do you ever spend hours going through your 2022 AO3 history and compiling it in an excel sheet keeping track of relationship type, fandom, relationship, word count, and date read and then send it to your stats major roommate to run through r or are you neurotypical

you said you had some stories about your ex you really wanted to tell? (if you’re comfortable with that, ofc- feel free to ignore this)

Edit: THIS IS LONG AS FUCK IM SO SORRY- don’t read unless you want trauma(?) dumping about my ex :) this was a straight up therapy session, I broke all the “don’t trauma dump on the internet” rule. I apologize. Still posting it tho. Good luck :)

👀 which ex- the one I was talking about was my most recent, our relationship lasted a year and a half, we met online and met about 8 months or so in our relationship maybe less, I saw her twice in a matter of a year and a half, both for a week at a time I stayed at her house on whatever break I had available at the time, I think it was fall break and winter. SO NOW THAT BACKGROUND IS OVER.

She had a HUGE issue with me going to school- like any time I talked about it she was mad, any time I talked about wanting to go to college she would try and convince me not to go saying it was useless and it would be idiotic to go because education doesn’t matter because you die either way. We didn’t have many issues (at least ones that were brought up at the time we dated) but this was one of them. Just… me going to school. When I would try talking about it she said VERBATIM “don’t talk about school it makes me sad.” Because she dropped out.

Another was me working. I started worked at 16 and I’m 18 now. 17 when we broke up. I started working and applying to jobs when we were dating, this was when we started to have issues. I’d text her at work, I’d call at school but it never seemed to be enough, she needed to have all of my time or it wasn’t enough. It was getting to the point when I would literally count the minutes of the day I had alone. I still remember. 10 in the morning, 7 when I walked to work, if she didn’t call, and maybe 15 minutes before she called when I got home. This wouldn’t of been an issue but whenever I wanted to go to a school event or work an extra hour or just go out with friends it became a fight and I isolated myself so bad that my friends legitimately held a literal intervention. Sat me down and told me something had to change because I wasn’t my self anymore.

The next thing was therapy. She had.. issues which I won’t share on the internet but they were major and she needed help, something I couldn’t provide her, that I was probably too young to handle at the time, honestly anyone would be too young to handle, including her. Anyway 💅🏻 there were always two sides, I didn’t have it bad enough to need therapy and I shouldn’t go and that she needed it for years and never got it and I just got it when I asked for it OR that I was bipolar and impulsive,m and “crazy” when I did stuff like dye my hair or hang out with friends.

Lol this is long as fuck I’m sorry-

When I tried to tell her that I was gender whatever the fuck I am. Basically tried telling her I wanted to buy a binder and she told me as soon as the words left my mouth that she just couldn’t handle that and it was too much for her.

There was other things like this, like I was expected to handle everything she threw at me and basically got into trouble when I couldn’t handle her breakdowns or mental issues and tried my best but didn’t know what to do, but she always told me my depression or anxiety was nothing and there was no reason for me to have them. And when she told me I didn’t have enough trauma, and then I told her more, she said it was too upsetting to hear.

Also I’m 99% sure she cheated on me. She definitely emotionally cheated on me but I think she also slept with someone else.

WHICH IS JUST A WHOLE OTHER STORY, should I tell it? Hmmmm? Ask me if you want me to share it idc I will. No filter. Not one.

She slept with someone else 12 hours after we broke up and then called me crying about how this other girl didn’t like her and how bipolar she must be because “how can you sleep with someone but not like them.” And how much she liked her and then I asked why the hell she was talking to me about this when we had JUST broken up. We broke up, I went to bed, got to work and she called me doing this- it was weird. She also stayed at her house for two or three days before this happened 🫠

Some other stuff that didn’t bother me as much is that she smoked and did drugs, she’s actually the one who introduced me to weed. But she did it in excess, like every 30 minutes she would get high, every few hours she would smoke a cigarette, every other night she would drink. Her and her friends would get smashed. She was 16-18 when I knew her.

ALSO WE WATCHED YOUNG ROYALS TOGETHER AFTER WE BROKE UP, I WATCHED IT LIKE FIVE TIMES BEFORE THAT BUT WE LIKED IT TOGETHER AND I HATE THAT.

she also texted me 6 months after we broke up saying I was a dumb bitch.

The funny part is my first girlfriend, my other ex, WAY WORSE 🥴

I have some wild ass hookup stories too. I’m bored and willing to share everything on the internet so WHY NOT-

I feel as if you were probably looking for fun light hearted stories- sorry anon! I think I have some if I look hard enough in my file cabinet brain!

Space Ghost Week

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #58: “Terminal” | August 7, 1998 | S05E01

Space Ghost Week is here, and we’re kicking things off with a pretty great one. In Terminal, Space Ghost announces that he’s dying. I don’t think he says exactly what’s killing him, but he’s sure that death is eminent.

We start off with a black title card with white text that reads “Waiting”. We cut Space Ghost and co. in the commissary. Space Ghost is choking back tears, imparting some final-ish thoughts to Moltar and Zorak: “I want you two to make a lot of friends, and I want you to be real nice to the girls, 'cause they're going to be real important to you soon.” This is a line I think about a lot, and have always wondered if it was a reference to something else. I mean, it IS good advice, it just sounds like a movie line or something.

As of press time, I’ve watched three episodes of this program from this season, so I was trying to discern a regular opening. I think the only thing these episodes have in common is the “Waiting” title card. This episode has a unique intro with Dave Willis singing a mournful song over stock footage; imagery of fall, winter, and finally a dead fish floating upside down. Of the three episodes I’ve seen, they all have different opening sequences.

Space Ghost’s compatriots meet this news with a mix of cruel elation, wariness, and apathy. They don’t really believe it, and when they do they aren’t exactly broken up about it. In fact it could mean their freedom. Well, Space Ghost explains that they are bundled with the show, and that they will be enslaved by his replacement. But as we know, the things that come out of Space Ghost’s mouth aren’t always reliable. As a matter of fact, I feel like there’s a chance that he might not actually be dying.

Space Ghost talks about his many regrets, like not meeting Boomer Esiason. This is the part of the write-up where I finally look up Boomer Esiason and find out who he is, because this reference has alluded me for years. (Looks it up) Oh, he’s a football guy. 

Two out of three of our guests are actually Marc Weiner playing two of his signature characters from his Nickelodeon program Weinerville. I am assuming this, because I don’t actually really remember Weinerville that well. If you watch this episode and wonder what this guy’s deal was, it’s basically this. I spent five minutes googling him to make sure I wasn’t unwittingly leaving out some important detail about his career; did he do this shit on Johnny Carson or something? I remember seeing him do a puppet thing on SNL during the universally reviled sixth season. Fun fact: season six is the first season whose cast is entirely passed away. You don’t need to google this. I’m telling you the truth. 

There are some funny moments where Joey Deulxe’s hairpiece slides down his face. Weiner doesn’t break character, and improvises instead. It’s not exactly like the time when they left in the stand-up comedian flubbing his lines and walking off the set to restart his act. There’s a bit later where Marc Weiner plays Captain Ozone, and they leave in some absolutely pointless mugging. This moment is burned into my brain. 

Space Ghost also regrets not having a child. He imagines himself coldly telling his imaginary son Roy Allen that he doesn’t have any baseball talent. How funny is that in his wildest dream he’s a shitty dad with a crybaby son? 

The final guest is Dr. Drew. This interview is very awkward. The pregnant pauses are deafening, and he seems legitimately flustered at times. I think he’s just playing up his straightness. At the time Dr. Drew was hosting Loveline with Adam Carolla and I doubt he was actually getting THAT flustered by the Space Ghost crew. He was likely just playing up his no-nonsense demeanor. Not that Dr. Drew needs me being charitable to him; the guy is a legit wad. 

One of the best Space Ghost endings of all time. Space Ghost gets up as the show is ending and announces “well, it’s time for me to die”. He then collapses onto the floor with his eyes closed. The camera slowly zooms in on his face. Eventually his eyes pop open and Space Ghost says: “Huh. This isn't so bad”. Gosh, I hope he’s right.

Hello January

I tend to get all kinds of pensive at this time of year, and I wasn’t sure if the mood was going to hit me or not during this cycle of the sun, but with only 3 days left until 2023, my brain finally decided it was time.

I have been seeing all the stuff I wrote for my end-of-year babblings coming up on my TimeHop app, and I have to say, it’s kind of embarrassing to see myself so full of hope and determination only to find myself 12 months later in suck a complete state of winter bluesy-listlessness.  I’ve got nothing to be sad about, life is legitimately good!  The future is bright!  The skies are clear!  But that’s not how depression works, so that’s not how my brain works.  That is, it doesn’t matter how happy I am, the chemicals in my brain will not let me have what I need to feel motivated and self-loving. I know this, and yet somehow, I am still determined to use 2023 to figure out how to break it.  That’s right, I’m not going to fix anything. We make resolutions, we fix ourselves, we make declarations of self-care, and all for what?  To watch ourselves crash and burn within the first three months?  I read a few days ago that only 8% of people who make a New Year’s resolution actually stick with it and genuinely improve themselves.  I can’t be the only one who thinks that 8% is bullshit and knows that we can do better.  We can do better as individuals, and we can do better as a community if we help each other.

I’m not one for all of that self-help nonsense, but I do think there is something to that whole “you manifest your own reality” thing.  So, I’m not making a resolution to lose weight or exercise more or take a bath every week or make more time for me or whatever it is that people resolve to do. I’m looking to make month-long goals in bite-sized pieces when it comes to earthly things, and I’m going to spend the whole year using my mind, my heart, and my soul to manifest myself a better reality.  And hey, I’d like to lose weight, but maybe doing that has nothing to do with “new year new me” rhetoric and more to do with what you’re ready to bring into the world through your own will.  Praying, manifesting, casting spells…  It’s all the same thing… So more of that is what I’m going to do.

Every year I say I’m going to spend less time on Facebook and more time writing, and this year I’m going to do it, damnit.  I’ve already started working on deconstructing some things about Facebook that I find myself relying heavily on.  I have to remind myself that I’m not, in fact, a Meme Lord, and that while I may brighten a few peoples’ days here and there, the amount of time I spend doing it is taking away from things that could better my life and help me achieve my personal goals, most of which get neglected when I get in a scrolling zone and I can’t or don’t want to get out of it.  If I’m going to sit on my ass anyway, I ought to be writing.  There’s I said it.  I ought to be writing.  I say it every year, and it’s true every year.  I ought to be writing.

I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I am not a Meme Lord; I am a writer.  I’m a writer, goddamnit.

Overall, I have to say, I may not have reached my more superficial 2022 goals, but 2022 was pretty good to me.  Sure, I’m still chunky, and I’ve put on all the weight I lost over the summer in a matter of weeks, but other things are looking up, and those are things I must be grateful for.  My partner of 5 months now is a loving, supportive, strong man who loves me for me, and only wants the best for me and to see me happy.  I’m sure he wants a few other things too, but those are things I’m happy to give *wink wink*.

My beautiful daughter is 7 years old now and approaching 8 at what feels like lightening speed.  I’m happy and excited to find out that kind of person she is going to be, and I’m trying to nurture her personal growth without being too lax or too strict.  I want her to grow up to be herself, and not anything she thinks that I want her to be.  I want her to have opportunities that I didn’t have, I want her to make her own decisions and be her own person.  She asked to change her name to Luna this year, and while she probably got that from Mama (wanting to change her name), I wasn’t going to tell her that she couldn’t or shouldn’t because she’s becoming herself.  I named her before she could speak, and now she can stand up and say, “my name is Luna!”  I’m going to let her be Luna, whatever that happens to mean.

I’m dying my hair tonight.  You probably wouldn’t notice if I didn’t tell you.  I guess that’s something that women do when they’re emotionally drained or super stressed.  I’ll admit, I’m stressed about starting this eating plan over again because failure doesn’t feel good.  Failure also results in having to drag my “fat pants” back out, or worse…  Buy new ones.  Work is rough during the holidays, and basically from November 1 to January 1, it doesn’t get any easier or better.  Customers are demanding and cranky, my whole department feels overworked and underappreciated, everybody in the company who isn’t on the bottom of the totem pole is taking time off either because they have to keep their PTO total under 40 hours for the new year’s roll over, or because they just plain feel like it.  Or they’re sick.  There’s been some of that running around.  One of my Outside Sales buddies called me today to thank me for doing such a good job with one of their new accounts, and when I asked him how his holiday went, he disclosed that he’d spent it with the new strain of COVID.  It never ends, does it?

So yeah, I’m stressed, and I’m feeling it, and I know that if I want to meet my health goals, I’m going to have to make some serious changes in my mentality and in my daily life.  I have a group set up on Facebook chat for support and accountability.  I have a boyfriend who’s a damn good sport and knows that all this walking and yoga is good for him anyway, so he might as well do it with me because it makes me happy. That’s a huge plus.  I think the biggest thing is willpower, and it’s lacking because I just don’t want to.  I just don’t want to have to be so strong and so strict and so specific anymore.  I want to be able to eat chips and watch TV and not gain 10 pounds in one night.  This is one of those things I’m going to break, though.  I’m going to figure out once and for all why my body seems to be so needy just to maintain some normalcy.  All I can think about there is how I agonized for months over not being able to make enough breast milk when my daughter was first born, and I searched high and low for an answer only to stumble upon it on an obscure England-based website.  I went through lactation consultants and doctors and friends and all kinds of people who thought they had good advice for me, but it turned out that my problem was my sodium deficiency.  I started eating pretzels and the milk just came pouring out.

I think that there’s a real conspiracy in this country to keep us fat and sick, and it has bled into censoring information on American websites that would legitimately help people feel better.  It’s all about making money over here, and the diet industry makes BIG money…  BUT it wouldn’t continue to make money if people actually got better.  There’s a secret here that no one is letting us in on, and I’m going to spend 2023 finding it.

 -Kaya

everything's awful and im so tired of it. i keep not doing laundry so im wearing a shirt thats too tight + is giving me sensory overload and im so fucking far behind on my school work. i swear im trying but its just not enough and none of it makes sense and thats probably because im so far behind but im so tired and i just want someone to help. but i always have to be the one reaching out and i don't know how to do that! i don't know how to tell my professors that yes, i know some of this shit is a month late and i know we only have a few weeks left in the semester but i kinda want to kill myself so can i turn it in by monday? because i swear i can do that. and im dealing with the worst depression ive possibly ever had and i don't really Want to die but if someone killed me or something happened that wouldn't be too bad?? i just want one of my friends to reach out to me and help but they're not going to and i don't really blame them bc everyone has so much shit going on but i honestly just want like,, an older sibling or something to just give me a hug and help me figure out how to deal with everything because im eating an average of a meal and a half a day and i haven't taken my meds in 2 days because i haven't gotten out of bed until 2 pm. i just need help but i don't have anyone to help me. my parents aren't an option (and gods, i can't believe i was starting to almost consider them an option. im so naive) and my brother is younger than me and going through his own shit and i already put so much on him when we were kids and im not super close with most of my friends bc i don't know how to trust people and j is dealing with so much and were growing apart and i don't know how to deal with it because i miss him so much and i don't want to lose him. and my therapist suggested taking a break from school and keeps pushing me to talk with my parents but if i stop school i might legitimately kill myself bc i can't deal with being at home. summers already terrifying me and i have winter break to look forward to (/s) and i do not think i can deal with being back there full time after having lived away from them. im so stressed about school and all i can think to do is show up to office hours and just ask for an extension?? but i don't understand how. why can't there be rule books for this shit??? i just want to understand how to do things, how to interact with people. i can't focus anymore and i hate it. i want to tear my brain out and fix it somehow. i know its adhd and theres nothing broken but gods its so hard. i just want to be able to sit down and do my homework and regularly take showers and eat food and go to class. i know things will get better but they're so hard now. is it so wrong to just want to be taken care of for a bit? just to have someone hold me and to feel safe? just for a little bit.

Luna

Pairing: Harry Potter x Slytherin!Reader (past), Dad!Harry Potter x daughter!Lily Potter

Warning: This is like... legitimate angst. Honestly, it’s so bittersweet. There’s mentions of blood, but I mean, it is Harry Potter.

Summary: Harry tells a story about a girl, Y/N Y/L/N, his first girlfriend. Ginny’s out for the night, and Harry’s daughter, Lily Potter, is more than excited to hear about her father’s teenage romance.

A/N: This came to me while I was daydreaming during class. Amazing what a weekend of binge rewatching Harry Potter will do to you, lmao. Also, I’m debating on making an alternate ending to you and Harry’s story. Oh! Also it’s super long!!

—————————————————————

“Dad, was mum your first girlfriend?” The 9 year old Lily Potter whispered to her father with a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. 

It was a snowy winter night, the day before her brothers, James and Albus returned from Hogwarts for Christmas break. Her mother, Ginny Potter was out for the night, preparing for the other Weasley-Potter kids’ return. 

“Well, do you promise to keep this a secret between us?” Harry replied enthusiastically, sitting down on Lily’s bed as she sat up with her girlish excitement twinkling in her eyes.

“Definitely. So it wasn’t mum?” She giggled as she got situated to hear this very exclusive bed-time story, her sleepiness cast away, nowhere to be found.

“No, although I love your mum very much. My first girlfriend’s name was Y/N Y/L/N.” He paused for a second, for just speaking your name brought back so many memories that made him almost tear up.

“That’s such a pretty name! Was she in Gryffindor, like you and mum?” Lily reacted, and with that Harry resumed the story.

“Actually, cupcake, she wasn’t. She was in Slytherin.” Harry smiled, watching Lily’s face turn into a look of absolute shock as she gasped.

“A Slytherin? Really? Was she pretty?”  

“The prettiest girl at Hogwarts. You see, in our first year, me, Uncle Ron and Auntie Hermione, we had to face this big, scary troll in the girls bathroom. She saved us, because she knew a lot of charms, even as a first year!”

“So she was smart, too!”

“Yeah. She was brilliant.”

December, 1993 Outside the shrieking shack

“He was their friend!” Harry yelled out angrily, hopelessly, powerlessly. He was so frustrated, so sad, and yet he was so powerless in that situation. He couldn’t possibly go after Sirius Black, he didn’t even know where he was. He couldn’t go back in time to save his parents. He could only feel hatred. Intense hatred.

Just when the dark, black smoke of anger started to crowd his senses, his head snapped upwards, his darkened eyes making contact with your unbelievably bright and gentle ones- as your warm hand enveloped his affectionately. The thick smoke vanished in a second, a wave of tears replacing it. He weakly wraps his hand around yours, feeling the small moon-shaped charm on your bracelet to calm himself.

You held him silently, as Ron and Hermione watched him helplessly weep into your shoulder. 

November, 1994 Outside the champions tent

“Harry, you’re brilliant.” You sighed happily, each breath filled with adrenaline as you went to greet him first thing after his first task in the Triwizard tournament.

“Thanks to you, Y/N. You taught me the accio spell.” Harry chuckled proudly, the golden egg heavy in his arms like a trophy worth billions of galleons. 

You rolled your eyes with a grin, laughing as you shove him into the crowd of Gryffindors waiting for him. “No Harry, you just are brilliant. You were amazing.”

You stand there smiling at him and his friends, one by one telling him how they believed him now, and that he was doing justice for the Gryffindor house. That was all you ever wanted for him- to be happy. 

He glances at you with a hint of guilt, his gaze flickering down to the green emblem on your robes for just a split second. If only you were in Gryffindor. He thought multiple times. Because even though he didn’t care at all, the others did. Teachers did. Fate did. 

But you only smile back at him and raise your brows, as if to say “Go, have fun with your friends.” With the overwhelmingly kind look he couldn’t find even if he searched for it in the eyes of the whole Hufflepuff house. Only in yours.

“Why were you talking to Potter? Come on, then.” Pansy pulls on your robes, pulling you away from the bright, cheery crowd of crimson red and yellow.

December, 1994 Gryffindor common room

“You really should just gather your things and come live with us.” Hermione joked, watching you nibble a candy cane while you faced your potions report in the Gryffindor common room that has now become your second home.

Looking up from the parchment at the three of your favorite Gryffindors sitting on the couches, you nodded in agreement. “Honestly, ‘Mione, I would if I could.” 

Harry and Ron burst out laughing, imaging you packing up and moving into the Gryffindor dorms. “You should!” Harry encouraged.

“And- Y/N, have you decided who you’re going with to the Yule Ball yet?” Hermione asked rather hesitantly, her eyes locked with Harry’s.

But you don’t notice, replying “No, the person I really wanted to go with hasn’t asked me yet.” You mutter bashfully, everyone in the room, except Harry knowing who you meant exactly.

“Oh, that’s a shame. I’m sure he’ll ask you soon. I know you’ve already got plenty of asks, he should hurry.” Hermione sends Harry a death glare, her head cocking towards you, demanding him to ask you right now. Harry blushed intensely, gazing at you pondering whilst your stare bore into your unfinished report.

“That’s cause Y/N’s the pretty Slytherin princess, who wouldn’t ask her?” Ginny interrupted for a brief second, giggling at your reaction to the nickname the students had given you.

“For God’s sake, Harry!” Hermione blurted out, sending Harry into a state of complete panic.

“Okay! I get it! Y/N, willyougototheyuleballwithme?”

“Huh?”

“Hermione, what’s a god?”

“Ronald, this is not the time!”

“Y/N!” Harry yelled, practically everyone in the whole common room listening now. “WILL YOU GO TO THE YULE BALL WITH ME!” He screamed, your mouth hanging open as you stared at the chosen one in shock.

After a brief second, everyone bursts out laughing, and in the midst of the uncontrollable laughs erupting from your stomach, you wipe a tear away and scream back, “YES!” 

And the cheers go wild.

June 1996 Ministry of Magic

“Harry!” You yelp, dashing towards the limp figure laying in the sand, ignoring every other adult there that tried to stop you.

Harry, trying to fight the daunting whispers of Voldemort, gets a sudden surge of power hearing your voice. He can feel you close by, kneeling down next to him. The warm, strong yet inviting aura of yours makes him feel invincible as he regains control of himself. 

“Harry.” You sigh a breath of relief as he wakes, clutching onto your arm of dear life. He dives into your arms, and you slide your arms under his, head buried in his shoulder. 

His voice is tired and deep, but you still hear it very clearly.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too.”

August 1997 The Burrow

“Love, you look... brilliant.” Harry gravitates towards you in the after-ceremony of Bill and Fleur’s wedding. He admires your amazingly attractive figure wrapped up in the gold and royal blue dress that reminds him of the night sky. 

“You’re supposed to say that to Fleur, y’know. But... you look good too, darling.” Your shy, yet bright smile ignites an eternal flame in his heart, wondering how he managed to snag such a brilliant human being. 

“Speaking of, have you seen how beautiful the sky was tonight?” Your soft hand takes his and he lets you lead him out of the crowded tent- if he was being honest, he’d let you lead him anywhere.

“Well, you know, they’re alright.” Harry joked, earning him a light punch on the shoulder from you. “One day, do you think we’d marry under the moonlight like tonight’s?” He knew it was forward, but he couldn’t help but to ask. Every day felt more and more rushed, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to be alive the next day, the next week, or the next year.

You squeezed his hand gently, meeting his brilliantly emerald eyes as he desperately searched for an answer in your gaze. “We will. I’ll love you forever, Harry.” 

His heart feels like they’re about to burst through his ribcage, as he hastily closes the gap between your lips. Your lips taste like vanilla, and he savors every second, feeling your warmth, your soft skin, until the moment is broken by the chaos inside.

March 1998 Malfoy Manor

“Throw the three into the cellar! I... want to have a chat with this one!” Bellatrix Lestrange stomps over to you, recognizing your face immediately. She ignores Harry’s cries of threats and drinks you in dangerously. You stand tall, with nothing to hide, even though her presence sends chills down your spine.

“So... Y/L/N, that’s your name, isn’t it, girl? Your parents told me ALL about you, Y/N! Associating yourself with blood traitors! Mudbloods! Friends? With Gryffindors? Hufflepuffs!” She circles around you, like she was debating with herself on what she should do with you.

“Your parents... disowned you, I heard! You! Are a traitor to your blood!” With a swift flick of her wand, a deep cut appeared on your right arm. You screamed in pain, trying to supress the want to collapse on the floor.

“To your house!” Her wand swishes through the air, and another long, claw-like cut. This time almost slicing off your left leg. Your throat itches from the force as you let out another heart-wrenching scream, horrified at what she might end up doing to you. 

You didn’t want to die. 

“Y/N!! We have to help her. Please. Open, God-dammit! Bellatrix, she’ll kill her!” Harry yelled, tears splitting from his darkened eyes in the lit cellar, feeling the dark knot form in his stomach, hinting at something horrible that he felt was going to happen. He continuously banged his fist at the metal bars, but everyone knew it wasn’t going to come down.

Ron held Hermione silently as she cried.

“Bella, stop, her father-” Narcissa Malfoy’s fearful shout made Harry drain all colors in his face. 

“Harry, I love you.” You whisper under your breath.

“Avada Kedavra!” 

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the remaining prisoners in the cellar found themselves on the beaches of the shell cottage, all confused on what had just happened.

“No... Y/N, she did this.” Hermione gasped, tears blurring her vision as she looked out at the blue sky that seemed like it stretched out for miles.

Harry let out a pained shudder. Without even checking if you were here or not, he could feel that he lost you. That you were gone. From his grasp. You said forever. That you’d marry him under the moonlight. You said, you loved him. He was supposed to defeat Voldemort, and live the normal life you both craved. The realization that he wouldn’t be able to hear your voice, or your laugh, and he wouldn’t be able to feel you against him, your angelic eyes on him, dawned on Harry’s fragile heart. He let out yells of agony, knowing that no matter what he did, nothing would bring you back.

But you said forever.

“Oh, no.” Lily gulped, seeing that just talking about it pained her father, still. “But I don’t understand, what did she do before...” Lily trailed off, curious as to why your death resulted in the rest getting saved.

“It was ancient magic she used. Even Auntie Hermione didn’t know the incantations to it. She’d only read about it years ago. Before Y/N’s death, the charm would grant her to use one last spell without her wand. She used it on the disapparation and apparation for the 6 of us.” Harry looked distantly into the air, his hand reaching for the bracelet on his wrist.

“This was hers, cupcake. Recognize anything?” Harry held out your charmed bracelet in front of Lily, her eyes twinkling as she figured it out instantly. 

“My name?” Harry nodded with a hopeful smile on his face.

“Lily Luna Potter.” 

-

ps. Lily was named after you. You had always worn the moon charmed bracelet, and Luna = Moon. Many people thought it was after Luna Lovegood, but in reality, it was you.

Whole Lotta Love

Synopsis: For some people, Valentine’s Day is another word for "stress", especially when you don't know what the other person is expecting. Several years into their relationship, Bucky’s pretty sure he has a good understanding of the Reader, until a word from Sam makes him question everything he thinks he knows. The race is on to make their first Valentine’s Day since saying their vows a special one, but as per usual, fate has it's own ideas about what will make the holiday truly memorable

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Enhanced! Super-soldier Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Author's note: This fic contains references to earlier stories. For more information, click the series masterlist link. As always, the reader is unnamed so that this can be read as a self-insert, but at this point, I think of her as an OC.

The song referenced is Hearts Don't Break Around Here by Ed Sheeran

Series Masterlist

A The Song Remains The Same Fic

---------‐-----------------------------------

“So, Valentine’s Day.”

Bucky doesn’t look up from his laptop (or more specifically, the field report he’s typing) at Sam’s words. Despite his concentration, he can tell that his partner is staring at him, boring holes into his back with his gaze.

“Uh-huh.” He’s listening, but so far, he doesn’t care.

“What are you doing for it?” For Valentine’s day? Um…

“Not much.” It’s a Tuesday this year, right? Then probably working, like most other people, he’d imagine.

The room is silent as he types, so Bucky assumes that settles the matter. That is, until Sam mutters a quiet, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“About what?” How many paragraphs does he have to type before he can pass this off as a full report? When he joined the Avengers, he thought the hardest part of his job would be the bad guy of the week, not doing paperwork!

“You’re really not doing anything for Valentine’s Day? Seriously?” He nods absentmindedly and clicks the save icon. He’ll finish this tomorrow. It’s five o’clock. Time to head home. Home to-

“What’s your wife gonna think about that?” He shrugs and cuts the power to the laptop.

“She thinks that the whole holiday is a rip-off. See you Monday?” He turns around for confirmation, only to catch Sam staring at him, mouth hanging wide open. “What?”

“A rip-off?” Is he just going to be stuck repeating himself?

“Yep.” Told him that the first February 14th they spent together.

“And you actually believed her?”

He nods. “She’s not one to lie.”

Sam nods incredulously. “Uh-huh. And are you planning to ever have sex again?”

He’s not going to dignify that with an answer (because really, isn’t it obvious?).

“Fine.” Sam shrugs. “You do you, man. All I’m saying is, if I had a wife who looked like that-” he indicates the lock screen of Bucky’s phone (a picture of her laughing, telling him to put away the damn camera after wrestling the dog for the tie to her favorite robe). “-I’d have my V-day plans set up a month in advance.”

Normally Bucky would take what Sam says with a grain of salt, but he is after all a man out of time, so maybe it’s worth considering that his partner may be right.

“What would you suggest I do?”

“Outside of the bedroom?” He narrows his eyes at the Falcon. “Okay, bad joke.” Sam scratches at the back of his head, thinking. “I don’t know, man. That’s your girl. You know her best, but flowers are always a good place to start.” Good to know that hasn’t changed since the 1940s. Although, last time he brought her flowers, she spent the afternoon sneezing until he eventually convinced her that it was okay, he wouldn’t be offended, she should throw the damn things out. Then again, that was before she was a super soldier.

“Flowers.” He repeats, earning a nod from Sam.

“You can get creative. Do a little research. But I’m just saying, when a woman waits five years for you to reappear, the least she deserves is a few flowers.” On that, they can agree.

He must bid Sam some sort of goodbye and make his way through the Avengers compound, but he’s unaware of anything until he’s in the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of his car, googling “What to do for your wife on Valentine’s Day.” There’s a web page that boasts twenty different selections. Might as well give it a look.

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s nearly home when her phone dings with a text from Barnes. “Just got in. Forgot to get milk. Can you swing by on your way, or should I go to the gas station and pick up a gallon?” A frown forms on her face. It’s pretty rare that Bucky forgets things. Must’ve been a hell of a day at work, then. Either that, or his brain has completely turned to mush thanks to typing out field reports. Either way-

“I got it. See you in twenty.” She thinks about tacking on a “love you”, but the light turns green before she can.

The grocery store is packed thanks to so many people getting off work. There’s only three carts left, all with bad wheels. She chooses the least squeaky option and, grabbing an add on her way, heads into the grocery store. Milk, and if she remembers right from this morning, they’re running dangerously low on coffee and tea. Despite caffeine having absolutely no effect on their enhanced bodies, both of them are nightmares to be around in the mornings without their beverages of choice. Force of habit and all.

She’s halfway to the checkout when she sees it. A sign, decorated in garish shades of red, pink, and purple. “All Valentine’s Day chocolates 10% off.” Shit. Yeah, that is coming up. To tell the truth, she’d completely forgot all about that day halfway through February. For most of her life, it only meant giving homemade cards at school when most kids had store-bought. Then, once she reached adulthood, it was a reminder that she was destined to be alone. Who would want someone who’s on the run, and what’s more, sees the future? Once she and Barnes got together, it didn’t change much. That first Valentine’s Day, he mentioned the holiday, and she shut it down immediately. They were both broke (or at least, he had no legitimate way of making money while she was broke), and celebrating a mostly commercial holiday seemed like a waste. Plus, she didn’t want to put a strain on a new relationship. Over the years, the subject never came up again, and she’s content for it to stay a non-starter, thank you very much. In her opinion, you should show your partner you love them every day of the year, not shoe-horn it into one twenty-four hour period. Call her unromantic if you must.

She’s completely immune to the various displays of cheap chocolate in heart-shaped boxes and overly sentimental cards as she approaches the register and starts to unload her items. Milk. Tea. That one specific brand of coffee that he likes because, “It tastes like what we drank in basic training. Terrible, but I kinda got used to it, so now everything else tastes like it’s trying too hard.” whatever that means. He’s right; she’s tasted it, and it’s fucking awful. Still, every morning, he drinks at least three cups while she drains her pot of tea.

“You got a hot date for Valentine’s Day, hun?” The cashier asks her, never breaking her rhythm as she rings up the items.

She chuckles. “As a matter of fact, yes.” The cashier’s eye go wide, and she holds up her left hand. “And every other day.”

“Ooh, nice. How long have you been together?”

“Nine years.” Wait… “Or four years, depending on which of us you ask. He blipped, I stayed.”

The cashier nods. “So are you older than him now?”

Physically? They’re not completely sure, but if you calculate the times he was off the ice with HYDRA and add that to the age he was before the serum, then they’re not far off. But chronologically- “No, he’s still older.” And yes, it will always be funny that Sam responds with “Okay, boomer” whenever Bucky makes an outdated reference (even if he’s off by a good twenty years).

With a little more light chatter, she pays for her items and leaves. Now, for home.

As soon as she opens the front door, she’s greeted by their dog, Sarge, barking excitedly and hopping around like he’s on a trampoline despite missing a leg. Bucky’s not far behind, placing a quick peck on her forehead before taking the bags from her and unloading them in the kitchen. Tonight’s his night to cook, but unless her nose has suddenly decided to give out, he hasn’t started dinner yet. She doesn’t mind taking over tonight, and when he sheepishly apologizes while she begins her preparations, she brushes it off. Although, for the second time in an hour, she’s seen proof of his unusual absentmindedness. Oh well. She’ll ask him about it later.

Despite being relieved from tonight’s chef duties, Bucky stays in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar scrolling through his phone as she cooks. His expression is neutral, which can mean one of two things; a) he’s just killing time and there aren’t any interesting posts or articles vying for his attention, or at the opposite end of the spectrum, b) he’s deep in thought, possibly angry, sad, or even frightened, but he’s gone into Winter Soldier mode and shut down so that she won’t pick up on his mood. Damn the man and his poker face.

Eventually dinner is served and she sends him off toward the fridge in search of two beers while she serves their plates. Just as she’s spooning a generous helping of salad into her bowl, it happens. A vision, but a limited one. All she’s seeing is a phone. Well, that and the hand holding it. She’s not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed that she immediately recognizes the hand as Bucky’s, but that goes by the wayside as she takes in the article he’s reading. “Should you do something for Valentine’s Day even is she says no?” It’s a thread on some anonymous discussion board. The reply that has his attention is in reference to a now divorced individual who “was dumb enough to believe that, on our first V-Day as a married couple, she didn’t want anything.” Oh boy. Not good. This will be their first Valentine’s Day since exchanging vows, and if the fact that he’s read this reply (if not already read, will read soon) means that it’s at least crossed his radar that she might be feeding him bullshit. That’s not the case, but after his research, she knows from experience that no matter how much she tries to convince him otherwise, a small part of his mind will be stuck on, “But what if this is a big deal?” Which means-

“Doll, are you just gonna stand there with the salad tongs in your hand?” That snaps her out of it.

“No. Just a vision.” He frowns as she passes him his plate.

“Anything important happen?” Should she say?

“No.” She’s not sure if the smile or not, so she takes a bite from her roll to cover it. “Random sneak peek.” It’s not a lie. What she saw really isn’t important. Still, if he’s in that mindset, she should probably go on and do something for him just in case. After all, why should it only be the ladies who reap this holiday’s benefits?

___________________________________________________________________________________

Not flowers. That’s the one thing that, after copious amounts of research Bucky is one hundred percent certain about. They may still be a common romantic gift, but since they were also a go-to back when he was courting girls in the 1940s, it’s safe to say they’ve been overdone. Plus, he doesn’t really want to remind her of that time she had such a severe allergic reaction to the flowers he picked her on a walk through the park in Bucharest that her eyes nearly swelled shut and she sneezed herself sick. That doesn’t exactly seem like prime romance.

Chocolates or other candies have the same issues as flowers. Contrived and predictable. A bottle of wine is nice, but neither of them can so much as get mildly tipsy thanks to the super serum. The fourteenth is his day to cook, so he guesses he could do some reading and try to create something a little more special than spaghetti (he thought about going to a nice restaurant for dinner, but there’s a few issues with that, not the least of which is they’re likely to be recognized without their disguises, and he’d rather not look at his wife through sunglasses on Valentine’s day), but that seems a little underwhelming.

As he loads the dishwasher (she fell asleep half-way through the third episode of whichever nonsensical comedy they’re watching this week, so he sneaked back downstairs to clean up the dinner dishes), he thinks back to the dozen separate articles he read on the subject of Valentine’s Day gifts. Jewelry was a common theme, but that’s out. She’ll say thank you to his face, but worry about the cost behind his back. Plus, he has absolutely no idea what she’d like, and there’s no sense in purchasing something only for her to hate it.

Another common one was lingerie. Bucky almost choked on his tongue when he saw some of the examples given with that option. None of it looked comfortable (in fact, he’s still scratching his head about how you even put on one of the pieces that popped up on the web page) and he doesn’t want to give her the impression that she has to dress up for him. Even putting all that aside, he has no idea what size she’d even wear. He likes to think that he knows his wife pretty well, but somehow, in all their years together, it never occurred to him to ask her for her clothing sizes. That, and have you even seen the bra sizing system? Does it make sense to anyone, because to Bucky, it’s all gibberish. 32 B? 36 DD? What the hell? Somehow, when HYDRA was training him to extract information, they failed to go over the translation of a woman’s bra size. He supposes he could ask, but he’s not sure there’s a non-suspicious way to work, “Hey, sweetheart. What size are your breasts?” into casual conversation.

Sam said to get creative, so he tried to think outside the box. What’s something she really needs? A new vacuum cleaner is the first thing to come to mind, but he’s not stupid enough to think that would make a good gift. He knows she’s had her eye on a set of throwing stars, but that doesn’t seem to correlate well with what this holiday is all about. That’ll keep until her birthday.

He’s still wracking his brain for anything at all that might work when he feels a wet nose poking at his hand. Sarge. “Hey, boy. Has your mom gone to bed?” The response is a quiet “woof” and lick to his palm. He scratches the mutt behind the ears, smiling to himself as Sarge’s back leg thumps at the treatment.

“What do you think we should get our girl? Huh?” There’s no reply (of course not, he’s talking to a dog), but he nods, pretending all the same that Sarge has offered up a suggestion. “A bone. Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s her thing. Try again.” The dog blinks at him lazily. “No, you’re the one who wants new tennis balls. Not Mom. Although you’re right about her liking peanut butter.” At this rate, he might as well get her a bone and some tennis balls, because he’s sure not coming up with any ideas.

She likes music. The thought pops into his head while he’s brushing his teeth. All sorts of music. Over the years, he’s tried to make sense of the songs he’s heard her listen to, but has yet to find a discernible pattern in her listening habits. She doesn’t seem to stick to just one genre or era. More like she picks songs by how they relate to what she’s feeling at the moment. Wait a second-

“A mixtape.” His reflection mouths the words back at him. Despite technology having moved on from the days of burning CDs, she still has a thick stack of the disks stored in a cabinet and plays them on the regular. He’s even seen a few that she made herself, pasting together the songs she likes to make a “Cleaning mix”, “Workout Mix” and “Pissed off Mix”. Bucky’s sure he could figure out how to burn a CD, but it’s not like she’d be able to listen to that everywhere she went. That leaves a playlist. She uses one of those apps to listen to music on her phone, right? Surely he can put something together for her using that.

Quietly, he climbs into bed next to his sleeping wife and pulls her back against his chest, slinging one arm over her waist as usual. He closes his eyes, but his mind is alight with activity. A playlist. Of course. He’ll put some extra effort into whatever he cooks that night, stop by a bakery and pick up some sweet treats for dessert. Hell, maybe they’ll both dress up and act like they’re on a date. Then, once they’re sitting down to their meal, he’ll pull out his phone and hit play. It’s perfect. At least, he hopes it is.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Putting on a lacy bra and panties set underneath her regular work attire seemed like a brilliant idea this morning. Today’s a short day; she’s only got three classes to teach, and Rhodey called last night to tell Bucky that he’s suspending work hours at three pm “Since most people have holiday preparations to make.” Her plan was to be waiting on the sofa in the living room when he arrives home, professional button-down blouse open just enough for him to get a good look at what’s underneath, pencil skirt pushed up enough to reveal the stockings and garters she’s donned for the occasion. It’s fun, with just enough cheesiness to match this whole holiday. And, well, it’s a guarantee that by the end of the night they’ll be in bed together, both rumpled, sweaty, and satisfied. Perfect, right?

Wrong. On her drive to work, her skimpy underwear began to ride up, giving her a wedgie, and there was no way to adjust without running the risk of wrecking. She was so distracted by her discomfort that she missed her exit, and by the time she arrived at the college, she was running so behind that she didn’t get the chance to run to the bathroom and readjust. Her lecture on sentence diagrams was pure torture before the underwire from her bra decided to join in the fun and poke her directly in the ribs, but with that addition, she was especially impatient with her students’ tendency to joke around a little too much in class.

Luckily, she had just enough time to wrap the exposed metal bit in tissues before her next class, which eliminated the pain in her chest, but did nothing to alleviate the discomfort once her stockings began to slide down, having at some point disconnected themselves from the garters. She taught like that for the next two classes, but as soon as they were over, she pealed the whole ensemble off in the teacher’s restroom and changed into her gym clothes. Alright, screw the whole seduction routine. She needs to blow off some steam and fast, or else she’ll be in a bad mood all night.

That’s why, thirty minutes later, she finds herself in the training room of the Avengers compound, working over a punching bag. “Fuck-” Her fist connects, making the bag swing crazily from it’s hook. “-this- whole- day!” It goes sailing, and she feels a little better.

“Ouch!” The voice comes from behind her and she whirls around, gaze resting on-

“Sam.” The man in question holds up his hands in an “I surrender” gesture.

“Don’t shoot! I come in peace.” Rolling her eyes, she holds up her middle finger, receiving a snicker in acknowledgment.

“Just working off a little frustration before I head home.”

“Good.” Sam chuckles. “’cause otherwise, I’d be worried that when Barnes pulls out his dick tonight, you’ll bite it off.” She thinks about telling him that there’s no chance of that, but she might just cut off his if he crosses her. However, that jogs her memory.

“Has he left yet?” Sam nods.

“About an hour ago. Said he had to pick up groceries.” Shit. There goes her plan to shower, throw the damn lingerie back on and proceed as planned.

Bidding Sam a hasty reply, she makes tracks towards her car and, once inside, heads for home. Fine. New plan. She’ll shower once she arrives and then when the evening is drawing to a close, wait for him in bed. Nodding to herself, she puts the car in park and climbs out. Now, to psych herself up enough in the next few hours to put the damn lingerie back on.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Where did he go wrong? It takes all of Bucky’s self control not to spit out the spoonful of sauce he just tasted. This was supposed to be an easy recipe for Chicken Alfredo (or at least, that’s what the website boasted; he should’ve known better than to get his information from the internet and stuck to a good old-fashioned cookbook from the library). Not… whatever the hell this is. Maybe even if the sauce is nauseating, the chicken is okay?

He pulls open the oven door, and immediately smoke billows out, making his eyes water. Okay, chicken’s a little well-done. Who is he kidding? Black. The chicken is burned black. And the pasta… he lifts the pot lid and stirs, only to come to the realization that the pasta is completely stuck to the bottom of the pot. Wonderful.

It’s inevitable; over the years, he’s had his fair share of cooking disasters, but usually he does okay. Tonight though… who the hell up there did he piss off, because the only explanation for how badly this is going is his karma coming due.

Still holding the offending spoon, he looks over at Sarge, who’s staring at him, long pink tongue sticking out as he pants. “Trust me, boy. You don’t want any of this.” There has to be something else he can pull together on short notice. Normally he’d be worried that she’s running late without so much as a text, but today he’s relieved. At least if she’s running behind he’ll have time to… what? Maybe order takeout? Before she gets-

“I’m home.” Shit.

Sarge yips, shaking with excitement, and starts towards the kitchen door, then turns back, uncertain. “Go on. I know you’re dying to jump on her and lick her face.” Something they really should be training out of him because he’s getting too big for that sort of behaviour but, well… there’s a reason they call them “puppy dog eyes.”

Not needing to be coaxed, the dog takes off, tripping a little in the momentary lapse in his memory that he’s a tripod, but easily catches himself and goes on his merry way, leaving Bucky to clean up his mess. From the sound of things, a game of fetch is going on in the living room, so she should be distracted for a while.

He manages to pour the sauce down the drain and scrape most of the pasta into the trash while Sarge is acting as a decoy, but there’s absolutely no way he can dispose of the chicken without tipping her off (damn enhanced senses, it’s a wonder she hasn’t already smelled it). Finally, he decides to just go for it. She’s going to notice whether he throws it out now or two hours from now. Might as well get a head start on cleaning.

Sure enough, not ten seconds after he empties out the oven, he catches a movement in his peripheral vision, and the familiar sound of her breathing tips him off that he’s no longer alone.

“Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Bucky. Did something burn in here, or-” He holds up the pan for her inspection before continuing his scraping.

“That’s one way to put it, yeah.” He slams the lid back on the trashcan and turns on the tap, intent on rinsing out the pan. “Another is whoever the god of culinary arts is has it in for me today.”

She chuckles. “You know, that would be funnier if we didn’t actually know a god.”

“Yeah, but he’s in control of thunder.” He meets her eyes, smirking slightly. “Although it did look like I electrocuted the bird.” Her lips quirk up into a smile, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her, cupping the back of her head gently to hold her in place when she tries to move away, muttering something about being sweaty.

He’s not entirely sure how it happened, but by the time they come up for air, her back his pressed against the wall and he’s got her pinned in place. Not that he’s complaining.

“Anyone ever tell you that the tip of your nose turns pink after you’ve been kissed?’ Her cheeks go rosey in response.

“I think so. One guy did. I told him it’s only when I’m kissed properly.”

He really would like to continue the playful banter, but there’s still the small matter of whatever it is they’re going to eat.

“What do you feel like for dinner tonight?”

“Apart from electrocuted chicken?” He responds with a swat to her ass, which earns him a snicker. “Let’s keep it simple. Pizza. Your choice of toppings.” Right, that’s easy enough. Plus, if they have to wait longer than thirty minutes, it’s free.

“Okay. I’ll order while you shower?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He’s just pulled up the menu on his phone when the sound of her clearing her throat attracts his attention. She’s standing in the doorway, combing through her freshly let down hair with her fingers, a playful look in her eyes.

“Or you could join me. Just a mild suggestion.”

Dinner can wait for a while.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The Brooklyn townhouse they live in has many nice features. There’s a functional if small screened in back porch, big enough to hold a table for two and a grill. Two bedrooms, on the off chance someone from work needs to crash for a night or two. A kitchen with a dishwasher. A working fireplace. Good closet space. And an en suite bathroom.

Maybe it’s a little ridiculous to call a bathroom luxurious, especially when, in comparison to what’s featured in many brownstones, it’s more than modest, but she can’t help but think of it as such. There’s a double sink so that in the morning rush to get ready, Bucky’s able to shave and brush his teeth without having to wait for her to finish applying her makeup. Shelving above the toilet makes certain that even if the last person to shower took the towel with them, another one is on hand. Speaking of the shower, it’s not the largest one in the world, but both of them can fit in comfortably at the same time, which is what’s lead to their current situation.

She’s just finished allowing the water to course over her body, easing the sweat from her skin, and is about to begin the process of washing her hair, scrubbing her body, but she hesitates. She might as well ask. It’s only practical after all.

“Do you want to start now or get cleaned up and have dinner beforehand?” It’s obvious what she’s referring to, so she doesn’t bother to spell it out.

His brown knits, and if she didn’t know him as… intimately… as she does, she’d actually believe he’s confused.

“Oh, so you’re just assuming there’s gonna be sex involved at some point tonight?”

She shrugs, wringing out her hair.

“Seemed like a safe enough bet.” She glances pointedly between the two of them. “After all, we’re already undressed. “

His laugh is a quiet huff, barely discernible over the sound of the water. “Then I’d say start now, have dinner, then go for round two. Sound about right to you?”

She nods. “Solid plan.”

“Then get over here.”

Unlike the welcome home kiss they shared not half an hour ago, this one is less tender, more electric. Hands twist in hair, bodies press together. Tongues begging for entrance quickly give way to teeth nipping at bottom lips, an unspoken sparring match for who’ll be in control this time around. Ultimately he wins, grasping her hips and lifting as she wraps her legs securely around his back.

There’s no need for prep; the teasing of their earlier words is foreplay enough. Back pressed against the wall, her body easily welcomes him in as she braces one arm against the glass shower doors for balance. Any concerns about slipping and falling wash away as they move together like so many times before. She’s sure her nails will leave marks on his back, fingertips digging in for purchase and it’s a guarantee her hips will be littered with fingerprints from his grip, but she can’t find it in her to care, and if the desperate, bruising kiss assaulting her lips is anything to judge from, neither can he.

“So damn good, Doll.” It’s panted against her neck. “Always. So damn perfect for me.” All she can manage is a moan in response.

She feels him twitch inside of her and knows he’s close. So is she, but she can’t quite get there without-

As if he’s read her mind, he reaches between them to touch her where she needs it most, and on instinct, she readjusts, locking her arm around his neck to stay in place. “Let go, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” She couldn’t disobey if she wanted to.

“Fuck.” As her walls contract around him, he pulls out just in time to paint her middle with his release.

“That’s one word for it.” She’s still fighting to catch her breath, but she shoots him a shaky smirk, which he returns.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Barnes.” Snickering, she releases him to stand on unsteady legs and pecks his legs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Barnes.” Maybe there’s something to this holiday after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You want the last slice?” Bucky considers it for a moment before deciding-

“Nah. You can have it.” It may not be exactly what he planned, but it’s been a good night. Between the two of them, they’ve gone through two large pizzas while watching the new version of Beauty and the Beast (she rolled her eyes when he asked if this was her way of saying he reminds her of a certain hairy, horned character) in their pajamas.

“No, really. You take it. I don’t want it.” She nudges the mostly-empty pizza box towards him. The noise makes Sarge lift his head from where he was snoozing beside her on the sofa. That gives him an idea.

“I don’t want it either, but I can think of someone who does.” He cocks his head towards the now-drooling dog. “How ‘bout it, boy? Wanna help us out?”

Snickering, she picks the pepperonis and pieces of sausage and ham from the pizza, forming a pile. “Here, Sarge. Catch.” She tosses a coveted treat in the air, and Sarge’s jaw snaps, swallowing it whole. “Good boy.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“You know, I actually did have something planned for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She nods.

“Absolutely. Had a whole seduction plan laid out. Tiny underwear, lacy bra, and stockings with garters included.” Huh. Guess she wouldn’t have taken the “lingerie” option the wrong way. He’ll file that away for future use… along with a mental note to ask her bra size. “That is, until I tried wearing the damn things for longer than an hour. Turns out, hiding a dirty secret under your clothes is more itchy than sexy.”

He can’t help it. He laughs, producing a pout from her which quickly turns into her own quiet laughter.

“Well, that fits in perfectly with my fancy dinner going up in smoke.”

“We really do have shitty luck with the whole “romance” thing.” She’s joking, but he decides to respond anyway.

“I don’t know about that.” Entwining his fingers with hers, he lifts their hands, twin wedding bands catching the light. “You waited five years for me to reappear after the blip, and I convinced you to elope with me. Seems pretty romantic.” Although, that reminds him…

“Don’t move.” Releasing her hand, he stands and goes in search of his phone.

“Bucky, what-”

“Don’t move, Doll. Stay right where you are.” Ah. On the kitchen counter, just where he left it. Jogging back into the room, he resumes his place on the couch next to her. Ignoring her questioning gaze, he pulls up the app and, selecting the correct playlist, hits play.

Immediate recognition blooms on her face at the opening lyrics. “She is the sweetest thing that I know. Should see the way she holds me when the lights go low.” He’s not one for modern music, but when he was googling “songs for Valentine’s Day” and this one popped up, he couldn’t help but think that the lyrics were fitting.

“I didn’t know you’d heard this one.”

He chuckles. “Even old men have a few tricks up their sleeves. That, and a wifi connection.” She rolls her eyes but leans closer, which he takes advantage of to show her the playlist.

“This is the app you use, right?” Receiving a nod, he continues. “Feel free to scroll through and add whatever you want. I haven’t listened to all of them the whole way through, but they seemed to fit the mood.”

Her hand closes over his, covering the phone. “Thank you, Bucky. It’s perfect.”

As the singer goes on about how hearts don’t break around here, he presses his lips against hers.

“I love you, Doll.”

“Love you.”

Not bad for a disastrous Valentine’s Day. Not bad at all.

The Slumber that Creeps to Me

Geraskefer. 7208 Words. Rated T.  Jaskier pulls an extreme all-nighter (read: 60+ hours) to finish a paper he procrastinated on, and finds at the end of it that sleep does not come as easily as he’d hoped. Tags for: Sleep Deprivation, Self Destruction/Lack of Self Care, Hallucinations, Nightmares, Overstimulation, Hurt/Comfort, Whumping the Bard, very loving partners, and a happy ending. <3 AO3 link in the reblog!

As with most disasters spurned by his own cockiness, Jaskier felt as thought that all in all, the situation could have been worse.

The idea to have Geralt and Yennefer spend the spring holiday break at Oxenfurt was, in his defense, ingenious. His students weren’t around, the weather was gorgeous, they all had varying degrees of business in the city, and they could fuck each other senseless at any hour of the day. In a bed. A nice one, provided he was a legitimate professor, now. Well, visiting. Well, it was complicated. But they were his rooms, and that’s what mattered.

When Jaskier gotten the prestigious offer to write the season’s main article for the Continent’s most respected Bardic Journal, he’d just sort of figured he’d… fit it in, somewhere. He had seventeen months, which was plenty enough for him. Then he’d just work with the editors, and have a centerfold piece. It was an honor. He was excited about it! He’d meant to get to it sooner, but decided the summer before that he’d devote the winter to it. But… he’d… he’d been distracted. It wasn’t often the entire family gathered at Kaer Morhen. So, he thought, he’d do it later.

But the first few weeks after winter were, of course, spent with Geralt. And the week after that, a trip to the coast, where he’d played a festival and met up with Ciri, who was becoming an amateur critic herself. And then by pure, absolute happenstance, after 3 more weeks of travel he happened to end up at an inn that he definitely hadn’t heard Yennefer was staying at. So that more time gone. And then he’d arrived in Oxenfurt, and he’d really meant to get to work on it, but there was so much to prepare for! He wanted things to be right for them.

And then Yennefer and Geralt had actually arrived, and the idea of anything possibly being more important than their presence flew his mind.

And now, here he was. If he wanted to get it in on time (unfortunately, that wasn’t a suggestion in this case, more of an actual, terrifying requirement,) he’d need to submit it in… gods above, less than three days. 60 hours, if he was doing the math.

There was no word limit, nor a minimum. But, ever the maximalist, he knew it was going to be… long, if he was going to do it right. They’d edit it down, but it was the focal point of the journal, they’d been leading up to it for ages now. Ahh. Well. There was only one thing for it, he supposed.

“I’m working through the night on my paper!” He’d announced that morning, sitting straight up in bed, jostling his sleepy lovers. “No one bother me! I will be at the dining table until further notice!” He swung himself out of bed and made for the door.

“Pants,” his lovers chorused together.

“Right!” he'd said, and marched back into the room.

He’d pulled all-nighters in his youth. In fact, he couldn’t count the times he’d worked through the night, deposited a composition or essay on his professor’s desk with some polite conversation and maybe a wink, and then promptly fallen asleep during the lecture itself. Just a 15-minute power nap, really! Then he’d be back up and at it again, working through another night just to sleep through the weekend. He’d done it before, he could do it again.

Well, it’d been 25 years ago, but that didn’t change much, did it? He still felt spry, agile, hearty— hell, he’d spent the better part of the last twenty odd years chasing after a Witcher, and later an additional princess and mage— surely he should be in better health now!

This was completely accomplishable. Admittedly, he could have written this sooner… but he hadn’t, and here he was.

Geralt and Yennefer both set out early on different errands, leaving the bard to some peace and quiet. Relatively.

He spread his work and references out before him. 7 books, 4 pamphlets, his favorite quills, a hundred fresh pieces of parchments, his lute at his knee. “Alright,” he said aloud to his empty Oxenfurt apartment, “Just sit down and write the damn thing. Sitting part, definitely done. Writing next. Just… write.”

He stared at the page.

“No! No, no, do not be impossible about this. Just start the thing.”

The page stared back.

“Ah, blast,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. This was fine. Just… do the awful, disgusting part of beginning, and then he’d be off. The sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish, after all! He took a breath, and put his pen to paper.

xx

Yennefer returned a few hours later, a book and small parcel in hand. Jaskier looked up to see her sweep through the room, a commanding presence, though she didn’t acknowledge him yet. A few waves of her hands and a pot of tea was put on to boil, her hair was put in a bun, and three mugs were floating down from a shelf.

“Lovely to see you too,” he smiled as Yennefer poked through the tea collection. He could practically hear her fond eye roll. She neatly plucked two from one box and looked back at him in question. “Ah… peppermint, if we’ve got it?” and she turned back to the cupboard grab it.

“Any progress?” She finally asked.

“A bit, actually!” Jaskier said cheerfully. It didn’t look like much, but he’d done half a page with almost no errors, and he’d made plenty of notes in the margins of the books he’d need later. It was better than he’d hoped it’d be going by this point, at least. He was kicking academia’s ass. Or, he would be.

The kettle whistled and Yennefer poured the tea, bobbing all three of the tea bags up and down as they steeped. He watched her lean against the counter, casual, relaxed, gorgeous, before realizing she was staring back at him. “Um! Yes, no, definitely good. Got a lot of… those words, you know, they are definitely here. Looking very sexy. The words! The writing is looking… very sexy, very curvy… letters. Sensuous words, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sensuous words.”

“Yeah, yes. Like… contemporaneous… and… iguana.”

“Iguana.” She let out a little huff of a laugh and something in Jaskier’s chest tightened and loosened in quick succession. And in a moment she was there, sliding him a large mug with the carving of a rather playful looking bear on one side, batting at a butterfly.

“Oh! My favorite. Thank you, thank you.”

“Mmm,” she said before waving a hand to cool down their tea a bit. She took a seat opposite him, scanning an eye over the table. “Think you’ll be done by tonight?”

Jaskier laughed. “Darling, I’ll be lucky to be done by tomorrow morning.”

“You’re planning to stay up all night, bard?”

“Unfortunately.” He took a sip. “Should be done by tomorrow afternoon, if I keep steady at it.”

“After tea, of course.”

“Of course.”

Yennefer stretched out a bit, kicking her feet onto Jaskier’s lap and rolling her neck. They sat there a moment, sipping, pausing, drinking in each other. There was something nice about taking a moment of stillness with someone just as frenetic as he was, someone who was usually just as itching for something to do, even if she went about it differently. The grace of choosing stillness, he thought, was not something to ignore.

Yennefer reached the end of her mug and tapped its ceramic walls lightly.

“What’s next for you?”

“I have to refresh my potion stock, so I’ll be at the market for supplies. You sure you don’t want to take a break and join?”

Rat’s ass. He fucking loved the Oxenfurt markets. “I’m afraid I can’t. Academia calls.”

“Who does it call for, exactly? What’s that I hear…” She cocked her head and listened intently. “Who is it calling for… is that… V… Val… Valdo?” Jaskier hefted her feet off of his lap in protest, and she laughed. He plucked his quill from its stopper, and went back to hovering over his paper. Introduction mostly accomplished, now he had to really lead in to his point, give some proper context. He flipped through a book beside him.

Yennefer rose smoothly from the table and went to move her mug to the sink. “When Geralt gets in, tell him I need toadflax and bluebells from him? Might as well put him to use.”

Jaskier flipped through the pages, thumbing through for a note he’d sworn he’d made ages ago, when he belatedly tried to register his mage’s words. He could have his fun, too.

“Blue…Yennefer, you want me to tell Geralt that you need blue balls from him?”

“Bells! Bells, you absolute child!” she said. “Honestly. Blue balls? Really, Jaskier?” He was giggling. “I don’t need to ask to give either of you blue balls.”

“Exactly, Yennefer, you provide that service for us anyway, free of charge!” A balled-up napkin hit him in the head and he laughed joyfully.

“I can’t stand you. I’m leaving, you’ll never see me again.”

Jaskier looked up through his grin and met her twinkling, happy eyes. “Tonight then?”

“Tonight,” she agreed, and left with a quick ruffle of his hair.

xx

“Still working?” Geralt said as greeting later in the afternoon. The desk was neater than Jaskier expected it to be this far in, only a few books open, dog eared and marked in colored ink. He’d written a page and a half since Yennefer left, and it was good, it was, but he’d need to go back and make edits later. His long empty mug of tea sat far across him.

“Mm,” he agreed, continuing to write. “Ah, Yennefer came through earlier,” giving a gesture to the waiting mug of tea on the counter. Geralt made his way over to the mug, and gave it a small igni to warm it. He smiled fondly down at the drink—what a terribly lovely sight he was. Warm here, and safe. Couldn’t it be like this always? The three of them here, comfortable and happy? No, he supposed, but gods how he wanted it.

“She’s at the market now,” Jaskier continued, “wanted me to ask you about...” He lifted his pen and squinted. “Ah, toadflax and bluebells.” He looked up at Geralt, smiling. “Blue balls,” they said together, sporting matching shit-eating grins, Geralt’s albeit much smaller. “I made the same joke myself,” Jaskier added.

Geralt snorted. “How’d she take that?”

“Oh, as well as you’d hope. We’ll never see her again, of course.” He turned back to his work, reading over the last paragraph. He could feel Geralt approach to stand behind him, and while he’d normally shoo his witcher off, he was too deep in concentration to bother.

How long was too long to linger on the progression of oral storytelling to bardship? It’s not like he could ignore it, (Geralt’s hand came to grip his shoulder, a thumb rubbing against it tenderly) as it was a crucial tenant of the argument— but there was plenty to be said for assuming the literacy and foreknowledge of the reader. (He leaned in to get a closer look at Jaskier’s page, the soft warmth of the tea in his other hand bouncing off his chest) But this was to be in a journal often referenced by first years, and he knew how much he would have loved a paper that had everything all in one—

“How’s it going?” Geralt asked softly in his ear.

Jaskier waved a hand over the mess before him. “You know. It’s fine, I’m just not sure at what point I’m lingering on points to excess.”

“Mm,” Geralt hummed understandingly. “Tell the story. Trust your gut.” He gave Jaskier a nuzzle and light kiss against his cheek before taking up the empty mug off the table and walking off further into the apartment.

“I always do!” Jaskier called back. Mm, if only this were as simple as telling a story. Well…Oh—if he spent this paragraph referencing the progression it would end up taking up more room, be a run of the mill lead-in, but if he wrote the actual history as a short story itself, now there was an idea, he could make his point and give the context. Oh, fuck, brilliant—

“Back soon,” Geralt was saying as the front door slipped shut, but the bard was too lost in his work to do more than give a small nod of his head.

The sun was falling, making a graceful bow into the horizon. Warm light spread out over the streets of Oxenfurt like the last pushes of tide, ebbing, and flowing, and sinking back into night.

“Ah, fuck,” Jaskier muttered, crossing out a spelling error with a snarl.

His shoulders ached, and his lower back was going to be the death of him. He was on page 7. All he could see was the work ahead of him, winding off ad infinitum. If he didn’t pick up the pace, he might have to go 60 hours straight—he shivered. Not ideal. He took a breath, stood up and stretched a bit, his muscles groaning in thanks. A quick bathroom break later and he was sliding back into his chair, still warm, his papers grinning up at him, sardonic.

He’d take a meal break at 10 pages, he told himself.

He stood to stretch and his head swam. Well. Plenty of reason to stay seated, he supposed.

Geralt and Yennefer returned at 12 and a half pages. He turned his head in greeting, and when he looked back he got the first real look at the table in hours—it was a disaster, crumbled pieces of parchment, empty quills, and little notes strewn everywhere. Some books propped open, the pile of parchment looking more like a mountain slope, an empty glass from when he’d chugged water hours ago.

His loves were clearly a few drinks deep as they came through the door, and completely unmarred by the woes of academia. Bastards, honestly.

“Hi, hello, hope you had a good evening, I—”

“Come to bed,” Yennefer said, suddenly right behind him. Two small but firm hands came to his shoulders, rubbing deeply.

“Ah! Oh, fuck—oh, yes, darling, right there—”

Geralt came to his other side, tipping his head up for a kiss, which he moaned into. His witcher’s tongue was soft, pleading, tempting him—his mage’s hands pushing almost painfully against his aching muscles. He wanted to cry, it was so good. It was so different than the last… however many hours it had been that he had been sitting here. Geralt pulled away, and Yennefer’s hands came to rest as well.

“So?” Geralt asked, his voice deep and velvety. “Bed?”

“I…” gods, who had he become? “I can’t. I want to, I just—”

Yennefer placed a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s fine,” she said, and he knew it was, but he hated denying them something they all wanted. “Have you eaten?”

Jaskier frowned. “Fuck. Not really.”

Geralt sighed and went to the pantry. “You’re getting a sandwich,” he grumbled.

“Ooo, Geralt, dear heart, would you heat it up? Use some of your,” he wiggled his fingers “your witchery magic?”

Geralt turned and glared. “You’re getting a sandwich.”

“He’s so mean to me,” Jaskier muttered to Yennefer, “I can’t believe he’s so mean to me.”

His mage snorted a laugh into his hair. “You’re really staying up all night, then?” She waved a hand and the curtains around the room swept shut, and his lantern began to burn steadily.

“Looks like it,” he sighed. Geralt retuned a moment later, plated warm sandwich and glass of water in hand.

“Fuck. Thank you.” He took it and took a bite, suddenly ravenous. He looked up at both of them, staring down in fond amusement. “Fank—” he swallowed his mouthful of sandwich. “Thank you both, truly. I’ll be up a bit. If you need something, call, yes?”

They rolled their eyes. “He tells us to call if we need anything,” Yennefer muttered. “Don’t get into any trouble,” she said, and with a peck on the cheek from both of them, they disappeared into the bedroom.

He looked back at his work.

Okay. 12 ½ pages in. He could do this.

x

At 15 pages, he felt ravenous again, and made a second sandwich. Not as good as Geralt’s. Geralt’s sandwiches weren’t even that good, but they were made by Geralt, which added a certain kick, a novelty he adored.

He drank another glass of water and shook his head. Back to work.

At 17 pages, sometimes the world swam before him. He gripped the edge of the table. Fuck.

He was so tired. 23 pages. He kept writing.

It was terrible. The whole paper was a mess. Nothing made sense and people were going to laugh at him. 25 pages.

He heard a sound. Was that Geralt rising for the bathroom? Was it an intruder? Light crept in through the window. 27 pages.

There was a ringing in his ear. His writing was getting increasingly larger. 27 ½ pages.

Geralt gave him a soft nuzzle to the top of his head before padding through to the kitchen. Jaskier’s heart ached. His bones ached. Writing was hard but right then it felt impossible. 27 ¾ pages.

Geralt lingered, and Jaskier felt his nose twitch. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for him to leave. He couldn’t have any distractions right now. He shut his eyes tight until he heard the bedroom door close once more.

Yennefer entered hours later, sweeping the curtains over with a flick of her hand. Bright light flooded the room, painting the desk in all its full, disgustingly messy glory. “Well—”

“Could you ask next time?!” Jaskier snapped. “Some of us need consistency to concentrate!”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, and they stared at each other. Some part of him wanted to slap himself but the rest was just so irritated. Who’d she think she was, anyway?

After a moment, the mage turned and left with a flick of her hand to sweep the curtains shut again.

“Headed out,” Geralt said at 30 pages. “Contract.”

“Good,” Jaskier muttered. “I mean. Good that you’re—fuck. Whatever.”

Geralt stared. “You need rest. It’s been more than 24 hours.”

“I need to fucking finish.”

“Yen said—”

“I’m sure she did,” Jaskier muttered, driving his heels into his eyes. Gods, his eyes burned. Silence hung.

“She portaled out this morning.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Great. Love that. I’m a fucking disaster, thank you for the reminder, Geralt.” He waved toward the door. “Don’t you have a contract?”

He turned back to his papers, shifting around to look for page 11, and didn’t think about how long it took before Geralt left the apartment.

His hand was shaking but he was at 34 pages. He still had so much to say. Fuck. But he was in it now.

He scarfed down some soup that was mostly broth at some point, and he’d under-salted it, but it was something. His eyes kept going blurry; traitorous things.

The bear on his mug was plotting his downfall.

38 pages and Jaskier felt like the gods themselves had gifted him with the knowledge he now bestowed onto meager commoners. He was a genius.

At 43 pages, he had stopped to lay out the entire essay on the ground, so he could see it all. The words sometimes swam before him, and he had trouble remembering what he was meant to say next. Once, he looked up, confused as to where he was. And then, at 44 pages, the guilt of snapping at his dearest loves, the weight of this behemoth paper he wasn’t even sure he could finish, and his own self-doubt crept in and seized him up, leaving him breathless and in tears for… awhile. Everything hurt. He had to keep going.

At 48 pages, he saw a griffon fly through his window, and he named it Kalvin. He turned whatever color Jaskier wanted him to turn, which was very considerate of him. Kalvin was his only friend now, and with a little convincing, might become his editor, too.

At 55 pages his chest seized, and it was hard to breathe for a moment. He closed his eyes but—no, no, couldn’t do that. If he fell asleep now, he’d never finish in time. He tried to relax, got some water, leaned against the counter. Everything was a mess.

He sat back on the floor, his work around him. Keep going.

“I don’t think there’s anything about anything that I have to be doing right now. Kalvin, you’ve… you’ve got to understand, this could be my finest work! It’s good. It’s pretty good here in… in this part, here. In that other part it’s just okay, but that’s why you come in with your big claws and you’re gonna. Rip up the bad parts. Don’t rip up the good parts. Right? Yeah. Do you think they’ve forgotten about me by now?”

He looked down. 57 pages. Took a long blink.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “That’s fair.

He had to write two extra pages so that he could skirt around referencing Valdo Marx’s work as anything other than a contradictory point. Maybe it would have been fun to use his own writing against him but he didn’t want to give the satisfaction of being referenced positively in a centerfold piece.

He lost the essay.

“Fuck—oh, gods, where did—”

He turned around, looked down. Oh, there it was.

“Thank fuck.”

The curtains were still closed and the charmed lantern was still burning, but Jaskier knew it was night by the time he reached 63 pages and Geralt came in.

Jaskier looked up from his spot kneeling on the floor. Geralt looked fine. He was a little dirty. There were some gushy bits. Probably blood. He was tired. Or just mad. Maybe he hated Jaskier.

“You’re still—?!” Geralt asked, looking at Jaskier like he’d just said a griffon named Kalvin had flown in the window earlier and now they were friends.

“I met a griffon,” Jaskier heard himself say. Geralt stared. “We’re friends now.”

“…You need to fucking sleep.”

“No.” Jaskier went back to the margin he’d devoted to drawing circles in. “Sorry ‘bout earlier.”

Geralt sighed. He might have talked but Jaskier didn’t hear, just kept writing.

“How often has that been happening?” he heard Geralt ask.

“What happening?”

“Where you fall asleep for a moment.”

“I haven’t! Fallen asleep.”

“Fuck,” Geralt said. He looked very nice, except for the goop all over him. Well. Even that wasn’t so bad, when the underneath bits were Geralt. His Geralt. Looked so warm, so strong, so able to carry him.

“Later,” Jaskier replied, and went back to his words. The familiar pop of a portal sounded in the bedroom. Their eyes lingered on the direction it came from, but Yennefer didn’t open the door. They looked at each other, and then back at the door which remained very much shut. “She’s mad.”

“Yep.”

“At me.”

“Yep.”

There was a pause. “Are you covered in blood?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh.”

“Not mine.”

“That,” he said pointing to the Witcher, “is good.”

“Mmm.”

“Sticky though.”

“Definitely sticky.”

Yennefer came out of the doorway, and Jaskier blinked. When he opened his eyes again she was much closer than she’d been and was in the middle of talking. Magic, he assumed.

“—yourself very lucky, bard.”

“Yeahh,” he said. “Sorry. ‘Bout… Sorry.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. There was a look in her face. Eyes? And her mouth. It was hard to name. Words were hard, when they weren’t the words he desperately needed to write.

“—for a while,” Geralt was saying. “Jaskier. How close are you to finishing.”

“Soon!” Jaskier said. “Soon! Soon. Due… 1pm tomorrow. What time is it?”

“10pm.”

“Fuck. Psshhh. I can… I can do it.” He looked up at Yennefer. “Sorry. Really. I… I’m just tired,” he admitted. “Shouldn’t have snapped. Not fair to you.”

Yennefer stood there, arms folded, emanating some emotion Jaskier had lost the concept of around page 41. Geralt walked further into the apartment, into the bedroom. Oh right. Blood armor. Ick.

He went back to writing and tried to ignore the desire to cry again, and then suddenly Yennefer’s shoes were in his line of vision.

“Let me read it,” she said.

“Oh.”

They stared at one another. She had such a pretty face. He might have been smiling. She rolled her eyes and then came to sit next to him. She quickly found the first page and began.

Halfway through it, he spilled ink on the bottom half of page 64, and wept. Yennefer gave him an attempt at a comforting pat on the back.

Yennefer had read the pages and risen; “It’s good. You need edits, but it’s somehow decent. Good. Whatever. A little… loose, toward the end, though,” made herself a cup of tea, and entered the bedroom.

Either a few moments, or 20 minutes later, Geralt emerged.

“What are you at now?”

“69 pages.”

“Nice,” Geralt said.

“Ha. Yeahhh,” Jaskier agreed.

“That’s not what I—” Geralt sighed the sigh that meant his face was going all pinch-y. “Close to the end?”

“Mmm. What is the end, really?” Geralt made a different pinch-y face. “Soon.”

“Come to bed tonight, Jaskier.”

“I’ll try,” he said. He blinked, and Geralt was gone.

There are a lot of words in an essay that are very hard to spell.

Jaskier ate the rest of a loaf of bread.

For a while, he swore he walked the streets of Oxenfurt while still warm in his professorial housing.

Kalvin’s accent changed three times and at one point he was on fire.

85 pages.

Geralt woke first, as always; There he was! That was his love. So much of his heart.

With shaking hands, Jaskier had brought himself up to sit in his chair, and sat staring down at his work. He looked up at Geralt with a lopsided grin. “I did it,” he said weakly.

“Need help putting it together?”

The tears fell so quickly he didn’t realize it was happening. “Really?”

Geralt sighed softly and knelt down, organizing the papers.

Yennefer emerged a bit later—There she was! His love, a chunk of him was hers entirely. He smiled. “Look!”

“Mmm. And now you can sleep.”

“NO!” Jaskier cried and leapt to his feet, “No, no, now… now is presenting time. To… the editors. Not Kalvin. But I turn it in… and then sleep,”

He had a sudden burst of energy, and tried to step over Geralt and the papers, but fell into the table instead, before the Witcher steadied him from below.

“Ohhhh, thank you dear. It’s time for… presentation! Mm.” He leaned into Yennefer’s warmth at his side, though she did not wrap her arms around him as he’d hoped. “Help me pick out an outfit.”

He blinked. Yennefer was in front of him now, looking at him with a frown, her hands around his waist. Geralt’s hand was against his forehead. “No! Stop that! I’m fine. I’m fine! See me! Fine. It’s action time. Let’s go!” and he marched off to the bedroom.

The floor was suddenly very close to his face.

“Did I—”

“You fell on your face.”

“Have I—”

“You’ve asked three times now, yes.”

There should have been fanfare when he turned it in, but there was only the grateful smile of Edmond, the young new assistant, a firm handshake, and a promise he’d hear back from them very soon, for a quick summarization of their initial thoughts. Or, he’d used all those words, Jaskier forgot which order they’d come in.

The three returned to the apartment, and everything happened very slowly and so quickly he found it hard to keep track. There was definitely a bath drawn for him—gods, it had been days, hadn’t it— oh, fuck, he was gross, wasn’t he—a full meal, and a celebratory drink. He’d made a few good jokes, and all he could see were Geralt and Yennefer, smiling at him. An empty glass. A bar of soap. A long quill. A messy table. A pile of books and an empty mug. They deposited him on the bed for sleep, and left together.

Jaskier lay there, waiting for sleep to take him.

It did not.

He was so tired he could cry. He did, a few times. He couldn’t think straight. All of it, everything, hurt. His body ached. He tried to soothe himself down alone, rocking himself in the hopes it would work. But nothing.

What if he could never sleep again? What if he would always be awake, forever? What if this was how he died?! Oh gods, he didn’t want to die! He still had edits to approve!

Eventually, he could feel himself getting closer. He adjusted himself, lay on his back and took deep, measured breaths, kept his eyes closed but relaxed. Okay. Okay. Sleep.

He was falling, so violently and so fast that when he jolted awake, he forgot he’d been lying on a bed in the first place.

Fuck.

He tried again. It happened sometimes, it was fine. He’d be fine.

He tried breathing deeply once more, trying to let the distant scents of Yennefer and Geralt now embedded in his pillows overtake him.

A fear so powerful it gripped his heart and twisted, whispered to him, ‘this is what dying is, you’re going to die’ and he once again jolted awake. He threw his head back against the pillow and winced; even that hurt.

Fuck. Fuck.

He kept trying. Over, and over, he’d get so close to sleep and then right at the precipice, something would yank him out of it.

Once, he saw Yennefer falling off a cliff. Another time, he saw Geralt stabbed through the chest. At some point, he saw Ciri screaming, and his hands flew out to pull her close, only to find nothing there. Sometimes it was himself falling, and sometimes it was the world below him falling instead.

He’d really done it this time. Stayed awake so long, sleep had abandoned him entirely.

It felt like twelve years before Yennefer and Geralt returned, slipping into the room quietly. He sat up in bed, startling them both.

“Please,” he said quietly, “I can’t. I don’t know why I can’t I just—I can’t. My body won’t let me, I want to but I can’t—”

“How the hell—” Yennefer started, walking over to him with a palm out to check for a curse, maybe? It didn’t matter. He wrapped her hand in his and clutched it to himself, desperate for her. She was so warm. So alive.

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed, “It’s been nearly 70 hours already, Jaskier.”

“Let me just put him down with magic,” Yennefer started, but Geralt put a hand up.

“We can’t. It’s a temporary fix. if he can’t fall asleep on his own without magic, it’ll get harder and harder for him. We need to get him to fall asleep without it.” They looked down at him. What a disgrace he must look like, how pathetic he was. He turned his face away in abject shame. He couldn’t even fall asleep right.

While he looked away, Yennefer tore her hand from his as she and Geralt discarded their clothes into heaps beside the bed, crawled beneath the covers on either side of Jaskier. They hated him. They must. How could they not?

“It’s fine, you don’t—fuck, sorry—”

Geralt shrugged. “Don’t be. I know how bad it gets. It’s different for a Witcher, but no sleep is the whole reason we met Yennefer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaskier said softly.

“As I recall, the solution then was to have vigorous sex on the floor.” Yennefer ran a finger along Jaskier’s chest. “Sound appealing?”

“I—yes, Yennefer, it sounds appealing.” He fidgeted, tried to focus on the feeling of Yennefer’s delicate touch. He was oversensitive enough that it felt like fire, but nothing… stirred, and each word he spoke felt like he was pulling honey from his tongue. “I don’t… much as I’d like, I’m not sure I’d be... up for it right now.” Yennefer’s head fell against the pillow and she flattened her hand, ran the palm up his chest to rest above his heart. Pressed a kiss there.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, but they were looking at him, he could feel every inch of their gazes and it was all too much. He whined in agony. “I can’t do this. Fuck. I can’t, just put me out. We try it again tomorrow, I—”

“Jaskier. You can. Tell us what you need and we can help you,” Yennefer said, sweet but firm. And that was her, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t think. Wanted to. Wanted so much. Wanted to be asleep.

Jaskier curled up on his side, exhausted of being exhausted, when he felt Geralt slide up closer behind him. “Can I hold you?” he murmured into the bard’s shoulder. Jaskier nodded, and felt Geralt’s arm come around him and under his own arm, felt it slide up his chest and cross it protectively.

“Feel good?” Jaskier nodded, and then cracked his eyes open, met Yennefer’s, concern palpable.

He lifted one arm just slightly. “C’mere?” And she did, curled into his arms and around him, tucked her head under his, kissed the top of Geralt’s fingers. He held her close, and was held by the two in turn. Breathing, somehow, felt easier between them.

“Breathe, bard,” Yennefer urged him softly. Geralt buried his nose in Jaskier’s hair, took in a deep breath, and Jaskier tried to follow.

They breathed softly, all together, slow and safe. Soon, he was drifting into sweet oblivion.

‘You,’ Fear said, wrapped around his sternum, ‘will crumble, the moment you let go of wakefulness.’ It gripped him, and tugged him back to reality.

He jolted again. “Fuck, dammit, cock wringing—”

Yennefer pulled back to look at him worriedly. “Is that what’s been keeping you up?” she asked.

“It’s, I don’t know, something just pulls me back, I try to fight it but…”

“Mmm,” Geralt agreed. “Sleep starts. Happens sometimes.”

“The hell are sleep starts?”

“They’re… when you’re too on edge to sleep, or just haven’t in too long, brains… fizzle. Keep you awake. It’s a survival instinct—it makes you think you’ve got to stay awake to stay alive. Feels like falling? Or… a shock. Sometimes other things. Hallucinations.” Geralt pressed a kiss to the back of his head. “It’s scary. It’s meant to be. Your body thinks it’s fighting for its life.”

“I am never letting you doom yourself like this ever again,” Yennefer said, and while it was probably meant to come out angry, she just sounded worried.

Geralt hummed and agreement. “Try again, we’ve got you. We’re not letting go.” Jaskier took a breath. They had him. They had him.

Yennefer lifted a hand to Jaskier’s temple. “May I?” And he let her in, easier than breathing. She gave him Ciri laughing, wind chimes on the breeze, the soft roar of the coast. Geralt hugged him tight, ran his other hand through Jaskier’s hair, tried to keep the bard’s breathing aligned. Now, what had he ever done to earn these two?

Soon, sleep came to him again, and he could feel Yennefer ready to soothe anything that came for him in his mind, Geralt ready to defend against anything that dared hurt his resting body. The darkness crept in, and he felt peace.

Geralt was reaching for him, falling, bleeding, screaming.

“FUCK!”

“Shh,” the real Geralt hushed him. “We’ve got you.”

“Fuck, there’s got to be something else,” Yennefer groaned. “What’ve you tried so far?”

“I have tried… to fall asleep.”

Yennefer and Geralt both huffed small laughs. “No. Positions—”

“Only the good ones.”

“Meditating?” Geralt asked.

“Darling, I haven’t had a thought in my head in hours. This is meditation.”

“Drugs?” Yennefer asked.

“I will try the drugs!” Jaskier said with a drowsy cheerfulness, as Geralt replied “No drugs. No.”

“Ugh,” Jaskier groaned, and shifted to lie on his stomach. Oh. This was… better. He nestled into the pillows, and a soft contented sigh drifted from him.

“That feel better?” Geralt asked as he ran a hand up and down Jaskier’s back. “Mmm,” Jaskier replied. Yennefer’s hand joined Geralt over his chest. Oh, they were going to make him cry.

And then it was too much, too much feeling, like his brain couldn’t handle all the sensation, and he felt Yennefer come to pause, and a moment later, Geralt’s hand as well. ‘That better?’ Yennefer asked in his mind. Jaskier gave her the memory of his favorite hug with her, warm and happy as her legs wrapped around his waist, and his favorite with Geralt, crushing and firm and full of too many emotions to speak aloud.

“Could…” he said softly, “Just. Talk? Not to me. Just… to each other. Just wanna hear you.” He could almost hear their smiles, and felt as they settled in on the pillows beside him, arms and hands intertwining on his back. Yennefer’s head on his shoulder, the gentle planes of Geralt’s chest on his other side. “If you need us, Yennefer and I are here. We’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He nodded into the mattress, cool and soft below him.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

“G’night Yennefer.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

"G’night, Geralt.”

He started to fade into oblivion, but stopped himself before he got too far. Not fear, not anxiety, a conscious stopping. Somewhere above him, Geralt was telling Yennefer about the contract from… sometime in the past few days, and Yennefer was telling her own story about some town gossip with a woman and her hens, which, it might have been a metaphor, but he’d basically forgotten what those were by now. He breathed deeply, felt their words flow through him, and when he felt brave enough, he let go, trusting they would catch him.

He could have sworn he heard wind chimes, somewhere.

x

The small amount of light filtering in through the curtains was golden when he awoke. His head both ached and felt light as a feather, his muscles screamed and cried but half of it was in relief. He gave a small stretch and yawned. “G’morning,” an amused Geralt said to him, lounging in a chair he’d brought beside the bed, reading a book. His legs were propped up on the bed beside the bard’s and Jaskier stretched to bump their toes together.

“What time…?”

“You slept 13 hours.”

“Fuck.”

“You probably need more.”

“Yeahhhh.”

“Feel alright?”

“Like a real human being,” he said. “Hungry, though.”

“Mmm.”

Yennefer slipped in the door, but, noticing Jaskier was awake, rose a hand. “May I?” she asked, voice dripping in sarcasm, gesturing to the curtains.

“You may,” Jaskier offered, covering his face with his hands. “Ohhhh, gods, how bad was I?”

“Genuinely awful,” Yennefer said, as Geralt was saying, “There’s been worse.”

“Normally I’d withhold this,” the mage said, withdrawing a small envelope from her pocket. “But, under the circumstances…” she cleared her throat.

“To one Julian Alfred Pankratz. We were extremely pleased to receive your manuscript yesterday afternoon. Our editors are will have their notes to you by the weekend, but we wanted to reach out and extend our most sincere compliments on your work. It is—oh, a flood of adjectives, I’m skipping these. Etcetera, etcetera, sucking your dick, etcetera alright, here—and meticulous in construction. We can tell,” Yennefer said, dragging out the final sentence, “you made good use of your year of writing time to complete the work.” Jaskier and Geralt by this point were holding back true howls of laughter.

“And won’t you believe it, there’s more. Ahem; we have a number of suggestions and questions already, but encourage you to get your well-deserved rest as we prepare our feedback. We are grateful to work with you, and thank you again for your stunning entry. There’s a postscript,” Yennefer added. “As a quick and personal note, we cannot have helped but notice the nature of your penmanship; we mean no offence, but would encourage you to see a doctor of the eye to fit you with some spectacles.”

“My—my penman…? What’d—” and Yennefer, who had clearly been waiting for this moment, brought out a rather crumpled piece of parchment with an ink stain at the bottom—ah, yes, the original page 64— and showed it to him. His eyes were… gods, they were aching, but he was clear minded enough now to see that each line had become at least twice it’s normal size. The lines were far from straight, dipping and bending toward the edge of the paper, the letters changed directions at random points, and a fair amount of the words were smudged so completely they were hard to make out.”

Jaskier stared in horror.

“They. Is that. Is that what it looked like? Really?”

“It’s worse than most of the ones that made it in,” Geralt said, carefully.

“Most?!”

“You drew pictures on one of them,” Yennefer said.

“Oh my god. They…they must…”

“Adore it, clearly,” Yennefer said, setting aside the paper. “It wasn’t worth the strain, and you’ve definitely firmly embarrassed yourself, but they’re either embarrassing themselves by fawning praise on you,” she said, sliding onto the bed, “Or you’re actually just… very knowledgeable and talented, even when addled by sleep deprivation.”

There was a pause, Jaskier soaking this in; it hadn’t been worth it, exactly, but it wasn’t all bad. In fact, it was quite good, and Yennefer was complimenting him outright, so, very good.

“Or both,” Geralt added.

“Definitely both,” Yennefer agreed.

Jaskier groaned. “You can’t be mean to me. You’re in my house and I am extremely tired, which means that you, by law, must kiss me and tell me nice things about myself.”

Geralt laughed, light and free, and Yennefer slunk slower down into the bed. “You get no kisses,” she said, “You get sleep and rest.” She grabbed a pillow from under her head and plopped it delicately onto Jaskier’s face.

“Boo,” Jaskier said, muffled beneath the thing. He closed his eyes. Geralt muttered something, and Yennefer gave a snort of laughter, and then there was silence.

“Are you two kissing up there?!”

More silence.

“UGH,” he groaned, and sunk into his soft, sweet mattress. Oh, beautiful mattress. How he adored it, how he adored his two loves on top of it. He listened to their kissing, soft, and sweet, and knew he’d join them soon. But it was so warm down here. Even as one of them removed the pillow, he could only bring himself to open his eyes for a moment, to see them both leaning to kiss his face gently, before returning to each other. He took a long, deep breath, and listened to them swirl around him, until all he could feel was their love and the sweet caress of his pillow.

July 2016

Jul 3rd - Taylor's 4th of July festivities kick off at her Rhode Island house. Guests include Tom Hiddleston, Abigail Anderson, Matt Lucier, Claire Winter, Ryan Reynolds, Blake Lively, Karlie Kloss, Josh Kushner, Austin Swift, Ruby Rose, Harley Gusman, Halston Sage, Gigi Hadid, Cara Delevingne, Britany Maack, Ben LaManna, Martha Hunt, Jason McDonald, Uzo Aduba, Chioma Aduba, Jordan Masterson, Kesha, St Vincent, Ed Sheeran, Cherry Seaborn, Rachel Platten, Kennedy Rayé and the Haim sisters. (x) (x) (x) (x)

This is the day Tom wears the infamous 'I <3 TS' tank top while they're all at the beach. (x)

Jul 4th - The online mockery for the 'I <3 TS' shirt is quick to pour in. Daily Mail commenters are yet to shut up about it in 2021.

The party continues with a giant inflatable waterslide, body painting, karaoke, charades and fireworks. (x) And also Kesha and Haim getting tricked by Cara, Uzo and Ruby into thinking they heard scary noises in the night, and trying to call the police but not knowing their own location. (x) (x)

Jul 5th - The day after the party, when all the guests post their photos online.

Britany posts a photo of her & Ben, Blake & Ryan, and Taylor & Tom. (x) The internet has a field day with Ryan's unimpressed facial expression. (x) (Ryan later says that it's just his resting bitch face as he wasn't aware a photo was being taken. (x))

Taylor posts several photos to Instagram of her celebrating the 4th July with friends, but doesn't post any pictures with Tom. (x)

Claire Winter posts a bunch of Polaroids, including one of Taylor and Tom kissing. (x)

Abigail posts a photo to Instagram showing the banners Taylor put up to celebrate her engagement to Matt and the anniversaries of Cara & St Vincent (real name Annie Clark) and Ed & Cherry. (x)

Jul 6th - Taylor and Tom fly out of Rhode Island (x) and arrive at LAX that evening. (x) They then get on a plane to Australia.

Joe attends the Warner Music Group summer party in London. (x)

Rumours are swirling that Tom is no longer in consideration to be the next Bond, due to his relationship with Taylor. (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

Jul 8th - Taylor and Tom are flying on a commercial Quantas flight so someone is able to take a pic of them on the plane. (x)

According to another passenger on the plane, Taylor plays Scrabble during the flight (presumably on her phone because nobody takes big physical board games on commercial flights and the creepshot of Hiddleswift on the plane suggests she wouldn't have had anywhere to put the board anyway). In hindsight, knowing how Taylor and Joe play lots of Scrabble together including online Scrabble aka Words With Friends, and how they stayed in touch largely via texting that summer, it’s very possible she was playing against Joe.

Taylor and Tom arrive in Sydney, where Tom is about to start filming for Thor: Ragnarok. (x) Aussie media, including daytime TV, goes nuts over Hiddleswift's arrival in the country. (x)

Flying from LA to Australia involves crossing the international dateline, so they would have left the US on the 6th July local time and arrived in Sydney approx 15 hours later on the 8th July local time.

Calvin's new song Olé, written for John Newman, is released. There is speculation that it's a Hiddleswift song, written from Tom's perspective and containing lyrics implying that Taylor cheated on Calvin with Tom. However, sources also told multiple outlets that the song was written and recorded months earlier, and its supposed links to Hiddleswift were just for publicity. (x) (x)

Jul 9th - Tom goes out for a run (x) and avoids answering questions about Taylor. (x)

Jul 10th - Taylor and Tom go out for dinner to Gemelli Italian restaurant in Broadbeach on Australia's Gold Coast. (x)

Jul 11th - Taylor is named as the highest earning celebrity on the 2016 Forbes Celebrity 100 list, with earnings of $170m mostly due to the 1989 World Tour. If she and Calvin had not split up, they would have been the top-earning celebrity couple. (x)

Jul 12th - Taylor visits Lady Cilento Children’s Hospital in South Brisbane. (x)

Jul 13th - Us Weekly makes a wild claim that Tom is planning to propose soon, and Taylor is going to say yes. The magazine cover also claims they're already talking about babies. (x)

TMZ claims that Taylor wrote TIWYCF, and that Calvin disrespecting Taylor following its release was the reason for their breakup. (x)

Taylor Swift really is the creative brains behind Calvin Harris' monster hit "This is What You Came For," and their relationship fell apart because he disrespected her when the song was released ... this according to sources connected with Taylor.

It's a fascinating story. We've learned an early fan rumor about the song is true, but to a deeper extent than anyone suspected. During their relationship, Taylor wrote the song, sat down at a piano and did a demo into her iPhone. She sent it to Calvin, who loved it. They both went into a studio and did a full demo with Taylor on vocals and Calvin doing the beat.

They both knew the song would be a hit, but Taylor wrote it for Calvin and both agreed it was a bad idea to let the world know they collaborated as a couple ... it would overshadow the song.

So Taylor, who kept the publishing rights, used the pseudonym Nils Sjoberg on the credits.

//

The problem in the relationship came the day the song was released. Calvin appeared on Ryan Seacrest's radio show and Ryan asked, "Will you do a collaboration with your girlfriend?" Calvin responded, "You know we haven't even spoken about it. I can't see it happening though."

We're told Taylor was hurt and felt Calvin took it too far.

It was a quick downward spiral from that point. One source called it "the breaking point in the relationship." The Met Gala was several days later, when Taylor danced with Tom Hiddleston.

Tree confirms to People magazine that Taylor did write TIWYCF under the pseudonym Nils Sjöberg. (x)

Calvin also confirms that Taylor wrote TIWYCF and goes on a Twitter rant:

Katy Perry tweets a gif of Hillary Clinton with a smug/'told you so' expression. (x) She also retweets an older tweet from May 2015 which reads, 'Time, the ultimate truth teller.' (x)

#TaylorSwiftIsOverParty trends on Twitter (x) (x) and Taylor's Instagram comments are spammed with the snake emoji. (x)

Following Calvin's tweets, TMZ publishes another article claiming he is downplaying Taylor's involvement in the song as she wrote the melody in addition to the lyrics. (x)

Jul 14th - Taylor goes out shopping in Gold Coast. (x)

Tom mentions Taylor in an interview with the Hollywood Reporter: (x)

You're in the middle of a cultural frenzy right now because you're dating Taylor Swift. How would you respond to people who claim that you're involved in some sort of publicity stunt?

(Laughs.) Well, um. How best to put this? That notion is — look, the truth is that Taylor Swift and I are together, and we're very happy. Thanks for asking. That's the truth. It's not a publicity stunt.

Martha says at a Pepsi/World Emoji Day event that Taylor and Tom are 'both happy and free together. It's amazing, I'm all about people being happy in love.' (x)

Kim talks about Taylor and the Famous controversy in a clip from an upcoming episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians. (x)

“I never talk shit about anyone publicly, especially in interviews. But I was just like I had so had it,” Kim says in the clip to her sister Kourtney. “I wanted to defend him in it. She legitimately quote says, ‘As soon as I get on that Grammy red carpet I’m gonna tell all the press. Like I was in on it.’”

“And then she just didn’t like the reaction?” Kourtney says in response.

“Yeah, and you know just another way to play the victim,” Kim replies. She then brings the infamous VMAs moment from 2009 by saying, “It definitely got her a lot of attention the first time… I just don’t think he should be punished for it still to this day.”

Jul 17th - Kim posts an edited recording of Kanye and Taylor's phone call. In it, they discuss the 'I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex' line and Taylor says, 'Go with whatever line you think is better. It’s obviously very tongue in cheek either way. And I really appreciate you telling me about it. That’s really nice.' However, nowhere in the Snapchat video does Kanye consult her about the line, 'I made that bitch famous,' which is the line Taylor insisted she had never approved. (x) The other Kardashian sisters retweet and support Kim. (x)

(The full recording of the call, leaked in 2020, confirms that Kanye never told Taylor he was going to call her a bitch. It also shows her reminding him that she sold 7 million albums before he had even heard of her, in response to him suggesting the lyric, 'I made her famous.')

Kim takes to Twitter to call Taylor a snake.

Taylor posts a statement on Instagram responding to Kim's Snapchat video. (x)

Selena tweets, 'There are more important things to talk about… Why can’t people use their voice for something that fucking matters? This industry is so disappointing yet the most influential smh' (x)

Katy Perry tweets, '#RISE above it all' and links to her new single. People interpret it as a dig at Taylor. (x)

Martha Hunt tweets, 'It's pathetic how quick our culture is to sensationalize a fabricated story...' (x)

Jul 18th - #KimExposedTaylorParty spends the day trending at number one worldwide on Twitter. (x) To the point where 0.8% of all tweets posted in the entire week from the 18th-24th use the hashtag. (x) (Assuming that 1/7th of the week's total tweets were posted on each day, that means more than 1 in every 20 tweets on the 18th used the hashtag.) #TaylorSwiftIsOverParty also returns.

TMZ claims to have a copy of a letter from Taylor's lawyer, dating back to February, demanding that Kanye destroy the recording of their phone conversation and reminding him that it is a felony to secretly record a phone conversation in California. (x)

Taylor changes the name on her writing credits for TIWYCF on the BMI songwriters database. She is now listed as Taylor Swift instead of Nils Sjöberg. (x)

Camilla Belle, the subject of Taylor's 2010 song Better Than Revenge, posts a quote to Instagram which reads, 'No need for revenge. Just sit back & wait. Those who hurt you will eventually screw up themselves & if you’re lucky, God will let you watch.' (x)

Abigail tweets against Kim and Kanye, saying, 'May God forgive you & your wife for doing to others the very things you pray are NEVER done to your daughter.' She deletes the tweets after receiving death threats but leaves a tweet which reads, 'Guys…I will always stand by my best friend. There's no point in fighting over that.' (x)

Joseph Kahn (director of many of Taylor's music videos) defends Taylor on Twitter. (x)

The aunt of Dinah Jane from Fifth Harmony tweets, 'I always knew @/taylorswift13 was a SNAKE! Trying 2 break up my girls & use @/camilacabello97 as her protégé bitch bye you’ve been exposed!’ (x) The tweet is soon deleted and she claims her account was hacked. (x) (Camila quit the band at the end of 2016 and has since said that Taylor had nothing to do with her decision to leave.) (x)

Paula Erickson, Taylor’s former publicist from 2007 until 2014, likes a two-and-a-half-week-old tweet dragging Hiddleswift for being a badly executed bit of PR by Taylor and Tree. (x)

James Corden spoofs the recorded phone call on the Late Late Show. (x)

Calvin is rumoured to be dating Tinashe. (x)

Jul 20th - Todrick Hall defends Taylor, saying, 'She's one of the most genuine people I've ever met in my entire life.' (x)

Uzo Aduba says Taylor is 'a beautiful person and strong' and that she will overcome the Kimye drama. (x)

Paula likes another tweet shading Taylor and Tree. (x)

A graffiti artist creates a mural in Melbourne 'in loving memory of Taylor Swift' (misspelled as Smith). According to the artist, they are then contacted by Taylor's lawyers and threatened with legal action. (x)

Jul 21st - Taylor's Wikipedia page is vandalised with insults. (x)

Taylor and Tom fly back from Australia into a private airport in LA, and are seen out and about. (x) (x)

Jul 22nd - Fergie, who had Kim appear in her M.I.L.F. $ music video, says she thinks the Kimye-Taylor feud was planned and 'they’ll probably all come together at the MTV Awards or something.' (x)

Taylor goes to the gym in LA. It is the first time she has appeared in public since Kim posted the edited video, and her phone screen is now shattered. (x)

She also returns to Instagram to wish Selena a happy birthday. (x)

Jul 23rd - Taylor goes to the gym in LA. (x)

Tom is at Comic Con in San Diego. (x)

Calvin lip-syncs to Kanye's song That Part in a video posted on his Snapchat. (x) He also attends J-Lo's birthday party and is photographed with Kim. Apparently they have a friendly chat. (x) A source claims to E!, 'When Kim walked in Calvin saw her and stood up. He was clearly excited to see her and said 'hi' to Kim backstage.' (x)

Jul 24th - Taylor blocks the snake emoji from her Instagram comments section using a new Instagram feature. (x)

Tom is seen at the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills with members of Taylor's security team. (x)

Jul 26th - Tom flies back to LA from NYC, where he has just spent a couple of days. On the same day, Taylor's plane arrives back in LA from Nashville, where she has spent a couple of days. (x)

VMA nominations are announced. Taylor is not nominated in any category, despite Out Of The Woods and Wildest Dreams being eligible, leading some people to think she has been snubbed. Gossip Cop, an outlet widely used by celebrity publicists to quietly squash rumours, says that Taylor did not submit any videos for consideration this year. (x)

Jul 27th - Taylor goes to the gym in LA. (x)

John Newman, singer of Calvin's song Olé, jokes, 'Supposedly we had a holiday where he was movin’ on from his ex-missus,' referring to the trip to Mexico to film the music video, which involved girls and a yacht. He also says he doesn't think it's his place to say what inspired Calvin to write the song. (x)

Taylor and Tom go for dinner at Hillstone restaurant in Santa Monica. One source claims they 'seemed to really be enjoying each others’ company.' (x) It is the last time they are papped together.

Kanye makes a surprise appearance at Drake's concert in Chicago where he responds to Kim's Snapchat video for the first time, saying, 'All I gotta say is, I am so glad my wife has Snapchat. Because now y’all can know the truth. And can’t nobody talk shit about ‘Ye no more.' (x)

Cara appears on James Corden's show and talks about how she, Uzo and Ruby pranked Kesha and Haim at Taylor's 4th of July party. She mentions consulting Taylor and Tom first so that security knew what they were up to. She also says that Taylor and Tom got woken up at one point by all the noise they were making, and came upstairs together to find Cara and Uzo still making ghost noises. (x)

Jul 28th - Taylor goes to the gym in LA. (x)

Jul 29th - Sources close to Calvin deny rumours that he is planning to collaborate on music with Kanye. (x)

Abigail likes E! News' Instagram photo of Tom and Taylor going out for dinner on the 27th, which has a gushing caption about them. (x)

Jul 31st - Taylor is seen entering her gym in LA through the back door. (x)

A fan sees Tom and Taylor at The Church Key restaurant in LA. (x) The outing is not papped.

Intro // February // March // April // May // June // July // August // September // October // November

Lover - Chapter 13: “Soon You’ll Get Better”

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 10 // Chapter 11 // Chapter 12

Summary: Claire and Jo go Christmas shopping; Claire gets a call at work that Lamb’s in the hospital in Boston where she fears she will need to spend the holidays without Jamie. In short: angst, but make it festive.

" This won't go back to normal, if it ever was It's been years of hoping, and I keep saying it because 'Cause I have to

Ooh-ah, you'll get better..."

CW: cancer, hospitals, illness of a loved one,

Notes: First of all, if you’re still here, thank you for reading, and thank you for bearing with me as I took a small hiatus. Hopefully I will be getting back to a more regular posting schedule, but work is really draining right now and it’s hard to find enough hours in the day to do everything. 

As you know, each Chapter of this fic is based off a Taylor Swift song by the same name. This one was particularly difficult to write/approach because I actually haven’t listened to this song in over a year. In early Summer 2019, a tumor was found on my grandfather’s brain. This was also the summer I discovered Outlander, and the summer Taylor Swift released Lover. The day after Lover came out, I broke down sobbing in my apartment listening to this song and thinking about my grandfather, knowing his condition was worsening. That night, I recieved the call that my grandfather had passed. He was the kindest, purest soul and I write this chapter in part as a tribute to him. Many of the experiences Claire and Lamb share are based on my own experiences with my grandpa that summer, and this version of Lamb is very much based on my Grandpa Jim. 

That being said, you may want to grab a box of tissues before reading, but hopefully not all your tears will be sad. I’m hoping to post again before Chistmas, but in case I don’t Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays--and Happy Hanukkah to any Jewish readers I may have--here is a Hanukkah present for you!

 Chapter 13: “Soon You’ll Get Better”  

         “All I want for Christmas is yooouuuuu” the sounds of Mariah Carey rang out throughout the small boutique gift shop in the heart of the village of Northport.

           “Good God, we’re only a week into December and I swear I’ve already heard this song three hundred times. I’m not exaggerating either. Two hundred and eight-four at the very least.” Jo scoffed exasperatedly.

           “Are you complaining?” Claire asked in reply. “It’s a great song--a classic really.”

           “Do you know how many incredible, amazing, beautiful, jolly Christmas songs there are in existence?” Jo was gearing up for one of their famous rants, “Yet, the radio stations only ever play the same eighteen songs, I swear!”

           “It must be more than eighteen.”

           “Fine. Twenty. Take this song for instance: Ingrid Michaelson has the most hauntingly beautiful cover of it--do you ever hear it? No! You only ever hear Mariah!”

           “I, for one, like Mariah!” Claire interjected, playfully defensive.

           “Who doesn’t? But she’s not the only powerhouse female vocalist out there! I’d just like to see a little diversity in my holiday music, is that so much to ask?”

           Claire giggled. Her best friend always had an opinion on everything and she loved them all the more for it. “Do you think Jenny would like this candle?” Claire unscrewed the lid a locally-made jar candle, taking a sniff before placing it under Jo’s nose. It smelled like Lavender and Sage with just a hint of Eucalyptus.

           “Does Jenny keep a lot of candles around, with all those children?” Jo chuckled back. “It does smell nice though.” Jo had only met Jenny a couple times when visiting Claire, but they had a knack for reading people and Claire was glad to have them along as a shopping partner.

           “I suppose candles aren’t really her thing. Jenny seems very practical, but I don’t know what she would need that she doesn’t already have, and Jamie’s been no help!”

           “I think you’re on the right track with the self-care/relaxation vibe, but maybe not something the children can use to burn the house down. What about an artisanal lotion set?” Jo inquired, gesturing at a nearby display.

           “Oh that might work!” Claire took a squirt from the bottle labeled ‘tester’ inhaling deeply as she rubbed it between her palms. “Ooo that’s nice, I would appreciate this if I were a hardworking mother.”

           “If things keep going the way they are with your man, LJ, you might just be before you know it” Jo made a lewd gesture with their hands, raising their eyebrows to make it clear exactly what they were implying.

           “Jo! You’re terrible” Claire shrieked, smacking her friend playfully on the arm. Besides, not much of that happening these days if you haven’t noticed, Jamie is literally across the ocean.”

           “Well, at least you can’t get knocked up from phone sex,” Jo replied. “What are you getting him anyway? I’m thinking something lacy and strappy, with little bows on it of course, to be festive. There’s a place down the street that might have something like that.”

           “Hmm” Claire exhaled. “We’ll see.” Claire knew lingerie was definitely going to be part of Jamie’s Christmas gift, one she would be most excited for him to unwrap. God, she missed him. It had been over a month and they were settling into a routine, video chatting every night, sweet texts back and forth throughout the day, the occasional phone sex when they were both sick with desire for one other--but nothing was the same as the feel of their bodies pressed against each other in the heat of the moment, chasing each other’s climax. Claire couldn’t wait to be reunited with him in every way.

           It was two days before Christmas break, only a few days left until Claire would find freedom for the next ten days and, most of all--the comfort of Jamie’s arms. Claire was sitting in her school nurse’s office, inhaling deeply during the first quiet moments she’d had all week. There was an uptick of student visits in the past couple weeks--a few were legitimate concerns tied to cold and flu season: students whose parents sent them to school when they weren’t quite well enough, overachievers who wanted to maintain their perfect attendance dragging themselves to school despite their bodies protestations. Most of her patients however, were suffering from something much more insidious: the eagerness to start their winter break early by skipping their classes. This time of year the air of the school felt different, students and teachers alike were burnt out, apathetic, and ready for a break. This attitude in the students fed into the teachers’ attitudes--overworked with the end of the marking period, trying to squeeze in Christmas shopping and decorating between grading. Claire did not envy Jo nor any of the other teachers during this time, but their exhaustion was so palpable in the air of the school that she was starting to feel it too. By tomorrow, most teachers would be shutting their doors and playing a holiday film, giving up on instruction all together--hopefully that would make for a quiet day for Claire. Really, if she could just get through the rest of the day it would be smooth sailing until Christmas--until Jamie.

           Her silent musings were broken by the blaring sound of her office phone. She was expecting a teacher, calling to send a student down, but instead it was the school clerk, Glenda. “Hi Nurse Beauchamp, we have an outside call for you, it seems like it may be a personal call so if there’s any students with you we can send someone down to watch them if you’d like to take it privately here in the office.”

           Claire's heart sank to her stomach. What could it be? She took a deep breath and swallowed to brace herself before replying “last student just left.”

           “Alright, I’ll transfer you now.” The click of the call transferring sounded through the phone.

           “Hello, this is Miss Beauchamp”

           “Hello Miss Beauchamp, I’m Tammy, a nurse at Mass General we’re calling because you’re listed as the emergency contact for Quentin Beauchamp” a nasally voice croaked through the phone speaker--the voice was impersonal like that of a cashier saying “have a nice day” for the thousandth time, not fitting of a potential harbinger of death.

           “Yes…” Claire replied, nervously, questioningly.

           “Mr. Lambert was admitted this morning after showing signs of cognitive distress. An initial cat scan shows a mass on his brain. He’s currently undergoing testing to see if it’s cancerous.”

           Claire’s lungs felt like they were about to collapse. Lamb had been diagnosed with prostate cancer several years ago, but had been able to live with it through treatment. Claire also knew that cancer was insidious and could spread throughout the body rapidly and without warning. She knew it was very likely that the mass was cancer. She tried to find her medical professional voice, but a diagnosis was different when it was someone you loved. Instead, she croaked out, “when will you know?”

           “We should have the results by tomorrow. He’ll stay here overnight for monitoring and we’ll decide whether to admit him long term from there.”

           “I’m on Long Island, should I drive up?”

           “I’m afraid it’s too soon to tell, it could be nothing, but--” Claire cut her off, knowing exactly how bad it could be.

           “I understand. I’ll drive up this evening.”

           “Alright, he should be back in his room by then, he’s out getting his tests done now. It’s room 713 when you get here.” Claire wrote the number on a bright blue sticky note on her desk as the nurse spoke. “Have a nice day Ms. Beauchamp”

           “Hmm” was all she could reply, as if she could possibly have a nice day. She hung up the phone, and finally let the deluge of tears she’d been holding back free.

She allowed herself to cry for a few minutes to get it out, but she knew she had to get to Boston as soon as possible. She picked up the phone again and dialed the main office.

“Hi Glenda, it’s Claire. I need to take the rest of the day off--I have to go to Boston, my uncle…” she couldn’t say it out loud for fear of unleashing the tears again “Is Principal Gowan there, I need to let him know.”

“Oh Nurse Beauchamp, I’m so sorry to hear that, let me know if you need anything. Mr. Gowan’s in his office, I’ll transfer you to him now, if he doesn’t answer just pack up your things and go, I’ll take care of it”

“Thanks Glenda, I really appreciate it”

----------

           After getting the ok from her kind and understanding principal, Claire rushed back to Jamie’s apartment, hastily packed a bag (likely forgetting several things), informed Jenny where she was going--which was met with sympathy and genuine concern--and hopped back in the car for the journey to Boston. She entered the hospital doors several hours later, the buttons of her coat were tangled in her hair as she rushed, breathless, to the front desk to receive her visitor’s pass.

           When she arrived at Lamb’s room, he was asleep. She didn’t want to wake him, but she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze to let him know she was there before settling into the armchair beside him to await his awakening. He looked so frail and small in the hospital bed, not at all like the strong, spirited man who had raised her. He had left the television on--some sports channel was playing a highlight reel of various golfing moments. No wonder Lamb fell asleep. Claire was staring at the screen, but her thoughts were elsewhere: worried about Lamb, wondering if she’d remember everything when she hastily packed, wondering what the future held. Would she have to spend Christmas in this hospital room? A golf ball soared across the Scottish Highlands on the screen. Jamie. Jamie was coming home Christmas Eve, she was supposed to pick him up from the airport, supposed to spend her holiday break with him, experience her first Hogmanay with the Murray family, be surrounded by love and laughter and family. Lamb was supposed to be fine, he was supposed to take the train down, spend Christmas with them. Every plan they had made was shattered into a million pieces. Would she even be able to see Jamie? She thought about the presents she’d bought for him, not yet wrapped, piled in the closet but definitely not hidden, especially considering it was his apartment. Of course he’d understand--she could tell him where they were, but the magic of unwrapping would be lost, it would feel entirely unsentimental. It was bad enough that she felt her gifts weren’t sentimental enough--what could she possibly get him to show how special he was to her? How could she communicate that with an object? If she were a painter she would paint him a painting, if she were a songwriter she would write him a song, but she was simply Claire, and practical gifts were all she knew. She had purchased a cozy blue sweater to match his eyes and keep him warm in the brisk London winters, a cool multi-tool the size of a credit card that would fit in his wallet and help him solve a variety of problems, a protective case for his phone, and a box of artisanal beef jerky.  She had also procured a complicated piece of lingerie with a big red bow across the chest for him to unwrap the night of Christmas, which she knew he would enjoy. Everything was thoughtful enough and mostly practical, but she longed to be able to give him something truly special--a grand gesture to match her feelings for him. Claire glanced back at her uncle and immediately felt guilty being so selfish. I hate to make this all about me. Lamb always had a knack for helping her realize what was important when life’s situations overwhelmed her. She needed him for perspective, but how could she talk to him about this? How could she tell him how she felt? She knew it was wrong, but she was mad at him for getting sick so close to Christmas. Who am I supposed to talk to? What am I supposed to do if there’s no you? The tears were welling up in her eyes as she watched her most beloved uncle sleep--hooked up to machines, pale and listless in the hospital bed.

           Claire slipped into the adjoining bathroom to try to compose herself--she didn’t want her uncle to wake up and see her upset, she knew he would try to comfort her, to be the rock he always had been for her. She was here to be his rock this time, she needed to stay strong for him. She looked at herself in the mirror, telling herself it was going to be ok--her uncle was strong and he’d been fighting a long time--he’d continue to fight. Soon you’ll get better. She had to convince herself it was true, pretend it wasn’t real, it wasn’t so bad. She knew it was a delusion, she could see it all over her glass face when she looked in the mirror. She was genuinely afraid that this could be when she lost him, if not physically right away, he could be lost mentally. She’d been hoping for years he would get better, but now it seemed he’d taken a turn for the worse. She took a few deep breaths and offered up a prayer. She wasn’t usually religious, but they say desperate people find faith, so she decided it was time to try. God? Jesus? Whoever is up there. I know I don’t much deserve anything from you, I’m not sure I’m exactly on good terms with you, but I’m inclined to believe you care and you are good. Besides, I’m not really asking anything for myself, not really. I just pray my Uncle is ok, I pray he gets better. He has to. Please don’t take his brilliant mind away from him. Please let him be ok. Please, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever it takes to help him. Just please, please, don’t take him away from me. I need him. Please let him get better. Please let him get better. Claire continued to repeat the words like a mantra as she returned to her bedside chair. She stared at the collection of orange bottles on the tray table. Please let them help him get better. Please let him get better. Please, please, please let him get better.

           Claire had no idea how long she sat there, repeating those words to herself, but her silent appeal was interrupted when a nurse entered the room to check her uncle’s vitals.

           “Hi, I’m Brenda, I’ll be the nurse on duty tonight.” Brenda erased a name on a small whiteboard in front of the room and replaced it with her own.

           “I’m Claire, I’m his niece.”

           Brenda had made her way over to the other side of the bed and was checking the monitors beside the bed, making notes on the chart in her hand. “I hate waking them up, but I’m going to have to.” Claire was glad that she was much kinder than the nurse she had spoken with on the phone earlier—had that really been earlier? It seemed much longer since that phone call. “Excuse me, Quentin? Sir?” Brenda gently nudged his arm to awaken him. Lamb’s eyes fluttered open and he looked disoriented, Claire watched him carefully hoping that his disorientation was solely from being awoken mid-sleep and not from any neurological damage.

           “Hi Uncle Lamb” Claire stammered, hoping she sounded cheerful anyway.

           “Claire! My girl! You came all the way to see your old uncle!”

           “Of course I did! How are you?” she replied warmly.

           “Oh, I’m fine, they’re taking good care of me here.” Lamb’s voice sounded genuinely content and Claire felt comforted for the first time since the hospital had called her earlier that day.

           “Hello sir, my name’s Brenda, I’ll be your nurse tonight. I just need to ask you a few questions and check your vitals.”

           “What is your name?”

           “Quentin Lambert Beauchamp”

           “Good. When is your birthday?

           “March 23th, 1939”

           “Good, and who is the president?”

           “Well, unfortunately…” both Claire and Brenda giggled at how Lamb began his sentence. Claire was well aware of Lamb’s opinions of the current president of the United States, and was glad to see he hadn’t lost his sly sense of humor or his disdain for the man.  She was also glad he knew who the president was, hopefully his mental capacities were more promising than the worst-case-scenario her mind was conjuring.

----------

           Claire stayed by her uncle’s side for the rest of the night, only leaving the room twice, once to find something to eat from a vending machine, and once for her nightly call to Jamie. She allowed herself to break down when talking to Jamie, sobbing over the phone. Jamie did his best to comfort her through the speaker, desperately wishing he could be there for her in person. Claire wished the same, longing to curl up in his strong embrace, and bury her swollen face in his chest. She couldn’t bring up the fact that she might have to spend Christmas in Boston. She was enough of a mess without facing the reality that they wouldn’t see each other, and when Jamie promised they’d see each other soon at the end of their call, Claire hung up quickly as another wave of emotion overtook her and she buried her face in her hands to cry some more.

           The next morning, the doctor came in with Lamb’s results. Claire grasped Lamb’s hand, unsure of who was holding onto whom for comfort as the doctor explained that the mass on Lamb’s brain was in fact cancerous, but it was still relatively small and had been caught early. He explained that they could operate on it and remove it, however there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t come back or that they’d be able to get it all out. It was moments like these where Claire desperately wished she was already a surgeon, that she could feel in control of the outcome--though could she operate on her own uncle? Would she be able to hold her hand steady enough to do a good job? No, perhaps it was best left to the veteran surgeons in Boston.

           After discussing all the details and options with the doctor’s, Lamb decided to go through with the surgery. It was scheduled for the day after Christmas and Claire resigned herself to the sobering fact that she’d be spending the holidays in the hospital. As the florescent hospital lights lit the room with an unnatural glow, Claire couldn’t tell him she was scared. She had to stay strong, she had to keep it together and remain positive and supportive.

           ----------

           Claire spent the next few days devoted to her uncle, rarely leaving his bedside. Lamb had forced her to spend the nights at his apartment, which was probably for the best. She wasn’t sleeping well to begin with and the recliner at the hospital was only making matters worse. Claire was present and doting on him from morning to night though, helping her uncle order his meals, assisting him when he needed to use the restroom, adding and removing pillows and blankets as needed, or anything else he needed or wanted. Lamb had been moved to the cancer floor, and the window of his new room had a nice view of the Boston skyline. Lamb was making the best of a bad deal, he bragged about his ‘luxury accommodations’, he cracked jokes often, he liked the nicer nurses, he ordered extra dessert with all his meals and was in generally pleasant spirits. Claire could see the cracks in his cognition though. Sometimes he would change the topic he was discussing mid-sentence, and he couldn’t seem to keep time straight. Whenever anyone would mention Christmas, he would act surprised to know that it was coming up, and at one point he hinted at Claire that she might just get those roller skates she wanted for Christmas, a gift she had not asked for since she was eleven years old. He didn’t seem to know what year it was or how old Claire was. He did know who Claire was though, and for that she was thankful. He also knew who the president was whenever the nurses asked, always beginning his answer with a short preamble to make known his disdain.

Before they knew it, it was Christmas Eve and Claire couldn’t hide the sadness she felt on her face. She was glad to spend the evening with Lamb, but she had been looking forward to her first big family Christmas. She had filled in Jamie about Lamb’s condition and her subsequent stay in Boston over the course of their phone calls that week. She had also describe the Christmas gifts she had purchased for the Murrays, Jo, and Lamb, so Jamie would know the rest were for him. Jamie had agreed to put the Murrays gifts in gift bags and distribute them for her. They were meant to exchange family gifts that evening, the morning being reserved for Santa, and Claire was heartbroken to be missing out. In a matter of hours, and for the first time in two months, her and Jamie would be on the same continent, yet they wouldn’t be able to see each other. There was no way Claire could get into the Christmas spirit under these conditions. The hospital, despite being modestly decorated, was not the most festive atmosphere. Even a troop of Girl Scouts caroling their way through the hospital halls did nothing to assuage the weight of losing everything Claire had been looking forward to for the past two months.

           “What’s a matter, my dear?” Lamb asked, showing genuine concern for his niece.

           “It’s nothing, I’m fine, I promise, I’m just wishing things were different today.”

           “Why today? Is it something special? I can’t seem to remember.”

           “It’s Christmas Eve. You were supposed to come to Long Island and meet Jamie. We were going to spend the holiday with his family.”

           “Yes, I remember, that’s today? Oh dear, I haven’t gotten your gift yet I’m afraid.”

           “That’s fine, Lamb, I’m afraid I left your gift at home, so we’ll have to do that part later. We can take a raincheck on gift exchanging. I was just really looking forward to you getting to know Jamie.”

           “I’m sure I’ll meet the lad soon; he seems really special to you.”

           “He is; I know you’ll like him.”

           “I already do.” He patted the top of her hand and turned his attention back to the sitcom on the television, providing humorous commentary to try to cheer Claire up.

----------

It was late Christmas morning. Uncle Lamb was napping again and Claire had switched the television to the Hallmark Channel--usually her guilty pleasure this season, today it was simply reminding her of how her Christmas was proving to be less than magical. For her there would be no Christmas kisses, no magical snowfall, no saving the small town family business or learning to love Christmas again. All that awaited her this Christmas were fluorescent lights, beeping monitors, and nurses visiting every 6 hours to check her uncle’s vitals. This Christmas would be decidedly the most un-magical she had ever experienced. She had had her share of unconventional Christmases in the past, in fact, she never really was a Christmas person, but it had started to feel special to her when she was living in New York. This Christmas though--this was one she was looking forward to more than ever before. Claire spent most of the morning crying, grieving over all she was missing. She should have spent the morning curled up in Jamie’s arms, watching the children open presents. She could picture the Murray’s living room, trashed with colorful wrapping paper from end to end, each child in their own private world fascinated by their latest favorite toy, Jenny and Ian beaming through tired eyes.

Claire was surprised Jamie hadn’t called her to fill her in on the details yet. He had called yesterday when his plane arrived--groggy and jet-lagged, his communication skills were not the most eloquent, but he tried his best to make her feel better. She hadn’t heard from him at all this morning though, not even a Merry Christmas text. Surely the jet lag would have woken him up as early as the children, and they must have been done opening presents by now. Claire tried to rationalize that Jamie was just spending time with his family, but she couldn’t help feeling hurt and ignored. She thought she was important enough to him that he could take a moment away from his family to at least text her, or to find some way to make her feel included from afar. Had his feelings changed in their months apart? Did coming home to a messy apartment turn him off? Did she find his Christmas gifts and come to think she didn’t care enough to get him something more thoughtful? She thought about calling him, but a mixture of pride and fear kept her from acting first, not to mention she couldn’t stop crying over these sappy Christmas movies.

Suddenly, a voice from the doorway rang through the room, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” Claire looked up in confusion, momentarily unable to comprehend her surroundings and the disruption that had just entered them. Santa? No. The tall figure filling the door frame was dressed like Santa, beard and all, but the unmistakable Scottish burr gave away his true identity. If Claire hadn’t already been crying, she certainly was now. Jamie was standing in the doorway, dressed in a Santa suit, carrying a large, blue IKEA bag overflowing with wrapped presents and what appeared to be Christmas decorations.

“What?” Claire could hardly believe he was there, she rose from the chair and the couple met in the middle of the room for a hearty embrace. Claire buried her face in the soft, fluffy suit covering Jamie’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Perhaps the setting wasn’t a snow covered street in a small town, but this was her own Hallmark movie moment--and to be honest, those Hallmark guys had nothing on James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser. Jamie held her close, and tight, planting kisses in her curls and whispering softly to her.

“I’m here, mo nighean donn.” He caressed her shoulders with his thumbs, not releasing his embrace in the slightest, breathing in her scent, trying to absorb her fears and pain.

All of the commotion had awoken Uncle Lamb and after witnessing the couples’ embrace for longer than was comfortable, Lamb loudly cleared his throat to remind them of his presence in the room.

“Uncle Lamb!” Claire unfolded herself from Jamie’s embrace, keeping one arm around his back. Jamie sheepishly pulled the fake beard down around his neck to reveal his face and removed his Santa hat, clutching it tightly in the palm that wasn’t holding Claire. “This is Jamie, my Jamie. Jamie, this is my Uncle Lamb.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad it’s not Santa Claus, or we’d have a lot of explaining to do to the lad!” Lamb chuckled back.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, sir.” Jamie reluctantly released Claire from his grasp to step beside the bed, extending a firm but gentle hand to Lamb. “I’m sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”

“Pleased to meet you as well, lad” Lamb replied, patting Jamie’s hand with his before releasing their handshake. “And don’t you worry about me, I have the best nurse there is taking care of me.” Two sets of proudly smiling eyes met Claire across the room.

“Oh I dinna doubt it for a second. Your niece is a rare woman.”

“Glad to see we’re in agreement. Now what’s all that?” Lamb gestured towards the large tote discarded near Claire’s feet.

“Aye, I thought I’d bring you two a bit o’ holiday cheer.” Jamie pulled a large cardboard box from the bag and extracted a small tabletop Christmas tree from it, unfurling each branch carefully and placing it on the countertop across the room, plugging it in to reveal fiber optic lights changing colors dreamily. “I usually insist on my Christmas trees being more, well, alive, but under the circumstances this’ll have tae do.” Jamie and Claire spent the next half hour or so festooning the room in garlands and placing tiny ornaments on the small tree. Claire tried to ignore that more than half of the bag was filled with brightly wrapped gifts, not sure whether she was hoping they were all for her, or hoping that they weren’t. After all, she didn’t have anything to give him and she didn’t know if he had looked through his gifts yet nor if he had appreciated them.

While they decorated, Jamie filled Claire and Lamb in on the events of the last few days. Jamie had called Jenny to tell her not to bother picking him up from the airport. He had planned on renting a car there and driving straight to Boston. Claire could hear Jenny’s voice loud and clear through Jamie’s imitation “ya clotheid! Have ya gone daft? Yer barely able to form coherent sentences amidst the jet lag from yer Christmas Eve flight, and ya wanna drive five hours tae Boston in that state!?! Claire willna appreciate ya ending up in a ditch on the side of the road as a Christmas present ya eejit!” Jenny had made a fair point, and Jamie had agreed to sleep at home and left shortly after he awoke that morning, staying only long enough for the children to open their stockings, and to watch their faces alight with surprise at the sudden appearance of piles of presents under and around the tree.

“I’m glad you took Jenny’s advice, but most of all I’m glad you’re here.” She embraced him again. “You didn’t have to do this though, Jamie, I know how important your family is to you.”

Jamie stepped back and lifted Claire’s chin with his thumb, looking into her eyes. “You are important to me, Sassenach.” he replied, with a sincerity that penetrated Claire’s heart. Claire responded by kissing Jamie chastely on the cheek, knowing her uncle was only four feet away--politely trying to ignore them and watch the television which he had flipped to an all-day marathon of A Christmas Story on repeat. Jamie’s welcome intrusion broke up the monotony of hospital life and seemed to give Lamb a better sense of what day it was.

“Now that we’ve got the place looking good and festive, I believe it’s traditional to exchange gifts on Christmas day.”

“Jamie, it’s too much, I--”

“Oh? Thought they were all for you, didja Sassenach?” he teased. Claire blushed. Of course; she hadn’t really--but who else would they be for? Surely Jamie wouldn’t spoil Lamb, a complete stranger to him, quite so much, and no one else was there. She looked dumbfounded as she tried to come up with a defense but Jamie stopped her. “Dinna fash, Sassenach, Jenny wrapped your gifts for me and Lamb before I could see and I bought them along too. She thanks ya for the wee lotions, by the way.”

“God bless Jenny! That woman is a Saint.” Claire also silently thanked God that she had left the present she was planning on wearing for Jamie that evening in her dresser drawer, that was not a gift she wanted Jenny to see, and was definitely not something she wanted him to be opening in front of her uncle.

The three exchanged gifts, save Lamb, who had nothing to give but smiles and approval for the young couples’ thoughtful gifts. Jamie was genuinely appreciative of Claire’s gifts, although she kept insisting that she hadn’t finished shopping and there was more to come; to which Jamie humbly rejected, claiming it wasn’t necessary. Jamie’s gifts to Claire were thoughtful and meaningful, the most touching ones being a print of a painting of the rose garden he had ordered from the Botanic Garden’s gift shop and a bracelet engraved with the words perennis amor, which caused Claire to tear up and embrace him tenderly in spite of her uncle’s presence.

The three enjoyed the rest of the day thoroughly. A Christmas Story played in the background and they laughed and shared stories with one another. Jamie was a born storyteller and Lamb was elated to have a fresh audience to recount his many adventures to, so conversation flowed naturally between them, with Claire occasionally interjecting. Claire mostly just sat back and admired the two men who were most important to her, filled with joy that they were getting along, that Jamie was there, that it was Christmas. For the first time in several days she had hope and peace. She was surrounded by love in that hospital room as well. She had all the things Christmas was said to bring, and for that she was grateful. Jamie had made her greatest Christmas wishes come true without her even asking and she felt lucky to be alive.

The hospital staff served their version of Christmas dinner for the small family, and while Claire was sure it paled in comparison to whatever Jenny had made, it was quite delicious, especially considering it was hospital food. Jamie ate in the armchair next to Lamb at Claire’s insistence, since the two were deep in conversation, and Claire sat in the chair on the other side of Jamie, taking in her magical Christmas scene, better than any Hallmark movie could depict.

After dinner, Jamie was fading fast, listening to one of Lamb’s stories with heavy eyes.  She took one of the spare blankets and covered Jamie. “Looks like you’re still not over your jet lag”

“Hrmmphh, I ‘spose not.”

“Do you want me to go get you a coffee? I doubt the cafe downstairs is open today, but there’s a cappuccino vending machine a few floors down that isn’t terrible.”

“Aye Sassenach, that’d be bonny. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all, my love, I’ll be back soon.” Claire squeezed his hand before leaving the two men alone.

Jamie listened to her footsteps down the hall, and waited until he heard the ding of the elevator before he cleared his throat to speak frankly to Lamb. He sat up straight in the chair to ward off the sleepiness, having a few important things he wanted to say before Claire came back.

“Lamb, I need you to know, Claire is the most important person in my life. I love her sae much and I’d do anything for her.”

“I’m glad to hear that, I can see how happy you make her. She lights up when you’re around, it comforts my old heart to see.”

“I need you tae know, I’m very serious about her. I ken we haven’t been together that long, but I know--I know deep in my wame that I’m meant tae be hers. I want ya to know that I intend on spending the rest of my life making her happy, and while I havna bought a ring or ennathing yet, I wanted to ask yer blessing” Jamie paused for a moment before adding, “just in case.”

“Of course you have my blessing, son. I couldn’t be more glad to know that Claire will be so well cared for after I’m gone, truly.” Both men looked somber, knowing full well that this could be their last conversation, hoping dearly that it wasn’t. Claire returned with three cappuccinos in hand, surprised by the mood in the room.

“Everything alright, gentlemen? Don’t tell me Ralphie shot his eye out!”

“Och! Everything’s fine, Claire! I’m just tired is all, I’m sure this wee cappuccino will cure me in no time!” replied Jamie, eagerly taking a cup from Claire as she set another on Lamb’s tray table. The rest of the evening was quiet as Jamie took a nap, while Lamb and Claire watched A Christmas Story more intently then they had all day. Claire didn’t want to leave him alone so early on Christmas so she let Jamie nap until Lamb was asleep soundly for the night. The sense of joy she had felt all day was still present, but the nagging worry she felt about Lamb’s coming surgery was starting to settle in as well. Claire woke Jamie gently and Claire whispered softly to Lamb that they’d return in the morning, squeezing his hand before the couple quietly left the room.

----------

They walked out to Jamie’s car, since he still had his stuff packed in it, but Claire drove them back to Lamb’s apartment where she’d been staying. The cappuccino was helping Jamie stay coherent, but he was in no state to drive. They were quiet on the drive home, but kept their hands locked between the seats, grateful just to be in the presence of one another.

When they arrived at Lamb’s apartment, Jamie was so tired, he didn’t even want to brush his teeth, let alone do any of his usual nightly routines. However, he had spent the morning sweating in a polyester Santa suit over his clothes, and although he took it off shortly after his surprise arrival, he felt in need of a shower. Claire showed him where the bathroom was and made sure he had everything he needed, and got herself ready for bed.

Jamie showered quickly, not bothering to wash his hair, and only cleaning the parts of his body where any stench would be most concentrated, figuring the water would take care of the rest. A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, ready to collapse into bed, but not before embracing his sorcha. He scooped her into his embrace and she buried her face in his bare, firm chest, warm from the shower. He smelled clean, and fresh and most of like Jamie. “I’m so happy you’re with me, Jamie. You have no idea how much it means to me that you’re here.” the emotions of the day hit her again and her voice caught at the end of her sentence as tears filled her eyes once again. Jamie kissed her forehead softly, down to her nose, and landed on her lips, giving her the firm, passionate kiss they’d both been longing for all day--and for months before that.

“Mo cridhe.” Jamie breathed when they separated. “I’m here. I’ll always be here for you. I’ll no’ leave you alone when ya need me.”

“Oh Jamie” Claire was still crying, “I’ve been so worried. I’ve been trying to stay strong for Lamb, but I feel like this won’t go back to normal--if there ever was a normal with him. I’m scared he’s going to get worse, or--” her sentence dissolved into a fit of sobs, which she tried to stifle on Jamie’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to stay strong when you’re with me. I’ll be here to help you shoulder the burden. I’ll be here to soak up your tears. There’s two of us now, Claire.” He pressed a kiss into her curls. “You can feel your feelings now, mo cridhe. Lay your cares on me. Come now, let’s get ya tae bed. I’m no’ sure how much longer I can stand myself.”

Claire fell asleep wrapped safely in Jamie’s embrace, free to be herself fully. Free to be vulnerable she felt safe, she felt loved, she felt comfortable, and most new to her--she felt she had the hope and strength that she could carry on, no matter what was to come. She slept better than she had in weeks, secure in the embrace of her eternal love.

End Notes: Thanks again for reading!! By the way, the Ingrid Michaelson song Jo mentions is hauntingly beautiful and you should listen to it. Also, I hope you liked Jamie's surprise. This was going to be a lot more angsty of a chapter but Jamie refused to let Claire suffer and had other plans. I know this was full of a lot of emotional ups and downs, and hopefully we can all find some comfort in the fact that just because Christmas/the holidays may look different for a lot of us this year, it can still be special, and there's still light, joy, love, hope, and peace to be found in the midst of the darkness.

Driving Home For Christmas - Johnnie x Reader (Prime Mover)

Holiday Fic 3! 🚛🎁

@wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​

Author’s Note: Sooooo... this song was just staring me in the face and I didn’t even clock that this was the easiest connection until super late. When I sat worrying about how the heck I was supposed to fill all my December slots!! 🤦‍♀️🙈

As a warning, this one is certainly Christmas related, rather than winter related. As the next one will be

This is also the same relationship as in ‘End Up With You’ and ‘My Oh My’.

Disclaimer: Prime Mover & associated characters not mine / I capped the cap! / lyrics not mine.

Premise: Everything seems to be going too well for Johnnie on his last run of the year, until he hits traffic...

Words: 2331

Warnings: Swearing / all the joys of your parents hating your S/O during the festive season / sexual connotations look I told ya

_____ I'm driving home for Christmas Oh, I can't wait to see those faces I'm driving home for Christmas, yea Well I'm moving down that line

And it's been so long But I will be there I sing this song To pass the time away Driving in my car Driving home for Christmas

It's gonna take some time But I'll get there Top to toe in tailbacks Oh, I got red lights on the run But soon there'll be a freeway yeah Get my feet on holy ground

Driving home for Christmas With a thousand memories I take look at the driver next to me He's just the same Just the same

Top to toe in tailbacks Oh, I got red lights all around I'm driving home for Christmas, yea Get my feet on holy ground So I sing for you Though you can't hear me When I get trough Oh and feel you near me Driving in my car Driving home for Christmas

---

This hadn’t exactly been the plan. Nowhere near the plan. In fact, if you had it the way you wanted it, Johnnie wouldn’t even have been pulled out on this last run of the Holiday season. He was supposed to have got back and been done roughly a week ago. Only a few days ago, as he’d been kicking around the garage to hang out with you, Phil had hauled him into one last over-nighter. Johnnie could probably have said no, and afforded to. And you, staring helplessly at him, hoped that he might. But he didn’t - and part of you knew that he wouldn’t. Johnnie would take work when he could get it - that’s what he always did. You let him know how unhappy you were about it, but he had calculated for this, and all he did was smile, showing you his worked out route: “It’s okay! I’ll be home! I’ll be home!” He was due back mid-afternoon Christmas Eve and you had held him to that. In fact, Johnnie had been running pretty well up until about lunch time, he’d got all the way there in relatively light traffic and made good time - the final drop off was complete and now he was driving empty back home he could at least lay on the gas a little. He made sure to update you every chance he got - and you always reminded him to take rest breaks. Johnnie bent the rules often enough, you didn’t need him in trouble just before the holidays - especially not REAL trouble. By the way you’d both calculated it, he might have been back even earlier than expected. And that got your hopes up. Unfortunately, as the day had worn on, Johnnie realised that he was not the only one going home… everyone this side of Australia seemed to be heading in the same direction. And suddenly he found himself stuck in tailbacks and holiday traffic. “Aw… Geez…” The radio was playing the appropriate festive music, only - sitting in the Australian summer heat - Johnnie couldn’t really say he was feeling the lyrics when all they talked about was winter wonderlands and wrapping up warm. No thanks. The one upside was, with only minor movement, he could message you a little more. But he didn’t want to worry you too much and stress you about traffic. So he let you know that he was in it - but nowhere near how bad it really was. It couldn’t be this terrible all the way back home, right? It had to let up eventually… Johnnie would have nothing to worry about. And worrying you any further would just cause him unnecessary problems. *** Your original idea was to wait for him at the depot until he arrived and then head over to your parents. But as it got later and later, he was nowhere to be found and you were pretty much the last person standing - realising the futility when even Phil started switching the lights off - you understood that you should be heading off yourself. In reality you didn’t think Johnnie or your mum would mind this predicament so much, considering how much they despised each other. But as you’d been telling both of them all week to ‘please be nice to each other! It’s the holidays!’ you figured you’d completely wasted your breath. Well… then again, you probably would have anyway. You checked your phone once more as Phil practically had to drag you out as he locked up. Nothing. You sighed gently; hopefully that meant he was at least moving again. You just hoped Johnnie wouldn’t do anything reckless… You knew better. Tapping out a quick text, you slipped into your own car, turning on the ignition and hoping you weren’t met with traffic of your own. The wrath of your mother at this time in the evening, considering it was already dark, would be bad enough. ‘I’m heading out to my parents now. See you back at home! Stay safe babe, I love you xx’ *** You barely got the chance to knock at the door of your parents’ house before your mother wrenched open the door. Her eyes were narrowed at you standing alone and she peered out onto the driveway, expecting to see Johnnie exiting the car or standing a little way off looking reluctant to be a part of this. When she realised he wasn’t there, her face softened and she looked back to you. “Hi Mum…” Your hands were in your pockets, “Happy Christmas-!” “Come in, come in!” She opened the door wide and as soon as it was closed behind you, she started, bustling passed you, her finger jabbing the air: “I TOLD you he was useless! I TOLD you he wouldn’t get home and he’d make my little girl cry-!” You weren’t crying, but you supposed you couldn’t exactly hide the disappointment on your face. Rolling your eyes you scoffed, trudging in after her, “Mum, he’s just running late. He says there’s really bad traffic. I’ll have him back this evening… You don’t want him here anyway-!” “No, and you should stay the night! Have Christmas with us!” “Mum.” You were firm as she turned back to you, “You know I can’t do that to him.” “I don’t know what you see in him.” “I don’t think there’s anything I could say that would persuade you to see anything in him.” And that was the honest truth, Johnnie could turn into a full-blown Saint and your mother would probably still hate him. You’d long since given up trying to change her opinions of him - after all, hers weren’t changing yours. Sure, there was some truth - and legitimate reasoning - behind her concerns. But making it her personal vendetta to hate him hardly helped the situation. Sometimes it just made you hold onto him a little stronger. And perhaps you would argue with her, but it was Christmas, and that was the last thing you were going to do. Besides, you were growing pretty tired of this type of bickering. Your dad appeared in the doorway, “Hey sweetheart!” “Hey dad!” You gave a genial wave. You were never exactly sure where he stood with the trucker you dated. You thought the appropriate word might be ‘tolerated’... He also peered around, “I thought Johnnie was coming?” You watched your mother instinctively glare at the mention of his name and shook your head; you had told them you would call in as soon as he was back. At this point you’d regretted planning anything. “Yes, but he hasn’t returned yet and it was getting late. I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t going to stop by.” “Ahhh… He got caught in that big smash up?” As if that was any help with your panicking about his safety, ever. “What!?” “It’s caused back ups everywhere in the region, he’s probably in traffic there. It was all over the news.” “Still bad? On Christmas Eve – that’s just… that’s horrible is everyone okay?!” You father shook his head, “No. All clear now. Seems to be no major injuries.” Thank goodness for that, you breathed a sigh of relief; “Good, I hope he’s moving.” Your mother scoffed, “Probably at some bar somewhere-” “Mum, Please. It’s Christmas!” You tried your hardest not to snap at her, it took a surprising amount of control; “I know he’s not here, but please can we talk about something else?!” She stepped forward and took your face in her hands with a concerned sigh, “Oh, Y/N… One day you’re going to see what I see… and you’ll realise…” “...Maybe, but it’s not today Ma. Today Johnnie’s still my boyfriend and I still love him. And I want him home!” She let you go, and pushed passed your father into the kitchen, “Well now, both of you sit! What was the point in me preparing this food if we’re not going to eat it!?” You shrugged yourself out of your jacket, throwing it on the coat stand and ran a hand through your hair, groaning. Hopefully that was the definitive change in subject that meant Johnnie wouldn’t be brought up for the rest of the evening. And you’d certainly be praying on that one! *** Johnnie rolled the truck into the depot just as the clock ticked around to midnight. It would certainly be Christmas Day before he got back home to you. He was exhausted and he parked up, sat in his cab for a minute, head against the steering wheel groaning. At least that would be it for this year. He could relax for the next week. Clambering out of the cab, he gave his truck the once over, it looked fine - and it wasn’t like anyone was around to check it anyway. He yawned as he strolled slowly over to his car; the only one left on the lot. Rubbing his eyes, he slid into yet another driver's seat and turned on the ignition. This journey wouldn’t be so bad though, all he had to do was drive across town to your place. He fished his mobile out of his pocket - Johnnie had felt the vibration before, but had opted for simply getting the journey done instead of pulling in anywhere to check it. Aside from a bunch of Christmas well wishes, there was one from you saying you’d left for your parents. Well, now he was here that much was obvious - Johnnie thought for a minute, would you still be there? You could well be, but what would be the point in going over? He doubted they would want him crashing the party. Best to leave you to it, especially as they weren’t his biggest advocates. Instead Johnnie opted to drive home, and tapped a text back: ‘Ok, at depot, see you at home. Also sorry I couldn’t be there x’ Throwing his phone back in his pocket he pulled the car out of the lot and breathed a sigh of relief. He was almost home, he was almost back to you. You checked the text as soon as you received it, with a little smile. He could apologise for not being there all he wanted, but you really knew he’d only have been with you begrudgingly. In reality the traffic meant both your mum and Johnnie had dodged a bullet tonight. And, whilst you were a little disappointed not to have him back on time, you thought that might have been better for all of you. Finally you might have a nice peaceful Christmas - and not an argument to be had! You didn’t even bother texting him back, he’d be home before he got it anyway. And you couldn’t wait. *** When Johnnie pulled into the drive, he was almost surprised to see lights on in the house. ‘Oh? She’s back?’ Your parents didn’t want to keep you for Christmas then? They had released you! Johnnie smiled gently, at least that wouldn’t mean waiting up for your return. Although he realised you were probably waiting up for his... He opened the front door with a yell: “Babe, I’m home!” Expecting to have to catch you into a hug as you ran to him. Instead he was greeted with a call of “Welcome home!” from elsewhere in the house. He waited, but when you still didn’t appear, he frowned. That was odd; was one night away simply not long enough for you to enact your signature move? Nah, surely not! Johnnie moved through the house slowly peering into each room trying to figure out where you were - making you eventually call out again, “I’m back here!” He paused, and tipped his head with a little smirk; Oh. Bedroom, right! You probably were really waiting up for him then - and if you were comfortable in bed, he could understand your unwillingness to get out and run to him. Opening the bedroom door, Johnnie understood everything, and bit his lip a little too hard at the sight he was greeted with. Instead of being tucked up in bed you were lying provocatively across it, in fairly sheer - and festive themed - lingerie. The little look on your face was playful as your eyes met his. He tried to hold your eyes for a moment before he swept your body - the artwork of all your tattoos on full display. About the only places you didn’t have any were your face, neck and hands. Other than that, your body was a canvas of gorgeous intricate patterns. He knew the list of stories for each piece was endless, and even Johnnie didn’t think he’d heard all of them yet. You sighed seductively, rolling onto your stomach, propping your head up on your hands and swaying your legs in the air, waiting on him to make a move. “You got any new ones?” You laughed through your nose; “In 2 days? No. But I wouldn’t object to you kissing all your favourites.” “They’re all my favourites.” “Mhm?” Your tongue ran out across your lips as his eyes met yours again. “Is this my Christmas present?” You smirked, “Noooo… but you can have that if you’re good.” Johnnie took a step forward, wicked glint in his eyes as his smirk matched yours; “Well I can’t promise you I’m not about to do something that’ll get me put on the naughty list.” That only made you smirk even harder, and you knelt up, pulling him to you by his jacket. Johnnie’s hands rested on your hips for about half a second, before he started running them over your body. It felt so good to have them back on your skin. You grazed your lips to his, pulling away teasingly when he attempted to deepen the kiss, whisper seductive: “Aw, well, you should let me be the judge of that. I certainly won’t tell anyone.”

---

Thank you for reading! On the home stretch now-! 3 to go!🎉

I know you said seeing these posts hurt but I have one more thought. I really hope that out of all of my posts this is the one you see.

You seemed more like yourself in our conversation. You seemed like the girl I knew. The girl I love. I don’t think I won’t ever love you.

I left that conversation feeling way better. Im sorry I doubted you. I should have known my faith in you was never in vain. I’m sorry. I’m glad we are trying to end things on a good note. They feel like it. Your father was right. Sometimes good relationships end. And maybe now we just transition into friends — not until winter break, I know. I’m really happy with how that phone call went, and I’m sorry you were so hesitant to have it.

I know I can be manipulative and cruel and mean and straight up a bitch. So I don’t blame you for being hesitant. But I hope you remember everything I told you. Because I truly meant it. If you ever need a reminder, just send me a text. I’d never turn you away for coming to me for something you need. I think you’ll forever be my weakness.

It was good to hear that your chest was legitimately hurting just like mine. I think with that conversation I can start to heal. And I don’t need to grieve the loss of a friend. Just the loss of my lover. One less thing to be sad about.

Maybe it’s bad of me to say but I am excited for winter break. I promise I will be healing, not waiting for you. But I genuinely think we can do this — being friends. And maybe winter break won’t be enough time, and that’s okay. You know there is never any pressure from me. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like there was.

I’m glad to hear that you’re also sad about losing another family. I feel the same way. I adore your parents and your little brother. I hope he knows I was waiting to hear where he applied to school and was excited to hear where he got in. I hope your parents know that I love their precious daughter with all of my heart.

While to me this was out of the blue, to you it wasn’t. And I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. But I genuinely hope that you figure it all out. I hope you have exciting endeavors and do all that you wish and dream for.

I’m also glad to hear that your gut reaction to my question wasn’t “no,” I won’t wait around but I wouldn’t ever be opposed to trying again. Maybe right person wrong time really is a thing. Maybe it’s not. Maybe we are just meant to be friends.

One thing I am sure of, is how I feel about you.

Another thing I am sure of, is that because of how I feel about you, I want you in my life. One way or another. I promise I won’t wait around, but it’s not like I’m going to go out and find somebody else in the span of a few months. I need to heal and process and grow from this heartbreak. I won’t lie, I am still heartbroken but I am better than I was.

I’ll be sure to tell my family that you are sorry and that you still love them and that it was so hard for you to do this. I’ll tell you now they’re very upset but you know that I will still defend you to them. They’re just being protective of me. They’ll come around, they care too much about you to not.

I hope you get everything you want in this life. I hope I get to be a part of your big adventure — eventually. Whether it is platonic or not. I will try my best to not hope for more than platonic. But I can’t promise anything.

It was so healing to know that it wasn’t because you fell out of love with me. I know that I said some hurtful things but when there is so much noise I didn’t know what to think. I was terrified that my friends were right. But now I know that it wasn’t out of the blue for you. I now know that you did this because you love me. Because you want what is best for me. Because you want to be fair to me.

While I have differing opinions about going about these big hard things, I still respect your decision. And hearing your reasoning made it hurt less. I thought maybe you just didn’t care anymore. But it’s the complete opposite of what I thought. It’s because you care. You cared enough to not make me endure a bad relationship. We were so good. And you wanted both of us to remember that. You wanted to be with me, you just can’t right now. And as hard as it is for me to accept that, it’s okay.

I’m not mad. I’m still slightly confused but I got a lot of answers to my questions. I know I’m going to be hurting for a long time. But thank you for letting me change our plans of a talk in 10 days to today. I didn’t want to start to heal and then have a conversation and be right back at square one. I’m really happy you sounded like yourself. I could feel your emotion and intent. I recognized the girl I fell in love with.

You are always going to hold a place in my heart. I know that is so cliché and cheesy but you taught me so much. You taught me what a good, healthy, loving relationship is. I will forever be thankful for that. I’m not ready to move on, and I don’t think I will be for a while. I promise I won’t be waiting around (intentionally). Thank you for showing me how good love can be. How pure and safe it can be. I’m going to miss you so much. And I hope you miss me too. I hope you’re also excited for winter break and the possibilities it may bring. But I’m okay if you aren’t ready then.

I won’t lie, I am scared you’ll meet a really great girl and fall in love with her but that’s neither here nor there. Fuck that was the one thing I wanted to share but forgot. Regardless, I’m going to hold so much love for you. I know so many people say that they can still be friends to their past lovers but I hope you meant it. I meant it. I know we both need time away in order to make this platonic.

Thank you for knowing that I might not be perfect and I might slip up and text you. But thanks for telling me that you’ll treat it as a journal entry from me to you. I’m glad that we agreed that we will only talk between now and winter break if we felt like world war 3 was about to break out between us. That made me feel like you really do want to be friends. That was something I loved so much about our relationship, was we weren’t just lovers. You legitimately were my best friend. You were the person I turned to when I needed someone. You were the person I went to when I thought something was funny. When I wanted someone to pass the time with, enjoy their presence. It was a major bonus that you happened to also be my girlfriend.

Thank you for making the time for me today. I really needed it. Now it’s time for me to start healing. I don’t think I’ll be perfectly fixed in a week or a month, but maybe I’ll be a little better. I hope you start to feel better soon too. I secretly hope you slip up and text me. But I know you, you are strict rule follower. That was something I always admired about you, the fact that you can stick to your guns regardless of what you actually want to do.

I hope you stay what we consider to be “you healthy,” I hope that if your illnesses do flare up that you have the resources and good friends to take care of you. I hope the next crash is not nearly half as bad as the last one. I hope little Beau doesn’t forget me. I know he secretly liked me. I hope he still enjoys the toys. I hope his teeth are still being cleaned 3 days a week. And I hope your brushing of his teeth is paying off.

I am always here. Quietly waiting in the background if you need me. If you need a friend, a laugh, or someone to listen. Or maybe you’ll figure it all out and come back. But I won’t count on that part. The only thing I will let myself hold out hope for — is for there to be friendship between us.

One last time: I love you. All of you. For you. I adore every part of you. And I’m actually really really proud of the fact that you are doing something that is taking care of yourself. I know you’re such a people pleaser, and this decision could not have been an easy one. But thank you for everything, Alyssa.

Citrus 🌿

Kita Shinsuke x Reader SMAUish ; Part 2

masterlist

Warnings: mentions of injury & blood (small) ; 

yk how I said this series is based on a oneshot? yea here it is (~3.2k words)

~

You huffed out a breath as you passed through the school gates. The early January air was just cool enough to chill your breath into a puff of visible vapor. Not quite freezing, but cold enough to warrant a layer or two.

Damn, should’ve worn gloves, you internally cursed and shifted your grip on the box in your arms. 

Within the parcel, as well as a tote digging into your shoulder, resided your surprise: a selection of bread rolls and freshly harvested fruits you’d picked up from your uncle’s farm the evening before. You knew that despite their confidence and reputation, most of the boys would still struggle to maintain a normal balanced diet and sleep schedule, so you decided to make sure they had no excuse to slack off. Hell, one of them had already proven you right. 

As promised, you’d stayed up for a full two hours helping Atsumu, who now owed you boba, make some amount of progress on his schoolwork before falling asleep yourself an hour later. So, about three hours of sleep. Oh, and thanks to that slacker you’d also had no time to prepare the oranges and watermelon the night before, and you’d be roasted alive if you were caught making a commotion in the kitchen before the sun had even risen. No, it was much easier to just call it “club stuff” and complete your work in the gym’s office you shared with Coach Kurosu. 

So here you were, lugging multiple pounds of food through campus while the sky had barely begun to light and the winter breeze lashed at your exposed skin. 

“What am I even doing”, you grumbled to yourself through gritted teeth.

Finally you reached the gym doors and set down the load before catching your breath and blowing warm air into your cupped hands. Not wanting to deprive yourself of heat any longer, you pulled out the keyring Coach had given you earlier and moved to unlock the padlock before realizing there were only two keys on the ring, neither of which were for the gym lock. 

You only had the key to the office. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” you exclaimed, yanking at the padlock. The office was connected directly to the gym, like the clubroom was, so no gym entry, no office entry. 

Bouncing on the balls of your feet, partially from frustration and partially to keep yourself warm, you pulled out your phone and pulled the scarf you were wearing around the bottom half of your face like a mask. 

You clicked off your phone and shoved your hands into your pockets, looking around in the vain hope that maybe Kita would come strolling by. 

Great. Just great. 

Well, it wasn’t the end of the world. Warming your hands with a breath once more, you set to work on preparing a makeshift fruit-prep area on the pavement, ignoring the thoughts of how much of an idiot you were for not realizing earlier that you were missing a key. It was only when you held the knife above the waiting watermelon (you figured you should do the difficult ones first) that you legitimately questioned your choices. 

 I could just go back home and bring the fruit tomorrow. You cast a wary glance at the mounds of waiting food, immediately dreading the idea of lugging it all back home. No, you already said that you would have a surprise today. Besides, this is supposed to go on for the whole week. Just be a good manager and suck it up.

With this new resolve, you brought down the knife expertly and began slicing. Before long the two watermelons were properly portioned and set aside, and you moved to the oranges. They were a true specialty of your uncle’s farm, and it just so happened to be the beginning of the perfect season for the fruit. A little bead of pride and excitement swelled in your gut as you pictured the faces of your teammates when they finally got to try them. 

As the sky grew steadily lighter, your fingers too began to stiffen and tingle in the cold. Before long they’d be numb despite you constantly blowing warm air on them, making the chopping process slower and slower. 

“Y/N?” 

You immediately jumped at the soft voice that broke the silence of the past...hour? You had no idea how long it had been since you started. Looking to the source of the sound you saw none other than the team’s captain. His head tilted slightly to the side and his eyebrows were knit in a reserved look of confusion, looking expectant.

“Kita!” you quickly greeted him, as if nothing were out of the ordinary and you weren’t surrounded by a mass of fruit. With the greeting you jumped to your feet, only to have a knee momentarily buckle in protest after being in a crouched position so long. The flash of the knife in your hand immediately prompted you to set the knife back on the cutting board on the ground.

“Uh, surprise?” You mentally slapped yourself at the less-than-smooth recovery.

Kita’s eyes followed the movement carefully, then swept over the scene in apparent evaluation. 

“How long have you been here?” he asked. The one question I don’t know the answer to.

“A little while,” you responded, deciding that wasn’t an untrue answer. It was strange. It wasn’t like you had been caught smoking or vandalizing or some other prohibited thing, so why did you feel so guilty? 

“I, uh, meant to use the office but, well…” you trailed off as Kita pulled out a small metal keyring, similar to your own. He didn’t smile, but there was a kind look on his face as he approached and opened the doors that had kept you at bay.

“You’ll catch a cold staying out here so long,” he sighed, leaning over and hoisting your school bag over his shoulder and picking up the largest parcel before moving to stand expectantly in the doorway. “You're our manager, which means you’re part of the team too. We can’t have you falling ill.”

“Right,” you nodded after a moment of temporary shock, and began to gather up what was left. For some reason, you were suppressing a small smile. After you slung on the tote and carefully gripped the cutting board in your now numb red fingers, you approached where Kita was patiently waiting. You flashed him a small smile of gratitude to break the awkwardness, but a moment later his gaze drifted downward and his lips downturned into a small frown. His eyes widened the slightest bit as they fixed on where your hand held the cutting board.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated, his tone a bit too calm considering his words. You followed his gaze and sure enough one of the fingers you’d used to steady the fruit had a thin line of red. Apparently your fingers had gotten numb enough that you hadn’t felt the cut, not to mention the cold was turning your skin dry and red.

“Oh, I am,” you acknowledged with a nervous hollow laugh. “I guess the knife slipped at some point.” Tentatively, you flexed the finger. It was a shallow cut so the bleeding had already stopped, and the only discomfort came from the protest of your numb joints. As you brushed your other hand over it to inspect it further, a sharp pain shot through your hand and a small hiss escaped your lips. 

Ah, the orange juice.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Kita tense when you flinched. In two quick steps he was in front of you, placing the box on the ground near your feet. 

“It’s nothing, it’s not deep or anything,” you insisted, a bit startled at the sudden proximity. Kita held out his hand and paused.

“Can I see it?” he asked, his eyes carefully watching your own in gentle query. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remarked on how much lighter they were than you remembered.

You gave a conceding sigh and met his hand halfway with your own, nearly jumping at the warmth of his palm. Almost immediately he curled his fingers underneath yours to examine them in a delicate but sure grip. His eyebrows shot up at the touch.

“You’re freezing,” he commented. From the breathiness of his voice you assumed it was close to a gasp for him. His thumb traced around the wound. The warm contact sent a shiver through your body. You noticed the skin around it starting to turn red and irritated, likely from the cold and acidic liquid. 

A moment later Kita pulled away and turned towards the gym doors, reaching out to give your arm a gentle pull.

“Come on, you need to warm up and get that taken care of,” he spoke matter-of-factly. It was a familiar tone that didn’t command, but simply stated the obvious truth, and it was useless to argue against. Suppressing a grumble, you allowed yourself to be guided into the gym by the captain. 

“Do you have the key to the coach’s office?” Kita asked as we placed our things outside the door to the aforementioned office.

“Oh, yeah.” You pulled out the keyring from your pocket, giving it a jangle for emphasis. Kita held out a hand expectantly.

“Go to the bathroom and run warm water over your hands and clean out the cut,” he began at your questioning look. “Don’t come back until you have full feeling again.” Ah, that tone of his was back.

“Fine,” you sighed with a smile and dropped the keys into his waiting palm. Suddenly, a horrible thought dawned on you. “Oh, how long did I have that cut?! Some of the oranges might have gotten blood on them, the knife too!” With a groan you brought the heels of both of your hands to your temples, rubbing them in frustration.

“Y/N,” the captain’s quiet voice captured your attention after a few moments of silence. His expression was almost blank, with the downward quirk of his lip giving the only sign of disapproval. “Your priority right now should be taking care of yourself, not the oranges.” 

“Ugh, sorry,” you grumbled, feeling rightly scolded. You knew you were acting like a child. “It’s just first the gym, and now this. Nothing seems to be going right for this stupid surprise.” Your sleep deprivation must’ve been getting to you as your eyes started to burn. No, no, don’t you dare cry over something like this! 

“It’s not stupid.” Kita stated as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. You could only blink in response. His gaze travelled to where the fruits were piled up, seemingly in deep thought, before finding you once more. “And it’s not ruined either.”

“I...suppose not,” you said softly. His head tilted just slightly in consideration.

“I didn’t take you as someone to easily give up, either.” 

You gave a thoughtful hum, a few moments later letting out a soft chuckle. He’s right. Somehow he was always right. There was a strange comfort in his words. He always spoke sincerely and straightforwardly, which was one of the reasons everyone held him in such high regard. To hear anyone else say an assessment like that might’ve normally come across as an attempt to console or fan your ego, but with Kita, it was just the truth. It was something he believed.

You didn’t care to suppress the smile that pulled at your lips this time.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you laughed, finally feeling warm again. “Thank you.” 

Kita merely nodded as you turned to go, but you could’ve sworn that there was a ghost of a smile on his face too.

It took about ten minutes to fully warm your hands and thoroughly clean the cut. It wasn’t deep, but it happened to be just where the first joint of your index finger was. The skin stretched when you bent it, causing only mild discomfort. It was more of an inconvenience than anything else.

You were also able to check your phone. No messages from Suna, unsurprisingly, and it was almost half past five. Vaguely wondering why on earth Kita was here so early, you strolled back to the office, finding it open with the light on. The scene that greeted you, however, made you freeze in the doorway. Kita had cleared off a portion of the desk and arranged a professional looking setup for fruit preparation. He’d shed his outer layer and now stood over the cutting board with the sleeves of his sweatshirt rolled up to his elbows and latex gloves now adorning his hands. It seemed as though he’d already resumed work on the oranges, and the pleasant scent of citrus wafted to your nose.

You would’ve laughed at the amusing image had you not been equally shocked to see him there in the first place. 

“Ah, Y/N, you’re back,” he greeted when he noticed you in the doorway. One after the other he removed the gloves, gesturing you to sit in the desk chair. Wordlessly you obliged.   

“I’ve cleaned the knife and cutting board and checked over the other oranges, so there’s no need to worry about that,” he informed you as though reading off a list of chores. 

 “In ten minutes?” Your eyes widened in amazement. It seemed he really was capable of anything, though you cringed a bit when you realized he may have had to wash your blood off the utensils. As you lowered yourself into the chair you noticed an open first aid kit that Kita was now combing through. 

“Hand,” he commanded, holding out his own with antiseptic in the other, apparently ignoring your inquiry.

“Oh, I can do it,” you insisted with a reassuring smile, reaching out for the tube. “Believe me, I’ve bandaged myself up from far worse than this.” The hand holding the tube retracted as Kita let out a deep sigh.

“Let me guess, you’re also going to try to stop me from cutting the rest of the fruit, too?” he guessed, quite accurately, with a small quirk of an eyebrow. Your smile faltered a bit and you brought back your outstretched hand. “I don’t doubt that you can bandage your wound, or that you can continue preparing the fruit with little difficulty, but you don’t have to push yourself. I’m offering my help because I want to.”

You stared at him again, trying to process his words. Out of instinct you almost muttered Are you sure? but you were also positive that Kita had already made up his mind. With a small nod, you placed the injured finger above his hand for him to take.

“Didn’t you say yourself I’m not one to give up easily?” you questioned as he went to work wrapping up your finger. 

“Yeah, I did,” he affirmed, a recognizable spark of fondness in his eyes. “You fit the team well.” The warm feeling of Kita’s praise swelled in your chest once again.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you chuckled softly. “Though support from the sidelines is all I can do,” you sighed, your gaze fixating on the literal fruits of your labor.

“Do you think it’s insignificant?” he asked bluntly. 

“No, not exactly,” you answered after a moment of thought. “I won’t deny that there’s times when I wish I could do more, but as long as I can do my best to help us fulfill our potential, well…”

“It makes it all worth it?” Kita’s quiet tone might’ve been imperceptible if you weren’t in a room alone in the last hour before dawn, but you heard him clearly. His hand had paused where it was wrapping your finger, and he caught your eye. Slowly, his cheeks lifted in a genuine, knowing smile. “I think I understand.”

The moment passed quickly, but you found the image of his expression burned into your mind.  

“You put in just as much effort as everyone else.” Kita caught your eye again before focusing on wrapping the bandage and taping it up. “It doesn’t go unnoticed.” 

He released your hand and stood up, allowing you to test out the expertly dressed finger. Satisfied, he readorned his gloves and began chopping the oranges, leaving you to ponder his words in a moment of comfortable silence. 

Kita had always been a constant presence during your time on the team. Despite not being captain your first year, it had been him who had shown you the ropes of managerial duties. It wasn’t just for you either. Kita was the rock, reliable and strong, that kept the team together, though ever so quietly. It wouldn’t surprise you if he felt that he had a sideline role as well.

Eventually, the two of you fell into easy conversation. You told him about Suna, who you’d been neighbors and childhood friends since before middle school. He mentioned his grandmother, and you noticed the softness in his eyes return. You told him about your uncle’s farm, and even told him to try one of the orange slices, though he refused until he had finished his work. 

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Part 2: "oops"

A/N: Whoaa title namedrop. Suna is NOT a morning person y'all. Also, yes I have cut myself while my hands were numb and didn’t realize it’s a thing. also also, this was originally a oneshot, which is why this part is so goddamn long.  

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@therealwalmartjesus

Wishful Pining

 Ever since she showed up, everything he’s done has gone completely wrong.  He thought he had everything figured out. He thought his life would turn for the better. From the moment he was adopted by Chairman Rose, Bede legitimately thought he had everything at the palm of his hand.  But no.  He was supposed to be unbeatable. He was supposed to be the next Champion of Galar. People would see him for who he shaped himself to be. People would be in awe, would be at his feet to gawk at the marvellous trainer who was gifted by the hands of the amazing chairman himself. He had everything planned out. His first Pokémon. His first battle. His first victory. Everything was coming to his favour.  He had everything, and he would gain everything more.  That is, until she came into his life.

 She just had to ruin everything! That single thought haunted him day and night. Thanks to her, he was disowned by the very man who gave him food and shelter. Thanks to her, he was robbed of his very desire to become Galar’s only hope. Thanks to her, he was dragged by a strange old lady and was visibly forced to shape up into a gym leader against his will.  Well…technically the last part was only half the truth. In time, Bede actually enjoyed and appreciated all the lessons – gruelling as they may be – and this, in time, actually made him into a stronger trainer than he was before.  Hell, thanks to her, he is now one of the most powerful gym leaders in Galar.  Gah! He shakes his head, anger and annoyance bubbled uncomfortably in his stomach. Hands run through fluffy white hair. Teeth grind together, jaw tightening before he opts to take a deep breath. Warm air puffs out of pink lips. He needs to stop, he thinks to himself. It has been 3 years since that happened. Life moves on, and so have they.  He’s moved on. He is moving on.  There is absolutely no reason to lament on the past. Orphan that he is, Bede cannot deny the fact that Opal is family to him now. Despite the harsh trainings and quizzes and all that pink, she is a loving and kind-hearted woman. Everything she did made him into the excellent leader he is now. Groan and whine and growl as much as he wants, Bede will never forget the fact that Opal is the only who…adopted him when he thought he would be alone all over again.  The old lady still has some spunk in her, visiting him once in a while after taking a break from her little travels. She is an estranged woman, no doubt, but it did not take long for Bede to see Opal as the grandmother he never had.  Not that the young man chooses to admit that publically anytime soon.  Oh well, he is sure Opal knows how he feels.  He just wishes the ex-gym leader wouldn’t know much about his feelings for a certain someone.  A sigh slips off his lips.  His train of thought reaches a halt when he hears an eerie caw. Violet eyes look up, spotting a dot of deep black growing bigger and bigger until it forms a shape. Hands tucked inside the pockets of his pink jacket, he takes a few steps back to let the Corviknight land soundly.  Violet eyes never stray away from the young woman who hopped off the back of the Raven Pokémon.  “Thank you, Hilda.” A smile graces those pretty pink lips. Her voice is all he hears, and Bede rues at the fact that his heart starts to pound a few beats faster.  Apparently that wasn’t the worst of it; the second a pair of crimson meets violets, Bede can feel himself breathless.  Oh, he hates this.  “Sorry I’m late,” she apologizes. Her smile still remains present. Still remains beautiful on such a pretty face. “I had to fly back home because I needed to give my mom something. Hope I didn’t make you wait.” Her voice ever so soft, so serene, yet lulls such confidence that comes from such calm teenager.  Ooooh, he hates the beat of his heart.  “You’re irresponsible.” Why would he say that? “Making me wait when I have a lot of things to do.” He really didn’t have anything to do today—and he didn’t wait that long.  Arceus, her smile is a knife to his heart.  “Sorry,” is all she says. Returning the Corviknight back into her ball, Devina shrunk the Pokéball before clipping it to the right side of her belt. “If it makes you feel better, how about I treat you to some ice-cream?” Head tilts slightly to the right. Fingers lightly brush the bangs of deep dark hair. Patiently she awaits his answer, completely unaware that her actions alone cause a whirlpool of emotions in his heart.  “Do you really think free food will please me?” It does. “I’m not one of your rambunctious Pokémon.” He really likes ice-cream.  He wonders what it would be like to see a frown on her face.  “So, no ice-cream?” she ponders curiously.  He does not want to see it anytime soon.  His left eye twitches. “I accept the ice-cream.” He huffs once. Defeats slowly looms within him, but he would rather bite off his own tongue than admit it.  The second his gaze fixates on her again, Bede then holds back a groan to see that smile beam brighter. ---  He wonders how the hell he got roped into hanging out with her.  Was it 3 years ago? No, 2 years to be exact? They were both 15 and still trying to get used to living lives as strong, famous trainers. Devina all the more had to accommodate faster. Ever since she was crowned Champion, task after task came flooding down on her until she had no time for herself. After saving the world from the second coming of The Darkest Day and basically defeating the so-called Unbeatable Champion in a span of a week, the girl definitely had her hands full to the brim.  He couldn’t complain much, though. He was busy prepping himself to replace Opal as Ballonlea’s gym leader. He overthrew her easily (as how he would explain it) and since then, only a very, very handful of trainers were able to defeat him in the yearly Gym Challenge. He guessed he should take pride on that. Trainers were able to see that he was a force to be reckoned with before they could actually see the real force that is the woman sitting right beside him.  It all happened the year after they’ve met that she started to form a sort of friendship with him.  Well…'try' would have been a more appropriate term.  She was relentless. One would wonder how such a calm and collected person could be so assertive and persistent. He was perfectly fine with seeing her as his rival. Nothing more. Nothing less. She is the Galarian Champion. He is the most powerful gym leader in Galar.  But one day came, and so did she. The first morning, Bede took it as nothing more than the usual training routine he had with Opal and the other Fairy Pokémon. The second he opened the front door, however, he was laid stumped at the sight of a smiling trainer right in front of his doorstep.  “How are you?” He remembers the first words that came out of that pretty mouth of hers.  “I was wondering if you’re free today.” He remembers how baffled he was when she admitted that.  “In that case, how about a battle? If I lose, I’ll leave you be to your things. If I win, you have brunch with me.” He remembers rejecting her invitation, then being baffled again, then immediately accepting her challenge.  He lost, of course. And Bede still wonders if that was a good thing or a bad thing.  It became a habit as time went by. Monthly challenges became weekly. Weekly challenges became weekly hangouts. From sitting in a café in Ballonlea with such an awkward silence around them to going around other places with many topics to converse, Bede wouldn’t lie that he was still dumbfounded at the outcome that is their friendship.  Friendship…  Her laughter brings him back to reality. Focused gaze lures to her, then stays perfectly put at the gleam of her smile.  It is the damn mushrooms. It is definitely the damn mushrooms’ fault for putting light into her smile.  “It was the first time I’ve ever seen Hop run so fast.” Snickers tickle their way out of her mouth. “Turns out he can outrun a Charizard, and an angry one too.” Fingers brush her giggling lips. Both sit on a log inside Glimwood Tangle. Of all the places they could explore, Devina decided to chill inside the mystical forest. To her, the place was peaceful and mystifying. And given that it is going to be winter soon, she loves that the forest is not too hot nor too cold.  Bede didn’t complain when she suggested today’s venue. If anything, he doesn’t mind any venue at all if it means being close to her—wait.  Wait… Realization kicks him right in the head. He flinches on the log, then freeze on the spot. Immediately he shakes his head. The strands of long, white curly hair softly slaps his face, but the boy was too preoccupied in making sure he never finished that thought—  “Bede?”  Shit.  Violet eyes snap open, pupils enlarge slightly at the sight of his rival.  Curiosity turns into concern. “You okay there?” Voice ever soft, she scoots an inch closer.  He feels the air getting colder.  “I’m fine.” Sharply he retorts, only to silently regret his tone at the sight of Devina being surprised at his cold reaction. “I just—tired, is all.” Quick. His mind needs to be quick. “Trainers have been coming to the gym lately and trying to battle me as training sessions. They lost, of course. But the amount of trainers this week took quite a toll.” Keep talking. Just keep talking and ignore her mesmerizing eyes.  Maybe he needs to get up and move away from her as well.  But like hell, “It’s really annoying…” He wants nothing more than to close the distance between them. “They just…can’t give up and realize that they’re no match for me and my team.” Words are out of his mouth, but sight is hypnotized by the fiery glow of her iris.  Silence fills the air around them. Only the soothing sounds of Shiinotics and Spritzees can be heard nearby. Two teenagers do not a muscle. One looks at the other quite quizzically. One wishes his body can be swallowed by the earth below.  Pretty pink lips part, then gapes. “A-Anyways—!” he stutters. “Why are we here?” Quickly he changes the subject. Quickly he breaks his gaze away before it can falter down to the shape of her lips.  She is surprised; he can tell.  “Well…” Hesitance bites off her next words. Fidgeting on her seat, Devina cocks her head upwards. “There’s a special reason why I wanted to come to Glimwood Tangle tonight.”  “With me?” Damn it shut up!  He wonders if the tiny fraction of silence was her being offended at his foolish reaction.  “Yeah…” She looks down. Slim fingers play with each other, one pad of her finger tapping the nail of another. “I mean, I know I could have bring Hop or Marnie along.”  To hear Hop’s name, to hear Marnie’s name; Bede doesn’t know why—he somewhat knows, but he rather does not want to know—but to hear those two names feels like needles poking his wild heart.  “But today is our day, you know?”  Whatever feeling of bitterness he felt a few seconds ago disappears in a flash. “What?”  She turns to look at him.  Her smile truly is brighter than any mushroom in Glimwood Tangle.  “Our day to hang out?” She adds on, meekly. “We always chill at different places a few times in a month. And I know you live in Ballonlea and this forest is practically your home, but I feel coming here tonight will make it even more special.”  Oh, she is definitely aiming to make him die of suffocation.  “O…okay…?” His reaction this time is not out of spite, but out of sheer bafflement. Like every other time, Devina truly has a knack in knocking him right out of his comfort zone. He takes a sharp breath, then exhales in a slow, shaky manner. “I don’t want to sound like I’m not having a good time.” Believe me, I do. “But what’s so special about tonight?”  She didn’t answer immediately.  Instead she remains silent, yet her mouth slowly curls that smile he adores so much. Without a word, Devina looks at the giant mushrooms a few steps away from them. Taking the silent signal, Bede dumbly brings his gaze to the colourful fungi.  As is right on cue, the mushrooms glow brighter.  The colours are warm and soft and mesmerizing all together. But unlike the other times where they only glow when touched, these mushrooms begin to glow on their own. Shock paints the man’s face, then awe comes next as the mushrooms start to gleam and sparkle like crystals.  One by one the fungi around them shine. The sounds of Pokémon nearby are music to the twinkling mushrooms, probably in awe as well at nature’s beauty. A colour of pink, blue, lavender, and green paint the forest. The leaves and tree branches sway gently by the touch of calm wind, and this cast glorious shadows on the ground thanks to the shine of the breath-taking moon.  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”  Her voice. Her voice is all it takes to make him come back to reality.  He didn’t realize he was holding a breath, for Bede gasps silently as he looks at her. She is so enthralled by the sight of nature’s gift. She is so absorbed on the sound, the music of floral and Pokémon. Both hands lie on her sides, palms pressed gently against the log.  Ever since she showed up, everything that has happened was completely not part of his plan.  “It is…” She is the biggest inclusion of this unplanned fate.  The glee of enjoying the sight around her turns to surprise when she feels something caressing the back of her right hand. Her head turns to his direction. Crimson eyes widen in silent shock. Smooth cheeks redden at the heat of the moment. She is a sharp person, so Devina holds a short breath when she realizes the very close distance between them. Pink lips part slightly, though she is at lost on whether to ask if everything is okay or to just call out his name—  All of that is flown out the window when she feels soft lips against hers.  Eyes are round as they can be, then immediately shut tight in a second heartbeat. Oh man! The words scream in her mind. Oh man! Oh man! Though panic seems to ring her brain, unspeakable joy burst inside her racing heart. Body now trembling slightly from hand to toe, Devina brings her right hand closer to his, fingers intertwine like perfect puzzle pieces. Breath still held firmly in her lungs, she tilts her head slightly, further deepening the kiss.  And this…her actions alone…the fact that she is returning his kiss…Bede feels as if there are fireworks exploding in his chest.  Emotions completely overpowering what little common sense he has, he brings his hand to cup her face. It’s soft…he wonders. She’s soft… Palm gently caresses her cheek. Fingers slowly slides upwards until they brush the short strands of dark hair. Nerves rattle him endlessly at the physical contact, yet he wants nothing more than to have her desperately close to him.  Chu… He presses the kiss again. Chu… And again. Chuu… And again.  Eyes closed and lungs ache at the baited breath, Bede whines slightly and brushes the tip of his nose against hers. He feels her other hand grip his arm. He feels those soft lips brush his own. The little whine that escaped causes his mouth to part slightly, and Bede feels like melting into a puddle when he feels her lips on his lower lip.  “Bede…”  Her voice feels like a pair of scissors that cut the strings that kept him afloat.  Immediately he snaps his eyes open. As if being kicked by her Cinderace, the young man gasps sharply before pulling apart way faster than they like it to be.  “I—!” Words fail him horribly. “I…I—!” Oh dear fuck, what has he done?  Though darkness consumes the area of the forest, Bede can perfectly see her under the light of the moon, stars, and glimmering mushrooms. He can see her face, flushed and red and utterly kissable. He can see her eyes, quite heavily-lidded with eyelashes fluttering at every needy blink. He can see her lips, parted and wet, deliciously inviting him to taste what he has been missing all along.  Saliva tastes like rocks as it slides down his throat.  “I need to—” He has ruined it. “I just…!” He has ruined a perfectly sound friendship with someone who has the common decency to like him for who he actually is. “I—go—!” He doesn’t know why, but the thought alone pricks tears in his eyes.  Not taking a chance for her to respond, Bede jumps to his feet and runs away.  …Or at least, he decides to, if not for the fact that he has forgotten the young woman before him apparently is way stronger than she looks.  “Wait—!” Impulse works faster in terms of verbal and physical reactions. Actually forgetting her own strength, Devina grips his hand that still holds hers and accidentally tugs him downwards.  “What the—!”  Plop!  “Oof!”  Thankfully, the ground is soft.  Unthankfully, the young woman above him is made of flesh and bones.  Everything happens so fast. The first minute, they were sitting on a log, talking and enjoying their little moment. The second minute, they were kissing – intensely, he might add – and thought of nothing but her body pressed closer against his. The third minute, he remembers panicking, then trying to run away, then being forcibly chucked down by the strength of what society calls her ‘The Divine Champion’.  And now? Bede only groans in ache as his elbows press against the soft soil.  It takes him a moment, but heat then paints his face to realize his rival whom he has kissed like a hungry fool is now leaning against his body.  The mushrooms still glimmer beautifully. The wind still hums its soothing tune.  But by Arceus, not even the Alpha Pokémon itself can rid the raging wave of emotions in the gym leader’s heart.  He then hears mumbles on his chest. “Uh…” Like a fool, he gapes. One elbow still placed as an anchor, Bede nervously moves his right hand towards her. “De…Devina…?” His hands shake terribly. He knows damn well she can hear his heart screaming like a mad Loudred right now. “Devina…?”  “Don’t go…”  His hand flinches and hovers near her back.  Truly he is at lost for words for the hundredth time tonight. He remains frozen in place despite the ache in his left elbow. Bede feels a shiver—her shiver, his shiver—and this drives the boy nothing more than the need to wrap his arms around her.  “Bede…” Her voice rumbles against his still chest, against his drumming heart. Hands clutching the front of his jacket, Devina takes a deep breath and looks up at him.  Arceus take him now for her longing gaze is a surely the reason for his death.  “Don’t go…” She repeats. Legs brought up until her knees touch the soil beneath them. This allows Bede some room to breathe properly—which he still fails—and this also allows Devina to adjust herself so that her weight won’t crush him.  She is now leaning on his chest, though. Not that he’s complaining.  “Bede, I…” What will she say? What will she do? She already yanked the poor guy onto the ground. The least she could do is get off of him. “I just…” But no. Instead she just tightens her grip on his jacket.  Mouth pressed softly against his chest. “I love you…” It is now or never. “I… Please don’t go…” Her face is hot. She really wishes winter will come falling to her body now. “I love you…” Unable to handle the pressure of the moment anymore, Devina presses her face against his chest.  While the young champion wallows in shame, Bede is too busy being flabbergasted by her confession.  “I love you…” Did he hear her wrong? “I love you…” Did the impact of her pull and weight actually killed him and he was sent to heaven?  Violet eyes widen, sight sharpen then blur then sharpen again. Time feels as if it has stopped for them. If Bede didn’t realize that he has been holding his breath for a good minute, he sure does now as he gasps out loud in shock.  Devina doesn’t know what he is feeling right now. She is too afraid to even look at him right now. As much as she wants to run away from this, ironic that is sounds considering a few minutes ago, the champion only lingers on his body until she grimly awaits the second Bede pushes him away out of disgust and hatred—  Her body startles, but she feels herself being dropped downwards.  Quickly she brings her head up. Crimson eyes widen in shock, pupils dilate and enlarge at the quick adjustment of darkness and light. She then sees Bede lying on the ground, one arm draped across his eyes while the other spread to the side.  Man, she surely is feeling so many emotions in one night; she is just glad Starlight is sleeping soundly inside her Friend ball or else the Hatterene would definitely throw a violent fit.  He isn’t saying a word. Neither is she.  Both wonder if they can stay like this until the next morning.  “…ou…too…”  Confusion sparks her mind as she tilts her head. “Uh…what?” Deciding to not get off his chest, Devina instead scoots closer. “Bede—?”  “I said I love you!” His arm flings away from his face, and he is equally startled and glad that he didn’t accidentally smack her head.  Well, they sure are feeling a lot of emotions right now.  Their faces mirror each other. Cheeks burn like a thousand suns. Their heartbeats now boom as one. Their bodies still and shiver in a mixture of shock and glee.  “I…” Ever since she showed up, he has the tendency to pour his heart out to her.  Unleashing a sigh of great defeat, Bede finally just throws his arms around her. “I love you…a lot...” Very thankful that her face is close to his, the young gym leader lifts his head to plant a short kiss to her lips. Stifling a shy groan, he shuts his eyes and let the earth take him.  Her body jolts slightly at the hug, at his kiss, at his confession. Did she hear him right, she wonders. If this was truly the trick of some trickster Pokémon, Devina really did have the right mind to unleash and awaken all six of her Pokémon to hunt the cruel being down.  But to feel his embrace, so warm and snug. To hear his rapid heartbeat beating against hers. Devina can’t beat back the smile that shakily, shamelessly grows on her beet red face.  She giggles once. Twice. Then laughs gleefully before nuzzling into his neck.  Arceus, she will be the death of him as he flinches from the delicious contact.  “I love you, Bede!”  Ever since she showed up into his life, Bede has known nothing but wonderful happiness.  His smile grows wider and wider. Laughter then accompanies her own. Not caring about the flushed red that burns right to the tips of his ears, Bede lifts his head again to press a lingering, loving kiss to the top of her head.  “I love you too, Devina.” END

Dragon Seekers. Chapter 1.

I thought that I should share the first chapter of a book that I am writing. This is my own original work (not a fanfic). I have published the start of the first chapter a while ago, but I thought that I should share the whole first chapter.

If you guys would like to see more of it, please let me know.

I hope you all enjoy it.

"Jamie, are you sure that you're alright?

Jamie Jones looked up at his teacher as the class started to leave. He could feel like he was trembling without even meaning to. He quite often liked the teachers at his school. There wasn't one that he felt like was not friendly towards him. Not many of his classmates even acknowledged his existence, so it was difficult for him to get along with any of them. Even in group tasks, no one would even look at him, let alone hear what he has to say.

"I'm fine. Why?" Jamie answered hastily, shoving his school books into his bag.

"Dear, there's a bruise on your neck. Are you sure you're alright?" The teacher repeated her question. Jamie sighed heavily. He briefly readjusted his scarf to try to hide the dark blue mark that stained his skin.

"I'm fine. I just fell down the stairs at home." He said, feeling like a broken record player. His life felt like one too. Wake up, eat, go to school, get asked relentless questions, get bullied, go home, do homework, eat again, sleep. That's pretty much how his life went. Or, it would've been if HE wasn't there.

"You say that Jamie, but this is really starting to make us worry. Your ankle was broken three months ago and you had to be in hospital because of a concussion last week. Is there something going on at home?" The teacher continued with her questions.

"No. Excuse me, Miss. I need to get home. Mum will worry." Jamie hastily replied, his body shuddering. The twelve year old zipped up his beaten up rack sack and slung it onto his shoulders. The movement was so rapid that he almost fell sideways. He ran out of the classroom, ignoring the teacher teacher calling out to him. He can't respond to that. Weaving in and out of the sea of students, Jamie couldn't pray more than he already began with to get home. He can't be late, he just can't. His heart is pounding so much that anyone could've mistaken it for a drum. His head was reeling too much for him to focus on anything else. His feet hit the pavement so hard and fast that a part of him thought that the ground would split open and swallow him whole. He would've loved that to happen. It'll be much better than going home.

———————————————————————————

By time Jamie got home, he looked like he had run the London Marathon. His sweat drenched skin covered him from head to toe. His white shirt was creased and stuck to his chest and back like glue. His black school shoes were dirty and wet (it had been raining earlier, so he had to run through puddles). His school blazer was so untidy that it seemed to be slipping off of one shoulder, along with one strap of his rucksack. His back felt sore too because as he was running, his bag had been thumping down on it harshly. His face was beetroot red from running. His lamp black hair was messy and his fringe was stuck to his forehead thanks to his sweating. He truly looked like he was in a right state.

Jamie took a few deep breathes to try to replenish his constricted lungs. He looked up at the house that stood in front of him. Once upon a time, he loved this house when it was just him and his mum. It feels like an eternity ago since those days. And Jamie loathed that reality.

Jamie inhaled deeply, trying hard not to think about anything that'll make him run away. No matter how badly he wants to. Exhaling slowly, he rested his hands on the door handle and turned it silently. Just as silently, he entered the hallway. It felt just as cold and bitter as it was when he left for school. It wasn't even winter, it was the middle of spring. It shouldn't feel this cold. Jamie tried his best to shake it off furiously. He didn't want to feel like this right now. He gently closed the door. As he did so, he could smell something warm and wholesome. He could feel like an ocean was filling his mouth. It felt so refreshing to smell proper home cooked food than the dull food that was served at school. It made Jamie forget the coldness that he felt. It made him feel peaceful despite the dread that he felt earlier. He slipped off his shoes, placing them calmly onto the shoe rack. He slipped off his rucksack and rummaged through it. Out of an unwanted habit, he pulled out his maths book and pencil case. He didn't want to do homework after a long day at school. He wanted to at least have a break, especially from all the running he did. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he didn't however. He closed up his school bag and placed it on a hook inside the cupboard under the stairs. It fit snugly amount the summer coats and handbags. Jamie removed his scarf and hung it along with the rucksack. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up instantly, reacting to the brutal to the brutal coldness that he felt earlier. He ignored it, closing the cupboard and stepped into the kitchen.

It had a hard wood surface with white cupboards and draws. A black cooker and oven stood out perfectly in the middle of it. The smell wafted from the cooker filled Jamie's nostrils again. It reminded him again of how hungry he truly was.

A woman stood at the cooker, humming a quiet tune as she stirred whatever was in the pot. She wore a long sleeved turtle neck shirt and jeans. Her long black hair was tied back in a long braid, reaching her hips. Her hair had obvious silver streaks from the roots to the end of her braid. They weren't natural grey hairs that one would get as one gets older, nor was it hair dye. It was pure, natural coloured hair that she was born with. Jasmine Jones turns around upon hearing the almost silent footsteps from Jamie. She had a golden chain around her neck, suspending a golden palm sized locket with a blue gem at its centre. She pulls a smile but it doesn't quite reach her ears. It looked almost out of place among the the creases of worry on her face.

"Hi, honey. How was school?" She asked, trying hard not to look at the all too obvious bruise on Jamie's neck. Jamie tried to ignore the face she was making. There was once a time when she would give a legitimate smile. He would give anything to see it again.

"It was...fine." He said slowly, not entirely sure how to answer. Jasmine only looked at him, concern emitting from her eyes. Jamie tried to ignore it as he placed his match book to the page that he needed to go to for his set homework. He didn't start right away however. Instead he followed his nose to the pot, wondering what was being made.

"Spaghetti bolognese tonight, Jamie." Jasmine smiled, as if she had just read his mind. She grabbed a spoon and sampled a little of the Italian dish. She offered it to Jamie, who almost greedily ate the whole thing. "How is it?"

"I think it could use a little more pepper, but it's good." The son smiled, warm feelings of love bubbling inside him. Jasmine's smile looked more convincing as she placed the used spoon into the sink. "Aren't you making this a bit early? You know how Carl gets."

"I know. If I made this later than it wouldn't be ready on time." Jasmine sighed, trying not to seem worried. Jamie sighed, annoyed at the obvious facade that his mum was putting up. He couldn't help but notice something heart breaking. Jasmine had her sleeves rolled up, making sure that they wouldn't get dirty while she was cooking. This revealed the dark, large, hand sized stains on her pale skin.

"What happened?" Jamie asked, trying to mask the overwhelming worry he was feeling.

"It's nothing, Jamie. It was just a slip up." Jasmine sighed, hastily covering up the bruises. Jamie shook his head lightly. He heard this excuse everyday. He loathed it and he desperately wished that his mum wouldn't lie like that.

"You can't keep doing this, Mum. We can't keep doing this. We have to leave." Jamie pleaded, sweat dripping a little from his forehead. He wanted to get away, run away with Jasmine so that they could be happy finally for the first time in years. Jasmine looked at him. His heart was breaking as he saw that the woman looked like she was going to cry. She opened her quivering mouth to say something.

"WOMAN!"

Jasmine and Jamie flinched horribly at this bellowing noise and the door slamming. The door slammed so harshly that the house practically threatened to collapse. Jasmine turned back to the spaghetti bolognese as Jamie hastily went back to his homework. He tried to focus on the mathematics in front of him. The heavy footsteps and the heavy breathing were the only things that filled his ears, distracting him completely. He swallowed as silently as he could as the noises grew louder. They stopped at the doorway. Jamie's heart once again pounded harshly and he actually felt like throwing up. Hesitating, his ocean blue eyes drifted to the doorway.

A rotund man with pale ginger coloured hair stood there. He wore a checked shirt that was unbuttoned, showing off a grey stained white vest, cameo trousers and heavy boots. He had dog tags dangling from his neck that he constantly showed off boastfully. His stench overpowered the fresh home cooking as if he hadn't showered in a year. His stubby face had a permanent scowl plastered over it whenever he was alone with the mother and son, but never out in public. He had been in this house since Jamie was seven years old, and life couldn't be worse.

Carl looked at Jamie with a deadly gaze. The terrified boy quickly shifted his eyes down to the paper in front of him. The maths questions stared back at him relentlessly, begging for them to be answered. Jamie couldn't bring himself to concentrate. The heavy footsteps thumped and the heavy breathing heaved. They stopped right behind him and he could hear Carl leaning down, hovering over his shoulder.

"Just started did you? Just got home?" He huffed, the alcohol on his breath was nauseating to Jamie. He held his breath and nodded mutely. Carl huffed again as he patted Jamie's head harshly. "Good. Just like my days back at base. Discipline is everything. So is obedience." Carl finally walked away from Jamie. The boy let out a silent breath of relief. However the dread immediately returned as the man went over to Jasmine, leering over her shoulder just as he did to the boy. Jasmine tensed up and her breath came out in terrible shudders. The air seemed to be cold and harsh. The hairs on the back of Jamie's neck stood up, warning him about the anger that was present in the room.

"What are you making?" Carl asked, suddenly sounding calm. Jamie tensed up, knowing what was coming.

"Spaghetti bolognese." Jasmine answered, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

"You're making it too early." Said Carl, his voice starting to lose its calmness.

"But if I started making it later, it wouldn't be ready on-" Jasmine tried to explain.

"Throw it away." Carl spat, his voice getting louder.

"What?" Jasmine whispered. Jamie could feel his body tense up even more, causing it to involuntarily shake.

"Must I repeat myself?! THROW...THAT...FILTH...AWAY!" bellowed Carl, his fists impossibly tightening up so much from rage. Jamie slapped his hands on top of his ears. He wanted so desperately to not have to listen to this.

"But-" Jasmine tried once again to explain. She suddenly let out an ear piercing yelp after a horrible vibrating sound emerged. Jamie whipped around at this. Jasmine was knocked to the ground. She was holding her face, covering the red mark that tainted her skin. Carl stood over her like a beast, his arm still after striking his emotionally broken wife. He breathed heavily, as if his unforgivable actions took out all of his strength.

"It's all your fault, Jasmine. And you know it. No wonder your parents abandoned you." The man continued to berate her as she whimpered like a child. "So clean up your mess. Or do I have to punish you even further?" Jasmine pitifully shook her head. Her breathing came out in short, quick shudders. She got to her trembling feet and turned off the cooker. Carl kept his eyes trained on her like a hawk. Jamie too couldn't stop watching, but mainly because he was frozen in fear. No matter how many times he had seen or heard it, he couldn't stop watching. Every time it happened, he desperately wanted to run to a neighbour's and get help or call 999. He sometimes imagined himself to fight Carl, give him a taste of his own medicine. However, he never brings himself to do so. He always gives himself into fear. And he loathed it.

"What are you looking at?!" Barked Carl, as he felt the twelve year old looking at him. Jamie tensed up. He looked back down at his homework, trying hard to believe that he was invisible. He tired to think of a place where he would feel safe. A remote island off the coast of nowhere. An island that no one had discovered or will ever discover. An island where no one but Jamie and Jasmine lived peacefully. No politics to heckle them. No illnesses to be fearful of. No weapons or wars that they would feel threatened by. Best of all, no one like Carl to disrupt the life that they deserved to have. The perfect paradise for a boy like him to have only with his mother. The perfect fantasy for Jamie to have.

The fantasy shattered like glass as a pair of greasy hands grabbed Jamie's school blazer. He was yanked out of his chair, the wooden furniture clattered to the ground. Jasmine could be heard gasping. Jamie could feel like his body was weightless, his toes barely taping the ground. He looked at the large man, his dark eyes were blazing with fury. Jamie begged his body to fight back and his voice to scream. However, his body was completely numb and his voice had gone mute.

"Who do you think you are?! Guess sending you to school without even so much as a slice of bread or a penny for lunch wasn't enough punishment for you?! Right?!" Carl yelled, shaking the poor boy furiously. Jasmine tried to take him away from her son, but Carl shoved her away. This has sent her down to the ground again in a sobbing mess.carl refocused his attention back to Jamie. "You want more punishment?! Fine! I'll teach you a lesson that you'll never forget!"

Take 3...Action!

BTS

Jeon Jungkook/Reader

Genre: Drabble, Fake Dating AU, Highschool AU

Words: 2.6k

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"Alexa, play Wonderwall." + "0/10 would not recommend."

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“We have to pretend to date,” was a sentence better left not coming out of Jeon Jungkook’s mouth.  Especially when it was directed towards you.  The school you had both been attending for years and now standing as Juniors was once again putting on an end of the first-term play.  With you being involved in drama, it was only natural that you auditioned for a role and got lead actress.  The only problem is, your co-star playing the male protagonist was played by none other than Jeon Jungkook. 

It was a winter love story, something the swooning adolescent high school populous and their elder family members could smile and talk about when the story ends.  Something just in time for Christmas before exams and then welcoming the break before the second-term in the next year. 

You’ve played love leads before, but never with Jungkook.  He was one of the drama members who you admired for his talent sure- with both acting and his knack for working the stage equipment- but you saw him as a rival as well.  Neck and neck with you in terms of stage performances.  

Now, here he stood, corning you and telling you something utterly ridiculous.  Fake dating? 

“Excuse me?”  You side eyed him.  

“You and I are both leads in a romance, right?  We should date to really get into character.” 

“I can play romances just fine without the outside facade, thank you very much.” 

“But, you’ve never acted with me before.  If you don’t prepare for it then you might accidentally fall in love with me.  That would be a tragedy.” You had half a mind to stomp on his foot with your overly dramatic platformers and leave him with a busted toe or two.  You refrained yourself though, you had more self-control than that.  

“I don’t believe in stage performances influencing genuine affection.  It’s acting, not reality.”  When acting, you’re given a new name, a new face, a new persona in all.  People who mix and match fiction emotions to real life were fools in your eyes.  Or maybe it was your lack of relationships in your high school career that held your belief to sturdy. 

“So, then it would be a problem if we fake date.” You opened your mouth to fight him again as he just covered your lips with his palm, effectively stopping you before you started.  “It’s not a problem if it’s fake.  It’s fake just like the play.  It’s just constant rehearsing.  Mutual fake pinning, the play is a success and then voila, we can have a clean ‘break up’.” 

There was a slight pause as your narrow, unbelieving eyes looking into his own pleading on.  He looking off above your head as he started adding on to himself with a low, slurred voice.  “I also may have accidentally lied to Ms. Heu about us dating when I found out our roles.”  

You throw his hand off your face and got closer to him as you grabbed his collar.  Shaking him around the best your small arms could move his solid, strength and conditing body anyways. 

“Why would you lie about something like that?!  How- why the hell would you even mention it! How does something like a casting call turn into a fake relationship you tell to teachers faces, Jeon!” You panicked as Jungkook slapped his hand over your mouth again, shushing you as he looked back and forth.  

It wasn’t long ago that the drama club was released from their activities, someone could still be lurking around.  If the plan got out before it was even started, his ego would surely be bruised.  As he leaned closer to you, hunching over, your hands still holding his collar as he whispered to you to keep it down, a small gasp was heard behind Jungkook’s back. 

“You really have to do that shit here?” Taehyung, a fellow actor and stagehand stood with his tack sweater vest and khaki pants with his worn out slides.  But with a face like that and a set of glasses to top off his ‘studious’ look, he made the sweater vest thing work somehow.  

Jungkook and Taehyung happened to be fellow friends, Taehyung being a year above the two of you as a proud standing Senior. And it just so happens that the position the two of you were in made it seem that you were both locked away in a hidden corner of the empty halls getting very familiar with each other. 

Jungkook quickly whipped around placed a smug look on his face.  Running a thumb under his lip like he was wiping away some exotic act.  He was able to switch his acting side on and off way too easily.  He kept his back towards you, shuffling back a smidge to make sure to keep some believable distance of intimacy between you both. You even instinctively brought your hands up to his sides to brace him. 

“You really can’t blame me Taehyung.  You wouldn't understand, you’re single.”  He punched at him as Taehyung was more than capable of getting a girlfriend, but rather he was more interested in his studies and his scholarship for arts after graduation. 

“I’m single but choice, shut your hole.” 

“Single by choice my foot,” Jungkook retorts.  “You’re single because although you may charm the ladies, no one wants to openly date a walking sweater vest.” 

“That is completely false and you know it!” Taehyung motioned to you hiding- rather being hidden- behind Jungkook’s back.  “Y/n would probably go on a date with me given the chance.”

“Don’t come for my girl.  I’ll knock you right the fuck out sweater boy,” Jungkook promised with an almost too innocently formed smile. Sending chills straight down Taehyung’s spine.  You grabbed Jungkook’s ear, tugging him down as you chewed him out. Talking in a whisper so Taehyung couldn’t hear.  Jungkook arguing back to you just as quietly- which shocked the senior because he didn’t know Jungkook was capable of anything lower than a yell. 

“So,” Taehyung started, “you’re both dating now?” Jungkook looked at you, dare you to say you saw a pleading look in his eyes.  With a withheld sigh, you looked at Taehyung. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “We are.”  You missed the chance to see a face-splitting smile on your ‘boyfriend’ because now Taehyung was busy being a nosy upperclassman and demanding the blossoming love story of two youths. 

What a headache. 

It was week three of your ‘relationship’ with Jungkook.  Oddly enough, it wasn’t as suffocating as you originally expected it to be.  Jungkook was a complete sweetheart.  Divulged in his role as your boyfriend with kisses on your cheek, random attacks from behind that lead to him resting his chin on your shoulder to even tutoring you in weak subjects he excelled at. 

He’s taken you out on a number of times to fast food, legitimate restaurants, and an arcade once or twice.  He actually let you win some games against him too quoting that someone so cute shouldn’t lose every game they play, even against a king of games. 

You felt guilty for assuming he was a bad guy of mischieve when he was really a very kind person.  You made sure to tell him that and all he did was laugh it off, forgiving you with a faint redness to his neck and ears that went completely over your head. 

Now, you both were acting completely 100% smitten without ill will towards each other.  You both had grown close and sometimes you forgot it was all an act.  Something that would end after the coming weekend.  After the play, the curtains would close on more than one thing. 

“Cut!” Yelled Mrs. Heu.  “Let’s move to act 3, scene 2.  Jeon, Y/l/n, get ready!”  Nonstop rehearsals lead to this.  The final dress rehearsal before the first show tomorrow. 

Jungkook and you played your roles well, almost too well as even Mrs. Heu found herself swooning in delight.  Your interactions were simply fluent and you both seemed to just get it.  Get each other. 

“You going to Jungkook’s again?” Taehyung asked you as you had left to change into your own clothes and came back to leave.  You often went to Jungkook’s for line studying. 

You nodded.  “Yeah.  He said we should celebrate after so much rehearsing with a stupid rom-com marathon. Though, I’m sure I’ll be stuck watching Marvel movies again,” you chuckled. 

“No doubt.  Can you quote Iron-man word for word yet?” Taehyung teased. 

“Almost.”

“Y’all bad mouthing me?” Jungkook hopped into the conversation.  Slipping a snake-like arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him.  You easily found your role and leaned into him. 

“We’d never,” you chided.  Jungkook pinched your side. 

“That’s a lie sweetheart, and you know it,” he scrunched his nose down at you.  Taehyung fake gagged at the overly sugary display.  “You ready? Shitty romance comedies are calling our name!” You rolled your eyes at him as Taehyung sent you a fake kiss that Jungkook ‘slapped’ away before peppering your face in his own kisses. 

Shockingly enough, Jungkook didn’t subject you into Marvel that night.  YOu both stuck to the true word of rom-com, commenting and making fun of some cheesy lines or over the top cliches.  All while Jungkook’s mom occasionally checked up on you two before she found you both passed out on your 3rd movie.  For some reason, the fact his mom liked you so much, made you happy. 

Then, the play came.  The first night went without a hitch.  Scene flowed easily and you and Jungkook never once floundered.  Your entire cast put on a great first day.  Even Mr. Sweater-vest decked in his old school suit nailed his role (though it wasn’t shocking given his talent as an actor). 

Though, as it is a romance set for the most romantic celebration that is Christmas, of course, there's a final scene kiss.  Shared between both protagonists.  Jungkook and you and rehearsed it anytime Mrs. Heu asked.  It was pure professionalism, but when you were on stage, that first true performance kiss was actually butterfly-inducing.  You had no idea why. 

When night two came, so did the second kiss.  Those same butterflies came back and nearly made you stutter.  Now, you had an idea why.  When curtains closed on night two and the play was officially over, Jungkook took you home as per usual.  Though, now the play was really over.  Now, you’d have to ‘break up’ with him. 

You were disappointed.  You let yours actually believe this relationship was real for a time.  Forgetting completely that it was fundamental.  Now, you actually fel for him. 

You accidentally fell for Jungkook.  Your co-star.  And you were crushed that the relationship you both had would be gone soon. Whatever kind of relationship it really was. 

“Stupid,” you called yourself in the darkness of your bedroom. 

The next week went without Jungkook as everyone was slammed with finals and tests back to back.  Even if you wanted to face him, you could never find the time anyway.  THough, maybe that ‘break’ was what you needed to clear your head.  To try and convince yourself you most certainly were not crushing on Jeon Jungkook. 

Sitting at your desk, cheek cupped in your palm as you dazed off between passing times before the next class and next test before the longest 90 minutes of your life passed by again.  Your phone in your lap dings with a notification as you instinctively check it.  

Jungkook: Listen, I’m not a test taker by any stretch, but fucking math finals are fucking awful.  0/10 would not recommend. 

You scoffed lightly at his message before locking your screen again.  3 minutes later, another ding. 

Jungkook: Left on read? By my girlfriend? Harsh

You: Aren’t we supposed to break up?

Jungkook: Ouch. My heart hurts. So much so I have to ask:  Alexa play Wonderwall. 

Jungkook: Srsly though.  I want to talk about that.  Can we talk after school?  I’ll buy you burgers? 

You: Make it fries and you’ve got a deal.

Jungkook: Hell yeah!

Bell ringing, phone shoved in your bag and now nerves creeping up your neck.  You were gonna have to accept your stupid crush after all and break up.  How lame is that? 

Jungkook was tapping his foot relentlessly as Taehyung watched him.  Being a TA for the semester (all for some stupid student tutoring program for his scholarship), and being Jungkook’s friend, Jungkook spilled his guts to Tae about the whole fake relationship with you.  As well as the planned break up.  He called it stupid; plain and simple.  And it was. 

Now, he watched as his friend slammed his face into his desk.  He chuckled.  Jungkook was pathetic at feelings.  Or rather, these types of feelings. 

When the final bell rang for the day, Jungkook grabbed his stuff and was zipping out of the classroom.  Going to yours was second nature now.  Peeking through the doorway, he saw you packing up your things and standing from your desk.  Noticing him, you waved at you and the two of you were off for some not so healthy food. 

“So, about our break up,” Jungkook started as you bit a fry in half.  He sat across from you at the table and he looked almost worried about something. 

“Are you worried that some backlash might hit you when it happens?” Jungkook looked at you with wide eyes and scrunched brows.  Pure disbelief if you ever saw it. 

“Wha- backlash?  No! I just,” he sighed to himself. 

“Seriously, if you're worried about something.  Tell me.  Maybe I can help or we can figure something out or-”

“I want you to be my real girlfriend now.” Jungkook has always hated silence.  Now more than ever. “It's just, this fake thing was so real to me. I know I kinda forced you into it to begin with, but it’s just so comfortable around you.  I’m comfortable with you. You’ll sit and watched the same movies over and over again.  My mom likes you.  You’re a great actress and have a lot of potentials.  You're just- amazing.  And now I want that amazing girl to be mine.  For real this time.”

The silence grew between the two of you as the bustling joint behind your back murmured in the building. You spun a fry between your fingers, the salt sticking to the pads of your fingers.  You seemed to nod to yourself, looking up at Jungkook. 

“Break up with me, Jungkook.” 

“What?” 

“If you break up with your fake girlfriend, then you can get a real girlfriend.” 

Jungkook smiled and leaned across the table slightly.  “Really?!” You laughed at his large doe eyes that sparkled with so much happiness and excitement.  You nodded.  “Alright, this fake relationship is officially terminated!” He bounced his legs like an excited child.  “Hey, let's do a third and final take of that kiss from the play.” 

“Why?” 

“Please!”  You rolled your eyes, a sign of acceptance.  He hopped out of his chair and bounced to stand over you.  “Annnd, action,” he whispered when he leaned down to kiss you. You tasted like salt and he tasted like the chocolate milkshake he ordered and nursed on before he brought the topic up. 

He pulled away, giggling like a boy in love.  “Hello, girlfriend.”  You playfully shoved him as he took a new seat at your side. Slinging his arm around the back of your chair as he then began to bug you. Trying his damnedest to get his new. official girlfriend to drip her fries into his milkshake.