#Best Travel Coffee Mug 2020

[shivsdownstairsneighbour]

Chérie - End of the Line

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x Fem. Reader

Description: A puzzling email and a new shoot gets you closer to Stewy once more. Maybe it's time to see how far things can go only for a night.

Rating: Teen/Mature

Word Count: 4k. Part one of the fic, though each can also be stand alones.

AN: Dearest reader, this author has to complete her yearly research report so, of course, it was compulsory to succumb to fic brainrot before typing the report. The dress comes from the Schiaparelli 2020 couture runway. While it lacks a specific name, if you search for the runway lookbook, you'll spot it from the embroidery details (all magnificent and superb). I wanted the closest thing to a SATC naked dress moment while keeping the going to a gala vibes.

Your phone ringing and vibrating right beside you at your desk did wonders in waking you up after a long night editing and postproduction of campaign materials for NYC fashion week. The glam is for the runway, the sleepless night is for the creatives behind the whole operation.

"Good morning?" You responded, not entirely sure if it was morning or afternoon.

"Greetings Miss, we're calling from Mr. Hosseini's office to confirm your presence this afternoon for the media materials." The ever so polite voice of Mrs. Margaret’s, Stewy's assistant, was surely a new way of waking up.

"Uh, yes, I've already confirmed a week ago and sent the tech brief of what I need in the room." You answered, standing up to get the coffee machine running before jumping to the shower.

"Of course, and you'll find it all according to your specifications. We're only missing your measurements, for which you haven't responded to the request sent via email three days ago."

"I beg your pardon, my measurements?" You froze in front of the cabinets, afraid to drop the mug out of shock.

"Yes, madame. Please send them via email at your earliest convenience."

"What does that have to do with me popping in for some pics?” Your voice tone conveyed beyond disbelief and your hand held even stronger to the mug.

"It's a personal request, I have no additional information about the matter. Please do send them and hope you have a pleasant day."

You were left beyond baffled. You actually thought it was a joke to have someone ask for your measurements and, since it came from an email address you didn't recognize, you figured it must be a prank. Why on earth would your measurements matter for a two-hour shoot? The request for measurements was baffling, making you feel the urge to text him to figure who came up with such a ridiculous request. However, truth to be told, beyond a text here and there or the occasional coincidences at a public event, Stewy and you wouldn't talk much, if ever. There was very little beyond a quick flirt and a drink. Plus, this was work, and when your professional name was called for, you liked to keep things strictly business.

Before you could do anything to contact him about that matter, the brand representative from last night's runway called to ask for the contact sheets and the final 6 pic run to use for press statements. You mindlessly typed your measurements though made a mental note to demand some answers from Stewy. The three coffees you had downed by them were starting to make their magic on you and, by the time you were done with your things, you looked a little haggard from the late nights, but with a bit of effort, you looked pulled together and ready to tackle the shoot.

Since they promised to stick to your tech brief as requested, you travelled light with only your camera bag and two lenses for what you envisioned a relatively easy shoot. Considering the hotel already had great lighting in the room, it was only a matter of setting the camera adequately to get the best out of the space. In hindsight, that could also use your own pent-up questions to raise some reactions from him that would make for a good picture. Mrs. Margaret was waiting for you at the hotel entrance and guided you immediately to the room. She didn't mention anything beyond the schedule and handed you the comms pack that would come out of them. The idea was to make it a sort of approachable, yet exclusive profile meant to be part of a joint social media-press strategy derived from the increased interest in his profile, both personal and business.

"Well someone looks as if they didn't have their beauty sleep. Or any sleep at all." He says as soon as he spots you walking into the room. He was wearing a bathrobe and sitting on the recliner by the bed.

"It's the post fashion week eye bags. Tres chic." You glared at him, not impressed by the lack of a greeting. What happened to normal courtesy like a good afternoon?

"Your working station must be somewhere over there. Make yourself at home." He pointed towards the mahogany desk that had the equipment placed and the already mounted studio flash beside it.

"Sure, because home is definitely overlooking the park." You responded, clearly caught by the wonderful views the room offered.

"Snarky. That's new." He turned towards the walk-in wardrobe, and you let a long sight before getting to the setup. It wouldn’t be long but the lack of sleep might start creeping in if you let it.

You set up the camera and start plugging in everything to the set up before starting the shoot. You have a shooting remote active for moments where you with the camera would be too intrusive or if you wanted to have a more upfront conversation without the camera meddling between him and you. They've just started with skincare and the press girl is pulling some questions while you shoot, and the social media guy is getting some backstage content. Curiosity is getting the best of you but you don't know when to ask about the whole measurements thing, especially when surrounded by so many people, some being fellow colleagues from adjacent fields, like Sylvie, the stylist.

By the time they're done with skincare and hair, the press people take a break before he's fully dressed, and you're left with the hairdresser, the make-up artist and the stylist. You might be buzzed by the rush of getting someone not only camera ready, as red carpet ready was a must, to feel the wear and tear from the week. However, you're also sleep deprived and terribly irrational, so you just blurt it out when the hairdresser asks you to take a seat at her station while he comes out of the wardrobe having had the final fitting of his trousers hems.

"Why does your team need my measurements?" Not only did everyone turn to him, but you could feel it, more than ever, his eyes burning through you.

"Everyone, out. Take five, get a coffee, smoke, whatever you need." Everyone left the room, no questions asked, leaving you two standing in the middle of it. "You're impossible to surprise, aren't you?"

"No, I like surprises, but asking through your assistant something of the sort isn't pleasant."

"Well, here's the surprise." He took your hand and guided you to the rack, where four black dust bags were hanging, each with a color-coded ribbon.

"The red one's my choice, I've seen you around and think it'll suit you. The blue is PR, would be lovely to see you on that one for the sake of this operation. The green's the stylist choice, and the pink is a wild card from her too. We could've gotten you more choices if you would've been punctual with your measurements." He said, with such naturality, you felt as the last person in the room to be on the deal.

"I think you've skipped over at least 10 steps previous to this conversation."

"You're my date and I can't have you walking around the red carpet or the gala looking like that." He said while pointing out to your smart trousers and shirt outfit. It was meant to be functional, not glam worthy.

"You know it would've been way easier to just ask upfront?"

"But where's the surprise in it?" He responded, with an almost mocking smirk on his face you wished to at least challenge a little.

"Your date? To the couturier's gala?" Both disbelief and a raised brow conveying the ridiculousness of his move.

"I know you're not booked or on assignment tonight."

"Great choice of words. This is making me feel like an expensive stand-in." His naturality on the subject was making you go from anger to uneasiness. A heads-up would’ve been a way better option.

"Booked or not, choose one, let them pamper you and have a night off."

"I still have to deliver these for your team."

"They're not due tomorrow, are they?" That bit was true, having until next Sunday magazines and society sections to publish them. Feeling accomplished, he turned to face you without dropping the hand he held.

You didn't realize, or rather chose to willingly ignore, the fact that he knew you held the remote in your hand. You were probably still within the camera's field of view, and in a swift move he took it from you and snapped a pic from the moment. The studio flash snapped you out of the moment and, just as quickly as everyone had been dismissed, the crew returned to the room. Stewy could've easily saved at least half an hour from prep time if he would've been clear from the start with his intentions. Nevertheless, you trusted everyone knew how to pull off a look while in a time constraint. You also had to admit it felt good to be receiving the VIP level of pampering that you've documented dozens of times but never had the pleasure of enjoying.

While all dresses were beyond beautiful, it was the pink wildcard that worked best, having it be a must wear if ever given the chance. The stylist helped you get into it, and you looked dazzling. It was day and night from how you left home, and you were really feeling it while wearing it. You didn't notice Stewy had been already fully prepared and looking from the sitting area how you were getting styled and fitted. He looked so smug having a glass of whiskey, as if taking you out fully glammed up was his accomplishment. In truth, you were never certain if you would've responded positively to an actual invitation for an event of the sort. Maybe the smug victory said more about you than him. But you wouldn't be opposed to a second outing if the night fared well.

Once you were ready, you asked for a couple of portraits of him sitting on the sofa and looking relaxed. He was pulling off each shot with enough success to not have to be any more demanding than necessary for good material. Maybe he'd gotten better at it due to increased attention. Or, rather more credibly, he was giving you content after asking you out in the weirdest way possible. Once the shots were done, it was time to leave and you started to feel the weight of the evening on your shoulders. It would be impossible to deny that the atmosphere was awkward in the elevator. Maybe you should've been the one to have a sip or two of that whiskey. What would you even talk about?

"If you ever wish to surprise me again, you do know you have my number." You said, almost as a whisper, wishing to fill up the silence between you two.

"Once again, where's the surprise in it? And I've seen how controlling you are. You would've said no to at least two racks of those dresses. And me." You could be wrong, but was he admitting to being scared of your rejection? That would be impossible.

"Now how would you know about that?"

"You moved the flower vase at least seven times since you started setting the camera." The nonchalance of the phrase revealed a little more than what he strictly said. He was apparently catching your every move in the room.

"That's not being controlling."

"Perfectionist then."

"I'm a professional, Mr. Hosseini." He looked at you with the same eyes as he did during the last picture from the first session. You knew he didn’t like that kind of solemnity in casual settings.

"I'm also a professional. And this will be good business for both of us." The elevator’s opening door not only wrapped the conversation, but also made it official that, whatever you had agreed to, was now set in stone.

You started to wonder if being snarky was a result of being sleep deprived, being nervous, or just in the presence of him after pulling the stunt. You have had good conversations in the very few opportunities you'd meet. Never deep, though always entertaining and fun. The car ride didn't ease the pressure, as being now in front of the camera became a reality. You understood perfectly what was going on from a technical perspective, and being in front of other colleagues was a massive change. You were increasingly too aware of your angles, of how to make the dress stand out, and how you'd be expected to stand by Stewy's side. He, on the other hand, was chill and chatting along with someone on the phone, and one of his hands found its way to the leg embroidery, carefully touching each bead. You would be lying if you'd deny it made you feel a mix of comfort and arousal.

The car stopped and you had to get out. You knew that the rule would be for him to help you out, and, as if coordinated from dozens of times of making it together, once your door opened, his hand was offered. The flashing lights dazed you up for a couple of seconds, making you trust his hand in guiding you towards the carpet and the entryway. It was his confident pressure on it that made you go from apprehension to trust and, as time passed, to enjoying the walk.

The first couple of pictures were admittedly awkward, with the two of you only holding hands and standing a little too rigid for anyone's taste and with enough space for the entire Holy Family to fit between both of you. You wanted to show the dress without straying too far from him, being that you had not much of a public profile to use as leverage to stand alone. By the middle of it, you decided to just lean into all the shenanigans of the moment, accepting his hand on the small of your back, crossing yours behind him too and fully leaning towards him on some shots. You'll figure out tomorrow how good they came out looking but, for now, it was about just letting go.

The gala was beautiful, beyond anything you'd experienced. Without the pressure of documenting it on assignment, you could appreciate all that came with it. The food was great, the acts just as beautiful, and you got to interact with people who you see seldom in person, as they're part of the designers’ in-house staff. Stewy never strayed too far from you and turned out to be an engaging presence no matter the group in front of him.

It became a little clearer than before why the unexpected request with cryptic message and request could've worked best with you. You would've easily said no to a situation that put you right on the center of attention. And, when the first meeting took place, it was you who suggested Rhomboid while being in your court and under your direction. So, it must've been adequate to put you in his court for the next move. However, there were many other ways to ask you out without sounding like a creep or an ass.

"I told you you'd like it. And I'm never going to complain of how much eye fucking I've gotten from you in that little number." He said to you as you two walked together to the bar for a refill.

"Even if it was a wild card?" You looked at him bewildered, clearly caught off guard by the last remark.

"Mostly because it was the wild card. It's like getting a preview of you." His free hand made its way to the embroidered ribs, holding you tight by his side.

"You're so flirty and reveling the moment, aren't you?" You blurted you mindlessly, probably as an effect of the couple of drinks you've enjoyed so far.

"And so are you." His hand departed your ribs and made its way to the small of your back before landing on your butt. Before you could rationalize it, he pulled his move. "There's a suite with my name and your camera waiting, and I'd hate to leave all that hanging any longer."

"We're not playing with my camera. That's work equipment."

"That remote button is very tempting, and you should see what I did there." He concluded with a smirk and a soft squeeze coming from the hand on your butt.

"You took some pics of me?" His smirk quickly changed to a laugh, probably due to your own reaction to whatever he had proposed.

"Only fair if you got mine in there."

He looked towards the hall's entrance and you two started to make your way out by finishing your drinks and bidding goodbyes to any acquaintances you encountered on your path. Since there would be no cameras outside as the gala was approaching the end, it felt natural to hold his hand, share some laughter, and head towards the car without feeling observed by any prying eyes. While the proposal was intriguing as is, it was more intriguing why he didn't pull any move during the car ride beyond touching and playing with the embroidered ribs and femurs.

It was in the room that everything started to become clear. Standing near the station, he asked you to turn on the setting you had been working with. You only needed the camera and the computer, so nothing else was turned on from the afternoon shoot. After some scrolling, the screen showed the shots of you getting the dress on and looking at the mirror. You were awed by the naturality with which you seemed to have navigated an unusual circumstance as that.

"I believe the photographer did a great job setting it up. Do you know her by any chance?" Standing side by side, his hand returned to its now usual spot on the back, and it was certainly more appealing to see him without the suit jacket.

"These are quite good."

"You didn't take it personally that I didn't choose yours?"

"I didn't even know this one was a possibility. You looked almost naked, walking around the gala as if you run the place." While your eyes were still focused on the screen, his eyes were looking intently at you, a sight that had been your companion for most of the evening.

"And you got unprecedented eye fucking opportunities." You turned to face him, locking sight and reaching your hand towards the one he wasn’t using to support himself on the table.

"A rightful compliment to my invitation." He stood straight and took the remote from beside the mouse.

"You know that that’s not a toy."

"Before we begin, let me tell you how much I want to ruin this lip color." He said, giving you a kiss while holding you tight to him with one hand and the remote with the other. It wasn’t a deep kiss but you sensed it'll go beyond that if given enough time.

"Would you stand here miss?" He said pretending to not have heard you and guiding you back to where you were getting ready before.

"Now, I want to see the whole of you. Gloves, please?" He whispered on your ear before moving to kiss your neck.

"Not a chance if I don't get to do some perusing before." You manage to say before he stood half a step back to look at you as if you’d defied him.

Without removing the gloves, you took your time untying the bowtie, and opening the first three buttons of the shirt. He held you steadfastly to him and, as he asked you to do more, you never changed the pace with which you were going, carefully unbuttoning each one knowing the tease you were being by going so slowly.

After his shirt was undone, he let go of you and turned you around to plant some kisses along your neck and shoulders before his hand reached your side and undid the zipper. It was slow, calculated, and definitely doing more than a thing or two to your brain. As the dress fell to the floor due to the weight of the embroidery, his free hand explored your back, and you turned around, stepping out of the dress to undo the belt buckle and the trousers. He was still dressed, and it was unfair of him for you to be standing on your underwear while he had trousers and an undershirt on.

The continued teasing touches left you two standing fully naked, craving each other desperately, and leaving the gloves as the final barrier between teasing and fucking. He slowly helped you take one glove off, never letting go from the remote, before helping you to the other. Once both of you were standing fully naked, his hand found his way once more to the small of your back and with strength and self-assuredness, started kissing you with more passion than ever. You were certainly no fool either, letting him go for it and voicing it to his ear how good he was doing as he kissed your breasts and tended to you.

From that point on, the night became a blur. He immediately left the remote after the first kiss and guided you to the bed where things got going. You could feel his fingers and lips exploring you just as you were getting acquainted with his body. You liked the feeling of his hairy chest on you and, as you asked for more, he certainly wasn't going to leave you hanging. Excited beyond measure, you kept it going until you couldn't do any longer without feeling him inside. You took him in and reveled in the sensation of feeling full, using your legs to hold him tightly in you. Neither of you was fully sure of how many orgasms came from the nightly adventure, but as you two lied side by side, you took the pleasure of feeling exhausted for more than one reason aside from sleep deprivation. After a quick shower, the week of poor sleep caught with you, and you dozed off almost immediately after getting into the covers. You could feel Stewy's hand running along your side, similar to how he touched the rib embroidery on the dress. You're not sure if he placed one last peck on your back or not because you were already gone.

The next morning, you woke up early to see, in private, whatever Stewy managed to capture from the night. One picture immediately caught your eye where he was pressing your back against him and laying a kiss on your neck. Both seem to have forgotten the camera was there, looking absolutely locked into the moment. Another picture, him looking mesmerized as you undo his belt, getting extra light touches from the way the glove embroidery reflected light as you moved. Certainly, these pictures and the others you were selecting would enter your private collection. A thing to be only enjoyed by you.

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, and you turned to see him awake and only wearing his boxers. He crouched to your eye level and pointed to the screen saying, "I'll want these prints first thing" before a quick peck on the cheek.

"Should I trust you to keep them private?"

"No one should ever see you like that, except me." His smugness oozed off from him and the look he gave you emphasized the nature of his request and his word. As he said to some other person at the gala, his word was his bond, and he might see to it with the seriousness with which he pulled business deals.

In the meantime, he got a notepad from the desk drawer and wrote his address.

"I want them delivered here with a special request for you to be the courier."

"Should I wear the gloves too?" You mentioned keeping a playful tone to what seemed to be a confirmation of an upcoming date.

"As much as they're yours now, I want to see them again doing precisely that." He responded by pointing at the picture where you removed his belt.

A knock on the door pulled you two out of it and breakfast was served. Who knew if and when you'd do this gala date all over again. But for now, you had a package to deliver and some joint morning aftercare to ease you back to your routine. 

[vivascandinavia]

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[4joonkookie]

Crush

❈ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (x Yoongi)

❈ Words: 6.6K

❈ Summary: (Smutty) Boyfriend!Jungkook can sense you and Yoongi are horny for each other and let's you indulge.

(Angsty) After being quarantined together in domestic bliss for a few months, Jungkook asks you to stay for good.

(Smutty & Angsty) Jungkook asks you to move in permanently. You and Yoongi almost set the house on fire when Jungkook makes an offer you can't refuse.

❈ Warnings/Tags: Plot, There's Plot., Smut, Established Relationship, Angst, Morning Sex, Dirty Talk, Loud Sex, Thin Walls, Blurred Lines, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Sexual Tension, Flirting, Face Sitting, Cumplay, Cum Spitting, Hair Pulling, Cum Eating, Doggy Style, Brief Ass-Licking, Arguing, Crying, Commitment Issues, Threesome, Female Character with Fuckboi Tendancies, JK has a lot of money, Quarantine, Writing is Hard, Cuckhold, Spitroast.

❈ Notes: -Can be read as Part 3 of the Mirror, Mirror Series or standalone:) -Takes place Summer 2020-ish.

You can feel his eyes on you before you even open yours.

Jungkook smiles next to you on the bed, head propped on his bent elbow. “I like this,” he says.

“Like what?” You yawn and stretch and coax yourself into staying awake.

“Everyday, when I wake up, you’re right here.” He brushes bed-head hair away from your face. “We should keep it like this.”

Rolling over on top of him, “You think so?”

“I know so,” he says, as you lean down to kiss him, morning breath and all. There was a time when neither of you would have ever allowed your mouths near each other before brushing.

It seems like some alternate universe now even though it was just 3 months ago. Drowning in work, living in hotel rooms and hoping you could sneak away for a weekend with your long-distance boyfriend, if your schedules would allow it.

Then the world came to a screeching halt. Your job had been cancelled indefinitely, you’ve hardly worn anything but hoodies and sweatpants for months and you’ve gone from a long-distance girlfriend to a live-in domestic partner.

You’d never thought you and Jungkook would end up this way. You integrated together effortlessly, as if it has always been this way. Any worries you had about meshing with the other members were unfounded too. You’ve never had friends so close. You’ve never had time for hobbies or doing things you actually like.

You never thought you would end up like this.

Straddling his hips, Jungkook rubs his hands on your naked skin. He slides his hardening cock between your unclad folds, still wet and open from the night before.

He continues thinking aloud. “You should stay here.” He pushes up, pressing his shaft on your clit. “We could start everyday like this.” He guides himself easily inside and you groan, still sensitive. “I’m serious. Don’t go back to work.” He slides in and out comfortably. “Stay here.”

“Jungkook, I can’t live here,” you scold, circling your hips a few times. You try to distract him and yourself, not telling him about the conversation with your work yesterday. You could be back as little as a week.

“But you do live here. He stops his motion and holds your hips still. “You just need to unpack your boxes.”

You’ve all but officially moved in yet your belongings remain in boxes. It would be easy to empty the boxes and put things in a permanent place. Also, equally as easy to tape the lids shut and ship them back to your old life.

You ignore his comment and brace your hands on the wall above the headboard, gaining traction to move your hips. He pulls your arms down and holds them to your sides.

“I've already talked to everyone.” Holding down harder, preventing you from moving.

“You did?” His words finally hold you still.

“Of course. They said it was silly I asked because you already live here. Everybody said they would love to keep having you here.”

He pulls you down to whisper: “Especially Yoongi.”

“Shut up.” You playfully slap his chest, embarrassed.

He is not wrong. You and Yoongi had become particularly close since being here. You have a lot of fun together, cooking, playing guitar, there’s a bit of tension there. It never goes beyond playful flirting but it’s been obvious for a while now. Jungkook is secure and is sure to openly poke fun at the both of you about it.

Jungkook laughs, moving his hips again. “You guys crush on each other so hard, it’s cute.” He continues whispering. “You know he can hear you?” He points to the wall above his head.

“No!” You whisper back in disbelief. Yoongi’s room is just on the other side of the wall.

“Yes, he told me. He can hear everything,” he still whispers but thrusts up into you harder, forcing a noise from you.

Jungkook is always one to tease but the way he keeps his voice at a whisper makes you know his words are true.

He continues his harsh thrusts as he whispers. “He’s probably still in bed right now, jerking his morning wood with his ear against the wall.”

“Jungkook, stop!” You continue to reprimand him but can’t prevent a grin at the idea.

“You love it.” He lifts your hips and drops you down hard. You try to stifle the moan it elicits. “You like the idea that he’s there right now with a good grip on himself, palming up and down to the sounds of your noisy moaning.”

“I am not noisy,” you defend yourself quietly.

“You are so noisy!”, he says loudly enough to travel through the walls.

The room finally quiets and Jungkook tries to keep his own breathing steady as your pelvises grind against each other. You close your eyes and let the fantasy swim in your mind. Yoongi, slipping his hand under the waistband of his pants, listening to you.

Jungkook continues to fuel the fantasy as your bodies set a rhythm. “He’s rubbing himself raw, wishing his spit and hand was as wet and slippery as this pretty pussy.”

Jungkook takes your prudish whimpers as a challenge and flips your body so you’re on all fours and places a grip around your hips that promises bruises. He sets a punishing, slapping pace. Probably echoing through the entire house, you bury your face in the pillows.

He pulls you up by your shoulders and holds you still as he pounds into you. “Come on baby, don’t you want him to get off?”

He continues his heavy pace and you surrender as the pressure builds at your core, cock slamming into your g spot, unable to stop the moans from escaping if you tried. Your legs shake when liquid begins to gush and drip down the inside of your thighs with every thrust.

Jungkook growls, happy with evidence of his skill and he comes to the sounds of your bodies slamming together.

You both collapse to the bed and catch your breath. You lay around just a little longer, taking each other in and reveling in your safe little world.

Eventually, you both roll out of bed, throw on clothes and head out into the kitchen.

“I would bet money Yoongi’s out there right now, in front of his laptop with a mug of coffee poured and ready for you.”

You roll your eyes and brush him off although you know he’s probably right. He stops you before you can turn the door handle.

“Hey.” He holds both your hands in his. “Think about it? Really? Before work tries to take you away from me again?”

You nod. “I love you.” There’s nothing truer and your job has done nothing for you other than keep you busy. Still, you try to prepare him and smooth it over.

“You know, if I go, it’ll only be like, half the time. We’ll still have way more time together than we did before, especially if you’re not touring,” you offer, persuading him.

He shakes his head. “No. I want you here. Not sometimes. All the time.” His gaze gets sad. “Unless that’s not what you want.”

You try to reassure him. “You know that’s not true.” He nods but you see the doubt in his eyes. “So is that an ultimatum? Stay here or nothing?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He wraps his arms around your waist.

“Then, what are you saying?” Wrapping arms around his neck.

He takes a deep breath in. “I’m saying… I know it’s not what we expected but I love this, it feels right. I don’t want to move backwards.”

“I’m scared, Jungkook.” It’s the only way to describe the doubt that lingers in your mind.

“I don't know why. But being scared is ok. Just please, please think about it. Before you make a decision.”

The words are stuck in your throat.

You can’t because it means it’s real. It’s not just circumstances, casual or reversible. It’s real.

“I love you.” He kisses both of your hands and follows behind you into the kitchen.

Yoongi sits at the kitchen island on his laptop, as Jungkook predicted. He pushes a mug of prepared coffee for without a word, a morning ritual.

Jungkook gives you a knowing look while Yoongi continues work on his computer.

“Thank You.” You take a seat around the island.

Standing next to you, Jungkook mockingly asks Yoongi: “Will you pour me a cup of coffee, hyung?”

Yoongi senses his jest, stands and turns to retrieve a carton of banana milk from the fridge. He pours it into a coffee mug and slides it to Jungkook over the counter. You do your best not to laugh.

Jungkook smirks, checked by his elder. He sips from the mug, his eyes moving from you and back to Yoongi. Yoongi catches his glance. He knows. He feels it. It feels like a million things are being said in silence. Yoongi picks up his own coffee mug to refill it from the pot, a chance to turn his back to Jungkook.

The tension makes you wonder if they’ve ever spoken about the “crush” before. Or, worse, this morning. You know the walls are thin so, sure, he can hear you. But you wonder if Jungkook exaggerated the rest to get you off. Is that why it’s awkward?

“Jungkook, please get the pork belly from the freezer.” Yoongi directs Jungkook with his back still turned, a silent directive to drop it.

‘Is this for the recipe you’re trying today?” Jungkook finally lets up and changes the subject, heading to the freezer.

“Yeah, a little later.” He closes his laptop and stands. “I have a meeting. Are you heading to the studio?”

“Yep. Back soon.” Jungkook kisses you on the cheek and they both head separate ways.

You finish a cup of coffee and lounge around alone for a few hours, the house quiet with everybody doing their own thing in the large house. You read a few chapters from a book recommended by Namjoon and manage to take a short nap.

You imagine this is what it would be like if you stayed here. The empty house is peaceful. At least, for a few hours. It’s no trouble being alone and keeping busy but you know it’ll be more like being in hiding.

Management has always viewed you as a threat and distraction to all the members. There was not much they could do about you staying the last few months. Jungkook has some leverage now and they have to work around his wishes. As the relationship progresses, the way they already minimize and diminish you will get worse. How far can it even go when it has to be a secret? Staying here means a life of full gag order and anonymity.

You attempt to distract yourself from generating a long list of reasons to decline Jungkook’s proposal by strumming a few chords on the guitar.

When Yoongi re-emerges to the common area, you acknowledge him but continue playing.

“You’re getting pretty good at that thing.” He sits next to you on the couch.

“Thanks.” You lay the guitar beside you as this better distraction presents itself.

“May I?” He holds his hands out to receive the guitar.

You pass it over and you watch and listen as he strums much more pleasantly and skillfully. Bare-faced, messy hair and wearing clothes just to lounge around in but he looks good.

“So.” He starts as he strums between chords. “Are you unpacking your boxes or will you live out of them forever?” He asks as casually as possible.

“How do you know?” You question, nearly holding your breath.

“Walls are pretty thin,” he says, even and casual, still strumming softly.

You try to contain the redness coming over your chest and face, all of the things he may have heard this morning, circling in your mind.

You shamefully try to come up with something quick. “I’m still figuring out the details with work.” You nod unconvincingly.

“Yeah?” He says, surprised. “Jungkook is really excited about it.”

“I mean, management will throw a fit but-“ he shrugs his shoulders. We’ll back you up. They have to get through all seven of us before they can get to you. ”

You feel a pang of guilt hit your gut.

He changes the subject, sensing he’s hit a nerve. “Anyway...”

You blurt the first thing to come to mind. “So, you can hear through the walls?”

“I hear enough,” placing the guitar at his side, He looks down and stifles a giggle.

You nervously bite down on your lip. “Jungkook says I'm loud.”

He nods and runs his hand over the back of his neck. “That’s true.”

You both take a moment to snickers before you apologize. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, sounding genuine.

“What else did you hear this morning?” You ask, curious.

“Not much.” He leans back on the couch with his legs spread. You try to ignore how inviting his lap looks. “Just you being loud. He offers a teasing smile. “And some things about unpacking your boxes and…,” he trails off. “How you have a crush on me,” he finishes, nonchalantly.

You give him a playful shove and he raises both arms to block, laughing.

You wonder what else he heard. You can see the details he’s left out in his face, trying to be safe with this boundary.

“Is that what I heard?” His voice lowers as he tries to confirm.

“Yes,” you respond. “But that’s not why I spend time with you. I just like doing those things with you, being around you.”

A smile washes over his face. “I enjoy doing those things with you too. They’re just sometimes more fun because I have a crush on you too.”

You don’t respond but look down as the mood changes. His eyes lay on you differently. He has a different kind of confidence about him hearing you say it. You do too, knowing you’ve both said it out loud and Jungkook said it before anyone else.

The tension sits too heavy in the air but you let curiosity get the best of you anyway.

“When did you get off last?” You ask with a stern eye on him.

He laughs, deflecting. “Oh, is this what crushes talk about?”

You keep your gaze steady, awaiting an answer.

He lets out a defeated sigh. “Jungkook told you. How embarrassing.”

“So, this morning?” you immediately probe, unable to help yourself.

“And last night,” he contributes, shifting in his seat.

It’s a relief Jungkook had the wherewithal to whisper all that filth this morning. Also, that nothing was a secret. Jungkook is so great in that way. Acknowledging what is without being threatened and getting his ego bruised.

“So, obviously, I don’t mind that you’re loud.” His smile fades a bit and his gaze gets dark. “It’s sexy.”

Your stomach sinks. There are so many questions you want to ask but you don’t. How long? How often? What do you think about? Who do you think about?

He continues. “You like knowing that.” It starts as a question and ends as a statement. His eyes scan your face and you observe his own restraint.

It’s getting too deep. You should stop before this conversation escalates any further. The house feels too empty and too many ideas race in your mind. He takes the action before you.

“Are you ready to cook?” He asks, nearly leaping off the couch.

You both head to the kitchen and the tension settles as you get caught up in conversation about nothing-too-serious. Yoongi perfects a sauce while you load rice into a steamer. He tastes the sauce with his thumb and has a bland, questioning reaction.

“Is it good?” You try to read his face.

“I don’t know, try it.” He adds some spices and whisks further, lifting to check the consistency. You watch one strong arm whisk the mixture while the other holds the bowl still. His lips are pursed, concentrated. The sight of his arms and lips start to make your body hot.

You’ve seen him hundreds of times in the past 3 years. You’ve seen him everyday for 3 months. Still, It’s like looking at him for the first time.

This is all Jungkook’s fault. He put the idea in your mind.

Really, he activated something that was always there. You don’t know how he does it. He’s good like that too, excavating every emotion you have, never letting one be covered up or denied. You’d never realized how often you’d done that. He’s made you better, even before living together.

Nevertheless, your now crush is evolving to an ache, a craving right in front of your eyes. Yoongi is unaffected, focused on perfecting his cuisine. He’s messy, stray sauce everywhere.

He approaches where you stand by the counter, bowl in hand and you can smell him. It nearly knocks you off your feet when it fills your nostrils. Stray sauce is streaked on his forearm. You grab a nearby kitchen towel to swipe at his arm when he gets close, keeping your hands busy. They have too many ideas.

Maybe laying your hands on him (regardless of what they were doing) transfers your horny energy but your hands linger on him now and the dynamic shifts. He has that look again, lips parted, a million dirty thoughts flash across his mind in seconds. A big metal bowl is the only thing separating your bodies.

His eyes dart down from yours, guiding your own eyes to his lips, intrigued. He takes a deep breath and leans in closer, nearly hovering over you. He uses his thumb to briefly flick across your bottom lip. All the indecency in his eyes directed at your mouth. He places the bowl on the counter next to him, closing space between you.

“Try it.” He reaches down beside him and coats his thumb in the liquid. He slides the palm side of his thumb between your lips. You let them graze over but resist the urge to wrap your mouth around him.

You run your tongue over your lips to taste. “It’s good,” hardly audible.

The slight gesture causes the intensity to surge so greatly that you both seem to repel from each other. Yoongi returns to the other side of the kitchen and you both continue your tasks in silence, adrenaline still rushing, making it impossible to have a conversation.

Right on cue, Jungkook enters the silent heavy room.

“Hey.” you both say in unison, not even looking up at him.

“Hey.” He says, already sensing the put-on tones and not buying it for a single second.

“What have you been up to today?” He pecks your lips but keeps his eyes on Yoongi.

“I took a nap,” you offer, weakly. He nods suspiciously. Yoongi still has his back to him.

“How’s your recipe coming?” he asks, shooting daggers into the back of Yoongi’s head.

“Sauce is done,” you say, wishing Yoongi would speak for himself.

“Ok, What’s going on?” Jungkook finally demands.

You and Yoongi answer in unison. “Nothing,” sounding rehearsed.

“No, it's something.” His expression becomes uncharacteristically worried. “I know you’re flirting but right now, I feel like I'm interrupting something. I don’t like that.”

“I’m sorry, Jungkook.” Yoongi cracks and turns around. “You’re right, it’s inappropriate.”

He raises his eyebrows, intrigued. “What’s inappropriate?” he digs.

Yoongi darts his eyes to you, mouth open but not speaking.

“What happened?” Jungkook’s voice gets louder.

You break next. “I ate sauce off his hand.” It comes out fast like one long word.

“Like, how?” looking puzzled.

“Like, off his thumb.” You extend your own thumb as if he doesn’t know what one is.

“When?”

“5 minutes ago.”

He slowly nods in comprehension. “So, you sucked on his finger. Then what?”

You fight the urge to correct him as you put such deliberate effort in NOT sucking. “Then, here we are.” You nervously tap your fingers on the countertop.

Jungkook is silent for a long time.

“Show me,” he announces.

“What?” Yoongi finally speaks again.

“Sounds harmless enough. Let me see.”

Yoongi pleads. “Jungkook, you don’t have to do this, it won’t happen again.”

“I'd feel better if I could see how ‘inappropriate’ it was.” Jungkook glares at Yoongi, wrestling to decide if he’s betrayed him or not.

There’s no getting out of it. You and Yoongi drag your feet to re-create your positions and he dips his thumb into the bowl just as before. You repeat the gesture, locking eyes with him for just a moment before his thumb touches your lips again.

Jungkook guffaws at the sight. “Did she do it like that?”.

“Yeah.” Yoongi shrugs his shoulders.

Jungkook redirects his gaze at you. “You? Did it like that?”

You narrow your eyes at Jungkook. “Yes.”

You can’t tell if you should be offended or honored by his shock at your weak cleaning of his thumb. You opt to keep quiet.

Yoongi looks thoroughly confused. Jungkook chortles and approaches you both by the bowl.

“She can do better than that.” He pulls Yoongi's wrist into the bowl, isolating his index finger. He coats Yoongi’s finger and pushes it against your lips.

You take his finger and instinctively pull him in, down to the webbing of his hand. Jungkook lets his wrist free and Yoongi takes the liberty to push in again with 2 fingers and you suck them in and let them fall out slowly. His throat lets out a low groan through parted lips.

“That’s better,” Jungkook croons.

Jungkook guides you a few steps away to the living room so only you can hear. “Is there anything else I need to know about?” He asks with a forbidding look.

You reassure him with a hand on his chest. “No, Jungkook.” He nods and kisses your lips.

“Do you want to do this?”

You’re not sure what “this” is but the way he strokes his fingers along your crotch gives you an idea.

“We’re going to talk for a few minutes,” he starts, quickly glancing at Yoongi. “Get in the bedroom.” He tugs back at your hair with force, making you gasp. “When we get in there, I want you in one of your slutty outfits, waiting on the bed.” He kisses you hard and sloppy on the mouth before releasing his grip. Yoongi's eyes are nearly bulging out of his face.

You head to the bedroom as calmly as possible. When the door closes behind you, you begin a frenzy, digging through boxes for any matching pieces of lingerie. You manage to find a set, freshen up and wait on the bed. It’s been almost a half hour, you wonder what they’re talking about.

Yoongi follows behind Jungkook and closes the door. “There she is.” Yoongi looks a little nervous. The 2 stand in front of the bed.

“Lips stay below the neck, no kissing on the lips,” Jungkook announces. You and Yoongi nod at each other, his boner appearing through his pants at the sight of you. “Can he cum on your chest?”

Yoongi glances down shyly at the question. You nod again, heart pounding.

“Anything else?” directed at you now. You shake your head, still unable to form words. Jungkook leans down where you sit on the bed to kiss you. “Relax,” he whispers before his lips peck yours.

Jungkook’s easy breakdown of “rules” and the fact they’d talked so much about this already gives you an inkling about their past.

You speak so only Jungkook can hear. “Something tells me this isn’t your first time.” You glance back at Yoongi.

“Smart girl.” He kisses you again. “But this is different. We’re not sharing. He turns you on and I like it when you’re turned on. So. Relax. I wanna turn you on and get you off.”

Jungkook removes his clothes before crawling behind you on the bed and runs his hands over your body, groping in front of Yoongi as he watches, standing by the bed.

“Look how pretty you are for us.” He pulls you head back for a kiss and slides his hand under the hem of your panties, letting a finger slip between your folds. Your knees buckle.

“Mmm, She’s so wet for you already, hyung.” He pushes the fabric away and slips fingers in and out of your wet opening. Yoongi instinctively rubs himself on the outside of his pants, watching as Jungkook pulls his hand away and brings his fingers to your mouth. You don’t let our eyes leave his before directing Yoongi.

“Come here.” You scoot to the edge of the bed.

Jungkook sits behind you, rubbing your back as Yoongi approaches.

Yoongi’s eyes roll back immediately when you grasp at the bulge through his sweatpants and stroke beneath the fabric. He takes off his shirt while you pull down at the waistband of his pants and watch his cock fall free. Pale shaft with a swollen pink tip. Perfectly placed veins, just like his arms. You wrap your lips around the tip and let saliva drip down his shaft. He places an encouraging palm on the back of your head as you slide your lips to the base and gag, bringing moans from Yoongi. You wrap your hand around his shaft and work it with your mouth.

“Wait.” Jungkook places a hand on your shoulder. The sight has him eager for a place to keep his dick wet while you service Yoongi. He guides you to bend in front of him. Pushing panties aside, Jungkook slides in with ease, arousal pooled at your opening. You continue on Yoongi, running your tongue on the underside of his balls and licking up to the tip. Jungkook gropes at your ass and thrusts softly, careful not to disturb Yoongi. Then sensation causes you to moan around his cock and Yoongi eggs your head off, breathing away an orgasm.

Jungkook takes this opportunity to fuck you at a normal pace. After some time, Yoongi palms himself, watching. You relish in being a fantasy come to life.

You’re sore, being railed by Jungkook this morning and the night before. But that doesn’t stop you or him. He unhooks your bra and lets it fall to the bed. He pulls you up so your body is flush in front of him and exposed to Yoongi, who increases the pace he has on himself.

Jungkook pulls out while still holding you close. Yoongi slows and closes his eyes, teetering on the edge again.

The wet sticky panties cling to you.

“Your panties are ruined baby.” Sucking kisses on the line of your neck while the cold panties cling to you. “Lay down so we can get them off.”

Jungkook guides you to your back as Yoongi stands at the side of the bed, pulling you to the edge so you’re spread in front of him. Your head lays in Jungkook’s lap, he still faces Yoongi.

Yoongi palms at your center, feeling the crevices over wet fabric. It’s sticky and uncomfortable and you just want them gone. Jungkook strokes your head in his lap. Yoongi holds his cock between your clothed folds, watching your face as you twitch around him. He pushes the tip at the opening, blocked by the fabric.

He continues letting his tip run up and down until he eventually grips at the crotch of the fabric and pulls it up and taut against your clit. He rhythmically lifts and releases, your pelvis rising a little bit with each pull. He continues faster and you’re now grateful for the sticky fabric that offers friction until he stops and let’s it slap back to your skin, just before you come. He’s edging you with your own underwear.

He finally pulls them down and around your ankles, playfully tossing them at Jungkook sitting behind you. He slithers his tip around your bare entrance, teasing your opening and sliding up. Squelching fills the air.

You’re eager to get him all the way inside, pushing your core down each time he’s at your opening. You whine when he pulls his cock away completely and moves to kiss at your bare breasts. He lets his teeth graze over your skin, sucking. Jungkook uses his foot to push at Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Don’t mark her,” he warns. Yoongi heeds his warning and opts to leave the area completely. He lines himself up and bottoms out inside, wetting his entire shaft with you.

You moan louder and Jungkook tugs at your nipples. Yoongi bottoms out with each thrust.

“Are you gonna come just like this, Noona?” Yoongi teases, between thrusts as if you weren’t being turned on and teased for the last hour.

“I’d rather come on your lips,” letting your finger flick across his mouth.”

A little shock flashes across his face before Jungkook laughs. “Mmm, I love a good slut that asks for what she wants.” He praises as he strokes your hair.

Jungkook makes room for Yoongi to lay back on the bed again.

“I like this “crush” thing,” Yoongi says as you hover over top of him and he attaches his lips to you straight away. His arms are hooked around your thighs as he sucks and flicks his tongue over your swollen clit. He lets out deep little moans underneath you, happy to have you squirming and whimpering above him. You rock your hips back and forth on his face and the vibrations from his voice bring you so close again.

Jungkook lines up flush behind you. “I told him how good you taste, baby. And I know he loves hearing your pretty voice.” He slips his fingers under your bum to push fingers into your opening. Yoongi moves his mouth up just slightly to make room for him and you still. He continues, “Come for us, baby,” kissing your neck.

Yoongi squeezes at your breasts and He holds you down tight on his face when you come.

You’re shuddering above him still when he instructs you to bend over, guiding you off of him. Jungkook moves to sit at the opposite end of the bed.

You present yourself to him and instantly fall to your elbows when he licks a long strip from your opening all the way up to your tailbone. Jungkook giggles at your reaction.

“Do it again.” Jungkook orders. Yoongi does, and you’re so sensitive that your thighs shake. He moves to your opening and laps at this new angle, insatiable. Just as you begin to lose yourself on his tongue again, he lines up behind you and slams you on his cock. He fills you in a different way, hands on your hips as he slides your body over himself again and again.

Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment before positioning himself so he can gag you on his cock while Yoongi thrusts mercilessly, both taking everything they want from you.

Jungkook pulls your hair back to see your face. “Such a good slut, stuffed full at both ends.”

Yoongi grunts at the words. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” You’re suddenly empty as they fumble to change positions. Jungkook instructs you to turn over and sit up on the edge of the bed.

Yoongi stands in front of you and ribbons white on your chest, grunting through his orgasm.

Jungkook pushes your back to the bed and runs his flat tongue over your messied chest, collecting cum in his mouth. He grips your jaw from above you, signaling to open and you readily obey. He purses his lips and lets the liquid fall into your mouth, laps up more and repeats all while strokes himself.

When your chest is clean, He climbs over you so his thighs straddle your face.

“Mmmmm… show him who my sweet cumslut is.” He praises before he throws his head back and groans, stroking himself into your open mouth.

You hold your mouth open while he spills into you, swallowing and licking your lips. You hold out your clean tongue and he spits from high up once more for good measure. Yoongi sits in your peripheral vision on a nearby chair. Spent cock resting between his legs, hands laced behind his head, taking in the sight.

“Good Girl,” Jungkook whispers.

The three of you sit up straight when you hear the screaming.

“Yoongiiii!!” Seokjin’s voice wails through the thin walls.

Yoongi puts on pants and nearly flies to the kitchen. You and Jungkook quickly dress and follow behind.

You walk into Seokjin scolding Yoongi about a pot boiling over and scorching on the stove.

“You could’ve set the house on fire!”

“I… I’m sorry I got distracted.”

“Doing what?!.” Seokjin’s fury fades when he notices Yoongi is shirtless and the 3 of you have triple fucked-out looks.

“You know what? I don’t want to know,” he announces, as he scrubs the burner.

Yoongi and Seokjin finish cooking and everyone sits for the meal. You’ve done this many times now, sitting around a table talking for hours. Sometimes everyone is up all night and you reluctantly agree to go to sleep. Other times, members slowly trickle away and wake up to the same remaining people talking. Oftentimes, it was you and Yoongi.

The plates are nearly clear when Taehyung declares: “Noona, I emptied our part of the closet downstairs so you have room for your things.

You glare at Jungkook.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t tell him to do that,” taking a final bite. Taehyung assumed.

“Actually, I’m going back to work,” blurting out, threatened by Taehyung’s (and everyone’s) assumption. “But, thank you.”

“You are?” Jungkook looks only half surprised.

“Yeah. I fly out to San Francisco next Thursday.”

Jungkook stands from the table and calmly walks to the bedroom. You politely excuse yourself and follow him. He’s not even looking at you yet but starts off before the door even shuts.

“So when I left this morning, you were thinking about it. You fuck my friend. Now, you’re leaving next week.”

You close your eyes and scoff. You can just imagine the six others just outside the door, darting eyes at each other, wondering which “friend”. It’s an unfair and irrelevant comment but you choose to ignore it, he has his own share of “unfair”.

“Jungkook, lower your voice.”

Ignoring you, “Did you even think about it?”

Blood heats under your skin. “Why think about it when everyone has just assumed? It’s like everyone gets a say but me.”

“And what’s your ‘say’?”

You pause before speaking, trying to calm yourself. “We both knew this arrangement was temporary. The way it was before was working for us.”

“It won’t work for me, not anymore.” “And this is not just an ‘arrangement’ anymore, you know that.”

“You know management does NOT want me around.”

“I don’t give a fuck WHAT they want. I’ve made it very clear that you’re not going anywhere. At least if it’s up to me.”

Your attempts to soothe yourself and convince Jungkook are failing. “So, what? I just hide out here, some house gremlin while you’re gone for weeks, months at a time? Having to be your dirty little secret? We can’t even be together in public.”

He glances down and gets closer to you. “That will be hard. I’m sorry. I wish I could change that.” His voice gets lower. “But when I’m gone…I mean, you’ve been cooking and writing and playing the guitar and you love that. You could do that. Or not. You could do whatever you want.” He stands firm. “If one of us is not bound by work, we’re officially together twice as much. Next?” He trudges forward, seeking to eliminate all of your ideas.

“I would have to move to a different country.”

“What about it? Tell me, where do you consider ‘home?’ and wherever you think that is, tell me why you chose to come here when you had to choose a place to be 3 months ago? The apartment is yours too. You could be here or there, whatever you want. What else can you come up with?”

You get sucked into his attempt to exhaust your excuses. “They offered me a raise to come back.” It sounds stupid coming out about half way through.

“Money?”, he laughs erratically, sounding unstable now. He pulls a billfold from his pants pocket and begins launching credit cards and different types of cash on the bed. “Here. Here. Here. And there’s more where that came from.”

“Ok, Jungkook,” you turn, agitated. He circles the bed to get face-to-face again.

“I’m just saying you have no excuse!” His voice gets somber and tears well in his eyes. The pain on his face makes you do the same. “So, why not then? Just tell me why. Because, when you’re here, the way you look at me, I know you feel the way I do. So why don’t you want to?”

You shake your head. “It’s not that I don’t want Jungkook. You just don’t know how things will turn out.”

He’s gripping your arms, trying to get his sense into you. “There is nothing that I'm worried about as long as you’re here. No matter what, it’s going to be fine.”

You coldly shake him off. “How do you know?!” You're yelling and crying now, really wanting to know where he gets his faith.

“I don’t know how anything will turn out, I just know that I want you there anyway!”

His face drops with realization.

His voice gets very quiet. “I guess that’s the difference between us.”

You’re too drained to argue that point. Maybe he’s right.

You make a final plea. “Please,” as you hiccup through sobs. “Can you just give me time to think about it? Instead of deciding for me?”

He pushes his forehead to yours. “I'm sorry I pressured you. I love you. It’s better when you’re here.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “There is no ultimatum here.” His forehead wrinkles. “Sometimes, I think if it’s something you really wanted, you wouldn’t have to think about it. But if time is what you want, take it.

“Thank you.” You hold onto each other like you might just slip away. Your sudden comfort is quickly snatched when he finishes.

“But if you’re not staying, you should go now.”

He squeezes you tight and whispers. “I love you.” Before you can reciprocate, he leaves and disappears into another part of the house. You haphazardly pack a bag and exit the bedroom, wiping tears from your face.

Yoongi approaches you as you head for the door, Seokjin following just behind. The others have gone after Jungkook.

“Noona, I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

You try to reassure him right away, hugging him. “Hey...it’s not you. This…” You search for the words to describe the situation, no fault on Yoongi. “This has been a long time coming.”

“Why are you leaving so soon?”

“It hurts Jungkook that I'm here so I need to go.” It sounds silly coming out of your mouth. If you just stayed, he wouldn’t be hurt. And neither would you.

“Do you need a car?” Seokjin asks. You nod he is on the phone right away.

You continue with Yoongi, “Could you send my boxes? I’ll have an address in a few days.”

“Of course.” He hugs you again. “Why do I feel like I’m never going to see you again?”

You don’t tell him that it feels that way to you too. “Would you just make sure he’s ok, please?”

He nods and with that you leave, severing ties with that safe little world.

[everythingthemoontouches]

💙Hi there! , First of all i want to tell you that i love your blog! And i love how your posts are so accurate!💙 If its okay with you could you please do me a favor by describing how others see me,my appearance or more specifically the vibe I radiate to others! It would mean alot to me if you you do that💙I'm a cancer sun,leo rising,Lilith sextile asc, Pluto trine asc, Uranus opposition asc, Moon opposition asc, mars sextile venus, mars opposition neptune, asteroid lilith conjunct mc and jupiter in the 1st house!💙

Hola!

Thank you that's really kind of you 💛💕

You know that quote that says Cinderella never asked for a prince. All she wanted was a night out and a dress. You kind of exude a similar vibe but with respect to leadership positions. 'I never asked to be Queen/King, but the people have spoken' kind of an energy. You would be equally happy to be by yourself, learning about the subconscious mind, higher realms and other esoteric science.

For more on Jupiter in LEO I'd recommend watching Astrofinesse.

For jupiter in the first there's KRS.

🌻As a Leo rising you come across as someone outgoing, with a playful energy but you're also somehow someone people would expect to see in a position of authority. You're drawn to people who stimulate you intellectually and love to exchange ideas.

����If you have an Aquarius saturn you could be having some challenges in your relationships since December 2020 as saturn transits your 7th house. I'd suggest practicing discernment in this area as well as signing contracts with people until it passes( early 2023) ..

😇12th house sun could take on other people's energy. I feel like you need some time away, by yourself, preferably at the beach / pool/ shower to declutter, clear your head and replenish your sense of Self. You could be highly intuitive. If this resonates, I'd urge you to look up empath drain and how to protect yourself from energy vampires.

Ruler of the ascendant in the 12th :

spirituality could be a huge part of your life. For some people this could show a father (figure) who was convicted or worked in a prison / asylum. They could also have a really remote job. Since the sun is also your own personal identity, you could profit off these themes. Working in a mental health facility, overseas, in esoteric crafts.

🌛With your moon in the 7th house, you probably attract a lot of older women, (queen of swords) nurturing energies . Your mom could have a major influence on any business partnerships that you enter.

In relationships you could have a here today gone tomorrow kind of a presence. This is because as the moon waxes and wanes so does your attraction / attachment to specific people?

♒Aquarius moon : it could be really hard for you to express your feelings. So Instead of asking for a hug there could be a tendency to say something like ' ew imagine asking for one?' you leave a place better than you found it. If you watch hindi movies, 3 Idiots could be a movie you really resonate with. ( I pretty much spent the day looking up the lead actor, who has major aquarius placements and his films have always been disruptive with a really nice social message that left people talking for years after they were released. I tell you this because he shares 2 of your big 3 - aquarius and cancer.)

Going off on this tangent you could be a well respected teacher / writer / entertainer. Jupiter in LEO could help with this.

I do feel like you need a certain amount of inventiveness in your relationships. The people you're with are people who introduce you to new hobbies / ideas / technologies. You need to feel like you guys learn something new or create something that matters together. This is enhanced by uranus in the 7th house. You could come across really cold because you always give people the naked honest truth when asked. You do this from a place of love. I'm reminded of the Queen of Swords card in the rider Waite tarot. Not everyone has the maturity to take it. Or maybe they've just had a bad day. It is what it is. Perhaps try to not be so incisive if this is something you struggle with.

In the same vein, if I asked you to write down how you were feeling how long would it take for you to identify the right emotion. How honest are you with yourself?

Moon and Uranus being in the same house could show that stagnation could really hurt your mental health / happiness / satisfaction levels.

With a saturn ruled moon I feel like I need to remind you to not be so hard on yourself. Like. The world won't crumble to dust if you allow yourself to take care of you once in a while.there's only so much you can do.

All those coffee mugs will catch up. There's no such thing as extra hours in the day. A lack of sleep manifests as early signs of aging. No hate for the elderly but arthritis is not a fun ailment to have. Do you wanna be 60 with 80 year old nervous system problems? I rest my case.

Uranus and moon aspect your ascendant so you could have a slightly plump look?

Jupiter in the first house people usually have prominent thighs. I had a friend with this placement and when we were growing up she used to complain of chafed thighs a lot?

Mars sextile venus you could be your own type? The way you act and the way you want your future partners to express love could be quite similar which is good for healthy relationships.

There could be a tendency to spend impulsively.

With Mars sextiling venus you could be someone who earns more the more active their lifestyle is? Like, you may need to be an agile learner to keep money flowing in .

Jupiter in LEO in a woman's chart usually shows they'd have a financially well off spouse so money may not be a huge concern. He could be a sailor or earn via exports/ navy. It's hard to say without knowing where your Saturn is.

The image you project to the world could be a lot more outgoing than how you actually feel. You're more private than people think.

With a fire rising, water sun and air moon you could either be a really balanced person or just have a number of clashing ideas on who to be, what to do and achieve.

Descendant : The people that hate on you could attack your need to stand out /try to dim your time in the spotlight. Think aquarius themes of standing out to improve community clashing with Leo's need to stand out solely because it helps their ego. Like your confidence could trigger the part if them that felt judged negatively for expressing their individuality.

Do you feel like you thrive in chaos? I'm guessing you're atleast in your late 20s if not older, so you might have gotten better at dealing with people acting unexpectedly. Your mom could have been unpredictable. Really intelligent, but forgets to eat ..

🥤🦀As a cancer sun, you could be the friend your friends come to for advice. There could be a tendency to be a little too selfless. I think your aqua moon really serves as a shield to those who try to take advantage of your caring nature. Have you considered a career in psychic medium ship? Or any spiritual art/ past life regression / you get the drift..

Is there a family craft or hobby that you could monetize? Jupiter in LEO could signify ancestral gains.

Lilith and Pluto aspects to ascendant can make you come across really sexy / a bit unapproachable because people feel like you have some kind of power that places you above them?

Due to this, people with Pluto / Lilith aspects can feel some kind of hurt around people clearing up the path around them if that makes sense.

Jupiter opposite moon : there could be a clash between you want to do VS what you feel you should be doing.

Jupiter in the first house : you could have been born rich? Or people just perceive you that way. They also see you as someone wordly wise and lucky in general. You could know a lot about a wide variety of things. Specially on topics related to appearance, personal development, image consciousness etc. Since the ruler of the first is in the 12th I feel like some of your wisdom comes from a divine source. Like you're tapping into some kind of a collective reservoir of knowledge. In starseed terminology we would refer to this as downloads.

Jupiter rules the 8th house and 5th house.

So love, romance, games, early education may have been a bit of a breeze for you.

Jupiter is usually a bit of a celibate spiritual person. So, while it may make you really wise with respect to things like the occult / tarot / other 8th house themes, I'm not sure how it would impact your sex life with a spouse. Sex could be either a deeply spiritual experience for you or take on more neptunian traits. Addiction / alcoholism / drug use the works. Jupiter expands the themes of the house it rules so a word of caution there.

Travelling could bring you luck. Or even love.

Did I hear Mars opposite Neptune?

This could be a literal battlefield. You could feel like you need to work for love.if Neptune is unconditional love and Mars is your drive, then you could literally match to get to taht elusive unconditional sense of belonging /love / acceptance. But what are you marching towards really? A mirage? With this aspect I'd really be on the guard against addiction of any kind. Neptune is enticing, alluring, mocking Mars for its need to conquer. It could lend a really nice swagger to your walk. A runway model could benefit from thus placement. At uts best this aspect imbues you with creativity, inspiration, otherworldly imagination and the energy required to turn your abstract ideas of art into something tangible.

Here's a source for more on this placement. Sometimes I find that the comments really help me make sense of my own placements

Toodles

Before I sign off, I just have to say this :please try to restrict asks to 2-3 placements. You can send in multiple asks if you'd like, but answering them all in one ask can get a bit cluttered and I'd hate to miss out on something 😊

Hope this helped 💕as always, I'd really appreciate your feedback on this take on how these placements affect you.

[einsteinsugly]

Things Donna Pinciotti loves…

First off, the people in her life: Her daughters, Kate and Leah. Her husband Eric, her best friends Jackie and Hyde. Her parents, her in-laws (most of the time; Kitty can get on her case sometimes).

Writing Reading Journalism, especially being a whistleblower Activism, progressivism, and the f word (feminism) Kicking asses to the moon, and taking names Traveling Cats Flannels Fleetwood Mac Coffee!!! Honorable Mentions: DJing, Janis Joplin, Alanis Morissette, Heart, Paris, New York, strawberries, Scrabble, crossword puzzles, Law and Order: SVU, collecting mugs, soft pretzels, Little Women, Stephen King novels, Sylvia Plath, bookshelves, bandanas, mom jeans (even before she was a mom, Jackie says), Elizabeth Warren (until 2020, that is), Ruth Bader Ginsburg, tweed blazers, Coca Cola classic (New Coke can kiss her ass), mooning, band tees, Aerosmith, journals and notebooks, the smell of books, correcting grammar, libraries, postcards

[softyoongiionly]

Talk to Me in Korean (Advanced Edition)

Your boyfriend’s English is basically better than yours at this point.

After an amazing birthday, he decides to use his newfound skills to get ahead and begin planning next years celebration.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Genre: established relationship au, domestic au, idol! jk, this is a part three to my other talk to me in korean installments but they don’t have to be read in order :)

A/N: Hiiii I’m back??? Hopefully??? This past month has been ROUGH (but like 2020 am I rite?) so I’ve been having a ton of writers block but as always, Jungkook has a way of pulling me out of all of the that. I’m sorry this is like my 50000th domestic jk story in a row ok??? I CANT HELP IT, ITS HIS FAULT. okiii anyway I love you, it’s 3am- this is unedited and im so sleepy. I love you again. 

Warnings: smut (18+ only plz), more so dirty talking than anything but stillll 

Fresh coffee.  

It’s the first thing Jungkook smells when his eyes peek open.  

His flush against the white cotton of the pillow that still holds the scent of your shampoo.  

He literally can’t help the grin that erupts onto his lips as he remembers exactly how the night before played out.  

As he remembers exactly where he is.  

He remembers that his members had organized a surprise dinner for his birthday party which included the finest selection of meat, veggies and various other side dishes money could buy.  

Not to mention, they ended the evening the introduction of a giant banana milk themed cake.  

Despite stuffing himself till near immobilization as well as being surrounded by his best friends, nothing could have prepared him for his final gift: you.  

The boys had flown you in from out of town and organized for your arrival in the middle of the party.  

Jungkook may have shed a few tears as nothing could have made him happier than seeing his beautiful girlfriend pushing through the doors of the venue.  

Once the boys had gone to home, Jungkook had taken you up to his room to finish off the evening with birthday sex.  

Predictable? Maybe.

Did either of you care? Absolutely not.  

It had been 3 months since the two of you had seen each other and he was nothing short of desperate for your touch.  

Now however, he’s experiencing a different kind of bliss as the smell of bacon begins to waft in through his cracked bedroom door.  

His smile broadens as he realizes very quickly that the same beautiful woman who had made his birthday so special had woken up early to make him breakfast.  

He cannot begin to imagine how lucky he is but, he plans on using his day off to show you how much he appreciates you.  

In a million different ways...

Running a hand through the raven locks on his head, he pushes himself to a sitting position. Upon doing so, he notices the faint red marks over the valleys and curves of his stomach whilst simultaneously feeling a hint of pain across the middle of his back. He smirks to himself and curiously runs the tips of his fingers over the aggravated flesh of his stomach.  

What a night...

He finally stands up, moving his body in every necessary direction to stretch out the soreness in his muscles before taking note of his current attire.  

Given the events of last night, it surprised him that he had even managed to pull on the pair of white boxer-briefs that currently adorned his figure. He assumed he had fallen asleep naked.  

Jungkook experiences a pivotal moment then, completely on his own.  

He realizes that he doesn’t want to put anything else on.  

To some people, this wouldn’t be a big deal but to Jungkook, its everything.  

When he first travelled to Seoul, he was too shy to remove his shirt in front of his hyungs, let a lone strut around the dorm in his boxers.  

But with you, he’s finally starting to realize that not only is he comfortable with you but, he has a massive desire to express that to you.  

He wants you to have parts of him that no one else has.  

He wants you to know that you’re the only one who gets him this way.  

Without the fancy clothes, the layers of makeup, the band aids on his tattoos, the carefully scripted words and persona...

That you alone have all of him.  

He chuckles to himself, running a hand through his hair once again as he picks on himself for making such a big deal out of something so small.

But he knows that you’d get it and that quickly squashes any of his desire to make fun of himself.  

As he approaches his bedroom door, he feels the ghost of nerves directly in the pit of his stomach.  

Why was he nervous? You’ve literally seen him naked before.

He’s been inside of you more times than he can count so why was he overthinking going out to greet his girlfriend in his boxers?

He rolls his eyes at himself, “Because you’re weird, that’s why...” He mutters to himself before finally pushing open the door.  

His kitchen is off to the left, slightly tucked behind a bit of wall and he is annoyed with the layout of his apartment because he is getting in the way of immediately seeing your pretty face.  

When he does see you however, it’s entirely worth the wait.  

You’ve got a portable speaker set up a safe distance away from your work station emitting a bit of soothing music throughout the kitchen along with a pot of fresh coffee on the island with his favorite Iron Man mug sitting right next to it, awaiting his arrival. There’s a few pans on the stovetop sizzling with various breakfast items that Jungkook doesn’t care to notice at first because his eyes are far too concerned with you.  

And boy does he desperately wish that this was his daily life...

Your wear minimal clothing as well but there are fuzzy socks on your feet and a bit of bedhead adorning your crown and that’s really all that he needs to see to conclude that you are the most fantastic thing to ever grace the planet.  

“G’morning...” He nearly mumbles, placing a hand on the counter.

He ensures his voice is soft enough not to startle you and thankfully his presence emits nothing more but a smile from your lips.

You turn towards him with the same smile, eyes raking over his body shamelessly before returning his greeting, “Good morning birthday boy. Did you sleep ok?”

He chuckles lightly, his head cocking to the side in confusion, “My birthday was...yesterday yeah?”

Your smile grows at his question as you make your way over to the sleepy man before you.

“It was.” You concede and as you near his figure, you slide your hands around his waist, “But I wasn’t with you the whole day so, I’m trying to make up for lost time.”

Immediately, he grins boyishly his capable hands sliding up your body to pull you flush against his.

“But you already gave me so many presents...” He insists, leaning towards your lips, “Remember last night?”

You take a moment to admire how good his English has gotten and silently applaud him for managing to lead such an incredibly busy life and learn a second language all at the same time. You try your best not to vocalize your praise to often though because you know how shy it makes him.  

Before you can answer, he presses his lips to yours, humming gently in his throat and promptly smiling into your mouth.  

As you indulge in him for a moment your fingers gently brush the tan skin across his back. Your touch sends a shiver up your boyfriends back which then gives you no choice but to return the smile present in your kiss.

“Duh...” You murmur which prompts a delighted chuckle to escape his mouth, “How could I forget? You were like superman last night with all that stamina...”

Your observation causes your boyfriend to frown playfully as he points to the mug sitting atop the counter.

“Not superman- Iron Man.” He insists, still holding you close, the warmth of his presence infecting you.  

With a snort, you pull back slightly to catch the glint in his eyes, “I don’t know how me comparing you to Ironman would make much sense babe but, if you want to be Iron Man then how am I to deny you?”

Jungkook smirks, already satisfied with his response before he’s even uttered it.

“I’m like Iron Man because he is a machine...” He wiggles his brows at you, “...and so am I.”

After the look of incredulity that crosses your face, you have no choice but to laugh, leaning slightly away from him to indicate that you have to head back to your breakfast before it burns.

“Alright fair enough-” You concede, still giggling a bit as his grip tightens on your body, his own beautiful smile still present on his mouth, “I gotta finish cooking, or else we’re gonna have burnt bacon for breakfast.”

He shrugs, unimpressed as he uses his inhuman strength to hug you tighter,  “Bacon is bacon.”

This prompts more laughter as he reluctantly walks to the stove with you, your body still encased in his grip.

“I can’t cook with your mega muscles constricting my arms-” You point out, craning your neck slightly to try and meet his gaze, a ghost of a smile on your lips, which is still locked onto a mixture of mischief and joy.

With a furrowed brow he leans in slowly before pecking your lips quickly and finally releasing you, “What is constricting?”

His question is asked from near the coffee pot, his hands gingerly moving his mug closer to him.

He is VERY careful with this particular mug.

“Constricting is like when you squeeze something really really tight-” You explain softly, taking the now well-done strips of bacon out of the pan before laying them on some paper towels.

He’s pouring himself a cup of coffee, his eyes narrowed in focus as he nods, “Ohhh ok- you mean like how snakes do?”

“Yeah exactly!” You smile brightly, turning towards him with encouragement on your face, “that’s why we call certain kinds of snakes constrictors because that’s how they kill their pray. Honestly, it wasn’t the best word choice on my part because, people definitely use the word squeeze more but-”

He shakes his head then, his eyes still focusing on preparing his cup of coffee, “It doesn’t matter- you taught me another new word without even trying to.” He assures you before a cocky smirk comes across his face, “I bet I know more words than Namjoon-hyung now...”

His comment makes you laugh as his competitiveness is something you adore despite the fact that you don’t fully understand it.

“Oh for sure, you probably know more words than I do honestly, with how often you practice.”  

Jungkook smiles broadens at your praise, his eyes finally flitting up towards you, “Probably.”

He laughs along with you now, the sound of your giggling sending warmth into his heart as he brings the mug to his lips.

“You’re a brat.” You point out simply, still smiling because you literally do nothing else with this kid as you begin to fry up the last batch of bacon.

Suddenly, you feel his presence behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist whilst his nose burrows playfully into your neck, “Noooo an angel.”

Snorting again, you pretend his lips near such a sensitive area doesn’t affect you as you continue with your current task, “An angel? What on Earth would make you think that?”

Your teasing prompts a bout of snickering to leave his lips as he hugs you tighter to him, the soft scent of his hair sending a wave of comfort through you.

“You call me a good boy all the time...”

Although his comment is meant to be innocent, the way he intentionally lowers his tone causes your thighs to press together.

“I do,” You admit, trying to keep it together as you crack a few eggs into an awaiting pan, “I don’t know if that makes you an angel though.”

Jungkook senses the change in your voice and rather then shy away from the direction the conversation is heading, he decides to go with it.  

“That’s true-” He murmurs and it’s then you can feel the smirk against the curve of your neck, “Especially since you only call me that when I’m making you cum huh?”

This causes your eyes to grow wide and given that your flirtatious boyfriend is staring at you already, there is no way for you to hide it.

So instead you play along, enjoying this new side of him more than you care to admit.

“Exactly.” You mutter, giggling to yourself as you feel a bit of heat on your cheeks, “Go set the table or something- you're going to make me burn the kitchen down.”

With a cheeky giggle, he seems satisfied with his mission to fluster you, placing a kiss to your cheek and rushing off to do as you’ve asked him to.

Breakfast passes without any more of Jungkook’s reckless behavior and you’re thankful for it because, you sincerely doubt that you’d be able to focus on your plate when you have a foul-mouthed buffet sitting across from you.

Jungkook insists on helping you clean up whilst also reminding you once again that his birthday was yesterday and that he doesn’t want any more special treatment.

All he wants is to be with you today.

You honor his request by sitting up a massive mountain of pillows and blankets in his living room and situating yourselves in front of his flat screen.

With the curtains closed and the scent of Jungkook’s sea breeze candle wafting throughout the room, the two of you begin watching a movie together.  

However, halfway through the movie, the plans begin to morph into something else entirely.

Armed with newly found confidence, your boyfriend begins kissing you, his hands making their way towards your hips.

The pace of your breathing picks up rather quickly when he suckles your bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling against the swollen flesh.

“For my birthday- next year...” He whispers into your mouth, eyes fluttering open as he nudges your nose, “I want to kiss you all day.”

His request causes you to smile, your hands slowly sliding up his neck to tuck into the hair at the back of his head, “Whatever you want.”

Your response causes his eyes to sparkle with mischief once more, delighted at how willing you are to give him whatever he wants, “Oh- it’s whatever I want hm? Just like that?”

The way he’s speaking to you makes you a little light headed and rather than try to reign back his bout of authority, you decide to run with it, “Just like that.”

Your response is spoken into his mouth, the kiss between you breaking so he can maneuver you onto your back. For a moment, he braces his hands on either side of your head, his perfect body hovering over you, with only the long strands of his hair and the thin silver chains around his neck reaching for you.  

“What if-” He grins before grinding his hips against you, the swollen bit of his boxers rubbing against your clothed core, “I wanted to be in here all day? Would you let me?”

Through the waves of pleasure, your eyes squeeze shut for a moment before you nod, your fingers beginning to wander up the outsides of his forearms.

“Whatever you want...”

His grin is stable but the pace of his breathing is quickening, indicating his excitement.

He wants more out of this conversation though and decides to press you further.  

“Would you let me put my face down there all day too? You wouldn’t have to cook for me if you did...” He points out before his grin morphs into a smirk as he leans down towards your lips, “I’d get full off your pussy wouldn’t I?”

The switch in languages also indicates his level of arousal as his mentioned before that English is far more difficult when he’s wrapped up in his emotions or in this case, his desires.  

Using your nails, you lightly tickle your way up to shoulders tugging playfully to see if he’ll come to lay down on you fully but he doesn’t budge. He merely chuckles and grinds against you once again.

“Patience...” He parrots a phrase that you often utter to him when roles are reversed in the bedroom and the glimmer in his eyes informs you that he is eating up your reaction to him.

“But I want you...” You whine to him, hoping his thing for hearing you speak his language will be enough to break his resolve but he isn’t ready to give in just yet.

“That’s too bad jagiya, I’m not finish planning my birthday just yet.” Jungkook whines mockingly in return, the innocent curls framing his face contradicting his salacious demeanor, “I want to know how many marks you’d leave on me- maybeeeeee...” He draws out the word as his teeth tuck into his bottom lip, “25? One for every year of my birthday?”

Since attempting to tug him down didn’t work out, you decide to wrap your legs around his waist to further some sort of contact between you two.  

“Twenty five? Your stylists would kill me...” You point out giggling, pushing your now damp panties against the swell of his length beneath his boxers.  

Rather cockily, Jungkook snorts and leans down once again to brush his lips over yours, “I don’t give a fuck what the noonas say, they know how to cover me up and, even if they can’t- people are just gonna have to deal with it.” Another smirk forms on his mouth before he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, “it would be really hard for them if they fired me don’t you think?”

You gotta admit, his new found attitude is turning you on. It’s not like Jungkook to be so cocky, despite the way some people may think and although you know for a fact that he’s putting it on for you, you have no problem sucking it up anyway.  

“Definitely. BigHit would have hell to pay...” You concede, your words slightly muffled due to the current location of your bottom lip. Once more your hands tangle their way into his hair and you take advantage of this position to kiss him, hoping that will be enough to convince him to drop the teasing.  

He kisses you back with enthusiasm, his lower body relaxing slightly as more and more of him presses against you.  

“You’re wet.”  He whispers, his eyes still closed whilst he continues to peck at your bottom lip, “Are you ready for my dick now?”  

With his inquiry, he grinds against you once more, sending a shiver of pleasure up your spine.  Your surprised that he spoke the second sentence in English as he usually would have switched fully to Korean at this point.  

“Namjoon’s really been rubbing off on you lately...”  

This insignificant comment lights a fire in Jungkook’s chest and prompts him to quickly pin your wrists above your head. His features hold a bit of disapproval but, mostly they hold that competitive look that is so uniquely Jungkook.  

That “I’m going to win just to show you how good I am” kind of look.

“Why does everyone assume that Namjoon is the most perverted huh? Just cause he talks about it the most? He writes a few dirty lyrics and talks about porn and suddenly he’s the only one who wants to fuck? Jagiya- do you want to know why I look so distracted all the time?” He giggles in an almost maniacal fashion, a dark smirk prominent on his lips as he cocks his head, “It’s because I’m usually thinking about fucking you. Everyone always thinks I’m so shy- so innocent, but you’d let them know huh jagi?  You’d let them know how fucking dirty I am wouldn’t you? I don’t think ARMY could handle it if they knew the truth...” Jungkook offers that same type of laughter once again before kissing you once more, “Now answer my question- are you ready for my dick now?”

His words and behavior stun you a little bit but mostly it just sends more arousal to your core and ruins your odds of putting these pair of panties back on when the two of you are done.  

“Yes sir...” You giggle, saluting him playfully as you wrap your legs around his waist again, “I’m so ready for you- please? Can I have it?”  

Your pleas work immediately on your boyfriend, who is already struggling with his level of arousal and before you know it, he is fucking both you of you into orgasmic bliss.  

It’s over too quickly but it’s the kind of fuck that you know it going to prompt a round two.

Or maybe even a round three or four if you’re lucky...

Jungkook’s head is on your chest now, his arms hugging you tightly to his body, his post-orgasmic glow riding him of any of his previously cocky attitude.  

“I like this.” He murmurs, licking his chapped lips and nuzzling between your breasts.

You smile fondly down at him, “Cuddling?”

He shakes his head, his eyes beginning to flutter shut, “Not just cuddling- but you, being here, at my house with me.”

With a kiss to his forehead, you use your free hand to brush his hair from his eyes, “I like being here with you too.”

There is a bit of color that finds it’s way to Jungkook’s cheeks as he utters a suggestion, “You should stay here with me. I will move my stuff around for you...”

It’s such a simple notion and yet it nearly moves you to tears but before you’re able to breach the topic further, his eyes fully close as he relaxes his weight completely.  

Without clarity regarding whether or not he can hear you, you utter your response into his hair,

“Sounds good, roomie.”

[acreepqueen]

Inktober 2020 |Day 3: Bulky|

You weren’t really sure what you were doing here. Anyone else on the ship being called to the main control room? Sure, that would make sense. Everyone else was basically a super genius. The crew was made up of the top experts in their respective fields; artificial advancement, extra-planetary biology, robotic engineering, universal travel, and so many more complicated fields you couldn’t hope to possibly grasp. But you? You were the ship’s gardener, in charge of keeping all the plants in the greenhouse room alive. Sure, you could name practically every single species of plant on Earth and otherwise and how to care for it, but it was never difficult for you to memorize information. In fact, because of your difference in field from literally every single other person on the ship, you hadn’t made any real friends. Which, after being on board for nearly two months, had made you lonely.

 In the past week or so, you’d often found yourself rambling to the ship’s AI. It’d made you feel more sad and lonely at first as they never really responded or offered up any sort of conversation. Although, by now it made you feel better. It was almost like writing in a diary; a daily ritual that kept you from falling apart at the seams. Speaking of falling apart at the seams, you hadn’t had a chance to check the garden this morning and were slightly worried some of the plants might start fighting each other if they weren’t fed soon. You shuffled nervously outside the control room, the air a little too cold and stale for your liking. Most of your time was spent in the greenhouse which always was kept relatively warm and smelt like walking outside. If you were being honest, you were starting to get a little homesick.

The pleasant little ding of control room doors stirred you from your thoughts. With a slight hesitancy you peered inside.Crew members were not really supposed to be in here. The main control room was only there for emergency use if the AI malfunctioned or something within the ship needed to be fixed. After all, the AI was fully capable of running everything on its own. You shuffled nervously unable to bring yourself to walk through the sliding doors. Why exactly had you been called? No matter how you looked at it, it didn’t make sense. Perhaps there had been a mix up and you weren’t meant to be called at all. Just as you were getting ready to walk away the familiar voice of the AI spoke out.

“Come in human. Do not touch anything,” it said. You stepped inside a little confused by its warning, though that didn’t last for long. You paled slightly as you looked around you. Bulky machinery lined the walls and parts were strewn across every table. Wires stuck out here and there some of which still seemed to be live. There was a narrow path where the floor was clear you could walk along. Whatever you’d expected the main control room to look like, it was not this! This place was practically a death trap! As slowly and as carefully as you could you shuffled along trying your best not to accidentally snag a live wire and electrocute yourself. All the while, you were being driven to madness by the constant barrage of noises; the whirring of countless fans trying desperately to keep the machinery intact, a suspicious beep that you didn’t want to know where or what it came from, and the alarming sound of sparks. Honestly, you’d rather be dealing with the lava-spewing plants in the greenhouse right now.

“Hello?” you called out nervously. You wanted to leave as soon as possible. It felt like every second you spent in this room was only increasing your likelihood of an untimely death. The lack of response was worrying, but it didn’t last for long.

“...To your left. On the table.” the AI stated without any sort of explanation. You glanced over to see something so incredibly out of place you couldn’t stifle a laugh. One of your flowered mugs was sitting on the clearest table in the room, filled with god knows what.

“...Is this for me? Can I pick it up?” you asked more than a bit befuddled. You glared slightly at the hazardous looking coil of wire sitting beside the cup. 

“Yes,” the AI replied. Were you curious enough to risk electrocution? Yes, yes you were. With not nearly enough contemplation you reached over and picked up the cup. You panicked slightly at the temperature of the cup; it was warm. Moving slowly as to not spill the dark liquid, you brought it towards you. You knit your brows at the familiar smell.

“Humans like coffee, yes?” the AI questioned. At that you let out a snort and couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. Was this what you’d been called for? To pick up a cup of coffee? It was oddly cute and incredibly unexpected.

“I do, yes,” you responded sniffing the liquid before bringing it to your lips. Was it a smart idea to drink the coffee? No, absolutely not. Was it surprisingly delicious? Somehow, yeah. It didn’t taste like the instant coffee that was in the breakroom.

“I preordered coffee beans and needed human approval before removing the instant coffee. This is more nutritious. Is it acceptable?” the AI asked. You nodded and took another sip of the coffee.

“Was that all you needed from me?” you asked finally, feeling a bit awkward. After a slight pause the AI responded.

“Yes.”

You bid the AI goodbye and stumbled back through the mess of a control room, now feeling much better. Maybe your luck was starting to turn around. Hurriedly, you rushed over to the greenhouse to start your morning routine. At this point, you were just praying that the plants hadn’t started to eat each other. Though, even through your worries you couldn’t help the slight smile that spread across your face. It was a small gesture, but it meant bounds more than the AI could possibly comprehend. After all, it was probably selecting the least busy human of the group to do the taste-testing, not you specifically.

With a slight sigh, the AI watched you leave. Perhaps you wouldn’t be so miserable in the future. Not entirely sure what they were doing, the AI placed an order for some cookies. Those certainly weren’t nutritious. They supposed they’d have to think of a better excuse next time.

[squiggledrop]

Day 25: Proposing on Christmas - Spencer x Reader

Masterlist

Ficmas 2020

Listen to my Christmas Playlist!

Summary: Ficmas Day 25

Word Count: 2.1k

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Snow fell outside as a thin layer of frost formed on the cold window. You rolled over, taking in a deep breath as you curled into Spencer. You felt his arms tighten around you and a thin smile graced your lips. 

“Merry Christmas”, you whispered, placing a soft kiss on his stubbly cheek. Spencer hummed, kissing your forehead.

“Merry Christmas, baby”, he smiled. You looked up at him, his warm chestnut eyes holding your gaze. “You want to get up, or cuddle for a bit longer?”, he asked. He looked at you with a smile and a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Just a few more minutes”, you sighed, pulling the covers up further. Spencer gave the tip of your nose a quick kiss before closing his eyes and snuggling back into you. Resting your head on his chest, you could hear his steady heartbeat through his grey t-shirt. You closed your eyes, calmed by the feeling of being so close to Spencer.

After about a half-hour of cuddles, you began to hear Spencer’s stomach grumble, eliciting a slight giggle from you. Spencer smiled, rubbing your back, as he looked down at you.

“Alright, let’s get you some food mister”. You gently patted Spencer’s chest as you sat up in the bed.

“Can we have some of the stollen?”, he asked, eyes lighting up. Every year you made a loaf of your grandmother’s stollen for Christmas morning, and it was Spencer’s favorite. He, of course, liked to drown in it powdered sugar, claiming it made it more festive. 

“Of course”, you said, leaning into him. You placed a chaste kiss on his lips, which he eagerly melted into. You pulled back and smiled, placing a gentle peck on his cheek before standing up.

As you made your way to the kitchen, Spencer followed behind with his arms wrapped around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder. You giggled, wrapping your arms across his as you waddled down the hall together. 

When you made it into the kitchen, you got out a cutting board and knife as Spencer put on a pot of coffee. As you cut the stollen, he came and stood behind you, enveloping you in his embrace again.

“Careful”, you giggled, the sharp knife wavering in your hand slightly at the contact.

“Sorry”, he mumbled shyly into your shoulder, pressing light kisses along your back. When you had finished cutting a slice for you both, you set the knife down and turned around. You placed your arms on his shoulder, running your fingers through the hair at the bottom of his neck. Spencer relaxed into your soft touch and began rubbing his hands up and down your back. You sighed, closing your eyes and basking in his touch. Spencer pulled you closer, your head slotting underneath his chin. He pressed a kiss onto your head before resting his chin on your shoulder and pulling you in for a proper hug. You both stayed there for a moment, letting the scent of coffee and the other’s shampoo fill your lungs. 

Upon hearing Spencer’s stomach rumble again, you let out a soft chuckle before giving him a tight squeeze. Spencer let out a mumbled whine you pulled apart, but you shook your head playfully as you handed him the plates of food.

“Here”, you smiled, “take these in and I’ll follow with the coffee”. Spencer nodded, eagerly eying the food in front of him.

“Don’t forget the powdered sugar”, he smirked as he walked towards the couch.

“I won’t”, you teased. You poured two cups of coffee into the holiday mugs you picked up at the inn you stayed at. Each one had a snowy scenery with a horse-drawn carriage, and upon the top, in red script, it read ‘the best part of Christmas is spending it with you’. As you stirred in a Spencer appropriate amount of sugar into his mug, you smiled, memories of the previous days replaying in your head. When you finished, you made your way into the living room and smiled as the glowing Christmas tree came into view.

“Here, babe”, you said, handing Spencer his cup of coffee.

“Mmm, thank you”, he hummed, taking a sip. He handed you your plate and you gave him the bag of powdered sugar. A wide grin grew on his face as he lathered it onto his stollen. You watched as took a bite, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips at the taste. 

“This is so good,” he complimented through mumbled chews, “You did a really good job”. You chuckled slightly, noticing he had some powdered sugar on his chin.

“Thanks, baby”, you smiled, bringing your hand to his face and gently dusting off the excess sugar. Spencer blushed at the intimacy of your kind gesture and came to sit right next to you. He leaned his head on your shoulder, pressing your sides together. You both sat there, eating and sipping on your coffee as you enjoyed the other’s presence.

“I love you”, Spencer said softly between bites. You looked down at him and smiled, hoping that three words could compensate for the multitude of love you held for him.

“I love you too”, you gleamed. Spencer looked up at you for a moment and gave you a sincere smile before turning back to his stollen. He knew everything would be fine, perfect even, but that didn’t stop him from hoping you couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.

When you had both finished eating, you began opening the presents that sat under the tree. With every gift that was opened, Spencer could feel his heart rate increase. As you were opening your last gift, he rubbed his sweaty palms on his flannel pants, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

You, however, were also a profiler and knew something was up by the way he was nervously playing with his lip. As you unwrapped the gift, you watched Spencer’s sporadic eyes dart from your face, to the present in your hand, to the back of the tree, and then down to the floor beside him. 

“Spence are you okay?”, you asked, slightly worried. Spencer felt his throat go dry at your words, and he nodded, trying to form a sentence. “You sure?”, you asked, comfortingly placing your hand on his arm. Spencer sighed at the contact, looking down at your joined skin. He took in a deep breath and a small smile played on his lips.

“Yeah”, he said, nodding at you. He took your hand in his and ran his thumb across the back of your palm. “I um, I think there is one last present behind the tree”, he said softly, motioning to the tree. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked.

“Spence I don’t think so”, you giggled, looking at him quizzically.

“No, I’m pretty sure there is”, he insisted. “Um, why don’t you go check”. You were about to say something, but you closed your mouth and let out a soft sigh. You chuckled slightly and got up, figuring it would be easier to just check. 

Spencer watched as you stood up and walked towards the tree. You bent over, looking behind it, making sure there was nothing there. And, to your suspicions, there wasn’t.

“Spence, babe, I told you”, you said, turning around, “there wasn’t any-”. You gasped, bringing your hand to cover your mouth. When you turned around, you were met with Spencer on one knee in front of you, holding a tiny velvet box in his hand. Tears welled in your eyes at the sight of him, and it took everything in you to will your shaking legs to keep you standing.

“(Y/n)”, Spencer started, trying to hold back tears, “Italian composer, Giuseppe Verdi, once wrote ‘I saw you and fell in love, and you smiled because you knew’. From the first day I saw you and your contagious smile and heard your enchanting laugh, I knew you were it for me”. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and you dropped to your knees, holding onto every word that came out of Spencer’s mouth.

“I love you so much, and I want to spend every day for the rest of my life showing you. I love you because you are my best friend, in the truest sense of the word. You are the person I want to wake up to every morning and the person I want to come home to every night. With one look, you know exactly how I am feeling, and you always know how to make my day better. For the past month, I’ve been trying to fathom how I could condense my love for you into the finite constraints of the English language, and with every attempt, it doesn’t fully capture the extraordinary phenomena that is you”. You watched as Spencer took in a shaky breath, so you reached out your hand, which he gratefully held onto. You smiled at him, and he nodded a silent thank you before continuing.

“I didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much, but every day you prove me wrong time and time again. And I never want you to stop proving me wrong. I love the way you challenge me and how you’ve turned my world upside down, and I love that you let me see the world through your unique point of view, and I hope you always let me because it’s beautiful”. He stopped for a moment, blinking away some tears. He swallowed before looking back up at you, his amber eyes looking deep into yours.

“You are beautiful. You are the most radiant, caring, stubborn, sarcastic person I know. And because of that, you are also the most beautiful person in the world. I want to have kids with you, and I want to raise them in a gingerbread house with you”. You both let out a giggle through your tears at his words. You smiled at Spencer as if he held the whole universe in his palm, because to you, he did. 

“I want to grow old with you and sit in a nursing home while I read and you ramble about random things while we hold hands”. 

“Hey”, you sobbed through a smile, “that’s our regular Friday night”. Spencer giggled, shaking his head before he continued.

“I want to travel the world with you, and take every nap with you in my arms. When I say you are my whole world, I mean it literally”. He looked deep into your eyes, holding your hand. “You are my whole world. I honestly don’t know what I would do without you. No matter where I am or what I am doing, you are always on my mind, not consuming every thought, but rather always in the background, giving me words of encouragement when I need it or just a silly comment when I need to smile. You never fail to make me smile, and I want to spend the rest of my life making sure I’m the cause for yours”. He paused again, taking a deep breath. He looked at you through blurry eyes and smiled, “(Y/n) (Y/l/n), will you marry me?”

“Yes”, you cried, nodding as you flung yourself into Spencer’s arms, “Of course I’ll marry you, Spence”. Spencer clung onto you, happy tears rolling down his cheeks. He had never felt so elated in his entire life. 

“I love you so much (Y/n)”, he whispered into your hair, “so, so much”. He placed a kiss on your neck, as you felt your own tears leaving a stain on his shoulder.

“I love you too”, you whimpered. You lifted your head slightly so that you could see his face, and you promptly attached your lips. Spencer sighed into the kiss, neither of you caring about the salty tears mixing in your mouths because it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Spencer took the ring out of the box and took your hand in his. He gently slid the ring onto your finger and placed a tender kiss on it. He pulled you back into a tight hug, relishing in the way it felt to hold his fiancé. 

“Merry Christmas, (Y/n)”, Spencer spoke as he sniffed. You let out a faint laugh, your heart never having felt this full.

“Merry Christmas, Spence”, you whispered back. You held onto each other tightly, grateful that you had forever to spend smiling in each other’s arms.

[creativeashproductions]

A Distant Dream V // Luke Patterson

Summary: In 1994 seventeen-year-old Luke Patterson had once again tried to ask out the girl that held his heart. With the belief he would see the younger Mercer girl the next morning he decides to wait confess his feelings. Only to have soft music bewitched the reader into an antique wardrobe with lots of history.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, heartbreak, fluff, talk of death and fluff.

Words: 4.4k

A/N: We’ve come to the end of the Distant Dream mini-series. I truly enjoyed writing this with my whole heart. @merceret I told you I’d use Lucy’s Cordial somewhere in the series. All parts are located in the linked masterlist.

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Masterlist

The massive changes between the ’90s and 2021 slowly but surely started no longer seemed startling as it had been at first. Carlos had helped you assimilate to homeschooling once he’d admitted he knew about the boys. Ray was still kept in the dark. 

2020 ended on a high note. Mostly. With the years in Narnia providing you with the knowledge you flew through schooling. Then you took a job as a waitress at a coffee shop, one similar to the shop the band performed in. The downside to the end of the year was for the band.

Despite performing at the Orpheum, the band hadn’t received as much traction as Luke had desired. They were a step closer to the dream but not as far as the entire band had wished. During Julie’s Christmas break, Luke had overworked the band with little breaks.

“Hide me.” Julie hissed from behind the counter of Ancient Grounds. The Puerto Rican musician escaped the studio to have lunch with you.

Unfortunately, Julie failed to see that without the entire band together, Luke would go to what makes him just as happy. You. That’s precisely what happened as Luke walked in through the entrance of the coffee shop.

“He’s still pushing more practice?” You asked, stacking the clean mugs on the shelf with complete focus. How odd it is to go from being Queen to working in a city as a waitress.

“I love him like a brother, but I feel like my fingers are gonna fall off from playing the piano constantly.” Julie sighed, sliding down the counter to sit on the floor hidden from the approaching guitarist and from your manager.

“Hey!” Luke grinned once his hands fell on the counter to lean over on the balls of his feet. His lips pressed against your right cheek before he fell back onto his feet.

Not a single soul in the half-full Ancient Grounds batted an eye to your awkward stance when Luke kissed you. Not since the boys had become tangible and visible to the general public when they wanted. 

“Look to decide to grace me with his presence.” You teased. Your foot nudged Julie in her thigh to urge her to crawl to the end of the counter.

“I have no clue where Julie is. Reggie dipped to join Ray in his errands, and Alex is somewhere.” Luke shrugged, stepping aside when an older gentleman dropped a tip in the jar before leaving.

“Pick a number.” You told the male with one of your dimples on display.

“Eleven,” Luke responded, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the regular game you played together.

Each visit, you’d split a dessert from the menu with Luke along with his favourite mug of tea and your drink of choice; even he knew he didn’t need caffeine with his energy. That was Luke’s favourite thing of being brought half alive from the golden glow they’d received. You were sure Reggie had cried upon eating your Tia’s best recipe.

“Nanaimo Bar Cheesecake. A limited-edition from our Worldwide Treat menu. It’s Canada’s month.” 

Luke followed to the counter’s end, where the sweets were kept on a glass viewing shelf. With careful movements, you slid a perfect triangle of the cheesecake onto a beautiful plate. The half-ghost retrieved it to your favourite spot in the garden patio. Julie used the time to sneak out the door with Luke’s back to her.

“What is a Nanaimo Bar?” Luke questioned upon you joining him at the iron-wrought table. One teacup accompanied by a teapot with Luke’s tea and a mug of your drink on an emerald tray.

“It’s a no-bake dessert. The base is a chocolate graham cracker and coconut base with the middle layer a cream filling. The top layer is a thin layer of semi-sweet chocolate.” 

Luken nodded, “Ancient Grounds loves cheesecakes.”

“Addie adores inventing new versions of cheesecake. Her best is the Creamsicle Cheesecake during the summer. A staple on the menu.” You responded with a twinkle in your eye. You may not look like the Queen you once were, but you were just as invested in learning about people as you’d done with the Narnians.

“What’s your favourite dessert?” Luke questioned.

“I’m pretty partial to the chocolate cookies Addie makes.” You grinned, leaning closer to the male across from you. You hesitated in continuing, “In Narnia, the pastry chef Cair Paravel employed always had these gorgeous desserts with Edmund in mind. Turkish Delights with a secret ingredient.”

Luke’s smile grew as you talked about the other home you had. A place you rarely spoke about now. You hadn’t even returned to the basement to see the wardrobe like you had before.

“I wish I could have seen Cair Paravel. It always sounds so magical when you talk about it.” Luke’s tone was wistful paired with the twinkle of his hazel eyes.

“It’s a breathtaking place. Everything is lively in Narnia, and after the Witch was defeated, we ruled peacefully for the most part.” Your e/c eyes unfocused on your surroundings to recall all the wonderful times spent in Narnia.

The times you shared a table with Mr. and Mrs. Beaver in their home over the years snacking on the homemade jams. To the times you listened to Mr. Tumnus playing everchanging lullabies on his flute. Even walking the beaches with Lucy in hopes of catching sight of Aslan again. Of gossiping with Susan over the many suitors that came for her hand.

“If you could do it all over again knowing the outcome, would you still do it?” Luke questioned with a tilt of his head. He’d shed the flannel jacket as the sun rose higher in the sky.

You nodded, “Absolutely. The Pevensies were some of the greatest friends one could ever hope to have.”

As usual, Peter wasn’t spoken of in light of the ache that resonated in your heart and the awkwardness Luke felt. A poor choice of avoiding your once husband instead of communicating on the topic.

“Have you ever thought of trying to find them?”

“No point. Peter would be ninety-seven now as the oldest, and Lucy would be eighty-nine. If I recall, it was 1940 for them when we went to Narnia. It’s possible Peter may have joined the war in ’42 when he was eighteen, so who knows if he lived.” Luke was surprised by the nonchalant reaction to the potentially grim outlook on your former in-laws.

However, Luke knew the truth, that you greatly missed the four people who became family during your disappearance. You could fool Julie and Reggie, but you could never fool Alex or Luke no matter how much you tried.

“I’ll see you at home? My break ended.” You swiftly cut off any more talking of your former life. Luke merely watched as you stacked the dirty dishes, only leaving Luke’s cup and teapot.

“I should get back. Julie’s most likely back in the garage from sneaking back.” Luke’s hand pushed through his messy curtain of brunette hair. His words revealing that he’d known Julie had been in Ancient Grounds the entire time.

“How’d-”

“When she sits on the floor, she taps the heel of her shoe on the floor. Same rhythm.” Luke smirked as he chugged the last of the tea, “Don’t tell her. I like when she fights a smug smile with that certain light in her eyes.”

The brotherly role Luke had taken on with the Molina girl was heartwarming, to say the least. Sometimes Julie would begrudgingly ask for advice about her feelings for Nick to Luke’s amusement. He adored being able to tease her.

“I’ll see you later.” 

The boy dropped the correct change for the tea on his way out the door into the bright sunlight. Like clockwork, he’d turn into the alley to become intangible to poof back to the studio. 

The rest of the day passed by like a breeze in the coffee shop with the late lunch rush and then the dinner rush the busiest time. Jess gave you a ride home in her truck as usual with a promise of a cupcake of Julie’s as payment.

“Did you see him?” 

The sudden voice startled you so much your hand couldn’t help but grasp at empty air by your side. Alex screeched as you swung to face him on the Molina driveway.

“Alex! Good Aslan, you startled me.”

“...were you reaching for a sword?” Alex questioned, appalled by your reaction. Your e/c eyes rolled in response.

“Isn’t the saying old habits die hard?” You prodded the baby blue of Alex’s long sleeve shirt. One of the shirts you’d often stolen from him, “And no. I didn’t see Willie.”

Your heart clenched as soon as Alex’s shoulders dropped in defeat once more at the absence of the skater. It had been months now with little sightings of the skater you had yet to meet. The boys kept your presence on the down-low to avoid Caleb’s interest.

“I hope he’s okay,” Alex muttered under his breath. The elder Mercer began gnawing his lower lip in worry.

Gently you interlaced your hand with his hand, his deft fingers playing with the braided bracelets on your wrist. The bracelets had been a Christmas gift from Julie and Flynn with the colours of the sunrise. It grounded Alex more often than not.

“You told me the Club travels around the world. Maybe Caleb’s not in America; maybe his ego needs to recover from his loss.” You shrugged, tugging the teenager into the house. Ray barely waved from his work computer.

Ray Molina had welcomed Alex, Reggie and Luke into the family when he met them in person the day after the Orpheum performance. He’d accepted that Alex was your older brother and had been in Switzerland for boarding school. He understood that Luke and Reggie came as a package deal with Alex, so the boys had worked to clean out the basement.

A few visits to second-hand doors brought furniture for the basement renovated into the boys’ shared suite. Alex still spent most nights in your room; he still feared you'd disappear from his life again.

“I hope you’re right.” Alex muttered in false hope that something would go his way for once, “Oh! The band received an invitation to some underground music festival in England during spring break. We’re hoping to convince Ray and Julie’s aunt to let us go.”

And you could see the band practices would be growing for that breakthrough with the band. And you were correct in your guess merely hours after going to sleep.

At five in the damn morning, Luke burst into your attic bedroom to drag your less than enthusiastic brother from his sleep. You bet your ass you hit the teen in the face with your pillow, which meant you had to crawl out of bed to retrieve the pillow.

“Asshole!” Alex exclaimed as Luke roughly poofed both of them to the studio. Julie swaying sleepily in her sweater and pyjama pants, waiting for the two.

Spring Break 2021 (March 26-April 2)

The youngest member of the tourists proudly displayed her smile, catching sight of the bed and breakfast in the English countryside. Julie had been floored when Ray had given his permission to the foreign festival. 

Ray couldn’t hide his excitement for the band, plus all-expense paid, receiving the invite via a relatively small record company. 

“First birthday back together,” Luke spoke from your side. Hands intertwined together in the cool wind of England. His arms were covered by his flannel coat in the unfavourable weather of the day.

You hummed, “Never thought I’d be celebrating my seventeenth birthday in England during 2021. Besides, I’ve already been seventeen.”

“I always knew I’d bring you to all the countries in the world.” Luke’s tone was matter of fact, staring at the stage being built under a woman’s guidance in her mid-30s.

The bed and breakfast had a lovely history your tour guide Martin had enthusiastically told on the train ride from the city. 

The man with spry greying hair pointed towards the old train station providing facts that interested most of the group. Luke’s arm tossed over your shoulder focused on the songbook, a new one, open in lap. Luke and you had slowly but surely evolved from shy brushes of skin to holding hands and then Luke’s arm over your shoulder. Chaste kisses on cheeks while you reassimilated into the dating world.

“In 1940, this train station deployed countless trains filled with evacuating children away from London during the Blitz. Filled with returning soldiers, mothers sending children to safety and children were torn from all they knew. Each child had a tag to identify them.” Martin explained intently, speaking to the group his organization had assigned him to.

“Where did they go?” Reggie curled into the travel blanket he’d bought specifically for the trip.

“Anywhere safe for them and where they could be cared for.”

“This route is one of many the evacuations used. The bed and breakfast we’re heading to holds a great history as well. It was once the Manor of Professor Digory Kirke during his life and passed down through generations throug-”

Martin’s story faded into the black abyss as sleep took you over by the soothing motion of the train and Luke’s warmth. Luke met the gaze of Alex. The two guys shared a sweet smile solely for the relaxed features of the younger Mercer.

“This is just another step in our journey for Julie and the Phantoms.” Your words warmed Luke Luke when he noticed you cemented your position in his life. You saw yourself in the future of Julie and the Phantoms as a faithful supporter and friend.

“Luke Patterson, correct? I’m Eva.” Your eyes widened, meeting the eyes that reminded you of someone. Just on the tip of your tongue, “My wife Diana will be a few minutes. We’re still getting the stage put together.”

“It’s so nice to meet you. How many people are you expecting?” Luke questioned the older woman. His mind snapped into business mode for the band.

“This is our fourth year putting on the festival at this location. This is the first year we added a wild card option for fans to vote on. Your band rocketed ahead of the other bands.” Eva explained, keeping her eyes on the woman you dubbed as Diana. The pure love in Eva’s eyes is a call to the yearning in your chest.

“I thought a recor-”

“Technically, yes, a record company flew you out. Diana started a small record label a few years back. Cair Oom Records. She’s the first person in both our families to step into a non-traditional career.” Eva explained to the now interesting young couple.

Luke was interested in the record label’s history, whereas you focused on the label’s name. Cair Oom. A call to your Narnia days you remembered. 

“Cair Oom?” You interrupted the conversation in pure curiosity. Your eyes drinking in the features of Eva, her freckles and brown eyes mirroring a person from your past.

“The label name?” Eva continued once you nodded in response, “It’s from a childhood story my family passed down. Diana was close to my great-aunt before we moved out here to run the bed and breakfast.”

“Of a dream of a dream. Spare Oom.” It was whispered in the breeze straight in your ear of a voice you vividly recalled—the disembodied voice with the same freckles as Eva but with chocolate brown hair instead of strawberry blonde.

“Y/N? You coming?” Luke’s concerned hazel eyes bore into your distant ones wandering the hills of the property. You hadn’t even noticed Eva leaving towards the Manor.

Your e/c eyes search for the owner of the youthful voice but come up empty. The only people you saw included your group with the odd workers setting up under Diana’s supervision.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Luke stepped right up in front of you, “You’ve been out of it since Eva mentioned the record label.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be right back.” You mumbled, following the woman up the path. Luke stared lost as you disappeared into the door. Eva entered.

The woman stood outside a door within the home, “I never knew what she meant. Not until I saw you Y/N.”

Your foot stumbled back when Eva turned with a soft smile you vividly recalled on a certain Pevensie. Eva unlocked the door to a room with only a picture hung on the wall.

“Narnia.” You breathed, stepping right up to the detailed painting of Cair Paravel. Your fingers tracing the beautiful frame holding it up.

“Correct. My Great-Aunt, in her adult life, adored painting in her past time. It was rare she told Narnian stories, but my mother loved them so much she told them to me as a child.

“Who’s your-”

“My name is Lucy Eva Baker. I was named after my other Great-Aunt, but I prefer going by Eva.” Eva’s words pulled a deep gasp from your throat. Tears building as the truth settled in the room.

Eva shared the same smile and brown eyes as Edmund Pevensie did, even the mature aura wrapped around her. The maturity Edmund had grown into during the fifteen years in Narnia. Without a shadow of a doubt, Eva Baker was the granddaughter of your former brother-in-law.

“Your-”

“Edmund’s granddaughter.” Eva finished with a sympathetic smile, “You featured heavily in each story. I always knew Narnia wasn’t merely a story.”

And then the conversation stuttered when you finally noticed Eva spoke mostly of learning of everything by her mom and Susan. Not a mention passed Edmund being her granddad. A piece of your heart broke, and it seemed the older woman saw it happen.

“W-what happened to…” You couldn’t even choke the question out in the room. Eva’s hand reached out to grasp yours in her own hand.

“I can’t tell you much as that reason that will become clear but in 1949 just shortly before my mom was born there was an accident. Grandpa Edmund and Peter were waiting for the train at the station. The train wrecked, killing the train occupants and many people in the station.” Eva was quick to catch you as a piercing grief-stricken scream exploded in the room.

In the Manor’s tea room, the band and Ray enjoyed a genuine tea time with Diana. Ray and Diana traded stories of their young sons while Reggie restrained himself to savour the food. English tea time begging for genuine manners.

Luke raised his cup to lips before it dropped to the saucer upon an exploding anguished wail from upstairs. Thankfully the cup didn’t break as the American guitarist sprung himself in the direction of the wails—Alex hot on his heels with a call to his friends.

Your screaming drowned out the furious stomps of feet racing in the halls of the Manor to the entrance of the room. Luke’s heart shattered at the pure anguish coating your broken features. Alex roughly pushed his way to tug you into his arms.

Alex’s large hand cupped the back of your head while he rocked you in his arms, “Shh. Let it out.”

“No!” You screamed into Alex’s shoulder. You couldn’t acknowledge Luke’s comforting hand on your shoulder, “N-no.”

“I got you. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” Alex murmured in your ear so softly you almost didn’t catch what he said. Luke dropped to his knees by your side. The three teens unaware as Eva excused herself for your privacy. Eva had watched her great-aunt Susan break every time she spoke of her late siblings.

Seconds passed or maybe years as it seemed to happen to you. But soon, you simply rested against Alex staring at Susan’s painting. Barely blinking in the room causing you suffering. You barely responded to anyone as you battled the grief. You faded in and out of daydreams as the bands performed. Days mixed together. Time didn’t exist to you. You were aware enough when Julie and Ray invited you to shop in London.

To everyone, including your surprise, you agreed. The three half ghosts joining in fear you’d shatter again. Eva and Diana held hands watching the car disappear in the distance carrying a group of musicians. An echo of Eva’s words replacing in the back of your mind.

“Three of five drink at high tide. Four of nine and five of nine stand apart by time. A drop of Valiant’s potion will begin the time once before frozen.” 

“Are they-”

“Yes.” Eva spoke before her wife could finish the sentence, “She’ll be returning to Narnia. Decades separating her from the Pevensie siblings.”

Eva was correct. At the station, the location was painful as it was Lucy, Peter and Edmund’s last place they’d been alive. Ray disappeared to use the restroom, leaving the five teenagers to wait for the adult.

“Ouch!” You exclaimed, rubbing a spot on your arm with a grimace. Your eyes glaring at your tall older brother, “Don’t pinch me!”

Alex shook his head, “I didn’t pinch you!”

“Luke!” Reggie squealed, jumping away from the guitarist with a pout on his full lips. The bassist rubbing his stinging cheek, “These cheeks are reserved for my Grannie!”

Luke scoffed at his friend, “Why would I risk the chance of you biting off my finger Reginald?”

“We have bigger problems than whose pinching us! I’m losing my damn mind! First three himbos fall out of nowhere, then a girl trips out a magic wardrobe and now this!” Julie snapped, staring at their environment in the train station tunnel, “I need to be committed!”

You watched breathlessly as a strong gale storm literally tore pieces of the train and the walls of the station apart. Through the train windows, you watched as a bright blue sky increasingly grew. The colour is so clear and vivid in only one place you knew.

The train blew by. The wall behind you changed into stone—the floor into the sand.

“What the fuck?” Alex demanded, twirling around on the new scenery of a beach in what was supposed to be a train station. The poor male kept being thrown off-kilter since the alley in 1995.

You knew deep in your heart where you were. Especially when four people of different heights stood with their backs to you. One individual, the shortest, turns upon feeling eyes on her back. And at the same time, you spoke.

“Lucy!”

“Y/N!”

The two girls ran straight into each other’s arms sobbing in elation and relief at finally seeing each other after a long year apart. The seven additional people who joined the duo collapsed on the ground. Alex cleared his throat.

“Y/N? Are you going to intro-”

“That’s Queen Y/N.” Peter snapped towards the stranger with a pink sweater on. Peter could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen a man wear pink. 

“That’s my sister.” Alex snapped, standing at his full six-foot height, pinning a glare on the other teenager. Peter scoffed in response. His face faltering upon finding your hand encased in a male shorter than the blonde.

Without a shadow of a doubt, Peter knew this man was the unseen third person that filled every conversation and room between Peter and Y/N. Peter was very much aware that you weren’t in love with him. He lived with the knowledge for a decade, pretending it was he that you deeply loved. Seeing the person holding your heart hurt.

“This is my brother Alex Mercer and our friends Julie Molina, Reggie Peters and my...this is Luke Patterson.” You gestured to each of them; the Puerto Rican musician shell shocked. Julie now knew why that talking lion you spoke of sounded familiar. Narnia had seen one other visitor years before Julie was born.

Rose Molina’s bedtime stories for her children involved a lion named Aslan and a magical wardrobe made from a special tree. Julie recalled the feeling Narnia birthed if in the world as Rose described it. 

“Mercer as in...?” Edmund trailed off slowly.

“My horse. Yes. I guess subconsciously, I still remembered where I came from.”

“These are my friends Susan, Edmund, Lucy and...Peter.” You softly spoke of the eldest Pevensie. His blue eyes sadly meeting yours.

A fondness growing at the sight but a pain blossoming at the heartbreak in his features. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see Peter had put two and two together on who Luke was to you. And while Peter desired to fight for you, he knew it was a lost cause; time cruelly separated you outside the world of Narnia. You both deserved happiness, so with great pain, Peter let you go.

“C’mon!” Lucy shouted, racing out of the cave on the bright sunny beach. The rest hot on the heels of the youngest member of the conjoined group. As you all goofed around on the beach, you told the Pevensie family all about Julie and the boys.

“Welcome to Narnia, my love.” You murmured to the boy that held your heart in his gentle hands. Luke Patterson beamed. He finally got the girl of his dreams and visited the place you hold dear.

The fun aspect of being in Narnia with both of your family came to a halt when you discovered the ruins. Cair Paravel had become a pile of broken stone and sadness. Not a single Narnian in the distance nor the Beavers or Mr. Tumnus.

“What?”

Julie and the boys’ presence became static in the background while the former Narnia royalty pursued through the ruins. They found the chessboard and the gifts Father Christmas gave them during the Winter Revolution. 

Something clicked within Lucy as she almost robotically walked to each half-dead boy with her Cordial in hand. The room went silent as Lucy fed each phantom a drop of the medicinal potion. As soon as Alex closed his mouth, all three boys were enveloped in a blinding silver light.

And the true magic happened. For the first time in twenty-six years, three hearts began pumping blood. A previously frozen clock began beating to the sound of those hearts. The magic of Queen Lucy’s Cordial finished what Julie had started; the three formerly half head phantoms became living humans once more.

What a magical place the world of Narnia is.

(Above is the teacup and pot Luke uses in the Ancient Grounds coffee shop!)

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[artisticflutter]

AU August - Day Four: Soulmates

Haha! My work schedule is trash right now! Thanks certain virus that continues the trainwreck that was 2020! Also, have some minor angst!

Series: Miraculous Ladybug Rating: G Genre: General, Fluff, Angst Pairing(s): MariChat Summary: Marinette doesn’t want to believe in soulmates. It’s not that they don’t exist, but given their rarity, they might as well not. And yet, for each failing relationship she has, she keeps coming back to the same masked boy willing to hear her out. Warning: Nope! This is safe!

Ever since she found the café, their relationship had been like this. Marinette would sit nursing a black coffee after another break up, watching the steam rise, and managing the barest smile as the blonde barista did his best to cheer her up. She didn’t know his name - he preferred going by ‘Chat Noir’ for some reason - but it felt comfortable coming back to him anyway. Besides, he distracted her from her spiraling thoughts - of wondering if maybe she should try finding her soulmate again - and she loathed those intrusive thoughts.

Why were soulmates a thing? Why should people’s lives and true happiness apparently be dictated by something so rare? People should be happy with whomever they pleased!

Nathaniel was happy with Marc after their break-up after all!

And Kim had Ondine…

Nino and Alya…

Luka…

She thought things would really work with Luka. They’d been happy, and she traveled with him for some of his performances, and he came to her fashion exhibitions - they’d supported each other so much, so how had it not been enough? And she hadn’t been the only one to feel like that either; it had been mutual and they agreed to being just friends.

“Why don’t you take a break from dating for a while?” Chat Noir asked, tilting his head. “Aren’t you applying for a position at a fashion house soon? Sounds like this stuff’s just stressing you out.”

“But then I’ll be too busy to date, Chat,” she sighed. “Once I finish designing for one season, it’ll already be time to work on the next, and then the next, and the next… I’ll get swallowed up by my career and wake up forty years later still single! No offense to anyone who doesn’t want to get married, but I’ve dreamed of having a family. I love work, but I don’t want to marry my career.”

“Well… then why not reward yourself with trying to date? Once you get into whatever fashion house you apply for, get back into the game before you get pulled into that whole whirlwind you mentioned.”

“... You know what, Chat, I might do that,” she hummed, taking a sip of her coffee. “It’ll take a while to fill out applications and flesh out my portfolio. And I won’t be hearing from them for a few months either! Alya would throw a party to celebrate and I could meet someone there; and they would already know because of the party what my workload would be in the future! This could totally work!”

Drinking down the rest of her coffee, she leapt to her feet with a grin.

“Thanks for the talk! Now, I have three companies I want to apply to and two more I wanna look into! See you!”

Running out with a smile on her face, Marinette missed Chat’s wave and smile, and missed the way his hand remained up as his smile fell. Sighing himself, he looked towards her abandoned mug and reached for it, his eyes catching the needle tattoo on his index finger. Their fingers had accidentally brushed the first time she’d come in, but that had been after her first break-up. She’d mentioned in subsequent visits that she didn’t believe in soulmates, but he wanted to believe so badly. Still, his soulmate didn’t want to look for him, but he would continue being right here in her favorite café, waiting to help her the next time her heart broke.

[scabopolis]

the gift of gab, the gift of you

Here it is @thisonesatellite! your 2020 CS Secret Santa gift. It was a complete and total delight to get to be your gift giver this year. That is not hyperbole - you are a gosh dang delight! Each of your message responses left me in stitches and while I will NEVER try and convince you a movie you think is bunk is good, I am delighted at the opportunity to recommend rom coms that don’t make you want to gouge your eyes out. 

This fic is heavily inspired by your love of coffee shops AUs (except...you know, a pub), your travel stories (which I shamelessly incorporated into the fic) and I believe rates about a 4 on the reindeer scale of Christmas cheer.  You’re a total eagle eye, so I just need to say I am well aware that Colin O’Donoghue’s accent in no way resembles an accent from Cork, but I just need that to be ignored, please and thank you.

Also, I’ve decided we’re fandom friends now. Okay? Okay! Finally, thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this exchange and being the actual best and most patient fandom soul. 

*** Title: the gift of gab, the gift of you

Summary: Emma needs an Irish man. Wait! No! It’s not what it sounds like. And then the universe just has to go and provide her with the world’s chattiest, flirtiest, blue-eyesiest Irish man in existence. 

Available on AO3. ***

Emma is in no position to complain. From where she sits both literally – (perched upon a comfy barstool in the world’s coziest pub) – as well as existentially – (traveling abroad for the first time in her life) — she is fortunate and blessed. 

It’s just – 

It’s just it would be easier to enjoy it all if she didn’t have to deal with a rather annoying request from her rather annoyingly persistent mother. 

Her headphones are in but Emma still takes great care to speak in hushed tones over video chat. There’s nothing she wants less than to be the loud American who shares her private conversation with an entire establishment. The pub she found is at the end of a quiet lane off of Cork’s high street. The customers within the pub appear to be locals well known by the staff who tend the pub. In truth, she wouldn’t even be having this conversation if it wasn’t for —

“Who have you talked to today?” her mother asks. 

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I thanked the barista who made my coffee. And I ordered a pint in this pub.” 

“That’s not talking.” 

“It is by definition talking.” 

“That’s not what I meant. How else are you going to get to know the city?” Her mom interrupts before Emma can properly formulate a snarky reply. “And don’t you dare say ‘guidebooks.’ Your father and I raised you better than that.”

“Mom, please don’t make me do this.” 

“You said I could have anything I wanted as a souvenir.”  

“What about a mug? I bought Grandma Ruth one with a big fat sheep on it.” 

“Sounds lovely, sweetie, but no.” 

“Mom.” Emma realizes that as a twenty-six year old woman it is probably unbecoming to whine, but her mother is being absolutely ridiculous. Where is her dad when she needs him to rescue her? All he requested was a bottle of whiskey. What a sensible person!

“No. It’s fine. If you don’t want to get your mother the one thing she asked for on this trip that’s okay. I won’t say one word about paying for this celebration trip, or paying for graduate school, or —” 

“Shit, mom. Did you take a Guilt Trip 101 class or just Google how to?”

“Oh, this is natural talent. My present, please.” 

“Fine.” There’s a group of bearded men, the ones she pegged as locals, tucked into one corner of the pub. They’re probably her best bet, but she just arrived last night, and the combination of jet lag and travel nerves make her feel not yet up for that. Which leaves the staff working the bar. 

One of the two men she’s seen pouring pints and serving up food has gone missing. Besides, Emma wouldn’t trust herself in her sleep-deprived state to not say something utterly absurd to the blue-eyed, dark-haired, scruffy bartender. Probably a good thing he’s gone. Much safer is the other man working the bar – the one who refused to serve her Guinness but was very kind about it. While arguably attractive, he is a decidedly less intimidating sort of handsome. Unfortunately, he is in the midst of a heated discussion with one of the patrons, the two of them gesticulating to something happening with a football match on the screen. Which leaves the blonde haired woman currently polishing glasses. 

Emma lightly clears her throat. “Excuse me, ma’am?” When the woman turns to look at her, Emma smiles, and signals her over. She sets aside the pint glasses and tucks the polishing rag into her apron. Her mother, on the other end of the video call, is not satisfied. 

“Did you say ma’am?” 

“Mom,” Emma whispers.

“I said an Irish man, Emma Blanchard Nolan. Man.”

“No. You said person.” 

“The man was implied.” 

“Then you should have been more specific.” 

“Ready for another?” the woman at the bar asks. 

Emma looks down at her half-full pint. “Not quite.” She frowns. “And, uh, you’re not Irish, are you?” 

“No. Canadian.” 

“Ah. Okay.” Emma lowers her voice again and looks at her phone screen. Her mother remains unimpressed. “That’s foreign. Technically she’s a foreigner.” 

The sternness of Mary-Margaret’s expression is evident even over the video call. “Emmaline —” 

“Not my name, mother.” 

“Emmaline Blanchard Nolan, you promised me.” 

“I’ll find an Irish person tomorrow.” It’s about this time Emma realizes she’s rudely ignoring the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender. The one she asked to speak with. What’s more, the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender has been joined by the curly haired bartender. Both of whom peer at her with matching expressions of amused befuddlement. Emma removes her headphones and addresses the man. “You’re Irish, right?” 

“Well, miss,” and the gentle brogue of his accent, even with those two short words, is quite evident, “you are in Ireland.” 

“Excellent! Can you talk to my mom?” She detaches the headphones from her phone and turns the camera around to face the man and woman. “My mom wants to have a conversation with an Irish person.” 

“Irish man,” her mother corrects.

“An Irish man. Out in the wild.” The bartenders stare at her, nonplussed. “It’s her souvenir.” 

The woman presses her lips together – an obvious attempt to stifle a laugh. 

“Well, uh, aye.” The man tugs at his ear. “I guess I could —” He’s interrupted from his stuttering by the return of the blue-eyed, stubbly bartender, hauling a new keg into the back of the bar. 

“Actually,” the woman cuts in. “My husband,” she hip checks the curly-haired man, “needs to replace the keg.” 

“I do?” he asks. 

“He does?” This from tall, dark, and holy hell! also possesses an Irish accent. 

“But Killian is in the middle—”

“Shh,” the blonde woman interrupts her husband. 

“Yeah. Killian is—”

She goes on to shush the man Emma now knows to be Killian. 

“Oh no,” Mary Margaret whispers over the video call, “there’s two of them.” 

“What is happening?” Emma’s not sure which of the two men asked, this whole interaction spinning rather absurdly out of control. 

“I don’t know,” Emma says.

The woman ignores all of them. “I’m Elsa, this is Liam, and that,” she points to Killian, frozen with a hand on the keg like he’s uncertain what to do, “is my very single, very Irish brother-in-law.” And all at once it becomes clear what Elsa’s intentions are. “Killian, can you come over here and help our lovely patron and her lovely mother?” 

“Oh, Emma, Killian even sounds like an Irish name.” 

“Mom!” Originally she found her mother’s request to be silly but harmless. The more people who become involved, however, the quicker it approaches mortifying. Emma watches as Elsa whispers something to her brother-in-law, likely explaining the unconventional request. 

“I’m very friendly,” Mary-Margaret reassures anyone who might be listening. 

“You are a flirt, is what you are,” Emma scolds. “And what would dad say if he found out about this?”

“He asked for whiskey. I asked for this.” 

“Come on, lass. Don’t deprive me of a dashing rescue.” Killian leans across the bar, his hand reaching out for her phone. All that stubble and the blue-eyes and the accent are worse when directed directly at her. “Besides, your mum sounds like a woman after my own heart.” 

“If you’re sure—?”

“Absolutely.”

To her abject horror, the moment she hands Killian the phone, he walks away with it in hand. 

“As requested, milady,” he says to the screen, “one genuine Irish man.”

Her mother’s delighted giggle is embarrassing for all Americans everywhere but it seems to delight Killian. She can just makeout her mother’s question about where he grew up when he rounds the corner, out of her hearing. 

“Where is he going?” Emma asks, craning her neck. “Where is he taking my phone?” 

“If I know Killian, your mum is probably about to get the most thorough oral history of Irish pubs she could have asked for,” Liam says, tossing a towel over his shoulder. 

“Oh. Okay.” She drums her fingertips on her glass. “I’m sorry about all the trouble.” 

“Nonsense,” he waves her off. “This is the most exciting thing to happen in our pub since Seamus and Willy hosted their wedding reception here.” He jerks his chin towards the group of bearded men she noticed earlier, though which one is Seamus and which is Willy she can’t be certain. 

After another fifteen minutes, Emma has finished her pint and Killian still has possession of her phone. He crossed through the room once, merrily chatting with her mother as he regaled  her with the story of how he got the scar on his cheek. 

Elsa is filling a series of pint glasses for a group of women standing at the bar, and Emma feels the need to apologize again. “This isn’t what I expected,” she explains. 

“What’s that?” Elsa asks. 

“I was kind of thinking, best case scenario, there’d be an exchange of hellos and that would be that.” 

Elsa nods, hands the pints off to the women, and then fills one more. “Are you familiar with the legend of the Blarney stone?” 

Emma nods. She has absolutely no intention of kissing the dang thing (her research indicates local teens do all manner of ungodly things to the stone, knowing that tourists intend to kiss it), but it’s on her list to go see. 

“Well, Jones family legend —”

“I take it your husband and his brother are Jones’?” 

“And me by marriage. Jones family legend has it that Killian must have been birthed upon the stone because never has there been a man more endowed with the gift of gab.” Elsa finishes pouring the pint and sets it in front of her. 

“Oh, I didn’t order this.” Right at that moment, Liam returns to the bar and sets a turkey sandwich in front of her. “Or this,” Emma says. 

“Knowing my brother, you might be here a while,” Liam explains. 

“Gift of gab?” 

He nods, pleased that the Jones family lore has reached her. “Gift of gab.”

Liam proves to be correct, which means Emma has ample time to get to know both Elsa and Liam. The two of them are freakishly adept at juggling bartending, interacting with their customers, and keeping up a steady flow of conversation with her. The highlight is hearing the full story of Seamus and Willy (she is able to identify them by their matching navy sweaters – sweaters which Willy apparently handknits for the both of them), two men who worked on the same fishing boat for decades before realizing they were in love. 

“Once they sorted that bit out, they got married three weeks later,” Elsa says. 

“So which one of them is the designated driver?” Emma asks. 

“That whole lot lives down the street.” Liam raises his voice so the group can hear them. “And they do nothing but hassle me every day of my life!” The group all raise their pint glasses and cheer, indicating this kind of teasing is something central to the pub’s dynamic. 

Killian returns from wherever it was he was busy flirting with her mother and sets her phone on the bartop. She looks down at the display only to find it blank.

“Uh, your mum had to run to the market, but she indicated she’ll call you later.” 

“She didn’t even say goodbye? Unbelievable.” As Emma gears herself up for peak mom-annoyance, she gets a text message. “Speak of the devil.” 

4:38 PM - Mom to Emma hubba hubba

“Ah, geez, mom,” she grumbles. 

“What’d she say about me?” Killian asks. 

“What makes you think that text was about you?” 

“Because you have roses in your cheeks.” Emma frowns. She what? “You’re blushing,” Killian says. 

“No I’m not.” 

“It’s getting deeper, I’m afraid.” He takes away her empty pint glass. “Another?” 

“Yes, please.” 

He sets another pint of Murphy’s in front of her (Liam was the one to inform her that one drinks Murphy’s when one is in Cork). ��Your mother is lovely.” 

“Yeah, she’s something alright.” She sips the beer and licks the foam off her lip. “What were the two of you talking about for so long?”

“Oh, just having a chat. She wanted to know about the pub and how Elsa and Liam met.” 

“The gift of gab.” 

“Ah,” he says, “Elsa told you of that, then?” 

“Like my mom didn’t tell you anything about me?” 

“It was all good, Emma.” 

She snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Why a conversation with an Irish man?” Emma frowns at Killian, not quite certain of what he’s asking. “For a souvenir. That’s truly all your mum wanted?” 

“Oh, that. In between flirting, did she tell you anything about her and my dad?” Killian shakes his head. “It’s kind of a long story.” 

As if waiting for his cue, Liam comes up behind Killian and slings an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “My dear little brother has time.” 

“Younger brother,” Killian corrects. 

“Shorter brother.” Liam bumps Killian towards the other side of the bar. “Why don’t you keep Emma company?” 

“I have another three hours on my shift.” 

“I think Elsa and I can handle it until Will arrives.” 

“Liam.” 

“Don’t make me fire you.” 

“You can’t fire me. We’re co-owners.” 

“Fine. Don’t make me quit.” 

Killian rolls his eyes but slides out from under Liam’s arm. He crosses to the other side of the bar and sits beside Emma. “I’ll take a pint, then.” He raps his knuckles on the bartop. “And make it quick.” 

Emma hides her smile in her pint glass. Both Liam and Elsa have been so lovely. There’s no reason to switch allegiances at this point. Regardless of how much she might be tempted by the stubbly-faced, blue-eyed flirty Irish man sitting beside her. 

“Between the two of them and my mother,” Emma says. 

“Yeah, not the most subtle lot.” Liam shoots Killian a glare as he sets the pint down to which Killian responds with the cheekiest grin Emma has ever seen. The interaction has older and baby brother written all over it. “So, your mom and Irishmen. Go.” 

“Oh, that.” Unlike her mother, and even her father, Emma holds the details of her life close to her chest. She’s made the mistake in the past of sharing too much too fast. When people leave her, either by choice or circumstance, it physically pains her to know there are people out in the world with knowledge of her worries, fears and dreams. But maybe it’s the sandwich sitting warm in her stomach, or the jet lag, or simply the buzz of international travel, because she feels inclined to share at least a few details of her life with Killian. 

“My mom and dad both took a gap year after high school and met while backpacking across Europe. They met at the Roman Colosseum, decided to match up their itineraries, and by the time they arrived in Budapest five months later they were in love and my mom was pregnant.” 

“And they’ve been together ever since?” 

“Almost 27 years.”

“That’s quite the story.” 

She nods. “They cut their year of travel short, and went to live with my Grandma Ruth, my dad’s mom. They always talked about returning to Europe, finishing their trip at some point, but by the time I was old enough to leave behind with my grandma, dad was in vet school, mom was teaching, and they were running a wildlife rescue from the family farm. They kept making new plans to travel but they just kept getting pushed back and back and back. Until, one day, they decided to put all that money towards sending me on my first trip instead. So, as much as I fight every silly request she has of me, I would do anything if it made her smile.”

“Your mum and dad never made it to Ireland?” 

“Nope.”

“Thus the strange request.” 

“Thus the strange request.” 

“Well, it gave me a reason to chat with the lovely lass at the bar, so for that I’ll be forever grateful.” 

Her Grandma Ruth, Aunt Ruby, and frankly everyone who knows her parents well, routinely comment on the resemblance between Emma and her dad. Apparently in temperament and affectation they are almost identical. But maybe she’s more like her mom than anyone knows because the conversation between her and Killian flows fast and easy. Easy enough that she barely notices when she and Killian finish their pints and Elsa slides new glasses in front of them. Emma’s head is feeling a little buzzy, and that turkey sandwich was more than a couple hours ago. Maybe she can hint at Killian that she wants to go to the Christmas market. Hint even more specifically that she wouldn’t hate if he went with her. 

No, she can’t do that. To even think such a thing would be ridiculous. 

She can’t possibly ask a practical stranger to walk up and down the stalls of the festive market with her. She can’t expect him to want to sample all the baked goods and food they can handle. Or to hold her hand while they drink spiked apple cider. That kind of thinking is romantic, and hopeful, and not at all her brand. 

“This is really your first trip out of the states?” Killian asks.

“I mean, Canada, but that’s so close to home it doesn’t count.” Emma catches herself, eyes darting to Elsa. “Don’t tell your sister.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Killian angles his body on the stool to face her more directly. Without Emma realizing it, they’ve drifted close enough together over the past hour or so that the move makes it so their knees knock together. Emma could move away, put some distance between them, but everything is foggy and hazy in that delicious way, and she can’t bring herself to move. “What does that make me, then? The ruggedly handsome foreigner you intend to seduce as a notch on your bedpost?” 

“Who said anything about seduction?”

“You’re giving me bedroom eyes.” 

“I do not make eyes of any kind. Especially bedroom eyes.” 

Elsa jumps in, setting glasses of water down for each of them. “Yeah, but Killian does. And he needs to put them away.”

Emma tries to react quickly enough to Elsa’s teasing to evade Killian’s detection, to turn away and hide her smile in her shoulder so he can’t see, but the gentle tug on the end of her braid indicates he caught her. 

“Think that’s funny, do you?” 

“You and my mom ganged up against me. I deserve to join with your family against you.” 

“Your mum is great.” He shrugs. “Well, based on the little I know.”  

“I know she can be a little intense. I hope she didn’t—”

“She was as lovely as her daughter.” Before his words can fully sink in, perhaps bringing that blush back to her cheeks, he’s moved on. “You’ll have to bring her with you when you return.” 

She rests her chin on palm, blinking up at him. Okay, maybe she sometimes makes eyes. “What makes you think I have any plans to come back?”

“Ireland gets in your blood. You’ll be back.” 

This time they’re interrupted by Liam. He swipes away the pint glasses in front of them, remaining beer and all. “That’s about all I can stomach of that.”

“What do you mean?” Killian asks. 

“You’ve been flirting with the kind tourist long enough. Time to go.” 

Oh. Emma looks down at her boots. A surge of deep embarrassment heating her cheeks and causing her stomach to churn. “Sorry,” she says quietly, her eyes turned down. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No!” The twin cries from both Liam and Killian startle her. She’s not sure which one appears more stricken by her announcement she intended to leave.   

“Apologies, Emma, I wasn’t clear,” Liam says. He extends his hand to Killian. “Apron.” It takes Killian a moment to react but when Liam stays in his place, his hand extended, Killian removes his apron and hands it to him. “See you tomorrow, little brother.” 

“Younger.”

“Dumber.” 

“Stubborner.”

“Not a word.” Liam stalks back over to Elsa who is shaking her head at the whole display. “They’re both idiots,” Liam says, and Emma is just going to pretend she didn’t hear that, thank you very much. 

“Have you been to the Christmas market yet, Emma?” Killian’s voice brings her back to the pub, and this particular bar stool, with this particular man. This particular man who has somehow intuited the secret desire of her heart to go to the town’s Christmas market with him. 

“No. No. Not yet.” 

Killian jumps down from his seat and extends a hand to Emma to help her down. “Come on, love. Let’s sail away.” 

There’s 100 ways Emma could respond to that. She could tell Killian she isn’t his love. She could jump down from the stool on her own. She could insist she’s fine going to the market by herself. But she tries to channel a little magic, that particular magic which for her mom and dad turned one day in Rome into a lifetime, and chooses differently. 

(Not that she’s saying she expects—)

She takes Killian’s offered hand and his answering grin is all the confirmation she needs she made the right decision. 

And so they go to the Christmas market, and at Killian’s insistence she tries mulled wine but quickly trades it in for a cup of boozy cider. They ride the ferris wheel, the cold stinging her cheeks from the top, the lights of Cork spread out before her, and that thrum of love for this place beats loudly in her veins. Suddenly every travel story her parents have ever told her makes sense and maybe Killian is right  – maybe Ireland is in her blood. 

They walk together side-by-side and at a point Emma can’t remember – somewhere between sampling whiskey, buying several bottles for her dad, and licking salt and malt vinegar from hot chips off her fingers – they transition to walking hand-in-hand. The heat of Killian’s skin, even through two layers of gloves, is what she blames for the fact that she actually starts humming along to Christmas carols. Where’s that deep cynicism she has been committed to for her life when she needs it? 

“Told you,” Killian says after the two of them step away from a stall with handmade ornaments. She must have been channeling her mom because she couldn’t stop herself from striking up a conversation with the vendor. Somehow by the end of the interaction she’d agreed to join him and his wife for their annual holiday pub crawl the following night. 

“Told me what?” 

“That you would fall for Ireland.” 

“You get the honor and privilege of keeping me company on my first full night on my first real trip out of the country and all you can say is ‘I told you so’?” 

“I believe what I am trying to say, love, is you appear very much at home here.” 

The sentiment makes everything in Emma buzz, but she does what she does best and works to diffuse it. “Well, uh, I don’t know. Does it ever snow here?” 

“Eh, we get about 50 mm every year?” At her look of confusion Killian smiles. “Not much.” 

“Have you ever had a white Christmas?” 

“Can’t say I have. They’re pretty rare in Ireland.” 

“In that case, I think this means you should come to Maine. We do a great white Christmas.” 

“Maybe I will.” 

“Great. Next year sound good?” 

Killian laughs and squeezes her hand. “Sounds great.”

She hears the faint echo of advice her dad once gave her. It was right when she was fresh off her heartbreak with Neal and wasn’t sure she had it in her to apply for grad school. He said something to her about moments. About the need to notice good moments even in the midst of bad ones. 

Standing here hand-in-hand with a man she met only five hours ago, the glow of Christmas lights dancing in technicolor hues against his cheeks and hair, Emma is absolutely certain this is a good moment. 

“Emma?” 

She answers Killian’s question by rising up on her toes and kissing him. It’s quick and fleeting, barely a brush of her lips against his, but the look on his face as she pulls away, all bright eyed-wonder, deserves to be classified as a good moment all on its own. 

It takes self-control Emma wasn’t aware she possessed to not drop their shopping bags to the ground, grip him by the lapels of his jacket, and kiss the crap out of him. Instead she loops her arm in his. 

“It’s getting late,” she says. “Want to walk me back to my hotel?” 

He swallows, that poleaxed expression still on his face. “Aye.” 

The next morning, Emma is woken up by the sound of her video call alert and boy it was a mistake to not extend her do not disturb until noon. She reaches out and blindly bats at the bedside table until she makes contact with her phone. As soon as she swipes up on her mom’s call, she squeezes her eyes shut again. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, sweetie. Are you still jet lagged?” 

“And a little hungover.”

“Sounds like you had a very eventful night.”

Killian grumbles from somewhere behind her. “What time is it?” he asks.

It’s right about this moment Emma realizes her error. Her mom goes quiet and Emma considers taking the opportunity to end the call. And then maybe ignore every call thereafter for the next five days. 

“Emma Nolan. Is there a man in bed with you?” 

“No,” Emma answers, though it’s perfunctory and not at all convincing. 

Killian presses closer to her, and shifts so his chin rests on her shoulder. “Hello again, Mrs. Nolan. And this must be Mr. Nolan.” 

That gets Emma’s attention and she opens her eyes enough to see her mom and dad sitting beside one another on the couch. While her mom is positively gleeful, her dad looks as though he wishes he could melt into the couch cushions and disappear. 

“There are certain things I don’t care to see,” her dad says. “Certain things I don’t care to know.” 

Emma rotates in bed and onto her back, holding the phone above her head so both she and Killian are still in view of the camera. “Oh hush, Dad, you and mom did it the first night you met.” 

“You told her that?” 

In response, her mom shrugs. “She asked.” 

“And not that it matters, but Killian and I didn’t have sex.” 

Though it didn’t stop them from trading long, slow kisses that left her dizzy and wanting more, more, and more. Killian must have felt the same because it took little to no convincing to get him to stay the night. Perhaps most remarkably, after extending the invitation, Emma had no desire to retract it or pretend it didn’t mean anything. 

“Your daughter was far too drunk to have sex.” Emma turns her head so fast in Killian’s direction she hears something crack. 

“That, for instance, is one of the things I don't want to know about,” her dad says.  

Killian cheerfully waves at the camera, ignoring both her father’s indignation and her glare. “I’m Killian, by the way. Happy to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Nolan.” 

Emma elbows Killian. The man is a total menace. “I’ll call you guys back when I’ve had coffee,” 

“I want details,” her mom says. 

“And I want no details.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Emma hangs up the phone and tosses it in the direction of the foot of the bed. She flips over onto her side and Killian mirrors her, reaching out to trace the freckles on the bridge of her nose. “So that was my dad.” 

“He seems a charming fellow.” 

“Don’t let the responsible tough guy act fool you,” she says, and snuggles closer to Killian. He responds just as she hoped, by wrapping his arms tight around her. “He once spent all his money on a cross country train ride and stole oyster crackers from the dining car for food. And during a California road trip, my mom almost froze to death sleeping in her wet bathing suit on the side of the road.” 

Killian chuckles, the vibrations of his laugh making her feel even warmer. “You’re saying they can deal with a half naked man in their daughter’s hotel room?”  

“Yeah, they can deal.” After a moment’s hesitation, Emma slips her hands up and under Killian’s shirt. It’s the one he wore to work, and she can still smell the faint aromas of beer and fried food that linger. She presses her palms against his back and bunches the shirt up, up, and then over his head. 

“Emma?” 

A girl could get used to the way his voice moves over the syllables of her name. “They might have a problem with a fully naked one, though.” She kisses his bare shoulder.

Killian’s hands move under her shirt to span her waist. Goosebumps breakout across her skin. By the slight twist of his lips, Killian notices. “So you’re saying—?” 

“I’m saying you should quit gabbing and kiss me before they call again.” 

“As you wish.”

And a week later, when she is back in Maine celebrating Christmas with her family and Killian is in Ireland with his, Emma convinces herself she imagined it. She must have. She must have imagined how safe she felt in the presence of another person. Imagined the comfort she felt as he joined her for a quick road trip to Dublin. Imagined that it could feel like your heart was split in two, half residing in the chest of a person you just met. 

But the week of New Year’s Eve, when he arrives in Maine to celebrate with her, she’s startled to find it was all real. 

The morning after Killian arrives, she sits with her mom in her parents’ breakfast nook, the two of them sipping coffee as Killian and her dad make waffles. 

“Not such a dumb souvenir after all, huh?” her mom whispers.

Emma shakes her head, too happy to even react to her mom’s shameless gloating. “No. Not so dumb.” 

[vivascandinavia]

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[moonlit-han]

the perfect cup of coffee ↠ lee minho

genre: fluff, office au word count: 2k warnings: none, unless you really don’t like coffee? request: no (for junhuisflower​, who wrote the initial idea for this fic) a/n: i am reposting this fic because the first time i posted it, on June 13, 2020, it didn’t show up in the general tags. so, i hope you all enjoy it this second time around!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

In his impeccably neat and well-fitting suit, Lee Minho walked into the office where he held the position of Manager in Chief. This was not his official title, but one that he had chosen for himself; after all, he did manage just about everything and everyone, when it came down to it.

In reality, Minho was the Assistant to the Administrative Director of the company and was, in theory, meant to delegate the more menial tasks to others. However, this never occurred because Minho did not trust others to do work he knew he could do better. Over that which was not in his job description and, therefore, the responsibility of others, Minho still attempted to exert control. Thus, he was the Manager in Chief. Everything in Minho’s world had to perfect, or as perfect as Minho could contrive.

As he arrived at the office and reached for the company suite’s door, automatically passing something that was not there from one hand to the other, Minho stopped. He’d forgotten his coffee. How had he forgotten his coffee? This was practically unheard of, since he made his coffee at home and brought it to work with him. He did not fully trust coffee made by others.

Coffee was one of the many things that Minho insisted on being perfect. While he cared that his clothes were appropriately smart for the workplace and he prided himself on his small but wonderfully efficient car, he could manage for a time without them being in perfect condition. But, he absolutely had to have perfect coffee. In terms of non-essential costs, Minho spent the most on his cats (plenty of little treats, baubles, and warm places to sleep) and his coffee (fair trade, organic coffee made with care and attention). He was forever trying new ways of brewing coffee, and considered himself a bit of a connoisseur. Oftentimes, he’d even add some cardamom to the coffee as it brewed for a little extra spice and sweetness. Having such wonderfully delicious coffee was the high point of Minho’s day, a way he coped with the monotony of work.

So, when he arrived at the office and had no coffee, Minho was incensed. Sighing and grumbling to himself, he pushed through the door and made his way to his desk. He had back-to-back-to-back meetings and was responsible for leading one of them; so, he needed the caffeine to get through his day. His schedule was so busy that he couldn’t go back out to buy coffee, and couldn’t go back home to make himself a proper cup. Damn. It was against his every rule for coffee consumption to drink that which had not been made by him and to his particular specifications. Well, there was nothing to do now but go into the office’s lounge and drink the fluid that might just pass for coffee.

Minho’s coworkers looked up as they saw him move toward the lounge. Was he really going to drink coffee here? they whispered among themselves. They remained quiet as he passed, not wanting to disturb him in case his lack of coffee unleashed a hitherto unseen wrath (or wraith, even).

As he pushed open the door of the lounge, Minho made a noise of disgust as he took in the smell: a ground-in kind of odor from years of low quality coffee that had seeped into the wood and cushions of the lounge’s chairs and sofa. But today, there was a sweetness floating over the sourness of the smell of old, bad coffee. Perhaps someone had simply brought coffee from the outside world into the room and the dregs still lingered in a cup in the recycling.

Resigning himself to drinking the coffee—Maybe if he gulped down the horrid stuff, he could just get it over with?—Minho took down one of the mugs kept in the cabinet above the coffee maker. As he poured the dark liquid into the cup, a richly sweet and nutty smell met his nose.

Wait, what?

This was the communal coffee pot in the employee lounge of his office. Good coffee pouring out of that pot shouldn’t be possible. Surely his senses were fooling him and the taste would be just as weak and grimy as it had been the one other time he’d made the mistake of trying it.

Gingerly, he stirred a little cream into the mug. Squeezing his eyes shut as if to ward off the assuredly inherent shitty-ness of the coffee, Minho hesitantly raised the mug to his lips and sipped.

His eyes flew open in surprise. This was some of the best coffee he’d ever tasted. Minho took another sip, savoring the taste of the brew. He was stunned, absolutely stunned. He had to find out who had made this wonderful coffee. It was imperative to his proper functioning, since this coffee would now be a regular feature of his daydreams.

During each of his meetings that day, Minho took a minute at the end to ask if anyone knew who’d made the coffee that day. No one knew. With each shake of someone’s head and each “No” he heard, Minho became increasingly more frustrated. How could no one know who’d made the coffee?

The next day, he asked around the office again, but still, no one knew. On the third day, Minho decided to stop asking his coworkers for fear of seeming obsessed, despite the fact that he really was obsessed with the question of who had made that coffee.

Several weeks passed with Minho occasionally checking, with the utmost secrecy, the contents of the office’s communal coffee pot. It was uniformly horrible. But after a full month of furtive coffee sampling, Minho’s work paid off.

It was a Friday morning and he’d ambled into the break room to just spend some time away from the (non-existent) noise of the office. He was surprised to find someone already there … making coffee.

“Hello, Mr. Lee,” she said brightly. “How are you this morning?”

Minho stared at the young woman as she continued making the coffee. So, this is our new hire, he thought, noting the grace with which she moved.

“Mr. Lee?” she prompted.

Minho shook himself. “I’m sorry,” he searched his memory for her name, “Ms. L/N, isn’t it? I’m well, thank you. I hope you’re having a stress-free morning.” Minho leaned against the wall by the counter where Y/N methodically measured tablespoon after tablespoon of rich, dark coffee into the coffee maker. He noticed that it had been cleaned, too. “Do you make coffee here often, Ms. L/N?”

Damn it, that sounded like the worst pick-up line ever, Minho chided himself.

Y/N laughed softly. “Not really, since I’ve only been here a month, Mr. Lee. Would you like a cup when I’m done making this?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks,” Minho said, still in a bit of a daze. Huh, did she make that delicious coffee, then?

“Is it alright if I add some cardamom? I think it gives the coffee a deep, interesting flavor,” Y/N said before she closed the lid of the appliance.

Minho thought he’d died and gone to heaven in that moment; all he could do was nod. Y/N produced a small container of cardamom—she said she’d ground it that morning—and added a bit to the ground coffee. Minho watched as Y/N finished preparing the coffee, thinking to himself. Then, they sat in surprisingly easy silence as the smell of brewing coffee began to suffuse the room, filling Minho’s world. Leaning back in a chair, Y/N had a blissful look on her face at the aroma.

The coffee maker made a gurgling noise as it shut off, and Y/N rose to her feet. She withdrew two mugs from the cabinet, then went to her bag and produced a thermos and a jar of honey. Minho looked on as Y/N poured out the coffee, then measured out honey into one mug.

“Would you like some?” she asked, proffering the honey.

“Definitely,” Minho said, excitedly. “I rarely meet anyone else who puts honey in their coffee.” He smiled, dropping his earlier formal manner.

“Really? It’s the best. You know,” Y/N continued, spooning honey into his mug, “I’ve never met anyone else—other than a Turkish friend, at least—who puts cardamom in their coffee.”

“I had it when I was traveling and fell in love,” Minho said, then cleared his throat self-consciously. How was he talking with her this easily? “And, Ms. L/N, you’re welcome to call me Minho. You are, after all, the Assistant to the Artistic Director here, so our positions are equal.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, my name is Y/N.” She grinned and opened the metal canister, which Minho saw was full of cream. “Do you want to put yours in? I know people are particular about cream in drinks.”

Taking the thermos, Minho thanked Y/N and noticed that his heartbeat was pounding a little louder than he expected. Then again, perhaps not so unexpectedly as he was about to drink what he knew would be delicious coffee. He poured in just enough cream to turn the coffee the color of dark amber, then brought the mug to his lips.

“Enjoy!” Y/N said, smiling brightly as she took back her thermos and stowed it and the other containers in her bag.

Minho took a sip, and almost dropped the mug in surprise. It was just like the coffee he had tasted several weeks ago, and, really, even better. He savored the coffee, taking sip after sip as Y/N looked on.

“Is it good?” Y/N asked hesitantly, not drinking from her own mug yet.

“It’s delicious, Y/N, it really is,” Minho sighed, feeling as if he were drinking ambrosia. “Did you happen to make coffee for the office a few weeks ago?”

Surprise overtook pride on Y/N’s face as she chirped, “Yeah, I did!  Did you have some then?”

“I’ve been trying to find who’d made that coffee ever since,” Minho said, smiling at how odd that must sound. “I just really like coffee, and yours was incredible.”

Y/N blushed furiously and tried to hide her face by taking a sip from her own mug. “Thanks, Minho” she murmured. “I’m glad you liked it!”

Minho couldn’t help but smile softly at how cute Y/N looked when he complimented her coffee. Her dimples even came out when she smiled.

How is she that pretty? Minho groaned to himself. Shit. Well, what do I have to lose?

“Y/N,” Minho said tentatively, and Y/N looked up, her cheeks still pink. “So, there’s this coffee shop I love to go to and they have all sorts of unusual blends—it’s really quite lovely. Forgive me for being so forward, but may I take you there? I’m sure you’d enjoy it!” He rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. “But only if you’d like, and it doesn’t have to be anything more than two coworkers getting coffee together. I don’t mean to sound like I’m asking you out or anything,” Minho rambled, then stopped, knowing he’d probably said too much already.

“I’d love to!” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe we will be two friends getting coffee … or maybe something else?”

Minho’s eyes went wide in amazement as he made a little noise that could be taken as a question or a plea for clarification.

Y/N shrugged as she picked up her bag and went over to the door. “You’ll have to wait and see,” she said and winked, leaving Minho to stand in the office lounge, staring at the door.

Still unable to process his luck—was that it?—Minho took another sip of coffee. It was just as delicious as Y/N was sweet. This was going to be quite interesting indeed.

[tirednotflirting]

i could do without a tan on my left hand where my fourth finger meets my knuckle

hello again i was here approx ten min ago and now i am back. kinda. also jesus that title looks LONG wow

this is not new! this was posted to ao3 a touch under a month ago for my darling @clumsyclifford​‘s birthday and i’m just a dummy and never posted it to tumblr. so here i am sdlkfjsdl

i got very VERY emo over my love for bella in the a/n on ao3 so you can read my love letter there hehe. bella, babes, i love you so crazy much and i feel so lucky to know you and to call you a friend. thank you for teaching me how to love the things i create and encourage me to really actually grow as a writer. it’s been a lot of fun and a great deal of the confidence i have in myself now is thanks to the early support i got from people like yourself. hope you have a happy wednesday filled with many cups of tea <3

here this is on ao3 if that’s more ur jam 

Love is a mug of tea.

2020, Maryland

Alex loves his kitchen.

He loves the big island right in the center of it and the windows over the sink facing out toward the barn. He loves the random assortment of tea towels his mom gave him when he first moved out, and how they’ve traveled with him to each new home over the years. He loves the fridge with lots of space for pictures of friends and family that greet him each time he walks into the room.

The sun is just rising over the top of the barn. He’s been awake for a little over an hour now. Starting his days in the barn is something he’s grown to love, the early mornings for feeding and greeting his animal friends being the only way he can manage being up before the sun. Once he made it back to the house, he quickly showered before throwing his pajamas back on. There was nowhere else they needed to be today so he figured it appropriate.

He fills and sets his kettle to boil in the corner. The clock on the microwave tells Alex it’s 7AM and he hears the familiar click of the coffee machine starting up. (He had been particularly proud of himself when he figured out how to use that setting.) Alex grabs a couple mugs and drops a tea bag into the one he’s claimed for himself for the morning just as the kettle clicks off. He pours water into the mug and hops up onto the island to wait for the tea to steep.

Alex is scrolling down his Twitter feed a couple minutes later when he hears human footsteps followed by the tapping of the dogs’ nails against the tile. He locks his phone and sets it beside him just in time for Jack to step between Alex’s legs and wrap his arms around his waist. Alex laughs quietly as Jack drops his head to rest against his chest. “Good morning, my love,” Alex greets him in a scratchy voice and runs his fingers through Jack’s bedhead.

Jack hums at the feeling and leans his head back against Alex’s hand. “Hello,” he replies. He sighs and moves to stand straight before leaning in to press a quick kiss to Alex’s lips. Jack smiles lazily and turns to the counter where the coffee machine sits. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Was up later than I wanted to be on that call with Mark trying to figure out the plan for next week.”

“You two are always chatty,” Jack says with a smile in his voice while he stirs sugar and milk into his mug. “What time is our flight out tomorrow again?”

Alex slides off the counter to the floor and takes the spot beside Jack, taking the milk carton from him when it’s offered to add to his tea. “Not until the evening. We can probably sleep in a bit, if you want to.”

“I like the way you think,” Jack responds, accepting the milk again when Alex holds it in his direction. He wraps an arm around Alex’s middle to pull him back against chest and presses his lips to Alex’s temple before stepping away to the fridge. Alex feels something pull at the leg of his pajama pants and when he looks down, both of the dogs sit at his feet. He laughs and abandons his mug on the counter to head out of the kitchen towards the back door. Tiny paws click against the wood floor behind him. They race out the door when he finally gets it open.

When he returns to the kitchen, a gentle smile pulls at his lips and he leans against the doorframe for a moment to admire the view. Jack sits in his regular seat at the kitchen island. He’s put his glasses on sometime in the last minute or so since Alex left the room. One hand holds the handle of his coffee mug while the other holds open a novel his mom had sent home with him after he visited her earlier in the week. The sunrise shines through the window over the sink, painting the room in yellow-orange light. It’s a view Alex knows he’s never going to get tired of.

He loves mornings with Jack. When they’re spending their time like this, with their shared early morning routines or deciding who will do what chores around the house that day, it’s easy to imagine spending the rest of his life like this. He can see them, years from now, hosting holiday parties on the farm or arguing over why they should or shouldn’t watch National Treasure 2 for the twelfth time that month, and it takes everything in him not to race back upstairs to grab the ring box he’s got hiding in the back of his closet.

Alex loves his kitchen. Though, as he watches Jack smile down at his novel before pausing to sip from his mug, Alex realizes that the thought of sharing the space with the person he loves has made him love it infinitely more.

“Hey, Jack?”

Jack hums in acknowledgement without looking up from his book.

“Do you want to move in?”

Jack looks up to meet his gaze from across the counter. His brows raise in what is probably surprise and a tiny smile forms across his lips. “Sure.”

“Really?”

Jack folds the corner of the page he’s on before closing it shut. “What? Did you think I’d say no?”

Alex shakes his head with a laugh. “No, I just wasn’t really sure what else to say,” he explains. “I’m just, I don’t know, excited? This is gonna be fun.”

Alex shuffles around the counter into Jack’s open arms that settle around his waist. “It is,” Jack agrees. “Though, I will say, if I’m going to help around the farm more, we’re gonna have to give Milk a talk.”

Alex rolls his eyes and lifts his arms to rest on Jack’s shoulders. “I already told you, the goat is not flirting with you. He bites everyone’s ass.”

“Your goat is trying to steal me away from you.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Thank you.” Jack says, sincerely. A moment later, he cracks and laughs as he tugs Alex in closer. He presses another kiss against his lips. “You realize our mothers are going to start their wedding planning thing again once we tell them about this though, right?”

“Maybe I’ll join them for their brunches this time around,” Alex suggests and lets his forehead rest against Jack’s.

“Sure. Just make sure they’ve got next June blocked off since we’ll be on tour,” Jack replies jokingly before squeezing Alex’s waist to move him aside so he can stand to get more coffee. Alex steals his seat and watches him go through the motions of making his second mug. Without asking, Jack sets the kettle to boil again and pulls the box of Alex’s tea out of the cupboard. The sun has risen more and casts a golden glow on Jack through the window while he rinses his mug. Jack’s always looked his best in the morning, Alex thinks. He considers pulling his phone out to snap a picture, but then he remembers that this exact image isn’t going to be one that’s limited by whatever things might be keeping them stuck in their own homes on opposite sides of the country. That home isn’t going to be a plural for them anymore.

He thinks back to the ring box. Maybe it’s going to need a better hiding spot now.

Jack turns back to Alex, a puzzled look on his face, likely in response to Alex’s lack of a response to his question. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they know.”

“Good,” Jack says with a wink. He reaches across the counter for his book. “Gonna go finish this chapter on the porch. Care to join?”

Alex smiles. “Let me make my tea first, I’ll be out in a few.”

Jack nods. “Good plan. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Jack presses a kiss to his hair when he passes him, and Alex watches him head for the front door from his spot at the island. Even more sunshine greets Jack as he opens the door, the windchime out front twinkling a good morning.

It’s going to be a good day.

Love is hotel sheets and a cup of coffee.

2018, New York, New York

The first time Jack wakes up it’s because he feels a dip in the mattress behind him and a warm arm wrapping back around his middle.

Without opening his eyes, he smiles at the feeling of Alex’s lips pressing against the back of his neck. “Flight was canceled because of the storm,” Alex explains, his voice scratchy with sleep. They were meant to have an early flight off to the next city but it’s an off day anyway so the delay in travel shouldn’t really matter. “We’re booked for another one at like, ten tonight or something.”

He turns in Alex’s arms and lets his eyes flutter open. It’s still really early and the curtains are pulled shut, leaving the room dark like the middle of the night. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust before he can really make out any of his boy’s features. Alex settles onto his back and pulls Jack halfway onto his chest. Jack lifts a hand to hold Alex’s cheek, his thumb brushing along the darker circles below his eyes. They’re only a few days away from a break for a couple weeks, and the little sleep he knows Alex has been allowing himself is starting to show. Jack is looking forward to getting them both back to his place to just sleep for a day or five.

“Sounds like the weather in New York wants you to sleep for a few more hours with your handsome boyfriend, then.”

Jack feels Alex laugh from where his cheek rests against his chest. “The storm knows you're handsome?”

“Of course,” Jack sighs. “It’s a universally known fact.”

“Guess we have to keep sleeping.”

“We do, yes,” Jack agrees. He lifts himself up for a moment to press a kiss to Alex’s jaw, smiling at the feeling of his lashes brushing against Alex’s stubbly cheek. Jack cuddles back against his chest and lets his eyes fall shut as their legs tangle below the sheets. He’s asleep again a moment later.

The next time Jack wakes up, the room is still mostly dark but he’s alone.

A thin stream of light shining through a spot in the curtains and the smell of coffee somewhere in the room tells him that enough time has passed that it’s likely a normal morning hour now. It also tells him that Alex is awake somewhere. Jack sits up slowly in bed and looks around the room, expecting to find Alex sitting in the chair in the corner scrolling through Twitter on his phone or writing at the desk. He frowns when he finds the room empty of his boyfriend until then he hears a sneeze on the other side of the curtain. Laughing quietly to himself, Jack rubs the sleep from his eyes. He turns to get out of the bed and, after spotting the pot of coffee, pours himself a mug.

Growing up, Jack has always hated staying in hotels. The rooms were always too cold, the air conditioner too noisy, the pillows just a bit too fluffy. He often found himself jealous of kids who found hotel rooms to be like a magic place to be because he was always miserable until he could crawl back into his own bed back home.

It was better once they started traveling for band stuff. He started bringing his own pillow (the firmness and familiar scent both providing a sense of comfort). And if he ever forgot it on the bus, Alex's chest was a decent substitute. A bed would never feel cold with Alex the Human Furnace pressed against his back below the sheets. The sound of the air conditioning was easily drowned out when he had the gentle, steady puffs of Alex’s breath against his neck to count instead of sheep.

He crosses the room, pausing for a moment to grab a hoodie and his new book from his carry-on, and pulls away the curtain to step out onto the balcony. Alex turns up from his journal and smiles up at him. He’s still in pajama pants and a long sleeve he likely pulled from Jack’s bag. “Good morning, love.”

Jack leans down to press a kiss to the top of Alex’s head before moving to lean against the railing. “Is it still morning?”

“Well, no,” Alex laughs. “But we’re on tour, so it can be morning if we want it to be.”

Jack looks down onto the street, to all of the tiny people moving from place to place. Everyone in New York always moves quickly, Jack thinks. With purpose. He admires that. “Well, good morning to you too,” he replies. “Why are we out of bed if we don’t have to be in an airport for several more hours?”

“I wanted to watch the city,” Alex explains. He lifts his mug to take another sip before continuing. “We move so fast these days. I miss getting to explore.”

“Hard to explore from this balcony.”

“Rian found some restaurant a few blocks away he wants to do an early dinner at,” Alex says, with a wave of his hand. “We can explore then. We’re resting right now.”

“City does still look pretty from here,” Jack observes. Autumn looks nice on New York, he thinks. The winters are too cold and the summers are too hot. Mid-October, when it’s cool but not cold, when the trees are all a rainbow of oranges and reds, that’s his favorite time to be in the city. From where they sit right now, with the sun shining down to warm them and a cool breeze blowing around the steam rising from his mug, it’s easy to say this might be his favorite morning in the city to date.

“Exactly,” Alex smiles while he watches Jack look out over the railing at the buildings and sky.

“What are you working on?” Jack asks. He takes the seat beside Alex and props his feet up on the chair opposite him.

“Feels like lyrics but I might just be journaling,” Alex replies. “I can’t really tell.”

“What are you writing about?”

“You,” Alex responds without hesitation. A decade ago, if Jack had asked that question, Alex likely would have looked up at him with a blush painted across his cheeks and quickly shut the book closed before saying nothing, just songwriter stuff. They’ve come a long way since then.

“Gonna be our next big hit?” Jack jokes.

“Oh, absolutely,” Alex says with a wink. Alex reaches for Jack’s hand after he sets his mug back down and lifts it to press a kiss against his knuckles. He holds onto Jack’s fingers for a moment longer as he takes a deep breath, the early afternoon sun shining on his face, before he lets go to pick up his pen again.

Jack loves touring. He wants them to keep touring until they’re old and gray and even Zack struggles to run and jump across the stage. He loves traveling and finding new undiscovered corners of the world. He loves how it always feels fresh and new in every place they land. He loves not knowing exactly what’s going to come next.

He spent a long time wondering if he should want to settle down. To find a place to really build a more permanent life for himself at some point. But then he looks across the table at Alex and watches the way he bites at the end of his pen. He watches his eyes light up in joy before the pen falls back to the paper in his journal, the lyrics or story or notes about something scratching their way into the page. Alex reaches again for his mug and pauses his scribbling to take a sip. His eyes meet Jack's gaze and he smiles in his direction before returning to the task at hand.

Maybe settling down doesn’t have to be a place. It can be sharing a bed with the same person even if that bed is a new one each night. It can be a pair of dark brown eyes that for the last 20 years can always find his own, even in the most crowded rooms.  

Hotel day or not, Jack knows he can’t spend the whole day throwing heart eyes across the table while Alex works. Over the years, Jack has noticed that Alex is always too nice to ask for alone time while he writes despite everyone knowing he likes it sometimes. He takes the last sip of his coffee and moves to stand.

“Gonna go bug Zack while he works out for awhile,” Jack says, pushing the sliding glass door open. “I’ll come find you in a few hours.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Alex laughs, his eyes squinting up at Jack against the sunlight. “Have fun.”

Jack blows him a kiss before stepping back inside. He digs his slides out of his bag and grabs a key card before wandering out of the room and in the direction of the elevators.

On his trip down to the ground floor, he starts thinking about it again, what settling down would look like for him. He's starting to realize that the struggle there is that he can’t picture a settled future for himself because the only future he sees is about a them rather than a him. No matter where they go, Alex is and always has been home.

And maybe, Jack thinks, it’s as simple as that.

Love is a sweater and sky full of stars.

2012, Middle of Nowhere, Southwest USA

The first time Alex steals a hoodie from Jack is February during their sophomore year of high school. Jack’s parents were out of town visiting his sister so they ended up at his place after band practice. They nicked a couple of beers from the fridge in the garage and spent fifteen minutes debating if they had reorganized the remaining bottles in a way that made it less obvious there might be a couple missing.

It was another fifteen or so minutes of drinking and complaining about algebra exams before Alex shivered in the deck chair he had claimed. Alex never said a word, but Jack must have noticed the goosebumps on his bare arms and wordlessly got up to go inside. A couple minutes later, the confused look on Alex’s face was answered with a navy blue hoodie thrown in his face.

He laughed and thanked Jack before he pulled it over his head. It was soft and warm from being inside. When he pulled the hood up over his hair, he was met with the scent of lavender laundry detergent and the body spray Jack had taken a liking to that winter. Alex would never admit to how he started hating the smell of it a little less when Jack started wearing it.

Alex pulled the sleeves over his hands and shoved them into the hoodie pocket. When he looked back up across the metal patio table, a small smile pulled at Jack’s lips. Alex wasn’t given the time to ask what the look had been for before Jack launched into another story about something that had happened in his chemistry lab earlier that week.

(It’s not until they’re on tour the summer after they graduate that Alex really understands what the look was for. He doesn’t really get it until Jack is kissing him against the bunks, his hands sliding underneath a sweatshirt Alex had pulled from Jack’s suitcase. Though it’s impossible for the meaning to be more obvious when You look cute in my clothes is whispered between their lips. Alex only laughs in response and trips over his own feet dragging Jack towards the back lounge.)

Nearly ten years since that night at Jack’s parents’ place, Alex still finds himself thankful that Jack’s sweaters fit loosely on him and smell like the mixture of fragrances that make up his boy. It’s still the same laundry detergent his mom used in the early 2000s, but the cologne Jack wears now is much nicer than the stuff he used to douse himself in every morning before school. He’s pretty sure it’s the one that Rian bought Jack for Christmas last year. Alex will have to ask him in the morning.

The A/C kicks on above where he sits on the tour bus couch, and Alex pulls the sleeves of the sweatshirt he’d stolen out of Jack’s bunk over his hands. He’s having a tea, one of those calming, nighttime ones, in a desperate attempt to settle his mind so he can get some sleep before they’re parked at a new venue in a new city in the morning. The show earlier that night had felt electric, Alex had been more in tune with this crowd than he had in a while. It was a glorious feeling to walk off stage with, but it also meant that the buzz was still tingling a bit just below his skin hours later.

Tea and his journal were his typical go-to choices to relax on a night like this, but unfortunately, his normal methods were failing him. He takes a deep breath, wondering for a moment if he should try out some of those meditation techniques Zack had taught him, and then he feels the bus come to a stop.

He pulls aside one of the curtains to check out where they’re at. Some kind of gas station, it appears. No obvious signs of that much civilization around it, very typical middle of nowhere Arizona (or maybe New Mexico?). He watches their bus driver wander out in front of the bus and shake hands with one of the guys driving the bus some of the other crew are on. Everyone is just stretching their legs, it looks like.

He reaches for his mug to take another sip and frowns down at the ceramic when he realizes it’s empty. Alex considers digging the box of tea out of the crowded kitchen storage for a moment before glancing toward the front of the bus. With a nod to himself, he leaves the mug in the sink and heads up for the door.

They’re in basically the desert and it’s the middle of the night in November, so Alex really has no reason to be surprised by the chill in the air he’s greeted with after stepping out into the lot. He pulls his sleeves back over his palms and walks out further into the lot. Alex hears someone call his name. Across the lot he sees their driver waving. “We’re leaving in thirty. Be back on the bus by then.”

“Got it,” he yells back. And then it’s silent.

That’s always been one of the best things about traveling at night like this. He finds it exciting to really truly be in the middle of nowhere, where he can step out of the bus into stillness, the only sounds being the tiny chirping of bugs or tree branches blowing in the wind. That’s not even his favorite part though. He tips his face up toward the night sky and squeezes his eyes shut to get them more accustomed to the darkness.

No, his favorite part is the stars.

Alex is endlessly grateful for the opportunities they’ve had the last few years to live and work in big, important cities, but he misses the skies he got to call his own out in the suburbs of Baltimore. The light pollution in LA is so bad he can’t see a single star. After about a month out there, he sadly resigned himself to looking up into the sky for the blinking lights of airplanes and just playing pretend.

There’s no need for that out here. The sky above his head here is filled with glittery lights millions of miles away, with giant stars so big he can’t really comprehend their size. It makes him feel kind of small. Alex likes that feeling sometimes. Puts things into perspective, he thinks.

He’s too busy gazing up above his head, trying to find constellations and planets he knows should be visible at this time in the year, that he doesn’t notice the footsteps approaching from behind him. A pair of arms wrap around his waist and he jumps only for a moment before he looks down and recognizes the hands folded over his middle. Jack drops his head to rest on Alex’s shoulder. “Why the fuck are you still awake?” Jack mumbles sleepily against Alex’s neck.

Alex leans back into his chest. “I couldn’t sleep and I felt us stop,” he explains. “I came out to say hello to my friends.”

“You mean the stars?” Jack asks.

“The planets, too. Oh, and the moon.”

“You’ve got quite the posse,” Jack laughs, his lips pressing against the tattoo behind Alex’s ear. “Can I join you?”

“Always,” Alex smiles.

They take a seat on the hard ground and start recapping their day quietly to each other as they face up toward the sky. Despite both of them knowing Alex runs warmer between the two of them, Alex doesn’t say a word when Jack drops an arm around his waist to pull him in closer to his side. Jack starts recounting a dream he was having before he woke up and draws patterns with his fingertip against Alex’s knee. Eventually they grow quiet for a few moments. Before the silence can settle around them too heavily, Jack starts calling out the names of different constellations he can see.

The universe works in funny ways, Alex has always thought. It can spin together new galaxies and expand on and on forever and build up a bright and brilliant sky like the one they’re looking up at right now. But it also made Jack choose to sit at Alex’s lunch table back in the eighth grade and shoved all four of them together on this wild journey and let Jack and Alex fall in love. It’s crazy to Alex that something capable of making and doing such big things would focus any energy on a couple of suburban boys sitting in a parking lot in the middle of nowhere on a punk band tour.

And suddenly, as Alex sits pressed against Jack, watching the person he loves most in the world gaze up at the clear night sky in wonder, his free hand pointing up at all of the constellations Alex had taught him over the years, words start circling around his head. Bits and pieces of lyrics about love and galaxies forming, warm sweaters and cool nights. He blinks away all the words though to let his vision clear. He can write the song another day. Right now, he’d rather focus on the smile pulling across Jack’s cheeks and the way he squeezes Alex’s hand every time he remembers the name of another star in the Little Dipper.

“Alex, was that right?” Jack asks and pulls Alex out of the love drunk headspace he’d been caught up in.

“I love you,” he sighs in response, his mind not able to process any other words. Alex lifts his hand from his lap to cup around Jack’s neck to bring their lips together for a moment. When he pulls away, Alex catches the pale blush on Jack’s cheeks in the light from the parking lot.

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Jack teases with a laugh. “But I love you, too.”

“You were distracting me so I missed whatever you said, but you were probably right. You’ve gotten pretty good at this.”

Jack flashes him a proud smile. “I have a good teacher.”

“Come on, lovebirds. We’ve got a show to get to,” a voice says down to them. Alex looks up at their driver, who laughs at their blushed cheeks before continuing on to the front of the bus.

Jack gets up first and helps Alex to his feet. Their fingers tangle together as they make a sleepy walk back to the bus. “Stay with me tonight?” Jack asks in a whisper once they’re back inside and the ground starts to rumble gently below their feet.

Alex nods and lets Jack guide them toward the bunks. He hits the light switch as he passes it. “You know, if you keep getting taller, one day it’s going to be physically impossible to fit both of us in there.”

“I like a challenge,” Jack whispers back in the dark before dropping into the bunk. Alex follows after and tucks himself into Jack’s side, his head falling to rest in its typical spot on his chest. Alex knows he’ll get too warm in the night and should probably lose the sweatshirt, but the extra layer of Jack relaxes him better than any cup of tea could ever dream of.

“Thanks for stargazing with me,” Alex sighs, the lateness of the hour finally hitting him. Jack reaches down and pulls a blanket over them both.

“Always,” Jack assures him, his arm wrapping around Alex’s waist.

All night long Alex dreams of bright, clear skies full of stars and Jack holding his hand while naming them all.

Love is a thin gold band sitting in a dish beside the sink.

2032, Maryland

They had received the little blue bowl as a fifth anniversary gift from Rian after he had received a call from the two of them at 2AM tipsy and nearly crying because Alex’s wedding band had slipped off while doing the dishes. Rian had been staying at his parents’ place at the time and showed up an hour later, toolbox in hand, to help them find the ring. It’s been another five years since then but it’s still Rian’s favorite story to tell whenever he’s in town and Jack and Alex are hosting a party.

Jack had never had an issue with his ring trying to slip past his knuckle while cleaning up after dinner. But after the scare with Alex’s, he figures there’s no use in testing chance. So after turning on the hot water tap, he places the band into the dish. He sticks his hand under the water and waits for it to warm, knowing it might be a minute or two since he’s pretty sure he heard Alex running the shower a few minutes earlier after returning from the barn.

Married life isn’t what Jack expected it to be. He kind of assumed they would bicker over random tiny things in the way that his parents did. There was a part of him that thought maybe this would be the thing that made him start feeling like an actual grown up, that a ring on his left hand might be the missing piece to the puzzle of feeling like a put together adult. But nothing really changed. They had both been living on the farm during breaks from tour for a couple years by the time Alex finally asked while on a trip to the cabin. So there was no moving around and there really wasn’t a shift in any other part of their lives to work with either. It was like Rian had said during his best man speech: “I mean come on, guys, you’ve basically been married since we graduated high school.”

He had been worried he would be bad at it. Alex had always been better at sitting still than he was. It had been the original reason Jack gravitated toward Alex. No one else had ever known how to calm Jack enough to stop the constant motion in his world for a minute. Guiding words or a hand against his back from Alex had always been the one thing to ground him, whether they were on a long flight or on a stage in front of twenty thousand people. Alex was always the answer.

It doesn’t take long to finish up the dishes. They had cleaned as they went while cooking so it was just a few plates to clear away. After Alex had carried the stack of them to the sink, Jack waved him away in the direction of the living room. Reluctantly, Alex had rolled his eyes and said a quiet thank you before he refilled his wine glass from the bottle in the fridge and wandered out of the room.

Now, Jack turns off the tap and grabs the towel to dry his hands before slipping his ring back. He retrieves his own glass from the dining room and fills it with the white that Alex had picked up for them to try and steps across the hall to join him.

Alex sits curled up in his usual corner of the couch, his glasses slipping toward the end of his nose as he taps against the screen of the tablet in his lap. He scratches at his head in thought and his beanie falls to the cushion behind him. He doesn’t bother reaching for it again. As Jack takes the spot beside him, he smiles at the touch of gray in Alex’s roots that show through the faded purple he’s had for a while. Jack’s been trying to get him to embrace his graceful aging for ages, but he admires Alex’s very punk insistence on hiding the silver hairs below blues and pinks.

“What are you working on?” Jack asks. He lets his head fall to rest against Alex’s shoulder after setting his glass on the coffee table.

“Mark said the Sunday puzzle was fun this week so I’m giving it a shot,” Alex replies without looking up from the screen. “I forget ‘fun’ in his words means really fucking hard, though.”

“He’s a very smart boy,” Jack says, thoughtfully.

“The smartest.”

They sit in silence for a few more minutes while Alex tries out different options for 16 across. Eventually, he sighs and hits the button to lock the screen. He replaces the tablet with his glass of wine, and they adjust so Jack sits between Alex’s legs with his head resting against Alex’s chest. Most evenings end like this these days when they’re not out on tour. It’s Jack’s favorite part of the day. Sometimes they both sit and work through a couple chapters of whatever book they each picked up recently. Sometimes they watch a movie. But they’re always together in this room as the sunset turns to twilight, and it’s something Jack is grateful for.

The dim room lights up bright as lightning flashes outside and a low roll of thunder follows a few moments later. Jack closes his eyes and focuses on the sound of the rain hitting the porch just beyond the window. “Everybody all closed up out of the storm out there?”

“Oh, yeah,” Alex says, pausing to take a sip from his glass. “They went in without any complaint. They must have sensed it coming.”

Jack hums in agreement. Alex grabs Jack’s free hand and brings them up to rest against Jack’s chest. It’s strange, Jack thinks sometimes, how much he’s grown to love the moments of silence with Alex. Growing up, their world had been so loud and busy. He thinks maybe that’s what taught them to so easily find moments of peace with one another. Short moments in venue dressing rooms before they took the stage all around the world and the tour bus back lounge were all they really had. And the buzz of tour never really stops ringing in their ears when they’re out on the road. It’s been a good change though here, that they don’t have so much noise to fight to find moments where they can sit with only the sound of a late summer storm and their own breathing.

It’s nice, Jack thinks, that they’ve really gotten the best of both worlds in that sense. They’re settled down enough that their mothers both still find casual ways to ask about grandchildren at Sunday brunch. But they also still get to go out on the road with Rian and Zack and play loud rock shows to seas of jumping, singing fans. Jack had worried for a while about those two sides coexisting. He’s thankful they’ve managed it so well.

Outside the storm rages on, the wind changing direction and slapping more rain against the window. Every so often, storms like this still set Jack on edge, despite how he’s lived through probably hundreds of them at this point in his life. If the thunder is just a little bit too loud or the lightning too bright, sometimes he swears he can feel the wind shaking the windows. It’s in those moments that Alex will grab his hand like he’s doing now and tap his fingers back and forth against Jack’s knuckles. It’s the same thing he’s done since they were out on Warped Tour at twenty years old, weathering out storms from the bus somewhere in Florida or Chicago. Some things never really change, Jack’s learned over the years.

“We still need to get up early to stop by the farmer’s market for flowers for my parents’ anniversary and that honey your mom wanted,” Alex says as he sits up, signalling for Jack to do the same. He moves to stand and reaches a hand out to Jack. “Want to call it an early night?”

“You read my mind,” Jack says with a yawn as he accepts Alex’s hand.

They wander through the house, hitting light switches as they go and checking to make sure they locked all the doors. The walls they pass are lined with plaques from band things and family photos and art collected over the years. Jack’s always liked how much they have hanging on the walls. He likes that their home tells their story.

They part ways when they make it upstairs to their bedroom, Alex heading for the bathroom and Jack for the closet. Jack changes quickly from the t-shirt he’s been wearing all day into something a bit more soft and worn to sleep in. He wanders back across the room and leans against the doorframe, just watching Alex place his ring into a dish that matches the one downstairs in the kitchen (Rian had bought a matching set because he’s always been the smart one among them) before reaching for his face wash.

Married life isn’t what Jack expected it to be. For most of his life, given the whirlwind that it’s been since they hit the road as teenagers, Jack has never known what to expect with anything. He stopped trying to set expectations for most things a long time ago. He thinks he likes it that way though. He likes not really knowing what comes next. He knows he’ll be happy and he’ll never have to do it alone.

And, as he watches Alex examine the band on his fourth finger missing the rest of the glowy summer tan he gets from hours outside with the horses, he’s pretty sure that’s all that really matters.

*

[rpf-bat]

I Choose Defeat

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Angst, Drama

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 5. Prompt: “Killing Romance.”

When Gerard makes the decision to ‘kill’ My Chemical Romance, your hidden feelings for him, turn to despair. You’re crushed by the reality that he’s no longer your bandmate, but you try your best to move on. Four years later, you have a quiet life in New Jersey - and a child that isn’t is. But, when you get a call in the middle of the night, asking you to get the band back together, you find yourself jumping at the chance. 

You and the other members of My Chemical Romance, sat around a coffee table, at Reprise Records headquarters. You sipped from your mug anxiously, unsure why Gerard had called this meeting. 

Is this about the new studio space?, you wondered. He did say he wanted to build a new recording spot, on his property, so that we’ll have an easier time, putting together the rest of the new album. 

But, something in his melancholy expression, told you that he wasn’t here, to show off blueprints. His hazel eyes seemed to stare right through you.

You glanced at Frank on your right, and Ray and Mikey on your left. They seemed nervous, too, as they waited for Gerard to speak. The silence in the room was deafening. 

“So,” Gerard said finally, “I’ve decided I quit.” 

“What?” you blinked. 

“I no longer want to be the vocalist of My Chemical Romance,” Gerard spelled out. “I’m out.” 

Four jaws dropped in unison. The mug nearly fell right out of your hand. 

“That means that My Chemical Romance is….over with,” Mikey realized. “I mean, there’s no way in hell that we could continue the band without you.” 

This much was obvious - Gerard was the group’s leader. It’s visionary. A drummer, such as yourself? Potentially replaceable. But the vocalist, lyricist, and frontman? No way. If he was done, his departure would be a bullet between My Chemical Romance’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard sighed. “I’ve been trying, to act like everything’s fine, and keep working on new songs with you guys. But….my heart’s just not in it anymore.” 

“What about the new album?!” Frank interjected. “The demos we’ve been working on so far….I thought those songs really had potential!” 

“The guitar parts you wrote were good, Frankie,” Gerard admitted. “If you want to take those melodies, and recycle them into a new project, at some point? You definitely have my blessing to do that.” 

“Frank might be fine forming some new band, with new people,” you said, tears forming in your eyes, “but, what about me? What am I supposed to do?” 

You had dropped out of school, years ago, when Gerard asked you to drum for his band. And the truth was, that you had nothing to fall back on. You’d spent the last decade of your life, focused on nothing, but being in My Chem. Now, that career was just….gone. 

“I was talking to Andy Hurley the other day,” Gerard said calmly. “He said, that when Fall Out Boy broke up, he became a touring drummer, for some other bands. Like, I think he went on the road with Earth Crisis for a while.” 

“Oh, so you just have all the answers, is that it?” you snapped. You didn’t think, he’d really given that much thought, to how this would affect you, at all. 

“Y/N, come on,” Ray intervened, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You have to admit….the last tour, was really hard on all of us.”

“He’s right,” Mikey sighed. “We were constantly jet lagged. I was eating No-Doz like candy, just to stay awake, during some of our shows.” 

“I...I never said being in this band was easy,” you stammered, “but that doesn’t mean you just give up!”

“I can’t force it, if the passion’s just not there anymore!” Gerard insisted. “Do you remember the last show we played?”

“Yeah, what about it?” you demanded. 

“I wasn’t even looking at the fucking crowd,” Gerard confessed. “Or at my mic. My head was somewhere completely else. I was looking at the sea, in the distance. I didn’t want to be on that stage. And I know that our performance suffered, because of that. It wasn’t my best work. If I can’t give the fans the show they deserve, I’d rather not do any more shows, at all.” 

“You didn’t feel happy at all, when you were playing with us?” you realized. 

“No,” Gerard said bluntly. “I felt nothing.” 

Your chest hurt, and your eyes welled up with tears. Nothing?

Being onstage with Gerard, watching him sing, from behind your drum kit, was euphoria to you. A high that no drug could match. Listening to the crowd sing along with him, as you played your heart out....those were always the best nights of your life. But, clearly, he didn’t feel the same way, that you did. 

You always thought you’d have more time with him. Whether it was in the studio, or on tour….you’d taken for granted, that you would have another opportunity, to tell him how you really felt. 

You’d had feelings for him, for a long time. To put it frankly, you were in love with him. 

I told myself, that as soon as we finished the record, I would confess my feelings to him, you recalled, your hands shaking. I didn’t want it to affect the work we were doing in the studio, so I was going to wait. But now the fifth MCR album, is never going to exist! 

Even if your fantasies of dating him never materialized, you thought you would always have him, as a bandmate. Even if we never became boyfriend and girlfriend….we would still travel the world together, as singer and drummer. That was something I thought I could always rely on! 

Now, everything you thought you’d have, was up in smoke. It was like the rug had been pulled out from under you. 

“Gerard, how could you?!” you cried, unable to stop the tears, from falling from your eyes. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to be in any band, if it’s not with you!” 

“Y/N, I’m sorry…,” Gerard began, seeming taken aback, by how deeply, his words had wounded you. 

“Save it!” you barked. “I don’t want to hear it!” 

You grabbed your keys, and stormed out of the room. 

“Y/N! Wait!” Gerard cried. 

His voice didn’t stop you. If nothing was what he felt, sharing the stage with you….then, nothing was exactly what you would be to each other, from this day on. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

FOUR YEARS LATER

You’d moved back to New Jersey, after the band broke up. Los Angeles held nothing for you anymore, but memories. All you wanted was to forget. 

You’d tried to fill the void in your heart, by blowing money on vinyls. You thought maybe, if you turned the volume all the way up, and made the whole house shake with sound, you wouldn’t be able to hear Gerard’s voice, in the back of your head. I felt nothing. 

Your time together had been special to you….but, clearly, you thought, it hadn’t been special to him. So, when the guy at the record store, had asked for your number, you’d given it to him. 

You thought you could get over Gerard, by jumping into bed with someone else. Patrick certainly wasn’t unattractive. And, he was never unkind to you. When he told you that he loved you, you said it back. 

But…..you didn’t mean it. Deep down in your heart, you knew you were still in love with Gerard. And the worst part was, Patrick knew it, too. So, the relationship failed. Of course it did.

But, it had left you with one good thing: a child. You loved your daughter, even though you didn’t love her father. Motherhood had given you a reason to get out of bed every day. Even if you felt like your life was in shambles, you still had a responsibility, to be there for her. 

She looked up at you, with innocent blue eyes, as you tucked her into bed. 

“Mommy need hug?” she asked, holding her teddy bear tightly. 

“No, sweetheart,” you sighed, ashamed that your mental state was so obvious, even to a toddler. “Mommy’s okay.”

You thought to yourself, as you kissed her goodnight, that she might be the only person in this world, to ever truly love you unconditionally. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You were sitting at the kitchen table, alone with your thoughts, and a glass of Pinot, when the phone rang. You wondered who it could be, at this hour. 

“Hey, Y/N,” said a familiar voice, when you picked up. 

“Frank?” you blinked. “What’s up?” 

“How are you doing?” your former bandmate asked gently. 

“Pretty good,” you lied. “It’s been a while.” 

“It has,” Frank admitted. “I just got done with a tour, not too long ago.” 

Right, you remembered. He’s got his own little solo project now. 

“What are you calling yourselves these days?” you asked. “The Cellabration?”

“No, it’s The Patience now,” Frank corrected. “Man, I really wish I could have convinced you to join us. You know you were my first pick, for a drummer.” 

“You found a better one,” you shrugged. “I bought a copy of your CD. It sounds like Matt Olsson is doing a hell of a job.” 

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Frank chuckled. “You been up to much, music wise?” 

“Nah,” you confessed. “I mean, I did a little production stuff, for an indie label, here in town. But mostly, I’ve just been living off royalties, and child support.” 

“Fair enough,” Frank replied. “How’s the little one doing?” 

“Lena‘s doing great,” you smiled. “She’s full of energy, like most three year olds are.” 

You heard Frank laughing. 

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I still can’t believe,” Frank snickered, “that you named your daughter Helena.” 

“Of course I did,” you said wistfully. “Of all the songs we ever composed together, I think that was my favorite.” 

“Honestly, it’s one of my favorites, too,” Frank confessed.

“How are Lily and Cherry?” you asked. “And Miles?” 

“The twins just had their seventh birthday,” Frank said proudly. “God, they’re getting so big. And Miles just started kindergarten, he loves it.” 

“That’s great,” you smiled. “Lena and I, should come over and visit you guys soon.” 

“I’d really like that,” Frank agreed. “I mean, you’re right down the road, after all.”

It was true - Frank, was the only other former band member, who had returned to New Jersey, after things went south. 

“....That’s actually part of, what I wanted to talk to you about,” Frank said, after a moment. 

“What do you mean?” you wondered. 

“So….you and I, still hang out all the time,” Frank began. 

“...Yeah?” you nodded. Where was he going with this? 

“But, you also visited Ray not too long ago, right?” he asked. 

“Uh, yeah, last fall,” you recalled. “He invited me down to his house in California. He wanted me to play drums, for a track on Remember The Laughter.” 

It had been nice to see him again - and even nicer, to get out of the East Coast snow. 

“But, while you were in LA, you also hung out with Mikey, right?” Frank asked. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. “He asked me to go to a Dodgers game with him, while I was in town. It was pretty fun. He was asking me for parenting advice the whole time, because Kristin was pregnant with Rowan.” 

All of the former members of My Chemical Romance were parents now….except one. But, you didn’t want to talk about him. To your chagrin, this was the exact person, whom Frank asked about next. 

“What about Gerard?” he demanded. 

“What about him?” you scoffed. Even after all this time, thinking about him, still hurt. 

“I was texting Gee last night,” Frank explained. “Y/N….he told me that you haven’t gone and seen him, even once, since the day the band broke up.” 

“It’s true,” you admitted. 

“Shit, man,” Frank swore. “It’s been four years. Do you really hate him, that much?” 

“I don’t hate him,” you said softly. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Frank tutted. “Was it really necessary, to block his number?” 

“It was,” you insisted. “I have nothing to say to him.” 

“Well,” Frank revealed, “he had something, that he wanted me to say to you.” 

Your eyes widened. 

“What is it?!” you demanded. 

“Damn,” Frank teased. “You sound pretty eager, for someone who refuses to speak to him directly. For the record, it’s kinda childish, if you ask me! You and I are both in our thirties now - and he just turned fuckin’ forty. And I still have to be a go-between, for you two?” 

“Just tell me what he said, already,” you said impatiently. 

“Fine, fine,” Frank sighed. “I’ll get to the point.” 

“Well, what is it?” What could he possibly have to say, after all this time?

“He asked me,” Frank whispered, “if you would be interested, in getting the band back together.”

You dropped the phone in shock. It hit the tile floor, with a crash. You were lucky, that the noise didn’t wake Lena. You bit your lip. You wanted to scream, but you couldn’t. 

Was this real?! you thought, your hands shaking. Oh, god, please let it be real. 

You’d wanted to hear those words for so long. Despite all your anger and resentment towards Gerard….you wanted him, to miss you. You wanted him, to want to get onstage with you again. Because deep down….you still wanted, that, too. 

You picked the phone up off the floor, and pressed it to your ear again. 

“Damn, Y/N, what was that?” Frank gaped. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I can hear you now. So….tell me again? Exactly what he said?”

“He said he wants to get all five of us in a room together,” Frank explained. “Just...try and jam for a little bit, and see where it goes from there.” 

“Where?” you asked. “LA, I’m guessing?” 

“Yeah….”

“Ok, when?” you interrupted. “I can try and find a sitter, to watch Lena for a weekend, so….” 

“Slow down!” Frank urged. “What the fuck, Y/N?” 

“What do you mean, what the fuck?” you asked, eyes narrowing. 

“You just told me, you haven’t said two words to Gerard, since 2013!” Frank reminded. “Now, all of a sudden, you’re chomping at the bit, to get on a plane, and go see him?” 

He had a point. You hated yourself for this. You’d spent the last four years, trying desperately to forget about Gerard. Now, as soon as he dangled the possibility of a reunion in front of you, you were wagging your tail like a dog for him. 

He still has me in the palm of your hand, you realized, cheeks burning. I hate it. 

“We weren’t sure,” Frank confessed, “if you would want to be part of the reunion at all. You guys didn’t leave things on the best of terms. Like...when you see him again, what the hell are you gonna say to him?” 

“I….I don’t know,” you realized. You thought about it for a moment. 

“One thing’s for sure,” you decided. “If My Chemical Romance is having a reunion, you’re sure as hell, not gonna have it without me.” 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You hesitated in the studio doorway, your hand shaking on the door handle. 

Come on, you told yourself. You’ve come all this way. The flight from La Guardia to LAX was seven hours long. You had all that time, to talk yourself out of doing this. But, you’re here now. You’ve decided this is what you want. 

Steeling yourself, you turned the knob, and entered the room. 

He was there, as soon as you walked in. His hair was a natural brown now - not the short blonde it had been, the last time you’d seen him. It had become streaked with grey - but, then again, so had yours. Despite the lines of middle age, that had now begun to crease his face, he was still so, breathtakingly handsome. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Gerard said, his voice melting you like butter. “You look great.”

You didn’t say so do you - even though it was true. 

“H-how you have been?” you asked, trying to hide your shakes. 

“I’ve been well,” Gerard smiled. “How’s Patrick?” 

“We’re divorced,” you said dryly. 

“....Oh,” Gerard gasped. “Oh, fuck, Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You would, if you shot me an email, once in a while,” you snapped, remembering that you were supposed to ‘hate’ him. 

“Oh, so my number’s blocked, but an email’s fine with you?” Gerard huffed. “How am I supposed to know that? The telephone works both ways, you know.” 

“Guys!” interrupted the voice of the reason. “Can you not? Please?” 

“Ray!” you gasped, turning to face your frizzy-haired friend. “How are you? It’s so good to see you!” 

“It’s good to see you, too, Y/N,” Ray smiled. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you guys, too,” said another familiar voice, as Mikey entered the room. 

“Hey!” you smiled, walking over to greet him. “How’s the baby doing?”

“She’s beautiful,” Mikey said proudly. “How’s Helena?”

“Little Lena is getting bigger every day,” you smiled. “She’s adorable.” 

“You can compare baby pictures later,” joked another voice. “I’d win that contest, anyway. I have three cuties at home.” 

“Hi, Frank!” Mikey grinned. “How have you been, dude?” 

“Pretty good,” Frank smiled, setting down his guitar case. “Looks like the gang’s all here.”  

You looked around the room, scarcely believing it was true. But, you didn’t have to pinch yourself. It was real- all five members of My Chemical Romance, were together again.

“Are you ready to jam?” Ray grinned. 

“Absolutely,” you said, surprising yourself. 

“What should we play first?” Frank asked, taking his guitar out of its case, and hooking the strap over his shoulder. 

“Good question,” Gerard shrugged, walking over to the microphone stand, and adjusting it to his height. 

“What about ‘Helena’?” Mikey suggested, tuning his bass. 

“Sounds good to me,” you replied. You sat down, behind the drum kit, that the studio space owned. You still had your original kit - with the Danger Days “Exterminate” drum cover - in your basement, back home. 

You picked up your sticks. It had been so long, but holding them in your hands, felt so right, in a way that you couldn’t describe. 

“Ray, you wanna start us off?” Gerard asked. 

“Alright,” Ray nodded. “One, two, three, four…”

He began to play the opening notes, that you knew so well. 

“Long ago,” Gerard crooned, “just like the hearse you, died to get in again…”

Your cymbals joined him - and at just the right time, too. Like muscle memory coming back. 

“We are,” Gerard sang, “so far from you!”

Mikey and Frank’s parts kicked in, and you felt a wave of adrenaline, that hit you so fast, it almost made you miss the beat. 

“Burning on…,” Gerard continued, surprisingly in-key. 

“Just like a match you strike to incineraaaaate!” Ray harmonized, “the lives of everyone you knoooow!”

The two men sounded incredible together, given that the last time they’d performed this song, was 2012. It was like riding a bike, you realized. You guys had played this one together, so many times, that it only took being next to each other, to unlock it all again. 

You felt a wave of nostalgia, as the song continued:

And what's the worst you take (worst you take)

From every heart you break (heart you break)

And like the blade you stain (blade you stain)

Well, I've been holding on tonight

What's the worst that I can say?

Things are better if I stay

So long and goodnight

So long not goodnight

“....Fuck, that sounded so good!” Gerard grinned, stopping after the chorus. “I thought we’d be really rusty!” 

“I know, right?” Ray laughed. 

Suddenly, Gerard’s smile faded, as he turned back, and looked at you. “....Y/N?”

“What?” you asked. “I agree, that was decent.” 

“Y/N….you’re crying,” Gerard said softly. 

“Huh?” you blinked. You set your drumstick down, and touched your finger to your eye. It came away wet. 

Fuck, you realized, he’s right. You hadn’t even noticed. Despite the sharp words you’d exchanged, when you walked in the door, playing together, had made your true feelings plain. You had missed this. You had missed this so much. 

“I….I think I need a smoke break,” you stammered, and headed for the door. 

“Y/N! Wait!” Gerard called. It sounded just like deja vu. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

He found you outside, holding a cigarette in your shaking palm. You could barely see the lighter through your tears. The stupid flame wouldn’t catch. 

“You want me to get that?” Gerard offered. 

“No!” you sniffed. “Just, go away!” 

Ignoring you, Gerard took the lighter from your hand. 

“Here,” he said, and lit the cigarette for you. You took a drag. 

“....You want one?” you offered, awkwardly handing him the pack, as you wiped your eyes. 

“Nah,” Gerard shook his head. “I quit.”

“...Did you really?” you blinked, surprised. 

“Yeah, just this year,” Gerard nodded. “I figured, if we were gonna do this, I wanted to make sure, that my lungs were in good shape.” 

“....How long have you known, that you wanted to come back?” you wondered. 

“Not long,” Gerard confessed. “Honestly, I thought you would say no.”

“To you?” you laughed, bitterly. “Never.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gerard raised an eyebrow. “I thought you can’t stand me, these days.” 

“Gee,” you sighed. “Listen….I never hated you.” 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

“It wasn’t hate, that kept me away,” you confessed. “It was love.” 

“Love?” Gerard repeated, confused. 

“You broke my heart,” you explained, “when you killed the band.”

“Yeah, all the guys were heartbroken, when I told them it was over,” Gerard acknowledged. 

“No,” you shook your head. “You don’t understand.” 

“Then, explain it to me!” Gerard demanded. “Nobody was happy with me with that day, but you’re the only one who cut off all contact afterwards! And I have spent every day, of the last four years, wondering why!” 

“Because I was in love with you, you idiot!” you cried. 

Gerard gasped, staring at you in shock. 

Fuck, you trembled. I can’t believe I said that out loud. 

“You….wanted to be with me?” Gerard asked, eyes wide. 

“Of course I did,” you said, beginning to cry again. “But, you didn’t even want me as a bandmate anymore - let alone a lover. You didn’t feel a thing - you gave up our life’s work, like it was nothing to you.” 

“Y/N, I was relapsing,” Gerard said softly, staring at his shoes. 

“You….you what?” 

“During the World Contamination Tour,” Gerard admitted, shame-faced. “The stress of being on the road, it was just too much for me. I was seven years sober, and I fell off the wagon. I hated myself for it. But I knew, if we started another album cycle, and went on another tour, after that….I was going to do it again.” 

“That’s why you wanted to quit the band?” you realized. “I never knew….” 

“You never let me explain myself!” Gerard reminded. “You just took off!” 

“B-but, I never noticed you drinking, when we were on tour….” you stammered. 

“I hid it well,” Gerard sighed. “I didn’t want to disappoint you. You thought I was such a great guy….I didn’t want you to see the truth about me.” 

“You are a great guy, Gee,” you assured him. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t gotten so angry at you, for making the choice you made, if I had known how badly you were struggling, on the inside….” 

“It was kill the band,” Gerard revealed, “or fall back into the bad habits, that were going to kill me.”

“I….I don’t want you to get killed, Gerard,” you sobbed. “I would never, ever want that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, for how I’ve treated you, this whole time….”

“I’m sorry, too,” Gerard said, reaching a gentle hand up, to wipe the tear from your eye. “I’m sorry, that I was so self-absorbed, that I never realized, how you felt about me.”

“I hid that well, too,” you confessed. 

“I would never have wasted the last four years of my life like this,” Gerard sighed, “if I had known, that my feelings were reciprocated.”

“Re…Reciprocated?” you repeated. No….could he mean….?

“After you went back to Jersey,” Gerard bared his soul, “I felt like there was a hole in my heart. And I didn’t know why. By the time I figured it out - by the time I was sober, and mentally stable again, and the type of man you actually deserved - goddamnit, Y/N, you were married to someone else!” 

“I only accepted Patrick’s proposal, because I was pregnant,” you admitted, embarrassed. “And I only slept with him, in the first place, to try and convince myself, that I was capable of wanting, somebody who wasn’t you.” 

“But….you and Patrick split up,” Gerard realized. “Fuck. Y/N. If I had known, that you two weren’t still together….I would have been on a plane to New Jersey, months ago, begging you for another chance.” 

“I don’t want him,” you cried. “I want you, Gerard. I always did. I wished Lena was yours, because the wanting never stopped. I want you still!” 

“Then, be mine, damnit!” Gerard cried, and took you in his arms. He kissed your tear stained face, and your sobbing finally stopped, as his lips crashed into yours. 

He tasted so sweet….everything you’d wanted, and more. It was like a dream come true. 

“The guys are waiting inside,” you reminded, “for us to go back in there, and play some more songs with them.”

“Let then wait,” Gerard shushed you, pulling you in again. “I’ve waited four years for this.” 

He kissed you, and you felt as if you could fly. All was, finally, right with the world again. 

[lady-divine-writes]

Ineffable Holiday 2020 - “Anathema’s Solid Right Arm” (Rated PG)

Summary: Anathema takes it upon herself to bring together two customers she knows have a crush on one another ... drastically, if necessary. (1694 words)

Notes: I had started writing this for @ineffablehusbandsweek prompt coffeeshop au, but I never got it done. So I have written it for the Ineffable Holiday 2020 Day 2 prompt 'hot cocoa/cider'. Human au. Mainly fluff.

Read on AO3.

“So, Mr. Crowley,” Anathema says, eagerly setting her cocoa and her apple cider muffin on the iron bistro table out front of her shop, right by the door where she can keep track of customers going in and out, “is he here yet?”

“Who?” her reluctant companion, who’d been there first, nursing his mug of coffee while he eyed the people walking by, asks.

“Don’t play dumb with me!”

“Pfft. Who says I’m playin’?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about. The man in the cream-colored coat who comes here every day at 2 o’clock for a cup of Earl Grey and a blueberry scone. The one you’ve been mooning over for weeks and weeks but refuse to say two words to.”

Crowley spots a gentleman who fits that exact bill weeding through the crowd. But by the time he reaches the coffee shop, it’s obviously not him, and Crowley groans. “Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?”

“This is my shop, and you're a customer here, so I think that gives me exclusive bothering rights.”

“I liked you better when all you did was read books behind the counter and ignore the rest of us.”

“Lucky for you, you’re much more interesting than a book.”

“Lucky me,” Crowley grumbles in a put-upon voice.

Crowley isn’t exactly a friend of hers, but he is one of her best customers. He shows up every afternoon without fail at precisely 1:30 and orders the same thing each time - black coffee and the muffin of the day (which he never eats). Anathema had thought he chose her spot over other, more commercial coffee enterprises because of her homey atmosphere and signature, in-house roasted Arabica blends. Many of her customers (an older set among the locals) do. 

Turns out, he stopped by every day because of another daily customer of hers - a pleasant, older man with fluffy white-blond hair, and a positively glowing smile, the kind that can be described as lighting up a room. Anathema has watched the two of them religiously. To this day, Crowley has never once spoken to the man, and the man (Aziraphale is the name he gives when he orders) has made no move to speak to him either. And as it’s already nearing 2:15 with no sign of him, it seems today won’t be the day Crowley gets his chance. 

Which explains his sour mood.

Anathema watches Crowley pull apart his muffin with one hand while he searches the stream of pedestrians, not paying an ounce of attention to the fact that he’s decimating it, crumbs falling through the scrollwork on the tabletop and attracting birds from all around. 

Anathema feels for the man. She really does. She’s watched the evolution of him from the first day he walked into her shop: cocky, condescending, constantly criticizing everything from the smell of the place to the decor. But he’s softened considerably since Aziraphale, almost become a whole different person. 

There are some things about him that have not budged. He still dresses like a wealthy undertaker, sporting a pair of dark sunglasses whether it’s dreary out or fine. Both style choices make him the yin to Aziraphale’s yang seeing as Aziraphale only dresses in tones of lightest cream and pale, sky blue.

Anathem has become invested in whether or not these two end up together. There's no better time than the present. 

Christmas time.

Which Anathema considers the most romantic season of the year

(Stuff Valentine's!)

If Crowley isn’t brave enough to make the first move, and Aziraphale (whom she thought she caught more than once peeking surreptitiously Crowley’s way) won’t, then she needs to make this happen. 

Starting today, if possible.

But what if he found a different coffee shop to go to? 

What if he had been waiting for Crowley to say something and mistook his silence for disinterest?

How tragic would it be for these two to end up star-crossed!

Nope! Not on her watch!

She straightens up and peeks around at the customers enjoying their beverages on this blustery day, then beyond the dining patio to the holiday shoppers hopping from store to store. It’s easy to mistake many an older gentleman for the object of Crowley’s affections, but easier to spot him out the moment he arrives, threading through passersby like a salmon traveling upstream, offering everyone he meets a smile, a nod, and an, “Excuse me! I’m very sorry! I must get through!” 

“Look!" Anathema cheers. "Mr. Crowley! There he is!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Crowley says, but she sees the slightest twitch of a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he waits for Aziraphale to blow by him into the shop for his daily fare.

Except, he doesn’t. 

It doesn’t look like he’s stopping at all, hurrying through the crowd to continue down the street.

Crowley's twitchy smile withers. Anathema’s jaw drops as she stares at Aziraphale’s back while he walks on. In her peripheral, she sees Crowley’s head bow, his lips tightening into the thinnest of lines as he sinks slowly into his mug of freezing cold cider.

And that's that.

She has to do something! If she doesn’t, Crowley is going to be miserable for the remainder of the afternoon. Grumpy and alone, he'll stay out here well into supper and, in turn, will make her miserable.

She can’t have that.

But she doesn't know how to fix things. She can’t chase after the man. He has a considerable head start. Plus, with the crowd between them, she’s not sure she'll reach him before he gets away. 

She doesn’t know what on Earth possesses her. 

She grabs up the picked apart remains of Crowley’s muffin and, without another thought, hurls it with all her might. She thought she aimed low enough to tag Aziraphale’s shoulder, or brush his arm, but obviously not when she hits the poor man square on the cheek.

Anathema throws her hands over her mouth and gasps.

Crowley launches swiftly to his feet.

Aziraphale stops walking.

“What on Earth!?” Aziraphale mutters, pivoting quickly on his heel and looking over at them in surprise. But he doesn’t see Anathema at all. The second the muffin hits its mark, she says, "Good luck!" and bolts inside the shop, leaving her red-faced companion staring, mouth agape, at the man glaring back with a cheek covered in mascarpone cheese filling.

Aziraphale must recognize the culprit is Crowley because his demeanor changes. He smiles bashfully, feeling his pockets for a handkerchief, but his eyes never leave Crowley's face.

Silently, and from her hiding place just inside, Anathema cheers.

She knew it! She just knew it! 

After a few awkward seconds of searching, Aziraphale still can't seem to find it, and Crowley, realizing that this is the chance he's been waiting for, hurries to the rescue. 

On the brief saunter over, he debates the best opening line for this situation. Hello is first on the list. Hi sounds a bit too casual. Yo pops up to make a short appearance but is brutally beaten to death. What ends up coming out of Crowley's mouth, not even a contender, is, “Here,” as he thrusts a black handkerchief Aziraphale's way.

“Oh!" Aziraphale accepts it gratefully. "Thank you so much, my dear."

"Crowley," Crowley corrects, biting his tongue hard after because what did he have against this man calling him my dear? Not a single, Goddammed thing!

"Aziraphale," Aziraphale offers. "Uh … was that your muffin?”

“No! I mean, ngk … yes, it was. But someone tossed it … I suppose?” Crowley looks over at Anathema, who has the gall to spy on them through her front window, smiling like anything and making, what he can only describe as, encouraging hand motions.

“What kind was it?”

“The muffin of the day - apple cider, filled with …”

“Mascarpone cheese, yes," Aziraphale finishes with a frown. "Was it tasty, at least?”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know. Didn’t get a nibble of it.”

“Pity.” Aziraphale side-eyes Crowley as he watches him wipe the remaining cheese off his cheek. “Thank you for this,” he says, gesturing with the handkerchief. “I’ll get it cleaned for you.”

“Keep it. This way you have an extra, just in case. You never know when some rogue baker might throw a muffin at you again. Or a doughnut.”

“True. A jam-filled would ruin this coat. It’s one of my favorites, too.”

“Is it?" Crowley steps back, gives the garment a casual once over as if he doesn't have the thing memorized - every line from shoulder to hem, the position of the pockets, the lay of the lapels. "It suits you.”

“Thank you," Aziraphale says, self-consciously tugging at the seams, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. 

The two men fall silent. Anathema, palms pressed against the glass, starts dramatically mouthing, "Do something! One of you! Do something!"

Neither of them sees her, but Aziraphale says, "Now I’m curious.”

“About what?”

“I’ve never had one of the specialty muffins. Creature of habit, I’m afraid. Always order the same thing.”

“I think she has one left if you’d like to give it a go.”

Aziraphale bites his lower lip, his cheeks turning a fetching shade of rose. “Do you think … would you mind splitting it with me? Then we can both satisfy our curiosities.”

That last part sounds like an invitation to more than sharing a muffin, and Crowley, admittedly dense to those sorts of flirtations, is determined not to let it pass him by.

“That sounds like a brilliant idea.”

Anathema beams when she sees Aziraphale and Crowley heading her way, flashing them a double thumbs-up that only Crowley catches. Crowley rolls his eyes. Aziraphale looks in time to see the top of her head drop below the sill, another unfortunate chair upturning behind her. “Is that the young lady who runs the shop?” he asks, pointing at Anathema's bun bobbing away from the window towards the counter.

“I believe it is,” Crowley says dismissively.

“Is she quite all right?”

“No.” Crowley sets the chairs right at the small table and offers one to Aziraphale. “Not in the slightest.”