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andawaywego · 3 years ago

Note

If you’re still taking prompts, can I make a suggestion? Could you maybe write one about Jamie being busy starting up the leafling (or something) and Dani feels a little neglected so she buys something sexy to get Jamie’s attention.

so i actually had a few prompts for Dani buying lingerie. i guess we were all thinking it, huh? this kinda got away from me, but i hope you like it! smutty smut ahoy.

Valentine’s Day, Jamie is learning, is one of the most brutal holidays there is; at least, it is when you own a flower shop. Two years in and it’s a hard lesson. Tiring, even. Exhausting. The orders start pouring in starting about a week out and then it’s practically nonstop until the whole thing is over.

Last year, it felt like they got through it by the skin of their teeth. By the end of it, she and Dani had gotten so good at communicating a lot of information quickly—order sizes, specifics, pickup times—that they’ve almost become mind readers. At least when it comes to each other.

This became especially useful once they hit wedding season that same year and Jamie only realizes how much she’s come to rely on this anomaly once she’s without it.

On Valentine’s Day this year, Dani is sick and at their apartment resting and Jamie is forced to finish everything up on her own. It could be worse, she thinks, because the timing is at least a little less suffocating than it may have been if she’d had to send Dani home early the day before. The only business she’s really had all day were customers coming by to pick up their orders or last-minute love day stragglers coming in to buy whatever she had left.

It could be worse. Really it could.

By the time she closes things up, the whole shop sort of looks like someone took a large vacuum to it, sucking up just about all the plant life from the displays and walls. It looks sort of like a ghost town. Jamie briefly imagines a tumbleweed rolling by. Locks the door behind herself. Turns her feet towards home.

She worries as she walks, the complex where they live only a few blocks from the shop itself. Wonders if maybe she should stop somewhere and get some soup for Dani or something, and then remembers that it’s Valentine’s Day and decides to avoid going to a restaurant.

She can always come back out and brave the headache later. Right now, she’s mostly focused on getting home to check on her girlfriend.

The apartment is quiet when she steps inside. It isn’t as if she was expecting any different, but it still catches her off guard. Only the lamp by the sofa is clicked on, meaning that the rest of the space is shadowed in darkness. The radiators by the window hum and it’s a little too hot—buildings like this, she’s learned, don’t know the meaning of “happy medium.” They spend the summers fanning themselves like southern church ladies and the winter much the same. Fall is reserved for wearing too many layers as they wait for the building manager to decide to turn on the radiators.

She shrugs off her jacket and hangs it on the coat rack. Keeps her boots on for now even though Dani hates that in case she ends up having to go back out. Heads toward the hallway, toward the bedroom, where she assumes Dani must be resting. Walks slowly to keep the floorboard-squeaking to a minimum.

It isn’t until she passes by the bathroom that she hears it: the music drifting gently from the bedroom. A soft drum beat and a voice singing. She doesn’t immediately recognize the song, too busy wondering why Dani is listening to music while she rests. Gives up on tip-toeing and just hurries the rest of the way.

And then, well—

Hot and stuffy in the apartment from the radiators, sweating a bit in her shirt right at the small of her back, and a shiver still trembles through Jamie’s body when she steps into the bedroom, when she sees what’s waiting for her.

“Hey,” says Dani, perched at the bottom of the bed and smiling in that way Jamie knows she only does when she is very, very nervous.

“I thought you were sick,” says Jamie.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted some time to set all of this up.”

All of this being the record she’s got playing from the stereo in the corner of the room, the candles she has lit on top of the television and on the table next to her side of the bed, and, most importantly, what she’s wearing.

Her makeup, her hair, decked out like every single fantasy Jamie’s ever had and never before let herself consider. Worst of all: she’s wearing lingerie. Purple lingerie. Purple lingerie that hardly leaves anything to the imagination. Jamie swallows so hard it hurts a little.

And she’s seen Dani naked before. Of course, she has. Plenty of times. She’s seen her in nice underwear that matched the bra she had on a handful of times, too. But this is different. Lovely on her or not, those things were still functional as undergarments. And this? This isn’t.

This is see-through lace and long, smooth legs. It’s ruffles and a short-sleeved silk robe that’s hanging off her shoulders just enough to make Jamie’s mouth water.

This isn’t functional. This was designed to cause the exact reaction that it has; this was designed to be taken off.

Dani rolls her shoulders back and flutters her eyelashes in a way that should be silly, but only succeeds in making Jamie’s blood race more thoroughly through her veins. “You’re staring,” she says, playing innocence so well that Jamie almost feels guilty about her inability to tear her eyes away.

Except Dani bought this at some point just for the sole purpose of sitting on their bed looking like that. She did that knowing full well that Jamie wouldn’t be able to keep from eyeing the curves and sways of her, the pale skin and soft lines of her jaw and neck. Wouldn’t be able to want anything more than to press Dani back into their mattress and cover every inch of her, lace and all, with her mouth, her tongue, her hands, and—

“Yeah,” she says. “I am.”

“Something the matter?” asks Dani, so utterly dedicated to this flirtatious act of naivete.

“No, I’m good. Perfect.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yep.” Jamie turns to glance at the record player as “All Out of Love” comes on. “Cheery song.”

Dani’s act falters. She blushes. “I didn’t know this was on here. It’s...new.”

Jamie frowns and walks over to the record player, reaching for the unfamiliar album sleeve. “Oh? What is it?”

She feels almost guilty for knocking Dani off her game, but she’s so desperately starved for context, for anything concrete to grasp onto so that she doesn’t just pounce, that she just waits for an answer. As it turns out, she doesn’t need one; the cover speaks for itself.

“Wait,” she says, looking it over. “Is this…?”

“You’re not allowed to laugh,” says Dani, pointing at her sternly.

Jamie smiles. “Not laughing. I just can’t believe you actually bought this.”

“The commercials were very convincing!”

“Did you actually call the place?” is her next question because she can’t imagine her girlfriend calling some commercial-boasted number to buy a four-record album named Secret Love just for this occasion. Jamie usually has to call and make her doctor’s appointments for her.

Dani blinks. “No,” she says. “I sent them a check.”

Jamie grins. Can’t help it. Loves Dani so very much at this moment. “Just one payment of $19.95?” she teases and it works: Dani smiles, too, looking less nervous by the second.

“It’s a good deal, you know,” she says.

“I never said it wasn’t.”

“You had a tone.”

“I did not have a tone.”

“Sure you did.”

Jamie isn’t actually sure how she’s managing to control herself anymore. That silk robe slipping off Dani’s shoulder looks so enticing; she wants to press her mouth to the skin it’s left uncovered. Wants other things, too—so many she can hardly decide where to start.

She sets the album back down and takes a few, slow steps towards her girlfriend. Still too far, but closer. “You went to all this trouble,” she says, “for me?”

Dani’s expression softens and she gets to her feet, moving closer. “Yeah, Jay. I did. We’ve just been...so busy lately, which is great! Don’t get me wrong! But...you’ve had so much on your plate and it’s stressful and I didn’t want us to...not get a Valentine’s Day. You know?”

Jamie isn’t sure what there is to say to that except for: “I love you.”

Another step forward and then Dani is grabbing her hands. “I love you, too,” she says, hypnotizing in this outfit, in this lighting, all the time. Her gaze sticks to the pale skin visible through the lace at Dani’s waist, so distracted that she hardly notices when she’s being turned around and pushed back toward the bed, gently guided by Dani’s hands on her shoulders to sit down on the mattress.

The mattress isn’t very tall, which means that, when Dani sinks to her knees, she’s only really a head shorter than Jamie. Her palms run up Jamie’s trouser-covered thighs, fingers curling around them a bit to guide them open a bit so that she can slide her body between them, get closer. Her body is fever-hot and Jamie has the sudden thought that she may not make it out of this surprise alive.

Dani has a knack for making her feel like she’s two seconds from a heart attack every time they’re intimate already. Now she’s wearing lingerie and looking at Jamie like that and Jamie doesn’t know where to put her hands, or where to settle her eyes.

The swell of Dani’s breasts is enticing, so she looks it over for a bit, and then there’s her freckled collarbones, the sleek and taut muscles of her neck. Her pink lips. Jamie feels hot, sweating in her clothes from the heat of the radiators.

Dani looks up at her, blue and brown eyes bright and eager beneath the flutter of her eyelashes. Normally, Jamie would be filling the air with mindless, nervous chatter, trying to calm herself down before the main event, but it feels different this time. The silence, save for the gentle croon of another sappy love song coming from the record player, seems sacred. She doesn’t want to break it for anything.

She curls her fingers in the ends of Dani’s hair, brushing it behind her shoulders, and then Dani is leaning up and she’s leaning down and they’re kissing. Dani’s hands fist the fabric of Jamie’s shirt right at her hips and Jamie cups her face and cranes her neck, and it’s too fucking hot. They should open a window. But Dani’s kisses are hungry and eager and there’s this knot of pain in Jamie’s chest because of it, so she doesn’t dare break away.

Instead, she lifts one of her hands and curves her fingers around Dani’s breast, pushing her palm against it to make the rough lace fabric brush against her nipple. Feels it poke up against her skin a bit and Dani’s answering moan vibrates her lips, flicking her tongue out to tickle the roof of Jamie’s mouth. Jamie scoots forward on the bed to be closer and lifts her other hand to do the same with Dani’s neglected breast.

“Jamie,” Dani pants as she rips her mouth away, eyes clenched shut, “this is supposed to be about you.”

Jamie smiles. “Trust me,” she says,“it is.”

Dani’s eyes open. “That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?”

A long look of consideration. Jamie momentarily stops her movements at Dani’s chest. And then Dani unbuttons her trousers and starts tugging at them, saying, “Get these off. That’s what I mean.”

Jamie takes them off. Her shirt, too. Drops each of them to the floor carelessly, too eager for the next part to worry about where they land. In all the rush, Dani begins to slip the silk robe from her shoulders, but Jamie stops her with a shake of her head.

Says, “Leave it on,” with the sort of breathlessness that makes Dani smile.

She leaves it on.

Jamie brushes her thumb against Dani’s nipple and then trails her fingers up the bony press of her sternum. Cups her jaw and cranes her neck down to kiss her, hot press of lips together and Dani gasping into her mouth.

Wanting to be closer in a way this particular position won’t allow, she breaks away from the kiss and guides Dani up by the shoulders until she is sliding her knees onto the mattress on either side of Jamie’s thighs, straddling her. She rolls her hips down and now Jamie can feel the fabric covering Dani’s body against her own skin. Fears she’ll go mad from desire before she can do anything about it.

It’s cooler in just her underwear, certainly, but that doesn’t mean the friction of their bodies together isn’t creating a fine layer of sweat between them. Their legs slide together and Jamie is so wet, so ready, that it’s beginning to hurt a little.

She kisses Dani’s neck and slides her lips up to the corner of her jaw, to her earlobe. She nibbles a little, then scrapes her teeth down to her neck again. Nips at her pulse point then smoothes it over with her tongue. Dani curses against her hair, breath a hot spread across Jamie’s scalp as she rolls her hips down.

A moment later, her hand is working its way inside Jamie’s panties, fingertips brushing against her clit very lightly and it’s Jamie’s turn to curse.

“Fuck.”

Dani smiles, kisses her forehead. “Doing okay?” she asks, that impersonation of complete chastity back in her voice, in her lips, the way her head tilts flirtatiously as Jamie meets her eyes.

“Doing great,” Jamie manages through gritted teeth. She is fighting back the urge to simply reach between them and push Dani’s hand against her harder. She drops her head and presses her lips against one of Dani’s nipples through the lace, mouthing at it hotly and making Dani sag against her, a little boneless, with a moan.

Payback, she thinks, is definitely a bitch.

She can be one, too.

She grips Dani’s hips in that tight, fierce way that Dani likes—thinks it must be at least a little painful, but maybe that’s why Dani likes it—and rolls up into her hand in a way that pushes the back of it between Dani’s own legs.

“Jay,” breathes Dani, and her expression is purposefully seductive, playful even as she is genuinely reacting to Jamie’s movements. She flutters her eyelashes with the best of them and she is the only woman Jamie’s ever been with that can make her go mad just by smiling at her. “Lie back.”

Jamie doesn’t understand the order at first, can’t wrap her head around it because Dani’s fingers are circling her clit now. It isn’t until that hand pulls away and Dani gets back, slowly, to her feet to give her room that she gets it. It feels like every part of her is positively vibrating as she uses her hands to slide back and back. Lowers herself to the mattress all the way and tilts her chin down so she can watch her girlfriend climb up her body in this ridiculously erotic and mind-numbing way.

“God, how are you not naked yet?” she asks, pressing her lips to Jamie’s breastbone, dipping down to tongue at the edge of her bra.

“How are you not fucking me yet?” Jamie returns, just to see Dani’s reaction—the way her cheeks go even pinker, the way she blinks in surprise at her sudden vulgarity.

She swallows thickly. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“Not when you look like that it’s not.”

Dani tugs the left cup of Jamie’s bra down and ducks her head to hide the way her expression changes, lips curling around Jamie’s nipple. Jamie can feel her smiling. “Like what?”

“You’re a tease, you know that? You’re such a bloody tease.”

Her mouth moves down to Jamie’s ribcage. “Would you like to lodge a formal complaint?” she asks.

Jamie curls her fingers into her girlfriend’s hair and cranes her neck to get a better look at her in that damned lingerie. “If you don’t touch me soon then yeah, I would.”

She feels the blunt edge of Dani’s teeth below her belly button, scraping down to the waistband of her panties. “Your request has been noted,” says Dani, her voice even and sort of mockingly robotic. “Please allow three to four business for—”

Jamie’s laugh cuts her off, fingers combing through her hair until Dani finally lifts her eyes to look at her again. “Dani, I love you,” she says.

“I love you, too.”

“But you have to do something, or I’m going to—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Dani catches the edge of Jamie’s panties between her teeth and begins to pull them down like that, laughing around the material as Jamie wiggles and shifts her hips, giggling like a maniac, to try and help. Eventually, hands are required to finish the job. Jamie isn’t actually sure what Dani was thinking.

Goofy, ridiculous Dani. She’s the only woman Jamie’s ever loved, the only woman she’s been able to laugh in bed with, and she went out and bought sexy lingerie, called a number from a commercial to get the proper mood music, sat here on their bed on Valentine’s Day to surprise her.

Jamie doesn’t understand her life, doesn’t understand how she could possibly ever deserve this.

Once her panties are all the way gone and Jamie is naked, save for her bra, Dani’s eyes linger between her legs, a loose smile fixed on those pretty lips. “There you are,” she says.

“There I am,” Jamie exhales, shakily. “Now—”

She should be expecting it, but she isn’t, and so Jamie makes the most embarrassing sound ever when Dani’s tongue first makes contact. An electric shock between her legs, a match being struck, and she arches a little too much off the bed, one of her arms going back so she can comb her fingers through her own hair. Slams her eyes shut to keep from coming almost immediately—this won’t be her only chance, she’s sure of it, but she wants this first one to last—and then has to look, so she opens them back up.

And Dani is always a sight between her legs like this, but she’s on her knees and bent down in a way that makes her breasts hang deliciously, bumping a bit as she licks and curls her lips around Jamie’s clit. Jamie brings her other hand down and brushes her hair out of the way, over her shoulder, so she can see her mouth work.

“Fucking fuck, Dani,” she says, so eloquent with a beautiful woman bobbing between her legs.

Dani hums in response and Jamie can’t help it, groans a little too loudly. That fucking silk robe and the contrast of purple lace to pale skin, blonde hair fisted in her hand, and then Dani brings one of her hands up and slips a finger inside and Jamie feels, very suddenly, like she is splitting apart at every seam that’s ever kept her together.

The sound of Dani fucking her like this is almost obscene. It’s slick and loud, the suction of her mouth audible as she alternates movements against Jamie’s clit. She’s smiling despite how busy her mouth is and then she slips a second finger in, then a third.

It’s so hot, sweat pearling on her chest and forehead. Her hair feels damp at the base of her skull, she feels sort of like she has a fever but everywhere, and fuck—

She nearly bites through her bottom lip as she comes, trying to keep quiet. Her pulse drums like waves on the shore as it whitewashes through her ears, her veins.

Dani pulls back, licking her lips clean sloppily and her eyes are so dark that Jamie feels like she's burning again in moments.

“Come here,” she croaks, propping herself up on her elbows. Hopes that Dani knows what she means.

She must, though, because she doesn’t come up on the side of the bed. Instead, she just straddles Jamie’s waist, giving Jamie a full and uninterrupted view of what she’s wearing again.

“God,” is the next thing she says. Then, “You know how to pick ’em, huh?” as she tugs a bit on the end of the robe.

Dani smiles, somehow shy despite everything else. “You like it then?” she asks, like she has no idea, like she didn’t just fuck Jamie stupid while wearing the sexiest thing to ever exist. “Successful Valentine’s Day?”

Jamie rolls her eyes affectionately. “And the award for Understatement of the Year goes to—”

Dani pushes at her shoulder, giggling. “Hey,” she says. “Give me a break. I stuck out like a sore thumb in the shop I got this from.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, really! Like, three shop girls came over to help me because I was so lost.” She looks so sincerely flustered by this that Jamie can’t help but be endeared by it. “They kept asking me what my ‘boyfriend’—” and she uses air quotes there, “—likes to see me in. What his favorite color is.”

Jamie laughs. “What did you say?”

“I told them I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And what did they say to that?”

“They asked me what my husband likes then.”

Jamie nearly chokes on her tongue from laughing so hard. Almost knocks Dani to the floor, too.

And, yeah, it’s a pretty successful Valentine’s Day.

#damie #damie fic #damie prompt #dani x jamie #thobm #thobm fic #the haunting of bly manor #dani/jamie fanfic #dani/jamie #3k #smut #like #smutty smut

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urban-homesteading · 3 years ago

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How to Prune Tomatoes

A tomato is a solar-powered sugar factory. For the first month or so, all of the sugar it produces is directed toward new leaf growth. During this stage, tomato plants grow very rapidly, doubling their size every 12 to 15 days. Eventually, the plants make more sugar than the single growing tip can use, which signals the plant to make new branches and to flower. This usually happens after 10 to 13 leaves have expanded, at which time the plant is 12 to 18 inches tall. In the next few weeks, the entire character of the tomato plant changes. If unsupported, the increasing weight of filling fruit and multiple side branches forces the plant to lie on the ground. Once the main stem is horizontal, there is an increased tendency to branch. Left to its own devices, a vigorous indeterminate tomato plant can easily cover a 4-foot by 4-foot area with as many as 10 stems, each 3 to 5 feet long. By season’s end, it will be an unsightly, impenetrable, disease-wracked tangle.

A properly pruned and supported single-stem tomato plant presents all of its leaves to the sun. Most of the sugar produced is directed to the developing fruit, since the only competition is a single growing tip. The result is large fruits that are steadily produced until frost. In general, more stems means more but smaller fruits, which are produced increasingly later in the season. (This is much less applicable to determinate plants, due to their shortened growing season and better-defined fruiting period. Therefore, determinate plants require little pruning. See “Indeterminate vs. Determinate,” below.) With tomatoes, we want to maximize the efficiency of photosynthesis and minimize the risk of disease. This is best accomplished by ensuring that each leaf has plenty of room and is supported up off the ground. A pruned and staked plant will produce larger fruit two to three weeks earlier than a prostrate one.

RULE 1: Get plants off the ground.

RULE 2: Give plants room.

RULE 3: Never prune or tie plants when the leaves are wet.

Pruning also affects plant health. The leaves of a pruned and supported plant dry off faster, so bacterial and fungal pathogens have less opportunity to spread. Soil is less liable to splash up onto staked plants. The bottom line: Upright plants have fewer problems with leaf spots and fruit rots because their leaves stay drier and free from pathogen-laden soil.

The way you choose to train and prune your tomato plants will affect how you space your plants, as well as the best method of support . There’s no one right way to do it. Instead there are a few good patterns to follow.

Side stems affect plant vigor

As a tomato grows, side shoots, or suckers, form in the crotches, or axils, between the leaves and the main stem. If left alone, these suckers will grow just like the main stem, producing flowers and fruit.

Suckers appear sequentially, from the bottom of the plant up. The farther up on the plant a sucker develops, the weaker it is, because the sugar concentration gets lower as you move up the plant. On the other hand, side stems arising from below the first flower cluster, although stronger, compromise the strength of the main stem. For a multi-stemmed plant, your aim is to have all stems roughly the same size, although the main stem should always be stronger, because it has to feed the entire plant for the next five or six months. Here’s how I achieve this.

I keep tomatoes free of side stems below the first fruit cluster. When trained to one vine and left free-standing, tomato plants develop strong main stems. To encourage a strong stem, I trim all suckers and I don’t tie plants to their supports until the first flowers appear.

Determinate tomatoes need no pruning other than removing all suckers below the first flower cluster, because pruning won’t affect their fruit size or plant vigor. If you do any pruning at all above the first flower cluster on determinate tomatoes, you’ll only be throwing away potential fruit.

Indeterminate tomatoes can have from one to many stems, although four is the most I’d recommend. The fewer the stems, the fewer but larger the fruits, and the less room the plant needs in the garden. For a multi-stemmed plant, let a second stem grow from the first node above the first fruit. Allow a third stem to develop from the second node above the first set fruit, and so forth. Keeping the branching as close to the first fruit as possible means those side stems will be vigorous but will not overpower the main stem.

Indeterminate vs. determinate

Indeterminate tomato plants continue to grow, limited only by the length of the season. These plants produce stems, leaves, and fruit as long as they are alive.

Determinate tomato plants have a predetermined number of stems, leaves, and flowers hardwired into their genetic structure. The development of these plants follows a well-defined pattern. First, there is an initial vegetative stage during which all the stems, most of the leaves, and a few fruit are formed. This is followed by a flush of flowering and final leaf expansion. Finally, during the fruit-fill stage, there is no further vegetative growth. As the tomato fruits ripen, the leaves senesce and die. Commercial growers favor this type of tomato because all the fruit can be mechanically harvested at once. The major advantage of planting determinate plants in a home garden is early harvest.

Semi-determinate plants, as the name implies, are somewhere between these two other types. Although there aren’t many semi-determinate tomatoes, one of the most popular hybrids, ‘Celebrity’, falls into this category. I think semi-determinates are best grown to three or four stems.

Simple vs. Missouri pruning

In Missouri pruning, you pinch out just the tip of the sucker, letting one or two leaves remain. The advantage is that the plant has more leaf area for photosynthesis and to protect developing fruit from sun-scald. The disadvantage is that new suckers inevitably develop along the side stems, adding to your future pruning chores.There are two ways to deal with a sucker that isn’t destined to become a stem. The simplest is to pinch it off entirely; not surprisingly, this is called “simple pruning.” This should be done when the sucker is still small and succulent. Grab the base of it between your thumb and index finger and bend it back and forth. The sucker should snap off, producing a small wound that will heal quickly. Avoid cutting the sucker with a knife or scissors, because the resulting stump can become easily infected. Once a sucker becomes too tough and leathery to snap off, however, you’ll have to use a blade. I recommend a retractable razor knife.

Missouri pruning is necessary when things have gotten out of hand. When you’re dealing with large suckers, it’s better to pinch off just the tip than to cut off the whole thing close to the main stem. For one thing, if disease hits, it’s farther away from the main stem. And for another, removing just the growing tip is less of a shock to the plant than removing a foot or so of side stem.

Suckers grow very quickly during the hot summer months. This is indeed a situation that tests one’s resolve. It helps to know that side stems started this late in the season will always be spindly and produce inferior fruit. You must be heartless and tip them all.

A final pruning pays off

About 30 days before the first frost, there is one last pruning chore: The plants must be topped. The fruit that has set must be given every opportunity to mature. Removing all the growing tips directs all sugar produced by the plant to the fruit. This can be hard to do, as every gardener is reluctant to admit the season is coming to an end. However, this final pruning can make all the difference between hard, green fruits, hurriedly picked before frost, which later rot in a paper bag, and ripe, home-grown tomatoes in your Thanksgiving salad. Be tough, fight your nurturing instincts, and top those plants.

Supporting your tomatoes

Cages work for plants with three to five stems. I use them almost exclusively for determinate tomatoes. Ready-made tomato cages are too little for all but the smallest determinate cultivars. My ideal tomato cage is made from 5-foot-tall galvanized fencing with openings at least 4 inches square, so I can reach in and pick the fruit. A 4-foot section makes a cylinder about 15 inches in diameter. Secure it with baling wire, and stabilize it with two stakes, one of which is at least 6 feet long. Drive the stakes in within a week of planting, but wait to set cages over the plants until the first fruits form, to simplify weeding and pruning. Space caged plants about two-thirds of their final height in all directions.

Use the same type of fencing to make a tomato fence, which works best for plants with one or two stems. To get a good, solid fence, you need a helper. Secure the fencing with 6-foot stakes every 4 feet. Here’s how I keep the fence taut. Loop each non-end stake through the bottom rung of the fence, then start to drive it into the ground so its bottom is angled away from the previous stake. Once it’s about 4 inches into the ground, bring the stake upright and drive it in the rest of the way. Set single-stemmed plants 18 inches apart, and double-stemmed plants 24 inches apart. If you stagger the planting (successive plants on opposite sides of the fence), you can knock 6 inches off these distances. Erect the fence before you plant your tomatoes.

Stakes work well for plants of one to four stems. I use 1-inch by 1-inch by 6-foot lengths of untreated oak or cedar, sharpened on one end. Drive the stakes 8 to 12 inches into the ground, depending on your soil (deeper for loose, sandy ground). To avoid damaging roots, drive your stakes in within a week of planting. Space staked plants at 18 inches for a single stem, 24 inches for two stems, and 36 inches for three or four stems.

How to tie a tomato

There are two types of ties. Training ties direct plant growth upwards, and supporting ties keep it there. The top foot of a tomato stem, or leader, is very succulent and easily snapped; it needs to be directed upwards, gently. I wrap a short piece of twine around the middle of the leader, cross it over on itself, and loosely tie it to the support. The resulting figure-eight tie reduces the chance the tender stem will rub against the support and get bruised. Once flowering commences, all tomato vines must be tied to their supports. Although vigorous, the plants are also easily damaged, so take care in how you tie them and what you use. Cloth strips work well as long as they’re not too old and threadbare. Pieces of panty hose cause the least damage to plants, but they’re not biodegradable. Twine should be at least 1/8 inch thick, or else it can cut into the tomato stems.

Fruit will form along this stem. If left to the devices of the loose training ties, the weight of the fruit will pull the ties down the stake. Eventually, the stem will bend over and crease. Luckily, as the stem matures, it toughens; by the time fruit develops, the stem can tolerate a tighter tie. To support a fruit cluster as it fills and gains weight, I loop a longer piece of twine, 12 to 18 inches, around the stem just above the fruit cluster, creating a sling. Then I gently pull it up to take the weight off the stem. I wrap the twine twice around the stake, and firmly tie it to the stake 6 to 10 inches higher than the point of attachment to the vine. To keep the tie from slipping, I knot it underneath the point where the sling meets the stake.

#grow your own #garden #plant #tomatoes #tomato #grow your own food #DIY #prune #pruning #pruning tomatoes #reduce #reuse #gardening #planting

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moonbeamsung · 4 years ago

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Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kisshim @radiorenjun

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @starryktown @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

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olivetreehugger · 3 years ago

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SnK Scouts/Veterans as Health Care Workers

Note: features Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Levi, Erwin and Hange. A part two to my “SnK Warriors as HCWs” post found here. warning: mentions of blood, trauma, gore (it’s healthcare). Also, I know Hange is nb, I headcanon them as female, so I will be using she/her pronouns.

Eren: this boy is definitely too involved in everything and has too many people depending on him at once to not be a nurse. The kid barely passed the NCLEX but that didn’t stop him from applying to every trauma center within a 25 mile radius of him. He got hired as a night shift trauma ICU nurse and he frequently picks up shifts in the ER. He wears the cheapest scrubs he can find, often stained with ink in the pockets area. He isn’t a shitty nurse per se but there are tasks that still need to be done at the end of his shift and he gives a crappy report that’s missing too many details. Nurses hate picking up his patients, it’s always a mess. His charting is really spotty and he gets called into the manager’s office all the time to fix it.

Still, he tries really hard to improve his time management and skills. He wants to be like his friends Mikasa and Reiner, who are the best nurses he knows. He wants to be involved in the traumatic cases and emergencies because he wants to learn as much as he possibly can. He’s really good at wound care, for some reason (hint hint). He’s kinda cocky sometimes too, which can be troublesome when Dr. Galliard is working. People know to steer clear of those two when they’re both in the ER. Also, Eren always has a black cloud around him; whenever he works it’s gonna be a hella busy day in the hospital. Lots of emergency surgeries, intubations, codes and deaths. He’ll always jump in to help you if your patient is crashing, though, no matter how busy he is.

Mikasa: she’s a prodigy. She was a straight ‘A’ student in nursing school, got a perfect 75 on the NCLEX and was immediately hired to the trauma ICU after doing a short internship there. She worked night shift for a year but her sleep schedule was so so fucked she started having night terrors, so she switched to day shift. Eren still calls her a traitor for it :/. She keeps trying to get him to switch over but he just hisses at her and threatens to chug a case of Monster energy drinks. She hasn’t given upon him yet, though.

This girl’s work ethic is beyond measure. She comes in exactly at 6:30 am, looks up her patients, takes report, gives a great update to the doctors when they round, and provides impeccable care to her patients. She knows exactly which treatments the doctors will order before they even speak. She’s incredible at inserting IVs--everyone in the hospital knows Mikasa Ackerman can put an 18g in a 90 yr old lady’s arm AND get blood return (just trust me, it’s flipping impossible). She has great skill when it comes to emergency situations and is a big believer in team work. If she notices your patient’s crashing and you don’t know what to do, she’ll calmly coach you and save your patient, too. All before lunch time.

It doesn’t take Mikasa long to be promoted to charge nurse. When she’s in charge all the reports, paperwork and audits are completed before shift change. She divides the patient assignments really well and is very fair to the new grads. All around she’s an incredible nurse and leader on her unit, but don’t be fooled. If it’s been a rough day, Mikasa will get in her car and sob so loud her throat goes raw. A lot of people depend on her and working in a trauma ICU is really, really demanding. A lot of patients are demanding, rude and busy. She has a lot of trouble with stress management and is thinking of cutting her hours down so she can catch a break. Someone please hug her <3

Armin: for some reason my brain is just SCREAMING respiratory therapist. Like, I imagine this beautiful blond boy in gray scrubs (the color for RT’s in my hospital) going around helping intubate patients, giving nebulizer treatments and doing blood gases. I can just see him huffing and puffing when the attending doctor is overzealous about weaning vent support. -“Why are we changing the patient to pressure support? do you see how tachypneic he is on volume control?”

-“are you gonna put in the order? if not, your patient’s gonna be on PRVC all day, I’m not changing it without an order”

-“Doc, the patient looks like crap and their blood gas looks like death...oh, you still wanna extubate? ok, well I’m gonna leave the ventilator in here just in case. better yet, let me call a pastor in here, too.”

This kid is sassy af and he knows it. He’s smart af too, knows everything there is to know about the lungs and respiratory care. Knows every ventilator mode better than most doctors. Will certainly tell a resident off for ordering the wrong type of inhaler for a patient. He’s so damn intelligent that he even made the ice queen Annie melt like a popsicle.

He has no chill when it comes to his patients and even less chill (like -4078875874670) when a doctor gets in his way. For this reason, Armin has recently been toying with the idea of going to PA school so he can have a little more autonomy. He works al over the hospital, usually frequenting the trauma, CV, and medical ICU. The nurses there love him.

Jean: Jeannie boy. Baby. Sweetie. He’s also a nurse. He is strictly dayshift and trauma. When he first started, he thought he’d do a year in the ICU and then go to CRNA school. He didn’t want to be around sickly patients with hopes and dreams and fears--it was too icky for him. But, over time, he learned that he LOVED trauma. Jean loves the controlled chaos that comes with the ugly, bloody messes that roll in through the ICU’s doors. He always gears up for trauma season (summer time) by bringing Dunkin Donuts iced coffee for everyone on the unit (day and night shift because he’s a supportive king). He gets really good at dealing with arrogant trauma residents and ortho docs who think they’re hot shit. When Jean sees a resident yelling at a nurse, he jumps in and threatens to have their license revoked. He will dig under their skin and page them incessantly throughout the day, too, just to get back at them. Jean is not a fan of lateral violence in the workplace, no sir.

He always, always makes sure every room is stocked and new bags are hanging for the next shift. He has a thing where if things aren’t properly organized on the unit his brain just spazzes. He’s on the unit council and education committee because he also loves to teach the new grads. He also doubles as charge nurse, when management can’t be there (there can be one or more charge nurses amongst the staff, they usually work different days, though) He and Mikasa work so well together, teaming up to get tasks done, coding patients, running them down to get scanned, etc. People joke they’re the mom and dad of the unit. It makes them both blush <3 (Eren doesn’t like it, lol)

Jean loves to see patients healing from horrendous injuries, he’s constantly cracking jokes with the awake patients to try to make them feel better, and he’s really good at calming anxious family members down. Our boy just makes such good connections with people. He’s the guy you call when your confused patient is one second away from ripping his breathing tube out. He can convince the most restless, agitated patient to chill out. He’s got the voice for it. Also people love his mullet. It looks great.

Connie: I really didn’t know at first but I feel like Connie would make a great physical therapist. He’s got great energy, he’s funny and I could see him dancing to Earth, Wind & Fire in front of his patients to hype them up for therapy. He’d be very sweet with them

Sasha: I’m sick and tired of the food jokes, quite honestly. She’s more than that. In my mind, she’s an occupational therapist, helping disabled patients learn to feed, dress and clean themselves again. She works directly with Connie as they round on all their patients in the hospital, they make a great team! She’s extremely patient and would make a very good nurse, but is unsure of where life is taking her. That is until she meets Niccolo the dietician in the cafeteria, and she falls hard. He encourages her to follow her heart and she does!

Levi: Hm. This one stumped me. Levi is a bit...cold. It’s not like he has incredible social skills. He’s meticulous and focused and kinda mean? He reminds me of an anesthesiologist, tbh. Like he’ll sedate the shit outta you for surgery, makes sure you don’t die on the table, and then drops you off to the unit as fast as he can. He never takes off his mask while in the hospital and he scrubs maybe four times before surgery. He is very good at medication calculations and knows everything about nerve blocks, intubation, pain medication and sedation. He can look at a person and just KNOW what kind of sedative to give and how much. Your blood pressure will never bottom out while he’s there, he’ll warn the surgeon and immediately get that norepinephrine started.

If Zeke is the one operating, Levi is on his ass to finish up the surgery ASAP and to not linger, because Zeke takes his time and ignores the tele monitor alarming in the background. After surgery, this 5′2 demon will scream at the 6′ resident about the importance of blood pressure management and sedation in neurosurgical patients. Levi plays no games and he also just really hates Zeke lol

He seems like a jerk but genuinely cares about getting his peeps through surgery. His favorite surgeon to work with is Hange Zoe, because she’s brilliant and fast, but also cognizant of her patient’s hemodynamics. Levi likes taking trauma cases as long as it’s with her. When he drops a patient off to the trauma ICU or goes there to intubate, he makes sure Jean or Mikasa are there because he knows everything is gonna go smoothly. He trusts them a lot. He likes Armin, too and even let him intubate a few times. On his breaks, he’s drinking tea and reading a Williams & Sonoma catalog or scrolling through cleaning Tik Tok lol.

Erwin: This man. This beautiful and hunky beefcake. Omg. I HC him as someone who went to nursing school, became a charge nurse on the trauma unit back in the early 2000′s and fell in love with it. Erwin would eventually fall in love with leadership and educating, too. He went back to school and earned his Doctorate of Nursing Practice (a practice doctorate). He managed the trauma unit for ten years before his brilliant leadership skills and wicked smart brain got him elected as the Director of Trauma Surgery recently. He is the first person with a nursing degree and DNP to ever accomplish this, so it’s very controversial. A lot of toxic doctors threaten to leave the hospital for this (because they’re assholes), but Erwin threatens to fire them in response and it usually shuts them up.

He often holds lectures in the hospital auditorium. With a mind and voice like his, people are so drawn in by him. He advocates for nursing staff, for reimbursement when continuing their education, better staffing, parking, etc. He makes nice with doctors and gets them to sign petitions for the nurses to get these things. He’s a bit manipulative He’s also a fantastic manager and director, he’s really good at negotiating things. The nurses and residents all love him because he rounds on every ICU frequently, brings food, and asks them how he can help. He can be a bit daunting because of his height and deep voice but once he starts talking to you, you just get sucked in. All around an absolute king.

Hange: This character reminds me of a trauma surgeon and intensivist (ICU doctor) we have, Dr. Omi. A great surgeon, really really smart, but takes absolutely NO bullshit. She will yell at you if you freeze during intubating. She wants you to recite every step before you take it, otherwise she’ll take the tube from you and do it herself. In surgery, she’s the same way. She wants you to learn, but by her standards. If she asks a question, you better know the answer or fess up right away, she doesn’t like the “uhms” of uncertainty as you try to search for a shitty response. Either you know it or you don’t. And if you don’t, she’ll teach you. Yeah she can be rough around the edges, but she’s got a big heart. She loves her trauma team. She buys them breakfast and gives them funny personalized gifts. One time, she bought an apply tree for Mikasa and brought it to her car at the end of a shift. Mikasa forgot to plant it and it died in her backseat. Hange will sometimes ask, “Mikasa, how’s your apple tree growing?” and Mikasa will lie through her teeth. “It’s growing!” Fess up, Mikasa. Those google search apple trees are starting to look familiar.

All around Hange loves to work and teach. She is a wonderful trauma surgeon and has saved tons of lives.

#snk headcanons #attack on titan #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #jean kirstein #connie springer #sasha braus #levi ackerman #erwin smith #hange zoe #lama writes

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ficcrimes · 4 years ago

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junctures

Fandom: Helluva Boss Characters: Blitzo, Stolas; mentions of Stella, Octavia, Moxxie, Millie and Loona Ship: Stolas/Blitzo A/N: this is my piece for the Stolitz zine, Seasons, over on twitter! My bit’s finally been released, so I can publish this here now! Summary: To everything, there is a season.

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i. summer

It was supposed to be a one night stand, and nothing more than that.

When presented with the opportunity to get his hands on that one particular grimoire, Blitzo didn’t think twice about worming his way into the Geotian Prince’s bed. What was one hot night with an ancient, entitled demon? Of course, he hadn’t stopped to question just why it had all happened the way it had, either. Whatever made Stolas not only agree to but pursue this whole lewd affair was really none of Blitzo’s business. Maybe he had a thing for imps, or some sort of weird, classist fetish. It really didn’t matter. At a glance, and that was all Blitzo had allowed himself to take when it all started, it seemed simple enough.

But it didn’t quite turn out that way, did it?

What started as something that had been meant to be short and sweet and fleeting turned into much more than Blitzo had bargained for. It’s nothing he can’t handle, of course, but Stolas calls on him frequently and comes on incredibly strong. It’s a little jarring, to say the least, but Blitzo can’t bring himself to outright turn the advances away.

He needs the book, after all. And, all things considered, this isn’t the worst possible thing he could have been doing to keep it. This is what he tells himself, anyway.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that, for all the fuss he puts up whenever Stolas calls, at least Stolas makes him feel… something. Wanted. Needed. Even if it’s only physically. Even if it’s only temporary.

But then Stolas makes the once-a-month arrangement with him, and an already hazy situation becomes a little hotter and a little heavier. Their meetings are no longer quick and to the point. Suddenly Stolas wants to have fun with it; he incorporates games and costumes and silly little things into the affair that Blitzo’s not above or below doing. He’s a performer, after all - and at least Stolas seems to be enjoying the act.

He spends the night and wakes up in Stolas’ bed more times than he’d like to admit. Most of the time, he’ll leave before Stolas wakes up. But there are some days when he wakes up to Stolas propped up and leaning over him, all four of his red eyes heavy-lidded and bleary with something Blitzo pretends isn’t there.

He also pretends the rush of heat that surges up his spine isn’t there, and that it doesn’t count for anything.

As sleazy as it all is, it’s a good business deal and he wants to milk it for all it’s worth while it lasts - because he’s sure that it won’t. Nothing that burns this hot for too long is meant to last.

ii. fall

There is something so incredibly and unconventionally charming about the little imp.

It’s not every day someone like Stolas came across someone like Blitzo, and he’d been intrigued almost immediately by him. He was crass and rude and didn’t seem to think twice before speaking whatever happened to be on his mind in the moment, and Stolas found himself liking that more than he should have.

So, when Blitzo made his interest in the grimoire known, and it was evident all he had to offer in exchange for it was his own body, Stolas didn’t put up much of a fight or fuss. He knew he shouldn’t have been traipsing about behind Stella’s back and closed doors, but the supposed-one-night-stand promised to be the most exciting thing he’d experienced in a long, long while.

That first night with Blitzo had been unlike anything Stolas had ever had before, with his wife or otherwise. The sheer amount of skill the little creature had was surprising, and the way Stolas’ body had ached for him after he’d gone spoke in volumes.

Maybe it’s not in his best interest, or even in good taste, to start calling on Blitzo whenever he feels himself craving what only the imp can give him. And maybe he should learn how to properly manage and articulate the desperate desires he feels, instead of going off on long, unfiltered, filthy rants.

But Blitzo never explicitly tells him to stop, and so he doesn’t.

There’s a part of Stolas that understands Blitzo seems to merely put up with these antics so he can continue to use the book, and that’s alright. For a while, anyway. The more Stolas finds himself thinking about that, the more he can feel something creeping up on him, slow and steady. The ache he feels for Blitzo starts to change, and it’s not just his body that needs him.

He doesn’t really notice at first, continues to mistake the desperate need for the imp’s attention as something carnal and older than even himself. How silly to think his entire foundation could be shaken after so, so long, and by such a small and silly creature. And yet, eventually he catches himself drawing silly little caricatures on important papers of the two of them. Or he finds himself staring longingly at his phone when he can’t seem to get a hold of Blitzo.

By the time he’s suggesting they make their meetings a little more frequent and planned, Stolas realizes he’s in over his head. Or, perhaps he’s just head over heels. There’s really no difference here.

The whole situation is a little messier and more complicated than he would have liked it to be, but Stolas tells himself it will be worth it in the end. Until then, though, even if it’s only once a month, he feels like his walls can come down and he can be himself while Blitzo shares his bed.

He doesn’t mind when he wakes up to find the imp’s already left him. He understands. But it’s when he wakes up to find Blitzo still in bed beside him that makes his heart swell with something unspeakable.

He thinks, if things were just a little different, he could have this feeling always.

But Blitzo always leaves, and Stolas is always left with the weight of this feeling that’s too big for either of them.

iii. winter

Blitzo is right in thinking that things couldn’t stay so simple forever.

An already complicated situation gets that much worse when things like feelings and wives and daughters get caught up in the mix.

When Stolas calls him up out of the blue one day and says, very quietly, very seriously, that they “need to talk,” Blitzo almost wishes it had been one of his usual calls. Something cold and dreadful shoots up his spine by the time the call ends, and he’s already preparing himself for the worst. His mind is already racing, torn between coming up with some other lucrative back up plan and trying to persuade Stolas not to do this.

However he chooses to define ‘this’ in the moment, he doesn’t spend too much time thinking about it.

Stolas is quiet as Blitzo lets himself into his office space, book tucked under one arm. There’s no coy smile tugging at his beak.

Blitzo knows, and so he drops the book onto the desk that separates them. “I figured it’d only be a matter of time before you called this shit off,” he says through a sneer.

Stolas winces, and draws the book just a little closer to himself, fingering the crescent moon. He can’t bring himself to make eye contact.

“It’s not - You wouldn’t understand,” he sighs quietly.

“Oh, you’d think so, huh?” Blitzo replies, because he understands more than Stolas thinks. Stolas doesn’t know anything he doesn’t want him to know - and maybe this is happening because of that. Maybe if he’d been just a little less guarded and a little more obvious, things could have been different.

However… None of that would have changed the fact Stolas was a Prince, with a wife and child. And Blitzo understands that, too.

“No, no. I get it,” Blitzo starts, and waves Stolas off with one hand. “You got your weird royal bird shit to do, and fucking an imp on the side’s getting in the way.”

Stolas wants to say something else, Blitzo can see it in his eyes when all four finally meet his, but what actually comes out of his mouth is a quiet, “...that’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

“Yeah, yeah. Quit looking like some sort of kicked hellpup. It’s not like you’re losing anything by taking the book back.” Blitzo almost regrets those words the moment they leave his mouth, but decides maybe they’re for the best. If Stolas is angry instead of just sad, it will make this easier.

But Stolas doesn’t get angry; he just looks all the more hurt. He sighs and steels himself. “I’ll see what I can do about loaning you my grimoire in the future, Blitz,” he says, “but for now, I can’t allow it.”

Hearing Stolas call him by his name instead of ‘Blitzy’ is what turns that cold trickle into a flash flood of ice. Something cold and hollow fills him, and Blitzo wishes it didn’t sting the way that it does, wishes he could feel anger instead of this.

“Sure thing, Your Highness,” Blitzo mumbles back, flipping Stolas off with one shaking hand. “If that’s all you got me penned in for today, I’ll see myself the fuck out. Thanks.”

Blitzo slams the office door on his way out, and Stolas can hear Stella screaming after him as he leaves. It’s only a small relief to hear Octavia chime in, telling her mother to leave him alone.

“At least he’s leaving,” Stolas hears her say, and he wishes she were just that little bit older so she’d understand this situation better. He had ever slept with Blitzo because he didn’t love her, but because he’d long since fallen out of love with her mother - but a royal marriage was not so easily left behind.

He sinks back in his seat and sighs heavily, pinching the bridge between his eyes. His heart no longer feels airy and light; instead it feels heavy, like it’s sinking into the pit of himself and weighing him down.

iv. spring

It’s weeks later and well into a work day when Blitzo emerges from his office. The first thing he notices is that his employees all seem to have disappeared, though he doesn’t have much time to wonder about that. His foot catches on something, and he stumbles forward, barely catching himself on a nearby desk. He twists around to look at the offending object that he knows should not be there, and sees that it’s a package of some sort. Brown paper-wrapped and addressed to him, and distinctly book-shaped.

He groans inwardly and hefts it up, the weight familiar, and the scent clinging to the wrapping even more so. Not that the break had been clean, but of course Stolas would have to go and try and make things complicated.

He doesn’t know if Stolas dropped it off personally or had it specially delivered, but he understands why the others left when it got there. Had he been in their shoes, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to risk it, either.

There’s no call or warning before he shows up at Stolas’ mansion, book in tow. He doesn’t use the front door, because he knows other, quicker ways to get to Stolas personally. And, surprisingly, none of those ways have been deterred or altered. It’s almost like Stolas had hoped he wouldn’t actually stay away.

It doesn’t take him very long at all to find Stolas, in his bedroom and lounging about as though he hadn’t just tried to lay some sort of intricate trap. It says something that the Prince’s surprise is entirely feigned, and there’s a grin tugging at his beak as Blitzo kicks the bedroom door shut.

“Ooh, what a surprise~” he coos, and Blitzo rolls his eyes.

“Cut the crap,” Blitzo mutters, dropping the book heavily onto the bed.

Stolas smiles and shrugs his shoulders. The robe he’s wearing slips from one lithe shoulder, and he doesn’t bother to adjust it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. That,” he gestures to the book, “is just a gift. Circumstance aside, I’d hate to see your business fail.”

Blitzo snorts and grins in a way that shows his teeth. “Don’t you worry about I.M.P. We’re doing just fine without your borrowed little magic tricks.”

For just a moment, Stolas seems to falter, frustrated - not with Blitzo, but the situation itself.

“You really couldn’t think of any other way to get my attention, besides throwing me your scraps?” Blitzo presses on, crossing his arms over his chest, one brow raised.

“I didn’t think you’d return a call, or want to see me,” Stolas admits, and makes a vague gesture to the mansion. “And inviting you back here seemed… uncouth, at the very least.”

“Never stopped you before, did it?” But now Blitzo’s grin seems a little less antagonistic, a little more playful.

Stolas lets out an airy, half-laugh. “You’re not wrong.” He finally adjusts the shoulder of his robe, and rubs a hand against the back of his neck. “I’ve just spent a lot of time thinking about… Well, us. And I was thinking that, maybe we could… I mean, to start, we never should have - but…”

He sighs, and offers Blitzo a weak smile.

“I’ve missed you, Blitzy.”

It’s short and sweet and simple - just like this whole mess should have been from the start. But it’s not, and it never will be, because those three words and that sickeningly sweet rendition of his name coming out of that horrid bird’s mouth send that familiar warm rush right through Blitzo’s entire body.

“I see what you’re doing,” Blitzo says quickly, narrowing his eyes.

Stolas chuckles, shrugging. “I’d like to try again. Only no strings attached this time.” To make his point, he raises one hand and urges the grimoire over to himself, letting it hover between the two of them. “You’d be free to use this whenever you like, and though I would greatly appreciate your… company, there’s no need for a strict schedule.”

Blitzo eyes the book for a moment, and then shoves the magically aloft object aside. “And what about your ball and chain? You sure you wanna put up with her conniption fits?”

“You let me worry about Stella,” Stolas waves the thought aside. “A very serious discussion is long overdue, anyway.”

“And your kid?”

“Via will be okay. She’s young, but getting old enough to understand, I think.”

Blitzo looks the owl demon up and down, then shrugs a little himself. “Not the freshest start of the ages, but I’ll take it.”

Stolas smiles and breathes a sigh of obvious relief. “I’m glad,” he says quietly and moves closer. He lets one hand wander admiringly over one of Blitzo’s horns - and, for the imp’s sake, pretends he doesn’t notice the way he leans in to the touch.

“I have to wonder, though,” Stolas says after a moment, before the quiet becomes too much too soon, idly stroking the inner curvature of the horn, “how did you manage to keep I.M.P afloat without my grimoire?”

Blitzo leans away from the taller demon, and he grins again, wide and sharp. “I copied the spells out of it ages ago,” he admits, shrugging one shoulder. “Just in case this whole shebang went down the shitter.”

Stolas stares at him, a grin of his own tugging at his beak. “Oh, you clever little thing,” he muses, reaching out and taking Blitzo’s face into his hands. One thumb moves gently over where white meets red.

Blitzo has a nasty habit of speaking before he thinks, and Stolas has to wonder if he realizes what he’s admitted to. If he’d had the pages copied this whole time, either he’s a very dedicated actor and didn’t want to tip Stolas off - or, perhaps, it was all just a very convoluted excuse to keep coming back.

A blush starts to bruise the bridge of Blitzo’s nose. Stolas smiles.

“And here I thought you’d needed the book,” he says. “How silly of me.”

#helluva boss #stolas #blitzo #stolitz #fanfic

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 3 years ago

Text

[against all odds, your hand is in mine] [2/4]

Seasons change, and with each comes a different story. In a world where the dead roam around, romantic companionship seems unlikely. Yet Ericson stands, and within it are four couples who are proof that it's possible.

Summer: Clouis | sleepless nights, purple and orange skies, adventure, rooftops

Read on AO3

Notes: Hi. Have some clouis I wrote at 3 o’clock in the morning when I couldn’t sleep. Just as much hand holding and smoochin’ as the last one.

[screenshot used is from the lovely @pi-creates who also helped me figure out this damn school layout... well as much as possible. the school layout is wild.]

---

Clementine used to dread night.

Before she and AJ had a stable roof over their heads, comfortable beds to sleep in, and a room to call their own. That's when night used to weigh down on them. Many sleepless nights she would lay awake in the back seat of their car with AJ curled at her side. Every little noise kept her alert, feeding into her worry.

Noisy bugs, the coo of an owl, walkers groaning in the distance, hungry animals, and sometimes dangerous people trying to survive by any means necessary- they were what occupied her mind every damn night.

What if she fell asleep and walkers surrounded the car? What if scavengers broke in and took their stuff at gunpoint? What if the place they parked wasn’t safe? What if she couldn’t get to her bag in time, or the knife from beneath the seat?

Then night would end, dawn would break, and another morning sun would rise. They would survive all over again.

Sometimes dawn was worse. She always wanted to let AJ sleep just a little longer, but couldn’t. They were back on the road with empty stomachs and never enough sleep in their systems. The same thing every damn day. She would promise AJ they would find something, that one day they would find a safe place they could call home.

She was never sure that day would come, but it did.

They were saved after a car accident that should’ve left them to the walkers, and brought to Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth.

It wasn’t easy ensuring this place as a home for herself, AJ, and the rest she’s come to love as her family, but it was worth it. Clementine doesn’t have to sleep clutching a knife in her fist anymore or lay awake wondering when they’ll find their next meal.

She doesn’t even have to worry too much about her recovery.

The loss of a leg like that? Clementine knew she wouldn’t have survived that if they were still out on the road.

Everything they went through was worth it.

While walkers still roam and there are other dangers out there, most of her other troubles were in the past. She has family to rely on now. Aasim and Louis are by her side to keep things running smoothly. AJ takes on more responsibility the older he gets. Not everything falls on her.

The only things she should think about at night now are the good things. The fact that AJ sleeps peacefully in the bed across from her, and how Louis’ arm feels draped over her waist as he rests beside her. Sleep should be easy, and night shouldn’t be intimidating.

And yet, she lies awake with thoughts so loud and overwhelming, she’s surprised they don’t rouse the entire dorm. It doesn’t help that her leg has been bothering her with “ghost pains,” as Ruby calls it, and the dorms are sweltering from the heatwave this week, leaving the air stuffy and uncomfortable. Sweat sticks to her brow and everything is uncomfortable. No matter what position she lays in, no matter how dark it is out or how open the window is, there’s no escape from any of it.

It’s hot enough that Louis suggested he sleep in the other bunk for the night so that they didn’t smother each other. They both knew that wasn’t going to happen, but it’s sweet that he tried. They’ve shared this bed for over a year now, and even though his arm is heavy and does nothing but make her warmer, it’s harder to sleep without him there.

He even tried his best to sleep as close to the wall so he could give her more space, but no matter what, he always ends up rolling over closer to her.

With a small sigh, Clementine reaches up to feel atop the dresser beside the bed. First she grazes wood- her peg leg. Pushing that aside, she finds the water bottle she kept there. Maybe that’s what she needed. The heat always made her throat dry, and the air in here is so humid it’s nearly driving her insane.

Wrapping her fingers around Louis’ wrist, she lifts his arm to slide away as gently as she can so as to not disturb him. A quick, sharp pain shoots through her thigh, and she has to bite her lip to suppress a wince. It doesn’t linger, but damn, sometimes it’s enough to put her whole body into shock.

A soft gust hits her from the window as she sits at the edge of the bed, a small relief that goes as soon as it arrives. She hopes for more windy days. At least then the heat is bearable in the shade. When everything is still and the sun is in full bloom, there’s no escape.

Louis shifts, arm spreading out across the space she no longer laid. Something about that makes her smile. Most of his face is buried in the pillow, the rest obscured by his dreadlocks. She reaches over to brush them back. Her fingers linger after tucking them behind his ear, revealing his serene expression.

There were so many nights that Clementine slept alone in the woods. Before she got AJ back, there were nights where she was convinced she’d never sleep in another bed again.

Damn it.

These thoughts… they won’t go away.

The water is just as warm as everything else, but at least it leaves her a little less parched than before. What she would give for some ice. Hell, at this point, she’s tempted to hobble out of Ericson, down to the river, and fling herself into the cool water. She wouldn’t even care if she scared away all the fish or got all gross and muddy.

The heat of a hand brushing her back startles her, causing water to dribble down her chin.

Louis rubs soothing circles over the thin material of her t-shirt. Staring up at her through drowsy, lidded eyes, he sighs.

All thoughts of the river are gone.

“Clem?” His voice is rough, quiet.

She smiles down at him. His hand falls to rest against her arm as she whispers back.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

A hum sounds from his throat, and for a moment, she thinks he’s doing as she said. But instead, Louis props himself up on an elbow to better see her through the dark.

“Your leg?” he asks, cocking his head, his brow furrowed with a concern that spreads warmth through Clementine’s chest. “Is it bothering you?”

“Only a little,” she admits with a shrug, then offers him the water bottle. “More thirsty and sweaty, if anything. Hard to get comfortable in this heat.”

Louis takes a swig of water, grimacing at the taste. “That all?”

“Mostly.”

“Bad dream?”

“Have to sleep long enough to dream.”

“Ah,” he says. Closing up the water bottle, he scoots closer to her kiss her clothed shoulder, resting his chin there. “What’cha thinkin’ about?”

“Everything, nothing,” she tries, relaxing against him. “I don’t know.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“The everything, or the nothing?”

“Whichever.”

“Nah, I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Too late, love,” he yawns. “I’m wide awake.”

She smiles. “You sound it.”

“Mmhmm.”

Clementine rubs her heavy eyes, and her hand falls into her lap only to be grabbed by him. A bit of embarrassment washes over her knowing how sweaty her palms are, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind.

“It’s hot,” he grumbles when she doesn’t speak. “It’s bullshit.”

She really must be tired because she nearly chokes on a laugh. Her other hand presses against her mouth, and she freezes to check on AJ. He’s still fast asleep, sprawled over the bed and snoring. Louis chuckles into her shoulder.

Despite complaining about the heat, Louis presses closer to where he’s almost beside her. He watches outside the window. It’s not as dark as it was when they were laying in bed. Dawn’s coming, and that makes her sigh. Her only consolation is that even though she knows she’ll be tired all day, maybe it'll be enough to make her want to sleep when night comes once more.

Louis hums, and then pulls away so quick, she almost falls back. When he speaks her name, he’s strangely serious.

“Clementine?”

She loves the way he says her full name. She never told him that, but somehow he was able to figure it out.

“You up for a little adventure?” he asks.

She raises a questioning brow at him. “Uh, what kind of adventure?”

He’s out of bed, silently moving about as he whispers, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He grabs her slipper and his boots from the corner, and her makeshift peg leg from the dresser.

“Right now?”

She’s sure by “adventure” he means playing piano in the common room until morning arrives and they have to get the day started, but it’s a bit early for that. Usually, their piano lessons are in the evening time.

Louis kneels down in front of her to help secure her peg leg. She waves him away with a suppressed giggle when he tries to slide her slipper on like in that old princess cartoon. Both hands in his, he pulls her up from the bed, only to then grab her crutches. Odd.

She’s gotten better at balancing on her peg leg for short distances, only using crutches on busy days where she needs the extra support.

“You’ll need them for where we’re going,” he explains, handing them to her.

“The common room isn’t that far.”

“Who said anything about the common room?”

Before she can respond, he grabs two pillows from the top bunk above their bed and presses a finger to her lips. He nods over at AJ, who’s still fast asleep. They try to sneak out as soundlessly as possible, but that’s hard with how loud her crutches tend to be when moving. Luckily, they don’t seem to disturb the slumbering boy.

They’re hit with the refreshing morning air as soon as they step outside. Louis walks ahead of her, stretching his arms high above his head and letting out a yawn that turns into a satisfied groan. Clementine inhales as much as her lungs allow her, the scent of cool dirt and something floral an intoxicating combination.

“Y’know, I’m not much of a morning person,” Louis says. “It’s a shame.”

“Neither am I.”

They’re both notorious for sleeping in and being the last ones up. Might be due to them being night people or having troubling sleep patterns. Either way, AJ usually has to shake them awake, and even then, they end up lying in bed until they have to get a move on.

“And yet, you’re up so early.”

“Funny,” she knocks into his shoulder with a smile. “So are you.”

“Who do we think we are?”

Louis wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close enough to plant a quick kiss on her temple. Together they head into the admin building, passing the common room to make the slow climb up the stairs.

“So, where exactly are we going?” she asks. “Because if it’s to play piano, we missed our turn.”

Louis winks back at her. “You’ll see.”

“You have another secret piano that I don’t know about?”

“I wish, but no.”

When he brings her through a blocked-off hallway, they have to climb over a bunch of furniture and debris. She damn near gets stuck, but Louis is able to lift her up with ease. He’s gotten good at that.

She’s never been through this part of the school. It’s more decrepit than the main parts of the school she sees every day. From what she can tell, the rooms aren’t classrooms, but maybe they used to be offices? Who knows, most of the lettering on the plaques are falling apart.

At the end of the hall, there’s a ladder leading through a hole in the ceiling.

“Uhm…?

“I take it you’ve never been to the attic?” he asks, noting her puzzlement.

“Nope. I didn’t even know this place had one.”

“It’s pretty spooky up there. Lot’s of big spiders, maybe a couple of bats, and possibly a boogeyman. And a lot of old teacher shit,” Louis gives a disgusted shiver. “I think the headmaster kept some of his things up here, too. Been a while since I’ve snooped around.”

“You want to look through the headmaster’s things, or are we here to fight this boogeyman?”

“No, and no,” Louis smirks, and tosses his pillows up one at a time before stepping aside and motions for her to go first.

“Are you sure this thing’s stable?” she asks, wigging the ladder. Dust puffs all around it. It clearly hasn’t been used in a long time.

“No,” he replies, “but I’ll be right here to catch you if you fall.”

“And what if we both fall?”

“Then I’ll break your fall, and you’ll break my ribs.”

She rolls her eyes. “Great.”

It’s tricky climbing such a steep ladder, but he’s right behind her to keep her steady.

The musty heat of the attic hits her first, nearly making her gag. It’s not as dark as she expected, but there is something eerie about the unknown shadows of everything stored up here. It's the kind of place where your eyes play tricks on you, making you believe things are all around you, ready to pounce. She gets another whiff of something moldy and wrinkles her nose. Dirt and dust stick to her legs and shorts, and her hand brushes something sticky, like a bundle of webs. God, she hopes she doesn’t get spiders in her hair. It’s longer and curlier than it’s ever been, and she doesn’t even have her hat to protect it.

“This is…” she trails off.

“Super romantic?” Louis questions as he climbs up the ladder. She doesn’t even need to see him to know amusement's plastered all over his face.

“No. Not even a little. It’s gross.”

Louis laughs, helping her up to wipe the grime off her back.

“Not much has changed,” he says, peering around. “Except I think something died up here? Though I don’t think I need to know for sure, and that’s not why we’re here anyway.”

He leads her over to one of the double windows, the one with the least amount of breakage. Grunting, he tries to force the rusted lock to detach. She gets a good grip on the other end, and on the count of three, they pull. Once loose, the window slides up with little effort. The problem is the remaining glass. It cracks and drops to the wooden floor, shattering.

“Damn it,” Louis curses, doing his best to kick the shards out of the way. “Here, I’ll go first, just watch where you step. That’ll go right through your slipper.”

“Yeah, that’s what I need. An infection in my other foot,” she mumbles more to herself, but Louis snorts a dry laugh anyway. She hands him the pillows and her crutches before bending through the open window herself.

It leads to the balcony overlooking the entire yard. It’s much bigger than the broken balcony outside the office, the one beneath them. It’s perhaps more than twice its size. Finally, the stench of the attic is gone with the brush of the wind. Not too strong, but enough to cool the dampness of her skin. She closes her eyes, breathing it in.

“Y’know, if we told Ruby about what’s in there, she’d have a heyday tearing it apart,” says Louis.

“She’d make you help her clean it out.”

“Well, hey, let’s not get too crazy,” Louis laughs. “I think she’d rather have Aasim’s help. It can be their special project.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure he’d love that.”

Clementine’s never been up here on this balcony. She always wondered how to get up here and what the purpose of it is. Why have two dormers of the slanted roof leading to an unusable balcony?

Hell, when Mitch and Aasim hung the threatening banner across the admin building for the raid, she assumed they climbed up from the outside. She had no idea the windows opened from inside the attic.

“Huh…”

Turning from the roof, she heads to the end of the balcony. From here she can see far over their walls and through the miles of trees that are nothing more than black silhouettes against the lightening sky. It’s not the highest point overlooking the school, but it’s enough to make her a bit woozy when she looks straight down over the edge.

“Wow.”

“Pretty nice, huh?” Louis says over his shoulder. “It’s a wonder we don’t come up here anymore. The view is worth braving the attic.”

Realizing he’s not standing with her, Clementine curiously watches him throw the pillow onto the pitched roof. They slide down a little before sticking against the worn and sun-damaged tiles. She knows there isn’t anything flat on top, though. It’s an edge, so what’s he doing?

“Uh, Louis?”

“Tell me something, Clem,” he says, bracing himself against the wall of the dormer as he climbs the slope. He climbs on top of it with ease, snatching back the pillows as he asks, “When was the last time you woke up early, sat down, and enjoyed a good sunrise?”

The question isn’t what Clementine expected. Truth be told, she’s watched the sunrise many times. All those sleepless nights that occupied her thoughts tonight, they all ended with her watching with a pit in her stomach as the sunrise brought morning.

But thinking about it now, she hasn’t watched a sunrise since…

“Well, the last sunrise I saw was when I was bitten,” she says slowly. “AJ and I walked through the woods and didn’t stop until morning, but I guess that doesn’t really count. I wasn’t sitting… and I wasn’t paying too much attention to it. I was worried about other things.”

Louis is quiet, and she can tell he’s panicking, second-guessing himself.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I uh… I didn’t mean to bring that up. I forgot that you… shit.”

“No, no,” she shakes her head, moving away from the edge. “Louis, it’s okay. I know.” She sets her crutches against the other dormer and smiles. “You gonna help me up?”

Relief loosens his shoulders, and he grins back. She can still see the uncertainty lining his dark eyes, and makes a note to reassure him once she gets up there.

Locking his hand with hers, Louis helps pull her up to him. He loops an arm around her waist, and with ease, she’s sitting on top of the dormer's roof, facing him. She can see why he brought pillows. This would be painful without them. It takes them a moment of shifting and fussing with the pillows before they find a comfortable position. Facing where the sun would eventually rise, they sit close with their legs laying off the side.

They both catch their breaths, and Clementine places a hand over his that rests comfortably on her thigh.

“You good? How’s your leg?’ he asks.

“A little sore, but that’s nothing new.” She brings his wrist to her lips. “Thank you.”

He chuckles a bit, tipping his head forward as if to hide his smile. That wouldn’t do. Leaning forward, Clementine caught his lips with hers for a quick kiss, only for it to be broken when she nearly lost her balance.

“Don’t fall off!” he exclaims, clutching her waist. “If you fall, I’m gonna have to fall after you, and it’ll be embarrassing when the others find us all mangled up here.”

"Don't worry, I'll break your fall."

"Ha ha."

She follows his gaze to the sky.

It’s light blue now, almost a cool gray with wisps of burgundy clouds, and all the stars are gone. It’s peaceful, the ambiance of rustling leaves and birds chirping their morning songs soothing. The breeze even brings with it a chill that tingles through her arms.

It’s so much different up here than it was in the dorms, or even just in the yard. It’s crazy to her that not an hour ago, she was lying in her bed, uncomfortable… overwhelmed. Now, the smallest bit of glow teases behind the trees, and she can only think about how Louis’ hand in hers makes her chest swell.

It’s easier to keep those unwanted thoughts away, and she wonders if it’s silly to think that the thoughts can’t find her up this high. As if those miserable, painful memories couldn’t always find her.

Everything matters, and yet up here, so does nothing, and she’s strangely happy about that.

The radiating light blooms, warming blues into purples and oranges, light bleeding through the trees onto the grounds of Ericson. An amber cast washes over them and the dark rooftop.

It’s never looked like this before. Or if it did, she ignored it for years.

Clementine steals a glance at Louis, admiring the glow against his freckled skin. It reflects in his dark eyes. Her heart quickens. She always thought of him handsome, and he only grew more so the closer they became over the years.

But sitting here with him on the roof of the admin building, watching dawn break all the colors of the world, she could only think of him as beautiful. Not just because of his looks, or even the things he said to her tonight or any other night. It’s in the way he holds himself and who he was and who he became. It’s the way he smiles not only with his lips, but with his eyes. She trusts him. She hasn’t felt so safe in the arms of another since she was a little girl hugging her parents or entrusting her life with Lee, and that meant everything to her.

“We don’t have to talk about what’s bothering you,” Louis says suddenly. “I just want you to know that I’m here, okay?”

He’s watching her now, studying her now that he’s caught her staring.

“It doesn’t matter,” she manages, voice coming out much shakier than intended.

“Yes, it does.”

“I don’t want to think about the past.”

Louis kisses her wrist. “Okay.”

That’s more than enough reason for her to lean over and hug him, and when his arms wrap around her, she decides she wants to stay up here. She’d give up sleeping in, her worst habit, to do this again.

He kisses her slow, hand brushing the back of her neck to curl in her hair. She shivers, bringing him closer than before to deepen the kiss. They’ve done this hundreds of times before, but kissing Louis never fails to make her forget everything else, even if only for a fleeting second.

Nothing else. Just right now.

"Clementine."

This moment.

His lips on hers.

The sun. The morning air.

These feelings.

Like every day, the sun rises, and it’s another day.

#[against all odds your hand in is mine]#twdg clouis #twdg clementine #twdg louis #clouis #clementine twdg #louis twdg #twdg louisentine #louisentine #summer: clouis #thank you for reading #it's super appreciated! :D #twdg fanfics #twdg fanfiction

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years ago

Text

June Contest Submission #6: Love, imperfect

Words: ca. 5,500 Setting: mAU Lemon: lime CW: angst

–

“Do you think they’ll end up canceling people’s flights?”

With her heart still stuck in her throat, Anna opened her eyes to look at the stranger sitting next to her on the plane. He appeared calm, but then again, she was sure that so did she.

“I hope not,” she muttered before she gave him a tight-lipped smile and looked away. Another rough movement had her gripping the armrests and her stomach dropping. She kept trying to remind herself that airplanes were built to handle the worst—or so the article she’d skimmed as she waited at the gate had said. Even in the most severe turbulence, your plane isn’t moving nearly as much as you think! It sounded like a load of bullshit then and it sounded like a load of bullshit now. Plus, the exclamation mark at the end was absolutely unnecessary.

The man next to her loudly cleared his throat. He seemed like he was trying to grab something out of the pocket of his trousers. Anna glanced at him. What the hell are you doing? she wanted to ask. The whole thing set her on edge for some reason. She just wanted to land in Miami already, call a cab and get to the address Elsa had texted her days prior. Was she looking forward to it? Not really. But it was better than thinking she was about to die and hadn’t even said goodbye to Chester, her cat.

She’d told her parents this wasn’t a good idea. But her mom had insisted on some quality time because, “When was the last time the four of us spent some time together?” Anna had no idea, and she’d said so as much, which only aggravated her mother even more. But wasn’t she proud that her daughters were onto bigger and better things? Surely a few skipped holidays meant nothing compared to the pride their parents must feel on a daily basis.

The turbulence continued. There was a storm coming. It wasn’t supposed to hit until late that night, which still allowed Anna to make it to Miami on time and probably even make it to Elsa’s apartment before the rain began.

As to her parents… well, she really hoped their flight wasn’t canceled.

~~~

Anna could still remember the exact moment she became fixated with success. It happened on the summer day when she was ten years old and saw her older sister, Elsa, draped in four gold medals at the regional swimming competition. Their mom had signed them up for the swimming team at the community center after reading an article on the importance of sports in building girls’ self-esteem. Elsa had provided an aloof smile before she’d gone back to reading her book, but Anna… she was excited—she loved swimming.

When the season started, it didn’t take Anna a stopwatch to tell her that Elsa was easily the fastest swimmer on the team, often finishing races a full length ahead of everyone else. Anna would know, being that she was usually the one bringing up the gear. “You just need to practice more,” her mom would gently instruct when she complained about being last. So she spent the summer in the pool, with her dad dropping her off early on his way to work while Elsa was still at home, probably combing her pretty, perfect blond hair. Anna didn’t mind though, because she was sure all the effort would pay off in the end when she showed her parents and her sister how good she’d become in the final match of the summer. But things didn’t exactly go as her optimistic ten year-old self had expected. Elsa won four first place medals while all Anna walked away with was a cruddy participation ribbon with dry hot glue sticking out from under its cheap label.

Watching Elsa standing on the podium, nodding humbly at the rousing applause with the medals draped around her neck and that stupid, perfect blond hair darkened still by the water, Anna was filled with a burning need to be up there. Because she didn’t just want to be a hard worker. She wanted to be a winner.

But unless she wanted to grow up in Elsa’s superior gene pool shadow, she had to find another way to get noticed. In the end, she learned that if she studied hard enough and had a 4.0 GPA, she’d earn awards and scholarships. She discovered that if she steered clear of sports or sororities in college and filled her time with extracurricular activities like the debate club, she would be able to quell the worries in her head that her sister was the only winner in the family.

Of course, those who truly knew her, knew how much she loved Elsa. It was one of those things that just… was. Inevitable and innate. In her eyes, Elsa was perfect. And she hated her for it just as much as she adored her for it. Because where she was clumsy, Elsa was poised. Where she didn’t know when to shut up, Elsa would say the right thing at the right time. Where she would feel inferior, Elsa would tell her just how much there was to admire. And where she would go weeks without contact, Elsa would give her a call, reminding Anna of all the times she has ever loved her.

But that didn’t seem to matter in the end. Anna pulled away from the family in order to forge her own identity and so did Elsa. The Holmen sisters, thriving. The parents, proud. It was perfect. It should have been perfect. Except it wasn’t.

Somewhere deep inside, Anna always knew there was something missing.

~~~

The night skies were crackling by the time she got in the taxi. The driver was requesting an address. The radio was giving out unsurprising news.

There is a thunderstorm warning already being reported by the National Weather Service in areas such as Miami, Miramar, Aventura and other parts of South Florida, with potential wind gusts up to fifty-five miles per hour—

“You’re shitting me,” Anna muttered under her breath, already pulling out her phone again. The first time she’d done it was to let Elsa know she’d landed. Some drab text that was responded to with a much nicer Can’t wait to see you! It shouldn’t have warmed Anna as much as it did but that was beside the point.

Her mother picked up after the fourth ring. “Hi, honey. I was just about to call you. Did you land safely?”

“Hi. Yes, I did. Did your flight get canceled yet?”

“No,” her mother drawled. “It is delayed.”

The man on the radio went on and on about flooding and frequent lightning. The first signs of rain speckled the car’s windows. The trees were wildly ruffled by the wind.

“But you saw the news, right? It’s going to be canceled eventually.”

“Even if it is,” Iduna said calmly, “we can fly in tomorrow. This isn’t an emergency. We can wait.”

Anna pinched the bridge of her nose. “This was a bad idea,” she couldn’t help but say.

There was a pause before Iduna spoke again. “Can you fault us for wanting to spend time with you two? It’s the only time of the year you’re free, given how holidays seem to be getting more and more complicated for you.” It was a jab, fair and square; exactly what Anna got from skipping Thanksgiving and Christmas for the past two years.

“Could’ve been anywhere but Miami,” she still mumbled.

“Miami is nice,” her mother argued. “Besides, your sister’s apartment has room for all of us.” There was something hidden in her mother’s voice that made her feel dejected. The underlying praise that Elsa always seemed to get even by the most offhanded of comments. Even when she wasn’t in the room.

Anna was ready to hang up.

“Just let me know when you’ll be flying in.”

“Maybe you girls can catch up in the meantime,” Iduna suggested as if she hadn’t heard her, “I know it’s been a while for you too, but trust me, it’ll be like old times.”

Looking out the window, Anna forced a smile even though no one was watching. “Sure, mom,” she said. Truth was, she couldn’t remember what old times even felt like.

After hanging up, she leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. The ride was supposed to be a short one. Ten minutes or so, Elsa had told her over the phone some days ago. She’d sounded happy—excited in that demure way of hers that was stupidly charming and which drove Anna nuts in a way she could not explain.

Was Anna also excited? It was hard for her to tell. Her knee began to bounce as soon as the car merged into traffic. Her palms were damp despite the coolness inside. Her heart was beating like it was trying to hammer its way out of her chest. No, she was nervous. Or maybe… maybe she was both.

Maybe she was just a mess and acceptance was long overdue.

When the taxi slowed down and parked outside an apartment building Anna only recognized from pictures Elsa had shared in their family group chat, she briefly considered asking to be taken back to the airport. But instead, she paid the fare and allowed the driver to pull her carry-on suitcase out of the trunk amidst strong gusts of wind and a rain that was starting to pick up. “Welcome to Miami,” the man exclaimed—sarcastic given the circumstances—while all Anna could do was give him a smile she was sure looked more like a grimace.

The wheels of her suitcase announced her entrance into the building. The lobby was empty; quiet in an almost unsettling way. She sent Elsa a quick message and ignored the sensation of her stomach churning in anticipation. A distant thunder rumbled as she made a left, slowly heading for apartment 112.

It didn’t come as a surprise that Elsa was waiting for her outside. She was leaning against the door, flashing Anna a lovely smile she did not know she had missed until that moment.

“I’m so glad you’re finally here,” were Elsa’s first words.

“I thought I wasn’t gonna make it,” were hers.

Her sister met her halfway with outstretched arms that welcomed her with such gentle affection that Anna could not help but melt in the embrace for a brief pause. Elsa smelled like gardenias, faint and familiar.

After stepping back, she stretched out a hand to grab a hold of Anna’s suitcase. “Let me take this for you.”

“I—it’s okay. It’s not heavy.”

Elsa gave her another disarming smile. “I don’t mind, Anna. You must be tired.”

She found herself blushing for no reason as she let Elsa take the suitcase and lead her down the hallway. “I’m not, actually. Just… weary. Lots of turbulence.”

“Well,” Elsa dragged out, “mom called.”

“Of course she did.”

Elsa chuckled. They entered the apartment at the same time that she announced, “Their flight’s canceled ‘til tomorrow.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Shocker.” She paused in the middle of the spacious living room, taking things in. It all looked so perfect. The immaculate furniture, the carefully arranged throw pillows, the pristine wooden floor, the tall plant in the corner that looked real. And then the absolute mess of a storm that was happening outside the window. “I told her since the beginning this was—”

“A bad idea?”

Anna turned to where Elsa still stood in the hallway, a hand resting on the handle of her suitcase.

“What—”

“Mom told me,” she provided, a sad, apologetic smile slowly appearing on her face.

Anna’s stomach churned. “I’m sorry. I just meant that—you know, Miami’s weather isn’t the best at this time of year and maybe we could have gone somewhere else like the woods or a small town or, I don’t know, New York or something.”

“Of course. Yeah.” Elsa rubbed her arm in what Anna could tell was a sign of self-consciousness. “The weather’s pretty bad, huh?”

“The worst,” she awkwardly agreed.

They stood in silence for a few seconds before Elsa pointed her thumb in the kitchen’s direction. “I have wine. Would you like some?”

Anna felt a sliver of ease. “Wine would be nice.”

She sunk into the sofa while Elsa went to grab a bottle of chardonnay and a couple of glasses. Through the window behind her, she could see that the storm had gathered force. Gusts of wind whipped the heavy rain around while the trees were roughened by it, moving sideways as if tugged by a rope. The street lights, it seemed, shone for a deserted world.

“Are you hungry?” Elsa asked once she was back from the kitchen. “I can cook something real quick if you are.”

“I had lunch before getting on the plane,” she answered as she watched Elsa pour the wine. She let out an inconspicuous huff of breath, rubbed her sweaty palms on her jean-clad thighs. Guilt gnawed at her insides. But she meant what she’d said. This was a bad idea because of the weather. Nothing else but that.

So why did she still feel so guilty?

“Thank you,” she muttered when Elsa handed her the glass of wine. She watched her join her on the sofa, prop both feet up, fix her platinum blond hair by running a hand through it. Anna wasn’t sure why such a banal action drew so much of her attention. So she decided to look everywhere that wasn’t her sister. “This place is cozy,” she commented.

“It looks like it’s been pulled straight out of a catalogue,” Elsa said.

“I mean…”

“It’s okay, you can say it.”

She chuckled. “Fine. It does. But it’s still nice, and it’s very you.”

“Very me?”

“Yeah, you know,” she shrugged, “perfect.”

Something flashed across Elsa’s eyes that was gone before Anna could discern it. The guilt grew. She tried to mollify it. “You did a good job, though, seriously.”

“I should take that as a compliment, coming from a successful real estate agent.”

Anna rolled her eyes but the smile on her lips gave her away. Being called successful by the one person who’d always seemed to be better than her at everything felt nothing short of amazing. “I should hang a sign on your door that says ‘Holmen Approved’.”

Elsa laughed, which instinctively made her smile grow. “What an honor.”

A thunder rumbled in the sky. Anna wondered if it would be a good idea to close the curtains. Watching the city being trashed by a thunderstorm didn’t exactly scream comfort.

“This is my first Miami storm, you know?” Elsa suddenly said.

“Popped your cherry then.”

Her sister’s foot bumped against hers. “Gross.”

Anna took the time to take a large swig of wine. She wanted to take the edge off herself; get rid of that nagging notion that this was bound to end up being a disastrously awkward night simply because she did not know how to act normal around Elsa. “So how’s the city treating you overall?” she decided to ask, aware that she’d probably asked this before but unable to come up with anything else at the moment.

“I can’t say it’s been bad,” Elsa said, “But I’m looking forward to starting the school year. I’ve had too much free time on my hands.”

“So there’s no one in your life?” she found herself asking.

“I…” Elsa tilted her head, giving her a curious look, “I would have told you if there were,” she said in a voice that ignited in Anna a deep feeling of shame. How many people had she been with that she had not told her sister about?

“Besides,” Elsa added, “I just moved here. You know I’m no social butterfly.”

“Right,” she said before she looked away. How could she have forgotten? Elsa had always liked spending time at home rather than being outside, meeting people and making new friends. She liked her books and her European authors whose names Anna could never pronounce. She liked her solitude, her quiet time. And yet… Yet, it had always been her the one unwilling to lose touch.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“What about you?” Elsa repeated. “Anyone in your life?”

Anna found it a little comical that they were carrying themselves as if they hadn’t talked in years rather than three days ago. “No,” she responded, “Not for a while.”

Elsa’s gaze carried a strange sense of intimacy. “I’m sure there’s someone out there…”

She paused. “Right now? I hope not.”

The hearty laugh that broke out of Elsa caught her by surprise. It was so uncommon in her that for a moment Anna did not know how to react. All she could process was the way she swooned despite herself, feeling warm all over and even, she dared think, happy. Happy in the company of Elsa in a way she had not been so in years.

The lights went out some time later, while she was in the bathroom and Elsa was back in the kitchen preparing something to eat. It was one of those things that was predictable yet appalling, and the only thing Anna could think of saying in the middle of the pitch black room was, “Well shit.”

Back in the living room, Elsa was moving around with her cellphone acting like a single spotlight at a club. She was lighting candles, placing them each on strategic places. “All these catalogue candles are finally going to serve a purpose,” she said, and Anna couldn’t help but smile at the offhandedness of it.

It wasn’t until they’d sat back down, bathed in the warm light of the candles while they ate and shared a lighthearted conversation, that Anna could have laughed at it all.

Because her mother was right. It was like old times.

~~~

The window had ceased to rattle from the gusts of wind outside, but the power had yet to return and the rain had yet to stop. The food was gone and so was the chocolate bar Elsa had taken out of the non-working fridge. A new bottle of wine sat on the coffee table amidst lit up candles. The girls sat on each side of the sofa, facing each other.

“There’s no way he said that,” Anna laughed. She was nursing her third glass of wine, more at ease now than she had been the whole two preceding days.

“He did,” Elsa groaned while she covered her face with the hand that wasn’t holding her own drink. “And then he slipped me a note and winked at me. He winked at me!”

“What did the note say?”

“Something about how he’d been crushing on me since I gave that Durkheim lecture in class. Can you imagine? How bold he had to be to slip a note like that to his professor?”

Anna laughed some more. “Can you blame him though?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” she responded, embarrassed still.

“Kinda hard to blame him at all for having a crush on you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I—” Anna paused. What did she mean? “You know, you’re just,” she waved a hand in her general direction, “you.”

Elsa arched an amused eyebrow. “Me.”

“Yeah. You’re just… really crushable. No. Wait. That came out wrong. I just—I mean you’re just so pretty and smart and your hair’s always so perfect and you’re practically good at everything you do. So what's—what’s not to like?”

Elsa was biting her lip. It was very distracting. “You think too highly of me,” she murmured.

Anna frowned. “No, I don’t. Or maybe I do. But that’s because it’s true.”

“But it’s not…” She shook her head, trailing off.

Lightning suddenly illuminated the room. Anna readied herself for the thunder while across from her Elsa began to recoil. The loud bang came at last, making her sister visibly wince.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

Elsa shrugged nonchalantly. “Thunder just makes me anxious.” She took a sip of wine as if to restate the casualty of her words, but Anna wasn’t convinced. She watched her closely for a handful of seconds while in her mind she struggled to make a decision. She dwelt on it, bit the inside of her cheek in hesitation. But in the end, the need to comfort Elsa won over everything else.

“Come here,” she said.

“What?”

Anna spread her legs open and patted the empty space between them. “Come here.”

She playfully rolled her eyes. “I’m not a kid, Anna.”

“If you don’t tell anyone, I won’t either.”

Elsa bit her lip again. And again, Anna’s eyes traveled down to witness it. She set her glass of chardonnay on the coffee table. Might be best to stay clear of alcohol for the rest of the night.

Elsa moved slowly across the sofa until she finally settled between her legs, facing forward. Anna wrapped her arms around Elsa’s midriff, and was unable to ignore how the whole of her seemed to react to the touch, the proximity, the warmth of Elsa’s body. She rested her chin on her shoulder, felt the way Elsa relaxed and leaned back. A smile appeared on her face. She could not remember the last time they’d embraced like this.

“You weren’t scared of thunder before,” she pointed out in a soft voice.

“Probably one of those things that comes with age.”

She was amused by her answer. “We’re not that old.”

“But we’re not ten anymore,” came Elsa’s whispered retort. She finished the last of her wine and stretched an arm to place the empty glass next to Anna’s on the table. As she rearranged herself again, Anna paid close attention to the softened features of her face in the dimness of the room. She traced with her eyes the lines of her profile, the freckles that had always been fainter than hers, and the lips that, for some reason, kept drawing her attention tonight.

“What?” Elsa asked.

Anna blinked. “Nothing,” she said, heat prickling the back of her neck.

Her sister shifted slightly in their embrace in give her a side glance. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because.”

“Hasn’t dad told us enough times that ‘because’ is—”

“Not an answer,” Anna finished. “Yes, I’m aware.”

Elsa cast her another glance, lingering this time in a more intimate way. "Then tell me.“

She hesitated. “Were you always this stubborn?”

“No,” Elsa chuckled, “that was you. Stubborn and determined.”

“Well, I had to be.”

“Why do you say that?”

Anna’s lips parted but no words left her. They were drowned in silence for a moment, the rain incessant against the window. What could she possibly say to that? How could she possibly explain that the sole reason of her determination—of her never-ending stubbornness—was the one sitting safely in her arms?

She rested her chin on Elsa’s shoulder and looked down instead, focusing on the hand that rested atop hers; on the hand whose fingertips had been drawing loose patterns on her skin only seconds ago, drawing a comfort she did not know she deeply needed.

“Anna?”

“Yes?” she answered, lost someplace else.

“Say something…”

She slowly tensed up. There was so much vulnerability in Elsa’s voice that she knew she wasn’t just seeking random thoughts and vacant words. But where Elsa wanted the truth that hid beneath her silence, Anna wanted none of the insecurities that came along with it. She wanted none of the detachment, none of the things that could separate her from her sister. Not tonight. Not again. But no matter how hard she tried, the thoughts persisted. Like a nagging passenger in the backseat of her mind, Anna could not ignore what had been so deeply ingrained into her life.

“It’s dumb,” she murmured at last.

“I’m sure it’s not.”

Anna breathed a weary sigh through her nose. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head to the side, resting against Elsa’s. Her mouth opened again, then closed. Words felt heavy in her tongue, reluctant to come out.

“Why won’t you just drop it?” she asked.

“Because,” Elsa said, “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

“Is that what you think I feel?”

“Is it not?”

At her silence, Elsa extricated herself from Anna’s arms. She moved in the sofa until she was facing Anna, sitting still between her legs, knees digging into the cushion. The light of the candles danced in the blue of her eyes, piercing Anna’s own until the air left her in one quiet rush. There lay an ardency beneath them, captivating and impossible to look away from, so much so that Anna’s desire to stay quiet shifted into something else entirely.

But then Elsa was talking again, and again, she was asking to know what was going on in Anna’s head. And out of everything she’d ever had to learn, why could she not have learned to deny Elsa a thing?

She gathered what she could of the scattered remnants of her past, of the cumulus of memories that ruled most of her decisions and shaped their relationship into what it was today. The impotence of feeling like she’d never be as good as Elsa turned into the impotence of being unable to put it into words. The back of her eyes stung. A lump formed in her throat. She waved a hopeless hand in Elsa’s direction, and let it drop in defeat.

“I look at you,” she finally said, “and I see all the things I’ll never amount to.” Pain flashed across Elsa’s eyes, causing Anna to look down at the space between them. “I can’t see anything else but that,” she softly added, “and it gets in the way… It’s been getting in the way for so long.”

“Anna, I…” She went quiet. Anna could see the way her chest rose and fell. The brow that was marred with sadness and regret. “I wish I’d known this sooner.”

“Why?”

“So that I could show all the ways you’re a much better person than me.”

She let out a humorless chuckle. “That’s so unlikely it sounds ridiculous.”

“How?” Elsa questioned. She inched closer until her hands were cupping Anna’s cheeks. “Please tell me how so that I can prove you wrong.”

At the impossibility of looking away, Anna ended up lost in her sister’s eyes. “I don’t know,” she whispered, deep down knowing she would never find an answer to that.

“I know you think I’m this perfect human being,” Elsa murmured, “and that I have everything I could hope for. But the truth is that all the accomplishments in my life could never compare to the mere presence of you in it. And still… I’ve always missed you, even when you were right next to me.”

Anna’s eyes fluttered closed. The walls were crumbling around her and all she wanted was for Elsa to become her solace.

A thumb caressed her cheek, and she leaned into the touch without thinking. Her heart was thumping heavily in her chest. Her voice was raw when she finally asked, “Do you miss me now?”

“… No.”

Slowly, Anna opened her eyes. A tender smile was tugging at Elsa’s lips and, like a magnet, the depth of Elsa’s gaze drew her in. She leaned closer until they were breathing the same air and the buzzing in her mind had quietened to a vacant hum. The wind howled, but all Anna could register was the blood pulsing in her ears and the barest of sighs as she softly pressed her lips against Elsa’s.

It was sudden and overwhelming. An impulse fueled by a feverish pleasure that soon drove her to press harder by capturing Elsa’s lower lip between hers. She sucked lightly, eliciting the softest moans out of Elsa as warmth shot straight through her body and settled between her legs. It wasn’t until she nibbled, hoping to elicit a greater reaction out of her sister, that Elsa’s lips parted and their tongues met in a desperate need that would not be satiated.

Submerged in candlelight, their bodies shifted until Anna was lying on top of Elsa with both forearms framing her head. There was no pause in between, only the innate desire for more. Anna could feel her sister writhing beneath her, subtle movements of her hips bucking while her hands trailed up Anna’s back. The room was growing hot. She could feel the smoldering heat in this sweater she wanted to take off as soon as possible. But it was hard to do that when Elsa would not stop kissing her in a way she’d never been kissed before. Her passion shook Anna to the core. It sent waves of ecstasy through her body.

With one last sucking motion on Elsa’s lower lip, she kissed her way down the line of her jaw and towards the warm, soft spot below her ear. The scent of gardenias reached her nostrils. A low, throaty moan reached her ears. Elsa’s hand weaved itself through her hair as she bucked her hips for the last time that night.

The power came back on and all Anna could think of for a dreadful split second was that their parents had walked in on them. She froze with Elsa’s fingers still in her hair and her lips parted in a mix of shock and fear. She was panting, her arms shaking from the propped up position she was in. Below her, Elsa was dead silent.

In the seconds that followed, Anna quickly sat up and looked at her sister with wide, frightened eyes. Elsa’s hair was disheveled, her lips here rosy and plump. The air escaped her lungs in one quick, short breath.

What had they done?

“I’m so sorry,” Anna rushed out, all but falling off the couch on her way out of the living room.

“Wait—”

She did not listen. Her feet carried her down the hallway.

“Anna—”

She ran out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind her.

Blinded by panic, Anna sprinted towards the exit. She heard a door opening and shutting again, her name being called out. She registered the everlasting emptiness of the lobby before the front glass doors parted, leading her out into the night and a city that was still being pounded down by rain. There, covered only by the roof of the driveway, she froze again, aware of her feet clad in nothing but the mismatched socks she’d put on this morning and the flimsy sweater she’d wanted to get rid of mere minutes ago.

Elsa’s helpless voice came from behind her: “Anna.”

She heaved a sigh and, a moment later, turned around. Elsa was standing there, in socks and downbeat, watching Anna with eyes that begged her to stay.

“I’m sorry,” Anna said, loud enough that it could be heard above the downpour.

“Don’t apologize. Please.”

“But I shouldn’t have—” She looked away, withdrawing into herself. Her mind was a mess. All that talk about Elsa being perfect must have gotten to her head, messed with her feelings. They got carried away, that was all. It did not matter that she’d enjoyed kissing her. It could not matter.

But Elsa…

Anna looked at her again; at the person who’d always given her nothing but unconditional love and support. She saw the person who’d taken her out for ice cream after she flunked her calculus test in twelfth grade, the one who’d cheered the loudest when she graduated college. She saw the twelve year-old girl who’d turned six chocolate gold coins into medals and draped them around Anna’s neck that one memorable summer. She saw them all in the woman Elsa had become and was overcome by an insurmountable need to cry. Because Elsa had been the greatest constant in her life and still, Anna felt as if she were seeing her for the first time. Imperfect but beautiful all the same.

“Come back inside,” Elsa murmured at last, taking a step closer towards her.

“But what we did…”

Elsa shook her head and extended a hand for Anna to take. “What we did, we can figure it out together.”

Lightning gave way to thunder, but Elsa barely flinched: Anna was finally holding her hand.

They fell into each other’s arms the same imminent way that sunshine follows the rain. Anna let herself be held as she burrowed into the warmth of Elsa’s neck and hugged her tighter around the waist. Tears prickled her eyes before she shut them closed. They would figure it out, she reminded herself. Whatever this was—whatever this could be—they would do it together.

“You know,” Elsa said after a while, holding her still, “I don’t think either of us would have made it very far in socks.”

“I did realize pretty late that this was a bad idea.”

Elsa hummed. “Seems like the night’s been full of bad ideas, huh?”

“Maybe not all of them were bad,” she dared to say in a voice so low that the words would have been lost to the rain had her sister not been so close.

“Maybe,” Elsa whispered, holding her tighter and placing a lingering kiss on the side of her head.

#elsanna #submission #june 2021 contest #prompt: storm #lime #cw: angst

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gameofdrarry · 3 years ago

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Wizards Hearts Recs: Holiday Fic

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 East of Eden by WriteSprite Rated: Explicit Words: 41,122 Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Parseltongue, Dirty Talk, Rimming, Biting, Drinking Games Summary: When Harry receives a dodgy brochure for an island vacation, he isn't sure he should attend. After a bit of a push, he decides to go for it and winds up spending the week in paradise. At least it would be, if it weren't for that pesky blond git. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Take My Hand by daisymondays Rated: Explicit Words: 12814 Tags: Summer, Summer Romance, Pining, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, First Kiss, Drinking Games, Harry Potter Has Dimples, Draco Malfoy Can't Cope, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Auror Partners, Draco Has Feels To Spare, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Meddling Friends, Touching, Soooo Much Touching, HP: EWE Summary: Draco has long resigned himself to pining after Harry... that is until an invite on the annual Ministry holiday gives him a chance to change everything. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 December Never Felt So Wrong by MaesterChill Rated: Explicit Words: 50001 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Angst, Mystery, time skip, 00's Music Sung Badly, Fluff, Amnesia, A niffler, 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2018, curse magic, Knitting, Sex, Cuddles, Blow Jobs, First Time Sex, wanking, Advent Fic, Christmas, Magical Artifacts, Falling In Love, Magical Theory, drarry dads, Rimming, Memory Loss, A tiny bell, Sharing a Bed, Dad Jokes, Cursed objects Summary: 'Twas the month before Christmas and sixteen year old Draco Malfoy had never felt worse. His attempts to kill Dumbledore were failing and, as usual, Harry Fucking Potter was a constant thorn in his side. All that suddenly changed when Draco woke up 15 years in the future and discovered that not only was he allegedly shagging Harry Fucking Potter, he also had thinning hair and a five year old son, and no fucking clue how he got there. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Tell Me the End at the Beginning by harryromper Rated: Teen and Up Words: 36591 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, St Mungo's Hospital, Healer Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Hermione Granger, Christmas, Christmas Tree, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Christmas Presents, Christmas Decorations, 25 Days of Harry and Draco, Food Hall Turkeys, Advent Calendar, Healer Luna Lovegood, Kreacher, Minor Neville Longbottom/Ginny Weasley, Yule Logs, Misheard Christmas carols Summary: St Mungo’s is the last place anyone wants to spend the festive season. Harry finds himself there anyway. Or: Harry's an Auror suspended from duty, Malfoy's wearing the hell out of three-piece suits, Hermione is entirely over everything, and Kreacher just wants to be left alone to decorate for Christmas. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Too Cold Outside (For Angels to Fly) by gracerene Rated: Explicit Words: 62688 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Hogwarts, Creature Fic, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela (Harry Potter), Auror Partners, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Draco Malfoy, Aurors, Case Fic, Murder Mystery, Mild Gore, Advent Calendar, Christmas, Drinking, Scotland, United Kingdom, Muggle London, POV Alternating, Coffee Shops, Past Character Death, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Crime Fighting, Duelling, Burns, Blood and Injury, Bars and Pubs, Getting Together, Romance, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Bisexual Harry Potter, Gay Draco Malfoy, Anal Sex, Riding, Shower Sex, Hand Jobs, 25 Days of Harry and Draco, 25 Days of Harry and Draco 2019, Switching, Wings, Wing Kink, Veela Mates, Mating Bond, Anal Fingering, Bonding, Dirty Talk Summary: The Auror Department and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures are working to create a new division partnering human wizards and Magical Beings in order to more effectively police crime involving any and all classifications of Magical Creature. Auror Harry Potter jumps at the chance to join the pilot programme, but he starts to regret his rashness when he discovers who he's to be partnered with: Draco Malfoy. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 If the Fates Allow by Saras_Girl Rated: Mature Words: 80957 Tags: N/A Summary: What's that crackling in the walls? Harry has no clue at all. He'll eat some cake and drink some wine Because he is completely FINE. --A story about life's disregard for our plans. [2017 advent story] ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 A New Peace by MalenkayaCherepakha Rated: Explicit Words: 5566 Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex Summary: Of all the people Draco expected to walk into his cafe in Muggle London, Harry Potter was not one of them. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 flashback, warm nights by warmfoothills Rated: Mature Words: 13068 Tags: Deathly Hallows AU, or more specifically, the godric’s hollow christmas shitshow of 1997, but with ron and draco!, and no snake-animated corpses!, instead:, Grand theft auto, a lot of blood, teenage fugitives, a time loop, Horcrux Hunting, one psychopathic quinquagenarian, Bodily Injuries, the ~power of love, Breaking and Entering, hospital food, questionable headwear, kissing in the backseat, kissing in the freezer aisle, Kissing in the Snow Summary: “What’s killing me is that I actually quite fucking like Christmas, festival-for-a-personally-irrelevant-religion-turned-commercialised-garbage-holiday though it may be, and now I’m stuck in the perpetual almost-there of it all with an idiot who gets himself cut up every time no matter how differently I try and do things!” “Killing you?” Potter asks. “I thought I was the one who’s about to get my torso sliced into?” ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 All Must Draw Near by Saras_Girl Rated: Mature Words: 61080 Tags: N/A Summary: Harry doesn't have time for rumours; he has a shop to run. Which is just as well, really. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 With A Little Help From Hermione by naarna Rated: Teen and Up Words: 6983 Tags: N/A Summary: Secret Santa at Hogwarts with every House participating in the name of unity... And Hermione suddenly finds herself in the position of a matchmaker. ❤️ Read on Fanfiction.net

📜 Faint Indirections by ignatiustrout Rated: Teen and Up Words: 29793 Tags: University, Wizarding World of the United States of America, Americans, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Librarian Harry Potter, Harry Potter Has a Pet Snake, Parselmouth Harry Potter, College Student Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Anxious Harry Potter, Baby Gay Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Harry Potter, Friendship, Family Dinners, Halloween parties, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Romance, Misunderstandings, Internalized Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, H/D Fan Fair 2019, Secondary Theme: Book Fair Summary: Draco Malfoy is the last person Harry expects to turn up in Boston, Massachussetts. But now he's here, and he won't stop requesting books from the library where Harry works. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The 12 Dates of Draco by Drarryismymuse (Hatchersn) Rated: Explicit Words: 16808 Tags: 12 Days of Christmas, Light Angst, Christmas Smut, Anal Sex Summary: Holiday dialing, desperate attempts at reconciliation, and 12 blind dates with Draco Malfoy... oh my! OR The day Harry just can't seem to get past. But what is the universe trying to tell him? And when did Draco Malfoy get so bloody fit? He's got 12 days to figure it out. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Christmas Is For Sex (and Love), So Give It To Me by GoldenTruth813 Rated: Explicit Words: 53218 Tags: PWP, Established Relationship, Christmas, Bondage, misuse of frosting, making gingerbread houses, coming without touching, Blowjobs, Fingering, anal penetration, Rimming, misuse of fairy lights, Praise Kink, Nipple Clamps, erotic massages, Lingerie, Harry in Lingerie, Butt Plugs, Masterbation, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation, Topping from the Bottom, Ice Play, misuse of snowballs, misuse of brandy custard, veritasium, Public Sex, misuse of christmas candles, Wax Play, floating blow jobs, bubble baths, Candy Canes, misuse of candy canes, sex with feelings, Clubbing, naughty letters, babysitting teddy, Edging, healing past trauma, really so much more than sex, but lots of sex too, spiked hot cocoa, Drunk confessions, Anal penetration with a foreign object, french!draco, Switching Summary: Draco buys Harry an Advent House, intent on helping Harry create all new holiday memories, and have a lot of great sex in the process. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 As it Should Be by leo_draconis Rated: Mature Words: 5670 Tags: N/A Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Draco's world has just shattered around him. Will a Christmas miracle give him a second chance? ❤️ Read on LJ

📜 Dream by the Fire by GallifreyisBurning Rated: Mature Words: 11431 Tags: Fluff, Christmas Fluff, Non-Explicit Sex, No Angst, seriously no angst whatsoever, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, Coffee Shop Owner Harry Potter, Writer Draco Malfoy, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, Magical Tattoos, Memory Magic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Wizarding History (Harry Potter), Friends to Lovers Summary: When Draco Malfoy resurfaces in England after eight years abroad—tattooed, pierced, and wanting to take over a corner of Harry's coffee shop to work on a writing project—Harry can't help but be intrigued. Where has he been? What is he working on? Why here? And why does he have to look so stupidly hot with all those tattoos? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The best Christmas he ever had by gnarf Rated: Teen And Up Words: 1965 Tags: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Post-War, Fred Weasley Lives, Christmas at the Burrow (Harry Potter), Mutual Pining, Drinking, Dancing, Family Feels Summary: Christmas had never been less appealing to him than this year. That was until Arthur Weasley showed up at his door, dressed as Santa, inviting him to the Burrow. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The One Where Ginny Keeps a Secret, Sort of by Theartfulldodger Rated: Teen And Up Words: 4039 Tags: Fluff, Christmas, Established Relationship, Non-Linear Narrative, Group Vacation Summary: Harry is determined to have a good time with Ginny and Pansy for a trip to NYC over the winter holidays, even if Draco can't join them. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Adventures in Truth and Texting by fluxweed Rated: Explicit Words: 7981 Tags: Texting, Drunk Texting, Sexting, Veritaserum, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Auror Harry Potter, Drinking, Christmas, Advent Fic, Awkwardness, everyone has phones, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE Summary: Former Death Eaters are being targeted with a Veritaserum curse – it’s permanent, and makes victims speak aloud their every thought. Luckily, it’s easier to control when writing – and Hermione is trying to introduce Muggle technology to the wizarding world. An advent fic featuring texting, identity struggles, and a Draco Malfoy who will literally not stop talking. ❤️ Read on AO3

#holiday #vacation #drarry #drarry rec #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

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bangtan-madi · 4 years ago

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noel on ice — kim namjoon

Pairing — Namjoon x Reader, feat. minor mention of Jungkook x OC

Genre — fluff, holiday, minor angst, mental health

Tags — strangers to lovers, figure skater!Namjoon, barista!MC, non-idol au, figure skater au, café au, holiday au

Word Count — 16k

Summary — After sustaining a crushing defeat at the World Figure Skating Championships, falling from his perfect gold standard to his long-time rival, Kim Namjoon returns to South Korea with an unsure heart and accompanying injury. At the same time, Y/N is as far from home as she has ever been due to a falling out with her family, working as a barista at a café in Seoul while trying to finish her degree. As if by fate, the two meet, and Namjoon makes it his goal to make Y/N see the magic of the holidays -- one Christmas adventure across Seoul at a time.

Warnings — minor language, brief anxiety attack, mentions of ptsd related symptoms

A/N — This year has been a very difficult one for us all. For my fic in this Christmas collab, I wanted to acknowledge all of that and give a little mental health break for everyone. All of our experiences have been different, but one thing we all have in common is that 2020 was unexpected, painful, and heavy. Please, no matter what holiday you celebrate, let yourself have as much rest and healing as you need. If this little, probably-needs-more-editing-than-I-had-time-for fic can help you get there — even just for the twenty minutes it takes to read — then my job is done ❤️ I love you all, and I know I speak for the others when I say I hope 2021 treats us all so much kinder, and I hope we learn to love ourselves in spite of our worlds around us.

Playlist — Link here.

Christmas Collaboration — this fic is a part of the Christmas Collab by @kooala (link coming soon!)

"Hey—Hey, are you even listening to me?"

Raising your head slightly, your eyes widening as you realize you've zoned out again, focusing on the snowfall outside instead of the next customer in line. The woman waving her hand in front of you is as foreign to South Korea as you are, but her expression is entirely that of an angry American. Her scowl has etched deep lines into her skin, where smile lines should be.

Unfortunately, her face is all too familiar. Usually it pays to be one of the only native English-speakers at your café; however, when Americans come in, you're the one pushes to take their orders and serve them.

Even the most difficult ones.

"S—Sorry, Ma'am," you mutter. Shaking your head, you force a customer-service smile. "I was just admiring the snowfall. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Oh, yeah," she retorts sarcastically. "So beautiful that it's making travel home nearly impossible. Can you please just make my drink so I can leave?"

"I—I didn't hear it, Ma'am. Can you repeat it please?"

While the woman rolls her eyes, she repeats her order swiftly, muttering something along the lines of, "Baristas these days, I swear to god," under her breath. "Make sure to get it right this time. Every time I come in and order a blended cappuccino, you guys end up giving me a latte, which is not what I ordered."

"And every time, we have to explain that all a latte is, is a blended cappuccin—"

"—I don't want to hear it!"

With a sigh, you ring up the total for the "blended cappuccino, not latte" and let the woman pay. From the sidelines, your co-worker Lisa stands with a glare and a tin of heated milk ready to go for your order.

"Ms. Blended cappuccino again?" she asks as you turn towards her with a note written in perfect Hangul.

You nod, running a hand over your hair in frustration. "I hate being the only native bi-lingual person here. Means I get to deal with her every damn time."

Sensing your downtrodden spirit, Lisa pushes you out of the way, giving you a gentle shove towards the back room. "I got this one. Go take a breather in the back, okay?"

"But—"

"—Ah! No buts. I know enough English to get by."

From the front desk, the woman pipes up again, demanding her drink be made faster. Lisa marches past your, arms herself with the imaginary drink, and says in perfect English, "You're in Seoul now. Speak Korean."

Knowing Lisa can handle the absolute hell-spawn that is an angry American Karen, you turn your back to the drama and shuffle to the break room behind the "employees only" door. An exasperated breath escapes as you revel in the silence, pushing away the muffled café sounds on the other side of the door. Being the only one in the break room, you spot your favorite white chocolate mocha on the side table, with a smiley face sticky note indicating it's from Lisa beside it.

You smile gently at the sweet gesture, and shove the sticky note into your pocket as a reminder to yourself to thank her later.

Taking the mug between your overworked hands, you settle down on the window seat and watch the December sky slowly shift from violet to navy. The mocha is just slightly sweet with a hint of peppermint, just like you like it. It's almost enough to illicit the Christmas spirit lying dormant inside you.

There's something incredibly painful about this particular holiday season, you think to yourself as the cars pass swiftly on the street outside. The glittering lights, the beautiful carols, the crystalline snow — none of it feels the same as last year. The holidays are supposed to be a time of comfort and renewal, but this year — after moving halfway around the world by yourself — your heart is starting to wonder if that part of you has died.

Maybe it's the loneliness you're feeling, or maybe it's the fact that you're so far away from home. Or maybe it's the fresh-in-your-mind arguments and falling out with your family over the summer. That bitter taste lingers still in the back of your throat, not unlike a dark espresso. A Christmas season without your parents and siblings; you never thought living your own life and following your happiness could hurt so much. For better or worse, that nostalgic feeling family and friends bring is long gone. And now you're nostalgic for nostalgia itself; what kind of messed up feeling is that?

You've had twenty-four wondrous, magical holiday seasons. Is it part of growing up that your allotment of joyful Christmas days is limited?

Is twenty-five the year that the magic just...stops?

When the night sky becomes unchanging, the door to the café kitchen opens. Lisa peeks her head inside, side-bangs falling in her face. "How's the mocha? Did I get it right?"

You take the last sip with a grateful smile, then place the mug onto the coffee table. "You nailed it. Thank you, I needed that."

Pride swells in Lisa's chest, and her shoulders straighten as she enters the room. "Well, good news. Karen's gone," she announces, "and your favorite customer is here!"

"Who?"

Lisa places her hand horizontally at her hip-level. "About this tall? Loves peppermint hot choco?

Bolting from your seat, all your concerns are momentarily gone. Your co-worker doesn't have to utter another word to get you to exit the back room and reenter the kitchen.

Across the counter, a mop of black hair is barely visible. Dark brown eyes peer over the granite surface; they twinkle and shine at the sight of you. Tiny hands splay on the surface in an attempt to make the small child taller. He's around seven to eight years, you estimate. Nine or ten at the very most. Definitely not out of primary school. And he's your very favorite customer, because unlike most, this child comes in with a toothy grin almost every single day with enough money for a peppermint hot chocolate. He's never late, and he's never unhappy. If the Sun were to bless the world with a ray of sunshine in human form, this kid would be it.

"Ahjumma!" the little boy shouts, a grin plastered on his face.

Instead of having him crane his neck, you walk around the counter, bend down on one knee, and ignore the other customers behind him. Pulling one of the tiny baked goods from your apron pocket, you offer the sweet to the child with a wink.

"You're here awfully late, Yeongu. You're usually here right after school lets out. It's already after dark."

Yeongu digs through his pocket and pulls out several crumpled won, enough for his beverage of choice. "Tomorrow is the last day before Christmas break, so dad picked me up and took me skating. I'm with mom and her boyfriend for the rest of the month 'cause Dad's going to Busan with his new wife. I don't like her that much. She frowns too much. And she smells like soju and taffy."

You exchange the won for the baked treat, laughing softly as you invite the boy onto the corner table nearest the hot chocolate machines. "You don't like taffy, do you?"

He makes a face and takes a big bite of the delicacy. "My teacher tells us that if we eat taffy, it will help us remember things. I ate too much of it last year, and now I hate it. Dad's new wife must always be forgetting things, because she always smells like it!"

After finishing the simple drink, you slide the mug across the table and plop down in the seat across from the small boy. "So does this mean I won't get to see you until after Christmas?"

Yeongu shakes his head. "I'll be by tomorrow after. Mom wanted to visit my cousin before we left. He's back in town for Christmas, and we haven't seen him in a long time."

"Oh? What does he do?"

"Sports."

At that, the boy changes the conversation. "What are you doing for Christmas, Ahjumma?"

"Yeah, Ahjumma," Lisa pipes up after serving the final to-go customer for the night. She flips the sign on the front door and turns back to the two of you, hand on her hip. "What are you doing for your first Christmas in Korea?"

Shrugging slightly, you turn your attention back to the small child across from you. "I'll probably spend the day with Mochi — my cat — probably studying so I'll be ahead in the new year for my next classes." Lisa gives an empathetic look at the mention of your kitten, which causes you to roll your eyes playfully. "Don't give me that look! I'll be fine. Probably best for me to have a relaxed, non-hectic couple of days. This year has been a rough one."

"That sounds sad," Yeongu states bluntly, earning a snicker from Lisa.

"Kid's right. Absolutely dreadful, [Y/n]. What a lame Christmas."

"What about you, then? Do you have any plans for Christmas?"

At the question, Lisa's smirk drops and she perks up. "Well, I'm sure you know, but Christmas in Korea is pretty different from America," Lisa reminds you, and you nod your acknowledgement. "It's more of a couple holiday, so my boyfriend Jungkook and I are planning to take the week off and do a ton of holiday activities together. Mostly outdoors stuff. Y'know, snowboarding, skiing, snowball fights — the usual."

"Sounds like a blast," you laugh.

"Oh, it will be." She gives a wink, then nods to Yeongu. "Are we about done here? I need to head out if you're okay with locking up for the night."

You give a wave of approval as the child nears the end of his glass. "I got this. Say hello to Jungkookie for me."

Lisa flashes a set of extravagant finger hearts before disappearing into the back, where she gathers her personal items and exits out the rear entrance. In her absence, Yeongu tugs on your sleeve and holds up an empty mug.

"Thank you for the hot choco, Ahjumma," he grins, showing the dark stain on his upper lip.

Taking the mug, you use the edge of your apron to clean the mess from his face. "If you come by tomorrow before you leave with your Eomma, I'll make you another with extra peppermint, okay?"

The boy's smile grows, and he hops up from the table with a swift bow. "I'll be here!" He heads for the door with a skip in his step.

"Will you get home all right?" you call after him.

Yeongu turns and grins. "I will, don't worry, Ahjumma!"

And then he's gone, out the door in a rush of energy and giggles towards his home nearby. You merely shake your head; there's no point in going after him now.

Soon after, you're following in his step. It doesn't take you long to clean up. By the time you lock up and exit out the back, snow has begun to fall. You brave the cold, tugging your coat tighter around you, burying your face into your scarf. The journey to the subway is short, and your feet take you quickly. Even still, you stare upward at the snowy clouds in hope that they might spark a semblance of Christmas joy in your heart.

Tonight, like every other night, nothing changes.

You heave a sigh, and the breath billows out as a visible fog as you enter the station. Going through the motions to get to your apartment is easy. A swipe of a card, a short ride to the edge of the neighborhood, and a trek up the set of stairs. Once through the door, you're greeted by a mewing shadow of a cat.

"Hi, my baby girl," you greet with a soft smile, bending down to scratch the tiny fur ball behind the ears. The black cat rubs her chin against your palm and follows you when you waltz to the kitchen. "You hungry?"

As if responding, "Yes!" Mochi speeds up and meows a bit louder than last time.

Her antics bring a smile to your face as you turn on the television for background noise. You find the nearest Korean news station, finding the program in the middle of a report on Korea's favorite rap duo and their upcoming tour: Suga and J-Hope. Your intention with the selection is two-fold — first, to continue to enhance your skills of the Korean language, and two, to continue learning about the culture and world of your new home. While you had extensive knowledge of both before moving to Seoul — despite the process being rather quick due to the fallout with your family — nothing compares to being immersed in the country itself.

As the musical entertainment section ends, you begin pulling ingredients out of the fridge and cupboard. "What do you think sounds good, Mochi? How about teokbokki?" The black cat perches her paws on your right leg, purring pleasantly. "I agree, sounds great after a long day."

You toss a bag of rice cakes onto the counter as the news changes to sports. Even as you prepare the sauce for the meal, you actively listen to the voices in the background.

"Unfortunately, RM Nam's ice skating season has been cut short due to an unforeseen injury he sustained during practice this summer. At the time, the damage to his shoulder seemed unnoticed by the athlete and his coach. However, as we saw earlier this October at the Grant Prix Series: Skate America, Mr. Nam's mishap on the ice turned out to be far more damaging than originally thought. Thus, the position representing South Korea at the next in the series, Skate Canada, was shifted to his rival, Kim Seokjin, and RM Nam returned home to Seoul to recover."

You can't but help a glance up at the screen. The skater in question has his back turned to the cameras as he heads into the airport. Behind his sunglasses, mask, and beanie, he offers a polite smile and wave to the reporters. Moments later, his coach guides him into the building, out of sight.

"That doesn't sound fun," you mutter to yourself as the report moves onto politics.

After you finish cooking, you plate yourself a portion and move into the living room. Besides the tiny tan sofa and the television propped up on a box, most of the room is bare. There are a handful of boxes strewn across the apartment of the few things you either had shipped from the States or that you bought in your six months since then, but for the most part, you've been putting off all of it. Most of your time is spent at work or at school; you haven't had the time, energy, or motivation to do any of it. Even at Christmas, despite Lisa gifting you with your very own tiny tree and twinkle lights to spread across the home, you've yet to unpack any of it. The tree remains in the slender box beside the TV, and you doubt it will go up this year at all.

Heaving a sigh at the thought, you turn the channel to VIKI put on your favorite drama. This particular one is a reincarnation plot with two male leads played by Korea's golden boys: Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung. Paired with the bowl of teokkboki in your lap and the kitten curled to your side, it's enough to drag you thoughts out of homesickness and back to the present.

This might just have to be the Christmas you forget and hope that the next year is a kinder one.

A lot changed in your life this year. In some ways, the changes were good. In others, not so much. Most of the turbulent times were in the heat of the summer, but things began slowing down once you moved to South Korea in September. You were now away from toxic family members, away from a life you never wanted, and looking ahead to an uncertain but certainly hopeful future.

In late October, the seasons began changing for the better — and not just in the physical sense of the falling leaves and cooler breeze. Lisa was right about your favorite customer; it truly was little Yeongu. However, there was another that you looked forward to seeing, just as much as the elementary school boy.

This person was older, around your age, with a deeply dimpled smile that made your stomach flutter. Eyes as slender as his body proportions, you'd be lying if you said he wasn't an attractive man. Hair the color of the snowflakes he walked through, eyes the color of the beverage he'd always order, skin the color of warmth in a cozy fireplace. Even his voice was warm and deep; at every conversation, while you are completely fluent in Korean, you find yourself just wanting to listen to the soft timbre.

Over time, this man — whose name you'd quickly learn was Kim Namjoon — became a regular at your little coffee shop. He'd come in at the oddest hours, either super early or super late. Hours you often worked alone, when there were fewer customers. Every time, he'd strike up a conversation as you took his order and crafted his beverage of choice (a heavy coffee brewed dark and bitter, with just a splash of cream and almond whip.) He was sweet, and eventually you opened up. He'd hang around the counter long after the transaction was completed, sometimes until another customer stole your attention away. It didn't take long for you to realize that he was far more than merely a pretty face.

In those weeks leading up to December, you found yourself smiling a bit more. Joking a bit more. Shoulders lightening a bit more. You looked forward to the increasingly insistent days where he'd waltz in — sometimes covered in raindrops, sometimes in crisp leaves, sometimes in snowflakes — always a crystal blue umbrella under his arm and a charcoal grey scarf around his neck.

It's the same person standing at the entrance now, the man currently shaking the rain from his umbrella and platinum locks. Lisa gives you a smirk as she nods her head towards the register and steps away from the counter, as if silently saying, "You're up, m'lady. Holler if you need me; I'll be doing an order in the back."

You brush your hair back into proper place, display a genuine smile, and take your stance behind the register. When Namjoon's eyes meet yours, his smile deepens and creates dimples on either side of his mouth.

After the customer in front of him pays and leaves with his order in hand, you greet him with a simple, "You haven't been in, in over a week. Finally trying to break your caffeine addiction?"

Namjoon gives a deep laugh and shakes his head. "Not in the slightest. I like being able to function as an adult in society, thank you very much." He pulls out several won from his wallet. "I'll have..."

"The usual?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "You remember?"

"Of course," you grin, and type his drink of choice into the register. Taking his money, you add, "How could I forget your order after the hilarious reaction when I suggested a mint mocha?"

The boy thinks back to the first day he walked into the café, and recalls that conversation with a groan. "Oh god, was I that bad?"

Handing him his change, you tap your chin and reply, "Well, maybe a bit. I'd never seen someone so horrified at the idea of mint chocolate."

Namjoon rubs the back of his neck with an awkward smile. "Sorry about that. Pretty terrible at hiding my disdain for that flavor combo."

"No worries! Made me laugh."

Seeing that there are no other customers behind him, you turn to the brewing station and usher Namjoon to take a seat on the bar stool across the counter. It's a position you've taken several times before. When the customers are low, as they are at this hour of evening, the platinum-haired man tends to linger and converse far after his drink is finished.

"What brings you in today? Just wanted a pick-me-up or?"

Namjoon heaves a sigh. He watches you closely but casually, silently admiring the skillful way you begin to brew the dark beverage. "I've had a lot on my mind lately, and coming here always helps me de-stress."

"Coffee helps you relax?" You can't help but chuckle at the sentiment.

"And the company."

Heat rushes to your face, and when you glance up to meet his gaze, the warmth only increases. "You're smooth, Kim Namjoon. Very smooth."

Brown eyes widen, and he bows his head so that his bangs cover his eyes. "That's not what I meant at all!"

"Calm down, you're fine. Wanna talk about what's on your mind, though?"

In all your conversations, the two of you have only ever talked on the shallow surface of various topics. You don't know much about Namjoon, and he doesn't know much about you — despite having shared extremely vague information about your year, your jobs, and your education. You feel very open with him, but most of the time, those conversations can't be had in a fifteen minute discussion at a café.

"It's a long, complicated story. I'm not sure you'd wanna hear it." He raises his hands defensively as he realizes how his words might be construed. "Not that you wouldn't understand! I just wouldn't want to be a downer."

You select the cold brew setting on the machine and let the device begin to whir to life. "Well, I've got at least the time it takes to make your drink. I'm all ears."

Namjoon shakes his head as he settles his elbows on the counter. "You're persistent."

"Honey, I've been called far worse."

Seeing your eagerness, your companion heaves a sigh and shifts his gaze from you to the window at his right. As be begins to speak, his demeanor falls a bit. He's not as happy-go-lucky; there's an err of anxiety about him that you can't quite nail down. "I've been thinking about a change in career recently. Things haven't been unfolding this year like I wanted...and I'm starting to think I'm not meant to do what I'm doing now. Maybe I need to retire — from this industry, I mean, and move on to another."

Even with that small confession, you can't help but mirror his emotions. "I hear you. I've felt similar feelings this year."

His gaze shifts back to yours, and he tilts his head in surprise. "Really? How so?"

"I told you I moved to Seoul in September, right?" Namjoon nods. "That's because I wanted a...a fresh start. I enrolled in Yonsei University, got a job here, and just...moved."

"That's pretty brave, and that's really awesome you're at Yonsei. They're a fantastic school."

"Thanks," you grin whilst popping the canister of cold brew out from under the brewing machine. "I needed to get away from certain people in my life that weren't letting me move forward, so moving was the best choice." You pour the dark beverage into a small mixer and pull out the vanilla creamer. "Sure you don't want mint this time? Last chance."

Namjoon cocks an eyebrow as a silent challenge; the expression makes you giggle to yourself as you pour the very non-mint add-ins. "Hilarious."

"Hey! Just offering." After giving the mixture a whisk, your smile falters.

Nothing gets by the observant person across the counter. "I feel like your story has a 'but' after what you ended with."

"You're good," you reply, gesturing to him with the handheld whisk. "I'm not talking too much, am I?"

Namjoon shakes his head adamantly and flourishes with his hand for you to continue. "I mean, we're practically friends now. Please, go on."

Reassured by both his calming nature and genuine interest, you continue talking. "But after getting here...let's just say it's hard to make friends and get out there in a country where you look so different, where your language isn't native, and where you know literally no one. So...ah, this year's been a pretty lonely one, and I know I still made the right choice, but now that the holidays are here..." You trail off and offer a small smile. "All that to say, I know what it's like to second-guess yourself and not have things go the way you thought."

"Seems we have a lot in common," he chuckles, leaning his chin on his hand.

The comment causes the mood to lighten, and you let a laugh slip out. "Yeah, seems so."

Before the conversation can continue, the front door opens. Yeongu enters, a couple of other customers behind him. As if on cue, Lisa enters from the back room and greets the adults with a smile and a swift, "Hi, welcome! What can I get you this evening?"

As the child approaches the adjacent counter where you stand, his grin widens. You perch your elbows on the counter and lean over. "How's my favorite customer?"

"I'm finally free from school, Ahjumma!" Yeongu cheers loudly.

"Congrats! I'm sure you're relieved." He nods affirmatively. "t's freezing outside. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, I promise. But can I get a mint hot choco?" He holds up a crumpled bill with a toothy grin.

"Of course, you can. Extra mint, just like I promised." You nod towards the seat closest to the window. "Sit in your usual spot, okay? After I get this nice man his coffee, I'll get your hot chocolate."

As Namjoon turns to look at the child, Yeongu's eyes widen in surprise. "Namjoon-hyung! I didn't know you were here."

Much to your shock, Namjoon reciprocates the affection and hops down from his chair to bend down to Yeongu's level. "Yeon-ie!" He teases the boy by ruffling up his hair, which Yeongu scowls at him for.

"Um... You two know each other?"

"Yep!" Yeongu grins. "He's my cousin, the one I told you about yesterday."

"Oooh, that makes sense. Didn't realize my two favorite customers were related."

Yeongu laughs at the comment and hops into the chair beside Namjoon. "But I'm your favorite customer, right?"

"Of course," you tease, flashing him a playful wink.

"Oh! I almost forgot. Ahjumma, can I please have mine in a to-go cup? Mom told me to come right home so we can finish packing for our trip."

"Of course, give me just a second to get you a lid." You turn to your first customer with an apologetic smile. "Namjoon, I'm almost done with yours. Just give me a moment."

"Actually, do you mind putting mine in a to-go cup as well?" He jerks his thumb towards Yeongu. "I should probably walk him home. He lives just around the corner from me. I'd feel better if I did."

"Oh, sure, I can do that."

"Would you walk with us, Ahjumma? Pleeeease?"

Your gaze moves to Namjoon. "Do you mind?"

The elder cousin hops up from his chair, shaking his head adamantly. "Not at all! Can you?"

"Sure, I'm about at the end of my shift anyway! Let me grab my coat. I'll come with." You turn quickly to Lisa, murmuring, "Can you watch—?"

She cuts you off with a wave of her hand. "—Go! I can close up for the night. But if you don't come back with a date planned, the invitation to spend New Years with Jungkookie and me is rescinded."

With a playful eye-roll, you peck her on the cheek and run to the back for your coat. Once you return, you find Namjoon scuffling Yeongu's dark locks with a dimpled smile. Looking back up as you return, the expression doesn't falter.

"Ready?"

You nod and follow behind through the exit, trying to ignore the wink and dual thumbs-ups Lisa flashes you as you pass.

Once on the street, Yeongu walks ahead of you and Namjoon. The first few minutes are silent between you two. From ahead, you can hear the small child talking to himself, or perhaps his hot chocolate, and then occasionally to the adults.

As you cross the busy street, Namjoon clears his throat. "So...you have any plans for Christmas?"

You scoff under your breath and shake your head. "Why does this topic keep coming up?"

"Hope I didn't offend," he laughs. "Yeongu said something about a café girl not having plans last night. I figured it was you."

"Trust me, you're good. But yeaaah. Kinda new to Korea. I spent the fall settling in and trying to start over. Between work and school, didn't expect much. Holidays sneaked up on me, I guess."

There's a pause as the trio rounds the corner. Yeongu finishes his hot cocoa along the way and hands the empty cup to Namjoon. The elder doesn't even hesitate to take it, and the boy rushes ahead to what you assume is his home. Over his shoulder, he shouts, "Thank you for the choco, Ahjumma!"

You grin widely and wave. "You're welcome!"

Yeongu turns to Namjoon, sticks out his tongue in a playful manner, then disappears into his house.

"Aaand that's the thanks I get." Namjoon rolls his eyes and turns his body towards you, giving you his full attention as the sun sets behind Seoul Tower. "I have a crazy idea."

"Oh, really?" You cross your arms over your chest and cock an eyebrow. "Those are my favorite kind of ideas."

"Cheesy," he grins. "Well...I don't have any plans either. Maybe we spend it together?"

"No plans, huh? Do I look that pitiful?"

"No! No, it's not that at all, god." Namjoon's smirk falls from his face as a horrified expression drowns out any humor. "Sorry if that's how it came off. I just—You seem really nice, and it's been a while since either of us just enjoyed someone else's company. No strings. No pressure."

Tugging your lower lip between your teeth, you shuffle in your step. "I don't know, Namjoon..."

"Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. I hate to see anyone's shoulders so heavy in December. How about this — give me three days to prove the magic isn't lost."

"Three days? That's it?"

"That's it."

"Okay then, Mr. Kim." You offer a hand in his direction. "Three days."

Namjoon's eyes lock with yours, as does his hand. "It's a deal."

The following weekend you wake to a phone call coming in from your recently-added number. Rolling out from under the covers to grab the device from the nightstand, you answer with voice still groggy with sleep. "Hello?"

"Are you still sleeping?" the caller laughs in a deep timbre.

"Shuddup." Peaking an eye open, the time on the screen reads just after eleven a.m. "It's not that late."

"Really?"

"Did you call me just to make fun of my lack of healthy sleep schedule, or did you have a point?"

"Ouch!” Namjoon exclaims playfully. “I actually did call, and it's actually perfect because I don't need you ready to go until around three this afternoon. So you can totally just go back to sleep."

You curl back under your heated blanket and revel in the warmth it provides. Beside you, Mochi curls closer, nearly sitting on your head. "Mmm sounds perfect. Wait—what?"

"You heard me." There's a hint of teasing in Namjoon's words. "It's Day 1. Be ready for an outdoor adventure by three. I'll pick you up then, okay sleepyhead?"

The butterflies rumble in your stomach at the nickname, and you clear your throat before replying. "Yep, got it. Three p.m. Outdoor adventure. Can't you tell me what it is or where we're going?"

"And ruin the surprise? No way. Just trust me, Jagi."

A squeak slips out, and you throw your hand over your mouth to hide it. "Okay, see you there—I mean then!"

You can almost hear Namjoon shaking his head as he says his goodbyes and ends the call. Despite still being sleepy and warm and cozy in your nest, you lie wide awake in bed for the next half-hour, replaying his voice over and over in your head like a well-loved record.

The day flies by, and eventually it's approaching three. You've dressed to impress while still trying to keep it casual. Despite this being a date, it's still casual. You like Namjoon a lot, and you hope he likes you as well. However, outside of conversations at the café, you haven't spent a lot of time together yet. This is as good a second-first impression as any, and you intend to make the most of it.

Grabbing your winter coat and scarf, you scurry down the stairs and spot Namjoon lingering by the entrance with two cups in his hands. He's dressed in jeans and a sweater with a dark grey jacket over top, his usual scarf looped twice around his neck. A beanie covers his head, but bits of his platinum hair still stick out in places. Slung across his shoulder is a brown leather backpack. He always looks nice, that much you know, but the fact that today he looks nice for you makes you sickly happy.

He flashes a smile as you bound out the door. "You look rested," he teases, then offers you one of the cups.

Taking it with a nose scrunch, you look down at the order on the side, seeing that it's your usual order. "How did you know!"

He shrugs. "I have my ways."

"Was it Lisa?"

"Maybe..." He straightens up and nods his chin towards the nearby station. "Follow me for our first adventure!"

After boarding the train to Itaewon, you can't help but wonder where he might be taking you. Your mind goes through all of the things to do in Itaewon, but the list is lengthy. From his excited and proud expression, you know Namjoon has been looking forward to this all day, just as you have.

After exiting fifteen minutes down the line, Namjoon reaches for your free hand. "May I...?"

Your fingers close the distance, glove-covered palm clasping his. "Lead the way."

Namjoon grins, then tugs on your hand as you exit the station. Once outside in the frigid air, you see your breath come out in puffs of fog. You tighten your scarf around your neck and allow your companion to usher you down the sidewalk, towards a clearing in the colorful buildings of Itaewon-do.

Another block or so, and you see the direction in which he's heading. A large sign along the way reads, "Grant Hyatt Seoul Ice Rink" in bold Hangul. Your eyes widen as the realization hits you, and the excitement inside you grows. "How did you know I've wanted to go ice skating!"

Namjoon shuffles up to the ticket counter, replying over his shoulder, "Um...lucky guess?"

As he purchases your tickets, you take a moment to absorb your surroundings. The trees are glowing from the lights covering every branch and trunk. They surround the rink and give a glow from within that is so much softer and more intimate than the harsh lighting of the city. The Hyatt Hotel stands as a black silhouette against the horizon. In the opposite direction, you can see N. Seoul Tower already lit up as the afternoon lighting shifts to evening. Projectors shine shapes of glittering snowflakes across the ice, giving another layer of ambient lighting to the rink.

"I haven't been since I was a kid," you add, staring at the exterior of the open-air rink with awe. Namjoon hands you the ticket, which you use for entrance and skates before shoving it into your jacket pocket. "Have you ever been before?"

"Yeah, a...few times. Hey, what size shoe are you?" When you tell him, Namjoon grabs a pair of skates from the shelf beside the ticket booth and gestures for you to sit on the bench across from it. "It can be tricky to lace your skates properly," he commentates as he kneels down in front of you and begins to untie your boots. "It's really something you have to adjust yourself, so let me know when I'm close?"

Not having any words to respond at his sudden closeness, you nod the affirmative and watch in silence as he puts one boot to the side, slips the skate on with ease, and begins to adjust the laces like a professional. After repeating the movements with your other skate, he taps your knee and looks up at you.

"Too loose? You want them to be as tight as you can handle to keep your ankles steady."

Moving your feet, you shake your head from side to side. "A bit more. I'd hate to have Day 1 turn into a trip to the E.R."

"Definitely, nothing says ‘Christmas magic’ like an emergency room visit," he laughs, adjusting your laces as you requested. "How's that?"

"Much better, thank you."

After lacing up your skates as tight as you can handle, Namjoon stands and offers you an arm. He helps you waddle over to the entrance, gently sliding you onto the ice despite your shaky knees and flailing arms. You soon realize that it might be best to hold tight to the barrier and stick only to the periphery.

He doesn't follow you on at first. When you turn and look back for him, he waves you on. "You go ahead. I need to grab my skates first."

"Mmm fine, but if I break my neck trying to catch your ass, you're paying for ramen after. Got it?"

Namjoon gives you two thumbs ups as he lets you go onto the ice. "Loud and clear."

Eventually, you begin tugging yourself along, trying but failing to keep up with the traffic of more experienced skaters. Even compared to those half your age, or even less, you're the child on this rink.

About half-way around the rink, you spot Namjoon making his way towards the entrance. Waving your hand, your smile widens when he sees you. He waves back, nearly bumps into the person ahead of him at the gate, and you murmur to yourself, "This should be good."

Namjoon hits the ice. He's not like the barreling disaster you are, but like a graceful swan. It catches you off-guard; if anything, you expected him to fall flat on his face or tumble over a child on his way over to you on the opposite side. He needs no assistance from the railing, nor does he struggle to cross the center and come to a full stop in front of you. His skates make a graceful scraping sound, and his stance is one of a professional. Even his skates are different than yours; they're custom, and you realize that must've been what he was carrying in his backpack.

You assume the awestruck look on your face is the reason for his smirk and laughter. He does a spin for dramatic affect as he closes the distance between you. "Surprised?"

"For starters! How the hell are you so graceful? You're literally twirling around on one foot on a frictionless surface, and I can barely make a left turn!"

The platinum blond gives you a look like you're still missing the point, then extends his hand. "C'mon, I can help you more than the railing can."

"Promise not to sue me if I break your face by crashing into you?"

"Promise, now grab my hand and skate!"

Your hands in his, you take the leap of faith and separate from the barrier around the oblong rink. Namjoon slowly skates backwards, carrying you the whole way. Your eyes remain glued to your trembling feet, careful not to have the blades deviate too far out to one side or the other.

"Look at you!" he cheers, ever the positive one. "A whole two minutes on your feet."

"Shut up."

You won't deny that your progress surprises even you. Despite having to hold both his hands for the first ten minutes, then eventually one as you skate side-by-side for the following half-hour, you're more adept at skating than you thought you would be.

"You think you can try on your own for a lap?" he inquires.

Giving a hesitant nod, you let go of Namjoon's hand, saying, "Don't leave my side, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Taking a deep breath in, you push one skate out in front of the other and move yourself forward. The other follows after, and you get about twenty feet before you stumble and nearly fall face-first. Luckily, Namjoon keeps his promise and wraps his arms around your waist before you crash.

"Good try!" he exclaims, keeping his arms around your middle even after you regain your balance. "You got pretty far, actually."

You give an awkward chuckle and lay your nervous hands over his at your hip. "Maybe I'm not quite ready for a free-skate yet."

"No worries." He lets his arms drop and retakes your hand to steady you. The dimples appear next to his smile as he adjusts your beanie on your head, which had nearly fallen off in your almost-fall. "But I gotta say, you didn't have to fall for me on Day 1."

"So smooth!" You roll your eyes and give his shoulder a playful shove, only to gasp and reach back for him when he naturally skates backwards at the push. "Nevermind, I take it back. Please don't leave me in the middle of the rink."

Namjoon lets out a loud laugh, nearly doubling over as you cling to him. "You're so cute."

As you skate together, you keep getting the feeling that Namjoon has spent far more time on the ice than you previously assumed. After you get the hang of it yourself and are able to wobble along beside him without a constant hand to hold, he smiles a proud, wide smile.

"See? I knew you could do it!"

You raise your eyebrows at him. "Still nowhere near close to you."

"That's what a lot of people say," he brushes it off.

"Way to brag there, Joon," you snort, then immediately freeze in place so suddenly that you nearly fall over again. "Wait—you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

Namjoon's smile shows his dimples, and they deepen with his reply. "Not a bit." The song changes, playing the symphonic piece "Noel on Ice." Namjoon's face lights up, and he turns back to you with a wink. "Watch me?"

Nodding affirmatively, you release his hand and let him skate towards the center of the rink. His gaze remains on you as he spins to a stop in the middle, then turns his gaze downwards. Arms still at his sides, and his shoulders straighten. You await with bated breath for the next note.

The melody lifts, and Namjoon's arms follow suit. Piano notes drip across the chilled air, and the violin prompts an extension of his hands upwards. Then he moves, gracefully flowing from one movement to the next, as if this has been an ice dance built into his very being. The harp and cello urge him to move faster, spinning like a dancer across their stage.

Namjoon spins into the air, fully coming off the ice. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth out of fear, but he lands it with ease, shifting into his next series of steps like a professional. Flawless and practiced, he's caught the attention of everyone at the rink. As you look around, you see everyone else focused intently on the skater. Some even have their phones out to record. Not just one or two people, either; you see at least a half dozen with their cameras trained on Namjoon.

That in particular has you perplexed. Brows pulling together, you shift your eyes back to Namjoon. The piece is nearing its close, and he's moved back to the center of the ice. Twirling in place, he's moving like a spinning top. Always in a single place, so fast you can barely see, gracefully shaving ice under him so that snowflakes fall around him. He lowers, nearly sitting as he continues to twirl on one foot. The music grows to its crescendo. Slowly, he rises up and extends his hands towards the sky.

And then it hits you.

There's a reason why his face, his voice, and his presence is so familiar to you. You couldn't put your finger on it until just now, but the way he moves on the ice like he's the only one in the room — like it's a second home — brings you back to one of the first days you had in Seoul. That first day, at the Incheon Airport, the man you saw being bombarded with press and fans. Then again on the screens in the lobby of the immigration center. And again a few nights ago on the news.

RM Nam. South Korea's pride and joy, their greatest skater, the man bound for the Winter Olympics until a training injury earlier in the year put him out for the season. You're not into sports, but even you knew him by name and the tragedy that had occurred.

That legendary skater was the one in front of you now. He hadn't mentioned it, and you didn't suspect a thing until today. While definitely a shock, you can't help but be in awe of him even more. He isn't just good on the ice — he's like nothing you've ever seen.

As the music comes to a close, Namjoon skates to a halt. His spin finishes, and he ends with a ending pose bow. Clearly out of breath and shoulders heaving, his gaze shifts to you once again. Your smile widens, and you throw your hands up as you cheer. The others around you begin to clap, but you're by far the most enthusiastic one there.

Suddenly, Namjoon's persona returns to that of a shy and humble one. He bows again in the directions of the viewers, then scurries out from the center and back to you. Eventually, those around you begin to skate once more, ignoring the fact that one of the biggest sports icons in all of Korea is among them.

Namjoon runs a hand over his bleached hair, his smile sweet and his eyes a little nervous as he approaches. You shake your head in awe, letting a surprised laugh slip out.

"Okay, I see exactly what you're doing now. You suggested ice skating because you're Olympic-level! That's totally cheating, by the way."

Namjoon skids to a stop in front of you, as graceful as his takeoff. Without thinking, you reach your hand for his, which he gladly takes. "Figured it out finally, did you?"

"Call me stupid, but I honestly didn't see it until just now." You shove his shoulder with your free hand, only encouraging his teasing reaction. "RM: Guessing that's a stage name?"

He adjusts the beanie over his hair and gives an affirmative gesture. "Yeah, mainly to protect my privacy. Skating world can get pretty intense, sometimes."

You move your chin towards his shoulder, recalling that's where the injury occurred over the summer. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, totally okay. I go to PT a couple times a week. Mostly healed up, just can't compete for another few months. My coach has made me swear off skating until the New Year, but I figured it was worth throwing a little extra into trying to impress a pretty girl." He tilts his head to the side, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand. "Did it work?"

Instead of responding verbally, you curl your finger towards you, a mischievous smile on your face. Namjoon lowers his head and skates closer to you. When he's within arm's reach, you lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. A giggle slips out as his eyes widen and his cheeks flush.

"So... Is that a yes?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, throwing your arms in the air and nearly falling over for the hundredth time that night.

Namjoon returns the chaste gesture to your temple as he helps you recover your balance. "Skate with me some more then?" he murmurs, adjusting your scarf around your neck with gentle fingers.

Your face hot and your stomach fluttery, you nod your response and loop your arm around his. "Only if you show me how to do that fancy twirl there at the end."

The idea has Namjoon laughing loudly. "That's my variation on the basic Scratch Spin, which took me about three months to nail perfectly in a routine."

"Then you'd better prepare to be here 'til February!"

After skating for hours, until both of you are exhausted and ready for food, Namjoon takes you to a nearby ramen shop that's close to the train station. It's a hole-in-the-wall, with less than five tables, but with ramen you're able to find a park bench and settle down there with your backs to the city lights and your eyes on the stars overhead. You each mostly in silence, just enjoying each other's company and the delicious food. You make sure to tell your companion how great the choice was, and you insist on coming back again soon.

After wrapping up the meal and seeing the late hour on your phone, Namjoon suggests you both start heading home. "Hate to have to take a bus at this hour instead of the last train," he snickers.

Fully in agreement, you let him take your hand again as the pair of you begin to walk back home. First on the train, then on the sidewalk the short distance to your apartment building.

As you turn the corner onto your short street, your apartment in sight, you rest your head against Namjoon's shoulder and sigh happily. "Thank you for today. It was just...magical."

"Christmas magic?"

You nod against his jacket, wistful and content. "Definitely."

Stopping outside your apartment, you turn towards him, not letting go of his hand. Namjoon gives you a content smile as he looks at you, one where his eyes glisten at his coming words. "Then I have a chance."

"At what?"

He reaches yet again for your scarf, moving it from around your lower face so he can cradle it in his hands. "Restoring your hope in the holidays, and your hope in yourself and your choices."

"Ooof, that's getting ahead of it, I think." You bite the inside of your cheek as a small tug of anxiety and sense of being lost pulls at the back of your mind.

But Namjoon is relentless in his pursuit, and for that you're grateful. "That's why I have two more days planned."

"Already?" you laugh.

"You bet!" he exclaims. "In fact, I'll pick you up at nine on Saturday, but don't wear a dress or skirt. Are you free then?"

"For you, absolutely."

His teeth show through his grin, and he leans forward to press a kiss between your eyebrows. The gesture is gentle and sweet, made even more so by the warmth of his hands on your cheeks through his gloves. Nevertheless, it leaves you breathless.

After a moment of silence, he pulls away and lowers his grasp, but you crave the contact as soon as he relinquishes it. He nods towards your apartment, as if saying, "I'm not leaving until you're home safe."

You take the hint and give a tiny wave as you enter your building. "Have a great night, Joonie," you whisper through the cracked door. "And thanks again."

Namjoon waves back. "Goodnight, [Y/n]. Sleep well."

Saturday can't come quickly enough. You find yourself smiling more often, a joyful feeling in your heart as you go about your work shift and college classes. Even the smallest and insignificant things feel a little easier. The weather wasn't just cold anymore; it was full of beauty and hope and Christmas spirit.

Maybe Namjoon was right. Maybe he was helping you turn a corner.

Right before you're ready to head downstairs to meet Namjoon at the entrance, your phone begins to buzz. Lit up on the screen is an international number, but the area code is that of your old home. The butterflies of excitement die almost instantly, shriveling up into tiny balls of anxiety in your stomach.

Even though you ignore the call, you can't resist listening to the voicemail left behind. Putting your phone on speaker, you're shocked to hear your mother's voice wishing you a Merry Christmas, saying that she and the family miss you, and that they wished you would visit so you could clear up everything that went wrong over the summer. Your throat constricts at the sickly sweet tone; her voice always did drip in honey when she wanted something, she she was trying to manipulate her child. Between her conniving control and your father's lack of respect for privacy and personal boundaries, you remember all over again why you left.

You jump as your apartment bell rings, and the small screen by the door shows Namjoon at the entrance. "[Y/n], are you up there? I texted twice...not sure if you got those."

Looking down at your screen, you see that he's right. You have two unread texts from the last five minutes that you missed due to the unexpected caller. Shaking yourself out of it, you shoot him a quick response, close everything out, and head for the ground level.

"There you are!" Namjoon greets with a grin that almost makes you forget your mother's call.

Almost.

Forcing a smile and reply, "Sorry, I don't know why I didn't see your texts."

"No worries." He waves his hand as if to say it's nothing to worry about. "Are you okay? You seem bothered about something."

You glance up at him, unable to deny he looks slightly concerned. You mirror his laissez-faire attitude and brush it off. "Totally good. Heading to the station?"

"Not this time." Namjoon gestures towards the bike parked by the corner of the building. "You ready to go?"

"Both of us, on that? Are you sure that's safe?"

"Oh yeah! Trust me." He kicks the stand down and mounts the bike, patting the extended seat behind him. "I once rode up Namsan Mountain with Seokjin on the back of this thing, and let me tell you, he's a hell of a lot bigger than you."

Knowing he's probably right, you settle yourself on the seat behind him and wrap your arms tightly around his middle. It's probably not the most well-balanced thing in the world, but you trust Namjoon more than you buy into your fear of falling. "No skirts or dresses, huh?"

"Now you get it," he laughs, pulling out onto the bike lane on the street headed into towards the older side of the city. "Unless you'd like a wardrobe malfunction."

He picks up speed and gets to an easy pace down the street. It's fast enough to get to your location speedily but slow enough that you're able to stare at the beautiful buildings and wondrous landscape around you. Even the people have an aura of happiness caused by Christmas. Had it always been this stunning? Or had you been blind to it until just now?

"Seokjin, as in Kim Seokjin, your rival?"

"So you do watch the news," he sighs. "They aren’t portraying us as friends these days, are they?"

You shake your head and rest your chin on his shoulder. "Not really. I didn't know you were friends."

Namjoon shrugs his shoulders slightly, his voice monotone. "Yeah, well, we've known each other since we were seven, got into skating together around that time, and have been friends ever since. While I wish I didn't have to sit this one out, I couldn't be happier to have him representing South Korea at the Worlds — sorry, that's what we call the World Figure Skating Championships."

"Yeah, they're kind of painting you as opposites."

"That's just what the news does, I guess. Gossip and tabloids and fan-wars. I fell on the ice and hit my shoulder pretty hard; it had nothing to do with Seokjin. He and I talked before I left, too. We're on good terms. Most of us from South Korea are friends, actually. We only get represented as enemies because it's a competition. But a lot of times we're on the same flights, in the same hotels, in the same training areas, you get the idea."

Namjoon pulls up to a stoplight at a near empty intersection, waiting silently for it to shift colors. "Is that what you meant by change of career?" you inquire.

"You're observant," he chuckles.

You turn to rest your cheek on his back. "For what it's worth, and keep in mind that I don't know the first thing about figure skating or your injury or anything like that, but as someone on the outside looking in, you're still so talented. Last week, when you were skating alone, I couldn't tell at all you were injured, and you looked like you were really enjoying it. I don't know if that means anything to you coming from a novice, but if you're still in love with skating and want to get back out there, I think you should go for it. You're still spectacular to watch, Joonie."

There's a beat of silence, but then Namjoon glances over his shoulder and winks at you. "Would you come see me perform live if I did?"

Shrugging your shoulders, you state, "Why not?"

He laughs at your silly expression, then begins to move the bike again as the light finally shifts. "That actually means a lot, [Y/n]. Thank you."

The rest of the ride is quiet, at least until you begin to hear the sounds of a bustling outdoor market. Namjoon turns the final corner, and you're elated with the stone street in an older part of Seoul. Vendors in various booths stretch out in every direction. Some sell food or drink, some sell trinkets or clothing, some even sell vintage books or vinyls or movies. Every nook and cranny has something special to offer. The sights, smells and sounds bring an enormous smile to your face as Namjoon steadies the bike to a stop beside the bicycle rack.

You hop off with his help, nearly bouncing up and down from excitement as he parks and locks his bike on the stand. "This is amazing!" Turning to him, you catch him off-guard with a tight embrace, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him down to you.

Namjoon seems amused by your eager reaction, and he pulls you closer to him. "I thought you would like it. There's nothing quite like Christmas than a market."

After letting him go, you press a kiss to his cheek as you lower back down to your level. Namjoon's hands tenderly cradle your face, just like last time, only today he's glancing away from your eyes and down to your lips. As your heartbeat quickens, you pull him back to you, fingers grasping at his winter jacket.

His voice is deep and soft as he asks, "May I...?"

Your cheeks flush as you nod your approval. Namjoon's dimples deepen as he lowers his face to yours, barely brushing his lips against yours in the gentlest kiss you've ever had. You close the distance, tugging at his jacket so he moves closer. He gives a tiny laugh against your mouth, then follows your guidance to deepen the kiss. One hand slips back to your hair; he gently plays with the strands.

A moment later, and you're sighing as he pulls away, both light-headed and light-hearted. Namjoon smiles down at you, gives you a surprising second peck, then pulls back with a chuckle. "You're a really cute kisser, y'know that?"

You drop your head and hide your face in the front of his coat. "Shut up."

Your companion's laughter echoes in the air around you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and places his lips briefly on the top of your head. "Are you hungry? I know where we can get the absolute best Tteok-kkochi."

Eventually you lift your head and nod, feeling your stomach rumble at the thought of rice cake skewers. Namjoon moves his arm from around your shoulders, taking your hand instead, and ushers you into the first aisle of the Christmas market.

If it was magical from the outside, it's even more so from within. Somewhere in the distance, you hear holiday music playing. Not the commercial Christmas songs you're used to, but instrumental music that plays perfectly with the sounds of the market crowds. You're awestruck by every single booth you pass, and Namjoon promises to take you back to all of them after you grab a bite to eat.

Which are well worth the walk into the interior of the market. The Tteok-kkochi are cooked to perfection, drowned in a sauce, and by far the best you've ever had. Even after circling back to the booths you missed on the way, you beg Namjoon to lead you back to get another set.

"I've found heaven," you exclaim dramatically, taking the next two from the cook behind the counter and hanging one to your companion. "I'll never have rice cake skewers this good again."

After paying, you spot a section of the market decorated with lights and colorful orbs, much like the decorations you're used to seeing in the West. "Can we go over there next?"

Namjoon spots where you're pointing and eagerly agrees. The pair of you make your way towards the greenery and decor, amazed at the giant Christmas trees decorated to perfection on the periphery of the market.

"That's a massive tree," he gasps, staring upwards. "Are those normal in America?"

"Maybe at a mall or outside a hotel or something," you reply, equally as taken back. "I've never seen one that big in person in a long time."

As you peruse the Christmas section of the market, slipping from booth to booth as the clock strikes Noon, Namjoon asks, "Have you decorated your apartment at all? I know it can be kinda hard to find stuff in Korea like you're used to."

"Not really," you admit in passing. "Between work and school and, y'know, starting a new life in a foreign country, the holidays kinda fell on the back-burner."

Namjoon taps your shoulder, ushering your attention towards the old, American Christmas movies booth a few spots away. You gasp and rush over with renewed excitement, eyes scanning eagerly over the shelves. They have just about everything, from the classics like "It's A Wonderful Life" and "A Christmas Carol" to movies you grew up on like "Home Alone" and "Elf." The more you sort through the outdated DVDs, the bigger your smile gets.

"What's your favorite Christmas movie?" Namjoon asks, casually looking through the Christmas vinyls on the booth next to the movies.

"Without a doubt, Ron Howard's 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas.'"

"The one with Jim Carrey?"

"You know it!"

He laughs. "Yeah, my little sister and I watched it a lot when we were kids."

Your head perks up at the mention of a sister. "I didn't know you had siblings, either."

Namjoon nods. "Yeah, she's in college, too. Studying to be a psychologist."

"She sounds amazing."

"Yeah, the family is very proud. I know I am." He pulls out a vinyl for one of Frank Sinatra's Christmas records. "Do you have siblings?"

At the question, your gaze shifts back to the movies, hands preoccupied with finding the perfect one. "I do. A brother and a sister."

"Older?"

"Yeah..."

"What are they like?"

"A lot like my parents," you sigh, moving on to another shelf, turning your back to your companion. "Which is part of the reason I left, so..."

Namjoon senses your anxiety around the topic and rests a hand on your shoulder as he passes by. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize--"

You cut him off with a casual wave of your hand. "It's no worries, really." Spotting the record under his arm, you ask, "Find one you like?"

While he doesn't seem to buy your act, he lets the conversation go and holds up the vinyl for "Tales of Noel on Ice" by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, as performed by the Seoul Philharmonic Orchestra.

"You don't already have that one?" you gawk in surprise.

"I don't actually," he admits bashfully. "The title composition is one of my best free skate performances, and I have a record player at home, so why not?" He gestures to the movies. "Did you find one?"

"Oh, I don't need one! I was just looking. I don't even have a DVD player anymore."

"I do, so pick one out and maybe we can watch it sometime."

You shake your head at him, trying to subdue a chuckle. "A record player and a DVD player? You're so odd."

"But to your benefit," he reminds you with a wink, pulling out a single movie nearest him. It happens to be your favorite with Jim Carrey in all his hilarious glory on the front.

Cocking an eyebrow, you give a tiny round of applause at the luck of pulling that film out of all the others. "Well, you're going to have to invite me over sometime then."

"You can count on it."

For the next couple hours, Namjoon and you make your way through the entire market, hitting all the shops that interest and intrigue you. All the while, you talk about a plethora of things and get to know each other letter. For instance, you find out that he was born in Ilsan, not too far from where you are now, and that he hates seafood just about as much as mint chocolate. You also find out that he looks like his mother, who was the one that got him into skating to begin with. And to no one's surprise, Namjoon is actually very funny. Not only is he smart, athletic, and good looking — which alone would have caught your attention — he's got a wicked sense of humor to top it all off.

Likewise, he learns more about you. You tell him about the city you grew up in, the friends you had in high school, what you studied before you came to Korea. You tell him that along with your studies, you're really invested in writing and try to make time for that as well. It hasn't been so easy since the move, but you're hoping to get back to it in the new year.

As you approach mid-afternoon, and the final leg of the market, your phone begins to buzz. Your screen lights up with the same foreign number as before. Instantly, both your feet and your heart stop. Your shoulders tense up, and you turn to a blissfully unaware Namjoon, saying, "Hey, I gotta take this. You go on ahead."

"Are you sure?" he asks, the person in front of him not the same happy-go-lucky one as before.

You give him a nod of reassurance. "I'll catch up."

Before he can reply, you've turned and moved towards the massive Christmas trees, where there's an opening and the crowds are quieter. Despite what you told him, you don't intend on answering. Whoever is on the other end of that line, be it your mother or father or siblings, you want nothing to do with them. You do, however, want this to be over. You promise yourself to hear the message, block them, and then go run an errand after the holidays to get a new number.

After the call drops, you wait with an anxious feeling building in your stomach. Maybe they didn't leave a message. Maybe it wasn't your family after all. Maybe —

A soft ping alerts you that you have a new message. Selecting it, you raise your phone to your ear and hear your father this time. He repeats all of what your mother said, only with a layer of frustration and authority that she didn't use. He's borderline cruel as he spouts the same old lies that you're trying to unlearn; it's your fault, it's because of you, you're the cause of it. What it is, depends on the day. This time is has to do with your family not being the same and their world falling to pieces. He uses colorful sentences, well-crafted insults, but all you hear is blame, blame, blame.

Tears prick your eyes as the voicemail ends, and you realize you should've just deleted the message when you had the chance. A small part of you still hoped they would change, even after all this time, but you see now that it's not possible.

They will never change, and neither will you.

The pit of depression weighs down in your stomach, and loneliness tingles at the back of your throat. Why now? Out of all the times, out of all the days, why are you feeling these things now? You're out having an adventure with a man who you really like, and who you know likes you, in a city you now call home. You're far from any sadness or trauma or family or friends that once brought you down. You've left your past behind. You'd started to feel like there was hope in the holidays and in the future again, like the last year was worth the pain, like everything was starting to turn around.

But suddenly, that snake is wrapped around you again, pulling you back into old habits and old ways of thinking. It's grabbed on tight and is pulling you back into the dark, away from people you care about, away from people who care about you.

Even as you glance up at Namjoon a few stalls away, completely naïve to the painful flickers going through your mind, you feel the need to draw back. Pull away. Stay away. Go back to the security of the known, of the sad, of the lonely. It's warm and comfy, even if it hurts.

Clenching your fists, you try to silence the noise in your brain by shaking your head. The thoughts only grow louder, and the pit in your stomach gets heavier. You haven't felt a depressive episode like this in a long time. You thought they were long gone, especially now, especially with him...

"[Y/n]? Are you okay?"

Looking up, you see Namjoon's approaching you in the clearing. One hand carries the movie and vinyl he purchased for you both, but the other is outstretched towards you. While you don't pull away from his touch, you taste bile in the back of your throat.

"I—I need to go home," you mutter. "I'm starting to feel sick."

"Oh, okay, hold up I'll go get my bike and I'll take you home."

Feeling your breath quicken, you pull your gaze from Namjoon and nod shakily. The walk back to the bike rack is silent, even the crowd outside fades to a low background murmur. Namjoon places the purchased items in his bicycle carrier, then mounts it.

You follow suit, regret beginning to pile up inside you. Running isn't going to help anything, and you know he must be hurt and confused. But to you, the only thing you can do right now to protect yourself is get away from it all and go back to the place where you feel safest.

Tears burn your eyes as you curl up against him. Namjoon pedals speedily to your apartment, making the trip faster than last time. When he pulls up to the curb, you hop off without a word.

"Do you need me to walk you up?" he offers, worry causing his brows to pull together.

You shake your head and put distance between you both. "No, I'm fine. I'll...text you later, okay?"

Without another word, you turn and enter through the front, leaving Namjoon behind on the other side. Trekking up the stairs, through the door, past a mewling Mochi, you curl up on your bed and let yourself finally feel all the sadness piled up inside.

Fifteen minutes later, the waterworks flow when your phone lights up from an incoming text. Knowing exactly who it is, you grab it and text a swift message to Namjoon.

"I'm so sorry I left so suddenly. And that I ruined our day. Not feeling like myself."

"That's okay. I just got home, so I wanted to check up on you. I'm sorry you're not feeling well. Do you need anything?"

"No, but thank you."

"Okay... Maybe we can try again some other time? I'd hate to let you down on Day 2."

Unable to reply, the phone turns black and you let it fall onto the duvet.

The days leading up until Christmas Eve were long and full of guilt. You closed the café for the final time the Monday before the holiday, and with no classes to attend, you mainly stayed inside and watched the snow fall outside your tiny apartment window. Mochi kept you company, but even the small fur ball could sense that something had changed for the worse. Even she had gotten used to you being happier this December; you'd taken two steps back while attempting to take a single step forward.

Every morning, you'd spot Namjoon riding his bike past your apartment on his way to the rink where he trains. Every day, he'd stop and gaze up at the building, never sure which frosty window you were behind but melancholy just the same. He'd call and text; the former, you would never answer, but the latter, you did sporadically. Mainly at night when you thought he wouldn't be up.

He usually was.

"Was it something I did?" he asked that Tuesday before Christmas. "Did I move too fast? Did I say something I shouldn't have?"

"No. It's not you."

"Then tell me what it is. I don't want to come across as pushy, but I thought we were getting closer...and then you pull back and hide from me. From everyone. I know I don't know everything about your past or what happened before you came to Seoul, but I promised you three adventures. I still have one to make good on before Christmas."

"Joonie..."

You couldn't bring yourself to write more. The tiny part of your brain that told you that maybe this can work, maybe it's worth trying, maybe things can be different now, it was silenced by the overwhelming majority of your mind. It remembered everything from your past, from the hurt and pain, from the loneliness and fear. Despite your wish to make things right again, it was drowned out by the pure terror of being wronged again.

"Don't shut me out. Please. Let me show you things can be different now. You don't have to go at this alone, [Y/n]. Not anymore."

Pushing down the urge to cry yet again, you move your fingers to type a swift and cold reply. "I'm so sorry I wasted your time, Namjoon. I really am. I thought I was ready, but it's clear that I'm not. Please, spend Christmas with your family. Don't waste any more time on me."

And that was the end of it. You muted his notifications, ignored his calls and texts, and eventually he went silent. The day before Christmas Eve was the first you didn't hear from him, and it was the first day you felt like you'd truly fucked things up for good.

On Christmas Eve, you got an unexpected call from Lisa. Deciding to take a break from staring at an empty Word document with ever-growing frustration, you answered the call, only to be bombarded by Lisa's rambling.

"Oh, thank god! I didn't think you'd answer! I need a huge favor, and I hate to bother on such short notice on Christmas Eve, but this really cannot wait and I'll love you forever if you—!"

"—Okay, okay," you chuckle, shaking your head at her antics.

"I need you to run back to the café and grab something for me. Jungkook is on his way there, but he doesn't have a key."

"What could you possibly have left that's this important?"

"My fucking credit card."

"You've been out of town for two weeks and only just now realized you left your card?"

She heaves a frustrated sigh. "Please, just, do me this favor?"

Rolling your eyes, you pull yourself from the sofa and grab your keys on the counter. "Fine, but you owe me."

"Yes, yes, I know."

You leave the apartment in a hurry, taking the next train to the café. In less than fifteen minutes, you're at the front door. Lisa assures you that Jungkook is on his way, only twenty minutes away. After unlocking it, you make yourself at home in the lobby with a fresh white chocolate mocha. It reminds you of Yeongu, and you smile at the thought.

After about a half hour, your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Lisa's text has you halting in place.

"I'm sorry to do this. You didn't really give me another choice. I crossed a line, but I think you'll thank me in the end."

Your fingers are swift typing a response. "What did you do?"

"You remember how you gave me a spare key in case you ever got locked out? Or in case you were kept at school too long and needed someone to feed Mochi?" A pause, then she adds, "He came to Busan, [Y/n]. He asked me in person what to do. Do you know how out of the way that was for him? Give him another chance. Please."

"You didn't."

"I did. I'm sorry, but you've talked about how you pull away when you get close to people. It's gone on for almost a week. It's Christmas Eve. You can hate me all you want later, but please. Go home, kiss and make up, then try to salvage Christmas."

A huff of air exits your nostrils as it hits you. Lisa's given the spare to Namjoon. Jungkook was never on his way; this was all a rouse to get you out of your apartment long enough for him to get inside. But to what end?

"He's good for you; I can tell that much already. If you ever were to give someone the benefit of the doubt and place your broken pieces in someone's hands, he's the best you're gonna find."

A pang of truth rocks through you, and while you have still a semblance of willpower, you shoot her a swift text and rush back for the station. "I'm still mad at you, but we'll talk later. I need to get home."

"Go get him!"

The series of stairs up to your apartment never felt so long. Out of breath and winded from rushing home, you find the door unlocked. Pushing through, the place you left less than an hour ago isn't the same as it was before.

The entrance hallway is glittering, multi-colored strands of twinkle lights hanging along the periphery. Fake snow lines the trim, and paper snowflakes are tossed across the furniture. Each one is unique and hand-crafted.

As you venture further, a rainbow array aurora covers your living room and kitchen. There must be at least a dozen lengthy strands of Christmas lights hung across the few items you've unpacked, circled around the sealed boxes, and framing every window and door. Fake icicles hang on the windowsill, fake greenery lays where curtains should be, and a small Christmas tree stands at your height in the corner.

Jovial, English holiday music plays softly in the background. And humming along to the tune of The First Noel, Namjoon stands with bent-back facing you. He's finishing his final touches on the tree, ensuring that each sparkling orb and shimmering tinsel is perfect. He adjusts the star on the top with a smile to himself, oblivious still to your entrance.

For a moment, you stand in silence and watch him. Your heart is heavy but still beating. If anything, seeing him in the midst of such a sweet and selfless act makes it flutter. Even after cutting his well-planned adventure short, ignoring him for over a week, and telling him to stop speaking to you, he's still here. He came back, and he's trying to prove to you the truth he's been spouting all along.

Eventually, you blink out of your stupor and clear your throat to alert him to your presence. Namjoon turns on his heel, elbow grazing the tree just enough to send it toppling backward. He curses and lunges for it, grabbing it by the star just in time to keep it upright. His characteristic clumsiness prompts a snicker from you, one that you attempt to hide with your hand over your mouth.

Namjoon adjusts the tree and turns back to you with a bashful expression. His lips pull into a side-smile, a single dimple popping out in the process. "H—Hi..."

"Hi," you repeat back to him, letting your hand fall. Your eyes follow suit and drift to your damp, snow-covered shoes.

A beat of silence passes where neither of you knows what to say next. Then the both of you break it at once, words tumbling over each others several times in a row. You laugh to yourself and look back up at him; Namjoon smiles down at you, shaking his head at the awkward reunion.

He gestures silently to you. "Go ahead."

You clear your throat, then say, "I...I wanted to say that I owe you an apology."

He shakes his head firmly, extending his hands in a olive-branch manner. "No, you don't—"

Your feet move back, putting space between you both. "—Can I explain and finish, please? Just...hold your forgiveness until then." At your request, your companion falls silent, letting his hands fall respectfully at his side. Taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment, you re-calibrate your mind and prepare for your admission.

"There's a lot you don't know about me yet," you begin softly. "Ah, shit — That came out super mean. I mean, you know a lot about me. You kinda know why I moved to Korea, the situation with my family back in America, that whole thing. You know where I work and what I'm studying. You know my favorite drink of all time is a white chocolate mocha, and that my favorite customer is barely four feet tall. You know Lisa is my shield at work, and that we've become pretty close in less than a year. You know I'm a homebody and that my favorite thing to do by myself is play with Mochi and watch dramas."

You release a huff of air and raise your eyes to meet his, a wistful smile tugging the corners of your lips. "But there's a lot I haven't told you — or anyone for that matter. I've gone through...a lot of shit this year. When I moved to Seoul, my mental health was in the trash, and my self worth was in shambles. I'd just been shoved from everything I'd ever known into a foreign place."

When you pause for a moment, Namjoon's small and steady voice pipes up with a single inquiry. "I thought you left willingly?"

"I did," you state. "I've wanted to move to South Korea for a long, long time. Since I can remember. But I never thought I'd lose everything before then." Tears prick your eyes, and you lift your sleeve to wipe your nose. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Namjoon gestures towards the small sofa, and you follow his lead. You perch on a single cushion, legs folded underneath you. He takes the adjacent one, far enough to for personal space but still close enough to rest a hand on your knee. This time, you don't push him away as you catch your breath. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"No, I do, but maybe not now." You take another breath in and focus your thoughts. "I didn't mean to start all that with the intention of being the victim and making you feel bad for me. I...I told you that because I wanted you to know that there are reasons why I push people away. I've been on a journey to heal that trauma all year, but it doesn't happen overnight. But even with that, I never should have just left like that. I never should have ignored your calls and texts. I shouldn't have made you feel like you were the bad guy, or that any of this was your fault, or that you did anything wrong. You were—"

You struggle to find a word that fits what you're truly feeling, one that doesn't feel overwhelming, but the only one that comes to mind is... "You are perfect, Joonie. You're sweet and kind. You treat me like a normal person that's worth something, and I think part of me was scared of that. Especially around the holidays, I feel very fragile, and I run from things I think might hurt me."

"I would never, ever hurt you." Namjoon flashes a soft and empathetic smile. "Can I ask why you got spooked so suddenly? You looked off when I picked you up, and I know you said it was nothing, but..."

You pull your phone from your pocket and play the message for him, the one from your mother. And when he remains silent, you play the second from your father. While he listens, you watch him. The hand on your knee turns to a fist, and his jaw clenches. Part of you is relieved that someone else is reacting negatively to the messages, yet another signal to you that your choice is validated.

"I got the first that morning, but the second right before I left," you murmur. "I didn't respond, and I've blocked the numbers, but I've felt unstable since then. That's why I shut down, and why I left."

He nods, then turns off the phone. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. That's emotional abuse and manipulation. No one should have to go through that."

"I know, but I was wrong. I'm sorry for doing that and for hurting you. It was wrong, and I don't deserve you coming back again and again...even if you concocted this up with Lisa."

At your light-hearted comment, he chuckles and bites the inside of his cheek. The fist on your knee loosens back, his fingers tapping gently against your skin. "She told you, did she?"

"Yep," you chirp. "I'll thank her later."

After a moment, Namjoon's eyes flicker back up to yours. For a moment, he almost looks worried. "Are you mad?"

"Meh." For a moment, you're able to hold your composure long enough for your companion's eyes to widen in horror. "I'm just kidding," you relent, and Namjoon looks visibly relieved. "How could I be mad? Look at all this!" You gesture to the magical space around you. "It looks like a wonderland in here."

A crimson hue fills his face, and he's all of a sudden very shy about the accomplishment. "I wanted you to feel like you had a Christmas, even if it was just for one night."

Leaning your head against the back cushion of the sofa, you stare at him with a bittersweet smile on your face. "Are you mad at me?"

He shakes his head, expression more adamant about that than anything he's said so far. "Not a bit. I was worried, yes, and maybe a little disappointed. I think most of that was tied to the fact that I thought we were on the up-and-up. I saw you slowly opening up and having a good time."

"Gahhh," you groan, eyes fluttering shut with frustration at your past self. "I really fucked it up, didn't I?"

"Not really." His hand slips up your knee, and he weaves his fingers through yours. The squeeze he gives and the gaze he locks gives emphasis to his next words. "I know I don't know everything about you, just like you don't know everything about me, but I'd be lying if I said you aren't the most joyful thing I've experienced in a while. Being around you makes me happy, and the fact that this has you so down makes me want to be there for you — if you want me to. I don't blame you for anything you've done, so you have nothing to be sorry for. Honestly, after hearing those messages and some of what you've been dealing with this year, I know I would've reacted the same way. But, if it helps your peace of mind, then I forgive it all."

"Thank you," you whisper, trying to blink away the tears pricking your eyes.

Namjoon's gaze softens, and he tugs on your hand. "C'mere." You scoot closer, and he pulls you the rest of the way onto his lap and into his arms. Your legs dangle off the side of his thighs, and your head nestles in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. One hand holds tightly to yours while the other circles your waist, dipping under your sweater to rub soothing circles on your skin. Your free arm wraps around his waist, pulling him even closer than before.

"Sometimes terrible, inexplicable things happen to us and it takes us months — even years — to process." Namjoon's timbre is quiet and deep, rumbling against your ear as he speaks. "Everyone goes through that, even me. But it's so much harder to face it alone. Sometimes it takes a lonely, awful Christmas to see just how out of sorts you are. I don't know everything, but if you'll have me, I'd like to stick around to find out."

"You'd still be willing to get to know me more, even after seeing me at my worst?"

"Jagi, if this is your worst, then I would hate to introduce you to sixteen-year-old Kim Namjoon. That boy was a train-wreck."

Letting a watery smile show as laughter escapes your lungs, you reach upward and wrap your arms around Namjoon's neck. He pulls you closer, hands splayed on your back and waist. A sense of relief, and something like home, floods through you. Burying your face in his neck, you allow yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. Ever patient, your companion just holds you close as you come back around.

"Enough with the heavy," he breaks the silence, pulling back and wiping his thumb across your cheeks. Nodding towards the front of the space, where your television is, you follow his line of sight. "I brought your movie and the player. If you're okay with me staying over, do you wanna watch it?"

Leaning forward, you bring your face closer to his, murmuring, "I'd love that."

Namjoon closes the final distance. Both your eyes and his flutter shut as your lips meet in the middle. You tug on the collar of his sweater, encouraging him closer as his arms tighten around your waist. In a burst of bravery, you run your hand through his platinum hair and nip at his bottom lip. He inhales abruptly, and you giggle in response.

"You're gonna be the death of me, [Y/n] [Y/l/n]," he laughs, eventually pulling back to catch his breath.

You grin mischievously at him, biting your lower lip. "Still sure you wanna stay?"

"Definitely. Oh! And I placed an order for takeout, which should be here any minute."

You burst into laughter, resting your forehead against his shoulder as joy fills your body. "You really put all your chips on me coming to my senses, didn't you?" When he shrugs, you add, "What if I had said no?"

"Then I would've been eating for two alone in my apartment," he groans.

You shake your head at his antics and playfully poke the dimple in his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Joonie.”

His smile deepens at your words and gesture. “Merry Christmas, [Y/n].”

Just as he promised, food arrives at the front of your apartment a few minutes later. Namjoon hops up and volunteers to get it from the entrance, and you pop the movie into the player. Silencing the music on his phone, you select the "Play" option from the menu, and the credits begin to play over Anthony Hopkins' narration as your companion returns.

He serves up the food and delivers it to you on the sofa. With a rumbling stomach, you take it gratefully. Just as the singing begins, Namjoon settles into the seat beside you, hooking your leg over his so you maintain closeness as you devour the takeout. Neither of you have seen it in so long, and thus both of you are laughing whole-heartedly at every joke and hilarious mannerism.

After the meal is finished and the dishes are on the makeshift box side-table, you find yourself slowly slipping closer to your companion. Namjoon gladly pulls you closer, and by the middle of the movie, you're back in his lap. With the blanket wrapped around you both, his chin on your head, his arms around you with one hand tracing absent-minded patterns on the skin above your pants, you know you've never been more at home in Seoul than you are right now.

"I'm sorry I ruined your grand plans for Day 3," you murmur after a while.

Namjoon's hand on your waist halts, then changes to a reassuring, tapping pattern. "Be glad you did; this is way better than anything I had planned."

"While I have to agree, what did you have planned?"

You can hear his smile in his voice. "Well, honestly I hadn't decided between Lotte World or Seoullo 7017. You said you hadn't been to either of those, and at Christmas, they're magical. All the lights, the music, it's an absolute winter wonderland."

"Well, if I get to see you skate live, then we can definitely go to those after the solar New Year. Maybe...Maybe even call it a date?"

Namjoon presses a kiss to your forehead, one that makes you grin to yourself and sigh peacefully. His reply is loud and clear, a promise reverberating through his chest. "I think that sounds perfect."

As the movie continues, you relax and think back on everything that's happened this year. All your concerns and worries you had a few weeks prior, at the beginning of December, they all seem so far away now. Even those anxieties brought up recently feel as if they're resolved. he sense is comparable to that of a chapter ending and a new one is being written. And this time, you're the one holding the pen.

At the resolution of the film, you realize that what Namjoon set out to do over a series of adventures truly did come to fruition. Be it luck or fate or whatever you want to call it, he really has given you that spark of hope in the Christmas season. It's something you thought you'd lost, or perhaps you'd left it in America along with many other things. He's brought it back to life, and so much more along with it.

All that magic, all that wonder, all that love and hope and joy — Namjoon is right. It hasn't disappeared from the world, and you haven't outgrown the things you used to feel during the holiday season. It's all still right here, in front of you and around you, waiting to be taken with grateful hands and heart. Maybe it's not in the form it used to be, nor is it in the place it used to be, but neither are you. Both you and your home have changed this year. But despite it all, you are still here, still striving to love yourself and your new life, still trying to let the magic find you.

And this year, because of a wonderful person named Kim Namjoon, you had all the love and magic you could ever need.

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kurokoros · 5 years ago

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MHA Masterlist

Note: Chapters labeled with * include smut.

Requests are currently open!

Updated: 6/06/20

MULTI-PART FICS

some like it hot || todoroki x reader x bakugou [complete]

A Charity Fundraiser leads to you going home with not one, but two of the most popular Pro Heroes of your generation. They say some like it hot, and you certainly aren’t complaining.

Tumblr: One | Two | Three | Four* [masterlist]

AO3: One | Two | Three | Four*

devil’s in the details || dabi x reader [wip]

Waking up hungover is one thing. Waking up hungover to discover you've made a contract with a demon is something else entirely. Even worse? Neither of you can read the terms and conditions. And until you figure it out, you're stuck living with a would-be arsonist that doesn't know the meaning of subtlety.

Tumblr: Prologue [masterlist]

AO3: Prologue

red velvet || shouto todoroki x reader [wip]

Shouto Todoroki is yakuza royalty. He also just might be your Sugar Daddy. When a turf-war breaks out in Musutafu, you get caught in the crossfire.

appetence || katsuki bakugou x reader [wip]

A mission to track down a villain leaves you and Bakugou in a rather… compromising situation. It’s going to be a long twenty-four hours. (lock down/sex pollen!au)

Tumblr: One | Two | [masterlist]

Read on AO3

the babysitter || hitoshi shinsou x reader [UPCOMING]

Shinsou stares at you in an odd combination of shock and horror, gaze beginning to stray as a droplet of water slides down your neck, trailing lower and lower until it disappears beneath the plush edge of the towel wrapped tightly around your chest. “Who are you, what are you doing here, and why the hell are you naked!” you hiss at him, raising your shampoo bottle threateningly.

Life is full of surprises.

aka: you agree to watch Eri for your uncle Aizawa and he forgets to tell you about the hot young man currently living in his basement

dead end jobs || shouto aizawa, katsuki bakugou (gen) [UPCOMING]

As one of Death’s reapers, Shouta Aizawa’s job is usually simple: get in, collect the souls on his list, and get back out. A perfect three step plan that allows for maximum nap opportunities. What should be a routine car accident becomes an unexpected and unwelcome partnership when he’s sent to reap the soul of one Katsuki Bakugou, a surly teenager that refuses to die. His job just got a lot more complicated.

ONE-SHOTS

Aizawa Shouta

mirror mirror* || You knew what you were in for as soon as the Pro Hero came home, the door closing behind him with a little more force than necessary.

party for two* || Unsurprisingly, being bent over a table by Shouta Aizawa isn’t how you expected the night to end.

Bakugou Katsuki

liar liar* || Of all the things he’s experienced working as a Pro Hero, Bakugou never expected his dick getting too big to ever be a problem, let alone one in his top ten. OR: Bakugou is hit with a strange quirk. You reap the benefits.

Dabi

fever* || What should be a normal closing shift at the bar ends as anything but when Dabi decides to tease you.

Todoroki Natsuo

sweet thing* || Natsuo is Yakuza born and raised, but he’s not like his brothers. He doesn’t have the same violent disposition as Touya, or the hardened look in his eyes that you’ve seen on Shouto. No, Natsuo is a gentle soul with a heart of gold, but you’d be a fool to think that makes him any less dangerous. He’ll break your heart; and you’ll let him.

Todoroki Shouto

comeuppance* || You’re the personal assistant of Enji Todoroki. You’ve also been having an affair with his son, the notorious villain Shouto. (villan!shouto au)

if you leave, when i go (find me in the shallows)* || Growing up this close to the ocean, you’ve heard all the stories. The local legends meant to scare small children away from the water after dark or amuse the tourists that flock to the beaches during the summer season. Ningyo. Mermaids. They’re just myths, and yet you swear you saw something–someone–in the water that night. Even now, you can’t shake the feeling of warm hands on your skin, red and white blurring your vision. (merman!shouto au)

#mha masterlist #bnha masterlist #todoroki x reader #bakugou x reader #dabi x reader #aizawa x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shinsou x reader #todoroki natsuo x reader

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justauthoring · 4 years ago

Text

No Reason To (46/50)

Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”

A/N: So, here it is! Officially onto the final half of the season! Only four more parts after this one. Which is just absolutely.... crazy.

Anyways, the next few parts will be a bit different then normal but I think it’s worth it and a lot of you seemed to like the idea of it as well. So, hopefully you all enjoy it!

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work!

Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader

Based off of: Teen Wolf 06x11 & 06x12

“It’s amazing! It’s just... It’s amazing...”

Smiling softly, you duck your head down as you slowly push open the doors to the hospital, pulling your keys out of your bag for your car. “I’m glad, Stiles,” you whisper softly, “it does all sound really... amazing.”

He chuckles, and you can imagine the amount of boxes piled around him in his dorm that’s he’s refused to put away yet because that’s just the way he is. You can imagine the only thing he’s probably really unpacked is a bed to sleep on, and clothes for school. And you can imagine what it’ll be like when you get there next week, and how good it’ll be able to be in his arms again.

Because it’s been too long.

Slipping into your car, you set down your bag in the seat next to you with a huff, blowing that hair that had fallen into your face out. You shuffle in your seat, happy to be in your warm car despite how hot it had been all day, it had really cooled off in the evening.

“I can’t wait for you to see it all.”

“Me too,” you smile softly, glancing down at your lap as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “But mainly I can’t wait to see you.”

“Just a week more,” Stiles reminds, voice gentle. “You think you can handle that?”

You snort, “I’ve handled the past three months haven’t I?” You quirk a brow challengingly, pushing your key into the ignition and turning it so your car is on. You wince when you realize how late it is. Mom was right when she said you were taking on far too much, it was already past ten’o’clock and you’d been here since eleven in the morning.

“Besides, i’m sure it’s you whose struggling without me,” you add after a moment, “have you even unpacked anything besides your bed-sheets?”

“I unpacked some... clothes for class.”

“The one you needed my help buying may I remind.”

“Okay, okay,” Stiles relents with a snort. “I’ll admit, you’re better at keeping me in check then I am myself. But, to be fair, I’ve been too excited to care really otherwise.”

You nod, humming softly. “I’m really happy for you, Stiles. Truly.”

Stiles doesn’t really respond, he hums softly in return and doesn’t even really need to say anything for you to know he’s smiling brightly at your words. While the past few months have been difficult being apart, you called whenever you could. And Stiles was busy adjusting and getting used to the new environment to notice too much, and you’d taken on more shifts where you could at the hospital and even a little at the school towards the end of summer to help distract yourself.

Something told you Stiles was doing a lot better then you were being miles apart.

Inhaling deeply, you shoulders fall. “Well, I really should head home. It’s late and...”

“Oh, yeah... yeah, of course.”

Biting your lip, you swallow thickly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Stiles says with ease, no hesitation. “And i’ll see you in a week.”

You smile at his words, but can’t fight the forbidding feeling welling in your stomach. You can’t rightly explain it, but while you were excited, more than, to see Stiles in a week; it just felt as if something was going to go wrong.

“I’ll see you in a week.”

You press end, pulling your phone from your ear and letting it fall on the seat next to you. You hesitate a moment before shifting your car into drive, gripping the steering wheel tightly in your hands as you let your forehead fall against it.

“Just a week,” you whisper to yourself. “One more week.”

“Oh, Liam.”

Slowing at the bottom of steps, Liam blinks at the sight of you. “Hey Y/N,” he pauses, frowning slightly, “You’re home... late.”

“Yeah,” you shrug, gesturing to your bag. “Hospital needed help with some things.”

Liam nods, stepping forward as you slip your shoes off, letting your bag drop to the floor. Silence echoes for a moment, before your mind clicks with realization of something. “Hey, you excited for senior year?”

Liam blinks, “kinda,” he shrugs, “gonna be weird without you guys here.”

You let out a lightly chuckle. “I can imagine. But,” and then you smile, brightly and warmly, meeting Liam’s gaze without hesitance. “I’m sure it’ll all work out. And hey! If you ever need help with school or something, i’m only a phone call away.”

Chuckling lightly, Liam smiles at you as you walk up the steps. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“No problem,” you nod, “Scott upstairs?”

“Yeah, he’s... he’s packing.”

“Ah, okay. Well, see you later?”

“Yeah, see you later.”

He moves to pull on his shoes and you send him one last wave with a bright smile, before turning to walk up the steps. The walk to Scott’s room is a short one, and the doors already open when you get there. You smile as you notice him trying to close a completely too full suitcase that looks as if it’s about to burst at the seams and even his werewolf strength isn’t enough to keep it shut.

“I think you need a bigger suitcase.”

Pulling to a stand, Scott glances back at you with a blink of surprise before glancing back down at the suitcase. “Yeah,” he mumbles, scratching at the back of his head. “I think you may be right.”

“Here,” you say gently, stepping into his room with ease and gesturing to the suitcase. “You push, i’ll zip.”

Scott frowns, shaking his head. “Liam and I already--”

“Just,” you cut in, turning to him as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Trust me?”

Meeting your eyes, Scott hesitates a moment before letting out a soft laugh. Holding his hands up in mock surrender, he nods, “okay,” he eases, stepping forward and grabbing the lid of his suitcase, pulling it down and pushing it shut. You act quick, grabbing the zipper and pulling. You manage to maneuver it all the way around until it’s completely zipped and shut.

Leaning back, you smile; “there, done.”

Scott falls back against his bed with a huff of relief, hands sprawling up above him as he cheers teasingly. You laugh lightly at the sight, quirking a brow down at him as he simply just glances back up at you. “I was sure I was never going to get that suitcase shut,” he breathes.

Snorting, you kick his leg lightly so he’ll move it, allowing you room to sit down. You do so with a light sigh, shoulders somewhat slumped as you glance around Scott’s room and how, even though not everything’s gone, it seems and feels so... barren.

Scott isn’t oblivious to your reaction either.

“Hey,” he calls softly, pushing himself up to his elbow. “You start packing yet?”

You shrug; “a little. Been too busy to.”

Sitting up completely next to you, Scott’s shoulder softly bumps into your own. “You’re not excited to go to Washington?”

“Of course i’m excited to go to Washington,” you say quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, turning to look at Scott. You sigh when you notice the look on his face, it pretty clear he sees completely through your forced lie. He’s knows you too well not to. “I am,” you reassurance, “it’s just... everything’s changing so quickly, you know? Malia’s leaving for Paris, Lydia got accepted into MIT, Stiles is training to be a freaking FBI agent, you’re going to be Vet Technician... and I still don’t even know what I want to do.”

“Y/N...”

Swallowing thickly, you glance down at your lap. “It just feels like everyone else is so organized. I mean, I’m excited to go to Washington and be with Stiles, God knows I am... but, i’m not going there for myself. I can’t remember the last time i’ve done something for myself.”

Scott’s hand falls over your own; “is there any colleges or universities there that interest you?”

You want to say yes. But part of you wants to say no too. Because you’ve looked. You’ve looked so incredibly hard but nothing seemed to feel right for you. And all you can really manage to say to Scott is a simple and somewhat lost; “I don’t know.”

Frowning, Scott swallows thickly. “I can hold off a week? I’m sure it’d be okay. Wait until--”

“Absolutely not,” you cut in before Scott even has the chance to say anything more. “Scott, no,” you whisper, squeezing his hand in your own. “I won’t hold back your life just because I don’t know what i’m doing with mine. You should go and you should be happy. I’ll... I’ll be okay. I’ll figure it out.”

Swallowing slowly, Scott nods, hesitant. “If you’re sure...”

“I am,” you smile, “of course, I am.”

“Oh, my gosh. You two brought me dinner? That’s really nice--”

“No,” Mason cuts in, “it’s not dinner.”

Turning at the sound of Mason’s voice, your brows furrow in confusion at the sight him and Liam. Your eyes flicker down the bagged container in Mason’s hands, understanding why your mother would assume it’s food. But, obviously, it’s not and that’s what catches your attention, picking up the speed in your step as you move towards them.

“It’s not dinner?”

You reach them just as Melissa glances into the bag, pulling it open enough that you manage a peek at it too. Your lips curve into an expression of disgust at the sight of it, pulling back similarly to how your mother does. “It’s definitely not dinner.”

Liam steps forward, meeting your eyes briefly before glancing over at Melissa. “We were hoping you could take a look at it for us.”

“Well,” Melissa smiles sweetly, “I was hoping that someone was going to bring me dinner. Now is not the time for a rat autopsy. So, take this and get yourselves out of here.”

“No, but we really--”

Melissa chuckles lightly, mockingly, pointing her finger at them; “no, out.”

Liam and Mason visibly slump in defeat, and with a light laugh, you turn to your mother. “Here,” you offer gently. “Dinner.”

Her eyes visibly brighten. “You’re a saviour,” leaning forward, she presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “Are you volunteering tonight?”

“No,” you shake your head, “but, I might go do a rat autopsy.”

Rolling her eyes, Melissa nods, pointing a finger at the two younger boys. “Keep them out of trouble.”

“Always!”

Picking up the speed in your step, you rush to catch up with Liam and Mason. “Boys, wait up!” They recognize your voice, slowing to a step with ease as you side-step nearly being hit and race around to get to them. They blink at you in surprise when you reach them, shaking their heads in confusion as you simply just blink up at them.

“So, what’s going on with the rat?”

It’s their turn to blink, dumbfounded, as they glance at one another before Mason lowers his gaze to the bag in his hands. “Um...--”

“--You started it. Back off!”

Gasping out in surprise, your eyes widen when you notice a man shoving another man back, both injured but clearly not really caring as they aggressively assault one another and spit words of insult towards each other. Your lips frown at the sight, not used to seeing such an act in the hospital of all places; and you’ve been spending a lot of your time here recently.

“Hey, now, that’s called assault!”

“Can I get security over here?” Melissa calls aloud, keeping her distance from the men.

Liam steps forward before you can stop him, moving to step in between the two men. He turns to the man who’d pushed the other, calling out as gently as he can; “sir, you need to calm down.”

But he’s interrupted by a sharp punch to the nose.

“Liam!”

He finds his feet quickly and your eyes widen when you notice the glow to his eyes and the fangs protruding from his mouth. One glance around and you know a lot more than just you and Mason have noticed it; including the man who’d punched him. “What the... What...”

The security guards arrive then, rushing to grab the two men who’d started the fight in the first place and therefore surrounding Liam. Your eyes widen when you notice the deep cuts he’s caused in his palms from trying to hide his claws. “Liam,” you call out, hoping he can hear you. You try to make your way over to him, but get blocked along the way, and you can tell Mason is trying to do same.

And in the midst of the chaos, you manage to lose him.

“You two cannot do that!”

Pausing, both Mason and Liam spin to face you as you slam your car door shut behind you. Their eyes widen when they notice how angry you are, taking a small shuffle back as you rush forward, crossing your arms over your chest with a deep-set frown.

For a moment silence echoes.

You quirk a brow, as if waiting for them to speak, expecting a explanation; they glance at each other and then back to you.

“You ran off!”

“Oh,” Mason mumbles, “we thought it was--”

“Fine?” You cut in sharply, shaking your head at them. “Are you kidding me?” Whirling round to set your attention on Liam, you narrow your eyes at him. “You lost control in the hospital, Liam! People saw! You’re not even the least bit concerned?”

Shrugging, Liam blinks, “people have seen far worst in Beacon Hills.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it isn’t,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. Stepping towards the two boys, you press a finger against Liam’s chest. “The point is it was you they saw. You. And I know Scott would agree with me.”

You hit a pressure point mentioning his alpha, you know. But you need him to understand, especially if you all weren’t going to be around soon to watch them.

“Look,” Liam sighs, “i’m sorry. I’m working on it, okay?”

“He really is,” Mason nods, hopeful that you’re a little less angry.

Letting out a sigh, your hand drops to your side. Taking a step forward, you wrap your arms around the both of them, pulling them close. It’s a bit awkward given that they’re a tad bit taller then you and you know they weren’t expecting you to just full on embrace them. But, you don’t relent your grip, squeezing them tightly.

Liam and Mason hesitant a moment, surprised.

“I just worry about you both,” you whisper, “that’s all.”

Setting his arm around your waist, Liam squeezes gently, as Mason pats your shoulder lightly.

“We know,” Liam whispers, “we’re sorry.”

“We really are.”

Pulling back, you shake your head at them, “I’m being silly. Sorry,” taking a step back, you move towards your car. “Go... study or whatever you were going to do,” then you pause, pointing a finger at them, “but you should study. Studying is good.”

Liam and Mason chuckle, nodding at you and waving as they turn and make their way into the school. You pause by your car, watching them until they’re both completely inside and out of eyesight. And then you let your eyes wander across the school, one of which you spent so much of your life in and now, was no longer even apart of it.

It’s funny how fast things change. How it can happen with a single blink of the eye and then, everything’s just different.

Everyone was leaving, moving on with their lives. And you found yourself stuck, loss, unsure. Were you just going to Washington for Stiles? Or did you really hope to find something there for yourself? You wanted to be with Stiles, to see him, of course you did. But... you also had to find out what you wanted to do with your life, not just watch other people move on with their own.

Letting out a sigh, you move to stand up, moving towards your car door, however the sound of growling catches your attention. It’s faint, but loud enough that you can even hear it. And your head turns in the direction of the school when you realize it’s coming from there. And, it’s a lot of growling, faint banging, your first thought being Mason and Liam.

You shut your car door, rushing to the school doors and following the direction of where the growling is coming from best you can. It takes you a while, but eventually you manage to pinpoint the source, eyes widening when you turn down the hallway only to find Mason being knocked back and slammed into a set of lockers.

His name leaves your lips in a cry of worry, catching the attention of both Liam and a... Hellhound? as you come rushing in. You don’t notice it, too worried about reaching Mason, but something about you seems to catch the attention of the Hellhound and it turns it’s focus away from Liam and onto you, rushing towards you.

“Y/N!”

It’s Liam and you blink when you feel an arm slam against you, pushing you up against the lockers directly next to Mason’s limp body. A cry of surprise leaves your lips as his arm moves to your neck, pinning you back and blocking off your airway as you struggle to breathe. It takes you a moment to catch yourself, eyes widening in confusion when the man you don’t recognize leans close, as if feeling for something.

“No,” he growls, “it’s not you either.”

You just huff, eyes flashing purple as you force him back, releasing your neck so you can breathe. The minute he’s off of you, you inhale sharply, catching your breath as you swipe your hand out before yourself, holding the man in place. Flames won’t work on him for obvious reasons, but you can hold him in place for Liam.

“Y/N,” Liam calls, slamming a locker door against the Hellhounds head, “Mason!”

Once you’re sure he’s got the man, you move towards Mason, crouching next to him and gently guiding him up into your lap. Your hands fall to his cheeks, making sure his pulse is still there and scanning for any worrying injuries. Other then a knock to the head, he seems okay.

A groan from Liam catches your attention, and your eyes widen when the Hellhound slices his stomach with it’s claws, creating a deep cut. But, before you can even move to help Liam, he’s recuperated enough to knock the man back, cutting him like he had him, before knocking him back to the lockers right beside you. The fire around his body fades and he slumps to the floor with a groan.

Liam’s does the same, breath trembling.

Your brows furrow in confusion when the man simply just laughs, head tilting back. “It won’t stay hidden,” he mumbles, voice low. “It must be stopped. Nothing else matters.”

You blink when you feel Mason shift in your grasp, Lowering your gaze, your eyes widen in relief when his eyes flicker open, moving to sit up. He glances up at you in confusion, eyes flickering around before landing on Liam and with a simple nod, you follow his lead, helping guide him up to his feet as the both of you rush over to Liam.

“...The truth...”

Mason slumps next to Liam, the both of them glancing at each other, before you.

Your head turns towards where the Hellhound had been, sighing when you notice it gone, leaving out a trail of blood along the lockers.

Helping Liam pull off his tattered and ripped shirt, you wince at the cuts along his lower stomach and chest. They’re bad, very bad, and they’re not healing quickly either; not as quickly as any of you would like.

“It should be healing faster than this.”

Glancing over at Mason, you catch the look in his eyes, pushing yourself up to your feet. “I’ll find something to wash the blood off.”

You move towards the bathroom portion of the locker room, grabbing some paper towel and moving to wet them as you listen in on Liam and Mason’s conversation.

“It’s Hellfire,” Mason reminds, “I mean, all things considered, you’re doing great.”

“Well, great isn’t supposed to look like this.”

“You fought a Hellhound on your own, without Scott.”

“Y/N was there.”

Walking back over to the two boys, you crouch before Liam. “I didn’t really do any fighting,” you remind softly, moving to dab lightly over the wound. Liam winces as you go, but doesn’t fight you. Instead, the two boys keep their gazes on you as you clean his wound and continue. “And without you there, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

Liam just shakes his head, leaning back.

Turning to Mason, you nod reassuringly as he shifts forward. “Wounds heal,” he breathes, “people move. Things change.”

“Yeah,” Liam mumbles, “still hurts though.”

Frowning, you pull back, dropping the blood soaked paper towel next to Liam on the bench. “It’s the best I can do,” you whisper after a moment, nodding at Liam before pushing back to stand up. Letting your hand fall on Liam’s shoulder gently, you squeeze it softly. “I should probably call Scott.”

“In case anyone forgot...”

Malia lets out a chuckle and you shake your head.

“Yeah I just said forgot,” Lydia calls, before turning to face the three of you. “We almost lost him last time.”

Scott nods, and you lower your gaze, not sure how to respond. Luckily, Malia does for you. “If this turns out to be something big, and we don’t call him...”

“He would kill us,” Scott finishes for her.

“Or maybe we should go back to the woods tonight and find the killer.”

“Scott? Y/N?”

You blink when they all turn to you. Inhaling deeply, you shake your head. “You guys didn’t hear his voice,” you explain, voice soft, a mere whisper. “He sounded really excited to be there.”

Lydia frowns.

“Y/N’s right,” Scott nods, “in his voicemail... I swear, I've never heard him sound so happy.”

An echo of silences follows for a minute.

“Uh,” Malia calls, stammering over her words. “Just play the voicemail.”

Nodding with ease, Scott moves to press play.

“Hey, Scott. So... I’m here. I’m in Quantico, Virginia, at the FBI. I’m at the freaking FBI. It’s real. I’m really here.” Lowering your gaze, you bite your lip, unable to stop the small smile the curls onto your lips at Stiles’ voice. “I told Y/N that I miss her and I can’t wait for her to get here. But just in case, remind her for me because I really am.” Eyes falling shut, you feel your heart plummet.

I’m not gonna make it there. Not yet, at least.

“Listen, Scott, whatever you’re doing right now, just make sure you’re still getting out of Beacon Hills. I mean, maybe you think you can’t leave, you know, like, the whole thing falls apart if you’re not there. Which I get, but you have to. I know you’re supposed to drive out tonight, so if you don’t call me back, just promise me you’re actually going. Just get in the jeep and go.”

Silence echoes as the voicemail ends, and you let out a sigh.

“I’m going to have to make up a lie, aren’t I?”

You sigh as the first ring echoes.

Your leg bounces in front of you, repeatedly, anxious as you listen to the second ring. Part of you hopes he won’t answer, and another part of you hopes Stiles will; that way you can just tell him and get it over with. Because you had absolutely no idea how you were going to tell him. Like... at all.

You couldn’t tell him the truth, that was clear.

But what could you say instead?

“Hey.”

Inhaling sharply, your eyes flicker shut as you tuck your chin into your chest, heart starting to pound. You’re too busy trying to come up with a viable excuse that you barely even register the slight peek in Stiles’ own voice, and you can’t see urgency at which he pounces his own leg. Up, down. Up, down. Up.

Down.

“Hey, Stiles,” you smile softly just at the mention of his name, envisioning him in your mind and thinking about how badly you want to see him. And now, you don’t know when you will. “How was your day?”

“Good, good,” Stiles nods, “how was yours?”

“Long.”

Stiles hums. You find it odd he doesn’t want to talk more about his first day. Makes you wonder if something’s wrong, but, by right you can’t really question him on it because you’re being just as odd and suspicious as him.

“Everything okay?”

Licking your lips, you lean forward. “I won’t be able to make it next week.”

There’s a pause, then, “like... to Wash--”

“To you,” you conclude with a nod even though you know he can’t see it. “Some stuff with my mom has come up, and she needs me unfortunately.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind; you make a mental note of telling Scott so he’ll back you up in-case Stiles questions him. “I don’t think i’ll be able to make it there for another week, um, maybe longer. I don’t know.”

“Is...” And Stiles hesitates at this, as if the words caught in the back of his throat. “Is everything okay? Is Melissa hurt or--”

“She’s fine, it’ll just be easier to explain in person if I see you soon. When I see you soon, you know?” Letting out a soft sigh, you swallow thickly. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I really am. And I promise i’ll be there as soon as I possibly can and explain it all, but... right now...--”

“You need to be there?”

“...I need to be here.”

“Okay,” he whispers, and you can tell he’s disappointed. But he doesn’t fight you or question you any further. “Okay, I understand.”

Smiling with hurt, your hand moves to grip the necklace he’d given you at the end of summer, holding it tightly between your fingers. “I’ll see you soon?”

“I’ll see you soon.”

With a final goodbye, you hang up the call, slumping back against your bed with a sigh. You stare up at your ceiling with a deep frown marring your lips, not bothering to move even when you hear your bedroom door slide open, knowing without even having to look that it’s Scott.

“I’m officially the worst girlfriend ever.”

Letting out a light chuckle, Scott takes a seat next to you on your bed, glancing down at you. “You’re helping him by not telling him,” Scott assures you, setting his hand over your thigh in a sign of what he hopes is comfort. “He sounded really excited, didn’t he?”

Sitting up, you smile at Scott, nodding. “He did.”

Y/N....

“This is dumb, Y/N. What are you doing...”

You glance around at the trees and grass surrounding you, your flashlight truthfully not doing much to light up anything. Mind you, going to Beacon Hill’s very own forest in the middle of the night probably wasn’t the smartest idea either.

You had no idea where you were going. Or what you were doing for that matter either. You should’ve gotten Scott to come with you, or Malia. Hell, you could have even dragged Liam out of bed. You knew you were capable of handling yourself, but with a new threat that none of you really understood or really knew what it was, it probably wasn’t smart to be lost in the woods in the middle of the night, alone.

It was, in fact, dumb. Incredibly so.

But you’d heard his voice.

Y/N...

And you still could.

Theo. You haven’t heard him call out for you like that, telepathically or whatever, since he’d first been sent to hell. And he certainly wasn’t in hell anymore since Liam had sent him free and Scott had deciphered him no longer a threat. And you couldn’t understand why or really even how he was calling out for you. Nor could you understood why you’re so willingly searching for him.

When in reality you should be running the other way.

Running away from Theo.

Why your feet even lead you in the woods in the first place, you’ll never understand.

“You could get hurt,” you continue to ramble to yourself, trailing further down your imaginary path. “You could die. And what? For Theo...” Then, hesitating, you sigh. “Regrettably yeah, for Theo...”

Stupid. He doesn’t deserve that from you. Not after what he’d done.

And yet, you still continue to walk.

You wander aimlessly for at least another twenty minutes, finding nothing. Absolutely shit all. And you were tired, incredibly so, and you knew it was going to take you a while to even find your way back to your car, so, with that, you decide it’s time to turn around.

Screw Theo. What had he done for you other then break your heart.

Just as you do, however, a tree branch cracks.

You halt in your steps, shoulders freezing as you slowly glance around, keeping your flashlight steady before you. You may be a witch, but your eyesight was still human and like before, you can’t see anything with your stupid phone flashlight.

Another branch cracks. And then another, from two completely different directions.

“Hello?” You call out hesitantly, unsure. You take a small shuffle forward, searching, body tense with anticipation. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

It happens in a flash. A cry leaves your lips as an arrow pierces your left shoulder, digging into the skin painfully, knocking you back completely off your feet. Your body thuds against the ground, and your eyes twist shut for a moment as your right hands move to the arrow, hissing the second you touch it as pain envelops your entire body.

But the pain suddenly becomes less important when you hear approaching footsteps. A lot of them.

Shuffling back, you move against the tree behind you, pressing up against it with heavy, pounding breaths. You feel your heart pound erratically against your chest and now you’re sure you should’ve brought someone along because you have no idea what you’re going to do.

Your powers. You’re a witch.

A man approaches, crossbow in hand and you waste no time, despite the wave of pain that hits you, flashing your eyes at him and tilting your head just enough with a swipe of your hand to knock the man flying back, into a tree to your right. You effectively knock the man out, but footsteps continue to echo and follow. You do your best to keep up, eyes never fading from the purple hue until you feel your body and mind screaming at you in exhaustion.

You’re putting up a fight, but you don’t know if it’ll be enough.

Especially with how many there are.

Because suddenly it’s no longer just two people running at you, it’s a whole group, surrounding. All their flashlights, which are a hell of a lot brighter then your stupid phone one, are flashing directly in your eyes, blinding you. it feels like staring directly into the sun and your eyes twist shut as you try to look away, but everywhere you look, there’s a bright light.

You still fight, best you can, heart racing in fear and worry, trying desperately to fight them off. But there’s too many. They surround your entire being, and with an arrow piercing your shoulder which aches painfully, you find yourself at a lost; more than that, terrified. There’s too many of them to fight off, especially when you can’t see anything but the shadowed figure of their feet in front of you because of their flashlights.

And if you can’t see, you can’t attack. You can’t even move your left arm.

Feeling vulnerable and terrified, your press your back further up against the tree behind you, letting out a groan of pain. “Please,” you whisper, voice echoing. “Please don’t--”

“Y/N McCall.”

You freeze at the familiarity of the voice.

He emerges from the crowd, and even though he stays hidden behind the blinding lights, you know it’s him. You couldn’t forget that voice, especially after all the turmoil he’d caused what felt like so long ago.

“Gerard...”

“Glad to see you remember me,” he laughs, stepping forward. You growl as he reveals himself to you, not allowing him to say another thing before your eyes flash, using the little bit of strength in your body you have left to swipe your right hand before you and knock him back.

It causes an uproar. The blinding lights get closer until all you see is white, and then a blood-curling scream leaves your lips as the arrow is all but ripped out of your shoulder. You instantly curl into yourself, crying out in agony as hands grab at you. You fight them mercilessly, trying to break free from the many hands grabbing and pulling at you. But it’s useless.

There’s too many of them.

Weakened by your injury, no amount of struggling stops the people around you from tying your hands behind your back with a zip-tie that cuts painfully into your skin. A blindfold is placed over your eyes and you’re suddenly reminded of the fear and terror you’d felt when you’d been stabbed. You’d practice using your magic without sight but it was never a skill you’d mastered, and it certainly didn’t help that the pain was making your eyes feel heavy.

Nor did the group of people surrounding you help either.

With a last fight for survival, your eyes glow beneath the mask as your body begins to heat up. You can’t by right set yourself on fire, you won’t survive it, but if you push your magic to surround you almost as if in a barrier, it’ll be too hot for any of them touch and grab you like they are now.

You’re proven correct when a chorus of gasps echo and you’re body falls against the floor with a harsh thud. You groan as you fall right on your left shoulder, bringing your knees up to curl in yourself, you’re last attempt at protecting yourself.

“Ow, fuck!”

“She’s burning hot!”

“My hands!”

“You bitch!”

“Are you fools?” Gerard’s voice booms and you freeze at the sound of it.

“But-But she’s--!”

“Knock her out,” he says without fault, “we don’t need her awake right now.”

Your eyes widen at his words. Your feet start kicking beneath you and you struggle in your binds uselessly, the dull pinching from the zip-tie barely a bother as the thought of being knocked out and taken somewhere unconsciously more threatening and terrifying.

“No! No, wait! Please, don’t--!”

Your world fades to black as a harsh smack is delivered to your head.

Scott awakes with a gasp.

He’s sweating, profusely. Though, it isn’t the first thing he notices. He notices his racing heart, his panting breath and the pounding thoughts of terror that surround his mind that he can’t make sense of.

And then, it hits him.

Y/N.

You’re.... You’re in pain. His shoulder aches, a dull pain that stings as if he’s been stabbed with something but his skin is free of any scratches, cuts or even bruises. Because it’s you that’s hurt.

But-But how? He’d... He’d just seen you...

You’re scared. Terrified. He can feel every racing thought that surrounds your head, but can’t actually hear them. Your fear mixes with his own and he jumps to his feet, grabbing the nearest shirt he can find and pulling it onto his body, running out of his room. He checks your room, but you’re not there. He runs down to the kitchen and you’re not there either.

When he checks outside, your cars gone too.

“Scott? Scott, what’s the matter?”

Turning back into the house, Scott’s wide, panicked eyes fall on his mothers own worried and concerned ones. Breathless and shaky, Scott shakes his head.

“Y/N... Y/N’s missing.”

Part 47?

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