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1kook · 4 years

Text

hulu & woohoo

summary: But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. warnings: slight feelings of insecurity, smut; fingering, cunnilingus, cum eating, squirting, handjobs, unprotected, riding, slight praise kink misc: if you’re not a Jersey shore fan honestly GET OUT, mentions of capitalism😡, more kind/understanding kook, basically a “what are we?” fic but silly, irresponsible emailing habits, its so dumb just read wc: 6.3k

[ this is a sequel to netflix & chill !! ]

started off silly then I was like 😳what if we sprinkled in a dilemma™️😳 anyway here’s the kook i imagined for this fic <3

Contrary to popular belief, Jungkook does in fact have his own paid subscription to Netflix. He doesn’t ride on his family account anymore, nor does he swindle his friends into sharing their passwords ‘just once.’ Just like everything else about his mature persona, Jungkook is adamant on paying those ten and something dollars for the streaming platform.

However, his fall into capitalism doesn’t end there.

Among other things, Jungkook also pays for Hulu, Amazon Prime, Disney Plus, HBO, as well as a couple indie stuff you’ve never heard of in all your years. He’s a bigger nerd than you originally thought, with an incessant need to watch every single piece of media available.

Frankly, you don’t see the need to own so many different streaming services, especially not when pirating websites exist and you could so easily watch Jersey Shore for free, if you’re not too concerned with infecting your laptop with every software virus known to humankind. Luckily for you, your app developer boo with his—admittedly tiny—knowledge in computers can iron out those issues for you.

It’s moments like these, Jungkook fiddling with the internal system settings of your laptop to the best of his abilities, that you find yourself grateful for having met Jungkook, and even if it’s been a little over two months now and he still hasn’t popped the question (“Will you be my girlfriend?”), you’d still kiss him silly.

He sighs for the umpteenth time, rubbing his eyes as he stares at the same system warning on the screen. “Babe, just pay the six bucks for Hulu and you can watch all the Jersey Shore episodes you want,” he says, leaning back in his chair as he stares at you from across the dining table.

You scoff, almost scandalized by his suggestion. “You think I have the resources to hand over six bucks every month?” You abandon your homework in front of you, the one you had so dutifully been working on before your computer was flooded with about a thousand Hot Moms in YOUR Area! notifications before abruptly shutting down. “Buddy, that's lunch at Starbucks.”

Jungkook clicks around a few more times, round glasses sliding down his nose which he will occasionally scrunch up to save from falling. “First of all, lunch at Starbucks sounds sad,” he retorts, and you kick his shin from beneath the table. He doesn’t even flinch, the damn muscle bunny, instead leveling you with an unimpressed glare. “Second of all, I told you I’d give you my passwords but you said—“

“No!” You exclaim.

Call it what you want, but that rose-tinted image of Jungkook being a saint in this world, too sweet and naive for his own good, never faded. Your brain saw it that night of your first date and ran with it, never mind the fact he was quite the devious scoundrel, gentlemanly perception be damned the way he’d tug at your skirts and your hair in public like you were on the playground, always teasing, always playing with you, so discreetly no one would ever see it coming from him, of all people. Your brain saw all that too, the little childish streak he’d get sometimes, but your heart stomped it out, wrapped up in the image of Jungkook being your golden boy, and you couldn’t possibly take advantage of such an angel’s kindness to mooch off his streaming services.

From across the table, Jungkook gives you a pointed look, as if he knows you’re trapped in that brain of yours again. Unlike you, Jungkook was easily able to pick apart your true personality, and the way the devil on your shoulder spoke more often than not. He knew you were prone to outrageous schemes and evil villain monologues, and he still kept you around. Let you linger around his home in his big shirts and eat his healthy breakfasts with him. Jungkook liked you, as silly and mean as you were, and he was very obvious about it.

“The password—“

“Is none of my business,” you halt him with a tone of finality in your voice, gesturing for him to slide the beat up laptop back over. Jungkook sighs, runs a hand over his face like you’ve worn him out, but relents.

Taking it with a triumphant grin, you settle back into your seat, nudge his foot with yours beneath the table. Jungkook nudges you back, the adorable fuzzy socks he was wearing making you giggle, a sound that finally brings a smile to his face. “Y’know…” he says, “if you’re gonna be the Disney villain you claim to be, you might as well just take all my passwords.”

Rolling your eyes, you focus your attention back on copying some notes for class, falling back into the rhythm of glancing at the screen and back at your notebook. “You’re cute,” you mindlessly hum, taking great pleasure in the rosy hue that rises to his cheeks, one he tries to hide by coughing into his elbow. You set your pencil down, watch him squirm under your gaze like he always does, blushy and shy like he hadn’t had you twisted like a pretzel beneath him an hour ago. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching over to place your hand over his, where it’s idly tapping over some textbook he’s got out. Immediately, he turns it over, squeezes your palm in his. “I don’t mind getting thirty two viruses an hour.”

The reluctant worry in his gaze remains, sweet puppy eyes flickering over you as if trying to catch a hint of a lie. He was so adorable, you could kiss him silly. Finally, Jungkook gives in, though he does so with a lot of effort; letting you fool around on pirating websites truly was the bane of his existence. “Just bring it to me if it breaks down again, okay?” He settles, and you nod.

To your surprise, he brings your hand up and presses a kiss to the back of your knuckles, holds your gaze like he absolutely adores you.

He was so handsome, so caring, and so blatantly not yours.

—

“Not heading to your boyfriend's house today?” Doyeon asks the second she steps into your shared dorm, fighting with the boots on her feet. In the last two months of knowing Jungkook (everybody say thank you, Kim Namjoon), it’s become rare to see you home for more than two nights in a row. Jungkook was irresistible in more ways than you could count. If you weren’t falling into bed with him, you were smothering his cute face on the couch, or hovering behind him in the kitchen.

“Not my boyfriend,” you deny, huffy, and she knows how you feel about the subject, which is why she only prods more.

“Wow,” Doyeon drawls, glancing over your shoulder where you’ve got Jersey Shore playing on one half of the screen, an essay document on the other. “The man you see every other night, who looks and fucks like a god, who buys you a shit ton of presents, and treats you like you’re his world… is not your boyfriend?”

On screen, the toxic couple of the century is engaged in another screaming match, the reality tv show quickly spiraling as dramatic music takes over the speakers.

You scratch the back of your head. “Yeah. Well.”

Doyeon almost combusts at your response, flinging herself onto her twin bed in disgust. “He is a fool, a court jester if you will,” she seethes. “You're the hottest babe in a fifteen mile radius chasing after him and he still hasn’t asked you?”

Deciding you can’t comfortably watch the toxicity on screen with Doyeon talking so loudly, you slam down on the spacebar to pause the show. The fickity website, set out to ruin you since you first discovered it a few weeks ago, crashes. It takes your half-assed essay with it as the whole computer suddenly blacks out. You sigh.

“And on top of that,” she’s still going, “you’re hot and evil. Like bro. Come on.”

“Yes, I’m sure every man dreams of getting with an evil seductress,” you sarcastically reply, reaching for your phone to text Jungkook for help, when you suddenly remember why exactly you’re not with him right now. He’d gone to Busan to visit his family this weekend, a quick trip, he’d told you with his tongue down your throat. You shiver at the memory.

You still really want to watch Jersey Shore, though. Almost desperately. It’d been a long time since you watched it, and you honestly forgot the pivotal role that and a bunch of other reality shows had played in shaping you into the conniving woman you were today.

Doyeon seems about done with her tirade against Jeon Jungkook, dramatically storming into the en-suite bathroom you share with your neighbors.

Tapping your phone against your lip, you carefully consider your options. You could just boot your laptop back up, pray for the best and move on. But the 240p episodes were doing a number on your eyes, and for a moment you considered handing over those six bucks to pay for a Hulu membership.

It’s short-lived, and eventually you settle on calling Jungkook.

He answers on the fourth ring, and wherever he is is insanely loud. There’s voices shouting, lots of bustling, until eventually a door closes and Jungkook’s silky voice oozes through the speaker. “Baby? What’s up?”

“Hi,” you respond, feel something disgustingly sweet settle in your chest. “Is this a bad time?” You ask tentatively.

Jungkook laughs, low and raspy. “No,” he tells you, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Never a bad time for you.”

You could lunge through the screen right now, rain kisses down on his face until he’s giggling, telling you it’s too much. The feeling in your chest tightens, and you almost blurt out something embarrassingly cheesy, but a voice in the background calls for him, and Jungkook’s voice responds, “In a sec, mom. I’m talking to a friend right now.”

The glass roof shatters.

Even though you’d just told Doyeon you two weren’t a thing, despite all the coupley things you did, something about Jungkook telling his mom you’re just a friend isn't right. You frown, listen as his mother, a voice just as delicate as his, asks him to grab something from inside. With each second that ticks by, the discomfort you feel grows tenfold, until you’re barely holding yourself together.

Eventually, Jungkook returns. “So what’s up?” He asks again, and you remember what you initially called for. Putting on your big girl pants, you brush your uncalled for insecurities to the side, making sure he can’t detect anything in your tone.

“Your Hulu password. Can I have it?” You say, realize how robotical your voice sounds and belatedly throw in a, “please.”

Jungkook laughs, loud and boyish. The sound almost makes you melt, makes you fall for him even more. The niggling doubt in the back of your head still rings, but it’s temporarily washed away by the man on the phone. “Finally giving in?” He chuckles, doesn’t give you time to respond. “Sure, babe. I’ll text you the login stuff.” You hum, twirl your pencil idly as Jungkook announces he has to go, something about his family waiting on him. You bid him adieu, send him a halfhearted kiss over the phone, and only hope he feels half as content as you do when he does the same for you.

You don’t want to be dramatic about it. In your heart of hearts, you know Jungkook is just more reserved when it comes to dating. He wants to be one hundred percent sure your heart is in the same game as his, tied to the same rules, and putting in the same effort. But there’s a seed of insecurity that plants itself in the back of your head, tells you the reason Jungkook hasn’t asked you out is simply because you’re not good enough.

Jungkook was as rich as they come—not in money, but in personality. (Well, with the way he was advancing through his career, you get the sense he’ll be rich rich in the next few years too.) He had a huge heart, so caring and supportive of those around him, and an even bigger moral compass—hence the ridiculous amounts of streaming services he paid for—and you strongly believed no one was worthy of standing beside someone as wonderful as him.

Sadly, that meant you too.

Jungkook was your dream lover, and with every passing day, you were beginning to think you weren’t his. It had been two months since your first date, and realistically speaking, you know it’s not weird for people to casually date for such a time. It hadn’t been that long, truthfully, but the way you and Jungkook had clicked made it seem so.

He treated you like a queen, pleased your heart and body like no other. None of what Doyeon said earlier was a fib—he picked you up from school in that classy Benz, let you stay the night and sleep in his clothes, ate you out in the morning like you were his breakfast. You acted like you were in a relationship, but what exactly were the two of you?

Were Jungkook’s feelings even at the same level as yours?

Some days, you couldn’t fathom the idea of being so far away from him, texting him incessantly to feel a semblance of his presence. There was always a metaphorical elephant sitting on your chest, the weight of your unlabeled relationship, your insecurities, waiting for him to finally cut you off, decide you’re not what he wants. You wonder sometimes if he sees you out of convenience, but you always remind yourself Jungkook was too emotional and soft to drag someone around like that. (Or was he?)

Realizing how deep you’ve fallen into your spiraling pit of uncertainty, you shake yourself of those thoughts, mindlessly typing in the Hulu login credentials Jungkook texts you.

—

You’re in the student center when Jungkook comes home, laptop and books spread out over a circle table to stop anyone else from coming up to you. You’ve got your headphones in, the background sounds of late 2000’s club music from a Jersey Shore episode drifting through your ears.

A hand suddenly grabs onto your shoulder, and you send nearly half the table’s contents onto the floor when you screech, leg blindly kicking the table. “Woah, woah,” Jungkook calms, pulling out an earbud for you, and the sight of his face makes you relax again, before you’re striking his chest.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you warn, shooting daggers at him as he pulls a chair close to you, plopping down beside you. Jungkook laughs, kisses your temple.

“You doing okay, beautiful?” He inquires, and your heartbeat, which had only just begun to settle from your fright, lurches at the hooded gaze he sends you.

You nod, unconsciously lean closer to him. Jungkook smiles, cheeks pulled tight when you plant a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Glad to hear it,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to keep you close.

You never thought you’d be one of those people. Y’know, the couple shoving PDA down everyone’s throats in a very crowded place. But you can’t help it with Jungkook, gaze honed in on the mole beneath his lip as he recounts his trip to his family’s place. His hair is fluffy again, parted a little to the side to show his forehead. He’s got that big dark hoodie on, the one you love. Your love-addled brain thinks, I could give you a family, but you quickly shut that thought down.

There was no need to think as much for a man who wasn’t even your boyfriend.

Before you can spiral, there’s a set of fingers brushing over your neck, almost casually. You return your attention to Jungkook, watch him leisurely gaze over the bustling students around you. “Missed you,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear. Hell, if your eyes hadn’t been trained on his face, you don’t think you would’ve.

Finally, he glances back at you. He says nothing, his eyes dipping down to your mouth. He leans forward, presses a smooch to your lips, only to smile at you afterward. “Come over?”

The difference between you and Jungkook is that you were very obviously, outwardly evil. You were not embarrassed to admit you were scheming, or that you had ulterior motives behind doing something. You used what you had to your advantage, mastered all types of expressions to get what you wanted.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was a subtle schemer. In fact, he was so goddamn subtle, you doubt he even knew he was a schemer.

But he definitely was one, and your experiences with him were enough to convince you so. There were times he’d stare at you longingly, like a puppy, until you’d do something for him. Times he’d use his demure face to lure you into going to the hardware store for him, into watching some boring documentary with him. Times, like now, where his voice was a little too smooth and low to be considered his normal pitch, clouded gaze sweeping over your features until you understood what he meant by come over.

Numbly, you nod, watch the quirk of his lips as he kisses you once more before gathering your things for you.

The car ride passes by in a flash, Jungkook’s hand on your knee, your head in the clouds. You imagine how easy it would be to just lean over right here, tug him out of his sweats and get that super suck 5000 on him. But Jungkook’s shy, the devil on your shoulder croons, he’d like it better in the backseat, where no one can see.

Your bag hasn’t even touched the floor yet when he pushes you against the door of his house, shoes and coats half off as he envelopes your lips with his.

His hands are warm, cupping your neck to guide you through the kiss, blindly pulling you down the hall. You feel him falter by the stairs, torn between just throwing you on the couch and ravishing you there or making the trip upstairs to the comfort of his bed. You reach up, run your fingers through his hair. “Wherever you want, baby,” you reassure him, and become consumed with glee when his hands grab into the backs of your thighs, hitch you into his arms as he rushes the two of you up the stairs.

The bed is as fluffy as you remember it, and you bounce up towards the pillows after he drops you on the end. He tugs his shirt over his head, chocolate strands coming out a mess afterwards, before crawling up your body. Jungkook’s hands are incessant, grabbing onto every inch of you he possibly can. He kisses up your tummy, pushing your shirt up as he goes, hikes it over the swell of your breasts to gently fondle them in his palms.

When he’s just about suffocated himself between them, he pops back out, catches your gaze with a twinkle in his. “Hi,” you squeak, and Jungkook grins, leaning up to kiss you.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he returns, let’s your tongue slide into his mouth, sucks on the appendage teasingly. You whimper, and Jungkook releases. “You miss me?” He asks, and if you hadn’t been well-versed in the art of Jungkook’s sexy talk, you wouldn’t have noticed the tingle of nervousness that curls around the question.

You placate him, “always.”

It’s all Jungkook needs as he wiggles you out of your clothes, shucks them off somewhere to the side. His hands trail over your body, massage your breasts and pinch the nipples. You sigh, melt into the sheets as he runs his palms over you. He rolls you over, pulls your hips up and carefully pushes your face into the mattress, pushing your hair to the side to peck your neck when he leans over.

“So soft for me, sweetheart,” he purrs, hands slithering around your waist, down your abdomen until the tip of his pointer finger is idly swirling over your clit.

You whine, clutch the comforter beneath you at the touch. “Oh, fuck,” you groan, push your hips back against him. He’s still got his sweats on, and you want desperately to turn around and rip them off of him, feel the press of his cock against your ass.

As if sensing your urgency, Jungkook calms you with kisses trailing over your spine, hot breath fanning over your neck. His fingers slow, just barely grazing over your clit. “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asks, and you struggle to choke out a response when he presses his finger down against you.

“No,” you eventually gasp, jolt when his hand reaches down, glides through the swollen folds of your cunt.

As if content with your response, Jungkook lets his fingers caress you for a few beats, laps against the side of your neck as you whimper, beg him to continue. When he does, it’s with no ounce of his usual gentle attitude, two fingers shoving forcefully past the tight clench of your pussy lips, deep into your cunt. You shudder, gasping into the sheets.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises, flutters a kiss right below your ear. Your neurons are working overtime, unsure of what to do as he explores your cunt, fingers dragging against your walls. You want to close your eyes, bask in his touches, but every brush of his fingers has them rolling back, fluttering open. “This pussy is mine, isn’t it?”

His fingers curl, briefly brushing over your soft spot. But it’s enough to make you cry out, pant against the sheets. “Yours,” you choke, push back against him like he’ll do it again.

A thumb circles your clit, and the tight feeling in your belly snaps, has you crying out his name as your first orgasm in a few days washes over you. “Jungkook,” you whimper, nearly sob when his hands pull away, letting you flop down onto the mattress in a boneless heap. Your thighs feel sticky, and you watch blearily as Jungkook hovers behind you.

“So quickly?” He chuckles, turning you back over. He spreads your legs, exposing your pussy to the cool air of the room, and you shiver. A lone finger drags over your cunt, collecting the glossy substance on the tip, before Jungkook is sucking it into his mouth.

He had an affinity for this kind of stuff, you’ve learned. Like he genuinely thought your cum was the most delicious thing in the entire world. That being said, you’re not surprised when he ducks down, pushes your legs to your chest as he begins devouring your pussy.

“Slow down,” you gasp, hand curling in his hair as he spares you not, sensitivity be damned. He was gonna lick you clean. He groans, tongue shoved into your cunt, cute nose brushing against your clit. “Kook,” you warn, though it’s more of a shuddered cry. “I-I’ll come again.”

He pulls off with a wet smack, licks over his tongue as he narrows you with a daring glare. Gone was your sweet Jungkook, replaced with this cum-eating heathen who only purrs, “in my mouth” at your warning.

You scream when the second orgasm hits you, pushing his face against your cunt as his tongue continues, lapping at your folds and your hole as a gush of wetness spurts out of you. For a second, your vision pales, soundless cries caught in your throat as you come all over his face. When you touch down on earth again, your body feels featherlight.

Jungkook is watching you from between your thighs, his face, hair, and chest glistening. “Oh fuck,” he gasps, shit-eating grin slowly consuming his features. “Did you just.”

You groan, cover your face with your palms as Jungkook settles over you, beaming excitedly at your newest ability. “No,” you whine, pushing him away from where he’s basically glued to your cheek. “That’s so weird.”

He laughs, cute and airy. “Fuck, sweetheart, you squirted all over me,” he sighs, cuddles against you, and you wrap your arms around him only to hide your face in his shoulder, also glistening with your pleasure. He shifts closer, and the hard press of his cock rubs along the inside of your thigh.

“Can we take a break?” You murmur quietly, hesitantly. “I can’t feel my legs.” Jungkook nods, presses a kiss to your temple as he gets off the bed, tossing his t-shirt over to you. He stumbles towards the en-suite, comes back with a dry face and chest; his hair is still damp. He tugs the sheets out from under you, cuddles close. He’s got the two of you wrapped up in no time, your head cradled against his shoulder as he reaches out blindly for the tablet he keeps on the side of his bed, the Hulu app already open.

“Any requests?” He hums, scrolling through the multitude of movies and shows. You wiggle closer, stop his finger when he returns to the home page, and Jersey Shore is the first thing to appear. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s a good show!” You defend, click on it before he can argue. You press closer, throw a leg over his waist where you can feel his still rock hard member hiding beneath his sweats. Poor guy, you think, he must be suffering. But you have to rest for a moment if you wanna ride the shit out of him and knock him breathless like you’d planned.

Jungkook doesn’t comment on the erection he’s sporting, instead choosing to criticize everything wrong with Jersey Shore. You’re not surprised. He’s an avid film nerd, obsessed with ‘real’ storylines, not whatever reality tv shows were.

You’ve seen this episode about a hundred times, so you don’t really mind that he completely ruins it for you with his nitpicking. It’s cute, listening to him ramble about television integrity while you listen to the subtle thudding of his heart beneath your ear.

He’s on his fifth slandering of DJ Pauly D when you decide you’ve had enough, muscles in your legs feeling rejuvenated as you wiggle into his lap, toss the tablet off to the side as you straddle him. “That show makes you hard?” You tease, let your sensitive folds settle over the bulge in his pants.

Jungkook combusts, cheeks flushing at your jab. “No,” he huffs, “my pretty girlfriend’s boobs pressed up against me does.”

You short circuit.

“Huh?” You blurt dumbly. Jungkook rolls his eyes, too concerned with guiding your hips over his crotch to realize you’re having a complete meltdown in your head. An airy moan leaves his mouth, head lolling back against the pillows, when he moves you just right, grinds against you perfectly. But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. “Kook,” you say, cup his face in your palms to force him to look you in the eye.

Jungkook huffs, pointedly looking down at where you sit on him, “babe, gonna need you to—“

“What did you say?” You interrogate, press your foreheads together until he has no choice but to look at you.

Annoyed with your act, he groans. “Babe, your hips,” he urges, almost desperately.

“No,” you retort, “not until you say it again.”

“Say what again?” He cries, lips twitching in irritation, and you’re about two seconds from behind shoved into the mattress, pounded into from behind like he’d done the last time you teased him a little too much.

“That I’m your girlfriend!” You exclaim, heart hammering in your ears.

Jungkook seems to finally halt at that. “Oh,” he responds, leaning back to scan over your expression. “You are?” He says, unsure of what point you’re trying to make.

Your brain fizzes at the news. “Since when?” You cry, suddenly feeling dumb for all the time you spent moping over this perfect boy you thought didn’t want you. “You never asked!”

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed stare, reaches over for the iPad you tossed to the side, some dramatic fight scene on a boardwalk taking place on screen. You wanna scream. Why is he so concerned with Jersey Shore now of all times?

Before you can rain down your displeasure on him, he’s turning it around and showing you a bookmarked email.

It’s from you, apparently, sent a few weeks back at exactly two in the morning. You glance at the date received. It’s from Doyeon’s half birthday, when the two of you had drunk yourselves silly on wine. The title is some mix of dashes and exclamation points, but that’s irrelevant when the contents of the email come to view, some stupid slur of beeee myyy boyfrienderdd????? ;))((;;; that has your jaw dropping in mortification.

You glance back at Jungkook, who seems just as confused as you. “What the hell?” You shriek, snatch the tablet from his hand to see that not only was it a single email, but a thread of emails all asking the same question—there’s even a three stanza sonnet detailing your love for the mole on the side of his neck. You could die. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?! I was so drunk— how could you even take me seriously?”

Jungkook shrugs, almost amused now as he watches you scroll through the twenty emails you sent him. “The next day you told me you really liked me over lunch, so I didn’t mind. Besides, drunk words are sober thoughts, y’know.”

You stare in disbelief. “You told your mom I was your friend,” you whisper.

The blood rises to his cheeks quickly. “Babe,” he sputters. “I’m not exactly introducing her to every girl I date after three weeks.”

It makes sense, and you hate how much it does so. Pursing your lips, you look away, focus on the bedside table and hope he doesn’t see the tears that threaten to spew out of your eyes. He does, he always does. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He hums, sits up to pull you into his arms. One hand brushes over the back of your head, gently. Softly. “Did that upset you?”

You shake your head no, can’t help the ugly Kim Kardashian sob that rips itself from your throat. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you sniffle, covering your face with the iPad when he tries to duck closer and get a look at you. “Because it’s been two months.”

Jungkook shushes you, hugs you close to his chest as you cry like a baby over some apparently unjustifiable doubts. “That big brain of yours,” he sighs, kisses the frown of your head. “Too busy being evil to be logical.” You whine in protest, and Jungkook chuckles, carefully laying back with you clinging to his chest.

He lets you cry it out, palms rubbing over your back, listens to the annoying Jersey Shore opening song playing when the episode ends. When you’re done, you sit up, try to pretend your eyes aren’t swollen and puffy. Jungkook smiles. “All good?”

You might love him.

“I’m gonna ride you,” you announce, and he chokes in surprise, and before he can try to convince you it’s okay, you’re wrestling his sweats and boxers off, taking his half hard cock into your hand. Jungkook flounders, tries to calm you down, but you’re on a mission, working your hand over him until he’s fattening in your hold, melting into the pillows.

“Baby,” he grunts, rolling his hips into your palm. You lean over, pucker your lips and let a thick drop of saliva fall onto the tip of his cock. It trickles over your fingers, makes it easier to run your hands over him. Jungkook groans, reaches down to cup his hand over yours, urging you to squeeze tighter.

When he’s finally as hard as you want him, tip engorged and angry, you sit up, place your palms on his chest as you scoot over him. Jungkook watches you with dark eyes, skin flushed as you line him up. His hands reach for your hips to steady you, tiny gasps falling from his lips at the first prod against your folds. You’re wet from watching him squirm beneath you, from feeling the heavy weight of his cock in your hand, and you hope he feels how much he excites you.

“That’s it,” he croons as you slowly sink down on him, whimpers catching in your throat from the stretch. “That’s my girl.”

Jungkook is purposeful with his words, smiles at you when the muscles in your thighs jolt at the term. When you’re seated to the hilt, folds brushing against his pelvis, Jungkook ruts experimentally. “Fuck,” he chokes breathlessly.

You let your body adjust, spine tingling with every subtle shift from the man beneath you, still so sensitive from your two orgasms from before. Jungkook waits, even though you know all he wants to do right now is fuck up into you like a madman.

When you’re relaxed enough, you begin to move, pushing yourself on your knees slowly, hissing at the drag of his cock against your folds. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, fingernails scratching against where you’ve got them on his chest still. Jungkook grips your hips tightly, and you unconsciously reach for his forearms to steady yourself instead.

“There you go,” he purrs as you slowly pick up the pace, cock sliding inside of you rougher, faster. You know it’s mostly him, muscles in his arms flexing as he moves you up and down, but you don’t care—it feels so good, the upward curve of his cock brushing against your soft spot with each drop of your hips.

He holds you down on one thrust, grinds you over his cock until your clit is rubbing against him roughly, and you cry out his name. You want to kiss him, so very badly, but your position makes it hard. Besides, the sweat beginning to pool in the deep of his collarbones hinted at his oncoming orgasm.

Still, you can’t help the way your eyes instinctively go to trace over his mouth, pouty lips pushed out even more in exertion, teeth grinding together every time your pussy swallows him anew. “Kook,” you mewl, hips bucking forward.

He hums, plants his feet firmly on the mattress as he begins fucking into you. “What is it?” He grunts, pistons into your dripping cunt as you whimper, pleasure crawling up and down your spine. “My pretty girl needs something?”

You wail, nod your head as he continues fucking, ramming his cock into your quivering hole, precum dripping over him. “Yours,” you gasp, mind stuck on what he’d said earlier. “‘M all yours,” you sob, body finally giving out, and you barely catch yourself from falling into him with a palm pressed flatly against his chest.

Jungkook smirks, bucks into you brutally, like he wants you to fall into a boneless heap on top of him. “Yeah, you are,” he groans, as you finally give in, lips brushing against his ear when you flop down on him. “My pretty girl,” he huffs, and you nod, muscles pulled taut as your orgasm begins looming over you. “So cute and mean,” he rambles, lips pressed to your temple. His hips are beginning to lose their rhythm, thrusts growing stilted as he chases his high. “But you know what?” He murmurs, and you whimper. “I like her just like that.”

If his words don’t knock the air out of your lungs, your orgasm surely does. It makes you shudder, the way his hands run over your body, cock ruts into your heat, and you almost cry when the pleasure gets a hold of you. Your muscles tighten, and then loosen, melting into his chest. You’re trembling in his arms, like a leaf holding onto a branch for dear life, choked gasps of his name muffled against his neck.

Jungkook pistons into you, rounds the final corner in his race to orgasm, and eventually spurts his hot cum into you, coats your walls as another reminder that you’re his. He’s a silent orgasmer, sounds catching in his throat as his body twitches beneath you, silent even afterwards as he regains his senses.

A few moments later, you’re shifting out of his hold, pushing yourself onto your elbows to glance down at him. Jungkook’s eyes are shut, but, as if sensing you’re looking at him, he flutters them open, chocolate irises softening at the sight of you.

“Holy shit,” he groans, rolls you off of him carefully. His hand brushes over your thigh, like he’s contemplating licking you clean again, but you stop him with a pointed raise of your brows. “Fine. Pass me the tablet.”

You do, and it’s almost unnerving how easily the two of you slip back into comfort, Jungkook changing into some shorts and handing you your discarded panties, before climbing into bed to watch Jersey Shore. You’ve missed about an entire hour-long episode, so you end up rewinding until the point you last saw.

“You and your Netflix and chilling,” Jungkook snorts, head nestled against your breasts. You roll your eyes.

“This is Hulu,” you point out.

“Oh yeah,” he hums, snuggles closer. His body feels so nice and warm over yours, hands wrapped around you like a lifeline. You end up positioning the tablet off by your hip, supported by a pillow so the two of you can watch properly.

You’re still processing your new title, your new boyfriend, when he perks his head up suddenly, solemn gaze catching yours.

“Hulu and Woohoo,” he says, ever so seriously, and you understand why Doyeon thinks he’s a fool.

[ part three ; imax & climax ]

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #mine

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wroteasongabouther · 4 years

Text

can’t stand to see you lonely: part 2

a/n: thank you all so so sooooo much for the love on the first part of cstsyl ❤️ i hope you guys like part 2 just as much, and please reblog/leave me any feedback if you can as if really just makes me smile and helps with the engagement and blah blah blah u know the drill lol

and thank you to the lovely jill @havethetimeofyourstyles, jess @arrogantstyles and wendy @bookwormandtea for beta reading for me!

word count: 15k

warnings: mentions of death, couples fighting, awkward silence in elevators, and addicting candy cane pretzels.

fic page // let’s chat! // cstsyl playlist

They were fighting again. Y/N’s voice was booming through the walls, her boyfriend’s echoing after hers. Harry tries his best to focus on anything but their voices, but he can’t. It doesn’t make him feel all that great listening to the girl he had only seen smile and had been making laugh over the past two weeks, now yelling on the other side of the wall between them.

Harry plucks a soft melody on his guitar as he lounges on his couch. His hands absentmindedly playing the four chords that have been stuck in his head all morning while he attempts to write lyrics to the melody. Only, he was having a bit of trouble doing so as he listened to Y/N’s voice again.

“Honestly, Mark! Really?” Y/N’s shouting is muffled, but Harry hears her still. “You really think that it doesn’t bother…” The rest of her words are a bit harder to hear as she quiets her voice. Harry never imagined he’d hear her raise her voice like that. That soft, sweet and gentle tone that he has spent dreaming about for weeks now.

Harry’s still plucking the chords he’s grown obsessed with, humming along while zoning out on the blank tv in front of him. He feels selfish, and rather ridiculous too, not wanting to imagine Y/N with another man. But he also feels selfish that he’s not upset over the fact they’re fighting for the third time in two days. Harry shakes his head and scolds himself for the thought. Regardless of his feelings, he shouldn't want Y/N to feel this way. He can tell these couple days must’ve been hard on her, working all day and then coming home to only end up in a yelling match with her prick of a boyfriend.

Harry rolls his eyes and notices that the shouting has stopped. The silence of his apartment, aside from his guitar, only makes him feel a bit sadder.

“I’m selfish, I know,” Harry sings, “but I don’t ever want to see you with him.”

Suddenly, his phone chimes from where it’s sat on the table, signalling an incoming phone call from Mitch. A picture of the two of them together in the studio last spring shows on the screen, Mitch tucked under Harry’s arm as they’re both slouching into the couch they sat on. Harry reaches for his phone and swipes his finger across the screen to accept his call.

“Hey,” Harry mutters into the phone, focusing on getting together his notebook and cleaning up the few torn crumpled pieces of paper littering his coffee table.

“Hey, you leaving your place soon?” Mitch asks. Harry can hear traffic in the background, meaning that he had already left his place that's located much closer to the studio than his own apartment is. Moving his shoulder up a little, he holds his phone between his ear and shoulder in order to use both hands as he sets his guitar into the open case that’s sitting on the chaise lounge of his couch. Then scrambling around to gather the scrap paper and glass of water he had, standing up with his trash in hand to throw away and glass in the other to put in the sink.

“Just about to,” Harry answers honestly, making his way into his kitchen to clean up. He sighs after clearing his hands and returns his phone to his left hand to hold now.

“You get busy with that neighbour of yours again. Got a new crush, H?” Mitch teases him. Rolling his eyes, Harry brushes a hand on his light wash jeans before patting his pocket to make sure his thin wallet was still there.

“No,” he mutters, obviously lying to his best mate - which Mitch is very aware of as he hums in response. “I’ll be there in, like, 20 if the tube isn’t a horror show.”

“You’ve lived here for nearly 3 years now, think you can call it the subway yet?”

“Nope,” Harry sighs. There were a few things his British instincts kicked in for; many different phrases and words he knew would stick in his vocabulary despite how many years he’s been in the U.S. Harry’s grabbing his green winter coat and slipping on his boots as he holds the phone between his shoulder and ear again. “Should I grab the gang some coffee on my way? Seeing as I’ll probably be the last to arrive,” Harry says in a tight voice, his annoyance from hearing Y/N and her boyfriend still clear even in his phone call with his mate.

“Don’t count on it. Tom hasn't answered his phone all morning, so something tells me he’s preoccupied,” Mitch suggests. Harry recalls the text he had gotten from his friend Tom, saying that he and the Missus were planning to celebrate their anniversary early this year. Mitch seems to be hinting that their celebrations have fallen into the morning too. Harry bets that Tom being MIA was because of his two children. The two of them knew how to gang up on their dad already at a young age—he couldn't imagine how they’d be when they grew up.

“He’s a dad, Mitch, that's probably what he’s preoccupied with,” Harry states. After putting on his coat, he walks over to clasp the case for his guitar closed and heaves it up before heading for the door.

“Point being, don’t bother with coffee. I’m in line at Starbucks anyways. Did you want anything?” Mitch asks.

“A slice or two of the banana loaf, please,” Harry requests, his stomach growling at the thought of food. Time had slipped by him this morning, listening to Y/N and her boyfriend argue, and he hadn’t eaten more than an apple for breakfast.

Harry double checks the lights are off in his apartment before shutting the door behind him, setting his guitar down to rest on the wall to his left, and locking it quickly. Mitch is complaining in his ear about some Karen at the front of the line. Harry chuckles at his friends colourful words and picks up his guitar, not sparing a glance at Y/N’s door as he walks to the elevator and hits the down button to call it to his floor. Not even a ten seconds go by and he hears someone exiting their apartment behind him. Harry doesn’t want to look over his shoulder to check, not wanting to see Mark and Y/N walking hand in hand towards him. So, he keeps his eyes trained up on the red numbers rising above the elevator doors, signalling it’s arrival, soon hopefully.

“Hey, Harry right?” Mark questions, pointing a finger at Harry as him and Y/N stepped up to the elevator. Y/N tries her best not to frown. She hates the way Harry doesn’t smile at her first before meeting Mark’s eyes and nodding.

“Hey,” Harry says. He turns his head and catches Y/N’s gaze. “What are you guys up to?”

Y/N knows he’s simply being polite, something Mark wouldn’t care to be - seeing as he’s already got his phone out of his pocket, and is staring at the screen as he answers. “Y/N’s driving me to the airport,” he states.

Harry looks at Mark, anger bubbling inside of him as he clutches the guitar case in his hand. The elevator doors open then, a light bing! coming from inside. Mark enters first, not even bothering to look at Y/N or Harry, but then Harry waves his free hand in motion to let Y/N walk in before him. She smiles and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear as she walks into the small space and stands beside Mark.

“Thanks,” she says in a soft voice as Harry hits the button for the lobby. She takes note of the guitar case in his hand. “Are you heading to the studio?” She asks, pointing to the bulky item he’s carrying.

Harry looks down at his guitar case, “yeah, last day before everyone gets their break.”

“No more counting down the days then, huh?” She asks, mentioning their previous discussion about how people typically countdown the days till they have time off - her included this year. But Harry had mentioned that he wasn’t looking forward to his days away from the studio. He didn’t think she’d remember that.

“Counting the days till I’m back in the studio now,” Harry says. Y/N smiles and Harry’s heart bursts at the sight. Having heard her raised voice earlier today, being sure a scowl was etched on her face, he was glad to see her lips turned upward. Mark clears his throat then, causing both Y/N and Harry to quit looking into each other's eyes and step back into reality - her boyfriend was right beside them.

“Studio? What are you, a singer or something?” Mark asks Harry. His eyes catch sight of Mark’s arm snaking around Y/N’s back, resting lazily on her left hip as they stood there. Harry licked his lips and almost nodded, but was quick to catch himself and shook his head instead. “What kind of studio then? Movies?” Mark continues to question him.

“A music studio, I’m just a musician,” Harry answers.

“Oh,” Mark says, “cool,” he adds with a shrug. The elevator doors open and Mark guides him and Y/N out of the small space. “Well, see ya around, ‘Arry,” Mark says with a smug look, trying to mimic his accent. But he butchers it, of course, sounding more like Hagrid from Harry Potter. Mark then waves and turns himself and Y/N to the right of the lobby that leads to the stairwell that went down to the underground parking lot.

Y/N only gets to give Harry a quick smile before Mark turns her away. She wants to apologize for Mark’s ridiculous behaviour, feeling embarrassed by it. She also wanted to say that Harry wasn't just a musician, he was a songwriter too, which therefore meant he was a storyteller, and in her eyes songwriters were some of the most creative and talented people. Y/N wanted to shut Mark up and start bragging about Harry, like he was her boyfriend and Mark was just some dumb prick.

Y/N rolls her lips into her mouth and licks them, glancing quickly over her shoulder before getting to the door. Her eyes meet Harry’s intense stare, him looking over his shoulder at her too, and her stomach erupts with butterflies. But then it flips and flops with nerves and her hands suddenly being tugged on by her boyfriend, holding open the door with his hip as he walks them through the doorway and out of Harry’s sight.

Harry finds himself thinking about Y/N the whole way to the studio—as if he hasn’t stopped thinking about her and her boyfriend over the past couple days anyways. Did she ever mention being in a relationship, even in the most subtle way? Did he misinterpret her kindness for flirting like an absolute idiot? These questions were on a loop inside of his head until he walked into the studio, flashed the front desk his ID badge, and headed to studio B where he and his mates would be working today.

“And he’s made it,” Mitch announces as Harry pushes closed the door and walks the few steps to his left where the brown leather couch was against the wall. Adam is sitting on the couch, the phone in his hand chimes as he types on it quickly, merely giving Harry a quick smile before looking back at the screen. Mitch is standing by the switch board, leaning back against it as he stares Harry down. Next to him is Tom, sitting in his chair and facing his many computer screens as he gets everything up and going for the day.

“And I see we were both wrong and Tom beat me,” Harry states. He sets his guitar down, leaning it against the side of the couch before sitting himself down beside Adam.

“I wasn’t answering my phone because I was already on my way over here way before any of you slowpokes, and then I turned off my ringer once I got in here,” Tom explains, leaning back in his chair while his eyes stay on the screen. But then he twirls around, facing Harry and Adam, and gives Adam a bored look. “Like we all agreed to do, right Adam?”

“Relax, I’ll do it after I send this last text,” Adam says.

“Sure,” Tom mutters, swivelling his chair back around and grabbing the mouse to continue his set up.

“Jeez, Tommy,” Mitch chuckles, “did you not get any last night or something? What’s got your panties in a knot?”

Harry’s eyebrows pull down as he takes in his friends stiff posture as Mitch’s words seem to sink in. “Wasn’t it your anniversary date last night?” He questions, keeping his voice light and not as daunting as Mitch’s had been.

Tom turns back around to face the boys and makes a big show of rolling his eyes. “Yeah, it was supposed to be, but then our babysitter called and was all freaked out and of course Jenny got all freaked out too. I tried to tell her it wasn’t that big of a deal and they could handle it, but we still ended up leaving our hotel room at nine o’clock and dealt with our two crying children who just missed their mommy. I was in bed by eleven.” Tom explains his night, ending with rubbing a hand up and down his face as he was clearly annoyed by the whole situation.

“That’s just life as a parent, man,” Adam states. “Emi and I didn’t have a single date night till Spike was five,” he adds with a shrug.

“Yeah, I get it but it’s just upsetting to have this whole night planned and then it not happen,” Tom says. Harry knew that feeling; he may have not had a full anniversary night away planned like Tom did, but the other day he was racking up things to do with Y/N before he was introduced to her boyfriend.

Harry zones out, eyes glued on the coffee table in front of him as he sighs softly, leaning back into the couch as he was getting wrapped up in his thought of Y/N, again. I could still be her friend, he thinks. Even though it’d hurt to see her with her boyfriend, to hear about a date night or see them kiss. The ache already begins in Harry’s chest as the mere thought of it, and he finds himself bringing a hand up and rubbing over his heart subconsciously.

“Harry,” Mitch calls, forcing Harry to snap out of his thoughts and look up at where he stood. He raises his eyebrows, making Harry think that he had said his name more than once but was ignored.

“What’s going on?” Tom asks Harry.

“He’s probably thinking about his latest little crush,” Mitch smirks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Who is it this time?” Adam asks in a monotone voice.

“His new neighbour. Supposedly, she’s rather beautiful in Harry’s eyes,” Mitch teases.

“Not just in my eyes,” Harry mumbles, looking at his lap and picking off an invisible piece of lint.

“What do you mean?” Tom questions.

Harry hears Tom’s chair squeak suddenly, making Harry assume that he must be leaning back in it again. Harry looks up to see he’s right - Tom’s got his arms crossed at his chest like Mitch while they’re both staring him down. Harry lets out a sigh and shakes his head, leaning further into the back of the couch while he licks his lips and looks anywhere but at his friends’ faces - not wanting to see their taunting looks when he tells them.

“She’s got a boyfriend,” Harry says in a low voice.

Mitch inhales a sharp breath, hissing through his teeth as he walks over and clamps a hand down on Harry’s shoulder. “That’s tough man,” he says.

Harry shakes his head again and sits up, causing Mitch’s hand to fall off his shoulder. “It’s not just tough. I get I have these crushes on people a lot, but I don’t know, there was just something different between us. We really clicked and I just thought we’d at least get to go out a few times,” he speaks softly into the quiet room,the support of some of his closest mates surrounding him.

“Have you written about how you’re feeling?” Tom asks. Harry nods and reaches for his guitar without a second thought, taking it out of the case and positioning the instrument in his lap.

“This is gonna be good,” Mitch nods his head and rolls over the second chair that occupied the room. Harry shakes his head at his friends comment.

“I’ve just had this tune in my head for a couple days now, and I’ve only come up with a few lyrics really, so I don’t know how good it will be,” he explains.

Harry plays the song he’s been playing all morning for the other three in the room. The soft acoustic guitar fills the silence, the twang from his guitar strings echoing off the walls. Harry shuts his eyes and lets his voice build up as he sings the two lines he’s been thinking about for a few days now. He feels it deep in his chest, the truth behind his words. Suddenly, more lyrics filter out of his mouth that hadn’t come up before.

“I’m selfish I know,” he sings, “I’d tell you but I know you’d never listen.”

It’s not entirely the truth, because he’s sure that Y/N would listen to anything he had to say. He’s also sure that if he walked up to her right now, ran out of this studio and back to the apartment and waited outside her door, begging for her to break up with him, that she wouldn’t listen. Harry believes that she’s a better person than that - that regardless if she felt what he had over their past few encounters, she wouldn’t listen to what he wanted and would figure things out herself.

“I hope you can see, the shape that I’m in,” Tom suddenly sings along to the tune that Harry’s still playing. Harry opens his eyes in a flash and looks at his friend, but Tom’s back is already to him as he’s facing his computer again. “I have the perfect piano and drums mix for this. I’ve had it kind of hidden away for the right time and I think this is it.”

And that’s when the magic happens. Harry puts down his guitar and gets right into the lyrics, pouring himself into yet another song. He lets his feelings out about the situation he’s gotten himself into with Y/N, and mixes it with some poetry he’s written previously in his journal. You flower, you feast, is something he’s had for quite some time but had never felt it really fit into any of his other songs. And yet somehow in this song full of duck noises, a guitar solo, and many lalalala’s, it somehow found its place.

Not to mention that Mitch absolutely murders the guitar solo. His long hair acts as a curtain as he sways to the music and lets himself go. Nearly every time that Mitch goes in for a solo, he doesn’t remember what he plays because he’s in such a trance, so Tom has to play it back for him if he needs to fix anything up. Overall, the song inspired by Y/N and her shit boyfriend is pretty great.

“Anything else you’ve got to bring to the table, Harry?” Tom asks after nearly six hours of working on perfecting their new song ‘Woman’ - named solely because of the repeating of the word in the course, which was chosen because he felt like he was calling out to Y/N in this song. Saying woman over and over again at her in hopes to get her attention. He simply shrugs and stretches back into the couch, sprawling his legs out in front of him while staring down at his journal that’s sitting in his lap.

“I’ve been writing this one based off a man I see everyday during my breakfast at the cafe down the street from my apartment,” he says. Harry clears his throat and sort of talk-sings what his idea of the melody is with the lyrics he’s got. “Nine in the morning, man drops his kids off at school. And he’s thinking of you, like all of us do. Sends his assistant for coffee in the afternoon, around one thirty two.”

“Alright, I like it,” Adam nods his head.

“Who’s he thinking of?” Mitch teases, “like all of us do,” he adds with a smirk. His lips then wrap around the straw that was in the can of Pepsi he had gotten from the mini fridge a while ago. Harry rolls his eyes and kicks out his foot in order to nudge Mitch’s leg from where he’s sitting in the desk chair he’s gotten comfortable in.

“Shut up,” Harry grumbles. Adam, Mitch and Tom all chuckle at their friend’s pout, which just makes him smile. He knew that coming into the studio and writing and making music about his situation with Y/N would ultimately make it feel even a little bit better. During the making of their newest song, his friends did give him some advice.

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out, H,” Adam had said with a smile.

But there’s no way of knowing how he’ll feel when he bumps into her again, whether she’s with her boyfriend or not.

It’s been a tough few days for Y/N. Not only has work been crazy because not one, but two interns got sick with a stomach bug; meaning she was currently filling their job on top of her own and running around the city - but she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Harry.

She is in her own head again as she walks into the Gucci store on Fifth Ave. for the third time in two days. As Greg approaches her, she appreciates his light pink suit with a white ruffled shirt underneath. His bald head shines under the lights of the store, but that smile was much brighter and obviously, professionally whiten. Greg gives her a kiss on the cheek, saying they are a bit behind with her packages since it’s such a busy time for them as well. Y/N just nods and gives him a smile, accepting the flute of champagne as she takes a seat and waits. This is honestly the first time she’s gotten a chance to sit all day, but of course, she spends it zoning out on a sparkly dress hung up a few feet away from her as her mind begins to think of anything but work.

Mark and her started dating only a mere four months ago. After meeting at a bar in the Upper East Side, he practically stalked her - which isn't too hard considering her social media following - and sent her flowers to work for three days straight till she agreed to go on a date with him. Turned out that he wasn’t just some business man out on the town with some work buddies, but an heir to one of the country's biggest companies. Therefore, meaning that when the gossip started of the two of them seeing each other, Y/N’s mom was the first person to call.

“You hit the jackpot, baby!” She basically screamed into Y/N’s ear.

Y/N only rolled her eyes at her mothers words. Her mother was the typical New Jersey girl that grew up with big dreams of pinning down a wealthy New York City man - and kudos to her for doing it. Her dad, bless his heart, was an older naive man who somehow managed to fertilize her mother’s gold digging eggs and voila, Y/N was born. But with that being said, Y/N was lucky enough to have family money, so she never felt the need to be in a relationship just because a man had more in his bank account. She also had better morals than her mother, and knew that money wasn’t a factor when you really loved someone. So no, Mark was not the jackpot because of his bank account. Y/N just thought he was really nice and attractive too, so she agreed to be his girlfriend those four months ago. But it wasn’t till a month ago that that nice streak ended.

All of a sudden Y/N’s cell phone is ringing. She blinks out of her daze to realize she’s finished her glass of champagne while so deep in thought. Pulling out her phone, she looks at the screen to see it’s Mark calling. His ears must be burning, Y/N thinks.

“Hey,” Y/N answers softly, crossing a leg over the other and resting her elbow on her knee as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Hey, babe,” Mark sighs. Y/N knows right away what he’s about to tell her, all by the tone of his voice and the use of that nickname. He used it when he asked her to drive him to the airport yesterday, which he forgot to mention he needed her to do till an hour before he had to leave - resulting in Y/N being very behind on work for the day.

“How’s Arizona?” Y/N asks politely anyway, mentioning the state he was in for business this time around. He was always traveling for work; his father wants him to know all the branch executives, so therefore he’s been to pretty much every state in the country over the course of six months. The moment they started to date Y/N knew he’d be working a lot, but she didn’t expect him to be working all over the country. She’s lucky if she gets a weekend with him, and honestly, she was looking forward to the almost two weeks work free they’d be getting together. But something told her that was not going to happen.

“It’s good, hot,” he says, seeming distracted by something in the background to which he moves the phone away from his mouth to respond to someone around him. “No, no, not those, the red ones,” he orders.

“Mark?” Y/N questions, keeping her voice down as Greg and one of his associates come from the backroom then with a few boxes in hand. “I’m just a bit busy with work, was there a reason for you calling, hun?”

“Right…Well, unfortunately my time at the Arizona office will be extended. So, I’m not going to make it back to New York before Christmas,” Mark explains. Y/N frowns at his words even though it’s just as she imagined when she answered his call.

“When will you be back?” She asks, her eyebrows pulled together and lip pouting out slightly.

“That’s the thing, there’s really no point in me flying back to the East Coast so close to the holidays when I’ve got to be in Los Angeles for my family’s big festivities.”

“Oh,” Y/N says. She’s only sad for a moment, noticing that Mark is distracted by something in the background once again as his voice is muffled. “So when exactly are you planning to come back to the city, Mark?” She asks as she sits up and projects her voice louder into her phone. Greg and his associate seem to notice Y/N demeanour change, his baby blue eyes widening slightly as he sets the boxes down on the couch beside her.

“I don’t know-”

Y/N doesn’t let him speak, though, her anger getting the best of her for what feels like the millionth time since she began dating Mark. It’s so unlike her, she thinks. She shakes her head and says, “you don’t plan to come back to New York and spend any part of the holidays with your girlfriend? Your girlfriend who very much loves the holidays, by the way.”

“I’m aware of your love for the holidays, Y/N, little hard to not know when your apartment looks like a four year old decorated it with all that crap,” Mark huffs into the phone, his voice matching her tone.

“Oh my god, whatever, Mark,” Y/N snaps in a low voice, having to take a deep breath as she stares down at the floor. “Just go and have fun on the West Coast, don’t worry one bit about me ‘cause it seems you haven’t bothered to to begin with,” Y/N finds herself seething into the phone, keeping her voice low before pulling her phone away from her ear and hanging up before he can say one more thing to upset her.

She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. Focusing on making her heart beat slow down and her hands to stop shaking. Did she just break up with him? No, no I didn’t say the words, I didn’t say it’s over and maybe I should have, Y/N thinks while letting out another short breath through her nose. She did not deserve this and she knew she didn’t, and yet she keeps putting up with his extended work trips and him disrespecting her opinions. Mark wanted a woman like Y/N’s mother. One that didn’t have her own hobbies and her own dreams, and who just wanted to be on his arm and live with whatever he put them through. Or did she even give him a real chance? That little voice in the back of her head, the one that was planted by her own mother, asks her.

“You look like you need another glass, mi amor,” Greg says softly, bringing her to open her eyes once more and realize that she did in fact just have a fight with her boyfriend over the phone in public. In front of a supplier too. Her cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Thankfully, she thought of Greg as more of a friend than in a professional view. She smiles at him, forcing it, while he holds up the bottle of champagne and fills her glass.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

“You’re welcome,” he nods, turning to his left to grab the second tall glass and fills it as well. Y/N chuckles as he brings it to his own mouth and has a sip. “What? The holidays are stressful, I deserve a glass too every once in a while.” Y/N only laughs again and raises her flute, Greg lifts his own to cheers her before they both take a sip. “Did you want to talk about it?” He asks after a beat of silence.

Y/N licks her lips, tasting the expensive champagne all over again. “It’s just,” Y/N sighs and runs a hand through her hair before she continues, “I thought that Mark was different when I first met him. He sent flowers to my work and took me to nice restaurants. He seemed to be really into me, and now, he’s really into his work and he thinks my love for the holidays is childish, and that my opinions and my time don’t matter. So, I’m starting to think I jumped into this relationship, maybe a bit too fast all because my mom approved of his last name and Sammy thought he was hot.” Y/N rants in a rush of words, bringing her flute to her lips afterwards for another sip.

Greg doesn’t respond right away, instead he too sips his champagne and looks around the room they sat in. He sighs and brings a hand down on Y/N’s thigh, causing her to look at him. He smiles and gives her a comforting pat.

“You are a young woman in New York City who’s really got her shit together, you know your worth, Y/N,” Greg says. Y/N mirrors his smile, feeling the back of her eyes threaten with tears at his sweet words. “You’ll know what to do about this man,” he adds with a wink. Greg removes his hand and lifts his flute to finish off his champagne. “Plus, men are trash anyways,” he mutters as his eyes wander around the room that’s quickly filling up with customers.

Y/N laughs, “yes, Greg, they can be.” She agrees. But there’s one man that comes to her mind. One with enchanting green eyes, beautiful dimples, a contagious laugh, and a certain swoon worthy accent.

And yet, Y/N is not surprised when her thoughts drift off to Harry again. In fact, she thinks about him the entire way back to her office, the few boxes from Greg in her arms as she travels on the subway and walks carefully on the slushy shovelled snow that covers the sidewalks. What is he up to today? She thinks, knowing that he must’ve gotten home from the studio late yesterday - maybe even this morning. She worked late on emails last night, only having her Christmas playlist playing softly from her TV, and she didn’t hear him get home. She wonders if he sleeps in when he does that, or if he still manages to get up early and do whatever it is he does every day. She doesn’t know his daily routine, but she admits to herself that she’s curious.

Having done the errands that were needed for the day, Y/N ends up sitting at her desk for the remaining three hours of her work day. Her and Amanda go over new interns to hire, seeing as Y/N’s boss doesn’t want her away from the office doing intern work forever. And then she and Sammy are walking out of the building together at five o’clock sharp. They endured yet another eleven hour work day today. And this was one of the easiest days this week, since it was spent shopping around and organizing the office. Tomorrow there would be two A-list clients coming in for their last styling of the year, both finalizing their outfits for the upcoming Grammy awards too.

“You seem off today,” Sammy says as they walk down the stairs to the subway.

“I, um,” Y/N licks her lips and narrows her eyes at the screen that reads when the next stop would be. She looks at her friend and sighs. “I got into a fight with Mark earlier,” she states.

“Another one?” Sammy questions, raising a brow and giving her a look that said ‘really?’.

“Yup,” Y/N says, rolling her lips into her mouth and nodding. “He’s too busy with work to come back to the city for the rest of the month, said he doesn’t see the point in coming back even for a day before he has to go back home to the West Coast. So, I ended up yelling at him in the middle of the Gucci store.”

“Are you for real?” Sammy asks in shock, his eyes widening as Y/N explains what her boyfriend had told her earlier.

“Yup,” she repeats, nodding her head again too. “Oh, and he said my apartment looked like a four year old decorated it and it looked like crap,” Y/N chuckles, realizing now how stupid Mark’s fighting words were.

“Y/N,” Sammy sighs, “dump him,” he says while placing a hand on her shoulder and giving her a sympathetic smile. “I get that you wanted to give this guy a chance, but all you guys ever do is fight and I don’t want to say it but I’m going to,” he sighs again dramatically, “I’ve seen you smile over that new neighbour of yours more than Mark in the past few weeks. That’s a sign.”

“But what if I didn’t give Mark a real chance? And what if I’m just playing Harry up in my head-”

“No, none of that,” Sammy shakes his head and stares deep into Y/N’s eyes. “You are the most polite and sweetest person I’ve ever met. There’s no way in hell you didn’t give Mark a chance, hell you gave him a million chances, let’s face it. And as for Harry, you’ll never know unless you get to know him.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as Sammy drops his hand and tilts his head to the side. She notices the platform getting busier and louder then, as the subway makes way towards them from the North. This was her ride, while Sammy had to wait another ten minutes for the one that went to Brooklyn. Y/N thinks about what Sammy had said. Maybe she did give Mark plenty of chances and maybe their time was up, but that doesn’t mean she feels comfortable jumping right back into the game of dating with Harry. Plus, how bad would that make her look. Harry would probably think she didn’t care about relationships and typically shuffled around boys, which was so far from her case. In fact it was why she was so hesitant to date Mark in the first place - she didn’t like to give her time and love to just anyone. It’s just too bad she didn’t realize that Mark wasn’t worth it sooner.

“If I’m just getting out of this relationship with Mark, I can’t just start dating Harry,” Y/N exclaims to Sammy.

“I didn’t say date him right away, I said get to know him,” Sammy states, “hang out, be his friend, and if things happen then they happen. The world works in funny ways,” Sammy says matter of factly, pointing a finger at her while she starts taking a few steps towards the subway that’s coming to a stop. “We’ll talk later! Dump the fucking guy though!” Sammy shouts as Y/N just shakes her head and rolls her eyes while getting into the mass of people cramming on the subway.

“Yeah, dump the son of a bitch,” a croaky voice startles Y/N as she gets through the door. An elderly woman is smiling back at her, her yellow teeth contrasting against her dark skin as she smiles wickedly at Y/N. She chuckles awkwardly and nods, walking across the space to an open seat.

Opening her purse, she finds her Airpods and puts them into her ears. They connect to her phone automatically and she begins to tap on her phone, deciding on which playlist she wants to listen to on her way home. Once she clicks shuffle on her ‘girl freaking power’ playlist, she turns it all the way up and lets the anger in Halsey’s voice fuel her own anger towards her shit boyfriend. She thinks of their fights that have happened recently the whole ride on the subway, then she thinks if it’d be too cruel of her to break up with him over the phone as she walks the few blocks to her apartment building. If he broke up with me over the phone I’d be a little upset, Y/N thinks with a frown as she walks across the lobby to the elevator.

Y/N, who was so in her own world with her music still turned up all the way as a new song by Olivia O’Brien, doesn’t even realize when Harry walks up beside her. He can hear her music blasting through her earphones. He leans forwards a bit, hoping to get in her line of sight. But she is still focused on the elevator doors, nodding her head to whatever song she’s got playing. Harry’s lips tug up into a smile. When he first saw her standing there when he entered the building he got a little nervous, unsure how this interaction between them would go. Should he apologize right away for not knowing she had a boyfriend and asking her for dinner?

“Hello?” Harry sings. “Y/N?” He calls in a normal voice. This time she seems to notice that someone is beside her. She jumps slightly, placing a hand over her heart and reaches up with the other to take out an Airpod which causes her music to stop completely.

“You scared me,” she breathes out.

“Sorry,” Harry says, giving her a timid smile. “I tried getting your attention a few times, it must be a good song.”

She looks down at the earphone in her hand and nods, “uh, yeah, just really into empowering female music today.” She states.

Harry hums and nods, then the elevator opens, revealing a few people inside which causes Y/N to step towards him as they move out of the way. If he hadn’t taken a step back fast enough she'd practically be right up against him. He breathes in and smells her perfume, the intoxicating scent of rose filling his nostrils with her being so close. Y/N gives a quick ‘you’re welcome’ to the people who step out as they thank them for moving before they both step into the elevator together. Harry was too busy thinking about how close Y/N had been to step up and hit the number six button before he could. He gives her a smile in thanks.

The elevator begins to ascend as the space falls into silence between them. They’re both overthinking. What should I say? Is what is on both their minds as they pass the first floor, and then the second. Harry lets out a short breath through his nose before leaning his back against the railing.

“I’m sorry for being so clueless,” he states, pausing when Y/N’s head whips up and her eyes meet his. “I didn’t think you’d have a boyfriend and I just didn’t think twice before asking you if you wanted to get dinner,” he says, finally getting the thought off his chest.

Y/N furrows her brows, “and why did you think I wouldn’t have a boyfriend?” She asks, teasing him, but Harry’s face falls and he stands straight once again, bringing both his hands up and waves them in front of himself as if in surrender.

“Not that you’re like not pretty enough for a boyfriend, or nice enough, cause to be quite honest I would be surprised if you didn’t have a boyfriend cause you are like the prettiest girl I’ve ever met and not to mention really nice and super cool too-”

“I was just teasing you, Harry,” Y/N stops him. But his words had caused quite the feeling inside her stomach, butterflies were multiplying like it was nobody's business while she swore she felt her heartbeat in the soles of her feet.

“Oh,” he breathes out, “right. Well, still, I’m sorry.” He casts his eyes down to the floor, feeling his cheeks warm up from embarrassment. The elevator sounds a quiet bing! as the doors open for them on the sixth floor. Harry lifts his eyes to meet Y/N’s once more, motioning with his hand for her to exit first. She smiles and walks out with him right behind her.

Y/N doesn’t say anything till she’s at her apartment door, her key in the lock, and she notices Harry is at his door a few feet away. She sighs and stops twisting the key, letting her shoulder sag as she looks over at Harry.

“I’m sorry too, by the way,” she says. Harry looks up at the sound of her voice, thinking she was simply going to take in her apology and go about her merry life with Mark. He watches her tongue dart out and wet her lips as she leans into her door. “I should have mentioned Mark, even just in a quick comment, but honestly our relationship is sort of new and even a little non-existent at times, it seems, so I guess I was just enjoying making a new friend. I didn’t even think about it,” Y/N explains herself.

Harry takes in her words; that her relationship is new, and non-existent? He wonders what she means by that. But he can’t help but smile at her mentioning that she enjoyed becoming his friend. Harry nods his head and let’s his smile grow wider, knowing his dimples would show.

“I’d like to keep being your friend,” Y/N adds, “if that’s okay?”

“It’s totally okay,” Harry nods. Y/N smiles and nods back.

“Okay,” she says softly.

Harry fits his key into the lock without looking, keeping his eyes on Y/N’s as he notices her cheeks glowing a shade of pink. “How about a movie night? Tomorrow? If you’re not busy, of course,” Harry suggests, twisting his key and unlocking the door.

“I think I’m free. It’ll have to be Christmas themed, of course,” Y/N says, narrowing her eyes as if to challenge Harry to fight her on it - like Mark would.

“Well, yeah,” Harry scoffs, eyebrows pulled together and head shaking in faux disbelief. “Wouldn’t have it any other way during the month of December,” he adds.

Why couldn’t I have moved in like six months ago? Y/N thinks to herself as she smiles at Harry. She finds herself liking him more with every word that comes out of that pretty mouth of his. If only she had met him before she met Mark. Things would be easier, that’s for sure.

The two of them agree on a time for tomorrow, six in the evening, before saying their goodbyes and walking into their homes that were side by side. After Y/N takes off her shoes and coat, she walks towards her bedroom to get changed into some workout clothes for a quick at home video before she ate dinner. Just as she’s changing she hears the muffled sounds of Harry’s guitar - something she’s grown fond of hearing through their shared wall. Maybe she’ll get him to play her something tomorrow, she thinks with a smile.

Y/N makes her way back into her living room and starts up her workout video. She does some jumping jacks to get her warmed up, but honestly, her heart is already pounding in her chest from her interaction with Harry and the plans they have made. Without a doubt she knows she’ll be counting down the hours during her work day tomorrow till six o’clock.

Elf or Polar Express? Both were very different Christmas movies, and they were the two she was torn between taking over to Harry’s. They hadn’t talked about who’s apartment they would hang out in, but as it was ten minutes to six, she hoped to get out the door and knock on his first, in order to get the chance to ask him to play his guitar for her maybe. But that’s not how it’s going to work out because Y/N’s too busy being stuck between two of her favourite movies when suddenly, there’s a knock at her door. She frowns knowing that it’s Harry and wouldn’t get to hear him play guitar, but gets up from where she was sitting crossed legged on the floor to answer the door.

Her fuzzy socks pad across the hardwood floor as she walks to her door, peering through the peephole quickly to double check to see it was Harry. She smiles at the sight of his floppy brown hair and unlocks her door before swinging it open. Harry looks up as she opens the door, meeting her gaze for only a moment before he watches her take in his apparel.

He had thought about it for way too long, what he was to wear to hangout and watch movies with the girl he liked, but ended up staying dressed down as he was all day. Y/N liked how the plain white shirt he wore fit him, only a small brand logo that was over his heart, but she really liked the pastel rainbow coloured sweatpants he wore too. He looks comfy and ready to lay back and relax for a few hours with her. He’s not wearing any shoes though, which makes Y/N furrows her brows for a second.

“I didn’t really see any point in putting on shoes for the few feet out of my apartment,” Harry states quickly to let her know. Y/N nods, chuckling under her breath, but understanding what he means. She steps back and lets him into her home.

Harry takes in the atmosphere of Y/N’s apartment for the second time now. The glow from her many Christmas lights makes him feel warm inside, and her Christmas tree was the focal point of it all. He likes the odd ornaments that are littered among the branches, and he can’t quite make out what they all are, but something tells him that they each hold a special meaning to Y/N. Maybe some from her childhood, others from some trips she’s had - he could see her collecting them from anywhere she’s travelled to. Harry makes a mental note to ask her at one point.

“I was thinking of making some hot chocolate, and I have a bag of, like, this candy cane and white chocolate pretzels that I’ve been obsessed with lately and was going to munch on that during the movie, but I have a bunch of other snacks too, honestly,” Y/N starts to explain to Harry. He turns on his heels to see she’s already locked her door and is now moving into the kitchen.

“I’m cool with some hot chocolate,” Harry nods, “and I’ll give the pretzels a try, they sound good.”

“They are so good, oh my god,” she moans at the mere thought of eating them. Bending down to open her bottom drawer, she reveals a well organized array of munchies that looked like a stoner's heaven.

As she’s ruffling through the drawer Harry takes in her outfit. She’s got on a pair of Christmas themed pajama bottoms with little snowflakes scattered along the dark blue material that matched with her plain dark blue shirt. Her hair was thrown up into a messy bun, wispy hairs falling around her face as it looks as though it’s been up all day and she hasn’t cared to fix it. Overall, she looks comfortable and at ease - as she should be in her own home. He had wondered if she ever dressed down, seeing as he had only ever seen her after a day of work dressed in trendy high fashion, but somehow casual clothing. Christmas pajamas suit her, he thinks with a smile.

Y/N gets a hold of the bag of pretzels she’s talking about and opens it, taking one out for herself right away to bite down on before turning to Harry who’s standing in her kitchen. She smiles at the pretzel and lifts the bag to him. Harry takes a few steps towards her before reaching into the bag and grabbing one for himself. He brings it to his mouth and Y/N watches for his reaction. His jaw flexes as he chews down on the sweet yet salty treat.

Harry hums and nods, reaching into the bag again, “not bad,” he says before chewing on another one. Y/N smiles and passes him the bag all together, turning towards the stove top to turn on the kettle already filled with water.

“Can you find two mugs in that cabinet?” Y/N asks Harry as she looks to her left and sees him standing in front of the cabinet that held her many mugs and glasses. She points to it and Harry nods. He puts the bag of pretzels down after sneaking one last one into his mouth, and opens the cabinet door to reveal Y/N’s collection of mugs. He goes for the two at the front, which were Christmas themed, of course; one shaped like the Grinch and the other like Santa. As he sets them down on the counter in front of him, beside the bag of pretzels that he sticks his hand into again, he notices a glass container full of brown powder that he assumes is her hot chocolate mix.

“Is this your hot chocolate mix?” He asks, just to be sure.

“Yes,” Y/N nods, “I honestly make myself a cup almost every night during the colder seasons.”

“Are you a coffee or tea person?” Harry asks, keeping his eyes on the container as he twists it open and sees a metal teaspoon measuring cup inside already. He starts to scoop some into each mug as he waits for Y/N’s answer. Although he is very aware of her possibly liking coffee, considering how he’s seen her with many Starbucks cups before.

“Yeah, I enjoy both too. I have way too much coffee during my work days, and tea reminds me of the days at my grandparents,” she explains, watching Harry scoop her preferred amount of mix into each mug without even asking. She smiles softly, seeing him reach for yet another pretzel too.

“Are you saying tea is for old people?” Harry questions, raising a brow as he peers at Y/N in the corner of his eye. Y/N rolls her eyes, a smile still on her lips. Her kettle begins to squeal into the air, but she’s quick to turn and take it off the heat. She turns off the stove and uses a tea towel to bring it over to the mugs - Harry steps back out of her way, but not before grabbing the bag of pretzels.

“Old people and the British too, of course,” Y/N teases.

Harry chuckles, “of course,” he says in agreement. He waits till Y/N fills the mugs and sets the kettle back down on the stovetop before he steps back to the counter and wraps a hand around the handle of the Grinch mug. Y/N is quick, stepping towards him and gently slapping his hand.

Harry flinches his hand away and raises a brow at Y/N, jokingly taken back by her action. Y/N bites down on her bottom lip to prevent herself from giggling over how cute that look on his face was.

“I have whipped cream that’s in a can, but it’s still good,” Y/N states, giving him a look that said ‘back off and let me do this’. Harry only chuckles again and nods. “Also slow down on the pretzels, if I don’t get any during the movie I’ll be very upset.”

“They’re addicting, sorry,” Harry mumbles through his mouth full of pretzels, a smile tugging at his mouth.

“Trust me, I know. That’s like my fourth bag this week, I swear,” she states with a chuckle.

As Y/N walks to her fridge Harry steps up to the mugs once more and takes a chance on the drawer directly under them for a spoon. His instincts are right as he pulls the drawer open to see her utensils; he grabs a teaspoon in order to stir the hot chocolate. Y/N turns back from the fridge with the whipped cream can in hand, turning around to see Harry focused on the mugs. She smiles, tilting her head as she watches him nudge the drawer closed with his hip, and begin to stir the contents of them till the powder was all mixed in with the water. Look at them being all domestic, she thinks. Licking her lips, she shakes her head a little and walks up to Harry, shaking the can of whipped cream and waits for him to finish stirring. He sets the spoon in the sink and watches as Y/N tops off the mugs with a heap of whipped cream.

“You better actually eat the whipped topping this time,” Harry says to her teasingly, referring to when they had hot chocolate in the park, and she let her whipped cream melt. Y/N chuckles and brings the tip of the whipped cream can to her open mouth.

She puts pressure on the top again and makes the sweet cream pile into her mouth as she tips her head back, the aerosol can is the only noise in the room as Harry watches her do it. His breath catches in his throat and he blinks several times as he imagines an entirely different scenario with this whipped cream can and her mouth. Y/N brings the whipped cream away from her mouth and swallows, watching Harry do the same thing - did she make him feel uncomfortable? She thinks to herself as she licks her lips and looks down at the ground. Don’t overthink it, don’t overthink it, she thinks while walking back to the fridge to return the whipped cream to the shelf. When she turns back, she sees that Harry has both mugs in his hands.

“Maybe I should just have both of these, since you’re probably full from that mouth full of whipped cream,” Harry teases her, bringing both mugs to his lips, acting as if he’s going to slurp up the whipped topping that’s nearly flowing over the side.

“Absolutely not,” Y/N gasps, reaching forward quickly for the Grinch mug, but Harry moves it out of her grasp faster.

“I want the Grinch one,” he says with a slight whine to his voice. Y/N can’t stop the giggle this time, blushing afterwards as she thinks of how freaking adorable he is.

“Fine,” she sighs and takes the Santa mug from him instead.

Harry grins and lets her lead the way back into her living room, the bag of pretzels in his other hand. Y/N sets her mug down on the coaster on the coffee table, just like she had with her glass of wine the last time Harry was over. He watches as she sits cross legged on the floor in front of her tv stand. Y/N grabs the two movies she was debating over earlier in each hand and lifts them up for Harry to see. He loves them both of course.

“Which one? I can’t decide,” Y/N states. Harry hums and lifts his mug to his lip to slurp up some whipped cream.

“Elf,” Harry answers, “I’m in a Will Ferrel comedy kind of mood,” he adds.

“Alright,” Y/N chuckles under her breath and turns away from Harry to open her DVD player and then open the case for Elf. He liked that she had the movies on physical DVD, not just clicking away on a streaming app. She places the DVD in the player and then closes it again before standing up quickly and skipping over to the couch, plopping down excitedly but gently that Harry isn’t even scared that he’ll spill his hot chocolate.

“We can watch the other one next time,” Harry suggests, feeling brave in the moment as the trailers start to play softly on the screen and Y/N is reaching for the remote that sat on the coffee table. She looks at him and smiles.

“‘kay, yeah, next time,” she pauses but then points the remote at Harry. “But next time you’re hosting, I feel like we should switch it up sometimes,” she adds and waits to see Harry nod with a smile before she turns to the TV and gets to the main menu of the movie.

“Fair, I just think my place lacks the holiday cheer that we would want,” Harry explains. Y/N stops her from hitting play right away and leans back into the couch, flopping her head to the side to look at Harry. He’s still holding his mug, which reminds her that her own is sitting there untouched, so she sits up again and grabs it.

“Well you know what would fix that?” She questions, bringing the mug to her lips and slurping up some of the whipped cream that was in fact already melting. Harry watches her as her eyes are glued to her mug, focused on not spilling it over the sides it seems.

“Decorations?” He asks, still watching her. He smiles as she licks her upper lip that’s covered in melting whipped cream.

“Exactly,” she nods enthusiastically. She takes another few sips of her hot chocolate before leaning back into her couch once again, getting all snuggled up before lifting the remote to the TV and hitting play.

“I’m not really good with decorating - my sister and mom did my apartment to be honest,” Harry admits. Y/N watches the opening scene of one of her favourite Christmas movies, feeling all giddy inside as it’s the first time she’s watching it this holiday season. She gets like this every year with every holiday movie.

“Well, I can help you out. Maybe we can do a little trip to Target before our next movie night. Then do a quick set up and then watch the movie after,” Y/N suggests, nervously peering over at Harry over the rim of her mug after. She doesn’t know if she’s crossing a line or anything. She just wants to spend more time with him, even if it’s just as friends.

Harry gives Y/N a half smile, one of his dimples making an appearance as he looks into her eyes. He would love that, honestly. The idea of them wandering through the Christmas isles at Target as she gives him advice on what decorations would go together and fit his apartment style; they would set up the decorations after and he’d watch her be in her element. Maybe he’d put on some Christmas music and hope she would dance around. Harry gives Y/N a short nod.

“I like that plan,” Harry tells her.

Y/N smiles and nods back at him. “Then it’s a deal, we’ll set a time after the movie. It’s about to get good,” she says, looking back at the TV screen again as Will Ferrel’s character makes his appearance.

“The whole movie is good,” Harry states.

“Shh,” Y/N hushes him, taking another sip of her drink and keeping her eyes on the movie. Harry smiles and watches her watch Elf. He notices her hand gently tapping the cushion between them after a moment. Harry chuckles under his breath and nudges the bag of pretzels open, taking a few for himself before facing the bag her way. Once she’s got one between her teeth she feels completely content.

She’s got a cup of yummy hot chocolate, her favourite snack, Christmas lights are twinkling around her, one of her favourite Christmas movies is playing, and she’s with good company too. In fact, she finds herself not once thinking of Mark the rest of the night. Even in her dreams, it’s Harry, again.

They exchanged phone numbers. It’s not a big deal, Harry thinks to himself as he gets a third text from his newest contact in his phone. But it felt like a big deal; it was an easy way to get a hold of her whenever he needed to or wanted to even. Not that he would just bother her for no good reason. As much as he’d like to text with her all day, he knows that they really just exchanged phone numbers in order to plan to hangout easily. Like for today, Y/N had a long work day, but still wanted to take Harry Christmas decor shopping, so she was asking him if he could just meet her at the closest Target.

There’s one a few blocks away from the apartment, I’ll send you the location, are you able to meet me there? She texts along with a Google Maps link to the store. Harry tapped out a response right away, letting his focus sway away from the TV show he had on when her name lit up his screen.

Sounds good to me, what time? Harry hits send and notices the bubble with three dots pop up right away. She must have a moment at work right now; he checks the time to see it’s just past noon, assuming she’s on her lunch break.

I should be leaving the office by 3pm today, then it’s like a 15 minutes subway ride and 5 minute walk to get there for me. So like 3:30ish, is that okay with you? Wait. Are you busy today? I didn’t even ask if you were working too, sorry. She sends the texts in a few separate bubbles, realizing that she didn’t even ask if Harry was working or not today. Y/N has no idea what the schedule of a songwriter was like. Harry chuckles at her little panic and types out his response.

Super busy…. Watching mindless TV shows on Netflix. He adds a laughing emoji for good measure, to which Y/N replies with some of her own laughing emojis before saying God I wish that was how my day was going.

Y/N ends up texting Harry her whole lunch break. He asks about what she’s been doing today, his responses seeming very interested in the adventures she has had in the office being a stand in model since her measurements were close to a clients. She then asks what show he’s watching, to which he tells her about this Netflix baking show called Sugar Rush and he tells her about the challenge the contestants on the most recent episode endured. Y/N finds herself smiling at her screen, nearly forgetting to even eat her lunch. Sammy clears his throat just a few minutes before their time is up and causes her to look up at him, raising her eyebrows at his own.

“What?” She asks, stabbing her fork into the salad she had Sammy pick up for her earlier.

“Nothing,” Sammy hums, Y/N rolls her eyes. “Just noticed you’ve been quite busy on that phone of yours for the past, oh, I don’t know, twenty five minutes,” Sammy teases her, eyes widening slightly and motioning his hands in the air with his words. He did that a lot, talking with his hands, that is.

“So?” Y/N tries to brush off her friend's pushy behaviour.

“So? Really? We’re just going to act as if you’re not giggling at your phone screen like a little school girl?” Sammy questions.

“I am not doing that,” Y/N huffs.

“Yeah, sure, sweetie and I’m straight,” Sammy rolls his eyes dramatically and then pouts while shaking his body in his seat. Y/N furrows her brows at his behaviour. “I live off your love life. Please give me something, anything. Please just tell me that you’re talking to that hot neighbour of yours and let me continue on my merry little day knowing that your love life is about to be thriving while mine is dead.”

Y/N sighs and tries to ignore as her phone vibrates again, signalling that Harry had texted her back. She sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over his chest, covering the deep v-cut of her black body suit that she was wearing with a pair of red slim legged slacks, and a matching red blazer that was currently laying over the back of the chair she sat in. Amanda didn’t have any sort of dress code for work, merely to come in looking professional and stylish, which for Y/N, meant a good pant suit moment every once in a while. But with still keeping it sexy and young by pairing it with a bodysuit.

“Fine, I’m texting Harry,” Y/N tells Sammy, feeding into his gossip need for the day. “We actually hung out two night ago, he came over for a movie night-”

“What?! Why am I just hearing about this now?” Sammy questions, sitting up quickly and throwing his hands in the air. “What happened? Touching? Did you kiss? Oh my lord, tell me what his peni-”

“Sammy! Oh my god, relax, please,” Y/N cuts him off, putting a hand up to stop him from talking. “Nothing happened. Sorry to disappoint, but I am still in a relationship with Mark. Harry just came over, we made some hot chocolate and polished off a bag of those delicious candy cane pretzels.”

“Those pretzels are good,” Sammy nods in agreement.

“Yeah,” Y/N nods, “but anyways, nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen. We’re just friends, and I enjoy being around him a lot. So, today after work we’re going to Target to buy his apartment some decorations, then we’ll probably order in some food and watch another movie.”

“Sounds pretty couple-y to me,” Sammy says in a high pitched tone. Y/N just shakes her head and rolls her eyes at her friend again.

Y/N couldn’t lie, though. The few hours later in Target, they looked like a couple. Harry pushes the cart down the aisle while she tilts her head and debates which tinsel really fit Harry’s aesthetic. She brings the Starbucks cup to her lips and sips the warm caramel flavoured latte. Y/N was pleasantly surprised when she saw Harry walking up to her outside the Target with two Starbucks holiday cups in his hand. He gave her a timid smile and explained what both of the drinks were, saying he hadn’t tasted either and wanted to see what she wanted first before taking the other for himself. It was unexpected and ridiculously sweet of him to do.

“I think red would look really nice around your apartment, kind of spice up the place a little,” Y/N explains, her free hand skimming over the many different tinsels that were hanging up before her. Harry agrees, red would look nice in his apartment and spice things up a lot, except his mind is thinking of this red pant suit she’s wearing right now. He thinks it would look rather nice on his bedroom floor.

When she walked up to him and he took in her outfit, he nearly tripped over his own feet and spilled the two coffees he brought with him. But he kept himself together, well, sort of. He stumbled over his words, rambled like a fool about why he got the two coffees for her, but they finally got into the store, which now, he’s just been checking her out as they walked to the Christmas section. Get it together, Harry thinks to himself.

“Red’s nice,” Harry says, his voice cracking slightly. So, he clears his throat and steps away from the cart to pick up a piece of tinsel that Y/N was looking at. “I like the bit of silver mixed in too,” he comments.

“I was thinking the same thing,” she says with a smile before grabbing four more of the same one and adding it to the cart. Harry does the same with the one in his hand and then puts his hands on the cart once more, pushing it back and forth just a few inches. Harry can’t stop himself from admiring that suit once more as she bends down to check out the many different boxes of tree ornaments.

“Which ones?” Y/N asks, quickly turning her body. Y/N catches his gaze on her body, but Harry blinks quickly and meets her stare. The corner of her lips tug up into a smug smile at the thought of Harry checking her out.

“The ones in your, uh, your right hand,” Harry answers her questions, clearing his throat again and watching as she stands straight before putting the ornaments into the cart.

They continue their way through Target, still looking very much like a couple as they grab a few bags of the candy cane pretzels that Y/N got Harry hooked on the other night before heading to the check out. Harry insists on paying for the few little items of Y/N’s in the cart, telling her over and over again that it wasn’t a huge deal. He almost doesn’t let her carry a single thing, but she quickly gets a hold of a standing Santa decoration that was too big for a bag and hugs it to her chest their whole walk home.

Harry unlocks his apartment door for them, noticing how their neighbour Mr Matthers is opening his at the same time to peer out and see who’s in the hallway. Harry holds open the door for Y/N, she thanks him in a small voice and smiles at him. Looking back out into the hallway, Harry waves at Mr Matthers, who simply returns it with a scowl on his face before Harry steps inside and shuts the door behind him. Suppose their neighbour is a bit jealous of Harry, he’s seen the way he looks at Y/N. Hell, especially today in that suit, everyone on the street was looking at Y/N with wide eyes and big smiles - Harry felt like quite the lucky guy, little did everyone know they were in fact not together. Just friends, Harry reminds himself for the millionth time.

“Oh, I love the tree,” Y/N states, her voice bringing Harry back to Earth as he locks the door and walks over to his coffee table to set down the many bags in his arms. Y/N is still holding the Santa decoration to her chest, looking at the fake Christmas tree he had purchased on Amazon yesterday on a whim. He was thinking about them decorating together again, and thought that it wouldn’t feel right if he didn't have a tree too. It’s a good thing he told Y/N over text, otherwise they wouldn’t have gotten ornaments or anything for it.

“Yeah, I just got the first one that included lights on Amazon, to be honest,” Harry tells her. Y/N chuckles and walks over, setting the Santa decoration just beside the tree gently.

She brushes a hand over the tree and smiles, “it’s wonderful, really pulls the whole festive look together in my opinion.”

“I agree,” Harry nods. He grabs for the TV remote and turns it on, quickly turning the volume down before he sets it up to the music channels - clicking on the Christmas tunes without a second thought. Y/N watches Harry, her heart hammering in her chest as the soft sounds of Michael Buble fills the room. Mark would never do any of this - he wouldn’t voluntarily put on Christmas music, ever. In fact, he shut off the station in her car on the way to the airport. And he definitely wouldn’t decorate with her either, seeing as he thinks that her apartment looks childish. She pouts at the thought of her and Mark’s phone call the other day. He hasn’t called or texted her since.

“Did you not want to listen to Christmas music?” Harry asks suddenly, snapping Y/N out of her thoughts and turns to look at him. He’s taking off his jacket, revealing a white shirt underneath with a bumble bee and some blue writing around it, paired with his purple trousers and a pair of white socks on his feet after slipping out of his shoes too. Y/N loves his simple yet not basic style.

“No, no,” Y/N assures him, finally unbuttoning her blazer now and taking off the mittens and beanie she had worn in the cold. She stuffs them into the blazer pocket and slips out of it. “I love Christmas music so much, honestly maybe a little too much, Mark hates it,” she admits.

A shiver falls over her body as she realizes then she’s simply in the rather thin bodysuit that also dipped very low in the front. Y/N doesn’t look at Harry as she feels her nipples harder from the coolness of his apartment, embarrassed as she didn’t prepare for her attire after going out. Harry suddenly lifts up a hand, his pointer finger up as if to say ‘one second’, then he’s walking down the hallways and returns not even a minute later with a black sweater in hand.

“It’s clean, just washed today, I promise,” Harry tells her, holding out one of his favourite jumpers for her. He had been given a few merchandising pieces from the label over the years and this plain black jumper that read ‘Columbia’ on the front in white has been in his possession for a couple years now. In his opinion, it was very comfortable due to how much he’s worn it.

“Thank you,” Y/N says softly while taking it from him.

She puts it on and is immediately warmer. Her hands cover completely because of how long the sleeves are and it falls down past her bum too, due to the large size. She looks good, Harry thinks as he takes in her wearing his clothing. Y/N smiles and turns to grab things from the Target bags they had just brought in.

“Okay, let’s begin with the tree then,” she says excitedly, trying to clap her hands together but just ends up smacking the sleeves of Harry’s hoodie together.

It’s just as Harry imagined it. The soft lights from the Christmas tree glow over the shadows of Y/N’s face as she wraps the red tinsel around the base of it before passing it to Harry in order for him to reach the taller portion of the tree. She dances when Jingle Bell Rock plays on the TV, his jumper swaying around her body because of how big it is on her. They’re both smiling and singing along to the music, jokingly of course. Harry wasn’t about to show her all his little secrets and start belting out White Christmas along with the singers of Wham!

“Can you pass me a couple of the silver balls?” Y/N asks Harry, her eyes on the tree as she put the last red ball ornament she had grabbed onto a branch. Harry raises his eyebrows in a joking manner.

“The what?” He questions, but still making his way to where the array of different coloured ball ornaments laid on the couch.

“Like two of the balls,” she says again. Harry laughs, his eyes crinkling up and his dimples fully showing as he does. Y/N furrows her brows, but then gets why he’s laughing. “You’re a child,” she scolds him playfully.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Harry states, grabbing two of the ornaments she’s asking for and passing them to her.

“Thank you for the balls, Harry,” she says. They both end up laughing this time, she can’t help it. His laughter is contagious with how his eyes squint up and his dimple somehow deepens, not to mention the little vocal ‘aha’ he does before laughing. It makes Y/N’s stomach ache, not from laughing too, but with the butterflies. Those stupid little butterflies that have made a home inside of her stomach since meeting this kind, handsome, British man.

Once the tree is done, Y/N beats Harry to ordering them food. They decide on getting sushi, which is something she could never order with Mark since he has this personal vendetta against seafood for some reason. But Mark isn’t on her mind for long. It’s all Harry, all the freaking time. She likes how he beams a winning smile at the delivery guy and thanks him three times in the sixty seconds he’s at his door, and how he barely pays his phone any attention the whole night besides when it chimes with a few texts that he explains is his workmates group chat. Now, she can’t stop watching him chew his food; how his jaw flexes with each bite and how his eyebrows furrow when he can’t get the chopsticks to grab the California roll he wanted. Why do I find him eating so attractive? Y/N shakes her head slightly and forces herself to look back at the TV that’s playing the Sugar Rush show on Netflix that Harry was texting her about earlier.

Harry collects their take out containers after a few moments to ensure that Y/N is done, asking her just to be sure she doesn’t want the two pieces that are left over. She thanks him, but says no, and he manages to grab all five containers in one trip to the kitchen. His mom most definitely raised him well, Y/N thinks as she lays back on his couch and watches the TV show. It suddenly hits Y/N, his brows pulling together as she pushes herself to sit up and turns her body to look behind her through the open concept to look at Harry.

“Are you going home for Christmas?” She asks him. Y/N assumed home was England, besides obvious factors, but she remembers him telling her about driving in London once. Harry brushes his hands on a tea towel that's hanging off his stove before turning to walk back into the living room.

“Um, no, not this year,” Harry says.

“Oh, do you typically go home and visit your family? You mentioned your mom and sister had decorated this place though, do they live here?” She throws the other questions his way as he walks around the couch and sits in his spot again.

“They all live in England, yeah,” he nods, “my mom, my step dad, older sister and her boyfriend all flew out here with me to help me settle in the few years back when I got my job. But I do usually go home for holidays, or just casually during the summer. Earlier this year I had to make an unexpected trip,” Harry pauses and clears his throat as he looks away from Y/N as he feels that familiar pain in his chest, “my step dad passed away. So it just took a bit of money out of my account, I decided not to fork out the money for expensive flights during the holidays.”

Hearing that Harry had lost his step dad recently torn Y/N’s heart in two. She frowns, taking a deep breath before reaching over and placing a hand over Harry’s that rested folded in his lap. Harry looks at where their skin touched, it felt like his hands were vibrating under her touch. She swipes her thumb over his knuckles, the touch so soft like a feather just barely skimming over his skin. Harry has to stop himself from flipping his hand over slowly and intertwining their fingers together. She has a boyfriend, she’s just being a good person and comforting a friend.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your step dad, Harry,” she soft and gentle voice, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his knuckle again as she watches him inhale deeply through his nose.

Harry clears his throat of the threatening tears and shakes his head slightly, a piece of his hair falling onto his forehead as he does. He takes one of his hands and lays it over Y/N’s, giving it a few pats. Tonight had been good

and fun, and he didn’t want to go ruining the mood with his tears. So, he lifts his head and looks at Y/N, finding her somber eyes staring at him already. He forces a smile, licking his lips before clearing his throat again.

“Thank you,” he says, “I don’t want to make this good night all emotional now, so yeah, the short answer is I’m not leaving the city for the holidays this year. I do have a trip planned in March to see my mum for mothers day though,” Harry explains, rubbing Y/N’s hand that’s between his.

Y/N mirrors his smile, although it’s not as full as usual, a bit sad still as she thinks about what Harry and his family must’ve gone through this year - and that his mother won’t see her son her first Christmas without her husband to top it all off. Maybe she could buy his flights? But no, no she couldn’t, she thinks sadly. They sit there like that for another moment, her hand between his much larger once, and they stare at each other. Finally, Y/N lets out a sigh and tries to get out of her head before she ends up crying. Harry lets go of her hand slowly, and she brings both hands to her face to brush back her hair. Harry does the same to get the strand of hair that had fallen on his forehead back into place.

“Well I’m glad you can go see your mom for mothers day, at least,” Y/N says, looking at the positive. Harry nods and then leans back, throwing an arm over the back of the couch to stretch out.

“Yeah, me too,” he agrees, “she’s already telling me all about the plans she’s made for my trip and talks my ear right off as if it’s happening tomorrow.” Harry tells Y/N with a chuckle.

Hearing his little laugh brings a real smile to her face this time. “I’m sure she’s counting the days till you fly in,” Y/N says. She is starting to feel a little tired as she lays back on the couch, laying her legs out on the chaise. Harry watches as she pulls the sleeves of his jumper back down, she had rolled them up while eating so they didn’t get in the way, but he likes the sweater paw look on her as she snuggles into the couch.

“Do you spend Christmas at home still?” Harry asks her, keeping his voice soft as he realizes it’s gotten late and both their eyelids are getting heavy.

“My parents have something on Christmas Eve, sometimes I spend the night, other times I make my way home,” she exclaims vaguely.

Y/N doesn’t love her times at home anymore; she finds her parents ‘I’m too rich for anything' attitude to be tiresome. As she grew up into her own person, she realized the privilege she had with the wealth she grew up with. She started to see how pointless some parties her mother threw, and how little she would have to try to just coast through life. Y/N didn’t want to grow up like every other bratty kid on the Upper East Side, so she moved out right after graduation, got into fashion school, focused on herself, and earned her own money - all while learning of how to use her privilege for good, like donating her time and money to good causes. Something her parents only did to look good within their social circle.

So, going back home for over the top holiday parties, getting gifted a new car every year, and seeing her parents throw their money at whatever, really only bothered her more than anything. Y/N would simply stop in for Christmas Eve, enjoy a few hours with family and then go home to her own world again.

A yawn slips past Y/N’s mouth as she’s deep in thought, which then makes Harry yawn as the both of them bring their hands to cover their mouth and then letting out soft laughter afterwards. Y/N sits up and stretches both arms above her head. “I guess I should head home,” she says before standing up slowly.

“Yeah, you’ve got a long way to go,” Harry jokes.

“Oh yeah, it’ll take me ages,” Y/N adds onto the joke with a smile. “Thank you for having me over, I really enjoyed it,” she says.

Harry nods, “well thank you for helping me with all this,” he says, motioning to the decorating they had done. They both glance around the room then at their work. The red and silver decor matched Harry’s aesthetic perfectly, just as Y/N thought it would.

“We didn’t watch Polar Express,” Y/N realizes suddenly, pouting.

“Next time, Y/N,” Harry chuckles. She huffs and lets out a sigh, muttering a quiet ‘fine’ before making her way towards his front door. Harry follows behind her, planning to lock the door and listen till she gets into her own apartment before getting ready for bed.

“Should I text you when I’m home safe? It’s just so far away,” Y/N continues to joke around, causing Harry to smile as he watches her grab her blazer and slip into her shoes.

“You never know, Mr Matthers across the hall could intercept you on the way home and kidnap you. I wouldn’t sleep till I got that text knowing you got home safely,” Harry says, half joking. Cause you never know with Mr Matthers, he thinks. Y/N laughs and hugs her blazer to her stomach while standing beside the door, reaching for the handle but keeping her gaze on him.

“Mr Matthers is harmless,” Y/N says.

“He’s obsessed with you,” Harry counters back. Y/N just rolls her eyes and unlocks the door before swinging it open.

“Goodnight Harry,” she says sweetly.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Harry says back with a smile. She mirrors his smile and then walks off into the hallway. Harry watches the door shut behind her and walks over to lock it before turning off the few lights in the living room and entryway. As he is turning off his TV his phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Made it home safely and in bed! Sweet dreams read Y/N’s text sent seconds ago. Harry breathes out a chuckle as he walks down the hallway to his bathroom to begin his nightly routine. As he turns on the light for his bathroom he types back a response. Cheeky.. Sweet dreams Y/N. He turns off the screen before he stands there and waits for her to reply with anything, his heart would even flutter over an emoji.

He was so far gone for this girl, he couldn’t stop himself from falling any longer - but it had felt inevitable from the moment his eyes had met hers in the elevator.

>> part three <<

thanks for reading, please reblog/leave some feedback if you enjoyed it! until next week 😘

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a-solitary-marshmallow · 3 years

Text

Rewind Chapter 10 - A Well-Deserved Rest

Me: "Now that we're reaching the end, the chapters will come a lot faster" :) Me now, a month later, sweating: "Okay so that was a lie"

My bad! Been pretty busy and I completely forgot to update this fic. Welp, hope you guys enjoy the chapter <3

________________________________________________________________

Stan’s awareness came back to him in little bits. The first thing he noticed was what his skin stung all over – like when he and Ford had gotten sunburnt on the beach, back when they first found the Stan ‘O War. It hurt when he moved his face. The next thing that came to him was the feeling of sticks and leaves and snow under his knees. His breaths were rasping in his throat, and sparks pitter-pattered to the ground before him. Ford’s fingers were digging into his arm and there was a triangle-shaped sunspot in his vision where the explosion had burned into his eyes. His heart was pounding, probably full of that chemical Ford talked about one time – ad-reny-lin?

“Oh mah lord!” Fiddleford’s voice sounded, muffled in Stan’s ears, high-pitched and breathless. “Oh my – are you two alright? Stanley, Stanford? Yer okay, right?”

“Um.” Stan did a quick mental once-over. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He tried to wriggle out of Ford’s grip but his brother was holding tight, breaths coming quick and fast. Stan managed to twist around to catch sight of Ford’s stunned expression. His cheeks and nose were a sunburned pink and he stared at where the triangle had just been with wide eyes.

“Ford, let me go.”

“What?” The scientist blinked, before quickly realizing who had spoken and bursting into action. “Stanley! Are you hurt? You were so close to the explosion-”

Before Stan could speak up Ford had adjusted his grip, grabbing Stan’s shoulders to scan him for injuries. Stan took the opportunity to look around. The whole clearing was kinda scorched, snow steaming where Bill had been only moments ago. The smell of burning filled his nose and he wrinkled his face up in displeasure, which only made it sting more.

And there was someone rushing towards them – Fidds! The thin scientist clutched the rifle to his chest with bandaged-up hands as he sloshed through half-melted snow.

Ford was still fussing, like their mother used to when one of them came home with a scraped knee or bloody nose. Stan pushed his hands away (one of which was bleeding through a temporary bandage, what happened to his hand???) “Ford, getoff! I’m fine.”

Ford snatched his hands back, a weird look on his face, before his eyes lit up as Fiddleford reached them. He grinned up at his old friend with something like amazement, and for a moment he looked kinda how Stan remembered him – a kid, all full of excitement and curiosity and shiny eyes.

“It worked. I can’t believe it worked!”

“Ah’m just glad I hit the bugger.” Fiddleford’s voice was still high and reedy – at least, more so than usual. “Look, I’m happy yer okay and all but let’s take this back to the house. Who knows what creepy things are hidin’ out here in the woods.”

Ford stood and the adults started talking about boring things. Stan did not get up yet. He took a deep breath and felt his heart rate begin to slow and suddenly realized that he was very tired.

It seemed kind of… anticlimactic, if Stan was being honest. He was expecting a huge showdown, during the pouring rain or a snowstorm, with fire in the background and maybe some lasers and explosions.

Instead he got a bully of a demon, scraped knees and Ford clutching him like his life depended on it.

Once Stan stood up, he quickly realized that those warm and fluffy boots Bill had created had disappeared alongside the demon, and his feet were numb again. It figured. He could probably walk back, but it would hurt like crazy. How long did it take to get frostbite? If he lost a toe or something it would be pretty cool. Babes loved scars, right?

Then again, seeing how every bone in his body felt like it was made of lead and his eyelids kept drooping shut on their own, maybe he couldn’t walk all the way back. He rubbed an eye with his fist and cast a glance at the two adults nearby – Ford insisting that the other man needed to go to the hospital to get his burns treated, Fiddleford retorting that he, in fact, did not. Fidds wouldn’t be able to give him a lift, not with how both his hands were injured.

Stan cringed. It was his stupid fault that Fidds had been hurt at all – he’d gotten burned trying to fix Stan’s dumb mistake. If Stan had just used his brain, not been such a moron, not messed with Ford’s experiments, then none of this would have happened in the first place. Why did he ever think he could help? Stan was just a no-good ignoramus like Pa always said-

“Stanley?” Ford was looking at him now, concern in his eyes, and Stan swallowed down his shame and instead reached out with grabby hands. Ford choked.

“My feet hurt.” Stan said flatly as a way of explanation. “Gimme a lift.” If Ford really felt sorry for saying all those mean things, then didn’t he owe Stan that much? That was how the adult world worked, right?

His brother had a confused look on his face, something that would have been funny if Stan was not falling asleep on his feet and feeling very cranky. “I – I don’t want to push your boundaries. I know I haven’t been fair to you recently, and if you don’t want me to touch you-”

“Ford I’m gonna get frostbite.”

“It’s – what do you – you’re not wearing shoes!”

_______________________________________________________________

The doctors at Gravity Falls hospital were fairly used to Ford turning up with the strangest injuries. Of course, he only went there when Fiddleford insisted. The man was terrible at following his own advice though, so Ford had to bully him into getting his injuries checked out as well. The only qualified doctor there (he was assuming the pixies that worked out of the hospital’s parking lot didn’t have valid medical licenses) took one look at the party and waved them in with a sigh.

While Ford and Fiddleford faced their treatment, Stan refused to be awake. The child had fallen dead asleep on Ford’s shoulders soon after they left the scorched clearing, and proceeded to snore in his ear the whole way to the hospital. After a quick examination (made more difficult by Stan sleepily waving away the annoyed nurse) he was declared just scraped up and ‘sunburned’. Ford, on the other hand, was subjected to the time-wasting procedure of getting stitches. Honestly, the wound wasn’t even that big! Sure it hurt, but a few painkillers and he would be back at peak condition.

Stan did not wake up on the way home. He also did not wake up when Ford placed him into his bed and tucked the blankets up to his chin. Fiddleford, hovering behind Ford anxiously, peered over his shoulder at the snoring boy.

“Is – is he okay? He’s sleepin’ awfully heavy there Stanford, are ya sure he didn’t hit his head at all?”

Ford let out a snort, fiddling with the bandages wrapped around his injured hand. “Are you kidding? Stan always sleeps like the dead. He once slept through an explosion when I messed up my chemical formulas in high school. His bed had ash on it. When he woke up the next morning he asked me where my eyebrows were.”

Fiddleford quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about wakin’ him up. Come on down to th’ kitchen now – I think we need to have a talk.”

“…about what?”

Fiddleford fixed him with a stare and Ford wilted. “How about the demon ya summoned? All that junk with the portal? How yer brother got turned into a kid and ended up havin’ to shoulder all this? Or about watchin’ me go half mad and not thinking that, just maybe, the whole portal deal was dangerous?”

Ford winced. Fiddleford patted him on the shoulder, lightly – an olive branch extended across the yawning chasm between them. Ford didn’t know how to begin breaching that gap.

“O’ course, you didn’t deserve what happened to you either. So for once let’s put aside the pride and stubbornness and just talk.”

His friend’s eyes were pale blue and determined, and his hands were still shaking, and Ford didn’t deserve this kindness. He nodded.

“Okay.”

_______________________________________________________________

Stan woke up and immediately wished he was still asleep.

His skin stung all over, his face hot and itchy against the pillow he was curled up against. His feet ached and there was a crick in his neck, like he’d been thrown around on a rollercoaster. The sound of light scritching filled his ears – the scratching of a pen on paper from somewhere close by.

Being awake was overrated anyway. He tried to ignore the stinging and burrowed deeper into his blankets.

…nope, he was awake for good now. Darn it.

Stan peered up sleepily, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. Ford’s room again? This felt weirdly familiar, like when he’d first woken up in the future. And like that time Ford was across the room at his desk, scribbling away in his fancy journal.

Stan rubbed his eyes and slung his legs over the edge of the bed, carefully dropping to the floor below. It was cold on his aching feet but he could stand, which was a plus! So he probably didn’t have frostbite.

Stan yawned and headed across the room to where his brother was frantically journaling.

“Mornin’, Sixer.”

“Oh! Good morning, Stanley.” Ford clicked his pen and looked around. Stan muffled a shriek.

“Oh geez! What’s wrong with your face?”

Ford’s face was green and shiny and very not normal. The scientist rolled his eyes and explained as though it was obvious, “It’s just a burn gel. I developed it to be far more effective than the regular medicinal kind. Now that you’re awake, you should put it on too.”

Stan let out a nervous laugh. “Uh, no thanks, I think I’m all better now-”

Ford caught him by the shirt before Stan could bolt. He kicked and complained as his brother produced a tube of gel.

“Don’t you dare put that on me, it looks like snot-”

Ford smeared a bit on his cheek.

It… actually made the pain go away. Stan stilled as the cool gel took effect, numbing the stinging of his skin. Ford let him go and offered him the tube. Stan wanted to smack it out of his hands just to stop Ford making that smug face, but his skin really stung…

He took the tube.

“Better now?” Ford said, annoyingly smug. Stan poked his tongue out. “Very mature, Stanley.”

“I’m not the adult! I’m not supposed to be mature.”

“That’s very true.” Ford turned around in his chair and continued writing.

Once Stan was done covering his face in gross-looking gel he stretched up on his tiptoes to see what Ford was doing. The nerd had one of his journals and he was writing in a new entry, a bunch of crumpled-up pieces of paper littering the table. Even if Stan had been good at reading, he doubted he would be able to understand Ford’s loopy scribbles.

“Where’s Fidds?” Stan asked after a moment. Ford reached the end of the page and flipped over to a fresh one.

“He’s gone home to see his family. Now that Bill isn’t a threat anymore he wants to mend bridges, so to speak. I… also need to do that.”

Ford looked around to meet his eyes and ugh, he was going to say something sappy wasn’t he? Stan reached up to try and pull himself onto the desk, but he didn’t quite have the upper body strength and ended up kicking in the air. Ford sighed, brushed his journal to the side and lifted Stan into its place. He swung his legs awkwardly.

“…I have an apology to make.” Ford said eventually. Stan tilted his head. “Listen, Stanley. I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that I – well, I haven’t been fair to you. I let anger cloud my judgment for years, I valued that anger more than my own brother. I’m sorry.” Ford lifted a head to rub at his neck, eyes darting around the room but never landing on Stan’s face. “We’ve both made mistakes, obviously, and neither of us is without blame, but… ugh, that’s not how you apologize.” He seemed to pull himself together and try again. “What I’m saying is that I was unfair to you. I was hurt so I hurt you, and I think I may have ruined your life-”

Stan burst out laughing.

He didn’t mean to laugh, honest, but the sight of Ford’s nervous, sincere expression covered in green goo was just too much to handle. He tried to stifle his giggles with his hands, caught sight of Ford’s shocked face, and burst out laughing again so hard that his ribs hurt.

“I – this is funny to you? I’m trying to apologize-”

“No, it’s not that!” The hurt in Ford’s voice made everything a little less funny. Stan opened his mouth to explain, choked on his own spit and went into a coughing fit. It turns out, it’s hard to speak when you’re hacking your lungs up. Ford seemed to take pity on him and thumped him on the back until Stan could breathe again. “It’s just-” Another cough. “You look so funny, Poindexter.”

Ford’s eyebrows furrowed, and Stan pointed at his own green face to demonstrate.

“We look like ogres and you’re choosing now to be all sappy and sorry. I mean, you gotta see that it’s a bit funny.”

“…I suppose.” The corner of Ford’s mouth lifted and he didn’t look mad, so Stan took that as a win. He paused, trying to understand everything that Ford had just thrown at him. Most of it was just confusing, and Ford really seemed to have decide that the weird dreams were memories even though Stan didn’t get most of them. He wasn’t dumb though. That science fair thing actually had happened, with Stan ruining Ford’s project and getting kicked out. Reaching out to his brother and having the curtains being closed in his face – that had really happened.

As for the rest, all those dark and depressing ones, he kinda hoped they were just dreams. If they weren’t, if they were real, he wasn’t sure he wanted to live through them.

…no, wait. He already had lived through them, hadn’t he? He just couldn’t remember it. Because these were memories he’d lost and was getting back, Ford said so. Stan wondered what kind of person he’d ended up being. Probably cool and badass. With a sword. No, knuckledusters, those were way cooler! And maybe an eyepatch.

He got the sense that a grown-up him with all those memories and experiences would be angrier, but he couldn’t imagine any version of himself turning their back on their brother.

“I mean, I don’t think you ruined my life.” Stan reasoned, making Ford blink. “It was Pa that kicked me out, right?”

“But it was my fault-”

“And probably mine too. I make plenty of mistakes. You remember that time I kinda accidentally stole Pa’s medallion because I broke the case and panicked?”

Ford let out a little laugh. Stan reached out to punch him in the shoulder.

“Look, I dunno, I’m a kid. You gotta talk to grown-up me. But I’ll always forgive ya, Ford. Otherwise I’d be a hip-oh-crit.”

“The word is ‘hypocrite’.” Ford muttered quietly, and Stan could have sworn his brother’s eyes were pink and shiny. He decided to be very cool and nice and not mention it.

“But!” Stan pointed a finger at Ford’s nose and the man went cross-eyed looking at it. “I’m still mad about you being a jerk. You gotta make up for that.”

“…what do you want me to do?”

Hm. Stan hadn’t thought this far ahead. He paused as he thought. “You have to… take me on an adventure! And I get to ride on your shoulders and be tall whenever I want.”

Ford opened his mouth to argue, and then closed it again. Stan fist-pumped triumphantly.

“Yes! No takebacks! I wanna go beat up those unicorns!”

“Sure, Stan.” Ford let out a long-suffering sigh, but not the serious kind – the joking kind that meant he was having fun. It felt nice. It felt like coming home.

#fic #my fic #gravity falls #the stans #rewind #chapter 10

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munamania · 4 years

Text

happy hawkins holiday hiatus to @mikewheelerthepaladin !! here’s a lighthearted fic + a playlist of songs i listened to a lot while writing, i hope you enjoy 🥳

& a big thank you to @sevensided for putting this together, it’s been super fun <3

It’s the first time he’s been in over a year, really, but he’d entertained the thought of asking Will over the summer, for one last challenge before he left. It never happened, everything went by too fast; and, honestly, Mike didn’t know how to talk to him with the goddamn weight of everything - hi, we’ve barely spoken in the last year and we just almost died, again, and now you’re moving away forever - wanna hang out?

It’d never been that hard.

And it sucked. The whole thing. Now that Will is gone, it gnaws at him daily that they could have had more time together. Or a proper goodbye, at least. Instead, he spent a lot of time last summer sitting around, figuring out how to approach El and his feelings toward her, and most of all, alone.

But now the Byers are coming home for Christmas. And staying with The Wheelers, on top of it all.

So, seeking some sort of cryptic universal answer to his life problems, Mike returns to the place of a lot of younger memories, of crowding around machines with Lucas and Dustin and Will, a conglomeration of shouting and booing and cheering when one of them topped a high score, of frantically patting down their pockets for a few extra coins.

All of these wistful memories come to halt, however, when he finds a familiar redhead occupying one of their favorite games.

Max glances at him through the screen. “What do you want?”

“Uh, to play?” Honestly, he doesn’t care; he’s not sure he could focus enough to win much anyway. “Kicking your ass would be a plus.”

“Yeah, as if.” Her gaze fixes back on the colorful pixels dancing in front of her face.

Okay, well, she’s not moving anytime soon. He could probably just walk away, but a part of him wants company, even if it’s from someone hellbent on disagreeing with him.

Even when the Party hangs out now, Mike finds himself bickering with Max over what movies to see, where to eat, nearly anything, even when he doesn’t really give a shit. It’s the principle of the thing, and she gets under his skin.

Maybe it’s a good thing.

Mike sighs, leans against one of the neighboring games, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I don’t really know why I’m here.”

“Well, if you’re looking for me to throw pity money at you, it’s not happening.” After a beat, and losing the level, she kicks at the machine and turns to him. “Now look what you made me do. All your moping and talking - I could’ve beaten that if you would just leave me alone.”

He offers a quarter.

“Forget it.”

“I’ll buy you a pop, then.” She glares at him. “Seriously, okay, this is the first and only olive branch. Take it or leave it.”

After a moment of scowling at him, her arms folded, she slowly concedes, a smug look taking over. “Okay. I’ll take it, Wheeler.”

“So, you’re stalking me at the arcade because… of nothing?”

Mike presses his lips into a line. “I’m not stalking you,” he says, “and it’s not - it’s not nothing. I was gonna ask Lucas or Dustin to come, but… I felt like I needed to be here alone.”

Max sips on her drink. “That didn’t work out.”

“Guess not.”

“So you did need to talk to someone.”

“Guess so.”

God, this is borderline painful. Sitting in a shoddy little booth across from Max, whom he never once intended to have a heart-to-heart with, is a new level of desperation. But here they are.

With the most grandiose sigh he’s ever heard in his life, Max straightens in her chair. “Well, I don’t love giving advice to annoying teenage boys, but I’ve been told I’m good at it. Advice, you know.”

Mike raises an eyebrow. “Was it El who said that, by chance?”

“Bite me.”

Amused, Mike smiles, and he slides the near-empty cup between his hands like a little game, something else to focus on. “Okay, fine, give me some advice.”

Max frowns at him like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. “Maybe give me a situation to work with?” She mutters something under her breath that he doesn’t bother with.

“Well, the Byers are coming home and staying with us, and I wanted to come up with something really nice to do, you know. I know that they’re really nervous because it’s… the holidays have been rough, the past few years.” He finishes his drink and stares at the lid. “They almost refused. So, I dunno, I figured I could do something to make them feel like it’s still home.”

“Oh,” Max nods, finally breaking into a slight smile, “well, cool, you could set up something really romantic for El! She’d love it.”

Right. The girlfriend.

He had no clue where the hell they left things when the Byers moved. About a month ago, Mike called to tell her the distance was confusing and they might need to take a break. He figured she would’ve told Max because, from his understanding, they spoke on the phone on an almost daily basis.

“Sure - yeah, yeah, that’s - it’s a good idea. For sure.”

Max falls back into a confused squint. “Was there something else you had in mind?”

Mike isn’t sure how to get it out without sounding like a total airhead. So he copes with it the best way he can. “You know what, this was dumb. I’ll figure it out myself.” He grabs his jacket and stands to leave.

“No, no, Mike - I want to help.” She’s looking up at him with a genuinely nice expression, holding out a hand to stop him from fully up and leaving. “I’m really good at this stuff, just let me know what I can do. No judgment. I swear.”

“I have to get home tonight anyway,” Mike says cautiously. “Told my mom I’d help with dinner.”

“Can I come over tomorrow?”

He frowns, and something digging at his stomach makes him respond with, “Why do you care?”

Max’s jaw sets. She stands up to meet his eye level and sets a look on him. “Even if I didn’t, even if I couldn’t care less about you, Mike, I care about El. And Will. And I want to be a part of their homecoming. So maybe you could figure out a way to not be a dick about it.” She snatches her drink cup and storms off from the table, leaving Mike to scramble after her with more apologies.

He’s gotta get better at this whole ‘girls’ thing.

He catches up to her outside. “Okay, listen - come over after school tomorrow. We can meet outside by the stairs.”

She barely turns to him, says, “Fine,” and then hops on her bike and rides away.

That’s how Mike ends up with Max in his basement, slowly walking and examining his things, but not touching any of them, thankfully.

It’s going alright, thus far. A part of him feels like he should reach out to Lucas and Dustin, too, since they’re also Will’s best friends. But something about this… works. He and Max can’t seem to stay entirely civil in each other’s company, but she gets something. And she hasn’t brought up El even once since yesterday.

“So, I’m gonna come up with a really cool campaign - well, I’ve been working on it, and I can tell you about it - “ Max lifts herself on tiptoe in his peripheral vision, “ - but anyway, we can pull an all-nighter, if everyone’s up for it, and make snacks and drinks and stuff, and we can have movies on for you guys, and I thought I might even look for some costumes because I really think Will would get a kick out of it. I can put lights up, too - “

“You draw?”

Max’s back is to him, as she’s looking over his wall of posters and pinned pictures. As he steps closer, he realizes her eyes are fixed on a sketch that definitely bears some resemblance to him.

“No, Will sent me those,” he says quickly, not wanting to seem like a giant narcissist, because Will’s drawing is - how can he say it - beautiful. “He’s been using charcoal a lot recently, he told me he got some new art stuff. I think he wants to send one of all of us.”

Max turns to him, and he can’t tell if she’s tearing up for some reason, but she quickly wipes any sign of tears away. “That’s so neat,” is all she says at first. There’s a small silence between them, and she’s just looking at him, and he has no idea what the hell he should say. “He’s such a good person,” she adds quietly, “I wish I got the chance to really know him.”

Mike’s breath hitches for a few seconds. “Yeah. I mean, he mentioned hanging out with you a few times.”

A smile lifts the girl’s cheeks. “Yeah, to bitch about you, mostly.”

“Hey!” he protests, but he can’t help but smile too, this time. This might just be their most pleasant interaction to date. “He never mentioned that.”

“I don’t know how he could, all you freakin’ do is talk.”

“Whatever.” Mike messes with some Christmas crafts on the table, holding them up in his vision to see where they might fit in the basement. He clears his throat. “You know, El and I, uh - we split.”

Max nods slowly. “She said you guys don’t call much.”

“No, we didn’t. I mean, I don’t even call Will, we just write.” He leans against the table, eyes glazing over as he looks over years of memories, dorky craft nights, and shitty school projects that he or his mom made a point to keep. “It’s too hard to talk - to either of them, you know. I didn’t think I could hear their voices without…”

Max cuts him off. “I get it.” She crosses over to the table, helping him pull apart old paper snowflakes. “I’m just the opposite. I’m scared if I don’t talk to them, I’ll convince myself it was all fake. And maybe it’d be for the better, but I’m glad I knew them. Even if only for a little while.”

Mike bites down on his lips, attempting to bury all the emotion threatening to spew out of him. “Yeah.”

Max finally looks up at him, and though they seem to have shared a moment, she snaps back out of it. “All offense, Mike, these are ugly as shit. I’m helping you make new ones, okay?”

“It’s for the memory!”

“No more living in the past.” She raises her eyebrows at him, and he pinches his face in annoyance, so she says, “Okay, you can put them up, in like, little corners, but we’re making new ones. Surprise. Work with me here, Michael.”

“It’s my basement, Max.”

“Did you or did you not ask for my help?”

Mike blinks. “Not really.”

She throws a crafty paper star at him. “Shut up, you’re glad I’m here.”

He shakes his head and moves on, but though he may never admit it, a part of him really is glad.

Weeks pass in what feels like a span of days or maybe hours, with Mike and Max sorting out their surprise plans with a typical amount of bickering - but hey, they get it done. Max has lots of opinions about decorations and music that make Mike roll his eyes, but she’s got a good eye and she offers to help with baking, which is not a strong suit of his. Yes, they throw a lot of streamers at each other, and threaten to storm out every other hour, but it gets done.

And the day is finally here.

Mike pulls himself into his best festive sweater and eyes himself in the mirror. He messes with his hair, though the long, wavy curls never seem to fall exactly into place - maybe growing it out was a mistake - and tugs at the creases of his sweater, letting out a huffy breath. None of it is working with him. When he can’t stand looking at himself anymore, he dashes down to the kitchen to help his mom with desserts.

She smiles when he plops into a seat. “You okay, honey? You seem a little tense.”

Mike jolts. “Uh, yeah, just excited.”

“Good! Joyce said the kids haven’t stopped talking about the trip for weeks.”

Great. “I hope we live up to the hype.”

“Oh, Mike. You know you don’t have to try that hard.” Karen stops frosting for a moment to look at him. “Will’s your best friend. El is excited to see you,” she nudges at him, and he coughs out a nervous laugh, “and Joyce thinks you’re an angel-”

“God, mom-”

“I’m serious. Don’t worry so much.” She leans forward on her forearms. “I know you think every problem in the world is on you, but it’s not. It’s enough just to be around the people you love. If anything, you’ve gone overboard.”

Overboard. Hopefully, it’s not too much.

Finally, he caves, exhaling slowly with a simple, “Okay.” He stays beside her, tapping his fingers, and eventually ruining a gingerbread man’s face until she notices and smacks his hand away.

There’s a knock on the door, and while Mike hops to his feet, his mother calls out, “Come in!” earning a panicked look from him. She mouths, ‘Chill,’ but he still half-jogs to the door and throws it open.

Nancy calls down the stairs, “Who is it?”

It’s Max, brandishing a few small wrapped gifts.

“Hello, sunshine,” she says. After a moment, “It’s great to see you too, Michael, allow me to invite myself in.”

“It’s just Max,” Mike calls back. He steps aside, and Max brushes past him, dropping her gifts by their tree and running into the kitchen.

“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler!”

“Hey, Max, Merry Christmas!”

Mike’s mom seemed to think Max was one of the most charming people on the planet, something they frequently disagreed on, but he can’t be mad at their pleasant chatter right now.

Especially not when the next knock comes so soon.

Probably just Lucas and Dustin, dragging their feet as usual.

Mike opens the door, prepared with a quippy remark for his friends, but his stomach drops immediately.

It’s Will. Holding a bunch of luggage.

Mike is caught up in everything about him. He’s taller. New, floppy hair, tousled and messy in the biting snowy winds. His forearms exposed as his bags push against his jacket. Will.

The boy smiles at him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Mike manages.

Will looks past him with a tiny wave, and Mike turns to see Max beaming and waving back, and then Max slips back into the kitchen and Will returns his gaze to Mike. “Can I come in?”

“Hey, Mike!” Joyce interrupts from the car, straining to grab something in the backseat. “Merry Christmas, honey!”

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Byers!” Mike, finally catching up his brain-to-movement reactions, moves to let Will in. “Yeah, come in. I’m gonna, uh, go help your mom.”

“Cool.”

He immediately forgets why he’s moved and attempts to step out as Will crosses the threshold, almost knocking him over, so Mike grabs his arms to stabilize with a, “Sorry - uh - whoops, haha, don’t fall,” and Will chuckles and shifts a bag to his shoulder, saying, “It’s alright,” and Mike spends his walk to the Byers’ car trying not to curse himself out.

“Oh, Mike, thank you, sweetie,” Joyce grunts, pulling a heavy tote bag from the floor of the car. “Can you carry this?” Mike nods and takes it from her easily, offering his arms out for extra luggage. Together, with Jonathan, who greets him with a, “Merry Christmas, man,” they manage to get everything inside in one trip. Mike hardly notices El rummaging through the trunk until she comes stumbling along with a basket full of gifts.

Finally, they’re all inside, and only a beat goes by before Nancy comes bounding down the stairs to greet Jonathan, and Joyce is grinning around at everybody, and then Karen rushes in from the kitchen with excited greetings.

“It is so good to see you,” Joyce says, opening her arms up to Mike for a hug. “You’ve grown so much-'' she looks at Karen and mutters, “-so much-” then looks back at Mike. “We’ve missed you all.”

“I’ve missed you guys too,” Mike says, “I’m glad you decided to come.”

“We couldn’t miss it. Figured it’s best that we’re together, you know.” Her expression falters, but she takes a breath and carries on with moving bags and ‘Merry Christmases.’

Joyce and his mom wind up chattering, and Karen takes off her apron to help transfer some luggage to the spare room. Nancy takes Jonathan’s hand and heads upstairs, grabbing one of his bags from the ground.

Will seems to have disappeared into the kitchen with Max, leaving his things behind, so it’s just Mike and El.

Mike takes in a deep breath.

It wasn’t an ugly breakup; honestly, El seemed unfazed. Their calls were little more than small talk about their days, most of the time, and even though he thought they might hold onto their past, everything they’d been through… it seemed to work best that they didn’t.

“Hey, Merry Christmas.”

El smiles easily. “Merry Christmas, Mike.” She lifts the basket slightly for acknowledgment. “Can these go by the tree?”

“Yeah, yeah, go for it.”

El nods and slips by the couch over to the tree, carefully laying out the gifts. After a few moments of Mike awkwardly leaning against the couch arm, thinking up something to say - thank god she didn’t seem too focused on him - Max walks in, her mouth stuffed with a truffle.

“El!” She darts over to the tree, and El jumps up, eyes bright, immediately throwing her arms around the girl’s shoulders. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” El giggles. “I brought you a gift.”

“You too. I can’t wait for you to see it. But first, you have to try one of these sweets Mrs. Wheeler’s making. They’re like frickin’ heaven.” She holds out the last bite of her own, and El takes it from her hand, eyes lighting up mischievously as she bites into it.

“It’s amazing.”

“I know. I think we should go sample some of the others.”

Mike calls out to their backs, “You guys better leave some for later on,” and in response, hears Max mimic him. He rolls his eyes and stands up from the couch.

And then it’s just him and Will, who’s beaming at him, seemingly amused by their banter.

Okay, Mike, now or never. “Uh, I’ll show you downstairs.”

“We’re not staying in your room?” Will asks simply, crossing over to retrieve his duffel bag.

“We totally can, I just have something I wanted to show you.”

Will nods. “Oh, okay, cool.”

Mike assists with a smaller bag and leads him to the basement door; before he runs down the stairs, he catches Max’s eye, and she gives him a thumbs up and mouths, ‘You got this.’ Deep breaths. At that moment, he’s incredibly thankful for her presence.

He watches as Will follows him down, slower, glancing around at the familiar surroundings. His eyes catch on everything Mike and Max put together over the past few weeks, and his footsteps grow slower as he takes it all in.

Streamers of all festive colors and off-balance fairy lights hang along the corners of the basement, phrases of ‘Welcome home,’ hand-cut and pasted on the front wall; at the table, a game mat and figures sit in wait, silly hats placed in front each chair; even the TV is prepared with a Santa hat, the couch covered in blankets and pillows, a few sleeping bags folded on the floor.

“Mike,” Will says quietly, stepping in a small circle, “what is all this?”

“Your homecoming party.” Mike is all jitters; he leans against the wall and shoves his hands in his pockets to disguise any visible shakes. “You like it?”

Will finally looks straight at him, an indiscernible look painted on his face. “Yeah,” he says, nodding rapidly, “yeah, it’s great - but we, uh,” he swallows and shakes his head, “we don’t, um, have to play D&D. I mean-”

“I don’t know, Will,” he ventures to step away from the wall, taking slow steps over to the table. Will follows every move. “I mean, I was really excited to have you back, even just for a little bit. We all were.” He reaches the table and leans back on his hands. “Figured having our cleric back warranted some festivities.”

Will shakes his head, runs his hands along his face, and turns away. The bit of confidence Mike has slowly starts to trickle.

“Is it okay?”

Will shakes out of his stupor and chuckles. “It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. You’ve truly outdone yourself, Michael.” He lifts himself on tiptoe to look at decorations on top of Mike’s shelves. “Are these from our big craft night, like, years ago?”

The horrible crayon work makes Mike smile - they made half of the snowmen evil, citing a Great Abominable Snowman War, and gave them wicked frowns and smiles, claws on their stick hands. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you kept them.”

“I keep everything.” An awkward chuckle breaks from his chest. “Not everything, like, a hoarder or whatever, but - “

Will simply smiles and pushes himself forward toward the back wall, brushing past Mike, to his different pinups. He fixates on the sketch of Mike that he’d sent about a month back. “You know, you should probably take this down. I don’t think you’ll hear the end of it from Lucas and Dustin if you don’t.”

“Screw ‘em.”

“Right.” Will quirks his eyebrow and moves to sit in his designated chair, right next to where Mike is currently resting. “So, they know about D&D?”

“They know.” Mike smiles, and looks at the floor, right where their legs brush up against each other. “They seem pretty excited to have the party back together. To remind you of how badass your first one was,” he adds.

Will peers up at him for a moment before quietly saying, “I never joined another one.” Mike meets his eye for a moment, then, threatened by the silence that follows, clears his throat and distracts himself with a particularly interesting notch in the wood paneling. “Did you guys find someone else?”

“No, no,” Mike assures him. “We haven’t touched any of this stuff. It’s not the same.”

A silence settles between them, one that neither seems to know how to navigate. But Will keeps his gaze steady on Mike, trying to breach some barrier, to fall back into their usual ways.

Something is different, though; it’s not uncomfortable, it never could be, but it’s something intimidating. Will seems more comfortable, at least; he’s not shying away from anything Mike throws at him.

And he tries to break the silence first. “Y’know - “

“Will,” Mike cuts him off, and he’s not sure what he’s saying, or where he’s going with it, but he knows he’s supposed to say this. His name. “I need you to know that I missed you.”

Will blinks at him, cocks his head. “I missed you too,” he says matter-of-factly.

The words are eating at him, right there on the edge of his mind, and Will looks almost concerned and now Mike just wants to drop it because that’s not what he wanted. But he can’t, not now. “I missed you the most.” It sounds so juvenile. “More than everyone else. I missed you before you even left. I just didn’t know how to say it.” He breathes in and out, focusing on Will’s cheeks, the tip of his nose, anything but his eyes. When Will doesn’t say anything, the rest just spills. “I missed you when our first first day of school apart came and passed, and I didn’t even call. I missed you at homecoming. And,” he licks his lips, not really sure where his speech is heading, “I know you had to go, it’s fine. We’ll figure it out. But I feel like we haven’t been on the same page in a long time. So, I missed you, and I love you, and that’s that.”

Will looks at him funny, and then his face softens into something like laughter, and Mike is genuinely about to run and throw up somewhere, but then the boy closes his eyes and says, “I love you too.”

Mike blanches. “I don’t think I said that.”

“Oh, you definitely did.”

“Oh,” he nods, mind spinning, “well, you know…”

Will stands to be at Mike’s level, leans forward on his knees. Mike stops breathing. “I do,” he says, “but tell me again.”

Mike swallows down a breath of courage and suggests, “I think I might like you.” His eyes flit to Will’s lips, then back to his eyes. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll allow it,” Will says, a bright smile causing lines near his eyes. Mike smacks at his arm, nervous laughter coming out with a quiet, ‘Shut up.’ Will moves so he’s resting his fingertips on the table. Inches away.

“Same page, then?” Mike asks.

“Same page, yeah, for sure.”

Mike nods absently, distracting himself with the strings on Will’s sweatshirt. “So I don’t sound crazy?”

Will laughs. “I dunno. I always counted on us going crazy together. Figured we might have a few extra years, but hey, I’m all in.”

And then Mike is flashed back to a night on his couch just over a year ago. Knees knocking together, shared smiles. A promise.

So much has changed.

He wants to know what Will meant. A future of being in each other’s lives, maybe, getting old and senile and batshit crazy. Always being there.

He never dared to think about it before.

“So what now?”

Will shrugs. He dips his head to meet Mike’s eyes with his own. “What do you want, Mike?”

And finally, he thinks he might know.

Or maybe he’s always known.

He scoots forward, takes Will’s face in his hands, and kisses him. It’s just a quick press of their lips, but in that moment, he knows a few things for sure. His heartbeat is going a mile a minute, and Will must be able to feel it; it’s absolutely exhilarating, surreal, insane that he’s kissing his best friend; and, he is definitely in like, or maybe love, with Will Byers.

He’ll probably love him forever.

When Mike pulls back and his eyes flutter open to see Will, flushed, blinking back at him, slightly dazed, he doesn’t want to pull away at all. He did that. Mike’s hand remains on his jaw, lax, and he runs his thumb along Will’s bottom lip, curious to see his reaction, curious about a lot, now.

Will lets out a breathy chuckle. “Wow,” he mumbles, “that’s new.”

“Yeah.” Mike exhales shakily, takes one of Will’s hands, and says, “Merry Christmas, Will.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas.”

The world doesn’t seem to fall apart like Mike thought it might if he ever got to this point, so, that’s nice.

“So…” Mike begins carefully, “you’re gonna have to be slow with me here. This is sort of a lot for me.”

“Me too,” Will replies simply. He squeezes Mike’s hand. “But we’ll figure it out.”

“Totally.”

Will takes his cheeks in his hands and smiles into a very gentle kiss, his fingers curling into the hair at the nape of Mike’s neck. It’s soft and sweet and lingering - but not for too long, as moments later the door upstairs busts open and shouts of, “BYERS!” from their dear friends sound through the air, and Mike and Will jump apart, equally startled and laughing.

“Down here!” Will calls out. He looks at Mike, smiles, offers, “To be continued?” and as he walks past, he leans in, just to leave a quick peck on Mike’s cheek.

And all Mike can do is laugh and shake his head and run after him to meet their friends; Lucas and Dustin are horribly late to the surprise, but they collide into Will the second they see him, shouting over each other, ‘What’s going on, dude?’ ‘Merry Christmas!’ ‘You’ve missed so much,’ and everyone is grinning and chattering, and it’s awesome.

Max approaches him, watching all of the madness, smacks a hand to his shoulder, and says, “You did good, Wheeler.”

“Yeah, I did.” She punches his arm lightly, laughing, so he adds, “thank you for everything. Seriously.”

“I think we should work together more often.”

Mike scoffs into a laugh, and says, “Yeah, guess so.”

Max rolls her eyes, but at least now they’re actually laughing in each other's company. It’s great progress from just a few weeks ago.

After a minute of watching the boy’s shenanigans, Max smiles. “Well, Merry Christmas, anyway.”

“Merry Christmas,” he responds, and he watches as she jumps up onto a kitchen stool, chatting and giggling with El.

With everyone back together again, finally, Mike feels really alive; so, he jumps in with all the excited shouting and group hugs and bickering, and celebrates the merriest Christmas he can remember in a long time.

#stranger things #hawkinsholidayhiatus #tuserjake #byler #byeler #mike wheeler #will byers #fanfiction #playlist #ik it might be a lil cheesy/dorky BUT i hope it makes u smile it was written w a lot of love <3 #mine

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Note

congrats you angel, you deserve all the love and praise for your writing bc holy shit you’re so talented!!! for the soulmate au celebration, i’m thinking either javi or jack (your choice bc i can’t choose) with the soulmate goose of enforcement au 💕 ik it’s a bizarre au but the potential for chaos is insane 😂 anyways ily and i hope you’re having a great day honey

...not me, having JUST reread your javi/jack fic, considering both... definitely me

Anyway, thank you, jj, you absolute gem of a human. I swear I had to turn up the fan reading this I got so flustered. I hope you have a great day too! And I hope you enjoy- I had to do a little research, and made it shorter than I wanted to, so hopefully it fills your chaos cup still! (You'll understand, and hopefully forgive my delay when you see what's under the cut :) )

wordcount: 2.5k

warnings: strong language, lil angst with happy endings all around. mild menace meeting menace shenanigans

Okay this is written as pt 1 Jav, pt 1 Jack, pt 2 Jav, pt 2 Jack, bonus pt 3. If you’re only in it for one of the boys, it makes reading a bit weird, but I liked the format for the whole thing. Sorry!

Javier wanted to hit it with a bat. Or a car. Or anything. All that mattered is that maybe then it would leave him the fuck alone. Of all the stupid, infuriating, ridiculous guides the universe could have given him to find his other half, he was sure this was the worst. Rumor was, he couldn't even kill it if he tried.

It's not that he didn't want to find his soulmate, but he... well, he didn't want to find his soulmate.

There were all sorts of excuses to spout - work, obviously a priority, inconvenience, not wanting to give up his way of life. Not to mention following a damn goose was an impossible task, plus the fact that the stupid thing didn't even like him.

It would appear seemingly at random, honking insistently or flapping erratically, and then be gone before anyone else could bat an eye. To say that he had become increasingly irritated would have been a huge understatement.

The truth of it was that Javier was afraid. No one in the world liked to feel like they were being controlled. People liked to know what was going on, and this just didn't fit the bill. He didn't like that he didn't know you, couldn't be chosen, by you.

His life was already complicated enough - messy enough - that a soulmate would only make it worse. He had made it this long, this far without needing one, so he was fine without, thank you very much. Even to himself, his lie sounded okay.

It was hard to face, the idea that there was someone out there, a relationship that he couldn't have control over. And someone who would love him unconditionally? Terrifying.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed to do nothing, because it seemed like every direction he turned there was a goose from hell wreaking havoc on his life.

They had reached an impasse - glowering at each other as it had planted itself in front of his door. Little feet pacing angrily, unreasonably long neck, all of it was just begging to be kicked. Except, for all he was a seasoned DEA agent, Javier was almost afraid the thing could go a few rounds with him. Feet shuffling uneasily, his hand twitched for his gun, even though he knew he couldn’t, wouldn’t shoot.

It was stupid to have a staring contest with a goose. And even more stupid that the goose won .

Javier turned away, spitting spanish curses in a stream that would make his mama smack him. Maybe it wasn't too late to find a hookup he could use to crash, he was thinking, and that thought was apparently the final straw. The goose reappeared in front of him.

Hissing.

More curses, a quick turn on his heel. This time, it didn't move in front of him, it left a sharp peck on his calf, before dodging his kick.

It was herding him, against his will, to you.

When he saw the goose, Jack thought he was delirious. The Statesman lab must've screwed something up because he'd seen that horrible, wonderful, stupid goose once before, in another life.

And he never, ever thought he'd see it again.

He did a lot of thinking, that night and the next day and the next. Strangely, he did a lot of feeling, too, noticing how light his shoulders felt, how kind the ache on his heart had become. He visited their grave, pressed his forehead to the headstone, and breathed some deep breaths.

And when he saw the goose again, he lassoed it.

It wouldn't have died even if it was powered up, but he didn't take the chance, determination and longing filling his being like blood, pumping through his heart to each and every part of him.

Miracle of miracles, it let him, with all the glare a bird could give. Knees only making small pops, Jack settled on his heels, looking at it sternly.

"Can you take me to them?"

The expression on it's tiny, smug face didn't change, but it also didn't disappear to free itself, so he waited.

And he waited. And waited. And eventually, watching it with half an eye, he grabbed a doughnut and offered it to the stupid soulmate goose god.

It considered the doughnut, pecked it as Jack yanked his fingers out of reach, and apparently accepted. After it was finished, it began to tug him along, waddling on its makeshift leash as Jack's heart leapt into his throat. He grabbed the bag of doughnuts and his hat before getting dragged along, to you.

At his very core, Javier was a man driven by his personal sense of justice. Being herded by an immortal goose of mischief was unfair, it made no sense that he had to find you, somehow needed more, and wasn't allowed to choose. It pecked and honked and bullied him all the way to a crowded bar, which was a perfect example.

Just as he was thinking, trying to convince himself he would've come here on his own, it disappeared again and he sighed.

He needed a drink. And, he needed to make some of his own goddamn decisions. Defiance and determination, he told himself. Not stubbornness. There was nothing to prove, it was just defiance and determination, to take his fate into his own hands and make his own choices. And if he was going to do that, he wanted to look for someone who wasn't an informant or a one night stand. His gut was looking for someone he could pull to his side and to show the universe that the goose was right to give up on him.

You were a perfect fit. Slightly disgruntled for whatever reason, even through the crowd he could see the faint, telltale wrinkles of someone just as... determined as he was. Shoulders held the same defiance he was so proud of, and he would be lying if he wasn't physically drawn to you as well. The inconsistent lighting could make anyone look good if you wanted it enough, but you... were something else.

There was a line of pink neon reflection from the top of your ear, across your cheekbone, and just grazing the line of your upper lip as you looked thoughtfully at something he couldn't see. Javier thought he wouldn't mind tracing that path with his fingers, and then maybe his own mouth, and his feet were already carrying him to you to look for an open door. The rest of your form came into view, and Javier noticed the bass of the music was turned up a little bit more than necessary- he could feel it thumping in his bones.

Talking to you went smoother than maybe it ever had before. You seemed resigned, at first, which was a reaction that caught him off guard, and that combined with the weariness of his week, making him unusually candid. In turn, you opened up to him like a flower turning towards the sun, fun and thoughtful and refreshing.

He liked the way you laughed when his lines came out a little awkwardly - open and appreciative, and it made his chest puff out a little. He liked the way you spoke, too. There was kindness and romance in your soul, just whispering at the edges of the words, and while he didn’t pick up on that, per se, they made him feel special, handsome, worthy, but also trusted and comfortable and safe. Neither of you noticed at first, that you had shuffled into a quiet corner of the bar, that his body had moved close, a gentle shield boxing the two of you into your own little world.

When the question came - what brought you here, anyway? - he found himself answering honestly about half being led by his guide, then wanting to make his own path. His confidence faltered at your quiet laugh. His heart ached. A glance at the clock told him it had been two hours since he'd found you, and already he wanted to... choose you. To have you choose him.

He felt stupid that he had confessed so soon, but...

Oh, you were kissing him. There were hands shooting off sparks into his soul against his chest and his jaw and you were kissing him. Javier kissed you back.

When you pulled away, his mouth chased yours, not ready to give up the contact so soon, but you stopped him, laughing again.

"I have a confession," you whispered, and he paused.

“My guide led me here, too. I thought when it gave up on me when I saw you,” your next kiss was more chaste, “I think we got tricked.” Noticing he liked the feel of you in his arms, even if he didn’t remember pulling you there, he tightened his hold.

Javier felt light, understanding your laughter, and blissfully unafraid. “No,” he said, knowing already you’d understand him.

“I chose you.”

Jack was running out of doughnuts. It was easier, safer to have the dumb bird half hog-tied, but he still didn’t feel any closer to you, just halfway across town. He dug in his boots and sunk onto a bench, yanking the goose to a stop, too annoyed to beg for a break.

He wasn’t giving up and running away, absolutely not, he was just... running out of options. Or, doughnuts. And breath. If this pace kept up, he wouldn’t be able to tell you all the things he had planned out in his head.

Eyelids closing against the southern sun, he let out a long, slow sigh. His heart was still racing, and he wondered if he was really as ready as he wanted to be, to meet his next soulmate. A sturdier inhale grounded him. He was ready, he knew he was. Whoever you were, you had to have the patience of a saint - it would be alright, he just needed a breath. The ground under his boots was sturdy, the breeze over his skin cooling, and the goose was mercifully quiet.

“That’s one strange lookin dog you have there, cowboy,” The voice was teasing, but not malicious, and he grinned, eyes still closed.

“She’s a purebred,” he replied, and he heard a huff of laughter like the first few notes of music. Waiting for your footsteps to carry you away, he savored the moment, feeling silly as he hoped his soulmate would like to laugh as much as he did.

There was a weight on the other side of the bench, and he wondered at it, as you said, “Want to talk about it?” His smile was softer, this time, intrigued by the moment, but not wanting to be tempted into flirting, not when his soulmate was on the horizon.

“Nothin to tell,” he replied, feeling suddenly strange. Jack opened his eyes, looking at the rope in his hands, feeling the fibers run through his fingers. “Just a free range chicken... taking a break from tryin to chase down my second soulmate.” He winced, definitely not wanting to look at you, after the second had slipped out.

It wasn’t judging, though, the voice that said, “You seem like you want to talk about it.”

For once in his life, Jack didn’t know what to say, slipping off his hat to run his fingers through his hair before replacing it. He heard your half-laugh again, and it felt refreshing, like sweet tea on a southern summer day.

“Okay,” you said, and he heard amusement this time, like you had something to say, some thought you were chewing on.

Then, there was that terrible honk of the goose, not from his feet, but from where, assumedly, you were. Snapping his gaze to the other side of his bench, he saw a sight for sore eyes, half backlit, glowing like something he never thought he’d see.

There was an indignant goose in a cage at your ankles, now making grumbling bird noises in indignant conversation with the one at the end of his lasso.

“I thought you were never gonna look at me,” Your arm was across the back of the bench as you grinned at dynamite smile at him.

Jack returned it, feeling bashful and eager, dropping the rope to grab your closest hand.

“I promise I aint making that mistake again, sugar.”

bonus ending:

Jack was clinging to your hand, grinning like a fool as you introduced yourselves, when another movement caught his eye. There was a man, walking up behind you, a resigned look on his face. Whiskey’s hackles should have been all the way up, yanking you into his arms at the way this man was approaching you, but instead he was dumbfounded for the second time that day.

He was backlit, too, with shoulders that carried as much weight as the man in his mirror every morning, and he could see the shape of a gun as he knelt next to his soulmate. The stranger’s eyes when they looked at you... were as adoring as he was sure his must have been, a moment before, and he was familiar with you, like you’d known each other before now. Jack wanted to swallow, but his heart felt like it was in his throat, beating like he’d gone a round with a bull at the rodeo.

“This is probably a lot,” Javier said, taking you other hand and quirking an eyebrow. The geese made some loud, obnoxious noises and he looked at them appreciatively. “I wish I had thought of that,” he gestured at the lasso, and you smiled at him.

“This is Javier,” you said, and you let go of them both to stand up and brush yourself off. Warm hands and strong grips were exchanged, and you watched them curiously as they shook, murmuring names and titles again. They were sizing each other up, certainly, but you felt a rush of relief as you saw a familiar spark of attraction in Javi’s eyes.

“You got any more surprises for us, then?” you looked up at the cowboy, confused, only to realize he wasn’t talking to you. The goose in your cage was free halfway down the walk, the one in the lasso hissed. The poor man had been an RV in an earthquake and come out the other side overwhelmed and happy, of all things, but there wasn’t much more he could handle. To your surprise, he grabbed a crumbled paper bag and tossed the contents to the bird, before it gave a final honk, and waddled after it’s friend.

“I guess that’s a no,” you said, suddenly shy at the fullness in your heart.

“That’s alright,” Jack picked up his lasso, before looking at you and Javier, his eyes happy, and glinting with something stronger. “I think this is more than enough.”

And you agreed.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179

for whiskey:

@0celestialbitch0

#why am I like this #did this get away from me?#yes #absolutely #soulmate requests #soulmate goose of enforcement #Javier Peña x reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack x you x javier #i guess thats a thing now #on this blog #don't ask me to write a part two or i swear #i'll probably do it #maybe i don't know people #also im a touch delirious sorry if this is as much of a fever dream for you as it is for me

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veinsandknuckles · 4 years

Text

Lessons, pt 2

Johnny Lawrence/f!Reader So I finished the fic but it got even longer and I’m too impatient to wait so... here’s pt 2 out of 3. I’ll clean it up tomorrow Content warnings: mild teacher/student dynamic, foreplay. Rated mature, explicit by the next chapter Johnny had you down on the mat in seconds with a grunt as his gut landed on your hip. Your head was spinning, you were out of breath and uncomfortably hot, especially around your cheeks and temples as the blush crept back across your features. He didn’t even bother to grip your wrists or snake his arm around your throat this time and that was heartbreaking. “God damn it,” he sighed. “You’re not even trying anymore.”

Every moment since you’d bowed to each other had been a blur of his heat against you, his breath tickling your neck and his cologne sticking to your clothes. His arms were as strong as they looked, you could tell as much even though he held almost everything back. You felt his critical stare rake across your body and his broad hands gripping, nudging, forcing you to move the way he wanted you to and his instructions, advice and even his increasing accusations of wasting his time were barely intelligible through the rush in your ears.

Why the hell hadn’t you planned for the next step? When you’d thought ahead about this evening, you’d mostly just pictured swelling music, him guessing what you were really after and one thing leading to another without any effort on your part. Or if not that, that you’d at least manage to convincingly play along while your mind was still stuck in the gutter.

“I’m sorry, sensei.”

Johnny’s eyes narrowed before he pulled himself up off the floor. He didn’t offer you a hand up this time.

“It’s just hard without being able to see what I’m supposed to do.”

“So, watch the mirrors.”

No thanks. You got up and brushed yourself off. “They’ll only show what I’m doing wrong.”

He snorted. “Not a bad place to start. I get that it’d be easier if you could watch a ‘demonstration’ or whatever, but I’d have to get someone else in here for that so... until then you could try to pay attention to what I’m saying.”

Johnny had been true to his word - he hadn’t broken character even once. It said something, and probably something pretty bad, that you didn’t want him to. Then you recalled the many times you’d seen Miguel returning from practice with a black eye or a limp and for the umpteenth time this evening, swallowed hard and relished the thought of heading for trouble.

“Yes, sensei.” You kept your voice meek but made sure to watch him in the mirror for a reaction. He did clear his throat, but if he liked hearing the honorific coming from you he kept a tight lid on it.

It really wasn’t fair that you couldn’t get him back when he made you weak with just a look.

“Right. Now, I’m gonna come up from behind again and try to grab you. Fight me off and get away, or you’re getting thrown onto the floor again.”

A smarter teacher wouldn’t reward failure. Either Johnny was as dumb as he looked or he really thought that you were...

“It’d be so much easier if we started with you in front of me.”

“Tell that to the guy who’s trying to jump you.” Your pleading look did nothing to change his mind - if anything, he looked as if he relished it. “Anyway, if I came at you from the front, your best move would be to kick me in the balls and I’m not doing that. Now. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sensei.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

He moved slowly this time and you waited until he snuck his arm around your front and gripped your wrist in his free hand. Even then, he still managed easily to hold you fast when you tried to slip away.

“Come on,” he growled. His lips were right by your ear and, predictably, what little strength you had left instantly drained from your limbs. If he hadn’t been able to see your reflection, you would have let your eyes roll back and just basked in the moment but somehow you managed to contain yourself with just a quickening breath. “I’m not even choking you, you’ve got both legs and one arm free. Hit me, stomp on my feet, get me off balance.”

You squirmed and landed a few elbows to his ribs, tried to get a foot behind one of his and all he did was sigh, move out of your way and replant his stance even firmer. “I don’t want to hurt you by accident,” you complained when he started to become impatient all over again.

“Yeah? How the fuck are you gonna hurt me by accident when you can’t even hurt me on purpose?” Your time must have been up because he forced one of your knees out, swept your other leg and sent you once more onto your back with a thud and no effort.

Before you could react, he had you pinned again with his legs over yours, his weight on your thighs and your hands above your head. And it happened - even after all this practice, this time when you let out a sound from the impact, you failed completely at hiding what you felt. You could have moaned like that if he was balls deep and still felt ashamed at how wanton it sounded.

It took a split second and all the self control you could muster not to shut your eyes, squirm or do anything else to express your embarrassment - your stomach might be sinking and your face might be burning but the only possible way to salvage this was to pretend nothing had happened and pray Johnny had gone temporarily deaf.

The only change to his features was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. All of this in the span of two heartbeats.

Maybe it had only sounded that bad to you because you knew what it meant. Pain, pleasure - it was all the same in the end, right?

“You don’t wanna end up here, do you?” he asked and sounded for all the world as though his mind was firmly on the lesson. You couldn’t look him in the eye. “If we’re down on the ground, you want to at least make sure you’re on top.” Debatable. “So, take control. It’s your move.”

Oh yeah, there had been instructions for this part. Your blank look betrayed you before you even had a chance to make up excuses, which was good since you couldn’t trust yourself to speak.

Johnny sat back and put his palms to his eyes. “Jesus.” After a moment’s consideration, instead of standing up, got off of you and lay down on his back. “I’m gonna give you one last chance to work with me. This time, you try and pin me down, I’ll pretend you have muscles and I’ll show you how to get loose.”

He lay sprawled with his wrists above his head, waiting for you to straddle him, hold him still and have him at your supposed mercy. His gi was disarrayed with all this tumbling around and one half of it was pulled aside, showing enough of his chest to make you more impatient than ever to see it bared completely. You would have to leave yourself exposed too, in more ways than one, just to reach across his body and when you glanced over into his eyes there was a spark there and a twisting of his lips that meant... well, at the very least an open challenge. You could meet it or you could lose your nerve and walk away.

“Well?” he asked. Johnny was grinning now and there wasn’t a doubt left in your mind - he’d heard you moan and wasn’t fooled. “Let me have it, I’m making it so easy for you.”

You swallowed. So, he knew. But how long had he known? Had he been playing dumb almost an entire hour, just to watch you squirm? The thought made you so annoyed it won out over your shyness.

“Right.” You got onto your knees. “You’re on, asshole.”

“Oh yeah, I’m in deep trouble.” His voice came out low and cracked, betraying some sincerity in his words. Johnny tried to compensate for it with a smile but the mood in the room was changed, the tension was too strong now and could only be dispelled one way.

#johnny lawrence x reader #johnny lawrence x you #johnny lawrence #cobra kai #johnny lawrence imagines #my fics

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phantasticworks · 4 years

Text

If You Don’t Love Me, Pretend - Chapter Twenty-One

guess who's back? back again? Another chapter of this story! Sorry for the wait, I've been busy with mental breakdowns, school, work, and some family matters. Thank you so much for being patient and waiting for this story, I'm so grateful for the support! Also... thank you to those of you who voted for this fic in any of the phanfiction awards categories. I am still beyond surprised and grateful for the love you guys have given this story, so thank you for that <3 <3 I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

read on ao3

Words: 14.4k

Summary: A lazy Saturday takes an... unexpected turn.

TW: This chapter explains in some detail the abuse/neglect the children experienced. Please read with caution. (If you would like to skip this, it is unmarked, but it is in the scene with Hazel. There will be a note at the end explaining the part of that conversation relevant to the plot going forward.)

Warnings for this chapter: swearing, mentions of abuse/neglect

Dan’s awoken, as he seems to be constantly these days, by the sound of a phone. It takes him a couple sleep-drunk moments to recognize that it’s not his alarm, or even his phone. For once it’s Phil’s phone buzzing on his nightstand, and after it doesn’t automatically stop ringing, Dan realizes he needs to intervene.

“Phil,” he mumbles, shifting around and trying to gather his bearings with his eyes still shut. “Phil, phone.”

“Yeah,” Phil mumbles back, his voice somewhere above Dan’s head.

Flailing his arm out from underneath the duvet leads to Dan realizing that he’s snuggled against Phil’s chest, with the older man’s arms wrapped around him in a loose embrace. “Answer the phone,” Dan whines, getting more and more irritated at the sound.

“I can’t, you’re on my arm,” Phil complains.

Sure enough, Dan feels Phil’s arm wiggle underneath his shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbles, rolling away enough for Phil to save his arm. As soon as he grabs the phone off the nightstand, he rolls onto his back to answer it, but holds his left arm out to Dan in invitation. Dan gladly takes the offer, crawling right back into Phil’s space and tucking his face against Phil’s neck.

“Stephanie, hi,” Phil greets, clearing his voice to try and sound more awake than what he clearly is.

Dan listens half-heartedly, his eyes drifting shut again as he waits for the call to end so they can both go back to sleep. That’s ripped right out of his grasp, though, as soon as he registers Phil’s side of the conversation.

“Again? Yeah. Okay, yeah. Tell him I’ll be there at nine. No, it’s alright, but just let him know I’ll be there soon.”

Dan whines at that. “Don’t go,” he pleads, his voice still thick with sleep. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Shh,” Phil whispers. “Sorry, not you, Stephanie. I was talking to my fiancé.” Phil sends him a very unamused look as Dan continues to complain about it. “Right. I’ll be there in an hour, thank you.”

He hangs up with a sigh, and Dan unashamedly hooks his thigh over Phil’s hip. “Don’t leave,” he begs, voice whiny.

Phil laughs quietly, his hand patting Dan’s thigh gently over the duvet. “I have to, bub.”

“I wanted to cuddle,” Dan pouts, glaring up at him. He knows he’s being childish. Phil’s a grown man with a job and responsibilities, but he’s also quite a good cuddler, and Dan’s selfish sometimes.

Phil kisses his hair. “We’ll cuddle so much when I get home this evening, alright? Like, so much.”

“Fine,” Dan agrees glumly. He closes his eyes again, resting his head above Phil’s heart.

“You need to let me up,” Phil murmurs after a few minutes, his fingers carding gently through Dan’s hair.

“If I don’t let you up, you can’t leave,” Dan informs him, the idea mumbled against Phil’s shirt.

Phil snorts. “Good tactic.” He pets Dan’s hair some more, and even peppers it with some soft kisses. “I don’t actually want to go,” he says softly.

Dan turns his head just enough to kiss Phil’s chest. “I know.” They lay there quietly for a little longer, soaking up the warmth and affection. Eventually, Dan sighs. “Alright, whatever, leave me,” he says dramatically, slowly detaching his limbs from Phil’s body.

Phil laughs and presses a kiss to Dan’s forehead. “I’ll be back later, you know.”

“I know,” Dan mumbles. “But later is... you know. Stuff.” He tries to avoid looking at Phil, but the part of his brain that’s dumb and likes hurting him can’t help but squint up at him to gauge a reaction.

Phil’s face looks a little less happy, and instead there’s a shadow of nervousness. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “But good stuff, yeah?”

And Dan hadn’t really considered that yet. Part of him was just so afraid of being hurt or disappointed that it hadn’t let him consider an alternative, and the part that had... well, that was a very small part. “Yeah,” he says quietly, nuzzling against Phil’s chest.

Phil pats his lower back, just above the swell of his bum. “Alright, then. Let me get up.”

Dan does so begrudgingly, rolling out of his arms and onto his back with a frown. Phil rolls his eyes at him before handing him his pillow to cuddle as a substitute. It’s not nearly as good as the real thing but it will do, Dan decides as he snuggles into it. He manages to drift off to the quiet sounds of Phil rummaging around their room as he gets dressed, but he blinks awake when he feels a soft brush of lips against his cheek.

“Hm?” He hums when Phil mumbles something.

There’s a hand brushing his hair back, and a gentle laugh. “Go back to sleep, bub. I just wanted to say bye. I love you.”

Dan tries to be really awake, but he sort of just nods vaguely in Phil’s direction. “M’kay,” he mumbles. “Kiss?” He requests, the word falling out of his mouth before he can stop it.

Phil laughs, but a second later Dan feels a soft peck on his lips. “Bye, Dan. I’ll see you this evening, yeah?”

“Mhm. Okay,” Dan says, already dozing off once more.

~~~

Several hours later, Dan finds himself sitting at the kitchen table alone, enjoying a fresh cup of coffee as he watches the pigeons and waits for the kids to get out of bed. He’s texting Phil here and there, and he’s just sent off a photo of a particularly chunky pigeon when he hears the tell-tale sound of little feet puttering into the kitchen.

He smiles when Jaiden comes around the corner, rubbing his eyes sleepily with the back of his hand. “Good morning, bubby,” Dan says quietly.

“Morning, Daddy,” Jaiden replies with a yawn and a vague wave. He doesn’t even really look at Dan, instead heading straight for the balcony door, which he sticks his forehead to. Dan can’t help but cringe thinking about the smudges that he’ll have to clean later, but he doesn’t say a word. “Good morning, everyone,” Jaiden greets his pigeon friends politely. “Breakfast is soon. I love you.”

Dan listens with a grin as Jaiden talks to the pigeons softly, and eventually he turns around, coming back over to the table. “Did you sleep okay?” Dan asks him, sipping from his mug.

Jaiden nods, coming to a stop right next to Dan’s chair. He lifts his arms up, giving Dan the cutest, sleepiest pout. “Hug?” He inquires softly.

Dan’s heart melts. “Of course, bub,” he says with a smile, setting his mug down to wrap his arms around the little boy. When Jaiden gives no indication of letting go, Dan chuckles before gathering him up in his arms and situating him on his lap. Jaiden makes a happy noise as he snuggles into Dan’s chest, and as much as Dan’s enjoying this new display of affection, he worries. “You feeling okay?” Dan asks quietly, running a hand over Jaiden’s hair.

“Mhm,” Jaiden nods. “Just sleepy. Wanted a hug.”

Dan coos. He holds Jaiden closer to him, petting his back in long, gentle strokes to give him as much comfort as he can. “I’m always here to give hugs when you need them, alright?”

Jaiden nods against his chest. “M’kay,” he mumbles. He shifts a little, glancing over at Dan’s mug with a curious look to him. “Can I have some coffee?” He asks out of nowhere.

Dan snorts at the swift subject change and the lack of subtlety. “Um, absolutely not, no. Nice try, though.”

With a pout, Jaiden crosses his arms, blinking up at Dan like this is the most unfair thing in the world. “Just a tiny sip, Daddy? Like, a baby one?”

“I think you’re hyper enough as it is, kiddo,” Dan says, shaking his head.

Jaiden looks less than thrilled to hear this. “Dad would let me have some,” he suddenly says, a mischievous look on his face.

Dan can’t help but roll his eyes at the tactic. “I’m sure he would. Dad would also let you stay up until two in the morning watching anime, and that’s exactly why Dad doesn’t get to make all the rules.”

“But Daddy,” Jaiden whines.

“How about this, you can have a tiny, very tiny sip,” Dan relents. “On one condition,” he continues, holding his hand up when Jaiden nods excitedly. “You have to try a new vegetable this week, yeah?”

Jaiden’s nose crinkles, and he looks like he’s seriously considering saying no. Dan waits patiently, sort of hoping that’s exactly what he does, since giving coffee to a small child probably isn’t a great idea anyway. “Deal,” Jaiden announces with a shrug, immediately making grabby hands for the mug.

“Ah, let me hold it, let me hold it.” Dan takes the mug right out of his reach before carefully holding it closer. “It’s still pretty hot, so let me blow on it for a minute.”

Jaiden waits patiently until Dan decides it’s cool enough and carefully brings the mug closer to his face. “A tiny sip?” Jaiden asks, glancing up at him.

Dan nods. “Very tiny. Like barely a swallow, okay? And you can’t tell Dad or Mia or Levi- got it?”

It’s almost hysterical how excited the prospect of a secret makes Jaiden look then. “Okay!”

Dan’s careful as he holds the mug for Jaiden, tilting it just a little bit, just enough for him to get barely a teaspoon. As soon as he’s swallowed, Dan sets the mug down and studies his face for a reaction. Jaiden smacks his lips curiously before a slightly greenish tint colors his usually rosy cheeks. “Ew,” he complains, wiping at his tongue with the sleeve of his shirt.

“What?” Dan says innocently, trying to hide his smile. He knows exactly what it is- black coffee is disgusting until you’ve gotten used to it.

“It tastes like dirt!” Jaiden complains. “Why does it taste so bad, last time Dad-“ he freezes, glancing up at Dan with a guilty look.

Dan rolls his eyes. “Did Dad give you some coffee before?”

Jaiden nods sheepishly. “He let me have some sips of his Starbucks. And Mia, too.”

Dan splutters. “When was that?” He demands.

A thoughtful look crosses Jaiden’s face before he shrugs. “I dunno, before school started.”

With a sigh, Dan sits back in his chair, watching Jaiden follow, cuddling up against him once more. Dan smiles fondly at him, petting his hair gently. “Dad’s gonna be in so much trouble later,” Dan informs him.

“But... you gave me coffee too!” Jaiden protests.

“Just a sip!” Dan whines defensively.

“I’m telling Dad,” Jaiden decides easily.

Dan gapes at him. “You promised you wouldn’t!”

Jaiden blinks up at him with a grin. “I didn’t promise anything!”

“Oh, you little!” Dan laughs, cutting himself off as he tickles Jaiden’s sides, his laughter loud and bouncing off the walls of the kitchen. “Repent, repent!” Dan chants through laughter of his own.

Jaiden squeals, squirming in his lap as he tries to escape. “I’m sorry! I won’t- I won’t!”

Dan stops his attack, scooping Jaiden back up from where he’d been slipping off Dan’s thigh. “Good,” he smiles.

“Do I still have to try a new vegetable if I promise not to tell Dad?” Jaiden asks sweetly, an innocent little smirk on his face.

Dan squints at him. “Are you actually blackmailing me?” He asks, taken aback.

Jaiden shrugs, giggling. “Maybe,” he sings.

Rolling his eyes, Dan pats his back. “Alright, whatever. Tell Dad, if you want. He won’t be mad.”

Jaiden’s face falls. “So I still have to try a vegetable?” He sounds disappointed.

Dan cackles. “Yeah, bub, you’ve gotta try a new vegetable.”

Jaiden sulks at this, crossing his arms. “Fine,” he concedes. Dan knows he can’t stay mad for long, so he waits patiently for something to change. It doesn’t take long. “Can I have breakfast?”

Smiling, Dan gently coaxes Jaiden off his lap. “Of course you can, bub. What’ll it be? Cereal? Omelette? If Dad was here I’d have him make us some pancakes,” Dan muses as he makes his way around the kitchen, checking to see what breakfast ingredients they had on hand.

“Where is he?” Jaiden asks, looking around like he’s just noticed Phil’s absence.

“He got called into work,” Dan says with an apologetic smile.

“Oh,” Jaiden says, nodding knowingly. He seems to consider his options, then says, “I think I’ll have an omelette.”

“Good choice, little man,” Dan says, going to collect the ingredients from the fridge. “Hm... I really need to get some groceries today. Maybe Phil’ll stop by- Jaiden?” The slight raise in pitch is due to the empty kitchen he finds upon turning away from the fridge.

He discards the carton of eggs and the milk on the counter, abandoned in favor of making sure his child hasn’t just dropped off the face of the earth somehow. Making his way down the hall to the twins’ room, there’s quiet voices floating towards him and he begins to feel his worry waver. He’s just about to retreat back to the kitchen to start breakfast when he hears Phil’s voice. Confused, he steps closer and gently pushes the door open.

He’s not sure what he expected, but what he finds is Jaiden and Amelia huddled together on her bed, Dan’s phone held in Jaiden’s little hands. It takes a moment for Dan to register it, but when he hears Phil laugh, he realizes the noise is coming from his phone.

“Dan did what?” Phil asks, his voice lighthearted and amused.

“Yeah, what did I do?” Dan asks, crossing his arms as he leans against the door frame.

Amelia squeals in surprise, and Jaiden’s whole face goes a little pink and sheepish. “Hi, Daddy,” he says with a weak wave.

Dan settles him with an unimpressed look. “Hi. What’ve you got there?”

Jaiden turns the phone around with a little smile. “It’s just Dad.”

Phil looks to be in his office, and he’s got a sweet smile on his face as he waves to Dan. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” Dan says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What did they tell you?”

Phil grins. “Why, Danny? Are you keeping any secrets from me?”

Dan splutters. “No,” he says defensively.

“Mhm,” Phil hums. “So, giving Jai coffee this morning doesn’t ring any bells?”

Dan’s face feels warm when he stalks forward and holds his hand out for his phone. Jaiden gently hands it to him, with a sheepish little grin, and Dan can’t help but roll his eyes fondly. Looking back at Phil, he shakes his head, affecting a stern voice when he says, “I don’t wanna hear it, bub. He told me all about the Starbucks you let him have months ago, and I think that trumps the little secret sip I let him have this morning.”

Phil’s clearly holding back a laugh as he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dan gives him a blank look. “Jaiden told me about it.”

Phil shrugs. “You have no proof.”

Rolling his eyes, Dan turns to face the twins. “No more running off with my phone without telling me first, got it?”

Jaiden nods. “Am I in trouble?”

Dan smiles softly at him. “Of course not, bubby. How about both of you get dressed so we can get breakfast, and if you’re extra good we might go to the park later, okay?”

Amelia’s eyes light up and she’s quick to scramble off the bed. “Okay!”

Jaiden’s quick to follow suit, much to Dan’s amusement. When he’s sure they’re okay on their own to get ready for the day, Dan shuffles out of their room, pulling the door nearly shut behind him and sighing. He gives Phil his full attention now, offering him an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry about that, I know you’re busy at work, and I didn’t even know he had my phone until-“

“Dan,” Phil interrupts warmly. “It’s fine.” He’s got a genuine smile on his face, so Dan has no real reason not to believe him.

“Okay,” Dan says softly. He suddenly feels shy, with Phil looking at him like that, even through the screen. “How’s work?” He asks, flinging himself into a mindless conversation so he’s not thinking about the way his stomach flutters, knowing the conversation they need to have later.

“It’s alright,” Phil says with a shrug. “I had to deal with two cancellations on some minor guests and also fire someone, so, like, it could be better,” he says, voice going quieter as he slouches, almost like he’s ashamed to admit he’s having a bad day.

Dan makes some sort of soft, unintentional noise in his throat. “I’m sorry you’re having a shit day, bub.”

Phil shrugs. “S’okay.”

Propping the phone up so they can still see each other, Dan goes about grabbing a pan and the other things he needs to make omelettes. “I’m not, er, keeping you from doing something, am I?” He suddenly asks, turning to glance at the phone, feeling a flash of embarrassment at the way he’d just assumed Phil would be free to chat.

Phil’s got an odd sort of focus in his eyes as he studies Dan. “Not at all,” he says, his voice incredibly soft.

Dan feels better about launching into his version of the coffee story, defending his actions wholeheartedly while Phil snickers and makes disbelieving noises every time Dan insists he didn’t give him that much. Somehow the conversation shifts to a debate on which of the kids are more likely to keep a secret, and from which parent. Eventually they figure Levi’s more likely to keep something from Phil, while Amelia is more likely to keep something from Dan. They decide Jaiden is their Switzerland, and will probably just blurt anything out to either of them if he felt like he was in trouble.

From there the conversation shifts to the similarities they have with the kids, and Phil’s just explaining how Amelia’s more like him when Dan hears footsteps behind him. He glances over and smiles when he sees Levi, hair wild and unkempt, with shadows under his eyes. Something about his posture, and the way he doesn’t even look up at Dan, has his pleasant demeanor dropping, his concerned parent persona taking front stage.

“Levi, bubba, you okay?” Dan asks softly, momentarily forgetting about his conversation with Phil.

Levi glances at him and nods, waving him off with a vague motion. “Just tired,” he mumbles, nearly falling into a chair at the table and dropping his head in his hands like he can’t hold it up on his own. He squints past Dan, at the phone on the counter. “Hi, Phil,” he greets, tilting his head to offer a weak wave with one hand.

Phil looks as surprised as Dan feels at the acknowledgement of his presence, even via FaceTime. “Morning, kiddo. You feeling okay?”

Levi looks on the verge of saying yes, but something in him hesitates. Dan gives him a searching look, and he hopes it doesn’t come across as nosy. “I couldn’t really sleep last night,” he answers finally.

Dan waits for a moment to see if Levi is going to say anything more. When he doesn’t, Dan spares a look at his phone, where Phil seems to be at a loss for words as well. “Was it…” He changes course when Levi’s gaze flickers away. “Do you know why you couldn’t sleep?” Dan asks carefully, navigating some sort of mental minefield trying to say the right thing.

Levi shrugs, dropping his gaze to scratch a fingernail against the table. “Dunno,” he mumbles, closed off once more.

Unsure what else to do or say, Dan sends Phil a look. Luckily, via whatever weird mental symbiosis they share, Phil seems to get it. “Well, I should probably get back to work,” he says, subtly excusing himself from the conversation he realizes that Dan needs to have with Levi. “I’ll see you at home later, yeah?”

Dan nods, offering him a smile. “Yeah, course. Have fun at work. I hope your day gets better.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “Highly doubt it will, but thanks. Have fun at the park without me,” he says with a pout.

Dan laughs. “Play hooky and meet us there.”

“I could never,” Phil says, as if the very idea is shocking to him.

It’s Dan’s turn to roll his eyes then. “Of course not.” Phil gives him a grin, and Dan shakes his head fondly. “Love you. See you tonight.”

“Bye, Dan,” Phil offers him one last smile before the call drops. Dan spares a second to feel disappointed that Phil didn’t say he loved him back, and then he’s cursing himself for it, knowing better than to want more than what he can have. His mind unhelpfully reminds him of the topic of the discussion they’re meant to have later, which does approximately nothing to assuage his nerves.

Turning to Levi gives him a good excuse to push the thoughts away. “Sorry about that,” he says with a half-smile.

Levi shrugs. “S’fine.”

Dan flips the omelette he’s working on over, watching the way the steam rises up as he considers how to ask Levi about his sleep problem. Eventually, he settles on the most straightforward way. “Do you really not know why you had trouble sleeping last night? Or is it just something you don’t want to discuss with me?” He asks in the most gentle tone he can.

“I...” Levi starts. He pauses, like he’s trying to get his thoughts together. “I guess I had, like... like a bad dream.”

“A bad dream?” Dan says, keeping his voice gently inquisitive and really hoping it doesn’t sound like he’s just trying to pry.

Levi nods when Dan looks at him. “Yeah, like- like I’d fall asleep and have this nightmare and so I’d make myself wake up but then-“ the words are spilling out of him in a rush, and he pauses to take a deep breath. “Then I’d fall asleep again and it would just keep happening.”

Dan plates the omelette up quietly as he waits to see if Levi has more to say. When it’s clear that he doesn’t, Dan goes about pouring a glass of orange juice and grabbing a fork, setting the plate and cup down in front of Levi, much to his surprise. “You should eat some breakfast,” he says softly.

Levi sort of glances at the food, like he doesn’t trust it at first, but after a moment he grabs the fork and stabs at the omelette, so Dan turns to go make some more. It’s silent for a few minutes until Levi says, “It was about them.”

The words make Dan turn, flicking his eyes over at Levi with a frown. “Who?”

Levi stares at his food, his face a paler shade than it was before. “My mum and dad.”

And he’s never really spoken about them, not to Dan. He’s not sure what to say to that, though. He’s not sure what he can say that won’t frighten Levi, won’t make him shut down again. All he can offer is a quiet, “I... I don’t know how horrible that must have been. But thank you for sharing that with me.”

Levi nods, looking away. “It was.” When Dan tilts his head in confusion, Levi shrugs. “Horrible. It was horrible.”

Dan’s chest feels tight and heavy. “Levi...”

He’s just about to step closer to comfort him when Levi looks up at him, the sudden eye contact startling him a bit. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Oh,” Dan says, surprised enough that he nearly stumbles back. “I, um. That’s fine. We don’t have to.”

Levi nods, taking a sip of his orange juice. Dan waits for a few moments, plating another omelette before he says Levi’s name quietly. “Hm?”

“I know we say this all the time,” he starts gently. “But anytime you want to talk... about anything, ever...” he turns now, allows himself to look into those pained eyes, that’ve seen things Dan could only have nightmares about, and he forces his voice to be steady but gentle. “We’re here. Me and Phil, we’ll always listen, if you ever want to talk about things. I know we’re not... well, we aren’t your parents.” Levi flinches, imperceptibly, at that. Dan’s heart hurts. “But you’ll always have a family with us, yeah? Anything you need, you can- you can talk to us.”

His voice has gone tight and impossibly high by the time he’s finished, but he forces himself to be unwavering. He won’t let himself cry, not in front of the child he’s meant to be a strong parental figure for. Even despite telling himself that, though, he can feel how hot his eyes are, and forcing himself to blink to clear his vision doesn’t help.

Levi looks back at him for a long moment before nodding. “I know.”

Dan nods too, relieved that he managed to hold himself together and get his point across. “Good,” he says, clearing his throat. “Do you mind going to fetch your brother and sister? Their breakfast is done.”

Levi murmurs an agreement before turning to leave the kitchen, looking relieved to get a break. Dan doesn’t blame him, honestly. When you’re a teenager, the most uncomfortable thing is having an emotional conversation with an adult, especially one you aren’t close to. He can only imagine the discomfort Levi is feeling, and he makes a mental note to be a little more relaxed on him from now on rather than springing those kinds of conversations on him with no warning.

As he waits for the kids to come into the kitchen, Dan checks his phone. He finds a text from Phil and opens it a little bit eagerly. He grins stupidly the minute he reads it, and part of him wants to screenshot it while the other part wants to just tattoo it onto the back of his eyelids. It was sent a little less than ten minutes ago, probably right after their call ended.

Phil: Love u too btw

Phil: I didn’t mean to not say it back

Dan: Im sure u say that 2 all the boys

Phil: Nope just you bub ❤️

Dan grins for the rest of the morning.

~~~

A few hours later, Dan manages to get all the kids into the car to head out for some errands. Levi’s got his group therapy session, and Dan’s still trying to decide if he wants to get groceries before or after picking him up when the twins remind him he’d promised to take them to the park. He weighs his options there and eventually decides that going to the park first would probably be in his favor. They can’t be too hyper in the store if they’re both exhausted from playing.

With the day’s plan set, Dan drives Levi to his session, stalling on the side of the street until they’ve watched him walk inside. Amelia tells him she thinks that’s a bit creepy, while Jaiden disagrees, saying that he feels a bit like a spy, watching his brother from the barely tinted windows of Dan’s car.

When they finally reach the park, the twins are nearly vibrating with excited energy, and Dan’s almost already exhausted just seeing how excited they are. “Try not to run off where I can’t find you, okay?”

“Okay!” Amelia all but squeals as she races Jaiden to the curly slide.

Shaking his head fondly, Dan finds an empty spot on a bench near a mum with a pram, and he actively avoids making eye contact with her as he sits. He watches Amelia and Jaiden chase each other around for a bit, eventually pulling his phone out and snapping a photo to send to Phil. The response is nearly instant.

Phil: :((( I wish I was there!!!

Dan: i believe i remember asking u to join us and u said no

Phil: I’m at work!!

Dan: well, im at the park bub

Suddenly Dan’s phone is ringing. He glances over at the lady beside him, smiling apologetically and seriously hoping the noise doesn’t wake her baby. He scans the playground for the kids as he puts the phone up to his ear, smiling already. “What?” He says, biting back a smile.

“Don’t “what” me,” Phil says, his voice lilting up in playful annoyance. “I’m mad at you.”

“Yeah?” Dan snorts. “And what about, exactly?”

Phil makes a spluttering sound. “You- You’re at the park, without me!”

Dan smiles, partly at the childish tone in his voice, and partly at watching Amelia push Jaiden on the swings. “I mean, to be fair, I’m also at the park without Levi, but I think you’re a bit more upset about it than he’d be.”

Phil mumbles something under his breath, but it doesn’t sound actually mad, so Dan doesn’t ask for clarification. “Did he seem alright when you dropped him off?”

“Yeah, he was fine,” Dan says. He walks in a little circle, stopping once more to watch the twins as he contemplates sharing anything from his earlier conversation with Levi. “He said he had nightmares about his birth parents,” he says softly. He can’t just not talk about it, not when the wellbeing of their children is meant to be a joint effort.

“Oh, god,” Phil breathes. He sounds just as pained as Dan feels at the thought. “Did he say what they were about?”

Dan shakes his head, even if Phil can’t see him. “No. He didn’t really want to talk about it. He just told me that bit, and then he just… sort of shut down.” He tries to steady his shaky breathing.

“That’s… God, Dan, that’s horrible.” Phil seems to reconsider his words. “Not that he told you- I just meant, like… the dreams themselves. That’s awful.”

“And we can’t even do anything about it,” Dan nearly whispers, his gaze going a little blurry as he’s overcome with a striking feeling of inadequacy.

“Dan,” Phil murmurs. “We are doing something, babe. We’re trying to give him a better life, away from that. Even…” He takes a deep breath then, and Dan braces himself for what he knows is coming. “Even if it’s not for long.”

The thought makes Dan feel just as violently ill as it always does. It’s like missing a step on a staircase you’re creeping down in the dark- he should see it coming, but it takes his breath away every time, in the worst way. It takes Dan a moment of choking around the lump in his throat, but eventually he manages to swallow it down, making room in his mouth for the words he doesn’t want to say. “We need to talk when you get home.” His voice is nearly a whisper.

Phil doesn’t respond right away. When he does, he sounds older, more exhausted. “I know.”

Dan’s just about to make an excuse to hang up and get a grip on himself when he hears Jaiden calling for him. “Daddy!”

“Yeah, buddy?” Dan says, faking a smile like the actor he isn’t. Jaiden’s eyes look a little red around the rims, and Dan immediately crouches down to look at him closer, nearly forgetting that Phil’s on the other end of his phone, clueless as to what’s happening. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Jaiden nods, then shakes his head. “Those boys- they said- they said that-“ Jaiden’s hiccuping with almost every word, and Dan takes a moment to shush him gently.

“Take a deep breath, bub,” he instructs gently.

In his ear, he hears Phil’s incessant questions. “What’s wrong? Dan! Is he okay?”

“Phil, he- I don’t know. Give me a minute,” Dan mumbles into the phone. He gives Jaiden a soft smile when he tilts his head curiously. “It’s just Dad. Do you want to talk about it in private?” Jaiden seems to consider it, nodding sheepishly after a moment. “Alright, that’s fine. Give me just a minute, okay?” Standing up and guiding Jaiden over to an empty picnic table, Dan speaks quietly into the phone. “Babe, he’s fine, I think he just got into it with some boys on the playground. I’ll call you back in a bit, yeah? Let me talk to him and sort it out.”

“Okay,” Phil says, sounding relieved. “Tell him I love him, yeah? Please?”

Dan smiles down at Jaiden, his heart full of the best kind of warmth, for both of them. “Will do. I’ll ring you in a bit, yeah?”

“Alright. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Dan says, biting his bottom lip to keep his smile from widening. He ends the call before turning his full attention to Jaiden, who looks much calmer now that he’s had a few minutes to recover from whatever happened. Sitting down beside him, Dan nudges his knee against Jaiden’s playfully. “Wanna talk about it?” He asks gently.

Jaiden put his little arms around himself. Dan’s suddenly reminded that it’s actually a bit cold out, and honestly if they weren’t running around playing, they’d probably be whining to go home to get out of the cold. “Those boys told me to ask if I could play with them on the other side of the park,” he starts, gesturing vaguely to the playground area.

Dan nods, gaze flicking around until he spots Amelia on the swings, playing with a little girl who looks a little younger. “Well, I’m glad you came to ask me first. I’d prefer you didn’t go that far, though, since your sister is still over here.”

Jaiden looks down at his shoes, which he’s scuffing on the ground. “They said something else, too,” he says quietly.

“What’s that?” Dan asks cautiously, a little nervous by the tone of Jaiden’s voice.

“I pointed at you so they’d know who I was asking, and they told me you weren’t my dad, cause we don’t look alike.” Jaiden’s voice sounds so sad and despondent, Dan is suddenly very glad those children are out of his sight. He’s not above chastising someone else’s kids, or kicking another parent’s ass for their offspring’s behavior.

Something about Jaiden’s words dawns on him then, and he looks down at him, frowning. “Bubby… you know I’m not, like…”

Jaiden nods before he can even finish saying it. “I know.” He sighs, then, kicking the ground a little more harshly. “Just wish you were.”

Dan can’t help but wrap him up in a hug upon hearing that. “Jai…” His voice is thick and garbled. He clears his throat and tries again. “You and Mia may not biologically be my children, alright, but I love you both so much. And as far as I’m concerned, you guys are my kids, yeah?”

Jaiden sniffles, burying his face into Dan’s ribs. “What about Phil?” He mumbles.

Dan’s throat goes tight. “Of course,” he says hoarsely. “Phil loves you so much, bubby.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Jaiden leans away a little, looking up at Dan with watery eyes. “Will you and Phil always want to keep us?”

His heart aches. He hugs Jaiden closer, kissing the top of his head. A traitor tear escapes his eye, but he allows it, just this once. “Yeah, Jaiden. We’re always going to want to keep you. You’ll always be a part of our family.”

Jaiden stays cuddled to his side for a few minutes, but eventually he pulls away, wiping his face with his sleeve. He looks a little tired, but otherwise mostly back to normal. “Can I go play with Mia?”

Dan nods, kissing his forehead. “Sure, kiddo.” Jaiden slides off the seat and goes to rejoin his sister, but Dan doesn’t let him get far without saying his name quietly. When Jaiden turns to look at him, Dan smiles as earnestly as he can. “I love you, Jai-bird.”

Jaiden smiles at him. “Love you too, Daddy,” he says with a little wave. He’s off in a sprint then, racing towards his sister as if the last ten or so minutes never even happened. with a little more pep in his step, and Dan nearly bites through his bottom lip trying to keep his emotions in check.

It’s not like he hasn’t had this sort of overwhelming breakdown before in regards to the precarious nature of their situation with the kids. He’s had it several times, but always in the privacy of his own room, or at the very least his office at work. Feeling half a centimeter away from a breakdown in public is worlds away from that, and he finds himself digging his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through his contacts before he even realizes what, or who, he’s looking for.

When he hears the familiar sound of ringing as he waits for her to pick up, he holds his phone up to his ear, standing so he can pace while he talks. It doesn’t take long for an answer, thankfully.

“Hello, love. I was starting to wonder when I’d hear from you again,” his mum’s familiar voice fills the line.

Dan chokes a laugh. “Mum,” he says, trying to force himself not to cry.

“Dan? Is everything alright?” She asks, her voice going high when she realizes, undoubtedly, that everything is not alright.

“You were right,” Dan nearly gasps out. It’s hitting him, now, the extent of the realization he’s just had. It’s not just about the children, and about preemptively missing them. It’s about Phil. God, it always is, though, he thinks, nearly bitter at the thought.

“About what, dear? What is this about?”

Dan laughs bitterly. “I don’t know. All of it. Everything. I think I just realized what a mistake this all was.”

“What’s a mistake? Dan, love, you’re scaring me.” She sounds less calm than normal, like maybe she realizes how very not okay he is right now.

Pacing back and forth, Dan gestures wildly, even though she can’t see him. “All of it. The pretending to be with Phil, the fostering...” he takes a shuddering breath. “It was a mistake.”

His mum is quiet for a moment. When she speaks her voice is impossibly soft. “Surely you don’t mean that, love.”

Dan ducks his head, a flood of hot tears pouring from his eyes. “Yes,” he argues. He spares a glance to the swing set where the children are and his heart squeezes. “No,” he sighs, reluctantly. “I don’t know. It’s just... I know I’m going to have to give them up, they’ll leave eventually, and then Phil will leave me and- and-“

And that’s it, really, he thinks to himself. As much as he fears losing the children, he knows he could survive it, with Phil there. But he knows that if Phil were to leave... that’s something he might not survive. Not now.

“I don’t think I can live without him,” he whispers brokenly.

His mum makes a sad cooing noise. “Dan...”

“I love him,” he’s properly crying now. The words aren’t brand new, but the feeling of utter freedom he feels after saying them is an adrenaline rush like no other. “I’m in love with him. I probably always was,” Dan confesses, and the world keeps spinning around him like it always has, as if he didn’t just admit to something he’s spent ten years ignoring.

His mum sighs, and Dan doesn’t think he imagines the note of relief he hears in the sound. “Well not to be blunt, Daniel, but I already knew that.”

Dan’s mind is effectively blank. “You...”

“Love, a mother can always tell. Kath’s known even longer than I have.”

Dan stifles a choked noise. “You and Kath talk too much,” he mumbles petulantly.

His mum laughs, and even in the spiral he’s in, the sound makes his lips twitch in a shadow of a smile. “Well it sounds like you and Phil don’t talk enough.”

“Well that’s not- I mean, we do, but-“

“Exactly,” she says, sounding smug. “Now, assuming you already realize he feels the same way, you probably ought to have a chat with him, Daniel.” She makes it sound so easy. As if he can just stare Phil in the eyes and tell him he’s in love with him, as if that’s something you just do.

“I... I don’t know if I can do that,” he says finally, his chest hurting with the thought of being rejected.

It’s quiet for a bit. Dan hears some clinking and assumes his mum is probably making some tea. Suddenly he yearns for that, despite the fact that he’s never really felt close enough to her to enjoy the typical mother-son bonding activities. This conversation has given him some perspective on his mother that he didn’t previously have, in the best way.

Eventually, she sighs. “Well then it won’t get any better, will it?”

“What?” He asks, almost forgetting what the original conversation was.

“Well, you’re bloody miserable right now, aren’t you?” Before Dan can protest, she continues. “But that won’t change until you do something about it. You can’t expect your problems to just magically disappear without talking about them.”

Dan bristles. “He’s not a problem.”

He can hear the smile in her voice when she answers. “I never said he was, love. I just think the lack of communication is driving you both mad, especially since this is the first you’ve talked to me in weeks.”

Dan feels a bitter guilt in his chest at that. He hates that she’s right, but she is. “Mum, I’m sorry, really-“

“Oh, nonsense. Phil sends me photos of the kids every now and again, and Kath and I chat every week. I knew you were busy, it’s fine, bear.”

His heart warms at that. It’s ridiculous how much he loves that his and Phil’s lives are so intertwined that their mums are actually friends. He sighs as he thinks about why that is, how glaringly obvious his feelings for Phil have been from the start. “I think I’m going to tell him tonight,” he whispers, as if anyone else could hear.

He can hear the smile in his mum’s voice when she replies. “That’s lovely news, Dan.” There’s a wavering hesitation before she continues. “I’m proud of you.”

He’s not crying. “Thanks, Mum.”

“And I love you, no matter what happens, alright? And if that boy has a brain in his head, so does he.”

He’s definitely crying. “Alright, alright. I love you too. I’ll try to call more.”

“I’d appreciate it,” she says dryly. “Maybe a visit soon, yeah?”

Dan’s not sure he can promise her that, but he agrees anyway before ending the call. His heart is full and his thoughts are swimming in circles as he begins wandering around the park, idly looking for his children. It takes him a minute to realize he doesn’t see them, and as soon as he does, his entire mood shifts.

Smiling tightly at the mums on one of the benches, he circles around to where he saw them playing on the swings last. He’s going into full panic mode when he hears a familiar voice.

“Daddy!”

Dan spins around, ready for the relief of finding his child safe. That doesn’t happen. Instead he’s met with Amelia’s tear-streaked face, her legs running as fast as they can carry her as she screams for him.

“Mia! What’s wrong?” He asks frantically, dropping into a crouch to look at her.

“It’s- something’s wrong, Jai’s on the ground and-“ the minute she falls into his arms sobbing, Dan stands, cradling her as she tries to direct him to where Jaiden is.

The next minute or so is a blur for him. Some sort of panicked internal instinct kicks in and one minute he’s running and the next he’s dropping to his knees beside Jaiden’s shaking body. Jaiden’s eyes are full of tears as he gasps for breath, his body convulsing as he grips at his chest. Dan’s veins fill with ice as he grabs the child’s shoulders, wracking his brain trying to remember what little he knows of emergency medical procedures.

“It’s gonna be okay, buddy. Can you sit up for me?” Dan speaks quickly but gently as he props Jaiden into a sitting position, trying to help him gasp more breath in. Dan’s no expert but he vaguely remembers learning how to handle an assumed asthma attack, and right now this is all he knows to do.

Jaiden grips his hand tightly, crying between every strangled breath. “Hurts!”

Dan’s eyes sting. “I know, bubby.” He glances over at Amelia, wide-eyed and crying a foot or so away. “Mia, love, I need you to be a big girl for a second, okay?” She nods frantically. He stands as he talks, scooping Jaiden up in his arms. “We’ve got to take Jaiden to the car. I need you to stay really close to me, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles her agreement.

Dan nods, trying to hold Jaiden in an upright position to help his breathing. “Take deep breaths, bub. We’re going to get some help,” he talks gently and as calmly as he can as he makes his way to the car, Amelia hot on his heels.

He manages to keep his composure long enough to get both of them in the car and get himself behind the wheel. Jaiden is nearly sobbing in the backseat, his little hands balled into fists in his shirt, his breathing loud and raspy. Dan swallows the panic down, forcing himself to focus. There’s a couple of random people milling about near his car, having seen the whole ordeal, and Dan tries to avoid eye contact as he drives out of the lot, headed for A&E.

“Hey Siri,” Dan says, loud over the sound of the cries in the backseat. His phone chirps. “Call Phil.”

The line doesn’t ring long before it connects, and an amused voice answers. “Hi baby, miss me?”

Dan has no time for the way that makes him feel. “I need you to meet us at A&E,” he says, getting straight to the point.

Phil’s silent for all of three seconds. “What? What happened, are you okay? Dan-“

“I think Jaiden’s having an asthma attack,” Dan explains quickly. “I don’t know what to do, so I’m headed to hospital. I need you to get a car to pick Levi up and meet us there.”

“Of course, yeah,” Phil answers. He sounds frantic. “Dan, where- are you- is he-“

“Meet us at hospital, yeah?”

“Dan, yes, I’ll be there,” Phil’s voice sounds almost exasperated. Dan can hear some rustling and other noises in the background, and he knows Phil’s leaving work. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, trying not to burst into tears when he hears a particularly miserable cry from the back. “I love you.”

“Dan,” Phil sounds nearly breathless. “I love you too. Be safe.”

Dan ends the call without another word, glancing to the back every few seconds to see how Jaiden is. “Just hang on, buddy, we’re almost there. Take some deep breaths, okay. Everything’s gonna be fine.” He’s rambling at this point, but he knows that Jaiden is in no state to recognize the underlying panic just beneath the surface.

“Siri,” he calls again. “Call A&E.”

The phone takes a minute to process this request, and then it’s ringing shortly before a woman’s voice answers with the name of the institution and “how can I be of service?”

“Er- hi, I believe my son is having an asthma attack. I’m bringing him in but I wanted to call and let you know he needs to see a doctor immediately.”

The nurse makes a pitying sort of noise and Dan hears the clacking of a keyboard. “Yes sir, and what is your name?”

“Daniel Howell,” he replies, changing lanes to take the next turn. He thinks it’s a shortcut, but he might be a little delusional about that.

“And the boy’s?”

“Jaiden Young,” he informs her.

“Alright, I’ll collect more information when you arrive. Come straight in through the A&E doors and a nurse will be on standby to help.”

“Perfect, thank you.” He ends the call with a shuddering breath, trying to hang onto what’s left of his sanity until they get there. He glances back again and sees Jaiden, his face red and wet with tears, struggling against his seatbelt. “Hang on, Jaiden. We’re almost there. We’re almost there, and they’ll help you when we get there, yeah? Just... just take some deep breaths, it’ll be okay.”

He really doesn’t know who he thinks he’s fooling.

~~~

Getting checked in when they arrive to A&E is a blur. There’s a nurse waiting, just like the lady on the phone said there would be, but Dan’s reluctant to hand over his child to a stranger. They’ve got a wheelchair waiting, and the nurse is talking in a gentle tone, some of her soothing words directed to Jaiden and a few comments directed at Dan. He barely hears her. There’s a rushing sound in his ears, and he’s only snapped back into the reality of the situation when the nurse begins pushing the wheelchair away, off towards a set of double doors. Dan follows unthinkingly, only stopped by the sound of a raised voice.

“Sir, you can’t go back there.”

Dan turns to stare at the receptionist. “That’s my child, can I-”

She stands, shaking her head. He tries to stand his ground, but her words make him falter. “No sir, not until they’ve figured out what’s wrong. Please have a seat and we’ll let you know when you can see him,” she says, her voice firm but compassionate.

With no other options, Dan nods numbly, turning around to trudge towards some empty chairs near the door. Amelia is looking up at him with big eyes, and he offers her a small, reassuring smile. “C’mon, let’s go sit down for a bit, yeah?”

She nods, swiping at a tear as she reaches for his hand. As soon as he’s found a seat, he reaches for her. She allows herself to be scooped into his lap, wrapping her little arms around his neck with a sad noise. He closes his eyes, rubbing her back gently as he shushes her gently. “Shh, love. It’ll be alright. The doctors will fix Jaiden right up, yeah?” Amelia manages a nod, and they settle into a nervous silence as they wait for something to happen.

They don’t have to wait long. Dan’s expecting Phil to show up any minute, so he’s not really surprised when the doors open and his best friend rushes in, a panicked look on his face as he scans the room. He takes one look at Dan and something seems to settle in him, his shoulders losing some of the tension and his expression morphing into something like relief. Dan doesn’t even think to stop himself from standing, gently setting Amelia down as he takes a step towards Phil. Levi is hovering behind him, his face pale as his eyes go between Dan and Amelia.

“Dan,” Phil says, his voice tight.

Dan doesn’t need any more encouraging. He all but collapses into Phil’s arms, the tears he hadn’t allowed himself to shed pouring from his eyes in waves. Phil makes a choked sort of noise as he wraps his arms around Dan’s shoulders in a tight embrace. “Shh, Dan, it’s okay. He’s gonna be okay.” And Phil can’t know that, not really. Dan appreciates the sentiment, but his crying only subsides enough to give way to hiccups.

“He- it was like he couldn’t…” Dan swallows hard, pressing his wet face against Phil’s neck. “He couldn’t breathe, and I had no idea what to do and-”

“Breathe, Dan. Slow down,” Phil instructs, pulling away to force eye contact. “You’re going to work yourself into a panic attack. Just slow down, yeah?”

Dan nods, taking rattling breath after breath, trying to calm himself down. Phil’s hands come up to cup Dan’s neck, his thumb swiping up to his jaw in soothing motions. The staring should make Dan uncomfortable, probably, with how intense it is, but he doesn’t look away. Somehow it has the opposite effect for once, and staring into those eyes that he loves so much, he actually manages to calm down, if only slightly.

“There we go,” Phil says, voice incredibly soft. “You okay?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Dan rasps out. He remembers then, that they’ve got company, and he forces himself to pull away. He pretends he doesn’t see the hurt on Phil’s face. “Did Phil tell you what happened, Levi?” Dan asks, moving to sit back down. He tugs Phil’s sleeve as he goes, a very obvious instruction for him to stay as close to Dan as possible.

Levi looks almost as panicked as Dan feels, but he sits on his other side, shrugging at the question. Levi watches Amelia crawl onto Phil’s lap before he answers. “He told me you were taking him to A&E because you thought he was having an asthma attack,” Levi says slowly.

Dan nods. He wants to spare him the details, so he chooses his words carefully. “They were playing and Amelia ran over to tell me something was wrong, and when I got over there he was having trouble breathing. I… I’m not really sure what could have caused it.” The admission is bitter on his tongue.

Levi looks down at his shoes. “Where were you? Why weren’t you watching them?” He snaps, his voice quiet.

Dan’s breath catches.

“Levi,” Phil says in a warning tone.

“If you were watching them it might not have happened,” Levi all but hisses, his voice breaking twice before he spits the words out.

“That’s enough,” Phil says, his voice harder than Dan’s ever heard in his conversations with the children. Levi looks up in surprise. Phil’s face is stony, not batting an eye as he stares at the teenager. “That doesn’t help your brother, Levi. Dan didn’t make him have an asthma attack, so we’re not going to assign blame here, okay?”

Levi’s gaze flits back and forth between the two of them before his whole body seems to deflate and he nods tiredly. “Okay,” he murmurs, looking down at his shoes once more. He peeks up at Dan, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dan,” he says quietly.

Dan can only offer a shaky smile. “It’s okay,” he replies automatically. He reminds himself that Levi can’t help how he reacted to the news, and that placing blame is a reasonable reaction for someone of his age, especially in this situation. He reminds himself of this two or three times to be sure, so that he doesn’t accidentally do something stupid, like cry in front of him.

Phil’s hand suddenly drops to his knee, squeezing gently, startling Dan out of his thoughts. “I’m going to go ask the receptionist what sort of papers we need to fill out. Would you call Hazel and tell her about all this? I’m assuming this is the kind of thing caseworkers need to know.”

Dan nods. “Yeah, course,” he agrees, going to dig his phone out of his pocket. Phil offers a little smile, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Dan’s temple. Dan watches him stand, Amelia tagging along with him for the walk over to the receptionist desk.

He’s just about to hit call on Hazel’s name when Levi nudges his arm with his elbow. Dan glances at him with a curious look. Levi substitutes eye contact for gazing out the window past Dan’s head, swallowing hard before he speaks. “I really am sorry,” he says quickly, like he hates the words. “I’m just… I guess I’m scared.”

Dan’s heart melts a little. “I know. I am too, Levi,” he reminds gently.

Levi glances right at him then, and Dan notices the glassiness of his eyes. Oh. “I… I can’t let anything happen to them,” he whispers, dropping his gaze.

Risking an affectionate gesture, Dan reaches out, patting Levi’s back gently. He’s shocked when the precariously put-together expression on Levi’s face crumbles suddenly, an ocean of tears falling from his eyes. “Levi…” Dan says softly, trying his best to navigate the correct way to be comforting in this situation.

It turns out he doesn’t have to wonder for long. Levi does the previously unthinkable, leaning forward and dropping his forehead against Dan’s shoulder as he sobs and allows himself to be hugged. Dan can’t help but cry a little as well, and that’s how Phil finds them a few minutes later. There’s a surprise on his face that Dan feels in his heart, but it morphs into something like relieved affection when Levi begins to control his breathing a little.

“It’s alright, bubby. Jai’s gonna be fine, yeah? Everyone’s fine,” Dan says soothingly, rubbing Levi’s shoulder gently.

Phil and Amelia quietly move to sit on Dan’s other side like before, but Levi must notice their presence, because he stiffens suddenly, pulling away slowly and wiping at his eyes. Dan offers him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry,” Levi mumbles, rubbing harshly at his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater. He gestures at his face vaguely with a shrug. “I don’t usually…”

Dan shakes his head. “You don’t have to be sorry, Levi. Everyone cries. I cry all the time, just ask Phil.”

Phil pets Dan’s hair. “It’s true,” he says, voice light and amused.

Levi offers a weak smile before looking back at his shoes. “Er… thanks, I guess.”

Dan feels his heart swell. “Of course,” he says gently. He feels a nudge against his elbow and he turns to look at Phil, who’s got a curious look on his face.

“Did you ring Hazel?” He asks.

Sheepishly, Dan picks up his phone, still hovering over her contact info when he unlocks it. “I’ll do that,” he says with a nod. Phil smiles at him gratefully, shifting a sleepy-looking Amelia on his lap as Dan focuses on what to say to Hazel when she answers.

The phone call doesn’t last long, much to Dan’s surprise. He explains briefly what happened and she tells him she’ll meet them there within an hour. She doesn’t ask many questions, and before she ends the call she thanks him for ringing her to inform her about it. Dan’s just repeating their conversation back to Phil when he hears his name called from the door where Jaiden disappeared through earlier.

“That’s me,” Dan says, standing and making his way over to her.

“You’re Jaiden Young’s father, right?” She asks, checking the clipboard in her hand.

Dan nods, trying not to fidget nervously. “His foster father, yes.”

She smiles at him. She seems kind, he thinks absently. “He’s stable now, so you’re welcome back to see him if you’d like.”

“Perfect!” Dan says, unable to mask his excitement. He turns to find Phil hovering a few feet away, like he feels awkward about being near Dan. “We can see him,” he says, voice washed with relief.

Phil’s just about to speak when the nurse interrupts. “It’s immediate family only, actually,” she says, her tone apologetic.

Dan blinks at her. Before he has a chance to speak, Phil snorts. “Well, he’s my fiance. I think that’s about as immediate as it gets.” The nurse looks a little abashed, and Dan can’t help but smirk a little. “Can we see our son now?”

She doesn’t argue, nodding quickly and gesturing to the doors. Dan glances over to the seats where Levi and Amelia are sitting, watching them with wide, impatient looks. “Those are his siblings, may they come back as well?” Dan asks, overly polite on purpose.

The nurse glances at them and nods. “It’ll have to be a quick visit before we move him to a different room.”

Dan and Phil share a glance and wordlessly, Phil heads over to the kids to bring them along, while Dan focuses on that bit of information. “Does that mean he has to stay?”

She looks apologetic. “Just for a few hours. The doctor wants to monitor his levels for a while to make sure this was an isolated incident.”

“Does that mean you think it’ll happen again?” Dan asks, panicking once more.

“No, not necessarily,” She’s quick to reassure him. “But because of how intense the attack was, we wanted to make sure there aren’t any underlying causes. We’ll need to know a bit more about his medical history, if you can provide it, so we know if this is a rare occurrence or not.”

Dan’s about to say something about how little they know about the children’s medical history prior to them moving in, but then Phil is there with Levi and Amelia, who are more than ready to see their brother. He offers Phil a small smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand briefly as the nurse begins leading them through the doors and down a brightly-lit corridor.

They’ve nearly reached the end of the corridor when the nurse stops and opens a door. “Jaiden, there’s someone here to see you,” she says in a gentle voice, stepping back and allowing them to walk inside. Dan makes sure to send her a grateful smile as he steps past her, his eyes immediately darting to scan his child for injuries. Despite the fact he wasn’t visibly injured when Dan brought him in, it feels like centuries have passed since then, and Dan’s already expecting the worst.

He worries for nothing, though. Jaiden looks much better than he had earlier, although he does look rather exhausted, even as his eyes light up at seeing them. “Daddy!” he calls, reaching his arms out for them.

Dan can’t stop the sniffling noise he makes, but he tries to laugh it off, blinking the dampness from his eyes as he goes to sit on the edge of the bed and pull the child into a hug. “Hi, bubby. I was so worried about you.”

Jaiden nuzzles into his chest. Dan melts. “Sorry, Daddy,” he says sweetly.

“You don’t have to apologize, Jai. It’s not your fault,” Dan says as he gently strokes a hand over Jaiden’s hair. He glances over to see Phil standing there watching them, a relieved smile on his face. Dan reaches out without a second thought, tugging on Phil’s sleeve.

Phil moves closer, grasping one of Jaiden’s hands and giving him a grin. “You gave us a real scare, little man,” he says, his voice teasing. “You know that little boys in hospital get a toy, right?”

Jaiden shrugs sheepishly. “Well… Now that you mention it…” He trails off, and everyone in the room shares a laugh.

Dan glances behind them, waving Levi and Amelia closer to the bed. “Come here, guys. Jaiden’s fine.”

“Hey, Jai,” Levi says softly as he steps closer. Jaiden reaches for him, So Phil and Dan both make some room for Levi and Amelia to have a moment with him. Amelia climbs right up next to him and starts asking him questions about what kind of toy he wants to get, completely forgetting anything concerning the injury that brought him here in the first place. Dan’s relieved and also mortified at that.

The nurse doesn’t let them stay for long. After less than ten minutes, she’s back and ushering them out, saying that Jaiden is about to be moved to a different room. The look of panic that flashes on Jaiden’s face breaks Dan’s heart all over again, but he forces himself to wave and smile brightly. “You’ll be alright, buddy. We’ll be with you as soon as they get you situated, yeah?” Jaiden manages a nod at this, and then the nurse is shooing them out, back to the waiting room.

~~~

They’re just walking back through the doors into the waiting room while they wait for Jaiden to be transferred to a new room when Dan’s gaze catches on a familiar face. He shares a look with Phil, who seems to get the message immediately.

“Hey, guys, why don’t we go see if there’s a snack machine somewhere, yeah?” Phil says, gently guiding them in the opposite direction.

Levi gives Dan a funny look, while Amelia remains distracted by the prospect of food. Dan offers a reassuring smile before making his way towards Hazel, who’s stood at the receptionist desk writing down information on a clipboard.

“Hazel, hi,” Dan greets, giving an awkward wave.

She glances up at him and smiles brightly. “Daniel! Lovely to see you again, although I’m sure we both wish it were under different circumstances.”

Dan nods, scratching at his collarbone nervously. “Yeah. We weren’t really sure what protocol was for something like this... Thank you for taking the time to stop by.”

Hazel waves her hand with a huff of laughter. “It’s no trouble. I knew there’d be information you two wouldn’t have and a check up was coming up anyway.”

Nodding again, Dan glances over at Phil and the kids, his throat tightening at the thought of how much worse this day could have been. “I’m just really happy he’s okay,” he says quietly.

Hazel gives him a sympathetic sort of smile. “You know...” she starts, slowly and carefully. “The children are technically wards of court.”

Dan’s neck nearly snaps when he glances up at her. “What?”

She does that sympathetic thing again, this time accompanied by a slow nod. “Well… Due to the… special circumstances of their case, the judge ordered a special hearing and came to a decision about the status of their case early.” She takes a deep breath. “Their parents’ rights have been terminated. So technically... with the right paperwork... you and Phil could file for legal guardianship.”

Dan blinks. His brain is still stuck on the idea that their biological parents now legally have no rights to see them, but then he registers the last thing she’d said. “So, like... adoption?” His voice pitches up nervously at the end.

She nods, glancing down at the form she’s abandoned and writing a few more notes before handing it back to the nurse. “Exactly. You don’t have to, of course, but that just means the agenda changes from trying to keep them in foster care to finding a family to adopt them.”

Dan feels sick. “We... I don’t know if Phil...” he shakes his head, trying desperately to knock his brain cells into each other to produce a thought. “Why were their parents’ rights terminated?” He asks finally.

For the first time since they started speaking, Hazel frowns, looking away briefly. “I actually think that might be something we discuss with Phil,” she says quietly.

Dan’s heart is in his throat as he makes his way over to Phil and the kids, who’ve evidently found a snack machine, as they’re currently feasting on several things Dan will reprimand Phil for later. “Hey, could you come here a second?” He says to Phil, tugging his sleeves down over his hands.

Phil glances between him and Hazel in confusion before slowly nodding. “I’ll be right back, guys. Levi, protect Jaiden’s candy bar, okay?”

Levi nods, tucking it into his jacket pocket and sticking his tongue out at Amelia when she pouts. He doesn’t seem to be concerned about whatever’s going on, and Dan allows himself to feel relieved that they won’t have to worry the teen about yet another thing. Dan leads the way back over to where Hazel’s waiting, trying to control his breathing before he starts crying. Phil, ever observant, slides his hand into Dan’s, squeezing three short times. Dan breathes a little easier.

“Phil, it’s good to see you again,” Hazel says, her voice dropped into something less exciting and more resigned. Dan’s heart does another squeeze, already ready for the worst.

“You too, Hazel,” Phil says, smiling at her. He squeezes Dan’s hand once more. “So...” he trails off, clearly implying that she should explain herself.

She nods. “So, like I told Dan, the children’s parents have had their rights terminated.” She pauses, as if she’s allowing him a moment to process it. Phil’s a smart man, though, so he just nods for her to continue, his face not giving away a single thought going through his head. “There’s a few options now. We can move the children to another temporary foster home while we look for a permanent adoptive family, or they can stay with you while we conduct the interviews for a potential family.”

Phil nods. He doesn’t even look at Dan as he asks, “Is there another option?”

She looks pleased. “You two can petition for legal guardianship.”

Phil has the same clarifying moment Dan had. “We can adopt them?” The hope in his voice nearly buckles Dan’s knees. The idea of this being permanent is something he can’t compartmentalize right now.

Hazel nods. “You could, yes.”

Before Phil can say anything else that makes Dan’s heart hurt, he interrupts. “You said something about why their parents’ rights were terminated. I want to know more about that,” he reminds her, trying to keep his voice quiet but firm.

Her face drops back into something sad and uncomfortable. “Right,” she says with a nod. She glances at the children, probably to make sure they can’t hear, then turns slightly so their conversation remains more private. “They had a very... a very difficult home life. I know there weren’t a lot of details given at the time, because there was still some investigation going on, but the very short version is they were being neglected and abused.”

Dan’s heart stops. He’s sure of it. Phil, probably unthinkingly, tightens his grip on Dan’s hand. “In what way?” Phil says, his voice almost eerily calm.

Hazel hesitates, clearly debating on what to say. “Well...” she starts slowly. “First of all, Levi doesn’t share the same father as the twins. His biological father is deceased, and he knows that the man who raised him wasn’t his real dad.”

Dan’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Then why do they have the same surname?”

She cringes at the question. “Well, according to what their mother said, his bio father didn’t want anything to do with him and asked that he be left off the birth certificate. Her husband was just her boyfriend at the time, but he signed it instead.”

Dan looks away, his eyes misting. His heart aches with the thought that Levi has had nothing but shitty people who didn’t want him from the beginning. Those children deserved the world, but from the sounds of it, evidently their biological parents didn’t believe so.

“And after that?” Phil asks. “When did the abuse happen?” He sounds mad to Dan’s trained ear, but he knows Hazel will probably just read that as concern.

“Their mother had some issues, an addiction to prescription meds was one of them. She didn’t really...” she pauses, glancing between the two of them like she’s worried they can’t handle it. Dan blinks at her. “Their mother wasn’t really present, even when she was there with them. And apparently the father was a bit of a drinker, and violent. You can piece together about how that went.”

Dan can’t stop the tears, and he tries to pull away from Phil to take a moment, but Phil grabs his sleeve and tugs him in for a hug. He’s probably craving the comfort just as much as giving it, but Dan allows it. “And was it just all the time? He just beat them, all the time?” Phil asks, his voice shaking.

Hazel shakes her head. “No, no. The report says it didn’t get very bad until about two years ago, when the dad lost his job. Levi... well, Levi started getting into fights a lot at school and eventually when they got him to a counselor he admitted that their father was beating him.”

Dan catches on the last sentence, the last word. “Him?” He reiterates. “He was just hitting Levi?”

She looks uncomfortable, but nods. “Levi apparently told the counselor that he hid the kids in the closet or somewhere so he couldn’t get to them, but he ended up putting himself in danger when he did that.” She pauses, but Dan can tell there’s more. “He also told her he was trying to get into fights to cover up the fact that he was showing up to school with fresh bruises every day.”

Dan swears, hiding his face against Phil’s shoulder as he lets out a shuddering breath. “I can’t believe...” he cuts himself off with a sob. Phil’s arms tighten around his shoulders, and he hears the quiet sound of Phil apologizing half-heartedly to Hazel.

“Shh, Dan. It’s... they’re safe now. Yeah? They’re safe.” Phil’s voice is quiet and calm in his ear, and for the second time today, the sound of it is enough to calm Dan out of a panic attack.

Slightly embarrassed, Dan pulls away, wiping at his face with his sleeve in a disgusting manner. “Thank you for telling us the truth, Hazel,” he says to her, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

She nods, looking more apologetic and guilty than he’s ever seen her. “I hated that we couldn’t tell you at the beginning, but there was a lot we didn’t know, and until the investigation was finished there was only so much information we could share.”

“I understand,” Dan says, even though he thinks he doesn’t, not really. “Thank you for telling us now.”

“How long do we have to think about adoption?” Phil asks out of nowhere, almost as if he’s been in a daze for the past few minutes.

Hazel glances between the two of them before shrugging. “Well we can give you a few weeks before we start actively looking for new adoptive parents, and we’ll let you know when that process starts so you have until then really to make your decision.”

Phil nods. He doesn’t look at Dan, instead shaking Hazel’s hand to say goodbye. “Thank you, Hazel. We really appreciate, well, everything.”

She smiles at him, and it looks much more relaxed. “Of course, anytime you need me, just call.” She glances at Dan, who can only offer her a weak smile. “I do try to remain unbiased, but it’s very inspiring to see how much you two genuinely care for these children. I think you’d make the perfect family for them, if that’s what you decide.” With another smile and a squeeze of Dan’s arm, she’s gone, leaving them standing there alone to process her words.

“So-“ Phil starts, pulling his arm away from Dan slowly.

“I can’t- not yet, okay?” Dan interrupts, a little panicked at the idea of making any decisions right now. “I think we should talk about it at home.”

Phil studies him for a moment before nodding, leaning in and kissing Dan’s forehead. “Sure, love. We’ll talk later.”

Dan doesn’t bother hiding his relief as they make their way back over to where they’d left Levi and Amelia. His head is swimming with thoughts and he’s finding it hard to swim in all of it after the day he’s had. But with the most important people in his life watching, he forces himself to play the part of someone calm, cool, and relaxed.

~~~

When they finally move Jaiden to a room upstairs, Dan’s nerves manage to settle, if only a little bit. There’s something comforting in knowing that there are doctors and nurses around in case something does happen, and he’s more than relieved when a doctor comes to speak to them, informing them that everything is okay and they’ve confirmed Jaiden does in fact have asthma. Dan manages to stop his nervous pacing long enough to ask them if that means he needs an inhaler. The doctor smiles a little sadly, but nods.

“He’ll more than likely need at least an emergency inhaler with him from now on,” they say, nodding. “But, we do need to run some more tests to make sure we give him the correct kind, and to make sure there’s no scarring on his lungs or anything like that.”

Dan nods, sharing a look with Phil, who’s sat on the bed beside Jaiden. “Alright, thank you.”

The doctor smiles, giving Jaiden a high five. “You’re a brave little man,” they tell him, making Jaiden grin proudly. “Gave your dads a bit of a scare there, but we’ve got you all patched up, buddy,” they continue, grinning at Dan and Phil before stepping towards the door. “A nurse will be in shortly to take his vitals and blood for the tests we need to run. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Phil smiles and nods at them. “Right, thank you again. We really appreciate it.”

They nod, and with another smile at Jaiden they’re gone, back off down the corridor to treat someone else. Dan’s still trying to wrap his head around how they went this long without finding out about Jaiden’s asthma, but he’s distracted when he hears Levi asking a question.

“Can Mia and I go find the gift shop?” He asks, his voice hopeful.

Phil smiles at them, glancing at Dan before answering. When Dan gives a conceding shrug, Phil nods. “Sure, just stay together and try not to stay too long.” He pulls his wallet out then, handing Levi his credit card without blinking. “Just sign my name if they ask for a signature,” he says.

Levi looks shocked, glancing between Phil and the card, and then at Dan, as if it’s some sort of joke. Dan simply smiles and shrugs, so Levi nods, reaching out for Amelia’s hand and making their way out of the room. Dan looks over at Phil, quirking an eyebrow. Phil quirks one right back. “Watch them come back with literally the biggest stuffed bear in the world,” Dan says, rolling his eyes.

Phil shrugs with a vague smile. “It’s out of the goodness of their hearts, Dan,” Phil says, biting his full bottom lip to hide his smile.

Dan crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s out of your pocket, bub,” he retorts, mostly playful. He really didn’t think Levi would overspend that much.

Jaiden giggles. “I’d like a big stuffed bear, I think,” Jaiden offers, voice hopeful.

“I reckon you deserve a stuffed bear after today, huh?” Phil speaks softly, brushing the dark hair out of Jaiden’s eyes. Jaiden smiles a little sheepishly, but nods. Phil glances at Dan with a little smile.

Dan’s heart hurts. He steps over towards them, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Jaiden’s head. “We’re so glad you’re alright, Jai-bird,” he says softly.

Jaiden smiles up at him. “I’m fine, Daddy. Just tired. And a little bit hungry,” he confesses.

Dan and Phil share a laugh at that. It’s so very characteristic of him to say something like that, even after the day he’s had. Dan ruffles his hair softly. “I promise we’ll get you some food as soon as we leave here, yeah?”

“Burgers?” Jaiden asks, his voice hopeful.

Phil tugs on one of Dan’s belt loops, his eyes wide and excited when Dan looks at him. “I wouldn’t mind a burger either, Dan,” he says, his voice sweet.

Rolling his eyes, Dan makes a big show of sighing loudly. “Alright, alright. Burgers it is.”

“Thank you, bear.” Phil looks exceptionally pleased as he tugs Dan closer, wrapping his arms around Dan’s waist in a loose hug. Dan’s arms automatically go around Phil’s neck, and he has the burning desire to press kisses to the blank canvas of his pale forehead. He doesn’t fully reign in that desire, but he satisfies it by dropping a kiss just above his left brow bone.

Turning to look at Jaiden, Dan makes an exasperated noise, shaking his head. “You’re both spoiled, you know,” he teases.

Phil makes a noise of protest, pulling away to pout up at Dan. “Am not,” he denies.

Dan tugs on a lock of hair right above his fingers. Phil cringes, but his lips quirk up in a smile. “Yes you are. Milkshakes at midnight, pizza almost every week, sneaking marshmallows, stealing-“

Phil presses his hand over Dan’s mouth. “If you say one word about the cereal, I swear-“

His threat is cut off by a yelp as Phil yanks his hand away. Dan grins.

“Dan,” Phil whines, wiping his wet hand on Dan’s sweater. “That’s disgusting.”

Dan pulls out of his grip, smirking. Jaiden giggles hysterically from where he’s laying on the bed, and Dan shares a smile with him. “That’s what you get, Phil. That’s a very important lesson for you to learn.”

Phil’s nose crinkles. “I can’t believe you licked my hand.”

A mischievous glint is in Dan’s eyes as he brings a hand up to pet Phil’s hair, a feigned sense of comfort in the motion. Phil leans into the touch, and Dan grins before quickly leaning in and licking a short stripe up the center of his forehead.

Jaiden is practically howling with laughter as Phil shoves Dan away, spluttering loudly and obnoxiously. “Daniel!” He screeches.

“Shh,” Dan warns through his own giggles. “Phil, be quiet, we’re in hospital,” he reprimands.

Phil shoots him a dirty look, crossing his arms in a pout.

Before he can counter with anything else, the door to Jaiden’s room swings open, causing the three of them to immediately go quiet, reigning in their horrible behavior in fear of a nurse coming to reprimand them, for sure. Dan feels like a child again.

They have no real reason for that fear, though, because Levi steps inside, looking at them with a suspicious look in his eyes. “What are you guys doing?” He asks, sounding concerned.

Dan bites his lip to stifle a laugh, glancing at Phil pointedly. Phil at least as the sense to look mildly embarrassed, shrugging sheepishly. “Er- Dan is being mean?” His words lilt up like a question, erasing any credibility his words might have had.

Levi glances at Dan, clearly confused. Dan shrugs. “I licked his hand.”

“You licked my forehead,” Phil adds, unnecessarily. He tugs at Dan’s shirt, and Dan bats his hand away weakly.

“Details, details,” he says dismissively. He grins at Levi, his eyes darting to Amelia to see what they got. “Wow. Is that for you or your brother?” Dan asks on a laugh.

Amelia looks sheepish as she moves towards the bed with the rather large stuffed toy. “Levi said I had to give it to Jai, ‘cause I’m not the one who got hurt.”

Dan nods, hiding a smile. “Well I’m sure Jaiden appreciates that, right bub?”

Jaiden’s grabbing for the plushy, his eyes bright and excited. “It’s so cool!” He says, his voice awed as she climbs onto the bed beside him, handing over the dinosaur toy. “Thanks,” he says, barely glancing at her.

Dan’s knee-jerk reaction to correct him into a more polite response is right there, but a light pinch to his waist redirects his attention. Phil’s giving him a look, almost like he’d read his mind. Dan stays quiet.

“Levi, my card?” Phil says, turning his head to look over at the teenager.

Levi looks confused for a moment, but when he remembers he looks vaguely embarrassed, digging into his front pocket. He produces the card, a receipt wrapped around it. Handing it over, he brushes his hair out of his eyes before mumbling quickly, “I just forgot. I wasn’t trying to steal it.”

Phil gives him a funny look. “I know that. I know you wouldn’t.” His voice is gentle and reassuring, but Levi doesn’t meet his eyes. “Were you okay using it?” He asks.

Levi nods, his eyes drifting. “It’s just, like. I haven’t really been allowed to spend money and stuff since before the group home.” He looks between Dan and the floor then, like he’s trying not to have this conversation with Phil there.

Before Dan can unpack that or say anything, Phil speaks, his fingers tapping out a rhythm against Dan’s thigh. “Would you like to have an allowance, Levi?”

The teenager looks surprised, glancing at Phil for real this time. “I- that’s not- I wasn’t like, asking for one, I just meant-“

“I know,” Phil rushes to reassure him. “I’m just asking you if you’d like one. You need to learn about how to budget and handle money anyway, and we’d be happy to get you a card for you to use.”

Levi looks shocked. “Er...” his eyes flicker to Dan, who only offers an encouraging smile. “Sure. Yeah, I’d... I’d really like that. Thanks.”

Phil smiles, an easy shrug on his shoulders. “Of course. Me or Dan will request a card and account sometime this week, yeah?”

Levi nods, moving to sit in the chair on the opposite side of Jaiden’s bed. He begins talking to the twins, and Dan sighs, focusing on Phil, who’s looking up at him with a pinched sort of expression. Dan loops his arms around his neck, tilting his head in a silent question. Phil only shakes his head, so Dan takes a moment to make sure the kids’ voices will drown him out before he leans in to whisper in Phil’s ear. “You okay?”

Phil nods, patting Dan’s hip, a little bit closer to his bum than he’d been before. Dan refuses to think about that. “Yeah. Sorry that I, like, did that without your permission.”

And that sort of makes Dan feel like an asshole. He tries to repress it, but Phil’s tone, and the words themselves, bring back very unwanted flashbacks of previous disagreements they’ve had over the course of fostering the kids. He cups a hand around the back of Phil’s neck, squeezing gently before leaning in and kissing his forehead.

“I’m not mad. I think it’s a great idea. I’ll check into making him an account Monday.” He kisses Phil’s temple this time, just for good measure. Phil smiles up at him. He doesn’t ask before tilting forward, leaving the tiniest of soft kisses on Dan’s lips. Dan’s heart flutters in the least platonic way there is, feeling on all accounts like a lovesick teenager.

~~~

((If you skipped the TW scene with Hazel: essentially, all you need to know is that the children are now wards of state, meaning their parents' rights have been terminated, and they could now (theoretically) be adopted. Thank you for reading!))

#phan #phanfiction #parent!au #parent!phan #foster parent #foster parent au #bbc producer!phil #school counselor!dan #fake relationship #friends to lovers #best friends #if you don't love me pretend #iydlmp #chapter 21 #iydlmp chapter 21

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all1e23 · 5 years

Text

Between the Stars [Pt.3]

Pairings: Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death

A/N: Each chapter is a month since steve has been gone as a reminder because this chapter does pick up the morning after Bucky arrived home. Big thanks to my pizza love @moonbeambucky for looking it over for me. As always for this series, flashback are italicized. If you like it write a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me. Remember not to judge everyone too harshly till all the secrets come out. ;-)

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

“What’s missin’ in here?”

Bucky stood in the living room, surveying the 420 square feet, coffee in hand, and squinting. You were both tired even after finishing off a pot of coffee between the two of you. Last night ended much like it started; in tears. You weren’t sure how long you cried or how long Bucky held you. There was a lot you needed to get off your chest, a weight you let Bucky carry for a few hours. This morning the burden was back resting heavily on your heart. It was your hardship to carry after all, not Bucky’s.

He had his own you suspected.

You stayed quiet as you watched his eyes move around the open floor plan, glancing from the dining to the living room. His eyes flicked along the bookcases lining the staircase, the tan leather sectional, and the two cream color chairs that Steve hated. You had a massive fight over those chairs, a real knock-down-drag-out. Steve didn’t want them. “Why would we buy white furniture when we are going to have kids? They will be covered in stains.” You had argued they weren’t white, they were cream. Things only escalated when you told him you wouldn’t have kids for a few more years anyway, and by then, they would be old enough that a few stains from sticky hands would be okay. Steve had thought kids would come along much sooner, it seemed. You simply couldn’t see how that would work while he was enlisted, and he thought the two of you could get through anything together; lack of communication and assumptions. Steve slept on the couch that night. If only you could go back and say sorry, beg him to come back to bed instead of being stubborn and staying mad to prove a point.

What you would give to be able to go back and relive it all again, even the bad moments because they always turned into the next good ones.

Bucky took a step towards the empty space by the front window, the sound of his boots on the hardwood made your heart clench. It was hard to miss now. The whole room looked uneven, looked off. Bucky spun back around to face you and asked gently, voice barely above a whisper, “What happened to your piano?”

You’ve been waiting for the shoe to drop since Bucky showed up yesterday evening; he spotted the change faster than Sam had.

“I sold it.”

Bucky didn’t move or make a sound at your admission. His face stayed impassive, and after a few moments of silence, he simply nodded. The subject was dropped. Sam had flipped his lid when he saw that you had really gone through with selling it, “You loved playing! You shouldn’t be making big decisions like that right now, ones you might regret later.” You didn’t understand why Sam was so shocked, you made it clear that you were done with that life. It didn’t bother you, so it shouldn’t worry Sam. At least, Bucky didn't care. Perhaps he was only better at hiding it; if Bucky was disappointed in you, he made no outward show of it.

“What plans do you have today?”

You regarded Bucky with a blank stare over your steaming mug and shrugged a shoulder. You couldn't remember the last time you made plans or filled your day with something over than hiding away in your house. Over the previous two months, your days have consisted of avoiding everyone that you could and staying locked in the safety of the walls you built with Steve. It was the one place no one could judge you for still loving your husband.

“All right. All right.” Bucky blew out a breath and rested his elbows on the kitchen counter, immediately going into fix-it mode. “Here’s what I was thinkin’ for today--”

You couldn’t help but take in the way Bucky was leaning against the white stone as he talked about the plans he had in mind for the day, what he thought the two of you should try to accomplish today, but you weren’t listening. It wasn’t that you were actively trying to ignore him, but there was something about his hair cut that short, and the way he was watching you as he spoke made you think of times that had long since past. When you were just a bunch of kids with no idea how the world worked or what it meant to be in love.

“Hey, Trouble.”

The deep voice calling you made you jump, you turned to see who the culprit was and narrowed your eyes when you saw Bucky holding back his chuckle. The scowl you were giving him looked menacing enough to scare most men off, but it only made the hold Bucky had on his laughter break. You dug an elbow into his ribs, and the groan that slipped from his lips was for your benefit, you were sure. Stupid cute boy. Bucky leaned against the railing, resting on his elbows and doing everything he could to keep his eyes focused on the water rippling under the wood beneath your feet.

You weren’t sure what reasons Bucky had when he came looking for you because he was actively avoiding meeting your gaze now that he was by your side.

“Sorry,” Bucky said, soft and unsure. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You smiled at the sincerity in his voice. Bucky rarely let himself be soft and vulnerable when everyone was gathered together like this, in party mode, but that was the side of him you saw more often than not; a secret piece of Bucky only you got to see.

“It’s okay. I’ve seen one too many horror movies. I feel like Jason is going to come up out of the lake or something,” you said with a shiver and instinctively slid closer to Bucky, letting your arms brush against his. This time you only glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and he was grinning as if he found something so funny about the situation the two of you were in.

He wouldn’t find it funny when a swamp monster trudged through the mud and ate you both.

Bucky leaned his head towards your, still eyeing that same dumb piece of wood bobbing in the rough motions of the lake, the proximity of his lips to your ear made your skin tingle, and he whispered in your ear, “I’ll protect you, Y/n. I promise I’ll always protect you.”

You turned to face him, and he finally pulled his attention away from that ugly log so he could stare into your eyes. How could they look so blue when it was this dark outside? You swallowed the lump in your throat, worrying your already reddened lip between your teeth and whispered so softly you were scared he wouldn’t hear you, and you wouldn’t find the courage to repeat it.

“Always saving me. How’d I get so lucky to have a friend like you, Buck?”

You have no idea why you said that. It was so stupid! Yes, you were friends, and if you kept saying things like that, things would stay that way. At this rate, you were never going to get a chance to find out if there was something beyond this silly little crush you’ve developed.

Why didn’t you tell him? Your brain hissed at you. You’re just a big scaredy-cat.

“Y/n?”

The firmness in Bucky’s voice brought you back, you shook your head to clear it of the times past and quickly followed it with a nod as if you were answering a question, but you had no idea what was said. Bucky didn’t mention your momentary blackout, but he did take the cup from your hands because your fingers were trembling, and you had yet to notice. You wrung them together to stop them from shaking, but they continued on.

“Have you been by to see Sarah?" Bucky asked again, picking up where he left off without missing a beat.

You cleared your throat and shifted from one foot to the other, your guilt was shining through loud and clear. No, you had not been by. You had intended to and even tried a few times, only ever made it to the end of the driveway before you retreated back inside and crawled into your bed. It was too hard, and you didn’t think you could face her after everything. It was as if Steve was staring back at you, and that hurt more than your heart could handle. Bucky sighed and pulled your jacket off the hook hanging in the kitchen, holding it out for you to take and gently urged you, “Come on Trouble. I’ll go with you.”

You grumbled something snarky under your breath that Bucky couldn’t make out, but it made him smile regardless. Your jacket was still hanging off his fingers, so you yanked it off and tucked it under your arm, refusing to let him win every battle today.

“I was thinkin’ we could stop in at Dixie’s on the way.”

“I’m not hungry,” you grumped, a sour face and firm pout in place.

Bucky held the screen door for you and raised a brow with a smirk curling up the edges of lips, “I didn’t say you had to eat. I’m starving, and I’ve missed their stuffed french toast.”

Your frown deepened at Bucky’s words and trudged across the yard through the snow to Steve’s truck. There was that stomach sinking expectation that he was trying to force you to eat, the same way everyone else did when they saw you. As if they were trying to cure your grief with casseroles and baked goods, not Bucky, though. He opened the door, and you climbed up into the passenger seat without second-guessing the action. Bucky made his way into the driver’s seat and pulled Steve’s keys out of his pocket; you never even saw him grab them.

It was quiet in the cab as Bucky fiddled with the radio, leaving it low once he had found a song he liked. You turned your gaze towards the window, and after several minutes of silence, you rolled your eyes, admitting with a huff, “I do like their french toast. They do that thing where they put the caramelized bananas on top, and the one with the cream cheese in the middle is pretty good.”

A small smile formed, but Bucky didn’t say anything. He was smart enough to stay quiet.

---

Despite having to face your mother-in-law for the first time in two months, you surprisingly felt better than you had this morning. All that sugar from Dixie’s helped. Even though you didn’t want to admit it, it felt good to do normal, everyday things again. Things you would have done with Steve or even before him. It didn’t make you a bad wife to go to breakfast with a friend or to order Steve’s favorite instead of avoiding it. It was okay to laugh a little when Bucky dribbled syrup down his grey Henley and missed the bit in the stubble that was beginning to grow back. Spending time outside the darkness didn’t mean you loved Steve any less or that you had to move on if you weren’t ready to. It simply meant the world continued on, and it was okay for you to do the same when it was time.

That was a nice reminder, though, standing in front of your mother-in-law's door made it feel as if everything was at a standstill once again and the high from all that sugar was fading fast. You raised your hand to open the back door four or five times, but you couldn’t force yourself to touch the handle. Sarah had her own mourning to work through and didn’t need to add yours on top of it. She shouldn’t have to comfort you, and you were in no shape to console her.

Bucky’s knuckles ran up and down your spine to soothe the jitters you were emitting, he encouraged gently, “Go on, Trouble. She loves you. I know she’ll be excited to see you.”

You took a deep breath and pushed the backdoor open, it creaked which made you smile. Steve would have complained about adding a little something to grease the hinges, so it wasn’t so loud. Sarah would say no, she liked to hear it squeak when you came in. Sarah’s eyes widened when you stepped through the door, but they quickly lit up with excitement. She was in the same spot as always, sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper in front of her, thin blonde hair pulled into a bun on the top of her head, and you might have been wrong, but it looked like she was wearing one of Steve’s old shirts. Sarah pulled her glasses off, rising from her chair before you could tell her to stay.

“Hey, sweetheart. I didn’t expect you to drop by…”

Her words died off, and her smile quickly fell when Bucky stepped through the door, dusted off his boots on the mat, and smiled at her. It was obvious she was excited to see him, but there was a shake in her hand and a mist in her eyes no one could miss when he spoke, "Hey, Mama R."

“I-I spoke to Winnie this morning. She didn’t think you would be stopping by right away,” Sarah stopped to give you a hug and whispered she loved you before she reached for Bucky and pulled him into a hug only a mother could provide. Bucky seemed happy to be on the receiving end, “Are you kiddin'? I had to come see you. I’m not home till I do.”

Maybe it was what Bucky had said or the tenderness in his voice when he said, but it broke whatever glue Sarah was using to hold herself together. You took a few steps back and let your weight sag back against the counter, Bucky stood in the doorway holding Sarah, and you heard her choked whispers from where you were hiding, “Did it-- Were you there? Was it--”

He shook his head, answering her unspoken question, was it bloody and painful. Bucky assured her, “Yeah, I was there. It was quick, and he wasn’t in any pain. I promise.”

You met Bucky’s eyes over her shoulder, and he quickly dropped your gaze, his focus back on Sarah and comforting her the best he could. Bucky was lying. You knew him well enough to know when he was telling tall tales and right then was the tallest he’s told. Either he wasn’t with Steve when it happened, or it wasn’t as quick as he was claiming.

Sarah was quick to wipe her eyes and pretend it never happened. She offered to make lunch, and despite your efforts to stop her by informing her you just came from breakfast, she began cooking anyway. You wanted to protest, but Bucky shook his head, so you let it go. Sarah was only trying to fix what she could, she couldn’t bring Steve back, but she could make ridiculously good turkey Reuben. Steve wasn’t mentioned the rest of the five-hour visit, and you had a feeling it was done for your benefit. It should have been a relief because the last thing you want to do is breakdown in front of Bucky or Sarah, but it only made you angry.

Would they talk about Steve if you weren’t around? Would they share secrets and memories? Would Bucky have told her what happened to Steve if only you hadn’t come? It wasn’t fair of you to be angry with either of them, but nothing was fair about any of this.

The ride back to your house was silent. You barely spoke five words to Bucky through lunch, and even though you promised you would soon, you weren’t sure when you would go back to Sarah’s. It wasn’t as hard as you expected, but today had been exhausting. Bucky never turned the radio on, and you were grateful. The quiet gave you a chance to hear the whistle in the wind as the trees rustled and listen for leaves blown by your window. It was a pretty whisper that made your skin prickle, you had forgotten how pretty spring could be.

Bucky gave you space you so desperately needed once you got home. You bolted towards your bedroom the moment the front door opened. It wasn’t him you were running from. You hoped he knew that, so you left your door cracked. The stale air of your bedroom felt like you were suffocating, and the sight of your blankets in a heap on the top of your mattress only added to your unease. With the window cracked and one of Steve’s shirt now replacing yours, you slowly started to untangle the sheets and gathered your throw pillows off the floor in the corner of the room. Baby steps. That was what Sam was always telling you. So, maybe you start with making your bed. It wasn’t like anyone would know if you gave up. You were all alone. There was a soft knock on your door, and you looked up to find Bucky standing awkwardly in your doorway.

“Everything okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat and gave you a curt nod. There was something dark in his hands, and he was gripping it so tightly you thought for sure it would rip in two. The stiffness in his frame made you stop, drop the throw pillow in your hand onto the end of the bed, and you took a step towards him. You inspected the hand he was holding out, and your chest tightened when you realized what it was.

“I wanted to make sure you got this back.”

Bucky brought your scarf back home.

“He would want you to know it was with him when it happened. He had you with him when it happened.”

You ran your fingers along the frayed threads and the new holes that were littered throughout. You could see spots where the sun had faded it, the darker pieces where he tucked it into his shirt. “I, uh, I didn’t wash it. I kept it wrapped in one of his shirts. I didn’t know if...”

You brought it up to your nose to take a breath and smiled at the familiar earthy citrus scent. When they told you Steve was lost during a mission, you assumed you would never see it again. It was nice to hear Steve wasn’t lying all those times he told you he took it with him, it never left his side just like he promised and it was nice to have that piece of him back.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Bucky shrugged his shoulder and gestured towards the end of the hall, where he would be if you wanted him. You weren’t going to say anything. The plan was to stay in your room for the rest of the night and wallow, but now… you didn’t want to be alone and holding that thin fabric between your fingers; you had to ask. With Steve’s scarf resting on the corner of your bed, you called out for Bucky before he could leave your sight.

“Hm?”

Bucky stopped short and leaned against the doorframe as if he was preparing himself for what you were about to ask. You’ve always been able to read each other, there was no doubt he knew what was coming.

“It wasn’t quick, was it?”

Bucky only shook his head in response. It wasn’t an answer to your question, he wasn’t going to answer you right now. He didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe that was for your benefit, or perhaps he simply couldn’t talk about it yet. Either way, you wouldn’t push him.

“W-would you want to, um, have dinner with me?” Your voice cracked when you asked. He caught it, but you pressed on, ignoring the concern darkening his eyes, “I don’t have any groceries. I haven’t been getting out much. There was a thing with a pie--”

“Thing with a pie?” Bucky interrupted with a curious tilt of the head and playful smirk forming.

You rolled your eyes and brushed it off with a wave of your hand.

“It’s not important. People are nosy, and sometimes baked goods make you emotional, okay? It’s normal… Just-- nevermind. I was thinking we could heat up one of those stupid frozen dinners everyone keeps bringing by and stuffing in my freezer.”

Bucky chuckled and waved his hand, silently telling you to lead the way, “Yeah, let’s go see what we’ve got, but I’m handling the stove.”

“It’s just warming it up, Buck.”

“Still,” Bucky whistled lowly, wearing that silly smirk. “I don’t wanna risk it, Trouble.”

As hard as you tried to fight, you found yourself smiling for the first time in a long, long time.

The next four weeks continued to drag on like every week since Steve has been gone. The hours crawled by, the minutes took forever to pass, and you counted the seconds until you could hide away in your room. Bucky didn’t smother you, but he did hover. He liked to check-in by walking by your room, never saying anything, just glancing towards your bed where he often found you. Bucky didn’t crowd you the way Sam had, but you knew he was taking notice of your lack of sleep and your poor eating habits from the moment he arrived. It wasn’t that you were purposely skipping meals; you had no appetite and forcing yourself to eat felt like torture some days. Your appetite had improved some since Bucky came home, but you still rarely venture out of the house or do much of anything. Most of your days were spent hiding in your room, and your nights were spent on the back deck.

It was the best place to stare at the stars.

That’s where Bucky found you yet again, you heard the sliding door rolling along the tracks and Bucky’s bare feet getting closer and closer with each step. Bucky was getting a glass of water like he did every night. He wasn’t the only one paying attention. Bucky slowly sat down next to you, letting his legs hang off the deck like yours but didn’t say anything. It was becoming somewhat of a nightly tradition, and most nights, you didn’t talk. Sometimes you didn’t even mind having the company, other nights weren’t so giving. You turned your head after several silent beats and looked at the man sitting next to you. Bucky gave you a small inquisitive smile, and you shrugged your shoulder. Bucky grinned and leaned his own arms on the railing, mimicking your stance and followed your gaze to the sky.

“So, why are you always out here? I come down every night, and I see you sitting in the same spot.”

It was a fair question, but the answer wasn’t so easy to give.

“I don’t sleep much anymore.”

Bucky understood that better than most. He really did. Bucky had once told you between the things he had seen and the things he had done, he found it hard to close his eyes and rest. Sleep often meant nightmares, and lately, you had a feeling those were filled with images of Steve. Bucky gazed up at whatever set of stars you were trying to spot through the tears in your eyes, the ones you tried to hide when he came outside.

Thankfully, Bucky would never bring them up.

“The house feels confining sometimes, but I’m not ready to leave it. It’s quiet, and my bed is cold. Empty. I don’t like it. And…” You sighed heavily and quietly admitted, “I like looking up at the stars. I feel like wherever he is, maybe he’s looking down at the same time I'm looking up. Feels like he’s not fully gone when I do that. It sounds stupid, I know.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid, Y/n.”

Bucky tore his eyes away from the sky and looked back at you. He shook his head and let out an amused sigh, "He used to say the same thing. A lot actually. Which didn’t make a lot of sense because our night was usually your day, but he said he liked to look up at the stars hoping you were doing the same and thinking about him."

You smiled at the thought.

“Why are you downstairs every night? Checking up on me?” You nudged Bucky with your shoulder, and he gave you a gentle nudge back before answering.

“Hmm. Nightmares. Things I’d rather not see a lot of. I try to avoid them if I can.”

You hummed in understanding. Even if he hadn’t confided in you years ago about the things that haunted him when he closed his eyes, you knew about nightmares. You were constantly running from yours. The bags under your eyes and the constant yawning was the first sign that sleep no longer came easily.

“Come on, Trouble,” Bucky urged you as he slowly stood and held his hand out for you. You looked up at him, brow furrowed with a question burning in your eyes; it was three in the morning, where could he possibly want to take you?

“Come on?” you repeated, hoping he would elaborate.

“Let’s go lay down.”

Your face went dark, and you looked back up at the stars, shutting down the offer. You couldn't sleep. Bucky tucking you in wouldn't change that. The bed was far too big now, with a cold side that never felt right and left you with an empty chest when you woke.

"I’ll hold you until you fall asleep. I’ll stay with you, so it doesn’t feel so empty,” Bucky whispered as if he knew all the thoughts bouncing around your head. You slowly reached out and took his hand, letting him help you to your feet. He didn’t let go. Bucky held your hand as he led you through the house. He paused at your bedroom door and waited. It was the space you shared with Steve, and he wasn’t going to step into that territory unless you made it clear it was okay to do so.

“Can you wait a second?” You whispered.

Bucky nodded and released your hand so you could slip behind the door. A few minutes later, you stepped into the hallways wearing a baby blue tank top and matching cotton shorts, holding a pillow to your chest. It was Steve’s. You both knew it was. There was no reason to dwell on it or make an outward admission. You waited for Bucky to grab your hand and lead you back to the guest room that he had moved into, staring at his bed covered in more than enough pillows you’re filled with a bit of embarrassment and remorse.

Bucky was only trying to help.

“I’m sorry--”

Bucky quickly pulled you into his arms and shook his head, soothing you with all those pillows bearing witness, “Don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for. Some wouldn’t understand, but I do. I get it. We’re okay, Y/n."

You nodded even though you didn't feel any better about it, and glanced at his bed. It was the same size as yours, but this one looked much smaller now that you were sharing it with someone else. It’s been nearly two years since you shared a bed with someone else, and you weren’t sure if it was better or worse than sleeping alone.

Steve was always the big spoon. Always. There were rare moments when he would let you carry his troubles and let you hold him, but those didn’t come along often. You didn’t want to do that. It felt wrong even though there wasn't anything indecent about Bucky's offer. The offer was derived from his love for Steve, and for you, he was worried about you, and it was plain to see despite his best efforts to show you otherwise. You could give him an inch, and sleeping didn’t sound so bad after all the nights you have spent struggling to rest. Bucky waited for you to get comfortable; finally, you settled on your side, facing him with Steve’s pillow resting comfortably behind your back as if Steve was holding you, and he gave you a small smile.

You were stiff when he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you towards him, so your head rested on his chest. It felt odd to let someone other than Steve hold you. Not that you haven't curled up next to Bucky on the couch during a movie or held his hand at Coney island. You’ve felt his lips on your forehead more times than you could count. That was a long time ago, though. Back when you all were just friends, and you thought maybe Bucky had feelings for you. Before that night, the night that changed everything, before vows had been exchanged and the Army, Bucky always seemed to be buzzing around you. He would walk you to class, bring lunch by your dorm whenever he could, Bucky would stay long after everyone else went home and held your hand whenever it was free to hold.

There was a second, a fleeting twinkle when you thought he was finally going to admit he had feelings for you but, Bucky never said anything.

Then Steve happened.

Things between you and Bucky changed fairly quickly once Steve kissed you. Bucky no longer reached for your hand when it was bare. He was quiet. Distant. It took a few months before Bucky finally seemed to be himself again when the three of you were together. Things had changed, you didn't blame him. Steve had, only a little before you talked some sense into him and assured him it would take time for everyone to get used to the new dynamic. Steve had said, Bucky better get used to it because this, you and him, was forever. Forever wasn't quite as long as you or Steve thought it turned out.

“Did Steve ever tell you about the time I caught him fighting two guys double his size behind that old Pizza Hut, holding nothing but one of those red plastic trays as some sorta shield?”

You chuckled through your sniffles and shook your head as best you could against his chest. The tension in your shoulders lifted enough that you began to relax, and Bucky ran a hand up and down your arm to help take the rest of the weight you were forcing on yourself.

“No, what happened?”

Bucky snorted, and you knew the look he was wearing. The same look of indignation he wore every time Steve ran headfirst into trouble without thinking of the consequences.

“Nothin’ good. Little punk ended up with a broken nose, and I lost most of my paycheck tryin' to cool them off enough to leave before they pummeled him into the ground. Then he gets mad at me for stepping in.”

You tucked your head further into his chest to hide your smile and mumbled against the soft cotton of his shirt. “Lemme guess, he had it under control?”

Bucky gave your arm a squeeze and confirmed, “Yeah, he had it under control.”

“Tell me more stories.” You begged quietly, “Please?”

Bucky was quiet for a few moments, and then his chest rumbled under your ear, “Let’s see, all right. All right. I got one. In fifth grade--”

Bucky talked until your breath evened out, and soon you were snoozing soundly against his chest. He hoped tonight your nightmares would give you both one night of peaceful sleep, but he wasn’t counting on it.

The night was coming to an end, and you spent most of it watching Wanda attempting (and failing) to stop Pietro from flirting with every girl present, Clint and Nat making out by the fire all night long and Sam having several serious conversations with Bucky. Dot was still fawning all over Bucky after she got her claws in him and pulled him off the dock and away from you. Not that, that was unusual when everyone got together. She was always all over Bucky. Everyone seemed to have someone and that someone wasn’t you. Even Steve was avoiding you tonight for a reason you couldn't begin to understand. Maybe it was time to throw in the red Solo cup and head home.

“Y/n?”

You spun around to see Steve standing behind you, looking out of sorts and a little nervous. “Hey, Stevie.”

“Hey. Hi...” Steve gnawed his bottom lip and stared at the fire in front of you, trying to process something by the look in his eyes. He was struggling with something, and you were starting to worry something was seriously wrong.

“Are you okay, Steve?”

“Am I okay?” Steve echoed your words. You giggled at the way his brow crumbled, and his nose scrunched up while he thought your question over, making him grin.

“Screws this,” Steve whispered.

Steve tossed his cup in the fire and took two long strides into your space, cupping your face in both hands, and his lips were on yours before anyone knew what was happening. There were a few whistles and shouts from your idiot friends, but you didn’t notice any of them. All you could see at that moment was Steve. His lips were softer than you pictured, and your heart jumped in a way you didn’t think was possible from one silly kiss. It wasn’t anything indecent, but it was enough to make your knees go weak, and your breath stutter when he finally pulled away Steve pressed his forehead against yours, still cradling your face in his hands when he apologized.

"Sorry. I really love that laugh."

Your heart fluttered, and your fingers tightened around his wrists, hopeful it would be enough to keep you standing when the ground drops out from under you a second time.

"You kissed me because you love my laugh?"

Steve’s cheeks turned a pretty rosy color. His embarrassment wasn't enough to make him let you go just yet. "Yeah, I guess I did.”

You paused for a beat.

“How long have you wanted to do that?”

Steve smiled in that sweet, shy way you’ve always liked and whispered just loud enough for you to hear over the noise of the party and the fire raging next to you, “Pretty much from the moment I met you. I mean, It’s you, Y/n. Who wouldn’t want to kiss you?”

A bright grin stretched across your face, and you stepped back out of his hold, holding your hand out for him to take. Steve took your hand but pulled you back into his arms, this unusual display of confidence coming from him was disarming.

“I was thinking about heading home, but I’m suddenly starving. Wanna go get some cheese fries and drive me home?”

“Yeah, yeah, we can do that.I’ll go anywhere if I get to go with you,” Steve promised with a grin.

Your eyes snapped open, and you stared up at the guest room ceiling, trying to catch your breath without waking Bucky. You hated that thinking about that night, let alone dreaming about it and having to see it all play out. It used to be one of your favorite memories. You would beg Steve to replay the details as if he was reading from the pages of some silly storybook and now you couldn’t stand the slightest hint of that night. Your breath wasn’t steadying, it was only getting worse, and you could feel the panic building, clawing at your throat. You slowly slipped out of bed, leaving Bucky sleeping soundly and retreated to the safety of your room. Closing the door behind you, you flipped the lock, and your legs finally gave out from under you. You slid down the wall, unable to stop your tears you’ve been holding in since you woke.

Sam kept telling you to give it time. It would take time, lots of time to heal, but you didn’t think you could keep going on this way. Not when your own memories are there to torment you. You would give everything you had to simply forget. Forget it all -- his death, the phone call, all of your fights and the makeups, too. The bad and the good. You’d trade the memory of all his kisses if you could just let go of this hurt.

This wasn’t how fairytales were supposed to end, maybe it was all a lie from the start. Perhaps you were never meant to end with a happy ever after.

Previous // Next

#past!Steve Rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #alternate universe #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #tw: military death #tw: character death #tw: death of a spouse #tw: depression

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ahsxual · 4 years

Text

My Personal Teddy Bear

Pairing: Phoenix!Joker x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Request: "Heyyy !! Love your writing ! :D If it's okay for you, can you please write a headcanon with Joker 2019 and a very romantic reader who loves fluffy things ? Thank you !! <3"

Word Count: 1,9k

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting this my dear @arthurjokersgirl!! I'm really happy to know that you like my writing 🥺🥺 It means so much to me!! And I'm so sorry for taking so long, but I had a few problems in writing this fic (tumblr didn't save it, so I had to write it all over again). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fic I made for you <33

(I don't own this image!!! If you own it, please message me and I'll give you the deserved credits)

When you and Arthur met, both of you were surprised by the amount of things that you had in common.

You two are so kind, so good-hearted, so romantic and dedicated to your partner and everything you do... and if there's something that manages to put a cute and melting smile on your faces, is when you receive, especially when it’s from one another, fluffy objects, such as teddy bears, flowers, romantic CD's, love letters... anything that involves and expresses the love you have for each other.

Whenever you idealized a relationship or whenever someone asked you to describe the "perfect man", the answer was always the same: a romantic, caring, generous and cute guy who would do anything for his girlfriend, promising to love her for all eternity.

Once other people heard your answer, they would say you were just being childish, that those types of guys weren't real and that you had to live in the real world, not some kind of princess movie, waiting for your prince to rescue and fulfill your heart with all the love he could muster... what they didn't know, was that your prince was destined to meet you the moment you were welcomed into this world.

You couldn't imagine being with anybody else: ever since you shared your first words with Arthur, you knew deep inside that he was the one for you, the love of your life, your charming prince... and as if he hasn’t told you yet, he felt exactly the same, you were his one and only that he had been waiting for so long all his lonely life.

Your chemistry was unique: you were so in love, so committed to your relationship, that you were sure that you would spend the rest of your lifes with each other. Death wasn’t able to break your chain, it was stronger that anything else in the universe. Once you had finally perished, you would marry each other as many times as you needed, twice, thrice, billions of times if it were needed.

Arthur sees you as a sweet, gorgeous flower, being utterly different from the others by its unique beauty. He doesn’t have eyes for any other flower: you're the only one he has eyes for and feels pure love for: he even compared himself to the Little Prince, and you were the only flower in his world, yet perfect and outstanding.

He loved the fact that you were as romantic as him, because that made him feel more secure and sure of yourself. Even the little things would put your eyes in tears and make your smile grow until your red cheeks started to hurt because of his sweet gestures.

Your favorite hobbie is, after getting from a tired and exhausted day of work, laying in each other's arms on the spacious sofa while watching romantic movies or comedies to brighten your mood, covered in blankets while sharing a cup of hot tea because of the frosty cold winter.

You loved everything about Arthur and your relationship with him: it was all about trust, support, love, dedication, comprehension and understanding. He was your best friend, and you were his.

Every month he would save some extra money to buy you a present, sometimes even starving himself for days just to have enough money to buy you the most expensive gift he could afford. But of course that once you knew about this you immediately stopped him, not admitting him to do such silliness no matter how good his intentions were.

But what he didn't know, was that you were willing to play the same game: without him realizing it, you saved some cash every month as well (without starving yourself, of course), to buy tickets for a romantic movie that would debut in the cinemas.

You were so happy about it, to finally give Arthur what he deserves and to take him where he has always wanted to go since he was a little kid. But this time, he would see a romantic movie with you, giving you both an opportunity to have a decent date for you to enjoy.

You couldn't wait to see your lover's face once he knows he'd go to cinema for the very first time with the love of his life, with his one and only... with you.

On the other hand, Arthur was thinking exactly the same thing, since he had been saving some cash to give you a surprise, imagining your reaction after he had offered his gift that would mark and change your lives forever, while increasing your pure love even more, if that was even possible.

One day you went to grab your hidden piggy bank with more money to save, only to count it right after. Once you had counted it and saw that you had enough, you instantly jumped and giggled from the sheer happiness around your shared room. You made so much noise, that even Arthur who was in the living room, knocked gently on the door to make sure you were fine.

Today was the day where you finally could show your gift to him: you told him that he needed to hurry up and dress something nice, because you were going to an amazing place. He wanted to know what your plans were so bad, but he knew it was useless since you wouldn't tell him until you had arrived to the "misterious place".

Once you had arrived and had gotten out safely from the bus, you told your boyfriend to close his gorgeous ocean eyes.

"You can open them now, love." you gently said with the two tickets held in your hand, while being right in front of the cinema so he could understand your intentions.

He was immediatly dumb-founded as soon as he understood what you meant. "Y-you... you want me to go to the cinema with... with you?" his eyes started to become moist with each second that passed, and you only had time to embrace him in your eyes while assuring him that this was real, that this was really happening.

"It's ok love, it's good to let our emotions out when we need to. I'm right here if you need anything. We will have so much fun! And you know that we deserve this, it will be good for us and our relationship, right?" you look into his eyes and could see that a few tears managed to slide down from his red and cold cheeks. He was definitely crying, but from happiness, something that he never thought was possible: he could only relate tears to sadness, however you managed to prove him that the opposite was possible as well. That's what he loved about you: even having been through a lot and felt so many things from his entire life, he would always learn something new about you, him and others from you.

"I can't even thank you enough for all you have done for me, honey... If I could only retribute half that you have done for me... I would be the happiest man for seeing his future wife happy as well." you were smiling from ear to ear, but once he said the words that you always dreamed to hear from him, "future wife", you had to hold your tears back from falling down your now stunned face.

You were too distracted, or should I say too concentrated on your lover, that you didn't realize that the movie was about to start.

Once you entered the cinema room, both of you were amazed by the view: the red seats were all over the place and were very organized; the movie screen was giant, the perfect size to enjoy your movie; the background was simple, yet exquisite, giving you a sudden feeling of luxury, however you didn't care that much if you were honest. As long as you were by Arthur's side, that's all that matters, because your love is the most luxurious thing in this world.

That night was the one you've always dreamed of: you stayed close to each other while grabbing your hands firmly, yet gently, like you were terrified of someone taking the other away from yourselves; the movie contained a lot of romance, which illuminated your hearts more than the brightest stars. You could even relate yourselves to the lovely couple on the screen, which made you both smile the entire time, changing glances with each other with the most passionate stare. This made Arthur think about what he had planned for you for a long time, more specifically from the moment you shared your first kiss, because since then, he instantly knew you were the one.

It made him feel a little bit, not to say extremely, nervous as well, and when the movie ended, you thought it was necessary to ask if he was ok or if he just didn't like the movie.

"N-no! Of course I liked the movie, I actually loved it. I couldn't imagine any other date more perfect than the one you planned for us... thank you once again, it means so, so much to me, sweetheart..." he admitted, making you feel more relaxed. However, he seemed like he was hiding something else, like he had something on his mind that he couldn't let out. But then he smiled at you while grabbing your hand softly, and from that moment you knew that he was about to tell you what was stuck on his mind since he left home.

You walked out of the cinema and went outside, where you instantly felt your body shivering from the cold of the late night of Gotham... but your boyfriend made sure to warm and melt your heart in an instant.

You saw Arthur overthinking and trembling a little, and when you were about to ask him if he was cold too and wanted you to warm him up, he kneeled on the rigid ground and took a small box of your favorite color from his back pocket.

You had an idea of what was coming, yet you couldn't believe that that was what was really going to happen.

"My sweet precious, kind, and beautiful love, would you... would you l-like to ah.. m-marry me...?" his eyes seemed like they belonged to a baby puppy that was asking for affection or his favorite treat, but in this case he was asking you for being his wife... Is this a dream??

You immediately felt your eyes burning and becoming wet by the few rebellious tears that managed to escape from your lovely stare. Your hands were now in front of your gaping mouth, and you couldn't feel cold anymore. The only thing you felt in that moment, was an enormous wave of warm love that you couldn't help, but you let yourself drown.

It was at this moment that all your insecurities and fears that were related to your mutual love, were permanently defeated. Now you knew there was nothing nor anyone that would tear you apart... and you had so many goals yet to achieve as a couple.

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ubemango · 5 years

Text

Year after year (after tear after tear)

note 1: I wrote this last semester after watching deathly hallows for the one hundredth time... I got mad that Ron/Hermione were a thing instead of Harry/Hermione ANYWAY that’s not the point of the fic but U know that feel when Ron/Lavender were together and Hermione was crying the whole time??? Yeah that’s the point of this fic. Also based off a drabble I didn’t reupload; this is the revamped version ig

+ thank you Luna and Miss Minnie for helping me out and reading through this <3

note 2: “Ella will u ever write anything other than college au” Nope die mad about it

PAIRING. jeongguk/being in love, reader/crying, taehyung/being a good friend:( GENRE. sad romance. it’s college angst RATED. T WORD COUNT. 3.4k WARNINGS. I don’t mean it. SUMMARY. Taehyung just wants you to have a good birthday.

let me go, let me stay, let me live in oblivion...

cehryl, sway

(1)

He doesn’t even need to say she’s there. It’s the same succession of movement every time: his spine will go rigid, then his eyes will light up. Maybe he’ll twiddle his thumbs under the table too. He fidgets like he is.

“I really like her,” Jeongguk sighs.

“That’s good,” you answer.

You stab at the margins of your notebook with your pen. Taehyung doesn’t say anything. He sits across you, unwounded and wholly unbothered, taking another bite of his messy sandwich. At least he cares enough to send you a look that says he understands your vexation.

“Why don’t you go talk to her then?” Taehyung says.

Jeongguk fidgets a little more. He sends another forlorn look past Taehyung’s shoulders. “She hasn’t texted me back.”

“When’d you text her?”

“Like two hours ago.”

“Hmph,” Taehyung grumbles. Instantly you think of Jeongguk waking up with the urgent need to text Jieun. You resist making the disturbed noise that itches at your throat.

“Maybe she’s just too busy,” Jeongguk argues.

“Well she is carrying a billion textbooks,” you chime in. And you’re not wrong. Jieun stands near the pizza station, contemplating lunch choices with the burdens of fourth-year organic chemistry and animal physiology in her tiny hands. She’s dainty in that pretty way. If you had the gall, you’d be green with jealousy, but even you can’t deny her charm.

“Maybe I’ll go help her—“

Taehyung slams his hands across the table on his arm. “Do not.”

“She’s so cute.” Jeongguk resigns, sitting back down.

If you were kinder to yourself, you’d excuse your presence for the sake of finding solace in your homework elsewhere. There’s a weird mixture of pity and rapture that keeps you glued to your seat though; while you loathe to sit out one more second of Jeongguk foaming at the mouth for annoyingly-pretty-Jieun, there’s also the anchor in your heart that weighs you right back down to him.

In a less metaphoric translation: he cut his hair and he looks really good.

“So are you… talking talking?” Taehyung asks through mushy bread.

“Sorta,” Jeongguk says. “I mean—she and I talk through Snap.”

“Does she save your messages?”

“Nope.”

“Jesus,” Taehyung says again.

“I do,” Jeongguk interjects.

“Christ.” Taehyung snorts. “Do you guys have any classes together?”

“A-level anthropology. She needed it for her degree requirement.”

It makes sense. “So she was the fourth year you had to talk to for group discussion,” you recall.

“Yeah.”

“And now you’re in love with her.” (Taehyung gives you a sharp stare.)

“Well—sure,” Jeongguk replies. “I don’t know. She’s cool. The other day she was watching a stream of someone playing Resident Evil and my heart was so—big for her.”

You scrunch your nose. He says this like you didn’t come over the second it came out and took turns playing it with him but you won’t bring it up. “Cute,” you say instead.

“Oh.” You watch his phone light up on the table. “It’s—she messaged me back.”

Jeongguk stays preoccupied tapping furiously on his screen. Taehyung finishes his sandwich with a gulp, offering you one more glance of understanding. Your chest hurts.

(2)

There’s a movie playing in the student lounge tonight. Some high-definition, revolutionary take on pop culture you haven’t watched the trailer for yet. It’s Jeongguk who invites you.

He’s saved you a seat next to him on the couch, buttered popcorn hot on his lap. “You’re late,” Jeongguk complains when you fall into the cushion next to him.

“I don’t like movies.”

“But you like me.”

You know it’s a joke. But offence comes in the form of a shiver that runs right down your back, and if he was any closer he probably would have felt it. “Sure,” you answer instead. “Taehyung not here yet?”

“Nah.” He tips the bucket in your direction in offering, and you scoop a handful of kernels. “He had some band rehearsal or something. He’ll probably come later.”

The opening scenes drone into a buzz you pay half-attention to. A lot of people are here tonight, and the convention of silence isn’t something they really care about because you can barely hear what you’re not even trying to listen to. Jeongguk groans. “So loud,” he says.

You shrug. “Are you sad about that?”

“Shut up.” He clicks his tongue. Spreads his legs and leans back attractively, and you cross your legs to distract yourself from the sudden track of desire that makes a course through your head. Literally any boy could do the same douchey thing and you’d find it gross, but Jeongguk was never any boy. Jeongguk is clumsy and knocks his knees against yours and apologizes quick under his breath, and you notice he hasn’t looked at you once.

You don’t put it past him. You probably shouldn’t be so preoccupied with your messy love life when the one it concerns is right next to you. But it’s easy to get lost in the lull of the movie you’re not here for, seeking out Jeongguk’s presence, because it’s what you do when you don’t care about the consequences.

You turn to him when he nudges your shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“I see Jieun.”

Of course he sees Jieun. You know how it works. The signal that blares the second you notice something’s right about the room, your periphery shrinking into the one thing, and it was Jeongguk sitting on this couch. You didn’t even need to search for him because he was just there. Now Jieun is just there and and you’re here but not to Jeongguk.

Never for Jeongguk.

You nod in agreement. “Yeah. Up front?”

“Mhm.”

The glow of the screen surrounds her, almost like she’s some holy deity. Trust Jieun to make the back of her head just as pretty as her face. There’s bitterness, but there’s also acceptance, and that’s what’s mashing at your insides. “She’s alone,” you remark.

“She says she likes going to the movies here,” Jeongguk says, and it clicks.

“So you’re here for her.”

He scratches his chin, frowning. “I—maybe. Yeah,” he flounders.

You're quiet for the sake of being polite, but a million derisive words jumble quiet in your head. Like you’d said earlier, you don’t even like movies. But it meant an hour and a half of wondering if his thigh would touch yours. An amalgamation of all the sweetest things you could imagine happening in this two-seater, and he won’t spare you one glance.

You find your words before you start floundering, too. “So are you gonna talk to her?”

“I want to.”

“You should if you want to.”

“I just—“ he pauses when the dialogue continues loudly on-screen— “I… have a question.”

“Sure.”

“Friend to friend.” Your insides freeze up. For a strange couple seconds, you contemplate laughing. “I just—I feel so clueless. I like her a lot but it feels like it’s going nowhere. One second I’m texting her and it really seems like it’s going somewhere and then she doesn’t talk to me for two days.”

“Sounds rough,” you offer.

“It’s annoying. I don’t know. I mean we’re nowhere near exclusive but I’m still sorta hurt, y’know? Is it—is it wrong for me to feel like that? Am I allowed to feel this sad?”

Jeongguk takes the pause for your initial thoughts to dump a handful of popcorn in his mouth. You both stare forward, and you know who he’s looking at. “Is that your question?” You mumble.

“Yeah.”

You stick your hand in the bucket. Jeongguk takes his hand out. “You’re allowed to be sad.”

“Hm,” he huffs.

“It’s a bad feeling—like you’re going somewhere with someone when you really aren’t,” you continue. You bring your knees up to your chest, and if your shoes scuff the couch you don’t really care. “It’s not your fault. I get it. You get the—the hope that she’ll keep talking to you, because if she’s not then it feels like she doesn’t care, right? And it all just blows up in your face when you don’t talk but when you do it feels good again. You know. Like a cycle.”

Jeongguk nods fast. “A dumb cycle,” he snorts, and you can’t help but agree.

“You’ll be fine,” you say.

“Thanks.” He bumps his elbow against yours in an effort to lighten up the mood. “You know. Whoever you end up with? They’re really lucky.”

Ouch. That’s literally the last thing you’d planned on hearing tonight, but you’ll take it anyway. “You’re too nice to me.”

“I mean it!”

“Thanks.” You’ve never doubted his sincerity—never will. But when it works against your favour, it’s hard to hide being terse. Especially when you have nothing left to say.

On-screen, a couple shares a passionate kiss.

“I don’t like this movie,” you decide.

Jeongguk hums. “Sorry.”

The moment is done. You had come for loveless possibilities; watched them disintegrate with every word Jeongguk spoke. The rational part of your brain reminds you it isn’t his fault.

It’s always yours.

“You should go sit with her,” you encourage.

“Really?”

If Jeongguk’s trying to hide his excitement, it’s not working. He sucks in his bottom lip. Something he does when he’s contemplating anything nerve-wracking, and with the awful feeling stabbing your stomach, you remember how hard it is to forget the small things about him. “Go. I’ll save this seat for Taehyung.”

“Alright,” he resolves. He hands you the popcorn bucket. Gives you one last hopeful look and bounds off to the front without warning.

You watch him whisper to get Jieun's attention. She adjusts fast, it seems—he slides in the couch right next to her in an instant. When his shoulder touches hers, your heart shatters.

Taehyung doesn’t show up. When the movie’s done, Jeongguk and Jieun are nowhere to be seen.

At least you got the popcorn to yourself.

(3)

“You’re such a masochist,” Taehyung declares.

“Maybe.”

"Stop talking to him."

"Stop talking to our best friend?" No one really comes to the library on weekends. It's a void you signed up to volunteer in, shelving books in peace. But this time Taehyung insisted he come by to help you out. Really he'd just felt bad that he couldn't make it to movie night last week, and he'd listened to the failed outcome with kind ears—and unkind advice. "I can't just—do that."

"I mean like taking a friendship break," he suggests. You hand him the generous weight of a British literature anthology to slot in. "What the fuck. This is so heavy. Anyway go join a club or something. Distract yourself."

"So much work."

"Yeah but would you rather die every time J-word comes around?" Taehyung frowns when you push the trolley ahead without him. "Priorities. Priorities!"

His volume is a touch higher than the acceptable whisper, and you make sure his foot falls victim to the sudden stop of the wheels. He grumbles when it scuffs his shoe. "It's not easy!" You scold tightly.

"Neither is sticking around him all the time! It's been three years. We graduate soon. And I don't want to sound mean, but you need to deal with all of this better."

What he means? An honest effort. What you take from it? Nothing, because dealing with it means confronting your feelings with a rationality you don't have. You'll never be poised enough for that.

"It's not easy," you repeat.

You're getting restive, rifling through the spines of books with unsteady hands. You want to blame the coffee you had before coming in, but the more you succumb to Taehyung's comfort, the more you unravel. He does nothing but watch now. "Are you okay?" He asks. "Like really?"

Easy question. You still hesitate. "Nope."

He sighs like he didn't want that answer. "It's been a long time, huh."

Of what, he doesn't say. He doesn't need to. You know what the context is—Jeongguk became a constant the minute you'd exchanged hellos in first year. Your friendship was never an extravagant affair: just something you'd pursued with no romantic prompt whatsoever, because statistics isn't the easiest for people who are only doing it for the credit. He's always been good at easy things.

It's all about happenstance. How saying hi to a kind face in a cold classroom means unfolding three years worth of tumult. You think of all the fairytales you’ve lived: fifth-grade harbingers of cheek kisses, high school promises that would bring you to the ends of the Earth. Now, a lost cause, because college isn’t grounds for fair endings, and the authors of your fate are not kind. How easy it would be to just pick it up and shove it along with the other books you push into the shelf.

You can't help but mirror Jeongguk's anguish. "I'm stupid," you confess, rounding the next aisle to crouch and stock the bottom of the bookcase.

Taehyung hums. "You're not."

"It's my fault."

"It's not your fault," he argues. "You're just good at loving someone. But that doesn't mean it feels good. Don't be mad when I say what I'm about to say."

"Okay," you caution.

"Sometimes I want to punch your head," Taehyung explains. He tuts when you make a target of his ankle with the hardcover in your hand. "You know? Pinch the I love Jeongguk nerves till they go away."

"You're very nice.”

He runs a hand along the spines of the history of the Middle Ages. "I just don't like seeing you so hurt all the time,” he says. He walks on ahead wordlessly. You stare at the boring carpet of the floor, and think of how nice it is to have Taehyung as a friend.

(3.9)

There’s something particularly amazing about the drive to do well in school: the hyper-sensitive awareness of your dwindling sense of self, because late nights and dehydration have pretty much become personal traits at this point. You’ll look online for ways to do self-care later. It’s a fatalistic time of year, studying for exams. Maybe you should straighten your back, but no one’s in your room to scold you this late at night.

It takes two seconds past midnight for Taehyung to bulldoze through your text notifications.

[12:00:02 AM] taehyubg: HAPPY

[12:00:04 AM] taehyubg: BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [12:00:09 AM] taehyubg: Sorry u have to study about profit margins or whatever [12:00:15 AM] taehyubg: Take it easy 👌🏼

[12:00:30 AM] You: thank you :)

[12:00:38 AM] You: fhdfkjhsfkjf i’m tired!!!!! buy me coffee tomorrow as ur gift

[12:01:09 AM] taehyubg: Yeah

[12:01:13 AM] taehyubg: Maybe

[12:01:15 AM] taehyubg: :P

[12:01:29 AM] taehyubg: Ok I’ll let u study. Seriously though. good luck!

[12:01:40 AM] You: thank u:) again lol

You lay your phone down flat. Too many temptations to consider if you keep the screen within your periphery, but that doesn't stop you from leaving the ringer on.

In the thoughtless state of staring at your loopy handwriting, you think of Jeongguk.

Maybe he’s hunched over his desk, too. Contemplating his own writing, because they’re incomprehensible and he’s too proud to give up the faux-cursive he’s learned for fast lecturers.

Or maybe he’s lying down in bed, considering sleep with tired eyes. Maybe he listens to the ticking of his clock. The seconds trailing past midnight, and maybe, you hope, maybe it’s still too early, because he's never forgotten your birthday before.

The shrieks of your phone scratching the wood on your desk ring loud. You try not to sink into sad possibilities. So you grab for it, and the split second before you swipe, you see Jeongguk’s face, and you sigh in relief.

“Hi,” his voice filters through the line. "Is it—am I too late? Is it late?"

"No. Not at all," you answer a little more breathlessly than you want to let on.

"Oh. Cool. Ha. How—how are you?"

Not an uncommon greeting but you thought—”I’m good."

"Good. You're studying too right? You have your exam tomorrow?"

"So you just called to check on me?"

"Sure."

"Ah. Okay," you whisper.

"Actually, no—I. I called because I just wanted someone to talk to. If that's okay."

The screen is strikingly cold on your hot cheek. If you focus hard enough, the atoms inside you might collide faster and burst into complete hysterics. You think the drama is warranted.

Of course he forgot your birthday.

"It's fine,” you mumble. “Are you okay?"

"I just—ahhh… Just nervous is all. Jieun, she—we’re seeing another movie tomorrow night, so."

"Well you're just watching a movie."

"Yeah but. I don't know. I don't have you, this time."

You could analyze the irony of that sentence but then you'd really explode. The softness of his words are stifling. "Sorry."

"I just want it to be perfect," he says.

"That's good."

Jeongguk makes a rough noise. Stretching, probably. "Are you sure I'm not calling too late?"

"Positive," you answer. Rigid in your posture, like how he changes his stance when he sees Jieun. Now, you don't really see anything. Just the blur of the oddities of your messy notes and the very real truth of the boy who knows nothing, sitting in his room, oblivious to the pounding of your heart. Your head. It hurts to keep your eyes open.

"Cool. Thanks," he sighs. "Thanks for—uh. Listening. I keep talking about... her. Don't I?"

"Yeah, but. We can't help who we like, can we."

"Right."

Tonight he talks about her pretty fingernails, and her shiny hair. The buzzing in your ears cuts him off thirty minutes into the phone call. You think you might convince yourself to spew the polemic sitting ugly under your tongue, so you bid him a hasty goodbye with the excuse of covering content you haven't gotten to yet.

He hangs up first. You feel much, much older.

(4)

There’s a bench on the east side of campus, across the iron statue of a revered professor. It’s decorated with a dandelion flower crown. A bird alights on its head. Taehyung meets you with a medium coffee, and a muted smile.

"You did good," he says.

You give him an attempt at a grateful look. Today, nothing sits right: the exam was hellish, and the skin of your ring finger throbs red from writing too hard. The loom of your headache threatens a siege but you sip at the heat of your coffee before you can think about it. “Thanks.”

Taehyung sighs into his seat. “Nice weather,” he jokes. He points at the chubby swallow currently chirping high noises of delight. “It’s saying happy birthday.”

“That’s cute.”

“Speaking of a little birdie,” he clears his throat, “heard our little fledgling was psyched for another date soon.”

You are very aware. And it’s not like he had to be cautious about bringing the subject up—Taehyung’s as much of an insider about Jeongguk’s love life as much as you are victim. Friendship codes are complicated. Taehyung knows how much you hurt. “He called me last night.”

“He did?”

“Oh yeah. Told me all about how he wanted everything to be perfect,” you recall. You feel the daggers of Taehyung’s gaze on your face. “I—I don’t know anything anymore.”

He shrugs. “You’re smart.”

“He didn’t remember it was my birthday.”

“So did you remind him?”

“No,” you admit.

“You’re smart,” Taehyung repeats. “Letting him get all in his head. Makes his downfall that much better.”

You take refuge in his aggressive comfort, the dying warmth of the cup in your hands. The grip you have, tightens. “So what I’m hearing is that you’re on my side.”

“I don’t give a fuck about Jieun this, Jieun that.” He clicks his teeth. “Maybe I do. I don’t know. But if all that it does is make you so small like this…”

The swallow has been pecking at the professor’s glasses. It takes a moment to reflect, twisting its neck in a robotic staccato. Then it flies off. Up, up—flapping and struggling, and it soars right past the windows of the student lounge.

Jeongguk and Jieun make a very pretty pair waiting in line for free popcorn. Taehyung lets you squeeze his arm.

“Is it supposed to feel like this?” You falter in the question.

“No,” he says. He accepts your tears with his hard shoulder. “It shouldn’t. But happy birthday anyway.”

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts #jungkook #ubemango fic #f: year after year

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dallanebbia · 4 years

Text

agape

fandom: bnha pariring: kacchako; bakugou katsuki x uraraka ochako word count: 9.0k warnings: angst, mentions of panic attacks synopsis: ten ways to say ‘i love you’ – moments in the relationship between ochako and katuski. future fic, third year. notes: written for day 7 of kacchako week 2020, with the prompt ‘it was always you.’ this was the first fic i finished writing, and i threw a truck’s worth of tropes into this just because i could. i headcanon an empathetic, compassionate ochako and a soft, self-aware katsuki who grow and mature in their later years at u.a. ao3: [link]

agape – Ancient Greek, selfless, unconditional love

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

March: With a hand on their shoulder, a song on your lips, or a carton of their favorite ice cream in the freezer.

On move-in day of her third year at U.A., Ochako confesses to Deku. She can’t say that she’s surprised when he rejects her, but she hides her real feelings behind a practiced, wobbly smile.

It feels like someone has just stomped all over her heart.

Within a few hours, the entirety of her class, along with Class 3-B, knows what happened. Nobody realizes that Ochako just doesn’t want to talk about it – people keep bringing it up to her, trying to be consoling, but it just makes her feel worse and worse.

Finally, when she can’t take it anymore, she hides away on the roof of the dorms, trying to find a moment of peace.

Ochako is alone, collapsed on the ground and crying when she hears the door to the roof scrape open.

“Oi.” Her heart drops. Aside from Deku, Bakugou is the very last person she wants to see right now.

“Leave me alone,” she croaks, wiping her cheeks with her sleeves. The fabric is damp, soaked through with her tears. It stopped being useful about ten minutes ago, but Ochako doesn’t really have the presence of mind to use anything else.

“Tch.” Her blonde classmate scoffs. “You’re seriously crying over the dumb nerd?”

“The last thing I need right now is your stupid gloating, Bakugou,” Ochako hisses, and glares at him. “Go. Away.”

Not that she thinks he’d actually listen, but she’s caught off guard when he squats down in front of her, elbows resting on his knees. “Forget about stupid Deku, Round Face. He’s a fucking dumbass.”

Her heart twinges, and a fresh round of tears fill her eyes. “You’re seriously not helping –”

“I thought you were better than this, Cheeks,” he says, and Ochako looks up to see Bakugou scowling. “So he doesn’t like you – tough shit. Pull up your big girl panties and move the fuck on. He’s a fuckstick who doesn’t deserve you anyways.”

She opens her mouth to retort, but pauses as the words register in her brain.

When the news spread, everyone who came to comfort her all said the same things - that Deku would come around, that he’d change his mind if she proved that she was better off without him. She knows that her friends mean well, but all she can focus on is the fact that everyone assumes that Ochako is the one who has to change – like she somehow isn’t good enough.

Bakugou – her occasional sparring partner, an acquaintance-turned-friend by virtue of exposure more than anything else – doesn’t even hesitate.

He doesn’t deserve you anyways.

“Don’t call him that,” she mutters, but there’s a tiny smile on her lips. Who would’ve guessed that the boy who had wanted to be King Explosion Murder would one day be comforting her? “You’re such an asshole.”

The blonde rolls his eyes. “I’m a fucking saint,” he snarks, and shoves a handkerchief into her trembling hands. “Stop crying already, you look ridiculous.”

Ochako glares at him again, but begrudgingly uses the black square of fabric to dab at her face. The heady smell of sugar and smoke fills her nose, and it’s the complete opposite of the clean soap scent she associates with Deku. It’s comforting, somehow.

“Move on, huh?” She laughs sadly. “You say that like it’s so easy.”

He flicks her in the forehead, and she yelps in surprise. “Nothing worth doing is gonna be easy, Round Face. You know that just as well as I do.”

It’s her turn to roll her eyes, but the words resonate deeply and leave her feeling pensive. She folds the handkerchief neatly and tucks it into her blazer pocket. “I’ll wash it,” she promises, but Bakugou waves her off.

“Keep it.” He stands, grabbing her wrist and hauling her to her feet. A familiar, challenging smirk that spreads across his face. “You’ll need it for when I beat your ass in the Sports Festival again this year.”

She scoffs, and even though she probably looks like a pathetic mess, she feels a little better. She can always count on Bakugou to not treat her like she’s spun glass.

Ochako sticks her tongue out, some of her grief dissipating without her even realizing it. “In your dreams, Blasty.”

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

April: Casually, as if you don’t mean it. Trying like hell not to mean it.

From the stove, Katsuki listens to Uraraka make up some excuse to skip out on going out with her shitty friends for ramen. He looks over his shoulder – she’s smiling in a way that doesn’t quite mask the tight line of her mouth, and it’s so obvious that Frogface and Four Eyes exchange wary glances. Uraraka heads back upstairs, and as she leaves, Deku seems to visibly deflate.

“Maybe I should go talk to her,” he hears Deku mumble sadly, and Katsuki rolls his eyes before turning back to the pot of curry he has sitting on the stove.

“She probably wants some space.” Somehow, Half-and-half is the only one of their little group left with any sense, and it's really fucking pathetic.

“But isn’t it better if –” Katsuki tunes out the shitty nerd’s voice as they pass the kitchen and head to the front door, focusing back on stirring.

He tests the consistency, frowning as the curry comes out too thick, and turns up the heat a little as he adds some more stock. He’s usually pretty good about eyeballing the ingredients, but to be fair, the shitty nerd was jabbering away about something dumb with Icyhot. Usually, when things don’t go his way, it all leads back to Deku, one way or another.

He grabs the jar of hot sauce, and is just about to dump the entire contents into the pot when he suddenly pauses and thinks of Uraraka again.

Should he…?

Katsuki wages an internal war for about thirty seconds before slamming the jar onto the counter, grabbing a spare bowl. He doesn’t let himself think as he ladles a spoonful of curry onto a bed of rice, making sure that there’s a proper ratio of vegetables and meat to sauce, and places it off to the side as he dumps the hot sauce into the pot. He gives the curry a quick stir, turns the heat down low, and grabs a spoon before heading to the elevator with the bowl in hand.

It smells good, and even though it’s missing the familiar red tinge that comes from the hot sauce he loves, he knows that it tastes good too. Still, he can’t help it when a flutter of nervousness blooms in his chest.

There’s a stupid English proverb that comes to mind. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Never mind that he’s flipping the roles around; he just hopes that Uraraka will like it.

Katsuki knocks on her door firmly, rapping his knuckles against the cheap wood. He can hear the shuffling of fabric, a low grunt, and then Uraraka is standing there. The frustrated look in her eyes fades at the sight of him, and he absolutely hates that his breath catches when she smiles at him.

“Oh hey, what’s up?” She sounds happy to see him, her tone totally different from earlier, and something in him glows in pleasure. Uraraka tilts her head to one side, before finally noticing the bowl of curry in his hands. Her eyes go round as dinner plates.

“I… I made too much.” He thrusts it towards her with one hand, averting his eyes. “Since you’re not going out with those extras, I just –”

“Oh, wow,” she says softly. She takes the bowl carefully, and when the skin of her fingers touches his hand, he feels goosebumps crawl up his arms. “It smells so good, Bakugou! Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it,” he grunts, and then shoves his hand into his pockets. She’s standing there, inhaling the savory aroma with a stupid smile on her face, and his nerves are frazzled as he blurts, “Well? Don’t just stand there, taste it!”

Uraraka blinks, looking at him with surprise. “Oh... oh! Yeah, let me just –” She balances the bowl in her palm, scooping up a mix of sauce and rice and meat before raising the spoon at him in a weird little toast. “Itadakimasu!”

She stuffs the entire spoon in her mouth, her eyes closing blissfully as she chews, and she does this ridiculous, adorable little wiggle that makes his heart thump pathetically in his chest.

“Oh my god, I love you so much,” she moans, and his mouth drops open in stunned shock. The sound of her voice jolts down his spine like ice. “I could kiss you.”

“W-what?? What the fuck, Uraraka?” he yelps, stumbling back a little. It’s not that he hasn’t imagined her saying things like that to him, but he isn’t exactly expecting to hear it right now.

Uraraka’s eyes flutter open, and there’s a split second of dreamy contentment on her face before the realization hits. She squeaks, and nearly drops the bowl in mortification.

“Oh god, I didn’t – I didn’t mean that to –” she stutters, her face turning red. “That came out wrong! I just meant that – I haven’t eaten since yesterday, and I wasn’t having a good day because I was missing my parents, and then you made this and I’m just – I’m really happy, I’m sorry –”

“Tch, it’s… it’s whatever, Cheeks,” Katsuki grumbles, heat crawling up the back of his neck. Uraraka’s words burn into his brain, cycling on repeat, and he suddenly, he feels like he could run a fucking marathon. He’s almost drunk on the feeling, and doesn’t even think as he blurts out, “Someone’s gotta keep you round.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then it’s his turn to freeze. “Fuck. I didn’t mean … shit, not that you’re fat or whatever, you’re hot, okay? I wasn't talking about your ass… fuck, I mean, your face! Your face, I was talking about…motherfucker –”

God, he wants to go die in a hole.

Uraraka stares at him as he snaps his mouth shut, hugging the bowl to her chest, and her face is a bright pink. “Um,” she squeaks. “Uh, I…”

The awkward silence between them is physically painful, and Katsuki is too mortified to move for about three seconds before he bolts for the stairs.

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

May: Through laughter, over a chorus of voices, knowing it’ll strike home anyway. It’s meant for everyone here, after all.

Aizawa gives them the day off before the Sports Festival, banning them from training. Most people take advantage of the free day to relax and destress, but a few people still sneak into Ground Zeta for extra training before being lugged back to the dorms by Aizawa’s capture weapon.

Mina and Kaminari suggest a class bonding activity as everyone fixes their lunches. The slots for the impromptu Class 3-A Mario Kart tournament fill up quickly, but Ochako opts out to watch instead of participating. Most of the boys are quick to start the games, Bakugou included.

She hasn’t spoken to him since the curry incident, but the memory of it is something Ochako thinks about often. His awkward stammering had been both embarrassing and endearing, and even now, remembering the fumbling compliments makes her blush.

The most attractive boy in their class, and possibly in the entire school, thinks that Ochako is hot. It’s a surreal but amazing confidence booster, especially after the rough few weeks she’d had, and although Bakugou’s ears turn red whenever they make eye contact, he doesn’t suddenly ignore her and he doesn’t take it back.

Instead, he returns her glances with intense stares, ones that sometimes make her turn away from embarrassment. Their spars gain a playful edge, teasing out an odd, thrilling tension that leaves her face flushed and her cheeks aching from smiling.

It makes her heart beat a little faster every time she meets his gaze, and it’s different because she can see that it means something to Bakugou too.

It’s nice.

“Uh… is this seat taken?” Ochako snaps out of her thoughts to see Deku standing in front of her, looking sheepish.

She realizes with a sinking heart that the only available spot in the room is on the loveseat by her side. Mina and Tooru aren’t being discreet in the way they’re whispering excitedly while staring in their direction, and everywhere she looks, people are casting them curious glances.

It makes her a little angry, but Ochako pastes a smile on and says, “Go ahead, Deku.”

He lowers himself onto the cushion carefully, and she pulls her legs in so that she’s sitting in a ball, arms wrapped around her knees. She glances towards Bakugou, who’s staring at the TV screen and determinedly not looking in her direction, but somehow knowing that he’s there helps her relax a little.

“I’m sorry,” Deku says quietly, and Ochako holds back her sigh. They’ve had this conversation multiple times since she confessed weeks ago, and it was starting to grate on her. She was training to be a fellow Pro Hero – does he really think that she can't take a rejection?

“I know, Deku.” She tries to smile reassuringly. “I’m okay with it.”

“Still. I never wanted to hurt you, Uraraka.” Bakugou’s words come back to mind, and she has to bite back the tiny thread of resentment that sprouts in her chest. Deku said that before too. At this point, she wonders if the repeated apologies are for her benefit or his.

“Deku.” The green-haired boy looks up at her, a little surprised by the firmness of her tone. “I understand that you’re trying to be considerate, but you keep bringing it up when I already told you. I’m fine.”

“I just…” He trails off, frowning. “I just feel like you’re mad at me.”

“I’m frustrated,” she says candidly. “I’m trying to be mature about this, but you’re making it really hard for me to move on when you keep bringing up how sorry you are. Can we just agree to be friends and forget about it?”

“... are you okay with that?” He looks a little shocked, and so do some of her eavesdropping classmates. From the corner of her eye, she can tell that about half the room is listening to their conversation, but she doesn’t care. Ochako is sick and tired of people making offhand comments and references to her and Deku. She still has some feelings for him, but the combination of repeated apologies and continuous gossip have worn her down to where only frustration and exhaustion remain.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asks. Deku stammers, but Ochako doesn’t waver. “I love you as a friend, first and foremost. That hasn’t changed. But my world isn’t going to end just because you don’t return my feelings.”

“… Oh,” he mumbles, looking a little ashamed. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

“Well, you did.”

“I know you just said not to but... sorry,” he says quietly. “Last time, I promise.”

Ochako unfurls herself to lean over and give Deku a side hug. “Thanks. Friends?”

“Friends.” He smiles. “I love you too, Uraraka.”

There’s something bittersweet about hearing those words, but it doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. She opens her mouth to reply, but a heavy weight suddenly throws itself on her back.

“God, you guys are so manly,” Kirishima sniffs, leaning over the couch to wrap his beefy arms around the pair of them. “Bakubro, why don’t you ever tell me you love me?”

The disgusted look on Bakugou’s face is so funny that Ochako can’t hold back the tiny snort that escapes. “I hate you,” he says flatly.

“Love you too, bro!” Kirishima just calls back cheerfully, beaming despite the middle finger Bakugou aims in his direction.

“What the hell, why is Bakubro the one who gets an ‘I love you?’ ” Kaminari appears from behind a different couch like a gopher, looking offended.

Sero pops up right next to the electricity manipulator with a matching expression on his face. “Yeah, bro, what gives?”

Kirishima yelps as the pair of them lock their arms around the redhead’s neck, pulling him off of her and Deku as they start wrestling in a pile on the floor. Ochako can’t quite keep track of things, but in the span of a few seconds, Mina has jumped into the fray, dragging Jirou and Momo and Tooru along with her.

Aoyama leaps in too, somehow bringing Ojirou and Sato along for the ride, and Tokoyami’s protests are drowned out by Dark Shadow lifting him up and dumping him head first into the mass of bodies. The final addition comes as Todoroki nonchalantly tumbles into the chaos, dramatic declarations of love echoing above the music from Mario Kart playing in the background.

Despite her earlier frustrations, Ochako can’t help but sit back and watch the growing dog pile with a fond smile.

“God, I love you guys,” Mina crows loudly, and Ochako can’t help but join the chorus of voices that echo the sentiment. Across the room, she sees Bakugou sneering at the display of affection, scanning over the room until his gaze meets hers.

She smiles a little, raising her eyebrows at him in a silent question, and something she can’t quite name glows in her stomach when he rolls his eyes at her, the barest hint of a grin curled behind his hand.

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

May: Slipped under your tongue, twisted into something else. “I trust you,” maybe. Trust them to figure it out.

The Sports Festival is bigger this year than it ever has been before. It’s everyone’s last chance to prove themselves, their final showcase before graduating, and nobody wants to go down without a fight.

Katsuki is pitted against Uraraka in the quarter-finals. The fight between them is an intense, heavy-fire version of tag that leaves him exhilarated, grinning wildly as they dodge and duck and weave around each other. Her quirk is leagues beyond where it was in first year, and it shows when Uraraka literally lifts the entire stadium floor out from under her feet before swatting him out of his Howitzer Impact like a fly.

He wakes up in time to watch the final matchup between Uraraka and Deku, and proceeds to spend the next twenty minutes screaming at the infirmary television in frustrated rage.

It’s painfully obvious that Deku goes easy on her. He pulls his punches, uses a fraction of One for All, and when he lets Uraraka push him out of the ring, Katsuki can see the incandescent, seething anger that emanates from her in literal waves.

That night, he finds her on the roof again, after the award ceremonies are over. She’s crying, but this time, there’s resentment and bitterness and fury in place of the brokenhearted grief. Her gold medal is lying on the ground by her feet, discarded to the side.

“You were right, you know,” she says, laughing hollowly. She doesn’t have to look to know that he’s there. “First place… it isn’t worth anything when you win it like this.”

He doesn’t say anything – he knows exactly how she feels, and he knows better than anyone that empty platitudes will only make things worse. Instead, he leans against the railing at her side, back facing the horizon, and quietly waits as she uses the handkerchief he gave her weeks earlier to mop at her face.

They stand there in silence, and at some point, Uraraka shuffles closer and closer until she’s leaning on him, head heavy against his arm. He slouches a little more so that she can rest against his shoulder, and watches her nuzzle against the sleeve of his gym uniform.

“Is it always like this?” she whispers, so low that he almost misses the words. “Feeling like you can never catch up, like you’re always walking in someone’s shadow?”

“Welcome to the club, Cheeks,” he says gruffly. Katsuki looks over at her, and she’s staring blankly into the setting sun, tear tracks shining on her cheeks and the bruise below her left eye a mottled green. “Membership includes being referenced in relation to the shitty nerd in every article you’re in for the rest of your life, toxic friendships, and a crippling inferiority complex.”

Uraraka snorts. “Any way I can get my member status revoked?”

“If you find out, let me know,” he mutters. “Been trying to get the hell out for as long as I can remember.”

She doesn’t answer, instead pressing the back of her hand against his wrist. Her skin is cool and dry, soothing against his perpetually warm body temperature, and Katsuki savors it.

“God, I’m going to be the biggest joke in all of Japan tomorrow.” Uraraka laughs a little wetly. “After today, after everyone saw how he just let me win – nobody’s going to take me seriously.”

She says it like she isn’t amazing – like she’s just another worthless extra, like she didn’t just single handedly hand his ass to him only a few hours earlier. She says it like she’s giving up, and what Katsuki was planning to say – something quippy and grouchy and vaguely encouraging – is replaced by words that say everything, all at once.

“I do,” Katsuki says quietly, and she stills. “I always have.”

Slowly, she draws away, pulling back so she can turn and face him head on. He keeps his gaze steady, even as he wants to look away.

Part of him hopes that she’ll take it at face value, take the words as encouragement and nothing else. Things would be easier if she did – he’d be able to take his feelings and hide them for days and months and years, like he’s done since she caught his eye back in their first year. He’d be safe for a little while longer, waiting for the perfect moment.

At the same time, a larger part of him wills her to read between the lines, to see underneath the surface, because this is the closest thing to a confession he can manage. She knows him – she sees him the way Deku never could, and she’s able to read him in ways that took Eijirou years to pick up.

She knows him, and when the realization crosses her eyes, he plucks the truth out and lays himself bare.

There’s no going back.

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

May: Over a nervous smile, biting back the just-this-side-of-desperate hope they’ll say it back.

Ochako doesn’t know when her feelings start to change. It might have been the curry incident. It might have been the spars. It might have been that moment on the roof, and it might have even been the Sports Festival, two years ago.

What she does know is this: she’s in the middle of falling for Bakugou when she recognizes her feelings for what they really are, and what she feels is nothing like what she felt for Deku.

With Deku, she had felt like she was in freefall, somersaulting and trying to right herself when she didn’t know which way was up or down. It felt scary and frantic, and in some ways, she feels that she confused her fear with adrenaline and her admiration for love.

With Bakugou, it feels familiar. It feels like she’s standing on the sparring mats in Gym Zeta, intimate and safe, with the spark of competition and plenty of passionate intensity to keep things alive. It feels like a dance – an equal push and pull, an ebb and flow that works in tandem rather than apart – and she doesn’t have to chase after anyone because he’s facing her instead of leaving her to watch his retreating back.

So when Bakugou says those five words, she pulls back a little so she can look him in the eye. He waits, patiently, as she studies him, and even though she can see the hope and love and fear in his steady gaze, he never looks away.

“Are you sure, Bakugou?” She has to make sure.

He raises an eyebrow. “You really have to ask?” Yeah, I am.

Ochako reaches out, grazing her hand against his, and she swallows when Bakugou slowly slides his fingers between hers.

She stares at the sight of their entwined hands, and smiles a little when she feels him stroking her skin with his thumb. “Can I ask when you knew?”

“A while.” He’s quiet, watching their hands too. Red eyes flicker to meet hers, and he shrugs. “It’s always been you.”

Her heart soars. She comes in closer, and as she tilts her head up to look at him, Bakugou leans down to press his forehead to hers.

“I think I could fall in love with you,” she admits softly, her heartbeat pounding like drums in her ears. I think I’m already halfway there.

The words hang there, suspended in the space between them, and then he breathes in and smiles.

“Way ahead of you, Cheeks,” he murmurs. “Hurry up, will you?”

Something in her sings as he tugs her closer, and the touch of his lips to hers feels like coming home.

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

June: Under your breath while the whole house sleeps, just before you have to leave for the day. More for yourself than for them.

When Ochako asks if he wants to tell people, Katsuki is torn. On one hand, he wants people to know – he wants to shout to the entire world that Uraraka Ochako is his, that she chose him in the end.

And yet, on the other, he’s selfish. He wants to keep her to himself for as long as he can, to learn everything about her on his own time, and when he makes his choice, Ochako agrees.

Keeping it a secret is laughably easy. They do everything like they did before – they attend class, hang out with their respective friend groups, and occasionally meet up to spar after school. To their classmates and the rest of the world, nothing has changed.

Behind closed doors, it’s a different story.

He wakes to all-encompassing warmth, hair tickling his nose and a pliant body tucked tight to his chest. The curve of Ochako’s back under his hand is soft, and when he tightens his hold on her, she snuffles a little into her pillow before settling back into sleep.

The light filtering through Uraraka’s cheap curtains is faint. He knows from experience that it’s probably around five in the morning, too early for any of his classmates or teachers to be awake. It’s the safest time for him to steal out of Ochako’s room and get back to the boy’s side of the dorms, but it’s harder and harder to leave each time he wakes up with his girlfriend gathered in his arms.

His girlfriend. The thought sends a dopey, stupid smile stretching over his face. It’s been close to two months since that day on the roof after the Sports Festival, but part of him still can’t believe it. Uraraka Ochako is his girlfriend.

Katsuki is pretty sure he’s the luckiest bastard alive.

He withdraws from her slowly, painstakingly peeling his body from hers. She whines a little at the loss of warmth, and he can’t help but melt a little when she gravitates towards the divot he left in the mattress, burrowing into the spot where his head lay on her pillow.

His clothes are in a crumpled pile by the foot of the bed, and he tugs on his pants carelessly, shoving his shirt over his messy hair. When he’s done, he rearranges the blankets around Ochako’s sleeping form, tucking them up to her chin. Her forehead peeks out from under her messy hair, and Katsuki brushes his lips against the little patch of skin, cupping the curve of her face as he does.

Here, staring down at his slumbering girlfriend, he’s struck by the familiar, sudden wave of affection that tempts him to stay.

“I love you,” he breathes, almost mouthing the words as he strokes her cheek gently. He watches as she nuzzles into his touch, smiling in her sleep, and tiptoes out of her room before he’s late for his morning run.

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

August: With a soft sigh. Past exhaustion and frustration and despair, like it’s the only good thing left. Sometimes it is.

Neither she nor Katsuki are strangers to nightmares. They’re a given, at this point – most heroes suffer from them in one capacity or another, but it doesn’t make things any easier to deal with.

In some ways, Ochako is lucky – she’s used to working through the nightmares alone, and can still function around them. She doesn’t have to go to Katsuki for comfort unless it’s a particularly vivid dream, but the same couldn’t be said for her boyfriend.

Ochako wakes up to the low sound of her phone chiming. Her head is spinning from being woken up in the middle of a sleep cycle, but as she blearily squints in the darkness, she recognizes the ringtone as the one she set for Bakugou.

She picks up just before the call drops. “Hello?”

“Cheeks?” The whispered, raspy sound of Bakugou’s voice cracks in her ear, and she shakes off the last vestiges of sleep, concern shooting through her.

“Katuski? Are you okay?”

“M’outside,” he mumbles, and Ochako throws herself out of bed and nearly trips over the low tea table in her haste to get to the door. She throws it open, and Katsuki is leaning against her door frame. He’s shaking, bundled in a hoodie she recognizes as one he wears when the nightmares are especially bad. Worriedly, she cups a hand around his elbow and pulls him into her room.

She steers him to her bed, careful to avoid the table this time, and sits Katsuki on the edge. She gently pries his phone from his hand, ending the call and placing both of their phones on her desk, before she tugs at the hem of his hoodie.

With a slow, steady murmur of nonsensical words, she coaxes him out of his hoodie and sweats and shoes. Katsuki keeps his hands on her, seeking bare skin as she works, until he’s left only in his boxers. He makes a low, wounded sound when she briefly steps away to place his clothes on her desk chair, but he sighs as she returns into his arms, guiding him below her comforter. Ochako quickly sheds the large, oversized shirt she usually wears to sleep, leaving her in just her panties, and lets the rough, calloused hand on her thigh drag her into bed.

She lies on her back, sighing as her boyfriend settles his cheek against her left breast, ear pressed directly above her heart. He wraps his arms around her waist, miles of warm skin pressed against her body, and she carefully scratches across his scalp while he tries to lose himself in the sound of her heartbeat.

Fighting the lull of sleep, her other hand cradles his arm, using her thumb to rub back and forth soothingly. The trembling gradually stops, Katsuki’s panicked breathing evening out, and she hears a rough, heavy exhale before he rubs at her sternum with his nose.

“…Thanks.” He presses his mouth against the skin of her chest in a chaste kiss.

“Anytime.” Smoothing the spiky bangs away from his forehead, she leans forward to place a kiss of her own to his hairline. “You okay?”

She feels Katsuki swallow thickly, his weight falling on her more heavily. “Not really.” It’s the honest answer, and had it been anyone else asking, Ochako knows he would’ve lied. “But I will be.”

She hums, eyelids slowly getting heavier as the hand carding through his spiky hair moves slower and slower. Faintly, as she’s just on the edge of consciousness, she feels the blonde shift above her.

“I love you.” Ochako tries to keep her eyes open, but she can’t quite fight it any longer. “Go to sleep, baby.”

“Love y’too,” she slurs, and the last thing she hears is a quiet huff of amusement as she drifts off, warm and safe.

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

October: Wrapped up in a question. How’s your day been, have you eaten, you know you can tell me anything, right? You know you can tell them anything. Right?

One day, after class, All Might gathers everyone to make an announcement: two applicants have finally been chosen for the exclusive one-year work study in America. The program starts right after graduation, set up with All Might’s old hero agency, and Katsuki grins in anticipation.

The work study is something that he’s been working towards since coming into U.A. He had submitted the application at the end of second year, along with most of their class, but he figures that he has it in the bag. There are two spots, and while Deku is a given, Katsuki is the only one who can keep up with him when they’re really going all out.

He never thinks, in a million years, that Ochako would be the one to get it instead.

When he doesn’t hear his name, the feeling that falls over him is impossible to describe. On one hand, he’s so incredibly proud – of course Ochako deserves something like this. The program is notoriously competitive, notoriously selective, and for Ochako to be chosen means that they see the potential for her to be an international hero.

On the other hand, he’s so angry and hurt and frustrated, because that should’ve been him. He should’ve been the one to get the work-study, because now he’s getting left behind not just by Deku, but by Ochako too.

He pointedly avoids meeting her gaze, and when she tries to approach him after class, the mess of his feelings makes him blow up.

“Bakugou-kun?” He stiffens at the sound of her voice, but otherwise ignores her as he stomps towards the locker rooms. “Bakugou-kun, wait – ”

A hand lands on his forearm, and without thinking, he whirls around and yanks himself out of Ochako’s grasp. She looks stunned at his violent reaction, but he’s still reeling from All Might’s announcement in a way that makes all his filters disappear.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he hisses venomously, and hurt blooms across those wide brown eyes. “I don’t want your fucking pity!”

Katsuki regrets it the moment he says it, but pride is what makes him turn his back on Ochako and keep walking. He rips his hero costume off and showers in record time, tossing on his clothes and sprinting back to the dorms to lock himself in his room.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” Throwing himself on his bed, he buries his face in his pillow and lets himself go. All the bottled emotions explode out, and he’s sobbing and swearing and screaming for God knows how long until he physically can’t do anything but lie there, curled up into his pillow and hurting.

He’s so exhausted and so out of it that he doesn’t notice the door to his balcony sliding open. Still, when he feels the mattress shifting beneath him, he knows that she’s there.

Shame and guilt suddenly join the complex mess of feelings in his head, and part of him is frozen in fear. Why is she here? Is she here to pity him, like he told her not to? Is she here to yell at him for being an asshole?

Worse yet – is she here to tell him that she wants to end things?

Every nerve in his body is on alert, his brain still a jumbled muddle, and he physically can’t bring himself to move as the seconds tick by, agonizingly slow. The sound of his heartbeat thunders in his ears, and he can feel his lungs constrict as he waits for Ochako to speak.

Something desperate in him begs, please don’t go.

A hand settles onto his shoulder. The touch makes him flinch, his shoulders hunching on instinct, but the mattress moves momentarily before a familiar body molds itself to his back.

Ochako maneuvers herself into a big spoon position, curling her legs behind his and wiggling her arms around him so that she can hug him around the waist. He swallows as he feels her gently press a kiss between his shoulders. It’s patient and understanding and everything he feels like he doesn’t deserve.

“… Sorry.” He swallows thickly, wincing at the rawness of his throat. The word is muffled, spoken into his pillow instead of towards the person behind him, but he feels Ochako bury her face into his shirt.

“Me too.” He closes his eyes at that, his bitterness returning in full force. She tightens her hold on him, as if sensing his mood. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Katsuki huffs, an acknowledgement but not an answer. Instead, he lets one hand fall to rest on the arms folded across his stomach, finding her hand and sliding his palm against hers.

They lay like that in silence. A few tears escape, leftover from the emotional torrent he’d released earlier, but all he feels now is emptiness.

“I declined the work-study.” His eyes snap open, and he sits up abruptly. The action startles Ochako, who doesn’t manage to let go of him in time, and she lands half-sprawled below him, arms still linked around his body.

“What the hell, Ochako,” he croaks, his voice still hoarse, and he glares down at her. “Why would you – ”

“I can barely afford to feed myself, Katsuki – how in the world am I going to find the money to spend a year in America?” She looks at him gently, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Besides – I applied because the others did. I never really wanted to go in the first place. Not like you.”

Old insecurities crawl out of the dark corners of his mind. “I don’t need your pity, Cheeks,” he says darkly, and she rolls her eyes.

“For God’s sake, it’s not pity,” she says exasperatedly, and folds her arms across her chest. Her expression softens. “I know how much you wanted this. How much you still want it.”

“They picked you, Ochako. Not me.” Saying it out loud stings, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t proud of her. “Not that they shouldn’t have. You deserve it.”

“So do you, Katsuki.” She sits up, tucking her legs underneath her as she squares her shoulders, staring him directly in the eyes. “You know why I want to be a hero. Stuff like this – it’s not important to me, not like it is for you. You’re the first one on the waiting list – if I didn’t apply, it would’ve been you who got it.”

He scowls. “Why the fuck did you apply if you weren’t gonna do it?”

“Deku convinced me,” Ochako admits, looking apologetic. “I didn’t really expect anything; I knew I wasn’t going to be able to afford it regardless.”

And fuck, hearing her say that makes him feel even shittier. “… It’s whatever, Cheeks,” he says, trying to play things off. “Doesn’t really matter.”

“Yeah, that’s bullshit.” The flat look she gives him is pointed. “You don’t get angry like this unless it’s something you really care about.”

“I didn’t… ugh, fuck.” He closes his eyes and scrubs a free hand over his face, following the line of his jaw until his palm sits at the nape of his neck. “I got pissed because I felt like I was gettin’ left behind again. Not just by the shitty nerd, but...”

“… by me, too,” she says, realization falling over her, and he feels like an asshole for even thinking it, let alone admitting it out loud. “I thought we were both in the same boat? The one where we’re trying not to compare ourselves to other people anymore?”

“Shit, I know that, I just…” He groans, rubbing his neck roughly. “I just… I’ve spent so fuckin’ long chasin’ after them. Fucking years, Cheeks. I can’t just… turn that off.”

“I know.” And she does – maybe not to the same extent, but she does know, better than anyone else, exactly what he’s feeling. She felt it too, not long ago. “But you’re not Deku, Katsuki; you aren’t All Might either. Sometimes, I feel like you forget that.”

“S’not that I forget.” He lets his hands fall limp in his lap, looking down at them hollowly. “… They’re just… better. Better people, better heroes… trying to crawl out of their damn shadows feels like I’m fighting fuckin’ smoke.”

“Well, nothing worth doing is going to be easy,” she says, and part of him wants to laugh at the sheer fucking audacity of this girl, taking his words and throwing them right back at him. She grins a little, seeing the spark of amusement in his eyes. “You know that as well as I do.”

“You’re a goddamn comedian,” he snorts, and he can’t help but smile.

“The very best,” she agrees as she grabs his free hand, bringing it up to her lips. “So you’ll go, right?”

He studies her, trying to look for a single smidgeon of resentment, and can’t find anything other than genuine sincerity. “… yeah,” he sighs. “I’ll go.”

Ochako nods firmly. “Good.”

And that’s the end of it.

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

December: Instead of “thank you” or “see you soon” or “drive safe.” Because no matter what you say it’ll mean the same thing.

They’re able to keep things quiet for seven months. Living with eighteen other teenagers means almost no privacy, and it’s a goddamn miracle that nobody has found out yet. Katsuki is pretty sure Frogface has an idea – he’s caught her watching the two of them recently, a contemplative look on her face, but otherwise, there isn’t a peep.

When it does come out, it’s partially Ochako's fault, but mostly Katsuki’s. Sparring together always gets him hot and bothered, and while she might have been tempting fate a little by wearing just a sports bra while they’re grappling, he’s entirely to blame for how he slams her into the mats and starts kissing her in the middle of the crowded gym.

Katsuki is not happy to find that there’s a class-wide bet going on about them. He’s even less happy to find that Deku is the one who fucking wins the pot, but when people find out that they’ve been dating since May, Ochako starts hiding on the roof to avoid any more invasive questions about Katsuki’s dick.

By the time winter break rolls around, the fervor around their relationship has died down. There’s still some teasing, especially from people like Kirishima and Mina, but everyone’s focus is redirected as the winter internships offers are finally handed out.

For some, the decision is easy. She knows that Katsuki doesn’t even hesitate when he gets the offer to intern with Endeavor again, alongside Shouto. Ochako, on the other hand, is torn. Her original plan was to go with Ryuko for the third year in a row, but she knows that she’s gotten a little too comfortable there. It’s not challenging anymore, and as much as she loves working with the dragon hero, she knows that she needs to gain more experience somewhere else.

She wants to take Miruko’s offer. The woman is on a case in Sapporo, and she’s looking for a seasoned intern experienced in both rescue and combat to act as her support. It’s an amazing opportunity, especially when Ochako considers the fact that the rabbit hero is notorious for preferring to work alone – apparently the Sports Festival didn’t harm her reputation as much as she’d thought it would.

There’s only one problem.

She and Katsuki had been planning to spend a few days celebrating her birthday before heading out to their respective internships. Miruko’s offer, if Ochako accepts it, lasts the entire two-week winter break.

Not only would she not be able to visit home, she’d also have to cancel her plans with Katsuki.

When she tells him about the offer, something in her breaks a little at the excited, proud grin that spreads across his face. “You’re shitting me. Miruko? For real? That’s fuckin’ amazing, Cheeks.”

“… Yeah.” Ochako smiles back weakly.

He frowns. “Oi, what’s with that face? You aren’t interested or something?”

“It’s not that.” At his puzzled look, she says softly, “The internship lasts the whole break. It’s in Sapporo.”

She already checked online. It takes five hours to get from Sapporo to Tokyo; a one-way ticket costs around thirty thousand yen. There is no way she can afford to visit Katsuki, let alone her parents all the way down in Mie. And even if he could come to her, there is no way to guarantee that she’ll have the time.

“… oh.” She watches as he exhales slowly, the excitement fading in his eyes and replaced by disappointment. “Oh.”

Ochako bites her lip, eyes flickering towards the floor. “I – I don’t have to take the offer, Ryuko still has openings…”

It’s not that she doesn’t want to go. She does – desperately, actually, because it’s Miruko. Number five hero, badass bitch Miruko, who Ochako secretly idolizes for being strong and powerful and uncompromising in a culture where being those things as a woman can be career-ending more than career-making. It’s an opportunity she never dared to dream of – and now it’s being handed to her on a silver platter.

Katsuki knows this. He knows that Ochako wants to say yes, and he knows that for all that she’s offering to stay, she wants him to tell her to go.

And he does.

“Don’t be a dumbass,” he scowls, eyes narrowing. “Miruko asked you for a reason; you’re fucking going.”

She knows that he won’t let her turn it down – Katsuki would never ask her to sacrifice her career for him – but hearing it still helps settle the guilt that had been festering since she first got the offer. He looks a little dejected still, and so Ochako steps forward until her face is pressed into his chest, arms coming up to wrap around his waist in a hug. “Katsuki, I –”

“I know.” Strong arms band across her back to tuck her more securely against his chest, and one hand cradles the back of her neck. “Just means we gotta make up for your birthday and New Years when you get back.”

“Deal.” She inhales, taking in the smell of smoke and sugar that never fails to make her feel safe and secure. It’s only two weeks, but she already knows that she’ll miss him terribly.

A hand sweeps across her back, settling on her neck. The warmth of his palm is soothing against the tight muscles, and she relaxes into him. “M’proud of you, Cheeks. You’re gonna fucking crush it.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.” It’s a lie, but Katsuki doesn’t call her out on it. Instead, he presses his mouth to the crown of her head.

“I love you,” he murmurs, quietly. Come back to me.

She pulls back, cradles his face between her palms, kisses him fervently in answer. I will.

─── ･｡ﾟ❁ﾟ｡･ ───

January: Straightforward. Soft and heavy, like morning before the coffee’s started brewing. Like that’s all there is to say.

He gets the call two days before they’re supposed to get back to the dorms.

“There was an avalanche in Sapporo,” Frogface’s monotone voice sounds tinny over the phone, and Katsuki’s heart drops to his toes. “Ochako – she’s in the hospital.”

The story is broadcast over every news channel, trending on every social media site. The case in Sapporo was an investigation, following rumors about a sex-trafficking ring targeting young girls. Miruko and Uravity had tracked the ring leaders to an abandoned town, where they’d captured the offending criminals with little trouble. The police were on the way, and the heroes had been comforting the scared girls, but nobody knew that one of the criminals had a remote-detonation quirk until it was too late.

The dynamite that exploded wasn’t meant to destroy the town – it was meant to bury it.

The twenty girls and all the criminals make it out alive and unscathed– so do all twelve thousand residents of the neighboring town. According to the reports, Uravity had created an entirely new gravitational field to slow the avalanche, with her own body as the anchorpoint, and had stalled long enough for everyone to evacuate the area. When she finally passed out, Miruko darted in to drag her intern to safety, but they had both ended up getting caught in the crush of snow.

The rescue team, who’d been on standby, found them both quickly, but Uravity’s overuse of her quirk, combined with her injuries, meant that she was rushed immediately to Musutafu, where Recovery Girl kept her alive long enough to get into surgery.

Katsuki skips class to go to the hospital, leg bouncing and his heart breaking as every agonizing minute passes. Mid-way through the day, Aizawa comes to try and bring him back to U.A., accompanied by Midnight. He almost fights both teachers in the middle of the waiting room, until his parents come and formally withdraw him for the day so he can stay.

When he’s finally allowed to see her, she’s in a coma. She looks small, tucked below scratchy white sheets and surrounded by machines he can’t name. There’s a neck brace supporting her head, the breathing tube snaking from her mouth and nose, and all he can do is hold her hand and squeeze, praying for her to wake up.

He comes every day after classes. He sits in the plastic chair by her bedside and talks about his internship, the things they did in class, and the stupid antics their classmates got up to in the dorms.

Every day, before he leaves, Katsuki kisses her and says that he misses her. That he can’t wait for her to wake up.

At one point, Miruko comes by to visit, solemn-faced – she’s in an electric wheelchair, missing her prosthetic limbs, and lugging an IV drip behind her. Part of Katsuki wants to blame her for it all, for giving the offer to Ochako in the first place, but he recognizes the guilt hidden behind the rabbit hero’s stoic façade.

“I told her not to overdo it.” The woman’s voice is low and throaty, weariness obvious even as she speaks. Katsuki spares a glance at the woman, who’s staring at Ochako’s still body in the bed. “Told her that the mountain was gonna come down one way or another. She didn’t fuckin’ listen – said she could keep going. That she had to.”

He’s seen the footage – it’s not something that he’ll ever forget. A towering wall of snow and ice and rock, a cresting wave over a ramshackle ruin, with a tiny pink form standing in front of the creeping, looming mass. He knows that Ochako’s quirk is more than just zero gravity, but seeing it in action, she looks like a goddess out of legend. Nobody who sees that video will ever call her weak again.

“Sounds like her,” he grunts, and neither of them say anything more.

Days later, he hears the rumor while waiting for shitty vending machine coffee and as he buys flowers at the flower shop on the hospital grounds. Apparently, Miruko called in a favor from one of the top healing quirk specialists to come and help Ochako.

He lugs an entire bushel of organic rainbow carrots to the woman’s hospital room as thanks, and scowls when Miruko points out that he should’ve sent them in an edible arrangement.

Three weeks after the accident, the neck brace and tubes are gone, the life support equipment removed, and all that’s left is to wait for Ochako to wake up. Katsuki is in the middle of complaining about some stupid training exercise he doesn’t really care about when the hand he’s holding squeezes.

“… Mm? Kat… ?” Ochako’s voice is low and gravelly, scratchy from disuse, and her heavy-lidded gaze settles on him tiredly. He stands abruptly, the chair clattering to the floor as the last remnants of fear and worry are replaced by sheer relief.

The hug he gives Ochako is careful and featherlight, but a strong hand pulls him tighter into her chest until he’s almost crushing her in his arms. Katsuki knows that he should be calling for a doctor, but he can’t help but take the moment to keep her for himself, just a little while longer.

“Shit, Cheeks,” he breathes, basking in the familiar weight of Ochako’s head tucked into the curve between his shoulder and neck. “I was so fuckin’ worried.”

“M’okay.” Her nose feels cold against his pulse. “Sorry,” she says, slurring a little.

“Don’t be.” She had saved those girls, and she was the reason that over ten thousand people were still alive. There was nothing to be sorry about. “You’re okay now, s’all that matters.”

She hums, the warmth of her breath lingering over his skin. “Love you,” she whispers, hands twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

Katsuki exhales in a soft, slow sigh, and presses a kiss into her hair. “Love you too.”

#kacchako #kacchako week 2020 #bakugou katsuki #uraraka ochako #bakuraka #by nebbia #it was always you #fanfiction

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