#lit bridget talks

[sarilolla]

Ooh! How about Clay being the third and last to arrive before Branch dies? And Viva reuniting with Poppy that way and her reaction to Branch's death and his brothers' grief considering she knows what it's like to essentially lose a sibling?

And JD arriving too late? How would he react upon realizing his controlling nature essentially sealed his baby brother's fate?

Ooof ouch, that hurts- Ofc I will write that >:)

Hanahaki Branch au (slight spoilers/alternative ending to not finished fic)

***

Life in Putt Putt Village was calm yet vigilant. Being co-leader meant Clay did many tasks around the golf course, and he for one excelled at the “boring” tasks. Life was calm, until it wasn’t.

The golf course was made by Bergens once upon a time, and there was always a possibility that one day they would show up. The Trolls in the village were quiet as a couple came through the doors, commenting on the eeriness of the place. Viva led the attack, tying them up, which seemed to surprise them, but they didn't directly fight back. The *Trolls* with them argued against their capture though.

After a few very tense moments, they got to talking. The group insisted they were friends with the Bergens, who were the young king and queen, and it was very hard to believe.

Two of the Trolls were speaking together, and Clay and Viva froze upon hearing two names.

"Told you we should have brought Poppy with us. She would know how to convince these Trolls about at least listening to us," the short yellow one said, and the glitter Troll shook his head.

"You know she wouldn't have left Branch behind in his condition."

"Fair enough."

"Wait, wait, wait, what?"

And the explanation came. Something about Poppy and Branch saving the world twice, but that Branch was sick, and had been for a long time. Clay wanted to scream when he heard which illness he had. Hanahaki. He had read a book about it when he was younger, a tragic love story, but to think his baby brother had it? That was worse than every sad book he had ever read combined and tripled. He had to go!

Reluctantly, they let the Bergens go, and tentatively, Viva and Bridget bonded over Poppy. Clay just wanted to get to Branch. People were out looking for the rest of his brothers, and even if he had been angry with them once, he would face them for Branch.

The trip from Putt Putt to Pop Village felt like it took years, even if it was only a few hours. Clay was too focused on where he was supposed to get to his baby brother, he barely noticed Viva reuniting with her dad. It was teary, and he was happy for her.

When he got to the bunker, a pink Troll with fuschia hair left, and she resembled Viva a lot. It had to be Poppy. Her eyes lit up stepping off the elevator, and from what Clay had learned, Branch had built the bunker himself. It was very impressive.

"Clay?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Poppy. Branch is on the lowest floor. Someone will point you the way to his door. Floyd and Bruce are there too."

He nodded, not questioning the name, and headed down as quickly as possible, not missing her little mantra of "There's still hope.".

A purple aquatic-looking Troll with pink hair was sitting down in what looked like a living room, comforted by a shorter Troll with wings and pink hair, who pointed him to a door. Walking up to it while wringing his hands, he took a deep breath before knocking, and a voice he could recognize anywhere told him to come in.

Three of his brothers were inside, and all looked happy to see him. His focus was however immediately on the one in the bed, who was blinking at him sleepily. Branch was an adult, but he looked so small like this. It didn't feel right. Branch was their bright, happy baby brother. Not... not this.

Closing the door, he rushed over to Branch's side as Floyd gave him the space to do so. Both middle and youngest brothers were looking at each other, and Clay wanted to squish that too-tired look out of his face.

"Hey, Bittie B."

Branch wrinkled his nose at that, and Spruce chuckled.

"He insists it's Branch now. Made the mistake myself."

"Oh."

"And, by the way, it's Bruce now. Changed my name a few years back."

"Very fancy, I like it."

It was so nice being back with his brothers. He had thought they were dead a long time, but no, here three of them were.

"Clay..."

Branch said, and Clay's attention snapped back to him. The way his voice was so small and fragile made his heart hurt.

"I'm here, B."

"Love you."

His breath caught in his throat, before he nodded, "I love you too."

With the confession, Branch's breathing cleared a bit, and the collective relief in the room was palpable. It still wasn't clear, it was still stuttering, and the realization that they needed John Dory to come soon hit hard.

"Tell me what you did outside the tree," Branch asked him, and he looked at the other two.

"He asked the same of us," Floyd shrugged, and Bruce nodded, "Tell us what you've been up to Clay."

"Well, first off, I'm now a licensed CPA, and..."

He talked about his travels, finding the Putt Putt Trolls, being co-leader, and everything else he could think about. None of his brothers seemed judgemental that he had stopped being "The Fun One", but more... proud of who he was now.

Poppy returned after a while, holding Viva's hand. Both looked both happy and sad, and Bruce gave up his spot on Branch's side for Poppy. The two youngest looked at each other, Poppy brushing his chin carefully just to check on him, earning a soft hum.

Viva stood slightly to the side, before Clay looked at her, offering a spot beside him. Floyd was once again holding Branch's hand, and Viva took Clay's as Branch's breathing became weird again. His eyes slipped shut, and Clay looked between Branch's face, and the hands that still held onto Floyd and Poppy.

They were getting slack, and his breath was getting unnoticeable except for the weak stuttering to it. Holding onto that slightly raspy sound as the only proper sign Branch was alive, wasn’t fun. This wasn’t something either Fun-Clay or Serious-Clay could handle, not really.

Viva’s paw slipped into his when the sound stopped. The entire room was silent.

Branch wasn’t alive anymore. He wasn’t with them anymore. He was gone. Viva held his hand, but also held onto Poppy as she started sobbing. Floyd moved around the bed to sit between his older brothers, leaning into Bruce’s side as Clay clutched his hand.

They hadn’t saved their baby brother.

—

Far enough away that it was a problem, an increasingly greying Troll sat behind the wheel of his most trustworthy companion.

“We’ll get there in time. We have to get there in time. I can’t…”

John’s voice broke off, his mutterings barely heard by the other two Trolls inside Rhonda. He never thought he would see those two leaders work together, but they had, to find him. So he could help save his baby brother.

His brothers were probably already there, and John Dory had to make it there in time. Tell his baby brother he loves him. Tell all his brothers he loved them. Apologize for being a massive jerk when they were younger. If he hadn’t, maybe they would have stuck together. Branch would know he was loved. He wouldn’t die.

Suddenly, a small *ping* made its way into his ears. Pulling out the small hug time bracelet, he looked at the now open flower.

It had belonged to Branch. He had fastened it himself around his tiny wrist on the youngest first birthday. John had found it when he visited the destroyed remains of their home.

The forget-me-not shone so innocently, and yet… John knew it hadn’t pinged him for hug time.

***

*bonks you* Did you guys know that if any of the brothers got Hanahaki for Branch, our beloved boy would be the Forget-me-not? Little baby boy who loves his brothers above all is the flower meaning “Don’t forget me”? Isn’t that just swell?

Also, headcanon that hug time bracelets are given on the first birthday by a family member. They're not actually made of the different flowers, but they're modeled after them. And as mentioned in the main fic, Branch lost his at one point before or during the escape.

So yeah, Bridget, Gristle and the Snack Pack finding Clay, Viva, and the Putt Putts, while not specified here, it's Delta and Barb who finds John. I mentioned in this ficlet that Country and Rock had interacted with the oldest brother, so they set off to find him. I don't know why I decided to add that Synth and Dante Crescendo sitting there keeping watch of Branch, I haven't watched much of Trollstopia at all, but it just felt right. (Also, Clay never interacted with other genres, and neither have any other Putt Putt, so he doesn't know they're Techno and Classical)

So, yeah, that was another dose of angst. Alternative endings counter: 7. Alternative endings were Branch dies: 6

#dreamworks trolls #trolls band together #hanahaki branch #sarilolla´s writing #tw death #legit forgot tags lmao #I’m hurting the boys fr #also enjoy the tiny little bit about Branch’s representative flower >:) #answered asks

[bookhighlightss]

Twisted series book review

☆ Twisted Love

1. This book was amazing. The plot twists will blow your brains out.

2. Alex Volkov. That's it. Just him. Like he is just amazing.

3. Pretty words and pretty faces don't equal pretty souls. This line. This. Freaking. Line. It had me crying.

4. Also the way he just walked her home for a year without them talking.....AAAAHHHH just everything in this book was amazing.

5. In book 2, 3 and 4 there relationship just was so pretty even if they were there for like 1 page.

☆ Twisted Games

1. I love the whole bodyguard princess thing like I'm here for it.

2. I read this book 1 year ago I don't remember the details well but I loved Rhys and Bridget.

3. The whole you and me against the world, princess was just so sweet and cute and asfkjhjilw

4. I love how Bridget just overall slays with her feminine energy as Queen and shit like slayyyyy

☆ Twisted Hate

1. Okay this book was hilarious. There were so many funny scenes and their back and forth bickering was just everything.

2. I also loved how josh and Alex became friends again in this book like we all knew they were gonna but the whole conversation was epic and alex asking for permission to marry ava was just beautiful.

3. The possibility of you is better than the reality of anyone else. This quote people it was just amazing. I was like dayum I need to take two minutes and scream.

4. Overall the plot was actually pretty lit in this book but the one thing I didn't like about this book was how they fucked every two pages literally but they were kinda friends with benefits but I'm a hopeless romantic so when I was expecting a cute angry confession I got an angry sex....

5. I also love how they actually struggle with money lowkey because all the other book the characters were loaded with cash so that was a bit realistic yk

☆ Twisted Lies

1. Omg when I tell you this book was perfection I mean this book was perfection. It was like Ana huang took all the critics and molded this book into perfection. It was everything.

2. The way Christian was obsessed with her from the moment he saw her but never labelled it as love but just everything he did was wow. I will worship this man he's amazing.

3. Touch another man, he dies. Let another man touch you, he dies. Tell me I can't touch you...and I die. This had me in a chokehold I was like.....AAAAHHHHHHHHH

4. Also the way all the other 3 men just made fun of Christian and the scenes where all the characters were together was just really funny.

5. I love how Christian was always there for Stella and supported her ❤ like asjdhrkjdhsk

Overall all the books are amazing. These people live rent free in my head. But the fact that all of them got a happy ending and are successful and shit is like probably the fakest shit ever but then again it's books so eh. But on a real note photographer, queen, lawyer and fashion designer like are ya kidding me??? And the diversity their friend group has like Asian, European, American like wow. I have to say I'm not a huge fan of the smut in the book but then again that's just my personal opinion a lot of other people loved the smut tho so idk. And can we talk about how all of them have the prettiest names ever??! My most to least favorite book would be

Twisted lies

Twisted love

Twisted hate

Twisted games

My most favourite to least favourite twisted men would be

Christian harper

Rhys Larsen

Alex volkov

Josh chen ( his I lied thing just set me off)

My most favourite to least favourite twisted women would be

Ava chen

Jules ambrose

Stella Alonso

Bridget von ascheberg ( I don't like her being last but I love those three way more )

#books #highlighted #book review #booklr #book blog #book recommendations #twisted series #twisted love #twisted hate #twisted games #twisted lies #ana huang #alex and ava #christian and stella #josh and Jules #bridget and rhys

[ephemeral-phosphorescence]

Goblin Stairs,

A Hunger Games fanfic.

Very much inspired by Jackie French novels and the Australian tradition of writing about time going thin and rubbing against itself too much. Basically, the fabric of time rips when Lucy Grey runs away from Snow in the woods, and she accidentally isekais herself into post-mockingjay District 12.

Wordcount is 1,668

Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone.

Lucy-Grey’s mama had told her all about fairies. In songs she’d play to scare her little girl on the brightest moon-lit nights, or rhymes she’d laughingly chant as she sent the kids out to play. Fairies, she’d taught them, would take you away. You’d spend what felt like a few seconds with them and while you listened, time would grow thin. It would rub out in strange places, and you’d come back to find your family old and grey.

Of course, Lucy-Grey knew now that it was all just practical warnings. Don’t go off by yourself into the woods. Don’t talk to strangers. Especially don’t take food from strangers. And don’t go off with them, no matter how many beautiful visions they tempt you with. 

God, Lucy-Grey wish she’d listened. Maybe she wouldn’t be in this situation right now if she had. Deep in the woods by herself. Running from him. 

She’d thought he was a fairy, the first time she’d seen him. Standing on the dirty railway platform, in his pretty uniform and glowing golden hair. He sounded like a fairy too, speaking in that strange accent, Coriolanus Snow, every syllable crisp and sweet. And like all fairies that children found in the woods, he tempted her with a pathway home, tempting her with his trinkets. She’d thought maybe a fairy world wouldn’t be so bad, compared to where she was headed. Hoped for a fairy world even, grabbing that unnaturally perfect rose and slipping it into her mouth. 

“We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they fed

Their hungry thirsty roots?”

Lucy-Grey’s mother hadn’t believed in fairies, surely, but she’d once sounded so serious, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Don’t go off with fairies, my Lucy-Grey. You’ll not come home again if you do, not truly. Not once as it was.”

And as Lucy-Grey ran through the woods, listening to the mockingjays sing teasingly above her, trying to anticipate the direction of the bullets, she felt it. She felt time and air grow thin, like tissue paper. She felt it tear. Another rain of gunfire circled the trees, and she fell, forehead just missing the full impact of a jagged rock.  Her heart beat a thousand drum falls a minute, and in a terrified last ditch attempt, she tried circling back to the path up to twelve. Feeling her boots on the soft dirt, and choking back a sob, she gathered her skirts and almost ran into the stranger. 

Standing by the overgrown path, next to a blackberry bush, a basket of shimmering black fruits in her arm, she looked at Lucy-Grey with a puzzled demeanour. A coal miner, if the burn scars on her neck and hands were anything to go by, and the large leather jacket over her shoulders. 

Finally. Lucy-Grey thought viciously. A real fucking person.

“You’re out far” the woman commented lightly. 

“Please!” Lucy-Grey choked out all in a rush. “Please help me!”

The woman’s entire body changed, tensing up, and she poked her head around Lucy-Grey’s body. Her troubled eyes looking for the source of her distress. There was something about those eyes. Something Lucy-Grey recognised intimately. 

“Bear?” She asked distractedly. Lucy-Grey heard the sound of Coryo’s boots tramping through the grass, trashing the sticks and foliage underfoot. 

“No” She breathed out. “No, it’s my- my man, he went awful angry all of a sudden and he’s firing his gun and I don’t-“ she swallowed. 

In what felt like a whip snap, the woman crossed the distance between them, shielding Lucy Grey behind her back. And in the same moment, had the bow across her back, loaded and aimed in the direction Lucy-Grey came from. 

They waited for a second, the mockingjays chillingly quiet now. 

There was an angry, anguished scream from deep in the woods and the sound of bullet fire that caused them both to flinch. The woman shook her head and grabbed Lucy-Grey’s arm roughly. 

“Come on” she muttered and pulled her up the path in a rough sprint. 

They ran for what felt like hours, up the trail they both seemed to know well. Flying through the trees, their feet gliding over the grasses. And once they were a few hours out from the borders of district twelve, they both allowed themselves to slow, panting heavily. Lucy-Grey fished around in her pack, and pulled out a bottle of water. After taking a long sip, she passed it to the woman, who drank it gratefully. 

“You saved my life” she whispered gratefully. “Really, you did.”

“No trouble” the woman shook her head. “If you hadn’t warned me, I might have stepped into his line of fire. You’re almost a like a good luck charm.”

She felt like the furthest thing from a good-luck charm right now. She felt like a bad omen. Like she might accidentally be setting in motion a string of disastrous consequences for this woman, who’d probably just lead a simple, quiet life up until now, working in the mines and foraging on the days she had off. 

The woman looked at her, with a drawn, almost unreadable expression. 

“My name’s Katniss Everdeen, by the way. And I like your skirt.”

She continued up the path, motioning for the girl to follow behind her. 

“I’m Lucy-Grey Baird” she responded breathlessly. “And thank-you, I sewed this one myself.”

“You’ll have to teach me how to do that” Katniss responded. “It looks very achievable.”

And before Lucy-grey had time to respond to that, Katniss had pressed her lips together and a look of frustration crossed her face. 

“So, what happened” she continued brusquely. “Did you run off from Ten or somewhere?” 

“No” Lucy said, puzzled at the assumption. “No, we set off from twelve just this morning.”

“You’re from Twelve? Originally, or did you just get here? I mean after the war.”

“I’m Covey” she asserted. “Not from any district, but we had to settle here after the fighting stopped. My people should just be by the meadow.”

“Wonderful” Katniss responded. “I can drop you off there on the way back.” She turned around to look at her and then stopped. “Your head is bleeding.” 

Lucy-Grey put her hand up to her forehead, where she could feel a viscous liquid dripping into her eyes- true, but she’d thought it was sweat. Her fingertips came away red. 

“I tripped” she explained. But Katniss had already torn a section from her shirt, and had bundled it up to press on the wound. “It’s just a scratch, really.” 

“Really?” Katniss frowned. “You seeing okay? No dizziness? No nausea?” 

“Not yet” 

“Alright.” Katniss seemed happy with that, but made her press the fabric to the cut as they continued their way up the path. 

It shouldn’t be too long now, Lucy-grey thought, and despite all the troubles that awaited her, her heart couldn’t help but flutter in relief. 

“So, you went deep into the woods with your man, doing what exactly?” Katniss asked, now herding Lucy in front of her. “Hunting?”

“We were running away.”

“Ah.” And then, a second later. “Why?” 

Not quite sure how to explain all of the drama, especially to what seemed like a chronic recluse, Lucy-Grey finally just muttered. “The mayor is trying to kill me.” 

There was a deep moment of silence as Katniss took that in. She took a second to note a marker, that signalled they weren’t more than twenty minutes from the meadow now. 

“Okay, and you took a gun into the woods?”

“No” Lucy-Grey struggled. “We found the guns in the cabin, and he went off suddenly.” 

“You sure there’s no dizziness?” Katniss asked cautiously. “No, I don’t know . . . shininess?” 

“I’m sure” she answered patiently. 

“Look, I was just in that cabin before I ran into you. There were no guns there. And no signs anyone had been there beside me. It's like you both just appeared.” 

Lucy-Grey gritted her teeth, and continued walking in silence. Katniss let her, occasionally holding branches out of her way, and helping her over creeks and the like. Finally, they’d passed the last boundaries of trees and Lucy-Grey let herself sigh a relived breath. Until . . . 

There was a shininess. She deliberated on telling Katniss for a second, then deciding to it as a problem for Barb Azure. But the shininess, persisted, a web of silver stretching across the boundary. A line of fallen silver chain across the grass and a battalion of rusted poles that had certainly not been there before they left. 

“What.” She murmured confusedly. 

“Fence” Katniss supplied. “Almost there.” 

Lucy-grey felt her feet carry her forward without permission. Up onto the meadow, which should have been a haven of grass and flowers had been turned into a massive mound of dug-up dirt. And beyond that, only darkness. Bleak, black ground only sparsely populated by half-finished constructions. 

“What happened?” She almost whimpered, looking anywhere for a recognisable landmark. Katniss took her shoulders gently, looking into her eyes, looking for signs of a concussion. But she wasn’t addled. There had been something there before. Surely, surely, there had been. 

“Lucy-Grey” Katniss explained evenly. “It was bombed, during the war, do you remember? Bombed to nothing?” 

She twisted wildly out of the grip, refusing to hear it, desperate to understand it. Her mother’s voice came back to her, singing in a silly little tune. 

They stole little Bridget

For seven years long;

When she came down again

Her friends were all gone.

They took her lightly back,

Between the night and morrow,

They thought that she was fast asleep,

But she was dead with sorrow.

They have kept her ever since

Deep within the lake,

On a bed of flag-leaves,

Watching till she wake. 

Lucy-Grey turned around, and vomited neatly onto Katniss Everdeen’s boots. 

#the hunger games #thg #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #hunger games fanfiction #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas movie #katniss everdeen #lucy gray baird #the hunger games books #the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes book

[daechwitatamic]

Chapter 16: Worth It || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: What Was Hidden (Masterpost)

Rating: explicit, minors DNI pls

Genre: college!au, angst, eventual smut, strangers -> friends -> lovers -> idiots -> lovers

Pairings: Taehyung x female reader, MYG x OC

Summary:  This is how it all starts: Taehyung is flunking Western Lit. You’re assigned to tutor him. His paper on Strindberg’s The Ghost Sonata could pass or fail him for the semester. As you and Taehyung slowly become friends, then more, you learn that there’s a lot more to him than you originally assumed. Together, you navigate your own experiences with the play’s themes: one’s “true self” versus one’s “shown self”, darkness behind the facade, and how people can be quite literally haunted - and it has nothing to do with ghosts.

//

In which things finally come together.

Chapter Warnings: language, drinking, kissing, explicit sex including: breast play, fingering, unprotected sex with bc (this is fiction, your life is not), penetrative sex, bossy/dom-ish!tae but oc gives it right back, a teeeeeny little bit of dirty talk, one use of “good girl” oops, also the fic is over :(

Word Count: 4.5k

I saw the sun and thought I saw what was hidden The Ghost Sonata | Scene III August Strindberg

Chapter 16: Worth It

Sunday, April 15th

When Taehyung drops you off at your dorm building the next morning, you go inside quickly but lean against a wall once you’re out of his view. You need a minute by yourself before you have to answer to your roommates.

Something’s different with you and Taehyung this time; something’s different than it was even before, when things were good.

“We don’t need to say or do or decide anything,” he had told you, the covers still bunched over his head. “Right now, I’m happy. Let’s just be happy. There’s time for the rest later.”

You still feel like you’d both made some confessions last night, in the storm, wordlessly. You can’t shake the feeling that you’d somehow laid yourself bare, that you had no secrets left.

Maybe that’s what needed to happen.

You don’t know.

There’s time for that later. At least, that’s what Taehyung thinks.

When you slink into your dorm, half praying that everyone is asleep, you find both girls sitting on Kiko’s bed together, looking at you solemnly.

“That was extremely uncool of you,” Bridget says sternly, at the same time that Kiko says, “Are you okay?”

They look at each other in accusation; the united front seems to have crumbled into mixed messages.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” you say. You sit on your own bed, pick up a pillow and hug it to your chest like armor. “That was just… a lot.”

“You know Davis is full of shit, right?” Bridget asks. She looks at Kiko for back-up. Kiko nods vehemently. “Like, he’s just bitter and lashing out because that’s easier than facing the fact that he knows what he did to you was fucked up. He’s deflecting.”

You give her a flat stare. “The Psych classes are going good, huh?” you ask.

She rolls her eyes at you. “I want to hear you say that you know he’s wrong.”

You can’t do that, not if you’re being fully truthful. Maybe, with time. Maybe, with him, if you ever manage to salvage things completely. But you want to be off the hook, you want to move the conversation on, so you say, “I know he’s wrong.”

Kiko says, very businesslike, “I would like you to know that Davis took that punch like a bitch and boo-hooed like an infant afterwards.”

“He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes,” Bridget agrees.

“That warms my fucking heart,” you tell her. “God. Taehyung’s my hero. I wish someone had filmed it.”

“You really owe him,” Bridget agrees. “He was like, how dare you insult the love of my life, BAM!”

“He didn’t say that,” Kiko corrects quickly, before you can get any ideas.

“I don’t think I owe him anymore after last night,” you say coyly, fighting both a smirk and a blush.

Bridget screams. “Again?”

You laugh. “What do you mean again? The last time was almost a month ago! That was St. Patrick’s Day!”

When the girls are done interrogating you, you take a hot shower and get back in bed, needing a few hours to sleep. As you’re lazily scrolling through social media, getting comfy, you notice something with a jolt – Taehyung’s posts are back on your feed.

Tuesday, April 17th 

[8:42 AM] Taehyung: good morning 🙃

[8:42 AM] You: lol yes???

[8:44 AM] Taehyung: i have a proposition

[8:45 AM] You: i’m intrigued. hit me.

[8:46 AM] You: i mean, don’t HIT me, wanted to clarify since apparently u hit ppl sometimes

[8:47 AM] Taehyung: ……..

[8:47 AM] Taehyung: wow.

[8:48 AM] Taehyung: i am reconsidering my offer

[8:48 AM] You: lmao ok im sry

[8:49 AM] You: whats the offer

[8:50 AM] Taehyung: skip ur morning class and go get a waffle w me

–

Across the table, Taehyung hums happily as he pours syrup over his fluffy, steaming waffle. You stir your coffee absently while you wait for your turn.

“So…” you say, feeling a little awkward. “What’s the reason for the impromptu waffle outing?”

“Sometimes the craving just gets too strong,” he says seriously.

You level him with a look.

He laughs. “Okay, okay,” he says. “I thought… probably we should talk. I don’t want this to turn into a thing where we… y’know, do what we did over the weekend, but we aren’t even speaking. I don’t want that.”

“I don’t either,” you admit. 

“So, let’s talk then,” he says, like it’s so easy. “How have you been?”

You have two choices. You can hide your feelings, play it off, keep him at arm’s length the way you had been. 

Or… you can open up, tell him the truth, and maybe start forging a new way forward.

“Honestly?” you say. “It’s been kind of lonely. I lost you and Nina in the same week.”

He grimaces. “I’m sorry that went down with her. I know we… never got the chance to talk about it.”

You’re hit with another pang of guilt over how you treated him the night you found out about Nina.

“I’m really sorry about that night,” you whisper, eyes on the table. “I lost it, I wasn’t even myself. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“Thanks,” he says softly, like maybe he actually forgives you. “It was already a super fucked up situation, I can’t imagine adding on top that your best friend chose not to spare you any of it. Damn.” He shakes his head in disbelief. 

The reminder stings. “Chose not to spare me, chose to let it continue, chose to keep me looking fucking stupid -.”

“You’re not stupid,” he murmurs. Then, he asks, “Did you talk to her about it?”

“Yeah,” you say. “She just doubled down. She doesn’t think she made the wrong choice and I just… don’t care enough to try and make her think otherwise.”

You could end it there, move the conversation along. But it suddenly feels important that Taehyung knows the things you’ve been thinking about, the things you’ve chosen to work on.

“She said some stuff to me that’s really been on my mind,” you tell him. “In a weird way, it kind of put things into perspective for me.”

He waits, listening.

“She kind of said that I keep everybody out. Like, she’s been my best friend since elementary school and she literally told me she feels like she doesn’t know me. She said I did it to… him, and she suggested that I did it to you, too.”

A long silence stretches between you.

“I don’t think you kept me out,” Taehyung says thoughtfully. 

Hope blooms inside you - that maybe you’re not as fucked up as you felt, that maybe things between you two could be okay. 

“You don’t?” you ask.

“I mean…” he laughs a little. “I think you wanted to. I think that was the whole problem. But despite how hard you tried… I still think you let me in.”

Neither of you speak for a minute. 

“I’m glad… that I didn’t make you feel like that. It’s still something I’m going to keep working on.”

He gives you an understanding look. “I never felt like I didn’t know you. I knew you, even at the worst parts.”

Maybe it’s crossing a line, maybe you shouldn’t do it. But you reach across the table and take his fingers in yours, bruised knuckles and all.

He gives your hand a squeeze.

Saturday, April 21st

The weather finally seems to settle into spring, and the weekend boasts temperatures that give you a tiny tease of summer days. To celebrate being able to exist pleasantly outside, Seokjin and the guys throw together a last-second cook-out.

Taehyung asks if you’ll go, so you do. Simple.

You girls walk over midafternoon. You revel in it, being able to walk to the guys’ house in flip-flops, instead of bundled into a winter coat. You can’t believe you used to walk to and from the house at night during the winter. It’s a wonder no one ended up with pneumonia.

Everyone’s in the backyard when you get there. Well, almost everybody. You do a quick headcount.

“Where’s Seokjin?” you ask.

“He had to pick something up,” Taehyung tells you. He’s playing horseshoes with Jungkook at the edge of the yard. It appears, at a glance, that Jungkook is winning and Taehyung is endangering people’s lives. 

You and Kiko and Bridget head to the cooler by a picnic table and dig around through the beer selection. Yoongi seems to be getting the grill going, and Kiko floats that way to talk to him. Jimin comes over to the picnic table and sets up a bluetooth speaker, getting some music playing.

You and Bridget lay back in the grass - a safe distance from the horseshoe pits - vibing and chatting. Namjoon and Hoseok, along with a few people you haven’t met before, sit around near the picnic table, some in folding chairs, some on the grass. Jimin flits around, setting up, coming in and out of the house with bowls of chips.

“Why is no one helping him?” you ask. Bridget shrugs. You struggle to your feet and head up to the kitchen.

“Hey, need help?” you ask.

Jimin thinks, one hand on his hip. “I think I’m just done for now, until close to when the meat is cooked,” he thinks out loud. “You want to grab this case of soda? I’ll take one too and we can add them to the cooler.”

“No problem,” you tell him, doing as asked. 

As you bend over the cooler next to Jimin, you hear a car door shut out front. A minute later, Seokjin comes around the side of the house, a pretty girl in a sundress trailing behind him. 

“Hey,” he says, pausing by the big cluster of people in lawn chairs. “Everyone, this is Valeria. Valeria, everyone.”

“Oh, my God,” Taehyung says, dropping his horseshoe and coming closer. “Is she the coffee shop girl?”

“The one you never talked to?” Jimin adds.

Valeria flushes pink.

“I told you we talk!” Seokjin insists. 

“Wow. How long has this been a thing?” you ask.

They look at each other, the way new couples do when they need to get their timeline straight. 

“A few weeks?” Valeria guesses, and Seokjin nods his agreement.

The afternoon passes easily, especially once Yoongi is done grilling and you can all eat. But as the meal winds down, you all realize something alarming: you’re out of beer.

“Poor planning,” Yoongi chides teasingly. Jin elbows him in the ribs.

“I’ll go,” Taehyung offers. “I only had the one, and it was a while ago. What do we want, the same kind?”

You catch his eye and quirk an eyebrow at him. He makes a hey, why not face and shrugs. You get to your feet, silent conversation complete, and amble over to his side. 

Once the beer decision is made, Taehyung heads around the side of the house, fishing in his pocket for his car keys. You follow him, and for a second he’s silhouetted by the low-hanging sun, just an outline of the boy who sees you, knows you, loves you. He has given you so much openness, and honesty, left himself vulnerable for the pain you could bring even after you’d tried to warn him, even after you’d done it. 

You could go your whole life and never pay him back what you owe him for that. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. 

You wander through the store by his side, help carry a box back to the car. After he parks the car and starts heading for the front door, you call him back.

He turns, and you set the beer you were carrying down on the ground, walking up to him. He must see something in your face - determination, maybe, intent - so he does the same, watching you expectantly. 

“Taehyung… back in January when we were talking and you were telling me how you felt… I know you thought I wasn’t there.” Your breath catches, the confession stuck on your tongue. Taehyung looks at you openly, ready to hear you out. The breeze ruffles his wavy hair and he reaches up to move his bangs out of his eyes, not taking his gaze from you. Your shoulders sag a little with your next words - “But of course I was. Of course I loved you.”

His eyes widen, just slightly, his spine straightening. You push on, knowing it’s important, knowing he deserves to hear it.

“I just didn’t want to end up heartbroken again, didn’t want to spend my days trying to pretend I wasn’t hurting, didn’t want to be running into you on campus and feeling the need to avoid you…”

“And we ended up there anyway,” he says quietly.

You open your hands, agreeing. “We ended up there anyway. So what fucking good did it do? What did I push you away for?”

Taehyung is looking at you with a funny look on his face, like he’s figured something out. “You said loved,” he says, tone somewhere between suspicion and accusation.

“What?”

“You said of course you loved me.”

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t do that.”

“You loved me?”

“Taehyung.”

“So, what, did you stop?” he asks. His voice breaks on the last word.

“Taehyung,” you say again.

“What?” he snaps, but he’s not mad, he’s coming closer, pulling you into his arms.

“Don’t,” you whisper. 

He places a hand on your heart, feels it racing beneath his touch. “Why are you so scared?” he asks you in a whisper.

“You know why,” you say flatly. 

“What’s the worst that can happen?” he challenges.

“You know that too,” you protest. 

You’re both silent for a minute. Taehyung lets go of you and starts to reach for his case of beer, something resigned settling in on his face.

“Wait,” you say quickly. You already fucked this up once; you can’t play these games if you want to keep him. And you do, you really do. 

“I don’t know why you’re giving me such a hard time about it,” you tell him, letting a little pout into your voice. “You know already.”

He raises one eyebrow. “What do I know, exactly?”

You shake your head. “That I love you. That I’ve loved you since Strindberg.”

Taehyung’s smile is lightning quick. He clutches his chest dramatically, closing his eyes as if in pain. “Since Strindberg!” he echoes.

“Taehyung!” you scold, but you’re laughing at his antics. “Could you not tease me right now?”

He laughs, then leans down to kiss you sweetly. 

“Come on,” he says, once he’s let you go. He reaches down to pick up the case of beer he’d brought, and you follow him into the house. He goes straight through to the back deck, placing the box down. “Beer delivery!” he calls. Everyone out in the yard pretends to cheer.

You start to head towards the wooden steps, but Taehyung tugs you back. He turns you gently, hands finding your waist.

“Say it again,” he breathes, snaking his arms around your waist.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Say what?”

“Baby,” he whines, pouting. Oh. His giveaway. 

You kiss his lips sweetly, lightly, just barely. “I love you, Taehyung,” you whisper against his mouth. 

His lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “Let’s go inside.”

You look down at the yard full of people - your friends. “Won’t we be missed?”

He smirks at you. “We’ll be back soon.”

“My heart just went pitter-pat,” you deadpan, and he laughs. 

“If you’re actually with me now, I guess you better get used to that,” he teases as you head through the kitchen and into the living room. You expect him to lead you upstairs, but he heads for the basement steps instead. 

At the bottom, he pauses, tapping on his phone. You lean over his arm. He’s sent a groupchat a message that reads, “no one come downstairs pls 🙃”. Your eyebrows raise.

“Does that actually work?” you ask. He’s already received back two thumbs-up emojis, and someone is typing.

He looks at you, incredulous. “Of course it does! It’s bro code! We very much do not want to see each other in action, I promise you.”

He sits you on the edge of the table that’s usually reserved for beer pong. Thankfully, they seem to clean it off pretty well, and it’s not sticky beneath you.

He tugs you to the edge of the table, snug between your legs and leans you backwards with a kiss. You hold yourself up with one hand, play with the hair at the nape of his neck with the other. 

“You look cute in these,” he murmurs, smoothing a hand down the tops of your thighs, indicating the white capris you wore for the cook-out. “Summery.”

“Thank you,” you smile. 

“Let’s get rid of them,” he says, and you laugh again. 

“You’re smooth today,” you tell him.

“Let me show you how smooth,” he says with a smirk. He gives your legs another insistent tug, getting himself well and truly snug against you, pressing his hips against yours insistently as he kisses you again. 

You hold the back of his neck, your other hand tugging on the hem of his shirt, trying to gather up the material so you can pull it off. But Taehyung makes an unhappy noise in his throat and you freeze, leaning back to look at him.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

He rests his forehead on yours and lets out a frustrated huff. “You’re going to make fun of me,” he tells you.

This makes you giggle in advance. “Okay, consider me warned.”

“I really wanted to do this here,” he says, one hand flat on the table. “But now you’ve got me all… gooey.”

“Gooey?” you repeat, another giggle bubbling up.

He cuts his eyes at you, but his lips twitch. “Now I want to lay down with you,” he pouts. He’s so fucking adorable. 

“Well,” you say breezily, “let’s go upstairs, then.” 

“Okay,” he says, happy, and lifts you right off the table. You squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck, clinging to him like a spider monkey. 

Laughing, he heads for the steps.

“Be careful!” you tell him, as he makes his way up from the basement. He sets you down on the landing so you can go the rest of the way like normal people, which you do, still giggling.

Upstairs, you both undress in a hurry, and then Taehyung does as promised - stretches his bare body along yours, captures your mouth in a kiss, runs his hands up and down your body. His touch is reverent, glorifying. You shiver and prickle in wake of his ghosting fingertips, your body warming and loosening with his touch.

“I love your body,” he whispers, “just in case I haven’t made that very evident.”

“Medium-evident,” you murmur, gripping his back to pull yourself as flush against him as you can. 

He makes an appreciative noise in his throat; over your continuation of one of his goofy jokes or the pressure of your body against his, you’re not sure. Maybe both. Taehyung is the type of guy who can multitask.

“Let me make it more evident then,” he says, rolling over a bit and running his hand down the flat of your belly before dipping between your thighs. He hums happily when he finds you ready.

He works you slowly, pumping first one and then two fingers in and out of you, listening to the hums and happy sighs you make. Half of you wants him to pick up the speed a little - this is the half that has you squirming to meet each movement, trying to force the issue on your own - but half of you is enjoying the sensation as he strokes, twists, and scissors his digits inside you. You lose it, moaning out loud, when he leans over and takes a nipple between his lips, his fingers continuing their slow and steady torture.

He suckles it for just a second, eliciting a low rumble from your chest, then begins switching between hard flicks and flat swipes of his tongue. You whine, squirming - he’s doing to your chest what you want him to do to your clit, and you want his fingers harder and faster and he seems determined to make you wait. 

Suddenly, he worries the nub - gently, carefully - between his teeth and you squeal. The sensation is sharp and alarming but it’s also amazing, sending waves of warmth and excitement down your arms. He releases you, smiling, and whispers, “Shhh.”

“Tae,” you whine, practically complaining. You need more. He’s killing you.

He ignores this, switching sides to give your other nipple some attention. You close your eyes, groaning - both in frustration and pleasure. He still hasn’t touched your clit and it’s throbbing in need of friction. Then he’s speaking to you, mouth still so close to your nipple that each syllable sends more jolts down your spine as his lips and teeth continue to tease.

“Can you take three?” he asks, thumb finally - finally - nestling next to your clit and starting slow, patient circles.

You groan in answer, in relief, in delight. You can barely keep your eyes open against the onslaught on sensations. 

“Answer me,” he says firmly, voice still low, not quite the growl you can’t wait for him to employ. Fuck, you love when he’s bossy in bed. 

“Yes, I can take it,” you murmur. You let out an open-mouthed, guttural sound as he adds a third finger, the stretch both stinging and divine.

“Good girl,” he tells you on a breath, less than a whisper. You can hear as well as feel your body react to this, his movements suddenly squelching profanely, and it makes you almost laugh. He snuffs the laugh like the flame of a match when he continues, whispering, “Have to get you really ready. I’m not taking it easy on you today.”

“God,” you groan. “Fuck, yes. Please, Taehyung, I’m ready, I promise -.” 

You’re babbling, desperate. You’re aware, somewhat absently, that you haven’t even touched him yet, but you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, his tip leaking just enough that you can feel the wet little circle on your skin where it’s resting. 

“Mmm,” he considers, pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp as his three fingers plunge into you again. “Was gonna make you wait more, but if you’re gonna beg so nice, I just might have to give you what you want.”

“I’m about four seconds from flipping you over and sitting on it,” you growl, suddenly out of patience. “Please.”

His dick jumps against your leg at this, and he laughs once at his own reaction. “Fuck, I’d like that,” he admits. 

“Hurry up,” you tell him sternly. Now who’s being bossy?

He laughs again, quietly, but he’s shifting. “You’re so hot,” he tells you, as he removes his fingers slowly, reaching sideways to wipe them off on the sheets. “I fucking love it.” He rolls over top of you, leaning up to kiss you again. His tongue strokes and circles yours as he grinds against the slick mess between your legs. You both moan at the contact, the sound swallowed by the kiss. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth and worry it with your teeth. You feel his breath hitch, watch his eyes flutter closed.

Then, no warning, he’s pressing your legs together, guiding your knees to one side, and pushing inside you, bottoming out. 

“Jesus,” he moans. “It’s so good every time - I always manage to forget how good -.” And then he’s setting a sharp, quick pace.

“Yes, god,” you echo, practically delirious with need, your entire body alight and singing as it finally gets what it wants. 

He can only do this for so long before he’s nudging the knee he had pushed to the side and opening your legs again, settling between them, leaning up your body to kiss you again. He begins pistoning into you and you clutch him tightly, letting your nails graze the tight skin across his shoulder blades. He groans into your neck at the sensation, hips smacking flat into yours with each thrust. 

“Tae - ah, shit -,” you cry, back arching under his touch. You reach up for his face, laying a palm against his cheek, thumb stroking his jaw. He leans into the touch, turning his face slightly to kiss your fingers. You hook your heels behind his thighs, trying to drive him in deeper, trying to take him closer. Your eyes roll back and your fingers scrabble at the sheets, trying to find something to hold. You’re close, you’re so close, you can feel the simmer, something just needs to tip you over the edge -

“Fuck,” he growls, lowering himself so his face is next to yours. “Gonna come for me?” That’s all it takes - you’re whining deep in your throat, eyes squeezed shut, pulsing and clenching around him, fists tight and toes curling. As it fades and your muscles relax again, you can tell he’s close - his rhythm starting to jump a little, his breathing growing labored. “Christ. Baby.”

He comes quietly this time, his breath hissing between his teeth, his forehead pressing hard into your neck as his hips slow, then still completely.

He slips out of you but wraps his arms around you so you can’t roll away. Face still buried in your neck, he whispers, “Shit, you’re amazing.”

–

Later, after you’ve rebrushed your hair, gotten dressed, and rejoined the group out back, you and Taehyung stand together on the deck overlooking the yard. Seokjin is in a camping chair, Valeria perched on his lap, her head thrown back in laughter at something Bridget is saying. Yoongi and Kiko sit on the grass nearby, both cross-legged, heads bent together as they talk. Jungkook, Jimin, and Hoseok stand in a lopsided triangle, throwing a frisbee around. Namjoon busies himself at the cooler, digging around the bottom for whatever he’s looking for. 

You feel so full of love for all of them, even the ones you don’t know well like Namjoon, even the ones you’ve just met, like Valeria. You feel peace, belonging. It’s the first time in a while.

“So,” Taehyung says, looking down at you sideways. “Are we doing this? You’re gonna be my girl, for real?”

You decide to tease him a little. “Only if you say it back,” you say, letting your lips pout just a bit. “You didn’t, before.”

He laughs. “Okay,” he says. “Watch and see how easy this is.” He turns to face you, his eyes on yours, twinkling. “I love you, Y/N. I love you so much it makes me stupid. I love you, and I think you’re so fucking smart, and so fucking beautiful, and so fucking worth it. For the record.” 

You don’t even care that everyone in the yard can see you. You get on your tippy-toes and shut him up with a kiss before he can say anything else and ruin the most perfect thing he’s ever said in his life. His arms come around you and he bends you backwards just a touch. 

So fucking worth it.

You know he is worth it - worth every risk, worth every hurt, worth every effort; you know you’ll try for as long as you're able to never let him wonder for a single second if it’s true.

It's ovaaaa!

Thank you so much for being here, especially to those who showed up every chapter with a like, reply, dm, ask, or reblog! I appreciate you more than I can say.

A final thank you to my absolute love Pauli for putting up with my bullshit on the daily and also for beta-ing!!

#taehyung x reader #dailydaegu #taehyung smut #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #s2l #taehyung angst #college au #f2l #bts fanfic #bts fic #fic: what was hidden #bts x reader

[babbygirlblues]

Is there a Wentworth fandom here? I found these two on youtube so now I'm watching the series & taking out my obsession on my keyboard, so if you're interested, here's what I'm writing!

Intro to Franky & Bridget is probably best done with this clip. Highly recommend it, it's what drew me in. Although if you want to start at the start there's a nice playlist here.

Letting Ya Down

Summary: Franky's hates feeling like she’s letting Bridget down.

Warnings: Smut! Tribbing/Scissoring. 1.5k

18+ MINORS DNI

“What’s going on, baby?” Bridget slides closer on the couch. Her face is lit up by the TV, a glaring distraction that doesn’t seem to be doing it’s job for either of them.

Franky’s gaze seems to bore through the TV and into the wall behind it. Her mind is clearly elsewhere and Bridget can practically feel the anxiety vibrating off her.

“Hmm?” Franky turns her head on the cushion, squishing her cheek into the pillow so she can look at Bridget.

Bridget’s gaze is as open and honest as always. The older woman's hand reaches out and she runs gentle fingers through Franky’s dark hair, brushing her eye’s clear so she can’t hide behind the cascading shadows. 

Franky’s eyes close at the feeling of Bridget's fingers at her crown and she shrugs sluggishly, “Nothin’.”

A weak smile plays on her lips and slowly grows into a real grin at the concerned way Bridget fidgets at her hair. Bridget's hand drops from her forehead and she tugs teasingly on Franky’s ear, soothing the lob between her thumb and pointer finger with soft circles. 

“Are you sure?” Bridget mumbles, the tv seems quieter although neither have touched the remote. Franky’s head spirals with the ways she could tell Bridget the truth. 

“Mmhmm…” Franky ducks her head further into Bridget's hand until she cups her cheek in a warm palm. 

“Talk to me?” Bridget pleads, but she’s ready to let it go if Franky isn’t ready to say what’s on her mind.

Franky crawls the short distance to Bridget’s lap and shuffles herself into her side, digging her face into the crook of the woman's neck.

“I think I’m going to be fired.” She blurts out, her breath blowing against the warm skin of Bridget’s neck.

Bridget moves back, shocked and almost knocks Franky off her chest, “What?” 

Franky whines softly and the sound makes Bridge quickly pull her back into her arms. 

“A client started asking about the show today,” Frankie says, “I could tell the guys at work weren’t happy with the questions, they knew something.”

“Oh, honey.” Bridget murmurs.

Franky sniffles and a wet droplet falls down Bridget’s throat. 

“I’m so fucking sick of letting you down.” She sighs, her lip curling in and she clamps down hard between her teeth.

“No, baby.” Bridget runs wide circles over Franky’s back, the sweater over her shoulder trembling. “No.”

Franky murmurs quietly.

“You’re not letting me down.” Bridget whispers. 

Franky shakes her head, “I am.”

“No, you’re not.” Bridget says louder and with a pointed ferocity, it knocks Franky off her course for a second. 

“You could never let me down.” Bridget whispers. Her lips press confidently to Franky’s forehead in a simple kiss and she continues to place pecks down her nose and over her sharp cheekbones. When she reaches Franky’s lips her press is hot and heavy, and Franky meets her desperately in a fierce open mouthed kiss. 

She tips Bridget backwards with a strong grip on the backs of her knees forcing her to fall back into the thick pillowy couch.

“Franky,” Bridget gasps.

Franky rips the band of Bridget’s track pants over her hips and it slips easily over the swell of her ass. She loops two fingers in her underwear and slides the thin material off Bridget's legs and over her ankles.

Bridget chuckles lightly when Franky ducks back up to her mouth to press a kiss to her lips. 

Bracketed between Franky’s strong arms, Bridget squirms as her inner thighs are ripped apart and Franky digs room for herself between Bridget’s legs. Franky’s fingers are demanding and they spread Bridget’s pussy easily, the swollen, wet folds parting and begging for Franky’s touch. 

She starts with teasing light circles of Bridget's clit, forcing warmth into her core and tendrils of white heat to smother the bones in her spine and chest. 

Franky sinks the first finger into welcoming walls and Bridget squeezes her tight as ever at the first penetration. She doesn’t slow down, the dark echo in the back of her mind tells her that this is all she’s good for. Bridget deserves to feel good, she doesn’t deserve the shit Franky puts her through, she could do so much better.

Her ring finger joins the middle and she drives hard into Bridget's cunt, searching for the spot that makes her breathlessly moan Franky’s name.

She finds it and digs into it brutally. Bridget whimpers uncontrollably, feminine and vulnerable, as pleasure shoots up her core. 

“F-Franky, baby, oh, oh, fuck!” 

The gravely sound makes Franky wild and she quickly ups her pace, adding a third finger and pistolling her arm until it aches. 

“Franky!” Bridget moans, “Oh god, please.”

Sweat peaks on Franky’s forehead and her forehead furrows in concentration. She’s determined to make it up to Bridget.

The older woman’s eyes are hazy, but she searches Franky’s face and is heartbroken to find her so serious. Franky has a tendency to ‘perform’ and despite the pleasure Franky inflicts, it’s tainted by knowledge that she’s not enjoying it like Bridget is.

Bridget’s hands drop to the crook of Franky’s elbow, slowing her down and creating some distance between their heated bodies.

“What’s wrong?” Franky whispers.

“Pants,” Bridget sighs, “Pants, Franky.”

The blonde tugs pleadingly on the material of Franky's shorts. Franky groans as she roughly grabs the material and pulls it down her legs. Her underwear follows quickly after thanks to Bridget who carefully caresses her skin under the waistband, using her palms to drag it down to Franky’s calves. It draws Franky from her mind for a second, the soothing press of Bridget's hands over her thighs immediately makes her core throb.

“Better?” Franky huffs.

“Hmm,” Bridget hums, “Come here,”

Franky hovers over her, confused as Bridget guides one leg over the woman's waist and positions her hips directly above her pelvis with two hands on Franky’s hip bones. 

“Come here,” Bridget insists with a gentle whisper.

She pulls Franky’s hips down until her cunt drags along Bridgets and she gasps softly.

“F-fuck, Gidge.” Franky whimpers. “What the fuck?”

Bridget’s jaw has dropped, her lips gaping open as she feels Franky’s wet heat sinking onto her own. Franky is enamoured with the sight of Bridget completely incapacitated on the couch, her finger nails claw desperately into Franky’s hip bones and her flushed skin from her chest to her cunt is all bare for Franky’s eyes to see.

Their skin presses together and Franky slowly works up the confidence to rock her pelvis along Bridget’s slit. 

“That’s it,” Bridget murmurs, “Good girl,” She drawls. 

Franky slumps forwards, her hands slamming down into the couch above Bridget’s head, getting a better angle with her hips. Her legs start to shake with the effort of keeping herself tamed and gentle against Bridget. 

Both of them keep panting, breaths deep and heavy. Franky’s hair curtains over her face, clinging to the damp skin of her neck and face and back. 

“Gidge,” She whimpers, the syllables getting caught in her throat and crackling out with her breath. 

Bridget’s hands arch in warm circles from the start of Franky’s ass up to her shoulder blades until Franky drops into a rough, testing thrust against Bridget and her hands scramble to Franky’s ass. She grips both cheeks in each hand and squeezes Franky in her palms, encouraging another harsh movement against her.

Bridget’s breathing gets faster and heavier as her hip keeps rutting up and she catches the perfect place against Franky’s clit. 

“Gidge,” Franky moans her voice rising from gravel to a high pitched whimper, “Fuck, oh, oh, oh, fuck!”

Fanky’s movements start to become less controlled, the inelegance of them makes Bridget swoon. Her body rocks under the hammering pace of Franky’s hips and she rises to the challenge of meeting them. 

Bridget pinches her eyes tightly closed, starving off the creeping orgasm she can feel is about to hit her like a train. Franky’s panting, moaning lips above her keep tipping her closer to the edge but she wants to wait. She always craves Franky’s orgasm first, Franky comes first.

The raven-haired woman starts to shudder, Bridget watches smitten by the pleasurable expression that captured Franky’s face. Her strong hands keep guiding Franky’s ass, helping her rock steadily against Bridget and she thrusts her own hips up to meet Franky’s cunt as she breaks. 

“G-gidge, I-” She fumbles around the words caught in her throat, “Nnggh.”

It’s enough to make Bridget fall, her own movement turning sloppy as she frantically searches for Franky’s sex, craving as much ferocity against her clit as possible.

Franky, as observant as ever, pumps down into Bridget's core with the last of her energy. 

“Franky, shit,” Bridget moans, “Oh, baby.”

Bridget’s chest drops back down as she starts to calm and settle into the cushion. Franky follows her down, digging her face into the crux of Bridget's neck when the woman’s hands sweep back up her back and she tangles fingers in Franky’s dark locks. Her fingertips massage gently into Franky’s skull and eventually the younger woman's breathing evens out.

“Franky?” Bridget whispers, unable to tell if she’s fallen asleep, “Baby?”

Franky only nuzzles herself deeper into Bridget's neck, the simple response says everything and it draws a soft smile onto Bridget’s face.

~~~

#franky x bridget #franky doyle x bridget westfall #franky doyle #bridget westfall #frankie and bridget #franky and bridget #frankie x bridget #wentworth #wlw #writing

[georgi-girl]

Babble: Track Nine

(author's note before we go any further; you should know I imagine Zodiac to be voiced by Hazel Duope

Name it, Rate it, Tune it, Print it,

Scan it, Send it, Fax-Rename it.

Touch it, Bring it, Pay it, Watch it,

Turn it, Leave it, Stop-Format it.

Technologic... Technologic... Technologic... Technologic.

@@@@

In the morning light, the glamour making the Bergens look human faded away. They passed out in the snow, and were encased in a stone shell.

Tone stuck her arm out. Exposure to sunlight caused scabs to form all over. She retracted her hand, and the scabs evaporated.

“Fascinating.” Zodiac said.

@@@@

Riley looked Species up and down.

"So, are you still Russel?"

"Oh yeah for sure for sure. I'm other people too but I'm also me. I remember Migul my boyfriend. I remember you Riley. You're emotions can talk. And you..." He looked at Tone. "I don't remember you."

Miguel introduced them. “Species meet Tone. Tone meet Species. Tone was experimented on like you and now she has trolls... possessing her, I guess. But not in a creepy way."

Species looked Tone up and down just like Riley did with him. “Uh, nice hair.”

Tone pressed a hand to her heart, deeply touched. “Thank youuuuu!”

The Species saw Zodiac, and was immediately intrigued.

“Are you that glowing person we saw outside?” he asked eagerly.

“Uh, maybe?” Zodiac answered unsurely.

“Cool.” Species smiled at them starry-eyed.

After taking some time to relax and regroup. Everyone sat in the rec room. Bridget told the story as she knew it.

Chef had been banished from the Bergen kingdom. But twenty years later, she came back. She said met someone who could help them be happy again. A spirit named Pitch Black. A great shadow filled the town like a flood, and all the Bergens sank into it, waking up in a new world with new appearances and new jobs.

"This isn't my real face." Bridjet mentioned, "This is a special kind of magic called Glamour. My real face... isn't that pretty."

They needed a vessel to channel the troll essence to them. While looking for one, they practice merging people from other worlds into willing volunteers. The most viable subjects were the dimensions native humans. Species was a prototype.

Renee had been in an accident and her family was desperate. They performed a ritual on her to summon as many trolls as possible into her body.

"So, they're actually, physically inside her?" Riley asked.

"I don't know how it works." Bridjet admitted.

Riley looked at Tone, remembering the meetings between her emotions and the different trolls. She wondered if they were aware of the world outside her mind, listening to Bridget speak. She wondered if they were angry.

@@@@

Species was asked more about how the animals were merged into him. As Russel, he remembered being prepped for an operation, as for the animals...

On the way to the gala, Professor Rupert Marmaled had the limo pull over next to some ruins by the crater. He said he had something to show them.

There was a mural showing a black silhouette of a man. Marmalade lit a black candle. Mr. Wolf wondered if this was some kind of memorial.

Rupert shouted out; “Great King of Nightmares! I offer you this sacrifice!”

“What are you…hgk!” Wolf was impaled by a long black harpoon that dragged him to the wall. More spikes impaled Mr. Shark and Mr. Piraña. Mr. Snake freaked and tried to leave, but the professors’ butler grabbed him and held him up. A black tentacle grabbed him and another grabbed Miss Tarantula. They were sucked in as Diane Foxinton called out.

“Professor! Mr. Wolf! What are you doing parked over…” she froze once she came into view and saw what was happening.

“Her too!” Rupert yelled pointing at her. One more harpoon took her.

That was all the bad guys remembered. Rupert and his butler Cuddles calmly walked into the painting. 

@@@@

"Next thing we know, I wake up in a sterile bedroom with six new sets of memories and a bunch of carnivore instincts."

Everyone sat in a circle on the floor, engrossed in Species' story.

"Whoa..." Miguel whispered.

"Yeah. After that, they wouldn't let me leave my room, and I had to get blood tests all the time. No thank you! Got out of there as soon as I could. He turned to Miguel; "That's when I sent that message to you. Been living on the lam ever since."

"All by yourself?"

"Not quite all by myself. I had Dante of course. And after a while, I had..."

He suddenly stood up in shock. "OMYGOSH I left Jack outside!"

He speed-walked to the nearest window. The others asked him who Jack was.

"Okay," he said, opening the window, "You've all seen proof of magic and monsters. So, you're probably up for believing in some weird stuff right?"

"Yes" said Tone. "Yeah sure" said Riley. "Of course" said Miguel.

"So if I were to tell you that Jack Frost helped me escape, you'd believe me right?"

"Jack Frost?" Tone cocked her head. "The man from the poem?"

"I'm from a lot more than just that!" came a voice from outside. Up floated a young barefoot man with white hair, a dark blue hoodie, brown trousers, and carrying a crooked Shepards' staff. He entered the room in a breeze full of glowing snowflakes. He landed gracefully on the floor as everyone gazed at him.

"So... Safe to say you can all see me?"

@@@@

They spent the day exploring the archives.

According to Renee's file, she was from New Hampshire. Diagnosed with Autism at age two. Back in August, she was hit by a car while grocery shopping. It was right near her home, she went there all the time. She should have been safe... Riley became overwhelmed. Her emotions ran around headquarters, freaking out.

@@@@

Renne took out the tiny lyre. As an experiment, she plucked the blue string.

Riley heard a funny electric warbling behind her and turned around. A blue-skinned fish man floated in front of her. She watched him in awe.

"How are you doing that?"

"It's hard to explain. Same way you're doing that I guess." He pointed to Riley's emotions, sitting on her shoulders.

Disgust, slid down Riley's arm and studied the new Aspect, grinning. "Awesome."

“What else you got?” Miguel asked.

“What else you need?” The Techno Aspect said smugly.

Zodiac pounded the Techno Aspect with questions.

“Are they stronger than regular hair?”

“Can you use your own hair?”

“Do they make any song magic?”

Then Species chimed in.

“What happens if you lick one?”

They all looked at him in confusion.

#crossover #fanfiction #au #inside out #coco #up #loop #gravity falls #rise of the guardians #the bad guys movie #dreamworks trolls #trolls world tour #guardians of childhood #technologic song #daft punk #this is badly written but i'm posting it anyway #new resolution #post two chapters every month until i finish this #babble

[littleperilstories]

Fen & Freddie: Wherever You Find Love, It Feels Like Christmas

Warnings: a few references to the events of Whumptober's Fen & Freddie, like Fredde's hand getting impaled and Fen being kidnapped and tortured; difficult parental relationship; lying about going to therapy; implied ptsd; weird government shenanigans/getting a tracking implant. honestly it's not really whumpy unless you count Bridget angsting all over the place.

Less serious warning: I wrote this pretty fast and didn't do a whole lot of editing. I've no doubt there are typos and bad sentences. 😂 Enjoy!

Fen & Freddie Masterlist

Word count: 3543 || Approx reading time: 14 mins

Teaser: Bridget hadn’t always hated the holiday season. No, this was a relatively recent phenomenon, born last year—an awful Christmas, the worst she’d ever had and would ever have, she was certain. The one that fell only a month and a half after Fen and her boyfriend got out of the hospital, still trying to recover from everything Kain Brockhurst had done to them.

Bridget pressed her face into the steering wheel, groaning into the metal logo in its centre. The metal letters dug into her forehead, cool and sharp.

Get me off this highway.

Of course she was here, of all places. Of course she was living out the second-worst of holiday clichés: being stuck in gridlocked traffic, crawling along a four-lane highway at a snail’s pace, with no relief or accessible off-ramps in sight.

The only thing she could see to be grateful for was that it wasn’t snowing.

Wailing in frustration as the radio blared the fourth rendition of “Winter Wonderland” she’d heard in her hour-and-a-half -and-still-counting drive, she turned the volume to its lowest level and felt around on the cluttered passenger seat for her phone. Using the device while driving was, of course, illegal, but the car barely counted as “in motion,” and if she had to listen to one more a capella, glee-club style cover of a Christmas song, she was going to purposely ram her car into the one in front of her.

Once her blissfully un-festive playlist was blasting through the speakers, Bridget heaved a sigh of relief.

She hadn’t always hated the holiday season. No, this was a relatively recent phenomenon, born last year—an awful Christmas, the worst she’d ever had and would ever have, she was certain. The one that fell only a month and a half after Fen and her boyfriend got out of the hospital, still trying to recover from everything Kain Brockhurst had done to them.

Fen, her gorgeous, sweet, kind-hearted, innocent sister.

Freddie, the adorable if dopey love-struck idiot who’d gone running after her and nearly died for his courage.

Bridget could only assume last Christmas had been more of a nightmare for them than it had been for her, but she couldn’t know for sure. How would she? Her mother had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t welcome in their house for the holiday. Or, in fact, any other day.

Bridget had been entirely prepared for another Christmas alone—no Fen, no Starr, no nothing—but this year, her sister had intervened.

You’re coming for dinner on the 25th, read a text that had lit up Bridget’s phone only a week ago. No ifs, ands, or buts. Bring cookies.

The message and its unspoken implication—I talked to Mom, and she said it’s okay for you to be here—had sent Bridget spiralling into sobs for a good half an hour. She’d been straight-up ugly crying: wailing sobs, face buried in a pillow, nose streaming in a slimy, hideous mess.

Now Bridget glanced at the stack of cookie boxes piled precariously on the back seat, emotions in check, at least for now. She’d meant to bake some treats from scratch, she really had. But that had been before the last-minute plans that had transpired in the days after Fen’s text. A secret encrypted message arrived in her email with a time and place,and she’d enjoyed a few days away from home with the friends who meant the most to her. Then, though, there had been the subsequent phone call from her federal agent, Donna, that resulted in a non-negotiable, unskippable appointment downtown. “I know it’s Christmas. And I don’t care. You missed a check-in, Bridget. You knew what the deal was, and you broke it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Bridget’s gaze roamed from the baked goods to the fresh scar on her wrist, barely an inch long, and her stomach contracted.

Well, so what if Donna and the feds could always keep tabs on her, know where she was, for the rest of her life? They were already doing that, anyway. The little procedure yesterday had just made it more official.

But seeing Starr and Jeff for the first time in months had been worth it.

And being back at her parents’ house, seeing Fen smiling and happy and whole, that would be worth it, too. Worth the diabolical traffic, the trek across town—to multiple supermarkets—to buy cookies, the thirty-minute-plus waits in line.

And whatever frosty glare her mom threw at her from across the room, or whatever argument born of blame and bitterness she started over the dinner table—the number one winner for terrible Christmas clichés—seeing Fen smile would be worth that, too.

~~~

Darkness already blanketed the street when Bridget pulled into the driveway behind her mom’s grey SUV. She sucked in a breath as she stepped out, stretching her cramped muscles, and stole a glance toward the yellow glow seeping from behind the curtains. Was everyone already inside and waiting for her? What was the reaction going to be like once she walked through the door? Fen and her dad, she usually saw about once a month. Freddie, only in the pictures Fen posted online. Her mom…

The incision spot on her wrist twinged in protest as she rubbed it nervously. What was she afraid of? What was the worst her mom could do to her? If anyone hurled a turkey leg or a gravy boat at her, what did it matter? One, she’d heal the bump or burn away in no time. Two, she deserved it.

Balancing the mountain of cookie boxes in her arms, Bridget dragged her feet up to the front door and hesitated. Moment of truth…

Before she could knock, Fen whipped the door open.

“You made it!”

Suddenly, Bridget was inside the foyer, her arms were relieved of their burden of baked goods, and Fen was wrapping her in a hug.

“Yeah!” Bridget cringed. She’d meant to sound bright and enthusiastic. Instead, the word came out sounding like she had a severe stomachache and desperately needed the bathroom.

Whispering in her ear, Fen said, “I know you’d still be standing out there if I hadn’t opened the door. Don’t be nervous. It’s gonna be fine.”

The reassurance did not quite have its intended effect; it made Bridget want to throw up. How utterly backwards it seemed for Fen to be comforting her.

“Okay.” Needing to change the subject, Bridget inspected her sister once they’d pulled apart. “You look nice.”

Fen grinned. “I found the sweater secondhand with the tags still on! Can you believe it?” She did a twirl to show off her outfit. She’d gone for an understated Christmas look: a deep, pine-green knit sweater with gold sequined details; a pair of skinny jeans she’d had since high school and which, infuriatingly, still looked incredible; gold stud earrings; and a satin headband printed with gingerbread houses. Bridget was keenly aware of, and a little embarrassed by, the baggy Christmas sweater, patterned with faded candy canes and reindeer, that she’d dug out of a box under her bed that morning before she hit the road. No amount of fabric freshener had been able to quite banish the musty smell clinging to the wool.

“I feel a little underdressed.” A flush crept into her cheeks as soon as the words left her mouth. Had she really said that? Was that really what she was going to complain about? What was wrong with her?

“Don’t be silly.” Fen rolled her eyes. “Freddie matches you. He’s wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, too.”

As if on cue, a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. “Hi, Bridget. M-Merry Christmas.”

Well, there was no enthusiasm in Freddie’s tone. His green eyes were serious. But there didn’t seem to be much bitterness in his face, either. And while the smile he gave her was small—it was still a smile.

It was ridiculous how happy Bridget was to see the enormous snowman splashed across his chest. A stupid amount of relief that she wasn’t the only one wearing a goofy sweater. God, why do I even care? “Hey, Freddie. Nice sweater. Merry Christmas.”

She had to concentrate on that garish snowman, because if she didn't, she’d stare at his hand—once shattered by Kain Brockhurst and then reconstructed by Bridget’s own healing gift—or his face, surely haunted by the horrors Kain had put him through.

“I can take these to the kitchen,” he said, descending the stairs to retrieve the stack of boxes. “See you in a minute.”

Bridget waited until he’d disappeared to speak. “If it’s going to be awkward, I can go. I—I get it.”

Fen grabbed her hand. “Bridget.”

Tears were already prickling the back of Bridget’s eyes, and Fen hadn’t even said anything yet.

“I want you here.”

Bridget squeezed her eyes closed. What had she done to deserve a sister like Fen? Nothing. “You shouldn’t, though. And I know Mom doesn’t. Not really.”

How Fen had found it in her heart to forgive her for what had happened was beyond her understanding. If Bridget had never stolen Kain’s formula, then he never would have kidnapped and tortured her sister. If she’d kept a better eye on Freddie, he never would have snuck out and gotten captured and nearly murdered—poisoned. And if she’d given up the formula as soon as Kain asked for it, or gone to the government earlier, then so much of their pain could have been avoided.

Yet here was Fen, gazing at her with sorrow in her eyes, but no blame. “B…” She choked on the old nickname. No one used it anymore. Not since Kain had ruined it for everyone. “Listen to me. I want you here.”

Bridget flung her arms around her sister. Why did it feel like her heart was cracking down the centre, when her sister was being nothing but kind? “I know. I’m sorry. I want to be here, too. I swear.”

“Good.” Fen wiped a tear from her own eye, sniffing dramatically. “You’re going to make me ruin my mascara. Then you’ll really be sorry.”

Bridget snorted. “When did you get so vain?”

Fen chuckled but didn’t answer. Bridget held onto her hand, not ready to let go of the moment. Not yet.

“Fen…” She swallowed. “Will you tell me, seriously? Are you doing okay?” It was a stupid question, a preposterous question. Maybe even a little disgusting that Bridget needed to ask when she should have just known. But Fen was back in school, and when they met up for brief coffee dates, they never talked about what had happened. Just about papers and exams and commutes and work and other awful, mundane things.

Fen’s gaze softened, turned distant, roving absently over the paintings on the foyer wall. “I… really am.”

Squeezing her sister’s fingers, Bridget said, “For real?”

With a gentle nod, Fen squeezed back. “It… I… It’s taken some time. It has. Taking the winter semester off last year… That was a good idea. I needed that, um, time. And rest. But it was also really good once I went back to school. All the papers keep me busy. I still have bad dreams sometimes, but..” She glanced up the stairs, at the space where Freddie had been standing. “I mean, I think he might have it harder. He still has nightmares, too. And the stutter comes back more often now. You remember when it was really strong in high school?” Bridget nodded. “And, you know, other stuff. He’s a little sad.”

As she finished speaking, a faintly stricken look crossed Fen’s face. “Don’t repeat any of that, okay? Like, I know it wasn’t… bad or anything… but don’t mention it. Please. I’m trusting you.”

“I promise,” Bridget said, halting a shudder as it attempted to travel down her body. Her gut was churning; she could only imagine the nightmares Freddie had been left with. “Is he talking to someone?”

Fen nodded. “We both are. We all are, actually.”

Bridget blinked. “Mom?”

“Yup.”

The thought of trying to explain the context—the comic-book-fodder drama—to someone unfamiliar with Kain Brockhurst and the lab that had turned him into what he was now made Bridget dizzy. The thought of their mother talking to a therapist nearly knocked her to the floor.

Fen raised her eyebrows. “Did you make any appointments yet?” She tapped her foot against the floor.

“In the New Year, actually.” Bridget kept her voice light, hoping Fen wouldn't detect the lie.

Her sister’s eyes narrowed, and Bridget knew she hadn’t gotten away with it, but Fen didn’t press the matter. “Good…” She paused. “Yeah. Good. Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”

Their dad was by the kitchen table, dancing along to “Jingle Bell Rock,” which seemed to be causing difficulties as he poured himself a glass of eggnog. Bridget smiled. The sloshing against the side of the glass and over its rim wasn’t deterring Dave Bailey from his dance at all.

“Hey, Dad,” Bridget said, giggling despite the knot in her stomach.

He nearly dropped the carton. “Bridget! I didn’t hear the door!” He flung his arms around her, pulling her in tight. “I’ve missed you, kiddo.”

I've missed you too, Dad.

“Don’t stay away so long next time.” He brushed a piece of hair out of her face, then grinned and gestured toward the eggnog. “You want some?”

Only if you’re adding some rum to it. She opted not to say that out loud.

“I’ll get you a glass,” Freddie said. He’d just reappeared, but he ducked away again, heading for the cupboard.

“Where’s Mom?” Bridget’s voice was flat, and she hated herself for it. Mrs. Fiona Song was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh… you know. Doing Christmas things. Running around.” Her dad accepted the glass Freddie handed him and began to pour.

Avoiding me.

“I have something for everyone,” Fen said before Bridget could accidentally verbalize her thought. “Ready?”

Even Freddie’s eyebrows drifted upwards. Apparently, whatever Fen was about to bring out, it was a surprise to him, too.

A grin swept across Bridget’s face as Fen grabbed a glittery, oversized red stocking that had been resting in a corner of the room. “Dad first!” From within, she pulled the ugliest, gaudiest Santa hat ever to exist, complete with a jingling bell at its tip.

Dave burst into laughter. “Wow! It’s what I’ve always wanted.” He accepted the gift with a flourish and tugged it over his ears, snorting when it just barely fit.

“Freddie next.” Fen’s cheeks pinkened as he crossed the room to stand next to her, his fingers grazing hers. He also received a Santa hat in his outstretched hand, this one bright green. Her next words were an almost-conspiratorial whisper, meant for him but audible to everyone. “It matches your eyes.”

Freddie’s face turned bright red as he leaned down to let Fen crown him with the ridiculous hat. “I love it.” He was smiling, though the flush still stained his skin all the way to his neck as he brushed his lips against Fen’s. “It’s p-perfect.”

Had it been anyone else, any other time, Bridget would have been rolling her eyes and pretending to gag. PDA, even when it was subtle, was so not her thing.

But with these two, it was hard to get annoyed.

Eyes alight, Fen turned to Bridget. “Your turn.” Excitement radiated from every inch of her, from her beaming face and bouncing feet. “Here you go!”

Bridget braced herself for her own Santa hat. What awful, hard-on-the-eyes colour had her sister chosen for her?

Her breath caught in her chest. It wasn’t a goofy hat that Fen pulled from her stocking. The gift in her hands was a satin headband, adorned with gingerbread houses���a perfect twin to the one she was wearing in her dark hair.

A lump grew in Bridget’s throat. “Thank… thank you.” Was she whispering? She hadn’t meant to. “It’s… It’s so….” She swallowed. “It matches yours.”

“Put it on!” Fen gave her a gentle nudge with her hip. “I wanna see what it looks like.”

With trembling fingers, Bridget tugged her hair out of its messy ponytail, gave it a half-hearted finger comb, and slipped the headband behind her ears. “I’m sure it looks cuter on you.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Fen said. “It looks awesome. Doesn’t it, Freddie?”

The corners of Freddie’s mouth quirked upward, and Bridget appreciated his answer even though it was clear what his true opinion was. “It looks great on b-both of you.”

Soft, slippered footsteps scritched across the floor in the hallway, heralding the arrival Bridget had been waiting for yet dreading. Every muscle in her body, relaxed and easy for a solid three and a half minutes, tensed again.

“Hi, Mom.” She’d forgotten to take the tag off the end of the headband, and it was cutting into her skin, stinging and itching at once. May as well be the one to make an effort. “Merry…”

God, she felt stupid, in this ridiculous Christmas sweater and this silly gingerbread headband, and it was hot in here, and when she glanced away, it was Freddie’s hand on her sister’s arm that caught her gaze, the shiny pinkish-white scar in the centre of his hand and the horrific memories that accompanied it—

“... Christmas.” Every drop of moisture was gone from her mouth.

Fiona stood in the doorway, still half in the hall. “Hi, Bridget.”

Bridget held her breath.

Slowly, as if she were approaching an undetonated mine, her mother inched closer. “Glad you made it safely.” A long pause. “How was traffic?”

Spinning, rumbling fractures rumbled beneath Bridget’s feet, resonating from the earth’s crust. This is really happening. She’s actually talking to me. Her mother wasn’t kicking her out. Wasn’t throwing a frying pan at her face. Wasn’t even shouting.

“It was, um, awful.” A nervous giggle slipped out of her, and the honest answer came out before she could think of something less true but more positive. “I thought I’d be on the highway forever.”

“Typical holiday traffic.” Her mother shifted her weight, shuffling in place for a few moments before she turned to the oven. “I should check the turkey.”

“Wait!” Fen bolted across the room. “You still need yours!”

“My what?” Their mom was stiff, her voice hard, but her gaze softened when she looked over at her younger daughter. Who, despite everything, was smiling. Laughing. Giving out silly gifts as if, a year ago, she hadn’t been bucking off the ropes of trauma that had tried so hard to tie her down.

“Your present, obviously.” Fen reached into her stocking and whipped out the last item. Bridget choked. It was the most ridiculous one of all.

“Oh, Fen, really?”

Fen ignored the weak protest in her mother’s voice and slipped the headband, decorated with sequined antlers, onto Fiona’s head. “You look beautiful.”

Bridget bit her lip, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry, and waited for their mom to sigh and tug the antlers off. “They look good, Mom.”

“They’ll get in the way when I lean down to get the bird,” Fiona said, looking a little helpless.

“I’ll check it,” Freddie said, his voice quiet, his mouth still turned slightly up. And in what was perhaps a Christmas miracle, Fiona didn’t argue with him or rip the silly headband off her head.

“Well,” said their dad with a wicked grin, turning on the heat beneath the steamer pot that housed a mountain or broccoli, “if Freddie’s handling the food, let’s go see what movies are on the TV.”

Freddie shot him a baleful look at the implication that he was now in charge of the entire Christmas dinner.

“Yeah,” said Fen, her eyes sparkling, “thanks, honey, for volunteering. See you later. Maybe the Grinch is on.”

“Hilarious.” But when Freddie stood upon straight again, waving steam away from his face, he was smiling. “How’s this?” He pulled the roasting pan’s lid free. “How’s it looking, in your expert opinion?”

Fiona peered over the pan, examining the skin with a discerning eye. “Few more minutes. What about the Brussels sprouts? They doing okay?”

Freddie returned the turkey to the oven and pulled out the vegetables. “They look good to me.”

Not even wincing from the heat when her fingertips plucked a glistening sprout from the tray, Fiona took a bite. “Perfect.”

And it was, Bridget realized. Not the stupid Brussels sprouts—she hated the damn things—but this. This Christmas. Her mother being stiff and standoffish, but actually looking at her. Freddie stuttering and keeping his distance, but wearing forgiveness in his gaze. Her dad cracking jokes and downing eggnog that might or might not have had a few glugs of rum stirred in. Fen pulling out her phone and dragging everyone to the Christmas tree for a truly embarrassing set of selfies.

Bridget grinned as the iPhone light flashed. Even with the ever-present knot in her belly and brand-new tracking chip in her arm, this Christmas was already a hundred times better than last year’s.

“Glad you came after all?” Fen whispered in her ear, handing off the phone to Freddie so he could hold it in his longer arms to get everyone in the picture.

Blinking away tears, Bridget nodded. “Yeah. I really am.”

“I know I already said it, but…” Fen bit her lip, her eyes also shimmering. “Merry Christmas, B. I love you.”

“Merry Christmas.” Bridget wrapped her arms around her little sister. “I love you, too.”

#fen and freddie #fen & freddie #oc fen bailey song #oc bridget bailey song #oc Freddie Howell #christmas #christmas story #does it really count as whump? #recovery #healing #lps-writes #lps-christmas

[the1975attheirverybest]

That's lovely! Sorry I really love talking books. Actually I worked in a library for a year, particularly in the kid's section so I read a lot of children's books and YA (also from my teenage years I'm a sucker for any fantasy saga) and last year I took an exam in Children's literature and I have to say that it's hugely underappreciated.

It's funny that you mentioned "conversations with friends" bc I hated that book, of course it's just my personal taste but it seems that with Sally Rooney either you love her or you hate her.

Instead one chick lit author I really liked recently is Bridget Collins, her first book "The binding" is better than her second imo, but I really like how she manages to set up new worlds.

Ok, sorry for the ranting. I'll put everything you recommended in my to read list💕

that's so funny. I get why some people might not like Sally Rooney. I personally have a HUGE issue with her views on BDSM. She basically has two IDENTICAL WORD FOR WORD scenes in Normal People and Conversations With Friends where she basically suggests you can only be into kinky sex if you have daddy issues and good people would decline to partake. like????? for such an intelligent person thats such a dumb take, lmao.

BUT she writes about Marxism and gender and love so so so well I love her so much. Just wish I could sit her down and be like, listen, if you're super vanilla, no one's judging you but STOP writing about kink in this way FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

I know John Green's Brother has a 2 book sci-fi and fantasy series. I haven't read it myself cuz those aren't my fav genres, but I've heard nice things.

If you love both Fantasy AND Children's lit then you know im going to recommend the chronicles of Narnia. But you might have read those for your exam already. And anything Neil Gaiman. Stardust is pretty famous. I liked American Gods but its LONGGG.

In my opinion, the best Fantasy writer is Ursula Le Guin. Died recently, but she basically re-invented the genre!

[kylona]

The Undead

(( The following contains scenes of intense and graphic violence and horrific imagery. Read at your own discretion. ))

(( Suggested listening: https://youtu.be/2g44H4-iOYo ))

Bridget sat in the basement of the restaurant her family had acquired after the jazz club had been destroyed by the Felman twins. Upstairs, in the main room of the establishment, she could hear people having a good time, talking quietly over the pianist plucking away at the keys of his piano. Bridget had worked hard to ensure that this business would succeed, pouring most of her available resources into her new restaurant. Things had been running smoothly for the past few weeks, a steady flow of eager diners padding the coffers of the Naruse-kai yakuza family.

Everyone had been given strict orders to leave Bridget alone, a single person standing in the room with her. Takeshi loomed over his oyabun, arms crossed over his chest as he gazed down at the woman who had quickly become his best friend. He had worked for many oyabun of the family, but this Miqo’te girl was his favorite. She had a kind heart, always willing to listen to the concerns of her family, putting their safety and happiness over her own. Very few oyabun were as dedicated and loyal as she was, working hard not for herself, but for her brothers and sisters.

Takeshi wasn’t quite sure what Bridget was trying to accomplish. She had said nothing, only ordering everyone out of the basement and telling only Takeshi to remain by her side. At this point he had gotten used to his oyabun’s sometimes weird requests. He knew that whatever it was she was doing, it was not done for her, but for the safety of the family. And so, he stood next to her, watching as she sat in silence, her eyes darting around in their sockets as if she were having a dream.

“Be careful, Bridget,” he had said softly, knowing she couldn’t hear him. “Don’t poke the wasp’s nest.”

-----

A vast, empty void stretched out before Bridget. She looked down at her feet, submerged in ice-cold ankle deep water. Bright green eyes scanned the horizon, a familiar feeling of dread worming its way into her mind. Above her, dark clouds floated in the heavens, occasionally lit up by a flash of red lightning. A massive, formless being writhed around in the sky, a presence she was all to familiar with.

“So you are still here in Hingashi,” Bridget called out into the darkness.

A clap of thunder boomed overhead, quickly followed by another burst of red lightning.

“You shouldn’t have looked for me,” a voice said from the heavens, sounding oddly calming. “Because now we see you. Now we can all see you.”

“You don’t scare me,” Bridget said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Never have, never will.”

Something surged out of the shadows and came sprinting towards the Miqo’te, heavy footfalls splashing in the cold water. Whatever was coming towards her was fast and in the blink of an eye a large figure stood before her, cloaked in the darkness. Another clap of thunder resounded from the heavens, a bolt of red lightning once more lighting up the void. Bridget let out a startled gasp as she took a few cautionary steps backward, subconsciously trying to put distance between her and the thing looming over her.

An impossibly tall figure stood before her, easily over eight feet tall with a sharp, angular head with long horns jutting out of its forehead and bending backwards. A pair of shiny silver discs sat in empty eye sockets, gazing down at the Miqo’te. The figure had no skin, but was covered in dark red sinew and muscles, glistening in the occasional burst of red lightning. The creature’s arms ended in large, crescent shaped blades, slick with blood.

“Y-you’re getting stronger,” Bridget gasped.

“All thanks to you,” the monster said as it followed the Miqo’te as she backed away from it. “All this work. All this pain. All if it. For you.”

“No! I won’t let you succeed. Whatever it is you’re planning… I’ll put an end to it. Just as I did before. You can’t hide from me, you son of a bitch!”

“What makes you think I hide from you? Do you see yourself as some unstoppable sorcerer? Do you really think that you can stop me?” the creature said as he grinned down at Bridget.

“I stopped you before and I’ll do it again!”

The creature laughed.

“There’s someone like you on every world. Brave, strong and stupid. You act righteous, as if I am an abomination, moving without purpose. Oh, how wrong you are.”

“Fuck you! I’ll stop you, I swear on the graves of my parents!”

The monster leaned down, bringing its face inches away from Bridget’s. Whatever this creature was, it reeked of blood. The smell was so strong Bridget could feel the contents of her stomach threatening to violently leave her. She took step back only to bump up against some unseen wall, gasping as the fear started to sink into her mind.

“Knock knock. Time to wake up.”

-----

“BOSS!” Takeshi had been shouting her name over and over, shaking her out of the void and back into reality. “Bridget, WAKE UP!”

“Huh? Wuh? What happened? Is something wrong?” she asked, mind foggy with fatigue.

“There’s something wrong upstairs. Listen! Do you hear anything?” Takeshi asked, grabbing Bridget and dragging her up so she was standing.

Upstairs the restaurant was dead silent. The pianist had stopped playing mid-song and had fallen silent several minutes ago. Despite being downstairs in Bridget’s office, she could often hear the commotion upstairs, a noise that made her happy. It was the sounds of a successful business making money and creating dedicated clients. But now? It was so quiet upstairs it didn’t take a genius to figure out something was very wrong.

“Fuck,” the Miqo’te cursed, looking first up at the ceiling and then back at Takeshi. “We need to figure out what’s going on up there. Now.”

Bridget pushed pass her bodyguard, grabbing a katana as she made her way up the flight of wooden stairs. The door leading into the basement was gently nudged open, the hinges squealing in protest. Takeshi was right behind her, holding a handgun in one hand and a pocket knife in the other. The two left the stairwell, finding themselves behind bar unmanned by her bartenders and other staff members.

Takeshi gently moved his oyabun out of the way, scanning the building. The lights had all been turned off and he could hear movement somewhere in the restaurant, but couldn't pinpoint where they were exactly. Somewhere in the darkness it sounded as if someone were enjoying a bowl of soup, slurping up something wet.

“Who’s there?” Takeshi called out.

The slurping stopped and a table was shoved out of the way, the legs dragging against the hardwood floor. The noise caused an unseen woman to cry out in fear before she started sobbing. Someone tried to comfort her while another tried to silence both of them.

“SHUT UP,” the person hissed.

Just then the lights flicked back on and a handful of startled patrons started screaming, telling whoever had turned the lights on to turn them back off. Their reason for panic was justified. A naked woman stood in the middle of the restaurant, her head nowhere to be seen. Next to the woman was a man covered in blood, his chest ripped open and several of his internal organs were laid out next to him.

“Oh fuck,” Takeshi gasped.

The woman’s body started to twitch and jerk this way and that as a red line formed and ran down the entire length of her body, stopping just above her groin. Flesh tore loudly as large, sharp fangs pressed out of the woman’s flesh. Strands of errant flesh started writhing around in the woman’s stomach, her organs glistening red in the light above her. The woman let out an inhuman roar and surged forward, running towards the cowering patrons.

The door leading into the restaurant loudly and violently exploded open, sending large wedges of wood in every direction. Bridget let out a pained yelp as a large splinter nestled into her stomach. Without thinking, the Miqo’te took hold of the splinter and ripped it out and tossed it off to the side.

“We need to leave! Now!” Takeshi shouted.

Several of Bridget’s employees worked their way out of the cowering crowd of people and started guiding them towards the rear exit. The headless woman continued her advance towards the patrons, hands lashing out. She grabbed someone by the throat and slammed them to the ground before her intestines spilled out of her torso, landing on the patron with wet slaps. Small mouths began to form on the red rope and began biting at the patron’s flesh, tearing chunks off as if his body were made of clay.

Several more abominations spilled into the restaurant, surging towards the fleeing crowd. Bridget put herself between the monsters and her patrons only to be tossed aside like a discarded tissue. The creatures didn’t appear to be after her, but everyone else. Takeshi started shooting the abominations with little to no effect. The bullets simply tore through the flesh of the human-shaped monsters, doing little to no damage whatsoever.

“Get everyone out of here! NOW!” Bridget ordered her employees as she drew her sword and discarding the scabbard.

Just then a small Raen girl entered the building, wearing a pink yukata and a black hakama. Her clothing was neat and freshly cleaned, smelling faintly of clean linens and lavender. She wore a smile on her delicate features, looking completely out of place in the bloody battlefield that had once been Bridget’s favorite restaurant. The Raen simply stood in the madness, watching with glee as the abominations tore through the yakuza and towards the fleeing patrons.

Bridget pointed the tip of her katana at the girl, letting out an angry, “YOU!”

With a roar, the Miqo’te launched herself at the Raen girl, knowing exactly what she was. The girl reached out with one hand and caught the blade as a toothy grin spread across her lips. She wrapped her fingers around the katana as it dug into the soft flesh of the palm of her hand, gently moving it out of the way.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” the Raen girl said with the voice of the creature in the sky, oddly calm and soothing, despite the dread that oozed from its words. “Now it’s too late. You cannot stop us, Bridget. Watch as my army kills and grows.”

Bridget looked away from the girl, watching as the fallen patrons slowly rose to their feet. They did not chase after the fleeing diners, instead they stared at the Miqo’te. The undead abominations all smiled at the same time, pointing at the Miqo’te with outstretched index fingers.

“When we return,” they all said in unison. “Kugane will fall and soon the world will know of your failure.”

“Go to hell!” Bridget shouted at them.

“Soon, you will know what hell is. Farewell, Bridget, and thank you for the bodies.”

The abominations all stopped what they were doing, some of them discarding severed limbs and internal organs. They all shuffled over to the Raen girl, reaching out and touching parts of her. One second they were there and the next they were all gone, silence following in their wake. The sword slipped out of Bridget’s fingers as he legs gave out, forcing her to fall down to her knees.

“We’re doomed,” she said after a moment of silence. “We’re all doomed.”

[bridget-hatair]

The Undead

(( The following contains scenes of intense and graphic violence and horrific imagery. Read at your own discretion. ))

(( Suggested listening: https://youtu.be/2g44H4-iOYo ))

Bridget sat in the basement of the restaurant her family had acquired after the jazz club had been destroyed by the Felman twins. Upstairs, in the main room of the establishment, she could hear people having a good time, talking quietly over the pianist plucking away at the keys of his piano. Bridget had worked hard to ensure that this business would succeed, pouring most of her available resources into her new restaurant. Things had been running smoothly for the past few weeks, a steady flow of eager diners padding the coffers of the Naruse-kai yakuza family.

Everyone had been given strict orders to leave Bridget alone, a single person standing in the room with her. Takeshi loomed over his oyabun, arms crossed over his chest as he gazed down at the woman who had quickly become his best friend. He had worked for many oyabun of the family, but this Miqo’te girl was his favorite. She had a kind heart, always willing to listen to the concerns of her family, putting their safety and happiness over her own. Very few oyabun were as dedicated and loyal as she was, working hard not for herself, but for her brothers and sisters.

Takeshi wasn’t quite sure what Bridget was trying to accomplish. She had said nothing, only ordering everyone out of the basement and telling only Takeshi to remain by her side. At this point he had gotten used to his oyabun’s sometimes weird requests. He knew that whatever it was she was doing, it was not done for her, but for the safety of the family. And so, he stood next to her, watching as she sat in silence, her eyes darting around in their sockets as if she were having a dream.

“Be careful, Bridget,” he had said softly, knowing she couldn’t hear him. “Don’t poke the wasp’s nest.”

-----

A vast, empty void stretched out before Bridget. She looked down at her feet, submerged in ice-cold ankle deep water. Bright green eyes scanned the horizon, a familiar feeling of dread worming its way into her mind. Above her, dark clouds floated in the heavens, occasionally lit up by a flash of red lightning. A massive, formless being writhed around in the sky, a presence she was all to familiar with.

“So you are still here in Hingashi,” Bridget called out into the darkness.

A clap of thunder boomed overhead, quickly followed by another burst of red lightning.

“You shouldn’t have looked for me,” a voice said from the heavens, sounding oddly calming. “Because now we see you. Now we can all see you.”

“You don’t scare me,” Bridget said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Never have, never will.”

Something surged out of the shadows and came sprinting towards the Miqo’te, heavy footfalls splashing in the cold water. Whatever was coming towards her was fast and in the blink of an eye a large figure stood before her, cloaked in the darkness. Another clap of thunder resounded from the heavens, a bolt of red lightning once more lighting up the void. Bridget let out a startled gasp as she took a few cautionary steps backward, subconsciously trying to put distance between her and the thing looming over her.

An impossibly tall figure stood before her, easily over eight feet tall with a sharp, angular head with long horns jutting out of its forehead and bending backwards. A pair of shiny silver discs sat in empty eye sockets, gazing down at the Miqo’te. The figure had no skin, but was covered in dark red sinew and muscles, glistening in the occasional burst of red lightning. The creature’s arms ended in large, crescent shaped blades, slick with blood.

“Y-you’re getting stronger,” Bridget gasped.

“All thanks to you,” the monster said as it followed the Miqo’te as she backed away from it. “All this work. All this pain. All if it. For you.”

“No! I won’t let you succeed. Whatever it is you’re planning… I’ll put an end to it. Just as I did before. You can’t hide from me, you son of a bitch!”

“What makes you think I hide from you? Do you see yourself as some unstoppable sorcerer? Do you really think that you can stop me?” the creature said as he grinned down at Bridget.

“I stopped you before and I’ll do it again!”

The creature laughed.

“There’s someone like you on every world. Brave, strong and stupid. You act righteous, as if I am an abomination, moving without purpose. Oh, how wrong you are.”

“Fuck you! I’ll stop you, I swear on the graves of my parents!”

The monster leaned down, bringing its face inches away from Bridget’s. Whatever this creature was, it reeked of blood. The smell was so strong Bridget could feel the contents of her stomach threatening to violently leave her. She took step back only to bump up against some unseen wall, gasping as the fear started to sink into her mind.

“Knock knock. Time to wake up.”

-----

“BOSS!” Takeshi had been shouting her name over and over, shaking her out of the void and back into reality. “Bridget, WAKE UP!”

“Huh? Wuh? What happened? Is something wrong?” she asked, mind foggy with fatigue.

“There’s something wrong upstairs. Listen! Do you hear anything?” Takeshi asked, grabbing Bridget and dragging her up so she was standing.

Upstairs the restaurant was dead silent. The pianist had stopped playing mid-song and had fallen silent several minutes ago. Despite being downstairs in Bridget’s office, she could often hear the commotion upstairs, a noise that made her happy. It was the sounds of a successful business making money and creating dedicated clients. But now? It was so quiet upstairs it didn’t take a genius to figure out something was very wrong.

“Fuck,” the Miqo’te cursed, looking first up at the ceiling and then back at Takeshi. “We need to figure out what’s going on up there. Now.”

Bridget pushed pass her bodyguard, grabbing a katana as she made her way up the flight of wooden stairs. The door leading into the basement was gently nudged open, the hinges squealing in protest. Takeshi was right behind her, holding a handgun in one hand and a pocket knife in the other. The two left the stairwell, finding themselves behind bar unmanned by her bartenders and other staff members.

Takeshi gently moved his oyabun out of the way, scanning the building. The lights had all been turned off and he could hear movement somewhere in the restaurant, but couldn't pinpoint where they were exactly. Somewhere in the darkness it sounded as if someone were enjoying a bowl of soup, slurping up something wet.

“Who’s there?” Takeshi called out.

The slurping stopped and a table was shoved out of the way, the legs dragging against the hardwood floor. The noise caused an unseen woman to cry out in fear before she started sobbing. Someone tried to comfort her while another tried to silence both of them.

“SHUT UP,” the person hissed.

Just then the lights flicked back on and a handful of startled patrons started screaming, telling whoever had turned the lights on to turn them back off. Their reason for panic was justified. A naked woman stood in the middle of the restaurant, her head nowhere to be seen. Next to the woman was a man covered in blood, his chest ripped open and several of his internal organs were laid out next to him.

“Oh fuck,” Takeshi gasped.

The woman’s body started to twitch and jerk this way and that as a red line formed and ran down the entire length of her body, stopping just above her groin. Flesh tore loudly as large, sharp fangs pressed out of the woman’s flesh. Strands of errant flesh started writhing around in the woman’s stomach, her organs glistening red in the light above her. The woman let out an inhuman roar and surged forward, running towards the cowering patrons.

The door leading into the restaurant loudly and violently exploded open, sending large wedges of wood in every direction. Bridget let out a pained yelp as a large splinter nestled into her stomach. Without thinking, the Miqo’te took hold of the splinter and ripped it out and tossed it off to the side.

“We need to leave! Now!” Takeshi shouted.

Several of Bridget’s employees worked their way out of the cowering crowd of people and started guiding them towards the rear exit. The headless woman continued her advance towards the patrons, hands lashing out. She grabbed someone by the throat and slammed them to the ground before her intestines spilled out of her torso, landing on the patron with wet slaps. Small mouths began to form on the red rope and began biting at the patron’s flesh, tearing chunks off as if his body were made of clay.

Several more abominations spilled into the restaurant, surging towards the fleeing crowd. Bridget put herself between the monsters and her patrons only to be tossed aside like a discarded tissue. The creatures didn’t appear to be after her, but everyone else. Takeshi started shooting the abominations with little to no effect. The bullets simply tore through the flesh of the human-shaped monsters, doing little to no damage whatsoever.

“Get everyone out of here! NOW!” Bridget ordered her employees as she drew her sword and discarding the scabbard.

Just then a small Raen girl entered the building, wearing a pink yukata and a black hakama. Her clothing was neat and freshly cleaned, smelling faintly of clean linens and lavender. She wore a smile on her delicate features, looking completely out of place in the bloody battlefield that had once been Bridget’s favorite restaurant. The Raen simply stood in the madness, watching with glee as the abominations tore through the yakuza and towards the fleeing patrons.

Bridget pointed the tip of her katana at the girl, letting out an angry, “YOU!”

With a roar, the Miqo’te launched herself at the Raen girl, knowing exactly what she was. The girl reached out with one hand and caught the blade as a toothy grin spread across her lips. She wrapped her fingers around the katana as it dug into the soft flesh of the palm of her hand, gently moving it out of the way.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” the Raen girl said with the voice of the creature in the sky, oddly calm and soothing, despite the dread that oozed from its words. “Now it’s too late. You cannot stop us, Bridget. Watch as my army kills and grows.”

Bridget looked away from the girl, watching as the fallen patrons slowly rose to their feet. They did not chase after the fleeing diners, instead they stared at the Miqo’te. The undead abominations all smiled at the same time, pointing at the Miqo’te with outstretched index fingers.

“When we return,” they all said in unison. “Kugane will fall and soon the world will know of your failure.”

“Go to hell!” Bridget shouted at them.

“Soon, you will know what hell is. Farewell, Bridget, and thank you for the bodies.”

The abominations all stopped what they were doing, some of them discarding severed limbs and internal organs. They all shuffled over to the Raen girl, reaching out and touching parts of her. One second they were there and the next they were all gone, silence following in their wake. The sword slipped out of Bridget’s fingers as he legs gave out, forcing her to fall down to her knees.

“We’re doomed,” she said after a moment of silence. “We’re all doomed.”

[vulnerasti-cor-meum]

I used to read like confessions of a shopaholic series and bridget jones’s diary and julie and julia and the nanny diaries when I was younger and probably should’nt’ve. regardless of what that said about me (probably a lot) do tweens even read british/american “chick-lit” any more. does tiktok even talk about sophie kinsella or helen fielding.

[avengersandco]

Headcanon: Steve does one of the puppy interviews w buzzfeed and it breaks the record for the highest viewed YouTube videos ever

adjkhfsollkhd YES!

Before they even start asking questions, but they’re rolling, he starts naming all of the puppers. And he names them all after the other avengers!

“That black one over there that looks like it’s judging all of us. That’s black widow. And the one that just tried to play with black widow and fell on his face is Hawkeye.”

And the entire time he’s naming all of the puppies he’s got one in his arms the entire time that is obviously getting the most attention. The puppy also happens to be the smallest one of the group, and was playing with his face earlier and would whine when Steve put him down. Now he was just snoozing in steve’s lap while he continued to pet him.

One of the people asked him what the puppy in his laps name was.

“Oh, Tony for sure. If dogs could drink coffee, this one would probably be currently drinking it”

send me your headcanons!

#steve rogers #lit bridget talks #this is adorable #headcanons #anon #top post

[daechwitatamic]

Chapter 7: Conflicted || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: What Was Hidden (Masterpost)

Rating: explicit, minors DNI pls

Genre: college!au, angst, eventual smut, strangers -> friends -> lovers -> idiots -> lovers

Pairings: Taehyung x female reader, MYG x OC

Summary:  This is how it all starts: Taehyung is flunking Western Lit. You’re assigned to tutor him. His paper on Strindberg’s The Ghost Sonata could pass or fail him for the semester. As you and Taehyung slowly become friends, then more, you learn that there’s a lot more to him than you originally assumed. Together, you navigate your own experiences with the play’s themes: one’s “true self” versus one’s “shown self”, darkness behind the facade, and how people can be quite literally haunted - and it has nothing to do with ghosts.

//

In which you get really in your head and you can't get back out.

Chapter Warnings: language, drinking, kissing, mentions of - gasp - an erection, oc is kind of inexperienced and def getting in her head too much, more bad rap lyrics i'm gonna apologize for these every time

Word Count: 6k

Note: Yoongi's lyrics to Lion's Paw were inspired by a poem called "Noah's Nameless Wife Takes Inventory". I wanted to hyperlink to it, but last time I tried that (lookin at u, chapter 5) it broke the chapter bc tumblr is the worst platform on the planet. So if you're interested in a poem that makes me shout a lot, pls type that title into a search engine!

I saw the sun and thought I saw what was hidden The Ghost Sonata | Scene III August Strindberg

Chapter 7: Conflicted

Thursday, November 29th

When Thursday night comes, you power through your hour with Becky, eager to see Taehyung sling his bag onto the back of his chair as you’ve gotten used to. You get your wish soon enough, and he greets you with a bright smile as he takes his seat across from you. You spend close to sixty minutes kicking him gently under the table every time you see his eyelids droop.

“Chekhov sucks,” he tells you during minute fifty-seven.

“How dare you?” you gasp, only partly kidding. 

Taehyung tosses his copy of The Cherry Orchard into his bag. He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, up to something. 

“Come over,” he suggests when he straightens back up. “Come back to the house with me.”

“What for?” you ask, a little surprised. The girls weren’t planning Thirsty Thursday yet, Bridget would have texted you.

He smiles at your question. “I don’t know. Anything? Watch tv? Order food? Talk about something from this century?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you just trying to hook up?” 

You haven’t so much as hugged since the night at the trail, and you’re not sure your question has a correct answer.

“You and the bluntness!” he protests. “It’s impossible for a guy to be smooth with you!”

“I don’t want smooth,” you tell him. “I want to know what I’m walking into.”

Taehyung laughs again, but you catch a lick of exasperation in it. “I mean,” he says, opening his hands before you as a sign of transparency, “I’m certainly not opposed to that happening, but I do want to just spend time together.”

You twist your mouth to the side, considering. “Is ordering food a promise?” you ask finally.

He shrugs. “Unless someone cooked already.”

You lift your bag onto your shoulder. “Okay, then,” you say, fighting back a smile. “As long as I get food.”

Taehyung opens the door for you - sweet of him - and you walk through the dark parking lot towards his silver car. The lights glow orange above you, creating circles of light here and there across the pavement. There’s still snow piled up where it was plowed to the edges of the lot, and you keep an eye on the ground for any frozen spots. What you don’t need right now is to bust your ass in front of a cute boy.

Back at the house, it’s immediately clear that you won’t be ordering food - the smell hits you the second the front door opens.

“Who’s in my house?” someone - Jin, you think - calls from the kitchen.

“Murderers,” Taehyung calls back. “Is there enough food for me and Y/N?”

Jin sticks his head into the living room. “Hi, Y/N,” he says. “Just you? No roomies?”

“Kiko’s not already here?” you ask, honestly surprised. Taehyung leads you back to the kitchen and starts rummaging in a cabinet. Jin returns to the stove, stirring a pot of something that smells insanely good. He looks at you over his shoulder as you lean against the doorframe.

“No,” he tells you. “Haven’t seen her since Monday, maybe?”

“Weird,” you say, and turn your attention to Taehyung’s ass. You don’t mean to - he’s bending over to get something out of the fridge, and it’s right there in your face. What are you supposed to do, not notice?

“Do you like beer?” he asks you, voice muffled as most of his body is somehow inside the fridge.

“Yeah, but I’m picky,” you tell him, and mention your favorite kind.

“The one that always comes with an orange slice?” he laughs, coming out of the fridge with a bottle in his hand. “We don’t have those, but I’ll make sure we get some.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, “you don’t have to do that -.”

He cuts you off, looking at you flatly. “Y/N, I’m offering to get beer that you like for when you come hang out,” he says. “I didn’t offer to knock down a wall and build you a walk-in closet. Relax.”

“You’re embarrassing her,” Jin sing-songs under his breath, not turning away from the stovetop.

“If I want relationship advice, I’ll fucking ask for it,” Taehyung tells him, lifting a foot to nudge Jin’s butt in protest. You bite back the impulse to contest his use of the word relationship.

“Your funeral,” Jin says, spooning dinner into the empty bowls Taehyung had placed on the counter for the two of you. Taehyung opens the bottle in his hand and reaches to pass it to you.

“Try this one,” he says. “If you don’t like it, I’ll finish it.”

He takes the bowls of food and leads you back into the living room, setting the food down on the coffee table, and then looking up at you for a verdict on the beer.

“It’s fine,” you tell him, coming in to join him on the couch. “I can finish it.”

As you come around the couch, you see Jimin sprawled out on the other one. He waves at you as you gingerly sit next to Taehyung. Jin joins you three a minute later, his own steaming bowl in his hands.

The boys put on some dumbass wilderness survival show, but they hardly watch it. They continue to chat and pick on one another and crack jokes. You relax into the sofa, silently working on your dinner, letting the conversation flow around you. It strikes you that they really feel like a family, reminding you of your own older brothers.

About halfway through the show, Jungkook comes through the front door. “Hey,” he tells the room. He sniffs. “There’s food?”

He disappears into the kitchen, then breezes back through and up the stairs to his room. After a few minutes, Jin excuses himself and goes upstairs too. Jimin and Taehyung exchange a look you can’t decipher. Jimin changes the subject, asking you about Professor Watanabe’s class, which he shares with Taehyung.

Jungkook returns after a while, a textbook in his hand, and makes himself comfortable on the floor, uncapping a highlighter. You lean against Taehyung’s side as you both scroll on your phones, occasionally turning your screens to share funny videos or memes. Jimin’s phone buzzes and he rises, grabbing a coat from a hanger on the wall and calling goodbye over his shoulder. Now It’s Taehyung and Jungkook who share a look. 

You hope that if you spend more time here, you’ll feel less like an outsider. 

Taehyung glances at you after Jimin’s been gone for a while. “Want to go watch something upstairs? So we don’t disrupt Jungkook’s studying?”

“You’re not disrupting me,” Jungkook murmurs, not lifting his eyes from the page, missing it completely when Taehyung gives him the dirty look equivalent of a swift kick under a table.

You humor him and agree, following him across the living room. On the stairs, he pauses and reaches for your hand, not turning to look, trusting you to take it.

Eurydice, you think, taking his hand. It’s cool and sure in yours, giving you a tiny squeeze as you climb.

You’re nervous as soon as he closes the door, and the second you recognize that you’re nervous it makes you mad at your dumb brain. But you know what logically comes next, and… well… you’ve only ever been with Davis.

You like Taehyung, and you’re more than attracted to him, and you’ve been thinking about that kiss for over a week. But fooling around with literally anyone but Davis just isn’t something you’re used to doing. It’s new, and it feels scary.

Taehyung logs into his computer, oblivious to your small inner meltdown, and pulls up reruns of a sitcom you both like. You get comfy against his pillows and he reaches an arm around you, pulling you close. He smells good, and his presence is warm and comforting, and he’s been making you laugh all night- it makes you want to give in, want to throw down every defense you have and just fall.

‘Take it easy,’ something tells you. ‘Go slowly. Go carefully.’

Hadn’t you been doing that? You think of the handful of guys you dated over the summer - they’d all made it two dates max before you were over it. How had Taehyung managed to sneak past your walls to make it even this far? Was it the deep conversations you’d had during tutoring? The way his sense of humor was either perfectly nonsensical and absurd or else somehow kind of sly? Was it just attraction? Was it the way he made you feel seen when you hadn’t even known someone was looking?

You don’t know.

You don’t know if it matters.

You really like him, maybe more than you even liked Davis in the beginning, and it’s fucking terrifying. 

You realize he’s looking at you, not the screen.

“You okay?” he asks slowly, reaching to pause the show.

You want to tell him. You want to explain that you’re kind of freaking out. You want him to know that it isn’t even about him and that you definitely want him. 

You can’t find the words. You don’t want to pick the wrong ones. Instead, you lift one hand, letting him see the tremor as your hands shake ever so slightly with adrenaline and nerves.

His brow furrows and he pushes the laptop off of his legs immediately, turning to face you.

“Hey,” he says gently. “What is it?”

“I think I just got nervous,” you admit in almost a whisper. “I don’t… do this.” You wave your hands at the situation - the two of you on his bed - to clarify.

He looks instantly alarmed. “I didn’t -?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you interrupt his question, wanting to reassure him as quickly as possible. “I just - I’m sorry. I just have never done this… casually.”

His eyes are so steady on yours. “Let’s just - if it’s okay- let’s just do this tonight; let’s just hang out.” He manages to make it sound like both a suggestion and a decision. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, feeling - for some reason - horribly guilty, like you’d made a promise you couldn’t keep. You feel very sure that you’re actively ruining a good thing.

“Y/N?” he says, and you look back up at him. “For what it’s worth… this is only as casual as you want it to be.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you say nothing, lowering your eyes again.

“Okay,” you say, again. You can feel him watching you, as if you are a puzzle he’s trying to work out.

Maybe you are. Maybe he is.

He puts the show back on, but it's only a few minutes later that he’s looking at you again - not the screen.

“What?” you laugh.

“What do you think is up with Yoongi and Kiko?” he asks. “She practically lived here for a few weeks and now… nothing?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Could be because exams are coming up?” you say. “She hasn’t said anything, but that’s normal. I’ll see if I can get some intel out of her. Kiko’s not very… forthcoming about her love life.”

“Yoongi isn’t forthcoming about anything,” Taehyung muses with a frown. “Unless he’s writing lyrics, then he’ll just tell you anything.”

This makes you laugh, thinking of Yoongi’s personal lyrics in Sirens. 

You get sucked back into the show, relaxing more fully now that you’re out of your head. Eventually, you look at the time on your phone and realize how late it is.

“You should probably drive me back soon,” you murmur sleepily. You have one arm slung over his middle, and you’re so warm and comfortable that you could probably just close your eyes and be asleep. The idea of going out into the cold right now seems particularly terrible.

Taehyung looks down at you, curled against his side. “You wanna just stay?” he asks, his low voice rumbling in his chest under your hand.

“My first class is at 9:30,” you tell him. “We’d have to leave stupid early.”

“I’m up stupid early on Fridays anyway,” he tells you with a little smile. “I’d rather get up stupid early with you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” you tell him through a yawn. You fish for your phone and send a text to Bridget and Kiko - “won’t be home tonight. don’t miss me too much!” 

Bridget taps back a “!!”. Kiko doesn’t answer.

Taehyung gets up to get ready for bed, and you scavenge in his chest of drawers for clothes to sleep in. When he breezes in, you take your turn in the bathroom, changing and giving your mouth a quick fingertip-of-toothpaste “brushing”. When you return to Taehyung’s room, he’s got the lights out and his face is illuminated blue by his phone screen. You close the door behind you and make your way over.

You haven’t spent the night with a guy since Davis, either, but this doesn’t feel scary, it feels normal. You slide under the blankets beside him, getting comfortable. 

“Is it okay if I -?” he asks, lifting his arm to mime putting it over your stomach. “I usually sleep holding a pillow.”

Damn, that’s cute, you think. “It’s fine,” you assure him.

You whisper goodnight, and Taehyung gives your middle a little squeeze. As you settle in, silent in the dark room, you get a familiar feeling; it feels like when you’re at the dorm and you go into Fortress Mode, putting up a blanket wall to block the whole world out. Being here in the dark with Taehyung’s arm around you, you get the same sense that the rest of the world has fallen away and you’re safe. It feels calm.

It’s with that sense of peace that you finally fall asleep, your slow breaths in and out matching Taehyung’s behind you.

Friday, November 30th

You’re not sure what time it is when you wake. It’s still dark, and it doesn’t feel like you’ve been asleep for long.

Taehyung’s arm is no longer draped over you; he’s sleeping on his back, his head lolling to the other side. The white t-shirt he went to sleep in has twisted around him in his sleep, exposing a bit of flat tummy. Your fingers itch to touch it.

You lay facing him, considering, enjoying how nice this feels. You reach out and run your fingertips lightly up and down his arm. Goosebumps rise along his arms, and then he gives a happy, “Mmm,” before rolling over to face you, eyes barely open.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asks, voice breathy as he wakes up by degrees.

“I decided I’d rather be kissing you,” you whisper.

That makes him open his eyes. “Well by all means,” he murmurs, scooting closer.

He rests a hand against your jaw, brushing his thumb once against your cheek, pulling you in. His kiss, like last time, is languid. You feel like you could float away in it, like nothing exists beyond the points where your bodies touch, your awareness ending at his lips, his teeth, his tongue, his hand still tugging you closer.

Then the kiss turns insistent, demanding, and he’s groaning against your mouth as he moves his hand from where it was caressing your jaw and tangles in your hair instead. You press yourself against him, reveling in the solidness and warmth of his body against yours, your hands clutching fistfuls of his t-shirt. He rolls over top of you, holding himself up on his elbows, his hips pinning you in place. You slide your hands under the hem of his shirt and clutch at his back, heat radiating from the taut skin you find there, the area not cooled down after he’d slept on his back for hours.

He mirrors you, sliding a hand under your shirt, but he splays his hand across your side, fingers in-between ribs, his thumb just barely too far away to touch the underside of your breast. You half-breathe, half-moan, wishing he’d move his hand just an inch and it sets him off, because he holds you tighter, kisses you harder, and you can definitely feel him against your stomach. 

He pulls away, looking at you through the dark, and you both breathe heavily. He shifts to lay next to you again, squirming as he adjusts himself, and you let out a little giggle.

“Sorry,” you tease. 

“Don’t be,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around you. “But the alarm’s going off in an hour - we should try and get back to sleep.”

You burrow your face in his chest and breathe deeply. You haven’t felt this light and happy in… hell, close to a year. “I don’t like that you’re being logical right now,” you grumble and he laughs, reaching up to smooth down your hair.

“There’s plenty of time for more later,” he says, and then yawns. “Come back after your classes tonight?”

“Maybe,” you tell him coyly.

You already know you will.

–

Kiko and Bridget are waiting to ambush you the second you walk in the door at eight o’clock the next morning, Taehyung’s smell on your clothes and his taste in your mouth. They’re never up this early on Fridays; you’re positive this is orchestrated.

“How was your night?” Bridget asks brightly. You wish you had something to throw at her.

“Peaceful,” you tell her. “Now, I need to be in the shower in about ninety seconds, so whatever this is, make it fast.”

“Did you sleep with Taehyung?” Bridget asks, but at the same time, Kiko blurts - “Did you see Yoongi?”

You and Bridget both freeze.

“Answer her first,” Bridget instructs.

“I didn’t see him,” you tell her. “If he was home, he never came upstairs.”

“Okay,” she says quietly. 

“Did you guys…” you trail off, not wanting to say the words break up, “...fight?”

“No,” she says, eyes on the floor. “I don’t know what happened. He…” Her voice chokes up. “He just ghosted me completely. He hasn’t texted me since Monday.”

“Oh, Kiko,” you say, setting your phone down on your desk to free your hands. “Maybe it’s nothing? Maybe he got sick, or-?”

She shakes her head. “I should have known this is what would happen. He told me he never has serious girlfriends. I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Bridget says sternly, the most serious you’ve ever heard her. “And I’m telling you, Kiko, something is going on. I’ve known Yoongi for years, he’s not an asshole. If he was just over it, he’d tell you. I’m serious.”

“Maybe,” Kiko allows, but you can tell she doesn’t believe it.

“Okay,” you say, glancing at the time, “I really need to get in the shower. Kiko, I love you. You’re amazing. If Yoongi doesn’t get that, then he’s a fucking idiot. Let’s all hang out tonight?”

“Yes,” Bridget says immediately. “Not taking ‘no’ for an answer, Kiko.”

–

[9:44 AM] You: hey i can’t hang tonight ☹️ i gotta do damage control bc of YOUR FRIEND Min Yoongi 😤 saturday???

[9:45 AM] Taehyung: ☹️ ☹️ ☹️  ok

[9:46 AM] Taehyung: haven’t seen him in like 2 days… maybe I should send Jimin down to check for signs of life?

–

[10:11 AM] Briiiiig: so……………. did u?

[10:11 AM] You: i hate you.

[10:12 AM] Briiiiig: soooo yes??????

[10:13 AM] You: slept, yes. no one got nakey.

[10:13 AM] Briiiiig: but y

[10:15 AM] You: i chickened out, i guess

[10:16 AM] Briiiiig: do u think u’d regret it?

[10:17 AM] You: i fully believe that i could never 🥺

[10:17 AM] Briiiiig: just rip the bandaid off then

[10:18 AM] Briiiiig: after the first time with someone new its not scary anymore

[10:19 AM] Briiiiig: and/or drink first 🍺

[10:19 AM] You: 😑

[10:20 AM] Briiiiig: bar tmrw nite????

[10:20 AM] You: saturday @ dark horse????? Yes.

Saturday, December 1

[4:44 PM] Kiko✌️: can i express how deeply i dont want to go to a bar tonight

[4:44 PM] You: i mean, i feel u, but whats the alternative?

[4:45 PM] You: sitting alone in the dorm feeling sad???

[4:45 PM] Kiko✌️: i WANT to sit alone in the dorm feeling sad

[4:46 PM] Kiko✌️: let me indulge in the wallowing!!!!!

[4:47 PM] You: no 🤗

[4:47 PM] You: come drink with us

[4:48 PM] Kiko✌️: i dont wanna talk to duuuuuuuuudes

[4:48 PM] You: me either

[4:48 PM] Kiko✌️: liar. last time i checked taehyung is a dude

[4:49 PM] Kiko✌️: or should i say last time YOU checked

[4:49 PM] You: wow rude

[4:52 PM] You: come with us 🥺 i’ll let u kick my butt at darts??

[4:53 PM] Kiko✌️: well now thats a compelling offer

–

[6:22 PM] You: we’re going to dark horse @ 11

[6:22 PM] You: if ur bored

[6:25 PM] Taehyung: …interesting

[6:25 PM] Taehyung: everyones cranky here

[6:28 PM] Taehyung: Yoongi….. cranky. Jin….. cranky. Jungkook…. possibly not cranky, but also not home rn

[6:29 PM] Taehyung: maybe me and jimin will escape

–

You let Kiko beat you at darts several times, as promised, but it would be a lie to say you’re focused. Instead, you keep your eyes on the entrance, looking for the mess of dark, fluffy hair.

You almost hit the floor when they - Taehyung and Jimin - push through the door. They showed up. Taehyung’s in all black, his pants sinfully tight, one silver hoop adorning one ear. You want to put your hands all over him. Fuck.

You temporarily leave Bridget and Kiko at the dart boards and make your way over to greet the guys. 

“Hi,” you smile, feeling shy.

“Hi,” he says back, smiling like he finds you hilarious. “Hobi - Hoseok - might join us later, I hope that’s okay.”

“The more the merrier,” you shrug. “We were playing darts, but maybe we should all try to find a table?”

You head back towards the girls, who are watching you with very different expressions: Bridget looks delighted, Kiko looks like she wants to lay on the floor and cease existing.

You ask Bridget to go help the guys find a spot, and you sit next to Kiko, leaning your head on her shoulder. 

“If you want to leave, you can leave,” you say. “I know it sucks to hang out with his friends.”

She gives a heavy sigh. “Thanks. It does suck. But I’m here already, I’ll stay. It’s fine.”

You look at her for a minute, feeling sure that it’s not really that ‘fine’. 

“I’ll stay,” she insists. “Let’s go order shots. I need, like, seven.”

“Three,” you tell her firmly. “I am limiting you to three. We don’t want a repeat of -.”

She glares at you sideways. “That was one time! Let it go!”

You laugh, taking her hand and leading her up to the bar, intent on ordering a tray of lemon drop shots. You lean over the bar, making eye contact with the bartender, who gives you an I see you, give me a second nod. While you wait, you glance over your shoulder. Across the crowded room, you can see Bridget smiling brightly as she seemingly sweet-talks her way into getting some guys to relinquish half of their table. Jimin helps them slide their glasses over to make room for yours. Taehyung stands behind them, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room until -.

Until they find yours. 

He smiles at you, a tiny, uneven smile like the two of you are sharing a secret. Jimin speaks to him then, and he tears his eyes away from you long enough to glance at his best friend, only to return his gaze to you as Jimin is still speaking. You smile back; you can’t help it.

“Quit being gross and help me carry these,” Kiko says, elbowing you as the bartender finishes filling the last shot glass. You load them all onto a tray and you help steer Kiko back to the table without bumping into anyone. 

At the table, you stand between Kiko and Bridget and pass around the little glasses. You all clink together your first shot before knocking them back, leaving the second round on the table for everyone to take at their own pace. 

You’re worried that the conversation will be rough for Kiko - all talk about the guys and what’s going on at the house - but Jimin starts a conversation about the upcoming holiday season.

“Have you ever gone to the festival in town?” he asks. “It opened today, it stays open all month.”

“I go every year,” Bridget says. “It’s the best.”

“What festival?” you ask.

Taehyung answers. “They close off a block along the park every December and deck it out with lights and shit for the holidays, and then vendor stalls open up along there with seasonal goods - fancy hot chocolate food trucks, handknit sweaters, stuff like that.”

“It’s fun at night,” Jimin says. “There’s usually live music, and there’s different food every night. Half of the proceeds go to charity - the children’s hospital, I think.”

“And, of course,” Taehyung adds, a teasing glint in his eyes, “Santa is there.”

“Holy shit, not Santa,” Kiko deadpans. 

You nudge her playfully. “Don’t be a killjoy. You know I love Christmas shit.”

Hoseok arrives, as promised, joining your group with a smile. He greets you with a hug, saying, “Oh yeah, Nina’s friend, right?” 

“Yep,” you tell him. “I am the person to blame for bringing her to campus.”

He laughs at this. “Have you talked to her lately?”

“No,” you say, realizing it as you say it. “Not in at least a week.”

It’s not much later that you decide to get an actual drink. You excuse yourself and start to head towards the bar, but Taehyung disentangles himself with the group and comes up behind you. He walks with you, just slightly behind, his hand hovering so close to the dip of your lower back that you can feel the heat from his palm.

It’s subtle and respectful and you like it, like he’s claiming you as his, letting every guy in there know you’re his girl, but in such a low-key way. He keeps his hand there as you reach the bar, coming up next to you as you wait to order. 

“What’s your drink?” he asks, in that deep voice he gets sometimes, leaning over to be heard over the music and loud conversations around you.

“Captain and coke,” you tell him, thinking he’d order for you both if he found a bartender first. Instead, he knocks on your wallet with his knuckles, wrinkling his face as if to say put that away. You do, biting back a smile. 

“Don’t look now,” he says again, not looking at you, still trying to make eye contact with one of the three extremely busy bartenders, “but everyone is watching us.”

“Wow,” you say, fighting the urge to look over your shoulder. “Even Kiko?”

He checks this, looking over his shoulder somewhat merrily. “Yup,” he says. “Even Kiko.”

“Should we give them something to look at?” you ask cheekily.

“Baby, I think we already are,” he says, his hand sliding from the small of your back around to the side of your waist, hand tightening possessively as he tugs you just slightly closer to his side. “I know I’d have something to say if I were watching from over there.”

Baby throws you, just a little. You’re not sure you feel like you two are there yet.

“You have something to say about everything,” you tease, trying to move on, as Taehyung finally gets the chance to order your rum and coke and his beer. 

“That’s true,” he allows. “Speaking of which… we need to talk about Yoongi.”

You turn to face him, dislodging his hand from your waist, your eyes wide. “Did he say something?”

Taehyung grimaces. “Not exactly. Jimin went downstairs last night to try to talk to him - they argue a lot, but they’re actually pretty close.”

“What’d he say?” you press, dying to know.

Taehyung gives a little shrug. “Jimin didn’t tell me exactly how the conversation went, but he said that he thinks Yoongi’s upset.”

“Upset why?” you demand, the alcohol fueling your temper. “He ghosted her and she’s the nicest - she doesn’t deserve that -.”

Taehyung places his fingers gently on your arm, and you press your lips together, looking at him testily.

“Jimin thinks he got spooked and panicked,” he explains. “Like, started catching feelings and just short-circuited.”

“Well he needs to boot back up,” you grumble. “At least have the balls to tell her he’s done.”

Taehyung nods, allowing this, as he pays for the drinks the bartender has set before you. “Yeah, I caught him in the kitchen this morning and told him the same thing.”

Your eyes widen again. “You should have led with that,” you tell him, and he laughs, starting to head back towards the table, his arm coming around your waist again. “What exactly did you say?”

“I told him that if he’s out, he’s better off saying that he’s out,” Taehyung says. “And he said…” he pauses for dramatic effect, looking down at you playfully, “that he’s not sure he’s out. So there’s hope!”

“There shouldn’t be hope after radio silence for a full week,” you scowl. “He better show up with six dozen fucking roses to make up for that shit.”

You approach the table again and have to stop that line of conversation. You take your place between your roommates, sipping at the drink Taehyung bought you. As you all continue laughing and talking, you catch Taehyung’s gaze more than once across the table; each little look sending butterflies fluttering from your stomach out to the tips of your limbs. He’s looking at you, he wants you, and sometimes you can barely believe it. There’s warmth, and desire - you’re sure of it, and something oddly warning in his gaze, and each time you lock eyes it’s always you who loses the game of chicken, looking back down at your glass.

When the bell rings for last call, you all head back out to the bar to close out your tabs. Taehyung manages to end up next to you at the bar again, and he bends down to speak quietly to you as you wait for your checks.

“Come back home with me?” he asks, and you can hear the hopefulness in his voice.

You want to; you’d like nothing more than to fall asleep in the quiet of his room, his arms around you, his heartbeat under your fingertips. But Kiko’s face is drawn, her eyes tight, and you get the tingling feeling that something happened tonight. 

“I promise, I want to,” you tell him. “But I… don’t think Kiko’s okay. She might not talk to me about it, but I think I should try.” 

Taehyung glances sideways at Kiko. You can see him clock her expression, her lips tightly pressed together, her foot tapping anxiously.

“Okay,” he says, straightening back up and losing the bedroom voice. “But soon? Please?”

“I was there two nights ago,” you remind him. He freezes, seeming to calculate the validity of this statement. Then, he laughs.

“Wow, you’re right,” he says. “Felt like longer.”

When you’ve all paid, you make your way outside, waiting for the rides you’ve ordered.

Taehyung stays by Jimin, not coming to keep you warm as you’d kind of expected after the rest of his boyfriend behavior all night. Instead, you wrap yourself around Kiko’s arm, chattering your teeth playfully. She gives you a small, grateful smile.

The car for you girls arrives first. Bridget climbs in and starts scooting over. You’re about to follow when Taehyung grabs your wrist and pulls you back. You smile, knowing what’s coming, and you’re still smiling when his lips find yours. He kisses you hard, but quick, releasing you much faster than you’d have liked. 

He looks at you for a minute, and he seems on the verge of saying something, his eyes dancing with the uncertainty of it. You practically hold your breath, nervous. 

Your thing - whatever it is - suddenly feels precarious, as if too much weight on either side could send it spiraling.

Finally, he seems to change his mind. He says, “Goodnight, Y/N,” and releases your wrist, allowing you to climb into the car, the intensity of the moment dissipating like summer rain.

–

Back home, in bed, you type a text to Nina. “Went out w/ roomies… hoseok was there. tae was hella boyfriendy all night… and i really liked it ☹️ i am ✨conflicted✨”. 

You read it back twice, thinking about how Nina hasn’t asked about Taehyung at all. You erase what you typed, just closing out the messaging app altogether.

Sunday, December 2nd

You wake up gloriously un-hungover - a miracle, considering that you closed out the bar last night. You cross the room and climb into bed with Kiko. She grumbles, but you wrap an arm around her and ask, “Want to talk?”

She grumbles louder, hiding her face in her pillow, but she doesn’t remove your arm. You take that as a good sign.

“Words, Kiko,” you tell her. “Use your words.”

“I’m just mad,” she mutters into her pillow.

You consider this. “Do you want to know what Taehyung told me?” you ask. “Or would you rather I let it go?”

She thinks about this silently. “Not if you think it’ll get my hopes up,” she decides. “I’d rather lick my wounds and move on. I need to get over it, the sooner the better.”

You’re both quiet for a minute, and then you hear her sniffle.

“Kikoooo,” you say, hugging her tighter. “Did something happen? Did he say something to you last night?”

She’s quiet for a long time, but you wait her out. “It sounds so fucking stupid when I say it out loud,” she sighs finally.

“If you’re upset, then it isn’t stupid,” you tell her seriously.

She rolls to look at the ceiling, flinging an arm over her forehead. “He dropped a new track on his Soundcloud last night. Without telling me, or talking to me about it.”

You frown. “Was it your track?”

“No,” she says with a sigh. “I just thought… when he stopped talking to me… I guess I was hoping he’d say something next time he dropped a track. Like that would be the thing that got us talking again. But I guess not.”

You hug her again, though it’s harder now that she rolled over. “I’m sorry,” you whisper finally.

She breathes heavily, brow furrowed in frustration. “It’s fine,” she says, both of you knowing it isn’t. “The track is good. I’ll send it to you.”

You stay there together, not talking, until Bridget wakes up and you start making plans to go eat lunch.

–

Snippet: Lion’s Paw [DEMO] - MYG 

Touch the lion’s paw only while it sleeps One hundred fifty nights of your heartbeat If it all will be forgotten please remember my name When the floods wash it away will you and I be the same? Only while it sleeps, only while you sleep Try it during daylight and I might see the teeth Only while you sleep, only while I sleep Touch the lion’s paw but don’t ever speak I have loved you in silence, never let it be shown The king of the pride, on the ark he’s alone 

–

[1:57 PM] You: uhhhhhh 🦁🐾 WE NEED TO DISCUSS

[1:59 PM] You: you can’t facetime me abt it, she’s in the room with me

[2:00 PM] Taehyung: ugh fine

[2:03 PM] Taehyung: i’ve listened to it like five times but idgi. u have thoughts?

[2:04 PM] You: oh, do i. buckle up.

[2:05 PM] You: for starters, it’s a biblical reference? tf??? 

[2:06 PM] Taehyung: yeah i got that from the floods line and the ark line

[2:09 PM] You: also the one hundred and fifty nights, thats how long they were on the ark… dont ask me why i know that lol

[2:10 PM] You:  ANYWAY~

[2:11 PM] You: that last line!!!!!!!! “on the ark he’s alone” IT’S YOONGI, IT’S SYMBOLISM!!!!

[2:12 PM] Taehyung: Yoongi is….. the lion???

[2:14 PM] You: that’s what i think! and he’s alone rn bc he pushed kiko away? like the animals are supposed to be in pairs right but he’s by himself?

[2:16 PM] Taehyung: how tf does your brain do this

[2:17 PM] You: i’m just getting started, i’m full on losing my mind, if i didn’t hate him so much rn i’d say he’s genius for these lyrics pls hold while i type more

[2:19 PM] Taehyung: this convo is already more reading than i planned to do today.

[2:21 PM] You: i’m ignoring that. ok so the line “will u and i be the same?” like if they continue their thing or make it official will it change things between them? 

[2:24 PM] You: AND “only while u sleep” like it’s a thing that’s only safe in private, if they were out as a couple it would ruin it?

[2:25 PM] You: also I HAVE LOVED YOU IN SILENCE i’m sorry W H A T?!!!!!!!!!!!!! loved??? we’re talking abt love now????

[2:25 PM] You: ok i’m done

[2:27 PM] You: he’s scared of his feelings!!!! GO TALK TO HIM!!!!!!!

[2:30 PM] Taehyung: i am NOT the right person for this job

[2:31 PM] You: well thats good self awareness i guess

[2:32 PM] Taehyung: …..lemme tell jimin

Next

Thank you so much for being here! I appreciate every single like, reply, dm, ask, or reblog!

Special thank you to my lil pumpkin Pauli for being a baller moodboard maker and for beta-ing!

#taehyung x reader #dailydaegu #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #s2l #taehyung angst #college au #f2l #bts fanfic #bts fic #fic: what was hidden #taehyung smut #(but not in this chapter for full disclosure) #bts x reader

[sirensmojo]

“KINDRED”, 2 - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy meets a librarian that he discovered to be the chief of an underground organisation. Needing man enough allies to dirty their hands in the battle against Oswald Mosley, he shakes hands with the devil. Feelings intertwine with business, a mix that leads to unalterable ends...

Warnings: Swearing, romance, fluff.

Word Count: 6K+

❰ ​Previous Chapter

(...) 

Several days later.

You were walking London’s street with the confidence of someone that ruled the place. Your back, straight, your head high as the air moved your hair gently, as if you were starring in an old Hollywood movie. 

Your suit fitted you perfectly, a little loose so you were comfortable. You were wearing the jacket closed, one hand in your pant’s pocket as the clicking sound of your high heels resonated against the cobblestones of the empty streets.

It was early in the morning, so early the thick mist nearly extinguished the cigarette hanging on your red painted lips, but your gaze was already as determined as one can be. 

‘This day will be great’ was the mantra you were singing in your head. You were supposed to open the library in less than an hour now, and you had to meet with your new employees to discuss the rules before opening.

You thanked God some of them were already a part of your organisation, which made it easier as they knew the way things needed to be done under your management. 

Entering the building, the women were already waiting, in uniform and standing in a perfect line side by side. 

You offered them a warm smile coming closer to them as you took your woollen coat off.

“Misses and Madams, let me welcome you to the Bridgehead Library. Now, you may or may not know me, I’m Y/N, you, strong fighter for women’s rights & aspirant to a world where we would walk the streets unafraid of any danger. Because we know how it is, for those of you that are single moms, for those of you that were disowned by your own family, those of you who don’t want to get married.” 

You paced back and forth in front of the aligned women, looking at each one of them straight in the eyes, as talking with a firm and confident tone.

“You’re not taken seriously, you’re misused and abused. You fear the barmaid will not serve you a drink cause no man stands on your side, you fear the man that is staring at your body will be lurking in the shadows, following you, and rip off your clothes when you’ll be in an empty street.”

You stop in front of a face you saw in the files of Thomas Shelby while doing some research on him. You identify the individual as Ada Thorne, born Shelby, Tom’s sister. 

“Well, you should know, for as long as you're willing to work here, none of the things mentioned before should ever happen to you. And your family will be fed and more... I guarantee you fifteen pounds a week. If anything… A-ny-thing may happen to you due to your gender, consider turning to Bridget, we will find a solution.”

You motioned to a blonde-haired woman sitting legs crossed at the principal desk to their right. Her hair was middle length and perfectly waved to one side as the other was tucked behind her ear. 

The named Bridget glanced up to you before colliding her lit matchstick with her cigarette. 

“You’re under my protection, use my name for doing whatever pleases you, whenever you want. This is your ticket to a brand new life, for all of you. And all of us, together, we can achieve great things. If the counsellor job isn’t enough for you, I invite you to turn to Ana.” 

You pointed a brunette on your side, her facial expression was passive & aggressive, but for some reason, it was comforting. As if you knew you were in security in her presence. 

“Now, as for the library…” You gave your instructions. 

As soon as you finished your speech, it was 7, the hour of the opening. 

The day was slow at the beginning, but soon enough the library was packed. Not only by people here to find a book, but packed with numerous women, all in a single file that led to a small room at the back of the first floor that had been designated as Ana’s office.

It was almost impossible for Ada not to wonder what was going on. 

Were all these women wanting to find another job than counsellor?

All employees tried their best to keep quiet the visitors, following your orders, but as Ada was passing by the single file to pick up and put back books, she could hear murmurs. 

The individuals were talking about politics, but something so far from what she had ever heard.

Some were talking about the tragic death of a certain Emily Davison before the war at the Derby Epsom and how they rallied the WSPU(Women’s Social and Political Union). 

Others were talking about a recent speech by Emmeline Pankhurst to which they couldn’t assist due to coppers. The Shelby sister surmised that woman must be the leader of the political party given the amount of respect they paid her. 

No need to say Ada was drowning in a tide of data and names she vaguely heard of before.

She didn’t pay that much attention to the women’s cause. Even after the death of her Freddie, after which reality smacked her back into the world she was living in. 

It was either her family or her convictions, as being a Shelby meant drifting from the oppressed to the oppressor. But she was so focused on not being a Shelby that she closed herself to other opportunities. 

She wanted to be a part of something bigger and better to help those in need. But she ultimately admitted to herself she needed her family in order to survive, which led her to jump off the communist boat.

But a part of her was always keeping her beliefs close to her heart. 

(...)

*The library, fourth floor*

You turned the keys in the lock, opening your door’s office. You switched on the light and when turning back, stumbled on a man sitting crossed legs, at the edge of the sofa.

When he was sure he made his presence known, he lied backwards, extending one of his arms on the armrest, his head held high.

He was dressed in an elegant dark blue suit, white shirt, the chains of his watch knotted around one of his buttons with a fine red & blue tie around his neck.

Right above his upper lips was a full mustache, and as your gaze reached his dark eyes, you glimpsed the stranger’s neat hair flattened backward.

“What a surprise.” You let out, walking to the desk as if it was normal for him to be here. You then hung your coat on the coat rack, turning your back at Mosley.

“A good one, I hope.” The man put on his fake smile, lying eyes everywhere he could on the woman’s silhouette in front of him.

“Always, Mr Mosley. How could you be any other thing than a pleasure to see,” you came back to where he was and sat in one of the armchairs ahead “and meet.” You added, offering him a smile.

“It’s a shame we never had time to properly exchange--”

“That’s why you crept into my office.” You cut him and nodded to herself, your knuckles hitting on her thigh.

A chuckle escaped the man’s lips before he stared even more at the light-haired woman.

“It is to be said, your name doesn’t get quite unnoticed in society or amongst politicians.” 

“So you’ve heard of me, even more charming.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm.

 If he thought he could cajole you that easily, he was wrong.

“Not only have I heard of your deeds, Miss you, but I’ve been reported daily about the people you keep company with.” He stated as if it was normal for him to send people spying on whoever.

You remained silent, waiting for the man to say more. 

He was gauging your reaction towards his words, lurking at any sudden change in your expression, but you kept on an unreadable face. Mosley tilted his head to the side, curiosity animating his iris.

“Leading me to question the nature of your relationship with Mr Thomas Shelby.” He continued, squinting his eyes.

“Perhaps socialists are your thing?” He spitted that last part with all the distaste he felt toward both the worker class and Tommy.

By the way your piercing eyes didn’t flinch a bit at his sneaky comment, Mosley surmised you weren't impressed, which eventuated in him smiling while keeping up the stare.

“Did you come all the way down to my library to give me a lecture on your inauthentic Dasein, Mr Mosley? There are doctors for that.”

A rictus at the corner of your lips distracted the eyes of the man in front you, who unwittingly broke the stare.

You won.

You took great delight in the void of Mosley’s expression that surely didn’t understand what you just said. 

“Oh, beg pardon. Perhaps I’m using concepts you don’t understand.” You didn’t even cover the fact you were making fun of his ignorance, your eyes still as sharp as razors.

“Don’t you know Heidegger, Mr Mosley? He discusses a neat difference between what he calls Sein, that covers what Is, what constitutes human existence with the Dasein that covers the phenomenological analysis of human existence. In other words, he says there is a gap between how things are and how we perceive them.” 

You got up and walked to your desk, making sure to pass by him pretty close so your perfume would meet the man’s nostrils. 

You then opened the ceramic piece in which you kept your cigarettes, and as you grabbed one, you concluded.

“When it may seem to you something is occuring, that doesn’t mean it’s actually happening. It just means your senses want to believe it is happening for numerous reasons, but the main one is almost always the fear of something. You don’t believe it wittingly of course, it’s your inconscient working. But still, you just confided in me an unconscious worry named Thomas Shelby.” You ignited your cig.

By using a psycho-philosophical reference, you were showing him your hand, how studious you were, which meant he couldn’t look down on you or intimidate you easily. 

His attempt to pressure you wasn’t working. And you were setting the standards high.

Mosley didn’t miss any of your movement since you got up. Eyeing you top to bottom. It was crystal clear your monologue satisfied him the most. He, that considered you as illegitimate of the high-society status you had been given. 

Perhaps he was wrong?

“May I add, no offense here, that whatever concerns him, or me doesn’t concern you a bit? I’m afraid you came here in vain.” You smacked her lips at the end of her sentence, faking to be annoyed by the fact he lost his time coming here.

“I found you, Miss Y/L/N, I found you.” He repeated, fluttering his eyes as tilting his head to the side.

His way of intensely eyeing the individual he was speaking to would be quite uncomfortable for you if you hadn’t been a woman in a man’s world for so long.

No wonder why this man was so feared and yet adorned. His whole character emitted mysteriousness while arousing wonder and curiosity. It was hard, nearly impossible to read his face or even get in his mind, but you didn’t need that to face him head-on. 

“And to answer your question, no. Socialists aren’t my thing, Kings are.” His brows raised at the end of your sentence.

You stared at each other some more, Mosley trying to discover the implied meaning of your sentence as you were internally laughing seeing him struggle.

“Anyway, I hope you’re finding our city to your liking. You’re from Birmingham after all.” He paused and got up, walking closer to the door with a hand in his pants pocket.”Talking of which, may I ask why not opening in a library there?” It was obvious the displeasure he felt towards your decision.

“I’ll call it ‘modern conquering’.” You responded with enthusiasm.

(...)

Ada poured wine into two cups when hearing the keys turning in the lock of her house. She first thought it was Ben, her lover coming back from his office, or wherever he was working as they weren’t truly speaking of work when together.

Her eyes widened at the sight of her brother when she turned back to the entrance of the living room. “Tommy?” Her high pitched tone expressing her surprise. 

“Let’s sit down, Ada.” The man always looked worried and thoughtful, but this time it was different, his eyes were actually reflecting emotions, which usually never are. 

“What’s happened”

Tommy came nearer the table and pulled a chair for his sister, without looking at her. “Sit down, eh?” He repeated before sitting down himself.

Ada didn’t stop looking at her brother, she knew him too well. Something wasn’t right. She pulled a chair for herself. 

Tommy tried his best to look at the face of his sister while talking but he just couldn’t, his eyes kept drifting away. “Ben younger is dead. Someone put a bomb in his car.”

As the brunette wasn’t talking, her mouth slightly opened in shook, he kept on talking, “I don’t know how you felt about him or how bad this is going to hurt, but whatever happens just remember you have a baby inside of you.” He pointed to her tummy.

His sister let her back hit the chair noisily, searching the void for answers. “God.” She hardly sighed. “Anyone you touch. Which means anyone I touch. Which means anyone any of us touch. He never knew I was pregnant… I hadn’t told him.”

Tommy that was looking at her to support her pain, once again looked down hearing the hard truth. 

“God, I didn’t love him.” She sighed heavily. “But I liked him. He was decent and good. And I wasn’t gonna marry him. The baby was a mistake but that’s okay… because I didn’t ask anything of him. God he didn’t deserve us.” A tear rolled down her cheek before she exhaled loudly again.

“Well I’ve spoken to his family. They’re going to take care of the funeral” Tommy said as Ada sniffled. “It will go down as an IRA assassination of a British military officer.” He felt the need to divulge her all he knew.

“But what was it really?” She calmly asked, looking intently at him her head tilted to the side.

Tommy smacked his lips and breathed deeply. “It was… a consequence of good intentions. My good intentions.” 

She scoffed.

“I pushed him to report on the fascists. I thought it was the right thing to do. And as a result, Section D or the Branch or intelligence had him killed.”

She scoffed again, looking away this time.

He abruptly took back in hands his beret he previously dropped on the table and started fidgeting with it, looking down. “There was a kid, died in the explosion. He was ten years old. It’s funny isn’t it, how it works?” He cleared his throat and got up, starting to move forward the door.

“No, Tommy.” 

He stopped, his back still turned to the woman.

“Don’t give yourself this excuse. “ Ada’s eyes were filled with tears, some of which hurtling down her face to her chin.

“He was ten years old. if I would stuck to what I do, he’d still be kicking a ball in the street. It’s funny isn’t it?” The meaning of his words was amplified by the thunder rumbling outside. 

(...) 

Days later.

It was the end of the day, employees had started to leave when Ada came to the entrance.

“Can I get the changing room keys?” She asked Bridget, who was sitting behind the desk, lost in a book.

“Ada Shelby? Miss you would like to borrow you a moment.” She pointed to the stairs behind her. “She’s waiting for you.” The desk lady invited the woman standing in front of her to get on her way.

Ada rolled her eyes at the mention of the Shelby name. “It’s Ada Thorne.”

The light-haired woman smiled at Ada’s comment.

She got up to the second floor and then to the third one before she wondered what her boss had to say that somebody else couldn’t tell her.

Ada rapidly caught sight of the wooden door at the end of the long corridor. She stops walking when hearing voices, a male and a female one. She stops, not wanting to get into their intimacy, but the door wasn’t completely closed, which allowed the voices to slip out pretty clear.

Not too long after she heard steps approaching and moved backward, so it didn’t look like she was eavesdropping. The door ultimately opened, and the fascist man she saw only once before with Tommy passed by her, without even glancing her way.

She knocked on the door and cleared her mind.

“Come in.” 

She cleared her throat. “Miss Y/L/N, am Ada Thorne, you asked to see me?” She peek into the room. 

“Yep, come in. Take a seat.” You motioned your hand that was holding a cigarette to the chair in front of her. 

Her back flat against the backrest, your E/C’s eyes entered those of the Ada’s.

You were searching for the same light that was twinkling in Thomas’ eyes, in vain.

“Do you know who I am, Ada? I can call you that, right?” 

“I heard about your achievements in Paris. What you did for women.” The brunette answered, uncertain of where this discussion was going.

“Do you know what I do?”

At the question, the woman ahead of you didn’t know what to answer.

Was there even a correct answer for that?

Of course, she knew part of her activities was illegal, she wasn’t blind. And, come on! She was a Shelby too, she could feel those things thanks to her brother’s choice of life. 

But what her boss wanted her to say, exactly? And for what reason? 

“You’re talking about the illegal part?”

“The criminal one” You snapped back.

Ada’s eyes widened.

“I surmised you didn’t. Why did you think there were that many women in here today? I offer them jobs in my London’s counterfeit money’s enterprise.” You leaned forward to Thorne, squeezing the cig into the ashtray. 

You crossed the fingers of both your hands together. “You don’t really want to work here.” You forced out the words as if to convince Ada.

“Understand this library covers an underground organisation that is beyond you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not particularly involved in the “business” of your own family. Tommy gave you a title in it but still, you’re here, working in a library to prove yourself something.

Why would I want someone like you in here? Someone that is unsure of what they are, what they want.” 

The venom entered Ada’s ear going directly to her chest, depriving her of oxygen for a short instant. But her eyebrows surely knitted in anger. 

“Stop acting like you know everything when it is clear you understand nothing.” She gained composure again.

“I heard, you didn’t even want to be a Shelby in the first place, running away from your home and your family.” You nodded, your eyes still deep into Ada’s.

“You ‘hear’ things and you take it as the absolute truth? And you’re the leader here.” Thorne chuckled to herself, her eyebrows raised high.

You sneered at the comment.

“What is the problem with my family anyway? If you want to fire me because I’m a Shelby then just do it. I’ll not come burning your library if that’s the matter.” 

The librarian cackled, putting your head into your joined open hands, elbows on the table. “God! No! That’s not that. It is more about the fact that the first time you’re getting involved in that kind of organisation it’s not your brother’s. Not your family’s.” 

Ada looked away, realizing what the light-haired woman meant. She, who never was included in the family business, rather by choice than by abandonment of her family, was employed in a pseudo library that was covering for dirty activities.

“It’s ironic indeed. But what makes you think I wouldn’t want to work here knowing the truth?”

You shrugged. “You never worked with your brothers. Even your aunt, Polly is actively working there.”

“It was my choice.”

“So you’ve changed your mind.”

Ada dismissed the talk, another question seeming to be more urgent:

“But why didn’t you just let me be unaware of all this and be like the others.” She retorted.

“Because you’re not ‘like the others’. You’re a Shelby and a Thorne. Your brother is sitting at the House Of Commons amongst politicians while getting his hands dirty here and there, and your deceased husband was a very known communist leader. You’re everything but random, understand that.” 

“So you’re telling this to me out of goodness?” She laughed at you without even hiding her reluctance toward this eventuality. 

“Respect.” You rectified with a solemn tone. 

The brunette stops laughing, her expression becoming serious again. She didn’t quite get your the true motives, but she had other questions.

“What are your relations with my brothers, are you enemies?”

“No.”

“Allies, then?”

“No.”

Even if you told Ada about the true roots of this library, she wouldn’t talk about the arrangement between her and Thomas. It wasn’t your place to do so, and you didn’t think Ada needed to know, at least for now.

“It’s not like you’re going to get your hands dirty anyway, but if anything should happen to me, they will associate you with me, so they’ll come for you.”

“Who’s they?”

“Coopers, I don’t have them in my pocket.”

Thorne seemed to be in her head, probably rethinking her intention to keep working here as a counsellor.

“You were already working here with the old owner so I’ll let you choose rather you want to stay or leave. But don’t stay because you want to prove something to yourself, or your family. I don’t need a crybaby. If the communist cause you defend isn’t matching with the cause I fight for, leave.” 

Your words cut in pieces the thick atmosphere that had settled between the two women.

(...)

Thomas convened a family meeting.

Everyone was already waiting for him at the pub. Charlie Senior and Curly were sitting at a table drinking from the bottle, while Johnny Dog and Jeremiah were sipping on whiskey at the counter, next to Aberama Gold, too occupied looking at his future wife Polly. 

She were sitting at a table with her son and his wife, Gina.

As Arthur and Finn passed the door, the oldest Shelby got behind Michael and didn’t miss the occasion to stumble wittingly on his cousin’s chair, pulling away the younger’s back from it. 

Next, he hassled to sit near the counter, pouring himself some liquor that he drank in one go. Finn reluctantly came and sat at the table between Gina and Polly.

Tommy finally arrived, walking around the table to place himself in front of everyone. 

“First of all, an apology from Lizzie. She can’t be here. Charles has a violin concert. Also, welcome to Mr Aberama Gold. He and Polly are to be married in three weeks with my blessing. From now on, Aberama will be welcomed at our meetings. First item: business. A bereavement. Colonel Ben Younger, who may perhaps have become a member of this family, was taken from us, four days ago, by dark forces. We’ve made some investigations, we think we know who planted the bomb. In the meantime, our thoughts are with Ada and the baby inside of her, who may one day, sit at these meetings but… Hopefully under happier circumstances.”

“Let’s drink to happier circumstances.” Pol’ offered while pouring some whiskey in her and Tommy’s cup.

“Yeah.” Arthur agreed, raising his glass. “To Ada.” He added, soon joined by all the people in the room.

Tommy coughed at the burn of the whiskey and continued his speech, “Item number two: an announcement regarding Michael.” He coughed again as if to release some tension in him, his hand rose toward the younger Gray. 

“Before you go on, Tommy, there’s something I’d like to say, to the whole family directly, regarding finances and the future of this company.” Michael stated, getting comfortable in his chair, and from the corner of his eye, he could see his mother glaring at his wife.

Gina ignored her, looking down and smoking a cigarette.

“According to your own estimations, this new venture of the delivery and shipment of opium will bring into the company around £2 million per year. Therefore, due to the amounts involved, I think this company should be restructured.” He continued, looking fearlessly at a pissed Tommy.

“Michael. I think this can wait ‘till outside the family meeting.” His mother tried to postpone the confrontation.

“Restructured in what way?” Tommy asked, not because he was genuinely interested, but because he needed to know if Michael’s betrayal had limits. Which it didn’t have.

“Because of the amount of money involved, shipment and dispatch will become the primary source of income in the company. It’s simple mathematics.” Gina proudly announced, deciding to match her husband’s audacity as she looked Thomas the wrong way. 

Her husband got up, going behind her as he placed his hands on both her shoulders rubbing them gently. “With the help of my wife, I will organise an expansion into America, where the narcotics business is just beginning to grow. I have very good contacts in Detroit, New-York, Boston, who I’ve already spoken to about this. And Gina has family who are very experienced in this kind of business.”

It seems like the woman surely gained composure thanks to the assurance in her husband’s voice because she finally decides to look back at Polly, who was staring at her the whole time with an unpredictable longing to plant her butterfly knife in her. 

Gina, quickly glanced away as if to snub her husband’s mother.

“According to the conversations I’ve had with them, with a regular supply of pure opium from China, within a short space of time, the American narcotics business will bring in $20 million per annum. Enough money for you to enjoy an easing burden you all now feel. See, I know that the scars and the wounds, they’re on the inside, not on the outside. And as a member of the new generation, I am able to take that burden off your weary shoulders. A new decade is coming. There’ll be new opportunities and new territories, more money than we’ve ever had before.” 

He stops looking around to everyone to pause on his cousin only.

“Tommy, you can still do the good work that deep down you want to do. Mum, you can get married and live in that big house.” 

Polly happily glanced at Aberama, letting herself dream of a good life for a second. 

“Arthur, you can be the man that Linda wants you to be.” 

“Fuck Linda.” Arthur interrupted.

Michael turned to Finn, walking toward him to rest behind the seated man, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it proudly.

“Finn, you’ve proved yourself. You’re part of the new generation. You could come to New-York with me.” Michael finished his speech. His wife handed him a file that he gladly took in hands. He walked to Thomas and dropped the file on the table that rested between them two. 

Tommy’s eyes went to the file before lifting to Michael’s determined face.

“Here is my proposal. A full restructuring of the company. I will be managing director… and you can be non-executive chairman. But under an assumed name to protect your reputation. I found the name of a dead man. You will be registered as Mr Jones.”

He turned toward the other people in the room. “You will each receive a percentage of the profits as an annuity. And you will no longer have to engage in any of the associated activities.” 

Michael then grabbed the file to hand it to Tommy.

“Take a look at the future, Tommy. At least read it with an open mind.” 

The head of the Peaky Blinders paused, looking at Michael intensely before taking the file. “It’s cold in here, Michael.” He finished, turning to the fireplace and throwing the catalogue there. 

Johnny Dog let out an excited laugh, surely due to the heavy atmosphere the two cousins had settled. 

“Tommy the Americans want to deal with me.” Michael’s jaw tensed as his voice raised with impatience. 

“Item number three--” Continued Thomas as if nothing happened. But he was cut off by Gina’s venom:

“Tell him the truth.” She seemed unsatisfied with the way his husband chose to handle the situation. Tommy’s eyes hassled toward the young woman, speechless. “Go on. He can take it.” She continued.

His eyes went back to Michael that looked away, immediately, as if he didn’t want to come to this end.

“Tell me the truth, Michael.” Tommy encouraged, exasperated by this whole scene.

“The Americans don’t want to deal with an old-fashioned backstreet razor gang. Those days are done.” Michael gained composure again, looking blankly at Tommy.

The latter couldn’t even correctly react that some men entered the pub, needing some help to handle Bartley, who was convinced he was still at war. Everybody got out of the room in a hurry except for Michael, Gina, Tommy & Pol’.

Passing by Michael to get out, Arthur leaned to his ear slowly, “Fuck the Americans.”

Tommy turned around, hand on the wooden piece as he was leaning above the fireplace, looking intensely into the orangish flames.

“I’m doing this for you Tommy. It’s time… And you know it.”

The concerned one, closed his eyes taking a deep breath in and tried to calm his nerves and think. But nothing came to him, he couldn’t even properly swallow how much Michael’s betrayal had extended, the worst was that he was sure, it wasn’t the end of it. His cousin probably wanting to take everything from him slowly he surely voluntarily omitted things. 

“Tommy, Mum’s leaving. John’s dead. Arthur needs help. Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up.” Now that there weren’t people to impress, Michael let the anger he felt toward his cousin’s actions.

The elder blue-eyed man couldn’t stay calm a second more, he abruptly turned around, grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was on the table and violently threw it in the fire, creating the flames to only grow bigger. Gina was scared, she held her chair with tightened hands and Polly and she jumped with surprise on their chair.

He turned again to Michael as the latter held him a butterfly knife already open.

“Go on, Tom. Go on cut me. Like the good old days. Or… See this for what it is. A natural succession that someday must happen” His arm going down again.  

At this point, the Shelby brother had calmed down, finding funny the proposition he was offered. His lips smacked and breathed deeply, looking at anything but his opposant. He shook his head in disbelief, “I gave you an opportunity, Michael. You betrayed me. Don’t be here when I get back.” He looked at his younger cousin, deceived by him and angry at himself.

After losing $2 millions in the Wall Street crash., Tommy gave him an opportunity to come back to England and pay him what he owed him, but even there, in the boat, Michael met with people that are Shelby’s family enemy. When that happened, Tommy gave him the benefit of the doubt. And now this? Michael went too far, and this time Tommy will not close his eyes on it. The only reason his cousin was still breathing was that he's Polly’s son.

He walked around the table and addressed Gina, smacking his fingers as he pointed her, leaning forward. “You. You can tell your family--”

“Let me guess.” She interrupted him, the same satisfying face she had at the beginning of the meeting. “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” That wasn’t a question.

Michael grinned, as Tommy quickly got out of the pub. 

“Right?” Gina mockingly asked.

(...)

Tommy was spending most days at the House Of Commons lately doing speeches in favor of fascism to the greatest pleasure of Mosley. 

That day, he was there from early in the morning to the evening. It was already around 10, but his assistant opened the door to his office, saying someone was there but without having an appointment. 

“Who it is?” He asked, raising a brow, one of his hands went in his pocket to check on his watch.

“The librarian.”

It’s been nearly two weeks since your last meeting and at the simple mention of you, he would find his blood boiling in anticipation of the wave of feelings you brought him.

His pulsions talking for him, the Shelby brother ordered to let you in without questioning why you were here that late.

“Mr Shelby, you asked me to get information about a certain Michael Gray?” You came in like a tornado, your voice filled with sarcasm mixed with enthusiasm as you were the one pushing him to act on his cousin’s betrayal weeks ago.

How ironic was it that he had to learn the hard way you had been right since the very beginning,  you surmised something must’ve happened between the younger gray and him given the determined words he’d written on the note he left at the library sat in one of the two chairs facing his desk. “No time for formalities.” You agitated the folder in her hand.

He almost gasped at your movements, he had forgotten how sensual you were.

Whenever they would meet, you would succeed to arouse something in him, maybe even igniting a fire that couldn’t be found when you weren’t around. 

“You might want to read that!” You nodded to yourself, your brows raised high as if you detained the most important information of the decade.

“You do me the lecture.” His playful tone made you look up to him. Your head tilted at the sight of the glasses hanging on Tommy’s nose as you released a little “huh” from your lips.

He squinted his eyes, not knowing why the actual fuck did you do that. Did you just judge him or was he dreaming? 

He took off the glasses and placed them on the table, not wanting to deal with that face you just made again, all while remaining silent and invited you to begin.

You clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Do you think it’s going to be free, Mr Shelby?” You looked intensely at him, your own eyes devoid of emotions.

He hated the fact you were able to just erase your emotion from your face and your eyes as he desperately wanted to see things in them. But him being him, he too put on an expressionless face.

“What do you want?”

“Everything, but you can’t give that to me. So I’ll just answer ‘whatever’.” 

He frowned, not understanding her point.

“When I’ll need something, you’ll be answering present without the option to say no.”

He remained silent, quite taken aback by how forward you  was. His jaw clenched, tension building up in the room. If stares could send lightnings, they’d both be nothing but a pile of ashes by now.

Reading his silence, you deduced it means he was alright with the deal and proceeded to answer his previous wish, do him a lecture.

“It is written here that Gina Gray’s family isn’t rich, but they weren’t starving either…” You begins. You then allowed a sweet “bla-bla-bla” to come out your lips as passing over the words searching for a specific part.

Tom didn’t miss your deeds a bit. From the enthusiastic tone in your voice to your serious face. He looked at the way your were sitting, legs crossed with the file on your thighs as you was slightly leaning forward. 

No wonder your were excited to show him your findings while handling business like a boss. He caught himself thinking your were cute. 

It was the first time he’d seen your that commited. He’d seen you focused, but you were always passive whereas now, your seemed completely into what your were talking about.

“The part that interests us is this one ‘Has an uncle that meets up at the docks several times a week with a group of people being a part of the drugs industry. It seems they cover their activities by the image of a protestant group and illegally sends rifles under God’s cause to our beloved Scottish friends, in other words, the Billy boys. And this, on a daily basis.” 

You patted the paper.

“It is written here, they counted around 6 boats per month, Tom.” You raised your kindling gaze to the icy blue-eyed man. 

He paused, his lips slightly opening before sliding a hand on his face and looking down.

It seems Tommy didn’t believe what he was hearing.

He leaned on the desk and opened the wooden box where his cigarettes were. 

His back harshly met his chair as he stared at the woman, blinking.

“I’m serving it on a plate, to you, Thomas.” You”d serenely let out, as if you understood him without having him saying anything. “Just deal with it.”

“How much do you trust this contact?” 

“I trust him with my life.” You responded.

With this partnership, he didn’t proceed the same as usual by offering something in return. He didn’t have the time to give you a proper offer that you'd already started to work in favor of his plan against Mosley, so this relationship was more based on the trust they have into each other rather than a commun exchange of services.

Today was the first time you’d ask him to return the favor, and it was today as well that the man had to wittingly choose to trust her blindly.

He coughed and lighted his cig, and put an elbow on the wooden desk as he was still deeply in thoughts.

You got up, moving slowly and leaned on the desk, hands flat on it, her face not even a centimeter away from his. “If you don’t trust that,” you pointed at him and then at you, “end it.” You finished.

The mood automatically shifted due to the tension that has quickly installed between the two individuals. 

Not for even one second did you imagine things to get this sensual. Here you were, desperately searching other's eyes out of each other’s grip.

Tommy’s eyes hungrily drifted to your lips, and stayed there more than it should’ve.

You moved back and turned your heels, leaving the room.

Too much in too little time. This. What that even was, and what did it mean?

This was the reason why you never got emotionally involved in business . But that was different now. But for you, that always kept the idea that the past wasn't supposed to repeat itself, the present was slapping maybe too hard.

Thank God you succeeded at getting out, not because of Tommy, but utterly because of yourself. If you had stayed so much as one second more, you didn’t know what you would’ve done, or maybe you did know but preferred to bury it away.

It was easier that way.

Following Chapter ❱

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic

[ahopelessromantic]

Revelations ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Wordcount: 1,8K

Warnings: None really, slightly suggestive neck kissing, Morgan’s a snitch

Spencer and you like playing games, one of them being hiding your relationship from your team. But, working together with some of the world’s best profilers, things are bound to get found out.

Roses. A big bouquet of red roses, right in the middle of your desk.You hadn’t even properly arrived at work for the day and your team was already pestering you with suggestive smirks. “Red Roses, huh?” Morgan wiggled his eyebrows. “Who’s the guy?” You felt your ears grow hot. “No one.”, you mumbled. Before you could even stop him, he had snatched the card that had come with the flowers from their vase. “You get the food; I get the wine. Signed R. Looks like you and your mystery boyfriend are still going strong.” “Morgan, leave (Y/L/N) alone and get to work.” Hotch called out over the bullpen, but even his lips were curling into a smile. “Right, Morgan, get to work!” You scolded him playfully, taking the card back from him.On your way up to the conference room you could spot Reid’s grin from the corner of your eyes.

“R?” You giggled, carefully straightening his tie. “You’re getting careless.” Spencer lifted your chin with his fingers and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips. “What’s life without a little risk?” You rolled your eyes, barely able to contain your happiness. “Alright, Romeo, let’s go before you start telling everyone we’re basically living together, too.” It was fun, sneaking around with Spencer like this. Your team consisted of some of the world’s best profilers and yet they didn’t seem to have a clue about who your new boyfriend was.And it wasn’t just that, the secret little dates, the notes placed on each other’s desks while no one was looking, they were all a nice change from being under constant scrutiny otherwise. Additionally, most of your team was going to endlessly tease you once they found out the two of you were dating. So, for now, you were keeping things lowkey. As lowkey as being in a committed, loving relationship with each other could be.

“This doesn’t make sense! Why would she go for the asshole when Darcy is right there?” You laughed, cuddling further into Spencer’s chest. At some point in your relationship you had agreed on banning anything crime related from your lives outside of work, so the movies the two of you watched together were mostly sci-fi or romance, like today.For some reason you hadn’t expected Spencer to be into Bridget Jones as much as you, but there he was, getting heavily invested into your favourite chick flick. “Guess you’ll have to wait until we watch the next part.” You looked up to him from your place on his chest, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ears. “There’s more?” He asked excitedly, already moving to reach the tv remote. “Noo, Reid. I don’t want to watch another movie, I want attention.” You whined. He looked at you in amused confusion. “I give you attention all the time, or do I have to remember you about the huge bouquet of flowers on your desk?” His tone had taken to teasing now and you pouted. This playful side of Spencer was one you had only gotten to know after some months of dating, him only then feeling confident enough in your feelings for him to let down his guards completely. “But I haven’t been properly kissed since this morning and if I don’t get a kiss soon I think I’m going to die.” He looked down at you, an incredulous smile on his face. It didn’t matter that you had already kissed many times, when Spencer looked at you with his warm hazel eyes and the close lipped smile that made his gorgeous cheek bones stand out like that you still felt as excited as you did before your very first kiss. This lanky, highly intelligent man with his sometimes odd mannerisms had bewitched you body and soul, and often you still couldn’t believe that he was yours. “I think we need to change that before you die of lack attention, right?” “Hm.”, you hummed in confirmation, closing your eyes into the kiss. He cupped your face, pulling you impossibly close. “Better now?” He grinned after pulling away. You rolled your eyes and climbed on top of him. “Not yet.” You whispered and kissed him again, allowing yourself to wander from his lips to his neck. You heard him shakily exhaling beneath you, and at that point you were gone.

“Oh shit.” You whispered looking at the alarm clock on Spencer’s nightstand. “No no no, please don’t be right.” You pleaded, now starting to panic. But a look at your phone only confirmed what you had been suspecting: The two of you had overslept. Big time. You had less than ten minutes to get to the office in time. “Spence.” You hissed and shoved at his shoulder, after which he immediately bolted up. “Huh?” He squinted and looked around his bedroom, eyes widening once he saw your stressed expression. “Spence, did you forget to set an alarm?” Instead of answering he got out of bed impossibly fast as well. “Spencer!”, you scolded him, panicking at the prospect of being late. “I- I was distracted, okay?” He stammered in the attempt of defending himself. It was only now in broad daylight that you could see the faint hickeys blooming against the side of his neck. Somehow your anxiousness melted away at the mere sight of your confused, still very much tired boyfriend. You took a deep breath, assessing the situation. “Alright, get dressed, we’ll get breakfast on the way to work. And I’m going to need some of your clothes.” Normally your morning routine was a very different one. You woke up together, had breakfast and then on the way to work made a detour to the other’s apartment so they could get changed out of yesterday’s clothes. This routine had been fool proof and effective for months now, but apparently Spencer had really needed the distraction that was you yesterday.

“You go in first. I’ll go in after a few minutes.” Your boyfriend nodded, getting out of the car before stopping in his tracks. “What?”, you asked softly, afraid he had forgotten something at home. “I forgot something.” He confirmed, making your heart sink into your stomach. But then he leaned over the gearbox through the open car door and pressed a kiss to your lips. “I love you.” You laughed, completely taken by surprise. Then you playfully shoved him away. “Go, Spence! Hotch is going to kill us!” Through the windscreen you saw him get into the garage’s elevator, an uncharacteristic spring in his step and a smile still on his lips. You waited five minutes before taking the elevator up as well, still revelling in your boyfriend’s love. “Morning, (Y/N).” Morgan greeted you before stopping in his tracks for a moment, mustering you up and down. But then he shook his head and continued to walk past you. “Meeting’s in five, we waited for you.” “Thanks.”, you smiled sheepishly, still feeling bad about being late.

“Looks like we’re looking for a sexual sadist.” Emily murmured, taking in the crime scene photos now hanging on the case board. “Could be.”, confirmed Gideon. “JJ, talk to the police, see if there’s anything they’re not telling us. Morgan, Prentiss, go check out the crime scenes. The rest, work on the profile. Meet you all back here in a few hours.” Everyone nodded, going back to work. You loved being paired up with Spencer during work, your fields of expertise always perfectly complimented each other. “What if this book is the only connection between the victims we need?” You asked looking at your laptop’s screen in concentration. Penelope had sent you an online copy of the book that had been found in all the victim’s houses and now you were looking through it. Spencer leaned over where you were sitting at the conference room’s table to get a better look at your laptop as well. You breathed in his scent, immediately feeling less stressed about the case at hand. “But the Unsub didn’t leave any ripped-out pages or quotes at the crime scenes.” He murmured, his breath tickling your neck. You turned to look at him and were about to say something else when Morgan stepped into the room. As if he was hoping that if he moved just slowly enough Morgan wouldn’t see him, Spencer leaned away from you, so your noses weren’t basically touching anymore while working. “Garcia just called, the victims all bought the books in the same store and went to a live reading there.” Clearing your throat you nodded, heartbeat quickening. Morgan turned to go before looking at you again in the same weird fashion from this morning, as if he was trying to decipher something that was right before his eyes. Then, suddenly, the realisation seemed to strike him. “You’re wearing Spencer’s sweater!” He almost yelled, looking as if he couldn’t really believe it himself. “Nuh, it’s mine-“ “I gave it to her on our last case, she-“ Spencer and you tried to lie yourselves out of being caught at the same time. A mean grin spread across Derek’s features. “Oh no, you’re not getting away now. I knew those were hickeys on Reid’s neck!” Spencer shyly rubbed his neck, mumbling something about having sensitive skin. And, as if things couldn’t get any worse, JJ entered the room in that moment. “What’s going on?” She asked confusedly, taking in the situation. Morgan crossed his arms. “Take a really close look at (Y/N)’s sweater, and then look at Reid’s neck. Notice anything?” J’s eyes lit up, the same incredulous look on her face as Morgan. “You’re (Y/N)’s boyfriend? What??” “How long?”< Derek asked teasingly.< “I, uh…” you tried to explain but didn’t know how to. “We kissed for the first time about a year ago.”, Spencer jumped in to help you. “A year?!” Morgan and JJ shrieked at almost the same time. You looked at Spencer only to find his gaze on you as well. He had a slight grin playing around his lips, one that reassured you. The team knew about you two now, so what? You had still been able to fool them for months on end.

A bright smile on your face, you turned to them. “What would you say when I tell you we want to move in together soon as well?” They didn’t say anything, but very much looked like they were about to strangle you both. Spencer hid his face in your hair with a groan. “Not our fault you’re bad profilers!” You teased. With a laugh they left the room, probably to go tell on you with Emily.

“Guess I can wear your clothes more often now, right?” Spencer smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And I can do this more often now.” You inwardly shrugged. Maybe making things official wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer x reader #criminal minds #criminology #Matthew gray gubler #Matthew gray gubler x reader

[kevindayisafrog]

Part 10 (I can’t remember) of the Kevaaron thing

TW - panic attack

Aaron looked down blankly at his phone and threw it at the wall. “You okay?” Matt looked up from his desk and pulled out his earphones. “Fine”, Aaron huffed as he stormed out of the dorm. He ignored Dan’s smile as she went into her dorm and stopped in front of Andrew’s door. He knocked with a tight fist and waited a few seconds before the door swung open. “You don’t need to knock”, Nicky’s grin reached his eyebrows as he grabbed Aaron by the wrist and pulled him into the room. Kevin looked up and quickly looked back down, finding his homework suddenly interesting. “Where’s Andrew?” Aaron muttered as he watched Kevin itch his neck self consciously. “Bedroom”, Nicky nodded down the hall and walked away into the kitchen. “Where’s the chocolate?” Nicky’s muffled voice came from inside the cupboard. Aaron walked down the hall as Kevin shouted “I binned it, we don’t need any more fucking sugar. Have you seen Andrew’s cupboard? It’s like-“ the rest of the argument was cut off as Aaron slammed the bedroom door behind him. Andrew was leaning against the dressing table with Neil lounging on the bed. “The court date has been set”, he watched as Andrew quietly lit up a cigarette. Neil looked between the twins and nodded at Andrew before slipping out into the hall. “Aren’t you gonna fucking say something?” Aaron slammed his fist onto the doorframe beside him. “You’ll break your fist and that wouldn’t impress Kevin, would it?” Andrew finally looked up at his twin and took a long drag, a bored expression lacing his tired face. “Fuck off”, Aaron punched the wall again as Andrew watched in silence. “You came here, no need to get pissed at me”, he flicked ash towards Aaron and crossed the room to meet him. “Cheer up, sausage”, Andrew imitated an awful British accent and pushed Aaron’s head painfully against the door, “you’ll win it anyway. But you know what they say: if you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime”. Aaron tried to push Andrew away but was too slow. Andrew grabbed both his wrists and squeezed them tight. “Fuck off”, Aaron spat as a burning feeling shot through his head. “Don’t you know any other insults?”, Andrew gave Aaron’s head one more push before backing away, letting their wrists fall between them. “When’s the date?” he turned back and jumped up to sit on the dresser. “May 16th”, the words felt like tar in his mouth as Andrew looked away at the far wall. “Two months away”, Aaron watched as Andrew did the maths and began to nod slowly. “Who’s doing a statement?”, Andrew watched Aaron fall limply back onto the door. “Everyone”, he looked down at the floor and quietly added, “even you”. Andrew froze and stubbed his cigarette out onto the windowsill. “I’m not”, he jumped down and sat onto Neil’s bed with a growl. Aaron snapped his head up and laughed venomously. “You have to, if you don’t make a statement then I’ll go down for sure”, he grabbed the fabric of his shirt across his chest and twisted it desperately. “Andrew please-“ Andrew shot up and grabbed Aaron by the throat. “Don’t fucking say that word. You know better”, he squeezed just tight enough for it to hurt, but not tight enough for Aaron to stop breathing. “Andrew, I can’t go to prison”, he felt a tear slide down his cheek and internally swore at himself, “I can’t”. Andrew watched him with quiet interest before letting go and turning his back. “Get out”, his words were thick with anger as Aaron exhaled deeply and fumbled for the door handle. He knew it was a yes. He ran out of the bedroom and left the door open behind him.

“Are you okay?” Kevin stood up from his desk as Aaron ran towards the dorm door. Neil watched him with a blank expression before going back into the bedroom and closing the door behind him. “I can’t breathe”, Aaron whispered and felt his legs go limp beneath him. “Okay, that’s fine. Wait there”, Kevin walked into the kitchen calmly and poured water into a glass. He returned and pulled Aaron gently by the elbow, pushing him down onto one of the bean bag chairs. “Right, listen to me. It’s going to pass, it hurts now, but it will pass”, Kevin knelt down in front of Aaron and smiled softly down at him. “Close your eyes”, Aaron winced as his lungs closed up. “Just close them”, Kevin leaned closer so that he was all Aaron could see, “Trust me”. Aaron nodded and closed his eyes, the thumping in his head making his ears ring. “This sounds condescending and feel free to kill me after, but breathe”, Aaron tried to laugh but a strangled sound came out instead. “We’ll do it together, just slowly”, Kevin lightly pulled Aaron’s hand towards him and pressed his fingers onto his neck. Aaron felt Kevin’s heartbeat pulse peacefully beneath his fingers and copied Kevin’s breathing. “In..hold it..and out”, Kevin kept whispering this until Aaron felt his own heartbeat slow within his chest. “I’m scared”, he choked the words out and felt Kevin squeeze his free hand. “I know, but you’re safe here”. They sat in silence until Kevin was sure that Aaron could breathe again, but didn’t let go of his hands. “You can open your eyes. There’s some water there if you feel ill, I always do after..that happens”, he dropped Aaron’s hand from his neck and squeezed the other. “Thanks”, Aaron picked up the water with a shaky hand and took a sip. “Do you want to talk about it?” Kevin barely whispered the words, looking down at their intertwined fingers. Aaron shook his head and muttered a trembled ‘no’. “Alright, do you want to stay here? I was only doing an essay, but I can do that later”, Kevin met Aaron’s eyes and tried to smile. “We could watch a movie, Nicky bought more yesterday. They’re all romcoms though, so we don’t have to if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to stay..” he trailed off and felt the back of his neck heat up. “Yeah, okay”, Aaron let go of Kevin’s hand and stood up, tipping to the side slightly on shaky legs. “What one do you want to watch?” Aaron watched as Kevin listed off all the movies and wiggled ‘Bridget Jones’ over his shoulder. “Yeah, that one”, Aaron curled up at the edge of the couch as Kevin placed the disc into the DVD player and slumped onto the other end of the couch. “Best way to waste an hour”, Kevin smiled over at Aaron and pressed play.

Nicky walked out of the kitchen with his dinner and walked over to the couch to watch one of his new movies. “Oh. My. God”, he squealed and looked around frantically for his phone. He placed his plate onto the floor and grabbed his phone from the kitchen side. He giggled to himself and took a photo of the pair on the couch. Aaron had made his way over to Kevin’s side and had nuzzled onto Kevin’s lap, his head resting on his shoulder. Kevin had one hand around Aaron’s shoulder and the other placed lazily round his waist. Aaron let out small snores and Kevin muttered something inaudible before holding Aaron tighter. “When the fuck did this start?” Nicky whispered and fled the dorm in search for the upperclassmen.

#kevin day #aaron minyard #kevaaron #andrew minyard #nicky hemmick #neil josten #aftg series #aftg #all for the game #nora sakavic #aftg headcanon #aftg fanfic #incorrect aftg #aftg trilogy #tfc