#You have to love that the 'but on a tuesday' comes up automatically now

[maribat-media]

Maribat Media Poll Sunday Tuesday

At this point, it's a flip of a coin as to whether the polls want to happen on Sunday or Tuesday. They have a mind of their own.

There is no right or wrong answer to this one!

Leave your thoughts and start up the conversation. If you liked more than one option, say so! If you had an idea not present, share it out!

As they say, "April Showers bring May Flowers", so perhaps some new things will pop up then bloom in the fandom.

Happy Creating everyone! Hopefully the showers of April have not washed you away yet. Ride out the storm for there is beauty on the horizon.

[bunny-1111]

I love love love your writing! I was just re-reading “Theodore Nott who…” and possibly wondered if you could expand on how he reminds reader that he will propose when they are finished school. Kicking my legs giggling thinking about that 😂

Aww, thank you. Of course, I can. Let me know if you have any other requests!! PS I wrote a whole thing, ready to push post now. It was perfect, but something happened, and it didn't save, so I had to rewrite it the best I could, I hope you enjoy this anyway AH I'M SO MAD 🥲,

...

Theodore, at age 11, thought you were the prettiest girl in school

Theodore, at age 13, began to navigate his not-so-small crush on you

Theodore, at age 16, felt his heart in his stomach as he swallowed his pride and finally asked you out

That is where our story starts.

By 17, you got comfortable enough and started spending the night in each other's dorms; one random Tuesday morning, Theo woke up earlier than usual, you were still fast asleep. Theodore was a very productive person. If he woke up early, he would get up, make a coffee, go for a run around the grounds, come back, and shower, all before most had even opened their eyes. As he reached for the corner of his side of the blanket and moved to start his day, you felt him, causing you to stir, your brows quickly scrunching, your body automatically moving towards him; you reached for him even in sleep. Something in his mind slowed, something in his heart raced, something in his soul shook. Dropping the blanket in his hand, he surrendered to you, laying so close, gently caressing your face, feeling peace in your dream state. Then it dawned on him, if I married her, this would be the last face I would see before I slept and the first I would see when I woke up.

That's when it began.

His constant reminders of marriage.

That very morning.

When your eyes fluttered open, Theos wide eyes already met yours, it would've scared you in his eyes weren't so dreamy.

"Good morn-" you start

"Marry me" he interrupted

"What?!" you laughed out. It was too early for this

"Marry me?" he smiled

"shut up" you laughed, reaching your hand under your pillow, softly throwing it at him

"Come on, why not?" he pleaded

"Theodore, we're still in high school, that's why", you smile

"Fine, you fucking time waster, but after we get out of here, I'm gonna marry you", he insisted

You thought it was a passing thought.

Something he wouldn't bring up again.

Boy, were you wrong, he proved that time and time again over the next two years.

Sitting in class, he would peck a kiss on your cheek from behind you. "Kisses for the Mrs" he would whisper with a smile before returning to his own seat

In the great hall, he slapped Matteo's hand away as you and he both reached for the same dish. "Can't you see my fiance wants that slice?" he grits, serving you before Matteo puts it on his own plate. "You aren't fucking engaged?" A defeated Matteo retorts, arms out in confusion. "Don't start", you apologise on behalf of you and your pretend husband

In Hogsmeade, you and Pansy tried on dresses. Theodore was walking past when he saw you in the mirror. Letting himself in, he slithered behind you, his reflection joining yours in the mirror, slipping a hand down your waist. "You know, if you look this good in this dress, I can only imagine how good you'd look in white," he'd smirk, "you know when we get married," he muttered on his way to the register, leaving money, giving the workers strict instructions to charge him for any dress you bought, for them to keep the change too.

When Theodore had early morning Quittich practice, he would leave a steaming cup of coffee or tea on your bedside, accompanied by a note: " To keep you warm while I'm gone, good morning, my better half, Mrs Nott."

When you studied in the libary, you had a very distinct look of focus. He would lay a bored hand on his face, "Come on, let's go for a smoke", he whined, "No, Theodore, We have final exams soon. You should be studying. Go without me if you want" you explain, fingers pointing at text on his book, "not going without you" he said frustrated under his breath. Theodore kept testing, blabbing nonsense, attempting to distract you, staring at you instead of the open books. "Why are we wasting time? You could be pregnant by now," he said, his free hand twirling your hair. This caused you to slam your book closed, looking up at him, your eyes widening. "What!?" he laughed. "If I had it my way, we would've tied the knot last year, and we would have a kid on the way", he continued; you did nothing but shake your head and fight your growing smile.

Walking through the gardens, you pointed at some hydrangeas. "My favourite flowers" you smiled. "I know" he smiled "I'd walk down the aisle with hydrangeas in my hand," you say softly, leaning in to smell the flowers, "When we get married, I will" you say picking some to take with you. Theodore could've fainted on the spot. 'When we get married,' your voice repeated in his mind, pulling you up into a deep kiss

When you finally graduated, Theodore pulled your father aside. If there was something Teddy valued, it was tradition; he was officially asking for your hand.

Returning to you, smiling ear to ear, he suggests you join him on a walk. Reaching the tree near the Black Lake, he kissed your forehead, one hand intertwined with yours, the other hand in his pocket, fidgeting with a small box.

A box containing a ring.

That he had bought on the year prior, now all that was left to do was kneel.

unedited today, sorry for any incorrection I'm too tired to reread or edit rn LOL

in my mind me and teddy r married

him in a suit KILL ME NOW one chance PLS

[harrywavycurly]

Tuesday Dinner: A Sopranos meets Mafia!Harry Styles AU✨

A/N: This is based on this post right here and is probably the most dramatic thing I’ve ever written in my life but I just love the Sopranos and Harry Styles so please don’t take this seriously it’s just a bit of fun!

CW: Language, Harry is a dick but he loves you, threats of violence, brief act of minor violence (you toss something at the back of Harry’s head), this is probably a kinda toxic relationship but I don’t mind if you don’t?

Summary: You’re making dinner on a random Tuesday and Harry’s “coworkers” keep showing up unannounced✨

You place a wooden spoon in your pasta sauce to give it a stir in the pot it’s simmering in, having just moved it to one of the burners on the back of the stove. You feel a hand on your hip and a moment later you feel a soft kiss being placed to the side of your neck before a chin is resting on your shoulder, you smile as you take the spoon out of the pot and bring it up to your lips to give it a taste. You ignore the slight pouting noise Harry makes when you don’t offer him a taste before putting the spoon on the spoon rest next to the stove, deciding your sauce needs a little more salt.

“Where’s the pasta?” Harry questions when he doesn’t see a pot of boiling water next to the pot your sauce is on, you roll your eyes at his question because you know Harry is well aware where the pasta you’ll be using tonight is.

“M’serious what’s the sauce goin’ on?” He asks as he stands up giving your hip a squeeze before he turns to head towards the fridge his eyes landing on the bread on the counter next to it. “All I see is a baguette and-”

“Oh you didn’t just want some sauce with a side of bread and maybe a salad?” You ask feeling annoyed that he’s even in the kitchen in the first place, having been in the office since he got home from work a few hours ago. Harry shoots you a glare as his hand grips the handle of the fridge his wedding ring making a light clink sound when it comes in contact with the metal door handle, not liking your sudden attitude when all he’s doing is asking about what you’re making for dinner.

“You’ll know what the sauce is goin’ on when you open up the fridge and don’t go bein’ an ass about it either okay? I know how you get about-”

“Know how I get about what?” You go back to your sauce, adding a pinch of salt before grabbing the spoon to give it a quick stir as Harry opens the fridge and sees the container of leftover pasta sitting on the bottom shelf. Harry lets out a groan as he leans in and grabs the container off the shelf and sees its full of the rigatoni you didn’t use in the baked dish you made the other night.

“Oh you’ve got to be fuckin’ kiddin me. We can’t get fresh pasta?”

“It is fresh I made that last night. This is just a Tuesday night dinner for the two of us Harry what are you expecting a Sunday dinner kinda spread for?”

“So you’re gonna ruin your good sauce with some microwaved noodles?” Your grip on the handle of the spoon tightens as you turn around so you can face Harry who is now standing by the fridge with the container of pasta in his hands.

“Tell me Harry does this look like the Olive Garden to you? You know damn well I’m not microwaving the fuckin’ pasta you jack-” Before you can finish your sentence you hear three loud knocks on the back door before it opens making Harry turn his attention away from you and towards the back door.

“H you’re not gonna believe the shit I just heard.” Harry puts the container of pasta on the counter next to the fridge as his younger cousin Christopher walks through the door. “Oh somethin’ smells good in here.” You give him a smile as he walks into the kitchen and automatically opens his arms out to give you a quick hug.

“You know that’s your problem. You’re always kissin’ the wrong ass Christopher.” Harry snaps as he places a hand on his hip as he sends a glare to his cousin as you place a kiss to his cheek before he pulls away from you. “Who’d you come over here to see huh? Me or her?” Christopher quirks a brow at you, silently asking what Harry’s problem is when he hears a slight edge in his voice making you roll your eyes and shrug as you turn and go back to perfecting your sauce.

“It’s called havin’ manners H. I mean come on you act like you don’t know who my mother is? She’d kick my ass if she knew I stepped into a woman’s kitchen and didn’t say hello to her first.” You chuckle to yourself as Christopher makes his way towards Harry who is still glaring at his cousin.

“What is it you need to tell me?” He asks as he runs a hand through his hair while his cousin walks past him and to the fridge to grab a beer.

“They got Jimmy.”

“Who got Jimmy?”

“They did H.”

“You’re talkin’ in fuckin circles Christopher who the hell got him? The feds? Sal’s guys? Who?” You bring your spoon up to your lips to give it another taste and smile to yourself when you finally feel you got it right and don’t need to add anything.

You hear Christopher let out a sigh as he opens his beer but before he can fully explain the situation to Harry your back door swings open. You let out a startled squeak as both men instantly place a hand on the back waistband of their slacks, reaching for something they keep tucked away for protection that their casual short sleeved dress shirts do a good job at keeping hidden.

“Boss!” Harry lets out a sigh of relief as Paulie rushes through the door in his usual matching tracksuit and heads straight into the kitchen, Harry’s hand that was on the waistband of his pants falls to his side while he uses the other to pinch the bridge of his nose as an attempt to calm himself down.

“How’ya doin sweetheart? Smells good.” You turn your head and give him a smile as he leans in and places a kiss to your cheek on his way to the other side of the kitchen where Harry and Christopher are still standing by the fridge.

“The fuck is the matter with you Paulie? Bustin’ in the door like that? You’re lucky I didn’t redecorate the walls with your fuckin’-”

“You didn’t hear me knock? I knocked before I came in boss I swear I’m not some kinda wild fuckin’ animal.” He says with his hands raised in a show of mock surrender since he can sense the irritation coming off his boss. “They got Jimmy.”

“I already told em’ Paulie.” Christopher explains after taking a sip of his beer. Harry lets out a frustrated groan as he places both hands on his hips and shakes his head while a sarcastic chuckle bubbles up and out of his mouth from his deep in his chest.

“Actually no one has told me shit because I still don’t know who got Jimmy?” He snaps while you just do your best to ignore the loudness of the men that are starting to take over your kitchen as you turn so you can grab the bread off the counter next to where Harry placed the container of pasta.

“Yo uncle H you hear what happened to Jimmy?” You turn your head to give Harry a warning glare as once again your back door flies open allowing a loud voice that can only belong to his nephew Anthony, to be heard well throughout the house. Harry ignores your glare as Paulie and Christopher turn to look at the youngest member of the Styles crew.

“If you tell em’ then half the damn neighborhood is gonna hear about it too you fuckin’ loud mouth.” Paulie teases as Anthony walks into the kitchen, you open your mouth to say something to your husband but feel a hand on your shoulder pulling you in for a side hug and a kiss to your cheek.

“How ya doin auntie? Smells incredible in here.” While you want to roll your eyes at him you can’t because you’re not annoyed with him or any of the men in your kitchen minus the one that they all came over to talk to, the one they call boss but you just call your husband.

“If one more of you ass kissin’ fucks tells her it smells good in here I’m kickin all you out on your asses. It’s just a fuckin’ sauce and some leftover pasta for Christ sake.” You feel your jaw clench as you reach for a small bread knife from the knife block, Harry watches you turn around and face him with the bread in one hand and the knife in the other. He has to hold off the smirk that’s tugging at the corner of his mouth as he crosses his arms over his chest making his biceps flex a bit as you narrow your eyes at him in a harsh glare while taking a step towards him causing Paulie and Christopher to move to the side to give you some space while Anthony just stands behind his uncle.

“Say one more thing about what I’m making for dinner Harry and you’ll be taking all your meals through a fuckin’ straw for the next few months.” You threaten as you raise the knife up and use it to point at him, Paulie raises an eyebrow as he looks from you to Harry who just gives you a nod as he takes a step towards you and slowly reaches a hand out and places it over yours that’s gripping the handle of the knife that’s still pointed at him.

“Yeah? You gonna break my jaw sweetheart? Is that it?” You shrug as you let him lower your hand holding the knife to your side while looking him in the eyes, you can tell by the way they are a light shade of green almost like a jade color that he’s not angry at you for speaking to him that way in front of company. “I’d let you if it meant I didn’t have to eat microwaved pasta and lukewarm sauce for a while.” He admits with a smirk knowing that comment is going to push you over the edge.

“You’re such a fuckin’ asshole.” Harry’s smirk turns into a full blown grin as you insult him because he knows you’re capable of calling him much worse things than an asshole so that’s his signal that you’re not really mad at him. He lets go of your hand that’s holding the knife and brings it up to cup the side of your face, his rings feeling cool against the warmth of your skin.

“Yeah m’a real fuckin’ prick but you love me.” You roll your eyes making Harry’s grip on your face tighten ever so slightly as his thumb presses into the side of your cheek as he leans down so his lips are right next to your ear. “Come on baby tell me you love me.” He whispers into your ear before placing a kiss to the spot just below it.

“I love you.” You say with an annoyed sigh making Harry smile because in that moment he feels he’s won. He places a kiss to your forehead before he drops his hand from your face and takes a step around you towards the dining room. The guys pause a moment when they hear you let out a scoff before you turn and see Harry’s back facing you as he reaches the edge of the kitchen.

You quickly reach over and place the knife on the counter and grab an apple out of the fruit basket you keep on the kitchen island and before you can second guess yourself you toss it, aiming for the back of Harry’s head. He pauses as the apple makes contact with his shoulder instead of where you had intended it to go but a hit is a hit so you aren’t too upset. He slowly turns around and looks at the apple on the ground, bending down to pick it up before he looks over at you with a glare.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Say it back you fuckin’ jackass.” Harry looks at you with a quirked brow as you stare at him waiting to hear him say he loves you back.

“I love you. You’re the love of my whole miserable fuckin’ life okay? Happy now?” Harry admits and you just nod and turn to grab the knife and make your way over to the area by stove so you can begin to slice the bread and get it ready to be put in the oven with some oil and a bit of garlic.

“Maybe your life wouldn’t be so miserable if you were nicer to your wife you prick.” You mumble making Harry laugh as he turns and walks into the dining room.

“I love when we get dinner and a show.” Paulie jokes as he walks behind you and off in the direction Harry went.

“Always with the jokes. How bout you make yourself useful and set the table huh?” You laugh when you hear Harry’s voice from the dining room followed by what you know is the sound of his hand smacking Paulie upside the head.

“The fuck you two waitin around for? Someone better tell me what the hell happened to Jimmy before my wife sets foot in this room or I’m lettin’ her break all your jaws.” He shouts from the table and you look over your shoulder and watch Christopher and Anthony nearly trip over themselves trying to get in the dining room.

“M’sorry bout the whole dinner and a show comment. You know m’a fuckin’ idiot sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about it Paulie you’re fine he’s just an ass.” You reassure him with a smile as he stands next to you while he opens the cabinet you keep the plates in.

“Just a normal Tuesday at the Styles house huh?” He teases with a giggle and you can’t help but laugh and nod because while normally there aren’t this many unexpected visitors on a Tuesday night you can’t say it hasn’t happened before and that it won’t happen again.

[laurfilijames]

Worst Way

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Mention of mutual masturbation/video call sex. Unprotected intercourse. Will in that polo shirt.

Summary: Will comes home from doing a stint of talks and his only priority is getting his fill of you, your time apart making him need you in the worst way.

A/N: I've been listening to this song on repeat and needed to write about it, and the character I felt that fit it the best was our Captain Miller. We'll consider this a little early birthday treat to myself, I was going to wait until Tuesday to post it but I'm too excited! A big thank you to @spaghettificationandpretzels for making me the beautiful banners to use!

---

In the grand scheme of things, five days was a blink compared to the amount of days he’d been away from you before, but as he drew closer to being home, Will’s impatience to get there was becoming nearly unbearable.

He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, the leather feeling cool to his palm that was hot from his eagerness and holding it in the same spot for too long now, glancing at his watch on his wrist where he calculated he had exactly two hours and fifty-three minutes left until he would pull in the driveway.

Each day had been the same; driving from base to base all along the coast from Tampa to Houston, waking up in an uncomfortable motel bed he tried hard not to think about how many other people had laid in doing god knows what, and giving his memorized speech to a different room full of candidates considering signing on to be part of the Special Forces.

It was all automatic by now, having said the same words one hundred and ninety-two times, his mind able to drift off to what you were doing as he spoke without a second thought, wondering if you were making coffee in the kitchen wearing just his hoodie and your underwear, or if you were cleaning the house, feeling jealous of your fingers grazing over every surface and all the belongings that made up your home.

He imagined your smile; greeting the cashier warmly as you placed groceries onto the belt from the cart, grinning as you said thank you to the older gentleman who held the door open for you as you left the store, and knowing he was so close to seeing it for himself again kept him hanging on to get through each long day without you.

Late night video calls and texts sent between lectures helped carry him through, feeling grateful to at least have that compared to what little communication he would have when he was deployed, a crooked grin tugging his lip up as he thought to your last video call from the night before; both of you laying naked in your separate beds, touching yourselves in ways that were instructed by the other, the sounds of your moans brought on by your own hand still repeating in Will’s mind now.

He adjusted in his seat, his right foot pressing on the accelerator with slightly more pressure, the need to get home and have you increasing to a level he couldn’t tolerate anymore than he already had.

Rain started speckling on the windshield, a few drops at first before turning into a steady fall, the streams of it on the glass reminding him of all the showers you had solo in his absence, feeling envious of the water running down your skin and every curve, imagining you slipping into your bedsheets with drops still clinging to you and marking the cotton with darker spots.

Will wondered if it was raining at home, too, if you were sitting on the porch watching it pour, always loving the sound of the rolling thunder and the tapping of each drop on the roof, or if the skies were clear as the sun started to go down, picturing the pinkish-orange light casting on your skin to make it glow in its golden hour.

With a sigh, he rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, accepting that no matter how much he continued to dream about you, it wouldn’t bring him any closer to home any faster, accepting that he had to live through each of these minutes in full until he was able to have his hands on you again.

With the sun now tucked behind the horizon and the ground saturated with water, Will slammed the door to his truck, leaving his bags in the back seat to get tomorrow, nothing more important than getting inside the house and getting his hands on you.

His boots ground against the wet pavement as he took purposeful strides to reach the front door, quickly inserting the key into the deadbolt and unlocking it, the smell of home and of you filling his nose as soon as he turned the handle and stepped inside.

Before he could close the door behind him, you walked around the corner from the hallway leading to your bedroom, your smile making his heart leap in his chest as you locked eyes with him.

You rushed into his arms, your body warm and soft, the feel of your hands carding up his back making goosebumps break out on his skin. You both peeled away from each other slightly, exchanging a look that spoke more than words could before crashing your lips together, a shared moan transferring between your mouths as the desperation you both felt finally set in.

Will kicked the door shut with his foot, making it slam so hard the walls shook, his hands tearing to get to your form that was covered by an oversized t-shirt and quickly discovering that was all you had on.

He growled against your lips, his hands squeezing your bare ass and spreading your cheeks slightly, feeling you press your hips forward into his in a silent request for more.

Your chest rubbed against his body, the tight fit of his polo allowing him to feel how hard your nipples were through both of your shirts, your arousal clearly having built up as much as his had in anticipation of his arrival.

He felt drunk with lust, his senses working primally as everything about you made him feral, your scent and touch breaking him down to be nothing more than a man who needed his woman in the most raw and cardinal way.

Will grabbed at the hem of your shirt and ripped it up and off of you, his hand gripping your jawline when he met you in another claiming kiss, hearing your breathy moan die out in his mouth.

He forced himself to stop, his chest heaving as he broke the seal of your lips, seeing yours already puffy from his beard chafing against them and wet from his kiss.

You looked heavenly standing before him; naked and stunning, equally as vulnerable as you were strong, your frame small in the shadow of his. But what made him feel powerful was the love and lust held in your eyes, your heavy gaze consenting for him to take you how he needed, knowing you craved him as much as he did you as you shifted on the spot you stood, squeezing your thighs together while arching your back so your chest stook out.

A crooked, half-smile dressed his lips as he took a step toward you again, backing you up against the wall and shoving his thigh between your legs, watching with complete satisfaction as you closed your eyes at the feel of your bare sex contacting the rough denim of his jeans.

He dipped his head and latched onto your neck, sucking and nipping at your tender skin, making you squirm against him and begin to ride his thigh, his hand slapping the painted drywall beside your head.

His fingers dug into the flesh on your hips with his other hand, clawing at you in a way he knew might leave bruises but that you also loved, aiding your movements on him as you ground back and forth.

“Will…” you whined, his name the only word uttered between you so far, the sound of it coming off your tongue so desperately in combination with how your hands clawed at his shoulders encouraging him to kiss your neck even more and press his leg up harder against your core.

His mouth traveled upward along your throat and under your chin, pulling your earlobe with his teeth before making his way back to your lips, growling when your hands ran over his straining cock in his jeans and then tugged at his shirt to untuck it from his waist.

He lifted his arms for you to whisk it over his head, returning to your mouth instantly while your soft hands smoothed over his bare chest, his skin feeling like it was lit on fire wherever your palms had laid.

You worked next on his belt, the sound of the metal clanking undone and then his zipper sliding open almost lost in the wet smack of your lips, your fingers sliding behind his back to pull his jeans along with his boxer-briefs down over his ass. They fell at his feet and he stepped out of them as quickly as he could, holding your face in his hands to try to keep you near him, but feeling you sink away from him as you dropped to your knees.

The look in your eyes as you stared up at him made his cock throb even more, and when you took it in your hand and stroked it while bringing your lips to the tip, he knew he couldn’t go a second longer without being inside you, having you take him in your mouth not even enough to sate his need.

Will knelt in front of you, grabbing your face again as he kissed you hard, leaning his body forward to guide you back to lay you down beneath him.

Spread out beautifully for him, he covered you, his cock finding your entrance without assistance, and with the slight movement of his hips, he pushed inside your wet hole and stretched you out.

Your cry was suffocated by his tongue, your back arching off the floor as you succumbed to his size, and Will allowed no time for you to adjust, pulling out of you before slamming back in again.

His thrusts were powerful and unbroken, determined to give you everything you needed while taking from you everything he could, his pleasure controlling all of him and blinding any restraint he had left.

You met him with equal fervor, rolling your hips with his with a similar goal in mind, chasing what only he could provide you, feeling you get wetter by the second and already soaking his dick and groin.

Will held onto you tight, nearing his end, his hands grabbing at any part of you he was able to keep you as close to him as he could while he hammered into you, your cunt clenching around him in a way he knew that signalled you were about to come apart too.

Your nails scratched his back wildly, muscles tensing and straining in both of your bodies as you rode through your climaxes, Will continuing to pump in and out of you frantically as he coated your walls and filled you completely.

Feeling you contract around him again, he didn’t relent, fucking you more with all he had left as a second orgasm took hold of you, the feel of his cum leaking out of you extending your high in the most addicting way.

His panting breaths filled your mouth as your kisses began to slow, feeling you relax under him as he settled his pace until he eventually stilled in you, his hand smoothing over your forehead where he looked at you smiling sweetly at him after he’d peeled his face away from yours.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he purred, finally giving you a proper greeting.

You giggled softly, your finger tracing the crease beside his mouth. “Welcome home, Will.”

---

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls

@littlenosoul @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90

@paintlavillered @casa-boiardi @stealfromthedevil @kmc1989 @justreblogginfics

@spaghettificationandpretzels @whatever-lmaoo @steviebbboi

[solarwonux]

Business Proposal || knj (11/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, fluff, flirting,

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 4.3k

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

A/n: lol hello hi, being an an adult and a social adult is hard. I've had this written since June, but never got the time to edit it. Until now, I hope you enjoy it.xx

Thanks to those who have stuck around it means a lot!

Prev | next

m.list | series m.list | wattpad

Present: 

“I don’t get it?” Casey Han, the newly hired intern in the Writing and Rhetoric Department voices as she leans back in your office lounge chairs. Every Tuesday she comes into your office at four so you can help her review her Master Thesis on Language and Dialects in Different Regions. 

She also uses this as an opportunity to fill you in on the rumors floating around the office, pry you for juicy deets about yours and Namjoons relationship, or thirst over your best friend slash soon to be brother-in-law aka Jeon Jungkook. 

It used to bother you at first, but over the last two months you have grown fond of the graduate student. She has a great sense of humor, knows all the juicy gossip, and mainly buys you an iced americano every Wednesday and Friday morning. 

“What don’t you get Cas?” You stand up from your desk chair, walk to the other lounge chair and sit down. By now, all thesis editing, review, or proof-reading has ended. You get off work in five minutes and you have to wait for Namjoon to finish grading his final papers. A task you finished three days ago. 

“Your fiance is the hottest guy in this building and you’re always holed up in your office. If I was in your shoes I’d never keep my hands off him.” She shrugs, leaning her elbow against the arm rest and resting her chin over the palm of her hands. 

You laugh, shaking your head. If things were different and you didn’t know Casey the way you did, you’d surely be suspecting her of hinting at something else. But you have nothing to worry about with Casey. Her eyes are reserved for Jungkook or Leonardo “Dilf” DiCaprio. Her words not yours.

“I mean we’re together all the time. I think keeping our space at work is just our way of staying professional and it gives us something to talk about at the end of the day.” You shrug, chucking off your heels and crossing your legs underneath you. 

“You’re stronger than me.” She smiles, shaking her head. “But it's cute. One can only dream of having a relationship like yours.”

“Believe me it took a while to get here.” You brush her off. It did. After coming clean to each other, things didn’t automatically become all sunshine and rainbows. There were constant petty arguments about who takes the trash out? Who does the dishes? You vaguely remember getting annoyed with Namjoon because he couldn’t use a knife if his life depended on it. But the two of you decided that if you wanted your relationship to work, couples therapy was the best option. 

So, every Monday at five the two of you see Dr. Heras. It’s helped with talking to each other, and getting to know each other's triggers and how to handle them. The two of you have household assigned chores to each other, but if the other forgets the other has to step up. Nightly recaps are a must, which makes bedtime exciting for the two of you. It’s the main reason the two of you don’t meet up throughout the day until it's time to go home. Things still aren’t perfect but they’re getting better day by day.

Casey claps her hands together, bringing you out of your bubble. Her face is bright like she just remembered something and it excites you. “When is your dress fitting?” 

The brief excitement escapes you when you remember how much you’re not looking forward to it. Not because you don’t want to see your mother and Namjoon’s mother. It’s because you don’t like any of the dresses on the online catalog of Hyugas Bridal. 

“Saturday.” You say, bringing your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on top of them. You’ve tried everything to convince yourself to be as excited as possible. It is your wedding dress fitting after all. A moment every little girl dreams about. A moment you have always dreamed about, but you can’t shake that there’s something holding you back from feeling exciting. 

No, you know exactly why you’re not looking forward to it. The reason starts with Jung and ends with Hoseok. 

He’s been in the back of your mind for the past week. Since the day the mothers have made a groupchat to decide the dress fitting date. At first you thought it was because it would be the first time they would be meeting. Then you shifted your blame when you caught a glimpse of the online catalog. Then one night while Namjoon was out with the boys, you remembered the faint promise from all those years ago, and things started making sense. 

No, you haven’t spoken to the well renowned designer in years. After a year communication between the two of you ran dry. You never resented him for it. You were going through things and he was building his brand from the bottom up. Your problems were only going to make him worry and that was the last thing you wanted. But he’s been living in your head rent free. You keep going back and forth. 

Should I text him?

Should I just settle? 

Should I text him? 

It’s a constant battle. One you haven’t decided on a winner. It’s putting such a damper on a day where you’re supposed to share fond memories with your mother and soon to be mother-in-law. Yet, you just can’t shake the feeling that you know what you want already. 

You're stubborn like that. 

“Why don’t you sound excited?” Casey lowers her voice. Her brows furrow in concern. 

As much as you love Casey and now consider her a close friend. This is something you don’t want to simply get into. So you lie, “I’m just nervous, our mothers are meeting for the first time. And both of them have strong personalities.” You sigh. 

Casey laughs, “I will keep you in my prayers for the rest of the week.” 

You smile, your attention getting caught on Namjoon’s ringtone. You don’t even need to check your phone to know that he’s texted you that he’s done and to meet him downstairs. So, without a minute of hesitation you slip your feet into your heels again and stand up. “Thank you, I think I will need it a lot on Saturday.” 

“Please, please, please send me pictures.” Casey clasps her hands in front of her, pouting and widening her eyes. You smile fondly. Casey has been your first female friend in years. A true girl's girl. A lovely breath of fresh air from all the testosterone you’ve been constantly surrounded by since childhood. 

“Of course, you’re the only one who will get pics anyway.” You round your desk and shut off your desktop, and pick up your work bag slinging it over your shoulder. 

“You mean I’ve knocked down the guys and made it up your list.” She stands up, smoothing down her pleated gray skirt. 

“You will always be at the top of the list Cas.” You smile, getting your phone and unlocking it to Namjoon’s short text: Done, down in 5 mins.

Followed by another one that says: Dinner?

You smile and type a quick: poke bowl plssssss.

You lock your phone and stuff it into the pocket of your gray dress pants. Casey scoffs as she opens the door to your office. “You two are gross and cute.” 

You follow her out of your office, “What do you mean?” You lock your office door and lock your arms with hers. 

“You get this huge smile on your face and then your eyes get all twinkly. It’s a little gross.” She bumps her hip with yours before giggling. “It’s so cute though.” 

“I think you’re making shit up.” You whisper, and she stops walking the minute she reaches the front reception desk. “I’ll buy you coffee tomorrow by the way.” You wink, as she takes her seat in front of her desktop. She still has two more hours left of her shift, and the last two hours are always the slowest. 

“You don’t have to but it's greatly appreciated.” She moves her mouse to wake up her monitor, and slumps in her seat sighing. “I’ll work on my revisions and email you the appointments for next week.” 

“Thanks Cas. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You rush out when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You don’t bother to check it nor stay for her to reply the second the elevator dings on your floor. 

“Love ya,” Casey shouts after you, and you send her finger hearts as the elevator door closes. 

“Jin wants to go out for drinks tomorrow.” Namjoon says as he enters the bathroom, leaning against the doorway. His eyes find yours through the mirror as you begin to apply your night cream. 

You hum, placing the container against the counter. “You should go, the semester is almost over and you’ve been working hard.” You say, spreading the cream down your neck, cleaning your hands on a clean towel and proceeding to pick up the tube of your eye cream. 

“I know but he’s inviting Tae and these days wherever Tae goes so does Jimin.” He pushes himself off the wall and walks towards you. “Things are still a little awkward between Jimin and I.” He finishes, facing you and leaning against the bathroom counter crossing his arms in front of him. 

You smile, screwing the cap of your eye cream tube and placing it down. “I think you’re thinking about it too much. Jimin doesn’t hold grudges, plus we’ve talked things through already.” You pat your under eyes with your ring fingers and then turn to face him. “If it bothers you, you should talk to him too, but don’t feel pressured to do so because of me.” 

He nods, uncrossing his arms and grabs your hands, reeling you in. “I definitely want to apologize to him and settle things between us before the wedding, but I don’t feel ready.” 

“Then do it when you are ready Joon.” You reassure, lacing your fingers with his. “But I think you should still go, it’s been months since all of you got together to hang out.”  

Namjoon opens his mouth to interject but you stop him with a roll of your eyes. “Working out together doesn’t count.” 

He sighs, shaking his head, letting go of one of your hands and snaking his arm around your waist, scooting his leg between yours. “Sometimes it’s scary how you know what I’m thinking.” He whispers, placing his forehead against yours. “But I will go, I do miss them a little.” He confesses, and gives you a quick kiss on your lips before hugging you completely. “Can you tell me what’s been bothering you all week now?” 

The only downside of couples therapy and learning more about each other is that neither of you can hide anything anymore. He is well aware that you’ve been up in your head more than usual. 

You pull away, placing your hands on his cheeks. “Sometimes it's scary how you know that I’m thinking too much.” 

He plays with the tie of your bathrobe, chuckling at your response. “Your thoughts are too loud, and you didn’t sleep last night.” He shrugs. “I was waiting for you to wake me up to talk but all you did was sigh and turn a thousand times.”

You pout, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to keep you up too.” 

He shakes his head, “Don’t be. I would’ve interjected but I also know you wouldn’t have told me until your conscience was clearer.” 

You nod. “I’m nervous about Saturday.” 

Namjoon stops playing with the tie and hugs you again. “Don’t be, your mom is great and so is mine and I know they’ll get along fine. We might be making a mistake by introducing them to each other. I have a feeling they will be inseparable after Saturday.” 

“It’s not that Joon.” You sigh, he tilts his head to the side. “I know they’ll get along, it's just that–” You stop biting your lip, trying to sort your words out as quickly as possible in your head. 

As far you know, Hoseok and Namjoon haven’t spoken to each other in years. Jungkook knows why but he won’t tell you. He only says that they lost communication. But it's odd. Hoseok’s career has expanded to the point that he’s getting interviewed by Jimmy Fallon. He’s been invited to all the fashion weeks, and now has his own magazine. Your dream is to one day own one of his purses. You saw the ad for one a couple weeks ago on Instagram. You showed it to Namjoon and he had no reaction. 

Which was weird because you thought Namjoon would be proud of his once best friend. He even grumbled a little when he found your box that kept all the magazine clippings from his previous interviews. It was your way of showing your support from a distance. So, whatever happened between them isn’t a normal falling out with no hard feelings. 

From what you can tell there are hard feelings you just don’t know why. Nor do you want to pry, but the promise Hoseok made you all those years ago keeps echoing in your brain. 

Maybe this is why you’ve been running yourself up the wall. You want to reach out but you don’t know how Namjoon would react if you told him you were. After all, Hoseok was a huge part of your life. A relationship Namjoon witnessed from start to finish. 

“What is it?” He says with concern. 

“I don’t want my wedding dress to come from Hyugas Bridal.” You whisper. 

Namjoon nods, “That’s okay there’s so many other wedding dress shops, you can go to a new one.” He offers. 

You shake your head, “I don’t want any of those dresses from any of those shops.” 

Namjoon’s hands fall down to his side. “I see.” He pauses before, pushing past you and out the bathroom. His demeanor has changed so quickly you begin to suspect that he knows exactly what’s going on. 

You follow him. “Joon what are you doing?” You enter your bedroom. It’s empty and you begin to wonder where exactly your fiance went until you see him walk out of the closet with a slip of line paper in his hand. 

“Here,” He extends his hand. “Text him this is his new number.” He gently shoves the paper further in your direction. 

“What is this? Text who?” You take the folded slip of paper and watch as he walks to the bed, sitting down on the edge. 

“Hoseok, that’s who you want to design your wedding dress right?” He clasps his hands together. “He promised so it’s only right.” He adds, clenching his jaw. 

Now, you’re confused. Actually, you’re beyond confusion at this point. You’re also concerned because Namjoon looks like he’s about to burst. “H-How do you know?” 

Namjoon chuckles dryly, “He told me before he left.” He throws his hands up in the air. “Actually he told me a bunch of things but half of those things aren’t important. What’s important is that you want to wear one of his wedding dress designs so text him.” 

You take a seat next to him. “Why does this bother you Joon?” You say softly, placing your hands on top of his, trying your best to smooth down the grip. 

“Because it was supposed to be your wedding dress for your wedding with him.” He whispers, unclasping his hands and settling them on top of his pajama pants. 

“Namjoon, we were never going to get married.” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. 

“But you could’ve. He’s been back in town since January. Jin has tried everything to get us to meet again but I keep turning down his invites. If we hadn’t tried to solve our issues I have no doubt he would have contacted you again.” 

You smile, bringing his hands to your lap. “Namjoon, things between Hobi and I are long over. I won’t lie to you and tell you I don’t love him anymore because I do just not in the same way I loved him back then and not the same way I love you now. I don’t want to marry him, I don’t think I ever wanted to marry him in the first place. He will always love his career more than anything in this world and that’s okay. I never will hold that against him because although it hurt when we broke up and I did make bad decisions trying to fill the void I felt when he left. I grew up. We both grew up Namjoon.” You finish, bringing his hands up to your lips and kissing his palms gently. 

Namjoon sighs, “He will likely join us tomorrow and what if you run into him one day and fall for his charms again.” He pouts.

“Are you jealous?” You tilt your head in amusement. He lets go of your hands and rolls his eyes. 

“So what if I am. Is that a problem? He’s a much better man than me in every sense of the word.” He stands up and walks to his side of the bed before peeling back your duvet. 

You turn your body in his direction, biting your bottom lip to stifle your laugh. You’ve recently learned that Namjoon loves to sulk like a child and he has no problem expressing when something petty is bothering him. 

“It’s not, I think it’s cute.” You sit up on your knees, before he scoffs and lays down, his back turned to you. You move closer to him and wrap your arm around his torso before leaning your body over his so you’re face to face with him. “You’re more than enough Joon.” You kiss his temple gently. 

Namjoon rolls onto his back. “Are you sure?” He snakes his arms around your waist tugging you closer. You straddle his lap, and lean down resting your forehead against his. “I wouldn’t be working this hard to make our relationship work and better if I didn’t think you were enough.” 

He throws his head back in defeat. His heart is beating so fast he’s thankful you can’t feel or hear it. His jealousy simmers in dying embers. Despite some unresolved differences between him and his oldest friend, he knows Hoseok isn’t one to try to break marriage apart. 

“I love you,” Namjoon says after a while. His voice is soft and full of tenderness. 

I love you.” 

The last time you felt this nervous was the day you had to read your master thesis out loud in class to a group of judgmental writing students. The sales assistant has been watching you pace for the past five minutes since she led you to the back of the shop. 

You admit it was a long shot, texting your ex boyfriend and world renowned fashion designer after Namjoon went to sleep. Sure, what you received was a very polite and formal message. To which you concluded that it was probably his personal assistant that messaged you. 

So, did Hoseok know you were the one meeting with him about commissioning a wedding dress. Or did he figure it was just a normal customer. Still, the whole process was fairly quick. You figured he had a packed schedule considering he had just returned to his hometown after being away for years. You couldn’t help but wonder how things were going to go today, which was why you were running the clock, driving the sales assistant absolutely insane.

Finally, you get tired of wearing a hole in the ground and take a seat on the white sofa, just as the sales assistant whispers into her earpiece. “Mr.Jung will be here in two minutes.” She voices out, adjusting her blouse before moving to the door. 

“Thank you.” You say crossing your legs and placing your bag next to you. Quickly you decide that’s too comfortable so you uncross them and place your bag on your lap again. Fidgeting with your hands, while the door slowly opens, revealing the one and only Jung Hoseok.

You almost feel like suffocating. Your breath hitches as he strolls in wearing a black suit. His hair is slicked back, and some dark sunglasses on the tip of his nose. He oozes a wave of confidence that you have never seen before, and you begin to wonder if he even remembers you and the promise he made to you all those years ago. 

After five months of being away the two of you lost contact. Three years later he unfollowed you on instagram. Well technically he unfollowed everyone on instagram and only followed one person. A beautiful model whose name was Hailey. For years, they were speculated to be dating, but nothing has ever been confirmed or denied. So, who knows. But now he was here, silent, powerful, and looking better than ever. 

And you feel foolish.

“So he finally came to his senses.” Hoseok clicks his tongue and removes his sunglasses, revealing his beautiful warm eyes. 

You don’t know what comes over you. Just an overwhelming sense of nostalgia and before you know it you’re hugging him tight and crying into his very expensive suit. He chuckles, running a soothing hand down your back. He smells fresh, like a cool breeze on the beach. He feels different, but similar and all the love you once held for him comes rushing back in powerful strokes of color. 

For a moment you feel twenty-one again. 

Finally, you pull away and look at him, taking in all the features you once knew by memory. He has a few wrinkles on the side of his eyes. But he looks sharper in all the right places and you realize that just like Namjoon he has aged like fine wine. 

“I’m sorry.” You sniffle, smoothing out the lapels of his suit. “I don’t know what came over me.” You chuckle awkwardly, looking around, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. 

He chuckles, placing his hands on top of your shoulders. “I see you’re still as emotional as ever.” He notes, running his hands down your shoulders before taking your hand in his. He leads you towards the couch and sits you down before taking the seat next to you. 

“Now, tell me how have you been?” He tilts his head, intertwining your fingers with his. If you didn’t know better, you’d mistaken this for a romantic gesture. But you know better as much as you love Hoseok. The love you feel for him is different from the love you feel for Namjoon. It’s just nostalgia with Hoseok, it’s unforgettable memories that you’ve buried. It’s young love that hasn’t known experiences. It’s the chase but never settling. And you’re ready to settle down. 

“I’ve been great. The fall semester starts next week so I’ve been running around like crazy, in and out of meetings. You know the usual boring work life.” You wave off, wiping your eyes with the handkerchief he's handed you. “How have you been, you look amazing.” You blurt out, widening your eyes. 

He chuckles, “I’ve been better, fashion week is in a month and we are still deciding on garments for the models to wear.” 

“Wow, fashion week.” You say in disbelief, shaking your head, to keep the tears at bay. “You really made it Hobi. I’m so proud of you.” You whisper the last part and hug him once more, letting go of your tears. 

It was so embarrassing but you couldn’t help it. You’ll send him money for the dry cleaners later. 

“It wasn’t easy but knowing I’ll one day have this moment with you kept me going.” He whispers, kissing the top of your head, and pulling away. “You look amazing too, I’d love to have you as my professor.” He winks, making you laugh.

“I’d love to have you as my personal designer.” You retaliate, making him laugh. He lets go of your hands and stands up, posing dramatically. “That’s why I’m here. Now, come on, I have a few design ideas I want to run by you first.” He extends his hands for you and pulls you up quickly. “These are just prototypes but I think they all suit you one way or another.” He says, nodding towards the sales assistant who leaves through the bright pink curtains. 

“Wait, wait, wait Hobi. How do you already have prototypes?” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes jokingly. “Joon and I have been in contact here and there. So, I’ve been designing these since then. And don’t worry he hasn’t seen any of them.” 

You’re floored, your annoyance zeroing in on your conniving and jealous fiance. Why the hell did he make you meeting Hoseok such a big deal if he had been plotting this against your back? But instead of focusing on that, you feel the butterflies in your stomach begin to erupt when the sales assistant comes in with three garment bags. 

“Are you ready?” Hoseok says, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his dress pants. 

Your heart begins to thunder against your chest when each garment bag is hung in front of you. You look at Hoseok who has the biggest smile on his face and you realize what a full circle moment this is for the two of you. You gave up your relationship for dreams either of you didn’t know you’d ever achieve. Yet, here you are. Him a self made fashion designer making a pit stop on his busy schedule to do this for you. And you, you are working your dream job and getting ready to marry the love of your adult life. 

You smile nodding enthusiastically. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

A/n: it's short, but I will try to be more consistent with my uploads. Check out all my other stories too!

[ssivinee]

I have a request if you're accepting or like idea or thought 🫠 what if like the reader is a member of a kpop group like le sserafim or ive something, and she got casted at swf2 and she's either in team jam republic or team bebe, and the reader is in a relationship with bada lee like that's not a secret, and then bada got jealous of the reader being close with other people or like haechi or redlic something tysm btw i'm fan of your fanfics like gurl you're so good as in !!! 😭🫶🏻

✧Blue Envy✧

BEBE! Bada Lee x Le sserafim! F Reader: You were a Japanese member of the world-renowned kpop group Le sserafim and were allowed to join the latest season of Street Woman Fighter. After finding out your girlfriend would be on the show, you gladly accept the offer, thinking you'd both enjoy it, yet Bada is caught off-guard at your new unwanted friend.

Word Count: 1.4k

Note: First anon req🤭. Something light before I knock out for the night lol. As of 9/24 my requests and taglist ARE open. (Check out Sivine’s files for anymore information, pinned post)

Character Vision Board

Being one of the top idols right now made you understandably busy, so people were surprised at the announcement of you joining Street Woman Fighter 2 while preparing for the Asia Tour. You are THE Nakajima Y/n of Lesserafim. Everyone in the kpop scene knew you or knew of you. You were among the few with prior dance training in the industry before becoming an idol.

Specifically being advanced in Contemporary dance.

That's what you were known for. I mean, your group had the most background variety compared to all the 4th gen groups. The fimmies had a ballerina, an opera singer, a J-pop idol, a dance academy student, two ex-izone members, and a modern dancer.

You were also the second oldest of the team, holding a motherly reputation in the public eye. Regardless of this persona, everyone knew you had; Bada had met you in your youthful, energetic, and lively state.

The two of you had met through Aespa, being friends with them since you were a trainee at SM Entertainment many years ago. It was a Tuesday in March, and you had decided to visit the girls preparing for their next comeback with 'Girls.'

When you come in, Ningning automatically introduces you to their teacher, Bada. The two of you quickly hit it off, bonding over dancing and your experiences, which led to you two dating 5 months later.

This was revealed to the public a month after being official, but you were okay with it. It made you and Bada happy, not needing to hide that the two were very much together and so in love.

So why the hell was this happening right in front of her face?

It all started when you came in with your girls from Jam Republic. You were called for a meeting 2 months before the show and were told that Jam Rebuplic Agency was allowing you to become the 6th woman of their group. There was no way you'd deny that offer, so you met the girls and bonded as a crew.

During filming, it was time for every group to enter the fight zone, Jam Republic being the last to enter. When entering, Ling's arms stuck onto your waist as the two of you had become insanely closer the past few weeks.

Bada stares at you with stars in her eyes. She told you how gorgeous you were every day, no matter how you looked in the moment, but seeing you in this baby pink outfit had her soul crying out to you.

Your participation in the show caused chaos for other groups. You were a celebrity, an idol, a model, a dancer, a singer, and everything in between. Nakajima Y/n was the talk of the town, and you didn't mind it one bit. Not even sparing a glance at other teams.

Bada didn't mind either. I mean, she loved the attention her girlfriend got. It was an ego booster for her since she got you first and knew no one could take you away. She was just lucky to have you, emotionally and physically.

As people discussed your presence and life story, this brought up your relationship with Bada. Would the course of the show be affected by this? How would people feel about a couple being on two different teams? Was Y/n or Bada happy about the situation?

Those were questions that cycled through everyone's head yet were left unanswered.

After introducing everyone and changing clothes, you had already participated in two no-respect battles, enjoying every moment you could when grooving your body. Bada watched every move and reaction, wanting to hold you when your eyes went wide or kiss you when you pouted.

You would cling to Audrey, who hugs you back, leaning into your body. Ling would squish your face every time your reactions were over the top. Your own leader would pat your waist or butt for motivation, while Latrice and Emma always found ways to make you laugh. Your significant other smiles at your friendship with the girls, adorning the happiness that spreads across your face.

Seems like she wasn't the only one admiring, though.

After a few more battles, it was Wolf'Lo Haechi Wang's turn. She looks around teasingly but walks before Jam Republic and asks you to step out. You bow at the woman, trying to come down from your seat, but before you can come down yourself, Haechi gives you a hand, guiding you to the dance floor. You allowed her, yet hold confusion on your face.

Have you ever seen a contestant on any other season helping a competitor this way? Nope. That's precisely what Bada thought.

Bada's brows furrow at Haechi's motion. This was a competition, so why was she being way too nice to you? She understood that you were pretty and people would flirt with you, mostly when they thought you were single, but this angered her. Haechi must've been aware of your relationship, especially after everyone talked about it, AND this was going on live television. Did Haechi just wanna fight Bada at this point? Because that's how your girlfriend begins to interpret it.

As you were the challenger, Heachi goes first. Showing off the years of experience Wolf'Lo had in freestyle, she represented them well. The swaggy, hip-hop, energetic vibe set the tone for the battle.

Haechi got exceptionally touchy with you as she moved around, tugging on your shirt, signaling your thighs when the song talked about desirable legs, body rolling very close to your body. You laughed at many of the girl's tricks, believing it was just to give everyone a good show.

Once it was your turn, you removed your shoes and began dancing with extreme feeling and emotion. Due to your style of dance, the performance turned suggestive really fast. Contemporary had a lot of eye contact, floor work, body rolls, and storytelling, so Haechi thoroughly enjoyed the show.

Bada didn't even pay attention to the taller dancers' reaction. Her lover was dancing, and that's all she could focus on. Everything was going fine until the judges showed you winning for your team by 2:1.

Heachi congratulated you, but due to your height differences, her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in as you leaned more on the tips of your toes. She then whispers something in your ear, and your ear grows red. This doesn't go unnoticed by your girlfriend, who currently had her knuckles growing red due to the tight fist she was making at the sight of you two.

That's what Bada's predicament was right now.

Jam Republic and Wolf'Lo sat beside each other, so many interactions arose. Heachi figured out how nice it was to talk to you. Your voice was soft and mellow, and you made jokes, portraying your personality more. Haechi grew fond of you quickly, having many side conversations during every no-respect battle.

Bada could only watch from the sidelines, almost wanting to rip Haechi's head off.

She wasn't one to ever be jealous, especially since the two of you had fans calling you one of the greatest couples. Yet she gets annoyed and frustrated thinking of how Heachi is similar to her.

Both were tall, had a sense of humor, and attracted women more than intended... it was off-putting for Bada.

So, during the break, Bada uses the bathroom but returns to the most unpleasant sight. You and Haechi were speaking to each other, Haechi leaning on the wall, towering over your body. Your innocent giggles can be heard from afar, and Bada is strangling her water bottle.

While talking, the taller girl begins playing with your hair, tucking it behind your ear and this set off Bada into a frenzy. She grabs your wrists and drags you into the bathroom.

"Bada, what the hell?" You say, a little louder than intended, due to the pain in your wrist from the pull. "Can you not?"

You stood there confused, "Not what?"

"Talk to that fucker, Haechi?"

The confusion turns into a playful grin with a raised brow. This was a new look on your girlfriend, which definitely amused you. "Is my baby jealous?" You tease the woman as your arms pull her in by the waist.

Bada sulks at your question, and you giggle, eyes never leaving hers.

"There's nothing to be jealous of? You're mine, and I'm yours, remember?" You peck her cheek and give her a secure hug. You hear her sigh, and you pull away to caress her face.

Bada closes her eyes at your touch, feeling relieved and calmer than a few minutes ago.

"How about you and I watch a movie after all this?" You ask, lightly sweeping her bangs to see her eyes clearly. "With cuddles and kisses?" Bada's eyes glimmer as she questions you, causing you to chuckle and nod at how cute she can be.

"Of course, you'll have your kisses and cuddles."

[makeitmakesomesense]

Surviving Tuesdays

Scarlett Johansson + Daughter!Reader

Word Count: 2K

A/N: Day 2: I've merged a lovely request from an anon with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for 2nd of January, which is 'muffled'.

.

‘You have to stop worrying about this.’ Your best friend advises. You try not to roll your eyes and instead stare up at the cloudy sky.

You lean back flat along the cement wall that has always been your favorite place to hang out since you joined this school.

‘Didn’t you say she went to that gay wedding last year?’ Your best friend asks, stretching out her back lazily.

You press your fingers into the rough stone beneath you and try to focus on the sting. 

‘It’s not the same.’ You mutter at last. 

You can feel her looking at you. The obvious question on her lips. Why Not?

You don’t answer. You don’t have one. It’s just a feeling. 

You keep picturing your Mom’s eyes when she hears bad news. The fake smile she has when she’s secretly disappointed.

‘I guess it doesn’t matter anyway.’ Your best friend says after a moment. Her voice is resigned now and it makes you sit back up automatically. Your head tilts in a silent question. 

You watch your best friend stretch out again, full of that sleepy energy that comes from surviving Tuesdays.

‘If you aren’t ever going to ask me out, then why does it matter?’

Your mouth falls open in shock. Your hand slips against the cement and you forget how to breathe.

.

You pace back and forth behind the closed door to your Mom’s home office. Dinner is in ten minutes. Your Mom has almost certainly finished working for today. 

Almost certainly. 

Your heart has started thudding with anticipation. Your palms are clammy. You’ve not even said anything yet. You’re thinking too far ahead. You just have to say it. 

You knock on the door. 

Your Mom’s voice is soft when she invites you in. She’s obviously tired. Your brain goes fuzzy as you are faced with the moment. 

Her head tilts and she gives you an apologetic smile. 

‘I’ll be late for dinner.’ She apologises. ‘It’s been one of those days.’

You leave the room. 

You take a deep breath as the immediate fear recedes. Still, the worry in your chest doesn’t lessen.

.

Your Mom can tell something is wrong. 

She’s been giving you careful looks for the last week. Detailed follow up questions to every answer you give about how your day’s been. 

Today, Tuesday again, she has offered to pick you up from school. You watch her trying to be subtle as you sit on your favorite wall. She is peering out the car window at the group of people you’re sitting with.

Your best friend has her head on your shoulder. The bright sun means her eyes are closed. Her arm is around your waist and you can’t seem to stop smiling. 

Her annoying brother, who’s only a year older, is leaning backwards over the wall beside you. He’s complaining about all the stupid people in his class and the bad grades that he doesn’t think are his fault. He is trying to arch his back completely over the wall, stretching out to see just how far he can reach. 

It occurs to you that your best friend and her family might actually be part cat. 

Her brother snags a dandelion from a patch of dirt to the side of you. He grins victoriously as if this is an achievement to be proud of. He is lifting it in the air like it deserves a celebration.

When your Mom texts and says that she’s here, you’re too flustered about your best friend’s head on your shoulder to even think about the dandelion that you’re holding. 

When you catch her staring at the tiny flower that you’ve carried into her neat car. You only roll your eyes and apologise, opening the car window and throwing it out. 

.

Your Mom is acting weird.

She doesn’t ask you any questions on the car drive home. It’s one of the rare times that there is an awkward silence between you. She’s chewing her bottom lip and staring with unnecessary focus at the empty street in front of her.

You feel your stomach rolling with the horrible certainty that she’s figured it out. You fiddle with your backpack’s straps and try not to look too worried. 

You get home and hurry from the car up to your room, before your Mom can change her mind and say something. You dump your backpack on your desk and fall onto your bed. For a moment you fight tears. You see a text on your phone, and it’s from your best friend. You text back and try to distract yourself with the person it’s always been so easy to talk to.

You wander down just before the usual time for dinner. You vaguely have a plan to grab a plate of food and disappear back to your room before anyone can stop you. But you find your Mom sitting at the kitchen island and know you are doomed.

Her smile is nervous but you can tell that she’s trying to seem relaxed. 

The kitchen counter has an order from your favorite takeout. 

You hesitate in the doorway and are certain that you’ve walked into a trap.

‘I thought why don’t we get takeout?’ Your Mom says in a light tone that always sets your teeth on edge. You’ve heard her use it in TV interviews and now it sounds too fake to be true. ‘We deserve a treat.’

You only nod silently and go to make up a plate of food. Your Mom does the same and then she gestures for you to sit beside her. 

For a moment, you eat in silence.

‘I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.’ Your Mom says suddenly and your attention snaps to her as the moment unfolds. You try to read her expression worriedly. 

Her eyes are concerned but they don’t seem disappointed. Suddenly you feel a rush of relief.

‘You’re growing up so fast.’ Your Mom continues softly and she cups your cheek like she used to do when you were smaller. She looks at you for a moment, like she can’t believe how quickly time has gone.  

‘And I want you to know that if you want to have boys over. That’s okay. Really. As long as you keep the bedroom door open. Of course, that’s okay.’

You feel like you’re suddenly sinking. You move away from her touch as a nausea rolls through you. You mutter something about not feeling hungry anymore. 

You go upstairs, lock yourself in your bathroom and cry. 

.

Your Mom is sitting on your bed when you finally leave the bathroom. Her face is full of worry.

You stiffen at her expression. The dread and nervous anticipation have hardened into something else now. You just want to get it over with.

You speak before she does, wiping the last of your tears with the sleeve of your sweater.

‘I don’t want to invite boys over. I want to invite girls.’ Your eyes are stinging and you screw them shut, covering your face with your hands. ‘Just one girl.’ You correct yourself quietly, voice muffled. 

Your skin is going numb all over and you feel like a monster just standing there. You’re scared to open your eyes. 

You hear your Mom stand up from the bed. Her hand touches your arm hesitantly and, with a deep breath, you dare to look at her. 

Her expression is full of an all-encompassing sadness and for a moment it’s worse than you could have imagined. 

Then she’s hugging you tighter than you can ever remember being held. She kisses your hair and you can hear her whispering an apology that you don’t know what to do with. 

You hug her back. 

After a moment, you both pull back. 

Your Mom brushes the hair from your face tenderly. She looks worried like she might say the wrong thing by mistake. Weirdly, it reassures you. Your Mom is only nervous when she really wants something to go well.

‘So that’s why her head was on your shoulder.’ She says at last with a careful smile. 

You bury your head against her so she won’t see your cheeks flush.

You both sit down together on the edge of your bed. Your Mom’s arm stays wrapped around you. You start to talk about the girl you like and all the things that you haven’t been able to say before. The tight feeling in your chest starts to ease. 

.

It’s not a date technically. 

Technically you’re just hanging out together.

Because you’re so casual and absolutely not an overthinker. 

Your best friend obviously knows it’s a big deal. Still, when you invite her over, she only smiles and stretches her arms out before wrapping them around you.

‘Yeah, why not.’ She mumbles into your shoulder.

Your hand rubs up and down her back absentmindedly. You googled yesterday that cat’s can sleep 16 hours a day. You think it explains a lot. 

.

You don’t let your Mom pick you and your best friend up on Tuesday, even though she offers. 

More than once.

Instead, you decide to walk back. 

Because this is casual and totally not a big deal and actually, meandering together in the vague direction of your house, pointing at random things is the most casual thing two people can do. 

There is nothing you can do to stop your Mom from opening the front door before you’ve even walked up the driveway. 

.

‘Hi!’ Your Mom is smiling wide and you can already hear that bright tone in her voice that sometimes sets your teeth on edge. Except right now, all you can think about is that she seems nervous. Weirdly, it makes you braver.

Your Mom gestures to the inside of your house as she opens the door wider. She’s looking nervously at your best friend.

‘Welcome. Welcome. It’s so wonderful to meet you at last.’ 

‘Hello. You too.’ Your best friend has never sounded so formal and polite.

But you can feel her moving subtly behind you. And suddenly her hand is reaching for yours, squeezing it with an overwhelmed kind of shyness.

Your stomach flips because maybe it isn’t completely casual. 

Maybe this does mean a lot to her. And maybe it does to you too. 

.

Your Mom is pointing out all the rooms on the first floor with a weird formality like she’s trying to remember her lines in some theater production. Her loose blonde hair keeps bouncing against her shoulders as her head moves back and forth.

‘I’ve lived here my whole life.’ You remind her pointedly. 

Your Mom pauses as she looks at you and you see her recollect herself. She takes a moment to carefully tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear. 

You realise that she is actually mortifying and so not capable of being casual that this was a terrible idea. 

She looks between you and your best friend, who is finally brave enough to not be staring at the floor or your shoulder. Then your Mom looks down at your joined hands. 

You watch her eyes swim for a second with too much emotion and then she swallows it down. 

‘There’s snacks in the kitchen.’ She rasps out, glancing back up at you both. ‘And you have to keep the bedroom door open at all times.’ 

You hear your best friend huff out a nervous laugh beside you. 

There is no point pretending to be casual. 

Not when you really want this to go well. You’re too like your Mom.

‘Mom.’ You say finally, giving her hand another squeeze.  ‘I want you to meet my girlfriend.’

A few minutes later, you lead your girlfriend up to your bedroom. You make sure to leave the door open. 

Your girlfriend stretches lazily and falls back against your bed. 

‘Tuesdays.’ She says dramatically, as you put your backpack down on your desk.

.

.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

.

[badasmuse]

“BeBe’s Bodyguard”

Team Bebe x Reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of a knife, mentions of a stabbing, cute ending tho, language, lowercase intended (you already know)

Summary: you’re bebe’s bodyguard. what could possibly go wrong?

“sowon and chaeyoung can you two please stop running off?” you ask. it’s not really a question but you’re trying. they’ve been disappearing for the past twenty minutes.

“oops sorry y/n-nim!” sowon says bowing.

you’ve been their bodyguard for a long time. you automatically became close because you’re the only female bodyguard they have. they trusted you immensely.

“just stay in the area. i don’t want anything happening to you.” you say standing behind them as they looked for things.

moments later, the others walked up with the other three bodyguards on duty.

“y/n!!” bada says excitedly. she pulls you into her and steps back. “look at what i bought.”

“i will when we get in the car bada.” you say pushing her items back into her bag. “head count i only see six.”

“i’m behind you!” you hear tatter’s sweet voice say.

“all of you are gonna be on punishment.” you mumble making sure they’re all good before walking towards the mall exit.

you take your place up front next to bada. sad to say, she is the more popular one of the seven, so fans tend to rush after her. they rush all the girls, don’t get me wrong, but recently they’ve been rushing bada a lot more due to her girl crush concept blowing up. so bada now has two guards on her whole the other two guards stand in the middle and at the end of the line.

“y/n,” bada says looking up, “i bought you something too!” she says excitedly.

“that’s sweet bada.” you say pushing her hands back down gently. “show me in the car.” you say again.

you can see a crowd when you get to the door, some people are next to the van. “alright girls, hold onto the person in front of you. don’t step out of line.”

“aye aye captain!”

“lusher..” you groan before grabbing onto bada as your coworker opens the door for you.

“bada! bada you’re so cool!”

“oh my gosh bada unnie you’re so pretty!”

“minah i love you!

“tatter your hair looks so good!”

“lusher unnie we missed you!”

the comments come fast as you hold onto bada’s waist and gently push through the crowd.

you get about three feet from the van when you see them. some fan, maybe a fake fan, comes running right towards bada. since her head is down, bada doesn’t see it. she just feels your grip tighten and being pulled to the other side.

you grab the fan quickly, safely dropping her to the ground. the fan tries to get out of your hold and you feel something scratch at your arm. you ignore it trying to calm her down.

the other guards get the girls in the car, shutting the door before helping you with the person you have pinned.

“y/n you’re bleeding.” one says.

you look at your arm then down at the girl's hand, noticing the knife she has. “oh what the fuck.” you say.

she’s quickly disarmed and you walk to the van getting in with the girls and huffing.

“what’s wrong y/n?” kyma asks.

“she cut me. i can’t see it. is this bad?” you turn your arm towards the girls and they gasp.

“y/n that’s a lot of blood!” lusher exclaims grabbing tissues. “you might need stitches that’s really deep.”

after the situation is over and everyone’s in the van, the girls are quickly brought back to their respective homes and you’re taken to a nearby hospital. doctors told you to take it easy for a few days so you did. you spent a week in your little apartment recovering. of course the girls sent you plenty of messages saying how they missed you. (especially bada. she sent messages back to back like she was bangchan on bubble- but let’s not get into that.)

you were excited to be back at work. you missed the girls and their antics. they didn’t know when you were coming back and they definitely didn’t think it would be today.

it was tuesday, so team bebe were at the studio practicing. you quietly open the door and peak your head in.

“lusher you’re doing it wrong!” bada stresses.

“no i’m not! i’m doing it like everyone else, you're wrong!” she says back.

“do it again from the top.” bada plays the music and watches in the mirror as everyone dances. lusher was right, bada was wrong.

“told you!”

“whatever. let’s keep going.” she grumbles.

“oh bada,” you say stepping in, “that’s not nice. apologize to lusher.”

“y/n!!!” the girls exclaim rubbing towards you. you immediately put your injured arm up then gently let it down around them.

“are you back? we missed you so much!! bada has been mean the whole time you were gone.” kyma speaks up.

you make eye contact with bada as she sulks against the mirror. she turns the other way without saying anything. “why don’t you girls take a break so i can talk to bada.” you whisper. they nod and make their way out the door.

“hi bada.” you say approaching her.

“i was worried.” she says, still looking away.

“i texted you everyday. why were you being mean to my kids?”

bada doesn’t respond. she pouts looking down at the ground. you put your finger under her chin raising her head, “i asked a question.”

her face turns red and she clears her throat, “y/n i like you. oh that is not what i wanted to say.” she says covering her mouth.

“babe it was painfully obvious. that doesn’t answer why you’ve been mean to the kids. did not seeing me everyday throw you off?”

she nods.

“that’s cute. you owe them a big apology. give them the day off then let me take you out.” you say leaning on the mirror.

“you… wanna take me out? okay.” she giggles walking towards the door. she opens it and the six kids fall to the floor.

“h-hi!” they stutter.

you shake your head, “kids.”

Taglist (open! comment to be added!): @waveartistry @sun-nyy @yngtort @jennamc75 @m0r0s1111 @seungxstar @badasbebe @lil-elliesgf @currentfications

a/n: this was a request! hope you like it! i have frostbite guys🧍🏽frostbite on my thumbs and pinkies, four more requests, and eight things i’m trying to write. idk what i’m going to do. send help. pls.

[honeycomb-fics]

“H-Hey! Sai.. wait up. It’s crowded!” You shouted after your friend pushing through the crowd of people. Once you got close to Saitama you gripped the hem of his shirt, nervous the two of you might get separated again. 

The two of you were making your way to one of your favorite cafes that served the most adorable themed meal sets for different holidays and events. Typically they booked out weeks in advance but you were able to snag a spot for Valentine’s Day. You bumped into your friend’s back when he stopped walking abruptly. 

“You’re going to wrinkle my shirt,” Saitama looked down at your hand grabbing onto his shirt and grimaced, “I don’t need to hear Geno’s explain his entire steaming and ironing process to me again.”

He nonchalantly grabbed your hand and continued walking to the cafe. You felt your heart flutter at the sudden contact, you knew he was only doing so you didn’t get lost in the crowd, but it still made your heart skip a beat to have your hand in his. You looked up at him momentarily to see him scanning the masses of couples around the two of you in the shopping plaza.

“What the hell is going on? It’s a Tuesday.” Saitama complained, as he half dragged you along next to him. Seeming to forget in his irritation that his stride is a lot longer than yours, “They must be giving something away for free or something.”  

You let out an awkward laugh at his response, you knew it was a big ask getting him to go to these events with you. But you always paid for the meals and more often than not it seemed like Saitama actually took some enjoyment in seeing the cutesy food. He gave you a confused look and then simply shrugged continuing to walk closer to the restaurant. Your skin prickled as you looked around at the heart balloons in the streets, vendors selling bouquets of flowers.. Did Saitama not realize? .. No, no he had to know. 

Once the two of you were seated together for your reservation, your anxiety only grew. The atmosphere of the cafe was more romantic than usual, with hearts plastered on the windows, pink garland hanging for the ceiling. When the waitress came over, Saitama automatically told her that the two of you were just going to get whatever the special was since that’s why you were there anyway. 

Saitama leaned back in his chair casually, “Ah, I’m so hungry. I hope this special is good.” 

He impatiently flipped around the menu she had left ‘just in case’ before pausing slightly and looking around, “It’s Valentine’s Day today?” 

Immediately your stomach dropped as you looked across the table at your bald-headed friend. Your fears had come to fruition. You really had intended this to be a date for the two of you but it was becoming increasingly clear that Saitama didn’t get the memo, “I mean I did tell you the 14th when we made the plans but we don’t have to make a big deal about it..”

The two of you became distracted by a group of snickering teenage girls two tables down from you, their barely hushed conversation, floating easily over to your table. 

“Hey, doesn’t that guy kind of look like that Caped Baldy guy?” One girl loudly whispered pointing in Saitama’s direction. Your immediate response was to roll your eyes. It was still rare for people to recognize him, but often wasn’t taken very seriously. 

Another giggle followed, “I bet he had to beg for that date.” 

Not only was Saitama unaware that he was on a date, now he was being harassed by a group of kids on said date he did not agree to be on. Perfect, just how you wanted this to go, you put your head in your hands weighing the pros and cons of getting into a verbal argument with two teenagers. 

Your server finally returned after what felt like an eternity with the special. On the small table between you and Saitama laid a plate with ‘Fluffy Fluffy Heart Pancakes’ piled high with whipped cream and berries and next to that was a parfait cup containing the ‘Layers of Love’. 

“I—,” Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment, feeling the need to backtrack and escape the pending rejection. “Sai, you know I love themed food events.. and I just..” 

“Are you going to take your picture of it or what?” Saitama shot you an impatient look, pointing at the pancakes. You usually warned him to not dig in immediately because you wanted a quick picture for social media, “I’m hungry and this whipped cream is melting.” 

Relieved to see Saitama was clearly unphased by the whole situation and still focused on getting on with the date, well not date, you grabbed your phone from your bag and snapped a few quick shots of the food. Not without remarking on how cute everything was. 

He grabbed a fork and started eating the pancakes, “And I like going to them with you. The Christmas one was fun,” between mouthfuls of food, “I would have agreed to a date, you know?” 

You pouted, grabbing a spoonful of sickenly sweet parfait, “I didn’t think you’d be dense enough to not realize this was a date!”

[quinn-jfc]

Through the Thick and Thin—Faberry (1/1)

WHO: Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry

WHEN: Tuesday, August 3, 2021

WHERE: New York, NY

WHAT: After making several major changes, Quinn finds herself slipping into a manic episode, and Rachel does her best to help.

QUINN: Quinn rustles through the cabinets of her and Rachel's apartment. She can't remember what she's looking for anymore, and that makes her all the more frustrated.

Breathe, she reminds herself.

But it's hard.

Slender fingers run through dyed brunette locks as Quinn scrunches her face.

Rachel. She could help. But she's not home right now. And Quinn can't call her. Her show is happening.

A sharp inhale. I don't need help. I just need a walk. 

And with that, Quinn grabs her purse and walks out into the warm summer night.

RACHEL: The thunder of applause after the final note of a heart wrenching ballad never fails to give Rachel a thrill—even with scene-appropriate tears streaming down her cheeks. It’s a strange juxtaposition of emotions, to feel the high of a great performance mudge out the low of her character’s heartbreak. 

She’s a consummate professional, however, so when the spotlight dims and the curtain closes on Act I, she hurries off the stage with tears already drying. She jerks down her suspenders as she walks, beginning to work loose the buttons of her shirt before she even makes it to her dressing room. She both loves and hates Idgie’s wardrobe for this show. There’s no denying the pants and button-downs are the comfiest costumes she’s ever worn, but they somehow take longer to get in and out of than the dresses. Luckily, she only has a few major changes to deal with. 

She comes to a stop in front of her makeup table, shirt gaping open, and automatically checks her phone for any important messages. 

There are none. 

Rachel bites into her lip, wondering if she should text Quinn. They’ve been living together for four months now, and her new show has been open for one. She doesn’t feel the obsessive need to check in with her girlfriend every single day she’s at the theater—she doesn’t!—but Quinn had seemed a little stressed this morning before she’d left for work. 

Giving into her basic impulse, she picks up her phone. 

Hey, baby. Thinking of you. I’ll be home to collect my goodnight kiss in a few hours.

QUINN: A vibration against Quinn's thigh makes her pause in her steps. She fishes her phone out of her pocket then, seeing a text from Rachel.

A few hours is all Quinn sees before blinking and shoving her phone back into her pocket irritably.

Her thoughts are racing to nowhere, and she just wants them to shut up right now. Rachel usually helps quiet them, but waiting feels like torture and she can't seem to focus on anything.

Letting her feet carry her, Quinn's eyes eventually catch on the lights of a small pub.

Maybe a drink will help sort things out, she thinks, before heading inside.

RACHEL: Rachel doesn’t get an immediate response to her text. 

It’s not completely unusual. 

She doesn’t expect Quinn to check her own phone every minute, but it’s one of the agreed upon points in their Wellness and Emergency Plan that they do check messages often and make an effort to respond to one another as soon as they can. 

Rachel can’t exactly spend the entire length of the intermission staring at her phone. She does need to change into Idgie’s Act II costume and touch up her stage makeup.  But when ten of the fifteen allotted minutes have passed and Quinn still hasn’t responded, Rachel feels a nervous flutter take flight in her belly. 

She thinks back to that morning again. Quinn had been obsessing over some little design flaw on a book jacket, pacing around the kitchen rather than sitting down to have breakfast with Rachel. Rachel had mostly attributed it to stress over hitting her deadline, but she wonders if it might be more. 

It’s probably nothing. 

She hopes it’s nothing.

Still—

With less than five minutes to hit her mark, she fires off an SOS text to both Kaitlyn and Blaine, asking them to check in with Quinn.

Just in case.

QUINN: Quinn downs a double whiskey, neat, hoping it will calm her nerves and the swirling thoughts in her head.

It doesn't, so she orders another.

As she takes a sip, she feels another vibration in her pocket, but can't seem to bring herself to pull out her phone.

Quinn quickly finishes her drink and promptly orders another.

RACHEL: Rachel drums her fingers nervously against her thigh on the way to the stage. She knows she needs to focus on her performance, but she can’t seem to shake the feeling that something isn’t right. 

Stagehands and backup dancers shuffle around in her periphery, but she pays them little attention. Her gaze seeks out Stephanie, perfectly costumed in 1920’s attire. She’s never been more grateful that the showrunners had finally agreed to audition her. It had only taken one scene opposite Rachel for them to realize they’d found their Ruth.

When Stephanie notices Rachel making a beeline for her, her typical grin—the one that says ‘we’re killing it tonight’—instantly fades. Her friend knows her too well. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks immediately, no trace of her usual carefree banter. 

Rachel only shakes her head. “Maybe nothing,” she attempts, mostly hoping to convince herself. “Just a weird feeling. Quinn didn’t answer my text at intermission,” she admits quietly.  

A look of understanding passes over Stephanie’s face, and she takes Rachel’s hand with a reassuring squeeze. “That’s not an automatic bad omen. Did you call in backup?”

Rachel gives a single, curt nod, forcing a wan smile. She has to trust that Kaitlyn and/or Blaine will follow up with Quinn, but, “I may need you to cover if I miss a cue.”

“I got your back, Lima,” Stephanie promises, tugging her into a quick side hug before the overture fades and they both need to hit their marks.

QUINN: The din of the pub is doing nothing to take off the edge Quinn is on, and the buzz she feels from the alcohol isn't helping either.

"Can I get you something to eat?"

Quinn realizes the bartender—a pretty redhead with an Irish brogue—is talking to her. Food is the last thing she wants right now.

"No thanks," she replies, tone clipped. "Another whiskey."

"Coming right up, love," the bartender answers, taking the now empty glass and pouring a fresh one, along with a glass of water.

Another vibration goes off in Quinn's pocket just as she takes a long sip of whiskey.

Shaking her head, Quinn reluctantly puts down her drink and pulls out her phone. There are two texts awaiting her—one from Kaitlyn and one from Blaine. Both are similar in nature, wanting to know if everything is okay.

It's not okay, but Quinn doesn't know why or how to make everything just stop.

"Oh damn, girl, hey," sounds a flirtatious voice. Quinn grits her teeth as her eyes cut to an unwelcome intrusion sitting in the previously vacant seat beside her. "What's a pretty thing like you doing here alone?"

It's a loaded question.

RACHEL: Fried Green Tomatoes is, as Santana had pointed out so many months ago, something of a downer. It’s touching and emotional and a beautiful love story between two women amidst adversity, but it certainly doesn’t have a happy ending. It’s bittersweet at best, so the extra bit of angst that bleeds through Rachel’s performance tonight plays well for her character. 

She wishes she could say the same for her nerves. 

It’s all she can do to ignore them and get through the rest of the show.

A mental checklist takes form in her mind, and she ticks off every scene and song and step until the curtains finally close and she can get home to Quinn.

QUINN: The unwanted stranger next to Quinn smiles in a way that makes her want to put her fist through perfect, white teeth.

She blinks then, almost frightened by how quickly that feeling surged through her.

She needs to leave.

Abruptly standing, Quinn goes to reach for her purse, still aware she has to pay something. She doesn't know how much. It doesn't matter.

I need to go home, suddenly takes root in her mind.

And then an unwelcomed hand clasps down on her right shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going, sweetheart? You didn't even tell me your name."

Heart rate spikes and hackles rise.

RACHEL: Rachel has never been happier to take her final bow. 

It’s a miracle that she didn’t make any major mistakes—just a few stuttered lines and a mild stumble during one of the musical numbers.

When the curtain finally closes for the last time, Rachel hurries off the stage. Stephanie keeps step at her shoulder.

“Hey, I’ll wow ‘em at the stage door tonight so you can skip out and check in with your lady. I’m sure it’ll all be fine, but keep me in the loop, huh?”

Rachel manages a weak smile, grasping at Stephanie’s hand in gratitude. “I will. Thanks for covering my flubbs out there.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes. “Please. Like you didn’t still upstage the rest of us, little flubbs included.” 

The compliment manages to warm Rachel’s heart even through the lingering unease, and she’s more than grateful that her friend is willing to make excuses for her to her potentially disappointed fans. The show might be leaving audiences in tears, but it hasn’t dulled any of the excitement in the crowds that still gather, hoping for a peek of their favorite performer and an autographed program. 

When they part ways, Rachel speeds to her dressing room and lunges for her phone, praying to see a text from Quinn.

QUINN: Quinn chuckles lowly. "My name?"

"Russell," she says then, shoving his hand off her shoulder and moving back. "Russell Fabray."

He blinks in confusion.

"What, not a pretty enough name for such a pretty thing?" she sneers, adrenaline pumping through her veins, fingers clenching around her phone.

RACHEL: There’s no message from Quinn.

The competing texts from Kaitlyn and Blaine both say the same worrisome thing. Quinn hasn’t responded to either one of them either.  And even more alarming—Blaine had stopped by their apartment, but Quinn hadn’t been home. 

Rachel’s stomach bottoms out.

She’s never changed so quickly in her life.

Her fingers fumble with the family tracking app on her phone as she races from the theater.

QUINN: "Damn, okay, you a little freaky. I can get down with that," he replies with a wicked smile that makes Quinn snap.

"Get fucked," she practically spits, her rage rising at an alarming rate.

Blue eyes narrow then. "What's your problem, bitch?"

Oh, now he's done it.

"You have no idea," she sneers, baring her teeth and tightening her hold on her phone.

She feels the last vestiges of self control start to slip.

RACHEL: Rachel glares at her phone screen as she slams out the side door of the theater—the one most theater-goers don’t know exists. She can’t be bothered to multitask between multiple phone apps to call an Uber while she also tries to call Quinn. It’s bad enough that the fucking app that’s supposed to tell her where Quinn is right now can’t seem to make up its mind what nondescript location to show her. The little icon that symbolizes her girlfriend keeps glitching back and forth between intersections on the map and it honestly looks like she’s close enough to their god-damned apartment to be there.

Maybe she is. 

Maybe she’d just gone out to get dinner or something and left her phone on silent or forgot it at home all together.

Maybe Rachel is spiraling into panic for nothing. 

Temporarily giving up on the app, she hits Quinn’s contact on her phone, hoping an actual phone call from Rachel will get her attention.

QUINN: Quinn's aware of the pulsation against her palm then, but not enough to stop her seeing red.

"Is there a problem here?" the bartender cuts in then.

Yes, Quinn thinks. This, him, her, this pub, and everything else.

Her phone continues to vibrate, and it takes everything in her not to throw it at this stupid prick's head.

Taking a shaky breath, Quinn breaks her gaze from stormy blue and looks toward the bartender, green eyes filled with concern.

The vibration in her hand momentarily stops.

"I was just leaving," she manages to get out before throwing $200 on the bar.

RACHEL: When her call goes to voicemail, Rachel jerks the phone back to stare at it incredulously before bringing the speaker close to her mouth with a growl. 

“Lucy Quinn Fabray, you had better call me back this instant.”

The panic spiral begins anew.

She checks her tracker again, noticing that the little icon that represents Blaine appears to be only a block or so away from Quinn on the map. His last message had indicated that he planned to check a few of the local markets and restaurants around their apartment, since he’s included in their family group along with Kaitlyn and Kurt. 

Unfortunately, the GPS on their phones always seems to have a margin of error in pinpointing an exact location. 

The timestamp on Blaine’s message is only about thirty minutes ago.  

She fires off a text to him to tell him she’s on her way to the nearest intersection and determinedly flags down the nearest yellow taxi.

QUINN: Quinn storms out of the bar then, not looking back, her body shaking with anger and adrenaline, and breaths uneven.

She blinks as the cooling night air hits her face, and her phone vibrates again. Shit, she thinks, seeing missed calls and voicemail, specifically the one from Rachel.

Needing to keep moving, Quinn's feet pound the pavement away from the pub as she manages to call her girlfriend and presses her phone against her ear.

RACHEL: Rachel is in the back of a taxi, reading Blaine’s latest text stating that he still hasn’t had any luck, when her phone vibrates and Quinn’s name finally appears. Practically sighing in relief, she answers immediately. 

She attempts to keep her voice as calm as possible, but she can still hear the mild desperation in it. 

“Quinn, baby. Where are you?”

QUINN: Quinn can hear the worry in Rachel's voice, and guilt starts to swirl along with her already heady mix of emotions.

"Walking," she says after a beat. "I shouldn't have," she continues, unease swirling. "I thought it would help. But nothing's helping," she finishes, tears stinging hazel eyes then.

RACHEL: It’s a bitter confirmation that Quinn has slipped into an episode, and Rachel had failed to recognize the signs in time to get ahead of it. 

“Baby. Listen to me. I’m on my way to you right now. We can get you something that will help. But I need you to stop walking and tell me exactly where you are. Can you do that for me?”

QUINN: Rachel's voice is like an anchor, and Quinn halts her steps. "Okay, yeah, yes," she agrees uneasily, eyes darting around, trying to determine exactly where she is.

"I'm on 82nd near 2nd Ave," she confirms, the past hour playing on a loop in her mind along with everything she felt. Then, after a beat, she grits out, "I'm sorry, Rachel. I don't know what's wrong with me."

RACHEL: “Hey, hey. There’s nothing to apologize for,” Rachel promises, putting a pin in any discussion about Quinn circumventing their emergency plan until a later date. Right now, all that matters is making sure she’s in a safe place until they can get her the help she needs. “It’s gonna be okay, baby.”

She juggles her phone as she talks, determined to get her girlfriend through this and not fuck it all up even more than she already has. She manages to text Blaine the intersection that Quinn had given her, hoping that her friend is still close enough to get to her quickly and keep her grounded until Rachel can get to them. 

“I’ll be there before you know it, but in the meantime, I think Blaine is pretty close by. Maybe he can keep you company while you wait for me?”

QUINN: Unconsciously, Quinn starts looking for Blaine. He's no Rachel, but he has become a good friend who understands her illness, and maybe he can help. The thought calms her just a little, but she's still ready to crawl out of her skin.

"Okay," Quinn replies before lamenting, "I shouldn't have left. If I had just stayed..."

She realizes then she's not just talking about leaving the apartment tonight, drinking too many whiskeys, and nearly getting into a fight. It's leaving her old job and the Flight Crew, even if the commute to Jersey was too much. Everything feels out of control.

RACHEL: “Stay now,” Rachel responds, cringing mildly at how much it sounds like a command she’d give a dog. “Blaine will find you soon.”

She hopes.

Rachel presses her palm over the speaker of the phone as she calls up to the driver. “Excuse me, can you change my drop off to 82nd and 2nd?”  It’s only a few blocks off of where she’d already instructed him to take her. 

His eyes briefly meet hers in the rearview mirror and he grunts out a gruff, “Yeah,” and Rachel manages a tight smile of gratitude before fully returning her attention to Quinn.

QUINN: It's then that sees a familiar figure in a tan jacket walking toward her. "Blaine," Quinn breathes out shakily.

"Quinn," he greets warmly, but the relief and worry in his eyes are obvious. "I'm glad I found you. I've been looking for you."

Quinn grimaces, her guilt growing, before offering Blaine a weak smile.

"Rachel, Blaine's with me now," she says into her phone.

RACHEL: A wave of relief crashes over Rachel. 

“That’s good, baby.” At least Quinn has someone with her that she can trust. 

Rachel glances out the window of the taxi, searching the backlit storefronts that pass by to get a sense of the car’s progress.. “I’m still about ten minutes away,” she guesses, and she mentally curses the distance and the late night traffic between Midtown and Yorkville.

“Do you want to stay on the phone with me until I get there?  Or do you think you want to talk to Blaine for a bit?”

QUINN: Blaine watches Quinn thoughtfully as she tells Rachel, "I'll talk to Blaine. Please get here soon. I need you."

Rachel tells her that she loves her and will be there soon. It's a small measure of relief. Reluctantly, Quinn hangs up the phone and tucks it away before turning her attention—well as much as she can, with all the afflictions in her mind—to Blaine.

"I'm sorry," she offers, wondering how long he's been out looking for her. "I didn't mean to ignore your texts."

"It's okay," he assures her with a friendly smile. "I'm just happy I'm with you now. I take it you're having a rough night."

Rough night, rough day, and too many weeks of ignoring the festering mania bubbling up until it started to rear its ugly head.

"You could say that," she admits somewhat shamefully.

Blaine nods in understanding. He gets it—more than most of the people in her life, save Rachel and Kaitlyn. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," she replies tightly, remembering the pub and how close she was to decking that insufferable dick. Then things really would have spiraled.

"Okay," he says agreeably. "I think Rachel should be here soon, and then we'll get you home, okay?"

Quinn's fingers tighten their hold on the straps of her purse as she nods.

RACHEL: After the call disconnects, Rachel remembers to text Kaitlyn to let her know that Quinn is found and safe—physically anyway. 

She doesn’t know exactly what’s going on with her girlfriend, but she suspects it has something to do with her new job. She’s basically starting over from scratch with a new boss and new coworkers, and Rachel knows how stressful that can be. But Quinn had been so certain the daily commute back to New Jersey would be moreso. 

Rubbing at her forehead, Rachel attempts to stave off the tears that are threatening to fall. If Quinn is struggling more than she’s let on, then Rachel can’t help feeling responsible for missing it.

Maybe Santana had been right. Maybe Rachel with her erratic schedule isn't what Quinn needs to keep her healthy.

QUINN: The sidewalk thankfully isn't busy, and for a few moments, Quinn and Blaine stand together quietly, Quinn trying to quiet her mind.

"Everything feels all mixed up," she admits then. "I wish..."

Blaine gazes at her sympathetically. "I know, Quinn. But whatever is going on in your head isn't your fault."

"I know, I just hate this feeling," she explains, unable to keep the emotion out of her voice. "Why does this keep happening? I'm taking my medicine."

"I wish I knew, but I'm here for you. And Rachel too."

Just then, a yellow taxi pulls up alongside them.

RACHEL: Rachel’s well developed sixth sense allows her to recognize Quinn and Blaine bathed in neon and streetlights well before they reach the exact intersection that she’d directed the driver to, and she hastily demands that he, “Stop right here.”

The man grunts in annoyance but does as instructed, stopping in the middle of the block and allowing Rachel to fling the door open and practically tumble out of the car. She barely remembers to thank him or close the door behind him before her feet carry her directly to Quinn.

Her girlfriend looks haggard and on the verge of tears, and Rachel reaches for her instinctively, needing to physically touch her before she can permit herself to feel any measure of relief.

QUINN: Seeing Rachel exiting the cab and coming toward her creates a mixture of relief and feeling like a dam inside her is about to break.

"Rachel," Quinn's voice cracks as she's enveloped in warm, loving arms. She breathes in her girlfriend's scent and fights back the tears threatening to fall. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

RACHEL: Rachel tightens her arms around her girlfriend and squeezes her eyes closed.

“I know, baby. I forgive you.”

It’s a better approach than insisting that there’s nothing to forgive. She can smell the faint scent of whiskey clinging to Quinn’s breath and instantly knows how much worse this night could have ended if Quinn hadn’t finally called her. 

Opening her eyes again, she meets Blaine’s sympathetic gaze over Quinn’s shoulder and mouths a silent ‘thank you’ before she pulls back far enough to cup Quinn’s face, forcing her beautiful girl to meet her eyes. 

“It’s okay. We’re going to make it okay again.”

QUINN: Rachel's touch soothes Quinn ever so slightly as she gazes into loving, brown eyes. She's still abuzz from alcohol and mania, but her girlfriend's presence is a light in the dark.

"Take me home, please," Quinn practically whispers in desperation. Home isn't just their apartment, but a chasing of a feeling for things that never lasted. Baseball games with her family as a little girl, sitting on her father's lap. Holding Beth after giving birth to the most precious thing in this world. Cheerleading. Getting into Yale.

RACHEL: Rachel gently strokes her thumb across Quinn’s cheek, catching the slight moisture, and she nods. 

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”  

Rachel runs her palm down Quinn’s arm until she can entwine their fingers, and Quinn takes her hand in a near desperate grip. 

Rachel looks to Blaine with a sad smile. “Walk with us?”

“Of course,” he agrees easily, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

Rachel knows that all three of them will feel better once they’re someplace safe and warm. Once they’re there, they can begin to address the rest.

QUINN: The trio walks together along 82nd street, and Quinn holds on to Rachel's hand like a lifeline. She feels like running through a wall, but the warm palm against hers keeps her grounded enough to rein it in.

But that doesn't stop the tears that have been threatening from falling.

"Shit," Quinn mutters before wiping her eyes with her free hand.

RACHEL: The expletive has Rachel looking at Quinn in concern. Tears glisten on her cheek, and Rachel squeezes her hand—heart breaking for her girlfriend.  

“We’ll be home soon, baby. I can make you some tea, and…we can talk.”  She drifts closer to Quinn as they walk, hoping the closer proximity will help. She lowers her voice. “But right now, you can cry if you need to. Lord, know it helps me sometimes.”

QUINN: She needs to cry, but she doesn't want to. It's not a matter of pride—that's long gone—but a matter of self preservation. Losing it on the streets of New York isn't something she's going to do.

Grinding her teeth and trying to steel herself, Quinn does her best to hone in on Rachel's words.

Home. Tea. Talking.

Talking is the last thing she wants though.

It's too hard right now. For now she settles on Rachel's hand in hers and Blaine on her left.

RACHEL: Rachel should have expected that Quinn would be too stubborn to let herself break down completely in public. Even back in high school, she’d always tried so hard to seem unaffected even at her lowest. 

Rachel pulls her gaze from Quinn for a moment, trying to catch Blaine’s attention. She doesn’t know how much, if anything, Quinn had shared with him before she’d arrived, and as much as she wants to ask outright, she knows better than to talk around Quinn. Instead, she lifts her eyebrows in silent question, trying to convey through her expression alone what she wants from him.  

He cocks his head to the side, looking like a confused puppy. Years of friendship, and he’s still not quite as quick as catching her mental waves as Kurt. After a moment, he seems to get it, and he shakes his head. 

It’s not unexpected, and Rachel sighs, managing another tight smile. “Thank you for this, Blaine.”

“You don't need to thank me,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “You know I’m always happy to be here for you both. Kurt too, when he isn’t traveling for work.” 

Rachel nods distractedly, her eyes already back on Quinn. They’re nearly at their apartment building, and she can feel the evening’s anxiety catching up with her in the form of a bone deep exhaustion. She wishes they could just go home and collapse into bed in each others arms, but that won’t solve anything.

QUINN: Before Quinn knows it, they're home. It should be a relief, but it's not. The torrent of emotions are still too strong.

Gripping tighter to Rachel's hand, the tears start to flow—Quinn unable to hold them back any longer.

Strong, loving arms quickly gather her up, and Quinn finally lets go.

RACHEL: The moment they reach their building is when Quinn finally begins to break. She grips Rachel’s hand so tightly that she actually might be cutting off the circulation, but Rachel ignores the slight discomfort. 

Blaine sees them inside with a silent wave, and Rachel focuses on getting Quinn into the elevator and upstairs. The moment they’re safely inside their apartment, a choked sob slips out of Quinn, and Rachel immediately wraps her up in her embrace. 

“It’s okay, baby,” she murmurs, tears springing to her own eyes. “You’re safe now. Let it out.”

QUINN: Quinn's not sure how long they stand there wrapped up in one another as the tears and emotions flow. Rachel makes her feel safe, but not enough to push away the feelings clawing at her.

Rachel continues to murmur soft words of love as she holds Quinn, and after long moments, Quinn's tears finally subside.

After taking a few, shaky breaths, Quinn pulls back and lifts her head to look at her girlfriend—her worry and own tears clear as day.

"I..." Quinn starts, unsure of what to say exactly. "Thank you for getting me home. Thank you for putting up with me. I don't know why I can't just be okay."

RACHEL: Cupping Quinn’s cheek, Rachel smiles at her sadly. “Being okay is very subjective, Quinn. And I’ll never blame you for the days when you’re not.” 

She gently slips Quinn’s purse from her shoulder, letting it drop where they stand along with her own. “Come sit down with me,” she urges, intent on guiding her girlfriend to their sofa.

They need to talk, and Rachel needs to sit down before her legs give out from under her.

QUINN: Quinn lets Rachel lead her by the hand to the living room and watches as her girlfriend plops down on the couch in exhaustion. She follows suit, settling alongside Rachel, never letting go of her hold on her.

Rachel's presence and touch is enough to keep the torrent of thoughts swirling in her mind from completely taking over. Brown eyes gaze at her expectedly, imploring Quinn to talk.

"I shouldn't have gone out; I almost hit someone tonight," she confesses then, not able to look Rachel in the eye, because part of her wishes she had. "I went to a pub."

RACHEL: Rachel releases a slow breath from between her teeth. The pub part doesn’t surprise her since she’d already smelled the alcohol, but the other part certainly does, and her stomach clenches unpleasantly. 

“You were drinking.”

It’s not a question. 

She tries valiantly to keep the disappointment from her voice. 

Alcohol doesn’t play nice with Quinn’s medication, so she usually won’t indulge in more than a single glass of wine with a meal on the rare occasion.

QUINN: Quinn nods shamefully, confirming Rachel's statement. "Four or five double whiskeys," she admits. "Stupid. I thought it would help shut everything up. But it didn't. And then this guy started hitting on me. If the bartender hadn't interrupted, I probably would have broken his jaw."

Rachel sucks in a breath then but says nothing, giving Quinn room to continue.

"I'm not okay, and I even started taking ziprasidone the other day. It didn't help."

RACHEL: Rachel bites into her lower lip as she digests Quinn’s words. She hates everything about what Quinn is telling her, but mostly, she hates that she wasn’t here when Quinn needed her and didn’t realize that things had gotten so bad. 

But her own self-recrimination isn’t going to help the situation. 

“What do you need? Should we call Dr. Herrara?”

QUINN: She glances at the time on the cable box. "It's too late to call her, but I will tomorrow. I promise. I should have done that sooner," she laments. "Maybe some tea?"

RACHEL: Rachel gives Quinn’s hand a comforting squeeze, nodding. She’s right. It’s too late to call tonight. 

“We’ll call her tomorrow.” 

Rachel will make sure of that. And maybe she’ll call her own therapist to see if she can squeeze in an extra session because she’s feeling wholly inadequate right now. 

“But tea I can do right now. What do you think?  Peppermint? Chamomile? Or good old fashioned Earl Grey?”

QUINN: "Chamomile sounds good," she says then, hoping that at least psychosomaticly it will calm her nerves. If the ziprasidone isn't helping, tea sure as hell won't.

Rachel nods and reluctantly lets go of Quinn's hand as she stands to go into the kitchen where she puts on a kettle to boil water.

Unable to sit still without Rachel anchoring her, Quinn gets up and follows her girlfriend into the kitchen.

RACHEL: She can feel Quinn in her personal space as soon as she puts the kettle on. The nervous energy radiating off of her is nearly palpable, and Rachel frowns mildly as she reaches into the cupboard for the package of tea. She places it on the counter before bringing down the cups. 

“Quinn,” she begins quietly, momentarily bracing herself against the counter top before she turns to see her girlfriend fidgeting behind her. “Do you…do you want to tell me what was on your mind before you went for that walk tonight? What thoughts were you trying to quiet?”

QUINN: Her brow furrows as she contemplates Rachel's question. "The same ones I'm trying to quiet now. I just..." she trails off, trying to make sense of her thoughts enough to explain. "I feel like I can't do this new job. It's so corporate and the pressure is getting to me."

Quinn presses her lips together then as she looks into understanding brown eyes.

"It's not just that though. I don't know how to explain it," she continues. "I feel angry, scared, sad, but it doesn't make sense. It's like a war inside me."

RACHEL: If Quinn can’t explain it, then Rachel has no hope of helping her. Not that she can ever really help beyond listening and offering a safe harbor for Quinn in uncertain waters. 

Reaching out, she takes hold of Quinn’s hands in hers. 

“Well…maybe we can talk about your job first.” She ignores Quinn’s nervous expression for the moment, needing to say her piece. “I have every faith that you’ll excel in it once you’ve had a chance to settle in. You are a brillant and capable woman, Quinn. But I know we’ve made a lot of changes in a short span of time. It’s normal to feel overwhelmed by all of this.”  

Rachel certainly does, especially right now.

“But if you really don’t feel you can be happy working there, you know I’ll support any decision you make.”

QUINN: "Thank you," she says, squeezing her girlfriend's hand gratefully. "It's just so different from my last job; faster pace and I'm afraid of making a mistake. Like that mistake on the book jacket—I should have caught it earlier, and my boss was pissed about it."

Quinn sighs before swallowing. "You're probably right about so much change so quickly. I want this to work, but my brain isn't cooperating right now," she says, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. "I hate this."

RACHEL: “I know, baby but we don’t need to have all the answers right now,”  Rachel murmurs, moving closer to Quinn.

“Talking to Doctor Herrera tomorrow will help.” She hopes. “And you know you can talk to me whenever you start to feel this way. Even if you can’t find the right words, I need you to tell me when you’re struggling. We can figure it out together.” 

She’s not naive enough to think that they’ll never have another night like this, but the fewer the better for her peace of mind.

QUINN: The kettle whistles then, and Quinn reluctantly lets go of Rachel's hand so her girlfriend can turn off the stove. She watches as Rachel places two bags of chamomile into the mugs.

"I thought I could handle it, and I didn't want to worry you, what with your new show and all," Quinn says as Rachel pours hot water. "I'm sorry it got ahead of me. But thank you for being here for me," she finishes gratefully, despite the unease that's still present. Talking helps, but not enough to wipe away the afflictions in her mind.

RACHEL: Rachel sighs as she turns, handing one of the steaming mugs to Quinn. 

“I’ll always be here for you, Quinn. You don’t need to handle these things on your own anymore. That’s what it means to be in a relationship.” 

She reaches out with her free hand to run a palm over Quinn’s shoulder. 

“And I’m all in on this one with you, baby.”

[sgiandubh]

Interesting. So Sam was at the Talk Art party, a celebration for the podcast his friend Russell Tovey does. Caitriona's dear friend Aisling Bea is also friends with Russell and Robert and was there and celebrating too. And it struck me again how this kind of thing is exactly up Cait's alley, and she knows Aisling and Russell and she's super into art and clearly loves to talk about art/creativity etc. and it always strikes again me how odd it is that SC are not allowed to be seen in public together. They're just "friends" right? Know the same people. Don't friends go to and perhaps hang out at the same events? 🤔

Dear Talk Art Anon,

I suppose you mean yesterday's 5 year celebration of Russell Tovey and Robert Diament's Talk Art podcast, which happened yesterday at the Toklas Restaurant in London (just across the street from King's College, actually). FYI, I think the venue is named after Alice B. Toklas, Gertrude Stein's mustachioed lover. The woman even wrote a cookbook (hashish fudge, anyone?), from which I did try to cook myself, with mixed results.

This should give you an idea of the festive vibe and also the type of crowd in attendance: London glitterati with a marked LGBTQ+ flair and an interesting mix& match (spotted James Corden, too):

I know, I know what the Disgruntled Tumblrettes will say - they still have no clue about the ways of this world and automatically think it's a segregated affair. Not really my fault if their parochial brains are stuck in the Fifties.

You are correct: C's friend, Aisling Bea, was, indeed, there. Such a small world, eh? Always. 😉

And this should immediately fuel further speculation ('who's that girl?'), both chez *urv and Marple. I don't know who the woman is and I honestly think it actually doesn't matter:

And to offer you another question, instead of an answer: over all these years, how come we have seen half a battalion of S&C common friends/acquaintances, but next to 0 of Tait's entourage, which seems to be just about C old friends, many of whom are also friends with S, anyways?

Things that don't even make you go 🤔 anymore.

Very interesting news, indeed. Thank you, Anon. Drop by anytime!

[Later edit, because something crossed my mind right now]: last Tuesday, we did have, as you might know, the third National Day Reception, right at the embassy. My own mum looked on the official FB page and told me she was disappointed I wasn't on any picture. Except I was, half blocked by someone, and she did not see me. Believe what you want, as always.

[arcaneorphic]

Redamancy - Timeskip! Osamu x Reader

Pairing: Timeskip! Miya Osamu x Flower Shop Owner! Reader

Genre: Fluff,

Summary: Redamancy: a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return.

Osamu, owner of Onigiri Miya, and the owner of the flower shop next door find that falling in love happens slowly and all at once.

Word Count: 3,217

Osamu had come to terms with his jadedness a long time ago. Where his brother was a hopeless romantic, he’d like to think he was a realist. Atsumu believed in love in spite of their father, where Osamu didn’t because of that man. The twins hardly knew anything about their father, and they liked it that way. Though it was clear that he left lasting damage on the two—however much they tried to deny it. In their teenage years the twins were fairly popular among their female peers. Where Atsumu indulged in that fact, Osamu did the opposite. Sure, he had a girlfriend or two during high school, but they were never that serious; at least not serious enough for them to meet his ma. 

Besides, he had other things to worry about—more important things. He was a twenty-three year old business owner and he didn’t have the spare time to worry himself over another person like that. He was content with his life just as is. At least that’s what he would tell himself whenever he returned to his quiet apartment after working long hours at his onigiri shop. 

*** 

It was early on a Tuesday morning when Osamu was unlocking the front of his shop so he could prepare for the day. The usual busy street was relatively silent, save for the early morning commuters either going to or returning from work. However, there was one thing out of place. The jingling of keys to the shop next door caught his attention. She was far too early, he noted. Usually she doesn’t open until 9:00 am.  

Once, when a customer had asked him when the shop next door opened and he answered automatically Atsumu had raised an eyebrow at that. When pressed on why he knew that information so readily Osamu rolled his eyes and said something about how often customers unfamiliar with the area would ask so it was only reasonable for him to learn. There was no way in hell he would ever tell Atsumu the truth. He’d never admit that the real reason he knew when the shop next door opened was because he’d see her walk in front of the windows of his restaurant every morning to open. 

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Oh! Morning!” She seemed frazzled. He took notice of how she seemed to be having trouble opening her door. 

“You alright?”

“Yeah.. just,” she huffed. “Doors just been getting stuck recently.”

The twinge of frustration in her usual sweet voice amused him, “Here, let me.”

“Thank you, but you really don’t have to. I don’t want to keep you from getting to what you need to,” she tried to protest. 

He gave her a smile, charming and kind, “Really, ‘s no issue.”

She stepped aside. He pushed against the door slightly, and it sure was stuck. A small part of him worried how she’d lock up for the day to count her tills if it was this difficult, but he quickly pushed the thought away as it wasn’t his place to worry about such a thing. He pushed against the door harder this time, thankful for the years of strength training he did and still does—though less and far between now. 

She let out a sigh of relief as the door opened, “Bless, I thought I’d be out here for at least another half hour.”

Cute, he thought to himself. 

“If you don’t mind me askin’, what’re you doin’ here so early?”

“Turns out a client of mine decided fairly last minute that she’d like a whole new flower and arrangement for a dozen centerpieces,” she sighed. “So, if you’re in the market for some peonies, let me know. I’ll give you a discount for helping me open the door.”

He laughed, a good and proper one, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She smiled back at him and he swore the harsh morning air got a little easier to deal with. The two parted after wishing each other a good day. 

*** 

As Osamu prepped for the day he let his mind wander to the woman next door. The first time they had met was when he first moved into this space. He wasn’t open for business, still just a few tables and not nearly enough chairs, when there was a knock. 

He put on his best customer smile ready to tell the person that he’d be open in a weeks time, but his words caught in his throat when he laid eyes on her. He swore he’d never seen someone so beautiful before. 

“Hi, I own the flower shop, Ume Field, next door and I just wanted to welcome you to the area,” her voice was sweet and kind, but not in the way that seemed forced or unnatural. 

She took a step into the space and Osamu had never worried so much for a stranger, there was still construction equipment littering the floor and he’d be beside himself if she got hurt. He tried to tell himself that it was because he couldn’t afford a lawsuit if she happened to get hurt on his property, but that was hardly the reason. 

He took the arrangement from her outstretched hands. The oranges and dark gold of flowers he could not name for the life of him stared back at him, “Thank you, but I have to admit I don’t know much about flowers.”

She smiled at that as she pointed to each flower respectively, “Well these are for luck and these are for prosperity. Just um… I don’t see many people our age around here so I thought I’d give you a welcoming gift.”

She was right. Most of the other owners around them were fairly older than they were, more experienced and a lot more certain about income. 

“This is real nice of you,” his face felt warm and he hoped for the life of him he wasn’t blushing. 

Those flowers stayed on the counter of his shop for as long as he could keep them. When Atsumu made a comment about them during opening day Osamu told him to “shut his mouth” and “mind his business”. Atsumu chose to drop it for the time being but he’d never forget the soft look in his brother’s eyes whenever he looked at those flowers. 

***

It was an awful day. The kind of day that made him doubt if opening his own restaurant was a good idea after all. Maybe he should have just become a pro-athlete like his twin. He was a damn good volleyball player and the money would’ve been nice, not to mention never having to deal with self-entitled customers or things that were far out of his control. He was wiping down tables as he let himself fume in his frustrations. There was still ten minutes before he officially closed, and when he heard the chime of his door opening he had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. 

Of course, he thought as he collected himself enough to turn and greet the customer. 

“Rough day?” Her eyebrows knitted and concern laced in her voice. 

“Yeah,” he chuckled, humorless and exhausted. If asked, he would deny the way his tensed shoulders relaxed at the sound of her voice, “Ya want the usual?”

She shook her head, “No, no, I’m alright.”

“Told you it’s not a problem. Besides, makes no sense for you to go home hungry when you’re here,” a repeat of a conversation he’s sure they’ve had a hundred times. 

With the holiday’s coming soon she would leave her shop later, and the first time he’d seen her walk by his restaurant at 7:30 he had rushed out to stop her. Since then, whenever she finds herself leaving at a later hour than intended, she waits inside Onigiri Miya. 

She walks to the front counter and picks up one of the rags, “And I told you I’ll only eat something if you let me pay for it.”

As she starts to wipe down one of the tables he feels his heart clench, “You don’t have—.”

“Well I’m going to,” she interrupts. 

Always so damn stubborn, he thinks. If there’s one thing he’s learned about her its that she’s as headstrong and stubborn as they come. The first time she had stood in front of him with arms crossed and pretty face set he had to walk away. 

“Then you’re going to eat somethin’.”

There’s a brief silence before an exaggerated sigh leaves her lips, “Fine.”

With that Osamu goes to make something for her. As he does so he pretends not to see her place five dollars at the register and tomorrow when she comes by his shop to drop off flowers as a way to ‘repay’ him for the food, she’ll pretend not to notice him slip the five dollars into the pocket of her apron. He’s fairly certain they’ve been trading the same five dollars for the past four months. 

She hums along to the song playing over the speakers as she wipes down the last three tables. In all honesty, Osamu was nearly done cleaning by the time she came in, but he still appreciated the way she insisted on lessening whatever she could. She disappeared into the back for a bit, returning with a broom in hand. Before she could make any headway in sweeping he called her name. 

Osamu meets her half way and takes the broom from her hands. She pats him gently on his bicep as she walks by. He watches her for a moment. She walks behind the counter and takes a seat at the stool he has there. The way she walks about his shop freely puts a smile on his face. 

Yeah, I made the right choice, he thinks to himself as he begins to sweep the floor. 

***

“Ma, tell yer thick headed son that he needs to man up and just do it,” It’s taking every ounce of patience and respect for his mother Osamu has to not jump across the table and fight Atsumu the way they did in their teens. 

“You really never get tired of hearin’ yer own voice, huh?” Osamu spits back, accent always a little thicker around his brother and ma. 

Osamu’s eyes keep flicking towards the window of his shop, thinking he’s doing it slyly enough not to be caught; but of course his ma is fully aware. There’s a look of concern that she’s never seen in her son’s eyes before. She knows her son—she knows that he hates the idea of falling in love only for it to turn tainted and ugly. She also knows that prior to moving into this space her son had no idea how to keep a plant alive, but looking at the various plants and flowers that decorate his shop she knows that something inside of her son has healed. 

She eats her onigri that her son lovingly made, and tunes out the sound of her son’s arguing—she’s used to this little back and forth of theirs. For as much as Atsumu enjoys antagonizing his brother, he wants him to be happy and he sees that the shop owner next door does just that.

Onigiri Miya is empty, save for the three of them, which is the only reason why Osamu is indulging his brother’s antics. Well, that is only partially true; the other reason he is allowing this to continue is that it keeps his mind off of the worry growing in the pit of his stomach. 

Just as Osamu is about to pull out his phone and call, he sees an all too familiar beat up blue kei truck parking in front of his restaurant. Both his brother and mother notice the worry fade from Osamu’s eyes only to be replaced by amused adoration. 

“Watch the shop,” Osamu tells his brother as he walks outside to meet the woman. 

Atsumu and their ma watch as the woman driving the truck beams at Osamu as he walks up. Even though they can’t hear the exchange occurring between the pair it’s clear by the way the woman shakes her head at whatever Osamu says and grabs his wrist to show him his watch that he made a comment about the time. 

Ma notes the way her son smiles at the woman and how easily the woman keeps up with her son’s quips. Just as Osamu is about to pick up one of the boxes in the bed of her truck they see as she smacks his hand away. She stands there, arms crossed and face set as she tells—scolds—him not to overexert himself seeing as he did so yesterday while he was getting his shipment in. He replies with something that has her rolling her eyes and laughing before she goes off to open her shop door. 

“See what I mean, Ma,” Atsumu sighs. 

*** 

Osamu is convinced he’s never been this nervous before. Telling his twin he’s quitting volleyball? Starting a food truck? Opening a brick and mortar? A breeze compared to having the most beautiful, intelligent, and hardworking woman stood in his small studio apartment. While at his shop he could feign having his life in order, but having a woman like her in a place like this made him feel… like he was fighting a losing battle. There was no way he could ever be enough—. 

“No fair, you’ve got bigger windows!” 

Osamu paused, pulled from his spiral, “What?”

“The windows in my studio are teeny tiny compared to yours,” she explained, as if that would somehow make Osamu understand her. He didn’t. 

She walked further into his apartment the same way she walked about his restaurant—as if she’s done it a million times. Oddly, under all his ‘first date’ anxieties, he felt the same; as if this was commonplace for them—his soul was at ease with hers. 

“Okay, well dinners almost ready if you wanna… keep cryin’ over my windows,” he chuckles. 

He’s had to have said that phase thousands of times in his life, but never once did they fill him with as much domestic bliss as when he said them to her. 

“What’re you making,” same lilt in her voice as when she asked him that same question after-hours at Onigiri Miya. 

“You’ll see in a minute,” same response he always gave her. 

“This is a date, you know, you’re supposed to be nice to me,” the teasing glint in her eyes he’s learned well returning. She leans on the counter, small of her back pressing up against the lip, while she looks up at him. He’s all too familiar with this too. 

“Am I not? Being nice to ya, I mean,” his tongue slipping back into its natural accent subconsciously. 

“That country charm will only get you out of so much, Osamu,” he was certain that he would die if he ever had to go without hearing his name coming from her mouth. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smirks as he pats her hip to move her and grab something from the cabinet behind her. 

That move being something that he learned from her. It was comical, really, the way a 6’4” man, built and strong, could easily be pushed around with a few simple pats from the sweetest looking woman in a soft pink apron. 

“How’d that date your brother went on go, by the way?” She asked once she settled back into her previous position. 

Osamu gave her a look that told her all she needed to know. In the time she had grown closer to Osamu it also meant getting to know the loud setter. The first time she had met Atsumu he had walked into her shop lackadaisically looking around. She had been thoroughly confused as to why the owner of Onigiri Miya was mulling about her shop instead of tending to his own. When she walked up to him, ready to scold him for not attending to his restaurant, he looked at her. In that moment the playful jab bubbling in her throat disappeared because she knew that he wasn’t Osamu. 

At that point, Osamu had moved into the space next to hers only two months ago, but even then she could tell that the identical looking man in front of her was not him. The man in front of her did not make her heart flutter and his eyes didn’t make her feel seen. When the man introduced himself as Atsumu, brother to the owner next door, she smiled. 

“Poor guy, he sounded like he really liked her,” she says, pulling herself from the memory at the sound of sizzling coming from the pan. 

Osamu sighs, “Yeah, and you said that about the last girl he went out with too.” 

Atsumu had gotten into the habit of purchasing bouquets from her shop for his dates, which meant that he spent his time between Onigiri Miya and Ume Field singing praise over the newest ‘love of his life’. She had met many people like Atsumu since opening her shop, hopeless romantics with hearts far too big and sensitive for their own good, and she would listen intently as he spoke of those women. Atsumu was genuine and the women who he dated often times were not. Gold diggers or people chasing their fifteen minutes for dating the Miya Atsumu. 

“He’s just got a big heart, Osamu.”

“He’s an idiot.”

She gives him a look that makes him want to be kinder, “Listen, I’ve just had to deal with this—with him—my whole life and I don’t like him botherin’ you with it now.” 

“I’ve told you, I don’t mind.”

“I know, I know,” he says. 

A comfortable silence settles between them as Osamu plates their food. He sets the food on the small table and then walks towards her. She smiles softly as she takes his outstretched hand into hers and lets him pull her closer. She’s never met a man like Osamu before, that much she’s sure of. From that moment, all those Tuesday’s ago, when she had told him her door was difficult to open and he closed his shop for an hour so he could fix her door she knew that he had her heart. 

Unbeknownst to her, Osamu had fallen for her far before then, as much as he wanted to deny it. The moment she had walked into his restaurant, wood and construction equipment strewn across the flower, with flowers arranged meticulously by her talented hands he was taken with her. Even so, he waited until now, a year later, to ask her on a date. There was still growth he needed to do before he started anything with her. She deserved the best version of himself he could give. 

“Hi,” he says softly as she wraps her arms around his torso. 

“Hi,” she repeats as she rests her head on his chest. 

Years from now, when they’re stood in the home that they’ve built together he’ll think back to this moment. He’ll think of standing in his cramped studio apartment with the woman that would become his wife and feeling a wave of peace settle in his soul. 

[trippinsorrows]

I feel like we need a short that details Solana delivering the twins!

How and where did she go into labor?

Where was Roman and how did he react?

What was the procedure? Lmao Did she birth at home? A center?

LMAO I lowkey can imagine Roman being stressed the fuck out because he hates his wife being in pain. And maybe, just maybe, she’s in labor for a couple hours and a little uncomfortable…but the twins show up thinking they’re being supportive but they’re really just making Roman need his blood pressure medication refilled immediately lol

They would get a glimpse of Solana from the hallway and go…

“ Damn. I hope Soso gone’ be alright pushing out them big ass kids. Shit look like it’s gone hurt, uce. Specially when she get to them shoulders and ears’.” Jimmy winced, thinking about Solana’s double load of a task at hand.

Meanwhile Jey nervously ran a hand down his face, before saying, “ Fuck, man. She ain’t got no choice but to be alright. It’s Fajita Tuesday tomorrow. And she told me she was gone make me and the kids the lil spicy Taco Bell ass sauce she make wit’ em.”

“ Fool, she is not gone be able to move around and make us no goddamn’ food tomorrow after having them kids. She just might barely be able to make it to the bathroom good after that.”

“ That’s why she meal prepped our food in the freezer. We just gotta go to big dog house and get em’. Pop in the microwave and allat’.” Jimmy followed up, smirking at the thought of Solana’s cooking on demand for the next week via carefully curated tv dinner tray style meal prep packages for the them and the kids in the event she did go into labor.

Wearing an almost identical smile to his faternal twin’s, Jey said, “ Hell yeah. That’s why I love Soso, man. Always looking out for us. Thats why I can’t wait to come over with Nicki and the kids after the babies born. See em, spoil em, and stuff.”

“ Hell we might stay a couple days. See if she need Nicki help at all. Ya’ know be supportive fa-“

Just as Jey was about to finish his thought, the door to the birthing room wrenched open to reveal a somewhat flustered and annoyed Roman who glared holes into his cousins’ faces barking, “ If yall don’t get your fuckin’ asses out this goddamn place. I swear I’ll have you both fucking castrated before Solana dilates another fucking centimeter.”

“ And let it also be known that anyone I see step a fuckin pinky toe on my property once we go home will be shot on sight. Men, women, children, and any creature thats not my wife’s whiny ass dog is getting a hot one in em’!!”

“ On second thought, kids get rubber bullets to test their future durability. But ya’ll stupid assses are fair game. Especially your dumbass wife. I got something special for her if she steps foot on my shit.” Roman pointed a finger to a now visibly pissed Jey, before slamming the door back and locking it to go return to his wife’s side.

“ See, look on the bright side, uce. You see how the babies already warming up big dog heart. Before that he woulda’ shot the kids with regular bullets too. Look at em’ being a father and what not.” Jimmy goofily beamed.

Hope this interpretation was alright ✨🤦🏾‍♀️💕

NO CAUSE THE WAY I LOVE THIS SO MUCH OMG 🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

the way i can absolutely see the twins showing up to 'support' solana only to act a damn fool as you so greatly depicted and end up getting kicked out by roman. 😂😂😂😂😂 hell, and any child after that, it's an automatic thing where they're just banned from the hospital altogether 😂😂😂😂😂

them talking about her cooking when sis is literally in labor is so on brand for them.

as far as her birth with the girls, ngl, it's giving me angsty vibes. 😭 i hate to do this to ya'll, but someone asked the other day about this and we were causally putting out there it being angsty 😭 and idk.....i feel like it would be.

i feel like they'd come early to some extent, or when roman is out of town. and solana is rushed to the hospital. she's already a little nervous because this isn't how they planned it. they were expected on or after the due date. not before. and roman would want her at a hospital to make sure she has all the resources and care she needs. he'd also have the whole damn floor cleared, and you can bet bloodline security is all up in that bitch. ain't nobody getting inside that's not supposed to be.

solana would be very emotional and overwhelmed, both because of it happening but also roman not being there. like, of course bayley and naomi are there, but, respectfully, she doesn't want them. she wants her husband.

she's already sad because her mom isn't there, and she dislikes hospitals in general, so roman not being there is super hard for her. of course this man is rushing like hell to make it there, and i'm not evil. he'd make it on time for the birth, but you can bet poor solana is crying both from the physical pain but also her emotions. crying that she wants roman and the infamous, 'i can't do this without him." 😭😭😭😭

i also agree she'd have a long labor, which roman hates cause like you said, he can't stand to see her in pain.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Twenty-Seven (Part 2)

Jude is on Skype when I get to Clontarf. I hear his smooth, low voice reverberate through the walls of his bedroom and I stand there for several moments trying to gauge whether or not he’s having the kind of conversation that I can just barge in on. I hear him laugh and say something that sounds casual rather than job-interview-like, so I push through the door. 

“Oh, Evie just got here,” He says to the person on call with him, “Do you want to say hi?”

Who wants to say hi to me? I gingerly place my bag onto his chair and perch on the bed with him. A wide, round face beams at me through the screen. “Well hello there,” the woman says, “gosh, what a beautiful girl!”

“Thank you,” I say self-consciously, tucking my hair behind my ears, and Jude puts his arm around me to kiss my temple hello. “This is my girlfriend, Evie, and Evie, this is my great aunt Maureen.”

“Oh, from America,” I say, which makes her laugh for some reason. 

“Well I’m happy to know he’s mentioned me!” She says, and she has a similar accent to him, or, maybe the reverse of it. An Irish woman who held fiercely to her Dublin syllables even after decades in America, even though that southwestern twang has crept in along the edges and slowed it all down so that she doesn’t sound in a hurry anymore. I bet it’s too damn hot in New Mexico to do anything at speed, including talking. 

“When will you come and visit?” She says then, and I don’t know if she’s speaking to him or me or us both, but I let Jude answer her while I sit there and feel like an alien. Nobody knows that I just bawled my eyes out at my therapist’s office and said that I said I constantly think about dying. 

“God, we’d love to. Maybe later in the year, do you think?” Jude is saying, “You know I’ve really been missing America lately.”

“‘Cause it’s been so long since you’ve come! Come for Thanksgiving, won’t you? I think it’d be perfect with all the kids around, although, you know, I can hardly call them kids when they’ve all got kids of their own. Evie, have you ever had a thanksgiving?”

“No, Maureen, I haven’t,”

“You’ll love it. Love it,” and in case I have any doubt about how much I’ll love it she and Jude proceed to have a lengthy conversation about all the food they used to cook together, pumpkin this and pumpkin that, I’ve never had pumpkin anything, and the alien feeling intensifies. 

The conversation moves onto other things then, and I get restless when Maureen starts asking Jude about his job search. He tells her what’s been happening, the interview with a prop place near Portsmouth that he didn’t get a good feeling from, his correspondence with another studio in London, and the interview lined up for Tuesday at another, and then I wait for her to say the inevitable, which she does, “Why don’t you just come to America?”

He starts telling her why it’s not an option right now while she reminds him of all the things he used to love about it before he was ripped out of his precious homeland by his evil parents and then I get off the bed and start picking items of his clothing off the floor and folding them away. I’m aware that obsessive cleaning is what my mother does when my father has done something to piss her off, and consider the value of bringing this fact to my next therapy session with Helen. Maybe she’ll have something enlightening to say about it. 

What’s so great about America anyway? I toss a rogue sock into his hamper. What do they have that we don’t have? Aside from like, semi automatic machine guns and UFOs? There’s so much stuff on this floor. I scoop up a pile of books and plop them onto his desk. Just because he’s American doesn’t mean that he has to just go back there. Why do people keep saying that? He doesn’t want to. He wants to move to London so I can’t see why people can’t just shut up about it. He lived in Berlin for four years, for God’s sake, so why is it inconceivable that he might see himself in-

“Evie, why are you cleaning my room?”

“Hm?”

Jude snaps his laptop shut, “I don’t want you to clean my room.”

“Did you hang up on Maureen?”

“No we said goodbye,” His eyebrow twitches, “She said goodbye to you too.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear her,” I grab a Nike runner and then the other once I’ve located it under a discarded sweatshirt.

“Um, you can stop cleaning if you want.”

“Okay,” I find a place for them and stash them neatly at the bottom of the open wardrobe and feel his eyes on me. 

“You just kind of walked away mid conversation,” he points out delicately. 

“Well, it was your conversation to have. I didn’t think I was going to just, like, walk in on like that. I would have waited if I’d known. Gone for a walk along the seafront or something.”

“I didn’t know how much you didn’t want to talk to Maureen, honestly.” I glance at him and he looks hurt, which is too much to bear at the moment, so I grab a fistful of pencils and shove them back into an upturned pencil case by their side. “Evie, stop. What’s the matter?”

“Well I just had my first therapy session, and you didn’t ask about it.”

“I haven’t had a chance to, c’mere, tell me about it.”

“You knew I was there and you knew when I’d be back and you talked to your great aunt anyway.”

“She called me. I wasn’t going to not pick up on her, she doesn’t call me often.”

“Okay, well…” I can’t think of anywhere else to put my anger and end up channelling it into the zip of the pencil case, which won’t close around the pencils I’ve shoved into it even though there are way too many of them to fit. Jude has the audacity to take the whole thing out of my hand. “Stop cleaning,” he says firmly. “What is wrong? Come here, please, tell me about your session.”

“You think I’m crazy,” I say, because I’ve just been acting crazy. 

“I don’t. Come here.”

I don’t budge. 

“Evie.”

“Why is everyone insisting that you move to America?”

“What? Nobody is insisting that, why are you saying that?”

“Maureen just did.”

“She means it as a joke, she doesn’t think I’m actually going to move back, it’s just that she misses me, I suppose,” He runs his fingers through the front of his hair, “I was like her kid for a while and then I moved away, and I don’t go and visit enough, she’s just… well it’s just wishful thinking.”

“My cousin’s girlfriend said it too.”

He makes a face, “Your cousin’s girlfriend doesn’t know anything about me.”

“She knows that they make movies in LA.”

“Yeah, so does everybody, no prizes to her for that one.”

“I just think that you’re going to change your mind about London and you’re going to contact a studio in LA, it seems like an obvious thing to do.” I’m wound so tightly that I can’t even imagine trying to move my body. My hand is still frozen in a claw like it’s trying to force up the zip of the pencil case that’s now sitting on the bed out of reach, and Jude’s eyebrows fly up incredulously. “You told me to contact a studio in LA.”

“Have you done it?”

“I’m a bit afraid to say that I have.”

“Oh right.”

“For feedback. It was your idea.”

“Well you never said that you contacted them, it’s like you were keeping it a secret from me.”

“I would have if you’d given me a chance to talk to you, but you just came in here and started picking fights with me.”

“I don’t want a fight.”

“Then quit picking one.”

“How many places did you contact?”

He sighs, “Come on, Evie.” “No, how many?”

“Four, I think.”

“Four?”

“Yeah, four, and they haven’t responded yet, so there’s nothing to report back.”

“Okay, well, maybe they won’t.”

He leans onto an elbow and stares down at his nails, shaking his head, and I feel threatened by this. Is he angry with me? Disappointed?

“What?” I demand shakily. 

He purses his lips. 

“Jude, what?”

“Would you be pleased if none of the LA studios ever responded to me?”

“Would I be-”

“I mean if I sent emails to those places with a long enthusiastic letter tailored to each individual one, attached my portfolio that I’ve worked myself to the bone on for the last year, and merely asked for their feedback on it, would it make you happy if they all ignored me?”

I’m flabbergasted. That’s obviously not what I meant. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

“Okay because it just feels like you’re pretty relieved by the thought that none of them might want anything to do with me, and like, for the record, it’s not like I think I’m good enough to work for them, okay? I’m not that delusional, but at this point it feels like I’ll take any help I can get, because nothing is working out. I’ve applied for dozens of jobs this summer and I’ve heard nothing from the vast majority of them. They don’t even reply to me to say I’m not suitable most of the time, that’s how shitty they all think I am, so if the interview with that London place doesn’t pan out next week and nobody from LA comes back to me with a shred of guidance on my portfolio then I really don’t know what I’m going to do. It’s looking like I’ll end up getting some shit job in a fucking Aldi just so I have something to do with my time so it’s really great to know that you’re gunning for me to fail.” 

He flips onto his back with the heels of his hands in his eye sockets and lets out a groan of despair, “I’m not used to failure. I don’t know how to handle myself.”

I want to crumple to the floor in anguish. I am dreadful. Perhaps I should leave town and change my name and save him the effort of breaking up with me, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know- I should be more supportive. I don’t want you to fail. I only want the opposite.”

“Why did you come over if you were going to be like this? I was looking forward to seeing you and hearing about your session, and now…” He trails off, but he needn’t say more because I know what he means. I’ve taken what could have been a good moment and soured it because of the inherent ways that I am. This is the first crack, I think, the moment that I will look back on and think, yes, that’s when we both knew unequivocally that I’d make him unhappy. Perhaps, I think, I should get back on the bus and go back to Helen and tell her that I’ve changed my mind and I’d like to take pills after all, because being numb and sedated seems like a nice idea all of a sudden.

“I’m sorry Jude,” I whisper again, and I perch on the edge of the bed with my back to him because I can sense he’s doing that thing he does when he’s upset, where he shuts himself off to me and builds a wall around himself, and I don’t want to see that glazed, stony look on his face ever again. 

Except he isn’t doing that. His hand is on my shoulder, “Evie, c’mere.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re sorry, can I have you?”

“Have me?”

“Yeah I just want to hold you for a while. I don’t want to be like this. I’ve had enough relationships where I fight, I don’t want it with you, please.”

This is new, I think, as he bundles me into his arms and lays down with me so that my face is nestled against his collarbone, the flutter of his breath in my hair, and there is nothing to look at so I close my eyes and breathe him in. “I’ve upset you,” I murmur.

“I’m alright, it’s just been a weird time,” he plants an almost impossibly tender kiss on the crown of my head, “and I’m edgy.” 

“I know. It’s fair enough. I really didn’t mean that I want you to fail , I want everything for you, I want you to succeed and I know you will, I think that’s why I’m scared, because the possibilities are so endless and your life could take you anywhere-”

“I don’t want anywhere I want here.”

Here feels pretty good, with our legs wound together and his heartbeat beneath my ear. The warmth and darkness he’s made for me in his arms is like a cocoon that I never want to emerge from. He squeezes me as tightly as his restraint will allow him, “Christ,” he says, “I love you so much it’s nuts.”

“I love you too.”

“It’s never like this, not with anyone else. I’ve never felt like this before. I want you to know how serious I am.”

“So intense,” I laugh into his chest and he squeezes an involuntary sound out of me and I squeak like a child’s toy. 

“I love you too much to fight with you. Let’s not do that again.”

“That’d mean I’d have to stop being insane, I think.”

“You’re not insane, don’t say that.”

“My therapist said that.”

“No she did not.”

“Okay,” I chuckle, “She didn’t.”

“What did she say?”

But I’m too cosy to go there right now. I snuggle up against him, and it’s the kind of embrace that makes it easy to forget that hardship and badness exists. “Hmm, I’ll tell you in a sec,” I promise, and bask in blissful feelings for just five more minutes. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[headintheclouds-posts]

Hiiii, how are you? 😀 I've been feeling pretty sick since Tuesday because I have allergic rhinitis so, if your requests are still open, can you please write a JungKook x reader with the timestamp [15:28] where he's taking care of Y/n because they are sick? (Y/n could be sulking and crying because they don't feel better even after taking their medications 😞). Thank you in advance, take care! 🫶

Hello my lovely, I hope you’re feeling better. ♥️

15:28:

You look at the time on your phone, shocked that you managed to stay awake this long as all you could think of was climbing under the covers and blocking the world out. The past several days you felt as though you were coming down with something. Initially you had started with a slightly itchy nose causing you to occasionally sneeze but now your nose was fully blocked and your eyes were sore and watery.

Luckily you were working from home today and your boss had finally persuaded you to switch off your laptop and get some rest, something that your body was begging for.

You allowed your body to hit the mattress and you pulled the covers over your head to block out any form of light that could cause your banging head to get any worse. As you snuggle further into the warmth of your bed, you fail to hear the bedroom door open and soon after you could hear your name being called from outside your cocoon.

“Y/n” the voice calls out.

You slowly drag your tired body up to look your boyfriend in the eyes. Upon seeing your face he can’t help but feel concerned and the neediness to be taken care of suddenly hits you.

“Oh my poor baby” Jungkook cooed pulling you into his warm chest, rubbing his finger tips into the small of your back.

You had managed to hold it together absolutely fine so far, but now in the presence of the person you love, you can’t help the emotions that take over and your bottom lip starts to tremble.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t realise you weren’t yourself, work has been so busy the past few days and I should of been paying you more attention” he exclaims pulling you even further in, so you were curled up into his warmth.

“It’s fine baby, it’s not your fault. I just need to…” before you can even finish your sentence he cuts you off and lifts you to look into his loving doe eyes.

“No, you don’t need to do anything, I am going to take care of you. All you need to do is rest and I will wait on you hand and foot” he proclaims, causing you to smile at his words.

His hands find their way up into your hair as he guides you towards his lips and presses sweet kisses to your face before laying you back down and wrapping the covers around your body. Though it was a loving action, you automatically reached your hands out towards him, missing his touch already.

“I am just going to get you some medicine and water and then I will be straight back, can you wait just a few minutes for me” Jungkook smiles as you nod sulkily.

He soon returns with some warm soup and a large bottle of water. “Take these” he says, holding out his hand to provide you with some painkillers which you drink back with the crisp water.

“Thank you” you sigh out, resting your head back on the pillow as the exhaustion slowly creeps further on to your tired body. It wasn’t long before Jungkook slid under the covers next to you and motioned for you to rest against his chest. His body was warm and comforting which helped lull you further towards your dreams.

“You don’t have to stay here with me” you mumble, rubbing your nose against him, “I know you have loads to take care of”.

He sighs and presses a kiss to your forehead. “All those things can wait, at the end of the day all that really matters is you, so sleep my love and I will be here when you wake up”.

[strawbubbysugar]

Howdy! I have a few questions if that’s okay!

Does Hello use gen-z words like “lit”, “no cap” and “goat” and stuff like that, or do the white-coats not allow that?

Also what is the age range of kids in the Testing Fun Zone?

Also also was Hello automatically good at skating or did it take him a bit to learn it?

Also also also what was the most nerve-wracking scenario Hello’s ever dealt with regarding child safety when he knew the white coats were watching?

Also also also also how much access to the internet does Hello have? Or where does his knowledge-base come from to answer kids’ questions (the knowledge that isn’t automatically programmed into him, I mean)?

Thank you!!

Absolutely I love answering questions!!!

They tried it out, and it didn’t test well with parents. Since parents are the ones buying the products, they scrapped it. Hello misses saying bet

The kids come in different marketing age ranges throughout the week, with new kids every week. Hello has rarely seen the same child twice.

Monday: 2-6y/o

Tuesday: 7-10y/o

Weds: adjustment and testing day, usually involving stress tests like seeing how hard his body can work under pressure

Thursday: 11-13y/o

Friday: 14-16y/o.

They cut off the demo groups there, since they’re only marketing parents and children right now. They’ve already tested him with older teens and adults, and he tested very positively.

Hello went through a LOT of adjustments to be good at skating. Tweaking his balance, his reflexes, etc. all of that was also good for helping him get good at walking too.

A child slipped off of the jungle gym once before they had the foam mats, and they broke their nose on the ground. All of the blood sent goodbye into near hysterics, and terrified him. He did his best, and helped the child back to their mother, but he wasn’t gentle enough and he ended up making the child cry more. That was a bad day.

Hello has 0 internet access, only access to an internalized database from a WOW built source. It’s very large and extensive, but it’s also thoroughly propagandized. It’s like if Disney owned Wikipedia and made changes to paint themselves in the best light possible. He does have to go looking for the information when he needs it, however. It isn’t always in his head- otherwise it would take up too much storage space