#I have to set up the punchline somehow. another 'wait a bit and it will come' moment but I think I've build up a reputation now

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I know what you are.

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[alpacaparkaseok]

If You’ll Have Me || KSJ

➣pairing: Jin x reader (established relationship)

➣premise: Kim Seokjin. The love of your life. Your boyfriend of three years. The man who insists on taking you to the zoo for every milestone in your lives together. There’s just one thing...you have no idea what you’re celebrating this time.

➣warnings/tags: fluff, SFW, we live for Jin in this household if you haven’t noticed

➣word count: 4.3k

➣commissioned by @delacyrose224 as a part of army for AAPI! thank you so much for requesting this, I loveddddd writing this little story. I’m so soft for this man. you always have the best ideas!!

“We look like idiots.”

“Yeah, well,” Jin shrugs, handing you yet another t-shirt to try on. “That can’t be helped.”

You gasp, snatching the shirt away from him and heading toward the fitting room. “Rude! I meant with all of these ridiculous clothes!”

Jin’s laughter follows you as you close the door and throw on what feels like the thirtieth gaudy t-shirt from the zoo’s souvenir shop. This one is vivid blue, which you suppose is an upgrade from the caution-cone orange Jin had you trying on a few minutes ago.

“Ok,” you call out, “ready?”

“Ready!”

Peeking out of the little room, you notice Jin sitting on the little sofa in the waiting area. He grins up at you, already wearing a matching shirt.

“Do you like it?” He asks, lips pouting out a bit as he waits for your answer.

Avoiding looking in the mirror for too long, you manage a feeble, “Yeah…it’s not as bad as the others, I guess.”

That’s all Jin needs to hear. With a clap of his hands he’s jumping up and herding you toward the front of the shop. You don’t miss the amused glances people are giving you and your boyfriend, who pauses to grab a couple of baseball caps.

“Let’s see…” he brushes some of your hair back before sliding the cap onto your head, stepping back to get the full effect. “Perfect. And, it’ll protect your scalp from the sun!”

Like a couple of walking mannequins, the two of you head up to pay for the clothes you’re now wearing. Jin has a backpack on hand for your other clothes, which you unceremoniously shove inside before zipping it shut.

The cashier offers you a wide smile as she assists with the transaction. You know what she’s thinking:do I pity or envy her?

Honestly, it’s a toss up. Of course, there’s the fact that Jin often makes you do ridiculous things (exhibit A, bright blue zoo t-shirts with roaring lions on the front and waddling penguins on the back), but then again, you don’t stop him.

Rather, you egg him on. There’s something just so adorable about the way he gets so excited for such simple things. And for today, it’s over a trip to the zoo.

Of course, you’re excited as well. Mainly to see the meerkats, which Jin will never let you live down. When you told him that the meerkats were your favorite animal, he stopped and stared at you for an unnervingly long amount of time. You had begun to wonder if you’d somehow upset him when he burst out laughing, claiming that he could see it.

“See what?” You seethed.

“The resemblance,” Jin choked out between laughter. “You’re basically a meerkat in human form!”

With a smack to his chest, you glared at him and said, “Yeah well…you’re a walrus! Yeah, a walrus!”

Needless to say, he was extremely offended and didn’t speak to you for hours. In fact, the only thing that had brought him out of his misery had been you dragging him to the souvenir shop and giving him permission to get whatever he wanted. That apparently included getting you some items as well.

“Ah, it’s such a nice day,” Jin remarks the second you step outside. His hand slips into your seamlessly, a testament to the countless times you’ve repeated the action. “Perfect day at the zoo.”

Indeed it is. The sun is shining, there’s a cool breeze licking at the nape of your neck, and there’s fewer people than you’d expected to be here on a day like today.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it’s Tuesday morning. It would appear that most people – the sane ones, at least – are busy with work and other weekday obligations. Neither of you are, though. Jin has a rare day off and he’d had the day circled on the calendar for well over a month at this point. You had made sure a long time ago to have this day off.

“When’s the last time you went to the zoo?” You ask, glancing sidelong at your boyfriend.

Perhaps it’s his undeniable good looks or the fact that you hardly get to see each other due to your hectic schedules, but you can’t help the little sense of wonder that comes over you as your survey him in the morning sun. Somehow, you really have no idea how he does it, he manages to pull off the shirt and hat. Sure, he looks silly. But he owns the look.

It’s a wonder that he’s yours.

“Hmmm…” Jin ponders for a moment. “I think it was the last time we went together.”

You gasp. “That was like…three years ago! You seriously haven’t been since?”

Laughing at your shocked expression, Jin shakes his head. “Nope.”

Three years ago, close to the time when the two of you had first started dating, Jin wanted to take you out on a special date to celebrate the beginning of your relationship. Without telling you where you were going, you had assumed there would be a nice restaurant, maybe some sort of play or whatever else it is that fancy people do when they first begin to date.

Oh, how wrong you’d been.

Assuming that just because Jin was…well, rich, you couldn’t be more wrong about his taste in dates. When he had parked in the zoo lot and led you through the entrance, you had been waiting for the punchline.

There wasn’t any. No, he had simply wanted to spend the entire day with you. Walking around, having an “excuse to hold your hand” in Jin’s words, and somehow making you believe that crocodiles’ tails could change color when it danger. (don’t ask)

“I still think that it would be so cool to live up there,” you point to the houses in the distance, overlooking the zoo. There was a neighborhood of stately homes just a little way’s away which the two of you had snooped on after your date to the zoo all those years ago.

Jin chuckles quietly. “What if a tiger escapes and ends up in the yard?”

You shrug. “I guess it makes for a good excuse to always keep a steak in the fridge. I’ll lure it away with that.”

“Absolute genius,” your boyfriend hums, making you scrunch up your nose at his obvious sarcasm. “So, where should we begin?”

“At the beginning?”

Laughing jovially (honestly, the best thing about Jin is the fact that he thinks you’re funny), the two of you set down a little path which will take you to a butterfly exhibit.

“Agh, I forgot how hot it is in here,” you mutter the second you step inside. Plants of all different shapes and sizes loom over and around you, home to several different kinds of butterflies. A few stray butterflies flutter overhead, making you temporarily forget the humidity of the greenhouse.

Jin ooh’s and ah’s over the bright yellow butterfly that brushes past him. “Did you see that? It nearly landed on my nose!”

“Aw, it recognizes a Disney Princess when it sees one,” you coo, earning a half-hearted glare from Jin.

“I thought we discussed this,” he grumbles. “I’m Flynn Rider.”

“Right. My bad. Who am I again?”

A giant grin splitting his features, Jin wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Mother Gothel, obviously.” The slap to his right butt-cheek echoes through the greenhouse, quickly followed by his yowl of pain.

Pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, Jin limps after you as you continue through the greenhouse.

“You’re lucky nobody was in here to see that,” he says. “They could send you away for treating me so horribly. I mean, look! I bring you to the zoo, I buy you a nice shirt, I let you choose where we go first-”

Whirling around to face your boyfriend only to find a knowing smirk already on his face, you glare up at him. He knows that he won.

“Yah! What do you want?” You ask, exasperated. Limping forward, clearly milking this for all it’s worth, Jin pouts down at you with big, brown eyes.

“Just one kiss.”

You gasp, feigning horror. “A kiss?! In this sweaty, public greenhouse?!” You frantically point at the butterflies which are your only witnesses in here. “In front of the innocent butterflies?”

Jin looks at you and shudders. “Wow. I think it’s official.”

“What?”

“We spend way too much time together. You’re impersonating me right now, aren’t you?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Yeah. But I still stand by my condition.” Finally taking one final step, Jin towers over you. With a playful wink, he puckers his lips.

“Ugh, I hate you sometimes.”

Jin peeks one eye open. “You just said you loved me earlier.”

“Is it too late to change my mind?”

“Sorry, no refunds.” Then, taking things into his own hands, Jin cups your cheeks and swoops in for a kiss.

On your nose.

Sputtering as he steps away, you glare at him. “What was that?!”

Turning on his heel and heading toward the exit, you notice that Jin’s over-exaggerated limp is long gone. With a devilish grin over his shoulder, Jin says, “You were taking too long. But you still owe me a kiss, whenever I ask for it. No matter where we are or what we’re doing, ok?”

You can recognize a trap when you see one. However, you’re left with no choice. Grumbling out a “yeah, whatever” you follow after him.

After the butterfly exhibit you make your way to the reptile house, opting to get all of the hot and humid indoor places out of the way while it’s still morning. The Gila monsters make you laugh as Jin takes a video of the tongue flipping in and out of its mouth and sends it to Hoseok. The two of you know full well that the boy in question will no doubt scream in horror as he watches the video.

Hand in hand, Jin finally swerves off the path toward one of the final indoor exhibits: Animals of the Savanna.

Once you’re inside, you pull and tug at Jin until he’s relenting and allowing you to find the meerkats. To onlookers, you’re sure you look like a child dragging their disgruntled parent to and fro. However, once you spot the meerkats, any thoughts of maintaining your dignity in front of these people eddies out of your mind.

“Jin! Jin! Seokjin!” You hop up and down on the balls of your feet, completely missing the tender look Jin sends your way as you drag him closer. “Look at them! Woooow there’s so many! Aww and there’s little babies, too!”

Jin just hums along, smiling as he watches your wide eyes. You get as close as humanly possible, grinning at the creatures that occasionally look your way. Through it all, he maintains some sort of contact. Giggling without knowing what you’re laughing about. Just laughing for the sake of it.

He just…loves the zoo. Yeah, that’s it.

It had been a silly idea, to bring you here three years ago to celebrate the beginning of your relationship. In fact, you had looked at him like he was already bordering on crazy when he had brought up the idea of doing something special now that you had agreed to be his girlfriend.

“Don’t people usually do something special for anniversaries?” You had asked. Your hair had been longer then, a tell-tale sign of your youth.

Jin shrugged, completely under your spell without your knowledge. He found it nearly impossible to look away from you at times like these. “We can do that, too. Next year. But for now, why don’t we just celebrate the beginning?”

“Sure,” you mimicked his shrug, snuggling into his side on the couch. Despite his unaffected demeanor, he wondered if you noticed the way his heart was pounding as you rested your head against his shoulder. “I’ll do whatever, as long as it’s with you.”

So, after discussing it with his best friends, he decided to take you to a beautiful dinner looking over the Han river. There was a new restaurant that was outrageously fancy and delicious, and he wanted to treat you to the best.

When he arrived at your apartment that evening, just in time to hopefully catch the sunset on the Han if all went according to plan, he overheard you talking on the phone. Your window was open, and like the snoop that he was, he waited to listen in on your conversation.

He wouldn’t have it he hadn’t heard your mentioning his name.

“I don’t know what we’re doing tonight,” you admitted. You were quiet for a moment while listening to the other side of the conversation. “You think so? I don’t know, I’ve never dated someone like this. You know, like…rich. What do rich people do on dates? I’m a little out of my element here, I just hope I won’t make a fool of myself.” Your laugh had him hurtling to reality, and he realized in an instant that he couldn’t take you to that restaurant.

A part of him knew in that moment that you were going to be the rest of his life. You were it for him. And if you want something to last, you treat it differently.

A perfectly forgettable meal surrounded by gossiping netizens wasn’t what you deserved.

So what did you deserve?

That had been the question on his mind as he tried to hide just how sweaty his palms were when he knocked on your door.

“Oh, I think he’s here. I – yeah, I’ll call you after. Ok, bye.”

Seokjin has always been good at pretending that he has a plan even when he has no idea what to do. Which is exactly what he did. You had been absolutely adorable, bouncing in your seat as he set off down the highway, begging him to give you a hint.

When he’d seen the exit for the zoo, he turned down that road without a second thought. You looked utterly confused when he pulled into the parking lot, and little did you know that he was just as confused as you were.

He just prayed that you wouldn’t think he was the dumbest person ever for letting those reservations slip through his fingers for the fanciest restaurant in Seoul. Perhaps a date to the zoo wasn’t the right idea, perhaps it wasn’t romantic at all, perhaps-

Perhaps you were happiest with his hand in yours and a meerkat a few feet away from you.

He’s so tempted to cash in that kiss right now, with how adorable you look. But he bites his tongue, reminding himself that he has to save it for later.

Once you’re loved of meerkats is sated enough for you to be herded away, Jin leads you to a street vendor. “Eat up,” he says as he passes the bread cone filled to the brim with macaroni and cheese to your outstretched hands. He’ll never understand your love for the little abominations, but he caves and orders one for himself as well.

“Don’t you want to sit and eat it?” He asks as he spies you wandering off. You twirl around, licking the cheese off of your lips. And stupid as it is, his heart skips a beat.

“They’re gonna feed the penguins in ten minutes!” You respond, clearly expecting that to be enough of an explanation. Again you turn to wander away. You’re not worried about leaving Jin behind, though. His long legs catch up to you within a few seconds.

The two of you eat in relative silence as you watch the penguins waddling around. Once you’re finished with your food, you spend a good hour sitting in the amphitheater watching the penguins and wondering which ones the two of you would be.

“I’m that one,” you point to a particularly fat penguin attempting to get out of the water. “That looks like me trying to get out of my chair whenever I eat.”

Jin nearly chokes on his water at your remark, squinting at the penguin that has yet to be successful in getting out of the water. “How pitiful. Oh, that’s me.”

Another penguin appears on the ice, looking down at the fat one.

“Oh, have you come to rescue me?” You ask, sitting forward and resting your chin on your hands. Jin immediately begins massaging the small of your back, knowing that it’s a troublesome spot for you most days.

“Probably- oooh down he goes!”

The two of you burst into a fit of laughter as the penguin pears down into the water only to lose its footing and slip in alongside the previously struggling penguin.

“Yeah, that’s us,” you confirm, still laughing.

“Definitely us. We’re a mess most days.”

You lean back, taking up your usual spot on the crook of his shoulder and resting your hand on the inside of Jin’s knee. “At least we have each other.”

You say it with a teasing tone, but Jin can’t help the way it goes straight to his heart. Sneakily planting a kiss atop your baseball cap, he squeezes you a little tighter. “Yeah, that’s true. Don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“Probably still on land,” you remark slyly, peeking up at him. With slightly pink cheeks and zero hesitation you utter out, “I love you.”

He’ll never get used to you.

“Love you, too.”

From there you head over to the polar bears, which appear to be largely unimpressed by your presence. Jin drags you to see the hyenas, sporting some strange interest in the creatures. It only makes sense to sit and stare at the large tigers after that, your mouth ajar as you marvel at its size.

Then it’s the elephants and rhinos.

“Ugh, it smells like your fridge that one time,” you joke the second to get a whiff of the rhino’s habitat.

“It does not!” Jin shouts, drawing the attention of some of the other visitors. “My fridge smelled much worse.”

You can’t help but cackle at his remark. “I stand corrected.”

Toward the end of your visit you pass by to visit the monkeys. “If you squeeze my hand any harder, it’ll fall off.”

You try and fail to relinquish your grip. “Sorry, they just freak me out.” As if on cue, a monkey swings by in front of the tall glass window, making you jump and squeal in terror.

“Should we leave?” Jin questions, hiding his laughter.

You bury your head in between his shoulder blades, squeezing your eyes shut. “No, just go fast.”

He does just that, speeding through the exhibit until he’s announcing that you’re nearing the end. Slowly you look up, blinking at the now dark sky.

“Have we been here all day?” You ask in wonder. Checking the time, Jin nods.

“Yep. It’s about time to head home.”

Languidly making your way back up the path to the zoo entrance and exit, you swing your hands back and forth. “That was so fun.”

Jin raises his brows. “Really? I thought you were a goner back there with the monkeys.”

Faking a shiver, you revel in the way Jin falls for it and automatically pulls you in closer. “I thought I was, too. But I just thought of the meerkats, and I made it through.”

Snorting, Jin waves goodbye to a few of the staff members the open the gate for the two of you to leave. “Is that so? It had nothing to do with your big, strong, boyfriend protecting you?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh really.”

“No. Why? Did you think we had something going on?”

Rolling his eyes, Jin bumps you with his hip, making you giggle. “If not, this has been the most dedicated friendship I’ve ever experienced.”

“Dude, you have six best friends-”

“Ok, first you say I’m not your boyfriend, and then you stoop so low as to refer to me as dude?!”

Your laugh rings out loud and clear in the evening air, followed by Jin’s stupefied laughter. “You’re so dramatic,” you accuse, reluctantly freeing yourself from his grip as you near the car.

“Hey, you don’t get to judge me. It’s not like you’re my girlfriend.” Still bickering back and forth, Jin starts driving and heads off to the right instead of the left.

“Woah, where are we going?” You ask, frowning out at the night.

Jin shrugs. “Let’s go snoop around those houses again.”

“The ones by the zoo?”

“Yeah.”

You’re all too happy to go along with it. Clutching your hand atop the console, Jin maneuvers his way to the small hill overlooking the zoo.

“Wow,” you breathe out. “I forgot how beautiful this view is.”

Indeed it is. The city lights glow and glint in the distance, creating a warm blanket of familiarity. The zoo lights are shutting off, only a few left on here and there. The sound of music from floats up toward you as you roll the window down, drinking it in.

“The residents always hear the closing songs each night,” Jin supplies, somehow reading your mind as you wonder about the music coming from the zoo. “It turns off by ten on weekdays and eleven on the weekends.”

“How’d you know that?”

“I have some friends that live up here.”

You turn to look at Jin, eyes wide. “You do? How come you never told me?”

“They just moved,” he explains with a forgotten smile. “You wanna see their house?”

“Yes!”

Jin turns down a different street, slowly stopping before a beautiful home with colonial style columns in the front. Sure enough, there’s a sign in the front of the house with a red sticker stating SOLD for all to see.

“Should we look around the lot?” Jin asks, turning off the car and taking off his seat. “It looks like they’re not home right now, but they said we could look around if we wanted.”

“You told them we were coming?”

He shrugs, hopping out of the car and hurrying around to open up your door. “I mentioned that we’d be in the area.”

“Who are these friends of yours, anyway?” You ask, stepping out of the car. The house quite literally takes your breath away, and you turn around to capture the full view. The city is still visible, the zoo and its music appearing more like a memory than a reality. “Wow, this is amazing.”

“Uh,” Jin scratches the back of his neck. “Their names should be on the sign right there.”

Frowning, you ignore his avoidance of the question and skirt around him to walk up to the edge of the lawn. Crouching down, your eyes scan the sign for any names you might recognize. There’s a small paper, almost like a receipt, hanging from the sign. Smoothing it out from where it’s flowing in the breeze, you squint at the names that appear.

Sold to Mr. Kim Seokjin and –

You know that name. You know that man.

And the name beside his…

“It’s our names…?” You breathe out, not quite understanding. Straightening up, you turn to face Jin with a confused expression. “Why does it-”

There’s Jin, but he’s not where you left him.

He’s down on one knee, looking up at you with the expression he gets when he holds his breath. Behind him the city gleams as bright as ever, however it somehow dims in the face of what you see before you.

Jin, opening up a small box. And inside the velvety interior, a ring shining as though it were made of stars.

Suddenly, it clicks. The date to the zoo, where you’d first officially began this relationship. The house with your name on it, the way Jin had this day circled on the calendar for longer than you care to remember.

Jin can’t breathe, and he can tell by the way your chest has stopped rising that you can’t, either.

“I- I’d like to cash in that kiss now,” Jin stutters out.

In a rush of limbs and a mixture of laughter and sobs, you find yourself kneeling across from Jin and kissing him hard enough to bruise his plump lips. You’d feel bad, except for the fact that he returns the kiss with just as much fervor. When the kiss begins to taste of salt, you pull away to discern of those are your tears or his.

It’s both, you realize as Jin gazes at you, completely oblivious to the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“O-oh!” He exclaims, staring down at the ring box in his shaking hands. “Will you marry me?”

Without a single ounce of hesitation, you laugh, voice thick with emotion. “Yes!”

That’s all it takes for Jin to pull you in close again, attacking you with kisses at a speed you can’t keep up with. He pulls back, panting and eyes alight with pure elation. “And do you want to live here with me, then?”

You choke on a laugh, still crying and on your knees. “Of course I do, Seokjin. You- you bought me a house.”

“Yeah,” he sniffles. “I did.”

Then, gasping with wide eyes, Jin snaps his fingers. “I almost forgot!” Jumping up to his feet, he runs back to the car. You watch after him, too in shock to stand at the moment. Your glinting rings on your hand catches your attention, making you wonder when exactly he put it on. No doubt it was sometime in the midst of his breathless kisses.

Jin returns a moment later, dropping to his knees again. Nevermind the fact that there are plenty of places to sit. He has a lanyard around his neck, and he places another around your own.

“What’s this?” You ask, grabbing the little card hanging off of the end. Once you catch sight of it, you begin to laugh (and somehow cry) even harder.

Season passes to the zoo.

masterlist

[thejilyship]

All This Time

This is a preview of a fic I have NOT YET POSTED. But I’m getting impatient and want to share some of it with you, so here we are. 

WC: about 1k 

context: Lily has just referred to James as the boy-next-door. They are in fact literal neighbors and have been for their entire lives. They have both just graduated form college and are back home for a while. They are in James’ car, on the way to lunch. 

“We don’t fit those stereotypes, though? Do we?” James was wearing a face that made Lily want to say yes, only so she could see his reaction.

“I don’t know. I guess it depends who you ask. I don’t think your average boy-next-door is set to inherit millions of hair products and jogging off to play football in a national league.”

“Millions of hair products,” He scoffed. “But you’re right I guess, I don’t know anyone else who’s set to inherit that.” He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

“Was that the inspiration for your father? You came out like that and he’s like, ‘I need to fix this?’”

“Very funny, Evans. In my twenty-two years, I’ve never once heard someone make that joke.” She smirked anyway. “You’re not the typical girl-next-door either. Just so you know.”

“Actually, I think I might be.” She shrugged. “My parents had typical jobs, and the typical two children, I didn’t play any sports in school, only hung out with my group of friends, stayed under the radar-“

“In what world did you ‘stay under the radar’?” James interrupted, looking over at her with his brow raised and his eyes wide. Lily pressed her lips together and shrugged again.

“I don’t really know how I’m supposed to respond to that. I meant it in the way it’s normally meant.”

“You were on everyone’s radar though!” James shook his head and kept glancing from the road to her. “I mean, you were all the teachers favorites, to start with. And then almost every bloke in school fancied you at some point or another. Many more than once.”

“No they didn’t.” It was Lily’s turn to scoff now. “No they did not.” She repeated, this time with emphasis.

“Oh they most certainly did.” James said back, almost sounding too serious. “And why wouldn’t they? You’re gorgeous and funny and confident and smart as hell. Impossible not to notice, really.” She didn’t know if she was seeing things, or if his ears really were turning red, but he wasn’t glancing over at her anymore.

“I think you’re either grossly exaggerating or misremembering.”

“I’m most definitely not misremembering things.”

“No, I mean, I am gorgeous and funny and confident and smart as hell,” Lily smiled at him and he laughed. “But people in secondary didn’t notice those things. I kept to myself for the most part. And I was just fine with that.”

“No one ever thought you weren’t. It was part of the appeal.”

“You’re talking as though you were part of this drove of adoring blokes who fancied me now, so I know you’re exaggerating.”

“Of course I fancied you in secondary.” Lily’s heart dropped to her stomach.

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did.” He argued. Lily looked over at him, and his ears were most definitely red now. “Of course I did. I figured I was pretty obvious about it.” He glanced over at her. “You really didn’t know?”

Lily blinked at him and he looked back at the road.

“Alright, apparently not.” He laughed, but he sounded nervous.

“We never got along.” Lily countered. “You didn’t fancy me, you couldn’t stand me. You were always arguing with me and competing with me for top marks and avoiding me-“

“I never avoided you-“

“Yes you did! You would always leave your house after I left mine when I walked to the bus so that we didn’t have to walk together.”

“That was only because I didn’t want to start off the day with you pissed at me. If I’d tried to walk with you, it would have annoyed you.”

“No it wouldn’t have.” If teenage James had shown teenage Lily genuine interest and attention, she probably would have been flattered and besotted. Because that’s how she felt every time he had shown her genuine interest and attention. Like when she’d been stood up and he laid out on his roof while she was on hers and he told her that she deserved better. Or when he’d somehow managed to tape a thank you note to the outside of her window after she’d called his ex-girlfriend a thick skulled gobermouch.

“It sort of seemed like everything I did annoyed you, so I think it would have.”

“You were inconsistent.” Lily huffed. James looked over at her again but didn’t say anything, only waited for her to explain herself. She took a deep breath. “I was annoyed with you a lot, and it wasn’t usually because you scored higher than me on a maths exam or something stupid like that. It just seemed like whenever I thought we were starting to be friends, you would start ignoring me. Or making fun of me. Or doing things specifically to annoy me.”

James thought about that for a while, “Well, in my defense I was an idiot. We’ve already established that. And Sirius may have been going on about how dangerous the friend zone was- but that’s just an excuse I guess. Honestly, I just didn’t know how to act around you. And so I was a bit of a git. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t fancy you. Just means I was immature and didn’t know how to handle it.”

“I mean, I was a git too.”

“Sure, and at the time, it all felt completely unjustified. But I get it now. It’s not pleasant to have your neighbor throw rocks at your window at two in the morning just to wake you up. Or have your braid tugged whenever you were talking to the pompous arsehat, Peter Hagish. Or-”

“Peter Hagish?” Lily interrupted with a snort, “I had forgotten all about him.”

“Sure you did, because you didn’t have to watch him try and flirt with you every morning.” James rolled his eyes and Lily had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. The notion that James fancied her during secondary was completely absurd to her, but he was definitely acting as though he had fancied her.

“I mean, I sort of did have to watch,”

James snorted. “I guess so, but it clearly didn’t affect you as strongly.”

“Honestly and truly, you fancied me?” Lily asked, turning toward him completely now, tucking her leg up onto the seat.

“Honestly and truly.”

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, waiting for the punchline, for him to start laughing, for him to take it all back.

But he just gave her a wry smile and shrugged a shoulder.

[ralphspina]

I love the prompt game and can't wait to read what you write. 😊 If you feel like it, I'd love to see Speirton + 3 (dad jokes). 😄

Thank you for the ask Anna! ❤ I hope you enjoy this silly little story of Ron being left alone with Carwood`s nieces, featuring some very cheesy jokes.

Cereal with a Side of Jokes

The quiet chirping ring of Carwood`s phone breaks the 6 a.m. quiet of their Monday morning. Ron knows what the call will be before Carwood even picks it up and lets out an unmistakably discontented huff as the warm body next to him shifts away to take the call. He can only hear Carwood`s side of the conversation but it's enough to have his worst fears confirmed. Carwood has to go in to work. 

“You're supposed to have the day off.” The accusation comes out more pouty sounding than Ron intends but in all fairness he didn't intend to be stuck with Carwood`s nieces by himself either. God, the nieces. Ron drapes an arm across his eyes as he contemplates how the day will play out. He was new to the whole babysitting thing and it would be the two girls’ first time staying at Ron and Carwood`s house. And it was just the first full day of a week, an entire week, while their parents were away on a cruise. It had been bad enough last night when they were dropped off and it felt like it took a thousand hours to get them to sleep. Carwood had done most of the work then but now Ron would be left to his own devices.

“I know, but there's a problem with the new software and the entire system is down.” Carwood pauses his rushing around  just long enough to press a kiss to Ron`s cheek. “I'll be back before you know it.”

Ron moves his arm to level a complaintive look at Carwood, “But the kids…”

A small, amused smile appears on Carwood`s face, “You`re a big, tough detective. I'm sure you can handle a couple of kids.”

And before he knew it, Carwood had said his goodbyes, grabbed his things, and left. And Ron was alone. With two barely hip high brats. And an idea.

~

“You know, this is why I think you`re a serial killer. Or at least part of why. Who calls people these days? Serial killers, that's who. Normal people just text.”

“I need you to tell me some jokes.”

“What is this? 1-800-DIAL-A-CLOWN? I'm a bit busy you know. Can you just use Google?” There`s a shuffling sound on George`s end followed by a large crash and some rather creative swearing.

“I did use Google. Searched cheap clowns. Your name came up - George Luz, first result.”

“Ha! Cute, sounds like you already have jokes.”

“I need children's jokes.”

“Children's jokes?”

“Yes, for the small ones I'm watching.”

“How does everything you say sound creepy?”

“George…” Ron injects a warning tone into his words in hopes of speeding this up, the rugrats could be awake and tearing up the place at any moment. Time is of the essence.

“Alright, alright. I`ve got a few. You got a pen and paper?”

~

It's only a half hour after he hangs up with George that the kids come stumbling down the stairs, half awake but somehow still full of noise and energy. It takes more directing and corralling than expected to get them to actually sit still at the table for breakfast but he manages to get them settled eventually. And then they begin staring at them. Ron stares back and a pseudo staring contest begins before the oldest girl, Riley, breaks the tension.

“Why're you so mad all the time?” The question barely makes it`s way out around a mouthful of cereal.

“I'm not mad.”

“Your face looks mad.”

Before he can respond to the observation the younger of the two, Olivia, pipes up with “Where`s Uncle Carwood?”

“He had to go to work. He'll be back soon, hopefully.”

“Is that why you're mad?” Riley was apparently stuck on this mad thing.

“No, I`m not-”

“Oooo, you lovveeee him!” Olivia`s teasing sets both of them off into a sing song mix of giggles and choruses of “you lovvveeee himmm!”

Ron clears his throat and attempts to distract them from their mildly annoying repetitions.

“Do you want to hear a joke?”

“Okay!” The girls respond in unison and turn their attention to him eagerly.

“Why don't eggs tell each other jokes?”

The girls wait in silence for the answer.

“Because they`d crack each other up.” The punchline earns him some giggles and Ron damn near feels like he's taken a step towards some sort of victory.

“What does a raincloud wear under her dress? Thunderwear.”

Another burst of laughter, followed by demands for another joke so Ron keeps them coming.

“What do you call a train carrying bubblegum? A chew-chew train.”

“What's the world's saddest pizza? Pepperlonely.”

“How does a rancher keep track of his cattle? A cow-culater.”

Squeals of delight and high-pitched laughs fill the air and Ron feels like he's won something important - what that important something is, he's not sure but damn it, he's won. 

And when Carwood comes home nearly an hour later and finds the three of them gathered at the table telling jokes, happy as can be? Well, it isn't what he expected but the way his heart soars at the sight, he feels like he's just won something too.

[glassbangtan]

onto the next {kim seokjin x reader}

   words: 15.9k

  summary: you just need to start a new life. you need to get out of this small town and start fresh. you’re beginning to think you made the wrong decision until a kind man named seokjin offers to help you navigate the trains.

  genre: uhhhhhh fluff??? angst???

  notes: this literally has no plot, don’t let the summary fool you. but it’s cute!!! - masterlist - support my writing or ask about commissions!

----

  you need to get out of here. 

   fuck, you don’t even know how it happened. you left school, and you had plans. so many plans. an entire life laid out ahead of you. once upon a time, you were one of those hopeful little kids, buzzing to get out of the education system so you could pursue the dreams you so desperately wanted to pursue.

    but then you were actually given independence, and it spiralled from there.

   you wouldn’t say it was too much. you’re not that dramatic. it was just a shift - a big shift. you ended up with a job at a nearby Chinese takeout, working from four in the afternoon to ten at night, dealing with drunk people and little kids and answering phones. it was good at first, just getting money, but over time, when the novelty wore off, you wondered what the hell you were doing there. this wasn’t part of your plan. you should be travelling the world right now.

    so here you are, a few months into your mental breakdown, finally tipping over the edge.

   you stare at the list of trains flashing overhead in bright red letters. in your pocket, your phone blares with the continuous text messages from your parents, asking how you are, if you’re willing to tell them anything yet, if you’re safe. you’ll text them back once you know what you’re doing, but for now, you just need to get out of here.

there’s plenty of options. more options than you can handle, really; you thought it would be easier than this. you’d just walk into the train station and pick a destination, and your life would finally begin. now, however, your mind is a tangled mess of emotions, doubt, and everything that comes with it.

    you slump down on a nearby bench and duck your head in your hands. you don’t realise you’re crying until your sleeves start getting damp.

    “are you alright?”

    you don’t lift your head. “no.”

    the bench creaks as the stranger sits down. a shoulder nudges your own, firm and warm, probably adorned by a bulky coat given the frosty weather of korea at the moment.

    “oh. that’s not very good.”

    you drop your hands. the next train finally closes its doors and speeds out of the station, leaving you with yet another hour to gather your thoughts; it’s the second train that you have let slip through your fingers, because you still don’t even know where you want to go.

   you turn, glancing at the man beside you. he’s eating a packet of starburst, staring out at the railway tracks. he’s wearing a thick black coat over a hoodie, and he truly looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

    he catches you staring after a few seconds and immediately offers you a starburst. “hungry?”

    you hesitantly take one, though you don’t undo the wrapper. instead, you play with the sugary square, thankful to have something keeping your hands occupied.

    “so,” the stranger continues, “why are you crying?”

    how direct.

    “i wasn’t crying.”

    the man glances at you, raises a brow. his features are surprisingly handsome, a set of plump lips and kind eyes that take a little bit of fear from your body. “are you sure about that?”

   “pretty certain.”

    “did you miss your train or something? sometimes i feel like crying when i’ve missed my train; it’s very stressful.”

    you blink. “no. no, i haven’t missed my train.”

   he perks up. “oh, good! what train are you getting then? maybe i can help you with the times.”

    that’s really the million dollar question, isn’t it? what train will you find yourself upon? what city will you find yourself travelling to?

    you have no idea.

   “i have no idea.”

   the man pauses as if waiting for the punchline to some kind of joke. you unwrap your starburst and pop it in your mouth. overhead, a voice announces that the next train will be arriving in fifty minutes.

    when the silence stretches beyond anything acceptable, the man awkwardly coughs and says, “you don’t know?”

   “i don’t know.”

    “so you’re just. . . crying in the train station for no reason, with no train to catch?”

   “i never said i didn’t have a train to catch. i just don’t know what one i’m catching yet.”

   the man nods. you can tell, somehow, that he still doesn’t understand what you’re trying to say, but he’s too polite to question you any further. instead, he looks up at the signs above and says, “i’m heading to Gwangju, if that helps.”

    Gwangju. you’ve heard wonderful things about that place. it’s pretty, apparently, though you can only base that off things you’ve heard from others.

    “Gwangju,” you repeat, as if testing the word. “why are you going to Gwangju?”

    he shrugs. “i just need to get away for a little while.”

   your heart stutters, eyes snapping round to look at him. he sits completely straight, fidgeting with a strawberry starburst; his fingers are lovely, long and slightly bent in places. 

     i just need to get away for a little while. 

    oh, how fate works in the most wild ways.

    “so do i,” you say. “i need to get away, too.”

   his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “really? is that why you’re here?” 

    “i’m kind of looking for a place to start fresh, i suppose, yeah. i woke up this morning, grabbed my bag and just. . . walked here. i have enough money for a decent train fare, but i don’t have any plans.” you shrug, awkwardly glancing to the floor. “i don’t think i really thought it through, though, because now i have no idea what i’m doing.”

    “well, that’s the fun, isn’t it?” the man nudges your arm. when you look at him, he’s grinning again, tiny little dimples appearing just beneath the points of his mouth. “don’t be scared. it’ll work out. what’s the worst that could happen?”

   your stomach turns; you were kind of hoping he wouldn’t ask that question, because that means you have to actually ponder over everything that could possibly go wrong, and you’ve got a list. a mental list, compiled from the very moment you decided this was your next course of action.

    the man must notice your sudden hesitation, as his eyes widen and he leans forward, trying desperately to meet your gaze before you fall too deeply into your own pessimistic thoughts. “okay, maybe i shouldn’t have said that. look, let’s not think about the worst that could happen, alright? how about we start by making sure this is something you actually want to do.”

   “it is.” the affirmative spills from your mouth with no hesitation. “i need to do this. i need to.”

   the man nods. “good. that’s alright, then. next step is probably figuring out where you actually want to go.”

     you risk another glance at the red words flashing above your head; they look no less daunting than they did the first time you looked at them. so many places, so many opportunities, and you’re not sure whether you’ll fit in with any of them.

    but you have to make your decision now. you have roughly half an hour to make your mind up, buy a ticket and get on that god damn train, so you really shouldn’t be wasting any more time.

    “Gwangju doesn’t sound like a bad shout.”

    the man’s eyebrows shoot up once again. “really?”

   you shrug. “well, you brought it up. i’ll give it a go.”

    he grins. “it really is a great place. we can get the train together.” he stands up. “come on, let’s get you a ticket.”

    and so, it begins.

   your heart doesn’t steady the entire time. you buy a ticket with the man - seokjin, you learn- by your side before the two of you take a seat at the edge of the platform, waiting patiently for the train to arrive. he pulls out a bag of pretzels and shares them with you, even though your stomach feels like it’s going to turn inside out with every bite; you’re too nervous to do anything besides nod and hum to everything seokjin is trying to explain, and he’s trying to explain an awful lot.

   he goes into detail about the sights of Gwangju, and how he’s booked a B&B, and it’s going to be such a fun trip. you have so many questions about why he’s doing this, how he has the confidence to just get up and leave home like he has no commitments to anything. the questions don’t make an appearance, though, because you’re fairly certain opening your mouth will result in you vomiting all over the place.

   finally, after what feels like forever, the train comes screeching to a halt and the doors open. you’re frozen in place for a moment, seokjin staring at the side of your head, waiting for you to make the first move. you kind of appreciate the way in which he waits, how he’s not pushing you to just get up and do it; if you really wanted to turn your back on this opportunity now, he wasn’t going to stop you.

    you inhale and rise on shaky legs. seokjin follows close behind, letting you guide him to the train. you clamber on board and grab a seat, seokjin sitting down beside you. he pushes his hood off his head once he’s finally seated, letting out a quiet sigh of relief; his black hair sticks up, only getting worse when he runs his nimble fingers through the strands. 

    “are you nervous?”

    “i think that’s pretty obvious.”

   seokjin chuckles, flopping back in his seat with a lazy grin. “i know. i just thought i should get you to speak to maybe take your mind off things.”

    you sigh; you have to admit, now that you’re on the train, and you know you’re not fully, fully alone, your nerves are dissipating just a little bit. you can breathe a bit better than before, and you haven’t had the urge to burst into tears in nearly an entire hour - it’s progress.

    “so,” he continues. “are you going to explain to me what’s really going on here?”

   you flick your eyes up, raising a brow. “i didn’t lie; i was being serious when i said i just needed to get out of here.”

   “yeah, i get that, but surely there must be something else to it. not everyone just. . . leaves.”

   “isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?”

   seokjin shrugs, folding his arms across his chest. he’s slouched in his chair now, legs spread, head tilted back. he’s so low that you have to look down to address him. “i travel for work, if you must know. getting on trains and travelling the country isn’t something i’m not used to. you, however, didn’t even know how to work the train system.”

   you scowl. “that’s not true. i could have handled this on my own perfectly fine.”

   “i don’t doubt that. i’m just saying, i’m still not convinced you’re telling me everything.”

   “and why should i? i don’t even know who you are.”

   seokjin hums, staring out into the aisle as more people clamber onto the train; it’s getting very full now, with some people having to stand as the seats become more and more occupied. 

    “good point,” he says. “at least tell me this; on a scale of one to ten, how prepared are you for this trip?” 

   you don’t hesitate. “zero.”

    seokjin’s eyebrows rise. “z-zero? like, you have no preparation whatsoever?”

   “i have my bag with me.”

   seokjin waits.

   you don’t say anything else, because you have nothing else to say. you have the clothes in your bag, and the money in your wallet, and that is all.

   “i was planning on making the big decisions once i actually got to where i’m going,” you elaborate. 

   “do you have any friends in Gwangju?”

    “no.”

    seokjin struggles to push himself upright. “do you even have a place to stay?”

   “i literally didn’t even know i would be on this train a few hours ago; of course i don’t have a place to stay.”

   seokjin looks borderline horrified, all wide eyes and open mouth. he’s staring at you like you have two heads, waiting for you to say “sike!” and put him out of his misery. 

   you glance down at your hands. “have you got any of those pretzels left?”

    “christ, y/n, you’re really taking this spontaneity thing to a whole new level. a dangerous level.”

  you roll your eyes, even though you know he’s right. “i’ll be fine. i have enough money for a B&B for at least a night or two, and after that, we’ll see what happens-”

   “you’ll see what happens?”

    “why are you so worried? i’m fine! i’ll be fine!”

   seokjin shakes his head, eyes still wide. “i’m not going to let you walk around an unfamiliar city with nothing but your good intentions; you can stay with me at the B&B for a while - until you get yourself on your feet.”

   you blink, certain you’ve heard him wrong.

   he slouches again, shaking his head as he murmurs about how some people can be so dumb, and how he never would have helped you follow through with such an insane plan, and how you pulled on his heartstrings when he saw you crying, how he shouldn’t be so nice because then he ends up on trains to Gwangju with people who clearly have some kind of death wish-

    you slap his shoulder. 

    “ow!” he glares at you. “what was that for?”

   “i’m not raiding your fucking B&B.”

    he rubs his shoulder. “you’ve got no other options. two nights isn’t going to be enough to find you a job, or a decent place to live - keep that money you were going to spend on a B&B and use it for - like - travelling to job interviews or something.”

    “i don’t even know who you are!” and that seems to be the main argument here, the most valid. you genuinely have no idea who this bloke is, besides his name and a few weird facts he felt the need to tell you whilst you were waiting for your train to arrive.           

    he shrugs like such a fact is no big deal. “i’ll take a thank you, actually.”

   you scowl, glaring at him, but he doesn’t look up. stubborn little bastard. instead, he tilts his head out and stares back through the centre of the train, that infuriating little smirk on his face that tells you he knows he’s getting on your nerves, and doesn’t really care.

    you cross your arms over your chair and slouch in the same way he is. “fine. but if you murder me-”

    “i won’t murder you.”

    “how do i know that for definite?”

    he shrugs. “you don’t. but you’re more likely to die from hypothermia after you end up homeless on the streets of Gwangju in the middle of winter.”

    that shuts you right up. he has a point, and though you barely know him, you have been given no reason to truly believe he is out to harm you in any way, shape or form.

    and so, in your huff, you pull your headphones from your bag and place them on your head. you blast music, ignoring seokjin’s eye roll; you know you’re being petty, but so what? you’re tired, and hungry, and his stubbornness has somehow managed to wriggle under your skin moreso than you thought possible. you’re not usually a very angry person - you let people get away with lots of things - but there’s something in the way seokjin talks, something in the way he looks at you, something in the way he is that just. . . gets to you a little bit. 

    it’s probably mean. judgemental. it’s one of those things your dad used to scold you for, one of those things you grew out of after your first year in school. but here it is, making a comeback specially for this stranger sat beside you.

    the train travels for another hour and a half before finally coming to a halt in Gwangju station. you stare out the window, watching the bright blue pillars come into view, the flocks of people swarming the platform. people in business suits, with briefcases and grimaces on their faces. seagulls are pecking at discarded food on the floor. a child is throwing a tantrum whilst his mother hastily pats her coat pockets for any sign of her train ticket.

   seokjin nudges your arm, even though he can see you staring out the window. “we’re here.” 

    “is it always this hectic?” you ask, tugging your headphones off your head. 

    “at this time of day, yeah.” he glances at his watch. “we should probably get going pretty soon if we want to grab a taxi; they’ll be packed right now.”

    and so, you follow seokjin off the train, through the station and out into the world.

    it’s not too unfamiliar; you’ve been to places like this. your home town was pretty densely populated, so the crowds do not faze you. the only thing is, this isn’t your home town, and that’s the part that’s getting to you.

    it’s so similar, but you’re too aware of the chance to take that into consideration. 

    there are tall buildings, and small buildings, and tiny shops with smoke billowing from chimneys. the air is crisp and cold, forcing you to wrap your coat a little tighter around yourself. you’re standing stock still at the top of the station stairs, and yet already you are overwhelmed with the abundance of opportunities already throwing themselves headfirst into your life.

    you’re going to throw up.

   seokjin’s gentle touch on your elbow draws you back to reality. you inhale sharply, tugging your hand into your chest.

    “what?”

   he raises a brow. “you’re still in a mood with me?”

   you scowl, dropping your hand to your side. “sorry. no. i just - i’m a little jumpy, that’s all.” you offer him a grin, tired and probably not worth the bother, but it’s something you hope he’ll accept given the circumstances. “let’s find that taxi, shall we?”

     it takes a while, but eventually you and seokjin manage to clamber into a taxi together. when you offer to pay half the fare, seokjin glares and shoves your hand away, which only frustrates you. you say nothing, though, because you don’t want to seem ungrateful.

   especially when you pull up to the B&B.

   because it’s glamorous.

    more glamorous than it has any right to be.

    honestly, what kind of B&B has a chandelier in the room? not only that, but there’s a grand double bed in the centre, two bedside tables each adorned with a pitcher of ice cold water, plus a massive television set on a chest of drawers at the front of the room. the window, covered by a set of black out curtains, looks out over the city. in darkness, Gwangju looks like something straight out of a film. there’s a christmas tree glistening in the distance, and a few people dressed as elves are walking around, taking pictures with kids.

    “okay,” you say. “this isn’t really what i was expecting.”

   seokjin is shedding his coat, barely even giving the tremendous room a once-over. he glances over his shoulder, frowning when he notices you just standing in the doorway, your coat still on, your bag still on, your jaw dropped open.

    “what do you mean?” he asks. “take your coat off, bloody hell. i’ve turned the heating on. it’s gonna get boiling in here in about two minutes.”

    hesitantly, you tug your coat from your shoulders, letting all your belongings clatter to your feet. seokjin straightens up, turning to you with his hands on his hips.

    “are you okay?”

   “seokjin, this room is so fucking expensive.”

    he raises a brow. “how do you know that?”

    you gesture to the room in question, as if that is answer enough.

   and to any normal person, it certainly would be. nobody goes to a B&B expecting glamour, but that’s exactly what you’ve been given, and you’re shocked to find that seokjin isn’t even mildly surprised by it. he isn’t even taking the time to admire the thick material of the duvet.

    the duvet of the only bed in this entire room, but that’s a problem you’ll sort out when it’s actually time to sleep.

    seokjin glances around, that eyebrow of his still raised. “i stay here every time i come to Gwangju.”

    “oh, good for you!” you push the door closed and dart towards the bed. flopping on your back, you wriggle your fingers, digging them into the duvet. “i could suffocate under this, you know.”

    seokjin rolls his eyes, strolling over to where you have unceremoniously abandoned your things by the door. he picks them up and lobs them onto the sofa at the other end of the room, before turning back to witness your episode of complete fascination.

    “so this is all it takes to get you out of your mood?”

   your smile drops. “i wasn’t in a mood.” 

   “you seemed pretty moody to me. you didn’t say a word to me the entire train ride.” 

    heat rushes to your face; okay, maybe you let your nerves get the better of you. in all honesty, seokjin didn’t necessarily do anything wrong - yes, he was stubborn, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer, but he clearly has your best interests at heart. he’s giving you a room to stay in. he’s put up with you this entire time, and he hasn’t even known you a full day.

    you sigh, hands dropping on your stomach. “okay, sorry. you’re right. i was a tiny bit moody, but i was just tired. and hungry.”

   “you could have said that.” seokjin gestures towards the bed. “pick what side you want and i’ll go order us dinner.”

    it takes you a minute to register what he’s just said.

    when you do, you scramble upright, stopping him in his tracks. his hand is inches away from the phone, but he pauses to glance at you.

    “what is it now?”

   “we’re sharing a bed?” you bounce on the mattress, exaggerating your point. “like, this bed?”

    “do you see any other bed in the room?”

    you look around as if doing so will somehow manifest a single bed into your space. you’ll even take a camp bed at this point. a pull-out sofa. your standards aren’t high.

    “i snore, you know,” you blurt out.

    seokjin tilts his head. his smile reappears, those dimples showing beneath his mouth; they’re not cheek dimples by any means, but they border on cheek dimples, and they’re cute either way. 

    you don’t know why you’re focusing on them so much.

    “i don’t mind,” he says. “i’ll be asleep anyway.”

   “i also move around a lot,” you barrel on. “i might kick you, or hit you by accident. i once gave my best friend a nose bleed when she was staying over at my house.”

    seokjin nods, reaching for the telephone. you can tell he’s turning your voice into background noise now, probably fed up with hearing your excuses.

    “seokjin, sharing a bed with a stranger is weird,” you whine. 

    “feel free to sleep on the floor then,” he hisses over his shoulder. “now what do you want to eat?”

     the mention of food is enough to bring you back to your senses. you bounce off the bed and grab the menu at the side of the phone, flicking through it as seokjin makes idle conversation with the girl on the other end; apparently, the two of them know each other. he’s calling her lily - a first name basis kind of thing. you can’t help your teasing grin, flicking your eyes to him every now and then.

   finally, he nudges your elbow and says, “can i have...”

   you point to each of the meals you want, and seokjin reels them off to dear old lily. he places his own order, says goodbye and sets the telephone down.

    “happy days,” he says. “she says that should be about ten minutes; you ordered a lot of food.”

    “i’m hungry,” you reply. 

    “no shame in that.” he glances at the clock hung upon the wall. “i’m gonna go grab a shower and get into my pyjamas before the food gets here. unless you want to go in first?”

   you wave a dismissive hand. “i’m just gonna throw on a movie. anything you want to watch?”

    “surprise me.” with that, he scoops up his pyjamas and heads into the en-suite bathroom, locking the door behind him. 

    ---

    the food arrives exactly twelve minutes after seokjin set the phone down.

   you’ve been counting.

    you had thrown on the movie Elf, basking in seokjin’s groan when he emerged from the bathroom - all wet hair and cute pyjamas - to see your film of choice. nonetheless, the two of you are sat in bed when the doorbell rings, laughing as will ferrel scoops a forkful of spaghetti mixed with sweets into his mouth and makes a comment about how tasty it is.

    “i always wanted to try that,” you say to seokjin’s back when he stands to get the door. “i think it would be a real experience.”

    “oh, definitely.” he pulls open the door. “hello. yes, that’s for us. thank you. thank you, alright. yeah. yeah. thank you. okay, bye! bye!” he closes the door and wheels the tray of food into the centre of the room. you bound away from your pillows, grabbing the first bowl you can get your hands on - just plain old rice, but you dig in nonetheless.

   seokjin grabs the chopsticks and dips them into the bowl you are holding, taking a lump of rice for himself. you set the bowl down between you, giving him easier access.

    “i can cook, you know.”

    he says this so off-handedly, not even looking up from the phone in his lap. you, however, pause, chopsticks halfway to your mouth.

   “you can cook?”

    he nods. “been cooking with my mum and dad since i was a kid. it’s kind of a skill of mine.”

   you drop your chopsticks into the bowl. “alright, fess up. is there anything you can’t do?”

    he smirks, still not looking up. it’s a little bit cocky, and it sends a surprising thrill up your spine to see it.

   you nudge his arm. “i’m serious.”

    “i’ll cook something for you one day, how about that? then you can decide if cooking counts as something i can do.”

    you nod; it’s a promising deal, though you can’t help but ponder over the hidden promises beneath those words. one day, a phrase often used to describe a time in the future.

    which means he wants to see more of you.

   it’s embarrassing that such a thought pushes to the forefront right now.    again, you are reminded of just how little time you have spent with this man, a man who is essentially a stranger and nothing more, a man who has proven quite capable of getting on your nerves.

    it strikes you then, with this little fact in mind, that you don’t know an awful lot about him. granted, you haven’t exactly had the time to dive deep into the kind of person he is, but you haven’t really made much of an effort, either. you spent half the train ride in a huff, and most of your time spent in the B&B has been spent fawning over the details of lavish living.

    now, however, you stare at the side of his face. his jaw twitches as he eats, his eyes narrowing when he bites into a particularly strange piece of rice; he coughs into his fist, shakes his head and continues eating. he looks up once, meets your eyes and gives you the tiniest of smiles.

    “what do you do for a living?”

    it’s not exactly the first thing you want to know, but it feels like a good enough segway into his entire life story that you just roll with it.

    his chewing slows. “me?”

   “yes. you.” you take a bite of some beef in black bean sauce. “not just anyone can afford to stay in a place like this every other week. what’s your secret, seokjin?”

    “i’m a chef,” he replies.

     simple as that, you suppose. he’s a chef. he cooks for a living. 

   “do you travel to different restaurants?” you press.

    “i’m pretty well-known around these parts; whenever certain restaurants are short on staff, i’ll go and help out.”

   “so you must be pretty popular.”

    he shrugs, the tiniest pink hue adorning his cheeks.

    “you know, you look a little young to be a fully qualified chef.” you pause. “what age are you?”

    “i’m twenty-six.”

   “oh. good. i’m twenty-four.”

   “and what does a twenty-four year old runaway do for a living?”

   you scowl. “i’m not a runaway; my family and friends all know i’m here.”

   he points his chopsticks at you. “from what i saw, you didn’t even know you would end up here before i showed up.”

    he has a point. 

   you pop another bit of beef into your mouth, taking your time to chew. he asked you a question. you registered that question, and you have an answer, but it feels a little anticlimactic in comparison to the answer he was able to give.

    seokjin narrows his eyes at your silence. he swallows the rice in his mouth and leans forward, fighting to meet your eyes in that same way he did back at the station. “so? what do you do?”

    “i used to work at a chinese takeout restaurant.”

    you wince, waiting for him to burst out laughing. 

   “what do you usually get from a chinese takeout?”

    you look up. “what?”

   already, he is back to chewing his food, rifling through a carton of vegetables with his chopsticks. “what is your go-to meal from a chinese restaurant? i’m a big fan of the sweet and sour, but you can’t go wrong with a curry, either.”

    you nod. “yeah. yeah, i like chicken curry, too.”

    seokjin smiles around his chopsticks, and for just a moment, all you can do is stare at him. you’ve found yourself doing that an awful lot recently, just sitting there with your eyes trained on his face, him none the wiser to your gaze. he looks around the room, chewing thoughtfully, before his eyes widen and he grabs the television remote from the bedside table. he says nothing to explain his actions, simply turns the television on and crawls back to his pillows, where he lays over the top of the comforter, his bowl of rice balanced on his chest.

    he switches netflix on. “have you ever watched the haunting of hill house?”

    “no.” you crawl to your own pillows, flopping down beside him. “is it scary?”

    “it’s creepy,” he replies. “think you can handle it?” 

    glancing down, you catch sight of his playful smirk.

   you roll your eyes and say, “put it on.”

    and so, seokjin does just that. together, the two of you eat and binge watch this creepy, confusing tv show. by the end of it, you’ve both crawled beneath the covers and are trying desperately not to jump at the jump scares; seokjin laughed at you the first time you did it, before nearly spilling his black bean sauce over his pyjama shirt when he did the exact same thing a few minutes later. 

    “i hated that,” you say once the final episode drifts to a close. “i hated that so much.”

    seokjin places the empty bowls on the floor before slumping further down in the comforter. “it’s good, isn’t it? gets me every time!”

   “next time, i get to pick what we put on tv.”

    he raises a brow. “and what would you pick?”

   you hum thoughtfully. “i kind of want to rewatch the one direction movie.”

    “good choice.”

    “but that’s for tomorrow.” you tug the quilt up to your chin, snuggling within it’s warmth; you’re still quite freaked out, glancing round the now-dark room, half expecting some creepy, paranormal figure to jump out of the darkness. “for now, i’m going to sleep.”

   “what are your plans for tomorrow?”

   your stomach curls. “i gotta just. . . get my life together, i suppose. might go job hunting.”

    “i have work in the morning, but you can call me if you need anything.”

   you blink, glancing over at him; he’s doing it again, that thing where he says such kind, heartfelt things to a complete stranger and doesn’t even seem fazed by it. he just rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and drifts off to sleep.

    ----

      seokjin is already gone when you wake up. he’s left a note. it’s simple: “off to work. here’s my number.”

   followed, as promised, by his number.

    you punch the digits into your own phone and try to ignore the spiralling question of how you’re going to pay your phone bill at the end of the month. you have high hopes that you’ll have found your footing by then, gotten a job, have enough money saved up to get a decent flat you can call your own. 

   it’s just a matter of taking the steps to get there.

    you get dressed in a nice turtle neck jumper, coloured black for good measure. pairing it with a pair of fancy grey trousers and a pair of black boots, you head out onto the streets of Gwangju, and are abruptly reminded of the fact you have never walked through these streets in your life.

   everything is so new. you have to walk with your head ducked down, glancing at Google Maps every few steps because you honestly have no idea where you’re going. after searching up job vacancies nearby, you start your journey to the nearest one.

   it’s a clothing store. the boss isn’t in, so you leave.

   the second one is a little more promising; they let you leave your cv at the front desk, and the boy working seems nice enough to actually pass your details on to his manager. however, you don’t get much further than that, and you move on to the next one.

    it’s a bakery. 

    it’s a small bakery, most likely a family-run business. as soon as you walk in, you’re greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread and a smile peeking over the counter top; it’s a boy about your age, a flop of black hair covering one of his eyes. he’s wearing a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing some muscular arms. he’s got an apron on, too, that says ‘Kiss the Cook’ on the front, but no name badge is in sight.

    “morning,” he says, despite it literally being 12:30pm. “you doing alright?”

    you run your hands through your hair; was he asking you that just out of kindness, or because you look dishevelled? you feel dishevelled, but you were hoping you had managed to pull yourself together a little bit before walking in here.

    he tilts his head. “what can i get you?”

   startled back to reality, you rush to the counter. placed in batches is piles upon piles of pleasant looking treats, all looking fresh from the oven. 

    “hi,” you begin. “uh - hi, yeah. i was looking on the internet earlier and saw you had a job going? i was just wondering if that’s - uh - still a thing?”

    the boys face lights up. “you saw the advertisement? that’s a first!”

   “yeah?” 

    “dad! dad, we’ve got someone here asking about the advertisement!”

    startled, you step back. an older, black haired man rushes from a room in the back, wiping his fingers on a towel. he’s frowning, but the expression quickly morphs into one of glee when he sees you standing there.

   “really?” he says. “well, isn’t that a damn miracle. i was starting to think i’d be in here for twelve hour days; my name’s robert, and this is my son, malachi.”

    “y/n,” you reply. “so - uh - i’m guessing the job is still up for grabs?” 

    “it is indeed,” robert replies. “give me two minutes whilst i freshen up, and we can sit down and chat. sound good?”

    your eyes widen. “really? do you not want to read my cv or anything?”

   robert waves a dismissive hand. “i’ll learn more about you through actual conversation than i ever will through a piece of scrap paper.” he turns on his heel. “i’ll be out in two minutes!”    

    you are stunned. this really isn’t how you expected things to go, especially considering your bad luck these past few months. 

   the bakery goes silent. you stare into dead space, waiting for the moment it all comes crashing down; the building is going to suddenly set on fire, or robert is gonna pop his head round the door and say “sike!” and you’ll have to trudge back to the B&B and inform seokjin of your failures.

    seokjin.

   his name startles you back to reality. quickly, you grab your phone from your back pocket, pull up his number and send him a quick text.

   hi. it’s y/n. might have a job. it’s at the bakery down the street. will keep you updated.

   you debate signing your message off with a kiss, decide against it and stuff your phone back into your pocket. it’s only then do you notice malachi’s eyes trained on you; he leans over the counter, arms folded, the tiniest of smirk playing on his face.

    he’s handsome in a weird way. he’s tall. he’s got messy black hair, and you’ve heard that’s what a lot of people are fawning over nowadays. it kind of reminds you of seokjin a little bit, though seokjin’s figure is a lot. . . kinder than this boys. seokjin’s lean and tall, muscles in just the right places. this boys hands look like they could choke you out in a matter of seconds. 

    his smile is pleasant, though. it brings a glint to his dark eyes. he hasn’t got any dimples on his chin.

    one point for seokjin, you suppose.

   you return his smile, suddenly a bit awkward beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. “so, robert’s your dad?”

    “yep. known him my whole life.”

    you laugh, because you’re pretty sure that’s a joke he’s just told. “it’s a nice place you’ve managed to run with him. very cosy. we don’t have places like this in Busan.”

    malachi’s eyebrows raise. slowly, he straightens up. “you’re not from here?”

   “afraid not. i moved here just yesterday, actually - kind of a spontaneous thing, but it’s been working for me so far.”

    “all on your own?”

   you pause. “well, not necessarily. my - uh - friend and i are here together.” yes. friend. you can call seokjin a friend. “he’s a chef.”

    malachi hums like this is some kind of grand revelation. “a chef, eh? i heard they earn quite a bit of money.”

    “oh, well, i don’t know. i don’t really ask him about his finances, if i’m honest.”

   “and whereabouts are you two staying?”

    “the B&B down the street.”

    again, his eyebrows shoot up. “the lodge? that’s a pretty expensive place to stay.”

    “we split the bill,” you say quickly, suddenly getting protective over seokjin; you’ve heard that tone in people’s voices before. malachi has probably made an entire sour opinion on seokjin purely because he’s been led to believe he’s rich.

   “he works hard for his money,” you add, because you feel like you have to. “it exhausts him, poor guy, but he loves what he does.”

     malachi stares at you. the pleasant grin from earlier has been wiped free from his face, replaced by a twist of his mouth. you look away, thankful to see robert bustling back, now wearing a clean white shirt free of apron and flour.

   “sorry for keeping you,” he says. “let’s go out the back where it’s a little warmer. that weather today could kill!”

    and so, shooting malachi one last smile, you follow his dad into the back. it is indeed very warm, the heat from the ovens immediately clinging to your skin. you shed your coat, throwing it over the back of your chair as robert takes a seat across from you and begins the interview.

    it doesn’t last very long. robert doesn’t seem like the picky type, asking you about your family and where you’re from. he focuses very little on your level of experience, though you try your hardest to fit in all those stories of you growing up around bakers, just to give your reputation that little push. 

    he talks to you like you’re an old friend, laughing at your jokes, telling his own childhood stories. he’s a really easy guy to be around, making the interview feel more like a casual chat than an actual job interview.

   finally, however, he claps his hands and says, “i think we have a winner!”

   you blink. “wait, really?” 

   he reaches forward, grabs your hands and shakes them, both at the same time. “you’re a lovely person, y/n. i’d love nothing more than for you to be on our team.”

    your heart thunders; that was so easy, too easy, but you’re not even going to ruin the moment by questioning it right now. instead, you grin and say, “i’d love that, thank you so much!”

    ----

    when seokjin arrives back at the B&B, it is already dark out. 

    eleven pm, if the clock is to be trusted in this place. already, you’re sprawled across the double bed, television blasting, your phone held over your face. you’ve had a shower and tucked yourself into some pyjamas.

    “you look comfortable.”

   your head shoots up. “seokjin! did you get my text?”

    he throws his coat from his shoulders, shaking the rain out of his dark hair. he looks exhausted, which makes you feel bad for having already taken up most of the bed, but you’re too excited to care too much.

    “i got your first text,” he replies, tossing his gym bag on the bed. “did you end up getting that interview, then?”

   “you bet i did!” you jump up, grinning from ear to ear. seokjin raises a brow, but chuckles when you throw your arms over his shoulders and say, “i got the job! i got the job! i got the job!”

   he pulls away, holding you at arms length. his eyes are wide, that smile big across his face. “they gave you it then and there?”

   “i make a wildly good first impression, seokjin, don’t you ever forget.”

    he scoffs. “sorry. sometimes i forget considering the first time i saw you, you were bawling your eyes out in the middle of a train station.”

    “literally no one asked you to remember that.” you pull him back in for a hug, squealing your excitement in his ear. 

   he laughs. his arms tighten around your waist, head nuzzled in the crook of your neck, and you might be imagining it, but you swear you can feel his joy, can hear it in his melodic laugh. he’s just as excited about this opportunity as you are, even though he has no reason to be.

    you pull away, tipping back onto the mattress. “i start in two days time.”

    “what are they gonna get you to do?”

    “baking, i assume. working the tills. just. . . baker stuff.”

   seokjin raises a brow, sitting down on the end of the bed. he smells like a kitchen. “do you actually know how to bake?”

   “of course i know how to bake. i wouldn’t have gone for an interview at a bakery if i didn’t.”

    “you never told me that.”

   you pause. “sorry. i didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

   seokjin shrugs, standing up again. he walks over to his luggage and tugs out another pair of pyjamas, this one adorned with little ducklings upon a blue background. “i just would have liked to know that, that’s all.”

    you watch as he walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. seconds later, you hear water screeching out of the shower head, and you know then the conversation is over.

   you aren’t really sure what to make of it.

   he did seem a tad bit upset, but it’s difficult to tell with seokjin. you haven’t known him for very long at all, but within that short space of time, you’ve certainly been able to conclude that seokjin is more an optimist than a pessimist. he looks on the bright side of life, and even when he’s upset, he doesn’t really like to show it, like he’s afraid of spreading negativity.

    it can’t be very healthy.

   nonetheless, you were able to spot a few inconsistencies in his optimism during that conversation, and it makes you feel bad. you nuzzle beneath the covers and turn the television back on, wondering what on earth you did wrong.

   ---- 

    work is hectic.

   even though the bakery itself is never overly busy, there’s a lot to be done when it comes to hospitality. almost immediately you are put in charge of the tills, plus cleaning up when the mess gets too much. that means you spend your days darting back and forth between the front of the shop and the kitchen, trying to keep a healthy balance, but failing miserably.

   malachi tells you it’s alright, that even he and robert struggle to stay on top of things, but it still puts you in a sour mood. you want to be good at this. it’s been a brilliant opportunity, and you’re not willing to spoil it just yet.

    you’re on your second week of work when seokjin finally decides to pay a visit.

   you know he got the day off, because you woke up this morning and nearly had a heart attack at the sight of him still fast asleep beside you; it left your stomach in knots, your heart stumbling in your chest. it’s not like he shouldn’t have been there - he’s fallen asleep beside you every night for the past two weeks. however, you’ve never actually seen him there. he’s always gone when you wake up. 

    but this morning, you rolled over and was greeted, startlingly, by the sight of his sleeping face.

   his peaceful, adorable sleeping face.

    now, however, he’s spritely and awake. with two cups of coffee in his hand, he waltzes up to the counter and says, “cosy place.”

    you grin, taking one of the cups from him. “isn’t it? 

   he inspects the tiny bakery with a smile on his face, those dimples popping just shy of the corners of his mouth. “you never told me how cute it was in here; i would have visited much sooner.”

    “with your busy schedule? absolutely not.”

    seokjin rolls his eyes. “i would have made the time.” 

   you ignore how this comment makes you feel. you’ve gotten increasingly good at doing that these past few days. 

    you lean over the counter, taking tiny sips of your coffee. “so, what have you been doing with all your spare time?”

     “nothing,” he replies, a little too quick. “absolutely nothing. i had a few emails from the people back in Busan to deal with, but besides that, i’ve been sat in the B&B, watching netflix.”

    “sounds like a dream.”

    he shakes his head, the tiniest pout forming. “it’s awful. i’m bored. i’ve never been bored in the B&B before; i think you’re having a negative effect on me.”

    you shoot upright, jaw dropping open. “excuse me? you can’t blame me for the fact you have no hobbies!”

    “who said i have no hobbies?”

    “the fact that all you’ve done is watch netflix today kind of eludes to the fact that you have no hobbies.”

    seokjin scowls. the expression is adorable on him, with those stray dimples making an appearance. you really have to stop staring at those, because it’s going to get obvious pretty soon.

    “i have plenty of hobbies,” he grumbles. “in fact, i’ve been invited out for a few drinks tonight with my friends.”

    you pause. of course seokjin has friends. you were never under any illusion that he didn’t, but he doesn’t really talk about them. being locked up in a B&B with him for two weeks straight has given you plenty of time to pick his brain, analyse the life he used to life, and not once has he made any attempt to bring up these so-called friends.

   “oh,” you manage. “that sounds like it’ll be fun.”

    he hums cockily, like he’s just proved you wrong.

   “getting drunk isn’t a hobby unless you’re an alcoholic, by the way.”

    his smile drops. “i can never win with you, can i?”

   you shrug. “i’m just saying. why don’t you take up painting, or playing the guitar?”

   “okay, okay, i didn’t come in here for a therapy session; how much are those eclairs?”

    you giggle, but nonetheless, you duck down and pluck an eclair from the display cabinet. you place it in a bag and hand it over to him before saying, “don’t worry about it. i’ll slip some cash in the register at the end of the night.”

    seokjin pauses. his hand is inches away from the bag you’re holding out to him, those perfect fingers twitching like he has to physically restrain himself from snatching it out of your hand.

   you shake the bag to get his attention, but his eyes never leave your face. it’s kind of intimate if you let yourself think too much into it. “do you want the eclair or not? i made it.”

    he snatches his hand back dramatically. “never mind then. you can keep it.”

   you roll your eyes, grab his hand and place the bag in his palm. “don’t play the gentleman, seokjin; we’re all friends here. it doesn’t make you any less of a man to have someone buy you a fucking eclair.”

     you know how selfless seokjin is. of all the little quirks he has put on display for you since you met him, his selflessness has been the one that stands out the most. you see him battle with it now, the way he hesitates, the way his free hand twitches towards the wallet tucked into his back pocket. you give him one final look before he sighs and nods.

    “thank you.” 

   “now, tell me a bit about these plans you have for later.” you sip your coffee. “are these friends good people? do i need to be worried?”

    seokjin scoffs. “they are great people - i’ve known them for years. we’re just going out for a few drinks, a bit of a catch-up. nothing to be worried about.”

    “so i’ll have the B&B all to myself, will i?”

   he raises a brow. “don’t say it like that. you’re worrying me.”

   you roll your eyes, unable to fight the smile rising on your face. seokjin notices your amusement and shakes his head, because he knows you’re just winding him up. in all honesty, it makes you kind of glad seeing him go off and do his own thing. these past two weeks have really opened your eyes to just how much he works, and just how little time he has for himself. he deserves a bit of time with his friends.

   he leaves shortly after, claiming he has errands to run. he tells you to call him when you get home, and you agree to do so before waving him goodbye, watching through the window as he turns the corner and disappears amongst the crowd of people. 

    a hand lands on your shoulder.

   you jump back, startled. malachi laughs, holding his hands up in faux surrender; he’s a got a grin on his face, dimpleless, unlike seokjin, who has dimples just beneath the corners of his mouth, tiny little indents in his chin that you can never take your eyes off, because they’re so cute, and he gets so flustered when you point them out, and-

    “was that the husband?”

   you blink, certain you’ve heard him wrong. “what?”

   malachi nods towards the window. he’s got flour on his face, and you absentmindedly reach out and brush it off. “was that seokjin, or whatever his name is?”

   “did you just call him husband?”

   now it’s malachi’s turn to blink. he raises a brow, flicking his gaze between you and the door seokjin has just fled from. “is he not. . . do you two not live together?”

    “in a way,” you reply. “but we’re not married. he’s my friend, that’s all.”

    malachi scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “you had me fooled. ‘oh, call me when you get home!’ ‘have fun with your friends!’ ‘i’ll have the house all to myself!’ you certainly sound like an old married couple.”

    you really can’t believe you’re hearing this.

    it’s bizarre. utterly absurd. you and seokjin are definitely comfortable with each other at this point, but that doesn’t mean anything. he’s your friend - a good friend, your only friend in this new place. 

    plus, you don’t speak like an old married couple. that’s a stupid way to think. you two communicate like nothing more than two people who have been forced to sleep in the same bed for two weeks. 

    you shake your head. “i don’t even want to listen to this.”

   “so you’re telling me i’m wrong?” malachi demands as you shove past him into the kitchen.

   “yes, you are. that’s mental that you would even think that. i haven’t even known him that long-”

    “again, you could have fooled me! the way you two look at each other, it’s like you share memories from years ago.”

    you scowl, heat rising to your cheeks. “when the fuck did you become a poet?”

    malachi only laughs. you want him to shut up, because this is out of order. this is making you more flustered than it has any right to, and you don’t want to get flustered when you’re working with hot ovens.

    it’s not like he has any idea what he’s talking about. he’s seen the briefest glimpse of seokjin, certainly not enough to know how you two genuinely interact with each other. he hasn’t seen the bickering, the fights for the covers, seokjin huffing with you when you make him get up to turn the television off at the end of the night.

    so why are you getting so worked up?

   you push the question away as you get back to work, trying desperately to ignore malachi’s snickers every time he passes you; he knows what he’s done, of course, getting you all worked up like this, but you can’t help it. what if other people see you and seokjin like that? what if seokjin picks up on this assumption and decides to cut all ties with you, too afraid to be seen that close with someone like you?

    maybe you’re panicking over nothing. seokjin is a nice guy - the best guy. he won’t just up and leave you because of what other people think.

    but then again, you’ve only known him for two weeks, so who’s to say he won’t?

    ---

   seokjin has already left when you arrive home later that evening.

  it’s dark already, the winter showing it’s ugly head. little droplets of snow cling to your coat, your hair, your cheeks as you stumble through the door of your shared B&B, teeth gritted against the cold that has deemed your fingers and toes numb.

    left upon the bedside table is a note, the unmistakeable scribble of seokjin’s handwriting informing you that he doesn’t know when he will be home, but he still expects you to give him a ring whenever you finish work. you read the note over and over, unexplainable joy flaring within your system with the knowledge that he was thinking of you before he left, that he still wants to make sure you got home safe.

    you don’t call him.

    the thing is, malachi’s words have grated against your skull worse than you thought they should. he spent the entire day teasing you about your ‘little crush’ on seokjin, clearly relishing in how it made you squirm. it made you think, too, which is the worst part. you’ve spent these past two weeks on complete autopilot, just trying to make a life for yourself now that you’ve got a clean slate. you never once stopped to think about something as simple as relationships, or feelings, but now that malachi has sprung such a topic to the forefront, you can’t deny that the only person you can associate with such topics is seokjin.

    you can’t bring yourself to speak to him just yet. you’re too tired, and your body is sore, and you want nothing more than to crawl into bed and pretend today never happened.

    so that’s exactly what you do. turning your phone on silent, you get in your pyjamas and snuggle beneath the covers, trying to ignore the empty space at the side of you. 

   ----

    you wake up to the sound of the door slamming.

   your eyes snap open, heart jolting from your chest. for the briefest moment, you are entirely convinced you’re being robbed. any minute now, the barrel of a gun is going to be pointed at your face and you’ll have no choice but to give up all of your belongings, all of seokjin’s belongings, will probably be forced back to Busan because of your trauma, and-

    “oh shit. are you sleeping?”

   you bolt upright, tugging the quilt to your chin. standing in the doorway, seokjin looks tall, illuminated only by the hallway light outside. he’s wearing a fancy dress shirt and trousers, the top button undone to reveal sweat slicked collarbones, the sleeves rolled up to reveal perfectly muscled arms. his hair stands on end, and he’s got a pout on his face that reveals his drunkenness in all it’s glory.

   your heartbeat slows.

   “seokjin?”

    he shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “no. no, sh. go back to sleep. i didn’t mean to wake you up.”

   his words are slurred. he’s definitely drunk.

   he stumbles towards the bed, using the bedside table to stay upright. he blinks drearily when his eyes meet yours; despite having just spoken to you, he��s looking at you now like he’s only just realised you’re actually in the room.

   he clicks his fingers. “i had something i wanted to say to you.”

    you blink. “o-okay. do you want water first? you look a little-”

   “it was really important,” he continues. “i’m pretty sure i was mad at you.”

   you swing your legs out of bed. “okay, you definitely need water.”

    you scramble to the sink, grabbing a glass from the counter and filling it with ice cold water. seokjin slumps on the bed, running his nimble fingers through his hair, mumbling incoherent words to himself.

    looking at the clock, you see it is two in the morning; he has work in five hours, and is clearly in no state to do a full day of work. you make a mental note to ring the restaurant and tell them he’s taken ill.

   you turn, placing the glass on the bedside table. “did you have a good time?”

    “no,” he replies. “worried. i was worried the entire night.”

   you raise a brow, trying your hardest not to look at the skin showing through his shirt. “worried? about what?”

    he gestures, encompassing the entire room.

   “seokjin, i can look after the room on my own, you know,” you say. 

   “i wasn’t worried about the room.” he scowls, glaring at the carpet like it’s upset his ancestors. “i couldn’t care less about the room. it’s whats in the room that worried me.”

   you blink. “you’re losing me, mate.”

    he groans, tossing his head back. the sudden jolt tips his entire body. you jump forward and grab his arm, stabilising him before he cracks his skull on the floor. 

   “seokjin, jesus christ, take a sip of your water.”

   he pushes your hand away. “not thirsty. just worried.”

   “about what?”

   “you didn’t call me when you got home from work!”

    you falter. you remember his note, of course, but you had promptly fell asleep before you could do as he’d asked; you didn’t think it was that big of a deal. however, he’s sat in front of you now with a pout on his face, eyes glaring like you’ve done something massively wrong.

   you swallow, trying to ignore the butterflies rushing through your stomach. “y-you were worried about me?”

    “i asked you to call me when you got home from work, and i didn’t get a single call the entire night. i thought you’d been kidnapped or something. the only reason i didn’t come storming back here was because my friends wouldn’t let me leave.”

    he’s lying. of course he is. he’s lying, and he’s drunk, and he’s going to regret ever pouring his heart out like this tomorrow morning.

   you hollow out your cheeks, overcome with a sudden wave of exhaustion. you gently pat his cheek, making his eyes widen.

   “what are you doing?” he asks.

    “i’m putting you to bed,” you reply, and even to yourself, your voice sounds tired, fed up, a mere drawl in the darkness. “you’re not going to work tomorrow, but you need to sleep this alcohol off. come on.”

    he scowls, glancing down at his attire; he’s still in his day clothes. “i can’t sleep in jeans.”

   you stare at him. he stares back at you, making no move to remove the clothes he has such a grudge against right now.

    you close your eyes, inhaling deeply. “fine then.” with that, you grab his belt and unbuckle it. a sharp gasp slips past his lips that you do a fine job of ignoring, even as it makes your cheeks heat up, forcing you to bite down on your tongue. you tell yourself on a loop that you’re just doing a favour for a friend, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them from his legs. the entire time, he stares at you with his mouth slightly open, tanned cheeks glowing red more from the alcohol than anything else. even in his drunken state, his gaze makes you weak. you’re not even making eye contact with him, instead choosing to keep your eyes firm on your trembling hands.

   when at last his jeans have been tossed across the room and he is left in a pair of boxers, you shove him back onto the bed and say, “now go to sleep. i’m gonna go for a shower.”

   seokjin rolls his head back. he sinks into the pillows, one side of his face completely engulfed by the fabric. “but it’s so late! what if you drown?”

    you head for the bathroom, trying to calm your stampeding heart. “i won’t drown. stop worrying about me.”

   “i always worry about you,” he grumbles. “you’re special to me.”

   you pretend you haven’t heard him. it’s so much easier than dealing with those words, than letting them wriggle into your brain, because they will do nothing but torment you the rest of the night.

    you slip into the shower, and it is there that you let yourself dissolve. you’re so tired, limbs heavy, heart still racing. not even the spray of hot water is enough to wake you up - the only thing keeping you on your feet right now is the memory of his drunken words, spoken slurred and rushed. he probably didn’t even mean them, but that doesn’t take from the fact he said them, and you heard them, and they’re going to complete destroy you if you keep thinking about them.

   ---

   seokjin nudges your shoulder.

   your eyes fly open, head jolting up. your neck cracks, making you yelp and fall back against the pillows - unfamiliar pillows, considering you fell asleep on the sofa the night before.

   you groan, rubbing the back of your neck as you slowly rise into a sitting position. seokjin stands over you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth parted. he doesn’t say anything as you bring yourself back to reality, glancing around the room like you’ve never seen it before.

    he takes a step back; he’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, and he’s got a mug of fresh coffee in his hands. 

   you reach up and take the mug. “thanks.”

   “it wasn’t yours, but okay.” he sits down beside you, placing your legs in his lap. “is there a reason you fell asleep on the sofa last night? it doesn’t look very comfortable.”

   you blink, because for just a moment, you don’t think there is a reason. you’re ready to tell him nope, it was an accident, you just drifted off, haha, silly you!

   but last night doesn’t take long crawling back to the forefront of your mind. his words, his silly grin, your fingers on his belt buckle-

   you swallow the scalding drink and say, “i thought you might have liked the bed to yourself after your wild night out.” you nudge his arm. “how are you feeling today anyway? hungover?”

   he rubs his temple, though he doesn’t seem to be in too much pain; by the looks of things, he’s had a shower, which means he probably went for one of his morning runs beforehand. “i’ve got a bit of a headache, but nothing major. i don’t even remember how i got home.”

    oh, thank god.

    “i took care of you, don’t worry.” 

   seokjin scoffs. “i can see that. did i at least take my own trousers off?”

   you take another hasty sip of coffee. “yes, of course. i wouldn’t go near that area with a six foot pole.”

   seokjin rolls his eyes before standing up. he stretches his arms over his head, revealing a tiny lick of skin just above the waistband of his sweats. you look away sharply, causing another painful snap to course down your neck.

    you wince. “fucking hell.”

    he looks over his shoulder. “what?”

   “just my neck.”

   he drops his hands to his sides, turning to face you. his eyes narrow as he watches you rub the back of your neck, twisting your head from side to side in any attempt to get rid of the burning sensation dancing along the top of your spine. finally, he sits back down, puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you away from him.

   you falter. “uh, seokjin?”

   “i learned this when i was in Daegu a few years back.” he digs his fingers into the base of your neck, and immediately a pressure is released. it’s a pressure you didn’t even realise was there. 

    it disintegrates beneath his fingers, only to be replaced by another pressure, completely unrelated to mere muscle pain. it settles in your stomach, makes you stiffen beneath his grip, and he must notice, because he chuckles, and it takes the form of a breeze blowing against the back of your neck.

    you swallow. this really isn’t how you should be feeling right now. this entire situation should not be happening. seokjin is your friend. he’s that guy who saved you from a potential, second mental breakdown. he’s that guy you share a bed with completely out of inconvenience. he’s the guy you tease and eat dinner with.

    he’s seokjin.

   despite being fully aware of how out of place this entire experience is, you make no effort to shift away from him. in fact, almost against your will, you sink closer to him, your back hitting against his knees, and again, that gentle breeze tickles the back of your neck.

    “good?” his voice is gruff, quiet. 

    “good.” your voice is high pitched, embarrassing.

    seokjin chuckles again, a third time, before you feel his lips against your shoulder blade.

    the sensation is wild. it’s such a simple touch, nothing more than a peck against your flesh, but it sends your brain into a spiral. you hate yourself for it, how such a simple action can destroy you in seconds.

    and it’s destroying you, sending your brain into overdrive, but you want more of it. you desperately, desperately want more of it, and maybe that’s why you lean into his touch. maybe that’s why you let his hands slide around your waist. maybe that’s why you close your eyes, tilt your head back into the crook of his neck, let his plump lips explore your neck. you are in complete bliss, unable to even form words, fairly certain you’re losing yourself in-

    the phone rings.

   you jolt away from him, gasping as reality floods back into you. fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, you can’t believe you just did that. you can’t believe you let yourself get lost like that.

   you jump up from the sofa and rush for the phone, too scared to spare seokjin a glance. he isn’t saying anything, which can only be a bad sign, and quite frankly, you haven’t even got your head screwed on well enough to deal with that.

    you grab the phone and pull it to your ear, all without looking at the caller id.

    “hello?”

   “y/n?”

   you inhale sharply. “robert. fuck. i’m late, aren’t i?”

   “are you well? it’s not like you to be late.”

   you run a hand through your hair, glancing at the clock on your nightstand - you’re only late by fifteen minutes, but that doesn’t change anything. you got distracted. you should have been paying closer attention.

    “i’m fine. sorry. so sorry. just - uh - slept in. i slept in. i’ll be there as soon as possible.”

   robert replies. you’re certain of it, but you don’t pick up on what he’s said. you slam the phone back down and spin, finally looking at seokjin. he’s dazed, staring back at you with eyes blown wide and mouth slightly open, slightly swollen, damp from where his tongue has surely traced patterns over them since you stood up.

   you swallow thickly. “i have to go to work.”

   “y/n-” 

   “you don’t have to say anything.” you snatch your keys off the bedside table, along with your phone and a pen that you don’t even need, but you just want to grab more stuff, just want to feel the heavy weight of objects in your hands. “i get it, okay? that was weird. we were both lost in the moment. you don’t have to explain yourself.”

   he opens his mouth to reply, but you’re on a roll with cutting people off before you can hear what they have to say. you dart out the door, yelling “see you later!” over your shoulder before the door slams closed behind you. 

   you waste no time. if you stop, you’re going to think, and the kinds of thoughts that will surely rush to the surface are not the kind you want to be dealing with right now.

   you arrive at the bakery in ten minutes, feet aching from how harshly they were slamming against the pavement in the cold, wet rain. nonetheless, you don’t care. you genuinely don’t care, not when you pull your coat off and slip your apron over your head, immediately snatching the oven gloves out of malachi’s hands.

   his head snaps up. that award winning grin flashes across his face when he says, “y/n! you made it!”

    “what are we making?” you ask. 

    malachi’s smile slips. “uh. . . i mean, it’s not that busy. there’s no rush. if you wanna grab a coffee or something before you start-”

    “i’ll make muffins.”

    malachi blinks. you don’t humour him with a response, instead getting to work immediately. you can feel him watching you from across the kitchen, dark eyes burning holes into the back of your head. you just keep working, even though your hands are beginning to tremble, and you can still feel seokjin’s mouth on your bare skin. your heart is yet to recover, still beating erratically in your chest.

   “y/n?” malachi mumbles. “are you sure everything’s alright?”

   you remember his words from the previous day, how bizarre they sounded when you first heard them; it just didn’t make any sense at the time that anyone would think seokjin had feelings for you, that he looked at you as anything more than a friend. you had gone home entirely convinced that you and seokjin would remain friends, and that was all, whether you liked it or not.

   but then he just has to go and do that, messing up every logical thought you once held. 

    you don’t even know if he likes you like that, or if it really was just a spur of the moment thing. he might have still had alcohol in his system. maybe he didn’t even know what he was doing.

    malachi’s hand on your shoulder startles you. you yelp, hands twitching, warm pan crashing to the floor. 

   “woah!” malachi grabs you, dragging you back before you can burn yourself. “careful there, mate.”

   you close your eyes. “fuck, i’m sorry. i didn’t-”

   “are you gonna tell me what’s wrong with you today or are we just gonna keep having incidents like this?”

   you meet his gaze; there is no malice in his words, no threat or disappointment. he’s worried about you. 

    you sigh, falling back against the counter. “just. . . seokjin things.”

    malachi pauses. “seokjin? the husband?”

   “he’s not my-”

   “the guy you live with? the guy who was here yesterday?”

    “that’s the one.”

   malachi picks up the warm pan with a towel. “what has he done? he seemed like a nice bloke.”

   “he’s an amazing bloke,” your quick to say, though the words make your cheeks heat up. “he really is amazing. he’s just also . . . very confusing.”

    malachi raises a brow. “confusing how?”

   “confusing. . .” you gesture vaguely, as if that in itself is a good enough adjective to describe just how confusing seokjin is. 

   malachi nods like he understands. he leans against the counter, shoulder brushing yours. for just a moment, it truly feels like there is nothing left to say; how do you comfort someone in a situation like this? how do you comfort anyone, let alone a person you’ve known for only a handful of days, someone you only know the bare bones about.

   nonetheless, malachi’s silence is reassuring. it calms you down to a point where you can gently take the pan from his hand and set it on the counter, your breathing straying back to a normal rhythm.

    “so,” he begins once you start gathering random ingredients. “correct me if i’m wrong, but i’m guessing seokjin did something that messed with your feelings a little bit?”

   you bite your lip, and that is response enough.

   “ah.” he pauses for another brief moment. “you weren’t uncomfortable with any of it, were you? ‘cause i’ll hang him up by his balls if he-” 

    “no!” the word is ripped from your throat, urgent. “no, malachi, it was nothing like that. seokjin would never do anything like that.”

   “then what did he do?”

   “he kissed me.” you pause. “kind of.”

   malachi’s eyebrows rise. you watch the cogs turning his brain, probably trying to understand the riddle you have just presented him.

   you hasten to clarify. “him and i have been purely friends from the moment we met. we live together just for convenience. he never showed signs of wanting to date anyone, let alone date me, and then this morning he just. . . got a little touchy, and it confused me, because i always just thought he didn’t want that kind of relationship with me.”

   “sounds like an awful lot of information on what he wants rather than what you want.”

   you frown. “what i want doesn’t matter.”

    malachi stares at you. you stare back, because you don’t want to think about what you want. you don’t want to dig into that dark crevice of your mind until everything else is sorted; you have to get your own life together before you can start thinking about sharing that life with someone else.

    especially someone like seokjin.

   someone who is perfect. someone who seems to have everything under control. he’s only young, not even thirty, and yet he’s travelling korea, cooking in top class restaurants, going out with friends who love him. he’s essentially living the dream.

    you’re just the person who intruded on that dream-like life, stumbling through your own life tragically.

    you look away as the thought strikes you; again, you can’t focus on that kind of thing. it’s scary. it’s uncharted territory, and you won’t let yourself be engulfed by it.

   ---

   when you arrive home, seokjin is cooking dinner.

    “ooh, something smells good!” you exclaim, trying to ignore the frantic thump of your heart.

    seokjin glances over his shoulder; his cheeks are burning red, an apron placed over his pyjamas. his hair is ruffled, and you know for a fact he’s only just now getting out of bed. he probably spent the entire day watching tv, and honestly, you envy him for it. your feet are aching for the long hours you put in at the bakery, and you want nothing more than to curl up and turn on some eastenders.

    “you’re home!” he replies. 

   “i’m home.” you shake your coat off and approach. “what are you making?”

   “spaghetti bolognese. something simple.”

   “i never took you as the type to do anything simple.”

    he grins, shooting you a wink. you hide your smile with an eye roll and grab some bowls from the cupboards, setting them down beside his work station before getting to work on grating the cheese; you know seokjin loves to smother his spaghetti in cheese. you’ve teased him about it on countless occasions.

    “so, how was work?” he asks, scooping the pasta into two bowls. 

    “quiet,” you reply. “malachi and i did some inventory for the ingredients, and robert was gone half the day for a business meeting.”

    “must have been pretty stressful.”

   you shrug, nodding a thanks as seokjin passes you your dinner. “it was nice. there weren’t too many customers in, so it was pretty chill.”

   seokjin sits down beside you, shoulder brushing yours. 

   you frown, glancing at his bowl. “how come you got more pasta than me?”

   “i cooked it.” he twirls some pasta onto his fork and shoves it in his mouth. “therefore, i get the majority of it.”

    “i was at work all day, starved to near insanity-”

    “bit dramatic.”

    “let me have some!”

    before seokjin can move, you dig your fork into his bowl, scoop some pasta up and slap it back into your own. seokjin’s eyes widen, splutters slipping past his lips. you simply grin, popping a forkful into your mouth.

    “you know,” he begins, voice low, “i would have given you some if you’d given me the chance.”

    “that’s alright. i’ve got it now.”

    seokjin scowls, slumping back against the sofa. he stares at the side of your head for what feels like forever, and you feel every goosebump his gaze induces. 

    he hasn’t brought up what happened that morning, which doesn’t make you feel too good. you spent the entire day reliving the scene in your head, feeling the echo of his lips against your shoulder blade, and he’s sat beside you now, pretending nothing even happened. does he do that with lots of people? is he just a natural flirt and you never even picked up on it?

    because, at the end of the day, you really don’t know seokjin all that well. you’ve grown fond of his personality and him as a person, but how much does that tell you about a person? not an awful lot, that’s for sure.

   you squirm a little, unable to hide your mild discomfort; there’s a tension pressing between you both, but you don’t know if he feels it, too. when you glance over your shoulder, he’s just lounging, that stupid smile on his face, staring at you like he knows how flustered you are and siphons nothing but joy from it.

    you’re going to explode. any minute now, your body is going to go up in flames. you need to say something. you need to do something.

    so you turn, open your mouth and- 

    his lips are on yours in seconds.

    how he moved so fast, you are unsure, but the question doesn’t even matter as you melt into his grip entirely against your will. his lips mould against yours, so perfect, made for each other, but there is a voice in the back of your head screaming that this is wrong, that this is an entire friendship on the line, and are you really ready to destroy that for the sake of a passing fancy?

    you let yourself kiss him back for a few more seconds. you just want to savour it. you just want to run your fingers through his hair a few more times before finally pulling yourself together.

   you jerk back a little too hastily. he gasps at the sudden loss of contact, eyes wide, one hand still hovering in the air where he once cradled your face.

    you swallow, standing up. you run your hands down the front of your jeans, shaking your head, trying not to make a scene, but all the emotions you felt this morning are coming back, and you’re just confused again. confused, and agitated, and you want nothing more than to ravish him, but at what cost?

    he looks up at you. “y/n?”

    it’s just your name, but it shatters you. it’s always sounded so good coming from his lips. it’s always sounded so natural.

    “i’m sorry,” you choke out. “uh - i just - i don’t think-”

   seokjin stands up. “don’t apologise. i’m sorry - i shouldn’t have just assumed-”

    “i really like you, seokjin, but-”

   “but not like that. don’t worry, i get it. i completely understand.” he rubs the back of your neck, cheeks glowing bright red. “we can just forget anything ever happened.”

   your stomach curls; you don’t want to do that. you won’t be able to do that, but you humour him with a curt little nod. he smiles warily, hesitates just a bit before slumping down on the sofa and grabbing his spaghetti again. he doesn’t ask you to sit with him. he doesn’t ask you if you’re alright. he just turns the tv on and carries on eating, not giving you a second glance when you awkwardly walk right past the sofa and get into bed.

    ----

     the days are awkward.

   awkward, and borderline unbearable, to put it simply.

   you go to work. so does seokjin. you both come home, eat dinner, and then go to bed, but neither of you know what to say or do in between those crucial moments. 

    seokjin doesn’t even joke around with you like he used to. he just laughs at your own pitiful attempts to lighten the mood before asking you what you want for dinner. once you respond, he uses it as an excuse to ignore you for the rest of the night as he goes off and makes it.

   it really is ripping you apart. he was your friend, but he was also your crush.

   yes, your crush. like some stupid high school drama. every time you saw him, your heart fluttered and you would go to sleep to thoughts of his arms around you, even if such a scenario once seemed so out of the equation.

   and he likes you back. you know that. he kissed you, for crying out loud! nonetheless, there’s that voice in the back of your head reminding you that he is so much better than you, that he has his life together entirely whilst you don’t even have an outline of where you want yours to go.

    two people so different in nature would never last long together, and that would leave you with not a trace of seokjin in your life. you didn’t want that.

    but it’s kind of what you’ve been given anyway. 

    nowadays, you don’t even say goodbye to him when you leave for work, even if he’s awake. you just tug on your uniform and start walking, locking the door behind you because he has his own set of keys and he can unlock it whenever he wants. 

   you’re miserable at work, too, which doesn’t make you a blast to be around, a fact that malachi points out on a daily basis. every time he sees you, he rolls his eyes and tells you to cheer up, but you’ve gotten to the point where you just don’t care any more - you’re gonna bring the mood down, and that’s all there is to it. you’re not going to try and fix it until you’ve fixed yourself.

   which is taking an awfully long time when you’re constantly surrounded by the problem.

    it’s been a week and a half now. you walk home, sluggish and anxious, but stupidly excited to see seokjin nonetheless. that’s how this always goes. that’s why it’s so fucking confusing. 

    you unlock the door, step inside, and immediately your heart drops into your stomach.

    seokjin looks up from his suitcase and gives you the weariest smile you have ever seen him wear. it’s crooked, the dimples not even appearing. it’s fake. 

    you pause in the doorway, fingers tightening on the door knob. “what are you doing?”

     he looks back down at the pile of clothes - his clothes - he has stacked upon the bed. he bites his lower lip, takes a moment to respond, and your heart is going to burst.

   “seokjin...” you step into the room, wincing at the door closing behind you. “what are you doing? why have you got all your stuff out?” 

    “i’ll keep paying the room. it’s the least i can do.”

   you drop your bag to the floor. “fuck off. no way. you’re joking.”

   “y/n-”

   you stumble back as he stumbles forward. your back hits against the door, and he pauses like he’s just realised he’s scaring a timid animal.

    “fuck off.” you shake your head, swiping your hand beneath your eyes; there are tears. already. great. “are you serious? you couldn’t have told me?” 

    seokjin rubs the back of his neck. “things haven’t been right since-”

   “i know that! i know they haven’t, but god, what fucking age are you?” you’re yelling now, unsure where all this anger has come from. “we’re grown adults, seokjin! so what you kissed me? that doesn’t mean we can’t sit down and talk about you literally moving out!”

    “this was never a permanent place for me anyway, and you knew that!” he exclaims. veins protrude from his neck. he looks so attractive, it’s almost dizzying. “it’s a fucking B&B, y/n!”

    “that’s so far from the point,” you growl. “the point is, you’re moving out, leaving me on my own, and you didn’t even bother to tell me!”   

    “what would it have done?”

   “it would have stopped us from having this argument!”

   seokjin scoffs. “you having a bit of sense would have stopped us from having this fucking argument!”

    you shake your head, raising a trembling hand. “nah, you know what, fuck you. all you are is a selfish little twat who only thinks about himself. so leave. go off somewhere, cook your fancy fucking meals, and don’t bother paying another penny towards this room because i’ve got it handled. i’m not that little bitch sobbing on the subway any more.”

    “no. instead you’re that little bitch yelling at me for no reason-”

    “are you serious?”

    “you know what, i didn’t want to leave here angry. i’ve had some fantastic times in this room, but you just make it so difficult. you drive me insane sometimes!”

   you laugh bitterly, head thrown back and eyes wild. “do i? do i really, seokjin? so why the hell did you kiss me?”

     and something inside him snaps. you can see it in the flames that rise in his expression, in the way his knuckles immediately glow white with the grip he now has on forearm. 

   “because i’ve never met anyone who can do that to me, ever, and it was the hottest fucking thing in the world.”

     not exactly romantic, but you freeze nonetheless.

   seokjin tilts his head. “is that what you wanted to hear? do you want me to go into detail about how sleeping beside you without touching you was the hardest fucking thing for me? do you want me to go into detail about how i wanted to rip malachi’s head off when he made you laugh that one time at the bakery? do you want me to go into detail about how leaving is the only thing that is going to keep me sane, because if i’m around you for another minute with you hating me, i’m going to die.”

     you blink. you blink, and blink, and you stare at him, waiting for the punchline. all he does is pant, shoulders rising and falling, cheeks flushed red. he can’t even look at you. instead, he turns on his heel and marches back to his suitcase, grabbing another pile of clothes and stuffing it haphazardly on top of the others.

    “there,” he grumbles. “just rip the fucking confession out of me, will you? god, calling me selfish. if you want me to stay here when i’m being driven mental, that makes you selfish. i offered to keep paying for the house-”

    “seokjin.”

    “i wouldn’t just leave you with nothing. i’m not a dick. but if you really think that, then-”

  shit. 

    you rush forward before he can sink further into that theory. 

   you grab his arms, pulling him round to face you, and with one hand clipped to the back of his head, you drag him down and kiss him.

    it’s not practised. you certainly didn’t come home tonight thinking you would be kissing seokjin by the end of it, but you make the most of your spontaneity. 

    he stumbles a little bit, clearly taken off guard, but he catches himself soon enough and grabs your waist, pulling you closer. your hips clash against his. your hands ruffle his hair. his tongue bashes against yours because this kiss is more than just a declaration of. . . of whatever it is you’re feeling. this kiss is sloppy, and ravenous, and frustration all pulled into one, and it shows. it really, really shows as seokjin spins and pushes you back onto the bed, just managing to dodge his neat piles of clothes.

   you shove one off the bed and drag him on top of you.

   he groans, kissing your neck. “it took me an hour to fold those.”

    “they’re gonna get messy anyway.”

    his eyes sparkle. “oh?”

    you pull him back down, determined to lose yourself in the feel of him against you, the feel of his surprisingly strong arms circling your waist. you forget everything. you let yourself forget everything, instead savouring this moment in all it’s entirety. it’s easily done when seokjin sprinkles fire across your neck, your stomach, your thighs. it’s easily done when he lets you do the same thing, touching him in places you once thought you would never touch.

    you wonder, as his lips find your own, how you ever thought this would be anything less than perfect. 

----

    you wake up the next morning, knowing you don’t have to go to work, feeling more refreshed than you have in weeks.

    you stretch, fingers snatching at the covers in search of seokjin. when they reach no conclusion, you peek open one eye and glance across the room, not surprised to see him standing in front of the mirror, fingers trailing through the hair your own fingers had attacked the previous night.

   you slump back against the pillows. “can you not call in sick?”

    his eyes snap up. he grins, those dimples popping just beneath the corners of his mouth. “afraid not. i didn’t know you were awake.”

    “i wasn’t until approximately two seconds ago.”

    he turns and walks towards the bed. kneeling on his side - and it has unconsciously become his side - he bends down and presses a kiss to your forehead; you wrinkle your nose, very aware of the sweat you didn’t wash off yourself last night, very aware of the fact you haven’t brushed your teeth or your hair, or made any effort at all.

    nonetheless, seokjin grins at you. “who would have thought you would look so beautiful after we fucked.”

   you gasp, shoving him away.

   he chuckles, going back to fixing his hair in the mirror. 

   but now that he brings it up, memories of the previous night rise to the surface; you remember most of it very well, because it was the best you’ve felt in a very, very long time. it was pleasure and relief and happiness all rolled into one, and you never wanted it to end.

    but then there was the moments before that, when you had both spoken words neither of you meant.

   at least, you didn’t mean what you said.

   seokjin must notice your sudden demeanour shift, as he glances over and says, “it’s water under the bridge.”

   you sit up, tugging the quilt around your bare chest. “we should talk about it.”

   “and say what?”

   “and apologise.”

   he turns. “i’m sorry. you know i am. i didn’t mean a single thing i said.”

   “either did i.”

    “good.” he turns back to the mirror. “that’s that sorted then. we can go back to being madly infatuated with each other.”

    you purse your lips; maybe he is a little bit upset. in all honesty, you wouldn’t be surprised; you said some pretty hurtful things in the moment, things you will regret for the rest of your life. even though seokjin knows - he must know - that you didn’t mean any of it, that doesn’t mean it won’t plague his mind for the next little while.

   you rise from the bed, forgetting the quilt - it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, of course. he watches your movements through the mirror, his lower lip slowly - sexily - disappearing behind his teeth. 

   you wrap your arms around his middle, pressing your bare chest into his back. you listen to his breaths, slow and trained, like he’s trying to keep himself calm. part of you wants him to just lose control, to just spin around and take you into his arms, to forget about work and everything else.

   but he’s seokjin. he’s got his life together. he won’t do that.

   you press a kiss to the back of his neck and whisper, “i really am sorry. you’re the most amazing man i’ve ever met. the most selfless, amazing man in the world.”

    he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “t-thank you.”

    “and i can’t wait for you to finish work so i can show you just how much i appreciate you.”

   he groans, low in his throat. “i have to go to work.”

    you nuzzle your head between his shoulder blades. “i never said you didn’t.”

    he pulls away, spins around and kisses you. deeply, feverishly, like he’s never going to return and this is the last time he will ever get to hold you like this. you melt against him, giggling against his mouth as his hands cup your face and he pants against you.

   finally, he pulls away and shakes his head. his eyes are wide, blown out when he points at you and says, “we’re not finished yet, understand? i’ll be back in, like, eight hours.”

   you lay back on the bed, all naked flesh on show. “and i’ll be right here waiting for you.”

[cafedanslanuit]

Third time’s the charm || Hawks x Reader

summary; “His amber eyes stayed open the whole time, a tint of sadness in them I was too afraid to ask about. I wish I hadn’t been such a coward. I wish I had squeezed his hand right back.“

notes; manga spoilers up to 271. i decided to switch it up a little and write a reader story in first person. hope you like that <3

I should have known something was going on. Keigo wasn’t the type that would blurt out his feelings; he had years of training to feign who he was to other people. Why had he suddenly been so adamant in letting me know what he thought of me? He was the most respected, likable, and loved hero, even if he wasn’t the number one. He had no obligation in showing his true self and that was something I had accepted a long time ago. So, when in less than twelve hours he told me he loved me no less than two times, I should have been alerted. The mere fact he was talking about feelings should have been my first sign. Fuck, it should have been my only sign.

He had texted me saying he would be coming over in an hour or so. I tried to make myself look more alluring as I waited for him. Even if we had agreed we weren’t a couple but just a couple of friends who cared for each other, there was no harm in fixing my hair and putting on some lipstick if I could see him smile when I opened the door.

But he didn’t smile. Keigo had a stern look when he walked inside my apartment. I offered him some macaroni leftovers and he started pacing around the living room, taking his time every time he found one of my framed pictures. They had been there for years now, so his interest seemed a little sudden to me. The sound of the microwave going off startled him, but he still turned around and met me in the kitchen, where I was pouring a glass of wine for him.

“Are you okay?” I asked. Keigo nodded and began eating the macaroni. I poured myself a glass of wine as well and sat opposite him on the kitchen table. Every question I dared to ask was professionally dodged, making me wonder why he had even bothered to come by. I knew he couldn’t tell me any details about the hero missions he was involved in, but he knew I liked to listen to him when he told me about anecdotes that had happened during patrols.

“How’s the hospital?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the food. I told him about a couple of patients I had seen that morning and, even if he nodded along with my words, I could tell he wasn’t really listening. I let out a long sigh and put my hand on top of his left hand. He finally looked up, making me notice the bags under his eyes looked darker than usual.

“Keigo, what’s wrong?”

The man paused for a moment, his lips parting for a second before they closed again. He left the fork on the plate and delicately patted his mouth with the napkin I had left on the table. Keigo pulled away with his chair and patted his thighs. Accepting his invitation, I walked to him and sat on his lap, my arms circling around his neck. He kissed my shoulder as he hugged my waist, holding me even closer to him. I figured he couldn’t really share details about what had happened that day. I thought I was doing the right thing by giving him space and respecting his work as a hero. I should have insisted. I should have asked him again. I shouldn’t have ended the conversation there.

We made love that night. And it wasn’t a euphemism. We had been fucking around for more than a year, but that night felt different. There were not dominant positions, no hair pulling, no marks on his skin or mine, like there usually were. He lay between my thighs, his right hand making sure my left leg was hooked around his waist. For the first time, he kept his eyes locked in mine. Not used to that, I tried pulling him in for a kiss, but he caught my hand and set it on the bed near my head, his hand resting on top of it. As his thrusts became faster, I felt how he intertwined his fingers with mine. His amber eyes stayed open the whole time, a tint of sadness in them I was too afraid to ask about. I wish I hadn’t been such a coward. I wish I had squeezed his hand right back.

That night was also the first time we came together. Neither of us was planning on it, but when I was coming down from my high, I felt him twitching inside of me, making me realize he had just come as well. Keigo buried his face on the crook of my neck and whimpered, his lips grazing my skin.

“I love you” he panted, his voice broken. I stayed in silence, waiting for a punchline that never came. I furrowed his eyebrows, asking myself if I had heard correctly. Was his confession a product of the heat of the moment? Was he already regretting saying that out loud? Most importantly, did I love him back? I hadn’t dared to ask myself that question out of fear of it being true. If I was in love with Takami Keigo, the man with whom I agreed to a friendship with benefits, I would probably lose him for good. He had been very clear about how dangerous his work was and how he couldn’t have any relationships that could endanger the other person and also be used against him.

All the feelings I had stored in the highest and most unreachable part of my mind had fallen down and I didn’t know what to do with them. I didn’t even know if I should do something with them. I had always known our relationship was more than just sex. There were times when he would come over and we would just order food, watch a movie and fall asleep on top of each other. We deeply cared for one another, or at least I felt we did. I had calmed him down from nightmares he wouldn’t talk about, but just silently cry on my chest and he would listen whenever stress from the hospital and exhaustion took their toll and broke me into a mess of tears. Even then, I had never dared to revisit the feelings I had pushed away the day he proposed we took our friendship to the next level. But now, they were all falling down on me and they had apparently grown stronger as I had ignored them over the last year.

I must have tensed up without realizing because Keigo squeezed my hand gently and chuckled against my skin.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” he said and I nodded underneath him. We fell asleep shortly after that, with him still buried inside me, his wings covering both our bodies from the cold.

The next morning, I was turning the coffee maker off when Keigo emerged from the bedroom, already dressed up. I greeted him with a smile and he shot a playful remark back, even if his aura still felt a little off. His messy hair made me remember how young he really was, in spite of all the weight he constantly had on his shoulders. He sat on the kitchen table and ruffled his hair, letting out a yawn. I poured myself a cup of coffee and then leaned on the counter, looking at him.

“So, about last night…” I started, nervously looking at the cup between my hands. Keigo laughed, the tone of his voice feeling much more homely than ever.

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked, a mischievous smile on his lips. I shook my head.

“No, no, that’s not it. I just… I’m sorry about what happened. I was surprised and didn’t know what to say. But… I wish we could talk about that now”.

“I’d like that, dove,” he said, crooking his head to the side. “But I gotta leave in ten”.

“You’re not staying for breakfast?”

“Can’t do. Duty calls” Keigo shrugged, stretching his arms upwards and successfully cracking his joints.

“So… tonight, maybe?” I insisted. He looked at me, that sad smile once again on his face.

Keigo stood up and walked towards me. He grabbed the cup I was holding and left it aside. His expression had gone back to the one he had the night before, a million words trapped inside his mind with no way out. 

“Okay” he breathed out. “I’ll see you tonight”. Keigo bit his bottom lip and held my head between his hands, his thumbs resting on my cheeks. He took a deep breath and pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes tightly shut.

“Keigo, what…?”

“I love you”

This time, I was way more confident about my answer. I couldn’t even repress the smile that crept on my lips. Somehow, his words had caused an even stronger reaction in me than the last time. I let out a breathy laugh, my arms finding their way around his torso. I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, he put two fingers over it, silencing me.

“Tonight,” Keigo said, his eyes looking straight into mine. “I’ll bring dinner and we’ll talk, okay?”

I let out a heavy sigh and reluctantly nodded. “Fine,” I said, taking his hand off my mouth. Keigo flashed one of his playful smiles.

“They say third time’s the charm, dove,” he cheekily grinned, winking at me. I rolled my eyes and let him go.

As I think of him now, I can still see Keigo closing the door behind him. I should have noticed he was wearing one of his TV smiles. I should have stopped him, kissed him, hit him, I don’t know. I shouldn’t have let him go without saying I loved him back.

That night never came. That night was filled with doctors barking orders, nurses running around, everybody trying to save as many heroes as they could. The war had been the greatest tragedy the hospital I worked for had ever seen. Every gurney in the hospital was being used by injured heroes and civilians, the smell of death present each time I turned the corner.

When the hospital called me, I was already on my way. I had just put the chicken in the oven when I grabbed my phone and decided to go through my feed. I didn’t need to scroll far to see news reports about the war that was happening between villains and a great number of heroes. They said they were The Liberation Army, but I hadn’t heard about them before. I quickly turned the TV on, just in time to see Endeavor lying on the ground as a villain raised his fist on top of him. There was no news on Hero Number Two Hawks. I saw heroes that looked old enough to still be in school fighting and I couldn’t help but think of Keigo and his lost childhood due to his hero training. I quickly turned the oven off and grabbed my keys before running to the hospital.

No news is good news, I repeated to myself silently as I stabilized a hero’s broken leg. No news is good news.

No one knew Keigo was more than a friend to me. Hell, no one even knew we were friends at all, which meant no one was going to let me know if the had found him and how badly hurt he was. When I finished my shift, it took a long time before I could find him. I had to ask around without raising suspicion, just in case I ended up endangering him even more. After a couple of hours, a nurse confessed he had seen Hawks being taken to an OR but hadn’t seen him after that. After a quick review of the OR chart, I managed to find his hospital room, far from the other patients that were also recovering from the war.

Keigo’s room was guarded by two tall men I figured were sent by the Hero Public Safety Commission. I lied about being sent to take his vitals and after showing them my hospital ID, they let me inside. The soft beep of the machines hooked to his body was the only noise in the room. His eyes were closed and half his face was covered with gauze. I grazed his fingertips with my own, the only part of his arms that wasn’t covered by bandages. His wings were gone, but a part of my brain kept screaming I needed to lay him on his side because he always hated how uncomfortable it felt when he lay on his back. I bit my lip trying to calm myself down and took a look at his chart that was resting on his nightstand. Keigo was in a medically induced coma. He was stable, but the nerve damage he had received on his wings was disheartening. Also, the massive burns all over his body made his healing process even more difficult. I reviewed the work done by the other doctors; even if I knew due to his status his case must be directly supervised by the head of Trauma, the best one in Japan. Just like I thought, they had already done everything they could to save his life. Now all that was left to do was wait.

“Keigo” I whispered, as I pretended to take notes from the screen of the machine in case the guards were looking through the small window on the door. If there was a small chance he could listen to me, I was going to take it. I didn’t know when I would get to see him again. I quickly wiped the tear that fell down my cheek and took a deep breath. “You said third time’s the charm... I’ll be here, then”.

[dapandapod]

A story of Catnip and Witchers

On Ao3 Here! 

Not sure what happened, but I had so much fun! I have no idea how tagging works, and I don’t know if they want to be tagged, but thank you so much for the prompt, I needed it! <3 

                  ~~*~~ 

There are many things that Jaskier is good at. He is very good at singing, he is a terrific lute player and poet. Depending on the amount of wine he consumed he might even give philosophy a new go. 

It is fun and all, but what he is the very best at is storytelling.

Now, to get yourself a good story you can either use your imagination (which is safe) or you can go out in the world (less safe), or, in Jaskiers case, find and desperately cling to a witcher (very unsafe). 

The latter is not a common practice and more often than not closely connected to death. Somehow Jaskier managed not only to stay alive but to befriend said Witcher. And honestly, there might be something more going on there. 

They don’t talk about it, they don’t talk to others about it, but there is this little spark whenever they are close. Which is another thing, because they usually are. Somewhere along the way Jaskier realized that he might even be in love with his witcher. 

A good story is usually kicked off with a drink, a bet, a contract, a pair of beautiful eyes. 

This story is kicked off with baking. 

It is a cold afternoon at Kaer Morhen, frost decorating all windows and even indoors the air has a bit of a bite in it. Jaskier was invited to stay with Geralt this winter, which is new. Pleasant, but unexpected. 

It was supposed to be pleasant in any way, but it is so bloody cold in this keep that Jaskier has started wearing his cloak at all times. Sometimes he wears Geralt's cloak too, just because. 

He soon learned upon arriving that the keep is mostly destroyed and therefore there are somewhat limited livingquarters in use. It doesn’t really matter, Jaskier and Geralt are used to sharing anyway. And it is so cold.

The other witchers staying at the keep, Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir, are a funny lot. Jaskier have only been here for two weeks, but he is starting to compare it to living with cats. Rude, antisocial and with a very specific kind of humour. It gives Geralt's behaviour some very needed context. It’s cute, really.

This afternoon Jaskier took it upon himself to do some baking. It is another thing he is very good at, and there is this new spice mix that he would like to try. 

The kitchen is steaming hot now from the ovens burning. His fingers are sticky from kneading the dough, and he is sweating just a little bit. When he brushes a lock of hair out of his face some of the dough on his hands sticks to his forehead. 

It is a messy process. Jaskier is not used to this kind of kitchen (really, it’s ancient) and when he finally gets the buns in the oven there is a lot of cleaning up to do.  Which is something Jaskier is bad at.

The actual story begins when Jaskier actually gets to serve said buns at dinnertime. They are eating in a study with a big fireplace, cozy with a thick rug and big bookshelves. Jaskiers lute rests against the wall next to a big plush chair that he claimed for himself since he arrived. Lambert sips wine from a goblet, smiling at the snarking around him. Jaskier chatters away as usual, with Eskel and at Geralt.

It is nice, the witchers are relaxed and appreciative of his baking. It feels great. Jaskier leaves for the kitchen for a moment (one can not simply have a nice time with an empty goblet) and when he returns there is something wrong.

To begin with, Lambert is sitting on the floor. Kneeling, in front Jaskiers lute, head cocked. Like he is listening to something he can almost hear.

Confused, Jaskier looks at the others around the table for answers. There are none to be had. If anything, Jaskier gets more confused. 

Eskel has taken at least three buns and is pressing it to his face, looking incredibly happy. He hugs them to himself, humming, stroking them and getting flour on his cheek and arm.

Vesemir looks up to see Jaskier, and gets the biggest smile. Jaskier never, ever in these two weeks saw Vesemir smile, not like that.

The older man gets up, stretching his arms out wide.

“My boy!” He exclaims, and hugs a stunned Jaskier. “Our little bard, I'm so glad you are back!”

“I uh, thank you?” Jaskier is perplexed, not sure if he should hug back. What the hell is going on? He settles on patting Vesemir awkwardly on the back, seeking help from Geralt.

And freezes.

Geralt is staring at him, intently. Unblinking, unmoving.

Jaskiers heart starts pounding. Geralt has that effect on him. It’s that spark again, crackling under his skin.

“Aaw, Vesemir, I want a hug! Hug me!” Jasker hears Eskel complain, and is finally let go.

“Of course Eskel, my little rascal!” Vesemir booms, and goes to put his arms around Eskels shoulder, buns and all.

Jaskier can’t look away. Not even when he can hear the telltale sounds of strings being plucked on his beloved lute. It doesn’t matter. Let Lambert have his fun. Are all four of them drunk? He never took any of the men present for lightweights, he’s seen how much it takes for Geralt to get sloshed.

Speaking of, Geralt still hasn't stopped staring at Jaskier. It’s like he’s never seen him before. Jaskier can feel a blush spreading, warmth spilling over his cheeks and ears, down his neck. Eskel and Vesemir still seem to cuddle with the buns, and something suspiciously like purring is coming from Eskel.

Geralt gets on his feet, and Jaskier swallows. He has no idea what to do, his heart is beating like crazy. Geralt walks up to him, still not breaking eye contact and takes the goblet out of his hands. He puts it on the closest surface, which seems to be a bookshelf, and then takes Jaskiers hand again.

It crackles, it burns, it makes his breath catch in his throat.

Geralt pushes past Jaskier, dragging him behind as he walks back out through the doors. As soon as the doors close behind them he crowds Jaskier against a wall.

There is barely a hint of amber in those eyes staring at him, pupils blown wide. Wait.

“What’s wrong with them?” Jaskier asks, voice all kind of breathy. Geralt lifts Jaskiers hand to his face, and presses his nose to his wrist.

“I think it’s that catnip you used in the bread.” Geralt replies, and takes a deep breath. It is almost like he’s smelling him.

“It’s not supposed to make humans react like that, though.” Jaskier protests weakly.

“We are not humans.” Geralt says, lips against the thin skin over Jaskiers wrist, and then seeking upwards over his palm and fingers. Breathing in deeply, eyes half closed.

“Our mutations make us react to the weirdest things.” Geralt adds, almost as an afterthought.

Through the door they can hear Lamberts playing, and he is singing now. He has a rather nice voice actually.

Jaskier is not sure what to do, what to say. If this is only the spice talking, he is not sure he wants this. Jaskiers heart is a tender thing.

“Is this your reaction to it?” He must ask, but he dreads the answer.

“No.” Geralt smiles, and it’s a wonderful expression. “My mutagens made sure I have a high tolerance. Bullshit, really. It’s so expensive to get drunk.”

Jaskiers mouth is dry, and despite the cold air around them he is burning. Geralt rarely talks this much, so he is definitely somewhat affected. His breath against Jaskiers hand gives him shivers down his spine. It takes all he has to not just cup Geralt's face, to not tread his fingers through his hair.

Geralt seems to read the question on Jaskiers face, and he really seems to be in a mood to talk.

“Apparently catnip gives me shitty impulse control though.” Geralt leans into Jaskiers hand, almost nuzzling it. It is really, really hard to breath. Under Jaskiers fingers, he can feel Geralt's warm skin, his stubble. Rough fingers almost twining with his own. It is a harsh contrast, burning skin and cold stone against his back. 

Geralt's eyes are back on him and a small sound escapes him. 

”I can smell it on you.” Geralt says. ”On your hand and on your breath.” He leans in, putting a big hand under Jaskiers chin and tips it up. His nose is touching Jaskier, just under his lower lip. He can’t help but part them a fraction. 

”I just want to lick it off.” He whispers, and Jaskier full on shudders. It is a true wonder his knees haven't given out yet. Geralt drags his lips slowly over Jaskiers chin, pressing his body closer. 

They are not kissing, not really. Jaskier really wants to lean in, but even more he wants Geralt to do it. To take that step. 

He looks at Geralt through his eyelashes. 

“Please.” He whispers. 

Geralt crushes Jaskier against the wall, both on his hands now on his cheeks, his neck, his hair. The kiss is hot, messy, everything Jaskier needs.

There is a crash inside the study, like a chair falling over. 

”I CAN HEAR COLOURS!!” Eskel shouts. 

”It's the lute and Lamberts yowling you imbecill!” Vesemir shouts back. 

Jaskier can’t help the small chuckle escaping him. 

”Maybe we should go to our room?” He suggests. Geralt all but carries him there.

The day after is the punchline of this good story. 

(The finish already happened three times during the night. But that part is for him alone.)

It turns out that Catnip not only makes witchers go haywire for a few hours. It gives them the worst hangover. Jaskier comes down the next morning, he feels the need to check on the poor souls he accidently drugged. Geralt is right behind him, in case they got mad about it.

It was not necessary. It was, however, amazing. On a pile on the floor Lambert and Eskel lie tangled up. They seem to have built a fort with the things in the room, and somehow they managed to get Jaskier lute up on the chandelier.

Vesemir sits on the plush chair like it's a throne, fast asleep. He hopes. He looks a little dead.

Geralt steps in, looks around and gets a devilish grin on his face. He takes a big book and slams it down on the table.

Three groans of protests erupt around them, and all three grab their heads as the pain sets in.

Now, the art of storytelling is how you tell the story. And to whom. Jaskier will never tell it within earshot of any witchers, just in case. Messing with men brought up by the school of the wolf and then compare them to kittens is perhaps not the best way to stay alive. Especially not when you are the bard who drugged them.

But then again, a good story is rarely safe.

[clementineesotsm]

THE KING: ETERNAL MONARCH EP 15, My Appreciation and How It Made Me Feel

PM Koo teams up with LR. At least that is what PM was thinking. But for LR, slight different. He thinks PM will somehow give advantage for him but ended up disappointed, because PM cannot become a queen, and suspended as a PM. She cant even near a high position now. She cannot get Gon or Kingdom of Corea and that pisses LR off. PM become greedy and put her guard down. He thinks LR wanted a cooperation and inform him that she will take Gon’s flute for her. Which makes LR mad and choke her 🤣🤣 LR asking her to bring him into Gon’s mom mass memorial day and leave her

Gon is back to kingdom now. He hugs Lady Noh so tight 🥺 he is thankful to her for everything that she have done for him. Apparently Gon indebted to her much. I loved her punchline “i know pyeha / 압니다 폐하” means she understand things that Gon cant even / doesn’t have to explain. I love their relationship

Gon exiled Prince Buyeong’s son so that he cannot go back to Corea, because he found out that he is LR accomplice on the treason night. Gosh i hate that man!

Apparently Gon took KSJ to Corea to let him see his real mom. This scene was well made! Acting wise, amazing. KSJ lines, amazing. Music, amazing! Poor KSJ. He is also growing up becoming a stoic character 🥺🥺

Conversation between KSJ and Gon feels a bit heavy. Gon told KSJ about his plan, apparently he dont plan to save himself this time. The target is to get or kill LR. So Gon is planning to go and sacrifice himself for the good 🥺🥺 i loooove Gon’s facial expression here. And his eyes speaks his fear but also trying to accept his fate. Something like “sigh-ing”

LR was back to Korea to prepare his big plan. But unfortunately he let his guard down, SJH put poison in the food to kill herself basically. And LR minion couldn’t save her because Gon was set to cross the portal at that time so times stops. SJH was finally relief to be able to die, but here i am crying 🥺🥺 and her using LR punchline before while dying was cool thought by the writer! “Did you pray?” !!!

And did you realize? LR face most of the time was always stain with blood. Poor him 😅

Another appreciation was to the editing team, they did a great job in this scene. Especially for the scoring 💯💯💯

LR took his gun and run outside, then he met Gon!

LR “i even transcends death, but how is it that im unable to avoid you? How did you find me here?”

Gon “it would be good if it was me alone, but im not.”

“Some one sets the time (SJH)

Someone chases after you (i assume this was KSJ/the detectives)

Someone prays for you to get caught (this could be Lady Noh and JTE)

And someone is going to fight you (Gon, JY, KSJ) “

Then LR said that Gon should have wait him at the memorial not confront him here. This kind of storyline was fresh for me too. Because usually story like this always go with “make the doomed happen first then resolve it after” but with TKEM, the main character manage to prevent the doomed before it happened. Which im fine with it because its possible. But i kind agree with LR. Can we get that chaos in the mass memorial first then solve it? That would be epic. But then maybe they dont have enough time to explore that. Maybe in another timeline, reality or universe. But this is also satisfying and well done. If you can prevent it, why not? That is more work in a smart way.

Gon then took LR to bamboo forest to check on how to use the flute to travel back to 1994. What Gon knew, the flute need to be whole inside to do so. But then how to do it was a bit tricky. It needs both LR and Gon to be inside the space between 0 and 1. Because each of their blood soak into each of the flute. Gon was a bit in dilemma because he need someone to go inside the gate with LR in order for it to happen. What scary was nobody knew whats going to happen with that person if he succeeded or fail. All assuming that person will go inside and dead. Then KSJ volunteered to do so. OMFG! P.S then we also got a glimpse of the portal when the flute was whole. Kind of cool. If fills with so many universe and possible of eternity life !

SO THE LR INTERROGATION THAT WE SAW IN EP 1 WAS ACTUALLY FROM EPS 15! Wahh im impressed. I did not see that coming! Gon also doing his final honor for SJH and buried / burned her body properly (brb cry 😭) and to prepare if something bad happen he ask secretary Mo to announce that Se Jin (Prince Buyeong granddaughter) will be the first in line to replace Gon if something happen to him 🥺🥺 Secretary Mo and JY looks worried

Then something weird happened. Suddenly the flower that Gon gave to JTE on eps 10 disappeared. JTE worried that Gon already preparing for the reset and he will be gone forever from her memories 🥺 she comes to see LR and ask where is the flute? LR was pissed here, because he don’t understand why people are not scared and tend to give their lives away to make things right. He doesn’t understand love 🥺🥺 and LR was stays evil to the end because he kills Se Jin and swap PM Koo mother. Which is very scary! KGE, LJJ, LMH, JEC acting in this sequence was out of this world. The director and all team was making this sequence very well too. All the thrilled was there even though it was just a short scene each. I loved them more now but we are left with only 1 episode for the finale 🥺🥺🥺

In Korea, JTE released Luna. JTE have a planned to go with LR into the space between 1 and 0 because she is afraid if Gon will alone doing his duty 🥺 She basically ready to leave Korea forever because she asked Luna to take her place while she was gone. JTE asking Luna to steal LR to bring him to JTE and JTE come to KSJ to ask for the flute and let her replace him to do the duty. And it was the most heartbreaking conversation between this two friends and one of the most heartbreaking confession i have ever watched. I loved how they shot this scene, the camera seems to be shaking, i think its cool and also the way KSJ holds JTE hand 🥺🥺

Kudos to KGE and KKN here! Damn! Where is your daesang again?!

Finally here we saw that jacket of doomed which we saw on eps 1 and eps 10 worn by Gon. Its his ceremonial outfit that he supposed to wear during his most glorious moments. And him following his destiny to die for the sake of doing right things, teared me up. Before he go back to the past, he visit Lady Noh for a final goodbye, seriously i cried. He told Lady Noh about kim sowol poems, Gon knew that she was coming from Korea. Gon was also conveying his feelings to her “thanks to you, i can read such a beautiful poems”. Gon asked Lady Noh to let him go again and the way she said “if i let you go this time, will you ever comeback?” And cried, teared me up too. Meanwhile JTE also prepared to go with LR inside the portal, she is using the necklace from Gon, the one that has the symbol of Corea 🥺 its for her also her glorious moments. Surprisingly Gon going inside the portal not alone, JY was there to company him. As what he promised, he will be there in any battlefield Gon is about to go through 🥺🥺🥺

How it made me feel:

What a solid episode! This eps making my eyes swelled. It was full with bittersweet moments, thrilling moments, a lot of goodbyes, a lot of revelation, and it left me anxious for the finale. How can they solved this all? Can we still get a happy ending? Also this episode was so cool because the ending is the beginning. What we saw on eps 1 was actually a flashback! No wonder the screen size was different. Like what they usually used for past events! Cool!

What i also wants to appreciate is Kim Eun Sook writing skill. I have to admit im not a big fan of her, sometimes her script was a bit cheesy, overly dramatic and predictable. But since mr sunshine and especially TKEM she changed that all and turns out to be more mature. And darker? For me TKEM is focusing more on doing the right things, it has values more than just a rich boys/cool boys meets a cool ordinary girls and falls in love premise and finish. But this time its about true value of love, true value of relationship, about responsibility, vulnerability. At some point it reminds me of harry potter. TKEM gave me the same feelings/premise to while i was reading/watching HP. I loved how it turned out so far, its up to the finale. Will it be one of the best series i have ever watched? Or no?

Also, i really loved how KES writes KSJ character, he has so many reason to be bad. But he did not. I loved how she portrays a very good example of stoicism in his characters. Very good 💯

Another appreciation is for the directing and cinematography, guys, you blown me away!

[justjessame]

Starting Over Chapter 25

Bucky redressed, with NO help from me because apparently I’m NOT actually helpful when he’s partially dressed.  I’d dare anyone to actually HELP Bucky Barnes put clothes ON.  I sat on the bed that we mangled and watched, biting my lip as he blushed through his changing of the guards, so to speak.

“You’re making me self conscious.”  He offered, as he pulled off the blue shirt that I wanted him to wear forever and ever after.  My eyes were raking his bare chest, the dog tags that hung proudly, my teeth digging into my lip.  “Are you that hungry?”  

“For food?”  I asked, eyebrow arching as he pulled a shirt that was as red as the other one had been blue.  Well, fuck, maybe red was a good color on him too.  I watched him pull it over his head and pouted as his bare skin disappeared from view, earning a laugh from him.  “What?”  

“You,” he shook his head, and contemplated something with narrowed eyes.  “Turn around.”  I stared at him waiting for the punchline.  “Brooke, turn around.”  

“Why?”  Countering his orders was becoming something of a habit, but to be fair, I wanted to know what he was planning while my eyes were on the wall or the window.  

“So I can change my pants,”  I blinked at him, surely he was fucking joking.  I SWALLOWED him barely an hour earlier, what was with the sudden need for modesty?  “If you don’t turn around, we aren’t leaving this room today.”  My stomach clenched, my pulse kicked up a gear, and my mouth went dry.  “See?”  

I nodded and turned around.  “You’re only winning this round because I’m hungry,” I gasped out, shutting my eyes because I could swear the sound of his zipper was amplified.  “For food,” I clarified as they hit the floor.  I was throbbing again, everywhere, listening as his pants reversed course.  “Can I turn around yet?”  

“Not yet,” he murmured.  My eyes were still closed and my arms were broken out in goosebumps.  How could he manage to do that?  He wasn’t even in touching distance for fuck’s sake.  And then I felt his warmth closing in on my back, his fingers skimming my arms - raising more gooseflesh, making my breath catch.  His mouth touched the juncture where my neck met my shoulder and I sighed.  “Mine?”  All I could do was nod, but I could feel his smile against my skin.  “Mine.”  And then he turned me and our lips met again, but it wasn’t the fevered hunger I expected, it was soft and sweet, tender and filled with affection.  And when he pulled away, his forehead met mine, our eyes opening to stare into one another’s, and he whispered back.  “Yours.”  

We managed, after that very hot start, to leave the hotel with our phones not completely at zero percent charge.  Finding a diner while we charged them in the car on the drive there, we talked about him helping Sam with his family’s boat.

“How much more work do you think it needs?” I asked, as he pulled into the diner’s lot.  He shrugged, and I unplugged our phones.  “Aren’t you lucky I don’t have a job to get back to?”  

He laughed as he jumped out to get my door, always a gentleman Bucky.  “I didn’t know you were a photographer,” he reminded me of the camera I’d shown up with, and been clicking away with all day long.  

“I’m not a REAL photographer,” I shook my head, walking through the diner door he held open for me.  We were told to grab a table and we’d be waited on in a minute, so we grabbed a booth and pulled the menus free from the condiment stand.  “I loved taking pictures in school - for yearbook and I don’t know, my dad thought -”  I stopped talking when the waitress came and took our drink orders.  

“You were saying?”  Bucky was watching me as if I were the most interesting person he’d ever met.  

“We should figure out lunch first, then I’ll finish my story.”  My attention went back to the menu, it was normal diner fare, with a southern bent - so I chose simply enough.  A burger, fries.  Bucky needed more fuel than me, so his servings were a bit larger, but pretty similar in choices.  Once our waitress had our drinks in front of us and our orders down, he was in listening mode.  “My dad reached out to some professionals, he used some prints of pictures I took to set up the camera for the yearbook.”  I shrugged, but he was still waiting.  “When I - when it happened, everything was put on hold.  My dad KNEW we were coming back, Bucky, somehow.  And my mom figured it out too.”  I bit my lip and shook my head, it sounded crazy.  “You have to understand, my parents were KNOWN for being the MOST pragmatic people in our neighborhood.  They weren’t fanciful or prone for fairytales or miracles.  So when my dad, and then my mom told everyone that they KNEW I’d be back - which meant that everyone else would be too?  People figured they had to be right.”  

“OK,” he wasn’t saying it to pacify me, I could tell.  “So the camera?”  

I smiled.  “They had presents for me, for my birthdays and holidays - everything I missed.  Up to their deaths.”  I thought about the car.  “Including a REALLY big one that I’ll show you when we get back to New York.”  

His eyebrow went up, but he didn’t ask.  “Have you reached out to the professionals your dad made contact with yet?”  I shook my head, but we were interrupted by our food.  Small town diners were the best for quickness.  Once we assured our waitress that everything looked amazing and we had everything we needed, she left and we could dig in.  First bites out of the way, we talked while we ate.  “What do you have to do to get into it?”  

I considered his question.  “It depends on which one actually wants to take me on as an apprentice,” I explained the list that my mom wrote up with the notes.  “So this trip is great for more than the obvious reason.”  I let my foot drift to his side and tease against his.  

“That picture of Sarah’s sons and the shield?”  I nodded, smiling as his foot moved so my foot could go higher on his ankle.  “I think you should include that in any of your portfolios.”  

“Really?”  I asked, chewing carefully while I considered it.  “Any and all of them?”  He nodded, taking a drink of his water.  “You don’t think it would be -”  I didn’t want him to think I was using him.  “I don’t want you to think I’m using our relationship for -”

“Hey,” I bit my lip and he shook his head.  “You’re not, Brooke.  You took that picture because it struck you as being lit well, right?”  I nodded.  “It’s gorgeous, and you should include it.”  

We finished lunch and while Bucky paid, because yes, he is THAT guy, I finally looked at my phone.  Connie had practically lit my text and voicemail on fire with her need to see that I was safe and sound, but I had actually sent her a message upon landing, I swear.   

I was in the car, waiting for Bucky when my phone rang.  Seeing her name and face I considered letting it go, but that would NOT be a good idea, not after how many missed messages and calls I had wracked up so far.  

“Hello,” I was holding the phone away from my ear without the speaker on when Bucky opened the door and he looked confused, until Connie’s voice exploded out of my phone.

“What the literal fuck?!”  I cringed and Bucky’s eyes went wide as he climbed into the car.  “One fucking text, Brooke, I got one miserable fucking text that reads, ‘here.’” I heard her take a deep breath and knew she was building up for another explosion.  “HERE?  Are you fucking kidding me?!  I guess you made it to bumfucked Lousiana, well la-de-fucking-da.  But for all I know one of those fucking hicks could be wearing you as a skin suit by now.”  

“They aren’t,” I broke in, my eyes meeting Bucky’s as he started the car and pulled onto the street to head for the dock.  “I’m alive and well, I swear.”  I didn’t chance putting the phone up to my ear, but I should have. 

“Uh-huh.”  Connie didn’t sound sure.  “What about Bucky?” I was about to ask if she was worried if a hick was wearing him as a skin suit, but I wasn’t fast enough.  “Did you saddle that boy up and ride him into the swamp?”  I’m not sure how wide human eyes can go, but I knew mine were in danger of falling out of my head.  Bucky was chuckling and in danger of nothing - the man was a fucking miracle of perfect reflexes.  

“Bucky’s right here, Connie,” I somehow managed to get out, glancing at him and catching him eyeing me.  He was licking his lip and shaking his head, but then he winked and I rolled my eyes.  “And he heard your - suggestion.”  

“Oh,” I could almost feel the burn of her blush through the phone.  “Um, hello, Bucky.”  She was quiet enough that I had to put her on speaker now.  I did so he could hear her better, and she could hear his answer to her greeting.  “Nice to sort of meet you.”

“Same,” he was grinning as we pulled up to the docks.  “I’m gonna go see what Sam’s up to,” he unbuckled his seat belt and kissed me.  “Bye, Connie.”  

“Bye, Bucky.”  She offered, waiting until she heard the door shut and it to get quiet.  “You could have told me he was listening.”  She hissed and I giggled.  

“You were so busy bitching at me for failing to check in that I didn’t have much of a chance, Connie.”  I watched Bucky move across the docks, his red shirt easy to spot.  “And as for that interesting metaphor you mangled, let’s just say that I don’t need pineapples for awhile.”  She gasped and I smiled. 

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 14

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles​)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: It’s like I ask for feedback and y’all STOP SENDING IT LMAO. So I guess I just won’t ask anymore. Hope y’all enjoy this. When you’re finished reading, here is a post containing the names of a bunch of black-owned bookstores! Pick up a book about race, or just support black businesses! Xx

“Harry, can you get your ass up?”

Harry pulled the comforter up to cover his ear. He felt the mattress dip and then Melody ripped the pillow out from beneath his head.

“What?” he grated out, peeling his eyes open the slightest bit to look at her.

“Did you forget you have PT today? We’re supposed to be there in a half hour.”

“Don’ even need to go anymore, do I? Don’ see why I should.” He closed his eyes again and Melody smacked him in the shoulder with his pillow. “Would yeh chill?”

“No. Get up. Aidan is gonna be waiting for us.”

Harry blinked his eyes open fully and felt the room shift as though he’d rolled over. He let out a groan.

“What’s wrong?”

He lifted a hand to cover his face.

“You’re hungover?” Melody asked. “Serves you right. I can’t believe I wasted that underwear set on you.”

Harry felt a dim light flicker on in his mind. “What color were they again?”

“Pink, you dick,” she snapped. Harry felt her climb off the bed and then his pillow hit him in the face.

“Why are yeh so mad at me?” he asked. “Was it bad?”

“You finished and then fell asleep on top of me, Harry.”

Harry lowered his hand and blinked into the painful morning light. He stared at Melody, with her arms crossed over her chest, a frown creating a divot between her brows. She didn’t look like she’d just told a joke.

“I didn’.”

“You did.”

“No, I didn’.”

“Yes, Harry. You did.”

“Please, for fuck’s sake, tell me yeh’re kiddin’.”

“I am not.” Melody ran her fingers back through her hair and sighed. “Can you please get up?”

“‘M sorry, Mel,” Harry said as he finally pushed himself into a sitting position, squeezing his eyes against the splitting pain in his head.

“I forgive you. You drank too much.”

Harry nodded, although the idea had become foreign to him since he’d moved back to the States. He didn’t even know what “too much” meant anymore. Or at least he hadn’t before last night. “I drank a lot.”

“I need you to get ready. I don’t want to make Aidan wait.”

“Yeh don’ want me to try and make it up—”

“I don’t think you’re in the right state for that.” Melody threw a pair of boxers his way and shook her head. “Don’t need you throwing up on me. That would be worse.”

“But I—”

“Seriously, Harry. I don’t wanna talk about it right now. It’s still fresh in my mind.”

“What is? Me finishin’? Or you not?”

Even hungover and embarrassed, he was a smartass. Melody rolled her eyes. “Get dressed,” she repeated as she left the room.

***

“Really don’ see what the use of this is,” Harry muttered from where he sat as Aidan stretched and twisted first his left leg, then his right. “Can walk just fine. Yeh’ve seen me.”

Aidan placed Harry’s foot back on the floor and nodded. “You’ve regained a lot of strength in your lower body,” he agreed. “I just want to make sure that your posture and your balance are recouping too. You don’t want to end up needing knee surgery because you’re favoring one leg.”

“Think ‘m fine. Can still hit fine, too.”

Aidan raised a brow and then swiveled his gaze to Melody. She rolled her eyes in return. He knew very little about what went on in the warehouse on the north side, and he’d never even heard of Brute’s. Melody wanted to keep it that way. It seemed that too many people were involved in their business as it was.

“He’s an angry drunk.”

“Am not,” Harry protested, swinging his head around to glare at her.

“And moody when he’s hungover, as you can see.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. Aidan drew in a deep breath and rose to his full height, crossing his arms. Even without a word, he looked disapproving, and somehow his opinion meant something to Melody. She couldn’t quite tell, but Harry seemed to avoid his gaze. And he seemed relieved when Aidan didn’t pick at the topic.

“Well, you’re right. Your body is recovering really well. You seem to favor your left leg a bit. We should try to correct that. It’s probably just because you swing with your right.”

Melody and Harry both glanced at him when he finished speaking, and his eyes glinted under the hospital lighting. Harry shifted on the bench and tugged at the knee of his pant leg.

“That mean ‘m done with therapy?”

“I wanna see you once more in about a month. Just to make sure everything keeps going the way it is now, after you’ve put on a little more muscle mass.” His lips quirked up, so like Sean before he told the punchline of a joke. “And if you didn’t look like you could throw up on me at any moment, that would be appreciated.”

“Piss off,” Harry muttered, though from beneath the headache and nausea, a tight-lipped smile slipped out. He was done with hospitals and therapy, wheelchairs and canes. He could get back to normal, finally. Everything he needed to get back to was just at his fingertips.

“How’s the rib?”

Harry blinked before he realized that Aidan was no longer talking to him. Melody shrugged and tucked her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. Despite her behavior, Harry could tell that she wasn’t feeling her best either, although she might’ve only had a sip too much, compared to the alcohol still stirring in his gut.

“It’s getting there. Only tweaks every now and then.”

“Good,” Aidan said with a nod. “Keep resting.” He offered her a quick tap on the shoulder and flicked his hand in a short wave as he left the room, no doubt on his way to visit another patient. “Use your right leg!” he called out as he reached the hall.

“How’s your hand?” Melody asked after a beat. Harry found her staring at his knuckles, where they were curled around the edge of his bench. The skin was raw and swollen but the ache was almost mute against the backdrop of his hangover.

“‘S fine.”

“I should’ve iced your fingers when we got home last night. I’m sorry, I—”

“Mel, stop. Yeh’re not my nurse.” Harry rose to his feet and clenched his teeth at the spell of vertigo that raced through him before he continued to speak. “Had quite a few dislocated knuckles before. I don’ think a few bruises and cuts are gonna cripple me.”

“No, but—”

“But nothin’. ‘M fine. My hand is fine. Don’ worry about me.”

Melody sealed her lips. She touched her fingertips to her chin and scratched an imaginary itch. Harry closed the distance between them and lifted a hand to her cheek, thumbing her temple and curling hair behind her ear.

“Think ‘m gonna take a walk around the city, okay? Start usin’ my right leg more.”

Melody tightened her arms at her chest and tried not to let her eyes flutter at Harry’s touch. “You don’t want me to come?”

“No,” he said, hurrying to continue when she dropped his gaze. “But not because of you. Just haven’ really been out in the city by myself in a really long time, yeh know? It’ll just be an hour or two and then I’ll meet yeh back at your place.”

Melody nodded. She understood the need to wander the city. She usually didn’t feel that need when she was hungover, but to each their own.

“I’ll see yeh later, then.” Harry tucked his finger beneath Melody’s chin to tilt her face upward and pressed a gentle kiss to her mouth. He felt more inclined to show her affection, despite his uncomfortable, dull nausea and aching head, because of his poor performance the previous night.

Melody curled her fingers around Harry’s wrist and shivered as his lips brushed the corner of her mouth. She bumped his nose with hers. “Be safe,” she whispered.

Harry scoffed, crooked smile on his lips as he rose back to full height. “‘M the safest person yeh know.”

***

Snow was falling again as Harry left the hospital alone. He was prepared for the cold this time. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of a heavy winter coat, his swollen knuckles straightened out to avoid the soreness that accompanied any bending. He made a conscious effort to place a good amount of weight on his right leg as he walked.

The air smelled of fresh laundry as he passed by some residential buildings on his path toward the cluster of shops at the center of the city. He kept his eyes downcast to avoid the frigid wind that whipped up the street.

Harry passed the art store where he’d purchased Melody’s paintbrushes the year prior. It was a place he’d only been inside once, and only noticed when he had been looking specifically for it. He needed a gift for her upcoming birthday, too. But he had no clue what to get.

This was the most normal that he’d felt since he was discharged from the hospital. He needed distance. He needed alone time. Even when Melody wasn’t in the apartment, Bea or Josie usually were. And besides, that apartment was not his space, not home. This city felt like his, though.

Harry didn’t have a route in mind. At least he thought he didn’t. He was frustrated with his lack of endurance and so every time his body felt like it was time to stop, like he needed to turn around and walk back to Melody’s, he ignored the ache in his legs and walked one more block. But he’d spent years training his mind to push past his body’s protesting.

Almost an hour passed. The snow stopped. It wasn’t until he was slumped against the corner of a grungy laundromat, stretching out his muscles, that Harry realized where he was, where he was going.

There were only three blocks between here and Brute’s, between here and the warehouse, which he hadn’t entered in months. He remembered chugging whiskey out in the street the night before and felt his stomach curl up inside him. But here he was, almost there. Mere steps from where his glass had shattered, so close to the ring that he’d spilled so much blood inside.

Harry waited until his stomach stopped churning, until bile was no longer rising in his throat, and then considered his options. Should he just walk back to the apartment? Now, taking a cab would be a better alternative. But he was already so close and there was a reason his feet had carried him in this direction.

Harry’s legs felt weak as he walked the rest of the way to the warehouse. The lights were on in the front window of Brute’s, despite it being long before noon.

The creak of the outer door on its rusty hinges was familiar. The warehouse’s entryway was almost colder than outside, without the sun to add some warmth. Harry yanked open the next door and he heard its squeal echo between the metal walls of the arena. He cringed as he stepped inside and let the door shut behind him. His footsteps sounded up the few stairs to the bar.

There were two girls in the ring, now still. And they were both staring at him. He wouldn’t have recognized Melody if it weren’t for the very distinct color of her hair, pulled into a ponytail but spilling around her face. She was wearing a sports bra and a tight pair of cloth shorts and her bare stomach glistened under the radiating lights. Of course she was here. Even though Aiden had told her just an hour ago to keep resting.

Harry watched Melody’s brows draw together. She glanced to one corner of the ring, where Harry saw Sean, also staring. Then her gaze panned back to Harry and she lowered her gloved hands. This whole situation felt like a fever dream.

“What are you doing here?” Melody asked. Her voice echoed. Her breath came in labored gasps. She swung her head around to look at her sparring partner, who gave Melody a stiff nod and then turned to chat with her own cornerman.

Melody stepped to the edge of the ring and leaned against the ropes.

“‘M talkin’ to Goodman.”

Melody frowned. “About what?”

“Business,” Harry answered simply.

“Business,” Melody repeated.

“Yeah.”

Sean lingered in his corner, kicking at the floor. He supposed that Harry didn’t appreciate him siding with Melody after the fistfight the night before, but Sean wasn’t sorry. Harry didn’t spare him a glance while talking to Melody.

“Okay.” Melody drew out the word. "So, just fuck me, right?”

Harry shook his head and let out a dry breath of a laugh. “Yeah, sure.” He spun on his heel and strutted across the floor toward the back hallway.

“Harry!” Melody’s shout of frustration echoed. He heard her feet hit the floor, her gloves peeling off, and then her steps following. She didn’t catch up with him until he had already knocked on Goodman’s door. “You’re being an ass,” she said when she stood directly behind him. “How do you know he’s here, anyway?”

“’S Wednesday. He’s always here on Wednesday.” These were the days he took care of bills and paperwork.

“Okay, so—“

“Come in.”

Melody froze at the sound of Goodman’s voice but Harry turned the doorknob and stepped into the office. He didn’t close the door and Melody’s hesitant feet followed.

“Sir,” Harry greeted.

Goodman sat at a large wooden desk that was covered in papers and boxes of varying sizes. Melody wondered for a moment, as she came to a stop at Harry’s shoulder, what might be in some of the boxes. But then Goodman looked up from his work, peering at the two of them through a pair of spectacles, and her curiosity dripped from her with the residual sweat from her practice.

“Styles.” Goodman put down his pen and sat back in his chair, leather creaking as his weight moved. “Was wondering when I’d be seeing you. With your girlfriend fighting, I thought it would’ve been sooner. You’ve kept me waiting.”

Harry cleared his throat. “‘M sorry, sir.”

“You should be.”

A few moments ticked by. Melody waited, a silent bystander, as Harry collected his thoughts.

“Uh, thank you,” he continued eventually. "I wanted to thank you. For…for my mum.”

Goodman took a deep breath and drummed his fingers against the desk. “No need to mention it.”

“I’d like to pay you back, if I—“

“That’s not necessary. You’ve brought in enough business for me. What can I do for you, son?”

Harry scratched his chin. He cleared his throat again. “I want yeh to put me back on the roster.”

Goodman’s eyebrows lifted. Melody huffed and then turned sideways.

“Harry,” she snapped, "are you insane?”

Harry closed his eyes. He could feel a headache coming on as he twisted his head toward her. “What the fuck is insane about that, Melody? ‘M a fuckin’ boxer. Been boxin’ since before my mum got her first diagnosis and now ‘m all healed up. Don’ see why I shouldn’t be able to fight again.”

“Sir,” Melody said, letting her eyes trail away from Harry’s face, "with all due respect, he took a fucking bullet to the brain.” She paused and then lowered her voice, reeling back her tone. “Pardon my French.”

Goodman, surprisingly, smiled thinly, pulling the glasses from his face to rest them on the desk. “Don’t apologize on my account.”

“I want to fight again,” Harry continued, as though Melody hadn’t interrupted him. “I’ll get back in shape and start as soon as you’ll let me. Think about how much money I could bring in now.”

“You have a permanent brain injury!” Melody yelled. She took a step closer to Goodman’s desk. “I really don’t mean to make your decisions for you sir, but I don’t think it would be good for business if he dropped dead in the ring. You can’t really cover that up.”

Harry ground his teeth together. He clenched his shaking fingers into tight fists at his sides. “Why’re yeh doin’ this?” he whispered fiercely. “I don’ care—“

Melody twirled around to face him, lips parted, but Goodman spoke before Harry could finish. “I’m sorry, Styles. I think Rhoden is right on this one. She’s a smart girl. The women’s matches have been a great asset.”

Harry and Goodman stared at each other. Harry could feel Melody’s gaze on him, but he refused to meet it. He took a barely controlled breath. “There’s nothin’ I can do to change your mind?” he asked, though it was more of an observation than anything. His hitting hand was beginning to ache with his knuckles so tightly curled.

“No, unfortunately. You know that I’d love to see you in the ring again, Styles, but it’s too risky.”

Harry shook his head. He closed his eyes for a breath and then swept from the room, kicking violently at the open door on the way out. Melody flinched and Goodman sighed. “That will do,” he called after Harry.

Melody apologized softly and thanked Goodman for his time before she left too, closing the door behind her. She hurried along the hall. The exit at its end was still swinging shut, and besides, Sean and her sparring partner were no longer in the ring.

“Harry!” she called. She slammed into the door, pushing it open with her hands and stepping out into frigid air. The sky was gray and dark, and she didn’t doubt that it would snow again before tonight. Harry was stalking up the street, head bowed and hands stuffed into his hoodie. He didn’t slow. “Harry, please!”

Melody sprinted over the pavement, shivering as air chilled her sweat-slicked skin. Her eyes watered against the cold.

“Go back to your fuckin’ practice,” Harry spat as she reached his heels.

“Stop,” she begged, catching at his elbow. He ripped his arm away from her. “Stop!”

“I don’ wanna hear a goddamn word you have to say to me right now.”

Melody ignored him and slipped forward, placing her body in his path. She pressed her hands into his chest and he stepped backward, out of reach, glaring at her.

“I should’ve talked to you about this before but I—”

“Yeh didn’!” Melody has never seen him so angry before. He’d been irritated and offended, but he’d never harbored rage like this. Not toward her. “Yeh didn’ fuckin’ bring it up. How many fuckin’ times have I talked about fightin’ again and yeh didn’ say shit?”

“I know. I’m sorry. I wanted—”

“You wanted. Yeh wanted what? To give me another fuckin’ reason to be miserable?”

“What? Harry, I am not here to make you miserable.” Her voice carried in the cold breeze that ripped through her bare abdomen, nearly stealing the air from her lungs. She crossed her arms over her stomach and sucked in a breath. 

“I don’ know why yeh think takin’ boxing away from me would do anythin’ else. I need to be back in the ring.”

“Harry, that’s not what you need. Not when—”

“Well, maybe yeh’re not what I need!”

Melody reeled backward, barely keeping her footing. Another whipping breeze swam around her and she could feel her very lips turning blue. But she didn’t care about the cold. She watched the anger in Harry’s expression ebb just slightly before he lifted his hand to rub his face. She didn’t know what to say. How was she supposed to respond to that? It felt like her throat had closed up. All she could think to do was step around him.

Harry stared at where she had been standing, shifting his jaw, steadying his breathing. He cursed aloud and turned around. “Melody, don’ walk away,” he said, his voice flat. When she didn’t stop, he caught her arm, hauling her back and pinning her to the side of the closest building by her shoulders. “What, did I hurt your feelings?”

“Yes,” she breathed. He was too close. She turned her head to the side, staring off down the street as she tried to keep her rising tears at bay. He didn’t need to see her cry. Not again. “Yes, you did. And you’re supposed to care that you did. I would never try to hurt you like that.”

Harry sighed, dropping his head to look at the sidewalk. He let his hands fall from her shoulders. “I do care. I do. I didn’ mean that.”

Melody wrapped her arms tightly around her abdomen, pressing her teeth together to keep them from chattering. “Harry, you could die,” she said eventually. “Your chances of dying are exponentially higher now. If I wanted to do something that could get me killed, would you let—”

“But I’m not allowed to tell you what to do, remember?”

She turned to look at him again, shaking her head, a crease between her brows. “That’s different—“

“Stop fuckin’ boxing, Melody.”

“No.“

“See? Yeh don’ fuckin’ listen to me.” He took a step back, tugging at the collar of his hoodie, then reaching up to yank at his hair. “And what you did—yeh didn’ just tell me not to. Yeh made it impossible for me to fight again. That is not fuckin’ fair.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did it like that. God, this shouldn’t have been how we had this conversation. But what’s not fair is watching you bleed out in my fucking arms, Harry.” She choked and her tears overflowed, spilling down her face in hot tracks. “It’s not fair thinking that you’re going to die and being fucking helpless to stop it. I spent months thinking I would never talk to you again. That’s not fair. And putting me back in that position when I don’t have to be there is cruel. I don’t want you to die, Harry! I would do anything to stop it from happening. Why is that a crime?”

The wind whistled as it cut through the space between them. Harry was still staring at the sidewalk. He knew this wasn’t Melody’s fault. She wasn’t the reason he wasn’t allowed back in the ring, she was only the bearer of bad news, just like she had been since he’d woken up. But not boxing. What was he supposed to do without that?

“I’m not trying to make it all about me, okay? I know how important boxing has been to you. But are you seriously willing to die for it?” Melody bit into the numb flesh of her lip as he finally glanced up at her, his eyes just meeting hers before falling to the side, staring at the wall past her shoulder. “Harry, you can be mad. I’m mad. I’m sorry that you can’t fight. I wish I could give that back to you. But please don’t hate me for loving you, for trying to keep you alive.”

“I don’ hate yeh,” Harry muttered with a deep sigh. He reached up to press the pads of his fingers into his eyelids. His body felt hot with anger still and he was trying to keep it from bubbling up, trying not to say anything else that he didn’t mean. “Mel,” he whispered instead, “I don’ know who I am without boxing.”

Melody squeezed her eyes shut. Her entire chest felt like it might splinter. This pain was almost worse than that first night with her bruised rib, and there was a long minute before she was able to speak. “You’ll figure it out,” she whispered. Her throat felt sore as she coughed out the words. “You’re a fighter, Harry, but that’s not all you are. I swear, that’s not all there is.”

He wasn’t sure she was right. This was what he had grown up doing. He’d made it into his way of life. And to not be able to box now felt like a crucial part of him was being stripped away, like the skin peeling from his bone, bit by bit. But she sounded so sure.

“Harry, I swear,” she said again. “Trust me.”

I don’ trust you. Melody could hear the exact tone of his voice as the words replayed in her head. The words he’d spoken when she’d come here—to the warehouse—to apologize just a few days before he’d been shot. The very last day that he could remember before he woke up. Did he still feel that way?

Harry ran his hands up and down his face again. “I’ve seen yeh cry too many times,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ hate it.”

Melody ran her wrists across her cheeks, wiping away the tears still clinging to her skin. “I cried a lot more before you woke up,” she said. “That was the worst time of my life.” She reached for him, watching him blink like he was lost in thought. She wondered what was running through his mind but she didn’t ask for fear of his closing right up in front of her again, locked and dead-bolted. “Please, come home with me,” she said instead.

Harry hissed as Melody’s fingers brushed his hand. “Yeh’re fuckin’ freezing.” He slid his hand up her arm and found the rest of her skin just as icy. She nearly fell into him as he pulled her forward, wrapping his arms around her body and rubbing some warmth back into her. This felt so comfortable, holding her, her cheek to his chest. “Gonna get fuckin’ sick. Why can’ yeh ever put a coat on before yeh run outside to argue with me?”

Melody didn’t reply, only pressed herself deeper into his sweatshirt. He sighed into her hair.

“‘M sorry for what I said. I really didn’ mean it, okay? I don’ blame yeh for this. I just—‘m fuckin’ frustrated.”

“I know,” Melody whispered. “I know, Harry. I’m frustrated for you. I want you to know that I would fix it if I could.” She turned her face, burying her nose in his sweatshirt and inhaling the scent of him before she spoke again. “If I could go back and keep it from happening, even if it meant you didn’t forgive me” —she swallowed thickly, her throat still aching— “I would do it in a heartbeat.”

“Yeh can’ fix me, Mel,” Harry whispered. He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Please, don’ hurt yourself tryin’.”

Melody wanted to cry again. She hated that. She had never been someone to cry an overwhelming amount, but the past year had shown her sides of herself she wouldn’t have known existed otherwise. She needed to change the subject before she sank back into hysterics.

“I’m really sorry, Harry,” she said. “I’m sorry for the way this happened. I know I should’ve talked to you about all of this months ago. I was scared. And that’s not an excuse. But I’m sorry for yelling over you in there. That was horrible.” She shivered in his arms.

Harry shook his head. “Mel, yeh need to get inside. ‘S below freezin’ out here.”

“Will you come with me?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed her frigid arms once more before stepping back, nodding toward the warehouse. He followed as she started the trek back, watching the soles of her sneakers. They had almost reached the door when snowflakes began to fall.

“Fuckin’ snowin’ and yeh’re in a bra,” Harry muttered as he stepped inside the short vestibule, yanking the door shut with a clang behind him. Melody’s teeth were clacking together now, her skin red and raised in goosebumps. She rushed to the next door, stumbling into the arena, into warmth. “Yeh gonna be okay?”

“Yes,” Melody mumbled, her teeth beating incessantly together, her lips clumsy with cold. “Yes, I just need some fucking pants.”

Harry, despite the thick air that still seemed to be hanging over them, couldn’t help but chuckle. And when she dug through her bag and found the sweats she’d been looking for, he even smiled at the way she stumbled into them.

“That better?” he asked as she yanked a hoodie over her head.

“Blissful,” she answered.

“Is that my sweatshirt?”

Melody glanced down at the hoodie and shrugged. “Yeah.” When she looked back up, all of the anger seemed to have washed right out of Harry’s face. The way he was watching her felt meaningful, almost overwhelming. She didn’t need him to talk about the way he felt when he looked at her like that. It made her shiver again. And not from cold.

“I’m really sorry,” she said, taking a slow step toward him, “again. I want you to be happy but you need to be alive for that.”

Harry pressed a hand to Melody’s cheek as she reached him. Her skin was still cold to the touch. He cupped the other side of her face as well, letting his palms offer some heat. Her eyes fluttered closed.

He tried to think of something to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he bent down to kiss her. Beneath his, her lips felt like ice, clumsy with numbness. He felt her hands form fists in the front of his sweatshirt and he kissed her until she could kiss him back, until blood flowed back into her face and her cheeks felt warm in his hands. Then he lifted his face to press his lips against her hairline.

“Let’s get yeh home, love.”

Chapter 15

[pinkysfaultorbrainsfault]

pinky and the brain - s1e6: brainania

i’m running on like the barest dregs of energy let’s fucking do this leeroy jenkins

episode summary: brain needs to build a Very Big Tumbly Drier. he needs a lot of money to build a Very Big Tumbly Drier. he decides the best way to do this is to.... invent a country and scam the us out of a foreign aid cheque.

hm.

the rundown:

it’s acme labs!

there it is.

as we zoom in a little, we hear pinky laughing maniacally at the very mention of tom ruegger, while a couple of women are dead on the floor.

hm.

SPEAK TO ME, PHYLLIS, SPEAK. as it turns out, things aren’t quite as dire as previously thought, as pinky affirms that brain looks “simply fetching.”

narf.

“these are the only garments i could obtain. and besides, you are no helen of troy yourself.”

ignoring the fact that he chose to wear the hat and the gloves as well, brain moves onto explaining his latest plan--

but not before giving pinky a static-y poke for his crimes.

“to generate global static cling, we shall construct a massive clothes dryer.”

BEHOLD.

THE TITANOCYCLE FOUR THOUSAND, WITH THREE SPEEDS AND AUTOMATIC WRINKLEGUARD. this will surely allow brain to.... trap everyone in their clothes via static cling and. uh. allow him to seize power...... somehow......... by putting everyone in a really big tumbledryer?????

it costs fourteen billion dollars.

“oh, i have it!”

“we build a huge tooth, leave it under a huge pillow, and then fairies will leave us lots of money!”

brain tells pinky to stop eating paint chips. it’s a well deserved response to pinky’s insane, bullshit idea, not nearly as dignified and scientific as Everyone Goes In The Big Tumbly Dryer By Brain Age Two And A Half.

as he heads off to ponder an Equally Sensible idea to get a lot of money, pinky assures brain that he will not “be a bother.”

“brain.”

“if i ate a hundred jelly rolls, would i explode?”

i don’t know why pinky is sticking his ass out. maybe that’s where the jelly rolls go, in the sense that whenever i used to eat cakes around my dad he’d often say something like “a minute on the lips is a lifetime on the hips”. (also? pinky is british, so what he actually means is jelly rolls, and that sounds disgusting.)

so anyway brain gives him a piece of paper and tells him to try origami.

BUT WAIT.

“pinky! are you pondering what i’m pondering?” “i think so brain, but why the bitch stacey foreign aid office is giving chad all the money while i’ve always been a nice guy and showed her a basic level of human respect is beyond me. narf.”

no i’m sorry. he didn’t say that. pinky respects women. also apologies to the residents of the actual country of chad. big ups to all of you. lol. (he actually says “but pantyhose are so uncomfortable in the summertime”, which is wild, considering this episode was aired in november.)

brain doesn’t want to wear the pantyhose.

well, maybe he does, but not right now. instead, he suggests that they form a bogus nation and demand reparations from the united states, which is, of course, easier, saner, and far less work than Really Big Tooth. as he folds the Chad Newspaper into a vague key shape (the Virgin Tabloid never had a chance) pinky points out that, uh

you can’t just invent a country, brain. “won’t people know we’re not a real country?”

“the average american’s grasp of geography is pitiful. they’ll think we’re part of the former soviet union.”

“or canada.”

so they pick a random, tiny island on the label of a Science Chemical and set off on the boat to Being A Coloniser Town.

a long sea voyage awaits us! and at the end, we shall found a nation! and that nation shall be called!

BRAINANIA.

“can’t we call it pinkyland? or eric?”

“don’t vex me, pinky, or i shall turn on you.”

so they get on the S.S FATTY LUMPKIN and bugger off to Island X.

“i haven’t seen anybody yet, brain. i guess we’re alone here.”

“excellent, pinky. it’s time to flesh out the terrain.”

“that volcano will be mount brain.”*

“this clearing will be brain flats,”

“and that water over there--”

“very well.”

“the fjord of pinky.”

and they hoist their adorable, homemade flag, while pinky doots them a little themetune.

(*perhaps when they’re not in the middle of the jungle.)

how lovely!

less lovely.

significantly less lovely. still, it got brain to make the little O:O face, so it’s not all bad.

as the mice are scooped up onto a sphere and presented in front of this presumably-maori gentleman, brain decides to put his White Gay From Los Angeles skills to the test, and reassures pinky that he will communicate with them in the Primitive Argot Of The South Seas.

ME NUMBER ONE FELLA. OTHER FELLA NUMBER TEN. CATCHY ALL SAME SAME. YOU SAVVY?

“good day, mate. d’you speak english?”

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

anyway apparently this has happened often enough that these guys learnt english. from all the times it happened. and then they ate the guy they learnt english from and shrunk his head, but to be honest, i don’t blame them.

this is alan. “hello, alan.” says pinky.

“i would be pinky! and this is prime minister brain.”

“who is IN CHARGE OF THIS ISLAND AND EVERYTHING YOU SEEEE.”

“narf.”

sneaky bastard knows what he’s doing.

alan isn’t too happy with that, because the island belongs to the volcano god, whanganui,

WHO PROTECTS US FROM EVIL AND HAAARM AND WHAT ALL ELSE.

(i can find no evidence that whanganui is actually a god, as opposed to just A Bit Of New Zealand. if they are, i’m more than happy to go back and edit this as would be religiously considerate.)

this is the face of a man who knows he has fucked up.

still, brain decides yet again that his pride comes before any kind of rational decision, so he decides to tell them that whanganui sent him to the island to rule over them,

as proven by his fire powers.

(ETA: i missed this last time. why is brain carrying a lighter around? that episode isn’t for a good few more seasons yet.)

alan is unimpressed.

I CAN TRAP YOUR SOULS INSIDE THIS GLASS

“i can make bubbles with my spit!”

apparently this is a real talent on the island. who’d have thought. (they do not believe it to be a sign of god. it’s just really cool.)

so brain gets a hand building brainania.

it has everything one could possibly need.

actually pretty much as soon as the airport and the gift shop are built, brain heads to washington, so evidently he holds the strong opinion that this is everything a country could possibly need. odd. still, maybe he plans on adding stuff once he becomes world ruler, or whatever.

so with that established, The Most Exalted ned limpopo gets out of the car. hassan lembeck is also here. he is attempting to make an origami bird out of a newspaper.

no bird for you, mr lembeck. no bird for you.

they wander off to go and see mr bisck, who is currently playing with a little toy plane.

he reacts to the news that the prime minister of brainania is here to see him with “oh great, more moochers,”

and does not seem to take kindly to having tiny mice on his desk, even if they are reasonably exalted.

though a quick database search tells him said mice have no record of financial trouble, or, indeed, a credit rating, so. he tells them to go away.

“go away.”

okay. hassan doesn’t take this well.

as Exalted Ned Limpopo gently tries to persuade mr bisck that he could “harm negotations” between brainania and the us (a lot more politely than he usually explains things to people, may i add) hassan chimes in with a haven’t you people ever heard of bold claim that brainania, if slighted, will INVADE YOUR LANDS

GO BOOM BOOM BOOM

AND MAKE YOU ALL OUR PATHETIC SLAAAAAAAAAAAAVES.

mr bisck does not like this idea, it seems.

as he rushes off to tell the UN, brain informs pinky that he has

“just created an international incident.”

“oh, thank you, brain.”

“in the words of the immortal yogi bear, this is dejavu all over again.”

so the boys turn up on PUNCHLINE, WITH FRED FLUBBLE.

there he is. “perhaps you gentlemen would care to climb up on the desk?”

they make it, just about.

and sing a fun little song about brainania’s war victories, i guess.

WE WILL FIGHT AND NEVER QUIT

FIND ME A ROOFTOP AND I WILL SPIT. NARF

this is not well recieved by the us military.

unfortunately, as the US press secretary points out, the us cannot go to war with a country it can’t find,

(wuss.)

so instead the mice are invited to dinner at the white house.

“in a few short hours, pinky, we shall have our foreign aid loan, and then the world!”

“birdy birdy birdy! narf!”

“i sense much of this historic moment is lost on you.”

at the white house, a very bored looking individual introduces The Most Exalted Ned Limpopo (feat. hassan lembeck), and bill clinton shakes his hand.

“me number one fella. other fellas number ten. catchy all same same. you savvy?”

“i speak fluent english.”

“eyyyy. haha. sure you do.”

“all brainania ever wanted from the US was friendship. friendship, and fourteen billion dollars and fifty nine cents. the friendship i will treasure. the money i will spend on polo ponies and cruise missiles.”

brain has a brief discussion with hilary clinton over the advantages of strontium ninety versus uranium two-thirty-eight,

bill clinton pulls this face and tells them it Sounds Smart,

and the mice bounce merrily back to mr bisck to get their foreign aid check.

“you better not lose it, buster!!! i just erased your records!! you won’t get another one from me!!!!”

HA.

“one should be enough. thanks and farewell, “

“you niggling bureaucrat.”

conclusion:

upon returning back to brainania, The Most Exalted Ned Limpopo finds a letter from alan addressed to him. it’s also mouse sized, which is adorable. apparently, whanganui,

WHO PROTECTS US FROM EVIL AND WHAT ALL ELSE

is “blinking mad”, and the volcano is going to explode.

brain, obviously, does not believe in whanganui, and is mostly just mad that he’s lost his workforce. still, as pinky points out,

“at least we've still got brainania!”

“i sense life has taken another sardonic twist.”

still, they do, barely, have enough time to reach the shoreline and start swimming away from the imminently exploding volcano. perhaps it should have been, yknow, a pretty decent sign that the natives cleared out. historically, people who live in these places tend to know about them, but what of that when brain is number one guy same same you savvy.

🙄

anyway the karmatic response to all of that previous racism is that a tidal wave sweeps them back onto the volcano,

which then blasts them into space.

(okay not literally space. but they do end up on a little raft in the middle of the ocean. don’t ask me where the raft came from. i have no idea.)

oof.

“mother nature has slammed her unmerciful fist on our fair isle, pinky.”

“do you know what this means?”

“birdy birdy birdy!!!!”

brain does not appreciate Birdy Birdy Birdy.

“blast it, pinky!”

“i said, do you know what this means!!”

“it means you just ripped up our foreign aid cheque.”

one should be enough, huh?

brain: 7 pinky: 7 outside influence: 13

like, i don’t know. maybe pinky shouldn’t have been making oragami birds out of the foreign aid cheque. but, while silly, it’s not like it did any harm. brain.... brain just needs to chill.

“well, aren’t you the tiniest foreigners i’ve had in here all morning. i’m mr appleby, can i help you?”

“yes. we would like to have relations with you. and steal some milk duds.”

“we wish to establish diplomatic relations with the us. i am the prime minister, and this is my minister of finance.”

“brainania--? oh, i remember you. you used to be a.... suburb of prague.”

“can you prove you’re a nation?”

“yes! we have postcards.”

“that’s the fjord of pinky.”

“you foreign folk sure have your own.... queer little ways.”

[bramblepeltao3]

IDK where else to put this indulgent nonsense so, as one does, I’m putting it on my Tumblr.

Hey do you like my fic where I have an OC who is a gremlin girl and do you also like the Prince!Prompto AU trope and do you want to read a few loose little narrative bits about those two things coming together? 

No?

Here it is anyway!

The clock in Prompto’s room sounded out to anyone who listened that the time was now eleven in the morning. Since it was a Thursday, this meant the start to the worst hour of his week, every week, for his whole life. 

Every Thursday at eleven in the morning, Dr. Besithia would come by for his weekly check up. The Prince would spend the time trying not to show too much emotion as the doctor used a variety of needles to inject and extract numerous fluids, all while chastising him for being a waste of his and everyone else’s time.

It didn’t matter how strictly Prompto followed the doctor’s orders, or how much control Prompto had over following them in the first place. He never got any better, and he was always made well aware that it was his own fault. The prince of Niflheim was a sickly recluse, so sheltered from the public that many would even doubt his existence. And at fifteen years old, he was lonely and listless and so very tired of living like this. 

The door to his bedroom began to open, and Prompto mentally steeled himself for another hour of angry commands, needles, and insults. 

“Dr. Besithia to see you, your highness.” The attendant said with a bow. Prompto nodded in return, sitting upright on the edge of his well cushioned bed. The least little rebellion he could maintain was forcing that unpleasant old man to come to him.

But the person who stepped through, all dressed in well ironed white, was not Dr. Besithia. Not at all. This doctor was a woman, and much younger. She bowed slightly upon crossing the threshold before making her way over to him. Prompto, in spite of himself, felt compelled to stand and greet her like the well mannered young man he was supposed to be.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, highness.” She said with a small smile. She looked sad, but gentle, and seemed to be staring at something right behind his own eyes. 

“I...I was expecting, I apologize…” Prompto was used to being ogled and visually picked apart by people. Something about her green eyes felt softer. Less invasive and judgemental. Perhaps it was all wishful thinking but her gaze seemed almost kind.

“You were expecting Dr. Besithia?” She asked.

Prompto nodded.

“You’re looking at her.” She smirked. “Doctor Delphia Besithia. Verstael is my father. I understand he was completing your weekly heath assessments, but business for his Imperial Majesty has become...pressing.” The doctor crossed the room over to the little seating area where the work was usually conducted. A clear table, two chairs, plenty of places to hook up Verstael’s array of electrical instruments. “Luckily I’m now officially a licensed medical professional myself, so I’ll be taking over for him.” 

Prompto almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So...Dr. Bes-...Verstael won’t be…?”

“You know, why don’t we call my father Dr. Besithia, and you can refer to me as Dr. Delphia. Does that work, your highness?” She asked, setting the large case she was carrying on the table and opening it.

“Yes. I mean, I think that would work fine. Doctor.” Prompto joined her at the table, removing his coat to reveal his bare arms and taking a seat on his usual side of the table.

“So I went over your medical record on the way over, it seems like my old man kept to the same routine every week for a long time. Not all that surprising, except he usually at least tries to change things up whenever he doesn’t get results…”

Prompto cringed. “Yeah, it’s my fault. I just wasn’t trying hard enough.” He sighed, casting his eyes to the floor. He could feel her gaze staring into him once again.

“Your fault?” She asked. “Did my father tell you that?”

He felt himself beginning to sweat. Soon she’d understand just how awful of a patient he really was, and all the gentle niceness would end. She’d grow to hate and resent him just like Dr. Besithia did, he was sure.

“Dude. That’s bullshit.”

Prompto snapped his face up to hers, the bluntness of her assertion shocking him. The doctor had such a look of concern on her face.

“He was your doctor. Treating you was his job. If you weren’t getting better, that’s his fault. Not yours.”

Prompto blinked in confusion. 

“If it makes you feel any better, and I doubt it does,” she started retrieving the same instruments he was always used to, “he’s like that with everyone. Everything is always someone else’s fault. No way his genius could be to blame!”

By her tone, Prompto inferred she’d suffered at his words just as much.

“So, let’s start with the easy part. How are you feeling today, your highness?” She asked, taking the other seat and smiling at him.

“How...um, well I’m…” Prompto was not prepared for this question. Easy part, indeed. “Tired, I guess. Like usual. I get dizzy if I stand too long.” And now his heart was pounding in fear. Did he answer wrong? Was that something he could do?

She was typing on a tablet resting in her lap. “Hmm, how about sleep? Do you think you get enough?”

Dr. Besithia never gave Prompto so much time to talk like this. It felt...strange. “I sleep a lot.”

“Do you feel well rested after? Or still tired?” She asked, still typing.

“Oh, uh...I guess I haven’t really thought of that? I’m sorry...guess still tired.”

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize for anything, highness. Okay, if it’s alright with you I’d like to start taking your vitals now.”

...did she just ask him permission? She did. And she was waiting for his answer. 

He nodded. And the next thing to strike him was just how gentle she actually was. She never grabbed, but waited for him to offer his arm or hand as needed. She didn’t yell or snipe or speak critically of him. He wasn’t sure how to feel about this. It was oddly terrifying, somehow.

“Alright, your blood pressure is a little low, so we can start with that. There’s a few simple things we can change to try and get it stabilized. Hopefully that will help with the dizziness too!” 

Prompto sat in stunned silence as she prescribed such basic things like drinking more water and adding salt to his meals. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It felt...too easy. After years of living like this, there was no way it could actually be so simple.

“Unfortunately I am going to need to get some blood for lab work, if that’s ok, highness.”

He felt like he might cry. She actually listened to him, and asked him to talk to her. If she really was replacing Besithia going forward, maybe things would actually get better. Maybe... He hoped she never got sick of him, and he’d do everything he could to prevent that.

“You can call me Prompto, um, Doctor. Please.”

She looked at him strangely, like he’d just told her there was a behemoth on her shoulder. But then she smiled again. “Why don’t you call me Del then, Prompto? Has anyone ever told you you have great veins? This is going to be so fast.” And surprisingly, it was. The whole ordeal was over so quickly he couldn’t believe she’d actually done it.

“Alright, unless there’s anything else you’d like to discuss, I think that ends our appointment today.” She began packing everything back up. “And if anything comes up at all, I’m only one floor away!”

“Wait, really?” Dr. Besithia always made a point of reminding him he had to travel a long way for these appointments.

“Yeah, I’m here at the palace full time. Another perk of the job. If you need anything at all, just ask your attendant. I’m here for you Prompto, any time.”

It took everything in him to maintain some amount of regal composure and not start crying. Somehow, for the first time, he had hope. And if nothing else, there was someone here who might actually listen to him.

---

Delphia bowed to the prince before turning and walking to the elevator. She held herself together perfectly until the elevator doors closed behind her and she was granted ten seconds of complete isolation. An hour’s worth of suppressed, extreme emotion bubbled out all at once in a large gasp for air. Her chest felt tight and her eyes burned with the threat of tears.

You have to do this. You have to do this. You have to be here for him, because no one else will.

Delphia composed herself just as the doors opened again. It was another two minutes before she made it to her office which she thankfully had to herself. She opened the door and flipped on the light.

And really, she should have expected that she wouldn’t actually get to be alone just yet.

“Doctor Besithia, how is our young charge on this day?” Chancellor Izunia, hat in hand, bowed to her.

“Terrible, but you already knew that didn’t you Ardyn?” She didn’t have time for his fanciful speech patterns and flowery prose right now. She had samples to run.

“Looking a bit red eyed yourself, Delphia. Hard first day on the job?” He tailed her to the workstation, watching carefully as she washed and gloved her hands.

“Why do you always ask questions you already know the answer to?” She asked, getting the little centrifuge ready to go.

“The same could be asked of yourself, Doctor.”

She sighed. “My father’s been purposefully keeping him ill. Or at least below a functional baseline.”

“You’re certain?” Ardyn asked like a child giddy about knowing the punchline to an old joke.

“Verstael did the same tests, same treatments, same everything over and over again despite no improvement. There’s only one reason you don’t change up the treatment plan.”

“Because it is working as intended.” Ardyn smiled in that wicked way that made her feel like a small rabbit being eyed by a wolf.

But this rabbit had an understanding with the wolf. 

“Exactly. But here’s what I find really interesting.” She looked up from the samples currently shaking at a dizzying rate in the machine. “Whatever was going on, you wanted it to end.”

“Oh do walk me through your process of deduction, Delphia. Your brain is always so intriguing to pick.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cut the shit. You knew I’d see these numbers and figure out what was happening immediately.” She pointed at him accusingly. “When the Emperor gave Father his orders, you made damn sure I was the one who took his place.”

“Who better to take over the father’s work, than the daughter?”

“My graduating class had 44 other young doctors who would have been eager and willing to take up his job and do it unquestioningly. Exactly at his direction, no critical thought or deviation. And you insisted on the one singular doctor who, you knew for a fact, wouldn’t. And that, Ardyn, is the most suspicious thing of all.”

“You do wound me, young one. But all the same please go on, I am on the edge of my seat.”

She considered not continuing, just to piss him off. But she couldn’t resist any opportunity to show off. It was a problem. So on she went. 

“Verstael takes pride in his projects, particularly the ones he...made from scratch.” She felt sick, thinking of the thousands of lives just like Prompto. His life was anything but easy, but it was worlds above that of his many, many brothers. “If he was interfering with the prince’s health on purpose, it must be because someone above him told him to. And there’s only one person who could tell him to do anything.”

Ardyn smiled, somehow even wider.

 She began the process of sterilizing her instruments, taking her time with each.

“The Emperor wants the Prince to waste away in poor health, hidden from the public and with zero sense of self worth to boot. Which is curious, since the Emperor was the one who commissioned a prince in the first place! Which leads me to believe Iedolas wanted this from the start. So. Why create an heir and then sabotage him?”

“Perhaps because the heir is meant only to act as a symbol.”

“Mmmhmm.” Del had considered as much. Hearing it from the chancellor cemented it. “A means of reminding the people the monarchy is here to stay. But Project Deathless is right around the corner, or so Father claims. And if it comes to fruition, then Iedolas is the monarchy. Forever.”

“Who needs an heir when you never plan to retire?”

“Who needs an heir beloved by the people, capable of leading and inspiring a coupe before you have a chance to gain immortality?”

“In the meantime, the chain of succession is decided by blood.”

“And the snakes in the cabinet can’t finagle their way into increasing power, at least not as easily.”

“Delphia I do love our conversations, not many can keep up quite like you.”

“Like father, like daughter.” She sighed. “So where do you come in, Ardyn? What do you get out of Prompto getting better?”

“Is it not enough to see a poor child suffering, and wishing to see him well again?”

“No, it’s not.” She replied, despite the unsaid implication hanging above them. Once, she was that suffering little child. And he healed her bruises and did what was needed to get her out of that hell hole. But that was a long time ago. And they were both very different now.

Ardyn hummed in response. “I would like to hear the good doctor’s hypothesis before the big reveal.”

She sighed. This man was so exhausting. But he was the only person worth talking to, somehow. “I think it's suspicious because you have no interest in the throne. Well, not this one at least.”

“And…” He smirked, telling her she was on the right track.

“And what a coincidence that our little prince is the same age as Lucis’ little prince.”

“What a coincidence indeed!”

The centrifuge stopped, the samples were ready for testing.

“I think you have a use for him in your little tirade against the Astrals and your brother’s descendants.” She snarled.

“And what use would that be?”

“I don’t know.” Delphia leaned over the workstation, looking Ardyn in the eyes. “But whatever it is you’ve got planned, if it ends with Prompto hurt or dead, I’m putting a stop to it. Now.”

Ardyn clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Now now, Delphia, you wound me.” He clutched his hand over his chest in mock insult. “Such accusations. I know you too well, little finch. The guilt you feel, unable to end your little brothers’ suffering. It tears at your weak, mortal heart. I have brought you to one who may live, and perhaps even prosper, with your guiding hand and sharp mind. I have no intentions of causing the boy further harm.”

Del didn’t believe that for a moment. Not because he was a liar, though he was certainly lying. She knew what lurked through the chancellor’s veins. What was eating him from the inside out, slowly, with every breath he took. It was getting worse, warping him. He was not the same man who befriended her fifteen years ago. Though bits of that man were still in there. And she knew if she just continued to play along, did what she could to keep those bits floating around alive, she’d get that friend back.

She just needed some more time.

---

“Commodore! Fucking finally. I have a request.” Delphia shouted across the courtyard, having finally found the woman after an hour of chasing down lead after lead.

“Interesting way of approaching someone. Mind an introduction first?”

Delphia tempered her knee jerk instinct to say something rude. “My name is Doctor Besithia, I assume you’re familiar with my father?”

“You mean the quack keeping the prince weak and at his mercy?”

Oh, she liked this woman. “Yep. Well, used to. I’m the prince’s personal physician now.”

“You planning on keeping up daddy’s work, Doc?” The Commodore crossed over to her, looking down with suspicion.

“Not quite. I’ve been going over his notes and I think there might be some...room for improvement. But I might need your assistance.”

Aranea shrugged her shoulders. “I’m a bodyguard, not a nurse. When the prince can leave his bedroom then I’ll have a job to do. Until then-”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking for your help, Commodore.” Delphia smiled. “The prince needs to leave his bedroom.”

“Uh huh. But can he?”

“Yes.” Delphia smirked up at the taller woman. “We’ve been working on it for three weeks, but he’s more than ready now. Of course, he’s not supposed to go anywhere without his retainers. Specifically the one that knows how to hit things with a stick.”

Aranea crossed her arms and frowned. “You’re telling me, after less than a month, Prince Shortcake is already improving?”

And this is where Delphia wanted the conversation to be. She needed to know who could be trusted, and who was in on the whole charade. Where did the true loyalties of the prince’s shield lie?

“Yeah. And if he’s going to keep getting better, he needs fresh air and sunlight. Vitamin D doesn’t make itself, you know. So, you ready to get to work, Commodore?”

Aranea studied Del’s face, obviously searching for answers to the same questions.

“Alright, Doc. Show me a miracle, and we’ll have ourselves a casual little stroll.”

Fantastic.

---

“Fifteen minutes.” Del reassured the two of them. “That’s all you need. Fifteen minutes in direct sunlight with bare arms, that’s more than enough time to get your daily dose of Vitamin D.”

Prompto felt like his heart could beat right out of his chest. It’d been so long since he’d left the palace walls. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. The doctor was on his left, keeping a close eye on him. Most likely observing his physical state while he walked around. 

On his right was Aranea, keeping an eye on everyone else in the courtyard. He hadn’t seen her in so long, he almost ran over to hug her before remembering his manners. She’d been like a sister to him when he was younger. But the weariness of the past seven years took just as much of a toll on her as it had on him.

Behind them, a guard was pushing a wheelchair. It was Del’s idea and insistence. “Just in case.” She said gently. “And there’s no shame in needing to use it.”

He might need it sooner than later, as everything around him was becoming overwhelming. The smell of fresh growing flowers, the sun on his face warming his skin, the light chatter of palace staff meandering around, their shoes clicking on the stone below.

It was making him dizzy.

“Yep, alright dude, easy now.” Del took his hand and helped guide him to the waiting wheelchair. “Take a few breaths, let me know what you need.”

Aranea did not look happy. “Is he alright?”

“I’m fine.” Prompto yelped, sitting up straighter. “I’m fine I’m just, it’s...a lot.”

“I bet.” Aranea smirked down at him.

“Are you okay to stay outside a little longer?” Del asked, voice filled with concern. 

All of this positive attention was going to make him just about pass out. 

“Yes. I’d like to, at least.”

Del smiled and put a hand on his forehead, wiping the hair from his eyes. “Alright, we’ll keep on. Just give me a heads up when you need to go back inside.”

He nodded. Prompto let the guard push him forward, watching little birds flicker through the sky and listening to his doctor and his shield have a not so private conversation between them.

“Well, credit where it’s due, Doc. Guess the Hippocratic oath still means something.”

“So then, about my proposal…”

“Count me in. Shortcake’s long overdue for some combat training.”

“Gradual, structured, short session combat training.”

“Yeah, I got it the first time.”

“With a lot of padded mats and-”

“Doc, you worry about his bone marrow count or whatever it is you do. Let me do my job.”

If he wasn’t already light headed, that would’ve sent him right over. He’d dreamed about getting to swing a sword around or hold a shield just like one of his father’s soldiers. In fact when he was still little and full of energy, he and Aranea would pretend spar with sticks or paper tubes for hours on end.

He’d all but abandoned being able to do that ever again. And now.

Del stopped and turned to look at him, smiling, her green eyes radiating warmth. “How you doing, Prompto?”

Aranea turned, crossing her arms, awaiting his response. And for the first time in forever she wasn’t looking down at him with pity. He hadn’t seen her look so content since they were kids.

Prompto nodded, smiling even wider. “I’m great.”

---

Cor was in complete disbelief. Not for the reason everyone else in the situation room was, oh no. While everyone else was staring mouth agape at the first recorded proof the prince of Niflheim actually existed, he was focused on the young woman walking next to him. The image wasn’t the closest, or clearest, but there was no mistaking.

That was Del Besithia, the six year old shit head daughter of Verstael, who treated an Imperial military research facility like her personal gymnasium. The little girl who called Cor a ‘dumbass’ in many colorful different ways. The kid who was so lonely and so deluded that she truly believed an army of clone babies were her brothers.

He’d tried so hard to get her to trust him, to get one of those babies to him so they could figure out what exactly was going on. In the end, she bailed on him, and Cor went home empty handed save a few photos of babies sleeping suspended in large cylinders.

From the looks of things, one baby did manage to get out though.

Incredible, really. Seeing the two of them standing next to each other, it was so obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. It was so obvious to Cor; the prince was one of those clones. And his ‘sister’ was his personal physician.

She looked happy. And sure, one still photograph couldn’t fill in a 14 year gap. But she was smiling, and with one of them, and she was walking freely outside. She’d told Cor with zero hesitation she knew she was going to die in that facility.

The look on her face when she made that statement had haunted him since. Maybe this one could replace it. She was fine. She was alive and okay.

There wasn't anything else he could’ve done for that kid.

“To be fair, hardly anyone ever saw Iedolas before he took the throne. And by that point he was already greying.”

“And we have no leads on who the mother could be. The lack of resemblance means nothing; the boy wears the Imperial regalia. That’s all the confirmation required.”

“Yes, but what if-?”

“That’s their prince.” Cor finally spoke up, hoping to end the back and forth guessing games. “Looks to be Noctis’ age as well. Prompto Aldercapt. Keep our eyes on him, I want to know his political and moral leanings before he has a chance to use them.”

The meeting adjourned, and his agents filed out. Cor had more business to get to. Training Gladio, overseeing the new recruits orientation, a briefing on the status of the wall, another briefing on the growing demon population…

He took another look at that photograph. Looking at Del smiling down at the prince, both of them looking happy and peaceful. There was something...pulling at him. Like a fist gripping his heart and trying to rip it from his chest. Something felt very wrong, a lingering threat aimed directly at them. Cor couldn’t tell why, but he knew they were in danger, and in spite of his loyalties he felt like he needed to protect those two. 

It was a strange impulse, maybe even something of an instinct. He couldn’t place its origin but he had a feeling a cigarette and some sleep would help dispel it.

Or...

---

“So...guns, huh?” Del frowned, watching as the prince shot off another round down the firing range.

“Your prescription of sunshine and lollipops-”

“I didn’t prescribe lollipops-”

“-can only do so much. He’s lacking the coordination for hand to hand combat, and swords wear out his stamina too quickly. A gun is lighter, easier to handle, and keeps him out of reach of more conventional weapons.” Aranea looked very pleased with herself.

“Well...at least he’s wearing ear protection.” He was also standing with a more determined posture than when they’d first met. And his skin was starting to show a little color, freckles not unlike her own dotting his cheeks and shoulders. 

“Emperor dropped in yesterday.” Aranea sighed.

Del felt her stomach drop. If the hypothesis she’d shared with Ardyn was anywhere close to correct, this was bad.

“Prince Shortcake shrank in his shadow, like the past few months never even happened.” The shield began chewing on her thumb, furrowing her brow. “Iedolas just grunted, looking as pissy as ever, and walked away. Poor kid. He’s still got a long way to go on that confidence.”

“You’d think the guy would be even a little bit happy his son was getting better.” Del shrugged her shoulders, hoping the anxiety wasn’t evident in her voice.

Aranea narrowed her eyes, studying Del for a moment. “You know, I really don’t get who you think you’re fooling.” She said before turning back around, walking to the prince to continue coaching his form.

Del blinked. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

---

“Like, seriously, what the fuck was that supposed to mean?” She asked, several hours later, pacing in her office while flipping through her notes.

“The mind of the Commodore is a mysterious one.” Ardyn had once again invited himself in, leaning back in her chair, boots resting on her desk. “But little finch, you have not been the most subtle in your intentions. There are whispers, you know…”

“Intentions?” She snapped. “Oh how terrible, I want the prince to not wither away and die in his bedroom at the age of sixteen. What fucking whispers, Ardyn?”

“The daughter of Verstael schemes to make the prince completely reliant upon her, such that when he overthrows his father and takes the throne he will do so at her own whims.”

Del pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache rising up. “I’m getting real fucking sick of politics. It’s like no one can do a single nice thing without having some wicked ulterior motive! It’s bullshit.”

“You have seemingly worked miracles, Delphia, in the eyes of the court.” Ardyn flicked at the brim of his hat to get a better view of her. “That is always suspicious.”

“Miracles. Intentions. All I did was treat my patient. I’m...I just want my brother to be healthy! Any sister would want that, much less one with a medical license. Is that so fucking terrible?!” Del was going to snap. Nothing about anything was ever easy in this godsforsaken hellscape of a country.

Ardyn lifted his eyebrows, eyes flickering to the door, before lifting a finger to his lips.

Del got the message. Someone was listening. And they heard...that. Slowly, quietly, she started to step towards the door. She gestured at Ardyn, asking him to talk so it wasn’t obvious they knew.

“Your heart is pure as always, little finch. But when one is steeped in their own darkness for so long, well…”

Del wrenched the door open and shot her head out, seeing no one but hearing fast paced foot steps.

“Darkness tends to be all one can see.”

She took off, down the long hallway, turning the corner. Nothing, not even a sound of a door. Whoever just heard her stupid ramblings, they got away. 

“I did warn you to be careful.” Ardyn said from behind her shoulder.

“Yeah.” Del swallowed hard, catching her breath. “You did.”

---

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

Long Odds (OmarUlmerxFem!Reader)

Requested by @mylovelyreblogs​

@owba-chan​ @war-obsessed​ @inglourious-imagines​ @tealaquinn​ @struggling-bee​ @frozenhuntress67​

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist! :)

Donny set his beer down on the pub counter, and smirked, "Five hundred francs." Hirschberg rolled his eyes, "What is that? Like ten bucks?" "Yeah, but we're in France...so five hundred francs. Take it or leave it." Hirschberg snickered, "Aint'cha got somethin'...luckier than that?" Donny sneered as he muttered under his breath, "Fucken lucky, I'll show you lucky." He set his lucky baseball card on the counter. Rare, 1939 Teddy Williams baseball card. Autographed. Omar raised his eyebrow, and grinned, "Goin' all in, huh?" Donny smirked, "Might as well. I'm the one that needs the least luck here." They all grumbled as the betting went on. They were betting on something...well...odd, to say the least. You were a basterd, and a friendly one, too. Friendly with all of them.  As a matter of fact, you'd gotten a laugh or two out of Hugo, which wasn't an easy thing to do. As much as they hated to admit, each of the boys had a thing for you at some point or other.

They looked back to the other side of the pub, where you were dancing with anyone and everyone that so much as looked  in your direction.... Boy was it a sight that would never fade away from anyone's memory. You were one of a kind basterd...but a basterd no less. Still, you were more than anyone of them could have ever bargained for. Especially Omar. To him, you were more than he could ever say. You were what they'd all dreamed of having by their side once they got home... But goddamn was it a perk having you there by their side in the war, where it mattered most. Where it was rough having friends, but...none of them would have it any other way. Now...they were all betting who you'd be "friendliest" with in the end... And looked down the counter, "Aldo?" He rolled his eyes, set his whiskey down with a clunk, and crossed his arms, and muttered, "I'm gettin' too old for this shit..." He cleared his throat, "And I respect Y/n too much to just bet on th-" Donny smirked, "You're scared, huh?" Smitty snickered,  "You scared you'll lose, lieutenant?" Aldo narrowed his eyes as he looked at his men, "Lose?"

Hirschberg nodded, "You don't got it, old man." "Old man?! Old man?! Wicki's the oldest." Smitty nodded in agreement, "Oh yeah...Wicki's older." "Shaddap Uti." Donny raised an eyebrow....If he was in danger of losing his Teddy fucking Williams baseball card, he wasn't letting anyone get away with less than that. All or nothing. "Neat stash of tobaacco there, sir... Y/n's always sayin' that stuff aint no good for you. 'Specially if you're gettin' up there in your years-" Aldo rolled his eyes, "Alright, alright. I'm in." He slammed his tin of snuff on the table, next to the card, the francs, and the mementos everyone was willing to bet.

"Omar." The last one to enter the bet. And frankly, not the one most of the boys were worried about. With him, it was a long shot. ...Even if they wouldn't advise him (or Smitty, or even Wicki) to join in on the bet, he had something they all wanted. One impressive hoarde of chocolate. He knew that was what they wanted from him. And he was confident... He wasn't very good at holding  a poker face, but frankly most of the boys were pretty dense as to why he was smirking, "Alright. Hersheys. I'm in." 

"Everyone quiet!" Hirschberg spotted you coming toward them, and they all scrambled to hide their wagers. "Hey, why's everyone so quiet?" You stood at the end of the counter, after dancing for what seemed like an eternity, but not quite done for the night. The tavern’s band was taking a short break. And you just needed to cool off a little. Aldo knew that, and held up a glass of whiskey on the rocks. The most refreshing thing he could think of. "Y/n?" You smiled a little as you caught your breath, "Ya know that brunette back there keeps eyeing you, sir?" "What?" You smiled, and gestured back to the dancing youth, "There." "O...oh..well..." You smiled, "Maybe save that drink, huh?" "I-" A little way down the counter, Omar lifted a different glass. Cognac. Which is all you liked to drink. Which he knew. Hugo, thinking you had to be at least a  little tired out, and noting the band had been playing some slower songs earlier, he figured, he might as well give it a shot. "Y/n...." You looked to him, with a naive, sincere smile, "Yeah?" All he had to say was "Dance?" And you nodded, "You got it!" You smiled at him, and turned to get to Omar. So...the basterds watched as you passed Aldo by, and somehow Omar and Hugo seemed to gain favor... Minutes later, after finishing that cognac from Omar, you were back on the dance floor...and Aldo withdrew from the bet, seeing that the brunette on the dance floor had a thing for the Tennessee man. He swung by the bar with her, and passed by the basterds. She was clinging to him, and looking up at him dreamily, passing a lit cigar to him. He held it up, eyed his tin of snuff, and sighed. "Men." They all stood waiting, as if he'd give an order. He smirked a little, knowing he'd get snuff some way or another, "I fold." And he was off, with his new acquaintance. With one less basterd in the race, the stakes were raised higher. "Five hundred and fifty francs!" Donny held his poker face...he had to. Frankly, that was all the francs he had to offer. Smitty looked on as you danced the night away, "Y/n likes music, right?" Omar chuckled, "Oh she does, Einstein?" "Look." Smitty narrowed his eyes, and Omar rolled his, and smiled "Y/n don't care what music plays, Smitty. She'll dance to anything." Donny laughed as he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. It made him happy to see you happy. Frankly, he didn't really care who won the bet, as long as you were happy. He only bet to begin with because...well he's Donny Donowitz. He's just competitive. And impulsive...and regretted betting his lucky card. Still, he smiled with a sigh, "Ain't that the truth." He took a drink and looked back at the counter. His competitive instinct kicked in. He grinned, as he nudged Hugo, and looked on to the dance floor, "Y'know what Y/n really likes dancin' to, Hugo?" Hugo raised his eyebrow as the band came back. Hearing the blaring, wild trumpet beginning to play, as you looked back at them from the edge of the dancing crowd, waiting for your dance partner, His eyes widened as you gestured to him... Hirschberg taunted him too, leaning over the bar, and snickering "That's right. Ragin' wild swing." He looked back at Wicki, as if asking for help for the first time in his life. Wicki shrugged as he sipped some bourbon. "You aready asked her to dance. Might not be the best time to disappoint her, kumpel." Utivich laughed, "Her? Don't dissapoint us!" He pushed Hugo off his stool, and toward the dance floor. He grimaced, and looked as if he was about ready to snarl at them like a rabid animal... 

Just then, you walked out from the dancefloor, and took his hands, and pulled him toward the crowd, your laugh like a beacon in a stormy night, pulling a smile from him.

"Damn can she do the goddamn charleston!" Donny chuckled, looking on. Omar narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out where Hugo had gone.  "L-Is that Hugo?!" "Y-Yeah...." "Damn look at him go!"

The basterds laughed and started cheering for him, until he stumbled a little, and fell. "Look at him go!" Wicki smiled, as you came back to them, your laugh was like a song to him. Laugh! That was it! He tried to capture that light in your gleaming eyes in the milisecond before your laugh rang like a mermaid's song. A joke or two would do it... Except he stumbled on the punchline. There was a lot on the line, after all. And the boys laughed at him and his mistakes. Omar chuckled, "Careful boys, you'll break an old man's heart." Wicki rolled his eyes, and the jeering went on, Hirschberg smirked, "Might be having a stroke." You rolled your eyes, though you could hardly contain your guity smile as you punched Hirschberg’s shoulder, "Oh, you're so mean!" He looked up at you, and caught sight of that hidden grin, and felt at ease with himself for a moment. He'd made you smile...that was a start. But it wasn't much. Omar knew that, as he smirked and took a sip of his beer. 

You could read a room. Better yet, you knew each of the basterds inside out, and knew something was up. You weren't blind either, so you had a pretty good idea at what was happening. You were killer at war, but a heartbreaker at nature. All it took to throw Hirschberg off his game, and blow everyone else's egos to bits was to wink at him. One little wink.| Omar hid his smirk again as he raised his beer to his lips, and raised his head back, dousing his retained laugh with the rich, bitter, cool beer as he shot you a knowing, loving glance.

************ "Y'know...I think...I thinkn y/n's on to us..." Hirschberg sighed as  he loked down at the crumpled, orange and red leaves as he marched with Donny, Omar, and Smitty to a rendezvous point. You had gone with the rest of the basterds to a somewhat distant town for supplies, and they were meeting you at  a hideout that was roughly the halfway point. The rest of the boys were discussing their progress in the wager, and Hirschberg was a little unsettled. Donny sighed as he stretched out his arms, "Oh yeah? What makes ya say that?" Hirschberg grumbled a little then admitted, "Made my move...and she wasn't havin' none of it. Got far enough to try and sneak in a little kiss." Omar, who had been splashing some water from a creek onto his face, stopped. He looked up, still facing away from them to hide his cheeky grin, "Yeah? How'd that go?" He knew you. He knew you'd always be true. You'd told him so, once, long ago. And he believed you. Still, he couldn't help but sigh a little, remembering the soft, secret touch of your lips. Sure enough, your lips were often cracked by the carelessness of war and winter, but still the best kiss a soldier like him could ever ask for.

Hirschberg wouldn't know. And that's what made Omar smirk. "She slap you?" Smitty couldn't help but laugh a little, and Donny suggested, "Punch ya?...Can't blame her. Wouldn't want a face like yours near me either." Hirschberg rolled his eyes, "No! She....she put her fingers...on my lips, goddamn it!" Omar smirked as he walked by him, patting him on the back, "Well, looks like you're losin' you're luger." "Yeah, yeah..." He sighed, wondering in defeat if he'd really lose his luger, "Then she said. She looks at me with those eyes, y'know...those fucken eyes..." Omar nodded with a sigh, looking up at the sky, as if he could see them, "Yeah...I know those eyes..." The boys didn't quite catch that air of sincerity in his voice. That trace of love, that hint of reminiscence Omar's dreamy daze was interrupted by Hirschberg's brash voice, "And ya know what she says? She pushed me back, see. And she says to me, 'Hirsch, you gon' tell me what this is all about or not?' "

Donny gasped, almost in disbeleif, like he was hearing gossip in a salon, "No!"

Hirschberg replied in the near same tone, "Yes!" Smitty shook his head, "Well what'd you say?!" "I said no, that's what I fucken said!" Smitty rolled his eyes in exasperation, "So you admitted there was something going on!?" "No, didn't you hear, I said no?!" Smitty sighed, "No. You said no, you wouldn't tell her what was happening, not no there was nothing happening." Hirschberg frowned, and opened his mouth to respond... Then quickly realized Smitty's point, shrugged, took a puff from his cigarette, and sighed, "Guess I did..." As the boys marched on, Donny spotted something poking through Smitty's jacket. "Whatcha got there, kid?" "A book." "Aw, yeah? What kinda book?" Donny smirked at Omar and Hirschberg, and nudged Smitty. Smitty pulled it out of his jacket. The cover read "Le Petit Prince." A story born and banned in France. Nevertheless, there it was, in his hands, wishing to find yours. "Ya know Y/n can't read French, right?" And in that moment, his heart broke into a million pieces. He wasn't in it for the wager, or even to win your heart. To him, you'd always be like a shining star, across the universe. He'd always hope to see you, but he'd never be close enough. He loved you like a friend could, from the moment he figured that out. He knew love was much like war, not something to be toyed with or bet on. It was far beyond his hands. He loved you, but not in the way you deserved, so he stepped down... He'd confided that to Omar, still not knowing the truth. And Omar had listened with a sigh, knowing you loved Smitty, like you loved all the other basterds. As brothers. But Smitty was, well, the youngest, and so you thought of him as a sort of baby brother. So Omar helped Smitty find that book. Did it nearly cost them an arm and a leg (literally)? Yes. Would either of them ever tell you? No. So Omar's heart sank when he caught that defeated look in Smitty's eyes, and stepped up. "She's got a French dictionairy, y'know she's learnin'. And...it's the thought that counts, kid. Chin up." Smitty smiled a little, and stopped for a moment, as Omar turned back around and kept marching with the others.  Smitty looked up ahead, knowing you were somewhere out there, and he was more excited than evere to give you that book. After a few moments of silence, something started picking at Donny. "Omar." "Yeah, sarge?" "How the hell are you still so confident about this?" Hirschberg, Smitty, and Donny then stopped in ther tracks to look at Omar, and wait for an answer. Omar was the only basterd that had never had a steady relationship before. Hell, Smitty might've been the youngest, but even he had a high school sweetheart at some point. Hirschberg nodded, "Yeah you ain't even made your first move yet!" Donny sighed, having made more moves than he'd ever had to before, "Yeah you should do sometin' quick, Ulmer. You ain't got any idea what you're getting yourself into with that girl. It's fucking impossible." Omar shrugged, "Well...we did go through boot camp together." As a matter of fact, that was where it all started. Sneaking out of your bunks in the middle of the night, and roaming around under the stars, jsut talking. "And we spent our fair share of time together." This was the first time you'd been split up... And he failed to define 'together'. He shrugged, "I know a little more about her than you think."

Hirschberg crossed his arms and remarked, "That right?" "Yeah... She likes a good show. Action pictures, that sort of thing." Donny raised his eyebrow with a grin,"Action pictures, huh?" A few hours later, after ambushing a nazi outfit nearby, Donny was swinging with his bat, "Y/n likes action movies, right?" Omar smirked a little, "Give her a real show, Donny. Knock 'em dead." Donny smirked a little, and walked into the tunnel, already riled up.

And, after some intimidation and interrogation, Aldo called Donny out. And Donny did put his all into it... He really was the closest thing the basterds had to seeing a movie. 

And at the end of it, as Werner lay dead, and his private gave Aldo all the information he needed, Donny looked across the fort to you, with smouldering, smirking eyes, and a sly grin. His eyes fell on you, your basterd grin, and laughing eyes, and moved down, and saw your hand. Your hand, resting on a stone. With Omar's hand resting on yours. "No..." His eyes grew wide. His mouth dropped open. The other basterds' eyes followed his, because if something left the Bear Jew speechless, it was something worth looking at. And indeed, it was. Because they all saw what he did. Omar smirking, his raised eyebrow, pulling his arm around your shoulders, and kissing you. What's more...they'd all just lost a bet. In fact, they'd lost the moment they even put their wagers on the table. Then, a million questions went back and forth. "WHAT?!" being the most common. Followed by "WHEN?!?!?!" and, of course, "HOW!?!?!?!" To which Omar responded, "Learned a lot more than you think in basic training. Y/n's been by my side since then. Made it official just before we left England." You laughed a little, "We didn't know we'd be leaving together." You didn’t know you were both being sent to the basterds. Hirschberg smirked. "So ya can do somethin' right, huh Omar" Aldo chuckled a little,  "Say, y/n that how  ya get him to shut his mouth every once in a while? Ya learn that trick in basic training too?" You blushed a little, "More or less, Aldo." Omar smiled as he looked at you, the basterds saving their grumbling about their gambling for later, for your sake. Still...Hirschberg slipped up and said "Some fucken bet..." Then, it all made sense to you. A bet.... The other basterds never had a chance to start with. They were betting blind. Omar though, he took a gamble of long odds when he met you. He bet it all on you again that night in the pub. It wasn't just his chocolate stash, it was his love, his pride, his heart. That was clear to everyone from that moment. But you didn't understand why. You spoke softly, a way only Omar ever heard you speak before, and you asked him, "Why?" He smiled. "Because I trusted you. I knew my odds, they were always on my side. Like you." You shut your eyes, feeling like a fool, and giving a small, amused smile. Loving someone during war was always a wager with death, with odds that weren't in your favor. But loving a basterd... Loving Omar Ulmer... Now that was a chance you were willing to take, from the moment you first laid eyes on him. He didn't know that. He'd played a game of fortune and heartbreak, once, and won. And he'd be willing to bet it all again, for you, and only you.

[chaostheoryy]

Flashes of You (A Reddie One-shot)

Summary: Richie’s childhood comes to him in flashes. It isn’t until he travels back to Derry, Maine and sees Eddie Kaspbrak that any of them start to make sense.

Word count: 2,185

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Language

A/N: This is my first time writing for Reddie and I’ve been in the It fandom for approximately 96 hours so forgive me if my characterizations are off.

For two decades, Richie’s childhood came to him in white hot flashes. He couldn’t fully recall a single event or a single friend’s name but he would see details and hear sounds so clear that he couldn’t understand why everything else surrounding these points on the road map of his mind was fuzzy.

The flashes would come at random. Sometimes he’d be going through the mundane moments of life like showering or eating. Other times the flashes would come to him in the middle of a gig. One moment he was setting up the punchline and the next he was staring at a massive statue of Paul Bunyan.

None of the flashes made sense and yet he knew they were somehow all connected: a crimson “V” scribbled over a sloppy “S”, an underground hammock, a pink polo, a fanny pack full of medicine bottles, the letter “E” carved into a wooden plank.

And oh God, the laugh. Every so often his ears would ring with the sound of a boy’s laughter — a sound so pure and contagious that he couldn’t help but smile every time he heard it. He didn’t know who it was that laugh belonged to, but he never wanted it to stop. He didn’t tell jokes for the fame or the money. He became a trash mouth comedian for that laugh.

***

When Richie got the call from Mike, his stomach flipped. Flashes bombarded him like lighting bolts striking the ocean. Blood, lifeless bodies, a red balloon, a condemned home surrounded by weeds. It wasn’t clear as to what these flashes meant, but Richie couldn’t deny that he was afraid. There was a reason he couldn’t remember his childhood. Something terrible happened in Derry, Maine and, frankly, he didn’t want to know what it was.

After throwing up and downing a couple of drinks to burn away the taste of his own bile, he made it out on stage for his comedy special. He was a mess, stumbling over his bits and forgetting the punchline to his opening joke. A man shouted “you suck” from the audience but Richie just smiled. That soft laughter of the boy was ringing in his ears again.

He wasn’t going to Derry tomorrow to follow through on some cryptic oath he couldn’t even remember making. He was going to Derry for that laugh.

***

The moment Richie stepped through the doors of the Chinese restaurant with Beverly and Ben, he locked eyes with a stranger across the foyer. His hair was slicked back, his brow creased with incessant worry. A small smile tugged ever so slightly at the corner of the stranger’s mouth and suddenly Richie felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Eddie.

The flashes started again, only this time with a wider scope: the crimson “V” scribbled over the “S” on Eddie’s arm cast, the underground hammock where Eddie draped himself over Richie and knocked his glasses off with his toes, the pink polo that Eddie loved to wear whenever he needed to convince his mom to let him hang out with the Losers, the fanny pack hooked around Eddie’s waist that held every stupid pill his dipshit doctor had prescribed to him, and the letter “E” carved beside Richie’s own initial on the kissing bridge.

Richie’s stomach flipped and a lump formed in his throat. Eddie Kaspbrak was the first person he had ever loved and it took him two decades to even remember that.

“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath before following Beverly and Ben to the table. How he was going to get through this, he honestly couldn’t say.

***

Dinner somehow went even worse than Richie expected from a bunch of friends-turned-strangers getting together for the first time in twenty plus years. The food was great and the conversations were surprisingly lively up until the point Mike brought up the murderous clown from their childhood. All of a sudden the table started rattling and the bowl of fortune cookies turned into a smorgasbord of nightmares. Richie’s own cookie mutated into an eyeball with tentacles and attempted to crawl across the table toward him like a zombie. He couldn’t recall a time in his entire life where he had been more disgusted.

Amidst all the chaos, he kept his eyes on Eddie. The man was terrified, trembling in the corner as a cookie with the wing of a bat fluttered around and shrieked at him. The attack brought back more memories of his childhood, moments where he had done everything he could to protect and comfort Eddie — drawing Eddie’s eyes from the horrors of Pennywise’s illusions, pushing Eddie behind him to keep him out of harm’s way, firmly grasping Eddie’s shoulder whenever he was afraid to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

When the illusion stopped and the dust settled, Richie bolted from the restaurant as fast as he could. He couldn’t stay and face the facts. If he stayed, he was going to die. And, on top of that, he would be forced to come to terms with the ugly ass truth that was his feelings for Eddie. Being closeted for his entire life was one thing. Finding out that the man he had unknowingly been in love with for nearly thirty years was married to somebody else was a whole other level of suffering.

Standing in the parking lot, Richie was surprised to find Eddie at his side. Eddie wanted out just as badly as him and, frankly, Richie was relieved. If Eddie ran away just like him, they would both survive. The idea of going back to the life where he no longer knew who Eddie was sucked. But a life of oblivious wandering and shitty stand-up was better than a life where Eddie was murdered by a psychotic, shapeshifting clown.

Mike tried with every ounce of his being to convince them to stay and defeat Pennywise together but their will to live was stronger. Richie hopped in his Mustang and headed back to the inn with Eddie hot on his trail.

***

Neither Richie nor Eddie said anything to one another when they got back to the Derry Town House. They simply bolted up the stairs to their respective rooms and started packing. Having brought nothing more than a small carry-on sized duffle bag, Richie finished gathering his belongings before Eddie had even managed to lay his clothes out on the bed.

“What’re you moving in?” Richie teased when he peeked his head into Eddie’s room and saw the two open suitcases on the floor. “Look at all this shit.”

Eddie frowned. “Fuck off. I didn’t even know what the hell I was doing coming to Derry so how was I supposed to know what to bring?”

“I only own like two shirts. Guess I’m not in any position to judge.”

Richie eyed the pile of clothes and was drawn to a vaguely familiar shade of pink. A soft smile yanked at the corner of his mouth.

“Your style hasn’t changed much has it, Eds?”

Eddie followed his gaze to the pink polo laying by the foot of the bed. “Myra hates any outfit that’s not a suit and tie,” Eddie said as he continued folding his collection of dress pants.

“Well, somebody needs to pull the stick out of her ass ‘cause that shirt is bitchin’, man.”

Richie’s heart nearly soared when Eddie laughed. That was it, the whole reason Richie came back.

A long silence blanketed the room as Richie watched Eddie work. Twenty-seven years later and Eddie was still as precise as can be, making sure every article of clothing was folded into the same dimensions before he put them in the suitcase. Things had to be as perfect and clean as possible. At least, that’s what Eddie’s mom had taught him.

“Jesus Christ, would you pick up the pace? I’m gonna pass a fucking kidney stone before you finish packing,” Richie quipped to break the silence.

Eddie threw him a look. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, dickwad?”

“Not until Tuesday night when your mom and I meet up for our weekly date night at Olive Garden.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie snapped despite the amused gleam in his eye.

“I’m serious, Spaghetti. You better not cock-block me on my date or I swear to God I’m shoving those unlimited breadsticks up your ass.”

Eddie stopped all of a sudden, the shirt in his grasp hanging limply in wait to be folded. The expression on his face was almost impossible to read. Richie felt his chest tighten.

“Eds? You alright?” Richie asked hesitantly. “Look, if the mom jokes are too much, I can ease off-“

“No it’s fine. It’s just that no one’s ever...” Eddie’s thought trailed off. “How much do you remember? About our childhood?”

Richie adjusted the shoulder strap of his bag and shrugged. “Not much. Bits and pieces used to come back in flashes but I couldn’t even figure out what the hell they all meant until I got here. It’s like some fucked up jigsaw puzzle that my brain’s still trying to put together.”

Eddie laid the shirt in his hands down on the bed and leaned against the wooden post. “It doesn’t make any sense, man. How can we be best friends for years and then suddenly forget everything about each other once we separate? You don’t just-“ Eddie swallowed. The worry lines on his brow were even deeper than before. “I saw you on TV — one of your comedy specials. I looked right at you and, even though I had never heard your name before I just got this feeling like...Like I knew you.”

Richie felt like his throat was going to collapse in on itself. If Eddie had gone through the same things he had, what kind of flashes had come to him over the years? What pieces of Richie Tozier had stuck in his brain?

“Did you finish the special?”

“God no. It was terrible. I don’t know who the dipshit is that writes your jokes but he fucking sucks.”

Richie grinned from ear to ear. “I’m firing him the second I get back to New York.”

Eddie returned his smile with one of his own. “Good. You’re ten times funnier than any of the shit he writes anyway.”

Richie’s breath hitched. “Holy shit, Eds.”

“What?” Eddie’s eyes grew wide with concern.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever complimented me,” Richie joked, stepping toward Eddie with his arms outstretched, “Come here you little Smurf. I always knew you secretly cared about me.”

“Fuck that. I take it back!” Eddie tried to slink out of the way but Richie scooped him into his arms and crushed his entire body in a bear hug.

Eddie groaned as Richie squeezed him. “You’re gonna give me an asthma attack.”

“You don’t even have asthma, fuckhead.”

Eddie went still in his grasp, his squirming ceasing without warning. He was quiet for a long moment. Richie swallowed and eased his hold, worried he had squeezed too hard and hurt Eddie. But instead of slipping out of the hug when the vice of Richie’s arms loosened, Eddie reached up and clutched at Richie’s jacket, hugging him back. Richie’s heart skipped a beat.

“I missed you,” Eddie mumbled lowly, “Even though I didn’t know it, I fucking missed you.”

Richie felt breathless. His eyes burned, threatening to form tears he never planned on shedding. He tightened his arms around Eddie again.

“You’re such a sap,” he murmured, “It’s a miracle you got a woman to marry your wussy ass.”

Eddie slammed the toe of his shoe into Richie’s shin just hard enough to really make him feel it. “Fuck you.”

Richie smiled despite the pain ringing in his leg. “Fuck you too, Eds.”

They hugged each other tightly for a good thirty seconds before Richie pried himself away. “Would you finish packing your shit so we can get the hell out of here?”

Eddie stumbled backward. “Fuck. Yeah. Gimme like ten minutes and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“I’ll head down there now and make sure our psycho friends don’t summon the devil and get themselves murdered.”

“Good idea.”

Richie headed for the door only to pause in the doorframe when Eddie called his name. “What’s up?”

Eddie smirked, a familiar mischievous gleam in his eye that Richie had grown all too familiar with as a kid. “I probably should’ve told you this years ago but I fucked your mom.”

Richie rolled his eyes and flipped Eddie off. “Hurry up, asshole,” he grumbled before stepping out into the hall and leaving Eddie to finish packing.

As he made his way toward the staircase, Richie felt his chest swell with joy. Eddie had missed him just as much as he missed Eddie and, now that they were back together, they were joking with the same ease as they did when they were younger.

His entire adult life, Richie had wondered why he’d never fallen in love with anyone and now he understood why: Eddie Kaspbrak held his heart. Always had and always would.

***

Tagging: @justauthoring, @beepbeepstiney, @atownofeggs

[himluv]

Thoughtful

Another Solavellan oneshot, because this is my life now. Set a week or so after A Different Kind of Truth.

Riallan stood at the war table with her advisors and mulled over what her next steps should be. The Hinterlands were rift-free now, and she’d rescued their soldiers from the Avvar. She knew that she could only delay sealing the Breach for so much longer, but she was adamant that the mages get settled and rest before she called upon them. She could return to the Storm Coast, but she’d only just felt like she’d dried out after the Mires. She wasn’t sure she could handle another week of rain.

“Herald,” Leliana said.

“Hmm?” Riallan looked up to see the ghost of a smile on the Nightingale’s lips.

“It is getting late,” she said. “Perhaps we could continue this in the morning?”

She looked around the table, at the knowing look between Jospehine and Leliana, at the distinctly uncomfortable look on Cullen’s face, and Cassandra’s barely concealed excitement and knew that they were up to something.

It couldn’t be later than five, and they’d worked well past that before, but she didn’t argue. “If you think that’s best,” she said.

Josephine shuffled her papers into a tidy pile. “I know I could use the time. We have several dignitaries from Orlais requesting a tour of our operations.”

“How exciting,” Cullen said, a wry smile on his lips.

“Riveting,” the ambassador said. “If you have need of me, I will be in my office.” She left the room and thus released them from the spell of the War Council.

Cassandra followed Riallan out of the Chantry. “What will you do with your evening?” She asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe I’ll have dinner in the tavern. It’s been awhile since I’ve irritated Sera.”

The Seeker snorted. “It does not take much.”

She smiled. “Sometimes it’s the simple things, Cassandra.”

“Maker knows, that is the truth.” They paused at the side door to the tavern. “Have a good evening, Herald.” It was an oddly formal farewell, but then, Riallan thought Cassandra was frequently oddly formal.

“You too, Seeker.” Inside the tavern was loud, the evening festivities well underway. Maryden strummed her lute and sang an upbeat song, one a few folks seemed to have already learned.

“This one’s ‘bout me!” Sera crowed when she spotted Riallan. She bounced her head along to the beat, a giant grin on her face. “Catchy, innit?”

She listened for a moment and had to admit that it was. “Not too bad.”

“Yeah. Wait a tick,” she squinted at Riallan. “What are you doin’ here?”

“In the tavern?” Riallan looked around, waiting for the punchline.

“Yeah, you’re s’posed to be--”

“-- in meetings!” Varric said, joining their conversation. “You’re always in meetings.”

“Right, yeah. Always stuck blabbing with ol’ curly hair and stabby whatsit.”

She looked between them and crossed her arms. “All right. You’re being weird.” Sera opened her mouth, but Riallan cut her off. “Weirder than usual. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Varric promised. He covered his mouth so Sera couldn’t see his lips. “Between you and me, Buttercup has had one too many.”

Sera blew a raspberry at him, but didn’t otherwise deny his claim.

“If you say so,” she said. “I’m going to order dinner. If that’s all right with you two?”

Varric raised his tankard to her and smiled. “By all means, Herald.”

If she thought her companions were acting strangely, the bartender confirmed all of her suspicions that her friends were up to something.

“Good evening, Flissa,” she said.

“Your worship,” the woman said, promptly ignoring the two other patrons that sat at the bar. Riallan felt bad, but neither man seemed to care. “Order anything you like. I’ll have it sent to your quarters straight away.”

“My quarters?” She had planned to eat with Varric and Sera. Maybe even see if Bull and Dorian wanted to join them.

“Yes, Ma’am.” She smiled, but her nervousness soured the expression. “We’ll bring it to you, just like he said to.”

“Like who said to?” What was going on in this village?

Flissa covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh. Oh no. I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”

“Considering that I have no clue what is happening, I don’t think so Flissa.” She smiled, finding the woman’s good-natured panic actually endearing.

“Oh good!” She ran her hands through her hair, then rested them on her hips. “Now what can I get for you, Herald?”

Riallan ordered a larger meal than usual, one with more red meat than she would typically eat. She had a reason to treat herself this evening, after all. She waved to Varric and Sera on her way out, both of whom lifted their glasses to her as she went.

Once outside, she looked up the stairs to where Solas usually stood, but he wasn’t there. The wind bit at her as the sun set behind the mountains, so maybe he’d just gone indoors to avoid the cold. But she didn’t think so; that would be too convenient. He was up to something.

It wasn’t until she stepped into her cabin that she remembered their conversation in the Fade all those nights ago. They’d been so busy, traipsing through the Hinterlands, solving so many problems that she’d completely forgotten they’d even talked about her birthday.

Solas clearly had not.

In the center of her room stood a large tub, steam rising off the water in gentle wafts. It smelled wonderful, like crystal grace and lavender, fresh and floral. The fragrance alone made her want to climb into the tub and let all of her troubles melt away.

But there was more than just a warm bath waiting for her.

A small table sat next to the basin. On it sat a bottle of Antivan Red accompanied by a delicately stemmed glass, a leather-bound book, and a note. As much as her fingers itched to open the book, she started with the note. His handwriting was unsurprisingly neat, the letters crisp and swooping into one another. Somehow, the words looked just how he sounded.

Riallan,

I hope you do not consider this impertinent, but I do not think it unreasonable you have an evening to yourself. Unfortunately, I could not avoid including some of the others in my plans; getting ‘fancy Orlesian soaps’ on such short notice would have been impossible without Leliana’s assistance. The wine is a gift from Lady Montilyet. She assures me that this vintage is particularly satisfying. Dorian crafted the rune heating the water, which he insisted I mention. The book is a gift from me.

I hope all is to your liking.

Annar’vegara’shenathe nuvenehn,

Solas

She stared at the note, blinking back sudden tears. Riallan knew he was thoughtful, that was readily apparent from their conversations in the Fade. But she couldn’t help thinking that this was an awfully big gesture coming from him. She set the note down and took up the book with trembling hands.

She had no idea what to expect in a gift from Solas. Maybe a text about magic, or ancient Elvhenan, if such a thing existed. But the soft, leather cover held neither of those things. It was a sketchbook, and now she recognized it as the book he’d carried with him during their travels so far. She’d noticed him drawing, of course. He’d spent many an evening with the book on his lap, a soft ball of light hovering over the pages as he sketched beside their campfire.

She had no idea what he drew, and she hadn’t wanted to pry. Now she held the answer in her hands. The first few pages were mostly landscapes, quick sketches of rocks and creeks and trees. She recognized some of the landmarks from her time in the Hinterlands. She leaned against the edge of the tub, fascinated by this glimpse into his point of view.

The next drawing was so detailed it barely qualified as a sketch. She recognized the long, bony fingers and the lines in the palm as her own, even with the gash of the mark down the center. There were notes in his tidy script around the drawing, so small she had to squint to make them out.

On the back of that page was a rough sketch of her face. Her brow was furrowed, eyes closed, the lines of her vallaslin drawn in light dashes on her forehead and cheeks. Even though the sketch was obviously a quick one, she felt breathless at how accurate the image was.

After that there were more drawings of members of the Inquisition. Cassandra and Varric, Leliana, even Cullen and Jospehine. They all made their appearance in the pages of Solas’ mind. There were depictions of the Breach and the demons that appeared through the tear in the Veil. Those pages were often shaded with aggressive strokes, the graphite smeared and angry.

As she flipped through the pages she got a sense of the timeline of the book. It started with his journey to Haven, then his time watching over her, followed by the first days of the Breach and the Inquisition. Toward the middle of the book were drawings of plants and animals, familiar landscapes from their travels so far.

And the closer to the present she came, the more she saw her own face staring back at her. Looking back over her shoulder. Sitting at the fire, a smile on her lips. Sitting with her back to him, looking out over the water of the Fallow Mire. There was even one of her barefaced with long hair, as she’d been as a child. As he’d seen her in her dream.

Riallan flipped the page and met with blank space. She blinked, turning pages to find more of his drawings, but the remainder of the book was empty.  Her heart sank, the disappointment heavy in her chest. She would have looked at his drawings the whole night if she could. She cradled the book to her and wondered at receiving such a gift. She had no words for what it meant to her.

A knock at her door announced the arrival of her dinner. Flissa brought it herself, hemming and hawing and generally making a fuss. She left it on the table beside the tub and wished Riallan happy birthday, which made the elf blush.

Once she was alone, she eyed the tub. The rune would keep the water warm and she wouldn’t be gone long enough for the food to go cold. Her mind made up, she held the sketchbook tight against her chest and hurried out into the cold night air.

She hesitated at his door for just a moment; she’d never been inside his cabin before. And despite his presence in hers only a few weeks ago, she feared she was intruding. Then she thought of the tub, the wine, and the book in arms.

She knocked gently and instantly worried he wouldn’t hear her. But of course he did.

“Riallan,” he greeted, surprise on his face. He looked her up and down and realized she must be cold. “Come in.”

She stepped over the threshold and turned to him before he’d even closed the door. “Thank you,” she said. She couldn’t keep the blush from her face or the tremor from her voice, but she refused to let that stop her. “You didn’t have to do all this. The wine, the soaps, this book? Really, it was more than--”

He shook his head but a smile played at the edges of his mouth. “I hardly acted alone,” he said. “Did you read my note?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I read the note! But, Solas, this book?” She shook her head. “It’s amazing. I knew you enjoyed drawing, but I had no idea you were so talented.”

He looked away, suddenly bashful under her gaze.

“I can’t keep it,” she said.

He looked up at her sharply, hurt flashing across his face. She held the book out for him to take, but he didn’t move. He eyed the sketchbook and swallowed before reaching out to take it.  “May I ask why not?”

She smiled at him. “It’s not finished,” she said. “I want to see what you’ll draw next.”

He looked at her as if she were some intricate riddle, a puzzle he couldn’t manage to solve. It was that intense, searching gaze she’d come to expect from him, and this time it sent a flash of heat through her.

The flush of embarrassment on her cheeks only made her more self-conscious. “So, yeah. I’m going to go… take a bath now?” She bit her lip at how awkward she sounded. With any luck she would drown and never have to face him again.

He laughed, but opened the door for her, his sketchbook tucked under one arm. “Happy birthday, Riallan,” he said as she walked past him.

“Thank you, Solas.”

Even as she walked back to her cabin, eager to enjoy her evening of solitude, another part of her couldn’t wait until she fell asleep. These days, the best part of her day happened long after she’d slipped into the Fade. She expected tonight would be no exception.

[fanficsandfluff]

Emotions Get the Better (3)

So, writing these reader insert fics is hard for one reason: POV. I don’t want to make the writing look sloppy by constantly switching over POVs, but there are so many times where I wanna express Arthur’s thoughts as opposed to the reader’s. So I tried it out in this part. Please let me know if it was too confusing or hard to understand. 

~~~~

You dealt with your boss when you got home that night you dropped Arthur off at his home. He knew you were a loyal employee so he wasn’t overly upset. So you made sure to get to work early the next few days just to make it up to him. On your walk from the train to the theater, there was no sign of Arthur. You hoped he was healing and resting. Still, you couldn’t help but look down the alley where you found him last time, just in case. 

Finally, it was a Thursday night. You didn’t have work all day. You and some friends were meeting up for dinner and then you planned on going over to Pogo’s comedy club downtown; well, more downtown than where you lived. The comedians there were usually pretty funny, especially after you’ve had a few drinks. 

After a pretty fatty and delicious dinner, you and two other girlfriends made your way to Pogo’s. The first comedian of the night was halfway through his act and you all were seated at a table by the bar. You ordered all your friends a round of tequila shots to start off. 

One of your friends was finishing up a story that was way funnier than anything the comedian was saying at the moment, so the three of you laughed uproariously, enough to turn some audience members’ heads. 

Arthur had been watching the stand-up in relative silence, since the crowd around him was dull and wasn’t fueling any real reaction from him. Then there was a sudden burst of laughter from behind him that apparently not only didn’t make sense to him but to many people around him as heads turned. He sought for the source of the laughter and his eyes landed on a table of a group of three women. Even in the dim light, he recognized a face at the table. He hardly had to think before he stood up and approached the table. 

As your giggles died down, someone approached the table and stood right in front of you, blocking any view of the comedian struggling to get through his set on stage. You looked up in the dimly lit area of the club and saw a man, smiling face looking directly at you.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said your name. 

You studied him for an extra second, and you gasped the minute you figured it out, “Arthur?”

“Yeahah,” he chuckled, happy you remembered him.

“Hi! Nice to see your real face,” you smiled at him. 

“Well, you said we have to stop meeting when I’m dressed up, so I guess I delivered.”

You nodded, still smiling, the booze in you already making images slightly fuzzy, “Mmhm. You did. Oh, these are my friends, Emma and Sam. Do you wanna sit with us, or--?”

“No. No, I have my own table. I just wanted to say hi,” Arthur said. 

He wanted to say she looked beautiful, but those bold words were far from his tongue at this moment in time. He could only think it.

“Well, thanks for saying hi,” you said, giving him a wave as he returned to his table. Once he was safely seated at his table towards the stage, you turned to your friends, “So, that was the guy I told you about. The clown.”

“Jesus Christ! That was him?”

“Kinda cliché for a clown to go to a comedy club, no? You think he’s stealing material for himself?”

You rolled your eyes and watched as the first comedian of the night stepped off the stage and handed it off to the next, “You never know. I mean, he told me he was a comedian.”

“So I was right. He’s borrowing jokes for his own act.”

You sipped at your martini and immediately laughed at the new comedian’s first joke. He was already a much better presence than the first guy, and the whole audience could agree. 

This guy was really on fire. Joke after joke he was having the crowd roaring. A few minutes into his set, in the lull between setup and punchline, there was an extremely high-pitched yowl of a cackle. It came from in front of you. 

You couldn’t identify where the sound came from until the next joke. Same thing happened. Silence and then that laugh. You saw Arthur and your eyes were now drawn to him. 

You could see he was scribbling into a notebook in front of him. Hm, you guessed Sam was right about the taking jokes part. And when he looked up, he wasn’t so much focused in on the comedian as he was nervously glancing around at the people around him. It was like he was waiting for their reactions to the jokes. And then he laughed. You were completely fascinated by this behavior by this point that the comedian’s jokes were basically drowned out by your own laser focus on when Arthur would choose to laugh. Was he making a statement of his own by not laughing at the right parts? You could only wonder. 

“So, I took my car into the shop the other day...”

Laugh.

“There was this mean looking guy, I’m talking mean...”

Laugh.

“And when we opened the window...”

Laugh.

You snorted at that last one. The more you focused on Arthur laughing, the more it was dawning on you how out of place they were, making them all the more funny. Then again, it could’ve also just been the alcohol. But shit, you were surprised no one else had started to laugh along with Arthur, I mean, his laugh was so contagious. 

“We’re road tripping all over the midwest, you know? South Dakota, Oklahoma...”

Laugh.

And this time, you laughed a half second after Arthur’s laugh pierced the silence. It was just too funny to you. The guy had a great laugh. And thinking of the punchline as being “Oklahoma” made it all the more random and funny to you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” your friend asked you, looking at you like you were crazy.

“Wahahait, wait, you gotta listen to him,” you pointed at the out-of-makeup clown, “It’s the funniest shit I’ve experienced in a long time.”

The next joke was delivered in full, but Arthur didn’t laugh. He was busy writing. But the next one he was right back in the swing of things. 

You waited for your friends’ reaction as you found yourself laughing again. And even after the next one, you were holding your stomach, your laugh coming out in wheezes by this point. You were starting to feel lightheaded.

“You belong with him, you know that?” your other friend rolled her eyes, grinning at her own joke. 

Arthur was focused on what made his jokes so funny. This wasn’t a new struggle for him, but here he was again, trying his hardest. But what was different about this outing to Pogo’s than any other was that he was actually hearing someone laugh when he laughed. He slowly turned in his seat to see who is maybe on his side, who feels as disconnected as he does. To his surprise, and pleasure, it was Y/N. He smiled brightly, seeing her laughing to herself at this point, her friends shoving her and telling her to shut up. It was all somehow very charming. Best of all, Arthur could tell she had a fantastic laugh. 

The night went on, and your friends decided for you that you had enough to drink, even though you knew you could pack away a few more. You eventually settled to be boring and normal like everyone else and laugh at the right punchlines. Still, your eyes flicked to Arthur when he’d get a joke that no one else on the planet would’ve understood. 

The last act of the night finished up and audience members started to clear out of the comedy club. You yawned and stood, stretching. You threw your coat over your shoulders and walked out with your friends, bidding goodbye to them right outside the club since you all lived in different directions and had to split up. 

You remained at the corner, inhaling the chill Gotham night air. The club was feeling a bit stuffy to you, so you wanted to enjoy the ‘fresh’ air before heading into another stuffy subway car, sure to smell of piss and burnt rubber. 

“Did you like the show?”

You were startled for a second, not expecting a voice to speak that close to you. You looked Arthur in the eyes and smiled, “Yeah, I had a great night. Partly because of you.”

“I heard you,” he smiled back at you, seeming giddy to the point of bursting.

You blushed but still grinned, trying to keep some dignity, “I don’t doubt it, I’ve always had an obnoxious laugh. A lot of things about me are actually obnoxious--”

“I don’t think obnoxious is the right word. You sounded truly happy.”

You nodded, “Well, I was. When I’m a little happy, I’m usually all the way happy. When I’m a little sad, I’m all the way sad. Does that make sense?”

Arthur tilted his head, his eyes seemed to be scanning your whole face, “It kinda does, yeah.”

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself. You shared a silence together before you snorted in thought, “Can I ask you why you were laughing like that? At the parts that weren’t the punchline?” you asked with genuine curiosity, really wanting to know the answer.

Arthur paused and his face fell. He didn’t know how to explain himself. You could tell he didn’t want to answer that, so you let it go.

“Well, I’m gonna start heading home. It was--”

“Do you want to get something to eat?” he asked. 

“That’s... That’s a nice offer, but I actually had dinner already and the drinks I’ve had probably mean I should turn in for the night.”

“We can just go for coffee or a donut,” Arthur pressed more. You just noticed he was holding that notebook he was writing in, as he squeezed it in his hands. You looked into his eyes and you had to admit there was something in them that was very welcoming. Maybe that’s what kept you interested in him. 

“Sure. I can do that,” you said to him and you saw his face light up in relief and happiness. 

“I know a place,” he said and started to cross the street. 

And you followed him and his surprisingly quick yet languid pace. Coffee with a clown. That could be the title of your memoir, you thought. You grinned to yourself and kept up with Arthur.