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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens - “At Midnight” (Rated G)

Summary:

Crowley is devastated by how smoothly the world continues on after he loses Aziraphale to the bookshop fire. Adam stops the war between Heaven and Hell, and things go back to normal for everyone... except him. Crowley goes from demon to ghoul, haunting St. James's Park every night, caught up in his memories of his angel. Until one night, he comes across something unexpected that makes things a little better... (2416 words) ... and a whole lot worse.

Read on AO3.

The hands on Aziraphale's grandfather clock have crept dangerously close to eleven by the time Crowley steps out the door of the bookshop and into the night. He's not closing up. The shop was never open.

Not for anyone but him.

He’d spent the day lurking in the shifting shadows, coiled around the leg of angel's favorite chair, keeping guard.

Watching for movement.

Praying for change.

For resolution.

He marked time by the tolling of Aziraphale's clock, the ebb and flow of the commuters outside, and a single ray of sunlight carving its path across the floor, disappearing out the window at the stroke of seven. That’s when he came out of hiding, became his demon self once again.

Crowley pops his collar against the wind and locks the door behind him. He takes one last look at the pane beneath his fingertips, running them lightly over a ridiculous note affixed to the glass. It’s a note he wrote on Aziraphale's behest, proclaiming when customers can expect the shop to open.

The long and short of it being - don't.

I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10 a.m. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday...

Crowley had written it to irritate his angel - a demonic dig, as it were. But after reading it, Aziraphale couldn't have been more delighted.

"Brilliant!" he'd said. "Masterfully convoluted! Now I can finally relax and finish my crossword puzzle in peace! Thank you, my dear."

Crowley had gone warm at Aziraphale's words. He had never felt so overwhelmed by praise.

But now, the sign makes him bitter.

It should have long been replaced with one that reads on holiday, circling the globe, or living the happily ever after life in Mayfair with my husband.

But that wasn't in the cards for Crowley and Aziraphale.

Crowley snaps his fingers to lower the blinds and snuff the lights, and takes off at a brisk clip to the park.

Alone.

He does this every night - haunts St. James's Park close to midnight when he'd rather be at home asleep. Crowley had planned to sleep the next seven millennia away, wait until the world started over again before he showed his face to the sun, but infuriatingly, he couldn't. It's impossible for him to get comfortable in his bed when there should be someone else beside him, sitting up and reading by his damned holy light.

Crowley never thought he'd miss that stupid light piercing his eyelids and interrupting his slumber, but he misses it more than anything.

There was nothing left for Crowley after he lost Aziraphale in the bookshop fire.

He'd always felt that if they went their separate ways, it would sever his heart, but nothing more. He'd go on. But the assumption had been that Aziraphale would still be - exist, just not in Crowley's life.

When Aziraphale went, everything good went with him - love, hope, color, and taste all vacated Crowley's world. But Crowley was too much of a coward to call it quits and join him in oblivion, since, as far as Crowley was concerned, that was where immortal beings ended up if they were eliminated from Earth. Heaven and Hell only existed for humans. Aziraphale and Crowley were created for this world.

For them, this was it.

He thought he would get into his car and drive, but he couldn't make himself leave. He would get as far as Kent or Surrey, then his Bentley would stop.

Whether he was the one pressing the brake or his car - it varied.

Either way, he'd take a deep breath, toss off his glasses, rub the blur from his watery eyes, and the next thing he knew, he was home.

Couldn't sleep.

Couldn't leave.

Couldn't escape.

Yup. This was Hell. Undoubtedly.

Since he couldn't stay put and he couldn't run away, he spent night after night roaming the park - a ghoul shrouded in shadows of the past. Selfishly, he did everything he could to make the park inhospitable after dark, the same way Aziraphale did for his bookshop to deter customers. He made the place dreary, filled it with suspicious shadows, cold spots, and feelings of dread. In his attempt to get rid of anyone who might bother him, he unwittingly thwarted a few mugging attempts and a handful of assaults, which eliminated crime in St. James's Park for the most part.

Otherwise, he kept to himself.

It didn't matter to Crowley one bit that Adam had saved the planet from Heaven and Hell's blasted war. Or that, in doing so, neither side seemed interested in Crowley anymore.

Without Aziraphale by his side, Crowley wanted none of it.

These nightly walks, re-visiting the spots where they'd met up through time, didn't help. His memories of Aziraphale had begun to erode what was left of his soul.

His regret over the one thing he had left unsaid.

But there was a handshake exchange afoot.

His late-night trips to the park were how he noticed the light, blooming, growing on the bench smack dab in front of the duck pond.

Their bench.

A thread of silver light that lasted one solid minute from beginning to end.

It was spectacular. Unbelievable in its brilliance. Of the few souls who braved Crowley's shield of demonic influence, only Crowley seemed to notice it. And he couldn't avoid it.

It called to him.

Crowley stalked the light for over a week, never getting too close. It seemed like the kind of thing Gabriel might conjure up to trap him. Heaven may not give two shits about him, but archangels have been known to hold serious grudges.

He resisted its pull, but Crowley is a curious demon, and curiosity got the better of him. Besides, what did he care if Gabriel got the drop on him? Crowley was up for a fight, even one he might lose.

He had nothing better to do.

Crowley walked straight to the bench and sat down the moment the light appeared. He stared at it, into it, trying to sniff out its origins, what it was doing there. Being this close to it, he realized he was wrong. It didn't appear out of thin air. It was a consequence - evidence of a seam ripping in the universe, and on the other side...

Crowley only saw him for a second, but that was all he needed.

Aziraphale.

They locked eyes. Aziraphale's face lit up as if he were seeing the stars for the first time.

Stars Crowley created.

He was quite a distance from the tear. Like Crowley, he avoided it as much as possible. But seeing Crowley on the other side, he ran toward it, calling out a single word. It was all he had time for before the rend closed, and he was gone again.

The word he managed was Crowley.

Every night after, Crowley would arrive at the bench with plenty of time for the two of them to speak. As best as they could deduce, something bizarre happened during that fire in Aziraphale's bookshop. Unprecedented. Crowley assumed, at first, that the flames that devoured his angel's pride and joy had come from Hellfire. But they didn't. And Aziraphale, standing in the center of the transportation portal in his corporeal form, never made it to Heaven. He got caught in between.

Purgatory.

A place that many supernatural beings consider scarier than Hell.

A railway station with a way in but no way out. For immortals, that is. Mortal souls can earn a place upstairs depending on how they behave in this celestial waiting room. But as humans and demons don't concern themselves much with Purgatory lore, there is no book in Hell or on Earth that can help. Crowley has tried finding one - traveled to libraries and broken into collections he would do only on Aziraphale's behalf. But for all of his lofty capers, he found nothing. There might be a book in Heaven, but Crowley has no way to access it.

And Aziraphale is trapped.

Wouldn't Crowley know it, but even under these circumstances, Aziraphale found ways to continue his insufferable good deeds, helping mortal souls trapped with him to move along. Though Crowley believes Aziraphale has an ulterior motive.

Peace and quiet.

Aziraphale has one of those faces that attracts people to him, people who long to share their woeful life stories. So he listens, and then he counsels. When that soul moves on, he earns the most sought-after prize of all - an additional measure of silence.

Crowley and Aziraphale thought Heaven would notice his absence by now. Gabriel’s memos were piling up on Aziraphale's desk, untouched. Or by the massive influx of souls arriving at the pearly gates.

But no luck.

The angels in charge of the prisoners in the bottomless pits of Hell are more on the ball than the ones who keep an eye on the poor souls stuck in between.

This boundary between Earth and Purgatory dissolves at the stroke of midnight but zips up as soon as the clock strikes 12:01. Then Aziraphale disappears, not returning again till the following day. They are permitted one minute to tell each other everything, and they do their best to get it all out.

There's one thing Crowley hasn't gotten to yet. Hasn’t for 6000 years.

His one regret.

He plans on telling Aziraphale tonight on the off chance they can't come up with a solution to this.

Crowley feels the light before it appears. It tugs at something deep inside, ushers him to his seat on the bench. It arrives with a clap like thunder, so loud he’s surprised when it doesn’t shatter windows and crack foundations. Air whooshes by him at hurricane speeds, sucked into the impending rend.

A second later, Aziraphale appears beside him.

In a different dimension but beside him, framed by the light as if he's a reflection in a mirror.

Crowley inches his hand close, knowing without seeing that Aziraphale’s hand rests similarly on the opposite side. They cannot touch. They’ve tried.

Neither can cross the barrier.

“So, my dear,” Aziraphale starts, looking through the shimmer at Crowley, “how’s the bookshop?”

“Right as rain as always,” Crowley replies. He used to mutter, “Hello, Crowley. How are you? You’re looking well this fine evening,” but realized how immature and hurtful that was when Aziraphale heard him, and his face fell. Aziraphale wasn’t disregarding Crowley by not asking after him first. It was too painful for Aziraphale to acknowledge how far apart they were from one another. “How have you been, angel?”

“Can’t complain. Although I could really go for a plate of crepes. Or perhaps a nice, hearty gazpacho.”

“Don’t you worry. The moment I have you free of there, I’ll take you to dinner. Anywhere you want to go.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Aziraphale says, the longing in his eyes heartbreaking. “It wouldn’t be so bad over here if I had a book or two.”

“I did try passing you one over, but… “

“Yes, yes, I recall.” Aziraphale sighs at the memory of a favorite Wilde hardcover disintegrating into thin air. Luckily, that didn’t happen to either of them when they attempted to cross. “Valiant effort. Disastrous outcome.”

“Meddled in anyone's affairs today, have you?”

“As a matter of fact… ” Aziraphale smiles brightly. “A charming lady named Agatha. Lived a good long life. Died at the age of 93, I believe she said.”

“Wot in the world did she do to make it into Purgatory?”

“The usual. Attachment to sin.”

Crowley nods, lips twisting with a knowing grin. “Let me guess… the premarital variety?”

“That’s the one. She also poisoned an abusive stepfather, not her own, broke into a research facility to rescue rabbits, and stole a petty neighbor’s tomatoes on the daily until the day she died.”

Crowley chuckles. “Ah, yes. You’ve got to love old ladies.”

“Indeed.”

“Wot did you do?”

“Same as always. I had her give a proper confession. I forgave her for the poisoning, of course… “

“Of course.”

“... and the rabbit liberation. But we talked through the issue with the tomatoes. I explained that trespassing on her neighbor’s property is wrong even if the woman did dye all her delicates on her drying line puce.”

Crowley makes a face. He has no idea what puce is, but it sounds vile. “Probably justified there.”

“But that wasn’t the crux of her dilemma.”

“Wot was?”

Aziraphale turns, eyes wandering in the direction of the pond even though he can’t see it. “She misses the love of her life.”

Crowley's eyes widen. “Oh.”

“I assured her that her lover would be with her soon. After that, she was fine moving on.”

“Is that the truth?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says wistfully. “He beloved misses her very much. They make a lovely couple.”

“That’ll be nice. The two of them reuniting.”

“Yes. It will be… for them.”

Silence falls between them. They steer clear of silence when they can, seeing how short their time is together, but it can't be helped. Aziraphale could work from here till eternity joining lost souls, but he can't help himself do the same.

The weight of that overwhelms them.

Crowley's phone vibrates in his pocket, signaling their minute together coming to an end. The silver frame phases, its light dimming, sputtering like a candle about to go out. As with every time before, Crowley tries to stop it, tries to stop time to keep Aziraphale with him longer. But it doesn’t work. Either this rend works outside of the laws of time, or time has had it with Crowley’s antics, but this can’t be stopped.

Crowley’s imagination isn’t strong enough.

“We only have a little time left,” Aziraphale says, “and we’re no closer to solving this puzzle!”

“I know,” Crowley replies. “I'll keep working on it. I promise. But before you go, I just wanted to tell you… ”

The air crackles as the rip begins to mend, the noise drowning them out.

"Yes, my dear?"

"I need to tell you... "

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale starts to fade as the gap sutures shut. “I’m so sorry… "

The tear closes, his angel gone, and in the ensuing silence, Crowley’s last words hang in the air, having escaped his lips a second too late for their recipient to hear.

“… I love you.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #Crowley

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1kook · 5 years

Text

late fee

jeon jeongguk x (f) reader

summary: “Captain Underpants isn’t glorified by all the tryhards, so when I pick those books, you’re unknowingly more interested in me.” tags: f2l, flirty kook, jk’s obsession w/captain underpants, he’s a fuckboy but he’s a soft fuckboy dont get it twisted, campus boy crush jk(yes again), jk abuses the FuCK out of pet names, miss koo1aid actually writes some PLOT warnings: much flirting, nsfw bc of a lot of heavy petting, pussy eatin’, a lil dirty talk, very s l i g h t coochie sniffing, BUT!!! protected sex :) wc: 10.3k

i wrote another fic (applause) and the entire thing is based off my belief that jungkook 10000% would enjoy captain underpants books. not proofread bc i am a hermit and speak to exactly 0 ppl on here, que dios los bendiga

“Helloooo, sexy librarian,” Jeongguk says the moment he steps through the door, lopsided grin adorning his features as he swaggers over to obnoxiously lean against your desk. You can’t even pretend you didn’t see him, his presence so blaringly consuming, and evident in the way some dorky high schoolers glance over to gawk at him.

“What book are you checking out today, Jeon?” You muse instead, leaving your desk chair to head over to the stack of new books that needed to be stamped. As you turn, Jeongguk whistles at the sight, and you don’t even have it in you anymore to retort back the same way you would when he first started bugging you. “Also, are you aware that your copy of Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants is due tomorrow? It’s a dollar for every day it’s late—”

“You needn’t worry longer, baby,” Jeongguk interrupts, and the loud smack of a hardcover against the desk catches your attention. There lies Jeongguk’s Captain Underpants book, alongside the paperback copy of Beloved that has definitely seen better days.

You furrow your brows. “When did you check out this one?” You question, checking the spine to make sure the book belongs to your library. Much to your surprise, there’s no barcode on the side, and no stamp on the inside.

Your question goes unanswered as Jeongguk jumps into a full-length novella recapture of the hot frat party he’d been to last weekend, and how the Zeta Theta Psi guys knew how to party. That Jimin fellow that Jeongguk frequently mentions had apparently snorted a line of coke off their friend Seokjin’s broad shoulders just to prove his friend had godly proportions. It’s weird, but Jeongguk says it’s because you have to ride for your bros. You try to act uninterested, but Jeongguk’s a funny guy, really, and you can only hide so many chuckles with the sound of a stamp.

He’s in the middle of trying to cover up of one of his frequent trysts after accidentally exposing himself—”Don’t get it twisted, baby, I just took her upstairs to call her friend.”—when Namjoon comes out of the back room looking for you. He barely glances at your guest, before handing you a list of overdue books.

“Would you mind calling these people?” He asks, voice soft, just as everything else was about Namjoon. “They’re all a week past.”

“Yikes,” you say, eyes scanning over the list. Surprisingly, Jeongguk is still there, hovering over you as if waiting for you to dismiss him. “Do you mind, Jeon?” You say, channeling your best customer service voice. As much as Namjoon was wary of him, he still considered Jeongguk a patron in your establishment and hated to see him treated poorly, no matter how many library rules Jeongguk broke.

“Of course,” he sighs, and you miss the hostile glare he throws Namjoon when you whirl around for a highlighter. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart,” he says when you turn back around, stretching ana rm in your direction.

Half of you knows exactly what he’ll do, but the other half of you, the one trying desperately to act like his advances have no effect on you, have you placing your palm in his. You’re not super surprised when he tugs your hand upward, pecking your knuckles with a flirty wink. “Adios, Juliet,” he smirks.

“Wrong language,” you inform him, rolling your eyes nonchalantly even though your heart is beating one hundred miles per second. Jeongguk cackles, loud as all hell in the silent library, before making his exit.

It’s silent for all of twenty seconds before Namjoon jumps right into it. “So are you seeing him, or…” he interrogates, trying to act like he’s hardly interested, but you’ve known and worked alongside Namjoon long enough to know he’s secretly the community gossip.

You ignore him, choosing to jam the buttons on the phone instead.

The weird thing about Jeongguk, was that, although he was notoriously known amongst the undergraduates (and even some graduates, because he just had it like that, you suppose) as one of the biggest fuckboys, he was different. Not to sound like every teen romcom you’d ever scanned, but he genuinely was. For starters, he’d fuck your brains out and then make you his best friend the morning after. He definitely had a very peculiar, and backwards, way of doing the whole one night stand thing.

All this you’ve gathered from your friends, who, at one point have had some sort of encounter with Jeongguk. Dahyun’s was last spring at a club event, when he’d oh so smoothly flirted with her for a solid hour before realizing she didn’t swing that way. Which is how they become close friends, which is how, by association, Jeongguk set his sights on you.

Your introduction to Jeongguk wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; he’d been tagging along behind Dahyun like a lost puppy, begging her for some class notes, and had subsequently followed her all the way to your favorite meeting place. From then, he’d dropped his petulant, childish act and put on his macho face, chest puffed and eyes hooded as he devoured your very presence.

The next time you see him, it’s at a frat party where some guy had been harping on you go upstairs with him. Another weird thing about Jeongguk, he hated when other fuckboys didn’t utilize their brains. You assume it’s because it gives the fuckboy community a bad rep as a whole, but Jeongguk hated when guys were overbearing. So he’d taken the initiative to snatch you away from that fellow, guiding you all the way back to Dahyun and friends just to make sure you were alright. Somewhere along the way, you’d informed him you worked at the local library—”The one that does bingo on Tuesdays?” “That’s for senior citizens only, why do you know that?”—and he’d never left you alone again.

This time, he spots you in the dining hall.

“You come here often, dollface?” He says the moment he slides up beside you, instantly zeroing in on the burrito wrap on your plate. Like the little immature baby he is, his hand immediately snakes out to touch the precariously wrapped white tortilla holding the deliciousness inside, and you have to physically slap the offender away. He jumps, bumping into a girl standing in line behind him, not that particularly cares. “So, it’s fuck Jeongguk hours, huh?” He huffs, adorning his face with that uppity glare he mastered from watching Mean Girls on repeat a few months ago.

“Your plate is stacked, but you wanna grab the one thing on mine,” you point out, and his lips curl into a smile at your response. “By the way, your book is past due.”

At this he gasps, all real, no Regina George effects added. “You’re lying,” he chokes, switching his plate to his other hand, and you nearly jump when the muffin balancing dangerously on top shifts. He tugs his phone out of the pocket of his sweats, scanning through his remind app until he sees that his book is overdue by three days. He groans, staring at the ceiling in shame.

You nod, breezing over his inner meltdown. “Was wondering when we were gonna get the wedgie winner, or whatever its called, back.”

He scoffs, giving you an unimpressed glare. “Wrath of the Wicked Wedgie Woman,” he corrects, looking so disappointed that you don’t have these bizarre titles memorized. “For such a pretty librarian, you sure are ignorant to these literary masterpieces.”

This makes you cackle, and your cheeks flush when at least three people turn to stare at your outburst. “You aren’t seriously calling these Captain Underpants books masterpieces,” you snort. Jeongguk shrugs, and you begin to wonder if he really is as airheaded as the characters he admires. “Jeon,” you try to reason, giving him a pleading look, because arguing the credibility of kids novels in line for lunch simply does not seem real. You must have been warped into another dimension where all pretty boys are as dumb as the movies make them out to seem.

“Listen,” he says, smiling when you grow desperate for him to prove you wrong. “I’ve read a lot of good books, but nothing tops a hypnotized superhero principal fighting crime in his underwear.”

You sigh, paying for your meal, and then, surprisingly, waiting for him to pay for his. You tell yourself it’s because you want to finish this conversation, but part of you just genuinely enjoys being in Jeongguk’s presence. Gag.

“I saw you with Beloved last week,” you carry on the second he’s done giving flirty eyes to the middle-aged cashier. “Now that’s a masterpiece.”

He nods in agreement. “But, baby,” he purrs, and the sudden switch from weird, 12 year-old literary enthusiast to grown as hell, suave bastard has you jolting a step that you try to play off by pretending to look at something on the ground. “How else will you remember my face?”

You blank. “What the hell are you talking about.”

Jeongguk gives you a pointed look. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t remember a damn thing about me if I did what every other stuck-up bastard did trying to pick up chicks at the library.” You tilt your head in confusion. Jeongguk sighs. “If I went in every rainy Friday and checked out a Tale of Two Cities, or Oliver Twist, or some other Charles Dickens shit, you wouldn’t glance my way.”

“Do people still read Dickens?” You say instead, glossing over the fact that apparently Jeongguk’s visits were apparently blatant attempts to flirt with girls. Finally, you find a suitable spot at a long, dinner table so you don’t have to sit completely alone with Jeongguk.

“You know damn well better than I do that that those wannabe sophisticated books have waitlists.” He shoves half a pizza slice into his mouth, and you hate how your eyes immediately laser in on the strong movements of his jaw. “My point is,” he says through a greasy mouthful. “Captain Underpants isn’t glorified by all the tryhards, so when I pick those books, you’re unknowingly more interested in me.”

You cradle your burrito in your palms, rolling his words around your head for a bit. Jeongguk doesn’t particularly seem like he’s awaiting an answer, munching through the mountain of food on his plate as you revel in your thoughts.

It’s right when you go to take your first bite that you finally come to a conclusion. “But have you ever considered I’m interested in you because I think you’re funny?”

Silence. Jeongguk stares at you through his fringe, pizza slice slowly going limp in his hold as he absorbs your words. Before you know it, his ears flush red. He splutters. “I-You think I’m funny?” He asks, cheeks slowly growing rosy as well, and his lips quirk in a cute way to the side, as if he’s trying desperately to hide his excitement.

You nod, because it’s true, why would you lie? “Duh. You come in every week and just talk about your day, Jeongguk,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “I think you’re very interesting and entertaining without trying.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, and for the first time, you’re thrown off by how adorable this man looks, lips pressed tight to contain a smile from your compliments.

Realization hits you all at once, but you’ve long since trained in the fluid art of avoiding your emotions.

“There’s a party tonight,” Dahyun announces from her desk, not even bothering to glance at you when you return from the showers. You hum, not really that interested in whatever is going on this fine Thursday evening. You plop down at your own desk, starting your skincare routine.

Dahyun lets you relax in the soothing motions of self care for all of three seconds before she adds, “Jeongguk wanted to know if you’re coming.”

You press down too hard on the pump of your moisturizer, sending a large glomp onto the tips of your fingers. “That’s nice,” you say, trying to play it off, but you doubt Dahyun hadn’t heard the little spaz you had, or that she couldn’t sense the way your body immediately lit aflame at the mention of him and you in the same sentence.

She turns in her seat, and you catch sight of her in your mirror. You avert your eyes right away, because Dahyun had many talents, and her best one was reading your mind with a single gaze. You maintain an aura of unbothered and uninterested, finishing with the rest of your skincare.

Just when you think you’re safe, Dahyun pounces.

“Y’know,” she says, and you can hear the grin in her voice. “He hasn’t slept with anyone in almost a month. In fuckboy time, that’s the equivalent of two years.”

You roll your eyes, putting away your products before trying to busy yourself with anything else. “He probably has, but with people who know how to keep their mouths shut.”

Faintly, you hear Dahyun’s chair scrape against the carpet, and then suddenly she has you in a headlock. “Admit you like Jeongguk or I will throw your toothbrush into the toilet on the third floor.”

You choke, grappling her arms in an attempt to pry her off. “No,” you huff, switching tactics to tangle a hand in her silver locks. “Why would I confess to something that isn’t true?”

She shrieks when you give a sharp tug, sending her careening sideways against the foot of your bed, but not without taking you with her. “You are lying to yourself and to the entire librarian community, you sick fuck.”

You snort. “The fuck does Namjoon have to do with this?”

“He told me Jeongguk’s been bringing you Starbucks.”

Her reveal has you halting in your tracks, cheeks flushing at being exposed. “That gossiping fuck,” you seethe, finally loosening your grip on your friend. Somehow, you’ve ended up sprawled on the floor of her side of the room, nestled into the stupidly fluffy carpet she thrifted. She rolls onto her belly, propping herself up on her elbows to narrow her eyes at you.

“So it’s true,” she sighs. You shrug. “Well,” she claps her hands together. “Shimmy into that sexy dress from Windsor, we’re going out.”

You groan, rolling over in metaphorical agony. “Dude, I just washed my face. No way in hell, I’m putting on makeup now.” She considers your point for negative three seconds.

“The Glow Kit is in my bottom left drawer,” she announces right as she exits the room with her towel and shower essentials in hand.

The Glow Kit is in fact in Dahyun’s drawer, which is a little suspicious considering it’s the same one you thought you lost three months ago. Nonetheless, it never lets you down, and by the time you’re done with your makeup, you’re looking like a shimmering, little succubus in the hot dress from Windsor.

Normally, you and your self-esteem were rivals; never on the same page, always bickering, sworn enemies from birth. But right now, as you admire yourself in the closet mirror, you can’t help but marvel at how good you look in the slightly loose dress.

“Damn,” Dahyun says as soon as she returns, all fluffy in her towel. “You will fuck tonight, or else.”

“Hey, baby,” Jeongguk smiles at you the moment you walk in, hooded eyes raking over your body in an agonizingly slow manner. Dahyun chooses then to do her party trick—disappearing without a word.

“Hi…” you respond, voice meek in this party setting. There’s more people than you anticipated, which is weird because it’s a Thursday and surely some of these people have morning classes. You can’t comment, though, because you’re here knowing damn well you have an eight am tomorrow.

The music is blasting, so loud you can feel the bass shaking the floor, sending jolts up from your toes to your head with every beat. There’s people in every crevice of this household, some even taking refuge on the staircase leading up to the bedrooms. Someone brushes by you, and you instinctively step closer to the wall to avoid being in the way. You should have known Jeongguk would follow.

He ducks down to shout into your ear. “Wasn’t sure if you were coming tonight,” he tells you, right as one of his friends rushes by, thrusting a cup into his hand that Jeongguk doesn’t even stop to question. He takes a sip, then offers you some.

“Dahyun didn’t wanna come alone,” you lie, tentatively sipping from his cup only to realize it’s worse than any alcohol here: it’s Sprite. Jeongguk seems amused by your subtle disgust, immediately taking the cup back. You send out a light prayer for his stomach and his skin. “Aren’t you supposed to be out pulling hoes or something?” You say, trying to go for teasing and playful but missing by a mile.

Jeongguk grins. “Why would I do that when the only girl I want is right here,” he motions, and then does that cliche move where he places a hand by the wall behind you. The worst thing is, even though Jeongguk seems intent on pulling every cheesy act known to mankind, your heart actually races.

“Shut up,” you laugh, “you just like that I don’t charge you the late fees on your books.”

At this, Jeongguk genuinely smiles, nose scrunching up as he gazes at you. “False,” he argues, and then leans forward, same stupid dopey smile on his face. “I love a woman who snorts milk out of her nose.”

“Jeon!” You shriek, smacking his arm as embarrassment washes over you. “You said you would forget about that!”

Jeongguk cackles, all boyish and rough like he does when he’s around Hoseok for too long. Somehow, knowing you’re the cause of that charming laughter has your annoyance fading away, a soft smile crawling onto your features.

“I hate you,” you say instead, looking up and meeting his gaze dead on for the first time that night.

Jeongguk smirks. “Do you now?” He throws back, then takes a step forward. Your shoulder touches the wall when you take a tentative step back. You give a half-assed shrug, entranced by the playfulness that lurks behind his eyes. He gives you an exaggerated pout. “That sucks, because I,” he steps closer again, and this time he’s looking down at you over the bridge of his nose, “really like you.”

“I…” you trail off, too hypnotized by the pink tongue that swipes across his lips as he gazes at you. There is no hesitation on his face.

When you don’t say anything for another moment, Jeongguk ducks down. His nose bumps against yours, his breath warm as it fans across your face. “Y’know, I’d treat you so right,” he suddenly says, and your panties immediately turn into Niagara Falls at the newfound deepness of his voice. You feel lightheaded from his close proximity and promising words. “Could make you feel so good, baby, if you just let me.”

You shiver, nearly jumping out of your skin when a hand snakes its way around your waist, tugging you forward gently. Not overbearingly, because you know the last thing Jeongguk would ever do was want to make you uncomfortable. He pulls you close enough that it ends up being you who steps completely into his embrace. Your trembling hands find their place on his shoulders, and Jeongguk has never looked more content.

“You... only want sex,” you softly accuse, and the only reason your quiet voice doesn’t get lost in the noise is because of how close the two of you are.

Jeongguk bites his lip at your words, and you wonder if part of him is surprised that you’d so openly say such a thing. “Not with you,” he says eventually. “Wanna hold you like this forever, ___. And if that leads to you cumming on my tongue every now and then, well,” he smiles, “all fine by me.”

“Jeon,” you scold, scared that someone might have heard him.

“What?” He grins, pressing impossibly closer. His lip gives the slightest pucker, and you find yourself unconsciously leaning closer, the hand around your waist tightening. “I want you, baby.”

You can’t hide the lovestruck expression on your face as you look between his mouth and his eyes, and you wonder if he’s being honest.

Right as you’re about to throw all your doubts out the window and kiss him, you’re bombarded with the sound of obnoxious air horns from a DJ who obviously knows shit about, well, DJ-ing.

You jump at the sudden sound, bumping your head against the wall behind you. Jeongguk’s eyes widen. “Oh shit, are you okay?” He fusses, all traces of that suave, heartthrob replaced with a fretful Jeon.

“I’m fine,” you say, though you’re not because you’re absolutely dying right now. From the fact you almost gave into Jeongguk but also the embarrassment of hitting your head. “I-I need to find Dahyun,” you announce, and give Jeongguk no time to process that before you’re bolting into the crowded house like you just broke something.

jeon tell me you got home safe jeon please

You pause in the middle of removing your makeup, one eyelash on to symbolize the mess you are right now. Dahyun is humming some tune as she does the same, the both of you clad in your pajamas and fuzzy socks. Carefully, you pick up your phone.

you im home! me and the girls ubered home lol you sorry i didnt get to say goodbye :(

jeon dont worry abt it babe jeon just happy to know ur ok

“You better be texting Jeongguk, since you failed to complete the one job you had tonight,” Dahyun calls and you curse. You whirl around to face her, and she snorts at your one eyelash.

“Be honest,” you say. “If you were the campus crush who could get coochie every time he breathed, would you leave all that for me?”

Dahyun freezes. “Well, not when you’re only wearing one eyelash.” You groan, flopping into your seat uncomfortably. “Babe,” Dahyun sighs, as if sensing the gravity of your dilemma. “You’re hot! Everyone knows this except you.”

“But am I?” You whine. “Am I attractive or do you just feel obligated to say that because you’re my friend, be honest.”

“Oh my god,” she huffs, climbing into her bed, phone in hand. She doesn’t even bother looking your way when she’s all settled in. “You have this weird idea that Jeongguk is some intangible idol, as if you haven’t seen the dude deepthroat an entire bratwurst at the diversity fair. If anything, you’re the dream girl on campus, you stupid bitch.”

“The only true thing I heard is me being a stupid bitch,” you mope, and Dahyun throws a pillow at your face. You take this attack as initiative to finally take off your other lash, finishing your cleansing and moisturizing (for the second time) routine.

“Listen,” she says, setting her phone down to stare you dead in the eye. Her voice is devoid of any emotion. “If it makes you feel better, he wrote JK + __ on our group handout last week.”

You don’t sleep that night.

The last person you’re expecting to see at this secluded cafe on a Saturday morning was Jeon Jeongguk, yet here he was in all his delicious morning glory. By morning glory, you mean the soft, sleepy eyes that stare at you from across the table, voice so deep and husky.

“Why are you here if you just woke up?” You interrogate, settling into the empty seat in front of him. Carefully, you begin pulling things out of your bag, trying your best to not look away too long. This sight was rare, Jeongguk usually being at an energy level of about eighty seven at all times. To see him so tired and sluggish was unheard of.

He gestures over to where Taehyung is in the middle of what looks like a job interview. “Moral support,” Jeongguk informs you. You nod in understanding, before returning your gaze to the sleepy angel in front of you.

He’s ridiculously tired, eyes dropping shut every time you so much as pause for a second. He seems apologetic too, murmuring I’m sorry I’m sorry whenever his eyes flutter shut. Your heart was going haywire at the sight. “Jeon,” you say softly, and get one, soft hum in response. “I think you should go home, Taehyung seems fine.”

He shakes his head. “Needs me,” he murmurs, trying desperately to snap his eyes back open to no avail. Eventually, you make the call, packing your things up way earlier than usual. You haul Jeongguk out of his seat, him sleepily trailing after you as you drag him out of the shop. He sleeps on the short bus ride back to campus, and even almost sleeps on the elevator up to his dorm.

“In we go,” you announce, unlocking his door before nudging him inside. His roommate is nowhere to be found, oddly enough given the early hour. Jeongguk stumbles inside, plopping down on his bed right away. “Sleep.”

He lets out a high pitched whine the moment you turn to leave. “Come cuddle,” he huffs, face pressed against his pillow. His hair’s haloed around him, pout smushed against the cushion as he stares at you.

“You need to sleep,” you point out.

He rolls onto his back, patting the mattress beside him. “Wanna feel you,” he says. Your cheeks flush red. As if realizing the meaning behind his words, sleepy little Jeongguk takes the initiative to push you further. “Pressed against my body,” he drawls, his deep chuckle resonating throughout your body. “C’mon, baby, too scared to be in bed with me?”

You scoff, though your cheeks are warm. “You wouldn’t do anything anyway, you’re half asleep.”

Jeongguk shrugs, lips quirking to the side as he motions to his side again. “So? Can tell you like it slow anyway,” he grunts, before sitting up and shuffling to the edge of the bed and assuming a sitting position. Without warning, he catches your wrist in his hand and tugs you between his spread thighs.

He’s more awake than he’s been all morning, and part of you is happy but the other is anxious. God, was this boy dangerous.

“You’re half asleep, Jeon,” you say, trying to diffuse the sudden sexual tension. Jeongguk smiles up at you.

“Cmon, baby,” he exhales, and one fluid tug has you plopping onto his thigh. You startle at the sudden change, grabbing onto his shoulders for support. All he does is laugh some more, nuzzling his face against your neck as your heart goes into panic mode. “Bet I could get in so deep,” he murmurs, breath tickling your neck and you feel your legs turn to jelly.

“G-Gguk,” you try to warn, but it ends up sounding more like a plea. For what, you’re not entirely sure.

A sudden kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder has your spirit ascending into another plane. Jeongguk smiles at your pliant body. “Look at you,” he continues, kissing down your neck until your body is physically quivering. “So sensitive. No one ever touched you like this before, doll?”

You shake your head no, and nearly jump out of your own skin when a hand clasps onto the inside of your thigh. “Jeon, we shouldn’t…” you choke out, even though your traitorous hand clamps down on his and pushes it closer to where you need him most.

“We shouldn’t?” He teases, and then cups your sex.

You transcend.

Jeongguk laughs, airy chuckles fanning across your jaw. “Then stop,” he tells you, the both of you watching as your hips unconsciously grind into his palm. Even when you tell yourself you need to stop, your body feels heavenly being touched by him, so you physically can’t.

“I can’t,” you reiterate, and muffle a moan against the side of his face when he presses a finger down on where he knows your clit is hiding. The thin leggings you’d worn did nothing to spare you.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he sighs, watching you work yourself on his hand. He traces his index finger over the seam of your leggings, where your folds meet and you moan again. “You gonna let me finish you off, princess? Gonna let me finger your tight little pussy until you cry? But I bet you’d make the prettiest noises if I licked you down there. Or are you gonna cum in your panties like this?”

All the different ideas he stuffs into your brain are overwhelming, especially when the only thing you really want is to be stuffed with his fingers and cock. “J-Just do it,” you beg.

“Do what?” He plays, watching the way your face contorted with every brush against your mound.

“Whatever you want,” you cry, biting down on your fist to stop any more noises from spilling out.

Jeongguk smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Such a simple gesture, but it has your stomach somersaulting. God, you needed this. You were practically sobbing for his dick, which was embarrassing in itself, but actually getting dicked down sort of cancelled it out. PEMDAS or whatever.

Just as his hand creeps to the hem of your leggings, there’s a rattle of the doorknob, and you jump. The cloud of lust that had engulfed you two fades away and you’re suddenly aware of the jingling of a key outside.

“What the fuck,” Jeongguk whisper-shouts, looking absolutely scandalized that his roommate is coming home at this moment of all moments.

“Should I hide?” You whisper back, never having been in such a situation before. Jeongguk looks at you like you’re stupid.

“Just,” he sighs, standing up. He ruffles his hair anxiously. “Just… act natural.”

You sit perfectly still. “Not like a Sim!!”

“Captain Underpants and the Invasion of the Incredibly Naughty Cafeteria Ladies from Outer Space (and the Subsequent Assault of the Equally Evil Lunchroom Zombie Nerds),” you read, gasping for breath by the end of it. Jeongguk beams at you. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope,” Jeongguk says, leaning over the counter and watching as you scan his book under his name. “I’ll let you know how it is.”

You roll your eyes, writing down the return date on a piece of paper you stuff inside. “Please do, I’m absolutely dying to read this book.”

You hand the book over to Jeongguk, and try to ignore the way he stares at you for a second too long. Namjoon chooses this exact moment to take his lunch break, sauntering off whistling the the Angry Birds tune.

Right before Jeongguk can jump into an interrogation, the door swings open and Jisoo from your sociology elective saunters in, carrying the same mountain of books you had checked out for her two weeks ago.

“___, hi!” She exclaims right away. She, too, was infected with the same bimbo disease as Jeongguk, the one where they both had no concept of being quiet in a library.

“Hi,” you greet back, immediately standing to take the books from her. “Did you actually read through all of these?” You ask, trying to make polite small talk. You’re not particularly close to her, but it’d be rude to act like you didn’t know her.

She laughs at your comment. “Oh god, no. I just open random pages and reference them for essays,” she admits.

You try to make more small talk with her as you scan through her books, but the girl literally almost hit the material limit, which is fifty books, so you soon become consumed in scanning the barcode, briefly flipping through the book for any damage, and then repeating it all over. You’re not surprised when she drifts away, and you’re mentally cursing Namjoon for going on break now of all times.

It’s about ten minutes later when you’re all done, the computer’s library system going haywire on you, the same way it had when she first checked out all these books. You look away from the screen, standing to face Jisoo, only to find she’s drifted to the other end of the welcome desk, where a certain someone had gone to while you served her.

Oh.

You’re not anticipating the wave of jealousy that hits you watching gorgeous, smart Jisoo talk to Jeongguk. She matches him perfectly, both so beautiful it hurts. It’s when she says something to him that you snap out of it. “When can I come over again?” Soft enough that you wouldn’t have heard if you hadn’t been paying attention.

Jeongguk’s toying with a bookmark stand, but you still see the quirk of his lips on his face when she says that.

All you can do is watch from the sidelines, so close yet somehow miles away as he says something back to her that gets drowned out by the thundering of your heart. You suppose it’s only natural for a guy like Jeongguk to flirt with girls, and he’d never said he only, exclusively wanted you. Really, you shouldn’t be as surprised.

But you are.

You’re surprised and, dare you say it, discouraged by the scene. He’d been so eager to finally win you over the other night, so much so that he made you feel special with every word he uttered and every look he gave you. You’d almost believed in his sincerity, but seeing him so easily converse with Jisoo about whatever past they have, served as a cold reminder that you and Jeongguk believe in two completely different relationship styles.

So you sit back down, gnawing on your lip as you try to do other duties, clicking around uselessly on your computer until eventually, Jisoo wanders back.

“Am I all set?” She smiles, and you can’t even find it in you to dislike her. You plaster on your best customer service smile, nodding and handing her back her library card. She thanks you three times over for the hassle, before waving goodbye to you and Jeongguk.

When the door falls shut behind her, you immediately drop the facade, though Jeongguk doesn’t seem to notice. “Whew. She left a lot of work for you,” he laughs, eyeing the big stack beside you. You don’t even bother responding, as, at that moment, Namjoon returns from his lunch break.

(How convenient! You swear this fucker had a sixth sense for knowing when work was about to become hard.)

“Joon, I’m taking my break now,” you announce, and Namjoon stares at you like a deer in headlights, the last bite of a sandwich raised to his mouth.

“Uh,” he says, 140 IQ and all. He glances behind you at Jeongguk, who also is confused as all hell. “Okay, then.”

“___?” Jeongguk questions. You stalk off, pushing the gate away from the desk before bursting into the employee break room right across from it.

You cry the moment you get home, and Dahyun jumps ten feet out of her bed in shock. Her girlfriend, Momo, is sitting on the floor painting her toes. “Oh no,” she cries, sweet and understanding in all the ways Dahyun wasn’t. “My poor baby, what’s wrong?” She asks, waddling over in the my-nail-polish-hasn’t-dried-yet way to hug you.

“He was flirting with another girl,” you sob, dropping your bag by the door as Momo continues fawning over you, wiping your face with tissues. Dahyun gets out of bed, cracks her fingers, and promptly announces:

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Initially, you would have let her. But after a while you manage to calm down, loud Kim Kardashian sobs fading into tiny hiccups as the two of them coddle you. You tell them all about what terrible, good for nothing Jeongguk did, and in true female solidarity, they vow to kick his ass for you. Eventually, you settle on not whooping his ass, just cutting any romantic notions with him off to avoid further heartbreak. After all, you were kinda friends before you had your little crush revelation.

It’s later in the night when you announce you maybe got 2% over him, which the girls count as an absolute win, but then Jeongguk texts you and they groan at the way you jump for your phone.

jeon hey can we talk ? jeon did I do something wrong today? jeon felt like u were mad at me lol, and then u took a really long break and I had to leave for class so I didn’t even get to see u again jeon just wanna know if everything is ok

You read through the messages a couple times, and wonder if he’s being serious and didn’t see anything sus with his actions, or if he’s just toying with your emotions. Momo tugs Dahyun away to give you some sort of privacy, and then you’re left alone in your thoughts.

you everything’s fine ! you I just wasn’t feeling well lol

He responds right away.

jeon please don’t lie to me ___ jeon I know what you’re probably thinking and I just want to say it’s not like that

For some reason, him saying he knows you enough to know your thoughts irritates you. He obviously didn’t know shit about you if he was out here making you look like a clown. Your fingers type before you can even think.

you lmao you thats funny

jeon ?

you you most def do not know what I’m thinking so please just take my word when I say I felt sick

jeon lmao. what do you mean...

you you barely know ME besides the fact I work @ the library and dorm w Dahyun. don't say u know what I’m thinking, bc that would imply you know me on a closer level which you don’t

jeon ok seriously what's up with you? jeon im trying to make sure ur okay but ur just being difficult as fuck

you I’m not being difficult I’m just being real

jeon ur not tho, ur being defensive for no reason at all

you so? we’re barely friends and we barely know each other, how I feel is none of ur business

jeon lmfaoooo, so now we’re barely friends?

you thats what I said didnt I

You set your phone aside when you don’t immediately see the texting dots appear, assuming your dry response is probably enough to ward Jeongguk off. Your face feels warm, and you’re not sure if it’s from frustration or anger, but you guess it’s both. You’re not sure what set you off, the fact Jeongguk wants to act like he knows you, as if he wasn’t just chasing after you for some pussy, or the fact he wanted to act like some all-knowing being when it came to your feelings.

Eitherway, you’re extremely heated, grinding your teeth together when five minutes pass and he hasn’t texted you back. As if sensing the tension, Momo and Dahyun abruptly announce that they’re going to the ice cream place down the street, offering to bring something back to which you decline.

They leave, the heavy door slamming shut behind them. You get exactly two seconds of peace and quiet before your phone starts going off like crazy, all from Jeongguk.

jeon you’re starting to piss me off jeon drop the attitude baby. jeon bc I can be just as mean as u jeon and I won’t hesitate to make you cry

You blink. Every ounce of your body that had been consumed with an unknown anger slowly fades away as you stare wide eyed at Jeongguk’s messages. This was nothing like the Jeongguk you knew; he was soft and playful. He never raised his voice at you, and he’d never been anything less than a sweetheart.

you I don’t have an attitude

Is your feeble reply, too scared to reply to any other part of his message because you truly had no experience with this Jeongguk.

jeon so then put your big girl pants on and tell me what’s wrong jeon enough w this other shit

You sigh, snuggling into your covers as you absentmindedly tap the back of your phone.

you nothing is wrong

He doesn’t reply for a couple minutes again, but Dahyun sends you a text letting you know her and Momo decided to go to an event on the other side of campus, and telling you not to wait up. You reply back a simple ok right as Jeongguk responds.

jeon ok. so let me tell you what’s wrong then jeon you’re mad bc I was speaking to Jisoo today and she asked abt coming over jeon she comes over all the time jeon bc she is my roommates girlfriend

Your mind goes blank.

How embarrassing to have your mind read word for word, even more so when apparently, your worries weren’t even plausible. God. Instantly you feel stupid, replaying today’s entire scene and trying desperately to find something to catch Jeongguk in a lie. But other than asking that one question, there had been no other interesting talk between the two.

Your phone pings again, and you scramble to type a response, only to freeze at the words on the screen

jeon what blows me is that i don’t even owe u shit especially not an explanation jeon u don’t give 2 flying fucks about me. U just like the attention I give u and watching me make a fool of myself for u jeon I bend over backwards chasing after you, trying to get you to notice me, but you’ve done nothing to show me u feel the same jeon but you’re the one allowed to get mad when I speak to other girls? like u said “ that’s funny ”

Oh, no. Immediately your heart comes crashing down, and your fingers tremble as you watch Jeongguk slip away right before your eyes.

you Jeongguk you it’s not like that please you I like you so much, it’s just hard for me to

jeon to what? Get over your stupid stereotype of me?? jeon lmfao. Yeah that must be sooo hard jeon it’s whatever tho bc I had one of u too jeon my dream girl

This is not what you expected when he said he’d make you cry.

“Honey, you just have to talk to him,” Momo says the next morning, pressing a cucumber slice onto your eyes. You flinch at the initial iciness, but then relax when she brushes your hair out of your face. You’d gone to sleep a wreck, crying and sobbing as you thought desperately on how to win Jeongguk back, but everything he had said was true.

You’d done nothing but reject him since the beginning, had only just begun treating him as a friend, yet you instantly placed the blame on him at the first signs of trouble. God, he was right. You’d been selfish this entire time, and now he wasn’t responding to your messages anymore.

Dahyun nods from her cocoon at the foot of your bed. “I’m sure it’ll be easier in person, text convos are always weird,” she tries to comfort you. “But keep those slices on, those bags under your eyes are no joke.”

Momo smacks her calf. “Be nice! She’s going through a crisis.”

Right as you’re about to pay for your meal and sprint back to hide in your dorm, you spot a coconut head of hair facing the windows in the far corner of the dining hall. Fuck. Faintly, you can hear Dahyun’s voice shouting for you to stop being a pussy and go talk to him. You pause by the exit, one leg in one leg out, before saying fuck it. If worse comes to worse, you transfer schools and live with heartbreak and three cats for the rest of your life.

“I-Is someone sitting here?” You say before you can chicken out, and mentally curse yourself for stuttering. Oh, the social horror.

Jeongguk visibly jumps at your voice, wide doe eyes staring at you as if he expected to never see you again. After all, it’s been a week since your little fight, three days since you last tried texting him. He shakes his head, turning his attention back to his plate, but not before tugging the hoodie of his sweater over his head in a classic self defensive tactic.

You slide into the seat, staring at the plate of food like you’ve never seen it in your life, never mind the fact you picked it out less than fifteen minutes ago. You accidentally scrape your fork against the bottom, and the both of you cringe.

Jeongguk clears his throat, hands clasped together between his thighs as he stares out the window. “Don’t you have work?” He asks, voice raspy.

You shake your head. “I took the week off,” you confess, hoping he doesn’t press for more, because then you’d have to tell him your reasoning was due to heartache.

“Oh. That’s nice,” he says, and then you fall into a pit of awkward silence.

You push the food around on your plate, hoping he’ll say something, anything to save the two of you. In the end, he stays silent, sleepily glancing out the windows.

When you look closer, though, Jeongguk doesn’t look much hot than you. He’s got the same bags as you under his eyes, and his hair looks messier than his usual messy style. The fact he’s wearing his blue crocs out in public only confirms your theory.

After a solid five minutes of silence, even your hungry stomach managing to stay quiet, you decide enough is enough.

You shift ever so slightly, until you’re somewhat facing him and clear your throat; Jeongguk barely spares you a glance. “The Preposterous Plight of the Purple Potty People,” you blurt. Jeongguk blinks, face slowly morphing into one of confusion. Your cheeks feel hot under his gaze, having missed his brown eyes in the past week. “It’s your favorite one,” you announce. “Of the Captain Underpants books.”

After a moment, Jeongguk snorts, turning his attention away from you. “You’re not gonna win me over with that,” he says curtly, and your heart tightens at his emotionless tone of voice.

But you’ve done your research, and you’re not letting it go to waste. “You like George more than Harold because you think he contributes more. You love the characterization of Mr. Krupp the most, but you hate his theme song. You think the cover art could use some work, but you enjoy the overall art style. You hated the movie adaptation because Kevin Hart was in it,” you list, recalling every bit of information you’ve ever heard Jeongguk share about the stupid novels.

There’s a small quirk in the corner of Jeongguk’s lips, but it’s not the one you’re aiming for, so you switch tactics. “You hate the smell of bananas because you don’t think it should have a smell. You can’t put your left sock on first, because it’s bad luck to you. Your mom still washes your sheets for you. You know the lyrics to the original Dragon Ball series in three languages. You like wearing rings because it makes you feel like a pimp. You hate when Hoseok calls you the baby, because, according to you, you bench press his weight times two.”

“And a half,” he softly corrects, gazing at his hands, cheeks slightly tinged with red. You bite your lip, tentatively reaching a hand out to place on his arm. He looks at you right away, doe eyes so vulnerable and scared, like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

“I said we barely knew each other, but that was a lie,” you chuckle humorlessly, suddenly feeling your eyes tear up just remembering the conversation. “I know so much about you because I love listening to you talk. I love hearing your voice, and watching you wrestle with your friends, and fight with Dahyun. But I never tell you,” you bite your lip, blinking your eyes to backtrack the tears.

“And you’re right, I made you do all the work and I’m sorry, but I’m just so scared, Jeongguk,” you admit, voice cracking on his name. Your press a hand over your mouth, trying to collect yourself. Suddenly, a soft hand gently pats your thigh, and you find yourself reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “You can have anyone, Jeongguk, and you obviously know this,” you sigh. “I’m scared that I won’t be enough for you.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Jeongguk says, voice soft in the way you’ve missed so much. His hand, shaky and unsure, reaches up to brush a tear from the corner of your eye. “Look at me,” he commands, and you do. “I think we’re both stupid, because I feel like I’ve never been enough for you,” he confesses with a chuckle you try to replicate through sniffles.

Suddenly, he’s close, forehead pressed to yours. “And maybe it’s true,” he says. “You won’t be enough for me, and I’ve never been enough for you.” Your heart aches at his words. “But that’s okay,” he assures, squeezing your thigh between his fingers. “We don't have to be right now, but we can try.”

You nod, clamping down a sob. “God, I hate how optimistic you are,” you laugh, and he smiles, cupping your face in his hands.

“And I hate watching you cry,” he says, fingers wiping your cheeks. Before you can say what you’re thinking, he’s snatching the words right out of you, “yes, I know I said what I said, and I felt like such a dick typing it, I made Jimin flick my forehead right after.”

You giggle, and he beams that dreamy smile at you again. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he announces, and your heart thunders in your chest faster than the wings of a hummingbird.

And he does.

“I don’t know, I think Kevin Hart sounds great in this,” you mention, and you feel the hard scoff Jeongguk lets out from your position cradled on his chest. “It’s not the worst thing in the world,” you defend.

“You’re sick,” he says, then pauses the Captain Underpants movie to engage in your third debate of the evening. You’re barely fifteen minutes in. “You think that weirdo did George justice? How? In what world?”

“Babe, it’s just a voice actor,” you placate. “No one died because Mr. Hart voiced him.”

Jeongguk splutters. “Mr. Hart—you don’t know this man! And something did die! My hopes for a sequel!”

You shush him, pressing your index finger to his lips. “Enough complaints, Rotten Tomatoes. We won’t even finish at this rate.”

Jeongguk hits play, grumbling under his breath.

Just as you’d predicted, you don’t even make it to the halfway mark before Jeongguk’s got you on your back, plush lips working yours until they’re bruised, tongue halfway down your throat. “The mov—“ you mumble.

“Fuck Mr. Hart,” Jeongguk says, kissing down your jaw like he can’t allow himself to miss a single spot. When he reaches the collar of your shirt, he wastes no time tugging it off of you. You whine, instinctively covering your chest. “Don’t be shy,” he chuckles, “here, look-,” he tugs his sweatshirt over his head, and you’re met with the strong muscles of his abdomen and pecs, “-twins.”

You roll your eyes. “Just kiss me, Mr. Jeon,” you tease, wrapping your hands around him to bring him closer. He chokes, and mumbles something about saving that for another time.

Before you know it, he’s kissing between your thighs, soft lips producing the most erotic sounds with every smooch he gives. “Can I take these off?” he asks, one lone finger creeping beneath the hem of your panties, right where your hip is. You nod, biting your lower lip hard the moment he begins sliding them down. His hands are soft as they glide over your legs, and when he finally tugs them away from your ankles, he wastes no time nudging your legs open for him.

“Don’t just look at it,” you whine, jabbing his ribs with your foot. Jeongguk grins.

“Sorry I stare, you’re just so pretty,” he smiles, and you muffle an annoyed groan into your palms. “Gonna eat you out now,” he announces, finally, and you uncover your face to watch the way he lowers his mouth onto your throbbing pussy, pink tongue coming out to lick at your clit.

The first press of the wet muscle has your toes curling, back arched. You’d been craving this for the longest, and just as you’d expect, it’s better than any fantasy. “Right there,” you moan, reaching down to tangle a hand in Jeongguk’s wavy hair, the other fisting the pillow beneath your head.

Jeongguk absorbs all your tiny reactions, toying with your clit just how you like it. He rolls his tongue around it, making sure every part has been in his mouth at least once. When he suctions his lips around it and moans like this was getting him off, your body melts. “Fuck,” you cry out, your thighs quivering around his head. Part of you wants to slam them shut, hide from his tongue and all its devious ministrations. But the other part has never felt so good in your entire life.

When Jeongguk decides he’s pampered your swollen clit enough, he gives it one final kiss, wet and slippery. “Good?” He smiles up at you, lips slick with your juices. You nod, probably already looking fucked out. He smirks at your response, and your heart backflips in your chest, when he reaches up to knot your fingers together.

He kisses your knuckle and you whine. “How many fingers do you want?” He asks, and you blurt out the first number you can think of.

“Eight,” you choke, and immediately flush in embarrassment afterwards.

Jeongguk laughs, dropping his head to your thigh in a fit of giggles. He looks absolutely ethereal there, soft brown hair sprawled across your skin like an angel. “Smaller numbers, baby, please,” he chuckles. You shrug, so he decides for you. “How about I just use my tongue instead?” You think you might love him.

He settles back down, lips pressing against your mound one final time, before he’s diving in. You mewl right away, body becoming one with the mattress beneath you at the first brush of his tongue.

“Oh, Jeongguk,” you gasp, hands burying themselves in his scalp again. He hums in response, and the sound has every nerve in your body lighting up. His tongue prods against your folds, slowly licking his way deeper and deeper into your cunt.

The worst comes when he sighs against your pussy, literally sighs, like he’s so blessed to be there. “You’re s-so good at this,” you cry out, trembling fingers twisting his hair so tightly that you manage to pull him off just an inch. He pinches your thigh in warning, before stuffing his tongue into you again, absolutely plunging into the depths of your hole.

Just when you think he couldn’t possibly outdo this, he jolts up suddenly, nose brushing against your clit. His eyes go wide for the slightest second, as if he really hadn’t planned that, before flickering at you.

To your utter embarrassment, he takes one long whiff, eyes rolling to the back of his head in pleasure.

He pulls away from your dripping hole. “You smell so fucking good,” he informs you, spreading a fiery blush across your cheeks.

“Thanks?” You say, and he grins, shuffling onto his knees all of a sudden. You mope the loss of his tongue on your pussy, but forget about it the second he reaches for his desk and returns with a condom.

He tears the foil packet open with gentle hands, eyes weirdly zeroed in on that only. You nudge his hip, and when he meets your gaze, he instantly averts it. Like he’s suddenly shy.

Oh he was gonna be the death of you.

You tug his boxers down and get to revel in more of those bashful glances, but you soon forget about that when he grips his rock hard member in one hand, jacking it to its full potential. “Ready?” He says, one hand gripping your hip, the other his cock. You nod, and then shift up onto your elbows to watch him sink into you.

You can barely keep your eyes open, the second the tip of his cock brushes against you your eyes roll back into your head. You moan, letting yourself flop back against the mattress, chest heaving with each inch he sinks in. “Fuck, you’re big,” you cry, biting down on your fist.

Jeongguk chuckles. “Yeah?” He grunts, and then stills as he waits for you to catch your breath. He gives you exactly four seconds before he’s thrusting the remainder of the way in.

Your back arches off the bed, a high-pitched moan ripping itself out of your throat. “Jeon!”

“Relax, relax,” he croons, releasing your hip to lean over you, peppering your face in kisses. You’re heaving for air, so overwhelmed with emotions. “You’re doing so good for me, doll,” he comforts, kissing every inch of you until you regain your wits. “So wet and warm for me, you have no idea how bad I wanna just ram my cock into your tight, little pussy.”

You huff, heart still skipping by the time you grow familiar with the sheer size of his dick inside of you. When you’ve finally come back down to earth, eyes fluttering at Jeongguk, he gives you one affirmative nod before he begins really fucking you.

He starts carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll break you with one push. You’re thankful that he’s at least somewhat aware of his own bear strength, but you’d prefer if he picked up the pace. Before you can file a complaint, he’s hiking your thigh up onto the crease of his elbow, and ramming himself into you.

“Could already hear some smart ass comment coming,” he groans, snapping his hips into you with a newfound intensity. You moan, trying desperately to reciprocate some movements back.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything,” you gasp, fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders, scratching lone lines down his back. Jeongguk snorts, pushing in, and then grinding your pelvises together deliciously.

He rolls his eyes, then chooses that exact moment to capture your lips in his. You groan softly, body boneless beneath him at the gentle way he kisses you, like his entire life depends on this single kiss.

When he finally releases your lips, he’s huffing against your mouth, hips having not stopped a single time. You know he’s tired and so riled up; you’d felt the brush of his half-hard member from the moment you first laid down to watch the movie.

But Jeongguk was a gentleman, through and through. You’d felt the brush of his cock, and heard the thundering of his heart, but he hadn’t pushed you further a single time. He basked in your presence, waiting until you crept your hand beneath his shirt to finally pounce.

“I’m close,” you tell him, reaching down to toy with your clit. Jeongguk had treated it like the finest treasure earlier, but now your gentle caresses feel mediocre compared to the way he’d touched it. Jeongguk nods, the tips of his wavy hair sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. You abandon your quest to finish yourself off and focus on brushing his hair away from his face. “You’re so good to me,” you moan, lightly picking the corner of his mouth. “Don’t deserve you.”

He rams his cock into you, the arm not holding up your thigh weakening, until he’s leaning on his forearm over you. “Don’t say that,” he chokes out, and you wonder if his orgasm is as close as yours.

A particular brush of his cock against your cervix has you seeing stars, thighs clenching around him. “Just a little bit—more,” you beg, body writhing beneath him, pushing yourself up to meet his thrusts.

“So perfect,” he praises, kissing along your jaw. “Come for me, baby.”

You nod, but not before cupping his face in your hands, and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. He makes a soft little sound of surprise, smile pressed against your mouth, and the heat in your abdomen finally explodes. You disassociate for all of one second, consumed in a wave of bliss never before heard of, his pistoning thrusts working you through it.

You nearly cry from how good it feels, throwing an arm around his neck to pull him closer. You’re babbling like an idiot, saying shit you won’t remember later. What you do recall is the chuckles Jeongguk had muffled against your neck, hips never faltering as he chased his own high.

He finds it a few beats later, the muscles of his back suddenly going rigid. He moans your name, somehow making it sound like it’s the best song in the world, before his hips begin stuttering in their mission. He eventually goes slack, slumped over you without completely crushing you beneath the weight of his muscles.

By the time you’ve fully recovered, he’s sliding out of you. Right as you go to speak, he stuffs two fingers into your sensitive cunt. “Jeon!” You wail, reaching down to push him away before you come again.

He snickers. “What? It’d be a waste to let it out,” he says, letting go when he’s decided he’s done his job, popping the digits into his mouth. You groan, trying to quell the excitement that builds in your chest from watching him suck your cum off his fingers.

“You’re the worst,” you sigh, snatching his t-shirt off the edge of the bed to tug over your bare form. Jeongguk tugs his underwear back on, retrieving yours from where he’d flung them across the room. When you’re settled into the blankets again, you’re not expecting the laptop to return as well. You raise a questioning eyebrow.

Jeongguk shrugs, nestling into your chest. “Hit play, this is when Professor Poopy Pants begins attacking the city.”

#kpopwonderlandtag #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jjk♡#jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #mine

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katherinewilliams221b · 3 years

Text

For A Greater Good 15/18

not my gif just the text. Origins

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

[Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

Her pulse failed every time she held a quill to write to Charlie; her eyes stung whenever she closed them. At one point she started to feel a constant pressure on her right temple, and it didn’t abandon her during the next weeks that followed her discoveries.

Kate lay on her side in bed, with her arms tucked against herself, protecting the cursed paper that was causing her nightmares, and curled up in a ball. That was her default position every day since then.

She stared at the candle on her table, the only source of light in the room and in her mind. The fire danced and twisted, hypnotising, captivating.

She thought of being somewhere else, with someone else.

What kind of person you must be to fool one of the greatest wizards alive? Dumbledore wasn’t any saint of her devotion, but… he must have known, right? He had to… or perhaps not.

Her breathing was slow and even, she concentrated on it; in and out. In and out. If she kept her eyes opened they stung, but if she closed them… it was worse.

And just like every other night, the candle consumed itself, leaving Kate in total darkness.

“Don’t give up hope.” She had told her students when they saw that none of the umbrella flowers had teeth. “We still have time.”

“We don’t have time! Exams start on Monday and the AEDA is in less than two weeks from now!” Jon had exclaimed.

“What have we done wrong?” Greta had asked.

“Focus on your exams. Remember that you can have your notebook with the greenhouse notes, so make sure it’s complete. I’ll take care of the flowers.”

She didn’t know how. The migraines had intensified, the parchment she hid under her uniform burned her skin every day, every hour, it was a reminder that she had to get out of there as soon as possible. But she had made a promise, and she had to keep it: those plants would have teeth like her name was Kate Williams.

And there, lying in bed unable to see around her, she discovered what had gone wrong with her project: Dark Arts.

After that revelation, Kate went to the library daily to visit the botany section. Corentin deliberately avoided her, being aware of the rumours about them. They had spent a lot of time together these past few months, and inevitably, the castle residents would wonder why.

Deaf to the gossip, the bat kept one eye on the library and one on Kate. Unaware that her friend had her back from above, the young witch devoured pages and pages about crossbreeding, the only activity that kept her from thinking about the list.

The day before the Herbology exam, Kate was sitting at her usual table going over all the ingredients for the potion she had found. With Jorgensen's help, maybe she could grow those fangs.

Voices made her look up. Before long, an unusual commotion where they were standing deafened those looking for a quiet study area.

She saw Corentin, in his bat form, swiftly descending towards the shouting, and followed his path with her eyes. Two of her students, Vivien and Jon, were arguing heatedly, surrounded by their friends. The librarian didn't have to say a word; he just transformed into a human right in the middle of the two, glaring disapprovingly at them until the children dispersed.

Unwilling to perform her duties as an authority figure and scold her students for misbehaviour, she dipped her quill into the inkwell and began copying down the ingredients she would need. She had barely written two of them when movement out of the corner of her eye distracted her.

At a glance she recognised Vivien, who was deep in thought, and pulled a book out of her backpack grumbling to herself. The girl dropped it on the table with a thump.

"Has he been bothering you?" Kate couldn't help but ask. She didn't look up from the page she was reading. She managed to catch a few words in Vivien's mind, but they blended into each other in a swirl of acidity.

"He's been hounding me all week to study with him. He won't leave me alone." Kate put down the quill then and watched as Vivien pretended to read. "I hope after this he gets the idea."

"He won't bother you anymore today." Kate said after a while, "Remember the exam will be in class 82. You'll do fine." Vivien nodded as Kate gathered her belongings.

After asking Corentin's permission to take the book, she walked over to the table where Jon Hopkins was ogling Vivien in the distance, surrounded by his friends.

"Gather your things," she said without greeting, "You've found a study partner."

The boy looked at her as if she had six arms and as a protest began to form on his lips, Kate interrupted him, "It's non-negotiable. Come on, I don't have all day."

The group around Jon pitied their friend as he reluctantly advanced in front of the young teacher outside the library.

"I have to study." He complained as they made their way down the hallway.

"You will accompany me to see Professor Jorgensen and then to the greenhouse. You will study there while I experiment."

"What if I don't want to study?" He challenged. Kate just shrugged.

"Much better. You'll help me with my duties in the greenhouse and with the umbrella flowers. I recommend you find the will to study. I have a lot to do today."

"But why?"

"Maybe then you'll understand what it feels like to have unwanted company."

Kent Jorgensen gave Kate the ingredients without complaint. She had expected more resistance from him, had even prepared a speech to get the professor to agree, but it hadn't been necessary. She supposed he would want to maintain some diplomacy between them with a gesture that wouldn't set off the time bomb that could destroy professor Angelov's career and life.

Once in the greenhouse, Jon sat in the seat furthest away from her and leaned his elbows on the table pretending to read his notes while Kate waved her wand back and forth.

An array of pots, bottles and boxes surrounded her and with a sigh she set about preparing her potion.

The concoction was composed of a mixture of compounds of both plant and animal origin that Kate had never used before and when mixed together, it flooded the greenhouse with a putrid smell.

After two hours, a small explosion of a suspicious liquid, one miscalculation and several incorrect consistencies, Kate managed to obtain the muddy-looking concoction, which she had to leave to steep for fifteen minutes. It was time for the key part of the process: introducing the desired characteristic into the potion.

Jon looked up from his notebook wearily and watched in disgust as Kate cleaned the inside of a geranium's mouth before pulling a fang out of one of them with forceps.

"Why did you say 'sorry' to it?" The boy asked. Kate looked at him in confusion, waiting for him to elaborate further. "You apologised to the geranium." Kate tsked.

"Well, I just knocked his tooth out. He must not have been amused." She set the tusk down in a glass bowl and proceeded cleaning her workbench.

"You're strange... I mean..." Jon stammered out a few words at the look on Kate's face, who misinterpreted her frown as anger. "It's just... you're good. And kind. Like Professor Mawut." Kate smiled.

"Thank you very much, Jon." She raised an eyebrow and added, "But you're not getting rid of me today." He pursed his lips and returned to his notes.

Movement through the glass of the greenhouse caught her attention and squinting she caught a glimpse of Mer Yankelevich hurrying over the bridge towards the forest. Libor Marek was at her heels.

Marek grabbed the teacher's arm and something he said stopped her in her tracks. After a while, Mer released her grip and retraced her steps towards the castle, leaving Marek watching her from a distance.

"Professor Marek is very brutish." Jon commented, having seen the scene as well. Kate tilted her head, agreeing with the comment, and proceeded to grab the fang with a pair of tweezers. She dipped it into the potion and waited as the tooth disintegrated on contact.

"What do you think of Professor Yankelevich?" She asked absently. Jon grimaced and shrugged.

"She's okay, I guess. She's been pretty angry lately, though."

"Angry with you?" Jon shrugged again. He glanced over to where the two teachers had been having the conversation and turned back to Kate. "Professor Marek has been arguing with her a lot," he whispered, "I don't know why... it's almost lunchtime..."

"Great. I'll finish this and we'll eat together." Jon let out a frustrated sigh and rested his head on his fist. "We shouldn't pry into their business." Kate grimaced hearing herself say that.

She swirled the potion with her wand six times to the left and then eleven times to the right. With each twist, the liquid grew thicker and thicker until it hardened so much that the wand had become trapped inside. But she was not to let go of it, no. The instructions clearly stated that there had to be contact with the wizard for at least five minutes.

Practically breathless, she watched as the stone began to crack from the centre of the wand, slowly breaking into a brown powder. She sighed in relief at the desired result and wiped her wand on her overalls.

After adding water, the end result was a bowl of what appeared to be, but nothing could be further from the truth, soil.

She excitedly sprinkled some of it on all the pots of umbrella flowers, and after watering them, covered them all with a leather tarp.

"Tomorrow we'll know if it worked."

Kate watched her students work through the test she had prepared for them. After nearly an hour and a half, she stood up to relieve her stiff muscles. She walked between the rows of children sitting individually and checked out of the corner of her eye that they were only looking at their parchment. A small, fleeting smile broke out on her face, proud to see that most of the pupils were writing with admirable concentration. Some of them, like Micael Angelov, had supplemented their writing with small sketches.

When she reached the end of the class, she went the other way and leaned against the door.

“You have fifteen minutes left,” she remarked, glancing at the clock.

Young Angelov was the first to stand up. Securing his backpack over one shoulder, he handed the parchment to Kate with a shy smile.

“How did it go?” She checked that he’d written his name and looked up waiting for his response.

“Pretty good.”

Kate nodded with a smile and stepped away from the door to make way for him. A voice whispered her name behind her back and Vivien appeared to hand her her exam paper. Kate repeated the question.

“Very good! It was easy... although I didn’t remember you were going to ask about our herbarium... but I was able to answer them. Professor Williams, are you coming to the Glow-bug shower?”

“What’s that?” she whispered, indicating to Vivien to do the same.

“Professor Rhode explained to us that every year thousands of glow-bugs appear and light up all the mountains. It’s Thursday night. According to her, it’s very exciting.”

Apparently, Astrid was right. In her healer’s uniform, spelled to withstand the cold, and her hood hiding her ears and forehead, Kate made her way through the crowd in one of the castle towers. She found a gap near the stone wall overlooking the quidditch pitch and rested her hands on the stone.

It was the one night of the year when students were allowed to roam the castle at midnight, on the occasion of the very particular event that was about to take place.

She raised her hand to her neck, adjusting her cloak to protect herself from the cold, and looked up. A blanket of infinite dots stretched above them. The stars guarded the terrain from high above, and with no clouds, they were perfectly visible from any point. Despite the voices and the shouting, there was something about watching the sky that left Kate in awe and isolated from the rest of the world.

She took a deep breath, imagining Charlie next to her, stretched out, side by side on the lawn of the Burrow, hands casually brushing and competing to prove who had been paying more attention in Astronomy.

“It’s bright out tonight,” a low, husky voice brought her back to the present, “At least it’s not a full moon, in which case they’d be unnoticeable.”

She looked down to find Professor Marek standing next to her. She raised her eyebrows, “I didn’t think seeing glow-worms would interest you, Professor.”

“There are many things that interest me, Miss Williams, not just winning duels.” he replied in a monotone voice. “I didn’t know you‘d be interested in this sort of thing... always stuck in that greenhouse of yours with dirt on your fingers. Have you had enough of flowers and leaves?”

Kate huffed, but didn’t take the bait. She merely averted her gaze to her left, where another tower of the castle contained the same number of people as there were around her. Marek also looked around, but didn’t move his feet from the ground. Kate suspected she would have an escort during the event. The question was, why?

The torches on the stone walls around them suddenly went out, raising the murmurs and impatient exclamations of the children. Kate and Marek turned their heads as they heard Professor Yankelevich’s shriek, pleading for silence.

“I remember you were good with protective spells,” challenged Marek

“I can defend myself.” The professor nodded and looked at the tower next door waiting for the signal. A light from a wand announced the teachers were ready to begin.

“We’re going to create a bubble around us, make sure it’s not too high.”

Numerous wands rose into the air, coming from different parts of the castle. A silvery layer began to form over their heads, spreading at full speed through the air from the highest point of the castle to the ground. Once every stone and corner of the place was encircled, the colour of the dome faded until it was completely transparent, invisible to the human eye.

There was a collective urge to hold one’s breath. The anticipation was beginning to be palpable, and even Kate noticed how her body leaned forward, as if to concentrate better.

A tiny spark came into view in the mountains. It was an intense white light, but very small, so small that after a few seconds it disappeared. The general disappointment dissipated as dozens of lights began to scatter in the distance, then hundreds, and before long, the stars seemed noticeably extinguished by the cascade of glow worms drifting in the wind.

Kate had only ever seen one glow worm in her life; in a Care of Magical Creatures class where Kettleburn had brought one inside a jar to show how some people used to use them as lamps. The problem was, and also the reason the teachers conjured up a protective bubble, glow-bugs were deadly.

“Takes your breath away, doesn’t it?” commented Marek without looking away.

She nodded, mouth half-open, gawking at the scene before her eyes; the glow-worms were slowly approaching through the air, carried by the breeze to their heads. The creature comprised a transparent shell that resembled the shape of a Muggle light bulb. Inside was the worm, curled in on itself and emitting an incandescent light.

Several of them bounced off the invisible barrier, creating an almost hypnotic effect on the onlookers. The entire castle was under such a blinding spotlight everyone was forced to squint or shield themselves with their hands.

The worms had scattered within moments; some had strayed into the forest, some into the mountains, and the rest had descended the cliffs, leaving the castle in its usual gloom.

Kate turned to Marek the moment the torches were lit again. A particular, never-before-seen gleam decorated the professor’s eyes, which, as the seconds passed, transformed his gaze into a deep, watery unhappiness.

Marek pulled himself together quickly and as much as Kate longed to know the reason for such emotion, she kept her mouth shut and waited patiently for some dry, cutting remark to ease the tension.

“I don’t know my parents. They died when I was very young.” He proclaimed instead. She stood still, afraid to shoo him away like a bird perching in one’s window to say hello. Despite there being so many people around them, the rest of the teachers were ordering them back to the dormitories, giving them some ironic privacy. Marek was staring off into the distance, “But I have a memory, a very vivid one, of a situation like this. It’s like an anniversary for me, I don’t know what, but that’s how I see it.”

A cruel idea flashed through her mind, one that she was dying to spit in his face, but for the sake of their diplomatic relationship she held back inside her. Her eyes began to burn, and she cursed to herself for being so emotional lately. She carved a frown into her forehead to keep her tears from spilling.

“My adoptive parents never knew where I got such a story...”

“And despite...” she couldn’t hold back, her words would be hurtful and she knew it, but she blurted them out to his face all the same, “And despite not knowing your origins, which may well be non-magical, you make a point of despising those who are different from you. You could be a muggleborn.”

Marek peeled his eyes from the mountains and looked at her with his characteristic sternness. The facade had returned to his face and his heart was shut tight.

“No,” he hissed, “my blood is clean.”

Mer Yankelevich was pushing the last student into the building when he made eye contact with Kate. Surely she had been watching the entire exchange, she thought.

Professor Jorgensen appeared through the door at that instant, averting his gaze to Kate and Marek and then to Mer, intermittently. He closed the door behind him and both professors approached them.

“You’ll never be completely sure of that.” Kate shook her head at his comment, wondering why she’d been so concerned about his feelings. The professor turned sharply and without a goodbye, stomped off to enter the castle and disappeared from sight.

“Is Libor all right?” asked Yankelevich.

“He looks really obfuscated, but that’s usual.”

Kate took a step back, suddenly feeling irrationally cornered.

“He’s been acting strangely for some time now, and an unpredictable Libor can be dangerous.” said Mer.

Jorgensen turned to her, “To my mind, Libor is not an irrational creature...”

“Believe me, I know him well. We should stay away from him for a while, let him clear his head.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Professor,” Kate said, a little upset. Mer walked over to her, holding her gaze.

“If you spend more time with us, you’ll understand that it’s better to give Libor his space. By the way, the year is coming to an end. Will you still be the Herbology teacher next year? From what I hear, Rhode is thrilled with you.”

“And so are the kids.” Jorgensen pointed out, also interested in knowing Kate’s response.

“I haven’t discussed it with Rhode yet...”

“But you’d like to stay on?” insisted Yankelevich.

“It’s been an interesting opportunity, of course, but...” The conversation was entering swampy territory and as eloquent as Kate could be, she was struggling to find the right words. In the end, following her mother’s advice, she opted to speak a truth. “I’m very lonely.”

“Ah,” nodded Jorgensen, “That’s the effect Durmstrang can have, yes. I bet you’re eager to get home as soon as possible, wherever that is.” Kate nodded slowly, recognising a small, complicit smile on the professor’s face, making her remember their talk months ago.

“Exactly.”

Yankelevich hummed, inspecting Kate closely. Uncomfortable with the interrogation and impatient to regain the safety of her room, she said a hasty goodbye and headed for the door leading to the stairs, leaving Jorgensen and Yankelevich in the starlight.

[Part 16]

A/N: Not a very exciting chapter I know, but still important. The end is near my friends.

Tag List: @eldritchscreech @meteora-fc

@cazreadsstuff

@the-navistar-carol

@am-i-space

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x ofc #charlie weasley/mc #charlie weasley/ofc #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #durmstrang #kate williams #hphm #hphm fanfiction

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suknas · 3 years

Text

First Line Tag Game II

Tagged by @ruluxe (who dared to say that I have fanfics that I'm "holdin out on us" -- it is true tho lol)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening lines then tag 10 of your favorite authors.

Tagging: Everyone who wants to do this! (I'm not sure which authors are still active here ;-;)

Now we all know how inconsistent I am. But I do like starting with what's going on with the characters/where they are... Don't I? Well I decided to start with the most recent published ones, descending to the first ones published (skipping some), and finally some of my WIP/"One day I will finish" fanfics.

Quick fun fact: I didn't remember writing most of those fanfics lol

So here we go!!!! (it's gonna be a bumpy ride)

1. Into the Storm [GrimmIchi]: The lightning and thundering's brightness and strong noises were slicing the dark-blue sky of a lonely and sleepless night. A storm was coming. The heavy rain and gusts of wind were not the only thing rapidly creeping through the night. Kurosaki Ichigo could sense something else approaching along with the dark clouds and the pouring rain that now was hitting his window. [2021 (but the draft was from 2017 maybe), Bleach]

2. Ascension [AoKaga]: Light appeared in the darkness and soon darkness became insignificant before the beauty and immensity of the bright light surrounding a tall and masculine figure. He walked calmly through the uncertain route that many others once also stepped into it. He had a goal. The time to seek the one whom he had once shared many memories with, good and bad. The one person whom he had loved immensely but had never gotten to experience that feeling truly and at its fullest. The time had finally come. [2021 (again the draft was probably from 2016), Kuroko no Basket]

3. The One Where Prompto Does Not Want To Be In The Middle [Gladios x Prompto x Noctis x Ignis]: Sleeping in the camping tent was always a challenge in Prompto’s opinion. It is not as if he does not like camping, it was pretty nice being able to sit under the stars and gaze them, it was relaxing. Sometimes Noctis would sit behind him, embracing him in a warm hug. They would spend a long time chatting and exchanging affectionate touches until both of them felt like sleeping. Other times Gladio would join him, and the shield would let the blond lay his head on his lap. More often than not Prompto ended up sleeping while feeling his hair being played by dexterous and caring fingers. And whenever Ignis had time to spare, he would also join him after cleaning the mess they did during dinner. [2020 (again the draft was maybe from 2017), Final Fantasy XV]

4. The Owl Who Got Caught [KuroTsuki + Bokuto]: The third day of the training camp was finally over. Soon, everybody was running to the school cafeteria to grab something to eat. In the meantime, while nobody was looking, Kuroo took the opportunity to take Tsukishima’s hand, guiding him to the room that the Nekoma team was sharing; closing the door right after they entered. Nekoma and Karasuno’s middle blockers became closer ever since their first practice game, now they were spending more time together, and their relationship had an unexpected development. [2020 (draft probably from 2017), Haikyuu]

5. A Boyfriend Text [KuroTsuki]: Laying in his bed with a smile on the lips Kuroo was texting his sweet strawberry shortcake boyfriend. Eyes rapt, staring at the bright screen in the dark room; he was feeling anxious if his stupid smile and trembling fingers were any indicator.

TETSUROU: Wanna come over this weekend?

It had been some weeks since they had the opportunity to meet; school and volleyball practice were mostly the reason for their inevitable long separation. Week after week something "magically" came up in their agendas, but Kuroo was hopeful, however, that maybe this time their schedules would finally allow them to meet. [2020, Haikyuu]

6. Domestic Bliss [KiriBaku]: Sitting comfortably on the couch, Kirishima and Bakugou were finally spending some time together after a rough week. It was one of those rare days where both could enjoy a peaceful and uneventful afternoon. To say that both men were lazily on the couch doing absolutely nothing productive was not very accurate. Bakugou was doing something with his spear time, he was reading a book. By his focused attention on the pages, anyone could tell that he was enjoying his reading and only someone stupid would dare to bother him. [2017, Boku no Hero Academia]

7. Getting Together [KiriBaku]: “Let’s grab something to eat!” The blonde shouted after stretching his arms above his head. Bakugou’s red eyes fixed on the figure of Kirishima, who was sitting comfortably in bed with his back against the headboard.The redhead’s own red eyes snapped at the figure on the chair, eyeing him from head to toe; he spaced out in no second. Kirishima wanted to touch those damn nice muscled arms, which were slowly lowered down while his hands were placed on his toned thighs. Kirishima couldn’t help himself and started to imagine Bakugou’s whole body underneath him wrapping his body with those strong legs and arms. [2017, Boku no Hero Academia]

8. AoKaga short stories collection [AoKaga]: The atmosphere of the place was hot and heavy. However, because of that, the two teens lying down on the bed were more connected than ever. Their bare bodies were united white skin with dark skin. Their breaths were out of rhythm and their hands slid skillfully on each other’s bodies. The movements were synchronized and intense. The pleasurable moans and whispers echoed in the dark room, making the place even more delightful for both of them. [2017 - Short Story #4, Kuroko no Basket]

9. It's Picture Time! [Pomptis]: In the Regalia, Prompto and Ignis were heading to the nearest outpost from their camping spot to get some supplies for the night. The sun on the horizon was almost hiding behind the tree path by Prompto’s right side, the scenery formed by dim light and shadowy dark spots caught Prompto’s eyes.“Wow! Look at the light, it’s amazing!” the blond shouted, “Can’t we stop just for a bit?” Prompto was thrilled by the idea of adding more photos to his portfolio. [2017, Final Fantasy XV]

10. That Side of You [MiSawa]: Miyuki was laying in the bed on his back, eyes glassy, hands shaking and skin hot. The body above his was driving him to a place where it was absolute bliss and pleasure. Hips moved together, swinging with movements that were making Miyuki moans the pitcher’s name in a short and breathless tone.“Sa-wamura– Aah! Do that again,” his voice low and hoarse made the order sound weak, and his usual snarky tone was lost a long time ago in some part of his foggy mind. [2016, Diamond no Ace]

11. Runaround [Sterek]: Everything was set neatly on the kitchen table. Stiles was going to be there soon, so Derek had already prepared every single book and even snacks that they may need for their studying.It wasn't new that both of them were hanging out for studying matters. Actually, Derek had come up with the idea first, mainly because he was having some issues involving fast heartbeats and some inconvenient hard-ons whenever Stiles was around. He had a ridiculous crush on his friend. However, the smart geek boy didn't have to know about that. [2016, Teen Wolf]

12. Eavesdropping [MiSawa]: Sawamura’s suspicions must be right for his sake. Otherwise, Miyuki would make sure his so careless kouhai would pay a high price for being so noisy about Kuramochi and Ryou-senpai making out when no one was seeing. The closed and almost claustrophobic locker didn’t have enough space to move around, but he and Sawamura managed to fit in somehow. So what? They were eavesdropping, and he still couldn’t say that he was regretting this. [2016, Diamond no Ace]

13. Sterek Short Stories Collection [Sterek]: Stiles had broken up with his last boyfriend a couple of months ago. Or it was what he usually says to Scott when his best friend asks him why he isn’t over his past relationship. Because according to Scott, it’s been a year and a half since Stiles had parted ways with, at the time, his other half. And right now it was one of those times.“You should move on. I haven't seen you with no one since then. What about Danny? Last night I saw him flirting with you, and when I looked again you were nowhere to be found, but Danny was still there drinking alone. And let not forget your grumpy humor because your sex life sucks. It's getting old bro.” [2015 - Short Story #3, Teen Wolf]

14. Urge [AoKaga]: The small public bathroom stall in that bar hadn't been made for sure to accommodate two giants, dumbasses, and impulsive basketball players. Nevertheless, this fact wasn’t that important for the Too player neither to the Seirin player. Kagami was already pressing his body against Aomine’s, who was stuck between the wall and Kagami while his mouth was being devoured by the other’s tongue. Both were fighting into that kiss as if there was no tomorrow. Their hands were traveling quickly by each other’s body, and quickly they were undoing their pants’ zippers and buttons. Their shirts were all messy, as well as their hair. Their breaths were heavy, and the kisses now were directed to their necks, sucking and biting the skin exposed. Soft moans could be heard, but not loud enough to echo in the bathroom. [2013, Kuroko no Basket]

15. After Dancing Lessons [AoKaga]: The music was set up, and his hips started to move, his steps were guiding him to where a dark skinned guy was sat on a chair. The dancer's eyes were fixed in front of him. The watcher's eyes sparkled with excitement when the other sat on his lap, one leg on each side of his body, and kissed his cheeks along to his lips and chin, returning the same way till his ear, biting there slightly. The dancer felt the other hands trying to take his clothes off and immediately stood up, preventing to have those hands on his body so easily. [2013, Kuroko no Basket]

16. Sleep Well [ZoSan]: The night was agitated on board of the Sunny and lots of dirty dishes were pilled up on a corner of the sink. Sanji didn't have this time someone to help him to clean everything up. 'Those lazy bastards!' He frowned, 'all right! Let’s put all these things in their right place!' And with that thought, Sanji started the tiring process of doing all the dishes. On the bright side, if he was the one doing it everything would be spot on in no time. [2013, One Piece]

17. Possessive Lover [KidLaw / LawLu]: The bell indicating the change of periods rang and the students gradually began to leave one room to proceed to another. In the middle of changing classrooms, some students went to a quick trip to the bathroom, which was where that a spiky redhead boy was heading to. He had a dangerous gaze gleaming in his golden eyes; he had quite a threatening presence, and his looks did not lie about his fiery and explosive personality. Any sane person would prefer to avoid crossing paths with him or to even look the boy in the eyes. [2012, One Piece]

18. English Lesson [WIP, AoKaga]: The room was a mess. There were a lot of magazines, books, sheets, some snacks, three soda bottles, two hoodies and two pairs of sneakers all thrown on the floor. Sitting side by side, in front of the center table with notebooks and pens in hands were Kagami and Aomine. They had that idea of starting to study at each other’s places every Thursday night after their club activities. It was not like they liked to take a book, read it and think about the subject, the matter here was way bigger than just casual study. Their grades were in the red mark, which meant that they needed to rise them at least not to get scolded and taken off the basketball team. This time around Kagami was helping Aomine with his English study. The redhead was doing his best to try to explain, but he wasn’t that good at teaching those so detailed grammatical things… [unknown year - present, Kuroko no Basket]

19. High heels [WIP, KuroTsuki]: Tsukishima walked all proud on a black suit, white button-up shirt, grey tie and black stilettos in the room. Kuroo was watching his slow movements with a fierce look from the bed, where he was sat with his hands tied to the headboard by a soft cloth. Tsukishima stopped at the bed foot, looking straight at Kuroo. Ever so slowly, Tsukishima’s hands loosened the tie around his neck, the button-up shirt was having his buttons calmly undone, soon the shirt was wide open reviling Tsukishima's snow-white skin for Kuroo’s delight. [unknown year - present, Haikyuu]

20. Christmas thing / The untitled fanfic [WIP, AoKaga]: It was Christmas the snow was falling outside, many sparkle lights, so many decorations everywhere, people receiving and giving presents, eating together and singing songs. A day to celebrate and stay with family and friends. A day full of joy and happiness.At Kagami's house every single tradition was made. Kagami invited the Seirin basketball team to celebrate, but it ended up with some unexpected guests, the self-invited guests were some of Touou basketball team. And of course, Aomine Daiki was there. The redhead didn't even want to know how Aomine had found out about his little party. He'd bet that Kuroko had told something to Momoi and she kindly invited Aomine and the rest of the troupe. [unknown year - present, Kuroko no Basket]

#ruluxe #tag game #Kuroos got tagged #that was fun and I'm also embarrassed that I wrote some of these lol #aokaga #kurotsuki #grimmichi #sterek #misawa #kiribaku #zosan #lawlu #kidlaw #kuroosden #Kuroos writing again

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lizardkingeliot · 3 years

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First Line Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

tagged by @phoenix-ascended thank you!!!! 💖

Okay SO. I’m gonna cheat a little bit here. The first nine I’m going to post are all going to be from the first nine chapters of time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) but to be fair the chapters are so long they each might as well be a story all their own lmao. ANYWAY. Here we go. I’ll post the first paragraph from each I guess, in order of chapter number obvs:

1. Quentin shook out the tension in his hands. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t getting any easier. For days on end he’d been trying to perfect the illumination spell the rest of his fellow First Years had nailed in a matter of hours. But no matter how he tried, Quentin couldn’t seem to make anything more than a spark.

2. Quentin waited until Eliot was asleep to slip out of bed and hastily tug his clothes back on. The illuminated screen of his phone told him it was just past 12am. Clutching his shoes to his chest, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and tip-toed out into the hall, all but running to his room and clicking the lock shut firmly behind him.

3. Dry-mouthed and groggy, Quentin woke in Eliot’s bed alone. He groaned, groping around for his phone to check the time for a long moment before remembering he’d left it in his room. Quentin rubbed at his eyes, rolling over and up to his feet, muscles he didn’t even know existed screaming as he went. He picked his bathrobe up from the floor and pulled it on, then tottered down the hall to empty his bladder and brush his teeth and gulp down frantic handfuls of water from the bathroom sink.

4. Tuesday morning was hell. Quentin woke just before eleven, empty as a husk. Filthy, all used up. His thighs sticking together where Eliot’s come had dried there in the night. Quickly realizing he’d already missed his first class of the day, Quentin pressed his face into his pillow, pulled the covers up over his head, and surrendered to the blank comfort of late morning sleep.

5. Quentin couldn’t feel his face, or much of his body for that matter. Which was… fine. It was great. It was fucking phenomenal. As long as it meant he also couldn’t feel the sinkhole that had formed in the center of his chest. The one that had been there for days, weeks, months, fucking years. He couldn’t feel anything at all.

6. Quentin felt a lever turn inside his chest, the source of his magic eking out a spark. Enough at least to send a message to Julia back at Brakebills. One of those little enchanted paper airplanes they’d learned his first week in Practical Applications that he never could get to fly quite right. He scrawled his SOS on a cocktail napkin and watched it flutter away like the world’s saddest butterfly. The universe took pity on him. Quentin figured he was probably due. 7. Christmas morning was a lackluster affair.

Exchanging gift cards over coffee and devouring great mounds of Ted Coldwater’s Famous Ham and Eggs while still in their pajamas. After, Julia and Quentin lay on the living room floor and Skyped with James, his grandparents waving hello from Pennsylvania in the background. They opened the stack of impersonal and overly-extravagant gifts from Julia’s mother that had been delivered to the house the night before. Quentin received a pair of cashmere socks and a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle.

8. Quentin stood at the bathroom sink, watching his face shift in the steamy mirror glass. Stark naked save for the towel looped around his hips. Hair dripping in cool, fat beads down onto the planks of his shoulders. So clean he swore he could feel himself sparkling from the inside out.

9. Quentin tossed his phone down onto the floor and leaned back into Eliot’s heat. “It’s almost like you want my dad to know I’m faking sick so I can stay in and let you fuck me until I pass out.”

Some patterns I guess: I love how chapters 2-4 all open with Quentin in bed after hooking up with eliot but all with very different vibes. In chapter 2, he’s just experienced subspace for the first time without having any idea that’s what actually happened to him and he is having A Time. In chapter 3, they had a very intense hook-up the night before and Quentin is sneaking out again, but this time he fully plans on returning right after. And in chapter 4, we see the joy of their beginnings at Columbia contrasted hard with the misery of where Quentin is at Brakebills.

ALSO 2/3 of the chapters begin with Quentin’s name which feels right considering just how deep into his headspace we are in this fic.

Okay. Anyway. Moving on:

10. Eliot loved watching Quentin lose himself in a moment.

It could be anything really: mastering a brand new spell; savoring something decadent and sweet; fussing with his hair when he thought no one was looking; focusing very hard on making himself a cocktail and getting the ratios just right; ranting about his Fillory books; reading his Fillory books, to himself but especially aloud; reading anything; riding dick...

That last one held a particularly special place in Eliot’s heart.

(from but i would die for you in secret aka the one where eliot is pretty sure quentin is only using him for his dick. spoiler alert: he’s not they’re just idiots)

11. Teddy was turning six years old. There was nothing in the world he loved more than stories.

His favorite was a version of Lord of the Rings Quentin had cobbled together from memory. He must have told it to their son a hundred times before it occurred to Eliot he could contribute more to story time than ogling Quentin’s hands while he spoke, or popping in to suggest when the Balrog should actually be making an appearance, Quentin.

(from in a land far away aka the mosaic fic where eliot makes margo hand puppets for teddy)

12. The words came out of Quentin’s mouth without a single coherent thought behind them.

“I’m just about to catch a movie with my boyfriend!”

There, outside the coffee shop on Eighth Avenue, Quentin’s maybe-friend from high school whose name he couldn’t even remember shot him a wide-mouthed grin. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said. “Which movie? My wife Danielle and I don’t have any plans for the afternoon and we’d love to tag along. Isn’t that right sweetie?”

(from your name like a song (i sing to myself) aka the one where quentin’s memory is shit and he and eliot pretend to be boyfriends in a post-monster world)

13. Eliot dropped the last box onto the floor. “Daddy’s wardrobe is safe at last,” he said, lowering himself down into the gold chair with a sigh. “Though I can’t seem to shake the terrible feeling that Todd raided my closet at the Cottage before I could get to it all.”

Quentin surveyed the damage from his spot on the sofa: there were at least seven large packing boxes bursting at their seams scattered around the penthouse. “I don’t know how you would even be able to tell. I’m pretty sure one of those boxes is just vests.”

Eliot quirked a brow in his direction. “Some of us are cultivating an aesthetic, Quentin,” he said. “And I didn’t see you complaining when I let you dress me for dinner last night.”

Quentin couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t call picking between two pre-approved ties dressing you, El.”

“I’m also counting the fact that you said my ass looked great in my new pants.”

(from the parentheses (all clicking shut behind you) aka the suspender porn fic)

14. The night Quentin Coldwater died, a brand new star appeared in the sky over Brakebills. A little brighter than Venus, it stayed fixed in the same position for weeks on end. Eliot hardly would have noticed such a thing if it hadn’t been for the way that it hummed. Or at least, that’s how it felt. A humming in his bones. An old, familiar presence. Margo thought that he’d gone mad with grief. Alice was the only one who could understand.

(from a myth of devotion aka the one where eliot is sorta icarus and quentin is sorta the sun)

15. It didn’t happen the way Eliot expected it to. He dropped the letter into the mailbox, and pain blossomed in his abdomen so brightly it was like he’d gone supernova.

And everything went dark.

(from by night, beloved, tie your heart to mine aka the one where eliot sends the letter)

16. Eliot stretched out over the mosaic, his shirt riding up just a little as he clicked a yellow tile into place, and Quentin’s pulse leapt in his neck once, twice. Three times. His breath hitched. It was becoming nearly impossible to focus. In the heat of the sun, watching the sweat soak Eliot’s shirt clean-through.

(from i won’t deny (all the things i would do) aka the one where quentin and eliot start hooking up three months into their life at the mosaic)

17. After they decided kissing on the mouth was okay, Quentin and Eliot wanted to do it all the time. In every corner of the penthouse (“If you don’t stop sucking face while I’m trying to eat my sandwich,” Kady said one afternoon, “I’m literally going to feed you to the Baba Yaga.”), outside coffee shops, in between bites at the sushi place in Chelsea that Eliot loved. Once, they went to see a movie they couldn’t even remember the name of just to make out for two blissful, uninterrupted hours in the dark.

(from and a song of praise upon your lips aka part three of the box of chocolates series where quentin and eliot are definitely dating and finally talk about their feelings)

18. Eliot startled awake to something sharp and pointed slamming into his shin. He opened his eyes, and the toe of Margo’s shoe made contact one last time. Pain seared up the side of his leg, and he winced. Jesus, she really did not realize her own strength sometimes. Or the strength of her Jimmy Choo’s.

(from that you may know (the secrets of your heart) aka part two of box of chocolates aka the one where hand stuff is still banging)

19. Eliot Waugh was High King in his blood, and somehow that felt right. When they first arrived in Fillory, Quentin assumed he would be the one to wear the crown. He’d dreamed of it most of his life after all. On the throne in Whitespire, a fleet of talking animals at his disposal, a noble quest waiting around every corner to ferry him away to the next grand, heart-stopping adventure. But when the blade bit into his palm and drew no blood, and Eliot’s came up red, it felt like the final piece of some perfect puzzle clicking into place.

(from and this is the map of my heart aka the one where quentin wants to marry eliot and they have some incredibly filthy sex before everything falls apart)

20. Eliot walked into the penthouse to an eerie quiet. He found Quentin sitting in the kitchen under a dim illumination spell, drinking a beer and poking at the screen of his phone.

“Hey,” Eliot said, setting his shopping bag down on the counter. “Where is everyone?”

Quentin sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Out. I don’t know.”

Eliot squinted at him. “You didn’t want to go with them?”

Quentin lifted his eyes, shot Eliot a look. “No.”

(from for love (if it finds you worthy) aka part one of the box of chocolates series)

And I have now been here doing this for so long I no longer have time to try and find anymore patterns lmao BUT I will be tagging: @thelucindac @akisazame @fishfingersandscarves @nellie-elizabeth @freneticfloetry @rubickk7 and anyone else who wants to play!

#the magicians #queliot #otp: proof of concept #myfic

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chilling-seavey · 3 years

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Passchendaele WW2 Extension - The Dragon Slayer

A/N This is choppy so sorry about that - but breaking it up made each blurb not quite long enough-

T/W Mentions of war trauma, death, pstd, panic attacks, and nightmares.

September 12, 1945

Charlie’s room was just how he left it. Well, except for the sheets that looked like they had been slept in. He lingered in the doorway, bag in hand, and eyed the unmade single bed.

“I’ll put on fresh sheets for you.” Elizabeth said quickly and hurried past him to strip the bed.

Evelyn glanced at her father who was standing quietly beside her. The three of them knew that Daniel had found slight comfort in sleeping in his missing son’s bed over the last few years but the women didn’t express this fact aloud. Charlie sort of knew himself though. He didn’t speak on it.

As his mother brought in clean sheets and hurried to change his bed, Charlie walked farther into his childhood bedroom and scanned all the shelves and pictures on the walls. He lingered at the window, staring out into the backyard and the vast expanse of green grass that came with their home, the view all too familiar. He stared up towards the evening sky and the orange sunset and he almost waited for the streaks of Spitfires to jet across in front of the clouds. There was nothing.

His family watched as he refamiliarized himself with his bedroom, Elizabeth quietly tending to the sheets as Charlie continued around the perimeter, scanning the bookshelf that seemed much smaller than he remembered it. He ran his fingers over the spines of the neatly lined up books and wiped the thin sheet of dust off on his uniform pants. The posters and photographs above the bookshelf had Charlie freezing in place.

Richard’s eight-year-old smile shone back at him from the faded black and white image. The boys stood side by side, each on their own bikes, beaming with pride they both learned how to ride within the same week.

Charlie swallowed thickly. He hadn’t seen his best friend’s face since they took his body away a year and a half prior. Charlie choked back his forming tears and turned away from the pictures.

“Come on, darling boy.” Elizabeth called gently. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Charlie shuffled over and let his mother take his bag from him and set it on the ground. He stood blankly in front of her and watched her quietly as she unbuttoned his uniform for him.

Evelyn said a quiet good night to her father to leave her brother with his privacy and she headed into her own bedroom for the night. She needed a quiet second to wrap her head around the afternoon herself too.

Daniel stood in the doorway of Charlie’s room and watched with a concerned expression and his hands in the pockets of his trousers as Elizabeth spoke gently and reassuringly to her son as she stripped him out of his uniform. He felt like he was watching his own past.

Charlie didn’t protest his mother seeing him in his underwear. Either he didn’t have the energy to ask her to leave or he was too shaken and had missed her touch too much to even want her to leave. Elizabeth folded his uniform and draped it over the back of the chair nicely before returning in front of him with his folded pyjamas. She crouched in front of him and rolled up a pant leg to help him dress.

“One foot at a time, darling.” she instructed. Charlie stepped one foot in, gently resting his hand on his mother’s shoulder to stabilize himself as she dressed him. “These might be a little small on you now but I will go into town first thing tomorrow and buy new a few new sets.”

She pulled his striped pants up his legs – the hems sure enough reaching well above his ankle – and made sure they were sitting well around his waist. She then wrapped his shirt around his back and he slid in one arm at a time and watched her button it up.

“Thank you, Mama.” Charlie breathed shakily.

Elizabeth could have cried right then and there. She just smiled at her son and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek.

Daniel came over to his bedside as Charlie got into bed and Elizabeth tucked the blankets around him snugly.

“Are you cozy?” she asked quietly, brushing his frazzled brown hair from his face.

Charlie nodded weakly.

“Good.” Elizabeth leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I am so happy you’re home.”

Charlie nodded.

Daniel just stood a few paces away and stared silently at his son, offering him a gentle pat to his hand in good night and the parents left him to sleep.

Elizabeth and Daniel got themselves ready for bed in silence, shuffling through their room as they changed into pyjamas and closed the curtains and Elizabeth unpinned her hair. They didn’t quite know what to say.

They sat up in bed side by side for a moment, both staring straight ahead and trying to process the events of the day.

“Was today real?” Elizabeth asked the air around them.

Daniel didn’t reply.

She glanced over at him only to see his eyebrows furrowed and lip wedged tightly between his teeth. Elizabeth set her hand on top of his, “What’s on your mind, darling?”

“I hate this.” Daniel breathed. He finally looked over at his wife and let her fingers lace with his, “I hate seeing him like this. I…I didn’t want him to end up like me, Lizzie. I…I prayed that he wasn’t going to end up like me.”

“I know.” Elizabeth said, rubbing her hands over his lovingly. She watched him take a shaky inhale, “But you know you can’t control what happens…just how you react.”

Daniel nodded.

“And he’s safe. Our babies are sleeping warm and safe in their beds tonight, Dani. That’s the best thing we could have asked for.”

Daniel nodded and shuffled closer to her, lifting her head up by a finger under her chin to kiss her lips softly. Elizabeth slid her arms around him and he tucked his face in her neck and just held her for a moment or two.

“Is that what I was like?” Daniel asked quietly into her shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“Useless. Needing you to dress me?” Daniel lifted his head up from her neck to look at her.

“Some days.” Elizabeth answered, holding his face in her hands. “You still asked me to marry you though.”

“At least I was somewhat sane.” Daniel whispered.

Elizabeth cracked a small smile and kissed the tip of his nose, “I promised you before you left for the Great War that I would be yours forever no matter what. There was nothing I would rather have done than taken care of you when you got home. You’ve always been the love of my life, Daniel Seavey, and I would have sat by your side every minute of every day if it made life easier for you.”

They shared a soft kiss.

“And now,” she held his face in her hands still with his arms lovingly around her waist, “you have blessed me with two children and it is only fair to pass on my promise to them too. Especially to them and especially Charlie right now. At best, helping you is what prepared me for this. He’s just like you in all the best ways too…I know how to care for my men. Nothing is going to scare me away. Not then and certainly not now.”

Daniel just stared at her in near awe, “Elizabeth Winifred Seavey, you are…an angel on earth. What the hell did I do to ever deserve you?”

“You loved me.” Elizabeth answered with a shrug and a smile. “That’s all I wanted.”

“I don’t say it enough.”

“You don’t need to. I just know.”

May 2, 1922

Four-year-old Charlie was scared of a few things. He was scared of the dark, he was scared of strangers, and he was scared of three headed fire breathing dragons that seemed to like to crowd his dreams at night. There was a while there where nightmares were common and Charlie would snap his eyes open in a cold sweat, panicked, and all alone in his bedroom. With any and all courage left in his body, he would grab his teddy and jump out of bed and run across the small upstairs hallway to his parents’ room.

He would quietly open the door and tip toe quickly to the end of the double bed and crawl right up in the space between his parents. His father always woke up first – he never slept as deeply after his time on the mainland fighting – and right away he would scoop up his little boy against his chest.

Charlie’s favourite place was in his father’s arms since it was where he felt the safest. His mother was a close second. Like routine, after a nightmare, he would wiggle his way into his parents’ bed and find comfort in his father’s embrace.

Daniel would pet his hair and whisper down to him, “What’s wrong, little one?”

Charlie would just cuddle closer, finding the safety he needed against his father’s chest and strong heartbeat and he would lull himself back to sleep after a few mere minutes. To four-year-old Charlie, Daniel was England’s best dragon slayer.

September 13, 1945

The three headed dragon easily was forgotten about as Charlie grew up but it was never gone for good. It moulded into different things from time to time from failed exam marks to someone who wanted to take his sister, but the worst was the plane. The three headed dragon always moulded into something that was possible but this one was the worst because it wasn’t just possible, it was real and it had happened.

The green scales of the dragon was the chipped paint on the wings of the plane, it’s fiery breath were the flames was engulfed the metal, and it’s teeth were the evil bite of Nazism, threatening to take Europe and it’s men down with it. Richard was its prey and it held him in its jaws until a rain of blood was drenching Charlie’s uniform and soaking into his hair. He screamed for mercy, to take him instead, but he would be ignored and his brother would be devoured.

Charlie woke with a gasp, heaving for breath as he sat up quickly in his bed, sheets drenched in sweat which wasn’t an unusual sight. It took a second for him to process where he was, his head whipping from side to side to try and piece together the German prisoner of war barracks or the Air Force bunks. His own bedroom stared back at him quietly. He sighed a shuttering sigh.

He choked back forming tears, wiping his clammy palms on his pyjama pants, the sweat feeling far too much like the remnants of blood. He trembled. He felt as if the dragon was watching him.

Charlie tossed the sheets off his bed and stepped one foot to the cold hardwood floor after the other before shuffling towards the door. The house was dark and silent. Charlie wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore but he was scared of fear itself.

It only took him five steps to cross the upstairs hallway – it used to take him eleven as a little boy – and he rested his hand on the door handle. He fought with himself a moment, his heart racing in fear as if there would be a punishment for being out of bed in the middle of the night. At the prison camps there was at least.

Charlie opened the door quietly and slipped inside without bothering to close it behind him. He took his usual spot at the end of his parents’ double bed and took a second to watch them sleep. His heart ached and he let out a small sob that he smothered into his hand as he climbed up onto the end of the bed. Charlie shuffled right up between them, choking quietly through his tears as he squeezed his grown-up body between his parents.

Daniel and Elizabeth both woke up at the movement, Elizabeth rolling over to face her distraught son who was trying to curl himself into Daniel’s chest. They shared quiet glances before helping to shuffle him under the blankets with them.

“There you go, little one.” Daniel whispered, tucking the sheets up nice and high around Charlie’s shoulders and then wrapped his arm around him, “We’re right here. You’re safe.”

Charlie only cried harder, clinging onto his father through his sobs without speaking a word.

“Good boy, Charles Christian.” Daniel praised softly, rubbing his son’s back lovingly. “Let it all out.”

Elizabeth sniffled quietly, petting her hand through Charlie’s tangled brown hair as she watched him weep and tremble helplessly. Daniel hummed softly, resting his chin against his son’s head as he cuddled up against his chest and cried into his shirt, rubbing soothing patterns across his back.

“It’s not your fault.” Daniel whispered into his hair as if it were going to be processed by his mind easier that way. “It’s not your fault. None of it was your fault.”

“I miss him!” Charlie sobbed, “Richie!”

“Shh, I know. I know you do.” Daniel held his son closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead, cradling his head under his chin.

“It’s not fair!”

“I know.” Daniel shut his eyes tightly. “It isn’t fair at all.”

Charlie was heaving for breath, chest shuttering and throat choking over each inhale until he was just making himself panic.

“Okay, darling boy, listen to Mama.” Elizabeth spoke gently, resting her hand on his shoulder, “Take some nice deep breaths with us.”

Daniel and Elizabeth both breathed in together to lead him, holding him close as he tried to copy but his trembling and his weeping made it difficult.

“In and out, Charlie.” Elizabeth whispered to him, giving him enough room where he didn’t feel crowded as he fisted the back of Daniel’s shirt in his hand and started to breathe easier. Each inhale was shaky and each exhale was paired with a sob and Charlie just shut his eyes and clung onto his father.

Soon his breathing was calmer and his wails had fallen into whimpers, exhaustion taking over amidst his feeling of safety. Charlie rested against his father’s chest, lips chapped and pouted and long lashes resting on flushed cheeks, his brown hair a shaggy mess on top of his head and it almost flopped in front of his eyes. Elizabeth gently brushed his hair back from his face and left him with a kiss to his cheek, pausing to admire her little boy as he finally fell back to sleep.

She glanced at Daniel and whispered a concerned, “Are you okay?”

Daniel nodded and made sure the blankets were tucked nice and high around his son, “I’m fine.”

“If this brings up things for you, I can always take over.”

“Lizzie.” Daniel interrupted her quietly. “I promise. I’m alright.”

She nodded and leaned over Charlie to kiss her husband’s cheek. They shared quiet ‘I love you’s and curled up close in their double bed now taken up by three grown adults. They wouldn’t dare to complain.

Daniel stared down at his grown-up son in his arms, feeling him breathing steadily and sleeping soundly.

You see, Daniel and Charles were more alike than either would have liked to admit. Their looks down to their passionate personalities were quite similar but even their experiences and how they dealt with grief were similar in themselves. One thing that differed between Daniel and Charles was that Charlie had parents…good parents…and a father who would put his life on the line for his son no matter what.

Daniel never had that paternal comfort growing up and even less of it when he returned from the war and he always feared of becoming like his father. Maybe he was quiet and distant as a young man and was a bit too over cautious when it came to his children, but Daniel knew perfectly well that his purpose in life was to be the father that his children deserved and needed. His son needed him to take away his pain and that’s what he was going to do. He was to be the father he never had, now more than ever.

#✉

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paths-of-my-childhood-candid · 4 years

Photo

TAYLOR SWIFT: ‘I’ve always found romance in life’s small moments’

Photographs by Miller Mobley // Interview by Melody Chiu // People Magazine, Dec 16th 2019 issue

Shattering records with her euphoric new album Lover, the superstar is happier and more fearless than ever: ‘I’m always looking for a new challenge.’

It’s hard to believe Taylor Swift is turning 30. A decade ago she became the youngest person to take home the Album of the Year Grammy. Now the superstar, who celebrates her milestone birthday on Dec. 13, is breaking records - and her silence - like never before. Ahead of releasing her seventh studio album, Lover, in August, Swift took on her former record label Big Machine and its new owner Scooter Braun over the rights to her previous recordings. With the dawn of a new decade and an upcoming tour, Swift - who is happily three years into her relationship with actor Joe Alwyn - is as excited about her future as she is protective of her past. “This is the first time I’ve been able to put out music that I feel is connecting with people yet look back on everything I’ve made and feel a quiet sense of pride,” she says. “I’m proud of the things I’ve withstood, and I’ve been able to carve out a life for myself.”

You’ve had a lot of big years, but this one feels a little different. What does 2019 mean to you? This year feels more special to me than any year before it. A lot of people will tell you that when they had their breakthrough year, they weren’t able to enjoy it because they were hustling or stressed. 2009 was a breakthrough year for me in country, then 2014 was a big breakthrough year in pop. Fifteen years into doing this, being able to look around and acknowledge that it’s special, I’m really stoked this moment can happen when I’m 29. That’s one of the benefits of starting when you’re 12!

Lover comes not even two years after your prior album Reputation. Were you feeling creatively supercharged? I had this strange feeling of “I could write anything I want now.” There was so much theatricality in the darkness of Reputation. It was secretly a love story, but it was also filled with angst, rebellion and this vengeful taking back of your life. Lover ended up being the album [where I was no longer] answering to something. In the past I’ve definitely used my criticism as a jumping-off point for creativity. With Reputation I’d said everything I needed to say. I’d been tried in every possible way people could throw things at me, and I felt like now I just get to create.

You’ve been writing love songs since you were a teenager. What would 13-year-old Taylor say about Lover? This is the most I’ve ever leaned into who I really am. For this album I went through my old diaries as a kid. Looking back, I’ve always found romance in life’s small moments - tiny details that are beautiful about the human experience. Lover in a lot of ways is that.

You’re known for magnifying those little moments into a hit song, but do you feel more protective of yourself now? In this job people are constantly skeptical and evaluating whether you deserve to be there. There are tests every day, but I try to be susceptible to my feelings on it. I try to be resilient, but I don’t ever want to become closed off in a way that I can’t access sadness, loneliness, anxiety and despair. I personally feel like the best thing I have to offer is the music I write.

Your Change.org petition in support of the Equality Act (which prohibits discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation and gender identity) has nearly 600,000 signatures, and your “You Need to Calm Down” music video, featuring many LGBTQ+ stars, has more than 164 million views. Is it gratifying to see these numbers after breaking your political silence? When you advocate for something, it has to be completely disconnected from what people say about you advocating for it. It should be removed from hard numbers. That being said, when numbers do come in that are promising and petitions are signed in the hundreds of thousands, it’s a good feeling. It reinforces your feeling that there is good in the world.

Has speaking out, whether about politics or owning the rights to all your songs before Lover, made you feel stronger at the end of the day? It makes me feel like my fans are able to know me more. What I believe in and what people know I believe in are aligned. That’s a great sense of relief. When Lover came out, it was this sense of being so thankful that after so long of being denied the rights to music that I made, I finally felt like I was in a place where I had aligned myself with generous people. The label that I’m at now, there’s not a single person in that sphere that wants to deny me of what I created. It’s nice to know I can say what I believe in and disconnect from if people don’t like that. And I can sleep really well at night.

How do you feel about your 30s? Really happy! There are certain parts of my brain that I don’t visit as often, like stressing out about my body, stressing out about being on trend, stressing out about people thinking I’m cool, stressing out about people thinking really anything about me. You have to toss out things that don’t serve you.

What’s the last great day off you had? Oh, yesterday was amazing. My friend Cazzie [David] came over, and we swam. My friends and their kids were staying with me, so I was playing with a 3- and a 5-year-old. Then I picked a paint color for my living room wall, which is really gonna warm up the whole vibe. My parents and my brother came over, and I cooked this whole dinner. Cooking, reading and seeing friends are things that make me feel like my life was never anything but normal, so I spend a lot of time doing those things. I just want to make sure I’m living my life in a way that makes me feel happy and fulfilled.

THE MOST INSPIRING WOMAN TO ME THIS YEAR: Whenever I feel stressy about things, I’ll just read some of Jameela Jamil’s quotes about body image and health.

WHAT I ’M LOOKING FORWARD TO MOST IN 2020: I’m really excited about customizing [my upcoming tour] Lover Fest. I’ve never really performed on that kind of stage since opening up for Tim McGraw and George Strait in 2007.

THE 2019 BOOK I DEVOURED: Demi Moore’s autobiography. I couldn’t put it down. She was punished ruthlessly for being the highest-paid actress, and I feel like finally she’s getting the last laugh.

A NEW THING I LEARNED THIS YEAR: I’m working my way through the Ottolenghi Simple cookbook. I recently made the chicken marbella.

The PEOPLE behind People

Deputy west coast news editor Melody Chiu first interviewed Taylor Swift before the release of 1989: “Sitting down with her five years later, Taylor was as generous as ever, and her unshakable confidence is inspiring.”

Dan Wakeford, People Magazine Editor in Chief: “Although she’s been a singer for more than 15 years, 2019 was arguably the year Taylor Swift found her voice. She stood up to protect her creative rights, spoke out for what she believed in and continued to produce music that showed wisdom and storytelling beyond her years - her album Lover became 2019’s bestselling record in just one week. Truly epic.”

Check out parts of the interview previously published online:

Inside Taylor Swift's Life-Changing Year: 'I'm Proud of the Things I've Withstood' - article

Taylor Swift Says She's Finally Aligned Herself with a 'Generous' Label Amid Feud with Big Machine - article

Taylor Swift Is Over 'Stressing Out' About Her Body as She Turns 30 - article

Taylor Swift Says Demi Moore Got Last Laugh After She Was 'Punished' for Being Highest-Paid Actress - article

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stuckwith-harry · 4 years

Text

swear to be overdramatic and true

Snow, is his first thought upon materialising behind the apple trees.

Harry Potter draws his wand and slips into view from his Apparition spot, stepping out into the wintry night. A fluffy white blanket has fallen over everything, the grass and the windowsills and the rooftop: the apple trees are all wearing hats.

Above his head, a square of warm, golden light falls from the window that overlooks the garden into the night. Harry’s heart stirs quietly at the sight.

He leaves no trace in the fresh snow on the ground as he makes his way around the cottage to the front door. Auror boots leave no footprints by design, erasing every step behind themselves immediately: by the time he’s slipped through the front door, no sign outside the cottage’s walls betrays he was ever gone.

Harry exhales.

He is extraordinarily lucky, and he knows it: he’s spent most of this mission waiting for something, anything, to go awry like it usually does, for one of the juniors to make a mistake, for the lot of them to walk into a trap, for him to spend the holidays at St. Mungo’s again. Even now that he’s here, looking around at his quiet home, at the enchanted fairy lights floating around the ceiling: it all seems a little too good to be trusted.

It isn’t even midnight yet. Harry bites back his smile for fear of jinxing it.

He slips out of his Auror gear and leaves it in the downstairs bathroom, memories of the mission quickly fading as he sneaks up the stairs in just his t-shirt and boxers. A stripe of gold glowing under James’ bedroom door disappears at the sound of Harry’s approaching footsteps: his eldest hastily pulls his duvet over his head when he pushes the door open.

“Evenin’”, Harry says softly into the room, and James’ scarlet head reluctantly reappears under the pillow, moonlight illuminating his sheepish face. “Not asleep yet?”

“Dad!”, James whispers, folding back the duvet. “You’re back!”

Harry is well aware that his surprise is – at least in part – feigned, but the sheer elation on his son’s face is real: he notices it with a quiet warmth unfurling in his chest.

“And you’re up past your bedtime, I believe.”

“I wanted to wait for you”, James says quickly.

Harry doesn’t bother reminding him that waiting is pointless: for all they knew, he may not have made it back before Boxing Day.

“Christmas Eve, with a little luck”, he told Ginny, hesitant to even voice it to the children.

He never makes promises for a reason. The let-down is so much more devastating when they get their hopes up.

Harry sighs. “Close your eyes. Father Christmas isn’t going to stop by here until all children are sound asleep.”

James rolls his eyes.

“It’s not like I believe in any of that stuff anymore – and Mum took the presents downstairs twenty minutes ago”, he adds, as though that settles the Father-Christmas-matter once and for all.

“Lily still believes it”, Harry reminds him. “Don’t go and ruin it for her, hm?”

“Fine”, James mutters, pulling his duvet back to his chin. “Love you, anyway.”

“Love you, too.”

Harry pulls James’ door shut as quietly as he can and continues down the dark hallway; won’t be able to sleep without this.

Lily is curled up in a mountain of blankets like a kitten, clutching her stuffed Crumple-Horned Snorkack firmly in her little arms. Her night-light is floating by the bed, painting her face in faint red and pink. A string of enchanted fairy lights is wrapped around her bedframe, too, cheerily twinkling in the dark.

Harry lets himself linger, just for a moment: brushes hair out of her slender face and watches her brows furrow slightly in her sleep. Far away in a dream somewhere, he knows. He could parade a real Crumple-Horned Snorkack through her bedroom and she likely wouldn’t wake, but he still tiptoes back to her door and throws one last glance over his shoulder before he leaves. Entirely too peaceful to be true, he wants to think, but stops himself.

Peaceful. Peaceful. Peaceful.

Al’s light is on, too: He’s holding his book to his chest with one arm, the other dangling off his bed in mid-air, mouth wide open as he sleeps. Harry carefully loosens the book from his grip, finds the bookmark on the wooden floor, and places it quietly on Al’s nightstand. He gently tucks both his arms back under the cover and runs his fingers lightly through Al’s unruly black hair, so much like his own.

Al shifts and mutters in his sleep. Harry waits until he has stilled, worried to wake him, and quietly backs out of the room only when Al has resumed snoring. Harry grins as he turns to leave, finally arriving at the last door.

A stripe of gold is falling out into the hallway from here, too: he pushes it open to find Ginny curled up in their king-sized bed, already in her pyjamas, but awake, her nose buried in a copy of Witch Weekly. She looks up at the sound of the door, smile ever more radiant in the half-dark and the glow of her bedside lamp.

“I thought I heard someone climb down the chimney”, she says, beaming at him as he climbs on the mattress next to her, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Hi”, she mutters, raking her fingers through his hair and down his shoulder. A tingle travels down Harry’s spine. “I can’t believe you made it.”

He closes his eyes at her touch, tension falling off him: two cold weeks without her are melting quickly in his memory. “Me neither, honestly.”

Harry spots a tower of presents in the armchair by the window. “Want any help with those?”, he asks, despite being far too content, far too comfortable now, to move.

Ginny hums quietly in response.

“In a bit. I think James was eavesdropping.”

“Oh, he was.”

She chuckles, flicking a page. “I thought it was too quiet. Always a bit fishy when they behave, isn’t it?”

And indeed, a peculiar quiet has got hold of the Potter family home: so strange and unprecedented in its completeness Harry cannot help but strain his ears every once in a while, listening intently for tip-toeing in the hallway, heated whispering: all the tell-tale signs his children have slipped out of their beds.

“I know you can’t sleep now”, she mutters after a few minutes of quiet, Harry’s head still on her shoulder. “Do you just want to hang out?”

She knows him too well, he thinks, some strange, wild gladness swelling in his chest.

It’s a part of coming home: letting go of the hyper-alertness that keeps him alive while he’s out there, of being constantly on edge. Sometimes, when he doesn’t get back until the early hours of the morning, he lies awake next to Ginny and can’t bring himself to shut off. He watches daylight creep over the apple trees through the window, waits for everyone else to wake up and ends up dozing off on the couch in the middle of the afternoon, more passing out from exhaustion than real sleep.

Ginny knows that’s part of the deal.

“Reading sounds good, actually”, he says, lifting his head off her shoulder regretfully to go find his book.

Teddy had, in recent months, taken to devouring adventure novels the size of bricks in a mere matter of days and then spending the weekly family dinners at the Burrow talking rapidly about little else. On one such Saturday evening, Harry had politely asked if Teddy would ever let him borrow one: the smile on Teddy’s face was absolutely brilliant, and Harry has been reading along with him ever since, his godson’s sheer enthusiasm, his joy at having someone to talk to after, impossibly infectious.

They flick through their respective pages in comfortable quiet, Ginny’s fingers drawing absent-minded circles on his thigh as she reads. A spark of warmth prickles at the back of his neck at every lazy scratch on her fingernail.

“I’m having an affair with Neville”, Ginny says as though announcing the weather.

Harry looks up from his novel, blinking at her.

“I thought I was having an affair with Neville”, he says, face plain.

“No, that was last week.”

“I see. Who am I sleeping with again?”

“Hermione. Says so right here on page 12.”

“I better give her a call, then”, he says, returning to his book.

The corners of Ginny’s mouth betray her: Harry grins over at her and she snickers into the magazine, her quiet laughter like waves rolling through his body, her cheek leaning against the top of his head. Warm, liquid bliss fills his chest: her small hand resumes caressing his thigh like she’s not even aware she’s doing it, though he doesn’t doubt she is. He draws in a slow, deep breath, too content to move or even focus much on anything except Ginny, least of all his book.

“You alright?”, Ginny asks after a while, not lifting her eyes off of a five-page article about the drummer of some girl band who’d been photographed snogging the bassist.

“Hm?”

“You haven’t turned your page in, like, ten minutes.”

“’M fine”, Harry mutters, forever startled that it’s truthful, and it is. “Wasn’t she dating some Newcomer Harpy?”, he adds, nodding towards the article.

“Hm-hm”, Ginny says. “Nothing interesting about a quiet, amicable breakup, though. That’s why ours are always really dramatic.”

Harry snorts. “Like I’d break up with you in public.”

“It’s adorable how you think I’m the dumpee in this scenario.”

Harry looks up in mock concern, bumping his foot into her leg. “You’re breaking up with me?”

Ginny hums as though deep in thought. “I guess I could loudly ask you for a divorce next time we want to get out of some horrible Ministry party. Might be fun.”

“Wish you’d had that idea last year”, Harry mutters darkly, remembering the lengthy Christmas feast they hadn’t been able to wriggle out of. He’d been shaking lametta out of his hair for hours after. “Alright, I’m down, but I’m taking the kids.”

Ginny pats his leg, unfazed. “Yeah, you wish.”

Harry smiles, slouching into her side – mission forgotten, peaceful, home. Ginny turns to look at him as his eyes flutter shut, exhaustion finally taking over.

All the way from the kitchen, they hear the enchanted garden gnome that lives inside their baby blue cuckoo’s clock – Luna’s moving-in present – announce “twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock, twelve o’clock!”.

Ginny presses a kiss to his temple. “Merry Christmas, babe.”

“Merry Christmas”, Harry mutters. “Love you.”

“You, too.” He feels the pads of Ginny’s fingers draw slow circles on his scalp, her palm brush over his jet-black hair. “Glad you’re back.”

He merely hums in response, too content to speak, not wanting the moment to end, this strange, deep peace that fills him.

They get to stay like that for a small eternity: Harry’s head on her shoulder, Ginny’s arm around him, warm limbs entangled.

Just as Harry is ready to doze off, Ginny gasps beside him.

“Listen”, she whispers, as Harry reluctantly opens his eyes.

And there it is: from outside their bedroom door comes the quiet tap-tap-tap of small feet on the hardwood floor, sneaking towards the stairs.

“I think we’ve got some Christmas elves on the loose”, Ginny whispers.

Harry grins at her, and she grins back, quietly conspiring.

“Wanna go catch them?”

They climb out of bed as quickly and quietly as they can, pressing their ears to the bedroom door. Ginny shakes her head and reaches for the doorknob.

“They’re lucky we love them so much.”

#hinny #fanfiction #harry x ginny #harry potter #ginny weasley #jessie writes #crimbo fic !!!!!!!!!!!

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rokutouxei · 3 years

Text

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 12 OF 22

My heart is an unmade bed; it might look messy, but I swear it’s a safe place to rest. - Moriah Pearson

It doesn’t take long for the Rooftop to become their place.

At first, it is a matter of weather. The tail end of autumn and the first breezes of winter mean that the Grove can get a little too cold in the late afternoons when they meet; and in truth, the Rooftop is barely any better, but at least there’s a stunning view below, and a vending machine for hot drinks at the first floor. If it gets too cold out, there’s the storage room on the same floor that’s decked out with windows—Isaac keeps all the astronomical equipment in here, mostly the telescopes, but also a few plastic chairs and tables.

Peak convenience.

This was totally not what she had planned from the beginning.

Definitely. Not at all.

It doesn’t take long for them to surrender and make the Rooftop their little hiding space. The hours spent in companionable silence in the Grove have just changed locations, but—somehow, up here, where there’s only the two of them, it’s a little more… intimate. They spend an hour or so with their usual book exchange and then—they stay to listen to each other.

For hours. Sometimes long enough for them to be out past dinner.

It just feels right.

It feels right the same way she feels content that the books he ends up lending her do reveal quite a lot about his character. It feels right the same way he feels like every extra day they spend together, even if they are discussing the most trivial of things, she burrows a little deeper into his defenses. She devours every single title he passes on, Hosseini, Pratchett, Heiligman, Stone, no matter how long the book is, no matter how complicated it seems—and he lets his heart rest in every collection she hands him, Plath, Lorde, Angelou, Thomas, Lawrence.

Every book an opened door.

Every word just the littlest millimeter closer.

Take, for example, the time they began talking about The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Shaffer and Barrows, which was lent by Theo, and the conversation went:

“Okay, but you have to agree that there’s nothing quite like a hand-written letter. It hits different. Regular messages and calls are great, of course, but the idea that time and energy was lent to writing down a letter? Peak romance.”

Theo nods. “The personality in the handwriting.”

“Oh, definitely!” she nods. “And eventually you’ll be able to tell their emotions based on how their handwriting is a little different—something like the psychology of handwriting?”

“To me personally, it’s the hand-made nature that makes letters appealing.”

“Yes! The craft of it! The fact that the ink and the paper, and that it’s both visual and literary—” she emphasizes this with the classic chef’s kiss; pinching her thumb and index finger and kissing them away.

They talk about the most trivial of things, they talk about the deepest of things. Conversations shift from gossip to philosophy, from the news to deep fantasy. The Rooftop becomes theirs, becomes the little space they inhabit on campus where they can shake the wings of their little bond together out wide.

Of course, they could very well invite their other friends into this little book club of theirs; Arthur is pretty well-read; it will be easy to drag Dazai out if Arthur is involved; Isaac could budge with some convincing; but—

They just know that with each other, it’s different.

Like that time Theo arrives first at the Rooftop, and she manages to sneak up on him without him noticing, as he was so deep in his thoughts; she had caught him writing on his journal in his elegant script, and she had nearly yelled into his ear because of how surprised she was.

“A fellow connoisseur!” she says, sitting immediately next to him on the bench table, bumping shoulders; Theo is pulling his fountain pen away from the page to avoid marking on it. “Here I was being teased for writing in cursive for being old fashioned, and you’re out here doing the same!”

“I’ve never teased you for writing in cursive,” Theo insists, flashbacking through every book log he’d made her sign in the bookshop.

She nods excitedly. “I know! I thought you were just being nice, but it’s so cool to see you do it too!” She beams. “There’s a required hand-written portion in the test by the OSR and they required to write in print, and I was so sad… what about all my loopy L’s…”

“I like it because it’s convenient, not pretty,” Theo says with a frown.

“That’s because you already have gorgeous handwriting,” she quips. “And of course, you write with a fountain pen. Just the right amount of bougie for a business major.”

“Excuse me?”

One book after another, one Saturday into the next. It doesn’t matter that she’s at the bookshop twice a week, that they see each other even outside of this space; when they’re up here, they are different people. They are more similar people. They go around the world sitting at the Rooftop exchanging stories. They switch Antoine de Saint-Exupéry for Emily Dickinson; Murakami Haruki for Richard Siken; Phillip Williams for Alexander Solzhenitsyn.

She talks about the astronomy club, admits how at the beginning her only reason for joining was because she wanted to get access to the rooftop, and now, how much more she’s gotten out of it. He talks about the business club and how the snobbier members had pushed him out of active membership. She talks about her childhood, the familiar streets of the city below, all she’s ever known. He talks about Vincent and the younger years, living out in the country, running around in rye fields dreaming of the future.

The two of them are friends.

Unlikely, maybe, and at first maybe at least a little bit unwilling, but—they are now. And who would have imagined that one little invitation from Vincent to do some modeling in his little apartment would lead to this? To whispers about Anna Karenina. To plans to going to the post office to check out their most beautiful postcards—to send them to each other, if only in the spirit of it. To hiding away from the rest of the busy university when the rest of the world is too loud.

To muse about the future that seems too far out, to feel like it is close enough to grasp.

And as one season seeps into the next and Theo walking her home to her dormitory’s doorstep with her book in his hands just becomes normal, the vaguest twinkle of a thought shimmers in both their minds for the briefest of moments.

They just don’t catch it yet.

It is late November when the official administrative instructions for Dragon’s Hoard’s closures for the holiday seasons come into Arthur’s and Theo’s inboxes.

The email also delightfully includes the details about their holiday pay.

Dragon’s Hoard is a small bookshop, sure, but it is still owned by one of the richer, old-money families of the city, so of course, the employees get a sizable 13th-month pay at the end of the year. But not only that—they’re also eligible for a bit of holiday pay. A lot of things come into the computation of it, as far as they’re concerned—the state of the economy, the year’s average revenue from the bookshop, just about how nice their boss is feeling this year—so it varies, but this year…

This year, Saint-Germain took it up a notch.

Maybe even two.

Arthur whistles as he reads the email, staring at the multiple digits itemizing what they’ll receive soon. “How does this man make money, why does it seem like he never runs out?”

Theo puts down the fresh stock of books onto the counter for sorting. He hasn’t been on his phone since his shift started, because he likes to wave a bit of moral superiority over Arthur out of pettiness. “Bonus kicked in?”

“Kicked hard,” Arthur says, flashing his phone screen to Theo. “Check that out.”

Theo catches the numbers and does the math quickly in his head. When one is saving up for something, every tiny bit counts. He had intended to put the entirety of his bonus onto the money he was putting aside, but with this amount…

“That’s a lot,” is all he can say. The bookshop has been operating as per usual throughout the year, and with the spreadsheets, there hadn’t been a huge leap of income either…

“I guess if your last name is Saint-Germain, you’re probably rich as balls,” Arthur comments, taking his phone back again to check the email one more time to make sure he didn’t dream that up. “But he probably gets something out of this too.”

“Charity work, maybe, against his taxes.”

“Probably.”

And if Arthur had any sense of self-preservation, he would have stopped there. Would have kept his phone in his pocket and dropped the conversation altogether, returning to the hum of tasks left in the bookshop for today. But would Arthur really be Arthur if he didn’t live to put himself in harm’s way for the amusement of it?

So, he slides up against Theo and asks, “So where are you spending the money?”

Theo’s eyebrow twitches. “Vincent,” is his short reply. And that should already say it all, but—

“No Christmas gift for the missus? You know, there’s only so much dates can do, sometimes you got to give a little bling, before—”

Arthur wins mercy from Theo’s punch by promising him free lunch.

“Dazai, I’m not pursuing him,” she sighs. “That’s not the right verb.”

“Oh? Then what should it be? Are you ‘courting’ him?”

The two of them are sitting across each other at the café Vincent works in, each with a book in hand. Dazai doesn’t seem too interested in reading the Japanese translation of Pride and Prejudice.

He closes the small bound book, bookmark already in place. He has that knowing smile on his face that lets her know she’s already lost before the battle’s even begun. “Toshiko-san, you can’t keep telling me one thing and then showing the world another.”

When she first spotted Dazai across the café earlier today, at the start of her break in-between classes, she thought it might not be too bad to stay with him until her next lecture begins, for some wholesome, literary students bonding time. Besides, reading next to each other has always been their way of hanging out anyway—very stereotypical of them.

She should have figured out that she is transparent to her best friend and just being next to each other with unsaid things clouding her mind would eventually lead to conversations she doesn’t want to have yet.

It’s just her luck that it’s worth it to be in Dazai’s company.

She closes her own book shut. Gabriel Garcia Marquez can wait. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know why you guys keep insisting that there is something more in between us when there isn’t.”

“I haven’t seen you get so worked up about maintaining a book exchange.”

“Hey, we did that too!”

“Not for long,” Dazai notes, and he’s right. They did, at some point, the summer before, the one they spent together after neither of them decided to go home for the extended holiday. They tore through two books, sometimes more, a week, for a month, until—well, they decided to do something else.

She shakes her head. “They’re just books.”

“The books, the dare,” he counts with his slender fingers, “you have to take responsibility sometimes, you know? You don’t need to blame anyone else for your own actions.”

She huffs as she drops her book into her bag unceremoniously. “You are blowing things out of proportion.”

“Then there’s the Rooftop, and the Halloween date, and—”

“Oh would you look at the time,” she says, standing up suddenly from her chair, the tips of her ears red, her voice’s loudness near comical as other customers from every direction turn toward her—“I’m going to be late for class if I don’t go now, I’ll see you soon, Osamu!”

Dazai smiles and waves goodbye even if he knows her next class isn’t in an hour.

The weather is unforgiving outside, and the entire horizon white with snow, the breeze bordering unpleasant. The two of them have a back-and-forth of switching places today: maybe at the Little Owl, or the cafeteria at the university’s main library, maybe even at the van Gogh’s house, but—

They find themselves at the Rooftop anyway.

Today, they’ve swapped J. Neil Garcia with Ursula K. Le Guin, and after an interesting exchange about identity, self, and the importance of fantasy in imagining what else one can become, they’re sitting across each other on a table, nursing what’s left of their vending machine hot drinks.

The question pops out of her mouth so suddenly, even she has a look of surprise after she’s said it.

“Does Arthur ask you about this, too?”

Theo puts down his paper cup of coffee. “About what?”

“About this,” she says, making a gesture at the both of them. “You know, our little book exchange. Hanging out on Saturdays. Does he make a big deal out of it?”

“When he’s being a bastard,” Theo answers quickly. “Is he bothering you?”

“No! No.” She shakes her head, smiling at him reassuringly. “I was more curious if it bothers you.”

“Why would it bother me?”

The question is simple, but Theo watches as her face contorts in some sort of confusion. Sure, Arthur being his usual unfunny joker can get on his nerves, but the teasing doesn’t bother him in the way he knows she is asking about. Not when he knows what’s really going on.

Or he thinks he knows.

“Doesn’t he make this a bigger deal than it is?”

“He does.”

Unease mixed into her genuine curiosity: “That doesn’t bother you?”

Theo doesn’t like that expression on her. “Would you rather I more firmly correct him?”

The smile finally returns to her face as she playfully hits him on the arm. “No, I know what you mean by ‘firmly’. He’s like that but Arthur’s still my friend, you know.”

“You know he deserves it.”

“He does, but still.” The smile doesn’t go away and relief fills Theo’s veins. He’s not used to seeing her so upset. It only reminds him of the one time he messed up after the Halloween party. “I’m glad it doesn’t, though. I thought we’d have to… I don’t know, tone it down, or something.”

Theo knows one thing and that it is always more than with her—even when he doesn’t understand quite what it is. Instead, he says, “They’re free to misunderstand however they want.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Yeah, you’re right.”

For some moments, they are quiet. They’ve shared so many silences that they’ve learned when it’s the silence that’s fine in being empty, and the silences where something is being phrased, ordered, prepared, like the way an inhale does before an exhale. Theo knows this is the latter.

So he waits.

What he does hear after, though, is not anything he’s expecting.

“You know, Theo, I don’t think I’ve ever really heard about what you want to do with your life.”

He raises an eyebrow at her, bored. “It’s not anything interesting.”

“Try me?”

Theo doesn’t know what to tell her at all. Instead, he looks down at the town below, out the window, making out the shapes of houses through the blanket of white. He no longer knows where his dreams end and where his delusions begin. It’s not that he hadn’t toyed with the options—curating, working for a museum, art dealership—but nothing has really caught him. Not when he has something more urgent at hand.

After what seems like an infinite number of moments, he answers: “I want to see Vincent flourish as an artist.”

Silence.

The lack of reaction causes him to turn back at her. “What? Not going to laugh?”

“What?” she blinks. “No, no, I’m not laughing. That’s actually pretty sweet of you.”

“Stop. I’ve had enough brother complex jokes from Arthur.”

“No, that’s not—oh my god, he’s right, holy shit.” She stifles a laugh onto her sleeve. He glares at her, but it only makes her laugh harder. “Haha, wait, no, relax. I was going to say something serious.”

He raises an eyebrow, daring her to continue. She clears her throat.

“That’s a dream about Vincent, though. And while I respect it—I want to hear about yours.”

“That is my dream,” Theo insists. “Everything that happens past that is a bonus.”

She shakes her head. “No, no, that’s definitely not it. There has to be something you want to do for yourself, right?”

Theo has half a heart to wish that he’s built enough of a persona in her head that a little version of him in her mind answers that’s none of your business for him. Because it’s not right, it’s not entirely right, so he can’t tell that to her, but he can’t tell her either.

He isn’t like her. She’s a rocketship pointed at the open Milky Way with directions and a path coded right into her system.

He doesn’t even have a trajectory.

Just lost in orbit, an astronaut detached from their mission, breathing on oxygen that’s running out.

He doesn’t get to say anything.

But because she is who she is in that laser-piercing way Theo can’t sometimes stand, she says, instead, softly, her voice so gentle it sounds like she is offering Theo a flower made out of snowflakes: “He’d want you to pursue your own little happiness too, you know?”

He closes his eyes in response to this—like blocking out one sense would make this all easier to push away. And when he answers, his voice sounds hoarse, like he’s been screaming. “I have no dream,” he says, simply. There’s a space at the end of it that lingers, one that could be filled with yet or anymore. It weighs a million tons.

And in return, she beams at him like the sun, reaching out to pull at his cheek that it makes his eyes fly open.

“Wet gow—"

“We’ll find you one, stupid,” she answers, ever so certainly. “Make that your current dream! To find one, you know?”

And no, Theo doesn’t know. Theo doesn’t really have feelings about this anymore, except that he wants to do his best for Vincent. Maybe one day there will be a dream. But not now. Maybe one day. He takes a sip out of the hot coffee from the paper cup, and it takes like the cheap vending machine drink it actually is, but—

He holds in his heart that maybe she’s right—and somehow, the thought makes the coffee just a little bit better.

A few days later, Theo hums under his breath as he flips the pancake he’s currently cooking in the kitchen. Because Saint-Germain respects that people buy holiday presents in advance, he and Arthur have finally gotten their holiday pay in. And this morning, the bank statement’s updated and the cheque has cleared: the amount is fully deposited in his account, and now there are no takebacks.

This is really, really happening.

He hears a yawn coming from down the hall and out comes Vincent, fresh from the studio. His hands are stained with paint in varying degrees of dry, and he’s bringing with him two clear glasses: one muddied with paint water, the other with the remnants of pulp from orange juice. Theo hopes there was no incident of switched glasses last night—that was not a fun experience last time.

Vincent places the glasses on the sink nearby and hovers around his younger brother. “Pancakes?” He smiles. “Something good happen to you?”

“Yeah, really good,” Theo says, unable to hide his excitement. He slides the cooked pancake on top of another on a waiting plate, and hands it to Vincent with a grin. “I can’t wait for you to hear about it, broer. Eggs?”

“Please, and over easy,” Vincent answers, taking the plate with him, off to set their little dining table. “Is this about you finally dating?”

Theo nearly crushes the egg in his hand. “What?”

“It’s not?” Vincent is sincerely shocked. “I was sure it was. You sounded so happy.”

“You know I don’t have time for that.” Theo huffs. Nearly puts too much salt. He prods at the egg with a little more force than required.

Coming back to the kitchen for utensils and a carton of juice, Vincent ruffles his brother’s hair gently. “You’re always working too hard, it’s not bad to entertain those kinds of things sometimes, you know?”

Theo flips the egg. The oil crackles loudly like his denial. “There’s nothing to entertain,” he insists, as Vincent slips back to the table. “You don’t have to worry about that, broer.”

“Okay.” Vincent sits at the table. He pretends to not see right through Theo. “So, what’s gotten you in such a good mood?”

“My holiday paycheck came in the other day, and the boss was extra generous with the bonus this year,” Theo begins, cracking another egg over the pan. Stirs it gently to make a nice, scrambled egg. He’s so used to domestic life with his brother, for a moment the idea of him going away flashes in his mind with a jolt of fear. He shakes it away as he taps some salt over the pan. “Went to the bank yesterday, and it reflected today.”

“Nothing’s better than a good holiday bonus, yeah?” Vincent says, smiling in support. “I got a good bit too. Might be enough to get a good new easel.”

“Great timing,” Theo says, a soft smile on his face. Turns off the fire, puts the egg on the plate, and nearly rushes in excitement to his brother on the table. (Not without coming back for the maple syrup in the fridge, of course, because who eats pancakes without it?)

Vincent faces the table properly to begin to eat breakfast, but before he even gets to reach for his fork and knife, Theo has his hands in his.

“Great timing, because you’ll need the easel. At the current rate, I’m just going to need to work for two more full months… and we might be able to rent a decent space with the amount we’ve been saving up for an exhibit.” Theo has stars in his eyes. He hasn’t been this excited in years. His dream has always been to be the wind underneath his brother’s wings—letting him fly. That was all he ever wanted. He can think of himself some other time. This time, this is for Vincent. And here they are: so close to it.

Vincent smiles at Theo, beams, “That’s great! Congratulations!” but pulls his hands away anyway. Like he touched something hot. He clears his throat and turns to his plate. “Let’s eat.”

For a moment, Theo furrows his eyebrows at his brother’s reaction, but then lets it go.

It doesn’t occur to him until much later that he shouldn’t have.

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

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amarabliss · 4 years

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Galahdian Dreams - 12 (Nyx Ulric/Reader)

Synopsis: Your father was the king of Insomnia. He was good and just. You never thought you’d meet anyone like him after he was taken from the world. Your Uncle Regis, has taken the throne and followed through on your father’s plans. It was good to see the city in capable hands.

Enter Nyx Ulric, refugee, Glaive, fighter…how is it he can see all your secrets? He knows how to set you off and he’s promised to not let you go…(AU for sure, Regis wasn’t supposed to take the throne, and our lovely Nyx has more of a past then we thought…)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven

Nyx let out a soft sigh as he reread the same line for the third time. He reached up rubbing a hand over his face before he glanced over to you. You were twirling a pencil in the air between your fingers as you read some report.

“You’re staring again.” You whispered as you began writing something on a notepad next to you.

“Yes I am.” You looked over to him, he smirked snapping the book closed as he stood up tossing it on the table.

“Is that…” You watched him walk around the table to you. You leaned back crossing your arms giving him a smirk of your own. Gods, the ways your lips moved drove him mad, sometimes he even had trouble focusing when you talked, “supposed to mean something?”

“It could…” He pushed your work away enough for him to take a seat on the table, “it’s hard working for someone when you only wish to do one thing with them.”

“You don’t work for me…you work for Insomnia.” You retorted as he stared down into your eyes. Always had to nit pick when he flirted with you.

“Fine…it’s hard protecting someone when there’s only one thing you want to do with them…” He amended as he began to lean down.

His eyes snapped open as the loud beeping of his alarm went off. Frustration filled him as he grabbed his phone turning it off. He let out a soft groan as he placed a hand over his face. Dreams of you had been more frequent since his confession. Since things…changed?

Did they though?

It was a strange situation all together. Things did change, but not so much the way he thought they would. Since your presentation you had been tasked with rolling out the proposal. Which meant a great deal of your time was working on allocating supplies for the project about to happen.

It just led from one thing to the next. Supplies…manpower…timing…dealing with moving tenants into buildings that would be repurposed. It was stressful, yet you maintained your composure the entire way through and managed to do everything with such grace. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it were it his job.

It left very little time to even try to reconnect to that moment they had shared several weeks ago. He cleared his throat rolling off the side of the bed into some pushups. He needed to work out some of this frustration somehow. Today was going to be even harder…

Today was groundbreaking day and you were leaving the Citadel to oversee everything here in the ward…here where everyone knew who he was…here where everyone still treated him like a king despite the fact that he lived as one of them. He’d tried to tell you that it was just going to be a bunch of crews bumbling around the first week. You were insistent. You didn’t want to just sit by.

He couldn’t blame you. You’d put in so many hours. This project was your baby in a way and you just wanted to see it grow up.

He got dressed hooking his kukris to his back and side but decided to leave the Glaive jacket home. If he was gonna be working in the trenches he didn’t need a fancy jacket. He laced up his boots looking over seeing his phone buzz and light up.

Reaching for it he smiled seeing your face pop up with the text. Snapping a picture had been a lot harder than he thought it was. You didn’t sit still with out making a goofy face when he pointed his phone at you. Finally, he’d gotten you in a relaxed moment looking out at something. It was cute, and most definitely you.

Y/N – Good morning! Did you enjoy sleeping in?

He smiled as he responded. This was one thing they had started doing more often. He was normally the one to first send out the morning text as he walked to work. Today was the exception, you were catching a ride with Titus since he was playing the role of representing the Galahdian people.

It was funny sitting in his office acting like you didn’t know who he actually was and like he wasn’t going to be making the decisions later. He told you it was like inside joke. Later it would look like he was really paying attention since he’d already talked about it with you earlier. Earning him a couple brownie points with the old man would certainly benefit him later.

“You torture him too much.” You shook your head smiling at him as he flipped through the proposal, “Does he push you that hard?”

He looked up laughing a little, “Yeah he does, but it’s good…I appreciate him so much. I know he means well.”

“He was your…” You trailed off hoping for him to finish.

“Uh…you’d call him your shield.” He thought about it scratching his cheek with his finger, “We don’t really have titles like that. He guarded my dad…then when he passed my mom asked him to look over me.”

“Seems like he still is.” You watched him running the same finger over a passage, “You trust him, right?”

Nyx looked up seeing concern flashing through your eyes, “With my life. He’s saved me so many times…he’s more then a guard…he’s more then a friend…why do you ask?”

“I just see him in the meetings…he’s very good at observing people. I find him looking at me with such a seriousness…it’s hard to know if he’s scrutinizing me or worried for me.” You played with a ring on your middle finger nervously.

He watched you for a moment before picking up a blade of grass using it as a place holder. In a swift motion he moved next to you taking your hand in his, “He is doing his job which is to protect the crown…I won’t lie, he’s a bit divided because of my presence, but I promise you he’s looking out for you, all the while ensuring your uncle is safe.”

He had meant to talk to Titus about it, but never got around to it. You weren’t alone in noticing his stern gaze washing over the crowd. He had assumed it was a reaction to the opposition of your plan, but the more he watched him, the more he realized he was piecing something together.

Nyx – It was nice, had a good dream.

Y/N – You’ll have to tell me about it when I see you.

Pass…he thought to himself as he pulled on his other boot lacing it up. The last thing he’d want to admit to you was that he was having smutty dreams about you. Just like he would never admit that he sometimes daydreamed about it while sitting next to you…probably why he dreamed about when he was home, now that he thought about it.

He shook off the thought as he grabbed his gloves and strode out the door. He smiled seeing an older woman struggling with a laundry basket and opening her door, “Doris…here let me help you.”

He took the basket from her and she smiled at him, “Oh dear…what would I ever do without you? Your mum would be so proud of you taking care of an old lady like me.”

He smiled as he leaned down when she reached up taking his face giving him a big kiss on the cheek before she turned and opened her door, “Oh I don’t know, you’d probably get super buff from wrangling a door and a laundry basket all by yourself. I’m really not doing you any favors.”

She let out a nice laugh like older ladies always did as he walked in setting the basket down on her table, “My dear, you have no idea how much it means to me…to know my king is willing…eager even to help his people in such little ways.”

“Doris, it is my honor and pleasure to help the prettiest woman in the building.” He smirked a little as he bowed. He chuckled as she reached out swatting him with her hand, “Now if you excuse me, I gotta go put these muscles to work.”

“You’re part of the build?” She asked him surprised.

“My charge, she’s the head of the project and insists on being present, therefore I will also be doing my part.” He told her watching her walk toward the small kitchenette in the corner of the room, “Auntie…what are you hiding in your oven?”

“Well my dear…” She grinned pulling out a large dish full up large baked triangular dough balls, “a day like today, you will need your strength.”

“Are these…” He took the dish from her taking a deep breath in, “Doris…are these the fancy samosas you use to make?”

“They are and you can expect to see many more delights throughout the day from all the cooks left at home to twiddle their thumbs.” She walked with him to the door, “You may want to tell your pretty lady friend to set something up for it.”

“I will do that, thank you.” He smiled as he started to pick one up off the plate as he exited into the hall.

“Do not eat all of them, Nyx Ulric!” She called after him as he waved munching on a big bite.

He enjoyed every piece of it as he traveled down the three flights of stairs coming out onto the street. He stopped as he licked jelly off his fingers seeing everyone out on the street. It was packed. Stalls were being packed up and removed already. He’d made a notice getting it to as many people as he could over the last few weeks that things were going to be changing and he needed help.

He didn’t realize how onboard everyone was. He slowly walked out into the street. He nodded to people as they greeted him. Everyone seemed excited about the prospect of the expansion.

He walked up to where several of his comrades in arms were standing. They all looked at him and quickly descended on him, “Breakfast!”

“Whoa, hey hey!” He managed to grab two before the rest of the plate was devoured, “Vultures! The lot of you!”

“These are…” Luche’s eyes widened as he took a bite, “These are from Auntie Doris!”

“They are.” He put the two back on the plate smiling, “I suppose if she thinks this is an occasion for her specialty, then we know we’re doing something right.”

“So…” Pelna made a face swallowing before he spoke, “When’s Drautos showing up?”

“Uh…should be any minute…but listen up…” They perked up as he began speaking with authority, “You’re all going to be managing teams. Some of you will be helping with street clean up, it’s boring but necessary so we can get the equipment and supplies in here. The rest of you will be helping with demolition…Did we get everyone out of the first section?”

“Yes sir.” Tredd gave him a small salute, “Once everyone starts rolling out, we’re going to make a second loop.”

“And everyone has made it to their temporary lodging?” Nyx watch his face fall a little causing him to sigh a little, “Tredd…take Luca and Yura…please go make sure everyone has someplace to sleep tonight.”

“Yes sir…sorry sir…” Tredd nodded hanging his head a little as he walked by.

“Hey…” Nyx put a hand on his shoulder making his stop. He smiled at him, “I’m not mad…I just want everyone taken care of. Think of it as if they were your kin…would you want them left wandering?”

“No sir.” Tredd shook his head, eyes lighting up with understanding.

“Then get it done.” Nyx smiled giving him a pat on the shoulder before turning back to everyone else, “Alright, so once Lady Caelum arrives, she’s going to have some clipboards. You’re going to write down the names of everyone under you, they will be your unit. They are your responsibility, if anything happens during this you are their point of contact, understood?”

“Yes sir!” They rang out all at once.

“Already getting things rolling I see.” He felt himself smile as he heard your voice behind him. He turned seeing you carrying a large box.

He quickly took it under one arm handing the plate to you, “Breakfast.”

“Oh…uh…” You looked at them surprised, “Thank…you…”

“One of them is for Titus.” He smirked a little as the captain approached, “Doris, sends her blessing.”

He watched his mentor’s eyes widen a little before he quickly took one off the plate, “Ma’am if you’re not interested in trying…”

“Don’t you try to swindle this piece of heaven from her. You’re a bad man, bad!” Nyx adjusted the box on his hip, “Everyone bare witness he tried to steal this…”

“Nyx…” He looked back at you as your face flushed a little, “It’s alright…I should eat something…”

“I promise you won’t regret it.” Nyx smiled at you as you lifted it up. He watched your eyes light up as the decadent jam spilled out a little as you bit into it, “I told you.”

“It’s so…soft and crisp…you have to take me to this Doris later so I can thank her.” You took another bite.

He chuckled reaching up wiping a bit of jam off your cheek. He smirked a little when he licked his thumb getting you to blush a little, “Happy to, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to meet you.”

“Thank you…” You whispered a little looking over to the Glaives standing by, “This is our group from the Citadel?”

“Yes…” He nodded looking over to them, “Some of them you’ve already met. Everyone is eager to help.”

“Good…let’s get started then.” You looked to Drautos who was just finishing his samosa, “If you’re ready.”

“Yes ma’am.” He nodded stepping past you to address the Glaives.

Nyx walked next to you tilting his head down to you whispering, “You look very nice today.”

You glanced up to him touching the back of your hair a little. You had done it up differently to keep it away from your face, though he much preferred it down it looked nice, “Thank you…I don’t look completely like I’m out of my element, do I?”

He looked you over quickly. Grey jeans, long sleeve grey top with little accents here and there, definitely not a top you should work in, but it was probably all you had, and boots that looked really uncomfortable, “I think your feet are going to hurt by the end of the day.”

“Yeah…” You looked down frowning a bit, “I don’t really have…normal shoes…”

He smiled a little shaking his head, “Well…I’m sure we can help you out with that. We can take off a bit early and get you something more appropriate if you’re going to insist on being here.”

“I insist.” You smiled at him before looking over to Drautos, who was giving about the same speech he had early.

“Did you take you meds?” Nyx whispered looking down watching you cringe a little, “Y/N…”

“I was excited…” You crossed your arms sheepishly looking away from him.

“You’ve been excited like ten times in the last three weeks…” He looked down at you with a serious look, “Three of those times have been in the last seven days…”

“I feel fine.” You looked at him smiling before giving him a gentle nudge, “Really…”

He rolled his eyes shaking his head, “You start feeling funny…I mean even a little…”

“I will tell my faithful shadow right away.” You turned to him raising one hand while putting the other over your heart.

“Now I know what Titus feels like…” He sighed a little getting you to laugh a little as you both stepped up.

“Know how I feel about what?” Drautos looked at him suspiciously.

Nyx shrugged a little as he kept going pulling out a clipboard from the box, “Nothing, you don’t already know sir.”

Drautos sighed heavily before turning to you, “Lady Caelum, is there anything else you’d like to add?”

“Uh…” Nyx glanced over watching you take in a deep breath as he handed everything out, “No…not right now.”

“Very well…everyone gather your groups. We’ll have a small briefing before you start for the day.” Drautos turned back to you, “Will you want to speak to everyone else?”

“Yes I would. What I have to say, it’s for everyone.” You smiled at him glancing back at Nyx. He smiled nodded to you as you turned with Drautos walking off.

“You and Princess seem chummier…” He glanced at Libertus walking over to him holding out a water bottle.

“What are you doing here? Thought you were making lunch for everyone?” Nyx ignored the question as he took the bottle from him.

“It’s eight in the morning…lunch isn’t until noon. I’ve got plenty of time.” Libertus smirked crossing his arms, “Can you vouch for Princess’ plan?”

Nyx took in a deep breath looking over at you talking with Drautos before he nodded, “It’s gonna be a lot of work, but if everyone continues to pitch in like we are right now…we’ll stay on track and we’ll all be doing a great deal better.”

“Wow…be careful, you almost sounded like a king right there.” Nyx rolled his eyes as Libertus laughed.

“When are you gonna join the Glaives, Libe?” He tapped his fingers on the top of the lid, “We could use you.”

“Me…nah…that magic crap…gives me a headache thinking about it.” He waved his hand toward him, “You can keep it, I’m happy running a bar But once you need your guards back, you know who to call.”

“Yeah I do.” Nyx smiled at him giving him a slap on the arm before he began walking away, “You better make me a good sandwich!”

“Good? I’m gonna make you the best damn sandwich you ever had!” Nyx laughed as Libertus shouted at him.

“Ma’am…” You looked at him as he approached. He held out the water to you smirking, “Stress can dehydrate you…”

You took it rolling your eyes a little taking it form him, “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am.” He stood next to you like he would normally be surveying the crowd. He knew he could trust everyone here, but it would look really bad if something happened while you were away from the Citadel, especially surrounded by foreigners, “Captain, gathering the troops?”

“Yes…” You let out a soft sigh gripping onto the bottle.

He took a step closer to you before he carefully reached over putting a hand on your back, “You’re going to be great. Your father would be proud of how you got here.”

You looked up at him giving him a smile, “You know…when this all calms down…we should go see him…together.”

The way you said it made his face get hot. It wasn’t a command of the job…it was a request to join you. He smiled reaching up scratching the back of his neck, “Uh yeah, of course. I’d like that.”

“Good.” You had a rosey tint to your cheeks as you looked away from when Drautos came back, “Everyone ready?”

“At your command.” Drautos smiled a little waving toward the gathering crowd.

You let out breath before looking over toward the van you drove in with Drautos. You looked at Nyx, “Give me a boost.”

“What?” He followed you over, “Y/N…I don’t think…”

“Give me…” You looked at him shoving the water bottle into his chest, “a boost.”

“It’s high…and you’re not all that graceful.” He smirked a little as you glared at him.

“Nyx Ulric…” You began as he raised his hands in defense.

“Ah…alright…I surrender.” He set the water bottle down as he leaned over threading his fingers together, “Just…don’t fall…that would be really embarrassing.”

“Shush!” You put your hands on his shoulders as you stepped up into his hand. You let out a little yelp as he hoisted you up with ease before you took a seat on the roof swinging your legs up. You stood up looking out at the crowd centering yourself, “Uh…hello! Can you all hear me?”

Nyx watched the crowd move in closer. He felt protect nerves bubble up in his gut. He looked over through the window at Drautos reaching inside grabbing the radio’s handset. Nyx smiled as he reached up toward you, “My lady.”

“Oh…thank you.” You took it standing back up looking out at everyone, “There… this is probably better…”

You swallowed taking in a deep as the echo of your voice diminished briefly before you began again, “I just…wanted to take a moment and apologize to all of you who reside here. I’m sure it doesn’t mean much, since I live in the Citadel where I find little discomfort, but I want you to know that this was not the way it was supposed to be.”

“Things were lost…filed away and forgotten when my father passed away. Promises he made to Queen Selena…broken and buried.” You frowned putting the radio down for a moment shaking your head collecting yourself before going on, “I sat by too long and didn’t see the damage being taken out on a brave and beautiful people.”

“That is why I am here today. To fix what has been broken. It will not be easy or quick, and I will require help from you all.” You smiled a little take a step forward making Nyx nervous. He hadn’t been joking entirely when he said you weren’t graceful.

Sure on the ground you could dance circles around him, but on ladder or stool…he lost count of the number of times he’d rescued you from a fall in the library, “It is my intention to see our two thriving cultures coexist side by side appreciating one another. Embracing each other’s differences. While I’m among you through these coming weeks of building, please talk to me. Express your concerns and I will bring them to the king. I will make your voice heard and I will do what I can to see change come for all of you.”

“You’re just one person!” Nyx looked out at the crowd trying to see who it was. Everyone began to murmur wondering the same thing. Why be here if you were going to stir up trouble?

“Yes I am.” You nodded looking at them all getting them to quiet down, “I remember my mother would say that to my father. You’re just one man, Malcolm…”

Nyx looked up at you seeing the tears prick the corners of your eyes as you smiled, “And he would say, yes I am…but if not me who? I am but one voice shouting in the wilderness…shouting at an emptiness called the world…I must make a choice and I choose to stand.”

“It was lyrics to a song that he heard when he was younger, and it just stuck with him.” You sniffed wiping your eyes with your knuckle, “It sticks with me too. I can still hear him singing it sometimes… I am but one voice…and my choice is to be here, and I choose to stand with you.”

Nyx looked back at everyone who had fallen silent. Slowly each Glaive in the crowd put their hand to their heart in a silent salute and following behind them everyone in the crowd imitated them. He looked back up to you as you took it in.

You smiled placing a hand over your heart as a tear fell down your cheek, “So what do you say? Let’s get to work!”

Cheers erupted as you handed the radio back to Drautos. Nyx tilted his head for you to head to the back of the van. You obliged him following him as you sat on the back portion of the roof. He reached up and you fell gently into his hands.

He set you down taking the opportunity to hold you as your hands planted securely on his shoulders. He looked into your eyes smiling with admiration, “You’re amazing.”

“It wasn’t awful then?” You looked at him nervously, your hands falling from his shoulder to his chest.

“You were perfect.” He leaned down slowly but pulled away instantly as he heard crunching approaching.

“Everything alright back here?” Drautos looked at you both began to separate.

“Yes…” You smiled at him adjusting your sleeves, “Just a little dizzy from the nerves.

“Do you need anything?” Drautos asked concern falling over his features. You shook your head giving him a little peace, “Nice work…did Nyx tell you that music is a big part of our culture?”

“No…I didn’t know that.” You looked at Nyx surprised, “Is that true?”

“Yeah…” He nodded crossing his arms trying to shake of the feeling of frustration, somehow he had a feeling this was going to be a trend, “We have a lot of ceremonies with songs…and in general we like our music. It helps us work, keeps us in sync…you know…”

“I didn’t…” You smiled a little, “I guess it was fate that I bring up that story then.”

“It was a good story, an honest one from the heart. I think everyone could see that.” Drautos smiled a little before looking at Nyx, “You two will be just making rounds today. Help a little bit everywhere, the point is for you to be seen in the beginning. We need to let our team leads coordinate their groups successfully.”

“Understood sir.” Nyx nodded before giving him a nod.

“Please…please…” Drautos looked at the both of you pleadingly, “Stay out of trouble.”

You peered around the corner watching Drautos disappear as Nyx shook his head speaking quietly, “You think it’s like I used to be handful or something?”

“You?” You looked back at him with a smirk, “Never!”

“Ah ha…I think you’re being sarcastic right there…” He stepped closer to you as you stared up at him.

You stared up at him expectantly, “Well I do have a very good example of it standing in front of me.”

“Sarcastic? Me? I’m offended!” He put his hands on your hips, “Appalled even! I demand compensation!”

“Compensation?” You smiled at him as you took hold of his shirt making it pull taut against his shoulders, “In what form, would you like this compensation paid?”

He didn’t waste any time capturing your lips with his own, fearing something or someone else would come and interrupt this perfect opportunity. It was brief, but electrified. He licked his lips pulling away from your seeing a hazy look fall upon your face, “Maybe one more of those at some point today and we’ll call us even.”

You blushed a little bit looking down as he stepped away, “I know…this isn’t…”

“Don’t.” He reached over taking your hand giving it a gentle squeeze, “I’m hoping it won’t be like this for too long…”

Your eyes lit up with curiosity, “Nyx…”

“We need to get going. Lots to do.” He interrupted you as he stepped around the van appearing before the crowd that was still getting organized, “We should start with the food tent, cause we’re going to need one.”

“I thought Libertus was already taking care of that.” You skipped a little to catch up to him before he bent over picking up your water handing it back.

“Ah yes…but I doubt he planned for every chef in the area donating a dish to pass…probably more then one.” He smiled a little, “It’s the village mentality. We all need to contribute somehow…this is their way.”

“I see…well then…” You looked around the area as every group began to disperse, “I suggest we get one of the tents and set it up where everyone has access to it. This is your home…show me where that would be.”

He felt positively giddy as he began showing you around. Setting the food tent was easy, but what followed was beyond what he dreamed of. You helped serve everyone you could.

He smiled next to you as you laughed hand out another plate. Everyone was enjoying seeing you right in front of them. They asked you questions, you answered what you could. You helped them, enough that he kept losing track of you.

You were never too far of course, but he always found you listening intently to whoever you were. When you finished you would take them into your arms, as was their custom, kissing each cheek to show your respect. How lucky was he, that you cared enough to remember even the littlest detail?

You walked with him later that day through the building that was being remodeled. The foreman was showing you around explaining each change. You listened intently asking many questions. He seemed to be finding problems in certain areas, and already it was going to take more supplies than anticipated.

“Hold on one second.” You smiled at him pulling out your phone stepping away.

He looked at Nyx, “Uh…sir…do you know what’s she’s doing?”

“Finding the solution.” Nyx watched as you began finding the supplies. At least enough to keep them going until you could find a better source.

“Just like that?” The foremen crossed his arms, “I thought…I thought we’d have to cut corners…”

Nyx looked at him shaking his head, “You’re gonna find that she doesn’t half-ass anything. Don’t be afraid to tell her the truth…even if it’s bad news.”

The foremen nodded smiling a little, “I’ve heard she’s something else…we’ll see if she can keep it up.”

Nyx looked back at you as you closed your fist throwing it into the air a big smile coming to your face, “I think we’re the ones going to have trouble.”

The foremen shrugged a little as you walked back over, “That seemed promising.”

“We’ll have everything you need by tomorrow morning and then some.” You told him beaming as you adjusted the hard hat, “Please don’t hesitate to let me ore Drautos know of anything else.”

“Yes ma’am.” He bowed a little, “I should tell everyone the news, it’ll change our process a little bit now that we can do everything.”

“Please, do.” You smiled at him as he turned away. You looked at Nyx, “Where to next?”

“Well…we have been on the street clean-up, demolition site, garden site…” He held up his fingers as he listed everything off, “All that’s left is the school.”

“Lead the way, sir.” You smiled at him.

“…” He smirked looking around making sure no one was around before he pulled out his kukri stepping close to you, “Hold on…”

“What…no!” You tensed as he threw the dagger out the open window. He chuckled when he landed on the fire escape across the way, seeing you clutching onto him tightly, “…why…”

“Because I want you to meet Doris.” He smiled at you before he turned to the window tapping on it. He knelt down when he saw her approaching and helped her open the window, “Mind if we come in?”

“Of course not! Please.” Doris beamed at the both of you stepping back. She watched as he crawled in turning back helping your through the window, “My my…this brings back memories.”

“Auntie…be nice…” Nyx grimaced realizing suddenly that maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

“Oh no…Doris…” You smirked at him, “Please go on!”

Doris let out a laugh as you turned to her, “You must be the breath of fresh air.”

“Y/N…” You stepped forward as Doris held open her arms. You smiled as she hugged you tightly, “and you are Doris, baker extraordinaire! Whatever you gave Nyx this morning was delicious.”

“Aha, I am glad to see them make it to you. I was afraid he’d be rolling around the streets with sticky fingers all day.” Doris laughed as she walked over to her cub board pulling out a kettle.

“Auntie we can’t stay long, we’re on the way to the school.” Nyx interrupted.

“Nonsense.” You looked at him eyes glittering, “I have all week to make it everywhere. I will pay special attention to the school tomorrow. Besides, I didn’t bring the surprise with me anyways.”

He sighed as you walked over offering to help her. He took a seat watching them. Doris explained how she had been the palace cook. When you found out she’d watched him grow up your eyes grew mischievous.

“Doris…I may have to come and have tea with you more often. Nyx doesn’t talk about his time at the palace that often and I wonder what a little scamp he might’ve been.” Doris glanced over to Nyx unsure of how to respond.

“Uh…it’s okay Doris…she knows.” Nyx told her with a smile and watched as you realized what you had done, “It’s okay…”

“I didn’t even think about it…” You looked at Doris frowning, “I am the worst at this game…”

Doris laughed guiding you back to the table, “My dear, dealing with royalty is never easy, but it does my heart glad to know my king has someone to be himself around.”

You looked at Nyx apologetically, “This…isn’t easy at all…”

“And that is one of the reasons why I didn’t want you here…” He sighed a little, “but I don’t think we can do it without you either. You make all the pieces fit together.”

You smiled at him reaching over putting your hand over his, “I will do better.”

The rest of the visit was Doris regaling you with a few stories of a kitchen thief who turned into a gentleman with a hole in his stomach. It was nice laughing about home instead of remembering how it was in ruins now. Doris hugged him tightly when it was time to go, “I will see you in the morning.”

“Doris, are you baking again?” Nyx stepped away smirking.

“Only for you two.” She winked before pulling you into a hug, “You take care of him now.”

He felt his cheeks get hot when he heard that, “Doris…I’m the one…”

“I will.” You interrupted him kissing her cheek, “See soon.”

You both stepped out into the hall feeling the cool air of evening setting in. He smiled at you a little, “Thank you for doing that…I know we have better places to be.”

“No…we really didn’t.” You looked up into his eyes, “She is a wonderful person and I am glad to have met her. I wish I could spend time with everyone like that.”

“That would be a lot…I don’t even I know everyone here…” He scratched the back of his head.

“And yet…” You stepped closer to him shrugging your shoulders up as you whispered, “they all know you’re their king…”

“It’s okay.” He let his arm fall as he smiled, “It was bound to happen.”

“I know…this is all so much harder than I thought it would be.” He watched as you looked down face getting redder, “We don’t get a whole lot of time alone anymore…not like before…”

“Yeah…I’ve been thinking that too…” He reached out letting his hand trail down your arm to your hand, “Things are only going to get busier…”

You laced your fingers with his looking up to his face finally as you swallowed, “I…Nyx…I don’t know how to do any of this to begin with. My life was planned out for me for so long…it still is in some things…but finding you…well…”

He smiled letting his other hand cup your cheek letting his thumb run over you bottom lip like he’d dreamt of doing so many times. The act of doing it was more alluring then the dream, “It’s okay…I’m not an expert, but I…I do know that there’s no one I’d rather spend time with. Even if it’s in small bits like this…”

The small sound of satisfaction you made when his lips met yours was enough to ignite something inside of him that he regretted, only because he knew he couldn’t give into that flame…not yet. Somehow, he knew you felt the same the way your hands grasped onto his shirt. A need that couldn’t be fulfilled in their present state, in their present situation, in their everything.

And yet…you stepped closer to him when he parted from you, “Why must I always wake up here?”

His eyes widened a little, “What was that?”

You flushed looking up at him mulling it over for a moment before you answered, “It’s embarrassing to admit but…I’ve been having this dream…it always seems to end here. Why can’t there be more?”

He felt as if the world had shifted and everything was left falling in a state of weightlessness as your words washed over him. It was a valid question…and needed a logical answer, “Because I’m Galahdian…and you’re a former queen turned lady…and…we’re not supposed to be here…together…”

“But…” You shook your head letting you hand slid up to his neck, “why does it feel like home? And why should it matter?”

“Y/N…” He sighed into your touch before taking your hand away, “We can’t…we have to be careful…we have to take it slow and believe me when I say, that is so painful for me to admit. Until something changes…we can’t do more…be more…”

You frowned stepping away from him, “…”

“Y/N…” He tried to take your hand. Reluctantly you gave into him, “It will get better…I have to believe that, but if you want to be here with your work…then…we have to make it work, not us…”

“Then we should check in…I’m sure Captain Drautos is worried…” You began to walk past him to the stairs.

“Stop…” He watched you freeze at the first step, “What do you want me to do? I’m not going to keep having you get angry at me because of how your country sees status…”

“So, it’s my fault now?” You turned to him as he rolled his eyes, “Nyx…I just…wanted to be with you...you’re the one who pulled away.”

He watched you turn moving down the stairs quickly. He stood their letting the words sink in. He was the one pulling away, wasn’t he? Every time…he was the one stepping away…bringing the harsh reality to light…

But he had to, right? It was to keep you safe…if anyone found out that he was a king…there were too many possibilities to fathom…war being one of them. He couldn’t do that to you or his people. Not when Lucis was already fighting a war…

He came out a few minutes after and saw you waiting just outside. He sighed stepping next to you, “I’ll take you home…”

“Fine…” You looked at him eyes burning a little as the streetlights started to kick on, “Probably for the best. It’s been a long day and it’s gonna be a long week.”

#Galahdian Dreams #nyx ulric #NYX #nyx ulric reader #nyx ulric/reader #nyx ulric imagine #kingsglaive #kingsglaive: final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv #kingsglaive imagine #glaive #libertus #libertus ostium #luche lazarus #glaives #titus drautos #captain drautos

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xseildnasterces · 3 years

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do or die.

As always, it’s Friday, and I’m exhausted. It’s been a long week and I am so unbelievably glad to have been off today. One thing I do really love at work is the option of flexible working hours. Essentially, we have a work arrangement that if we work 8 hours overtime in a two-week period, we can take a day off to recoup the hours. That is what I did today.

Cleary, I started writing yesterday and didn’t get very far. It’s now Saturday. I spent the whole of yesterday cleaning and tidying so that I didn’t need to do it over the weekend, which was certainly a good idea as now I feel so much more relaxed and don’t feel like I should be doing something that I am not.

Last night I decided to watch the first episode of ‘It’s a Sin’. I have been wanting to watch it since the minute it was released, but due to problems with my VPN and it not yet being available in the US I had been unable to do so. I had been so excited about it since it’s release, yet being fully aware that it was going to be heart wrenching and that I would end up in floods of tears. I watched the first episode and was hooked from the first few minutes. It was SO WELL done. Like incredibly well done, so gripping, emotional, and genuinely one of the best things that I have watched in so long. I had been told by several people that it was not something you should binge because it’s very hard going… but what did I do? I watched all five episodes one after the other last night and my god. I was a mess. My whole face was wet from tears and I was balling my eyes out for a good while before I could actually go to sleep. Regardless, it’s incredible. I urge anyone who has not seen it to watch it. It is SO good. I also hope it also makes people more aware of what actually happened in the 80s as I feel like it is something that a lot of people overlook and do not really understand. It’s important to understand, and it’s important to know – especially for our community. I have seen so many things making correlations with covid and HIV/AIDs during this whole pandemic, yet I feel like it is really important to mention and be aware that it cannot be compared in the same way for a number of reason, but mainly because right now we know how covid is passed and we know how to protect ourselves. At the time, no one even know anything about HIV/AIDs and they most certainly didn’t have any real understanding of how it spread or how to protect themselves at first. I think ‘It’s a Sin’ is something I would re-watch at some point. I am not really a re-watcher of anything, but this is something I certainly would. Watch it.

I have finally come to realise why I have been recently living in a phase of nostalgia and walking down memory lane. It seems ridiculous that I didn’t even realise this earlier. It’s all because of a memory app on my phone. Seven years ago, around this time there was a lot going on and I was really struggling with something. During that time, I posted a LOT of my feelings in Tweets and currently they are all coming back to haunt me. I don’t think memory apps that relate to your old social media posts are a great idea to be honest, but at the same time there is some kind of morbid curiosity to look at them. It is the same morbid curiosity that comes with looking up people on social media that you ‘used to know’ and miss greatly. The period in question I was incredibly depressed, and what was happening and how I was being made to feel (regardless of the circumstances that I was unaware of), was causing me a lot of anxiety and self-hate. My self-worth was probably at an all time low (up until that point) and I was struggling. After what had already happened the year before my weight was not what it should be and I was struggling with sleep, not eating and also collapsing (at one point knocking myself out in the shower – something that my app oh so kindly reminded me of last week). At the time it felt like I was going from one disaster to another and my mental health was certainly not coping. It was rough and re-reading the things I wrote and thinking about how I felt is certainly not nice reading. Regardless, a lot of this brought up a lot of things for me and R and I have been discussing a lot of these things recently. Friends, relationships, people that come and go from your life and my own fears and concerns with abandonment. R is lucky. She is one of these people who can just accept people leaving her life. She agrees that it is incredibly hard and that sometimes she misses people, but she believes that it is also a good thing. She is very much of the opinion and belief that if someone leaves your life you should just let them go because they clearly they are no longer a real friend and you should not waste your time trying to be their friend anymore. They have made the choice to leave and you should not run after them or cry tears for them when they have made that decision. She also thinks that people leaving also means they are making room for other people to come in – better people. I’m not so sure I agree, nor am I sure that I can change my way of thinking to this, although granted she suffers less because of it and doesn’t spend far too much time thinking about how much she misses people or wants them back in her life. I wonder if perhaps I only really create connections with people on a super deep level before calling them a friend, so when that relationship ends I am heartbroken, whereas some people have lots of friends on a surface level but not completely deep relationships. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s not. Maybe I am doing it wrong. Who knows? Talking to R on a daily basis really has been wonderful, and honestly the best thing to come out of this pandemic for me. I have no doubt in my mind that our friendship really is forever. Some of the things we have shared recently about our own relationship and how we feel about one another has been so reassuring. I love that girl so very much and do not believe I will ever meet someone who does not judge me for whatever I do and any mistakes that I make. She really is one in a million and I feel so incredibly lucky to have her.

Talking about mistakes I have been recently evaluating some of the things I have done in my life and I think I have quite a few regrets that I did not consider to be regrets before. I know everyone says you should not have regrets because at the time whatever you did or didn’t do is exactly what you wanted in that moment, but I’m not completely sure I agree. I mean, I do somewhat, but I also think it is normal to have regrets. I think there are some things that I have done in my life that I would now do differently should I have had the opportunity to do them again. As always, hindsight is a wonderful thing. There are actually a great number of things I think I would have done differently – some small, and some huge. Some things that would make a huge impact on where I am in my life right now, and some that wouldn’t change very much in my current day to day life but would ease my overthinking and my constant anxiety. I think this is one of the things I love so much about R. She said to me the other day, that she will never pass judgement on anything in my life because everyone makes mistakes. At the end of the day we are all human and there is not one person on this earth that can say they have never made a mistake or done something that they are not proud of. I resonated with this a lot, and as they say, "Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones". Life is a series of decisions that we make, some of which are good and some of which are bad, and although you may go through life with some regrets I guess the idea is to not dwell on them, to move past them and continue to be better. I think this is something I struggle with. I do dwell on them, and I struggle to move past them – but I guess that is something to work on.

I recently finished reading ‘Three Women’ by Lisa Taddeo, a book that I devoured in only a few days because it was so good and so hard to put down. I told R to read it because I think she would enjoy it, and she told me she had a book recommendation for me. We had been talking about anxiety and fear, and she told me to read ‘Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway’. Now I am not a reader of self-help books, nor am I really a fan of that sort of thing, but neither is she and I do trust in her recommendations so I’m going to give it a go. She told me that it has helped her with making some very big decisions and doing things she was initially scared to do, so I think it may be good for me. I will report back. I’ve been doing so well on my reading challenge so far this year. January started with reading ‘You’ by R. Yep, my best friend self-published a book and it is awesome! I am so proud of her and I love it so much. It’s poetry and I am really not a poetry fan, but this is so real. It reminds me a lot of Rupi Kaur’s work, and perhaps I am a little biased considering R is my best friend, but I found a lot of it much more relatable. February saw me read ‘Burlesque and the Art of the Teese/Fetish and the Art of the Teese’ by Dita Von Teese. It’s a huge coffee table book with beautiful photographs and a deep dive into vintage clothing, corsets, and of course burlesque and fetish. I loved it. Most recently I finished ‘Three Women’ which as mentioned had my glued. I’m unsure of what to start next, although I think I may wait until the book R recommended arrives and I will start on that. I don’t want to jump the gun, but I really hope I can read 12 books this year. I have wanted to complete the reading challenge of one book a month for the last few years and failed every single time. It’s frustrating as when I was younger, I could read 12 books in a month, never mind a year – but I guess adulthood has changed the time I have to read, but 2021 will be the year. I am hopeful and optimistic.

Next year R and I both turn 30. Yeah, I know. What the hell? Much conversation recently has revolved around how exactly we got here and how neither of us feel like 30-year-old women. Regardless of that we have decided to do something to celebrate together. We are not yet sure what we will do, but it will involve travel, possibly somewhere in either the US or the Caribbean. To be decided, but I am very excited about this. It has been quite a long time since R and I have travelled together – I think the last time was Australia! So, it will be nice to go somewhere to just chill and hang out without any pressure to be busy and constantly be on the go.

I am on a major ‘women in metal’ hype right now and I am absolutely LOVING it. It’s been a while but I am appreciating it greatly.

In other news, I tried to get a vaccine appointment yesterday, once again it was like the Hunger Games and I didn’t manage to get one. This week DC are changing the system to a pre-register system which I hope will be much better. At least that way there will not be a weekly fight to get tickets (wait, I mean an appointment…) and instead you will just be contacted when an appointment is available to you. I hope it work, and I hope I can get some sometime soon. Having to go into work every single day just makes me feel uneasy, especially as more people want to start coming to the office. My immune system is not ready to mix with people.

Small side note, I REALLY miss the sea.

[Blog title: Do or Die - Amaranthe ft. Angela Gossow].

#do or die #amaranthe #angela gossow #life #thought #thoughts #feeling #feelings #diary #journal #write #writing #me #personal #update #memory #memories

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roaminginspiration · 4 years

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Before The Last Grain

Chapter 2

chapter 1 (x)

2 MONTHS, 8 DAYS, 12 HOURS, 3 MINUTES AND 57 SECONDS

Steve groans slightly as his eyelids remain shut tight. He pulls his hand from under his pillow and stretches his arm out across the mattress. The void space next to him is sourly cool, and has been for a while. He sighs and flips over on his back. The past 3 weeks, and many nights over, Natasha has left nothing but the shape of her figure and the subtle scent of her perfume into his cotton silk; and heated memories to stretch the night and seep into the next morning.

Natasha never stays longer than necessary or longer than she intends to. She usually sends a text less than an hour before her impromptu visit, makes the bed her own then slips off the warm sheet to disappear into the starless night.

And every new shortened night deepens his yearning for her. So he gives more. Every embrace becomes more passionate, eager…and maybe, to some extent, desperate. He wonders if she can feel how every burning kiss, every lingering caress, every lustful union of their bodies conceal the mute disquiet slowly burgeoning inside him. How every ardent gesture is begging for her attention.

Yes, the past three weeks have been the most uncanny combination of consuming thrill and quiet agony. One that leaves him insatiable.

But those are Natasha’s terms for this innocent, harmless fling to endure. And Natasha is very much in control. From the moment she texts to the moment she slips away, she is the one leading the dance. Bold and unapologetic.

He liked it, at first. Very much so. Fantasizing about, and never knowing, when and how their next sexual escapade would take place. But what excited him now frustrates him. Harmless to her only, it seems. For he can feel it. The kisses she returns are as steamy as they are hollow. They’re nothing but the thrill of satisfying a carnal need but they lack warmth and closeness. She gives but doesn’t engage. Her sensual generosity only reflects her emotional indifference.

Maybe he’s never been one for those meaningless hook-ups. Lying in the dim room lit by the city lights glowing through the wide window pans, her absence only emphasizes his solitude. He’s gotten used to it — tomorrow morning, mind deep into his cases, the feeling will wane. He rolls over and pulls her cold pillow to him. Wrapping his arm around it, her familiar scent swirls up his nostrils and eventually drifts him to sleep.

A couple of days later, his phone beeps.

You free tonight? I’m starving

He smiles sternly.

Come on over. I’ll cook. 7 pm?

The screen of his phone flashes a few seconds later.

It’s a date ;)

The following evening, they’re sitting at the kitchen island with jazz music playing in the background.

“How was your day? Did you have to deal with one of Tony’s shenanigans?”

He smiles. “Oddly enough, Tony has been quite all right lately. Overall, a quiet and peaceful 36 hours.”

She chuckles. “Fingers crossed he passes the 48 hours bar,” she says before taking a new mouthful from her plate.

“Let’s not jinx it,” he jokes then rubs his hand over his forearm propped on the table. “How about you?”

She nods while swallowing with a smile then sweeps her hair over to the other side. “Just rehearsing. I’m giving a concerto in Toronto in about two weeks.”

“Sounds exciting.”

His eyes instinctively fall on her fingers, elegantly wrapped under her chin. He can see she has the hands of a pianist: strong and graceful, fingers long and slim.

“It’s mostly lots of practice, discipline, and resilience,” she comments with a shrug and reaches for her wine. Her fingers beautifully wrap around the glass. She gets pensive. “When I get on stage and hit the first key, that’s when it becomes all worth it.” She pivots on the stool and smirks cheekily. “When the audience claps and breaks into a pool of tears, well that’s the cherry on top.”

She comes off the stool and wanders across the penthouse over to the lounge room, past the fireplace to stand in front of the large windows facing the river and Manhattan.

“This view is humbling,” she murmurs in awe like she is seeing it for the first time. “I can see why you’d want to live in Brooklyn.”

He gets up and watches her closely, eyes locked on his own humbling view.

“The main reason I chose Brooklyn is I grew up here — I wouldn’t see myself living anywhere else. But I admit the view was quite a compelling reason to sign the lease.”

She falls into silent contemplation. She doesn’t notice but her fingers slowly begin to play the notes she’s quietly humming under her breath, spontaneously creating the first beats of a melody. It’s fascinating to watch.

She nods to herself, gaging the first draft in her mind before stopping altogether to lock it safely in a corner of her memory.

“Where were we?” she asks with a purring voice. She swings around and gently leans on the glass. Her glass of wine hanging at her side, the fingers of her other hand wonderingly trace a line up along the side slit of her skirt.

“If you’re still hungry, I have dessert in the fridge,” he says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

It makes her laugh. She drops head back onto the window glass. She pauses as she seems to gather her thoughts.

“You’re not like the other guys, you know that? You’re there, watching me sheepishly from across the room. It’s kinda hard to read you right now.”

He puts his glass down and walks over to her. He comes to stand in front of her.

“It’s not that hard, actually. All you have to do is ask.”

The corner of her mouth goes up a little. She tilts her head slightly and eyes him. Daring, yet hesitant.

“Ok. What are you thinking right now?”

“That I’m the luckiest guy in Brooklyn tonight for having such charming company. For the most part. But I must admit, also clueless, as to how the night will end.”

“How do you want it to end?” she cocks an eyebrow.

His hands are in his pockets. His pupils are locked on her. Calm and collected.

“You know how.”

It makes her smile and look away. Her expression changes slightly, turns unexpectedly wistful.

“This is just a game, Rogers. Just play along.”

“Except I don’t know the rules of it.”

She bites her thumb friskily. “There shouldn’t always be. Life is complicated enough.”

He glances away and nods to himself.

“Right. Then uncomplicate things. What’s going on right now?”

She shrugs innocently. “I’m just a woman, with a breathtaking view of Manhattan lying behind, looking at an attractive man she wants to lie in bed with.”

Electricity sparks around them and the short space between their bodies, pulling them together like magnets. Their lips crush together, invasive and devouring. Her free hand pins his waist against her. His mouth trails along her jaw to the nape of her neck — a particularly erogenous spot of her body as he’s learned. A moan escapes her lips as her arm jerks away and she presses the palm of her hand against the cool glass, sending chills along her flustering body.

She pulls him away and catches her breath. Natasha glances behind him and a mischievous smile comes to her lips.

“Doesn’t literally have to be a bed, though.”

Pressing her hand against his chest, she leads him along to the couch nearby. He trips over the edge and falls flat on his back. He leans on his elbows as she puts her glass of wine down on the coffee table nearby. She then climbs on the sofa and straddles him.

She’s already unbuttoning his shirt before he has time to voice any of his lingering concerns. All of them mellow into an unsound mush. All he feels and grasps right now is the growing and overwhelming longing, primal and imperial. His hands are mirroring hers, pulling her top off of her.

_____________________________________

The sizzling sound of the fireplace can only be heard between their lusty moans.

These same flames have lost in intensity a few hours later as they both lie naked on the rug by the fireplace. Lying on her stomach, her red hair, down and wavy, fall loosely on the side of her face as her fingers fiddle with the corner of the cushion her elbows are propped on. Her legs crossed, up in the air.

Steve watches how the warm incandescence from the fire shimmers over the curves of her flawless figure. The nib of his pencil is tracing soft lines over the paper, his sketchbook steadily pressed between his fingers. For the past hour and a half, he has been fighting off sleep in an inane attempt to prolong this evening. Maybe drawing her is a way to keep a piece of her with him, even long after she will be gone. Embossing this memory of her onto the thick paper with lead.

Natasha doesn’t seem to mind or give it much interest. She lets herself be his muse for the night.

But his keen eye gets heavier, and so does the hand holding the pencil. He can feel he’s losing his fight against sleep.

“Do you have many of your other conquests in that book?” she eventually asks.

Eyes fixed on his sketch, he smiles. “You’re the first actually.”

He has just finished tracing the small of her back, blissfully vertiginous, and is going on to outline the curve of her bottom.

She drops her head onto the cushion and smirks. “Will you let me see it?”

“We’ll see about that,” he comments lightly, focused on his task.

“You know this is possibly the most artsy thing ever. Can’t be topped…unless I just jumped and went to compose a new symphony, in the nude.”

“Well, I don’t have a piano. We can always ask the neighbor downstairs to let you use his.”

“You’re a good guy, Steve. Any woman would be happy to have you,” she comments detachedly. “You should get yourself a Watch and wait for your girl. Just as she is.”

His eyes fall on the one handcuffed around her wrist. He watches the seconds tick by in dooming silence.

His expression turns serious. “I used to wear one,” he says, still drawing.

Natasha’s eyes swiftly lock on him. “Why did you take it off?”

“I wore it for many years. And then it just deactivated.”

Her features stiffen. Everybody has heard of it, and dreaded it. The loss of your soulmate. No message flashing on the screen, no comfort — just a blank screen. The Watch turns off forever, lifeless. No second option, no new Watch. For the wearer, the absolute certainty they will never meet their other half.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He shrugs. “It’s okay. I managed to pull a few strings with people working for the Watch company and they traced back the code to her. Car accident. Her funeral happened to be a couple of days later and I attended the service,” he tells the story with a collected expression. “A British immigrant. Her name was Peggy Carter. And that was the end of it, really.”

The end of it before it had even started. It’d felt weird. Feeling a sense of loss without suffering any actual lack. You’re not emotionally affected and yet you’re grieving. Grieving for a person that was not from your past, but was supposed to fill your future. Grieving your own fate probably.

“Anyways, that was a while ago; and as strange as it sounds to say, I moved on.”

He smiles and she mirrors it, except weakly. The conversation then shifts to lighter topics.

He’s halfway through drawing her crossed calves when his eyes, burning with exhaustion, force him to surrender. He closes the sketchbook and drops in on the coffee table behind him. He reclines on the floor, head tilted in her direction. He watches her intently. She shows no ounce of exhaustion as shown by the swift motions of her fingers.

“You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” he asks dozily. Her pupils dart in his direction.

“Don’t fret about it. It’s not worth it.”

“You know you could just take the key,” he says slowly. “I have a spare in the kitchen drawer. Since you’re gonna sneak out you might as well want to lock the door.”

She chuckles.

“You never asked where I live,” she muses aloud.

His eyelids are drooping like heavy curtains.

“Because I know you’re not ready to tell me.”

She pouts and mumbles her thumb.

“Oh dear, you really held on long this time,” she says to herself. Her voice seems to come from miles away.

Her figure turns blurry and his sight gets obscure.

“You’re gonna leave, aren’t you?” he manages to voice weakly.

Her figure leans over him.

“Good night, Rogers,” she murmurs then her lips gently graze his as he drifts to sleep.

The next morning, when he wakes up at dawn, the fire completely extinguished, he’s alone. He sighs, grabs his book and finishes the sketch, trying to revive the blazing night.

Natasha disappeared like the most ethereal fantasy. She answered his texts only briefly, in a detached way. And he soon understood he’d scared her away.

She doesn’t visit again.

Days go by and he resumes his normal routine. Work, social gatherings, and home. He sits on his couch, silently watching the skyline standing in front of him.

He catches himself missing the time when she would sneak out of his apartment. At least, he had her for a few hours then.

Over a week later, he’s in his bed. He puts a file down and looks at the clock. He remembers this is the night she is performing in Toronto.

He’s been asleep for many hours. He doesn’t hear the muffled sounds in his room. Then two arms come and drape over his bare back. The skin is slightly cooler from the soft wind outside. The familiar scent of her perfume hovers above him and lulls him.

She presses her body against his, spooning him, and lies the side of her face on his warm, soft skin.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. It is too blissful of a dream to risk ending it and waking up to a disappointing reality. He lays his hand on her knuckles then holds it gently.

Next, they both sleep…until the end of the night. And beyond.

The first time they sleep together.

1 MONTH, 27 DAYS, 11 HOURS, 18 MINUTES AND 16 SECONDS

#romanogers #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff #capwidow #captasha #steve x natasha #AU #fanfic #writing #Before The Last Grain #inneedofinspiration

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opheliaoblonskya · 4 years

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hello hello hello everyone! i’m coco, this is my baby ophelia, and we’re both extremely happy to be part of the group!!! this is ophelia’s official intro post so feel free to check under the cut for more info on them! @westmerestarters

MAJOR TW FOR DEPRESSION AND SUICIDE

agender, goes by they/them pronouns, first discovered non binary identities a few years ago and went from “huh, that’s neat” to “it me” within a few months lmao

their father was originally from the soviet union, grew up poor, immigrated to the states, and made it big as a writer. poetry, essays, plays, short stories, and even full on novels, anton oblonsky was a literary darling, and married cleo harris, a celebrity stylist, rather young. after barely two years of marriage, ophelia was born. they were to be anton’s only child.

while both of ophelia’s parents doted on them, they were the apple of their father’s eye in particular. he spoiled ophelia rotten, showering them with things he could’ve never dreamed of having as a child, but now with his lucrative writing career at his side, he was able to fully provide for his family, so much so that cleo was able to quit her job.

naturally, ophelia adored their father for how much he spoiled and openly adored them, and never feared hearing the word ‘no’ from anton. cleo often had to step in to be the disciplinarian in the family, which created some tension between her and her overly indulged child, but for the most part, the oblonsky family home was a happy one.

this would fall apart when ophelia was only five.

understandably, cleo was growing tired of having to be the ‘bad guy parent’, and had grown to resent how easy going and frivolous anton was. this of course caused arguments, and whenever ophelia stepped in and it was clear that they had heard it, anton would try to remedy the situation by showering them with more gifts, which in turn lead to more arguments. it was like a cycle, and cleo was determined to put an end to it. she filed for divorce.

during the proceedings, the two agreed on shared custody of ophelia. they would spend one week with anton, and the other with cleo. of course, ophelia much preferred being with their father, who’s spoiling had gone into maximum overdrive as a way to make up for the divorce. cleo was nowhere near as indulgent, and the young ophelia grew to resent their mother, blaming her for the falling apart of the family and their father’s misery.

just months after ophelia’s sixth birthday, which had of course been a truly lavish affair, the divorce was finalized. by then ophelia was getting therapy, to help cope with the change, and despite the therapist’s best efforts, ophelia still laid the blame squarely at their mother’s feet. but the worst was still yet to come.

when ophelia was seven, during the week they were with anton, he woke them up, told them they had the day off school because he had called in, and that they were going to do whatever ophelia wanted. of course, they were utterly ecstatic, and the day was spent devouring ice cream and candy of all kinds, watching cartoons, and playing games. it truly was the best day of ophelia’s life.

but it would quickly become the worst.

anton told ophelia to play outside for a bit, while he cleaned up. still bouncing off the walls from the massive amount of sugar consumption, ophelia happily ran around in the yard, playing on the brand new play set that anton had bought just for that day. they were so preoccupied, that they almost didn’t hear the loud bang that came from inside.

they tried to get inside, but all of the doors were locked, and no matter how loudly they yelled, they were getting no response from anton. confused, and getting a little scared, ophelia went to the neighbor’s, and asked them for help. the neighbor’s called, but when they got response they called the police instead.

the rest of the day is a blur, perhaps an attempt of ophelia’s mind to shield them from it all. but one thing they remember clear as day is the body of their father, lying in a pool of his own blood, in the middle of the living room. they had managed to sneak past the police, wanting to see what was happening. and of course, they got their wish.

the death was ruled a suicide, thanks to the presence of a long letter that anton had left behind in his study. cleo was contacted immediately and rushed to her child’s side, weeping profusely. the last year of her marriage to anton had been tense, but she never doubted for a second that he was a good man who loved her and ophelia. and now he was gone.

ophelia was different after that. now in their mother’s care, they had become quiet, withdrawn, and despite how tense and strained their relationship with their mother had been before, they were now terrified of being separated from cleo. they got another therapist, one that specialized in helping grieving children, but it was very slow going. at the reading of the will, it had been revealed that anton had left everything, his wealth, his properties, even the rights to his numerous literary works, which at the time of his death was just shy of a hundred, to ophelia. it turned out that he had made the change the day before his death, and that half of his fortune, which included ongoing royalties, would be used for ophelia’s education and other parts of their care, a type of posthumous child support, while the rest would be put in a trust fund.

of the things that had been left to ophelia, what caught their attention the most, was their father’s journals. he would spend hours scribbling away in them, and no one, not even his precious ophelia, had been permitted to read them. they desperately wanted to do so now, but cleo got to them first, and had them placed in a safety deposit box, away from ophelia. this resulted in a screaming match, a tearful ophelia demanding to have what remained of their father’s essence, and cleo insisting that they were too young to see what was in those books, and that when they were older they could read them, but not now.

as time wore on, ophelia remained ever devoted to their father and his memory, lashing out at anyone who would dare besmirch his name and/or work. when cleo remarried, to anton’s lawyer no less, ophelia reacted very negatively, threatening to sabotage the wedding if they were made to go. they were made to go, but were under heavy surveillance by the bridesmaids (ophelia had been made the maid of honor, which made their stomach roil), and aside from having a generally negative attitude, did no harm to the event.

when ophelia’s first half sibling was born, they were determined to remain indifferent, if not totally icy and aloof, towards the child. it wasnt until after they had laid eyes on the newborn, that they felt their heart soften. in a hospital bathroom, ophelia cried for the first time since their father’s funeral. they were 12 years old.

with extensive therapy and family counselling, ophelia found themself able to let go of their previous animosity towards their mother. they began to see and understand why cleo was so frustrated with anton, and wrote an immense letter of apology to their mother. they were also fiercely protective of their half siblings, and thoroughly adored them.

but of course, there was still a hole that had been left behind by anton’s death. and part of the way they chose to cope was by consuming all of their father’s work. they would pour over his writing, studying it all endlessly. if there was an english assignment of some sort, then you can be sure that ophelia would write about something their father wrote. it wasn’t long before they too started to dream of becoming a writer.

after ophelia graduated, they were finally permitted to read the journals that their father wrote in and kept. after talking extensively with ophelia’s therapists, cleo finally opened that old safety deposit box, and gave ophelia everything they had dreamed of. they devoted every waking moment to reading those journals, desperate to further understand their father. and one of the first steps they took was going to russia.

they had of course heard many stories from their father about russia, and most of anton’s work was either set in russia, featured russian characters, or at least had russia in the background in some way. but of course the russia he had been most familiar with was the one of the soviet era, and even after a number of trips back, the shadow of the soviet union still clung to him and his work, and ophelia was determined to see modern day russia for themself.

they followed their father’s steps, hunting down every place mentioned or alluded to in his writings, trying to understand and feel what their father understood and felt about the place. it also inspired them to start journaling, chronicling their time in russia and the steps they were taking to understand the man their father was.

while in russia, they came up to the part in the journals where anton started to talk about his divorce and depression. he waxed lyrical about the intense, deep, gut wrenching misery that plagued him, and how the only way he could keep it at bay was by caring for ophelia. but as they started to grow up, he started to panic and worry more and more. his own father took his life when he was very young, and his mother never remarried. how was he supposed to know how to be a father from that point on? he had tried to give ophelia everything she could ever want, materially and emotionally, but there was still a part of him that felt that it would never be enough, because he had never seen what he was supposed to do next. the anxiety strangled him to the point where sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

his last entry was on the day before he died. “if nothing else, ophelia will know how much i love her.”

ophelia spent a week indoors, grieving their father all over again, and finally seeing why their mother had been so adamant in keeping these journals away from them. no child would be equipped to deal with everything that had been written in those notebooks, least of all one that had been as vulnerable as ophelia had been at the time.

when they returned home, they hugged their mother and cried.

another thing they did after they returned was go to college. despite his literary success, ophelia’s father never went to college, with his formal education stopping when he was 14 so that he could work and support his ailing mother. he would go on to teach himself, but the world of academia always gripped his imagination, and ophelia was determined to do what their father couldnt.

double majoring in english lit and russian lit, minoring in journalism, and applying with their mother’s new married name to avoid any awkwardness, ophelia dedicated themself to studying and writing, wanting to create the ‘perfect debut novel’. during this time they remained secretive about their father’s identity, particularly after they started to study his work in class. they would go on to get a masters in all of their subjects, and get a job at the new york times.

while in new york, ophelia was contacted by an established, and well-respected broadway producer and director, who wanted to adapt one of their father’s plays for broadway, but needed ophelia’s permission to do so. intrigued, ophelia agreed, provided that they be involved every step of the way. they were going to make sure that their father’s work was going to be well represented.

after countless long days going from the office to broadway then home, ophelia saw their father’s first ever play, which also happened to be the one that was the least adapted and staged for whatever reason, on broadway. it was set in a town called westmere, a place that ophelia’s father had mentioned in his journals, but that they had never gotten around to visiting. but after opening night, they knew that would change. once the play had it’s full run, ophelia resigned from their job, packed up, and went to westmere, to see what it was about the town that had so entranced their father.

and there you have it! didnt expect to write that much but oh well dfjignfdifjnfdij feel free to dm if you want to plot something!!!

#westmereintro

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ohblackdiamond · 4 years

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little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 12 of 29)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 part 17 part 18 part 19 part 20 part 21 part 22 part 23 part 24 part 25 part 26 part 27 part 28 part 29 Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Ace and Peter discuss Paul’s crisis, with and without him, and Paul gives Gene some lessons.

Peter and Ace stuck around for a couple hours. Long enough that Paul heated up the leftover pizza for them, and Gene ended up getting two more delivered, while the forgotten remains of both their Dairy Queen milkshakes just melted in Paul’s car. Paul confessed to nearly everything, from when Gene had first come over to the call to Steve Rubell’s secretary.

Peter had been pretty loath to talk about witchcraft and ways to alleviate the curse at any real length. It seemed to make him as queasy as it did Gene. Ace, on the other hand, perused Paul’s occult books for awhile, and offered to scour some old hippie contacts and see if they still knew any witches.

“Or Suzie. But she would’ve told you herself if she knew anyone good.” Ace had shrugged, devouring another slice of pizza. “Thing is… thing is, you’re better off going to the source. You just don’t wanna mess with it yourself if you don’t have to. You got really fucked up. You don’t wanna risk making it any worse, getting someone else to try to fix it.”

“You think someone might turn me into a frog on accident?”

Ace had laughed.

“We could get you a cute costume that way. What d’you think, Geno?”

“We could get him a cute costume now.”

“Bet you already have.”

Paul’s face went red. Ace winked.

“But… really, thing is, this kind of shit isn’t your basic curse.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“Y’know, bad luck for a couple months, bad acne, psoriasis, that kinda curse.” Ace ran a thumb across his own pockmarked cheek, then added, unnecessarily, “I’ve had this since I landed on Earth, it ain’t a curse—but that’s about all most witches could’ve done to you.”

“Anybody ever do anything to you, Ace?” Paul asked. It was a pretty fair question, Gene felt like. Ace used to run with a weird crowd. Still did. But Ace shook his head.

“Nah. Well, Suzie told me KISS’d never get a number-one single here. But that was more of a prediction—”

“She’s wrong.” Gene dismissed her out of hand. Across from him, sitting on the coffee table, Peter nodded in agreement. Ace shrugged.

“What I mean is, it could take awhile to fix, and that’s if she wants to fix it.”

“Ace, we’re not canceling the tour.”

“’M not saying cancel.” Ace gnawed heavily on his lip. Gene could tell he was just about to ask Paul for a beer. “But how far back do you think we could push it? Couple months?”

“We couldn’t push it back any without Bill wanting a reason why,” Gene said flatly.

“So let’s give him a reason why.” Ace exhaled. “I’ll… y’know, I never did have a big honeymoon with Jeanette. I could tell him I wanted three weeks for that.”

“That’s only three weeks—”

“Yeah, but…” Ace reached for the Tab Peter had been drinking out of, finishing it off with a gulp. “It’s about buying time. We could keep on finding excuses if we had to.”

“I don’t want you to have to,” Paul said. “I don’t want to fuck things up for everybody.”

The silence lingered for several moments. No one said a word to argue his point. Paul’s gaze lowered to one of the cardboard pizza boxes, and, next to it, the box of Gene’s Studio 54 clothes. Finally, Peter spoke.

“You can’t help it, Paulie. We’re gonna do what we can.” He rubbed his arm. “Could probably get my doctor to say I’ve gotta take off another month if I have to.”

“Don’t say anything yet.”

“I won’t. We won’t.” Peter hesitated. “Hey, you want us coming to 54 with you tonight?”

Ace perked up.

“That’d help. Four guys looking for the same girl. One of us could be in the basement, one in the VIP lounge upstairs—”

“You’d just be fucking in the basement,” Paul accused dryly.

“It’s good for running into people. Groupies all over there. Besides, Steve’s bunch is just as loaded as he is. They may not remember what girl you wanted.”

Ace had a point. Gene mulled it over, glancing at Paul, who nodded, before he answered.

“Yeah, okay. But not all in the same limo.”

“Aw, c’mon! Why not?”

“It’d attract too much attention. Everyone would be wondering where Paul was.”

“Me and Pete’ll go together. We’ll get there later so it’s not as obvious.” Ace took another slice of pizza. “Remind me again, yeah? Brown hair, freckles, short?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Carol… Carol Johnson?”

“Jensen.”

“Gotcha.” Ace shook his head. “God, Paulie, you gotta start making photo albums like Gene. You get better descriptions outta those police sketch artists.”

The rest of the afternoon was placid enough. Paul and Gene lazed around after Ace and Peter left. Gene turned on the T.V. and they watched The Edge of Night (how the hell that soap was still on, Gene didn’t know), Paul flopping next to him with his legs hanging over the couch. There was something comfortable about it. Paul only got up once the show’s credits streamed down the screen, turning it off.

“You don’t want to watch the news?”

“No. We’d still have half an hour. Besides, I wanted to show you something. C’mon.”

Gene followed him out of the living room, down the stairs to the den. He’d been there before, sure, but Paul had never really given him a house tour. KISS’ gold records hung from the wood-paneled walls, along with an assortment of posters and memorabilia from their earlier tours. All stuff Gene had at home himself—if anything, Gene had a lot more of it—but Paul didn’t acknowledge it, heading for three bookshelves packed with records.

“Back when I was in high school,” he said, “I used to try to buy one album every couple of weeks. I’d have to get the cut-outs.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So once we got big, I decided I’d get every record I ever wanted.” Paul grinned a little ruefully. “But I didn’t really think it through, so this is what I ended up with.”

“Uh-huh.” Gene tugged out a copy of Alvin and the Chipmunks’ “Witch Doctor.” “I think that goes without saying.”

“C’mon, I was a kid when that came out.”

“Do you have ‘Flying Purple People Eater,’ too?”

“Don’t laugh, I might.” Paul started thumbing through the shelves. Gene almost told him not to go looking for it, but instead of the Sheb Wooley single, Paul took out a copy of Rod Stewart’s latest offering, last year’s A Night on the Town. Gene looked at it quizzically.

“What’s this for?”

“Good luck.” Paul slid the record out of its sleeve and handed it to Gene. “Put it on.”

Gene put it on. The vinyl crackled appreciably. Last year’s hit on that first track. Rod Stewart could pair filthy lyrics with a number-one hit, while KISS was stuck going the clean ballad route just to hit the top ten.

“‘Tonight’s the Night’?” Oh. That made sense. Well, it made some sense. Gene was getting the impression Paul might not have thought his selection through, as Rod started to gravel-voice his way into getting a virgin into bed. “Hoping for a pretty exciting evening, aren’t you?”

“Not—Gene, I meant we’d find the girl.” Paul tapped Gene’s shoulder with the album jacket. “It’s positive thinking. Norman Vincent Peale and all that.”

Gene grinned.

“Pretty raunchy. I thought you’d pick a cleaner pick-me-up.”

“Whatever, I like it.” Paul propped the jacket against the record player. His face was faintly flushed. “The whole album’s pretty good.”

“I know. I have it.” Gene listened to the saxophone’s croon before cutting in again. “You really just wanted me to see your record collection?”

“No. Not exactly.” Paul shifted. “Look, I know you don’t really go to the discos much.”

“So? Paul, I don’t mind doing it for you.”

“Yeah, but… shit, I don’t know. You got bored last night.”

“I didn’t get bored. I had a pretty good view.”

Paul rolled his eyes.

“There’s not a lot to do at 54 besides get wasted and dance. And neither of us is going to get wasted.”

That was true of any club, and most of why he didn’t go. He could get laid just as easily in his own neighborhood, without the hassle of dressing up and schmoozing.

“It’s fine. Maybe I’ll bring a book.”

“Gene.” Paul had his tongue peeking slightly past his teeth. Nervous. “I wanna teach you to dance.”

“What for?”

“So you’ll have something to do. That way, we don’t look like creeps waiting around.” The first track was edging towards the halfway point. Paul took his hand. “What do you say?”

“Don’t you want something a little faster?”

“No. This is good.” Paul took Gene’s other arm, positioning his hand on his shoulder. “You can dance to anything, if you’ve got rhythm.”

“You’re leading.”

“Damn right.” Paul had his other hand on his waist already, was urging him forward with that hand. Gene took an obedient, offbeat step, and Paul sighed but stepped back in time with Gene instead of with the beat. A couple more steps and Paul had them back on track again, although Gene felt about as awkward as he had during senior prom ten years prior. “It’s mirroring, mostly. Mirroring and—getting a feel for your partner, what they can do.”

“A feel, huh?”

“Getting a feel, not copping one.” Paul pursed his lips in consideration. “Don’t watch your feet so much. Keep it up here.”

“When did you start dancing?”

“I dunno. I always wanted to.” He was starting to get more complicated than the sort of forward-back motion that was all Gene could readily accomplish. Shifting more than his feet around. Had he been doing that from the beginning? Paul’s grip on him was more relaxed than the reverse, that much was definite. “Just one of those stupid things. I used to watch all those variety shows when I was a kid, and think, ‘hey, I could do that.’ Dance, sing… puppeteer…” Paul snorted, and dropped his arm from Gene’s waist. Gene almost let go entirely, but then Paul squeezed his hand, raising it up. Gene gave him a blank look in return, before realizing, several beats too late, that Paul had been trying to get him into a spin.

“Puppeteer?”

“Howdy Doody’s a—formative influence—”

“Uh-huh.” The mildly disappointed expression on Paul’s face made him a little concerned, and he added, “Try that again, I wasn’t ready.”

Paul lifted his arm again. Gene made the spin, his movements stilted, feeling a bit stupid for all of it until he saw Paul start to grin.

“Maybe we should try it like this.”

“Like what?”

Rod had just about made it with the girl, the moaned-out French at the end of the track something Gene could only guess at. Paul just took him by both hands.

“A little less formal, right? Hang on.” Paul let go, hurrying back to the record player. Gene watched him take the vinyl off and stuff it back into the sleeve and jacket, before rummaging around the shelves again. He pulled out another record, though this time he didn’t show Gene the jacket before putting it on. Not that it mattered. Gene recognized the harmonies anyway, well before Paul made his way back to where he was standing. Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s Deja Vu.

“Figured we could go way back.” Paul took his hands again as the record played, his steps faster, more energetic. Gene didn’t really think the band had meant for anyone to dance to their stuff. He kept up awkwardly at first, but something about how enthusiastic Paul was, how much he put into every move, how he tried to fit the steps to the songs, buoyed him. His curls would bounce a bit depending on the tempo. It was almost cute to watch. Almost infectious. Gene hesitated before trying to get Paul into a turn himself, getting a gratified look and an eager spin in return. He was starting to get it, a bit, the way just a shift or a squeeze of the hand was enough of a signal of where to turn or where he was headed. Like that sense he’d get, that sense they’d all get, if one of the guys was having an off night and they needed to cover during a concert. It was warm, intuitive.

Paul was breathing a little heavily by the time they’d gone through the first few tracks, hands sweaty. Gene tried to get him into one more spin as the record buzzed. He caught Paul’s shoulder with his free hand while he was halfway through, his back towards Gene’s. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Paul stopped there, turning to look at Gene, questioning.

“Something wrong?”

“No. I’m fine.” Gene shifted forward—a bad idea; they’d been closer than he realized, and now he was up against him. The melancholic harmonies of “Country Girl” were starting to swell. Gene pursed his suddenly dry lips, feeling stupid, no, feeling absolutely moronic, as he let go of Paul’s hand. “I—I think we better get ready.”

Paul’s expression drooped only for a moment, like the hesitant flicker of lights just before a power outage. His hand went to his side.

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Lemme get the record.” He took a step, Gene’s hold on his shoulder slackening to nothing, Gene’s hand faltering down to his own side, and walked over to retrieve the record, the moment fading away before he even lifted the needle.

A few hours later, Peter and Ace were in a limo, grousing. They’d gotten ready for Studio 54 earlier than they’d meant to from sheer antsiness, and now they were reduced to making the driver get them fast food they didn’t even want to kill time.

Well, Peter didn’t want it, but he was pretty sure Ace would eat his share for him. He was also sure it wasn’t quite enough of a delaying tactic to keep him and Ace from arriving right around when Paul and Gene did, but Ace reassured him he could keep that from happening. Peter sighed, glancing out the window to make sure the driver wasn’t on his way out of the restaurant yet, before speaking again.

“What do you think about it?”

Ace raised his head slightly at the question. He had brought a deck of cards and was shuffling them as they waited. Sometimes he’d lift the cards up into a sloppy arc as he riffled through them. He’d been fairly quiet, no real goofing off, not even any drinking, since they’d doubled back to Peter’s, gotten ready for the evening, and scrounged up the limo. Two nights in a row at 54 might’ve been murder on a normal human being, but in his less-sober moments, Peter could convince himself he’d spent the last four years with Jendell’s most questionable export.

“What do I think about what, Pete?”

“What we’re gonna do about Paul.”

“Nothing to do about Paul. Either he gets back to normal or he doesn’t.”

“I meant the band.” None of them had really wanted to bring it up. Ace had only barely alluded to it when he’d offered to delay the tour with a honeymoon. “If we don’t find that girl, or Paul doesn’t get back to normal, what’s going to happen to the band?”

“You know what’s going to happen.” Ace sounded more quietly cynical than he had in a long time. “We all know what’s going to happen.”

“I’m not kicking Paul out of his own fucking band.”

“I’m not, either. And Gene’d rather get a tongue reduction than hurt Paul like that.” Ace shifted, kicking his heels up to the glass partition between them and the driver, while he kept toying with the deck in his hands. “We’ll all just have to pack it up. If he doesn’t get fixed, KISS is gone.”

Pack it up. The thought felt like the gum beneath a desk at school. Peter didn’t like thinking about the options. They could all try solo acts—he felt like he had a better shot than the others, given “Beth”… or join up in some other band, but it felt… dirty. It wasn’t like Paul had gotten on drugs or turned into a completely insufferable asshole or blown out his voice. He’d just had something shitty happen to him that they couldn’t—

“Do you think Bill could spin it? Let’s say… let’s say we don’t tell him everything.” Peter was trying to think. “Let’s say Paul’s fucked off, but hey, we found a replacement that kinda looks like him. A real pretty girl. We got a whole new market. Chicks don’t ever front rock bands—”

“Petey, we couldn’t keep it up.” Ace gnawed his lip. “Bill’d still wanna know who this girl was. Even if Paul could fool him, we’d still get blown out of the water the minute people started asking questions. We’d need IDs, a passport…”

“We could get fakes made.”

“Then what?” Ace shook his head. “Paul’d be living like that guy in The Fugitive. Worse. Having to pretend he really was some random chick in front of the whole damn world… I don’t wanna shoot you down, man, but we’re sunk.”

Peter groaned.

“KISS is sunk and Gene gets a girlfriend. Fucking terrible trade-off.”

“Poor Geno.” Ace laughed. “He might figure it’s worth it, you think?”

“Nah. Gene likes money more than he likes getting laid.” Peter swallowed. “You think they’ve fucked yet?”

“C’mon, Paulie’s a lady,” Ace managed, before bursting into those weird, high giggles again. “He won’t give it up that quick. How long did it take you to warm him up to it?”

“Not too long.”

Ace held the deck up. Peter shook his head. Shrugging, Ace started trying to cut the deck with one hand, and flip the halves over with his thumb. He only succeeded in spilling most of the deck onto the floorboard and seats. Peter reached over, obediently helping him gather up the cards and handing them back over. Ace winked, taking the stack.

“What’s on your mind, anyway, Cat?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Ace said it lightly. “You’re not really worried about whether Gene’s made it with him or not.”

“God, no.” The thought was more disturbing than it needed to be. “It’s just that I should’ve figured it out from the start.” Peter let out an irritated breath. “Gene only saw him once and figured it out. It took me three times. Paul had to tell me before I—"

“Hey, you got him, that’s the important thing.”

“Yeah, but… he wasn’t good at pretending the first time. He called me Pete. And the second time, he kept trying to tell me—”

“Pete, c’mon, you weren’t expecting him to look like that—”

“Makes me think I don’t really know him.”

Ace looked at him almost sadly. He’d stopped fiddling with the deck of cards, setting them on his thigh.

“You know him better than you think.”

“You think so?”

“Positive.” Ace’s head jerked up suddenly. Peter’s gaze followed his, and he saw the beleaguered limo driver heading out of the restaurant, with two sackfuls of barbeque sandwiches, fries, and a couple of sodas. Ace put an unnecessary finger to his lips as the driver opened their door and handed over the sacks. “Hey, man, thanks. Didja get yourself anything?”

“I shouldn’t eat on the job.”

“C’mon, I used to drive cabs, I’d eat in there all the time.” Ace cackled, digging awkwardly in his back pocket. “Get some food if you want. Then come back in here. We’ll play some poker before you take us over.”

“You’re not worried about the time?”

“Nah. I got the time if you got the money.” He grinned. “Hey, hey, Petey’ll spot you, right?”

“I ain’t spotting anyone.”

“Then the best hand gets… aw, hell, I dunno. You beat us three times in a row and we’ll bring you into the disco, you dig?”

As the driver sidled into the back of the limo, Peter scooted over to give him room. Five minutes later, barbeque sandwich in one hand, a straight in the other, Peter decided they were going to be late after all.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley #ace frehley #peter criss

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