead walk over to him, squishing his cheeks. you softly kiss his pout. ‘aww. baby’s scared?’ you coo.

he grumbles something about you catching a cold but tugs you inside and you decide to let it all go. you’re tired and tomorrow will be a new day.

had you turned around, you’d notice how the stars were glittering like cold hard gems in the night sky.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

you were pleasantly lazing about in the sun. the lake was a glittering blue and the woods looked benign during the day. they weren’t as dense as they appeared to be in the absence of light. from where you lay, the house looks like an entity of its own. imposing and regal. bokuto is dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweatpants as he plays around witha volleyball, tossing and spiking it all by his lonely self. you didn’t remember seeing him pack a volleyball, but then again somehow he always seemed to miraculously have a one at his disposal. today,  he hasn’t gelled his hair up in its usual style, so it flops onto his  forehead in a way you wished he’d leave it more often.

‘y/n! nice receive!’ he hollers at you.

he spikes the ball aiming straight for your stomach and you somehow manage to block his assault. thank god he hadn’t used a quarter of the strength he usually puts into his spikes.

your strong and annoying man.

‘you trying to murder me or what?’

he pulls you up to your feet. ‘i’ll be teaching you how to spike, drama queen. it’s insane how you’ve been with me for all these years and haven’t learnt a thing or two about volleyball. people would die for a one on one training session with me.’ he brags as he fetches the ball from where it had rolled off to.

you try to copy his motions, but what he can effortlessly pull off is an impossible feat for you. you send the ball upwards and jump as you try to match your timing to spike it. but before you can hit the ball it lands on your head.

bokuto is losing his shit, doubling over with laughter. and you try to look angry but end up giggling with him.

‘i give up!’ you complain. plus my boobs jiggle since i’m not wearing a sports bra,’ 

‘babe, thats kinda the point!’ he beams.

a perfect spike lands on his face.

‘owww, that’s foul play, y/n! ’ he yells. rubbing his nose, he walks over to you.

‘you should be punished!’ he scolds you, but places a kiss on your temple. his hands wander downwards to unzip your dress. he lets it fall to the ground. you know where this is headed. you think he’s going to kiss you so you close your eyes and lean towards him but before you can react, he’s bending down and suddenly you’re being lifted. he has you over his shoulders and your peals of laughter warm his heart. he hadn’t heard that sound in a while.

bokuto marches straight into the lake and dumps you in. the water is cool and refreshing, just as you had imagined it. it’s shallow enough so you’re chest deep in the water when your feet are planted at the bottom. his body glistens with dampness, hair a floppy wet mess. he was so beautiful, that even though it was irrational you felt a little bit shy. you’re splashing each other with water, the atmosphere’s light and bubbly with amusement. bokuto tries to catch you but you slip out of his reach. he is being his loud and  dramatic self as he falls face down into the water, complaining as he comes up with his eyes screwed shut. 

‘i swear i’d rather be blinded by your beauty than this water.’

you shake you head, feigning disdain and then you’re swimming away from him, towards the safety of the house. it must almost be noon, and you vaguely remember its time for the care taker to come around. you did not want to be seen in your wet underwear. bokuto calls out to you, apologising. there is water in your ears, it laps all around you as you swim. it dulls all sound and every other sense until the only thing you hear is your thumping heart. when you come up for air, you can see the blue sky, when your face is in the water you can see the stones and pebbles littering the bottom.

but, when you come up for air again, the sky is overcast. laden with dense gray clouds.

the water runs icy, lead flows through your veins. your body is sinking like a ship. it feels like you’re trying to move through viscous jelly. when you try to pull up for air you cannot break through, the surface traps you like its the cellophane you remember seeing the night before. a tight grip on your waist, abruptly pulls you under. your flailing hands try to grasp at nothing in particular. you wonder if its bokuto just messing around, but you know it isn’t. you don’t feel his presence anywhere. your fingers suddenly entangle into something. your eyes burn when you try to open them and look. jet black strands of hair, a bone white face, a mouth that is open like a gaping wound. you scream and nothing but gurgles and air bubbles escape you. you try to pull back but your hands are stuck in the weedlike hair. Funny you think of the evening before, when bokuto’s fingers had entangled in your messy hair the same way.

‘kou…koutaro!’ you try calling for him. you hear your disembodied voice, feel the water flood your mouth, your nose. but you feel all alone with that woman straight out of nightmares. fear has you in its grip, your minds a mush.

you hate him so damn much. you hate him, you hate him, you HATE him.  a voice repeats the same words in your head. you wonder if it sounds like your own or someone else’s. you cannot tell the two apart.

you feel a hand wrap around your arm, its large and warm and it feels like home. as it drags you out of the water the ashen face seems to quiver and distort. her eyes flicker open. they roll in their sockets but when they fixate on you, you see eyes just like your own. but they are transparent like marbles; burning with betrayal and accusation.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

you wake up with a start to screams piercing the air. they are shrill and blood curdling. your hands are on your ears as you try to block out the sound but it only gets louder. it takes you a moment to realise that the screaming had been you. bokuto holds you in his arms, you can feel him shaking underneath your palms that grapple at his back.

he’s crying.

no! why is your bokuto crying? you pull away a little just enough to look at him, but the way his features are twisted in melancholy punctures a hole through your heart.

‘y/n, babe… babe,’ his lips quiver stealing away speech but he forces himself to speak. ‘ i looked everywhere in the water but I couldn’t find you. you were swimming and then you just stopped. i thought you were fooling around but you were down there for too long. so i come over but... I couldn’t see you anywhere at first. i panicked! holy shit... i was panicking.’ he shifts away from you, an arms length away. leaning back on the sofa, he stares up at the ceiling. ‘You weren’t even struggling, just stopped moving. Do you remember what happened?’ bokuto drags a hand down his face. he’s visibly distressed.

‘i don’t know what happened,’ you croack. ‘it felt like I was stuck. my feet wouldn’t come lose. as if someone was there with me in the water, holding me down…’ a sob escapes you.

bokuto pales a little at your description. but there had been no one but the two of you in the water. hell he hadn’t even seen any fishes.

he had pulled you under in the first place hadn’t he. there’s no one here but the two of you.

you remember not being alone in the water. you remember the heaviness. but nothing else.

bokuto opens his mouth to say something, but you cannot concentrate. the urge is too strong. before you can think, before you can answer. you are bending over and puking your guts out.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

you spend the rest of the day, clinging to bokuto. and he doesn’t mind. he seems to be craving that constant feeling of your skin on his. something to remind him that you were okay, that you were here now. he makes his way around the kitchen with you stuck to him like a little koala.

“sit down on that chair just for a minute, y/n. i can’t find the plates!” he tries to loosen your chokehold on him but you only tighten it and bokuto booms out a laugh.

‘i swear you’re lucky you’re cute.”  

‘just consider this weight training.’

bokuto had put together a light meal. you reckoned you’d be unable to stomach anything too heavy.

‘we were supposed to be having fun. i feel like i’ve ruined everything.’ you mumble gloomily. you’re sitting on the chairs you pulled up around the kitchen island. a make shift dining table.

‘it’s okay. its enough to just be together.’

‘oh no been away from you for a five whole minutes.’ your expression is of mock worry as you rush over onto his lap. you immediately bury your head in the crook of his neck, his familiar scent calms you down. he chuckles at your antics.

‘do you think we can just go home?’ you ask apprehensively, still feeling bad about having spoilt your perfect little getaway.  ‘i don’t feel like staying here anymore.’

‘sure, baby girl .’ bokuto replies in a heartbeat, and you wonder if he feels the same unease in remaining here any longer.

‘we can leave tomorrow morning.’ he suggests. ‘it might be a bit too late to leave now. plus, caretaker-san didn’t even show up today.’

‘is it okay to just leave?,’ you ask.

from where bokuto sits on the dining table in the kitchen, he can see the doors in the living room that open up to the porch. it’s around three in the afternoon. the weather was beginning to turn awfully gloomy.

clouds slowly fill the sky eclisping the sun that had shined all day. it leaves everything in shades of gray.

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

you wake up alone in bed. the remnants of an eerie dream still lingers in your mind. you had been combing your hair, which was unusually thick, dark and long. you kept brushing the silky smooth strands, on and on and on, until they started coming loose in your hands. shuddering as you recall it, you turn around to see the wall clock read nine p.m. where was kou? at some point you had fallen asleep although you did not remember coming upstairs to the bedroom. he must’ve carried you from where you and him had been lying on the sofa downstairs, idly chatting.

your body is still heavy with exhaustion but you force yourself to sit up. hearing the water running in the bathroom, you call out to bokuto. ‘kou?’  you pad your way over to the bathroom. when you open the door there is no one inside. water drips from from a leaky tap into an empty bath tub. strange. where had the sound been coming from then?

you find yourself mesmerised by your reflection in the mirror right across from you. when you step inside the bathroom, the tiles are dry and frigid underneath your feet. the lights are off, however, the bathroom is faintly lit up by the light filtering in from the frosted windows. the bags under your eyes are dark and puffy, your lips look ashen. you look like you had lost a tonne of weight over the span of the past few hours. tracing a finger along the outline of your reflection, you notice how your eyes were a forlorn abyss. hollow like the dead.

mine. stay with me. don’t leave me alone. a voice whispers to you and you listen, enchanted.

you see the corners of your lips quirk up in your reflection. your expression twists into that of deranged happiness.

so, you’ll stay?

you don’t feel the smile on your face.

you’re backing away slowly. a scream dies in your throat.

that isn’t you. it’s her.

you’re running full speed out of the bathroom and you make it just in time as the door slams shuts behind you. the edge of your thin white slip gets caught in between but you yank it loose with enough force. bursting out of the room like a bat out of hell you’re hurtling downstairs. you have to look for bokuto. you must leave. now!

you’re me, i am you. he doesn’t love you, so just stay with me. I’m lonely.

you try to call out to bokuto but you cannot find your voice.

and then you see him. sitting on the sofa. the relief you feel is momentary. the old television is on, and the screen is grainy with static but bokuto’s eyes are intent on it. he’s still as if he were carved out of stone. he doesn’t acknowledge your presence just keeps staring ahead with an owlish gaze. you place a shaky hand on his shoulder and he finally turns to look at you.

his eyes that usually are like pools of golden honey are dark and murky like cheap kerosene. his features are sharper, more cunning. a devil in your lover’s skin. the mist outside thickens, appearing as if they were pale white walls surrounding the house.

i told you to just stay with me. you should’ve stayed with me in that cool dark water.

he doesn’t love you, i do.

suddenly bokuto is stalking towards you, his movements hypnotic like that of a panther, sinuously fluid, predatory. a feral look glints in those foreign eyes. he slams you against the nearest wall, his hands tightening over your neck. your head meets the hard surface with a thud. those large arms that have always felt like home suddenly feel empty and cold like a prison cell.

you’re just a prisoner in his cage. he doesn’t love you like I will.

black spots fill your vision, as your air supply is slowly being cut off. ‘kou- please don’t.’ you whimper. a flicker of recognition flashes through those eyes, but the grip around your neck only tightens. ‘kou-’ you call again softly. tears fall freely down your face. your hands go limp by your sides and in the process you knock over a vase that had been on table besides you. it falls to the marble floor with an obnoxious crash. the ceramic splinters into a hundred pieces. bokuto’s eyes widen and the darkness from his face lifts. it is as if a thick patch of clouds obscuring the moon had drifted past, letting its pure light fall to the earth once again. he’s your bokuto once again.

horror struck he lets go of your neck and catches a glimpse of the angry red fingerprints left behind like a morbid necklace. you collapse to the ground.

a door bangs shut somewhere in the house, startling you both. bokuto is about to crouch down next to you when suddenly the volume of the television is cranked up. the harsh static sound grates your ears, like a drawn out growl. there’s thumping coming from behind every surface of the house- the walls, the floors, the ceilings. every door, every window  swings open only to shut back with a bang, over and over until shards of broken glass lie like a carpet all over the floor. the house is alive with the breath of countless souls that live in its every crack and crevice. you both look on with horror as heavy mist begins to pour into the house. bokuto’s teeth chatter with fear, and he tries to get you to stand. he follows your gaze which is fixed to where your bedroom had been. and he sees it then. on the door which opens into the room, there’s a shadow of a woman. he can discern the long straight hair which she combs on and on and on.

‘f-fuck!’ he spits.

he harshly pulls you over his shoulders but transfixed you crane up your neck to continue looking at the shadow. hastily he manages to grab the keys which he had hung on a hook by the main door.  the shadow grows darker, more defined as if  whoever it belonged to was coming closer. he feels you struggling and you scream to be let down.the main door to the house is already open so with one last glance at the chaos behind, you are both bolting out of the house.

‘y/n, run! to the car. hurry, hurry, hurry!’ he shuts the door, hoping it would buy you some time. he’s not really sure what he’d just seen or what any of it meant. but thinking would come later. he grabs your hand as you start the mad dash across the front garden. you notice despite your compromised vision due to the mist, how the roses look wilted. the grounds gooey and wet underneath, and your feet sink into the soft mud making movement sluggish. but you don’t stop. moments later, the door behind you flings open with enough force that it comes loose from its hinges. the whole house seems to be angry.

come back here.

don’t leave me alone.

an overgrown root coils around your calf and yanks you back. your hand slips out of bokuto’s and he turns around, horrified, to see you being dragged into the ground. like you were falling into quicksand.

‘hold on to my arm,’ bokuto bellows, ‘and just don’t. let. go!’

the circulation in your leg is being cut off and you cry in pain. you can feel the disgusting way the soft earth keeps parting further to let you in. you want to let go, give in to the struggle. maybe it’d be better to just lie buried here, decomposing till you forget whats fear, whats pain.

your name is rolling off bokuto’s tongue like a chant. his muscles burn with strain. the sweat and slick makes his grip on you weak and he notices how you’re  letting go. he reads the resignations on your face. but why are you letting go? why are you trying to leaving him alone?

bokuto loses his footing and falls backwards and almost loses you, but he manages to interlock your fingers. he’s grunting with effort, and roars with frustration when it doesn’t seem to be working. it is then when you see the blood covering his feet, the glass splinters buried deep into his soles. in your haste to get away you never noticed how he had walked all over the shards with you over his shoulder. the ache in your heart swells. you know he’d never leave you behind. it was the two of you, or none of you who’d make it alive out of here.

the thought of bokuto buried deep into the ground, lips blue and crusted with mud gives you a renewed conviction. with the last spurts of energy you hold tight onto bokuto’s arm with one hand. the other digs into where you find soft but solid ground. you attempt to claw your way out and fight the drag of the noose around you ankle that tries to pull you in the opposite direction. away from bokuto. bokuto is inching backwards, his voice hoarse with all that screaming as he does his utmost to haul you out. 

rain begins to pour in heavy cascades even though there hadn’t been a single cloud in the obsidian sky. and suddenly you feel earth’s hold on you go slack. bokuto and your efforts come to fruition as your foot comes loose and you tumble straight on top of bokuto’s body. but its too early to celebrate. a loud thunderclap spurs you both into action and you run and run, fighting the burn in your lungs until you reach the car. bokuto, is grateful, infinitely grateful that the keys had remained in his pockets during that struggle. he hands you the keys and with no time to waste you’re  running to the car, afraid that something inauspicious might happen again if you didn’t hurry. bokuto notices with relief that the iron gates are not chained shut like they had been upon your arrival, and with some effort he swings them open.  bokuto clambers into the passenger seat and you floor the gas as you drive straight out of the gates, into a calm quiet night. 

it takes you a moment to notice that the rain had stopped. 

∷  ∷ ∷  ∷ 

the two of you are covered in dirt, in blood. absolutely shattered with exhaustion. bokuto finally feels the pain that had been dampened by adreneline. it now ignites like an inferno. he almost tears his lip trying to bite back a whimper. in the rear view mirror, you catch a glimpse of the house. it looks regal and imposing, as it had when you’d first arrived. you can see the dimly lit bedroom, the curtains billowing gently in a slight breeze. the glass on the doors is intact. the garden is immaculate once again and you can see patches of soft grass spread out where the mud had almost eaten you up alive just a few moments ago. a shaky laugh escapes Bokuto, and before you know it, feeling delirious, you’re laughing with him. 

bokuto’s phone rings and the sound cuts short your hysteria. with some effort he retrieves it from the dashboard where he’d left it two days ago. he had planned on not letting anything distract him from you on this short getaway. he puts it on loudspeaker.

‘they picked up!’ you hear Konoha say to someone and the collective sighs of relief are audible.

‘dude, where have you both been? we’ve been calling you all day. ms. nakamura told me that you never made it to my vacation home?’

‘ms. nakamura?’ bokuto rasps.

‘yeah, the caretaker I told you about?’

‘the caretaker was a man!’ you snatch the phone with from bokuto with one hand while other remains on the steering wheel. you’re yelling at the receiver like a mad woman. ‘we came to your villa, but that man opened the gates. listen, there’s something wrong with the house and lake behind it is-’

‘what lake? there are only corn fields behind my house. which is, by the way, a traditional japanese one. where the fuck have you both been?!’

you and bokuto look at each other in confusion, and you hit the brakes. you glance back at the house which is now far, far away. if you squint your eyes you can see the outline of a man at the gates. the lamp in his hand glows golden like a distant star.

a woman’s shadow is dark and lonely against the delicate lace of the bedroom’s curtains.

[strangergrove]

× VOL 001 × 04.19.2020 ×

TUMBLR | @bambixxblue AO3 | moonlight_xx

× these hearts adore (every other beat, the other one beats for) ×

WORD COUNT: 10,569

CHAPTERS: 2/?

My Tumblr prompt fics all in one place. Some pining, some angst, but usually always a damn happy ending.

1. peach, curve of an ear, coffee grounds, veined hands, thunder

2. ways to say 'i love you' - 'i brought you an umbrella.'

The writing in this is so exquisite. It feels like cracking open a favourite book on a rainy Sunday morning, when the rest of the world is still asleep. It's comforting and poetic and incredibly heartwarming.

The first chapter takes us along on a sweet little vacation to California, a last hurrah of sorts, before the kids head off to college. It's sweet and peach-soaked and you can feel the ocean breeze against your skin with every passing word. It's the exact brand of happiness our boys deserve.

The second part is an achingly beautiful redemption for Billy. He learns how to let his wounds heal, learns how to let others in, learns how to trust and love. His initial interactions when he meets Steve are so precious and it shows how complex of a person he is, the softness beneath his concrete shell. I will devour any update to this amazing collection.

× the light of day shows me how ×

WORD COUNT: 39,173

CHAPTERS: 7/7

And from Robin, a single picture: the official cast list.

ROMEO MONTAGUE...BILLY HARGROVE

JULIET “JULIAN” CAPULET...STEVE HARRINGTON

Ah, fuck.

(or, Steve and Billy are in ballet school. They're cast in LGBT+ Romeo and Juliet. Featuring mutual pining, angst to fluff, and an Ancient Slavic demon cult. It gets weird.)

This is such a fun read. The spattering of background into the story really carves out the characters so well, choreographing the story in such a way that you fall into their lives without realizing it. You sit down to watch Steve practice his role for Julian and suddenly find yourself wondering if that small stutter you just saw has anything to do with any number of little details you know of his past. You see Billy storm across the studio floor and know that he’s trying to bury something that keeps resurfacing, but he refuses to let anyone help him.

It’s wonderful watching the way the boys play off of each other, pushing one another to better themselves in both their dance and their personal lives. Watching Steve fumble with his newfound and confusing feelings is sweet, hopeful, just waiting, waiting for it to tip over the edge, for the boys to fall into the space they’ve always belong: by each other’s side.

I’ve never done ballet, only watched it here and there in movies and shows, but I fell in love with this story, the way their dances are described, their movements. So if you’ve never been that into ballet, don’t let that deter you from reading this story. It’s so much more than just ballet.

× friends should sleep in other beds ×

WORD COUNT: 13,517

CHAPTERS: 2/2

It isn’t easy being in love with your best friend.

It especially isn’t easy being in love with your best friend if he’s the practical-Godfather of your university.

(or, 'I won't let anyone hurt you; you're safe with me' prompt fill where Steve thinks his love is one-sided but it absolutely isn't. Feat. loving girlfriends and Hawaiian vacations.)

This story is beyond achingly stunning. It’s all whirlwinds and longing and the white-knuckle deathgrip of trying to hold onto something you’re convinced is going to slip away. The deep, binding relationship between Billy and Steve is beautiful and heartbreaking and hopeful at the same time. Both characters have obvious trenches of emotional trauma they’ve had to trudge through to get where they are, trenches they’re still slowly crawling their ways out of.

The words are so wonderfully crafted that I felt the sway and break of Steve’s emotions at the same time he did. I felt the longing, the sorrow, the sputtering flame of hope that just refuses to gutter and die. I want to say I wanted more of this story, but I don’t know if my heart could have handled it. No, it was the perfect length, detailing the long harrowing journey of love and friendship, of finding family that doesn’t come from blood, of holding desperately onto things that are worth the bruises they leave on your fingers.

TUMBLR | @cameorabbit AO3 | CaffeinatedBunny

× Life Is Sweet ×

WORD COUNT: 8,676

CHAPTERS: 4/4

Snapshots of domestic bliss, between loving boyfriends.

(This story will be marked as complete but I will be adding chapters as the muses come to me or when I need a break from some of my larger wip)

This wonderful little collection offers us a sweet insight into the boys' relationship. We get small glimpses into the boys' pasts that add layers to the stories. We get to see little snippets of Steve's relationship with his mother and grandmother. We get to see Billy's insecurities. 

Each story has it’s own little theme, if you will, from baking Christmas cookies to battling insecurities in their relationship. Each story gives us a little more, brings us a little deeper into these boys’ lives, adds that next layer to them that has you coming back to see how they’ve developed. I'm looking forward to any future additions to this collection.

× When I run out of road (You bring me Home) ×

WORD COUNT: 5,316

CHAPTERS: 1/1

The road back to Hawkins Indiana is long and tedious with neither of them really wanting to reach their destination; so to distract them both Billy has a plan to make it as pleasurable for both of them as he can.

Uffda. This was a fun read. Now, before I dive into the review, just a heads up: this is a PWP with dom/sub. And apologies in advance for my inability to be eloquent about smut.

The dynamic between the two was a joy to read. Steve's mannerisms as a baby and the way Billy handles him as his Daddy was fantastic. It's not heavy dom/sub here, but you can tell they've had this relationship for a while. They're both comfortable in their roles and both know exactly what they're doing, and how to get a rise out of each other. But between the power play and the drops of backstory, there's actually some beautiful writing here, too. There were a few lines that I found myself rereading just because they sounded beautiful.

Also, I just have to say... The way Billy handles his own cock... Why do I love that so much? Just little things, too, like tapping it against the steering wheel while he's teasing Steve.

× I'll Keep you Mine ×

WORD COUNT: 3,926

CHAPTERS: 1/1

Billy's forged a kingdom and took an empty throne, and he'll burn anyone and anything that tries to take it from him.

(My Dudes this whole story is pretty much the Grumpy Possessive one claims the Sunshine One - Literally. And I ain't even mad.)

Here we get a gorgeously written tale that spins the events of the Upside Down in a different light. I don't want to spoil what that is, as it's not explicitly stated in the summary or tags, so you'll have to read to find out! This idea could easily be fleshed out into a much longer piece, but there's also something about just getting a small taste of an idea that is very enjoyable.

There is this persistent sense of danger beneath all the beautiful imagery. It's in the pacing of the story, in the way Billy needs to claim Steve. We get enough of a taste of this otherness to want more, to want to see exactly how everything unfolds.

TUMBLR | @wickedlydevious AO3 | wickedlydevious

× Weak Hands, Weak Lungs, Strong Heart ×

SERIES: Strong Heart

WORD COUNT: 2,771

CHAPTERS: 1/1

After the events at Starcourt Mall, Billy is recovering in the hospital and bored out of his mind. The only bright spots are when Max comes to visit.

And then Steve Harrington starts visiting too and that's even better.

There is a very beautiful light and warmth throughout this story. Billy's character feels so accurate, and the way he deals with being in the hospital and everything that entails is exquisitely portrayed here. What Billy has to deal with in the wake of the Mind Flayer grates against his entire personality, but it forces him to step outside of his comfort zone, outside of himself, and relearn how to interact with people, namely Steve.

The thing I loved most about this story is that we get to see these different facets of Billy, facets that maybe even he didn't really know were there, ones he never allowed himself to show because of his father. Still recovering, still being dependent on other people forces these different aspects of him into the world, and it's beautiful. It creates this very special sort of relationship between Billy and Steve that is just so pure and heart warming. I'll definitely be coming back to this when I need a spark of joy.

× Weak Backbone, Strong Convictions ×

SERIES: Strong Heart

WORD COUNT: 3,212

CHAPTERS: 1/1

After the events at Starcourt Mall, Steve starts bringing Max to visit Billy at the hospital.

And then Steve starts visiting on his own.

The sweetness continues with the second part of the Strong Heart series. The events of the first part are retold, but this time through Steve's POV. I've always loved the idea of telling the same events from different perspectives and this did not disappoint. The events may be the same, but you feel them differently than when they were told through Billy's perspective. Though the tone of the previous installation is ultimately uplifting, it's clear Billy is struggling. This part, however, is overflowing with hope, which only adds to the already beautiful feeling of the last piece. Don't think that because you already know the events that will take place because you read the last part that you shouldn't read this one. It's beautiful and moving and there are moments added that would be a shame to miss out on. I really hope this series continues, because it is wonderfully uplifting, but it stands strong all the same, just as it is.

× T(h)ree Mistakes ×

WORD COUNT: 4,559

CHAPTERS: 1/1

It’s their first Christmas in their own apartment and Steve reluctantly tasks Billy with getting the tree.

Mistakes are made.

This is a great read for the holidays. Billy's tree-getting adventures brought back so many memories of going to the tree farm down the road from our house as a kid and making a day of trying to find a tree that didn't look like trash and wouldn't break the bank. The feel of the story is cozy and sweet, like a warm and sleepy holiday morning. The kids, now teens, make a short but fun appearance that really makes this story feel like it's about found family. 

This story is like coming home, rounding up all of your best friends you haven’t seen in ages, and making a night of the holidays. It’s sipping eggnog, the lights turned down low, and listening to the sweet croon of gentle music somewhere in the house. This story is comfort and happiness and love. Now I want some hot apple cider...

QUESTIONS? VISIT THE FAQ

FIND ALL VOLUMES HERE

[themagiciansreccenter]

Author Spotlight: highestkingbambi

Every week we are going to be interviewing a writer from The Magicians fandom. If you would like to be interviewed or you want to nominate a writer, get in touch via our ask box.

First things first, tell us a little about yourself.

Hi! I’m Rae aka @highestkingbambi or sullyandlulu. I’m in my late twenties and  a small business owner. I live on the underside of the world—for now—with my husband and dog.

How long have you been writing for?

I’ve been writing on and off for about 15 years now, though I only started writing for fandom in about 2010.

What inspired you to start writing for The Magicians?

I started developing some plot points after watching Life in a Day, but it was the Quentin vs the depression key and the aftermath of that which had me pull out my notebook and start writing fiction for the first time in a number of years.

Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write? What it is about them that makes them your favourite?

Margo is by far my favourite character to write, though the POV for my fics tends to be pretty evenly mixed between her and Quentin. What I love about writing Margo is just how multifaceted she is, and yet there is so little we know about her. She rarely lets her true feelings show, but when she does, you never forget them and I love delving into that part of her.

Do you have a preference for a particular season/point in time to write about?

I tend to write canon divergent fics based around the first few months at Brakebills, however I also love filling in missing scenes, particularly from season three. Honestly, I just write whatever my muse leads me to.

Are you working on anything right now? Care to give us an idea about it?

My big project at the moment is a Hardboiled/Noir Alternate Universe story that I am writing from Margo’s POV set in Los Angeles, 1948. There is a teaser you can find here.

How long is your “to do list”?

My official “to do list” has approximately 18 ideas listed, however the list in my head is significantly longer. I’m never going to get through them, so if anyone wants one, hmu.

What is your favourite fic that you’ve written for The Magicians? Why?

Hands down this is still ‘Talk Therapy’. It’s a little rough, but I loved delving into Margo’s thoughts and feelings pre ‘The Fillorian Candidate’. I am also incredibly passionate about showing the relationship between Margo and Quentin and it was a real treat to be inspired to write such an intimate, platonic moment between them.

Many writers have a fic that they are passionate about that doesn’t get the reception from the fandom that they hoped for. Do you have a fic you would like more people to read and appreciate?

My paintball fic, ‘Cacophony of Color’ I totally get why it doesn’t get a lot of traction as its a gen fic with minimal shipping, but I just had so much fun writing it. It’s rare for me to write something so silly (smut and angst are my defaults) and the pure joy I felt while putting it together has me wish that more people read it.

What is your writing process like? Do you have any traditions or superstitions that you like to stick to when you’re writing?

My writing process is disastrous. I get an idea, start writing and see how far I get. When I inevitably hit a brick wall, that’s when I’ll put together an outline and see how I can steer it to a preferred end goal. I don’t really have any traditions or superstitions, though I do find it easier to be creative when I am sitting in a strange position. E.g. Lying on the floor with my feet on the couch and my dog on my feet.

Do you write while the seasons are airing or do you prefer to wait for hiatus? How does the ongoing development of the canon influence and inspire your writing process?

I only started writing during season three and it’s been interesting to compare the stories I was inspired to write while the season was airing and what I have been writing during the hiatus. There was an urgency in my mind to write as quickly as possible to get a fic up before canon proved any of my theories or ideas wrong, whereas now I am more focused on getting the details right.

What has been the most challenging fic for you to write?

All of the unfinished fics in my google drive? :) As for published fics, the hardest was probably ‘The People We Were’. I wrote that one pretty quickly and when I look back the tense is all over the place. I had to break that one up into chunks and write it out of order (not my usual style) because I just kept getting choked up about how devastating the characters losing their memories is.

Are there any themes or tropes that you like particularly like to explore in your writing?

I dunno. For someone known for writing ‘that orgy fic’ I am a big fan of writing platonic and semi-platonic relationships.

Are there any writers that inspire your work? Fanfiction or otherwise?

It probably doesn’t show, but I’ve always been inspired by the writing styles of Jeanette Winterson, Kurt Vonnegut and Jack Kerouac (I was that hipster asshole who backpacked from San Francisco to New York City via New Orleans with a worn out copy of ‘On the Road’. Please don’t judge me. I was young.) As for fanfiction writers, there are so many writers in this fandom that inspire me, I couldn’t narrow it down.

What are you currently reading? Fanfiction or otherwise?

I am currently drowning in crime fiction novels from Dashiel Hammett to P.D James as research for my WIP. Fanfiction wise I am overly invested in OneEyedDestroyer’s ‘Head to Head’, BrightWhiteLights’ ‘Modified Aspect Ratio, Gwendolynflight’s ‘Divine Rituals’ and Coldfiredragon’s ‘Shoulder to Shoulder With You’.

What is the most valuable piece of writing advice you’ve ever been given?

“Just fucking do it, who gives a shit if the markers get freaked out about a little sinew?” - My 12th grade writing teacher. This was in relation to a mobster fiction short story I wrote for my high school major work.

Cringe time:

Are there any words or phrases you worry about over using in your work?

I use so many double negatives when I write that half the time I cannot believe that anyone can even understand what I’m trying to say. I probably over use ‘definitely’ and ‘actually’ in my writing as well but that’s less obvious to me.

What was the first fanfic that you wrote? Do you still have access to it?

I do have access to it. It’s a short drabble that I wrote to supplement my original character’s backstory in an old x-men tumblr rp. No, I will not share it.

Rapid Fire Round:

Self-edit or Beta? Beta

Comments or Kudos/Reblogs or Likes? Comments are always appreciated.

Smut, Fluff or Angst? All of the above.

Quick & Dirty or Slow Burn? Quick and Dirty

Favourite season? Season Three

Favourite episode? The Fillorian Candidate

Favourite book(The Magicians books)? Don’t hate me, I haven’t read them.

Three favourite words? Novelty, moron, shit-tonne.

Want to be interviewed for our author spotlight? Get in touch here.

[noonachronicles]

Books

Kim Namjoon/Rapmon X Reader

Just a short Namjoon fluff that I’ve had l sitting around because I feel bad it’s taking so long for me to update literally anything. 

It was her favorite smell. Yellowed pages of paper mixed with the aging glue that bound them together and the old ink that shared their stories. Books brought her comfort and helped her escape from pain. She looked to her left and then to her right, making sure she was alone before bringing the book to her nose. She closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply, taking in the years this particular book had been through. Her exhale was a satisfied sigh. Behind her there was snicker. With a gasp she turned quickly, hitting her back against the bookshelf.

“I didn't know you were there.” She said trying not to wince from the book that had jabbed her.

The blond boy looked up at her through big almond eyes that absolutely took her breath away. His plump, pink lips were in a smirk. In an instant she wanted to kiss those lips, an urge that had never come to her so quickly before. An urge she would find later she could not escape.

“I just thought it was funny because I do the same thing.” He smiled.

“Oh, wow.”

“What?” He said looking at her curiously.

She blushed not having meant to say that outloud. “It’s just… you have the most amazing dimples.”

His dimples deepened with his smile and he bit his lip. “Do you want… I'd like to show you my favorite book.”

She nodded enthusiastically and followed him through the bookstore. The store was so quiet and deserted that she wondered if he could hear her racing heart. Walking behind him allowed her to take in his broad shoulders that were covered by a loose fitting, oversized gray sweater. The cut of the neckline was wide enough that she could see the smooth tan curve of where his long neck met his shoulders. Suddenly he stopped and she almost collided with him because she'd been too distracted.

He lifted himself to his toes and stretched his arm up to the top shelf and grabbed a thick leather bound book. When he brought it down he smiled at it fondly as if seeing an old friend for the first time in a long time.

He raised an eyebrow slightly, fondly, and looked over at her. “Close your eyes.”

Trusting this stranger completely she did just that and smile spread over her lips. He opened the book to the very center and lifted it up to her nose. She hummed with delight as she breathed in the pages.

“It's beautiful.”

“It's the oldest book he has here.”

“If it's your favorite, why don't you buy it?” She mused as he slipped it back into its place.

“Then no one else would be able to enjoy it.”

“What if one day someone else buys it?”

He leaned in close to her ear, “I would find another favorite, but don't tell her that.”

She turned her face to press her warm cheek against the cool glass of the window. The tink-tink-tink of raindrops calming every inch of her. One hand kept her book open in front of her, the other one running her fingers through Namjoon’s hair as he laid his head on her lap with a book outstretched above him. He laughed lightly at something he'd read and she looked down at his beautiful face, the one she had become so accustomed to. His big round glasses frames took up the top of his face, but his emotions were always in his mouth. The bite of a lip here, a smirk there, one of his deadly dimple bringing smiles. His pout and the simple thin line they made when he was angry. She knew all about those lips. The ones she had wanted to kiss as soon as she saw them and her brain had not steered her wrong. His kisses were magic. The same magic of her books. Healing the pain and filling her with comfort.

“Joonie”

“Hmm?” He kept his eyes on his book.

“I love you.” That was the first time either of them had said it.

He placed his book over his chest and looked up at her, “Jagiya, what do you want to do today?”

“Just this.” She said, “You and me and the books and the rain.”

“Ok.” He said lifting his book back over his face nonchalantly.

She didn't need for him to say it back. She repeated that in her head like a mantra to keep any tears from building up in her eyes. She steadied her breath and looked back at her book, not reading a single word. She's never felt so vulnerable, never felt like such a mess.

“Hey, jagi?” She looked down at Namjoon with glossy eyes as he peeked at her from under his book, “I love you too. You know that, right?”

“Mhmm.” She nodded happily. “Of course.”

He sat up next to her on the seat of the window nook. He took in her form as it drowned in the oversized gray sweater she stole from him the second she got the chance. Nothing was visible except for the fingers that held her book and her bare legs that were kicked up on a footrest.

“Kiss me.”

“Why?” She chuckled pretending she was still reading her book.

“Because I love you and you love me.”

She put her book down on the footrest and pulled her legs beneath her and sticking her lips out cutely. He grabbed both of her cheeks with his large hands and pulled her lips to his. She giggled into the kiss and it made him love her even more.

“Take off my sweater.” He said pulling away from the kiss.

She tilted her head curiously, “Why?”

“Are you going to question me all day or are you going to trust me?”

She grabbed the hem of the sweater and pulled it over her head to reveal nothing but her cotton underwear beneath. He grabbed her hand and directed her to scoot closer. She moved so that she straddled his lap. It was not the first time he'd seen her nearly naked but she still blushed at the way his eyes never left her face, despite the distractions that sat bare and in his eyeline.

He wrapped his arms under her thighs and stood up. She squealed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders tightly.

“Namjoon!”

“Trust me, would you?” He laughed carrying her down the hallway to the bedroom.

“But I’m almost finished with my book!” she feigned a whine.

He bounced her in his arms to hear her squeal, “It will still be there when I’m done with you.”

Namjoon’s tongue stuck cutely out of the side of his mouth as he focused on looping a hair tie over her hair creating a sloppy bun. She leaned over the edge of the tub when he was finished and grabbed the book they had been working on together. She lifted it over her shoulder to him but he refused it.

“Actually, I was hoping you might read tonight.” he said with his hands on her shoulders.

She looked over her shoulder at him with a pout. “You know I love when you read the ones in English, Joonie.”

“I know, but please, humor me? Just for tonight.” he begged.

With a sigh she leaned back against his chest, the only thing between them was a thin layer of soapy water. She let book open to the page with gold tassel they’d been using as a bookmark and let out a gasp.

“Joonie,” her voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes?”

“Is this…?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Kim Nam Joon.” she said sternly.

“Yes, jagi. Yes it is what you think it is. Yes, I want to know if you will marry me.”

“Oh,” she said simply as her lip trembled. Namjoon grabbed the book from her shaking hand and she wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured into her hair.

“I’m so happy.” she sniffed and then looked for the book realizing it wasn’t in her hand anymore. “Hey, give me my ring.”

Chuckling Namjoon grabbed the tassel out of the book and let it hang before her. A silver band with a humble but beautiful diamond dangled from the end. She slipped the ring on her finger and leaned back against his chest again pulling his arms over her shoulders like a sweater.

“You love me.” she teased happily.

“Very much.” he kissed her head again and grabbed their book.

He read to her until the candles that were lit around the bathroom had burned down to nothing and the water surrounding them was slightly cold. Some of the time she held the book for him as he read, the other part of the time she slipped her fingers into his free hand and admired how well they fit together. When their hands got pruny from the water she imagined that’s what their hands would look like together years from now and her heart filled with pure joy.

Namjoon knew very well she wasn’t paying attention to what he was reading, but he continued on regardless. He knew that she would come back to the book later and reread the pages she had been daydreaming through. She did it all the time, even if she would never admit it to him. He liked that she did it because he knew that when she daydreamed it was of him, of them, and he couldn’t fault her for that.    

She sat in the rocking chair watching his hair fall over the tops of his glasses. He needed a haircut. He was leaning against the headboard a book open in his hand.

He read aloud, “Finally the prince burst through the thickets of the forbidden forest, mere steps away from the castle. He ran. His lungs burning, begging for air as he made his way to the castle doors.

Throwing the doors open to the great hall he cried, ’Princess, I'm here! I'm here to save you.’

But he was too late-”

A tiny gasp escaped the lips of Namjoon’s main audience, her small hand clutching at his forearm making his dimples grow deep with a smile, “Minhee, you know what happens, why are you acting so surprised?”

The little girl with her father's eyes and her mother's soft brown curls, looked up at him shyly, “Appa, you say it scary.”

“Oh, I'm sorry angel. I'll say it differently next time.��

“No!” She whined, “that's what makes it good.”

“Ok,” he chuckled and kissed the crown of her head before he continued reading, “As the prince looked around the quiet hall he noticed all of the destruction. Tapestries ripped from the walls, bricks and beams fallen on the ground. In the center of the great hall laid the giant beast, slain. Standing atop his stilled chest was the princess. Her silk dress slashed in pieces and splattered in the black blood of the monster. The infamous sword, with its golden and ruby hilt, clutched in her hand. Silently he bowed before her, the truest warrior.”

“You can stop there.” The little girl announced and tucked herself in under her blanket.

“The story's not over yet.”

“I know.” She smiled happily.

“There's still the part where the prince tells her he loves her and their big royal wedding...and the happily ever after.”

“I know, appa.”

He looked up at his beautiful wife as she smiled at the pair of them, “She's growing up too quickly.”

“I know.” his wife smirked cheekily and Minhee giggled under her blankets.

“Aish, little one! Close your eyes it's time for bed.” Their little girl squeezed her eyes shut and pursed her lips waiting for her good night kisses.

Namjoon gave her several quick kisses and then turned to his wife who was now by his side. He reached his arms up and took the small bundle from her arms.

“Switch!” She said and bounced on the small bed attacking her daughter with kisses. Minhee squeaked with delight, twisting and kicking under the blankets as she was tickled.

The newborn bundle in Namjoon's arms squirmed slightly at the noise so he brought him into the next room so that his two favorite girls could play. Placing his baby boy in the crib he sat on the edge of the bed and then laid back against the cool sheets.

He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep. He didn't mean to. He was just going to rest his eyes. When he woke up later it was early morning and she had tucked herself under his arm at the end of the bed and had thrown a blanket over the two of them. As carefully as he could he picked her up in his arms and brought her to the head of the bed, tucking her legs beneath the comforter.

Before he was able to slip back into bed himself there was a stirring in the crib. He picked up his woken son and fed and changed him. Namjoon brought him into the living room, sat on the couch with the little one resting against his chest and pulled up a book from the table, and began to read to him.