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pantoneyoongi · 10 months

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the sun & the stars | 03 | kth

title ; the sun & the stars pairing ; taehyung x you

word count ; 5.6k

description ;

taehyung’s known you almost his whole life - his sister’s best friend, the girl who invades his home and his life on the daily. you’re the one who gave his sister the nickname ‘sky’ to begin with - and also the one who relented when he whined about it at age five and said okay, you can be the stars, then.

it’s funny, because to him, you’re just the petty, mischievous neighbor from across the street with a penchant for stealing his snacks. but over the years, you’ve somehow landed yourself a reputation that stretches beyond the 1.5 year age gap he has with you - for someone who generally likes to keep things low key, you sure have a way of drawing attention.

sky’s friendly, teasing best friend is known for being cold, impassive, and immovable. which is weird, because when he’s around you, all he sees are unabashed grins and terrible jokes. until he realizes maybe he doesn’t know you like he thought he did. maybe they’re right - it just so happens that the walls you throw up around him look a little different from the walls you throw up around everyone else.

tracklist ; willow - taylor swift, give me your forever - zack tabudlo ft. billkin, limbo - keshi

tags ; college!au, best friend’s little brother!au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, fluff, mentions of absent parents and financial instability, bestie jinyoung!, brief mentions of infidelity, there is tiny tiger!tae support in this but let it be known i am team bear ok

you’re not sleeping well.

you hate to admit it, but it’s true. you’d think after working yourself into the goddamn ground you would knock out as soon as you hit the bed, but no. your brain has other plans for you, including ensuring you get no rest even when you do fall asleep. the nightmares don’t even make any sense, they just make you tired by the time your alarm goes off in the morning.

you know your friends worry about you. they always do. but you can usually keep them at bay, distracted by a grin and a well placed, overly chaotic story told entirely out of proportion to what actually happened. but you must sincerely be starting to look like shit, considering the number of times taehyung has both texted you and told you to your face that people need eight hours of sleep to function, sun.

yeah, yeah, yeah. hours, shmours. sleep is for the financially stable.

“jesus christ, y/n!” jinyoung smacks your hand away before you can burn yourself on the boiler. you haven’t been paying attention and you startle at his voice. “are you kidding me?”

jinyoung’s worry usually comes out as mild aggression. it starts off with sass and ends with frustration, so if he’s halfway to yelling at you, then you’ve already gone too far and will be inevitably subject to jinyoung’s line of questioning. for now, he just stares you down with a pinched expression, like you’ve annoyed him for being too obviously distracted.

“sorry,” you mutter, rubbing your forehead. you really don’t have much to say for yourself.

he gives you a long look before tossing you a towel. “we’re talking about this later. finish cleaning up, closing’s in twenty.”

you don’t argue. with a sigh, you lower your head and start to clean up, wiping down counters and restocking sauces. when you’re done, you find jinyoung leaning against the wall outside the back door, waiting for you.

in a lot of ways, jinyoung’s a lot like you. not just in the live-to-work, work-to-live sort of way. he’s resilient, from years of having to fend for himself. reclusive, from learning to put his own wants on the backburner just so he can survive. like you, jinyoung puts everyone around him first, and himself last.

while your childhood friends know that you work probably one job too many, you don’t tell them much about what that really means for you. you don’t tell them about the empty house you went home to as a kid, or the way it feels to look out into a crowd during school events and know your parents won’t be there. you don’t tell them the stress that weighs on you when it comes to managing your finances, how nothing ever feels like it’ll be enough. that the degree you’re studying isn’t because you enjoy it, but because you need it. you need the security it’ll offer you once you have the diploma in your hands.

sky, taehyung, and jimin’s lives feel so pretty. they glitter, like something out of a movie. you don’t want to disturb the waters. you like the way the light reflects off them. if they know how deep you’re drowning, the glass will shatter, and you think maybe you will, too.

jinyoung’s different. like you, jinyoung doesn’t live in a romantic movie montage. he’s as cynical as you pretend not to be, but while you live your life in constant states of escapism, jinyoung faces reality head-on. for him, it is what it is. and because he’s a good friend, he forces you to face it too.

“i heard a rumor,” jinyoung interrupts the silence the two of you have been walking in. you stiffen. jinyoung presses forward. “sounds like namjoon and sky have been getting close these days.”

jinyoung is one of few people you’ve ever let your guard down around. he knows about your parents, he knows about seokjin, he knows almost everything, and vice versa. it’s easy to rely on each other when the foundation feels like common ground.

you shrug. “that doesn’t have anything to do with me, jinyoung. i’m her friend, not her keeper.”

“sure,” jinyoung says agreeably. “but you haven’t said anything about it yet, which means sky didn’t tell you, did she?”

you really hate that jinyoung knows you so well.

you purse your lips. “she has every right not to.”

jinyoung pauses, making you stop beside him. you make the mistake of looking at him, when he says, “you know seokjin wasn’t your fault, right?”

of course you know. you know, but also, you very much don’t. every logical part of you agrees that seokjin wasn’t your fault, but the guilt caving in on you says otherwise.

sky didn’t tell you about namjoon. she didn’t tell you, and you get why. it stings a little - it stings a lot - but you understand. you’d want to keep namjoon a secret from yourself too, if you were sky.

all things considered, you think you got the better end of the seokjin shitshow. which is kind of a pathetic sentence, but it’s also the truth. if two best friends were going to fall for the same dirtbag anyway, you’d argue that the one who got to hold his hand and call him her boyfriend for at least a short stint probably got the lesser of two evils. especially if the other option was having your feelings played perfectly like a puppet on strings.

seokjin was unfair. unfair to you, but truly, devastatingly unfair to sky. you know he left her with insecurities and you resent that you played a part in it. you hate that he made her feel like she was less than you, somehow. as if sky isn’t the best part of you.

he made her feel special, just not special enough. he made her feel seen, just not worth being seen with. and he made her feel like the worst kind of friend, for helplessly falling for someone that belonged to somebody else.

you have no interest in namjoon. it’s not about that. but because of seokjin, some part of sky is still hiding, still scared that she’s not interesting enough. that she’s not worth holding onto, that no one will choose her.

that they’ll always choose you instead.

you don’t consider yourself all that special. you’re not nearly as interesting as the rumors make you out to be. and you would never interfere in sky’s relationship, not if he’s good to her. but there’s a reason sky chose not to tell you, and you feel like you can only blame yourself.

“she’ll tell you,” jinyoung’s gentle, for once. can see the way you’re shaking, scared of losing your best friend because you played a part in making her feel like she wasn’t enough. “hey. she will, sun. on her own time. she’ll tell you everything.”

you try to smile back. you do. but you really don’t want to fuck this up. sky likes namjoon, and you’re terrified of getting in the way again.

worse, something more selfish tries to push through the cracks. something that looks a lot like the empty house you used to return to, with all the lights off, and no one to greet you.

whoever invents teleportation can have your firstborn child. trudging around campus in this weather is starting to get real old, real fast.

you’re tired. tired enough that your head hangs a little as you walk, dragging your feet down the sidewalk. you should’ve stayed home, skipped lecture. but this professor takes attendance, so you unfortunately don’t have much of a choice.

you come abruptly to a stop when someone steps in front of you, halting yourself just in time before you can bump into them. you’re about to mouth off at whoever walked directly into your path, but the glare on your face melts right off as soon as you see taehyung’s familiar face before you.

“oh,” your shoulders lower back down. “tae.”

he stares at you, long enough that you start to fidget a little under his gaze. taehyung’s always been on the quieter side, preferring to sit on the sidelines and watch rather than be in the midst of it all. so you’ve always filled the space, but the longer he stares at you, the less you seem to know what to say.

he can tell you’re hesitating. struggling to find something to say to him, looking uncomfortable in your own skin. like you feel bad about something. his gaze softens, and he unwinds his scarf from around his neck, which prompts you back into action.

“what are you doing?” you ask, taken aback when he wraps the scarf around you instead, fluffing it up so it covers your ears, too. “taehyung?” your voice gets muffled from behind his scarf, and he smiles at that while you blink back at him.

“keeping you warm,” he says simply, and he can’t see your mouth behind the scarf, but he knows you’re frowning, can tell by the crease you get in your forehead.

“what about you?”

he shrugs. “heat rises up.”

immediately, the tension breaks. you straighten up at his nonsensical answer, “you calling me short?”

he smirks, and you forget anything that just came out of your mouth. what? what were you yelling at him about? when he bends down to meet your height, you also forget how to breathe.

“am i wrong?”

he’s so close that you lose all functioning thought. which is odd, because this is taehyung. but your heart is pounding in your chest and you swallow hard, but you refuse to back down, even when you can feel your cheeks heat up from the way he’s looking at you.

taehyung doesn’t get like this often. but sometimes he’s cheeky, invades your personal space, reciprocates your affection for him with more than just acknowledging grunts and soft smiles. you might be fine laying your head in his lap, but taehyung usually keeps his hands to himself. on the rare occasions that he doesn’t, you entirely forget how to act.

sometimes, you forget that taehyung is twenty, and not three anymore.

a grin escapes him when you have nothing to retort, rendered silent by the quick pace of your heart. he likes that your cheeks are pink and you still look a little defensive but you’re too flustered to say anything.

he rises back to height, patting you on the head. “you looked cold. keep the scarf, sun. i’ll see you later.”

he wanders off like nothing’s happened, while you try to re-regulate your heart rate. you try to convince yourself that you like the typical taehyung more, the one you can bounce around and annoy and he’ll just stand there, fondly exasperated.

but the occasional confidence that emerges out of taehyung is the only one that makes your heart stumble in your chest, inexplicably. it’s the taehyung that you’re scared of, but can’t help wanting more of.

head buzzing with thoughts that never quite take full form in your head, you make your way to class, dazed.

a faint smile lingers on your face the whole way.

jinyoung is a good friend. a good guy, in general, which you typically find far and few between. he’s loyal, he’s honest, and he’s genuine.

“you should just talk to her.”

he’s also really annoying.

“i do talk to her.” you move to the next table, setting down the plates and napkins. jinyoung trails after you, setting down utensils.

“your group chat doesn’t count, sun.”

you fix him with an unamused look. “i’m just busy. finals are coming up.”

“and yet somehow, you can still find time to eat with her little brother. how interesting,” jinyoung deadpans, and the nerves run up your spine so fast you don’t have time to hide the flush that goes up your neck to the tip of your ears.

“that’s different. he’s just a kid,” you argue, and decidedly don’t look at jinyoung, who you’re sure is giving you the don’t bullshit me look. taehyung is just a kid. he’s sky’s kid. kid brother. who is twenty years old.

exactly. a kid.

a kid with a really warm scarf that smells nice. like him. like home.

jinyoung sighs, waving you off. “you know what? we’ll unpack that later. one thing at a time.”

you try not to feel too relieved that he’s dropping it. feeling relieved means there is something there to think about, and you’d rather literally anything else.

jinyoung stops you at the next table, dropping his handful of utensils onto its surface. “i’m serious, sun. you know sky. she’s not gonna approach you first, and she’s probably feeling just as bad as you do. do you really wanna drag this out?”

you chew on your lip. he raises his eyebrows. “sun,” he looks at you pointedly. “exactly how well did that go over for the both of you, last time?”

(spoiler: poorly. it went very poorly.)

you slowly narrow your eyes at him. you hand him the plates you’re carrying, and he takes them silently, still waiting for your answer.

then you throw your hands in the air, stomping your feet away and throwing your head back, grumbling loudly, “fine! i’ll talk to her! i’ll communicate, like the grown adult you keep telling me i have to be!”

he smiles.

jinyoung is so annoying.

you resent jinyoung for having perfectly sound logic. you hate confrontation.

does it still count as confrontation if you and sky are just laying on the floor, side by side, staring at the ceiling saying nothing?

for hardwood, your floor is surprisingly comfortable to lay on. both you and sky have pillows tucked under your heads, feet propped up against your bed. you’re both lost deep in your own thoughts, neither of you having said a word since sky got here.

you wonder which of you will cave first. usually, it’s you. but you feel tongue tied, and no order of words that you rearrange in your head sound right when you think about asking her about namjoon. they all feel accusatory, even when they’re not meant to be.

but then, as if hearing your thoughts, sky breaks the silence.

“he’s a good guy, sun.”

you try not to visibly react. “namjoon?”

“namjoon,” she confirms. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you about him.”

this makes you turn your head towards her. she’s still looking up at the ceiling, lower lip drawn into her mouth. she looks nervous, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

“you’re not obligated to tell me everything, sky.”

“i know,” she says, finally turning to look at you. “but i do. i tell you everything. but it… it felt good for a little bit. that he was my secret.”

you stare back at her, trying to understand her. sky’s your every exception. everyone knows it. she’s your best friend. you would give up the world for her, let her get away with anything and everything. because no one’s been there for you like sky has. no one lets you escape the world the way she does, lets you slip into her life and offer everything she has out to you.

you met sky when you were five. five’s too young an age for your parents not to be home, but that was simply your reality. it was scary to be home alone, but you got used to it eventually. it’s less scary to come home to an empty house if you know you can always walk over to sky’s.

you never explicitly told her that your parents weren’t ever really home. that they were too busy working, which meant you were often left at sky’s place with your house key slung around your neck. but sky could fit the pieces together eventually, or maybe her parents explained it to her. that sometimes some kids just live life a little differently. some houses don’t glow with the same lights.

you don’t know. you didn’t ask. it was just mutually understood between the two of you that you were never going to have dinner on the table with both your parents the way sky always did.

her home was always lit up. warm. there was always life in it, her mom bustling around the house, or her dad grilling something in the backyard. or there was taehyung, trailing after his sister, begging to be a part of your games and play-pretends.

sky’s never minded sharing. she shared her toys, her stories, her home, her family. with you. you could forget how lonely it was to say good night by yourself because in the mornings you went running over to sky’s. they say you would do anything for sky, but it’s really sky who would give anything for you. without question.

in high school, that meant hiding how she felt about seokjin because you were too enamored with him to notice. but you’re not in high school anymore. years have passed since seokjin happened, but even healed wounds can still leave scars.

you and sky are still best friends, but it’s still you who is the reason she has scars to begin with.

you turn away from her, facing back to the ceiling. “he seems nice, sky.”

she gives a wry smile. “you met him for two seconds.”

you make a noise that admittedly sounds uncannily like a wince. “he had good vibes.”

sky hums. “he does have good vibes.”

“and he’s very tall.”

“very tall.”

“could probably throw me.”

she laughs. “and me. at the same time.”

you both burst into laughter at that, sky turning her head back to you again. “i think i like him, sun.”

you glance at her, see the sincerity in her eyes when she says it. the mix of hope and excitement, the slightest touch of hesitance that comes with a crush, overwhelmed by the exhilaration. she likes him, a lot. it makes you smile. “yeah?”

she smiles back. “yeah.”

it’s not something you say out loud, but it is something that’s always been obvious to you: you owe sky everything. you could only get this close to a normal childhood because you had sky. the least you can do is protect her so she doesn’t get hurt.

the rumors say you’re overprotective, that you don’t let anyone near her, but it’s not true. you know sky lives her own life, that you can’t shield her from everything, but what you can do is keep the persistent, unwanted ones away. you can give your opinion on whether you think the people in sky’s life are genuinely there for her, or to abuse her kindness. but sky’s always made the final decision. whether she keeps someone around or gives you free reign to get creative in keeping someone out of her life, it’s her choice.

you know what it is you’re really afraid of. of course you want sky and namjoon to work out, to be happy. her entire demeanor shifts when she talks about him, when she so much as thinks of him. it speaks a lot to how safe he makes her feel, how kind he is to her.

what you’re afraid of anymore isn’t that namjoon will hurt her. what you’re afraid of honestly isn’t even that you’ll cause problems, because you would sooner remove yourself from sky’s life than ruin her happiness.

which is exactly the issue, isn’t it?

your mind thunders.

selfish, selfish, selfish.

your heart aches.

lonely, lonely, lonely.

with finals rolling in, your days somehow simultaneously get longer and shorter. you’re up later, you wake earlier, and there’s still not nearly enough hours in the day.

if the exhaustion was obvious before, you are now currently the definition of it. you feel like you almost constantly have a headache, and you’re so fucking tired you could probably fall asleep walking if you didn’t make enough of an effort to stay awake.

you haven’t seen any of your friends in days. not sky, not taehyung, not even jimin has popped in to check in in person, and he’s the most likely to actually leave his apartment. everyone is too busy drowning in their own educational misfortunes, though the group chat does ping every so often:

jimin: do u think i could make it as a stripper

tae: is that not ur current occupation

tae: do u know how many people have told me about seeing your ass

jimin: omg u think im pretty enough to be a stripper?

tae: campus does

you: don’t encourage him

jimin: it’s good money

you: when you develop the coordination to sit in a chair without falling over, lmk

sky: jimin you can be a stripper on the side. how good are you at biochemistry

jimin: are u srsly asking the business major how good i am at biochemistry

but for the most part, it’s silent. maybe distantly you can hear the aggrieved sound jimin makes whenever he opens a textbook, although it’s more likely it’s just the same sound that comes out of your mouth as you trudge out from your closing shift, wishing someone would just carry you home so at least you could take a nap on the trip back.

your wishes manifest in the shape of one kim taehyung, who has apparently developed the habit of quietly appearing in front of you, without any form of announcement. you’re too tired to care that he seems to be insistent on letting you walk straight into him instead of just informing you of his presence, mumbling a vague apology before you look up and realize that it’s him. “star?”

you don’t often use the old nickname, but sometimes it just slips out. you do think it suits him. taehyung isn’t really the type to be described as ‘bright’, but you’ve seen the way his eyes light up, and you’ve felt the warmth of his care. he shines in the dark, gentle and comforting.

you have his scarf wrapped around your neck, and he smiles at the sight. you never gave it back - using the excuse that you didn’t have time to, or that you forgot to bring it every time you saw him - but now that he’s in front of you, you just don’t want to. you like having it with you.

“hi y/n,” he says, voice a little deeper than usual. it is relatively late at night, and the later it gets, the lower taehyung’s voice seems to get, too. you’ve heard his voice gravely in the mornings, dropping octaves whenever he’s tired, and it startles you every time, especially when it’s your name coming out of his mouth.

“since when do you use my government name?” you scrunch your nose.

he raises an eyebrow. he looks amused. “am i not supposed to?”

you deflect, because you don’t actually have a good answer to that. it’s just weird that he didn’t call you sun, and you’re not entirely sure how you feel about the way your name sounds on his lips all of a sudden. “what are you doing here?”

he shrugs. “was just passing by.”

you forget the whole your-name-in-his-deep-voice thing. “passing by? here? at 11:30? taehyung, you literally only leave your apartment for class, the library, and if jimin threatens you.”

he makes a noncommittal noise. “i also leave for food.”

you wave him off. “whatever.”

“i can’t just be a good friend and come see you?”

“not in this weather,” you mutter, shoving your hands into your pockets. the deeper into finals seasons you get, the colder the wind picks up.

“you do it all the time for sky. i’m just picking up some good habits.”

you snort. “sky’s my best friend.”

“what am i?”

your steps pause. you look at him, and he stops with you, head tilted as he stares back at you. you don’t know what game taehyung’s playing at, but it makes your heart squeeze in your chest. taehyung’s always looked kinda harmless - unruly hair, innocent eyes, open expression. even if he doesn’t smile altogether that often, he doesn’t come off as particularly intimidating. although maybe that has more to do with the fact that you’ve known him your entire life and have witnessed taehyung in a tiger onesie before.

there’s really nothing less intimidating than a teenaged kim taehyung in a onesie that he trips over because it’s slightly too big.

but you look at him now, and you give yourself a chance to wonder. wonder when things started to change, when he got taller, broader, more handsome. you’ve noticed it before, of course - the way taehyung can reach the things you can’t, how he hovers over you, how he always feels safe and warm whenever you go in for the occasional hug.

then there’s the moments when sometimes he leans in a little extra close, the times when his smiles get playful in a way that makes your heart stutter. how he tends to drop by when you’re working, or just before or after so he can walk with you, and you’ve never told him to stop, because you like his company. you like having him nearby, the back of his hand brushing yours.

but it felt weird to admit it. so you didn’t. you don’t.

it’s not like you don’t know. taehyung thinks he’s secretive, but you’ve caught the small smiles, the lifted corners of his lips, the way his eyes linger on you a little longer. you know, you just don’t want to. knowing is dangerous. getting close like that is dangerous. letting yourself entertain the thought is dangerous.

it’s not just that he’s sky’s little brother. that in and of itself is playing with fire; the fallout if things don’t work out between you and taehyung is probably the only thing you want even less to think about than just the idea of falling into him in the first place.

but you don’t do well with the concept. half of you is too used to relying on yourself; the other half of you knows that you’ve spent a lifetime relying on him. his family. you’ve wormed your way in with the kims, pretending to play house with a family that isn’t yours. no matter how the kims welcome you in as one of their own, you know it isn’t real. it’s all illusion. smoke and mirrors.

taehyung takes care of you quietly, and the comfort is so relieving you feel like you could sink right into it, safe and sound. the weight on your shoulders lightens so much, you could cry from the lack of pressure. then you return to your world, and reality rips you right out of that safety net. suddenly his constant warmth is a threat, and he’s no longer a hearth, he’s a wildfire, uncontrollable and destructive.

well, no. taehyung isn’t the destructive one.

you are.

so you try your best not to fall into him. not to slip, let him carry you. to not rely on him more than you already have, to not do more than what you can reason off as acceptable.

you look away from him. “you’re taehyung,” you say lamely, after a too-long pause. you redirect instead. “what are you doing here, for real?”

he keeps his hands in his coat pockets as the two of you start walking again. he shrugs a little. “you said you were closing today.” he glances around. “it’s dark out.”

“i can walk myself home, you know.”

he hums in return.

the two of you lapse into silence. you find yourself quiet around taehyung more and more often these days, failing to fill the space with aimless stories and light jokes. but you’re tired from work and it’s cold and somehow taehyung makes it feel comfortable. like the silence doesn’t imply loneliness.

but the thoughts that have been knocking around your head for the past few weeks get louder now that your surroundings are at peace. you don’t know what wills you to say it out loud, but you do. “sky didn’t tell me about namjoon.”

if taehyung’s surprised you’re telling him this, he does a good job not showing it. he’s quiet for a minute. then, “i know.”

you stare at the ground. you feel like you should explain yourself, as if there’s something you need to defend. “well, she told me eventually. just not at first.”

taehyung pauses. you stop with him, a little nervous, though you’re not sure what for. he’s not looking at you at first, but then his gaze slides over to you, unreadable. but his eyes soften, and gently, he repeats, “i know.”

you hold his gaze. you mull over your thoughts, at the idea of letting him in. letting him hear what it is you want to say.

you don’t usually tell anyone what you’re thinking. honestly, you don’t even usually let yourself get far enough to have the kind of thoughts worth spilling out to someone like this. maybe if you had a therapist they’d unpack that for you, but you don’t exactly have time for therapy in between the jobs and the not-failing-out-of-college thing.

taehyung waits patiently. like his sister, he’s always listened to you, no matter how outrageous your commentary gets. but while sky tends to laugh at your excessive monologues, taehyung either stays silent or offers up quick, witty remarks, or quiet, supportive commentary. even when he says nothing, he seems to understand you, just from the way he looks at you.

you wonder. when, in all the years taehyung has been beside you, did he learn to understand you?

and when, in all the years you’ve been beside him, did you start to want to let him?

letting yourself mold and blend into taehyung and sky’s world was one thing. but letting taehyung seep into yours, where the colors dull and gray out, and the lights dim and flicker, is something else entirely. you keep him and all your childhood friends on the other side of the fence. where it’s safe. where things are good.

but it’s hard to climb back to the side with the weeds, the overgrowth, alone. you get splinters every time, and you peer between the pickets wondering when the fence will be taken down. when you’ll be able to sweep away the imaginary lines you’ve drawn for yourself, when you’ll allow yourself to stand on the side where the grass is greener.

but even if it’s hard to be alone, it’s harder still to let taehyung step into your world. it’s terrifying. you open your mouth to speak but you keep coming up empty, the words dying on your tongue whenever you exhale. how can you let him carry your burdens? how can you let him see what it’s like on this side of the fence, when he’s always lived across the street?

everything you want to say keeps fizzling out. you can’t do it. you’ve conditioned yourself to keep quiet.

but taehyung sees the lost look on your face and softens. he sees the panic start to creep in, your defensive instincts rising back up, and he leans down towards you. “should we follow them around?”

you blink at him once. twice. then splutter, shoving him back by the shoulder. “what?”

the amused twinkle in his eyes doesn’t slip by you, or your rapidly weakening heart. “yeah,” he shrugs, dark eyes lit with humor. “hide in the bushes, all that. figure out if he’s a good guy.”

you scoff, helpless grin spreading across your face. the tension melts off your shoulders just like that. “didn’t take you for that kind of brother, kim taehyung.”

he glances at you, observes the way you’ve relaxed again, stress erased from your features, if temporarily. he makes a sound in the back of his throat, swaying from side to side. “she’s still my sister,” he says airily, and you bump against his side, smiling affectionately up at him.

“you’re a good kid, taehyung.”

he frowns at that. after a half-minute of contemplation, he finally mumbles out, “i’m not a kid,” knowing full well that it makes him sound exactly like a kid. you snort.

“how long have you been holding that in for?”

he gives you a sour look. you chuckle, deciding to let him off easy. “you’re a good brother, tae,” you correct. he seems satisfied with your amendment, and you bite your cheek to try and dampen your smile.

when he drops you off outside your building, you lean up to ruffle his hair and thank him for taking you back. he leans down a little to make it easier for you to reach, but his eyes remain on you, and for a second, your breath escapes you. slowly, you lower your hand back down to your side, fingers curling in shyly. you hold his gaze, unable to look away.

he doesn’t straighten back up even though you’ve pulled away, just letting the silence sit between you. you’re supposed to say something, anything, but taehyung’s mesmerizing, and you forget all of the supposed-to’s in favor of simply staring back at him, time coming to a momentary standstill.

distantly, you think it’s odd, but you don’t mind it. you don’t mind staying in this moment, where it’s quiet and peaceful and you don’t have to think about much of anything at all, all your worries winding down when taehyung is around. he smiles at you and your brain kinda just shuts off, focusing only on the pretty curve of his lips.

“call me whenever you’re working late,” he says, bringing you out of your reverie. “i’ll always walk you home, sun.”

the words fit into your chest like missing pieces of a puzzle. that’s what being around taehyung feels like, like he’s patching all the holes inside you, slowly building back up the things you thought had worn down beyond repair after years of pressure on your back. he fixes up the lights, repaints the walls, redecorates the shelves.

that’s why he’s your star, you think. even in the dark, he makes it easy to find your way home.

#taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #taehyung x yn #taehyung x y/n #taehyung #series: tsns #series: kths #so this did not in fact turn out to be three parts oops #maybe four to five??#i have no idea tbh

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yonpote · 4 months

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Hi it’s phurry anon! I don’t have any well put opinions myself; I’ve just been thinking about how for a long while the jokes just went into an unnecessarily sour/mean territory at least in my ears and definitely in the phandom (exactly what you mentioned in the tags of your previous reply!). It does seem like the tone has mellowed out (especially since coming out and the dapg revival) and that they’ve started leaning into it for real. I don’t think they were ever purposefully mean-mean abt it though, like I’d draw a comparison between the overly mean tone abt furries & 2012 Being Straight-business; not that they’re exactly the same, but it feels like being in the same vein to me (and phandom meanness is obviously its own thing). Anyway I love the development I’m a dnp furry truther 4ever <3

Sorry about the wall of text. I’m not really into furry stuff myself so I’ve wondered if it’s just me being too sensitive/etc, I’d love to hear your (/other peoples) thoughts!

anon you are absolutely correct, as someone who was kind of on the short end of the stick wrt phannies being weirdly mean about furries. like it was always in a Just Kidding tone but like, you can tell when people are arent actually just kidding and just straight up think youre weird :) i highly doubt dnp were ever trying to be actually mean about it, but also the bullying of furries was just kind of a universally accepted thing in internet culture for a while as like, people only saw it as a weird sexual thing. and while i'm not gonna deny that sex and nsfw content is a part of some people's enjoyment of it 1) it's anthropomorphic which means HUMANIZED and not actual animals and 2) that's not all there is to enjoying furry stuff or being a furry or whatever. ultimately, it's just self expression. it's being able to imagine a version of yourself that doesn't have to have anything to do with what you are like in real life, it's not a coincidence that furries tend to be queer and neurodivergent. idk if dnp are "Actually Furries" whatever that means, but there isnt just one way to Be A Furry. for example there are so many different art styles, some closer to western disney cartoons, some more anime, some that look like realistic animals and some that are just Symbols or Suggestions of animals. theres also levels of anthro LMAO like, human boy with cat ears and tail to straight up warrior cat, and plenty of places to fall in between. so i think dnp just land closer to the human boy with cat ears side of the scale (which tbh i dont consider "furry" but i do think is like, when you keep joking about it theres a point where its not a joke..... and i think that point is when ur putting crash bandicoot and robin hood in ur crushes tier lists)

#myrambles #sorry im like this lol #also wrt their slightly mean to furry antics and closetedness:#idk if u can make that a direct comparison but like i said #furries tend to be queer and nd so SHRUG

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isopodsoup · 1 year

Text

Hey, so I'm gonna make an update here because this blog format means I can fit a LOT more text + information into one post which is super useful to a rambler like me.

Testing out 'read more' for the first time but TLDR: drawing is going bad and I'm being put in a mental health care facility with bad reviews about abuse and Christianity being pushed on patients (the transfer is all without my consent, too) after having a mental breakdown and having the police called

(TWS HERE AND IN TAGS) // knife, self harm, police/police tasers, mental breakdowns, racism mention

So, basically. I had a huge build up of dealing with a stupid amount of stupidity from my father in particular for almost 2 decades. I'm still not entirely sure what even happened but as far as I've managed to figure out:

I was listening to videos with headphones in my room with the door closed (as I always do in my noisy house when I want to chill) and my family wanted me to do the dishes (especially my father, ironic because he has never done dishes) and I couldn't hear anybody calling from where I was. He ran into my room and started screaming and kept screaming while I asked for an apology and for him to just ask normally because I obviously had no idea why he was suddenly so angry and I obviously hadn't just been 'ignoring' him. He kept screaming, ripped my devices and chargers out of the wall and ran off. Then, my mother turned off anything online and just ignored me.

Problem is my self sooth method is just mindless silly videos on YouTube because it blocks out noise + distracts me. So, I lost my only sooth method and had to listen to loud noises and people talking and yelling (not just about what happened, my parents are always fighting daily LOL) all while having a mental breakdown.

So uhh, I ended up cutting most of my hair off with scissors, cutting my arm with a knife and rubbing hand sanitiser in it (it's fine). Continued to the next day when nobody would tell me anything about my stuff and I had no idea what the hell was going on at this point or why I was really being punished and forced to just 'push through' a whole mental collapse after a long year of struggling and isolation finally coming back and biting me in the ass full force.

My mom walked in and tried to take the knife I had used to hurt myself when she saw it next to my pillow. Not in a nice way, as usual. She hasn't really cared about this kind of stuff for years and just insulted me for it. And... IDK man. Maybe it was the year of isolation after switching schools to one I had avoided for several years because of people there giving me likely PTSD (Likely, they said, yeah. Cause they're useless at actually screening for things) and then spiraling into a paranoid mindset basically seperate from reality (think: people are stalking me, people want to attack and assault me constantly, always in danger, anyone walking behind me was following me, etc for the whole year) and most of the students being huge bigots (Think mullets, thick NZ accents and slurs. One straight up called black people monkeys on my FIRST DAY) but I ended up holding the knife upwards instead (not at her), refusing to give it to her and kept telling her to back off? Short of pointing it at her I was trying to intimidate her away from me cause I was just so skittish and freaked out at this point. Basically, threatening my mom.

So, she had to call the mental health office I was with at the time (explained later) and eventually after she tried again to take the knife she was told to call the police. They ended up threatening me with a taser and really didn't do anything to help but that's the police for you.

Pretty much complete isolation and a few days crying and rubbing sanitiser into my left over cuts from there until my next mental health session with the office. Now, it was probably my mistake for even staying with a doctor who was obvious neurotypical (I'm autistic) just cause I felt guilty admitting I didn't like her because she always kept implying things instead of outright telling me and getting frustrated I wasn't picking up on things I literally... can't pick up? But, anyway. I ended up cancelling anymore sessions. They weren't doing anything to help me at all and really didn't seem to understand communication is a two way thing and I can't just... do whatever I want. She also was supposed to bring a doctor in to talk about testosterone with me (non-binary, transmasc) but she keeps cancelling (several months of cancelling scheduled meet ups) and never showing up so I just gave up on ever getting that part of my mental health taken care of.

But, the BIG thing is that she mentioned in that stupid implied way "is anything happening next week?" I was obviously super confused but figured it was just small talk since the session was almost over. I told her I had an exam next week but nothing else I knew about. She seemed confused about that but NEVER SAID ANYTHING ABOUT WHY.

I find out AFTER the session I'm being sent to a 'place' nobody will tell me about. What it is, where it is, who is there, when I'm going, etc. Nothing. "Let's tell the person whose brain literally functions on being aware of things and told things directly with severe anxiety absolutely nothing about being sent away for "a few days" including the fact they're even being sent away! What a fantastic idea!" is some wild neurotypical mentally stable logic but here we are. They were supposed to go through paperwork with me that session for the place but they never told me ANYTHING or asked for my consent but apparently, I'm still going! Not even sure how they can do that.

I only today - after pressuring my parents - learned where I'm going. This place has 3 stars and reviews are talking about judgy staff, dismissive mindsets and the facility trying to convert the patients to christianity??

Truth be told, I'm scared. I'm terrified. I'm probably just... not going to speak to anyone as best I can and hope they'll just leave me alone but from the website that doesn't look like the case. It's probably more like staff members talking to you, monitoring you and shifting you around place all the time.

So, yeah. I don't know when I'm going to be online again. For all I know, they might take all my devices.

I don't know what to do but, I really hope this isn't goodbye. Thank you.

#knife #self harm #mental breakdown #police #mental health #racism

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bensolosbluesaber · 3 years

Text

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,�� Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

#tfatws spoilers #tfatws #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo #zemo fic #zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #spoilers #soft zemo #self insert fic #zemo x you #baron zemo x you #helmut zemo x you #zemo x reader fic #daniel brühl

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chrisbitchtree · 2 years

Text

Petey's Pizza, Two Slices For $1

For @nyxalish (It wouldn't let me tag your other account), who wanted Billy in a dumb mascot costume, and @bottombillyrights

***

Steve listened to the phone ring, frantic, praying for Robin to pick up. Finally, a voice on the other end of the line. “Hello dingus? What’s up? Can you not just text like a normal person?”

“No,” Steve shouted into the phone, “This is too important. I think Billy’s cheating on me.” He got it out in a rush, then paused, waiting for Robin’s reaction.

“Okayyyyyy,” she said slowly, “What exactly would give you that idea? I thought you guys were really solid.”

Steve sighed. “So did I. I mean, we've been together for five years. But lately, he’s been really weird. He’s been breaking plans, and he gets home late sometimes, and he looks all flushed and his hair is all mussed up. He’s either cheating on me, or he’s a secret stripper.”

Robin tried her best to take Steve seriously, knowing he had a habit of overreacting. “Well, I would think that if Billy was a stripper, he’d be pretty open about it. He’s never been one to be ashamed of his body before. Why would he lie about that now?” Steve choked on a sob. “So… so you think he’s cheating then?”

Oh, boy. It had not been Robin’s intention to steer Steve’s thoughts in that direction. “No, of course not Steve. Billy loves you more than anything. And you guys are my roommates. The walls are thin. I unfortunately hear how well you satisfy him in bed. Why don’t you just ask hm what’s going on?” Steve blushed. He knew the walls were thin, but it was hard for he and Billy to restrain themselves in the heat of the moment.

Deep down, Steve knew that Robin was right, but something still wasn’t sitting right with him. Why was Billy lying to him? Robin interrupted his thoughts. “Ask him, Steve. At least then either way you’ll have an answer.”

Steve thanked her, then hung up the phone. He had plans with Billy for that evening. He would just ask him outright.

---

That evening, again, Billy texted him to tell him that he would be home late. When he finally got home, Steve shirked off the other man’s attempts to draw him into a kiss and sat Billy down on the couch. “Billy,” he said, already feeling like he was on the verge of tears. “We need to talk.”

Billy looked stricken. “Ok, what about? You’re scaring me a little bit, babe.” Steve decided to just be direct. “Are you cheating on me, Billy?” Billy laughed, and then looked insulted that Steve would even ask. “What the fuck, baby? Of course not. What would you think that?”

Steve was frustrated at having to even explain. He was hoping that Billy would just confess, and this horrible mess could just be over with. “You keep leaving early or showing up late, and that’s if you don’t break our plans completely. When you do show up, you’re all sweaty, your hair is all messed up, and you’re tired. You must be fucking someone else. Or you’re a secret stripper.”

Billy’s eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry, pretty boy. I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I swear to you that I’m not cheating. I’m all yours, and I always will be. I’ll make more of an effort, I swear, but I promise I’m not cheating on you. And I’m not a secret stripper. I wouldn’t be ashamed of it if I was. I think I’d look great in glitter and a G-string.” That got Steve laughing, then it got him a little hot and bothered, and they made their way to the bedroom. Steve was still a little suspicious about all of Billy’s sneaking around though. Something was going on, and Steve would figure out what it was.

---

Billy kept to his promise, and for the next while, he was around more, and breaking plans less, so Steve was able to put it out of his mind. A month or two later though, it started to be more frequent, and Steve again got suspicious about what Billy was getting up to. He decided to try asking Max.

He showed up her work, at the Claire’s in the mall, under the pretense of buying Billy a new earring. “Hey Max, how’s it going?” he greeted her, trying to not be suspicious. She smiled at him. “Hey Steve, what can I do you for today?”

He looked through the jewelry displays. “Oh nothing, I was just in the mall, so I thought I might pick up a new earring for Billy. But these might not really be his taste. Speaking of Billy, do you know where he’s running off to all the time?” Max’s eyes got wide, and she walked away quickly, saying she had to go help another customer. Damn, Steve was hoping she’d spill the beans if she knew. He decided to bide his time, figuring Billy would slip eventually. And slip he did.

---

One day in early October, Billy had again broken his plans with Steve. Robin convinced him to go out for pizza with her, instead of sitting around their apartment moping another evening away. “Come on, Steve, let’s go. It’ll be good for you to get out of the house, and I saw the mascot for Petey’s Pizza out in front of the restaurant today, advertising two slices for $1. Let’s go stuff our faces.”

Steve huffed, pushing himself up off the couch. “Fine, let’s go.” They grabbed their coats, and off they went. They rounded the corner in front of the pizza shop and heard shouting. The Petey’s Pizza mascot was laying on the ground, shouting at some kids who were running away. There was a cup with a spilled smoothie next to him that he’d clearly slipped in, and he was wriggling around, trying to get up. “Hey, assholes! Get back here! You got smoothie all over my costume, and I can’t get up!”

Steve recognized that voice. “Billy?” The mascot froze, covering his eyes with his costumed hands. Steve was sure that his boyfriend was in the costume. Steve and Robin walked closer, and the mascot lowered his hands, as if in defeat. Sure enough, he could see Billy Hargrove’s piercing blue eyes as he stood above him. Steve and Robin stuck out their hands and helped him up. Even though Steve could only see his eyes, he could tell that the other man was mortified.

“Well, I guess you caught me. This is what I’ve been doing. Can you go now? I’m embarrassed enough. We can talk about it later.” Steve was confused, but respected Billy’s request for a bit of time. They ate their slices of pizza, awkwardly ignoring Billy on their way out.

---

The next night, Billy came over for a date night. He even offered to cook. He made spaghetti and meatballs, and cracked open a bottle of wine, Robin promising to make herself scarce for the evening. “So,” Steve started, trying to be helpful by stirring the sauce for Billy. “Want to tell me why you were secretly moonlighting as a piece of pizza?” He turned around to find Billy down on one knee, holding open a ring box.

Billy took a deep breath and started talking, as Steve’s eyes grew larger. “I was saving for this. I didn’t want you to know that I was trying to make extra money for something, and the job was so embarrassing anyway. I didn’t want you to see me in costume. We had a couple guys quit, so they started asking me to come in for extra shifts and stay longer. That’s why I kept showing up late and leaving early. But it was all for you. All for us. For our future. Will you marry me, Steve Harrington?”

Steve worked to swallow the lump in his throat, nodding. “Yes, of course, baby. Of course, I’ll marry you.” He slid his hand around the back of Billy’s head, capturing the other man’s lips in a searing kiss. “One question though,” he said, as Billy slid the ring onto his finger. “Will you wear the costume to the wedding?” Billy growled in response, scooping Steve up and dragging him away to their bedroom for some good old-fashioned ravishing.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #billy x steve #my fic #harringrove fic #chrisbitchtree writes #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things fanfiction

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redbeansoups · 3 years

Text

Move-In Day

Cove Holden x Reader

In which Cove Holden helps you move into your brand new dorm, and wishes you farewell before your freshman year.

Takes place after Step 3.

Like it or not, your life has always revolved around one Cove Holden. One bright-eyed, silky-haired, infuriatingly endearing Cove Holden. It’s always been him, in everything you’ve done, forever a spectator and participant in one. You have never known a time without him: your classmate, neighbor, best friend and boyfriend-extraordinaire.

Even now, as you edge into adulthood, Cove Holden is all you know: seated beside you with one hand on the wheel, wavy hair tucked behind his ears, his eyes longingly on yours. He catches your gaze, and offers you a smile, full of sincerity as always.

The journey upstate had been a long time coming; a goal, ever-present, but inching along so slowly that you’d opted merely to brush it off. But as the summer of your senior year came to a close, your move-in day had sprung up on you like an unpleasant (albeit somewhat enthralling) surprise.

Cove, forever a gentleman, had insisted on driving you all the way. You’d argued against him, only to be shut down–and quite firmly at that. “If you’re going to be moving so far away,” he’d told you one night, “then the least I can do is go and see you off.” He was a much better driver than you anyway, you’d reasoned with yourself, and it’d be nice to have another pair of hands to unpack. The idea of flying alone didn’t quite appeal to you either, so, after hardly a moment’s hesitation, you’d agreed to let him tag along.

College, all the way up north–you can hardly believe you’d come so far. You’d dreamt of this for years, spent months drafting application essays and crafting resumes. Years of preparation and research, though, hadn't seemed to brace you for the anxiety to come.

Even now, sitting in the car with Cove, hands intertwined, the idea feels more like a dream than your living, breathing reality. But the car trudges along, movements never once faltering for your thoughts.

You’d be on your own soon–a stray left for dead. You’d be nowhere near Sunset Bird anymore.

Lost in thought, it takes you more than a moment to grow cognizant of your surroundings. The scenery has shifted, the sky around you having faded to a pale purple hue. The change in atmosphere is instant. High-rise buildings litter the skyline; the shopping districts, no longer limited to a single street, bustle with activity.

It feels, beyond anything else, unfamiliar.

Isolating.

Realistically, you are far from alone. Derek, having gotten his scholarship, lives right down the hall. Your parents and sister are always a call away, and your friends have never failed to remind you of their presence. And Cove, despite being far from technologically adept, is still a better texter than most–and a relatively consistent one at that.

These thoughts, at least, are reassuring.

But the fear remains–and all you can do is try and work alongside it.

You turn to Cove. The window has been rolled down; you feel the cool evening breeze against your skin, fresh and foreign all at once. His hands are running mindlessly through his hair, detangling the inevitable wind-induced knots. Your eyes flit down to his fingers drumming against the steering wheel, then lower down to his scar, the pale white mark running gently down his forearm.

Sitting there, so unaware of himself, sunset illuminating soft features–Cove is beautiful, in every possible way.

You smile, content.

The hours pass, and before you know it, you find yourself on campus for the first time.

You tap the keycard to your door, and it opens with a soft click. The two of you are met with the sight of the dorm, the yellow-tinted wood somehow even less impressive than the photos you’d seen online. Barren walls, popcorn ceilings, worn-down linoleum from decades past. Sparsely decorated as it may be, the room puts you at ease.

You let Cove move past you to enter. “What a joy.” You scoff at the drawl in his voice. “Where’d you say your roommate’s from?” he asks, his shoulders nudging the door wider. His set of boxes is significantly larger than yours, and he looks smaller than ever with the stack cradled against his chest.

“Florida,” you answer, following his footsteps.

“Oh.” He sets the cardboard down on the ground, the impact resounding with a solid thump. “I hope they won’t mind the mess we’re about to make.”

That draws a laugh out of you; you think back to all the times you’ve stepped into his room, only to find it a complete bird’s nest. “They’re not moving in until tomorrow.” Another thump resounds as you drop your own load. “We have time to clean. But don’t mess things up too bad, please. I’d like a good first impression.”

“No promises.”

You roll your eyes, and, cracking open the first box, begin the arduous process of unpacking.

“Well,” Cove says finally, brushing dust away from his hands. “I think that was the last of your stuff.”

Setting the last of your books in place, you take a moment to revel in your surroundings. Despite his messy tendencies, Cove had done a pretty good job–with your assistance, of course. All your clothes had been folded neatly up in the closet, and your posters were hung all over the walls, like a delicate reminder of home. On the desk sat two small photo frames; one with you and your family, and one with you and Cove.

“I guess so, huh,” you mutter.

There’s a weight in the air around you, and you bow your head.

There’d been too much to discuss. Hell, even now the topic was one you wanted nothing more than to avoid. The ‘what-ifs’ had littered your mind for months now, hanging over you like a constant reminder. And though Cove had tried his best to dispel them, they’d inevitably come back–and with a vengeance. You didn’t know what the future held, nor did you know whether the two of you would last. Uncertainty riddled your mind: what if he grew bored? What if the two of you lost interest? What if, after all your time together, the physical distance became too much?

His hand comes to rest on your shoulder. The gesture is light, gentle–a welcome pressure.

The tension dissipates.

You sigh, lifting your chin up to meet his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes you’ve come to recognize as sadness. And there’s a warmth behind your own that threatens to grow hot, to liquify and pool before you. You choke back the urge to cry, stifling yourself by clearing your throat. “You’ll text me, won’t you?”

He chuckles softly at that, thumb stroking circles into your skin. “Of course. I’ll call you so often you’ll grow sick of me.”

“I’m counting on it, Cove.”

You give him one last hug, inhaling his scent and pressing your cheek to his chest. He smells like Sunset Bird, a mixture of the ocean and the beach and all the pleasantries that come along with it. His pulse, slow and steady, beats in your ear.

Devoting the moment to memory, you angle your head to plant a peck on his cheek. “Thanks for helping me move in.”

He grins at you. “Of course.” The expression sparks something strange in you, something equal parts melancholy and equal parts pride. You so badly want him to stay–you want to reach out, pull him down into the bed and sit right atop him so he might never escape your grasp.

“I love you,” you whisper, part-plea and part-farewell; you see the pain in Cove’s eyes. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone, alright?”

He lets out a breathy laugh and, shaking his head, shoots you a smile. "I love you too."

You smile, and breathe him in just once more. Then, with one last teary kiss, you let go, and wish him a safe journey home.

You’re on your own now–

But you know he’s with you, always.

A/N: Another self-indulgent piece as always, because I've fallen in love with one Cove Holden. My freshman year of college starts soon, and I guess my worries culminated in this piece. Thanks for reading, though–I hope this was alright! Any reblogs or likes are appreciated!!

#ok this was so self-indulgent i apologize... i was gonna add more angst but i held myself back #ur welcome ^^#our life #cove holden #our life beginnings & always #gb patch #cove holden x reader #cove holden x mc #reader x cove holden #cove holden fics #our life fics

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 3 years

Text

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 2

The first days of Harry staying at your house were overshadowed by Maeve’s 5th grade spelling bee victory. The fake gold medal was a mainstay around her neck for a new nights at the dinner table until she eventually forgot about it.

Luckily enough, neither of your daughters seemed to be thrown too off kilter by his presence. Maeve was just young enough to not know much about who Harry was or the band he’d been in--though she was ready and willing to brag about having a celebrity around.

CeCe--in true sibling rivalry fashion--decided to draw her own medal with crayons and ask you to cut it out so she could wear it around the house. If Maeve gets one, so do I.

With potholders on and the oven door open, you apologized. “I can’t right now, honey--give mommy a few minutes and I’ll help you.”

Harry materialized at the bottom of the stairs, eyebrows raised when he said: “What do you need, CeCe?”

“I have to cut this out!” She said excitedly, running over to the drawer where the scissors were kept. She whipped them out and turned around quickly, Harry’s eyes bulging out of his head when he hurried over to grab them from her.

“I’ll cut, you watch,” he laughed, exchanging a look with you when CeCe climbed up to sit at the island. She hummed in agreement, handed over the paper and watched as he lined it up to start snipping.

“CeCe,” he said her name inquisitively. “Is CeCe short for anything?”

“Cecilia Rose L/N,” she smiled. “Pretty, right?”

“Very pretty,” he smiled. “Same last name as your mum.”

The last part of his sentence was a statement, a quick glance in your direction when you turned off the oven and shouted towards the stairs. “Maeve! Dinner’s ready!”

Your call went unanswered into the big house--you had no clue where she was or if she’d heard you. When Harry finished cutting out the paper medal, he handed it to CeCe who beamed with pride and put it around her neck.

Hands on your hips, “CeCe, will you please find your sister and tell her dinner is ready?”

She took one big breath and then screamed, “MAEVE!”

Both you and Harry flinched at the noise but laughed. She held onto Harry’s arm when she hopped down from the stool, shaking her head in disappointment. “Good god that girl,” she huffed, heading to climb the stairs when she yelled again: Maeve!!!! Dinner!!!!

“She’s a handful tonight,” you said, almost feeling guilty as her footsteps stomped on the floor overhead. “Thank you for that, though,” you said, motioning to the scissors in his hand. “Want a glass of wine?”

“S’not against the rules?” He teased.

When you shot him a look, he smirked and let out a laugh. “I’ll gladly take one. It’s fine, though. She was ready to stab someone flinging the scissors around like that.”

“They just had scissor safety in art class not too long ago.” You told him, pulling the cork from an already open bottle of red. “Sometimes I think she barely listens to anyone--she just does her own thing.”

“Not the worst way to be,” he smiled, picked up the glass when you slid it over on the granite. An awkward beat when he took a sip, smiled in your direction when you did the same. You could hear Maeve and CeCe fighting upstairs, offered him another guilty smile, but then he asked: “do you plan on changing your name?”

“My last name?”

“Yeah--L/N is your married name, right?”

It felt a bit nosy, a bit intrusive for the fourth night he was sleeping under your roof. You shrugged your shoulders casually, unsure how to answer. “Just haven’t gotten to it.”

He’d been quiet so far, out most of the day once the girls were gone for school and he’d return before dinner. Kept to himself--or at least out of the way--and was always helpful when he could be. Bringing groceries in? He carried a few. Needed a hand with clearing plates after dinner? He would gladly help.

Maeve and CeCe came rushing downstairs and were more willing to do the gratitude thing than they usually were, forks in hand when Maeve turned to you. “Oh, by the way, Auntie Shelli is taking us out for dinner tomorrow night.”

“She is?” You smiled at Maeve. “I haven’t heard about that.”

“She promised last week, she said Friday.”

“Okay, well I can check with her.”

“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” Maeve asked.

“Not a thing,” you said, shaking your head. You’d been looking forward to it all week--maybe a bath and a glass of wine, maybe even a movie if you were feeling adventurous. Zoey was typically after you to do something: dinner, come hold Benny for an hour while she took a shower. You were totally up for helping a friend, but it’d been a minute since you had some me-time and if Jeff’s mom had already offered to babysit, you weren’t going to say no.

CeCe turned to Harry excitedly. “What are you doing tomorrow night? Are you coming to dinner?”

He smiled in her direction but shook his head. “I’m actually going over to a friend’s house.”

“What friend?”

“CeCe,” you laughed, embarrassed by her prying. “He doesn’t have to run everything by you, you know.”

“I know,” she said simply as she shrugged her shoulders innocently. “Just thought maybe it was one of my friends. I don’t know if we have the same friends.”

Harry laughed at this and smiled when you rolled your eyes. “I don’t think you know her.”

You watched Harry for a second, wondered if it was a girlfriend or something of the sort--Jeff hadn’t mentioned anything like that. Why couldn’t he stay there, with that friend?

“Well you should come with us and Auntie Shelli one day,” Maeve said. “We usually get ice cream and she lets us get a bunch of toppings and she doesn’t even care if we’ve had dinner yet.”

You let out a short laugh, the details of their time with family members always slipped out when you least expected it. “He’s busy, girls, remember?”

Harry shrugged, “we could get ice cream soon.”

You looked up at him, forked into a bite of dinner and said quietly: you don’t have to.

He didn’t--Harry didn’t owe you or your daughters anything except common decency and kindness. Helping you clean up after dinner or bring in the groceries was enough of a repayment for a guest room and his own bathroom.

“Maybe next week?” He ignored your comment and smiled at the girls.

“Next week!” CeCe chirped back, brushing her hair out of her face with a grin.

You figured they’d forget--swept up by the excitement of something else by the time next week rolled around and Harry would be off the hook. You smiled in his direction, apologetically and pleading, but it wasn’t until the next night that you realized he was serious.

Jeff’s mom had picked Maeve and CeCe up, you had just poured a glass of wine and went to sit in your office to go over any unread emails when he knocked on the door.

“Hey,” he offered a smile, leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” you turned to see him, unsure what he wanted or why he was popping in. “What’s up?”

“Uh, just wanted to let you know that my plans fell through--so, I’m just gonna be home--here I mean.”

His correction was quick, a subtle misstep through words.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, nodded slowly as you took in the information. He’d be here--in your house and just hanging out. While you had planned for a quiet night, having one other person somewhere in the house wouldn’t kill you, right? Maybe he’d lock himself away in his room and leave you to your emails, then you’d slip upstairs and end the night with a bath before your children returned with a sugar high and stories for days.

“Okay,” you said. A pause when he nodded, looked at you and then down to the floor.

“Do you want to have a drink?”

“I’ve got one,” you lifted your glass and then faltered. “Oh, together--sure, yeah.”

He held back a laugh, motioned for you to lead the way once you stood up from your desk. He trailed you back through the living room and into the kitchen, got himself a wine glass when you found the bottle you’d already started on the counter.

Was this weird? You couldn’t tell. The house was quiet and for a moment it felt like neither of you knew what to say when the only sound was the cork coming out of the bottle.

“I can venmo you for groceries, too, since m’drinking your wine.” He lifted it and poured, you watched the liquid rise in the glass until he looked up at you, waiting for a reply.

“No, it’s fine.”

“M’eating your food, drinking your wine, sleeping in your house,” he let out a laugh but put the stopper back in. “I feel like I could at least pay you back for some--” he looked down at the bottle and studied the label, “cabernet.”

You pulled out a barstool and sat, a sigh when you waved him off. “S’fine--I’m still making my way through the sorry your dad died and sorry your husband left you bottles.”

His lips pulled up at the side when yours did too. “Where do they make those grapes?”

“Somewhere far away from here,” you nodded, a long sip from your own glass when he moved to sit beside you.

“So how much did Jeff have to beg you to let me stay here?”

You looked over at him, hesitant to admit your own reluctance. You knew he and Jeff were close--you’d long been hearing stories about their nights out or big wins as a team. You’d even been invited to the release party for Harry’s first solo album, but you couldn’t find a babysitter and back then your ex couldn’t be bothered.

“I got a few pleading text messages after he first brought it up,” you smiled.

He laughed and nodded. “Well, it’s a big help. My house is over in Malibu but s’not ready yet--the only guestroom in Jeff’s house shares a wall with the master and something about that felt...weird.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “You didn’t want to hear Jeff and random women hooking up?”

“Not in the slightest,” he shook his head and bit back a smile. “Figured I’d stay with his parents for a bit but then Irv and Shelli told me they loved me but their rules are strict: their children, grandchildren, and your children. Those are their only guests.”

You nodded, it wasn’t news to you. “One time my dad stayed over after a party and Irv almost hit him with a golf club in the morning because he’d forgotten who was on the couch.”

“Yeah, so, sounds like a good idea that I’m here.” Quiet again when he moved the glass around, then he said: “you know, I would be happy to take them to ice cream or something one night--give you a minute to yourself.”

You smiled, the offer was sweet and apparently he had no idea that he’d just ruined your one chance this week to have that. “You really don’t have to--I’m sorry that they’re so...fascinated by you.”

“No, they’re great, very sweet. Maybe I can tag along when Jeff watches them next and learn the ropes.”

You nodded, reassured by his understanding that watching them would take skill. “There’s a lot to learn, they can be quite the handful sometimes.”

“Yeah?” he tilted his head. “Tell me more about them.”

The way he looked at you stirred a feeling in your chest that you couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was just the fact that he seemed interested enough to ask about them, he already seemed more invested than their father had been over the last year. You also would never turn down an opportunity to humble-brag about the tiny humans you'd created.

“Well, Maeve is pretty straight-edge. She’s always cared a lot about school and she likes it--which is weird, cause she didn’t get that from me and she definitely didn’t get it from my ex-husband. Like, she actually gets excited to come home and do her homework.”

He laughed, sipped from his glass and said: “Right, I’m sure she didn’t get her drive and determination from her mother who started her own successful business.”

You brushed off the compliment with a roll of your eyes and a laugh. “The weird preteen-angst thing is new, though. I have no idea if that’s because of losing my dad or losing hers,” you picked at a thread on your sleeve.

He was quiet for a moment, like he didn’t know what to say to that.

“And CeCe,” you saved him the trouble, “she’s a fireball. She is so strong-willed it actually makes me nervous about when she’s a teenager. She might actually drive to Vegas and get married or something. It’s just her world and we’re living in it.”

His dimples appeared on his cheeks when you shrugged. “Well, you’ve clearly done something right with them. Jeff's always loved being an uncle."

“I appreciate that,” you said honestly, a pause before you admitted: “My ex was never that hands on.”

“Right,” he nodded. “Is that why things ended?”

You let out a short laugh, again unsure if you were sharing too much. Would you wake up and regret the fact that you'd poured a glass of wine, and apparently your deepest secrets, all out on display?

“That, along with the fact that he was cheating on me for a good 18 months, I think.”

“Wow,” he nodded slowly, his lips pushed out in thought when he dropped your gaze. “What a dick.”

“Yeah, better I found out now than later on, I guess.”

“So that and losing your dad this year--”

“Yeah it’s been shitty,” you cut him off, another sip of your wine to avoid having to say more. He looked at your glass, now nearing empty, and reached for the bottle.

“Then you definitely deserve another one of these,” he laughed, fingers pulling the cork out again. “No wonder you got so many sympathy wine bottles.”

He poured himself another too, eventually he followed you into your dad’s old office when he asked what hid behind the mystery door on the first floor.

It was the only room you hadn’t redone yet, something about keeping his records on the book shelves and his papers on the desk felt like it kept him here. He’d chosen the green for the walls and you apologized when Harry’s eyebrows shot up at the sight.

“Great man,” you nodded, turning on a light switch, “terrible decorating taste.”

Harry nodded slowly, wine glass still in hand and a smirk fighting it’s way onto his face. “S’a bright color, yeah.”

He let out a laugh when he made eye contact with you, a disapproving look on your face when you walked over to the desk. “All these strewn about--probably some important information about you over here somewhere.”

He came over and lifted a paper. “Harry Styles is one of the most thoughtful, caring, and funny people I know.”

“Really?” You tugged at his arm to get a better view of the paper. Your dad’s handwriting was almost illegible, a date scribbled on top and another few words halfway down the small notebook page, nothing about Harry and nothing that seemed all that important.

“I hope that’s what he thought of me,” Harry smiled, his eyes flickered to where you still had a grip around his wrist. “Your nails are digging into me.”

“Sorry,” you pulled back immediately. “Sometimes I have to grab CeCe like that in the store or she runs off.”

He kept your gaze for a second, but it felt uncomfortable and made you nervous, so you cleared your throat. “Feel free to come in here and use this stuff,” you motioned over to the piano and the guitars he had in stands. “No one uses it, so--it’d be good for it to get played.”

“You don’t play anything?”

You shook your head. “No--he’d started to teach me guitar when I was young but then my mom died, just never picked it up again.”

You were thirteen when it happened, a car accident on the 405 and you didn’t go to school for weeks. Your dad had always been your main support--they divorced when you were ten--but after that you grew even closer, which is why losing him was so hard. He’d been a friend and a parent and the best grandfather who helped pick up the pieces when things with Luke started to crumble.

Harry was quiet, a simple nod when he went over to the piano and sat. You felt the need to shift the topic of conversation to something less depressing than the unfortunate events of your life.

“Are you writing a lot for the album still?”

“Yeah--we’ve got a few things written that might end up on it, but, mostly just experimenting with some new sounds.”

He pressed a chord down on the piano and looked up at you. “How do Maeve and CeCe seem to be handling it all?”

“Which part?”

“Both.”

You shrugged. “They’ve asked a lot about where their father is and why he hasn’t visited. And they understand that their grandpa is gone, but they’re sad, I think. CeCe’s had more nightmares than usual.”

He smiled a little. “And how are you doing with all of it?”

You let out a tiny laugh, mostly out of discomfort with the sudden seriousness in his voice and the way he already pulled more out of you than you’d planned. “I’m fine.”

He lifted his brows but played another progression of chords. “Wouldn’t blame you if you’re not.”

You took a sip of the cabernet and watched as he hummed along to whatever he played. When he looked up at you and waited for a reply, you smiled. “Some days I want to pull my hair out and others I need a good glass of wine. I kind of oscillate between those two lately.”

“Well, I’m always happy to split a bottle with you.”

You nodded, tried to fight the smile on your face when he laughed but then gave in. “Good.”

You woke up the next morning with a bit of a headache from the third and unexpected glass of wine. The girls were home by 9pm and unfortunately for you, the weekend was busy with play dates and birthday parties and grocery shopping.

Monday had you back in the office and recounting the first week to Tristan over an iced latte and a breakfast sandwich you’d grabbed after school drop off. Now it was cold and you were approaching the mid-day slump you were all too familiar with.

“I just can’t believe you’re alive still, to be honest. You know--seeing as you thought he’d be a serial killer or something.”

You looked over at him with narrowed eyes. “I didn’t think he was a serial killer.”

“Just a pedophile?”

“Alright,” you waved him off. “I can admit that it’s been fine--good, even. It’s only been a week, though.”

“Right,” he shrugged. “Halfway there. Maybe week two is when he goes crazy.”

You ignored the teasing from your friend and looked back to your computer. “Do you know if Kailee ordered the new bottles for the matcha face mask?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” he nodded. “And we also got the labels in for them as well. They ship off to the packaging plant on Tuesday.”

“Good, and numbers are up from last quarter which is really good. The meeting with the investors should go well.”

“Yeah, I mean, our entire profit has doubled since this time last year,” he smiled in your direction, a subtle reminder that the late night emails on top of the worst year ever had already proven to be worth it. “You should be very proud.”

“I am,” you admitted. “Of us. All of us.”

“Yes, what kind of boss would you be if you took all of the credit?” He teased.

“A bad one, but I’m also the type of boss that leaves at lunch time to go home and change since I have a meeting this afternoon that I forgot all about.”

He looked you up and down when you stood.

“It’s with people from Anthropologie about carrying some of our products in store--so I don’t think I can wear athleisure.”

He laughed and kept typing. “Fair enough. See you at 2pm, though, for the website meeting?”

“Yes,” you promised as you grabbed your keys. “Please don’t let the place burn down while I’m gone.”

“Might throw the match myself,” he waved you off, a laugh at his own joke when you headed for the elevator.

You were proud of the company you’d built and the office you’d been able to purchase two years back, but you were more proud of the energy that buzzed through the halls and the people who made work feel less like work and more like the adventure of a lifetime. You tried to be the cool boss who brought enough coffee for everyone, gave good time off but still expected hard work and drive to be the core of the business.

It took a while to settle into the role, though. At first you were sure you’d be seen as a spoiled rich kid who got a loan from her father to start a company--but it only took one year to repay him when you started getting placements in health food markets across LA. When Kourtney Kardashian posted something about your raspberry toner, the rest was history.

You’d always been passionate about making people feel good about themselves and focused your entire brand on building people up, not tearing them down. The world had enough of that as a mother of two daughters, you hoped it’d be something that would change that narrative, at least for them.

The drive home was quick and the sun was shining, which put a pep in your step as you hopped out of the car in the driveway and headed for the side door.

Harry’s car was still here--you’d left earlier than usual but didn’t expect him to be home. If anything, you figured he’d left shortly after you and planned on staying late in the studio. Jeff had mentioned something about laying down new tracks.

“Hello?” You called into the kitchen and looked around, he wasn’t in the living room or out by the pool. You found a laundry basket at the top of the second floor and figured that maybe someone had picked him up, but the sound of muffled singing pulled you down the hall and closer to his guest room.

The door was cracked only a bit, the sun streamed in from the windows and you could hear the running water of the shower. It was wrong, maybe, but you pushed the door open and stepped inside, smiled to yourself at the fact that he was singing a Carole King song that your dad used to play on repeat when you were a kid.

The room was clean--you hadn’t been in it since you’d pointed out the linen closet in the bathroom and showed him how to use the TV remote. His bed was made--maybe not the way you would have made it but the throw pillows were arranged in a way that showed he tried.

A buzzing on the dresser pulled your attention away from the bed. His phone, a message from someone named Bria Whitmore. Another message, then a third. You took a step closer--who on earth was texting him this much without a reply? A girlfriend? Someone he probably slept with or something of the sort.

“Hi,” his voice pulled your head around quickly and sent your heartbeat through the roof.

“Jesus, hi--sorry--I was just--”

He was in a towel, the fabric wrapped loosely around his waist and hair was slicked back from the water. You looked away from the tattoos that littered his skin and looked down at the laundry basket.

“I was just seeing if you had any laundry you needed me to do?”

It was clean, but he didn’t need to know that.

“M’good,” he smiled like he didn’t believe you. “Why are you home?”

“Had to change--forgot about a meeting,” you let out a laugh and tried to slow your pulse. “Figured the pilates mom look wasn’t the right vibe.”

He nodded, moved around you in the center of the room to pull out a t-shirt from a drawer. You saw him look down at the cell phone you’d been eyeing.

“Your phone went off,” you admitted, the laundry basket still pressed up against your hip.

“Yeah?” He smirked over his shoulder.

“I was just making sure it wasn’t an emergency--I wasn’t, like, snooping.”

A dimple appeared on his left cheek again, he tugged the fabric over his head and then shook out his hair.

“S’not an emergency,” he said. “Just a friend.”

You didn’t know if that was code. Were twenty-somethings calling their booty-calls friends now? You figured you’d ask Tristan later.

“Why are you home?” You tossed the question back at him.

“Schedule changed--went for a run after breakfast and now just, showering, y’know,” he looked down at the towel that separated you from an even more awkward moment.

“Right, sorry, I...am leaving,” you pointed to the door. “Changing, back to the office, home tonight.”

“Sounds good,” he smiled. “Figured I could make dinner, if you wanted. I make a mean chicken taco.”

You took a few steps backwards to the door. “You cook?”

“I do,” he smiled. “Hard to believe?”

“No,” you shook your head. “That would be great--if you want, but you don’t have to.”

“I’d love to,” he nodded. “I’ll see you tonight, Y/N.”

“With more clothes,” you smiled, immediately regretting the bad joke and the attention it drew to the stuffy air and the butterflies in your stomach.

“Definitely more clothes.”

You made a face at yourself once the door was shut, idiot. At least you hadn’t accidentally seen a picture of someone’s boobs. You were sure he got plenty of those.

You pushed the thought out of your head and thankfully Harry didn’t smirk at you too much when Jeff came to pick up the girls for ice cream the next afternoon. They hadn’t forgotten, but luckily Jeff had offered to take them out one night and it seemed like the perfect opportunity for Harry to tag along. That way he could stay true to his word and the girls would stop pestering him every time he popped down to the kitchen.

Zoey had been begging to bring the baby over to get out of the house, and now she was sitting in the other room with Benny on a play mat on the floor. Maeve, CeCe, Jeff and Harry stood in a line, eagerly awaiting the green light to pile into Jeff’s car.

“Okay, so Uncle Jeff can text me if you need anything, see you around 7pm?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jeff said, a salute in your direction that pulled a giggle from both of your daughters.

They’d been fighting more lately, CeCe tried to take the medal from Maeve’s room one night over the weekend and suddenly it was like world war three. You were shocked that they’d gotten it together enough to spend some time in each other's presence, even with Uncle Jeff chaperoning, but you were eager for the quiet and hopeful the screaming matches wouldn’t return once the ice cream and dinner date was finished.

“Love you, be nice to each other, okay?” You leaned down and used both hands to hold CeCe’s head in place when you planted a kiss on her forehead, then Maeve. A hug for Jeff, “only one ice cream cone this time.”

He laughed but obliged, you moved down the line to Harry, an awkward nod in his direction when you realized that whatever type of acquaintanceship had slowly started to bloom between the two of you was hardly grounds for a kiss on the forehead or even a hug.

He apparently sensed this too, a playful smile on his face when he lifted his brows. “No farewell for me?”

Jeff let out a quick laugh but Maeve and CeCe took off for the car, racing to see who could get out the front door fastest. “Alright, don’t kill each other,” you reminded again, waved them all off with an embarrassed smirk and then watched as Harry helped CeCe buckle into her booster seat.

“So,” Zoey appeared beside you, Benny in her arms as she looked out the window. “Seems like things are going well.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged casually. “He’s been nice.”

“He seems friendly,” she wiggled her brows when she met your gaze. “Flirty friendly.”

“Just friendly,” you laughed and headed for the kitchen to pour yourself a drink. It might have only been Tuesday, but the week promised to be a busy one. You wiped up a runaway drip of wine on the rim, fully aware the words about to leave your mouth would push Zoey into gear. “But I did see him shirtless yesterday.”

“That sounds amazing,” she shifted Benny in her arms, eagerness in her voice. “How was it?”

“I mean--he also caught me snooping in his room, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

You tried to downplay it. “I came home from work in the middle of the day to change and I heard him in the shower--which is weird cause I didn’t think he’d be home.”

“So you went in there?”

“Not the bathroom--I just peeked into his room and noticed it was really clean. Which is weird, right? He’s a kid!”

“He’s not a kid,” she rolled her eyes at you. “Your kids are kids. He’s twenty-four. I looked it up.”

Your eyes were wide when you turned to head for the couch. “You looked it up?”

“I was curious! He’s a celebrity living in your house and he’s very attractive and you have been harping on his age.”

“Because it felt weird at first.”

“And it doesn’t now?” Her tone was hopeful when she laid Benny back on his play mat and kneeled beside him.

You took a gulp from your wine glass. “Less weird, but only because he’s mature. He’s helpful around the house--he cooked dinner the other night--and he’s good with the girls.”

The corner of her mouth pulled towards the ceiling, arched eyebrows when she clarified. “He’s good with the girls?”

“He’s just nice to them--I was worried that they’d annoy him. I mean, I doubt that he was excited to hear that two of his roommates were six and ten.”

“Okay--but why did you see him shirtless?”

Right--she’d gotten you off track. “Because...I went in his room and then saw his phone buzzing and then he came out and caught me looking at his phone.”

“You were looking through his phone?!”

“No! Not the actual texts, just to see who was blowing it up. I only looked at the lock screen.”

“Was he annoyed?”

“No,” you shrugged, shame laced through your voice. “He was casual. But then he put his shirt on and I left him alone and went back to work.”

“So there’s sexual tension,” she shimmied her shoulders and pulled a laugh from you, she nuzzled down into Benny’s face but then gave him a pacifier.

“No.”

This brought her gaze back to you, more serious now. “Y/N, you are not a creep if you admit that you find him attractive.”

“I can admit that he’s handsome,” you chose a new word that felt more detached. “But who cares? He’s literally just a house guest. A friend of a friend.”

“Right, but he was just flirting with you like there’s no tomorrow.”

“No he wasn’t,” you denied her accusation. When she stared at you expectantly, you took a loud sip and let the obnoxious noise ring through the now empty house as if it would preclude you from saying any more.

“You truly, seriously, one-hundred percent haven’t noticed any type of flirting?”

You averted your eyes for a second, ready to dismiss her question and tell her she was crazy. There was nothing going on between the two of you.

But then you thought on it, thought about the way he asked about Maeve and CeCe and remembered the way your stomach seemed to twist itself in knots when he smirked at you and when the dimples appeared on his cheeks.

“The look on your face is enough of an answer,” Zoey teased, bouncing side to side when Benny made a noise. “Isn’t that right, Benny Boo? Someone has a crush.”

“There’s no crush here--he’s just,” a shrug of your shoulders when you didn’t know what words to use. You didn’t want to add fuel to her fire and you certainly didn’t want to give her any more of a reason to keep bringing this topic up.

“Dreamy? Beautiful? The perfect rebound post-divorce?”

A flutter of your eyelids in annoyance when you stood to head for the kitchen. “No,” you said, making a face in her direction. “He’s just cute.”

“So cute!” She followed behind and egged you on. “A crush is perfectly harmless, a little bedtime rendezvous is totally not a big deal.”

“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves, here, okay?”

“Oh come on,” she laughed. “You mean to tell me you haven’t already thought about if he’s good in bed?”

She came to sit next to you at the island, folding her legs beneath her. When you sipped at your wine and tried to hide a smirk, her face lit up. “I knew it, I knew it! I don’t blame you, at all, by the way. He’s gorgeous.”

“I’m just horny, number one,” you admitted, leaning forward to rest your elbow on the granite counter. “And seeing a man actually be good with kids is a breath of fresh air.”

“Yeah, Luke didn’t set the bar high with that one.”

“Absolutely not.”

A pause of silence when evening air blew through the open doors to the patio. There was music audible through the trees, wafting in from the backyard of your neighbors.

“I think you should fuck him.”

“What?!” You turned towards her quickly, your voice quieter when she smirked and looked over at you. “Are you out of your mind?”

“You have a ridiculously attractive man living in your house and he hangs out with your kids and now he’s starting to cook? It’s like a lifetime movie waiting to happen.”

“That doesn’t mean I should have sex with him!”

“Do you want to have sex with him?”

You were quiet for a second, kept her gaze but then rolled your eyes and shook your head. “I’ve had a bad year,” you made an excuse for the pulsing in your veins whenever you were alone with him. Nothing more, nothing less.

“When does he leave again?”

“I don’t know--at the end of the week, I guess. It’s not happening, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Alright,” she seemed to relent, “You do you. I just think you deserve a little feel good time.”

“That sounds gross,” you wrinkled your nose, pulling a laugh out of her.

She was able to change the topic, told you all about the way Benny was getting better at lifting his own head and he was screaming a lot less when she put him down for some tummy time. Your phone dinged, though, signalling a new text just when you were about to pull out leftovers and heat them up.

She watched when you opened it, got excited when you smirked at the screen.

“Who is it?”

You almost didn’t want to show her, but you knew she’d pry it out of your hands with force if you didn’t share. You flipped it around, watched as a smile spread across her face.

A picture of Harry and CeCe, both with sunglasses on as they ate their ice cream. Maeve and Jeff were in the background, the line at the ice cream shop down the street wasn’t too long. You were kind of surprised he was willing to go with them, wouldn't it create a buzz in the headlines?

Zoey gave you a knowing look.

“It’s just sweet.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know,” you smiled a little at first, but the happiness faded from your face when you pulled yourself back to reality. “I feel stupid thinking that he’s flirting with me. He could be with a supermodel if he wanted to. One with perky boobs and who’s, like, twenty. Not someone who’s old enough to be his mom.”

“You are seven years older than him,” she made a disgusted face. “You could have been, like, his babysitter, not his mom.”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”

“You’re being stupid about this!”

You paused with tupperware in your hands, turned around slowly. “I am not being dumb about not having casual sex with the popstar boyband kid living under my roof. I think not having sex with him is objectively the responsible thing to do here.”

“Why do you always have to be so responsible, though? You have been doing that forever, okay? You’re the business owner mom who’s always been incredibly family-oriented.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, not in the slightest! But you’re more than just a mom.”

You bit at your cheek and dropped her gaze, put the tupperware down from exhaustion. “I just want my children to have a normal life. I only had one parent and I thought they were going to have two and now that ship has sailed.”

She nodded sympathetically. “But that doesn’t mean you did anything wrong! You never relaxing and having a good time will only teach them bad work-life balance.”

You rolled your eyes at her comment, tried to fight the smile when she waited for you to fold. “I love you,” she said. “I want you to get laid or have a drink or let your hair down once in a while.”

You held up the wine in her face. “Already halfway there.”

She reached for the bottle of wine and shoved it towards you with skeptical eyes. “Try harder.”

You let out a laugh and took another sip once it was refilled, pushed plates into the microwave and sat there with her until Jeff’s car pulled back into the driveway and the girls came tumbling back into the house.

“Mom, Harry said he could teach me how to play guitar,” Maeve grinned up at you, an affectionate hug caught you by surprise, but so did her words.

“He did, did he?” You eyed Harry as he walked in with Jeff by his side, sunglasses still on his face despite the sun lingering just above the horizon.

“We’ll start a band,” Harry nodded in her direction, kept his eyes shielded as CeCe ran into the backyard with a noise of excitement.

“And Uncle Jeff said he’ll sing.”

“You’ll definitely get far, then,” you teased, pulling an offended look from your childhood friend. “He’s obviously the best singer in the house.”

Harry nodded in playful agreement. “Could put me out of a job any day.”

“Maeve!” CeCe called suddenly, pulling everyone’s attention to the backyard. “Come play squishball!”

Harry looked down at Maeve and she looked up at him, you were unaware of whatever unspoken communication was transpiring between them. “Should we?” He asked.

“Definitely,” she giggled, hands on her hips.

Zoey was also confused, but she watched as Maeve and Harry headed for the patio. Harry finally took his sunglasses off, handed them to your older daughter before he spoke. “CeCe, we need to have a meeting.”

“A meeting?” She asked, she groaned in disappointment but walked back towards the house, bat dragging on the grass behind her. Jeff laughed and folded his arms over his chest, unaware of whatever deal had already been struck between them.

“You two are both really great at squishball,” Harry admitted, his voice suddenly more serious than before. “But I think we need to up the stakes.”

“Up the stakes?” You could tell by the look on CeCe’s face that she had no clue what that meant.

“Winner of this game gets the medal I won from the spelling bee,” Maeve explained.

You were about to protest, head outside and discourage any type of betting or gambling or whatever the backyard made up game was leading towards, but Harry went on to explain the rules. “CeCe gets a head start running bases, just because of her tiny legs.”

Maeve nodded, “and she gets a free home run to start off.”

CeCe smiled wide and put her hands on her hips, pulling a laugh from Harry as she copied her older sister. “I like the sound of that,” she said. A sure-fire way to make her win, you realized. But what was in that for Maeve? How had your previously grumpy pre-teen become a team player in a matter of hours?

It wasn’t long before Zoey gathered up her things and put Benny in the backseat, giggling and excited yells floated in from the backyard when you hugged her goodbye. Jeff stayed past sunset and offered an excited high five when CeCe won, completely unaware at how easy they’d made it for her.

But he soon left, too, you climbed the stairs behind your two little athletes, got them washed up and in bed before it was 9pm--not bad for a weeknight. You were sure Harry would have retreated to his room, too, but he was sat by the fire pit on the patio, a near empty glass of wine in his hand when you came back out.

“Care to explain?” you leaned against the doorframe and smiled. He adjusted in his seat but shrugged his shoulders when you admitted: “I never thought I would hear the end of it with that stupid medal.”

There was a confident look on his face when he met your eyes in the glow of the fire pit. “Figured I can teach her a few chords on guitar and that would take her mind off of taunting CeCe.”

It was smart, you nodded slowly and watched him. Give Maeve something that would get her really excited, but only if she’d give up something else. Bargaining--a classic parenting trick. You eyed Harry with a level of skepticism.

“How are you so good with them?”

He smiled at that, apparently flattered by the compliment. “They’re good kids,” he said simply.

“I’m aware,” you laughed, “but you don’t have to spend so much time with them.”

“I like it,” he shrugged. “It’s kind of nice to be around a family, you know?”

The words pulled emotion to your chest. Did you really look like a family to him? No husband, no grandfather, two irreplaceable roles and now you were trying to fill all of them just to keep your kids afloat.

“And besides,” he stood from his chair and grabbed the now empty glass before he came closer to you. “Something about being here just feels right.”

You looked up at him, felt the same rush of heat to your cheeks but hoped you were safe in the cover of night. He smirked, like he knew what he was doing to you but was too much of a gentleman to call you out. Hesitation when you felt some type of magnetic force between you, the distance simultaneously felt like inches and miles.

You smiled softly, embarrassed by the way your pulse picked up and the thoughts that flew through your head. What would happen if I, does he ever think about, am I crazy if I want to?

He brushed past you and walked to the sink, placing the wine glass down quietly before he turned to face you once more. “Is it as bad as you thought?”

Confusion, you wiped your sweaty palms on your pants. “Sorry?”

“Having me here,” he motioned around, the dimple on his left cheek was visible even in the dim light. You rolled your eyes, dropped his gaze for a second when he let out a quiet laugh. “I hope that it’s only as miserable as you thought--m’just aiming for not worse than expected at this point.”

You turned to face him and put your hands on the granite, thankful for the fact that the island was now between you, the ticking of a clock on the wall kept time when you tried to piece your words together carefully.

Was he flirting with you? A similar to question to that he'd asked only a few nights earlier, this time with more of a smirk on his face and a lilt in his voice that made sent a shiver down your spine.

“It’s better,” you admitted with a nod and a teasing smile. “But don’t tell Jeff that.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, held your gaze and then nodded. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

There was silence for a second, you almost offered to pour him another glass of wine but then he said: “Only a few more days, though.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, the fantasy shattered on the floor between you. “How’s the house coming?”

He winced, a quiet laugh when he shook his head. “Everything’s been pushed out a few weeks, actually. But--it’s fine, I’m probably just going to stay with a friend or something, you know, don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You brought your lips into a thin line, unsure if what you were about to offer was appropriate or weird or just plain awkward.

“Oh...well, I mean, if you want to stay here longer, you can.”

His mouth pulled up on the side, he brought his gaze back to you and shifted his weight on his feet. “Yeah? You don’t mind?”

You shrugged, again hoping to play it cool or not come off too eager. “If that would be helpful,” you trailed off.

“Yeah, very helpful.”

“Cool.”

“Cool,” he nodded, pulling another smirk from you.

A few more weeks, tops.

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transcending-time · 3 years

Text

All I’ve Ever Known - Obi-Wan x Reader (5)

Ch 5. Modern Tea Shop AU

Pairing: Fem Reader x Obi-Wan

Trigger Warning: Emotional abuse

Description: (Y/N) has been working in a tea shop for the past couple of months while living with her mother. On the outside, everything seems wonderful. (Y/N) is a positive and smiley individual who just wants to make others happy. But looks can be deceiving. Underneath that positive smile is hurt and vulnerability from a living situation that is less than ideal. One day a stranger enters the shop and changes her life forever.

Authors Note: Oooof this one hurt to write but also was one that I loved to write because of some fluff that happens hehe Sorry this one is late posting today. I had some things to do today. Also I was feeling a bit insecure about my writing fjsdfjdsfjs so had to fight myself to actually post it hahah As promised, readers doodle will be included in the story hehe ahaha Anyways hope you like!

Previous Chapter: Ch 4

Tag List: @where-fantasy-meets-reality @s-r-clowns @mrskenobi19 @stomponmemommy

(Y/N) doodled in her book, sitting on the stool behind the counter. It had been a couple of days since the piano lesson. A dreamy smile came to her face. She could still feel the warmth of his hands over hers, his arms wrapped around her. The feeling of absolute excited nervousness and warmth spread across her chest. She hadn’t felt this sort of excitement in...well...a long time. He was such an amazing man, that Obi-Wan.

She looked down at her doodle of the man who had captivated her attention. She was pretty proud of her drawing. Her index finger lightly dragged along the cheek bone of her drawing.

‘Get yourself together, (Y/N). He’s just being nice, especially now that he knows you are friends with Anakin and Padme. He’s not actually interested that way’ she thought to herself, sighing softly. This negative self talk always seemed to come to bring her doubt whenever she was trying to think of something nice. She hated how negative she could be to herself, not that she would show anyone how she truly felt. Despite these thoughts, she pushed them aside as much as she could. Even if he was being nice, that was so sweet of him to do, he didn’t have to.

And now they had plans for Monday. Another lesson and lunch? Was it a date? Or was it just a friendly hang out? She wasn’t sure, but it excited her nonetheless. She heard the timer go off for the oven and quickly made her way to the kitchen, putting on her oven mitts and took out the Ricotta cheese strudel. They smelled delicious.

Ding.

She raised an eyebrow curiously and quickly set the tray of strudel onto the counter and looked down at her phone. She smiled. It was a text from Obi-Wan.

Good morning, (Y/N). Are you working today?

I am. You?

I just had one class scheduled today. Have you had many customers?

No. Not really. Today’s shift usually has the least amount of people. Kinda boring haha But I did just make some Ricotta strudel

Sounds delightful. I should be there in a few minutes, if you don’t mind the company of course

She smiled.

I would love the company. Would you like the usual?

Maybe something different today. Perhaps surprise me?

Sounds good ;) Have the perfect thing in mind

She walked up to the front of the store and looked at the assortment of teas on the wall, tapping her chin. What would Obi like? Blood orange maybe? Or Strawberry? Or perhaps their new addition of Lavender Earl Grey? Maybe add some sugar and a bit of milk? Yes. That’s what she would do. (Y/N) prepared the tea, letting it steep for a bit before pouring it into the cup and placing it on the saucer.

She went back to the kitchen where the strudel was cooling and sliced it up, placed it onto a display tray and brought it out, grabbing one slice and placing it onto the saucer for Obi-Wan. Hopefully he would like them both. She brought both to his usual table.

Ring

The ring of the bell to the front door rang and she turned around with a smile, seeing the smiling face of Obi-Wan.

“Great timing. The tea is ready and there’s a strudel with your name on it” she giggled and smiled.

“I have been told I have a flair for dramatic timing” he chuckled and went over to sit down. “Why don’t you join me? At least until you get more customers”

“I’d love to,” she smiled and sat in the seat across from him.

“How have you been?” Obi asked.

“Oh I’m ok just been working a lot...And doing some drawings and such…” she ran her fingers through her hair. Obi-Wan smiled, but that smile soon turned into concern as she saw a bandage on her finger.

“What happened there?” he took her hand in his gently, running his thumb gently across the skin of her hand. His blue eyes staring intently at the finger.

“With what? Oh...my finger…? Oh it’s ummm…I just…” she bit her lip “I just cut it on something. No big deal…”

Obi-Wan wasn’t quite convinced, but he wouldn’t push her further if she didn’t wish to speak of it. He gently let her hands go and gave a gentle smile “Well let’s try this strudel shall we?” He took it in his hand and took a bite. “Mmmm...this is quite good. I think it’s one of my favourites”

“I’m glad,” she smiled. “Oh. The tea is Lavender Earl Grey. It’s one of our new ones”

“It smells good”

Suddenly a ring at the door sounded and they both turned their heads to see who it was. (Y/N)’s face visibly paled and she stood up, walking to get behind the counter.

“Mom? What...are you doing here?”

“What am I not allowed to be here?” the woman smiled at her daughter. Her smile was that of a kind mother, but something about the way (Y/N) tensed at her words, made Obi-Wan think that there was more going on. More going on that had to do with the bandaged finger. He didn’t know for certain, and didn’t want to make assumptions, but it was clear that her mother made her nervous.

Obi-Wan sat up and walked over to the counter as silent support to (Y/N). Their eyes met for a brief second.

“Oh...umm mom...This is Obi-Wan. A... friend of mine I met here at the shop…” (Y/N) blushed lightly and smiled softly at Obi-Wan for a moment.

“A friend huh?” (Y/N)’s mother looked him up and down. “Nice to meet you, I’m Theresa. (Y/N)’s mom”

He gave a small smile, not wanting to add to the tense atmosphere. Even though he knew something was going on beyond appearances, he didn’t want to exacerbate any possible situation for (Y/N). She looked like she was upset enough. “You too”

“Did you need something?” (Y/N) asked.

“I’ll get some of the cinnamon tea and 4 of that strudel there. Make sure you don’t eat it though. I need it for if I have guests over”

“...I wasn’t planning to…”

“Just wanted to let you know. No need to be grumpy ” she smiled sweetly.

Obi-Wan frowned at the exchange and saw (Y/N)’s face fall. His heart hurt seeing her heart hurt like it did. “I’ll be back in a moment. I’m just going to wash my hands”

“Ok” (Y/N) smiled. “Bathroom is just around the corner” she pointed towards the bathroom, to which he gave a soft smile as he walked off towards the washroom.

He opened the door, went over to the sink and ran the warm water over his hands. He sighed and took some paper towels to dry them. He could hear the two women talking in hushed tones. Obi-Wan opened up the door slightly to be able to hear the conversation, and he did not enjoy what he was hearing.

“Don’t you dare try to embarrass me like that again. You are acting like an entitled brat” her mother growled lightly.

“I didn’t even do anything! I was just saying that I wasn’t going to eat them”

“You gave me attitude”

“But I didn’t”

“You did. And to top it off you didn’t even do the dishes this morning!”

Her heart sank. She had meant to do them but she completely forgot. She held her head in shame “Sorry I was running late this morning. I’ll do them when I get home”

“That’s not good enough, (Y/N). You should’ve done them immediately”

“Like I said I was late. And only one of those dishes are actually mine”

“Oh so it’s going to be like that? I don’t care that only one is yours! I do so much for you and you can’t even wash my dishes?”

“I...I didn’t say that I just…”

“No you know what. I’m so sick of you pulling this crap. If you can’t take care of the dishes properly then you aren’t allowed to use any of my dishes. And you know what else? Don’t even think about touching the food in my fridge. Stuff your face with takeout. You are so ungrateful for what I do for you. When you were in University I was there for you. If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have gotten through that. Who was there for you at 3 am when you were crying on the phone every night? That’s right me”

“Y...you were yelling at me every time” (Y/N) said in a soft, meek voice.

“That is a bold faced lie. I was there for you. You are so selfish. I can’t believe that you turned out this way. You’re just like your father. Now get me my stuff so I can go”

“But…” she sighed.

It became silent then, apart from (Y/N) shuffling her feet along the floor and ringing her mom's items out. Obi-Wan walked out the door then as (Y/N) was handing her mother her items. Theresa’s eyes went to Obi-Wan and she smiled.

“It was nice to meet you, Obi-Wan” she turned to (Y/N) “See you later, boo”

(Y/N) made no attempt to say goodbye and soon her mother left. (Y/N) walked from behind the counter. “I...Do...do you want another tea? Your tea must be cold...I’m sorry...I…”

Obi-Wan frowned and slowly approached her, (Y/N)’s eyes met his, clearly trying to hold back her emotions. He reached out for her hands and pulled her close, gently wrapping them around her with a soft, gentle touch and her eyes widened as he did so, but she soon melted into his touch and wrapped her arms around his middle. Gentle hands stroked her back affectionately, letting her lean her weight into him. He didn’t mind, he wanted her to feel safe with him.

“You know what...How about we get out of here? Maybe go for some ice cream?”

“I...I couldn--”

“Please. It’ll be my treat” he pulled back gently and looked into her eyes softly. She opened her mouth to object, but seeing the softness in his eyes made her close it again. She nodded in agreement. Cynthia always told her that if it was slow that she could close the shop early. She usually never left early, but she supposed it wouldn’t hurt doing it just this once.

The two of them walked in silence, (Y/N) tried to keep a smile on her face, but Obi-Wan could notice the pain in her eyes. She felt like she was overreacting with the hurt in her heart, perhaps she did deserve it, she had forgotten to do the dishes after all. She felt so incompetent.

Casually he reached down and took her small hand in his, entwining his fingers with hers, taking her away from her thoughts. Her eyes looked up into his, and she smiled, her cheeks flushing lightly and she flicked her eyes away shyly. He let out a chuckle, finding it incredibly adorable.

“We’re almost there. They have very good ice cream and the owners are quite lovely”

“I love ice cream. So I’m pretty excited about it” she smiled.

When they finally arrived, they walked up to the door and Obi-Wan held the door open for her.

“Thank you” (Y/N) smiled lightly.

“Ahhh! Obi-Wan, my friend! It is good to see you!” a man who looked around his late 50’s came to the counter. “And who is this lovely lady with you?”

“Hi, I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you” (Y/N) smiled brightly. Obi-Wan’s heart fluttered at seeing that smile, a smile that could easily light up a room with it’s vibrancy.

“And you little lady. I’m Pete. Any friend of Obi-Wan is a friend of mine. What can I get for you two?”

“I’ll have a vanilla soft serve on a cone” he turned to (Y/N) with a smile “ What would you like, darling?”

Her cheeks flushed at the nickname and she couldn’t help but let out a tiny giggle “Oh...Umm...I’ll have a double scoop of mint chocolate chip please. But in a cup if that’s ok?”

“More than ok. I’ll get right to it '' Pete smiled as he walked to the back to get the ice creams.

She turned and looked at Obi-Wan curiously, smirking lightly “Just vanilla soft serve?”

Obi Wan chuckled “Call me a traditionalist. I like things...soft... and sweet…” he smirked, giving her a sly wink that made her entire face go red.

“You are incorrigible” she could stop herself from giggling like a schoolgirl, her heart beating quickly in her chest as she pushed him teasingly. He swayed lightly and let out a laugh.

“Your face is a delightful shade of red. It was worth it. You’re worth it” he smiled as their eyes met. Both smiled at each other warmly, before Pete came back and handed them their ice creams.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be such a bad day afterall.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan #obi-wan #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x reader #x reader

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doublerainebow · 3 years

Text

Artist Resources (Part 1?)

This is basically just going to be a bunch of resources I have found to be useful. I can’t say that I’ve used all of them, but I’m sure they’re all worth checking out.

I’m also gonna try to put a detailed description for most of the links so you have a better idea of what you’re getting. I apologize in advance if some of them are redundant lol

(I put “Part 1″ if in the case I make another one)

~Links to Tutorials, Tips, Resources, etc~

Another Resource List -- Leads to another Tumblr post. Apparently, the post isn’t mobile-friendly, so it’s suggested to view this on Tumblr browser. Has a bunch of other links. I’ve checked out a few of them (mainly the copyright stuff lol), and it seems that some of the links may be a bit outdated. Still, it doesn’t hurt to check out the links.

Arms and Legs -- Leads to another Tumblr post. A handy tutorial on elbow and knee placement.

Art & Game Dev -- This leads to my personal playlist of a bunch of YouTube videos. Has a bunch of tutorials and interesting videos that I’ve collected over the course of a few years lol.

Blamblot -- A website that contains resources and tutorials on comic lettering. This is primarily in reference to western comics, but it doesn’t help to take a looksie.

Commission Calculator -- Leads to another Tumblr post. Helps artists to stop selling themselves short.

Comparing Heights (hikaku-sitatter) -- A height comparer for centimeters.

Comparing Heights -- A height comparer for feet and inches.

Mouth Shapes and Lip-Syncing -- Leads to another Tumblr post. Useful for... drawing mouth shapes.

Reference Angle -- Useful for when you’re trying to map out a face from an odd angle.

Soft Proofing for Printing -- Leads to another Tumblr post. Helps when you’re trying to make prints of your artwork.

Textures -- A website full of different and mostly free textures. While this website is made for 3D texturing, it can also be useful for 2D drawings. Signing up gives you 15 free credits everyday, and you can use those credits to download some textures for free.

The Models Resource -- A website of models ripped from a wide array of games.

The Spriters Resource -- A website of sprites ripped from a wide array of games.

The Textures Resource -- A websites of textures ripped from a wide array of games.

~Links to Stock Images~

Please check out whatever policies they may have for their images before using them!

(not sure if any of them are active anymore as I followed some of these accounts a long time ago when I used to be more active on Deviant Art lol)

adorkastock (formerly senshistock)

anatoref -- Leads to another Tumblr post. Has a bunch of hand photo references

charligal-stock

HumanAnatomy4Artist -- Does contain nudity

null-entity

PhelanDavion

RobynRose

~Links to Other Artists~

Akihito Yoshitomi -- Yoshitomi is a mangaka who has tutorials on manga making. He also has an insightful series in which he drafts and draws a 30-page manga in 18 days. Remember that every artist works differently and his process may be different from another’s.

Drawfee -- Drawfee is an improv drawing show of four artists: Nathan Yaffe, Jacob Andrews, Julia Lepetit, and Karina Farek. While they don’t have tutorials in a sense, their videos explain the different processes they go through as they draw. They also occasionally provide tips, tricks, and resources in their videos. They do have another channel and a Twitch channel where they host drawing classes in addition to other fun shenanigans.

EtheringtonBrothers -- Has a bunch of useful and eye-catching tutorials called “How to Think When You Draw”.

Mark Crilley -- Mark is a comic artist, specializing in manga, who has a bunch of tutorials about anatomy, perspective, comic making, and other things.

Miyuli -- Miyuli is an artist who posts tutorials on their Twitter. Their tutorials range from anatomy to clothing to other things. They even have a few books of art tips. Currently (as of the time of posting this), their 2018 version is free for download, so I highly recommend you download that. Some tips may be outdated, but they should still be helpful.

Whyt Manga (Twitter/YouTube) -- Odunze is a comic artist, specializing in manga, that has a bunch of tutorials on manga making and drawing characters of color.

~Links to Free Programs~

Blender -- A free 3D program if you’re into 3D modeling and such. I also personally haven’t used Blender (I use Maya lol), but I know it’s a respectable program.

Krita -- A free painting program if you can’t afford Photoshop or Clip Studio Paint. I personally haven’t used Krita, but I have recommended it to a few friends and they have positive reviews about it.

Paint Tool SAI -- Okay, this one isn’t free, but it’s a significantly cheaper painting program where you don’t have to pay a subscription. It’s 5,500JPY (~50 USD). I’m not sure how well it still works on modern computers (the last update was 2016), but I still use it here and there because I love the pen tool feature it has, and it still works like a charm for me.

~General Tips From Raine~

Raine admits that she’s guilty of not following her own advice, but Raine hopes that the tips that she does know will be beneficial to someone who will follow them. She’s also going to keep all her tips under the cut so as to not make this post a huge wall of text (even though it technically already is lol)

Also, if you have some resources, tutorials, tips yourself, please feel free to send them to me and maybe I’ll make a part 2 to this post!

ALWAYS LOOK FOR REFERENCE. This should really go without saying. You can’t draw from life if you refuse to observe life itself.

If you can’t find the exact thing you need, MAKE YOUR OWN REFERENCE. Time and time again, I can’t find something exactly that I need. So instead, what I do is that I take pictures of my own reference. Sometimes I even grab a friend and take pictures of them doing whatever it is I need.

Have a mirror handy when you’re drawing. Sometimes what you need is actually right there in front of you.

Having trouble drawing something? Do some studies. Take the time to understand what it is you’re drawing. I can’t remember the exact story, but I heard that the people who were working on Tarzan were having a hard time drawing his hands. So, what they did was spend a few hours looking at hands to try and understand how they work.

IT’S OKAY TO STUDY THE ART OF OTHER ARTISTS. Just as we look to the old masters as a reference, it’s definitely okay to look at modern-day artists for reference. Just don’t go copying exactly everything that they do, or worse, trace what they do. Just don’t do it... at all.

Not every line needs to be realized. The viewer of your work will automatically connect the dots.

DO NOT TRASH YOUR OLD DRAWINGS. Please, never ever do this. Your old drawings have value to them, even if they look terrible to you. Old drawings may hold ideas for things you could do for the future. They also serve as a way to see how far you’ve come as an artist.

GETTING BETTER AT DRAWING TAKES TIME AND EFFORT. You’re not gonna get better overnight. It’ll take months, or even years, to feel like you’re a competent artist, and even then, you’ll still have room for improvement.

DON’T LOOK DOWN ON YOURSELF IF YOU’RE TAKING A LONG TIME TO GET BETTER. It’ll be better for your mental health in the long run.

Alternatively, DON'T LOOK DOWN ON OTHER ARTISTS EITHER, ESPECIALLY TO MAKE YOURSELF FEEL BETTER. You know the struggles it took for you to get where you are, so don’t go putting down other people when you’ve been in their shoes once.

KEEP DRAWING. If you’re not making an effort to get better, then you’re not going to be better. I get that it’s hard to find the inspiration to draw (I’m very guilty of this), but just keep trying. It doesn’t have to be big or spectacular. You don’t even have to post it if you’re the type who likes to post their art stuff.

Try to find references from real-life. It’ll help you better understand form, lighting, shadows, etc., especially if you’re going for a more realistic kind of art style. Otherwise, finding reference from things like cartoons, anime, comics, etc. are just as good.

Try new things. Try new art mediums. Try a different art style. Switch up the way you do things. Maybe you’ll hate it, maybe you’ll like it. Who knows if you don’t try.

Watch time-lapses (or speed draws/speed paints) of other artists!

Pinterest and Google are your friends if you need tutorials or references or whatever.

If you’re offering commissions, DO NOT WORK UNDER YOUR LOCAL MINIMUM WAGE. You are literally devaluing the work you actually put into a piece.

I like to think I’m an aficionado of Photoshop, so feel free to ask me questions on how to achieve something! I’ve used Photoshop for about 11 years now and know my way around the program. On another note, I do recommend setting custom keyboard shortcuts in Photoshop because the default shortcuts are terrible (in my opinion), and because having custom shortcuts increases the speed of your workflow.

Because I’ve been seeing this a lot lately in Twitter, you’re never too old to start in art. Art is just one of those things that anyone can pick up at any age because the only thing you really need to get good in art is time, diligence, and patience.

Try not to post hi-res images of your artwork to prevent art stealers from selling your artwork in high resolution.

Always, always, always add your signature and watermark on your artwork. I like to add my signatures and watermarks in places that’ll be hard to erase or crop out. I’ve also seen people add their signatures and watermarks in creative ways (ex. on a character’s shirt). You need to protect your work in an era where people will just blatantly steal it and make profit off your work.

Tag List

@reality-is-often-disappointing

#artists #artists on tumblr #artist tips #artist resources #art resources #artists of tumblr #art tips #art tutorial #raine rambles and muses #raine can art

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sketching-shark · 3 years

Note

I think we should start a protection squad (although they don’t need it because they can protect themselves) for Sun Wukong and Guanyin

“Begone monkie kid fandom trying to down grade these really interesting characters with interesting personality’s and backstory ( the both of them like seriously Guanyin backstory is so cool) to a villain wile trying to justify your angsty backstory (that are no where near as cool as monkey who fights gods and Person who has 1000 arms and heads to help people in need) for the actual villain”

So who wants to join

Me:*raises my hand*

Ps: sorry if I got Guanyin backstory wrong am not an expert on it.

Haha okay so some critiques on the jttw & associated media western fandom & fandom in general coming up, so please skip this upcoming text wall if you don't want to encounter my undoubtedly ~devastating~ words (i.e. don't like don't read as people love to say, & if I have to be inundated with images of my notp every time I go into the sun wukong tag then I imagine people can be chill with me expressing my opinions & giving people fair warning that I WILL be critiquing common fandom trends, but no need for you to see that if you don’t want to. Cool? Cool.)

-----

PFFFFFTTT oh man there are many times when I feel like signing up for such a protection squad...when it comes to the current western jttw & Sun Wukong fandom I do feel like I'm often swinging at a rapid pace between "well it's fandom & people are allowed to make the stories they want" & "I am once again begging my fellow monkie kid enthusiasts (& sometimes creators) to do more research into the og classic/show it more respect so you can avoid any potentially offensive/off-the-mark misunderstandings of the status & cultural context of the characters in their country of origin (I promise it's super interesting & I can provide you with links to free pdf copies of the entire Yu translation, i.e. the best one ever created, so feel free to ask!) & maybe also stop constantly stripping away all the nuance of Sun Wukong's character for the sake of either making him an entire asshole so your little meow meow can look completely innocent in comparison and/or making the monkey king's entire life & character revolve around said meow meow."

Like I get that fandom's supposed to be a kind of anything-goes environment, but one thing that honestly seems to be true of a lot of fandoms--and the western one for Sun Wukong & co. is certainly not immune from this--is that there often seems to be a kind of monoculturalization at work in what stories are created & what character interpretations are made popular. Across a multitude of fandoms, you frequently see basically nothing but the exact same tropes being made popular & even being insisted on for the canonical work (especially hasty redemption arcs & enemies to lovers these days), the exact same one-dimensional character types that characters from an original work keep getting shoved into, the exact same story beats, etc. And I get it to an extent, as fandom is generally a space where people just make art and fic for fun & without thinking too hard about it & without any pressure.

This seems to, however, often unfortunately lead to the mentality that it’s your god-given right to do literally whatever you want with literally any cultural figure without even the slightest bit of thought put into their cultural, historical, and even religious context, even (and sometimes especially) when it comes to figures that are really important in a culture outside your own. For such figures--even if you first encounter them in a children’s cartoon--you should be a little more careful with what you do with them than you would with your usual Saturday morning line-up. It of course has to be acknowledged that there exists a whole pile of absolutely ridiculous & cursed pieces of media that are based on Journey to the West & that were produced in mainland China, but for your own education if nothing else I consider it good practice for those of us (myself certainly included) who aren’t part of the culture that produced JTTW to put more thought into how we might want to portray these characters so that at the very least (to pull some things I’ve seen from the jttw western fandom) we’re not turning a goddess of mercy into an evil figure for the sake of Angst(TM), or relegating other important literary figures into the positions of offensive stereotypes, or making broad claims about the source text & original characterizations of various figures that are blatantly untrue, or mocking heavenly deities because of what’s actually your misunderstanding of how immortality works according to Daoist beliefs. Yet while a lot of this is often due to people not even trying to understand the context these figures are coming from, I do want to acknowledge that the journey (lol reference) to understand even a fraction of the original cultural context can be a daunting one, especially since, as I’ve mentioned before, it can be really hard & even next to impossible to find good, accessible, & legitimate explanations in English of how, for example, the relationship between Sun Wukong and the Six-Eared Macaque is commonly interpreted in China & according to the Buddhist beliefs that define the original work.

That is to say, I do think it’s an unfortunate, if unavoidable, part of any introduction of an original text into a culture foreign to its own for there to be sometimes a significant amount of misinterpretation, mistranslations, and false assumptions. There is, however, a big difference between learning from your honest mistakes, & doubling down on them while dismissing all criticism of your misinterpretation into that abstract category of “fandom drama.” The latter attitude is kind of shitty at best and horrifically entitled at worst.

Plus, as I’ve discovered, there is a great deal of interest and joy to be drawn from keeping yourself open to learning aspects of these texts & figures that you weren’t aware of! I can say from my own experience that I’ve always really enjoyed & appreciated it when individuals on this site who come from a Chinese background--and who know much more about the cultural context of JTTW than me--have taken the time to explain its various aspects. It often leaves me feeling like woooooaaaahhhhhHHH!!!! as to how amazingly full of nuanced meaning JTTW is like dang no wonder it’s one of China’s Four Great Classical Novels.

And I guess that right there is the heart of a lot of my own personal frustration and disappointment with the ways that fandoms often approach a literary work or other piece of media...like don’t get me wrong, a lot of the original works a fandom may grow around are just straight-up goofy & everyone’s aware of it & has fun with it, yet the trend of approaching what are often nuanced and multi-layered works in terms of how well they fit and/or can be shoved into pretty cliche ideas of Redemption Arc or Enemies to Lovers or Hero Actually Bad, Villain Actually Good etc...well, it just seems to cheapen and even erase even the possibility of understanding the wonderful complexity or even endearing simplicity that made these works so beloved in the first place. Again, I feel like I need to make it clear that I’m not saying fandom should be a space where people are constantly trying to one-up each other with their hot takes in literary analysis, but it would be nice and even beneficial to allow room for commentary that strives to approach these works in a multi-faceted way, analysis & interpretations that go against the popular fandom beliefs, & criticism of the work or even of fandom trends (yes it is in fact possible to legitimately love something but still be critical of its aspects) instead of immediately attacking people who try to engage in such as just being haters who don’t want anyone to have fun ever (X_X).

----

Anyway, I know I didn’t cover even half of the stuff you brought up in the first place anon, but I don’t want any interested parties to this post to suffer too long through my text wall lol. I was asked to try my hand at illustrating Guanyin, but as with you I’m nowhere near as informed as I should be about her, so I want to do more research on her history and religious importance before I attempt a portrait. I’ll try my best, and do plan to pair that illustration with my own outsider’s attempt to summarize her character. From what little I do know I am in full agreement that her backstory is so incredibly amazing...just the fact that she literally eschewed the bliss of Nirvana to help all beings reach it, and even split herself into pieces in the attempt to do so (with Buddha granting her eleven heads and a thousand arms as a result)...man, I can see why she’s such a beloved & respected deity.

----

As for what western fandom commonly does with everyone’s favorite god-fighting primate...I can talk about this at length if there’s interest, but for this post I’ll just say that I guess one lesson from all of this is that for all the centuries that have passed since Journey to the West was first completed, literally no one drawing inspiration from the original tale in the west (lol) has come even slightly close to being able to equal or even capture half the extent of the nuance, complexity, religious, historical, and cultural aspects, and humor that define Wu Cheng'en's story of an overpowered monkey who defied even Buddha.

So thank the heavens we'll always have the original.

#journey to the west #jttw #guanyin #sun wukong #monkey king #monkie kid #fandom #fandom critical

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kuroororo · 3 years

Text

birthday special (t. kuroo x reader)

~~~

there wasn’t much that made you excited. save for the occasional premieres of new anime and the bubbly feeling you’d get at the end of every semester, there was hardly a time you were ever excited for things to come. perhaps it had to do with your loneliness. events are only memorable if you have someone to share it with, right? maybe it’s because you didn’t have someone to be excited with that made you less than numb on days like today.

like your birthday for example.

for the past couple of years, you’ve spent your birthday alone. before that, you had your grandma of course, who made you favorite cake by hand every year until her death. you never realized how many people you DIDNT have in your life until she was gone. now, you celebrate your birthday with a day old cupcake and the same candle you’ve been using for the past two years.

this year wouldn’t be any different. you’d think that with Kuroo now in your life you’d have at least somebody to celebrate your birthday with. instead, nekoma had a practice game with nohebi and he reaaaaaaally couldn’t miss this one. he offered to let you tag along, to which you declined saying you had some test to study for and you really couldn’t skip out on studying or you’d fail the class. kuroo only shrugged it off.

“alright, whatever you say.”

and then it was just you. again.

you couldn’t blame him for not knowing. you guys had only started dating recently and you never came across the topic of birthdays before. besides, it’s not like you would have told him anyways. your birthday wasn’t important then and it isn’t important now. so why did you feel a strong pain in your chest.

even before you started dating, you’ve always put effort into his team. whether it be yaku’s birthday or kenmas volleyball-aversery, you did your best to help make them feel special. gifts, balloons, at least a special shoutout on chatsnap, you did what you could to brighten up their day. because, that’s what friends do, right?

well, maybe they weren’t your friends. yet, at least. you only started hanging around tetsurou months prior, his friends joining you both along the way. at first you were only being cordial, them only having a connection to you via kuroo, who you could hardly call a friend at the time. but as the months passed, you felt as if you were part of the warm, deep bond that was his team.

Maybe you were jumping the gun. maybe you guys weren’t really friends, only acquaintances. makes sense— maybe you imagined your friendship with them all along. the moment kuroo came out of the picture, you would be back to strangers. that’s how all your past “friendships” ended like. once faces you tried to brighten turn to blank canvases, like you’ve never touched them before with the colors of your palette. like you’ve never bought them gifts, set up balloons, made them cake. the whole nine hundred. maybe kuroos and his friends will end up the same way.

it was nearing midnight, the days drawing to a close. as per usual, none of the people you’ve put so much effort in even thought to send you a birthday text. typical. you only sighed and lit up the used candle in front of you, readying you birthday cupcake to finish the night.

“happy birthday to me”

your voice cracked. it’s never done that before.

“happy birthday to me”

you felt warm droplets slip down your face. perhaps there was a leak in the roof?

“happy birthday dear (y/n)...”

you paused for dramatic effect but ended up hiccuping on your own breath. when you looked at the clock, it read 11:58. two minutes until your birthday was over.

“happy birthday to me”

and you blew out your candle.

~~~

a knock on the door. this late at night? then loud banging.

“what the...” usually, opening your front door at 11:59 pm at night would seem like a bad idea. but you were in such a hysterical state you couldn’t be bothered with logic and fear. so you got up, braced yourself for the worst, and swung the door open.

"SURPRISE!”

all of nekoma’s volleyball team stood outside your door. balloons, gifts, a piñata, they all had something to carry. and in the middle, tetsurou stood holding out a terribly decorated birthday cake with the words “HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N” in shaky frosting.

you could only blink. “...guys?”

“happy birthday y/n!” your boyfriend sang proudly. “you didn’t think we’d actually forget.”

“he did forget.” quipped kenma. he had a cat plushy with a birthday themed bow in his hands. “i had to be the one to reminded him.”

“nooooo” tetsurou denied. you only giggled. you weren’t mad at him. not at all. you were just surprised the whole team pitched in to help.

yaku, who was wrangling the balloons, chimed in. “either way, we’re here now y/n. why don’t you sit down and relax while we set up.”

as you were about to deny they work so hard, tetsurou silenced you with a kiss to the cheek and pushed his way in. and who were you to deny the whole team.

balloons, streamers, banners and homemade posters littered your walls and you couldn’t be more grateful. and every member of the team had something to give you as a gift. yamamoto got you hair ties, fukunaga gave you a book full of knock knock jokes, kenma gave you the cat plushy— you were thankful for it all.

finally, tetsurou presented to you his homemade birthday cake lit with candles.

the fire cast a glow onto his face. “i’m sorry we were so late.”

you smiled at him, a light water in your eyes. “you guys are here now, so.”

everyone gathered around you both while inuoka turned off the lights.

“happy birthday to you”

levs pitch was off.

“happy birthday to you”

yamamoto was a little too loud.

“happy birthday dear y/n”

kai was undoubtedly the best singer of them all.

“happy birthday to you!”

you blew out the candles.

as the boys cheered in the dark, tetsurou leaned over to give you a kiss.

“happy birthday, my love.”

~~~~~

optional:

before he smashed your face into the cake. and licked it off in private

#sksksk #i wrote this a while ago #when no one wished me a happy birthday LOL #sad times #but I gave us a happy ending!#fluff fic #angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #hq x you #kuroo x you #tetsurou kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo angst #kuroo fluff

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raleighcarrera · 3 years

Text

parry

foreign affairs | m!blaine hayes x mc (kennedy monroe)

after the polo match, kennedy sneaks out to see blaine. bonus scene from the end of chapter 5.

catch up: knockout (E) / on the ropes (T) / outpoint (T)

tagging: @pixeljazzy ; @zigtheeortega ; @pixelsandkink ; @writinghereandthere ; @choicesarehard ; @natesewell ; @blainehellyes

~4.7k words | E

just let me know when you decide you actually want to be in control of your own life.

the words play on a loop in her mind as she stares at the ceiling, tossing and turning in bed.

after all the time she and blaine have spent together, where the hell does he get off talking to her like that?

who does he think he is, being right?

kennedy huffs, flopping over onto her stomach, shoving her face in the pillow on her bed. go to sleep, she scolds herself, squeezing her eyes shut tight and doing her very best to at least try. she has class tomorrow -- assignments to turn in, things to do. she can’t be awake at...

a glance at the clock on her nightstand makes her balk. two-thirty in the morning?!

her hands rub her eyes in frustration. this is all blaine’s fault.

before she’s even aware of what she’s doing, kennedy’s rolling onto her side and grappling for her phone, squinting as the light from the screen illuminates her otherwise pitch black bedroom. she hesitates, thumbs poised over the keyboard.

what is she supposed to say?

it’s all so confusing -- where she stands with blaine after last week and how she’s supposed to reconcile all the things she’s learning about him with the person she’d read about online before they ever met, how her mother’s campaign intersects with what she wants and whether or not she should be allowed to have something, for once, after going without for so long.

are you awake? she settles on finally, sent before she can take it back.

blaine’s reply comes within moments. no way did i just get a u up text from kennedy monroe, it says.

her eyes roll, though she’d be lying if she said she doesn’t immediately start to feel a little bit better, just like that. even when she doesn’t know what to say to him, she knows she wants to talk to him, and... maybe that’s enough.

you could just say yes, you know.

where’s the fun in that? before she’s even done reading blaine’s first message, the second appears right below it. is something wrong?

a loaded question. she knows she isn’t mad at blaine, not really. her anger’s meant for her mom and he’s unfairly caught the misdirection. though maybe the reason why his observations about her always seem to sting so much are because they hit unnervingly close to home, time after time. no.

liar, blaine says, and then, come over, then.

kennedy’s eyebrows lift. it’s almost three o’clock in the morning, she reminds him, as though he somehow hasn’t noticed.

so? betters your chances of not being seen with me.

her behavior at the polo match had poked at a sore spot, then. she sighs.

the front door is out of the question. she knows the second she slips out of her bedroom tatum will wake up and catch her in the suite’s living room, and that’s a complication she isn’t keen on dealing with, if she’s doing this.

is she doing this?

as softly as she can manage, she slips to the side and plants her feet on the floor, standing and stretching. her hair’s in a topknot, piled on her head -- that’ll have to do, there’s nothing she can do about it now -- but she should probably put on something more decent, especially if...

her phone lights up in her hand again. yes or no, rutherland?

yes, she writes back, so that it’s out there and she’s committed, her heart starting to race as soon as she sees her message is marked delivered. okay. okay, she’s doing this. there’s no going back now.

her hands shake as she slides open the window in her bedroom, less confidently than blaine had lifted the one in the living room just a few days before. for some reason the drop looks steeper and scarier than it had with him grinning up at her, but all it takes is a deep breath and the reminder of her mother’s expectations before she makes the leap, slinking off through the courtyard without a look back.

the back entrance to blaine’s residence hall is unlocked, and she counts off the numbers on each door down the hallway silently to herself to try to ease her nerves as she makes her way to the wing where she knows his and peter’s room is.

though she draws up short as she emerges from the stairwell; blaine’s waiting for her outside the suite, leaning half out of the open door frame. his arms are folded across his bare chest, and there’s sweatpants slung low on his hips where she does her very best not to stare, setting her eyes on his smirking mouth instead. “well, well, well. you actually showed.”

“shhh,” she instructs reflexively, looking around before following him inside, reaching out to smack his shoulder when blaine laughs just a touch too loudly for comfort.

her back leans against the front door as soon as it’s shut behind her. kennedy sighs heavily, scrubbing her hands over her face. part of her wants badly to throw up.

when she opens her eyes, blaine’s shaking his head at her indulgently. his hair is tousled like he’d been in bed while they were talking, too. “you teach a girl to sneak out one time and suddenly she’s all about it. it’s like you’re a different person.”

“oh my god, be quiet,” kennedy scolds, half because he’s already annoying her to her breaking point and half because -- “isn’t peter asleep?”

“a jet plane landing on the quad couldn’t wake peter up if it tried,” he snorts, sliding his eyes down her body slowly. “but we can talk in my room, if you want. shut the door and everything.”

it’s an offer she probably wouldn’t be able to say no to even if she wasn’t feeling vulnerable; seeing blaine’s room presents an opportunity to know a part of him he seems hellbent on keeping guarded.

and then there’s the other reason she’d come over, the innuendo underlying why she’s at blaines at three o’clock in the morning in underwear she definitely hadn’t been sleeping in.

kennedy nods. blaine’s grin is sharp in the dark living room, and he leads her wordlessly to the back bedroom in the suite -- the one that’d be dionne’s, if they were at her place.

but it’s not like dionne’s room at all. the bed is messy and unmade, dark sheets hanging half off the bed. blaine bypasses the overhead lights for the lamp at his bedside, and then the room is bathed in the dim coolness of a low blue bulb, just enough that she can see him perfectly, even though the curtains are drawn tight across his window.

blaine flings himself back into his bed like it’s no big deal at all that she’s here, the mattress bouncing in its frame. he wiggles pointedly over towards the wall, and without him inviting her closer, she toes off her shoes and falls into the space at his side, laying down on top of his outstretched arm.

there’s the briefest moment of silence before he exhales and curls his fingers around her shoulder. “i hope you left the warden a note,” he murmurs.

“after the earful i got the other day? no.” blaine’s chest is warm under her cheek when she turns her face to look at him. it’s weird how being so close to him isn’t weird at all, how natural situating herself in his bed and his arms feels and how much more relaxed she is, the crushing weight of the conversation she’d had with her mom easing up enough that she can finally let herself breathe.

“tell me about it,” blaine hums, “jacob totally ratted me out to my mom. she went nuclear.”

kennedy winces, sympathy softening the expression on her face. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t be,” blaine shrugs, “i don’t give a shit. besides, it was totally worth it.”

there’s something warm in his gaze when he meets her eyes -- something that makes her feel safe enough to admit, “my mom laid into me, too. before the polo match. it was the same as always, she just... everything is always about her campaign and how what i do affects her. and she expects me to be, like, this ideal daughter who never does anything wrong or has a life or an independent thought, and sometimes i feel like it’s impossible to live up to her expectations. i mean, no one could.”

blaine makes a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. “i know what you mean. like, yeah, our parents forced us to come here, but we should still be able to get something we want out of this experience, too.”

“exactly,” kennedy agrees quickly, struck by his understanding, “and just once i’d love to be able to make friends or date someone without having to worry about what it’ll do to my mom’s campaign, and i wish she’d give me that freedom, too, instead of trying to make me promise that i won’t be seen with you in public anymore. it’s ridiculous.”

a sudden silence from beside her makes kennedy turn her head curiously. of course, the smirk on blaine’s face is a mile wide. “i’m sorry, did you say date?”

“shut up,” she huffs, kicking his shin where their legs are half-tangled together on top of the yanked out sheets on his bed. “you know what i mean.”

“i don’t think that i do,” he says innocently, “really, you could go on --”

“oh my god, i can’t stand you. there’s seriously no --”

“i mean, i don’t think i’m asking for much. just a little explanation --”

“-- talking to you, you just interrupt me with some stupid jokes, and i’m trying to -- hey!” her voice turns up indignantly as blaine suddenly pushes up onto his knee, pivoting until he’s leaning over her on the bed. the abrupt movement makes the sheets beneath her slip, pushing her dangerously close to the edge of the mattress.

but all she can focus on are blaine’s eyes in the dim light of his room and the way he’s looking at her with them, his gaze almost adoring.

he’s obviously waiting for an answer she’s all too eager to give up, so when he arches his eyebrows questioningly at her, she nods so quickly her bun bobs precariously at the top of her head.

blaine dips down to kiss her without hesitation, his hands braced on either side of her head, off-center from the pillow. his stubble scrapes against her jaw and she sighs, parting her lips as she melts back into the mattress, reaching out for his arms to tug him in closer.

it’s slower and softer than his kiss at the carnival had been, more meaningful than how they’d kissed at the party at the start of term. there’s something there, in the way blaine kisses her, that she’s never felt before, not with any of the dull up-and-comers who’d so formally asked to take her to dinner in the past and kissed her goodnight politely before never calling her again.

his hand skims down her side innocently, fingers toying with the hem of her top. for all his bravado, blaine is always uncharacteristically cautious when she manages to get him alone, and fuck her, but she finds that hopelessly endearing, too.

kennedy spreads her legs out wider on the bed in encouragement, urging him closer with a hand at his back. the bare skin of blaine’s chest seems to stretch on for miles, broad shoulders flexing under her fingers when he bends at the elbows to bring their bodies closer. his own wide palm ghosts over her stomach, spanning the expanse of her ribcage.

“i missed this,” she admits, because it’s true, her voice turning up at the end into something breathy and embarrassing when blaine’s hips roll forward in a slow grind between her legs.

to her surprise, his answer is genuine -- no sarcastic quip or smart remark to be found. “me, too,” blaine mutters lowly between kisses that start to travel across her face, over to her jaw and down her neck. “it’s ridiculous how much i think about this.” he pauses with his teeth just above her collarbone, and then amends, “about you,” and bites.

she moans, teeth digging into her bottom lip to try and stifle the sound. regardless of blaine’s insistence, peter’s asleep in just the next room, and the walls in her suite are thin enough that she can hear dionne blow drying her hair in the mornings, so --

“come on,” he needles, the rough rasp of his voice sounding so good it makes her own hips twitch forward, desperate to get closer, “i told you he won’t wake up.”

“we shouldn’t risk it,” she murmurs, sliding her hands down his chest to settle at the waistband of his sweats.

“there’s no way peter doesn’t know,” blaine says, lowering his voice to match hers, speaking the words directly into her ear. his hands push her shirt up higher and higher while he talks, until the fabric’s tucked beneath her chin and she’s shivering under his gaze. “if he didn’t figure it out, dionne totally told him.”

he’s probably right about that. dionne had seen straight through her easily, and kennedy knows she’s almost definitely well aware of every single thing that’s happened between them, even despite her best efforts to keep it quiet and skirt the topic of conversation whenever it comes up.

“i can still be quiet,” she returns finally, angling her head up and kissing blaine again before he can argue further, forgetting everything other than the lush safety of his mouth as soon as their lips meet.

“we’ll see,” blaine warns, breaking away abruptly and leaving her gasping to catch her breath while he slides down her body, finally kicking the messy sheets to the floor.

she pushes up onto her elbows, watching blaine slide her pajama pants down to her ankles. her eyes widen as she realize what he’s doing, though she hardly has time to say a word before he’s reaching for the delicate lace thong she’s wearing, pulling it carefully to the side.

blaine grins at her. “you sleep in these?”

kennedy huffs. “maybe.”

his smile turns crooked, the tilt of his lips endearing all over again. “cute,” he murmurs, leaning in and lowering his mouth between her legs, pressing a sucking kiss to the crease at the top of her thigh.

she exhales, trying not to tense. the truth is that none of the other guys she’s ever dated were into this -- that sex before blaine had been largely perfunctory, that the way he makes her feel is totally and completely new and terrifying to her --

warm eyes find hers and pull her effortlessly from her meltdown. “hey,” blaine says gently, “stay here with me, okay?”

“okay,” kennedy returns, and then blaine bows his head again and he settles between her thighs and she forgets to panic in favor of how good it feels, each swipe of his tongue winding her up tighter until her back is arching up off the bed. “blaine,” she groans, all thoughts of being quiet following her nerves and reservations swiftly out the door, “god, fuck.”

she reaches down and pushes her fingers into his hair, anchoring herself to the moment. the little doubts that make her want to spiral are still there, in the back of her mind, but they’re much quieter with her gaze locked on the sight of his head dipped in low at the apex of her thighs, the warm pressure of his mouth slowly working her over.

sparks of pleasure sing down her spine, making her toes curl where her legs are splayed out wide. needlessly, blaine’s taking his time, like he has something to prove -- like he doesn’t already know how much she’s risking every day so she can prioritize him, like he isn’t aware of how little she cares about the trouble she’s in once they’re alone together.

she’s so caught up in the way he’s making her feel that it takes her by complete surprise when she tips over the edge, trembles shaking her body and making stars explode behind her eyes.

it’s when she floats back to earth that she realizes how loud she’d gotten, and she can feel her face heat with embarrassment, her grip on his hair loosening until blaine can bounce back up and shake his head out, his tongue dragging along his grinning lips. “pretty good, i guess?”

“come here,” kennedy directs, still working to catch her breath. she’s dazed and not bothering to hide it, her gaze unfocused and hazy before blaine’s face crowds into her field of vision and she can narrow in on the way his obnoxious smile softens at its edges before they’re kissing again.

her body tangles around his and she sighs into his mouth as blaine lets her taste herself, his lips sliding over hers with purpose. every last one of her stressors fades away as she loses herself in the warmth of blaine’s kiss, their limbs twining together while they roll around on the mattress until she comes to a stop with her pants kicked off, perched in blaine’s lap, straddling his hips.

“nice view,” he comments hoarsely when they separate, each rough exhale underlining how affected he is. “but --”

she reaches down and pulls her top off before he can finish, drawing a laugh from blaine that sounds unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent stillness of his bedroom. “better?”

“oh, she reads minds now, too,” blaine murmurs, reaching out for her hips and pulling her in closer, groaning when she slides over the noticeable stretch at the front of his sweatpants. “is there anything you can’t do?”

“fuck you with your pants still on,” she answers breathlessly, emboldened by the way blaine’s looking at her -- by the way he hasn’t stopped looking at her, since she first showed up at his suite and maybe even before that, too.

her pulse stutters when he laughs at her again, more warmly this time. if she reads too deeply into it, blaine sounds both surprised and pleased by her forwardness, and something about thinking she might’ve impressed him makes her feel a little more confident -- like there might actually be something to this whole doing-her-own-thing and being-herself project she’s evidently excelling at, despite its newness.

“well, we can’t have that,” blaine smiles, and then his hips lift and he’s bare, too, looking up at her smugly like he knows he’s the best thing she’s ever seen.

irritatingly, nothing else comes to mind as even being close.

but his expression shifts as she draws closer for another kiss and he looks at whatever emotions are playing out across her face, reading her as effortlessly as always. something in his eyes gets a little more serious, his hands intentional when they slide down her back and his fingers fan out over her ass.

“you’re gorgeous,” he mutters angrily between quick kisses, like it’s ruining his day, somehow.

“you, too,” she returns more sincerely, because -- it’s just true. he is. and despite every challenging complication, she’s glad she’s here with him, even if she’s headed down a path that’s going to make things with her mom impossible and the rest of her life a living hell. what’s happening now is independent of all of that, something she’s not ready to share with anyone else just yet.

anyone but blaine, that is.

his dark eyes skim slowly down her body and back up again, the curl of his lips tilting into something resembling wonderment. he seems just as amazed by the fact that she’s here as kennedy is, and for the first time, she doesn’t have to second guess how he feels about her. for once, she can read him perfectly, and all it makes her want is more.

their lips meet in a kiss that’s uncharacteristically tender, so searching and sweet it leaves her short of breath. though they’re both eager to move things along there’s no rush, tonight, and she revels in their ability to take their time and enjoy themselves in private, away from the rest of the world.

when she finally gets her hand around blaine and moves to connect them he looks lost, his eyes fixed on her face with something reminiscent of confusion lurking in them. as her hips sink down slowly, she remembers what he’d said to her on the ferris wheel before they’d kissed: this is new to me.

there’s something so comforting in knowing that, making her feel warm all over in a way that has nothing to do with where their bodies are joined and how she’s rocking her hips in his lap, gasping as they come even closer together.

her body leans down over his and their foreheads tip together; blaine lifts his hand to gently brush a lock of hair that’s dropped loose from her bun out of her eyes, and then there’s nothing between them at all -- nothing to stop her from staring at him when his hips thrust up to meet hers, nothing but the springs in the mattress bouncing and the sound of their breaths and one soft exhalation of her name that reads like something between a curse and praise. “kennedy. jesus christ.”

blaine’s hand cups her jaw and his thumb brushes over her cheek with a gentleness that makes her tremble, something she’d never expected and couldn’t have possibly prepared for.

it feels like more -- like the more she’s been wondering about and wanting -- and if it’s not she has no idea how she’s ever going to recover.

“i love this,” blaine murmurs against her lips, still touching her all over in an almost absent-minded way, his words thoughtful as his hips buck to meet her each time she rocks down against him.

“me too,” she gasps, “i -- i’m -- god, blaine. feels good.”

“yeah?” there’s some urgency in his movements then, a new speed to the way his hips move. “tell me.”

“i’ve -- ever since the party, i’ve wanted to...” it’s too much. she screws her eyes shut tight, bracing her hands on his chest.

it’s only when blaine’s thumb and forefinger squeeze her chin that she opens her eyes again, blinking at him imploringly in the hopes he’ll understand.

by some miracle, he does, rocking his hips up with a groan that leaves her lightheaded and again emphasizing, “i love this.”

“yes,” she breathes back, effortlessly reassured and tilting her head down for another kiss to try and express some of the overwhelming gratitude she feels for the way he just gets her, “yes, yes, blaine, i’m --”

it’s more intense than she expects, when he brings his hand between her legs and nudges her over the edge. stars explode behind her eyes and all she can focus on is blaine and the way he’s holding her, the grip of his free hand laced in hers a tight safety she leans into while she chokes back a loud moan of his name.

distantly, she can hear blaine echoing her with his own curses, his rhythm stuttering and then faltering until he tugs her into a desperate kiss, his groan muffled into her mouth when his lips slide sloppily against hers.

it takes her longer than she’d care to admit to catch her breath, and though she knows she’s dead weight on top of blaine’s chest she can’t quite bring herself to move, nuzzling her nose into the side of his neck with a sigh.

blaine’s still for a long moment before he lifts his hand to her back and draws lazy circles between her shoulder blades, the rough pads of his fingertips skimming over her skin. “you good?”

“very,” kennedy yawns into his ear, laughing when he jerks to the right and shoves her off of him, back into the curve at his side that seems to be perfectly sized for someone her shape.

with how she’s pressed up against him, the walk back across campus seems daunting. class in the morning is an even more miserable prospect.

“i’ll get up and fix the sheets if you sleep here,” blaine offers, like he can read her mind. the words make her freeze immediately, and she can’t help but notice how suddenly tense he is beside her, too, like he hadn’t intended for it to be a thing but now it is and there’s nothing he can do about it. the hand he has on her side tightens and relaxes abruptly. she can hear him clear his throat, and when he speaks again, it’s in the same forced-casual tone of voice he seems to love. “if you want.”

kennedy stares at the ceiling, unblinking. it looks exactly like the ceiling in her room, except that she feels eons closer to sleep here with blaine than she had back in her suite, for some reason. “okay,” she murmurs finally, reaching out and prodding his calf with her toes, “fix them.”

blaine rolls to his feet, and she takes advantage of the fact that he’s still naked to shamelessly ogle him, waiting until he’s got his back to her to whistle from where she’s curled up in his bed.

a pillow from the floor hits her in the head and makes her laugh, and then the sheet’s thrown over her hastily, followed by the blanket and the comforter in quick succession.

a warm body launches itself at the bed and wriggles chaotically under the covers with her, effortlessly displacing the slight semblance of order he’d just organized. “i can’t believe you live like this,” kennedy says as blaine shifts in close, “next time you’re coming to my suite.”

“sorry it’s not up to your standards, first daughter.” blaine has to stretch to shut the bedside lamp off, and again she finds herself staring, admiring the way his muscles flex when his hand fumbles for the switch behind his back without twisting his body around, his refusal to take his eyes off her clear. “but i don’t know if i could get it up with your childhood boyfriend listening in on me.”

“oh my god, tatum is not -- we never -- jesus, you’re awful.” but her protests are half-hearted, bisected by another yawn. they have class in just a few hours.

and she has nothing to wear.

though it’s hard to worry about anything with the way blaine is grabbing her and tugging her into his chest, folding her in along his body and tucking his head overtop of hers. kennedy starts to grin against his bare chest as they both curl up together under the covers.

“you never told me you were a cuddler.”

“i’ll throw all these blankets back on the floor,” blaine threatens, “don’t think i won’t.”

she lifts her head and squints at him in the dark, still smiling. blaine’s eyes are shut peacefully, and she’d wager there’s not a thing in the world that could get him to move, just then. she slumps back against him with a laugh. “yeah, right.”

“i’ll do it,” he promises again, though his voice is fading fast. he sounds more relaxed and honest than she’s ever known him to be. “when you least expect it.”

well -- that was kind of his process for everything, wasn’t it? “shut up.”

“you shut up, i’m sleeping.” judging by the even rise and fall of his chest under her cheek, he’s close to it, and she’s just about there, too, soothed by the fact that she’s not alone for the first time in as long as she can remember.

“night, then,” kennedy murmurs softly, finally letting her eyes slide shut when his lips brush over the top of her forehead at her hairline, blaine’s fingers squeezing her shoulder one last time before they grow slack against her.

she winds up sleeping through four alarms, two classes and ten phone calls from tatum, but it’s all kind of worth it to wake up well-rested beside blaine in the morning -- so much so that even a nasty phone call from her mother can’t drag her back down to earth from where she’s floating happily on a high the kiss goodbye blaine had gifted her before she’d left to go back to her suite and shower had catapulted her up to without a prayer of coming down anytime soon.

#blaine hayes #blaine hayes x mc #foreign affairs #choices foreign affairs #myfic #long post #ns*w

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rocksinmuffin · 3 years

Note

Hello. First of all, I want to say thanks! Your account was one of the inspirations for me to start writing here! I want to write nsfw stories too but I am not sure how tumblr is like with those. Could you give me some advice?

Hello! I'm always excited to hear about people who are inspired to start up new writing blogs and it is very humbling to know my own blog was a source of inspiration. I hope that this is a fun experience for you and wish you the best!

As for your question, nsfw writing has always been allowed on Tumblr. Even when the NSFW ban went in effect December of 2018, the terms of service noted written erotica as an exception to the rule and was still allowed on the site. However, there is one factor that will impact your ability to share your work: the nsfw content filter.

As we know, posts that are tagged with the nsfw tag will not show up in the general tag searches. This can be a huge detriment to new content creators because it puts you in a position where you have to choose whether to forgo tagging things nsfw in order to put your work out where people can see it or tag them properly and risk no one seeing it. I know plenty of artists and writers who try to get around this by tagging things valveplug (for transformers nsfw) or NOT sfw so that posts will still show in general tags, but if you also use general tags that does mean running the risk of someone younger on the site running into your smut if they happen to be a fan of whatever fandom you are writing for. I know there are even people who have faced backlash from other users for writing or drawing nsfw content and using general fandom/character tags.

Personally, I tag nsfw to keep my smut out of the general tags and searches but still tag with all the characters and fandoms to make navigating my own blog easier, but I was fortunate enough to have a big enough following before Tumblr's policy went to shit so I could afford to do so without it really having much impact on me or my ability to share my writing. It's hard for me to advise new content creators on how to navigate this situation because while I think it's good online etiquette to use the nsfw tag, I also understand that this has a much bigger impact on people starting from scratch.

Ultimately, only you can decide how you would like to move forward with your own blog, but I hope that this at least helped you to decide what you are more comfortable with doing and how you would like to handle it. I also hope I didn't misunderstand your question and just write a huge wall of text to try and answer a question you weren't even asking.

I wish you the best of luck and I look forward to seeing your writing in the future! :)

#ask #snowheartwriting #rantsinmuffin #long post

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

Not Necessarily a Virtue

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Practical Magic AU

There hadn’t been a plan when Obi picked up the phone.

All it had taken was one rogue text-- another case assigned to his social worker, one that was enough of an emergency that it his behavioral issues seem tame in comparison. Her chair rattles when she stans, its plastic back hitting the filing cabinets with a metallic tang, but her hands tremble more.

“This will be just a minute,” she says, smile plastered tight to her face. And then she leaves him there alone, his file open on her desk, flaws left out for the world to see.

It doesn’t bothered him. There’s no point, not when he already knows: he’s trouble with a capital-T, each failed family drawing him closer and closer to being unplaceable. Some people have a face only a mother could love, but Obi-- Obi has that for his personality. Though considering how each of his six almost-moms signed him away with a sigh of relief, walking out the plate glass doors without even a glance back, maybe he has the sort of personality that makes people reconsider whether they could be a mother.

So here he is again, freshly abandoned, back in the sterile halls of social services for the seventh time without a place to call home. He’s not even twelve.

Not that these people aren’t trying to change that-- he’s not some cat left at the shelter, free to a good home. Unless Kerry or Janine or the girl at the desk he didn’t get to read the name tag of wanted to sleep on their couch, they have to find someone to take him for the night. And he knows from experience, there’s always a family that believes they can change him. A young couple who thought all problem children needed was just a little extra love. By the time Kerry came back, there’d be good news waiting, a miracle crafted by three people who didn’t want to miss the Masked Singer finale. They’d pack him into the back of a car and ship him off to a new place to fail. Because no matter how many homes they tried to make for him, it’d never change how he felt.

Obi had tried, at first. He was just a little kid, wanting to be loved, but every home he went to itched like hives in his head, a constant buzz that set his teeth on edge and made him do anything, try anything to leave. He belonged somewhere else, somewhere not here, and he knew it like he knew Kerry’s other case had overdosed on a bottle of sleeping pills in his foster mother’s cabinet-- with an inexplicable certainty.

He waits thirty seconds after she leaves before he slides off the the plastic seat she’d put him in. They love these things, oddly shaped and in primary colors that make the little kids giddy, but Obi hates them. He’s undersized, and putting him in these kiddie rooms always makes people treat him like he’s eight instead of eleven, asking him about Blue’s Clues.

But that’s not why he gets up, not entirely. There’s a buzzing in the back of his brain, a knowing, and it makes him stand, his hand straying to the glass door. He can’t see anything outside, at least not anything besides more kiddie chairs and offices, but he steps out nonetheless. He steps out and, unerringly, turns to face the girl waiting for him down the hall.

“It’s you.” Her tawny hair stresses the elastic she’s trapped it in, too thick. It’s not one of those hair ones either, but one of those thick rubber bands they use on the produce in grocery store. It hurts; he knows because it’s common sense, but also because he just...Knows. Their eyes meet, and even though he doesn’t her name, they’ve known each other forever.

His mouth is dry when he asks, “Do you know me?”

“I saw you in a dream.” She takes a step toward him, her sneakers scuffed and worn, just like his. “You’re Obi. I’m Torou.”

He doesn’t know this girl. There’s a hundred ways she could get his name; one of them is sitting on a desk behind him right now. But when she looks up at him with eyes he’s only ever seen in the mirror, he holds out his hand. “Come here.”

His heart pounds with each mincing squeak of her sneakers on the tile. She’s taking too long and she’s coming too fast; each terrible second convinces him he’s making a mistake at the same time he’s doing what he was always meant to do. By the time she slips her hand into his, he’s trembling, but it doesn’t matter because they both are and this--

This is right. And he knows exactly what to do.

It’s holding her hand that he picks up the phone. He fucks it up the first time-- he gets that gross digital buzz before he notices the sticker beneath the speaker, informing him 9 dials out-- but the second one his fingers guide him, releasing the number he has no reason to know. A number he has no reason to believe will work, that could have just come from the weird recesses of his mind but--

But he’s not surprised when a man picks up. “Who is this? Do you know what time--?”

“We’re here,” Obi says, and it shouldn’t be enough, but it is. “Come pick us up.”

A specter arrives on the front walk at noon.

Obi knows by the hush in the office. Or really the weight of it-- it’s been quiet like this since last night, since he and Torou sat down on the big bean bag couch in the waiting room, and Obi announced they wouldn’t be letting go. His case worker had crouched in front of them, that sweet smile plastered to her lips, and told him that they’d only have to be separated for a night. But he’d known-- the way he always did-- that every word was a lie. His fingers tightened in her grip, narrowing his eyes until the woman shivered, and that was that.

Kerry stayed with them, of course; she’d slept in her office, under a blanket it’s clear she’s never used and had only just discovered wasn’t comfortable no matter how many Sesame Street characters were on it. They’d been tucked under another by a younger girl with trembling hands, her eyes darting between them as she smoothed out its edges. He’d heard them through the walls this morning while the rest of the office filtered in-- government buildings like this were always cutting corners, leaving things like this paper thin, stuff that would go up like tissue in a fire.

Do you think they’re twins? one asked. Trembling hands, he guesses, since her voice does as well, like a chihuahua in a sweater. I’ve heard about this happening with twins. They look and just know.

Can’t be, we have their birth certificates, says another. Kerry, probably; she might be a liar, but she’s one of the only people in this place that has her head screwed on right, too. Two different sets of parents.

And the man they called last night? This one is stern; their manager maybe. He’s not really sure how this all works; he’s not even twelve, and he can only just know so much. Who is he?

There’s a heavy pause. I...I don’t know.

So when he arrives, dressed like an undertaker and holding an umbrella beneath the bright New Mexico sky, the whole place goes quiet. When he walks it’s stiff, like it took a hundred volts to get him up off the table and he’s only just gotten used to the idea. Obi casts a look down at Torou, at where her hand is white knuckled in his, and thinks about how he knows things, and wonders just what she might be able to do.

The man enters, umbrella folding in a single neat motion, before he says. “I am Lata Forenzo. I believe you have my...niblings.”

Niblings, Obi learns, is like siblings, only sideways.

“It was a simplification,” Lata says, his voice a deep, hesitant gravel. He casts a speculative look at the taxi driver, adjusting the gloves on his hands. “Niece and nephew is an unwieldy phrase, and time, after all, is of the essence.”

“Is it?” Torou’s eyes are wide, and for the first time since last night, her hand leaves his, gripping on to the cloth at Lata’s knee. “Is there something after us? Those bugs, they’re not--”

“No.” Obi’s known his uncle for barely more than a half hour, but he knows he isn’t a tactile person. Even still, Lata looks down at Torou, his not-gold eyes somehow softer, and puts two fingers over the bones at the back of her hand. “But it is time to bring you home.”

Home is an island. It takes the whole night to fly in, and when they land the sun is just barely scratching the sky. Even still, there’s no stopping; Lata bundles them straight into a cab, shushing them before they can make much more than a peep.

“We’ll be home soon,” he says, and the next time he wakes them, salt stings Obi’s nose, and he’s being carried over a threshold.

“Are we here?” he slurs. The house is weird-- angular, really, with a hall so narrow he could kick out a leg and stop them up like a cork. He nearly does, just to be cussed, but he catches Torou still wrapped up in her blanket, lolling on the couch, and says instead, “Can you let me down?”

Lata hesitates, fingers stiff where they wrap around his knees and shoulders, but he nods.

Obi’s feet-- just wearing socks now, somehow-- press on the floor, and he knows: he’s home.

“Oh,” he breathes, hands flying out to steady himself. “Oh.”

When he looks up, Torou’s eyes meet his, round and wide. “I felt that.”

Her own feet swing down-- bare-- and the moment she touches the wide old planks--

“Oh.” Lata braces himself against the wall, the sound bitter on his lips. “So it’s true. There will always be two.”

They aren’t his words, Obi knows, but they’re important. They’ve got that feel, the same as when Torou said she dreamed of him. The sort that are going to be life-changing, one way or another.

But Obi’s had enough of that today. Enough of it for a lifetime. He glances over at Torou, and she nods. “Can we go outside?”

Lata blinks, eyes pulling from the wallpaper to fix on him. After a long moment, he says, “You know where the door is.”

Obi does, somehow, and when he opens it--

It’s paradise.

Home has rules too, loads of them. It’s quiet time from nine to eight, though Lata doesn’t much care if they’re sleeping, so long as they’re in bed. Teeth have to be brushed twice a day-- he’d glowered when Obi said he had good teeth and only needed the once, standing over him for a week morning and night to see the rule stuck. There’s only one dessert after dinner; Obi balked at that one, until he’d learned that a limit on quantity wasn’t the same thing as size. He and Torou find three old sundae dishes in the cabinet and pile them high with ice cream and every topping they can find, and when they slap Lata’s down in front of him, cheeks bulging with their own towers of sweets, all he’d does is give them that small, reluctant twitch of a smile and dig in.

They have to make their beds and pick up after themselves-- this house has treated us well, Lata tells them, it’s only right we take care of it in return-- and they have to tell him if they plan to play in the yard; but in return their sheets are always clean, and dinner’s promptly at six. When they come back in, sweaty and exhausted from the summer heat, there’s always a bowl of fruit waiting for them and cold drinks.

He’d known, in the way he always does, that this couldn’t last. So when summer’s heat began to cool, he’s not surprised to see Lata waiting on for them on the veranda, mouth pulled into an even grimmer line.

“It’s time,” he says, “for a Family Meeting.”

“School,” Lata says with the sort of relish and derision only a professor like him can summon up, “is starting. Which means there are new rules.”

Fingers brush at Obi’s, and when he reaches out, Torou’s fingers knit in his. He knows what rules these will be-- his parents had them to, the only ones they’d ever made. His mother had gotten down on her knees the night before kindergarten, nails digging into his shoulders, and used a voice so dark, so unlike her, he’d dreamed of button eyes staring into his for a week. His father had tossed out their Coraline DVD after that.

“Forenzos,” Lata starts, already sounding weary, “look after each other. So you’ll walk together, both ways, and if one of you gets into trouble--” he fixes them both with a stern look-- “I expect both of you to run.”

Obi stares. “What?”

“You’ll come back right after school, unless we have previously discussed plans,” Lata continues. “You’re far too young for...cellular phones, so I expect that if you make plans with friends, you will discuss them with me the night previous, or you will come home first and ask permission. Not,” he murmurs, just barely audible, “that I expect you’ll have much trouble with that.”

“Is that...” Obi’s jaw works. “Is that all?”

“I expect you to keep up your grades.” Lata’s brow furrows, taking them in, as if he’d never once questioned whether or not they would be stellar students. As if most people don’t look at the both of them and see future high school flunk outs. “If they are slipping, I’m afraid I’ll have to limit your free time until we are able to bring them back to an acceptable level. Homework is to be done at the table, and once you are done, your time is yours until dinner.”

Torou’s hand squeezes his. “We?”

Lata blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You said ‘we.’“ She clear her throat, eyelashes fluttering with nerves. “If our grades are bad, you said we would, uh, fix them.”

“Of course.” His mouth pulls at the corners, annoyed. “How could I possibly ask you to rectify such a thing on your own? You’re already doing the best you can, if you still struggle, then it’s clearly something we both-- oh my,” he murmurs mildly, “she’s leaking.”

“Sorry,” she sobs, pink burning on her cheeks, the way it never did on his. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” Lata flails out, yanking a tissue from the box, shoving it into her hand. “I just...hope that you find this all fair. I was always quite good at school, but my sisters--” he glances at them, wary-- “varied. I hope I can only...encourage you to your best.”

“But what about...” Obi snaps his teeth around the words. If he doesn’t ask, then it won’t become a rule, and his uncle can’t be disappointed when he breaks it.

The pictures on the wall prove that they’re family, that Lata truly is his mom’s brother, even if they don’t share much more than a hair color. But Obi’s never seen it, the way he does in pictures of Torou’s mom, where there’s a flick of the hand or a cock of a hip that says they spent their childhood together, inextricably intertwined forever in ways they would never understand.

But Lata raises a brow now, and he sees it, that small thread that ties him to his mom, that says brother. “About...?”

“The other stuff,” Torou blurts out, coughing down a sniff. “He wants to know what we...”

Her words peter out too, like she can’t figure out what to do with them. He can’t stop knowing, and she can’t stop dreaming, and the thought of having to pretend they can is...tiring this time, in a way it never was in the system.

His mouth wraps around the words with a curious sort of wonder. “Other stuff?”

“You know,” she mutters, so small. “The weird stuff.”

Lata jolts in his chair, spine as straight as a poker. His hands press flat against his knees, and when he looks at them, the gray in his eyes in thunderous.

“This is the most important rule,” he tells them, voice oddly resonant, “you must follow it. Promise me.”

Obi’s heart sinks into his stomach, but he nods, fingers squeezing Torou’s tighter.

Lata’s hand presses heavy on his shoulder, leather flexing over cotton. “Don’t ever hide yourselves. Not for anything. Not for anyone.” Obi dares to look up, and Lata’s gaze is waiting to catch him. “Being...normal is not necessarily a virtue. There is no shame in being who you are, none at all.”

Or what you are, he doesn’t say, but his eyes do, loud and clear. He doesn’t say what that is either, but--

Obi knows. Just like he always does.

And if he didn’t, well-- he would have found out soon enough.

It’s a small island; small enough that K-12 are all squeezed into one school, though Lata tells them that by the time they go to senior high, they might have built another. It’s still not small enough for Torou and him to be in the same class, so he drops her off at the door with promises to find her at lunch and moseys down to his own. It puts him a little behind schedule, the school bell ringing on his heels, and when he steps in--

The room goes silent. Twenty pairs of eyes stare at him, round and wide, not a single person daring to do much more than breathe.

“Forenzo,” the teacher says, faint. “You must be...the Forenzo boy.”

“Yeah.” He grips at his shoulder. “Obi.”

“You can take your seat...at the back,” she says, before hurrying to the board, eager to put her back to him.

“I thought my mom said all the Forenzos died,” a boy whispers as he passes. “Except the old man, of course.”

“No, they just left,” says the one next to them. “Chased out. Because they’re, you know...”

Obi does; he always had, even before he had a word for it.

“I don’t think a boy can be a witch,” a girl says, thoughtless and thoughtful at the same time. “They’re wizards, or something.”

“Warlocks,” scoffs another. “Don’t you know anything? And they do blood magic with little girls--”

Obi grits his teeth, eyes forward. There’s two empty chairs in the back, one in the corner by the window, and the other next to it, and he steers toward that one-- window seats always get him in trouble--

And the boy next to it scoots away, fear bright in his eyes. Obi looks back at the teacher, but she’s writing her name on the board real slow, like she’s hoping this might solve itself.

Fine, he can take a hint. He takes the window, sliding in behind the desk. The girl in front of him scoots forward too, making sure her chair doesn’t touch his desktop, and he sighs. At least they’re all getting this out of the way first.

A bag drops, right next to his seat.

“Ms Kino!” There’s a girl there, smaller than everyone else, though her voice makes her twice as tall. In the morning sun, her hair burns bright like the horizon. “Can I change my seat?”

“Shirayuki?” The teacher blinks back at them, and Obi could swear she breaks into a cold sweat. “Shirayuki, I’m not sure that’s--”

“I can’t see the board from over there,” she says, every syllable digging in its heels. “There’s glare. Because I’m so small.”

Ms Kino squints back at her, and really-- there’s no denying how small she is, at least a head below Obi and he’s nothing to write home about either. “If you’re sure...”

“Great.” She drops into her seat with a thump as loud as thunder, setting out her notebook and pencil with the sort of purposeful efficiency that says there’s no doubt she’s here to stay.

Obi slips his out of his backpack too, so quiet so the other kids will stop looking at him like he’s going to set the place on fire, but he hears, “You’re new, right?”

He looks down, and there’s the girl, smiling across the aisle. “Yeah. I’m--”

“Obi, I heard.” She leans toward him. “I’m--”

“Shirayuki.” His mouth twitches. “I also heard.”

Her smile stretches towards a grin. “You know, Ms Kino likes group projects.”

He blinks. “Does she?”

She nods. “Would you like a partner?”

“She hasn’t assigned one yet,” he says, a little lost.

“She will,” this Shirayuki says, confident. The way he is, when he knows.

He nods, slow. “All right, so for the next one.”

“To start.” She fixes him with a look he can’t get out from under. “Are you eating lunch with someone?”

“Ah, yeah.” He feels guilty about it now, for some reason. “My um. Cousin.”

She brightens. “Great. I’ll show you guys the best place to sit.”

He’s been adopted, he realizes, like the way the cats around the house aren’t. And this girl means to keep him.

For once in his very short life, Obi doesn’t mind knowing. Just like he always does.

#obiyukibingo21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #practical magic au #ans #there is so much to be written for this fic and i desperately want to write all of it #like honestly consider this a teaser for a fic i COULD write #one that would involve shirayuki obi and torou being childhood friends #and obi casting a spell of forgetting #and later shirayuki finding obi and torou again #after they have possibly murdered the resurrected then killed again torou's ex #and obi trying to hide that secret at the same time he's trying to keep shirayuki from remembering #while also desperately wanting her to remember because sure this Zen guy seems rich and nice but ALSO MAYBE YOU COULD LOVE ME???#like the notes i have for this potential multichap are CRAZY i wish to UNLEASH them #also LATA/GARRACK #and also Lata ruminating on love and loss and the complicatedness of inherited trauma #but uhhhhh with magic you know how it be

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