#what they accused me of instead was procrastinating and not having good time management | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cocastyle · 5 years ago

Text

Change - Ch. 2 | O N E

Pairing - Bill Denbrough x reader

Word Count - 13,258

A/N - super long beginning chapter for this half of the series but one hundred percent necessary! I didn’t want to split up the part where each person gets their phone calls, so I decided to make it one long chapter to kick the second movie rewrite off. I am beyond excited for what’s to come and I really hope you all enjoy this rewrite!

if you would like to be added to the tag list for this series let me know!

C H A N G E

Change Series Masterlist

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O N E - Beginning of the End

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Memory. It's a funny thing.

People want to believe they are what they choose to remember—the good stuff, the moments, the places, the people we all hold onto. But sometimes. . .sometimes we are what we wish we could forget.

The thing is sometimes what we wish was forgotten, what we tried to leave in the past, won't stay there. Sometimes it comes back for you.

- - -

Bill Denbrough stared blankly at his computer screen, watching as the cursor blinked repeatedly as he had yet to type a word other than the setting which was 'attic' on the paper. A copy of his latest book titled The Attic Room sat beside his computer, little slips of paper sticking out from different pages he had marked down and made notes on.

A knock on his trailer door was what finally snapped the man out of his thoughts, lifting his head in the direction of the door in a tired manner as if he wasn't quite sure if the knock was real or not. When the door suddenly opened up, Bill was quick to sit up and nod his head forward, the action causing his glasses to fall from his forehead and back onto his nose as he pretended to be typing away. "Mr. Denbrough," a soft voice said and Bill glanced over to see a woman a little younger than him with short blonde hair and a headset, "they need you on set."

It took all of Bill's willpower not to look at all surprised when he was practically screaming inside of his head. Already? Hadn't he only just sat down to write? How long had he been sitting there? Glancing at his watch, Bill swallowed thickly once he realized he had been sitting there for hours now, the day already almost over by now.

Bill could feel the woman's eyes still on him and he was quick to plaster a fake smile on his face as he looked to her and gave her a short nod. That seemed to be enough of an answer for her and she disappeared outside leaving Bill to collect his things as he tiredly took his glasses off his face.

His eyes instantly flickered to his computer and he put both hands on his face before dragging them down with a small sigh. Bill reached out and shut the computer without another thought about it and grabbed the computer and copy of his book before hurrying out of his trailer where the woman was waiting for him.

"We're just going to go this way," the woman said as she began to walk Bill towards one of the many buildings on the Warner Bros property.

Bill was trying his best not to seem as nervous as he was, gripping onto his book and computer tight enough with one hand that his other could relax peacefully by his side. He felt queasy and for a moment he wondered if he was going to be sick. He hadn't felt this nervous in a long time and Bill thought to himself about the last time he had been this nervous if not more.

For just a second it was like a image of startling e/c eyes flashed through his head, but it had vanished before he could grasp it. The image was gone as quick as it had came and Bill had no clue what he had even been thinking about in the first place.

A small frown began to make its way onto Bill's face, but it was quickly replaced by a panicked look once he saw the garage door to the set beginning to fall closed. His eyes widened and he jogged past the woman who shouted after him, but he ignored her and was quick to slide under the door just as it was closing.

"Hey, use the door!" a man exclaimed as he pointed towards the regular door that Bill could've easily walked through. "Come on! You never seen Indiana Jones?" Bill questioned, his eyebrows furrowing at the man. It had only been a joke, something to get his heart bumping in an excited and adventurous way instead of the nervous beating his heart had encountered moments before.

"Watch it!" another voice exclaimed and Bill was quick to stop in his tracks as a man walked past him with a container of props rolling across the floor. Bill shook his head slightly, already overwhelmed, and began to make his way across the room and over to where he assumed the director would be.

"Hey, hey, you a member?" a man asked, but Bill was barely able to register what he said as he walked past him. "Hmm? I'm. . .the writer," Bill finally managed to get out before he walked onto set.

Instead of finding the director, Bill was met with another sight that made him even more uncomfortable then he already was. "Bill," Audra Phillips, the leading lady of the movie who also happened to be his ex-wife, greeted him. "Hey."

He had been married to Audra for eight years before the two had ended things a year back. In all honesty, Bill wasn't quite sure why he had married the woman in the first place. He had thought he loved her, but the moment she had asked for a divorce he could only describe having felt one emotion—relief. Their marriage hadn't ended badly and there had been no problems. It was just two people simply falling out of love with each other. Audra had even started to date a co-star she had met a few months back and Bill was happy for her. After all, he had come to the realization that Audra wasn't the girl for him. He had a feeling like there was someone out there for him and the crazy thing was that he felt like he had already met her, but that she was lost. Weird, right?

Bill and Audra weren't exactly friends per say and only saw each other as business partners, knowing that neither one would be able to survive in their business without a mutual agreement between the two. However, Bill still couldn't help but think about how much he hated having to work the same movie with her.

"Do you have the pages?" Audra questioned, snapping Bill out of his thoughts as she took a step closer to him, her eyes staring intently at him in both a questioning and alarmed manner. Bill hesitated and it was then that Audra's eyes widened. However, neither got a chance to say anything before the director was suddenly lowering his seat down in between the two, his gaze on Bill.

"My friend," the director Peter began, looking to Bill in exasperation, "a film needs an ending. You do know that right?" "Oh, yeah," Bill replied, looking to Peter in slight disbelief. However, he couldn't blame him for asking. Bill had a tendency to procrastinate when it came to writing especially when it was something like this where they wanted him to change the ending of his book.

"You said that you needed another day to finish the pages and we're shooting this thing. It's tonight," Audra told him, her eyes still on Bill as she spoke in an accusing tone. "It's been seventeen hours," Bill muttered, but no one seemed to be listening to him.

"Everybody calm down, okay?" Peter said, his eyes flickering between the two as if he were afraid they would begin to fight. Despite their business agreement, Audra and Bill had been known to argue on more than one occasion and it was obvious Peter did not want to see another one of those. "I'm calm," Bill told him, unsure as to where Peter could see any hostility in what he was saying.

"I want you to be happy with the movie, you understand? I'm on your side," Peter insisted. "That's. . .that's great. Cause in my book the ending-" Bill began. "Is terrible," Peter finished with no regret or hesitation. Bill blinked in surprise and looked to the director with furrowed eyebrows. "With all due respect, people love your book. Love! But they hated the ending."

"You said you liked the ending," Bill said, looking a little defeated as he studied the man in front of him. Did people really hate his endings? "That was a lie," Peter told him bluntly while Audra glanced to Bill in a way that seemed to hold just a tad bit of sympathy. "We got to do better, okay?" Bill was hesitant before looking down at the ground and nodding his head. "Yeah," he breathed out, although he wasn't sure what to think.

"Audra, you have my notes. Could you-?" Peter questioned as he gestured towards Bill causing the man to look up and over at Audra in surprise while she nodded in response. "Thank you very much. Could you take me back to-"

Before Bill could even hear the rest of his sentence, Peter was gone and back into the film leaving Bill and Audra standing there. "You have his notes?" Bill finally questioned, turning to look at his ex wife in disbelief. “He's not wrong," Audra sighed. "You hate my endings too?" Bill asked surprised, having never heard in their eight years of marriage that she hated his endings. In fact, she had praised him on multiple occasions. Had a year of them not being married changed her perspective that much?

"Not all your endings. This just-" Audra admitted while Bill's eyes widened and he turned to walk away. Audra was quick to follow after him, knowing that he had to get the pages done in order for this movie to be finished. "What? Do you want me to keep lying to you just because we used to-" "Be married?" Bill questioned as he looked back at the women. "No, no. You just. . .you been blowing smoke up my ass for eight years? I guess I thought you were someone else."

"I have not been blowing smoke up your ass," Audra said, a look of anger crossing her face as she stopped beside Bill who was at the catering table.

"Everybody wants a happy ending. Everybody wants closure, but it's not the way life works out," Bill insisted, hesitating slightly as he felt his heart ache. For a moment he thought he felt something poking his brain, a memory begging to be let out. But it was gone just as fast as the image from earlier and he was already forgetting about it.

"I think what Peter wants and what the studio wants-" Audra began only for Bill to snap his head in her direction. "The studio?" he questioned, even more surprised than before now that he knew that everyone seemed to be talking about his book and how much the ending sucked. "When did you become the company? You're an artist. Come on. What's wrong with doing it the way it's written? The way I want it? What's wrong with being the woman I want you to be?"

Audra's eyes widened a little in anger and she gritted her teeth before saying, "Fuck you, Bill!"

"On the page," Bill sighed, not having meant it the way Audra was taking it, but it seemed the woman didn't care. "The part I mean. Not you. I don't even care about you in that way." Audra's eyes widened even more in anger and Bill swore she was about to slap him. "Shit, that came out wrong."

Bill's cell ringing was what finally saved him from himself and he went to fish his phone out of his pocket while Audra sent a glare at him before walking away. He didn't even bother yelling after her for he knew there was no point. She wouldn't want to listen and they would just end up arguing more than they just had.

Turning back to the food table so that Bill wouldn't have to acknowledge the eyes that were staring at him from all around the movie set, the man glanced at his phone to see that it was a call coming from Derry, Maine. Bill got that same feeling once again, like there was something he was missing, but he pushed it aside and instead exited out of one of the back doors so that he woundn't disrupt filming.

"Hello?" Bill questioned as he put the phone to his ear, confused as to who could be calling him that lived in Derry, Maine. "Bill Denbrough?" a deep voice said, a voice that Bill did not recognize at all. "It's Mike." Bill furrowed his eyebrows, still not knowing who this person was. "Mike who?" Bill asked.

"Mike Hanlon."

It took Bill a moment to even register what the man had said and it was in that moment that he stopped in his tracks. The nervousness he had felt earlier about talking to Peter and Audra was nothing compared to the feeling he was suddenly getting.

It was like his whole body had gone cold, so cold in fact that he was numb to all other sensations. All he could hear was a ringing in his ears before it was quickly overpowered by his heartbeat that had begun to race so fast despite Bill not knowing why. His breathing picked up its pace ever so slightly and Bill didn't even register his hand which had started to shake as it held onto his phone.

Fear, that was what he felt. But for what? He was unsure.

"From Derry."

And it was then that Bill was brought back to reality, wincing slightly as he suddenly got a flashback of a young dark skinned boy smiling at him. He had to have been thirteen years old and the image of the boy plus the name Mike Hanlon and the connection of Derry were enough for Bill to remember who it was he was talking to.

How had he been able to forget about Mike? They had been best friends up until the day Bill had moved away and for a moment Bill remembered having promised to keep in touch with Mike only to realize he never had. Now why was that?

A few more memories flashed through Bill's head and it felt as if he couldn't breath as he remembered his thirteen year old self sitting in a circle with the people who had all been his best friends—Stanley Uris, Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, and Y/N Uris.

Bill felt like he had just gotten a punch to the gut at that last name, his eyes widening as he suddenly saw an image of Y/N Uris standing before him in a field. Her h/c hair blowing gently in the wind, her e/c eyes glistening under the rays of the sun while she sent him one of those effortless smiles of hers that used to make him feel as if he were going to have a heart attack.

You make me happy, Bill Denbrough.

Y/N Uris.

Now how the hell could he forget about her?

Before Bill could think of her much longer, his hand suddenly began to flare up in pain. The man winced and was quick to look down at his hand and at a scar that ran along his palm, a scar that he didn't remember having until that very moment. And all he could do was stare at the scar while Mike's voice rang in his ear.

"You need to come home."

- - -

"Eddie, I keep telling you not to scare me like this and you never listen to me," Myra Kaspbrak complained over the speaker of the car while a shaky hand reached for the glove compartment to pull out a container of pills.

"Alright, Myra!" Eddie Kaspbrak exclaimed, knowing that there was no other way to gain the attention of his wife unless his voice was louder than hers. He held the bottle of pills up to his lips and was quick to dump his doctor prescribed amount into his mouth. "Please not now."

"You shouldn't be out there," Myra insisted while Eddie huffed in annoyance low enough that she couldn't hear. "Eddie, it's not safe to drive when the roads are slick like this."

"Sweetheart, it stopped raining like three hours ago, alright? Everything's going to be fine," Eddie assured her before the honking of a cab gained his attention. The man was quick to look out the window and yell, "Hey, dickhead! Slow traffic mean anything to you?"

"What if you hydroplane?" Myra continued, ignoring Eddie's yells. "I'm not going to hydroplane," Eddie insisted, already feeling himself becoming more and more tense behind the wheel. He was trying to keep himself calm, but that was hard. How had he ever been able to calm his younger self down when there are people like Myra always yelling at him?

Taking in a deep breath, Eddie managed to keep his voice steady long enough to reply, "It is my job to assess risks so please trust me when I tell you that statistically speaking I am much more likely to get into an accident because I am talking to you on the phone! Alright? I have to go. I will talk to you soon. Goodbye."

Eddie didn't even give Myra time to respond before he was ending the call and he let out a small sigh of relief once it was over. However, he had barely even gotten the sigh out before his phone was ringing again.

Eddie was quick to press the answer button and, thinking it was a client, he said, "Edward Kaspbrak speaking." "You didn't say 'okay, bye, I love you' like you usually do," Myra's voice came through the speaker once again.

Eddie had to resist the urge to scream as he said, "Listen to me! I can't! I'm going to be late to this-" His phone began to ring again and he glanced down at the screen before falling quiet, his eyes locking onto the caller ID which read Derry, Maine. "-meeting."

Eddie felt as if someone had dunked a bucket of ice cold water on him, the cold seeping all the way down to his bones and making his whole body ache. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and for the first time in a while he had the sudden urge to use his inhaler.

He was afraid, but what of?

But then he saw a flash of an image, a boy with thick rimmed glasses grinning at him as he nudged his side with his elbow. And then he was hearing a voice that didn't belong to the boy with glasses whisper into his ear, soft and so familiar despite the fact that he couldn't pinpoint why he remembered it.

Eds.

He had never been called Eds before to his knowledge, having always hated it since he was a child. So why did he suddenly hear a young girl's voice whispering it into his ear? And why was that enough to calm him down and make his fear disappear?

"Say 'I love you,' Eddie," Myra insisted, but Eddie was barely listening to her, his gaze still focused on the caller ID. "Okay. I love you, Mommy," Eddie muttered as if in a trance. "What?" Myra's voice said and that was enough to have Eddie snap out of it.

"Myra," he corrected before going to end the call. "Bye." Eddie didn't even hesitate to answer the call from Derry, but when it got to speaking, he found himself hesitating longer than he should've for an unknown reason.

"Hello?" Eddie finally said, his eyes staring warily at the screen as if that would answer all of his unknown questions. "Who is this?"

"It's me. Mike," a voice replied and Eddie gulped, his eyes still on the screen. "Mike who?" Eddie questioned nervously. He was too focused on the screen to notice that he ran a red light until honking was heard and a yellow cab hit the car from the side. Eddie's car came to a screeching stop as all air bags went off.

"Eddie, you okay?" Mike asked in a panic after hearing the crash from the other side of the line.

From under the air bag, Eddie's voice croaked out. "Yeah, I'm pretty good," Eddie replied although he had a feeling he was going to be anything but okay after this phone call.

- - -

Richie Tozier gripped onto the metal stair railing the best that he could as he puked over the side and onto the ground below. His whole body was shaking as he stood there feeling colder than he had ever felt before yet sweating to the point where his glasses began to slide down his nose.

He was sick once more over the side of the railing before he managed to glance at his phone which he had been on only moments before to answer a call from Derry, Maine. He hadn't known what to expect when answering it and had honestly thought either a fan had found his number or someone was calling to try and book him.

However nothing could prepare him for Mike Hanlon to be on the other end, a name he hadn't heard of in years and a boy he hadn't heard from in just as long. He hadn't even remembered the boy until Mike had said his full name, the name jogging something in Richie's mind as he remembered the homeschooler he used to be friends with.

It was then that Richie remembered the rest of his best friends who had all dawned the group name of the Losers Club and Richie realized he hadn't thought of them in what seemed like forever. In fact, he couldn't even remember half of the things they did together, but as the minutes ticked by he slowly began to remember his best friends who he had joked and messed around with until he was pretty sure the memories had gotten too much for him that he had been sick.

It had to be the memories, right? What else could it be?

"What the fuck?" a voice exclaimed behind him causing the man to stand up and look to see his manager standing at the door that led back into the club. "You were fine like five seconds ago. Who was it? Who called?"

Richie couldn't bring himself to say anything, his whole body still shaking violently as he gripped onto the metal railing. Why did he suddenly have a feeling like something was wrong? Was it because Mike told him he needed to come home? Was it because he felt guilty for having forgotten about the very friends he used to swear he would never forget about?

"Rich?" his manager said and for a moment Richie swore he heard the nickname said in what he distantly remembered as Eddie Kaspbrak's voice. "Rich?" there it was again, but this time it sounded like a girl. It took merely a second for Richie to identify it as Y/N Uris and he swore he grew paler, but why?

"Talk to me," his manager said and it was then that Richie began to snap out of it and stood up taller as he knew that neither Eddie or Y/N were here or even still thirteen years old. "You're on in two minutes," his manger announced as he handed Richie a rag which he quickly used to wipe his mouth. "You good? Cause you look not good."

In all honesty, Richie wasn't sure if he was good or not. He had forgotten about his best friends. Mike Hanlon had called telling him he needed to come home without any explanation why. His hand hurt like a bitch because of some scar he didn't remember having. And he had a sickening feeling in his gut which he could only describe as fear. But fear of what exactly?

"I'm fine," Richie insisted, quickly leaving the alleyway and walking back into the club. He couldn't think about Derry or the Losers any more especially not when he was supposed to be doing a show. Mike would just have to wait.

"You're fine? Good. Okay. And we're walking and we're walking," his manager muttered as he quickly stepped into line by Richie's side. "Sixty seconds," a stage manager announced to the pair. "Even faster," his manager said as he ushered Richie to pick up his pace, but Richie was struggling to even stand up right at this point. "Could you get him a bottle of water maybe?"

"Bourbon," Richie corrected, knowing he would need something a lot stronger to get through the show. "Bourbon?" his manager questioned before realizing Richie was serious and nodding to the stage manager to go. "Sure. Sure." "And a mint," Richie muttered as he grimaced at the taste in his mouth.

"Showtime," his manager said as they got closer to the stage, but Richie shook his head in distress. "I don't think I can do this," Richie admitted, feeling sicker by the second. His manager began to grumble behind him, but Richie was barely paying attention as someone was suddenly handing him a glass of bourbon and a container of mints. "That was fast."

Richie downed the drink almost instantly before popping multiple mints in his mouth. Knowing he had a crowd waiting for him, Richie took in a deep breath before walking over to the door that lead to the stage but that actually happened to be the emergency exit.

"This way," his manager corrected him, directing the man down a different hallway and through a different door. "Attaboy. Okay." "Alright, how do I look?" Richie questioned, his hands violently shaking the glass and a container of mints in his hands while he forced a smile onto his face.

His manager grimaced slightly and stared at Richie for a moment before sighing, "Yeah, your hands are shaking, Rich." Richie blinked in surprise before looking down at his hands to find that they were in fact shaking. "Shit," he muttered before quickly shoving the two items into his manager's hands. It was too late to do anything else, so the man began to walk towards the stage, slowly breathing in and out to try and calm his nerves.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Please welcome Richie Tozier!"

Richie was quick to put on a fake smile and raise his hand as he walked out on stage. The crowd began to clap and cheer, a sound that usually made Richie feel at home but tonight made him feel more alone and uncomfortable than ever.

Cursing himself slightly, Richie walked over to the microphone in the middle of the stage and took in a deep breath before smiling at the audience and beginning his routine, ignoring the slight shake of his hands that he was desperately trying to control.

"Alright, how we doin' today?" Richie questioned earning a roar of cheering from the audience. It was obvious that they couldn't tell he was nervous and that put Richie a little bit at ease.

"So my girlfriend caught me uh masterbating to her friend's Facebook page and uh. . .so now I'm in masterbaters anonymous," Richie said, reciting the lines he had read off of a script for the first time the night before. The crowd seemed to like it and laughed and that laughter only made Richie feel more at ease.

"And I stand up at the first meeting and I say 'my name is Richie Trashmouth-'" Richie stopped abruptly, his whole demeanor changing as he accidentally said the nickname that he been bestowed upon him when he was younger. He hadn't even remembered the nickname up until it slipped from his mouth. Where had that come from?

Oh okay, trash the trash-mouth, I get it, he distantly heard his thirteen year old voice say in his head although he couldn't remember why he was saying that or to whom.

In a blink of an eye the memory was gone and Richie could do nothing but stand there on stage with a blank expression, the joke completely gone from his head. In fact, he couldn't even seem to remember the rest of the script he had spent hours practicing.

"Trashmouth uh. . .I forgot the joke," Richie admitted while a whistle was heard from the crowd. Before long people had started to whisper, some even booed before a woman yelled out, "You suck!" Richie faked a smile at that before looking down at his feet. He was suddenly overcome with another wave of nausea and Richie couldn't help but think back to the phone call with Mike.

What the fuck had that phone call done to him?

- - -

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for letting us present to you today," an employee of Hanscom & Associates said, his eyes flickering over the table before him before he gestured towards the building model on the table in front of them. "Now this will include over a million square feet of commercial and residential space-"

"What I'm really looking for is to understand how we create even more retail opportunities," another man at the table explained, his gaze steady and calculating. "If we put in walls here and all along here-“

"Lose them," a new voice said causing everyone in the room to look to the television screen which held a video conference call with the owner of the company himself. "With all due respect, Mr. Hanscom," the original man began, but Ben Hanscom was quick to correct him.

"Ben," he insisted as he leaned back a little in the office chair he had at home. "And with all due respect, I'm getting claustrophobic just looking at this model, aren't you? Look throw up more walls, it's gonna feel like a prison. You know what people want to do in prison? Get out, right? This should be a place that brings people together. A meeting ground."

Ben's eyes flickered down to his wallet and he gently reached for it before opening it up, his fingers brushing against an old folded piece of paper that was slightly sticking out with cursive handwriting just beginning to peak out behind the leather.

Ben rested his fingers against the paper and looked up thoughtfully as an image of a wooden room filled his thoughts, laughter of children echoing in his head as he distantly remembered a group of kids that had changed his life forever.

"Clubhouse," he whispered, his eyes glazing over as he got lost in thought. "And if, while people are there then-"

A small buzz pulled the man out of his thoughts and he trailed off as he looked to his right and at his phone sitting beside him. He froze at the sight of a number calling from Maine.

It was like time stood still and he was sure his face paled. For some reason he felt a sense of dread wash over him, like something was nagging at the back of his head telling him to either ignore the call completely and never think of it again or drop everything just to answer it.

He didn't know why, but it felt like his throat was beginning to close up, his heart thumping a little faster while a prickling feeling started from his toes before moving up the rest of his body. For the first time in Ben didn't know how long, he felt scared. But why? It was only a phone call? What was there to fear?

"Excuse me for one second," Ben said as he looked back at his computer before quickly pausing the video conference. "Hello?" Ben said as he stood up, his voice shaky although he wasn't sure why.

"Ben? It's Mike Hanlon from Derry."

- - -

Beverly Marsh awoke with a jolt, the feeling of something wet against her cheek being enough to wake her almost instantly. However, when she went to rub her cheek, there was nothing there. Frowning, Beverly stared up at the ceiling with a blank expression on her face but was quickly startled once again when her phone began to buzz beside her.

The red head snapped her head in the phone's direction, her eyebrows furrowing at the sight of someone from Maine calling her, and was quick to pick up her phone and rush to the kitchen as to not wake up her husband.

It wasn't long before she was sitting at her kitchen table, the voice of one of her childhood best friends Mike Hanlon ringing in her ears. "You made a promise, Beverly," Mike said almost sadly, but Beverly could barely register it. She was still getting an overwhelming amount of sudden memories flashing through her head, memories she had thought she had forgotten.

She tried to grasp onto the memories, but each time she did they would disappear back to the depths of her mind just out of reach. It was like she was remembering, but not at the same time. She felt as if there were things she was forgetting, fragments of her past missing from her mind. Although she barely remembered anything from her past up until Mike had called, so why was she worried about it?

"I-I'm so sorry, Mike," Beverly sighed, shaking slightly as she hugged her body with her free arm. She wasn't sure why she was so cold all of a sudden or why she felt like her heart was in her throat. Why was she so afraid? She was only talking to Mike. "I don't even really remember."

"Haven't you ever wondered why you can't seem to remember the things most people should? About where they're from? About who you are?" Mike questioned and Beverly swallowed thickly for she knew exactly what Mike was talking about. People had asked her before about her past, but she had never been able to answer them. It was like part of her life was missing from her mind and she had no idea why.

"Why you have that scar on your hand?" Mike questioned once Beverly didn't respond and that was enough to have the red head freeze. She shakily held her hand out, her eyes locking on the scar that ran across the palm of her hand. She had barely even stared at it for a second before she suddenly felt a searing pain grow where the scar was.

"No one else remembered either. Eddie, Bill, Richie, Ben," Mike listed off all while Beverly stared at her hand. But at the mention of the last name, she couldn't help but freeze.

"Ben," she whispered almost in a daze for she hadn't heard that name in a long time. At least not when referring to the boy she used to be best friends with. For a moment she remembered a field and walking along a small path with Ben by her side, the shy boy hesitantly brushing his fingers against her own before Beverly had smiled and taken his hand in hers.

"You have to come back," Mike said, his words finally snapping out of her thoughts long enough for her to look away from her scarred hand and outside at the pouring rain. "You all do."

Beverly got that sinking feeling in her stomach once again, her whole body chilled down to the bone. "When?" she breathed out, her voice barely above a whisper.

It wasn't long before Beverly was off the phone and packing her bags. Her nerves were haywire causing her to frantically rush around while her thoughts jumbled around in her brain. She couldn't even think straight, so it didn't even register to her just how loud she was being until she had grabbed her packed bag and was going to leave her closet only to find her husband standing there.

Beverly jumped back out of pure fright, her eyes wide before she registered that it was her husband standing before her and not—

The red head's thoughts stopped instantly in their tracks. Whatever she had thought was waiting for her was gone and for a moment she wondered what she had been expecting and why she couldn't remember.

"Woah, you okay?" her husband questioned causing the red head to snap back to reality as she looked to him. "What's going on? It's uh. . .the middle of the night and you're packing?"

Beverly was quick to lean up and peck her husband's lips once as she began to walk past him. "I didn't want to wake you," Beverly admitted. "Honey, I know this week's been really exhausting. I just got a phone call from an old friend from Derry. I have to go back there. It's really hard to explain why."

"It's okay," he assured her as he walked over to where she was currently sitting on their bed tying her shoes. He sat down next to her, his face completely blank of emotion, but his voice soft. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Relax." He reached out and gently took Beverly's hand in his own. "I trust you."

"Thank you," Beverly sighed as she leaned forward and kissed the man once more. She went to get up and grab her bag, but she barely got a step away before her husband was gripping onto her wrist tightly, his fingers digging into her arm hard enough to make the woman wince.

Beverly froze, a sickening feeling growing in her stomach once again but this time the fear was directed at her husband. She slowly turned to look at the man who was staring at the ground shaking his head.

"I just don't understand why you'd lie to me," he said before he looked up at Beverly with an accusing glare. Beverly began to shake her head, but the man ignored it and stood up, pulling her dangerously closer to him. "I heard you. You said the name Mike."

"Yes, my friend," Beverly insisted. "There was a group of us back then and-and we all made a promise to each other when we were kids-"

"You know trust is everything in a relationship," her husband persisted, his grip tightening before he released her in order to reach out and brush his hand against her cheek. Beverly couldn't help but move away ever so slightly from his touch. "You know it means everything to me, right?"

"I know," Beverly told him. "But this isn't-" "What?" her husband asked, letting his hand drop to his side as his gaze grew colder by the second. "Like the last time?" "I never cheated on you," Beverly tried to say as she leaned forward to comfort the man, but he was quick to grab her hair from behind, pulling her back and making Beverly gasp in pain.

"You're a bad fucking liar, Bev," he said behind gritted teeth, tightening his grip on her hair and pulling her down even more that she was bent at an odd angle. "You're not going anywhere, okay? I want you to stay right here and you're going to show me what it is you're going to do with Mike, okay?" He slammed the red head against the wall and Beverly bit her lip to hold back a scream of pain that was begging to escape.

"You're. . .you're hurting me, honey," Beverly muttered but he didn't seem to care. "No one else is going to love you like me, you know that right?" he asked aggressively, not noticing that Beverly had shakily brought her hand up to his cheek until she scratched him across the face. His hold on her instantly dropped and he yelled out in pain while Beverly stood up. Her eyes widened and she was quick to go up behind him, whimpering slightly as she whispered, "I'm. . .I'm sorry."

She didn't even have time to think before her husband was suddenly turning on her and hitting her with his belt as hard as he could. Beverly grabbed onto his arm and he gave her a deathly glare. "Don't make this fucking harder!" he growled and Beverly had to take in a shaky breath to try and calm her nerves. "Don't," she whispered, but it was too late. Her husband threw a punch that knocked her back so hard she fell onto the bed. When she turned around, he had begun to take his shirt off and Beverly felt as if she were going to be sick. Just when he was pulling the shirt over his head, Beverly thrust both of her legs out so that she kicked him back.

He stumbled back with a groan and Beverly tumbled off the side of the bed as she desperately tried to grab something. She could hear him running at her, so the red head grabbed onto a picture frame and threw it at her husband only for him to knock it aside like it were nothing. Just when he was about to grab her, Beverly got onto her feet with a glass vase in hand and smashed it against his head.

Her husband fell to the ground almost instantly and Beverly was quick to grab her things and rush out of the room. "You're nothing without me! You know that, right?" her husband yelled after her as Beverly ran down the rest of the stairs and out the door. She didn't even flinch under the touch of the rain and continued her way down the steps, placing her wedding band on top of the stair railing before walking away as fast as she could.

Beverly didn't know where she was going, the shock of what had just happened carrying her down the middle of the street. She couldn't even process the honking of the cars as she walked, her only thoughts on how she needed to get to Derry.

As she walked down the street, the rushing of water was enough to make her snap out of her senses. Beverly glanced to the side, her eyes instantly locking on the sewer drain beside her. For but a moment, Beverly felt as if there was something trying to break through the back of her memories, a voice screaming at the top of their lungs. She had never felt so uneasy than she did in that moment and Beverly was quick to walk away as fast as she could. She had to get to Derry was what she reminded herself.

Yet she couldn't help but look back at the sewer once more wondering why she felt more afraid of a sewer than she was of her now ex husband.

- - -

Birds and a weird fascination for the animals had always been a part of Stanley Uris' life for as long as he could remember. Something about them just intrigued the man and even to this day he would spend his mornings bird watching in his backyard, his cousin by his side more often than not.

Birds had become a constant theme in his life and the puzzle on the table in front of him was no exception. He stared blankly at an empty place before letting his eyes roam over the small pile of pieces he still had left. His gaze was calculating as he tried to solve the puzzle in his head, but it quickly disappeared as he looked up at the sixteen year old sitting by his side.

Greyson Uris had his gaze locked on his mother who sat beside Stan's wide Patty, the two women whispering between each other as they pointed at something on a computer screen. Stan watched Greyson for a moment, letting his eyes flicker over the messy mop of brown hair he had and the features of his face that looked so much like his cousin. He was without a doubt his cousin's son especially when it came down to his huge heart.

It was obvious by the way Greyson was watching his mother that he was worried and Stan gently nudged the young boy so that he turned to look at him. Stan gave him a soft smile before whispering, "Penny for your thoughts?"

That was enough to crack a small smile on the teen's face, but it flickered as he glanced back at his mother. "I just worry about her is all. She's been working extra shifts at the office the last couple of weeks and I know it's because she's trying to hide the fact she's a little tight on money right now. She keeps trying to act like everything's fine just for my sake, but I can tell she's tired," Greyson admitted, shifting his gaze back to Stan. "I know it's hard being a single mother, but she doesn't have to hide it from me. I just want to help."

Stan stared at the boy for a moment, a small sympathetic smile on his face as a flicker of sadness flashed through his eyes. He knew what Greyson was talking about. His cousin had been struggling to raise enough money to both keep the two up on their feet while also still giving Greyson the childhood she thought he deserved. She was tired and life was becoming heavier on her shoulders every day.

Stan blamed Greyson's father, the man having walked out on his best friend the moment he heard she was pregnant. He left her without a moment of hesitation and didn't bother helping pay child support or make an effort to be a part of Greyson's life.

He had tried once a couple of years back, but the bond between mother and son was unlike any other and Greyson who had been fourteen at the time hadn't hesitated to show the man to the door and tell him never to come back. His cousin had come to Stan crying that night over how sweet her little boy was and how much she loved him and Stan had only grown more respect for the boy ever since.

Greyson's father hadn't been in the picture since and Greyson didn't seem all too upset about it. For as long as he had his mother, he was okay. That's why he was always so worried about her because she was not only his mother but his best friend and had raised him on her own with a little help here and there from Stan and Patty. It had always just been Greyson and and his mother, so it was no surprise for Stan to hear about the boy's concerns.

"Well," Stan began once he noticed Greyson's gaze was back on his mother, "I think your mother just doesn't want to worry you is all. All she wants is for you to have a worry free childhood especially after what happened with her own parents. She doesn't want you to have to go through any of that pain like she did."

Greyson was silent for a moment before he looked to Stan almost hesitantly. "It doesn't mean she can't ask for help," he spoke softly. "All of this is just stressing her out and I don't even remember the last time I saw her genuinely happy."

Stan went silent at that and thought back to the girl he remembered growing up with compared to the woman he knew now. There was definitely a difference in her happiness, but when it came to Greyson she had never loved or cared for someone more. Greyson was what kept her from falling apart and the boy didn't seem to realize how much just being himself helped his mother through the hard times.

"I know it's hard, kid," Stan sighed as he put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "But the best you can do right now is stick by her side and hopefully she will come around. She needs you just as much as you need her." Greyson was quiet for a moment before numbly nodding his head and looking back to the puzzle. Stan took that as an end to the conversation and turned his attention back to the puzzle as well, a comfortable silence falling among the two.

It was minutes later before Greyson spoke up again, his happy demeanor back once again and the conversation from before way behind them. "Here it is," Greyson exclaimed triumphantly as he handed a puzzle piece to Stan who had been staring at a missing piece on the board in concentration.

Stan glanced at the boy before gently taking the puzzle piece and placing it in the spot. It fit perfectly and Stan looked back to Greyson before giving him a small smile, the action making Greyson smile wide in response. “This is why I keep you around," Stan joked as he reached out to ruffle the sixteen year old's hair. Greyson let out a small chuckle and smiled at the man before him, not noticing his mother's gaze from behind.

"Greyson," Y/N Uris softly called out from where she sat beside Stan's wife Patty who was currently scrolling through plane tickets on her computer. The sound of his mother's voice was enough to have Greyson turning to look at the woman and she smiled softly before saying, "Time to go, kid." Greyson instantly frowned. "Come on, Mom. Uncle Stan and I are almost done with the puzzle!" Greyson complained while Stan threw a small smirk in his cousin's direction.

Stan wasn't technically Greyson's uncle, but since Stan was pretty much like a brother to Y/N, Greyson had been calling him his uncle since he could talk. Every time he referred to Stan as Uncle Stan, the Uris cousins couldn't help but smile, and this was found true yet again as the corners of their mouths perked up slightly at Greyson's words.

"I know, Grey, and I'm sorry. However, it's already almost midnight and we've already been here an hour later than we should've," Y/N said, watching as Greyson winced slightly before giving her a shy grin. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice," Greyson admitted making Y/N chuckle as she looked at her son in adoration. The teen was quick to turn around to face his mother completely, a pleading look on his face as he looked at her. "Please, Mom. Just until we finish the puzzle? Come on."

Stan glanced at his nephew before turning around as well and giving his cousin the same pleading face her son was. The two boys then leaned in together and looked over at Y/N who narrowed her eyes at the two.

"You know I hate when you two do that," Y/N muttered as she fought back the urge to yawn. “That's why they do it," Patty chuckled while Y/N let out a small sigh. "Fine," Y/N gave in causing the two boys to smile and high five each other. "But let's pack the car up first. Then you can come back in here and finish the puzzle before we leave."

"Deal," Greyson agreed before he shot up off of the couch to go grab his things. "Don't finish it without me, Uncle Stan!" "Wouldn't dream of it, kid!" Stan called after him while Y/N watched her son race into the front hall to grab his things. Stan glanced over at his cousin and smiled as she walked over to him. "Some kid you got there, Y/N."

"I got lucky, didn't I?" Y/N whispered with a small yet proud smile on her face that Stan couldn't help but return. "We all did," Stan agreed causing Y/N to look at him. The two cousins smiled at each other and Y/N reached out to ruffle her cousin's hair. Stan was tried to lean away with a playful glare on his face and Y/N merely smiled before heading towards the front door.

"We'll be right back. Try not to miss us too much," Y/N joked as she winked back at Stan. The curly haired boy let out a soft chuckle and put a hand to his chest dramatically. "I shall try my hardest," he joked back and the two cousins chuckled before Y/N disappeared out the front door with Greyson at her side.

Stan shook his head at his cousin's antics before noticing his wife staring at him with a small smile on her face. "What?" Stan questioned, quirking an eyebrow at her amusingly. "Nothing. I just wish I had a bond like you and Y/N had is all. You two aren't even siblings and are closer than I was with any of my brothers," Patty spoke up.

"I've been lucky," Stan sighed. "Y/N may not be my actually sister, but she might as well be. After all, it's always been the two of us. For as long as I can remember, I've always had her." A distant look appeared in Stan's eyes before he smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "I guess we're so close because of how much time we've spent together and what we've been through especially with that son of a bitch she used to call her husband," Stan muttered. He was quick to shake the thought of him off and thought back to Y/N.

For a moment he thought he remembered a glimpse of them riding through town on his bike, her arms up in the air as she laughed and yelled for him to pedal faster all while Stan laughed and tried to pedal as fast as he could. However, the memory was quickly gone and for a moment he felt his hand hurt, but he ignored it. “She's my best friend," he admitted before looking over at Patty who was holding a hand against her chest as if her heart were about to burst from how adorable they were. Stan rolled his eyes playfully at his wife before looking back to his puzzle.

Knowing that was the end of the conversation for now, Patty went back to looking at her computer screen while Stan tried to mentally put the pieces where he thought they should go so that he could help Greyson once he returned.

"Should I just book it?" Patty finally asked, referring to the vacation the couple was wanting to go on. "You sure you can get away from work?" "It's summer. Why not?" Stan asked. "I'm sure Y/N wouldn't mind watering the plants and getting the mail for us. We could even have Greyson do it and maybe even pay him. He's been saving up for that new computer for his writing pieces you know." "Okay. We are Buenos Aires bound," Patty announced excitedly while Stan finally noticed that one of the puzzle pieces was missing. He was quick to look under the table and he sighed at the sight of the piece right underneath.

Stan was quick to get down on the floor to grab it and just when he had latched onto the puzzle piece, his phone began to ring. Stan stayed on the floor and glanced up at his phone through the glass table to see who was calling. However, as soon as his eyes latched onto the caller ID he couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

Maine? Now who could possibly be calling from Maine?

Stan sat up and set the puzzle piece down before picking up his phone and placing it to his ear. "Stanley Uris speaking?" he said. "It's Mike," the person on the other line replied almost instantly and Stan furrowed his eyebrows even more. Mike? "I'm sorry?" Stan said, hoping the man would elaborate more. "Mike Hanlon," the voice said and Stan swore his heart stopped beating completely. "From Derry."

It took but a second for Stan to make the connection of the caller to the Mike Hanlon he had used to be best friend with when he was younger. He had been a homeschooler and Stan suddenly got a flashback of an intense rock war with Henry Bowers and his gang as him, Y/N, and his other friends had saved Mike from the bullying he was receiving.

However, that one memory seemed to open up the gateway for all of his memories, everything snapping back into place in his mind like a puzzle that hadn't been completed in years. Stan could remember everything down to his life when he had lived in Derry, the summers Y/N would spend down there with him, the laughs he had with Bill and Richie and Eddie, the summer Y/N's parents had got a divorce and sent her to stay with him—Stan froze at that.

The summer of 1989. Now that was a memory he wish he still couldn't remember. Although not all of it he wanted to forget. After all, that was the summer he met Mike Hanlon, Beverly Marsh, and Ben Hanscom. That was the summer he and Y/N created a bond that made their friendship as strong as it was today. The bad memories was what he wanted to forget—the Neibolt House, the lady from the painting, It.

"Mike. God, sorry. Yes. Hi. I don't know why I. . .I didn't um. . ." Stan trailed off and it was then that he remembered something that he really wished he hadn't.

The promise.

Stan's blood ran cold at that memory, his whole body so numb that it was like he wasn't there in the moment even though he knew he was. He breathing was shaky and he felt the sudden urge to throw up. All he could feel was fear and he knew exactly why that was. But this couldn't be real. It hadn't been that long had it? There was no way.

"How long has it been?" Stan finally found himself asking, his hand gripping onto his phone tightly as his voice shook. "A long time," Mike admitted and the fact that he didn't tell Stan an exact number was enough to make Stan's stomach drop. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and Stan gulped as he pulled himself up onto his feet. He wasn't the same thirteen year old from that summer, but for some reason he felt like the Stanley Uris who had been too afraid to walk into the Neibolt without his cousin holding onto his hand.

Maybe if Y/N had been by his side right then instead of out by her car, Stan would've felt better, but for some reason he felt as if he couldn't tell her. They had never spoken about what happened that summer and if Stan hadn't been able to remember until Mike called them Y/N sure as hell didn't remember. He did not need her worrying about that right now, not when she had a kid to worry about.

"Twenty seven years," Mike finally said after a long silence, confirming Stan's suspicions and causing the boy to stumble slightly as he tried to stand back up. Thankfully Patty was too focused on the Buenos Aires trip she was finalizing to notice Stan and for a split second he wanted to tell her to not bother for he had a feeling they would never get to go on that trip together.

"It's come back, hasn't it?" Stan whispered, his voice shakier now so that he knew Mike had to have heard. "That's why you're calling." "It's starting again, Stan. Bad things are happening," Mike admitted while Stan squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief. It was like with each second that passed, he was becoming more and more consumed by his fear. This couldn't be happening. There was no way.

"Did. . .did you call the others? I mean what if. . .what if they don't come back?" Stan questioned, hoping that Mike would say someone wasn't coming and that he could stay home and forget this whole thing ever happened. All he wanted to do was take Patty, Y/N, and Greyson and keep them away from this whole thing. He wanted to keep them in this house, lock all the doors, and refuse to come out. All he needed was to have those three by his side and he would be okay.

"Everyone except for Y/N. But we made a promise, remember?" Mike reminded him, his words causing Stan to feel even more sick than before once he realized there was no getting out of this. He wouldn't be able to just ignore this and his thoughts flickered over to Greyson and Y/N, how Y/N would no doubt go back to make sure everyone was safe and how devastated Greyson would be if anything were to happen to her. Stan knew if anything were to happen to Y/N it would be because of his own cowardice and that was enough to make Stan feel even worse.

"How soon can you get here?" Mike asked. "Well. . .uh. . .I uh. . .I would need to do a few things. I would-" Stan muttered, his eyes closing once again as sheer panic and fear coursed through his veins. "Tomorrow," Mike decided for him and it took all of Stan not to throw up right there. "We don't have much time. I'll text you everything you need. I'll see you soon, Stan the Man."

Stan didn't even have time to respond before Mike had hung up, but the man didn't move and merely kept the phone up limply in the air with his eyes closed, his face pale as he stared blankly at the wall. He didn't even notice when Y/N and Greyson had returned, the teen hurrying over to the puzzle almost instantly while Y/N look to her cousin with a smile.

However, it disappeared at the sight of him and she was quick to go to his side and place a hand on his arm. "Stanley?" Y/N whispered, her soft voice making the man's eyes snap open almost instantly. "Are you okay?" Stan looked to her at that and Y/N blinked in surprise at the look that dawned her cousin's face. She had never seen him this way, never seen him look so afraid. What kind of phone call could make him that scared? "I'm fine," Stan assured her although his shaky voice was enough to make her narrow her eyes slightly at him as she tried to read him.

Stan just gave the girl a small smile which she knew was forced and gently took her hand off of his arm before holding onto it the same way they would hold hands when they were kids. He gave it the smallest squeeze and for a moment Y/N felt as if she were back in Stan's backyard when they were younger. watching birds fly by in the early morning. "Seriously," he whispered and Y/N gave him a look that said she didn't believe him but that she would drop it for now. Stan knew they would have to talk about it eventually if Y/N had any say in it, but little did she knew that they never would.

"Uncle Stan, care to do the honors?" Greyson asked as he looked up to his uncle with a small smile, holding the last puzzle piece up in the air. Any other night Stan would've told Greyson to be the one to finish the puzzle, but he was eager to take the distraction and get away from his cousin's calculating look. He went and sat beside Greyson and Y/N watched as Stan hesitated as he stared at her son, his eyes flickering over Greyson as if he were never going to see him again and was trying to memorize this moment right here. But before Y/N could send him a questioning look, Stan had snapped out of it and was putting the puzzle piece in its place, bringing the puzzle to an end.

It wasn't long after that that the two families found themselves out on the front porch saying goodbye. They were lucky enough to only live a few neighborhoods down, but for some reason Stan acted as if they wouldn't see each other for a long time and that was enough to give Y/N an unsettling feeling that she quickly pushed aside.

"Uncle Stan," Greyson said as he pulled away from Patty's hug to look to his uncle. "I was thinking maybe we could go to the bookstore later this week. You know how my favorite author is that Bill Denbrough guy, right? He's coming out with a movie soon and released a special edition copy of his book The Attic Room that I was wanting to pick up." Stan blinked in surprise, finally putting together why Greyson's favorite author had a name that had sounded so familiar. How had he not realized it before?

Stan suddenly got a memory of looking out the window to see Y/N and Bill walk up to his house hand in hand on the day they had made the promise, the two exchanging a small kiss that left them both with goofy smiles on their faces before Stan had teased his cousin endlessly about them. His eyes instantly flickered over to Y/N, trying to see if any sort of recognition flickered across her face at the mention of her first love, but there was none. She was too busy discussing some last minute things with Patty and hugging his wife to really pay attention and Stan couldn't help but wonder how Y/N would react upon seeing Bill again.

He found himself hoping that Bill wasn't married. After all, Y/N deserved to live a happy life and the Bill he remembered would have done anything to give it to her. If Bill was still the same Bill he remembered, then he would not only be a perfect match for Y/N, but a perfect father figure to Greyson. The thought was enough to put the smallest of smiles on Stan's face despite everything going on and the thought of Y/N, Bill, and Greyson finally getting to live a happy life after It was defeated was the only reassuring thing for Stan at the moment, the only thing keeping him calm.

Stan turned his eyes back to his nephew and smiled as he pulled the boy in for a hug. "Sounds like a plan, kid," Stan told him, knowing that he had to act as if everything were okay. Greyson was quick to hug his uncle back before pulling away, allowing his uncle to ruffle his hair once before he let his mother go to Stan.

Y/N stopped in front of her cousin, her eyes hesitantly flickering over his face as if she were trying to determine if Stan was actually okay or not. Stan could do nothing more than look at the girl, swallowing thickly as he knew she was going to be in for a world of pain and that he wouldn't be able to help her. He wanted to say he was sorry for being so selfish and to explain himself right then and there, but he knew he couldn't. Y/N would try to stop him and then his reckless actions against It would get her killed. So Stan just let himself take in the girl that stood before him as he struggled to hold back the tears that he knew were begging to break free.

Before Y/N could notice that, Stan was pulling her in for a hug, the action making Y/N chuckle and hug him back instantly. There was so much Stan wanted to say, so much he wanted to tell her, but he knew he couldn't. At least not right now.

"I love you," Stan finally decided on saying, the words being a normal between the two but something that held more meaning in that moment than Y/N would ever know. Y/N hugged her cousin harder at that before pulling away to look at the face of her best friend. "I love you too, Stanley," she whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" She tilted her head her so slightly and gave him a grin that made his heart ache.

"Yeah," he told her, nodding despite the heavy feeling in his heart. Y/N smiled softly at that and reached up to ruffle his hair, not knowing it would be her last time. Stan didn't even try and pull away like usual and just enjoyed his cousin's touch before sending her a small smile which she easily returned.

Y/N then pulled away and began to walk down the stairs. All Stan wanted to do was pull her back and hug her again, but he knew it would only make her more suspicious than she already was. So when she turned back to wave at him and Patty one last time, Stan put on a fake smile and waved to her just like he did every other time she left. He would give her no indication that this would be the last time, no reason to hold her back from going to meet with the Losers. Y/N turned and whispered something to Greyson who smiled before wrapping an arm around his mother as they walked to the car. Stan couldn't help but smile at the sight, knowing that the two would be okay as long as they had each other.

And with that, Stanley Uris watched as his cousin got into her car and drove off, knowing that everything he was about to do was only so her and Greyson would be safe in the end.

- - -

"Bill Denbrough," Y/N muttered, confusion evident in her voice as she stared at the book Greyson was currently reading. Greyson's honey brown eyes instantly flickered to her, a small smile on his face as he brushed his brown hair away from his eyes. "Still the best author of all time," Greyson said as he sat down on his bed beside his mother. "His endings aren't the best, but they aren't bad either. I was hoping we could try and go see his new movie when it comes out?"

"Of course we can, kiddo," Y/N assured the boy as she got up and set the book down on his nightstand next to the printed copies of Greyson's work which were really just alternate endings to this Bill Denbrough guy's books, pushing aside her thoughts of how the name sounded so familiar.

That was the moment her phone decided to ring and Y/N sighed before taking her phone out of her pocket. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly at the sight of a number from Maine calling her and she glanced at her son who had already picked the book back up to read.

"I'm gonna take this. I'll come check on you in a little bit, okay?" Y/N said, knowing her son wouldn't be going to bed anytime soon since they had only just gotten back from Stan's. Greyson hummed in response and Y/N was quick to walk out of his room before pressing the accept button and putting the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she questioned. "Is this Y/N Uris?" a voice asked and Y/N frowned ever so slightly as she walked down the stairs and towards the kitchen to grab something to drink. "This is she. May I ask who is calling?" Y/N asked. "This is Mike," the man explained and just when Y/N was about to question him further, he went on as if he had said it multiple times before. "Mike Hanlon from Derry."

Y/N stopped in her tracks at that and for a brief moment it was like she was standing in the middle of a blizzard, her whole body so cold that she could barely think straight. Her hands began to shake and she could hear her heart beating in her chest. Yet she had no idea why she was so scared all of a sudden. Why was she filled with so much fear? However, the fear began to dim ever so slightly as a sharp pain went through her head, images flashing by as she heard the distant sound of children laughing, remembering the feeling of splashing into water before playing chicken fight with the people she used to call her best friends.

She remembered them all only momentarily starting with the boy she was talking to right now, Mike Hanlon, the boy who had been homeschooled all of his life and who she had saved from Henry Bowers when she threw a rock at his head. She remembered Ben Hanscom, the boy who loved New Kids on the Block and would spend countless hours in the library researching Derry. She remembered Beverly Marsh, the fiery red head who was also the first girl best friend that she had ever had. Then there was Richie Tozier, the boy who liked to flirt way too much and say more crude jokes then one could count but who had a big heart when it counted most. There was Eddie Kaspbrak, the boy who had been like her brother and who she used to calm down during some of his little episodes. Of course there was her cousin Stanley, but she already remembered him.

And then there was Bill Denbrough. No wonder the name had sounded so familiar. She had known him. He had been her best friend and the boy she had crushed on for forever. Her shaky hands went up to her lips and for a split second she remembered a warm September afternoon and the feeling of a soft pair of lips against her own. However it disappeared just a quick, almost as if it were nothing but a dream.

How could she have forgotten about him? How could she have forgotten about any of them? How could she have forgotten about the Losers?

"Mike," Y/N breathed out in disbelief, a smile dawning her face as her fear was pushed to a back burner. "It's been so long. How are you?" "You need to come home," Mike said and Y/N furrowed her eyebrows but kept her smile on her face. "I'm sorry. What?" she questioned. “You need to come home, Y/N," Mike repeated and Y/N's smile fell from her face as the fear suddenly cane back although she didn't know why.

The girl winced as a sudden pain shot through her hand. Y/N quickly glanced down at her hand and didn't understand why she felt so sick at the sight of the scar that ran across her palm. However, she had a sneaking suspicion it was because she hadn't even known she had a scar on her palm up until that moment. "When?" she found herself asking, but she didn't ask the question that she was dying to know the answer to, afraid of what the answer might be despite not knowing it herself. "Tomorrow," Mike replied and there was a long moment of silence as Y/N tried to process everything. She honestly had no clue what was going on, but she knew she had to get to Derry. She wasn't sure why, but she just had a feeling and she knew her fear and queasy stomach would not relent until she was back in Derry.

"I'll be there," Y/N whispered, her voice shaky as she squeezed her throbbing hand shut. "Great. I'll see you there, Y/N," Mike's voice whispered in her ear and Y/N knew she should've been excited to see her friend after so long, but all she felt was another wave of nausea. She didn't even wait for Mike to hang up and did it herself before staring blankly at her phone.

“Fuck.”

- - -

"I don't understand. One of your childhood friends calls you in the middle of the night saying that you have to get to Derry which is in Maine by the way and you're just packing everything up and going?" Greyson questioned in disbelief, his eyes following his mother around the room as she frantically threw stuff into a suitcase. Y/N paused for a just a moment and gave her son a nervous look. "Yes?" she said in a questioning voice before going back to packing. She didn't know how to explain it to her son, how to tell him that she had made a promise that she didn't necessarily remember and that she had to get back. Hell, she didn't even know how to explain to him that one of her childhood friends happened to be the author Greyson admired so much.

"Mom," Greyson said and that was enough to have the woman looking over at him. The sixteen year old was leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom, his brown eyes staring at her in concern as he tried to read her, as he tried to understand despite just how tired he was. Y/N sighed and walked over to the boy who stood up a bit straighter. She gently took his hands in her own and stared at her son before saying, "Greyson, honey, I need you to try and work with me here. I honestly don't know why I'm going, but I have to, okay? It's a gut feeling. You just. . .you got to trust me on this." Greyson was silent for a moment as he stared at her and Y/N could practically see the gears moving in his head before he finally let up and gave her a tiny nod. "I trust you," he assured her and Y/N smiled before leaning forward to press a small kiss to her son's forehead. "Thank you," she whispered. "Now go finish packing your things. You can sleep in the car. It's a long way to Maine from here, kid."

Greyson nodded and was quick to do as his mother said, disappearing up the stairs to finish packing while Y/N rushed back to her own things. It wasn't long before they were loading their things into the car and Y/N had returned to her frantic state once again, completely forgetting about her cousin who had to have been going through the same thing as her at that very moment.

They were on the road less than thirty minutes after the call, but it wouldn't be until they were two hours into the drive that Y/N would realize she left her phone sitting on top of her bed at the house. It was that same phone that now had three missed calls from Patty Uris.

If Y/N had known what was going to happen once she got to Derry, she would've turned around right then. But she didn't, so Y/N just drove down the road, her nerves being enough to keep her awake while Greyson slept soundlessly in the passenger seat beside her.

Neither Uris knew what would be in store for them when they reached Derry and the horrors Y/N had witness twenty seven years earlier? They were nothing compared to what was ahead.

- - -

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curiousview-blog · 3 years ago

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In spite of, not because of: the myth of the ‘high functioning alcoholic’

For 18 weeks now, I have been sharing my writing: ‘How to stop drinking: A guide for normal people’. It’s a series in which I am sharing my reflections on living, and staying sober, in a fun, honest, down-to-earth way to show that an alcohol-free life is possible. Previous chapters can be found below on www.samwarren.net

For a long time I wore my ‘high functioning alcoholic’ badge with pride. It’s a term used in psychology and addiction sciences to refer to heavy drinkers who – as the name suggests – by and large, have functioning lives, and may even be over-achievers. I’d fall into that category for sure. My friends and I romped through our 20s and 30s being very successful, while lurching from drunken adventure to drunken dramas. During my most chaotic drinking years, I raised two teenage boys, achieved a PhD, a string of academic publications, teaching awards and research grants, which culminated in securing a tenured Professorship within five years of graduating from my doctoral studies. Finally, aged 40, I moved to a different part of the country for the first time in my life. No-one could ever accuse me of fitting the pattern of ‘the typical alcoholic’ down-and-out – crashing cars, losing jobs, shoplifting, being homeless and all the other wildly inaccurate assumptions we make about alcoholism.

The new Dr. Warren throwing her hat at graduation (2006)

Lots of my academic friends were/are heavy drinking high achievers, and if you’re reading this as someone who’s questioning their drinking choices, I have no doubt that you’ve also stacked up successes in your life while spending half your life (or more) drunk – career, family, even sports? And this is what stops us from stopping because nothing has got so bad that it gives us a sobering slap in the face. Never mind that all these achievements are marked by extreme pressure, chaos, remedial work, lies and the need to push through debilitating hangovers with violently shaking hands, and heads down toilets… We’re the high functioning gang, right? Hell, we NEED this mess to do our best!

I once got ‘accidentally’ paralytic the night before flying to Dublin to do a research interview. On the audio recording you hear me excuse myself to go to the bathroom to be sick. Later, the taxi had to pull over so I could dry retch into the gutter. High functioning? High functioning shame, more like. Another time, on the night before the first day of term, we had a lock-in at our local pub. It was a Tuesday night. I went out at 10:30pm ‘for one’ with the pool team to share their post-match sandwiches and don’t remember getting home. Somehow I managed to pour myself onto the train after 4 hours sleep max, still drunk, and take my opening class. I was more worried about the fact that I had hairy legs and was wearing a summer dress than I was about the fact that I was about to teach a class whilst intoxicated. I have SO MANY stories of conference benders, two hours sleep and throwing up minutes before I presented important work… crawling into work almost on my hands and knees to teach, or pulling all nighters to make up lost drunk time in the days and weeks before to meet my deadlines. It was addictively exciting. I told myself I loved it.

Art of Management Conference (2004) The night culminated in a tequila bar at 6am. I missed the whole of the next day’s sessions as I was so violently ill. I probably earned kudos for it.

I’m not telling you this to show off my stripes. I’m not recounting these tales as part of the glorification of getting pissed in our society. I’m telling them to myself (as well as you) because I need to remember how unbelievably shit it was. I’m telling them to counter the rosy memories I also carry with me, that in a funny old way I miss those days. It’s what I used to believe made me interesting. Wild and funny. As you’ll read in various ways in these posts, I am a person who enjoys intensity – the rush you get when you pull something off against the odds is incredibly seductive for me. Rather than standing as a clear lesson not to ever do that IDIOTIC thing again, instead my adrenalin pumps and I think FUCK YEAH!!, high five-ing myself and anyone in reaching distance. All I ever remember from that experience is ‘Ha! I can do this, no sweat… Now quick, get the beers in, my hangover is thundering in’…

I still have the same patterns in my life now I’m sober. I’m an accomplished procrastinator and replicating the same kind of frenzied deadline pushing. So its slowly dawned on me that maybe my achievements were in spite of the drink, not because of it. I need the excitement and pressure of having too much to do in a short space of time, and a big lesson from my sobriety has been to see that drink was just a tool of these behavioural traits and not the root cause. If you are the kind of person who puts everything off until it’s almost too late, taking on so much that its humanly impossible to get through your to-do list, or someone who works in erratic bursts of energy interspersed with long naps and faffing time, then you’ll still be this person when you’re not drinking too.

It’s been a while since I wrote these words and my reflex is to feel more than a little sad that over three years later this kind of procrastinating pattern is still happening in my life. Not least because I boldly wrote a post on this blog a few years ago declaring my procrastination habits were gone for good!! But maybe it’s just something about me I need to accept. I am a ‘just in time’ person, and actually I do some fucking brilliant work against the odds. And it was not alcohol that drove the great work, but me. Elizabeth Gilbert talks at length about how much she detests the ‘tortured artist’ stereotype in her book Big Magic – that somehow we have to be anguished, or behave like an utter c*nt to those around us in order for our creativity to fly. I think the idea of the high-functioning alcoholic is very similar and it’s yet another myth that ensures we continue to drink. I did great work, even though I continually put the most debilitating blocks in my own path to see how badly I could trip myself up. And what that taught me was to hurdle and swerve extremely well, I won gold in that race and it’s still paying dividends. This post is a day late because I left it to the last minute to edit. What beautiful synergy.

#alcoholism #alcohol culture #women and alcohol #academia and alcohol #heavy drinking #stop drinking #control drinking #quit alcohol #stop alcohol #addiction #high functioning alcoholic #control alcohol #women's writing #big magic #recovery

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chaoticspacefam · 4 years ago

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OC Music Meme

I was tagged by @raven-of-domain-kwaad , thank you! :D I shall tag (no pressure as always, only if you want to!): @mercurypilgrim , @mimabeann, @rainofaugustsith , @thelastenvoyyy , @a-master-procrastinator and anyone else who wants to do this one, yes, I promise I mean you!

Yaaay another music meme, I LOVE these, as any of my long-term followers/mutuals probably know :P Oh no, Raven what have you done! 🤣🤣

List one or more songs that relate to the following

*drags Rai and her three consecutive playlists full of songs in here and plops her down proudly* Now I’m not joking when I say combined her three playlists would run for ~10 hrs if I played them all back-to-back. Sooooo for that reason I will be trying to restrict myself to 3-4 songs per “question”, except for the last one which is annotated with an explanation there, ANYWAYS!

reminds you of them most:

Down To The Bottom - Dorothy :: This is a very new one to her playlist (discovered a few days ago), but it still vibes so well with Saarai’s attitude to love, and her need to have some sort of emotional closeness to other people, to love and be loved, or else she just doesn’t function quite right

Up The Wolves - The Mountain Goats :: This was one of Rai’s first EVER theme songs that made it onto her list as I gave the Ahaszaai the backstory that led to them becoming main characters, so it feels only right that I include it here. To me it perfectly sums up her character progression, from a frightened young woman with a lot of skeletons in her closet and no willingness to be a commander of anything or confidence that she could, to a strong and dedicated leader willing to do whatever it takes to protect the people she works with, and make sure that the person who once took it from her family will suffer the righteous justice he deserves for his actions. Oddly enough, Saarai never goes back to take over the Sith Empire as D’leah planned (in Subterfugeverse anyways), they do eventually “come home” and build something of their own with the other members of the Alliance <3

Bruno Is Orange - Hop Along :: This song is very important too. It makes me feel a lot of things and as I developed more of Saarai’s backstory and began tying everything together, it became an essential part of her backstory. This is 100% a “Saarai Song” in my brain (and I’ve had the script for that meme planned out for over a year, I’ll get to it soon :3), summing up the chaos and her own feelings on what happened with Tsâhis (and her mother and sister’s reactions to finding out about what happened, and Ty, the baby which resulted from that clusterfuck of a relationship)

Someone New - Hozier :: Kinda supplements “Down To The Bottom”, Saarai was a character who puzzled me sexuality-wise for a long time, she has a lot to unpack and a lot of nuances in her attractions, and for a long time (because it is the default for modern media) I tried to shove her in the monogamy box, except...that doesn’t work for Saarai LMAO. I remembered this song existed one day (I think it came up on Youtube shuffle or something) and it was the lightbulb that went on in my head that finally clicked and told me she was actually polyam as well (though ironically I forgot to actually put it in her playlist until @darth-bagel reminded me it existed again a few months ago LOL).

reminds another character of them:

All The Pretty Girls - KALEO :: (Sash - Zephyrverse AU) This one had a few options too, but I think this is the best song that Sash would associate with Saarai. Their relationship was slow burn, although there was near-immediate attraction there, Sash struggled with self-doubt and her own insecurities for a long time, firmly believing that Saarai would get bored of waiting for her to be “ready” to take things further and explore other options (she didn’t. They’ve been married something like 20+, nearing 30 years now, you’re stuck with her sweetie <3)

The Last of the Real Ones - Fall Out Boy :: (Lana - Subterfugeverse) “I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as I do.” Lana wasn’t looking for Saarai when she found her, but Lana wouldn’t have it any other way. Though Lana is a big pillar of support for Saarai, and Saarai in turn is the social “glue” that holds the Alliance together, what many people don’t realise is that the feeling is mutual and Lana relies upon her just as much. Saarai’s dependable, and trustworthy, even if sometimes she makes Lana want to roll her eyes into the ceiling because of her antics, she wouldn’t want to change her for anything, it’s that part of Saarai that she secretly loves the most because it reminds Lana that it’s okay to unwind and have fun or be silly every once in a while, especially with the people you love.

Shut Up And Dance - WALK THE MOON :: (Koth - Subterfugeverse) Koth’s relationship with Saarai took a lot longer to develop into something openly romantic because Saarai had a lot of stuff to work through before she could accept her own feelings for him, but the cantina party at the end of KOTFE was the moment that Koth realised she was comfortable with him, because it’s the first time she really opened up to him, the first time she asked him to do anything together, and the first time she didn’t flinch or jump away from him when he touched her.

reminds you of a relationship of theirs, doesn’t have to be romantic, can be paternal, friendly etc.: I’m taking that as an invitiation to do a song for each of the main ones of any kind and that means this one has like six songs because...Saarai has a lot of influencial relationships in her character arc, I’m sorry (but not really) :’)

Broken Crown - Mumford & Sons :: Saarai & D’leah (Familial, It’s Complicated). This one is probably gonna be the “controversial” song of this post but you know what I’m gonna do it anyway. Saarai and D’leah have a very complicated relationship, because on the one hand Saarai does love her mother very much in spite of the horrible things she said and did, and on the other...the last thing that she wants is to turn out like her. And sometimes, sometimes you gotta call your mom out on her toxic shit. Hey Brother - Aviici :: Saarai & Ni’kasi (Familial Love). “What if I lose it all? Oh sister, I will help you out. Oh, if the sky comes falling down, for you...there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do.” The “brother” part does not apply to the twins, gender-wise, but the essence of this song is undoubtedly Saarai & Ni’kasi’s relationship. When Saarai thought she had no-one else, Ni’kasi was there to pick up the pieces and get her back onto her feet. They’re ride or die till the very end, wherever Saarai leads, she knows Ni’kasi will follow her.

Son of A Gun - Lord Huron :: Saarai & Tsâhis (Romantic ”Love”, though I’mma be very clear here that he was a manipulative abusive asshole, but Saarai loved him so...quotation marks. Y’get it yeah? Good.) “Well she fell in love with that son of a gun, but he was not the man that she took him for.” This line in particular sums it up. Saarai was young, naive and a perfect target for someone like Tsâhis to take advantage of because she didn’t know any better and believed him when he said he “loved her”, only for him to pull the rug out from under her feet later on. (he got his tho, don’t worry 😈)

Youth - Glass Animals :: Saarai & Tyûk (Maternal Love). This is the closest I can find to a song that sums up their relationship, I have a lot of thoughts about it but there are very few songs (that I’ve found) that touch upon the essence of Saarai & Ty’s relationship. D’leah chose to blame Ty for his father’s actions, Saarai chose the opposite. She chose to love him in spite of what his father had done to her, and to make sure he grew up feeling safe, loved, and learnt to be better than that.

Curses - The Crane Wives :: Saarai/Sash (Romantic Love) Both Saarai and Sash have had difficult pasts, with a lot of emotional trauma, and they both had hurdles they had to overcome in order for their relationship to truly work and stay healthy. But with each others’ support, they’ve managed it and are all the closer for it. If you asked either of them where “home” was, they’d say the other’s name.

Sorry I Stole Your Girlfriend - Stereo Skyline :: Saarai/Lana/Koth (Romantic Love). Okay, I really really wanted to pick a more serious song from their playlist for them, BUT....this song is the song that started this ship in my brain so here we are. LMAO Originally, this popped into my brain as an idea of Saarai’s response to Koth’s attempt at getting between them in that scene of KOTFE on the Gravestone. Koth and Saarai’s moral compasses are very similar and I wanted them to sit down and have a proper, healthy discussion about their feelings instead of becoming enemies and sort of agreeing not to hold a grudge against each other, though I didn’t expect for that piece to get away from me and for Saarai to end up developing feelings for Koth too, I can’t say I’m unhappy with it. I love them and I will fight anyone who tells me I can’t make them an OT3, I can, I will, and I have. >:) (Healthy Polyam Good, Love Triangles Are Fucking Stupid (tm). No I am not taking criticism on this lmao) Though Saarai & Koth’s relationship isn’t sexual in any way, they love each other just as much as they love Lana, just express it differently. So even though the snideness of this song doesn’t really apply to them, I kept it in their playlist and it also became their ship name because it was too good to pass up, though “Stole” is in inverted commas as it’s definitely more of an inside joke between the three of them than actually seriously accusing them of stealing each others’ girlfriend. 🤣 (as always, Saarai & Koth thinks it’s hilarious, Lana rolls her eyes at the stupid pun but also secretly thinks it’s funny as hell)

#swtor #star wars: the old republic #swtor OCs #tagged meme #OC music meme #swtor oc: saarai ahaszaai #sith pureblood #the outlander #LS! eternal empress #subterfugeverse #ot3: sorry i ''stole'' your girlfriend #saarai/lana/koth #saarai x tsâhis #zephyrverse au #saarai/sash #the ahaszaai twins #the sith twins #yes i have written down a lot of stuff regarding the ot3's relationship and how it developed etc #one day i will throw them out into the world when i feel like they're ready #but they're not ready yet so sorry y'all you gotta wait #but trust me when i say this is very elaborately planned out #LMAO #[banging pots and pans] they're. poly. and. in. love. fucking. deal. with. it. or. leave #my ships my rules #complicated mother daughter relationships are complicated #projection? i don't know her #no sir #tw: manipulation #tw: abusive relationship

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finalfrontierpioneer · 5 years ago

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2019 Fic Recs

To celebrate the end of 2019 (and also to procrastinate on my own fics!), I figured I’d round up 19 of my favorite fics of the year! Now, to be clear, these were all written (at least partly) during 2019, and they’re all complete. But that’s like all they have in common. They’re from random fandoms and some are def explicit and they’re in no particular order, but mostly it’s Riverdale lmao. Bc i’m trash and i ain’t ashamed.

Starting out with the Riverdale here babyyy:

Things unrequited by Bearfacedcheek

New Veronica, new type?

Set after S01E01 Veronica decides that Jughead Jones is the perfect antidote to all the bad romantic and moral choices she always seems to make. But making Jughead hers doesn't prove as straight forward a task as she expects

No peace nor rest by Bearfacedcheek

They're not stupid. They know there's no peace in revenge. But the sight of Betty and Archie together makes them stupid and whisky makes them weak, so they take the only revenge they can.

Set post 2x08 Betty and Archie enter a relationship, leaving Jughead and Veronica heartbroken and a night of drunken revenge sex morphs into something far more complicated.

have i been too discreet? by partyhardy

In which Betty realizes she slowly watched Jughead fall for Veronica.

keep telling myself i'm not the desperate type by Krewlak

The new kid at school argues with Veronica and it sparks something inside of Jughead.

Supporting Characters by torombolo

Maybe this was inevitable, Jughead thought, staring at the couple in front of him. He spared a glance at Veronica. From the look on her face, she thought the same thing. Betty and Archie. Archie and Betty. Perfect. The American Dream.

“Fine,” the dark-headed girl had told him, “I’m fine.”

“Me too,” he said convincingly. Whether he was trying to convince her or himself he wasn’t sure.

But Darling, Who Ever Said That Love Was Fair? by bothromeoandjuliet

There is no room for blood and thorns in the bubblegum scented word that was Betty Cooper's life, and both Jughead and Veronica know it. But that doesn't mean that they can help what they are or what they feel. Only, nothings fair in love and friendship.

Hindsight, As They Say, Is Twenty-Twenty by bothromeoandjuliet

Betty's always wondered why Jughead Jones broke up with her, and now, eight years after the fact, she finally gets her answer. (A one shot/drabble ft. past!bughead, and past!veggie, with a healthy dose of jeronica sprinkled all the way through.) ((Also I manage to write fluff that doesn't just turn to angst!)) (((So thats exciting)))

Some Stucky:

This Side of the Blue by notlucy

Tucked against a set of crumbling, stone steps was a tank made of metal and glass, filled to the brim with greenish water, distorted sunlight filtering through and casting strange shadows. Playing tricks on the eye. A trick was the only explanation for what Steve saw floating there. This figment of his childhood. This myth. This legend.

Within the tank, the siren bared its teeth.

Paper Tree by Ellessey

Bucky just laughs and shoves another bite of egg in his mouth, giving Steve a shrug and a full-cheeked smile. He's so damn cute Steve wants to shout at him, but he can't seem to say any of the right things. "Shoulda got you a comb for Christmas," is what he comes up with instead.

"What did you get me?"

It's Steve's turn to shrug now, and if he looks more terrified than cheeky as he does so, he can only hope Bucky doesn't catch it before Steve hurries out the door.

On December first, Steve wraps up a letter for Bucky and sets it under their Christmas tree. Now he has twenty-four days left to figure out how to tell Bucky what he wrote, face to face.

Political Animals by crinklefries, Deisderium

Okay, so the real problem is that you shouldn’t fuck your arch-rival, political enemy, and the person you loathe the most in the world where you work. Or like, at least, you shouldn’t keep doing that.

But okay, the thing that Descartes or whoever didn’t know was that Steve really tries, but Bucky Barnes has a mouth that should probably constitute an eighth sin or something.

Jesus fucking Christ, Sam’s going to kill him.

(or—Steve’s best friend is the U.S. Constitution and he can’t seem to stop fucking a hot Republican. They shouldn’t fall in love, but somehow they do. That’s it, that’s the fic.)

like heaven stood up in you by napricot

“You said you were gonna miss him,” says Bruce slowly. “He was supposed to be back in five seconds, but you hugged him and said ‘I’m gonna miss you.’”

Bucky’s face is serene again now, and gives nothing away. “I know Steve,” he repeats. “You think you can hand him a time machine and some rocks of unspeakable power and he’s just gonna go put ‘em right back where they belong?”

Steve does put the Infinity Stones right back where they belong. He just does a couple other things too. Or: three timelines and a Reverse Time Heist.

Drive It Like You Stole It: A Bodyswap by AggressiveWhenStartled

Steve had gone fully red-faced with pedantic altar-boy fury. “Did your computer forget how to Google translate?” he bellowed, sticking his head up and over. Bucky yanked him down again. “What are you even trying to say?”

Bucky tried to shake the sparkles off the grenade he had been planning on lobbing over the divider. “It sounded like Latin to me,” he said reasonably, pursing his lips and frowning at the explosive. It dripped a sparkle, and a puff of purple smoke curled up where it hit the concrete.

“That’s because you spent Sunday school flirting with Sarah Cunningham,” Steve accused, bobbing back up to throw his shield and ducking back down to dodge a shining ball of blue light. “You wouldn’t know Latin if it came up and kissed you on your ugly mug.”

“I’d sure know it if Sarah Cunningham did, though.” Bucky grinned, struck by the memory. “That gal really knew what she was doing.”

Some DC stuff (Halbarry):

Iconoclast by the_mythologist

When an alien race’s covert invasion and assassination spree decimates the Supercommunity, the survivors must band together to defeat against an unseen, invincible enemy. With many of their greatest heroes off-world or dead, the remnants of the Justice League, Teen Titans, Birds of Prey, Batfamily, and a few unaffiliated ‘heroes’ are all that stand in the way between the ‘Iconoclasts’ and Earth’s annihilation.

John Constantine is most unamused.

Slowing Down by Cinderstrato

It hadn’t been long after they first met before Barry began to suspect, in a vaguely-formed way, that it would be easy to fall in love with Hal.

sweating out a hot day by magnetocent

it's a hot day, but barry decides it's not hot enough

Okay now some one-offs from random fandoms/pairings:

Off The Record by crookedswingset

Peter Parker is a corporate lackey whose sole job is to root out problem executives who waste Oscorp’s money and time. Wade Wilson is a reserve Avenger on the hunt for a prize even Iron Man couldn’t nail down: the real identity of everyone’s favorite webhead.

Too bad most people think Spider-Man is Harry Osborn.

Stars Beneath His Skin by ElloPoppet

On the white piece of paper was a smattering of small, black dots. McCoy turned the paper, in search of a pattern or alignment of some kind but not finding even a trace. The dots appeared to be drawn at random or rather, McCoy noticed as he squinted, printed. He looked up at where Spock was standing over him and returned a cocked eyebrow of his own.

“If you need help cracking some kind of code, this isn’t exactly my specialty, genius.”

Rather than banter back, Spock responded immediately and smoothly. “It is not a code. That is the alignment of stars that would have been visible in the night sky from Earth should one have been standing at the coordinates where my Mother was born at the moment of the occurrence.” Silence blanketed the room, McCoy not having a goddamn clue how to respond to that. Luckily, Spock wasn’t finished.

“I wish to memorialize her with what most races would call a tattoo, and I would like your help with the matter.”

Too Close To Love You by stylescoalition

Aleks used to have a big crush on Brett but he doesn’t anymore, which is great considering they work together, on top of being good friends (suuuper lit). Now, Aleks is going to be living with Brett in LA until he finds a place of his own, but just because he isn’t crushing on Brett doesn’t mean that Brett isn’t crushing on him. Suffice to say, it makes things complicated… except it really isn’t as complicated as they think.

drawn to wilder nights by detectivemeer

Scott and Derek start a frenemies-with-benefits relationship, and it goes about as well as one would expect.

#fic recs #2019 fic recs #Jeronica #stucky #halbarry

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bodytoflame-ao3 · 5 years ago

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won’t you stick around? (sensation)

fem!percabeth + college late nights (part 2)

Read on Ao3

i kinda like the way we talk without the sound i'm living for the moments we can't be without

need u more ..//.. shaded

“Percy!”

“Hey,” she smiles, settling into the hug.

“You’re sure you won’t fail any classes for this?”

“Who could say no to the Hero of Olympus? And I’m not missing that much class. I left after my only class Friday morning, and I should be back in time for my Wednesday night.”

“I would scold you for taking advantage of your professors, but I missed you too much for that.” Annabeth takes her bag and sets it down in the corner of her room.

“I drove for two days for you, you better be nice.”

Annabeth pulls herself up onto her bed, grabbing the small sketchbook from its place on top of her pillow. “I’ll be nicer once I finish this sketch that’s due tomorrow.”

“You do that… I need to sleep for a few hours.” She’s barely slept in the past two days, but it’s not like she hasn’t had it worse. She took a power nap every few hours, and that was enough. With another nap and a quick shower at a motel in the middle of the night, she’s still feeling okay, but she knows she needs to rest up so she can start driving back in the morning. It’s still worth it — because she gets to see Annabeth, even if only for a night. And like Hades she’s getting on an airplane; that’s one fear she hasn’t quite conquered.

Annabeth stares at Percy expectantly, “Come on, Perce. You can sleep up here.”

“You're working, I don't wanna get in the way. I'll go crash on the couch.”

She rolls her eyes and extends her hand, “Come here.” It wouldn’t matter to her if Percy got in the way, though she knows it would be easy enough to work around her.

Percy sighs and climbs up with her, curling into her lap. She eventually settles, her head resting on Annabeth’s hip, arms wrapped around her leg.

She props up her other knee, resting her sketchbook up against her thigh. Glancing ahead at the reference pinned on her wall, she draws, fine lines and precise angles; a perfectly captured study of the industrial steel support beams of the dilapidated warehouse in the picture.

She nudges Percy once it's finished a few hours later, but she's in too deep of a slumber. It might just be instinct — a remnant of the days when sleep was hard to come by — but she looks so peaceful that she can't bear disturbing her.

So she draws, pencil moving across paper, with little reason. She draws the lamp in the corner of her room, the collection of objects strewn across her desk, little things she can see from where she is, trying to fill up the time until Percy wakes up.

When she’s run out of things to draw, Percy’s still sleeping; so calm and quiet. And still, she looks so beautiful. A hero, and the most gorgeous girl she’s ever seen. It’s striking to her, the difference between the way she looks in the middle of battle. Still beautiful, but her face so focused, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. The way she looks right now is so different, Annabeth almost can’t picture her as the same girl — she looks too innocent, filled with a peace they’ve never known. She wonders who they might’ve been if things were different, if they met as normal kids. She hopes they’d still be here; together.

It’s late, much later than she would stay up herself on a Sunday night. She's considering just calling it a night and making it up to Percy in the morning, when she starts to stir, stretching out with a yawn.

“How long was I out?”

“Almost 5 hours. Feel better?”

Percy hums an affirmation, “Finish your drawing?”

“Yeah. Did some other sketches too while you were sleeping. Figured you needed the rest.” Annabeth flips through the pages, showing her.

Her thumb catches two pages instead of just one. “Wait, you skipped one.”

“Ugh, don’t embarrass me, Percy,” she laughs, handing her the sketchbook and crossing her arms. It feels weird. She’s never been so sentimental — but Percy really looked so pretty clutching her legs, and she couldn’t help but capture that beauty.

Percy turns the page back, and a look of wonder falls onto her face. “Annabeth, this is incredible.”

She blushes, “It’s nothing.”

“No, this… it’s amazing.”

“I was thinking about minoring in art.”

“You should. Seriously, Annabeth. This is really, really good, I— Where did you learn how to do this?”

“Well, the major is based around the art history department. Remember how I mentioned we had to do one studio class?”

She nods. “You're taking that right now, right?”

“Yeah, and I really like it.” She bites her lip. “I’ve been practicing in my spare time. It’s kinda just like architecture drawings — observing shapes, and angles — but it's also looking at the way light hits things and how it changes your perceptions.”

Her eyes light up in the same way they do when she talks about her dreams for the future. “I think you should go for it.”

“Yeah?” Annabeth asks, a smile coming to her face as she sets the sketchbook aside.

“Yeah.”

She kisses Percy’s forehead and holds her close, fingers running through her hair. “I missed you.”

“You get possessive when you miss me,” Percy chuckles. “I like it.”

“I like you.”

“Aww, that’s so embarrassing,” Percy teases, running a hand up her stomach.

She grabs her hand, and leans in close enough that her lips brush Percy’s as she says, “You’re insufferable.” The mischievous grin on her face as she hops off the bed says it all.

“Where are you going?”

“Kitchen,” Annabeth answers, not looking back.

Percy follows on her heel like a puppy. “Hey. Let's go somewhere.”

She stops just short of the cabinet. “Yeah? What’s your plan?”

Percy shrugs. “Um. No plan? I just want to spend time with you.”

“Humor me, what’s even open at 1 AM besides… bars and McDonald’s?”

“Don’t know. Come on, let’s just go.” Percy tugs on her arm, digging her heels into the floor jokingly.

“We can spend time together here. I’ll put on a movie or something,” she manages through a laugh.

“Annabeth, we can watch a movie any time. I'm only here for—” she glances at the clock, “—eight more hours. You trust me,” she smiles, not a question, but a truth.

“Okay,” she sighs.

“Okay, I'm gonna go put on real clothes.” Percy presses a quick kiss to her cheek and runs off.

Annabeth gives a wide-eyed glance to her roommate, standing by the coffee machine, watching it drip into her mug with unparalleled fascination. She's not sure how much she heard or saw — and she's not sure she cares if she did, to be honest. The better question is why she's drinking coffee at two in the morning.

She points an accusing finger: “Not even a word. At least I have the decency to stay here and procrastinate in my pajamas.”

“No, no,” Annabeth laughs, “I wasn't going to say anything,” —an obvious lie.

“So, friend, huh?”

Annabeth opens her mouth to speak, the words catching in her throat. She takes a second; takes a breath, and says, “Actually. My girlfriend. And best friend.”

“Ah,” she smiles, “I thought I sensed overdramatic gay pining.”

Relief washes over Annabeth at how calm and casual her reaction is — but oh, how wrong she is. “Trust me, that's not pining.” She knows pining, regrettably, and this isn't it. On their scale of reactions to time spent apart, a month of talking almost every night while still getting used to their new schedules was nothing.

“Well, it seems like she really missed you.”

Of course she did. And— “I missed her.”

She's drinking her coffee black — what kind of masochist drinks black coffee in the middle of the night on a Sunday night (or rather, Monday morning)? Perhaps the worst part: she sips it slowly, like she enjoys it. “She looks at you like… god, I don't even know, but it's intense.”

Annabeth crosses her arms. “I mean, we've been together for two years, and we've known each other even longer.”

“My boyfriend hasn't looked at me like that since the first few months. Damn, here I thought you were still in the honeymoon phase.”

“We grew up together — been through some shit,” she shrugs, not particularly wanting to elaborate.

“I get that.”

Annabeth doubts she does. “Yeah.”

Percy emerges from her room in a plain navy sundress, jean jacket draped over her shoulder. Annabeth’s eyes linger a bit too long as she looks her over. “Stop staring at my legs, Chase.”

“I— they're long!” Smooth, Annabeth.

Percy chuckles, “Messing with you. Grab your shoes, let’s go.”

“Annabeth, when will you be back?”

“Um. I actually don’t know,” she grins.

It turns out, Washington Square Park is beautiful at night. Despite it being right outside her window, she never did much besides walk through it to save time walking to class. Much quieter, too. There’s still a bustle of tourists, but nothing like it was during the day.

Percy holds her hand tight, swinging their arms back and forth deliberately as they walk. “I miss the city.”

“I never realized how beautiful it could be.”

“You’re majoring in architecture.”

“Yeah, but like… here everything’s so cramped and purpose built. It doesn’t seem like there’s room for beauty. But when I see things like this,” she looks up at the arch, illuminated marble against the dark sky, “it reminds me of all the things I want to make. And why — for these moments. For the girl staring up at the great big world at her fingertips and noticing the little things. The grain of wood in a table; once bark of a tree. Speckles in marble statues. The stippled texture of brick on a walkway.” She leans her head against Percy’s shoulder, clutching her arm tight. “The person who made this didn’t know what it would look like a hundred years in the future. It stood alone, when the night sky wasn’t lit up by street lights, and ‘skyscraper’ meant 10 stories. That America’s long gone, and so are the buildings, but this little piece of it still stands.”

“That is beautiful.” She has a way with words, doesn’t she?

While not eerily quiet, the crowd has started to die down, the bustle of tourists slowing, and Percy knows that’s their cue to leave. She twirls Annabeth around, and pulls her in the direction of the street closest to them.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know!”

“Isn’t it, I don’t know, dangerous for two girls to walk the streets of a big city alone in the middle of the night?” Annabeth raises an eyebrow.

“First off, we’re right next to a college campus and tourist hotspot — this is one of the safest parts of the city. Second, we kick ass.”

She can’t refute that. It’s easy to forget Percy grew up here, and knows this city like the back of her hand. And they do kick ass. They walk for a while, with no sense of direction, passing blocks and avenues; ascending and descending, until Annabeth says, “Let’s get pizza.”

Percy’s face lights up, “I was waiting for you to say something spontaneous like that. Where do you wanna go?”

“Pizza place across the street.”

It looks divey, but it ends up being some of the best pizza Annabeth’s ever had, and she’s glad they took the chance. They share a pie and hold hands across the table, just laughing, and smiling, and she feels normal — It hits her hard.

“What’s wrong?”

Her smile falls away, but it’s not a look of sadness. It’s reflection; every moment that’s led them here. “I didn’t plan this,” she starts, squeezing her hand, “I tried so hard to have a plan for everything, but there’s no way I could’ve planned this. And I’m just realizing I’ve never been more happy with my life than I am right now, and it’s all because of things I wasn’t able to control. That’s… ironic, right?”

“You may not’ve planned it, but you still made this what it is. It’s what we make.”

“Don’t get all philosophical on me over pizza.” Annabeth rolls her eyes.

“You started it!”

That’s true — but she can’t help it. It’s like the whole world fell into place around her without her even noticing. Wasn’t it in her nature to know things? To be observant? “Touché.”

“What do you wanna do?” Percy asks her once they’ve returned to the streets, having polished off the last slice.

She hums, thinking. “Crêpe place. It’s on the way back.”

“It’s…” Percy glances at her watch, “2:30. It’s probably closed.”

“Nope, it’s open until 3.”

“And you know this why?”

“It was 2:45 AM and I wanted crêpes,” she shrugs.

They’re damn good crêpes. If there’s one thing she misses the most about NYC, it’s her mom. Second: Annabeth. If there’s a third thing, it’s incredibly delicious food from unexpected places. Let it never be said Percy’s a girl without her priorities in order.

They wander back, slowly weaving their way towards Annabeth’s dorm, Percy’s arm wrapped around her waist as they walk. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’m not going to beg you to stay, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Annabeth laughs. “You need to pass your classes.”

Percy’s pretty sure she could ditch every single class for the next four years and they’d still give her a degree. But… she likes her classes. Which is new. New Rome understands her — it’s a school for Demigods, of course they cater to ADHD and dyslexia. Even more striking, she’s learning about things that she actually finds interesting. While she isn’t dead set on a specific field like Annabeth, there’s a few things she’s genuinely excited to look into. Marine life and sustainability — because she’ll always be in touch with the sea and the earth — and somehow, education? She’s pressed to admit Paul has rubbed off on her more than she’d ever expected, and having teachers that understand her disability is something she wishes she had as a kid. It’s something to think about.

“I know. I just miss you. I call sometimes… just to make sure you’re okay.”

“Percy, I do too,” Annabeth admits, leaning into her shoulder.

She smiles, “Gods, I thought I was being so creepy and weird.”

“For the record, you are weird.” Percy glares at her, so she elaborates. “So I… had a bit of a nightmare last week. It wasn't bad, but… I called,” she pauses, cracking a smile, “And you had your head hanging off the side of the bed; all tangled up in the blankets. That's weird.”

Percy scoffs, but she’s most definitely not lying. After a pause, she shifts the conversation: “You can wake me up if you need me, you know that right?”

“No, I mean,” she sighs, “I just needed to see you. That's all.”

She knows. “I mean anytime.”

Annabeth nods, “Same here.”

The second the elevator doors in her building close, Annabeth pulls Percy into a slow kiss, one she’s been waiting for since the second she saw her today.

“Took you long enough,” Percy laughs, threading her fingers through Annabeth’s hair. She tastes like marshmallow and chocolate, which she should’ve expected. It takes all of her willpower to pull away when the doors open at her floor.

Annabeth unlocks the door, and as soon as they step inside she hears, “I’m awake, so for the love of all things holy — no loud sex!”

A devilish look pops onto Percy’s face. “Quiet sex, got i—” Percy shouts back; Annabeth sticks her hand over her mouth a second too late.

“Really, Percy?”

“What?” she smirks, “At least I didn’t tell her you were the loud one.”

“Seaweed Brain,” she shakes her head, and heads into her room, quickly tossing her clothes in a pile to deal with in the morning. For now, she grabs a t-shirt out of Percy’s duffel bag, and climbs into her bed. They have six hours, and Annabeth intends to spend them holding her.

Percy follows, kicking her converse off in the doorway and wrestling into a tank top and shorts, finding her way into Annabeth’s arms as quickly as she can manage. As she curls into her grasp, head resting on her shoulder and legs intertwined, a sense of peace washes over her, unparalleled even by the end of the war. Annabeth’s arm cradles her head, hand stroking her shoulder.

It’s a departure from how they usually sleep, Percy spooning Annabeth, arm around her waist to hold her close, their legs tangled together. She’s almost forgotten just how good it feels to be held by her. It’s a feeling she can’t easily explain. When she holds Annabeth, she’s keeping her safe. Of course, she could hold her own any day — but it brings her comfort to hold her in her arms; her warm skin and soft curves nestled perfectly, safe, real. This is so, so different. This is the feeling of Annabeth’s strength, and her own vulnerability, wrapped in the knowledge and trust that she’ll never let go.

Annabeth whispers, “I love you,” and Percy falls asleep faster than she has in almost ten years.

#fic #~3k words #annabeth chase #pjo #fem!percy jackson #fem!percy #wlw percabeth #made

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like-a-bag-of-potatoes · 5 years ago

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12 Dates of Christmas - Rooftop Memories

A/N: I know Christmas is over, but since I’m the master of procrastinating, I didn’t get around to posting them all before Christmas.

Prompt: Cuddling for warmth

Characters: Sebastian x Reader

Warnings: Some angst and some fluff. Mentions of cheating.

Wordcount: 1854

The vibe between you and Sebastian had been strange ever since Chace’s party and the short kiss you had shared, but Seb had made a list of things to do to get you into the holiday spirit and he was determined to stick to it. It was the list that now had brought you to Central Park to get roasted chestnuts and some hot cocoa while enjoying a sleigh ride through the park. Technically, since snow had yet to fall, it was a regular carriage ride, but it was the thought that counted.

“So, how’s that Christmas spirit coming along?” Sebastian asked as you made your way to the little stand that sold the cocoa. After that kiss a few nights ago he had been really nervous and awkward around you, like he didn't know how to start a conversation with you all of a sudden… which was ridiculous since he had known you since he moved to New York.

“It's getting better,” you said honestly, looking up at him with a smile on your face. “So I think you can officially call success on your plan.”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air in victory.

“You’re a dork, you know that right?” you asked, laughter filling your voice. If that kiss the other night told you one thing, it was that Sebastian was no longer just a friend to you, but all of a sudden he was this amazing man that you had started picturing your future with. You shook the thought from your head as you got in line to get your beverages.

“I'm offended,” he said with a gasp, but it was soon followed by a cheeky grin. The sound of your laughter sent a warmth through his body, even in the cold December air.

As you reached the counter and saw who was manning the booth, you froze in place, something that didn't go unnoticed by Sebastian.

“Hey. What can I get you today?” the cheery blonde on the other side of the counter asked.

Sebastian furrowed his brows as he looked from you to the woman and back to you again, you were practically shooting daggers at her and he didn't really understand why. “Uhm- Two cups of cocoa, please,” he said a little hesitantly, looking at the other woman again.

“Coming right up,” she chirped before starting on your orders.

“What's goin-” he started, but you cut him off before he could finish.

“I have to go,” you stated, not meeting his eye before turning on your heel and walking away in a brisk pace.

“(YN),” he shouted after you, but you didn't stop. He put a five dollar bill on the counter for the cocoa and then jogged after you, calling your name as he did. “Hey,” he said when he finally caught up to you, grabbing your arm loosely to get you to stop.

“I need to be alone,” you explained as sternly as you could while you turned to look at him, your eyes swimming with tears. “Let me go, please.”

He released the grip he had on you and let you walk away, not really sure what was happening, but he let you go nonetheless. It was probably not the best decision he had made, but he also knew you so well by now that he knew there was no reason to chase after you or make you talk until you were ready.

***

A few hours had passed since you left Seb in the park, and now that your anger and hurt had subsided a little, you felt guilty for just leaving him there without an explanation. Truth was that you had been caught off guard by that woman, and all of a sudden you were pulled back a month and a half ago, reliving Jeremy’s betrayal all over again. It wasn't until you had been in the cab that the reality hit you and the dots connected in your head.

So now you found yourself on the roof of your building, looking up at the stars as you hugged your coat tightly around yourself. Up here you could hardly hear the noise from the busy streets below, and the clear night gave you a perfect view of the shimmering lights in the sky. It was peaceful up on this little patio, and you enjoyed it.

Sebastian knew where to find you, but he had decided to give you some time before he sought you out, so when the daylight faded and the stars started appearing in the sky, he went to look for you. He found you exactly where he thought you’d be. “There room for one more up here?” he asked as he stepped out on the roof and your head turned to look at him.

“Always,” you answered with a sad smile on your lips, one that nearly broke his heart.

He sat down on the couch next to you and wrapped a blanket he had brought around your shoulders before handing you a to go mug of cocoa. “With Kahlua, just like you like it,” he said with a small smile.

“Thank you,” you offered as you took the cup and clutched it between your hands, enjoying the warmth it provided for your hands. “I'm sorry about earlier,” you apologized, taking your eyes off of Seb and returning them to the stars above you.

“It's okay,” he assured, offering you a smile that you didn't see. Your bright eyes sparkled in the light of the moon and Sebastian couldn't help but think that he could spend his whole life looking into those eyes if he got the chance. “Wanna tell me what happened?” he wondered as he tore his eyes from yours and looked up at the night sky.

“That girl in the cocoa booth… she was the one I caught Jeremy with,” you explained, sadness in your voice. “And that's not even the worst part,” you added, turning your head to look at your friend.

“What's the worst part?” he asked, meeting your eyes and furrowing his brows.

“If she's here and working, that means that she isn't the Jessica that went with him to Hawaii,” you replied, connecting the dots for him. “And her name tag said Amy.”

Seb’s eyes widened in realization and he wished now more than ever that he could go give Jeremy a piece of his mind, or fist. “Have I told you what a massive dick that guy is?” he asked as he carefully wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, placing a featherlight kiss to your hair.

“Once or twice,” you said, a small smile playing on your lips as you took comfort in his embrace. “I just feel so fucking stupid, you know?”

“You’re not stupid. He's a dick,” Sebastian assured. “You deserve so much better than him, (YN).”

“Thank you.”

Silence fell between you for a while as you just sat there and enjoyed each others warmth and comfort. It wasn't until Seb shivered next to you that you got pulled out of your train of thought. You sat up straight and held out the blanket towards him, silently inviting him to come sit under it. “We can go back inside if you’re cold,” you suggested, not wanting him to get sick.

“In a little bit,” he returned as he moved under the blanket with you, wrapping it around his shoulder. “I remember many nights like this that we have spent together,” he said suddenly. “On a rooftop, wishing that the world beneath us didn't exist.”

“Remember the first time?” you asked and you could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to find the memory. It took him a few moments before he gave up and shook his head. “I believe we were fourteen and it was after Violet Walker pulled my skirt down in the middle of the school cafeteria during lunch,” you reminded.

“She was just a grade A bitch, wasn't she?” Seb said as he thought back.

“I believe that's what you said back then too. And then I found you up on that same roof a few days later when Sophie Collins said no when you asked her to prom.” Seb chuckled at the memory. “Grade A bitch that one too,” you added with a giggle.

“She was really hot though,” he defended, making you laugh. “There were some good nights on the roof too, though. Like when I caught you and Marcus Robbins making out,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

You couldn't help but laugh at that particular memory. “Yes, you and Maya Barker, if I remember correctly.”

“Ah… that's right. I forgot about that.”

“Yeah. You managed to cock-block us both that night,” you accused, making him laugh. “Was probably for the best though,” you noted as an afterthought. “You've always been there for me, Seb. I love you for that.” A more serious tone laced your voice now.

“That goes both ways, sweetheart,” he said softly, looking into your bright eyes. If only you knew how deep those feelings sat in him.

“I never brought anyone else up on the roof after Marcus. I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like this is our thing and I didn't want to taint that with memories of other people,” you told him, directing your attention to the stars again.

“It's not stupid at all,” he said, his eyes taking in your profile, eventually landing on your plump lips. “I never did either.”

His confession made you look back at him and there was something in his eyes now that you couldn't put your finger on. Something that made you think for a second that his heart was in the same place as yours, but you couldn't be sure, and you didn't dare hope. Instead you linked your arm through his and hugged yourself to his strong arm, resting your head on his shoulder as you tried to keep the cold out. “Thank you for being you,” you said in a soft voice as he used his free hand to wrap the blanket tighter around the two of you.

He didn't know what to say to that, so instead he rested his head on top of yours as the two of you sat there in the chilly night, cuddled together so you wouldn't freeze, memories of many night's like this filling both your minds. One of these days he would find the courage to tell you how he felt about you, but for now he just wanted to enjoy this moment.

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian fluff #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian x reader #Sebastian stan #12dates

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krystalkoya · 5 years ago

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Paint Me Over | 02

Chapter Summary: Hoseok doesn't want to call himself a pessimist, but what are the chances he'll run into you again? A lot higher than he thinks.

pairing: writer!hoseok x reader

genre: fluff, future angst, smut

rating: +18

word count: 7.7k

chapter warnings: 18+ slight smut, fingering, dirty talk, pretty tame for now

The theme for this chapter (particularly the smut) is B.M.O (also by ari lennox). This whole thing was strangely inspired by a museum project I had to do, sadly i didn't get to experience the smut. enjoy 😉

01 | 02 | 03 | 04

...

Break Me Off

“I don’t see why you're making a big deal out of this.”

“It isn’t a big deal, promise! It’s just strange coming from you, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s so strange about it?”

“Nothing, just the fact that in all the time I’ve known you you’ve never expressed an interest in coming to one of my shows before.”

“Well excuse me for wanting to support my friend.”

Hoseok collapses onto his bed, laying spread eagle on the freshly washed sheets. He had some time earlier (not really, he was just procrastinating because he didn't want to write that next section of his book) so he spent it tidying up and doing some chores around the house. When he gave Taehyung a call he assumed he would be slightly suspicious, granted he had every right to be, given the fact that Hoseok had never willingly asked to go to one of Tae's shows before, but not to this extent!

Of course, there was only one reason for his sudden interest, but he opted to keep that insignificant detail hidden from his friend. He’d like to believe it was to spare Taehyung’s feelings, but he knew the man wouldn’t be offended once he discovered how much more appealing it would be to tease Hoseok instead. And he would much rather spare himself that embarrassment.

“Fine, fine. I mean I’m not complaining. There’s one next weekend. I wasn’t planning on attending but I guess we can—"

“Great, I’ll clear my calendar.” Hoseok rushes out before Taehyung can finish his sentence.

“Uh, cool. I guess I’ll see you then? That last showing must’ve really left an impression on you…” he mutters as an afterthought.

A small smile spreads across his face as he answers. “Yeah, something like that.” And by now his grin is so wide he swears Taehyung can see it through the phone.

Next week comes much slower than expected but once Saturday rolls around Hoseok becomes an anxious ball of both excitement and anxiety. So much so that Taehyung starts to take notice.

“Okay, what the hell is going on with you? Have you been feeling okay?”

If Hoseok wanted to keep Tae from knowing the real reason he was here he was doing a terrible job at it. First asking to go to an art gala and now this? This was strange even for him.

“Seriously, you’ve been darting your head around the room so much tonight that I'm worried it's going to fall off. Did you even hear anything I just said?”

“I did,” Hoseok lies, doing his best to control himself, but his eyes still wander around the room as if in search of something. Of someone, rather.

“Oh really, what was the last thing I said?” he tests him.

Hoseok’s eyes snap to Taehyung who stares back at him blankly. The former’s expression turns sheepish when he realizes he can’t recall anything Taehyung said to him within the past 5 minutes.

Tae sighs, shaking his head at him. “I said I have to get back to my booth soon. Remember? I chose to enter last minute with some of the photos I took down at the lake with Jin the other day. Got some cool shots too. You gonna be okay if I leave you for a bit?”

Hoseok nods, vaguely remembering him saying something of the sort. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m glad you entered, people seriously need to see your work.”

Taehyung squints his eyes at him wearily.

“What?” Hoseok asks, tired of his friend's judgy eyes.

“Nothing, it’s just...you sure you’re feeling okay? You don’t usually compliment me so openly. And I'm not one to fish for compliments, trust me, but it's like pulling teeth with you. ”

Hoseok scoffs. “Not true!” At his friend’s deadpan look in response Hoseok follows up with, “Isn't the fact that I rotate out your photos as my wallpaper good enough?”

Tae snorts in response, grunting out a "For you, I guess." But to Hoseok's dismay, he doesn't quit. “Nah, there’s definitely something up with you." As Tae proceeds to break down his strange behavior, Hoseok grows more anxious, if that was even possible.

"Let’s see, you asked to come to one of my art shows, not the other way around, you were excited about it even… your head’s been swiveling around the room nonstop like the pet parakeet I used to have when I was 8, and you seem to be paying even less attention to me than you usually do.”

"You had a pet parakeet?"

"Sure did, was even training him alert me every time my brother got near my snack stash but we only got as far as a something that sounded like a garbled version my name before we got a cat and well... you know the rest."

"I'm sorry for your loss-"

"Thank you, I still miss him even to this- hey! Quit trying to distract me! I'm onto you..." he says menacingly, beady little eyes boring so far into Hoseok he's starting to think Taehyung can see straight through him. Safe to say, he's glad he wore his big boy undies today. His other boxers (the one with all the marvel characters on it) were in the wash.

He squirms under Taehyung’s gaze but he keeps reminding himself there was nothing to worry about. There was no way he could connect the dots and discover the real reason he was here. But Taehyung, the perceptive bastard, somehow always manages to prove him wrong.

He blurts out excitedly, as if having his own personal eureka! moment, though his realizations aren't nearly as profound as Einstein's. “You’re meeting up with someone aren’t you?”

Hoseok regards him coolly, responding with a calm ‘no, why would I be?’ that he is very proud of. He ups the ante on his whole nonchalant attitude by pretending to be engaged in the nearby artwork in hopes that Taehyung will drop the subject altogether. But the slight red tinge in his cheeks reveal his true emotions and not for the first time he curses his inability to control his body’s physical reactions.

“Don’t bullshit me, you only ever act like this when you're nervous. You're totally blushing right now!" Hoseok was, in fact, blushing, but despite that he still tries to deny it, clapping a hand over his cheeks to cover it up. "Am not. And I'm not acting any weirder than I usually do. I'm always like this." "Bull-fucking-shit!" Tae explains with an incredulous laugh. "Remember that double date we went on a while back? With the Park sisters? You were acting just like this. Now quit fucking with me, did you meet someone?”

"Yeah? well that was before I found out they wanted to bag the both of us. This may come as a surprise but I'm not into foursomes." He shrugs. k lashes out at that accusation, strongly refuting such a claim. Bad choice. At that moment Taehyung knows he’s right because anytime Hoseok gets this worked up over something, it most likely means he’s lying.

“Hey you passed up a good opportunity and screwed me over in the process. They were twins man, twins!" He shakes his head as if to get back on track. "Quit changing the subject! You did meet someone didn't you?” He lets out a gasp. “Was it that girl from the last art show?”

No fucking way, how did he...? Welp, the cat's out of the bag now. And Hoseok didn't even have to say anything, miraculously his friend just figured it out all on his own. If he's honest with himself, he's a little impressed. Doesn't stop him from scrubbing a hand down his face in annoyance, but impressed nonetheless. He turns to Tae with narrowed eyes. “Of all days you choose today to play detective? Why don't you take those sleuthing skills and mosey on down to the local police department. Don't you think your talents are going to waste always butting in on my love life?”

“Not at all." Tae sing-songs from beside him. "You didn't deny it so I take it it was her. I just figured because I saw you two talking the other night. And you haven't talked to a girl since..." he trails off, "so is she meeting you here?”

He wishes. “Not exactly,” he sighs thinking it was a stupid idea to even come here in the first place.

“I didn’t get her number or anything. We just talked and… I came tonight hoping she would be here…”

“You mean you don’t even know if she’s here?!” Taehyung exclaims and it doesn’t make him feel any better. In fact, it makes this dumb idea feel ten times worse.

“Well maybe if someone hadn’t been so eager to drag me away the other night I could’ve stayed long enough to get her instagram at least.”

Tae actually looks remorseful for once. "Yeah that was my bad wasn't it, sorry” he says sincerely. “But you do know it’s a long shot that you’re gonna find her. For some artist’s things like this are just a one time thing. Who's to say she comes back regularly enough to be here for the second week in a row?”

Hoseok sighs because he's already thought this through the entire week before. “I know that already. Which is why I’m prepared, more than anything, to be disappointed. We’ve been here for half an hour and still haven’t seen her so it’s not looking too good right now.”

Taehyung claps a hand on Hoseok shoulder encouragingly, if not to comfort the man whose hopes were near shot to shit. He's sincerely happy for his friend. This is the first time he's shown such an interest in someone in a long while, but he still needs to be realistic. “Hey cheer up, the night’s still young. There’s a still a chance she's here so just put all your faith in that basket." He glances behind him, expression seemingly caught between wanting to stay and help Hoseok find his mystery girl or attending to his more pressing duties. Finally he seems to make up his mind, "I’m going to head over to my booth now. You gonna be okay on your own?”

He nods to assure his friend. “Yeah, yeah. Go have fun. I know how much you love seeing the expression on people’s faces when they look at your work. As they should, you’re really good at what you do.”

Taehyung beams, a hand on his chest in shock. “Well, I'll be...you're just showering me with compliments today aren't you?" He says in a poor (extremely poor) attempt at a southern belle accent. "I’ll catch you later.” And with a wave he’s off to whatever section of the gala was his for the night.

Hoseok makes his way through the gala slowly, observing the art as he goes along, but most importantly scanning the faces of the artists who made them. Unfortunately, none of the faces he sees is the one that he is looking for. Eventually, he makes his way back to the refreshment table, located off to the side this time. This gala is a lot more minimalistic, opting to put out an off-putting combination of bottled waters and lollipops as refreshments rather than homemade cookies and punch.

Hoseok grabs a water, deciding he’s not in the mood for sweets tonight. He sighs forlornly and takes a swig, shifting his weight to one leg so that he can observe the various people viewing the artwork displayed about the room. Well, he didn’t find what he was looking for here tonight but he can’t deny it was a good showing. Just like the last one, there were several pieces he enjoyed looking at and he would’ve gone through again to get a better look at a few that caught his eye if he hadn’t heard your voice.

“Well, well, well, look who it is. How goes it stick?”

Hoseok damn near drowns drinking his bottled water. He has to hit his chest several times while he coughs up the liquid, trying his best to ignore the fact that he’s sputtering like an absolute fool as you watch on in amusement.

There’s no forced apology for startling him this time when you say, “Is this going to become our thing now? Meeting at refreshment tables, you choking on your drink?” you ask with a smirk.

He brushes off the water that dribbled down his chest as if that will change that fact that his shirt is now wet. He sighs, at least it was only water and not something that could actually stain. “I hope not. Why does it seem like I’m always at a disadvantage in these situations?”

“Oh you most definitely are.” You say as you reach past him to grab a lollipop out of the decorative bowl. "Learn how to drink properly will you?"

He stares down at you, unwrapping the lolli and popping it into your mouth, as he wills something to come to his brain so he can speak. The irony. This whole time he had been looking for you and now when you finally show up he has nothing to say.

Fortunately, you beat him to it. “So. What brings you back to another one of these shin-digs? No offense, but you don’t seem like the type to frequent galas on the regular.”

“And why not? I told you I’m an artist.”

“You’re a writer. And you don’t strike me as the ‘artsy’ type either. You’re more clear cut, precise, all sharp edges, you know? What d'you write anyway? Instruction manuals?” You question with a pop of your candy.

He ignores your question in favor of asking you one of his own.

"So what do you have a booth set up today too or are you just a member of the audience like me?”

You gesture vaguely down the room. “Yep, I actually do have a booth set up. Somewhere over there. I’m surprised I didn’t see you earlier, did you already cycle all the way through?” you ask and when he nods you quirk your head to the side in thought.

“Huh, you must’ve caught me when I was away from my booth then cause I definitely would have noticed you if you passed by.”

"Aww am I that memorable to you?" he teases but in reality his stomach jumps in glee at the thought. "How could I forget? You were the only one who pitched a fit in front of my booth the whole night. Longest argument I've had in weeks." He scoffs. "I'd hardly call it an argument. And I did not pitch a fit." You wave a dissmisive hand in the air. "Debate then, whatever you want to call it. So?" He gives you a puzzling look. "So what?" "So, did you like it? My piece?" you ask with a hint of eagerness. "Depends, which one was yours?" The smirk is there again but you don't say anything and that's when it clicks. He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. "Don't tell me." You mime zipping your lips and throwing away the key, that infuriating smile still present on your face, only this time its wider lets him know everything he needs to. "You can’t be serious.”

It was earlier in the night, but he remembers that piece so well because it was so different from the others. Blue is the first (and only thing) that comes to mind. Seriously, the whole page was just blue. No texture marks, no additional detail that would make it seem like any other effort went into it other than grabbing blue paint and slathering it across a canvas.

“I assume you want a 10 page paper on the meaning behind the blue paint or the symbolism of using 8.5 x 11 cardstock on your desk by tomorrow?”

He sputters. “Honestly, any explanation would be fine at this point.”

It’s such a drastic change from your last painting that he doubts he would have guessed that both images came from the same artist. What, did the amount of time it took to put all that detail in your first piece drain you that much that all you could come up with this time was the color blue on a page? He couldn’t make sense of this change up.

“It can mean whatever you want. The sky. The ocean. Hell, the color blue on a fucking page. That’s it. Maybe I just wasn't done.” You shrug. "Who knows I might go back and add to it later if I'm up to it."

You must notice that he’s still staring at you with what must be a look of utter bewilderment on his face so you elaborate.

“I like the color blue, so I painted blue.”

He’s about to argue again but you stop him.

“Hey, sometimes you just got to paint what you feel.” “Look, what do you write about? I know I joked instruction manuals earlier but holy shit that can't really be it can it?” You ask almost fearfully.

“God no, I'm not that boring." You seem to visibly relax at that which he finds amusing. "Prose mostly. Short stories, mostly but I'm working on a writing something longer, a book actually ”

“Prose,” you repeat questioningly. But it’s without judgement. Now you’re trying to make sense of him, maybe. It’s funny, people usually stop him to ask questions when they hear he’s writing a book. But here you are, concerned with the genre he writes instead, not the content.

“Yeah, prose. I used to write poetry a while back but I stopped cause-“

“Wait, hold up. Poetry? You?”

“Yeah…” He narrows his eyes in question. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

You take a moment to think before you reply. “I mean, in a way it’s not. Poetry’s got all those symbols and hidden meanings you English teachers love so much but… I don’t know. I guess I didn’t expect it coming from a guy like you.”

"A guy like- you know what I'm not even gonna ask. I have a feeling I'll only be offended.

“You said you stopped, why was that?” you ask suddenly.

“Stopped what? Poetry?” At your nod of confirmation he continues, “It just wasn't my thing anymore?” He shrugs not really giving it much thought.

You shake your head as if disappointed. “That’s a shame. I love poetry. It’s like the rawest of all genres— a window to the speaker's deepest thoughts and feelings.”

He nods, understanding, “Maybe that’s why I left it. All those feelings..." he shakes his head, "yeah, it just wasn't for me anymore.”

“And what’s wrong with feelings?”

So many questions tonight. Some of which he doesn't have the answer to. You're really forcing him to do some serious reflection aren't you? Well prepare to be sorely disappointed because Hoseok hasn't done that in years. “Nothing, really. I'm just…at a different stage in my life where they aren't as needed. ” He stares down at the linoleum floor, musing that it's high time he get a new pair of sneakers, while you appease him with your sharp gaze.

Though he’s not looking at you, he presumes you’re still staring him down when he hears you hum in thought. It’s quiet save for the light chatter around the room, which only serves to make him even more uncomfortable. But that doesn’t last long because suddenly you are tugging on his arm as you mutter a hasty ‘come with me.’

He can’t do much but follow you as you pull him along past the rows of people in the main room to some back corner of the museum. He muses that wherever you are pulling him off to is better than the mini interrogation you were giving him just moments ago. No longer in the part of the building that had been sectioned off for the gala for the night, you arrive at an alcove at the back, a seemingly unnoticed part of the museum. If he had to guess he would say this part of the museum was not in use from the way it was isolated from the rest of the pieces.

“Uh…” Hoseok starts, “Are we allowed to be here?”

“Relax. Of course we are. No one said we couldn’t view the rest of museum while we’re here.”

"Yeah but... are we allowed to be here here?" he asks just to get a huff in annoyance in response.

As you burrow deeper into the alcove, he notices there is an entryway off to one side, but he can’t tell what it leads to just yet.

Luckily he doesn't have to wait long to find out when you pull him through the doorway.

“This is one of my favorite exhibits. It won’t be up for much longer though. They’re replacing it soon.” He hears you say.

Hoseok looks around at the interior of the room, and, it’s not the first thing he notices, but he can’t help but see that all four walls were mirrored. He could see his reflection no matter where he looked.

Rather, the first thing he noticed is something he can barely even describe. There seemed to be stalactites and stalagmites protruding from the ceiling and the floors of the room. He moves to get a closer look at one when you press a button on the wall and the figures light up, each flashing in almost every color of the rainbow, all of them illuminating the dark room beautifully. To Hoseok, the lighting in the room is reminiscent of his high school dance, a cheesy affair where teachers had lit a disco ball in the school gym and placed strobe lights about the room to achieve a ‘70s theme’ for the spring bash sophomore year.

Hoseok walks near to one figure, almost as tall as him in height and protruding from the ground. He touches one gently and comes to find out that it’s made of the same material of the inflatable arm floats your mom puts you in when you're just a wee toddler learning how to swim. Each are dotted with black polka dots which only adds to the confusion in trying to figure out just what exactly he’s looking at. He settles on tentacles, because though the dripstones favor something you would see in a cave, they are curved in a way that looks similar to the arms of an octopus.

Before he can ask you what the hell he’s staring at, you press another button and a voice starts speaking overhead.

It’s a female voice, and she’s speaking a language entirely different from the ones he’s familiar with. It sounds… if he’s not mistaken, like Japanese. And he’s only able to make that discernment because of the several times Tae forced him to watch that cartoon with the hyperactive redheaded twink and the emotionally distant brooding tall one. Something to do with volleyball but to Hoseok it just looked like a shoujo (was that the right term?) romance and a gangbang waiting to happen.

“'Love is Calling'" you say as you return to his side. "That's the name of the exhibit. It’s by Yayoi Kusama and she’s reciting her poem ‘Residing in a Castle of Shed Tears.’”

He takes a 360 of the room, acknowledging your words with a hum. “I can’t understand a word she’s saying, but it’s nice.” He says.

You walk over to one of the figures nearest to you to touch it. “It is. One of the things I love most about it is just being immersed in this room while listening to her speak. I can’t understand Japanese, no, but I think that’s apart of the appeal. Maybe you’re supposed to explore the room for yourself while she speaks to another part of you.”

“Okay, but what if you do speak Japanese?” He counters.

You shrug, hands behind your back as you walk to the opposite side of the room. “I assume that’s even better. Being able to understand what she’s saying as you navigate this maze of a room.”

There’s quiet again aside from Yayoi’s voice. You both listen intently, as you continue to look at the flashing lights and your reflections in the mirrored walls.

“What do you see?” you ask him suddenly.

“Huh?” He heard you clearly, but he wonders what you mean. He sees exactly the same thing as you, doesn’t he?

“At first glance, what do you see? You don’t understand the poem so your just left with this room. What do you see?” you clarify.

"Ok, we're not doing this. Leave that job to my shrink."

"You see a therapist?"

"No, but I probably should. The things I see and hear from these kids on a daily? It's no wonder I'm not crazy yet."

You laugh and poorly try to mask it in favor of saying, "Be serious. What do you see? I want to know."

Hoseok thinks about it for a moment before he settles on telling you his impression of the room when he first came in. How the space resembled a cave with colorful dripstones hanging from the ceiling and protruding from the ground, and how the figures resemble tentacles, reaching out to him now.

You come to join him as he is speaking and now you stand side by side, the both of you observing your reflections in the wall before you. Hoseok takes this moment to return the question, asking you what you see.

You laugh as if finding something funny. “To be honest, the first time I came in here I was confused…”

Hoseok nods in agreement because that was certainly an experience for him.

You continue, “…and I could see that confusion in my reflection—everywhere I looked. But after that, once the lights came on I saw some inflatable pool toys with multi-colored lights stuck in ‘em.”

“That’s it?” He asks, expecting something more profound, especially after he just gave you his testament on how the figures resembled dripstones and tentacles at the same time.

“No,” you smile. “I said that just to get under your skin.” You share a laugh at that and he should be annoyed but for reason unknown he isn't. Once your chuckles subside, you continue.

“You see, I was in here for so long, left to nothing but my thoughts and Kusama’s recitation playing in the background that I started seeing something else. The room was so dark and then all of a sudden there was light—lots of it, protruding from the ground, the ceiling everywhere. It’s hard to explain...” you say, struggling to express your thoughts clearly.

Hoseok nods understanding, “Like the candlestick at the end of a dark hallway.”

You snap your fingers in excitement. “Yeah, like that. It’s like, hope in a dark place. You must be loving this, aren’t you?”

He chuckles, not denying it. “Of course I am. Look who’s talking miss ‘not-everything-has-a-meaning.”

“Hey, I still think like that, but not in the way you think. I said art was subjective didn’t I? My meaning isn’t always going to be the same as yours.”

He takes a moment to think about your words and he comes to the conclusion that you may have a point. There wasn’t just one answer.

By this time Kasuma has finished her recitation and you pull him along again. Your doing a lot of that tonight and he's not sure how he feels about being your human rag doll.

“Come here, I want to show you something.”

You arrive back at the wall, near the buttons, only this time he notices a plaque on tacked to the wall.

“It’s Kasuma’s poem translated into English.”

Residing in a Castle of Shed Tears

When the time comes around for people to encounter the end of their life having put on years, death seems to be quietly approaching It was not supposed to be my style to be frightened of that, but I am In the shadows of my loved ones footprints, distress revisits me at the dead of night refreshing my memories Being in love with and longing for you, I have locked myself up in this “castle of shed tears” Now may be the time for me to wander off into the place, the guidepost to the other world points to And the sky is waiting for me, attended by numerous clouds Overwhelmed by your tenderness that has always encouraged me I have been searching for “love” in earnest taking my wish for happiness along Let me call out to and ask the birds flying about in the sky I want to convey to them my feelings Over many long years, with art as a weapon I have treaded the path in search of love During the days I have lived through keeping “despair”, “emptiness” and “loneliness” all to myself along the way there were times when the fireworks of life “splendidly” adorned the sky Dancing in the night sky in a myriad of colors, the fireworks sprinkled dust all over my body I will never forget that exhilarating moment Now I think is the time to dedicate my heart to you, my dearest Was the beauty of the end of one’s life nothing more than illusion? Would you give me an answer to this? Devoting all my heart to you, I have lived through to this day Hoping to leave beautiful footprints at the end of my life I spend each day praying that my wish will be fulfilled This is my message of love to you

-Yayoi Kusama

“Heartbreaking isn’t it?”

Hoseok still reads it over as he replies, “Yeah.”

“Unrequited love is the worst. But I think, like many artists, that she just wanted to share her story and if anyone could relate to that, then all the better.”

He turns to look at you. “You don’t think there’s anything deeper there?”

“Oh for sure,” you nod. “The way she explores themes of death, loneliness and unrequited love all in the same breadth? That’s deep. But I don’t think it’s invalid if you experience something different while in here. Sometimes artists just want to invoke feelings of happiness, or sadness, or I don’t know, the feeling of being in love in their viewers.”

“It’s about the experience.” He states more than questions.

You smile, probably because this is the first sign of him actually getting it. “Right, just like living in the moment. At least that's how I want people to feel when they look at my art.”

He stares at you for a moment, surprised by your well-fleshed out thoughts. “You’ve thought about this a lot haven’t you?”

You pin him with a look. “I told you, it was my favorite exhibit. I’m sad to see it go.”

He agrees with you, telling you he wished he knew about it sooner. He’s reading over the words of the poem again, absorbing Kasuma’s message but he can feel your eyes on him.

“What?” He turns to ask you.

“Nothing, it’s just, you look really nice under these colored lights.”

He quirks a brow, “And that’s funny? Are you sure I look nice?” He hastily starts checking his reflection in the mirror.

You burst out into giggles, hands out to placate him, “No, nice I promise. I don’t even know why I’m laughing really. You look more than nice actually. Attractive even...” This last part is murmured and if you two were out in the main room he probably would not have caught it.

He peaks with interest at that and when he looks over at you are looking at him, lip caught between your teeth in a coy smile.

“Attractive, huh? Is this the part of the night where you stop insulting me and starting laying me on with compliments?" He teases.

You pin him with a hardened glare, though there is no malice in it. It's mischievous more than anything.

“I have eyes, stick. I could see how someone could find you somewhat...visually-appealing.”

He turns toward you. “The feelings mutual. Although..." he squints as if trying to see better, "it may just be the lightning doing you justice.”

You scoff, hitting his arm playfully. “Hey, I look good in all lighting, especially the shitty ones.”

You both share a chuckle and when it dies down he speaks. "Fine, ok?" he gives in. "I agree."

"Good." You say decidedly, still chuckling.

Hoseok makes the fatal mistake, then of glancing down at your lips, which are now glistening due to the tongue that darted out just moments prior to wet them.

The moment after, after you both stop chuckling is spent in silence, staring at each other, waiting for the other to say something next.

But it never happens. Hoseok doesn’t know who leans in first, all he knows is that your lips feel like soft pillows pressed against his. The kiss is slow at first, taking the time to savor the taste of the other and when Hoseok tastes the sweetness of the strawberry lollipop you were sucking on earlier he moans.

He wants to taste more, so he is grateful when he licks your bottom lip, begging you to open up to him and you do. His tongue darts into your mouth, starting its exploration into every crevice and corner he can find.

When his teeth can’t help but graze your bottom lip you moan and he finds the sound pleasing to his ears. He’s eager to find more ways to make you moan so pretty for him again when you pull away.

Your arms, which at some point had slid up to wrap around his neck, now slide down to rest on his chest.

“You don’t know how badly I wanted to keep going but goddammit I needed air.” You pant heavily against him.

He smiles, bending to capture your lips in light pecks. “I took your breath away?”

You groan and roll your eyes. A second later your groaning again, not because you’re annoyed, but because Hoseok has attached his lips to your neck.

“God you’re cheesy. You’re not like this all the time are you?”

He detaches from your neck with a wet pop, sinking his teeth into the spot before dragging his lips up to your ear. “Trust me that when I tell you that when I get you into bed, you’ll never want me to shut up." You whimper slightly at his words, managing to choke out a meek, “Still corny.”

You say this but you’re turned on nonetheless. Hoseok can tell by the way you rub your thighs together in what you think is in an inconspicuous manner. But to him, a man who has been starved of sex for so long and who is so in tune with your body because it is exactly what his is feeling, your actions are as clear as day to him. And he wants to do more, so much more just to make you beg for that sweet release he's more than willing to give you.

“It's true. And you wouldn't be able to shut me up. Wanna see how wet this dirty little pussy can get for me.” He mutters lowly, a hand travelling down between the apex of your thighs.

Ever resilient, you mumble out a 'doubt it' as you struggle to keep your composure. “Oh yeah? So you don’t want my fingers on your clit? Shoved so far up your hole and stretching you wide? Hmm?” He applies pressure with his fingertips. “Rubbing this pussy to climax again and again and again?”

He smirks when you moan, hands clutching the lapels of his open shirt as you whine under his touch.

“Still too cheesy for you? I can be quiet if you want me to, I'll be good. Promise.” He says, the palm of his hand now massaging your entire center.

“No, no you’re not. Just please touch me.”

Satisfied with your response, he hastily undoes the buttons of your jeans and snakes a wrist down your pants.

He practically groans when he feels how wet you are, soaking through your panties beautifully.

“For someone so turned off by my words you’re awfully wet.” he notes.

You’re glare at him is cut short when his fingers graze your clit, focusing his attention on that little nub full of nerves. You're expression softening into a silent moan that you are no doubt trying to keep from him.

You bury your head in his chest and give in to your pleasure when he rubs harder; smiling in victory, he lets you lean against him, enjoying the vibrations of your groans against his neck.

“Right there, keep going, please…”

To your horror, he does exactly that, but only briefly. “I don’t know…” he starts up again, much slower this time, as if debating whether to continue or not. “You insulted me. Why should I?”

“Please…” you look up at him with pleading eyes. Fearful even, probably that he'll stop and leave you high and dry. “God, I need it.”

He hums, contemplating your words. “You gonna moan pretty for me if I do?”

You release a sharp moan at a particularly harsh brush of his fingers against your clit.

“Like that,” he says as if to clarify exactly how he wants you to sound.

“Yes, yes. Just please.. Shit ”

He concentrates on pleasuring you, wanting to hear what you sound like when you orgasm under his touch. He rubs faster, arm tiring but he continues just to see your brow scrunch in pleasure like that and your pants pick up in intensity.

“Oh god…” you whisper, “how are you so good with your fingers.”

He doesn’t know whether that was meant for him to hear or not but he doesn’t mind. If you think this is good, just wait till he gives you his tongue.

But that can wait for another time. And good god he can't fucking wait. Your so fucking wet it's driving him insane. He uses some of the slick collecting it on his fingertips before travelling back up and assaulting your clit again and you go absolutely fucking wild. He has to shush you, remembering your in public, though he doubts anyone is close enough to overhear. A resounding chorus of 'yeses' and a chant of his name mark your orgasm and he revels in it. Your sounds, your expressions, the way you squeeze his fingers between your thighs as if to secure him there forever.

“Hoseok, ahh… Hoseok, I’m cumming.”

"I know baby, I know. Feel good?"

He gives you no time to answer, not even waiting for you to come down from your high when he captures your lips, still massaging between your legs though much lighter now being considerate of overstimulating you (this time). He pushes your shirt up, all the way past your breasts and his lips travel down to trail open-mouthed kisses across the soft mounds encased in a simple but cute black bra. He’s just slid one cup down, exposing your quickly hardening nipple to the cold air. He helps it along by sucking your the bud into his mouth, teeth lightly grazing.

“Ahh, Hoseok slow down.” You say, winding your hands in his hair but doing nothing to detach him from your breast.

“Can’t.” He yanks the cup covering your other nipple down and attaches his lips to that breast. “Want you so bad.” He murmurs around your nipple in his mouth.

You moan approvingly. “Me too. Want it, your cock in my mouth, my pussy…”

It’s Hoseok’s turn to groan and he does so, resting his head against your chest as he tries to calm himself down because at this rate he's going to blow his load in his pants and he can't have that.

But try as he might to calm himself he can't, not when you continue to whisper all the dirty things you want him to do to you in here. In public.

“Want you to fuck me so good, right here where anyone can walk in and see. I want you to fuck me so far up this wall I’ll start screaming with how good it is.”

“Fuck.” He says because he wants to do just that. Exactly as you described because the image is so undeniably hot that he can barely contain himself.

He’s just figured out whether he wants to fuck your pussy or your mouth first (your mouth) when his phone rings loudly from its place in his back pocket.

His plan is to ignore it but you seem to think differently when you pull away, urging him he should answer it. When he hesitates you say, ‘it might be important’. He considers saying 'this is too' but decides against it, reluctantly digging into his back pocket for the device instead.

His plan B is to answer whoever is calling, tell them he can’t talk right now, and get right back on track to fucking that filthy little mouth of yours but you are already tidying yourself up. He’s sad to see your tits go as you right your bra and pull your shirt down, looking in the mirror to fix what can be salvaged of your makeup and hair.

“Hello,” he answers the phone with a bitterness, annoyed at whoever the cockblock was on the other line.

Taehyung. Of course. He said he had been looking for him all over, concerned and he just wanted to make sure he was safe. Hoseok would be touched, if he weren’t in the middle of trying to get his dick wet so instead he winds up annoyed.

He tells him he’ll meet him out front in a few minutes, it’s obvious by the way you have cleaned yourself up that his night of fun is over.

“Yeah, see you there. Okay, bye.” Hoseok finishes up his call and when done you push him towards the exit.

“Come on, we’re not supposed to be here, this part of the museum was closed for renovation.”

“I thought you said-“

“Yeah, I lied. Congratulations stick, you’re that much closer to living on the wild side.” You give him a pat on the back.

"Don't you think what we just did in there gets me some points? At least enough to drop the nickname?"

"The nickname stays, that's with you for life but I guess you can claim some cool points. Only a few though!" You clarify. "That was pretty tame to be quite honest."

By now you two have reached the main room of the gala and he can see the crowd has died down now that the night is coming to an end.

He catches your elbow before you can move any further into the room. “Careful there, lying to me never fares well for those involved.” He mutters lowly into your ear.

“Sure, whatever,” comes your dismissive response but in spite of it he can see you shiver at his words. A hint of a smile graces his lips in triumph.

Taehyung spots Hoseok and comes bounding over, the ‘where were you?’ dying on his lips when you come into view.

Instead a small ‘o’ graces his features when he realizes what Hoseok must have been up to. And who he was up to it with.

“Well,” you say, putting distance between yourself and Hoseok (and he’s only slightly sad about it), “It was nice meeting you Hoseok.” You extend your hand out formally, as if he didn’t just finger you to orgasm just a few minutes ago.

He takes it, playing along. Your gazes must linger a little to long because a sudden cough from Taehyung is startling you back to reality.

“And, Taehyung right? I heard a lot about you from other artists. Loved your collection by the way. You took some really great shots.”

“Ahh, thank you.” Tae accepts the compliment humbly, his hand coming up to brush you off.

“It was nothing. Just a last minute entry.” He tells you how he wished he had more time to go around the whole gala to see what you came up with this time. You share a knowing smile with Hoseok, no doubt Taehyung would be shocked as well to see the drastic difference between your first piece and this one.

“Anyways, I better go but it was nice meeting you both.” You say politely, stare lingering on Hoseok before you turn to leave.

Taehyung bumps his shoulder which jars him out of whatever trance he was just in.

“So is it right to assume that what I’m thinking right now is correct or...” He questions and suddenly Hoseok is reminded that he’s supposed to be mad at Taehyung. “If you’re thinking that you are an immense cockblocker then yeah, definitely.”

Taehyung’s eyes bug out of his head at that comment. “Wait. So you mean…”

Hoseok sighs, “Yeah and I was this close. But someone just had to call me right in the middle of it.”

Tae has the audacity to look apologetic as he claps a sympathetic hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. “Sorry man, but this is great. To be honest I didn’t peg you as the type to be into public sex but good for you.”

It’s only when Hoseok arrives back at his apartment that night, replaying the memories of tonight that he hopes are permanently etched into his brain that he realizes he forgot to get your number yet again.

He got lucky today, but what are the chances he’s going to find you again?

He calls up Taehyung in a panic, explaining his predicament but all Taehyung can offer is an unhelpful decree of ‘wow, you are an idiot’ so he hangs up.

Although, before he ended the call, Tae did suggest that the universe might be on his side on this one, if he found her once he could do it again. But Hoseok is not one to push his luck so he highly doubts it.

He goes to bed that night, and this time bittersweet memories of a one-night stand (could what you did together even be considered a one-night stand? Calling it a half-a-night stand seemed more fitting) interspersed with thoughts that this would be the last time he sees the peculiar painter again fill his brain.

#hoseok x reader #english teacher!hoseok #writer!hoseok #jhope x y/n #jhope x reader #hoseok x y/n #hoseok x you #hobi smut #future angst #hobi x reader #future (slight) angst

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fionnlydarling · 6 years ago

Text

Interview

Tell me why I took weeks to start on this request, procrastinated for ages, and then decided it’d be a good idea to stay up until the crack of dawn and finally just get it done?

Anyway, to the anon who requested this piece and anyone else who reads, I hope you enjoy! I feel a bit weird about this work but I just wanted to put it out and not delay any longer. If you want to read some of my scrambled thoughts on it I added a little author’s note at the end if you care to read it. If not, understandable. But enough of me.

Happy reading!

Request: “OK ok hear me out, I have major feels after that pic of Fionn at the opening of "Admissions". Reader is a journalist and interviews Fionn, reader underestimates weather (not used to the unpredictability that is weather in Britain)and Fionn offers a jacket (boi has layers upon layers so it don't matter) which they accept and tries to give back at the end of the night, only to get asked out.”

Pairing: FionnxReader

Words: 3282

If you feel so inclined, use the tag “fionnly darling” on my blog to read more of my works. I’m open to requests!

So it’s been a bit of a shit day.

Alright.

To be fair, maybe you shouldn’t be whinging so much. You’re only twenty years old and you’ve got a nice job watching films and interviewing attractive and interesting celebrities. It’s a job other people would kill to have, not to mention it pays the bills.

It’s just not exactly what you thought you’d be doing in life at this point.

It if were up to you, you’d be a foreign correspondent bringing the world’s events to home, reporting with the dedication and insight of badass journalists like Christiane Amanpour or Marie Colvin.

Instead, you’re outside Trafalgar Studios holding a phone with the sound record app open and a notepad in hand, shivering where you stand because you’re a fool who underestimated London weather in March and didn’t bring a coat, thinking your tights and long-sleeved dress would be enough. Add in the fact that your feet are killing you because you’re wearing heels and you hate heels, but your boss had told you to dress up so you hadn’t had much choice.

You were sent to watch Joshua Harmon’s new play Admissions and later write a little about it, but you know what your boss really wants is for you to talk to some of the celebrities who would be attending the premier. Personally, you think it’d be more interesting to review the play than try and find out more about celebrity love lives, but that’s the job.

You’re in a brief break between interviews and you glance at your phone worriedly, noting that you’re at 5%, but you’re not sure how long that’s going to last even on power-save mode. You comfort yourself with the thought that if you do end up having to resort to writing notes by hand, at least your fingers will be warm.

You look up to see there’s a guy walking over to your little spot along the press line and you immediately note it looks like he didn’t get the ‘dress to impress’ memo. He’s actually got a beanie and hoodie on under a Carharrt jacket that literally has open seams in the right pocket.

You’re wondering if this bloke is another ill-prepared journalist like you but the closer he gets you recognize this guy isn’t just lost and wandering on the wrong side of the red carpet. That’s Fionn Whitehead from Bandersnatch and he’s coming straight towards you.

“F-Fionn!” you say

He nods at you and for a moment you forget that only a second ago you were freezing because the next thing you know Fionn’s standing right in front of you and you’re a bit speechless because, fuck, he’s a lot more attractive than you’d thought, even as the most under-dressed person at this event.

“Hello,” Fionn says, and that’s yet another distraction because he has a lovely voice, deeper than you’d think.

“H-Hi.”

Fionn looks a little confused and rightly so. There’s a beat of silence that maybe goes on a bit too long and Fionn’s sort of smirking sort of smiling at your gaping face before you shake yourself out of it and introduce yourself and the magazine you’re affiliated with before diving right into it, asking what he’d thought of the play.

Fionn nods amenably, talking about how he enjoyed seeing Harmon’s work on stage and how he’d been happy to come and support a couple of friends he had that were involved with the play.

You’re mind’s racing with any bit of research you might have previously done on Fionn and remember a play of his you watched when you first got your position at the magazine.

“So, you obviously have an interest in theater. You, Ella Purnell and Manish Gandhi were great in Natives. Is there any more theater work in the future for you?”

Fionn blinks, as though he hadn’t been expecting that particular question, the corner of his lips pulling up into a smile. “Thanks, I didn’t think too many people still remembered Natives. To answer your question though, not at the moment no. No theater work but I’m totally open to it. Like most actors I guess I found a passion for acting through theater, I was in a theater group as a teenager for a bit and all of that.”

Inside your preening a little, glad you’ve managed to ask Fionn something he doesn’t typically still get asked about and that he no longer looks as bored as he had when he was first walking over along the press line. It’s enough to almost distract you from how bloody cold it is but you still shiver a little before speaking again.

“So if not theater, what can we look forward to seeing you in next?”

You swear, you’re really doing your best to listen to Fionn’s upcoming projects as he lists movie titles and directors, mostly because you want to keep up with his career, but the cold really is starting to drive you past the point of uncomfortability and it’s hard to concentrate, nevermind that Fionn’s enticingly handsome and that’s not helping you focus on what he’s saying either.

“That’s exciting, I’ll be looking forward to that,” you say when he’s done. You blush a little because you’d meant to say ‘we’ meaning everyone at the magazine, but you quickly brush past that. “So, it’s been a couple months since it was released but people are still raving about it so, of course, I have to ask about Bandersnatch.”

“You’re not going to make me play some sort of game are you?” Fionn smiles, nose scrunching adorably.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. You know he was joking but in most interviews you’d seen of him, Fionn always seemed so serious.

“No, no games, I promise,” you say. “I’m just curious, obviously Charlie Brooker is brilliant and I know you’ve spoken on what it’s like to work with him, but I’m interested also in what it’s been like working alongside Will Poulter who’s also very young and talented like you and just what it’s like making a name for yourselves in film when your career are in this sort of unique beginning stage and just taking off.”

Fionn looks pleased to be reminded of Will and he doesn’t skip a beat on raving about Will as an actor and as a person, even mentioning that they still keep in touch, but you don’t miss out on how Fionn had winced embarrassedly when you’d mentioned that his career was taking off and how he carefully doesn’t speak on it. You leave it be for now.

When Fionn’s finished you go on, “Obviously you were amazing in Dunkirk and it was your big break, but Black Mirror has such an enormous reach with audiences, I wonder if life has changed at all for you since it’s release?”

It’s as you’re asking that question that you notice, Fionn seems maybe a little distracted as well. Since he’s walked over he’s been looking very directly into your eyes, which is nice but not always common when you’re interviewing people. You’d thought that maybe he was just very engaged, and maybe he was, but now, you’re not sure if it’s your imagination, but is he distracted gazing at your face?

“Um, not really. I mean, I just kind of keep on doing what I’m doing,” Fionn says slowly after a moment, focusing back on your question. “I mean it’s nice to hear that so many people liked it so much.”

“I imagine you’re getting more and more recognized on the street,” you say, trying to keep a friendly smile on your face but you’re afraid it might come across as somewhat mad because it’s gotten so cold you almost can’t feel your fingers and you’re shivering so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if your teeth were chattering.

Fionn shrugs and nods at the same time, and you can’t help but think that maybe he’s a little embarrassed and it’s actually quite adorable. “I mean, a little more yea, that’s been strange.”

“I mean, sorry if I’m prying but you’ve definitely become more familiar over the last couple of months and y-you obviously don’t have any social media, I imagine y-you don’t mean for it but the m-mysteriousness about you p-probably has p-people only more interested in g-getting to know you as a p-person.”

Great, now you’re making an outright fool of yourself. You’re rambling, because you’re cold, but not only that, your teeth are actually chattering and Fionn’s staring at you like he’s confused as well and you’re about to just keep pushing through the cold when he stops you.

“Are you alright?”

“W-what do you m-mean?” you ask, feigning obliviousness even as your teeth chatter.

“Just, you seem a bit cold,” Fionn smiles. You don’t think he’s laughing at you but he definitely finds this amusing.

How are you supposed to get on the same level as Christiane Amanpour or Marie Colvin who’ve literally recorded and taken notes for their writing with literal wars going on in the background, and you can’t stand a bit of a chill.

“You’re avoiding giving me a straight answer,” you accuse teasingly, deflecting the attention from yourself, or you try to at least even as you’re literally shaking in front of him.

“I swear I’m not trying to avoid answering your questions,” Fionn laughs through his concerned look. “I’m just genuinely worried you’re about to freeze to death right in front of me.”

“I’m fine, I swear-”

But you’re obviously not fine because you shake so hard your phone slips out of your grasp and clatters harshly onto the ground. You curse before you can catch yourself and it’s with a blushing face that you start to bend to grab it but Fionn beats you to it.

“Let me,” he says, bending down to pick up your phone and he looks at it for a moment before wincing and then looking up at you. “I’m so sorry, but I think you might need a new screen.”

You wilt a little looking at your phone Fionn’s offering back to you and he’s right. The screen is cracked and black.

“How appropriate this happens when we were just talking about Black Mirror,” you say dryly and Fionn bursts out laughing.

It’s a nice laugh, enough to ease the annoyance at having to get a new screen and you can feel yourself laugh as well. It’s a small moment, but with your phone dead and now laughing together, it’s strange but you feel like you’re just two people right now, not an actor and an interviewer.

You wonder if it’s just all in your head but as Fionn calms down from his laughter, his eyes are still bright as they meet your gaze and there’s just something about it that makes your stomach tighten. It makes you nervous, because at this point you’ve interviewed dozens of actors, some of them famous A-list actors and many of them very, very handsome, and it’s not that Fionn isn’t talented or handsome as well, but no one who you’ve interviewed has made you feel this way with just their laugh.

“Sorry about your phone, I don’t mean to laugh,” Fionn says clearing his throat and offering you a bashful smile.

“It’s fine, it’s a work phone anyway” you say honestly, taking the phone back from Fionn, aware of how warm his fingers are as they brush against your for a moment. “If it hadn’t been so cold-”

“Here,” Fionn says and he starts shrugging out of his brown jacket and it takes you a moment to figure out what he’s doing but once you’ve figured it out you’re blushing even more.

“Oh, no I couldn’t-”

But any other words of protest die in your throat because then Fionn’s reaching around you in what could almost be a hug as he drops his jacket over your shoulders. For a few unreal moments he’s impossibly close and not only can you feel the warmth radiating off him, your senses are completely overwhelmed by him.

It’s over quickly and then he’s stepping back, a teasing smile on his face that probably mirrored yours from earlier. “It’s fine, I’m pretty well layered.”

You grin because it’s true, looking at his outfit again. It shouldn’t work and almost doesn’t, but somehow does? Though you’re not sure if you’re biased because he really is handsome even pale and freckled and you think you might’ve thought he looked handsome in just about anything. When you look up at Fionn again he’s smirking and you blush because you know it must have looked like you were just checking him out which to be fair, you were.

“Well, I guess our interview’s over,” you say, even as you hate the fact that whatever moment you’ve had with him is about to end. You try to make light of it, joking, “I guess you don’t have to answer any of the questions I was going to ask about your personal life.”

“Shame,” Fionn says and you blush again. “Well, about your question…off the record?”

“Oh,” you say, thrown off a little before shaking yourself out of your daze and focusing again on what Fionn’s saying. “Yeah, of course.”

Fionn thinks about it for a moment before saying, “It’s interesting because for me, it’s not me trying to be humble or anything but it really just is about the work and my enjoyment of it. It’s really strange thinking that people watch what I’ve been in, and obviously I’m really happy when people enjoy it, it’s just odd to think that after people sometimes want to know more about me when I’m just...me.”

It’s a surprisingly honest answer. It’s been rare that you’ve met actors that don’t have social media, especially any as young as Fionn is. Usually when actors don’t have social media it’s because they simply have no interest in it, or so they say. You think this must be the same for Fionn, but you also get the sense that there’s more layers to this guy than meets the eye.

You’re curious about him, more so than you usually are about the people you’ve had to interview before, and again you feel that nervous twitch in your belly because just looking into Fionn’s eyes you feel like you can get lost in them trying to know him. You know you need to pull yourself back before you really fall in.

You smile at him, “I mean, you still didn’t tell me very much about you the person, not the actor, but I’ll take it.” Fionn laughs and shrugs and it’s just so endearing you don’t stop yourself from saying, “And for the record, I’m sure just you is great and worth wanting to know more about.”

Fionn’s looking at you with that little smirk and you can see him thinking about something as he stares at you. You’re on the point of saying how nice it was to meet him and saying goodbye, but then...

Fionn laughs a little, his hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, “Well, maybe you and I could grab a drink and you can get to know me better - off the record of course - and maybe I can get to know more about you?”

You blink, surprised and wondering if you’d heard him right, but Fionn’s still smiling at you and his cheeks have gone a bit pink as he waits for your answer.

“Fionn!”

“Fee-on!”

“Fionn!”

You both look over at the journalists yelling out Fionn’s name and you’re starkly aware of how much more time Fionn has spent with you than most people going down the press line. There’s a commotion going on the other side of you two as well and when you turn to look over you wilt a little because Iwan Rheon is here and he’s slowly approaching your spot in the press line and you know your boss would have a field day if he found out that the Game of Thrones star was at this event and you didn’t get a single word with him because you were too distracted getting asked out by Fionn Whitehead.

You and Fionn look at each other and you just know you’re both wishing you were anywhere else not surrounded by all these actors and interviewers and flashing lights and cold night, but it’s part of both your worlds, meeting people all the time for just a handful of moments before having to move on. But both you and Fionn don’t want to just move on.

“I have to step in to this after-party thing for a little while, congratulate everyone on their work and all of that, but maybe we could meet up after?” Fionn asks again, and he sounds so genuinely eager for you to say yes.

Your mind’s racing because you’ve never been in this situation before with work and you’re frozen because maybe this isn’t entirely professional of you but Fionn’s looking at you with those bright green eyes and then he says, “Somewhere warm, I promise.”

He grins as he says it and it makes your heart warm and so you just go with you’re feeling and nod. “Okay! We’ll meet up.”

Fionn grins so wide that any regret you think you might have felt about accepting an invitation like this while at work just melts away.

Your work phone is obviously dead and Iwan Rheon is only getting closer, so you and Fionn quickly arrange to meet up at a nearby pub in about an hour. You’re dizzy with the thought that you’re actually doing this, you’re going on a date with someone you were meant to be interviewing for work, and not just anyone but Fionn Whitehead.

Once you’re both sure you’ve got the same pub in mind, Fionn smiles softly at you, “I’ll see you soon.”

You grin and then he’s stepping away, moving on and nearly at the next interviewer when you realize.

“Wait, your jacket!” you call and Fionn turns around but only to grin brightly at you.

“Hold onto it for me. It’s a cold night. You can give it back on our next date,” he says and your heart nearly stops.

“Next date?” You squeak, wondering how you’re already talking about next dates when you’ve only just agreed to go on one date that hasn’t even begun.

Fionn just grins and then he’s having to turn to the next better-prepared interviewer asking him questions about Bandersnatch.

So you’re not exactly Christiane Amanpour or Marie Colvin and you still think you’re a bit of a fool for not having come better prepared for a cold London night, but then again, that’s what got you here bundled up in a worn but warm Carhartt jacket and a date with Fionn Whitehead in just an hour, all in the same night. So can you really be upset with how the night turned out?

You blush and smile softly to yourself, hoping Iwan Rheon doesn’t catch on to the fact that you’re only half-listening to whatever he’s saying, because as handsome and charming as he is, your eyes can’t help straying further down to the green eyed Surrey boy you were just talking to until he’s moved down so far the press line he’s out of your line of sight.

That is, at least until you meet up with him again later tonight.

You’re no longer cold as you interview people for another hour. You’re warm with Fionn’s jacket and the possibility of where the night will take you.

Author’s Note: So this was actually really difficult for me to write and I’m not totally satisfied with this and I don’t know if I ever will be just because I found it really hard using so much dialogue in this way with Fionn who is a real person who we know so little about and who’s just so private. Obviously I don’t at all know what Fionn makes of social media, his self-view as a person and actor, how people view actors, etc. All I know is homeboy just really likes his privacy and it even felt really odd writing this piece in particular because of what I had Reader asking him as an interviewer.

I’m still of course willing and wanting to write more FionnxReader works and despite the challenge I enjoyed writing this, I just felt I had to put a little disclaimer out there. I have no idea how Fionn’s mind works and I’m not trying to project anything onto his personality or who he is. An idea just popped into my mind from the request made and I went with it. Hope it comes across alright!

#Fionnly Darling #Fionn Whitehead #Interview #Fionn x Reader #Fionn Whitehead imagine #Fionn Whitehead x Reader #Fionn Whitehead fanfiction

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ofwizardsandmen · 5 years ago

Text

I like me better when I’m with you

Characters: Tara Lee, Mark Yang, Tyler Lee (briefly).

Word count: 3,9k

Genre: angst, fluff

OST: Ed Sheeran - Hearts Don't Break Round Here

A knock on the door interrupts Tara from staring soullessly at the screen of her laptop. It’s only been a couple of hours since she left the Yang Residence and yet she has completely lost track of time. She can’t remember how long she’s been sitting on her bed, wrapped in a duvet, but the memories of her conversation with Mark are all vague and hazy, like scenes from a Frank Capra film.

Yet, it is probably the hopeful melodies or the fact Julie Andrews’ sweet innocence in The Sound of Music always manages to put her in a good mood, but Tara almost feels like she’s been transported to some benevolent alternate universe where she’s just a regular Oxford student chilling at home on a summer night and procrastinating her summer school paper for Medieval Literature.

There are no boys.

No magic.

No famous ex-boyfriend or fake fiancé.

It is just Tara and her muggle musical.

“I’m fine, Ty” Tara whines as Captain von Trapp walks into Maria’s room and finds his children singing along My Favorite Things. “Go to sleep!” Mentally cursing at her brother for disturbing her hardly-found peace of mind, Tara pulls the fluffy duvet tighter under her chin.

Another knock

Tara lets the duvet fall to her shoulders, feeling as though she doesn’t have the strength to deal with anything right now.

“Ty, seriously…” she utters wearily. “I want to be alone-”

“I’m coming in” A voice that definitely doesn’t belong to her brother announces.

A second later, the door gapes open and Tara’s ex-boyfriend walks in, closing the door behind him.

Mark’s presence catches Tara off guard. From all the people she could’ve expected to see, her ex looking aggravatingly good was definitely not on top of her list, so she nearly chokes in her inhale.

With her heart picking up, Tara pauses the movie and then holds on to the duvet tightly. Almost as if her life depended on it.

And yes. It is a life-threatening situation if you consider that Tara can’t imagine a greater humiliation than letting Mark see the sweatshirt she’s wearing beneath. It is one of the many clothes she had raid from his closet during her last visit to Seoul, claiming that she would use them whenever she missed him.

Why did she have to be so freaking ridiculous? That is beyond Tara understanding, but now, letting him see that goddammed sweatshirt on her would be yet another moral defeat on the same day. Not to mention it would be downright mortifying.

“Hey” Mark stands at the door, his hands shoved in the pockets of his favorite bomber jacket as Tara holds on the duvet for dear life.

“What are you doing here?” She turns her head in the other direction as if her vanity was the most interesting piece of furniture she’s ever seen.

At her sour expression, Mark’s expression falls. For a split of a second he seems to be unable to form a coherent sentence or push himself to do anything at all, but eventually, he quietly steps towards Tara and without saying a single word he sits on the edge of the bed.

But Tara avoids his eyes. She can’t bring herself to look at him because his presence is suddenly reliving the embarrassment and humiliation she felt during their conversation earlier that day.

“I saw the album,” Mark says, his breath hitching as Tara blinks twice without really understanding what he means. “Jae said it was a present from you”.

With the trauma of facing Mark, she has almost forgotten about his birthday gift. Of course, she now regrets spending so much time putting together a photo book with pictures of the two from childhood up to the months previous to their breakup. If she had known Mark was going to behave the way he did, Tara would’ve accepted Enzo’s invitation and instead of the comfort of her bed, she would be on a luxurious yacht sailing the Greek Islands. Or she would’ve asked Tyler to lock her in her room so there were no more chances to land on the cover of scandal-hungry tabloids and gossip sites. Yes, she likes the second idea better.

But no, against her better judgment, she went to visit her ex-boyfriend so he could shatter her pride in pieces and humiliate her.

“And I’m truly sorry” Without another word, Mark reaches to pull Tara to his chest. Initially, he meets resistance from her part. She briefly struggles to free herself, but when her name escapes from Mark’s lips in a soft whisper that makes her feel a wonderful sense of loosening inside, she gives in with a sigh. Too exhausted and emotionally drained to fight him back, she also lets go of the duvet in favor of letting Mark wrap his arms around her.

“I’m so, so sorry, T” He repeats as his hands move to stroke her hair and pat her back gently, slightly desperate to show he how apologetic he truly is. “I am sorry”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Tara speaks, her voice breathy with a contained chuckle.

“I know”

Mark is so thankful when she wraps her arms around him and buries her face against his chest that his heart races embarrassingly and his throat moves when he swallows. Yet, Tara seems unfazed, wrapped in her own thoughts and the scent of oolang and bergamot from Mark’s signature perfume combined with the faint smell of Febreze that Taeyong uses religiously in their clothes.

Mark smells like spring and his embrace makes Tara feel like home, so she stays that way for a few minutes, eyes closed, easily sinking into his arms and basking in the familiarity of it all. It is just a simple hug, but it conveys their feelings with much greater clarity than words could have; it is almost a reminder of easier days when everything was less tangled and a simple hug could put everything back in its right place.

Now everything seems as it could be fine.

That is, of course, until she pulls away and notices Mark’s eyes brimming with tears.

It’s probably too soon to draw conclusions, but for some reason it makes Tara’s former optimism deflate.

Not like this is the first time Tara sees Mark cry. Oh no, she has seen him cry plenty of times before, although when she tells those stories to other people, they believe she’s making them up because Mark is a strong man by any standard and he has never shown any sign of weakness in front of anyone else. Particularly not in front of his bandmates or his fans.

People regard Mark as always cool and collected, that one person who always knows what to say and what people expect from him. He didn’t cry when his group reached the Nº1 spot for the first time in the South Korean charts, nor during his first concert or that time he injured himself in a rather foolish fashion and subsequently skipped a whole round of promotions with his group. If you were to ask anyone, Mark is described as a hardworking young man with a somewhat detached and serene outlook on life.

But that is Mark, the rapper of NCT. The Mark Yang sitting next to Tara cried when she went to Hogwarts for the first time and when their first bunny died. Mark cries over a sad movie plot and whenever he misses his family. The Mark Tara knows is anything but detached. He is loving and slightly clingy, although he always justifies himself claiming that he barely spends time with his loved ones.

That’s exactly why doubt wings through Tara when her eyes fix on Mark. Granted, her concern is slightly unreasonable given the circumstances and their unspoken reconciliation, but she knows him by heart and he looks merely appalled.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, eyeing him suspiciously

“Nothing” He musters dismissively. Tara doesn’t know he’s fighting hard to keep the tears at bay, but she can guess, by the way he bits on his lower lip, that there’s something he wants to tell her. And she simply expects the worst.

“Then what’s with that expression?” she says, forcing a soft laugh. “You look as though you’ve murdered someone.”

Mark doesn’t respond. There is silence and then a simple head motion

“I don’t know how bad this actually is or if Jane will be able to fix it before it goes out, but…” A frustrated breath slips from Mark’s lips and he moves to grab Tara’s hand “Earlier today I kinda told a reporter we had broken up.”

“What?” Tara’s eyes narrow in confusion.

“Listen T, I am really sorry, I just…” Mark runs his free hand through his hair “I got this question about you and the rumors and I-“ he tightens his grip on her hand “I just lost it. I saw that article on the news and I don’t know what got into me. Please, forgive me, I didn’t mean to-“

Amusement swirling in her chest, Tara doesn’t even attempt to hold in a laugh.

“Mark, people have been speculating about our break up for weeks and if they couldn't tell yet after the pictures of you and Mindy walking by the hand late at night” She said the last bit with the tiniest bit of accusation in her voice “They probably did after the headlines of this morning, so unless you had told them I cheated on you or that you hated me, I think we’ll be ok”

“No, I would never” Mark says softly, once again wrapping himself around Tara “I only said that we broke up and I wished not to be asked any more questions about the topic”

“An answer straight from the idol book. Well done” Tara laughs, but still, that emotion written on Mark’s face —that she recognizes as guilt— doesn’t seem to go away. “Oh, come on, Mark, change that expression! What’s wrong now?” Tara rolls her eyes, looking at him over her shoulder.

“I…” He falters “I also made you cry”

“When did you?” Tara asks, moving away from the hug and turning so they’re finally face to face. “I haven’t cried” She frowns, although her slightly puffed eyes aren’t painting the most convincing picture.

“Tyler told me” Mark smiles with a swift rise of his cheekbones. If Tara didn’t know him better she would assume that he is amused.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself” Tara scoffs, but Mark is still smiling at her with a sort of smug twinkle in his eyes.

“I hate I made you cry, I really do.” He says solemnly “But the fact you did…” Mark finds the auspicious moment to caress Tara’s face with his thumbs, making her huff once she notices his cheeks going all squishy and his eyes crinkling in a smile.

She would definitely be offended if she didn’t know there’s no malice to it, just Mark’s attempts to lighten up the mood.

“I swear I will never make you cry again” He says, interlacing their hands “Please, don’t ever cry again” Mark places a gentle kiss on her cheek before adding “Plebeians like me don’t deserve the tears of a princess”

Tara cringes and laughs, smacking Mark’s arm softly

“That’s so cheesy” she complains, faking a retching noise. “Please never repeat that”

“Why?” Mark catches Tara’s fist before it lands on his chest, pulling her towards him for the umpteenth time. It almost feels like he wants to make up for the lost time and Tara is not in a position to complain or criticize him because the longing is mutual so she only throws her arms around his neck, shaking her head. “Yo, it’s true though…” Mark says, his boyish manners coming out in full force when he speaks.

“That you’re cheesy?” Tara jokes.

“That I am a plebeian and you are a real princess… my princess”

“Ugh… cheesy” Tara’s face contorts into what could be disgust, but a split so second later she bursts out laughing. Mark chuckles too, but he becomes solemn as his hands slide under Tara’s —his— sweatshirt and his fingers glide up her sides until they reach for the curve of her waist.

“No, but seriously, T… I’m sorry” he repeats as Tara plays with his hair distractedly “I was rude to you and that was just off-limits. Nothing justifies the way I behaved.”

“True” Tara concedes with a nod and a small smile spreading on her face.

“You didn’t deserve any of that and I apologize for it”

“True again. You were acting stupid” She replies simply, looking away as she removes her hands from Mark’s neck, a noticeable frown on her face “But I guess I can take that apology”

A hearty laugh fills the room when Mark realizes Tara is just faking the angered expression and seconds later she ends up throwing him a poorly executed wink.

“Thank you, T” The guy’s amusement quickly vanishes, a warm feeling of elation coming over him. It is the kind of feeling that makes you believe an enormous burden has been lifted from your shoulders and you can finally be at peace.

He beams, his smile so bright that it almost makes Tara feel blinded by it. Then, a teasing glint fills his eyes “Though now that I remember, you did call me an idiot…” he dramatically places a hand over his heart “That hurt”

��Should I even be sorry? You were acting like one” Tara states matter-of-factly. She raises a brow, trying to ignore the way Mark’s hands have returned to hold her at the waist pulling her closer.

“What?” Mark opens his mouth in an exaggerated fashion, pretending to take the offense.

“It’s true, you were acting like a di-” Tara stops midway, giggling as Mark tickles her sides. “Oh, come on!” Laughter escapes from her lips abundantly. “Mark... please…” She twists, fighting desperately to escape from his attack, but Mark continues to dig his fingertips on her sides, chuckling and occasionally letting out a full laugh.

“Please what?” He asks, watching amused how Tara tries to push him off with her knees.

“Stop!” She giggles “Please, Mark, stop!” She smacks his hands away when they reach her ribs and then places both her hands against his chest to stop him from ambushing her again “I’m sorry. Ok?” she says, catching her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you serious?” Mark’s doe eyes flutter open as though he can’t believe his ears and Tara only nods, still focused on regulating her breathing pace. “Oh T. Don’t be.” Mark places a hand over one of hers, squeezing it and pulling it to his lips to kiss it briefly “I actually deserved it because what you said back then was true. I was just trying to get back at you.”

“I know” Tara replies, wondering if Mark is aware of who he’s talking to. Of course she knew, even if he wasn’t fully aware back then, Tara knew. She always knows. “But that’s not what I’m sorry about. I also owe you an apology for the Mindy misunderstanding and the whole Darius scandal. Although it shouldn’t be a big deal, considering we had broken up, you still deserve to know nothing ever happened between him and I”

Mark blinks not fully sure of what to say next. He remains quiet, letting go of Tara’s hand but a grin —that he had dumbly tried to suppress— slowly makes its way onto his lips. Tara laughs because Mark, as always, is transparent as glass and the happiness that her statement causes him is not even close to been hidden.

“So you’re telling me nothing happened with the perfect Darius Black?” He questions skeptically, smug grin still plastered across his face.

“First of all wipe that grin off” Tara rolls eyes, her hand smacking Mark’s shoulder playfully “Don’t be such a smug jerk”

Mark could be offended, but he ignores that last part on behalf of attending a more urgent matter, which is finding out what Tara has been up to since their breakup. It is a question that has been torturing him for weeks, so he jumps in as soon as the opportunity presents.

Of course, Mark is not generally the jealous or possessive type, but watching the pictures of —his— Tara walking by the arm of another man —a man who had always shown more than just a casual friendly interest in her— had awoken something inside him.

“So?” Mark begins to feel the worm of jealousy squirming in his guts as he imagines Darius' hands roaming Tara’s body, his lips pressing against hers, hot and urgent, an image practically etched in his mind since the morning when he saw that goddamned picture of them looking like lovebirds on the news. “Nothing?” He has no other choice but to pretend to be ok, so he lets out a sigh, easing his chest from that emotional hell.

“Nothing” Tara says, shaking her head from side to side. “I’m offended you even ask.”

“You are a beautiful woman, Tara” Mark ignores her weak attempt to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Men hit on you all the time and that Darius is shamelessly obvious about want-“

“I know how to say no, Mark” Tara says seriously.

“Oh, so he did try to hit on you” Mark insists predictably, causing Tara to chuckle. “I knew he did. I mean, of course he would, you got all dressed up and looked so fine. He would’ve been stupid if he didn’t”

“Mark, seriously nothing happened” Tara interrupts, her voice a mixture of amusement and weariness. “He was just trying to be helpful” She speaks as though she is trying to explain a hypersensitive 4 year-old that 1 plus 1 equals 2, but Mark does nothing but to repeat her last word with a questioning eyebrow. It makes Tara aware of all the explaining left to do, but also gives her the urge of kissing away the furrow of his brows. “Listen” Tara swifts on the bed to reposition herself “I drank too much and he was just trying to keep me safe.” Tara admits, looking everywhere but at his face.

“What?” Mark’s voice suddenly goes harsh and Tara turns to find an unexpectedly tense-looking man staring at her. “Are you sure he didn’t try anything weird-?”

“No, he didn’t.” Tara places a hand on Mark’s thigh reassuringly, but can’t deny the odious thrill his protective side makes her feel. “Trust me, Mark. Enzo or Adela would’ve already killed him if he had”

“Ok” Mark’s face relaxes and he goes back to looking at Tara with the same smug grin from before and eyes alight with mischief “So?”

“So what?” Tara rolls eyes “What now?”

“So why did you reject him? Because I’m not gonna believe he didn’t ask you out” Mark speaks naturally, as though he had just formulated a question about something like the time or the weather. “As far as I know all your friends fawn over him and Jane keeps reminding me that he is one of the most eligible bachelors of... your world” He adds that last bit hesitant.

Tara makes a mental note to scold her friend later “He’s just not my type”

Mark huffs “Tall, blonde, green eyes and handsome is not your type?” He asks incredulously.

“Why are you being so annoying, Mark?” Tara moves until she’s leaning her back against the pillows and crosses her arms over her chest. “What do you want to hear? That I got drunk because I missed you and I already made out with most of Enzo’s friends at previous parties so I knew, as a matter of fact, I wasn’t going to get over you going out with someone else and acting like some immature teenager? Is that what you want to hear?” Tara snaps, but surprisingly, her voice is warped and tiny, twisted beyond recognition.

For a second Tara holds her breath expecting Mark to snap back at her. She watches his body stiffen, his face tense up, his eyes looking away from her. Then silence overcomes the room and she mentally smacks herself for every single decision she’s made that day.

“Hey” Mark pushes Tara out of her self-chastisement moment offering a hand a pulling her closer. “I’m sorry. I was just joking” he says, arms wrapping around her tightly “I didn’t realize what you went through.” Tara opens her mouth to say something, but Mark shakes his head and goes on. “That picture on the news… oh, God, T. It’s been driving me insane. I never knew how scared of losing you I was until this morning and I don’t want to feel like this ever again-“ Tara’s hand on his chin, silences Mark and when he looks at her, he’s surprised to find Tara smirking at him.

“Shut up. You have nothing to worry about” she pretends to pick inexistent pieces of fuzz from his jacket. “You know why?” Mark only shakes his head, making Tara scoff at him “Because you are the only person I’ve ever loved.” She says simply. “And I only have eyes for you”

"Hmm" Mark stares at her thoughtfully, almost as though he has been left at a loss for words, but between the smile on his face and the greedy way his hands clutch around her waist, Tara knows he has plenty of words to say. “You know what I really think?" He asks.

"No, but I bet you're going to tell me"

"I think maybe you’ve figured out no one can top me" It is impossible for Mark not to burst into laughter right after pronouncing such cringe-worthy words, his cheeks going a light hue of pink.

“Shut up” Although the muscles of her leg refuse to kick him to shut him up, Tara pushes him slightly.

“I’m kidding” He smooths down Tara’s hair, “But here’s a fact” He looks at her adoringly, clutching onto her with force “I love you, Tara Lee.”

“I love you too” Tara places a hand around his neck “Only you, Markie”

The two exchange a moment as they look into each other’s eyes, none of them daring to move, afraid to ruin the perfect harmony they’ve fallen into. Until Mark decides to break the silence, looking extra worried.

“Did we just miss the perfect timing to kiss?” He asks, dipping his head down to murmur into Tara’s ear.

“I think so” Tara is moving to press her lips against Mark’s when the door flies open.

“Absolutely not under this roof” Tyler barks, eyes throwing daggers at her sister’s boyfriend. “What does make you think I will let you kiss my sister right after you made her cry?”

Mark pulls away from Tara’s arms with such urgency that he nearly falls off the bed. She could’ve found it funny if she wasn’t so busy glaring at her brother.

“Were you listening to our conversation?” Tara forces a laugh, free of any true amusement. “Why are you acting like some creep?”

“Creep? I’m just protecting my little sister from-“ Tyler splutters, catching the way Tara is looking at him. “From some hormonal guy trying to take advantage of her”

“Just get out!” Tara reaches under her pillow for her wand and points it directly at her brother. There’s not even an ounce of hesitation in her eyes “I swear Tyler Lee…”

==============

“I’m sorry my brother is such a jerk” Tara says minutes later, apology evident on her face as she snuggles her head on Mark’s chest. They’re currently cuddling on his king-sized bed, surrounded by dozens of ridiculous pillows Mark has accumulated over the years. The Sound of Magic is playing on his state-of-the-art movie system; an unnecessary waste of money, as Jane had described it since he barely spent time in London, but one of the very few things Mark never hesitated to splurge on. After all, Tara liked watching movies and he enjoyed cuddling her on any normal day.

“You don’t have to apologize for that. He was actually kinda sweet earlier when he threatened to turn me into a toad if I didn’t go there and apologized to you” Tara gaps at that, looking at him with through slit eyes, so Mark is quick to add “which I was going to do anyway without angry brother involved. Well, Jae was already angry and involved, but you know what I mean...” He corrects himself, rambling about his older brother and patting Tara’s shoulder.

Both of them laugh at that, but then Mark sits up slightly and looks down at Tara.

“Speaking of what, Jason told me to look at the last picture in the album, but I forgot to. What’s so important about it?” Marks inquires, an eyebrow going up.

Tara’s eyes widen “You didn’t watch it yet?”

Mark shakes his head a “no”.

“You have to” She rolls eyes at him, moving to pause the movie just before Julie Andrews teaches the Von Trapp children how to “Do Re Mi”. “Now” She orders, pushing Mark off the bed.

Mark groans, but he ultimately gets up and crosses the room. Heis wearing plaid pajama bottoms, a white t-shirt, and rounded glasses. He looks so soft, Tara wonders how she ever believed, even for a second, that he could do anything that hurt her.

“I can’t believe you didn’t see the picture” Tara clicks her tongue when he picks the photo album from the bookshelf. “I thought you went to see me after recalling the good old times”

Mark says nothing, he only shifts the pages as Tara comes behind him and wraps her arms around his chest, tiptoeing to rest her chin on his shoulder. When he reaches the end of the album, he finds himself laughing shakily and blinking rapidly.

“Yo, where did you find this?” He turns to see Tara smiling brightly. “I thought your mother- wow, T. I can’t believe-“ Mark rambles barely making sense. He can’t believe Tara had recovered the first-ever photo they had taken together. Particularly because they had been convinced Tara’s mother had gotten rid of it when she attempted to erase all of Tara’s childhood memories. “I-” Mark’s fingers run over the photo, memories of that day suddenly surfacing in his mind. The picture had been taken on a day trip to the local zoo when they were barely four. Tara is sitting on a bench kicking her legs in the air, dressed in a tomboyish outfit that contrasts with the girly bag hanging from her shoulder. At her left, Mark is holding her hand, standing next to a monkey cage. Under the picture, in neat capital letters in pink ink, Tara had written: “Forever yours”.

“Forever yours” Mark recalls those words. They were part of the confession he’d made on their first trip to the beach together. It was the summer before he moved to Seoul and the first time he saw Tara in 6 months. They had carved a huge heart into the sand and decorated it with shells and pebbles, embossing their initials in the center and promising to love each other for eternity.

Tara says nothing. She waits for Mark to make a move and predictably, seconds later he places his hand on each side of Tara’s arms, rubbing small circles. “I am forever yours” In normal circumstances, Tara would be ready to clown the cheesiness of his words, but she only giggles, wraps her arms around his waist and lets Mark press his lips against her own.

It’s like coming home.

***

#tara #mark #story #tyler #otp #oc

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trillhouse-lh · 6 years ago

Text

You Pervert

> Loan sighed, half-heartedly watching the screen as she lazily browsed an anime streaming site. Normally, she would stick to more legitimate sources, but she’d already watched everything that interested her on Crunchyroll… and quite frankly she just wasn’t in the mood to play any games at the moment. Granted, she wasn’t really in the mood to watch anything either, but she was bored and needed SOMETHING to occupy her time. As if on cue, a knock at the door snapped her from her stupor. > “Wh-who is it?” Loan called out. The door opened to reveal Liena, standing with a laundry basket in hand and a kind smile adorning her chubby face. “Oh… hello, Liena.” She said, returning her younger sister’s smile. Liena nodded in acknowledgement, silently walking over and setting the basket down on Loan’s bed. “Thank you… um, y-you didn’t need to go through the trouble, I would have gone to get them...” > (It’s okay.) Liena signed. (I had to.....Lemy.....dirt.) Loan cocked her head in confusion, and Liena thought a moment before trying again. (Lemy clothes smell bad.) > “Oh… I see,” Loan said with a laugh. “Well, thanks again.” Liena grinned, giving another small nod before hurrying out and shutting the door behind her. Loan looked at the laundry basket, finding that the clothes within were already neatly folded and ready to be put in the closet. It was easy to forget just how much Liena did for the family… Loan hoped that she took some time for herself every now and then. In any case, at least she had something to do now. > She looked back at the screen with a frown, quickly picking an anime at random… ‘Boku no Pico’. The name sounded familiar, but beyond that she had no idea what it was actually about. Still, it was more for background noise than anything, so she simply shrugged and put it on before sliding off the bed.

> Once, Loan may have procrastinated with chores such as these, if she even bothered doing them at all. But as long as she was living under her father’s roof she was determined not to be a nuisance. Besides, she wanted to get better, and sticking to old habits would do nothing to help that. > Loan got to work as the video started, an overly-cutesy theme song quickly filling her ears. ‘So it’s a shoujo series,’ she figured, taking a quick glance up to confirm her suspicions- > ...Oh. It was one of THOSE animes. > Barely a few seconds into the opening theme, the entirety of the frame was taken up by a close-up of a young girl’s butt as she rode her bike, wearing what could only be described as the tightest clothing ever conceived. Loan rolled her eyes. Fanservice was one thing, certainly something she’d come to expect from anime in general... but to get this risque THIS quickly was a clear sign that it wasn’t for her. With a shake of her head, she got back to work; she’d change it to something better in a moment. > Or… perhaps she could give it a chance, at least? After all, it wouldn’t be the first time an anime’s OP was misleading. She frowned, taking another glance at the screen only to be met with yet another close-up of the girl’s butt. She let out a sigh and massaged her temples. She’d seen a lot over the years, but never an anime THIS shameless. > ...Wait. What was that? > Almost as soon as she had noticed it, the scene changed to another. Loan blinked, unsure if she had really seen what she thought she had. Between the girl’s legs, she could have sworn she saw a small bulge… but no, it couldn’t be. She shook the thought aside; it must have simply been an animation error- > Oh, no.

> After a few more quick cuts, an image filled the screen: the girl bound up bondage-style, her skirt hiked up to reveal her white panties… > ...Sporting a clear outline of something a girl should most definitely NOT have. > “O-oh my God,” Loan gasped, her face turning bright red. She was frozen in place, her mind struggling to process what she was looking at. The ‘girl’ in a wet t-shirt. Topless on ‘her’ bed, wearing naught but panties as she pulled off her stockings. Various shots of her completely nude, naughty bits conveniently hidden from view. > Embraced from behind by a very clearly older man, blushing demurely as the man reached around to stroke his... > “...AaaaaAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” Loan shrieked, snatching up the controller and frantically trying to stop the video. She couldn’t watch this. Hell, she couldn’t even have this in her history. Was it even LEGAL?! So flustered was she that she managed to do naught but pause it before dropping the controller to the ground. “Oh come on!” She hissed, stooping down to pick it up. > “Loan?! Did you just scr-” Loan froze, her blood running cold and the controller dropping from her hands once more. She slowly turned toward the doorway to find none other than Lyra standing there, staring at the screen with a look of horror and disgust plastered across her face. > “L-Ly… LYRA?!” Loan sputtered, frantically waving her arms as she attempted to explain herself. “I-I swear this isn’t what it looks like…!” Whatever she may have said to defend herself, Lyra wasn’t listening; her lips pressed tightly into a thin line, her hands balling into fists and shaking with anger.

> Lyra had always had her suspicions about Loan. For a girl her age to spend all her time cooped up inside playing games and watching cartoons was unusual to say the least, not to mention the company she chose to keep. > As far as Lyra could tell, the woman had no friends her own age, instead preferring the company of their younger brothers. Well, TWO of them at least: Bobby and, perhaps even more worrisome to the teen, Lemy. She claimed to simply get along better with kids, but then why did she never spend time with Lacy, or Lupa, or Leia? Clearly something was afoot, but despite Lyra’s best attempts she’d never managed to catch her in the act… until now. > “You… you PERVERT,” She hissed, making Loan wince. > “I-I’m not-” > “I always knew you were up to something,” Lyra pressed on. “I can’t believe I’ve been letting you bring Lemy and Bobby in here unsupervised.” Loan’s brow furrowed in confusion, only for her eyes to go wide as the accusation set in. > “W-wait… WAIT! I-I never… I’m not like that!” She pleaded. > “What in God’s name is THIS, then?!” She spat, pointing at the screen. “And a cartoon, no less… looking to indoctrinate them into your sick fantasies, are you?!” > “I-I didn’t know what it was!” > “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t,” Lyra sneered. “You just HAPPENED to put on this pedophilic smut, then?” > “I’m NOT a-” > “You listen here, Loan.” The teen strode up to her sister, making the older woman shrink back in fear. “If you EVER go near any of our brothers again, I’ll make you regret it more than you could ever imagine. Do you understand me?!” > “I-I didn’t…” Loan whimpered; she looked as though she could burst into tears at any moment. Scared of being exposed for what she really was, no doubt. With one final warning glare Lyra turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

> Lyra stopped in the hallway, taking a few deep breaths to compose herself. She often had to remind herself that Loan was a very troubled girl, and had to give her at least some leeway compared to the others… but THIS was a different matter. Despite her warning, a big part of her wanted to report the issue to their father and Ronnie straightaway. Well… their father, at least. Lyra didn’t want to think about what Ronnie might do to the girl. > She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. She needed to calm down and clear her mind before considering her options here. With a sigh, she made her way downstairs. As she reached the bottom step, however, the front door swung open. > “-tellin’ ya, dude, they ain’t so tough.” It was none other than Lemy, Bobby following closely behind. “If either of ‘em had the balls to take me on one-on-one, I’d totally wreck ‘em.” He boasted, puffing out his chest haughtily. > “Yeah… I’m sure you would, Lemy.” His unconvinced younger brother said with a roll of his eyes. “Haven’t you and Hayden already… oh, hi, Lyra.” > “Huh? Oh, hey. ‘Sup, Ly’?” Lemy nonchalantly greeted his sister. The girl crossed her arms, looking down at the two with pursed lips. > “What’s all this about fighting?” Lyra asked disapprovingly; her little brother simply shrugged. > “Hypothermically.” > “...Hypothetically, Lemy...” Bobby corrected him. > “Yeah, that one,” The boy said as he stuck a pinky in his ear, wiggling it to clean it out much to Lyra’s disgust. > “Lemy, for goodness’ sake, go use a q-tip. We’re not living in a zoo,” She chastised him. Lemy huffed and popped his finger out of his ear, examining it for any stray wax. > “Yeah, yeah… c’mon, Beej,” He grumbled, heading past his sister with Bobby in tow. > “See you later, Lyra…” Bobby said. The girl waved, only for something to cross her mind.

> “Wait… wait you two, one moment,” She said; Lemy let out an exaggerated groan, stopping mid-stride and shooting her a look of irritation. > “Alright, alright… what’d I do this time?” Lemy asked. “‘Cause I swear I’ve got an explanation.” > “...I don’t know… what DID you do, Lemy?” Lyra fired back, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. The boys exchanged a nervous glance before an unconvincingly innocent smile crossed their places. > “N-nothing… um, what’d you need, sis?” Lemy asked in a faux-polite tone. Lyra sighed, shaking her head in resignation. She just couldn’t be bothered with it for now. > “Right, well… you two spend a lot of time with Loan, yes?” > “Yeah, why?” Lemy replied. > “I-is something wrong?” Bobby asked nervously. Lyra was about to answer in the affirmative, but she caught herself. > “Has Loan ever… done anything strange?” She asked. Lemy thought about it for a moment before shrugging. > “Not really.” > “I mean… she’s kinda strange anyway, isn’t she...?” Bobby pointed out. “I-in a good way, though.” > “No, no, I mean has she ever done anything that made you feel... uncomfortable?” Lyra clarified. The boys each cocked an eyebrow, exchanging another glance before looking back to their sister. > “...Uncomfortable how…?” Lemy asked. > “I mean, DONE anything… said anything inappropriate, or put her hands somewhere she shouldn’t-” > “W-wait, you mean like ‘bad touch’?!” Bobby gasped, his eyes going wide. “N-NO! Of course she hasn’t…!” > “Yeah, what the heck Lyra? Loan’s not like that,” Lemy agreed. “I mean, she likes to snuggle, but not like THAT.” Lyra frowned and kneeled down to their level.

> “Look… I won’t tell anyone,” She promised. “You can be honest with me. If she’s-” > “She’s NOT,” Lemy repeated, seemingly irritated by his sister’s accusation. > “Yeah… she’s nice,” His brother chimed in. “I like being with her. S-she’d never do anything like that…”Lyra hesitated a moment, her brow furrowing slightly as she studied their faces. Finally, she got to her feet with a sigh. > “...Alright. That’s all… you two can go,” Lyra said. Her brothers exchanged one final look of confusion, shrugging before they turned and made their way upstairs. Lyra watched them go before turning and heading out the door herself. > Lyra sat down on the patio with a huff to mull over the situation. Had she been wrong…? She’d SEEN what Loan was watching with her own eyes… but who would watch something like that without locking the door? > Plus, the woman had been adamant that it was a misunderstanding, and Loan had certainly never been a very good liar. The more Lyra thought about it the more it didn’t add up, and the worse she felt about how she’d treated her older sister. > “Ugh… nice, Lyra. Nice,” She scolded herself, burying her face in her palm. God, no wonder Loan had looked so upset… she’d accused the poor girl of something awful, not even letting her plead her case. Suspicions or not, she should have at least heard Loan out. But no… once again, Lyra had jumped to conclusions. She groaned and dragged her hand down her face. Her mom and Lemy were right; she really WAS too uptight for her own good. “...I should go apologize, at least...” She muttered as she got to her feet.

> Upstairs, Loan sat downcast at the foot of her bed, staring down at her lap sadly. She wasn’t sure what she should do, or say, or even think about the current situation. Not that she could blame Lyra… were their positions reversed even SHE might not have believed it. WHO WOULD LISTEN TO A NUTCASE LIKE YOU, ANYWAY?

> Loan sighed and shook the thoughts away. Whatever the case, all she could do was let Lyra cool down and try to explain herself again later. For the time being she still had laundry to put away, and she certainly needed SOME sort of task to keep her mind off things. May as well be something productive, right? > The young woman got to her feet and got back to work. However, as she whittled down the stacks of cleaned clothing, she spotted something out of place: all the way at the bottom lay a faded, purple tank top, far smaller than any of the other shirts. > “Is this Lemy’s…?” She muttered; with so many people living under one roof, it wasn’t unusual for some of their clothes to get mixed together by accident. Indeed, the shirt did look to be one of Lemy’s… the baked-in stains were a dead giveaway. “Has this even been washed?” She said with a grimace, bringing the shirt to her face to take a sniff. > ...And, as if on cue, the door swung open. > “Hey, Loan… listen, I…” Lyra trailed off as her gaze fell on Loan; the girl had her face buried in one of Lemy’s recently-worn shirts, taking in a big whiff of the young boy’s scent. Loan sighed as she lowered she shirt. > “Yeah, that’s definitely not… um…” Loan’s eyes met Lyra’s and, for some time, neither moved or said a word. Then the tank top slipped from her hand and she raised her palms in submission, giving a small, nervous laugh. “U-um… I swear, th-this isn’t what it l-looks like…” She stammered as Lyra grit her teeth, her face turning red-hot with fury. > “Y-YOU PERVERT!”

#loan loud #lyra loud #lemy loud #bobby loud #Bobby Jr.#sin kids #trillhouse #fanfiction #my work #greentext

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thegoddessprose · 5 years ago

Text

Another survey

ONES 1. I like to be organized and orderly. 2. It is difficult for me to be spontaneous. 3. I often feel guilty about not getting enough accomplished. 4. I don’t like it when people break rules. 5. Incorrect grammar and spelling bother me a lot. 6. I am idealistic. I want to make the world a better place. 7. I am almost always on time. 8. I hold on the resentment for a long time. 9. I think of myself as being practical, reasonable, and realistic. 10. When jealous, I become fearful and competitive. 11. Either I don’t have enough time to relax or I think I shouldn’t relax. 12. I tend to see things in terms of right or wrong, good or bad.

13. I analyze major purchases very thoroughly before I make them. 14. I dread being criticized or judged by others. 15. I often compare myself with others. 16. Truth and justice are very important to me. 17. I often feel that time is running out and there is too much left to do. 18. I almost always do what I say I will do. 19. I worry almost constantly. 20. I love making every detail perfect.

TWOS 1. I want people to feel comfortable coming to me for guidance and advice. 2. Relationships are more important to me than almost anything. 3. Sometimes I feel overburdened by people’s dependence on me. 4. I have trouble asking for what I need. 5. I crave, yet sometimes fear, intimacy. 6. I am more comfortable giving than receiving. 7. I am very sensitive to criticism. 8. I work hard to overcome all obstacles in a relationship. 9. I try to be as sensitive and tactful as possible. 10. When I am alone I know what I want, but when I am with others, I am not sure. 11. It is very important that others feel comfortable and welcome in my home. 12. I don’t want my dependence to show. 13. Watching violence on television and seeing people suffer is unbearable. 14. Sometimes I feel a deep sense of loneliness. 15. If I don’t get the closeness I need, I feel sad, hurt, and unimportant. 16. Sometimes I get physically ill and emotional drained from taking care of everyone else. 17. I often figure out what others would like in a person, than act that way. 18. I enjoy giving compliments and telling people that they are special to me. 19. I am attracted to being with important or powerful people. 20. People have said I exaggerate too much and am overly emotional.

THREES 1. I am almost always busy. 2. I like to make to-do lists, progress charts, and schedules for myself. 3. I don’t mind being asked to work overtime. 4. I have an optimistic attitude. 5. I go full force until I get the job done. 6. I believe in doing things as expediently as possible. 7. It is important for people to better themselves and live up to their potential. 8. I’m not interested in talking a lot about my personal life. 9. I try not to let illness stop me from doing anything. 10. I hate to see jobs undone. 11. I tend to put work before other things. 12. I can’t understand people who are bored. I never run out of things to do. 13. It is sometimes difficult for me to get in touch with my feelings. 14. I work very hard to take care of and provide for my family. 15. I like identifying with competent groups or important people. 16. I try to present myself well and make a good first impression. 17. Financial security is extremely important to me. 18. I generally feel pretty good about myself. 19. People often look to me to run the show. 20. I like to stand out in some way.

FOURS 1. Being understood is very important to me. 2. My friends say they enjoy my warmth and my different way of looking at life. 3. I can become nonfunctional for hours, days, or weeks when I’m depressed. 4. I am very sensitive to critical remarks and feel hurt at the tiniest slight. 5. It really affects me emotionally when I read upsetting stories in the newspaper. 6. My ideals are very important to me. 7. I cry easily. Beauty, love, sorrow, and pain really touch me. 8. My melancholy moods are real and important. I don’t necessarily want to get out of them. 9. I often long for what others have. 10. I try to support my friends, especially when they are in crisis. 11. I live in the past and in the future more than in present–day reality. 12. I place great importance on my intuition. 13. I try to control people at times. 14. I hate insincerity and lack of integrity in others. 15. I have spent years longing for the great love of my life to come along. 16. I focus on what is wrong with me rather than on what is right. 17. I like to be seen as one of a kind. 18. I am always searching for my true self. 19. Sometimes I feel very uncomfortable and different, like an isolated outsider, even when I’m with my friends. 20. When people tell me what to do, I often become rebellious and do, or wish I could do, the opposite.

FIVES 1. I learn from observing or reading as opposed to doing. 2. It’s hard to express my feelings in the moment. 3. I get lost in my interests and like to be alone with them for hours. 4. I usually experience my feelings more deeply when I’m by myself. 5. Sometimes I feel guilty that I’m not generous enough. 6. I try to conceal my sensitivity to criticism and judgment. 7. Brash, loud people offend me. 8. Conforming is distasteful to me. 9. I like to associate with others who have expertise in my field. 10. I like having a title (doctor, professor, administrator) to feel proud of. 11. I have been accused of being negative, cynical, and suspicious. 12. When I feel socially uncomfortable, I often wish could disappear. 13. I am often reluctant to be assertive or aggressive. 14. I dislike most social events. I’d rather be alone or with a few people I know well. 15. I sometimes feel shy or awkward. 16. I get tired when I’m with people for too long. 17. I feel different from most people. 18. I feel invisible. It surprises when anyone notices anything about me. 19. I don’t look for material possessions to make me happy. 20. Acting calm is a defense. It makes me feel stronger.

SIXES 1. I am nervous around certain authority figures. 2. I am often plagued by doubt. 3. I like to have clear-cut guidelines and to know where I stand. 4. I am always on the alert for danger. 5. I take things too seriously. 6. I constantly question myself about what might go wrong. 7. I often experience criticism as an attack. 8. I often obsess about what my partner is thinking. 9. I can be a very hard worker. 10. My friends think of me as loyal, supportive, and compassionate. 11. I’ve been told I have a good sense of humor. 12. I follow rules closely (a phobic trait); or I often break rules (a counterphobic trait). 13. The more vulnerable I am in my intimate relationship, the more anxious and testy I become. 14. I tend to either procrastinate or plunge headlong, even into dangerous situations. 15. I am very aware of people trying to manipulate me with flattery. 16. I like predictability. 17. I have sabotaged my own success. 18. I can support people through thick and thin. 19. I like being neat and orderly. It helps me feel more in control of my life. 20. I dislike pretension in people.

SEVENS 1. I enjoy life. I am generally uninhibited and optimistic. 2. I don’t like being made to feel obligated or beholden. 3. I am busy and energetic. I seldom get bored if left to do what I want. 4. I often take verbal or physical risks. 5. I usually pick upbeat friends who have similar goals. 6. I’m not an expert in any one thing, but I can do many things well. 7. My style is to go back and forth from one task to another. I like to keep moving. 8. I seem to let go of grievances and recover from loss faster than most people I know. 9. I like myself and I’m good to myself. 10. I like people and they usually like me. 11. I usually manage to get what I want. 12. I value quick wit. 13. I am idealistic. I want to contribute something to the world. 14. I vacillate between feeling committed and wanting my freedom and independence. 15. I am often at ease in groups. 16. When people are unhappy, I usually try to get them to lighten up and see the bright side. 17. I love excitement and travel. 18. Sometimes I feel inferior and sometimes I feel superior to others. 19. I usually say whatever is on my mind. Sometimes it gets me into trouble. 20. I can make great sacrifices to help people.

EIGHTS 1. I can be assertive and aggressive when I need to be. 2. I can’t stand being used or manipulated. 3. I value being direct and honest; I put my cards on the table. 4. I am an individualist and a nonconformist. 5. I respect people who stand up for themselves. 6. I will go to any lengths to protect those I love 7. I fight for what is right. 8. I support the underdog. 9. Making decisions is not difficult for me. 10. Self–reliance and independence are important. 11. I have overindulged in food or drugs. 12. Some people take offense of my bluntness. 13. When I enter a new group, I know immediately who the most powerful person is. 14. I work hard and I know how to get things done. 15. In a group I am sometimes an observer rather than a participant. 16. I like excitement and stimulation. Sometimes I like to spar with people, especially when I feel safe. 17. I am vulnerable and loving when I really trust someone. 18. Overly nice or flattering people bother me. 19. Pretense is particularly distasteful to me.

NINES 1. I often feel in union with nature and people. 2. Making choices can be very difficult. I can see the advantages and disadvantages of every option. 3. It is sometimes hard for me to know what I want when I’m with other people. 4. Others see me as peaceful, but inside I often feel anxious. 5. Instead of tacking what I really need to do, I sometimes do little unimportant things. 6. When there is unpleasantness going on around me, I just try to think about something else for a while. 7. I usually prefer walking away from a disagreement to confronting someone. 8. If I don’t have some routine and structure in my day, I get almost nothing done. 9. I tend to put things off until the last minute, but I almost always get them done. 10. I like to be calm and unhurried, but sometimes I overextend myself. 11. When people try to tell me what to do or try to control me, I get stubborn. 12. I like to be sure to have time in my day for relaxing. 13. Sometimes I feel shy and unsure of myself. 14. I enjoy just hanging out with my partner or friends. 15. Supportive and harmonious relationships are very important to me. 16. I am very sensitive about being judged and take criticism personally. 17. I like to listen and give people support. 18. I focus more on the positive than on the negative. 19. I have trouble getting rid of things. 20. I operate under the principle of inertia: if I’m going, it’s easy to keep going, but I sometimes have a hard time getting started.

#survey #bold survey #bored #surveys

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jincherie · 6 years ago

Text

lagom || 02

➨ hoseok x reader

➨ familiar au, magic au, shifter au, witch au

➨ 2.5k

➨prompt; “ugh, you're sweaty-- get off

“Can we go back inside yet?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked, and if you were being completely honest the more he whined the closer you were to indulging him— you wanted to go back inside too. The sun was blistering as it beat down on your poor, overheated forms, the breeze a sweet relief the few times it had graced your flushed skin. You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d wiped the sweat from your brow and upper lip, as gross as it was.

Sadly, however, you couldn’t abandon your current activity. You’d procrastinated taking care of your herb garden all week and if you didn’t do it today it was most definitely going to come back and bite you in the ass— if there was something even a little off with the ingredients used in potions and spells, it was very very easy for it to go horribly wrong. Seokjin had told you a story once, of a friend of his cousin who decided it wouldn’t hurt to cut a few corners with his herbs and equipment. He only had one ear now, and damn it you liked having two ears too much to risk it.

Hoseok whined once more, and you were so close to reaching your zen space, where you could easily ignore him, that it almost went unnoticed. Your fingers kind of hurt from gripping plant stems and yanking on roots that refused to leave the ground, and there was a unsightly amount of dirt beginning to gather under your nails. You shuddered slightly. You hated that, hated having your hands gritty and dirty. You liked gardening, taking care of plants, but for some reason having your hands dirty or covered in icky things like oil made you want to fling yourself into the sun.

There was silence, a suspicious thing when in the presence of Hoseok, and at the subtle sound of cracking and popping beginning to make itself known, you whipped your head up and pointed an accusing finger at your familiar. He halted in his motions at your sharp yelp.

“No!” you burst, frown on your face. “No shifting! You said you’d help me, so now you gotta. Don’t try and slip your way out of this one, sly fox.”

Hoseok thawed from where he’d been frozen, caught in the act of attempting to shift into his fox form, and let out quite possibly the loudest groan you’d ever heard. Who knew it was possible to encapsulate so much emotion and unwillingness to work in a single sound?

“But y/n…” he shuffled over, grumbling and taking the long route when he almost stepped on a plant and you sent him a sharp glare. “That was before I knew it was going to be so hot… I think I’m dying.”

He said the last part with such seriousness, such conviction, that were you anyone else you might have believed him. At this point, however, you were almost completely immune to his puppy eyes and pout. You blinked at him, before pointing to a patch of angelica over in the right corner of the garden that had yet to be weeded.

“You’ll live. Go get the weeds from over there— you wanted to plant the angelica to make sweets so you can take care of it,” you said, raising a brow when he looked like he was going to protest. Hoseok’s lips formed a potent pout, and he rolled his eyes like a sassy teen before turning and waddling over, scuffing his heels in the earth as he went.

“I didn’t plant them for that,” he mumbled under his breath, just barely loud enough for you to hear, as he squatted by the angelica plants.

“You didn’t?” you queried, turning to him in a mixture of surprise and confusion. “I thought you planted it to make candy?”

Hoseok snorted, deciding it was too hard to remain in a squat and instead plopping straight on his ass. He plucked at the weeds surrounding his plants grumpily. “No, I planted them for flavouring wine.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, and when they did you were unable to help the soft peals of laughter that escaped you.

“Wine? Hoseok, you’re the biggest lightweight I know,” you cackled, nearly falling on your own behind from the force of your laughter. “Why are you making wine? You won’t even be able to hold it!”

The fox shifter turned partially to nail you with a particularly dirty look. “Uh, first of all, you’re so rude. I’m not a lightweight? I’m average, thanks.”

His words had you laughing harder, and he barely managed to keep a straight face when you really did fall on your ass. He continued, brow raised to complete the unimpressed look across his features. “Secondly, I’m making it because I want to? What’s wrong with me having a little side-project, huh? Aren’t witches meant to support their familiars?”

You snorted, falling back on your hands and digging your fingers into the soft earth. You felt a bead of sweat roll down the back of your neck, but you ignored it for the sake of the current conversation.

“I think familiars are traditionally meant to support their witches,” you said, lips twitching as he huffed. “And I’d support you— if you were genuinely doing it as a side-project.”

The crimson-haired shifter sent you an unappreciative look. “I am!”

“Are you?” you asked, trying not to smile. “Are you doing it for yourself and most definitely not because you lost a bet with Jimin?”

At the mention of the witch Hoseok’s expression fell and his pout became more emphasised. Another loud groan escaped him, “Ugh, fine. Yes, I made a bet with that stupid alcoholic and lost. It wasn’t because I sucked or anything, though. It was dumb luck. He probably cheated.”

You snorted and went back to your gardening, thoroughly amused. The t-shirt Hoseok was wearing was beginning to stick to his toned form with the sweat glistening over his honeyed skin. “What game did you play this time?”

It was silent for a moment before your answer came after a particularly hard pluck on a weed by Hoseok, “... scissors paper rock.”

“Hoseok, Jimin might have magic but he’s not smart enough to know how to cheat at that,” you laughed, pinning your sulking familiar with a look. “You just suck.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” Hoseok whined instantly, turning to throw the tiny string of weed he’d just yanked from the ground at you. “You’re so mean today— ugh, stinky witch making me weed the garden and bullying me.”

You rolled your eyes, very aware that he was just trying to press your buttons in the most childish way possible so you’d tell him to go away and he could finally go inside and escape the heat.

“Don’t be such a baby,” you said, rising from your position just barely so you could shuffle over to another patch. Your fingers gently brushed some dirt off the leaves of your strawberry plants, pleased to see they were beginning to flower. You needed their petals for something you were planning on making soon, but also you’d found that Hoseok liked strawberries and Jimin was more than willing to trade them for some herbs from his own garden. In this world, it appeared strawberries could be exchanged for goods and services.

It was silent following your remark just long enough to arouse suspicion, and you were just about to turn and see what your familiar was doing when a sudden weight dropped itself onto your back. Heat flushed over you and you let out a cry as your body wobbled under the new strain, a familiar feeling of sweaty skin sticking against your own making you yelp, “Hobi! Ugh, you’re sweaty— get off!”

The fox shifter had his arms draped lazily over your shoulders, his chin nestling in the crook of your neck— so you got a firm earful as he complained loudly, “Its too hot! Let’s go inside, we can garden another time. Let’s get some icecream.”

“Jung Hoseok,” you warned, feeling it as his body gave an instinctive flinch at the familiar tone. You shifted, rising to a stand and expecting his lax body to slide off of you— except it didn’t, and he clung to you the whole way up. Your legs burned from the effort of rising from the ground with the extra weight and you were almost panting by the time you were standing properly. “I’ll give you five seconds.”

Hoseok decided to call your bluff. “Or what?” he huffed, his legs dragging across the grass as you began to haul him away step by slow, painful step. It was almost impressive how firmly he remained attached to your upper back and shoulders. You almost wished you had the upper body and core strength to toss him over your shoulder like a WWE fighter flinging a sack of potatoes.

“I’ll charm every twiggy stick you eat so that it tastes like dirt in your mouth,” you said, unsure if you really knew how to do that.

A horrified gasp huffed against your ear, “You wouldn’t.”

“Do you want to find out?”

There was a beat of silence before the hold around you was finally released and Hoseok’s body slid to the ground with a heavy, defeated thump. “Ugh.”

You allowed him a moment of reprieve, enjoying the groan he let out, before you pounced for the device you’d dragged the two of you over to and twisted.

Hoseok let out a loud yell as water, no doubt icy against his flushed skin, hit his chest and face full-force. Your finger was partially blocking the end of the hose, allowing you to douse him with a stronger jet of water. He hollered loudly, scrambling to his feet in a bid to evade the stream. You were an expert shot from all your time spent gaming with Jungkook, though, so he didn’t stand a chance.

“What’s wrong? I thought you were hot?” you cackled, sputtering as your finger slipped a little and you copped a brief spray of water to the face. Ah, that was freezing— no wonder he was running. Oh well, you supposed he’d be fine if he was as overheated as he said he was.

“Demon woman, it’s too cold!” Hoseok dove behind one of the poles holding up the short patio roof near the house, and shrieked when the water still managed to reach him. “Stop! I wanted to go inside not visit Antarctica!”

“You’re so ungrateful! I’m just trying to cool you down!” you cooed, drawing closer and tugging the hose with you— you were so taken with your current task that you didn’t even notice the knot it had managed to work itself into, nor the loop you’d just stepped into. Your foot was caught on the next step, a sharp yelp escaping you as you went down. The flow of water stopped suddenly, the hose kinked too much to let the liquid pass.

You quickly scrambled to your knees, fear urging your motions. If you didn’t hurry Hoseok was going to get you back—

“y/n,” you looked over at the sound of his voice, low and dangerous, as he stepped from around the pole and nailed you with a narrow-eyed glare. A shiver of fear ran down your back as his dripping form began to move closer. “Give me the hose.”

“No!” you refused petulantly, scrambling to untie the hose and spray him before he reached you. He saw what you were doing and lurched forward, almost tackling you into the ground. “Ugh you’re all wet, get off! Hey! Let go!”

“No! Give me the hose!” Hoseok made a grab for it and you rolled, just barely keeping it out of his reach. You could hear the tap behind you beginning to strain from the pressure of the unreleased water. “You started this, you have to face the consequences of your actions!”

“I am the law!” you hollered, wriggling from the hold he’d managed to form on you and attempting to army-crawl away before you were dragged back by the hips. Your fingers frantically worked to unloop the hose before he got to it, and he growled behind you.

“Stop it! Give me the hose! y/n—”

You freed the hose from its binds and all at once the water came gushing forth— right at you face. You squealed around a face-full of icy water and quickly redirected it blindly, eyes clenched shut as you swung it around in your fist. Had you left the sliding door to the back yard shut? God, you hoped so.

Hoseok’s scream told you that you’d gotten him once more, but what you weren’t expecting was a heavy, sliding noise and two additional yelps. Your eyes flung open, stinging sightly from the water, and you flushed at the sight of a drenched Jungkook and Seokjin standing outside the door to your yard. Instinctively you flung your hand out with intention, and the tap twisted, turning itself off. The water slowed from its forceful jet to a soft trickle, silence filling the air around you in the absence of the harsh sound.

“Oh, Seokjin, Jungkook,” you grinned like you weren’t currently sprawled across the grass, drenched to the bone with your limbs tangled with those of your familiar. “What a pleasant surprise— what brings you here this fine morning?”

Jungkook’s large doe eyes blinked once before his lips tugged and the situation registered fully for him, laughter beginning to climb his throat. Seokjin still seemed to be catching up after being doused with icy water.

“y/n…” the eldest began, a somewhat pained expression crossing his face. “Have you really been out here wrestling him for a hose? You’re a witch, you could have used your magic.”

Embarrassment had your cheeks burning hot as you sputtered for something to say, “No. Maybe. Shut up, it’s none of your business.”

Seokjin snorted, and your response was all Jungkook needed for his cackling to burst forth, filling the air between you all with his sheer amusement.

“God, and I make fun of Seokjin for being a terrible witch when you’re even worse!” he guffawed, wobbling on his feet and leaning on the aforementioned male, who did not look impressed, for support. His raven hair fell messily across his forehead, warm eyes hinting feline glee as he wheezed. “How did you pass the first few years at the college?”

You glared at him, annoyed at his rude ass comments. In your home? Unacceptable. The petty part of your personality surged forth and you flicked your wrist, your magic thrumming beneath your skin; the tap turned and icy water blasted Jungkook’s form once more. The shifter yowled and Hoseok cackled. A smug smile began to tug your lips.

In your home, you were the law.

mlist | lagom mlist || prev. | 03 ➨prompt; "Take off your shirt"

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