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starry-bi-sky · 5 months

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I saw a post a few months ago (and damn was it really months? In PLURAL?) that was a cracky dpxdc au where the LOS were making Damian clones but the clones kept getting snatched by ghost portals and dropped into Danny’s lap and Danny just goes “ok ig this is my life now” and takes care of each one until he has his own mini army of Damian Clones.

And I remembered it a few days ago, and now I've been thinking about it again. Because I love clone aus (see: clone danny au, the 'danny is thomas wayne' au) because it itches the part of my mind that loves exploring personhood and the exploration of identity and what it means to be clone.

(What do you do when nothing about you is unique? When your face, your eyes, your hands, your hair, your voice, all the way down to your heart, all belong to someone else?)

(When it comes to nature vs nurture what of you came from your environment and your experiences, and what of you was already programmed into you from the DNA that made you?)

(What do you do to make it unique? What do you do to make you unique?)

And if I could remember who made that post I'd @ them right now because it was their original post that inspired this, but I'm just thinking of if the au only had One Singular Damian clone that fell into Danny's life.

(a read more because im apparently incapable of making posts that are less than 1k words...)

One Damian who knew he was a clone and knew that he was to either bring the original back to base or kill him to take his place, who was being trained the same way but kept getting compared to his original over and over again. Like an older sibling who you can never match up to. Who is still a child who craves adult affection and validation and praise, and can't get it because nothing about him is original.

One Damian who, at six years old, in a twist of fate is sucked through a swirling portal and lands in Amity Park, directly on top of, in front of, or in line of sight of one Daniel Fenton, half-ghost extraordinaire and local hero.

What happens next?

Well, for one, Danny recognizes him immediately. He would recognize the face of Damian Wayne anywhere because his best friend was ranting about him all week about Damian Wayne's environmental stuff he does.

And for two, he would recognize that the Damian Wayne in front of him was not Damian Wayne. Because Damian Wayne was a teenager. And the Damian Wayne in front of him is a child. Six years old.

Getting this not-Damian but also-Damian to go along with Danny is not, not an easy task. The tiny Damian is aggressive, regal, and at this point in time, six years old, barely understanding english. He also has a sword.

It takes all day and a google translator to get this Tiny Damian to finally agree to go home with Danny. It's a miracle. Seriously. A tried and true miracle. And its also only when Danny has to fight a ghost does he finally agree, saying something in arabic that Danny doesn't understand.

Danny flies them both home, carrying Tiny Damian like a koala. The ensuing conversation in his room is not any better. It is tiring, long, and exhausting. Tiny Damian is six years old, and every single thing he says when Danny asks where he came from is met with a poorly translated "that's classified".

Danny keeps an eye on the news. There are no reports of Damian Wayne going missing, in fact he's been rather public. Bruce Wayne is not one to lie about his children going missing, and Damian's secretive behavior and young age draws Danny to one conclusion: Damian is a clone.

He doesn't know why Damian Wayne is being cloned. Frankly he doesn't really wanna know, because whatever organization that did it doesn't seem too pure-of-heart if tiny-Damian's immediate attempt of murder when they first met is of any indication. But he's too busy taking care of his city, that he doesn't have time to deal with whatever shady business Tiny-Damian was produced from.

In the end though, he decides that this Tiny-Damian is not going back to whatever place he came from. Tiny Damian disagrees. It is a long, nebulous problem of Damian trying to run away, Danny catching him, and Danny pulling him back home.

In that time, Danny downloads a language app and starts learning Arabic so that they can talk to each other properly. Damian slowly, slowly, starts picking up English.

In that time, Danny also has to inform his friends and his sister about Damian. Tiny Damian is not a fan of this. That is another argument they have. Tiny Damian does not like Sam or Tucker for a long, long while. He only really "listens" to Danny, citing something in arabic that Danny still cannot understand, but has a repeated use of the word "lieazir". It's the only word that Danny can catch in a sentence immediately, because its what little Damian calls Danny.

Tiny Damian, in that front, is very interested in Danny's powers and in his parents work. He finds tubberware of ectoplasm in the fridge once while they're down in the kitchen and calls it something with the word lieazir in it. The other word is something that Danny later learns means water in arabic.

It makes him feel even more uneasy of whatever place little Damian came from.

It takes weeks for little Damian to finally give up on escaping, and then a few weeks more for him to almost entirely lose his spunk. Danny isn't sure what started it. It was as if he'd been flipped with an off-switch.

(Damian had been so confident that the League would go looking for him after his disappearance. He was wrong, and he is crushed. He is still a child, alone, in a country very big and very busy, where nobody understands what he's saying. He feels powerless, helpless.)

(The lazarus boy who calls himself Danyal is nice to him in a way the league has never been, and he's making an effort to learn Damian's language. But he leaves for hours at a time and Damian doesn't have much else to do but wait in this house for him to come back.)

(He tried leaving, many many times, but he doesn't understand the street signs, the roads, the people. He doesn't know where he is, and he feels scared in a way that he's not felt in the League. Danny finds him every single time, hours later when Damian is lost somewhere in Amity Park)

(And he never yells at him. Never. The first time this happens, Damian puffs himself up and prepares himself for this strange lazarus boy to yell at him. Damian feels like he's tripped on the last step of the stairs when Danyal doesn't yell at him.)

(He can tell he's frustrated by the tone of his voice, but when Danyal lays eyes on him he just looks relieved. He gets scolded on the flight home, but Damian doesn't understand any of it other than Danyal just sounds worried. Not angry. He gets a proper scolding once they get back, with Danyal typing into the google translator and playing it for Damian to hear.)

(This happens every single time until Damian finally agrees to stop running away.)

It's with Jazz's help that Danny finally realizes that Damian was depressed. It's with her help again that Danny tries helping with it. It's like trying to get a stray cat to trust him. And with everything else they've done, it takes a long time.

And it is so, so worth it when it all works out.

Tiny Damian doesn't really like Sam, or Tucker, but he likes Danny. And he finally starts calling him his name. His full name, but his name nonetheless. Danny doesn't bother correcting him. He's not looking a gift horse in the mouth. And it's endearing hearing Damian call him Danyal.

Damian in this time, also begins to take more initiative into learning English. And they teach each other words they know. Danny buys flash cards and writes the english alphabet on them, and then finds a book on arabic to teach himself and Damian. Sam and Tucker and Jazz start learning as well.

And then when Danny knows enough arabic and Damian knows enough english, and Damian trusts Danny, Damian tells him he's a clone. It's a quiet moment, late at night when Danny takes Damian up to the ops center to look at what stars they could see through the light pollution.

It'd be very easy for Danny to tell him, "I know. I could tell from the start.". He doesn't, it's not the time nor the place, and Danny's matured enough to know when to open his mouth and when to keep it shut. He lets Damian, almost seven now, tell him that he's a clone of Damian Wayne. Lets him tell him why he was made, what his purpose was.

(Danny will need a minute later to process the fact that Damian Wayne originally came from some kind of... assassin league with an obsession with immortality. But he's focused on Damian.)

In the end, he puts an arm around Damian Wayne's clone and pulls him into his side. Thanks him for trusting him, it must've been hard to tell him, that he's brave for being able to. And if he wants to, they can find a way to get into contact with the Waynes and let Wayne know about him.

Damian hides his face in Danny's ribs and holds him tight, and tells him he doesn't want to. Danny leaves it at that.

Perhaps it would be more morally ethical to alert Damian Wayne that there was a clone of him running around, that his... uh, grandfather was making clones of him. Hell, Danny would have liked it. But little Damian has asked him not to say anything, and little Damian needs someone to rely on; someone he can trust.

And in the end, its not that hard of a decision to make. Danny knows little Damian more than he knows Damian Wayne, and while Danny likes to think he's a good person, he knows he's not a great one. Nor a perfect one. He cares more about someone he knows than someone he doesn't.

If Sam tries to argue with him about it, then Danny will just double down. If Damian doesn't want to tell Wayne about his existence, then it's not their place to say otherwise.

There's a lot more to talk about over Damian's cloning, like what he wants to do moving forward. But that's a long conversation not meant to be one taken late at night. Little Damian is falling asleep at his side, seemingly much more relaxed than he did before, and Danny wasn't gonna ruin that.

And later he's right, it is a long conversation, and a slow one. Talking with Jazz about it helps him figure out what to do moving forward, and their best bet is to let Damian figure out what he wants to do. So he sits Damian down at the dinner table the next morning and tells him before breakfast that he doesn't need to be Damian Wayne.

He doesn't need to learn all the same things Damian Wayne did. He doesn't need to do anything that Damian Wayne does. And little Damian is seven, and he's smart, but Danny still has to word it in a way that's not too complex for him to realize.

And in the end, what he says essentially boils down to "You are not Damian Wayne, you are just you. Don't be anyone else but you." and it'll take more time to drill that into his mind when all he's ever heard and learned from is that he was a copy of Damian Wayne, and he must act like Damian Wayne. But it'll happen.

It's a hard task when Danny's the only person Damian really trusts and he can't be by his side all the time, but he starts to warm up to the rest of Danny's family. The Fenton parents know of him, it's hard to keep a six year old child a secret for as long as Danny did without eventually having to come clean about it. His parents, much to Danny's relief, are very welcoming to Damian.

Damian figures out what he likes. Slowly. He's six years old, almost seven, and nobody expects of him to figure out who he is immediately. No child knows who they are right off the bat. So like any child he begins to explore. His english is better but still rough, and he struggles to read said language, but the Fenton family are happy to help even if Damian learns words that no normal seven year old does. (Many of them scientific.)

Damian realizes he likes stars, even if said interest is influenced by the association to Danny. Danny is all too delighted to tell him all about them, and in the process takes him flying out somewhere where the light pollution doesn't reach and showing him where constellations are.

Damian is six-almost-seven, so he doesn't find all of them, but Danny helps him figure out the easier ones. He tells him the scientific facts behind them, and then tells him about the mythos of the constellations. Later on they make their own constellations and make up stories about what they are.

(Damian adores Danny out of anyone else in the Fenton Family. The name Danyal turns to Dany. If anyone asks, Daniel Fenton is Damian's big brother.)

(He still refers to Jazz as Jazmine, and Danny's parents as Mrs. and Mr. Fenton.)

He realizes that, like his original, he loves animals, and he becomes vegetarian too. Sam is smug and Tucker is disappointed, but Damian doesn't super care about their opinions. ...he's getting better at liking them, even if he thinks Manson is a bit snobby and Foley is too much at times.

Its inevitable that the conversation of school comes into play. Damian can't stay home all day and he needs proper schooling. So after a long talk with Damian, they agree to send him to elementary school.

...And before they can do that the Fenton Family goes through with legally adopting Damian into the family as Damian Fenton. It takes convincing to get the administration to enroll him into the first grade without a proper schooling background.

(On his adoption form, Damian asks to change his birthday to the day he met Danny. Perhaps its not the most responsible thing to agree to, but Danny wants Damian to find himself. And its not like they know when his actual birthday was.)

And despite where he learned it from, Damian quite likes sparring. And he quite likes sparring with Danny in particular. Danny makes it fun, something that was foreign in his old league training, and Danny never hurts him. It's a lot like roughhousing.

Danny tells Damian how he got his powers, and how his parents don't know. Damian wakes up late at night to Danny sneaking out of the room (their house is not big enough to give Damian an individual room, and Danny agreed to share his) to go fight ghosts.

It's upsetting. Damian knows that Danny gets injured in those fights, even if Danny never comes home until after those injuries have been fixed up. He wants to help, and he voices it, and Danny shoots him down.

It becomes an argument, something that has happened less and less over the months.

Damian is experienced.

Damian is a child.

Damian knows how to fight.

Damian is mortal and fragile. He is a tiny, squishy human boy and the people Danny fights are ghosts who are near-indestructible. Who are intimately acquainted with death but also do not remember that humans are capable of it. Especially when they're fighting.

Damian says that Batman's rogues are capable of the same thing, that he lets his Robins help him fight.

And Danny says he is not Batman and he will not allow Damian to fight ghosts with him. Those ghosts will kill him and it will hurt. Dying hurts in a way that is terrifying and unimaginable and he will not risk Damian experiencing it. Not even Sam and Tucker help him in his fights most of the time, they are not able to. Not in the way Danny can.

Damian doesn't talk to him all day the following morning, but Danny does not budge on his decision. Damian tries to follow him out the next night, and Danny catches him and takes him back. Over, and over, and over again.

Until finally he gets intercepted by Skulker while taking Damian back home and is forced to fight him in front of Damian. (If it had been his choice, he would not have let Damian see it at all.)

It's not pretty. Skulker has new weapons, weapons that hurt, a lot. Danny is stuck between trying to take him down and trying to protect Damian from Skulker's attacks at him and from all the debris being created from the fight. It's with Damian's quick thinking and fast feet that finally helps Danny take Skulker out. But Danny is badly injured in the aftermath.

He doesn't have time to take Damian home and get medical attention. So he takes Damian with him to wherever he has his supplies stashed. He doesn't call Sam or Tucker or Jazz, and has to stitch himself up alone, with Damian watching.

Damian is quiet the entire time, he feels awful. Danny's not mad at him -- well, he is. But not because he had to protect him. He's just tired, and a little disappointed in him. Damian doesn't sneak out again. But he still feels helpless.

Danny tells him that that is why he doesn't want Damian to help him. Ghosts, his ghosts, are hard to fight. They are powerful, and his 'rogues' are mean. They will not care that Damian is a mortal child, if he picks a fight with them, they will fight back. And Damian is not immune to certain ghost powers like Danny is.

Damian is silent. He wants to help. But Danny is right: he is a squishy, mortal, living child. There is not much he can do to help Danny. Not without any gear to do it. Not without any powers to do it. He wants to help. He cannot.

Damian, almost-seven-years old, begins to cry. It is the last thing Danny was expecting, and for a moment he is at a loss of what to do.

Damian reaches for him -- in the Fenton family, physical affection is expected. Damian is getting used to it, but Danny is the only one he likes touching him -- and then stops, cringing away like he only just remembered that Danny was hurt.

He only cries harder.

Danny meets him halfway and pulls him into his arms, situating Damian between his knees from where he's sitting. Through his tears, Damian says he wants to help. He wants to help. He doesn't want Danny to get hurt anymore. He doesn't want Danny to fight ghosts alone anymore. He's scared that Danny will stop coming back.

Danny doesn't have anything to say to reassure him. Can't say anything to reassure him. It'll all just be lies. He's not going to stop fighting ghosts, he can't. He's not going to stop getting hurt, he can't. He's not going to bring Damian with him, he can't. He'd never be able to live with himself.

"I'll always come back." He says though, because that is something he can promise. Whether dead or alive, he'll come back.

When the tears finally stop, Damian doesn't say anything again. He sniffles, and presses his ear to Danny's chest, listening to the steady, slow heartbeat. If he puts his ear to his sternum and strains his ear, Damian would almost hear the low hum of Danny's ghost core, like a small dwarf sun.

"If you die, I'll drag you to the Lazarus pools myself." Damian mumbles eventually, his voice sleep-full. It's spoken in arabic, and Danny only understands half of it.

He laughs quietly, and smoothes his hand over Damian's hair. He hasn't had a haircut since he arrived, it's gotten long and there are curls beginning to form. "Okay."

Damian falls asleep shortly after, and with much consideration to his own injuries and Damian's sleeping form, Danny flies them back home.

It's hard to say, but not much changes in routine afterwards. Damian hovers close to Danny, more than usual. Danny still goes out at night, he still stitches himself up before going back, he still goes back home where Damian is waiting worriedly for him. Damian doesn't like falling asleep without knowing Danny is there.

Now the hard question is: when does little Damian finally meet the Waynes for the first time? There's plenty of ways to go about it, both easy and hard. Perhaps we go this way:

The Fenton family are visiting Maddie's sister in Arkansas. And Damian is dragging Danny around through the surrounding forest. It's his first time being in a forest this large since he moved in with the Fentons. Safe to say he is delighted by all of the nature, and he's dragging Danny along with him.

Danny likes the peace and quiet it gives him, he's found that he enjoys the rural area more than he likes the city. He's happy to let Damian point out every plant he recognizes, even if some of it is in arabic.

They walk around all day until Damian gets tired, and then at night when the sky is clear Danny and him go look at the stars. It's peaceful at first.

On the third day of their visit, Damian drags Danny out far from the house. It's slightly worrying, but Danny can always fly them back if it gets too late.

It's in the woods that Danny and Damian stray much too far from Alicia's house, and from there in the early evening that they run into Batman and Red Robin, both of them in rough 'just got out of a fight' shape.

Safe to say, it was the last thing any of them expected to run into. Damian and Danny had stopped at a small crik to rest, and the two vigilantes came through the tree line on the other side.

It was... quite the staring contest.

Damian, now seven years old at this point, forgot to mention that the Waynes were vigilantes when he told Danny he was a clone. But he was told that Batman was his original's father.

Before anyone can say anything, little Damian wraps his arms tight around Danny's middle and stares Batman and Red Robin down. His sharp edges have softened around the Fentons. But he makes no exceptions to anyone else outside of Danny's immediate social circle.

Danny's arm automatically goes around Damian's shoulders, and he looks between both Red and Batman uneasily. If they were here then it meant that there was something unsafe nearby. Danny did not fight the living, and he wasn't going to put Damian in the crosshairs of anything that does.

"Should... should we leave?" He asks, brows knotted together with a frown. He stands. "Is there something going on nearby?"

Batman suddenly grunts, and looks at him. "It's been handled." He says, and his voice is gruffer than Danny imagined it. Lower. Danny is not all that comfortable with that answer.

"Do you guys live nearby?" Red Robin asks, and Danny can't help but notice that he keeps looking at Damian. Warily. In fact, so is Batman.

He pushes Damian behind him slightly, and Damian's grip tightens on him. "Not... exactly." He says, his eyes narrowing slightly. "My family's visiting my Aunt and my brother wanted to explore since it's his first time out of the city, I guess we wandered too far away if we're running into you."

There's no visible indication of whether or not both Bats reacted to him calling Damian his brother. But he can all but feel little Damian preen at the title, it makes Danny's mouth twitch into a smile as his hand finds Damian's hair.

"Would we be able to go back with you?" Red Robin asks, startling both Danny and seemingly Batman, who looks at him instantly.

"Red Robin." He growls out, and Red Robin throws Batman a look of annoyance.

"We are lost, B. They jammed the comms and our trackers back there and it hasn't come back on yet, his aunt may have the signal we need to let the others know where we are."

They end up walking back with Danny and Damian. It's silent, and awkward, and Danny has Damian walking on his opposite side so he's not near the vigilantes. Red Robin is fiddling with a phone but still can't get a signal.

Batman is silently brooding.

Red eventually gives up and shoves the phone into a pocket on his belt, then turns to make conversation with Danny. "I never thanked you for letting us walk with you. Thanks, by the way."

Danny blinks at him, and smiles awkwardly. "No problem, man," he says, "I'm uh, Danny." He glances down at Damian, who looks up at him with big green eyes, and Damian nods quietly.

He looks back at Red Robin, and says, "This is my little brother, Damian." And Damian peers over his side and glares at Red Robin -- and Batman, who looks over when Danny says his name.

"He looks like Damian Wayne," Red Robin notes, head tilting like he's inspecting him.

Danny huffs dryly, "We get that a lot."

Red Robin smiles at him, its a tilted thing. It makes Danny uneasy. "Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't," Danny says bluntly, and he really doesn't want to tell them where he's from. Not when Red Robin was acting strange, but they're vigilantes and notorious for their detective skills. If he's suspicious, they'll look into him. "But I'm from Amity Park."

Damian in that moment, peers around Danny again and scowls at Red Robin. Full on scowls at him, as if it were the first months when he met Danny. "You're being nosy." He sneers, his hand squeezing Danny's.

"Damian," Danny hisses, suppressing a smile. Damian jumps like he's been startled, and looks up at him with big green eyes. "He's just being curious."

(He lets his smile slip through briefly, just to let Damian know he's not that upset. A tension leaves his little brother's shoulders.)

"But he is." Damian continues, a whine leaking into his voice. Danny jabs him in the ribs with his fingers, and Damian jumps, swatting away his hand with a squeak.

"Would you rather have us walk in dead silence, Dames?" He goes for Damian's ribs again, a grin stretching across his face as Damian jumps back again and swats his hand. "Hm? Hm? We could just walk in awkward silence for the entire trip back, I know you just love awkward silence, little brother."

(It's funny, saying little brother always sounds so uncomfortable when he reads it in books and watches it on tv. But Jazz always makes it sound so natural when she does it, and Danny finds that he sounds the same too.)

Damian continues to bat away his hands, but it's not enough to prevent him from squealing with laughter when Danny gets a good hold on him and starts tickling him. Danny's grin only gets bigger, and he swoops Damian up with his arm and holds him like a football.

"Is that it? Huh? Me, you, and two vigilantes walking back to Aunt Alicia's cabin in complete, utter silence." He says, "You won't get to hear any of my amazing jokes."

Damian's wriggling, trying to pound on Danny's ribs, he's giggling uncontrollably. It's the best sound Danny's ever heard. "Your jokes are awful! Laeazir! Put me down!" He cries, grinning from ear to ear.

(From the side, both Red Robin and Batman tense up.)

Danny chuckles, and through a short series of flips, has Damian sitting on his shoulders. "I will not. You're sitting up in air jail for insulting my hilarious jokes."

Damian tugs on his hair in revenge, harrumphing at him but making no move to get down. Danny squeezes his ankles playfully, and looks back to Batman and Red Robin.

Both vigilantes look at him like he's grown a second head.

....Red Robin looks at him like he's grown a second head. Batman just stares, and then looks away. Danny tilts his head at them, his smile waning. "You guys look like you've seen a ghost or something."

(Damian tugs on his hair again. A silent boo at him.)

Red Robin jerks, "Oh, sorry." He says, not sounding all that sorry. "It's just... I've lost count to how many times I've saved Damian Wayne from the occasional kidnapping and he's always been very... serious. It's just weird seeing a kid that looks like him be... not serious."

From his shoulders he feels Damian hide his smile in his hair, that's another thing they can put on their "Things That Damian Does That Damian Wayne Does Not" list. It started as a joke, but it's been surprisingly helpful for when Damian is questioning himself.

However, Danny is not a fan of the comparison, and he smiles widely, perhaps a tad passive-aggressive. "It's a good thing that my Damian isn't Damian Wayne then." He says, giving him the slight stink eye.

Red Robin picks up on it quickly, and nods.

The rest of the way is spent in idle conversation. It's oddly casual, even if most of the conversation is Danny talking about himself. It's annoying, but he unfortunately understands the reason. Secret identities and all that.

Damian interjects a few times, some parts to talk to Danny, and other parts to throw shade at Batman and Red Robin. Mostly Red Robin, who seems begrudgingly used to it.

("I'm surprised you haven't asked me much about myself." Red Robin says at one point into the conversation. Over his shoulder Batman glares at Red Robin. "A lot of civilians do when they're able."

Danny stares at him. "You're a vigilante." He says, frowning, "Isn't it superhero 101 that you don't ask superheroes for their secret identity?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Huh. Well, no. I'm not gonna ask you about yourself. I quite like talking all about me.")

When they finally reach the cabin, it's late into the night and Danny has moved Damian from his shoulders to his front in a koala-like carry. Damian's fast asleep with his head on Danny's shoulder.

His family was also frantically searching for him, and Jazz sees him first. She immediately turns behind her and yells "I FOUND HIM!". And then sprints over to him, his parents thundering not too far behind.

Both vigilantes are subsequently ignored as Jazz dotes over him and Danny, and soon enough so is his mom and dad. They're all talking all at once, asking him where he was, they were worried sick, did he know how late it was.

He shushes all of them, loudly. And whispers that Damian is sleeping. His family then immediately quiet themselves, and go back to yelling at him in a more appropriate manner.

"Me and Damian walked too far by accident." Danny finally says when he can get a word in, and then he jabs his thumb in Red Robin and Batman's direction. "We also found two superheroes who need assistance."

The speed of which his family all snap their heads over to the direction he's pointing is almost comical. As is all of their expressions of shock.

His mother is the first to regain her senses, and she sighs at him. She sighs! "Only you, Danny." She says, and Jazz snorts into her arm.

#dpxdc #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny phantom au #dpdc danny fenton #i am incapable of making short posts it seems. heavy sigh #this post is open to add ons if anyone's interested 👉👈#this entire au is essentially the song 'Strange Sight' by KT Turnstall from the Tinkerbell and the Neverbeast #This post mostly goes into how danny and damian's relationship develops because i think that's the more important part of the au #also damian's like six i firmly believe he wouldn't know much english #no no he's learning arabic first and then english LATER. if he would ever even get there with the league #iirc all the damian clones liked Danny so i wanna explore how their relationship got to that point. Like what happened for Danny to get eve #getting one Damian clone to like him enough to go up to bat for him? that takes time and patience and i wanna explore that lol #danny's in his late teens here btw.#Clone Damian is a 7yo child and I'm writing him as such because its fun. I thought about having Clone Damian change his name but nothing fi #little clone damian is also A Tad Clingy. Danny is the First Person to have shown him a kindness and Damian Imprinted On Him Like a Duck #i love clone aus and clone aus love me #clone damian and danny are bROOOTHEERSS #i thought about making clone damian's name damon bc its close to the name damian but also i like the idea that clone damian keeps the--#original name and then makes it his own. something about taking the name you were given thats not really yours and MAKING it yours

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iguessthisisanewobsession · 1 year

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#writing prompt #shipping #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #ghost king danny #ghost circus #dick grayson #nightwing #new year’s eve #batman #dc x dp prompt #dc x dp #memes

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master-xochimilli · 4 months

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Edging myself in a pet's warm tight hole for hours so when the clock hits midnight I'm cumming deep inside them the instant the fireworks outside are exploding

Bringing in the year with me showing them that they're mine, the first thing we see being the sight of their tummy bulging with my warm cum~

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mixsethaddams · 1 year

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Eddie and Steve go on a long-weekend trip to San Francisco. The plane journey was long and cramped but they can hold hands in public for the first time ever so it was worth it.

A random homophobe yells at them from across the street “It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!”

Steve wheels around ready to fight but stops when he catches sight of Eddie’s confused expression.

“My name’s not Adam,” is all he says before Steve dissolves into laughter.

#eddie later asks if they even know anyone called Eve #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie stranger things #steve stranger things #steve x eddie #seth writes

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nahoney22 · 2 months

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Congratulations on the followers⭐️ I have a scenario I think you’ll absolutely smash! If possible can I have the prompt “I want to help you… if you’ll let me.” With Hunter and a F!reader.

Hunter is quite hard on reader but only because he’s protective but it comes across super badly and one night you had enough of his nagging and go to a bar for a drink but start getting a bit hassled by a drunk patron and hunter comes to help you out? BUT reader can fully handle herself bc bossbitch 😆 Would love it to be angsty, classic enemies to lovers and it may end with a little smooch?

Thank you if you do this and no worries if not ♥️

4000 Follower Prompt Celebration

Hunter X F!Reader

word count: 3.3k

prompt:

“I want to help you… if you’ll let me.”

authors note: thank you for the request! Love this idea. Enjoy and sorry for the wait 🤍

warnings: enemies to lovers, drunk patron who can’t take no for an answer, canon typical violence, angsty, mild injury to reader, reader gets insulted, female reader, hunter is a bit of an arse at first, first kiss which is a little steamy, protective hunter. I

The aftermath of the latest mission left a sour taste lingering in your mouth, the tension between you and Hunter palpable in the crowded bar. Despite the success of the mission, Hunter couldn't resist injecting his bitter critique into the - what should be - celebratory atmosphere.

As the squad was basking in victory, clinking cups and allowing Omega to indulge in a very sugary concoction that almost had her bouncing off the walls, Hunter's biting words tainted the mood.

His critique of your tactics cut deep, branding you as reckless and a threat to safety, all delivered in front of the entire squad.

Flushed with embarrassment and fueled by anger, you hastily abandoned the bar, seeking refuge in another dimly lit establishment down the strip. Unbeknownst to you, the others exchanged scornful glances, Echo remarking, "She gets it from you, you know?" A subtle nod to your adoption of Hunter's techniques, albeit with less finesse.

Swallowing his pride, Hunter trailed after you with a heavy sigh, the weight of his words hanging heavy on his shoulders as he tried to find a way to make it up to you.

Meanwhile in the new bar, a sketchy run down looking thing with flickering strobe lights, you find yourself situated between two patrons in a world of their own.

As you waited for the service droid to serve you, a small shift from you caught the attention of the man on the left. A rugged looking man with a rather stale odor to match.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” His inquiry, laced with unwanted charm, sent a shiver down your spine as you maintained a polite smile, avoiding direct eye contact.

“In this dump? Not quite sure. But, just here for one drink,” you replied, hoping to discourage further conversation.

The man chuckled, a smug grin etching lines on his worn face, followed by a troubling cough that was hacked into a dirty rag that makes you squirm. “That so?” He asks after his coughing fit. “Mind if I get ya one?"

"I'll get it myself. Thanks for the offer," you replied, freezing him in his tracks.

"Heh, you think you're too good for me?" he retorted, his gaze piercing.

Sighing, you turned to face him, attempting to maintain composure amidst his growing aggression. "I didn't say anything like that. I'm here to buy my own drink and leave."

But as his tone escalated and his proximity grew, you reached your breaking point. Despite your attempts to politely decline, he persisted, his invasive advances refusing to relent, leaving you feeling increasingly uncomfortable and trapped.

Until you snapped.

Hunter found himself darting his head into every bar and club, your current whereabouts unknown. Frustration gnawed at him as he went to check your location only to see you had switched it off, thwarting his attempts to track you down.

However, a subtle whiff in the air caught his attention, and his stomach churned. The same sensation he developed whenever the smell hit him. He finds himself gulping a little as he instantly recognised the faint scent of the floral soap that only you used.

It left a lingering trace, teasing him that he was on the right track. A part of him wanted to clear the scent away; he had smelled it so often in the Marauder that it always sent his mind into a spiral of confusion and found it rather distracting.

His thoughts on your scent dissipated as the sound of loud banging reverberated down a stairway to a rundown bar. Hunter froze, his senses sharpening as he listened intently. The familiar sound of your voice had him bolting down the steps, instincts kicking in as he rushed to your aid. Or so he thought he had to.

Upon entering, Hunter's heart quickened its pace as he was greeted with the sight of you, hands raised in a defensive stance, facing off against a man whose laughter echoed brashly in your face. The tension in the air was thick as you snapped, “Keep your dirty, mucus breath away from me!”

The man, undeterred by your sharp words, retorted with a smirk, “That ain’t very ladylike of you, sweet cheeks. Calm down and have a drink with me.”

Your nostrils flared in anger, steam seemingly emanating from you as you glared daggers at him. “I said no,” you snarled, your voice dripping with venom. “And call me ‘sweet cheeks’ one more time, I’ll kick you between the legs so hard it won’t be the cough you’re choking on!”

As the confrontation intensified, Hunter's eyes widened in surprise and concern as he watched from a few feet away, momentarily frozen by the scene unfolding before him.

Then, his protective side kicks in, taking a step forward, the need to intervene pulsing through his veins. He speaks your name which causes you to freeze and glance over your shoulder to meet his penetrating gaze. Great.

Meanwhile, the man, sensing the shift in dynamics, glanced over your shoulder too and directed a question at Hunter. “Oi, bandana, does she belong to you?”

Your eyes flashed with defiance as you interrupted before Hunter could respond, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “I don’t belong to nobody, let’s get that right,” you hissed, your gaze locked in a fierce glare with the patron.

“You best listen to her,” Hunter piped up, stepping in between you and the man with a protective stance. “But,” he continued, turning to look at you, “I think me and you should get going.”

You stared at the clone, a wave of anger and confusion washing over you. What game was he playing? First, he mocked you, and now he was trying to act like Prince Charming? So, you shook your head adamantly. “I’ve still not had my drink.”

“I said I’ll buy you one,” the patron quipped.

“Will you shut up?” Both you and Hunter snapped at the same time, sharing a surprised glance at the oddity of the moment, but quickly brushing it off. You nudged past him and leaned back on the bartop, determined to get the attention of the service droid.

Hunter's sigh was loud as he stood beside you, gesturing for you to follow him, but you persisted with a shake of your head. You came for a drink, and you would leave with one.

Just as you thought things couldn't get any worse, the patron approached you, reaching a hand towards you. But Hunter was already on the case, swatting the man's hand away with a swift motion. “Lay a finger on her and I’ll break all of yours. Leave.”

You stared at the back of Hunter’s head, your eyes wide in surprise at his tone and sudden threat. He was always a commanding presence, but never to this extent. It made you feel a strange mix of emotions, a tingling sensation spreading from your belly to the tips of your fingers.

The man glanced between you and Hunter, his expression a mixture of defiance and resignation, before taking a final swig of his drink. With a nod of his head, he seemed prepared to leave, but not without delivering a parting shot.

“Put her on a leash next time.”

Despite Hunter's heightened senses, he was not quick enough to respond as you pivoted on your heel and unleashed a hefty punch straight to the man’s nose. The force of the blow sent him sprawling to the ground, landing hard on his rear.

The man, stunned and ready to retaliate, found himself abruptly halted by a boot pressed firmly to his chest, courtesy of the tall Clone. With his hands raised in defense, he hesitated.

“Apologise to the lady,” Hunter demanded, his voice firm and unwavering.

“Forget it, Hunter,” you muttered, adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you shook out your hand. “I’m not going to ask someone or force someone to apologise to me.” There was a certain edge in your voice, a subtle reminder of Hunter's own failure to say sorry for his earlier words.

Unfortunately, the disruption had drawn the attention of the service droid (finally), and you and Hunter were promptly forced to leave.

As you were ushered out, you wasted no time in striding ahead, your steps heavy with frustration. The rhythmic tap of your boots echoed against the pavement, a stark contrast to the fading sounds of the bar behind you.

"Hey, wait up!" Hunter's voice called after you, but you were resolute in your determination not to stop. You didn't want him to see your tears, didn't want to show any vulnerability in front of him. Not after everything that had just happened. Not after that painful punch that felt like hitting a brick wall.

Ignoring his calls, you continued forward, your jaw clenched tightly to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. But your pace was abruptly halted as Hunter caught up to you, using his body as a barrier as he stopped directly in front of you.

"Come on, we need to talk. I need to—Are you crying?" Hunter's voice softened, concern evident in his tone as he noticed the telltale signs of tears glistening in your eyes.

"No!" you snapped back, a reflexive denial, but the tremble in your voice betrayed your true emotions.

Hunter sighed softly, his shoulders slumping slightly as he realised the depth of your distress. "Let’s get back to the ship. We can talk there," he suggested gently, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

A part of you wanted to stay stubborn, to refuse his offer and continue on your own path to perhaps another bar. But the night was growing darker, and the pain in your hand from the earlier punch was becoming increasingly unbearable. With a resigned nod, you reluctantly allowed Hunter to guide you back to the port.

Once inside the ship, the air felt heavier with tension as you stood in the cramped space, watching intently as Hunter meticulously sifted through the clutter of supplies and equipment scattered around. With a focused determination, he located a medkit.

When you insisted that you didn't need him to attend to your injury, considering it wasn't that serious, Hunter's expression hardened, his voice taking on a stern edge. "Yeah? Want to explain why there’s now blood on the ship floor?" The sharpness in his tone made your face flush with embarrassment as you glanced down, noticing the small tear in your skin that had resulted from the brief scuffle.

"Oh," you muttered awkwardly, feeling hot under Hunter's scrutiny.

“Sit here.” Without missing a beat, Hunter gestured for you to sit on a nearby crate, his demeanor firm yet oddly reassuring. As he patted the surface in front of him, you couldn't help but wonder about his motives. Was it your earlier words about his lack of apology that lingered in his mind, prompting this gesture of care? Or was there another reason behind his actions? The uncertainty gnawed at you, but deep down, a part of you couldn't deny the comfort of his presence in that moment.

“I don’t need coddling,” you mumbled half-heartedly, attempting to maintain a facade of independence despite the conflicting emotions swirling within you. Nevertheless, your feet moved almost of their own accord, carrying you towards Hunter as you settled yourself onto the crate in front of him.

"Oh, I know, you handled yourself well," Hunter chuckled softly, his hands moving deftly as he pulled out pads to dab at your skin, preparing to disinfect the area. “I want to help you… if you’ll let me.”

You grumbled in response, your eyes trained on his hands as they worked. "Ha, next joke please."

Hunter raised a brow at you, his expression serious for a moment. "I mean it," he insisted, his tone earnest.

You couldn't help but scoff, the bitterness of his previous criticism still fresh in your mind. "Yet I’m reckless and a danger to others?" you retorted, your voice tinged with sarcasm and frustration.

A heavy sigh escaped Hunter's lips, and he paused in his actions, looking you directly in the eye, though you were doing your hardest not to meet his gaze. "I want to say sorry for what I said. I… I should have said it to you alone. And differently."

You could hear the slight awkwardness in his tone, but it did come across as honest. Yet, you were still annoyed. “Yeah well, you completely embarrassed and upset me.”

He blinked, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as your voice took on a gentle tone tinged with sadness. “I know, and I am sorry. Truly. But, I only said it because…” he trailed off for a moment, his eyes trained on the medkit again, as if searching for the answer within.

“Because?” You prompted him, giving his leg a small nudge with your foot.

“Because I care. I don’t want you taking risks like I do. Like what the others do.” Hunter's admission hung in the air, revealing a layer of concern and perhaps a touch of vulnerability.

There was a gravity to Hunter's words, a weight that seemed to hang in the air, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions within you. It was as if his sudden sincerity reached out and tugged at the strings of your heart, tempting you to lean into the warmth of his presence. But you resisted, holding back the urge to act on the tumultuous feelings that were suddenly swirling inside you.

“You certainly have an odd way with words in that case,” you found yourself saying, your voice slightly breathless as you struggled to make sense of the complex emotions churning within you. Hunter seemed to notice the subtle change in your demeanor, his senses catching the telltale signs of your heightened heartbeat.

“You’re not wrong,” he admitted quietly, his own voice apologetic. With gentle precision, he applied some bactaspray to your knuckles, his touch light yet reassuring. As he dabbed away the blood, you couldn't help but hiss in pain, the sting overlapping the odd flutter in your heart.

“My apologies,” Hunter murmured, his gaze meeting yours with sincerity.

Despite the slight discomfort, there was a flicker of amusement in your eyes as you watched him meticulously care for your hand. Never had you seen him so gentle and so indulged at the task at hand.

As you watched Hunter, the smirk gradually faded from your lips, replaced by a sense of awe as your eyes traced the finer details of his face. His strong jawline, the depth of his intoxicating eyes, and the tattoo that adorned his skin, its colors slightly faded but still complimenting his rugged appearance perfectly. His long locks, usually tucked back by his bandana, had fallen forward, framing his face in a way that emphasised his rugged charm.

You came to a sudden realisation of just how handsome he was. Of course, you had always known it on some level, but now it struck you with a new intensity that made your heart quicken and your cheeks flush with a sudden shyness.

“So, do you forgive me?” Hunter's voice broke through your reverie, pulling you back to reality and you found yourself momentarily lost in the depths of his gaze.

“Sorry, what?” you blinked, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks as you snapped out of your reverie, realizing you had been lost in awe-struck admiration of Hunter.

He chuckled softly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he raised a brow at your dazed stare. “No, it’s me who is the one saying ‘sorry’ this time.” With a gentle touch, he guided your attention back to your injured hand, his movements careful and deliberate as he applied a dressing before neatly packing the medkit away. “But I’ll ask again, do you forgive me?”

“Oh,” you mumbled, feeling a mixture of confusion, shyness, and bashfulness under his attentive gaze. “I suppose… just please don’t do it again.”

“You have my word,” he nodded, his smile warm and reassuring. When his gaze met yours, the swirling storm of your emotions came back, and your heart raced even faster than before when he extended his hand towards you.

You tried to play it off as a simple gesture to help you off the crate, but as you placed your good hand into his, there was a gentle squeeze in his touch before he effortlessly pulled you forward, almost causing you to stumble into his chest.

“Oh!- oh,” you stammered, quickly steadying yourself but growing increasingly aware of the proximity between you and the Sergeant.

His eyes remained locked on yours, his head tilting slightly to the side as he studied your reaction. “Everything alright?” he asked, his voice soft, the warmth of his hand still lingering on yours.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you nodded firmly, though the erratic thumping of your heart betrayed your composure, and you couldn't shake the feeling that Hunter could sense it, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Tell me,” his voice was hushed, his warm breath brushing against your features as he leaned in closer, “why is your heart beating so fast?”

You gulped, feeling his proximity overwhelming your senses as you searched his eyes for an answer, but all you found was a reflection of your own turmoil. The truth was written in the depths of your gaze, but your words failed you, and you found yourself stuttering over your thoughts, unable to form a coherent sentence. It was as if the weight of your unspoken feelings hung heavy in the air between you.

“If I’m not mistaken,” Hunter spoke aloud, his other hand moving to gently push a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “I can’t help but wonder if you…” He trailed off, uncertainty lacing his words, but he couldn't ignore the palpable tension that crackled between you any longer, “if you have feelings for me.”

“Do you truly care about me?” you asked, your voice a delicate whisper tinged with a shyness as you found yourself yearning to inch just a tad closer to Hunter's body. Every nerve in your body seemed to hum with anticipation, the air thick with unspoken desires.

Sensing your feelings, Hunter gently pushed you back with his body, his touch sending a shiver down your spine as your legs hit the crate behind you. His eyes, dark and intense, bore into yours as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You don’t understand how much I care,” his voice rumbled low, the depth of his emotions evident in his tone. “I’ve never cared about anyone so much in my life.”

With just the two of you here, the atmosphere crackled with an electrifying tension, each heartbeat echoing in the silence as you teetered on the edge of something unspoken yet undeniable.

“Well,” you whispered, your injured hand reaching out to touch his chest, your fingers tracing the contours of his shirt as if seeking reassurance, “maybe I do too. Maybe I do have feelings for you.”

A sigh, almost a mix of a moan and relief, escaped Hunter's lips at your words. “Come here to me,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

Without hesitation, you closed the distance between the pair of you, your lips meeting his in a somewhat long-awaited embrace. Hunter's arms enveloped you, one hand cradling your body with a firm yet gentle touch, while the other slid to the back of your head, holding you close with a tenderness that made your heart flutter as his fingers tangled in your hair.

Lifting you, you're placed on top of the crate once again, Hunter sandwiched between your legs as you both savor the quiet and serene moment. Your bitterness had vanished, replaced with the soft taste of his tongue dancing with yours. An alcoholic tang.

For a moment, all the tension, all the longing and arguing melted away as you molded into each other, lost in the sweetness of the kiss and the warmth of each other's embrace. “Hunter,” you whimper breathlessly.

You hoped the others wouldn’t come back for a while.

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thesunisatangerine · 4 months

Text

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part twelve (final part)

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: mentions of grief, suggestive content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 5.2k

This wasn’t the first time you caught yourself thinking how difficult it was to have two professional athletes in your life, and it also wasn’t the first time you wondered how their bodies could store so much energy.

“Princess, slow down a bit. I think your mom needs to rest again.”

Even with the distance, you could hear the teasing cadence in Alexia’s voice, made prominent by the use of her mother tongue, and you watched as the both of them slowly came to a halt, turning their heads to look at you over their shoulders. At the extra attention, your cheeks heated with more than the exertion and, as pride urged you to save face, you pushed yourself to pedal quicker so you could lose the distance between you and them, stopping with a relieved wheeze when you finally arrived at their tail. Although amusement graced their features with a lightness, their ever-present disquietude–try as they might to hide it–shone clear in their eyes for you to see.

“Mom, are you okay?” Came Elisa’s question and, upon removing her cycling sunglasses, you found her brows furrowed.

You only managed to give her a thumbs up as your breath still eluded you, but when it returned, you added, “Yep. Just–just need a minute to catch my breath.”

“Seriously, Mom, you don’t have to push yourself too much.” Elisa placed a gentle hand on your back, rubbing circles as if she was trying to expel the malaise there.

“Ladybug, I appreciate the concern, really, and I may be no athlete but I can do this, thank you very much.”

Elisa raised her brow at you, clearly unconvinced, before she muttered deliberately loud enough for you to hear, her tone excessively dry. “Yeah? At this rate, by the time we get to the beach, the sun will be gone.”

Despite your state, a laugh bubbled from your throat when Alexia flicked Elisa’s arm who yelped dramatically, scaring a couple of birds to flight from a nearby tree, before she grinned and stuck her tongue out at Alexia.

“Be nice,” Alexia reprimanded but the quirk at the corner of her lips betrayed the seriousness of her tone, clearly amused.

Elisa grumbled as she rubbed her arm, “I’m not the one who’s making her laugh! If she passes out, it’s on you.”

Ignoring Elisa’s point, Alexia reached out and rubbed your arm in a soothing manner, speaking softly, “But really, love, if you can’t go on, we’ll just Uber there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m fine.” You grunted, letting a bit of your annoyance bleed in your tone, but you appreciated the thought behind their concern nonetheless. It was just, Alexia and Elisa’s protectiveness exceeded that of Derek’s–a feat in and of itself–and no matter how much you tried to assuage their doubts, they still hovered. And the only way to stop it was to let them know you were vexed. Then you added with a huff, “You two just have such ridiculous stamina. It’s not fair.”

“Alright, as long as you say so.” Alexia said, taking your answer in stride by putting her hands up as if in surrender. But then she smirked, adding in a low tone, “And it’s well earned, my love.”

Your brows raised, both surprised and pleased with the innuendo, before you smirked back and spoke in the same tone as she did. “And so you say.”

The moment was broken when Elisa let out a mixture between a sigh and a groan.

“No offense, but if you guys are done flirting, could we please get a move on? We’re about to lose daylight.”

At that, the three of you started again, Elisa taking the lead as Alexia fell into pace beside you. Then Alexia turned to you, mischief clear in the gleam in her eyes, and she muttered, “Remind me to tease her the next time Camilo comes over, hm?”

“I heard that!”

Much to Elisa’s delight, the three of you arrived at the beach with just enough time to spare before the sun began to set. You got off your bikes and began to lead it by your sides as the three of you began to walk the length of the shore.

Apart from a handful of people strolling about, the beach was barren today, and the lack of a crowd made the place more peaceful to you. And as buried your toes further into the pleasantly lukewarm sand, as you took in the breeze delivered home by the waves which carried a breath of freshness and a promise of another good day in the morrow, you regarded the sun, in her blazing glory, painting the skies with one last glimpse of her radiance.

Enraptured by the sight, you stopped and rested your bike against your thigh, rummaged through your bag for your camera to capture it. Once done, you turned to Alexia and Elisa who were farther along now, seemingly so immersed in their conversation that they hadn’t noticed you’d lagged behind. You watched them, their figures half bathed in the titian brilliance of the setting sun which made their shadows stretch long along the shoreline, and the sight stirred emotions in your chest that you felt compelled to capture them as they were: Alexia with her arm across Elisa’s back, one hand on Elisa’s broadening shoulder, while both of their bikes rested on their outer legs. As you were looking through the viewfinder, you saw Elisa’s bike fall to its side as Elisa wrapped her arms around Alexia, alarming you at first before you saw the scene as it was. You didn’t dare approach them; the moment, you perceived, was too tender for such an intrusion so you remained where you were, capturing the scene with your camera for safekeeping.

Shortly after, they walked back towards you in silence. Alexia’s gaze remained casted down as she tried to subtly brush her tears away with the back of her hand but when she caught your gaze, she knew you knew, but instead of asking about it, you only gave her an understanding smile–she’d tell you when she was ready. But Elisa, much as she tried, had always struggled with keeping her countenance free from emotions–a stark contrast to Alexia who, from years of practice, could school her features to faultless stoicism in a moment–and couldn’t deter the somberness from showing on her face for when she smiled at you as if to pacify you, her lips remained crooked with telltale signs of her affliction, chin trembling. The sight tugged at your heart, as it always did whenever you saw any of them this way, so you reached and cupped her cheek, brushing your thumb under her eye to try and soothe her. Elisa closed her eyes at your touch and when she opened them again, the weight in them looked lighter, and you smiled.

As the last traces of the sun sank under the horizon, you loaded your bikes on the rack attached to Elisa’s car which you parked there earlier that day, and Elsia drove up the mountain you just rode down on so she could drop you both off at Alexia’s car. Once there, Elisa helped you unload your bikes from her car and transfer it to the other car, and then it was time for goodbyes.

Alexia had to crane her neck up slightly so she could rest her chin against Elisa’s shoulder as they hugged. Alexia kissed her cheek, then patted her on the back as she said, “Drive safe, love. And don’t be late tomorrow.”

“I will and got it, Coach. I love you.”

You stepped in next, kissing Elisa, too, on the cheek as she stooped down to wrap her arms around you.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, ladybug. I love you. Be safe.”

“See you, Mom, and I love you, too.”

With that, the glow from the taillights of Elisa’s car receded into the darkness while the both of you got into Alexia’s car, heading for home. The ride was quiet except from the music that came from the radio, the volume so low it was almost like a hum, as Alexia drove with a steady hand, her face impassive but her eyes disclosed she was anything but serene.

Still, you held your tongue.

You had chipped away at Alexia’s emotional wall over the years you’d known her, enough that she now allowed herself to be vulnerable around you without being prompted to open up, but there were still instances which required patience, moments that asked for time until she was ready to come to you. And this was one of those times.

It didn’t worry you too much, though. The both of you had agreed to never let anything go unsaid–to never let things fester–until the next morning, so you gave her space now to mull things over.

Later that night, as expected, after spending the majority of the evening in her office, she greeted you with a soft murmur of your name, taking your hand and kissing the back of it as she settled on her side of the bed, drawing your attention away from the book you were reading.

“Are you ready to talk about it now?” You asked softly, putting your book aside on the bedside table, shifting against the pillow you were propped on so you could see her better. The angle of the light casted shadows on her face and made the lines that time etched on her face more prominent, and it made her look more inviting; her earthly beauty made more resplendent.

The question that came was spoken with the faintest of air.

“What do you see when you look at me?”

At first, the question confounded you and for a moment, you were at a loss for words to answer her. But as you continued to regard her with an even more careful eye, you found a silent vulnerability in her eyes, so heartrendingly delicate, a rare look you only saw whenever she talked about–Oh.

Oh, Alexia…

Emotions surged through you, chest tightening as it ached with your lover; as it ached for the pain and grief that will forever live with her–for the love in her that had nowhere to go, permanently in search for a beloved soul.

Gently, you cradled her face in your hands, soaking in every feature, every freckle, every blemish and every line. You carded your fingers through her hair, consoling, then you traced her brow with the pad of your thumb before you kissed her temple and lingered there, then the skin just beneath her eye, then the bridge of her nose, and then the corner of her lips.

“I see… everything that makes you,” you breathed out, voice trembling under the weight of your emotions. “Your mother’s brows and the color of her eyes… the shape of your father’s eyes, his nose, his smile. Their love lives in your skin and it’s all you, Alexia. I see you. Oh, how I see you.”

At your words, Alexia’s face broke: her lips trembled, brows furrowing, while tears streamed down her cheeks. Then she dropped her head to your shoulder, a sob leaving her throat as she clung to you and you held her just as tight.

“I miss him.” Alexia choked out, “God, I miss him so much. It’s been so long and yet it still feels like I only just lost him today.”

Oh, the familiar paroxysms of grief. Most days, you remained untouched by their shadows but the intensity by which they instill the pain of loss when they did get you, how they stretch that empty space in your heart into an abyss filled with teeth, was something else entirely. Agonizing, yes, but it was also a bittersweet repose for it served as a reminder of who loved you and who you loved.

The moment that followed was spent in silence, apart from the soft stutter of Alexia’s breaths.

“I told Elisa that her parents would be proud of her, that I wish I could meet them and tell them all about how their daughter turned out to be this wonderful person. And you know what she said?” Alexia laughed, teary and voice hoarse. “She told me she wished she could meet Papá but at the same time, she felt like she already had. She told me I look just like him.”

“You do. And he’d be so proud of you, you know?” You whispered as your own tears fell while you gripped her hand in yours. “And I wish I could’ve met him, too, and Elisa’s.”

Alexia lifted her head so she could look at you, murmuring softly, “And I wished I could’ve met yours, too.”

Through the night, you exchanged whispered stories of the past as you held each other, shedding tears at Alexia’s recollections, laughing at the memories. But how sad it was that loss made your shadows long, all three of you? And how beautiful it was that one’s capacity for love–though at times could stray or waver–could never truly be lost even after a deprivation from the loss of a source? But wasn’t that how lives intertwine? Through shared suffering? Through the bitter grief and the sweetest joy? And wasn’t it where lives intertwined that love bloomed? And in this world of shadows–in these long, seemingly endless nights–warmth and light were all the more precious, and love… Love was both of those things and more: it was an enduring flame, so quintessentially human, an evermore of the sublimest kind.

Love was never lost, you knew this. Life would end but love would always remain; it did long before you, and it would continue on long after you.

But you were here, in love, loved, and alive. Could you ask for something better than this state of grace?

The answer echoed in clarity in your mind long before Alexia’s comforting warmth and the gentle beat of her heart had lulled you to sleep.

No.

Nothing could ever come close to this.

Tomorrow came with a splendid radiance, casting everything in a golden tone likened to that of a developed photograph which made the colors vibrant and inviting; the kind that promised that the memories made today would be looked fondly back on in one’s recollections. Waking up to the sight of Alexia in your arms made today all the more brighter for she held the vision to what the world had to offer; all the beauty and warmth in this world began and ended with her.

True to her words, Elisa appeared on the porch first thing in the morning. You opened the door for her, which also revealed her hand intertwined with Camilo's, who looked on devotedly at you daughter as she stepped into Alexia’s embrace, and then yours.

The three of you had prepared most of the things yesterday before you went cycling, but there was still much to do before the hour came for the others to arrive. So, the four of you paired up and went to work. Alexia and Elisa were delegated to setting up outside, while you and Camilo set up inside.

Your attention flitted to the two of them outside as you cooked but before the end of the hour, they’d finish installing the extension roof over the open gazebo, had moved and arranged the tables and chairs, and finished spreading a light blue linen over the tables before laying a strip of folded fabric of a lighter color in the middle. As for you and Camilo, you’d about finished with the arròs negre and the fideuà when Alexia and Elisa came in.

They stepped into the kitchen to grab the plates, glasses, and utensils laid on the counter–but not before Alexia snuck in a sweet kiss on your cheek, a diversion, you thought, so she could steal a spoonful of the fideuà; Elisa, too, grabbed a bite to eat which was fed to her with gentle affection by her lover–which they then arranged on the table.

After a moment of tending to the food, you looked through the opening that gave a view outside and saw the two setting up the party games for the kids. In an act true to their professions, they’d began setting up Elisa’s old folding goal posts, the backyard expansive enough to accommodate them, even sneaking in a couple of juggles and shots after they’d inflated a handful of balls.

(When Alexia caught your eye, she rubbed the back of her neck, putting a hand up in apology–Elisa laughed but she immediately shut her mouth to a bashful smile when your eyes flitted to her–before the both of them returned to their task.)

You watched Camilo in awe as he worked on the coca bread, empanadas, and ensaimadas all at once while you started on the esqueixada. Although you’d seen more of his intricate works, it wasn’t the first time you caught yourself amazed by the skills and work ethics of the aspiring patissier. After the last batch of pastry was put in the oven, the first of your guests arrived.

To your surprise–but not really for you had held enough family gatherings to expect it–you and Alexia’s immediate families came first, more than an hour early, and Elisa was greeted and congratulated as Eli, Alba, your mom, Derek and Robert, and their two-year-old daughter, Olivia, passed the door Elisa had opened for them.

And in typical fashion, their maternal instincts kicked in and Eli and your mom gathered around the kitchen, looking over the food, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at them as they fussed over you, not with malice, until you playfully shooed them away.

“Honestly, we can hold down the fort here. Right, Camilo?”

Camilo, bless his shy and gentle soul, flushed, darkening the olive complexion of his cheeks, as he just nodded in agreement.

You stuck your thumb to the direction of the back field and said, “The two outside, however, might need a little help.”

At that, you heard an offended, “Hey!”

(It was Alexia.)

But your mom, Eli, and Alba proceeded to the back, placating the pouting Alexia with a hug, and they chatted and caught up while they helped Alexia with the grill.

About half an hour later, Mapi and Ingrid arrived with Anton–their toddler of one and a half years old–asleep in Mapi’s arms. Alexia’d welcomed them in, embracing her old teammates, which roused Anton from his sleep. When Mapi set him down, he blinked around, taking in his surroundings with his big eyes, and when they settled on Olivia, he giggled and stuck his tiny hands out, recognising a familiar, friendly face.

Olivia and Anton played in the living under Ingrid and Derek’s supervision, the two of them chatting on the couch, while Mapi and Robert came over to check on you and Camilo. They then headed out into the back and shortly after, laughter filtered inside and when you looked through the yawning, Robert was gesturing wildly in the air, and, you believed, he’d started telling one of his intricately conceived comedies to his audience.

When Ingrid and Derek brough Anton and Olivia outside, Eli and your mom–as was the tendency of grandparents presented with children–fussed over the little ones, cooing and awwing at their slightest movement. You stopped what you were doing to take in the warm scene, so distracted were you that you didn’t feel Alexia’s presence until she’d wrapped an arm around your waist as she placed a kiss on your temple.

You sighed, leaning into her touch, but you remembered you’d been in the kitchen for the last couple of hours. So, you pushed her away gently with your shoulder, whining, “Stop, I smell like food.”

To your chagrin, Alexia turned you around with enough force to make you squeal, before she made a show of burrowing her nose in the crook of your neck, breathing in loudly, and the movement tickled a giggle from your lips.

“Alexia!” You smacked her shoulder playfully, still laughing. “Stop, seriously, I smell horrible!”

“Oh, really? I can’t really tell. You smell delicious all the same.” She muttered against your ear, a hand splayed just over the bottom of your right rib. The statement made you flush in spite of yourself, your body too in tune with her wiles and you found yourself stepping closer to her before you remembered where you were.

“Alexia, our mothers are literally right there, don’t start.” You warned her under your breath, glancing where said persons were sitting beneath the shade of the gazebo, doting over the little ones.

“Fine,” sighed Alexia, pouting, but she took the ladle from you anyway, kissing you on the cheek. “Go freshen up and I’ll look after the food.”

“Thank you. I’ll be quick so you can shower before the rest gets here.”

You pecked her on the lips, grateful, and just when you thought she’d finally stopped with her shenanigans, a mischievous gleam glazed over her eyes and Alexia said with a suggestive half-smile.

“Or I can always join you? You know, to save water and all that.” She spoke it in a smug way, like someone who was pleased at having said the last words. And you were about to reprimand her again until you remembered something. When Alexia got like this, there was only one way to go about it: to play her game.

So you looked at her, making sure you dropped your lids just enough–the change in your demeanor instantly noticed by the way she stilled, staring at you with wide eyes and bated breath–and you stepped into her space, trailing a finger from her chest to her collarbone before you wrapped your arms loosely around her neck, going on your tiptoes and craning your neck forward until your lips brushed her ear.

“Keep that up and you won’t get any tonight.” You whispered low. You didn’t miss the way she shivered against you and you relished it. “You do want to take me, don’t you?”

Alexia nodded, as if on autopilot, her figure stiff.

“Okay. So, play nice until I get back, yeah?”

Alexia croaked out an agreement and, satisfied, you pulled back, taking in Alexia’s appearance, her pupils now blown and a delicious crimson streak had painted her cheeks, lips now slightly parted. With one last peck to her lips, you fled the kitchen.

When you passed the living room to get to the stairs, you saw Mapi and Derek sitting on the couch, and, upon seeing you, their lips curled into a knowing smirk, and Derek–the jerk–had the audacity to wag his brows at you.

“I think you broke her.” Mapi wheezed out while Derek clapped a hand on his thigh as he laughed. Your cheeks flushed and you ducked your head as you flew up the stairs.

After immersing yourself in a much needed cold shower, you headed down to the kitchen and relieved Alexia–who was still more than a little dazed when you got back to her– from her kitchen duty with a placating kiss on the cheek so she could freshen up herself. Half an hour later saw you and Camilo, and with a little help from Derek and Alba, finished with moving most of the food to the table outside, just in time as most of your guests arrived.

One minute there were only a handful of people lounging in the backyard, the next the space was lively with music and the sound of amiable company; the chatter from friends and family. The lunch commenced and after the toast for Elisa’s recent signing under Barçelona Femeni’s First Division, Elisa stood to thank everyone for coming. And then, she turned to you and Alexia, who wrapped an arm around your waist, steady and strong.

“To my mom and Coach,” Elisa’s deliberate emphasis drew laughter from everyone, while Alexia raised her brow, lips quirking in amusement at the light jibe.

“To my mom and Mamá,” Elisa corrected herself, and she proceeded with a choked voice, eyes reddening, “I am forever grateful for what you’ve done for me. For all your love, your continued support and comfort, and for believing in me. I love you. I love you so much.”

You clasped a hand over your own lips in fear that a sob would escape them but tears spilled down your face all the same, and you gripped Alexia’s hand on your hip as your chest filled with love. When you turned to Alexia, her lips were pressed in a thin line, chin trembling, as she tried to keep the tears at bay, her eyes, like yours, shone with pride.

And so there you were, much later, under the shade of one of the trees in the backyard, nursing a glass of something stronger than champagne–Mojito to be exact–regarding the scene before you with a warmness that, you knew, transcended that of the sun’s.

Elisa was in jovial conversation with her friends and Ingrid–football related, you supposed, by the way Ingrid gestured in the air and the way her juniors were listening attentively; Camilo engaged in what seemed to be an interview by your mom and Eli–for recipes, most likely–while Derek and Lucía–Irene’s wife–looked on them with amused expressions as the both of them talked; Mapi and Robert partook in a game of football as goalkeepers on opposite teams: Mapi, Mateo, and Olivia against Robert, Gabriel–Irene and Lucía’s second son, Mateo’s junior of three years–and Anton; Alexia and Irene, meanwhile, stood to one side, their hands clasped behind their backs, as they stood a vigilant watch over the children, commenting on the game with a light tone, exclaiming and clapping their hands every now, true to their profession.

The air was filled with glee, painting the atmosphere with a lightness of not only of the physical sense, but also of being that you couldn’t help but reminisce.

Alexia retired from football about two years prior but, as expected, the sport was never really done with her–or her with it. So, the Number Eleven jersey may have been put away, but Coach Alexia Putellas was very much involved with the growth of new Blaugrana bloods, involving herself with–and quite capably–developing and guiding Barça’s youth team. Although she was called to lead the Spanish Women’s National Football Team, after their years of continuous fighting for reform, Alexia rejected the offer for–in her own words–her heart belonged to Barcelona, leaving the responsibility to fall on Irene’s shoulders who had accomplished plenty in the short time she’d managed the team.

You, on the other hand, flourished in sport photography, accompanying Alexia or Elisa in most of their matches as per your contract with the club. But you were still very much part of the firm you and Derek built, larger now, involving yourself in its internal affairs and, if necessary, partaking in the journalistic side of things.

Speaking of, after Derek and Robert moved in together somewhere in your home city–even more so after Olivia was born–he gave you this Barcelona house despite your deep insistence that you’d buy it from him, but not without saying a little side remark, ‘You guys did the nasty there already. Keep it.’

You’d always wondered where home was, but now, as you took in the scene before you, and even more when you beheld the woman walking towards you, you knew, in your heart, where it was.

When she got to you, Alexia took your hand, lifted it, and she twirled you around gently, taking your glass from your other hand and placing it on a nearby surface. And as you stopped, she stepped into the space behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist as the both of you settled to a gentle sway in time with the music.

“What are you doing back here all by yourself?” She asked beside your ear but not before she pressed a chaste kiss on the side of your head.

“Just thinking.” You murmured, closing your eyes for a moment to better savor the feel of her body, strong and gentle.

Alexia hummed, you felt the rumble of it from her chest before you heard it right beside your ear, melodic, before she pressed a kiss on your bare shoulder. “About what, my love?”

“This. Us.” You lifted one of her hands, brushed your lips over her knuckles. “You.”

“All good things, I hope?”

“With you? Always.”

The both of you swayed and simply watched the scene in silence for a moment. Then a thought occurred to you but as you were about to voice it, Alexia beat you to it.

“The kids, they grow up so fast.” Alexia said in a wistful tone.

“They do. I still can’t believe Elisa turned 18 this year.”

Alexia sighed, “Oh, to be young again.”

You snickered. “You make it sound like we’re so much older. And it’s not that bad, is it?”

“No, not really.” A pause, then, “But that’s less time left loving you both.”

The softness of her answer wasn’t lost to you and your mind went to the conversation you had just the night before and your heart ached, so full with your love for this woman. You leaned back, enough that you could feel the way her heart beat through her shirt, and you squeezed her hand.

You turned your head so you could rest your forehead against the line of her jaw, closing your eyes as you sighed, “You know, you say and do these things that make me fall in love with you all over again.”

“Good. I’d like to keep it that way.” Alexia murmured. “And I will never stop loving you. You’re my person, always. I did tell you, didn’t I?”

The memory of white fabric, white petals thrown in a line between the pew chairs, trembling hands; the way the sun light shone on Alexia’s light brown hair and spun gold in them, her hazel eyes glassy and earnest and filled with so much love, and then, her words of promise; of always and forever.

She’d taken your right hand into the open palm of her left, a twin set of silver bands that rested on the fourth finger of each hand glinting in the late afternoon sun, as she pressed further into you, her cheek now resting against your temple. With your other hand, you cradled hers, tracing the coolness of the metal on her finger with your thumb.

Then you whispered, “I love you, Alexia. So much.”

“And I love you, my wife.”

And just like all the times you’d heard it, you shivered all the same.

“I’ll never tire of hearing that.” You admitted as you turned in the embrace, immediately wrapping your arms loosely around Alexia’s neck after, fingers gently playing with her hair as you looked into those resplendent and doting eyes. And you asked just barely above a whisper, “Can you say it again?”

She brushed a strand behind your ear, tracing the line of your brow before her hands settled on your hips, eyes now lidded with even more affection.

“Ask me who I am.” Alexia said in the same tone, leaning close that you could feel the brush of her lips over yours.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Alexia,” she whispered, and then she added with a smile.

“Your wife.”

And then, you kissed her.

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n:#weve finally come to the end and i just want to say thank you all for the love and support #i hope you stay safe this new year's eve and i hope 2024 will treat you all kindly #again; thank you #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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hello-eeveev · 24 days

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How to Rest: Director's Commentary—Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is for cozy vibes, further establishing themes, and lightly pushing my grey-ace Caleb Widogast agenda. Chapter 2 Commentary is for discussing where Caleb’s head is at at this point in my timeline for this fic series and why it’s there, and further explaining my grey-ace Caleb Widogast agenda. In fact, I’m realizing that this chapter is kind of a companion piece to On the Nature of Attraction and I’m posting this on its anniversary! What perfect timing!

Let’s get started!

(spoiler warning for the entirely of How to Rest)

The setting for this is New Dawn, aka Exandrian New Year. It’s snowing in Rexxentrum and Essek visits Caleb to welcome in the new year. I imagine that just before this chapter begins, they had a nice dinner. I wrote this back before Mighty Nein Reunited came in and made my fics not canon-compliant, so I was working under the assumption that Beau and Yasha also lived in Rexxentrum, so maybe Caleb and Essek had dinner with them or maybe they stayed in. That can be up to the reader. Either way, it’s time for a fireplace, hot chocolate, and a cat, so it’s cozy vibes all around.

Let’s discuss the cat. I love cats. I don’t think that really leads into the discussion, but I gotta say it. It’s probably also pretty evident in how I wrote the cat. Anyway.

I haven’t written Caleb as adopting any cats of his own yet, and that’s because even this long after the campaign ended (1.5 years), he’s still not quite… settled. In 141, we’re given “six months to a year” before the shadowgast Aeor trip, which is implied to take place after the close of the Ikithon trial, and in my mind, it has always been much closer to that one year mark. So in the continuity of this fic series, Caleb spent the better part of a year dealing with the trial, which is not the most grounding thing to experience, and then he goes to Aeor with Essek for a month or two, during which he has to decide if he is going to risk the entire timeline to bring his parents back. That’s a lot. On both a material and spiritual level. And adopting a cat is big and permanent, and that’s just not where Caleb has been until quite recently. And it’s only now, after all this emotional turmoil has been resolved, that he is even able to start to settle into this life he’s making for himself, but he’s also still learning what that looks and feels like because he has next to no experience with a life of comfort and rest. The closest he got was his childhood, but that was 20 years ago, and even then, his life in Blumenthal is so drastically different from his current one.

That’s where the title “How to Rest” comes from. Caleb doesn’t know how to properly rest and he’s trying to learn how. That’s also why he hasn’t started teaching at Soltryce even though that is very much his plan for the future. He needs to learn to live for himself for a while before he takes on the next big thing. Mentally, I am throwing blankets and pillows at him and begging him to take a nap.

…so yeah. no cat quite yet.

But he does feed the strays, and he’s been doing that long enough that they know where he lives and that he’s a safe person to go to if, for example, they need a warm house to sleep in when it’s snowing in Rexxentrum.

Anyway, that’s a lot of preamble to discuss what is, essentially, 1500 words of Essek and Caleb kissing, but hey. that’s why we’re here :)

I’m not going to do a detailed breakdown of the initial cat section because it would pretty much just be, “hey, here’s a cat doing cute cat things and here’s Essek doing cute Essek things,” and I think that sums it up well enough.

They each drank from their cocoa, and as Caleb lowered his cup, he felt a tentative shoulder against his own. Essek was staring straight ahead, looking nonchalant as their arms brushed. Warmth flared in Caleb’s chest. He leaned further against Essek and caught a glimpse of the corner of Essek’s mouth pulling into a slight smile, despite his best efforts to hide it behind his mug.

It is still early enough in their relationship that Essek is still working out how to be direct, especially when it comes to bids for physical affection, but he’s self-aware enough that his coyness is more playful than it is an actual mask. He’s not really trying to hide his intentions, but he knows he is unable to just express them outright, so he does the “subtle” thing that his brain allows him, knowing that Caleb will understand and reciprocate.

He cupped Essek’s face in one hand and turned it towards him. Smiles such as the one Essek wore now—genuine smiles that touched his eyes and created a small dimple in his cheek—were once a rarity, but they seemed to be appearing with increasing frequency. At least whenever Caleb saw him.

Caleb gets a front row seat to the gradual lowering of Essek’s walls, and he is a big reason why Essek is able to! He makes Essek happy! These smiles are precious for those reasons and because Essek does not get the opportunity to be so genuine or so content most other places.

And something something who else does Essek let close enough—both emotionally and physically—to see all the ways his smile changes his face.

Then there’s cuddling and kissing, and they like each other so much, and it’s all very cute and sweet, but then we get into my grey-ace Caleb agenda. This is for two reasons: 1) set up the plot point for On the Nature of Attraction, and 2) the more grey-ace Caleb content there is, the happier I am.

He leaned forward eagerly, knowing how much closer he could hold him and how much better he could kiss him if they were laying down, without pesky things like knees and legs getting in the way.

This is Caleb’s intention. Nothing more than that. Caleb as the narrator is not obfuscating any secondary motive.

Essek tensed for a moment, as if he were considering something, then pushed them both upright with a small shake of his head.

Essek, however, cannot read Caleb’s mind, and isn’t sure if the motion to lay down is an implication of or invitation for sex. Certainly, the way romantic relationships are talked about would suggest that it is. And when confronted with the (perceived) possibility, Essek learns that his answer is “nope,” and he draws that boundary, which is readily accepted.

And it is because of this boundary that Essek establishes that Caleb realizes that his internal script for anything “romantic” that involves physicality has been very much affected by the Volstrucker training (see: that one tidbit Liam gave us in lockdown-era Talks Machina, that they were taught to be “as sexual as they needed to be” to get results for the Empire) and by his relationship with Astrid and Eadwulf being his main coping mechanism during that time.

I have written in my notes for this chapter that Caleb has this internal script of “lots of kissing leads to intense make-outs leads to, if not sex outright, something more sexual than not.” And while I believe he understood in theory that this does not have to be the case, and that it certainly wouldn’t be the case with Essek this early on in their relationship, it isn’t until this moment that it really starts to sink in. And then he learns that he likes that they can just kiss and cuddle and that it doesn’t have to be a preamble to more sexual things, which he is also starting to get an inkling that maybe there’s some trauma mixed up in there.

and idk i think grey-ace Caleb is neat and considering the ways his trauma impacts that is cool (she says, feeling a great deal of complicated emotion)

Essek leaned fully into it, smiling and hooking his legs over Caleb’s so he was practically in his lap.

One thing I wrote when I was planning out this chapter was “this is a conversation without words.” Obviously, there’s some words still happening, but they’re not terribly explanatory, so they must rely on non-verbal cues.

With his boundary established and respected, and now that he has had a moment to come down from his initial “nope” and recognize Caleb’s action for what it really was—a desire for more physical closeness—Essek is able to respond in a way that meets both their needs.

“I am very happy that you are here,” he whispered. Essek’s fingers curled tighter in Caleb’s hair, and he turned his head and pressed his nose to the side of Caleb’s. “As am I.”

They just like each other so much. And they make each other happy just by being there.

“Sometimes I wish we were back in Aeor,” Caleb said after a while. “Do you now?” Essek sounded amused, if a bit drowsy. “Mm,” Caleb said with a nod. “I miss studying magic with you every day, knowing that you were always close by.” “I could do without the bitter cold and mage-killing monsters,” Essek chuckled. He tightened his arms around Caleb’s shoulders. “But yes. I miss that, too.”

One thing I frequently try to do when writing Caleb’s dialogue is have him say something that’s like, a few steps removed from what he actually means. People talk like this in general, but Caleb’s meaning tends to be a few more layers deep than the average person’s, especially when he is stressed or experiencing heightened emotion. It’s one of the things I like about him; I think it’s funny.

This exchange is a very obvious example of this: Caleb says something, Essek lightly challenges him on that, and then Caleb is able to state more clearly what it is he actually wants. In this case, while it’s still in the frame of Aeor, Caleb is able to tell Essek that he wants to spend more time with him and that he feels better when Essek is nearby. And Essek is able to reciprocate while still keeping it within the “safe” zone of “haha wouldn’t it be nice to be back in Aeor? haha jk… but?” They are starting to build ways of communicating with each other, and this is one of them.

“Where will you go after this?” Caleb asked. “You know I can’t say.” He sighed. “I know. But you will be safe?” “I will, I promise. And I will see you again as soon as I am able.”

And the tragedy of their situation is that Caleb can’t know where Essek is most of the time, only that he will be far away, because that’s the best way to keep them both safe. And yes, Essek promises to be safe, but how much of that is within his control?

“I am afraid,” he said, taking Caleb’s hands from his waist and bringing them up to his lips, “that it is time for me to go.” Caleb groaned and felt his face contort into a pout that was almost embarrassing, except that it made Essek laugh, and it was a sound so beautiful that it washed away any feeling of shame, leaving only warm happiness in its stead. “Soon, Caleb Widogast,” Essek said as he kissed Caleb’s knuckles, voice brimming with fondness.

I love this image. It is so full of affection, particularly on Essek’s behalf. If I could figure out a good and interesting angle, I would draw it. I just think it’s cute and sweet and that’s what we’re really about over here.

Essek kissed him on the cheek. “Rest well.” “Travel safe.”

These are their hopes for each other at this point in time. Essek wants Caleb to have peace and rest, and Caleb wants Essek to be safe while he is alone on the road. They are very normal things to say when parting, but they are being completely earnest here.

So Essek leaves, and Caleb has a one-sided conversation with the cat. So to close out this chapter commentary, I will be showing you this scene again, with the cat dialogue included:

The cat he was hosting for the night, seeming to notice Caleb’s sudden lack of companionship, stood from his spot in front of the fire with a meow, stretched, and padded up to the couch. “Hello.” “Oh, hello. Do you need something from me?” Caleb asked. The cat butted his head against Caleb’s legs, then ran the whole length of his body along his shins, tail curling around them. He meowed again—“I would like pets”—and looked up at Caleb with round, eager eyes. “Oh, come here, Kätzchen.” Caleb scooped up the cat and laid down on the couch with him on his chest. “Thank you for keeping me company.” He scratched the cat’s ears and chin. “I think I must like him rather a lot, hm? To feel his absence so soon after he’s left.” “Perhaps you’re in love with him,” the cat chirruped as he settled into a loaf, paws softly kneading into Caleb’s shirt. “Well, I don’t know if I would say that,” Caleb answered. “Something akin to it, maybe.” The cat pressed forward and rubbed his head along Caleb’s beard, purring loudly. “I think so.” “Probably,” Caleb conceded. “But patience, my friend. These things take time. It is not as simple for everyone else as it is for you.” Caleb kissed the cat on his little forehead and closed his eyes. Purrs rumbled through his chest and ribs, and he let the rhythm lull him into a pleasant, dreamless sleep.

And that’s Chapter 2! I hope you enjoyed! May you all have a nice nap with a purring cat (or whatever your preferred equivalent is).

Until next time!

#this one's less quote heavy than the last one. and probably the future ones #i have a headcanon to discuss. that being:#the grey-ace caleb widogast agenda #and the fact that with the way this chapter is it makes more sense to approach it this way #as a whole rather than line-by-line #long post #eve talks #eve's writing #how to rest #how to rest director's commentary #chattering at birds #shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss

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ladykailitha · 4 months

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New Year's Eve

Hi!! I hope you all had a great year this year and that the next one is even better.

This is a sequel to this so be sure to read that first.

It does get spicy and there is a trigger warning for homophobic language (Steve's mom is a bitch).

Summary: Eddie and Steve ring in the new year as lovers and inspire others to do the same. Steve's mom tries to make trouble, but trouble finds her instead. All and in all, it's been a good year.

***

“I can’t wear that!” Eddie protested. “I’m going to the Newfield! I’m pretty sure it’s black tie to even breathe in its direction!”

Chrissy raised her eyebrow. “Do you want to know what Steve told me when asked me to help find you something to wear?”

Eddie looked at the red silk button up, the tight leather pants, the chunky boots and grey vest and then back up at her.

He sighed heavily. “Something about being me?”

“Close,” she admitted. “He told me that he wanted to make sure you stood out as the artist. That you were on display as much as your artwork. That people would look at you and go ‘yes, that is the master’. His words, not mine. But you don’t have to wear this. We can find something else.”

Eddie reached out to rub the silk of the shirt between this finger and his thumb.

“I’ll try it on first.”

Chrissy nodded.

He got dressed slowly, taking the time to admire each piece that Chrissy had picked out for him. The pants first. He loved the way they hugged his body without being skin tight. He pulled on the boots, happily twisting in the mirror. They went easily over the pants and highlighted how long his legs were.

Next came the shirt. It was a lot looser than he expected, making it almost billowy in nature. The silk felt divine against his skin. Chrissy tucked it into his pants and rolled up the sleeves. It kinda bunched at the waist, but when he put on the vest, it covered that immediately.

The whole ensemble was set off with leather bangles and chain bracelets on his wrists, a few necklaces that would show off the skin of the first three buttons of the shirt undone.

No earrings, though.

“I wanted earrings and to put your hair up,” Chrissy lamented. “But Steve said he liked your hair down.”

Eddie blushed. He had told Steve that a lot people seemed to think that because he had it long, he had to pull it back. But unless he was painting, Eddie liked it loose.

The fact that Steve had argued on his behalf in favor of leaving it down sent butterflies dancing in his ribcage.

“I like it,” Eddie said, looking into Chrissy’s three way mirror. “It’s classy without taking away who I am.”

Chrissy nodded. “Then I did my job right. I can’t believe I get to be your plus one at this.”

“Steve wanted to be my plus one,” Eddie said. “But then he found out he got ten free tickets to this it made the point moot.”

“Which means all your friends and family get to come,” Chrissy said with a fond smile.

He laughed. “More like he gets to invite all the kids because I also got ten free tickets as the featured artist.”

Her eyes went wide. “Really? So this going to be a blast tonight, isn’t it?”

He turned around a couple more times in the mirror. “Oh hell yeah!”

She clapped excitedly.

“Now show me your dress, Cinderella!” he crowed pushing her in the direction of her closet.

Chrissy giggled and pulled out a garment bag. She unzipped it and pulled out a long silver sheath dress with long sleeves and plunging neckline.

“Try it on and give me a twirl, love!” Eddie cooed.

She got out the underwear she was going to wear with it and slipped behind the mirror. Once she was dressed she stepped out and slowly spun in a circle.

Eddie wolf whistled. “You are going to finally bag that lesbian you’ve had your eye on with the dress, girly. You look fantastic!”

She tugged at the sleeve a little. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

Eddie picked her up and spun her around. “I think it’s perfect for an art exhibition.”

She blushed. “Yeah, okay. Let’s finish getting ready. We have to be at the Newfield by three so you can get everything how you want it.”

Eddie didn’t have much more to do so he wandered the loft a bit. It was strange to see it so empty. But all his artwork was either hung up or displayed to be auctioned off.

When Chrissy joined him, she had another garment bag and black silk shirt and deep blue vest.

“What’s this for?” he asked as he took the hanger from her.

“The exhibition tonight,” she said. “You can’t wear the same thing you wore to the auction, babe.”

He blinked at her in confusion. “Why not?”

“People are snobs,” was her curt response.

Eddie frowned but a slow smile spread over his face. “Does that mean that Steve has change too?”

Chrissy smacked his arm. “No sex in the Newfield, you heathen!”

“Well, someone has to pin the art to the walls,” he replied with a smirk.

She stared at him wide-eyed. “Did you just call Steve a work of art?”

“Yup!”

“Oh god,” she sighed. “This is going to be a long night.”

Eddie kissed her cheek. “You love me though.”

Chrissy batted him away. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

The auction was huge success and they ended up raising more than three million dollars for “Roll Initiative”.

And according to Steve there would probably be checks waiting for them at the end of the night, too.

Eddie was sad to see the blue jewel toned tux Steve had been in for the auction go, but the outfit he arrived in for the exhibition more than made up for it.

He was all in black with matching long tie and pocket square. From a distance you almost couldn’t see the tie at all. It made Eddie feel things. Uncomfortable things considering how tight these leather pants were.

Eddie was coming back with two glasses of champagne for him and Steve when he saw the most elegant woman he had ever laid eyes on in his life chatting with him.

He got a little closer and realized they weren’t chatting, it was far too heated for a chat.

“I don’t even know why you’re here, Mom,” Steve was saying.

Mrs. Harrington waved him off. “All board members get tickets to these sort of events and when I heard you had booked the night, I just had to see who my son would pick for his little pet artist.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I wasn’t expecting this.” She waved her hand at the artwork on the wall.

“And what’s wrong with it?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

She flicked his forehead. “Don’t scowl, Steven. You don’t have much good looks to ruin, but don’t ruin what you have.”

Eddie had bite the inside of his cheek to avoid throwing hands with this woman.

Steve leveled her with a glare. “You could have looked up who he was, Mom. You didn’t have to come.”

Mrs. Harrington sneered. “What if I wanted to see my son? To see what he had done with all the money his father had left him?

Steve straightened up. “Don’t act like you didn’t get the lion’s share of Dad’s money when he died.”

“It was the least he could do considering he died of a heartache in that woman’s bed!” she hissed.

Steve barely suppressed a giggle, Eddie did not. She turned to him and critically eyed his clothes, his hair, his tattoos.

“And who are you supposed to be?” Mrs. Harrington snarled.

Eddie walked up to Steve and handed him a glass. Then with his free hand, slid it around Steve’s waist.

Steve leaned into Eddie’s side, soaking up the warmth and support. “This is Eddie Munson, Mom. The artist being shown tonight and my boyfriend.”

Contempt darkened her face as she looked him over again. “Just like your father, throwing events for the whores that grace his bed as favors. I thought you better than this, Steven.”

Eddie bristled but Steve laughed outright. “Oh, Mom. You know nothing about me if you think that. When was this event put on the schedule?”

Mrs. Harrington wiggled her shoulders. “I wouldn’t know, dear.”

“Bullshit,” Steve snapped. “You know very well when it was.”

She glared at him. “Fine, back in August. I don’t know the exact date.”

“The seventeenth. For the silent auction,” Steve acknowledged. “When was it turned into the double event.”

She squirmed under his gaze until she folded. “After Thanksgiving.”

Eddie turned to Steve in shock. “What?”

“That was when I decided it would be my Christmas gift to you,” Steve murmured, nuzzling Eddie neck.

“But we didn’t get together until Christmas!” Eddie said.

Mrs. Harrington looked away.

Steve scoffed. “Which you probably also knew, considering how close you are to Dr. Martin Brenner, the head of the board. Because I called him on Boxing Day to let him know the change in plans regarding the speeches tonight.”

She turned to scowl at him.

“And I’m betting that’s when you decided you wanted to crash the party,” Steve continued. “You couldn’t let me enjoy tonight with all my low brow friends and my boyfriend.”

“It’s demeaning!” she hissed. “Your father would be very displeased if you saw you now.”

Steve laughed again. “That’s what you said when I bought out the stockholders. And again when I changed the way the company did business. And again when I hired Robin. And again when I had the Hendersons move in with me when they lost their house to a fire. And again when when I came out as bisexual last year. I’m glad he would be displeased with me, because that means I’m doing something right.”

Mrs. Harrington gasped, bringing her hand to her chest. “We didn’t raise you this way! To wallow in the depths of sin!”

“No, you didn’t and thank God that Steve didn’t listen to a god damn thing,” Eddie said, tightening his grip on Steve’s waist. “Because this is the best, most beautiful, bright, wonderful human being I’ve ever met and I’m happy I get to call him mine.”

“He’ll tire of you, you know,” she smirked. “Just like his father. Always hopping from one bed to the next. He was always like that. Even as a child, never being able to focus on one thing for long. The way he would just prattle on.”

Eddie could feel the blood boil up under his skin. He was sure that it was just his parents that made Steve feel like he was too much, but home should be safe.

“Sounds more to me like bad parenting,” he said nonchalant, “then it being a problem with Steve.” He kissed Steve’s cheek. “Come on, babe. Jeff and the boys wanted to meet you.”

And then they left her standing there sputtering and stomping her foot.

They went in search of Eddie’s friends, who were thankfully all grouped together.

“Finally we get meet the man, the legend,” the short, fluffy haired one that reminded Steve of Dustin.

“Steve, these the remaining members of the Hellfire Club,” Eddie said, steadfastly ignoring the comment. “Jeff Lawrence, his girlfriend, Miranda Steiner, Gareth Hughes and his twin Gethin, and Brian Martin. Gethin and Miranda aren’t participating members, but are important nonetheless.”

Steve waved. “Nice to meet you all.”

Miranda looked around. “When Eddie told us that you had organized all this for him, I didn’t believe it. But it’s so amazing for people to come see this, see his work.”

Eddie’s phone went off. Then again. And again. He pulled it out to look at it.

“Holy shit!” he cried.

“What’s up, Ed?” Gareth asked, cocking his head to the side.

“I’m getting notifications from my website of people buying prints and posters and mugs...” he whispered.

“Looks like you’re going to have to expand your marketplace, Eds,” Steve murmured before kissing his cheek.

“T-shirts,” Jeff suggested. “I always wanted one of the half-elf fighter.”

“Tumblers!” Gareth said excitedly. “Or those insulated coffee mugs.”

“Dice boxes!” was Miranda’s contribution. “You could even start getting dice made based on your work. Like a purple and green swirling one for the half-orc bard.”

Eddie’s eyes glittered. “And selling that stuff would give me time to work on my own passion projects plus being able to focus on the charity...” He turned to Steve. “And it’s all because of you, Stevie. I can’t thank you enough.”

He pulled Steve closed and kissed fiercely on the lips.

Steve was bright red when they finally pulled apart. “You did all the work, babe, I just forced people to look.”

Eddie kissed him again. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I might have a couple of ideas,” Steve growled low and seductive.

Eddie gulped and then turned to his friends. “Yup, bye. It’s nice to seeing you all, but I’ve really got to dash!”

He grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him toward the bathroom. He hit all the stall doors to make sure they were empty and locked the door behind them.

“I almost creamed my pants at your little suggestion,” his voice came out as a low rumble, deep and dark from his chest.

Steve’s eyelids drooped and he looked up at Eddie through his eyelashes. “Did you now? It must have been so painful in those pants, darling. Should I help you out?”

Eddie gulped. He had brought Steve in here for the express purpose of getting off with his boyfriend, but now faced with the actual prospect of seeing Steve on his knees had him shaking.

Steve ran his hands over Eddie’s torso as he slid to the floor. He looked at his watch and grinned. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before the countdown. Let’s see if I can get you off before then.”

Eddie staggered against the door for something to support him because he knew once Steve got his mouth on him, his knees were going to buckle.

Steve slowly unzipped Eddie’s pants and was pleased to see that no there was nothing between him and Eddie’s cock. He slid his hands up and down Eddie’s thighs as he took in the sight.

Eddie was about to tell him to hurry up when Steve licked a slow agonizing stripe up his length. His retort became a moan of pleasure.

“Fuck, Stevie,” he gasped. “You feel so good.”

And then Steve took him completely in his mouth and good wasn’t even close as a descriptor for how amazing it felt.

Steve was licking, sucking, and kissing in turns and all Eddie could do was grab the beautiful man before him and hold on for dear life.

It didn’t take long for Eddie to come down Steve’s throat with a breathy moan.

Steve tucked him away and then Eddie pulled him to his feet to kiss him deeply.

“Jesus fucking Christ, sweetheart,” he muttered against Steve’s lips. “That is the hardest I’ve ever come.”

Steve smirked. “That’s just the appetizer. The main course will be tonight after the exhibition. I just didn’t want you feeling uncomfortable all night because I gave you a raging hard on.”

Eddie chuckled. “My hero.”

Steve checked his watch and nodded. “We’ve got five minutes to wash up and get back out there before the ball drop.”

Eddie leaned his head against the door and let out a shuddering sigh. “I think mine already did.”

Steve laughed.

“Chrissy is going to kill me, by the way,” Eddie said once he had caught his breath enough to stand on his own.

“Oh?” he asked, looking up from where he was washing in hands in the basin.

“Yeah, she told me no sex in the Newfield,” he said, cocking his head to the side with an easy smile. “And that just happened.” He waved between them lazily indicating what they just got up to.

Steve laughed. “Oh boy, is she going to be in for a shock.”

Eddie walked over and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. “Yeah, how’s that, babe?”

“It’s a badly kept secret that the board brings their lovers in here all the time to fuck among the art.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, god. I can’t wait to tell her.”

Steve grinned back at him and they got cleaned up and made it back out to the main area before the countdown.

Mrs. Harrington glared at them when they emerged hand in hand.

The countdown began.

“10.”

“9.”

“8.”

“Happy New Year’s Eds.”

“5.”

“Happy New Year’s, baby.”

“2.”

“1.”

They pressed their lips together as fireworks ignited outside, bursting over top of the Newfield to ring in the new year.

When they broke apart, they looked around for all their friends and family. Dustin and Suzie were making out under Eddie’s painting of the Entwives. Lucas and Max had their heads pressed together as they held hands. Wayne and Claudia were happily chatting away near a statue of some Greek hero. All of the Hellfire club had clustered together and were toasting the New Year. Even Robin and Chrissy had finally sealed the deal, judging from the way Chrissy was laughing into Robin’s neck.

But no, the surprise of the evening was the way El was smiling and hopping up and down joyfully at Will and Mike slow dancing to the music in their heads. Mike’s hand gently pressed against Will’s side while his other hand was clasped in Will’s. Will’s hand kept stroking Mike’s face like if he stopped, Mike would vanish into thin air.

Eddie licked his lips. “Well that’s new.”

Steve laughed. “It most certainly is. But it’s also a long time coming. I think they had to grow up first.”

“Do you–you don’t think they got together because of us, do you?” Eddie asked shyly.

Steve scratched his cheek thoughtfully.

“I mean it might have got their heads of their ass,” he said after a moment. “But that a thought for another time. I’m practically vibrating to get you out of those clothes.”

“You’ve got it, baby,” Eddie murmured, kissing the side of his mouth. “Let’s go say goodbye and then we’ll leave.”

They said their goodbyes and had reached the door when Steve felt someone pull on his arm.

“Just where do you think you’re going, Steven?” Mrs. Harrington hissed. “There is still an hour left and having both the host and artist leave before the end? Scandalous!”

Steve shrugged her off. “I’m an adult, Mom. I have been for nearly a decade. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Maureen!” someone called out.

All three of them turned to see a distinguished older gentleman with a neat beard and shining eyes.

“Oliver!” Mrs. Harrington greeted.

Oliver Jensen was one of the museums biggest donors and on the board with her.

Steve grabbed Eddie’s hand and held it tightly.

“Word tonight has reached me of your homophobic views,” Oliver said with a rich accent that practically oozed grace and dignity. “I was hoping you would refute the rumor.”

Eddie squeezed Steve’s hand. He didn’t know who this man was but he would be stupid not realize that he was on their side.

“It’s a perversion in the sight of God!” Mrs. Harrington hissed. “This man has corrupted my son.”

Oliver tilted his head in confusion. “He came out as bisexual three years ago and only recently met Mr. Munson, how could he have corrupted your son?”

“Have you seen the filth this man puts on his website?!” she snarled.

Oliver blinked at her. “Yes, of course. Talented young man. I’m quite fond of the Drow BDSM scene with the spider web behind them. I was hoping that the original would have been up for auction earlier and was sadly disappointed it wasn’t.”

“Text Stevie your address,” Eddie said. “I’ll have it mailed right over.”

Oliver lit up. “Oh would you? It’s my husband’s favorite piece!”

Mrs. Harrington blanched. But then she turned red. “You Satan’s spawn! You’ll go to hell too!”

Oliver snapped his fingers and Mrs. Harrington was being pulled away, kicking and screaming.

He pulled out his checkbook. “Who do I make this out to?” he asked Eddie. “You or the charity?”

Eddie blinked. “You don’t have to! Think of it as a gift for throwing the old hag out.”

Oliver laughed. “So the charity then.” He wrote out the check and handed it over to Steve because Eddie was too stunned to take it.

“Sir,” Steve said. “This is too much.”

Oliver waved him off. “Nonsense. It’s great to see children being encouraged to participate in things outside the norm.” He patted them both on the cheek and walked away.

Eddie finally startled out of his daze to look over Steve’s shoulder. There in big, bold, black ink was a check made out to Roll for Initiative to the tune of one million dollars.

“Oh shit.”

Steve could only agree. He carefully put it in his wallet so he wouldn’t lose it and then took Eddie’s hand again.

“Here’s to the best year I’ve ever had,” Steve murmured.

“And here’s to the next one that will be even better!” Eddie agreed.

They kissed as the fireworks continued to burst in the night sky behind them.

Later they would go Eddie’s loft and strip each other bare. Then they would make love several times before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

And when Steve woke up the next morning he found Eddie in front of an easel.

He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. “What’s got you working at seven am on New Year’s day?”

Eddie relaxed against Steve’s broad chest. “A companion piece to your Christmas present.”

Steve nuzzled him right below his ear. “Oh?”

“Nothing about your painting said that it was a D&D yellow dragon,” Eddie murmured. “So after tea, the yellow dragon transforms and...” He shoved hair in front of his face, even though he knew Steve couldn’t see it at that angle.

Steve hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps you show me what the dragon does to ravish his knight.”

“It’s a long way off from being finished.”

Steve took Eddie’s earlobe between his teeth. “I meant in the bedroom, darling.”

Eddie got up so fast that the knocked over the stool in his haste to get them back to the bedroom.

Steve laughed as he followed behind. He thought back to that day when he called and spoke Chrissy on a whim.

He had been so sure she would tell him to get lost. Dismiss him as just another creepy fanboy just trying to get into Eddie’s pants. He left the business card in their mailbox and hoped.

He got way more than he bargained for. All he wanted when he set out on this quest was to get something for the Party that they would cherish forever. What he got was lifelong friends, an amazing boyfriend, and Robin a girlfriend.

Perhaps magic existed after all.

***

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#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #businessman steve #artist eddie #autistic steve harrington #new years eve

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forever-once-gone · 2 months

Text

Day 1: Sweet things soft!yandere bts does to make you unconsciously fall in love with them <3

Part of the Love, Amour, Aur Pyaar drabble series for February!

Word count: 1.1k, 1.3k, 2.0k, 0.5k, 1.5k, 0.8k, 1.8k (respectively, for a total of ~9.3k)

Content and Warnings: soft yandere (though can be read as not yandere, for most of them), love, nicknames, "productivity" ruts, insecurity, fluff, suggestive but no smut, wandering hands,

Author' note: This is for a challenge that I've put on myself to write every day of the month. The goal is not to write a lot, but just to write something. Obviously I failed this time, as I lost control of keeping these short. They were all supposed to be about 0.5k like Joon's (his was the first I wrote) but I just can't control myself and they ended up getting way too long. Especially Hobi's. I blame it on the fact that I haven't written for him yet, so I just went all out. It's unedited, as all of these will be. Don't expect timely posting as, again , this challenge is more for me to write, not for me to post. But yeah, enjoy! And let me know what you think. This is the first time I'm writing headcannons like this, so it was fun!

Kim Seokjin

~ He cooks for you

~ Your annoying roommate who seems to care for no-one else but himself, who made a little too much noise when he was playing video games in the living room, whether it be due to his first person shooter or him swaying his hips as the latest version of Just Dance blared out of the surround sound speakers he’d installed when he first moved in, your infuriating roommate who always forgot his clothes in the washer, making you put his wet, cold clothes in the dryer

~ That same, selfish roommate always found time to pause his little game, or whatever other activity, to make you food when he noticed you venture out of the room you rarely came out of (due to not wanting to see the irritating man) and into the kitchen

~ No matter how many times you tell him that you are capable of making your own lunches, he always pushes you aside and begins cooking himself

~ Making you sit at the breakfast bar with a statement along the lines of: “well, I’m hungry now, so I’m going to make lunch. You suck at cooking, so you might as well just eat what I make, I don’t want the whole house to smell like burnt fish like last time.”

~ Which is a lie, by the way

~ You do not, by any means, suck at cooking or leave the house smelling bad

~ You’re actually a pretty good cook

~ Now, you may not be a world-class chef, but you definitely knew your way around the kitchen

~ But you see, dear reader, acts of service (or more specifically, acts of cooking) were Jin’s love language

~ He may not be good at keeping up with his chores, or keeping his voice low when you were in your room trying to relax, but he did try to show his affection for you through his cooking (as he knew no other way to try and get closer to you)

~ Seeing you eating the recipe that he had perfected a few years back with a huge smile that he rarely got to see directed towards him (due to your disdain for your immature, hectic roommate) was enough to make a red hue coat his face

~ When you would finish your plate and finally notice his blush, no amount of questioning would lead him to admit that seeing you look happy—happy because of him—was the reason behind it

~ He would give excuses like: “It’s from the hot stove!” or “I put five chillies in the marinade, and it’s too spicy now!” or the wildest, most unbelievable excuse he’s given till date “I’m trying to keep myself from vomiting!”

~ Like… why would he be about to vomit when he sat beside you at the breakfast bar eating a bite of the softest and most delectable cupcake he’s made to date????

~ This cupcake would never make even the worst critic want to vomit???

~ Why does he refuse to admit it’s just because seeing the way that you’re happily swaying as you devour your third cupcake of the night made his heart swell in his chest???

~ Before, you may have refused to leave your room any more than necessary due to how Jin always managed to raise your blood pressure

~ But over the past few months of him taking up cooking for the both of you, he’s been able to see you much more than just the three times he would usually see you (breakfast, lunch, and dinner)

~ At first he would only see you when you needed to eat or leave the house, but with time, you began to spend more of your day with him, watching him cook up his new creation for the both of you to try together

~ He unconsciously started to make recipes that took longer, just so you would sit in front of him for more time as he chopped vegetables and stirred pots

~ You began to actually speak to him, and not just yell at him to make sure to take out the trash and remind him that it was his turn to clean the bathroom

~ You guys were actually talking, but not just talking, you guys were getting along

~ Who would have thought that the roommate you used to complain to your friends about over the phone, would soon become someone who you wanted to spend time with?

~ With his longer recipes, you now would bring some sort of entertainment with you, sometimes a book, or your phone, or sometimes you’d sneak off into the living room across from the kitchen and begin messing around with the game he had put on pause when you came out of your room declaring you were hungry and asking him to make that one pasta recipe you loved

~ You would laugh as he’d yell from the stove about how you were “going to mess up my save files!”

~ Slowly he was able to coax you out of your room to spend more time with him in this way, until the equilibrium shifted, and you began to spend more time outside of your room than inside of it

~ Outside of your room and with him

~ Before you knew it, your night time routine had shifted.

~ Your routine used to be eating the delicious meal that jin made for you, washing the dishes for the both of you (it was only fair with him cooking for you all the time), and then heading straight back into your room with a small, reluctant thank you

~ But now?

~ You would wash the dishes, and instead of going into your room, you’d settle on the couch where Jin had gone back to playing his video games

~ When he’d notice you were done with the dishes, he’d throw one end of the blanket that he was wrapped up in to you

~ He’d try not to draw attention to the flush that had resurfaced on his cheeks again (due to you willingly spending time with him outside of cooking now) as he kept his eyes locked on the tv, but it was a fruitless attempt as you had grown fond of the rosiness of his cheeks and would notice it even if he were to try to hide the red under a pound of concealer

~ He’d try not to gulp when you’d slide closer to his end of the couch, pressing against his arm, a hand falling on his thigh under the blanket, peeking over his shoulder at the controller in his hand

~ You’d whisper out a low-toned comment of how you wanted to learn how to play too, how you wanted him to teach you how to play

~ He was willing to cook for you three times a day—that took a lot of effort, you had to admit

~ Maybe it was time for you to return the favour

Min Yoongi

~ He always indulges you in your newest hobbies

~ You tend to hop from one interest to another

~ One day you’re learning how to crochet, the next you’re folding a thousand paper cranes

~ Always grasping at the newest pastime that you saw pop up on your feed, you tend to hole yourself up in your room, fiddling with tiny strips of paper as you fold paper stars (at least, that’s what you were obsessing over this time)

~ He would gladly sit beside you, cutting thin strips of paper just so you didn’t have to stop your folding to restock

~ When you had quickly changed to knitting, and the shoe box of paper strips were left to rot under your bed, he didn’t make you feel bad at all

~ Whereas your friends from the past made you feel guilty when you wouldn’t stick to your hobbies long enough to actually use up the things that they had helped you with or bought you (claiming they had wasted their time helping you)

~ Yoongi, on the other hand, would just smile and ask you about the new task that had caught your eye

~ He’d rather bite off his own tongue, than say anything that would make you feel bad

~ Quickly he’d adapt and now, instead of cutting strips of paper, he was rolling your yarn into balls by hand as your playlist played in the background

~ Though the music was playing, he was focused more on you explaining the new pattern that you’d learned, watching as you ranted about the required tension in the yarn as you fiddled with your newest project

~ When you were able to stick to a hobby long enough to complete a project, he was the one who was the most proud of you compared to anyone else

~ When you showed him the bottle green knit ribbed sweater you had completed for him, he was smiling ear to ear, pulling his current hoodie off in an instant to put on the one you’d made him

~ He watched sweetly as you moved his body around to show him all the techniques you had to use

~ Lifting his arms up to show him where you had to attach the sleeves to the torso of the sweater

~ Tilting his chin up so you could get a better look at the neckline, as you told him how you had to learn a different stitch just to make it

~ You tried to pretend like you didn’t see the endeared, rosy look on his face, when you looked back up at him, realizing just how close you were to him at that point

~ You took a step back from him, clearing your throat, asking him to do a spin so you could see how the back fit him

~ You hoped he didn’t discern that the only reason that you had asked him to turn was so you’d be given a chance to collect yourself

~ When he finally did turn back around—at your say—he gave you a small, tender smile

~ “Thank you”

~ You could have melted right there

~ You loved how he didn’t even point out the fallen stitches as he hugged the fabric close to himself with a smile

~ But even in obviously love-filled moments like that, it wasn’t enough to really pull you together

~ It wasn’t until you had taken up learning how to play the guitar, that the both of you couldn’t skirt around your feelings any longer

~ When your feed had become filled with electric guitar covers of classic rock, pop rock, and modern pop music, you had quickly told your enabler about your new passion

~ Yoongi loved when you took on a hobby that he actually knew something about

~ It gave him an excuse to be even closer to you

~ To give you tips and tricks, to guide you, even teach you!

~ It gave him reason to be near you even more than usual

~ So you’ve got to understand that he was thrilled when you started sending him TikToks of face-cropped out people playing the guitar

~ Aside: you know, like the types of TikToks that are lowkey thirst traps; made in lowlight, the player zooming in precisely to their lower torso where the guitar is, as they slowly thrust their hips to the music? yeah, when you send him those, he gets giddy at the fact that you may find guitar players *cough*like him*cough* attractive

~ But he did end up offering to teach you how to play! Congrats, you got free private lessons :D

~ He convinces you to get a cheaper acoustic guitar to start with before jumping into the electric guitar—even though you had pouted at him at the guitar shop—as he said it was easier to learn the basics on an acoustic rather than an electric

~ Every free evening that you had, he would come to your apartment, guitar case strap over his shoulder with a cute baseball hat on to keep his promise of teaching you

~ He’d be so gentle with you, never raising his voice even when you made the same mistake ten times in a row

~ He didn’t frown when you forgot the chord that he had taught you from your last session, all he would do is gently move your fingers to the right position from behind you, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he did

~ Was that position necessary? No of course not

~ Could he have very well just shown you the chord on his own guitar from in front of you? Sure, he could have

~ But let him have this moment, will you?

~ He likes to pretend that he’d hugging you from behind

~ Let him be a little delusional, please and thank you

~ Day and day again, Yoongi would give you your lessons, and even after he’d leave late at night, you’d strum your fingers over the strings

~ This hobby quickly became the one that you spent the longest time fixating on

~ You weren’t able to put your (quickly callusing) finger on why it had become the hobby you stayed on the longest, but when Yoongi appeared with his gummy smile that evening, looking like a complete sweetheart, you think you were able to finally realize why

~ That night you played for him in one try, for the first time, the song he had been teaching you

~ Your vision was tunneled on your strings as you tried your hardest to make the man in front of you proud

~ You wanted to show him that his work on you had paid off

~ Not just how much time he’d spent on teaching you the guitar, but ALL the time he’d spent on you

~ Keeping up with your hobbies, sitting beside you when you fumbled with UV resin, allowing you to do makeup on him when you went through your makeup artist phase, buying you the expensive foreign yarn that you kept going on and on about

~ You wanted to show him that he didn’t waste his time on him, and maybe by playing this song for him, he’d realise just how much you appreciated him

~ And when you struck the final chord, and looked up at him, you were taken back by the glazed over look of his eyes, his lips shining in the LED lights you had put up when they were trending, affection clear in his expression

~ The two of you sat in the post-performance atmosphere, until you were lifting your guitar out of your lap, laying it down beside you, and shifted a bit closer to him

~ Placing a hand on the collar of the sweater you had made for him (it had quickly become one of his favourite things to wear), you waited to see if he’d pull away, but when he didn’t, you finally connected your lips to his

~ You may hop from one hobby to another, but if only one thing were to stay constant in your life, you hoped it would be him

Jung Hoseok

~ He would make you mixtapes/playlists

~ You met him through your university friend

~ One of them was a theatre major, and so had a few classes with the talented dance major that always performed at the school talent nights

~ When you’d gone to see your friend’s short story performance, you had been encapsulated in the ambience of the man who performed right before your friend went up

~ His movements were smooth, his expressions were haunting, the music paired with the way he seemed to blend in with the flashing lights and tempo, yet the way he still remained the focal point of the whole dance was captivating

~ And the best part is when he finished, chest heaving as he stood with his chin pointed up, head slightly tilted to the side, his expression was harsh just as the music had once been, harsh—that is—until the audience erupted into cheers and he broke into a huge smile

~ Shiny white teeth reflecting the stage lights back at the crowd, and as the MC came back on stage to thank the man (J-Hope, you learned from the lady) and just before he turned to walk off stage, he met your eyes, his eyes shining as he threw a wink your way

~ You felt so on the spot as the person sitting beside you turned to you, as he had noticed the display from J-Hope

~ You fiddled with the bouquet sitting in your lap

~ “Is that your boyfriend?” he asked, leaning over to you so you could hear him over your friend’s performance

~ “No,” you had replied, still embarrassed by the talented man’s wink, and the questioning by the uni student you’d never met before

~ “Well,” the guy leaned back into his seat, “maybe you should change that.”

~ Ah, the man thought you were in a situationship with him, or at the very least that the performer had interest in you

~ How are you supposed to explain to him that a lot of performers do similar things??? It’s not something unique just to you

~ You decided to just forget about the whole thing, trying to enjoy the performance so you could actually give your friend a compliment when you handed them the flowers you brought after the show

~ You tried your best, but other than getting a vague grasp of the plot, you couldn’t really remember any details, your brain still replaying the image of J-Hope winking at you

~ You clapped as hard as you could when your friend’s performance ended, watching them bow with their fellow actors and actresses

~ They caught your eye, happy to see you in the front row of the theatre, the first few rows reserved for the family and friends of the performers, they sent a happy wave to you before walking off stage

~ After another hour and a half, and the last few performances finished, you were able to go backstage to see your friend

~ You greeted them with a hug and then presented them with the bouquet of roses

~ “Aw, Y/n, you didn’t have to do this!” they said, as they gave you another hug

~ “You deserved it! You did so well today!” you smiled at them

~ “Aw, baby,” they said affectionately, “I love you so much!”

~ “Yeah yeah,” you waved them off from trying to pull you into yet another hug

~ They just linked their arms with you, pulling you through the crowd of performers you had been watching for the past few hours

~ They brought you to their friends, some of which you had already met through the friend who continued to press themselves against your side, your flowers clutched to their other side

~ “Y/n, I want you to finally meet my entire team! Everyone, this is Y/n!”

~ A chorus of hellos surrounded you, to which you politely replied

~ You made small talk with the people around you, that is until you heard someone clear their throat behind you

~ You and your friend turned as one (they did have quite the tight grip on you), and though you expected one of your friend’s friends, you weren’t prepared to see J-Hope standing behind you, a small grin on his face

~ You nearly took a step back, but your friend’s grip on you kept you in place

~ “Oh my god, hi J! I saw your performance out there! All the practice paid off, huh?” your friend asked the man who had not broken eye contact with you even once since you turned around

~ “Yeah, more than paid off, I’d say,” he said confidently

~ He tilted his head at you, “and who may this be? You dating or what? I see them a lot in your stories.”

~ Your friend’s face immediately turned red, as they turned to press their face into your shoulder in embarrassment, “No~” they dragged out the word, “We’re—We’re just friends, we umm—”

~ “That’s great,” J-Hope interrupted, uninterested in what your friend had to say further. “Does that mean I can finally follow this beauty on Instagram?”

~ Your friend was silent, their hold tight on you

~ The silence dragged on, until it finally set in that the handsome man in front of you was asking you out

~ “Oh! Uh, yeah, yeah you can,” your friend said reluctantly, when you didn't tell J-Hope off

~ You felt your friend’s grip on you disappear, as they slinked back to their friend group

~ “Amazing.” J-Hope smiled at you. He pulled out his phone and immediately opened up instagram, searching your username (no he didn’t ask you for it, yes he already had it memorized). He sent you a follow request (your instragram was private), and slipped his phone into his pocket

~ “Look forward to getting to know you better, Y/n.” He stuck out his hand for you to shake and you obliged

~ He turned to walk away from you, before calling over his shoulder, “Next time, make sure the bouquet is for me, alright? I like tulips”

~ He threw another wink at you, leaving you frozen to your spot, all alone

~ When you finally came to, you immediately pulled out your phone to apologize to your friend, and that you’d meet up with them at the restaurant you’d planned to go to together for their victory (so to speak) dinner

~ They just texted you to reschedule it for another time

~ You then opened up Instagram, accepting J-Hope’s (who you learned’s real name is Jung Hoseok, J-Hope being his stage name) request

~ As you scrolled through the profile, you got a dm: “Well, you accepted that fast 😚”

~ Another message flew in before you could even think to reply, “I hope that means I made a good impression 🤔”

~ You immediately felt embarrassed all over again, had you been too fast? Should you have waited for the morning to accept the request? Were you coming off as too eager? Did you seem desperate?!

~ Just as your finger began to move to block the man and all the troubles he had already begun to deploy on your psyche, another bubble popped up: “Just so you know… you made quite an impression on me too ☺️”

~ You sucked in a breath, and just hearted his message, and put away your phone

~ He seemed to have quite the love for dramatics

~ Over the next few days he continued to message you, with you only able to give him short replies and hearted messages—to be fair to you, it was hard to deal with a man with over 3500+ followers flirting with you day in and day out

~ You aren’t really able to get comfortable enough to really talk to him until he randomly, one day, sends you a link to a song

~ “Hey, this reminded me of you.”

~ It was not a song you were expecting, it was an instrumental piece, no words for you to know why exactly this song reminded him of you… but you liked it.

~ It seemed like a hopeful song, a little bit whimsical, a little hesitant, but overall positive.

~ You messaged him a full sentence for the first time that evening: “Thanks, I really liked it. I added it to my playlist <3”

~ Hoseok spent that whole night rereading your message, looking over the small heart emoji you sent

~ He considered this a step in the right direction, sending a screenshot of your message to his friends just for the group chat to erupt in messages to hype him up

~ Since that day, he routinely sent you songs in between his other messages, almost maneuvering you into feeling more comfortable speaking with him

~ The songs rarely seemed to match the ones he’d previously sent, the genres were always different, the mood always fluctuating, and it just made one very odd, hard to follow playlist

~ Yet, it still made your heart beat out of your chest when you played it

~ And it worked, as your playlist grew with the songs that he sent you, so did your feelings for the flirty, straightforward man

~ After many times of asking to meet you in person, you finally agreed to meet Hoseok for a date

~ You put on your best outfit and went to the flower shop at the corner by your apartment, before beginning your walk to the restaurant the two of you had agreed to meet at

~ (the same one you were supposed to go to with your ex-friend on the day you first met Hoseok—and, yes, ex-friend; you have no idea why they didn’t seem to want anything to do with you anymore…)

~ You rounded the corner to see him waiting by the entry of the restaurant, dark sunglasses covering his eyes, a dark button up with dress pants and shoes paired nicely with it, his mouth set in a slight frown

~ You walked up to him, and almost as though he could sense your presence, he turned right to you his frown instantly becoming a large smile, teeth and all

~ “Y/n,” he said softly, sounding almost relieved. He took a step towards you, before pulling you into a light hug, as though he was trying his hardest not to scare you away

~ He held on for a second, before taking a step back, scanning your face with a smile

~ You held out the flowers in front of you

~ “Tulips,” he said, accepting the bouquet from you. “You remembered.”

~ He brought them to his face, taking a small whiff, before pulling you in for another hug

~ “Thank you”

~ Maybe you should have been more put off by his touchy-ness considering this was only the second time you’d met him in person, but over the last few weeks of texting him, you didn’t feel uncomfortable at all

~ Not uncomfortable, but the butterflies in your stomach were very much making themselves known

~ “No worries,” you said

~ “Here, this is for you.” He held out a CD case decorated with colourful stickers of rainbow flowers, cartoon characters, and random cute objects

~ He had spelled out “to: Y/n” in sticker letters in one corner of the clear case, “from: Hoseok” in another

~ When you opened the case, you saw that he had written in red sharpie over the CD: “Hopefully: the first of many ♡ Our first official mixtape”

~ You traced over the stickers and letters on both the CD and the CD case, taken aback by the gift

~ “I burned the disc myself. I know it’s a bit of an outdated practice, but I hope you think it feels true to us.”

~ You just smiled up at him, “I love it, thank you, Hoseok.”

~ You pulled him in for a hug, the first ever hug you’ve given him

~ He felt shivers run down his back

~ After the incredible dinner, you went home and immediately put the CD on (after having dug through your closet for the old CD player, and making a huge mess of your room)

~ The songs were a mix of your favourites that he had sent you, and the other half were songs that you had recommended back to him

~ And as the songs filled the air, you sent him a picture of the CD player on your messy bed with all the clothes thrown on it

~ “The CD is wonderful,” you added along with the picture. “You’re wonderful. I’d love for there to be many more after this one <3”

~ Hoseok sent the screenshot to his group chat, and Taehyung was the loudest amongst all the cheers

~ “You owe me big time for telling Y/n that they should date you that day! 😤”

Kim Namjoon

~ He writes you poetry

~ He is a book worm through and through, so he tends to send you excerpts from his favourite books

~ Whether it be poetry, prose, or anything else

~ A dialogue from a movie

~ A sentence from a youtube video

~ A screenshot from instagram

~ No matter what medium, if it’s a piece of writing that reminded him of you, he sends it to you

~ It started off with poetry that was innocent enough, poetry about humans, the universe, the stars, our place in the middle of this gigantic mess that was left behind from the big bang

~ At the beginning, the writings are very philosophical

~ That is, until it isn’t

~ Slowly but surely, the poems change from ones that relate more to the state of the world, the route in which the world is going, poems about human nature to then being about the relations amongst humans, the intimate nature of growing with someone, being with someone

~ At first they seem to insinuate only of two like-minded souls coming together in a shared existence, but not necessarily one that was romantic

~ But then the poetry does turn into something more romantic

~ Talks of twin flames

~ Snippets of greek mythology that spoke of how humans were made in pairs until Zeus split them to be in twos—separated forever—waiting and looking for their other half—their soulmate

~ These poems are at first more abstract, two people without names, without “me” and “you” appearing in the words, until they just one day are

~ One day the poems change from the concept of love, to very direct professions of love

~ Poems that start with the word “I” and end with the word “you” with the various synonyms and phrases that denote “love” sprinkled in between them

~ You would never know that some of these quotes, writings that he shares, are pieces he’s written directly for you

~ From the beginning, the occasional message was not one he happened to stumble upon on the web, or a quote he found particularly intriguing in his current book

~ No

~ Sometimes, they were from him

~ His feelings for you, written in his google doc, the document filled only with his feelings about you, the words he wrote while thoughts and images of you circled around his head like a lovestruck character from an old cartoon

~ Sure, in the beginning, the poems were more frequently from other sources than himself, but as he slowly shifted his topics for poetry, as he got bolder with his underlying declarations of love—his own poetry document became his main source of vocables to send to you

~ You should be scared with this gradual change to this feeling of love that you’re getting from someone you consider a friend, but with the gradual change in the screenshots of scenes from movies displaying subtitles of love, to pictures of underlined quotes in the book he’s reading, to the posts with delicate poetry forwarded to you, pictures of a laptop screen that you were beginning to become all too familiar with; in that same gradual way, your feelings for him changed too

~ From something more platonic, more abstract, more open-ended

~ To something much more romantic, defined, and unchanging

~ With the small declarations of love he’s dusted into your inbox over the last few seasons

~ He’s slowly, but deliberately made his way into your heart

~ Maybe it’s time you wrote him something too

Park Jimin

~ He always helped you out during the harsh winters

~ Well he helped you out during most of the year really, he’d mow your lawn, he’d ask you if you’d rather he take your dog out for a walk with his, so you could relax in the morning

~ In the spring he’d tell you about the best native wildflowers you could sow in your garden

~ He’d help you deal with any blown over garbage that had stayed hidden under the snow that had only made itself known when the snow had finally melted

~ He’d walk up your porch just to give you some of the cookies that he had made just moments ago

~ Telling you, when you opened the door, how he needed a taste tester to truly know whether the cookies were made just right

~ “I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of my coworkers tomorrow at the potluck,” he’d say with a closed eyes smile

~ He also told you how he was pretty late to welcoming you to the neighbourhood as you had moved in early spring and it had already become hot outside

~ Just accept the cookies, dear, he spent the last two days on them

~ So it was less that he was helping you out during the winter times (that had yet to come), but more so that he was such a kind and helpful neighbour that he had eventually grown so close to you through these various small favours, that he had practically become a part of your home life

~ During the summer, he’d mow your lawn for you when he’d do his, only accepting a cup of lemonade from you, and nothing more in return

~ When you’d be tending to your flower garden in front of your house, he’d give you tips over the fence, telling you how he tended to his rose bush and the best pruning methods for the hydrangeas that you had

~ When you’d be in your backyard, picking ripe tomatoes from the vine, guiding your cucumber vines up the wooden frame Jimin had helped you put together, and/or just sunbathing on a lawn lounger, Jimin would peek over the fence and make small talk until you just called him over to make the conversation easier to carry

~ He’d be quick to rush over, bringing his pup to mingle with yours; they both had become pretty close following their shared walks together

~ You watched the dogs chase each other around your backyard as you and Jimin laid down on the loungers and basked in the sun

~ (with plenty of sunscreen of course, Jimin would never let you get skin cancer—he’s sweet like that, just lay on your stomach and let him rub the cream in, don’t pay much mind to any wandering hands)

~ In fall, he helped you rake all the leaves, not allowing you to do anything more than jumping into the big pile at the end of the hour

~ He would jump in following you, right on top of you, causing you to hold him close to keep from becoming crushed by him entirely

~ Your dogs were barking around the two of you, confused by the two of you disappearing into the center of the leaf pile

~ They continued to circle around the pile, pawing at the leaves they could reach until the two of you burst out of the leaves like freshly assembled viruses lysing out of a cell

~ He helped you put up your Halloween decorations, and helped you sew your costume together

~ Since you lived right beside together, you paired together to make a common theme between the two houses, and handed out candy together on Halloween night

~ When the late fall rain started, and your gutters were clogged with fallen leaves, he leant you his ladder and guided you on how to clear out the drainage, making sure you didn’t waste your money on hiring a roofer to clear them out when he could just help you do it himself

~ Plus you made him dinner in return! A win-win in his books, if you ask him

~ When winter struck, and the snow finally began to fall, he didn’t let you use your brand new shovel even once on your own, always out in the driveway before you are even able to put on your gloves

~ “I already finished mine! I’ll help out with yours if you’ll make me a cup of hot chocolate in return?”

~ Obviously you agree, a helping hand from your handsome, handy neighbour which saves you time and energy? Yes, please

~ When the snow got too heavy for you to drive to the grocery store safely, Jimin would knock on your door, take notes off your grocery list, and go on the behalf of both of you

~ He’d call you from the grocery store no less than three times to make sure he chose the right type of milk that you had wanted, because god forbid you got the wrong brand of oat milk because of him!

~ How else would you be able to see how he’d be such a dependable husband?!

~ When he finally would text you in the parking lot of the grocery store that he’s on his way back

~ He’d be giddy to see you standing in your driveway, bundled up in a long jacket, a large scarf, and red and white striped mittens, waiting with a cold nose to help him bring in the groceries

~ Every Saturday, after the grocery store trip, you’d make him dinner to repay him for his help, because even though you always paid him back for the things he bought you, you always felt that he deserved something more

~ You’d always end up in your living room, watching a random rom com together after finishing your dinner

~ The one night that led to the two of you finally acknowledging the feelings you had gained for him had been a stormy night

~ A blizzard had swept over the city, laying a meter of snow over the whole area

~ You were practically buried in

~ You were faring pretty well, until in the middle of the night, your house lost power

~ You hoped it would come back soon, but when it didn’t come back in an hour, you ended up calling Jimin

~ It took three tries for him to actually pick up the phone. “Hello? I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

~ “Hmm? Y/n? No, no, I’m awake,” he yawned, obviously just woken up. “What’s wrong?”

~ “Jimin, I have no power… It’s been over an hour… I’m getting a bit scared.”

~ “...Give me a second, I’ll be right over.”

~ He waited for you to open the door to your house, looking around the neighbourhood. He noticed that all the lights were out, even the streetlights.

~ When you finally opened up the door, all wrapped up in a blanket, eyes a bit teary, he had to stop himself from scooping you up in his arms and comforting you

~ Instead he just told you to bundle up and bring anything you need, plus your dog over to his house

~ He waited in the foyer as you put on your jacket and picked up some things that you needed, your dog laying obediently beside his booted feet

~ Your house had seriously cooled down in the two hours since you’d lost power, it seriously was cold outside

~ You looked like a marshmallow in your puffed up jacket, and he had to bite back his smile (not that you’d see it in the dark anyways)

~ He brought you over to his house, that miraculously had power

~ “I have a generator,” he explained. “You’ll be warm and safe here.”

~ You had to stop yourself from sobbing in thanks, instead just nodding your head

~ He brought you and your dog up to his guest bedroom, giving you some extra blankets just in case

~ “Call me if you need anything, okay?” he said

~ You nodded from the center of the bed, all wrapped up in blankets with both your and his dogs lying on top of the blankets with you

~ “Thank you, Jimin, for everything.” You could feel yourself choking up. “I don’t know what I would’ve done all year without you. I would be okay in the cold, but my pup—”

~ You broke down in sobs, Jimin immediately rushing back to you from the doorway to pull you into his chest on the bed

~ “Hey, hey, don’t cry. I’m here. I’m here. You, our dogs, me, we’re all safe. Don’t you cry, please, don’t cry.”

~ He rocked you in his arms until you calmed down, almost instantly melting in his arms

~ “Can you stay with me here tonight?” you asked, scared to look at him as you asked

~ “Of course”

~ He pulled you to lay back down in the bed, pushing the blankets up to lay beside you. You immediately pushed yourself back into his chest

~ “Seriously, thank you, Jimin,” you whispered into the dark, warm room

~ “Don’t thank me, I wouldn't have done it any other way”

Kim Taehyung

~ He was always the one to notice when you fell into a slump (and pull you out of it)

~ When you’ve been having a bad time, stuck studying or doing overtime at work, never able to fully just go back home without immediately opening up your laptop and tip-tapping away, he always manages to realize you’ve fallen into the “productivity” hole and comes knocking at your door with dinner in hand and a bottle to calm your nerves

~ If you weren’t responding properly for one day, he’d let it be, it may not be one of your productivity ruts, but if it had been nearing 48 hours since you replied to him, or messaged in the group chat with your guys’ friend group, or if he called you and you didn’t pick up, that’s when he would begin to assume that you were in your rut again.

~ While the rest of your friends didn't really ever notice that you were absent, at least not enough to draw concern, Tae would notice a little too quickly

~ Tae would realize before you did yourself

~ “Your do-not-disturb is on again, isn’t it?” was his ‘greeting’ when you opened the door for him

~ This was not an unexpected appearance, he had once again realized your state of mind

~ For what was the second time this month, probably the twentieth time this year, Tae had come to help you relax

~ The only friend you could truly rely on to help you

~ “...yeah, I’m sorry.” You closed the door behind him, watching him slip out of his shoes and into the slippers you kept around for him

~ He immediately walked into your kitchen, setting the bottle and food on your countertop, before heading straight to your home office

~ He shut down your laptop, closed the curtains, and blew out the eucalyptus “calming” candle that you only really burned in moments like these

~ “Tae… I should finish my report.”

~ He closed the door, before pulling you back into living room with him

~ “You can do that tomorrow, now just sit and relax.”

~ He sat you down on the couch, taking your tv remote and putting on the latest episode of the show the two of you had been watching together

~ He throws a blanket at you and then brings you guys the food he brought

~ When the food is all done, and a bit too much alcohol consumed, you let you head rest on his shoulder, his arm instantly coming around to hold you

~ “Taehyung, why do you always come here?” you asked

~ “I thought you could use some distractions from your work.” His hand smoothing over your deltoid soothingly

~ You wish he had said something different, something more selfish

~ “Is that all?” You shift against him to look at his expression, his eyes finally meeting yours

~ Was this the moment that the both of you finally vocalized the clear love you had for each other?

~ Tae sure hoped it was

~ “Do you want there to be another reason?”

~ You didn’t have a good answer for him, stuck between wanting to tell him how deeply you had grown to care for him and the worries that you had become a burden to him

~ A burden who always needed to be taken care of

~ You worried that you had become something that he resented, or would grow to resent

~ Tae brought you closer to him, his arm shifting from your upper arm, to instead curl around your waist, pulling you up to be level with him

~ “Y/n,” he purred. “Do you want me to have ulterior motives?”

~ Your mind was filled with worry that though he may care for you now, would he still care for you when you would go MIA again?

~ You exes hadn’t, they had all eventually grown tired of having to deal with your troubles with productivity

~ But Tae was different

~ It had already been months of your constant cycles of falling into “productive” spurts and pushing everyone away, and then realizing that you had and apologizing to everyone you’d ignored

~ And while your friends’ would be a bit irritated, Tae would always just be glad that he’d been able to bring you back to life (so to speak)

~ He never made you feel bad about the way you were, instead just be happy to have you back

~ Maybe, he’d be different

~ No, he was different

~ “Would it be bad, if I said yes? Would you come to regret having to deal with me?” You brought a hand up to cup his cheek, your thumb coming up to pass just below the beauty mark under his eye

~ He only leaned his head into your touch, pulling you even closer to him

~ “I could never regret anything that had to do with you.” He brought you into his lap, pressing his face into your shoulder, a small kiss pressed to the side of your neck

~ “Just let me take care of you.” He mumbled into your neck. “And take care of me too.”

~ It was time that you returned the solicitude

Jeon Jungkook

~ He helps you learn how to workout at the gym

~ When you had started to go to the gym in your apartment building, you were very lost, overwhelmed at all the choices for machines, weights, and workout plans

~ Since this was only a gym in the basement of the building that you lived in, there weren’t any personal trainers who could help you come out with a work out plan

~ On top of that, it seemed like only a handful of people came down here anyway, as more often than not, the gym would be empty

~ The only proof that someone else did some down here being the shifted weights and the changed settings on the cardio machines

~ The emptiness was nice to someone who was just starting out their workout journey like you

~ But it was both a blessing and a curse

~ A blessing because nobody would see you fumble about with the machines, unsure of how to use them or how to get in the right position to actually work out the muscles that they were supposed to

~ A curse because you were often lost and had no one you could ask for help

~ You didn’t dare to do any heavy lifting, because you knew how important having a spot was when you did, and you didn’t want to end up getting crushed under your bar as you tried to bench press

~ So you stuck to light weights, and more cardio than anything else

~ You usually worked out in the mornings, but one day, you had woken up late and considering you had to go to work, you decided it’d be better to go work out after

~ So after a long day, you pushed yourself to go down to the gym downstairs, telling yourself the workout could be half an hour, but you were gonna workout no matter your aching body

~ You were surprised to find someone actually working out there

~ A man with a sleeve full of tattoos on full display due to his oversized, short-sleeved white tee

~ A pair of gray sweats with the bottoms slightly pulled up his calves a bit, as though he’d pulled them up to prevent the loose fabric from getting in the way

~ He was doing some pullups on a bar, facing away from you, but he looked over his shoulder when he heard you enter, his arm muscles rippling beside his face as he did

~ “Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting.”

~ He just grunted in response, dropping down from the bar, and wiping his neck with a towel that he had set aside, his lip ring glinting in the gym lights

~ “Don’t apologize, you’re not interrupting anything,” he took a drink from his water bottle before moving to lay down on the bench press, it seemed he had already set up his weights, and all you could do was watch in awe as he pressed what was equivalent to your weight like it was nothing

~ He noticed you watching him from his laid position

~ “What? Not gonna workout?”

~ His words jumped you into action, instantly walking away from him to the stair climber that you usually began your workouts with

~ Thankfully, you were facing away from the man, so you couldn’t be anymore distracted by the lean man behind you

~ But the grunts—my god—how were you supposed to focus on your workout when even through your music, you could hear his groans as he lifted and lowered the weights to his chest

~ This was so different from working out by yourself!

~ You just turned up your music and tried to get through your 5 minutes of climbing

~ When you finished and moved to the leg press (it was leg day after all), you put on some weights (a safe amount that you were sure wouldn’t hurt you) and settled into position, your legs lifted up in position

~ You released the plate, and began the workout just as the man sat up for a break

~ You could feel him watching you, as you did your reps, his eyes scanning your body from top to bottom

~ You saw him stand up, coming up to stand beside you

~ “You’re going to hurt yourself doing that.”

~ “Huh?” you said, with a breath, sweat dripping down your temple

~ “You’re gonna break your knees locking them like that”

~ He helped you lock the plate again, before explaining further

~ “You’re locking your knees with every push. When you do leg presses, you’re not meant to extend your legs fully, you’re only gonna cause damage to your knees.” He motioned you to get up from your seat, before taking your place. “See how I do it. I bring my knees down almost entirely to my chest, right?”

~ You nodded, watching his demonstration.

~ “Then when I extend my legs, I only go this far, my legs don’t go completely straight like yours. Do you see the difference?” His brown eyes on you, as he pointed down at his legs. “Okay, now you try.”

~ You settled back in position, as he stood beside you, arms crossed over his chest

~ You followed his advice, doing one rep to show him, as he nodded in approval, “better”

~ “While we’re at it, here,” he brought his hand down to your lower abdomen, pushing your back against the machine, “when you push, you should avoid moving your hips forward, otherwise it won’t hit your quads, hamstrings, and glutes. You should feel it here,” he traced over your thighs with his index finger very lightly

~ “Try again but using your legs only, not your back”

~ You did another rep, instantly feeling the burn in your upper legs a lot more than before, “fuck!”

~ He laughed, “yeah, you feel it now, huh?”

~ “Yeah,” you struggled to say, locking the plate again. Letting your head fall back to the seat. “I’m gonna have to lower the weights now, I think. It’s a lot harder like this. Thanks for the advice though”

~ “No problem, you’ll grow your thighs in no time now.” He went back to the back presse, letting you go back to your workout. “Just would hate to see you hurt yourself, sweets”

~ You smiled at him, as he laid back down

~ When you left the gym, an half an hour later than you planned to

~ He called out to you, “if you ever need any other advice, I always come down here at 7pm and I’m usually here ‘til 9. Don’t hesitate, alright? I could use a workout partner, and if you ever need a spot, I’m here”

~ You took him up on his offer the following week, as you went down at 7pm sharp to see him setting up for his session

~ He smiled up at you from his position near the floor, setting up some weights, “Thought I’d never see you again, sweets.” He straightened up from the floor. “Thought I’d scared you away”

~ “No, no, I was just busy with work. Finally got some time today, couldn’t turn down a workout partner” you didn’t dare to tell him that you were just unsure whether it would be appropriate to actually start working out with him

~ He hummed in response, “let’s get started then, shall we?”

~ Over the next few months, he taught you how to use the machines more effectively and safely

~ He set up a better weekly routine that would work with you, which mirrored his, but with lower weights

~ He also grinned proudly when nearly a year later, you were showing him your progress pictures and flexing your arms in front of him, flexing your arms just like he’d shown you

~ You’d become quite close as you spent roughly two hours together every evening

~ “Goodness, Kookie, I would never get so ripped if it weren’t for you”

~ He pushed you away from him with a laugh, a blush on his face (he was a lot shyer than he originally seemed with his instructor persona)

~ “You still got a lot further to go, if you want to get anywhere near me” he teased you, referencing the one time you’d joked that you planned to become more muscular than him

~ “Oh stopppp!” you pushed him right back, your hands lingering on him even when you didn’t mean to

~ You had grown massive feelings for the tattooed man that was your workout partner

~ and you were sure that he did too, considering how many times you caught his eyes lingering on you when you worked out, his eyes darting away every time you caught him, blushing as he went back to his reps

~ And the fact that he would still readjust your position even though you very well by now knew the correct way

~ Or how he’d make you lay your hand over a muscle that he were focusing on during his workout, just so you’d feel the muscle move underneath your palm

~ Like, seriously, you don’t think he needed you to press your hand against his bare abs while he did his twenty different types of crunches for a full hour

~ Oh also, did I mention that he took to working out without a shirt a lot more after he began working out with you? Yeah, exactly, that man was definitely trying to get you to fall for him

~ Well, to be fair, you had started to pick out nicer work out clothes too… so take that as you will

~ And you couldn’t forget the one time, he’d jokingly (so he claimed) asked you if you’d like a different form of cardio to warm up before your workouts when you’d told him of what Henry Cavill does for cardio

~ You had laughed to hide the way your eyes were probably screaming yes

~ After another few months of him holding your waist as you did weighted squats, guiding you from behind, and him asking you to sit on his back while he did push ups and planks, and a hundred different ways you both found excuses to keep your hands and body on one another, you decided enough was enough

~ You took the elevator down at 6:30pm to his floor, and for the first time stood in front of his apartment door (he’d told you his floor and apartment number around the time you first met)

~ You rang the bell, hearing a soft “coming” from behind the door until he stood in front of you, shirtless and with his tattoos and piercings on full display

~ Goodness, his lip ring, looked incredible, you couldn’t wait to tug it in between your teeth

~ “Y/n?” he questioned, clearly confused to see you in your workout clothes and in front of his door so early

~ “Hey, Kookie,” you traced your nails down his chest, before stopping at his abs, “I was thinking that, maybe, we could try out Henry Cavill’s cardio warm-up, if you want of course…”

~ His eyes flashed with shock, before his mouth slowly grew into a smile, his hand coming around to pull you into his apartment by the small of your back

~ “Fuck, sweets, I thought you’d never ask”

I hoped you liked it! Please comment and reblog, or else I'm going to cry :D

#bts x reader #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #yandere jin x reader #yandere yoongi x reader #yandere hoseok x reader #yandere namjoon x reader #yandere jimin x reader #yandere taehyung x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #bts scenarios #bts drabbles #series: love amour aur pyaar #ev's writing

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bookshelf-in-progress · 1 year

Text

The Turning of the Year: A Cinderella Retelling

In a long-ago year, in a faraway land, there lived a girl named Alena. She lived in the house of a cruel stepmother, who hated her because she was so much prettier than her own daughter, and who made Alena do all the work of the house. Though the stepmother let her eat only scraps and wear only rags, Alena grew only more kind and beautiful as the year's went by, while her own daughter, Vanda, grew ever more coarse and cruel.

Now one December, it became known that the king of the land would host a grand ball in the city upon the eve of the New Year. Alena, like all other girls, wished to attend, and asked her stepmother if she could go. Her stepmother promised that she could, in order to convince Alena to work even harder in the weeks before.

But when New Year's Eve arrived, and Alena asked if she could dress for the ball, her stepmother cried, "A ball? When there is so much work to do? We must cast out the old year! You shall attend no ball before the house is cleaned. If there is even a speck of dust left in this house at midnight, you shall bring bad luck upon us all--and it shall be very bad luck for you.”

With that, her stepmother left the house, along with her own daughter, Vanda, to purchase trimmings for their dresses at the ball.

Scarcely had Alena begun to clean the kitchen when she heard footsteps near the back garden gate. When Alena peered outside, she found an old woman walking alone, her back so bent she could not stand without her staff, and her hair so white the snowflakes seemed dark upon it.

“Good mother!” Alena cried, rushing to the woman’s aid. “Come inside to warm yourself! It is no weather for traveling.”

The old woman took a seat by the fire with thanks, and gladly shared the crust of bread that was the only meal Alena’s stepmother had given her.

“You are good to an old woman,” the stranger said. “Yet that is no surprise, for you have been good the whole year through.”

“You do not know me,” Alena said in surprise.

“But I do,” the woman replied, “for I am the Old Year. You have shown me kindness near the end of my journey, so I will be glad to do what I can to help you in yours. What troubles you, child?”

Alena said with sorrow, “My stepmother will not let me attend the prince’s ball until I have cleaned every speck of dust from the house.”

“That is easily done,” the Old Year said, “for April shall reign in this house for the hour.”

With that, though the woman remained old and bent upon her stool, she also seemed somehow to be tall and straight, young and beautiful, with apple blossoms in her golden hair. In the garden outside, the snow clouds cleared away for springtime sun, and warm breezes blew through the house, gathering all the dirt and dust and soot and spreading it neatly in the gardens outside. While spring reigned, Alena gathered blossoming branches from the garden and placed them in jars around the house. Before the hour was over, the house shone. The old woman then lost her youthful aura, and winter returned to the gardens outside.

Alena thanked the Old Year from the bottom of her heart, but at that moment, her stepmother and stepsister returned. Alena, knowing that her stepmother would beat her for letting a ragged stranger into the house, hid the Old Year in the pantry just before her mother entered the kitchen.

“You lazy girl!” Stepmother shouted, when she saw Alena sitting on the stool near the fireplace. “Why are you sitting when the house must be cleaned?”

“It is clean, Stepmother,” Alena replied.

Her stepmother protested, but when she inspected the house, she found not a speck of dust.

She returned to the kitchen filled with rage, for she did not wish Alena to attend the ball and outshine her own daughter in the presence of the prince. When there, she saw the sacks of grain that Alena had moved out of the pantry to make room for the old woman.

“Aha!” her stepmother said. “You have forgotten the grain! We cannot enter the old year with bad grain. You must sift through every kernel so you can throw out the bad and keep the good. If this is not done before midnight, it will be a bad year for you.”

With that, her stepmother and Vanda returned to their rooms to prepare their dresses for the ball. Alena wept by the fireplace, and when she let the old year back into the kitchen, she told her the new task her stepmother had given her.

“That is no trouble,” the Old Year said. “Dry your eyes, child, for July shall reign in this house for the hour.”

Though the woman remained as old as ever, Alena thought she could also see her as a woman of middle age, with roses in hair just beginning to go gray. Through the windows flew every one of summer’s songbirds--warblers, robins, thrushes, vireos, orioles, flycatchers, tanagers, grosbeaks. At the Old Year’s commands, they opened the sacks, and threw the good grain into the barrels and the bad out the back door.

The gardens outside were lush and green, and Alena spent the hour in the sunshine, gathering strawberries, raspberries, and roses by the armful. The birds finished their work before the hour was over, and then flew out the doorway. The sunshine faded, the snow returned, and Alena thanked the Old Year with all her heart.

Just then, her stepmother emerged from her rooms, and Alena hid the Old Year in the pantry once more. Her stepmother and Vanda were fully dressed for the ball, but they had been so absorbed in their own looks that they had not seen even a moment of the summer that had filled the house.

"The grain is sorted, Stepmother," Alena said. "That means I can go to the ball."

With anger in her heart, her stepmother sorted through the grain, but she could not find one bad kernel to blame Alena for.

"You stupid girl!" she said at last. "Just because the grain is sorted, it doesn't mean your work is done. You have forgotten the mattresses! We cannot meet the new year in beds filled with last year's down! You must empty all the mattresses and stuff them all with fresh feathers before you can even think of attending the ball!"

She forced Alena to drag the mattresses to the kitchen, and then she and Vanda returned to their rooms to finish dressing their hair.

With that, Alena fell to weeping once again. The Old Year emerged and asked what troubled her.

"My stepmother demands I restuff the mattresses before I can attend the ball."

"That is no trouble," the Old Year said. "September shall reign in this house for the hour."

The next moment, though the woman remained old and bent, Alena also saw her as a woman not quite so old, with an elegant bearing and iron-gray hair that was woven with autumn leaves. The light outside became golden, while the plants in the garden grew brown and dry, and the trees bore apples among flaming leaves.

The sky grew dark as the air filled with the sound of beating wings, and in a moment, geese and ducks of every kind filled the gardens. The birds filed through the door, and at the Old Year's command, they pulled the old feathers from the mattresses and replaced them with a few feathers pulled from their own wings and tails and breasts. While the birds worked, Alena went to the gardens and gathered sweet apples from the groaning trees.

When the hour was over, the birds flew away, leaving behind mattresses plump with fresh new feathers. Alena thanked the Old Year with all her heart, then flew up the stairs to prepare for the ball.

Her stepmother met her in the hall outside her bedchamber, her hair dressed and ready for the ball.

"I have finished the work, Stepmother," Alena said, "so I will be able to go with you to the ball."

Her stepmother did not believe her, but when Alena brought the mattresses upstairs, she found them so plump and clean and fresh that she could find no fault to blame Alena for.

"You foolish child," her stepmother said at last, so angry she could barely speak. "You cannot possibly attend the ball, for you have nothing suitable to wear."

"I have one dress," Alena said. She flew into her dark, drafty little room and emerged with a gown that had once belonged to her mother. "This dress will fit me, and it is fit to be seen even by a king."

Her stepmother could see that in such a dress, even old as it was, Alena would still far outshine her own daughter in the prince's eyes. She tore the dress from Alena's hands, and with hands made strong by fury, she tore at the seams until the dress tore in two.

"This rag?" Her stepmother cried. "You cannot attend the ball in something so old. I would not have you come and give shame to us all. You must stay here and greet the new year alone."

With that, she and Vanda put on their cloaks, stepped in their carriage, and departed for the ball, leaving Alena weeping in the hallway.

While she wept, the Old Year came to her side and asked what troubled her.

"I am without hope," Alena said. "Though all the work is done, I cannot attend the ball, for I have nothing but rags to wear."

"Nonsense, child," the Old Year said. "You shall be the finest woman there, for you will be clothed in all the bounty of the year."

The Old Year helped Alena to her feet, and through tear-filled eyes, Alena saw the woman change, so she seemed old and young and middle-aged all at once. In the gardens outside, spring blossoms sprouted beside summer's roses, and autumn's leaves blazed over winter's snow. Sun and snow and wind and rain all seemed to fill the little hall where Alena stood. Her limp hair piled high atop her head and was crowned with the blossoms of spring. Her rags became a gown as soft as the petals of summer's roses, and bright with autumn's crimson and gold. A cloak of winter-white feathers stretched from her shoulders to the ground, and her feet were shod in shoes of winter's ice, which through some miracle neither froze her feet nor melted upon the floor.

"Old Mother!" Alena cried in gratitude, throwing her arms around the old woman. "I cannot thank you enough."

"You have earned it," the Old Year said, "but I warn you that I will fade away at midnight's chime, and when I go, my gifts will disappear. You must leave quickly, child, while time lasts."

With that, another wind, warm and icy all at once, wrapped itself around Alena and lifted her through the window. In moments, she found herself before the king's palace, which was all lit up for the festival.

At the ball, her beauty far outshone every woman there, and the dancers stopped dancing to whisper about this strange foreign princess who had arrived with no escort. The king, seeing her, was enchanted at once, and asked for her hand in the dance. For the rest of the night, Alena danced with no other, and found the king as kind and handsome as all the tales had claimed.

The hours flew by in what seemed like moments, until just as the king led her out toward a balcony, the palace clock began to chime the midnight hour.

"The new year has come!" the king declared, but Alena fled from him, out of the palace, down the stairs, and to the dark and snow-covered city streets. The Old Year's wind--what was left of it--found her and carried her through the midnight sky, but at the stroke of twelve, it faded away, dropping Alena into her house's back garden, clad once more in her rags. A single shoe of winter's ice clung to her left foot--though the Old Year's gifts had faded, winter still reigned, so only that season's gift remained.

The king, when she fled, ran after her, but he could find no trace of where his partner had gone, save one token, dropped in the place where the wind had picked her up--a single shoe made of winter's unmelting ice. The king declared that he would marry no woman save for the one who fit the miraculous shoe, and at the first light of dawn, he left the palace in search of her.

He had not gone far when he came across a girl child, barely old enough to walk, with hair as soft and golden as the sun's first rays.

"Where are you going?" the child asked him, in a voice too strong and clear for one so young. The king knew at once that he spoke to the newborn Year.

"I search for the woman I love," the king said, "though I have nothing to find her save the shoe she left behind."

"I know her well," the New Year said, "for she was a great friend of my mother's. You will find her in a house at the edge of the city, where spring's blossoms sit next to summer's roses and autumn's fresh apples."

With many thanks, the king swept the child onto his horse, wrapped her in his cloak, and sped off toward the far edge of the city. Before long, he came upon Alena's house, and knew it by the baskets of blossoms, roses and apples she had kept by the kitchen window.

When Alena's stepmother had come home from the ball, she had seen the signs of autumn, spring and summer in her kitchen, and knew that Alena had been the princess at the ball. She searched in Alena's room and found the partner to the shoe the prince held, then she seized Alena by the hair and locked her deep within the cellar. As she saw the prince approach, she fetched Vanda--her own ugly, cruel daughter--and perched her near the window with the blossoming roses, with the shoe of ice upon her foot.

The king rode to the house's entrance and presented himself by the main doors. Alena's stepmother greeted him with warm joy and welcomed him inside. While she took the king's cloak and tended to his boots, she did not see the small child toddle from the prince's side and make her way to the room where Vanda sat waiting.

Once there, the New Year reached her tiny hands toward the loaf of bread that Alena had baked only that morning. "Might I have something to eat?" she asked Vanda.

"Go away, little girl," Vanda said crossly. "Don't you know that the prince is here?"

The New Year asked for bread again, and once more, Vanda scolded her. At last, the child began to cry, and Vanda hit her on the ear and sent her tumbling to the floor.

Red-faced and crying, the New Year rose to her feet and told Vanya. "You are a cruel, selfish girl. Your heart is cold as ice, and so it is winter that will reign in this house today."

With her words, all the doors and windows of the room flew open, and a wind as cold as death blew in. Snow blew into the room and fell in drifts upon the floor. Before long, Vanda's lips and hands were blue, but her feet, encased in blocks of freezing ice, were black as coal.

Vanya's screams drew her mother to her side, and the king, alarmed, trailed in after her. He saw the girl with blackened feet, and though one foot wore the slipper of ice, he knew she was not the girl he sought. He feared that these cruel women had done her some great harm.

While Vanya's mother tended to her and sent for the doctor, the king saw the New Year standing in a drift of snow. He lifted her onto a stool, wrapped her in his cloak, and asked her, "Where is the woman I love? You promised she was here, yet I do not see her, and there are no other women in this house."

"You will find her in the one place where winter did not touch," the New Year said, "for her heart is too warm to be touched by ice."

The king waded through the kitchen's drifting snow and opened the door of the pantry. There, he saw all the house's food stores covered in snow and ice, but with not a flake covering the small door that led to the cellar. With a few blows, the door broke open, and the king pulled Alena out into the morning light.

"I have found you at last," the king cried in joy, and knelt before her with the slipper of ice. "You have my heart," the king replied, "and if you are willing, I would make you my bride."

With a smile, Alena said, "I will gladly be your wife."

With joy, the king took Alena to his home and introduced her to his court as his chosen bride. The people were charmed at once by her beauty and her kindness, and before the month was over, she was wed to the king and became queen over all the land. Her stepmother and stepsister, with Vanya maimed and their food frozen, became paupers, because they, in their pride, refused all of Alena's charity. Their cruelty gained them no friends, and before the winter's end, they were found, frozen to death, in winter's snow.

Alena, reigning as queen by her husband's side, became beloved by all the land. She and her husband remained pure of soul and warm of heart, and together they all lived happily for all the rest of their years.

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #cinderella #have one last fairy tale #i've wanted to do a new year's eve cinderella #and one that mashed it up with the story of the twelve months that i've liked since i was a kid #i came up with the angle when i woke up the morning of the 30th #and decided i had to pull it together before the end of the year #i had wanted to do a full story but it only seemed to work as a fairy tale #(i also wanted to have the twelve months as separate men like in the fairy tale)#(but in practice hiding twelve men made the story ridiculous)#(and the new year as one woman seemed to work both from the fairy godmother angle and the new year angle)#i hope it's not too boring or trite #i just had to write it as quickly as possible #this was just how it came out so i'll have to go with it

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wososcripts · 4 months

Text

I've Been Getting Lost in Translation (Part Two)

(these kits are god awful but you didn't hear that from me)

stina blackstenius x reader; part one can be found here

Summary: You finally get to meet your girlfriend’s parents, but you aren’t sure they’re aware the two of you are more than just friends.

A/N: Here's part two finally! I hope it's worth the wait for you all lol, make sure you read the first part as well as that author's note for clarity! As usual, nothing I write is intended to speculate or infringe upon player's personal lives, it's all 100% fiction and done in good fun.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings⚠️: very very slight mentions of anxiety and self-harm behaviors, but it really isn't featured here more than a passing mention

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You could feel Stina's eyes on you as you came down the stairs and joined the group in getting ready to go, you felt them on you in the car, and once you got to the skating rink. She never seemed to not be looking at you, sending worried little glances your way that you just couldn't interact with right now if you wanted to keep it together.

"Here are Linnéa's extra skates." Stina's mom held out a pair of ice skates for you to grab. "I'm not sure they'll fit, but Stina said you were around the same size as her sister… otherwise you can rent a pair here."

She gave you a warm smile and left you to try them on, already lacing up her own and taking off on the ice.

It was a beautiful day, sunny and cold with a thick layer of snow on the ground from a couple of days ago. And the rink was amazing. It was well maintained, but still had the feeling of a pond you'd have skated on as a child.

Stina's sister came to sit down next to you, explaining some of the quirks with the skates. You had to pull the laces hard to get them to fit in the clasps at the top before you could tie them, she showed you, yanking on your ankle a little roughly for your liking.

"Linnéa, be careful with her foot!" You heard Stina call from the ice.

Linnéa waved her off, turning to you.

"Does it hurt?"

You shook your head.

"That ankle is just a bit sensitive. I broke it in June."

"Well the laces being tight will make sure that doesn't happen again," she laughed, then glanced to make sure Stina wasn't looking at you two and said something lowly to you. "How is she doing in London? I mean she says everything is going well, but it's hard to know when we're not there to see her."

You smiled, genuinely for the first time in hours.

"She's doing great. Everyone loves her, she's been playing fantastic this season, she gets along well with the coach and the players. I really don't think there's anything for you to worry about."

"It's good that she has you and Amanda there. She seems reserved but without a few good people around her I know she gets lonely."

"What are you two slow pokes waiting for?" Stina's father skated by, gesturing for you to come on.

Linnéa followed him, starting a conversation with him in Swedish you could hardly grasp onto. How this family managed to speak so quickly, you were lost on.

You joined the rest of them on the ice, trying to ignore your poor mood from earlier. Moping around was no way to make a first impression. So you tried to suck it up and let the joy of the moment overtake you. You hadn't skated in years, having played in Italy for a bit before moving to London. There never seemed to be enough time, or good rinks close by. And when you were back in Germany you mostly wanted to see your family and Laura.

You ended up skating with Stina’s nephew, a boy around seven. He was already impressively steady on his skates, something you would not have been able to say at his age. But still, he held your hand and talked your ear off in Swedish you only partially understood.

"Did you come with aunt Stina?" He asked, to which you nodded.

"We play for the same football team in England." You explained in your slow Swedish.

"Did you come here on a plane?" You nodded again, smiling.

"We flew here yesterday, from London."

The boy considered you for a moment.

"You speak funny," he proclaimed, letting go of your hand, "watch what I can do!"

And with that he skated in front of you, circling around you playfully as you stood still. You grinned at him, giving a round of applause when he was done.

“Hey,” you heard Stina come up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder as to not startle you.

You gave her a smile which she softly returned.

“What are you two up to?”

“He’s showing me his incredible skating skills,” You replied.

Stina’s nephew nodded and twirled around again, clearly looking for more praise.

Stina cheered him on, catching one of his hands and spinning him once more.

“Very impressive,” she praised, “Unfortunately we’ve got to go eat some lunch. It’s getting dark out.”

You looked up at the sky, having not realized that she was right, the sun was setting already. You checked your phone and saw it was barely one pm.

Stina’s nephew nodded and shot forward ahead of you two, rushing back to where his parents were.

“How are you doing?” Stina asked.

You could tell she was still unsettled by what had happened earlier in the bathroom by how careful she was with you, how she treated each interaction tentatively. You felt badly for making her worry, for turning this visit with her family into yet another stressful situation rather than the relaxing break you both needed.

“I’m doing all right.” You gave the hand on your shoulder a squeeze and started to skate in the direction of the exit, a little further away from her than you would normally.

You felt the distance seemingly in every stride you took, agonizing over your choice to move further from her. You were upset by the lack of any physical affection, and yet here you were removing even the chance that she might initiate it. It was self sabotage, you knew. Yet it was still difficult not to indulge in it. Whether she felt the distance as much as you did, you couldn’t know.

“Why does Aunt Stina’s friend speak so funny?” You heard Stina’s nephew ask his mother, to which you couldn’t help but chuckle as she scolded him lightly.

“She’s still learning Swedish, baby, she’s from Germany.”

“You’re from Germany?” The boy asked you once you were in front of him, skates in hand. He said it as if it were some far away land, not in the same continent.

You nodded and ruffled his hair a bit, giving him a smile. You sat down on the bench, unlacing your skates and indulging the boy as he asked you several questions about Germany and what it was like there. You noticed Stina had a firm watch on you as you started to take your left skate off—the one that Linnéa had tugged on. It was aching a bit, that was true. But you simply massaged it for a moment and stood up like you couldn't feel a thing.

“Thanks again for lending me the skates,” You said to Stina’s mother, giving them back carefully.

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The eight of you decided to eat at a small restaurant not far from the rink. Sunset was already in full force, vibrant orange and pink staining the sky around you.

Stina had borrowed her sister's car that morning, preferring not to be squished in the back seat all day. The drive over gave you a bit of privacy, which you spent in relative quiet, Stina's playlist playing softly through the car speakers. Her hand was on your thigh innocently, and every once in a while she glanced over. Maybe she expected you to say something. But you knew if you started now, you wouldn't be able to stop.

You were thankful for your sturdy sneakers as you stepped out of the car, a twinge in your ankle rippling up your leg. It was more sore than you would've expected, but nothing you were overly worried about. The doctor had warned you that some days might give you more trouble than others, and that was normal. You would just have to take care to ice it this evening before you went to bed.

And by the looks of it, Stina would be making sure you did anyway.

She was robbed of her chance to ask if it was bothering you by her nephew, who seemed to have taken a real liking to you. He came barreling at you, arms open for you to lift him up. You weren't all that tall, and he certainly had inherited his family's height, so lifting him was a bit complicated. Eventually the two of you decided on a piggy back after some awkward maneuvering.

"He likes you," Stina's brother commented, tickling his son lightly. "He's normally quite reserved around new adults."

You smiled at him, feeling your heart soar. This, this was what you wanted from the trip. You wanted Stina's family to love you, for her not to have to worry about you fitting in or being accepted.

"She's going to sit next to me!" The boy announced once the waiter had shown you to your booth.

"Do I need to be worried?" Stina joked, to which her nephew stuck out his tongue.

She returned the favor playfully.

"No need to fight, there's plenty of me to go around."

The booth wasn't all that big, which was how you explained Stina's closeness. Most of your right side was pressed right up against hers, something you initially tried to rectify, only to receive a strange look from her. You cursed yourself for how unsure you were being. You'd spent months like this before the two of you had started dating and it nearly drove you (and your teammates) crazy.

You let Stina order for you since she had been here before and she knew what you liked. The tiredness was beginning to hit you. It was dark outside now, and between skating for a few hours, entertaining a seven year old, and worrying over your relationship, you'd had quite the day. Thankfully you had ibuprofen in your bag in case of one of your headaches.

Whatever Stina had ordered you looked delicious when it came out. You dug in, realizing then how hungry you were. Usually you had a snack in between breakfast and lunch particularly on training days.

You were surprised to feel a hand on your knee a little while later. You were listening to a story her nephew was intently explaining to you as he colored in one of the books his mother brought for him, and suddenly it was there. It was something so completely normal you couldn't believe how much it shocked you. If anything, that was proof of how much you had gotten in your own head. Back home it would be impossible to imagine sitting next to Stina without her hand resting lightly on you somewhere. It helped ground her, she said.

But now, your thoughts were racing with every move she made. Stina's fingers drummed absentmindedly on your thigh, the rhythm of them distracting you slightly from her nephew. She didn't usually tap unless she was feeling fidgety, which meant she was anxious. Was Stina feeling something similar to what you were? Was it out of anxiety that she was keeping things secret? The idea of your relationship inspiring such emotions in your girlfriend made the lump in your throat that much bigger. Maybe she was picking up on your mood. Stina had always been very perceptive (because she spent so much time quietly watching, you often teased) and seemed to pick up on your moods without issue. But you’d been trying to hide this.

You caught her eye and sent her a quick smile. A piece of hair had fallen into her eyes and you wanted desperately to push it behind her ear as you normally would. But the gesture seemed too intimate now. It was as if you were in a glass cage, every move observed with the chance of exposing your feelings. But what was the problem in that, you asked yourself. You loved Stina, openly. Why were you letting this affect you so much?

Stina's sister declared that she wanted to do a bit of shopping after lunch, which the rest of the group was perfectly amicable to. It wasn’t all that late, and you’d get a chance to see the Christmas market all lit up. Stina's nephew certainly hadn't taken much convincing once Linnéa mentioned stopping at the toy store to look at something.

"Am I your favorite now?" Linnéa asked him, looking at you with a sly grin on her face.

"Yes!" The boy cried, smiling wide.

"You can't buy true connection, Linnéa," you teased, still helping to color.

"Can't buy connection." The boy repeated wisely. "I still like Stina's friend too."

You smiled and ruffled the boy's hair, suggesting quietly in his ear that you move to another page and make a drawing for Stina.

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Linnéa joined you and Stina in the car on the way back to their parent’s house, adding to the tension that had been building since the eight of you had gone shopping. Stina had stuck close to your side, and you’d done your best to act normally while keeping some distance. You needed to sort your head out, and being close to her wasn’t helping. Thankfully her nephew provided a good excuse to be tugged in all sorts of directions—he had decided you were his favorite once more, leaving Linnéa to hang behind with her siblings.

Once you had reached the Christmas market, after a short detour in the toy store where you had agreed to get matching dragon plushies for you and the young boy, each of you wandered off on your own. You, Stina’s brother, and her nephew headed first for the big tree that had been decorated in the square while the rest went to get something hot to drink. You had managed to sneak off under the guise of having to find the toilet, Stina’s brother covering for you if you needed. You wanted to get a small gift for Stina, something in addition to what you’d already purchased. Most of it was back in London since bringing it all on the plane was a hassle.

You’d found a perfect gift at a small stall tucked away near the edge of the market where an older woman was selling vintage jewelry. You picked through it slowly at first, not sure you would find anything. Most of it was too gaudy for Stina, and too impractical. But then you found a simple pendant with two stones in the middle—an amethyst and an opal, each of your birth stones, set in a complex circular pattern that reminded you a bit of some of the celtic designs Katie had shown you. You had purchased it immediately, no matter that it was overpriced.

Now you were sat listening to Linnéa’s music quietly as the three of you drove, trying not to nod off. You were unsuccessful, because the next thing you remembered was being jolted awake by Linnéa’s door falling shut. You heard Stina chuckle next to you and put a hand on your shoulder, likely amused by how suddenly you had shot up. You chuckled along with her and patted her hand, putting your coat back on to brave the cold once more.

“Is your ankle bothering you?” Stina asked you quietly as you all began to walk back to the house for dinner preparations.

You thought that you had been hiding the slight limp in your walk well, certainly nobody else had noticed, but nothing escaped your girlfriend apparently.

“Only a bit. I’ll ice it later and it’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“You should’ve said something if it was hurting, I told Linnea to be careful—” she was beginning to ramble, but you cut her off.

“Stina, it’s fine. I said I’m fine. I know what I can and cannot handle.”

It was a lie, and the both of you knew it. You were a stubborn bastard. Stina had been with you through your recovery, through every incident where you pushed yourself too hard only to have to face the consequences. She’d found you on the kitchen floor, comforted you after a physio session, seen you train with the team for the first time again. It was insulting to allege she didn’t know when too much was too much.

“Sorry,” You mumbled, already feeling bad for snapping at her. It wasn’t fair, she didn’t even know what was wrong and you were what? Punishing her?

“I just don’t want to see you hurt again. Do you know how horrible that was? To see you in that much pain?” Stina’s eyes were glossy with just the memory.

You weren’t sure what to say to that. You and Stina didn’t talk much about your injury and recovery. It was still too fresh, barely more than a couple months old. The crack of your ankle, the blood, her tears, her gentle shaking hands, it was all still at the front of your mind.

You were saved from having to formulate a response by Stina’s mother calling her to the kitchen. She left you, only looking back once to give you a slight smile, showing that the two of you were okay. But you knew the time to confront what was going on needed to come quickly.

You sat with Stina’s brother on the sofa and watched some Swedish Christmas program mindlessly. Mostly you were thinking about how to go about talking to Stina later. “Directness is key”, Laura's voice reminded you. You just had to say it, without blaming anyone. Just focus on yourself, your feelings.

It wasn't clear how long you sat there quietly before dozing off again, but Stina’s nephew was the one to wake you for dinner, doing so by climbing into your lap.

"It's dinner time." He said, poking at your shoulder.

You forced your eyes open, giving him a drowsy smile.

“Okay, Prinzi” you replied, picking him up off your lap so you could stand. He managed to hang on to your side though, and you ended up lifting him onto your hip anyway.

Fuck, you cursed silently as you noticed your ankle was even more tender than when you had fallen asleep. You’d have to check for bruising later and keep off it for the rest of the night. But still, you carried Stina’s nephew to the table with ease, setting him in his seat next to his mother who shot you a sheepish smile.

“Tired, aren’t you?” You heard a voice behind you, and then a gentle hand at your back.

It was Stina, who smelled of something sweet in the kitchen. You wanted to lean back into her and not move for the rest of the night. Instead you just nodded.

“Sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“You’ve been playing babysitter all day, that might be part of it.” She smiled.

You nodded in agreement, a smile on your face as well.

"You're so good with him," she whispered into your ear, "it's adorable."

You had caught her taking pictures of you with her nephew a couple times throughout the day, and now, as you briefly as her phone light up with notification, it seemed she had set one of them as her lockscreen.

"I try my best. He's a good kid."

"Well, he's in good hands."

Dinner was delicious, but relatively uneventful. After an entire day together everyone was happy to sit quietly and enjoy the food. Stina’s nephew joked with you a couple times, still wanting all of your attention, but even he seemed to be winding down for the night.

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

After the table was cleared and the dishes had been washed (a task delegated to Stina’s brother this time), the group splintered off. Linnéa was going out to meet with a few friends, Stina’s brother and his family had to go home before it got too late, and Stina’s parents had settled in the living room. The two of you were welcome to join, they offered, for a nightcap. But it was clear that maybe you and Stina needed some alone time.

So you bid everyone good night, thanking them for a wonderful day, and giving Stina’s nephew a big hug goodbye (even though you would be seeing him the next day). You tried to prepare for what you knew was a difficult discussion coming your way. In and out, you tried to remind yourself.

“Go ahead, I’ll be in in a minute,” Stina told you when you reached the bedroom door.

You nodded, thankful for the extra minute to think. The room was quiet around you. You felt the quilt beneath your hands, taking another deep breath. You didn’t need to overthink this. It was simple. And Stina loved you, you reminded yourself.

There was a knock at the door, after which Stina slowly opened it and slipped inside. She had a bag of ice in her hands, presumably for your ankle. Already you felt tears spring to your eyes.

“Here, for your foot.”

She lifted your leg, grabbing a chair for you to prop it up on, and pressed the ice to it.

“So,” Stina paused, still standing before you, “What’s wrong?” You opened your mouth, but were cut off before you could say anything. “And don’t say it’s nothing, I can tell it isn’t. And I want to know, I want you to tell me, whatever it is.”

You chuckled internally at the similarity to Laura’s demand earlier. Stina knew you too well for you to hide from her either. That made your heart ache a little bit.

Your lack of response seemed to signal to Stina that you needed more convincing because she knelt down in front of you, taking your hands in hers.

“What were you doing in the bathroom earlier? Why did you look so upset? All day, I can see you trying to hide it, but I know you’re hiding something. It hurts me too, to see you like that. It’s like a thorn in my ribs.”

Your lip trembled, and you bit down hard on your cheek until you could feel blood in your mouth. It rushed onto your tongue, the metallic taste distracting you from the urge to cry. Stina had caught your gaze, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

“Do your parents know we’re together?” Your voice held steady as you asked.

Whatever she had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that. Stina let out an airy chuckle, looking relieved. You brought your gaze to the floor, eyes wetting rapidly, which Stina quickly noticed.

“Hey, hey, hey,” She brought a hand up to your face, brushing the hair away from it. She sat next to you, moving up from where she was kneeling, and pulled you into her. “Look at me.” She put a finger under your chin, drawing your gaze to hers. The sight of your eyes nearly broke her heart. She hadn’t seen your face crumple in on itself like this since you were injured. The idea that something she had done could have caused you pain like that made her feel indescribably awful.

“Of course they know, of course they do.”

You let out a sigh of relief, putting your head in your hands. You felt a hand on the back of your neck, rubbing the skin there tenderly.

“Then why have you been so…distant all day? And yesterday? This morning at breakfast, I couldn’t even hold your hand. It seemed like you didn’t want your family to see us together. I thought maybe you… I don’t know, that you were unsure of us, or afraid, or—”

“That’s not it, I promise,” she said, wiping a tear away that had fallen from your eye. Fuck, you hated crying this much. “It’s just odd for me to be affectionate in front of my parents. They never were very touchy with each other in front of us, so it just feels like some unspoken rule. And then when my brother married his wife, they were the same way. But I promise, tomorrow I’ll try—”

You shook your head. You could tell Stina was upset too now, and you didn't want that. That wasn't the point of this. Tears continued to stream from your eyes, and you continued to swipe harshly at them.

“No, no. It’s all right. I don’t need you to be affectionate in front of them, I understand. It just seemed strange when I didn’t know the reason. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

Stina seemed at a loss for a moment, truly shocked. She pulled you into a kiss, pressing her lips firmly against yours once, twice, three times before pulling back.

“You’re in this house too. And we’re a team: you don’t just have to do things the way we do. I’m supposed to meet you in the middle, okay? We’re in a relationship—if something hurts you, or is important to you, I want to know.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand as a small thanks. The taste of blood trickled through your mouth, reminding you of the wound. You did your best to swallow it down.

“Come on, let’s get you into something more comfortable,” Stina said, helping you up.

She opened the dresser, looking for some of the pants you had brought. When she turned around, in her hands were a pair of grey sweats and one of her long sleeve Swedish national team shirts.

“Sit,” she requested, pointing at the bed.

You followed, sitting and allowing her to help you undress. It was totally non-sexual, Stina was wholly concerned in caring for you. Once you were dressed in the casual clothes she had picked out, Stina returned to your side, your ankle in her lap as she massaged the skin gently.

“Was that what made you think I hadn’t told them?”

“It seems silly… but I also overheard them talking to your aunt in the kitchen last night.” You took a breath, trying to banish the tears for good. “I know my Swedish isn’t that good, but I was doing my best to keep up, and they kept referring to me as your friend, your friend, Stina’s friend.”

Stina looked at you, confused.

“They did? What did they say?”

You did your best to repeat the word, cringing at your own pronunciation.

“Väninna?” She repeated, and you nodded. “Who told you that means friend?”

“Amanda.” you replied, “She said it was like a female friend.”

Stina shook her head, laughing.

“What?” You asked, a bit indignant.

“It does mean that. But it also means girlfriend. I don’t think Amanda thought you’d ever run into the word. It’s a bit old fashioned.” Stina explained.

“Oh…” you said, feeling very stupid, and very relieved.

“Come here,” Stina said, leaning back against the headrest and gesturing for you to settle against her. She grabbed the bag of ice on your foot and shifted it to lie comfortably again. “I’m sorry you had to go through the day thinking I’d invited you here under friendly pretenses.”

You could tell she was making fun of you, just a little, but that there was sincerity in her voice too. One of her hands crept under your shirt, resting comfortingly on your stomach.

“I hope you don’t treat all your friends like you did yesterday morning.” You replied, snuggling closer to her. For the first time in days your head wasn’t full of doubts, and you could relax wholly. You just wanted to enjoy her warmth around you. You had faith that tomorrow would be great, that you could finally enjoy your time here the way you were meant to.

She chuckled, hugging you closer to her and pressing a kiss to your upward-turned lips.

“No, definitely not. I usually have better decision making skills around most people.”

“I guess I’m just special then, huh?”

#hope you all enjoy !#and happy new years eve-ish #arsenal x reader #stina blackstenius #stina blackstenius x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #laura freigang #stina blackstenius imagine #my writing

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