#saying its cold is also an understatement. it was freezing

[smidge-j]

I've been to slope point. Saying 'it fucken wimdy' is an understatement. It is Fucken Wimdy! With capital letters!

Cold southern gales blasting across Slope Point - located on the southernmost tip of New Zealand’s South Island - has given rise to this unique natural phenomenon: the trees here, being persistently battered by powerful winds coming in from the open ocean, have a permanently wind-swept appearance to them.

(Artist | Source)

[milksnake-tea]

━━ star-shaped .

War was never pretty. Death comes for both enemy and ally, and even as a healer, you cannot save everyone. Wearied by the war that seems to drag on for years, with no victory in sight, you join Jiaoqiu at the campfire for a rare moment of peace.

jiaoqiu x gn!reader

contains: based on leaks abt jiaoqiu's character stories !! but honestly its kinda implied in the quest but idk. has death, war, depictions of injuries and diseases, things are rough, can be read as platonic or romantic !!

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i love this man and his potential because goddamn war stories??? in my hsr??? sign me UP. also this was inspired by The Things They Carried by Tim Burton that i was forced to read in highschool. i loved the soldier death scene in that book so YEAH

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven @camellia-rabbit , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace

The man you killed had two eyes; one was closed, and the other a star-shaped hole.

You wake when the sky is still dark and the sun bathes the other side of the planet. Harsh winds beat unrelentlessly at the tent’s folds, and hail pelts at the sturdy fabric.

Some of your comrades, fellow healers, sleep soundly as they can on the battlefield, while others work tirelessly in the makeshift hospital next tent over, keeping an eye on injured and diseased soldiers’ conditions.

Fire crackles outside. The sound is sharp, yet barely audible over the snow storm.

With a sigh, you pull your sheets off of you and as quietly as possible, make your way outside the tent. You aren’t going to get much sleep anyway - you might as well do something useful.

The man you killed resurfaces in your mind. He had two eyes - one closed, the other a star-shaped hole.

You pull your fur-lined coat closer around you as you step out into the camp. Snow crunches under your boots and you have to hold your hood in place to shield yourself from the hail.

To say that this planet is freezing would be an understatement. Here, the cold chilled you from your bones to your skin, seeping into your veins and leaving icicles in its wake. Frostbite was an everyday occurrence here; you’ve had to amputate more toes and fingers than ever in your life.

A silhouette sits before the fire, their back turned to you. As you get closer, you make out tall, Foxian ears and the same winter coat you’re currently wearing.

“Jiao?” you wrinkle your nose as you near, suddenly slammed with the strong scent of chili. Your comrade acknowledges you with a brief flick of the ears, but nothing more.

You don’t blame him. This war has been a harsh one, with less soldiers returning to camp every time they’re sent out. Unknown territory and harsh weather conditions made the battles long and exhausting, and healers could only do so much.

Not to mention, time passed so quickly yet so slowly here. You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve been stationed, but it feels like several lifetimes.

Everyone is tired. You can see it in the hollowed cheeks, the eyes that have grown numb to death, and the despondent numbness that has overtaken the camp. They no longer cared who won or who lost. All they wanted was to return home in one piece.

The man you killed had two eyes. One was closed, and the other was a star-shaped hole.

You sit down next to Jiaoqiu on the log. The Foxian makes no move to push you off, only shifting to the side to help make room for you. Hugging your knees to your chest, you stare blankly at the drifting embers that dance in the air.

Jiaoqiu absentmindedly stirs at his soup. It boils in a small pot just above the fire, the thin liquid a red so bright it’d be threatening… if you had the energy to be threatened.

“It’s late,” you say into the crisp silence. “You should get some sleep before the sun rises. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Even as the words leave your mouth, you know it’s pointless. In war, sleep is something you have to force your body into. You have to lie down in the tents, look up at the fabric sky and listen to the hustle and bustle outside as soldiers are carried in and out, and close your eyes to the screams as yet another frostbitten knight has their arm cut off. You have to put yourself first, even for that small second, and allow yourself rest while your comrades fight on the front lines.

Sleep is a luxury that no one can afford. It is an escape. It is shameful.

And from the looks of Jiaoqiu’s darkened eye bags and mindless stirring, it’s a sin he won’t be partaking in tonight.

And neither will you.

Your gaze falls to the small bag of spices lying next to Jiaoqiu on the long. You can see peppercorns, cloves, fennel, cinnamon, and… star anise.

You look away.

The man you killed had two eyes. One was closed.

“How are you faring?” Jiaoqiu finally speaks. He doesn’t look at you and keeps his eyes on the flame.

Another gust of wind runs through you.

“As well as anyone else is, I suppose.”

Jiaoqiu swirls the soup with one hand. A bubble bursts and sprays the snow in little sizzling red freckles.

“How about you?” you ask.

The snow has already covered the soup’s spill by the time Jiaoqiu replies.

“As well as one can be,” he mutters. His hands, gloved with thick leather, clench once before relaxing.

A hollow chuckle leaves you. You sigh, kicking your legs out onto the snow and leaning back on the log. You look to the sky, to the cryptically beautiful cosmos. Blues, purples, and reds merge together like watercolor clouds above you, and small, white stars bejewel them.

Stars… Your gaze becomes lidded.

The man you killed had two eyes. One was a star-shaped hole.

“Do you think that man had a family?”

If Jiaoqiu was surprised at all by your question, he didn’t show it.

“Does it matter?” He takes a small taste of his soup. Despite it practically glowing in red, he doesn’t seem satisfied. “He was the enemy, need I remind you.”

You close your eyes briefly. “But I’m a healer.”

“You are.” Jiaoqiu opens his pouch and dumps in the rest of his chili rations - what for, you don’t know nor do you care to know. “You are also a soldier of the Xianzhou Yaoqing military. War always ends up in casualties, you know this. So did the soldier.”

There’s a bitterness in his tone that makes you wonder if he was talking to himself as well as to you. Your eyes soften.

“You did what you could, Jiao,” you offer. You want to put your hand on his shoulder, but you aren’t sure if that is appropriate, given the circumstances. “What happens outside the camp is beyond our control.”

Jiaoqiu sighs. His hand tightens around the ladle.

“Then what’s the point?” he whispers. His brows furrow, and his eyes open - a gem of amber reflecting years worth of grief and hopelessness. “What purpose do I have as a healer if I cannot stop my patients from hurtling towards their deaths?”

He turns to you, searching your face for any sort of answer that could satisfy him, that could reassure him that there was meaning, there was a point, that all of those bandages and surgeries and amputations weren’t for naught.

But you cannot answer him, for it is a question that no healer knows the answer to.

“You gave them another chance at life,” you say softly, unconvincingly. “That’s all that matters.”

“Even if that life is destined to end regardless of what I do?”

Dead eyes meet dull ones.

“What happens outside the camp is beyond our control,” you repeat blankly.

The man you killed had two eyes.

Jiaoqiu searches your gaze once more, before ultimately giving up. The amber of his eyes close, and he returns to the cauldron.

In a feeble attempt to console him, you go against your earlier thoughts and rest a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. But with the roughness of your gloves and the cold limiting the dexterity of your hands, it isn’t much - but it’s enough.

Jiaoqiu glances at your hand, then back at the cauldron.

“Do you feel bad?”

You blink, a bit caught off guard by the question, but you settle down soon enough.

“No,” you say after a brief pause. “He would’ve killed us if I hadn’t killed him.”

You lean forward, resting your head in your palm as you watch the flames swallow up what little tinder the others managed to collect.

“I’m just glad to be alive.” You don’t sound like you believe it.

Jiaoqiu’s ear flicks. You hear him stand up and scoop some of the soup up into his ladle, and dash out his tongue to taste it. His tail swishes, and his eyes widen momentarily, amber flashing like lightning.

A smile, a weary, tired, but grateful smile, slips onto his lips.

He turns to you, vitality returned, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Try this,” he says, holding the ladle out towards you. 

You eye it warily. The liquid drips down the sides of the ladle and drops down onto the snow below, sizzling the second red touches white. You didn’t think it was possible for the soup to get even redder, but Jiaoqiu somehow did it.

“I won’t die if I eat it, right?” you try to joke. Jiaoqiu huffs, his breath steaming in the air.

“You doubt my cooking capabilities?”

You shake your head. “No, but whatever you have in there doesn’t exactly look… edible.”

And yet you’re already leaning forward to taste his concoction. Jiaoqiu carefully holds the ladle still as you take a sip.

Instantly your senses are flooded with pure, unyielding heat. Fire blazes on your tongue, searing your throat and bringing tears to your eyes. Your stomach burns, and for the first time since you’ve come to this planet, you stop shivering.

It’s painful.

It’s exhilarating.

“It’s delicious,” you praise despite the coughs that wreck your being. “Although… did you have to add so much chili?”

Jiaoqiu hums out a laugh. “But that’s what makes it special.”

You don’t bother denying it. Instead, you laugh alongside him, eyes crinkling with joy instead of pain after years of constant war.

You’ll have to return to the war eventually. The sun is already beginning to rise, and soon the soldiers will be awakened to go out into battle once more. You’ll have to take over for your comrades who had spent the night in the hospital.

But you don’t have to do it just yet.

For now, you just want to enjoy this moment, this second of normalcy and peace in the battlefield.

The man you killed had two eyes.

One was closed.

The other was a star-shaped hole.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[the-s1lly-corner]

Shut In (Eyeless Jack x reader oneshot!)

Basic plot: its really cold outside, and you urge Jack to stay in your home with you... he decides to stay despite knowing full well that he will be fine out in the freezing temperatures. You both decide to do things to pass the time and stay warm! Turns out Jack can make a mean cup of hot coco, too

Extra notes: I dont usually write fanfics, and the last one I've written was a personal one from late August... so to say I'm rusty and underexperienced is an understatement! I feel this one ended up a little.. weirdly paced imo but I think I'm still happy with the end result! Dialogue I feel I could have done better on but I'm going to be nice to myself since I mostly write hc posts so this is way out of my comfort zone.. Drafted on Tumblr then sent through google docs to pick up on some mistakes I missed, briefly reread no proper proof reading imo... lets hope this isnt a train wreck + it copied back to tumblr okay!! LMAO

Brief joke about pregnancy/making a pregnancy but its like one small snippet but I know that can make people uncomfortable + implies at least one of the characters is AFAB

Word Count: 2915

Extra Admin's note: I want to say again that I am so so happy about this blog hitting 1k followers, when I first started this blog I was originally going to use it to burn time and have something to do on the side, as well as having a place to put out my cringe ideas and hcs. I never thought this many people would be interested in my dumb thoughts, but here we are! I intend to keep writing this year, and perhaps even make more non-celebratory one shots this year? Maybe? I don't know I guess we'll see the reception on this fic!

It was the middle of the night, around the middle of January. Your boyfriend and you were holed up inside your apartment, you having locked the man up with you after seeing that it was below freezing out, as well as raining. You had to practically beg your boyfriend to stay with you for the night.

Your boyfriend, who also just so happened to be a man eating demon with tar dripping out of his hollowed out eye sockets. Your boyfriend, who was currently sitting still and staring forward, the only sound in the apartment coming from the dripping of your faucet. You had asked him to come visit you, it'd been a while... and he would never ever let you go to his cabin when it's this cold out. So here you both were now.

You pat the palms of your hands on your knees, sucking in one of your cheeks and working the flesh through your jaws for a moment. You were both technically stuck in the apartment now; you didn't want Jack to go out and risk getting sick, and Jack more than likely wouldn't want you to step out for the same reasons. So, you were both confined to what you already had within the space. You were about to open your mouth to speak but Jack broke the silence first. "You're shivering, do you want me to get some blankets?", blunt and almost robotic. He was never that expressive. "Or would you like to go to your room?" He added after a brief pause, his fangs poking just over his lip before he readjusted his mouth. You were both in the living room, sitting together on the couch; the front door to your left and a view of the kitchen to the right. You thought for a minute as your eyes lingered on the kitchen for a moment. You'd already eaten, before your partner arrived... but..

"That's fine, I'm probably going to make some hot coco," You pulled yourself up, stretching up. "Powdered stuff ooor..?" Jack mimicked you. You only shook your head, earning a disapproving look from him. "What?" You questioned, but he only dismissed you. "Why don't you get some blankets, I'll handle it," and he turned on his heel to make his way to the kitchen. "Maybe put on a movie, too, your choice." He added as his voice carried off. "Are you saying I can't cook?" You called back, following after him. No answer as he tugged out a pot. "I'll have you know-" you started once more

"Do you have half and half?" He was already opening your pantry to grab things.

"No, I don't,"

"Heavy cream? Whipping cream? Whatever it's called..." He mumbled as he placed various ingredients on the counter. Cocoa powder, vanilla, salt and sugar. You only nodded, and as he was about to begin working he paused. "Do you want anything else in it? Cinnamon? Nutmeg?" He paused and through gritted teeth, "Coffee?"

It was almost midnight, of course he would be opposed to you having caffeine so late.

"Cinnamon is fine," You watched him get to work. He measured everything out; even mixing the heavy cream with some milk to make a substitute for half and half.... was that really all it was? You weren't sure what you expected it to be, if it weren't..

He pulled his head up and stared at you. It was then that you noticed he had actually taken his mask off and set it at the end of the counter and out of the way. The black ooze dripping from his eyes was slow and posed little threat to dripping into your drink. He had a fistful of napkins on standby to dap his face dry should the flow quicken. "Aren't you going to get the blankets?"

You pat your hands on your thighs, pausing... watching him. His body had a warm glow on him from the old light bulb in the ceiling; it flickered every now and then. Under the yellowed light he almost looked healthy and alive, though there was no glint where his eyes should have been. His sharp nail tapping on the counter brought you back to the moment, blinking a few times. "Yeah.." you mumbled, defeated at the chance of making a drink for yourself stolen from you. But was that so bad?

You backed out of the kitchen, dragging your feet across the floor. Your apartment was.. a little on the smaller side so within a few steps you were in front of your bedroom door. You didn't really pay much attention to your surroundings as you shuffled through the blankets on the bed.. eventually you settled on just grabbing an arm full and waddling back to the living room, dumping everything you had grabbed onto the couch.

The house smelled of cinnamon and chocolate.. with a hint of vanilla.

Turning your gaze to the tv, your eyes scanned across the DVDs you had stacked messily. Nothing sounded good. "Is there anything you want specifically?" You called out as you settled yourself down criss cross in front of the tv and pulling all the cases onto the floor next to you. "Movie wise," You added as you pulled the first case into your hands. The DVD collection for Child's Play.. you had gotten it a few weeks ago, finding it on sale at your local store. You still hadn't popped it in to watch..

"I have.. Chucky, uhm..." You shuffled for the next case. "All the movies by the way.. I have that and.. most of the Friday the 13th movies," You called out. No answer, the only sound coming from the kitchen was the noise of a whisk gently being stirred. "I don't have Jason goes to hell... But!" You pulled out a third case with the Nightmare on Elm Street DVDs. "I DO have Freddy vs Jason," You mumbled and spread the three disks on the floor in front of you. Most of the disks you had, you noticed, were mostly older slasher movies. Still, Jack hadn't answered you. You pull yourself to your feet and trudge back into the kitchen. His back was to you, too preoccupied with the stove... He hadn't noticed you, not yet. An idea blossomed in your head, a smirk pulling itself across your lips. You steeled yourself, trying to force yourself to stop shivering.. Jack was always paying attention to his surroundings, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

You take a step forward and he still doesn't notice your approach.

Another step.

And another.

Jack wasn't the tallest, in fact if you wanted to you could rest your chin on his shoulder... and that's what you ended up doing, while wrapping your arms around his thick waist. You could feel his body seize up just a little bit against you, before relaxing. "You didn't answer, what sounds good?" You pulled your eyes down to look at the pot. Your drink was nearly finished. You view rocked as your boyfriend shrugged, still silent but the twitching of his pointed ears let you know he was listening.

"Anything's fine," Another shrug as he cuts the heat. "You're the one cooking for me, you get to pick the movie," You insisted. He paused mid-whisk, letting out a soft huff. Suddenly he spun around, his face just a few inches from yours. In the dimmed light his eye sockets seemed deeper, it's black ooze lazily dripping down his cheeks. You noticed the smudges on his face, from wiping the streaks. You briefly wondered what it was like to sleep with them, but your thoughts were cut short as he pulled a blackened and clawed hand to your hair; tucking a lock behind your ear. "How does...." He paused, sucking in his teeth. He looked almost embarrassed. "Bride of Chucky sound?"

"What? Want to study the characters again so we can dress up again this year for Halloween?" You tease. You had convinced him a few months ago to dress up with you. With him as Chucky, and you as Tiffany... It had taken some begging and convincing but you ultimately got him to agree. Although you didn't go out to get candy, you were both fine with staying inside watching movies together in costume. It was also that night you got him to watch the movies..

His ears darkened, before he scoffed. "No... actually this year I was thinking of..." He took a long pause, visibly scraping his brain for names of characters, before seemingly giving up. "Look I don't watch many movies I don't know any.. characters.." He grimaced, before gently pushing you off of him so he could turn his attention back to the hot cocoa. "We've still got nine months, more than enough time to come up with something..." You shrugged, then smirked. "Not enough time to make a Glen... or Glenda," You teased before turning on your heel. You held back a snicker as you heard Jack splutter, finally processing what you had just said to him.

"W-"

"I'm gonna go ahead and put in the disc, I'll leave it paused for you," You cut him off, still grinning to yourself as you kneeled down to do as you had said.

Soon enough Jack walked into the room with a mug, as well as a platter of cookies. "You didn't have to," You mumbled as you eyed the treats, but he only waved you off as he placed the plate and mug onto the coffee table. "You don't have to eat them, but I figured you might want a snack while watching the movie," He mumbled. You took the mug, and swirled the drink inside of it. "I hope I didn't put in too much cinnamon," Jack added as he watched you. He leaned over and started the movie.

You took a sip, smiling a little as the warmness crept in. "You did good, probably the best hot cocoa I've ever had." You offered a grin to him. "That has got to be the fakest compliment I've ever heard," Jack shot back, though you could see the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry! I believe this is the most decadent and satisfying beverage I've had ever been graced with in my life, and-" You began, only for Jack to hush you. "I'd rather you throw it on me, don't... say words like that again," He grumbled as readjusted himself into the couch. You took a sip and shrugged, "It's just absolutely immaculate," and he lightly smacked you on the arm. "I'm never making anything for you again," He snorted, before turning his attention to the movie.

You weren't going to lie, you felt a little bad treating yourself to the cookies, knowing Jack was unable to eat them without upsetting his stomach. Being a man-eating monster must really be hard. You purse your lips, and shoot a look at him from the corner of your eye. He must have been doing the same, because he turned his head to look at you. "Do you want to do something else?" He asked lightly, his grin from a few minutes ago already faded. "Do you ever miss eating.. food?" You asked before you could stop yourself. He didn't bother pausing the movie, instead he just fell silent and stared down, into the space between the two of you on the couch.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I know it's a touchy subject for you," You mumbled and put the mug on the table. You sucked in the air between your teeth, flicking your eyes up to the movie, before bringing them back down to your lap. It stayed like that for a minute before Jack broke the silence. "I mean... yeah, I do. But at least I don't have to eat every day like you do, means I can have more time to do what I want," He said. Clearly, he was still bothered, tip-toeing around the big.. thing about him. The air was still tense and thick, all of the previous joking gone now. It was nearly unbearable. Nearly.

"You know," Jack began after a few more seconds of silence when you didn't reply. "I've never tried cinnamon in hot cocoa, I didn't know that was a thing people did," He was changing the subject. "You haven't?" You asked, raising a brow. He eyed your mug, but you both knew there was no way he was going to take a sip.

"It's really good," You mumbled, and took the drink, "The combo, I mean," You added. He hummed, patting his knees lightly. You swirled the drink again, watching the... what was it called? Those lighter swirls in the drink.. Did that have a name?

"You've had hot cocoa before, right?" You asked. He hummed again, nodding his head. "Well.. the cinnamon makes it warm. Taste wise.. It makes it.." You took a sip and thought for a minute. "Richer, I guess? It's hard to explain," You muttered, then looked back at him. You tore your eyes back down when you saw he was looking right at you, totally hooked onto your words. "I hear nutmeg goes good in it, too.. but I've only tried nutmeg and chocolate together in baked goods," You shrugged. "You did really good with this, you know... not too much cinnamon.. not spicy, at least." You smiled. He nodded, before turning back to the movie.

"Woody, I hear people describe cinnamon like that," He leaned back into the couch, a dull pop came from his back.

"Woody," You repeated, then took a large sip of the hot cocoa. You put the mug down onto the table, and leaned into your boyfriend as the warmth crept and settled into your bones. You weren't even paying attention to the movie, your mind was now occupied with how tired you were. Your eyes slipped up to the clock on the wall, It was nearly one in the morning. Had it only been an hour since Jack walked himself into the kitchen?

You lean deeper into Jack, not caring about his body's natural chill. His clothing still smelled a little like the cocoa from earlier.. "Gotta invest in some cologne, you smell nice like this," You mumbled into his arm. "The cinnamon?" He asked, not looking down at you. "No.. the cocoa, I mean cinnamon would be a nice touch... but you don't seem like a sweet smelling guy, do you?" You muttered. "Are you already getting tired?" Jack asked, and he leaned over you to grab the remote, pausing the movie. You muttered, the heat of the hot cocoa doing way more than you expected on the tiredness you didn't notice you had. "A little," You shrugged, "But we can still try to finish the movie," You offered, but he shook his head. Of course he would, as much of a hard ass or party pooper he came off as, he was going to make sure you were going to get your rest.

You put your hand in his, the one that had the remote.. you unpaused the movie. He paused it, and you unpaused it again. It kind of kept up like this before Jack conceited and kept it playing, although he did lower the volume.. The subtitles were already on, though. "I win," You smirked up at him, before crawling into his lap. You placed your head on his chest, pausing when you felt him stiffen before relaxing against you. His heart beat for a moment before settling to its barely there rhythm. For a minute you thought about asking about his heart, as far as you knew he explained himself like he was becoming a walking corpse... how does that work?

You decided against it, you already asked about him earlier.. and besides, your mind was already beginning to blank as Jack reached to the side of the couch, and turned the lamp off.. It was dark now. It was still raining, you could more clearly hear the drops outside now that the movie was turned down. Plus, Jack was running his fingers through your hair, lightly massaging your scalp. It wouldn't be long until you finally gave in and fell asleep.

"Are you going to still be here in the morning?" You asked, melting into his chest as he hummed in response. "Plan on it, I still need to clean up the kitchen," He added as he curled your hair around his hand. "It'll still be cold in the morning," He added, "I need to make sure you bundle up before you go out for work," He added. "I'm not that dumb," You muttered and lightly slapped his arm. You swear, if he still had his eyes he would have rolled them.

"How do you see? I know you're not.. a normal person, but," You blurted out, lifting your head. He pushed your face back down, shushing you. "Sleep," He ordered, before loosening his hold on you a bit so you could get comfortable. It wasn't an order but it may as well have been with how your body started to loosen into him within the next few minutes, quickly snuffling out your curiosity and questions.

He'd still be here in the morning, you could pester him then. After all, it's what he signed up for when the two of you started to date one another..

[newstedz]

snowfall ☆ kirk hammett

okay so i'm relatively new to this but i just was so inspired by @mustainegf 's prompt that I just kept writing and writing and you get the idea. basic gist is that kirk calls you over to watch an old movie with him, its all fluff (timeframe is around 1987, post damage inc. tour.) also sorry for the incredibly generic title I literally cannot think of anything else

exhausted was an understatement.

you'd finally gotten a day off, and god was it needed. you barely had any energy to get out of bed to grab a snack, much less go outside. besides, it was freezing, and as much as you loved the idea of snow, it loses its charm when you're stuck waiting at the bus stop in the middle of a blizzard.  the day is yours, and ideally it would have been spent alone, tucked into bed. but then, you got a call. your stomach instantly dropped. you anticipated it'd be your boss, fabricating some asinine reason for you to appear at work today, even though nobody in their right mind would be out in the cold just to go to some shitty retail store. you pick up the phone with a groan. however, you're met with another familiar voice. one you weren't expecting, and suddenly, that dread in the pit of your stomach is replaced with butterflies.

"hey!" kirk beams from the other end of the phone. "sorry- did I wake you up?"

"no." you reply. granted, you weren't fully awake, but you didn't have the heart to make him think he may have been burdening you.

"oh.. okay!" he says, not seeming to need much convincing. "anyways, i just got this tape, you've gotta see this. it's some horror movie from like, the 50's or something. I got the tape  from this guy, he- I mean, that's not really important, I guess." he says, his enthusiasm dwindling as his voice grows more shy. "but I was wondering, I mean, i'd really like for you to come over and watch it with me. if you want." he offers sheepishly.

you can't help but smile. if it were anyone else, you'd consider making up some elaborate excuse about how you caught a stomach bug or fell ill after standing in the cold for too long. but you've known Kirk since you were kids, and you can't remember the last time you guys got to really hang out. between you working and his touring schedule, things just never seemed to work. it was something special to him, too. you knew how involved he was in tape trading, horror, and all that stuff you couldn't quite wrap your head around. but for him, you'd do it in a heartbeat. you gaze out the window. it's still snowing, but it had slowed to flurries. a thin layer of snow coats the grass and branches of the trees. you can't pass this up.

"sure."

"really? nice! so um. I'll see you." he exclaims, abruptly ending the call before you could even ask when he wanted you to be there. you sigh, getting up and heading for the shower.  one long bus ride later, you arrive at his door. as soon as you knock he rushes to the door, trying (and failing) to hide his excitement. "hey!" he grins, showing off his adorable, crooked smile. he steps aside allowing you to enter. "sorry its a mess in here. i just got back.." he murmurs. you cant help but laugh. "its whatever, man. i've seen worse from you." you reply, earning a chuckle from him. as soon as you two get settled, the snow gets heavy. very heavy. seems like you made it just in time. kirk seems to notice too. "looks like you're stuck with me."

_

the next hour is spent watching the movie, though it seems like it was only used as a catalyst for the two of you to play catch-up and for him to infodump trivia about the film. though you can't focus on the movie, at least not now. you're too focused on the way the light shines off his face and curls. the way he incessantly giggles when recalling a crazy road story. the snow is piling up outside, and it's only now that you realize he was trying to talk to you.

"hey, did you hear me?" he asks, tilting his head. he figured he was talking your ear off, though you really could listen to him all day.

"huh? i- no, you're good. i'm just.. cold." you attempt to wave it off unconvincingly, only leaving you to be met with more of his concerns. "are you okay? you were kinda just staring. are you bored? we can do something else, if you want." he murmurs as he gazes briefly at you, only to shift his focus to the TV screen. it could be the lighting, but you could've sworn you saw the lightest tinge of color come to his cheeks. 

"what about you?" you ask. the whole time you've been here, you've gotten the basic stuff, yeah. but it wasn't as personal as it used to be between the two of you. you used to stay up for hours talking about your worries, your goals. you were the first one he told about anything, and vice versa. but now it seemed like he was nervous just from being the same room with you. 

"what about me? i'm fine." he shrugs, now trying to shift the attention back to the movie.

"then why wont you look at me?" the question sorta just slips out. you didn't mean to pry, today was supposed to be lighthearted, but kirk's reaction seems to confirm your suspicions of there being something more, as he begins to stumble over his words. you place your hand gently over his. "you know you can talk to me, right?" as your eyes meet, his face goes red. "it's stupid." kirk murmurs again, though he knows he can't hide this from you anymore. "i feel like.. i'm running out of time. I mean- you're not always gonna be waiting around for me, and it's like whenever i'm gone, i.." he trails off, shifting his gaze away from you yet again. he takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. "I like you. like really like you, and I don't wanna drift off from you or mess anything up-" kirk rambles on, but you've heard enough. you laugh, suddenly scooting closer to him. all you give is an affectionate "shut up" before your lips meet. you move away to see his shocked expression, but he quickly swaps it for a huge, dorky grin as he pulls you in for another.

a few more shared kisses later, kirk pulls away, staring back at the window. he turns back to you. "y'know.. it's pretty nasty out there. maybe you should stay the night." he grins, not subtle in the slightest. you can't help but laugh and nod. suddenly, the room feels so much warmer.

[sunnynwanda]

Making amends

Hero throws the car without even a glance back. They know Villain can take a hit - they've taken a lot worse than that. Hero can recall throwing an entire food truck at them and not causing any damage whatsoever. Their rivalry, for the lack of a better word, goes back to what Hero calls times immemorial - high school, more precisely. They had always been somewhat irritated by each other - yet still enticed to rub the other the wrong way. Mostly for enjoyment but also because they liked the feeling.

Hero has never seriously harmed or wounded them, nor did they aspire to do so. Except the stars must have aligned against them today because Villain is too distracted fixing their fabulous (their word, not Hero's) hair to react in time.

The car lands on top of them with a loud thud and a strained whimper followed by a slew of curses. It reaches Hero's trained ear, prompting them to look over their shoulder. They spot the car and notice their enemy's legs sticking out next to the front wheel. They freeze for a second before sprinting over and lifting the destroyed vehicle while Villain attempts to get up, coughing and muttering cusses under their breath. It's only then that Hero notices the strange angle of their arm. They know they fucked up when a strangled moan leaves Villain's mouth at the first attempt to move it.

Three days later, Villain is back in the game despite the cast now adorning their fractured forearm. And Hero... Hero cannot bring themselves to meet their gaze for a good week after.

It's almost ten days since the incident, and they are doing their usual play round around the city when Villain stumbles back after a particularly nasty kick, unable to counter the attack. They wave their healthy arm for balance and barely dodge the next one when Hero, as oblivious as they are, picks the worst time for banter.

"What is it, dove? Thought you could take a hit." The words leave their mouth before they can process the implications. They bite their tongue, but it's too late.

Villain's eyes widen momentarily before turning into vicious slits. "Oh really?"

Venom drips from their voice, although Hero can see the smirk fighting for its place on their thin lips. An angry and ominous smirk they do not want to explore. "I could. Before a certain asshole decided to break my fucking arm."

"I said I was sorry!" Hero exclaims, seizing the attacks and darting back to avoid Villain's fist. They did this to themselves, and they know it too. Should've kept my mouth shut, Hero thinks. They did not mean to mock - it just came out wrong and opened the floodgates of Villain's outrage.

"You don't seem sorry, judging by those cocky comments of yours!" Villain retorts, charging forward. Hero sidesteps, scared to cause any more damage.

"Oh, come on!" As if they weren't feeling guilty as is, Villain is now rubbing it in. "You know I didn't do that on purpose."

"Doesn't make my arm heal faster, does it? Nor does it stop you from questioning my competence." Villain's voice betrays them, wobbling on the last word. To say that Hero is shocked is an understatement.

"I never..." They stop mid-sentence, searching their rival's face and gulping at the defeated expression on their downcast face. "Please, look at me, Villain. I really am sorry."

When they don't react, Hero continues. A horrible decision on their part. "We can cancel our fights for a while, hm?"

That does earn them a reaction. Not the one they were hoping for though.

"Why?" Villain's eyes dart to their face, meeting Hero's with seething challenge. "You think I can't handle you with one arm?"

The wise thing to do would be to seal their lips and never utter a word again. But Hero was never known for their quick wits, so they chose to seal their fate. "I just don't want you to get hurt. Or maybe I could..."

"What?" Villain's stare is ice cold. Their voice is calm too - serene, almost. Yet it sends a chill down Hero's spine. "You could what, Hero? Say it, I fucking dare you!"

"I wasn't..." They try to salvage the situation despite their mind screeching at them to stop talking.

"You weren't going to say you'd go easy on me?" Villain inquires, still maintaining external tranquillity. There is a fire raging behind their gaze, white-hot and scorching. They marvel Hero's audacity to doubt them.

Hero is speechless. At their own stupidity. At the way they can't seem to control their fucking mouth. At the way they froze like a goddamn deer in headlights. And a tiny bit - at the way their words offended Villain so deeply. Somehow, in all the years of their rivalry, they never grasped just how much their opinion mattered to their frenemy.

"Can't even deny it?" Villain sighs, running a hand through their hair to suppress the urge to rip Hero into pieces and make a coat out of them. "You know what? Fuck you."

Villain turns to leave, not quite sure if they are mad or disappointed. This seems to bring Hero back to life and consciousness. "No, wait!" They chase after them, but Villain won't slow their pace, striding away with determined heavy steps. They count to three and can't help the sigh that escapes them when Hero stops them. Knew it.

"Please, I swear I didn't mean it like that!" Hero yells to their turned back, struggling to catch up because they keep tumbling over their own feet. "Dove, please, I'll make it up to you."

Villain's lips stretch into a smug smile when Hero comes to a halt next to them, clutching their hand in their shaking fingers.

"Oh, you will." They nod to themselves, content that their plan, as painful as it was, worked out. But when they meet Hero's hopeful eyes and allow them to graze their fingertips over their fractured limb, the ache subsides, slowly dissipating under the gentle touch of their cold skin. "You will."

Masterlist

[infoglitch]

Brave

(I think I'm gonna phase out of my previous style and go into my normal writing style but I want yall to decide so ill put the poll in the end of this fic. Also merry Christmas everyone)

To say Weiss was incredible was a major understatement, atleast for one jaune arc. Despite the constant flash freezing she does to him he keeps trying... She didn't enjoy the constant attempts. She wouldn't nor shouldnt allow him to get to her, knowing her luck it's probably a facade. The moment he has her is the moment she gets trapped again.

Trapped like her own home was.

Trapped, Locked away and only released so others may gloat they were in her presence.

Trapped, and suffering.

But yet today, on the start of Christmas break no less. It was different. Her team, was out either with family or spending time with the other two.

Meanwhile Weiss? Weiss was in the library bored as looked for a nice book to read before stopping on... A children's book? A book made for children amongst the arsenal detailing the history of huntsman and huntresses. This... Intrigued Weiss, she grabbed it and pulled it out and read the title "the brave dragon"... Strange.

She decided to take it to the back of the library and began to read.

"a long, long time ago. A dragon who's heart was as beautiful as a diamond soon had it be frozen by the king of dragons. The once elegant and courageous dragon turned to isolation and bitterness. The humans that ones befriended it turned to its enemies with the dragon destroying it with its icy flame. The beautiful land and help cultivated was now A reduced to nothing but white hot ash. And so that dragon stayed alone and bitter. Until one day, a knight arrived to find this dragon, to require it's help, as the Greatest warrior of the knights home was gone, so the knight came to it and begged only to receive nothing but refusal and the dragons fury. Eventually the knight left causing a growing emptiness in the dragons frozen heart. Eventually the dragon would fly to the knight as it saw the knight fighting a giant bird that terrorized the people. With the bird striking the knight gravely wounding him and as the bird was about to strike the dragon would stand in its way as its heart was engulfed with flame as it forced the beast to return to its flock as unbeknownst to the dragon, it's cold heart had finally been allowed to melt. Soon after days of worrying the knight was able to finally return and thank the dragon for its bravery."

And the story ended there as Weiss was a tad annoyed for some reason. She didn't know why but something about the fact the story ended abruptly just... It bugged her. Weiss would sigh as she got back and put the book away as she noticed someone else coming through the library.. someone that should probably not be at school during the break.

One jaune arc was looking at the books in the shelves as he seemed indecisive as Weiss watch out of morbid curiosity before hearing another pair of footsteps as cardin and the rest of his flock entered and were chatting about something related to "putting fanaus bitches in their place" or whatever braindead idea they had.. which was somewhat ironic as one of the members, lark had shown attraction to a faunus. Regardless Weiss paid no more mind than what they deserved as her curiosity was now on jaune as he grabbed a book about the history of huntsmen fighting styles as he was walking toward the exit before being met with cardin.

"hey there jaune-jaune, how's your back feeling?" Cardin spoke as he had a smug look on his face as jaune just grumbled. "L-look cardin I don't have time for you and your crows, now may I please pass through?" Jaune spoke as he attempted to keep his voice steady as he tried to squeeze through before cardin put a hand on jaunes shoulder as cardin leaned close to his ear. "I dont think i feel like it. Besides.. I wanna use my favorite punching bag." Cardin spoke softly as jaunes face went pale, Weiss watched on expecting to see pyrrha show up to tell them to knock it off but so far.. nothing. Jaune stepped back and raised his fists as weiss raised an eyebrow as she didn't hear what cardin said but whatever it was jaune was preparing to fight.

"I'm not doing this cardin. I-im done with you." Jaune spoke as cardin just smiled before punching him in the gut as jaune opened his mouth shout in pain but nothing escaped his mouth.

Cardin then proceeded to grab him by his hair and kick him in the face as jaune stumbled back into a book shelf.

Weiss felt a pit in her stomach as she balled up her hands into a fist as something in her wanted to just grab Cardin and shove him into the ground. Weiss didn't know why she felt like this.. but she needed to keep her cool and wait for pyr-

"no invincible girl save you from this jauney-boy." Cardin taunted as he grabbed jaune by his shirt but before anything else could happen Cardin was flash frozen in a block of ice as his goons and jaune looked to see Weiss pointing myrtenaster at cardin as she had a scowl on her face.

"sometimes pyrrha, I worry your care for the dolt is rubbing off on me" Weiss thought to herself as she lowered myrtenaster. "Your boss will unfreeze soon. I advise you take him to your dorm and make sure he releases that dolt." Weiss spoke calmly as his goons nodded and picked up their frozen leader as he released jaune before they ran off. Leaving a confused jaune as he adjusted his posture as he stared at Weiss as he was about to say something.

"don't.. I shouldn't need to do your job of defending yourself." Weiss interrupted as her voice was cold with her turning away and walking out before arriving at her dorm as her face was red.

"dolt!"

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 7: Restrained

Summary: Biting his lip, Twitch's eyes ran up the thick strong strands of webbing that were keeping his arms bound. Then he looked down at the ones keeping his legs in place. He couldn't move at all, restrained for some as of yet unknown purpose, although what exactly he couldn't tell not did he particularly want to find out.

Warning: Mentions of fleshy walls, body horror and regurgitating into someone's mouth (bug behaviour does not translate well into human form it's gross :C) Twitch belongs to @gaeasun Pitch belongs to @lost-on-kamino

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

---

To say Twitch didn't expect this outcome when Krell cornered him in the medbay, is both an understatement and a bit ironic considering he did originally think something was going to go terrible wrong.

Truth be told, this entire campaign was going terribly anyway. Even before he'd tasked himself with his current research project which had landed him in this predicament. Although, come to think of it, he kind of deserved the aftermath didn't he?

When he'd thrown himself headfirst into figuring out what ailed his brothers, Twitch knew deep down that what he was doing was more of an attempt to run away from his current reality (one where he no longer had his batchers, his closest brothers, at his side to guide and console him), and a somewhat cowardly way to avoid all of the death that surrounded him. Even though he was still technically exposed to the last breaths of dying vode all the same... The enemy base's medbay becoming more of a morgue than an actual place of healing.

Returning from a mandated 30 minute nap and seeing Krell standing there had only meant one thing: More death. Another gruesome end to happen within what should have been a safe space.

And he'd been partially right! Just not how he'd expected.

The strand of thick white sticky gunk that had come from the ceiling and landed on the angry Besalisk's shoulder had given them both pause. And then, when both their gazes darted upwards to follow the strand back up to its origin point, time all but caught up with them.

Or rather, the thing that he sort of recognized as Dogma at the moment, had lunged with a shrill shriek.

Twitch wasn't particularly proud of freezing up at that instant. No clone liked the idea of being rendered helpless by their own survival instincts. Especially not a medic who was trained specifically to act under duress. But that was just how it worked out in the end. Which apparently worked in his favour.

The creature, the thing he suspected was Dogma in a later stage of the mystery sickness, had reacted rather poorly to movement. Be it the swing of a lightsaber (that seemingly had no effect on the thick carapace armour he now bore on his person), or other troopers rushing in to help when they'd heard the screeches and the screams.

The creature had simply ripped Krell to shreds as if he were nothing more than a doll, and thrown every other trooper aside with relative ease. Twitch had just barely registered the fact Appo had been bleeding before he felt the world tilt and the rush of cold air against his exposed face and hair. Everything happening at such a fast pace that his mind could barely keep up with everything.

Now here he was... Wherever this place was. He couldn't really recognize it, considering the state of it. What he could recognize was that he was bound up in some kind of web, watching Dogma as he brought in the patients the young medic had been fruitlessly attempting to treat over in the last couple of hours.

Bringing them to this semi-organic nightmare of a fleshy nest-like construct. Slotting them into honeycomb-like cells, before spitting up more webbing to swaddle them comfortably. And Twitch assumed it was meant to be comfortable, because he could see just how carefully and tenderly Dogma seemed to be tending to the other infected.

Nuzzling them. Chirping and clicking softly. Running gentle feather-light claws through sweaty curls to sooth the restless. Being less of the menacing monster that had ripped the General apart, and more of a nurturing being hellbent on making sure every single one of his guests were nice and cozy in their organic cots.

It was kind of cute if not for the fact this whole ordeal was extremely disturbing to observe. Morbidly fascinating, but prone to make one's skin crawl.

Biting his lip, Twitch's eyes ran up the thick strong strands of webbing that were keeping his arms bound. Then he looked down at the ones keeping his legs in place. He couldn't move at all, restrained for some as of yet unknown purpose, although what exactly he couldn't tell not did he particularly want to find out.

He hadn't been infected (at least he didn't think he had been since he felt perfectly ok and wasn't displaying symptoms), nor had Dogma been inclined to do anything to him besides making sure he couldn't move freely. So that couldn't be it. The other option was that maybe he was intended to be used as food, but then Dogma had also not demonstrated any outward aggression towards him. Not like when he'd savagely attacked Krell. If anything he'd been just as gentle in pinning him up, as he had been gentle with the sickly vode he was currently tending to.

That of course didn't mean Twitch wanted to stick around and thank him for his hospitality. He just couldn't see a way out of this mess just yet. Doubted he had a means to escape on his own, since he couldn't even reach the scalpel he'd hidden in his boot prior to all of this transpiring. Just in case the Umbarans managed to sneak back onto their base and he was caught without his blaster...

What could he do?

A soft and somewhat unassuming noise above him had Twitch glancing back up. The wall where he was sticking to just so happened to have a vent slightly above it. A vent from which two familiar faces were now cautiously peering out of. Staring back down at him.

Dogma had, thankfully, not noticed the newcomers. Far too engrossed with the task at hand to spare Twitch so much as a glance.

Great! Now how were Rex and Fives planning to get him out of here without alerting their mutated and freakishly strong vod? They didn't seem like they had much of a plan, but from the way he noticed they were rapidly going through signs amongst them, the young medic hoped they were coming up with something clever on the fly. Or at least stupid enough to work as per usual.

A wet coughing noise made Twitch look back towards Dogma. He had to suppress a gag as he noticed the insectoid-like clone had pried open the jaws of one of the infected vode, and begun to regurgitate some kind of pre-digested pinkish mush into his mouth. The sight was disgusting enough that he could feel bile begin to rise up in his own throat, in response to the repulsive action.

He didn't care what all the Holo-Documentaries said, nature was honestly not all that beautiful...

Seeming to have taken the opportunity to climb out of the vent (the retching noises of regurgitation providing them some cover), Rex and Fives began to enact whatever plan they'd concocted while Twitch was distracted. The ARC carefully moved towards him, while the Captain skirted around. Mindful of his steps and trying to position himself somewhere where he'd possibly have an advantage over Dogma.

Twitch bit his lip and used his head to motion to his right boot, hoping Fives would understand his intentions. Thankfully he did. Nimble fingers finding the scalpel with ease, and bringing it out of its hiding place before using it to begin cutting the webbing.

The stuff was pretty strong, intriguingly so, but a sharp edge was more than enough to work away out it. In less than a minute Twitch was freed from his sticky prison. Meanwhile Rex had managed to scramble up onto one of the empty hexagonal-shaped cells, using the vantage point to get a better view of the maze Dogma seemed to have made out of this hidden corner of the base. The blond captain then motioned for Fives and Twitch to follow him up onto his hiding place, which both did as quickly and quietly as possible. Dogma still very much none the wiser.

They needed to be careful however, as Twitch doubted he had much vode left to keep him distracted for long. Even in this mutated state, the sergeant was both diligent and expeditious in his work ethic.

As apprehensive of this as Twitch was, his older brothers did not seem to share in his worries. Both very much engrossed in figuring out a way to avoid detection on their way out. And from how fast they began to move on out of their hidey-hole, practically pulling Twitch along as they did so, they seemed completely against hesitating. Perhaps for fear that if they waited long enough, they might be found out. Which was sound logic, considering Dogma was now attending to cleaning out the empty cells.

It was a bit of a dance. Timing whenever they should next move. Keeping an eye on the busy insectoid man to make sure he was still unaware of their presence. Making sure their steps were soft and well calculated.

Of course no dance was complete without stepping on your partner's foot at some point...

Inside one of the occupied cells, one of the vode who was a little more along in their infection, snapped up at attention when they passed him by. Whether because he was far too confused to recognize them in his state, or because he was succumbing to the same thing that had changed Dogma, something in his glazed gaze seemed to shift.

Twitch did not have time to cover his mouth before he let out a croaky cry of warning that most definitely caught their host's attention.

"Well Kark!" Fives cursed as Dogma spun around, screeching in their direction with impressive ferocity. Twitch's eyes going wide as he noticed the way his bottom jaw split apart and snapped closed like the mandibles of some kind of wasp. A very pissed off wasp.

"Stun him!" Rex called out, drawing out his blasters and flipping the switches before beginning to fire a barrage of blue energy rings. Although in all honesty he might as well have been blowing bubbles at their mutated brother. None of the shots seemed to be making it past his armour-plating.

"Fat good that's doing! His skin is as solid as durasteel!" The ARC barked back as he pulled Twitch behind him, trying to give the medic at least some sort of barrier against whatever onslaught awaited them. And considering how easily Dogma had killed Krell, he didn't doubt the sergeant would make minced meat out of them in mere seconds.

The enraged insectoid continued to screech, back plates opening up and bioluminiscent wings unfurling behind him, before he took flight and crossed the distance between them in the blink of an eye.

With a simple swipe of his upper claws, he disarmed both Captain and ARC. Their blasters clattering to the side uselessly. Then both older clones were effectively pinned to the wall by their necks. Fives's armoured body sandwiching Twitch against him and the gross fleshy wall.

There was no way they were getting out of here alive... Not after infuriating the severely altered Dogma.

The medic was just about mentally sending them all off with a prayer, half expecting to be meeting with his batchers very soon, when a loud clank reverberated off the walls. And then both Twitch and the older troopers were on the floor, Dogma's grip on them completely gone as the mutant clone collapsed into a heap on the ground unexpectedly.

Looking up, Twitch couldn't help but smile in relief. Behind Dogma's fallen form stood Pitch. Holding a metal chair that was now bent at an awkward angle. Expression unreadable.

"..." The older medic stared at them, then around at the room of nightmares, then at Dogma, and then back at them. He seemed to mull things over before setting down the bent chair and crossing his arms. "Well, aren't you glad I decided to follow my gut feeling?"

[l0veliii]

 The Creation of evil

         (prologue) 

I fell from heaven a few centuries ago,  damned to this place to live as a demon feeding on the living. 

I tried to make my life as normal as I could but there's never a truly normal when you are something like me. Being here for as long as I have. I've figured out why this was my punishment for challenging god. It's because this is also a punishment for everyone here, no matter how good your life is there's always a downside. He wants me to understand that he has more power over me and he always will, which is bullshit! He can barely understand his own creations that's why after these mortals die they fade into nothingness. because he realized making these poor things was a mistake and he can't care to fix it. And I truly feel sympathy for those who think they will get to live up there in Golden Gates with him. He is a selfish god and always will be, so it will never matter how good you are or how much you pray to him your life will never change, you will all eventually fade away into the dust of eternity…. 

I wish I had the pleasure of fading away into nothingness, but no he won't let me. I'm forced to play his game for all of eternity. I've been alive for so long that eating, breathing, and loving have all become a distant memory for me. My life now has become living and starting over and living again. Sometimes I even forget what I look like because why look at yourself when you don't even care to brush your teeth in the morning? And when the cold embrace of the night comes, my real nightmare begins.

 I hate that I become such a thing when the night comes because even thinking about that thing makes me shiver. The transformation is the worst part but I've gone through it a thousand times but I will never get used to the pain. Sometimes I don't make it to my apartment and I have no choice but to run to the woods isn't so bad after you do it for such a long time. The Transformation feels like hell on earth, and how I'm describing it right now is even an understatement considering it literally rips out of me like some type of demon awakening; it's like I'm a balloon full of nails and they're all trying to get out… My current life hasn't changed in a long time. I've worked as a librarian for most of my long empty life. Mainly because it's easy and doesn't draw too much attention; and it helps me keep from going insane.

One day he came in…he was tall with long flowing the color of the midnight skies and beautiful slanted eyes. I don't know why I fell for him. He just made me feel something, something I haven't felt in a very long time…love, his presence felt warm like I was being held to a calming fireplace. I can hardly remember the last time I felt like this.  Ive never felt like this for any of my past lovers. He checks a book out about “biology and the human body” which I find surprising considering he doesn't look like the type to be into the human body.but what am I saying i try out new things all the time. Then he walked out of the door, heels clicking as they touched the ground. And the rest of the day leaves just as soon as it came. THE CLOCK TICKS MIDNIGHT… I run to my apartment in a panic, completely forgetting my curse knowing I won't make it. I book it for the woods as my body rips apart skin falling off as that thing takes control and I soon lose consciousness as the transformation ends. In his demon form it wanders the woods sniffing its prey out and looking for anything to eat. Soon a movement catches his eye causing it to quickly dart towards the unlucky victim. Stumbling over its own feet it chases snarling as drool pools from its mouth as it lunges at its target and it freezes…its eyes meet, and I come back to consciousness…“Why are you here” comes out as a low growl. Before fading back out of consciousness and crawling away back into the darkness. I woke up in the middle of the forest again.i need to pay more attention to the time.i don't know why I was so distracted by that man. I've seen men before but what was so different about him...?

[customaluminium]

Why Aluminium Is So Important In Real Estate

Real estate development is a gigantic industry with many moving parts that all need to be considered carefully. Among the most crucial points for consideration is which materials to use for what purpose. The list includes some obvious items like steel, concrete, and glass. However, often overlooked but still just as important is aluminium and for very good reasons.

Some of the most common reasons why aluminium is so widely used in real estate development will be discussed in a bit. However, it’s worth noting that the potential for this material can often make it more useful than it already is.

Versatile and easy to work with, there are fewer risks and more possibilities involved when using aluminium. 

The Value of Aluminium

There is a reason why aluminium is used by so many industries in practically every part of the world aside from real estate development. To say that the world would have a very hard time functioning without it would be an understatement. While the impact on real estate development would not be as pronounced if this were ever the case, it will still hit the industry hard.

Let’s start with the obvious aspect of aluminium that makes it so popular, which is its accessibility. The material can be found practically anywhere, even in its raw form. There is less effort expended to extract and process it compared to many other types of materials used in real estate development.

The fact that it can be recycled only adds to this point since it can reduce the amount of power used for production by up to 90%. When combined with its versatility, lightweight, and eco-friendly nature, it becomes obvious why it’s so highly sought after by real estate companies.

Aluminium In Real Estate Development

The list of things that aluminium is being used for in the real estate industry is fairly straightforward. However, it’s worth noting that the ones included below are just the most common. Depending on the real estate developer, there could be more. For now, here’s what you need to know about the qualities of aluminium that make it valuable in real estate development:

Great for Security Measures - In real estate development, being able to guarantee security to customers and clients is a pretty big point of concern. Anyone who will own a building need to know that the building will not be easily accessed by undesirables. This would be a major issue in terms of investments if this was the case.

Fortunately, aluminium is an excellent resource for addressing this particular issue. Whether it’s in the form of keeping window frames safe from being pried open, doorknobs from being damaged, or deadbolts from being broken, aluminium has you covered.

Excellent for Keeping In Warmth and Cold - Climate is another issue that real estate developers often have to contend with when building structures of any size. Constant freezing temperatures or putting up with extreme heat for long periods of time can do considerable damage to whatever is being built.

A lot of solutions have been developed over the decades to contend with this matter that have proven reliable. The use of aluminium for insulation is one of them. Not only is the material excellent for keeping the warmth and the cold from getting out, but it can also do so without the high risks of corrosion.

Relatively Cheap and Affordable - As already mentioned in earlier sections, aluminium is a relatively affordable resource despite being so valuable. It can be ordered from practically anywhere, though, real estate developers do need to be careful about their suppliers. 

As long as the provider of fabricated aluminium products is reputable, there is no need to worry about them being inexpensive. High-quality aluminium will still be more affordable compared to the alternative, especially given what you can gain from it.

Good for the Environment - Going green is a concept that virtually all industries now need to pay attention to. The real estate development sector is no exception. In fact, the responsibility for using sustainable materials is even bigger for this industry.

Since the beginning of this eco-friendly movement, aluminium has only become more and more crucial. It’s recyclable, affordable, lightweight, and can last a long time. All of those qualities are now highly sought after.

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[assholevoice]

Joel didn’t know why the woman laughed when they got in the car. He glanced over at her. Perhaps it was a nervous thing. He had panicked a little when the music came on because he was trying to be as quiet as possible. Who knew who or what would be attracted by any loud noise they made. Secretly, the song also revealed something of himself and he didn’t want the stranger to know anything about him. In a world like this, where every day was about fighting for your life, it felt a little too vulnerable to reveal anything of the human you were; that only made you weak. He wanted to be a beast, like the monster he had become in the QZ, when he had been an animal on a leash for Tess. This part of him, this darkness, had helped him survive all these years. It also protected him from feeling vulnerable. He never wanted to feel the way he felt the night of the outbreak, the night he had lost Sarah. Of course, his world had been turned on its head since he met Ellie. He had opened up, he had been vulnerable, but he wasn’t prepared to be that way around just anyone. He had felt his heart the way he hadn’t felt it in a long time. In many ways, because of that, he wanted to put a wall up around himself even more; at least with strangers.

Joel followed the woman’s instructions. He was a little confused by the fallen tree at first, but turned the car into the drooping foliage as she directed. It was a perfect place to conceal it and he was glad. He didn’t want someone damaging or breaking into it. Having a working vehicle in this world was a lifeline. He grabbed his belongings safely stored in his rucksack and followed Willow’s lead. One hand was gently rested against his weapon out of habit but at this point he doubted he would need it. Still, if he had learned anything, it was to be prepared for surprises. Many minutes passed but finally they broke into a clearing where the small cabin was located. It was hard to see clearly, but the moon gave some illumination and the warm glow under the door was a sight for sore eyes.

As she opened the door up for him to step into, Joel was met with a rush of warm arm and the sound of a crackling fire as he stepped over the threshold. His mouth hung open a little at the cosy little sanctuary. He had left Jackson only the day before, but it had never felt as homely as this. Perhaps the freezing cold night had just made him appreciate a fire more than ever. At the sound of the click behind him, he turned, suddenly feeling a little unease in his stomach. He looked down at the woman, a genuine expression on her face. It was a force of habit to be conscious of his escape route. He tried to hide his momentary trepidation. “Quite a place you’ve got here.” He said, looking back around. It was like stepping from greyscale into full technicolour. “Eh, where can I put this?” He asked, a little awkward as he dropped the rucksack to his feet. He kept the gun on his shoulder.

Now he could see properly, he looked down at Willow. Her cheeks and nose red with the freezing night air. Her breath heavy with the hike. She had her hair brush back off her face with little loose strands dotted around. Her nose had tiny freckles and her eyes were warm and bright. She must have been in her thirties, he guessed. He remembered life in his thirties; to say it was a different experience was an understatement!

Willow hesitated, wanting to argue with the stubbornness of the stranger but deciding against it. If she had any hope of talking sense into him, it was to not talk at all. She merely stood there, waiting. Letting the silence speak for her, instead. Her body was screaming at her to leave him, or drag him with her - and she almost laughed at the mental image that accompanied that thought. It was just so damn cold, he had to know better. & know better, he did.

A single nod all he offered her in way of response, and the matter was resolved. Thank goodness, because she hadn't expected to be out this long and hadn't thought to bring her coat. How stupid. Until miracle of miracles, he offered to drive them both. Probably a good idea if only to keep his car safe. "You won't make it all the way up, but I know where we can park it to hide it for the night."

Her cabin was accessible only by foot, her luck of nature's design. "It's only a few minutes away from the cabin though, much easier than walking it from here." She'd take the slow drive and short hike over any alternative. Even if she were younger than he, the cold wind was so harsh against them both they'd likely freeze trying to get there. "I know the way like the back of my hand, I can guide you with or without the lights on don't worry."

He opened the door for her like a total southern gentleman, and Willow had to bite her tongue to not make a comment about it. She couldn't ever remember anyone opening a door for her. Chivalry was just a word she'd learnt in school, over two decades ago. Perhaps it was just second nature to him, he'd acted without thinking - no big deal. She had to physically shake her head when he wasn't looking to focus on her own actions, instead of his. Sliding into the passenger seat, the worst of the chill cut off the moment their doors closed - she almost moaned at the reprieve.

The man even put a seatbelt on, this time she couldn't stifle the laugh that escaped her. A smile reaching her eyes for the first time in twenty years. And then the radio turned on, the clicking sound of the cassette tape kicking in before Bed of Roses by Bon Jovi started playing. "You should leave it on." There was a glint in her eyes as she tried not to make a big deal over not only him listening to that, but how much she loved it. The lyrics some of her favourite, ever. Perhaps she had made the right decision in offering him a safe place, a man that precious needed to be protected at all costs.

"Yep, just up ahead." He'd found the way mostly on his own, keen eyes and sense of his surroundings helping him to navigate his way along the mountainside with ease - until he found the fallen tree. It was one of her tricks, a way to cut off the path from anything with wheels. "Turn in here." There was a small void beside the trail, you had to drive through low hanging branches to park the car there but once nestled inside, no one would see it, lest anyone made it this far on foot.

He navigated the vehicle in with ease, and it wasn't long before he'd taken whatever supplies he needed and they were walking the last mile to the cabin. It wasn't until they stepped through another thicket of trees that the clearing her home was nestled in became visible. For a moment, she was self conscious about the size of it. Too small for a man like him, but a solid build nonetheless. You could barely see the glow of the fire she'd left on under the crack of the front door, but when she opened it, the warmth from within hit them both immediately. She stepped aside, letting him head in first, before locking the door behind them.

"It's not much, but it's home."

[yoooespinosa]

could you please write a draco x reader fic, where the reader is hopelessly in love with draco, and she's not afraid to show it. but draco doesn't feel the same. and draco being draco, he rejects the reader with no remorse. then when the reader finally comes to the realization that she deserves better, she started seeing new people (not necessarily dating, but more like talking), then that's when draco feels a bit jealous now that the reader isn't all over him anymore. the rest is up to you, love! just something really angsty, you could end it in any way you'd like.

also, sidenote. you're an amazing writer and i love you!!

a/n: Thank you for your request! ily <3

To say you had a crush on Draco Malfoy, was an understatement.

You couldn't help it, you couldn't just stop the feelings you developed every time he came around.

When he walked into the room it was butterflies breaking out of their cage, palms growing sweaty and your heart racing so fast you were scared you'd be able to see its indentions.

It was scary at first, to have such feelings at only thirteen years old. So you did your best to ignore them. You did your best to stay out of his way.

That only worked for so long.

When you are friends with Draco and the people that surround him, it becomes very hard to stay out of his path.

So it was only inevitable that your crush on him would become so much more. Especially as the years went on.

He hadn't made it much easier. Sometimes you felt as if, maybe, he returned your feelings. How could you think otherwise? With the way he walked with you to class, carried your books at times and spent time with you. Just you. Alone.

How could you not fall in love with him.

With all that simmering in you, you finally let it out. You made your affections obvious, not afraid to show Draco how you felt for him. You had thought it was welcomed. You thought that the feelings would be returned.

It seemed as though he could only tolerate you for so long. Yes, that was the right word for it, the only thing he had for you was toleration.

Your shoes sounded on the stone under you, on your way to the Slytherin common room. You had just got out of detention with professor Snape. You suppose it was well deserved, you had seen Draco almost put the wrong ingredient in his potion, so you being you had wandered to his table and helped him, much to Snapes dismay.

Whispering the password, you made your way through the dim passage. Chattering of people from all years and faint laughter was heard all around.

You spotted your friends right away, seated by the green flamed fireplace, as usual.

"She just can't take a hint." You heard Draco grumble, you paused your steps, you didn't mean to eavesdrop but it seemed as if your feet had a mind of its own.

"Wait," Blaise closes the book he had in his hold. "who are we talking about again?"

Pansy sighs, seeming they had been on the topic for some time. "We're talking about y/n."

Your brows furrow. Going back to the first thing you heard Draco say, she just can't take a hint, what was that supposed to mean. What hint?

"Why can't you just tell her how you feel?" Theo adds, his voice is laced with annoyance, maybe this isn't the first time they've talked about this.

"I thought how I felt would be obvious enough, without having to say anything." He huffs.

"Well," Theo sighs. "apparently not."

You were becoming anxious. What were they talking about and what exactly was Draco feeling? There was streak of hope in you, maybe he'd confess right here that he felt the same.

"What do you suggest I say then, oh-wise-one?" Draco asks teasingly.

"Easy, just say exactly what you tell us." He clears his throat dramatically, adopting a mock version of his voice, "Y/n, you have to be one of the most annoying girls, I have ever had the dissatisfaction of meeting. Please, oh please take the hint and leave me alone because these attempts at getting at me are getting more pathetic each time." He finishes with a clumsy curtsy.

The other Slytherins try to stifle their laughs.

You hadn't even noticed the gasp that escaped your throat until four heads turned to your direction.

"Y/n, I didn't kn-" You cut of Theo's words and apologetic stare.

"Is that true?" You ask Draco, your voice low, laced with hurt. Your nose was stinging and your bottom lip hung heavy, but you refused to cry in front of them. You wouldn't give them another weakness to laugh about.

Draco managed to keep his face blank, no emotions shining through. He shrugged, "Pretty much summed it up."

You almost flinched. He didn't even care about the hurt those words brought you.

You left without a look back. Leaving behind your friends call of your name. They weren't the ones you wanted an apology from. They had known how much you felt for him and didn't even bother telling you that it was definitely not mutual. They even laughed, like it was a joke, like your heart was a comedic topic.

The cold air hit your face, freezing against the tear stain tracks. You sat on a lone stone bench in the court yard, letting those tears make a home on your cheeks.

It wasn't obvious--his dislike to you. If it was, you would have gave up long ago. But a part of you felt that there was hope and you had chased after that.

Why couldn't he have just told you when you first let your affections known, it seemed that he had encouraged it back then, with lingering touches and soft smiles.

Looking back now, you notice that those advantages had slowly disappeared. You had been too caught up in his silky hair, those gray eyes filled with mirth and mischief, his angular face with high bones that no one could compare to, that you hadn't notice everything was unrequited.

A sick part of you even felt honored to have your heart broken in the hold of his beautiful hands, the part that saw him do no wrong.

Maybe that was the first problem, you put him on a pedestal, so high up you weren't able to see anything negative of him. You weren't able to see his cruel reality of his feelings towards you.

And he didn't even seem sorry. He didn't even look bothered by the damage of his words.

You were so nice and considerate to him. You would support him at every quidditch game, cheer the loudest even when he lost. You bought him presents for every one of his birthdays and even Christmas, each one sentimental and thoughtful. You had comforted him when he got those letters, that he despised, from his father. You had voiced encouragements when he showed a little tell sign of his insecurities. You had been there for him.

And he treats you like this, like you can be so easily dismissed. You didn't deserve that, you didn't deserve to be called pathetic for having normal feelings and then being laughed at for it.

The longer you sat on that cold bench, the angrier you got. A bitter feeling growing in your stomach, melting away those knots.

You wasted all this time and effort on some guy who didn't even deserve it, some guy who didn't appreciate you. It wasn't fair.

"Hey, you okay?" A familiar voice sounded through your revelations.

You looked up and met green eyes framed with circular glasses.

"Yeah. I was just thinking." You mumbled, the bitter taste was stuck on your tongue, you wanted rid of it.

"Mind if I sit and think with you?" Harry asked, he was nervously scratching the back of his neck, smiling warmly at you.

You offered him a smile, welcoming his genuineness. "Go ahead."

He sat there with you for hours. Surrounded by the sound of wind. It was nice and comfortable. The bitter feeling leaving you completely. You were content now, even if you could still feel the ache in your arms from holding onto Draco for so long.

Weeks had passed. Weeks of no signs of you. The first week Draco hadn't been worried, a little curious, but that was all. The longer it went on though, he became a little more than curious. Not because he cared, cause he didn't, just that if something happened to you, it would be his fault. His rejection was the reason you ran off like a fool to who knows where.

Which is the only reason he went looking for you. He already got a lot of shit from the others, he didn't need more problems stacking up.

He checked all of your favorite places. Starting with that tree down by the black lake that you enjoyed to lean on and watch the sun go down, the sunset wasn't near so he should've known you would not have been there.

He then went to the gardens, there was a bench there that was next to a small pond. It was filled with odd creatures and was home to your favorite flowers, lotus's. You weren't there either.

Lastly, he went to a certain abandoned hall. You had to be there. You went there to be alone with your thoughts, you had taken him with you there a few times. There was a big window there with a thick ledge, streams of sunlight beamed through and tiny rainbows would reflect on the opposite wall due to the cracks on said window.

He heard you before he saw you. A soft laugh reverberating through the empty hall, a laugh he had always found annoying. Hearing it now though, just made him want to get closer to you.

So he did, walking with light footsteps. He froze, you were not alone. Sitting there in the space he once accompanied, was Harry fucking Potter. What kind of sick joke was this?

Why were you sitting with him? And does that mean you just laughed at something he said?

Your laugh sounded through again, once piercing now melodic. It was a bitter feeling, Potter shouldn't have the honor of dragging that sound out of you, he shouldn't even witness it.

Draco left the hall before either of you saw him, he needed to get himself in check.

More weeks passed. Weeks of you hanging out with Potter. You were doing things with him that you had done with Draco.

It was on purpose, you had to be doing it on purpose. You were simply trying to make him jealous and it was annoyingly working.

But how could you be doing that when you didn't even look back to see a reaction.

Draco didn't know what to think. He didn't even know what to feel, or more like let himself feel. Something had changed in the weeks you were away from him.

A revelation of sorts. He missed you. Missed what you would do for him. He regretted what he said and what he never had the chance to say. Because maybe deep down those feelings had been returned, but he was just too stubborn to show.

And now he's seeing you realizing that you deserve more than blurred lines and assumptions. And he's realizing maybe Potter is that more that you deserve.

Draco doesn't like that one bit, he can't even stomach the thought. So he promises to himself that he will do everything in his power to win you back. Even if that means saying that he was sorry and admitting that he was in the wrong, something he's never had to do before.

But if that makes you his again and gets you away from Potter, then its worth it.

Part 2

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Sixteen)

A/N- Not dead! See! Finally getting out another chapter! There will only be two more chapters after this one! Though, when the ending arrives, if demand for a sequel is present, I MAYYYY be tempted as I have really enjoyed writing this story as Mycroft is my favourite character! Uni has just been a pain in my arse, as has my mental health, but I'm trying to find space to write where I can! Anyway, enough of my boring chat, enjoy the new chapter!

Word Count: 3k

Thursday had passed fairly well- neither you nor Mycroft electing to get out of bed until 10am, simply just talking to one another about the following days to come.

"Any clue on what to get Greg yet?" You asked, taking the moment to pull the duvet back up to your neck as the autumnal chill took over.

"A few. Though I must ask why you insist on wrapping up like we're in the middle of the arctic."

"It's October. In London. I'm freezing."

"Y/N, the central heating has practically been on constantly since the temperatures began to drop."

"...Outside looks cold and it makes my inside feel cold." Rather than respond audibly, Mycroft offered a fond eye roll at your childishness and proceeded to pat the section of the bed beside him in an offer of closing the small gap between you. Practically leaping at the chance, you rolled over and lifted Mycroft's arm to rest around you, relishing in the warmth emitting from his being. "You know, for an iceman, you burn like a furnace sometimes." You mused, fighting the urge to close your eyes and fall back into slumber once more.

"Yes, well, 'fireman' would have been a rather misdirecting nickname. I fear I wouldn't have been taken very seriously if people thought a fireman was working in the political field."

"Would've looked dead sexy in the uniform though." Mycroft choked a little at your words before falling into a laugh. "See, no denying it either. Maybe I could get you to make me a calendar all 'Full Monty' style over the front of the truck."

"A disastrous idea, I can assure you.. The red hue of the fire engine, my tinted hair, and slightly reddened cheeks? Major clash, I'd say." You turned around and pressed a quick kiss to said cheeks before grinning.

"Slightly is the understatement of the year. Still, the Clash are my favourite band so I'm sure I could handle the contradicting colours."

"Your jokes are getting worse."

"I'll tell Greg that one tomorrow, he'll love it."

"Not a very redeeming argument, my dear. I have once witnessed Gregory laughing over a monkey flinging its own faeces at a window."

"Touché, Holmes." You then clicked back to the original point of your conversation and spun yourself around to face the man a little more. "Anyway, speaking of Greg, we still need to work out what we're getting him- and whilst I am 100% convinced you have the power to find him a faeces throwing primate, I don't think that's the best way to go. We'll keep it as a plan B though."

Eventually, the pair of you decided to gift Greg a large decanter of one of his favourite whiskies he drinks when he visits Mycroft's home and raids his alcohol cabinet like a teenager. But, feeling as though it wasn't quite enough, Mycroft had arranged for Greg to have the rest of the week, and the following week entirely off work. It wasn't too long ago that Greg was getting upset about not seeing his parents much this year, and how he wants to spend more time with them now that they're getting older. It was only fair to give him this time to himself to get a nice visit under his belt. Only part of you felt a little gutted that your first week back at work would be Gregless, but it was the least you could do. Myc had also arranged for a car to be at Greg's disposal for the journey- having the inclination he would be anxious to leave to his parents' house but still wanting a few drinks at the get together.

The rest of the evening had passed in a relatively tranquil manner, with you and Mycroft watching a movie and placing an order to obtain all of the food you required for tomorrow.

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

Friday morning had arrived at record speed, with you and Mycroft already downstairs by 9am. You'd elected to spend the day with Greg a little earlier than originally anticipated, with the idea being that Greg would likely leave shortly after dinner to have time to get dropped off home to grab some clothes for his trip.

You'd prepped a hearty English breakfast, deciding the greasy and fatty nature of it would be well deserved with your afternoon of alcoholism and socialising in mind. However, Mycroft had elected for a bowl of porridge and you had to pretend to not be completely horrified over his choice.

"I tried to bite my tongue." You spoke as Mycroft raised his spoon to his lips. He grinned before taking the warm mixture into his mouth and humming around the metal.

"For all but twelve seconds.." He mused.

"It's just.. Such a sad breakfast. It's so dull. No colours. Whereas look at this!" You gestured towards the two plates you'd started preparing for Greg's any moment arrival. "Bright orange beans.. Pink bacon.. Yellow eggs.. It's enough to put Joseph's Dreamcoat to shame! Philip Schofield's one, of course. The superior Joseph- not Jason D."

"Were you even alive when either of those took on the role of Joseph?"

"Yes.. Maybe.. Okay, no. But that's besides the point. I was alive when the Donny Osmond film came out so.. there. Let us not be distracted from the sad bowl at hand." Mycroft quickly rose from his chair and fished in the cupboards, grabbed a jar, and sat back down again. Next, he plonked a teaspoon into the red glass container and dolloped a scoop of jam in the centre of the beige bowl before him.

"Satisfied?"

"Hmmm..." You circled round him and scooped a couple more times, deciding Mycroft's central ball of strawberry jam worked perfectly as a nose, and sculpted two small circles for eyes and then a third for the mouth. "Now it's better. Slightly happier to see you."

"It's pouting."

"Maybe it just wants to kiss you." Mycroft raised his brow and you laughed. "Fine. Maybe the jam was too thick to contemplate even attempting a curved smile without you having more jam than porridge... Though that does sound far more delicious." You turned back to plating the rest of the other breakfasts when the door rang.

"I am still unaware as to why Gregory insists on knocking when I've made it perfectly clear that he can come straight in when he's expected. I even left the door unlocked."

"You can bring that one up with him. He lets himself into my flat even when he isn't expected. The man's lucky that he hasn't ended up with a black eye a few times in the past." You joked, heading out to the front door to let in the DI. "Well you certainly look..."

"Devilishly handsome? Good for my age?"

"I was going to say 'less shit' but now you've just made me feel bad. Decent sleep then?"

"Cheeky beggar, you are. And yes, thank you, like a baby. Come out of it feeling thirty years younger." Greg grinned, stepping through the door and hanging his coat on the rack.

"A whole thirty years? That would make you, what, forty?"

"I honestly hate you sometimes. Truly. You are aware that I'm only a few years older than James Bond over there?" He gestured to Mycroft as you headed into the kitchen together.

"Dare I assume that I am, once again, 007 in this case? What did I miss this time?"

"Y/N calling us old."

"I called YOU old. My Bond is still in the flourishes of youth." Greg sat at the kitchen island and peered over into Mycroft's bowl.

"Eating porridge on a Friday at nearly 10am? I'm now doubly offended that I'm placed in your senile category if that's the descriptor of a juvenile."

"Yes, well, my memory equally holds above your own, Gregory. For I remember that I distinctly told you to just come in to my home when you are expected as I will be ready and waiting." Mycroft spoke, lifting another spoonful of porridge to his lips...

"Yeah, well, that was before I had the added risk of finding the pair of you naked and at it on the sofa. Thought I'd spare my eyes." ... and then choking on said porridge.

"Ever a delight, Greg. Now eat your bacon before I blend it and spoon feed it to you." You warned jokingly. "Oh! Did you bring the goods?"

"Yes, thank you. My memory isn't that dreadful. Though your observational skills must be if you didn't see me bring in the same bags you handed to me."

"Too distracted bullying you, I'm afraid." You smirked, spooning in a mouthful of beans before circling the table and taking the bags from Greg upstairs to hide. When you returned, you found the pair of them settled happily into conversation and eating their food. "Dare I say, you had better not be trying to wrangle what your presents are from Greg, Mr Holmes." You scolded playfully.

"He'd be useless if he did. I refused to look in the bags- I knew he'd either read it in my face or manage to make me list them within minutes of arrival." Greg grinned, taking a bite out of his toast. "That and I dare find out what couples buy each other in the honeymoon periods of their sex lives. If my youth taught me anything, it's that it's filthy." You swatted the man at the back of his head before sitting on the other side of Mycroft.

"That's just you, Lestrade. You're the dirty bastard in this room, not us. I dread to think of the kinds of things you picked up when you were younger- and that's just the things you bought."

"Oi, I'm clean. Always have been."

"I must say that euphemisms on sexually transmitted diseases wasn't at the top of the list of conversations I expected to have over breakfast this morning." Mycroft mused, moving to take his now empty bowl over to the sink.

"Even when you've known a born-Lestrade and an honorary-Lestrade for all these years?" Greg snorted.

"Yeah, darling, I think this one's on you for being unprepared." You laughed, following him to place your own plate in the sink and kissed his cheek.

"I agree, sweetheart, you'd ought to know better by now." Greg appeared and kissed Myc's other cheek with a laugh after being pushed away.

----

The evening drew on, the notion of a home cooked meal long gone as it was decided to order enough food for a family of six from a variety of different takeaways while watching a film. Well, decided makes it sound unanimous, but it was really you and Greg being unable to pick a single meal and Mycroft, having enough of the indecisiveness, pulling a Harry Potter 'we'll take the lot' move. Though he did insist that he only wanted his spring rolls and fried rice from the Chinese... at first. The Bombay potatoes from the Indian takeaway and some slices of pizza from his favourite Italian restaurant soon persuaded him to expand his dinner choices.

"I can feel my arteries closing." Greg groaned, throwing a pizza crust towards one of the empty takeaway containers and slumping back to lean on the sofa. "I'm definitely regretting insisting to sit on the floor rather than the table too."

"I did try to advise that it was a terrible idea given such large portions."

"Yeah but there's so much food, I think even your banquet table would've struggled, Myc. Plus we wouldn't have been able to watch The Godfather from the dining room." You chimed in, kicking your plate away from in front of you.

"Oh yes, of course. Nothing quite increased my appetite like the severed head of a horse."

"You're just jealous you never thought of doing that as a threat to all those dodgy politicians." Greg smirked. "I just can't believe you hadn't seen it before, given your field and all that."

"Gregory.. You are aware that I occupy a minor position in the British government, not the mafia?"

"You all wear fancy, expensive suits to work. All the same t'me." Greg stretched his arms above his head before taking a swig of his whiskey. "All this food and drink, I reckon I'll still feel it by work on Sunday. S'pose I better get out your hair before I kip on the carpet." You quickly perked up, brain cogs returning to their functions. Mycroft caught your move and nodded with a smile, heading out of the room for a moment. "What? Was that a secret government code? 'Bout to be infiltrated by MI6 now, am I?" He grinned.

"Less infiltrated, more.. gifted." You mused as Mycroft came back into the room holding a large leather box in his hands. He knelt back onto the ground beside you and handed the box over to Greg.

"From the both of us. Just a small thank you." Mycroft spoke, a grateful smile on his face.

"We both appreciate everything you've done. It's not like you didn't overwork yourself to the bone anyway, so picking up my shifts? Made us love you that little bit more." Greg appeared slightly stunned.

"You know I didn't do it for you to owe me anything. I've said before how much the pair of you mean to me. You're a pain in the arse, but you're like my little sister- which, in turn, makes Myc family too now."

"Just open the box, you soppy git." You grinned. Opening the latch on the side of the case, Greg's eyes widened and he immediately shut it.

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'? You appear to enjoy drinking such brand when you come over here? I can always exchange if-" You put your hand over Mycroft's knee and smiled fondly.

"He does enjoy it, Myc. He's just being a stubborn git who doesn't like accepting things from people. He's a nightmare at Christmas."

"Yeah, but there's a difference between- Jesus, this is a single malt Dalmore!"

"Which you enjoy, yes?"

"Well yeah, Myc, but that's not-"

"Then enjoy it."

"It's four and a half grand a sodding bottle!"

"Then enjoy it slowly." You cut in. "I didn't mooch off Myc for it, I put in half, so-"

"Not helping."

"Y/N also insisted that you have the rest of this week and the next off work. It came to my understanding that you hadn't seen your parents for a while."

"I can't af-"

"Paid."

"I called your Da yesterday and your Mum's already done up the spare room. I told her you're a big boy and can make your own bed, but she insisted." You couldn't help but smile at Greg's face.

"And, not to kick you out of course, I have a car due to arrive to take you back home to pack a bag and then take you to see them in about ten minutes." Rather than speaking, Greg all but dived at the pair of you and wrapped his arms around you. You returned the hug immediately, and even Mycroft patted at Greg's shoulder with a little laugh.

"I.. Don't really know what to say." Greg mumbled into your shoulders.

"Just promise me your Da will freeze us some croissants for you to bring back."

"You know he'd rather go to an early grave than freeze his pastries. You'll have to come up on a day you get free. Both of you, that is."

"I'm sure I'll manage to convince Myc to come up. Now, go get your bloody shoes on. If you're so much as a minute late turning up, your Ma will be fretting and I'll get the back end of it!" Greg did as told and rounded up the rest of his stuff before heading to the door and giving the pair of you one last hug and thanks.

"If either of you need me, just call, alright? Oh, and if Sal gives you shit because I'm gone then I'll sort it. Or deck her and I'll sort the papers when I'm home... Oh! And Sherlock. Tell him I won't be here for cases or he'll go hunting for me. And-"

"When was the last time you had a week off work?"

"About fifteen years ago."

"Exactly- now go enjoy it. I'll slap Sal and I'll get John to sort Sherlock. Now go before I force you into the car- and that really won't seem like a heartwarming move to the neighbours."

"Right yeah. Going. Thanks again. For all of it.. But honestly if you-"

"Go, Gregory. It'll be sorted and we'll be fine." Mycroft encouraged with a laugh. And then off Greg went. The pair of you went back into the front room and cleared away the remnants of dinner before all but collapsing onto the sofa, Mycroft sat with his head hanging over the back, and you laying across the length of the chair with your head in his lap.

"I'd consider that at least marginally successful." You spoke, eyes closed in relaxation. "Though you'll have to come and meet Greg's parents now."

"I'm sure I will survive."

"Mmm.." You agreed sleepily. "Consider it a step towards meeting the real potential in-laws. Though my parents can't make French pastries. Load of old bollocks really considering they buggered off across the channel."

"I'll look forward to it." He spoke, stiffening slightly.

"You're already scared, aren't you?"

"Terrified."

[helnjk]

Sweater - G.W.

George Weasley x fem!reader

Requested: yes

hi could you write something for george weasley using prompts 29, 11, 36? if your requests are still open❤️⚡️

“i’m running out of jumpers, just so you know”

“i like having something that smells like you”

“how long have you been standing there?”

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: the 5 times George Weasley sees you in his sweater and the 1 time you get your own. 

Warnings: mentions of food

A/N: we’re just gonna //ignore// that this doesn’t follow the canon timeline exactly (especially where they spent christmas certain years) okay? cool. also! this was very festive so i guess this can be counted as a christmas fic 🥰

Prompts are in bold

-

One 

The Gryffindor common room was freezing. Despite being situated as close to the fire as physically possible (without getting burned), you shivered and shook in your thin sweater. You were trying to work on a last minute potions essay, the last one before the Christmas hols began, but your current freezing state was stopping you from writing another word. 

You scanned the empty room, most students already having retired to bed that night. A flash of blue and yellow in the far corner of the room caught your eye. Quickly, you scrambled up off the floor and rushed to investigate. 

On the back of one of the squishy red couches hung a blue sweater with a yellow letter G right in the middle. You knew immediately who owned it: George Weasley, another Gryffinder first year like you. With another glance around the room, you quickly snatched it up and slid it over your head.

Immediately, the thick wool provided enough warmth for you to get back to your work. 

A while later, you finished the last sentence of your paper with a flourish, just as you heard someone shuffle down the spiral staircase and into the common room. Your head snapped up as the person in question came to view and your heart stopped.

“Y/L/N?” George whispered, barely making your face out since the fire was directly behind you. 

“Hi George,” You squeaked, “What’re you doing up so late?” 

His eyes darted around the room in search of something, and you felt your stomach drop. “Erm, yeah. I got cold so I was just looking for my–” 

When his gaze circled back to you he finally noticed what you were wearing, “Is that my sweater?” 

You nodded, squirming under his gaze. If it wasn’t past midnight in the dead of winter, and if he wasn’t hazy with sleep, he would’ve probably teased you senselessly about it. But seeing the sweater swallowing you, the shoulders slipping off and the sleeves way past your fingers, all he could do was grin. 

“It’s alright,” He said, “Just wanted to know where it was. At least now I know that it’s in good hands.” 

With a cheeky wink, he turned on his heel and trudged back up the boys’ staircase. You were left staring at where he previously stood, your mouth slightly agape.

Did that really just happen?

Two 

Gleeful shouts carried over from the snow covered fields and into the warm house. From your spot by the window, you could just barely make out the tiny figures zooming past each other, contrasting against the pale landscape. 

You clutched at a steaming mug of tea, basking in the warmth it gave your chilly hands. Despite your best efforts, you were still shivering in the house that most likely had several heating charms in place at all times. 

After being friends with the Weasley twins for nearly three and a half years, you were finally going to spend the Christmas hols at the Burrow with their family. To say you were excited would be an understatement. With everything going on in school, you were ecstatic to be able to spend some time with some of your best friends. 

The warmth and the heavenly smells radiating from the kitchen made you gravitate towards the door. Maybe helping out with the cooking could ease up some of the chill you had in your bones. 

“Would you like some help, Molly?” You asked hopefully, seeing her putter about in the kitchen. You knew that she had a whole hoard of mouths to fill, so you were happy to offer her some assistance. 

She tutted in response, “Nonsense, dear! I’m quite fine managing on my own. Thank you for the offer.” 

With a swish of her wand, several things in the kitchen began moving at once and you were left to your own devices. You spared a quick glance out the window, only to see the silhouettes still racing in the sky. 

An idea struck you and you made your way up the stairs as quickly as possible without drawing too much attention to yourself. Thankfully, the twins’ room was just on the second floor of the house and their door was left slightly ajar. 

You were quick to spot George’s battered old trunk laying at the foot of his bed. Your cold fingers nimbly popped the latch open and clutched onto exactly what you were looking for. His old blue Christmas sweater was soft to touch and a little worn, but you thought that it added to its charm. 

One of the main reasons why you rummaged through George’s things for his sweater, instead of Fred’s, was that his distinct woodsmoke and apple scent clung onto it and made you feel safe and warm wrapped in it. You pressed the soft fabric to your face and inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the familiar scent of your best friend. 

You were not sniffing the jumper because it reminded you of your crush on a certain redheaded twin, no. Not at all. 

Swiftly, you lifted the jumper above your head and slipped into it. You loved the feel of the warm wool enveloping your frame. It would have been almost perfect if you hadn’t heard someone clear their throat from the doorway.

Your heart jumped to your throat as you turned on your heel and spotted George leaning against the doorway. 

“Well, well, well,” He teased, making his way to you, “What do we have here? A sweater thief?” 

“How long have you been standing there?” You mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

“Long enough to see that you’re apparently obsessed with me.” He grinned cheekily. 

You rolled your eyes and tried to hide the fact that a blush was creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks, “Shove off, Weasley.” 

He swung an arm loosely around your shoulders, “Well I don’t think you can use that kind of language on me now, Y/N. Especially when that’s my jumper you’re going around wearing and sniffing.” 

You groaned, shoving your head on his chest to hide your embarrassment, “I just like having something th–”

“You’re going to have to speak up, love, I can’t quite understand you.” He said, and you felt like his teasing grin would be permanently etched onto his face. 

“I like having something that smells like you, okay?” You mumbled, this time a little louder and less muffled. 

When George didn’t immediately respond, your heart began to pick up its pace in your chest. Slowly, you backed away from his face and your gaze landed on the flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

A slow smile etched itself onto your face, “Have I just made the George Weasley blush?”

“Oh shut it sweater sniffer.”  

You laughed, the slightly awkward tension dissipating at the sound and the two of you made your way back downstairs. 

Three 

“Psst.” A voice whispered next to you. 

Your brows furrowed and you looked up from the book in front of you to see your boyfriend grinning cheekily at you, “Yes, George?” 

The Great Hall was practically silent, the only sounds resonating throughout the space were the scratching of quills and the rolling of parchment. Your voice was barely above a whisper as you weren't about to get scolded for chatting during study hall. 

“Nothing,” He said bashfully, “I just think you look very beautiful today.” 

Surprised at his sudden show of affection, you grinned up at him, “Thanks Georgie.” 

Your hand slid across the dark stained table to squeeze his and you hadn’t let go as you continued on with your coursework. You were able to get quite a bit done before you felt George squeezing your hand to get your attention. When your eyes met his, you sent him a look to say what is it this time? 

Slowly, he shuffled close enough to you to whisper directly into your ear, “I think you’d look much better wearing something of mine though.” 

With a roll of your eyes, you focused back on the rolls of parchment before you. Ever since you two had officially gotten together, George had a thing for you wearing any type of clothing of his. His most favorite, he had confessed, was when you wore his Christmas jumpers. The nostalgia attached to the piece of clothing and seeing it envelop you made his heart soar whenever you’d slip it over your head. 

The next Friday, despite the freezing weather, all students were required to head out to the Black Lake to watch the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. You took it as an opportunity to adorn the blue and yellow sweater, making sure to layer appropriately for the below zero temperatures. 

You could hear the twins’ shenanigans before you even reached the stands. The pair of red hair stood out among the crowds and let you know which direction to make your way to. Thankfully, you also spotted Lee Jordan saving a few seats around him while the twins went and collected bets. 

When you reached him, he sent you a grin and patted a space next to him. The two of you chatted aimlessly for a bit, waiting not so patiently for either the twins to come back or for the second task to begin. 

From George’s spot within the crowds, he glanced back at where he knew Lee to be saving a seat for him. The sight of you all bundled up in his sweater made something in his heart stop. The chilly breeze nipping at your face had caused your nose to turn slightly pink, and the way your hands fumbled at the end of the long sleeves moved something in him. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of wanting to keep you in his life for as long as you let him. 

You catch his eye from your position and send him a small wave. He grins and returns the gesture before Fred nudges him in the side to take the payment a third year is holding out. 

Four 

The whole house seemed to absorb the darkness that the Weasley clan brought with them. It was nearing sun up, and the lot of you along with Harry, Remus, and Sirius were all gathered in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, awaiting any sort of sign that Arthur was going to be okay. 

After being shaken awake at the dead of night by George who was a mess of stumbled over words and tight grips, you didn’t think of anything else but to slip on the sweater he had lent you and follow him to Dumbledore’s office. Professor McGonagall simply raised her eyebrows at your presence in the midst of the rest of the Weasley children, saying nothing as she saw how George had clung on so tightly to you. 

The illegal portkey Dumbledore created landed you right in the middle of the dreary old house you had spent much of your summer in. Remus and Sirius had tried their hardest to distract everyone from the brutality of the situation, but your boyfriend and his siblings wanted nothing but to sit around anxiously for any signal from the outside world. 

So far, you had nodded in and out of sleep, your head lightly tapping against George’s shoulder as you fought to just be there with him. His grip on your hand had not ceased, but you weren’t complaining. His leg bounced up and down anxiously and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“It’ll be okay Georgie,” Became your mantra of the night, whispering it every so often and rubbing the back of his hand gently with your thumb. 

He wouldn’t say anything in reply, his red rimmed eyes were unfocused, but you knew he heard you with the way he squeezed your hand. 

When the message from Molly comes, spirits are slightly raised, but there’s still so much uncertainty. You decided to step out for a moment to use the restroom, splashing some cold water on your face in an attempt to wake yourself up some more. As you took in your sleep deprived and disheveled state in the mirror, you remembered that you’ve been wearing George’s sweater. 

Quickly, you haphazardly pulled the garment over your head, smoothing down the crumpled sleeping shirt you’ve been wearing under it. In a flash, you’re making your way to where the Weasley clan has settled in for what seems like the whole day and take a seat next to George once again.

Silently, you held out his sweater to him. It took a few seconds for him to realize that you were offering for him to wear it. 

“Thought you’d need the extra comfort right now,” You whispered, urging him to put it on. 

A spark of recognition blazed in his eyes and he gently took the soft sweater from your hands. The moment it slipped over his head, he was immediately engulfed in your scent. All of a sudden, he was transported to three years prior when you had told him you enjoyed having something that smelled like him. 

When his eyes met yours, you could make out a ghost of a smile on his lips. It had been the first expression he had pulled that night, or well it was early morning now, that wasn’t a grimace or a look of concern. 

You smiled tentatively back at him, and he took your hand in his once again. 

Five 

The pale winter morning light leaked in through the windows and you blinked blearily. The soft inhale and exhale of George beside you and the warmth under the covers almost convinces you that you could afford to shut your eyes for a few more minutes. Almost. You groan as you remember what day it is and that you should be up soon. 

It was Christmas morning. The first Christmas after the war had ended, and everyone was eager to bring some festive cheer back into their lives after having gone through such dark times. 

As silently as you could, you left the warm confines of the duvet and began to pad your way into the kitchen. Christmas morning called for a full english and a pot of fresh tea. On the way out of the room you shared with George, you snagged one of his older blue sweaters and pulled it over your head. 

Thankfully, that morning Fred hadn’t made it out of bed yet. Breakfast at the flat above the shop could go two ways; either you made it out of bed first and got the food cooking on the stove before one of the twins stumbled in sleepily, or Fred would be sat on the couch nursing his nth cup of tea that morning, having woken up due to some nightmares that he couldn’t quite shake off yet. 

With a flick of your wand, ingredients made their way into their perspective pans, and plates and utensils floated down from the cupboards and onto the kitchen table. Soon, the enticing aroma of your favorite meal of the day was wafting through the corridors and into the other rooms. 

As you were plating the steaming food, a voice called out from behind you, “I’m running out of jumpers you know.”

You looked up from your position fixing the plates of food on the table, to see George leaning against the door frame. Clad in only his pajama bottoms, you silently wondered if he was just never cold or if he did this to tease you on purpose. 

“What’s yours is mine, love.” You shrugged, walking over to him and pressing a small kiss at the very edge of his mouth.

“Guess it’s good that you make me wonderful food everyday,” He says, eyeing the food laid out in front of him. 

You roll your eyes playfully, “Oi, keep talking like that and I’m making meals just for myself!” 

-

Later in the day, you sipped peacefully on Molly’s famous hot chocolate, seated on the squishy couch as the rest of the Weasley clan began to open their gifts. Fred was sat under the tree, rummaging through the different wrapped packages and throwing them to whomever they were addressed to. Little by little, each Weasley sibling began to pull out their signature colored Weasley jumper. 

It filled your heart with so much warmth that you could all come together, especially after the last year you’ve had. Being separated from the people you loved and cared for the most had really taken a toll on all of you, so being under one roof together with nothing dark looming at the back of your minds, was such a blessing. 

“Hey,” George whispered from where he stood behind the couch, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

You turned slightly to look back at him, “What’s up, Georgie?” 

“Come with me,” He nudged his head in the direction of the door. 

“But I’m all warm and cozy,” You whined, motioning to the cup of hot chocolate in your hands, “Do I have to?” 

“Oh just come on,” He rolled his eyes, going to place his hands under your armpits in an attempt to lift you off the sofa. 

“Oi!” You complained, “I’m coming, I’m coming! Don’t get your wand in a knot.” 

A few of the Weasleys sent amused glances your way, but this kind of interaction wasn’t unusual in the household so they mostly left you to your own devices. You hadn’t noticed that Molly was eyeing you with a slightly cheeky glint in her eye. She knew exactly what her son had in mind. 

You gently placed your mug on the coffee table before turning around and linking your arm with George’s. He brought you just by the window of the kitchen and gave you a big grin.

“Alright then, Weasley. What’s all this about then?” You asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“I just wanted a little privacy so I could give you your gift.” An eyebrow raised slightly, you waited for him to continue, “I just thought you would finally like one of your own this year.” 

To say you were confused was an understatement. You eyed your boyfriend nervously as he pulled a wrapped package seemingly from thin air. You wasted no time pulling the ribbon and carefully tearing at the brown paper. 

Inside was a sweater that matched the exact blue of George’s, and right smack in the middle was the initial of your name in the same shade of yellow. 

Your eyes darted from the gift and back up at the wonderful soul in front of you, and you couldn’t help but feel the prick of tears welling up. 

He noticed this too, “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just thought that you loved my jumpers so much that I would make you your own–”

At the realization that he had made the sweater himself, and hadn’t commissioned Molly to do it, made the dams of your eyes break. Your tears were freely falling by now and all you could think of doing was throwing your arms around George and pulling him into a slightly salty but ever so sweet kiss. 

“I love it,” You whispered once you broke apart, “This is the best Christmas gift ever.” 

[whimsical-musingss]

Frozen

Summary: you have cold hands. Based off of an incorrect quote by @bakedcrispss aka the love of my life. (Original post here!)

Warnings: literally just fluff, buckle up y’all. Also this is unedited because I just word vomited this because I’m touch deprived and I would LIKE SOME DARYL DIXON KISSES AND SNUGS OK.

The gif made me GIGGLE heheh

Overnight, a heavy blanket of snow covered Alexandria, accompanied with freezing temperatures. It came with no warning. Only the group from Georgia were so unprepared, so confused, and in awe. Most haven’t seen this much snow before, including you and Daryl.

When your group managed to leave Georgia and move north, winter clothes were not a priority, especially during the hot summer and fighting off walkers. Out of the group, Daryl had his poncho that was somehow still intact. Everyone else was managing with blankets and staying indoors until winter clothes were delivered to them.

You’re huddled in your bed, curled up, the blankets over your head like a shield from the cold. Only it doesn’t help. To say you’re freezing is an understatement: you felt the cold in your bones, you could feel the tip of your nose and fingertips going numb. And all you could think was how you’ve never felt so cold like this in your life...and how much you miss heating.

God, you’re miserable. Daryl and Rick said they would be back soon with warm clothes, but that was hours ago. You think. You’re too cold to move to check your watch; afraid that the slightest movement would lose the little heat you had. And you swear, every time you breathed out you saw your breath-

The door opens outside, and you wince. A cold wind would surely make its way to your room, brought by Daryl himself. You don’t get up to meet him, you resort to staying in your curled up position, as stiff as you were. His footsteps are getting closer, and you’re thankful that he took his shoes off. The last thing you needed was melted snow and slush in your room.

He’s carrying bundles of clothes, and you notice his face is slightly red from the wind outside. And he’s layered with coats and gloves, even a hat on his head.

“There’s something I thought I’d never see,” you say from your spot, and Daryl looks down at you, almost pathetically. “Can say the same for ya,” he replies, voice laced with sarcasm and teasing. As always.

“I’m trying to...,” you pause before finally muttering, “burrow.”

Daryl actually smirks at you. “Burrow? You ain’t an animal.”

You don’t answer, even when Daryl plops the bundle of clothes on the bed. “C’mon, sit up,” Daryl says as he sorts through the pile. When you don’t move, Daryl swipes the blankets from your body, and you let out a shriek of shock. It’s so much colder, and your teeth immediately start to chatter.

“Yer wearin’ shorts?”

“Yes! I am! Because they’re my pajama shorts!” You shout, embarrassed, grabbing at some jeans Daryl was holding, but he grabs them back. “Those are mine,” he snaps. “This is yer pile.”

You swing your legs over the bed and onto the floor, squeaking as your bare feet touch the ground. Tiptoeing towards your pile of clothes, Daryl sits on your bed, sighing as he takes off his first layer of gloves, then his second, until his hands are revealed.

You finally find a pair of pants that seem warm enough, as well as a sweater and jacket and socks. Daryl brought a lot back, as usual.

“Thanks for getting me thESE-“ you shriek again as Daryl puts his freezing hand right on your bare thigh. You jerk away, swatting him furiously with your pants. “Cold!” You yelp, slinking back towards the door. He’s shyly grinning, and you barely see it but it’s there, and you blush before you dart from the room.

You change quickly in the bathroom, your face still burning furiously. Daryl touched your thigh. As a friend. Just to be funny; to get a reaction from you. Your thoughts are going a mile a minute, and before you leave the bathroom, you whisper, “Daryl is just a friend.”

Daryl is laying on your bed when you come back. You toss your new winter clothes into some drawers, and when you finish, you sit on the foot of your bed, far away from Daryl as possible. If he touched you like that again, you’d explode.

Daryl sits up as you sit down, however, and he’s right at your side now, very close to you. You feel your face getting hot again, and you fidget.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his eyes concentrated on you, as if trying to figure you out.

“My hands are cold,” you blurt out, and you move your palms together to make a show of it, and he lets out a laugh. He knows your bullshitting, he can see right through you.

As he stops laughing at your poor attempt to cover yourself, he takes your hand in his larger one. “Better?”

Your face burns as you nod, staring at his hand holding your own. He holds it gently, thumb moving across the back of your hand. He looks at you, but you avoid his gaze, continuing to stare at his hand. You watch carefully as he used his other hand move towards your chin. He uses his fingers to tilt your chin so you’re looking at him, but your eyes quickly glance away.

“Look at me,” his voice is soft, like his hands. Your eyes instantly meet his, and you wonder why you can’t speak. It’s like his gaze renders you speechless and floundering like a fish out of water.

You can’t help but blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “For some strange reason my lips are cold too.” His eyes widen slightly, out of amusement or surprise, you don’t know.

His fingers are tracing your cheek then down to your jawline, and he’s leaning in slowly, your noses brush, and his lips are on yours. They feel cold, but it’s instantly replaced by warmth as you kiss him back, his hand holding yours tightly.

He pulls away with a small smirk on his face, and you suddenly realize that he always wanted to do that. The small glances he sent your way, the fact that he gets you winter clothes, and the way he touched your thigh...it wasn’t as a friend.

“Kiss me again,” you say, and his eyes are bright now, the smirk never leaving his face as he cups your cheek to kiss you.

Taglist—let me know if you would like to be added/removed. ❤️

@crossbowking @pastanest @imaginecrushes @jodiereedus22 @br-azy @pansexualgrapes @alispaceme @hudsonbird @sophia-gwendolyn @spidergirla5 @courtnytrash04 @bakedcrispss

[hhjs]

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary  —   Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

 You accept it. 

 For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

 Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all. 

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour.  Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe.  While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him. 

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell. 

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

 Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose.  You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger  stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

 You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night.  See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart. 

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.”  he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

 “I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

 Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've  passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side. 

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous. 

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it. 

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say. 

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

— 

Kiss underneath a mistletoe. 

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right. 

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different.  Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

  Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

 He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

— 

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh.  Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

 Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you?  "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."  

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know.  Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

— 

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of  honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear,   "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

[jtrbluv]

resolutely, yours. | kth

summary: When your best-friend slash pain-in-your-ass, Kim Seokjin, drags you to a New Year’s Eve party that you didn’t want to go to in the first place, what better way is there to pass the time than to stay sober and watch all your classmates go berserk? Well, that is until Kim Taehyung steps into the picture, of course.

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.7k+

warnings: profanity, slight alcohol consumption, implied drug usage (two words only, i swear), college party antics should say enough

A/N: first fic of the year! W O O! this was supposed to be for tae’s birthday but i guess it’s fitting since it is the new year. a special thanks to miss mei @sugacouture for her likeness and @koushiningg aka the eternal hypewoman. this fic (drabble) is rly short but i do have a lot coming up in store! for now, hope u enjoy and happy new year everyone!

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You are going to murder Kim Seokjin.

The spiked punch that fills your red solo cup up to its brim has been waiting to be quaffed down for thirty-seven minutes now. Roughly five minutes before that, Seokjin had somehow managed to drag you through the front doors of the fraternity party he’s been wanting you to accompany him to for weeks now.

And it only takes ten minutes for the proclaimed party animal and people-person, Kim Seokjin, to vanish from your side. He leaves you to fend for yourself in a jungle full of plastered college students—priorities at the moment are to either drink so much liquid regret that they can’t even remember their own names, or to find someone to make out with when the clock strikes at midnight. From simple observation, you notice that most, if not everyone here, fall under both categories.

Well, the exception being you, of course.

One thing to note is that you actually do have a decent tolerance for alcohol. You were no stranger to it, and it would serve as a dutiful companion to you when times called for it. Like last week after your last final that you knew you fucking bombed.

However, the humidity of the room due to the accumulation of bodies that left little to no room for fresh air, in addition to the strong stench of alcohol mixed with sweat mixed with God knows what, just was not the ideal place for you to get wasted. It didn’t stand close in comparison to drinking with a solid group of close friends, or by yourself in the comfort of your bed while a shitty rom-com plays in the background on your laptop.

The atmosphere is suffocating all of your senses— tears pricking at the corners of your eyes due to the strong odor of the room, the curled front pieces of your hair dampening and sticking to your temples, your mouth and throat dry as the Sahara Desert because, of fucking course, there is absolutely no water to be seen.

The small black dress and heels that Seokjin forced you to wear was worsening the situation greatly—your legs practically glued stuck to the stool you were sitting on, leading to ugly red marks and stinging skin if you tried to stand up.

You could not take being inside any longer. Instead of passing out from being piss drunk, you were almost adamant that you were going to pass out from the grueling mix of heat exhaustion and secondhand high.

Your grip on the solo cup significantly tightens, nearly crushing the plastic in half. You quickly stand up from the stool you were sitting in, the sensation akin to getting your legs waxed as you take a deep inhale through your nose, mentally preparing yourself to dive into this sea of financially obligated, depressed monsters.

Peculiarly, you manage to shove your way through a good chunk of the mass, your eyes set on the door that leads towards the balcony. Your ankles almost completely give into your weight a concerning number of times, and if it wasn’t for all of the arms of oblivious partygoers that you had clung onto for dear life, you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own two feet by now.

Solely occupied with trying to navigate your way through the crowd, you don’t even realize that someone bumped into you and spilled your drink all over your dress until you reach the balcony. The cold, night breeze passes over your body, leaving chills on the huge wet patch on your dress. The one goddamn time your dress sees the light of day, you just so happen to find a way to ruin it.

“Fucking hell!” You holler into the vacant balcony, your hands coming up to carefully poke at the wet patch on your dress. You wince as the soaked, freezing fabric comes in contact with your bare stomach. Angry, you chug down the rest of the drink inside your cup and chuck it off the balcony, too enraged to even react to its strong taste.

Shivering, you walk deeper onto the balcony, cradling yourself and staring at your shoes, a string of curses spewing from your lips. You scold yourself for not bringing a jacket while simultaneously plotting your revenge against Seokjin. A pair of black loafers intrude your vision, accompanied by a husky voice that calls out to you,

“Oh shit, are you okay?”

Your head shoots up, your eyes meeting the ones of the man standing in front of you. He towers above you significantly despite you wearing heels. His eyes are only a tad obscured by the soft, brown curls of his hair, perfectly styled and gelled to have that ‘purposefully messy’ look. The only difference being that models stood no chance against him when he was the blueprint himself. The black button up he’s clad in exquisitely accentuates every crevice of his lean, chiseled body. And his eyes that were already alluring on their own, were adorn with hazel-colored contacts that you swear you could stare at for hours upon hours. He is so otherworldly beautiful, you temporarily forget to breathe.

And you also forget that you are just staring at him, and he is staring back at you with a smile.

Times like this is when you wish you were at least a little buzzed. Sober ‘you’ is way too socially inept to fend for themself sadly. “O-oh i’m fine, someone just spilled their drink on me.”

Maybe it’s the way the moon sits behind him and casts a halo-like glow around his figure or how he’s just been staring straight into your eyes this whole time, like it’s second nature whilst you can only hold eye contact with him for two seconds before instinctively shying away. To say that his presence frightened you was an understatement. You were about to take cover and hide under the patio table like a five-year-old if he kept looking at you like that.

He blinks, his mouth stretching into a wide grin, rectangular-shaped and having the ability to ease your nerves. He places his drink on a patio table, dusting his hands on his pants, “Here, I’ll get you some napkins, just stay here.”

Stunned, it isn’t until he leaves that you yell out to him as he steps back inside the chaos, “Thank you!”

You carefully sit down on a patio chair, your arms still wrapped around your shivering torso while you try to breathe warm air into your cupped hands.

The man steps out onto the balcony minutes later, his fists full of paper towels as he hands them to you. “Here you go.”

You graciously take them, blotting your dress with the paper towels, your nose scrunching at the scent of alcohol that you had no choice but to inhale. “Thank you so much, really.” You say— still very much shocked to know that chivalry isn't quite dead yet. “It’s Taehyung, right?”

He nods, “Yeah, and you’re Y/N?

Your pause, your hand hovering over your dress as you look up and nod with a forced smile, “No but really, thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sorry that it happened in the first place,” he says apologetically, as if it was his fault, “it seems like everyone’s already out of their minds, and it isn’t even midnight yet.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” you assure him, which seems to work because his eyes soften a bit, “besides, I guess it’s my fault for coming here in the first place. I knew something like this was gonna happen and now here I am, smelling like cheap, convenience store vodka.”

He chuckles, and you swear you’ve never been so elated to make someone laugh until now, “I somehow managed to beat the crowd. I’ve literally just been standing out here by myself for a good hour now.”

You sigh in envy, “Must be nice.”

“Too bad you couldn’t make it, it’s been awfully quiet up here.” He says, pivoting on his heel to look at the rest of the empty balcony.

Your eyes trail to the commotion inside the house, the crowd still going strong, “Are we really the only sober ones here?”

He shakes his head, “Nah, we’re just the only ones stupid enough to show up at a college party on New Year’s Eve, expecting to have a good time sober while everyone’s getting plastered.”

The unexpected truth pill causes you to enter a fit of laughter, small clouds of air leaving your mouth every time you exhale. He laughs along with you. “Yeah we are pretty stupid, I do admit.” You concur, while rubbing at your arms that were covered in goosebumps.

“Do you want my jacket?” He asks you while pointing to the black blazer that’s slung on top of the chair next to you.

You wrinkle your nose, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, before I put it on you myself,” he giggles with a roll of his eyes.

Shaking your head, you grab the blazer and wrap it around your shoulders. You stand up from your seat and turn towards him, brow quirked. “A-are you not cold? It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“I’m fine, I swear,” he counters, reaching out to help you slip your arms into his huge jacket sleeves, “I’m also not wearing a sleeveless dress.” He teases, eyeing you up and down as he takes in how oversized his jacket is on you. He thinks it looks much better when you’re wearing it, but he won’t tell you that.

“Right…” you drag out, following his footsteps as he motions you to follow him towards the edge of the balcony.

You two stand next to each other, leaning against the edge, arms nearly brushing against one another.

“So Taehyung, what brings you here in the first place?” You ask, knowing that he seems just as displeased to be here as much as you are.

“I got dragged here by a friend, Park Jimin, in particular.” He responds with a frown, “I have no idea where the fuck he is now, he literally left me as soon as we got here.”

Turning towards him incredulously, your brows raise and the corner of your lip curls into a smirk, “You don’t say.”

Confused, but also curious about the expression painted across your face, he quirks a brow, “Hm?”

You close your mouth, crossing your arms tighter around yourself, “I got dragged here by a friend too. Kim Seokjin. That asshole left me as soon as we got here too.”

He steps back, scoffing in disbelief, “Wow, we really just got stood up by our own friends.” Taehyung proclaims into the vacant balcony, for both him and you— the thought of it sounding even more pathetic after being said out loud.

“They’re pretty goddamn close to losing that title now.” You quip, shaking your head in dismay.

His head rocks back, a lively laugh leaving his lips due to your comment which makes you smile at the fact that you are even able to make him laugh like this.

“Damn it Y/N, you should’ve came out sooner, we could’ve been having a good time out here.” He tells you with a pout as his laughter starts to dwindle.

Sighing heavily, you too, feel regretful about the missed opportunity, “I really should have.”

He nudges you with his elbow, “At least you’re here now.”

The bass-boosted music from inside the house ceases, the room becoming momentarily quieter while someone bellows out, “Hey look, it’s the countdown!”

Everyone’s focus shifts towards the gigantic flat screen TV that hung above the fireplace, making you realize where the fraternity funds truly go to. You and Taehyung exchange glances before shrugging and moving closer to all the commotion since it was New Year’s Eve, above all.

He leans against the doorframe and you stay close to his side, the number ten flashing brightly on the screen—the crowd’s shouts getting louder as it reaches the final ten seconds of the year.

Instead of shouting out the numbers with the rest of the mass, you and Taehyung are simply witnessing it all fold out in silence.

“EIGHT!”

‘You got any New Year’s resolutions?!” You nudge him while attempting to yell over the noise.

His head whips towards you, “Me?!”

“SEVEN!”

Your brows furrow, “Does it look like I’m talking to anyone else?!”

His mouth splits into a grin once more, folding over in laughter just enough to meet eye-to-eye with you.

“SIX!”

“I mean! I didn’t have one originally!”

The crease in your brows dissipate, “Well, what changed?!”

“FIVE!”

His head tilts to the side, “I came here!”

You mirror his head tilt, confused as ever, “Um, so you wanna go to more parties next year?!”

“FOUR!”

He slaps a palm against his forehead, “From what you know about me, does it look like I like parties?!”

“How the hell would I know?!”

His jaw drops, “Y/N—!”

“THREE!”

“—I wanna get to know you better Y/N!”

Your jaw drops as well, “What?! Me?!”

“TWO!”

“Is there any other Y/N standing in front of me?!”

“I– oh...”

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The crowd shouts together in unison despite all being under the influence. A confetti cannon erupts, flying around the room and falling into people’s hair as the mass starts to split into pairs, all partaking in the traditional New Year’s kiss that you personally haven’t had much luck in participating in yourself.

You rip your gaze away to look at Taehyung. He smiles, pulling a piece of confetti out of hair, making your cheeks flush. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Taehyung.”

The small amount of alcohol you consumed when you first stepped foot onto the balcony leaves you slightly buzzed. Just enough to leave you with the right amount of courage to vouch for the nickname.

You take a daring step towards the man in front of you, “I also have a resolution of my own, Taehyung.”

He takes an even more daring step towards you, having the audacity to lean down— your faces only inches apart. “And what is that, may I ask?”

Grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, you close the gap in between the two of you, locking your lips with his. The kiss isn’t short enough to be a peck but isn’t long enough to be considered making out. You pull away enough to be able to see his face, “Is to get to know you better too.”

He chuckles, “Y/N, your lips taste like spiked punch.”

Pouting, you bump your forehead into his, “All I drank was whatever you saw me have at the balcony, I swear.”

He pecks your nose, your frown immediately wiping away as he does so, “I trust you.”

You smile, giving him a peck on the mouth, “As you should.”

“I’d kiss you again, but you probably can’t stand being here any longer. Let’s get out of here.” He tells you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You slide your arm onto his, interlocking his fingers with your own, “I think you’ve already completed your resolution Taehyung. You seem to know me so well already.”

Pushing through the crowd, he hooks an arm onto your waist while he shoves a path for you two to get through, “Too bad I don’t know where you wanna go though.”

You hum, thinking for a moment before your grumbling stomach answers for you, “I’m hungry, let’s go grab burgers or something.”

You don’t see the way Taehyung is fondly staring at you because you’re too busy trying to open the front door. At last, you manage to pry it open, stepping back outside while Taehyung’s holding you in his arms. It’s not that cold this time.

Taehyung’s hands land on both of your shoulders— turning you around to face him as he swiftly latches his lips onto yours. You stumble back, but his hand is quick to support you as he kisses you deeply. You kiss him back, letting your fingers curl around the curls of his hair.

He pulls back this time, letting his forehead rest on yours, “Y/N, I think you are the one that’s completed your resolution. How the hell did you know that I fucking love burgers?”

-

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MASTERLIST