#no wonder raphael is fine with the crown's loss

[nightmarist]

Gale: If there's one quality all the denizens of the Hells embody, it's ambition. A quality they share with many humans, come to think of it.

Gale: *becomes a god of ambition*

[cinnaminsvga]

the walls have ears | Taehyung

→ summary: in hindsight, taehyung probably shouldn’t have told the paintings about his debilitating crush on you after he had (unknowingly) drunk some magically spiked pumpkin juice. after all, paintings don’t really have all that much going on, except getting excited over the occasional gossip or two. and well... news always travels fast when there’s magic involved.

{based on a prompt by @/alloftheprompts: “Character A tells a painting about their crush on Character B. The portrait spills their secret.”}

→ genre: hogwarts!au, fluff, humor → words: 5.6K → a/n: this is for the lovely @merriblazi who donated a couple ko-fis to fund my grocery bills lmao thank you so much!! also, i’m still accepting ko-fi comms until the end of august, so if you’d like something like this as well, feel free to drop a few ko-fis down my drain!! i’d love to write you all something!! (new banner was made by @jincherie​ ty girl ily)

The paintings at Hogwarts are all in high spirits today.

Taehyung notices this when he exits the Gryffindor common room, immediately being greeted by the Fat Lady’s cackles of excitement. He jumps up in surprise at her ear-splitting squeals, nearly knocking over a poor first-year student behind him. He shouts out an apology at the kid, but she has already scuttled off, spooked by the loud portrait. Honestly, Taehyung isn’t any better himself, turning back around to stare wide-eyed as the Fat Lady continues to point and giggle at him with her mouth stretched into a smirk.

Taehyung hazards a greeting. “Um, good morning?”

“Good morning indeed,” she singsongs, procuring a fan out of the many folds of her dress (from where exactly she had it stored, he tries not to think too deeply about). “Mister Kim, I’m sure you had quite an interesting evening the day before, did you not?”

Taehyung freezes immediately, his blood running cold at her words. Being a known prankster and rapscallion, Taehyung has grown to learn the importance of running at the first sign of trouble, despite how cowardly that might seem for a Gryffindor. The best way to continue having the pleasure of wreaking havoc is to choose your battles wisely, which is just a nice way of saying that he needs to scram before the authorities can catch him. He had learned all of this from the best, seeing as how his best friend happens to be a Slytherin.

He tries to think of what he had done the other night, but he comes up blank. He remembers being busy the entire afternoon trying to ask you on a date for the fourteenth time this month,  only to no avail (as always). While others had already been deterred by intimidation alone, Taehyung remains hopeful that he will get the guts to talk to you eventually. After all, his mommy says he’s a handsome and charming boy who can sweep any girl off their feet, and his mommy has never lied to him before.

At least, that’s what he’s been telling himself these past few years of silently pining over you, but he digresses.

“I… I had an interesting evening?” Taehyung repeats quizzically, becoming more bewildered by the second. Due to the Fat Lady’s commotion, it seems to have caused a stir among the rest of the paintings, all of the nearby portraits peering over their frames to catch a good look at him. Taehyung can even see some of the more lethargic portraits waking up long enough to direct attentive gazes at him.

“Why of course!” The Fat Lady positively screams, clasping her hands together with a loud clap. “The castle is abuzz with excitement over your daring confession last night! Why, I could hardly contain my excitement for when you would awaken.” She flicks away her fan over her shoulder, accidentally hitting her neighboring portrait in the face. She scarely blinks at her neighbor’s barks of irritation.

Oh, jeez. It’s the crotchety portrait that everyone disliked. This isn’t good; no one could ever get the old fart to shut up once you got him going, and Taehyung knows better than anyone else how easy it is to get a rise out of him. After all, it was his favorite pastime.

“Watch where you flap those arms of yours, woman!” He shouts, bulbous features turning purple in mere seconds. The Scholar, or as Taehyung likes to call the Squalor, takes one of his many books from his desk, ready to hurl back at her.

Before he can even think of pulling back his shoulder, a stampede of finely dressed ladies comes rushing in out of nowhere, quickly subduing them by sheer number alone. There is a loud squabble as the ladies all corner him like a murder of multi-colored crows. At a closer glance, Taehyung recognizes them from one of the large paintings near the entrance to the Great Hall.

That was floors away. How had they rushed over so quickly? And for what reason?

“Oh hush, you simpering nerd!” One of the ladies snaps, grabbing the Fat Lady’s fallen fan and slapping the man in the face once more. The scholar sputters, at a loss for words for once in his life. Taehyung thanks the ladies internally, having always wanted to disfigure the bastard’s face ever since he called his yellow sunglasses unfashionable. What the hell did someone who died during the plague know anything about fashion?

“We came as soon as we heard, Lady Fat! Now, where is the boy that everyone’s been gossiping about – oh, my word!” Taehyung assumes it is the leader of the pack who gasps in surprise, her well-manicured finger outstretched as she waggles it at him. He can tell she’s the leader by the ostentatious crown on her head, complete with glittering jewels that he could scarcely tell the names of.

The Fat Lady moves to the side, allowing the women to enter her space until almost the entirety of her canvas was filled with nothing but powdered wigs and poofy skirts. Taehyung can hardly see her crown of vines with how many people were surrounding her.

Her voice sounds muffled when she replies, “For the hundredth time, my name is the Fat Lady, not Lady Fat. And yes Martha, it is him! His name is Taehyung, the one I’m certain who had spoken to Raphael the other night.”

Wait. Taehyung’s mouth drops, taken aback. This is certainly news to him! When had he spoken to Raphael? Who the hell was Raphael, even? Why did everyone seem to know more about his nightly activities than he did?

He doesn’t get to ask, however, as the ladies immediately begin to bombard him with a barrage of comments ranging from excitement to disappointment, no holds barred.

“Oh, it’s the cute Gryffindor boy with the long eyelashes! They would make a lovely couple indeed! I wonder if Raphael has already passed the message to her–”

“He’s the one? Surely not! I was hoping it was the cat-eyed boy with black hair instead. Wouldn’t he be a better match for her?”

“You must be crazy, Marie! This boy is clearly meant for her. My mother was a seer, and I can tell from a mile away that those two are meant to be soulmates–”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Taehyung cries out, anxious from all the chatter coming from all directions at once. He can feel the panic bubbling up, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He doesn’t even know where to start with all this! “Can everyone shut up for a second!”

Miraculously, all the portraits clam up at his request, still gazing upon him like he holds all the secrets to the world. Which, much to everyone’s disappointment, he does not.

The sudden disquiet unnerves him slightly, causing him to stutter in his speech. He swallows thickly, voice meek. “I-I… I’m a bit confused about all this. Can someone explain what everyone’s talking about? I just wanted to head down and get some breakfast.”

It feels like a hundred painted faces are staring back at him, and when Taehyung casts a furtive glance behind him, he sees that even the paintings from two staircases up are watching with rapt attention. Why was everyone so interested in him, all of a sudden? Not even his infamous dungbomb toilet prank got him this much notoriety. When he turns back to face the ladies, they all seem to be just as shocked as he is.

Lady Martha steps forward until she is almost taking up the entirety of the canvas, squinting at him dubiously. Her previously excited demeanor has soured greatly at his words. She tilts her head towards him, unimpressed. “Well? Are you not the boy with the crush on Lady Y/N? Have we sprinted across the entire castle just to find that the culprit of last night’s latest gossip had all been just another prank?”

“N-no, I – Wait. Did you just say–” Taehyung stops in the middle of his sentence to gape back at her, his ears feeling hot as his blood quickly races up to his face. “Did you just say ‘the boy with the crush on Y/N?’” He hisses the last part in a strangled whisper, snapping his head side to side to make sure no one else had heard. He is relieved to find that the only other people nearby do not seem to have heard their exchange, but he still waves his hands frantically to get all the portraits to lower their volume.

She raises her eyebrow at him, hip cocked to the side. “Yes? Had I misspoken? Had Raphael been lying to all of us once again?” She scoffs in exasperation, though it does not seem to be aimed at him. The rest of the ladies seem annoyed at this Raphael as well. “That’s just like him, too! We shouldn’t have trusted him again. That angel never did know how to shut his trap.”

The ladies make muted harrumphs of discontent, noses upturned in the air. Taehyung watches as a few of them begin to make their way back to their own canvas, but he needs to ask them one last thing before they leave. While he doesn’t remember ever speaking to a painting named Raphael, he still does not know how he had found about his crush on you in the first place.

He doesn’t know what he would do if you were to ever find out, even if it was just a rumor for now. This is not how he imagined he would finally tell you about his feelings; everything feels like a nightmare. He can already feel the apples of his tanned cheeks beginning to burn in embarrassment. 

“Hold on, did you say an angel named Raphael said all of that stuff?” Taehyung asks hesitantly, sweat building up on the back of his neck. He can vaguely remember a fresco of some angels near the kitchens, but he isn’t quite sure. He never goes there unless he wants to snag some treats from the house elves, but he has started relying on Seokjin to do the food hauls for him these days. Never mind the fact that he had already gotten caught in the act thrice by you – ever the attentive prefect.

Oh, how he hated how much he loved you, despite the stick up your ass. That being said, no one was supposed to even know that he liked you, much less the entire painting population of Hogwarts. Not even Jimin knew, and that was saying something! How did this Raphael fellow find out when he had kept this secret deep inside his heart since the first day he had laid his eyes on you? How had he figured him out, unless Taehyung had been the one to tell him–

“Yes, the archangel Raphael near the kitchens.” Lady Martha nods, her sneer disfiguring her delicate features. “He said that a drunken boy with long lashes and dark brown hair had confessed his undying feelings for the rigid Lady Y/N the other night. Oh, how excited we were to hear the news!” Martha holds a hand to her chest, sighing dramatically. The remaining ladies chorus their sighs as well, one of them even fainting from grief.

The Fat Lady cranes her neck upwards, trying her best to speak above the fallen, wailing ladies. “Yes, quite. What a shame! When I heard from Lady Martha, who had heard from Lord Michael, who had heard from Sire Nicholas, who had heard from Professor Bang–”

“Wait, Professor Bang?” Taehyung mutters in disbelief, scarcely heard over the racket.

“–who had heard from Archangel Raphael that a boy with long eyelashes had been going on and on about his crush on a female prefect, I just knew it had to be you! Then, the Ladies of Commère discovered that the prefect was Miss Y/N, well… It was like a dream come true! We had all been hoping for her to find her prince sooner or later.”

“Her prince? What for?” Taehyung is kind of afraid to dive deeper into this mess, though he is too curious to let it slide. It isn’t like you’re short on suitors, despite how intimidating and uptight you are. It is part of the reason why he’s too shy to approach you in the first place, with how large his competition pool is.

“Well… She had been complaining to me during her nightly rounds about how lonely she has been feeling, ever since her best friend had started dating that oaf with a quaffle for a brain,” Lady Martha tuts, shaking her head pityingly.

Taehyung is familiar with that “oaf,” otherwise known as the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He admits that Jungkook isn’t the brightest boy, but he is a wickedly good player. Plus, Taehyung thinks he’s funny, especially after that incident when he had tried to snort pumpkin juice on a dare and consequently sprayed the entire wall with a myriad of fluids. (You had deducted points out of your own house for that, much to everyone else’s chagrin.)

Lady Martha continues, “She may seem like an independent woman, but I suppose all of us tend to get lonely during the night. And all the paintings love a good romance every once in a while, so we couldn’t help ourselves from jumping the gun a bit…”

Taehyung feels the dread begin to pile up like bricks in the pit of his stomach, reminding him of the time when he had eaten too much cauldron cakes in one go. He needs to go see Raphael as soon as possible and get to the bottom of this. He doesn’t remember speaking to him at all, which is what makes Taehyung the antsiest. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t quite remember what he did after dinner last night.

Somehow between now and then, he had managed to go to bed despite not knowing how or when. Taehyung had woken up this morning with a minor throbbing in the back of his head, but it was nothing to write home about.

At least that was what he thought. He was starting to second guess everything now.

He bows to the paintings, belatedly feeling a little odd for showing respect to inanimate objects. Regardless, the ladies appear to be delighted by his involuntary action, all of them cooing at his manners and wishing him a good breakfast as he scampers off towards the Great Hall.

When he arrives, the tables are still largely empty with how early he had risen, a rare occurrence in Taehyung’s everyday life. He doesn’t think he’s ever arrived to breakfast this early, but he blames the small headache from earlier that prematurely roused him from his slumber. Strange, he thinks as he trudges to his usual place, waiting for the rest of his friends and housemates to arrive. Everything about today has been nothing but a fever dream come to life.

As he spoons a large portion of porridge and fried sausages onto his plate (still piping hot and crisp, which is another weird and new prospect to Taehyung since the food was always a bit mushy by the time he turns up for breakfast), he replays the conversation with the Ladies of Commère.

Other than Raphael, there appear to be no other leads as to who might have found out about his secret admiration for you. The Fat Lady describes a boy with long lashes and brown hair to be the one who had conversed with him, which definitely seems to indicate it was Taehyung himself who had snitched.

An utterly preposterous thought. There is no way that he would ever admit that to some random passerby, certainly not while sober.  

Taehyung pauses, spoon midway towards his open mouth. Bits of porridge drip over his lap as the sudden terrorizing thought flits through his mind. Had he been sober last night?

The ladies said the boy had been drunk when he had confessed. Taehyung didn’t drink alcohol, averse to the bitter taste. So how could he have..?

Taehyung rubs his temples frantically, his heart beating out of his chest as he tries again to remember what he had done right after dinner the previous evening. No matter how hard he racked his brain for information, he comes up blank every time.

Even if he had been drunk, do people really lose all their memories from just a sip or two? The only way he could have gotten drunk is if he had consumed it unknowingly, meaning someone must have spiked his food the other night. But who could have done such a thing?

The loud thud of a body barrelling right into the table forces Taehyung out of his reverie, nearly dislodging his head off his neck in the process. He yelps in surprise, before glaring at the new smiley intruder beside him.

The Slytherin grins cherubically, having the audacity to wink salaciously at him. “Good morning, Taehyungie! Surprised to see you up so early,” Jimin says, seating himself on the Gryffindor bench like he belongs there. With how often he visits his table, it’s easy for people to mistake him as his housemate. Even you and the rest of the prefects have stopped trying to get him to leave after their fifth year.

Taehyung groans. “It’s been a rough morning.”

“I can tell. You aren’t even eating any of the bacon,” Jimin whistles in surprise, casually heaping his own (stolen) plate. He gives Taehyung a proper once-over. “You feeling alright? You look kind of pale.”

“It’s…” Taehyung wavers, not sure what to reveal. He still doesn’t feel comfortable telling Jimin about his crush, but he thinks that if the entire population of Hogwarts might soon find out anyway, then his best friend might as well find out from the source himself. But first…

“Did you spike my dinner last night?”

“What?” Jimin laughs, but stops when he notices Taehyung’s serious expression. “Oh. You’re serious. Did you eat something funny yesterday?”

“I don’t remember eating anything weird except for the lamb chops and chicken and mashed potatoes and…” Taehyung trails off, realizing how much he eats during a meal. He looks down at his already half-devoured plate of what was once ten whole sausages before sighing dejectedly.

“It could have been anything, huh?” Jimin hums, rubbing his chin. “That’s weird though, because I don’t think I ate anything weird yesterday, and we ate pretty much the same stuff.”

“That’s the thing! I only realized my food might have been spiked this morning,” Taehyung grumbles. He pauses for a second, steeling himself before he spills his guts all over the shiny mahogany dining table. He breathes deeply, causing Jimin to watch him curiously from his right. Well, it’s now or never.

“What made you realize?” Jimin asks.

“You see, funny story…” Taehyung says, not at all amused by the tale he was about to tell. “This morning, I was assaulted by the Fat Lady and the Ladies of Commère. You know, the hoity-toity ladies near the entrance of the Great Hall? Anyway, they said something that made me rethink my entire existence and that maybe my memories aren’t as reliable as I thought.”

“What the hell are you even saying?” Jimin huffs, wagging his fork in his face. “Stop beating around the bush and say what you wanna say! What does this have to do with spiked food?”

“Basically… The ladies said I told one of the portraits about my crush on this certain someone, but the thing is, I would NEVER tell anyone about my crush on that someone, so the only way they could have known about my crush on that someone is if I had told them, but the thing is, I–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jimin interrupts Taehyung’s rambling, barely trying to suppress his giggles as he appraises his panicking friend. “You told a portrait about your crush on Y/N? When did this happen?”

Taehyung makes a startled sound, practically screeching in horror at Jimin’s nonchalant declaration. He had said it in a way like it was a simple truth, like how the sky is blue and how feet are sexy.

“You knew?!”

“Dude, everyone knows.” Jimin hums, nodding his head sagely. He snags one of the sausages off of Taehyung’s plate, even though he could have gotten a fresh one from the many other platters instead. He chews as he says, “Well admittedly, I’ve always known. Everyone else only just found out this morning as we entered the Great Hall. The hoity-toity ladies at the entrance were telling anyone who’d listen.”

“The ladies were–?” Taehyung stammers, mouth moving too quickly for his brain to catch up. “But I told them it wasn’t me!”

“Well, too late for that now,” Jimin shrugs, taking another one of Taehyung’s sausages. At this point, he was only doing it to make Taehyung’s day worse. “Apparently, Raphael the Archangel swore that it was you who had confessed about your crush on Y/N, and angels don’t just go around swearing, you know? Not that I know anything about Muggle religion, but also–”

“Oh Merlin, I think I’m going to be sick,” Taehyung says, slamming his head into his plate with the remaining three sausages. Jimin whines, lamenting the fate of his fallen riches.

“My sausages!”

“My love life!” Taehyung cries out, lifting his head and letting the greasy remains of his breakfast drip down his forehead.

Jimin is the first to recover from their respective meltdowns, using a finger to wipe some of the oil from his friend’s face and licking it with relish. “Damn, I love sausages. So, as I was saying… Why did you go and tell that portrait about your crush? Is that why you think you got spiked last night?”

Taehyung chokes out a sob, signaling his agreement.

“Oh shit, what if someone slipped Veritaserum in your pumpkin juice? But who?” Jimin wonders aloud, but it’s hard to narrow it down to just about anyone. Taehyung is pretty likable even amongst the most prickly students, so it will be difficult to pinpoint anyone who might have some personal vendetta against him. Then again, there are a couple of pranksters who come to mind…

“It doesn’t even matter who did it at this point. Y/N is going to come through those doors any moment and she’s just gonna know that I’m a fucking loser who spills his deepest infatuations to some random painting that I don’t even remember speaking to!”

“That is pretty lame,” Jimin says, not the least bit sympathetic. In his honest opinion, he feels like he should be thankful to whoever spiked his friend’s drink last night. Pining never did look good on Taehyung, despite all his natural handsomeness. If he had to catch him staring at you with that lovestruck look again, Jimin might as well have snitched sooner or later.

“Do you think I have time to go stop them from announcing to the world that I’m a loser with a huge boner for Y/N?” Taehyung is already rising to his feet, wiping the remaining grease from his skin as best as he can. He only smears it around some more, giving himself a blinding sheen. Somehow, he makes it work.

Jimin looks to his watch. “She usually comes in around five minutes before 8 AM, so maybe you’ll have some time before–”

He has spoken too soon. Lo and behold, you enter the hall with loud, purposeful strides, the entirety of your neck to your forehead flushed an endearing shade of red. You look absolutely mortified. Taehyung can say that he’s feeling the same, if not worse.

You pass by Taehyung in a blur, your gaze twitching towards him for a slight second before you are back to walking straight ahead with your head bowed slightly. Your best friend and Jungkook enter the hall soon after, both of whom were giggling raucously in your wake. The three of you slide into your usual seats a few spaces away from him, your eyes trained so fiercely onto your eggs that Taehyung is afraid that they might burst into flames.

Jimin looks from you to Taehyung, a smirk on his face. “You think she heard?”

The day continues onwards, filled with lots of staring and whispering. Taehyung can’t go from class to class without at least one person slapping him on the back in solidarity or others glaring at him out of contempt and jealousy. Either way, Taehyung isn’t sure whether he likes this type of attention or not.

Being hooted and cursed at for pulling off a fantastic joke? That, he could live with. Being the center of an ongoing cheesy romantic drama? This type of situation is a new world entirely.

The entire day is a whirlwind as he goes from class to class, not even getting to sneak off once to go and search for the ever elusive Raphael. Every time he tries to even look the other direction, his professors seem to be a step ahead of him, snapping at him to stay focused. Judging by the knowing smirks on their lips, they must have heard about the news as well, except they must be under the impression that he was trying to get away and search for you.

Oh, how wrong they are. He doesn’t even know what he would say if he saw you right now.

Luckily (or unluckily) for him, he doesn’t see you that often for the remainder of the day, except for one occasion when he passes you on the way to Potions. You aren’t with your best friend for once, but your eyes are still trained to the floor like they were this morning. Your usual pristine posture is gone, replaced by this timid girl who jumps up in surprise at the slightest bit of chatter. You don’t even scold a second-year for loosening his tie, and that honestly worried Taehyung more than anything else.

Were you embarrassed by him? He isn’t all that surprised that his affections were left unreciprocated – he’s long since accepted that his feelings will always remain one-sided. After all, with how often you like to reprimand him, you must only think of him as some loser seeking attention. In fact, he only ever plans his pranks so that you might be the one to catch him, like some misbehaving child who longs for the love of his absent parents.

Not that he thinks you’re like a mom to him, but then again… You’d be a great mom, but only if he gets to be the dad.

Wow. That went waaaay out of bounds than he was originally going for, but he digresses.

Still, he is a little hurt being ignored by you. Could he at least hope for a proper rejection? Just so he doesn’t have to keep having to speculating his whole life and wondering about what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Oh, how he loathes what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. They are worse than losing an entire femur, in his opinion (and yes, he has lost a femur once. Luckily, they found it in the women’s bathroom, for some reason.)

He can’t blame you entirely though, since it must be hard on your part as well. He doesn’t ever remember seeing you this flustered in, well… Ever.

The afternoon winds down and classes end as quickly as they come. Dinner arrives once more, and Taehyung has more presence of mind to check what he eats before they even touch his lips. For safety reasons, he feeds his portions to Jimin first, just so if he gets spiked with truth serum again, at least the two of them could be idiots together.

He allows Jimin to lead most of the conversation, still not really feeling like everything’s fine despite his friend’s best attempts at lightening the mood. He did just get his heartbroken for the first time, after all. He’s surprised he hasn’t started bawling his eyes out in front of the entire school yet.

Just a few more minutes and I can cry all I want in the safety of my bedroom, Taehyung thinks to himself, feeling even shittier about how excited he is to spend the entire evening soaking his pillow with tears. It’s fine. He’ll be fine.

He is in the process of feeding a spoonful of peas into Jimin’s open mouth when he feels a soft tap on his shoulder, breaking him from his trance. He is in the process of telling the person that he’s not in the mood, but the words die in his throat the moment he turns and discovers the identity of the sudden visitor.

It’s you.

It’s you, with your hands wringing the edges of your sweater and the most endearingly rosy tint on your soft cheeks. He feels his heart start pounding automatically, just as it always has whenever he’s near you. He thinks the whole school has stopped talking with how silent the Great Hall has become, everyone itching to try and listen to your exchange.

Perhaps you had anticipated this type of scenario and didn’t want anyone to overhear, which is why you have already prepared a note beforehand, inked with your signature neat scrawl. You slip the small piece of parchment into his palm, folding his fingers over it gently. You bow your head awkwardly, reminding Taehyung of his similar gesture from earlier. You scurry away back to your seat, hands cupping your cheeks to cool yourself down.

Taehyung can’t see himself right now, but he thinks he might be even redder than you are, if that is even possible. Jimin, like the nosey bastard that he is, rips the note out of his hand and reads it before he can even process the last five minutes, guffawing loudly at what he finds.

“Guess you got a date later at the Astronomy Tower,” he says, shaking Taehyung’s hand in mock congratulations.

Well, at least he’ll have the stars to look at when he inevitably gets his heart crushed for real this time.

He doesn’t get his heart crushed. At least, not immediately. In fact, he thinks he might be on cloud nine right now as he sees you waiting for him, a small smile on your lips.

“Taehyung, I… really didn’t expect this from you. At all.” You start speaking the moment you hear him reach the top of the stairs, still slightly out of breath from the climb up. He rushes over to you immediately, letting the breeze cool his sweaty face.

“You didn’t… expect it?”

“Well, I mean! You’re always so…” You trail off, your mouth doing this weird thing where you look like you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“A fucking little bastard?” Taehyung laughs when he sees you start to backtrack, stammering all the while.

“N-no! Well, you sorta are… But in the cutest way… possible?” You say the last part like a question, almost helplessly. You wave your hands wildly, adorable despite being frustrated. “I mean! It’s like! I scold you, but it’s my job, you know? But it’s not because I want to do it? Do you get what I mean? Ugh, I’m so awkward I hate this!”

“You think… I’m cute?” Taehyung lets himself smile a little, and it seems to make you even more flustered.

“Have you not seen yourself? Of course you are! I can’t believe that you even have a crush on me–” You stop yourself, slapping a hand to your mouth in horror. “I-I… I know it’s just a rumor and everything, and I don’t want to assume there’s any basis because oh my Merlin I’m never the type to listen to gossip and I don’t want you to think that I’m sort of–”

“What if it isn’t a rumor, though?” Taehyung has never felt this emboldened in his life, toeing the line of danger so closely that he can feel the electricity rush through his veins.

On the otherhand, you look completely baffled, as if the thought never crossed your mind before this moment. “What do you mean? Are you saying that…”

“That I like you, for real? Maybe I am,” Taehyung says, feeling cheekier the more he talks. It might just be the night sky or the wind against his cheeks, or maybe it’s the way your eyes are reflecting the stars like a mirror, but he feels like there is magic in the air. It’s cheesy, it’s cliché, but it’s everything he imagined it would be like.

He’s spent many daydreams thinking about this, and he isn’t going to let his fear pull him under. Not now, not when he can feel the string pulling the two of you together tighten with every second.

“If the rumors were true, what would you say?” Taehyung whispers, lacing his fingers through yours. Your hands shake imperceptibly, but your stare is as stagnant as the affection he feels for you. What he has always felt for you.

When you respond, Taehyung swears the whole world could hear his heart fluttering for you.  

.

.

.

Somewhere in the Slytherin dungeons, Jimin is smiling to himself in the comfort of his own bed, turning in early for the night. It truly had been a good investment to secretly start dating a seventh-year potions prodigy over the summer. What is even better is that the Potions professor never did remember to lock his Veritaserum ingredients with nothing more than a simple deadbolt.

He snuggles himself deeper into his pillow, snickering softly. Good job, Yoongi. 

All is fucking well. 

[theheartchoice]

Lonely Is The Word 

teen  |  2k  |  canonverse s6  |  ao3

for @profoundnet's bi-weekly Bot Stat challenge. prompt issued: April 30th 2019 

Dean needs a beer. Cas is listening to angel radio. S̸a̵m̴ ̸i̶s̵ ̸f̵i̵n̵e̷.̸ ̷E̵v̵e̵r̵y̶t̵h̷i̴n̸g̴ ̵i̶s̵ ̷j̵u̶s̶t̵ ̷f̸i̴n̶e̷..̴.

Sam knows about his soulless gap year and Bobby's having a hard time trusting the resurrected version. Even without monsters, their lives are still a shitshow. Add in warring Angels and friggin' Purgatory-seeking Dragons and Dean just needs a second to breathe.

Dean only leaves because Sam is safe. No safer place than Bobby's. He just needs an hour or two to wrap his mind around things.

With Baby back to rights he drives 'til the sun dips below the wheatgrass horizon, no destination set in stone but half tempted to find a bar just south of the border. It's the best combo there is to clear his head: just the open road, whatever's on tap wherever he pulls up, and the right kind of company for just long enough to sate this desire to scream his lungs out - at crappy circumstance, at the Winchester family curse, at his own bad choices. 

He just wanted his brother back, is that so bad? Sam didn't deserve to be left behind - not in that place; no one does. He shudders to think how Alastair's torture might pale in comparison to Lucifer's. For Sam to go through that again - to re-discover whatever's left of him? Forget calling in Death for a quick-fix favour, because even Dean knows some things can't be fixed, can't be undone, unseen. 

Dean lives with his memories from the pit every day. Avoids 'em, as much as it's possible to do so without some magic mind-block, but he's changed forever because of 'em. And Sam might not've been the one dealing out damnation, but if time works in a similar way down there then he was Lucifer's chew toy for over a century. And if that doesn't shake anyone to their foundations just to think about then they're either a lunatic or a goddamn liar. 

Cas spelled out Dean's fear in no uncertain terms: Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it: like it had been skinned alive. 

But was he right? Had Dean doomed Sam to a fate worse than death by trying to do the right thing? Trying to save him?

If you wanted to kill your brother you should have done it outright. 

Sam's fine - for now. But how long before his wall crumbles into Hellfire? The structural integrity's already been compromised, and no matter what Sam promised, Dean knows his brother: if Sam wants to right his own alleged wrongs then he'll do it and nevermind the cost to himself.  

And while Dean holds fast that whatever Samdroid did while his soul was MIA isn't on Sam, Bobby's less convinced. Just to throw another wrench in the gears of the 'better life' that was 'spose to finally be possible after the Apocalypse was averted. Not that that was really ever gonna happen. 

No Armageddon, but the tradeoff was Sam jumping into the pit. Sam gets resurrected, but his soul gets left behind. Dean gets a taste of the Apple Pie life, but hunting is his bread and butter. There's a civil war up in the clouds because (as everyone well-knows) Angels are dicks. And as if the self-crowned king of Hell trying to rip a hole between dimensions wasn't enough, apparently that little adventure is now on some dragon-dude's bucket list. 

Crazy as it sounds, Dean kinda misses the ol' days. Y'know, when all they had to do was take down a couple of overzealous Archangels. They've got shit stacking up on so many spinnin' plates right now it's impossible to tell which one's gonna be the first to topple and shatter, that crap raining down on 'em in a mess of blood and pain and one gruesome smear of trouble after another - and it'll soil a bunch of innocent people too, if they're not careful. 

Knowing their luck it probably won't be just the one plate, either. 

But when it comes to this sorta thing all they can really do is.. wait n' see. Try to be ready to divert whatever mountain of crap avalanches at them - or try to outrun it, sidewind it before the risk catches up with them and the goddamn consequences bury them alive. 

    Some small-town city limits come into view just as the clouded night kisses down the last of twilight. Dean knows this place. He can get what he needs here, on a lucky night. Hell, two out of three ain't bad. Booze? Check. Distance? Check. Company?.. Guess he'll have to wait and see. 

He'd kinda like some answers, too. Some goddamn direction to point himself in when he hits the road again. And there is a certain someone who might be able to help with that - or might not. But whatever the case, Dean wouldn't turn his company away. Maybe what he needs right now, more than anything, is a friend. 

Baby slows to a stop in the vacant lot across the street from the bar, Black Sabbath cutting out with the purr of her engine. 

"Hey, Cas.." And where the hell does he go from here? Honesty, or a passable lie? Maybe somewhere in between. "I know you think what I did for Sam was the wrong call, and.." Yeah.. okay. "..honestly, I dunno. I dunno if what I did is gonna make things better or worse in the long run. All I know is that I had to, man - I had to." There's really no more to it than that. Except maybe just, "I could really use a friend, right about now." Reckless little brother, uncle who lied to him for a year; seems he can't really go wrong seeking the advice of his Angelic best friend, right? Even if he has been out of sorts since their little reunion. Better than the alternatives at least, even if there is a year of space between them now. 

Dean'd be lying if he said he didn't wonder what Cas got up to during that year. Caught himself before shooting off a prayer more than once. Maybe just to check in, maybe to brainstorm ways to save Sam. His spirit - already struggling to dry off from the shitstorm of their lives - was dampened to learn that Cas wasn't the one who saved Sam from The Cage - or tried to. Cas did try though, so maybe that's somethin'. 

In the time it would take for Heaven and Hell to play out the last few bars of track seven and most of the closing number, Dean sits alone in the driver's seat, headlights lighting the way to nowhere, waiting. 

Turns out to be just another mistake in a long line of dumbass mistakes, another mark on the board for his tally of bad choices. Baby purrs back to life half only half a minute before she's put to sleep again and Dean's stalking away into the bar. 

    "—Castiel?" Rachel's voice pulls him back before his wings denote a telltale stretch - still a reflex he must wilfully deny. "Is something wrong?"

Yes. "No, I was just.. listening." 

Her eyes harden, and Castiel has been made accustomed to that look over the last mortal year as she nods. "Raphael's soldiers think blocking our channels with their rhetoric will hinder our efforts, but his numbers are not what ours are. And they can't affect our communications for much longer." 

Of course. It is a tactic only effective in the short-term, for the amount of energy required to interfere would significantly drain the Angels pervading the etheric communicative transference. 

She proceeds to inform him of their recent losses in battle along with how many of Raphael's soldiers were presumably wounded or killed. 

Castiel dreads such knowledge perhaps most of all; knowing the extent of Angelic grace being spilled in a war that would not be waging if not for his actions, his choices alone. The only reprieve he finds from the guilt is in the belief that Raphael would have spilled more - and destroyed the Earth, as well - if Castiel and his brothers and sisters had not taken up arms against him. 

He manages a tight-lipped smile, something enough to satisfy that he understands. "Have we any more news of the missing weapons?" 

"Not yet." 

"Then I suggest you get back to it." 

In the very least, being the Commander of garrisons affords him seniority, and with it the propensity to not have to explain himself further. 

She takes her leave, and once he feels her grace reach an adequate distance in the aether, in her absence, he takes flight. 

The familiar silhouette of one 1967 Chevrolet Impala is almost indistinguishable from the night sky, if not for the gleam of street-lamps off the polished metal belying an impression of the sun. 

The moon is hidden tonight, as are the multitudinous stars of this galaxy - a favourite among many Angels throughout the eons. However, given the events of recent times, Castiel suspects he may be one of few Angels who prefer it over other galactic creations primarily for its housing of one particular solar system, which bears one particular planet, upon which a very special species makes its home. 

Dean is gone. 

The bar seems his likely destination, and if Castiel concentrates, allowing his Grace to reach out and survey the atmosphere.. yes. He can feel him near: warm and alive, though not at peace. He has never known what it is to feel Dean at peace in the mortal realm. There was a singular moment - fleeting and seeming so long ago, now - when his Grace touched Dean's soul raw and exposed; it seized his fear, incentivised Dean to feel safe, to trust in Castiel's intentions.

It was something akin to peace, perhaps relief. At the time, Castiel had thought it might be resignation to God's plan. But as he came to know Dean, he came to interpret that feeling as something intensely personal and not at all connected to The Grand Plan. 

Perhaps, once Castiel completes his mission, once he stops Raphael and prevents the Apocalypse for all good, Dean will know peace. He deserves that much. He deserves much more. 

The inside of the Impala is cool. Not as cold as the night air outside, but enough that Dean wouldn't be comfortable if he were to emerge from the bar this instant. Castiel places a hand on the dashboard, and while the engine remains silent, the interior comes alive in light and sound and air-ventilated warmth. 

The music is not familiar, despite having listened through much of Dean's collection during his time with the Winchesters. Over the past year Castiel has not regretted safeguarding Dean's chance for peace, his life away from supernatural beings and the chaos and destruction they wrought. Although, he will admit to a certain discernible ache for their foregone time together; on the road within this now-familiar vehicle, or in whatever capacity Dean would have allowed, in any way that he might have needed Castiel's help. 

The war in Heaven is not going well, despite Rachel's assurances. Without weapons at their disposal, Raphael's forces will soon diminish their own and all will suffer because of Castiel's failing. Which is precisely why he cannot fail.

Castiel always knew the chance of defeating an Archangel on his own was impossible, and therefore anything that could afford him victory in this war - to end the graceshed, to save Humanity, and the Earth, and Heaven from itself - then he must take it. 

But even against all reason, all dangers considered, there are times when Castiel, too, does want for a friend.

For one friend, in particular. 

..been higher than stardust 

I've been seen upon the sun 

I used to count in millions then 

But now I only count in one 

Come on, join the traveler 

If you got nowhere to go 

Hang your head and take my hand 

It's the only road I know.. 

If only Castiel could pray to Dean. 

..Yeah, Lonely is the word 

Got to be the saddest song I ever heard.. 

But the want of a friend is selfish, dangerous. 

Drawing Dean into the skirmish of Angels would further remove him from any chance at peace. And that, Castiel decides, is not worth the win. Even if Dean wants to help, he cannot allow it. He must keep Dean safe, and far away from the destructive reach of Heaven's current state. 

..Yeah, Lonely is the name 

Maybe life's a losing game.