#otherwise how did it move positions that fast was i standing there for like twenty minutes

[husbandohunter]

Your Stardew Impact has given me a serious brainrot and I couldn’t sleep on it so here

Imagine the boys getting Isekai to Stardew and meeting their (soon-to-be) s/o a.k.a the farmer who found them in the mines and dragged them out.

It’s basically the same as the original but the reader lives in Stardew universe from the beginning.

The Outlanders who trespassed the Stars [Stardew Valley + Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: You were a simple farmer who lived a simple life before crossing paths with these outlanders. A tale of greetings and farewells tells a story that loving someone was like looking at the stars in the sky; a sense of warmth amidst darkness, where the dots connect no matter what distance it was. But just like stars, they were meant to be unobtainable.

(Basically what happens if the boys get Isekai'd)

Genre: fluff, angst (faceapalm didn't mean to)

Characters: Childe, Xiao, Zhongli

(A/n): Hi anon, haha I didn't think the Stardew Impact series would be this enjoyable. Allow me to serve your brainrot. But just for future references there is a character limit! Also it long, a pro tip to use ctrl+F and type in the name :>

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~Childe's Story~

The day you met Childe was perhaps during the most fortunate yet unfortunate hour of your life.

Winter comes by, your fields were left dry, what else was there to do other than mining? You were aiming to build a new Barnhouse before summer comes, fishing only made average income thus you decided to take your pickaxe and hope to run into some diamonds, gold or even better: prismatic shards. However, expensive items could only be found in the deepest parts of the mountains, where dangerous monsters lurk by.

When peeking over the abandoned minecart you so carefully shielded yourself with, you began contemplating whether you've just dug yourself a grave instead. The whole area became infested, you weren't in the best condition and on top of all that, you were out of food.

You decided to make a run for it, with the treasures and goodies at hand, you couldn't give up. However, things only got worse when purple mist began taking over your vision, signaling a lava bat wave drawing nigh. It was thanks to your greed that you ended in such a predicament but it was also your greed that brought you to him.

"W-Woah!!"

You tripped with your toe pointing downwards into a pile of wooden crates. The bats swarmed in shortly after, daunting around the area above but you couldn't afford to look. Your face was down to the ground and you could only rely on your ears regarding their whereabouts. As if Yoba heard your prayers, the lava bats could not seem to find you, confusing them to think you've escaped. And so, they flew away.

"I'm never doing that again," The sudden impact was excruciating, you were sure that your lip bled due to biting too hard. At least the floor felt somewhat soft, cotton-like and warm enough to be comforting. Yet, for some reason it was also a little…bony?

"…Mn…."

Your body jerks up like a springboard when you felt something shifting. A man, no older than his twenties, no older than you, lays sprawled out under your form. He was beginning to stir and you panicked when a pair of blue cerulean eyes pointed into your seemingly shocked ones within the close parameter.

Too close.

The man gives a cheerfully wry chuckle, you could practically feel his breath almost, "Well this is quite unexpected, didn't think I'd end up in this position," he jests, soon his expression began to tighten into a grimace, "Mind getting off me though? With all due respect miss, you're a little-…heavy."

You scrambled to the side while still kneeling, "What the hell, who are you?!"

"Hm," The man didn't answer, instead he pushed himself upright and turned his attention to examine the surroundings, "Where are we?" He paused when he noticed how the ceiling was made of rocks, "Wait, is this a cave?"

"Ninety two floors deep and surrounded by monsters," you sighed in frustration while rubbing your head with your palm, "Seriously, whoever you are you shouldn't be here, especially if you're not even carrying the necessary supplies."

"Hey, I just got here. I'm just as confused as you," he puts his hands up in a defensive gesture, "But how strange," he mutters to himself, lowering his arms ever so slightly before pinching his chin in deep thought, "I swear it was the right portal…or maybe it was the other one? Hmmm, could it be the effect of the hidden seal?"

I have so many questions. You sweatdropped nervously. Here you were, hours spent to get to the deepest parts of the earth and looking like a cavewoman while his clothes were practically untouched, nor did they seem to be a recognizable fashion. You've seen many odd events within Stardew Valley but not to this extent, "Alright you know what, let's forget about it for now. We need to get out of here before those lava bats come back for us again. Otherwise we're toast," you gestured to the lava pool, "Literally."

He gave another one of his gleeful smiles, you wondered if he was afraid at all, "Sounds like a solid plan to me. Judging by the equipment you're wearing, you seem to have been here for a while. You know your way around?"

Figures that he doesn't know, you thought, "I'll lead."

"Glad we're on the same page. Though, we've only just met and yet you're still willing to help a stranger like me," he mentions in an off-handed manner, perhaps he wasn't used to generosity ever since being recruited as a harbinger, "But not that I'm complaining. You have my thanks, comrade."

"(Y/n)," you tell him, "That's my name. I'm a farmer that resides in this town."

"I see. A town it is then," he inquires, "Call me Childe, as where I'm from, not sure how to answer that anymore."

"What do you-"

But before you were able to question him further, a hoard of lava crabs were spotted crawling it's way towards where Childe sat. He shot you a confused look and turned to the direction, amusement sparks in his eyes,

"Lava crabs? You've got to be kidding me," your arms have already grown tired long ago, at this rate, you figured it may be best to pay a visit to Harvey's doctor office and check up for any muscle strains that have occured during the process. You most likely have considered how heavy your items felt now. Partaking in another battle would only make it worse.

"Ah an opponent, to think this place wouldn't have a set of new monsters to fight. I was growing tired of beating up hilichurls all the time."

His casual reaction caused you to scrunch up your nose in disbelief, "We're being ganged up on and your first response was that???"

Childe paid no mind, instead he propelled himself back to his feet using his trained reflexes and swaggered towards the crowd, "Relax girlie," Stopping just after a few steps, he turns his head ajar over his shoulder with a floppy smirk spreading his lips, "I've got this."

You held in your breath, wondering if you could trust this man. For now all you could do was sit back and hopefully regain some of your strength while observing by the stacks of crates that were abandoned years ago. The lava crabs formed a straight line in front of him, they were smart creatures, cornering their prey in a very well strategized form so that trespassing was out of the question. Childe wasn't intimidated in the slightest, he merely looked down at them with hooded eyes, flexing his fingers for preparation.

"Lava crab…in other words you're of the pyro element," the harbinger holds out his hand in front of him, trying to cultivate the shape of his bow, "A shame. This fight would end much shorter than I anticipated."

However, when he expected his element to manifest, nothing came out. Childe was left dumbfounded.

"Don't just stand there," you screeched, "Do something!!!"

"Wait," he halts you and tries to summon his bow again. Once, twice, as the crabs grew closer still there was nothing, "My powers…they're gone?!"

"Take this," left without a choice, you pushed yourself towards him and shoved Neptune's glaive into his grasp. He examines it with curiosity, but you knew this was also your own well-being you were entrusting him, "It's really easy to use, just-"

When a crab leapt forward, you ran back to create some manageable space for Childe to move in. He delivers a powerful slice using one arm, hitting the crab's weak spot while tossing it toward the side until a dent was formed in the wall. Your mouth parts, fast, he was fast, you didn't even have the time to blink. It was as if he knew the glaive more than you did. Though, the assumption wasn't that far from the truth. Childe was well adept with swordsmanship as he was an expert with many other melee weapons. Which is precisely the reason why he chose the bow as his main, a ranged device, the challenge to keep him on his toes. Just like he was now.

"He wasn't lying when he said he could fight," you watched in mesmerization, each single blow he delivered deemed equivalent to three hits on your part. Childe was both powerful and swift. He was formidable. The way he effortlessly deflected his opponents despite not having an enchantment ring made you forget how much of an idiot he was earlier before. Soon, the lava crabs began to lessen, leaving what remained of their dusted corpse while some retreated back into the depths of the cave.

"Not bad, it was kind of fun!" Childe laughs exasperatedly, glancing at his blue reflection upon the marred blade, "It's been a while since I last used a sword, and still haven't gone rusty either," he hands you the hilt, "Thanks for letting me use it by the way. You seriously got yourself a sick weapon."

"Keep using it for now, I think I'm a little too worn out to handle it," you say regretfully and pointed your nose towards the ceiling, "The mist hasn't disappeared so there's probably gonna be more monsters we'll encounter soon."

Childe looks up as well, "Huh I was wondering what that meant."

"By the way I've never seen anyone fight like that. Exactly what kind of place are you from?" You finally ask, "You somehow ended up in a cave, without anything to defend yourself with and it's not like you know your way out either. Are you...from another world?"

"Huh didn't think you'd draw that conclusion so quick," he comments jokingly, "Guess there's no reason to hide it anymore. Indeed I am from another world, at least, that's what I can tell so far. I've never encountered these types of monsters either."

You couldn't help but be taken aback by his honesty, "That was strangely easier than I thought...."

After escaping the cave, you introduced Childe to the wizard who lived in Cindersap forest, M. Rasmodius. He was extremely intrigued by the concept of an outlander and seemed happy to be of assistance. Since helping others was the culture of Pelican Town, you commissioned Robin to build a small cabin for him to live in temporarily. In return, Childe must accompany you back to the caves and make up for your losses. It was a mutual benefit since he had the opportunity to fight as well.

Childe befriended the townsfolk rather easily. On friday nights where everyone goes to the Saloon to enjoy their time, he would be found in the other room playing pool with the gang (Sam, Abigail and Sebastian)-- you as well when he managed to drag you along with him.

Crashes at your place when you were busy with the farm. You can bet that he would pop up suddenly midday through your window, “Can you use the door like a normal person???” But despite how much you get irritated by this habit, all bygones are bygones the moment he starts a conversation.

He sticks around as you carry your hay batches, sharing his stories. How the organization he worked in was a powerful militaristic force that had authority over many countries. But you didn't see him as a brute since he only joined for the sake of his parents, for the sake of his siblings and their dreams.

You thought of your grandfather who also once told you to pursue your dreams: live a peaceful life away from urban society. However, as long as the harbinger was with you, there wasn't much option for 'peace'.

"Tell me again why you dragged me out here? You know thatI still have a lot of work to finish back in the farm," you trekked your feet through the thick icy sheets with one hand clutching the zipper near your collarbone. It was incredibly windy in Cindersap forest and Childe happened to have convinced you to leave the comfort of your home for 'a surprise favour'. He purposely made a vague statement to draw in your curiosity but if you had refused-- well, that would have led to constant nagging on his part.

"You'll see," is what he said, it was what he told you through this whole ordeal. He lifted his chin to feel the frosty air against his face, "There's this one activity I wanted to try out. Back in Snezhnaya, I used to bring my brother to go skating out on the lakes. It's deadly freezing there so the ice is pretty thick to work on. Haven't done any of that since I joined the Fatui."

You shot him a deadpan glare, "That's why you brought me out here? Why didn't you just go by yourself?"

"Now that's cold (Y/n),” you rolled your eyes at the pun, “Can't you loosen up instead of throwing yourself in a pile of work all day?"

"It's not that I don't want to...I'm just very busy with the farm since it's the last day of the month. At least I want to do as much as I can before Spring comes."

"Haha you're right but you only live once y'know?" Childe noted happily despite your protest, "And like I said before, seize the opportunity when you see it. You never know when it will be your last."

You cocked your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Now let's get started shall we?" As you both reach the edge of the frozen lake, Childe takes a step forward ahead of you, "Have you ever gone ice skating before?"

"Yeah but..." You glanced at the glassy surface with skepticism, suddenly struck by hesitance. The thought of drowning made you retreat your steps right away, "I don't know Childe, it doesn't seem that safe."

"That's true if you're not careful enough," he pointed out, "Luckily you have me to help you with that."

"How does that work?"

He placed one foot onto the hardened lake and parts his mouth into a grin, "Watch."

In contrast to your cautious personality, Childe was considered to be more of a wildcard if anything. He loved adventure, just like you except his side often included bloodshed and the thrill that danger carries. You weren't sure if it was worth putting up with his antics or entertaining his idea of skating on thin ice, but you complied regardless. He had a way of delivering his words through that cheery voice you couldn't deny.

Prior to meeting him, life was boring. The corporate world was boring. You moved into your grandfather's farm in order to search for some form of fulfillment that Zuzu city couldn't give and you thought you did now that you had your very own farm, but slowly you began to pile more responsibilities than you could even count.

Everything you did, you did alone.

If it weren't for Childe, you wouldn't have learned the art of surfing on ocean waters. You never would have known the taste of mixing three different ice-cream flavours together despite what strange names they all had. Or what it felt like to mingle with the townspeople rather than mingling for the sake of business. Suddenly, everything became...fun.

Childe wanted to go far and wide. He was always running, so far ahead, somewhere beyond the stars as he could conquer the world to the point you might no longer reach him.

No longer reach him, huh. Curling your fingers into your palm, you renewed your courage and took a step onto the ice.

At the sound of boots tapping behind him, Childe spins around to see you wobble in your stance, nearly tipping over. He slid across to where you were and grasped your arm before you fell.

"Gotcha."

"Thanks," You sighed in relief, "Jeez, this is harder than I thought."

"Guess this is your first time then," he commented with a bit of jest, "Don't stress yourself over it too much, you'll be okay. I got you."

He carefully led you to the center, staying close in case you were to fall sideways again. You awkwardly tried to keep your legs straight, balancing on your own yet the fact that there was still water underneath struck fear into your nerve. It caused you to tremble and eventually skittered backwards.

"Haha ice skating isn't your forte isn't it?"

"I'm just getting started!"

He takes your hand in his before you could even protest, it was one of his many aspects that you found endearing-- the fact his impulse stems from genuine intentions, feelings, not giving them a second thought. The two of you glide using the soles of your shoes, he speeds up ever so slightly and the adrenaline begins to increase until there comes a rush of excitement, freedom. The stress you once had already forgotten once taking flight upon the ice.

"Look Childe! I'm actually doing it!" You couldn't help mentioning with a bit of youthful playfulness in your voice, "It's so smooth and fast! Almost like I'm flying!"

He smiles quietly from a distance, “See? I told you that you'll be fine.”

It was clear to many that the two of you were much closer than what meets the eye.

Childe began to notice the change in your aura. You were happier and much more soulful. Before you were always on the edge, cautious in contrast to his sanguine approach, he couldn't help but be caught off guard whenever you teased him. Or the sudden honesty that causes him to be flustered. By your side, he was no longer a Fatui Harbinger rather more of a puppy, adorable almost.

But when he saw that the reason you changed was because of him, it brought fear into his bones. Why? How did things get to this point? You were lost in a wonderland, ignorant to the blossom that had sprung inside of your chest.

Maybe it was better to be ignorant. Just live in the moment while it can still last.

"You're leaving?"

Standing at the gateway between the mountain cliffside and the starry sky, you call out to the man you've known in a way that carries more than what words could say. Because he left a mark in your years that could never be erased and here he was, trying to erase his existence completely.

Childe lets out a bitter chuckle, he didn't dare to face you, "I didn't expect you to catch up so quickly. You're quick-witted, comrade."

"It's (Y/n)," you corrected, trying to steady your voice so that he couldn't tell the expression you were making, "Why didn't you say anything? What makes you think that I'll just stay silent and let you go on your own way? This isn't a joke Childe! Don't act as if none of it matters to you because it sure as hell did to me."

His lips that held his usual smirk flattens into a straight line, "Even if I did, would it make a difference?"

The world stills. You knew the answer, he knew the answer, you just refused to admit it. One by one, the stars begin to collect themselves until a bridge was formed in front of him, on another day he would be enjoying the scenery alongside you. But today they would be for you alone to witness. The man who you spent your time with had slowly, regretfully, inevitably became a stranger. He was right. It wouldn't make a difference. You were already aware since the day you met him that he belonged to another world and you willingly offered to help him find a way home.

"You know, you could come with me."

Your eyes jolt open. His voice was so free of care. As if he was commenting on something so minor on a casual Sunday afternoon while accompanying you to the beach. But when you came face to face with the harbinger, his expression lackluster, you knew that he meant every word.

"Just you and me, we can travel across the world to our heart's content. I always thought you were an adventurer just like me and you know what, the farm life just doesn't suit you," Childe slowly extends his hand as an offer, for you it was a temptation, "So what do you think? Care to join me?

Your lip quivers. What he said sounded like a sweet dream that you so desperately wanted to take a bite out of. But even so, you thought about the townsfolk, your farm, your grandfather. Their images flashed in as if holding you back, chaining you to the ground, "I can't."

The answer pained you more than it did to him.

"Figures, this is your home after all," he huffs out, " Now do you understand? I can't leave my home either. If I did, heh, I think my siblings would despise me until the very end and I just don't want that. So no hard feelings, okay?"

You didn't reply.

"Don't worry. I won't pressure you if you don't want to," Childe turns back to the bridge, it was almost time, "Do what you have to do (Y/n), hate me if it makes you feel any better. You can even forget about me," he paused, renewing his resolve, "But I know I won't."

"Childe-"

You ran to grab his scarf only to have it ghost through your hands. He was relieved that he couldn't hear your voice, as he returned to Teyvat, Childe wonders what kind of expression did you have before he left? He'll never know.

---

~Xiao's Story~

The day you met Xiao...well, you weren't in the best of the best positions.

This was probably your sixth attempt trying to make it through all levels of the cave and reach the last floor. The quest had been sitting in your drawer for months.

Of course you didn't expect things to be easy, the fortune teller channel you watched every morning had yet to inform you with any good fortune and you would often bump into obstacles that would halt your progress.

But to be fair, sometimes the colourful ore would attract your attention and before you knew it, it was time to go.

So close yet so far. You dragged your feet tiredly against the ground. What time was it? Who knows. Judging by your state, you assumed it had already struck past 12 a.m.

However, today luck seems to have taken pity on you, just...slightly.

You puffed air into your cupped hands for the nth time, huddling deeper into the touch of your coat while trudging into the cave's cold climate. A little longer, any time soon, you kept telling yourself over and over but as if time was frozen, the wait felt like an eternity. Ah how much you wish to be in the comfort of your soft, fluffy bed right now. Though, merely visualizing the image only reminded how achingly freezing it was so you decided it was best to spare yourself from the details.

"I can't do this anymore..." leaning your head against the ice covered cavern, you whimpered, "I should have stayed home."

As you were about to shut your eyelids, something flashed by your peripheral vision. You darted towards the direction it came from, the light was a bright green hue against blue, could it be, "Warmth!"

It seems you jumped to conclusions too quickly. With impatience, you swung around the corner, expecting to find a heat source, only to meet something much more horrifying.

"KYAH!"

They stared straight into your eyes, those demonic eyes tainted by black and fangs that stuck out of the mouth like tusks on an elephant.

However, when the light evaporated you were able to have a better sense of sight, slowly revealing the monster's true form and the body of a human boy. He fell onto his back with a thud and you used this chance to calm yourself from the frightful encounter.

"He's...unconscious?"

You meekly crawled to where he lay and examined closely. Aside from the mask, there were various distinct features that stood out in his attire, his tattoo being one of them, imprinted in what looked like an eagle. You then realized how unsuitable his clothes were in this current situation. At least there were no injuries so far. But was that a good thing? This man practically came out of thin air as if some sorcery had been committed. Witches never left a good impression ever since they cursed your chicken coop. You were hesitant whether to help a stranger who could potentially be one of them or a creation they cultivated. What other explanation could there be?

"I can't leave him here, it's too cold."

Your gaze suddenly falls upon his covered face. The design, although intimidating at first, upon closer look was very alluring in it’s own way. You haven't stumbled upon anything like what the merchants had to offer in Pelican Town and the mask almost looked too foreign. Was he from the east? Curiosity eventually takes over and you gingerly reach for the mask, sliding it off his face.

"Eh...?" You gasp, taken aback by his striking appearance. A part of it made you feel this was no ordinary boy but that didn't mean he should be abandoned in this environment. It would be immoral to let him die in a place like this.

Before you could even make a noise, his eyes bursted awake, grabbing your wrist in a harsh grip. He used his other hand to push against your shoulder until you were instantly pinned on your back with no opening to escape. You choked a sharp sound as you stared with wide eyes. The man was akin to a beast, he had the expression to match it, like the glaring sharp gaze of wolves that roam at the mountain cliffside near Zuzu city and the ferocity of the demonic mask he once wore. You were breath taken but in a more fearful way as he continued to grip onto you tighter with the possible intent to harm.

"Speak!” He demanded, “What have you done to my powers and where have you brought me?"

In Xiao’s case, he was thrown into another world under the circumstances of fighting against one of Liyue’s unknown beasts. He was on high alert, thinking the fight was still ongoing.

You may look human but you could still be a threat. Xiao is the type to act upon instinct in the moment when something feels out of place. Like the spear he wields, he was trained to behave like one: to strike, strike down his foes without hesitation. Don't leave an opening for them to take the advantage. Xiao is a weapon and violence was what he knew best. He couldn't afford to lower his guard even for a minute.

You could say he left a pretty strong first impression to the point you were paralyzed. As he looked at your face, petrified and tense, he wavered and began to reevaluate things. Large doe-like eyes stare into his feline ones. They didn't seem to hold any sort of malice, was it possible for you to be the one who cursed him?

"Eeeeeek! I-I have no idea what you're talking about, let me go let me go!" you cried, "Please don't hurt me!"

Perhaps he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.

Xiao feels your struggle and eventually gets off to give you some space. Your reaction was understandable, he was used to it anyways. Xiao scoffed to himself, why are mortals so weak? Their strength, if compared to the adepti, was separated by a large gap (Like it always should be). Xiao kept his gaze averted to the side as you rubbed your wrist, focusing his attention elsewhere. He glanced at the vastness of the cave in front of him.

Why was he sent here? For what reason did it serve? Ever since he sealed the contract with Rex Lapis, the guardian Yaksha had never entertained the thought of leaving his country nor did he act upon it; he was far too loyal to his god to do so. But here he was, against his own will yet free from his karmic binds, stripped of his divine powers in the return of endless questions about this new found mortal-like form.

What should I do now?

Choosing not to dwell in any longer, Xiao rises to his feet and proceeds to walk the other way.

"Ah u-uhm sir, where are you going?"

If the universe wanted to test him then he'll find his own answers.

"Wait! Please wait up!"

"Tch."

Although he intended to keep going, Xiao heard you running to his direction and slowed to a halt, some mortals surely do not know their boundaries, "Hmph there's nothing timid about you. Leave me be," he demands without turning around, "Don't forget what I'm capable of."

Stay away.

"I-I know that," you retaliate weakly. Just by hearing his tone made you want to melt away and become one with the ice. He was a scary man indeed, the same one who attacked you earlier. But even so, "That doesn't mean I want you dead! If you go that way, you might freeze to death. Aren't you cold? You don't even have a coat on."

"..." Upon the mention of his predicament, his senses started to kick in. As a yaksha, Xiao wasn't able to be affected by temperature but now he felt his hands beginning to sting, trembling from it’s impact. Ah, so this is what it feels like to be cold. Still Xiao was stubborn and continued to push you away, "What happens to me has nothing to do with you. Now leave, or else."

"I-I can't do that!"

Xiao clicks his tongue in frustration. How annoying. This is why he dislikes meddling with meddlesome humans. But quite frankly, he wasn't sure how to handle your type of forwardness since most tend to back away. And so, Xiao does what he usually does, he ignores you and continues walking, eventually you'll give up on him anyway. However he hears a loud thump and whips around to see your body laying in the snow. The hours of travelling in the cave have seemed to caught up that you inevitably collapsed from exhaustion.

Knitting his evergreen brows together, Xiao lets out an irritable sigh.

...

You wake up to find the sky above your head and your coat draped over your shoulders like a blanket. Dawn was slowly rising above the distance valley, you figured it was around 4a.m in the morning. Rubbing your eyes, you eventually noticed a figure sitting across, admiring the sunrise.

"Ah it's you!"

Xiao jolts ever so slightly, peeking over his bare shoulders until you could see the sun's light casted against his golden irises. Did he stay here while you were asleep? Then, that would also mean he was also the one who carried you all the way up from sixty floors below.

“You're awake,” he noted flatly, “If that's the case, then I have no reason to stay here."

Of course, that wouldn't be the last time you saw him.

You were a tenacious human being, always so insistent in dragging him away from his lonesome personality. He resides in the forest and camps there for the time being (similar to Linus since they’re both homeless lol). But you’d always run in, DAILY and sometimes for the most stupid and mundane reasons. It could either be giving him the snacks you snatched off the table since Xiao refused to participate in parties, or fancy seashells you found on the beach. You didn’t want him to miss out on all those things of course! Although he responds with irritation, it was as if his words went through your ear and then out the other. His efforts were futile (however, he was slowly warming up without realizing).

He learns how easily his body reacts in the presence of food purely because he was hungry. You bring an extra set of blankets and pillows to his campsite when the ones you gave him wore out (he didn’t ask by the way). Xiao needed help whether he liked it or not since he no longer has his powers, hence he couldn't run away. He somehow ends up moving in to live on the small islands near your farm.

Xiao doesn't understand humans very much. Just as he was unable to understand how human emotions work. He was the almighty yaksha, Adeptus Xiao and a formidable beast that killed thousands in thousands of years, at least that's what he used to be. Even now he still has yet to figure out what he was or who he was exactly without a weapon to define his existence. He was made for battle but nowadays, he found himself watering plants, chopping down trees and throwing seeds to the chickens living in your coop. How did everything escalate to this? It baffles him, how much his life changed so drastically.

Haha, you’re Xiao of course! The greatest farming assistant I could ever have.

But above all else, the one thing Xiao couldn't understand among those universal questions, is you.

"Why are you doing all this?" Finally he asked. The urging thought had been persisting at the back of his mind ever since.

You stopped on your tracks and turned to look at him, tilting your head with a complexion made curious, "What do you mean? Ah, did I do something to bother you?"

"I didn't say that," Xiao interrupts abruptly, he folded his arms across his chest and shot you a deep contemplating gaze, " You're...incomprehensible. All I did was drag you out of that cave yet why are you so kind to me? Don't you think you're extending yourself too much just because of one little deed?"

Because to him, saving a life was the norm. He does it unconditionally just like you helped him with those same intentions. Except, Xiao had been pursuing corrupted souls behind the scenes all this time and expected nothing in return. Experiencing someone's gratitude was rather new.

You shook your head, "It wasn't small to me," a satisfactory smile melting onto your face, "I'm here at this very moment, feeling the wind against my skin and smelling the scent that nature carries, these are just the few things I cherish. It's thanks to you that I can still watch over grandpa's farm, that's why I don't feel like I'm overextending myself in any way," suddenly you beam at him, "At first I thought you were a scary person. Haha. Time flies so fast, it's amazing how much can happen in between."

"Hn, you're a simpleton. But that's not a bad thing..." he points out curtly yet softly, "Do as you wish, I won't stop you so feel free to call my name whenever you need my help. I'll be there."

Xiao also finds you to be very clumsy. He couldn't leave your side even for a minute. But that was a lie. He just grew very attached to you.

When you tell him that you've been going into the mines for a quest, he tells you that you're far from capable. So he teaches you how to wield a weapon properly. Xiao was a strict teacher and he intends to keep it that way, he wouldn’t even allow you to set foot in the mines until he finds you capable enough.

You were a meek yet optimistic person, yet you were also strong-willed.

For a place that wasn't his home, he felt it was. And he found that it was all in your presence. Those peaceful hours hiding inside the barn while a storm rages outside, you sit beside him while hugging a sheep close to your chest. Xiao learns how to feed some of them, he even brings seeds for your hen house too. If you were ever short on materials, Xiao would travel to the enchanted forest behind the wizard's tower and get them for you, no matter how late it was. Though if you went by yourself, he'd deliberately go with you despite your protest.

The minute Xiao realized how much he was attached to you, it was devastating. As if the claws of his karmic debt had come back, pulling him into the shadows once more. He was an adeptus with a contract and bound by his duty, he must choose between his god who saved him from a nightmare and you, the girl he fell for, showed him that the world was indeed a beautiful place, he was stuck in an equilibrium and he felt that the binds may even tear him apart if he kept resisting.

But when did he ever have a choice?

"Where are you going Xiao?"

When he heard your voice calling his name, the yaksha willingly pulled himself to a halt. His sunset eyes narrowing from guilt before it shuts with a trembling sigh out of his mouth. Why is it that you always appear during the moments where he desperately needs to get away from you? He planned to sneak out the door, making sure his footsteps were unheard while you slept. And by the time you woke up, he didn't have to face you, he wouldn't have to say goodbye. He won't. Even if what he was currently doing said otherwise. He will never hear himself say those words.

"Xiao?"

Yet, he cannot refuse you. Not now, not ever. You were breathtaken to see a type of expression that you never thought was possible for him to make. The creases that once formed between his slender brows, the heaviness he always carried in his expression was replaced by a sense of sentimentality. Before you could register what was happening, Xiao took his step towards the porch of your house, not once did he tear away from your attention. He slides his hand beneath your jaw and affectionately against your cheek, the fondness evident in his gaze that you almost felt imprisoned by it.

"You never fail to appear in the most inconvenient of times," He gives a weak smile, a smile that makes your heart swell. Despite how much you could drown in his honesty, you couldn’t help but feel there was something wrong, “No matter how many times I’ve tried to push you away.”

You don't know him. You don't know his history and what things he committed in the past. But as if you've known this whole time, Xiao couldn't picture you leaving him for those reasons.

“You’re gentle but you don’t let others put you down. You’re kind but you don’t allow it to be your weakness. I sometimes wonder how it is possible for anyone to be so forgiving?”

"I-I don’t understand why you’re this Xiao. Is something happening?”

He won’t tell you. He doesn’t see the reason why you need to know.

You wince when something poked the side of your neck and you realized it was a tranquilizer. You looked at Xiao with dismay, his face becoming hazier until your vision darkened and could no longer hold your own weight. Xiao caught you around the waist with one arm as you fell unconscious.

"How can you be so stupid...?"

But he speaks as if those words were meant for him.

Pulling your body closer to him, Xiao chains you down into a desperate embrace. A silent scream of desperation. His forehead pressed against the bent of your shoulder and the other arm rested his hand at the center of your back. He will relish in the shape of your body, memorizing every curve both perfections and flaws. The way you fit into his arms and the pleasant smell of nature that you taught him to love, this was the only remnant he was allowed to take. Every detail, he will remember it as if clinging to the last moments of his whole world.

If he was allowed to have a desire, let him meet you again. He prayed to a god, any god-- even if it meant damaging his oath, he will accept his punishment. He prayed to each star in the sky and if he must he'll pray to the devil himself, whatever it is, he will do it for you.

As he painfully lets go, Xiao lets his hand slide off your body until the last thing he felt was the very tips of your fingers. He settles you down gently into your bed. You belong here in this peaceful world, not the one riddled with monsters.

---

~Zhongli's Story~

The Skull Cavern was considered to be the most dangerous mine of Stardew Valley. It wasn't your intention to run into any trouble, all you wanted was to test your cool new galaxy sword on some easy monsters and then be on your merry way. At first.

Just one more floor. You say, before catching an arm sticking out a pile of rocks.

"I-Is that a person?!!!"

You dug as fast as you could, any time soon the mummies would wake up and start attacking. Quick quick! Moving the last rock, you saw the face of a young man, he was asleep but alive! and undeniably attractive oh wow *lip bite*. But despite your attempts of shaking him awake, it was fruitless and the monsters weren't waiting.

Taking out two warp totems, you raised it to the ceiling and chanted a teleportation spell.

It wasn't everyday that you brought a man to your house.

But when you did, he wouldn't be from a cave, six floors down and buried in a place filled with monsters.

"And this small black device you say is some form of communicator? That certainly is intriguing, never in my years have I heard of something so advanced."

However you were beginning to think otherwise. That this man would have been from the prehistoric ages who you managed to unbury after his thousand year slumber. Zhongli sits on the couch across from you while examining your smartphone, a term he claimed had been completely foreign. You were contemplating whether you should bother Harvey despite being past his work hour and book an emergency appointment to see if this man had a special case of amnesia.

You brushed the idea away. There was so much going on and nothing made sense, for now, you decided to settle this on your own.

"Uhm Zhongli is it?" you asked nervously, "Maybe you can try giving the name of a relative or someone you know. I can use the phonebook to see if I can find their number."

“Number?” He parroted.

You blinked a few times, making sure if you heard him correctly, “Yes, number. You know? To communicate?”

"I appreciate your kind gesture," Zhongli acknowledges in a polite manner, "But that won't be necessary. This device doesn’t seem to be at a level where it can communicate with the people from my homeland."

If he was travelling then how the hell did he end up in THE Skull Cavern is what I wanna know!

“T-Then if you don't mind me asking, where are you from?"

Zhongli takes this moment to think of an answer, aware that if he blurted something out it would not have translated in the way he wanted. But you so kindly invited him to your humble household that he felt it would only be proper to owe you an explanation, "I suppose a land from afar."

You sweatdropped, "Suppose?"

"Yes. Although I won't spare you the details since this is not your burden to bear, it’s quite difficult for me to try and remember exactly what happened," Zhongli took his chin into his hand, fingers almost covering his mouth, "Perhaps I would need search for clues in order to refresh my memory."

Oh no he really does have amnesia!!

"A-Actually why don't I just call the local doctor, I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving you a hand," you say while taking your iPhone.

"A doctor? There's no need," dismissed Zhongli, "My condition is only a minor one and I do not think I'm in a position to afford medical assistance. Besides, you have done more than enough. May you find great fortune in your years Miss (Y/n), I shall be on my way."

He pushes himself up from the couch and you watch him cross towards the door. But just when he was about to reach the space of your carpet, Zhongli pulled to an abrupt stop.

"Ah yes,” He began as if remembering something, “ Do you happen to know where the nearest Inn is located? I would need to find a place to shelter for the time being."

"..."

This was how the former god ended up being your roommate. Like Xiao, Zhongli also takes upon a human form. He needed to eat, drink and a place to sleep. He insisted that he would take the couch as well as help you with any tasks that needed to be completed during the day.

You question if Zhongli was even aware of what situation he was currently in. Answer: HE WASN'T because Zhongli is an extremely dense man. To feel embarrassed was not part of his dictionary when living with a woman.

The type to take long showers. You always find the bathroom steaming because he doesn't turn on the fan to get rid of it (but maybe you should've taught him). So when it was your turn to use the shower, the water was either lukewarm or worst case scenario, cold.

Also he somehow finds your old kettle (that your grandfather used) to brew tea even though you told him you already had a water boiler. He stated that he liked doing things the old-fashioned way, it brings him a sense of nostalgia. You couldn't understand what he meant (unless you considered that he was older than he seemed....no that can’t be it!)

Despite it all, Zhongli was incredibly polite and considerate. Tending the farm was not an easy job and you often came home with sore muscles, fatigued from running so many errands. He's knowledgeable in terms of making the best herbal mix for a soothing remedy.

You would see a warm cup, every morning before going to work and every time you come home, it was sitting on the kitchen table (if his drink had potion effects, they would be regeneration).

Gentle he was but it wasn't good for your heart.

Ever since Zhongli moved in, it became difficult to live in your own house.

There were many situations where he caused trouble despite not intending to cause disruption to your daily routine. And when he did, the repairs came out of your own pocket. One time you opened your microwave to find thick ash and burnt cinders stuck upon the walls.The entire space was a hazard and needed to be dispensed immediately since Zhongli thought that plastic-wrapped items were allowed to be microwaved. Another incident, as bizarre as it sounded, was when your vacuum cleaner zoomed out of your house...and never came back. You remembered the awkward cough he gave when you shot him a deathly glare, hence why Zhongli was not allowed to touch your high-tech devices (if you considered them high-tech) without your permission.

Even so, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. It was the opposite in fact. One day, all the flaws you counted suddenly became his charms. You came to find them endearing almost.

Zhongli was a handsome man. He carried himself with a distinct aura that could only be found in the rarest geodes; revealing orestones mined from the depths of a forgotten cave, sometimes in the shape of exquisite artifacts-- a type of ancient charm. Perhaps that was why people were willing to obey his every command without hesitation. Whenever Zhongli spoke, it was full of firmness and authority yet somehow deprived of arrogance. He was polite to all and does not indulge in conflict despite how tempting gossip can be in modern society. Always patient during your temperamental moments and considerate to the point you wonder if he even had any desires. He was so kind that soon enough, you couldn't help but be flustered by his presence. Forget about having a conversation, maintaining his leveled gaze was already enough of a challenge. Like staring into the sun after the morning dew. So gentle and so very comforting. But the more you linger onto the sun, it's rays will continue to set ablaze, eventually bringing you pain.

And you feared that you have grown addicted to those feelings.

Why can't he understand?

Stopping at the center of the bridge, you kept your head low while letting the anger take form into your tightened fists. The town was empty with only the sound of water flowing beneath your feet, filling the heavy air. They rippled and swayed, peaceful amongst your inner turmoil. The fact that such a miniscule attribute was able to make your blood rise was hilariously pitiful. How did you stoop to a point that even nature, the very being you've tended for a living, could bring you bitterness? Were your feelings this uncontrollable? The answer was obvious. It spiraled, violently and mercilessly as if commanded by another. There was a wave of emotions filling your heart and you could almost feel yourself drowning from the inside. If only they were as tranquil as the ones you stood upon.

"I thought I would find you here."

The voice you dreaded calls from across and you fight to keep yourself from gasping. Oblivious to it all, Zhongli proceeds to close the distance until he towered over you, looking down to your bowed head, "When you hadn't returned home without a notice, I was getting worried if something had happened. But I'm glad that wasn't the case."

Your whole face clenches.

"Is something bothering you? If you would like, we can discuss it after eating dinner. Come, I have already prepared our meal while you were gone as well as turning off the rice cooker once finished. I hope it can ease your stress since I know it can be difficult maintaining a farm like this."

"Zhongli."

He blinks hard when the sound of his name falls out of your lips. Zhongli was an experienced observer and listener, he was able to catch the glimpse of frustration that dripped from the tone you used. Relaxing his poised shoulders, Zhongli carefully asked in a reserved manner, "Have I...done something to make you upset?"

A trembled breath escaped when you breathed out. Dense. He was so dense that sometimes it made you want to crack him open.

"Tell me..." you began, "Are you also like this with other women?"

The former god sets a brief sharp pause, "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm talking about the way you act, they're...giving me all these mixed signals. We've been living together for months, we even share meals together! And sometimes you would help me with the farm and when I didn't ask, you still insisted on tending to my needs when I felt sick. I just…” you trailed off, trembling ever so slightly, "It's all perfectly normal. You’re nice to everyone. I know that. I know that!"

"(Y/n)," Zhongli whispered. They sounded like a thousand needles to your heart.

"I doubt you have the intention to put me in this situation. You're a really great person Zhongli but I sometimes can't help feeling this isn't just some roommate thing you know?" closing your eyes, you thought of your past relationships, how they started and ended, "Do any of your actions mean anything to you? Do you know how it makes me feel? Or am I just overthinking this, that it was all one-sided this whole time?"

Alas the truth spills and the air stills, bringing the waves to a halt. Peace, tranquility, nothingness. That was all you wanted. That was all you heard. It was deafening.

"I see, so that's why," Zhongli mutters to himself with eyes narrowed, "There's...something I need to confess."

After several months, he tells you everything. How his memories returned, some of them were already intact. He told you about his homeland and his true identity, that he was a god that once ruled over Liyue for six centuries before giving away the gnosis.

The reason why he hadn't said anything until now was because there will be a day where Zhongli must depart and return to Teyvat. He was a god with a contract, the circumstance didn't matter, he must stay with it until the very end of time.

Through his years, Zhongli learned to cherish his finite moments. He didn't want to taint them with troubles to come. Thinking too far ahead into the future would only bring strain.

But what he didn't tell you was his true feelings. You were a sweet woman, tender and enthusiastic about agriculture, the way your feelings extend to the earth with grace whereas many others chose to trample over without hesitation, he fell deeply in love with that side of yours. You taught him many things and showed him many sides of humanity that he had never seen before. He even discovered an aspect of himself. Like breaking a geode, revealing the beauties held inside.

Zhongli couldn't look you in the eye when your expression was covered in disbelief. He thought he hid his feelings well but it seemed that he was expressing his love in subtle and subconscious ways that eventually drove you to fall for him as well. You didn't stop him when he left the bridge. He wasn't even in your house. He chose this, he chose to set you free from his heavy presence.

And as the weight started to lift from your shoulder, you sank to your knees and wept. It was cruel of him. To give you these emotions yet he could not bring himself to stay by your side. But your heart would not allow you to hate the man you love.

Things couldn't end this way. You had to say goodbye to him, see him one last time because if you didn't, these burdens will haunt you forever.

When Zhongli looked up to the sky he saw his ending drawing near.

Three days had passed since he last spoke with you and he had no plans in seeing you again. Soon, the former god will return to his rightful place. Even though he had already given his gnosis to the Cryo Archon as Liyue already began to enter a new era, it seems that his decisions weren't his to make as he was born in a world where stars ruled above the archons. Fate-- they won't allow it. He does not belong here. If there was one thing Zhongli regretted during his time in your world, it was that he couldn't leave you a good memory before taking his departure. The sight of your large glassy eyes and quivering lips when he crushed you with the truth, he sincerely believed that they would haunt him much more than it probably did to you. But perhaps things would be easier if you despised him. Because if he had stayed and you came to forgive him, he would no longer have the strength to let go.

Despite it all love was indeed a selfish creature. He couldn't help but feel resentment towards the stars for bringing you into his life in such a mockingly sweet manner. They tied him with a contract, made him vow to his own beliefs and tested them by using you-- a bystander struck between the crossfire, eventually bringing you down into the depths of his battlefield and he thought that maybe...maybe there was hope that he could bring you with him as well.

How disgraceful for a god to let the devil tempt him so.

Zhongli was thankful that you weren't beside him. Otherwise he would dance with the ugly hope of a slim chance for you to come along. This was the best choice. It was for his-- your own good.

"Zhongli!"

The arch of his lined eyes shot upwards. As if fate had decided to give him one final test, he felt your small figure crash into him from behind and your arms coming to hug around his waist, tightly and fearfully that he felt like you would be the one who would slip away instead.

"I...I made it time," you panted, burying your nose into his clothed back, "I’m so glad...I'm so glad you're still here…!"

Your cry of relief was a thunder to his ears, a reminder that he was the main cause. Zhongli, casted by solemn smile, lifts his hand to cover over yours and grasped onto them, I'm here, he wishes to say. Yet he knew they were only temporary promises, "To come all this way despite everything that has happened. You foolish girl..."

"It's your fault Zhongli, I'm a fool because I love you! It's all your fault that I have to say goodbye," You grit your teeth as the tears fell down your face until it blended into his clothes, "Take me with you. Please. Don't leave me all alone…!"

The words he wanted to say melted into a silent gasp through parted lips. Zhongli merely clenched them back together and his hand on your hand, even tighter. He won't lie to you. At the very least, let his actions speak for him where he himself could not.

Take me with you.

Don't leave me alone.

Goodbye.

If it is fated Morax...we will meet again.

"I see," letting his thoughts echo in his mind from the distant memories, the former god begins to take a new perspective upon his wisdom, "For many years, I have experienced countless farewells from the people I've come to known," Zhongli reminisced, tilting his head back with his golden eyes against night, as if searching for some sort of answer, "And yet I never thought what it must have felt like being in their position."

"Zhongli…" you trailed off, "Then don't! I may not know everything about you but it doesn't have to be this way. At least, just answer me this, will I ever see you again?"

"I'm sorry (Y/n)," he apologized and you knew the answer. He gently pries your arms off him, turning around so he could swipe the corner of your eyes dry. There was a glowing reverence in his countenance, one that he reserved for you and only you, it was the only way for him to express the feelings that run deep in his heart, "I cannot thank you enough for coming into my life. If there will be a day when I erode from your memories, I truly hope that you will find someone more suitable than I."

"That's ridiculous," defiantly, refusedly, you protest, "No one can replace you."

Zhongli laughs sadly as the white halo outlines his whole figure, signaling that there wasn't much time left. He wonders if there was anything he could do in his last moments, a small token, something, it could even be as small as a single star in the sky, "If it is fated...we will meet again."

You watch him turn transparent until he slipped from your grasp. No longer was the man, only the dust being one with the sky. They shone brilliantly but you were left in the darkness.

[teawaffles]

Albert’s Drinking Contest: Chapter 3 / End

Note: Some language.

“G-Goddammit……”

“No way, how……?”

Roughly twenty minutes had passed.

And with their glasses in hand, Moran and Louis were both gasping in agony.

Once the match had resumed, the three participants had attacked their glasses, consuming drink after drink like a surging tide. Now that Louis had been saved the trouble of approaching the other two time and again to fill their glasses, the rate at which the wine now entered them had seen a remarkable jump.

Although Louis was not a strong drinker to begin with, his sheer determination to prevail had allowed him to keep pace with his veteran opponents: at this point, he’d already downed a comparable portion of wine.

However, even mental willpower had its limits. Back when he’d consumed his twentieth glass, the intoxication had hit Louis like a brick, and a wave of dizziness swamped him. From then on, Louis had placed his spectacles on the table, and repeatedly rubbed the inner corners of his eyes in a bid to chase away that sense of vertigo.

Now, Louis was attempting his thirtieth glass of wine since he’d entered the match. In other words, Moran and Albert had already drunk an astonishing 51 glasses.

Even as they moaned like spirits of the dead, both Louis and Moran tried to fill their glasses for the next round; but the hands that held those glasses kept trembling, and wine spilled onto the table many times over.

“——This is truly an excellent wine. With this flavour, I can enjoy myself twice as much.”

On the other hand, Albert was still in perfect shape.

Having long finished preparing his next glass, Albert looked at his two opponents, barely able to hold their own glasses, as if watching them from on high.

Despite having consumed an extraordinary quantity of alcohol, he was still unperturbed, and enjoying the taste of the wine. With unfocused eyes, Louis turned to look at his oldest brother.

“Ha, haha — as expected of you, nii-sama.”

In the face of this overwhelming presence, his own powerlessness seemed almost hilarious in comparison, and he chuckled as if he’d given up.

“This isn’t, the time to be, laughing, Louis……”

Moran thumped his back, in an effort to coax some life back into him. But that gesture was much too weak, and looked as though he was simply trying to soothe a badly drunk man.

Yet perhaps that move had worked, for then, Louis knocked back his entire glass. Following suit, both Moran and Albert drained their glasses too.

“Well then, we’ve finally reached the thirtieth glass.”

Watching the three of them, William announced the tally with dispassion. But at this point, it wasn’t clear if his voice had even reached Louis and Moran.

Having reached a nice round number, it seemed Louis was starting to loosen up. With the last ounces of his strength, he turned his head, and looked at Moran beside him.

“Mr Moran. My apologies, but it looks like, this is my end……”

“Wha…… Oi, hang in there, Louis!”

But his desperate plea went unanswered. The moment Louis uttered those final words, just like Fred, he slumped onto the table.

“L-Louis……”

Half-dazed, Moran mumbled the name of the fallen — and William swiftly appeared by his brother’s side.

“You’ll catch a cold if you fall asleep here, Louis.”

Gently, he tucked the blanket he’d prepared around Louis’s shoulders.

Albert looked on in concern.

“William, is Louis alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, it seems he’s just asleep for now.”

“…………”

The two brothers looked on at their youngest sibling, now keeled over; but even as Moran too fretted over his condition, a sense of admiration and gratitude towards the man had grown within him. Despite being drawn into the match, Louis had pressed on and fought alongside him to get this far. If Moran himself hadn’t been so sozzled, he would even have wanted to give the man a huge round of applause.

However, even those ardent emotions dwindled with time. For Moran was now back to square one — as the only player standing up to Albert — and that lonesome despair weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Here was an opponent so tough, that even someone who’d joined halfway had been no match for him.

That raw power sent a chill down Moran’s back. Desperately trying to hold his vision steady, he glared at Albert.

“……How the hell are you still alive?”

Through his hazy consciousness, Moran barely managed to utter that one phrase. Although it’d come from his own lips, to him, it sounded as if it’d been said by someone else far away.

Albert shifted his gaze from Louis to Moran.

“It’s not so surprising, is it? I just genuinely enjoy drinking wine, Colonel.”

“This is no longer in the realm of ‘enjoyment’, innit……”

Perhaps his inebriation had finally tipped over into delirium: at that moment, the sight of Albert lounging with a glass in hand looked almost like that of the devil.

And finally, that time had come.

“Oh, shit——”

In his final moments, with every last ounce of strength he had within him, Moran uttered that cheap curse.

And in an instant, as if someone had flipped a switch — he blacked out. Like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he collapsed onto the table in front of Albert, and began to snore loudly.

“Looks like…… it’s settled, then.”

Watching the sleeping figures of Fred, Louis, and now Moran, William announced the end of the match.

And thus, on this memorable night, the drinking contest had ended in complete victory for the preternaturally strong Albert.

“……Mm?”

Around thirty minutes after that, Fred — who’d been the first to drop out — opened his bleary eyes.

Blinking, he slowly sat up, and saw Moran and Louis fast asleep in a row beside him, with blankets wrapped around their shoulders. Why Louis too?, he thought; but seeing that sight before him, at the very least, he somehow understood that the match was over.

Perhaps it was inevitable, but it had ended in a crushing defeat for Moran, Louis and him.

“Good morning, Fred; though the sun hasn’t risen yet.”

Someone called out to him from the side — by reflex, Fred’s gaze snapped toward the voice, and he saw William smiling gently at him, seated in the same spot from earlier. Beside him was Albert.

“……How long has it been?”

Since he already knew how the match had turned out, for now, still a little groggy, Fred enquired as to how long he’d been unconscious.

“It’s been around thirty minutes since the end of the match. So that makes it around two hours since you passed out,” said William. “It’s past midnight now.”

That voice had a somewhat comforting note to it, as if he was worried for Fred, who’d just awakened from the depths of drunkenness.

Then Albert — who was still enjoying his wine — spoke up in concern.

“Still, the colonel has done this time and again without learning his lesson. Even though wine is a luxury to be savoured and enjoyed.”

“Although you’ve beaten him every time, it seems that argument has yet to persuade him otherwise.”

Looking at Albert, who seemed to be functioning perfectly despite everything, William shrugged in amazement.

Fred had no clue as to how exactly how much wine Albert had ended up drinking; but from the wryness of William’s smile, he could at least tell that it was an amount beyond an ordinary person’s imagination.

Once again, Fred reflected on how it’d been a mistake in itself to challenge this monster to a fight.

“Although Moran seems to have given it his all this time around, as I thought: he was no match for you, nii-san.”

As if narrating Fred’s thoughts, William looked back on the outcome of the battle. Then, Albert picked up a bottle that still contained some liquor.

“Won’t you join me for a bit, William? Just to enjoy the wine.”

Despite having consumed a copious amount of alcohol, Albert was still game for more. But William waved a hand in refusal.

“I won’t. Anyway, I already had my fill over dinner.”

“That’s a pity; now that it’s just the two of us, I’d wanted to discuss its flavour at length with you.”

Saying that, Albert tilted his glass, and gently brought it to his lips. That gesture looked almost as if it’d been calculated down to the millimetre — the atmosphere surrounding him truly befitted that of a British aristocrat.

“…………”

William, the pivotal intellect of their organisation, and Albert, who was speaking to him.

Gazing vacantly at the two men, a thought suddenly struck Fred.

——How did this man come to be what he was today?

Albert had been born and raised as a noble — in this stratified society, he was considered part of the upper class.

But despite the position bestowed upon him by his birth, he had not sunk into the degenerate practices of the nobility; instead, his heart ached for the twisted nature of their country, and he wished to overturn it from its very foundations.

And the catalyst for all that, had been the two brothers he’d picked up.

Rather than indulging in their social positions and means, the Moriarty brothers instead refined their intellect and abilities with unyielding force of will, thus turning themselves into the “Lord of Crime” — an existence working in the shadows of Britain’s underworld.

Fred looked at Louis, asleep to his side, and then at William and Albert, who were engaged in conversation.

It was almost as if they’d been destined to meet.

——Could I, too, get closer to them?

Despite not being related by blood, Albert saw William and Louis as his brothers — the bonds between them were strong. In that case, perhaps Fred’s relationship with them could become even closer than what it was now.

Secretly, that thought blossomed in Fred’s heart.

“Well then, it’s getting late, so we should call it a night. Seeing as they’re asleep, what should we do with Louis and the colonel?”

Paying no heed to Fred’s longing gaze, Albert drained the last of his wine, and calmly got to his feet. Remaining seated, William spoke.

“Since they’re so soundly asleep, I’d hate to rouse them; let’s leave them be a while longer.”

“I see. Then I shall remain as well.”

Listening in to their conversation, all of a sudden, Fred remembered the important agreement that’d been made at the start of the match.

Nervously, he asked after Albert.

“Um, since I’ve lost, I suppose the forfeit will fall on me too……?”

Simply owing to the fact that he’d participated in the drinking contest, as one of the defeated parties, Fred had resigned himself to accepting the loser’s penalty.

However, Albert smiled.

“Aah, no need to worry about that. As you know, this match is a personal matter between the colonel and myself; I’m sorry you got caught up in it.”

“N-no, you don’t have to apologise. Even though it was a rather sudden turn of events, it was still my own decision to participate.”

At that unexpected apology, Fred waved both hands weakly. But Albert kept up that elegant smile of his as he continued.

“You don’t have to concern yourself with the forfeit. Well, even if I were fine with him doing it, the colonel would just be a right bother; so I’d be grateful if you could just tidy up the glasses we’ve used tonight.”

“T-Thank you very much.”

Having expected a bigger penalty, Fred was grateful for Albert’s magnanimity. In his heart, he heaved a sigh of relief, and proceeded to clear the glasses.

As he did so, Albert turned to look at Louis, who was still fast asleep.

“And since Louis was also caught up in this, I’ll exempt him as well.”

Then his focus shifted to Moran, who was slumped beside Louis.

“……Instead, I suppose I’ll have to give the colonel a proper punishment.”

“…………”

Although his voice had been calm, a disquieting feeling lingered around those words. Hearing that, even the agile Fred had unwittingly stopped in his tracks.

In place of Fred, whose face had paled, William asked after Albert with a wry smile.

“Nii-san, exactly what kind of punishment will you be giving him?”

Albert’s tone remained calm as always.

“Let’s keep that a secret for now. But no matter what it’ll be, I’m sure all of you can look forward to it.”

Saying that, Albert smiled. It was elegant to a fault.

“…………”

As he took the empty glasses, Fred looked at the sleeping Moran.

He’d set up this contest of his own accord: he had it coming for him. And yet, as Fred thought about what lay in store tomorrow for the man he saw as an older brother, he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry.

Just like this, the night to commemorate the founding of MI6, had drawn to a close.

T/N: …Do I really want to know what Albert’s gonna make him do? (ohoho)

Translator’s notes

Drinking capacities

I thought I’d summarise their relative strengths at drinking :3 From weakest to strongest:

Fred (<20 glasses)

Louis (30)

Moran (52)

Albert (52, and then some)

Though William didn’t participate in the end (aww), I would think he’s on par with Louis, and maybe even a bit stronger too.

The illustration

The illustration shows Moran slumped on a tiny coffee table of sorts; but I’m wondering where Louis and Fred are, since they were described as being asleep on the table beside Moran... Perhaps this is an incongruity between the story and the illustration?

[pure-kirarin]

Slow & Steady [P3] [Sabo x f!reader] (+18)

A/N : Hi !! sorry for publishing this later than I expected, but I got a beta reader and we worked on this chapter for longer. Please do tell me if you like this more <3 We put a lot of effort into it. Now, enjoy !~ Genre : Romance - Smut - Bestfriends to lovers General warnings : Alcohol consumption - Dark themes - Swearing - S m u t - possessiveness - Mention of ex-relationships - jealousy

Synopsis : Isn’t love a matter of timing after all ?That’s what Sabo has always thought. It was about finding the right tempo, making the right moves and hitting the right spot. Patience is a virtue after all, and he had a lot of it. It all started when your ex cheated on you. You were heartbroken, you needed someone and he was there. Was he always that hot ? You didn’t know. But after that night you have never seen him in the same way. Also, please guys comment because this is the first work I put so much efforts in. If I feel like people don't like it, it just feels not worth it to me and discourages me :( I have 2 other multichapters planned but I am thinking of abandoning them because people don't seem to like it...Anyways, please do interact if you like it :)

Part I - Part II -

In the last chapter :

You looked at Sabo go away and you followed him shortly after. Meanwhile Ace was sitting on the couch and watching some movies. You went back home and was quite tormented. It wasn’t the right time to worry as you had your assignments and studies to deal with. On one hand, you didn’t even have the time to think of your ex boyfriend and his cheating but on the other, you felt like you were let down by Sabo.

But why ? He didn’t do anything.

He just found himself a new friend and a potential new girlfriend.He didn’t even talk about her, but why where you so upset by him meeting her ? After all, he had the right to date just like you always did.A few days have passed and you didn’t get the chance to talk to Sabo. Your exams were getting closer and closer and you didn’t feel ready.Usually, Sabo would help you with your assignments but you were too scared to ask. You realized how much you relied on him and how he has been always there for you.

Who were you exactly to him ?

Maybe you took him for granted.

As you were on your bed looking at the ceiling and trying to collect every drop of motivation in your system to study, you heard your phone ring. It was Sabo’s ringtone !

P III

“Hi (Y/N),how are you doing?”

“Oh, Sabo! I'm fine. Kinda busy studying. And you? Haven't heard from you since last time.”

“Sorry about that. My schedule has been extremely tight lately. But I am free now!”

“I was just thinking of you. I have to turn in my history assignment tonight and I might need your help...Pleaaaaaase~ I know you're so good at history, please come save me!”

You could hear him laugh on the other side of the line. His laugh sounded so bright, making your heart flutter. You really did miss him. In the end, you were best friends, right?

“Alright! I'll come rescue you. After all, I have to make up for disappearing.”

“Sabo, you're the best! Would you mind coming to my place?”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes. See you then.”

“See you!”

Hanging up, you thought to yourself: you’ve never been this happy to see Sabo. You rolled on your bed in excitement. Twenty minutes seemed enough to make your room and yourself look somewhat presentable, he has never seen your messy room before. Fifteen minutes later, Sabo was in your room, both of you sat on the bed and started studying. Sabo had always been a top student, he was passionate about history in particular. Helping with your assignments was never a big deal to him.

Now that you gave it some thought, maybe most of your good grades were thanks to his help. He had tutored you many times when you were both in high school and that stayed a constant in your life even now.. Once you finished and sent the file to your professor, it was already late afternoon and Sabo was putting on his coat to go back home.

You had almost forgotten about what happened last week because of all the studying. Things weren't awkward anymore. But you wanted to bring it up because you couldn't help but think about the words he said.

“Sabo ?”

He turned back and looked at you with a smile.

“Yes? Do you need something else?”

“Don't go, I want to...  I want to ask you a question.” You patted the place next to you on the bed.

“Are you alright? You look very pale.” He sat next to you and the proximity made you extremely nervous. Although he had been close to you so many times before, you wondered why this time his proximity was affecting you so. The built up tension was getting unbearable. You could feel the knot in your stomach tighten, but you had to do it, you had to relieve yourself from this situation, otherwise it will still preoccupy you. With a nervous toss of your hair, you asked him, your eyes fixated somewhere on his chest :

“Well...Did I say something weird to you last time?”

“Last time?” he repeats in apparent confusion..

“Well, you know, when I got drunk, did I say something weird?...when you took me back home…”

You didn't even dare look at his face.

“Oh...nothing worth mentioning. Don't worry.” A sweet smile.

Oh, really now? I asked you to fuck me and you're saying “nothing fucking worth mentioning”? Bullshit.

...Or did I make all of that up?

“Didn't I…” you stop, clearing your throat, “didn't I ask you..to...well, you know…” You looked away in exasperation, annoyed that you had to say this and that you could feel your face quickly heating up. You felt your helplessness more fully now as you were discreetly looking at him to guess his reaction. Your eyes were shy and avoiding, looking his way then looking away continuously, almost instinctively.

“Hm? What?” He was amused, the bastard.

“Well...Didn't I ask you to fuck me or something?”

He burst out laughing, looking at your flushed face and the way you said that so fast that he was tempted to tap his ear and tell you that he didn't hear you quite well, but he simply refrained. That would be too much teasing.

For now.

And it wasn't the right time

yet.

“Ha, that.” He marked a pause, “it's only worth mentioning if you want to.”

You bit your lower lip, so he did remember…”Well, about that…”

“Just ask me to and I'll forget.”

But what if I don't want you to forget? You fucking idiot. When did you turn out to be this hot? Did seeing his morning wood put me in such a mood? Do I have this little self-respect? Risking our friendship like this?

He leaned closer to you so that his face was only centimeters away.

His minty breath was ghosting over your cheek;

“But just so you know, there's no going back.”

Was this the same Sabo from a few minutes ago? Was he really tempted to have sex with you? You felt flattered. You thought about Nami's words. Was he really into you? You felt insecure.

You've never felt insecure before.

You contemplated the idea for a second. You had just broken up with your boyfriend and you were now yearning to get fucked by your best friend - a guy that you've never even seen in that way before.

But how many things did you truly know about Sabo? How many things were you not seeing and being unaware of when it came to this man? You were slowly coming to the realization that he had been keeping a lot of things private - his personal life and thoughts mostly held close to himself at all times.

It was always about you in this friendship. And he was patient, oh so patient. You wanted to see all these sides to him that you've never seen before. It was like discovering the hidden door of a secret Eden.

You closed your eyes. You knew that he wouldn't hurt your feelings. You trusted him. You wanted this. You wanted to break the spell that got you dreaming of what you were denied.

You nodded and his smile widened ; Here you were falling, finally.

“I didn't expect anything less from you. What a brave girl you are. I was waiting for you to bring this up. Took you quite a long time.”

He twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers, pressing his hot lips on your forehead. Your breath stopped for a second, eyes closed tightly. You weren't used to this tension, your heart was beating uncomfortably fast.

Where did the prude Sabo that you always imagined go? He was acting normal a few moments ago, and now this? This was definitely more, or at least different than whatever you would have expected.

Your cheeks warmed up at his praise, you were just like a little girl that was given a piece of candy. But you wanted way more.

“Now that I think of it… you haven’t been really good, have you? You said things that you shouldn't have. You’ve tested my patience quite a bit the other day, baby.”

It sounded so natural, the way he called you baby, as if he had always done it. It surprisingly took you not even two seconds to adjust to this new Sabo that you saw. In hindsight, you think you might’ve longed for this Sabo, one who is so open and expressive with you.

“Huh ? What are you on 'bout ? I still stand by my position…”

Saying this was a bad idea.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, it's true, I've never seen you with a girl before. Wouldn't be surprised if you were a virgin. But it's okay, I don't mind… well… teaching you…”

You looked away. It felt a bit off, as if you were playing a role but you were very much into it. There had always been that bratty side to you that he loved so much. He smirked, rolling his eyes. Always with the tough talk huh? He thought.

Smiling knowingly, he reached out for your face. He gently gripped your chin between two fingers, brushing his thumb over your lower lip as he said,

“Looks like you need a good lesson.” He shoved two gloved fingers into your mouth, taking you by surprise and making you instantly back off a bit.

“Hmm. Let's put this dirty mouth of yours to better use.”

He took his fingers out of your mouth, leaving a leathery aftertaste on your tongue. His arm encircled your waist and he held you up effortlessly, securing you against his lap. As you were just wearing a dress, you could feel him getting hard through your panties and you couldn't help but tighten your thighs at this feeling, getting instantly turned on. When did you start wanting him this much?

The corner of his lips curled up as he saw you already getting eager from a simple touch. His arm held your hips in place so you didn’t move around.

He replaced his fingers with his lips, kissing you hungrily. It was nothing like that drunken kiss that you both shared the other night. His tongue got you feeling butterflies in your stomach, heart pounding so hard as you pressed your chest against his, seeking his warmth.

You were going have sex with your best friend and he had a huge dick and he was nothing close to the vanilla prude guy that you expected him to be. You were thrilled. Everything happened so fast. You never realized that you were so desperate for his touch.

You tangled your fingers into his blond locks, moaning into the kiss. You pulled away, cheeks ablaze, impressed by his skills.

“You're a good kisser…”

“Look at you getting all worked up by a kiss...Tell me, who's the virgin here, huh?”

You blushed at his remark and looked away. Cute, he thought to himself.

But it wasn't enough. Not yet. With a sense of urgency, you kissed him again as if it was your last chance to taste his lips. His pace was slower, he wanted to take his time to enjoy this moment while you wanted to rush it up and go to the next step. Breathless, you pull away, hesitant and curious.

“Sabo, do you… Do you like me?”

“I do.” He put his forehead against yours, making you  look deeply into his eyes. The look he was giving you seemed unfamiliar, making you feel intimidated. How did he hide his feelings so well and why did he say them now?If he said he liked me before, would it have been differentWhat changed within him, to make him act like this and most importantly, what changed within you to make you need him so badly? You dipped in for a kiss, trying to get a grasp on your feelings. It didn't feel weird, it felt good, as if you had wanted it for so long.

“Sabo,” you stuttered. He loved the way your voice cracked, how hesitant you were, how your cheekiness disappeared, leaving behind only your conflicted emotions. “I thought about what you said last time and...I...I think I want to. Now.” You emphasised on the last word, goading him into agreeing.

A victorious smile danced on his lips.

“You think?”

He smirked and lifted your chin up so you could look right into his eyes. You couldn't help but close the gap between the two of you, shamelessly rocking on his thighs to get some friction. You kept thinking about the words he had said when you were drunk, you really wanted him. Yes, maybe it was just lust. Maybe it was just a strong desire to sabotage the most precious thing that you had. But for now, you needed his warmth. He pulled back, making you groan in displeasure like a cat in heat. He smiled, his lips barely grazing yours and added,

“You're not ready yet, kitten.”

The look of disappointment on your face said it all. You couldn't believe he turned you down. Once again. You were so adorable, for a moment he thought that he would just snap and take you right there.

“What do you mean ‘I'm not ready yet’ ?! I just said I was. I want you too. That's what I said. I'm sober now, I'll recall how good you are.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

He smiles, and you would’ve given years off your life just to punch him. You could swear you still felt him hard against you and he was acting so composed. You didn't want to let him go.

You were scared that if you did, he would disappear into dust. You felt so desperate, so humiliated.Dying for his attention and heartbroken from past experiences.

“I have to go now.” He lifts you up with ease, placing you on the bed again. He then put his coat on. You looked at him leave with puppy eyes and for a second he hesitated. He was tempted to change his mind. But he had waited for so long and he couldn't afford to ruin everything now. Not when you were so close, so ready and eager to take him.

“Don't go.” You pleaded.

“And who will feed Ace?” He says with a smile.

“I don't care. Don't go…” You got up and hugged him from behind, tightly, letting your mask fall. His departure and abrupt ending of the tense situation he had placed you in, his act so nonchalant, had awakened some insecurity within you.It was driving you insane.

You were confused.

His heart melted at your sweetness. He remembered the reason behind his love for you. You were so fragile, so honest.

“I really have to go, princess.” How could he say such things so easily? “But I promise that I will make up for it next time.”

---

Tag list : @vemuabhi @chloe-abbacchio @mwls-garden @soanywaysistartedsimping @portgaslari @lofi-coffee If you wanna get tagged just ask for it :)

[theresthesnitch]

As long as you love me

A/N: Another entry for @harryandginuary Bingo.

This is definitely not what this prompt was trying to get us to write, but I started typing and... Well, you'll see. I'm also dying to hear your thoughts on this, so leave me a comment, send me a message, write an angry post.

Read it (and comment and kudos!) here on AO3

Prompt: O 68. You invited me to your brother’s/sister’s wedding as a plus one because we’re hella best friends but we end up making out at the afterparty and now everyone thinks we’re together so ...you want to go out for a drink sometime? Try this whole couple thing out?

***

“Harry, would you like to dance?”

Harry looked up at Ginny from his reclined position in the chair next to her brothers, and she saw the shadow of pain cross his face before he broke out in a bright smile again. She didn’t think George or Charlie noticed, even sitting a few feet away from him. He was a much better actor than she had expected him to be, all things considered.

Harry took her hand, and she turned and led him out onto the dance floor. Facing him, Ginny placed her hand on his shoulder, and, still clutching her other hand, Harry hesitantly touched her waist. As they started to move together, Ginny thought that her family and all the guests around them would only see what they wanted - the two of them so in love and dancing the night away. Ginny ducked her head and closed her eyes, avoiding seeing the smile on her mother’s face or the whispers that passed between Angelina and Fleur. It was too hard when her heart lay broken in her chest.

What they did not know, could not know, was that this was the first time she had been close to Harry in nearly two months.

“It’s a wonderful wedding,” she said, trying to do something to break the tension between them. “Hermione’s dress is just beautiful.”

“It is. She’s always been beautiful.” It didn’t sound like Harry was talking about Hermione at that moment. His voice was hard, though when she looked at his face, there was no trace of it. He wore the mask well.

“They seem really happy.” Her voice was quiet now, the questions and the uncertainty that still lingered between them seeping into her words.

They were quiet for a long time, moving slowly, smiles plastered on their faces to keep up the charade. The last two months hung between them, the proverbial hippogriff in the room. Two months since they had broken up, torn apart by competing work schedules that kept them from seeing each other more than a night every few weeks. Neither one of them had fallen out of love, but neither wanted to commit to a relationship where they were more alone than they were together.

They had decided to keep it a secret for now, so close to Ron and Hermione’s wedding that it seemed unfair to spoil the mood. Perhaps it was just further proof of how much it wasn’t working between them that no one had even noticed. Not seeing each other in those two months, dodging questions when pressed by family, had been easier than the last several months of their relationship.

Even still, Ginny’s heart yearned to pull Harry closer, kiss him and claim him again. She loved him - she had always loved him and loved him still. It was intrinsically unfair that, after all they had been through during the war and since, they couldn’t make it work. Love simply wasn’t enough.

“I’ve been asked three times tonight when I’m going to propose to you.” Harry’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “It probably would be more, except Bill and Charlie were there when George sprung it on me.”

Ginny swallowed hard past a lump in her throat. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Harry responded with a sad lift to his voice. “I winked and smiled in what I hope was a mysterious and misleading way.”

“I’m sure it was fine. No one seems to realize.” She swallowed again, and looked away over Harry’s shoulder, where she caught the watery look on her mother’s face as she watched the two of them dance. “While we were all getting ready, mum and Hermione kept making sly comments about what my dress would look like and how my hair would look on my wedding day. I kept trying to refocus on Hermione and her dress, but Hermione said it helped distract her from her nerves.”

“We have to tell them. We can’t keep hiding this.”

“I know.” Ginny laid her head on Harry’s shoulder, hoping the gesture looked intimate rather than as desperate as she felt. “But not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” Harry agreed. His hand slipped from the spot it held lightly on her waist around to the small of her back, and he drew her in closer to him. She did not pull away.

They continued dancing, even after the song ended. A new song started up and neither one of them made any move to break apart. The slow swaying and the close press of their bodies allowed Ginny to almost forget the deep pit of sadness inside her belly.

It was hard, when your reasons to be apart were not that you wanted to be but that you simply could not be otherwise. They avoided breaking things off for months, in spite of the fact that they both saw the problem, but there just hadn’t been time for them to really connect. Either Ginny was traveling with the Harpies or Harry was squirreled away with the Aurors hunting some leftover Death Eater faction. They so often couldn’t even write letters because an owl would give away Harry’s position.

Eventually, they were getting updates on each other from the rest of the Weasleys on their forever alternating weekends back home, or little messages left in their kitchen, and they would go weeks without seeing each other in more than passing. It was not conducive to a healthy relationship, as much as they both wanted it to work.

There was no massive fight. They didn’t hurl hateful comments at each other. They didn’t shout or yell or scream. There was only the final vocalizations that this wasn’t working anymore, and the quiet negotiation of how to split their shared lives. They agreed to keep it quiet until after the wedding, and Ginny decided to stay at her room in Harpies’ headquarters until then. In the space of a twenty minute conversation, they were done.

Ginny chanced a glance up to Harry, and found him intently looking back at her. His green eyes were shimmering, and though he looked happy and at peace, she knew him too well to miss the storm behind his eyes. She reached up and placed a hand on his face, cupping his jaw and running her finger over his cheek. He leaned into her hand slightly, closing his eyes and accepting the small touch. Without thinking, she stretched up on her toes and placed her lips on his in a soft, chaste kiss.

A heartbeat after their lips met, she felt Harry freeze against her, and she realized what she had done. They may have put on a brave and loving facade for her family, but they had a silent agreement against such intimate gestures. It was too hard, and too easy, to slip up.

She started to pull away, already crafting an excuse or an apology in her head, when Harry began moving again and kissed her back. He moved quickly, with a heat to his kiss that Ginny recognized and met in kind. It was quickly becoming the kind of kiss that would no longer be appropriate in public - on the dance floor, in front of her family - but Ginny didn’t care. Harry was kissing her again, and she was kissing him in return. It didn’t even matter that they had broken up -

Ginny broke the kiss suddenly. They had broken up. They didn’t get to kiss like this anymore. They didn’t get to kiss anymore.

“Sorry,” she muttered, pressing her face to his shoulder. Harry didn’t respond.

They danced the rest of the song, and when it ended, Harry stepped away, gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She watched him walk to the edge of the dance floor, clapping Ron on the back and throwing a smile at Hermione as he walked by the spot they were dancing. It was lucky that they were so wrapped up in one another, Ginny thought, because there was no way otherwise that Hermione would miss the look on Harry’s face. He slipped out the door of the marquee and disappeared into the night.

Ginny wandered over by the drink table, grabbing another as she casually circumnavigated her way around the room and out the same door Harry just left through. She didn’t see him immediately outside, but followed part instinct and part inane understanding of Harry toward the makeshift quidditch pitch. As she walked through the row of trees, she found him pacing furiously back and forth. He glanced up when she walked in, but did not slow his steps. She leaned back against a tree, waiting for him to speak.

“You can’t kiss me.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“I mean it. We aren’t together anymore, and that means that you don’t get to kiss me.”

“I know, Harry.”

“Do you? Because we just kissed in front of your whole family, and we’re about to go tell them that we are over, and you’ve got a lot of angry brothers that are going to hold that kiss against me.”

“I’ll tell them that it was me.”

“It won’t matter.” Harry was still pacing, speaking as fast as his feet were moving. “It won’t matter because I kissed you and they’re all going to wonder why we were kissing like that if we aren’t together. They would be right, too, because why are we broken up when kissing you feels like that? I thought I knew, but then you kissed me, and Ginny, I don’t know which way is up anymore.”

Suddenly, he was standing in front of her, his feet staggered between hers, their legs pressed together, and his hands were on either side of her face, tangled in her hair, drawing her up until her lips were a breath away from his. His piercing green eyes were fixed on hers, and she couldn’t look away.

He spoke softly now, so quiet that she stilled her breathing to hear him even though he was only a bit away. “I know that we broke up, and we are here just as friends and to keep this farce up for your family, but then you kissed me like that and…” He trailed off, and his eyes flicked down to her lips again. “Tell me why we can’t try again. We can make a go of this again. We can try harder. We can do it.”

“Harry,” she breathed out his name on a sigh, and wrapped her hands around his wrists. “It’s not that I don’t love you or don’t want to do this. But we tried, and it didn’t work. That kiss in there doesn’t change the fact that our schedules don’t work. We never see each other, and I can’t be in a relationship with only the memory of you.”

Harry’s eyes closed, as though not seeing her would stop her argument from being true. “Then we make a change.”

“What change, Harry?” she asked. “Am I supposed to quit being a Harpy? Are you going to quit being an Auror? We’ve chosen these paths, or they’ve chosen us, and they just don’t work together.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Maybe you will what?”

“Quit. I could quit.”

“Harry…”

“No, really, I could. I don’t need the money. I don’t need to do this job. I put in my time hunting Voldemort. I could quit.”

She pulled his hands from her face, and kissed the inside of his wrists before dropping their hands between them. “You don’t want to do that.”

“Maybe I do.”

“No, Harry, and I wouldn’t let you.” Ginny looked up into his eyes again. “You love what you do. You wouldn’t be happy if you quit, and I don’t want to be the reason you aren’t happy.”

“You are the reason right now.”

Ginny closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his. “I know, but it will get better. I can’t let you change who you are for me.”

“Even if I want to?”

“If I did, you would regret it. Maybe not immediately, but you would resent me, eventually.”

He didn’t respond. For a moment, they stood together, heads pressed together and hands linked between them. It felt like goodbye, though neither one of them dared say it. If they didn’t say it, there was still a chance, a hope, that maybe it wasn’t goodbye forever.

Ginny felt herself pull away, and before she could see whatever silent message his eyes were sending her way, she turned around and walked away.

[wisehq]

Mission Debrief: Chapter 43

...IT’S HAPPENING! IT’S HAPPENING! IT’S HAPPENING-!

Alright, before we get into it- full disclosure; the hivemind is in full swing at the Operation Strix discord server, so pretty much anything I write here is going to be an amalgamation of all the conspiracy theories and reactions we vomited out as soon as the chapter dropped. On that same note, I think writing these the day after will start to be the norm. Just so I have the chance to calm myself before going on a twenty-page tangent about everything Endo may or may not be planning.

Okay [deep breath] let’s get into it.

First, let’s start off with Franky, before we get into the juicy stuff.

When the chapter first started, I thought we were going to get backstory on Franky. Endo seemed to be alluding to this on his twitter page, and I was actually interested in possibly seeing more about his and Twilight’s relationship. Of course that didn’t end up happening; instead we got another side story about Franky trying to get some action by finding a lady’s lost cat, but seeing as how it’s Franky we’re talking about it seemed appropriate. Also, how can I be upset when-

The princess herself arrives! I gotta say, I loved the lightheartedness of most of this chapter. Yor’s always a delight, and pairing her together with Franky was a smart move on Endo’s part. They built off each other’s wackiness and I love this moment with the two of them. Just like with Twilight, we see that Franky genuinely wants to make the world a better place (and also get rich along the way) and Yor’s so impressed with him. I also liked that moment where Franky is surprised to find Yor still playing Loid’s wife even when he isn’t there- much like how he was with Anya while he was babysitting her. Just another little nod to the fact that he sees the Forger girls as being more than players in a game of elaborate house.

Then- just a quick thing before we get into what I know we all want to talk about- it’s interesting to me that Franky isn’t a one-man operation. He has a whole network of informants that he works with, and it makes sense that someone in his line of work has a many ears on the wall as possible. It’s a surefire way to stay plugged into the goings-on of the Ostanian underworld, unless of course...

...They get taken out by Garden.

AGHGHGHGHGH ALRIGHT, OK LET’S GO-

Garden. We finally have a name for Yor’s group now; we thought it was The Shop for the longest time, but apparently that’s only part of it. Yor alluded to this briefly back in ch. 29 when she described The Shop was being in charge of information gathering, and once their job was done it was Yor’s turn to come in and do the actual assassination. In this sense we see The Shop was being more of a support role in the same way that Franky is, though it’s still safe to assume the Shopkeeper is still in charge of both The Shop and Garden. At least for now- until we get more information to say otherwise, anyway.

Of course, the interesting thing is our silhouetted figures standing in this panel- not to mention the fact that Franky states that all the members are capable of taking on a whole troop of soldiers (for reference, a troop ranges between 9 and 100 men, though it usually hovers around 50). We know Yor is capable of doing this, but now that we also know the other assassins of Garden are as well, it begs the question; is Yor’s strength truly a unique thing in this world? And if it isn’t, what could be the source of it?

OSO-R, the drug used during the Tennis arc, was described as being in its trial stages. I originally chalked up it’s fast development time as just being part of manga logic, although I’m now starting to question that theory. It’s possible the roadmap for OSO-R has been around for much longer than first thought, and may find its traces back to when the war had just ended. Loid describes Garden as having been around for some time. We also know that Yor was just a child when she started up her assassination gig, so it’s possible that she and others like her may be have been exposed to a serum similar to OSO-R a decade or so before. Given Ostania’s track record of human experimentation, the scenario is possible.

Also going back to what Franky describes as “the shadow government”; it’s interesting that we’re hearing rumblings of a government operating outside the public’s view literally one chapter after we were just introduced to the concept of a royal class at some point in Ostania’s past. There’s a lot of things that cab be construed from this (such as Garden serving an authority that doesn’t necessarily align with Donovan and the government) but listing everything would just turn this review into one long-winded mess. So instead, we’re gonna entertain a fun theory- one that may or may not be true, but if it *does* end up being confirmed later on down that road, you heard it here first.

*ahem*

Mr. Green is a part of Garden.

Allow me to state my case.

When ch. 39 came out, I found it very unusual that a brand new character we haven’t seen before got a majority of the panel-time alongside Damian and the boys. It wasn’t very suspicious at the time, given that we’d just been introduced to Becky’s maid Martha, so we all just assumed Endo was building up his side characters a bit. For all intents and purposes, that may very well be the case.

However.

I know one person in particular who latched onto this panel right here, and for good reason; why would a security guard stationed at a school nowhere close to the border know about code words being used by people trying to cross over illegally? Yes, he was supposedly in the navy, but the way he phrases it here heavily implies that these code words are a recent affair, or at the very least are still being used currently. Why would he know that? Even if he was in the military, it’s information that has absolutely nothing to do with being in the navy.

Mr. Green is also very strong; strong enough to make the boys think they were going down rapids when in actuality it was just him rowing so fast. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever paddled a boat before, but it’s hard work- and it’s certainly difficult to the get that boat going at cruising speed, let alone fast enough to cause rapids. Yor’s the only one we’ve seen with strength like that and- yes, Green was supposedly in the navy, but at this point in time we don’t know anything else about him. We don’t know what he did after the war, nor do we know how he wound up in Eden Academy in the first place.

This is where we start going deep down the rabbit hole. Hang on.

This gentleman who we’ve never seen before is clearly aware that Garden exists, or at the very least is privy to Yor’s actual job. Much like how WISE has plants within Loid’s hospital, this man likely works to support Yor in some way. If such is the case, we can likely assume that- because the shadow government is supporting Garden- they would have their assassins posted in key areas for various reasons, likely to keep an eye out for traitors or to keep them spread out to cover a wide area should the need ever arise to deploy them.

We’ve only ever see Yor target traitorous politicians and outright terrorists (I realize this one is just a daydream, but you get my point). It would make sense, seeing as how she works at city hall and it would likely put her in an advantageous position when hunting them down. Of course, politicians aren’t the only people who might catch Garden’s attention. Given the amount of political and economic unrest that is currently going on in the country, there likely would be some people who would be fed up with the state of things. Such people may not be like Franklin Perkin- someone who would take direct action against the government- but instead would rather try to steer others towards a mindset that stands in opposition to Ostania. Such a person may try to target more impressionable people- people who are likely to listen and learn from an authority figure in their lives. People like...small children.

Eden students.

Garden. Eden. I see what you’re doing there, Endo.

Traitorous professors? Renegade academics? It would make sense to have a Garden assassin stationed at the most prestigious school in the country; the amount of information and contacts that are positioned around there are second to none, and what better way to suppress insurrection than at the source, at the very foundations of knowledge itself? Also, for kicks and giggles, let’s not forget that the name Mr. Green certainly fits with the plant motif Endo is going for with his assassin group (Garden. Thorn Princess. Briar. You catch my drift?)

Am I grasping at straws? Probably lol. I’d also like to reiterate that this is in no way all my thinking- a lot of crazy people put their brains together for this one, good or bad. But hey, it’s about all we can do until the next chapter! And at the very least, it’s a lot of fun to wonder what-if!

Also, BONUS

...She’s coming.

[kashimos-hajime]

slipping away | b.b.

summary: and now, he’s not your bucky anymore.

WARNINGS: ANGST, hospital talk, swearing, vomitting,  pairing: amnesiac modern!bucky x gender neutral!reader word count: 5.3k

a/n: a small study on a long-term relationship and the strains and disagreements that come into it. it’s been a hot sec since i’ve posted any marvel stuff. still tryna get back into writing for bucky, but this is written for @mushyjellybeans​​. prompt is bolded :)

“I don’t think this is something we should be arguing about,” you mutter, throwing your phone down into the car’s cupholder as Bucky’s grip on the wheel only intensifies. You slide hands over your thighs, stretching your legs against the red carpet of his newly refurbished Mustang. If there’s one thing you haven’t argued about yet, it’s the renovated ‘87 Mustang Bucky’s done over with his father, not completely done yet, but still, it looks hell of a lot better than it did before. “It shouldn’t have been made an issue tonight, of all nights.”

“You wanted to make it an issue.”

“Because all you ever want to do is fight!”

“I don’t want to fight!” he exclaims, his voice still barely containing itself and you cross your arms, slinking into your seat as you toss him a glare. “I just asked if you could see yourself even considering marrying me, and you said no.”

“Because you said I could take my time with this decision,” you snap, eyes darting from his face to the tense paleness in his knuckles. The car is thrumming beneath your thighs, purring down the highway and you shift your gaze to the window. He always drives fast when he gets pissed. “Put your fucking seatbelt on. You always get so reckless when things don’t go your way.”

The barb is meant to dig in deep, and it does because he doesn’t put the seatbelt on to spite you.

“Bucky, seriously. Put the fucking seatbelt on,” you growl, head snapping to him again. He ignores you, and you sigh incredulously, planting your chin in your palm and glowering out into the night. “Fucker.”

He’s shutting you out. He’s shutting you out, and not listening, and you’re about to throw yourself out of this car if you don’t roll down the window.

So you do and as they travel over a speedbump coming off the highway. It’s green lights ahead, and you hope the twenty minute drive to his parents’ house is enough to let things cool off a titch, but you know it’ll only crop up because his mom will ask when Bucky’ll propose and—

Fuck. They’ll have to talk about it at home later tonight.

Bucky switches on a playlist on his phone to fill the uncomfortable silence and you think this is the kind of choice you don’t make when you’re eighteen. You never thought you might break up with Bucky because of the thought of marriage. When you were eighteen, you thought it would be something like cheating, or university, or some other factor that would force you apart.

But no, it’s marriage. A union.

Ironic, that is.

You bypass the first green light easily and in the distance, you can see the next. Leaning your head against the side of the car, you rest your arm along the window sill and just let the wind whip at your face, numb it until when you breathe, your lungs seem to freeze. The wind softens when they approach the intersection and Bucky slows down just enough to scan the road before heading forward to the next one. There are side streets feeding into the main road but there aren’t many cars. Not a lot of people drive in the suburbs on a Sunday night, and it’s been an easy drive otherwise. As they head for the last intersection between them and Bucky’s parent’s house, you spot the green light and feel Bucky speed up.

He’s eager to get out of this suffocating car, too. An uneasiness curls up in the pit of your stomach as you hear another car’s engine growling into the quiet night. Straightening up, you look around and spot no car in their direction coming close to the speed Bucky’s going. He’s pushing the speed limit, his hand fidgeting with the seatbelt as it tries to slot into the buckle and you reach forward with your closest hand and help it slot into place.

You don’t miss the way his lip twitches in thanks and you merely turn your head back to the road, watching with an empty mind, letting his music wash through you as the growling of that speeding engine somewhere down the street grows louder. You’re about to ask Bucky if he hears that when a car speeds through a red light from a side road.

“Bucky, stop!” The words are torn out of your throat as you throw your hands out in front of you.

His foot slamming the brakes, the harsh whine of the tires burning against asphalt rings in your ears before a sickening crunch sends you forward. Glass cracks, something thuds, and the last thing you know is blood slowly dripping your face, something smoking in the distance and the screams of someone before everything goes black.

.

The lights are bright and blurry as you let out a muffled groan.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got you.”

Your face is splitting pain and you groan, trying to turn your head but you’re frozen in place. Something’s wrapped tight around your neck, keeping you in place as someone shines a light into your eyes. Lungs seizing, you let out a choked cough, back arching off the bed as you try to raise your arm to the plastic mask digging into your cheeks. Something is prodding your stomach, something runs along your legs—there’s too much all at once and you try to shift away from whatever keeps touching you, but hands take you, keep you still.

“Try to stay still. I know it hurts, but you’re safe now.”

“Bucky.” His name slips past your lips, throat burning, but there’s no response. There are voices buzzing at the edge of your hearing and you blink, trying to clear your vision. Your head is spinning and you try to raise your hand weakly. Fingers take you by the wrist, gently ushering your arm back down to the bed. “Bucky.” Eyes slipping shut, your mind plays the crash over and over again. You’re nothing but a bystander.

Where are you, Bucky?

“We’re losing ‘em. Give me the paddles.”

Are you still here?

“Clear!”

Please. Stay for me.

.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“How’re you feeling, Y/N? C’mon, stay with us.”

Who? Steve, is that you?

“Bucky had to have brain surgery, Y/N. They said… they said it went well but they won’t know how well it really went until he wakes up.”

He’s alive? Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you, thank you—

“But he’s getting stronger. He hasn’t woken up yet, but they think he’s getting stronger. Nat and Sam are sitting with him, now. We’re taking shifts to make sure the two of you aren’t alone.”

That’s nice of you, Steve. Thanks for being here.

“Oh, God, hey.”

Yeah?

“Hey, can you hear me?”

Loud and clear, Captain.

“Hey, nurse! I think they’re waking up!”

Eyes opening, you squint at the warm lamplight in the darkness of the room. Your throat is burning and your stomach is twisted, nausea swimming behind your eyeballs as your eyes flutter shut again. There’s something digging into your skull, your abdomen sore, and your whole body is wracked with an exhaustion that barely allows you to move. It’s a slow, dull ache all over you, pressing you deeper into the bed.

“How’re you feeling, Y/N?” one of the nurses asks quietly and you groan, voice cracking.

“I’m thirsty.” As they slowly raise you into a half-sitting position, your eyes barely open and you spot a shape in the corner. “Steve?” The shape moves closer and you spot golden hair gleaming in the lamplight and you laugh despite how much it aches in your chest. “Thought it was you.”

“Hey. How’re you feeling, huh?” Something nudges at your lips and you part your lips just enough for a straw to slip in. Sucking down water like you need air, you let out a silent groan. The water pushes down like a thick block of ice down a swollen throat as you manage to keep it down. “Feeling like turning away from the light?”

“Feel like I got run over by a truck,” you mutter, head sinking into the pillow and Steve’s relieved laugh soothes the ache between your temples. “Where is he?” Blinking, you see Steve’s face clear before you and his lips press together. His eyes are red-rimmed and his face looks a bit too splotchy, but you don’t point it out because it’s Steve and you love him. Your best friend’s trying to be strong as he tries to find a gentle way to put it.

“He’s asleep right now.” Asleep, you repeat dully in your head as Steve sits down by your bedside. “When you’re stronger, we’ll go see him, alright?”

“Okay.”

.

Bucky looks like he’s dead.

It’s the one thing you can’t help as you push yourself to his glass door. He’s inside, awake and talking to your friends inside and there’s a thickness to the air as he sits up straighter. Your whole body is still aching with a pounding in your stomach as you pause at the edge of the glass, frowning when Steve says something that makes Bucky shake his head.

It’s been only a day since the crash and you’ve just gotten strong enough to get up into a wheelchair, and although you’d insisted on wheeling yourself to his room, your nurse still stands a few feet away as you watch Natasha reach out a hand towards Bucky but he slaps it away, running his hands ragged over the bandages wrapped around his skull. Like he wants to pick himself apart because he’s missing something and you know.

Somehow you just know because there’s an emptiness in his gaze that spears right through you.

Tears already begin to bite at your eyes, and you open your mouth but not a sound comes out. He’s paler than a ghost and his expression is one of blank agony. He’s scrambling for something to hold onto and you think you can hear Steve beg, a quiet, trembling thing that frightens you because Steve doesn’t beg.

“So you remember nothing?”

“Nothing.”

The silence that follows hollows you. You turn to the nurse, you think her name is Linda, and silently ask her to take you away.

It takes a long time for someone to come find you. Blinds pulled closed, door shut, your room is drenched in darkness beside the lamp on your nightstand. You feel numb everywhere, but your heart is in pieces in your hands as you shove food down your ungrateful throat. Every bite feels like another bone broken and you stare blankly at the wall ahead of you.

“Bucky, stop!”

If you’d just been quicker—

“Y/N? Can I come in?” Blinking, you swallow the thick pudding, feel it stick to your throat as you let out a hoarse ‘yes’. Sam enters the room, eyes scanning the area and soaking in the bleak aura that is your recovery room. You set down the pudding on the tray beside your untouched lunch and blink again, turning your gaze away dismissively.

“What?”

“Bucky’s awake,” Sam says, closing the door behind him. You can see two other shapes outside your room as you cross your arms over your chest and lean back into your bed that’s frozen in it’s sitting position. You don’t want to look at him—have to look at him and watch his mouth form the words that’ll destroy you. “Doctors give him a clean bill of health. He’s going to have to come in for PT and checkups, but otherwise, he’s good beside a few deficits.”

“Yeah?” You feel sick, feverish. You feel like your stitches are splitting open with every second Sam doesn’t tell you the truth you know is bottled up inside him. “Anything else?”

“He doesn’t remember who you are.” But he knows you, you assume bitterly in your head and you finally look at Sam. He’s staring at you with something you might think it's pitiful and it disgusts you because you don’t want to be pitied. You don’t want anything except Bucky and you can’t have him.  “He doesn’t remember anything after graduating high school, so… that’s seven years he doesn’t remember.”

Seven years.

Seven years of his life gone like smoke.

“Anything else?” you grit out between clenched teeth. Sam’s eyebrows rise but you merely set your jaw and meet that incredulous gaze of his.

“They don’t know whether or not it’s going to go away, they don’t know why it’s that time span, but it just is. They say maybe the amnesia will go away but it's a chance, and he has to regain his strength. So he’s going to have to go through a lot of therapy. It’ll help if he has a support system, you know?”

“Okay.”

You don’t mean to sound cold, but you do, because if you’re anything but, you will shatter. You know Sam wants you to jump at the chance, jump out of your bed and run up to see Bucky. You think Sam might hope that the instant he sees you, all of it will come back like something out a fucking fairytale but this isn’t a fairytale.

You’re not enough to bring him back. You’re not a miracle worker.

Tears are clotting in your throat and it’s becoming hard to breathe when you add, “Is there anything else, Sam?” He’s clearly taken aback but you can’t bring yourself to care about Sam in this moment as you grab your banana pudding again and swirl your spoon within just to make yourself look busy. You look from the yellow goop to him, a smile pulling strangely into your cheeks.

His eyes flitter from your untouched meal to your face, and he shakes his head.

“Let us know if you wanna see him, I guess,” he murmurs and you keep that tight smile on your face until he leaves. When the door clicks shut, you toss the pudding back onto your tray, grab the plastic receptacle the nurse left on your nightstand, and throw up everything.

Water, pudding, breakfast, it burns its way up your throat as you try to keep yourself quiet. You can hear your friends talking outside. Struggling to keep yourself quiet, you choke, spitting saliva out of your mouth as you grab the water from your food tray, swishing it in your mouth and falling back into the bed.

Your whole body clenches as you spit out the water and rinse your mouth again. Every movement is an aching thing as you set the receptacle down on your nightstand and close your eyes.

Your wait until you’re sure your friends are gone before you break.

You fall apart slowly, like pieces of you peeling away until you’re nothing more than your broken heart. The sobs that wrack your body are relentless and you shove your forearm into your mouth to muffle your cries. You want to bite into your skin. You want to distract yourself from the agony tearing you to shreds. You want to feel anything but the pain.

Tears sweep into your hair, cloud your vision and your whole face floods with heat as you try to breathe through the pain. You’re cleaved into pieces on that bed, eyes squeezed shut as the tears keep flowing, and your throat burns.

Shoulders shaking, you suck in gasping breaths as your hand crawls over your face, smearing tears across your cheeks, fingers digging into your skin. You’re suffocating and behind closed eyes all you can see is your Bucky, launched through the windshield. Your Bucky, bleeding as you reach for him but you can’t. Your Bucky, left behind on the scene because they extracted you first and you’re screaming, screaming for him to be alive, and then it’s your Bucky, smiling and laughing and whispering confessions, and he’s crying and then he’s sick with the flu and he’s finished his bachelor’s, and he has flour on his cheek, and—

And then it’s your Bucky, shouting, begging, your Bucky with his back turned, your Bucky frowning and there are new lines in his face, and new questions that never would’ve cropped up, and it’s your fault, your fault, your fault; damaged, damaged, damaged.

Your Bucky slipping away between your fingers.

And now, he’s not your Bucky anymore.

Your fault, your fault, your fault, a voice you can’t shut up in your head chants quietly.

You’re inclined to agree.

.

You sit in the cafeteria, watching as lunch hour draws to its close. You’re nothing but cracked glass slapped together with duct tape and it’s beginning to peel.

It’s only been a day since your world has fallen apart around you and you haven’t spoken to anyone. There’s nothing to say.

Natasha pokes half-heartedly at what’s left of her salad beside you as you stare blankly at the napkin holder. Your own lunch tray is empty because you’ve forced it down your own throat, but every bite had been bland—nothing but a soft mush in your mouth.

“Y/N,” your best friend begins, and your eyes drag dismissively towards her. Her blue eyes are soft, eyebrows drawn together as she sighs. “Don’t you think you should at least see him?”

“Why? He doesn’t even know who I am,” you mutter, dragging your arms towards yourself and crossing your arms over your chest. A heaviness pulls at your shoulders. “Maybe it’s better that way.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Natasha scolds. “Don’t ever say that.”

“Why? It’s not a secret we were basically on the brink of breaking up and it’s not like you’ve told him who I was. Told him that I even existed,” you spit coldly, sinking in your chair, Your gaze drifts off to the little fake plant decorating the cafeteria table and you think, How lucky you are to be forever. “You know, at least this way, he doesn’t get hurt.”

“Except he is hurting,” she says. “His life has been wiped clean and he has no idea what to do next.”

“Get better. Move on.” The words crawl out of your mouth, torturous, and Natasha shakes her head, frustrated, but you don’t care. You’re sick of feeling like this, but you can’t help it. You can’t help feeling half-dead and exhausted and the need to look over your shoulder constantly has become second nature because you don’t want to see the man you love as nothing more than a ghost. “What do you want me to say, Nat? He wasted seven years on me and I couldn’t even say yes to marrying him. I couldn’t give him the one thing he really wanted and he gave me everything.”

“That’s not what matters. What matters is that he loves you and just because he doesn’t remember, it doesn’t mean it’s not real. He knows you’re out there. He knows he loved someone because Bucky has so much love to give, you know that.”

“He was going to leave, Nat,” you tell her quietly. The words drag against your throat like a cigarette against skin and it burns so much you have to close your eyes against the pain. “I know it. He was done.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“He was.” You never needed eyes to see it. You know him in a way no one else does. You know that every time he looked at you, he wanted the future, and it was something he couldn’t pry out of you. “He had one foot out the door last night, so it’s a fucking blessing he doesn’t remember.”

“But you miss him.”

The words ring you hollow.

“Of course I fucking miss him. What kind of question is that?” you ask with half a forced laugh and your chest aches so much you think it might burst. “What kind of question is that?” you repeat, softer, and the laughter is gone because you want to melt away. You’ve missed Bucky for ages.

“Then, maybe you should fight for him. Maybe, you should see this as your second chance,” Nat whispers just as the door opens to the cafeteria and your head jerks up to see Steve push someone in on a wheelchair and she stands immediately. Your eyes find his pale figure before you can help yourself and you chew on the inside of your cheek to keep yourself present.

He’s better, although a bit unsteady, and he’s regained some colour but he’s still pale. He looks sick to his stomach with every second he stays awake. Natasha heads over to take the tray from Steve’s hands and retreats back to your table, setting it down in the space on the other side of you. Once Bucky slides into the empty spot beside you, you barely manage a slight smile before picking up your fork and pretending to be interested in your own lunch.

“This is Y/N,” Natasha says and your lungs spasm when you meet his blue gaze. They’re bright, warm but tired, and you swallow, trying to formulate an appropriate response. How long has it been since Bucky—your Bucky—looked at you like that? “We, uh, we were just chatting while I was waiting for you guys.”

“Hey.”

“I’m James,” he says, textbook because that’s how he meets every new face, and if you think you remember eighteen-year-old James Buchanan Barnes, his next words will be: “But everyone calls me Bucky.”

Like you said, textbook.

You drop your fork and shake his outstretched hand, ignoring how warm he is, and it’s like history is repeating itself.

“Nice to meet you.” You want to smile and the corner of your mouth lifts as Natasha grabs her lunch tray and gets up.

“Sam’s probably waiting for us to get him some coffee. He has a shift starting soon,” she says with a pointed look at you. Steve shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles at Bucky when he sends him an unsure look.

“We’ll be back in a jiff, Buck,” Steve says. “Y/N’ll take fine care of you.”

“Uh, okay.” Bucky’s eyebrows quirk and as your two friends leave, you can’t help the anger licking at your insides. You hate the feeling of his gaze on you so you resort to staring after your traitorous companions. “Sorry about that. I can go, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” you dismiss it quietly, resigning yourself to your fate. It’s not like Bucky can go without someone else’s help and his nurse is chatting to yours in the corner of the cafeteria. You don’t want to bother her.  You’ll yell at your friends later. Right now, you just want to sleep it off. “Natasha’s nice.”

“Yeah, she’s like that once you get to know her,” Bucky returns, digging into his mashed potatoes. You pretend you don’t notice how he lowers his head as much as he can so not too much food is lost on its quivering journey to his mouth. His hand is so visibly unsteady, it aches to watch but you know he won’t want your help. “What are you here for? You look a bit banged up.” His eyes dart to the bruises along your arms and your smile grows at the concern laced behind a curious question.

“Got into a crash.” you say with half a shrug. You’ve grown used to the bruises by now. “Wasn’t too serious for me. Just a bit of a scratch on my liver.”

“Oh, me, too. I had a partial splenectomy” he says. “My brain got the worst of it, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, can’t remember a single thing after eighteen. So, that’s seven years ago?” he says it like he’s desperately trying to remember and your smile flickers. His face is wrought with distress now that their friends are gone, and his lips are pressed into a tight smile. “Glad I still kept with the same people, though.”

“Yeah.” He brings a scoop of mashed potatoes to his mouth and his smile sinks into your gut when he notices you’re not eating. “Are you hungry?” You blink at him, at his offer. He even looks younger without the burden of your time together.

“No, I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you insist before clearing your throat. Your gaze goes from your lap to Bucky just eating and you try to formulate the words you want to say into a coherent sentence. Do you remember even part of who I am? Can you even see me? “Uhm, do you… do you, like, remember a bit of what you’ve lost?” Your eyes widening, you put a hand over your mouth and duck your head. “Oh, that sounds stupid. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Bucky smiles again, easier, as if he’s happy to talk about it, and it’s so startlingly bright your heart flips in your chest. You duck your head and grab the glass of orange juice just so it doesn’t seem like you’re just watching him eat. It’s sweet in your parched mouth. “I get what you mean. Uh, no. It’s like an empty slate,” he says and you don’t know whether or not feeling so fucking relieved makes you a shitty person or not. “I think I know time has passed, but when I try to think of those years, nothing comes up.”

You’re quiet for a long time, letting it sink in. So, he doesn’t remember the bad at all. The pain, the screaming, the empty beds and silent dinners, and you think you could cry from relief and cry from how you’ll never hear him call you dolly again.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes flickering from his food to you, and your shoulders fall at those eyes. You’d fallen in love with those eyes first. They grounded you when your world was toppling—ever so steady, so collected. Now, they’re weary, lost, and you know it’s your turn.

Reaching forward, you lean on your forearm and place your other hand over his wrist. His hand, on instinct, flips over and your hand falls into his so easily. Your skin is burning at the contact as his fingers wrap over your palm.

“I’m sorry,” you utter quietly, choked out and raw, and his eyebrows knit together as they run over your face. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“Uh, it’s okay,” he says with a lilt of his lips. He’s trying so hard to be happy.

“You don’t have to lie.”

The hand holding the spoon tightens, knuckles blanching and you smile softly. That’s your Bucky, trying so hard to keep it in. You scoot your chair closer, not letting go of his hand and he sucks in a harsh breath. You can hear it tremble in his throat as you sit down close enough that your knees touch and you tilt your head to catch his gaze.

This could be a fresh start, a voice in your head whispers. He doesn’t remember the pain you brought him. You could disappear.

“It’s okay. I’m nobody,” you tell him quietly. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” He blinks, lips trembling and pale with how hard he’s attempting to keep the cries in before he drops the utensil in his shaking hand and he brings his palms to his face, hiding himself away as in shame but you only chew on your bottom lip, wrap your arms around him.

He leans into you as if on instinct and you suck in a shuddering breath at his soft weight against you. You’re holding the love of your life. Almost.

Cradling his head against your chest, you let him sob as his shaking body shrinks in your arms. His hands wrap around your arm, fingers like knives digging into your flesh. They’re talons that sink and drag down, falling limpy into his lap, and you let your eyes close, simply using your free hand to brush through his hair.

“It hurts so much,” he whimpers, his hot breath against your arm as he pushes the words out, gulping breaths filling the silence and you feel tears slip down your cheeks. “I can’t… I can’t remember anything. I can’t do anything. I can’t…”

“I know.” You pull your chin back, admiring the mess in your arms and you smile for a moment as he lifts his head up and his gorgeous eyes are glistening with tears. He lowers his head again, drawing back in your arms to wipe at his face with weak, shaking hands and you take the napkin to help him.

You gently wipe his cheeks down and his cheeks are burning to the touch.

He’s blushing.

“God, here I am,” he begins miserably, “sobbing on someone I just met. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The words come out hushed and you smile, running your fingers over his hair again because you know that’s what he likes, and his smile is barely a ghost, but it’s there and that’s all that matters.

“It’s fine. I’m a great shoulder to cry on,” you joke and his smile grows just slightly. “Well, at least it’s better than my first impression on my… ex,” you say, and your throat cinches shut as he arches an eyebrow. You pull your arms back towards you and pick up your fork hesitantly. He nods, eyes focused on you, and you sink the fork into the mashed potatoes, bringing a bite into your mouth.

“How’d you meet them?”

“Uh… at university. First day, freshman mixer or something. I was a bit drunk.” Fresh-faced, doe-eyed Bucky Barnes in a vest and jeans bumping into you. Still a picture perfect moment in your mind where you met eyes with him and didn’t want to be a goner but you were, no matter how much denial was there. “He bumped into me, spilled his drink all over me, and all I could think was, ‘What a handsome guy.’”

“Was he?” His whole face lights up, like he’s genuinely invested in this, and your smile grows, bittersweet as you nod. His smile grows sly and you want to scream. “Better looking than me?”

“I, uh—” You clear your throat— “No. Not better looking than you.”

“So, what’d you say? Or what’d he say?” Bucky asks, sniffing, and you watch as he grabs his spoon again, other hand reaching for the tissue. He blows his nose and you grab some napkins from the napkin holder for him. He dips his head in thanks as you lean against the table.

“Well, he was stumbling through his apology and I just let him finish.” Your body fills with warmth as you remember his embarrassed smile, the way he shoved his baseball cap farther down his head, chin tucked to his chest, trying to hide that face. “When he was done, I opened my mouth to say something polite but what came out was ‘You look like someone I’d very much like to kiss’.”

“And did you?”

“Did I what?” you ask, smiling.

“Kiss him.”

“Yeah.”

He smiles, then, happy for you for a moment before he remembers ‘ex’ and then there’s a silence in the cafeteria.

“Do you love him still?” Bucky asks quietly. His gaze is cast off, some far off corner that you don’t see, and you realize you’re still close to him. Close enough to smell the sickness clinging to his skin, the sweat. He smells like an antiseptic grave of all the memories lost.

“Yeah. I didn’t believe in love until I met him,” you say softly, watching as Bucky raises a trembling spoon to stab at his potatoes. It’s you. It’s you. It’s you. Your heart is screaming, but your mind is a muzzle. “I wish he was here.”

“I wish he was here, too.” He blinks and it’s like he’s back with you again, gaze on yours. “I wish he was here for you. You deserve a shoulder to cry on, too.”

You barely croak out, ‘Thank you’.

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

there for you

summary: your best friend Bowen can’t help but draw some connections between you and your favorite show. 

word count: 2k

warnings: heavy spoilers for New Girl. like, its basically the premise of the fic

note from the writer: here’s a link to a tweet with the scene im talking about in this fic, its from the episode “Oregon” (season 4 ep 16). shoutout to @bqstqnbruin​ for finding it for me

Bowen had long since stopped asking to come over before showing up on your doorstep. Usually, he’d send a ‘are you home?’ text to make sure you were around, before heading to your apartment for whatever reason he had in mind.

The latest text had come in twenty minutes ago, so you knew he was going to show up soon.

Like clockwork, you heard a knock on your front door and Bowen greeting your roommates before your bedroom door opened. He was grinning, wide as ever, and you opened your arms for a hug from your position laying in bed, under the covers and in the middle of a New Girl marathon.

“Scoot over.” Bowen grins, barely giving you enough time to react before dropping on top of you, arms wrapped around your middle and his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You paused the show, not wanting to miss anything despite being on your third rewatch.

You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was beating. If he knew just how much his touch affected you, how many feelings you were harboring from him.

“What’s up?” You asked, pushing away any thoughts about your massive crush on your best friend as you tried to get to the bottom of why he showed up out of the blue. It wasn’t the first time he had done so, but he always had a reason.

“I wanted to see you. Practice was rough.” He mumbled in the crook of your neck. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, how they fell past his lips so easily. Those words made you think that maybe your feelings weren’t so one sided, that there was a chance for you to be even happier than you already were with your best friend.

“You’re going to make me blush.” You teased, downplaying the fact that he really did manage to fluster you. Bowen snorted, squeezing you tightly once more instead of responding to your comment. An easy moment of silence passed, one that wasn’t stifling or awkward and it reminded you once more just how much you enjoyed being around Bowen. Subconsciously, one of your hands threaded through his hair. “I like it when your hair is longer like this.”

Your words were punctuated by a tug on his roots and though he didn’t say anything, he hummed contentedly. You worried that maybe he’d be able to hear the hammering of your heart or he’d know that the smile on your face wasn’t because of your platonic love for him. You feared that he would know—know how much you loved him and know that you had been hiding your feelings for so long. But you couldn’t let yourself think too much about that, you couldn’t let yourself overthink and ruin one of your closest friendships, so you tactfully changed the subject.

“Are we napping or watching my show?” You asked, though you had a pretty good idea what his answer would be.

“Nap, please.” He mumbled, and you could never deny him, especially when he was acting so sleepy and adorable, so you agreed easily. You both shifted your positions slightly, you trying to find the comfiest spot and him climbing under the covers with you, but eventually you both melted into your mattress, Bowen’s head still buried in the crook of your neck.

Bowen tried to stay awake a little longer; to tell you about his morning and the practice he had just come from that had drained his energy completely. But before long, his words were slurring together and when he stopped mid sentence, you knew he had fallen asleep with his arms wrapped around you and your fingers carding through his hair.

You tried to stay up too, to relish in the feeling of being in his arms. But you knew that pretending like it meant something more than it did was only going to break your heart more, so soon after he dozed off you closed your eyes and followed suit.

You were the first one to wake up, a combinatin of Bowen’s weight on you becoming slightly uncomfortable and the need to use the bathroom, so you did your best to climb out from underneath him without waking him. You thought you had made it out clear, but the moment your feet hit the floor Bowen was stirring from behind you.

“Where are you going?” He mumbled, causing you to halt your movements. It was far from the first time you had heard his gravelly voice just after he woke up, but it never failed to make your heart race. You swore you could listen to him talk forever, which was a good thing, since he never seemed to be able to stop talking.  

“Bathroom. I’ll be right back.” You told him, finally standing to your feet. When you turned back around, Bowen was already watching you with tired eyes that made your heart clench. God, you were so gone for him.

You slipped out of the room without saying anything more, not trusting yourself to not blurt out just exactly how his smile made you feel. When you returned, he was sitting up against your headboard, your laptop open on his lap as he queued up the episode you had been watching before he arrived.

“New Girl again?” Bowen teased when he spotted you enter the room. You playfully rolled your eyes at him, climbing back into your spot beside him on the bed. You mirrored his position, though you dropped your head against his shoulder.

“It’s a good show. Plus, Jess and Nick’s relationship is my favorite.” You told him decidedly, like you had a dozen times before. The relationship between Jess and Nick truly was somehting you strived for—friends that were always in love with each other, no matter the problems that arised and even when they were broken up they did their best to keep the other happy.

“Fair enough.” He chuckled, shifting slightly so that his arm was around you and he could hold you closer to his side. “What episode are we on?”

“Oregon.” You started, knowing you’d have to catch him up on more than just the episode name. “Jess, Cece, and the guys go to Portland because Jess’ dad is getting married. Jess’ boyfriend, Ryan, was supposed to show up but since he lives in England he said it wouldn’t make sense for him to be there. So, Nick’s trying to make Jess feel better because he secretly loves her and I just need them to get back together.”

“Don’t they end up together though?” Bowen asks, trying to recall as much about the show as he could. It might not have been one of his personal favorites, but he knew you loved it, so that was enough for him to try and follow along.

“Yeah, but they aren’t right now.” You confirm. Before Bowen could ask anymore questions, you pressed play on your laptop and continued where you left off. Jess and the group had just arrived at her childhood home, only to find her mom ready to greet Ryan, who wasn’t there. The scene played on, with Nick telling Jess the hard truth that Ryan bailing wasn’t okay.

You could feel Bowen’s eyes on you as the scene changed to Nick comforting Jess in her room. Giggling at the Jordan Catalano joke, you tried your best to focus on the screen and not the piercing blue eyed gaze that seemed to be studying your face. And, like you always did when you got to this scene, you bit your lip to supress a grin as Nick delivered his next line.

“The only thing that matters is that the guy is there for you when you need him. Otherwise, you’re dating a wall.”

“Are you even paying attention, Bow? That’s like, my favorite line. What I wouldn’t give to have someone love me the way Nick loves Jess.” You sighed, settling further against Bowen as the episode continued on. He didn’t say anything in response, other than a quiet hum, but for the rest of the episode you could practically hear the gears turning inside his head as he turned his attention to the screen.

Netflix automatically continued on to the next episode, but as soon as the intro started Bowen’s hand shot out and paused the show. You looked at him curiously; the two of you usually got through at least a couple of episodes whenever you hung out like you were then.

“You know…” Bowen started, trailing off before he finished his thought. He wasn’t meeting your gaze, and it was clear that what he wanted to say was on the tip of his tongue so you stayed silent while he found his words. “I’m always there for you.”

You felt your heart stop beating and skip three beats all at once. You weren’t sure where he was going with his train of thought, but if you had to guess you would be getting your hopes up. Because there was absolutely no way that he felt the same for you that Nick does for Jess.

“Yeah, you are…” You breathed, trying to get him to meet your gaze but instead he stayed focused on your comforter pulled over both of your laps. The hand that wasn’t around your shoulders was toying with the fabric, and in a bid to calm him down enough to get him to say what he needed you slipped your hand into his. Bowen drew in a steadying breath and finally met your gaze, a dozen and one emotions swirling behind his eyes.

“I love you, you know.” He said firmly, like there was no question about it in the slightest and not the very words you had been dying to hear from him for years. You nodded, unable to form words but not wanting to leave him hanging.

You supposed you did know that he loved you. He showed it in his blatant affection and the frequent texts about how his life was going. He cared for you, there was no doubt about it, but you had never let yourself believe that he meant anything more than friendship. And now he was offereing everything you’d ever wanted on a silver platter.

“Bowen,” You started, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him just how much you loved him back. Instead, you moved the hand that wasn’t wrapped up in his to rest on Bowen’s jaw, turning his head just slightly so that you could press your lips to yours in a long awaited kiss that stole your breath.

Kissing Bowen felt so much better than what you imagined. The angle was a little odd and your neck was craned to face him, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You’d share a thousand more awkwardly positioned kisses if it meant you got to be with Bowen.

You were the first to pull away, but you didn’t move far, wide grins on both of your faces as you took in the events of the past few moments. Your friendship was definitely changed, and in place was a relationship that you had been hoping for.

“I love you, too.” You finally mumbled. You wanted to tell him how you had loved him from the moment you met, how he made you fall in love with him with each and every day, but for the moment all that mattered was he knew you loved him just the same as he loved you.

“I hope, or else this is going to be awkward.” He mumbled playfully, leaning in again to close the distance between the two of you. You couldn’t help but chuckle against him, your hand slipping from his jaw to curve around the back of his neck in order to deepen the kiss.

Bowen was the Nick to your Jess, and not a day went by that you weren’t greatful for him.

[ifmywishescametrue]

Hi love. I adore your work. Can you write for the prompt “You need to get out of there!” for stevetony? I’m a sucker for za *angst* and I can already imagine tiny Stark being his stupid adorable self and getting in trouble.

hiii thank you!! idk how this ended up being 3k words, but i hope that you like it!

It happens so quickly that Tony doesn’t even have time to really process it. One moment things are as close to fine as they can be in the middle of a fight. He’s close to breaking through the system, just a few keystrokes and a minute away from being able to stop the near army of robots right from the source. The next is filled with blaring alarms and dust starting to fall from the ceiling, though he hardly notices through the laser-focus. He hears Steve’s voice through the comm line in his ear and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t respond.

“Iron Man, you need to get out of there!” Steve says again, firmer and louder, and this time Tony opens his mouth to tell him off for being distracting right when he’s almost done, but the words die on his tongue at the first crashing beam. 

All he actually manages are a few ineloquent curses muttered under his breath while he scrambles to finish his task. Adrenaline and fear are coursing through him in equal parts, but the fear isn’t for himself. It’s for what happens if he doesn’t do this. If the building takes him out before he can take out the enemy, leaving the other five with far too many opponents to handle on their own. He can see it now - their blood on his hands because he wasn’t fast enough. Just one job to do and he couldn’t do it right.

There’s more shouting on the comm line, more than just Steve, but Tony can’t take the time to listen to it. The floor is shaking beneath him, and the dust in the air has accumulated to cloud his vision. He’s thankful he has the foresight to ventilate the suit through numerous filters, otherwise it would be getting hard to breathe. 

There’s flashing on the monitors in front of him, and he knows he’s done it by the way everything goes quiet for just a second, then explodes back into sound. He hears the relief in Clint’s voice, followed by the barely concealed panic in Steve’s as he urges him to get out of the building yet again. 

Tony powers up the suit to go back out through the shattered window he came through in the first place. No longer focused on dismantling the system, he realizes that the window doesn’t exist anymore. The wall has collapsed on itself, the left side of the room blocked off with rubble. His initial scan of the building showed another floor above him and two below, joined only by one set of stairs, but those were off to the left, too. The suit could probably make it through the wall directly, if he got enough power going. Might break a bone or two, he thinks, but with no other way out, he’ll take the risk. As he scans the walls again for the weakest point, he says into the comm, “Be out in a sec. Maybe, uh, get ready to catch me.”

Whatever Steve says next comes through layers of static, cutting in and out until the only word Tony can make out is his own name. It’s the last thing he hears as he turns up the repulsors to full speed and aims for the center of the wall. 

______________

All things considered, it could have gone worse. He has a concussion that makes him feel dizzy and a couple of large gashes in his abdomen from where the suit had caved in just a bit that required more than a few stitches. Two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder top it off, but he doesn’t need to be in the hospital for more than a day. A precaution to make sure his concussion doesn’t turn into something worse.

He tells himself that the short stay is why Steve didn’t show. Natasha was the first to come, with her own fresh bandages on her arms and stitches in a jagged cut on her forehead. She told him about the end of the fight from the outside, and the way all the robots suddenly came to a stop, just like Tony predicted when he told them his plan for going into that building in the first place. Clint and Thor come together after. Their loud voices make his headache worsen, and the laughter makes his ribs ache, but he can’t bring himself to be upset about it. Pepper ends up kicking them out when she arrives and notices that he winces a little every time Thor speaks. Bruce is last, arriving the next morning after he’s recovered from those few hours as the Hulk, but still looking tired from it. He sits with Tony while the doctor tells him about all the things he shouldn’t be doing for a while, then rides home with him. 

In the elevator, Tony thinks about telling JARVIS to take him to the workshop, but one stern look from Bruce makes him reconsider.

“It’s really not that bad,” Tony tries to argue. 

“You’re not allowed to move your right shoulder.”

“But my hands are working just fine.”

“You can’t even stand up straight. You’re actually swaying right now.”

Tony shrugs with just the left side of his body and grimaces when it pulls on his broken ribs. “So I’ll sit down.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make me physically restrain you.”

“Kinky,” Tony jokes, but it falls flat because Bruce clearly isn’t in the mood for his humor and his own heart isn’t in it, anyway. He sighs and recognizes the losing battle. “Fine, take me to the penthouse, J.”

Bruce walks out of the elevator with him, hovering close behind like he’s prepared to catch him if he suddenly passes out. Which is fair, Tony supposes, because his vision goes dark around the edges a couple of times before he makes it to his bed. It’s why Tony only complains a little when Bruce kneels to take his shoes off for him when he sits down at the edge of the mattress.

“Alright, stop that, I can take care of myself,” Tony says, pushing on Bruce’s shoulder. Except the pain in his ribs and head that he gets when he bends over makes him audibly groan, and he feebly sits back up. “Okay, nevermind. You’ve got it covered. Even if this does make the top twenty most embarrassing list.”

“It makes it that high?” Bruce teases, and Tony weakly kicks at him. 

Out of his shoes, Tony maneuvers himself under the covers the best he can, trying to find a position that doesn’t make any of his injuries hurt. The pain medication he’s on is fairly low grade by choice, because he hates the stronger stuff, but he’s wondering now if the fuzzy head it gives him might be worth it. 

Bruce lingers a little awkwardly after, so Tony half-jokingly asks, “Are you going to stay and watch me sleep?”

Rolling his eyes, Bruce says, “No, but it’s my shift to make sure you don’t do something stupid, so I’ll be in the living room.”

“Your shift?” Tony raises his eyebrows. 

“Nat’s up next. Clint’s after her.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed babysitting.” He tries to sound annoyed, but he isn’t, really. It’s almost nice that they’re concerned.

“Thor’s on night shift,” Bruce smiles. “Figured he’s the one most capable of carrying you back to bed if needed.”

After his absence at the hospital, the lack of mention of Steve sticks out even more. Not that it wouldn’t have anyway. His life revolves around the presence of Steve a little more than he wants to admit, but no one else needs to know that he plans his appearances in the communal kitchen in the mornings based on when Steve will be back from his runs or that it’s never a coincidence that he only remembers to be on time for team dinners when Steve is the one that did the cooking. 

His face must reveal enough for him, though, because Bruce’s smile softens with just a touch of sadness and something that’s a little too close to pity for his liking. He doesn’t say anything about it, though. He just reminds Tony that he’ll be right in the other room if he needs anything, and Tony thinks about it while he’s trying to fall asleep.

It was almost something, he thinks. Him and Steve. It seemed like it to him, anyway, if the recent interactions were anything to go by. He didn’t think he was imagining the change in the way that Steve had been looking at him lately. The way the glances seemed to linger, eyes flitting down to his lips and back up again, and his cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink every time Tony caught him staring. Then there were the almost dates - restaurants Steve always claimed he’d been meaning to try, movies, museums, baseball games. Always on nights all the others just happened to be unavailable, leaving just the two of them. He swears he saw Steve glaring at Clint the one time he actually said yes to one of those half-hearted invitations. Clint’s yes turned to a no just a moment later. 

There’s a new ache in his chest that has nothing to do with the injuries when he realizes just how wrong he was about it all. He must have read too much into it. Mistaken Steve’s friendliness for genuine affection. He would be here otherwise.

______________

True to their word, his friends really do stay around the clock, though the shifts aren’t exactly accurate. Natasha and Clint usually come together, and Bruce doesn’t usually leave for a while after they do. Someone’s always there in a way that would border on stifling if he didn’t secretly soak up all of the attention with fervor. It’s a few days before his dislocated shoulder no longer needs a sling and his concussion has mostly cleared up so he can do more than lounge around. Steve is painfully absent for all of it, and he finds out on the third day that he’s left for a mission without saying goodbye. Natasha distracts him from how badly that stings by asking him which shade of nail polish she should paint his toenails with. He ends up with glittery pink and a pit in his stomach. 

It’s a week after the bruises have already faded that Steve comes back, and Tony pettily decides that two can play the avoidance game. His hurt has morphed from sadness into anger, because even if Steve didn’t share his feelings he could have at least bothered to ask how he was. Even a text would have been better than this. 

Knowing Steve’s schedule pays off in the opposite way now. He knows when to avoid all of the common areas, like the gym and kitchen. If he needs more coffee in the middle of the day, he knows to go between one and three, because Steve will be in a training session with the new Shield agents. If he shows up a little late for movie night, the only seat left will be the uncomfortable armchair in the corner that no one really likes, but he won’t have to awkwardly avoid touching Steve on the couch. 

Days pass like that, with Natasha giving him tired looks every time she catches him sneaking around and Bruce bordering on annoyed with how many times Tony goes to his lab instead of his own just in case Steve decides today is the day he wants to start coming by again. It’s childish, he knows, and it grows even more childish when he reasons that Steve started it first. 

He shouldn’t be surprised when the rest of the team decides that enough is enough, though he is surprised that they choose the pantry of all places for it. The ambush happens on a Monday evening, right when Tony is coming back from a long day of meetings that already have him feeling drained. Natasha grabs his arm, and it seems innocent enough at first. Until she pushes him into the pantry and slams the door shut behind him. He nearly topples right into Steve, who catches him by the elbow and rights him before he can fall. There’s the sound of something being dragged in front of the door, then Clint’s voice on the other side. 

“Get your shit together, and then you can come out again,” he says. 

Tony sputters, flitting between glaring at the door and at Steve. The look towards Steve softens a bit when he realizes that he looks just as confused as Tony, then hardens again when he remembers that he’s still angry at him. 

He turns to the door and pounds his fist against it. “Guys, open the damn door. This is fucking ridiculous.”

“So is watching you two avoid each other like the plague,” Bruce says. 

“Just talk to each other and stop being dumbasses,” Nat adds.

Tony sighs, and when he turns around, Steve won’t even meet his eyes. He stares down at the floor, shoulders hunched and folded in on himself in a way that makes him look small. 

It might be childish again, but Tony doesn’t want to be the one to break the silence first. He slides down to the floor and leans back against the door with every intention of waiting it out. It’s Steve’s famous stubbornness against his own, though, and god only knows how long this could take. He starts counting things on the shelves. Two bottles of ketchup, four boxes of microwaveable popcorn, a jar of pickles. He makes it as far as the tenth different type of cereal before Steve finally says, “I should’ve been there.”

The admission is so quiet it’s barely audible, and Tony glances up to see that Steve still won’t look at him. 

“Yeah, you should’ve been,” Tony agrees, and he can’t quite keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Why weren’t you?”

Steve hesitates, and Tony rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Cap. It’s fine. We’re not those kind of friends, I get it. I mean, if you were in the hospital, I’d want to make sure you were okay with my own eyes, but you don’t feel the same. It’s my own fault for thinking that you -”

“I was scared,” Steve cuts him off, and Tony snaps his mouth shut. “I was scared, because you were - you could have died. You don’t even know what it was like watching you fall like that. You didn’t see all the blood. You didn’t have to carry your body to the medics because you were unconscious. All I could think is that you could have been dying, and it would’ve been on me. Because I couldn’t do enough, and I should’ve done more.”

Steve looks like it hurts to even say the words, like he’s reliving the memory of it, but Tony only feels angrier for it. “And how does that translate into ignoring me for weeks? You were scared, so what, you just left?”

Steve nods a little, guilt and shame on his face. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, and he’s quieter when he continues, “I ran, and then I felt like shit for running, so I ran some more. I thought -” Steve swallows, finally looking up to meet Tony’s eyes, and Tony can see that his blue eyes are rimmed with red. “I thought you would hate me for it, and now I know that you do.”

Tony tilts his head back, closing his eyes with a sigh, “I don’t hate you. I missed you, and I’m mad at you, but I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?” Steve asks, and the hope in his voice is enough to make Tony’s heart clench. 

“I could never hate you.”

“But can you feel the same way about me that you did before?”

Tony opens his eyes, a fragile smile starting to form. “And how do you think I felt about you before?”

Steve’s cheeks turn red, and he looks away again, but Tony won’t have that. He stands up from the floor, and in the small space it’s only a step before he’s right in front of him. It’s nerve wracking to be the one to reach out first, but he does it anyway. He turns Steve’s face back to him with a hand on his jaw and asks the questions again. 

“How do you think I felt before?”

He gets another one of those now familiar looks. Steve’s eyes move down to his lips, lingering there, before returning to Tony’s own eyes again. 

“Tony,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Answer the question,” Tony whispers back. “What were we?”

“I don’t know what we were, but I know what I wanted us to be,” Steve says, and Tony quietly waits for him to continue. “I wanted to be yours, and I wanted you to be mine. I still want that, if you can forgive me for running.”

Tony nods, “But you can’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” Steve promises. His hand finds Tony’s hip to pull him in a little closer. “And if you could stop falling from the sky, I would really appreciate that.”

“I’ll do my best, but I’m not sorry for what I did. I hate that I scared you, but I can’t pretend that I wouldn’t make the exact same choice again. Not when it’s me or everyone else, especially you. Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same.”

Steve opens his mouth, and Tony can tell he wants to argue it, but instead he sighs. “I would sacrifice myself every time for you.”

Tony smiles, “I know you would, but I’d never let you.”

“Try and stop me,” Steve replies, teasing and light to make Tony laugh. His arm wraps around Tony’s back to press them together chest to chest. 

Tony tugs on the collar of Steve’s shirt to pull him lower, and Steve takes the hint to finally kiss him like he’s been wanting for so long.

[namluve]

word count: 1.9k paring: yoongi x reader rating: 18+ warnings: dom!yoongi, sub!reader, daddy kink, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving), masturbation, full body massage, praise, aftercare, basically boyfriend yoongi being the best and taking care of you after a long day at work note: thank you ish @seokjinlovebug for this one. it’s taken a while to finish but it was so much fun to write! also, many thanks to hannah @spicykoreantatertots​ for beta reading as always <3

Work had been awful. Your boss had been shouting at you for something you didn't even do. Spilling coffee on your shirt on your lunch break, losing an important file that you were working on. Long story short, your day at work had not been great.

That is why, you were so thankful to have such a loving boyfriend who took so great care of you. Noticing right away that something was wrong when you came home.

“Let me take care of you baby,” he whispered in your ear as he held you and that was when your day turned around for the better. Laying on your shared bed naked as he oiled up your body and gave you full body massage. Sneaky as he is, Yoongi chose to go over your butt and thighs a little too close to your pussy each time his hands went around the area, making you ache for him.

His hand massaging your left thigh, gently massaging it upwards, making you whine as he got close to your pussy, but never touched it. Spreading your legs slightly, you tried to give him a hint as to where you desperately wanted his hands. But Yoongi knew exactly what he was doing. Wanting you to completely let go of your worries, focus on him instead of all the negative things that happened at work.

His plan was working, all your worries were completely forgotten as he once again gently massaged his hands over your butt. Almost touching your aching core with his fingers, he could see the wetness that had formed between your lips over the twenty minutes he had been working on your body. Pulling your cheeks apart and stopping for a moment, Yoongi bendt down to place a gentle kiss on your ass, making you shudder. Completely melting in his hands, you moaned at the small gesture.

“Daddy…”

“Yes baby?” He wanted you to say it. Hear you beg for his touch.

“Please…” You started to beg, wiggling your butt a little, trying to get his hands that were still firmly pressed on your butt to go where you needed them.

“What are you trying to say? Big girls use their words baby,” he teased as he continued to massage you. Moving his hands to your thighs as he noticed your wiggling. You huffed in annoyance. Normally, this would get you punished, but that was not what you needed today and Yoongi let it slip. As long as you continued to behave.

“Please touch me.”

“I am.”

“You know where,” you said almost annoyingly, wanting Yoongi to just finally touch you properly. Quite the opposite to what you wanted, Yoongi began to massage you further down your thighs, almost reaching your knees.

“Enlighten me, tell me where baby, and I’ll touch you. You just need to tell me,” a smile on Yoongi’s as he sees you slump down your body and collect your thoughts.

“Daddy… Touch my pussy… Please,” you beg and hear Yoongi sigh. He started moving his hands upwards to your thigh again.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Using one of his hands to spread your pussy lips, he began to rub the thumb on his other up and down your folds. Spreading your wetness almost up to your clit. Taking a sharp breath, Yoongi could feel his dick twitch in his pants, almost fully hard by this point and begging to be touched. However, right now was all about you, and Yoongi was a man with patience and endurance.

You grew frustrated at his teasing, trying to push your ass upwards so he would finally touch you properly, but Yoongi did nothing of the sort. His hands left your core to massage your back once again. A heavy sigh left your lips as his hands found another knot by your lower back that he began kneading.

“Daddy?” It was obvious to you what Yoongi wanted now, he wanted to hear you say it. Beg for it.

“Yes baby?”

“Make me cum… please… I need to cum so bad,” you mewl and Yoongi smiles, a satisfying glint in his eyes as he drags his hands downwards again. Kneading your ass, still teasing you, you let out yet another sigh.

“Ass up baby, can’t touch that messy pussy of yours properly otherwise,” he commands, and you do as you're told, excitement filling your body. With your upper body still laying flat on the bed, knees wide apart exposing your cunt, Yoongi could barely stand the pretty sight in front of him.

“Such a good girl… Look how wet you are,” he praised as he pulled your pussy lips apart with his hand. Watching as a string of wetness drips down from your pussy, making Yoongi’s mouth water, wanting nothing more than to taste you.

“Mouth or fingers?” He asks, and you think about it for a second before giving your answer.

“Both please.”

“Greedy girl… fuck… okay baby…” Yoongi says as he tries to collect his thoughts, wanting nothing more than to give you exactly what you want, “daddy’s gonna make you feel really good.”

Taking a pillow, he placed it in between your legs before he layed his head down on it. His upper body laying on the bed whilst his legs were hanging down from the bed, heels flat on the floor. His hands grabbed onto your hips to position you down on his face, his tongue licking a wide strip between your folds. Starting at your hole, he moved his tongue upwards until he found your clit, earning a moan from you as his tongue maked contact with it.

Circling his tongue slowly around your clit, Yoongi made it his mission to earn as many moans as possible from you. The stimulation sent waves of pleasure throughout your body, making your toes curl. His left hand spread your folds so his index finger could enter you.

While he was giving you pleasure, he palmed himself over his sweatpants with his other hand, not being able to resist any longer. Feeling as if he would cum in his pants any second. He had been working on your body for so long that when he finally stroked his cock for the first time tonight, he moaned against your clit. The vibrations made you grind slightly against his face, which made him suck on your clit, hard.

As you lost yourself in your pleasure Yoongi added another finger as he dragged his sweats and boxers down with his right hand. Cock out, stroking himself as he continued eating you out, his tongue circling around your clit again as two of his fingers fucked you at a steady pace.

His cock was leaking precum that he spread around his tip with his thumb, bucking his hip upwards as his dick finally got the attention it needed. He needed more lube, after all, Yoongi always preferred to masturbate with lube on his cock. It allowed him to run his hand smother around it, not over stimulating his cock at the rougher contact.

Suddenly, he got an idea. You winced as he removed his fingers but quickly moaned as he replaced the other two with three fingers from his other hand. The stretch bringing you a little ounce of pain that almost immediately turned into pleasure upon Yoongi’s words.

“Gonna be a good girl and get Daddy’s hand all nice and wet for him? You’re so wet baby. I bet I could use you as lube for my cock.” At Yoongi’s words you thought, had he been touching himself all this time? Just thinking of it brought you closer to the edge, even though Yoongi had stopped eating you out in order to talk to you.

“You like that don’t you? You clenched around my fingers so hard,” moaning at his words, clenching around his fingers once again as Yoongi continued his dirty talk.

“That’s so dirty baby. My dirty, dirty little girl, always being so good for her daddy. Gonna use your wetness to cum, can’t hold it in much longer. Will you cum with me baby?” His right hand left your core and was replaced by his left hand once again, three fingers entering you again. You were so close, and so was he as soon as he touched his cock again, spreading your wetness on the tip and a little bit down. Stroking it for a bit before focusing on his tip once again.

He was not going to be able to hold himself for much longer, so his mission now was to make you cum. Speeding up his fingers, he fucked you with them at a fast pace, almost making you lose your balance at the feeling of it. Messily going in and out, hitting your g-spot every so often. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking as hard as he can, making you scream out in pleasure, finally pushing you over the edge.

As you clenched around his fingers Yoongi allowed himself to let go, cum spurting out and landing on his stomach. His t-shirt now covered in cumstains. Yoongi did not slow down through your high, almost over stimulating you as the bliss of his own orgasm drew away his focus from yours. Riding it out, he soon slowed down before removing his fingers from you and pressed a gentle kiss on your thigh.

Collecting your breath as Yoongi moved away from you, sitting up on the bed. Shit, he had cum all over his shirt now. Well, nothing your washing machine could not fix, he thought as he removed his shirt, throwing it away in the washing bin.

You got yourself together, getting up to sit next to your boyfriend, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” you said with a wide smile on your face and Yoongi smiled back at you.

“Of course baby. You know I would do anything to make you feel better.”

“Would you take a bubble bath with me? Cus all this oil is kind of sticky… and I can’t feel my legs.” Yoongi chuckled at the last part of your request.

“Of course baby. Come on,” he said as he got up, offering you one of his hands, “let me help you.”

Gratefully, you took his hand in yours and leaned on him as you got up. Holding on to it as the two of you walked over to the bathroom.

Yoongi began to immediately prep the bathtub, asking what kind of bathbomb you wanted and which scent on the bubbles. Holding you and kissing you softly on your head as the two of you waited for it to fill up.

Once finished, the two of you sat down, Yoongi behind you and you leaned back, resting on his chest.

“I honestly don’t know what I would have done today without you. You really turned my day around,” you confessed as Yoongi began to wash your body with a sponge.

“Baby… I hate to see you stressed, you know that. Also, I really love eating you out, so I think I was the one that got the most out of it really.” Laughing, the two of you continued small talking, washing each other and just enjoying being in each other's embrace. Yeah… you really could not have wished for a better boyfriend…

[queenboudicaa]

From Graham Linehan from The Glinner Update grahamlinehan@substack.com

Played The Fool

Sue Donym

Sep 16

I remember my college days studying journalism, which don't seem so long ago, but actually are now, and as a young eighteen year old, a friend gives me something she says explains gender. It is Judith Butler's Gender Trouble. I have heard of this book. People treat it like The Bible. I eagerly open the book and attempt to read it.

I cannot make heads or tails of it. I conclude I simply am not smart enough or well-read enough to understand the religious revelation. I make it to page sixty before giving up, the constant mentions of ‘Althusserian’ and ‘structuralist’ and ‘reifying’ finally defeating me. I don’t feel like any of the book has actually managed to lodge itself in my head.

I give the book back to my friend, and then I pretend to everyone around me that I have read the book. No one figures me out.

When I get older, I realize they all did the same thing.

In my senior year, I win election to student government. I am to represent ‘LGBT’ people. I am proud. I am unaware I am now standing on a cliff, the ground beneath me slowly breaking. I bury my head in the sand as my position becomes increasingly precarious.

I meet with faculty during the first semester. I read through a policy. Suddenly ‘LGBT’ has morphed. It’s ‘LGBTQI+’. I don’t know what the Q and I stand for, let alone that seemingly erroneous plus sign. I am supposed to be the expert, and all these middle-aged people are looking at me to explain the youth speak which is even bedeviling I, the putative youth. I muddle through, using this surprise new acronym, and then I Google it surreptitiously in the meeting. It means ‘Queer’ and ‘Intersex’, and the plus sign appears to be decorative in nature. I wonder what the Q covers that ‘LGBT’ doesn’t, let alone the God-damned plus sign, and I wonder why ‘intersex’ needs to be included at all.

They talk enthusiastically about how everyone has a gender. There are women with penises, men with vaginas. Gender is understood to be how you feel inside. I contort my mind around this way of thinking as best I can. A man is someone who behaves like a man, and a woman is someone who behaves like a woman. That is the working definition you have, even though you paper over it with phrases like ‘identifies as.’

I don’t think about. You can’t. You are told this is how it is, how it has always been, to think otherwise is actually you replicating the kyriarchy, over and over and over again, and you nod and accept it, because you are given this set of facts and told to nod. Pseudoscience justifies it. People talk about ‘brain scans’ and ‘the wrong bodymap’, and ‘indigenous genders’. It’s all conjectural bullshit, but everyone goes along with it.

When I can’t perform the cognitive contortions, I simply don’t acknowledge contradicting evidence. To do so would be to jump off a cliff into an abyss. It is a reflexive thing, unconscious, and its origins lie in the instinct for self-preservation.

Everyone goes along with it. I am a coward, so I accept it and move on. I am twenty two years old, and I don’t know any better, and I want to trust the organizations that say they hold my best interests at heart.

Part of my role on student government was providing student-based pastoral care in my college’s LGBT center. By the time I get there, it’s morphed into the LGBTQI+ Center. I consider myself even-keeled and well-adjusted, perfect to help ‘my people’.

Many of the people that come see me have fairly normal problems. I speak to lecturers about not being homophobic, meet with faculty about LGBTQI issues, and sit through interminably boring student government meetings full of bloviating Young Democrats self-assured about their future self-importance. Increasingly, more people come to speak to me about trans issues. Walking through the center one day, someone assumes I am a ‘pre-hormones trans man’. When I correct them, and say I am a butch lesbian, they suddenly become hostile. I don’t know why, but I feel offended to my very bones about being assumed to be a man.

More and more of my fellow butches suddenly start declaring themselves to ‘truly be men.’ I don’t think about this. You’re not supposed to think about it, or question them, just accept and affirm and acknowledge and adulate their new found authenticity. I get a new package of fliers from an LGBT charity, open them up, and suddenly find that I, simply defined as ‘butch’ (forget the lesbian!) am now supposedly ‘trans’ and under the ‘trans umbrella.’ I call this ridiculous, and loudly.

Someone pulls me aside to ask why I’m being so transphobic.

I meet with a charity group. They have this young woman on staff who declares herself ‘non-binary’ and uses ‘they/them’ pronouns. She does not strike me as gay, and her entire purview of ‘LGBT’ seems to forget the first three letters. She assumes that I am a trans man. When I tell her I am a lesbian, she asks ‘are you sure? Maybe you’ll change your mind’. She then starts talking to me about her boyfriend.

I wonder why this straight girl with dyed hair is telling me what to do on gay issues. What gives her the right?

At the end of the meeting, someone I know from the charity group tells me that ‘Aiden’ is upset I forgot her pronouns. I hadn’t realized. I tell him that this dyed hair fag hag told me I’ll change my mind about being a lesbian. He says that doesn’t excuse messing up Aiden’s pronouns.

The next time I meet Aiden, she keeps calling me ‘he’. She gets upset when I get angry with her.

My student body president sends me a please explain email the next day about upsetting Aiden.

One day in the center, in walks a man in a dress. That’s what I thought in my unfiltered thoughts, before the cognitive dissonance kicks in. But the Aiden experience has taught me a lesson to not speak up. The man uses ~the magical pronouns~, ‘she/her’ and this means he is a woman. He dresses like a prostitute downtown and declares he’s a lesbian.

He says he is a trans woman. But Chloe is different from all the trans women I had met before. They would call themselves ‘gay men gone too far’, tell you hilarious stories, wingman for me at the bar, argue about ‘when Madonna went bad’, arguments that turned into handbag duels at dawn. Many of them were older, and many of them had stories about surviving in a homophobic world, surviving AIDS, dangerous johns, and the joy they felt now, that gay rights had gone somewhere. This man was very different to them.

My hair stands up on the back of my neck every time I deal with ‘Chloe’. It requires conscious effort to make sure I don’t mess up his pronouns, because my brain says that’s ‘a fucking man’, but my cognitive dissonance around the situation and my sense of self-preservation knows that if I don’t call this man a woman I will be in for it. I have seen the results - ‘Chloe’, all six feet of ‘Chloe’, screaming at a fellow trans woman, Clara, half his size, for saying ‘you’re a man honey’. Chloe himself came to me demanding I ban her from the space. I refused.

Clara stops coming into the center. I ask her why, and she says ‘those flipping transvestites, they’re not us.’ Clara never comes back to the center.

None of this thinking about Chloe’s pronouns is conscious. I feel guilty every time my thoughts use the ‘wrong pronouns’. My head is tied up in knots - not something freshman me would have considered, turning up to the center with the goal of getting laid, now trying to smile and put up with this man.

He makes every conversation in there uncomfortable. We relax when he is gone and only homosexuals are in the room.

Suddenly, my straight friends start asking if I’d ‘sleep with a trans woman’. I try laughing this off. One friend gets very insistent, and when I tell him that I wouldn’t consider someone with a dick, he starts wondering if my preferences are ‘rooted in bigotry’. I ask him if he’d sleep with a trans woman. He tells me that no, he’d prefer a woman who can have his children.

I smile and nod, and when the conversation ends, walk out of the room as fast as I can.

Chloe tells us at length about their sexual proclivities. Bondage and leather and ‘being a dom’. Chloe tells us about his lack of luck on lesbian dating apps. I keep to myself that I had ended up setting a height filter to filter out ‘the trannies.’ Nor do I tell him that me and a group of women had made fun of men like him on lesbian dating apps, swapping screenshots and Silence Of The Lambs jokes.

Soon there are more Chloes and fewer women. They all start talking about radical communism, about ‘sex work is work’, ‘cultural appropriation’, and about ‘TERFs’ and how hideous they are. One of them expounds to me at length why I shouldn’t read any feminist works from the seventies, because they hated trans women, and I wouldn’t want to hate trans women, wouldn’t I?

They all behave the same way. I keep getting reports about the Chloes harassing people in the center, particularly young lesbian women. Then there is an influx of ‘Aidens’, straight women declaring themselves to really be gay men. One of them tells me I am ‘appropriating the culture of trans men.’

One day I am in the center, and I look out the glass window of my office. There are a dozen people sitting in the common room of the center, talking animatedly. I realize none of them are lesbian or gay in the actual sense of the word. I feel uncomfortable, but I cannot articulate why I feel such discomfort.

One of the Chloes knocks on my door. This one wears a pink tube top and a pencil skirt. I am strongly reminded of Buffalo Bill. He asks me out for coffee. I decline. He asks why, as I am single. I say that I am busy that day. He tries asking for another day. I say I am playing club football that day. He keeps trying to cajole me. Eventually I dispense with the politeness and tell him I am not interested in him. He shouts at me that I am transphobic and leaves.

A few hours later, my phone blows up. His friends are calling me transphobic for not being interested in him. It’s just one date, they say. One little coffee. You might like it. You don’t know. Your last girlfriend dressed the same. You need to unlearn your genital preferences.

I think to myself my last girlfriend was a foot shorter and had a vagina, but I don’t say anything. I ignore the messages. He is allowed boundaries. I am not.

I am sitting in a class. It’s on sexual histories, a class I took to broaden my horizons from my journalism degree. I try not to think of the student loan I’ll be incurring from taking it.

Strangely enough, it is perhaps the first blow to the self-imposed contortions of my thoughts. The professor starts his lecture by pronouncing that sexual orientation is, in fact, a social construct. He explains that the word ‘homosexuality’ did not exist until the 19th century, and thus, homosexuals are a creation of repressive Victorian sexuality. I find this theory strange. I had grown up in the ‘born this way’ era, to be sure, but my homosexuality seemed biological, instinctual, basal to my very way of being. A powerful attraction to women came to me as naturally as breathing, or seeing, or farting inappropriately on the second date. Yet here was this man telling me, that in fact, my perceptions were merely constructs based on my surroundings.

It seemed strange to me. Someone from the class, notorious for asking questions, puts his hands up and asks about the Romans - you see, he is a student of the classics, and he remarks that the Romans knew of homosexuals. The professor gravely informs in that in fact the Romans were aware of a ‘behavior’, and that as ‘homosexual’ as a word did not exist at the time, there were no homosexuals. Only behaviors, that we codify and understand on a cultural basis.

This made less sense to me than before. It made even less sense to me when someone else asks about trans people. The professor remarks that ‘trans people have always existed’.

Yet homosexuals were invented by the first sexologists, rather than through self-definition? We had to have heterosexuals invent us, as other, first?

I am sitting with some gay friends, and one of them complains about the focus on trans issues when we still don’t have same-sex marriage federally yet. We talk about our disappearing spaces, and I voice that sometimes I am the only lesbian out of thirty people sitting in the LGBTQI+ student center (it had been renamed). I think of it in terms of getting laid - because suddenly all the ‘lesbians’ in the center had penises. It happened so quickly that it was easy to notice. I went to a lesbian group, and it was a sausage fest I made up an excuse to leave. The Chloes moved in, and the lesbians instantly left. I feel constantly uncomfortable, watched, stared at, envied. The Chloes all talk about their genitalia and violent pornography at length, in public, and it makes me feel gross and dirty, and I start to dislike most of them.

I post on my Tinder that I’m not into penis. I log in the next day to find out my account has been banned. Tinder never gives me a straight answer as to why I was banned.

I finish out my term on student government. I don’t run again. I’m a senior. I finish my degree and hurry off to the real world. One of the Chloes takes my place as ‘LGBTQI+ students representative’.

It is the one who tried getting me to go out on a date with him. He makes me feel uncomfortable throughout the whole handover.

I am upset, because he will destroy everything I worked for.

I go to the gay bar with some friends. But when we go, we feel like the only homosexuals in the whole god-damn bar. It’s full of people with dyed hair. A man in a dress tries grinding on me, and when I turn around and tell him no, he calls me ‘transphobic towards trans femmes’. When I declare I am a butch lesbian, people ask if I am a ‘TERF’. I don’t know what a ‘TERF’ is, other than ‘terfs’ are bad. I have been told terfs are bad, so it has to be true right? I don’t want to be a bad person.

I try going to other gay events, and suddenly I am outnumbered. Me, a few older lesbians, and some gay men huddle in a corner of spaces we once proudly called our own, as the Chloes and the Aidens declare it their own - and even worse, that they are just the same as us. It is unnerving, and they no longer feel like safe spaces for me. Gradually, we all stop going. There were no more gay people in the gay space.

I have a lesbian friend. She tells me excitedly about a first date. She meets them in a quirky coffee shop. It is a trans woman twice her size. When she tells the trans woman that she’s not interested, they lose it at her in the coffee shop, calling her a transphobic bigot and screaming and shouting and threatening to hit her.

She tells me, because she knows I don’t tell people things. But she cannot say anything in public. She’ll be transphobic. So she keeps it to herself, and this man gets to continue preying on women who think they’re safe, catfishing, coercing and abusing them.

To say otherwise gets you labelled a terf. And terfs are bad. Why are terfs bad? Don’t ask. Just accept that terfs are bad. Terfs hurt trans women, and you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?

Eventually, my friend hears of her date doing it to someone else. She writes a call out post, saying that you shouldn’t hide important facts about yourself on dating sites. She gets called a terf for saying that ‘lesbians don’t have dicks’, and being verbally abused in public was the rational response of an oppressed person to oppression. It’s a scarlet letter, and she is branded with it. I am a coward and I do not speak up in public. I hate myself. I am thinking of my personal prospects, and not my friend, and not my people. Because if I speak up, I can kiss the career I dream about goodbye. I fear that scarlet letter being branded on my forehead.

I tell my friend in private that I support her. But I daren’t say that in public.

I daren’t ask questions.

One day, I am aimlessly browsing the internet at work. I have written enough copy to cover my ass for the next few weeks. I wait until my boss leaves for the afternoon, and wait out the rest of the day mindlessly scrolling. I see a post in an LGBTQI+ students group on Facebook I’ve forgotten to leave. It’s a troll post, which is apparently ‘terf rhetoric’. The link is still there, and the comments are blowing up, united in performative outrage.

I click the link . I find myself laughing at the description of ‘men in dresses’. To these ‘terfs’, a man has a penis, and a woman has a vagina. Anyone saying otherwise is a damned fool. It seems such an easy way to think about it. I mean, what is a woman, anyway? It doesn’t seem evil, wicked or bad. It seems… sensible.

Finding out more about this new way of thinking becomes addicting. I keep my scrolling through it on my phone. I have always had a fondness for reading people being harshly critical about anything, and now I have an endless source of it, articulating things I knew instinctually but could never find the words to verbalize, could never find the courage to verbalize. I wonder if I am being radicalized - images of ISIS radicalizing fighters over the internet run through my head. But everything seems to make so much sense. I am no longer contorting my thoughts around the desires of others, but thinking freely, observationally, openly, fearlessly.

It felt like my mind had freed itself from chains, chains placed upon it all those years ago, when that naïve eighteen year old who wanted to get laid tried reading Gender Trouble.

The gunk on my mind slowly unclogged. My way of thinking suddenly changed. I was no longer denying what my eyes saw in front of me. No, now I saw things as they were. There was no more contorting my way of thought. For the first time in a long time, I felt clear-headed.

One of the links I clicked in my flurry was a link to Dr. Ray Blanchard’s paper on ‘autogynephilia’. I read it, and finally, I had an explanation. Homosexual transsexuals. And ‘autogynephiles.’ The two types of his famous and controversial typology.

‘Autogynephiles’ - men who had a sexual fetish for ‘being a woman’, a fetish for an alter-ego female self, a fetish for our bodies, our minds, our souls, our experiences. All reduced to jerk-off fodder for some blockhead man.

It explained why they were so desperate for lesbians to date them. They needed us for validating their sexual fetish. Our lives and experiences, our spaces, our dating apps, our culture, our media, our websites, every breath we took, as far as they were concerned, needed to be focused on validating them. Because otherwise, the fantasy was ruined! This straight man would not be able to jerk off over ‘being a lesbian!’. We were not people, we were non-player-characters in their video game. Actresses in pornography, extras in a film where they were the protagonist, and we were off script. We weren’t fully-formed people, with our own desires, we were things, objects, film props.

The entire gay movement, from the lesbians to the gays, to the homosexual transsexuals, reduced to nothing props in some straight man’s sexual fantasy. That’s all we were to them, ultimately.

And I was expected to go along with it?! We were all expected to go along with it?

Not only that, I had gone along with it. I had advocated for this.

What had I done?

Every moment you come close, every moment you start thinking something isn’t right, you start feeling a little foolish.

Of course this is fine. Everyone is telling me so. The media, the public, the people around you. No one voices concerns. When you have them, you don’t say anything, because no one else is, and because you are a coward.

You feel a little foolish because this is foolish. Saying some women have penises is foolish. You know it is foolish, from the minute that idiot phrase leaves your mouth, to the minute it dances across your tongue, to the minute your nerves send the signal to your larynx to make the required movements to produce the very sounds. But, you think, you are no fool.

You are no fool, you think, when someone says ‘biological women have XY chromosomes’, or that it’s okay for a man on the college track team to identify as a woman and take a place on the woman’s track team. You know that’s not right. But everyone else is going along with it, and you are no fool, and you shouldn’t feel foolish, because everyone says this is the right thing to do, the right side of history, doing right by an oppressed minority, so you go along with it.

You are frightened of realizing you are a fool. So too, is everyone around you. No one likes being played the fool, no one likes realizing they were sold a pack of lives as a naïve eighteen year old looking for other gay people. And no one plays you for a fool. And thus the dance continues, everyone one too frightened to admit that, perhaps, we are all fools, believing in something physically impossible, no different to the bible-banging megachurch attendee, with our owns chants, our own magic words, ritual knowledge, and ability to be born again. We are smart. We liberal. We are on the right side of history. We couldn’t be believing in something that isn’t scientifically backed. We’re smarter than that. We’re not fools.

And when it finally gets too much, and you drift over to the cliff’s edge, the cliff that you can see the bottom of, the cliff you know you can’t come back from, you pull away. Because to go over it would to be to admit that you’ve been played the fool. No one likes that feeling, the shame, the embarrassment, the horror, the fear. What lies over that cliff is exile, a scarlet letter, fear and hatred and nasty women who just want trans women dead.

What lies beyond that cliff is a realization that you have been used. You have been used by something greater than yourself, to push medication on children. You have been used by straight men to participate in their sexual fetish without your consent. Your entire community, rendered a jerk-off prop for some straight man over night, and you were told that objecting was ‘transphobic’. You have been used to spread homophobia beyond your comprehension, to take part in the destruction of your own community, and you were told this was right and good.

To realize this, to acknowledge it, to move on and try and forge something better, that takes true strength of character. To realize this, to deny it, and obfuscate what you are doing, that I can understand. I too, was once a coward. I too, did not want to believe what my eyes told me was sitting in front of me. That cliff is scary, and to jump off it seemingly lies nothing but social death.

But eventually something pushes you over, without your consent. You realize you have been played the fool, because finally, something so gratuitous occurs that you must. Even the greatest cowards will eventually be blown off the cliff. The music will stop, and the dance will end, and you will finally feel the shame, the embarrassment, the horror, the fear, the guilt.

Because no one likes being played for a fool.

Perhaps, then, it is best to get this over and done with now, while you still have dignity to defend.

Some details have been changed to protect the identities of those concerned.

[mrsalwayswrite]

The Benefits of Paperwork (Richard Winters x Reader)

As always, can be read as reader or OFC since its written as she/her. 

Warnings: None 

Words:1900ish

Tag list: @evelynshelby​

Dick Winters hated paperwork. 

Absolutely loathed it. 

Give him a platoon of men and orders to take a town or secure a crossing, and he would execute a plan to garner the best possible outcome. Give him a rifle and men from Easy Company and he knew what to do. Give him Sobel and Currahee again and he would run those three miles up, three miles back happily. 

He stared at the typewriter sitting on the desk before him, taunting him like a bad memory, reminding him of his failings.

Nix called paperwork a necessary evil. Dick could not agree more. 

He sat with a pencil between his lips, staring at the paper that so far had only his name, Easy Company and the date on it. That was all he had typed in the past twenty minutes for a report that was a week overdue. Words failed him. He was not sure if it was due to recalling and putting words to the mission or using the typewriter. 

Most likely the typewriter. 

His speed was abysmal and he hated to waste paper and ink. He knew it was not a big deal, he was a major for goodness sake, he did not need to feel like a schoolboy preparing for punishment with asking for more supplies. 

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. 

"Enter," he called out, assuming it was Nix coming for more Vat 69. Why he still put up with his friend's antics, he was not sure. Maybe it was a way for him to keep an eye on Nix's drinking or for Nix to self-regulate. 

"Major Winters."

The soft voice caused him to almost drop the pencil still sitting in-between his lips. Quickly he snatched it out and looked up to see the woman who had entered. She wore a WAC uniform, so she was not completely out of place being in the company's HQ. She seemed vaguely familiar but he could not put his finger on why. 

"Yes?" He rose out of his seat. "Something I can help you with, ma'am?"

"Sir, I was sent to tell you Coronel Sink is waiting for you."

He checked his watch. It was later than he thought. "Thank you." Looking down at the unfinished report, he sighed. Sink would be upset. There was no way he could delay this anymore. Other reports needed his attention. He could not help but wonder for the hundredth time if his acceptance of being a major was a mistake. He missed the men. He hated the paperwork. Was it worth it?

"Excuse me."

He glanced up, having forgotten she was still there. 

"I don't mean to intrude, but is that the report for Operation Hades?"

"Yes."

She smiled at his hesitation, taking another step into the room. "I know Coronel Sink has been breathing down your neck about that. If it would help, you can hand write it and I'll type it up for you or I'll transcribe what you say."

That was when he realized how he knew her. Or at least heard of her. Coronel Sink's secretary. He had heard some of the other officers, mainly Nix, talk about her but he had yet to run into her. She was prettier than he expected with bright eyes and a pleasant smile. He could understand why some of the men made excuses to need her assistance. Not that he was thinking about doing that, for the same reason. No, he simply could use her help...if she was offering. 

"Yeah, yeah...that would be helpful. If you're sure."

"Of course. I'll be free after the Coronel's last meeting at eighteen hundred, do you want me to come then?"

"Sure, sure. I'm fairly certain I'll still not have anything written."

A peal of laughter rang out and all he could compare it to was sunshine. It was light and lovely. He smiled in response, unable to help himself. It was pleasant to talk to someone about something other than orders and war...or even Nix's drinking. 

"I have faith in you sir. The Coronel is waiting for you in his office. I will see you later."

"Yes, right. Thank you."

She gave him another smile then slipped out his open door. Staring at that spot for a few extra moments, he finally had to shake himself and wipe the smile off his face. He grabbed his helmet and walked out, closing the door behind him. 

It would be nice to get help with those reports. It had nothing to do with staring at her...or hearing her voice...or basking in the joyful warmth she seemed to carry within her. 

No, he just needed help typing those reports before he threw the typewriter out the window. 

That was it. 

He was positive. 

*****

Evening came and so did the receptionist. For a brief moment, he worried she would not show then chastised himself. It should not matter if she came or not. Yet a piece of him hoped to see her again, to hear her laugh and be around someone who was not bogged down by war yet. It was selfish. It was pointless. They were in the middle of a war for goodness sake, there were more important things to worry about. 

With a knock on the door, she entered after he called and immediately sat behind his desk, making herself comfortable. 

"This is the report?"

He nodded, as he watched her from where he stood at the window. Picking up the piece of paper, she scanned it methodically. He had just barely had time to hand write the darn thing before she arrived. 

"This won't take long." Then she slipped a blank piece of paper into the typewriter, moved her chair just slightly closer and began typing. 

He had never seen someone type so fast, her fingers flew over the keys, never hesitating, completely confident. He could not help but be in awe for several minutes, then realized how disturbing his actions could be taken. Grabbing a pencil and paper, he began writing another report that was overdue. 

Over the next ten minutes he found himself sneaking glances at her, the typing of the keys and the ding of the margin bell a background noise. Her hair was short and perfectly curled, as seemed to be the fashion. Red lipstick made her lips look voluptuous. As she typed, she bit the corner of her bottom lip as she concentrated. He found the action oddly endearing. 

"I'm done, Major Winters." She looked over at him, hands in her lap. 

"Dick."

"Excuse me?"

He coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "My name. You can...you can call me Dick."

"Oh." Standing up, she moved to stand in front of him with her hand out as she said her name. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dick."

He shook her hand, taking note of how soft her hands were except for the calluses on the ends of her fingers. "Pleasure is mine, and thank you for typing that." 

"Not a problem. You might want to look it over before I leave, just in case I missed something.  Otherwise, is there anything else I can help with?"

"No, no. I'm sure its great."

She waited, staring at him. Slowly the corners of her lips turned down just the slightest and she took a step back. "If you're sure. Well, have a good night, sir."

"Wait." He called out as she reached the door. He did not want her to leave, truthfully. Even though they barely talked, he had enjoyed her company. It felt selfish to ask her to stay...but her slight frown. It was impossible she wanted to stay too, right? That was just his imagination. 

"If it's not too much…" he hesitantly said, running a hand through his red hair, "...there's a few more reports I could use some help with."

A smile blossomed on her face that could rival the sun in its intensity. Immediately she walked back over and sat in the chair behind the desk. She looked at him expectantly, eyes bright, hands in her lap again. 

"Right." He was surprised by her assertion, and a little shocked she wanted to stay. His brain had not planned ahead to her sitting in his chair waiting, it had expected her to walk out the door. "Um, can you dictate?"

A smirk on her face, she cracked her knuckles then placed her fingers on the keys. "Try me."

*****

For the next week, when Winters was not otherwise engaged, evenings found both him and the secretary in his small office. Quickly they made progress on all the reports that were overdue but found themselves spending more time conversing about themselves than actually working as each evening passed.

"You've actually been to New York City?!" She exclaimed, eyes wide as she stared at him. 

He chuckled, leaning against the desk watching her. "Not for very long. Soon as the train arrived we were loaded onto the USS Samaria."

"Still, you must have been able to see some of the sights! Either way, you can say you were there. One day, I'm going to go."

"And what would you do there?" 

"Oh, see everything I can!" She waved her hands around exuberantly with a dreamy smile on her face. "Broadway, the Empire State Building, Coney Island. Just...anything."

"I'm sure you'll get there one day. You seem quite the determined sort."

A knock interrupted her laughter, both looking at one another in surprise. 

"Enter." Winters called. 

Lewis Nixon stepped in, ready to say something but when he noticed her sitting at the desk with Winters leaning against it, his mouth snapped shut and a smug smile appeared. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, Nix." He stood up, suddenly realizing how close they had been. When had that even happened? No wonder Nix got the wrong impression. 

"Are you sure? I can come back later once you've both...finished."

"Its fine. I should probably get going anyway. Coronel Sink is heading out tomorrow and needs me to join his entourage." She rose, smoothing out her dress before moving around the desk. 

Winters softly said her name, causing her to look over at him. "When you come back, if I'm still here…"

"I'll find you. I'm sure by then you'll have more reports for me." She stepped closer and pecked a kiss to his cheek. "Stay safe, Dick." 

He watched her walk away, shocked. During their evenings together he had certainty grown...fond...of her. He had not realized she might possibly feel the same way. After the door shut behind her, he realized his mouth was still hanging open. Slowly he closed it and turned his head to look at his friend. 

"You have lipstick on your cheek."  A shit-eating grin was plastered on Nix's face as he handed over a handkerchief. "So that's what has been distracting you during meetings, huh?"

"No…." Winters tried to wipe the lipstick off but worried he only smeared it. "...a little."

Nixon laughed. "I see that look. Mark my words, you're going to marry her….and you'll have to name your first born after me since I called it."

"I barely know her."

"First born had better be either Lewis or Nixon. I'll take either."

Winters shook his head, moving to sit behind his desk. He could hear Nixon digging around in his footlocker but his mind kept repeating the feel of her lips on his skin..and the idea of her as his wife. 

[welllpthisishappening]

Catching the Highlights

It wasn’t like she was nervous, not really. Or jealous, even. Honestly, the entire story was more than a little hysterical and very nearly distracted Belle from the obviously frustrated way Will kept moving his hands at the end of the second period. Still, there was something about sitting in the stands that felt different and maybe hearing about how her maybe-boyfriend made out with Anna Vankald one time was just the push she needed. To make things a bit more real.

———

Word Count: Nearly 4.5K AN: This is a thing I do now, apparently. Write Blue Line! Will and Belle. And poorly photoshop eights into sixes on jerseys. Although I draw the line at making the girl that same photo wear a skirt. Anyway, this continues to be real fun, I hope the five people enjoying it continue to enjoy it and I think I’ve got at least one more idea for these dweebs. So, that’ll probably happen sooner rather than later. Possibly with more badly executed photoshops.

———

It had something to do with his eyes. 

With the way they narrowed ever so slightly, able to thin without causing any sort of furrow between his brow or lines of frustration on his forehead. They’d pinch. His eyes, that was. Make it so it was difficult for Belle to see the brown there or the bits of gold that she was at least ninety-six percent positive she wasn’t imagining and only slightly less confident had something to do with her. 

She’d never really been one for details, like that. 

Strange as it might have been. 

Details were the lifeblood of research. Tiny bits of information that could sway a doctoral defense or prove an argument, but Belle had always been far more interested in the sweeping potential of a very good story, and research had that too, she supposed. To some degree, at least. Although, that was getting existential. Her work was good. She was good. Fine, even. Definitely fine. Nothing to see here. Nothing to worry about. No reason to compare the strange and not entirely unfamiliar sensation of fluttering in the pit of her stomach whenever Will glanced her way to the decidedly still nature of all her internal organs while she spent eight to ten hours uptown five days a week. 

Sitting at her desk, she regularly tried to fit into the mold, everything everyone expected her to be with the title she had, and that required her to think less about the bigger picture. That sounded negative. It wasn’t. Probably. Hopefully. Just required further research. More details and specific examples.

All of them regarding the nature of Will’s eyes.

Even so, she—

Part of her missed it. The sweep. The really good stories. Ones that were less clinical and more fantastical. And the deep breath that always came just seconds before being overwhelmed. By the current and the wave and those were rather similar, as far as analogies went, but all the best stories always left her a little overwhelmed, and Belle’s cheeks were starting to ache as something bubbled out of her. Laughter, in its purest form. Bouncing and bounding and echoing off otherwise abandoned walls, the pair of them tucked into a corner of the Garden concourse because they hadn’t actually decided this was a secret, but Anna Vankald was apparently living her life under some sort of blood oath, all sworn secrecy, and poorly executed winks in the second period.

Like this was hidden. A tiny detail tucked away. Never debated. Never highlighted in the opening paragraphs of a twenty-six-page dissertation. With Chicago-style formatting. 

No one ever knew how to property do Chicago-style formatting. 

Belle might have hated Chicago-style formatting. 

She’d never been to Chicago.

Had never been—

Will’s eyes were barely slits on his face. 

Twisted lips loomed above her, not quite frustration, but inching closer the longer she kept laughing, and she refused to linger on what that meant. The laughing. The happiness. Joy, maybe. She looked up, instead. Let her head bump the wall her shoulders already had, appreciating the soft scrape of what might have been concrete against her hair, like that would ground her or slow her overactive imagination, and his hair was still wet. 

“She wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” Belle bit the side of her tongue. Didn’t help, really. With her laughter problem. “Keeping state secrets?” “It happened once.” “Yes, she mentioned that, too.” He might have growled. Some strange part of her wanted him to, relished whatever the technical term was for the sound that eked out between his bared teeth, rolling his whole head in the process. Their noses nearly collided. 

Belle pushed up on her toes. 

To kiss the tip of Will’s nose. 

“That’s distracting,” he grumbled, but his hand had inched under the hem of her shirt, and that meant he’d managed to get the hem of her shirt out of the skirt she was wearing. 

“Should I have worn your jersey or something?”

His eyes snapped. Open. Brown and gold, and that wasn’t a particularly swoon-like combination in any of the stories Belle had memorized while she was growing up. Heroes with royal titles and broadswords quite literally made to challenge dragons and hordes of villains always came with blonde hair and a slight curl, flashing blue eyes that twinkled in sunlight and starlight, and Belle’s hand didn’t shake. When she brushed the few drops of water clinging to Will’s temple away. 

Her calves were starting to ache, too. Made sense. She was still pushed up on her toes. 

And the Rangers had lost. Not—well, not badly. By two goals, and one of those was an empty-net goal, which was a term Belle figured out all on her own. Well before Anna mumbled explanations under her breath, glaring daggers any time the Islanders fan two rows in front of them dared to open his mouth. 

Honestly, that was part of the problem. He kept yelling, and Anna looked dangerously close to staging some sort of public execution in section 204 and Belle had asked. For details. Wanted a good story, or possibly a distraction because she’d noticed the way Will’s hands moved at the end of the second period, staging a rather enthusiastic conversation with a man she’d never met, but his jersey said LOCKSLEY, and she didn’t think the jersey would lie to her. 

She was going to blame the Islanders fan. 

“If you did that,” Will mumbled, in response to a question she’d legitimately almost forgotten about, “I’m not sure I would have been able to get out on the ice.” “Oh, compliment or—” “Definite compliment. Was that not obvious?” “Well, you’re making out with so many other girls.”

Her laugh clung to the letters, pulling her lips behind her teeth to keep from smiling like a total idiot. Something was happening. With the flutters and the overall ability of her nasal passages to get oxygen back to her lungs, and it must have been a trick of the light. The way Will’s eyes flashed, gaze flicking up beneath eyelashes and just above the half curve of his mouth, and Belle’s knees felt a little unsteady beneath her. Fighting against the force of a wholly imaginary, even more staggering wave. 

“One time,” he said, straining on every letter, “it happened one time, and—seriously, why was she talking about this with you?” “Asked for a fun and interesting story about her.” Will’s eyes bugged, another shift in his voice that was much more like a crack as he nearly shouted, “And that’s what she came up with?”

“Said anything she had to tell me about her childhood was boring. Mostly because a lot of it would focus on KJ, because—”

“That’s Cap.” Belle clicked her tongue. “Wow, thank you for that. What would I do without you?” “If you wore my jersey, I think my head would explode.” “Not the compliment you think it is, either. That’d be a lot of blood. Who would even clean that up? Couldn’t make someone here do it; that’d be mean. Cruel and unusual, probably.” “I like your skirt.” “Better,” Belle laughed, in spite of her best efforts. Which were really lackluster, quite frankly. “Anyway, the childhood was apparently super boring, and there were shenanigans of rookie season to discuss.”

“She grew up in a mansion!” “Yeah, we got to that part eventually, although technically, I think it was just a brownstone.” “Rich kid description.” “You can tell her that if you want, I’m sure,” Belle reasoned, but his lips were back to twisted, and she was already on her toes. Made sense to use that to her advantage. Pressing kisses against the edges of his mouth, alternating back and forth until it felt a little like a rhythm she could time the rest of her vaguely unsteady breathing to, and she certainly did try. Didn’t work, but something about effort and attempts and those were—

Details, really. 

“I like her,” Belle added lightly, mouth moving across a stubble-covered cheek. Part of her felt ridiculous. Always did with things like this. She wasn’t the story. Will wasn’t the hero. He and his teammate had gotten into a fight at the end of the second period, for God’s sake. And this wasn’t—well, it wasn’t a fairy tale. No matter how much sweeping there might have been. With its butterfly wings and salt-filled waves, all of which existed solely in Belle’s subconscious. 

But there was this other part. 

Part of her that didn’t always linger behind her desk. Flitted through imaginary scenarios and stories stored in the back corner of her brain, the same one that could still smell salt air with startling clarity, and remembered the precise taste of freshly-made taffy from that one restaurant on the beach. Details. She remembered those details. Held them fast, afraid they’d disappear otherwise, and made sure they played prominent roles in every daydream. 

For fear of what would happen if she didn’t. 

How they’d fade. Grow grey and thin, and it was a contradiction. Right in the middle of her. And that scared her just a little bit, because whatever was happening now, right at that moment, with a hand flat on the curve of her hip and her heart doing its abject best to beat its way out of her chest, she felt the same exact way. Sweeping and detailed and not the least bit jealous. 

There was no need to be, really. Not when she was fairly certain she could drown in the golden flecks of Will’s eyes. Constantly staring at her as they were apt to do. 

“Do you want to hear the gist of the story?”

Will’s lips pursed. Stayed that way even as Belle’s lips continued their path across his face, spending at least two seconds at the side of his left eye and the still slightly damp area surrounding his right temple. She started picking up speed. Quick kisses that she could only hope felt as strongly as the prickle of her lips suggested. But then Will’s fingers tightened. Not much. Just enough to be obvious, and Belle grinned against his cheek. 

“I lived it,” Will argued, but there wasn’t much fight in it. He’d done that already, anyway. They’d get to that part, eventually. 

“As the story goes, though, there was some less than savory libations involved, and—” “I’m still not convinced that vodka was legal in the continental United States.” “Suggests it’d be fair game in Hawaii and Alaska, though. Possibly Puerto Rico. I’m not sure what the rules on that are. Maybe the US Virgin Islands. What about Guam? You think your alcohol would be fair game in Guam?” “I’d have to check the label.” “You still have it?” Belle balked, almost fully and entirely prepared for the flash of amusement and the precise angle of eyebrow jump. Almost being the key word, there. Another burst of laughter tumbled out of her, lips on her cheeks that time, all blazing and prickling, and that one wasn’t inherently positive, but she was slightly worried her hair was going to get caught in the concrete of the wall and she could not possibly be expected to think when Will’s hand kept doing whatever it was it was doing. 

“No, no, we did a very good job of drinking that entire thing, but I’d know that bottle anywhere.” “Where were you buying illegal alcohol? Also, how did you not die drinking hundred-proof vodka?” “Pure force of will.”

“And bad hockey games.” “Those too,” Will admitted grudgingly. An edge crept into his voice. Likely born in the second period of this game. She kissed the bridge of his nose. The tip. Between his eyebrows. Waiting for some of the tension to leave his shoulder blades, and that was all she got. Some. It was enough, for now. 

“You want to talk about that?” “Losing a playoff game my rookie season? That happened a bunch of times, babe, this was just—” “Don’t be an idiot,” Belle interrupted. 

He grinned. Tension kept pulling taut between his shoulders and the slope of his cheekbones, the second of which was really starting to offend Belle on an almost fundamental level, but his smile looked legitimate, and that was enough. 

“Should I go defend your honor in the locker room, darling?” The grin widened. “Trying to get a rise out of me, but gender is a social construct, so I don’t think it affects nicknames, and I’m a real big fan of that one, actually.” “No rise,” Belle promised, fingers hovering above his shoulders, and they both flinched when he winced. “Going to be honest, the hitting sort of freaked me out.” “Locksley wasn’t going to hit me.” “Well, yeah, then I’d have to punch him in the locker room.” “Keep your thumb inside your fist,” Will suggested, “that way you won’t break it.” “Right, right, naturally,” Belle mumbled, and she didn’t know how they managed it. Stayed upright while his hand shifted further up the back of her shirt and her teeth grazed the curve of his jaw. She was on something of a mission, now. To cover every inch of his face. With her lips. “Anyway, as Anna told this wholly fascinating story, there was a lot of vodka involved, a very bad loss, some card game—” “—Kings.” “That’s a drinking game.” “Well, now you’re getting into unnecessary specifics.” Her body shook. Against Will’s. Who almost immediately groaned. Presumably at the location and exact angle of her hips. “Ok, so there were cards involved in your drinking game. Pizza was eaten, alcohol was downed in alarmingly large gulps.” “Editorializing a bit, mon bonheur.”

“What’s that one?” “Happiness.” “Oh, that one’s nice.” Will huffed. “They’re all super nice; I have a very large crush on you; I don’t want to talk about making out with Anna Vanklad anymore.”

He said it quickly, rushing over the words. Some might even say sweepingly. Where Belle was the some. In that instance, specifically. Someone, more like. She didn’t care. Was not spending even a second on proper sentence structure or appropriate internal grammar, was far too preoccupied with the circumference of Will’s eyes. And that one muscle in his jaw. Jumping with startling regularity, really. Totally different from her heart and her pulse and it was difficult to catch her breath. 

Felt a bit like she’d played a hockey game. 

A walking contradiction. 

Where she also wasn’t walking anywhere. At all. Had absolutely no intention of walking away. From this.

“Was it not a good make-out?” “I honestly don’t remember a lot of it,” Will sighed, another roll of his neck. Something cracked. “That’s not game-related,” he added, and she could only imagine it had to do with the look on her face, “anyway, it was just...there was that vodka involved, and Vankald spent a ton of time at our apartment. She wasn’t Cap’s sister-in-law yet, but they’d grown up together, was my friend, and he’d fallen asleep, so…” “Figured you just make out?” “Not a lot of thought involved in it. She was a fixture, y’know? Shit, that sounds shitty. Does that sound super shitty?

“Drifting toward shitty, yeah.”

“Anna came to visit a lot because no matter what she may claim, she worries about Cap as much as anyone. Even El and Leader, and that’s—” “Wait, you have an Alien Leader you all report to?” “You’re ruining this story.” Her laugh got caught. Directly between them, all mouths and that goddamn hand, Belle’s neck tilting back on what might have been instinct and need, and she’d gasped more in the last four hours than she had in her entire life. “Tell me more about your Alien Leader, please.” “He only acts like an alien.” “Huh, that cleared up absolutely nothing.” “You should keep kissing me.” “Compare and contrast, huh?” Will groaned. Again. Part two. Let his mouth drag down the side of her throat, and Belle couldn’t stop laughing. Happiness poured out of her, new and a little strange in its quantity. As if she was made of the stuff, even worried as she was through all three periods. She’d kept wringing her fingers together. At one point, Anna had to hold her hand. 

“Ruining,” another kiss, “this,” teeth on her collar bone, “baby girl.”

Suggesting that she lit up in a way that reminded her of a Christmas tree was—

Farcical, maybe. 

Nothing inhuman happened. There were no bells. No whistles. No flashing neon lights suggesting this was the moment and a conversation regarding the man with his hand currently inching towards her right boob drunkenly making out with someone who wasn’t Belle should not have been so—

Fun. 

God, it was fun. She was having fun. With him and because of him. Hockey nonsense aside. 

Because, since coming to New York with her invisible tail tucked between her legs and the near-desperate desire to get away from that seaside town with its ghosts and its demands and its plan for a future that simply did not fit her anymore, Belle had tried. Really. To shed that persona. To be someone new. Hard as she tried, though, there were ties. Those lingering memories. Ones that dug in their heels, while she gripped others with both hands. She was, and she wasn’t. Small town and big town, a librarian who couldn’t care less about details while focusing on  specifics with everything in her. 

And none of it ever really made much sense. 

Hurt her head to think about, everything she tried to contain and the worry that ate away at her sometimes. That she’d messed up, ruined all of it and—

She didn’t kiss Will’s mouth. 

Peppered his face, instead. With her lips and the feelings behind them, mapping the space until she was certain she knew it as well as her own, and she wanted to. Wanted to learn everything about this guy who felt as jagged as she did, made up of right and wrong and mistakes and possibility and she knew it was only a matter of time before he got impatient. 

She liked that about him. 

That he didn’t always wait for her to catch up. Just knew that she would. 

Plus, his tongue in her mouth was really something Belle was starting to appreciate. In an obsessive sort of way. 

She might have groaned that time. 

Fingers scrambled against the front of his shirt — team-branded, again, and that shouldn’t have been charming, but it was and likely would continue to be, and there were goosebumps on her skin. They were really very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. 

“I like you, too,” Belle said, and it was a strange thing not to be embarrassed by the breathless nature of her voice. 

Will’s chest was practically heaving, though. So that put them on even ground. Common ground, at least. 

“You’re not mad?” “Give me some credit, sweetheart.” He chuckled, warm air against the top of her shoulder. “Was a very long time ago, for whatever that might be worth.” “Twelve galleons.” “I don’t know the conversion rate of that.” “No one does, so I think we’re all in the same boat.” “You don’t think Jo knows the conversion rate of her own fictional monetary system?” Belle shook her head. “I absolutely do not, because she was a shit world-builder and also a fairly terrible person now, so—” She shrugged. Will beamed. Some joke about a Christmas tree.

“So,” he echoed, “the thought of making out with Little Vankald has never once again crossed my mind.”

Someone scoffed. With entirely false indignation.

Using Will’s shoulder as leverage — the non-bruised one, naturally — Belle got enough height beneath her toes to see Anna cross her arms. And scowl at the pair of them. Badly. The scowl lasted all of five seconds before it evolved into its own rather uproarious laughter, another echo that filled the empty space of a concourse Belle could not imagine they were supposed to be standing on. Only a matter of time until someone else found them. 

She wasn’t sure that was a bad thing, actually. 

“That’s super rude, Scarlet,” Anna hissed, muffled footsteps that only lost their volume because of the overall status of Belle’s heart. Still trying to fly out of her. “But I want it noted, for the record and all that, that I don’t want to make out with you ever again, either.”

“Do you remember it being way wetter than it should have been?” “You problem, absolutely.” “I haven’t had that issue,” Belle argued, mostly to guarantee the quirk of Will’s lips. Worked like a charm. Or something less lame sounding. In her head. Most of this commentary was in her head. 

“Lucky you,” Anna drawled. 

“C’mon,” Will whined, “no one told you to start with this story.” “Start with, huh?” His eyes. Were becoming a serious problem and a growing majority in the basis for most of Belle’s heart-related issues, but she forced herself to meet his gaze and tilt her chin up and she didn’t think she imagined the way his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek. In an appraising sort of way. 

“I really would have told you. Eventually” “I know.” “I’m serious.” “I know,” Belle repeated, “and I’m really not threatened by someone who you still regularly refer to as Little Vankald.” Anna flipped him off. Or them, maybe. As a collective unit. Belle wanted them to be a collective unit. “I could order a jersey online, right?” “Nah, I know people, don’t waste your money.” “Could probably get Kris to help,” Anna added, “as the physical form of my apology.” Belle waved her off. “It was a good story. Highs, lows, drama, does your—do we call him your brother-in-law? He’s not the Alien Leader, right?” “You mean Liam?” Will’s laugh was more like a barely-contained snort of humor and shoulders that were tight for a reason that did not involve pessimistic emotions. Belle’s lips twitched. “Just knew that off the top of your head, did you?” she asked. 

“If you knew Liam, you’d understand. Was Scarlet suggesting we’re all aliens?” “Nah, just him.” “I did no such thing,” Will objected, another glance in Anna’s direction, “Cap looking for us?” She nodded. “Locksley too. Should I be worried Mom and Dad are getting a divorce?” “You’re the most dramatic person alive.” “Lots of hand moving between the two of you, your girlfriend was worried.”

It was Belle’s turn to tense. With what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Some sort of emotion, she assumed. Adrenaline, maybe. Hope, possibly. And it wasn’t like she was waiting for labels, but she’d come to pretty good terms with her ability to counter herself in the midst of her own silent monologue, and Will was staring again. Straight through her, it seemed. 

Or maybe directly into her. 

That was sentimental, though. 

“Does Killian know that you two made out once?” Anna hissed. “If you tell KJ about this, I will actually have to strangle you, no matter how much I like you and how much Scarlet wants to date you.” “Aren’t we dating already?” Anna opened her mouth, what Belle knew would be more sarcasm and the teasing nature of her and Will’s relationship, but she had more pressing issues, and he answered, anyway. “Yeah, we totally are, plus I like you way more than I hate Ariel’s inevitable victory lap, so I mean, that’s—” Cutting him off was rude. Not nice. Inevitable. 

Based solely on the size of his eyes and their gold-like nature. 

“I, uh—” Belle started, “I know we’re not supposed to accept the set-up, and Ariel’s going to be so annoying, but maybe we could…” She shrugged. Tried to stay focused. And upright. Continued standing seemed important in a moment like this. “We’re both kinda messed up, don’t you think?” “Little,” Will murmured. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and I know that we’re...I mean, this is good, and I’m mostly good with it, but also, I was super nervous during the game, and what were you guys fighting about?” “Fighting is a strong word. More like discussing how Locksley should learn to keep his stick on the ice so he can get that tip from my slap.” “Weird turn of phrase.” “Slap shot.” “No time for full terminology, huh?” “How goes the understanding icing battle?” She was going to sprain her cheeks. Maybe Ariel could help with that. After gloating. Ariel was absolutely going to gloat. “Getting there,” Belle promised, and it was not about hockey, “don’t you think?” “Mmhm.” “So, uh—I don’t know what you do after games, but…” “Little Vankald is totally here to drag us uptown because Cap regularly challenges her in the dramatics, and I bet he’s hungry.” “You eat after games?” “Ariel’s husband owns that restaurant.” “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s how I met her actually. Good onion rings. Weird we didn’t ever see each other there at the same time, though.” Will hummed. Stuck out his lower lip. Challenged her without saying anything, and Anna was still standing there, and security had to be aware of them, but Belle was in the middle of something, and it was good and great and made absolutely no sense because she was not a pro sports girlfriend, but the labels really weren’t important, and it was all—

She gasped. For, like, the four-thousandth time that night. 

Saved the best for last, though. 

Will’s mouth found hers in a crashing sort of way that altered the cosmos, or at least Belle’s perception of the world around her. Particularly when her hands were suddenly more like barnacles, gripping his shirt as if she was afraid he’d disappear otherwise. Knuckles cracked and breath caught, everything spinning and staying frustratingly still, and one of her heels popped out of her shoe. Pressing back up on her toes didn’t do her calves any favors, but she wasn’t bruised and they were both a disaster, and the tongue thing really was pretty fantastic. 

Tracing the inside of her mouth and the seam of her lips, Will’s rumble of pleasure echoed between her ribs, enough to spur Belle’s arm up as she slung it around his neck. Her fingers found skin and short hair, nails scratching so she could hear that sound again. 

She closed her eyes. 

Let the details seep in, and settle into her soul. 

Until Anna coughed, and there was a security guard standing next to her, and Will’s head dropped to Belle’s collar bone again. He kissed there, too. Before spinning on his sandals, all confidence, and bravado, a reasonable excuse that someone, somewhere, would probably believe. Not this security guard, but that probably wasn’t important, and Belle had helped Will make an Instagram account. 

So, something about a cat and a bag and—

His fingers laced through hers. 

“Wanna challenge Locksley to a fight for my honor?” She scrunched her nose. Pretended to grimace when his lips pressed against her cheek. Anna gagged. “Yeah,” Belle said, “that’s exactly what I want to do.”

[youngbloodlisk]

Worth It // Kim Sunwoo Model AU

Chapter 1

chapter genre: angst, fluff

(note: sunwoo does not appear in the series yet)

Emotionless, numb, and yet full of every feeling possible.

That's what packing up my stuff feels like.

That's what leaving what has been my home since age 15 feels like.

That's what being unsure of my future and career feels like.

I carefully place a designer shirt, a pink one from a shoot last year which they allowed me to keep, into the hanging clothing bag.

I zip up the bag and push it against the others.

Okay, that takes care of the clothes.

I turn away from the closet, looking around my room.

Photos litter the walls, some in frames, some stuck on with a piece of tape, and some held up with a thumbtack.

While I have a few of my magazine issues in the boxes by the door, previously displayed on my bookshelf, none of these photos are professional.

These are Polaroids, photo booths, and cell phone photos. The likes of those.

These don't document my career, they document my life. My friends, my adventures, my travels (although, those trips are credited to my job).

I feel as though I could cry again, but I've cried so much in the past week. I think I'm out of tears now.

"You want some help? That's a lot of photos to take with you." My best friend's voice comes from the doorway.

"I wanna leave them... I don't wanna have to take them anywhere. I don't wanna go anywhere."

Juyeon enters my room and wraps his arms around me from behind, going just slightly on his toes to rest his chin on my head.

"I know you don't. Neither do I. But it'll be okay."

"You don't know that."

"Sure, I do. You'll find a new company faster than you can blink. Have you checked your business email? You may have some offers already. The news is already out that Imaginary Parties is bankrupt, I'm sure other agencies are itching to snag you up."

"That's a nice thought, Ju... But I wanna stay here. This very room. I've lived here for 6 years. I've worked with the same people for 6 years. It's not easy to leave it all."

Juyeon puts his feet flat on the ground and moves his head so it's resting against mine, his lips next to my ear.

"I know." He whispers sweetly.

We stay silent and frozen in our position, besides some swaying back and forth.

He knows all I need is comfort right now.

He always knows what I need, and what I don't need. That's why he's my best friend.

He joined Imaginary Parties Modeling Agency when I was 18 and he was 20. We immediately clicked.

He's been my best friend, my second half, for almost 3 years, and that's part of what scares me the most about Imaginary Parties coming to an end.

I'll probably barely, if ever, see Juyeon.

When I join another agency, and he joins another agency, and our schedules mix about as well as oil and water...

I may only see him on magazine covers and advertisements.

I don't know what I'll do without Lee Juyeon by my side.

"You'll be okay." It's only when he responds that I realize I had mumbled my last thought out loud. "We'll be okay. Who knows, maybe we'll end up at the same place?"

"Not likely."

"With as many shoots as we've done together, it's probably more likely than you think! Hey..." He lets go of me and turns me around to look into his deep, genuine, caring eyes. "Everything is gonna be okay. You have me here?" He points to my heart, and I roll my eyes at his cheesiness.

"Yes, Ju."

"And I have you here." He places his hand on his own heart. "No matter what happens, we have each other. Right?"

"Ju, what if-"

"Right?"

I feel a tear escape my eye, and Juyeon carefully wipes it away with his thumb.

"Right."

He pulls me into a tight hug.

I know he's trying to tell me he loves me.

-----------

Juyeon holds my hand and walks with me to my car.

We just finished packing our stuff into our cars, mine first and then his.

I can feel something start to bubble up in me again. Juyeon senses my mood change.

"You better text me when you get home. I'll do the same. And I keep telling you to check your email! We should compare our offers. Maybe someone reached out to both of us and we'll be back together in an agency a lot faster than you're thinking. And even if we aren't, you know I'm gonna text you constantly. I'll annoy you to death and you'll love it."

I can't help but chuckle.

"You always know what to say, don't you?"

"Only with you." He opens my car door for me before giving me one last hug.

"Have fun in Gwangju. Be safe traveling."

He's about to travel back to his family to visit while he works out a new agency, leaving me in Seoul without him for at least three weeks.

"I will. Again, text me when you get home! I need to know you made it safe."

"I know, I know. I will. I'll see you sometime, Ju."

"I'll see you as soon as possible." He kisses my forehead.

Again, I know that's another way he tells me he loves me without actually saying it.

He let's go of my hand and begins to walk away, heading toward his own car packed full of stuff.

I sigh and repress my tears before getting in my car and driving away from Imaginary Parties for the last time, never to return.

-----------

My phone wakes me up in the middle of the night. I blink my eyes to try to focus on the name on my screen

Lee Juyeon

"Waking me up? He better be alone and stuck in a ditch..."

I swipe across the screen and press the speaker button, far too tired to hold a phone up to my ear right now.

"Ju, it's 3am. Are you okay?"

"I should be asking you that! You never text me or called me that you got home safe! At first, I assumed it was just because of service, but nothing ever came through! You did make it home okay, right?"

His extreme concern is both annoying and endearing.

"Yes, Ju. I'm home, in my room, in my bed, previously asleep. And you made it okay?" I rub my face, trying to actually listen and comprehend his answer.

"Yeah, I just got here. Travel wasn't as fast and smooth as anticipated, but I made it."

"That's great. I miss you already, Ju. Can I please sleep now and tell you more about how much I miss you tomorrow?"

"You better. Don't forget this time!" The phone beeps, telling me that he did me the favor of hanging up.

I don't even bother to put my phone back on the nightstand. My hand goes limp as I rapidly fall into sleep and the phone slips out of my grip, without me noticing or caring.

-----------

"What did I tell you? I told you! I told you like... at least twenty times. I knew it! I-"

"Ok, ok, Juyeon, I get it. You were right."

"Can you say that again and let me turn on my laptop screen record this time?"

"Absolutely not."

"Are you gonna accept it?"

"Are you?"

"If you are."

"Well, I'm only going to accept if Juyeon accepts."

"I accept!"

"Then... so do I..."

It begins to set in.

The same agency reached out to both me and Juyeon, Worth It Modeling.

Home to some of the biggest models in the business, and they want us.

Both of us.

We're gonna work together again.

We're gonna live together again.

"Can you believe that we're gonna work with the likes of Ju Haknyeon and Ji Changmin? And Lee Sangyeon? And Choi Chanhee!" Juyeon starts to fanboy over his favorite models.

When I say favorites, I mean he collects all their issues. And displays them better than he displays his own.

"Aw, little Juyeon finally gets to show off his shrine!"

"It is NOT a shrine! And I'll probably keep them in the closet if I'm working with these guys... it's a little weird to have my own co-workers' magazines on stands on a bookshelf..."

I laugh with him, feeling my worries and sadness begin to lift off my shoulders.

Sure, I'm gonna miss Imaginary Parties a lot, but at least I get to work with Juyeon. Not to mention, I'll also be working with some of the best models in Korea being at Worth It.

Maybe everything will be okay.

-----------

"What about the bookshelf stuff?" I pick up a heavy box and drop it carefully onto the bed.

Juyeon purses his lips and opens the box to look at exactly what's inside.

"It can probably all go up on the new bookshelf. But leave the magazine stands in the box, just store the magazines like normal."

I chuckle slightly, remembering the reason he wants me to exclude the stands from the new bookshelf set-up.

Juyeon goes back to organizing his clothes into his closet, and I grab a stack of books from the box to start on the bookshelf.

As I'm sliding books onto the shelf side-by-side, I hear someone enter the room and immediately Juyeon drops something on his foot and cries out in pain.

My attention is drawn to him, but it appears he's okay. Once I see who had walked into the room, I'm no longer confused by the sudden clumsiness.

I have to keep myself from laughing as Juyeon tries to avoid staring at Choi Chanhee, who is going through the other closet to find a jacket.

The irony is anything but lost on me that Juyeon happens to be roomies with his favorite model.

The moment Chanhee leaves the room, Juyeon looks at me with the most shocked expression I've seen on his face in my entire life.

"That's gotta be a joke."

"Good luck, Ju. You're gonna need it."

"Trade with me."

"You realize the name next to my name on my door belongs to a girl?"

"You realize I don't care?"

"No, Juyeon. You just need to learn to not cry every time you see his face."

"I never cry!" Juyeon protests my accusations, knowing I'm right.

"Last year's December issue of NewShot said otherwise."

He rolls his eyes.

"Whatever..."

We both get back to work, when suddenly the silence is broken after about five minutes.

"They put him in a long skirt with red eyeshadow and they painted his nails green, what was I supposed to do? Not cry?"

[petersasteria]

I’m A Ghost?! - Haz Osterfield

Happy Halloween, bitches x

“Personally, I think you need this.” James, your older brother, said as he made himself comfortable on your bed. You were pacing back and forth while deciding whether or not you should go to your friend’s birthday party. You wanted to go, but at the same time, you didn’t want to. You were torn.

“Or maybe I should just stay home!” You said with a smile and sat down at the edge of your bed.

“Y/N, you’ve been staying at home for eight bloody years. What good has that done to you? You need a break from this house and your son. Seriously, you need a life outside yours and Mason’s. You’re a brilliant mum and letting loose for just one night won’t hurt, I guarantee you.” James said with a small smile.

You looked at him and asked, “You think I’m a brilliant mum?”

“You had Mason when you were sixteen.” James chuckled lightly. “You’ve been through so much; from getting disowned by our parents to nearly losing your life just to bring Mason into this world.”

It was true.

You got pregnant at sixteen and it scared you. You were young and naive. You thought the guy who knocked you up would stand by you, but he didn’t. He just left. When you told your parents, they weren’t happy. They told you to pack your things and move out and that you and your ‘mistake’ aren’t welcome there and that they didn’t want to see you ever again.

James was twenty-one years old at that time and he just moved in a new apartment that he shared with his girlfriend. You moved in with them and they helped you through it all. James never went home to your parents after learning what they did to you, so both of you did new traditions.

When one leaves, another arrives. James’ girlfriend left him because she was offered a job in Dubai and she didn’t want to turn it down. He let her go instead. After all, it was good for her. After that, it’s been you and James... and Mason a week after that.

You had a hard time giving birth to him because something went wrong. James was panicking because he didn’t know what to do. You were literally dying. Then, some miracle happened. You fought your way through and gave birth to the most beautiful boy you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

Nothing else mattered and he was perfect. You promised yourself that you would give him the best life and James was by your side, guiding you through it.

“Despite all of that, you still manage to push through on your own and you still manage to give Mason the best life he could ever imagine. Heck, you live in this house and it’s small, but it’s lovely for both of you. So, yes. I think you’re a brilliant mum and anyone who says otherwise is an idiot.” James grinned.

“Thank you.” You tear up. Both of you hugged each other and you pulled away.

“Go on and get ready, alright? Mason and I will be fine.” James reassured.

Now, here you were about to leave the house. You gave Mason the biggest and tightest hug and repeatedly told him that you loved him and that you’d be back in time to read him a story.

Sadly, you never got back on time to read him a story. In fact, you never got back at all.

You were driving at an unfamiliar road. Well, you knew the street, but you’ve never been there until now. Then a car crashed into yours and the impact killed you immediately. James was informed of your demise and he didn’t know what to tell Mason. Instead, he just got drunk and left.

Although he was very much alive, he never came back for Mason.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓...

You woke up in a funny position on the ground and your back was hurting. You got up and looked around and groaned when you didn’t recognize anything. You looked down and you were still wearing your clothes from last night. 

You looked around and approached people to ask for some help, but they just... ignored you. It was weird. Surely they would’ve noticed you, right? You continued to ask for help until you got frustrated.

“Can you please help me?” You asked a woman who was walking with a stroller. You scoffed when the woman didn’t say anything. “Are you deaf like the rest of the people who ignored me?”

Then, you heard giggling. You looked for the sound and realized it belonged to the baby in the stroller. The baby was looking right at you!

“Your baby can literally see me and you can’t?! Unbelievable!” You sighed in exasperation as you watched the woman leave.

“Calm down.” A voice said. “What kind of help do you need?”

You turned around and saw a blonde man wearing basketball shorts and a loose shirt approaching you. He had a kind smile and he seemed like a genuinely nice guy. 

“Thank, fuck!” You said loudly. “A good Samaritan!” You smiled at him and said, “I’ve been asking help for, like, two hours now and you’re the first one who offered to help me.”

“No problem! I love helping.” The man smiled. “I’m Harrison Osterfield, by the way.”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

“So, what did you need help with?” Harrison asked sweetly.

“Oh, you see I’m not from this area. This place is unfamiliar to me and I really want to get home. My son, Mason, is probably awake now. He’s an early riser.” You chuckled.

“Alright! I’ll just change my clothes first, okay? You can come with me and you can freshen up. People are staring.” Harrison chuckled lightly. You looked around and a few people were staring.

“Alright, let’s go to your place! I hope it’s not far.” You said as both of you started walking.

“Nah, it’s just around the corner.” Harrison assured.

True enough, his apartment was around the corner. He took a quick shower and changed his clothes. You chose not to freshen up because you could do it at home. When Harrison got out of the shower, you were laying on his couch. Your whole body was aching and you couldn’t move.

“You good?” Harrison asked and you shook your head. “Okay, how about I’ll bring your son here instead? Give me your address. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“You’d do that for a stranger?” You asked.

“Well, yeah. Besides, he’s someone important to you.” Harrison smiled which made you smile too. His smile was contagious.

You gave him your address and with that, he was on his way to your place. 

𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄...

Harrison didn’t know what to expect on the way to your house. All he knew was that there’ll be an eight year old boy named Mason there and that Mason was with his uncle, James. To say that Harrison was shocked when he arrived at your house was an understatement.

There’s a car parked in front with a bumper sticker that said “Annabelle’s Foster Care”. He quickly parked and got out of his car. He saw two people wearing the uniform from the foster care carrying suitcases. He immediately went up to them and asked what was happening.

“The boy’s mother had passed last night due to a car accident.” One of them said.

“Such a shame, really. His guardian is nowhere to be seen either. The boy was all alone when we found him. He’s in the car right now; too upset to pack.” The other said sadly.

“I think you have it all wrong.” Harrison nervously said. “The mother’s fine! She’s at my apartment as we speak.”

“Her body’s in autopsy, though. Wait- are we even talking about the same person?” 

“You know what? Probably not.” Harrison said. “Who lives here?”

“The girl and her son. Y/N Y/L/N and Mason.”

Harrison’s heart has never beaten so fast in his entire twenty-four years of living. He went pale and his hands were sweating. The only thing running through Harrison’s mind was, ‘Oh my god. She’s dead and I’m the only one who could see her.’

“You alright?”

Harrison snapped out of his thought and smiled, “Yeah, I’m fine. I got the wrong address.” He lied. “Sorry for bothering, yeah? I’ll be off now.” He quickly left the house and got in his car to drive back to his apartment. How the hell was he supposed to tell you that you’re just a soul now?

Soon, he arrived at his apartment and you were still on the couch. You sat up with a huge grin, but it slowly faded away when you didn’t see Mason.

“Where’s my son?” You asked.

“...He, uh, he’s going to foster care.” Harrison said nervously. He didn’t want an angry spirit in his apartment.

“Foster care?! I’m right here! Why is he-”

“You’re dead, Y/N.” Harrison said bluntly. “There isn’t any nicer way to say it, but you’re dead and I’m the only one who could see you. I guess that’s why people were staring this morning. They probably thought I was crazy.”

You couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“There’s no way, I’m dead.” You shook your head.

“But you are.” Harrison said sadly. “They said it was because of a car accident last night.”

Now, you knew why your body ached. Now you knew why you woke up on the ground at an unfamiliar place. You finally understood.

“Yes, but that doesn’t explain why my son is going to foster care. He has a guardian. My brot-”

“He left. The people from foster care said Mason was the only one there when they arrived.” Harrison said.

Your heart broke as you thought of your little boy. He must’ve felt so scared and alone. You wanted to hold him and tell him that everything will be okay, but you couldn’t do that anymore. Unless...

You looked at Harrison and said, “I want you to adopt Mason. Like, ASAP.”

“Whoa, there’s a lot of things to process. I live in a small apartment and I’m not cut out to be a father. I have a life!” Harrison shrieked.

“In case it didn’t occur to you, I don’t have a life. I had one, but I fucking died.” You said through gritted teeth. “I would ask someone else, but you’re the only one who could see me and I can help you through this shit, alright? Besides, aren’t you wondering why my soul is still here?” You rambled.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Souls go somewhere when they die. Aren’t you wondering why I’m still here?”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it... why are you still here?”

“You might think it’s ridiculous-”

“Please, I’m talking to a ghost right now. At this point, nothing is ridiculous.” Harrison chuckled lightly and nodded for you to continue.

“I think I’m still here because of unfinished business. Before I left, I told Mason that I’d read him a bedtime story when I get back. Well, as you can see, I didn’t make it back.”

“But now, you can do that for me.” You smiled. “And maybe after you read him a bedtime story, I could finally leave. So can you please adopt Mason?”

Harrison stared into your eyes and gave in, “Fine. Only because I feel bad for him.”

The next three days were spent in teaching Harrison your ways on taking care of Mason and what to cook and telling him what Mason is allergic to and a lot of other things.

Harrison went to the foster care where Mason was in and before he knew it, he was already signing papers and taking Mason home.

You were waiting for them to arrive and the wait was killing you. You haven’t been away from Mason for this long and you were excited to see him. Although, it stung to know that the excitement was one sided.

You heard the door unlock and in comes Mason with Harrison behind him, holding the suitcases.

“Welcome home.” Harrison said softly as he closed the door and put the suitcases in his room. He walked back out only to find Mason sitting on the couch next to you.

You wanted to hold him so bad, but you couldn’t. Harrison immediately went to the kitchen to grab a plate of a PB&J sandwich that was cut diagonally just like how Mason wanted. Both you and Harrison hoped that making his favorite sandwich would make him open up to Harrison.

Harrison placed the plate on the coffee table and said, “I, uh, I hope you like PB&J.”

“It’s my favorite.” Mason said in a soft voice. It was music to your ears. It felt like hearing him talk for the first time all over again. Harrison smiled, “I’m glad! Do you want milk with that?”

Mason ate one half of the sandwich and nodded. He saw the remote of the tv and looked at Harrison for permission. Harrison just chuckled and nodded before going to the kitchen to get him a glass of milk.

Mason immediately got comfortable with Harrison and they were friends now. Harrison was beginning to like Mason’s company and now he understood what his mum felt when he was just Mason’s age. He now understood why his mother was so attached and why his mother wanted him by her side all the time.

It was night time and you sat at the edge of the bed as Harrison started reading Mason’s favorite bedtime story. As usual, Mason never got to hear the end because he was already fast asleep. You smiled at the sight and got up to kiss Mason’s forehead which he brushed off, thinking it was hair sticking to his forehead.

You walked out of Harrison’s room and Harrison quietly followed.

“I guess this is goodbye, huh?” Harrison said sadly.

“Yeah.” You said. “Take care of yourself, alright? Take care of Mason too.”

“I will.” He promised.

“Don’t forget to read him stories every night. His favorite snacks are PB&J’s and if it’s not available, Cheetos are fine. He’s allergic to eggs and he loves bacon for dinner, not breakfast. Make sure he eats his vegetables and if he gets sick, make sure he takes his med-”

“Medicine on time because for some reason, he gets cranky when he doesn’t.” Harrison continued. “I got this, Y/N.”

You nodded. Both of you stayed in comfortable silence, neither of you didn’t know what to say.

Thank you for everything, Harrison. You’re a blessing.” You smiled sadly. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” He gave you a small smile. Harrison’s vision became blurry with tears when he saw you starting to fade away.

“Tell Mason that I love him with all my heart and that I’ll always be there for him.” You said.

Harrison nodded, “I will.”

“I’ll be there for you too, okay? You may not see me anymore, but I’ll make sure my presence is with you anytime you need me.” You tear up.

“Well, my mission is done. Thanks for everything, Harrison. You’ll be a great dad to Mason. I can feel it. I trust you, okay? See you when I see you.” You said.

“Thank you too and I’ll do my best.” Harrison cried and watched as you finally faded away.

“Harrison?” A sleep Mason asked. Harrison quickly wiped his tears and turned to see him.

“Yeah?”

“I had a dream about my mum.” Mason said sheepishly. “She said she was okay and I miss her. Now, I can’t sleep. Is it okay if we cuddle? My mum cuddles me when I can’t sleep and-”

“Yeah.” Harrison said. “We can cuddle.”

Mason smiled and both of them went to the room and cuddled until Mason fell asleep again. Harrison’s eyes were beginning to feel heavy too and as he watched Mason sleep, he realized that everything will be okay. They’ll be fine.

* * * *

Happy Halloween x

𝐇𝐀𝐙 𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @abrielleholland​ @silencetheslaves​ @imeanlifesabitshit​ @joyleenl​ @marshxx​​ @hjoficrecs​​ @myblueleatherbag​ @poguesholland​ @myblueleatherbag​​ @harryismysunflower​​ @justanothermarvelmaniac​ @lonikje​ @lizzyosterfield @itstaskeen​ @ilarbu​ @turtoix​ @badreputationlove​ @starlight-starks​ @swiftmind​ @sovereignparker​ @pearce14​ @justanamesstuff​ @chewymoustachio​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​ @hazmyheart​

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @marvelousell​ @justasmisunderstoodasloki​ @rubberducky-jrr​ @petersholland​​ @osterfieldnholland​ @miraclesoflove​ @god-knows-what-am-i-doing​​ @perspectiveparker​​ @parker-potters​​ @itstaskeen​ @call-me-baby-gir1​ @the-panwitch @iamaunicorn4704 @chloecreatesfictions​ @holland-styles​ @halfblood-princess-505​ @spidey-reids-2003​ @herbatkazmiloscia @whatthefuckimbisexual @justanothermarvelmaniac​ @unsaidholland​ @musicalkeys​ @lost-in-the-stars03​ @hufflepuffprincess24​ @hollanddolanfangirl @parkerpeter24​ @bellelittleoff​

[flowesona]

Strength - Yandere! Yoongi x reader

The Tarot Series

“You won’t be able to play to the best of your ability if you’re slouching.” A warm hand pushed (Y/N)’s back into a straighter position and lingered for a second before being withdrawn.

“Try again for me. And try to play a bit faster this time. It’s meant to be 120 bpm and you’re only at 100 right now.” She nodded, eyes set on the sheet in front of her as her fingers once again began to dance with the keys, trying her best to appeal to Yoongi’s high standards.

(Y/N) could only hear the notes she was playing. Not an inch of her attention was given to her teacher standing behind her, a warm smile overcoming his face as she played.

Upon her hands falling on the final chord, she jumped at the feeling of his hands on her arms. With her being still, he moved his hands down towards her fingers, intertwining them with his own.

“That’s the best I’ve ever heard you perform this piece.” He whispered into her ear, placing a soft kiss on the shell. “I’m so lucky to be the one who gets to hear this.”

“Am I ready for the exam yet?” He frowned, his hot breaths sending shivers down (Y/N)’s spine amidst the silence as she waited for a response.

“No. You’ve still got so much to learn from me. We won’t stop until you’re perfect.” The kisses that were pressed against (Y/N)’s neck, trailing down further until he started to fiddle with her clothes, were little to consolidate the dissatisfaction that haunted her mind.

 *.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

Days were like walking through a sandstorm until her relief came in the form of her piano lessons. Yoongi was her relief amidst the stress of modern life, the person who saved her from going insane. It was his kisses and his touch that could wipe her mind of confusing symbols. But his effect was both a blessing and a curse.

“You simply aren’t meeting our standards, (Y/N). Unless your test results improve, we’ll suggest that you leave this school for a more appropriate one.” The young woman’s eyes were lowered to meet her lap as she tried not to cry.

“You’re a talented musician, (Y/N). But we need you to be well balanced in theory. I hope you understand.”

“I… I understand sir. Thank you for this opportunity.” She said, bowing politely before leaving, her stomach heavy with emotion.

Meanwhile, Yoongi was tapping his foot impatiently in the small practice room. She was already twenty minutes late, and she hadn’t even bothered to text. It was then he decided to go and look for her; perhaps she’d been caught up in some funny business, and she needed his help?

Yoongi couldn’t help but to walk as fast as humanly possible, pushing past his students without a second glance to reach the classroom (Y/N) should have been in. There was no sign of her.

It was as if the walls were closing in. Desperately his eyes scanned every part of the corridors that he hurried through, needing (Y/N) more than ever in that moment.

Thankfully, he found her outside the executive offices. However, he found her in a terrible state, crying endlessly.

“(Y/N)! Baby!” He rushed to hold her, but she pushed him away.

“Not here.” She mumbled, and he nodded understandingly. It was only after they had found an abandoned storage cupboard that she finally collapsed into him, sobbing.

“We have to end this, Yoongi.” (Y/N)’s whimpers alarmed the pianist, his breathing quickening.

“What do you mean? Why?” He asked, rubbing her back gently.

“I’m failing my theory class. I have to stop… this. Our lessons, our affair, everything. I’ll be kicked out otherwise.” The words tugged at Yoongi’s heartstrings more than anything.

“But we need to keep going! How else will you become-”

“No, Yoongi.” (Y/N) sniffed, looking up at him. “I don't need you.”

“But I need you. I need us, (Y/N). Please.” His whines were nothing to deter (Y/N). She was set on being the best musician she could be, and she wouldn’t lose her means for that because of her stupid attractive piano teacher.

“I’ll see you around, Yoongi.”

*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

With (Y/N) no longer needing him, Yoongi felt as if his life had no meaning any longer. He couldn’t live in such a dull way, only tutoring lackluster students who didn’t have a glimmer of the talent & beauty that (Y/N) exuded.

Soon, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Just brushing shoulders with her in the corridor was not enough skinship for Yoongi. He needed her back, to return to what they had.

This led him to purchase a voice scrambler and a cheap phone to make his move. If (Y/N) couldn’t see him due to failing grades, he wouldn’t let her fail. 

He dialed the number of her theory professor, resisting the shake of his leg as he waited for him to pick up.

“Hello?” The older man answered with some caution to his tone.

“Good evening. There’s something I need you to do for me.” Yoongi spoke into the voice scrambler, hoping that it would hide the shake of his voice.

“Who is this?”

“That’s none of your business, Professor. As long as you do as I say, we will have no further business.” 

“Why should I do as you say? Who are you?”

“Your boyfriend. Park Jimin. He works night shifts, correct? When he’s all alone in the middle of the night, terrible things could happen to him. Don’t get on my bad side, Mr Kim.” By the way the line had fallen silent, Yoongi knew he’d hit the professor’s weak point.

“I want all your students to be given a passing grade. No exceptions.” 

“B-but if I’m found to be faking grades, I c-could be fired!” The man on the other side of the line whined.

“Would you rather that, or have your boyfriend’s severed head on your doorstep?” Yoongi hissed.

“I-I understand. O-okay, I’ll do it.” 

“I’ll check regularly. Don’t go back on your words, or your precious Jimin is as good as dead.”

“Wait, how will you-”

Yoongi ended the call before smashing the phone on the table, to leave no evidence of his doings in case anyone started snooping. After doing so, he gave himself the chance to breathe. The hard part was over, he just had to collect his prize.

 *.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*

As (Y/N) made her way to her lunch break, she was practically glowing. Finally, the stress of her exams was off her shoulders, and she could enjoy her degree rather than live in fear of failing. 

Whilst mulling over what she was going to eat, she felt herself colliding with someone. Her accidental assailant caught onto her arms as she stumbled back, keeping her stable. It was only then she recognised him.

“Yoongi?” He gave her a shy smile as he steadied her.

“(Y/N).” For a moment they were silent, just staring at each other.

“I’ve missed you, Baby.” (Y/N)’s face dropped. 

“I told you, we can’t do this.” She shook her head, closed her eyes as if to not get drawn back in. “I can’t go back to failing my classes, I can’t have… this… when I need to focus on my career.”

Yoongi paused, trying to contain his bubbling emotion as he spoke.

“(Y/N), I can help you. If you think you don’t need me and you’re better than me, you’re wrong. I helped you get these grades!”

A beat. 

“Did you mess with the grades so I would go back to our lessons? Yoongi, you could be fired!” She looked aghast. “I want my grades to be legitimate. I don’t care if I fail, I’m going to report you for this.”

Yoongi glowered at her raised voice, glancing around before pulling her into the practice room next to them.

“(Y/N), please understand. Everything I do is for our future, you see?” He said firmly.

“What future? Yoongi, you’re not my partner! You’re hot and great and all that, but this was never going to last.” 

“(Y/N), don’t play with my heart.” Yoongi pleaded. “Don’t make me the bad guy!”

“Just don’t talk to me anymore! I won’t tell anyone about it, just let me move on.” (Y/N) sighed.

“I can’t let you do that.”

(Y/N)’s body was pressed onto the table, as Yoongi used both his hands to hold her neck in place.

“I was worried you wouldn’t be as grateful as I hoped, so I had a backup plan.” (Y/N) tried to retaliate with all the energy she had left, but she was nothing beneath the maniac.

“I’m sorry I have to do this baby, but I can’t stay away any longer. No one can prevent us from being together now, not even you.”

[chocoluckchipz]

The Other You - 1

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

Chapter by @maerynn-blog​

Gabriel Agreste’s death had been sudden, and unexpected.

Only a few months before the premiere of his first-ever women’s apparel collection, the famous fashion mogul had succumbed to a violent stroke at his home office in the early hours of the morning, apparently while busy reviewing the latest designs that had been submitted to him.

Few could state without lying that they would miss their boss. Gabriel had proven on more than one occasion to be solely driven by results and success, with no consideration whatsoever for his employees. Even fewer could say honestly that they would miss the man, for his late years had only cemented the cold and heartless facade he had forged throughout the years, setting the image of an implacable leader in stone despite himself.

Over the years, he had even alienated his very own son, with whom he had fallen out of touch as soon as Adrien had been old enough to stand up for himself and make his own decisions. Persistent rumours throughout the years suggested that Gabriel had disowned his son as a result of his desertion of the company, but seeing as Adrien found himself the sole owner of Gabriel following his father’s sudden passing, either those rumours were wrong or Gabriel had forgiven his only heir somewhere along the way.

Which could have been fine if the company had been left in capable hands, which, unfortunately, wasn’t the case. Gabriel Agreste had never entrusted anyone with his company’s well-being or any important decision regarding his brand. Even his almost lifelong personal assistant, Nathalie Sancoeur, had been merely blindly obeying orders without ever questioning them for most of her employment with Gabriel, and yet, she probably would’ve been the most qualified person to assure a smooth transition.

Coincidentally, Nathalie had gone into a well-deserved retirement only a few weeks before Gabriel’s ultimate demise, around the same time Gorilla hung up his luxury sedan keys and moved away to the seashore, admittedly to catch up with his growing-too-fast grandkids.

That meant that the week following Gabriel Agreste’s passing was pure chaos as far as Gabriel’s remaining staff and stockholders were concerned.

The artistic team was left without a leader to guide them, ideas and designs going nuts and wild without anyone to organize them and separate the wheat from the chaff.

The accounting team was going crazy dealing with the sudden and massive increase in resignations, the suppliers’ incessant calls wondering if they’d ever get paid, and the stockholders demanding answers about the uncertain future of the company.

The company’s lawyers were for the most part completely unreachable, busy as they were trying to figure out what exactly were the ramifications of their CEO’s sudden death. Who would take over the company if Adrien Agreste chose to surrender his notoriously unwanted position? Would he choose to sell the company to a third-party? And if he did, what would that entail? What would happen to the collections already out? The works-in-progress?

Above all, as the head designer of the upcoming brand new women’s line, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was probably the most sleep-deprived, stressed-out, and overall most exhausted employee amongst the entirety of Gabriel’s staff. The young woman had spent the better part of the past week trying to coax any ideas out of the designers working under her with mixed success, only to discover that by Friday night, all but her and her assistant either quit or transferred to the men’s department, leaving Marinette to work on her collection alone.

The rational part of her brain wanted to leave as well, bury herself beneath a pile of luxury fabric and only come back up once everything had been cleared out and dealt with because as things currently were, everything in her life was going to shambles.

At twenty-five, a rising star yet a dropout from ESMOD due to an unexpected exclusive apprenticeship under Gabriel Agreste himself, she was sharing a pitiful two-bedroom apartment with Alya and Nino, desperately trying to gather enough savings to get a place of her own. Her salary as Gabriel’s head designer of the upcoming women’s department was more than decent, but it still wasn’t enough to live on her own in the centre of Paris close to work. Mostly because the line she was heading was experimental and any salary raises were dependent on its success at Fashion Week at the end of summer that year.

Going back to her parents wasn’t an option Marinette entertained, and so she had no choice but to put up with the ups and downs of living with a very in-love young couple, whereas she had yet to go on a second date, let alone have a boyfriend. Alya was relentlessly picking on her about that, pointing out mercilessly how she was married to her job, and wondering how in the world “fashion” would give her children. Usually, Marinette would shrug and effortlessly shift the conversation to another topic, but lately, the dangerous cocktail of exhaustion and anxiety for her future in the industry brewing up within her, coupled with Alya’s growing irritation toward her friend’s numerous disappearances and secrets, had sparked more than one nasty argument between the pair of best friends.

As a result, Marinette was carefully avoiding going home as much as she could.

She had spent the week running up and down every corridor, making sure the collection would come out without a hitch despite being carried over by a boat without a captain. She worked herself to the bone, overcompensating for the huge loss the team had just suffered. Marinette spent her days putting out fires, avoiding catastrophe after catastrophe, and devoted her evenings to working on designs, bringing them to completion, going home way past any decent hour every single day, making sure every design was on point, that every garment was sewn up to par.

It had truly been a week from hell as far as she was concerned.

Even without her less than ideal housing situation, she still would’ve stayed late every day. Her mentor, her boss, was six-feet-under, but Marinette couldn’t envision letting him down. Even if Gabriel definitely lacked warmth in his social interactions, he had taught her so much over the last few years, she felt that the least she could do was to hold down the fort for him. He had given her an unexpected opportunity by putting her in the head designer’s shoes, had believed in her against all odds, and the very idea of betraying his trust, even if he wasn’t there to witness it anymore, was making her sick to her stomach.

Even if staying instead of leaving the boat meant encountering Adrien Agreste in some corridor sooner or later.

Pushing that idea as far away as she could, Marinette knelt in front of her dress form, carefully hemming one of the designs she and Gabriel had been working on last. They had talked about this dress only a few hours before his unexpected death, and she wanted the final result to live up to his expectations; an homage of some sort.

Refusing to look at the clock, knowing it was already way later than what would be deemed reasonable, Marinette took a step back, admiring her work. The dress was gorgeous, flowing nicely around the dress form, but it was lacking that little playful flair Gabriel had been envisioning for it.

Struck with a sudden idea, she promptly rose from her work station and marched to Gabriel’s office, as she had done countless times before. She knew for a fact that he kept a nice assortment of satin ribbons in there, specifically a pretty pink velvet one that would add just the perfect touch to the garment.

What she hadn’t expected, though, was to find another living being in Gabriel’s office.

A familiar mop of blond hair was sprawled out on her late boss’ desk, broad, muscular shoulders slumped, accompanied by a loud and desperate groan.

Marinette paused on the threshold for a second, her heart caught in her throat, wondering if she could get away with picking up the ribbon she needed without being seen. That brief hesitation was her demise. As if feeling her presence in the room, the man looked up, and green eyes bore into hers, widening in surprise.

Marinette couldn’t hold back a gasp at the sight of the man that had haunted her dreams for so many years. Sure enough, he had aged a bit since the last time their paths had crossed, but the years had been kind to him. His face had shed the roundness of his youth, bringing out a sharper, more angular jaw. His hair was a bit darker than it used to be, with a low fade haircut that accentuated his older, more mature appearance.

A single word kept replaying in Marinette’s mind at the handsome sight in front of her: danger.

Realizing she was gaping at him, Marinette mentally slapped herself across the face and promptly slipped back into her professional shoes. “Oh, I’m really sorry, Monsieur Agreste,” she said, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking as much as she heard. “I hadn’t realized I wasn’t alone in the building, otherwise I would’ve never barged in like that. I just need some supplies and then I’ll show myself out.”

With a quirk of an eyebrow, Adrien silently watched Marinette tiptoeing through the room with the ease of someone who was more than accustomed to her surroundings. She opened a nearby cabinet without hesitating and foraged within, her entire torso disappearing into the apparent mess of fabrics and various sewing furniture. Less than thirty seconds later, she emerged victorious, holding a roll of the needed ribbon.

She looked at him again. His face was glazed over with a mix of sleepy confusion and disorientation.

“I—Sorry for disturbing you, Monsieur,” Marinette whispered. “Goodnight.”

Turning her back on him, she walked toward the door, failing to escape before he called.

“Marinette? Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

With a sharp intake of breath, she spun on her heels, facing him again with widening eyes. “I’m sorry?”

Adrien rose from his seat, rounding the heavy desk promptly to close the distance between them. “You’re Marinette, aren’t you? We went to school together, back in Mlle Bustier’s class, with Nino and Al-”

“I remember you perfectly well, Monsieur Agreste.”

He stared at her in silence, matching her guarded expression. “So you ended up here after all?”

She sustained his gaze, her voice cold and professional, “Yes. Despite you, Monsieur Agreste, being a major ass toward me. Can I, please, get back to work now?”

His whole expression tensed as he carefully eyed her. For a moment, he looked like he was trying to figure out what to say, but then he deflated, sighing pitifully. “Very well. I still have these fabrics to pick anyway, and not a single clue about what I’m doing. Have a nice evening, Marinette.”

Marinette froze, her heart stilling in her chest.

Deep down, she knew she shouldn’t care.

Adrien’s problems weren’t in any way her own, and if someone had seen fit to put a physics teacher in charge of an entire fashion house, well, so be it. She had no say in the matter. Someone probably had decided to give him that menial task to keep his sheer incompetence away from what really mattered, an initiative she could only applaud.

But on the other hand, Gabriel had always been a man she admired greatly despite his cold facade, and the years she had spent working by his side hadn’t changed that. He was a brilliant designer and had literally dedicated up to his very last day to his art. She couldn’t stand the thought of letting Adrien ruin his father’s hard work—even if it was only ordering lousy fabric—not if she could help it. She had worked too hard to let him get in the way, and if she had to help him to earn herself the freedom of running her line like she wanted to, then she’d do it.

She glanced at the papers scattered on the desk behind him and frowned. “Don’t buy anything from Cosetti; he holds the weirdest grudge against your father for refusing to incorporate chiffon in the 2015 winter line. There’s a good chance he’ll try to scam you. Berkley’s might be more expensive, but I’ve seen swatches of the silk and it's severely lacking in quality. Zinya’s cheaper, better, and their seller is a real sweetheart.”

Adrien stared at her, dumbfounded, and it took him almost a full minute to find his voice again. “But—but, why would you help me? After—”

Marinette walked past him, shoulders tensed and a determined spark in her eyes. “Believe it or not, some of us actually rely on this company for a living, and I’m not letting it sink without putting up a fight. What else do you need to make a decision on?”

The young man blinked, and his professional persona kicked in. He joined her on the other side of the desk to show her the supplier submissions, tentatively pointing out what little progress he had made. Her tone toward him was cold yet polite as she effortlessly picked up where he had left off, giving him cues on their current relationships with various suppliers and broadly showing him the ropes of managing a fashion empire. Soon enough, Marinette pushed the last submission toward Adrien for a signature, got up, and grabbed her spool of ribbon.

“Marinette?” A little awkward but he looked at her as if she’d just saved him from a sinking boat in the middle of an ocean. “Thanks, I wouldn’t have made it without you, and—”

“Don’t,” Marinette cut him off. “I helped you only because my job is on the line. Good evening, Monsieur.”

She left Gabriel’s office in tense, stubborn silence, neither of them willing to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

***

Later that night, Ladybug landed atop the Eiffel Tower, sitting beside her partner on one of the higher beams with a soft sigh.

He peered at her, surprised. “I thought you said you were going to lay off on the patrols for a bit?”

She stared at the horizon for a minute, a comfortable silence falling between them. His question still hovered, unanswered, but he knew her well enough to figure she was trying to organize her thoughts. Nearly a decade of knowing each other meant that most things could go unsaid between the pair.

Eventually, she scooted closer to him on the beam, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, a comforting gesture that had become customary between them. She lay her head on his shoulder, sighing again.

“What’s wrong, Bug? Won’t your roommate be mad at you for disappearing again?”

She scoffed, reaching for his free hand and lacing her fingers through his. “I’ll get an earful once I get home for sure, but I needed this. I need a breather with my best friend, my safe haven.”

He tensed a bit, hearing those words, “That bad?”

“This last week has truly been hell, and I missed you like crazy.” Ladybug sighed softly.

Chat Noir groaned inwardly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “This boss of yours is some special kind of a jerk if he left you guys with so much trouble upon quitting.”

Ladybug wasn’t sure if she was insulting Gabriel Agreste’s memory by letting her partner tarnish his reputation freely like this, but with news of his sudden passing all over Paris, and the fact that Chat Noir knew fairly well that his partner was working in fashion, there was no way she could set the record straight without giving away some compromising clues.

Instead, she settled on answering quietly, pressing a reassuring kiss on his cheek, “It’s not like he had a choice. He had urgent personal matters to attend to, and we’ll be alright… eventually.” She trailed off, her eyes following his to their very own private view of Paris. “How’s your relative?”

Chat Noir squirmed uncomfortably beside her, and she instantly regretted asking the question that had been burning on her lips for the past week. But ever since he had shown up unfashionably late to a patrol because of a mandatory trip to a hospital, she had been worried about that relative of his who was close enough to the superhero to warrant an immediate visit at the hospital, but in the meantime far enough that he was barely fazed by the whole ordeal.

“He…” Chat Noir began slowly, carefully avoiding her gaze, and in a sudden flash of clarity, she understood. The sick/injured relative wasn’t part of their world anymore, and her dear kitty was grieving in his own very personal way.

“I’m so sorry, Chaton. Can I do anything for you?” she cried, twisting in his embrace, so she sat in his lap instead of beside him.

He gave her a forlorn smile that looked every bit a fake on his handsome face. “Don’t worry about me, my Lady. I’ll manage. Get back to your roommate, things are bad enough between you two as it is. I’d like for you to survive the week, you know.”

She hated to admit it, but Ladybug knew he was right. If last week was any indication, they would probably get in an awful fight as soon as she set foot in their apartment.

But this?

Chat Noir’s unwavering support, his kind words, and reassuring presence over the last decade? The familiar warmth of his arms wrapped around her?

It was worth it, and a thousand times more.

Smiling softly, she eyed him playfully, “And when did you become the voice of reason between us two?”

“Ever since you started to believe working eighty hours a week was healthy. Go home, and get some sleep. You’re barely able to keep your eyes open.”

She leaned on him for a second, taking in his warmth. “Alright, silly cat. See you around?”

“Of course, my Lady. Now, go before she snaps at you again.”

Ladybug quickly pressed her lips against Chat’s cheek, and with one last small smile and an all-too-brief hug, she took off into the night, leaving her counterpart to his silent musings on the tower.

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