#all three of these dropping in one year is soo wild like how is this a universal experience

[queenofinys]

maisie peters, watch / olivia rodrigo, love is embarrassing / taylor swift, is it over now?

#taylor swift #tswiftedit #candy swift #1989edit #1989 taylor's version #tscreators #networkthirteen #is it over now? #maisie peters #the good witch #maisiepetersedit #maisiepetersnetwork #olivia rodrigo #orodrigoedit #guts #all three of these dropping in one year is soo wild like how is this a universal experience #i mean it makes me feel better about it happening to me but like again... wild #maya edits

[sirisuorionblack]

Hiya! I love your writing so much 💜 May I pretty please request a sirius x reader imagine where they have passed the honeymoon phase of their relationship and now struggles with opening up to each other emotionally. Happy fluffy ending where they promise to love, protect and comfort each other?

I hope you have a lovely time wherever you are! Much love 💜

Until the very end

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warning - Cursing.

Summary - Realising you are in love is tough and expressing it is quite difficult. But for Sirius Black, it happened in a short period of time and in the place where he would have never expected to confess his undying love yet he promises.

A/N Ahhhh THANK YOU SOO MUCH! I had fun writing this although I cried a bit in the end, curse my emotional personality. I had to take some time to understand how you struggle with expressing all the emotions in being in a relationship cause I have never done that so this is practically very much based on imagination and theory. Hope you like it!

Sirius Black. Your boyfriend of two months and within the short span of time he proved you what an amazing gentleman he could be all the while make you feel loved and cherished. It was beautiful being in his arms, kissing or not. Or just stand next to him, his arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you to his side as he casually chatted made you feel things that you couldn’t describe in words. All you knew was you wanted to be with him till the end of your life, all the worries and hurt long forgotten with just simple grins on your face.

And Sirius was in no good condition. He was over the moon after the first month of your relationship, he knew the moment you tightly held him in your arms while a tear rolled down his eyes that you were the one. The one who would make him feel loved, safe, happy, like the luckiest human alive. The one who acted as his best friend, a sibling, a parent and…a partner for the rest of his life. He craved to just simply old you in his arms after a tiring day rather than kissing feverishly. He wanted to mutter that it would all be alright and he is right there but gulped all the words of comfort in fear.

Sirius desperately hoped he could gather the courage to at least blurt those three words. How stupid of him to think he would get the courage in two months while he had waited two years to ask you out. He always heaved a huge sigh when he thought of it and today was no different.

“Look at that,” James said, staring at Sirius who had occupied the couch in front of the fire in the comfort of his common room. Sirius sat up straight from his hunched position, rubbing his hand and pried his eyes away from the dancing fires to his best friend’s warm brown eyes, “No one is attached to your hips. What a surprise!”

Sirius resorted to a small chuckle and stared at the fireplace again. James scrunched his eyebrows, the Sirius he knew, never, no matter what could remain silent for this long…unless he was asleep.

“You alright?” He asked, taking a seat next to him, “Are you guys fighting or something?”

The fright in his eyes scared James as Sirius hurriedly said, “No, no. Merlin, no,”

“Then what's wrong?” James asked, getting comfortable so that he was looking at Sirius with his full attention. The fire danced maliciously in his grey eyes. James would never not admire how striking they look but he never would admit it to Sirius.

“I…I want to tell her,” he said, and gulped, “I wanna tell her that, but, I just dunno how!”

“Tell her what?” James asked, confused.

Sirius looked at him weirdly and shook his head, “No wonder how Lily had accepted your date offers yet,”

“Hey!” James whacked him over the head. The two boys laughed later falling into a comfortable silence.

“Do you love her?” James asked, this time both of their eyes on the shimmering fire.

“I-I don’t think so,” Sirius sighed lightly, “It's not exactly love, you know. That would be an understatement,”

James whipped his head to look at him. “Not like the usual definition of love. That “I would die for you” and all that shit. It's more like I would live with you, hold you, protect you kinda…thing. It's like, I want to be with her for every second of my life and…do things, have things I never knew I needed or wanted for me,”

“Oh, Merlin,” James breathed, “Is this how I talk?”

Sirius looked at him for a second before laughing and pushing him jokingly, “Piss off,”

James chuckled, “I say you tell her. I am sure she would think the same way,”

Sirius looked at him, “You think so?”

“Nope. I know so,” he said, with that little smirk that Sirius had grown to find mild comfort in.

“How do I tell her then?” Sirius asked.

“Are you seriously asking me? And look what I did there? Sirius-ly,” He said.

“James,” Sirius looked at him warningly.

“Look, if it is anyone, I should be the last person for you to ask advice on how to tell a girl you love her,” James said, “I have been struggling on my own for years, mate!”

“Then should I ask Remus?”

“He would ask you to get a book for her and say “I fucking love you”,” James said.

“Right, then Peter?”

“Nope!”

”Uh, Marlene?”

“She herself is hanging on thin ice,”

“Alright then who!?”

James thought of it for a second before he said, “Think of it yourself you know, come up with a nice, new amazing idea!”

Sirius rolled his eyes.

“Where is Sirius?” you asked Remus the next morning in the Gryffindor common room.

“That shit is asleep like a log upstairs,” He mumbled.

You blinked, “Mr Potter, you gotta do something about your ward’s extensive cursing,”

James laughed as Remus rolled his eyes, “Of course, Mrs Black, I will ground him until he stops cursing.”

Your eyes widened at the name he called you. Mrs Black. You knew he wasn’t talking about Walburga Black but the feel of being Sirius Black’s was something new and exciting and beautiful. Something you loved and feared at the same time.

“Shut up, Mr Evans,” You said, wiping the smirk off his face and making him blush.

“Good Godric,” Remus shook his head looking at the two of you, “Just please for Merlin’s sake get going,”

You chuckled and walked upstairs, the sound of James saying Mrs Black echoed in your head. What would happen next? In a few days would he find you boring and leave? Will you confess…the actual feelings? What would happen then? When will it happen? The questions in your head were overwhelming and now you just needed to see Sirius.

When you reached the boys’ dormitory, you gently pushed the doors open and slowly stepped in trying to not make much noise.

Sirius laid asleep on his four-poster. His hair a wild mess on the pillow, his face turned towards the door, a small smile on his face. You tip-toed to his bed and crouched to your knees to look at him. He looked so peaceful and indeed sleeping like a log.

He looked divine. Relaxed yet gorgeous. You knew how much he impacted your life when you pushed away the hair on his face gently and leaned down to press your lips to his forehead. While you moved to pull the blanket over him properly, you felt him grab your hand with his eyes closed.

Holding your breath, you stood still for a second before realising he was still deeply asleep. He mumbled something strangely similar to “love you, puppy”, before shifting to lay straight on his back, his head inclined to the opposite side but the clutch on your hand never losing its grip. He held your hand as would at any other time.

You didn’t want to disturb him and you had no reason to either. You tried to gently pry his fingers but it was of no use as he woke up with a start. Looking around wildly before spotting you. He laid back on the bed, with his eyes wide open and looking at you accusingly but with a smile nevertheless.

“Sorry,” you muttered.

“It's OK, puppy,” he said, in his hoarse morning voice that you wished to hear for every day of your life, “C’mere,”

You took your place in his arms, snuggling closer to him. Sirius gently kissed your forehead, “Something’s wrong, my darling?”

“No,” you lied, moving closer to him. The warmth radiating off him was extremely comforting, those three words sitting on the tip of your tongue ready to slip out of your mouth any minute.

“Are you sure?” Sirius asked, shifting you in his arms so that the two of you were face to face. You nodded lightly.

With the mere months, Sirius had honestly get to know you rather than hiding behind and taking discreet looks, if he learnt anything it would be to identify every action of yours - he would immediately know if you were hiding something from him and usually Sirius wouldn’t pry the information but today was a different case. The hidden distress in your eyes was somehow blatantly visible to him, and he wanted that to disappear once and for all.

“Love, you know it’s okay to tell me anything, right?” he asked, looking intently into your eyes.

You let out a sigh, you could never hide anything from this boy, he knew every move of yours for your own good. You buried your head into his shoulder, his grey eyes too bright for you to look into.

“What is gonna happen next?” you mumbled. Sirius’ face took a look of confusion as he thought of it. What is gonna happen next?

“I dunno, get ready for breakfast?” He resorted to the more silly answer just to hear your laugh.

You pulled away to look at him, a beautiful smile on your face, “Not that, idiot. I meant like what do we next?”

Sirius leaned up to kiss your forehead, “Whatever my princess wants,”

“I love you,” You blurted without giving it a second thought. With wide eyes, you watched as Sirius' jaw dropped, a look of utter disbelief painting his handsome features.

In a state of panic, you scrambled to get out of the bed. Shaking your head, you muttered, “Forget it, forget I said that,”

“Wait, wait, darling!” Sirius threw the blanket away from him and stumbled to his feet. He rushed to you before you could leave the dorm and took hold of your wrist, pulling you flush against his chest. That’s when you saw it, the inexplicable amount of happiness mixed with disbelief in his eyes that would rival the stars themselves.

“Can you-what-can you say that again?” Sirius said, his eyes watering as he leaned down to place his forehead against yours, gently.

You wiped your own tears, taking his face in your hands as you whispered just for him to hear, “I love you,”

A dry sob escaped Sirius lips as he smashed his lips to yours, his arms around your waist tightening as he kissed you passionately with all the love poured into. He pulled away to look at you in the eyes, his chest blooming with pride and love, engulfing his entire being.

Sirius peppered your face with kisses and pulled away to look into your tear-filled eyes, “I love you too, puppy. I always have and always will, until the very end,”

“Until the very end?” you asked, smiling widely.

Sirius tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “Until the very end, darling. I still don’t know what we are going to do next but I know whatever it is, it’s going to be with you,”

You leaned up to press your lips to his, letting the two of you drown into the pure mixture of love, bliss and happiness.

And Sirius Black finally understood the feeling of being loved and loving someone.

#Sirius Black #sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black imagine #sirius black fluff #sirius x y/n #sirius x you #sirius x reader #sirius x fem!reader #sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #marauders era #harry potter

[lazywonderlvnd]

*hesitantly steps in the box* Umm.. soo.. I was listening to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift again and that song (is awesome btw if you haven't listened to it already) just gives me such MAJOR drarry vibes .. like -

" And I screamed, 'for whatever it's worth I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?' He looks up grinning like a devil. "

Like if that's not drarry I'd chomp my pillows. So .. *twiddling thumbs* could you pls write something with that line as a prompt?? Pretty please 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️ maybe use the song as inspiration.. idk? Whatever you like. ALSO, don't forget I STILL LOVE YOU that ain't changing yet and you haven't seen the last of me! Imma tail after you for eternity and you better take that as the threat it is! *throws love at you* BYE!! ❤️❤️ *vaults outside the box*

my sweetest most loved angel!! thank u so much for this prompt based on a BOP i was obsessed w when the album first came out. it got sm longer than it was meant to be, so it can be found on ao3 as well!! i hope u like it ilysm ❤️❤️❤️❤️

warnings for minor drug use (weed) and implied suicide of a minor character (lucius, extremely vague reference but pls be aware!)

rating: e word count: ~5k

When Pansy asked him how it started, Draco discovered that he didn’t know what to tell her.

Technically, though, it had started at Ernie Macmillan’s party in the beginning of summer, with the cloying scent of Freesias and Freedom Roses (“Imported from the States,” Ernie told Draco pompously, when he asked) and all those string-lights dangling from the cedar pergola, perennial balls of fire inside their clear bubbles like tiny trapped suns. Cheap beer in plastic cups, Marlboro cigarettes, and some stupid Muggle game ... darts.

Technically.  

* * * 

“Get off me, Potter,” Draco says in a failed whisper. He’s laughing and drunk and fuzzy warm under a sprawling summer’s night sky that looks like black paint. Potter tastes like Guinness every time he kisses him, and his hands are surprisingly soft. In direct opposition to his own command he pulls Potter in by the face and glues their mouths back together ravenously. The alcohol makes him sloppy (he likes it, though — the sloppiness of it) and Potter’s skin is warm where Draco slides his hand under an ugly Muggle band T-shirt to touch. 

Around the corner, he can hear music coming from the patio where nearly every single one of their former classmates are gathered, drinking and laughing and getting along famously with a much-needed buffer of five years between them and their Hogwarts days.

Much-needed for himself and Potter as well. Apparently.

He sees him sometimes, at get-togethers like this or around the Ministry, once or twice at a dinner party thrown by a mutual friend. They’re always cordial. He hasn’t insulted Potter to his face in five years.

Except for tonight, when he couldn’t help himself loudly drawing attention to the similarities between Potter’s hair and one of the shrubs in the garden. But they’re kissing now round the side of the house and because of that he’s quite glad for his slip. And it’s their five-year reunion, so. What would it be without some bickering between the two of them?

Potter presses him into the bricks and snogs him breathless, only he keeps grinning and laughing and ruining everything just when Draco starts losing himself in it.

“Quit laughing,” he scolds him. “You’re the worst, Potter. No etiquette at all.”

“That’s rude,” Potter says. His breath wafts across Draco’s mouth. His eyes are excessively green behind their round frames, which have not changed since their school days. The scar is mostly hidden beneath his wild fringe, save for the very bottom where it slashes neatly through a dark eyebrow and touches his eyelid. “I can’t help it, I’m pissed good and proper.”

His hand moves to Draco’s hip and even through the thickness of the alcohol coating his brain like a muffler he feels that touch clear and ripe as daybreak.

“So  that’s  why you’ve decided to snog me rather than …” He waves a hand vaguely, in lieu of the proper witticism with which he might normally have trounced Potter. “You know. Beat me to a pulp.”

“I only did that one time,” Potter says, grinning. Grinning and moving his thumb in circles on Draco’s hip. “And it was because you were being a twat. And I didn’t beat you to a pulp. You’re so dramatic.”

“Semantics,” Draco says. “I had a bloody nose.”

“And you deserved it.”

“Now who’s being rude?”

Potter kisses him again.

Guinness and Freesias.

* * * 

“Macmillan’s party,” he told Pansy. “He kissed me.”

“So that’s where you disappeared to.” She looked smug. Her inch-long nails were sharpened to a point and painted a glossy black, and she drummed them against her cheek, the way a cat flicks its tail. “I’m surprised you kept it from me this whole time.”

“Well,” said Draco, lowering his gaze to his glass of wine and watching it flirt dangerously with the lip as he swirled it. His cheeks felt warm, but he wasn’t embarrassed. “We snuck around.”

Right, maybe a little embarrassed. Mostly conflicted.

“Oh?” For a single syllable the laughter underneath was remarkably transparent.

He looked up, eyebrows lifted. “Yes,” he said a little defensively. “For obvious reasons. At first it was just sex. A lot of it, so he usually came here. Apparently Granger and the Weasel are notorious for popping round his place unexpectedly.”

* * *

He feels opened up all over again every time Potter fucks into him, unhurried and so careful. His hand is hot on Draco’s thigh, both of them sticky with sweat and come. This has to be their third round at least, and Draco’s sluggish brain insists it might actually be four.

An open window lets in the late afternoon air, humid and drowsy and perfumed heavily with flowers (a la Macmillan, Draco planted Freesias and Freedom Roses outside his bedroom window and helped them along to full bloom with some careful magic). Potter’s hair is damp with sweat — from exertion and the relentless heat of July — and Draco slides his fingers into it, tangles them and pulls the way he’s learned Potter likes. If he’s honest, he’s harboured a very secret and  very  desperate yearning to touch Potter’s hair since he was quite young. He doesn’t know why.

Well, maybe he knows why.

Potter makes a quiet, whimpered noise that curls Draco’s toes. He speeds up his hips, closing in on his orgasm and putting his face in Draco’s neck even though it’s too fucking hot for it.

“Fuck,” Draco whines. He tries to lift his leg higher, wrap it around Potter’s waist to get that perfect angle, but they’re too slick with sweat and he lets out a frustrated noise when it falls back to the bed. “Potter,” he says helplessly, arching into each thrust and shaking with the effort. This third (fourth?) orgasm is building too slowly, sitting there hard and stubborn and heavy in his gut and refusing to be coaxed to completion. He’s dripping with the effort, muscles quivering. “Please — I need —”

But he seems to have figured it out for himself. He scoots forward, lifting Draco’s arse higher off the bed and bending him nearly in half. The angle helps him go deeper and he’s suddenly nudging Draco’s oversensitive prostate every time he fucks back in.

“Right there,” Draco gasps, tensing as this new angle lights a fire under his elusive orgasm. His cock is leaking but he doesn’t have the strength or energy to get a hand around it. Potter’s grunting with the effort of fucking him, sweat dripping down his temples and making his neck and torso gleam. “Right there, god, right there, please, I’m so close —”

Potter braces himself and redoubles his efforts, and it’s like he’s reached inside Draco and sunk his claws into that building storm in his belly because suddenly it’s ripped right out of him in a colossal wave of euphoria that approaches too much, cock spurting untouched between them  .  Potter keeps moving inside him while he rides it out, and at some point he feels the warm, wet explosion of Potter emptying in him, mumbling incoherent things that include Draco’s name.

They come down together too. Draco is clutching Potter’s arms and trying to catch his breath and Potter is trembling and clutching him back like an anchor in a veritable ocean of sensation. 

It’s like this every time. 

When Potter drops down onto the bed beside him Draco rolls over and kisses him, long and deep and satisfying, and Potter reciprocates with the kind of intensity that is completely unique to him as a person.

“That one was particularly good,” says Potter, and Draco laughs.

When he feels like moving, he knows that Potter will get up and go to Draco’s kitchen and make tea for both of them, and he won’t need to ask what Draco likes, because he remembered after the first time. They’ll drink it naked in bed as the sun sets on another endless summer day and transforms before their eyes into a humid and pungent summer night, in the midst of which they will fuck at least three more times, and Potter will keep smelling like sweat and bergamot and boy, and Draco will keep feeling starved for him.

And they won’t talk about it.

* * *

“And?” Pansy said.

“And what?”

“You said ‘at first,’” she pointed out, and arched a groomed eyebrow. “When did it turn into more than just sex?”

Draco tamped down on a smile, because that would have been more emotion than he cared to show at the moment. To Pansy or to himself.

He swirled his wine again and took a long sip, stalling. He wanted — needed, really — to talk this out with her, but he was becoming aware of an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest which was suggesting to him that he didn’t want to share everything. Not because he was embarrassed, but, well … it was private. It was between him and Harry.

“There was this one night he came over later than he was supposed to because of work,” Draco said. The memory stirred some emotion. He hadn’t thought of it in a while. “He had this bloody huge takeout bag of Thai food.”

 * * *

He sets it down on Draco’s desk, takes out a container, and after toeing off his shoes drops sideways onto Draco’s bed with it and uses chopsticks to shovel in a mouthful of noodles. Draco watches this in awe.

“Want some?” Harry asks once he’s swallowed (small blessings). There’s grease around his mouth. “There’s a million other things in the bag but you have to get it yourself. I’m dead tired.”

Draco thinks of asking what the hell is going on, because they’re supposed to be fucking by now, but something stops him. Harry really does look exhausted but quite content eating his Thai food on Draco’s bed, and he doesn’t have the heart to berate him for it or remind him that they’re fuck buddies, not friends, and that if he’d wanted to eat and lounge about perhaps he should’ve stayed at home.

And the food really does smell good.

He gets up and fishes another container out of the bag that turns out to be some sort of heavenly-smelling marinated beef, which he brings back to the bed. Harry’s rolled onto his back and has the container of noodles balanced on his stomach.

“They thought they found a Horcrux on a raid,” he says. His voice is perfectly casual, but Draco thinks he can see something troubled in his eyes. He has one foot crossed over the other and  it’s bouncing anxiously; he doesn’t think Harry’s aware of doing it. “Wasn’t. Obviously.” 

“But they needed your expert advice to be sure.”

“Yeah.” Harry looks at him, then his food. “Is that the beef?”

“Yes it is.”

“Good?”

“Haven’t tried it yet.”

He opens the container and chooses a piece, but instead of lifting it to his mouth he follows some crazy impulse and hovers it over Harry’s instead.

“Open, Scarhead,” he says. Harry blinks but does it, and Draco drops it in. He smiles, then chews.

“Brilliant.”

* * *

“We ate it instead of fucking. It was the first time I realised something had shifted.”

“And you let it shift?”

The question gave him pause. He didn’t answer right away, mulling it over. It made it sound as if he’d had a choice, and that wasn’t quite right.

“It already had,” he said finally. “It wasn’t a matter of letting it; by the time I noticed, it had already happened. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come over with the food.”

“But you did let it continue,” said Pansy. She wasn’t antagonising him, nor accusing him of anything. She looked amused, but not in a way that was at his expense. Pansy was both a twat and a fiercely good friend, the combination of which meant she would do nothing more or less than hold up a mirror and force you to look at yourself, gruesome as the experience inevitably wound up being. “Even after you realised he had feelings for you.”

Draco swallowed. He’d not heard it said aloud before now.

“Yes,” he said. “It felt good. Knowing he fancied me.”

* * *

Harry’s shameless in his staring.

He stands in the doorway of the ensuite bathroom and watches Draco like he’s been invited to do so. Draco pretends not to notice, stretched out in a tub full of bubbles facing the opposite way. There’s incense burning, and candles. Harry is completely silent, but Draco could feel those eyes on him from across a crowded hall.

They fucked a few hours ago and fell asleep afterwards. Draco pretended not to think about it, but had actually made the conscious decision to let Harry continue sleeping when he woke up and decided he wanted a bath.

When he can’t take it anymore he opens his eyes and tilts his head back and a little to the side, just enough that he gets Potter in his peripherals.

“Well?” he says. 

“Well what?”

“Join me, won’t you?”

Harry snorts. Then there’s a quiver of magic in the air, and a small, utilitarian chair appears out of thin air beside the tub. Harry sits down in it. He’s holding the joint they’d only gotten halfway through earlier. 

He’s in his jeans and nothing else, all limbs and sparse chest hair, and when he crosses a leg over the other one, elbow resting on his knee as he hits the joint, Draco feels a bone-deep attraction to him that’s beyond physical.

“May I?” Draco asks. Harry hands it over and Draco inhales deeply before returning it. The humidity of the room mixes with the smoke and the smell of marijuana, pungent and cloying like the flowers. 

After a length of silence, Draco says, “Will you read me something?”

“Will I what?”

He takes his wand from the floor and Summons a book from the shelf in his room — one of his poetry collections comes sweeping in through the cracked door and into Harry’s lap. Harry sticks the joint between his lips and starts rifling through it with his glasses all fogged up. 

When he starts reading Byron (“I had a dream, which was not all a dream”) Draco smiles and sinks deeper into the hot water and bubbles, letting Harry’s voice lull him into a pleasant stupor. 

 * * *

“So you led him on,” said Pansy. “Because you liked his attention.”

He stared at her, then let his gaze drop to his wine again. Had he?

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.”

“Well,” she said, smiling wryly, “I’m only saying it as you’ve told it to me. Maybe if it sounds bad, it is bad. Some things are that simple, darling. Unless there’s more to it.”

“Like what?” he said, not looking at her. There was a touch of pouty defiance in his voice he knew Pansy would detect instantly. He heard her sigh.

“What exactly happened yesterday, Draco? You didn’t give me any context.”

“What context do you need?” he muttered. “He told me he loved me.”

* * *

They’ve finished an entire bottle of wine between them. He’s not drunk, but he’s pleasantly buzzed. Harry’s sprawled on his back, T-shirt rucked up just below his navel so Draco can see the dark trail of hair leading below his jeans. There’s something implicitly erotic about the movement of his chest when he breathes, his hands folded behind his head, one leg stretched the length of the bed and the other bent at the knee.

He opens his eyes suddenly and grins when he sees Draco looking at him. 

“That wine just made me tired,” he says.

“So go to sleep,” says Draco. He takes a last swig, emptying it, and sets the bottle aside on his night table. He stretches his arms over his head and arches his back, yawning widely, thinking perhaps he’ll give into the tempting allure of sleep as well when Harry says, “I told Hermione about us.”

So he’s not sleeping, then. His stomach clenches hard and a completely irrational sense of panic rises in his throat.

“Us?” he says slowly, sitting up straighter. “What ‘us’?”

Harry looks at him upside-down, then rolls over and rises to his knees. He stares at Draco blankly.

“‘What us?’” he repeats.

“Yes,” says Draco. “What ‘us’?”

“Us,” Harry says. His voice is lower than usual. The word is starting to sound weird and lose meaning. “You and me, Draco.”

“‘You and me?’ Harry, there’s no you and me. We’re just fucking. What do you … what do you mean, you told Granger? Told her what?”

Harry looks … well, he looks fucking crushed. And angry. Draco forces himself not to look away.

“I told her I’d been seeing you,” he says quietly. There’s something … not threatening, but close to it, in his voice.

“Sure,” says Draco. “I see you three times a week, sometimes four. I s’pose if you feel the need to fill Granger in on everything you do with every second of your day —”

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry says. “You know what I meant.”

Draco glares at him. He gets off the bed, slightly lightheaded from the wine, horrified by the emotions welling up inside him right behind the panic, and he points at his bedroom door.

“Get out,” he says. 

“Are you serious?”

“Go!” he says loudly, voice rising. “If you’re gonna start turning this into something it definitely is not then get out of my flat, Potter.” As usual the window is open, but it’s the third of September and getting chilly finally and Draco’s Freesias and Freedom Roses started wilting last week. There’s a chilly breeze coming into that room that is utterly barren of the sweet smells of summer he associates with Harry these days. “It’s time we ended this anyway,” he says. “Summer’s over.”

“So?” From his position kneeling on Draco’s bed Harry shouldn’t feel imposing at all, but he does. There’s no sparkle of humour in his eyes, none of the softness Draco’s gotten used to seeing there. He looks like someone who’s realised they’ve been betrayed.

Worse than that. Someone who’s been betrayed and realises they should have seen it coming.

“What the fuck does summer have to do with anything?”

“Ever heard of a summer fling, Potter? We’re not ‘seeing each other’.”

Harry finally gets off the bed. Draco’s stomach clenches again, more painfully this time. He doesn’t feel bad, he tells himself — this is Harry’s fault. His fault for making a big deal out of something easy and fun and, most of all, temporary. For ruining this with feelings. 

 “That’s not what this was,” Harry says. It’s not an argumentative tone; rather, he sounds disappointed. Devastated, and disappointed. And that look of betrayal, like he’s surprised but not …  that  surprised.

That hurts. 

“This was as real as it gets, Draco,” he says matter-of-factly. “You and I don’t have the capability of doing anything as shallow as a fling.”

“Well, Potter,” says Draco, straining to maintain his level voice, “congratulations, because that is the most disgusting, romanticised, Gryffindorian piece of shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah?” He grabs up his wand from the bedside table and stuffs it into his jeans pocket. “Well here’s another: I love you. You complete fucking prick.”

Draco stares after him as he leaves the room, cowed for the moment. He hears Harry take the Floo powder off his mantle, hears the fire start, and then the sound of Potter disappearing. 

And he feels hollow suddenly.

* * *

“And he said it completely out of the blue?” 

Draco set his wine aside. He was suddenly feeling too sick to put anything else in his body.

“Sort of,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “He was trying to make something out of nothing. He was just making a point, trying to guilt me, I don’t even think he meant it.”

Pansy said nothing for so long that Draco finally looked up. She had an eyebrow raised.

“Do you really believe that?” she said.

Draco didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the bottle of wine on the table and thought about the way it always tasted a little sweeter on Harry’s lips.

“I don’t know,” he said. “No. But it doesn’t change anything. It was a summer thing, not a … a relationship, for crying out loud. Like I’d date Potter.”

“Why not?”

Draco scoffed. “Why not? Pansy, please. He’s a …”

“A …?”

“He’s an idiot! He’s Potter!  He’s …” He couldn’t think of the right word, something bad enough to express the audacity, the gall , for Potter to think even for a second  that they could …

“Draco Malfoy,” said Pansy. She was smirking. “You love him too.”

Had he felt sick before?  Now he was going to be sick.

“I never would’ve imagined it,” she went on, seeming to take pleasure from his outrage and humiliation. The bint. “Look at you, you’re blushing! Oh my god,” she laughed. And then she stopped laughing, and instead the weight of her own words appeared to descend on her. “Oh my god. You do, don’t you? You are arse over tits for Harry Potter —”

He was up and out of his chair before she’d finished the last word, absurdly,  embarrassingly on the verge of tears all of a sudden. 

“Draco —”

“I’m glad this can serve as your entertainment for the week, Pansy,” he said. A tear rolled down his cheek — could he be any more histrionic? — and he brushed it away furiously. 

“Draco, no —”

“Call Blaise, tell him!” he shouted. “You two can have a good laugh over it —”

“Draco  —”

“Poor Draco’s  fucked himself over again, what a stupid wanker!” 

Pansy got up. He slapped her hand away when she reached for him, but she only came at him again and grabbed it this time when he swatted at her, enfolding it in both of hers. He closed his eyes and hiccoughed and two more tears came.

“Darling, will you please listen to me?” she said softly. It sounded eerily like his mother, which only made him feel young and childish. He tugged his arm away and she let him go, but he didn’t move any farther away. “I am  not  laughing at you,” she told him. “Blaise might, but that’s because Blaise has a black hole for a heart, Draco, the only emotion he’s ever felt is disdain.” Against his will, Draco chuckled wetly. Pansy smiled and took his hand again, tentatively. He allowed it. “ I think it’s lovely that you have feelings for him. I don’t understand what’s got you so upset, I mean … I know it’s Potter, but we’re not teenagers anymore, right? Who cares?”

Draco exhaled a long sigh.

“He let my father go to Azkaban,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. He saw comprehension dawning. “How can I be with someone who could’ve saved my father’s life and chose not to, Pansy?”

“No one could have saved your father, Draco,” said Pansy gravely. His throat was tight, swollen. He hated that he was hanging on her words, looking for truth in them,  wanting to hear something that would make this okay. “He would have done the same thing if they’d let him go back to the manor. It’s not your fault or your mum’s or Potter’s.”

“But —”

“But what?” she cut him off sharply. “Draco, please don’t let your father keep controlling your life from the grave! My god, you deserve happiness, don’t you see that? Even if it’s Potter! In fact, I … I think that could be really good.”

“What, being with Potter?”

“Yes, being with Potter,” she said. “Darling, I say this because I love you: you need to grow a pair of bollocks and start taking control of your own life. I’m not finished!” she added when he opened his mouth to retort. “I understand that it feels like a betrayal of your father, I do, and I’m not saying you can’t have your cherished memories of him, but Draco … you cannot live your life in his shadow, doing things because it’s what he’d want or wouldn’t want. I think that choosing to explore these feelings you have for Potter is the bravest and healthiest thing you could possibly do for yourself.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes wet though the tears had stopped falling. 

“What if it doesn’t last?” he said finally. “What if next week he realises it was a huge mistake?”

“First of all, I doubt that,” said Pansy with a roll of her eyes that was clearly meant to be teasing. “You said you’ve been seeing him all summer, that’s plenty of time to have gotten sick of you. And, even if that did happen, I still think it would be entirely worth that week of being disgustingly in love.”

“Do you?” he drawled.

“Yes! I do!” She picked up his discarded wine glass from before and held it up. “Does the effect of alcohol last forever?”

“No …”

“Of course not! And we don’t expect it to. We expect to have fun while we’re drunk and it’ll last as long as it lasts.”

“Dating someone isn’t like being drunk, Pansy,” Draco said sourly.

“Oh, that’s not the point ,” she huffed. “We don’t do things because we know they’ll last forever, we do them because we want to. In the moment.”

“Sounds irresponsible.”

“Well, of course it is,” she scoffed. “Love is completely irresponsible, that’s the fun of it, Draco. Now take this,” she shoved the glass of wine into his hand, almost spilling it. “Drink up, and then get your arse over to his flat and fix this.”

* * *

Granger opened the door. Draco sighed.

“Hello, Granger,” he said lamely. Her raised eyebrows said she was surprised and thoroughly unimpressed by his appearance.

“Malfoy,” she said.

“Is Potter in?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

She looked at him, dark brown eyes impenetrable. Then she closed the front door behind her.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk to him,” he said tightly. As if this whole thing wasn’t bad enough, now he had to pass a test to get past Granger the bridge troll. “I thought he told you —”

“He did,” she said flatly. “And about yesterday.”

“Well I’m here to apologise,” said Draco. Granger’s eyebrows lifted again. Still unimpressed. “And to tell him …” He sighed again and broke eye contact, willing himself not to give up, not to take this as a sign he should just go home and ream into Pansy for giving him such bad advice.

“Malfoy.” He looked up. Her voice was softer now, and her eyes seemed a little less hard. “What are you doing? You really hurt him, you know.”

“I know,” he said stiffly. “I said I’m here to apologise.”

“Well he doesn’t need an apology,” she said. “If you’re only going to let him down again —”

“I’m not.” He rubbed his forehead and looked at her again, exasperated, defeated. “I’ve … had some sense talked into me.”

She looked like it was the last thing she’d been expecting. 

“Have you?”

“Yes,” he said. “So would you please get him for me before I lose my nerve?”

It was the right thing to say. Her expression melted into something much softer and he fancied he even saw the beginnings of a smile.

“Can I ask who affected this change of heart?”

“Pansy,” he said. And, when Granger seemed taken aback, “She’s very wise when she feels like it.”

“I see. Well …” She still looked a bit conflicted, eyeing him and then putting her hand on the doorknob. “All right. I’ll tell him you’re here, anyway, but he was really hurt, Malfoy. I don’t know if he’ll want to hear it.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said.

Granger eyed him another moment and then went back inside, shutting the door behind her. Draco only had to wait a minute before it was opening again, and this time Harry came out. The sight of him made Draco’s heart feel tender and sore.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, Potter.”

He waited to see if Harry would say anything else but he didn’t. He only stared at Draco expectantly, arms folded, in all ways closed off.

“I came to apologise,” said Draco.

“Well you can keep it,” said Harry. “I don’t need an apology because you told me the truth.”

“It wasn’t the truth, Potter,” Draco said quietly. “Opposite, really.”

Harry was silent. Then, “You made me feel like shit, Draco.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You freaked me out, springing it on me like that.”

A beat, then two, and then suddenly Harry was dropping his arms and sighing and he looked at Draco with so much vulnerability he nearly had to turn away from it.

“I didn’t mean to tell you …” He licked his lips, scratched his arm. It reminded Draco that beneath everything, Harry was still the same awkward dorky leader-of-the-losers he’d always been, just with a bit more confidence now and the title of Official Saviour of the Wizarding World. “I wouldn’t have said that if … I was just angry.”

He didn’t need to ask what Harry was referring to.

“I know.”

“Not that I didn’t … I mean, I … I do —”

“Please don’t say it again,” Draco said. Harry laughed.

“Right. I just meant … I really do have feelings for you, Draco. Like … mad, crazy feelings, y’know? I don’t want it to be a fling.”

“It wasn’t a fling,” he said. He moved a little closer and Harry watched him carefully, eyes flickering once down to Draco’s mouth. “I didn’t even sleep with anyone else the whole time.”

“Well that’s good to know,” said Harry sardonically. But he was smiling, so Draco found himself smiling tentatively as well.

“I wanna be with you, Potter. Properly. I thought …” But he shakes his head, deciding that now isn’t the time to explain about his father. “I thought it was a stupid idea. Now I realise that it probably is, but that I don’t really care much. I’ve decided to ignore my better judgment this one time.”

“That’s quite Gryffindor of you,” Harry commented drily.

“Yes, well.”

“So I go against your better judgment, then?”

“Potter,” Draco sighed. “Please, I don’t mean it like —”

“I’m taking the piss, Draco,” Harry cut him off. He reached for Draco’s waist and pulled him close, and before Draco could get his breath back from a short, surprised intake of breath Harry’s mouth was on his, warm and familiar and soothing. He brought his hands to Harry’s face and kissed back without bothering to hide his overwhelming relief.

Harry chased his mouth when he pulled away and Draco breathed out a laugh, holding him at bay with a hand on his chest. 

“We have plenty of time,” he said. “D’you wanna come over later tonight, after your friends leave?”

“What? No, come in.” He took Draco’s hand and gestured with his head towards the door. “Please. It’s just Ron and Hermione. They know everything.”

“Really?” Draco drawled. “And you think Weasley won’t try to kill me?”

“I promise not to let him,” Harry grinned. “Please, Draco. You said you wanted to do this properly, right?”

He thought of what Pansy said about being irresponsible, and decided it was worth a try at least.

“Okay,” he said. Harry beamed and tugged him inside.

Towards his ultimate downfall or towards the beginning of the rest of his life, he didn’t know. That, as Pansy would have said, was the fun of it.

#anna writes #answered #drarry fic #god i had sm fun writing this tysm for the prompt 😩

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: FaceTime{One-Shot}***

Zeeko Zaki x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Dirty Talk, Phone Sex, FaceTime Sex, NSFW AT ALL, SMUUUUUTTTT, Self Pleasure, DO NOT READ AT WORK, NOT FILTHY BUT RAUNCHY

Words: 2.5k

Summary: With the new season of FBI currently filming during the world’s climate, the PTB has decided that the cast are all to social distance in a designated hotel where they can be tracked to lessen any unnecessary exposure. You and Zeeko have been together for just under a year, and you’re still in the honeymoon stage, and he’s been “consciously distancing” for five weeks now.

Note: Thanks to a video from Zeeko’s IG stories, this little nugget came to mind. 

I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for reading!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosley Edited/proofread***

“As you guys can see, this is my home away from home for the next three months, then a two-month break and right back into it,” he said as he walked around the hotel suite with his phone filming his surroundings for the live he was currently shooting.

 He walked from the living area to the open kitchen then showed off the view of downtown Manhattan. As he walked through the suite, he showed the two other rooms then made it to the bedroom.

 “And this is the bedroom,” he said as he jumped onto the bed. When he turned the camera onto himself, he groaned and leaned back onto the pillows.

 “As you can see, they are taking good care of us due to the current pandemic. I’ve been here for—five weeks, a little over five weeks actually, and yes, I’m going absolutely insane.”

 He read the comments as they rolled in and made a mental note as to which ones to answer.

 AriaTheGreat: Zeeko, I love you on FBI. You’re soo hot.

 Cheesing like no one’s business, he slightly bowed his head. “Uh—AriaTheGreat, thank you for that compliment. I’m glad you’re tuning in, and thank you for that.”

BertoCrushesQuads: Bro, you look like you eat lean and crush it in the gym. I dig your workout stories. Always pushing me to step my game up.

 “BertoCrushesQuads, Thank you, bro. Honestly, there’s this little competition between my brother and me regarding the gym and the weights so, yeah. I do like to eat lean things and try to stay on task there, but I’m Egyptian—so yeah.” He couldn’t help but laugh at that bit.

 As he got a little more comfortable in the bed, he continued to read through the incoming comments.

 Y/NInTheseSheets: How are you surviving being in isolation? Are you lonely?

 His smile got so wide when he saw your name; he couldn’t contain himself. He now looked like a child on Christmas morning. You always commented and liked his pictures, reposted his stories, and even popped into his lives always with your secret account. You used this account to mainly stan for him.

 “Uh—Y/NInTheseSheets, cute name. I’m taking it one day at a time. It definitely can get lonely.

 The comments flew in about ways to relieve loneliness and even those bold ones volunteering to help him with that. It was still wild for him to think about how his life had changed sometimes. One of the changes he was most grateful for was your role in his life. A year-long flirtation turned to no commitment dates, and those turned to an accidental kiss that neither of you could go back from once it happened because that kiss led to your first night together.

 Now almost a year from that first kiss, he was still in that honeymoon phase with you. He always wanted to be around you, kiss you, talk to you, lay with you. It was impossible not to think about you, and now that he’d seen you on the live, there was no way he was going  to be able to go over his lines for tomorrow.

 Y/NInTheseSheets: These Sheets are cold.

 Biting his bottom lip, he looked right into the camera and nodded.

 “I hear you,” he said before he skimmed the other comments trying to keep his cool.

 HoeFoFlo: You should hook up with Florian and hit the gym. Can you talk about meltdown!! 🥵

 “HoeFoFlo, wow. Really creative name. You know something, we actually met a few months ago. He’s a cool dude and a monster in the gym.”

 PatriciaMac: @HoeFoFlo whaddya know I’m a hoe for that man too. You’re right; I’d love to see a live of the two of you in the gym together. I’d lose my shit. ���

Y/NInTheseSheets: Would love to do some hoe things right about now. 😛

 His jaw dropped, and he forgot where he was and what he was doing for almost a full minute. Sitting up, he leaned against the headboard. That was all it took for his member to stir. Pushing forward, he tried to keep talking to the six thousand people that were currently watching. He didn’t want to think more about what you were doing. He was sure you were lying in bed, fresh out the shower, probably still naked. He tried to stifle the moan when he thought of how you smelled, but he wasn’t successful at all.

 PrettyGirlLeena: @Y/NInTheseSheets saaaaame! Just looking at him makes me squirm. My lady parts are all tingly.

Y/NInTheseSheets: Tingliness is the least of my problems with my lady parts.  💦💦💦  

 Oh god, he thought. You were trying to kill him or have someone screen record something that he wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of.

 Y/NInTheseSheets: You just drive me crazy when you touch on it. Got my legs up, hands up, at attention.

 “There are some good things that are coming up this season for you guys. I can’t wait for you guys to check it out.”

 It was a meager attempt to force his brain away from your legs and touching anything.

 HoeFoFlo: @Y/NInTheseSheets, you should change your @ to @ThisHoezForZeeko. Girl, you thirsty.

Y/NInTheseSheets: Hit it, quit it. Fill that shit, get it!  🍑

 He was now past twitches and slow rising. His dick was hard.

 PrettyGirlLeena: Shut up, @HoeFoFlo. You should be the one to talk. We’re all thirsty. That is why we’re here. Stop trying to shame people. Look @ your name.  🙄

Y/NInTheseSheets: Tryna see if it feel what it look like. Been a lot of urge that I can't fight. It's a lot of time in the one night.

 Limit reached, he thought.

 “All right, guys, I’m gonna get off of this thing. I have lines to read and an early call. Thank you guys so much for tuning in to this live. Peace, love, and be kind to each other.”

 With that, he ended the live dropped his phone, rubbed his day fresh cut hair, and groaned. It was a loud groan that bounced off the walls and barreled back to him. When he took his phone up again, he quickly found your contact on his most recent calls and tapped facetime.

 After three rings, you answered, and sure enough, you were lying in bed with a sheet wrapped around you. God, you were beautiful.

 “Hi Habibi,” you slid out as your stretched.

 He couldn’t believe it had been almost six weeks since he’d physically seen you, and he still had six more to go.

 “That was not fair.”

 You giggled and changed the angle of your phone so he could see that your thighs were spread.

 “I’m sorry, Habibi. It was just too much fun to pass up, especially when I’d just gotten out of the shower. “

 “Ah, so you wanted to get me horny cause you’re horny.”

 You smiled again then bit your bottom lip. “Are you horny, Habibi?”

 You knew when you called him that it did things to him. You weren’t playing fair.

 “If I said no---.”

 “Then I’d just have my work cut out for me then,” you said before you ripped the sheet off your body to show him that you were, in fact, naked.

 He released an audible yelp that was half from shock and half from the intensity that his arousal hit him.

 “Fuck, baby girl.”

 Your gratifying smiled spread fully across your face before you dropped one of your hands to trail down your body, making a pit stop at your breast to tweak one of your nipples.

 “I miss you,” he whispered.

 “I miss you too. You have no idea. I used your soap in the shower and couldn’t help that my hand went down south.”

 Biting his bottom lip, he could see it as clear as day in his mind’s eye. His jeans were now highly uncomfortable. “How’d it feel?”

 “Not like when you do it. I like your hands better,” you whined.

 “Mmm, I wanna touch you so bad.”

 “I wish I could touch you, but you could—touch you.”

 His eyebrows rose. “Are we there?”

 You nodded. “Yes, we’re there,” you answered, referencing a conversation you’d had weeks ago that when things got tough, FaceTime sex was always an option. “We’re so there.”

 Not needing to be told twice, he sat up, perched his phone on a pillow, and began peeling off his shirt. Once it was off, he threw it in one direction then stood to peel off his jeans.

 “Mmmm, those jeans look uncomfortable, daddy.”

 His hands had never moved so quickly. He hopped as he peeled them off his thighs and kicked them in another direction.

 “You have no idea,” he replied before he climbed back into the bed with his boxer-briefs still on.

 As he laid on his back with a few pillows perched behind his head, he skimmed your body that was still in pain sight.

 “Show me,” you ordered. It was rare you did, but he liked it when you got controlling.

 Slowly he trailed his phone down his body, making sure that he dragged it out as long as possible. He knew what you wanted to see. Once he got to his waist, he lowered the waistband of his underwear before letting it snap back into place. Your groan was music to his ears.

 “Come on, baby, don’t tease me,” you whined.

 “Do you know me?”

 He gripped his hardened dick and rubbed, showing you just how hard he was. He couldn’t get it all in his hand no matter how big it was.

 “Mmmm, are you hard for me, baby?”

 His groan was deep, and he decided just to take them off. When he pulled the elastic down, his dick nudged on it until it sprang out, bobbing in the air.

 “Fuck daddy, I miss that dick so much.” Your hand was now between your thighs, and he’d never wanted to be someone else’s body part more.

 “Show me what’s mine, baby girl.”

 Without hesitation, you lowered your phone to show him just how wet you were. Your fingers glistened from the moisture that his tongue wanted all parts of.

 “Mmm, I’m so wet. Do you see what you do to me?”

 “Me? Look at this dick, girl.”

 He slowly stroked himself at first and then faster, all the while squeezing, doing his best to mimic your channel. His pants began low but quickly became audible. When he released an unexpected guttural groan, your moan overshadowed it, and he was instantly harder.

 “You have no idea how bad I want you, princess.”

 “Show me. Pretend your hand is mine. Pretend I’m right there between your legs about to drop my mouth on that big dick, Habibi.”

 He groaned, angled his head back, and closed his eyes. As his toes curled as the visual of you between his legs took over. “Mmm, you’re so fucking beautiful. I wish this dick was in your mouth.”

 “Mmm, me too. I wish you were fucking my mouth.” Your moans picked up, and his eyes snapped open to see your phone was now perched at the foot of the bed, giving him the perfect view between your legs, up your body, and of your face.

 “Shit, I love this view.”

 He quickly did the same with his phone so that you could have the same view and so he could have both hands. Once he was again lost in the pleasure of his hand with the visual of your mouth pushing him closer to the edge, he dipped his free hand lower to fondle himself.

 “Fuck, baby. How long has it been? They’re huge.”

 “The whole time,” he replied through his grunts.

 “This pussy misses you so bad. I wish you could stretch me out.”

 “You take me so fucking well, baby girl. Only you take this dick.”

 For the next few minutes, neither of you spoke. You just watched each other and raced to your respective finish lines. Every few seconds, your moans turned to whines and his to grunts and yelps. Your back was now arched off the bed with one hand on your breast.

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re gonna make me come!”

 “Shit me too,” he whimpered.

 You shot up to rest on your elbows and look right into his eyes. “Come for me, daddy. I want it. I want you to come right now.”

 “Where would you want it?”

 “Right here,” you said as you patted your pussy. “Come on, this wet pussy. Give it to me.”

 Your fingers were circling your clit faster, and he knew you were close.

 “Come with me, baby girl. Imagine you're sitting on my face. I want it. Soak my beard, princess.”

 Your hips bucked as if you were riding your fingers, pushing yourself to go faster and faster.

 “Oh my god, Zeeko, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming!”

 Your screech was loud before your eyes closed, and your jaw dropped, and in seconds, you were screaming as the pinch of your nipple was tight. It was his telltale sign that you were coming. He wasn’t far behind you. His grip tightened around his dick, and when he stroked up to squeeze around his head, he shot his essence. Your eyes were glued to him as he released stream after stream up into the air. You watched it splat on his inner thigh, pelvis, and abdomen. Your gingers didn’t slow. He knew you liked to watch him come. It always turned you on even more.

 “Oh my god, I’m coming again,” you whined before you dipped your digits inside your heat, dropping your head back. He saw the liquid gush from you, and he was a goner.

 “Fuck!”

 It was the only thing he managed before he, too, came again, sending even more come across his belly. Neither of you spoke. The only sounds were that of your shared panting as your bodies cooled. When he brought his eyes back to his phone, you brought your head back to look at him. Your smile was a sheepish one as you brought your knees together, still giving him the most tempting sight of your soaking core.

 “Oh my god, my phone is soaked.”

 “That’s not the only thing.”

 You slipped your hand between your legs, briefly blocking his view before you brought your hand up to your mouth and moaned.

 “Mmmm. Tastes so good. ”

 “You’re evil.”

 You giggled, bent down, took your phone, and brought it to your face.

 “Six weeks more.”

 He groaned and brought his phone to his face. “The only way I’m going to make it is if we schedule more of these—a lot more.”

 The two of you laughed together until you both laid on your beds, angling the phone on the pillow beside you so the other would feel as if they were right beside them. That was the way you remained for the next few hours, all the while penciling each other in every night to do just this.

 It was going to be a long six weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#Facetime one shot #zeeko zaki #Zeeko zaki fanfiction #zeeko zaki x reader #zeeko zaki x you #zeeko zaki x black reader #zeeko zaki smut #black fanfiction

[pixelated-pogues]

being a pogue that Rafe is just meeting that just completely takes his breath away and makes him want to stop the Pogue vs Kook rivalry so he stops getting into fights with everyone 🥴

Oof okay soo...this would be a wild ride. ------------------------------------------------------ Rafe never wanted to admit it, but he’s always had somewhat of an attraction to girls from the cut. 

He’s always ignored it, hooking up with girls from Figure Eight and making digs at girls from the cut whenever the boys were around. He’s always been good at hiding the fact that he found the carelessness of the Pogue girls enticing, that is until he met you. ------------------------------------ The first time Rafe saw you, you were walking across the golf course with a heap of groceries in your hands. You were clearly struggling to juggle everything as you sauntered across the grass, seemingly unaware of where you were going. He watched as one of the many bags you were holding slipped from your grasp; its contents spilling onto the grass. His lips curled into an amused smile when he saw the rest of the bags go tumbling down with it; followed by a string of curse words falling from your lips. 

“Hey, I’ll meet you guys at the next hole,” Rafe told the boys, unsure of what came over him as he hiked over to you. He’s never really been the type to go out of his way to help someone he didn’t know, so he wasn’t sure why you were different. “Let me help you with that.” He crouched down next to you, swiftly collecting discarded groceries and dropping them into the bags laying between you guys. 

“Thanks, I’m such a klutz,” you huffed, pushing your hair behind your ear with a sigh. That was the first time Rafe actually looked at you. His breath caught in his throat, the can of green beans in his hand falling back to the ground clumsily, when his eyes met yours. He felt his mouth go dry, cheeks flaring with a deep blush, as he stuttered to say something. 

“Oh, um, yeah. No problem,” he coughed, tearing his gaze away from yours to continue dropping groceries into the bags. You couldn’t help but stare at the boy in confusion, his current attitude highly contrasting to everything you’d heard about him since you arrived on the island a few weeks prior.

You shook your head, focusing on getting everything situated again before standing up, pulling a few bags back into your arms. 

“Thanks, again, for the help,” you smiled reaching down to pick up another bag; Rafe’s eyes following your every move. “I’m new to the job and am still getting used to carrying ten bags at once.”

“Of course! If it helps at all, you definitely look like a natural. The groceries fell pretty gracefully,” he was surprised at how easily the words rolled off of his tongue. What the hell am I doing? He thought to himself, trying not to cringe in embarrassment. 

“That makes me feel a lot better,” you laughed, sarcasm casually lacing your voice as you struggled to reach for another bag without dropping anything.

“I’ll help you carry these,” he blurted picking up the rest of the bags, taking you both by surprise. “I think you may get the job done faster if you don’t have to stop to pick up groceries every few minutes.” 

“You’re sure your friends won’t mind? They’ve been staring since you walked over here,” you told him, gesturing to Topper and Kelce who were, in fact, staring.

“They’ll get over it,” he insisted, a lazy smile forming on his face as you nodded, leading the way to the house the groceries were supposed to be delivered.  -------------------------------------- Rafe couldn’t stop thinking about you after that. 

In the short time that it took to deliver the groceries, he’d learned that you’d moved from the mainland a few weeks ago and live on the cut with your family. 

He also learned your name, and couldn’t stop it from running through his head at a constant rate.  -------------------------------------- The second time Rafe saw you was at a kegger on the beach. You were standing with Kiara and Pope, a wide smile etched on your face as the three of you chatted. He felt his heartrate quicken at the sight of you, the effortless confidence you held staning there only made his attraction to you grow. 

“Rafe,” Topper called, pulling the older boy away from his thoughts.

“Hm,” he responded, shifting his attention away from you. 

“We’re going to go grab drinks. You coming,” Topper questioned, gesturing toward the short line by the keg. Rafe only nodded in response, glancing back at you once more before following his friends. 

He could hardly stand being there, knowing that you were there as well. All he wanted to do was talk to you, but that didn’t seem like an option. Sure, everyone mingles with everyone at these parties, but the silent tension between the kooks and the pogues always loomed over his head, especially now. He didn’t feel like causing trouble with you so close by.

“Hey, it’s Rafe right,” a voice asked, pulling him from his thoughts. He tore his gaze from its trance on the fire, following the voice to your figure, moving to sit next to him on the tree stump. “The guy that helped me deliever groceries.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, ignoring the way his hands started sweating due to how close you were to him. “And you’re Y/n, right?” It felt silly asking you that when you’re all he could think about since he’d first met you. 

“Yeah,” you hummed, taking a swig from the cup in your hands. “I’m a little surprised to see you here. I heard that you’re too good to come to the poor side of the island.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, kicking at the sand with his feet as he contemplated what to say. You weren’t exactly wrong; he usually steered clear of the cut unless it was absolutely necessary but he immediately agrred to come when Topper mentioned going to the kegger together that night. 

“While I do have a reputation to uphold, I thought I’d let it slide tonight,” he shrugged. “Besides, I thought that I may run into a friend, so it seemed worth it.” Rafe casually bumped his shoulder against yours, faltering when your lip curved into a bright grin.  ----------------------------------- The third time Rafe saw you was completely different than the lighthearted interactions you guys had had previously. 

JJ’s chest was pressed up against Rafe’s, nostrils flared and eyes blazing as he egged the kook on; practically begging Rafe to throw the first punch. Rafe tried controlling himself and kept his fists clenched at his sides.

“I already told you that I didn’t have anything to do with that JJ,” he growled, patience wearing thin as JJ shot him another glare.

“You really expect me to believe that? You’ve been screwing with us for years, you think I’d be dumb enough to believe that someone else did it,” JJ shot back, his finger pressing into Rafe’s chest threateningly. 

“I don’t care if you believe me or not. I wasn’t a part of it this time,” Rafe quipped, choosing to step away from JJ. You stood by John B, biting your lips in anticipation as you waited for the next move. You felt relieved when Rafe’s gaze met your own, softening, before he turned to walk away.

“You’ll never be anything more than a dirty kook, just like your father,” JJ spat, and, in an instant, Rafe’s calm demeanor completely dimished as he lunged for JJ; his fist colliding with the blond’s face forcefully taking both of them to the ground.

“Shit,” John B mumbled, upon seeing the situation grow out of hand quickly. He stepped forward, trying to pull the boys apart at the sight of Rafe’s fists colliding with JJ’s face harshly. 

“Rafe, stop,” you begged, getting his attention. You breathed a sigh of relief when he shifted to remove himself from JJ but flinched when JJ’s fist smacked against his face. Right as Rafe went to retaliate, John B pulled his body off of JJ’s; quickly moving to get in between the boys. 

“That’s enough,” he stated seriously, shooting both of the boys a glare. He turned to Rafe, who was breathing heavily and wiping a smear of blood from his busted lip. “Go home.” 

Rafe nodded, not giving any of you a second glance before retreating to his bike. Your eyes followed him as he sped off; wanting to follow him but knowing that you needed to stay.  ------------------------------------ The fourth time he saw you was a few hours after the third. You’d come knocking on the front door of the Cameron residence; asking if he was around. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard your voice echoing down the hall; heart thumping wilding in his chest at the sight of you with Rose, shooting her a soft “thank you” before making your way into his room; shooting him a shy smile.

“I’m really sorry about JJ,” you apologized, flopping into the chair by Rafe’s desk; sheepishly playing with your fingers. Rafe watches you, still in shock that you’d come to check on him after what had happened. 

“It’s fine, I’m sure that I had it coming,” he dismissed with a sigh, collapsing on his bed. “Normally I’d jump at the opportunity to pummel a pogue,” he pasued, glancing at you briefly before continuing, “but I’m kind of over the rivalry if I’m being honest.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed at his confession, unsure if you heard him right. “What changed? All anyone has talked about since I’ve been here is the Pogues being agains the kooks.” 

Rafe sat up abruptly, staring at you for a moment before focusing his attention on his hands. “I don’t know,” he shrugged, not meeting your eyes as he spoke. “I guess my priorities changed. Maybe the pogues aren’t so bad.” He tried to seem nonchalant as his gaze hesitantly met yours.

“Oh really,” you remarked, an amused smirk making its way onto your face. “And what makes you think that?” Rafe watched you carefully make your way over to him, a newfound confidence taking over as you sauntered over to him.

“There may have been a certain Pogue that swayed my opinion a little,” he admitted, trying not to smile at the cocky look on your face.

“Is that so,” you asked, taking a seat next to him. 

“Yeah, I mean, have you seen John B,” he emphasized John B’s name dramatically, giggling when you swatted his chest playfully.

“John B, are you kidding me?” you laughed incredulously, rolling your eyes. -------------------------------------- From that point on, things between Rafe and the rest of the Pogues slowly started calming down. They were, by no means, friends but the constant fighting died down considerably with your convincing. 

Your relationship with Rafe budded quickly once the bad blood between your friends started dying down. They definitely weren’t please in your choice of a boyfriend, but you couldn’t really care less what they thought; especially once they started warming up to the fact that they no longer had to worry about Rafe or the rest of the Kooks bothering them as regularly anymore. ------------------------------------- This ended up being A LOT longer than I originally anticipated. 

It’s also probably a bit of a mess because it’s 6:30 in the morning and I haven’t gone to bed yet, but that’s okay. 

I hope you like it nonetheless! 

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #outer banks imagine #outer banks imagines #obx imagines #obx blurbs #outer banks blurbs #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #jj maybank #john b #kie #pope #its 6 am and i havent slept #send help im going to be dead today

[yeojaa]

SWEET LULLABIES, chapter iii. (w. JJK)

You've never loved in half measures.  It's always been all or nothing.  You didn't even mind when your heart was bigger than theirs.  Lopsided or not, you made up for whatever they wouldn't give.  But when you've finally met your match, what will happen?

alt summary.  You're crazy in love and for once, so is he.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  

genre + rating.  a whole lot of angst with a bit of fluff if you squint.  general.

warnings / tags.   friendship, best friends, best friends to lovers, friends to lovers, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is whipped, smitten jeon jungkook, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings.

reading.  sweet lullabies is a series of one-shots that tie into and conclude my other story, sugar high.  both are part of the best friends means forever series.  this is a bonus chapter from kook’s point of view. 

word count.  ~6250

chapter 3.  Save Me

The one where he’d almost lost you.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it;  luckily, he doesn’t think he’ll ever want to.

After all, you’re a dream come true.  You’re everything he’d ever hoped for, years of toffee-sweet daydreams and quiet desires wrapped up with a ribbon and presented in the form of his beloved best friend.  His Polaris - his north star in every sense of the word, guiding him home whenever he needed it.  A person to hold him close, to tend to the oft-neglected garden blooming behind a brassy ribcage.  You’re everything he’d ever wanted and even the things he hadn’t known he had.  

“What’re you thinking about?”  A question slotted into silence by a gentle hand and half-lidded stare, warmth dusting over the exposed expanse of Jungkook’s collar.  It feels like a beckoning to dreams and he can’t help but smile, expression endlessly soft as he inspects the girl in his arms.  His girl.  

He hums once, a noncommittal sound.  “Nothing.  Go back to sleep, baby.”  It’s true for the most part.  It’s nothing now.  But once upon a time, it’d been the single most frightening possibility.  Losing you.

And oh, how close he’d been to that.

NOVEMBER 27, 2017

“Seriously?”  It sounds bad - he knows it does - tight and terse between his teeth.  It’s coloured an alarming shade of red and acts like a beacon to those around him because there aren’t many things that have him acting out in this particular way.  

After all, he’d grown up in a very short period of time - something he was endlessly proud of and incredibly grateful to his hyungs for.  Their patience and mentorship had helped shape him into the well-adjusted young man he was now.  

Or usually was.  Not right now, though.    

“What’s wrong, Jungkookie?”  It’s Jimin -  seated closest to him and always somehow strangely aware of everything - who speaks first and in dulcet tones meant to coddle and soothe, lithe arm finding its way around his maknae’s shoulders.  Seated how they are, it’s easy, but Jungkook notices with amusement that it won’t always be.  Soon, he’ll be far too broad for this.  Their little muscle pig wasn’t so little anymore.

His response is immediate, though filled with petulance and beneath that, the tiniest tinge of shame.  “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,”  comes the same songbird, his head dropping to rest easily against the youngest member’s.  Jimin knows he’s pushing but he also knows he needs to.  It’s easy to read the golden boy.

Silence stretches for a beat, then another, and he almost sighs - but doesn’t.  Jungkook can feel it rising in the other’s chest before it’s stolen away by his grudging response.  They’re less childish now, though still a bit sullen, rounded by a pout that he can’t seem to help.  “It’s just Soo.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise to the smaller dancer, his expression thoughtful.  “What’s going on?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

Truthfully, Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.  In fact, he wasn’t even sure if anything was going on - or if it was all just in his head.  That was the worst part:  the uncertainty.  Each intrusive thought, each second guess.  It felt like a downright disease, taking up precious space in his skull and refusing to let go.  

“Jungkookie?”  There’s no expectation in Jimin’s inflection.  It’s only concern in sugar-spun tendrils, holding the nickname aloft.

“I don’t know,”  Jungkook finally manages in a whine.  The slope of his brow is knit together, distress threaded into every line as his arms fold, crossing in a huff over his chest.  He hates feeling silly like this, so he does his best to turn the emotion on its head and force it into something else.  It’s not necessary but it feels a bit better, like a fortress he can hide his heart within.

A sigh expels, exits through his nostrils in a sharp push of air.  He knows Jimin is just trying to help but he’s having trouble formulating words into coherent sentences.  The thoughts are too jumbled in his head, bouncing around like an overzealous energizer bunny.

“She’s been really distant lately.”  A partial answer, because he’s sure there are a million other reasons he could give.  Like he was simply stressed (true) or you’ve been posting about your great new life in the States and hardly answering him (the same answer as his original but a little too much to admit).

Or even that you’d mentioned a new friend - a male friend who, surprisingly, hit closer to home than he’d expected - and now he was seething.  Except he’d never repeat that last one.  It wasn’t his place to.  He was your best friend.  Nothing more, nothing less.

“Aren’t her exams coming up soon?”  

Leave it to Park Jimin to find the middle ground - that grey area in between all the good and the bad and frame it in a way that had Jungkook frowning, softly rounded mouth dragging in distaste.

He hadn’t even thought about that.  Or maybe he had, but it’d gotten lost among all the white noise and loneliness.  Frankly, he’s not sure.  His thoughts were always full of you and it was hard to distinguish sometimes.  “Maybe.”

“So maybe she’s just busy?”  As if Jungkook hadn’t already considered that.  He wasn’t trying to be crazy.  In fact, he hated it with every ounce of his being.  But he’d seen the photos you’d sent (admittedly, directly to him) and he knew you weren’t too wrapped up in your finals.  You’d found time in between the late night study sessions to attend house parties, knocking back venti-sized Americanos the next morning to stave off hangovers.

It was surprising, actually.  You’d never been great at handling your liquor - something you insisted you got from your father - but you were out all the time now and always with them.

Yejin, he didn’t mind.  She’d appeared in FaceTimes with you often enough that he’d developed his own sort of rapport with her.  She didn’t give a shit about the Korean music industry and treated him like anyone else, albeit with a lot more scoffing English than he’d ever faced before.

It was her cousin that left a bad taste in his mouth, a mixture of vinegar and battery acid.  Not that Kim Woosung was a bad person - at least, from what he’d heard from the people here, and definitely not from you.  Rather, it was jealousy, that cruel green monster rearing its ugly head.  It’d made a home in his chest, unleashing balefire at anyone remotely close to the aching thing in his chest.

Because that’s what you were - his heart in human form.  

But he’d never expected you to disappear halfway across the world.  He’d always thought you’d be here, holding his hand.  Now he had this gaping you-shaped hole in his chest and he didn’t know how to fill it.  Truthfully, didn’t know if he wanted to.  

“Maybe,”  he relents, quiet as a mouse.  He knows he isn’t fooling anyone by the whispered admission but it’s a shutting door, sealing the conversation for another time.

NOVEMBER 30, 2017

He can feel the stare burning into the back of his head before the words reach his ears.  

“What time did you sleep last night?”  There’s no judgment, no anger - just soft shades of concern and coaxing swept across each syllable. That’s why Namjoon was such a good leader - he knew how to approach his members.  Understood them, possibly, better than they did themselves.

“I don’t remember.”  Jungkook’s answer is full of apology, a guilty smile framing the pink turn of his mouth and forcing a dimple into his cheek.  He thinks it must’ve been around two or three in the morning, as he’d stayed up to talk to you after your first class.  Stayed up after being out all day and practising for hours.  

The shadows under his eyes might as well have been a glaring neon sign or an advertisement for the sleep-deprived.

Namjoon says nothing, his expression still endlessly kind, just barely touched with reproach by the line of his lips and the subtle tension in his jaw.  He’s careful - he needs to be when it comes to matters of the heart with his maknae.  Because despite his dismissive laughter and playful nature, Jungkook was also one of the most sensitive members.  He just hid it well - sweeping it behind his bunny smile and witch’s cackle.  

Consideration stretches silence on for a beat longer before the taller of the two is smiling, crescent moons forming his eyes.  A hand cards through silk the colour of smoke and he regards the younger boy with tenderness.  “Don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?”

“I won’t.”  What Jungkook means to say is he’ll try to remember.  He has to, for them.  Because his actions weren’t just his own - hadn’t been since he’d committed to this crazy wild path years ago - and he has to be considerate.  Has to be better.  “Thanks, hyung.”  

“Just watching out,”  comes the elder’s response with a noncommittal wave of his hand, focus already reassigned to the book laid across the table in front of him.  He’s so immediately absorbed into it that Jungkook’s a little envious, legs of his chair dragging over linoleum as he edges himself into Namjoon’s personal space.  

It’s a testament to their close bond that he doesn’t even flinch, simply shifting ever so slightly to the right to allow Jungkook a better view over his shoulder.

Maybe this is what he needed - a distraction.

“Hyung.”  The inflection immediately perks Namjoon’s attention, head turning just so to acknowledge the other’s address.  “How do you...”  A prolonged pause as Jungkook mules his next words over, finger resting delicately on his cupid’s bow.  Was he really doing this?  “How do you... distract yourself?”  Okay, so not quite the question he’d meant to pose, but good enough for the time being.

Straight brows pitch higher, shooting up in surprise.  Whatever Namjoon had been expecting, it isn’t this.  “What do you mean distract myself?”

Suddenly, Jungkook’s on the spot, the full weight of the rapper’s stare turned on him.  The focus makes him waver, teeth wearing through the supple interior of his cheek and the soft petal of his bottom lip.  Fingers fidget, push and pull on the sweater paw he’s formed.  

“Uh.”  Good one, JK.  

He clears his throat once, twice.  He looks a little chagrined, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.  

“When you’re going through things—”  The attempt at ambiguity is as transparent as the windows around them.  “—that are hard, how do you distract yourself?  How do you forget about it?”

“Well, you don’t just forget about your problems.”  Something about Namjoon’s expression has him looking away, flustered.  “I say it’s always better to try to fix your problems than to run from them but,”  and Jungkook latches onto this inch of give,  “if you need a distraction for a while, find something that takes up the extra time you’d otherwise spend stressing about the problem.  A hobby, maybe.”

Well, he had tons of those.  He gamed in his downtime - his Widow headshots were unparalleled, if he was being honest.  He filmed whenever they were out;  he’d even cut and uploaded his and Jimin’s recent trip to Tokyo.  He worked out, forcing his body into a state of fatigue that left his thoughts far too tired to run cruel circles through his mind.  But it was never enough.

“I have hobbies.  It doesn’t work.”  There’s a desperate edge to his words that he hadn’t meant to let slip.  “It’s fine.  Whatever.”  Again, another door closed.  Slammed shut by his own foot in his mouth.

“Then maybe it’s an issue you can’t just distract yourself from.”

Of course Namjoon’s right.  Jungkook knows that but it doesn’t help the bitterness that bleeds onto his tongue and rots enamel.  “That’s not an option.”  Rather, he wouldn’t let it be.  There were do’s and don’ts in best friendships and confessing your unrequited love was on the hard list of don’ts.

“Jungkook-ah...”

“What?”  It explodes off of his tongue, though he doesn’t mean for it to.  The nerves are fizzling in his stomach, ricocheting from his mouth like fireworks into the quiet between them.  They’re too bright - demanding attention.  He thinks, if they were real, they’d paint pretty silhouettes of the girl he can’t get out of his mind.

“Just tell her.”  

“No.”  

They’re an immovable object and an unstoppable force.

Harder now, edged with exasperation and so much concern it makes Jungkook’s heart stutter in his chest.  “You have to.”  

“I can’t.”  Emphatic, spoken with both lips and eyes.  They beg for understanding, like a man lost at sea desperate for a ship on the horizon.  Because that’s exactly what he is – a lovelorn sailor swept to his doom by the siren call, one he’s utterly defenceless against.  He wouldn’t be like this if he had any other choice.  

“Okay.”  A pause, a sigh, a relent.  “I’m here if you need anything.”

DECEMBER 14, 2017

It’s two weeks later when he needs that anything, driven to it by the radio silence he feels in his bones, tearing apart each and every part of him like a black hole devouring the stars.  Because rather than it being a tangible pain he can distract from - replace with another, sharper sting - it’s become a dull ache that exists in every action and inaction, engulfing his thoughts even as they try to focus on anything else.

He thinks he can’t be held responsible for the choices he makes when there’s too much going on in this head of his, his thoughts far too jumbled to be held accountable.

So he smiles at the very pretty girl that’s been deemed the anything he needs and tries to focus on the way her mouth curls, painted an intoxicating shade of ruby red.  He trains his attention on the flutter of her lashes, the coquettish way she ducks her head when he meets her stare.  He memorizes the way her voice pitches and drops, sugary sweet and decidedly feminine.

Does it because it’s the only way to fill the lovesick hole in his heart, even if it doesn’t really work.  Even if the puzzle piece doesn’t quite fit, corners snipped and reassembled to take up the space the essential piece has left behind.

“I can’t believe you asked for my number,”  she's saying, all rose-tinted cheeks and a smile he finds endearing.  Fingers - short, slim, dainty - smooth over the ceramic of her cup and she peers at him from over the edge.  It’s meant to be sly, to draw his attention to the way her mouth curls around the lip, and for a moment, it does.  It piques something in the back of his mind, apathetic green monster rearing its ugly head at the prospect of something new.

Something not named Park Soomi.

He latches onto the interest with both hands, proverbial grip torn apart by rug burn and his attempt to hold onto it.  He needs this.  He needs this so fucking bad.  “Why not?”

“I mean, you’re you.”  The way she says it makes the hair on the back of Jungkook’s neck rise and the fingers in his lap curl into fists.

It brews bitterness on his tongue - the aroma of his coffee lost to the taste.  He can’t help the reaction, even while he knows he can’t blame her for it (nor should he).

After all, she had the Namjoon stamp of approval.  And if there was anything he trusted, it was his leader‘s judgment.

“I’m just a normal guy,”  he insists, mouth full of laughter he forces out.  He says it with as much meaning as he can, though he knows the words don’t hold much weight.  Not when they’re so at odds with the truth.  Luckily, the two aren’t mutually exclusive.

She doesn’t have a rebuttal now, only choosing to offer that same soft smile. 

It doesn’t trap him like a star in the galaxy, but it holds his attention.  It reassigns it from the hole in his chest to the brightness of her teeth and the sweetly rounded cupid’s bow and that’s enough.

“I’ll prove it to you.”  Whether he means the words, he’s not sure, but they come of their own volition, sounding off like a promise.  He thinks he can feel warmth spiking across his neck, creeping up past the collar of his flannel once the words settle, a blanket draped over the cozy space they've carved out in the hole-in-the-wall cafe.  When her eyes follow the heat, coaxing it higher with her stare, he knows it’s there.  It makes him swallow thickly - was he in over his head?

When her hand drifts - those big doe eyes of his tracking every movement - and fingers ghost over the tops of the back of his, he knows he is.

“You’re dangerous, huh?”  He asks, though he knows the answer.  Can see it reflected in the impossibly dark depths of grey circle lenses, contrast stark against the perfectly layered and blended makeup smudged around her eyes.  It’s something he’s used to - that idolizing, somehow endlessly adoring stare he’s seen a million times, in the sea of faces he performs for - but here, it feels different.  A little closer to home.  

"Only if you want me to be."  And he thinks he does.

DECEMBER 21, 2017

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Your voice cuts through his early morning exhaustion, striking a proverbial match as neurons fire off beneath his skin, nerves fizzling in his stomach.  It rings clear across the airwaves and for the first time in what feels like ever, it feels like nails on a chalkboard.  For the first time, it doesn't have honey melting into every crevice, warming him from the inside out.

The smallest flash of irritation flares - a lightning strike in his jumbled thoughts.  It's so drastically different from anything he's ever associated with you.  Maybe this was good.  Maybe this was progress.  

"You called."  Deadpan, because Jungkook's still half-asleep but more than that, he's rough around the edges, your hot and cold treatment of him the past few weeks simmering bitterness in his veins.  "Finally found some time for me?"

The intake of breath has him immediately regretting the words, a breath sucked in sharply through his teeth.  He imagines you're doing the same, by the silence that stretches on.  That, or you're tearing a hole through your cheek.  He wants to tell you to stop - to apologize for being an asshole at 7 o'clock in the morning, but he doesn't.

"I've been busy with exams,"  you finally speak and it sounds so small, his heart twists itself over and over.  It doesn't break, though, and that's a feat he never thought he'd accomplish.

"I know."  It’s all he can say, an octave softer but still miles away from the sunny warmth he's used to spilling forth like an overflowing bucket of yellow paint.  It feels strange to hold himself so closely, refusing to allow his abundance of affection colour every syllable and sweep him headlong into the love he feels for you.  "Did you need something?"

Another inhale and - maybe his ears are playing tricks on him but it sounds strange, wet - you're speaking as quietly as he's ever heard, as if you're afraid your words will elicit an reaction somehow worse than what you've already faced.  "Did you want to watch a movie tonight?"  

He has to applaud you for your insistence, though the tiny, bitter part of himself glimpses that flair of annoyance at the edges of his vision once again.  

"I'm busy."  It's the truth but it's not something that's ever stopped him before.  Jungkook was notorious for making time for you, rearranging his schedule enough to make Namjoon want to rip his hair out.  So it's odd, even to him, that the next words - the lie - rolls of his tongue so easily.  "We're working on a new routine tonight."

"Oh."  

The single word has enough weight to crush his heart beneath your heel.  How fitting that it's actually the opposite now, and your own is crumbling beneath his foot.  At least, that's what he thinks - assumes by the dead silence that follows it.

"Sorry then."  You're trying so hard to keep your voice chipper that it leaps higher than is natural and rings in his ears, making him grimace.  Even if he didn't know you so well, he'd be able to read you like a book.  You're far too transparent.  "Good luck.  I know you'll do great - you always do."  

A thanks is all he offers in response, ready to end the call and only stopped by a heart-wrenching last goodbye.  "I love you, Kook."  

He wishes he'd hung up faster.  

Instead, he utters a soft "you, too" and ends the call.  He has a date to get ready for.

DECEMBER 22, 2017

When he stumbles through the front door of their shared apartment, he can still taste the sticky, not unpleasant sweetness of her lips.  It tingles his tastebuds like fresh berries and makes him laugh a little to himself, back of his hand rising to wipe away the residual gloss.  

Peeling off his shoes - he’s careful not to cause too much of a ruckus because it’s almost one in the morning and the last thing he wants is to wake anyone up - he finds himself humming quietly.  It’s low in his throat and muddled by the taste of beer but it’s there, sweeping the quiet from the entryway as laces untie and boots are neatly tucked away out of sight.

He’d had fun, much to his surprise.  Honestly more than than he’d expected, because he'd never been the biggest fan of upscale restaurants, or bustling bars, or glossy pink lip gloss.  But that'd changed in the span of one night, all those strange things somehow sparking a bunny smile and his trademark, boisterous laughter.

Because Jungkook likes that she comes with all of that and she’s everything he needs - at least for now.

She’s a breath of fresh air in a life dominated by strict practice schedules and mandated appearances.  In a way, she’s everything he'd ever hoped for in a distraction - pretty, fun, a little demanding.  She keeps him on his toes in a way he isn’t used to, never giving his thoughts enough time to re-centre on the silhouette that exists like a cookie-cutter carving in his chest.

A temporary fix, possibly - surely - but he didn't mind.  Couldn't find it in himself to when he'd found some semblance of peace for the first time in weeks.

"Did you tell Soo we had practice tonight?"

The voice breaks him from his thoughts, shoots an arrow that lands bullseye on his heart, and he gasps.  He hadn't noticed the figure lingering in the kitchen, hunched over their kitchen table with one headphone in and a sketchbook in his hands.  

Of course Taehyung would be awake.  Why was he surprised?

Oh, because of the question.  The one he hasn't answered, instead gaping at the other like a fish out of water.  Mouth opens around sound that doesn’t come out then closes and repeats itself twice more.  Taehyung doesn't repeat himself, simply staring at Jungkook with an expression that cuts him to his core.

Because he's not angry, or judgmental.  No, he's disappointed.  It's written into the arches of his brows, the way his headband-covered forehead wrinkles just so.  

"What?"  It's soft, hesitant, careful.  There's already embarrassment crowning, locking into the column of Jungkook's spine and rooting him all the way through to his feet.  It keeps him from advancing further into the apartment, caught halfway between the adjoined living space and the hallway that beckons him to the safety of his bedroom.  

Instead, his gaze swizzles, bounces and leaps between the door at the end of the hall and the other member sitting at the table, focus trained wholly on him.  It's hard to meet Taehyung's eyes - and that feels uncomfortable in a way he doesn't want to think about.

"Did you tell Soo we had practice tonight?"  Finally repeated, verbatim, in that some low drawl of his.  

It's posed as an innocent question, all sleepy eyes and carefully trained mouth.  It makes Jungkook's own purse, tongue rounding the hollow of his cheek.  Though he knows he shouldn’t, the desire to bite back stirs in his stomach and he has to clench his fists at his sides, nails digging crescents into the flesh of his palms.

“Why?”  He’s aware he’s answered a question with another question - something he finds infuriating himself, but he can’t help it.  He’s not ready for the lecture he’s sure will come.

Taehyung shifts, arms folded across his chest, and says nothing.  It’s somehow more unnerving than if he were to tear into Jungkook.

“We were talking earlier.  She asked how practice had gone.”  There’s a sour edge to Taehyung’s explanation, colouring words highlighter yellow and toxic green.  “Imagine her surprise when I had no idea what she was talking about.”  

Jungkook knows there’s no point - no reason to voice the shame he already knows stitches his features together.  Taehyung presses on, nonplussed by his maknae’s discomfort.

“You didn’t tell her you had a date?”  

“Why would I?”  It’s defensive, juvenile, a world away from what he wants it to be.  It garners him a look that teeters dangerously on flabbergasted, Taehyung’s groomed brows gathering tightly over his stare.

For what it’s worth, his words are measured - far more reasonable than Jungkook deserves.  “Because she’s your best friend?”

“I don’t need to tell her everything,”  and while that’s true - it somehow doesn’t feel great with life breathed into it.  Fully realized, it’s harsh and covered in thorns that catch on the way out of his mouth, tearing up the insides of his cheeks with razor-sharp edges.

“She was hurt.”

That should be enough.  At any other time, it would be.   It’d have Jungkook crawling on his hands and knees - anything to wipe that sadness from your face.  But here and now, caught between a rock and a hard place, it means nothing to him.  At least, that’s what he tells himself, forcing down the bile that rises in his throat.  “Then she should mind her own business.”

Taehyung knows this isn’t the Jeon Jungkook he knows.  Knows that this version of their beloved maknae is but a caricature carved from hurt and frustration and bruises that bloom like weeds.   It doesn’t mean it’s okay.

“You don’t mean that,” he says kindly, softer than he has the whole interaction.

“I do,”   comes Jungkook’s immediate retort, though it lacks any real strength.  It’s small, like it wasn’t meant to be said.

“You need to tell her.”

It’s not the first, second, or third time he’s heard these words;  he wishes it were the last.

“No.”  And he’s walking away again, disappearing into the safety of his own room where he spends the next five hours wide awake and miserable.

DECEMBER 25, 2017

It’s the first time he’s spent Christmas without you. It feels wrong, like any other Monday morning rather than the merry day it is. There’s no golden tinsel strung throughout his thoughts, no cheerily sang carols on repeat in his mind. The magic is gone - stripped away by the loss of you.

You haven’t spoken to him in days.  Since his little white lie - because that’s all it’d been, he tells himself - had come to light, you’d made yourself scarce.  There were no more stories posted to social media, no mentions of your name from the other members.  It was like you’d disappeared, taking all the sunlight with you.

Where he’s once laid his head and called home, there was nothing left.

“Come have breakfast, Jungkookie.”  It’s Jimin peeking into his bedroom, small hands curled around the door frame.  His hair’s a little wonky - sticking up at odd angles - but he appears happy, like he should.

Jungkook wonders how he looks.  If the shadows under his eyes give away all the demons that make homes in the hollows.

“I’m not hungry.”  Or rather, he didn’t have an appetite.  Didn’t have much of anything, truthfully.

“You need to eat.”  It’s the same wide-eyed concern he’s seen edged in everyone’s expression.  It makes his throat constrict, the thing in his chest thumping an erratic rhythm as it threatens to launch itself out of its brassy, broken confines. 

Shoulders shift, rise and fall like a breaching wave, and he shakes his head again.  “I’m really not hungry.”  Even to his own ears, he sounds strange.  His words are held together by flimsy strings, knots frayed and ready to split.  There are stirrings of guilt, tendrils of it curling like smoke through his lungs.  It’s only a matter of time until the fire engulfs every inch of him, scorching all in its path. 

He thinks he wouldn’t mind, if it’d replace the ash that lingers in a fine layer over each thought.

What had happened to his distraction?  Where was it - she - now when he needed it most?

Namjoon’s words reverberate in his skull, rattle around like coins in a pocket.  Maybe it wasn’t something he could distract himself from.  Why hadn’t he listened? It would still suck, surely, but he thinks it might not have mutated, shaped into this new divide by his own hand.

Because now there were miles between you and he only had himself to blame - his own face reflected back at him when he sought to find an answer for the radio silence.

It felt worse than he could’ve imagined.

“At least come join us.”  Jimin is insistent, refusing to let Jungkook wallow in his own self-imposed misery.  Hands coax, tugging at the hem of the younger’s sleeve.  It doesn't move him from his spot, two feet planted firmly as the wheels of his desk chair roll in a semi-circle and return to their original position.  They both know Jimin's weight means nothing against Jungkook's but the dancer is insistent, refusing to budge from where he stands, chest to shoulder with the stubborn boy.  "Jungkookie."

When Jungkook remains steadfastly focused on his computer - on the glowing lights of his keyboard, the front page of Naver - Jimin sighs loudly.  He feels a little bad about it.  Jimin's not the reason he's in this position.  

"Jin-hyung went all out.  You don't want to miss this."  

It's a good tactic.  Any other day and Jungkook would've jumped at the thought of a feast.  After all, he was a growing boy which meant he was always, always hungry. 

As if in response - in a great show of rebellion - his stomach rumbles, breaking the silence he'd meant to drag on.  Betrayed by his own body.

He blanches in the same instant Jimin grins, full mouth spread around a smile that screams victory!

"Come on."  This time, Jungkook relents, lets the other's hands coax him from his seat.  He's still a little begrudging though, shoulders inched forward and chin tucked against his chest in an exaggerated display of resistance.  He even drags his bare feet a little, but Jimin is wholly unbothered.  

Because whether the maknae believes it or not, his members know best.  They know the size of his heart and the fact that a very vital piece seems to be missing.  But that doesn't mean they can't fill it in the ways they know how, with boisterous laughter and his favourite ice cream, hand written letters and silly elf hats.  

They might not have been his Christmas miracle but that didn't mean they wouldn't try.

JANUARY 1, 2018

He thinks it should be easier.  The worst had come and gone, after all.  

He'd spent the rest of the holidays occupied with public appearances and precious moments with his hyungs, exchanging small presents and doing everything he could to keep his mind off of you.  It'd worked, for the most part.  He hadn't had enough time to wallow in that pit of despair he'd come to call home, instead pulled from it by obligations and the hands of his loved ones.

And yet he can't help the way he checks his phone, turns it over and over in his hands like another flip might throw the universe into motion, righting its off-kilter axis.  

"You look stressed."  A voice purrs - but it's not you so he doesn't really listen.  Doesn't even flinch when a warm body settles itself against his side in a veil of vanilla powder and glossy curls.  "What's wrong, babe?"  There's a hand on his knee and lips at his ear, roses painting the shell as she presses herself closer.  

Jungkook’s certain it's meant to be reassuring but he can only lean away, eager to put as much space between them as possible.  For the first time, it feels wrong.  Like the distraction wasn't made for him, but by him.  This isn’t what he wants.  It throws every action, every minute adjustment of her features, into stark relief.

So it's impossible to miss the look on her face, how it screams hurt and surprise and what the hell are you doing?  

"What?"  The word comes in a pair - from him and her.  It's almost comical how she sounds in comparison to him, all edges and affront to his soft utterance.  There's venom in her single syllable, laid there by a sharp tongue and sharper teeth.  It's the first time he's been on the receiving end of it and he has to admit - he hates it.  It gnaws at his insides.  He realizes he's letting her down.

Like Frankenstein, he's created a monster he can't control.

"What's your problem?"  She's far less angry than she deserves to be.  If he were in her shoes, he'd be black and blue, howling at the moon.  Instead, she's still soft, affection dulling the bile that rightfully rises in her throat.  Even now, he can see the way she looks at him - larger than life, with stars in her eyes.

Jungkook doesn't find it in himself to answer immediately, instead staring adamantly at an indiscernible point behind her.  "Nothing."  It's the farthest thing from believable, a lie that fixes itself between them, bright red and beguiling.  

"It doesn't seem like nothing."  For what it's worth, she's trying.  He can tell she is by how her tone changes, adapts to the relutance he shows.  She's trying to coax something more from him, shifting slightly closer when he doesn't immediately recoil.  "The fireworks are on.  Let's go join everyone else."

It's a great idea in theory but it's the last thing he wants to do.  So he says as much, shaking his head in the same moment.

"I'm heading home."  It doesn't matter that he's nowhere near their dorms or that she suddenly looks like a kicked puppy.  All Jungkook knows is that he has to be anywhere but here.  "Have fun tonight."

He's rising before she even has a chance to respond, flipping the hood of his sweatshirt up over his carefully styled strands.  When she reaches for him, he retreats a step, putting as much distance between them as he can in the small room.  It isn't easy - she's everywhere, light reflecting off the sequins of her pretty white dress, the scent of her perfume presenting itself with every inhale.

"I'm sorry,"  he says and he means it, despite the disbelief that paints her features.  

Without looking back, he disappears out the door, sliding past the milling bodies, the various performers and staff that wander the halls.  Excitement still buzzes among the dispersed crowd and he finds himself getting swept up in the occasional hello, deterred from his mission over and over again.  

It isn't until his phone rings, tone interrupting the one-sided conversation, that he's able to pull himself away.  He thanks his lucky stars - until he sees the caller ID.

Because it's you.  You - the person he's been waiting for all this time.  

It has his heart hammering in his chest, his grip on the device suddenly so tight he worries he might crack the screen.  You're finally calling him.  After weeks, you were there, familiar contact photo beaming up at him.

"Hello?"  He can hear the hope in his own voice.  

There's a long pause and he feels his throat constrict.  Had you not meant to call?  Was it a pocket dial?  A million questions run rampant through his thoughts, kicking up dust and gravel that he nearly trips over in his haste to get a response.

"Soo?"

"Happy New Year, Jungkook-ssi."  The way you say his name makes him want to cry with relief because there's tenderness still, hidden beneath the soft, half-whispered greeting.  You sound exactly like you always have, if not a little quieter, with more reserve, and he wants to live in the sound, how it settles into his head like it belongs there.  

"Happy New Year,"  he echoes back in a voice thick with emotion.  

You were finally home.

notes.  this chapter is the painful brainchild of mine and @keywepie​ and as such, is dedicated to her.  thank you for letting me talk your ear off and i’m sorry it took so long!

and yes, this kook is very different from the present-day kook in the series but that’s the point.  he was!!  hurting n sad!!  and way younger!!!!!

#goldenclosetnet #heartsforbts #ficswithluv #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #work.zip #bestfriends.zip #sweet.doc #jungkook.doc

[mousehole5000]

 this is it... the final post.... 226 through THE END!!!!!

this shit with mu qing and the river of lava is SOOOO dramatic im loving it

oh my god theyre on a FUCKING bridge of course they are okay let’s go boys

“You’re right. We’re alike. You think me odd, I think you to be rather weird too.” - so what im getting from this is that xie lian and mu qing are the only characters in this book with working gaydar okay yup got it this checks out

god... the fact that xie lian is ready to be like “look mu qing we can just forget about the past it doesnt matter we dont have to be friends i know you dont like me but im not gonna let you die over it” and then mu qing is like “.... god i really do admire you huh”

“You...certainly...are rather amazing. You’re...also...a better person...than me. Long story short, I...very much wanted...to become your f-f-friend.”  - going to think about this for the rest of all time im about to become utterly unintelligible im overcome with emotions

“And, at the end of the white silk band, Feng Xin was gripping Ruoye with one hand while the other was holding on to a steel-faced Mu Qing, and he shouted towards him.” - the fucking IMAGE of this im gonna cry this is everything i could have asked for im so happy also mu qing dangling there like “ welp. guess ill live“

“Feng Xin was almost burnt by that pillar of fire, and he shouted in outrage. “WHAT’S WITH THIS BAND OF DOG SHITS, ATTACKING PEOPLE WHILE THEY’RE DOWN, SO VILE! FUCK YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY!” Xie Lian responded, “IF THEIR ENTIRE FAMILIES ALL LOOK LIKE THAT, YOU SURE YOU WANT TO FUCK THEM??” - theyre so funny!!! and theyre best friends!!! theyre joking together now in the middle of all this i could cry theyre back!!!

“Using sticks as arrows, he held the bow with one hand and used his teeth to bite back the bowstring.” - no clue how practical this is but okay archer boy. hot

i actually have so many little quips between the three of them highlighted but we’d be here all night if i included them all. im literally so delighted by this omg worth the wait

“Each sabre strike slashed to the bone. It wasn’t like Xie Lian had never seen Hua Cheng use the sabre before in the past, but his style had always been easy and leisurely, nonchalant and casual. Rather than say he was handling a weapon, it was more like he was toying with a small knife. Yet those blade marks were filled with killing intent. It was easy to imagine just how skilled the one exchanging blows with him was, and how perilous this battle.” you have no idea how mad i was when i read this and thought we missed witnessing the fight between hc and jw omg

“Behind him, Feng Xin muttered, “Dear fucking god, may all the gods and buddhas grant their blessings, that better absolutely be Crimson Rain Sought Flower, otherwise he’s gonna go mad!” “Stop your rubbish,” Mu Qing berated. “We’re all the gods and buddhas ourselves and we can’t grant shit, just keep up with him! Look at the stumbling way he’s running, he’s gonna trip and fall to his bloody death before he even sees the man!” - okay i know i said no more quips but this is literally too funny i just wanted to read it again

“ However, for whatever reason, that vicious ghost, in its muddled state, took that large group of live mortals under its wing and fled for many days. In the end, they were still surrounded by millions of ghosts, trapped in a dead end, and it was going to be eaten along with those humans.” [...] “That vicious ghost almost made a move against those humans, but for some reason, in the end, it didn’t. It instead used one of its own eyes as the price to forge a blood weapon. That vicious ghost was already forcibly hanging on with its last breath; after digging out its eye it should’ve broken apart completely. Yet somehow something had shocked it, and it instead woke to its senses completely. “ - THIS IS AMAZING ARE YOU KIDDING ME???? IS THIS ALL WE GET ABOUT HIS GHOSTLY LORE?????? HUA CHENGGGGGGGG

“What a terrible offence, his old habit had come out, and he quickly apologized. “I’m sorry! You don’t have to listen to me!” Hua Cheng, however, only smiled happily. “Everything gege tells me is the best advice, so why wouldn’t I listen?” - this isnt the fucking time afjdkfjsdkl they really never stop

“So you can hold the illusion of a perfect Crown Prince of Wuyong to face and dismiss the Jun Wu now. Isn’t that your objective? Did you think I don’t know what you’re thinking?” “THAT’S NOT IT!” Guoshi cried. “Stop getting tied up in right and wrong, victories and defeat, I’VE NEVER THOUGHT THAT WAY BEFORE!” - jun wu only being able to see xie lian as his successor and believing that thats all anyone else sees too... okay

honestly this whole final showdown was a blast i cant put everything in but it was so much fun to read. the DRAMA the LAVA the SHOUTING t

“Hua Cheng had poured too much spiritual power into him. There really was too much, so much that it was completely outside the amount the cursed shackle could withstand.” - okay.... okay... the love you give will set you free... okay....

“With Jun Wu in his grip, he carried both their bodies and forcefully slammed into the incomparably-solid rock wall! He used all of his power in this smash, and in the rumbling and crashing of rocks, he also heard the sound of something breaking.” [...] “A moment later, Jun Wu suddenly asked, “That move. What is it called?” “...” Xie Lian raised his sleeve and wiped away the blood on the side of his face. “Shattering boulders on the chest.” YES!!!!! YES!!!!! xie lian actually lived that life!!!!!! i loved this detail so much

“After a moment of silence, Xie Lian took off the bamboo hat carried on his back, took it in his hand, and covered it over Jun Wu’s face.” - xie lian... good... another detail i love. a hat that protects from the rain, given in a moment of need, even to someone who has caused you hardship... we do not forget the kindness granted to us

“There was gratefulness, there was shame, there was heartache, there was wild joy, but above all else, there was incurable love.” - :pleading: i wish it was just that easy tbh. “i have to tell you about the worst parts of myself” “ive already seen them and i dont care i still love you“ truly the dream

“ It’s been so long since anyone listened to me talk, won’t you stay? Don’t...actually do this. I won’t be able to take it. Twice, it’s been twice already! I really don’t want there to be a third time!!!” - the bit about just wanting someone to listen to him talk... xie lian... :(

emily corpse bride moment.... i knew it had to happen.... butterflies.... death and rebirth.... inevitable

xianle trio bickering about ruoye..... mu qing complaining but not letting anyone else fix it... im so happy

“The Rain Master sat down on the spot, looking like she was going to perform a passing service for her. After all, Xuan Ji was the only one left of the Kingdom of Yushi besides herself.”  - xuan ji you sure the hell were... a character. this little moment tho..... yushi huang... many thoughts

“ Who hasn’t made promises, or swore to the mountains and the seas when they were young? Talking of affection, of love, of forevers. But, the longer I hang around in the world, the more I understand, something like ‘forever’ is impossible. It’s never going to be possible. Having it once was already good enough. No one can truly achieve it. I don’t believe in it anymore.” - jian lan im happy for you bummer it didnt work out with feng xin but yeah that was looooong ago. also this quote me same mood kin but its chill. having it once was already good enough

although yeah tbh if theres anyone who can have a forever like that... it would be a ghost and a god

fasdfjadklfj GOD... pour one out for ling wen.. but is that not the truth of this world? the one can be pardoned for being good at paperwork that no one else wants to do? isnt that the plot of the shawshank redemption?

okay but the fact that all xie lian’s friends come to visit him while he waits for hua cheng is making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.... fengqing coming together to try to get him out of the house but get scared off by his cooking... amazing

“Last time, they spent eight hundred years running towards each other. This time, it only took an instant to fall into each other’s embrace.” - im completely unaffected by this. im not lying i swear (i am lying im very emotionally affected)

okay i love this final wrap up chapter party its so fun. mu qing moving on from the broom thing!!! good for him!! the beggars get their reward!!! the fun ghost city chefs!! SQX!!!! and he xuan is?? here too??? he’s hungry??? fjadlkfjsdl

“The grounds that Feng Xin and Mu Qing had just swept were once again filthy from that giant crowd of muddy feet. Mu Qing gripped his broom, looking like he felt someone had infected him with fleas, and his eyes were wide.” - me when my dad comes into the kitchen when ive just finished washing dishes i get it king

the little folklore bit... fun!!! oh my god its over..... :(

that was really fun i had a blast reading it and on the whole really liked it i WISH soo badly that hua cheng had gotten more outside of being cunty and devoted even tho those are both important i just wish there was more about like how he got by during those 800 years and like did he ever have doubts? what shaped his worldview was it all xie lian or was it his experience as a mortal as well? why is he so mean to e’ming? theres bits and pieces here and there and i know it was already SO long but that really would have been great if there was more about hc cuz tbh by the end, at least for me, the hualian relationship didnt actually feel as fleshed out as the xianle trio relationship like i still liked hualian’s dynamic and it was really sweet how much they clearly really liked each other and  everything but i kind of wish some of the other subplots had been dropped or diminished in favor of more hc development i think that would have been cool

but anyway thats some of my thoughts and i really did enjoy the hell out of book 5 that was a riot and uhhh thanks to everyone who read these or commented *lends you spiritual energy through a high five*

#tgcf liveblog #it is Complete i can move on now #i actually have a lot more thoughts about hl because i uhhhh relate. to things. and have opinions due to my experiences #but its also quite Personal soooo i might just keep them tucked away #anyway im freeeeeee #mouse mumbles

[orangeoctopi7]

Walking Like a One-Man Army

I guess this chapter is kinda for @soosly ? It does prominently feature Soos being a BA.

: Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 :

The three of them piled into Soos’s truck. Ford elected to slide into the back of the cab with Mabel rather than sit shotgun. He needed to tell his niece what Debbs had decided.

“Mabel, I, uh…” He said slowly, “I spoke with your mother earlier this morning…”

The colorful girl tensed and pulled the collar of her sweater up a bit. Had all their ill-fated conversations over the last couple of days left her apprehensive to even speak with him?

“...I told her I wanted to keep Dipper on as my apprentice, and that you were welcome to stay here as well. Unfortunately, she, uh, declined to grant her permission.” 

“Oh!” Mabel smiled with relief, letting her collar drop. “That’s ok! Me and Dipper already talked about it and decided not to stay here anyway, so everything works out!”

Ford’s heart sank. So Stan was wrong. The children had indeed come to realize the old researcher was a toxic influence in their lives. He tried to tell himself it was for the best, to focus on his intellect and control his emotions, but controlling anguish was a lot harder than controlling fear. He at least was able to keep his expression neutral as he found something else to distract him: nitpicking grammar.

“Dipper and I.” He corrected her mechanically. “In any case, we need to come up with a plan to confront Bill and find Fiddleford.”

“He’s got this little shelter next to one of the telephone poles.” Soos commented from the driver’s seat. “It’s actually surprisingly nice for something in the middle of the dump made completely out of scrap material.”

“If Bill’s expecting us, that’s probably where he’ll be.” Ford said gravely. “I imagine he’ll keep Fiddleford close-by, to keep a close eye on his bargaining chip. We’ll need a distraction. Bill may be an all-seeing eye, but even he has trouble splitting his attention.” 

“Oooh, I’m super amazing at being a distraction!” Mabel piped up.

“I don’t doubt that.” Ford nodded, fondness somehow managing to slip past all the other emotions he was repressing. “But I promised your brother and Stan that I’d keep you safe, so I need you to stay close to me. Soos, do you think you could be a good distraction?”

“Oh yeah, totally.” Soos said nonchalantly. “Mr. Pines asks me to be the distraction all the time! When the taxman comes, or the safety inspector, or the police….”

“Of course he does.” Ford muttered. “What I need you to do is keep Bill’s attention while Mabel and I look for Fiddleford and get him to safety. Bill should still be possessing that time travel agent, so while he won’t be able to access any of the reality-warping powers he wields in the mindscape, he will have access to any weapon from Gravity Falls’ history or future. You’ll need to be ready for anything.”

“Well, they did teach me how to disarm an opponent with a gun or knife in my karate class, so I’ll probably be ok.”

* * *

It was quieter that Mabel was used to when they reached the dump. Normally, you could hear the sound of power tools and banjo strings even from the dump’s entrance, but not today. Today was deceptively peaceful.

The peace was broken by an eerie, high-pitched laugh. It was coming from the center of the dump, but as they looked around frantically, they couldn’t see their enemy anywhere. Ford fired his blaster, obliterating a board in the fence with a one-eyed triangle carved into it. 

“Well, he knows we’re here.” He said gravely. 

“What should we do?” Mabel asked.

“Proceed with the plan. Soos, you head straight for the center of the dump, we’ll go around the long way. Mabel, do you think you’ll be able to lead me to Fiddleford’s shelter if we don’t take a direct route?”

Mabel nodded with determination, even though she was only about 50% sure she’d be able to find the place, considering she’d only been there once. 

They split up, Mabel leading Ford towards the east wall of the dump. She was pretty sure if she climbed up the pile of wrecked cars there, she’d be able to look out over the dump and figure out a way to get to McGucket’s shelter, and maybe even see where Bill was at.

While running through the dump, they heard the occasional scurry of a racoon or possum through the trash. It was clear that Ford’s already twitchy nerves were on high alert, and he leveled his blaster at every single one. Luckily, he hadn’t been startled enough to fire it yet, which was good because they were trying to sneak around while Soos was distracting Bill.

The stack of cars was within sight when they noticed more scurrying around the corner. Only unlike all the other scurries they’d heard, it seemed to be running towards them instead of away from them. Ford pointed his blaster yet again, and pulled Mabel behind him.

“PEEKABOO!” Blendin’s face wearing a contorted grin popped out from around the corner. “WOW, SIXER, YOU REALLY EXPECTED ME TO TAKE THE BAIT AND GO AFTER QUESTION MARK? PPPPFT, PLEASE! HE’S NOWHERE NEAR AS FUN TO MESS WITH AS YOU! OR SHOOTING STAR, FOR THAT MATTER.” 

Bill took a few menacing steps towards them and leaned down so he was closer to Mabel’s eye-level. “WHADDAYA SAY KID? HOW WOULD YOU LIKE A NEVER-ENDING PARTY FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY? I’LL MAKE SURE ALL YOUR LITTLE FRIENDS ARE THERE, AND YOU’LL NEVER HAVE TO GO TO HIGHSCHOOL! IN FACT, YOU’LL BE ABLE TO DO WHATEVER YOU WANT! ALL YOU GOTTA DO IS GIVE ME THAT RIFT!”

“Don’t you dare speak to her.” Ford growled. 

“You’re a butt-brain!” Mabel shouted, flinging out the worst insult she could think of.

Bill shrugged Blendin’s shoulders smugly. “OH WELL. I WAS GONNA LET YOU HAVE YOUR OWN PERSONAL PARADISE BUBBLE FOR YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS, BUT IF YOU’RE NOT GONNA COOPERATE WITH ME, I GUESS YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO SUFFER UNIMAGINABLE PAIN AND DESTRUCTION LIKE THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE DIMENSION.” He pulled out a large rusty pipe and hefted it threateningly in his hands. “SO, WHERE’S THAT RIFT, IQ?”

“You really think I was stupid enough to bring it here with me?” Ford scoffed.

“WELL, I MEAN, YOU WERE STUPID ENOUGH TO TRUST ME.” Bill counted on his fingers. “AND TO THINK YOUR BROTHER WOULD ACTUALLY LISTEN TO YOU WHEN YOU CALLED FOR HELP. AND TO USE TOO MUCH GLUE WHEN YOU TRIED TO SEAL THE RIFT. SO YEAH. I DO THINK YOU’RE THAT STUPID.”

“Well I’m not.”

“OH, LEMME GUESS. YOU LEFT IT WITH PINETREE?”

“And with Grukle Stan!” Mabel added defiantly.

Bill snorted. “YEAH, ‘CUZ I’M REAL SCARED OF HIM!”

The possessed time traveler didn’t even get a derisive chuckle out before Soos barreled into him with a flying kick.

“Hey dude, I need you to pay attention to me for the next, I dunno, five to ten minutes?” He looked over at Ford. “D’you think that’s enough time?”

Ford just nodded mutely, unsure of how else to react to the handyman’s sudden entrance.

Bill picked his possessed body up off the ground. “YOU WANT ME TO PAY ATTENTION TO YOU, QUESTION MARK? HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS ATTENTION?” He pulled out a time tape and disappeared in a flash, only to reappear a second later with a large carpenter’s hammer in his hand. He threw it at Soos, who dodged it with skills honed from ten years of karate sparring.

As Bill continued to pursue Soos, pulling out weapons from random time periods as he went, Ford pulled Mabel away, back towards the center of the dump. This was just the distraction they needed, it just happened in a different order than they’d been expecting. 

So, her original plan to look for McGucket’s shelter from the top of a trash mountain wasn’t going to work now, but she could still find it, right? She remembered that a telephone pole had been one of the main support beams in the little hut, so she just needed to follow the telephone lines! Spotting one above, she rushed ahead, now pulling Ford instead of the other way around.

Sure enough, they came upon McGucket’s hovel nearby. Too nearby. They could still hear Soos doing his best to lead Bill on a wild goose-chase on the opposite side of a pile of discarded furniture and tires. But they could also hear a low, animal-like moan from inside the shelter. The two of them rushed across the clearing, hoping to reach the fox skin that acted as a door before Bill rounded the trash pile.

Before they could reach it, two things happened.

First of all, a loud, up-beat pop song started blaring out of Mabel’s pocket. 

“Girl, oh girl, you got it all, you know.”

“But girl, oh girl, you don’t got me, no!”

Mabel slapped her forehead and pulled out her phone, trying to silence it. “Ugh, Pacifica! Bad timing!”

Second, Bill blew away the trash pile with a shot from a cannon, sending chunks of broken wood and plastic everywhere and clearing a path between him and the shelter.

“THERE YOU ARE!”

Mabel just barely managed to hold onto her phone as Ford grabbed her by the arm and practically threw her into the door. He hurtled in after her, but no second shot came. Instead, they heard a loud, frustrated groan.

“UUUGH, WHY DO YOU HUMANS MAKE WEAPONS THAT ARE SUCH A WASTE OF TIME? WHO THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO HAVE TO REPACK THE GUNPOWDER AND ROLL IN ANOTHER BALL EVERY TIME YOU WANT TO SHOOT SOMETHING?”

“Well, it’s not that they thought it was a good idea, it’s just that they hadn’t developed the technology--” Ford started to explain when Mabel reached up and covered his mouth. He really couldn’t help himself sometimes, could he?

That same moan they’d heard before came again, louder, from under a pile of newspapers. Many of them had frantic calculations scribbled all over them. Ford reached down and brushed them aside, revealing a shivering, hyperventilating McGucket.

Mabel had seen McGucket be pretty crazy this summer. He’d jigged on an unplugged videogame for a week, ate his way out of a dinosaur, and claimed he preferred to walk backwards when she gave him a makeover. But she’d never seen him look so terrified and broken. His eyes were wide and unfocused, like he didn’t even notice they were there, and his breaths were coming in short, sharp whines. It was especially sad compared to the last time she’d seen him, when his mind really seemed like it was beginning to clear.

Ford looked down on his friend, absolutely devastated. If McGucket was looking bad compared to the last time Mabel had seen him, she could only imagine how he looked compared to the last time Ford saw him. 

“Y’KNOW WHAT, I’M JUST GONNA GO BACK AND GET ANOTHER ONE THAT’S ALREADY LOADED.” They heard Bill whine, followed by the zap of the time tape being used.

McGucket moaned again at the sound of Bill’s voice, shutting his eyes tightly and clutching his head. That seemed to snap Ford out of his shock, and he reached down and scooped the old inventor into his arms.

“Let’s get out of here.” He told Mabel.

Just as they ran out the door, Bill reappeared in front of them with another cannon.

“UH-UH-UH! FOUR-EYES ISN’T GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL I GET WHAT I WANT, SIXER!”

“Just keep running!” Ford shouted to Mabel. They picked up the pace and just barely got out of the way in time to avoid the cannonball that ripped through McGucket’s shelter.

“Dudes, over here!” Soos called to them, where he was trying to finish reloading the other cannon Bill had abandoned after less than a minute of trying. “We can fight cannon with cannon!”

“There’s no time!” Ford barked. “We need to either get out of here or find cover!”

“Cover, huh?” Soos said thoughtfully, scratching his chin, until an idea popped into his head. “Oh! You’ve seen that old timey video of the dude who takes a cannonball to the stomach and it just bounces off of him? I’ve always wanted to try that!”

Ford and Mabel stared at him for a beat, dumbstruck.

“I say follow your dreams, Soos!” Mabel encouraged him.

“Yes, if you believe you’re capable, I see no reason not to give it a shot.” Ford agreed.

When Bill reappeared with another cannon, Soos stood squarely in front of it while Ford and Mabel made a run for the truck.

“OH, THIS OUGHTA BE GOOD!” Bill smirked as he fired.

Soos braced himself just as the cannonball collided with his stomach. While the iron ball did bounce off his gut and drop to the ground, Soos was also thrown back almost three feet. He landed on his back but the wind was already knocked out of him. As soon as he could move again, he rolled over and threw up.

“Ohhoho… dude…” the handyman muttered. “I knew that was probably gonna hurt, but it still hurt way worse than I was expecting. Ugh, I think I might’ve cracked a rib.”

No answer. Not even a mocking remark from Bill.

“Dudes?” He slowly got up to his feet and looked around. Ford and Mabel had run away, and Bill had chased after them. Oh well, at least Soos had bought them some time. He reached into his pocket to call his abuelita for a ride home, but alongside his phone, he felt another object. His truck keys. “Uh-oh.”

* * *

Despite Soos’s best efforts, Bill was still hot on their tail. Fiddleford squirmed weakly in Ford’s arms as they passed another mountain of garbage. His eyes seemed to briefly focus on Ford, but they looked far, far away.

“I’m jus’ barely gettin’ my mind back now, I don’t wanna lose it again...” The old inventor murmured feebly before resuming his catatonic state. It felt like someone had just stabbed Ford in the heart with an icy dagger, and he picked up the pace.

The sign above the dump’s exit soon came into view, but there were still several more piles of junk between here and there. As they fled, Mabel turned and fired her grappling hook at an old kitchen sink sticking half-way out the bottom of one of the larger junk piles behind them. The hook caught on the faucet and Mabel yanked back on the line hard, dislodging the kitchen sink and collapsing the garbage mountain in a landslide. 

“Let’s see Bill blast his way through that!” She cheered.

Ford knew it was too soon to relax. As long as Bill was possessing this time travel agent, he had access to any weapon in human history, or humankind’s future, for that matter. Although, come to think of it, why hadn’t Bill used a weapon from the future on them yet? Perhaps that would draw the attention of the Time Paradox Avoidment Enforcement Squadron?

“There’s the truck!” Mabel exclaimed, bringing Ford out of his speculations. They skidded to a stop as they finally reached the vehicle and Ford tried to open the door.

It was locked.

Soos still had the keys.

Ford swore under his breath as he searched for something to pry the door open with. Yes, he could break into the truck, and yes, he could hotwire it, but that all took time! Time they didn’t have!

He was expecting Bill to step out of the dump any second now, but he didn’t appear. Instead, what at first glance appeared to be a flock of ravens rose out of the nearby woods. At the same time, Fiddleford thrashed in his arms and began to yell incoherently. Stanford tried to lay him in the back of the truck gently, so he wouldn’t drop him. The old researcher’s blood ran cold. It sounded almost identical to the gibberish his friend had spouted immediately after the failed first portal test. 

As the mysterious flock drew near, Ford began searching for a rock, a golf club, anything he could use to break open the truck’s windows and get inside, all while keeping a close eye on the approaching swarm. As they came closer, he could see they weren’t birds, they were bats! But why would a swarm of bats take flight in the middle of the day? They were close enough to start blocking out the sun when Ford realized they weren’t bats. They were Eye-bats!

He pulled out his blaster and started firing into the swarm. “Mabel, find something to break into the truck with!”

She nodded and took a step back towards the dump, when Bill finally made his leisurely way to the exit. Ford couldn’t help but notice that Fiddleford’s cries stopped almost as soon as the possessed time traveler appeared.

“YOU FLESH-SACKS AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE!” Bill crowed. “NOT UNTIL I GET THAT RIFT! AFTER THAT, I HONESTLY COULDN’T CARE LESS.”

Just as Bill took another menacing step towards Mabel, Soos appeared, sledding down a trash mountain on a car door. He crashed into Bill and kept going until colliding into the side of his truck.

“Uh… I got the keys.” The handyman said in a daze, holding them up triumphantly.

Ford grabbed the keys and helped him up and into the shotgun seat. “I think I’d better drive.”

“Thanks dude, I appreciate it.” Soos said with a chuckle, then clutched his stomach. “Ooof, ugh, that’s… that’s definitely bruised.”

The truck zoomed away just as Bill rushed for the truck bed where Fiddleford was still laying. The swarm of Eye-bats descended on them, and Ford rolled down his window, steering with one hand and firing his blaster into the flock with the other. He knew it wasn’t exactly the safest position for his friend to be in, nearly unconscious in the bed of a speeding, reckless pickup truck, but he couldn’t exactly pull over and buckle him in next to Mabel. Not if they didn’t want to be overtaken by Eye-bats. The old researcher just had to hope that his old friend would be able to hold out until they reached the shield spell.

* * *

Stan was just sitting and watching tv like this was a perfectly normal day. Dipper wondered how he could possibly do it, just push all the danger and worry aside and vegg out like that. Sure, Stan wasn’t really invested in McGucket’s safety, but he had to care what might happen to Mabel, Ford, and Soos, right? 

Of course, Dipper had known Stan long enough that he knew the old conman tended to express his emotions in a weird way. He teased and noogied to show affection, loaded on chores instead of compliments, and lied to the people he loved to try and keep them safe. Not to mention he’d spent the last thirty years trying to bring his lost brother home with an incredibly dangerous machine, while also pretending everything was normal. Maybe Stan was just really good at ignoring danger and worry by this point. And wow, that was a depressing thought. 

Dipper kept vigilant watch out the front window, searching for any suspicious activity while also waiting anxiously for the return of Soos’s truck. He’d been sitting there for maybe fifteen minutes when the phone rang. It rang two more times, and Stan made no move to answer it. Dipper was unwilling to leave his post himself, but Stan was just watching old reruns of Baby Fights!

“Uh, Grunkle Stan?” Dipper called out after the fourth ring. Maybe he’d turned down his hearing aide?

“I hear it kid.” Stan grunted.

“Well, aren’t you going to get it!?”

“It’s probably just that triangular jerk, tryin’ to distract us. And if not, whoever it is can just leave a message.”

“But what if it’s Mabel or Soos?”

Dipper was distracted from his complaining when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A car was coming down the dirt road towards the Mystery Shack. The boy seriously doubted the rescue mission would be back already.

Stan got up with a grunt from his chair to see what had caught Dipper’s attention. “There, see? What’d I tell ya? Wouldn’t’ve noticed whoever this yahoo is if you’d been trying to listen in on me while I was on the phone. When you know somebody’s after ya, you gotta keep distractions to a minimum.”

“You were just watching TV!” the boy gestured back to the flickering CRT.

“Eh, it’s a rerun, I’m not really payin’ attention to it, just need something to calm my nerves.”

The mystery car drove out of the trees. It wasn’t a car at all, it was a limo. One Dipper recognized from the Northwest’s fleet.

“Well, this ain’t gonna be good.” Stan grimace.

“M-maybe it’s just Pacifica coming to ask for help again?” The boy said hopefully, although his heart wasn’t really in it.

Sure enough, the Northwest stepping out of the limo was Preston. He looked around like everything about the Shack was a personal insult to him before stepping up to the door and knocking with a gloved hand.

Stan grabbed the taxidermied fake dodo sitting on a small table in the corner and reached under its wing, pulling out a small handgun, which he held behind his back as he opened the door. Dipper wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the fact that his uncle was answering the door with a loaded gun in his hand. Sure, they were all in danger from Bill at the moment, but he really didn’t want Stan to go to jail for shooting one of the most important people in Gravity Falls, even if Preston probably deserved it.

“Whaddya want?” Stan asked gruffly.

Preston’s small, forced smile seemed painful. “Aheh, yes, well, I suppose I’ll get right to the point then. I’m here to purchase your… I suppose this qualifies as a business on some level? My opening offer is two million dollars for the building and the land it occupies.”

“Hah! Yeah, right!” Stan barked. “I wouldn’t sell this place to a scumbag like you for twenty million!”

“Well, how about fifty million?” Preston asked coolly.

Stan froze, his eyes wide. He stared the billionaire down, trying to decide if he was bluffing. It sure didn’t seem like a bluff to Dipper. The boy knew the Northwests threw that kind of money around like it was nothing, because to them, it was.

“Not for a hundred million.” Stan said, although it was less of a defiant denial and more of a fishing offer, trying to gauge how high Preston was willing to go.

“How about a hundred and fifty million?” Preston offered.

“Higher.” Stan shook his head.

“Grunkle Stan!?” Dipper cried indignantly.

“Ah-ah!” Stan pushed him back without even turning to look. “Not now kid, the grownups are talking.”

“Two hundred million?” Preston asked, his cool smile starting to slip.

Stan shook his head. “Uh-uh. Higher.”

“Three hundred million?” Mr. Northwest ventured again through clenched teeth.

“Higher!”

“F-five hundred million?” 

“I’m thinking twice that much.”

“Seriously!?” Preston finally exploded. “You want a billion dollars for this--this hovel!?”

“Y’know what, you’re right.” Stan shook his head. “I’m not askin’ enough. Two billion!”

The Northwest patriarch looked like he very much wanted to strangle Stan.

“C’mon Northwest, I know you’re good for it!” Stan smirked.

“Absolutely not! Seven hundred and fifty million, and that’s my final offer!”

“Welp, my final offer’s still two billion, so you can either pony up or get off my porch.”

“....Fine.” Preston hissed, the veins in his forehead popping.

Stan stuck out his hand for Preston to shake, but as soon as the billionaire reached for it, the conman yanked it away.

“Psych!” Stan chortled. “Hah! I just wanted to see how far I could go before you chickened out! You couldn’t give me your whole dirty fortune for this place!”

It took Preston a moment to regain his composure. “I beg you to reconsider, Mr. Pines.” He said with a dangerous edge to his voice. “Take it from someone in the real estate business, property can lose value so quickly.”

“Yeah, the answer’s still no.” Stan said flatly. “Now get outta here. Don’t think I won’t call the cops!”

“I’m afraid you’ll find they’re busy at the moment. I just made a rather large donation so they’re holding a banquet. Even if you could pry them away from it, I doubt they’d be willing to arrest the man that just doubled their salary.”

“Oh, well, if you’re so sure the cops won’t be coming.” Stan pulled the gun out from behind his back.

Mr. Northwest finally backed off, although he shared a long glare with Stan before getting back into his limo. “This isn’t over, Pines!”

“Tell it to someone who cares!” Stan shouted after him.

Dipper looked up at his uncle with awe as he shut the door. “Grunkle Stan, that was awesome!”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice you actually thought I was gonna take his offer.”

Dipper blushed and laughed sheepishly.

The old conman sighed as he sat back down in his recliner. “Eh, guess I can’t blame you. I was actually tempted for half a second. Then I remembered that guy’s a lying cheating crook, and he wasn’t gonna actually pay anything for this place. Still, two billion dollars, wouldn’t that be somethin’!”

“Grunkle Stan, no amount of money is worth the end of the world as we know it.” Dipper reminded him sharply.

“I know that!” Stan retorted, insulted. “I’m just sayin’, if I’d been able to trick him outta that much, heh, that would’ve been the con of a lifetime.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Dipper stammered, taking up his watch at the window again. “I shouldn’t doubt you. I’m just… I’m just really worried, y’know. Bill’s using more and more people to try and get at the rift. The Northwests are the most powerful people in town. You got him to leave for now, but he’s probably gonna hire thugs or something.”

“I know you’re worried, kid.” Stan said sadly. “I wish you didn’t have to worry about all this junk, but at the very least, you don’t gotta worry about this. I’ve had to hole up against hired thugs in this Shack before. ‘Course, this time I’m not gonna be able to fake my death to get ‘em to give up and go home.”

Dipper grimaced. This conversation wasn’t really reassuring him. 

Stan sighed again. “Look, bud, I know Bill’s got a lot of people in his pocket, but time’s on our side, right? Eventually, that glue you found is gonna set, and then what’s he gonna do? Besides, you and your sister are going home next weekend anyway, and then you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

Dipper turned to look back at his uncle. “I’ll still worry about you. And Ford. And everyone else left here in Gravity Falls.”

Stan felt his heart swell when he realized how much the boy cared about him. It didn’t matter if he was safe, if his family was still in danger. Stan was all too familiar with that feeling, and he didn’t like the thought of this twelve-year-old kid being burdened with it.

“Well then, we’re just gonna have to figure something out then, aren’t we?”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Stanford Pines #Mabel Pines #soos ramirez #Stanley pines #Dipper Pines #My Writing

[nope-we-are-friends-now]

Soulmate AU

Reposted because I accidentally deleted it. 

Title: Traveled the Universe Just to Meet You.

Tenth Doctor x Gender Neutral Reader, featuring Donna Noble

A/N: This fic took three weeks in total to write; the first 3,600 words took two days to write and the last 700 words took two of the three weeks. hahahaha…….why?

Also, I wanted to add more like include adventures and develop the readers and the Doctors relationship but it was already too long. Thinking about writing a part 2 but I also have a few other fics I wanna write soo…

Word count: 5070

Soulmate. Someone who understands, believes in, and inspires you. Someone once a stranger becomes a person you can’t imagine live without.

As children, a soulmate’s presence isn’t all there. A numbness resides in the Soullux, the organ that handles feeling one’s soulmate. In childhood, it isn’t mature enough to project one’s soulmate emotions. But, every so often a child would feel something like a light breeze on a hot summer day. The phenomenal sensation of stretching after waking up. The feeling one gets after cleaning out their room.

You were a bit different from other children. See, you were born with Lonely Soul syndrome, a disease that affects one out of 14,530,000 people. Now, this syndrome doesn’t mean you don’t have a soulmate. You were born with your Soullux fully formed, meaning you constantly felt your soulmate. Doctors gave it such a saddening name because of the effects. Children suffering from this often are forced to mature earlier, they struggle with emotions, and experience periods of desolation. Doctors recommend therapy and if needed, medicine.

You were five when you went to your first soul therapy session. Your family didn’t think you needed it, seeing as you were a typical child. Happy some days, moody others, but they promised you a present after the appointment, so you went.

The therapist’s room was bright. There were small toys on small shelves, posters with words you couldn’t quite read, but knew you’ve seen before. On the ground was a rug with houses and roads on it, you thought it was cool.

The therapist walks into the room and smiles at you, “Did you find a toy you like, Y/n?” She asks, she only just told you her name, yet you forgot it and didn’t want to make her feel sad, so you didn’t ask. Instead, you nod and point at the Lego box sitting on the rug.

You were building a house when she speaks again, “how are you, Y/N?”

“I’m sad.” The therapist said earlier that you could talk to her about anything that was on your mind, so you did.

“Do you know why?” She’s sitting on the rug with you. It’s odd, adults don’t sit on the ground and they certainly don’t play with Legos. You decide she wasn’t an adult, just a big kid.

You’re not sure what to say so you let your mouth run, “My soulmate,” you begin. With the blue house finished, you start to reach for the Lego people, “isn’t an animal.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she does hand you the last Lego person. With the perfect amount of people around the house, you start to work on a car. Cars have always been difficult for you to build.

“It sucks. I heard that some people have animals as their soulmates and I was hoping I would too. But I don’t.” You huffed.

“Why would you want an animal as a soulmate?”

Shocked with disbelief you dropped a Lego piece. Maybe she really was an adult? “Because animals are cool. At first, I wanted them to be a horse, ‘cause that would be awesome, but then I realized that if they were a cat or dog then I could cuddle with them every night.” Excitement washes over you. Yet, when reality hits, you feel like the car you stopped building, unfinished and misshaped.  

“Well, who says you can’t cuddle with your soulmate?”

“Pets have fur. That means they’re always warm and soft. People don’t have fur.”

“Y/n,” She says softly, you like the sound of her voice. It’s not wheezy like your neighbor, Ms. Henson’s nor is it high-pitched like your babysitter. “Do you like to cuddle with from your family members?”

  “Yeah,”

“So, why do you think it’s different from your soulmate?”

Well, you think, my family always acts weird when I talk about them. You’re not sure why though, your soulmate feels like blowing dandelions and eating your favorite fruit. What could be so wrong about that? You don’t tell your therapist that though. “Maybe,” you start hesitantly, when she nods her head, you’re back to being excited, “maybe we could get a pet too? Then I could cuddle with both at the same time.”

“Maybe,” She agrees with you, “Y/n, that’s a lot of people at the blue house. Do you think we should build them another house?” Looking at the blue house you see the eight people surrounding it.

“No.”

  It happened after dinner. At first, you didn’t know what it was, you only knew it was something coming from your soulmate. Lately, your soulmate has been like an ocean, waves of strong emotions crash down on you. It leaves you wanting to crawl into bed and stay there all day. Every time it happens you could hear your family whispering through the door. You knew it wasn’t normal, but you couldn’t control it.

  You head to your room and shut the door. Everyone always found out when you have an ‘episode’, but sometimes you could hide how long it went on. You expected it to be the same as the other times. This, however, was nothing like you ever experienced before.  

It starts with a spicy taste in your mouth. A ringing in your ears. Underneath your skin, something wants liberation. You try to hold it in, but it burns.  

  You blink and the next thing you know your bedroom is a wreck.

On the floor near your desk was a torn paper with a smiley face. Bending down you picked up the paper to see that it was your math test. You had practice from the moment you came home until dinnertime for it. You didn’t ace it, but it was the highest grade you got so far, and you were so proud you put a smiley face on it. It was ripped up into three pieces. Really, it wasn’t a big deal. You were only seven years old and you would have many other tests this year alone, let alone for the rest of your academic life. It isn’t a big deal. So, why were you kneeling on the ground with tears blurring your vision? Why were your hands wrapped around yourself, silent snivels escaping you? Why were you pressing your face to the floor in hopes that your family wouldn’t hear? If it wasn’t a big deal, why does it hurt so much?

Someone opens up your door and gasps. They hold you as you try to remember how to breathe.

(Afterward, they help you tape up your test and you wonder if taping your heart back together will be as easy.)

They hand you a broom along with trash bags and tell you to face the consequences of your actions.

Bed overturned, clothes ripped apart, posters and old homework assignments shredded up.

The burning sensation lessens to a simmer and you’re left all alone.

With a look, around the room you think, Anger. This is what anger looks like.

Months pass by, and you grew an inch. The sun brings heat and with it comes water balloon fights and laughter. With a group of classmates, you compare birthmarks and scars. With the sun shining down on you, you think, happiness is bright.

You had finished brushing your teeth and were pulling silly faces and grinning at the mirror. That’s when you felt it. This new emotion is bitter and cold.

The you in the mirror starts to glare at you, baring their teeth like a wild animal. They mouth words that feel like ice water. “Stop it,” you say, “go away.” You glare back and mirror you smiles. “You’re my reflection. If I leave, you’ll be nothing.”

Mirror you silently laughs at you and you punch them. “I hate you.” You shout. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate-” You punch at the mirror repeatedly and mirror you starts to bleed. The glass shatters. A piece of the mirror slightly larger than your hand sits in the sink with drops of blood resting on it and you smirk. Only then do you see your fists. Bruised and bleeding, your blood stains the bathroom floor. You close your eyes in hopes that you don’t see your reflection.

When someone comes to check on the noise and see you there, they carefully drag you out and scold you. They clean your fist and check for glass, then they bandaged your hands and sigh. As they clean up, you sit in your room.

(“why are you so broken?” Mirror you shouts. “Why can’t you be normal?”)

Staring at your bandaged fists, you think, hatred is a violent emotion.

Nearly a year passes by when the next wave hits. Unlike anger, this emotion does not burn you. Instead, it lingers in everything you do, every day, every moment. It waits. It makes you silent at the moments you want to speak, and it makes you cry when you want to laugh. It waits. You can’t explain it to anyone, they don’t understand. This emotion waits until you are truly alone when it strikes.

At eight years old, you learn a hard fact.

(If anger burns, happiness shines, hatred bruises, and love heals. Then sadness takes it all, swallows it whole, leaving you to wonder if anything was there in the first place.)

The increased therapy sessions and nervous glances from family members lets you know something is up. With a little snooping around, you find out what. Hurrying back to your room you lean against your door and stare at the pamphlet. “Why choose Soullux removal?” The pamphlet shows happy people doing everyday things. You read the pamphlet three times. Each time deepens the sick feeling you have.

Soullux removal.

Doctors found out that humans don’t need a Soullux to survive. “The organ is not like the Heart,” the pamphlet reads, “one could live a healthy and even happy life without a soulmate.” It goes on and on talking about how many famous and successful people have removed their Soullux so that they can “focus on more important things.”

Seconds later, you realize your family wants you to get the surgery.

No, you think. Never.

Angry you make your way to the living room and seeing as everyone is there, you erupt.

“No. It’s not right. I won’t do it. You can’t take them away from me.,” You shout. “I won’t do it. You all have your soulmates. If you want Soullux removal, get it yourselves!” By the end of your speech, you’re panting, your vision is blurry, sniffs do nothing to help with the snot dripping out of your nose.

“Soullux removal?” One of them says, “Y/n, we would never.”

You throw the pamphlet on the table. “Yeah, right.”

“That was in my room. Y/n, you know you not allowed in there.”

“And you not allowed to steal my soulmate from me, but that’s exactly what you were planning.”

“Y/n, you-”

“-Even though it was wrong of you to sneak into their room,” a different family member interrupts, “Y/n, it’s important for you to know we would never do that without talking to you.”

After all the emotions cooled down you all talked. They handed you a different pamphlet. This one talks about pills you could take to “lessen the intense feelings your broken soulmate forces on you.”

“Broken” soulmates are soulmates with such mental and/or physical “problems” that causes their soulmates to feel the pain of their disorder. These pills eventually block you from feeling your soulmate entirely.

As you read the pamphlet, you note all the times it says broken. Three.

Broken. Like that time, you accidentally dropped a bowl and it shattered. Broken. Like when your classmate broke their arm, and everyone wanted to sign it. Broken.

They think your soulmate is broken. They want you to abandon them.

You want to throw up.

No. You think, you can’t take them from me. I won’t abandon them so please don’t take them from me. Please. Please. Don’t. They’re not broken. Please don’t take them from me. I’ll do anything, please.

“Please,” you say, “Please. Don’t. Please.” And you repeat those words over and over.

At the age of thirteen, you give up on your soulmate. You tried, honestly. You read every book, watched every video, and even posted on all kinds of forums online in hopes of finding a way to help, but nothing was working. You were useless.

Really, it was your soulmates’ fault. No one could constantly be sad, angry, and full of self-hate, right?

It makes you wonder though. What was it about your soulmate that they only felt those three emotions? Was someone doing terrible things to them? Or were they terrible people?

You didn’t know. What you did know however was that you couldn’t help them. You wanted to continue listening to music on your bed thinking sad thoughts, but you needed to clean out your room. You’ve been putting it off for weeks. And that’s what you did, for about the first fifteen minutes, but then you found an old shoebox in your closet. You couldn’t leave it, could you?

In the shoebox were tiny trinkets and a stack of letters all addressed to someone you’ve never met.

You remember when you started going on little adventures after your soulmate started to feel down. You were only seven then.

The idea was you would go on fun adventures like those happy kids on TV. You figured that your soulmate had Lonely Soul syndrome too, then they would feel your happiness. If they couldn’t be happy themselves, you would share yours. Then you thought that if you saved tiny gifts and letters when you finally meet them you could give it to them. If they knew you cared for them, maybe, just maybe, a bit of their sadness would go away.

You didn’t think about the shoebox in months. You wonder what younger you would say if they knew you gave up on your soulmate just like everyone else.

You open one of the letters.

Dear Soul Mate,

Hello, it’s me.

I’m seven now, but my birtday is in a few weeks. You’ve been sad lately and I’m here to tell you that won’t do.

That won’t do.

See ya, Y/n.

That was all the letter read. No adventure no nothing. You shoved the letter back in the envelope and grab another one.

Dear Soul Mate,

My family thinks you’re broken. I don’t know if your family thinks that about you too, and maybe that’s why you are sad all the time. But you should know that I don’t think you are. I don’t think people can break. Sometimes it might feel like it though. Sometimes it might feel like shards of who you used to be are missing and no matter how many times you try to piece yourself together again you don’t fit. You might feel defeated and completely alone. But you are not an object. You are not glass that can be shattered. Broken means that you’ve given up, and you haven’t. You’re still, living, breathing, feeling. As long as you are still alive, you are still fighting. You’re not what people define you as, you’re just you and that’s all you need to be.

I wish I could promise that I would always be there for you, but I can’t. I wish I could tell you that I believe in you, but I’m not sure you care about what a stranger thinks. I can promise you that I’m telling the truth when I say that you are the strongest person I know. Everything you feel is whole and true. Your anger, your hate, and your sadness feels like it consumes you, but underneath it all, you have pure wonder, unconditional love, and constant kindness. You amaze me. Despite never meeting you, I know you. And I am proud to have you as my soulmate.

See ya soon, Y/n.”

You don’t remember writing that. You didn’t even know you could write like that. Honestly, you were expecting all the letters to be like the first one.

It was harder these days to feel the emotions younger you talked about. These days all your soulmate felt was sadness and hate.

Maybe writing one more letter couldn’t hurt, right? Beats cleaning your room.

Why the heck were you in the park? You have an essay that’s due soon and yet here you were sitting on a park bench.

A quick look around shows an average park. Trees, benches, grass, and a playground with a group of teenagers.

They had to be older than you by a good three years.The way they were standing was weird.Four of the five teens were facing the last one, a girl. You didn’t like the smug looks on their faces.

The girl was shouting. Her back rigid and arms crossed.“We’re soulmates.” She practically shouts. “What do you mean you don’t need me?”

You should leave.

“It means I would rather get that surgery everyone talks about than have you as a soulmate. Look at you, you’re worthless.” He says. You could see his hideous smirk from where you stood. His friends holding onto one another as they laugh.

Her shoulders shake and-

“Hey,” You don’t even register the fact that you’ve spoken until everyone’s looking at you. “Don’t you think this is a private conversation between the two of you, you know, in private?”

“Who the hell are you?” Of all things, you didn’t expect the girl to shout at you full force.

“I’m just your common citizen trying to run away from my responsibilities, so if you could quiet down that would be great.”

“Kid, why don’t you mind your own business?”  Jerk face asks.

By now you are standing face to face with Jerk face and his groupies. You turn to the girl who looks like she’s in complete shock. Her face is red and eyes puffy. “Normally I would. But I think you should leave.”

“Or what?”

“Run.” You tell her.

“What?” She whispers.

Jerk face is still smirking. You want nothing more than to punch him in the face, but you can’t. Instead, you kick him where it hurts and with the girl in tow you dash out of there.

After a while, you two reach a neighborhood. You didn’t recognize it, but it seemed like a good enough place to rest.

“Why did you do that?” The girl asks.

“I know, I should have punched him, but,” you hold up your dominant hand, “I need this hand to write my letters, they’re important.”

“Letters? how old are you?”

“I’m Fourteen.”

“And you write letters?”

“Yeah,”

That’s all it takes to set her off. She starts to laugh and can’t stop. Bent over, hugging herself, she laughs until she can’t breathe.

  You don’t mean to ruin the moment, but you do. “Your soulmate is a jerk.”

“Lance,”

“What?”

“His name is Lance.”

“Yeah, well, Lance is a jerk, and as your friend, I suggest slapping him the next time you see him.”

“Friend?” Her laugh turns a little hollower, “you don’t even know me.”

“Well then, let’s get to know each other. Name’s Y/n.”

She looks at you, stares as if trying to decide whether or not you’re screwing with her.

She nods then, “I’m Donna,” she says, “Donna Noble.”

You decided to walk Donna home. She’s quiet; a direct contradiction to earlier. You understood what it was like to have a lot on your mind, so you tried to stay quiet as well. It was Donna who ended the silence.

“I always thought that I would find my soulmate and we would fall in love. That I would get what my parents have. My mom always told me ‘your soulmate is exactly what you deserve and everything you’ll ever need.’” Tears fall from her eyes, but with a deep breath she continues, “He is exactly what I deserve. My one and only soulmate.” She laughs bitterly.

You wish you knew what to say. You wish you could pluck the right words out of the air and weave sentences so beautiful Donna would stop laughing and start smiling.

Over the years as you watched friends and family find their soulmates you learned that just because people can feel their soulmate doesn’t mean they truly understand them or their life experiences. That takes work and commitment. It is odd to think about however; knowing someone deeply, yet at the same time not at all.

“Maybe, soul- people,” you correct yourself after Donna flinches at the s word. Yeah, there were some days where that word burned you as well, “maybe, people aren’t supposed to fill a missing hole in you. Maybe they’re just the cherry on top.”

You reach her house and she points you towards her kitchen when you ask for a glass of water.

In the kitchen, are who you assume are Donna’s parents. Music and laughter fill the air and the two of them are eating. With such soft smiles and tender touches, you could tell they were deeply in love. It was as if they were the only ones in the room.

“Here.” Donna hands you a glass of water.

You were so captivated by her parents you didn’t notice Donna slip pass you. A glance at the two eating shows they haven’t even noticed two people in the room with them.

“Thank you, Donna.” You practically shout. Everyone looks at you oddly, but at least your plan works.

The day you turned thirty, your life took an odd turn.

Technically it started six months before that.

See, Donna started a temp job at the same place Lance the Jerk works. Apparently, as Lance claimed, he was a changed man. He said he wanted to start fresh with Donna. Donna was all for forgiving him. (“Y/n, he brings me coffee every day. Me. Coffee!”)

You felt there was something odd about the whole thing though.

It wasn’t the fact that the best friend rulebook states that you have to hate him for how he hurt your best friend.

It also wasn’t because he never once apologized to Donna. (Saying “I was only a kid at the time,” is not an apology.)

The problem is you didn’t think Lance was the right person for Donna, ironically enough. Donna is full of life, she’s loud, kind, and slightly ignorant, Donna is passionate. Lance is indifferent, he’s judgmental and arrogant.

Seeing the two of them together puts a sour taste in your mouth. Aside from a few subtle comments, you haven’t really talked to Donna about it. How could you tell her you thought her soulmate wasn’t right for her? Maybe you were reading too much into it? You hope Donna sees something in him that you are overlooking, you hope Lance has a better side of him that he shows Donna.

You wanted nothing more than for Donna to be happy. If it means holding your tongue around Lance, you would duct tape your mouth shut.

Donna tells you she wants to marry him, and you play the role of the excited best friend.

It happens on the day of your thirtieth birthday, two weeks before Donna’s wedding. Donna throws you a big surprise party, but halfway through she disappears. Nerys-why is she here? You don’t even know her, and Donna hates her- tells you that she vanished into golden dust, but you figured she was wasted. You ask around, but no one’s seen Donna.

Soon, the party is over, and you still don’t know where Donna is.

When you get home, you find Donna sitting in your kitchen, a cup of tea in her hands. Her hair is a mess, clothes tore and she was soaking wet. How in the world?

“Donna? I was looking everywhere for you. I almost punched like three people when they said you were-”

Donna rushes into your arms. She’s shaking, holding you as if you are the only thing in life that makes sense.

“Donna?” Sighing, you hug her back. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

After Donna is clean and in dry clothes she talks.

She tells you that Lance was lying. That he was in love? With a spider? And there was a doctor trying to help. The spiders died. Lance died. Thames flooded?  Or was it drained? Honestly, you couldn’t really make out much of what she was saying with her face buried in your shoulder, tears staining your clothes. All that matter was that your best friend needed you. You held her until her sobs turned to snores.

Donna spends the next year traveling, learning, and looking for trouble.

You spend the year working, paying bills, and wishing you could do the same as Donna.

When Donna calls you to excitedly tell you that she’s speaking Latin of all things, you decided enough was enough.

Three hours later, you meet up at a small café.

You see Donna the moment you walk in the café. She’s sitting at a table for four with a man beside her. Both of them seem to be having an interesting conversation because both of them can’t seem to stop laughing.

The sight brings a smile to your face.

When someone walks into the café, Donna glances up and meets your eye. She stands, waves her hands in the air, practically shouts your name.

Before the temptation to act like you don’t know her kicks in; you rush to her. The hug she pulls you in is unexpected but nice.

“Oh, I haven’t seen you in months!”

You don’t say anything. Instead, you run your eyes over Donna. Taking a step back you notice that the Donna before you is different from the one you saw a few days ago. There’s something about this Donna that makes her shine. Maybe a new haircut?

“Did you get a tan?” You notice it then; Donna definitely got a tan but… a quick look at the window shows you that it is still pouring out just like it has for the last week.

Donna laughs and drags you to the table. She introduces you to the man whose name is the Doctor and you say hello. It’s as he’s about to reply that you feel it. A wave of happiness hits you like a smack upside the head and spins your world around. Colors are brighter and what once was gloomy rain is now the water that brings life to mother nature. Too busy looking around you miss everything the man, the Doctor, was saying.

“Sorry about that.” You give a sheepish smile. The Doctor grins. With one hand ruffling his hair, he leans towards you from across the table.  

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“Nothing, I think it’s just my soulmate.” The last bit of the sentence comes out as a question.

“Them again? Listen Y/n the second I meet this bloke, I tell you what, I’m gon- ”

  “Donna you are not going to assault my soulmate.” Donna ‘offers’ to slap your soulmate every time they feel something other than happiness. You can’t help your smile grow though; before Donna you never really had someone who was ready to fight anyone who hurts you.  

“What’s wrong with your soulmate?” The Doctor raises an eyebrow.  “I think your soulmate is perfectly fine. In fact, I’d go so far as to say this is one of the greatest days of their life.”

“And why is that?” You don’t notice that you are leaning towards him.

“Well,” he drags the word out, “I think he just met his soulmate.”

It takes a moment for your brain to process what he said. When you do, you jump from your seat spinning around to search for him. “What? Where is he?” Your heart is pounding.

From a distance, you hear Donna whisper an “Oh my God.”

“If my soulmate is here why doesn’t he come up to me?”

You turn to Donna after she calls your name, “your soulmate is right in front of you.”

Looking from Donna to the Doctor to Donna again you open your mouth and- “Donna,” you sigh, “you are not my soulmate.”

Slumping down into the chair, you rest your elbow on the table with your chin in your hand.“You guys really got me excited for nothing.” You pout. Your other hand plays with the teacup in the center of the table.

“Um, if your soulmate was right in front of you what would you want him to do?” The Doctor asks.

“Anything really. A simple ‘Hello’ and their name is good enough.”

“Hello. I’m the Doctor.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve already introduced yourself.”

“You spend all this time waiting for your soulmate and now that he’s in front of you, you can’t see him? Y/n you are an idiot.”

“What are you talking about? The only people in front of me is you tw-ooh.” Looking at the Doctor, you don’t know how you feel. The best way to describe it would be dancing. It’s like back when you were a teenager listening to music in your room. The music turned on loud, your door closed, and you start to dance. Jumping around, singing, and having fun, the joy you feel from hearing your favorite song runs through your veins; nothing could ruin the moment. As you spin around, in the midst of singing your favorite verse, someone opens the door. The two of you stare at one another as you wait for them to decide if they want to embarrass you by walking away or join in on the dancing.

That is the best way you can describe how you feel.

That happiness with a side of embarrassment.

The Doctor and Donna spend the next few hours explaining who the Doctor is, what they do, and all the places they visited. They told you about the chaos, the fun, and the universe. If you were anybody else, you would have gone into shock and cancel the whole day. However, you are you and so the only thing you can do after discovering that aliens exist is laugh. Because your soulmate is an alien who travels all of time and space in a phone box and your best friend, Donna Noble-

“My best friend traveled across the universe and brought me back my soulmate.”

#Tenth Doctor #doctor who #the doctor #Donna Noble #x reader #doctor x reader #gender neutral reader #general neutral pronouns #male reader #female reader #soulmate au #soulmate #Doctor Who fanfic #doctor who x reader #10th doctor x reader #ten x reader #dw

[kingofthewilderwest]

How do u feel about Mabel

I have an unending sense of adoration for what Mabel contributes to Gravity Falls. Technically, Mabel isn’t a favorite of mine – I don’t think of her or relate to her as much as others like Stan, Ford, Dipper, or Fiddleford. However, my appreciation for her is endless.

Gravity Falls couldn’t exist without Mabel. The story’s heart would be crippled. Mabel’s energy and charm provides a unique personality to the show through her unique personality. The show wouldn’t have the same vibe without her ridiculousness! Plus, GF is a story of familial love. And Mabel, as half of the younger Pines twins duo, is essential to giving us the feels of what it means to be in a loving but emotionally complicated family. They couldn’t have picked a better personality to interact with Dipper and Stan for the narrative’s central trio. The combination of Mabel’s vivacity, Stan’s gruffness, and Dipper’s paranoia… is what sells us on this cast. (With Bill, Soos, Wendy, Ford, Pacifica, Gideon, etc. making great additions.)

That’s already enough to celebrate Mabel, but I can’t say this enough: Mabel is the fulfillment of my greatest wish for women characters:

Let women be weird.

The Limited Scope of Female Personalities in Media

All genders get roped into stereotypical personalities in media, but I feel like women especially get reduced. I struggle relating to and loving fictional women… because they feel like the same restrictive subset of personalities I’ve seen reiterated again and again and again and again and again. 

There’s the rude, prissy, popular rich girl. 

There’s that easygoing cool tomboy. 

There’s the hot, edgy, serious, sexy, COOL, highly skilled badass action woman who is the most hardcore of the main cast, hides a sense of internal empathy and compassion, but warms up from her coldness when she meets the main character lead… and then probably goes and kisses him once he, despite being a rookie, magically manages to best her years of hard training.

*ka-sigh*

Even when a fictional woman doesn’t hit something that cringeworthily stereotypical, she still feels… bland. Fictional characters can be enjoyable exaggerations of personality traits – we have the opportunity to create as weird, ridiculous, or diverse of individuals as we possibly can. And yet usually women aren’t written to be as wild or diverse in their personalities as men. The ladies will probably look standardly pretty, act standardly reasonable, act standardly feminine, and make standard choices. Women characters in a cast often feel the least distinct to me. I’m probably not going to find quirks in my ladies or something that sets them apart from the crowd. Let’s be real: media depicts women according to societal expectation. Women in media are reduced to a washed-out, generic fantasy that doesn’t relate anything to how women feel, nor does it try hard to relate to what women feel.

The writing doesn’t understand women. And I can feel it.

When a bland, stale action woman goes on screen in her hot sexy tight pants, is her presentation supposed to be female empowerment (she’s fighting [gasp!])? Or is it another quick, uninspired shortcut without thinking through what her humanity is? “She fights, she’s a ‘good’ female role model, that’s good enough.” Still caters to the male gaze, still caters to male fantasy for what an attractive woman is like, still doesn’t think through her psychology, still presents media’s “desire” for what women “should” be like.

We drastically need to improve how women are written.

You know what my women friends are like? Women are loud and unashamed belchers. Women crack terrible puns about the French Revolution while everyone boos. Women dress up their stuffed animal cats in goggles and a lab coat. Women geek out over how cute worms are. Women want to kill the opposing team in sports competitions. Women eat food off the floor. Women spend sleepovers watching chick flicks and musicals. Women shriek screamo songs at the top of their lungs, getting maybe a third of the lyrics right, racing through the night in their car twenty miles over the speed limit. Women spend thirty five minutes trying to get the perfect selfie because their hair finally fucking cooperated. Women repeatedly text their friends photos of them flipping the bird making derp faces. Women play beer pong until they’re drunk. Women do unnecessarily complicated mathematics calculations to prove their point in fandom. Women stay up all night screaming murder at first person shooter video games. Women play shitty pop song covers on their tubas. Women spend an hour and a half dyeing their hair pink in the sink (and dye the entire bathroom pink in the process). Women debate the finer points of Immanuel Kant with one another. Women demand their friends dish the details when they hear someone has a new significant other. Women binge watch anime eating frozen dinners heated from the microwave while sobbing out their mascara. Women get crushes on Simba or Kovu from The Lion King. Women work out at gyms because they want to get RIPPED. Women. Are. Diverse. And. Delightfully. QUIRKY.

I know I ranted a long time about it, but the point is to show the difference between what women are (personable and peculiar)… versus the stale bread, watered-down crap we get in the movies.

So this. This is why I will never quit raving about Mabel.

Mabel finally lets us see an ACTUAL GIRL as ACTUAL GIRLS act: she’s delightfully, realistically, over-exaggeratedly, charmingly, unforgettably WEIRD.

Instead of trying to write a “girl” first and getting tied up in the tropes and gender biases, Gravity Falls writes a character who happens to be a girl with some girl traits.

What Makes Mabel Different

Instead of writing some standard bland stereotyping “oh this feels vaguely feminine and attractive” excuse-for-a-cardboard-cutout-of-a-woman… Mabel is given real love, real personality, real demonstration of what women are. After all these years of me suffering in theatres thinking, “Oh look, it’s the same uninspired sexy badass action woman stereotype,” I can finally find a character who’s not what media pretends women should be like. I see a character who the writers actually thought about her personality for!

Gravity Falls allows a woman character to do things I almost never see of women characters.

For starters: Mabel’s gross. She finds leftover tacos in the backseat of the car and decides it’s a perfect snack. She sticks her head into a dusty barrel and laughs when caterpillars crawl over her face. She makes fart sounds and laughs at those fart sounds. She lets a statue pick her nose. She shoves food into her mouth voraciously. She’s animated with wild, ridiculous, non-flattering facial expressions. Gravity Falls allows Mabel to be gross.

This is already amazing to me. Cartoons are a little better than live action movies, where the latter can’t let a woman look imperfect when she’s crying or fighting villains. But cartoons often have limitations for how women are shown, too. It’s refreshing to see a girl who is gross.

And I don’t know about you, but I’d be hard-pressed to name even three other contemporary Western women characters who’re allowed to be girly AND gross. Mabel Pines. Princess Fiona. The list ends there for me? Sometimes I’ll see girls in media dressed with “unruly” appearances – their hair is SLIGHTLY frazzled and they wear glasses (gasp) – but that’s not real grossness, and it’s especially not grossness combined with girliness.

Gravity Falls isn’t afraid to make Mabel both gross and “girly”, and that’s special.

Next, Mabel’s girliness feels authentic. By “girliness” I mean Mabel taking actions according to Western societal gender norms for ciswomen. I don’t mean that’s how girls have to innately be. I hate the idea that people “should” behave according to gender roles and encourage us all to express our individuality. Anyway. Yes, most women in media have girliness to them… but nothing prepared me to seeing a twelve year old girl act like the twelve year old girls I knew.

Mabel loves bright colors, rainbows, unicorns, cute boys, formal dances, boy bands, and looking cute. These are girly traits and girly interests. But the way they show Mabel, Candy, and Grenda bonding over boy talk at a sleepover? That ridiculous, unrestrained screaming, combined with the mischievous grins, is exactly the sort of stuff I grew up with. It’s not just “oh we wrote a girl who likes pink and makeup who gets catty about crushes” – it’s “oh, we wrote a girl who enjoys her girly side like a twelve year old would!”

Gravity Falls allows Mabel to live according to some elements of the gender norm. The show doesn’t tote the idea that people live without gender influence, that people live in a vacuum of culture. It shows people in society often live by some pattern of gender roles. But, the show doesn’t make Mabel be that norm or preach she should be that norm. Honestly, I don’t see many shows try to strike this balance: willing to give characters gender role interests, while still respecting that everyone is unique and doesn’t need to live by those roles. Either the shows completely drop gender roles (which can be refreshing and help us overcome our biases) or they stick too close to assumptions that your gender = your brain, which is backwards thinking.

GF doesn’t lazily pin a character with girly traits because “that’s what women are.” It doesn’t stop at some assumptive “She wears pretty boots.” It understands Mabel’s psychology, lets her express that girliness unrestrained, provides her screen time to live this (!!! screen time to girl time in an all-gender-demographic-show!!!), and allows her to intersect that girliness with her grossness and her weirdness.

Next, Mabel is allowed to be confident and bold. Society isn’t good with women being bold and outspoken yet. Women often get criticized for being bossy, bitchy, obnoxious, etc. when they speak their minds and act with the confidence that men are “allowed” to have in their daily lives. And yet Mabel can be an outspoken and unrestrained character.

It works well for her age, too! 

Last, Mabel is weird. Mabel has quirks. I’ve said this three hundred times and I’ll say it three hundred more, but Mabel being weird is a delight. It’s not often that women are allowed to be the ridiculous comedic side in children’s / family animation. (Yay Ruffnut for also fulfilling this role.) 

Mabel is unrestricted, allowed to be a wild dork on screen. She’ll eat tubes of toothpaste because they’re sparkly, make “Mabel juice” with plastic dinosaurs in the pitchers, dress pigs in costume, knit scratch-and-sniff sweaters, slap stickers on her uncle’s nose, scream for a minute straight before coughing up glitter, dream up the centaurtaur, and more. 

But it’s not just that. It’s her mindset. Mabel’s excitement for things – down to an eight legged cow having “more limbs for hugging” – is a perspective I essentially never see in stories. She’s got a way of looking at the world like no one else I know. It’s a wild, bizarre perspective… but that’s what makes her so good and human. 

Mabel has a “What the heck?” vibe from her, whether it’s her interests, her thought processes, or her choices.

And frankly, that’s so much more relatable, personable, and beautiful to me… than almost any other woman I see on screen in media. When I see Mabel, I can remember what I was like as a kid.

Although I’m non-binary, I didn’t grow up knowing about non-cis gender. I grew up more or less thinking of myself as a little girl. Many of my childhood experiences were with little girls. So, when I look at old photographs of myself, I see someone with unrestrained energy, joy, and weirdness - just like Mabel.

That is what kids are like, guys! That is what kids are like!

Not this weird restricted stereotype on television I see! But THIS.

So yeah. 

Even just from the topic “What does Mabel bring to women’s representation in media,” Mabel is a shooting star. She’s a success. I love it. It’s freeing, exciting, and refreshing to me, being able to see a woman character given this loving treatment. I’m passionate about women being represented well in media, and not in the sense of falsely-portrayed empowerment. Mabel is the glorious three-dimensional, unique, bizarre, memorable type of girl I want!

She’s worth celebrating for all her personality traits, too: her creativity, her energy, her lightheartedness, her love for her family. But that’s content for another essay.

In short: bless Mabel Pines. Bless, bless, bless Mabel Pines.

This is a damn great character.

#non-dragons #GF #Gravity Falls #Mabel #Mabel Pines #analysis #my analysis #ask #ask me #awesome anonymous friend #wrote this at like 4 am #hope it's coherent hahahaha #Anonymous #representation #women's representation

[mysweetestcreature]

Something New

A/N: this is something of a passion write I had been working on during finals week back in May. Special thanks to my betas, @cherryyharryy and @meetmeinthehallwayhs for helping me through this :D

Word Count: 4.6k 

Warnings: some smut

Summary: Harry may have just found his new muse.

***

     The walls in Harry’s apartment are paper thin.

     He’s roused awake by the rattling of his keys on the table beside him. His heavy lids force apart, and he half expects to be blinded by the morning sun. Instead, he’s met with a skyline painted a dark navy with hints of orangey-yellow peeking from the bottom. Wiping the crustiness away from his thick lashes, he’s able to decipher the time and place. The clock on his right reads 4:21 AM in large, red figures that sting his eyes with their intense vibrancy. He can’t help but wonder who in their right mind would be awake this early and let alone have the energy to cause such a commotion at such a dreadful hour.

     A subsequent snort sounds from the back of his nose. The sleepiness he had felt when he’d gone to bed is quickly stripped away, but ever present with the unwillingness of his limbs to make themselves useful. He turns to lay down on his back and stares at the ceiling. It’s far earlier than he’s used to, but now his mind is running wild with thoughts that will surely bother him throughout the day. Like how he may or may have not forgotten to give his mum a ring like he said he would after he had gotten home from the club, or that he can’t recall whether he had given Niall his cousin’s number (Niall has a bit of a crush on her, although she doesn’t seem to be all that interested) while he was drunk and dancing to Cher’s Believe. Come to think of it, he isn’t even sure how he’s managing not to drift off considering he had only gotten in a little less than three hours ago.

     It takes longer than he would ever care to admit, but Harry is finally able to convince the rest of his body to leave the warmth of his sheets. The hairs on the back of his neck rise as his feet come in contact with the creaky wooden floorboards. He lifts off the mattress with a little jump, and it’s then the frigid air from the open window collides with his bare chest.

     He moves into the bathroom with dallying steps ­­–– after all, time seems to be on his side today –– that cease once he reaches the outside of the tub. He feels behind the other side of the curtain for the faucet, and it elicits the faintest whine as he turns the water on. 

     Once inside, he lets out a relieved sigh as the hot pellets land on his back and massage every inch of his skin. He stands with his arm outstretched and braced against the cool tiles with his head hung low, wet hair falling heavy in front of his eyes with water streaming from the ends.

     His other hand slowly slides down his body, starting from the butterfly tattoo on his abdomen leading south. He swallows hard as the tips of his fingers are tickled by the coarse hairs of his pubic bone. They move further down and wrap around his semi-hard cock one at a time. He hisses when he gives it a generous squeeze, bucking his hips forward on reflex. He begins to tug on himself, each proceeding breath becoming more staggered than the last.

     The tip of his member screams with a rose-flushed red. Each drop of water feels like electricity jolting each nerve in his body from dormancy. He shuts his eyes tight, leaning back against the wall as he jerks himself off in a quick but steady rhythm.

     There’s the slightest twinge of guilt that consumes just a part of his brain, but the larger part craves for the ultimate bliss of a much needed release. His other hand moves down to his aching balls. They feel tight as he rolls them with his palms, each stretch of the skin making his toes curl and creating a squeaking noise that echoes in the acoustics of the room.  

     He fantasizes being able to fuck his cock between a pair of supple breasts. How the mixture of sweat and his excitement allow for him to thrust through the tight valley with ease, far enough so that the head is just able to be sucked into her greedy mouth. Her expert tongue licks over him like a lollipop. Its underside brushes along his slit, and he’s unable to constrain himself from bucking forward and feeling the back of her throat. She gags on him, bolstering his ego. The vibrations of her lips cause a ripple of shocks to spread across the surface of his skin and startle his very core.

     “Fuck me,” he moans shakily as his knees begin to grow unsteady. His movements become more desperate, and he finds his mind drifting to filthier, more sinful thoughts that will surely reserve him a special place in hell. He imagines pushing into a mouthwatering pussy, drenched in the sweetest juices that takes every single inch of him until the slap of his skin against hers drowns out their husky and panting voices. The way her walls clasp around him, keeping him as deep within her nearly draws the cum from his taut balls and drives him closer and closer to seeing the blinding stars behind his lids. She screams out his name like a sacred hymn, looking up at him with lustrous eyes with each fluid roll of his hips against hers.

     He fists his cock aggressively for a while longer before his body begins to spasm as creamy ribbons progress out of him like an active stream. His lungs burn as they fill with the humidity around him. He twists the pointed end of the faucet, finally being allowed to breathe again under the frigid rush.

***

     Harry emerges from the bedroom half an hour later in a pair of well-fitting grey slacks with a crisp, gentle lavender button-up on top. He mindlessly goes through the task of making himself a cup of dark roast coffee and putting together a bowl of Corn Flakes with sliced bananas and half a cup of almond milk splashed on top. Sometimes, he likes to simply listen to his teeth as they crunch down on the grains until it slithers down his throat.

     There’s the screech of a chair against the floor that sounds from the apartment next door. He hadn’t even realized that it was being occupied until this moment. The people that used to live there, a train conductor called Emmitt Pearlstein and his eighty-year-old mother, had moved out only a few months ago.

     (To be honest, he’s still feeling a bit guilty for having never accepted any of their dinner invitations. But it’s not entirely his fault! He heard from Susan and Kelly from downstairs that all the food was blended since Mrs. Pearlstein refuses to get herself a new pair of dentures.)

     Maybe he’ll introduce himself when he gets a day off...whenever that will be. It is wedding season after all! And he’s booked for client meetings and events until the end of May. Harry is a photographer, and as circumstance have proven, one that is very in demand. The pay is more than decent to substantiate his current lifestyle ­­–­– i.e. pay his rent, put gas in his car, and set aside a few extra pounds for leisurely spending on a rainy day because Gucci isn’t cheap, after all!

     He slurps up the leftover milk in his bowl before rinsing it out in the sink. He checks his watch, 7:54, which gives him more than enough time to check-in at the office before touching base with the bride and groom (separately, as old school superstition dictates) staying at the hotel across town for some pre-ceremony pictorials with the entourage.  

     As he locks up behind him, his ears perk at the sound of the elevator’s ding just around the corner. Taking giant leaps, his tripod and camera case swinging over his shoulders, he’s able to thrust his hand through the slimming crack of the doors. There’s a girl inside, large chocolate brown sunglasses covering nearly half her face.

     “Morning,” he greets, nodding at her politely as he steps in. He pushes the already lit up lobby level button out of habit and waits patiently as the doors attempt at yet another close.

     On the reflection of the walls, he notices how she averts her gaze from looking anywhere but her suede ankle boots, and it’s as though she’s designated her position to be cramped up in the corner as far away from him as possible. Harry dips his nose close to his collar and takes a subtle whiff. Between his cologne and his botanical rain fabric softener, he thinks he smells pretty damn fantastic.

     The stiffness in the enclosed quarters makes the ride down from the fifteenth floor feel slower than real time. All that’s able to keep him engaged is the toe-tapping tune playing softly through the speakers. He gives the situation the benefit of the doubt, assuming that she’s not yet had her morning coffee or really is just very shy around strange men she encounters on the lift.

     A sniffle suddenly erupts between them, and Harry glances back up at her reflection just in time to see the tips of her fingers disappear underneath her glasses. He digs into his back pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. “Here,” he gives her a small sympathetic smile that nearly wavers when she looks up at him. “I’m sorry if I’m...if I’m intruding or anything.” He trips nervously on his words as they spill out. “I just thought you could-”

     “Thank you,” her voice is grateful but weak, as though she’s thoroughly tired out each cord, but the way it vibrates through his ears leaves him at a loss for words. She takes the handkerchief from him and pushes it under the frames of her shades and dabs gently. It’s then he sees her puffy red-rimmed eyes. They make contact with his, in a flicker that he isn’t sure ever occurred.

     His curiosity gets the better of him as he tries again for a better look when the bell rings signaling that they’ve arrived at the lobby. She nods at him, grinning faintly as she makes her way towards the glass door exit. It leaves Harry standing in the shaft to gape at the ghost of her trail.

     As soon as he steps out to follow, the doorman, Martin, stops him.

     “Harry, my man!” he exclaims, patting him on the shoulder a little too harshly. “Off to work, already? It’s what...” He glances down at his watch but soon his brows furrow, and he taps on the glass to get it start again. Typical Martin is all Harry can think as he rolls his eyes.

     “I could’ve sworn I just changed the battery on this! Last time I’ll ever get a fix behind a T.K. Maxx...” he grumbles, shaking his head as he continues to scold himself.

     “I told you, there’s a decent place around the corner. Cheap replacement. You’re in and out in ten minutes tops, mate,” Harry says.

     Only momentarily does he allow his eyes to wander back to the door and scan across the windows of the entrance.

***

     “Alright, I want big smiles from the lot of you,” Harry instructs the newlyweds and their families as they stand in front of the altar. “C’mon, Dad, I know you can do better than that.” The father of the bride sneers at him before begrudgingly offering the camera a minimal show of his teeth. “And...” Harry snaps a few shots, two with flash and three without. “Beautiful! Greatly appreciate it.”

     The rest of the guests pack into their cars as they move the celebration to the reception venue, leaving only Harry and the wedding party to take pictures in the church. As he’s packing up his camera and tripod, he feels someone tap him on the shoulder. He zips up his tripod before turning around.

     “Hi!” He’s met immediately with a flowy maroon skirt that nearly touches the marble floor before he trails his eyes up to find a face. It’s one of the bridesmaids, the one who had lit the candle, he thinks. He’d noticed her earlier while she proceeded down the aisle, and he definitely didn’t miss the way she looked at him while he took candid pictures of the ceremony.

     He smirks as he stands up. “Hey.”

     She leans in close to him, her breath tickling the shell of his ear as she whispers something naughty which he’s sure the guy upstairs won’t appreciate in his sanctuary. But fucking hell does this girl have a mouth on her. She backs away slowly, a mischievous grin spread across her plump lips.

     “I’ll see you later then, yeah?” she confirms as she pivots on her heel, glancing over her shoulder.

     This is a normal thing for him, as ill-sounding as it is. He’s twenty-five, single, and has a job that just so happens to put him in a position where he’s surrounded by boatloads of women on high-level emotional limbo because the effects of weddings make them more vulnerable and wanting some intimacy until an inevitable hangover dawns upon them the next morning. And hey, he’s only human and admittedly only has the competence to hold a relationship for a few hours.

     He tilts his head back, watching amusedly as she sways her hips for him. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

***

     It’s a little after 2am when Harry arrives back home. He’s exhausted, in more ways than one, and all he really wants at the moment is to collapse onto his bed and sleep in to an acceptable time. If only he were that lucky. The bride had pulled him aside as he was about to leave with an urgent color to her voice that required the pictures to be ready as soon as possible.

     Which, to put it into more exact terms, means that she wants it no later than forty-eight hours from the present time. And that doesn’t even take into account that he has another client wedding tomorrow afternoon which by the way, happens to be two and a half hours outside of London, which furthermore means he’s going to have to be out the door at least five hours beforehand because traffic is always unpredictable. He quickly pulls out his phone and looks for the email with the event details.

     Danvers-Belton Wedding

     (All he knows is that the bride-to-be’s family is fully loaded, and her engagement to her fiancé had been published in every entertainment paper in the city. Her dad is some CEO of a steel company or something like that. Harry had met him at their first meeting, and honestly, he had nearly spooked the shit out of him.)

     Getting back to work, he inserts the memory card into his computer and stares numbly at the pinwheel-like loading icon. His job is great and has its perks (that bridesmaid from earlier truly made it worth his while), but this process is no doubt the part he least looks forward to. There are probably about 3500 photos he’ll have to go through by the end of the night, and out of those, around 400 to 500 he’ll pre-select and send to the couple before he begins editing.

     He unbuttons his shirt down a little more than halfway, just enough for his chest to not feel so constricted in the stuffy atmosphere of his flat. “For fucks sake,” he groans, standing up from his chair and stalking across the living room to open the balcony door.

     The breath of the wind sends tingles down his spine as it dries the beads of sweat from his body. He steps out, hoping to rejuvenate himself before burying himself in his work. He stares into the deserted streets and thinks about how peaceful everything it is at this hour. Just the sound of the city asleep feels like living in an entirely different world, as though someone had pressed the pause button on time. Only the simplistic soundtracks of the night dances through his ears and make his eyes drift close as he enjoys it all.

     But something interrupts the natural melodies, an unexpected interrupted cadence written in with crayon in the score. His brows crease when it occurs again, but this time accompanied by a heavy weep. He looks to his left, Alfred Dimalanta’s place is pitch black inside (he might be working the nightshift tonight), and then to his right. A faint fluorescence wavers behind the curtains of the newly occupied flat.

      Inside, someone sobs uncontrollably. Harry steps closer to the rightmost rail of his balcony and crosses his arms over the cool metal. His head drops as he listens.

     He knows the feeling well.  

***

     “So, then I told her, ‘listen, I’ve been understanding of your situation, but you haven’t paid your rent in like four months...Joaquin is gonna chop up my balls then feed it to his tiger if I don’t collect it by the end of the week.’” Martin explains, using hand gestures to portray the possible castration in his future. Harry hums, only half paying attention has he sorts through his mail one by one.

     Junk.

     Junk.

     Ju-oh! Coupon for a free half-chicken from Nando’s!

     More junk.

     “You’re gonna share that, right?”

     Harry barely looks up. “Like you shared that pizza that I paid for on Tuesday?”

     “Hey!” Martin counters in defense. “You left!”

     “I left to use the toilet, and that was barely three minutes.”

     The doorman slumps down in his chair as he begs to disagree. Harry throws the rest of the unimportant letters in the waste bin beside them, only keeping the coupon and his monthly bank statement. As he’s about to respond to something Martin had just complained about, the lift dings.

     When he turns his head in its direction, the girl from yesterday emerges from it and similarly rushes out just as she had done before, even wearing the same sunglasses. She walks out of the lift in a dress that’s soft blue, pleated skirt flows like a wave as she gracefully moves through the lobby. He watches her this time and observes as she pushes out the door and crosses the street, soon disappearing out of the frame.

     “Is she new?” Harry asks, trying not to sound overly interested when he turns back.

     Martin gawks at him in disbelief. “She’s only been here for the last 3 months and living next to you, nonetheless! I’m surprised you lot haven’t met yet.”

*** 

     The Danvers-Belton wedding is nauseatingly perfect. Everyone is equipped with their oh-so happy smiles and photo-ready poses as Harry swims through the room snapping pictures that are meant to be candid. It’s as though they’re all in great joy over this seemingly destined union. The bride and groom are completely enthralled by one another, so much that they’ve barely mingled with the guests in favor of staring adoringly into each other’s eyes by the dessert bar.

     Harry pans around the reception hall –– which is more like some ballroom out of a princess movie, but that’s just his opinion –– with his camera as he looks for his next subject to capture since he’s taken enough lovey dovey pictures of the newlyweds for the time being. He takes one of the bride’s parents as the father engages in an animated conversation with some balding old men that he assumes are business associates of his. The mother smiles sweetly and nods next to the gentlemen even though her presence is completely ignored by all.

     The rest of the guests are all distributed in groups: there are the dancers moving their feet to a swing song played by the live band; the bargoers all giggling drunkenly over their fifth round of tequila shots; and those, like the father, chatting about how gorgeous the ceremony had been and discussing about how much this damn party must have cost (rumor has it, over £5,000,000). He takes shots of each niche.

     “You there, photographer!”

     He pulls the camera from his face and turns in the direction of the voice. It’s the grandmother ­­–– he thinks? He couldn’t tell you with all the Botox and fillers. “Take a picture of me by the ice sculpture, would you? Make sure I look thin!” The elderly woman strikes a side pose, the knee closest to the camera popping out and revealing her still flawless skin through the cuts of her dress. He signals when he’s finished, and the woman walks away without even a thank you. It’s something he’s used to by now.

     As he looks through the lens again, he’s able to preserve a particularly adorable moment. The flower girl and the ring-bearer high on the tips of their toes as they dig into the remainder of the once towering cake. He gets it, he’d been served a slice and it was the most delicate and divine thing to ever touch his palate in his entire life. And maybe he’ll bribe one of them with a crisp fifty-pound note to set aside a piece for him.

     Next to them, however, is someone who he’s only just taken notice of. He drops the camera so he can see with his own unobstructed vision. For a time, he switches between the two perspectives because he’s in such disbelief. The girl from his building, his neighbor as he’s recently discovered, is here, sitting by herself at the table with her own share of cake. She stares down at it with such intensity in contrast to the weak grip she has on her fork that seesaws in her grasp and above the edge of the plate.

     He debates whether he should approach her. Would that be weird? Would she think he’s stalking her? But why would he? Up until this morning, he thought she was just visiting someone for the week. What would he say? “Hey, I live next door! Sorry I haven’t introduced myself yet, but no time like a wedding, right?” or maybe “Hi, I’m Harry. I don't know if you remember, but we met briefly on the lift back at the Grove?” Oh god, since when has he become an imbecile at making conversation?

     Well, he supposes there are worse ways to make a first impression. He maneuvers through the other guests and pulled-out chairs, barely dodging a server with a heavy tray piled with used glassware and utensils. When he’s about a few steps from her, he halts, smoothing out his pants and making sure his collar is tucked away neatly in his suit jacket. He brushes his nose against the fabric, making sure his cologne hasn’t worn off in the six hours he’s been here. 

      “Hi.”

     Like slow-motion, she takes her eyes off her cake to lay them on him. She squints them almost suspiciously. I should’ve taken more pictures of Grandma; Harry thinks to himself. He bites down nervously on the inside of his cheek, going back and forth between walking away or evaporating on the spot.

      “I know you from somewhere,” she suddenly says, pondering. She props her hand under her chin and it’s only a few seconds later that her eyes widen in realization. “You live in my building!” She nods to the empty seat beside her.

      “Yeah,” he chuckles, graciously accepting her invitation. “I think you actually live next to me. I’m in 15D.”

     She laughs. “Really? Then why haven’t I seen you around before?” As a waiter passes by, she points to her empty glass of wine and sends him a quick ‘thank you.’ “A bit odd that I’m meeting my neighbor for the first time at a party nearly three hours away.”

     “That’s my fault,” he sheepishly admits. “I’m on a pretty strict schedule.” He holds up his camera. “Been snapping photos since one.”

      “A photographer, huh?” Her face brightens with amusements. “Have any of me on there?” Her smile is playful as she smiles shyly. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear as she stares into her lap.

     It’s surprising how taken he is by such a seemingly innocent action. It’s the first time he’s really seen her without those large shades, and he’d be messing with himself if he said she isn’t beyond attractive. She’s wearing the same dress he’d seen her in this morning, and now he’s able to fully appreciate how perfectly she fills it out. But instead, all finds himself doing is admiring the glow of her skin in the light of the setting sun, and how a dust of rose pulls across her features terrifically. 

     He lifts up his camera, wanting nothing more than to commit this image to memory. She looks up at him. At first, she has a smile so virtuous that he’s unable to get a focus on her, but soon enough it falters when her attention flips to something behind him. It draws a frown in its place that causes Harry to lower his arms. He dares try to trace the line of her gaze back to whatever’s caused such an antagonistic shift in an otherwise splendid expression.

     The groom holds his bride close as they sway to a slow and sweet melody from the string quartet. They still look as happy as they gaze at each other, cherishing the final moments of this amorous evening.  

     “We used to date. Philip and I... Four years, actually.” The words are strangled, leaving her throat as though pushed out forcefully.

     “Oh, I-” but he’s left without anything to say. She lets out another laugh, but this one is coated in melancholy.

     “We broke up because he said he didn’t want to get married,” she pauses, taking a shaky breath that feels almost painful. “What he really meant was that he didn’t want to marry me.” Her voice begins to tighten even more, and his head drops when he hears the faintest sound of that first whimper. He stares at the ends of the tablecloth in reflection. “He got engaged to Bethany less than five months later. Funny how that works, yeah? How you can spend four years of your life thinking you’re on the same page, but it turns out you’ve been four chapters ahead the entire time.”

     Harry can’t bring himself to look her directly in the eyes. The music playing abruptly turns into something more heart-wrenching despite its major key. Without thinking, he reaches across the table and covers her hand with his and gives it a comforting squeeze. There’s nothing his words can do to alleviate even just a fraction of how this must affect her.

     “I’m sorry,” is all he can whisper. “That probably doesn’t mean much, but I am.” Through his lashes he sees how she acknowledges it with genial character as she bows her head slightly. 

     A silence falls between them, but neither make an effort to move their hands. There’s a clamor of dishes coming from the kitchen that manages to distract him for a bit. Harry watches with mild delight as Bethany’s father barges through the swinging doors, and he can see how the red slowly creeps up his neck. What person, he wonders, is having the displeasure of being at the end of the fire of fury.

     Another hand layers on top of his, grabbing his attention away from the unfolding scene. He studies their hands for a moment before finally facing her.

     “Y/n,” she speaks up, gently. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

     The crevices of his dimples slowly sink in. “Harry.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles drabble #one direction #one direction fanfiction #writing

[shesawriter39049]

|TROUBLE| M|1 OF (?)

PAIRING:  OC XJimin/Namjoon/Yoongi ....Now how that happens..you’ll just have to wait and see…

High school/Drift racer AU

Running Back Jimin-

Point Guard Yoongi-

Not soo “Mr. Perfect” School President Namjoon-

Wild child Cheerleader OC...

***They all drift on the weekends *****

SMUT/Humor..ish.../mentions of drugs/alcohol

**Written all in good fun, for purely nostalgic reasons...the men in question are grown as all hell IRL and that’s all that matters lol! So for this particular AU yes... strap yourself in and take yourself back on a ride for a NEW highschool experience! ****

4.5K

Based off my headcanons I made for this threesum..it will play on those “characters” IE...my version of an Americanized..non art school BTS!

***I paint a very detailed picture...aesthetic wise for all three of the boys and the OC…(STYLE wise) I never get into physical looks with my OC’s***

It was 7:25 in the morning, I.E too damn early as three cars eased in one after the other to the already full parking lot, yet for some reason there normal spots remained untouched. The school itself was a “school of choice” and often attracted people of all walks of life due to its exceptional sports program. Everything from a Range Rover to a rusted out beater filled the lot, the students just as diverse as the cars. A white BMW 430i, led the pack, followed by a sublime green challenger scat pack, and ending the brigade was a very well taken care of satin black 70 Chevelle, two white pinstripes lying along the hood! The threesum almost making a untentional triangel, ironically enough the BMW eased into the spot that read “Reserved for class president”. Not even giving it a second thought before doing so, yet, it’s the first day of school and elections havent even taken place yet. Presumptions for him to assume for the third year in a row he’d reclaim his title!

Black loafers graced the gravel, lying beneath a pair of light gray slacks, which were tucked into a loosely fitted cotton polka dot dress shirt which sat slightly unbuttoned. A thin black Gucci belt laced around his waist. Hair currently ash blonde, messly waived out of his face, while cat eye glasses framed his button nose. Was Namjoon Kim a TA...or a Junior in high school!? Were still trying to figure that out too, the tiny bud of a joint pinched between his fingers kinda answered that question though. Leaning down to rub the end against the concrete to halt the remaining smoke, giving himself a couple sprays of cologne before throwing it into his black leather backpack. Placing his ice capp on top of his car before popping his trunk..removing 4 bright orange cones...placing them on either side of his car..

“This motherfucker!!” The playful scoff, in combination with the most dramatic eye roll you’d ever seen in your life came from the one in the scat pack as he sipped on his Bahama Mama. A pair of Puma RS-X TRACKS laid on his feet,accompanied by a pair of extremely tight,distressed, dark wash “Copper 9” skinnies. With the way your school's star running backs thighs were set up you’d swear these bitches were painted on. Ya know... the amount of rips that laid along his thighs mixed with how low the white Calvin Klein V-neck sat..the combo would definitely be a write up if worn on a female student! Well... actually…. nah, your school was very laxed on dress code just due to everyone constantly breaking it and your principle basically giving up! Jimin's caramelized complexion glowing under the sun.. his dark wavy locks locks sat tucked behind a backwards red Supreme snapback! A set of rhinestone 2G plugs sat in his ears while an array of other piercing traced of the outer frame of his lobes. Arms and fingers, also coated in a menagerie of gold and silver accessories.

Lounging casually against the hood of his car, a smug smirk tugged on his pouty lips observing the way his best friend gave his car one more one over before grabbing his coffee, dropping his gaze down to his watch. The diamonds visible from across the lot... strutting his way through the brigade of cars as if he owned the entire school.

“Is he aware that when he does that dumbshit...it just makes me wanna fuck his shit up!? I've never been so tempted to kick a car in my damn life!” and last but not least..that growl came from the proud owner of “The Creeper” AKA the Chevy Chevelle… lazily making his way in the running backs direction. A fitted black and white “DGK” baseball jersey draped his frame,paired with black skinnies to offset the primarily white jersey. His burgundy locks tucked under a matching black “DGK” bucket hat, all white Jordan 11’s dusted his feet. Of course the look wouldn't be complete without a “Tropical” Red Bull and his earpods wedged in both lobes..which essentially let you know he really didn't wanna be bothered. A helpful hint with Yoongi, wait for HIM to approach you...

Still trying to figure out why school couldn’t just start in November..or in layman's terms...during basketball season. Since that’s the only reason he comes anyway...just needing to keep his grades up so he can continue leading the school to their third consecutive championship. One of if not the best point guards in the state...you didn’t have to necessarily be the tallest to succeed in basketball you just gotta know your angles!

Sharing an all knowing smirk with the fellow athlete as the two of them coly strolled towards Namjoons car, casually kicking the cones one by one away from the premierter in the process. A gritty chuckle leaving their lips as they did so… before nonchalantly making their way towards the building, “Well, aren't you sexy…” The words purred from Yoongi’s lips making Jimin’s head snap around, but the minute it did he already knew the point guard wasn’t talking about a girl per say. But a car, a royal purple Camaro that clearly had drag tires on it….

“Fuck yeah she is….” The level of arousal that dripped from there lips ...at the site of a car was almost comical, yet not at all surprising. Incase you havent noticed they all have a thing for cars..even Namjoon’s BMW. It may look like the car of a businessman but thanks to Yoongi and Jimin under his hood was straight fire! The car itself peaking interest as neither of them had seen it before, and considering the fact that they raced every Sunday night...they’d know if there was another drift car in town! Shrugging it off for now, already well aware they’d see the owner at some point in the day….

The minute they entered the building it was just utter chaos, the school itself was huge, spread along three floors. Typically hovering a little under 2k kids a year between all four grades, it was clear as day who fresh meat was. The building clearly more than overwhelming as they ran frantically  through the halls, a combination of excitement and fear dancing along their faces! The pair smirking in amusement as they maneuvered through the crowd, unbothered wasn’t even a strong enough word to describe the two of them.

“Hey Park over here!!!” Jimin didn't recognize the voice, that shot through the air, yet he still adjusted his direction to follow the sound anyway. Not too surprised to see it was a couple underclassmen with cameras in hand. Probably on the school newspaper, or the yearbook committee...Jimin didn't care either way. You put a camera in that boys face and the charm goes on full blast! Quickly tossing the remainder of his drink in the garbage so he had freedom to ...I guess pose, suddenly this must've became a photoshoot in Jimin’s mind!  Eyes turning into tiny crestins as he smiled in the youngers direction, not hesitating to switch up his angles, poses, the stairs somehow became a prop...suddenly he was taking his hat off.......all he was missing was a damn fan!

“Yoongi you tooo….” Words slowly dying off his tongue at the glare the point guard gave him in response. Though he ultimately ended up complying due to a sharp nudge to the ribs from Jimin.

“Stop being a little shit!” Growled through clenched teeth as he continued smiling and posing for the camera.

“How about you stop telling me what the fuck to do?!” Reaching up to give Jimin one hell of a purple nurple ripping a low growl from his throat. Triggering the first genuine smile and chuckle to leave Yoongi’s chest all morning, as he glanced over in his direction.

“You said you wanted me to smile…” An almost menacing tenor rang through his throat as he spoke, still grinning ear to ear, gums on full display .

“You fuckin sadist!!” Nudging him in the shoulder before both randomly deciding they were done with this little importue photoshoot. Heading back to their initial mission..Tv production ...or as Yoongi called it..an extra hour of sleep before school starts!

“OH! So what your saying is you didn't enjoy that? “ Brow arched at the implied question cutting him off with another one before he even had a chance to respond.

“So now the rumors about our star running back #81 being into BDSM suddenly aren't true!? You suddenly lost your pain kink!? How about a little breath play action? Choking? Would you care to confirm or deny this accusation Mr. Park!?” Shoving his Iphone in Jimin’s face as if it were a mic..a shit eating grin playing on his lips…

The smirk that crawled up Jimin’s face at the sound of that should’ve already told Yoongi he was going to wanna kick his ass “Oh yeah, I fuckin love it ..in fact..your mom sounds soo damn good calling me daddy I just-” Insitnally cut off by Yoongi shoving him into the nearest locker, ripping a loud cackle from Jimins throat..laughing until he was almost weezing eyes completely dissapered into his face!

“Cool, I’m glad we decided moms are fair game this year..especially because your father travels a lot..I’m sure mama Park gets lonely...” Playfully wagging his tongue in Jimin’s direction earning a well deserved dual middle finger from the running back!

Stumbling their way down the hall as they, kicked, nudged and shoved each other in the process if people didn't know any better they’d really question the terms of their friendship! The pair finally danced upon there missing link, a combination of fondness and embarrassment laced along there face as they watched Namjoon network..or flirt..or both depends on perspective!

“Yes, of course I’m very confident in that and I think I did a very good job last year, and the student body will remember that..and hopefully vote accordingly when the time arises…”  Flashing the girl to his right his award winning dimply smile...nothing subtle about the way she damn near melted at the sound of his voice alone. Namjoon knew what he was doing though as his hand soothed over her shoulder. Eyes burning into hers, as he awaited her to remember how to breathe and close out her podcast recording.

“KIM NAMJOON!!!!” Squawked from Jimin’s lips..he didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was..just the simple stylization of his name alone let him know it was probably only one of few people!!

Glancing over his shoulder in there direction, ya know it’s funny..if you saw the three of them separately..you probably wouldn't assume they’d be friends. Unless your basing it solely on ethnicity, even there styles screamed different ‘Cliques” if you will. First you got Jimin who dresses like a...tendy, slightly boujee skater, Yoonig, who leans more towards “High end” urban street/lounge wear..and finally Namjoon. This boy either looks like he’s heading to a corporate meeting, or like he just got a Champs endorsement..there’s NO inbetween. Yet this threesum have been best friends since the 6th grade and wouldn't have it any other way!

“Yeah...were actually gonna make shirts that say “Daddy Joon for president…” so ugh look out for that merch coming real soon, I’ll slide the link on my Instagram..make sure you're all following me, it’s “ParkJimin81” in case your not…”

Tongue playing at the corner of his mouth as he casually draped his arm over the brunettes shoulder after shamelessly plugging himself .Now it was his turn to make this poor girl's knees go even weaker. Dropping his gaze down to meet hers not missing the way her body shuddered slightly at the contact. Or how her eyes zoned in on his cherry stained lips, a smug smirk tugging on his cheeks, as he slid his hat off, ruffling his figures through his hair. “Aeygo” left his tongue in response to how blatantly flushed the underclassmen’s face was before abruptly moving in Namjoon direction. “Alright playtimes over baby boy we gotta go!!” Tugging him down the hallway...

“Andddddd THAT ladies and gentlemen, was a free lesson on how to clout chase and be a hoe  with Jimin Park..he’s here 5 days a week..for at least 4 of the 7 hours of the day! But if you wanna learn how to do that thing where he looks like he’s going to rip every hair follicle out of his head...we can probably set up some private facetime sessions for like 20 a pop! Lemme know..Yoongi Min, manager and the only functioning brain cell for those two! Thank you!! ”  Extending his hand dramatically, dropping down to a sad excuse for a curtsey, bowing a couple times before tailing after his friends!

~~~~~~~

The boys managed to make it to the halfway point...they all had fourth hour together which meant they had the same lunch period. Which was ironically enough B lunch..none of them were actually signed out by there parents as they casually walked out the back doors. Not even remembering the last time they actually properly got signed out for lunch. The parking lot buzzing with students, during the summer months a lot of the time lunch was actually spent in the parking lot. Hints why there was one school security guard outside.. he wasn't doing much, though. Hell Larry actually looked like he was smoking a damn cigarette!

“Whoes car are we -fuck I knew it! I fuckin knew it” Swatting at Namjoon’s chest, smiling ear from ear compaly obviouslious to the current abuse. While Yoongi and Namjoon glared in his direction...

“Could you not abuse your president…I’m fragile...” Gently dusting his fingers over his pecks..

“Man! First off your the biggest motherfucker here! And if you don't shut the hell up about this damn election, you havent even won yet!” The phrase left Yoongi’s tongue with more bite than Namjoon expected, faltering back in surprise. Eyes blown out as he dramatically clutched his chest

“Alright FIRST off, RUDE!” Pausing to make sure there was enough emphasis on the fact that he was clearly offended! “ And are you doubting my skills Min Yoongi!? Listen I don't need this type of negativity in my political-”

“Oh for fucks sake!! Nobody cares about your damn election right now Namjoon!! Look!” Physically grabbing the taller of the threes head between his palms...turning it to the far left.

“On top of the hood of the Camaro..I told you little shits I saw her at the scrimmage!” Nothing subtle about the way Jimin pointed you out in the sea of cars as you reclined against your hood. Posing for a couple pics for Instagram with some friends, long story short 2 years ago your dad took a different job and you guys moved an hour and a half away. Due to the size of the school you transferred to you guys were still in the same division. So you saw each other occasionally on game nights or on the weekends and during summer break!. But nothing compared to bullshittiing and gossping all day in class with them, or actually being on the same team again! No surprise to anyone that you made varsity cheer for the third year in a row…

“Troubles backkkkk….” The words left Jimins lips sing song like as he gazed over in your direction, a cheeky little grin starting on his lips, before seamlessly shifting down the line.

“Well boys, I think Y/N deserves a formal welcome back..and who better to do so... then your class president, and two of the schools top athletes?” The grin on Namjoon's lips quickly changed from innocent to pure mischief as he glanced in his buddies direction!

Your LBD was without a doubt breaking every centimeter of the dress code, it looked like a standard cotton bodycon dress for the most part. But the very bottom flared out slightly almost like a skater skirt...which was currently playing “Chicken or go” with the wind! The leather chunky heeled booties didn't do much for that either. Only making your legs look longer and your dress look shorter, an oversized distressed denim jacket hung loosely off your shoulders. Finishing the look off with a pair of extremely tiny sunglasses so much so that they were actually useless..nothing more than an aesthetic! Hoops damn near the size of your head hung from your ears, hair half up, half down. A messy top knot sat in the middle of your head while the rest laid in loose curls..the sun catching your overly glossed lips and highlight perfectly as you posed along the hood.

Eyes zoning in on the pack making there way in your direction, you'd be lying if you said you hadn't already scopped them out prior to. The four of you followed each other on social media so you were well aware of how good purbirty was to the three of them over the past couple years! In addition to the fact that you guys weren’t necessarily super close but you were..comfortable if that makes sense! Naturally running within the same circle...so when you’d come down for the weekend, or summer break you’d still hang out or at least run into each other at parties!

You were always known for being a little bit of a wild child, the girl that was always down to cause a little trouble, and so where they..soooo it worked out! Only this time around, you got the opportunity to spend the majority of your summer abroad, so it was a bit of a surprise to most that you were coming back to finish out your junior and senior year!

“Well, well, why am I not surprised your all still connected at the hip?” A playful smirk tugged on the corners of your lips as the pack swarmed you, Jimin closing in first. Not hesitating to scoop you off the hood and into his arms for a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Hiii..” slipped past your lips and into his hair, as the sweet musky scent of his cologne filled your nose in the process. A slight squeal leaving your lips as he twirled you around before placing you back on the ground.

“Hii, welcome back...” He naturally carried a very warm tenor to his voice,not the deepest but it was effective, calm..inviting...intimate.You could damn near feel every muscle in his body when he picked you up. Puberty hit Jimin damn near perfectly..even though you’d never tell him that!

He was always a little..’thick” I guess you'd say,nice ass, thighs..and the cutest chubby cheeks even though he hated them! Now..he turned all that into muscle..still thick just toned..Jawline chiseled to the GODS, you could damn near cut glass! Like I said, you saw them damn near evrry sumemr, but it seems you miss one and now it’s like..FUCK!!!

“You missed us that much you had to move back aye? Or was Brighton a little too...boring for you?” A smile that was almost too damn smooth played on his lips as he glanced down at you. Tongue slowly grazing against his teeth,reclining against the light post adjacent to your car. Funny how it was a question yet his tone indicated as if he was telling you, you missed them and you moved back because you got bored...

“Meh, I don't know about all that, but the three of you aren’t the worst ammently this town has to offer so I won't complain. Also you already know..lifes far from boring if I’m involved...”  Casually flipping your hair over your shoulder as you shifted back along the hood of your car, eyes now zoning in on the other making there way in your direction.

“Princesssssss..” Namjoon sauntered over to you..moving past some random that appears to just be observing or taking notes...it hard to tell. Fuck, did his voice get even deeper!!!??? How many times is this boy going through puberty shit!

Taking in his frame from head to toe, a slight snort  leaving your lips at his attire, hopping off the hood swaying in his direction. Letting your hands play with the collar of his dress shirt…”You do know you don't actually work here right? And like this whole student body president gig means nothing when you drive off the lot?” Brow arched at the implied smart arsed question, a smirk playing on the corners of your lips as you watched him roll his eyes. Ripping a cackle from both of his best friends lips in the process.

“I’m soooo glad someone else gets it!!!”

Instantly whipping a middle finger in Yoongi’s direction without breaking eye contact with you.

“Aww Joon! I’m glad you finally pulled that thing outta your ass!”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck the both of you! Now give me a damn hug girl!!” A playful growl ripped from his throat,as it was his turn to scoop you into his arms. Giggling into the side of his neck in the process, eyes fluttering open in enough time to see  Yoongi damn near salivating over your car. Palm coming over to caress the curve in your hood, yes, there was something extremely sexy about how delicately he stroked the frame of your car.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to touch something that doesn't belong to you without permission Min? ” Lashes fluttering in his direction, your tone of voice let him know you really weren't bothered

A smirk playing on the corner of his lips as he gazed over at you, still not removing his hand from your car though. “I mean ..yeah they have..but to be honest I don't really wanna touch...I wanna ride her..” Eyes locked with yours as he said it, you knew what he meant, he was a car guy, and right now he had a car boner! But he also knew what he was doing in the obvious change in tenor as he spoke…

“Oh yeah?” Brow quirked in amusement as you sauntered over in his direction, Namjoon and Jimin overseeing in silence.

“Mmmmhmm...she’s sexy..what can I say...I’m a man..I like sexy…” Kneeling down slightly trying to see if there;s anything under the frame of the hood.

“Is he stock..or a tease?” This time the question came from Jimin, as he slowly started to circle the perimeter of the car

“Hmm..why don’t you find out yourself? Reve her up a little..she’s a big girl..she can take…” Wiggling your key fob in Yoongi’s direction. A cheeky grin spreading across his lips, which looked extremely wet right now....

“Shit, you don’t have to tell me twice, get it baby girl!!” Extending his hand to catch the keys

“You two are more than welcome..I’m riding shotty though, my whip, my rules…”

The pair didn't even have to think about it before hopping into the back seat.

The minute Yoongi revved up the engine and they heard how sweet your baby girl purred, a literal moan swept through the car. Triggering a gritty cackle to leave your chest “I told you she's no bitch!!!!”

Easing out of the parking lot, and making his way down the main road, which was essentially all rural, your city itself was initially a resort town. Downtown itself was huge but for the most part there's just a lot of trails, backroads, lakes,and land, a lot of land..beware of mounds of horse shit in the road during the warm months!

“Do you mind if I smoke in here?”

Eyes whipping back in Namjoons direction dramatically as if you hadn't seen him hit a bong at a party “Oh my god our future class prez smokes!? Shit, I might actually vote for you instead of actually running my damn self!”

The look on Namjoon’s face was utterly priceless, while Jimin and Yoongi damn near weezed…

“Ohhhh shittttt…” Jimin’s entire body slouched into itself as he laughed until he was practically in tears!

“You would not….” Tone blatantly daring taking on a more dominant effect that your use too! But you didn't care shrugging nochanaly in his direction.

“Aww what’s wrong Joonie? Worried because for once you might have some actual competition, or because you may actually lose!? But don't worry I’d make sure you were like my treasure or something ...”

Reaching over to grab the joint from between his fingers positioning it between your lips, if you didn't know any better you’d swear he damn near growled in response. Turning your head in Jimin’s direction who leaned down to light the joint for you. Taking a long slowly drag before pulling it back from your lips, coating the tip in the leftover residue from your lipgloss.

“Nah, not even, phased honestly go for it baby ! To be real I’ve been craving a little competition anyway...and don’t worry there will be no hard feelings on my end. I’ll still invite you to my celebration party at my lake house because I gotta respect you for at least trying!” Smiling down at you before snatching the Joint out of your mouth with zero warning, placing it between your lips. Causing you to blow the cloud of smoke dead in his face, eyes shifting into tiny slits as you glared back at him.

“Don’t fuckin’ tempt me Namjoon…” Tone taking a sassy turn as he was now testing your patience.

“Oh no I’m not tempting I’m begging..and I don’t do that often..please..please be a good girl for me and do as I say...and run for class president!” Intentionally taunting you as there was now an almost whiny condescending tinge to his voice. shooting you a quick wink before reclining in his seat.

A short scoff leaving your lips in response, hating how quickly he could get under your skin “ Oh don’t worry..I’ll be damn good for you!! Game fucking...on..Joonie...you wanna play we can play...speaking of…” Brining your attention to the driver's seat

“Min, what the fuck are you doing? I thought you wanted to ride her not babysit her...I know you don’t baby stroke the gears on your Chevelle like this. Show me what you got..put in work, I bought these tires for a reason sir!

Adding a purposely taunting tone to your voice as you glance in his direction, knowing damn well you were pushing his buttons. Observing the way his eyes glanced up into the rearview mirror, catching Jimin’s, the pair sharing a smirk before a deep slow breath left his body. Adjusting the grip his handheld on the gear shift, lowering your steering wheel and reclining his seat back even further.

“Alright kids buckle the fuck up, you heard her, she want’s it fast and loud....well.. daddy’s about to have a little fun….”  Eyes shifting in your direction briefly..

“I’m waaaiiitingggg….”

You could see Namjoon in your peripheral pulling out his phone, aiming it at the additional speed gauge you bought for the car since nothing under the hood, including the engine was stock. It legitimately felt like your body melted into the seat as he seamlessly alleviated for 45 to 60 to 75-to 90....before you knew it he had her purring at a solid 150 and it barely even felt like it!

“ FUCKKKKKKK YEAH!!!” Ripped from your throat once you felt him flour it, feet hammering straight into the floor! Going a good 4 miles, at full blast before actually approaching a more…”Civilized” part of town.

A loud howl ripped from Jimin’s chest as Yoongi drifted down a slide street that was actually a dead in...which lead to the parking lot of a roller rink. Purposely easing in sideways as your tires rutted along the concrete, cradling the wheel until he completed 3 seamlessly donuts. Still, hovering at close to 100mph before slowly bringing her down, gear shift by gear shift, all four of you starting at each other breathless in complete silence as your car finally came to a halt….

“Holy shit I have to fucking PEE!!” Swatting at the back of your seat until you scooted over, almost onto Yoongi’s lap so Namjoon could hop out of the car. Passing Yoongi the joint in the process so he could finally hit it too now that he was parked.

“She’s fucking NASTY!!!!” Yoongi glanced over at you between puffs..placing the joint in front of your lips which you welcomed. Leaning down to take two more puffs, slowly inhaling a cloud of smoke releasing the remainderer through your nostrils.

‘Oh...” Leaning down again, causing you to lean forward thinking he was going to offer you the joint again ...but instead  “Welcome back by the way..you were missed..” Taking another slow drag before releasing a cloud of smoke from his lungs, concentrating the smoke in the direction of your lips. Reclining your jaw slightly, sucking in, recouping the remaining cloud of smoke . Fuck, when did Yoongi get so damn smooth!?

“Thanks, I’m glad to be back honestly” Clearing out your lungs a little before continuing “And thank you! I told youuuu..she’s  my little baby...a straight beast!” Chest swelling with pride, even though this wasn't close to half to what she could do.

“There’s a race...this weekend...Either after the first game on Friday orrrr sunday night...that parts still undecided!I think it’s too late for a buy in but...you definitely need to come...it’s at the trail down by Marine city.”

Nose scrunching into your face at the location...not too fond...at all..you hated the drive even on the bus for games !

You reaction caused Jimin to smile over at you , already well aware of your issue, as he ruffled his fingers through his hair. Slowly tailing his way down to caress his neck “You could always ride with one of us if you want-”

“Shit!!” Namjoon hopped back into the car slamming the door behind him, luckily you still hadn't fully shifted off of Yoongi’s thigh or else he would have crushed your ass! “I think I saw a -”

Before he even had time to finish his thought...a blacked out charger pulled in..unmarked but the sirens said it all….

“Everybody out of the car!!”

THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE FOR THE INTRO CHAPTER!!! If you like it and you want me to continue with this fourseume..then “Like” this..leave some feedback and come hit up my ask box!

NOTE- IF I continue this..it will be a one shot series..as in it won’t go into EVERY detail of day to day life but have a main focus. I.E the first game, the drift race, the election, Namjoon /Jimin’s birthday ETC…I’m also still undecided on how the smut is going to work between the 4 of them. There could be an array of scenarios that take place as “smut” means any type of sexual activity, so that’s not to say she’ll go the full 9 with all three of them...or maybe she will...IDK!!!! LOL

NOTE- I know realistically they would be staggered year wise, but to make it easier I’m making them all juniors (If I add in the other boys in another series, Hoseok would be a Junior while Tae, and Kook would be Sophomores and Jin would be a senior)

ALSO- The boys are all going to graduate at 18 or In Yoongi’s case he turns 19 right after!

Love you guys as always,

Rocki!

#jimin #jimin smut #namjoon #namjoon smut #yoongi #yoongi smut #jimin au #namjoon au #yoongi au #bts #bts smut #bts au #bts high school au #bts x reader #bts x you #kpop #kpop smut #kpop au #park jimin

[dontyoudarejudgemesworld]

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far: Chapter Seven: New Things

Hey y'all I hope your well. So sorry that it's been a minute but as we all know the world is in chaos. I am currently the only one in my house working and trying to support three others who are high risk. Due to that I've been massively stressed out and busy. Still I finally managed to get this together to go up. 

As always you can find it here on AO3

Hope you all enjoy it. Be safe out there and take care of yourselves and others.

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“...and next ladies and gentlemen we have a creature so rare…so illusive that only the truest explorers have seen it. I give you the Cucuk-ig,” Billie said with a flamboyant flourish at a hog with wings carefully attached to its back, “Now I know that it may seem too good to be true but I assure you I personally brought this specimen back from the deepest bowls of the Amazon,” she told the tour she led leaning towards them as though imparting some great secret, “You see most people believe that the phrase ‘when pigs fly’ was coined to refer to something impossible. But it actually comes from the people of the Bulspita region where these creatures live. You see the phrase actually refers to early July when these amazing creatures migrate to their breeding grounds. The natives coined the phrase in reference to their harvest season which aligns with their migration,” she said her voice carrying the tone of a scholar looking around at the rubes a few of which looked skeptical, “Now of course when I heard the locals claims of flying pigs I scoffed but a native man offered to take me to see them. And so we embarked on a four week trek into the deepest groves of the Amazon. It was slow going as we cut through undergrowth so thick….,” she said launching into a story of grand adventure.

Dipper couldn’t help but think she looked like she had walked out of the jungle; heavy tan cargos were slung low on her hips, a black tank top hugged her form under an unzipped grey green cargo vest, and worn heat boots served at the basis for her persona. Fingerless black gloves and a red bandanna tied loosely around her neck sold the Laura Croft vibe along with her heavy black curls spilling in a wild mess about her face and shoulders. He noticed that her southern drawl had changed into a smooth English clip lending to the mysterious adventurer role. Dipper knew that to be roped into Stan's show you had to have a costume and he was kind of jealous of hers, it was a far cry better then gluing dog hair to yourself and dancing for money.

“Man she is really good at this,” Dipper observed from the counter where he leaned next to Wendy, “Like she kinda puts Stan to shame.”

“Oh yeah man,” Wendy said as they watched tourist eat up the black haired woman’s words leaning in as she spoke, "The stuff she shows up with is actually pretty cool, and she comes up with stories that could totally be a comic book. She’s like one of the coolest people I know. I mean I know that she's a total sham like Stan but sometimes I wonder if she really does go off on super cool adventures like some kind of Iowa Jane. Even my Dad thinks she's a bad ass."

"Really?" he said as he watched the for group scramble at shove money at her as she touted only $5 to get their picture taken with the pig. More then a few asked her to pose with them which she did gladly flashing winning smiles and peace signs for the camera. Watching her he couldn't help but think she looked like he though the author would; adventurous, daring, and brave.

"Hey...so I was thinking. You know how Billie has six fingers, " He stared causing Wendy to raise a brow her eyes shooting over to him.

"Yeah dude but she's kinda sky about it so maybe not..., " she offered quickly and he held up his hands shaking his head.

"No, no! Listen, " He said quickly, "The Journal has a six fingered left hand on the front. She has six fingers on her left hand, " He said and she shot up from her slouch on the counter to stare at him.

"Dude! Do you think she's the author!?! " Wendy asked her eyes wide and eager as they shot over to Billie who was now telling the eager crowd about the mermaid Stan had, "She totally could be. I mean she's a PI but who knows what she's actually investigating. It would totally make since."

"Well that's what I thought but Mabel pointed out that the book is super old. So Soos thinks she might be the authors daughter, " He told her bouncing in excitement at the redhead's sudden enthusiasm, "Mabel found out that her Dad grew up with Stan, but he died when she was young. The Journal Author said he hid it because he was in danger. What if her Dad was the Author and she came here looking for answers...for the Journals?" he said his own excitement bubbling up as he shared his theory with his favorite person.

"Whoa..., " she said looking down at him, "We have to ask her! She could be the key to figuring it out! "

"No, I mean not yet, " he said quickly, "I mean what if she's not? I think we should do some investigation first. I mean look at Gideon. He got a hold of one of them and went nuts. And the shape shifter...well you we're there. I think we should be careful here, " he said glancing over at the woman.

"Well, I mean I know Billie and she's pretty cool. She helped Tambry and I out... " Wendy started.

"What’re you two over here conspirin’ ‘bout ? " Billie's voice broke in causing both of them to jump. She seemed to have dropped the fake english accent her heavy drawl replacing it as she eyed both of them a lazy half smile pulling at her lips.

"Nothing! " they said in unison causing Billie's lips to twist in amusement as she cocked a brow. Eyeing them let let out a hum of disbelief.

"Yeah, y’all look as innocent as a fox in the hen house, " she drawled, "I'ma go pick up some burgers at Greasy's y’all want anything?” she asked as she leaned against the counter.

“Heck yeah. Double cheese burger please,” Wendy said with a laugh. With a nod Billie turned her emerald eyes on Dipper who stood staring up at her with red ears.

“What ‘bout you Bud?” she asked cocking a brow and he blushed even deeper as one hand came up to scratch the back of his neck. Just like his Grunkle, and her if she was honest. Must run in the family, she supposed.

“Uhhhh, sure. Thank,” he said as he shook himself slightly looking down to his feet before glancing up at her sheepishly, “Want me to come along to help?” he asked and she blinked in suprise. She seemed to hesitate as he waited anxiously; if he went with her maybe he could ask her some questions. After a minute she rolled a shoulder and gave a nervious smile.

“Sure, an extra pair ah hands never hurts,” she replied after a second and was rewarded with a beaming smile, “Well, get a move on. I aint waitin’ all day,” she said as she spun and headed out to the door to the El Diablo. Dipper looked at Wendy who widened her eyes and looked after Billie.

“Go dude,” she said and he scampered out the door after her. Clamering into the car he quickly pulled the seat belt on an watched as she slid into the front seat and started the car. Pulling out of the drive way she headed towards town. Glancing in the rear view mirror at the kid in the back seat. He was fidgeting as he stared at her from under the brim of his hat. A heavy silence filled the car as both of them seemed to think of something to say. After a few tense moments Billie cleared her throat.

“So…Stan says you like weird stuff,” she said breaking the silence and he let out a nervous laugh.

“Yeah,” he said looking up at her in the rear view mirror, “The stuff around here is crazy. You said you’ve seen the gnomes, right? On our first day they decided to kidnap Mabel and make her their queen. When she said no they tried to kidnap her. Did you know that they can stack themselves into a giant mecha gnome?” he asked and she rolled her eyes and left out a huff of laughter.

“No, I didn’t,” she told him, “I know they’re nasty little varmints that’ll try an steal anything not nailed down. I like the ‘lil campfires that scuttle ‘round the woods, though,” she told him and his ears perked up.

“I haven’t seen those,” he said eagerly, “Do you think you could show me one. I’d like to add it to the jor…letters I’m writing home,” he caught himself his voice cracking. She cocked a brow at his stumble over his words but decided to leave it be.

“Sure, there’s one that seems ta hang out in the woods behind the Shack. I give it marshmallows every time I come visit so he’ll usually show up if I shake a bag an’ whistle,” she told him, “You’ll ‘ave ta show me some o’ the weird stuff you’ve found. We just wont tell Stan since he likes ta pretend that ‘weird’ ain’t a thing,” she said and he let out an uncomfortable laugh.

“Yeah, it took me raising a hoard of zombies to get him to admit it,” he said causing Billie’s eyes to fly open wide and her head to jerk back to look at him.

“What?!” she said before remembering that she was driving, “That’s…alarmin’ on a few levels kid,” she told him and he turned red as he scrunched down to hide in his vest causing her to wince, “I mean zombies being real and all,” she said quickly even though she had to wonder how the hell he had managed to raise the dead.

“Oh yeah, but you can cure the it with paint thinner and cinnamon,” he said and she had to bite her cheeks not to say anything, “We fixed Soos up after and he’s fine,” he added as she pulled up to Greasy’s. Turning around she handed Dipper a hand full of bills.

“I called Susan already. Go grab the food,” she told him, “And try not to summon any zombies on your way,” she told him and he grinned as he nodded hopping out. Watching him go she shook her head, she was going to have to ask Stan about the zombie thing. And figure out how in the hell he knew how to summon zombies, that didn’t seem safe for a 12 year old to be doing as a past time. Great more homework. Maybe she should just do full investigations on the whole damned family and save herself some time.

~*~

Billie sat on Wendy’s hide out one leg dangling over the edge head resting in her hand as she stared at her lap top. She was reading Filbrick Pine’s service record. And man was it a read, apparently Grandpa was a bad ass who’d served honorably kicking some serious Nazi ass in WW2. While she had Stanley’s life pretty well plotted out from 18 and beyond, that didn’t help her figure out why his whole family had erased him. To understand that she needed to understand her family, which meant learning the in and outs of it. And what she was finding was slowly paint a picture of dysfunction that made her feel slightly less out of place.

Idly she pushed the thick glasses up her nose. It was late and she had changed into her basket ball shorts and t-shirt after the kids had gone to bed, and her contacts had been bugging her. Normally she hated wearing the stupid coke bottle lenses but she was blind as a bat without them. Sticking her pen between her lips she chewed on it lightly in between jotting down notes in the book beside her. So far she had pieced together that Filbrick had served front lines for most of the war, and done it stoically. He’d been one of the first ones on sight of three concentration camp liberalizations, and his psych eval.s suggested that he had repressed most of the trauma from such service. Though he met much of the criteria for PTSD as laid down by the APA.

Depending on the severity of it he would have…her eyes snapped open as she jerked up. She’d been dozing, it was late and a day spent hustling for Stan was more tiring then one might think. Sighing she set the laptop aside and brought the cigarette in her fingers to her lips taking a long drag  the cherry flaring to illuminate the bright blue paper of the barrel of it. Cracking her neck she looked out over the yard and out into the trees. A heavy mist had descended around them obscuring the shapes below; changing them into shifting twisting shadows. The horrors of her subconscious just waiting to rise up and consume her if she let them. Good thing Lucid dreaming was a thing; if it wasn’t she’d probably be a full blown alcoholic instead of just a functioning one.

“Well, well, well, you’re new,” came a voice from behind her that sent shivers down her spine. It was soft yet reverberated around her and one that she didn’t recognize. She knew her demons and this wasn’t one of the. Taking another drag she held the cigarette up and cocked her head watching the smoke curling up and away into the stars that spiraled lazily above them.

“So are you,” she said after a moment with out turning. A chilling laugh came from behind her as the demon moved circling her. She didn’t look up to follow it’s progress but she saw it; a yellow pyramid with a giant eye. The dapper little bow tie and top hat added a touch that was both sinister and comical.

“Hmmmm, you don’t fit,” he said as he stopped in front of her, “A real Wild Card. Nice hand, I love freaks,” he laughed and she finally looked up at him cocking a brow he lips twisting in boredom.

“Huh, guess I’m running out of imagination. I’d think my subconscious would be able to come up with new material,” she sighed rolling her eyes, “So what are you? New form of self loathing? Manifestation of trauma? Representation of budding Body Dysmorphic Disorder?  she asked and he laughed as he looked down at the mist and the figures that swarmed there.

“As delightful as that stew of crazy is I’m not part of it,” he laughed floating lazily around her, “No, I’m something so much more,” he assured her stopping hover over the pages of her notebook and looking down at them, “Looking for Pine Family secrets, huh? I could help you know,” he laughed as he raised his hand and the pages exploded to float around them, “I know things, lots of things,” he added his voice distorting to a deeper growl as his body began flashing a million images at once, some she recognized and a lot more she didn’t, “I could help you you know. Infinite knowledge and all it takes is a hand shake,” he said his hand bursting into blue flames as he offered it to her. She stared at him her face expressionless except for a single brow twitching as the pages swirled around them each displaying a picture of her family moving in mute memories.

“Okay enough of that,” she said snapping her fingers the pages returning to a normal notebook causing Bill’s eye to widen slightly as she looked up at him a vicious kind of smile pulling at her lips, “Look here Bill. This is my dream. I don’t know what you are but I don’t make deals without knowing the stakes. So whatever you are you can leave. My whole job is finding out secrets and I don’t need no help. So crawl back under what ever walk you came from. I’m waking up now,” she told him snapping her fingers again.

Billie jerked awake finding the stars over her fixed in their proper places. Shaking herself she sat up and looked down at her notebook the pages fluttering in the light summer breeze of the night. There in the corner of the page was a simple doodle of a triangle with a top hat.

“Well that’s new,” she said looking down at the lines.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gf au #au gravity falls #lost pines daughter #ao3 #bill cipher #billie pine #Stanley Pines #stan pines #dipper pines #pines family #pines family bonding #they should really create a list system to save a group of hashtags so I dont have to spend twenty minutes trying to remember them all #mabel pines #wendy corduroy

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Captain America Vs. Superman  {Part 1}

Chris Evans X Reader X Henry Cavill

Warning: Cursing, Drug Use (Weed), Adult Suggestive Conversation

Word Count: 5.9K

Note: Guyyyyyyyyys! Aaaaah! I finally did a one shot. Holy S&*& me, a one shot. Alexa play “I’m Coming out.” Hope you guys enjoy this. It was inspired by this.

 This will be posted in two parts as this has tipped into the 13k realm. Soo I guess that means it’s technically not a one shot then. Damn.

I know this is not what I should be working on, but I had this idea dn had to get it out.

**Loosely edited**

**Loosely Proofread**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Well, I have a cape," Henry boasted.

"Who needs a cape when you have a shield? Which I have," Chris countered.

"Who needs a shield when you're bulletproof? Which I am, Henry continued.

Chris smirked.

"I can lift Thor's hammer that means I'm worthy always have been, always will be," he bragged with a cocky shoulder shrug.

Henry snorted and shook his head.

"I was sent to Earth to be its salvation and savior, I was born to be worthy of an entire planet and species," Henry finished exhaling a breath on his fingernails before rubbing them on his white button down shirt. He then looked at Chris as if to say, "beat that."

The two of them stood there in the kitchen of your home going back and forth. It had always been like this throughout your seven-year friendship. You met Chris through work as a casting agent and then met Henry, and in Hollywood, everyone knew each other. Everyone interacted, and it didn't take long for Henry and Chris to strike up a friendship. They both had so much in common.

Over the years the friendship between the three if you strengthened and it wasn't long before you three were referred to as the three musketeers where you were Chris was, and Henry wasn't too far behind. That only made the rumor mill go wild with crazy ideas that the three of you had a progressive relationship. Of course, it wasn't true, but that never stopped a rumor.

Although you were their friends, you were also human and red-blooded, you were not immune to the beauty either of them held. You were not impervious to the sex appeal that rolled off of them. You recognized they were attractive men physically, and because of your friendship, you knew they were equally as attractive inside.

For the last few months, your hormones had been going crazy, and nothing you did or how far you went from them could calm you down. You kept dreaming of them and ogling over their bodies, and you were mortified the first time you masturbated with thoughts of them. It was a job and a half to pretend everything was fine and normal when all you wanted to do was sit on one of their faces with the other's cock balls deep in your mouth.

"Doesn't this get old guys? Seven years and still comparing whose is bigger?"

You shook your head and walked past them into the kitchen toward the fridge and took out the bottle of tequila you held in there. Not bothering to take a glass down, you took the bottle to the head and blew out in an effort to cool your flaming taste buds.

"You do realize that neither of you are the actual characters, right? You're not Captain America, and you're not Superman. You are mere men playing roles," you reasoned.

Both of them looked to you as if you'd popped their hubris filled bubbles. You shrugged and took another mouthful of your favorite liquor and hopped onto the counter across from them.

Henry approached you and took the tequila bottle from you and took a few gulps of his own before he spoke; "Where've you been for the last four days?"

"I took a Hollywood break. I went for a little retreat in Phoenix."

"What's in Phoenix?" Chris asked, approaching your other side, taking the outstretched bottle from Henry before you could take it back. He took a swig but didn't grimace. Your eyes dropped to his still tequila dampened lips, and you sucked your own bottom lip into your mouth as you felt your temperature rise a slight bit.

You cleared your throat and yanked the bottle from him and took several gulps before lowering it.

"Maybe slow down a little Y/N," Henry cautioned.

You looked to him and stared into his heavenly blue orbs and got lost.

"Y/N, you all right?"

You looked away and stared out in front of you for a long while.

"Yeah, I'm good. Netflix or poker?"

You hopped off the counter, walked to the living room, and plopped onto the couch. Chris and Henry soon followed and sat on either side of you, Chris held the deck of cards, and Henry held the chips. You smiled.

"Don't act like a girl when I beat both your asses and take you for everything you're worth."

Chris and Henry laughed in unison.

"Care to put a wager on those huge cojones you're bragging about?" Chris asked.

You smiled a mischievous smile because you may have just figured out the solution to your problem.

"I would. Whoever wins gets an IOU of their choice, anything they want must be done no matter what," you proposed.

Both Henry and Chris looked at each other, no doubt thinking the way you worded it was peculiar and specific. You didn't speak; you just allowed them to make their own decisions while looking as innocent as possible. Chris was the first to agree, followed by a reluctant Henry. You smiled to yourself hoping tonight you were lady luck. You situated around the coffee table and began playing.

After the first game, Chris took the early lead, but by the fourth game, Henry was in the lead with you staggering behind them both. It was all part of your plan. Every win they became cockier and cockier, and every win they drank more and more. You knew they both could hold their liquor but they both had limits. You needed to push those limits. If you remained in the back, they would never know what hit em when you took the lead which is what happened in the sixth game.

When all was said and done after the tenth game, you were the sole winner holding all their chips and the prize. You tried to keep a straight face you didn't want to give away the fact that you'd finessed them without them even suspecting a thing.

"I regret the day I taught you all my tricks," Henry said.

You and Chris laughed loudly for a long time before Henry joined in. As your laughter slowly receded, you finished the fourth bottle of tequila and sighed out.

"All right, I'm a man of my word, you know. You get your IOU, but you don't get to hold onto it for weeks and weeks. You gotta use it within this week your deadline is next weekend," Chris demanded.

You smirked.

"No problem, I already know what I want."

Chris and Henry looked at you and then each other.

"You do. All right then what is it you want? Henry asked.

You reached for the last bottle of tequila opened it and took a few gulps hoping it would steel your nerves and get rid of the nervousness in the pit of your stomach.

"Both of you."

The room filled with silence, and the two men looked at each other confused etched across their features.

"Uh, both of us. What does that mean? What do you want from both of us?" Henry questioned in his prime and proper British accent.

You felt a new wave of confidence and bit your bottom lip as you looked to Henry first.

"Your hands, your fingers, your arms--,"

Looking across to Chris you continued; "Your lips, your mouth, your face--,"

Looking back and forth between the two, you finished; "Your tongue."

Henry and Chris looked dumbfounded as they stared at you. Neither of them spoke or blinked hell you didn't know if either of them were breathing anymore. You sat there looking at the both of them trying to read them, but they were unreadable. After nearly four minutes of silence, they looked to each other. Chris sucked in a breath and rubbed across his face groaning.

"Jesus, I must be drunk because I don't think I heard you right."

"Yeah, me either."

"You both heard correct. I said what I said, and I meant what I said."

"To break through this tequila haze; say that again," Chris pleaded.

You took a deep breath and released it in a rush. Yes, this was probably random as fuck and completely unexpected but was it really that farfetched? You took another drink from the tequila bottle and began again.

"I want you both."

"I--I got that part," Chris began.

"Yeah me too, maybe the part about--parts you should repeat," Henry clarified.

You smirked and pinched your lips.

"I want your hands, your fingers and your arms Henry and I want your lips, your mouth, your face Chris, and both of your tongues."

Henry sunk back into his seat and grabbed the tequila bottle from you and chugged a few gulps. As soon as he lowered it, Chris leaned over and took it from him to echo the same actions. You sat there looking between them thinking you'd broken them. Just when you thought someone was going to speak, they took another swig of tequila.

After about five minutes, you lost your patience.

"Come on, guys. This can't have been that farfetched or that crazy."

"You're kidding, right. You're drunk. This is the tequila talking. It has to be," Chris surmised.

"I'm not drunk."

They both got up and paced the room, leaving you seated on the floor.

"And yes this is crazy. Y/N, are you hearing yourself? Where is this coming from?" Henry questioned stooping in front of you arms crossed with a desperate look on his face.

"We've been friends for seven years, and I trust you both--,"

"So this is an experimentation type of thing then, you'd rather it be us then two other people you don't trust," Chris interrupted.

"No, this isn't experimentation. This is me wanting the two of you because for the last few months I've been looking at you way past platonic," you blurted out.

Both of them gaped at you. You were starting to regret saying anything.

"So you mean you want us, want us at the same time?" Henry clarified then looked at Chris.

"Months? You've wanted this for months?" Chris asked.

"Yes. It's taken over almost everything. I needed to get out of town to get a grip, but that did nothing."

Henry stooped down before you.

"You went to Phoenix because of us?"

"Is this really so unbelievable guys? Is this so unfathomable?" You asked making a circle with your finger at each of you.

They remained silent, both deep in their thoughts as they gazed at you. Chris looked to Henry who looked back at him and spoke some unspoken language. They both sighed out. Chris stroked his beard, and Henry rubbed his forehead then raked his fingers through his black curls.

   “No,” they spoke in unison.

   You perked up and looked between them.

   “So—you want me too?”

  Both of them stood and walked across the room, standing as far from you as possible. You stared at them expectantly.

   “You’re beautiful Y/N; you know that,” Chris spoke.

  “Everyone knows it,” Henry filled in.

   “That is not what I asked. I asked if you want me too?”

   You stood, giving them a full view. Their eyes never left your face though.

   “There is a line that probably shouldn’t be crossed. We have been friends for a long time; if we crossed that line then our friendship wouldn’t be the same,” Henry explained.

  “Why not? We’ll still be the same people. You two will always be my best friends, no matter what.”

   You stepped closer to the both of them and didn’t stop until you were only a few feet from them both.

   “I’ll ask again. Do-you-want-me?”

   They stared at you, and you could tell you were wearing them down. Chris groaned out, and Henry breathed exasperatedly.

   “Of course, we want you. We’d have to be dead not to. You’re perfect beauty and brains.”

  “All right then,” you finished closing the gap between you. You put your hand on both their chest and trailed it down the center of their body over their hard abs and to the top of their pants. Once your fingers touched the buttons to their pants, they both leaped back and away from you. You groaned and dropped your head back.

   “Uuugh, what is your problem?”

   “We should think about this. We’ve all had quite a bit to drink. So we should stop, think and really figure out if this is a good move or even something we really want sober,” Chris reasoned.

   “That last bit specially directed to you. Things look differently when we’re sober,” Henry added.

  You watched them both make their way to the threshold of the living room.

  “Wow, so this is what rejection feels like.”

   “We’re not rejecting you. we want what’s best for you and want you to be sure what you really want before any lines are crossed,” Chris explained.

   “We care about you Y/N, we’d never do anything that would end up hurting you,” Henry added.

   You looked between them. Any other woman may have thought this was sweet, and they were being considerate and perfect gentlemen, but you right now stuck with your sexual frustrations and needs for both of them felt as if they were chickening out or trying to let you down gently. No matter the case, you were annoyed. You rolled your eyes and sighed.

   “Fine, go, think, sober up, do whatever the hell you want.”

 You walked to the tequila bottle and drank some more.

   “You know the way out. good night.”

   You walked away toward your bedroom, leaving them there. You were horny and frustrated, and since they wouldn’t help, you had to turn to your vibrator yet again.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 One day passed no call and no Chris or Henry, then two, then four, and by day five you began to panic. You hadn’t seen them or called them because of humiliation beginning to set in. They didn’t call; they didn’t stop by; they were absent from your lunches and your apartment. Usually, when they were in town you always had dinner together, and more times than not lunch as well. It was cold turkey, and your mind was beginning to overthink. You wondered if you’d crossed a line, if you’d taken too big of a risk with voicing your wants, you wondered if you’d freaked them out and their only answer was to avoid you.

  By the time Friday came, you were a huge ball of anxiety, fear, and doubts. You must have pulled up their numbers in your phone fifty times only to exit out without dialing. Half of you felt like you should call and apologize and downplay what you said and blame it on the alcohol like Jamie said. The other half went super aggressive and said fuck them they’d be damn lucky to be in the situation you’d offered. Needless to say, you were a mess. You tried to go about your week like normal, and for the most part, you were successful. You kept yourself busy, and it helped because you didn’t have a moment to yourself. Idle hands did the devil’s work after all.

  You groaned and stretched back in your office chair. It was eight o’clock on a Friday night, and you still hadn’t left work. You still had a few more things to tend to before you were comfortable leaving, and you weren’t in any rush to get home to the quiet and your thoughts. With your eyes closed, you took several calming breathes trying to find the energy to finish up. After a few minutes, you sat back up and continued. The sound of your phone chiming brought your attention away. You looked at your phone and saw two new unread messages.

  You took up the device and saw Chris’ name on your screen. You hovered your thumb over the message and felt your nerves spike, and you didn’t know why. You shook it off and opened the message.

  MSG Chris: Dinner tonight?

  You narrowed your eyes at the message as if it were actually him. He had some nerve, you thought. Ignore you for a week and then out the blue send some vague message like you were some random woman after the dick. You kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes, dropping your phone back on the desk and focusing again on your work.  You ignored the urge to pick it back up and willed yourself to focus. Your phone chimed again and again, and still, you ignored it.

   “I don’t know who you think you are, but you got me all fucked up if you think this is goin’ down like this.”

 Another five minutes passed and in came another chime. You took a peek and saw the message preview read, “Don’t play hard to get now.” You kissed your teeth again and took up your phone and looked through the messages.

  MSG Chris: Not gonna answer me?

MSG Chris: Come on Y/N, don’t be like this.

MSG Chris: Don’t play hard to get now, you know you want to come.

  You focused on the word “come” and wondered if he was playing on words and was being fresh. A smirk tickled your lips until you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You sighed and shook your head.

  MSG: Whatever, I don’t play hard to get, I am hard to get.

MSG Chris: I don’t doubt that for one minute. So, dinner tonight?”

MSG: I already ate.

MSG Chris: Liar. I drove by your place your car isn’t there. That means you’re still at the office. Stop what you’re doing and come eat.

  You rolled your eyes.

  MSG: Why are you driving by my house anyway aren’t you avoiding me like a heathen avoids church?

MSG Chris: LMAO. I’ve never avoided you. Come to dinner. I’ll let you choose the restaurant even that Hibachi place you know I hate.

MSG: You only hate it because the owner likes Superman better than Captain America. Don’t be salty.

MSG Chris: Whatever. You wanna come or not?

  Again, your eyes darted to the word “come.” You bit your bottom lip and heard your stomach growl. The decision was made already.

  MSG: Fine, but it’s the Hibachi place you hate.

MSG Chris: I wouldn’t expect anything else from you. Thirty minutes enough time to get there?

MSG: Make it an hour I still have some stuff to do.

MSG Chris: Thirty.

MSG: Excuse me? You’re not my daddy.

MSG Chris: Make it thirty, and I will be.

  You widened your eyes and read the last message again and again. The defiance in you was tempted to purposely show up past thirty minutes, but the curiosity in you wanted to get there early. You sat there for five more minutes before you got up and prepared to leave.

  The drive wasn’t too bad, especially for a Friday night. You expected horrible back ups, but you were pleasantly surprised to find it moving. It took you fifteen minutes to get from your office to the restaurant when normally it would have taken twenty or more. You sat in your car and looked at yourself. You reapplied your lipstick, took down your hair and spritzed yourself with perfume. Once you walked inside, it was thirty minutes on the dot.

   “Y/N, welcome back!”

  You smiled brightly at the owner and hugged him.

   “You know me can’t stay away for too long.”

 He laughed and pulled his wife forward.

   “Hi Y/N, happy to see you.”

   She kissed your cheek and hugged you tightly. You loved this place the food was good; the atmosphere was easy going and the people were friendly what more was needed. The ritzy restaurants in this town were nice and everything but nothing compared to a place that made you feel like family.

   “Go ahead to your table. I’ll send someone over to begin shortly.”

   “Thank you.”

  You walked away, making your way to your table. It was the same one you always sat when you came here, and it was always held open in case you came by. You stepped up the three steps and saw the two heads at the table and felt the butterflies begin. You straightened your back and held your head high and walked over. As you slid into the opposite side, you could feel Chris’ smugness. You ignored it.

  “This is new, you following directions. I like it,” Chris teased.

  You looked to him and then across to Henry. They looked good. Henry’s hair was coifed to perfection leaving a few of his natural curls free the way you liked, and he was clean shaven. He looked like he’d put in effort. You looked over to Chris and took in his perfectly groomed goatee and brushed back locks and fought back the urge to suck your bottom lip into your mouth.

  “I’m just hungry,” you retorted as you looked away from them. You heard both of them chuckle and fought back a smile.

  “Welcome back, guys. What’ll it be tonight?”

   You looked up into the face of the waiter and smiled warmly. You then looked at Henry and Chris.

   “Do you two know what you want?”

   Chris licked his lips, and Henry briefly bit his before they answered in unison overlapping each other.

  “I know just what I want.”

   “Oh yeah, I know.”

   You looked between them. Something in their words and voice brought a chill up your spine, a good chill.

   “I’d like the shrimp shumai, edamame, the vegetable gyoza, Miso soup, and the Lobster, Shrimp, Scallops and Filet Mignon Hibachi, instead of the rice another serving of noodles please,” you requested without looking at the menu.

   “So, your usual then?”

 You looked to Henry and narrowed your eyes at his teasing. He pinched his lips and looked up and around as if he’d heard something.

   “The usual for the two of you as well?”

   Henry and Chris nodded.

   “Also, a lot of sake please, keep the sake coming,” Henry added.

   “Sure thing guys. We’ll begin in a little while,” your waiter said before she walked off.

   “Busy week?” You asked, tackling the awkward silence head-on.

  “It actually was, I read for a few parts and did some voice-overs,” Henry explained.

   “And you?”

   You looked to Chris, waiting for his explanation.

   “When is my week never busy? The life of the Captain is never quiet.”

   You snorted.

   “God, give it a rest already,” Henry said.

   You laughed and covered your mouth and tried to hide your amusement.

   “What about your week?”

   “Yep, busy, busy, busy, work, work, work.”

   They nodded and then silence befell the table again. This was pathetic you thought to yourself. Things between you were never awkward; there was never silence between you, one or all three of you couldn’t shut up. Thankfully your table cook arrived wheeling his cooking surface over. You straightened your back and smiled a greeting. He prepped the ingredients, and you watched not ballsy enough to look Chris and Henry’s way.

   When the chef began his cooking show you paid attention; this was after all one of your favorite things about this place. You giggled at the chef’s silly antics and acrobats with utensils and ingredients. When he tossed a piece of food around you caught yours easily in your mouth and watched Henry and Chris do the same. Halfway through the show, you looked to them. The warm glow of the fire gave them an even more attractive look. The red in Chris’ beard and hair was more evident, and he looked gorgeous.

   The glow of the fire intensified Henry’s eyes so much his pupils weren’t even visible, all you saw was blue. You loved his eyes. You bit your bottom lip and looked over the two beautiful male specimens across from you fully appreciating what other women had seen all this time. You nearly kicked yourself when you thought this was new for you when they’d been gawked at and thought of this way their whole lives. Henry glanced over to you and held your stare. He licked his lips, and your eyes dropped to his kissable lips. You wondered what they tasted like, were they naturally sweet, or did they taste like the woods smelled, musky, masculine, and fragrant.

   Feeling his gaze, you looked to Chris, who was already staring at you. The air in the room became thin, and you found yourself struggling to catch a breath. The pounding of your heart in your ears drowned out any other sound, and you felt your temperature rise. You looked to his hair, and the urge to sink your fingers in it was overwhelming. He always looked put together; you desperately wanted to see him unkempt. You clenched your thighs together, needing pressure on your lady parts. You were already wet. You looked away and cleared your throat just in time to see the end of the chef’s show. You clapped and smiled, Chris and Henry soon joined in.

   With your plates full and your food on the table, you dug in. The deliciousness of the meal was enough to distract you from everything you felt and wanted. The only thing on your mind was the food; you didn’t even bother looking at Chris or Henry. When they began the small talk, you took part in it because a silent meal was more awkward than anything else in the world. They talked about trivial things in the industry and their plans for a vacation when things calmed down in their careers.

   Soon the three of you were bantering and laughing like normal, and you were grateful for it. It showed you that maybe you hadn’t ruined your friendship.

Several hours and several tokkuri of sake, the three of you sat at the table enjoying your desserts. You put another spoon of your Mochi in your mouth and licked around the spoon absentmindedly. When you looked up, both Henry and Chris watched you. You put the spoon down and took a deep breath.

   “We weren’t ignoring or avoiding you Y/N,” Henry began.

   You looked at him and contemplated his words.

   “Uh-huh. So what exactly were you doing then?”

   “Thinking,” Chris responded.

   You nodded and took another spoon full of your dessert.

   “Mmm. You needed a whole week to think. Okay.”

   Your passive aggressive words and demeanor spoke for itself.

   “Did you expect a rushed answer? I’m sure any other man would have leaped at what you asked--,”

   “I didn’t ask you for anything actually,” you interrupted.

   They both watched you. Henry nodded.

  “You’re right; you didn’t ask for anything. Maybe that’s where we should start. What do you want Y/N?”

   Silence. You knew Henry would be the one to cut to the chase. He’d always been like this. You licked your lips slowly and sucked your bottom lip and held their gazes. You thought if you wanted to play this game but looking at them you knew they wanted to play it.

   “I want you—both of you,” you answered, looking back and forth between them.

   “The question is, are you done thinking? Do you want me too?”

   It took them a few minutes before either of them spoke.

   “Yes,” Henry answered.

   Your heart pounded faster. You looked at Chris.

   “Yes.”

  The butterflies in your stomach began again. You should have been excited and happy with the admission, but you felt nervous.

   “We need ground rules,” Chris the practical one said.

   “Of course, you need rules,” you teased and rolled your head back. Sighing, you sat back up and looked at him.

 “Okay, what are they?”

   “You can change your mind at any time.”

   “I won’t. What else?”

   “This can’t ruin our friendship—at all,” Henry added.

   You nodded wholeheartedly agreeing to that point.

   “Any time you’re uncomfortable you say something,” Chris added.

   “One time unless it’s agreed upon,” Henry blurted out.

   You and Chris looked at him, and he looked between the two of you.

   “I just want it out there we’re not expecting more than you want to give,” Henry explained. You smirked and nodded.

   “Anything you want to add?”

   “Nope.”

   “Nothing?”

  “Nothing. This is simple for me. You two seem to be the ones who are more hung up about it,” you quipped finishing the last of the sake. You’d lost track how many you’d had.

   “Okay,” Chris said.

   “My place, yours, yours?” you asked.

   “Whichever makes you more comfortable. Tomorrow night?”

   You looked at them again and tried to quell any disappointment rising. Yes, you thought tonight would be the night, but you’d have to wait yet another day. You thought more about it and tried to look on the bright side; you’d be able to prepare properly. You’d waited months for this and actually wanted it to be the best it could be—that you knew it could be. You bit your bottom lip again and nodded.

   “Tomorrow night, my place,” you finished.

   Both of them nodded. You noticed they both tried to look as calm as possible, but they were failing miserably. You smiled and cleared your throat.

   “I’m exhausted now. What do you say we get outta here? Give you two some more time to chicken out.”

   You teased and gathered your things before you slid out the booth.  You walked ahead of them to the exit and felt them behind you. As you stepped out into the night air, you straightened your back and walked to your car. You stopped at your door and looked back to them knowing they’d followed you to ensure you got there safe. Your perfect gentlemen. You smiled.

   “All right, good night.”

   You got into your car and started the engine. Before you rolled off, Henry tapped on the window. You revved it down and smiled.

   “What time is good for you?”

   You stared into his captivating eyes and felt a deep want for him. You leaned closer and caught the scent of his cologne. He smelled like the one you bought him a few months ago. You licked your lips pressed your thighs together again.

   “Sunset, I’ve always loved to look at you in the sunset. I wonder how you’ll look naked in it.”

   Henry’s pupils dilated, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped. You looked to Chris who was close enough to have heard what you said. He looked as if he also felt how you felt. Hot and bothered.

   You backed out the parking lot and made your way home making a mental list of everything to do tomorrow.

Part 2 to be posted soon.

TagList:

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#Captain America Vs Superman One Shot #chris evans fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #Chris Evans #henry cavill #angst fic

[meadweos]

Hello! I’m Ellie, this is Dorcas and I hope you enjoy this trainwreck of a soft as all hell introduction to my babe. I’m super excited to be writing here okay byeeeeeeeee.

is that LILY JAMES wearing that HUFFLEPUFF scarf ? no, it appears to be DORCAS MEADOWES who happens to be a SEVENTH year and a MUGGLEBORN !! SHE is CISFEMALE, and i heard they’re COMPASSIONATE and BENEVOLENT but might also seem NAIVE and DAMAGED. they appear to be leaning towards the side of the ORDER, but this is a conversation we should be having somewhere else. ( ellie / nineteen / gmt / she/her )

TRIGGER WARNINGS : death, injury, hospital mention, dogs.

PART ONE. BASICS / MAGICAL FULL NAME & MEANINGS  : Dorcas ( GAZELLE ) Andromache ( MAN / BATTLE ) Meadowes ( LIVED IN OR NEAR A MEADOW. ) DATE OF BIRTH : November 16th. AGE : 17. ZODIAC SIGN : Scorpio. HEIGHT : 5 ft 7 in. EYE COLOR : Dark brown. LEFT OR RIGHT HANDED : Ambidextrous.  FAVORITE COLOR : Light blue / black. SCHOOL : Hogwarts. BLOOD STATUS : Muggleborn. WHAT ARE THEIR PARENTS JOBS? : Her mother was a stay-at-home tutor, and her father was a doctor. ( Her aunt is a therapist. Her uncle is a lawyer. ) DO THEY HAVE ANY MAGICAL BLOOD? : Not in her immediate family. Her fifth, twice removed, much, much older cousin is a wizard (of Emeric Switch fame! Imagine that!) HOW DID THEIR MAGIC FIRST MANIFEST ITSELF? : She wanted to talk to the dogs at the local pet store, and accidentally ‘phased’ through the door. She was found half an hour later just stroking a pitbull puppy which had latched itself onto her. YEAR : Seventh year. HOUSE : Hufflepuff. PATRONUS : Panda. ( THE PANDA IS A RESOURCEFUL ANIMAL, AND THOSE WITH IT AS A PATRONUS ARE THE SAME. THEY ARE GOOD AT USING WHATEVER IS AROUND THEM, AND INCREDIBLY CREATIVE AND BRIGHT. THEY ARE FRIENDLY AND WARM, AND MANY MAY GO TO THEM FOR ADVICE OR HELP, WHICH THE PANDA WILL WILLINGLY GIVE. THEY ARE A BIT OF A HEALER BY NATURE, ENJOYING COMPANY AROUND THEM AND USING IT TO ENHANCE THEMSELVES. THEY LOVE TO EXPLORE MANY AREAS OF KNOWLEDGE AND THE WORLD, TRYING TO BROADEN THEIR HORIZONS AND KEEP THEIR MINDS OPEN. ) BOGGART : Her father, sat in the same armchair he’d always loved. His head turned towards her as he tells her it was all her fault, and the room shrinks. UPDATED: Earlier, and for very good reason, I wrote a drabble centered around what her Boggart would be for a different roleplay. It’s different than what it is now, but I’m nevertheless extremely proud of it. You can read it here. AMORTENTIA : What is it about true love, dearest? What makes everyone go wild? Is it the prospect that someone, someone whole, and unflinching, is out there - waiting for you? Waiting for your embrace, your touch? Or is it just that they are tired - tired of making homes in people and receiving nothing back? You, though. You make homes in all manner of things. And, anyway, who decided homes can’t be humans? Who decided home is a stationary concept? That your heart can’t be held in the hands of many people, that it cannot be crushed and sewn back together in a matter of minutes? Who decided that love, that great big messy concept, has to be romantic? You are as messy in love as you are in life - that is to say, you build pieces of yourself from the people around you, from the pieces of themselves they give you. The skin beneath your ear? Composed of the whispers of secrets from your first boyfriend. Your nose? Your mother’s love. The inside of your wrist? The balm of Emmeline’s arms around your body, shielding you the only way she can.  No. It isn’t so impossible that love is greater than the romance. That love is so many more things. The Greeks of old always said there were many kinds of love. Eros. Agape. Philia. Storge. Ludos. Pragma. Philautia. It is these things that you, alone, recite in that dungeon. The cold seems to envelop you as you take in a breath, the tendrils of your senses magnifying. It can be overwhelming, you know, but you are not as surprised as you expect to be. Warmth, sinking between your fingertips, laps at your cheek, at your lips as you breathe out. It sticks to you, to your tongue. Like caramel and peanut butter, the batter of the cookies your aunt always makes, the s’mores that you made around the campfire just last week. Her hair, or is it her perfume (?) wafting in your direction - regardless, you stay rooted to your place. Daisies, growing wild, the way they had at home, in your back garden. The smell of old brick and something crumbling - that weird Dragonleather smell that stays in the air whenever Hagrid passes, the smell of bursting fireworks (that time that the Marauders hadn’t realized there was anyone still down the corridor) and butterbeer, warming. Your dogs breath, laughter bubbling up as you remark on the smell of toothpaste, on peppermint and mossy treebark.  You’re not surprised to smell all the things that make this place home - you’re not surprised to smell that it’s not made up of just one person - just one thing, fixable - but many. Moving parts that flare up and slide away into the background of your senses. WAND : Phoenix tail feather core. 9 inches. Black Walnut. PETS : Owl, named Athena. Also owns a pitbull, the light of her life, Agape ( LOVE AND AFFECTION ) or Aggie, for short. CHARACTER INSPIRATION : Cinderella, Sonya Rostova, Izzie Stevens, Craig Middlebrooks, Ann Perkins, Ella Lopez, Jess Day, Riley Matthews, Penelope Garcia, Kara Danvers, Capheus Onyango, and Jane Villanueva. ( CHARACTER TAG HERE. )

PART TWO. ARE YOU GOOD AT… DANCING? : I certainly try.  SINGING? : Yes! COOKING? : Somewhat. DUELING? : Never been better. STUDYING? : If my grades are anything to go by, yes. MAGIC? : Uh, I’d hope so.

PART THREE. HAVE YOU EVER… DRIVEN A CAR? : Yes. Not well, though. FALLEN IN LOVE? : … Yes. HAD SEX? : Yes. LAUGHED SO HARD YOU CRIED? : I don’t know anyone who enjoys their life who hasn’t. SMOKED? : ... No. DONE DRUGS? : Nope. BROKEN THE LAW? : Accidentally. KILLED SOMEONE? : No.

PART FOUR. LITTLE SECRETS BIGGEST FEAR : Losing everyone. And everything. SOMEONE YOU ADMIRE : Emme, McGonagall. SOMEONE YOU FEAR : I don’t really know. Dumbledore, when he’s mad. Whatever that ponce of a miserable Muggle hater is called. SOMEONE YOU MISS : Grandpa. Terry. My brother. Mum. Dad. SOMEONE YOU COULDN’T LIVE WITHOUT : Emme. Myself, too. SOMEONE YOU COULD KILL : Anyone who hates muggles. DO YOU WANT KIDS? : Maybe someday. DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED? : To the right person? Yeah. BIGGEST REGRET : Not sleeping in the same room as my brother that night. ( I could have saved him. I should have saved him. ) CAN YOU SEE THESTRALS? : Yes.

PART FIVE. FINISH THIS SENTENCE I AM… : Sleepy. Wishing Emmeline was here. I WISH… : Ice-cream could become a person. MAYBE ONE DAY… : I won’t feel this guilt anymore. SOMETIMES I… : Fall in love in the morning, and out of it by lunch. MY FAVOURITE SUBJECTS ARE… : Herbology. MY LEAST FAVOURITE SUBJECTS ARE… : History of Magic, Divination. IF I COULD DO IT AGAIN, I WOULD… : Save my brother. IF I COULD GO TO A DIFFERENT SCHOOL, I WOULD CHOOSE… : Beauxbatons, not Ilvermorny. IF I COULD CHOOSE A DEATHLY HALLOW, I WOULD CHOOSE… : The Stone. ( Say it like it isn’t a mantra, Dorcas. As though it isn’t something that’s poisoned your dreams since discovering those stories may be based in reality. )

PART SIX. MISCELLANEOUS

DESCRIBE THEIR AESTHETIC IN THREE WORDS : Sea, daisies, laughter. THEME SONG : Lavender’s Blue ( CINDERELLA SOUNDTRACK - 2015. ) / Sonya Alone ( BRITTAIN ASHFORD - NATASHA, PIERRE & THE GREAT COMET OF 1812 - ORIGINAL BROADWAY CAST RECORDING. ) / Times are Hard for Dreamers (Pop Version) ( PIPPA SOO - AMELIE - ORIGINAL BROADWAY CAST RECORDING. ) TOP FIVE SONGS IN THEIR ( MODERN ) PLAYLIST : You Are Enough - Sleeping at Last, Yellow - Coldplay, When I Kissed the Teacher - ABBA, Breathe - In The Heights, & Paradise - George Ezra. VINE THAT FITS THEM : ( x ) RANDOM HEADCANONS : 1. Dorcas loves deeply. Deeply, deeply, deeply. It’s intrinsic to who she is. She’s protective, maddeningly so, and unable to sit still. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and is a nightmare when it comes to pacing herself. She knows not of patience, or of taking time to breathe. She consists solely of love - a palace built between her ribs of the people that she loves. In this, she is a typical Taurus Hufflepuff. ( x ) 2. Dorcas lost her parents at a very young age. She doesn’t often speak of it - speak about them, about the parents that she lost and the brother that she was unable to save. They were killed in a home burglary turned murder spree when she was six. They’d been meant to go on holiday, but Dorcas had come down with the stomach flu, so they’d foregone the vacation when it spread to Dorcas’s younger sister, Calliope. The only reason that Dorcas survived was that she managed to climb beneath her bed with her younger sister Calliope facing the wall, only her back visible from the opening created by the duvet. She gets stabbed three times, one of those stab wounds narrowly avoiding piercing her spleen and the major abdominal arteries. She still has the scars on her lower back. Callie was uninjured, and she was the one who managed to get to the neighbors house (by climbing out of the window from the second floor and dropping at least eleven feet). Dorcas remembers, mostly, finding out her parents and brother were murdered. The rest of it often feels incredibly foggy. She went through therapy for a number of years before she was discharged from the North West Surrey Mental Health Trust. The nightmares, today, are infrequent, but some nights are worse than others. She often takes a calming draught before she goes to sleep - provided by Madame Pomfrey at the Hospital Wing.  3. Dorcas’s best friend in the universe is Emmeline Vance. They aren’t in the same house, but that doesn’t matter. They met at eleven, on the train to Hogwarts. Dorcas, with brown hair down to her hip, and Emmeline’s hair newly cut into a bob ( her parents had gone wild at her for that one, ) and that was it. The rest, as they say, is History. If you can’t find Dorcas, she’s usually with Emmeline. 60% of her spare time is spent wherever Emmeline is. They’re one another’s great loves. She doesn’t know what she’d be without Emme.  4. Dorcas wants to be a Herbologist or a Healer when she graduates. She’s not sure how likely that plan is to succeed with everything going on - how far she’ll get before she abandons it all to help the people that she wants to help, desperately. As it stands, 40% of her spare time is spent either in the Potions classroom or the Herbology classroom - Potions is a required course for becoming a Healer.  5. If this were a modern AU, Dorcas’d totally be a theater kid. She’d also be that kid that is always making scrapbooks - always half finishing projects, the one that has too many cacti and exotic plants in the corner of her room. She’d keep her phone on her, always, lockscreen always changing. She’d love bands like Little Mix and butcher the Spanish when she tried to sing songs like Despacito.  6. FUTURE: Dorcas manages to live through the Wizarding War ( well, mostly ) without casting the Killing Curse. She’s fast, she’s quick, and she doesn’t stand still. She’s often the one coming careening past the others, ducking beneath their outstretched arms as light - green, red, blue, yellow - is cast against the ground. She Apparates in and out, as though her being there is a mirage. People, injured, bystanders, disappear from where they’d been only seconds before, as soon as her hand secures around anywhere she can grip on. She works with trembling hands, to heal those that she can. Four separate times she manages to Apparate away from under Voldemort’s nose.  The first time is with her arm hooked under Fabian Prewett, his unconscious body bruised and the cut on his arm infected with what she suspects is a modified strain of the venom of the Venomous Tentacula. The second time is with a handful of wands - all belonging to fellow Order members. The third time is with Dedalus Diggle. He’s a handful, that time, splaying limbs, cracking as they twist around. They have a spell maker in their midst but Dorcas is the only one that can sooth the pain, to make it all more bearable while they try and fix it. The fourth time is with Emmeline. Emme’s far too headstrong for her own good, and knows how rare it is that Voldemort himself makes an appearance. Dorcas is the one that breaks Bellatrix’s focus - the Cruciatus curse trained on her best friend, on her Emmeline, flickers when Dorcas passes, a blur of black leather and hair tied up in a bun, bangs hanging low and the light long since dimmed in her eyes. When Emmeline comes to, the pain still ricochets through her bones, and Dorcas is powerless to help. It takes days for the aftershocks to fade. The faintest roar of rage is still heard in Dorcas’s brain. She’s just too slow, in the end, to save herself, although she doesn’t try. She’s not ready, but she is. She’s not happy, but she is. She knew there was only one way this could end. The one incapable of love striking down the one composed entirely of it is the only end that makes sense in a world at war - in a world in which war stories are not one of morals. War stories are made of absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil. It just takes her years to realize. Years to reconcile. Being soft does not make her immune to this. Being alive doesn’t. She is happy, but it is not a happy ending. No - it’s a very sad beginning.

#sac:intro #wc will be up somewhere soon #skdfnskjdf

[pinkletterday]

Read on AO3

Been thinking about mature Westallen.

Iris is flabby around the middle after her pregnancy and that mid-thirties thickness that settles in. She's completely run off her feet between work deadlines, ferrying the twins, juggling STAR Labs and PTA meetings with Barry, vet appointments and, oh yes, saving the world. Some days she wakes up already exhausted. Her husband's morning energy is more obnoxious than ever, although him taking over the breakfast and kid-dressing duties allows her to take her time getting up. She still doesn't want Barry to let her slack too much because he needs rest too, super-metabolism or not.

Sometimes they go weeks without more than a peck on the lips, rushing to and fro almost zombified, the children's shrieking white noise around them that they only register anymore when it goes silent. Getting them to bed and then getting them to stay there is a team effort. They'll beg for bedtime stories and make Daddy sing for them over and over or Iris read the same story over and over (she's tempted to burn Llama Llama Red Pyjama) before they finally go down. Iris and Barry do a silly (very quiet) little victory dance outside their room when they do, but they have only won the battle, not the war. Dawn somehow manages to sleepily pad downstairs and ask for milk with puppy eyes and Don is eternally seeing monsters in the dark and crawling into bed with them at three am.

Iris loves her children, she really does, but nowadays when she sees herself in the mirror, she doesn't recognize who that is. She always wears sweats at home now, none of her lingerie fit and she hasn't bought anything new in ages. She doesn't feel sexy or even like a complete person sometimes, just a pair of hands to cook and clean and wash and write and direct; life a series of hurdle and hoops, some of them on fire. For a couple one half speedster, there is never enough time for anything. She loves Barry, she really does, but she can barely feel his presence anymore even when he's standing next to her. She wants to be touched and made love to and drown in his eyes the way they used to. But she also doesn't want anyone to touch her until she gathers every single piece she gets to keep for herself and feels her own shape again.

No one told her that being happy would take work. She sort of thought it'd just happen on its own. She married her best friend, the man who is everything she wants, had his babies, has remarkably few financial struggles, a beautiful home, a successful career and leads a superhero team that regularly saves the world. If anyone should be happy and fulfilled, its her.

She kind of wishes she didn't have quite so many things to be happy about. It's an awful thought that that makes her feel crushingly guilty, but there it is. It's all just...so tiring.

One day she has to throw out her favourite pair of pants in the Goodwill box. She's kept them for two years, certain she will be able to drop those last stubborn few pounds and squeeze back into them, but it's time to face facts now.

It feels like giving up. Tears clog the back of her throat which makes her even more irritated because she hates self-pity and its just a stupid pair of pants, Jesus. But she can't help looking sadly at her young and svelte self in her wedding picture. Barry seems like he hasn't aged a day since, thanks to his speedster regeneration. Iris is suddenly struck by the mortal fear that he will remain ever-youthful and virile while she fades into decrepit old age by his side.

Barry finds her crying on their bed, surrounded by a closetful of haphazardly strewn clothes.

"Baby, what's wrong?" he kneels at her feet to search her face, alarmed. Iris so rarely cries. "Are you hurt?"

She makes to sniffle the tears back and wave him off but what bursts out of her is - "I'm fat!"

"Huh?"

It all comes rushing out. "I'm fat, I'm beginning a double chin. I'm a slob, I'm sick of perming my hair, sick of wearing t-shirts with pepperoni stains on them, sick of nothing fitting me anymore! I'm just gonna get fatter and uglier and tireder and you're gonna stay looking stupidly handsome and I really really hate Llama Llama Red Pyjama!!"

There is a bewildered silence.

They look at each other and begin to laugh. She can't stop. There is an edge of hysteria to her giggling.

"Um. Okay," says Barry finally. "First of all, you're not fat."

She looks pointedly at their wedding picture on her lap. "I sure as hell don't look like that anymore."

"No, you don't," he agrees and a despondent hurt stabs her in the chest. "You're much more beautiful."

"That's sweet," she says with a half-hearted smile.

"I'm telling you the truth. Iris," he turns her to look at him, cradling her cheek. Those lovely blue eyes are so earnest. "When I met you in third grade, I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. That never changed. On our wedding day," he draws his thumb over her younger, beaming face, "I wanted to die when I saw you. I thought, okay. This is it, there's no way you could be any more beautiful than this. But you keep proving me wrong."

There is that look that always makes her insides gooshy. God, she's missed it. "I forgot what a charmer you are, Barry Allen."

"It isn't charm," he snakes his hands deliberately under her t-shirt and husks against her ear, "I don't think you understand how much I love this body."

She melts under the possessive hands roaming under her clothes. "You do?"

"This made my children," his hands draw along the curve of her hips and soft rolls of flab at her stomach, "these fed them," one hand kneads her breast, pleasure pooling in her belly. "I felt it change in my arms, under my hands, my mouth," he flicks his tongue against her ear and oh, that is not playing fair at all. "I’ve tasted it. I know every inch of it. Held it against me every night. I've been inside it," his fingers slide under the band of her pants, "I'm the only one who gets to see it naked. I can never get enough of it. You drive me wild, Iris. You always have."

"Barry...," her breath catches as he lays her down on the bed.

He leans over her and all the world is the blue of his eyes, dark with lust and soft with love. "You're still the most beautiful woman in the world, Iris West."

She drowns in his kiss as he presses her down, drawing his hardness flush against the heat between her legs -

"Mooom! Donny won't give back my tablet!"

"It's mine! Daddy said you had to wait your turn!"

"It is my turn!"

"Daaaad!"

Mood officially killed dead.

"Soo. Rain check?," mumbles Iris wryly into Barry's shoulder.

He sighs into her neck. "Tonight. I'm gonna ravish you," he promises, kissing her hard and quick. Then considers. "Right after we burn Llama Llama Red Pyjama."

"My hero," says Iris solemnly.

Late that night, they lie in bed finally sated. Iris traces the planes of Barry's face as he sleeps. She suddenly realizes that he no more resembles the man in their wedding picture than she does. The Speed Force keeps him looking young, but it's overlaid by an undefinable maturity. His shoulders and chest are broader, his arms bigger, his face more filled out. There is the gravitas of a father and superhero in his jawline, the burden of years has pulled a permanent furrow in his brow, weariness and patience lurk around his eyes and the lines of his mouth.

Maybe she's only seeing them because she knows they exist inside him, or maybe the shift in her perception has revealed what she has missed all this time. Either way, the years are as much stamped on him as they are on her.

They're growing older together. It's all Iris has ever wanted.

#myfic #fanfic #the flash #westallen #barry allen x iris west #future fic #plotz #headcanons