#sad what happened to young me I ache for them I wish I could hold them I’m sorry that happened to you buddy

[novoaa1writes]

queen’s orders

photo credit

pairing(s): queen ramonda x f!reader, shuri & nakia

summary:

“Am—” you try to speak, only for the sound of it to resemble rocks in a garbage disposal. You clear your throat, wincing, and try again. “A-Am I dead?”

Ramonda chuckles, but her eyes are sad. “No,” she assures you, patting your hand. “This is real.”

You let out a gravelly hum, eyelids fluttering shut, a dopey grin pulling at your lips. Your ears ache and everything hurts, but not this. Not this. “We’re holding hands right now,” you say, like an idiot. “Wish I could feel it.”

contains: angst, pre-relationship fluff, confession of feelings

word count: ~1,500

rating: teen

warnings: swearing, injury, angst, medical-ish setting (shuri’s lab, except you’re injured), SPOILERS FOR black panther: wakanda forever

notes: i am not a doctor. but, ljike.... suspension of disbelief, okay? i’m just here. based on a request! thank you much for giving me an excuse to spam you all with more queen ramonda x reader. i would die for her

— —

You awaken like a gunshot. Sudden. Deafening. 

You see white. Black. White again. And you feel… pain. Gods, so much pain. Flames envelop your bones. 

Someone screams. You think it might be you. 

Gods, it hurts so fucking much. 

Consciousness comes gradually, like sap that trickles from a tree. Your head pounds. 

Another scream. You again? Impossible to say. 

Figures dance in your blurred vision. 

What—?

A face looms before you. Young, regal. Flawless, obsidian skin; brows creased with worry. 

Shuri?

“—Can you hear me?” Her lips move, and you think she says your name. It’s impossible to be sure. Your head pounds. “Please, just blink if you can hear me, okay?”

You blink—once. 

Her eyes are wide, frantic; but something like relief sparks when you manage a response. “You were in an accident,” she tells you, her accented voice ragged and breathy. “It’s—It’s bad. But I am going to do everything I can to help, okay? Blink if you understand.”

You blink again. 

“Okay, that’s perfect, thank you,” she nods, more to herself than to you. 

Figures. You haven’t a fucking clue what’s happening. 

She’s mumbling unintelligibly under her breath now as she rises to her full height. All the while, she surveys you with dark, worried eyes. “Wiggle your fingers for me?”

You do. 

Shuri’s jaw clenches. Her gaze darts to yours. “Did you understand what I just asked you to do?” she questions. “Blink if you understood.”

You blink. 

If possible, Shuri’s jaw seems to clench itself even harder. “What about your toes, honey, can you wiggle those?” 

You do. Or… you think you do. 

Shuri’s face is stony, her posture ramrod stiff. She doesn’t need to say a word for you to understand. 

Panic grips you. 

You can’t feel your fingers. Why can’t you feel your fingers? And your toes… Oh, gods. Your toes. You can’t fucking feel them. 

And they aren’t moving. Fuck, they aren’t fucking moving, that’s so bad, what if—?

“Hey—Woah, c’mon, breathe.” Shuri’s voice sounds tinny, as though it’s coming from somewhere far away. 

Your lungs burn. Your ribs ache. Blackness creeps in from the edges of your vision. 

“Breathe,” she tells you again. She sounds panicked. 

You’d scream at her if you could. You’re panicked. You can’t fucking breathe. Doesn’t she know that? 

A mask falls over your mouth and nose. From where? You couldn’t say. 

Cool, porous vapor fills your lungs. Oxygen, you hope, along with… something else. You don’t care. You heave it in without a second’s thought. Your head pounds. Dizziness bludgeons your skull from the inside out. Your chest burns. 

That was oxygen, right? Beads of sweat slide down your temples as you struggle to heave in another breath, wheezing audibly all the while. 

And then, all at once—Blackness creeps in. You’re falling. Down, down, down…

You manage one last thought before it all fades to darkness:

Is Ramonda okay?

— —

Shuri very well might be among the brightest minds of her generation (of any generation, period), but she figures there’s probably a reason that medical careers are about as specialized as they come. On that, at least, America and Wakanda can agree. The mechanics aren’t always so complicated, to be clear; it’s the ‘people’ part that makes her head spin. 

“Your bedside manner is horrendous,” T’Challa had told her once. Wheezed it, really. This, after spattering her pristine floors with mouthfuls of his own blood!

She retorted with something witty, she’s sure. She doesn’t much like to think about it. 

It turned out to be one of the last things he’d ever say to her. 

Cheeky. 

Suffice it all to say, the art of patient care—beyond the strictly biological variety, that is—eludes her. 

Bast’s sake, she’s not even a doctor. But here, now, she has to be. 

If not for her, then for Mother. 

“Can you fix her?” It’s phrased as a question, but the tonality is something decidedly flat. 

Shuri clenches her jaw. Her thoughts race, her fingers fly as she works to reconstruct a physiological rendering of the last hour, give or take. Typically, Griot would be on backend, making the whole process that much quicker, but she’s left him charged with your immediate care. 

It’s foolish, perhaps, but after T’Challa, she won’t take any chances. Mother—and she—have lost enough. 

“How can that be?” Mother’s voice trembles just so, and Shuri’s chest aches at the sound. She can’t bear to look at her. 

Without turning from the screen on which she works, she swipes the thoracic scans out onto the floor with a flick of the wrist. “I’ve never seen this before,” she admits, opening a line to Nakia with shaky fingers. And if her voice shakes, too, well. That’s her business. “The bullet was vibranium.”

A pause. “What?”

The line picks up with a click, and Nakia’s voice filters through shortly thereafter. “Shuri.”

“Nakia.”

“How is she?”

Shuri allows herself a shuddering breath. “Not dead, for now.” Shuri shakes her head as if to clear it. “What do you know about vibranium weaponry?”

Nakia—bless her—takes the fast-clip pace in stride. “Not ours?”

“Definitely not.”

“Projectile?”

“Bullet,” Shuri confirms. “Frangible.”

Nakia lets out a muttered curse in a language Shuri doesn’t know. “No samples, then?”

“Inconclusive. The bullet disintegrated in the flesh. All that’s left is… contaminated.”

Silence for a moment. “Let me make some calls. I think… yes. I have seen something like this.”

Shuri’s heart sinks. “Mortality rate?”

The line disconnects with a click!, and she’s gone. 

Shuri lets out a long breath. Frustration and grief war in her chest until her ribs creak with the strain. 

“Princess.” Griot’s intonation is cool and calm in her ear. Mother’s gaze darts to her, burning hot through her skin. “She’s awake.”

— —

You awaken gradually. Your head pounds. Your body aches. Everything hurts. 

When your eyelids flutter open, it’s to blinding light. Christ, the light. And—Ramonda. 

Oh, gods, Ramonda. She is lovelier than ever, and the way she’s peering down at you… like you’re something precious. Like you’re hers.  

Her hand squeezes yours, and fuck it all, but you can scarcely feel it. Your vision swims. 

“Am—” you try to speak, only for the sound of it to resemble rocks in a garbage disposal. You clear your throat, wincing, and try again. “A-Am I dead?”

Ramonda chuckles, but her eyes are sad. “No,” she assures you, patting your hand. “This is real.”

You let out a gravelly hum, eyelids fluttering shut, a dopey grin pulling at your lips. Your ears ache and everything hurts, but not this. Not this. “We’re holding hands right now,” you say, like an idiot. “Wish I could feel it.”

Amusement flares in Ramonda’s eyes even as a glimmer of moisture catches the light. “You will, baby. You will.” You don’t know who she’s trying to convince—herself, or you. But her hand doesn’t leave yours, and for that, you are grateful. 

You swallow the coppery saliva that gathers on your tongue. Discomfort throbs at the base of your spine. “You’re worried ‘bout me, huh?”

Ramonda is quiet for a moment. Then, finally, “Yes.” So quiet, so defeated; not a trace of the measured steel that underlies her typically implacable composure. 

“I could die?”

A tear slides down her cheek as you watch, and you are angry beyond words that you cannot reach out to catch it. “Yes.”

You give a shallow nod. “I want to tell you something,” you choke out. “Can I—Can I tell you something?”

Ramonda swallows thickly, another tear tracing her regal cheek. Her painted lips tremble. “S’thandwa, I—”

“I always thought about asking you out… y’know, like, on a date.” You try to waggle your brows, inject some levity, but you can’t manage it. Gods, but it sounds so silly now. The truth of it burns the space between you, like you tore your own heart out and set it aflame. Your chest aches. “Eat food, drink wine. I’d save up so I could pay the bill. Walk you back to your door. Say ‘good night.’”

Silence. Blood rushes in your ears. “Um, yeah.” You clear your throat, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. “That’s it.” 

“Can I tell you something?” Ramonda ventures quietly, so quietly you have to strain to hear her. Fuck if your heart doesn’t break for the devastation laid bare upon her proud features, the tears that wet her cheeks.  

You nod. “Always.” 

“My heart has been yours since the day we first met.”

Oh.

Oh.

“You mean—All this time…”

“Yes, s’thandwa.”

Your body feels strange—all floaty and light, even as pinpricks of pain dance along your spine. “Holy shit,” you murmur, more to yourself than to her. “I really can’t die now, huh?”

“That’s right.” Ramonda laughs, watery and ragged. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. “In fact, I expressly forbid you to.”

Emotion grips your chest, tight and warm and true. “Yes, my Queen.”

— —

end notes: I AM NOT IMMUNE TO “character A: *love confession* character B: oh. oh.” PROPAGANDA

i also refuse to apologize for self-indulgently including shuri and nakia

AND FURTHERMORE— everything ends happily and they go on their date once reader recovers because i wrote this and i said so 

sources: 

griot | the artificial intelligence created by shuri. appears in black panther and black panther: wakanda forever. 

frangible bullet | wikipedia page detailing what it says on the tin. the only other sources were in majority NRA and right-wing blogs LOL.. typically frangible bullets are actually better for minimizing damage, but with my made-up idea that this is a possibly poisoned vibranium bullet, the fragmenting effect would (theoretically) provide for more internal damage in this instance, and more stress for all involved. writing is so fun!

link to masterlist

[thedeathlysallows]

memento mori

Chapter 1: Poison Ivy

Months Earlier

           “We’re sending you to Washington state. We’ve had reports of a newborn army in Seattle and the Volturi have done nothing but twiddle their thumbs. Find newborns. Eliminate the source. Report back immediately. Questions?”

           “No.”

           “Good. Oh, and Agent? Whatever you find, don’t let personal feelings get in the way of finishing the job.”

           Titania had said it with a knowing look in her eye that I couldn’t quite place during the debriefing, but as I get closer and closer to Forks there’s the dawning of realization. There are vampires here. I can feel them. The air is thick with their presence.

           My father’s house reeks of them.

           “I really wish you were staying with us, kiddo.” Dad hugs me tight after I walk through the front door and ushers me to the living room. I look him over for any subtle differences, but find none. He’s the same. Untouched by whatever darkness is lurking around.

           Good.

           At least Charlie Swan is safe.

           However, that leaves the question: why does this house smell like vampires have been living here for years?

           “Yeah, well, you know how it is. I like having my own space.” I make my tone apologetic, but in reality I’m relieved I won’t be staying with my dad. Technically, I shouldn’t even be in Forks. My mission is in Seattle. Titania will look the other way, though. She always does as long as I get the job done.

           I don’t love the idea of a double life and I especially hate that I have so many secrets from my dad. He was always my rock. My safe place. Mom was never stable enough to take care of me, and I really have no clue how the court gave her full custody of Bella aside from complete bias. I was old enough to make my own choices, and I chose dad.

           He looks at me with a fondness in his eyes that makes my heart ache.

           “I really wish I could stay, Dad, but I just…”

           He puts a hand up and shrugs. “I get it. Don’t want your old man cramping your style. I was young once. I was hip.”

           I laugh and walk to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge. Dad eyes me with a frown. “What? I’m twenty three. You wanna check my ID officer?”

           “Nah… maybe… did you ever use a fake?”

           “No,” I lie. Another truth I can never tell. It was far more than just fake IDs and underage drinking, but I’ll die before I tell my dad. “So… Bella? How’s that going?”

           He told me a while back about my younger sister’s odd, troublemaker boyfriend, but I always felt he was holding something back. I often left those conversations with something tickling at the back of my mind; however, I never pursued it. Now, I regret it. Hopefully there’s time to make up for it.

           Dad grumbles, expression growing stormy. “Had to let him back in the house.”

           Judging from my intuition and the smell in the air, he never left in the first place. Out loud I say, “ouch, old man. You let your teenage daughter strong arm you like that?”

           “She threatened to go back to Renee if I didn’t.”

           “Oh.”

           I shouldn’t be surprised by that at all. Bella’s notorious for using the mom threat, after all. She’s done it since we were kids. Part of me always wished she would grow out of it, though. Clearly that will never happen. It’s sad. Our dad doesn’t deserve that. All he’s ever wanted from either of us is the tiniest bit of love.

           Hence why hiding everything from him hurts so much.

           Being self-aware really sucks sometimes.

           “Do you think you could talk to her,” Dad asks after the silence stretches on for too long and I’m picking at the PBR label to stop from picking at my nails from nerves.

           “Mmm, Dad, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You know Bells and I have always fought like cats and dogs.”

           “Right. I was just hoping I guess.” He visibly deflates.

           Fuck.

           “Okay, I’ll try. Just don’t do,” I gesture to his current posture that’s reminiscent of a kicked dog, “that. Where is she any-”

           Before I even finish my question, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and the air shifts dangerously. My eyes dart to the doorway of the kitchen where Bella stands with one of them. He’s one of the golden eyes, weakened by consuming animal blood, but dangerous all the same. And my sister is holding his hand like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

           I didn’t hear the two of them come in. I didn’t sense him in time. This is why I can’t stay in Forks with Charlie. I’m weak around them. My love for them makes me weak. I can’t afford to be weak.

           “Hi,” I finally say after I calm the pounding in my ears and tame the instinct to attack, kill.

           Bella looks visibly flustered, like my sudden appearance is too much for her. Maybe it is. I mean, last time we talked I was lecturing her about being an irresponsible idiot. She has every right to still be annoyed by that I guess.

           Dad is the one to break the ice. “Rosie, meet Edward Cullen. Bella’s boyfriend.”

           Fuck.

           My mind races. Does he have a connection to what’s happening in Seattle? How often is he over here? How often is he alone with Bella? Does Bella know? Are there more? Oh, God, are there more? How many more? Where do they live? Are they all golden eyes like him?

           Edward nods his head almost imperceptibly, his eyes locked onto mine.

           A mind reader then. That’s fine. Nothing special. I’ve handled his kind before.

           “You’re back home?” Bella breaks my staring contest with her boyfriend. She’s not happy and it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Her tone is sharp and her body language is tense.

           “Oh, relax,” I tell her. There’s a bite to my words as well. “I’ve got work in Seattle so I’m here visiting. I’ll be hanging out more often, though.”

           If Edward has two brain cells to rub together he can tell what I am. If Edward is smart he can hear the threat in my words.

           “Seattle? You aren’t staying there are you?” There’s a new emotion in Bella’s voice. Panic.

           I nod. “I am, but don’t worry. I’ll stay away from the serial killer.”

           “We don’t know it’s a serial killer yet,” Charlie adds in.

           “Right, but that’s what I’m here to figure out.” I take a sip of my beer. “The organization I work for heard about all the murders and they sent me to investigate. I’m hoping I can get to the bottom of it quickly and head back to Charleston before the month is up.”

           Edward quirks an eyebrow, an amused expression on his face. “That quickly?”

           I hate his voice instantly. It’s the same lilting, musical cadence all the bloodsuckers have.

           “Mhmm. I’m very good at my job,” I assure him.

           “Well in that case you have my thanks for keeping all of us safe.”

           I narrow my eyes at him. What a smug little bastard. I don’t like him. In fact, I think I would hate him even if he was just some human boy. Speaking of…

           “How’s Jacob?” I ask Charlie the question, but Edward is the one who answers.

           “Bella doesn’t see him much anymore.”

           Smug and controlling, then.

           Good job picking one of the worst, little sis.

           I’m suddenly desperate and itching to start my investigation, so I check my watch and sigh dramatically. “Wow, look at the time! I should get going so I can check into my hotel on time. Gotta start work bright and early tomorrow. I’ll be back though.”

           “Any leads,” Edward asks.

           “Yeah. I think so. See you tomorrow.”

           I give Charlie a kiss on the cheek and Bella a wave. I can feel Edward’s eyes on me all the way to the front door. It won’t be hard to find out where he lives, and if he has any sense at all, he’ll warn the others that death is coming.

           My drive to Seattle is far less eventful than my visit back home. The three hour trip gives me time to ponder and stew over Bella’s involvement with vampires. She’s not a stupid girl, I finally decide after a while. She just thinks she knows better than everyone else and will overlook danger like it’s nothing.

           Suddenly, this job feels a lot more daunting.

           The Society set me up at the Four Seasons Hotel right in downtown Seattle. It’s a corner suite with a view of the bay that makes my heart squeeze tightly in my chest. I miss Charleston already. Sure, I didn’t grow up in the coastal southern town, but it’s where The Society conducts most of their business. Their seat of power, if you will. It’s also where I did my first year of college. The parties were always ridiculously fun.

           I toss my bag on the bed and plop down on the couch by the window. It gives me a perfect view of the warehouse the Agent before me tracked the newborns to. He’s been MIA for a week now, and at this point it’s safe to assume the worst has happened. As I stare out the window I feel a strange flutter in my chest. There’s something staring back.

[fixtionvixen]

As a girl of the 90s, a lot of my favorite movies have never had the endings adult me craves. The 30 years later view where everyone is still together and the dogs still alive and we all are stupid happy. Watching Casper the other night led me down a path, wishing we could have the scene we all wanted. Casper as an adult, alive and well, with Kat in the big mansion and content to live out their days! I don't know that we will get there (or even if we did in some weird sequel I'm oblivious about existing) so I decided to do it myself. Happy Halloween you ghosts with the most!

Looking out across the dark sea of trees, Kat Harvey feels her bones ache. With fatigue, with the cold weather, with nostalgia and sadness. The mansion that her and her father moved into almost 30 years ago was still standing, just as she had left it when she went to college. Nothing really changed with it, the cobwebs still clung to the tall corners, it still smelled like earth and time, and the pictures hanging on the walls still boasted faces only the ghosts inside had seen.

Her father, James, still visited from time to time, smiling oddly at sections of the house where a part of their lives became a memory for him to look over later, playing out in his memory like a movie. Kat would look as well, expecting the scene to be real in front of her, almost real enough to touch. But after that night, 28 years ago today, she knew better than to believe anything stayed real for long. She still walks through the entryway and looks up, picturing her first kiss with him. The way the room fell away and her heart shimmered like snow on a sunny day. Her teenage heart was not prepared for the wrenching of emotions and the shocks of that day, to find out her dad was dead and brought back and the ghost she was slowly developing a crush on to become flesh. But November 1st, she woke with a quick rush, throwing her blankets aside and rushing out to the hall, only to find the mansion empty and hollow.

Searching room after room, it seemed the only things left in the house were... still living. No uncles. No laughter. No antics. Just creaky boards and rattling window glass. For years following, every halloween her and dad would dig out candles, bring out ouiji boards, do everything in their power to connect to the other side, to find their friends and ask what happened. Did they find what they needed to cross? Did they just leave and go someplace else? It's answers that never found a resolution and only left them with melted wax and a sad sense of abandonment.

So they did what they'd always done. James stayed there, leaving to chase down ghosts and dreams but always returning to the haunted mansion where Kat stayed, dreaming of a blonde haired boy who swept her off her feet. The older she got, the more in depth those dreams became. What was a dance and a kiss became a drawn out daydream where he came back, not as a ghost, but as a grown man. Where they could spend their time as they wanted, making her teenage heart sing and her young adult feelings something more tangible, something she could grab hold of. But she knew, these were only the desperate wishes of a lonely girl, who's best friend was a ghost until he was gone.

Sighing, she turns away from the window where she let her thoughts run free within the past, only to turn back as the flash of lights cut through the sky and into the window, startling her with their shine. She watches as a lone car, looking to be older than her, turns up the winding road to the mansion, sinking into the pot holes they've filled repeatedly and aways return, until it rumbles to a stop at her front steps, running idly as the driver sits unmoving from the car. She moves from the window, heading to the staircase, ears straining always to hear the slight giggles of her friendly ghost but only hearing her breaths as she hurries down the stairs to the door. Taking a few deep breaths upon reaching the doors, she prepares for everyone it could be. A lost traveler looking for directions. A murderer out to kill the lonely lady in the mansion. A friend from her school who knows she's back and decided to drive out to say hello. A client looking to see if she's followed in her father's footsteps (she has, somewhat, as a Professor of History that specializes in the Occult). But ghost stalking was for her father. Which is why it feels odd that as the car turns off on the other side of the doors and a car door shuts, the house seems to let out a sigh of contentment. As if the other side was relieved somehow.

With that weird feeling pushed aside, she swings open the door, greeting whoever is on the other side with a swift leave and never come back look, only to have the breath stolen from her lungs and her face to sink into utter shock. The man standing before her, hand raised to knock and similar shock on his face, seemed to her a distant memory, someone's she's seen across a room and kept in her mind or a man she swiped across on a dating app. Only he seemed.... more familiar. More like someone she had met. His wind tousled blonde locks fall across his face, cutting paths through the searing blue eyes staring into her brown ones. His appearance seemed relaxed, but the squint of his eyes and the tense stretch of his shoulders hunched forward as if against the cold portrayed a deeper reason he was on her doorstep.

Before she could open her mouth to ask for an answer, he stepped into the frame out of the cold, looking past her into the house and muttering to himself. Shocked, she swings the door into him, closing it almost onto his nose but leaving it cracked for them to converse.

"Who are you and why are you here?"

He squints at her, clearly debating what route to go, barge in and murder her or convince her nice side to let him in out of the elements. Deciding on the second, she assumes, he steps back with his hands raised and begins his explanation with the statement, "Hi. I'm Jasper... You'll think I'm crazy...."

She huffs out a laugh, the words on the tip of her tongue that she befriended a ghost and crazy is a relative term, when he finishes his sentence saying, "..... but I think I died here."

......................................................................

The candle light flickers against the wall, complimenting the crackle of the fireplace in the study. Kats gaze does not waver from his pacing figure cutting across the rug with determined steps, as if being in motion will keep the questions at bay. After a brief battle of wills at the door, she had let him in and he hoped she wasn't planning to murder him for making one odd move that she isnt anticipating. She sighs, crossing her legs and trying to look like the authority figure she can be in front of a class, only this times she's not in a skirt and Oxfords but in holey sweatpants and house slippers complete with bunny ears and a missing eye. He hesitates, brain flying at a speed he cannot himself stop, knowing she is at the end of her patience with what must be a mad man in her house. A house he can all to clearly remember being a part of. Somehow saying that out loud will make it all the more real. But he is here now. He's made the choice to follow his inner thoughts and see where they lead. He just never thought that they'd lead him to her, messy hair that he wants to touch or the dainty, too polite smile on her face he can almost taste, and the visions of white dresses and dancing with her that seem to fill his vision.

As she braces her hands on the arm of the chair, prepared to launch herself forward to demand answers, he abruptly stops his pacing, eyes staring at the photos along the mantle. "The man in these photos, it's your father yes? A doctor of sorts... the commercials seem ages ago but I recall being as entranced then by his face as I find myself now." He turns to face her, sadly smiling at the tense way she holds herself on the couch, as if bracing for his insanity to peak and he launch himself at her.

He slowly makes his way towards the chair near her, not wanting to startle but ease her mind. He sits relaxed, staring into the flames, ready to begin his thoughts.

"I mentioned before that you'll think me crazy. And you just might. But I again implore you to hear me out. Let me purge myself of these memories and only once I'm done do I ask that then you decide what my problem is." He notices the curve of her mouth from the corner of his eye, glancing over to see it disappear and her to nod in his direction, giving him leeway to begin. He sighs, looking back into the flames, and sums up the last 30 years in as little words as he can.

"When I was a boy, my parents were never really home. We grew up a middle class, both parents working, always just enough to get by but never enough to be comfortable. But one summer, they took me to see a baseball game, the Brooklyn Dodgers. Now I was a kid, so the fact that there was $1 hot dogs was more interesting to me than the game. But we sat and ate and the sun seemed to make every blade of grass shiny. And two rows down sat a man with a jersey on that said Snyder. And to this day, my parents don't know how or where or why, but I was immediately upset that someone, somewhere, had my treasure. They consoled me, they tried talking to me, anything to figure out what I was wailing about. We had to leave the game I was so distraught. I cried myself to sleep in the back of the car, waking up later after dreaming of it. No pirate booty or piles of gold were my treasure. No. I was adamant I owned an autographed baseball signed by Duke Snyder from the Brooklyn Dodgers. It's all I talked about for days. I can still feel the joy of getting that ball for Christmas! But then I remember hiding it, taking care to put my ball and mitt in a chest so I could make sure no one could take my treasure.

After that, other things came back to me. The feeling of my lungs tightening late at night, every winter when the temperatures sunk below freezing. My hesitancy in participating in snow day activities, no matter how my friends begged or my parents pleaded for me to just get outside. Then I remembered people I no longer was around. Parents that didn't look like mine and a father who seemed always stressed and working. Uncles that were rough and loud and always nearby. A nice man who brought his daughter who became my friend. But then it all stops. I don't know anything of after. I've spent years researching and going to hypnosis and digging through archives, hell I even went to see a psychic to figure this out. And all things point to a very strong soul in reincarnation.

Which, as a Professor, I'm sure you can hear how ridiculous this all sounds. And I agree! I could almost convince myself I was going insane. Some childhood trauma I repressed had led me to having memories that were not my own. To having personality tendencies that felt like my own yet they were not. I fought it, I ignored it, until I finally just gave in. And upon doing that, it was as if I gave the universe the go ahead to lead me where it wanted. Outside of Tennessee, I found a psychic who could read past lives. Never one to believe but willing to follow my gut feeling, I went to her and was immediately overcome by this feeling of... happiness. She opened the door and immediately smiled, nodding to the center of my chest and saying, 'your soul is on a long journey isn't it.' She brought me in and explained her theory, reincarnation, and how my soul was given an opportunity to cross over many years ago but did not take it. And upon doing a great deed, was given the opportunity again but with a promise... that he'd be reunited with his friend one day. And that journey, well, it led me here."

He looks over at her, never brave enough the entire story to do so, only to find her face tear streaked and her body relaxed back into the chair, eyes watery and lips smiling, staring back at him as if she had only been waiting for this moment, for him to end the story and finally confess what the psychic told him months ago about the soul he keeps safe. He swallows thickly, gathering courage that she won't think him crazy or throw him out, and propels himself forward, out of the chair to squat beside her seat, leaning in close enough for his breath to tickle her hair and to smell her perfume. Her eyes go wide as she opens her mouth to ask the questions she has to have, when he shakes his head no to stop her. He takes a deep breath, relying on the advice of someone else to help him finally solve this puzzle, and says the last thing she told him, the phrase to help him find where he belongs. "Can I keep you?"

[mayday-and-daydreams]

( Day Six )

{ Written Partially on October 29, Completed on October 30, 2023 - 3:35 AM }

[ Nemo’s Headphones: K. - Cigarettes After Sex ]

-

Time passes so fast.

That feels like a stupid way to start this.

It feels like everything I could say is stupid.

How can I possibly describe in words how I feel, when I don’t even understand it?

How can I possibly describe in words how I feel, when I haven’t even started to feel it yet?

I want to scream.

I want to cry.

I want to feel something, anything, godDAMNIT!

I don’t want to be empty, because that’s…that’s nothing.

I mean, it’s literally nothing.

Where is your anger? Where is your rage? Where is the fire inside you that sparked you to fight back, to stand up every day and push against the very world that tried to drown you out?

Where is the…

Where is the emotion?

Where is the soul.

What happened to you?

It feels like you left me behind somewhere, like you forgot me.

You grew up so fast, that while you were rushing to move on to the next stage of your life, you forgot the very person you were supposed to be.

And there I’ll stay, left in a dust-filled room, waiting for the moment when someone comes back for me and I finally feel again.

Everything I’ve ever said feels stupid.

Writing this makes me angry, because I know I will never be able to say exactly what I want to.

I feel like a pot boiling over.

Like a fire raging out of control.

But there’s only really one thing I’ve ever been able to do when I feel like I can’t create correctly.

I start from the beginning.

-

I held you when you were a kitten.

You were as small as my hand, and my hand was small too, I was only twelve.

I don’t remember if you had even opened your eyes yet.

I was responsible for keeping you warm, holding you close to my chest so you didn’t get too cold while my family members washed your siblings and then handed them to me too, to keep safe.

I think of that often.

It doesn’t feel like so long ago.

And now you’re gone.

Seven years.

You were still pretty young.

There was fight left in you.

It feels weird that things can just happen.

That one day someone can be there and the next they’re not.

Maybe I need to wait.

Maybe I can’t write this now.

Maybe I need to wait until I’m really truly sad.

I’ll wait.

I’ll wait.

-

A few weeks ago, I heard you got sick again.

I remember taking a couple photos of you, because in my head I thought when you died I’d want to have something to remember you by.

But I thought this was too morbid, so I refused to believe it.

You died a few days ago.

And tonight, I was scrolling through my photos to find some of you and I found those.

They were all Live Photos.

I didn’t realize that when I took them.

But for a moment, it was like you were alive again.

I’m so thankful to myself for even thinking to take those pictures.

But I still wish they would’ve taken more.

I’ll never be able to hold you again.

Never tuck you into my hoodie and zip you up like I used to.

I’ll never again find you tucked in my blankets.

I’ll never again see you.

I haven’t cried.

The closest I’ve come was when I clicked on those photos and saw you rolling around on the bed, and for a moment realized that you’d never get to do that again.

But there was someone else in the room with me, so I laughed it off and pretended it was just allergies.

Why didn’t I allow myself to feel bad?

Why do I never allow myself this?

I feel angry.

Why do I live in such a world where things like this happen?

Why do I live in a world with grief and sickness and pain?

Why am I forever cursed to live in a world where I am one day doomed to lose everything I’ve ever cared for?

Why must I hurt?

Why must I ache?

Well, logically the answer to this is because if I didn’t hurt, if I didn’t know that nothing I cared for was guaranteed, I’d never want to fight for it. I’d take it for granted.

But I don’t want logic.

I don’t want to understand why I feel this way.

I don’t want to lay my feelings out and sort them into neat piles so they’re organized.

I just want to feel them.

But I can’t even do that.

I’m sorry this happened.

I know there was nothing I could’ve done.

But I’m still sorry that I didn’t do more.

And logically I know that no matter what I’d done I’d always have regrets. I’d always wish I’d done more, always wish I’d tried harder.

But I don’t want to be logical tonight.

I want to hurt. I want to ache. I want to burn.

I want to grieve.

Because I don’t have you here anymore.

But at least I have the pain of losing you.

And that’s all I have to let me know that you were ever here at all.

[thenexusofsouls]

Stephen was too hard on himself, Mantis thought. Doctors were supposed to be rigorous, so maybe that was why. Or maybe not. As he explained all that had been lost after Thanos’ victory, she felt her throat constrict. “It does not mean you failed. You did everything in your power, including putting your sanity at risk to see millions of outcomes. You said we only won in one, and maybe you didn’t know Natasha would give her life, but you knew Tony would die, didn’t you? You didn’t give Thanos the Time Stone. You traded it for Tony’s life.” He was twisting reality to fit his narrative; a narrative that only hurt him. “You can convince yourself it’s all your fault, but not the rest of us who were also there.” Maybe he had not seen them with how far his head was up his ass - a disturbing expression that haunted Mantis long after she learned it wasn’t literal - since the way he would insist he was always the problem was a different kind of self-centered behavior. But she doubted he needed to hear that. Not like Stephen could hear her with his head up his ass, anyway.

But then he mentioned his sister and how she was the first person he tried to protect but couldn’t, and the empath widened her eyes. Her heart ached, and she silently looked down, her hands clenched together in front of her body. That seemed to explain a lot of his constant sense of guilt and self-loathing. Mantis wanted to ask questions. What was her name? What was she like? What happened? He probably had been very attached to his sister. It wasn’t usual for parents to murder their young before attachments could be formed like Ego did.

She knew he meant well when he explained why some families were different, but… Mantis never considered Ego her family. Yes, he was her father. And yes, he raised her. So what? She didn’t love him. She did when she was a child, until she stumbled upon his caverns. He never saw her as a daughter; he saw her as a means to an end. “I know there are many types of families,” she replied. “I know who my family are. They call themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Mantis wasn’t sure why she had hugged him. Maybe she needed that. Maybe he needed that. Probably both. Something her powers taught her was that people often needed reassurance and affection more than they showed; more than they knew. Not all, of course. Some creatures hated being touched, including some humans. But some others just needed to be held. And Mantis gave others the hug she needed from Ego growing up. A hug that never came. He was so obsessed with the Expansion; with himself. It was in his nature. It was in his name.

“Maybe you should hug others more often…” Mantis suggested. She didn’t think he would hug her back, but he did. “You can enjoy affection in a simple manner. I envy that. To enjoy touch for what it is, without learning too much about the other person… Must be wonderful.” She wished she could have that. She wanted to share a hug as nothing more than a hug; no getting inside people’s heads. But she would always know more. Something to be enjoyed in a casual manner like affection… wasn’t for her. It would always hurt, because everybody was hurting.

She tried to hold Brumbin’s arm. He was feeling fine… thanks to her powers, but he was feeling fine. The empath smiled at his confusion. “We’re sad because Thanos was messed up. He’s the reason why you’re here now. Don’t worry, we’ll help you reunite with your friends,” she reassured him. “Just stay near, okay? Um, do you recall what you were doing before your arrival? If you do, please tell us.”

She didn’t blame Stephen for being changed by those millions of futures. What she said was true; that would change anyone. The feathery tips of her antennae twitched as Strange seemed to clarify what he meant… except he didn’t clarify shit, as Rocket would say. “So… you’re saying there is a better version of me out there… and therefore, a worse one too.” Mantis stood still, her eyes pensively fixated on the floor. “I… I am happy to be average. I hope I remain average.”

The empath then blinked and lifted her eyes. “I could calm it,” she mentioned, speaking quietly. “Your mind. You as a whole. Like I helped calm Brumbin. It really can’t be good for anyone to go through millions of timelines. That kind of thing must be awfully bad for the mind and the soul. You are strong, but you don’t have to endure such torment alone.” Mantis looked down, wringing her hands. “I know it’s… an idea that might scare you. But think about it; the clearer your head is, the more efficiently you will work and the sooner you’ll be able to send this big guy back home.” She looked over at Brumbin and smiled. “Do you want to go home?”

__________

{With his head up his ass…! Hahahaha, I love Mantis so much. Her thoughts swirling around in her head are always a wild ride to read and I’m always so here for it. You write her so well, it’s so entertaining. =)}

“Well. My sanity verses the stability of the entire universe… That’s not really a choice,” he said mater-of-factly, as if any rational human being - or other being - would naturally have come to the same conclusion. He didn’t realize at all how much he was revealing about his own character simply by making such a statement, because in his mind it was so completely obvious. His eyes fell, though, at the mention of Natasha and Tony. “Yeah, I… I knew about Tony,” he said with rather subdued energy. Despite not always getting along with the man, Stephen did respect him, and he really did wish there had been another way. But there just wasn’t. In every possible future in which Tony survived… Thanos won. Permanently. “I traded the stone so he could die later in the way he needed to in order to save everyone else and restore life to the universe, yes,” he clarified. Saying that he saved Tony’s life wasn’t just an oversimplification, it simply wasn’t true.

The way Mantis got quiet and didn’t respond to his inappropriate oversharing about Donna only made Stephen internally chastise himself even more. She doesn’t care, no one cares, stop making this about you! He couldn’t not make things about himself, though and that frustrated him even more. He knew others didn’t care, because humans and other beings were inherently selfish in his experience, and yet he couldn’t stop making everything about him. There was that arrogance again, that made him think he could do anything as a surgeon. That he was god. There was that arrogance that refused to bow even as he made an ass of himself trying to learn magic. There was that arrogance that drove Christine away and was the reason he was alone right now, without a family. But if there was one thing Stephen was good at, it was mulling over his own thoughts while still somehow listening to others speaking around him, so as Mantis’ words about having a family in the Guardians registered, Stephen nodded, his gaze falling with pensive envy. “I’m glad you have one,” was all he said.

“Yeah, I uh…” He chuckled cynically. “I really don’t think that would be appreciated.” If he ever tried to hug Wong, Stephen felt he’d probably be yeeted to some storage dimension until Wong properly recovered. It’d probably be exceedingly dusty. But it might have that nice old book smell, so there’s that. Anyway, given how he’d established himself as someone who was rather closed off emotionally despite having a well-practiced sense of humor, he doubted anyone would take a hug from him as anything other than uncomfortably odd. “I don’t really have time to enjoy affection. It’s just not a good use of my time,” he said dismissively. What that translated into, in the convoluted code of Strangespeak, was that it was easier to accept being alone and live without things like affection than it was to have trickles here and there and feel the pain of hope. Stephen would rather be cold all the time than to know warmth only two percent of the time. Reject that two percent, and now one starts to forget how it feels to be warm, and there was emotional predictability and stability in that. The same applied to affection. Better to never be touched than to feel a flood of emotion the few times he actually was.

Her own predicament did not go unnoticed, though. “What if I could make you an item that would help suppress your powers? Like a ring or a pendant, for example. Something you could take on and off, so you’d still have access to your powers whenever you needed them, but… in cases like this where you’d rather not be gleaning all sorts of things from others, you can have a nice quiet mind for once. I could look into making something like that for you, if you were interested.” It was the least he could do for everything Mantis had done to help with averting a universal apocalypse. And… for her kindness to him.

Brumbin waited while the smaller creatures apparently worked something out. When he was asked if he remembered what he had been doing at the time he was taken from his world and brought into this one, he nodded enthusiastically. In his own language, he began to explain, complete with hand movements… of his many hands.

“He… says he was hunting for food for his mate and three cubs when there was some sort of disturbance in the sky,” Stephen translated, even though Mantis seemed to understand Brumbin well enough. “Weird colors, he says, and swirling clouds. There was a lot of lightning and so he shielded his eyes, but when he uncovered them, he was here.” It bothered him a little to hear that Brumbin had a family. What he’d been assuming was a rather stupid, lumbering creature from another universe was actually likely being missed right now.

Brumbin then sighed heavily and a little dejectedly. Sadness was beginning to creep in. He had to get home to his family! When Mantis asked him if he wanted to go back home, another emphatic nod was Brumbin’s reply.

Stephen didn’t really like the idea of his mind being messed with, but she had a point. He was having trouble focusing today, and if she could do something that would help that focus and get Brumbin out of this universe and back to his own before his presence destabilized the integrity of their respective universes, maybe he should accept that help. “Okay, fine. But no poking around in my head any more than you have to. And… make it temporary. Just… for a short while. I don’t want to make this kindof thing a habit.” Why? Because just erasing all that pain seemed akin to devaluing and invalidating the pain of everyone he’d observed in all those realities, and that seemed really wrong to him. The only one who knew any of those things ever happened - or could ever have happened - was him. If he forgot, then all that suffering happened for nothing. It would be meaningless, in a way, and he had a big problem with letting that happen.

[bettsfic]

this got more traction than i thought and i have some time to kill so here are some direct quotes:

"It was one of those situations in which I learned that my obligations and loyalty to Mrs. Kennedy would have to be weighed against how willing I was to risk being chastised for my actions by her husband."

WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY, MR. HILL?

[after Kennedy's father's stroke] "I walked toward her and looked into her eyes. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to reach out and hug her, like I would any friend in a time of need, but I knew it wasn't appropriate." a few paragraphs later: "I kept seeing Mrs. Kennedy's sad eyes in my mind, and feeling like I should have been able to do something to ease her pain."

"I had never seen her look more lovely."

Clint: I will tell [the paparazzi] that one session is what they get and then they must withdraw and quit harassing you. If they don't comply, we will make their lives miserable. Jackie: Oh Mr. Hill, can't you make their lives miserable without me having to pose?

"...a photo that captures the mischievous, adventure-loving woman I had come to know so well, to care for so very much."

Jackie: Will you go to Capri for me [to go shopping]?...You know the kinds of things I like--and you can bring back the clothes to me here." Clint, internally: This is way outside my job description, and you know that. Clint, externally: Yes, I will go to Capri for you. But don't you dare tell anyone I've done this. (Later) "So, that's how I ended up spending the night at the home of Princess Irene Galitzine."

"Oh how I wished I could be out there on the dance floor with them, a participant rather than a bystander."

"We enjoyed each other's company, I knew how she liked to have things done, and we trusted each other implicitly."

"Standing there in front of me, she looked so beautiful--a young wife and mother with the world at her feet."

[immediately after the Cuban Missile Crisis] "I thought to myself, Thank God, I won't have to carry Mrs. Kennedy kicking and screaming into a bomb shelter."

[for context, when asked about the event of a nuclear bomb] Jackie: If the situation develops, I will take Caroline and John, and we will walk hand in hand out onto the south grounds. We will stand there like brave soldiers, and face the fate of every other American. Clint, internally: I knew...she may or may not have forgiven me, but I would have picked her up, wherever we were, and into the shelter we would have gone. Clint, externally: Well, Mrs. Kennedy, let's just pray to God that we will never be in that situation.

"The truth was, Mrs. Kennedy was very hard to resist. We adored her. Our job was to protect her, and as long as nothing interfered with that mission, we would walk on water if she asked. And she knew it."

Jackie: What do you think of these Kama Sutra paintings, Mr. Hill? Clint, internally: I don't think I had ever blushed before in my life. But damn if I didn't feel my face get hot. Clint, externally: I think they're fine, Mrs. Kennedy. My annotation: SHE IS FLIRTING WITH YOU

TW for birthing trauma and infant death ahead

[when Jackie is giving birth to Patrick] "I found myself pacing back and forth, as if I were the expectant father, just as I had done when John was born two and a half years earlier. So much had changed in those two and a half years...Now we were so close, and had spent so much time together, we could practically read each other's minds. I knew how much this baby meant to her, and I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to her, or to the child."

[after Patrick's death] "My heart ached. My whole body ached. I wanted to go in and hold Mrs. Kennedy, to tell her how sorry I was. How much I felt her loss...It was heartbreaking to see her in such emotional pain, and I felt so helpless. I was supposed to protect her. But there was nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do to protect her from the pain of losing a child."

[trying to keep Jackie as far away from Onassis as possible] "[Aristotle Onassis] stared at me with intensity as he spoke. Was he trying to intimidate me? It wasn't going to work." next page: "Shortly before midnight, [Mrs. Kennedy] retired to her stateroom. Alone."

for context, Jackie went on to marry Aristotle Onassis after the assassination.

[immediately following the assassination; Jackie is still covered in blood] "We had tried to convince her to change her clothes, but she refused. 'Let them see what they have done,' she said."

"There was nothing anyone could do to relieve the pain, the anguish, the sense of failure and guilt I felt...Nobody would ever be able to understand what we had been through. Nobody. Not our families, our friends, not even the other agents. To know the president and Mrs. Kennedy like we did, and to see him assassinated before our very eyes, was the tragic bond Paul [Landis] and I shared.

But there was no time for mourning--we still had Mrs. Kennedy to protect."

if you decide to read this book i'd love to know your thoughts! again, i'm not recommending it unless you are very invested in the Secret Service and/or the Kennedy administration. but if you do read it, i'd love to talk with you about it.

reading the tags on your last post (guard dog dynamic), and i'm so curious, what book were you reading? 👀

god, this is going to make me sound insane. i wrote a whole newsletter about it and i'm probably not going to post it. but i got VERY invested in the assassination of JFK, particularly the Secret Service agents who "failed" (their word, not mine) in saving him. more particularly, Jackie's lead SSA, who loved her. i mean he loved her. and then i found out he wrote a whole book about her, Mrs. Kennedy and Me, and it's just one very long, sad love letter. nothing ever happened between them, or if it did it wasn't mentioned. but they had a very...unique relationship that i've only ever really read in fiction.

suffice it to say it gutted me.

[mcnuggyy]

I feel paralyzed now… i feel like crying but im too worked up to actually cry, im so frustrated I feel like im losing my mind, idk what to do…

[finelinevogue]

the fact that Y/N has post natal depression Is somewhat refreshing idk I just don't see it talked about much on here and if it is it's like Hella angsty and the partner doesn't understand what it is but I was wondering if u could touch on it a bit more cause it's something I'm really scared about happening to me and I just want harry to hold me and tell me it's going be okay 😚😚😚😚

P.s. if u don't wanna it's understandable

anon: can u write about harry helping y/n through her ppd maybe like the 3rd time was so bad that h decide that he won’t be having more children

so this was requested twice so i would love to be able to write this for you both, hope this is okay - mind it’s heavily angsty!;

tw: vomiting, ppd and od

oli - 4, felix - 3, belle - 12 weeks

Motherhood was really fucking hard.

The birth of your newly born daughter, Isabella, had really taken a back pedal on your mental health. You had suffered with post natal depression after the birth of your two sons, but nothing as bad as this.

It had hit you around the 7 week mark after giving birth. The pregnancy itself was okay, even though she was slightly premature, but it was after you’d taken her home that it’d all spiralled downhill. It started with complications with her breastfeeding - like she was rejecting the milk that you had produced. It hurt to see her reject you and your body, finding more comfort in drinking from a pre-made milk bottle as her dad rocked her to sleep. You recall the evening so clearly and felt like an utter failure as you watched her drink a bottle of formula for the first time.

“Ssh ssh,” Harry cooed to your 7 week old daughter as he rocked her in his arms on the rocking chair in her nursery. She was whining because she was hungry, but the problem was that she wasn’t accepting your milk. She hadn’t been accepting your milk all day and now it was becoming dangerous for you to keep on saying ‘Oh i’ll just try later.’ Harry had told you to make a formula bottle for her. “Mummy’s coming.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you were walking back to the nursery with a warm bottle in your hands. You’d tested it on your hand to make sure it wasn’t too hot and then taken a sip to taste it, out of jealousy, and you thought that it didn’t taste any different to you. Then again you’re not a 7 week old human whose only date is milk.

“Look here’s mummy with your yummy milk, okay? Look Belles!” Harry cooed at his darling angel and you only wished he wasn’t as happy for her as he was.

“Yeah.” You spoke softly, handing him the bottle and standing nearby, part of you hoping that she would reject this too and she wasn’t just rejecting you.

But no, she drank the formula like it was her last meal.

“Such a sweet girl, aren’t you?” Harry praised her, watching her in awe as she kept on drinking the formula. Watching as she was drinking to become the strong girl you knew she’d become. It just hurt that it wasn’t you that could help her become that.

You felt powerless. Worthless, even. The one thing that you had carried the weight of your breasts around to do and you couldn’t even do it. Your nipples were so sore and your breasts ached so badly and it was all for nothing. Perhaps it was punishment for being such a bad mum. Perhaps you’d never been good enough for this job and it was your bodies way of shutting you down forever. You wouldn’t need the ability to produce milk anymore, because you weren’t worth the title of becoming one again. You wanted to be happy for your little one, seeing her happy but all you felt was rejection and sadness. She didn’t think you were good enough to be her mum and that really hurt.

Along with the breastmilk problem, Belle also became very stubborn when you wanted to change her nappy. Anytime you tried to change and help her she put up a fuss, kicking her legs and sometimes she would bite or hit you away. It was just a reminder that you weren’t a good enough mum for her and that she didn’t feel safe enough around you. She didn’t find comfort in your presence and she was so fussy about what you did around her. With Harry, though, she was an angel. She loved him so much and obviously he made her feel so loved and safe - something you’d clearly never be able to give her.

There was also the chores of being a mother to your other two sons too. Oli and Felix were old enough to understand that they had a baby sister, but they weren’t old enough to understand how miserable you were. Harry wasn’t even able to figure it out yet. You tried your best to put on your bravest face, knowing that your family needed you to be strong but the truth was that you were crumbling on the inside. You were feeling less and less like yourself and you were waiting for the moment when you’d completely fall apart. Nothing felt right anymore. Everything was just numb.

“You two boys okay?”

You walked into the children’s playroom see that they were sat at the little table colouring in. Felix’s little legs dangled slightly, whereas Oli’s legs touched the floor and it made your heart swell at how big they were both getting.

“Yep!” Oli cheered, scribbling with his left hand as his tiny tongue stuck out from his lips as he concentrated - a habit passed onto him from his father.

“What are you both drawing?” You asked, coming over and kneeling on the floor beside them and having a peek at their drawings.

“We’re colouring for daddy.” Felix answered, some of the words not being pronounced properly due to his young lisp and lack of being taught how to say things correctly yet.

His words stung though. You appreciated that he was only a toddler and he meant nothing evil or malicious by it, but it hurt to think that maybe, just maybe, your sons were doing this for their dad because he did so much more for them than you did. Of course you tried to be the best mum you could, but maybe you weren’t doing enough. Maybe you weren’t meant to be a mum after all, or at least not a good one.

“O-oh,” you tried to hold back the tears in your eyes because your boys looked so proud at their artwork - and you should be too. “Tell me about them then, my loves.”

Oli went first, “So this is me and this is Oli and this is dad. It’s us playing football like we did the other day, mummy.” He pointed out to each of the figures, some looking actually quite terrifying but you’d never have the heart to tell him that. The figures were all holding hands though and it hurt to think that you weren’t a part of that.

“Oh that’s so good Ols!” you rubbed his head of hair and then turned to Felix’s, “What about you Fix?”

“I drew daddy as the best.” He pointed to a trophy that the figure - more like a stick-man-slenderman - was holding, which was decorated with the award of ‘my hero’.

“I told him to write hero, mummy.” Oli added, and you smiled at both of them.

“Well done. Good job both of you. Daddy will love these!” You only wished that they would draw something for you. You hated to think that you were being petty, but honestly you just wanted to feel loved. “Shall I go cut up some apple for a snack, hey?” You asked, trying to feel useful.

“Daddy is making us smoothies!” Felix answered and you had to stand up, up and away from their heigh, so they didn’t catch the tears in your eyes.

“Okay! Don’t forget to give him those pictures - he’ll love those.” You praised them and they both giggled to each other.

The sight of your sons laughing should’ve made you so happy, but it only reminded you that you weren’t the source of their happiness. You weren’t on their mind enough to be their inspiration for drawings. You definitely weren’t their hero. You were just a woman to them, not a mum. You wanted to be so much more but it was clear that they didn’t need you. They were loved by their dad and each other, not in need of your heart.

Eventually Belle settled down and was sleeping better through the night, leaving you and Harry to much more peaceful nights sleep. Well, just Harry.

You had found it near impossible to get to sleep now. You lay awake at night wondering when Belle would next wake up, wondering when she’d next need you. Harry was always quick out of bed though, even if he actually was sleeping, to help her ordering you to stay in bed and rest yourself. You couldn’t help feel like he was telling you to stay put because he knew you wouldn’t be able to do your job properly - and you started to believe him.

You’d found yourself getting jealous of those that could get to sleep. When you were walking down the road you’d judge a person by how much sleep they looked like they got last night. You definitely looked like you only had 2 hours - even when you’d only had 37 minutes but who’s counting? Your dark circles were heavily noticeable, but no one cared enough to ask. Even Harry stayed clear of you more and more often; spending more time with the kids than you and sleeping on his side of the bed instead of yours at nighttime.

There had been one evening where you had been so restless that Harry had gotten so frustrated and left the room, with a blanket and a pillow, and slept on the couch. You’d never felt so much like a burden than that night. Your family was rejecting you and you felt like a failure. You were a success at failing in everything. The meals you cooked went half eaten by everyone because you would’ve forgotten to add a key ingredient. The children preferred to spend more time playing with their dad because you weren’t energised enough to play the games they wanted to. Your daughter still rejected your milk. It was all too much and you just wanted one nights peace for it to change.

Last night had been that night.

Fuck these were so addicting. You were finally getting the sleep that you so badly craved, only with the help of tablets.

You wanted the sleep because that was the one place you could escape to. You needed that escape to help you get out of bed the next morning. Life was too hard for you to not dream, and without dreaming you didn’t want life.

It started off with taking one every night before bed, but then they stopped working again, so you started taking two, then three. Four was obviously where your body hit its limit.

“Mummy? Can you come tuck me in please?” Oli asked, little toy giraffe in hand and shaking you in hopes of waking you up to send him peacefully off to sleep.

You’d gone to bed a bit earlier tonight, lying saying that you were extremely exhausted. Harry said he would be able to handle things and that’s when you excitedly ran upstairs to take your pills; 4 of them. You’d made it into your bed, feeling slightly drowsy after completing your nighttime routine, but then you started to feel unwell and really ill. Before you’d passed out you’d stuck your fingers down your throat in hopes to make the feeling in your stomach disappear, but it ended up you throwing up all over the bed and pass out right there.

“Mummy! Wake up!” Oli rattled your back, but you were still unresponsive.

Oli padded out of the room and down to his sisters room where he knew his dad was. Belle was being extra fussy this evening and Harry suspected it had everything to do with you retiring early. He heard Oli come into the room just as he’d gotten Belle down.

“Y’alright buddy?” Harry whispered, tip-toeing out of Belle’s room, leaving the door open slightly, and crouched down in front of him.

“No. Mummy’s not waking up.” Oli pouted, rubbing a tired fist over his eye.

“She’s probably in dreamland, bud. She was really tired today.”

“She’s really tired all of the times.”

“I know, Ol.” Because Harry did know, but he was too much of a coward to face up to the problem. The doctors had said that post natal depression can strengthen with every birthed child, but he was too blind sighted by the fact that you’d overcome the first birthed post natal depression so quickly, and was so in love with his baby girl, that he didn’t truly see how bad things had gotten. Harry had tried giving you some space, distancing himself from you in bed and spending more time with the kids so you could relax and rest up, but nothing seemed to be working. He was surprised, actually, that you’d been having better sleep recently and so was hopeful that maybe the worst of the depression was over.

Hell, was he so wrong.

“Go to bed, bud okay? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Wake mummy up so she can give me a kiss.”

“I’ll try little man, alright?” Harry scuffed his sons hair and then watched him walk off to his room.

Harry walked into your dark room, the air smelling slightly sour, and walked around to your side of the bed. He sat down next to you sighed heavily. He needed to speak to you, no matter how tired or angry you’d be with him. He was losing you as a wife and a mother and a soulmate and a lover. He was just losing you, just as you were losing yourself and he was doing tip-toeing around the problem any longer. He was going to try and make this better. He was going to better understand how you were feeling in order to help you.

“Baby?” He spoke softly, nudging you gently, “Baby wake up.” No response. “Y/N, my love? Wake up for me darling, need to speak with you.” Normally you would’ve stirred by now but there was still nothing. “Y/N?” Harry shook you a bit more urgently now - one that would surely wake even the deepest of sleepers. “Y/N!” He shouted, perhaps a bit too loudly for the comfort of his children.

He turned you over and that’s when he knew this was very, very, bad.

Your face was pale grey and your mouth was covered in the remains of vomit, and he suddenly understood the gross sour smell from before. Your hair was greasy and stuck all in the wet sick all over your face. Your eyes were puffy from the remains of tears. You looked dead.

“No, no, no. Y/N! No you don’t.” Harry’s eyes starting weeping and he couldn’t think straight. He checked your pulse on your wrist and timed it - it was unhealthily faint. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were in your last beats of your heart. His tears and sobs were uncontrollable, but he had to be both strong for you and his children, as well as for him. “Fuck sake pull yourself together Harry. Okay, baby hold on please. Okay? You don’t get to leave me like this, you hear me? I love you so much, baby. Fuck i’m so sorry.” He gently placed your head back down on the pillow and pulled out his phone.

999

“What’s your emergency?”

“I need a-an ambulance p-please. I-I think my wife i-is dying.”

The rest of it was a blur for Harry. Him trying to wake you up. The ambulance arriving. Oli and Felix crying when they saw you being carried away on a stretcher. Belle’s deafening screams. Harry’s heart beating for the both of you.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was the rhythmic beeping sounds that woke you up.

Your whole body felt achey and sore, your head a pounding mess. You opened your eyes slowly, adjusting them to the light of the room. You expected to see the family photo on the wall opposite you and the white of your curtains, but you were met with a heart-monitor machine and a hospital bed instead. You looked down at your body and noticed a cannula in your arm, making you squirm because you hated stuff like that so much. Your nose had a tube running inside it too, feeding you the oxygen your lungs weren’t receiving properly.

It then dawned on you how you weren’t in the room alone. You saw a sleeping Anne and Gemma on the chairs in the far corner, with Felix and Oli tucked against their sides - Anne with Oli and Felix with Gemma. It was so cute to see them so cuddled up close. They looked peaceful. You took note of the baby pram that was at the end of your bed, most likely playing bed to your beautiful daughter. Your mind felt lost. You can’t really remember what had happened, apart from taking four of those sleeping pills. You fully remember the weight of feeling worthless and useless as both a mum and a wife, though, and that feeling was still very prominent.

Your eyes lastly landed to the side of you, where Harry was sat but also laid on your bed. The top of half of his body laid upon the bed, his head buried onto this arm deep within the bed, whilst his bottom stayed rooted to the chair. His hand was holding yours tightly, which was a sign that he wasn’t asleep. You were so scared to face him though. You had failed him, again and again and you weren’t sure whether you could be enough for him anymore. Enough for your family anymore.

You squeezed his hand three times saying ‘I love you.’

“Y/N,” He whispered so hoarsely, but you were so focused on him to even catch it. He looked ruined, and you’d done that to him. His eyes were dark and tired, but also red and puffy from where he’d been crying. His hair was a mess and you could tell it hadn’t been washed in a while. How long had you been out for? You felt rested in your sleep, but not in your mind or your heart.

“I—” Your breathe got caught in your throat, but you persevered to finish your words. He deserved to here them. “I’m sorry.” You were whispering so you didn’t disturb anyone else in the room.

“No, stop it. I’m sorry baby.”

“Harry don’t, you don’t have anyt—”

“Stop yes I do I—”

“Harry please you don’t owe—”

“Y/N listen!” He cut the little volley-conversation and ordered you to just stop. You started crying when you saw that he was too. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now. Because I love you. Fuck, I do. I love you so much that when I found you unconscious in a pile of your own sick thinking you were dead, my only thought was that I wished it were me instead”.

“Harry, you don’t mean—”

“My god Y/N! You don’t get it, do you? I would do anything to switch places with you right now. I would suffer a thousand times over if it meant you were okay. I’d suffer in hell for you. Nobody else but you has ever made me feel like this. I married you because I love you and I want to wake up next to you every day of my beating hearts life. I chose to have children with you, because I knew how great of a mum you’d be and what beautiful people you’d help bring up into the world—”

“But i’m not.” You cut Harry short, trying to pull your hand away from him but he didn’t let you - only tightening his grip and pulling himself closer towards you. He was so close you could kiss him.

“Not what?” He asked, although he already knew the answer. You’d both had this conversation before, but you were both tired of it and were ready for it to be your last now.

“A good mum. I’m- i’m not a good mum or wife, Harry and i’m sorry.”

“I told you not say it and stop thinking it, because you’re completely wrong Y/N. You’re a good mother and a good wife, because you are a good person.”

“But i’m not great.” You whimpered, thinking back to the drawings your Oli and Felix had done. “I’m not the best.”

“But you don’t have to be, baby. You see our beautiful, healthy, happy and safe babies over there?” Harry turned to look at them, love in his eyes as in yours. “They wouldn’t be all those things, no matter how you feel about yourself, without you. I could never have brought them up to be half the people they are without you by my side, the way you make me a better person. You claim you don’t got this, but baby you’re already doing it and have been doing it for 5 years with our children and so much longer with me.”

“I’m just so fucked up Harry.” Your head tilted back on the pillow as you got heavily emotional over the situation.

Harry shook his head and moved his hand to cup the back of your neck, moving your head forwards until it met his. The touch of his skin against yours, no matter where and how small, made you feel alive and you’d missed him and that feeling so much. You missed loving him so much.

“Listen to me.” He ordered, keeping you still. “You are strong and you are brave Y/N Styles. No matter what you tell yourself I will be here every goddamn day of my life, if I have to, to remind you that you are worth more than your fucking weight in gold. You are my heart. You are my soul and the mother to my greatest achievements. I know they are yours too, just as I know I am your heart.

“You are.” You whispered so quietly under your breathe, but Harrys heart warmed when he caught you saying it. He knew though.

“Just let me love you. Let me be there for you. If you want medication then let’s do it, and i’ll be there for every step of the way. If you want to go to a rehabilitation centre for a bit, that’s okay we can—”

You shook your head and licked the tears away from your face. You were both such tearful messes, but the love between you was undeniable. “No, no please, no.”

“Okay, okay, love. We won’t. See, you’re okay. I promise, you’re okay. Stay with me, yeah? I’ll love you and keep you safe, just as you will me.”

“Promise.” You told him sincerely. He brought his lips to yours with that single word. He was so proud of your for being so brave and strong. He wishes he was half the person you were. His lips conveyed those thoughts of his and you could taste the love and passion burning through his heart and out on to his lips. He tasted like home. z he was home. Your lips smacked together messily, but you didn’t care because you loved each other too much and had kissed each other even more. Once you pulled back he stayed close to you, smiling at you with such awe. “I think.. I think I want to try medication please.”

Harry didn’t say ‘okay’ or ‘sure thing’, no. He said four words that meant more to you in that moment that any others in the universe. More than saying ‘I love you.’ Words that reminded you that not everything is okay and that sucks really bad, but you’re doing your best to get through it. It was a reminder that you had so many people who loved you and cared for you. It was a gun at the starting line symbolising that the journey ahead wasn’t going to be easy, but worth it.

“I’m proud of you.”

[messers-moony]

Hope | R.L

Paring: Remus Lupin X Wife!Potter!Reader

Summary: Life is unfair in numerous ways but it seems like it’s out to get the Potters in every way shape and form.

A part of growing up means maturing. Maturing means realizing that the world is cruel and unfair. People die every day without a reason or a why. Children are born into this world every day with love or hatred. Growing up, parents tell their kids, “Life isn’t fair”. No one had experience unfairness like Y/n Potter and Remus Lupin.

He was right there. So close, only a few feet from her arms yet so far apart in that wretched woman’s arms who held him like he was the grossest thing she’s ever touched. Those enchanting green eyes that glistened with trauma and pain. The brown hair that started to sprout from his scalp, already messy and untidy.

“No! This isn’t fair!” Y/n wailed as Remus held her tight to his chest, “I’m his biological aunt! Please!”

The Minister of Magic was merciless, “And so is Mrs.Dursley.”

“She’s a muggle! Harry is bound to be a wizard!” Y/n cried in contradiction; the feeling to vomit became relentless, “They’ll torture him. Please, you have to let me have him.”

“With your current living situation, it isn’t safe, Mrs.Lupin.”

Remus grimaced at those words, “My current living situation? Are you daft!?”

“With Mr.Lupins…” The Minister pondered, “condition, it isn’t safe for him.”

“Remus wouldn’t hurt him.” Y/n sobbed quietly, “He’s never hurt me!”

“I’m sorry, Mrs.Lupin, but Harry Potter is the safest with Mrs. and Mr. Dursley.”

The gavel was hit upon another circle of wood, adjourning the meeting as a finality. This was it. The fight was over. Harry Potter would grow up in an unloving household that wouldn’t be capable of understanding his magic. This was the epitome of unfairness. Remus’ hands were on her waist, her back to his chest while she sobbed, trying to get him to release her.

Eventually, she collapsed to a heap on the floor. Petunia and Vernon, each holding a baby watching the couple. Harry was wailing loudly, and Petunia couldn’t get him to settle down, making Y/n only cry harder. The young boy had just begun babbling nonsense due to Sirius’ hard effort to get him to say “Padfoot”. But it was that day he said his first word.

“Moo-me!” Harry yelped, and Remus could’ve sworn his heart shattered into a thousand pieces, “Moo-me!”

The brunet boy was trying to reach for Remus, and he squirmed for the adult male, but Petunia had a tight grip. Y/n could barely hear the little boy's words over her own sobs. Her body ached and shook with every tear that fell. The silver streams stained her cheeks, and her face was a brilliant rose red.

“Please make it stop….” Y/n muttered as Remus covered her from the other four people in the room, “If he says that one more time, I might not be able to handle it. Remus, help me, please.”

Hearing her so desperate broke his heart more. Remus’ body covered hers entirely in their crouched position. Harry was practically attacking Petunia to let him go, to be in the arms that are familiar to him. He didn’t like this. He didn’t know these people. These people weren’t his parents. Where was daddy? Where was mummy? Where was uncle Sirius and Peter?

What he did know was his aunt and uncle were right in front of him. Uncle Moony and Aunt Y/n. He could feel his aunt's sadness, her frustration, her anger. He could sense his uncle's remorse, desperation, and hopelessness. Why were they feeling this way? Why weren’t they protecting him? Harry so desperately wished he could speak and say, “Help! Save me from these strangers!” But all he could get out was “Moo-mee and Tee” for Moony and Auntie.

Petunia couldn’t handle his squirming any longer and allowed him on the floor. Harry was ecstatic with this new change. The boy crawled to the two adults on the floor. Harry could feel the warmth of their bodies before he tugged at his aunt's sleeve. Harry stared into her e/c irises and his uncle's green eyes. Those eyes he’d remember forever, engraved in his memory to never forget. His aunt collected him into her arms. His head pressed to her chest. Harry’s sobs calmed, now in the arms of familiarity.

The scent of chocolate, ink, and books surrounded him. His nose was barely catching the smell due to it being runny from crying. Petunia and Vernon approached them. Remus was hugging his wife and his best friend's son, protecting them from the outside world. Gently Y/n pulled Harry from her chest, leaving him to stare at his aunt and uncle.

Y/n sniffled and wiped his tears from his cheeks like mum used to do, “Harry, I promise you, I really don’t want to do this.”

His head tilted in confusion as Y/n’s eyes filled with tears again, “I’ll come back for you. Don’t doubt that for a second.”

“If he’s anything like Prongs, he’ll always have hope.” Remus commented, making Y/n smile.

“That’s what daddy used to do to mummy when she was sad,” Harry thought, “he used to say something to make her smile.”

Despite the soft smile on her face, she had wet trails on her cheeks, “I love you, Harry.”

Y/n kissed his forehead where the lightning scar was placed—hugging him one more time and Remus doing the same as his wife. Harry didn’t understand. Where was he going? Why was auntie Y/n letting him go? Why weren’t they taking him home? Where was mummy and daddy?! So he began to wail again. Petunia picked him up, and the family of four now started to walk out of the room.

She couldn’t even cry anymore. The water that once flowed down her cheeks had stopped. The dam had broken but no longer had water to give. Y/n turned to put her face harshly in Remus’ chest. His arms raked through her hair and rubbed her back. Silent tears rolled down his flushed cheeks, reaching his jawline and falling into Y/n’s hair.

“That was-“ Y/n hiccuped, “the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“I know, darling.” Remus whispered, “He’s got James’ spirit, and that means he won’t lose hope. He’s got Lily’s kindness. Harry will be fine.”

Y/n shook her head, “That’s not the point. He should be with me. Not that horrid woman.”

“I know. But you and I will get through this.” Remus assured, tilting her head to face him, “We’ve gotten through everything else. We can get through this too.”

Solemnly, Y/n nodded. Remus placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. The room was precise and silent, aside from Y/n’s hiccups. The clicking of a clock could be heard echoing throughout the room. Usually, the sound would bring a sense of solace to Remus but right now, it was a constant reminder that time had gone by. James and Lily were no longer with him. Sirius had betrayed them all, and Peter was dead. Godric, how could this all happen?

Remus flicked his wand from his pocket, apparating them back to their residence. Inside it was cozy and warm. Remus took off Y/n’s coat along with his own as she took a seat on the leather couch. She grabbed her wand, muttering an “Incendio” to start a fire in the fireplace. Her body was curled up, and Remus placed a blanket over her while he went to the kitchen.

The kitchen was a pale blue with dark oak flooring. The marble countertops and dark cabinets. A brilliant contrast. He could almost hear James’ laugh from when they were painting it together while also hearing Lily and Y/n’s scolding them for making a big mess. It brought an emptiness to his heart, but he filled the kettle with water, allowing it to boil on the water.

Inside the cabinets laid an assortment of tea. Something James and Lily had bought him as a joke. Remus always made tea no matter the occasion. It was so him. James had seen it at a muggle store Lily had brought him for. He had been dying of laughter in the store just thinking about it. It got laughs around the Christmas tree when Remus unwrapped the decorative paper.

Remus grabbed a tea bag for himself while grabbing cocoa powder from the same cabinet and two mugs from their wedding night. The kettle began making a high pitch noise, and Remus poured the water into both mugs. Placing the tea bag in one cup and a couple of scoops of cocoa powder in the other, mixing them both, adding marshmallows to the hot chocolate and whipped cream. He added honey to his tea.

Mugs in hand, Remus walked to the living room. He placed the cups on the coffee table. Coaxing Y/n to sit up and he set the mug in her hand as she sipped it carefully, not to burn her mouth. Y/n leaned her head on Remus’ shoulder, still holding her mug with both hands. The blanket draped across their laps. Remus had the cup in his right hand, his left arm draped around her shoulders, the pad of his thumb rubbing her shoulder.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Rem.”

The holidays were hard. Almost too hard for Y/n and Remus to celebrate. But despite their pain, they decorated their house with garland, lights, and knickknacks. The Christmas tree sat in the right of their living room, covered in the beautiful colorful lights. Placed upon the tree were ornaments and tiny pieces of tinsel. Beneath the tree held presents for each other and a little boy.

Y/n stood in front of the tree, staring at it with a longing look. Remus walked behind her, putting his arms around her neck gently. Y/n’s hands instinctively reached for his bicep, rubbing it gently. Remus kissed her cheek and placed his head on top of hers.

“I wanna visit him.”

“Okay.”

Y/n turned to face him, “Okay?”

“What am I gonna tell you?” Remus joked, “No?”

“No. I just- I didn’t expect you to agree so fast.” Y/n replied, and Remus cupped her cheek, “He’s your nephew too. You have a right to see him.”

She smiled, “Yeah, you’re right.”

He kissed her forehead, “First Christmas without them….”

“I know.” Y/n said sadly, “It feels strange not to have James jumping around like a child.”

“It feels not having Lily in the kitchen trying to make your mums mince pies.”

Y/n chuckled, “She never got to master them.”

“Don’t worry, dear, I’m sure she’s up there trying.” Remus replied, smiling, “You think Peter is trying to steal the batter?” Y/n asked.

“Oh, definitely!” Remus exclaimed, smiling more than he had in months, “That bugger always used to Nick my chocolate at Hogwarts.”

“I dunno how he found my stash every time.”

The couple placed their foreheads on each other’s, closing their eyes, “We miss you, James and Lily.”

“We miss you more than ever.”

Y/n sighed, “I love you guys.”

Christmas morning was dull compared to their regular routine. Y/n was used to having James jump on top of her every Christmas so they can wake up their parents and open presents. Instead, she was woken up with kisses being placed on her neck and shoulder. Y/n turned and was faced with the sleepy face of her husband.

His sandy hair ruffled and on top of the white pillow. Green eyes glazed with a film of sleep. His lips pulled up in an effortless gentle smile. The scars on his face were whiter instead of their usual pale pink. His stubble was growing into full facial hair due to his lack of shaving. Y/n let her hand cup his right cheek, her thumb rubbing his cheekbone.

“You need to shave.”

Remus chuckled, “It’s Christmas, and that’s the first thing you say to me?”

“Merry Christmas, you need to shave?” Y/n corrected with a smile, making him laugh, “Merry Christmas, darling.”

They shared a soft and gentle kiss. His lips taking her bottom one, hers taking his top one. Soft and slow. Gentle and sweet. Pulling apart, their eyes fluttered, focusing on one another. Her eyes were so beautiful. Looking into her eyes, Remus could read an endless amount of stories. The gorgeous e/c. His eyes were evergreen. Holding so much love and adoration. She could read him like a book through his eyes.

Christmas meant eating a good meal and sharing kisses beneath the mistletoe. The couple opened each other’s presents. Y/n earning new books and some of Remus’ old sweaters that she thought he threw away. The last item she received was a maroon and gold jersey. It was her brother's Quidditch Captain jersey from when he played. Remus must’ve found it in the wreckage at Godric’s Hallow.

Remus opened his presents, getting ink, quills, notebooks, and books of his own. Since Remus couldn’t work, he always dreamed of writing a book. At Hogwarts, Remus excelled in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he wanted to write a nonbias textbook for it. Y/n always encouraged his dreams and goals. If anyone could do it, it was him.

Left under the tree were three wrapped boxes meant for the little boy. Remus grabbed a tote bag and placed them inside of it. Y/n gripped his hand tightly as they apparated to Privet Drive. They began walking down the street, sweaters on in the snow, while she grabbed his hand tighter.

“What if- What if he doesn’t recognize me?”

“Y/n, he couldn’t forget you.” Remus assured as they stood outside house four.

Gently Y/n knocked on the door. It was oak wood, and the house appeared to be at least two stories. Remus kept his hand intertwined with hers as his other held the bag with the boy's presents. Footsteps could be heard walking towards the door. Petunia had opened it to be faced with two young adults.

“Mrs. Dursley.” Remus greeted curtly, “May we see Harry?”

Petunia began to ponder and saw the bag of presents in the man's hand, “Sure.”

The woman walked into the hallway and unlocked the cupboard under the stairs. Harry was coaxed out of the storage space, and he turned to the left, where he saw his uncle and aunt. The boy's lips curved into a great big smile. Harry ran into the arms of his aunt, hugging her tightly.

“Auntie!”

Her heart melted, “Hey, mini Prongs.”

Harry turned the male beside her, “Moony!”

Remus wrapped his arms around the little boy and picked him up as they walked inside. The three of them sat in the foyer on the floor. Harry sat between Y/n’s legs, his back to her stomach as Remus sat in front of him. Gently Remus disposed of the bag and placed the presents in front of him.

“Go on, Harry. These are for you from Moony and Auntie.” Remus cooed, and Harry grabbed one, gently ripping the wrapping off.

Inside was a baby stag stuffed animal, which Harry hugged close to his chest, “Your dad's favorite animal was a stag. Thought you might want something to remember him by.” Remus stated, smiling sheepishly.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, daddy.” Y/n replied as Harry smiled up at her.

“Go on. There’s two more for you, baby.” Y/n pointed at the other two boxes, and Harry began unwrapping another.

This was a tinier box, and inside were golden glasses, “You don’t need these just yet, but these were your fathers. I wanted them to be yours.” Y/n informed him as he placed them on top of his nose.

The final box was mini-figures that Harry could play with in his spare time, which he seemed more than grateful for. Harry was giggling and laughing, happy with all his presents. The boy turned in Y/n’s lap, hugging her as tight as he could. Y/n’s hand rested on his back, and she gently kissed his forehead.

“I love you, Harry. Don’t forget that.”

“‘Ove you too.” Harry replied, having a hard time pronouncing words.

Next, he hugged Remus, who did the same. He didn’t want to leave Remus’ arms. He always ran hotter than the everyday person. Remus was a personal furnace. It makes sense why a cold young boy didn’t want to let go of the man. Within minutes the young boy was asleep in Remus’ arms.

Petunia came into the hallway an hour later to see Harry soundly asleep in the man's arms, “Excuse me, but I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Yes, of course.” Y/n took Harry from Remus’ arms and gave him to Petunia, “Thank you for letting us see him.”

Petunia took the boy from Y/n’s arms, “Yes.”

She put the boy in his bed under the cupboard, making Y/n frown at his living situation, “Do you- Do you think that Harry could stay with us some weekends?”

“No.”

“Oh, okay.” Y/n muttered, “Thank you again, but we must’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“Of course.”

Y/n took Remus’ hand as they walked out of the house. They walked to a safe spot to apparate back home. They both took off their coats and placed them on the coat rack. Y/n went to turn on a movie on their television set while Remus made hot chocolate and snacks. Both of them curled up onto the sofa and fell asleep.

Over the course of the next nine years, Harry has been visited by his aunt and uncle on many different occasions. Birthdays, Christmas’s, Valentine’s Day, Halloween, and sometimes just randomly, but he always looked forward to seeing them. Every time without fail, Harry would always jump in Y/n’s arms no matter how old he got.

The warmth and feeling of being safe in her arms brought a sense of comfort no one seemed compared to. She felt like daddy. His radiate smile, his incredibly warm body, the smoothness of her voice, the glitter in her eyes, her untied hair. Auntie Y/n felt like James. But no matter how hard he tried, she never was dad exactly, but she was auntie. Y/n was his dad's sister, and for now, that’d have to do.

Of course, uncle Moony felt the same. But there were some days he didn’t show up, much to Harry’s displeasure. Harry loved sleeping in Remus’ arms when he was a young toddler. The chocolate, ink, and parchment smell always filled his sensitive nose with such a safe feeling. Harry’s favorite time of year was Christmas when Petunia would make hot cocoa, filling the room with its sweet sense. Although he never got a cup of it himself, the smell brought a sense of comfort. As if uncle Moony was embracing him tightly on all sides.

When Harry reached eleven, owls began delivering envelopes to Privet Drive number Four. But it seems that uncle Vernon refused to let him open any of them. He did whatever he had to, blocking the mail slot in the door, burning the letters, even going as extreme to leave the house. Where inevitably Hagrid - gamekeeper - at Hogwarts came to retrieve him and give him the letter.

He couldn’t believe it. He was a wizard! All this time being belittled by Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley, he finally felt special aside from those times with his other family. Harry had a chance to prove himself to be great. To prove himself that he wasn’t just a bug on the ground to be stepped on. Only one thought crossed his mind though.

“I can’t wait to tell aunt Y/n and uncle Moony.”

[yeoldontknow]

the light keeper’s daughter | jhs (m)

A/N: written as fulfillment for the july house games at @bangtansorciere  ❂ To The Lighthouse      ⁂ Hosted by: Professor Bee @inkedtae through @bangtansorciere​ AU Type: Trident’s Tides (soulmates) Themes: God/Goddess (goddess reader); Secret Relationship Kinks: clit biting; pain kink; size kink; masturbation; degradation; overstimulation; dirty talk; cum play; panty sniffing

↝ Creative Content Contributor: @jamaisjoons​ for this incredible banner. its literally so stunning ;~; ↝ Pairing: Lighthouse Keeper!Hoseok x Goddess of Light!Reader (oc; female) ↝ Genre: soulmate au; secret relationship au; gods/goddess au; mentions of an arranged marriage; heavy angst; smut; romance; pining ↝ Rating: NC-17 | 18+ ↝ Summary: For years, you’ve kept your relationship with Hoseok a secret. As the daughter of the God of Light, you are destined to marry anyone who slays the beast in the Gloaming Isles in your honor. When that day finally comes, you go to Hoseok to tell him your relationship must end and you are set to be married. One last time, Hoseok reminds you no one will love you as eternally, as enduringly, as he. ↝ Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; pregnancy; unprotected sex; creampie; masturbation; clit biting; oral sex (f receiving); pain kink; size kink; overstimulation; light degradation; a brief handjob; impreg kink; dirty talk; cum play; panty sniffing; crying; biting; marking; scratching; brief mentions of blood ↝ Word Count: 14.7K        ↝ special thank you to @softyoongiionly​ and @kithtaehyung​ for reading through this and being amazing betas! if there are any mistakes left over they are absolutely my own and the fact that 98% of this was written while sprinting owo

Looking at Hoseok, you think, is exactly like being struck by lightning. Which is to say, every time, all the time, looking at Hoseok means you feel him everywhere, all over and all at once. 

Inside the lighthouse, there is no escaping him. 

Pressing your back against the rough concrete of the small light room, you tilt your head to the side as the totality of Hoseok’s warmth, ardor, and fidelity blossoms over you. He flowers deep in the nodes of your lungs, your breath constricted as you take him in, studying the curve of his lips, the slope of his nose, the way he wears the night as though he is the stars.

In the distance, waves rush to the shore, kissing the land with the same enthusiasm you wish to be kissing him, only to pull away from land; the water shy, anxious of the earth’s response to its affections. Over and over, the sea rolls like thunder. Every now and then, the light that spins overhead refracts downward, illuminating the blood that has rushed to his cheeks. Flushed, his lips part as he processes the words you have just told him, all red and red and red with understanding.

As though he is burning, as though you are not burning for him, your hands clinging tightly to your skirts as you hold your knees against your chest. It should be utterly unfair, you think, for him to appear so beautiful, so exquisite, even as he remains painfully stricken by your words. The searing ache in your chest germinates alongside your love, mind racing with the apologies he deserves. Your bones tremble with the force of remaining still, prepared to reach out and hold his face and tell him it was a lie. You want to smile for him, want to tease him, want to say you’d been terribly silly and that such jokes are best kept for nights when the sky is not clouded, not cold, and instead warmed by your shared rapture. 

How you would like to give him all the kindest, all the softest, words in the world.

‘It can’t be true.’

He’s said this twice, the disbelief in his voice only just winning out against the grief. Hoseok repeats it again, taking a step towards you, eyes cast down to where you have slunk in shame and sadness. Hands limp at his sides, his fingers quake, torn between balling his hands into fists or running through his hair, their resting place for his worry. Deciding on neither, he simply stands tall and stoic, appearing so small in the light that cascades around the room.

You’d glow for him if you could, if you felt like you deserved to illuminate any part of him at all.

Looking away from his woefully dejected expression, you turn your attention to the small gap in the wall beside you. A window once blocked the wind - stained glass, exquisite. It shattered during a storm, on a night when he pressed himself so deep inside you traces of his essence lingered on your tongue. He was deep enough it hurt, rolling into you with enthusiastic vigor. Tonight, the breeze smells of low tide, acrid in the back of your nose and sour, just like your mood.

‘We knew this would happen,’ is your quiet reply. 

A weak and pathetic excuse, you hate the words even as you say them. Shameful, you think with a grimace, to have pretended that you could have a happy ending, that convincing your father would have been simple. The lies you told yourself and Hoseok, the platitudes that fell from your lips to comfort him, turn on your now, betrayals stacked against you that weigh heavily your judgement. You’ve been childish, so childish, to assume you could have ever been happy.

Hoseok shakes his head, refusing to accept your answer. All fury and rage, he comes to stand before you and lowers to his knees, demanding you look at him. His presence is a live wire, the heat and energy from his skin is vital, a pull against yours that makes you regard him once more, confronted by his enduring beauty. Flooding your vision, he is all you see, all you can fathom, your world beginning and ending with his pleading eyes. 

‘But it’s been years,’ he argues, the high pitched tone of his voice wavering and taught with emotion. He’s older than you, physically, but at this moment he has never been so young, so small, so gloriously human. ‘Centuries even. It’s unfair to you.’

A huff of breath rushes through your nose, your scoff ripe with bitterness. ‘Someone finally slayed the Sydral, as archaic as this ritual actually is. My father said I should have always expected it.’

‘And so now…’ Hoseok’s voice drifts, falling back onto his knees crestfallen. The corner of his lips drop into the beginnings of a deep frown, all manner and will to fight rapidly dissipating.

‘I have to marry them,’ you nod, answering his unspoken question.

For a long while, you hold his gaze, allowing yourself to get lost in the umber of his irises and missing the mirth that usually ignites their sparkle. It is just his breath that cascades over your skin, just the waves that rush beyond the light room, just the world that seems to turn onward, without you, time passing without either of you truly acknowledging it. In this silence, you see your history, your every moment spent with him: the day you met; the day he could not help himself any longer and kissed you soundly, without restraint; the first moment you told him you loved him; the first moment he said he needed you; the plastic ring he won at the pier arcade - extraordinary in all its ugliness - and the gentle, reverent, way he slid it over your finger, calling it a promise of fidelity. 

In Hoseok, you see it all. 

Similarly, he drowns in you, the pink of his cheeks deepening to rose with each passing breath. Posture falling slack, the strap of his ride suspender slips from his shoulder, the collar of his linen shirt loosening with the lack of restraint. A sliver of his collarbone becomes exposed, golden and rich, a tantalizing patch of skin you would caress and kiss if only the circumstances had been different. You wonder idly what he remembers of you, what he sees in your own dispirited expression. You wonder if he remembers the way he loved you, the way he loved you beyond your light and into your darkness. 

You wonder if he remembers the way he ate your shadows - with his whole mouth, with fervor, with pride. You wonder if he remembers the way you devoured him just the same. 

‘This is ridiculous,’ he announces, finally. Turning to look out the window, he regards the sky solemnly, the curve of his profile imposing in its majesty. Eyes narrowed, it is the harshest he has ever looked, devoid of forgiveness. ‘It’s supposed to be me.’

Swiftly, you shake your head, adamant in your disagreement. You reach for him, leaning forward to rest your hand against his chest, against his heart where it thunders in his sternum. Warmth from his skin radiates into your blood, taking root between your joints. Hoseok worms his way into pieces of your spirit long left abandoned, and you swallow thickly, wondering if such affection as this is normal, if it’s always this way.

‘I’d never have let you.’ Your dispute is biting, sharp enough Hoseok turns his eyes back to you, jaw clenched and tight with silent fury. ‘You’re human. It would have killed you. And then where would I be?’

‘You’d be sitting where I am,’ he argues, emphatic. 

Reaching for your hand where it rests, he covers it with his own, lifting it slightly to twine his fingers with yours. Unable to help himself, he inches closer, running his thumb over your knuckles and sending shivers along your nerves. Like always, his touch is a wildfire, the electric kinetic energy needed to set you aglow. Your mind swims with him the same way your body becomes whelmed by his devotion, but he does not let himself become distracted. 

‘Do you even understand?’ Voice little more than a whisper, Hoseok’s gaze is penetrating, a bite to his veneration that demands your complete attention. Tilting his head to the side, he continues. ‘You think I wouldn’t die for you?’

You squeeze his hand with tenacity, acknowledging his sentiment, but he does not see all the things you have witnessed. He does not know the true menace of the Sydral, does not know its tricks, its many heads, its speed, its cunning; Hoseok would die for you, and death would find him quickly. 

Instead, you offer him a small smile, one that is so fragile and close to breaking. Hoseok’s intensity burns within your chest, transforming his softness into the valor of a man that leaves you breathless. Salvaging your own strength, you lower your gaze to the white collar of his shirt, to the soft linen and the expanse of his throat where he swallows. This you can regard with pleasure, can regard without fearing you may shatter.

And so you smile, finding the will to fight him once more. ‘The problem,’ you begin, hoping the earnestness of your smile is enough to cool the rage that boils in his throat, ‘is that I know you would. And I would live my life alone, married to him while knowing you are gone. Would you really condemn me to such misery? My darling, I would die to keep you safe.’

This feels like anguish; this feels like dying, you think to yourself, growing ever more despondent the longer you feel Hoseok pleading with the emptiness that lurks behind your eyes. You can’t bear to face him, not when the tightness in your throat becomes a threat, tears lingering on the precipice of spilling. Every time his gaze meets yours it is brutal in its honesty, violent in the way your love and lust tumbles so completely into grief.

‘How long?’ he manages, breathing life to the very question you’d been hoping to avoid. 

Your future is still so far away, distant enough it makes this moment, and every moment to follow, heavy with the pain of imagination. Still, you’ve never been able to deny him anything. 

Once more, you turn to view the window, regarding it with a vacant expression as though you are regarding time itself. ‘You know this is the last time I can see you.’

‘I know,’ he bites out, unwilling to let you dodge the answer. ‘I mean how long until...you’re not mine anymore.’

‘That’s...not possible,’ you offer gently, casting him a solemn, detached grin. ‘I am always going to be yours. Even when I’m in his bed, even when I’m thousands of miles away, even in death, I am yours.’

Hoseok pulls you against him, compelling your complete attention. Eyes wide, you study his face - the resolution of his passion fierce enough to be an earthquake against your sternum, a collision of meeting worlds. His arm winds itself around your waist while he still clutches your hand, the strength of his grip stinging against your knuckles. You tremble against his powerful frame, inhaling the deep scent of cedar and ambergris that always clings to him, the salt of the ocean that lingers on his skin, the dust that has saturated his shirt from the lighthouse, and you; your vanilla and lemon, the brightness of your own natural scent that emanates from your light and always seems to find him, not unlike rays of the sun. 

Your mouth waters at this closeness, his own eyes darkened to a rich black as he studies you seriously. You’ve wounded him - worse, you’ve denied him - and he presses the tips of his fingers into the soft muscles of your back, ensuring you cannot leave him. Not until he is ready to let you go.  

‘You know what I mean,’ he breathes, words lowered to a hiss. If he were a vengeful sort of man, he would be full of venom. Instead, there is only remorse in his insistence.

Closing your eyes, you sigh. ‘Months, most likely. Tomorrow the rituals begin - the seven days feast, the Fate Tying, the Blood Gathering.’ 

When you look at him again, your lower lip begins to quake. Saying the words makes it all feel immediate, tangible, as though your father stands in the dark corners of the light room casting his judgements. You almost feel him there, his presence always so sinister for a man blessed to command the light; he resides in the silent places, giving birth to shadows, prepared to pull you from bliss at a moment's notice. 

‘All this pomp and circumstance from eras bygone,’ you continue, grounding yourself in the firmness of Hoseok’s arms and chest. The bones of his knees press into your thighs; your hand caught between your twin heartbeats; you immerse yourself in the pain of this connection and remind yourself it hurts because he was always meant to be yours. ‘It’s been centuries since a goddess has been married off, and yet somehow I’m the first for such a sentence. The wedding won’t be for at least five months.’

‘Then we have time.’ Hope saturates his words, his hold on you growing ever more unyielding. ‘You can still come to me, we can still see each other,’ he explains quickly, speaking in a rush. ‘No one will have to know.’

Biting your lips, you raise your hand to the soft strands of his hair, carding your fingers through it. All silk and satin, you relish the texture as his desperation soaks into your pores. 

‘I wish that could be true.’ Even as you speak, you focus on his hair, committing these small details to memory. The curve of his bang in the center of his forehead, the deep amber and dark sienna and all the golden highlights that come to life in the daylight, the way all of him, every piece, is soft enough to break you. Yes, you focus on it all. ‘All the Old Gods will be gathering in Teylim. There will be more eyes on me than ever before. Ladies coming to fuss over my hair, my clothes, the oils I wear; men worshiping Daeus like he’s some kind of king when, really, he’s just lucky enough to be half of a god. I won’t be able to get away.’

Hoseok’s eyes roam your face, wild and storming, waiting for you to amend your answer. When you do not speak, his brow furrows and he exhales, a small whimper released from the center of his breaking heart. ‘So this is it, then? This is really it?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ you whisper, moving your hand from his hair to cup his cheek. 

He presses himself into your touch, turning just slightly to kiss delicately at your palm. The sweetness of his tenderness splinters the last of your courage, the tears you’ve so valiantly held back starting to burn as they spill over to your cheeks. 

‘I wish it could be different,’ you plead - with everyone and no one at all. ‘I wish for it everyday. Hoseok, I can’t -’ Distraught, you choke on your own words, and Hoseok pulls you firmly against him, resting your head against his shoulder. ‘I can’t breathe without you. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.’

Hoseok says nothing at all as you dampen his shirt, tears spilling into the linen as you struggle not to collapse against him completely. When you are finally alone, you will succumb to the sorrow that has learned to occupy every chamber of your heart. When you are finally alone, you will eat the spirit of rage with teeth and fangs, and you will let the darkness have you, refusing to let the light erupt from your skin. But for now, you let the tears arrive of their own accord, aware that you are suddenly too sad to even weep, tears dripping into his shirt as means to remain a part of him.

Against you, Hoseok’s breath becomes uneven, his own shoulders shuddering as he minds his own heroism, fighting back his own tears. He quivers against you, his stuttering breath exhaled through his nose as he maintains his composure. The light room becomes almost too quiet, the blood rushing your ears drowning out the sound of the sea, narrowing your focus to just the shared heat between your bodies. You inch closer, removing any space that could exist between you, extinguishing any oxygen that would dare to separate you from him. What you would give for a thunderstorm, any sound at all to give life to the end of love, to the start of the war of loving. 

Unable to stomach the quiet any longer, your mind seems to become unhinged. All the tiny, miserable little thoughts Hoseok’s love kept locked away worm their way past your lips, erupting to life as though your heartbreak has given them permission to persecute you. 

‘I wish you never found me,’ you mumble, almost incoherent. Your tongue fumbles with the words, caught between weeping and speaking, making a mess of so much more than just his shirt. ‘I wish you never saw me. I could love you like that, on my own, from a distance. I could be strong enough to move through life not knowing you, loving only the idea of you. You’re so much more than anything my mind could have fabricated out of childish desire. The reality of you is heaven. And now, I’m hurting you. I should die for such a transgression.’

‘Don’t say that.’ Hoseok pulls, easing you back and lifting both his hands to cup your face. Briefly you mourn the loss of his fingers and knuckles so rough against yours, but cradled between his palms, your skin tingles, making a festival out of this contact and celebrating the nuance of his fingerprints. He looks down into you, deep enough you feel him taking root in the center of your belly. You love him most when he looks like this - fierce and unforgiving - and you cannot help the way your body responds, aroused simply by the passion of him. ‘Don’t you dare wish that,’ he commands, voice thick. ‘The day we met was the day my life started.’

‘But...’ you struggle to find the words, drifting off with the implication that, now, his life is surely ending.

‘I don’t want to know who I would be without you.’ Hoseok takes his time as he speaks, an art you cannot comprehend. 

Behind his eyes, his mind races, words living and dying before they can reach his tongue. He has so much to say, so many more promises to make, so many more words of affirmation he’d like to give you. You see them all, recognize them all - for they mirror yours, are born from your own likeness; you know them all so well, you feel as though you could reach out and touch them. 

‘I can’t fathom it, I won’t even consider it.’ Shaking his head, he denies this completely, holding onto your stare with a fixation that borders on zealous. ‘You came to me, and it felt like I could breathe. You came to me, and I felt like myself. Loving you makes me better, loving you is partly why I am alive.’

It’s difficult to swallow around the lump in your throat, its size and prowess growing ever larger in the wake of his words. In the oncoming quiet, you wish he hadn’t said it, wish he hadn’t reminded you of the way you the oncoming storm of his presence before you met him. One look at him and you had seen it all, a life designed by the Fates - marriage, children, hope, happiness. In death he’d have joined you in Teylim, youthful, young, yours. With eternity before you, you’d bask in the rapture and the joyful silliness that comes with forever. 

He felt it, too, saw it in your eyes. On your fourth meeting, he held you against him and promised you his life.

‘I will put my child in your belly,’ he announced, deliberate in the way he enunciated his words. You waited for the shock of such an exclamation to overtake you, but it never came. ‘I can’t explain it,’ he chuckled, amused by his own enthusiasm, ‘but I’m certain of it. I see my unborn children in your eyes. I think this is what the elders mean when they say there is always a plan, and you will always know it the moment you find it. I’m so certain my whole life is tied to yours.’

The memory burns within your mind, a scorch of greed mixing immediately with longing. You wish the fire of it would incinerate it to ash, that it would vanish altogether before the Fate Tying. You can handle all of these frivolous little rituals, sure of yourself and your own strength, but the Fate Tying means to unmake you. At just the thought, your stomach begins to sink. 

You will sit, hands clasped on your amber throne with the sunlight seeking your hair, your cheeks, your lips; Daeus will smile, wrapped in oak and evergreen, in the earth that flourishes beneath your light; and you will weep, watching as the Moirai unstitch your soul from Hoseok’s, peeling it apart inch by horrible inch, to thread it with the ugliness of Daeus’ strands. You will wonder, mouth dry and eyes wet, why the Moirai would bother making a man for you, would bother weaving your spirits together, only to unravel the work they had done, the love you had found. 

The movement of Hoseok’s gentle caress, pads of his thumbs running across the bones of your cheeks, returns you to the present moment. Once more he whimpers, doing his best to keep you grounded with him, unwilling to lose you before he absolutely must. Digging your nails into his shoulder as you grab fistfuls of his shirt, you wallow with him, knowing that, just like him, you don’t know who you would have become without him.

‘What do we do?’ you manage, reduced to a more pathetic version of yourself as you plead with him. Anyone else, and you’d be ashamed to appear so weak. ‘How do I do this?’

‘I don’t know,’ is all he can provide. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Promise me -’ You cut yourself off, not entirely certain where the idea comes from, what part of you would willingly propose such a request, the meaning of what you had intended to say catching up to your mind the moment you heard your own voice. Hoseok waits patiently, and you lower your gaze to the curvature of his lips, wanting to kiss and kiss and kiss him, knowing your next words will scar you both. ‘Promise me you’ll find someone else. Promise me you’ll be happy.’

Without any hesitation, he scoffs, dismissing the idea altogether. ‘Don’t ask me to tell a lie.’ 

‘I can’t, Hoseok.’ Now, it is your turn to hold his face, cupping his cheeks with veneration. Mind reeling, you envision it, certain you could take it. You are certain you would die for less. ‘I can’t do this if I spend my life knowing you’ll be unhappy. I can’t do this knowing you’re alone.’

Slowly, gently, Hoseok lets the tip of his nose press against yours, rubbing it back and forth, back and forth. Breath  a deluge down and over your lips and skin, he somehow finds it within himself to smile, empty of all amusement. 

‘It’s so unfair of you to expect that I could be happy with anyone but you,’ he chastises. ‘I’d rather be alone, utterly and completely, than to be lonely with someone. They deserve better than someone who is with them out of loyalty to another person - a promise kept to the person they truly love.’

His rejection and refusal of your plea inspires a thrill in the pit of your stomach, all manner of possessive pleasure coursing through your veins. How easily he turns you into a selfish woman, how quickly his promises of fidelity make you lose all sight of strength and future vision. What sort of man is Hoseok that he should have such dominion over you, you think to yourself. But then, you know. You know as you have always known: Hoseok is your man, your lover, your soul.

Stroking his cheeks with your thumbs, just as he had done, reverently, adoringly, you bite your lip and feel your exhale shake. ‘So what will you do?’

‘I’ll do as I’ve always done,’ he shrugs, as though the very thought is not a bruise within his ribs. ‘I’ll keep the lighthouse. Every night, I’ll let the beacon burn, and keep the light on. Even on clear days, I will let the light shine.’ Hoseok smiles as he says this, the first real smile he has managed since he saw you on the shore this evening, waiting, just like always. ‘When you’re up there, perhaps you will see the light.’ 

He shifts his gaze to the roof of the light house, looking up and beyond, past the clouds, up to the seat of the gods. Furrowing his brow, he hardens his jaw just slightly, eyes turning dark as he demands your father witness him. 

When he looks at you again, he is a changed man - a boy trapped in the throes of love, and a man on the verge of letting himself perish.

‘Maybe up there,’ he murmurs, ‘you will see my light and know that I’m burning for you, just as I’ve always been. I’ll continue to love you. I’ll be good, I’ll be pious, and maybe when I die we will meet in Teylim and even in death I’ll watch you, staying close to your light like a bird in flight.’

‘Hoseok.’ The quiver of your bottom lip disrupts the cadence of his name, besmirching it to little more than a sob.

Sucking air through his teeth, Hoseok leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours as his eyes fall shut. At such close proximity, you study the almost feminine length of his eyelashes, the pores of his skin, and wonder who or what god or demon you could barter with to stay inside him forever.

‘You’re supposed to be mine,’ he whimpers, the sadness welling up in him like a mountain. ‘You are mine, but…I will always be yours. Even when they untie us, I’ll be yours. They can’t thread me with anyone else. I don’t think my soul will allow it.’ 

Unable to sustain it any longer, your desire for him rises to a swell, erupting beside your sorrow - just as fervent, and even more unyielding. His words are a comfort, an echo you will revisit over and over when you have long departed, but your skin has learned how to ache for his touch, learned how to anticipate the way he moves over you like water, and you need it. You need him. 

The rest of your pitiful existence looms out before you, days and months and centuries passing without Hoseok to hold you and keep you, and you despise the very notion of it. You rebuke it, refusing to let yourself continue on without knowing how it feels to have him. Tonight, you do not want him as your lover.

Tonight, you want him as your husband.

‘Kiss me,’ you announce, guiding his forehead away from yours, skin prickling with the lack of his warmth. ‘Kiss me like it’s our wedding. I -’ The tightness of your voice steals your breath, words hot and heavy in your mouth as you say them. ‘I want to know what a marriage bed truly feels like. I want to know what our marriage bed would be like.’

Mad with an unbearable passion, no longer contained, Hoseok heeds your words and lets his tongue wander over the seam of your lips. You cling to him, clutching what you can of his shape, his body, and you sigh in woeful euphoria, granting him unspoken entry to the recesses of your mouth - but he does not enter. Your lover has always been disobedient, reckless in the evening when your skin and your lips and your heart are presented to him, and tonight he is no different. Tonight, he scorns the hour, taking his time as he traces over your cupid’s bow with his tongue, rendering the turn of the earth meaningless. The heat of his breath tickles your skin, a cascade in which you luxuriate, and your eyes, blurred by the urgency of your desire, lose all sense of your surroundings until there is only Hoseok. 

Hoseok - on you, around you, all over you, the rain and the wind all at once.

Only when he has had his fill of your lips does he press the whole of his mouth against yours, sucking languidly at your bottom lip. Skin growing tight, you keen into his kiss, consumed by greed. Slowly, he moves his hands down and down, letting his fingers trace indeterminate lines over your cheeks, your jaw, your bones until they rest at your neck. With his palm over your pulse, he holds you still, his touch a fever, his touch the sun, radiating deep into the caverns of your heart. 

Filled with him, you think. Absolutely alive with him, Hoseok lets his palm cradle the tether of your life until you are certain he is the oxygen made to sustain your mortal form. You, living and breathing, are little more than remnants of departed touches, composed entirely of his affections, his affirmations, his adoration.

So, too, do you kiss at him, battling against him for any semblance of permanence, demanding that you be remembered. Feeling you writhe against him, insistent in your need for closeness, he hums in pleasure, a musical sound that traverses your synapsis with unhurried ease. Gooseflesh raises on your arms, either by a passing breeze or the way Hoseok leans in, harder, rougher, all manner of dominance in the way he so desperately seeks to have you, and you shiver, delighted by the peak in your senses; delighted, fundamentally, that you will commit every moment of this last evening to bodily memory.

Willing to be devoured, you surrender to him, feeling arousal leak from between your folds as though his savagery has given it permission to spill over. It soaks into your underwear where you briefly mourn the fact that it will not coat your thighs, not yet, and that Hoseok must wait to see how easily you could paint yourself in your wanting. Like always, he anticipates you and ardent your longing; perceptive and always acutely aware of the way you have grown wanton. depraved by the strength of his kisses alone. 

Hoseok eases his hand to the back of your neck, determination apparent in his grip, and guides you forward to rest in his lap. Letting your legs settle on either side of his thighs, you straddle him, unwilling to break any contact he has with you, your skin, you, your hands on him. You come together like a cataclysm, the burgeoning tip of his erection firm and stubborn where it presses against your core, assertive and tantalizing even beneath the fabric of his trousers. 

It’s lewd the way you crave him deep inside you, jaw dropping as your mouth opens wide to gasp in delight. Hoseok wastes no time in letting his tongue glide against yours, explorative and eager, utterly deliberate in his stroking. Slowly, the tips of his fingers move from your neck to your hairline, ever deeper and ever more intrusive. A low chuckle rumbles in his throat as he runs his tongue over yours, grazing the roof of your mouth before he forms a fist in your hair and tilts your head back, swift and aggressive. 

All at once he pulls away, face hovering just centimeters above yours and gaze hooded as he explores your lustful expression. A flush creeps into your cheeks, the control he has over the flow of your blood is always surprising even if it is to be expected. Hoseok seems pleased, evident in the familiar way his eyes have become blackened by the force of his yearning and the smile that has worked its way into the corner of his lips, a secret for only you to discover. He takes a pause, disregarding his haste, to regard you: your parted lips, your heated cheeks - a fire that has spread itself over your chests and breasts.

‘You are a vision of sin,’ he murmurs, cocking his head to the side and tightening his grip in your hair. ‘What would all the gods say?’

Your own nails scratch tenderly into his scalp, gripping his hair to mirror his hold on you. Futile, you know. The strength in Hoseok is silent, a gift that makes him appear merely pretty until the seat of his power is fully revealed, a fortitude you could never mimic.

You swallow, preparing to speak, and watch the way Hoseok studies the movement of your throat. ‘They would call me a harlot.’ 

His gaze returns to yours, an otherwise thoughtful look turned menacing by the terror of his passion. ‘And are you?’

Tongue heavy in your mouth, you struggle with the few words you can manage. ‘They will make me out to be,’ you begin slowly, poignantly, ‘and it will be your fault. You’ve made me a slut.’

You hold onto the word - draping yourself over the “s”, tapping your tongue against the “t” - ensuring it lingers in your mouth long enough for him to taste it. It’s his fault, really, that you will be judged and scorned and shamed for coming to your new husband wholly impure, the construct of your virginity eradicated by Hoseok’s insatiable appetite. It’s his fault, you think, that you want him this much. That you love him this much. Your tongue caresses the word slut like it's your dearest companion, familiar with its shape and texture, and you lean upward, hoping to put it in his mouth. 

If he is half of your soul, then he should learn how it tastes to be utterly reprehensible. 

But he dodges the trajectory of your desires, moves away from your lips and your face entirely, diving down to your chest where he lets his teeth traverse the expanse of your sternum. Lifting his hand from your pulse, he trades one beat of your blood for another, fisting his hand in the collar of your dress to pull it down and expose the thin bit of flesh covering your heart. It thunders in your ears, your body a storm of his making, and you tremble as he positions himself to ravage your very spirit.

His teeth leave scars upon your nerves, eternal echoes within your pores that have you rolling your hips downward in encouragement. Again, you feel him, his cock against your core, enough to have you whimpering as though you are small and fragile, not the maker of your undoing. As punishment for your impertinence, Hoseok takes aim and bites down harshly at the slender bone of your clavicle. 

‘Hoseok!’ 

‘I know you, Sparrow.’ The husk of his breath is an avalanche into the marrow of your bones, the memory of his teeth still reverberating into your lungs. ‘You always like it when it hurts.’

Your skin still stings, yet he is relentless. You quake in his hold as he bites at the bone once again, teeth inlaid perfectly where they had been before. Your skin bends beneath the force, ecstatic hiss descending into a low moan, giving away the truth of how well he truly knows you. The pain grounds you in the moment, allows you, too, to ignore the passage of time, the ebb and flow of the waves as though the tides have halted altogether. You are prettiest when you are red and purple, black and blue by the marks he leaves in his wake, and not once, not even when he breaks your skin to bleeding does he tarnish your light.

In his arms, you are illuminated, glowing with the same intensity as the lighthouse beacon. He’s called you the heavenly sky for the way you glow under his affections, your inability to control your power when he makes you feel so impossibly good turning you into an evening star. You often forget you are blessed with a holy gift, the goddess of light as though your title has any meaning beyond providing you a seat at the table in Teylim. You often forget this is who you really are, someone happy, someone made of magic - a light kindled only under joy.

‘I will make you ache for me,’ he breathes, pushing the collar of your dress lower and lower, threatening to expose your nipple. ‘I want you alight, burning for me. Only me.’

Hoseok kisses deftly at the supple softness of your breast, diligent and greedy. His breath comes ragged, thick in the center of his lungs where he struggles around the insurmountable longing that puts force in his handling of your body. Working his tongue over the skin, he licks the stars out of the constellations of your pores, tasting the dust, the salt, the sea. Your hands run through his hair, messing the thick strands to a state of perilous disorder in your eagerness to move downward to the comforting solidarity of his shoulders.

Grinding your hips into his lap, the tip of his clothed erection slides along your slit, and you release a whimpered exclamation as the cloth of your underwear slips between your folds. Biting your lip, you breathe deep, Hoseok’s own groan of dissatisfaction vibrates into your chest. You feel him deep in your throat, his voice alongside yours, his desire matching yours in intensity. 

Hand leaving your neck in favor of your waist, his grip tightens, fingertips pressing deep circles into the muscles of your back. Thrusting upward, he teases you, laughing darkly to himself with a rough nip to your breast. The motion sends your underwear deeper into your cunt, a pressure to your clit as erotic as it is cruel. It sends a shiver down your spine, inspiring tremors in your nerves that have you clenching your walls around nothing at all, seeking the bulbous head of his cock in need. 

Pleased with himself, he raises himself from your chest to work at the buttons of your dress. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your own rolling back to present you breasts to him like a preening cat. Hungry, he takes the bait, slipping a palm under your dress to cup your breast. He presses against your nipple, a small wine tumbling from your throat to mingle with his whispered expletive. Rolling your nipple between his knuckle, he regards you momentarily, studying your dazed expression. Against him, you are an earthquake unto yourself, a cosmic shift of longing ravaging your blood, and you are pleased by it, offering him a smile of gluttony. 

Abruptly, he releases your breast, hands falling to your hips as he raises to his knees, keeping you against him. Hoseok pushes your hips roughly against his, cock a threatening force against your core as he guides your bodies down to the floor, careful to keep the shift in position painless. Once more, he thrusts at you, and you feel yourself becoming soaked, juices no longer dripping into your underwear but instead crawling slowly down to your ass. The concrete of the floor is chilled, cold enough your back and hips arch indelicately in retreat, causing you to carelessly meet his thrust. 

‘Fuck,’ he mutters, returning his hands to your front as he sits back on his knees. 

Hoseok avoids the buttons over your breasts, choosing instead to undo the buttons just beneath. Continuing onward, he takes his time unwrapping you, hungry for the pieces of your body he will mark as his. The heart of his lips parts on a silent exclamation, mouth falling open as he unveils more of your ample flesh. The light from your skin mixes with the lighthouse beacon, casting shadows of desire in his eyes, rendering him beastly. With his eyes only, he devours you; your body, the fruit of his immense craving. 

Leaving your breasts covered, Hoseok exposes your hips, your stomach, your thighs. Your hardened nipples strain against the fabric, begging for release the same way your core clenches once again around nothing at all, swallowing more of your underwear in an effort to lure him deep inside you. He meant it this way, all too aware your sensitive nipples will tease you to a point of aching the longer they rub against your dress.

The sea breeze cools your skin, so much of you exposed you feel as though you have been submerged in wind and sky. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you mourn momentarily that it is not Hoseok that covers you, not yet. Still, you enjoy being naked for him like this - naked, vulnerable, safe, and his. You open your legs further, letting the wind kiss at the wetness of your cunt, your answering grin borderline salacious. How glorious to give everything and hide nothing from him. How glorious to let yourself be worshipped, his eyes starved for the pleasure of your sex. All this joy, and yet your frustration runs over, an overflow occurring with little thought. 

‘It’s not fair,’ you whine, raising your arms to reach for him. ‘Let me undress you.’

Sitting up, you press your hands flat against his chest, becoming attuned with the ample hills and valleys of his muscles. Hoseok sits still and proud, lips reddened and wet from kissing you. Your light ignites the flush that dapples the tips of his ears, skin flushed by lust and longing. Throat running dry, you swallow thickly, committing his unrivaled beauty to memory. You refuse to forget a single moment of this, unwilling to relinquish a single detail of him. 

Slowly, you ease the suspenders from his shoulders, humming in approval at the way the loose linen of his shirt relaxes in its newfound freedom, offering you more of his neck and collarbones. As your fingers work earnestly at his buttons, Hoseok takes his time admiring you, a piercing look both penetrative and heartsick. His hand comes to cover yours, unable to help himself, and he holds it tightly, raising it to his lips. His eyes remain locked on yours as he kisses the pads of your fingers, one by one, before slipping your index and middle finger into his mouth. Your lips part on a sigh that fades just as quickly as it came, feeling his tongue swirl over the digits with purpose. 

And much the same way you did not expect his touch, so too are you caught off guard when he moves your fingers from his mouth and guides it down your stomach. Lower and lower, he guides your hand between your bodies where he slips it beneath your underwear. Your breath hitches, skin wet from his saliva and clit throbbing at the prospect of tangible contact, your own hand an ominous presence resting upon your mound.

‘Touch yourself,’ he commands.

Hoseok is so often the picture of tenderness in the way he makes love to you, always gentle and always mired in the totality of his affections. Occasionally, he is sharp and, occasionally, he is in control - only on days when he is starved, only on days when he is completely ravenous. Tonight, there is no room for argument. Tonight, he makes himself an unrelenting devil, unafraid to exert dominance.

‘Eventually we will remember little of how we undress,’ he explains, pressing your fingers over your mound, dangerously close to your clit. ‘Right now, I need to see the way you will touch yourself for me when I’m no longer around. I want to see it. I want to memorize it. Touch yourself for me.’

Removing his hand from yours, he nudges softly at your shoulder, and you obey immediately. Leaning back on your right elbow, you keep your hand in place as he grabs the band of your underwear and pulls it down. Lifting your hips, your tongue licks at your bottom lip where the skin has become dry and chapped, struggling to catch your breath as your desire becomes oppressive. Falling back on your tailbone, you spread your legs wider still, proud and impish as you slide your fingers down your slip, separating your folds to display your core. 

But he sees nothing as he lifts your underwear to his nose, fisting his hands in the fabric and pressing it against his face. Hoseok breathes in deep,eyes rolling back slightly in the effort of keeping his eyes open, a growl rumbling in his chest like a warning. Exhaling into the cloth, he laughs to himself, a high pitched, small sound of amused embarrassment before he falls completely silent once more. And then, he breathes in again, just as deep, just as fervent, lips kissing at the wet patch you have created.

‘I’m keeping these.’ Easing your underwear away from his nose, he crumples the garment and buries it in the pocket of his trousers. Cocking an eyebrow in pleasure, he takes in your exposed cunt, licking his lips. ‘I’ll fuck myself with them, imagining it’s you and your wet pussy.’

‘Pervert,’ you tease, jutting your chin forward in mock derision.

‘Whore.’ Inspired by your nakedness, he begins to undress, gaze heated and focused on your wet cunt. ‘I told you to touch yourself.’

Your fingers easily breach the barrier of your folds upon their release, wet with Hoseok’s spit and your walls slick and dripping with your juices. Years ago, you would have been ashamed of being so soaked, a damp patch expanding in the concrete beneath you in visible proof. But you no longer care, not when Hoseok’s expression of thirst is so incorrigible. 

You fuck yourself with your hand, fighting the urge to tilt your head back in relief - small as it is. In the heat of your lonely nights, you find it tragic your fingers never reach as deep as Hoseok’s slender digits; yours are too slim, knuckles not nearly as rough or pronounced. And when your mind drifts dangerously to thoughts of girth, your eyes drop swiftly to the pronounced shape of Hoseok’s straining cock. Swallowing the weep of appreciation that builds in your chest, your teeth chew at your bottom lip, clinging in anticipation.

Pressing the base of your palm against the hood of your clit, you whimper. Mild and meek as it is, your fingers bring a temporary relief, this satisfaction fleeting, and it will not be long before you are begging him to fill you. 

‘You’re dripping,’ he comments, interrupting your thoughts and removing his shirt in one swift motion. ‘Are you sure you’re not the princess of water? If I kiss your cunt I might drown.’

‘I’m in love with you.’ 

While not truly a detailed explanation, the words carry the weight of your whole chest, erupting with little thought. Your mind offers the only logical explanation for your wetness it can manage while your body grapples with the implication of Hoseok’s mouth upon your core. 

‘Say it again,’ he orders, hands tugging harshly at the zip of his trousers.

A slow smile spreads over your lips, head cocking to the side as you admire his eager expression. ‘I’m in love with you.’

‘Again.’

‘I’m in love with you.’ 

This time, you say it with venom, as though you want it to hurt and hope that it will leave scars in its wake. Hoseok tugs his trousers down his thighs, rising to his knees, appearing regal and godly. Freed from its cloth restraints, his cock springs upward to rest against his stomach, and he smirks, chest and neck flushed as your focus shifts immediately to the purpled bulbous head. 

Without hesitation, you remove yourself from your folds, the ache at your core only minutely grieving the loss of your small hand. Instead, you reach for him, fingers slick with your juices as you grasp the base of his cock with a gentle squeeze. He’s heavy in your hand, rigid in the solid way that makes your walls clench and drip once more, mirroring the way your mouth waters. Slowly, you move your hand up and down the shaft, letting your thumb rub over the leaking tip with care. 

Hoseok’s breath hitches, his hips thrusting slightly into your hand as you pleasure him. His own hands clutch at his discarded clothes, doing his best to exercise his dwindling patience, and you repeat motion, admiring the smoothness of the skin in contrast to the veins of his shaft.

‘I always wonder how you will fit inside me,’ you comment, moving your hand back down and studying the way your fingers do not meet your thumb. ‘You’re so thick.’

He rolls his shoulders back in the aftermath of your praise, inhaling sharply through his teeth. Hoseok is always free with his praises, showering you in worship and stating it is his duty to devote himself to the goddess in his favor. Always, he does this, and always he seeks nothing in return. But you have always sensed, as attuned to him as you are, that praise from you sets his soul afire. One word of praise from you and you are certain he could eat the god of Daeus entirely, rendering him completely human.

‘You were made for me,’ he explains, voice taught and words strained. Unable to hold back, he fucks your fist, seeking relief. ‘You will always stretch to accommodate me, just like your life was meant to. Just like your belly was meant to, stretching with my children.’ His gaze is penetrative, deeply serious for such an obscene state of being. ‘You were meant to take all of me. My true home is inside you.’

Your grip loosens slightly at his admission, lips curling into a small pout. ‘I so desperately wanted to give you a child.’

A choked sound rumbles through his chest, and his hand reaches yours, pulling it from his cock to wind your fingers together. With his free hand, he nudges at your shoulder, easing you back to the ground with a darkness in his eyes that has your throat running dry. Automatically, your legs spread wide, offering him space to settle between them. The tip of his cock rubs carelessly against your slit, and your focus fades, mind emptying with the single desire to have him inside you taking root. 

‘Promise me you won’t give him children,’ he commands, words thick with purpose.

He walks his hand languidly down  your body, grazing over your chest, your covered breasts, to the flat of your stomach. Beneath him, you tremble, the tectonic plates of your spine shifting beneath his touch. Splaying his hand over your stomach, he eyes your skin with parted lips and a furrowed brow. Hoseok wars with himself, his thoughts tangible behind the darkness of his irises, expression swimming with strife.

‘Promise me,’ he repeats. ‘I don’t think I could survive the thought of someone else's baby growing inside you.’ 

Raising your hand from the floor, you card your fingers through his hair while you squeeze your joined hands, determined to win his attention. 

‘I promise,’ is your soft whisper. ‘I shall bear no other child than yours.’ 

Invigorated by your promise, he returns his gaze to yours and maintains it as he works his way down your body with his tongue, kissing everywhere his hands have been. Without warning, he buries his face between your legs to bite gently at your clit, this contact a thunderclap in your spirit. Back arching off the floor, your voice shatters around his name, teeth chewing over the syllables as tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Your bones hum with the stimulation, very existence stinging and resonating, while he sucks your clit into his mouth, soothing the pain into a deep, soul burning pleasure. He swirls his tongue around it, mouth greedy and impatient, the fullness of his lips a heaven unrivaled by Teylim, and your hand tightened in his hair, body writhing in passion. 

Hoseok releases your clit with a wet pop before he kisses his way down to your folds, thrusting the flat of his tongue between them, impatient and hungry. Mindlessly, your legs spread wider, small gasps escaping from your chest as your lungs take in the scent of your sex and your hips roll upward, feeling your juices mix ceremoniously with his saliva. Consumed by the sheer power of your need, you feel yourself howl like a moonless wolf, rolling your hips against Hoseok’s face in erratic motions, inspired by the promise of your orgasm.

But Hoseok releases your joined hands, moving it quickly to your hips where he holds you still, growling against your cunt.

‘You shall not wander from me,’ he says, moving his lips against your slit as he presses you into the ground. ‘Keep still and let me feast on you.’

Once more, he thrusts the full length of his tongue between your walls, sucking eagerly at the juices spilling into his open mouth. He’s velvet and silk against your core, sturdy and solid while still gliding against all the places you have needed him most, and your voice careens off the ceiling, loud enough to drown out the ocean waves. Scratching your nails down the soft skin of your thighs, you fight back the desire to thrust against his face, wishing you could fuck his mouth and press yourself against the tip of his nose. All of it, every thrust of his tongue and every roll of your hips you suppress has you moaning, voice high pitched and growing erratic.

The feel of his tongue inside you inspires the deep desire for something larger, something thicker. Your orgasm is a threat in the center of your belly, spine tingling and tightening as each press of his tongue against your walls tames the beast of your racing heart. Hoseok buries himself between your legs with a diligence that borders on hysteria, holding you down and indulging in your

Still, his tongue only just hits the place inside your core that needs him most. You want him hard against your cervix. You want him deep enough to leave bruises on your softest pieces.

Tonight, you want the thick girth of his cock to splinter your bones. Tonight, you want his cock pressed against your cervix, a bruise you will carry for the rest of your life. Tonight, you want his cum so deep inside you it burns.

Tonight, you want him to love you and you want it to hurt. 

‘Hoseok,’ you whimper. ‘Please, I -’

Hoseok thrusts two fingers into your cunt beside his tongue, silencing you with the rough skin of his knuckles spreading your walls even wider. The contrast between his fingers and tongue elevates your hips from the floor with force, disregarding the strength of his hand. You are beastly beneath his ministrations, finding yourself caught in a wild hour and feeling as though you have abstained from him too long. He forces your hips back down with the palm of his hand, groaning against you loudly enough you feel his voice reverberate up to your tongue, and you cry out, distraught. 

Having left the top of your dress buttoned, your nipples strain against the cloth, sensitive and sending electric ripples down your arms, your shoulders - all along your nerves. Another breeze moves through the lighthouse, and it kisses at the sheen of sweat that has broken along your hairline. 

Desperately, you want him. Desperately, you need him. But still it’s not enough. 

‘God,’ you keen, ‘I need to cum.’

Hoseok hums in understanding, the vibration of it moving deep inside you once more. 

‘Oh,’ you whine, so small and so close to breaking. 

Hoseok’s tongue leaves your cunt, only his fingers remaining, and he moves his mouth to your clit where he sucks at the swollen nub deftly. Again, your hand scratches down your thighs, harsh enough to draw blood. Red and angry, the sting of these scores against your flesh makes you smile, a manic and monstrous expression you hope your father, Daeus, and all the gods can see. Frustrated and feeling the coil of your orgasm tighten, your other hand slaps into the ground, gripping at the linen of Hoseok’s shirt. You dig your nails into it, pretending it is him, his skin, his cock, anything substantial to torture him as he tortures you.

Against your cunt, you feel Hoseok begin to laugh, wearing the smirk of the devil as he sucks diligently at your clit.

His name begins in your mouth and dies on an exhale, eyes open wide as you stare up at the ceiling. Vision glazed and vacant, your body trembles as your orgasm lingers dangerously on the precipice of your nerves, skin growing hot and bordering on a point of pain. You hear yourself crying, you feel yourself pressing harder and harder against Hoseok’s eager mouth, and you struggle to discern if the rush in your ears is your blood as it moves swiftly to find him or the ocean that works swiftly to keep your coupling secret. 

And then, without any warning at all, Hoseok once more latches his teeth to your clit.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, a wave of heat in your blood and skin, your juice cascading into Hoseok’s waiting mouth. This orgasm is an eruption, a shockwave in your soul that leaves you trembling while his relentless motions of tongue and hand milk you to completion. The tears you have held back begin to spill, soaking your cheeks as you soak his lips, a great wave over you that leaves you breathless.

‘Come up here,’ you gasp. ‘Come up here and kiss me.’

Slowly pulling his lips and fingers from your cunt, you hiss as he eases his way up your body. Using the tip of his tongue, he traces the shape of your parted lips with careful strokes, still messy and dripping with your slick juices. At your core, his cock presses, the contact sending tremors up your spine and causing a whine of pain to splinter in your throat. Granted permission by the sound alone, Hoseok delves his tongue inside your mouth and demands you taste yourself - you, your cum; him, his breath, his spit, his flavor; all of it, mixed together. Your walls clench as you kiss him, devouring him, as your folds seek to lure his cock inside you. 

Gasping against his mouth, you feel his tip press roughly against your core, your walls still sensitive but your body and spirit eager for his fullness. Hoseok pulls away from your lips to whine a low expletive, his resolve shaking and unstable, close to shattering by the force of his desire. His lips part on his sighs, breath slow and shallow, and still shimmering with you. Already, he had devoured you, drunk his fill and yet he still appears starved. As he lingers above you, Hoseok rolls his cock against your walls once more, a challenge, a reminder that he is exhausted by the prospect of not having his fill of you.

Moving your hands to his shoulders, you press your fingers into the soft skin of his back and muscles, letting them wander down and down until you grip the rounded flesh of his ass There, your grip tightens, threatening to push him inside you lest he waste any more time. 

‘Hoseok,’ you breathe. ‘I need you to fuck me.’

‘You want me to fuck you?’ he mumbles, running his tongue over your jaw before biting at your chin. ‘Tell me how badly.’

‘Please,’ you whimper, rolling your hips up against his cock, a warning against the tip. ‘I need you so badly it hurts.’

Wordlessly, Hoseok thrusts himself inside you to the hilt, balls pressing against you with a loud slap. You feel him shake inside you, body shivering with the sudden heat enveloping his cock. Hoseok’s moan is a deluge, an ecstatic exclamation howled victoriously into the juncture of your neck and shoulders, and you smile blankly at the ceiling, mind empty of all things that are not the feel of Hoseok against and inside you. 

His stillness is a tease you cannot endure, and so you clench yourself around him, his teeth biting at your skin as you release and repeat, urging him to move. The feel of his mouth at your skin, the feel of his heaviness pressed so roughly inside you, as your cunt leaking over him, back down into the floor where it coats your ass in its stickiness. Still, you pay little attention to anything other than his immense girth as it stretches you, your walls strained to accommodate him like always. 

Feeling you drip over and under him, he pulls out and thrusts back in, a knock at the door of your cervix and the sudden feel of him so deep as you groaning his name. He challenges you, repeating the motion as your bodies slide back along the floor with the force of his thrusts, the piercing sensation stealing your very breath. You are gasping as you clutch him, breasts moving against the fabric and nipples aching with the sensation, letting him push your body to its limits. 

‘Tell me you love me,’ he grits out, an echo of your earlier promises.

‘I love you,’ you choke, the words incomprehensible. 

‘Say it again,’ he hisses, executing a piercing thrust that has you gasping for breath, nails digging into his skin for purchase.

Squeezing your eyes closed, your hands move to the wings of his shoulder blades and you cling to him, a flightless bird. ‘I love you.’ 

When you hear yourself say it, you realize you are crying, your voice a sob of affirmation around tears of grief. It should be impossible to love someone this much, with the devastating whole of your existence. 

‘Tell me you love me,’ you plead, barely able to speak around the way Hoseok punishes your cervix, a punishment for abandoning him. 

‘I love you.’ Equally affected, his voice warbles over the words. Face buried in the crook of your neck, he presses the words over and over into your pulse. 

‘I love you, I love you.’

Slowing his pace, Hoseok accentuates his proclamations with brutal thrusts against your cervix. Slow as his thrusts may be, they are full of power and force, a pain against your walls and muscles ensuring you will never be free of him. Tears falling freely, your breath is as sharp as his thrusts, a burn in your lungs as you struggle to contain the cosmic feeling of love you hold inside. 

‘I know you like it when it hurts,’ he grits out, thrusts relentless. 

All you can manage is a nod, a moan, the dig of your nails into his skin, the acknowledgement that you would prefer it if he shattered you. You would prefer it if he left nothing behind of you at all.

‘I know you like it when I stretch you, when you can’t walk for days.’ 

‘I do,’ you nod weakly, legs automatically spreading wider - until your hips hurt, until you are certain your bones will bruise from the way you have spread yourself open just for him. 

Hoseok moans as a harmonic response to yours, the sack of his balls slapping diligently at your ass. You cling to him, holding him against you in despair, the vice grip of your hands matched only by the grip of your walls. Pleasure ripples through your synapses, an overload to your very synapses, little else registering in your mind apart from the places Hoseok penetrates within your core.

‘Do you want me to cum inside you?’

The pleading nature of his tone does not go unmissed, his own anguish evident in the way his hand cups your breast and his nails scratch at the flesh, wishing for entry. 

‘Yes.’

‘What if I get you pregnant?’ he muses, though he remains completely sincere. What if I fuck my baby into you? What will they do?’

‘I hope you do.’ It takes all your strength to speak without losing your breath. Once more your orgasm has started to build gloriously around the pain of taking him against your cervix, and you need him to know that you mean it. ‘I don’t care if they scorn me.’

‘I’ll do it,’ he bites out - not a threat, but a promise. ‘I’ll knock you up, fuck my baby into you. They’ll have to watch you grow someone else’s child. What a sight, huh? Bet Daeus would love to see you deliver another man’s baby.’

‘Do it.’

You see yourself, heavy and round with his child, glowing brilliantly like a constellation unto yourself. Carrying your offspring, you would be a supernova, the cradle of the very universe and you would celebrate it with every word breaking over laughter. Daeus would snarl at you, a sneer reserved for your growing belly; your father would find himself in a rage so beautiful and blinding, you think darkness would befall the earth, this winter sudden and unforgiving. The other gods would ignore you, this you are confident of and would take with pride. You’d tease them with it, finding yourself immensely confident in the power of being pregnant with Hoseok’s child. 

You’d carry his child as though this were your real pilgrimage within Teylim, your true purpose. 

And Hoseok, you know, would be your chosen king, god of the sun because he deserves it.

He deserves you. 

‘Yeah?’ he moans, hips picking up pace as he begins to chase his own high. Still, he loses none of the strength in his motions, seemingly motivated by your affirmation of desire.

‘Get me pregnant,’ you plead, biting your lip with shame at this impossible ask. A fool’s errand, a childish plea to change the way of things. ‘Make me stay with you,’ is your final whisper.

Together, you both fall silent as he fucks you with vigor, silent and awestruck by the violence of your coupling. With each thrust, your voices become a symphony of your union. Gripping him tightly, you hope it reaches the gods, your father, all of Teylim. You hope they see the way Hoseok fucks you, absolutely unforgiving. You hope they see the way you make a mess of yourself for him, that you have already decided on a husband and he is no god, no hero, but a man who loves you as though you are the whole of the sky. 

Hoseok trembles against you, and you sense his orgasm approaching in the way he gasps against your skin, thrusting harder and faster and, somehow, harder into your core. You are burning with the ache of containing him, but your own orgasm is cosmic, making its steady approach with each brutal thrust. Hoseok wanted to live inside you, wanted to give you a child, wanted to watch you swell with him alone - and it is these thoughts that send you over the edge, the universe apart from Hoseok melting into a white. In this orgasm, there is no air, no sea, no sky - only Hoseok; his breath, his smile as you cum around him, his ecstatic laughter.

You imagine yourself pregnant, learning to contain a sun inside your womb. You imagine him laughing, hands and lips at your belly. You imagine him happy. You imagine him happy, and your orgasm moves over you with the strength of a lunar tide, the same way your tears move over your cheeks, torn between sobs of bliss and sobs of grief for a life you will not have.

Hoseok continues to thrust into you with purpose, the last of your orgasm leaving you in shockwaves as the motions of his hips overstimulate your walls. It hurts to contain him, not nearly as much as it hurts to leave him, and you dig your nails into his skin, demanding all you can from him with enthusiasm. The world is tilted on its axis as he cums inside you, wave after wave of seed spilling into your core as you stroke tenderly at the hair at the base of his neck. Teeth chattering, you mumble his name, shivering as he spills himself inside you, and you pray, woefully, that he kept his word and left you with a piece of him.

‘Mine,’ he says, stilling inside you as the last of his orgasm quakes his mortal form. 

As his cock begins to soften inside you, the hand at your breast moves gently to the buttons. Your skin burns with the heat of the saliva he dripped against your neck, and he presses his cheek against your neck as he unbuttons the last of your dress. Exposed, now, to the sea breeze, your back arches slightly as the wind and his breath moves over your nipples. His hand cups your breast, too tender for the way he fucked you, and you are certain he is imagining your breasts full of milk, your body heavy, his wish granted, too. 

Pulling his cock free, you both grimace at the feeling, and he removes his hand from your breast to instead smear the cum from your core that leaks from between your walls over your folds. He strokes the tips of his fingers against your slit, the stimulation making you hiss and writhe beneath him in retreat, before you are crying out his name, his fingers dipping inside to scoop his cum from your center. As he pulls his hand free, his studies his fingers carefully, smirking not unlike the devil, before he guides them over your breasts and lets it drip.

And then, without warning, he begins to write his name along your breasts.

‘I am sanctifying you,’ he explains. ‘Anyone who pulls down your clothes will find me. I have already laid claim to your temple.’

Your smile is composed entirely of sadness, a hope that has made a home of despair evident in your expression. Holding his hand in yours, you guide his soaked fingers between the valley of your breasts to your stomach, where you hold him still.

‘With any luck it will be visible here,’ you offer, hoping he cannot hear how remorse has consumed you.

Hoseok frowns. ‘My biggest fear is that you do become pregnant and that I cannot see my baby grow in you. That I won’t be able to raise our family with you.’

Furrowing your brow, you tilt your head to the side in consideration, battling the new found grief that consumes you. ‘Did you not mean it?’

‘I meant every word,’ he promises, moving his hand from your stomach to cup your cheeks. ‘I’d put twins inside you if I had any control. But you are mine, our family is mine. I curse the gods for taking it from me.’ Hoseok falls silent, and you press your cheek into his hand, turning to kiss his mount of venus in encouragement. ‘The day I met you I saw my life with you,’ he continues, so quiet, and so unlike your Hoseok. ‘You are half of my soul.’

Abruptly, Hoseok lifts himself up and pulls away from you. As he rises to a stand, he is still warmed by your touch, the glow from your magic still draped over his muscles, turning him amber and yellow. He’s incandescent, as much as a god of light as you, more regal and more royal than any man who was lucky enough to slay a beast in your name. Running a hand through his hair, he regards you with dark eyes - embers burning in his rises of lust and longing, devotion and despair. He says nothing at all as he moves, naked and vulnerable, to the back corner of the room where he gathers his tools. 

‘What are you doing?’ you hum. Reaching your hand out, you curl onto your side, writhing in the pillow of your discarded clothes, beckoning him back to you. ‘Come back to me. It’s cold without you.’

He says nothing at all as he roots around, pulling out a thick screwdriver and hammer. 

‘He will give you rings,’ he says, more to himself than to you. 

The words come softly, barely a whisper that cuts through the air. Settling in front of the fog bell on his knees, he begins to hammer the end of the screwdriver into the metal, carving and carving. 

‘He will give you flowers,’ he grits out bitterly, ‘and will see your smiles in the morning. He will bring you food and nectar, and he will watch you glow your brightest. He will watch you glow each time you remember my hands on you, my lips on you. In bed, he will watch you glow, thinking it’s him, letting his own ego grow so immense he will get off on his own power rather than you. But he won’t know, not like I do. Not like we do.’

Sitting up, you don’t bother to cover your naked body, the breeze from the sea cooling your dampened skin. Licking your lips, you watch as his muscles strain with his pound of the hammer. Brow narrowed, jaw set, and hands gripping his tools with confidence, he marks the metal with a certainty born from a man learning to combat loneliness. 

‘He won’t know,’ he continues, words a grunt of demand and dominion. ‘No one will know that each time he touches you, you are comparing him to me. You will be remembering me. I want you to remember me. I want you to think of me, I want you to look for the light from this beacon, and I want you to outshine the anguish. I am destined to look for you the way so many people look for the North Star. My every storm is guided by you. So don’t you dare forget.’

The fog light spins overhead, clouds passing by and changing the refraction just enough to see the shimmer against his cheeks. Hoseok weeps as he carves, jaw unflinching, and hands steady with determination. A lump rises in the center of your throat, chest tight with the pain that comes from loving someone too much, entirely too much. Gasping for air, you move towards him, wanting his body pressed tightly against yours in comfort.

On instinct, you give him light - more light, so much light. From beneath your skin, you become torchlight, neon, candle flame; wrapping yourself around his back and shoulders, you rest your head on his shoulder and cling to him, becoming sunlight and firewood, banishing the darkness from his mind and mouth, a lamp unto his feet to lead him home. Pressing your lips at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, you feel him tremble beneath you, mindlessly leaning into you for more, endlessly more. 

As you turn to watch his hands, your own tears soak the corner of your eyes.

‘Hoseok,’ you breathe, regarding his craftsmanship.

‘He can’t give you light like I can,’ he murmurs, suddenly so small and so young, weakened suddenly by the ever looming distance between you. ‘He can give you all the falsehoods of husbandry, but he can’t give you light. He can’t give it back. He is not your equal like I am.’ 

Beneath the careful, diligent work of his hammer and screw, your name begins to take shape, just beneath his. The markings are deep, thick scratches unlikely to erode in any substantial length of time. Wind and sea will not wipe your names away, nor snow nor sand. Not even heaven, you think, could cause your names to smear. 

When he finishes, the bronze bell glimmers beneath your light, your names encased in a heart he artfully crafted. You imagine it in a wedding band - silver, and not gold. Gold, you think, is too soft and too malleable. The gods prefer it, a sign of eternal wealth and glory, but gold bends. Gold is too impermanent, value placed in all the wrong places. You would give Hoseok platinum, would give him silver, would give him bronze. If you had the power to move the earth, you would give him iron and steel, anything equally as enduring as the way you will be immortalized in ardor. 

‘I can’t believe this is all I will have of you.’ Hoseok stares at your names, at the jagged lines he carved into the bell, mourning. Shoulders slumped and hands folded neatly in his lap, he laments quietly to himself as though in prayer. ‘At the end of all this, this is all I have. Your name and a memory.’

Raising your hand to his chin, you turn his face to yours, biting your lip as he cries freely, tears staining the softness of his cheeks with salt. 

‘No one will have me, not like you.’ ‘He can take me, he can take my light, he can take my name, but he will never have my heart. All of me belongs to you. I am yours. Swear to me that you are mine.’

The hammer and screwdriver fall to the ground at his knees, a loud clank so disruptive for the quiet paradise you have built at the top of the lighthouse. Enveloping you in his arms, he buries his face in your neck, lips at the center of your throat - a place he has been so often this night you are determined to call it his home - tugging your hair back to make space for him. 

‘I’m yours,’ he swears passionately. ‘Not a single person will have me the way I’ve given myself to you. In a thousand summers, not a single one will pass in which I’m not yours.’

The conviction in his words undoes you, your eyes wide as you stare up at the ceiling, at the base of the light, feeling as though there is no difference between the moon and the sun, not anymore. For you, they are interchangeable, each burning in an hour of love; which is to say, there will be no hour that passes in which you do not love him, no hour passing in which your light does not belong to him and his does not belong to you. 

‘I wish I could stay like this.’ These affectionate speeches tumble from your lips, your mind empty of misgivings, wishing to be as honest as you are naked. ‘I wish I could stay this way, forever touching you.’

‘Time is meaningless,’ he muses, detached and distant, even as you hold him. ‘For me, this is the end of my life. There will be nothing else after this. For me, it will always be this way. My arms will always be around you.’

For him, you are glad. For him, you are relieved that there shall be no other moment than this. 

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

The seaside feels like the edge of destruction after so long away from it, gravity pressing at your bones. From where you stand, the unchanging nature of the earth makes a mockery of your nerves, the past beating against your sternum like a second heart.

You are poised and still, relearning the way the earth is unforgiving compared to the heavens. Too long have you been removed from such a tangible feeling of living, such a tangible reminder that you, too, are made of flesh and blood and all the things that break so easily, just like ocean foam. Your toes bury themselves into the rocky shore, rooting yourself like a tether as a promise that you will not run away, that you will not leave - not again. As though it senses your presence, the sea rages beneath a cloudless sky, the sun’s rays reflecting off the water, illuminated without any need of you.

The lighthouse looms along the hilltop, and you worry your bottom lip as you study its eternal guardianship. All these unchangeable things, loyal without you, and yet you stand here, begging for acceptance. You can hear Hoseok’s words like an echo, words not yet spoken but you anticipate them, the lump in your throat sinister in its tenacity. 

How dare you, he will shout, and the tears on his cheeks will be your parting gift. How dare you haunt me here when I did not expect you, when I had already worked so hard to give you up. 

Promises in the dead of night are easy to make when the daylight has yet to take anything from you. The earth remains unchanged but you are evidence of the passage of time, and you are certain Hoseok will have warred with himself so completely your memory of him is little more than a ghost of a man who died the moment he woke to find you missing. 

He used to be able to sense you here. Back when things were new and things were simple, back even at the end, he would sense your presence along the water and come running, a smile already at his cheeks in welcome. Stroking your naked hip with the tips of his fingers, he told you all about his skin would tingle when you were close, a static on his tongue that told him something too important to be contained by the earth was waiting for him. Even before he knew you, before he knew it was you, he felt it, as though he had been made just to know you, to find you. 

It used to be the same for you, a pull to the shore and a lightness of being that always made you stand here, in this place, waiting. Weeks passed before either of you had any idea you were near one another, before you’d even introduced yourself, and now it is the same. Your body combats the change in gravity with strength, though you realize too much has changed in you for the weight to feel the same. 

The hair at the back of your neck stands on end, rising in anticipation as the air becomes thick and heavy. You feel him approaching, a magnetic pull against your back that has your posture shifting, pulling you to your full height regardless how heavy all of you feels. Still, he doesn’t close the distance, and your lips part around a sigh, silently asking him to reach for you, to touch you.

But he won’t.

Not when he thinks you are the same as you were. Not when he thinks this is all just a memory.

Closing your eyes, you turn to face him, feeling tears burn against the lids. Hoseok makes no movement towards you, and, unable to hold back any longer, you open your eyes once more, weeping at the sight of him. Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you study the way he looks at you, the way his gaze traverses your form with a pained expression, the knot in his brow visible even from a distance. He’s far from you, far enough you cannot touch him, but he, too, remains unchanged - still beautiful, still glorious, still the sun king himself, and you choke back a bitter cry at the way it seems only you are the one who was allowed to change.

‘Hello,’ you try, offering a weak and unsteady smile.

Hoseok says nothing as he closes the distance, eyes trained at your middle, focused enough you feel him move inside you. He lets himself get close, close enough your skin calls out to his eagerly, begging him to touch you. You can smell him on the wind, the same musk, the same ambergris, the same dust that you remember, and your hands twitch at your sides, straining to reach out to him. 

‘What is this?’ he manages, not looking you in the face.

‘I -’ A small cry cuts you off, and you press your hand to your lips, forcing yourself to keep your composure. 

Hearing the anguish in your voice, he raises his gaze to yours and you see the way he mirrors your pain, confused and bewildered. 

‘Tell me what this is,’ he whispers, fierce and demanding. 

‘It’s exactly how it looks,’ you explain, feeling terribly pathetic.

It’s so simple, you know. Absolutely obvious. Your pregnant belly sticks out far enough now it leaves a distance between you, a gap where your child grows the only thing that separates you. 

‘Did you come here to mock me?’ he spits, leaning forward with venom.

‘No!’ you exclaim, holding your hand up in surrender. ‘I…’ you drift off, uncertain where to begin. You decide, perhaps, it’s best to begin with the truth. ‘The baby is yours.’ 

Hoseok’s expression shatters, a thousand different feelings breaking over his face before he settles on disbelief and quiet rage.

‘Why would you show me this?’ he pleads, sounding so small. ‘Have I not suffered enough? You knew I wished for this and now you tease me with it?’

‘I’m not here to show you anything, Hoseok, and certainly not to cause you pain.’ It’s shocking how tired you are becoming, putting in the effort of not reaching for him, not weeping for him, not rushing to an end you both deserve. ‘They...rejected me,’ is all you manage in the end.

Hoseok sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes watering as he lowers his focus to your belly once more. ‘They stopped the wedding?’

He speaks so softly you almost do not hear him over the rolling tide, and now, you cannot be contained. In one swift motion, you reach for his hand twining your fingers together. Your hold on him is unrelenting, not allowing him a single escape. Feeling his palm against yours is all the motivation you need, a resurgence of energy you have been missing for months.

When you continue to remain silent, he narrows his brow and persists. ‘Are you unmarried?’

‘They were going to go through with,’ you explain quickly, not allowing him any room for interjection. ‘They were going to make me marry him. Daeus even said he’d give the child to a human family, make it go through a Hero’s Journey to join us back in Teylim. Gods, the fight I put up to stop that from happening. The Fate Tying went poorly,’ you finish with a sardonic grin.

Gently, you tug Hoseok against you, forcing his stomach to bump against yours. His heated breath cascades over your skin, and you sigh in pleasure.

‘The child is completely human, my love,’ you whisper, eyes searching his face. ‘The Moirai refused to untie us.’ Incredulous, you laugh, looking out over the grassy hill in wonder. ‘The old crones are always right.’

The weight of your explanation steals Hoseok’s breath, and he falls against you, clinging to you as he sobs into your shoulder. Holding him close, you remember the last time you were in this position, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your hands clutching him, unwilling to be removed. As though sensing the great wave of his emotion, the child in your belly stirs abruptly, pressing against your womb to get his attention. 

You jump slightly at the feel of it, and Hoseok looks down, laughing, incandescent in his joy. He brings his hand to your belly, touching softly at where your child had just been, and he sniffles, looking to you and back down, cheeks reflecting the light you suddenly cannot contain. 

‘It’s a girl,’ you state, always wondering how he would react to knowing he’d have a daughter. ‘Our daughter kept me with you.’

Falling to his knees, he holds your belly in his hands and presses his forehead against its peak, too overcome with emotion to utter a word. Instead, he simply breathes deeply, wrought with bliss. Lowering a hand to the crown of his head, you thread your fingers through your hair and think that this, this precise moment, is what it means to be a goddess.

This is what it means to truly be sanctified.

[angelkurenai]

Oh baby dear - Chris Evans x Reader

Title: Oh baby dear

Pairing: Chris Evans x Surrogate!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: After a trip that gives the chance to Chris to take a long-overdue break from his job, he comes back home with his mind made up to change his life. And even if it weren’t for the trip itself or meeting you, even though he had no idea if he’d ever see you again, he was determined to not wait any longer. Feeling ready to become a father he starts looking for a surrogate mother, only to end up finding you of all people.

“Son of a guy. You meant it.” brown eyes were wide, and for the first couple seconds no other sound could be heard in the room. It almost felt like the words could echo in the room.

“You're really doing this.” the man's voice was filled with just as much shock as was painted all over his face. At least the woman behind him was more calm, sipping on her drink with an ease that would have been troubling, especially in such a case, if it wasn't known that she had long ago heard the news.

“I wouldn't have brought it up in the first place if I wasn't seriously considering it.” the other man in the room couldn't take his eyes off his friend, trying to gauge his reaction the second it came through. It was bound to be the most honest one, no second thoughts, and he only needed his friends' honest thoughts. Not that, and he was sure of it, the other man would intentionally tell him anything but the truth.

“You- wow.” the shocked expression was still there but there was no mistaking the smile that was slowly but surely appearing on his face “Seems like Evans is finally joining the club, who'd have thought? That's what I call one heck of a year, quickly Scarlett note the date down! It's going to go down in the history books, I tell you. Oh you're in for one hell of a ride, buddy! Wait you knew about this, didn't you?” he turned to the woman but shook his head soon enough “Never mind. You're gonna have to look for a godmother but I do get to be the godfather, right? I really need to start making preparations, nine months are not even remotely enough. I gotta-”

“Take a deep breath and calm down, Robert. That's what you gotta do. Otherwise this kid won't get to meet its one-of-a-kind godfather. And we would never want that to happen, would we?” the woman interrupted his rambling, a teasing smile on her own lips as she noticed Chris himself chuckle.

“Oh goodness forbid that could ever happen.” Chris laughed some more, his chest feeling lighter than it had in the past couple days “And besides that, there has not been a surrogate found just yet. Papers got approved only a day ago, it will take more time than that.”

“You say that as if the second every woman finds out you're on that kind of market, won't volunteer to have your baby. Heck, I know most of them would gladly volunteer to do it the old-fashioned way! You'll see, you will be getting news very soon.” Robert brushed his friend off and got up from his seat, making his way to the mini bar to grab a drink for himself “Which means, I really gotta start preparing everything because a) this is Evans' kid and b) I'm the godfather and it'll get only the best!”

Scarlett couldn't help but laugh, while Chris shook his head with a chuckle, before she added “As you can see, he is going to be more trouble than the kid.” she ignored the look that was shot at her from Robert and kept going “But, speaking of it, I never asked: Did you never really consider adoption?”

“For most of the time that's what I had in mind, yes, but-” he sighed, easing back in his seat “I asked about it and my chances were sadly very low, given my job and everything, not to mention how lengthy of a process it all was. Sebastian was actually the one to suggest it and you know I haven't been able to stop thinking about it ever since. Granted, it is just as hard to find a surrogate who is also willing to be the biological mother but I feel like I have more to hope for this way.”

“You have every reason to be hopeful, I'm sure this will work out just fine. Besides-” she offered her friend a warm smile “There is no other man that I can think of that could be a better father than you. This child will be very lucky.”

“...The part of Robert being the godfather excluded?” Chris added with a smirk, eyeing his friend who narrowed his eyes at him, before both Chris and Scarlett burst into laughter.

“Life isn't perfect, what can you do?” she grinned as she took a sip of her drink.

“I'll try to be the better man, as always, and not comment on any spiteful comments against me. You're just jealous I am going to be the world's best godfather. Anyway, that wasn't what I was going to comment on.” he plopped back on his seat and gave the blue-eyed man a sly smile “Sebastian you say but I'm wondering: was it him or that summer trip to Italy that really prompted you to become a dad? Maybe a certain someone you met there? What was her name...”

“Don't-” it was all he had time to get out, his eyes wide and voice very warning; but there was never any stopping the man when he wanted to speak his mind.

“Ah yes.” Robert grinned widely “(Y/n).”

“What- Who?” Scarlett frowned, tilting her head to the side “How come I haven't heard of her before? I thought you told me everything about Italy.”

“She's nobod-”

“Probably the love of his life. Something like his soulmate. One he talks about a lot in his sleep, hence why I should hold more parties and have you guys over. The info I get is golden. Anyway, think of it as the star-crossed lovers but one where he isn't the Lana Del Rey young and beautiful, you know? Heard she's something like a med or psych graduate or something. So come to think of it all, Italy, soulmates and age difference, this is like another version of Call me by your-”

“And that's it for you. Enough words spoken for one day.” Scarlett said, not hesitating a second to place a hand over the man's mouth who admittedly didn't give up even if his words were only an incoherent mumble after that.

Chris' eyes were wide and there was no mistaking the way he wanted to not talk about it, as if there was some unparalleled sadness that came with the mention of your name, a deep ache and at the same time yearning perhaps because he missed you, just like there was no mistaking the tint of pink that was on his cheeks.

“That's-” he cleared his throat, avoiding looking at his friends in the eyes because he knew how easy it would be to tell that even so many months later the feelings were fresh as much as the day he had to leave, the day he left a part of himself on the airport with you – a part he knew real well he wouldn't get back again, certainly not from any other woman he got to meet. That missing part of him, even if the rest held all the beautiful memories dearly to itself and felt truly blessed, he knew was obvious. It was all on his face that he was missing something, even if he'd gotten so much. And he knew she would see it, it all became so obvious when he thought of you.

He shook his head when he realized he had taken longer than needed to reply “It was way too long ago, I can hardly remember it now. Hell, as if barely anything happened to begin with. She was just-” a lump in his throat, too painful “I made a good friend, a really good friend yes, who helped me see my life in a different way. Helped me make my choice and see the things that really matter. Couldn't keep in contact and yes that's a bit sad but- That's all there is to it, nothing more nothing less.”

Scarlett regarded him for a couple seconds, even as he tried to keep himself busy with getting another drink, before she finally spoke “If you say so.” she nodded her head “At least we now know who we owe this to and who to thank for our family growing, don't we?”

“Then-” Robert's smile was softer, yet also sad, as he raised his glass a bit “Let's drink to that, if not your baby just yet. To (Y/n)?”

“To (Y/n).” Scarlett nodded her head “For helping you make the best decision of your life, wherever she may be now.”

Chris hesitated, the unspoken truth of you not only being the one to help him make the decision but also be part of that decision, part of the family he wanted to build, was ready to break free from his lips but he held it back “Wherever she may be.” he said in a low hoarse voice, raising his glass as well “To (Y/n).”

He had not allowed himself to say your name in a long time and thinking back to it, the effect had been evident not only in his chest, in his heartbeat, but also in his lips, how painfully strange it felt when all he had been doing was think about it for months to no end, down to his throat that closed up with emotion. And he had allowed himself to say it not only so that he would make sure his friends would drop the subject but also because it had been a long time, he felt the need to and he knew that he wouldn't get the chance to do so, not anytime soon for sure.

And yet, only seconds ago, the name had left his lips for the second time in barely a couple days.

His brain could barely keep up with the fact, all the information he had to currently process seemed to make things even harder. Saying your name this time certainly had the same effect, his throat closed up and his heart leaped to his throat, but it felt like it was for an entirely different reason. He blinked several times, trying to make sure that what he was seeing was also true, to make sure that it wasn't wishful thinking and that him holding his breath had not reduced the levels of oxygen to a point where he couldn't even see straight. Truth be told, he felt pretty lightheaded.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n).” he repeated your name for the third time, the third time in only a couple days his mind nearly screamed at him, but it didn't feel the same this time.

“Yes, I would say she seems like one of the most, if not the most, suitable candidate for you case.” the woman behind the desk gave him a warm smile but his brain was still currently stuck on the word 'candidate'.

“I'm sorry. There seems to be some misunderstanding here and I- I don't know whose part it is on, but-” he licked his lips, trying to swallow over the lump in his throat “When you say- What you're trying to say- I'm sorry.” he shook his head and let a couple seconds to pass in silence; he knew she wouldn't ask before him.

Taking a deep breath he decided to speak, even if his voice was hoarse he hoped she could make out the words “Candidate for what?”

The woman frowned a bit but it was gone faster than it could register, as she spoke in a calm voice “Your case. To be not only the surrogate you are looking for. See, her current, and according to her permanent from now on, residence is in New York City and very close to the residence you have listed as your permanent one. It is important, you understand, if we take into consideration that she will be the biological mother of the child. You might want the child to be able to stay in touch with her, and vice versa, so the close proximity does help. Of course that is always up to you, but in most cases we've seen it hap-”

“When did she sign up for this?” he asked, barely able to keep himself to wait for her to finish her sentence.

“Pardon?” she blinked and only then he realized how he might have sounded.

“You're right. I apologize, that came out as wrong.” he cleared his throat again “What I mean is... does she know who I am? That she- she's signing up to be a surrogate for my child.”

“Every surrogate must be informed, of course, of you as you are informed of her. She too must know whose child she will carry, don't you think it's fitting? But if you are uhm-” she hesitated “Concerned about other children, then, you need not worry. It's not my place to say this but it seems like-” she smiled a bit, almost knowingly “That you have already chosen, so I believe it wouldn't really be against any rule to say this. Consider it an extra bit of information.”

'Seems like you have already chosen.' would be a vast understatement. It was like every cell in his body was screaming 'Yes', chanting it over and over again that he was seriously worried he might have projected it somehow. He could barely control the words that came out of his lips anyway. If anything, the second he had come across the file with your name he had been glued to it, his eyes and all of his attention orbiting around the single file as if he was Earth and you were his Sun. Not far from the truth either.

But it also must have shown- No scratch that. He was sure it had shown because he had done no effort to hide it, too stunned and happy and eager and giddy and blessed and so many other things, to try to hide it. And she had clearly noticed.

“So, no, she has not mothered another child. As a matter of fact, Miss (Y/l/n) is doing this for the first time.” the woman leaned back in her chair “She came to us with the belief that there was too much sadness out there and, amongst other things, she decided to do this little one thing to help someone out. To make someone happy. I believe she didn't really have any further expectations out of this, no further plans, other than wanting to do some good. We only informed her of your case and she said she'd like to help, nothing else.” she shrugged softly “For any further reasons behind her choice you could ask her, I suppose. If you do think she could be the right choice to be the mother of your child, then-”

“She is.” he said, maybe a little too fast, but he didn't care. He didn't find a single part of him that cared for how eager he looked at the prospect of you being the mother of his child. Granted, it wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it but it was so much more than he ever thought he'd get, of what he thought he deserved, when he had told you goodbye that summer.

He cleared his throat again, trying to straighten his back and look as formal as he should in the suit he was wearing. He offered her a small smile “She is the right one. I think I've decided. I-” he paused, glancing at the pile of files and therefore other candidates which he had absolutely not even taken a glimpse at and he hoped she wouldn't comment on it “I've thought things through, yes.” because no man could make such a decision so hastily, he knew, and yet he looked like he just had “I'm glad for all the candidates it means a lot but uhm Miss (Y/l/n) seems to be indeed the right one. I think she will do just fine yes.”

“Wonderful.” she smiled more, nodding her head “If it means anything, she seemed happy when she was presented with your case.” oh if only she knew just how much it really meant to him, ask his wildly-beating heart and everyone would know just how much “Now, you understand that while you seem pretty sure and confident with your choice, you will have to give it some more time, more than anything to get in touch with the surrogate herself and discuss through any specific terms you might have. We will be the ones to set a meeting. Of course there are legal issues that need to be taken care of, but you're a lawyer yourself so you probably know that better than anybody else already.”

“Y-yes uh of course, yes, legal terms. Mr Wilson will represent me on the matter of course. But you said-” he folded his hands over his lap and threaded his fingers and it was either that or let his nerves show “Meeting her? Will I get to meet her in person soon or...?”

“That, Mr Evans, is completely up to you, how ready and sure you are, how much time you need and how fast you want things to progress.” she said as if she'd had this conversation many times over and she probably had “It could be within a week, a month, or, if you have no doubts, within three days the soonest possible. So, do you need time to think over-”

“The soonest possible. I'd like-” he nodded his head, straightening his suit's jacket “I think it would be best if I could meet with her the soonest possible. She's just what I was looking for.”

[bxckybarness]

What I Missed - Loki Laufeyson

summary: while in custody at the TVA, loki realizes what he misses from the future, only to be surprised by what he gets in the present

word count: 2100+

warnings: a little angsty, a little emotional, mention of loki’s death, episode 1 spoilers

Today was certainly not Loki’s day.

Over the course of a few hours (or more, or less, this is the TVA, afterall) he had been in the custody of the Avengers, had happened upon the Tesseract and escaped from New York. It seemed too good to be true, and it was. Just when he thought he had truly outsmarted the Earthly heroes again, he was imprisoned and taken again.

Now here he was, under the supervision of the Time Variance Authority and one, Mobius, a bizarre administrator in charge of tracking down the most dangerous of variants. It all seemed like madness to Loki. He was used to silly games and grandiose tricks but this story of timelines and space lizards seemed beyond even his own trickery. It seemed downright absurd. And annoying.

He had been subject to what he would call an interrogation. Mobius, however, called it a simple conversation. A slideshow of his life, his “greatest hits” as Mobius had called it and a relentless fire of questions, the memory of which continued to burn in his memory:

Should you return, what are you going to do?

King of Midgard? Then what, happily ever after?

King of Space?

Why does someone with so much capability just want to rule?

Do you enjoy hurting people?

That one had burned most of all. Did he enjoy hurting people? Hardly. And it was upsetting to him that anyone would think that. But he also understood what he appeared to be to every other living creature. He had just relived the moment in which he killed that daft agent and his mother. His mother. He refused to believe he was at fault for that. Frigga was the only person who truly saw him and whom Loki cared for deeply. But it seemed so clear in the moving picture, he had led them right to her.

It was in that moment, with tears and rage in his eyes, he knew he needed to get out of the disastrous time circus. He no longer cared to be a monkey in this ring. If he could find the tesseract, he could escape and be free once again.

That plan had gone almost perfectly. The only thing that went wrong - there is no magic in the TVA. No matter how many times he held the tesseract in his hands, wishing it to take him back to Midgard or Asgard, he was met with nothing but the bland walls in this TVA Time Theater. There was no hope in escaping.

Feeling exhausted, Loki slowly moves toward the table in the center of the room. He sits down and admires the machine in front of him. As grim as the stories it held could be, it was still quite fascinating that it could replay the highlights from his life - in a weird way, at least. He reaches out and turns the knob, searching for the moment his mother dies. He finds it and watches in silence for a while, tears beginning to fall down his face.

He turns the knob again.

He sees a future version of himself sitting next to his father and Thor. He watches as his father declares his love for his sons. Sons, plural. Both Thor and him. A small smile graces Loki’s face before Odin disappears, leaving the two men behind. Loki holds back a sob as tears continue to flood from his eyes. His father did love him, did see purpose for him. He wasn’t just the mischievous son. He’s sad that it took this long to understand that, and sad that he never got to experience this himself, even if a future version of him did.

Another turn of the knob.

This scene immediately feels different. He sees a garden, full of life, beautiful flowers blooming in every direction. He sees himself, sitting under a tree smiling next to a young woman. As the scene progresses he realizes this version of him is smiling at you. He lets out a small gasp when he watches the pair share a kiss and wipes the quickly falling tears from his cheeks. He had always loved you, but had never gotten the chance to tell you. The two of you had met through Thor, when he brought both you and Jane to Asgard. He had taken to you quickly, enjoying your similar sarcasm and humor - something that was scarce within his home realm. You, like his mother, had always seen the good in him and had understood his struggle. It was something he would never understand, you being of Midgard. You knew what he had done and had been there to see the destruction, but still saw him not as the God of Mischief or Earth Enemy #1, only Loki. He aches for the fact that he never got to feel the happiness his future self did, especially when it was happiness with you.

Turn the knob.

Loki and Thor stand in a room together. Loki lets out a small laugh in the midst of his tears, wondering how his oaf of a brother managed to lose an eye. Maybe a dumb bet between the two of them, maybe there was a battle amongst the nine realms. He’s quickly pulled from his thoughts as he hears Thor speak.

“Maybe you’re not so bad after all, brother.”

“Maybe not,” the future Loki responds.

“Thank you,” Thor replies, “If you were here, I might even give you a hug.”

“I’m here.”

Loki smiles and nods to himself. From where he’s sitting now, it’s a wonder that he and his brother ever made up. He realizes now that the fighting and the sibling rivalry may have all been in his head. He, again, curses himself for leaving New York and allowing himself to miss these moments that he’s been waiting his whole life for.

Fast-forward.

He and you lay in a room, seemingly on the same ship as the previous scene. You lay snug against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You hum softly before speaking up.

“I love you, you know.”

By the look on both of your faces, it’s the first time this has been said out loud. There’s nervous tension in the room, Loki can feel it through this screen. He somehow knows the words his future self is going to say before he hears them.

“I love you too, darling. You bring out the best in me.”

You snuggle closer to him, if that’s even possible, and there’s a comfortable silence for a few seconds. Loki takes a moment to admire this picture. It was something he had wanted since he had first met you on Asgard. You had stuck out like a sore thumb, dressed in your casual Midgardian clothes. He couldn’t have missed you even if he tried, nobody could have. And boy was he glad about that now.

“Promise me something,” he watches himself say.

“Anything,” you whisper. “Anything for you, Loki.”

“Promise me, no matter what, you’ll always help me see the good in myself. I’ve too long suffered at the hands of those who desperately wish for me to see the bad.”

You let out a laugh and the Loki stuck in time laughs with you, “Oh, Loki. I wish you could see yourself as I see you. But I promise.”

“Thank you, my love.”

“You, Loki, may be a God, but you will always just be the man I fell in love with. The good, kind, and honorable man I call mine.”

Turn, again.

Loki sees himself kneeling and before he can question why, he watches as his future self moves to attack someone in front of him. When Loki realizes it's Thanos, he’s quickly on his feet, moving closer to the screen. The tears are gone now, and a silent rage burns behind his eyes. There was nothing from Loki but hate for the purple titan. He watches in horror as Thanos picks Loki up from the floor, a death grip on his neck. Loki wonders to himself how he would get himself out of this scenario had he been there. He assumes an illusion would do the trick. However, he notices your distraught figure behind the mad titan. He can hear your screams as you kneel next to Thor, who is imprisoned in cuffs. He hears you call out to him and he knows this will not end well. His suspicions are right when he watches his death. A shocked gasp comes from his throat as the tape in front of him runs out, nothing left to show.

Loki quickly sits back down and closes his eyes, trying his hardest to process the vision he saw. To one version of him, these would have been experiences and now memories. To him, though, these were all subtle tastes of a life he lost. He lost a touching moment with his father and a long awaited declaration of love from him. He lost the reconciliation with his brother and the confession that they had been more partners than rivals. Even though to him it had not yet happened, he missed it all, and it upset him deeply.

What hurt Loki the most was the idea that he lost his chance to feel his love reciprocated. Loki had never had much luck with romance. He was often seen as the sly younger brother and was usually too occupied to try and compete with Thor for the maidens at court. When he met you, he thought he had a chance. You were the first woman who saw him as his own person and not just as Thor’s brother. The relationship between the two of you had blossomed quickly and he found himself always sneaking away from his princely duties to see you. He had shown you his favorite places in Asgard and had opened up to you in ways he had never done before. He loved you and wanted you to be his. His one regret was not initiating a relationship before you had left for Midgard. And he thought his chances had been ruined by his actions in New York. Oh, how wrong he was.

Before Loki can dwell on his future more, Mobius comes bursting into the room.

“Ah Loki, glad you made your way back here. I have something for you,” he says.

“If this is another one of your tricks, I’m not currently in the mood,” Loki responds coolly.

“Just trust me on this one.”

Mobius shouts over his shoulder for someone to “bring her in.” Loki eyes the guards who walk in suspiciously until he notices who they bring with them. He can hardly believe his eyes. The gods in all the realms must be smiling down on him today, after all, because there you stand. He takes in your hideous red and white space suit, emblazoned with the Avengers logo, and he’s at least thankful he missed whatever battle this suit was required for.

He quickly stands and rushes over to you, a smile quickly gracing his face. You meet his gaze with a smile that is just as big and tears begin to flow from your eyes.

“Loki,’ you start. “Is that really you?”

He nods and speaks, although his words are barely audible, “It’s me, my love.”

“God, I thought I lost you forever. That’s why I went back in time to find you.”

Loki nods, now, unable to believe what he’s hearing, “You went back to find me?”

“Yes, but look what good that did me,” you say with a smirk. Loki’s heart pulls and he feels he could fall over right there. Norns, he missed you and your witty humor.

“Well,” he says, reciprocating your sly attitude, “You found me did you not? I might not be the same Loki as you knew, but I am still Loki.”

“The good, kind, and honorable Loki that I call mine.”

Loki smiles and you move forward to give him a hug. You’re cautious, though, because you aren’t exactly sure what part of the timeline this Loki came from. Maybe you had already been dating, maybe not. That was something to figure out another time though.

“Alright then,” Mobius says from behind you, “Let’s get you two caught up on what you missed with each other.”

Today was certainly not Loki’s day. And he had cursed all that was good that he had ended up at the TVA, taken from the life he knew. But now? He didn’t mind. He knew the relationships that were broken with his brother and father had been mended, he knew that one version of him had sacrificed himself for good and he had you, not only in memory but in the flesh. And sure, you had lots to rediscover within your relationship, but you would do that together.

[ks-dreams-fantasies]

Can you write one where the reader surprise vinnie on his bday like the readee said that she cant go to his bday bc of something

*Pics not mine*

Birthday boy – Vinnie Hacker

Sooooo… I decided to turn this request into a smut 👁👅👁  If you are not comfortable, don’t worry you can read the first half of the story before it gets to heated. I got carried away, sorry 😬 Hope you enjoy it still

Author’s note: In this story, both the reader and Vinnie are of legal drinking age, and the pandemic is long over

Warning: Smut 🔥

Word Count: 1.9k (not proofread)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘’ I know you’re disappointed Vinnie, I am too, but we’re not done filming yet” you said to your boyfriend over the phone. You had been away to Canada for the past month, shooting for a movie with other young actors. You loved your job, but being away from the people you loved the most, was difficult.

“Can’t you take a couple of days off?” He asked almost whining

“It doesn’t work like that Vin” you sighed, you knew he was sad “I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you, I promise” you continued, smiling softly, even though he couldn’t see you.

“I just miss you, and the fact that you won’t be here for my birthday sucks” he huffed “I know it’s not your fault”

“I miss you too” you said before getting interrupted by a knock on the door. “I have to go baby, we’re getting ready to film, I’ll call you later, I love you”

“Ok, I love you” he responded before you hung up, making your way to set. Tomorrow was your last day of filming before a two-weeks break. You hadn’t told Vinnie, wanting to surprise him for his birthday, since it was a last-minute decision from the movie director. You were stocked to go back to L.A to see your friends for a few days. You had decided that for Vinnie’s birthday, you would plan a nice trip away from everything, just the two of you. You had talked with Thomas and Mia, knowing you could trust them with your secret. They had kept you up to date on everything, including the party schedule.

You would see him in only two days, and you couldn’t wait to be near him. You missed everything about your boyfriend, his hugs, his kisses, his voice, his laugh, his touch, oh how you missed his touch. A month away from each other wasn’t an easy task since the both of you were always together. He hadn’t had the chance to come visit you on set since he had a bunch of contracts and projects to work on, himself.

The day finally came for you to go back home to Vinnie, and you couldn’t be more excited. He didn’t suspect anything since you had called him that morning, wishing him a Happy Birthday.

“Thomas said you sent me a package, but I’m not allowed to open it till later tonight” he had said, loving that even though you couldn’t be with him on his special day, you had still thought about sending him something.

“I believe you can wait a few more hours” you had smiled, looking at him through your phone screen. The FaceTime call lasted for another fifteen minutes before you had to go

“Ok baby, I’ll call you back later tonight so we can open your gift together, have a good day, I love you”you had said looking at the time, knowing you had to leave soon to make it to your flight in time

“I love you too (Y/N)” he smiled fondly at you “See you tonight” he had said

“See you tonight” You had chuckled, before hanging up. He was on for a big surprise and you couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

You texted Mia when you landed. The plan was to sneak you into the house without him noticing, so you could get ready. The boys had finished working out, your boyfriend going to take a shower before the party started. It was the perfect time to go in, following Mia to hers and Thomas’s bedroom.

“I’m so glad you’re here” she said excitedly “He’s going to be so happy to see you (Y/N)” she continued, jumping up and down. “I’ll let you get ready, people are starting to arrive” she said before exiting the door.

You decided to scroll through your phone for a bit before getting ready for the party. Vinnie had just posted a new TikTok of him in the shower, like always, but that was enough to make you melt at the sight of him.

To: Mon Amour❤️👅

Still on set, just saw your TikTok. 👀

How can one human be so handsome 😩 it’s not fair

He had responded soon after, making you smile, while making your way to take a shower as well. When you got out, you could already hear the music blasting downstairs, indicating the party had started. You finished getting ready and texted Thomas to distract your boyfriend while you went to join the girls in the living room. You made sure to stand close to him and his friends, but still far enough to observe him without him noticing you right away.

“Vin, that girl’s been looking at you for the past ten minutes man” Jordan had said, smirking as he saw you on the other side of the room

“Yeah and?” he answered, shrugging his shoulders not turning to look at the girl in question

“She kind of look like (Y/N) if you ask me” his friend had retorted, making the birthday boy stare at the group of girls, spotting you immediately, almost running towards you, smiling widely at the sight of you.

“Is that really you?” he asked, his eyes wide and mouth still agape, you chuckled, pulling him into a hug

“Happy Birthday baby” you murmured in his ear, leaving a kiss below it, the action making him shiver.

“I can’t believe you’re here” he responded, hugging you tightly, before detaching himself a little bit to stare into your eyes. He had this ability to make you melt just by looking at you. He moved his face closer to yours, kissing you passionately. His lips were soft and demanding, he wanted more, and you knew he had missed you as much as you’d missed him.

“Get a room you guys” Michael said, passing the both of you, making you laugh against each other before detaching yourselves. He grabbed your hand, leading you to the beer pong table, where Connor and Calvin were playing and drinking.

It had been an hour since you reunited with Vinnie, and you were still near the beer pong table, talking and laughing with the others. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, scared that if he did, you would disappear. His arms were around your shoulders, staring at the way your mouth was moving while speaking to Michael and Alex.

“Hey yo Vinnie, you’re still with us?” Alex had said, making your boyfriend diverted his gaze towards him, sipping on his red solo cup

“Yeah” he chuckled lightly “Sorry” the boys laughed at him, knowing damn well he was only paying attention to you.

“You’re up next birthday boy” you said, nodding towards the table, where two team had just done playing. You all moved towards the beer pong table, Vinnie playing with Michael and Alex playing with Kouvr. You stayed next to them, watching the scene in front of you. Vinnie was having so much fun, laughing and drinking with his friends, he would often take a glance at you to make sure, you were ok. Alex and Kouvr were losing, Michael laughing at them and Vinnie getting almost every shot he took.

You got lost in the moment, just admiring him, and the way he looked extra good tonight. Even under his white t-shirt, you could see every muscle of him flex. His large hands grasping the ball before shooting it into the cup, making him celebrate the victory with Michael. He caught you staring at him and came right back to stand in front of you.

“Everything’s ok baby?” he asked you, smirking, knowing what it did to you. After a few seconds of silence, he took your hand in his, as you followed him upstairs. He led you towards his bedroom, but you were surprised when he went in and continued walking towards the connected bathroom, closing the door behind you. You stood there, leaning against the counter, Vinnie taking a few steps closer to you, standing centimeters away from your face. His lips found yours quickly, taking control of your mouth easily, your tongues dancing and battling together, Vinnie deepening the kiss. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he pulled away, and redirected his kisses on your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin, making you let out a small moan.

“Fuck, I missed you (Y/N)” he murmured against you, pressing his lower half to your aching core. Your hands travelled to his hair, tugging lightly, something you knew he loved for you to do.

“I want you Vin” you whispered in his ears, making him grunt, before he turned you around quickly, making you both look at your reflection in the mirror. You could feel him get impatient, as he pressed his hard member against your covered ass. One of his hands rested on your hip as the other slid down your back, forcing you down into a bending position. You reached down to the end of your dress, lifting it up, for Vinnie to get a better view. He ran a hand through your hair, fisting them, grasping and pulling them gently. A loud moan left your lips at the action, making you back up into him, as he started to grind into you, over and over again.

“V-Vinnie” you mumbled, as he snaked his hand slowly into your damp underwear, making you let out a sight of satisfaction. His skillful fingers found their way to your dripping fold, spreading your arousal on the rest of your needy core. Vinnie kept a steady pace, pumping in and out of you, making you scream in ecstasy. You had been craving his touch for a month now and you couldn’t contain yourself anymore.

“Fuck me already” you said, wanting to feel more of him than his fingers. He bit his lips at the sight of you, begging for more, before yanking your panties down your legs in a quick motion. He unbuttoned his pants quickly, making them drop to the floor, his erection springing free on his covered stomach. He pumped himself a few times, before lining himself at your entrance, your eyes meeting his reflection, your pussy throbbing at what was about to happen. He grabbed your hips, pushing all the way in, your broken moans filling is ears, feeling your tightness around him.

“You’re so tight” he whimpered as you moaned, reaching back to grab onto him. He began to piston his hips harder against yours, making you yelp out in pleasure and surprise, feeling your orgasm approaching. His hand laid a hard smack on your ass, as you bit your bottom lips, trying to contain your moans. You could feel Vinnie’s trusts getting sloppier, indicating he was close as well.

“I’m so close” he almost didn’t hear you. His hand trailed down the front of your body, snaking his fingers down your swollen clit, rubbing it perfectly to bring you over the edge. Your legs started shaking, Vinnie pumping in and out of you, as he rode your orgasm. You clenched around him and the action was enough to make him cum, himself, spilling his loads into you, groaning loudly.

Once you were done, he helped you clean the mess the both of you had made, laughing lightly as you both got dressed.

“Best surprise ever” he said, smiling as he kissed your temple.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading

Hope you liked it, let me know what you think

-K

[snaileer]

If I Could Tell You, If I Could See You One More Time - 3

Batman is exhausted. He’s spent the whole night jumping from mugging it mugging to drug deal to mugging. He was only barely able to finish interrogating one of his suspects on his most recent case.

And worse than that, he’s also spent the whole night feeling like someone is watching him. Not closely, almost certainly not in person, but there was something just on the edge of his awareness that whispered of another presence.

He’s seconds away from leaping down into the alley with the Batmobile when he hears it.

Clicking.

It’s rhythmic. Metal. Something being turned if the pattern is anything to go by.

Batman stills in the darkness, and peers over the edge at the batmobile.

There’s no way.

Batman stares in disbelief at the 3 missing tires on his car.

How is it that this is the second time it’s happened? And the kid who’d done it first was-

He forcefully drags his mind away, back to the crime at hand. There’s still a figure stooped over the fourth tire, twisting away at the lug bolts.

Clink clink clink, clinnnk.

Clink clink clink, clinnnk.

Batman drops silently in the dark end of the alley, fully prepared to-

The figure chuckles, “You never could let me get that fourth tire, could you, old man?”

Bruce’s heart freezes, welling up with sadness, guilt-

The figure straightens up and smirks, holding that tire iron looser than when they’d met like this before. It couldn’t be him- he was-he couldn’t be-

“Try and catch me ya big boob!” Jason’s figure jeers and then turns to run out of the alleyway. The laughter echoes in Bruce’s ears.

As the figure-not Jason, not Jason, couldn’t be Jason- turns the corner, Batman snaps back into action with a growl. This wasn’t Jason, which meant Batman was going to catch who ever was hiding behind his son’s face. And then he is going to make them never do it again.

He follows a route he barely remembers, somehow ending up in-

Batman stutters to a stop at the doorway of the room. It’s cluttered in the way it was when he’d first followed a young Jason back to this broken apartment.

Shaggy mattress on the floor. Old magazines and graffiti and litter on the floors. Evidence of a child living wildly alone without supervision or adults.

But it’s dimmer now. There’s a layer of dust, of stillness over everything. No one’s been here in years, not since the young street kid had been swept so abruptly away from it.

Then why…Why can he still smell cigarette smoke in the air? Drifting out the broken window like he’d only just missed the owner.

He recognizes it by the cheap smell alone. The brand that Jason had always kept stashed away behind his nightstand like Alfred wouldn’t notice.

The wave of nostalgia and heartache that crashes into him is not unfamiliar. Its heavy weight soaks into the clasps of his cape on his shoulders.

Jason.

“Batman? Are you all right? You jumped away rather quickly-“ Alfred’s voice filters through his comm. Bruce lifts a finger to answer it, only barely hesitating at the sight of an old tire iron on the floor.

Batman turns around and leaves. “I’m fine, Agent A. Just had one last stop before I come in for the night.”

“Yes, well, that’s what you said before that so perhaps it may actually be true this time, hm?”

Batman wishes he could even mentally smile at the remark, “Message Recieved, A. I’m heading in now.”

“Very good, sir.”

When Batman swings back into the alley of the Batmobile, he tries to ignore the ache in his chest at the sight of all four tires.

There’s barely a loose bolt among them. Batman tightens it gently with his fingers.

His body sags with a remorse, regret, guilt, before he lifts himself into his car.

“Engage Autopilot, Batcave Entrance 4.”

He doesn’t want to drive tonight. Instead Batman leans back into his seat, trying desperately to ignore the way his heart squeezes in his chest.

The anniversary is coming up. That’s why he’s thinking so much of him. That’s why he’s seeing him.

It’s not real.

It’s not….

But god, how Bruce wishes it was.

———

Jason stares at the red shine of his helmet. He’s at a bit of crossroads.

Originally, he’d planned to use the Red Hood to takeover and control Gotham’s underbelly. In turn, he would be able to draw Black Mask into breaking the Joker out of Arkham.

Coupled with some special appearances and a large number of explosives, he’d also draw Bruce into finding his identity and forcing him to choose between killing the Joker or killing him.

But could he do one without the other?

He still needed to control Gotham’s crime, something Batman could never do. And he still needed Batman to kill Joker, even if the how had changed.

Could he do it without Bruce finding his identity? Finding out he wasn’t still dead?

If he couldn’t…. Bruce would be furious. He’d never go through with it and that clown would get away. And if he got away-Jason couldn’t let that happen.

But if Joker was going after the Red Hood, Batman would be too. He had a one track mind, he’d be too focused on stopping Joker and Red Hood that he wouldn’t even be thinking about Jason.

No.

This had to be done without the Red Hood. Had to be done as just Jason. He couldn’t have that tie to Joker, not when it could derail everything.

But then how would he force the Joker out into the open? Force him to pay, to suffer for what he did-

Oh.

Oh.

Jason smirked.

Now, there’s an idea.

Who said Bruce had to be the only one getting haunted?

[letarasstuff]

Can I stay with you?

(A/N): This is based on this, this and this post. I really hope you are ready for the feels, because they are there and they are heavy-

Summary: Following the events of Emily's death, how will Spencer and his daughter cope with it?

Warnings: Angst and lots of it, mentions of drug use, contemplations of drug use, mentions of needles, we also got some bittersweet fluff

Wordcount: 2.5k

✨Masterlist✨ _______________________________

A hospital is not a place where a child should be, Spencer knows that much. But he picked (Y/N) up on his way for two reasons:

The first one being the simple occurence that the babysitter is not able to keep her any longer, because she has classes in the next morning. The second one is selfish and the father knows that, but he needs her presence, the comfort she brings to him.

“Daddy”, the child breaks the silence in the waiting room, “Is Auntie Emily going to be ok?” She sits in his lap reading a book before looking up at him. Her eyes hold something he wishes to never see again: Fear. The fear of losing someone she loves dearly.

“I hope, Baby. But let’s not forget one important fact: Your Auntie Emily is one of the strongest women I know.” Spencer gives her a kiss on the top of her head and cuddles her closer to him, seeing (Y/N)’s eyes dropping. The rest of the team watches the interaction with aching hearts.

The girl is asleep for half an hour when JJ enters the room. Everybody gets up crowding her. Spencer is careful to not disturb his daughter as he moves her head to his shoulder and hooks his arm under her legs.

“She never made it off the table.” These words echo in the genius’ mind, seemingly being the only things he can think about. “I-I never had the chance to say goodbye.” JJ hugs him, trying to give some sort of comfort. In this process (Y/N) wakes up. As soon as she spots her father’s tears, she knows not to ask a question. Instead she loops her arms around his neck.

“It’s fine. It’s gonna be alright, Daddy”, the toddler recalls the words he says to her whenever she is upset in hopes to cheer him up.

The next couple days are hard on the whole team. They try to grieve together, especially while the funeral takes place. (Y/N) notices that the color black is fitting, since her Auntie really liked to wear it. She likes that they do the same to pay their respects that way.

“Auntie Penny, is she watching?” The blonde woman carries her while the casket is walked down the aisle. Since her death, (Y/N) doesn’t dare to say Emily’s name. She thinks if she avoids it, she is going to inflict less pain when she is talked about.

“Of course. Emily is in heaven and watches this beautiful beautiful ceremony we hold for her. So wipe that frown off and put on that smile she loved so much. Alright?” Confusing to her, the adults want (Y/N) to smile all the time. But they are frowning and crying more often than not.

“Can she hear us? Because I want to say I love her. I forgot to say it the last time I saw her.” Trying to distract herself from seeing the casket lowering into the grave, the girl plays with Penlope’s hair. She in turn has to fight tears back. Only now she realizes the impact the whole thing has on her.

“I’m sure she does. What about when the majority is gone, we go to her grave and talk to Emily? Do we have a deal?” (Y/N) nods.

As soon as the ceremony is over, Spencer takes his daughter, cradling her close to him. As if she senses his sadness, the girl is petting his back in a comforting way. He squeezes her closer to him, leaving her not much room to breathe.

“Daddy, I wanna talk to her. I need to get down.” (Y/N) wiggles in his grasp after she whispers this into his ear. Reluctantly Spencer lets her down and she toddles over to the freshly made grave. A little plastic card sticks out of the grass in place of a headstone.

The adults try to give her as much space as possible, they have to let grieve on her own.

“Hey, Auntie Emily. I-I wanted to say I love you, and I forgot to tell you this the last time so I say it a second time. I love you. And I miss you. I think Daddy misses you too. He is sad since you are gone. I’m too. I think it’s because we miss you. But I hope you like Heaven. Maybe you see my Mommy. When you do, can you say I love her?

“I’ll try to see you soon, Auntie. Goodbye!” (Y/N) goes back to her father and makes grabby hands towards him. Gladly Spencer picks her up again, putting a kiss on her head. “Wanna go home, Daddy.” The child mumbles, exhausted by all the stress and emotions from the day.

The father is relieved to have an excuse to skip the meal with the team. He is scared that the evening at the little restaurant is clouded by sadness and angst. Spencer doesn’t need that right now, a nice sit in with his daughter sounds way better.

After saying their goodbyes the little family sits in the car on their way to the apartment. As soon as Spencer starts the car, (Y/N) is fast asleep. He looks at her through the rear view mirror, happy to see her at peace. It gives the father time to sort through his own thoughts. Since Emily’s death (Y/N) tries to be around him constantly, which he is thankful for, because she keeps the darkness away.

Her last hours play again and again before his eyes. The different ways he could have stopped all of this. Why didn’t he say more when she began biting her nails? When she said “Laura Reynolds is dead”? Maybe all of this is his fault?

His forearm begins to itch. Exactly where Tobias Hankel injected the needle same as he did several times. Maybe, maybe it would make everything better? Just this one tim-

“Daddy? When are we home?” The small voice cuts off his train of thought. Spencer needs a few seconds to clear his mind. Did he really think that? Taking dilaudid while the reason he fought his addiction literally sits right behind him? “Just a few minutes, Sweetheart. Do you want to go to bed after dinner?”

As if she knows that the father can’t be left alone in this state, (Y/N) answers: “No, I wanna watch a movie with you. Can we watch Alvin and the chipmunks? I love Simon so much!” This places a smile on his face, the excitement in her eyes scare his dark thoughts away. “Sure, Peanut. We can watch whatever you want.”

It's the fourth evening in a row that the girl sleeps in her father’s bed. She either falls asleep there or climbs next to him in the middle of the night, so he figures he lets her sleep there right away.

“Good night, Sweetheart”, he tells her as they lay down. Even though it’s quite early for Spencer to go to bed it’s (Y/N)’s time. “Good night, Daddy”, she tells him while snuggling closer, “I love you. Soooooo much.”

The young doctor decides to take the next few days off from work in order to work through the events. The first one he spends coloring in books with her the whole day. While she works on her own books gifted by various members of the BAU, Spencer has his own extra made for adults. He can’t deny the soothing effect it has on him. The repeating moves calms the storm of thoughts inside his head.

The next day the two of them sit the whole day on the small couch in the living room, (Y/N) on his lap, and read. Sometimes they read for themselves, others the father reads outloud from his own or (Y/N) from her own. It’s kind of therapeutic to hear his child doing something he enjoyed his whole life.

“Daddy, do you think she feels lonely in heaven? There is nobody she knows, she has to wait for us to follow her, doesn’t she?” Not prepared for such a deep question, Spencer is caught off guard.

He clears his throat before answering. “Uh, Auntie Emily isn’t that lonely up there, you know. You can’t remember him, but Uncle Gideon, a friend from work and someone I looked up to, is there. He surely greeted her with open arms, happy to see her. And your Mommy is also there, she certainly asked lots of questions about you.” “A-are you sure? I told her to say Mommy ‘I love you’ when she sees her.” (Y/N) looks up to her father with big eyes.

He is not sure if he is lying right now to her, but he sees that his daughter needs the reassurance. “Yes, I’m sure.” To lighten the mood he begins to tickle her, which ends in a tickle fight which in turn ends in tiring the girl out and falling asleep while watching a Disney movie.

The next day is by far the worst since it all happened. Both (Y/N) and Spencer haven’t slept much due to nightmares from both sides (him comforting her as she tears him from his own), which results in a grumpy toddler and a non stop coffee drinking adult.

“Sweetheart, you need to put that shirt on. Auntie JJ is expecting us in ten minutes. Please, stop fighting me”, he begs, but she continues to cry. As Spencer tries for a third time to put it on her (Y/N) throws herself to the other side of the bed.

“I don’t want that, Daddy!” She finally gets out through her sobs. Spencer halts in his movements. “Why? That’s your favorite, Baby.” While (Y/N) begins to cry louder, he leaves the clothing article on the bed and gathers her in his arm, rocking her back and forth additionally to whispering sweet reassurances in her ear.

“She gave it to me. I don’t wanna make it dirty or ruin it”, the toddler says between shaky breaths. For what feels like the trillionth time, the young agent’s heart breaks over this statement. He has a bigger vocabulary than the average English speaking person, but at this moment Spencer is at a loss of words.

“Sweetheart, I apologize for not acknowledging this right away. I’ll get another shirt out for you, ok? Thank you so much for telling and helping me.” Just a few minutes later the little family is on their way to the next metro stop. It’s then that Spencer realizes his day won’t be any easier.

“(Y/N) you can sit in the seat next to me like you always do. Why do you have to sit in my lap today?” Normally he isn’t someone who denies his child physical contact, but the seating chart has a logical purpose. Being on a train with a child means you have some kind of luggage with you, which leads to occupying a four seats compartment. In order to prevent somebody taking the seat next to him, Spencer places his daughter there. It’s a win win situation for everybody, really.

Unfortunately for him (Y/N) is extra clingy today and won’t stop crawling onto his lap. With a sigh he accepts his defeat and tries not to think about the amount of germs that fly around.

Another problem that torments the father: Over the last few days his cravings grew. Especially today the feeling, the need, for another shot and another high is undeniable for him. As if sensing this (Y/N) sticks by his side throughout the whole time, keeping his mind off of the drug that changes him.

While they are at the Jareau’s and Lamontagne’s household, his daughter refuses to play with Henry. “I wanna stay with you”, she murmurs into his shoulder. Again Spencer accepts his defeat and sits down on the couch next to his best friend.

“Sweetheart, you need to let me go. I have to go to the bathroom, you can’t come with me.” This is followed by a tsunami of tears. While JJ tries to console her, he slips out of the room discreetly.

Due to (Y/N)’s current grumpiness and Spencer’s fatigue they quickly call it a night, even though he could use some more comfort from his friends.

“Good night, Sweetheart. Sleep tight and dream nice. I love you”, he says after tucking his child in and giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Night night, Daddy. I love you, too”, her small voice echoes back to him and makes him smile softly.

Spencer finds his way back to the living room and sits down with a book in his lap. As expected he doesn’t get much reading done, too distracted by his own thoughts. The events of the night of his colleague’s, his friend’s, death replay themselves over and over again.

What if he made his conclusions faster? He is supposed to be the smart one, the one the team relies on for making important connections. But he failed once so who knows what happens when he fails again? Next time it could be the whole team dying. He could die. He would leave (Y/N) alone with the team gone. His mother isn’t capable of caring for her and his father doesn’t even know she exists. She will go into foster care, into a home with too many kids. She will be looked over, too small to be seen. Her potential will go to waste and she will never achieve anything she is capable of. And all that because he hasn’t made a conclusion fast enough.

Spencer’s scars on his forearm itch worse than ever. One shot. Only one shot to make the thoughts go away. To make the guilt go away, the bad feelings. He needs it. He needs to cure himself from the symptoms of being a human.

Before the young doctor even registers what he is doing he already put his jacket on and looks for his wallet when a voice startles him.

“Daddy, i can't sleep. Can I stay with you again?” (Y/N) stands in the doorway, clutching her stuffed animal and her blanket, shielding her eyes from the light, oblivious to what her father was about to do.

“Oh Darling, of course. Do you want me to read to you? Or we drink hot chocolate and watch a movie?” He suggests, ready to distract himself from anything that’s going on in his mind. A few minutes later his daughter cuddles into his side while watching once again Alvin and the Chipmunks.

Spencer is just happy to have his light in his life all the time and is ready to tackle any task to keep her there, may it be once again the weekly visits for anonymous narcotics or time off from work to process the events together in therapy.

Taglist:

All works:

@agentshortstacc

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl

Spencer Reid x child!reader:

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

[127-mile]

Let’s pretend we’re in love.

Pairing: Doyoung x gender neutral reader.

Genre: Fake dating, unrequited love, bff to strangers | Angst.

Warnings: strong language.

Plot: Doyoung is beautiful, he is also kind, attentive, affectionate, smart and funny. He is charismatic, and well-spoken. His voice could be mistaken with that of an angel, whether he is speaking, or singing. Doyoung is everyone's dream, the one person you would never hesitate to introduce to your parent. Doyoung is also...mean. Doyoung has the face and the voice of an angel, in the body of a demon.

Doyoung tells his mother he is dating you after lying about his relationship. Doyoung knows about your feelings, but he doesn’t care.

Word count: +4.2k.

A/n: this is part of the Mad about the boy collab hosted by @slightlymore​.

Doyoung is beautiful, he is also kind, attentive, affectionate, smart and funny. He is charismatic, and well-spoken. His voice could be mistaken with that one of an angel, whether he is speaking, or singing. Doyoung is everyone's dream, the one person you would never hesitate to introduce to your parents. Doyoung is also..

"Y/n are you listening to me?" you are pulled away from your thoughts when Doyoung nudges you. He has been talking for over five minutes now, but all you could think about was how perfect he is. Yes, you saw his lips move, but you did not hear a sound that come out of his mouth. Now that you think about it, Doyoung does have pretty lips, and you wonder how it would feel to kiss him.

"Oh, what is wrong with you today?" he stops and grabs your wrist when you are about to run into a pole. "Are you alright? Are you sick? Do you need me to drive you back home? I can call my parents, and tell them I'll be late, it's fine. You look awfully lost today." you have a long sigh, why is he like this, always so caring.

"I'm fine Doyoung, don't worry about me, I guess I'm just a bit tired." you answer, and he does not look convinced but he shrugs. "Are you sure? My parents will not be mad if you decide to skip dinner." you shake your head as you start walking again, pulling Doyoung with you as he was still holding your wrist. "It's fine. What were you saying?"

"I was talking about my parents, and the reason they invited us." well, technically, they invited Doyoung to eat with them, but Doyoung answered one of your calls, and upon hearing your name, his parents decided to invite you too. A free meal in a nice restaurant is always pleasant, so you had to say yes. Maybe you shouldn't have, with how hard it is for you to focus on anything else than Doyoung's face.

"This weekend is the weekend where the whole family gets together in our grandparents' country house. I told them I would not come because of work, so they are going to try and convince me to join them." this time, you are the one stopping in your tracks. "If you knew what they were going to talk about, why did pretty much beg me to come? I do not want to be in the middle of an argument with your parents."

You met Doyoung when him and his family moved in the neighoroud, you were still young, so you have known each other for a very long time, and he got into the habit of having you by his side during arguments, because you are what he calls a neutral zone, or whatever is reasoning is. "Oh come on, you know they can't refuse me anything when you are here!"

"Doyoung, you are 25 year old! You should know how to settle an argument with your parents, you should know how to make them listen to you and accept whatever you have to say." he tilts his head to the side, and his eyes meet yours. It's enough for your heart to skip a beat, or two. Stupid heart. "Please?"

"Why don't you want to go by the way? The house is really cool, there is a lake, and your family is really sweet. Don't you miss them?" he looks around, and he notices how close he is from the restaurant. If he tries hard enough, he is pretty sure he can see his parents near a bay window, laughing together. "Because, I may have told my mother I had a partner, and she expects me to bring them."

"You are a dumbass, Kim Doyoung." you say in a sigh. "Why would you tell her that? If you do not have time to brush your hair, you definitely do not have time to date someone." he looks offended, but then he remembers the mess on his head, and he decides to stay quiet on the subject. "I don't know! My mom's been on my back about finding someone for months now, I guess I got tired of hearing her and I decided to lie."

"Why don't you find someone? Don't you have a cute coworker you wanted to ask on a date once? Ask them to play your partner." you hate how bright his smile becomes when you mention said coworker. You try not to think about what they have, that you do not have. This is not the time to mope. You'll cry about it later. "That's a great idea! You are the best."

Yes, yes, you are.

Doyoung crosses the road, and he pushes open the door to the restaurant. "After you." he says, and you step inside, smiling at the sudden warmth that invades your body. "Good evening, do you have a reservation?" the young man asks, and Doyoung nods. "My parents are waiting for us, they made a reservation under the name of Kim."

"Yes!" he exclaims, and he walks you to the table. The couple stands up when they see you, and you let Doyoung's mother embrace you for a second. "Y/n, it's been a while, how are you doing sweetheart?" she asks, and you sit down in front of her. "I am doing just fine, how are you?"

"Same old, same old." she starts, head tilted to the side. "we are trying to organize the family weekend, and as usual, it's stressful." you understand. You participated in a few of these gathering, and you know how stressfull everything is. You never regretted anything more than the time you offered to help.

"Yes, Doyoung told me, I'm sure it's going to be amazing, and you'll have a wonderful time with your family." the woman smiles warmly, and she puts her hand on Doyoung's. "Tell me baby, did you ask your partner to come with you?" you nibble on your lower lip, you are excited to hear his arguments.

"Mom, I told you, I have too much work, I can't come." she shakes her head, and you share a look with his father. He knows he is lying, but he keeps his mouth shut, he knows better than to intervene. "Come on Doyoung, don't be silly, I'm sure whatever you have to do can wait for the weekend to be over."

Before he can open his mouth, she raises her hand to shut him up. "I have an idea. Why don't you take your work with you, and I'll give you a couple of hours to work in your grandfather's office, how does that sound?" Doyoung's mother is tenacious, she knows what she wants, and she is ready to do everything in order to get it.

"You know, my darling, that I'm not getting younger by the day, and my dream is to meet the person who makes you so so happy." oh, she went there, you think. Doyoung looks at you, and you smirk, you are not going to help him. "I have something to tell you first."

"I'm listening." but before Doyoung can say anything, the waitress gives you the menu, and comes back to take the orders. And when she leaves, Doyoung's mother prompts him to speak. "Go on, my love, is something wrong?"

"Everything is fine, mother." he plays with his fingers, and you wonder what he is going to say. His mouth opens, and closes for a second, you wonder if he said anything, or if you blacked out because of what he said. All you hear is his mother squeal with delight, and when you look up, she is absolutely beaming.

"Oh my god! I told you it would happen eventually!" she says, hitting her husband on the shoulder. "You did say that." he mumbles, rubbing the aching spot. "I am so happy! And the family loves you, they are going to be thrilled to hear that!"

The rest of the dinner is a blur, you hear and say things, but your brain can't quite process whatever is happening. You must look odd to the Kim's eyes, but you can't even find it in yourself to care.

"See you on Saturday sweetheart." Doyoung's mother says, cupping your cheeks to kiss your forehead. "Yes, Saturday."

When the car disappears from your sight, you turn on your heels to face Doyoung. At least he has the decency to look ashamed, and he doesn't say anything when you hit him in the chest. "What the fuck, Doyoung?" you yell, and he knows people are looking at the scene, even if it's already dark outside.

"I'm sorry, I panicked." he answers, and you shake your head. "Couldn't you admit that you lied, instead of luring me into your lies without asking first!" he takes your hand, and he sighs. "I know, I know. But you were there, and my mom was so excited, I don't know what happened. And look how happy she was when I said it."

"Imagine how sad she is going to be when she'll learn it was a lie, Doyoung!" he knows he should have thought before opening his mouth in the restaurant, but it was his only solution, or so you thought. "She doesn't have to know it was a lit, we can just... I don't know, break up?"

This is a bad idea, you think. For you, who have been madly in love with Doyoung ever since you were kids, it's going to hurt. Because you know Doyoung does not reciprocate your feelings, and never will, and he will play the perfect boyfriend you wish you had.

The break up is going to hurt like a bitch, even if it's fake, and yet, you open your mouth. "We are breaking up at the end of the weekend."

"We need to get the details right, when did we become official?"

Doyoung sits on the edge of the bed as you put your clothes in the dresser. "I don't know Doyoung. You are the one who brought me into this mess, so you should be the one thinking about it." he mumbles something you don't understand, and you turn on your heels to face him. "You are telling me that you did not think about the details at all?"

You did think about everything, of course you did. Not because you were excited about this situation, but because it is something you thought about a lot these past few years.

"I was busy!" he exclaims, and you sigh. "If you want it to be believable, you need to think. Right now. Because your family will be there in a few minutes." you are glad you arrived before everything else, it gives you the time to settle down, and to think about the things you could have talked about in the car.

"We can't tell them it's been a few months, because my mom will bet mad that I did not tell her sooner. So maybe two or three weeks?" you nod. "Yeah, okay. Who confessed?" Doyoung seems to think about it, and when he opens his mouth to answer, you wish you never asked the question. "You, you did it. It what you would have done if it really happened, uh?"

You do not say anything, you do not like the way he said it, like he knows something. He probably does to be honest, you are not the best at hiding your feelings.

"Kids, come say hello!" saved by the bells.

You get out of your bedroom, and you go down the stairs. A few of Doyoung's cousins just entered the house, and they smile when they see you both. "Oh, Y/n, I didn't know you would be here!" Jungwoo says and he puts you into a bone-crushing hug. "Yeah, last minute decision." you answer.

You greet the other members of the family, and before you can understand what is happening, someone grabs your hand to pull you into the living room. "Guys, you all know Y/n, right? Well, I would like to officially introduce Y/n as my partner!"

You try not to look uncomfortable when they all cooe, but you can't smile either. Doyoung is just dropping the bomb, when you thought he would tell the news to some members of the family if they ever asked about his love life. Well, you agreed to be here, so you have to go with the flow. Or rather with Doyoung's decisions.

"I never thought I would see the day where you would finally confess your feelings for our dear cousin." Jungwoo says, and you laugh but god do you want to punch him square in the face. He is the only one in the family to know about your true feelings, so with the little announcement, he feels allowed to say everything he knows.

"Yes, I was wondering if Y/n was ever going to do it. About time." Doyoung answers, and you roll your eyes, but fortunately, his mother calls everyone in the garden. She wants to celebrate the beginning of what she thinks will be a memorable weekend.

"They are gone, you can let go of my hand." you mumble, and he shakes his head. "We have to play the perfect little couple, so might as well do it fully." what is the point of playing when no one is around to see you, if not play with your heart. "You always wanted it, so don't be like that. Come on, let's not make them wait."

He leads you to the garden, and when he finally lets go of your hand to grab two glasses of wine, you feel yourself breathing again. Of course, you spent the last couple of days thinking about the weekend, and how it would turn out, but you thought it would be nice, you know, to be closer to your long-time crush, but no, it's unberable and it's been less than an hour.

"I would like to thank everyone for making the trip for the weekend, I am really glad to see you all, because I have to be honest with you, this year was not easy, and I missed each and every one of you. I am also really grateful to have Y/n with us, I always knew Y/n would be the one to make our sweet boy happy."

Doyoung looks proud, and he is beaming under the attention when you want nothing more than to burry yourself in the ground. "Thank you for accepting me." you say when you hear nothing but silence and feel way too many pairs of eyes on you. "Of course, my love. You were always part of the family, so it is even more normal to have you here with us today."

That's sweet, but what is not is the way Doyoung chuckles under his breath.

"Oh, here you are!" Jungwoo sits down next to you on the couch, and he puts his head on your shoulder. "I've been looking for you everywhere. You know the grandfather's office is off limit?" you shrug, eyes still closed. "I don't care, I needed some alone time."

Jungwoo straightens up, and he does what he does best, he pouts. "What's going on? Are you not happy to be here with us?" you heave a long sigh, opening your eyes to look at him. "I am. I'm always happy to see all of you, especially you Woo, but I don't know. I guess it's overwhelming this time."

"I bet it is. Everyone is all over you, asking you questions. I would dip too if I were you." he answers, and you stay quiet for a couple of minutes. "You and Doyoung, it's an hoax right?" you do not know if you like or hate the fact that Jungwoo is always quick to catch on. "It's that obvious?"

"Not really," he starts, standing up to stretch his long legs. "but you've been in love with him for ever, so seeing you here, when you should be glued to him is weird." that's definitely what you would be doing if Doyoung was not acting so.. you do not even know how to describe it. "I don't know Woo, Doyoung has been acting weird since we arrived."

"What do you mean?" you take the time to think about it, because Jungwoo is still Doyoung's cousin, and you do not want to upset him. "He is the one who told his parents that we were dating, without asking me first, and yet, he is acting like an asshole."

"He throws little comments about my feelings, my real feelings, each chance he gets, and every time, he has that nasty smile on his face." you explain, and Jungwoo hums. "I know it's been only a few hours, and he is probably acting out of nervousness, but it's like.. did he just trick me into coming here just to humiliate me in front of everyone?"

You expect Jungwoo to tell you that you are wrong, that you are imagining everything, but no. "I would not be surprise, to be honest with you." you narrow your eyes, and you don't know what to expect now. "We went on vacation last year, remember? And there, he met this person. It was obvious that they caught feelings for him, and he just played with them."

"He is not stupid, and he understood pretty quickly, but instead of being flattered or to let them down gently, he just decided to be an asshole about it." if Doyoung was not acting like that today, you would never have believed a word of what he said. This is not the Doyoung you know. "But why would he do that? He is not like that on the daily."

"Everyone things he is perfect, but I guess perfection does not extist, and he is the proof." you don't really know how to feel right now. You want to leave, because you are mad. You are mad at yourself, and you are mad at him. "But why me? I'm here to help him, and I'm his best friend, not some kind of summer fling. I never did anything to wrong him or anything, I don't understand."

"I wish I knew Y/n." he answers, putting his hand on your shoulder. "I know how much you love him, and I am sorry he is playing with you." you sigh, you are at loss for words right now. You want to leave but you can't, not this early. Maybe you can find an excuse to leave? No, you can't. Doyoung is the one who drove you here.

"Keep me from hurting him if he decides to act up again today." you say, and Jungwoo nods with a smile. "You know, I am not that strong, so if I can't hold you for long enough, and that you end up actually hurting him, I'm sorry." he winds, and he opens the door to let your out first.

"Well, that was a nice day!" Doyoung says as he lets himself fall on the bed. You have to move your arm to avoid it being stuck under his body. "Good for you." you answer, and he turns on his side to look at you, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

"Are you really asking me that?" you don't know if you should tell him everything you have in mind, or keep quiet and wait until you leave, but you are not sure you can hold for another day. All you know is that you don't want to snap in front of the entire family.

"I have a question, why are you such an asshole with me?" he straightens up, back against the bedframe and he crosses his arms against his chest. "What are you talking about? Wa barely talked today!" you scoff. "And for a reason. Every time we talked, you just made me look like an idiot."

"Why are you doing this? What was the point of asking me to come, if you were planning on being mean?" he bites the inside of his cheek. If you try to remain calm, it seems hard for him too. He has a lot to say, but everyone is asleep, and he knows how quick he gets angry, and he doesn't want anyone to eavesdrop.

"So we are really doing this, uh?" you don't know what he is referring to, but you nod either way. "I'm tired Y/n. I'm tired of you being in love with me." well, that's not what you were expecting, but you are not surprised, if this taught you anything is that you can't expect anything when it comes to Doyoung anymore.

"Hear me out. I know you love me, I always knew, and the attention is nice, but I never mentionned it because you are my best friend, and I never wanted our relationship to change. But I met someone." oh.

"It's my coworker, the one I wanted to ask of a date. Well, I did, last year, and we've been dating ever since. But they can't stand the way you look at me, and it weight a lot on our relationship." you shake your head. "Then why did you bring me? Why didn't you introduce them to your parents instead?"

"How do I say that.. I needed a reason for you to hate me. Not as your friend, but as a potential lover. I needed something to calm your feelings, because as much as I love you, as a friend, my relationship with them is way more important." it feels like someone is squeezing your heart, and you wouldn't be surprised if it came out of your ribcage, in pieces.

"They hate how you look at me, and I understand, I am to the point where I hate it too." you open your eyes wide, and you look up. You refuse to cry. Not in front of Doyoung, he does not deserve it. "So your only option was to break my heart, in front of your entire family? You could have told me the truth, I would have understood you know, I might be in love with you, but I am not stupid!"

"You say you love me as a friend, and yet, you are doing this. You decided to play with my heart to hurt me. And for what?" your voice is shaking, and it sounds a lot like a sob that escapes your pressed lips. "I'm sorry." he whispers, and you laugh as you get out of bed.

"You are not sorry, Doyoung. This is not your first time doing something like this. Is this what gets you going? Breaking people's hearts? Are you planning on doing the same with your current partner?" he shakes his head, and of course, he would never do something like that. Sweet sweet Doyoung.

"You know what? You don't have to worry about me looking at you some type of way, because starting from tomorrow, you will not have to see me again. It'll be so much easier for you." you grab your suitcase, and you stuff your clothes inside. "What are you doing?" Doyoung stands up and he follows you every move.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch, and I'll go home first thing in the morning. Don't worry about driving me back, you can stay here, enjoy and explain to your mother why she will never see me again. Maybe you should also tell her why her son is such a fucking asshole, I'm sure she's going to love it."

"Come on, don't be like that." he says in a sigh, and you open the bedroom door. "Don't be like what? Don't be like a fucking human being with feelings? Well I'm sorry, but I am!" if the family was not around you, you would have sloed the door hard enough for the sound to echoes against the walls, but instead, you close it softly.

Doyoung is beautiful, he is also kind, attentive, affectionate, smart and funny. He is charismatic, and well-spoken. His voice could be mistaken with that of an angel, whether he is speaking or singing. Doyoung is everyone's dream, the one person you would never hesitate to introduce to your parents. Doyoung is also mean.

Doyoung has the face and the voice of an angel, in the body of a demon.

So yes, you are mad about the boy, but you are also mad about yourself.