#how many times can i reheat this mug before i give up on the coffee

[lilithschosen]

save me three hour old cold coffee save me

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part Nine

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

Not a lot of talking actually takes place. Mostly Steve and Robin cry at each other while Eddie, and presumably Dustin, take turns holding down the button to talk. They don't even say full words half the time, yet still manage to have an entire conversation. (Eddie thought that was a trick that only worked face to face but apparently the telepathy transcends distances).

Eddie has so many questions but he can wait; he doesn't want to interrupt Steve and Robin. Of all the people who should get Steve's time now that he's back, Eddie's certain he falls at the bottom of that list. He's just as certain Dustin and Robin are tied for top, so it's good that Robin was here, anyway.

Steve does take the time to talk them out of going to the Hendersons' house immediately. Claudia is not in the know and they can't really justify the midnight visit otherwise. Steve's shown up and slept in the guest room on occasion, unannounced, so him being there isn't going to be questioned.

The talk ends with a promise from Steve, to let them know when he was home and they could go over.

Robin falls asleep crying on his chest. Eddie doesn't get much sleep.

Steve's back. He's no longer a doll. A full explanation was promised before the walkie's were put down for the night, but he needs to know what happened. Steve had wanted to talk to him and he's a little bit afraid of that. Steve heard him and Jeff, was made aware of his stupid, gay crush, and now- Steve's going to want nothing to do with him. He's going to let him down gently, but firmly, and probably slowly vanish from Eddie's life.

Morning comes slowly and with it, the realization he's not ready to face Steve. He does need to talk to Jeff as soon as he can, though. He pulls himself from bed and gets coffee going almost as soon as the sky starts to lighten. He nurses one cup for so long it goes cold on him three and he has to reheat it in the microwave. Robin joins him at the kitchen table after the third reheat, plopping the walkie on the table before slumping into a chair. A glance at the clock on the wall shows it's a little after eight.

"Morning," Robin says around a yawn, laying her head down on the table.

"There's coffee, but you'll need to microwave it."

"Bleh," Robin wrinkles her nose at that, "no thanks."

"Any news?"

"Yeah. Dustin woke me up. Steve just left, so should be hearing from him soon."

Eddie nods, then says, "I'll drop you off but I'm not- I won't be going in."

"What? Why?"

He feels himself tighten his grip on his mug but if he can tell this to anyone, it's Robin. "I... Jeff accidentally outed me to Steve, yesterday. It's why I was all-" he pauses, waving a hand in the air like that explains anything before continuing, "-falling apart yesterday. Jeff saw Steve, he was on my bed and just, one thing led to another, and Jeff was joking -he'd never have said anything if he knew Steve could hear him- but it. It was. I-I can't-"

Robin's hand falls on his arm, gives it one squeeze before retracking her arm but it's enough to cut off Eddie's words. "I get it. Do you want me to tell Steve anything for you?"

"Just tell him I'm sorry."

She looks like she wants to ask what he's sorry for, but she doesn't. He's glad for that but how can he even begin to explain all the things he's sorry for?

"I need to talk to Jeff. Come up with something to tell him. I was supposed to go talk to him last night but."

"But," Robin repeats with a nod. "What were you going to tell him?"

He shrugs. "I'm pretty good at thinking on my feet. I'll figure it out when I'm lying to his face."

There is silence after that as Robin plays with the walkie on the table, slight frown to her face. He lets the silence hang for a moment before needing to break it, but Robin speaks at the same time.

"You still awake?"

"You should tell him."

They blink at each other before Robin says, "You should tell Jeff the truth."

"I can't do that, Robin. I signed an NDA."

"Since when would something like that stop you?"

"It's not... he wouldn't believe me."

"Do you make a habit of lying to him?"

"No."

"Then he'll probably believe you. Besides, you don't have to tell him anything about what you did sign an NDA for. Steve turning into a doll isn't Upside Down related. I'll vouch for you, and I'm sure Steve will, too, if that's what it took to get Jeff to believe you."

"We already brought my uncle into the loop. We can't just keep adding people to it."

Robin sighs and sits back. "It's up to you, Eddie. You can make up your lie and it'll be fine. By your own admission he knows you like guys, and that's not something we share lightly. So, Jeff must mean a lot to you. I just don't want you to lose Jeff because of this."

"Jeff and I have a solid friendship. We'll get through this."

"Okay. I just-"

"Robin? Eddie? I'm home," Steve's voice comes through the walkie talkie, startling both of them.

"Be right there," Robin says back as Eddie stands to find his shoes and keys.

-

He drops Robin off at Steve's and pulls away before she's even across the lawn. If he sees Steve, he'll stay, and he can't. Not today.

It's barely 8:30 in the morning so he knows Jeff won't be awake. His mom will, though, and she'll let him in.

"We were expecting you last night," is the greeting he's given when Jeff's mom opens the door enough to see who's knocking this early. Her tone is light, teasing like she usually does, but Eddie's feeling a bit too guilty to joke back.

"I know. But, uh, I was- I'm here to apologize. For not showing."

"He's still asleep," she says even as she's stepping back to let him in.

"Not for long."

"I take no responsibility for any injuries that you may acquire for waking him up this early."

Jeff wakes up with a startled yell when Eddie jumps on him, attempting to use his blanket to trap his limbs in so he can't start swinging (or put Eddie into a headlock until he passes out).

"Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie," Jeff huffs, once his fright has settled and he glares up at Eddie, who is straddling Jeff, pinning the blanket down around him.

"Are you gonna punch me?"

"No."

Eddie signs in relief and flops sideways, off of Jeff and onto the bed. He realizes his mistake a second too late, when Jeff has already shoved him out of the bed with all his strength, so Eddie lands with a loud 'OOF' on the floor. He should have flopped to the other side, between Jeff and the wall.

No. Jeff would have just shoved him into the wall then.

"Why can't you just show up and apologize like a normal person?" Jeff's voice is muffled, like he's shoved his face into his pillow.

"Uhh, because that's what normal people do?"

Jeff just groans, long-suffering, and soon his head peaks over the edge of the bed to look at Eddie. "Apology accepted. So, are we gonna talk about yesterday, or do we both agree it never happened, provided you can keep your creepy Harrington shrines to, like, the back of your closet or deep in the woods, where I never have to see it again."

"I can one thousand percent guarantee you will never see what you saw again."

"Perfect."

They spend a majority of the day together, and Eddie feels himself settle. He and Jeff are good. Will always be good. He doesn't need to justify or explain to Jeff, not on things that don't involve Jeff directly. He's not going to tell Jeff the truth. Not today, or even in the near future. He can't say he won't, ever, finally tell him the truth about the murder accusations and the fallout of that, but Jeff doesn't need to know that to be his friend.

It's a great relief, honestly, to have friends none the wiser to the awful things that lurked in Hawkins. An even greater relief to have friends that know him.

Eddie heads home when it gets closer to dinner time. He's already bummed breakfast and lunch from Jeff and his family, so he tells Jeff they'll hang out later and heads home. He should get there with enough time to share dinner with Wayne.

His uncle is in the process of cooking what smells like seasoned meat of some sort.

"Eddie, come here a second," Wayne says, glancing over his shoulder. Eddie, who had been heading to the couch, instead steps into the kitchen area.

"What's up?"

"Steve is in your room."

Eddie feels a tinge of panic at those words. He does his best to keep his face neutral.

"We had a chat, he and I. He wants to talk to ya, but he's willin' to wait for you to come to him. So, the options are this. You go back to your room and have that chat, or you walk back out that door and hang out back while I let Steve know I'm takin' him home. The second option does come with the stipulation that you don't let dinner burn while I'm gone."

His first instinct is to run, so he does. Almost. He turns away and makes it to the door but when he puts his hand on the doorknob, he finds he doesn't want to turn it. Steve came to him. Wayne spoke to Steve, so if Steve had any intentions of just punching him in the face and leaving, then Steve wouldn't still be here at all. Wayne would have thrown him out.

"How'd he get here?" Eddie finds himself asking without turning around.

"I think he walked."

He can do this. He'll just go down the hall, look at a spot somewhere above Steve's head and tell him he's sorry, and can they please stay friends, and everything will be fine.

He'd followed Steve into Mordor, once. This will be nothing.

Wayne says nothing as Eddie heads down the hall, to where his bedroom door is slightly ajar. He pushes it open slowly, stepping into his own room timidly.

Seeing Steve knocks the wind out of him.

Steve is sitting at the end of his bed, hunched over so his elbows are resting on his knees while his hands hold Eddie's Walkman between his knees. Steve's got the headphones on, but the right side is pushed back on his head behind his ear. Probably so he can hear when Eddie arrives, but he's either lost in his thoughts or the music but he doesn't notice Eddie at first. So, Eddie takes him in. Gone is the outfit he wore as a doll. Instead, Steve is wearing what appears to be homemade Bermuda jean shorts, his Members Only jacket, unzipped, and a shirt under that that looks suspiciously like the Metallica tank top Eddie lost months ago. His hair looks flatter than usual, like he let it air dry after a shower and didn't put any product in it. It's ruffled though, like it always is when Steve spends the day running his hand through it.

"Hi," Eddie says, and watches as Steve jolts, like he's been caught doing something bad.

"Eddie," Steve breathes out. "Hi."

"It's, uhh, good to see you sitting up on your own, no pillow needed," Eddie says, sliding further into his room, clicking the door closed behind him to give an illusion of privacy.

Steve pulls the headphones from his head with his right hand, transferring everything to his left. He doesn't hit pause on the Walkman, though, so the faint sound of music plays but it's not loud enough to really be heard. "I- I'm glad it's you and not your uncle. I thought for sure you'd want more time."

"Better to get this over with, don't you think? Steve, I'm-"

"No, Eddie, listen to me, first. Please. All I've done this last month and a half is listen and I got things I need to say."

Eddie closes his mouth so fast his teeth click.

Steve takes a deep breath before setting the Walkman on the bed and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he stands. "Thank you. For everything. For being there for Robin, and Dustin, and everyone else. For talking to me like I wasn't trapped in porcelain hell."

"Yeah, no problem, man-"

"Eddie, you never- never once did I feel like a burden, or forgotten, when you were watching over me. And, I don't know, I don't think anyone meant to let me feel that way, but sometimes- you just went above and beyond and hanging out with you was, like, the highlight of this. The best thing to come out of it."

With nowhere to hide, Eddie looks down, let's his hair form a barrier, even for just a moment. That's a lot to hear, and not at all what he expected.

"Eddie," Steve whispers, and Eddie startles when one of Steve's hands comes up to sweep his hair from his face, tucking the hair on the right side of his face behind his ear before it settles on his cheek. "I know you didn't want me to hear what Jeff said yesterday but I'm so fucking glad I did. I, uhh, I thought you were straight-" Eddie doesn't think he's ever been accused of being straight before. "-and I was just trying to be so normal around you while I was, according to Robin, pining-" wait. what. wait. what!? "-and I thought I was doing such a shit job at it because it was like, you'd randomly pull back and away, distance yourself, and I thought it was because I was making you uncomfortable, flirting too much and showing how stupidly obsessed with you I am-" his brain has turned off. Eddie has stopped functioning. "-but now I think it was, like, the exact opposite. You were pulling away because you thought I figured out your crush, but uh... What I mean is, I've wanted to kiss you since the Fourth of July party last year, and there's like, probably a ton of shit we should talk about but I just really want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?"

"Yes, please, do that," Eddie blurts and Steve laughs even as his other hand joins his first on Eddie's face and pulls him in.

Kissing Steve feels like coming home. Warmth, and safety, and a sense of familiarity, despite them never having done this before. They smile into the kiss, which makes it harder to actually kiss, but then Eddie's tilting his head, his hands moving on their own, one to Steve's hip and the other to his neck, and it's suddenly deeper, more passionate. Steve steps into his space, gets as close as he can as his tongue licks at Eddie's lips and he can't fathom doing anything other than opening up, brushing his own tongue against Steve's, getting a taste of him.

Eddie's not even sure what his plan is when he tried to walk Steve backwards to the bed, but whatever it was goes flying out of his mind when Steve turns them and shoves at Eddie so he ends up flat on his back, eyes wide as he looks up at Steve. Steve, whose eyes have darkened, and his lips are shiny and kiss-bitten, who quickly shrugs off his jacket and throws it somewhere, allowing Eddie to confirm that it is his Metallica tank before Steve's climb onto the bed, knees on either side of Eddie's hips as he lowers himself to kiss Eddie again.

Steve kisses him hungerly before pulling back to kiss his way across Eddie's cheek, over the scarred flesh there that Eddie's long accepted and embraced, down his neck where Steve peppers in little nips between kisses before he latches onto a place low on his neck. It pulls a guttural noise from Eddie that he wasn't even aware he could make, realizing he's going to have marks from Steve on him. Visible reminders that this is actually happening to him and not just a dream.

He's not even sure how long they make out like that, Steve hovering over him, alternating between kissing lips and neck. Eddie gets a hand on the back of Steve's head to pull him down, closer, so he can trail kisses along Steve's neck, mark him, too, in a mirror of what he did to Eddie.

"Fuck, Eddie," Steve hisses, one hand fisting Eddie's shirt just above where Steve's knees bracket him. Steve's over hand is on the bed next to Eddie's head, keeping Steve from fully face planting onto Eddie. "I can't believe you want me back. Can't believe I get to kiss you, that you want me."

Eddie has no idea why Steve thinks he's the one who can't believe what's happening but the words ignite a fluttering in his stomach and turns his brain to mush and even though they are actively making out, Eddie feels that if he doesn't hold Steve's hand right now he's going to die. He releases one hand from the death drip he apparently had on Steve's hips to drop it on the bed, palm up, sliding upwards to meet where Steve has his hand next to Eddie's head. Eddie wiggles his fingers against Steve's wrist until he gets with the picture, adjusting his weight off his hand long enough to Eddie to wiggle his own under it to they're palm to palm, fingers lacing together.

Steve sits up a bit, then, shifting his weight to his knees as he hovers above Eddie, eyes jumping between Eddie's face and their joined hands like this is the part he really can't believe; Eddie wanting to hold his hand.

It makes Eddie laugh, a soft noise, and move their joined hands to his lips, to kiss at Steve's knuckles, eyes never leaving Steve's face as he does so. It's then he notices the shift on Steve's face, so quickly there and gone that Eddie almost isn't sure he sees it, the slight furrow between his brow, frown on his face, eyes darting from Eddie's face to their hands again, before it all smooths over to look unbelievable fond.

It's enough to bring Eddie out of his euphoria, to look at their joined hands and finally register what it is he's feeling, literally. Steve's left hand is joined with his right, and what Eddie sees now that he's really looking is a new scar on Steve's arm, just above his elbow, running down, towards his hand, towards his pinky-

"Eddie, it's okay," Steve is already saying even as Eddie is unlacing their fingers and sitting up. The action forces Steve to shimmy back a bit but he doesn't leave Eddie's lap. Eddie grabs at Steve's hand again, not to lace their fingers but to examine Steve's.

He doesn't have a pinky.

"Steve-"

"No. Whatever you are thinking or worrying about or- or whatever, just. No," Steve says. "I'm fine. It's fine. It doesn't hurt, and I'm fine."

His first instinct is to argue, to try and wriggle himself out from under Steve but he's stopped as Steve grips at him.

"Please don't," Steve sounds hurt, in pain, and that stops Eddie immediately, "please don't take this from me. Don't go. I just got you." Steve's hand trembles, still hovering between them. Where he was cracked as a doll, he is now a scarred as a human, the pinky still gone but the skin smoothed over and healed.

Eddie wraps his hand around Steve's wrist and pulls his hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss where his pinky used to be. "You have me. For as long as you want."

Steve collapses forward against him, like a puppet with cut strings, and Eddie hugs him close.

Much later, after some more crying, and dinner, and cuddling, Eddie does have one final question before sleep.

"Do you know what broke the curse?"

"Oh, yeah," Steve looks so amused. "True Love's Kiss. Dustin was so freaked out about what happened he tucked me into his bed and give me a lil' kiss on the noggin. One blinding flash of light later, Dustin and I are staring at each other in surprise."

"You're kidding."

"Man, I wish I was."

-

Aaaand done!! Thank you so much for reading, and a special thanks to @mcneen for letting me ramble about the options I didn't go with. I'll be posting a meta-commentary post about the things that didn't happen/could have happened/unused ideas at some point but the story itself is finished!

Thanks for reading!

[mandoclan]

MORNING GLORY // Frankie Morales x F!Reader

A/N: 1.2k. I was inspired by a convo with @sanchosammy, thus fluffy Frankie in the mornings was born.

Warnings: (18+) Smut (but really light and glossed over), fluff (like you would not believe), food mention, insecurities.

It was early when you woke, the sun barely peeping through the blackout curtains Frankie insisted you buy when you’d moved into the new house. The alarm clock was blinking but hadn’t gone off, and you sighed once you realized the power must have flickered in the middle of the night.

A warm arm was wrapped around your waist, its owner’s face nuzzled into your shoulder blade. Good, Frankie wasn’t awake yet. Your husband needed his sleep. It was the first day off you’d had together in weeks, him busy running charter flights nearly every day and you working in town Monday through Friday. But today was Saturday and he’d fenangled it so you’d have the whole weekend together.

Gently slipping out from your husband’s arms, you replaced your body with a pillow and Frankie snuggled his face right into it, hair all messy and fluffy atop his head. He was drooling a bit, but it was endearing and you pressed a light kiss to his head before you leave the bedroom to go downstairs.

You padded into the kitchen and checked the time on your phone in the meantime. 06:07AM. The timer on the coffee pot was set to start in thirty minutes and you quickly gathered the ingredients to make pancakes. You knew Frankie wouldn’t stay in bed for too long, his internal alarm clock and the lack of your body heat working to wake him up. You hoped he’d stay in bed long enough for you to bring him breakfast in bed, though.

Ten pancakes in and nearing the end of your batter, you hear the creaking of your husband’s feet coming down the steps. You finish flipping your pancakes and wait for his arms to wrap around you, knowing that would be his first move.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He mumbles, arms fitting around your waist and his warm body pressing against your back.

“Hey, baby. Sleep okay?” You ask him as you reach back with one hand to scratch his hair lightly. He hums from where his face is squished against your neck and nods, making you giggle from the tickle his mustache and light beard leaves.

“Come back to bed, sweetheart. ’s early.” He mumbles, nuzzling deeper into your neck. You remove two pancakes from the pan and move them to the stack you have beside the stove and turn the heat off. You’d timed it perfectly so your batter was gone and you had fourteen pancakes teetering on a plate now.

You turn in his grasp and finally kiss your husband in a morning greeting. He responds with a happy hum and you can feel his sleepy smile against your lips. You break away reluctantly and he pouts.

“Make the coffee and I’ll put these puppies on plates, okay? And then we can stay in bed all morning. How does that sound?” You ask him, knowing he’ll say yes in a heartbeat. He nods blearily and moves to pour the coffee into your favorite mugs while you grab two plates from the cabinet.

Four pancakes go on each plate, and you leave the remaining ones in the microwave. Frankie will be hungry later once he’s had his breakfast and taken a nap with you tucked into his side, and potentially after more ‘exciting’ activities.

You turn to face Frankie and he holds up the mugs with a smile, steam rising from the tops and the smell of your favorite roast wafting in the air. You lift the plates with the pancakes and grab the syrup from the counter along with two forks. And then you’re making your way up the stairs side by side, Frankie looking over at you with a soft smile on his face every few seconds. You love how lovesick your husband is in the mornings, and it never fails to make your cheeks heat in response to his affections.

You’re soon settling in bed, Frankie attempting to wrap an arm around your waist, but pouting once he realizes he doesn’t have enough arms to hold his coffee, his pancakes, his fork, and you at the same time, eliciting a laugh from you.

“Baby, put your pancakes on your lap and your coffee on the side table, then you can hold me and eat your pancakes at the same time, okay?” He does as you’ve suggested and smiles brightly at you in response. You lean in to kiss him and he responds quickly by deepening the kiss. You’re the first to break away and he pouts again.

“Baby,” he whines, trying to kiss you again, “I just wanna kiss you.”

“I’m hungry!” Your protests fall to deaf ears as Frankie takes your plates and puts them on the side table along with his coffee and pins you to the bed beneath him.

“I’ll give you something better.” He mutters against your lips, kisses hungry and hot. You can feel him hardening against your thighs and you smile into the kiss, knowing exactly what he’s referring to.

“Oh, yeah? Show me what you got, honey.”

Fingers are pressed beneath the waistband of the shorts you’d worn to bed, and finally pulled from your legs completely. Frankie grumbles something about “wearing too many clothes,” and huffs at you. You giggle, assisting him in removing your (well, his really) t-shirt from your body and his own clothes.

Despite being a walking heater, Frankie always wore a t-shirt and these worn-out pj pants that were so soft. You assumed it was a side effect of him living in the barracks during his time in the Army and having impromptu fire drills and maybe a hint of the insecurities you’d noticed with the little pudge he had going on, no matter how many times you told him you loved the way he looked. Your husband was the sexiest man you knew, and you’d ensure he knew it.

Before you know it, Frankie’s eased two fingers into your wet heat and then he’s sliding inside you, sweet kisses still being shared. You moan into his mouth and Frankie whines once you’ve swiveled your hips one way. He’s always more sensitive in the morning, and you love it. His thrusts are deep and slow, evoking a stupor of pleasure. Your highs hit you close together, and Frankie presses kisses all over your face once he’s come down from it.

“I’m gonna have to go microwave those pancakes, aren’t I?” He grumps once he's removed himself from you and flopped by your side. You laugh and nod into his chest. He sighs and grumbles as he gets up, grabbing both plates and leaving out of the room, buck naked. Your soft laughs follow him, and Frankie is struck with the idea that he’s so thankful for this, for a wife who puts up with his crazy antics and certainly one who makes him such wonderful food.

A few minutes later, he’s crawling back into bed where you’re nursing your cooling coffee and handing you your plate of pancakes. He gives you another kiss and you thank him profusely for venturing out of the bedroom to reheat your pancakes.

He grumbles in response, but you know he’s happy. The crinkles in the corners of his eyes betray him, even if he is a grump in the mornings. But you love him, and he loves you, and that’s enough for you. He’s enough.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

You’re Never Helping Again (Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader)

Plot: A follow up to ‘Let Me Help’ in which it's made apparently clear that Indy definitely overestimated his ability to teach the gendered nuances of Victorian Medical practice or something. All your students demand that you never let him teach one of their lessons again, He pretends that it went effortlessly and was the best lesson he's ever taught.

Character: Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader

Requested by @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

PART TWO OF ‘Let Me Help’ 

Part of my Secret’s Out Saga (Plus Size History Professor Reader x Indiana Jones) series and part of my Plus Size Reader x Character series!

For once in your life, you listened to Indy and you did exactly what he instructed you too. You never liked following rules, especially when it came to men and boyfriend’s rules but you knew that he was right. You were running yourself into the ground and you needed to let yourself up for air, even if it was a few hours of self care.

You’d been in Indy’s apartment many times before, you stayed over multiple times during the week, but you’d never been here alone. You’d never let yourself in with a key before, you’d never kicked off your shoes and hung up your jacket as though it were your apartment; you’d never even made yourself anything to eat here before, Indy always took care of that! It felt strange, extremely odd, that you were here in his apartment without him. It almost felt... exciting? He had said he was meaning to give you a key soon anyway... was this what it was like? A proper, long-term adult, serious relationship? You smiled to yourself as you explored his apartment, wanting to soak up everything whilst he wasn’t here. You’d never really had this before - never had anything this serious before. Men just never treated you the way he did. Men around here just weren’t... they weren’t like Indiana.

His living room was organised chaos. There was mess, like coffee cups lying on the table and on his desk and his jacket and shoes in a pile the end of the sofa, but the rest of it was organised chaos. Piles of papers stacked high and low, messy but organised. He had piles of essays to grade, dissertations to grade, books stacked, piles for his newest research papers; it was organised but it was chaos. His living room was exactly how you’d imagine it to be; brown and leather - that academia look. He had trophies and certificates on shelves, you smiled as you read over them, he was still young but my god, he had accomplished so much. He had replicas of artefacts on the walls and on the remaining shelves but as you looked, some of them looked a little too old and a little too perfect that you were sure it was the real thing. He never failed to surprise you.

You made your way to his bedroom, now this was your favourite part of his apartment. It was simple, not a lot in his bedroom. Four post brown wooden bed, messy bed (he was never one to make the bed in the mornings), wooden drawers and wardrobe. It was very basic but it was the little details that you loved. He had drapes around the bed, that usually remained tied up they were more for decoration, but he had told you the story of how he came to be in possession of them. When you glanced at them they just looked plain white with some dark embroidery but when you looked up close, you realised that it was writing all around the bottom of them. He’d told you that he’d been in India years ago and helped them get an artefact back and they’d given him these drapes which had ‘Indiana Jones; our hero’ in their native language all around it. You had laughed when he told you that, “Of course, you’re the only person I know that would have drapes singing your praises on them and get away with it.”

A photo in a frame was perched against his bedside cabinet. It was a picture of you, not you and Indy, no, just you. It was a picture of you reading a book whilst curled into his couch. It was a grainy photo, black and white and a little faded but he loved that picture. You’d never really liked it, the curls in your hair had come loose, your lipstick was all faded, your glasses were half way down your nose, you were in your pyjamas and could see all your lumps and bumps and yet, Indy loved it. You’d asked him why he loved it so much one day, he just smiled and said, “It’s just... you.” You placed the photo down before heading to his closet. You did have a bag of clothes here but who in their right mind would turn down the chance to steal one of his shirts?

You filled the bath and whilst you waited, you were reading his newest research paper. He had let you read the drafts but now, this was close to being the finished thing and you couldn’t help but want to read it. He never failed to amaze you with his academic talent, the knowledge that man had; the first hand experience this man had with so many cultures and artefacts, it blew you away every time. You’d finished reading just as the bath was ready, “Incredible,” you whispered as you stood to put it away back on his desk - you knew that if you kept it in the bathroom with you you’d somehow end up dropping it into the bath.

The bath was a perfect temperature, you were glad for it. Sometimes if a bath is too hot you get too stressed about trying not to lobster yourself that you don’t enjoy it and sometimes if you make it too cold... well, that’s just no fun, is it? You sunk into the warmth of the water, relishing in its soothing touches. You washed your hair, trying to detangle the mess of curls with your fingers as you let the soapy suds clean away all your worries.

Soon, you were out of the bath and padding around the kitchen trying to find something to eat. You’d put on one of Indy’s looser fitting shirts. It didn’t button over your stomach so you’d pulled on one of his stretchy t-shirts under it. You found leftovers in the fridge from the night before, homemade spaghetti and meatballs. You had been surprised when you found out that Indiana was a decent cook. You thought that with him being so busy teaching, writing and adventuring that he wouldn’t have a lot of time to cook for himself. Sure, he loved Chinese take out but he could whip up a decent meal.

It wasn’t long after you’d reheated the spaghetti that you heard the front door open and heavy footsteps. You poked your head out of the kitchen to see Indy taking his jacket off and taking his glasses off, “How you feeling?” He asked as he walked into the kitchen with you.

“A lot better,” you admitted, “thank you... Really, Indy, thank you.” He smiled bashfully as you thanked him, “I hope my students weren’t too wild for you.”

He shook his head, “One of the best lessons I’ve ever given actually,” he said quickly... too quickly.

“Yeah?” You asked with a frown, “cause it was going to be a pretty full on lesson about Victorian medical practice, that can get quite tricky especially when we bring gender into the equation-” He cut you off.

“You don’t think I could handle it?” Indy asked, unusually defensive.

“Of course you could, Indy,” you rolled your eyes, “I was merely saying that sometimes even I find teaching Victorian medical practice hard going, there’s just a lot and I know my students, I’ve trained them to question everything so that they know and understand every single detail.”

Indy raised his eyebrows, “Oh I know they question everything... Believe me, I know.” You eyed him suspiciously but he seemed eager to drop the subject and he’d already done so much for you today that you just shrugged and passed him a plate of spaghetti.

The rest of the night was spent with you going over the research you had and what you still didn’t have sources for. Indiana proved to be very helpful. He had hundreds of books, some in shelves, some scattered around, and he was able to find the sources and missing pieces of information that you needed. It didn’t take long until you had finished your first draft. You beamed as you put the pen on the desk, “I’m finished. I did it!” Indiana was right there beside you, giving you a kiss on the forehead, and singing your praises, “I couldn’t have done it without you, Indy,” you whispered as he congratulated you, “Thank you.” 

It seemed a wise choice to take the rest of the night off after that. Yes, you were aware that you had papers to grade and dissertation drafts to sift through but you could get to them tomorrow. Tonight, Indy had better plans for you. He was going to help you relax with something a little more intimate and pleasurable than grading papers.

The next morning, you’d used some of your spare clothes that you left at Indy’s to get dressed and found him in the kitchen with two mugs of coffee waiting. You ate a small breakfast with him, talking about your lesson for the day, “You might want to go over yesterday’s lesson again with your class,” Indiana said nonchalantly, “Some of your students didn’t really fully understand and I ran out of time.”

You narrowed your eyes but nodded anyway. He didn’t know that your students would tell you exactly what happened yesterday so you let him believe that he was safe for a while longer.

You felt great. You felt like the weight had been lifted off of you shoulders and you were refreshed and well-rested. It just showed you how much having someone help you out benefited you. You couldn’t thank Indy enough, you just appreciated it so much; that he would help you out like that. His sweet gestures always made you feel like the luckiest woman alive.

With your lesson plans and papers in hand, you walked into your class to see all of your students already there, “Class doesn’t start for another forty five minutes!” You frowned, “What’s going on?”

“Thank god you’re back!” One of the girls, Sarah, said with a huff, “You are never letting Dr Jones teach us again!” 

You put everything on your desk and sat in your chair, “Why?” You asked tentatively, “What happened?”

“He had no clue, Professor!” A boy at the back told you, “First twenty minutes started out strong but as soon as we started asking questions, he just rambled and could not figure anything out.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as they told you more about what really happened. Poor Indy. He had tried, he really had tried but he was just not prepared for the inquisitive nature of your students, “He was getting so annoyed that we asked so many questions,” another girl said, “after about an hour of his rambling, he eventually handed us out textbooks and told us to read in silence for the rest of the time.”

Wiping your eyes for the tears of laughter, you took a breath, “Well, Dr Jones really helped me out yesterday and he at least tried to teach you, that’s more than what some people would do. I apologise that I wasn’t here though.”

“Professor, please promise that he’ll never teach us again. Promise us.”

This started your hysterical laughter again, “I promise.”

You couldn’t wait to see Indiana at lunch. As always, he was waiting outside of your class to walk you to his where the two of you would eat lunch, “I went over everything again and they all seem to understand a lot better now,” you said, trying to not smile.

“Yeah?” He asked, clearing his throat, “Good.”

“They did tell me something about yesterday though,” you smirked as you walked into his classroom, “they never want you to teach again.”

And so, the jig was up, “They told you, huh?” You found yourself doubled over laughing as you recounted what they’d said to you, “Well, it’s not my fault they ask too many questions!” Indiana exclaimed, “Everything I said, they questioned!”

“Thank you for covering for me but you’re never helping me again.”

[quillsareswords]

Smoke: VII | Stay Awhile

SUMMARY: After vanishing for four years, you return to the place you once called home, to the people you once called family. We all carry our baggage in different ways, using different techniques to hide it. You just happen to hide it in cigarette smoke.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: While the antique book shop on Fifth Avenue may have burned down long  before your return, the owner you never forgot is still making an  impact on your life, and she doesn’t even know it.

SERIES WARNINGS: cigarette smoking; underage drinking; gang activity; violence; swearing; blood; self-hate

MASTER LISTS in BIO

    The air is warmer now, than it was a few hours ago. Your windows are open, floors freshly swept, dishes freshly washed, bed freshly made. Outside is crisp and clean, and you've decided the inside should be too.

    Only a lamp illuminates the room, the setting sun does the rest, leaving the corners of the room bathed in comforting shadows.

   You’re in the middle of sorting out the good food in your refrigerator from the bad when he arrives.

   Three knocks exactly, no particular rhythm. You leave the decidedly shamefully rotted takeout in the trash and close the heavy white door before you answer the door. “Hey,” you greet fluidly, welcoming him inside without a second thought.

   “Hello,” he replies, stepping past you to escape the chill in your building’s halls, only to be sorely disappointed in your home. “Is your heating out?” he asks pointedly. You note his coat is buttoned, behind the stack of five books he holds in his arms.

   You stare blankly for a moment, before you shut and lock the door behind him. “No,” you answer slowly. “I thought it was pretty warm out, so I opened the windows. Are you cold?”

   He doesn’t answer verbally, just rolls his eyes. He makes his way to your ratty leather couch. “Anyway, I brought your books.” He sets the the stack of literature in the coffee table as he sits down.

   You nod. “Thanks. For driving all the way over, I mean.” You pick up an empty white mug from the end table by your recliner. “Can I get you anything? I can put the kettle on, if you want tea.”

   He declines, and watches you pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee. Then, you take your seat in the recliner.

   You pull the stack of books across the table, curiously skimming the titles on the spines. Griffin’s Castle, The Dragon Queen, Catcher in the Rye, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. An odd group of books, you think. At the top, you open the cover of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

   “Where were you today?” Damian barked from the bottom the tree. You peered down at him from your claimed branch, marking your page with a finger. He looked angry, messenger bag still slung across his torso, glaring up at you with his hands on his hips.

   You rolled your eyes and stubbed out a cigarette, flick it away so he doesn’t catch it. “Jesus, you sound like Nick,” you gruffed. “I’ve been here, mostly. What’s it to you?”

   He threw you an incredulous look. “You were supposed to cover for me in Lit, remember?”

   You heaved a heavy breath. “No, actually, I forgot.” The edge of annoyance to your voice is gone. “Sorry.”

   You heard him grumble something about you never listening, as he started climbing up to his branch, next to yours. He situated himself there, and hung his bag on the chopped stub above him. “So, what? You spent your whole day up in this tree?”

   “Yeah, pretty much.”

   “What are you reading?” He reached over and pushes your book one way, to read the cover. “The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland?”

   You nodded, rough bark of the tree scraping against your scalp and probably knotting your hair. “Yeah, Granny Crockett loaned it to me. She said it’s a crime that I haven’t read it already.”

    “Sorry about the dust. They’ve been sitting in a box in my closet for some time.”

   You gaze shoots up to meet his. “The dust-? Oh, yeah. It’s fine.” You brush off the thin gray film from the title.

   “Alfred sent this, as well,” he adds, pulling a piece of paper from the inner pocket in his jacket. “He thought you’d want it, for whatever reason. Found it when he was dusting, apparently.”

   You accept the thin paper and turn it over. It isn’t a piece of paper at all, actually. It’s a photograph, of you, and Damian, and Nick, all dressed up and ready for the Freshman Dance.

   You smile down at it, shaking your head at the bright purple, sequin speckled dress your past self wears. “I can’t believe you let me go out in that thing.”

   “I did no such thing,” he argues. “I told you the sequins were too much, but you wouldn’t listen. You never did, anyway.”

   You laughed. “I’m the one who doesn’t listen? Which one of us took Rebecca Tacks?”

  He shook his head. “You encouraged the whole ordeal. I would have much preferred to stay home and beat you at checkers until you flipped the board,” he countered, leaning back against the cracked leather.

   “I told you to get a date, not ask out the rudest person you could find!” you defended. “I told you the night would end in tears, now didn’t I?”

   “Maybe you were in tears, but I sure wasn’t,” he chuckled.

   “Only because you didn’t think the junior class president dumping green punch all over the pageant girl was as funny as I did!”

   You left it at that. A long moment stretched on, both of you lost in quiet laughter and memories of screaming teenage girls and a howling student body.

   You stare fondly at the photo still pinched between your fingers. You wonder what prom was like. You wonder who he took.

   “On second thought,” Damian says suddenly, retaking your attention, “I’d appreciate a cup of tea.”

   You blink. You don’t just hear the request, but the ask lying between the lines.

   Can I stay awhile?

   “Really?”

   He nods. “If it isn’t a problem.”

   You smile. “Of course it isn’t.”

   The corners of his lips tilt. “Do you have any-?”

   “Earl Gray,” you say confidently, practically jumping out of your chair, “two scoops of sugar and fresh lemon.”

   When you look back at him from across your kitchen island, he’s staring at you like he’s seen a ghost.

   You grin teasingly. “Do you know how many times I had to make it for you when we were younger? It’s practically ingrained into my memory.” You turn away to get a mug down from the cabinet. You don’t dare mention the number of times you made an extra cup because the smell reminded you of home that first year you were gone.

   While you stand in the kitchen, your back to him, as you wait for the kettle to reheat, he steals the moment to look around your apartment. He hadn’t really gotten the chance last time.

   It isn’t a place he ever imagined you to live.

    It’s nothing like the place you dreamed about growing up. You always spoke of a big balcony, high ceilings. Big windows, but some that could be left open in the spring and the fall to flood the place with fresh air. You wanted large rooms, an open floor plan, and pictures of friends and family on every wall. You wanted a place that felt like home, with soft furniture and plenty of places for visitors to sit. Somewhere big, but not so big that it felt lonely when no one was there with you. Somewhere to go after a long day where you could relax. Somewhere warm, where your family would come to visit for the holidays, wasn’t so close to home that they’d visit too often.

   This is not that place. This place is dark, the wallpaper is peeling in patches, the ceiling is cracked in sport. It smells vaguely of must, beneath the air freshener. Your furniture, while sentimental, is old and warn and falling apart. There’s no room for entertainment, the ceilings are low, the windows are small, the kitchen is dingy. Worst of all, it doesn’t feel like a home.

   With a quick glance, yes, the place has a specific feel that he can only attribute to you, but upon further inspection, it tells an entirely different story. It reminds him more of a safehouse than a home. Somewhere Jason would store space weaponry in a neighboring city. He can count the number of personally decorations on one hand. The more he looks around, the deeper dread burrows beneath his skin. Anything sentimental could be cleared out and packed up in less than an hour.

   Your words from the cafe echo in his mind. When you said you were thinking about leaving, he didn’t think you meant at the drop of a hat.

   Thick glass hitting wood jerks him from his thoughts. Your warm smile is familiar in a way he can’t ignore.

   “It’s hot, so give it a minute,“ you warn. “I know my interior design skills aren’t the greatest, but I didn’t think it looked that bad, all things considered,” you try sparking a conversation, but you look a little nervous. You must have caught him staring.

   He shakes his head. “It looks fine.” He feels as though he’s about to choke on words he isn’t ready for you to hear, so he looks around in a tempered frenzy for something to divert your attention. A framed picture on the wall between your windows is just what he needs. “Who is that?”

   You don’t have to look at the picture to know which one it is. You’d debated on hanging that one. You smile sadly, eyeing it anyway. You swallow thickly, and to stall for a little time, you get up to get it.

   You take the flimsy wooden frame down, gently, as if your afraid it will break under your gaze. You hold out the 7x10 photograph to him.

   He takes it, gingerly staring it down while you find your seat again. It’s an image of you and a man, standing together in front of a grand fountain. His arm is hooked around your shoulders, both of you grinning happily. Something stirs in his chest- he doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen you smile like that. The man his tall, dark skin, black hair, kind eyes. A tattoo is peeking out beneath the sleeve of a denim jacket.

   “His name was Kennedy,” you finally relay. “Kennedy Walter. I always called him Kenny.” You sniffle, and decide to stall a little longer. “I was living in Detroit when we met. I was working as a bouncer at a club. Had a nice little apartment with massive windows on one wall and a loft bedroom on the other. There was this nice little theater down the street from me. They had a theme for every night of the week, and sometimes they’d run these marathons of classics where you could buy one ticket and sit for the whole day.”

   You’re rambling, and he knows it. It’s something you used to do when you were upset: talk about the good things before the bad. He glaces at you. Your voice sounds strained. You’re staring at the coffee table, but he knows you aren’t really looking at the wood. “Were you and he . . ?”

   “Engaged,” you smile. “We were engaged. But, um, a little over a year ago, I was, uh- I got a call while I was at work.” Your voice breaks, eyes dropping to your lap. You pick up your tea and take a few gulps to relieve he tension of grief. “There had been a car accident.”

   He nods morosely, staring down at the man in the image. He must have been something, to have caught your eye. You barely dated through high school. “I’m sure he was a good man.”

   You nod. “He was. I had to leave all my furniture when I moved, because of him,” you laugh, and it doesn’t sound forced, but it’s dying. “I had this ugly orange couch, you see. God, it was such an ugly color. It was only thirty dollars at Goodwill, which is why I got it. It didn’t match anything else in the house, literally. But it grew on me, so I never replaced it. It was like that, um- what was it? That stupid stuffed cat I got from Amusement Mile, remember? On Spring Break?”

   He nods. You’d enlisted him to help you get it. It was quite possibly the ugliest toy he’d ever seen in his life, but it had a place on your bed for the following two years.

   “Yeah, it was like that. He always teased me about it, but after awhile it grew on him too. We named it Fungus, because it grew on people.” You laugh again, a little looser this time. “God that couch was hideous.”

   He smiles. It falters though, because he understands now that you weren’t just gone. You weren’t away from Gotham. All this time, you’d been building a new life. You’d been living, not running. But none of it had anything to do with him.

   “If you don’t mind,” he starts, quietly, “why did you leave Detroit? You talk about living there as if it were a fairy tale.”

   You take another gulp of tea. “Because that’s what it was,” you answer hoarsely. “It was too perfect. And then Kenny was gone. And my apartment was too big for me.” You stare down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. “And I missed home.”

   His chest feels tight. He doesn’t really know why. Or maybe it’s more than he isn’t willing to admit how much it hurts to see you so pained over this. He swallows it. “Home?”

   You nod hesitantly. “Gotham. I grew up here, ya know? You and I owned these streets back in the day,” you chuckle. You steal a look at his face, but he isn’t smiling. “I missed you. I don’t think I ever told you that.”

   When you look again, he looks somewhere between stricken and conflicted.  His face is pinched as he stared through your picture. “No. You didn’t.”

   “Well, I did. I missed you a lot. And your family. And mine. I didn’t want to leave you, Damian. You have to know that.”

   His body tenses, and you feel his energy shift. “No, I don’t. You left me in a burning building-”

   “I know,” you interrupt quietly. “And I shouldn’t have. I should have kept a better hold of your hand, I should have drove you home, I should have told you everything that night. I should have done a lot of things. But I didn’t, and I’m trying to apologize for them before I lose the chance.”

   That stops him. He relaxes into your couch again. “Before what?”

   You blink slowly, turning your gaze toward the window across from you, which connects to the fire escape. “There’s a reason I had to leave, Damian. Shit happens.”

   His eyes soften. His mind races, realizations dawning. He opens his mouth to reply, but the sharp beeping of his phone cuts him off.

   He answers it without moving from the couch. “Hello?”

   Your apartment is so quiet that you hear Bruce on the other end. “We have an emergency. We need you home. Now.”

   His eyes meet yours. He seems remorseful. “I’m on my way.”

   You divert your attention, excusing yourself to the kitchen with your half empty mug. You hear him pocket his phone and the remaining leather of your couch groan as he stands.

   “I’m sorry,” he says. “If I could-”

   “I know,” you assure. “Probably best anyway,” you brush off, “I'd probably be a blubbering mess of runny mascara and tears if we kept talking about this any longer.” You’re only partly joking.

   He looks at you for a few moments. Standing in your ratty apartment, between your living room and your front door, staring. His eyebrows are slouched together as he works his jaw.

   You turn around at the sound of approaching footsteps, but you’re just a hair too late. You collide with a broad chest, long, warm arms wrapping around you tightly. You’re overhwelmed by he wonderful smell of leathery cologne and bourbon shampoo. Your brain short circuits and crashes like a 2007 laptop trying to run The Sims.

   “I’m glad you’re home,” he says slowly, genuinely, surely.

   He’s gone before you can react. By the time you’re ready to hug him back, your front door is already clapping shut.

   With your apartment once again left in silence and you to your own devices, you brace yourself against the counter, mind whirling thoughts a million miles a minute and heart hammering so hard that you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.

TAGS: @howcanibreathewithnozaire @avis-writeshq @mello-10 @ukuleleatnight @chikorita-stuff @idkmanicantenglish

[cozy-the-overlord]

Until Tomorrow

Summary:  Quarantine by itself is lonely enough. Quarantine amidst a rainstorm of biblical proportions is downright depressing. Lucky for you, a visitor arrives just in time to keep you company.

Word Count:  2,463

Pairing: Loki x Reader

A/N: Sooo..... I did a thing. I’ve never written fanfiction or reader-inserts before, but it was pouring rain last night and I’ve been reading so many quarantine fics on Ao3 that I thought I’d give it a whirl. I’ve never been more nervous about posting a story before... I hope you like it!

Also, I got an Ao3 account now, so you can read it here if you’d like

              It was raining.

              Although raining didn’t seem to do the weather justice. You couldn’t remember the last time you had witnessed such a torrential downpour. The pattering of raindrops rushing down your slanted roof had been drowned out by the wooshing of the fast-moving river that a few hours ago had been your street. Between the dark storm clouds and fog so thick you could cut it with a knife, you couldn’t make out exactly how bad the road was, but the waves that crashed against your window every time a car came skidding past your house told you that you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

              Not that you currently had any great travel plans.

              You sat on the couch at your front window, a book lying open and ignored in your lap, watching water droplets race down the glass as a shiver raced down your spine. Usually, you loved the rain. You had grown where storms were a treasured rarity, where you’d insist your mother buy you rainboots for your birthday only for her to give them away a year later when they became too small, balls of paper still stuffed into their toes. Usually, when it poured, you’d run into your driveway with your head back and arms out, belting out “Singin’ in the Rain” as you attempted dance moves that would make Gene Kelly role in his grave, just because you could.

              But today, you didn’t feel like dancing. With everything going on right now, the rain seemed less like a cause for celebration and more like a sign of impending doom. It had been weeks since you left the sanctuary of your tiny suburban house. You were lucky, everything considered— your parents were safely quarantined in your childhood home on the other side of the country, from where they FaceTimed with you at least once a day.

              Your job was secure. That was one of the wonderful things about working for Tony Stark: the day everyone was sent home, the head man himself sent out an email swearing to keep everyone on the payroll through the quarantine, regardless of how long it lasted. He had even set up a system for delivering groceries to his employees: you texted a number with your order, and a few hours later a red and gold drone dumped a box of overflowing plastic bags on your doorstep. That was something your mom couldn’t get over—Iron Man bringing you milk!— and honestly the ridiculousness of it all made you want to giggle, too.

              Sometimes, though, it was all too much. It had been ages since you’d seen anybody, ages since you had heard another voice unfiltered by the garbled speaker of your cell phone. You had never considered yourself to be an overtly social person, but damn did you wish you had somebody here to talk to. Your mother had been trying for years to convince you to adopt a pet, insisting that it wasn’t healthy for you to be living completely alone, but you had always brushed her off, saying that you were working so often that you were rarely at home and it would be cruel to the animal. Now, you promised yourself that as soon as this was over, you were heading to the Humane Society.

              If this was ever over.

              Outside, the rain kept pouring. The trickling water seemed to be whispering to you—sinister promises of something worse yet to come. You curled tighter upon yourself, pressing your cheek to your knees.

              Let this end. Please, just let this end.

              A crash behind you startled you out of your thoughts. You shrieked, whipping around to see a figure standing in your living room, soaking bags sprawled about him, staining the carpet. He scowled.

              “Bloody rainstorm. You can’t see a damn thing out there.” He shook his head and began wringing out his hair, muttering in a language you didn’t understand.

              It was several moments before you could find your voice. Once you did, it slipped out cautiously. “Loki?”

              “At your service, my lady.” He gave a grand bow, his words dripping with sarcasm.

               You stared. You knew Loki, of course. You were familiar with all of the Avengers who lived in the tower—your office was located on one of the higher levels, and as a result it wasn’t uncommon to see celebrities like Dr. Banner or Captain Rodgers making their way across the floor to meet with one of your coworkers. Unlike the others, however, you had actually spoken with Loki.

              The two of you had a little run in a few months ago, when you were refilling your coffee mug at the break room. You were already on edge because Dr. Foster was visiting, Dr. Jane Foster, and word about the floor was that she would be stopping by with Thor to meet some of the higher-level workers at some point during the day. You felt silly for feeling so starstruck, but Dr. Foster’s work was on another level of world-shattering, and the thought that you might be shaking her hand by the end of the day had you all sorts of jittery.

              Then the coffee pot exploded.

              Exploded wasn’t exactly the right word. It was more like an eruption— all at once the pitcher just vomited its contents across the counter, up to the ceiling, all over the floor, writing like an animal and spitting out more coffee than it possibly could’ve been holding previously. With a scream, you threw the anthropomorphic pot to the floor, adding shattered glass to the absolute mess in the break room.

              There wasn’t time to comprehend what just happened before he was there, pulling you out of the puddle of lukewarm coffee.

              “Forgive me, that was not supposed to happen. Are you hurt?” Loki scanned your form with an anxious sort of urgency. There was a tinge of pink on his cheeks—if you hadn’t known better, you would’ve said he was blushing. “Are you hurt?” he asked again when you only gaped at him like a dead fish. “Burned? That was not meant—forgive me.”

              “No,” you finally said. The coffee hadn’t been warm enough to do any damage. “Just… my clothes—”

               He waved his hand, and the sticky moisture clinging to your front disappeared. You ran your hand over your shirt, now dry and stainless. That’s useful.

               “Are you certain you are uninjured?” he asked. “I swear, that was not what I intended—”

               “I’m fine.” Now that the shock had worn off, you found yourself stifling the urge to giggle. “What were you trying to do?”

               Loki looked embarrassed. “My brother has the tendency of laying claim to the refreshments of any floor he visits, without leaving anything for those working on said floors. I thought I’d teach him a lesson.” He cast a glance back at the mess behind him. “The charm was meant only to react to him. I suppose I made a mistake in casting it.” He turned back to you. “I am sorry.”

               You smiled. “It’s alright. I guess I could use a bit of excitement in my life.”

               He grinned. “Words to live by.”

               After that, you had been friendly. You’d greet each other when you walked by one another, you’d make small talk in the elevator if you were riding together, he’d hold the door for you if he had the chance. Nothing serious, nothing even that personal really, just office-friendly.

              Definitely not crashing-unannounced-into-your-living-room-during-a-rainstorm-in-the-middle-of-a-pandemic friendly.

              “What—?” you sputtered, springing off the couch. “What are you doing here?”

              Loki dramatically gestured to the bags on the floor. “It seems I have been relegated to the status of a delivery boy.”

              Craning your neck, you recognized the label of your local grocery market. You frowned. “Did—did you bring me groceries?”

              The Asgardian in your living room huffed irritably. “You had an order for today, did you not?”

              You nodded slowly. Yes, you were waiting on an order today, and now that you were looking you could see that it was sprawled across the floor at Loki’s feet: a carton of orange juice, a tub of ice cream, a bag of potato chips… but what was Loki doing dropping off food for you?

              He sighed. “Stark, in his infinite wisdom, failed to consider the effect of such the elements—” he gestured to the monsoon outside your window “—on his mechanical messengers. As I am the only individual he knows with means of instantaneous travel, I have been encouraged to assist with deliveries. I am—what is the phrase?—making the rounds, if you will. ”

              “Oh.” You found yourself at a loss for words, likely looking every bit as dumbfounded as when you first met in the break room. You mentally slapped yourself. “Um… thank you. Here,” you moved to collect to foodstuff off the carpet, “I can, uh, start putting things away—”

              With one swift motion, Loki scooped everything up. “Allow me. Just tell me where you want me to put it.” You glanced up at him cautiously. He raised his eyebrows.

              “Uh, okay.”

              He followed you into your kitchen, and you cringed as you realized how truly disgusting your sink was. It had been ages since you had the motivation to do the dishes, and they had been piling up in your sink like the leaning tower of cheap ceramics for at least a week now. Loki didn’t say anything though. At your direction, he placed the bags on the counter and watched as you silently put the contents away.

              Even amidst all the awkwardness, there was something soothing about his presence. For the first time in weeks, there was a living, breathing person in your house, someone real to talk to and laugh with. So when Loki said that he had to finish his deliveries, the question that popped out of your mouth was birthed by pure desperation.

“Do you want something to drink before you go?” you asked. “Like, a glass of water? Or… I have coffee, if you don’t mind it being reheated.”

              If Loki was surprised by your offer, he masked the emotion quickly with a smirk. “Do you really trust me with coffee?”

              You giggled. “I don’t know. Can I?”

              “You shouldn’t trust me with anything,” he said, slipping into one of the seats at your kitchen table. “But I think we can make an exception just this once.”

              You sat and talked for nearly an hour, sipping your microwaved coffee as the rain pounded on the roof. Loki had plenty of quarantine stories from the Tower, stories that always seemed to end with Thor accidentally blowing something up.

              “He is not used to staying in such a limited space for this long of a time period,” he said reflectively. “I think perhaps confinement is having a detrimental effect on his intellect. Stark has installed a ‘Days Without an Accident’ count at the kitchen table, and thus far my brother has managed to reset it every day.”

              You snorted. “That sounds hilarious. I wish I was there to see that.”

              “No, you don’t. Everyone is fed up with everyone else.” Loki stared into his mug absently. “They have been starting altercations over the minutest details. It’s quite chaotic.”

              You frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to like chaos?”

              “When it’s within my control. This is far beyond that.” He took another sip, emptying it. “You are lucky to live alone. I would gladly welcome the peace you have here.”

              “I don’t know. There’s not much to do in here.” You held in a sigh. “It gets kind of depressing after a while.”

              Loki cocked his head, brow furrowed. “You are lonely?”

              Your cheeks heated with embarrassment. It was such a menial complaint to have, especially when so many others were suffering. “Kind of,” you muttered. “It’s not so bad, though.”

              Loki continued pressing. “You have access to communication, yes?” he asked, leaning forward. “I thought all of you mortals were addicted to your cellular devices.”

              “Yeah,” you replied slowly. “But it’s not the same thing as, you know, actually talking to someone. Like, when they’re actually there.”

              “I understand.” He reached out to set his mug on the table. Somewhere hidden under your smile, your heart sank. He’d be leaving soon.

               Loki cleared his throat. “If you would like,” he said, “I could pay you a visit every so often, as we are doing now.”

              What?

              “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you rushed to say, even though the thought of having a regular visitor sent your pulse thrumming.

              “No, but I think I would appreciate the respite. Today has been quite lovely, if I may say so.” He smiled— a genuine smile, not a smirk or a grin—and you felt rather silly for the way your heart seemed to soar. “Of course,” he added quickly, “if you don’t wish for my company, I completely—”

              “No!” The volume of your voice made you cringe. Jeez, he must think you haven’t spoken to anyone in months. “No, I—if you want to come over, then…” For a moment, you fumbled with your words, searching for an eloquent way to accept his offer. “I’d like that,” you finally said, giving up. “I’d like that a lot.”

              He laughed. “In that case, I’ll stop by tomorrow.” When he stood, you stood with him, following him back to your living room where he had left the groceries you hadn’t claimed. “I do need to be going now, though,” he said, scooping up the remaining bags. “The last thing I need is Stark having a fit over my failure to deliver his employees’ groceries on time.”  He nodded at you. “Thank you very much for the coffee.”

              “No problem,” you said. “Thanks for—thanks.”

              He chuckled. “Until tomorrow, my lady.”

              “Until tomorrow.”

              And just like that, he was gone. It was a noiseless disappearance: one moment he was there, the next, you were once again alone with the pouring rain. With a sigh, you made your way back to the couch, scooping up your book off the floor. Once again, however, you found your attention drifting to the water running down the window, the rushing waves of your street outside. Nothing had changed, and yet it seemed so much less frightening than it had an hour before. No, now, it was almost soothing. You had the sudden urge to run out on to your driveway and belt “Singin’ In the Rain.”

              I should’ve done that while Loki was here, you thought sleepily, pressing your cheek to the cushion. He would’ve gotten a kick out of that.

              Maybe you could, if it was still raining tomorrow.

              Tomorrow.

              You dozed off to the peaceful lullaby of the rainfall, smiling softly and thinking of tomorrow.

[springday-aus]

BTS’s Namjoon: Plus Two || part one

—

Fic Piece Written by: Admin Grandma of @springday-aus​

Moodboard Link: Created By Admin Grandpa

Character Pairing: Y/N and BTS’s Kim Namjoon (RM)

Other Characters: BTS [Hoseok, Taehyung, Yoongi (barista!yoongi), Seokjin - others are mentioned briefly], Hyerin (EXID), Suho (EXO OT12), Moonbyul (Mamamoo), Eric Nam, Tiffany (SNSD), Irene (Red Velvet), and Jackson (GOT7) - along with their respective group members, who are involved as planners, partakers, and guests 

Genre: romance, comedy, officer worker!Namjoon, wedding date!au, friends to lovers!au 

Type: series [two parts]

part one || part two

Word Count: approx. 21.6k

Plot Summary: getting older is never easy, especially with all the weddings Namjoon has been attending. Fortunately for him, a run in with an old friend of his, i.e. you, makes all these weddings a bit more bearable. 

⤷ Alternatively: you and Namjoon keep running into each other, ultimately becoming unofficial wedding dates. Once it’s official, a couple of things start to change... such as the old flame that Namjoon thought he put out. 

→ Inspired by: the movie called Plus One—hence the creation of Plus Two!

Warnings: lots of drinking involved and cursing 

A/N: this accidentally became a slow burn fic, considering that I stretched out Namjoon’s pining to 21k words. 

October 25th, 2019

Friday, 10AM 

Lee Corporations

—

The clicks of computer keyboards fill the dead silence of the office floor. Everyone’s buried in their own paperwork and files, concerned about finishing their workload before the work day is over. Namjoon sits in his cubicle, reorganizing his spreadsheets and double checking the numbers. It’s taking longer than he originally wanted, but then again, computer games are designed for distractions. He checks his watch. It’s only been two hours and he’s already bored. Sure, he’s got enough work, but does he really want to do it? 

No, not really. 

He rubs his eyes, which he inwardly hopes might wake him up from this nightmare. Curse him for being practical and choosing to be a business major. Had he chosen a different path, he might have turned out happier—at least, he has a stable paycheck. By the end of the day, that’s all that really matters in this lifetime. 

A chime from his phone interrupts his thoughts on his extinctial crisis. He grabs his phone from his desk counter, as he stands up from his seat. Might as well grab another cup of coffee. He heads to the break room and immediately navigates himself into the corner, where the coffee maker rests. After plugging it in, he unlocks his phone and clicks on the latest notification—an email sent to his personal inbox.

You’re invited to celebrate the union of Seo Hyerin and Yoon Jae Jung! 

Date: November 16th 

Time: 11:15am for the ceremony, 8pm for the reception

Location: Crossroads Cathedral and Sweet Dreams Event Hall 

Please RSVP at XXX-XXX-XXXX or respond to the email! We hope to see you there! 

Huh, he hadn’t heard from Hyerin for a while—last thing he remembered was that she was enjoying her job as a translator and she was in a wonderful relationship, which is now blossoming into marriage. 

Good for her.

He doesn’t mean for it to sound as sarcastic as it does. It is good for her. As one of her close friends (close enough to get her wedding invitation at least), he’s glad she’s able to find someone who wants to share her life with. 

But it’s also a reminder that Namjoon hasn’t managed to do the same. He shuts his eyes and lets out a long sigh. It’s going to be really sad that he’s going to be there without a date of some sort, while others are most likely going to be there with dates. It’ll be nice to catch up with some of his old friends, but it’s also going to be a pain to have all those pity looks and the ‘don’t worry, you’ll find someone soon’ speeches. 

By the time he realizes he’s lost himself within his thoughts once again, the coffee is reheated and his phone screen has turned black. He moves his mug and slowly pours the dark liquid in. Namjoon’s ringtone breaks the silence. The image of Hoseok’s dog, Micky, flashes on his screen with the words, Dancing King. 

“What’s up, man?” Namjoon asks, as he pours a packet of sugar into his cup. 

“Hey! How’s my favorite businessman?” 

“Hoseok, I’m the only businessman you know.” 

“No! Wonsik is also a businessman.” 

“He’s a CEO of his own music company—while there is business associated, he’s still deemed as a musician in my book.” 

There’s a bit of silence and Namjoon can practically see Hoseok’s lips pulling back in disappointment. 

“Same difference,” Hoseok says through the line. “Anyways, did you see the invitation yet?” 

“Yeah, I saw it,” Namjoon says. “I just can’t believe Hyerin is already getting married.” 

“I know. It’s almost like we’re adults or something.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes from Hoseok’s sarcastic comment, even though he can’t see it. “Are you bringing anyone?” 

“It’s too soon to see, but I might try to find a date—it’s just another wedding.” There’s a pause, with some muffled shuffling. “If not though, would you do the honor of being my date?” 

“You know, I might just take you up on that offer.” 

“Bet,” Hoseok says. “Well, the others are starting to come back from break. I’ll talk to you later?” 

“You know where I’ll be.” 

“Only from 9 to 5.” There’s another laugh from him through the phone. “Alright, bye!” 

“Bye.” 

He sets his phone down, staring mindlessly into his coffee as he waits for the sugar to dissolve. 

Well, on the bright side, he has a date to the wedding now. That one task marked off the list. 

November 16th, 2019

Saturday, 9PM 

Hyerin’s Reception 

Sweet Dreams Event Hall 

—

“I’ve known Hyerin for such a long time,” Hani says. “And I have seen so many sides of her. Even today, she continues to reveal new sides of her that are surprising to everyone. She’s smart; she’s classy; she’s fun-loving and she’s cute. Sure, everyone here might know her as the crazy one in this group. But that craziness is part of her charm—which I’m sure Jae Jung has experienced at least once or twice by now.” 

The crowd laughs, as Hani tips her glass towards the couple. She gives another dazzling smile to them and continues. “Nevertheless, that craziness is what’s going to make life more entertaining for you. Some may say marriage doesn’t last, but I know you two will make it work. As one of Hyerin’s closest friends, I wish you two nothing more than a lifetime of happiness from one another. Congratulations, Hyerin and Jae Jung.”

There’s a light applause as Hani, the maid of honor, finishes her speech, which is followed by the taps of the guests’ champagne glasses. Hoseok and Namjoon’s glasses make a clink against the other, before they respectively clink their glasses with the other guests at their table. 

“Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” 

“Cheers.”

After taking a sip, Namjoon turns his attention back to his plate, which is cleared of food. 

“Hey,” he says with a nudge to Hoseok. “When did they say they were gonna cut the cake?” 

“I think they’re gonna cut it after a couple more courses.” 

“I’m so full.” Namjoon lightly pats his stomach. “I knew there was gonna be a lot of food, but I didn’t know it was going to be this much.” 

Hoseok lets out a laugh. “Hyerin’s got a bottomless pit for a stomach—you should have known she was going to have a lot of food.” 

Namjoon laughs with him. “Oh my God. How could I forget the buffet incident?”

Their conversation is interrupted by some feedback from the speakers. The crowd’s attention is turned back to the main table, where Hyerin stands with the microphone in hand and her new husband, Jae Jung, is trying to fix the veil that was caught on the back of her dress. 

“Hello everyone! Thank you so much for coming and joining us for this evening. Also, if we could give another hand to Hani for helping me arrange the whole thing—she really is the best. This night has been the most incredible.” There’s some more applause and, at the end of the main table, Hani stands once more with a smile and bows to the guest tables. 

Hyerin continues to talk once it dies down. “Um, we’re still coming around to the tables to properly greet and thank everyone for their support and gifts. The cake will be cut soon, but we still have two more courses left. Also, the bar remains open, if any adults need some more alcohol.” There’s a light laugh—Hoseok and Namjoon exchange looks of agreement to hit the bar after the meal. 

“And after the cake is cut, everyone is welcome to the dance floor.” She hands the mic to Jae Jung. 

“Hyerin and I will have our first dance and, after that, the party can officially start.” A guy in the back shouts a ‘woo’ and there’s scattered laughter. “Anyways, thank you again for coming in support of Hyerin and I. We hope you have a good time tonight.” 

There’s more applause and the couple resume to make their rounds to each table. The informal conversations begin once again as the guests wait for the next course to be served. Namjoon turns his attention back to Hoseok, who’s already engaged in conversation with a couple of people at the table. 

“So, how do you know the couple?” Minhyuk asks. 

“Ah, Hyerin and I went to the same dance academy,” Hoseok says. “We’ve been friends for, like, 10 years now. We all still talk so…” He gives a light shrug with an eased smile. 

Minhyuk looks over at Namjoon unexpectedly, who freezes for a bit from the eye contact, before answering. “Oh, I met Hyerin through Hoseok actually,” he says. “We had a couple of classes together and were in a couple of study groups together in college and…” He pauses. “Here we are. How do you know her?” 

“I was friends with her back in high school,” Minhyuk says. “A lot of people thought we were dating, so it’s a whole inside joke between us—especially since I got invited to her wedding.” 

“That’s funny,” Namjoon says. “But, wow. You kept in contact after high school?” 

“Yeah, thanks to the creation of cell phones and, as you already know.” He pauses. “Hyerin is very sociable, so it’d be hard to not keep contact.” 

“Speaking of which,” Hoseok says. “There’s a lot of people here. Their guest list is huge.” 

“I have a feeling there’s more of Hyerin’s friends than Jae Jung,” Namjoon says with a small laugh. 

“I’d place my bet on that,” Minhyuk says. His attention is diverted towards the servers that were coming out to serve the fifth course, making more conversation with the others at the table. 

“That’s a safe bet,” Hoseok says to Namjoon. “I’ve seen nearly everyone from dance camp.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” Hoseok takes another look around. “I saw Hyemi as we were coming in and Sanghyuk is just a couple of tables away.” He pokes his head up, sitting up straighter to get a more clear look around. “I should catch up with him in a bit.” 

“Maybe you two can meet on the dance floor,” Namjoon says with a laugh. “That’d be an interesting scene.” 

“Well, there is an open bar.” 

Namjoon can only give Hoseok a warning look, to which he gets a mischievous one in return. He can only sigh in response, but he can’t help to chuckle. He’s known Hoseok for so long that he knows he can’t stop one of his shenanigans. 

He resumes his attention back to his plate, where a small scoop of brightly colored sorbet sits in a little bowl. 

“It’s cute,” Hoseok says. “We get ice cream before the cake.” He does a little dance with his shoulders, beaming with his pearly whites. 

“First of all,” Namjoon says. “I think you’ve had enough sugar. I’m afraid of what’ll happen once the alcohol starts to take effect as well. Secondly, it’s sorbet and it’s supposed to refresh your palate.” 

“Ah, Namjoon,” Hyerin says. “Smart as always.” The entire table centers their focus on the newlyweds, who’ve approached them from behind. Light cheers erupt from the other guests and Namjoon gives her a big, toothy grin. 

“I was just wondering when you two were gonna get to our table,” Il Woo says from across the table. 

Hyerin laughs. “I’m trying my best to get to all the tables, but, in hindsight, we do have too many friends.” 

“To be honest,” Jae Jung says. “We had to cut down the list, like, twice.” 

“Finding a venue to fit everyone was easier than cutting down the list. Who knew?” Hyerin makes a face, which Hoseok responds to with one of his. The two start to go around the table, individually catching up with others and filling the guest’s glasses as they chat—eventually getting to Hoseok and Namjoon. 

“Are you two finally dating?” Hyerin teases.

“As much as I like Hoseok,” Namjoon says. “Seokjin is more of my type.” He looks over at Hoseok, who pouts. 

Hoseok turns away with bitterness. “That’s fine, I like Yoongi better anyways.” 

“It’s nice to see that you two haven’t changed,” Hyerin says. “Thank you for coming—the both of you.” 

“It’s no problem,” Hoseok says. “We’re your friends.” 

“We’re here to support you.” Namjoon says. 

“You two are just as sweet as I remember,” she says with a bright smile. She taps her glass with theirs. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” 

Hoseok and Namjoon take their respective sips, while Hyerin drowns hers down. 

“Damn,” Hoseok says. “Your tolerance hasn’t changed since college.” 

“We’ll see with how tonight goes,” Hyerin says. “I think the others’ have lowered, so watch out when they all head to the bar.” 

“You mean like now?” Namjoon asks. 

“What?”

Namjoon points a finger towards the wall where glass shelves hold many colorful bottles of wine, liquor, and juices to mix with the alcohol. A bartender mixes the drinks to the best of her abilities to fill the four glasses set on the counter. Hyerin’s bridesmaids lean on the countertop, shouting “shots” repeatedly. 

“Oh dear God,” Hyerin says. She shuffles with her dress, grabbing as much of it as she can, and attempts to run over towards them. “Y’all!! Couldn’t you have waited until the elders left!?! Wait for me!” 

Jae Jung hurriedly follows after her. “Honey! Be careful with the dress, you could trip!” 

After they ran off, Hoseok and Namjoon could no longer hold in their laughter. 

“That’s one way to exit a conversation,” Namjoon says with another sip of his champagne. “They really haven’t changed since college.” He lets out another laugh. “Who else do you think is here?” 

“Honestly, knowing Hyerin,” Hoseok says. “I have no clue.” 

They get back to their plates and converse with the others at the table. Hyerin has made many friends after graduating, Namjoon notes. Then again, she’s always been very friendly with others, which is how Namjoon was able to easily get along with her. 

As the conversations go, the last course, along with the cake, is served and the dance floor is officially open. Once 10pm hit, Hyerin and Jae Jung led their first dance. Everyone slowly started to join in and then the songs were transitioning to a faster pace, in which the elderly started to take their leave. Good timing too because the alcohol started to set in and no one had any resistance left. 

Hoseok has officially abandoned Namjoon to steal the leftover party favors on empty tables (at this point, he’s openly stealing rather than sneaking them into his pockets). Namjoon remains at the, now, empty table and empty plate—observing the other guests who have made a home for themselves on the dance floor. 

Hyojin’s alcohol tolerance is officially met as she twerks on the dance floor. Hyerin and Hoseok’s dance friends, Hyemi and Sanghyuk, have officially engaged in a full-fledged dance battle. Meanwhile, one of the bridesmaids, Solji, has another, Junghwa, on one arm to pull her away from any physical object she could flirt with (to which Namjoon has been a victim) and, in the other arm, she holds a svedka bottle that’s already half empty. In another corner, from Namjoon’s table, Minhyuk has helped himself to the rest of the uncut cake with a serving spoon. 

Amidst the chaos, Namjoon stays at the table, taking in the atmosphere with the disco lights and fast-paced radio hip-hop songs. He nods along with the music, mouthing along with the lyrics. As much as he would love to join the others, he knows he would most likely break something of his, or someone else’s. 

He checks his watch and glances around, wondering as to how far Hoseok had gotten with the party favors. Just as he was about to start his search, Rihanna’s Umbrella starts to play and that’s when he hears Hoseok before he can see him. 

“BITCH! THIS IS MY JAM!” 

Namjoon has to close his eyes from embarrassment of being his date, but then something saves him. 

“BITCH, ME TOO. MOVE!” 

“HANNA AND (Y/N) IN THE BUILDING, EH EH EH.” 

Well, nevermind. 

The crowd parts like the red sea, allowing Hoseok and two familiar looking figures to meet in the middle—each person nodding along to the melody and waving their arms in the air. As if it was a karaoke meet, everyone sings aloud, along to the music. 

“You have my heart. And we’ll never be worlds apart. Maybe in magazines… but you’ll still be my star…” 

 Namjoon smiles at the sight. Hoseok and Hanna are doing their own thing, ignoring the little bags that fall out from Hoseok’s pockets that were, technically, stolen from the other tables. You blend into the crowd, swaying to the melody with Hani on one arm. 

“Because~ When the sun shines, we shine together. Told you I’ll be here forever. Said I’ll always be your friend. Took an oath, Imma stick it out to the end. Now that it's raining more than ever, know that we’ll have each other. You can stand under my umbrella… You can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh…”

Namjoon makes eye contact with you. Your eyes widen, surprised from seeing him. With your free arm, you wave him over—to which he can only shake his head, passing up the opportunity of embarrassing himself in front of his old college friends. 

You pull yourself away from the crowd and head towards his direction, eventually taking the empty seat next to him. Without a word, you reach over and grab a champagne glass from the other side, drowning it down in one shot. 

“Ahh,” you breathe out. You point to his glass and the remaining alcohol that glistens from the disco lights. Without another word, Namjoon hands it over to you. He can only watch, as you drown down that glass as well. 

“Well,” he says. “It’s nice to see you too, (Y/N).” 

“Sorry,” you say. “That glass looked too appealing.” 

He lets out another light laugh with a shake of his head. “Seriously though, it’s nice to see you.” 

You hum. “How long has it been? Couple of years?” 

“Yeah, it’s been a bit of time,” Namjoon says. “Glad to see you haven’t changed too much.”

“Glad to see you haven’t either.” You pause, looking back at his, now empty, glass. “Still have a low tolerance?” 

“You already know the answer to that, so why bother asking?” 

“Just ‘cause it’s fun to hear you admit you’re a little baby when it comes to drinking.”

“Ugh, this is just because you were able to build a tolerance from all that bar hopping.” 

“We both did that bar hop.” You scan him with a glint in your eyes. “Something clearly went something wrong.” 

You both laugh. With another nudge towards him, you speak up again. “How’ve you been? Still working at the office?” 

“Yeah, I’m officially a manager.” He rubs the back of his neck. 

“You still making music?” 

“Every now and then,” he says. “Whenever I get the time, I do.” 

You let out a little laugh, grabbing another glass of champagne. “I remember all those tracks you made. Shame that your mixtape never released.” 

“Oh my God.” Namjoon has to close his eyes. “Please never bring that up again.” 

“Why not? They were great.” You take a sip of the glass. “I still have your Soundcloud page bookmarked.” 

Namjoon rubs his face with his face becoming more and more flushed, but he can’t hide his growing smile. “Oh my God, (Y/N).” 

You give him another teasing one in return. “Remember when you used to try to promote yourself on the quad—” 

“Oh my God, (Y/N)—”

You let out another laugh from his red face. Namjoon shuffles his feet and his eyes dart around, trying to find a drink for his, suddenly, dry throat. As if you read his mind, you tip your glass towards him—offering him the rest of your drink. He takes it and takes a small sip, clearing his throat afterwards.

“Anyways,” Namjoon says. “What have you been up to?” 

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old.” You pause. “You act like you didn’t like my Instagram post two nights ago. You also DM me memes, dude.” 

“Yeah, but that’s different from actually talking to you and catching up.” Namjoon rests a hand on his chest, in mock-hurt. “I’ve been sending those since college and you still don’t appreciate them?”

You roll your eyes but it’s with no malice. “For your information, more is not less. Less is less.”

“Is this your way of telling me to lessen the meme content in our messaging?” 

“Yes.” 

“Damn, that’s harsh.” 

You let out another laugh as he pouts in his seat. “Sorry, Joonie.” 

Your conversation is interrupted, as Hyemi shouts your name from across the room. “(Y/N)! I’M PUTTING ON BRITTNEY, BITCH.” 

“AYY!” You immediately get up from your seat, dancing your way over back to the dance floor. As Hyemi pulls you away, you look back towards Namjoon and give him a little finger wave. “I’ll see you sometime, okay?” 

He smiles back with a small nod, just quick enough for you to see, before you get pulled into the crowd once again. 

December 3nd, 2019

Tuesday, 6PM 

Shoreside Condos

—

Another chime comes from Namjoon’s email. He continuously types, re-organizing and triple checking the calculations of his spreadsheets. 

He sits on the couch with multiple sheets of paper which lay on the unoccupied space of the table and couch, in some type of clean mess. In the background, his flat screen plays a film from some movie channel that he stopped paying attention to a while ago. His only company, Rapmon, lays on the carpet near Namjoon’s feet—practically blending himself into the white, soft texture. The keyboard clicks continue for a couple more minutes, before he decides to check his email. 

Hello Mr. Kim, 

How are you this evening? I am sending this email to let you know there are some adjustments that need to be made to the reports. Below, I have some attachments for you to check. 

Please let me know once they are completed. Have a good evening. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. 

Sincerely, 

Bang Sihyuk 

-- 

Head Manager of the Big Hit Management Team 

Lee Corporations 

Namjoon lets out a sigh. Guess it’s more work for him. Jokes on Bang though—he didn’t give him a deadline. Loopholes are a wonderful thing. 

He shuffles with the papers on the table, trying to find the remote. Once it’s spotted, he lowers the volume. He looks at the overall mess, ultimately deciding it’s better to clean it up, somewhat. As he pushes some of them back into their manila folders, he hears a whine. 

With a scratch behind Rapmon’s ears, Namjoon gives him a little kiss. “You hungry, baby?” Namjoon gives a small smile, as Rapmon pants. “I’ll get some food for my good boy.” 

He lifts himself from the sofa, already abandoning his clean-up attempt. Rapmon bounces alongside with him and they head into the kitchen area. Opening one of the lower cabinets, he easily pulls out the dog food and puts it into the doggy bowl.

Leaning on the countertop, he looks down adoringly at his pupper. “I should probably get something to eat too.” He pats his stomach. “It’s been empty.” 

He pushes himself off and shuffles over to the refrigerator. However, a white card, decorated with lace, catches his attention. He sighs, plucking the card off the refrigerator magnet. 

Join us for the union of Minyoung and Junmyeon! 

January 11th, 2020 @ 5PM

Location: Sowon Temple 

—

Black tie dress. 

Reception to follow! 

See you there! 

Namjoon lets out another sigh, but from the migraine that formed. He’s gonna have to text Taehyung—maybe they can go wedding gift shopping together. Considering how much Taehyung spends, Namjoon is sure to balance out that…. Taehyung-ness. 

He grabs out his phone, sliding it open to his messages. 

Namjoon: yo, did you get a present for Junmyeon yet? 

The reply is nearly instant and comes all at once. 

Tata: oh shit 

Tata: i forgot 

Tata: shall we go shopping soon ? 

Namjoon: you read my mind 

Tata: it’s like we’re soulmates 

Tata: :) 

Namjoon: …. okay 

Tata: i love you :*

Namjoon: and you have now made it weird 

Namjoon: but ily too 

Tata: i’m screenshotting this for the groupchat

Namjoon: and goodbye

He shakes his head, silently laughing at Taehyung’s responses. He’ll make those plans later, once he’s got some more time. It’ll be fun to spend some more time with Tae. It’s been a couple of weeks since they’d hung out. While their time at the ice rink was fun, they spent more time struggling than skating together (well, at least Taehyung was the one struggling). 

But, right now, he’s got more work dumped on him. And he’s hungry. 

Rapmon looks up at him as Namjoon looks down at him. “Don’t look at me like that.” Namjoon opens the fridge without breaking eye contact. “This is for me. You got your bowl, buddy.”

January 11th, 2020 

Saturday, 7PM 

Junmyeon’s Reception 

Enchanted Evenings Restaurant 

—

“Although I am the oldest of our group,” Minseok says. “Junmyeon has taken care of me ever since I became friends with him. I’m sure that everyone in this room, who knows Junmyeon, knows that he has this thing where he cares more for others rather than himself. He’s the mother figure that everyone wants in their lives and we were lucky enough to have him as ours. But now, he’ll finally have someone to care for him this time around, for the rest of his life.” 

He turns to the main table and raises his glass. “I would like to dedicate this toast to Mi Young, on behalf of the exo boys. Thank you for putting up with all of us.” The crowd chuckles. “ And congratulations to the both of you, for finding someone who will faithfully look after you no matter what. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.” 

Everyone respectfully clicks their glasses together, taking a sip and going back to their meals and their own little conversations. Namjoon looks up from his glass, seeing Taehyung across the table—chatting away with the other guests. Tae fits well with the others, despite looking out of place in his patterned suit (“It’s Gucci. I have taste,” Taehyung said, when he was picking up Namjoon).

Namjoon glances to the right… where you are seated. You happily drown your glass down, letting out an exhale from the refresher. 

You turn to him. “Do you think I’m allowed to drink more?” you ask. 

“(Y/N),” Namjoon says. “I think it’s better for everyone if you didn’t drink more.” 

You pout. 

Namjoon tries not to stare. 

“You, my friend,” you say with a point of your finger, poking his chest. “Need to loosen up.” You shake your empty glass at him. “What better way than with alcohol?” 

“Have you become an alcoholic? Is that what this is?” 

“Haha, oh so funny as always, Joonie.” 

“You know I try,” he says with a grin. 

He sets down the glass, turning his attention back to his plate—on it lies a pile of chopped lobster topped with little scraps of gold, which is paired with fresh caviar and foie gras sauce on the side. Everything looks so good that it practically glistens in the chandelier light coming from above the table. 

While there are many guests, the venue is actually very spacious. Each table has a good amount of space that the chairs don’t bump into one another when pushed out. And yet, there’s still a large amount of space dedicated to a multicolored dance floor (which has Baekhyun and Jongin written all over it, Namjoon notes). 

Even without the tables, anyone could tell it’s decorated tastefully. Above each table, there’s various lights that provide a nice atmosphere for the guests. The ceiling itself is painted plain white, but if anyone looks close enough there’s little specks of gold that shine against the light. In contrast to the ceiling, the walls were covered with wallpaper. The wallpaper is also white with gold accents, but there are also pearls that popped out of the walls—quite literally popped out. The kids who came with their parents have been feeling up the wall for the past hour or two. 

Namjoon knew the wedding would be boujee, since it is Junmyeon’s, but he’d almost forgotten about how loaded Junmyeon’s family actually is. 

“Who knew my most expensive meal would come from a wedding?” Go Eun says, from your other side. You let out a laugh. “It’s the Kim family, what more did you expect?” 

“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe something corny.” 

“Honey, we’re past corny when we walked through those balloon arches.” 

Go Eun blinks, slowly nodding along as she comes to the realization. “Ah, I guess I never got over the whole senior-junior view I had of him in school.” 

“He’s got that vibe; he seems like a chill mentor.” 

“But realistically speaking,” Namjoon pitches in. “We know that’s far from the truth.”

“Considering how he dances to any Sistar song like (Y/N) to Hit Me Baby One More Time,” Go Eun pauses. “I think all of the guests here know that.” 

“Damn,” you say. “You really had to attack me like that, huh?” 

She gives you an innocent smile that feels not-so-innocent. “Hyerin’s reception videos circulated. What else was I supposed to do with their information?” 

You give her a teasing one in return, before returning to your plate once more. 

There’s a moment of silence at the table as everyone is starting to dive into their meals, except for the silverware that taps the plates and bowls. As the plates start to get cleared, the chatter picks up once more—especially as the newlywed couple makes their way around with Junmyeon holding the train of Minyoung’s dress. Taehyung stirs up the commotion as he sees them making their way over. 

“Here comes the lucky couple!” 

From the sudden, informal announcement, everyone cheers with their glasses—both empty and full—for the newlyweds. 

Junmyeon tucks a strand of Minyoung’s hair back with one hand and, with the other, he holds a glass filled with champagne that’s already lost its bubbles. “Thank you for coming, everyone. We really appreciate your presence here.” 

“It’s no problem,” Namjoon says. “We’re glad to be here.”

“We hope you like our presents!” Taehyung practically yells. “If you don’t, then deal with it because we lost the receipts.” He gives them one of his boxy smiles. 

Everyone gives a light-hearted laugh at Junmyeon’s face. 

“Is everyone okay?” Minyoung asks. She stands behind you and Namjoon, laying a hand on your shoulder. “Is the food good?” 

“Minyoung, this one plate is about the equivalent of my first year tuition,” Yeri says, looking at her. “The food is more than just good.” 

“Don’t worry,” you say, giving Minyoung’s hand a pat. “Everything is great.” 

She lets out an exhale. “I was just a bit concerned because Junmyeon decided the meals without me.” 

“Honey,” Junmyeon says. “The meals turned out great. (Y/N) agrees.” He turns to the rest of the table. “You guys are going to love the dessert.” 

“What’s for dessert?” Yunho asks, from one side of the table. 

“It’s a Golden Opulence Sundae,” Junmyeon says with a beam. 

“It’s got edible diamonds and a sugar forged orchid,” Namjoon whispers to you. “It was super trendy a couple of years ago, but it doesn’t mean the price went down.” 

Your eyes widen. “Goddamn,” you mouth to him. 

“Yeah, he went a bit overboard,” Namjoon says. 

Junmyeon pouts at Namjoon’s words and Minyoung pinches his cheek. Minho makes a gagging noise and Yunho has to hit him to get him to stop. 

“Anyways,” Minyoung says, pouring another glass for you and Namjoon. “Let’s enjoy the evening with a drink—cheers.” 

“Cheers.” 

“Cheers.” 

Around the table, everyone respectively tap their glasses against one another—Namjoon with you and Minho, you with Namjoon and Go Eun. 

“We would love to stay, but we need to get to the other guests,” Junmyeon says. 

“But,” Minyoung says. “Stay as long as you would like. Desert is coming and the cake will be cut soon after. So, please enjoy yourselves—at the table, on the dance floor, the pool out back—” 

“There’s a pool?” Heechul asks from the other side of the table. 

“Yeah, the doors will officially be open after thirty minutes or so,” Minyoung says. “Anyways, mingle and have fun. We’ll be around.”

“Enjoy yourselves, okay?” Junmyeon says with another smile. With his hand on her lower back, he guides her towards the other table behind yours. 

“They’re so cute,” you say with a pout. “I’m glad to see Minyoung with someone good for her.” 

“Same,” Namjoon says. “I haven’t seen Junmyeon this happy since…” He tries to think. 

“Since Sehun paid that one time for dinner?” 

Namjoon’s eyes light up. “Yeah!” He takes another sip of his glass. “I almost forgot about that.” 

“I couldn’t,” you say. “You don’t ever forget it if Sehun pulls out his wallet for you.” 

“Yeah, he only pulls out his wallet for Vivi,” Namjoon notes. “Big mood though.” 

You laugh. 

Everyone gets back to their plates, which now has the dessert and the reception goes on. The conversation flows, between all the guests—at their assigned tables, along with the other tables. Siwon visited Namjoon’s table on many occasions, just because of Yunho and Minho’s seats. Although, Namjoon will admit that their conversations are very impressive (many topics related around politics and social injustices in modern society, which was very impressive to be honest). 

The time continues to pass, but it’s hard to tell with all the conversation going on. While Namjoon is more introverted, he has been very engaged in many conversations with others—especially with you. It had only been about a year or two since you two had actually talked, caught up and all that good stuff. 

You two originally met in college, in one of your classes together—after all, the study group that suffers together, stays together. While Namjoon majored in business, you had actually studied what you wanted. Your drive and extrovertedness balanced with Namjoon’s realism and introvertedness, which created, what you believe to be, an iconic duo on campus (at least with your friends). 

While it is inevitable for people to lose touch after college, you were easily able to keep the connections. With the help of social media, you reached out and managed to keep contact with your close knit group of friends—including Namjoon and many others from college (and probably high school). 

Unfortunately for Namjoon, this also means reminders of the uni days—both good and bad (as previously mentioned: the mixtape promos on the quad)... 

“Expensive Girl was a fucking bop and you know it,” you say, scooping another spoonful of your ice cream. “What did you do with all of those CDs anyways?” 

Namjoon groans, wiping his face as if it’ll get rid of the embarrassment from the olden days. “Honestly, they’re probably in a box somewhere and collecting dust.” 

“Come on,” you say. “You have to admit that those songs were actually really impressive.” You smile at him. “You were really creative. What happened?” 

He sighs, setting down his, now empty, wine glass. “Nothing happened, (Y/N).” He pauses. “Real life just got into the way and… next thing I knew, I stopped making songs.” 

The look in your eyes softens. “Namjoon, you’re one of the most creative people I know,” you say. You lay a hand on his that rests on the table. 

His eyes land on yours. You continue. “You should do what you enjoy, while balancing out the realistic picture.” Your other hand pokes his chest once more. “You, of all people, should know that. Remember what happened sophomore year?” 

Ah, sophomore year. From what Namjoon remembers, you originally came into college undecided. It wasn’t until the beginning of sophomore year that you figured out what you wanted to do. (“Seeing you so driven about your music makes me more driven towards what I want to do,” you said to him. “Even if I suffer to the destination, my happiness afterwards is the most important to me and my future.”)  

Namjoon sighs once more, but it’s more of frustration towards himself rather than exhaustion. He can only say one thing. “Being an adult is hard.” 

You laugh at his statement—your hand unmoving from his, another thing Namjoon tries not to focus on, but he can’t because of the warmth of your hand. Yes, while the two of you are friends, if he said he never had non-platonic feelings for you would definitely be a lie. 

The tap of the mic interrupts his thoughts and the conversations start to simmer down once more. In the front, Junmyeon and Minyoung stand side by side. Minyoung is in a different wedding dress but it’s been shortened and paired with some white flats. Junmyeon’s jacket has been removed and his tie is loosened. 

“Hello?” Minyoung says. “Can everyone hear me?” Her smile grows, as she meets everyone’s eyes and nods. “While people have been able to enter the pool area, it’s officially been thirty minutes since dessert was served.”

“With that,” Junmyeon says. “The pool is officially open, along with the dance floor. We’re allowing song requests, along with karaoke mics. So, go wild.” 

“YEAH!” Chanyeol, Baekhyun and Jongdae simultaneously shout. 

Junmyeon immediately retracts his statement. “Not too wild!” Despite that warning, everyone knows it’s already too late. 

Jongin, Taemin, and Ten are the first ones to enter the dance floor as the music starts. Everyone easily joins in to circle around them and chaos starts to ensue, making space for the elderly to start to leave. As the other guests start to migrate towards the colorful tiles on the dance floor, the younger ones are more on the antisocial side—Yeri joins the table with Mark, Renjun, and her other university friends that were invited as well (considering that most of them can’t legally drink). Meanwhile, Yunho, Minho and Siwon continue their political conversations in another corner as their glasses are consistently refilled by the servers. 

At some point, Sehun simply puts on his sunglasses and holds a bright yellow floatie in one arm (“Sehun, we’re indoors,” Luhan says. “Your point?” he retorts). He walks past your table, saying something about how he needed the hot tub and a bottle of bubbly after this chaotic week—although, the nearly empty strawberry flavored vodka in his hand said a lot more about his lack of current sobriety. 

Meanwhile, you were long gone to the dance floor, being pulled in by Yuri and Hyoyeon. Go Eun was right; something just flips when Hit Me Baby One More Time plays. Namjoon remains at the table, watching the others continuously mingle and dance, as he engages in conversation with Jaebum and Taehyung. 

“You two came together?” Jaebum asks. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “We went shopping together for Suho’s gift and he had no choice because he can’t drive,” Taehyung jabs a thumb towards Namjoon, who’s jaw drops. 

The audacity. 

“I suddenly miss Hoseok as my date,” Namjoon says. 

“It’s nice you all kept in touch,” Jaebum says, ignoring Namjoon’s pettiness. “It’s hard to do that nowadays.” 

“It really is,” Namjoon responds. 

Jaebum and Taehyung nod alongside him in response. At this moment, Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Jongdae are walking past them with black buckets to which splashes could be heard with each movement. 

“Hey guys!” Taehyung calls. 

Baekhyun turns towards the table and the three make their way to Namjoon and them. “Hey, Tae! Long time no see,” he says. “Nice to see you two again, thanks for coming,” Baekhyun says to Namjoon and Jaebum. “Did anyone wanna come to the pool?” 

Namjoon and Jaebum shake their heads. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” Namjoon says. 

“Same,” Jaebum says. “I forgot about it.” 

“Okay, good,” Chanyeol says. “Because you won’t want to swim in it later.” 

“What?” Jaebum asks. 

“We’re dying it pink,” Jongdae says. Their eyebrows raise in curiosity, but no one dares to ask. “Although, I think Kyungsoo has been catching on.” Jongdae’s eyes dart around, trying to catch sight of the short, but frightening man. 

“I’m sorry,” Jaebum says. “Not to be that guy, but, where’s your wife?” 

“She passed on the wedding invitation, so she’s at home with our daughter,” Jongdae says. His head tilts to the side and his eyes narrow. “Why?” 

“Just trying to understand why you left the house without your impulse control,” Jaebum responds with a smile. 

Jongdae pouts, but it’s ignored. 

“Wanna join?” Baekhyun asks. He has an innocent smile on, but his eyes are full of mischievousness. 

“I'll pass,” Namjon says with a raised hand. “But thanks for the offer.” 

“Same,” Jaebum says. “I don’t plan on messing with Kyungsoo.” 

“I’ll go with,” Taehyung says. “It’ll be interesting to see how all of this’ll unfold.” 

He waves the other two goodbye and points to Namjoon. “Text me if you want to leave early, but I’ll be at the pool, okay?” 

Namjoon nods. “Please be careful.” 

“Always!” 

Jaebum waits until they’re an earshot away. “I have a bad feeling about this.” 

Namjoon can only shrug. “But can you stop them?” 

“You got a point there.” 

From the other side of the venue, there’s a crash, followed by a splash, coming from the pool area and a yell louder than the music (which could only be Kyungsoo). 

“YOU BRATS!”

“Well,” Namjoon says. “They lasted longer than I thought.” 

Jaebum checks his watch. “Two minutes?” 

“Exactly.” 

No one is really sure of what happened with the dye (except for those who were actually in the pool). But it’s hard to concentrate on that when, out of the pool area, Jinki and Kibum emerge from the door with pool noodles, attacking one another with them with unnatural, pink frosted tips. Kyuhyun and Johnny are attempting to separate them, but are seemingly failing to do so. Jinki’s pool noodle hits Johnny, knocking him into a vase—luckily, he manages to catch it before it falls. 

… That is until Ten knocks into him as he shakes his ass along to Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie. 

“Oof,” Jaebum says. “That’s… that’s rough, bro.” 

“Hopefully, no one notices?” 

“Hopefully.” 

Another server comes around, silently filling their glasses once more. 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you.” 

They clink their glasses together in a silent toast and take a sip. Jaebum sighs, leaning back to his (well, your) seat. He takes another glance at the dance floor, spotting Heechul and Momo dancing their asses off. You would think that as dates they would be dancing together, but it looks more like they’re competing. Eventually, he spots you with some of the others. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t come here with (Y/N),” he says. 

Namjoon’s eyebrows raise. “What? What’d you mean?”

“I just mean..” He pauses. “It’s not bad that you two are friends,” he starts. “But, I was betting you two would be together… or, at least, in college.” 

Namjoon doesn’t know what to say, but Jaebum continues. “You two just had a lot of chemistry, and still do!” He pauses. “Not a lot of people can say that.” 

He nods. “Yeah, you’re right.” Namjoon looks out, easily spotting you from the crowd. It’s hard not to notice you as you twirl and dance around with some other guests—especially since someone managed to get you into a duck floatie. 

“I think it’s (Y/N) though,” he continues to say. “(Y/N)’s just sociable and… that outgoingness just makes people surround (Y/N).” 

“Is that what led you to (Y/N)?” 

From Jaebum’s question, Namjoon’s lips automatically pursed. “I-I guess it is.” 

Before Jaebum could say anything else, Give It To Me by Sistar starts to play and there’s a shout. 

“YES!” 

Before anyone could stop him, Junmyeon shimmies his way past the guests and towards the center—loudly singing along and doing all the dance moves. 

Without either one of the boys noticing, Minyoung stands behind them with another champagne flute that’s half empty. 

“Why hello, Mrs. Kim,” Jaebum says, looking rather cheeky. 

“Hello boys.” 

“So, Mrs. Kim,” Namjoon says. “What are you going to do about that?” he asks, pointing to the monstrosity that’s happening underneath the multi-colored disco ball.

“Uh, I don’t know,” she says. She swirls her glass and drowns it down. “Because I suddenly don’t know him anymore.” 

They laugh. 

“Well, that’s your husband now,” Namjoon says. “That’s all on you.” With those words, he tilts his glass towards his mouth, emptying it out once more for the night. 

January 27th, 2020 

Monday, 8AM 

The Roasted Bean

—

The sound of chatter and the smell of coffee fill the air as Namjoon steps into the familiar coffee shop. While some of his fellow co-workers sit at separate tables, typing away on their laptops and drinking from their espresso cups, they all collectively ignore his presence—too preoccupied with their own matters. His body automatically places himself in line; his head poking up every once in a while to get a glance of Yoongi behind the counter. 

Since it is early and they are located in the business district of the city, Namjoon expected for the line to be fairly long. As the time continues to pass, Namjoon quietly hums along to the songs that play on the morning radio, occasionally nodding along with the beat. He gets closer and closer, eventually giving a smile at the frowning barista. 

“How are you doing that?” Yoongi asks. “It’s, like, dawn.” 

“It’s eight in the morning,” Namjoon points out. “Not exactly dawn.” 

He brushes the comment off. “You’re here earlier than usual. What happened to 9 to 5, Dolly Parton?” 

“Nothing really,” he says with a shrug. “I just have some extra work to do and I should be able to leave an hour earlier.” 

Yoongi makes a face with nothing short of disgust. “I still don’t understand how you’re able to just go to work like that.” 

“You’re at work though.” 

“Okay, but here, I get free coffee.” 

“Isn’t that stealing?” 

“Not if I mess up,” he says with a wink. “Speaking of messing up orders, how can I mess up yours?” 

“The usual is fine,” Namjoon says. “Thanks, Yoongi.” He gets a grunt in response, so he takes that as his cue to head over to the side where the stirrers, creamers, and sugar lay. As he absentmindedly fiddles with the sugar packets, he goes back to humming along with the songs. 

A tap on his shoulder interrupts his thoughts. A familiar grin greets him. 

“I thought that was you,” you say. 

His smile mirrors yours. “Hey, (Y/N). I almost didn’t recognize you in the daylight.” 

“And I almost didn’t recognize you without alcohol in my system.” 

Namjoon laughs. “What are you doing here?” 

“You’re asking me what I’m doing in a coffee shop?” 

He gives you a look. “You know what I mean.” 

You let out a laugh of your own. “Well, I just was visiting my friend, who works down the street, and I heard this place has the best coffee.” 

His eyebrows raise. “Well, consider me pleasantly surprised.” 

“Thanks?” You let out another laugh, smiling as you move yourself towards him, along with the sugars and creamers. 

You both end up fiddling with the little packets, nodding along to the music together silently. Namjoon glances towards you, eventually nudging you to get your attention again. You hum in response. 

“You still prefer the french vanilla creamer?” 

“Yes, sir,” you say. You pluck it from his hands with a twinkling look in your eyes. 

He glances over again, catching your eye. He lets out an awkward chuckle. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you sing. “I just can’t believe you still remembered that.” 

“Considering how we spent most of our college years over-caffeinated,” he says. “It’s safe to say I remember it.” 

“Over-caffeinated?” You think for a moment. “Sounds about right.” You pause for a moment. “Oh!” 

Namjoon slightly jumps from your random shout, which you do apologize for. 

“Sorry.” You put a hand on his arm with a not-so-innocent smile. “I just remembered: are you going to Moonbyul’s wedding?” 

He thinks. It had been a while since he received the invitation, but he definitely remembers getting it. “Yeah,” he says, after a moment. “Yeah, Jin and I are planning on going together.” 

“Still can’t drive?” you ask with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. 

“You know what,” he says. “I can’t and there’s no problem with me not having a license.” 

“I didn’t say there was.” You sniffle your laughter, as he pouts. 

“Don’t license-shame me.” 

“Not a thing, Joonie.” 

Before he can reply, he’s interrupted by Yoongi, who calls for him. 

“Namjoon!” 

You give him another smile, before heading back to the line. “I have to get back in the line. I’ll see ya. Thanks for the creamer.” 

Before he heads back to the main counter, he gives you a little nod.

He tries to ignore Yoongi’s cheeky grin. “Don’t say anything.” 

“Okay,” Yoongi says. “I’ll ask instead. Who was that and why do you look all slap-happy?” 

Ah, semantics. They were going to get him some day. Namjoon sighs. “That was (Y/N).” 

“From college (Y/N)?” 

“College (Y/N).” 

“Ahhhh.” He smirks. 

“Can you not?” Namjoon groans.

“Didn’t you tell me you used to have a crush on (Y/N)?” 

“Can we not?” 

“Not what?” 

“Elaborate.” 

“Oh, okay. So,” Yoongi starts. “From your exact words: (Y/N) is technically your first love, but you never confessed out of fear—of both ruining your friendship and also rejection, which is only natural. You thought you had a chance at graduation, where you knew the ties could or could not be severed. And yet…. you still didn’t confess and, now that you’ve run into your old flame…” His eyebrows raise in question. “How are things, ‘Joonie’?” 

Namjoon’s eyes narrow at him in speculation. “You remembered those details rather vividly.” 

Yoongi shrugs. “My therapist says I have good listening skills.” 

“You really have an answer for everything,” Namjoon mutters. 

“And yet, I’m the one who’s a high school dropout.” 

For once, Namjoon blanks, before deciding to change the subject. “I thought you said my order is ready.” 

“It is.” Yoongi sets the large cup onto the counter and gives a bright smile that is filled with sarcasm. “Bone apple tea.” 

“Thanks?” 

“It’s lingo,” he says. “Keep up with the times, man. You’re younger than me.” 

Namjoon groans, but he can’t suppress his grin. “Have fun with the morning rush. I’ll see you later, man.” 

“See ya.” 

On his way out, he gives you another wave goodbye, to which you wave back.

As he officially leaves the cafe shop, he makes his way back to the office. While his mornings are rather shitty, Yoongi does tend to make them brighter—but seeing you, on top of that, might have given him more energy than the coffee does.

February 14th, 2020

Friday, 8:30PM 

Moonbyul’s Reception

Celebration Ceremonies Wedding Hall 

—

“I think we can all agree that Moonbyul has a stronger image,” Hyejin says. “Despite the more masculine stereotype she’s categorized in, Moonbyul is a very loving, sweet, and tender person.” She pauses. “Although, Heewon probably already knows this.” 

She turns to the rest of the guests. “People say that love is supposed to make you feel nervous—your heart will pound and the anxiety will make you sweat. But, I think, love means sharing yourself with another person and you’re willing to work together to build that life with one another. Byul is someone you can share anything with—she makes everything feel more comfortable. Rather than making you nervous, she makes you feel at ease.” 

She pauses. “Heewon, you’re very lucky to have someone so dedicated and hardworking by your side. And, while I may not have known you for very long, I know you’ll take great care of her. Congrats to the MoonWon couple and may your marriage be blessed for all eternity.” 

Light applause is given throughout the room and Hyejin makes her way back to her seat at the main table, with the other bridesmaids and immediate family members of the two brides. 

Light conversations begin once again at each of the guest tables—Moonbyul and Heewon remain seated at their table, having greeted the guests earlier as they entered the reception hall. In the background, classical music plays softly (although, live music will continue to play after the cake has been cut). 

It’s been calm so far, but who knows what will happen once the bar’s open. 

Namjoon takes another sip from his water glass, listening as Seokjin rambles on about the perfect ramen. Next to Jin, there’s Hani and Yura, who look half confused and half-amazed at how much he knew about food. On the other side of Namjoon, Junghwan and Myungsoo are eating away at their plates, practically cleaning them with their utensils as they scrape the food off (despite that, Namjoon swears he heard both of them ask if doggy bags were doing to be given out). 

“There’s this cute little shop that Namjoon and I used to go to all the time. Remember, Namjoon? It had that seafood theme with the cute decorations?”

Namjoon’s head turns from his name being mentioned. “Yeah?” He blinks, recalling the cute fish tanks they had along the wall. Granted, the restaurant also sold sushi and he always felt guilty whenever he ordered the sashimi platters. “We should go back there sometime. They really do have the best ramen there. You should give it a shot, if you get the chance.” 

“I’m always up for food,” Hani says. “I’ll take the girls with me someday since you’re giving it such high praise.” 

“Well,” Namjoon says. “Maybe when Hyerin gets back from her honeymoon.” 

“Very true.” 

“It does sound like a cute date spot,” Yura adds. “Maybe I’ll get lucky enough to find someone to go with here.” 

“Ooh,” Seokjin says. “I’ll share the address with the newlyweds too. They can go on cute dates together!” Seokjin turns back to Namjoon with a pout. “We don’t go on any dates anymore.” 

“I’m busy at work, you know this.” 

“You can still try to make time like you do with Jimin, at least.” 

“I didn’t know you were dating,” Hani says, glancing between them. “Have you been together long?” 

Namjoon nearly chokes on his food from the laugh that escapes his throat. 

“We’re not dating,” Seokjin answers. “Namjoon’s got his eye on someone else.” Namjoon gives him a questionable look, which he ignores. “As a little birdie has told me.” 

Damn Yoongi and his big mouth. 

At that moment, there’s some microphone feedback coming from the front. 

“Hello?” Yongsun and Jaehwan stand on the stage and Yongsun carefully taps the microphone in her hand. “Hello, everyone. Can you all hear me?” 

“Yes!”

She smiles. “Well, I hope you’re all having a good time. We're just about to cut the cake, but, before that, Jaehwan and I have prepared a duet for the new couple for their first dance! I hope you all enjoy it and another congratulations to our brides.”

Jaehwan gives a thumbs up to the DJ in the corner, who gives another in return and starts to play a soft melody. The lights dim and, from Namjoon’s line of vision, he sees Moonbyul stand, bowing to her wife with a hand out to invite her to the dance floor. The two make their way to the middle and slowly start to sway together. Others start to join in too, listening to the soothing music provided by Yongsun and Jaehwan. 

Namjoon nods along to the song, along with the many others who stayed at their tables. He takes a glance around, spotting some of the other guests and that’s when he sees you with Wheein and Eric. An automatic grin appears on his face as he sees you. The three of you are holding hands and slowly swaying to the beat with bright, proud smiles as you all look at the lovely couple. 

He glances to the side, only to see Seokjin with a smug face. He feels the heat creeping back up his neck and towards his cheeks. Namjoon clears his throat, shifting in his seat from his friend’s eyes. “What?” 

“I think you know what.” 

“No, I don’t.” He clears his throat once more, feeling it dry up. “Stop staring at me like that.” 

“Staring at you like what?” 

“Like what?” Seokjin tilts his head in a mocking manner. 

Namjoon sighs as he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You know what I mean.” 

“No,” he says in a singsong tone with a higher pitch. “I don’t~” He gives another look to Namjoon, speaking up again, back in his normal tone. “That’s what you sound like right now. You can’t lie to me and you know it.”

Namjoon lets out another sigh. He does know it; he really can’t lie, especially to one of his best friends. Because of this though, he’s going to be teased endlessly. “Do you remember (Y/N)?” 

“Of course I do,” he says. “How could I ever forget the person you pined over for the entirety of college and afterwards?” 

“Can you please not mention that part?” 

“How could I not, though?” Seokjin tilts his head with a little smile that’s nothing short of mischievous. “You never confessed too, so that just added onto the secondhand frustration I had whenever you two were together.” 

“Oh my God,” he mutters. “I’m just gonna stop talking altogether.” 

“No, no, no,” Seokjin whines. “Please continue, I’ll be quiet.” 

“Okay,” Namjoon says with a sigh. “I may… or may not, have ran into (Y/N) a couple of times at some other weddings and the coffee shop—” 

“Which is where I got my info—” 

He gives him a look, which shuts him up. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Proceed.” 

“(Y/N) is also here—” 

Seokjin squeals, clapping his hands together—unable to contain his excitement. “Where? Where? Where?” 

“(Y/N)’s with Eric and Wheein right now.” 

“So? Go join them; talk to them, chat ‘em up.” 

“Dude, you’re a great hype man,” Namjoon says. “But, not that great. (Y/N) seems busy, I shouldn’t interfere with that.” 

“What you lack, my friend, is the confidence.” He pauses. “Do you need some of mine? Because I’d be happy to rub some onto you.” 

“No, thank—” Even though Namjoon (halfway) rejected him, Seokjin is already rubbing his hands onto Namjoon’s face and, at that, with a bright smile as he smushes his best friend’s face. 

After a couple of seconds, Seokjin pats Namjoon’s face, admiring his ‘work’ for a second. “There. You are set.” He gives Namjoon a little push. “Now go.” 

“Now?” 

“Of course now; they’re starting to cut the cake and (Y/N)’s gonna be alone.” He makes a shoo-ing motion with his hands. While Namjoon would rather let his anxiety take over, Seokjin’s got a point. Yongsun and Jaehwan have finished their duet; Moonbyul and Heewon have already moved on to cutting the cake, which have taken most of the guests’ attention—even Hani and Yura have moved themselves towards the front (granted, anything with food will draw them in). Better now than never. 

Namjoon stands up, straightening out his shirt and tightening his tie. Seokjin gives a thumbs-up and a pat on the butt, before Namjoon sets off towards your table. 

He takes long strides with, little to some, confidence. By the time he gets near your table, he stops behind you and lightly taps your shoulder. 

You turn around, greeting him with a bright grin. “I knew you’d be around somewhere!” 

“You were looking for me?” He tries not to look too shocked. 

“Considering how you said you were going to be here… Yeah, I kind of was.” You turn back to Eric and Wheein. “Scootch over, y’all. Namjoon’s got a seat next to me.” 

“Don’t even worry about it,” Eric says. “We’ll be out of your hair in a second.” 

“We’re gonna go get some cake and then we’re gonna go to the bouquet toss too,” Wheein says. “I also have to stop Hyerin from running into the kitchen to get more of the food. Don’t worry though, we’ll be back.” 

They both get up, waving you both goodbye, and catch up with the rest of the crowd. 

Meanwhile, you turn back to Namjoon. “So, what brought you over?” You lean your chin on your hand. “Was it my sparkling aura you felt the presence of?” 

He laughs, responding with a teasing tone of his own. “What else could it have been otherwise?” He shifts in his seat. “Are you having fun?” 

“You know me, Joonie,” you say with a laugh of your own. “I’ll find a way to have fun.” You eye him. “Are you having fun? Or are you planning on being anti-social again?” 

“Again?” His eyebrows raise. “How dare you. I am an introvert, not anti-social. I came to you this time.” 

“Uh-huh,” you say with crossed arms. “This time being the key phrase. Don’t you have other friends?” 

“I have other friends.” He pouts. “I came here with Seokjin.” 

You gasp. “I haven’t seen him in so long. I need to catch up with him; I miss him.” You poke your head around towards the dance floor, waving to Seokjin—who is currently doing his infamous traffic dance underneath the disco lights. 

“Wow. Really feeling the love here, (Y/N).” 

You turn back to him with a teasing smile and poke your finger into his dimple that he doesn’t even bother to try to swat away. “I’ve missed you too, Joonie.” 

He quickly takes your hand off his face, hoping you didn’t feel the heat that rises to his face. 

“We can make plans too,” you say with a nudge. “You know, instead of meeting at all these weddings.” 

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “That’d be a lot easier.” 

“Give me your phone.” 

Namjoon reaches into his pocket, easily pulling out his phone and hands it over to you. He lets you tap around on it, until he realizes something. “Wait, what are you doing? I have your number.” 

“I’m checking your schedule,” you say. “Makes things easier to plan.” You look up from the screen. “Especially since you’re an important businessman.” 

He closes his eyes, in an attempt not to laugh at the ridiculous statement, but the grin on his face gives his emotions away. 

You scroll through his calendar, before landing on a date. “I’m free for lunch on Wednesday.” You dangle the phone in front of him. “Think you can make some time for me?” 

“(Y/N), I can always make time for you.” He really hopes that didn’t sound as desperate as it did. 

However, he doesn’t think you care—as he spots the large grin on your face. 

“Great,” you say. “It’s a date.” 

Namjoon is unable to say anything, as he’s sabotaged by his own friend. 

Seokjin dances his way over, pulling him onto the dance floor. “Need to borrow him, thanks! I’ll catch up with you later, (Y/N)!” He gives a light push to Namjoon, who’s trying to keep up with Seokjin’s dance moves. “How’d it go?” 

“We set a date?” He tries to collect his thoughts, but he’s having issues with processing it. “I think?” 

“See what happens when you have a little confidence?” He interrupts before Namjoon can answer. “You’re welcome.” 

“Oh my God,” he mutters with disbelief. Sometimes, he really can’t believe the amount of confidence that this one man has. 

“Now keep dancing, that’s how we’re gonna make our way closest to the bouquet. I’m catching that and no one can stop me.” 

“Seokjin, why are you like this?” 

“Oh hush, you love me.” Seokjin does a little body wave to skim past the other guests. “Y’all better watch out ‘cause the king is coming!” 

February 19th, 2020

Wednesday, 12:30PM 

Emerby Eateries 

—

Namjoon’s fingers tap against the table, checking his watch for the time once again. He takes another sip of from his water glass, oddly feeling the anxiety hit. Does this count as a date? You did say it was a date, but… is this really a date? 

Before he can linger too long on the thought, the seat in front of him is taken—by you. You’re slightly out of breath and, from the sight of your hair being slightly out of place, he can assume you did a small run on your way here before you were any more late than you already were. 

“You’re late,” he says with a singsong tone. He picks up the menu, pretending to glance over the options. “You really haven’t changed since college.” 

“Tsk, tsk, Joonie.” You brush off his statement with a wave of your hand. “You’re just too punctual. I was just a couple of minutes late.” 

“More like ten minutes late.” 

“Potato, potato.” You grab your menu, glancing through the appetizers. “Time’s an illusion anyways.” 

He tries to stop his laughter, but one look at you and he breaks his fake anger. 

“Did you order anything without me?” you ask. 

“Of course not,” he says. “I figured you would want to share anyways, so you can decide on what you want.” 

“And jack the bill up? I’m not that type of person.” 

“Stand down,” he says. “Not what I meant.” 

You chuckle. “I’m just pulling your leg. But, seriously, is there anything you’ve set your heart on ordering?” 

“Well, the sandwiches look good.” His tongue clicks as he contemplates on his order. “I usually get those whenever I’m here, so I’ll probably get one. Do you know what you want?” 

“Not really, I’ve been stuck on the appetizers. Did you want to split one?” You set your menu down, but your eyes don’t leave it. “They got fried pickles and I kind of want to try them. They also have those cheese balls that those mukbang youtubers eat.” You look up at him. “I kind of want to try those, not gonna lie.” 

He smiles at the way your eyes sparkle at the thought. “I’m not stopping you, you know.” 

“I know, but will you eat it with me? I’ll even pay for them.” 

“Damn, (Y/N),” he says with a hand on his chest. “That’s how I know your love is real.” 

You let out another laugh at his words and Namjoon couldn’t help but admire how carefree you look. While the two of you were a chaotic duo, the chaos was more drawn out from your side—not really chaos, it was more of your impulsiveness. But, it doesn’t mean he didn’t enjoy those memories with you. In fact, he cherishes them the most from his college memories. 

He still can’t believe he let you convince him of breaking into the campus gym’s pool. There was also that time when you two were drunk and you told him you wanted to try rock climbing—at the end of the night, you took an hour to climb up to his top bunk, declared success, and passed out once your head hit his pillow. You also broke into a classroom with him, to explain your theories on how birds work for the bourgeoisie (while the theories were insane, he had to admit you had a really convincing argument, which was probably due to all those essays you had to write). 

“Do you know what you would like?” 

The server’s question makes him snap out of his thoughts. He looks at you expectantly and you do him the solid by answering first. 

“We’re gonna need some more time for the entrees, but could I get a couple of appetizers first?” 

“Of course, whenever you’re ready.” 

“Okay, so we’re going to start with the fried cheese balls with some fire sauce on the side, along with some fries.” 

“Anything to drink?” 

“I’m good with water.” You look to Namjoon. 

“Uh, me too. Water’s fine.” 

You both thank your server before she leaves and turn back your menus when she’s out of sight. There’s a moment of silence as you both deliberate on what to get. Namjoon’s already figured he would just get what he usually does a while ago; his menu is shut and left on the side as he waits for you to figure out what you want. He can only shake his head; you’re still just as indecisive as before. 

Light pop music plays in the background and his fingers tap along with the beat. He moves his focus to the window where people continue to pass by on the busy city street. It’s lunchtime, so he expected the foot traffic to pick up a bit (and it did)—which was why he wanted to go a bit earlier. After another moment, he turns back to you, only to see you already looking at him. 

“Having fun?” you ask with a quirk of your lip. 

“Always.” He leans back in his chair. “You figured out what you want?” 

“Yeah, it took a bit but I figured it out.” 

When the server comes over again, the appetizers are served and you both order the entrees. You and Namjoon split the appetizers, nearly finishing them until the entrees were ready. Between all this time, you two actually catch up. It’s more than just the casual conversations you’ve had at those weddings—you’re both taking more time to listen to one another (in a more sober conversation) and actually talk about the things you didn’t manage to get to. Next thing you knew, it’s already been nearly an hour. 

“Can you believe that we’re actually adults living in this capitalistic society?” You set your glass down. “We’re doing things like paying for bills.” 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s called responsibilities.” He lets out another laugh at the face you make from his word choice.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting. Don’t make me choke.” You take another sip of your water. “You know one way of knowing there’s the transition from childhood to adulthood is attending more funerals than weddings.” 

“It seems more like the opposite for us, don’t you think?” 

“Oh my God,” you groan. “You’re so right though. The amount of weddings I’ve been attending…” You shake your head, as if to convince yourself the number is lower than it actually is. “It’s kind of ridiculous. Don’t get me wrong, I love all of my friends, but Jesus Christ, it’s like they all had a pact to get married around the same time and decided to leave me out.” 

Namjoon sighs, playing with the leftover sauce on the side. “I’ve been to, like, five last year and I’m pretty sure it’s going to keep coming.” 

“I really feel you, Joonie. I really do. I have a couple more I have to go to later.” You let out a sigh. “Curse me for being so friendly with others.” 

“Haha, this is what you get for being popular.” 

“I am not popular; I just happen to be a bit more extroverted than you.” 

“More like a lot,” he says. “You definitely used to be a popular kid in high school.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. What’s wrong with a couple more friends?” 

“No, no, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a compliment: people enjoy your company and that’s how you managed to keep the ties you still have…” He pauses. “Like me.” 

You give him another teasing smile. “Glad to know you enjoy my company.” 

“It’d be awkward if I didn’t, considering I decided to have lunch with you.” 

“Oh, yeah, by the way, how long are your lunch breaks?” 

“Since I’ve moved up to management, I get more time, so about an hour or so—give or take.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “Wow, look at you.” 

He tries to suppress the blush from the look you give him. 

“And despite all of this,” you continue to say. “You still don’t have your license?” 

“Why are you bringing this up again?” He groans. 

“It came up organically when I was with Seokjin,” you say. “You know... After he managed to steal the bouquet from Sunmi’s hands.” 

“So,” he says with a glint in his eye. “You did talk to Seokjin that night?” 

“Yeah, I did. Found out a little bit about what you’ve been doing after college.” 

“So you talked about me?” 

For the first time today, the blush starts to creep up your face. Namjoon raises an eyebrow at the sight; for once, he seems to have the upper hand. You clear your throat, before taking another sip of your near-empty glass. 

“Don’t try to change the subject,” you say. “You still don’t have your license.” 

“I-I just never had the time and the office is close to my apartment…” He tries to find the words (excuses, if he’s really being honest). “All of my friends have their licenses, so I don’t see the appeal of getting one.” 

“So, what I’m hearing is, you have a uncommitted chauffeurs.” 

“Oh my God, (Y/N),” he says with a laugh. “I don’t have that much money yet.” 

“Yet. That’s the word to focus on.” 

You both laugh again. 

“Well, I would love to be your chauffeur anytime,” you say with another grin. “That is if you pay me for gas money.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. “Thank you for the offer though.” 

“It’s no problem.” You let out a sigh, but it’s more relaxed than tired. “I’m serious though. If you need a ride, you can always ask.” 

“I know, I know,” he says. He swirls his glass, trying to distract himself before he lets out his next words. “I know I can count on you anytime.” 

The sparkle in your eyes returns and Namjoon has to stop his heart from skipping a beat at the sight. 

March 10th, 2020

Tuesday, 4PM 

Shoreside Condos

—

Hey! Just a friendly reminder to RSVP to our wedding! 

We’d love for all of you to join! 

See you then! 

- Anna Young and Eric Nam

Namjoon squints at the email and its neat, curly font. If he didn’t have Eric’s email saved, he definitely would have thought it was some type of subscription he signed up for and completely forgot about from the words alone. 

He makes a mental note to dry-clean his fancy suit before the time comes. Although, realistically speaking, he has more than enough time to do so. He can probably (and most likely will) procrastinate on it.

As he tries to make the mental arrangements, in the background, the television plays on another generic movie channel that doesn’t play anything remotely worth paying attention to (he might make an exception for The Hunger Games though). Rapmon sits on the couch, next to Namjoon, with his front paws and head laying on Namjoon’s legs. One hand pets Rapmon softly and the other hand hovers over his laptop’s keypad as he quickly RSVP’s for the wedding and reception. 

Namjoon easily fills it out with one hand, humming along as he taps the individual keys. However, he realizes that there is a problem after submitting the form: he has no ride. From what he can recall, the others probably aren’t going, considering these were two separate friend groups—so there’s no point in asking anyone for a possible ride. Then again, he could always get an uber or carpool with someone else. 

He sucks in a breath, praying someone he knew would be on the guest list. Going back to his email, he looks over those who were sent the same email.

While he is acquainted with over half of the people, there isn’t anyone close enough he could ask. Jackson’s most definitely going with his long-time partner and there is no way Namjoon wants to be between the two of them. On the other hand, Amber is probably going with a group of people and he’s not really up for a conversation with a bunch of people he’s unfamiliar with. On top of all that, Eric is very sociable, so there are bound to be guests from all sorts of places (considering the unknown names from the email). 

Although....there is another option. 

He quickly picks up his phone, scrolling through his contact list. His finger stops as he hovers over your contact. He taps on it, but can’t find the courage to hit any button. The contact photo of you, smiling with a bundle of puppies (from that time you wanted to pet a bunch of puppies at Petco), is what his eyes linger on the most. 

While the rational side of his mind knows you would be ecstatic to go to Eric’s wedding with him, the irrational side tells him that he shouldn’t bother you. What if you think he’s just using you for rides? Are you just going to drop him off? Should he invite you as a date? But, most of all, what if you just flat out reject him? 

Rapmon senses his master is upset and tilts his head up at Namjoon as his paws start to pat him—at least, his leg—to make him feel better. Namjoon can only smile, patting his head in response as a silent thanks for the attempt to comfort him. However, because of that… 

“No!” 

One of Rapmon’s paws hits the call button and Namjoon can feel ten years of his life being shaved off as the tone starts to ring. 

“Ahhh!!!” 

Out of panic, he drops the phone quicker than a hot potato. Luckily for him, it lands on the soft carpet below. He looks to Rapmon, who looks around, panting—without a care in the world, as if nothing was wrong. 

But right now, everything is wrong. 

Before Namjoon could even pick up the phone, nevertheless hang up, the ringing tone stops and there’s a soft response. 

“Hello?” 

He stumbles around, trying to grab the phone, but hitting the coffee table with his foot and falling on his ass. “Oh shi—” 

“... Hello?” 

“Sorry!” he shouts aloud. He quickly puts himself together, sitting back on the couch and leans down to grab his phone. He clears his throat, before speaking. “Hello?” 

“Hey, Joonie.” He can hear your grin over the phone. What’s up?” 

“Oh, nothing much..” He lets a small exhale, trying to calm himself from the embarrassing situation. “Um, what’s up with you?” 

“Nothing really?” He hears some clutter as you are shifting the phone on your shoulder. “I’m just at home. You know, doing this and that.” 

“Oh, oh. Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you—” 

“Namjoon, you can never bother me,” you say. “What’s up though? Not that I mind you calling me a bit out of the blue.” 

He opens his mouth, unable to really find the words. “So, uhm… This is kind of stupid.” 

“More stupid than you cutting that onion?” 

“That was one time.” His eyes close, trying to repress his laughter and the embarrassing memory. “Let it go!” 

There’s a laugh on the other side of the line; your laugh is infectious, causing Namjoon to burst into a laughing fit as well. 

“Um, okay,” he says. He lets out a sigh. “This is, like, way earlier than I originally intended.” 

“Come on, Joonie. Spit it out; it’s just me.” 

That’s the problem though: it’s you. But he can’t say that without it sounding weird. His lips twist to try to find the right words. “Do you remember Eric?” 

“You mean the guy I met at Moonbyul’s wedding?” 

“Yeah, him.” 

“Yeah, I remember him. Why?” 

“Well, he invited me to his wedding…” 

“Oh, good for him.” 

“Yeah.. but I was wondering…” Maybe he shouldn’t ask, but he does anyways. “If you could give me a ride?” 

You let out a small laugh. “Of course I can give you a ride.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, when is it?” 

“It’s in April, which is, like, a month away, but—” 

“Considering how I can’t even plan the next day, I’m sure I’ll be able to give you a ride, like, a month later.” 

“Well,” he says. He can feel his shoulders tense a bit. “It doesn’t just have to be a ride…” His fingers absentmindedly toy with a decorative button on his couch. “Did you… did you want to be my plus one?”

There’s a bit of silence and Namjoon can only swallow, feeling all the moisture in his mouth. 

“... It depends.” 

“On what?” 

Your response is a bit softer from the original teasing tone you had before. “It depends if you really want me there.” 

He relaxes, easily leaning back onto the couch. “Of course I want you there, consider it a trade deal.” 

“A trade deal?” 

“I get a ride and you get free food?” 

You hum a bit into the phone. “I like that preposition, but could I refer to this as a favor?” 

“Considering that it is a favor,” he says. “Sure—I owe you one.” 

“I’m gonna hold onto that against you then.”

“I’m completely fine with that, (Y/N).” 

“Okay, just keep in touch and text me the details when you get the time.” 

Before you can hang up, he speaks up once more. “Hey, (Y/N)?” 

There’s a bit more shuffling, but it stops. “Yeah?” 

“Thanks.” 

“It’s no problem, Joonie. You can count on me anytime.” 

He smiles into the phone for the nth time and looks down at his feet, feeling the blush return. “I know.” He pauses. “I’ll-I’ll text you.” 

“You better, Joonie. I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Bye.” 

“Bye!” 

His phone screen turns black for a second, before returning back to your smiling contact image. His grin grows and he slumps back further into the couch, practically beaming once his body is bully molded with the couch. He turns back to his fluffy boy and plays with his fur, giving him thorough pets. “Such a good boy. I shall retrieve you a treat soon.” 

Rapmon barks happily at his spot, continuing to pant as he moves his eyes on the television screen. 

Meanwhile, Namjoon gets back to his spreadsheets, minimizing his personal email tab. He manages to do his tasks much happier now that he’s got something to look forward to. 

April 3rd, 2020 

Friday, 7:30PM 

Eric’s Reception

Bright Rings Event Venue 

—

“Anyone who knows Eric,” Eddie says. “Knows that he’s very easy-going. He’s able to get along with anyone, which is how he’s able to meet so many people and make so many friends. So, when I first introduced Eric to Anna, I thought this was nothing more than another just friends situation. Little did I know was that I would be standing here… as the best man for their wedding.” 

He moves himself closer to the main table, where the bride and groom are seated. “As Eric’s brother—and manager—I did not think that he would be married before me.” The crowd laughs light-heartedly. “Don’t worry, I’m not bitter about it. I’m glad Eric has found someone who’s willing to spend their life with him, especially after getting to know him.” He lets out a small laugh as Eric pouts from his seat. 

“Anyways, Anna—” He raises his glass. “This toast is for you. Consider this your official welcome to the Nam family.” 

The guests click their glasses with the others, exchanging pleasantries along the way. Namjoon comfortably smiles at you, and vice versa, before drowning a mouthful of the bubbly champagne that you two had previously cheered with. The chatter picks up once again as Eddie sits down next to his date at the main table with the newlyweds. Everyone resumes their conversations, slowly building up to, nearly, maximum volume. Birds of a feather flock together—Eric’s loud personality attracts many other eccentric personalities. 

Namjoon takes a look around, taking note of the other guests. There’s a wide variety of people; while some are from college, from what he could recall, most of them are unfamiliar faces and unrecognizable place settings. Although, he should thank Eric for his place setting—many of those at this table are faces he does know. 

Jackson and his long-time girlfriend and recently engaged fiance, Hua Yi, were seated (luckily) on Namjoon’s left side and you were placed to his right. On your right, you sat next to Amy Lee and Amber—who were like Eric’s non-biological sisters. You were making easy conversation with the other guests, both familiar and non, as per usual. Maybe it’s due to your presence, but Namjoon has been able to easily converse with others as well. 

Jaehyung, another close friend of Eric’s, is currently at the front of the stage to provide entertainment with his guitar. He sings a sweet melody, contributing to the light atmosphere—above all the chatter and light conversation happening. 

“You know, I’ve always wanted to play the guitar,” you say, leaning closer to him. “Maybe I should’ve joined the band kids in high school to pick up a little something.” 

“Well, I did band…. kind of.” His face contorts, remembering the piano lessons he was forced to participate in due to the school’s curriculum. “But, trust me when I say that it did nothing for me.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “Nothing?” You lean in closer, with an elbow propped on your knee. “You almost became one of those famous soundcloud rappers. I think you should give yourself some more credit.” 

“Yeah, well, I can only play chopsticks,” he says. “So, were those four years really worth it?”

“Is anything from high school really worth it though?” 

You both chuckle as the old memories from high school started to occupy your minds. To think that Namjoon had really spent four years, not knowing what the hell he was doing—only to study for four more years to survive life and work a stable job with a stable paycheck... Time really does just fly. 

“Oh my God,” he says. “High school was awful.” 

“College was fun though.” You let out a relaxed sigh as you lean back and your eyes nearly sparkle from the fond memories you’d made way-back-when. “That’s the time period anyone would go back to.” 

“I would prefer the experience without the debt though.” 

“Thank God for scholarships.” You give him a little nudge. “Am I right, Mr. 148-IQ?”

Namjoon rolls his eyes at your words in a playful manner.

Before he can respond back, microphone feedback plays through the speakers, causing most to wince at the sound. Eric and Anna have entered the stage area, nearly blocking Jae—who simply waves at the crowd with his head poking out from behind the couple. 

“Hello?” Eric says. “Can everyone hear me okay?” 

There’s a collective murmur and he speaks up once more. “Okay, we’re good. Before anything, let’s give another round of applause for Jae!” 

There’s a light round of applause for Jaehyung, who gives a big smile and wave. Eric continues to speak after it dies down a bit. “Thank you all for coming once again. We both really appreciate that you took the time to be here for us.” 

“Right now, we’re going to have our first dance,” Anna says. “So, we’re gonna slow things down with the musical accompaniment of our very own Ailee!” 

Next to you, Amy raises from her seat and makes her way to the stage. You, along with Namjoon, clap for her—cheering her on as she walks towards center stage. She chats a bit with Jaehyung as the two of them start to set up. After a bit, she does a bit of harmony with Jaehyung and, shortly after, the sweet, soft melody of the guitar starts to play. 

Anna guides Eric towards the middle of the dance floor, who’s got a grin the size of the entree plates; she places his hands on her waist and hers on his shoulders, leaning into him as the song continues to play. Other guests slowly join them as well, including Jackson and Hua Yi. 

In a couple of minutes, you and Namjoon are the only ones left at the table. You two continue to chat for the time being, even as the music changes and time continues to go by. The other guests come and go by your table (even Mark came by, but the thumbs-up he gives Namjoon made him quite flustered); some had left a bit sooner because of prior engagements they had arranged for the next day. 

By this point, it’s past three hours—the cake has already been cut and the bar is officially open for the rest of the evening. The loud personalities had just gotten louder as the night got longer. 

Yongsun’s alcohol tolerance has been hit as she swings on the stipper pole with a plate of cake in her hands. On the other hand, as the songs started to get more upbeat, Amy abandoned her post at the stage and headed towards the bar—where she’s been doing her own personal wine tasting (and karaoke session). Amber had briefly joined her, before deciding to lead an impromptu concert that may or may not have resulted with her currently crowd-surfing. Jackson is with Peniel… doing whatever they usually do (although, Namjoon definitely recalls Peniel holding very tightly onto a Naked smoothie bottle; something about getting naked at the reception). 

The chaos goes on, even with the two of you in your own little bubble. The only difference though… is the alcohol intake as the time had passed. Considering how many glasses you had drowned, along with the ones Amy kept recommending to you and the ones brought by other servers, Namjoon is starting to remember how good your tolerance is. Despite that, you are definitely starting to feel it hit hard all at once. Meanwhile, he’s suffering silently from a mere three glasses. 

You drown another glass of your white wine. “Ahh.” You lean back in your chair with closed eyes. “My guy, I definitely cannot drive for a while.” 

A giggle spills from his lips as the alcohol starts to flow throughout his system.  “I can’t drive at all.” 

You laugh along with him; his giddiness is contagious. “Are you drunk?” 

“Nope.” He pops the p, giving you a wide beam that showcases his perfect, shiny teeth.

You raise your eyebrows, but don’t say anything. You can’t focus on anything from seeing how red his face is. You can’t resist yourself and lightly tug on his ears—which are also a similar shade—to pull him a bit closer to you. “Joonie, you’re so cute when you’re drunk.” 

He feels the blood rush more into his cheeks, but he can’t help his smile growing from the compliment. Even as you’re squishing his cheeks together, he doesn’t pull away from your touch. 

“AYO!” 

Both of your heads turn towards the stage. Anna’s clearly had her fill of alcohol too. Her hair is in loose curls from the tight updo she previously had. She currently stands on the stage, the mic in one hand and her bouquet in the other; her wedding dress was already ripped—but it looks as if it was chopped with some basic kitchen knife—to a shorter length. 

“It’s time for the flower toss!” She waves it around, dangling it in front of the crowd. “Anyone who wants this can come and get it!” 

A small group of people start to push their way towards the front as Anna turns her back towards them. 

You divert your attention back to the man in your hands. “I’m gonna go.” 

“Will you be back?” 

“Very soon.” You look dead serious. “Swearies.” 

He nods his head (to the best of his ability, considering his face is literally in your hands) and watches on as you head towards the crowd, easily fitting in with the others. He leans his chin into his palm, watching you engage with a bunch of people, who are literal strangers to you. It’s amazing how you can easily and naturally insert yourself into a group of people. He knows he probably looks like some type of idiot, but, right now, you are the only thing that matters. 

Back at the stage, Anna counts, leaning back little by little with a swing of her hands. “3! 2!” 

Just as she tosses the flowers over her head, Mike yells. “Yeet!” 

“Mine!” Peniel calls. 

But Matthew gets there first. 

“Interception, bitch!” 

He knocks the bouquet from its original path. It was almost like a high school basketball match from the way it happened.

Next thing you know, a couple of grown ass men were starting a brawl over an overpriced floral arrangement. Jamie interferes the two, squeezing herself in between the two idiots and easily whacking them, effectively getting them to stop. 

“Not the tiddies!” 

“Shut the fuck up!” she yells. “This isn’t about you!” With each word, she uses the flowers to hit each of them. 

While everyone’s distracted, Jackson rips the flowers from Jamie’s hands. He makes his way over to Hua Yi, easily getting down on one knee. Before he says anything, Hua Yi rips the flowers out of his hands and yells. “We’re already engaged, you idiot!” There’s no harm in it, considering how wide her grin is and the blush that’s apparent on her cheeks. 

Eric, eventually, takes over the stage once more—his tie loose and tossed carelessly over his shoulder. Despite it being his wedding, he looks like he’s  seen some stuff happen. He stands next to Anna with the mic, which he definitely had to pry out of her hands, and simply sighs as he watches the chaos. “This is cancelled; y’all are banned—I’m calling the police.” 

Of course, everyone ignores his empty threat and continues to brawl over the flowers. 

Namjoon’s attention is taken away from the scene, as you move past the chaos, and head back towards him. You arrive back with a pout, immediately slouching back in your seat. He rests his chin on the table, inching closer to you with eyes that sparkle like an anime character. 

“I didn’t get it,” you whine. 

He pouts with you, feeling your pain. “I’m sorry.” 

You let out a sigh and proceed to take another shot. A drop spills from your lips, trailing down your neck and Namjoon’s eyes unconsciously follow it. 

“Joonie,” you say. 

His eyes go back to yours. “Yes.”

“I need ice cream.” 

“Ice cream?” His eyebrows furrowed together in concentration and thought. “They only have cake.” 

“Then we need to go to the ice cream, Joonie.” 

His eyes widen in a comedic size reeling you’re correct. He snaps his fingers, lifting himself from the table, and pointing directly at you. “You are a genius.” 

“I fucking know, bro.” You pause as you realize your predicament. “I can’t drive.” 

“Neither can I.” 

“Not like that,” you say. “I’ve had like…. more than five glasses.” 

“Really?” His mouth gaps open. “I lost count after the tenth one.” 

“Ten?!” You gasp. “Did I really drink that much?” 

“I don’t know, (Y/N). I said I lost count.” 

You blink at him, slowly coming to the realization of how much alcohol was actually in your system. “Oh my God.” Your pout returns. “But I want ice cream now.” 

He hums, rocking a bit in his chair, like an old man out on the front porch, to find some way out of the complication. His eyes finally met yours. “I think I have a solution.”

Friday, 11:45PM

After Eric’s Reception

Midnight Munchies

—

Your giggle overlaps with the sound of the bell that rings as you two walk into the late-night dessert shop. The workers greet you cheerfully, which you both respond back to. You are looking at the glass that showcases all the different flavors, whereas Namjoon tries to read the menu to the best of his ability—but his squinting shows how bad his vision is at the moment. 

Back at Bright Rings, after some common sense had slowly started to come back, you both searched up ice cream places nearby. Luckily, Namjoon found a place that served ice cream at this hour and it was close enough to walk to—resulting in an improvised, evening stroll which was just the two of you laughing at dumb jokes along the way (he may or may not have used some of Seokjin’s dad jokes along the way). 

Due to the lesser amount of drinks in his system, he sobered up a bit… On the other hand, yours still remained. But nothing can’t be fixed with a little bit of ice cream (at least, that’s what you said).

“Do you know what you would like?” 

Your attention has been turned to the server behind the counter. “Uh, not me.” Scooting closer to Namjoon, you give him a nudge. “Joonie, do you know what you want?” 

“I’m not sure,” he says with a slight frown. “What’d you think I should get?” 

You let out a small hum as you think, before pointing to the fruit flavors in the middle. “You like fruit flavored ice cream, and you definitely need to try something new, so I say you should get the melon.” 

“Okay,” he says with a nod. “I trust you.” He turns to the worker. “Can I please get a scoop of the melon ice cream?” 

“Would you like any toppings?” 

“Uhh.” He turns to you. “Should I?” 

“If you want some, then get some.” 

He hesitates a bit. “Strawberries?” 

The worker raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” 

Turning back towards the counter, he answers. “Yes.”

He receives his ice cream, waiting as you order yours and pays when you’re done—despite your protests. You two thank the staff and add some change into the tip jar, before heading out to go back to the venue to sober up a bit more. 

For a bit, you two are enjoying your ice cream in silence as you walk side by side. You both walk for about a block—his footsteps match yours and yours matches his. 

You’re the one who speaks up first. “Thank you for the ice cream.”

“It’s just ice cream, (Y/N),” he says. 

“Still,” you start to say. “Considering I practically pushed you into inviting me out—” 

“You didn’t push me. I wanted to invite you.” 

You look to him, simply giving him a small smile. “Thank you.” 

The two of you continue your walk back to the venue, but you abruptly stop and tug on Namjoon’s sleeve. 

“What’s up?” 

You point to an open park and, with another hand, you lightly shake his arm like an excited child. “Let’s go in there.” 

He smiles at the sight. “Okay, let’s go.” 

Your eyes gleam at him and you’re practically wiggling with excitement, before you sprint over towards the park gates like a child. 

He shakes his head with a chuckle as he follows behind you. By the time he’s caught up with you, you’re already settled underneath a nearby tree with a view of the lake. He heads towards you in long strides and silently seats himself next to you. 

You’ve already finished your ice cream—its remains left on the side. Namjoon manages to finish his, which isn’t hard considering how it’s half melted and less cold. White noise plays as you two sit back and relax. There’s a couple of bikers, dog walkers, and other couples that occupy the public space. But, for most of the time, it’s just the two of you in silence. 

It’s broken once you let out a loud breath and fall back onto the grass. You shift a bit, trying to make yourself comfortable, and tap the empty space behind him. “Come on, Joonie. It’s just me.” 

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Just give me a sec.” 

He leans back, feeling the prickly grass brush against his neck, and rests his hands behind his head. You frown from the distance, easily pulling his arm and resting your head on it, scooting closer to him. 

His breath gets caught in his throat from your proximity, but he doesn’t move away—almost in a near frozen state as you continue to lean on him. Right now, all he hopes is that you can’t hear how hard his heart is anxiously beating in his chest. 

Instead, he tries to focus on the clear evening sky. It would have been nice for the stars to be out, but this is just as fine (although, the view can be done without all the red helicopter lights that pass by). 

You let out a sigh, feeling a lot more sober compared to before. “Time is weird, huh?” 

“What’d you mean?” 

“It’s just—” You pause. “One moment, we’re just college students messing around and now we’re adults, doing things like jobs and going to the post office or something.” 

He chuckles. “The post office?” 

“Ugh.” You lightly hit him to get him to stop laughing. “You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh of his own. “I get it. It’s just… we’re grown ups—” 

“Ew, please don’t say that.” 

He chuckles again. “Look at us though. Could you have even imagined telling your younger self that the most eventful thing you’ve done this week is go to a wedding?” 

“Weddings can be fun,” you try to defend. “There’s free food and good music.”

“Good music?” 

“Better music than all those cringey ass middle school mixers.” 

“You’re right about that,” he says. “I think I’ll die if I hear another remix of a top 40 hit song again.” 

“You know which remix I hated the most?” 

“Which one?” 

“Love You Like A Love Song club remix.” 

He lets out a hearty laugh from your answer. “I didn’t know that was a remix.” 

“It is and it’s absolutely terrible. They did Selena so dirty.” 

“Did they now?” 

“Absolutely, Joonie. It’s a fucking monstrosity.” 

You look dead serious, which is probably what makes him laugh even harder than before. His laugh dies down to a chuckle. There’s another moment of silence afterwards, the two of you focusing your attention on the calm atmosphere from the silence of the park and the calm waters that lightly splash from a safe distance. 

The silence is interrupted as your phone goes off. Namjoon watches as you simply take the phone that was placed next to you. The light of the phone shines against your features briefly before you turn it back off. 

You make eye contact with him and he has to turn away, clearing his throat from being caught. “What’s up?” he asks. 

“Nothing really,” you say. “I just got a reminder for another wedding I have to go to.” You wave your phone, despite the blank, black scene. “I have to RSVP later… at some point.” 

He hums, understanding the situation. Suddenly, you sit up as you shake him lightly, causing him to sit up as well. 

“What?” he asks with apprehension. 

There’s a glint in your eyes that Namjoon is unsure as to whether or not he likes. 

“Remember that favor you owe me?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You wanna come to my friend’s wedding with me?” 

He leans back with a hand on the grass, contemplating whether or not he should. Would this count as a date? Nevertheless, an unofficial third date? 

He does owe you a favor too… 

So, it makes sense for him to accompany you to return the favor. 

He finally looks to you, whose head is tilted towards him in curiosity with a smile that shines brighter than the sun and eyes that sparkle more than any star in the sky. 

“Come on, Joonie. It’ll be fun.” 

“Count me in,” he says. “Consider it a favor being repaid.” 

Your smile turns into a beam before you settle back onto the grass with your eyes closed. “Let’s stay here a little longer.” You sigh. “I’m going to keep you for a bit, before I have to share you again.” 

He lets out a sigh of his own, but you don’t hear it. 

He’s already yours for the taking.

April 18th, 2020 

Saturday, 9PM 

Tiffany’s Reception 

Rosey Pink Palace

—

“I’ve known Tiffany for over ten years,” Jessica says. “I’ve lived with her, worked with her, and that meant learning a lot about her, as a person and a professional. She’s someone who finds the balance between idealistic and realistic. She has been looking forward to finding her Prince Charming and now she gets to have her fairytale ending. I have never seen Tiffany as happy as I’ve seen her with Kaun Yin.” She pauses, looking at the two. “So, let’s raise a glass to congratulate the Pink Princess for finding her Prince Charming.” 

The other guests give a light round of applause for Jessica, who gives another wave and smile—before she takes back her seat at the main table. Conversation is sparked once again amongst the guests. 

At your table, Namjoon makes small talk with some of the others at the table (mainly those who he’d previously met at Junmyeon’s wedding). Despite the fact that this is your friend’s wedding, which is filled with literal strangers and acquaintances, he’s managed to mingle fairly well without your guidance. But that’s also the reason why he’s been dragged into a conversation with another table—i.e., the table behind him. 

“Tiffany and I went out for ice cream once and she basically shamed me for not getting sprinkles,” Evan says. “I’m betting her cake is going to be the most colorful thing in the venue.” 

“The pinks aren’t colorful enough for you?” Nichkhun asks with a teasing smile. 

Namjoon lets out a laugh. “It’s called the Pink Palace, what other color did you—could you have expected?” 

“I thought maybe Kuan Yin would convince her to other colors,” Evan says. He lets out a sigh, swirling his wine glass. “I blame my optimism.” 

“If you know anything about Tiffany,” Nichkhun says. “Then you would know that no one could convince her out of something once her mind is set.” 

“How long have you known her?” Namjoon asks. “I bet it’s been some time now.” 

The handsome man ponders for a bit. “Probably about half a decade now,” he says. “Another one of my friends knew her and… we’ve been friends ever since.” 

“That’s a long time,” Evan says. “I’ve only known her for a couple of years. She helped me out with some of my Youtube videos.” He sips on his glass. “She did a makeover for me once.” He turns to Namjoon. “How long have you known her?” 

“Oh, I’m just a….” He tries to think of the word. Technically, he’s a date, so he should say date…. right? Something inside stops him from saying so though. “I’m just a plus one.” 

“Oh?” Nichkhun says with a tilt of his head. “Of who?” 

At that moment, you take back your seat next to Namjoon. You easily settle back in, giving him a smile, before noticing the other two. “Sorry, there was a line at the bathroom. Did I interrupt something?” 

“Not really,” Evan says. He points to Namjoon. “Is he with you?” 

“Yeah,” you say with a smile. “He’s my date.” 

He nearly chokes on his water at your words, but your smile just grows when you look at him. Before he can respond, the conversations come to a bit of a pause as the newlywed wife gets up from her spot, stealing the crowd’s attention. 

Tiffany makes her way up the main stage with a bedazzled, pink microphone in one hand and her dress in the other; Kuan Yin follows behind her with a hand holding the rest of her train, making sure she doesn’t trip on her way up the stairs. 

“Hello?” She taps on the microphone to double check. “Everyone, thank you so much for coming. We’re so glad you were able to make it. Let’s give one more round of applause for the maid of honor!” 

There’s another round of applause for Jessica and, once it dies down, Kuan Yin speaks into the microphone that remains in Tiffany’s hands. “She’s done a lot for us this past month and we’d like to thank her again for her hard work.” 

“Right now, we’re preparing for the cake cutting!” she says with a giggle. “Our wonderful servers are getting the cake ready and it will soon be out!” 

More light applause breaks the silence once more and, in a second, the two servers emerge from the kitchen with a rolling cart. 

On top of the cart is a three-tiered cake, various shades of pink are dotted around and smeared to look like a sophisticated art palette. Edible, at least what Namjoon thinks, glitter is decorated along the side and sparkles in the light. White frosting is decorated on the edges and sprinkles top them off. 

Well, Evan was right about one thing; it is colorful. 

You lean over towards Namjoon. “I’m betting there’s glitter inside the cake too.” 

��I’m willing to get into that bet too,” Nichkhun says. 

Namjoon and Evan laugh. 

On the other hand, Tiffany and Kuan Yin are already cutting the cake and passing it to the servers, who are immediately placing it on trays to serve to the other guests. You let out a little cheer once yours arrives. Next to you, Bora takes pictures of the slice that sits on her plate, showing them to both you and Na Eun, who’s sitting at her other side. 

“I’m glad she got the red velvet,” Bora says. 

“Yeah, it fits the aesthetic,” Na Eun replies. “And it definitely screams Tiffany.” 

You pick at yours a bit, splitting the cake to see the rest of the batter. “I totally called it. I knew there was gonna be glitter inside!” 

Namjoon just shakes his head, before grabbing a hold of his fork and diving into his dessert. 

As the cake is cut and distributed, the conversation builds up again and the sugar has started to hit. Your plate is cleared, but Namjoon can’t get past all the sprinkles (which is why they’ve been abandoned on the side of his plate and you took that chance to poke some fun out of him). 

In the midst of all the chatter, the newlyweds return back to the stage, along with Jessica, after the cake-cutting—with Taeyeon behind them, who has begun to set up the stage. 

“I would just like to thank all the guests, once more, who are here to support Tiffany and Kuan Yin,” Jessica says. “Right now, we have Taeyeon, another bridesmaid, who will be singing the song to their first dance!” 

Another round of light applause is given as Taeyeon gives a smile and wave. Meanwhile, Tiffany and Kuan Yin have arrived in the middle of the dance floor, looking at one another with so much love. Namjoon couldn’t help but be a bit envious. 

“Congratulations once more to the happy couple,” Taeyeon says. “This song is for you—I hope your happiness will carry on for the rest of your lives.” 

The guitarist starts to strum to a soft melody and Taeyon’s soothing voice starts to move throughout the venue. Other guests start to make their way to the dance floor as well, joining the slow dance. Namjoon moves his head along to the calm tune, swaying to it with his eyes closed. 

He hears your chair move and he peaks an eye open, only to see you standing with a hand out to him. 

“Would you like to join me for a dance?” 

“I thought we agreed I should never be dancing,” he jokes. 

You pout, putting your hand down. “We’ve been to so many weddings and haven’t danced once.” You put your hand out once more, wiggling your fingers underneath his chin. “Is little Joonie afraid?” 

“We both know I’m not the best dancer.” 

Your pout deepens and you take your hand away again. He has to stop himself from leaning back to your touch. 

“That’s your insecurity talking,” you say. “Besides you don’t know until you try.”

He lets out a sigh, hiding a smile, and wordlessly puts out his hand for you. “Okay, (Y/N). I trust you. Please lead the way.” 

Your pout turns back to a smile, easily grabbing his hand and leading him towards the bright tiles where the other guests are dancing. 

Taking the initiative, as per usual, you put his hands on your waist and lightly place your hands on his shoulders. He hopes you don’t notice how shaky his hands are, or how much more sweaty his palms have gotten. His heart pounds even harder in his chest from the close proximity.

He let out an exhale, trying to keep it under his breath to avoid hitting your face with his glittery cake breath. Despite being friends for the longest time, Namjoon can’t remember a time he’d been this close to you. There had been a couple of times when you would drunkenly cling to him or the time you asked for a piggyback ride… But he’s never seen you like this upclose. 

Under the sparkling lights, he can make out your features. Your eyes shine with excitement and anticipation, but he can’t tell from what. The way the slope of your nose dips is pretty, he notes—he’s never noticed. Your lips… they practically mock him. 

He can feel his throat feeling dry again. Where are the champagne flutes when he needs them? 

Even as he tries to avoid eye contact, your eyes don’t leave his face. A teasing smile appears when you take notice of his darkening cheeks. 

“What’s wrong?” you jib. “You’re doing good. Are you focusing all of your brain cells into your dancing?” 

He rolls his eyes at you, but it’s without malice. “Haha,” he says. “You know I didn’t have that many to begin with.” 

“You have 148 IQ.” 

“Let it go, (Y/N).” He sighs. “Let it go.” 

This time you roll your eyes at him, giving him a light shove. “You’re literally so smart. You need to embrace that more.” 

“Don’t get too cocky on my behalf,” he says. “I think I got burnt out by the time we graduated.” 

“Everyone gets burnt out,” you say. “Whether it’s emotionally, physically… Life has a way of doing that to you.” You lean a bit closer, settling your hands on the back of his neck. “What you choose to afterwards is how you decide its impact on you.” 

He straightens up a bit, but doesn’t necessarily move away from you, putting himself in a more comfortable position. “You don’t ever seem burnt out,” he says. “I wish I had that endless energy. I might actually be able to do something productive with my life.” 

“Hey,” you say. “You’re doing it again.” 

“Doing what?” 

“Downplaying your abilities.” You let out a sigh. “You did it, not even, two minutes ago. You haven’t even stepped on my foot; you’re going just fine.” 

He feels the heat on the back of his neck, hoping you don’t say anything about it. “Not yet, at least. Have you forgotten that tango class I accidentally registered for?” 

You grin from the memory. “Considering that we were able to grow closer from it and it was required, not accidental… I have not.” You tilt your head at him. “But did you forget?” 

“Forget what?” 

“How much you improved by the time the semester ended.” 

“I don’t know, (Y/N),” he says. “I didn’t get worse and that was all I was aiming for.” 

“Sure, you weren’t perfect, but you were pretty good by the end of it. Admit that, at least.” 

“Fine, I was pretty good at it.” He looks directly at you. “Satisfied?” 

“Not really, but I’ll take it.” 

The two of you sway for a bit, listening to the music and enjoying each other’s company. At some point, you lean against him with closed eyes. He smiles to himself, subconsciously pulling you closer and breathing in the faint scent of your shampoo. Letting out another sigh, he can’t help but think of himself that he could get used to you in his arms. 

April 28th, 2020

Tuesday, 4PM 

The Roasted Bean

—

“Do you want to come to China with me?” 

You choke on your tea. “Shit,” you manage to cough out with. 

Namjoon scrambles to pass you the napkins and can only look at you with concern as you continue to cough. He waits for you patiently, expecting this kind of response from you.

When you had agreed to meet up with him for coffee, Namjoon said to himself he was going to plan what he would say to you… cut to the day of and he had planned nothing except, well, that. 

Damn, procrastination really doesn’t stop. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. You dab the corners of your mouth, trying to wipe off the remains of the tea that spilled from your lips. Your hands settle on the table as you look at him incredulously. “Did I hear that correctly?” 

“In hindsight, maybe I should have provided some context.” 

“A little would have been nice,” you say with a slight shrug. 

He lets out a sigh, shifting in his seat. “I’m going to Jackson’s wedding,” he says. “... which is located in Hong Kong. I made the reservation awhile back, so I took a couple of vacation days to go to it and join them in the festivities. I even got Jungkook to dogsit RapMon, but, then again, that could easily go downhill. But, I thought, you know, since we’re, like, wedding buddies, you might want to go with me?” 

“Wedding buddies?” you ask with a raise of your eyebrow. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.” You take another sip of your tea. 

“It’ll be fun?” he says with an awkward smile. “Besides, you know Jackson.”

“I’ve met him a couple of times, yeah.” You take another sip from your cup. “I obviously wasn’t close enough to get an invite, but I know him.” You try to think, as if you were pondering the pros and cons. “I do know some people who were going to be in the wedding too.” 

“You do?” He shouldn’t be surprised, but couldn’t help the curiosity. 

“Yeah, there’s Mark. There’s also Jinyoung and Youngji.” 

“Even if you didn’t know anyone,” he says. “It’s not like you won’t make new friends.” 

You give him a shy, but proud smile in return. “I do adapt well.” Your eyebrows round from a realization. “Wait.” You give him a confused look. “You were originally planning on going to China…. by yourself?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks with a slight pout. “Is it a bad idea?” 

“No,” you say. “Rather the opposite.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“How do I say it?” you mutter, more to yourself than aloud. “I guess—it might just be because I know what you’re like.” 

“... Elaborate.” 

“It’s not supposed to be a bad thing. It’s just that—I say this with affection, okay?” You clear your throat a little and lean back into your seat. “You don’t really leave your comfort zone, which isn’t a bad thing—it’s just a bit surprising that you are willing to leave the comforts of your home.” He doesn’t get the chance to respond; you continue to talk. “But, another thing I know is you’re fierce loyal, so it’s not necessarily that surprising. Even then, it’s a good surprise because this might be good for you.” 

There’s a brief pause as he thinks to himself, absentmindedly swirling the remains of his coffee from his glass. You’re right (with both of your points). It’s not that he’s offended, or mad. It’s just that… you’re right. That’s it. 

He knows he’s more of an introvert, which isn’t a bad thing—he just takes a bit longer to adjust to new surroundings and unfamiliar people. He’s very self-aware of it rather than self-conscious about it. To be honest, he really didn’t think things through all the way; he couldn’t say no to Jackson, especially considering how close they are with one another. The thought of brushing up on his Chinese also crossed his mind momentarily, but this trip is really more about supporting Jackson and Hua Yi. 

“Namjoon?” 

He freezes, snapping out of his thoughts. “Sorry, I just, like, spaced out.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, just lost in thought.” He clears his throat. “What were you saying?” 

“Nothing of that much importance, but—” You pause. “I just think this would be good for you, you know? You’d get some time off from work, get together with your friends, explore a new place, etc.” 

“It’s just a week or so,” he says. “It’s not much, but… it’s something.” 

“Yeah, but you never know.” 

He hums, agreeing with you, as he taps his fingers lightly against the table. The tapping stops. “Wait, you never answered my question.” 

“Wait, what was the question?”

  He chuckles. “Did you want to accompany me to Jackson’s wedding in China?” 

“Well,” you drag out, fiddling with your napkin. “I would need to see all the details, figure out a couple of things, but, overall…” You practically beam at him. “I’d love to.”

May 13th, 2020 

Wednesday, 9AM 

East Asian Airlines

Incheon International Airport

—

You nearly elbow him as you try to settle into your seat. Your neck pillow barely hangs on your shoulders, as you reach over to adjust the incline and decline with one hand and manage your downloaded playlist on your phone with the other. 

“Whoa,” Namjoon says, trying to escape from your flailing arms. “You know this isn’t an overnight flight, right?” 

You let out an exasperated exhale that’s far more dramatic than it needed to be. “Joonie, comfort is always a priority.” 

“I didn’t say anything was wrong with comfort,” he started to say. “I’m just saying it’s a bit much for a four hour flight that you’re 100% going to fall asleep on.” 

Your jaw drops. “The audacity.” 

“Am I wrong?” 

Your jaw promptly closes at his words, your lips twisting to the side. “No,” you mutter.

He lets out a laugh, patting your head as some type of reconciliation—messing it up a bit. “Sorry, I only speak the truth.” 

You grumble in your seat once more, playfully glaring at him with a petty look in your eyes. Without breaking eye contact, you lightly slap his hand away and start to fix the mess he created on your head. “Says the man who told Taehyung he looked handsome after his home haircut, but okay. Pop off.” 

His eyes narrow at your sarcasm, but he doesn’t say another word. 

While you fiddle with the light and air conditioning functions above, he plucks out an airline magazine from the seat in front of him—in an attempt to ignore the numbness of his long legs due to the small, cramped area he’s been provided. 

Curse this capitalistic society and the stupid economy seats. 

He flips open a page, glancing through. Most of the pages are promotions for products that no one really needs. There’s also an absurd amount of pillows that they were insisting to be sold. Who needs a pillow that can work as a lap-desk? Or a bendable neck pillow that can be twisted into a hugging pillow? There’s also a pillow that can be folded into a miniature pillow. These are all awful, he thinks. 

As he inwardly questions and critiques each product, he fails to notice that you’ve finished settling in, tugging on his jacket to get his attention. 

“What’s up?” he asks without looking up. “Finally settled?” 

“Say all you want, Joonie, but when I’m napping like a champ, you’ll be restless in your spot like a chump.” 

He stifles his laughter, raising his eyebrows from your words, flipping through the pages without actually looking through them. “Okay, (Y/N). Whatever you say.” In his peripheral vision, he can see you pouting from his lack of reaction. 

You lean back in your seat, taking another deep breath. “You know, I think this is the first time we’re traveling together, isn’t it?” 

“I think it is.” He looks at you. “This is our first trip together.” 

“Well, first overseas trip.” 

“First overseas trip,” he says with a hum. “You think there’ll be more?” 

You smirk. “Only if this one is a success. But, for now, we’re just wedding buddies.” 

“Wedding buddies?” He lays a hand on his heart in mock hurt. “We’ve known each other for years and this is what our relationship has come to?” 

“You defined it first,” you say with a poke of his chest. “If anyone is to blame, it’s you.” 

His lips are pulled back—half frustrated at himself and half disappointed. Before he can retort, the bell has been rung and the attendant’s voice comes on over the intercom. 

“All passengers, please take your seats as we are taking off at 9AM sharp.” 

Another bell rings and the seatbelt image flashes on. The attendants go around, checking the seatbelts and others begin to start the safety procedures. Namjoon tries to remember it all, but eventually finds himself accidentally tuning out the information. Sensing his panic, you remind him that it’s also in the same pocket he’d been grabbing magazines out of. 

After a little while, the plane starts to ascend. Both you and Namjoon wordlessly look out the window, taking in the view as the buildings get smaller and smaller. Once the captain had announced that passengers are now allowed to roam about the cabin (with reason, of course), you lean back in your seat and plop in your other headphone. 

“Wake me up when we’re descending?” you ask. 

He nods, letting you play your music and close your eyes. About twenty minutes pass and you’re already asleep, But, your neck pillow is still barely hanging on your shoulders. He manages to adjust it comfortably for you, without waking you up—he’d call that a victory for his clumsy ass. 

To pass some time, he goes through some more magazines, eventually getting bored of them. He should’ve downloaded a playlist or something; granted, you did nag him a bit to do so at the terminal gate because you didn’t want him being bored on the plane. 

As usual, you were right. 

He looks over at you once more, before deciding that he should nap too. 

If he’s being honest, he was too nervous last night to get any sleep at the thought of spending, nearly, an entire week with you… in an unfamiliar country. He really didn’t think these things through. On one hand, it’s normal to invite long-time friends on trips and go to events together, platonically. On the other hand, he technically had feelings for you. But, he also thought those feelings had died down… until he actually started to talk to you again. 

Deep down, he knows the feelings never really died but that’s a conversation he’s not ready to engage in. But, he’s also aware that he’s stupid and lacked the brain cells to even think of the possible cons that would come when he invited you to an overseas wedding...

Sleep, Namjoon thinks. Sleep is great for avoiding problems like these. 

He lets out a long sigh, settling into his seat with a close of his eyes. 

Yes, sleep is the best solution. 

...

Ding. “Passengers, you will need to return to your seats soon as we are close to our destination.” Ding. 

As Namjoon starts to regain consciousness, the light from his window that shines on his face stirs him awake. He lets out a sigh, lifting his head from yours as he rubs his eyes. You remain asleep on his shoulder with your headphones still intact, but your neck pillow sits uselessly in your lap. 

He’s suddenly awake and aware of your current position. He unconsciously clears his throat, instantly feeling thirsty, causing you to shift a bit closer to him. 

The intercom comes on once more. “Once again, passengers, if you could please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts, we’re going to begin to descend soon.” 

From the announcement, he lightly shakes you. “(Y/N),” he whispers. 

When it doesn’t work, he shakes you a bit harder. “(Y/N).” 

You let out a groan from being awoken. “Ten more minutes.” 

He shakes you again with a bit of a laugh. “You don’t have ten minutes.” 

“Give me ten minutes then.” 

“No, wake up.” 

“No.” 

“(Y/N),” he whines. “Wake up.” 

You let out another groan, reluctantly opening your eyes—immediately shutting them from the bright lights of the afternoon sky. “Are we there yet?” 

“Nearly,” he says. “Why did you think I woke you up?” 

“To torture me?” 

“I wouldn’t do that to my precious wedding buddy.”

“Damn,” you say. “Your sass levels are up.” 

He laughs in response. 

Your conversation is interrupted as the bell rings once again, the attendant’s voice filling the air. 

“All passengers, we are descending to our destination.” 

You let a small squeal of excitement from the official announcement, leaning out towards the window to take in the new sights. He can’t help but smile at your childlike wonder, moving himself out of the way for you to take in the scenery as the clouds start to part. 

“We apologize that there will be a bit of turbulence, so if you may all please fasten your seatbelts for your safety. Once again, we are starting our descent—passengers, we welcome you to Hong Kong. Thank you for choosing to fly with East Asian Airlines. We hope you’ve had a wonderful trip.” 

A/N: Thank you for reading the first part of Plus Two! Please do not ask about updates—you can check the upcoming page to check on the status of the second half! 

[eryiss]

Fraxus Week 2020: Day 8 - Proposal

Summary: After a crappy post-college first year, Laxus jumped at the opportunity to leave town for a week for a road trip with his friends. He intended it just to be a week away with his friends, but when he meets an unfamiliar stranger, the vacation turns into something much more. [Fraxus Multichapter]

This is the fifth part of my Fraxus Week admissions, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus​. This year I’ve made the prompts into a single multi-chapter fic. You can see all the chapters in the Masterpost linked below. Hope you enjoy.

You can read this on Fanfiction, Archive of our Own, and under the cut. Read the other chapters from this masterlist.

Epilogue – The Defining Term

Three Years Later

When Laxus woke up, it was in the bed he shared with Freed in their apartment. Under the covers was a mess of limbs, and Laxus had apparently chosen to use the other man's chest as an impromptu pillow. He had the mans torso wrapped up in his arms, and when he blinked up at the blurry figure above him, he saw Freed attempting to wake up with as much difficulty as he was. He smiled sleepily at the sight.

"Morning," Laxus greeted, pushing himself off his lover's chest and sitting up.

"Morning," Freed repeated. He reached over Laxus to pick up his phone and turn the blaring alarm off.

Laxus let his back rest against the cool wood of their headboard, the covers dropping from him as he ran a hand through his hair to slick it out of his eyes. He watched Freed as he rubbed his eye with the back of his hand and reached for a hair tie, pulling his hair into a messy ponytail. It was clear that the early morning was affecting Freed more than it was Laxus, and the blonde had to grin at that and nudge the other man with his knee.

"You can't be pissed off at waking up early when it's your idea," He laughed, voice a little groggy.

"I'd agree with you, but I think right now I'm proving quite clearly that I can," Freed commented, sitting up beside Laxus. "I was always led to believe that my body would adjust to waking up early. Why hasn't it?"

"Guess you're just hardwired to be cranky," Laxus teased. "We can sleep in tomorrow, I'll get ya some coffee."

Freed thanked him, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as Laxus left the warmth of their bed. He shucked on the leopard print robe – which he wore both for the comfort it brought and the annoyance it caused in Freed – and trudged out of their bedroom and into the kitchen where he had prepared coffee in the percolator the night before; Freed hadn't exaggerated his distaste for being awake in the morning, so Laxus had been cautious.

The two men had been living together for about a year and a half. Their Magnolian apartment wasn't anything special. One bedroom, a kitchen-living room, a bathroom, and a tiny balcony. It was close enough to Freed's school that he could drive there, and directly above Laxus' gym. It wasn't much, but it was good for what they needed.

He flicked on the coffee machine to reheat the drink, walking to the kitchen pantry. He shifted a few boxes of protein assistants he knew Freed never moved, to pick out a small wrapped package and a single cupcake. He picked up a birthday cake candle that went unused before returning to the countertop. He made quick work of pouring them both a large mug of coffee, placing them on a tray along with the package, a butter knife and the cupcake, candle lit.

"Feeling any more awake?" Laxus asked as he nudged the door open with his foot.

"Not particularly," Freed groaned, before looking to Laxus with confusion.

"Happy anniversary," Laxus said in explanation, grinning.

Freed smiled at that, watching as Laxus placed the tray at the foot of the bed and handed him a mug of coffee. Laxus was quick to join Freed in the bed again, their shoulders pressed against each other. He picked up the cupcake and raised the candle to Freed's mouth to blow it out, which Freed did with a fond shake of the head and smile.

"Happy anniversary," Freed said, resting against Laxus.

"I know we said we ain't doing presents," Laxus said as he picked up the package. "I know we've been saving for the trip, and we agreed not to. But I just… I don't know, I thought you'd like this. It was cheap, so you can't get mad," Freed chuckled, picking the package up.

The two of them had been planning their anniversary trip away for a year. They had discussed going away for their second anniversary, but hadn't had the money. Laxus had quit his office job so that he could put all his focus into growing his personal training career, and Freed had taken an extension on his student loan so he could continue his studying at law school; he'd changed his major after his first year and wanted to see it through. Once they had discounted the option, they had promised each other that they'd save up and go away for the next one.

There had been some discussion as to where they could go, but they eventually settled on an idea: The Grand Canyon. The fact it was in the country meant they didn't need to pay for flights, and they could use their money on a luxury hotel and good food. And it felt right, returning to the place where they got together on their anniversary.

"You really do know how to charm a man, don't you," Freed grinned as he started to unwrap the present.

"You fell for me, so I'm doin' something right," Laxus laughed.

Freed removed the paper from the gift, revealing it to be a small framed picture. It was of the two of them from three years ago, sleeping in the back of the RV in each other's arms. Their sleeping faces were content, and their foreheads were resting against each other. It was one of the many pictures that Bickslow had taken of the two the night after they'd gotten together.

Laxus glanced up at Freed to see the man smiling softly at the picture. He rested his head against Laxus' shoulder and smiled. "Thank you."

"It's nothing," Laxus shrugged but smiled. "Happy anniversary," He repeated in a whisper.

"Happy anniversary."

They moved in sync, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss. They had gotten a lot better at understanding each other's movements in the three years of being together, but the spark that ignited when they were together hadn't subsided.

Eventually, they pulled away from each other. Freed seemed a little annoyed, but Laxus took delight in reminding him that it was he who had chosen they get the early train meaning that they didn't have the time to lounge around with each other; or do something a little more… active with one another. Freed had glared at him for that, and all Laxus had done was wink and flex his bicep to further annoy the man.

Cutting the cupcake in half, they ate it in place of a real breakfast and promised each other they would eat on the train. It was a quiet moment between the two of them, a silent moment of domesticity. Laxus had grown to adore those moments after moving in with Freed, however fleeting they might have been.

"I suppose we should start waking up properly soon," He said after they'd eaten.

"We should," Freed agreed, nodding. "Thank you for the coffee, and the gift."

"Yer welcome," Laxus said with a smile.

He leant down and pressed their lips together again, this time in a chaste kiss. He pulled away with a smile, looking at his lover with adoration in his eyes.

"Love you," He murmured.

"Love you too," Freed smiled, leaning in for another kiss.

~~~

"This is the first-class cabin," Laxus said, frowning. "We meant to be in here?"

"Of course," Freed said, stepping further into the train.

"I thought we were just getting regular seats."

Laxus looked around the cabin. It was smaller than the standard classes, and with nobody else inside of it. Each seat had a table by it, all with cloths, complimentary coffee, and a breakfast menu. Freed handed Laxus a ticket while walking to a seat near the middle of the cabin, and Laxus looked to see that they were indeed booked into first class. This hadn't been something that Laxus had been told about, and he frowned a little.

"Can we afford this?" Laxus asked, sitting opposite Freed. "I mean, it's great, and I ain't gonna complain, but I didn't know-"

"It's a thank you," Freed said with a smile. "I know that my studying and work has been making me stressed, and sometimes irritable. And you've been incredibly patient with me, especially when you've started your own business. So, although we agreed that all the tips I made wouldn't be part of the vacation savings, I made sure to save about half of them. So, fair warning, there might be a fair few surprise that you'll face throughout the week."

"You didn't need to do that," Laxus said softly, though he was flattered and couldn't help but smile.

"I didn't," Freed agreed. "But you're my boyfriend, I love you, and I fully intend to spoil you whenever the opportunity presents itself."

"Thanks," Laxus said, ducking his head in embarrassment as he often did. To recover, he gave a smirk and spoke with a mischievous tone. "Does that mean that, when you become a famous big city lawyer to millionaires that I'm going to be spoiled every day. Because if not, you're gonna have to deal with a really bitchy trophy husband."

"So long as you keep your legs like tree-trunks and your abs well-defined, I'll keep spoiling you," Freed teased back.

"That's all I ask of ya," Laxus laughed.

As the train started to move, Laxus looked out of the window while giving Freed a small nudge with his foot under the table; a silent sign of appreciation for what Freed had done. It had been quite quick in their relationship for them both to realise that Laxus used small physical gestures to show his appreciation for the man. Bickslow had once claimed it was a type of love language, and explained that the ways people showed affection ranged and that Laxus wasn't the type to use his words, particularly in public.

Laxus didn't particularly care for the weird social sciences behind it all. All he cared about was that Freed knew that with these small nudges, brushes against him, and tapping on his skin was his way of showing the man he loved him, and he was thinking about him.

He seemed to understand that, and nudged Laxus back in response.

The train ride was, as expected of being in a first-class cabin alone, luxurious. They were given a complimentary breakfast of bacon sausage and eggs, which had been given to them just as Laxus started to feel a sense of hunger. The coffee and juice they had been serves had been delightful, as had been the silence of the cabin. Laxus was glad he'd gotten over the slight motion sickness he got on trains, plains and boats, as he wouldn't have enjoyed this nearly enough if he was fighting off vomit.

As their empty plates were taken away, Laxus almost made a joke about how easy it would have been to get to the canyon three years ago if they'd taken the train. But then he was reminded of just how much had happened over that week, and the comment died on his tongue and he was wrapped up in the memories of their road trip.

Getting to know Freed, their shared kiss atop the RV, their date, the flirting at their stops.

All of that could have gone if they hadn't made the week into a road trip. If they had spent the day at the canyon then chances were that he and Freed wouldn't have gotten to know each other. He wouldn't be in love with the man, and instead he would be some kind of fleeting memory of a guy that Laxus had found attractive but hadn't had the balls to have a real conversation with. He would be a stranger, not a lover.

Hell, Laxus' life would have been pretty damn different. Freed had been the one to encourage him to leave his job and focus on personal training. And Laxus wouldn't have been able to keep a place of his own, so he might have still been living with Makarov. He would likely be exactly where he was three years ago; discontented, bored, and essentially alone.

But that hadn't happened. He had gotten to know the man he loved, and he was now sharing a third anniversary with him. All these hypothetical situations were entirely useless, because he was living the best life he could right now. And watching Freed's content, gorgeous face as he assessed the passing views through the window just proved it.

In retrospect, he was damn glad they hadn't taken the train.

~~~

When Freed had said that there would be a fair few surprise throughout the trip, he certainly had meant it.

After they'd arrived at the hotel, they had been guided to the most expensive and luxurious suite the place had to offer; the bellhop had even claimed it was the honeymoon suite, a fact which made Laxus blush slightly. After they'd unpacked, they had walked down to one of many restaurants and Laxus had eaten the best steak he'd ever had. When they'd returned from lunch to their room, they'd slept for a little while – Laxus had almost melted into the bed – and had been awoken by someone calling their room remining them of their couple's spa appointment. This had consisted of a few treatments, and then a class on how to massage one another. Laxus hadn't realised how many knots he had until Freed's hand had worked them out.

He was somewhat concerned about how much everything costed, but he knew that Freed wasn't the type to spend money he didn't have nor wasn't willing to lose. And even on his wage as a waiter, he always paid equally on the rent.

And Blue Pegasus did get rich customers, ones who would fall for Freed's easy charm. He was probably flirting without knowing. The thought made Laxus smile.

After completing the spa treatment, Freed claimed he had nothing else scheduled for the rest of the day; other than the evening walk to the canyon itself, but that had been planned between them both beforehand. Rather than returning to their room again, they had decided to have a coffee at one of the bars that overlooked the relatively empty pools of the complex.

"Thanks," Laxus said through the silence. "For all of this. It's really nice of ya."

"You really don't need to thank me, Laxus," Freed said with a smile. "Sometimes, I think you forget that you deserve to be treated and spoiled. You often do these things for me that mean a lot more than you might think. You downplay all the things you do for me, and I think that you don't understand what they mean to me, so I just wanted to make it clear that I more than appreciate all you do, and love you for it."

"I think you're bein' too kind," Laxus laughed, unable to take a compliment.

"I'm not," Freed denied. "The amount of time's you've come to the library with food because you knew I had to study and wasn't looking after myself, and you didn't once complain. I know it was you who organised the weekly nights out with Bix and Ever when I was getting stressed. Even the fact that you gave me that picture today; you have no idea how… loved you make me feel."

"You sound like you're describing some rom-com character," Laxus laughed, again trying to deflect.

"One day you'll be able to take a compliment without being awkward," Freed chuckled. "What I'm trying to say it, I know all the things you've been doing. I understand that these things you do are how you show affection. And that I love you so much, and that you deserve to feel the same sense of love and comfort that I do every time you do these things for me."

Laxus didn't say anything, and Freed didn't push him. They both knew that the intention of Freed's actions was understood.

They sat at the table in a comfortable silence for a little while longer, Laxus with his leg resting against Freed's. He had taken his lover's hand in his own and was gently rubbing his thumb against the calloused palm. In this gesture, Laxus was trying to show as clearly as possible how much he cared for Freed, and how he appreciated him just as much as Freed claimed.

Freed simply knocked his knee in reply, a silent message saying his meaning had been understood.

"This might sound slightly weird," Freed spoke again after a while. "But I'm always reminded of you when I think about swimming."

"You are?" Laxus asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yes. It was at that waterpark when I realised that I hadn't been in love before," Freed began, looking out at the empty pools with fondness. "It was on that obstacle course. You had tripped and fallen on your face, and were so determined to win that you actually grabbed by ankle and dragged me down with you. And I looked over my shoulder and you had this ridiculous grin on your face because you were so cocky about what you'd done, and it just hit me. I just understood that I could feel so strongly about you, could be so reinvigorated by you, that nothing I'd had in the past would ever come close to you."

Laxus was momentarily stunned. Freed had thought so passionately about him then, on the third day that they had known each other?

"You've never told me that," He eventually said.

"Well, I used to be embarrassed by it because I barely knew you and I considered loving you. And it hasn't really come up since, but given the mood I thought I should tell you," Freed smiled a little then. "Also, right after that, you used my momentary lapse of concentration to push me into the water. Thus making me lose a bet, which you've been gloating about ever since."

Laxus chuckled, and grinned at the man. "You shouldn't make a bet you ain't willing to play dirty to win."

"I suppose not," Freed agreed.

"I knew I'd be in love with you on that week too," Laxus confessed, blushing a little. "I had a crush on ya when I first saw ya. But by the end of the week, I just had a feeling that one day I'd be in love with ya. Guess I was right."

"I suppose you were," Freed agreed, and they shared a private, lovestruck smile.

~~~

"I believe it was exactly here where we had our first real kiss," Freed said with a grin.

Laxus chuckled. The two of them were standing in the camping spot where, three years prior, Bickslow had parked up the RV. Just like three years ago, the sky was in the mid-section between the evening and the night, creating a soft orange that illuminated the impressive landmass before them. It was just as Laxus had remembered, both moving and humbling.

The walk towards the canyon had been one of the quiet moments Laxus loved. It was just the two of them in the open, with soft wind hitting them and cooling off the summer heat that had been battering down on them for the past few weeks. They had been hand in hand as they walked, relishing each other's company.

"The exact place, huh," Laxus said with a smile. "You seem pretty confident about that."

"Of course," Freed replied. "I have a good memory and I remember the exact position of the stars from where we had been sitting. And that was right here. Furthermore, the distance from the-"

"You're just guessing, ain't ya?" Laxus asked with a smirk.

"Yes," Freed admitted, grinning.

Shaking his head, Laxus pulled the man into a kiss. It was chaste and only lasted a moment, but they pulled apart with smiles on their faces. Laxus had always thought that Freed looked beautiful in the natural light, and the evening sun hitting their faces was a testament to that. The way his almost perfect skin glowed, the reflection in his eyes, the small quirk in his lips in a smile.

"You're so beautiful," Laxus mumbled, his nose pressing against Freed's. "I love you so fuckin' much."

"I love you too," Freed reciprocated. "I'm glad we came back here."

"Me too," Laxus whispered, pulling Freed into another kiss.

Rather than continuing the walk or returning to the hotel, they decided that they would spend some time sitting at the canyon and enjoying the view together. They walked closer to the canyon, climbing atop a large boulder, sitting with their legs dangling above the large pit. Their shoulders rested against each other, and the gentle wind that cooled them also gently ruffled their hair. The slowly setting son practically silhouetted them from behind, and it felt as though they were the only two people in the world at that moment.

The romance of the situation wasn't lost on the man, and he found himself resting his head against Freed's shoulder.

Freed's words from earlier in the day were still resonating in his head. Laxus had never been the type to do big grand romantic gestures, and although he'd gotten a lot better at speaking about what he felt and talking about his feelings, he would always prefer showing his romantic side in smaller, more subtle ways. The fact that Freed knew and appreciated that was such a great feeling that Laxus could hardly understate it.

Although, he had felt that Freed had been too harsh on himself. Yeah, the man had been stressed with his final year of school, but he hadn't been nasty with that stress. He's still tried to make Laxus feel loved, even on his worse days. That was something that Laxus wasn't going to overlook.

They were lucky to have found each other, and the thought made Laxus laugh a happy laugh.

"What?" Freed asked with a smile.

"Just thinking," Laxus shook his head. "About our relationship. And the fact it took us like eight months after we started dating to actually call each other our boyfriends. Especially since we both knew we'd be in love with each other the first week we met each other. Just crap at labels I guess."

"I suppose," Freed said with chuckle. "I've never really thought that labels were all that important, so long as we cared for each other and loved each other."

"Yeah, guess so," Laxus agreed with a smile, closing his eyes contently.

"Though, I must admit that I have come around to certain labels," Freed said, somewhat mysteriously.

Laxus waited a moment, expecting to hear a continuation of whatever Freed was thinking. When there wasn't one, Laxus opened his eyes. He looked at the mans face for a moment, to see that he was looking out over the canyon still. With a frown, Laxus' gaze fell slightly to their intertwined hands on the boulder, only to see something had been placed between them both. His eyes widened when he realised what it was.

A small, black velvet box, in which held an elegant obsidian ring.

"I should apologise for lying," Freed said, grin unhindered now. "I had one more surprise left for you."

"Is that a…" Laxus began, at a loss for words as he looked down at the ring glinting in the sun. "Did you… are you… I don't actually know-"

"I understand that you wouldn't want a large speech, that it would make you uncomfortable and clam up slightly, so I'll forgo that tradition," Freed continued, looking towards Laxus now, running his fingers over Laxus' knuckles. "But I just want you to know this. The moment I met you, I knew that you'd be the man I love. That has been more than true, and it would be a great honour if you chose to become my husband."

"You wanna-" Laxus asked, voice cracking with emotion. "I mean, just to be completely sure, you're asking me to marry you?"

"Really, you truly need to get better with compliments," Freed shook his head fondly. He leant forward, and their foreheads pressed together as Freed lifted the ring. "I am asking you to marry me, Laxus."

There was a beat, and then Laxus wore the biggest most dopey smile he had ever worn.

"Yes. Of fucking course I will," Laxus said in delight.

They were kissing a moment later, Laxus wrapping the man he loved in his arms a moment later in a tight and needy embrace. Freed laughed in the kiss, showing the same amount of glee that Laxus was feeling inside. He felt a giddy sensation flow throughout him as he leant further into his lover's kiss. His future husband's kiss.

When they pulled apart, they hardly moved, and that was only so Freed could carefully remove the ring from it's box and slide it down Laxus' finger. Laxus looked down at the black-stone jewellery, and it filled him with such a feeling of completeness that it physically made him ache.

"It's beautiful," Laxus whispered, then looked up to Freed with adoration on his face. "It's so fucking…" The words wouldn't come to him, and he didn't care. "I love you so fucking much."

"I love you too," Freed whispered with a small laugh. "And I fully intend to love you for the rest of my life."

Overcome by emotion, Laxus brought their lips together again in a strong, emotional kiss. He brought Freed as close as he could, portraying everything he felt in a single, beautiful kiss.

As they kissed, enraptured in their own world, the sun set low on the canyon before them.

[thevoidscreams]

Pancakes and coffee

(Forgot I had this done... kinda

Just a little but of morning fluff and a hint of spice.This was for Lulu. Love you lu.)

Hawks x reader

Rating: pg

Summary: Hawks likes pancakes almost as much as he likes being married to you.

His arms reached out to search for your warm body to pull you closer but his hands found not but the empty space beside him.

Sunlight spilled lazily over the bed from between the curtains as they danced in the breeze from the open window. Hawks stretched and sighed, his joints popping oh so satisfyingly and he began to wake more fully from a long wonderful night's sleep.

His eyes snapped open to survey the room, panicked as he found it empty of anyone but himself.

Rolling off the bed he stopped and listened, outside the door of your shared room he could hear you as you moved about in the kitchen, the smell of food and coffee finally registered in his brain and he smiled. You'd gotten up early to make him breakfast. His heart melted at the notion.

Not bothering to dress in anything more than boxers before he left the room, he strolled out into the common area of his and now also your, condo and found you in front of the stove flipping pancakes, his heart flipped too.

He loved you so much, if he'd been told that being married could be wonderful and life changing in the best ways imaginable he might not have believed it before.

His life had been filled with what amounted to train wrecks rather than marriages, especially when it came to his own parents.

But seeing you here, in this moment , he couldn't and wouldn't want anything else.

"Are you going to stare all morning or come get breakfast?"

You peeked over your shoulder at him as he stepped out of the bedroom doorway. He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around your waist to rest his head on your shoulder.

"If I was told getting married meant free pancakes, I would have proposed the day I met you." His lips grazed your neck making you giggle and nearly drop the poor pancake perched on your spatula. "Keigo, I have to finish these, you can steal kisses in a minute."

The man groaned and let you go. Opting instead to steal a piece of bacon from the meat plate.

It crunched in his mouth, crispy and perfect. 

The coffee maker beeped as it completed brewing, Keigo grabbed two mugs and began pouring coffee into them. 

The stove top clicked as you flipped it off.

"Okay now that that's done, how many pancakes do you want?"

"Three to start."

You forked three of them off the stack and onto a separate plate, giving him bacon and some strawberries and pineapple cubes as well.

You'd prepared the meal with so much love. Letting your heart guide your efforts. Your finger ran over your wedding band and engagement ring as you set the plate in front of your husband.

He in turn handed you your coffee.

It was piping hot but perfectly done up the way you liked it.

"Oh!" Keigo exclaimed, "Chocolate chips. Honey you shouldn't have!" He stuffed a bite into his mouth with a wink and your laugh came out mixed with a snort. He always made you laugh so easily.

"I know you like them so I gave you a few."

The hero felt a rush of warmth at the words, he'd been married to you for only a month now but you'd quickly become his whole world. 

His ring clinked on his mug and he smiled. 

"I love you so much." The words just spilled forth unbidden but very true. The sudden blush on your cheeks made him blush in turn.

"I love you too Keigo."

The sound of his name, his really real name, was so musical, so inviting and he had enjoyed it from the moment he'd entrusted it to you.

Hearing you call him Keigo always sent a shiver up his spine and flooded his head with thoughts far less than pure.

He stood from his chair and closed the short space between you.

His lips caught yours and he held you in the kiss for several moments.

"You're so damn beautiful. What did I do right to deserve you?"

He kissed you again and again, pulling you up from the chair to hold you in his arms.

"My love these pancakes were very good but I'm a bit hungry for something else."

You  kissed him this time, running your tongue against his lips, he welcomed it into his mouth,his hand tangling itself into your hair.

His need for you only grew as he moved away from the table back towards the door to the bedroom.

You could start your day in an hour or two. The pancakes and coffee could always be reheated.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Terms of Engagement ch.7

Summary: Rus is still a kid himself and with his life turned upside-down, he has no idea how he’s going to take care of his baby brother. Having other kid skeletons appear in his world wasn’t exactly the help he was looking for.

Tags: Pre-Spicyhoney, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Underswap Papyrus, Underswap Sans, Undertale Sans, Undertale Papyrus, Babybones, Scientist W. D. Gaster, Possible Past Child Abuse, Skellie Daycare, Growing Up Together, Big Brothers Caring For Their Little Bros, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Violence

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | 

Chapter Six

~~*~~

Read Chapter Seven on AO3

or

Read It Here!

~~*~~

The artificial light streaming in through the window was already conspiring to wake Rus when the kicked open door finished the job. He groaned aloud, rolling over and yanking the blanket over his head as he mumbled, “c’mon, bro, five more minutes.”

“Is that how you always greet Blue in the morning? Because if so, you and my brother have a great deal more in common than I thought.”

That deep, raspy voice was nothing like the sweeter, higher version of Blue’s. Rus scrambled to sit up, fighting free of the tangled blankets and choking back a scream as he met a pair of crimson eye lights set in a scarred face.

Memory jolted into place and shame came fast on its heels, fuck, how would that have made Edge feel, that the sight of his face scared the shit out of him? Wasn’t like the scars were the kid’s fault or his LV, if Rus was understanding things right.

Edge’s mouth twisted wryly and Rus’s soul ached guiltily. Might not have hidden that as well as he hoped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. How are you feeling?”

“fine,” Rus croaked, sounding exactly like shit. “better, i mean.”

“Hm.” Edge sat on the side of the bed, his bed, Rus realized, made in the form of a race car like Blue’s was of a Volkswagen beetle. Always those almost similarities, younger brothers instead of older, turn left instead of right, their worlds not the same but still not exactly different.

Edge pulled up the blanket enough to expose his ankle. The testing pressure of his fingers made Rus wince. “Still a little bruised, but you should be all right.” That touch lingered, soothing over the dark spots mottling the bone, until Rus shifted uncomfortably. Then Edge drew away, straightening. “Red wanted to speak with you.”

“yeah, i bet.” Maybe in the time Rus was asleep, he’d come up with some ideas on how the hell he was going to get home. Edge went over to the closet, rummaging through looked like a sparse selection, and finally brought back a neat stack of clothes.

“Here, you’d probably like to change. I’ll wait outside the door if you need help down the stairs.”

“thanks,” Rus said, weakly. Edge only nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

The pants fit at the hips well enough, but Rus had to cuff them to keep from dragging on the floor. That was a novel experience, not too many Monsters back home were taller than him, especially not Blue.

He paused to think of his brother, closing his sockets. Right about now Blue would usually be waking him up to head out to his sentry post. Not today, today he was worried, maybe out searching the woods for him. maybe he’d been searching since last night. There was no way of knowing when Blue discovered he was actually missing and not just slacking off over in one of the Hotland posts, selling hot cats for an extra buck. He knew his brother, so well, and Blue would be frantic by now, Snowdin would have been searched from top to bottom and there was no way to let him know Rus was all right.

Well, mostly all right.

Rus sighed shakily and pulled the shirt Edge gave him over his head. He couldn’t worry about Blue now, worry wasn’t gonna get him home. But as he pulled on the shirt, he could smell the same laundry detergent his brother used, exactly the same, and by the time he yanked it down to his waist, Rus was angrily swiping away tears.

Time to get downstairs and start planning.

He limped his way cautiously to the door and happened to catch sight of himself in the mirror over the dresser. If he sounded like shit, he looked worse, but that wasn’t what froze him. The shirt was plain cotton, worn to softness over many washes, and looked as if once it proclaimed the wearer to be a ‘cool dude’. That was slashed across with red paint and bold penmanship declared overtop, “Bad Ass!”

It made him smile, a little sadly. The Edge he’d met yesterday seemed like the type to wear something like this but it was hard to reconcile that with the sweet kid he’d known, the one who was so awed by his first bisicle.

(I’m going to marry you, Russy.)

Rus shoved that memory back into the mental box at the back of his mind and headed out the door. Edge was waiting and again Rus was struck by how damn tall he was. It was one thing to notice it when he was sitting down, something else entirely when Rus was standing next to him and actually had to look up.

“Let me help you,” Edge said, reaching for him. Rus shied back, almost stumbling as his weak ankle protested.

“no! No, i’m good, thanks, i got it.”

If he didn’t already feel like shit, then the flutter of emotion that crossed Edge’s face would’ve done the job. The briefest flicker of obvious hurt, quickly masked.

Rus swallowed hard, “sorry, i didn’t mean--”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Edge said gruffly. He went past Rus, keeping a careful distance between them and headed downstairs.

Well, fuck.

He was feeling raw and unnerved, but there was no reason to take it out on the guy who was only trying to help him. Rus heaved a mental sigh and hobbled down after Edge, following him into the kitchen.

Red was already sitting at the table and the spread of food around him made Rus stare in drooling shock. There was a heaping plate of pancakes, melting butter oozing down the sides from the top of the stack. A plateful of brown sausages next to a bowl of cheery yellow scrambled eggs, golden hash browns, and fluffy biscuits alongside an open jar of bright red jam, a sticky spoon poking out of the top.

“mornin', bean pole,” Red mumbled, shoveling in another bite. “grab a plate and we’ll talk.”

Rus didn’t have a stomach to rumble, but damn if his soul didn’t give a lurch like it was about to hop out and load up a plate of its own. Rus hastily grabbed a plate and filled it, moaning aloud as he scooped up his first bite of syrupy pancake.

“this is so good,” Rus said around the mouthful. The look Edge sent him was so much like Blue, a pointed ‘Really? Those are your manners?’ stare, that he couldn’t help grinning sheepishly, swallowing before he repeated. “it’s great. considering some of the crap you cooked up back in the day, i gotta say, seeing you making decent food is probably the freakiest thing here.”

���nah, this ain't me,” Red said around his chewing. Edge swatted him on the back of the skull. Looked like he was less restrained with challenging his brother’s manners. Red swallowed and gave him an unapologetic grin. “sorry, bro. anyway, i don’t do the cooking, ‘bout all i can handle is reheating and dishes.”

“oh.” Rus managed a smile for Edge, trying not to let his gaze linger on the heavy crack through his socket. There was no good way to explain that it wasn’t the scar that put him off, it was what it meant. That innocent kid suffering and some part of Rus still believed he could’ve stopped it. If only, if only, and yeah, he hated that crack, hated it. But for right now, delicious pancakes were the game. ”edge, this is really amazingly good.”

“Thank you.” To Rus’s delight, his cheek bones went faintly pink. That scarred face was like a mask overtop the kid he’d known and every once in a while, the kid would peek out shyly. “This is somewhat more expansive than we’d normally have, but since we have a guest for breakfast--”

Red interrupted with a loud guffaw, “yeah, he put on the ritz for you. stay as long as you like if it’s gonna get me this kind of spread.”

Delicious as the food was, that reminder made Rus’s appetite wane. He managed a few more bites, not wanting to waste the food when he damn well knew himself how scarce supplies could be from time to time. In the end, Rus had to push his plate away, only half-eaten. Red was already finished, his plate practically licked clean and Edge only began eating after they finished, polishing off the cooling food and, yeah, maybe his manners were a little better but he still ate hungrily.

Red poured out coffee from a carafe, pushing mugs around the table. “okay, rus. now that we’ve got the eats outta the way, we need to figure out how the hell you got here. i’m guessin' you weren’t trying to show up at our door.”

Rus shook his head. “sorry, but no.” He took a sip of the coffee and almost gagged, “what the fuck is that?!”

“Chicory,” Edge said. He didn’t even bother to stifle his amusement and Rus pretended not to see he was finishing off the leftovers from Rus’s plate. “It’s easier to get and cheaper than coffee, but it does take some getting used to. Here.” He went to a tall cupboard and rummaged, bringing back a small jar. It was honey and Rus took it gratefully, stirring in a healthy (or not so much) spoonful. His next sip was still lingering bitter, but not quite that dark-roasted nightmare of the first.

“happy now?” Red asked lazily.

Rus was about to answer when Edge said, stiffly, “Yes.”

“good, then let’s get started.” Red leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees and his crimson gaze intent, “start from the beginning. tell me everythin', every detail, don’t care if you think it’s stupid, got me?”

So Rus did. Every detail, from getting up that morning, the way he’d been thinking about him and Edge, remembering them for no particular reason he could come up with. The way he’d felt agitated, almost urged to head downstairs to check on the machine. Despite what Red said, he still felt stupid describing how the machine made him feel, like it wanted to be used.

But the Fell brothers only listened intently and Edge nodded grimly as Rus haltingly explained how just being around the machine made his bones crawl.

“...and that was when i shortcutted out. i was trying to shortcut out to my sentry station, but--”

“wait,” Red interrupted, latching onto that eagerly, his sockets narrowing. “shortcut?”

With a jolt, Rus realized Red hadn’t been there when Sans taught him and it seemed he hadn’t figured it out on his own. “um, yeah, it’s kinda like teleporting. sans figured it out and he showed me how, before we shut down the machines.”

“Like teleporting?” Edge paused as he was clearing the table with a stack of plates in his hands. He looked a hellava lot more shocked than Red, sockets wide and astonished.

Red waved it off. “not that much of a surprise, bro, we know the docs were tryin' to find a way outta the barrier. okay,” Red said, slowly. “so you usually take a shortcut to your sentry station. you ever shortcut around the machine before?”

“loads of times,” Rus shrugged. “that’s how i got the damn thing to snowdin to begin with, i don’t even know how you two managed to move it.”

“we’ll go back to that. show me how a shortcut works.”

“now?”

Red raised brow bone and asked with sardonic politeness, “you wanna get home to blue?”

“um, yeah.” Guess Red had some asshole left in him. Rus looked around uncertainly. “i’ll go out to the living room?”

“wherever works, try it.”

Rus nodded and took a deep breath. Shortcutting was easy once you knew the trick of it. Drawing on his magic, the picture of where firmly in his mind, and all he needed to do was step through the void and--

Rus choked on a scream, every atom in his body felt like it was tearing itself apart from the inside in agonizing slow motion. The sear of pain blinded him and he nearly fell, saved only by Edge catching his arm and hauling him back upright. Thoughtlessly, Rus lurched into those strong arms, clinging as the pain slowly, slowly ebbed. They slipped around him after a startled moment, then pulled him in close, settling Rus to sit on bony legs as Edge murmured soft, wordless noises of comfort.

“oh, oh fuck,” Rus sobbed. His hands fisted into the shirt beneath his cheek bone. Little aftershocks were still spiking through him, vicious needle jabs of pain. “oh, that hurt so much.”

“easy, easy,” Red said, behind him, clearly upset, “shit, sorry! i thought somethin' might happen but I didn’t expect that!”

Rus barely heard him. He looked up at Edge, his vision blurred with tears as he whispered hoarsely, “i can’t shortcut.”

He’d been able to shortcut for some fifteen years now, it was his escape, his power, and to lose it felt like he really had lost a leg.

“I’m so sorry,” Edge said, softly. Offering gentle sympathy even though his face was proof he’d gone through so much more than Rus could imagine.

Thoughtlessly, Rus raised a hand, tracing that crack through his socket with a timid fingertip. He’d kept it for the effect, Edge said, offered to let Rus kiss it to make it better. That socket widened but Edge didn’t draw away, let him trace the ragged line down his cheek bone.

Then his sense kicked back in and Rus realized he was damn well sitting in Edge’s lap, groping his face like some kind of pervert.

Rus took a deep, shuddery breath and lurched unsteadily to his feet. “can i go outside and smoke here?”

“sure, go ahead,” Red said. His crimson eye lights searched Rus’s face carefully. “don’t wander too far from the house.”

Rus nodded and fled.

He walked slowly upstairs to get his cigarettes, where once he would have simply shortcutted up. Didn’t think about that, only rummaged through his hoodie for his smokes and lighter.

Downstairs, he hesitated at the front door. His shoe was stained with marrow, dried into dark splotches. Rus’s mouth tightened grimly as he shoved his bruised foot into it anyway, not bothering to tie them as he slipped out the door. The artificial light was at its highest, close to simulated noon, damn, he had slept a long time.

Rus dusted off the porch and sat down, shaking out a cigarette and lighting it despite the trembling flame of his lighter. The first rush of nicotine into his magic soothed him and Rus sat there, smoking quietly, but he couldn’t quite relax. He could still feel the low thrum of the shielding magic around the house, essentially checking and rechecking him for Intent, and finally, Rus stood and took a few steps away until the feeling faded.

From here, he could get a pretty good look at the town. If it was maybe a little dingy-er than his version of Snowdin, that wasn’t the only change. Instead of the bright, elegant sign lettering for Muffet’s Bakery, there was bold, plain one declaring itself as Grillby’s. He was too far away to see inside, but the Monster stumbling out the door didn’t look like they’d stopped in for a pastry.

The only Grillbie he knew was a Fire Monster who lived over in Hotland and she wouldn’t have been caught alive in Snowdin, since she was pretty much sure the snow would snuff her out two steps in.

He wondered if this world’s Muffet was in Hotland, if she ran her bakery out there and did she stop at a sentry station sometimes for a hotcat, or whatever they had here? Was Edge friends with this Grillby, did he stop in to get all the gossip? What else was not quite the same, tipped to one side and wrong? He didn’t know, but it was something to think about, wasn’t it. Better than remembering that he was stuck here and the wall surrounding Snowdin was in sight, a magic-soaked barrier to keep out whatever horrors lived in the Woods.

He stood there, lost in his wondering with nothing but miserable time to do it in, and that was how the children found him. The same kids he’d seen yesterday or maybe not, Rus couldn’t be sure.They approached him curiously, warily, all of them in worn clothes showing neat patches and clomping around in an older siblings’ hand-me-down boots. But their cheeks were full and their eyes were bright, interested in this new stranger in their midst. The pack of them were standing around the mailboxes, huddling together as if by sticking close, maybe Rus wouldn’t see them staring.

They almost looked familiar, another sidestep away from his world.

“hey,” Rus called out to them. A half dozen pairs of eyes went wide, one kid muffling a startled shriek and Rus shook his head. Kids. Looked like they were about the same even in different universes. He crouched to put out his cigarette in the snow before shoving the butt into his pocket. “hey, you guys want to see a magic trick?”

That got ‘em. Rus reached into his pocket and pulled out a G coin, weaving it easily through his fingers. It was a cheap trick but it do look impressive to a kid, and soon the boldest of them left the herd, creeping in closer to watch with wide eyes as Rus spun the gold piece through his fingers, walking it across his knuckles in a spin and a dance.

Since he didn’t grab the brave one and eat him or something, the other kids seemed to decide he was safe enough. They all crept closer, a collection of wide eyes and runny noses, watching as he switched hands, staring as that coin pirouetted and twirled across the backs of his fingers.

He ended with a flourish, the coin spinning up high for Rus to snatch out of the air. He bowed grandly and the kids gave him a smattering of applause.

“ah, but i’m not finished! watch this.”

He crouched down next to the bold kid and showed him the coin. “i bet you can blow this coin away. wanna try?”

The kid nodded furiously and Rus went through the whole show of it. Waving it around so all the kids could see, carefully palming it before holding out his empty fist for the kid to blow on. The round of gasps that came when he opened his hand to show the ‘vanished’ coin was better than any applause from doing card tricks at the NTT resort.

“oh, but wait!” Rus reached behind the kid’s head and ‘plucked’ the coin from thin air, showing it to them all. “Didn’t get far, did it? Here, kid.” He flipped the coin and it spun in the air, head over tails. The kid fumbled for it, wide eyes shining almost as much as the coin.

“For me?”

Again, that memory of the bisicle, of Edge’s low, childish whisper as if he couldn’t believe anything so wonderful could be his. This time it was almost paralyzing, Rus standing with his grin frozen even as the child’s smile began to wobble.

“um. yeah.” Rus fumbled for words before that smile could disappear. “yeah, it’s...it’s all yours, big guy.”

The kid didn’t even say thank you and Rus didn’t give a shit. It was all right there, in those wide, wide eyes and all the kids surrounded him as they walked away, chattering excitedly. Rus watched them go, the turmoil of his emotions swerving into a new direction.

“That’s the second time I’ve seen that trick and I’m still not sure how you did it.”

If he wasn’t already a skeleton, Rus would have jumped out of his fucking skin. As it was, he jerked so hard he almost toppled into the snow, his sore ankle raising everloving hell. Edge was a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets and a faint smile playing on his mouth. Maybe Rus was getting used to that scar, he actually relaxed to see it was only Edge.

“a magician never reveals his secrets,” Rus said breezily. Then curiously, “you remember that?”

“Of course. That was the last morning I saw you.”

Edge reached into the front of his shirt and pulled out a chain and Rus blinked when Edge showed him that dangling from it was a G coin, as untarnished and shiny as the day he’d given it away.

“you kept it?” Rus asked, disbelieving. He reached up to touch it without thinking, hesitating inches away, his hand curling into a fist.

Edge didn’t seem to notice. His wry grin was softer, teasing. “Well, I had to. It seems that my world doesn’t take G with the Queen’s face on it.” Then he sobered. “I wouldn’t have used it, anyway. You gave it to me.”

“i…” Rus didn’t know what to say to that. He looked up into Edge’s face, searching for any sign of that kid...kids. He looked around wildly, but all the sprogs were gone. “shit! that means he won’t be able to spend that!”

“I’ll take care of it. It was kind of you, to give him that.”

Rus shrugged uncomfortably. “no big deal, it’s only a g.”

The way Edge studied him, deep crimson eye lights resting on Rus’s face, was unsettling in a way Rus couldn’t quite explain. “You still do that, too.”

“do what?” Rus asked distractedly. Another cigarette sounded great right now and he started rummaging for the crumpled pack, fishing one out.

“Deflect when someone compliments you.”

Rus froze, unlit cigarette clenched in his teeth. No fucking way, Edge was hardly more than a baby bones when they closed off their machine, he didn’t need late-day psychoanalysis from someone who slept with a teddy bear. Rus shook his head, trying not to snap as he said, “i do not! it’s not a big deal, that’s all!”

“You do, but that’s all right, Russy.” Edge smiled and there it was, always in that smile. Little Edge, the kid who sat in his lap for stories. “I don’t mind telling you again. Excuse me, I’d better catch them before they try to use that coin in the shop.”

He strode off and Rus watched him go. Putting this version of Edge on top of his memories was almost exactly like trying to compare this Snowdin to his own. Not quite right, tipped a little to the side, and off.

He still wasn’t sure whether it was a good or a bad thing.

tbc

[alexanderlightweight]

knitting: hobby or way of life?

Fandom: Roswell New Mexico

Pairings: Kyle Valenti & Alex Manes, (Mentioned Past Michael Guerin/Alex Manes)

Warnings: Light Emotional Angst, Alcohol/Coffee

ao3 link

Alex frowned at a particularly stubborn knot.  It had tangled together enough that it was obvious but he’d been lost in thought and was only just now noticing it.  He was just coming to the decision that he’d have to unravel his work when a knock sounded on the door. It took him a moment to secure everything before he opened the door and found Kyle there with a hopeful look.

Alex gave Kyle a long look and then sighed, “did you at least bring coffee with you?”  He asked as he walked back to the couch, leaning his crutches against the coffee table and settling down.

“I did,” Kyle said and he hesitated near the doorway, “you sure you don’t mind?”

“Reheat the coffee, add a couple of shots and shut the damn door Kyle.”  Alex said and he left no room for disagreement when he glared at Kyle from the couch.  He was too exhausted to deal with anything else and he had a feeling that Kyle felt the same.  

The last three days had been a mental and emotional whirlwind and now that it was over, Alex no longer felt like he was going to be dropped off a cliff.  Instead, he was convinced that he was already at the bottom of one.

“Whiskey’s above the fridge,” he called when he heard a telltale beep and the whir of the microwave.

It took a few minutes and it gave Alex enough time to settle himself.  He knew that Kyle could be visiting for a variety of reasons, anything from Caulfield and Project Shepherd, to dealing with hiding so much from his mother.  

Or, it could be the fact that in the last three days, Rosa had been resurrected, Kyle had been shot and in turn put Jesse Manes in a coma and Max had died.  All fairly alarming, confusing and generally life-changing events.  

“You knit?”  Kyle asked, breaking Alex from his musing as he sat two mugs of generously spiked coffee down.  Alex could smell the whiskey from the couch and he inhaled the sharpness of alcohol and the earthy scent of coffee,  letting it distract him.

“Yeah, I picked it up while in the hospital and stuck with it through rehab,” Alex said and tapped his leg idly, “I wasn’t sure about it at first but it was something to do when there wasn’t a lot I could.”  

There was a moment between them of silence and Alex closed his eyes, just for a moment as he sipped his coffee.

“Feel like teaching me?”  Kyle finally asked, “I feel like I could use something to do but my brain is,” he took a breath.  “I don’t think I can handle thinking about one more thing.”

“Alright,” Alex nodded to the space on the couch next to him, “grab the bag over there and bring it here.”

Kyle did as instructed and then settled next to him, “so how frustrating is learning this going to be?”

“You’re a doctor, Kyle.”  Alex reminded him with a smirk, “using sharp instruments to piece together soft, delicate things is literally part of your job.  Now pick a color and one of the thicker yarns, it’ll be easier for you to get the hang of.”

“Well, I definitely hadn’t thought of it like that,” Kyle admitted and took the bag, rummaging until he found a soft fabric in dark red.  He held it for a moment, rubbing the thread between his fingers and then he sighed. “It reminds me of Rosa’s lipstick, I remember she always wore that shade.”

“Her armor,” Alex said quietly.

“I know it’s not the same,” Kyle said and put the rest of the yarn down, out of the way, “but maybe-” he paused.  “We weren’t close in high school and just because I know she’s my sister doesn’t mean we’re suddenly confidents or that she’ll trust me.  It’s just one of the only things I know about her that doesn’t have to do with her being Liz’s big sister. I was hoping that maybe if I make her something that color it’ll be familiar, comforting even.”  

“Well, a scarf is easy enough for a start and we have time.”  

“So, what are you making?”  Kyle asked, after Alex had patiently and good-naturedly shown him how to knot and then loop the yarn.

“A blanket,” Alex said shortly, not wanting to expand but Kyle reached out and poked him.  “Hey, do no harm, Dr. Valenti,” he scolded and smacked Kyle’s hand away. Kyle tried to engage him in a stare-off but blinked first and then resorted to the underhanded move of stealing his coffee.  “Oh for- fine. It’s a blanket for Michael.” Kyle handed the mug back to him and Alex rolled his eyes, “between working in his bunker and being at the caves, he’s probably going to get cold and I don’t need another one.”  

“I thought you two, never mind-” Kyle paused and then took a hasty gulp of his own coffee, wincing from either the alcohol or the heat.  Alex appreciated that he was trying not to pry too much but at this point not many things were actually a secret.

“He’s still my family,” Alex told him, “but life is complicated.  I know that better than most. Considering that our relationship was a mess even before I knew that Michael was an alien, I’d say that now, convoluted has become a severe understatement when it comes to describing what’s between us.”

“You’re not, I don’t know... upset about it?”  

“I am, but I have more important things to do with my time than to waste it by being bitter and angry.”  Alex said and sighed, “look, sometimes life gives you fucked up options and you have to take the choice that hurts the least.  Because you’re in so much pain that you know you can’t take any more or you’ll break.” Alex knitted as he spoke, “we all make shitty choices sometimes.  A lot of the time it’s to protect ourselves. I love Michael, Kyle. But I’ve lived and fought through battles that affected far more than just me and I’ve made mistakes.”    

“So you’re just okay with it?  Because you know how to rationalize it, that makes it hurt less?”

“No, but what or how I feel about things isn’t what’s important right now.  I’ve been managing my own heartbreak for over a decade,” Alex told Kyle. “I’ll admit, being back here again in Roswell, with Michael and then all of this shit with my dad- it opened up a lot of old wounds.  There’s something about this place, it took me a moment to catch my balance, to remember that I’m not a terrified teenager fighting against the world.”

“So what are you?”

“I’m a badass with a lot of baggage and holding more cards than anyone actually knows,” Alex said and grinned, “so let me worry about me.  There are things that I need your support and your help with, but my relationship with Michael isn’t one of them.”

“Your call,” Kyle said, “but I’m here if you ever need me.”

“Thanks, but maybe for now, focus on your knitting.  You just missed every other loop, I hope you don’t do that with your patients.”

Kyle cursed and held up his needles and yarn and looked closely at his mess, “people are easier.”  He grumbled, “at least they bleed if you poke them in the wrong place.”  

Alex shook his head, laughing as he helped untangle the mess.  It took a little while but much like life, most of the complicated snags in knitting could be fixed when you took the time and had the patience.  If it couldn't, well he had more yarn and they could always start over.

[cost-of-chaos]

All You Need Is Love (Chapter Seven)

Once again thank you @xgoingdownx for helping me out!  I just want to thank everyone who has read this and liked or reblogged or commented, every time someone interacts with my story my day is made! If you wanna be tagged or just give me feedback my ask box is always open xx

Roger Taylor x OC

Words: 2.3K

Warnings: Mentions of smut 

Previous Chapters: Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six

I awoke to the sound of my front door slamming, panic instantly swept through my body as lay still in the bed. I couldn’t move, I was completely frozen in place. I could feel my heart jumping out of my chest with every beat, had I forgotten to lock my door last night? 

My fears faded as the intruder finally showed themselves in the dim light from the rising sun. It was Roger. What was he doing back here? He wasn’t meant to be arriving back in London until tonight. Roger silently climbed into the bed next to me, with Lenny in his arms purring away loudly as he received much sought after chin scratches.

“I would never cheat on you Ronnie, you know that. What you heard was the room next to mine."  He whispered, bringing his rough hands up to my face, cupping my cheeks softly. I stared into his soft, blue eyes as they searched my face, full of anticipation of what I would say. I couldn’t stop my jaw from dropping in shock, was he being serious? Was this all just a misunderstanding?

“I love you Ronnie, I’m sorry we fought, I feel as thought I have been missing a part of myself without you.” His eyes glassed over as tears filled his eyes, and mine soon did the same, leaving him a blurry haze of beauty.

“I’m sorry for not believing you, I love you baby.” I kissed him hard, with a sense of urgency, I’d missed him so much and I needed to convey that to him.

He laid me down on the bed so he was hovering me, his long hair tickling my neck as he smiled down at me. The smile I’ve missed so much, the smile I never thought I’d see again.

He kissed me softly, peppering kisses down my neck, with a tenderness he hadn’t ever shown a whole lot of. He pulled my shirt off of my body slowly, kissing my stomach as he did so before pulling my knickers off too, kissing his way back up my body. He made it to my upper thigh and started lightly sucking, I was already ready for him, he was going to push me over the edge without even getting close to me. Removing his clothes with haste, I tried to gain control of the situation but he didn’t let me, he pinned my hands down as he started lapping at my core. This teasing was agony, I needed him inside of me, I felt as though my desire for him had never been this strong. By the time he slowly, entered me I felt as though I might come undone by the thought of it all. His movements were agonisingly slow and full of love, full of passion. This wasn’t just makeup sex, we were making love.

I awoke in a cold sweat, breathing heavily as I recovered from the dream I just left. How could my subconscious betray me like that? How cruel to conjure up such a perfect dream, one that will never come true? I was feeling even more empty and heartbroken than I was yesterday but I needed to continue on with my day and my life. I stretched my arms above my head trying to stretch the kinks out of my neck and back. I was now feeling the full regret from falling asleep on the cheap couch. After a few minutes of lying there with my eyes shut, I decided I needed to get up. I had given myself a day of moping around yesterday and I needed to be somewhat productive today, and drive down to Rogers parents house. Wonderful. I needed coffee, lots of it.

I got up slowly, stretching my tight muscles as I let out a deep yawn. I stumbled into the kitchen, turned the kettle on and started grinding up coffee beans for the French press. God, there was no better smell on a morning like this. I jumped on top of the yellow counters in front of me and rested my back against the window, feeling the rays of sun hit my skin as I closed my eyes bringing the freshly ground coffee to my nose and inhaling. Savouring the moment of morning serenity.

I heard the water start to bubble away in the kettle and I jumped back off the counter, halting my tranquillity. I filled the french press and slowly pressed the beans through the hot water as I stared out of the window. After pouring myself a mug, I walked into the bathroom. I sat the coffee mug on the edge of the pink bathtub, dropped the plug and ran the water.

After adding some bubbles, I submerged myself in the warm water. I lay in the bath until my coffee, bubbles and heat had disappeared, enjoying the silence of a completely empty apartment for once. To be able to lie in the bathtub, and think of nothing as I sipped my morning coffee, I slipped into some sort of zen state, letting all my troubles dissipate with the bubbles.

I finally got out of the bath, wrapping a towel around my body, I walked into the bedroom. It felt weird to walk into the room without seeing Lenny asleep on the window sill. I opened the pine wardrobe door and sifted throw my clothes, I chose a Beatles t-shirt, a brown corduroy skirt and a leather jacket, and quickly threw them on before brushing my teeth and wiping some lip balm onto my lips.

I placed my empty coffee mug in the sink, and poured the remaining coffee from the French press into a pot, putting it on the stove to reheat for my long drive ahead. Why did we think leaving him with Rogers parents was a good idea? Of course, when we planned it, we were going to be doing a fun road trip down to Cornwall together, stopping off at an old B&B and pubs and tea shops on the way down. But no, this was a solo mission now, the first of many presumably.

While my coffee was heating up, I made a jam sandwich and threw an apple into my handbag. After filling a thermos and a water bottle I was ready for my journey. I opened the front door and was greeted by a gust of wind, maybe that leather jacket wasn’t quite going to cut it. I dashed back into the living room and picked the fur coat from last night up from the floor in front of the couch and draped it over my arm. It was always colder down at the seaside and I was sure to need the extra layer sometime today.

After all day on the road, I finally made it back through the door of the apartment, with Lenny in cradled in my arms. I was grumpy and tired but most importantly, starving. But as soon as I let Lenny down, he ran to his bowl in the kitchen, meowing at such a decibel I was sure I was going to get complaints about animal abuse. I found a tin of cat food and scooped it out into his bowl before catering to my own hunger.

I left the apartment again, walking the short distance to the corner of the block to the Chippy. I ordered some chips and found an empty table by the window. I sat down under the fluorescent hanging light at watched rain begin to hit the window outside, of course it was raining, just my luck.

Betty called my number out after a short while, “Veronica, love! I purchased your boyfriends record the other day! I can see why you keep him! He was right, they are amazing!”   

I responded with a tight smile and took my packet of chips, poured some vinegar over them and left the store. Couldn’t I just go one day where Roger wasn’t brought up? Although I suppose it was hardly that poor woman's fault, Rog had been boasting about Queen one night to her after a long night at the pub and insisted ‘she needed to purchase the new album because her life would change as she knew it’. I chuckled to myself at the memory as I walked up the stairs back to the apartment.

I ate my dinner in peaceful silence, reading the book I’d started on the way to Japan with Lenny curled up in my lap. I was in my own little world before the phone started ringing pulling me out of the world of Stephen King.

“Hello?” I answered the phone slightly out of breath after running for the phone, I sat down on the kitchen counter.

“Veronica, at long last you finally grace me with your voice” I heard my mother drawl on the other end. Oh god, I was not in the mood to deal with my mother. I opened the window to my right and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag before answering her.

“What is it mum? I’m a bit busy at the moment, can this wait?” I asked, hoping to end this conversation before it even started, I knew what was coming.

“No it can not wait. Where have you been? You left in the middle of the night, a week before you were meant to, I have been calling you for days and this is the first time I hear from you? This is such irresponsible behaviour, you should be ashamed, leaving your sister on her wedding day.”

“Sorry mum.” I said, trying to end the tirade.

“Don’t sorry mum me, young lady. Where have you been? There better be a good excuse for leaving us all without so much as a goodbye.”

I bit my lip, banging my head back on the cupboard behind me with frustration. “I went to Japan.” I said, smiling as the phone went silent. I had completely caught her off guard.

“Why on earth were you Japan” she asked, venom coated her words, she was angry with me, very angry.

“Queen had their first Japan tour, and I didn’t leave my sister on her wedding day, I left at the end of the reception, I did my duty as maid of honour.”

“I should have known you were following your rocker boyfriend around like a groupie, your relationship with him is an embarrassment to the whole family, you do know that don’t you?”

“I am not a groupie, we live together, we’re in love.” I said, choking on the last word, she didn’t need to know he no longer loved me, or that we weren’t together anymore, she’d be impossible if she knew what happened.

“Ahh yes, well don’t tell me I didn’t warn you, you’ll end up getting cheated on, he’ll leave you for a younger, slimmer model, and you’ll be left high and dry.”

I slammed the phone on the receiver. That was too close to the truth, the words pierced me with their accuracy, he had turned me in for someone else. I wasn’t good enough for him. We weren’t as steady and stable as I thought and mum was right about the whole thing.

I needed to get out of this apartment, I needed to stop living the lie of stability that I’d been living. I put a Hendrix record on and put the volume all the way up, I needed some loud music for this. I walked into the bedroom, and retrieved the spare suitcase from underneath the bed, opened it up on the bed and started sifting through our clothes and records, throwing my possessions into the suitcase. Walking into the living room, something caught my eye before I could remove my photos and books from the bookcase. There was a little white piece of paper beside the couch I had slept on last night. I picked it up and found it was a receipt, it must have fallen out of the pocket of Rogers coat.

As I read the faded words on the receipt, I fell to the floor in a dramatic heap. It was a receipt for a high-end jewellery store, He’d spent a lot of money in there, on something I never received. The only pieces of jewellery he’d given me, although pretty, were a lot cheaper and never from a store of this prestige. My heart sunk and I was hit by a wave of nausea. He was having an affair, not just a one night stand. That was the only explanation. My mind was racing as my mind filled with questions:

Who was she? How long had this been going on? When did he fall out of love with me? Why had he done this to me?

I sat there, on the floor, in the middle of the living room with tears streaming down my face in a heavy flow. I felt like an absolute fool. I had no idea just how right my mother had been about him. Had I just been completely blinded by his good looks and charming personality to see him for who he really was?

Knock Knock

If this was the Low’s, complaining about the level of noise coming from the apartment I was going to have their heads. I opened the door fully expecting my vexing neighbours but I was greeted to a head of unmistakable brown curls.

“Brian? What are you doing here?” I asked, opening the door wider for him, letting him through my front door.

“It was me” He said, looking down at me with sad eyes.

“You’re gonna have to give me a few more words Bri... little lost here” I said, walking away from him in the hallway as I went to turn the kettle on.

“It was me that you heard in Roger’s room.”

Taglist: @xgoingdownx, @perriwiinkle, @hiyadarlingirl, @asquiresofftime, @lady1505

[supersupernaturalimagines]

Infinity

Pairing - Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary - After an amazing night together than neither of you had expected, you’re both unsure of where to go from here. Are you two willing to take a shot at it? 

 Word Count - 1,633 

Warnings - First time writing Sam, so I hope it’s in character, and I hope you guys enjoy! Some slightly steamy times. 

The first thing you became aware of was how cold you were. Almost instinctually your body arched like a cat, trying to find warmth against your back. Finding none, you reached down and grabbed a blanket, pulling it up around your shoulders and inhaling. A smile formed on your lips at how wonderful it smelled. It smelled just like . . . 

Your eyes shot open at the realization, and it was at that moment when you realized you were not in your room, but in fact, were in Sam’s room. Then the memories started coming back. Relaxing against each other after an emotionally draining hunt, drinking beers and watching Star Wars to take your minds off of it. You remembered not wanting to part from him, even to change clothes. Without you saying a word, he had known that. He had given you one of his flannels that now laid discarded on the floor along with the rest of your clothing, and his. 

Then came the rest. Moving even closer to each other almost subconsciously, finding the needed, but unspoken, comfort in the other’s presence. You rested your head on his shoulder and he slipped an arm around you. There had been something about the way he was looking at you at that moment. You had known he was about to kiss you, but you had no desire to stop it. 

After that it was all a vivid blur. You could almost still feel those large hands exploring every inch of your body, his warm breath and soft voice telling you how beautiful you were. Sam’s gentle, but slightly chapped lips moving against yours in a perfect symphony and then moving lower, his stubbled chin scratching against you skin as he did so . . . just the thought of that had your thighs clenching together. 

You remembered after. How Sam had cuddled your back against his chest. He had intertwined one hand with yours, placed a tender kiss on your bare shoulder and whispered goodnight. 

So where was he now? Sitting up, you stretched, getting a little of the delicious ache from last night out of your bones. Reaching for the flannel shirt Sam had loaned you last night, you slipped it back on and left the room, on your way to find the youngest Winchester. 

It didn’t take long to figure out where he had gone with the smell of eggs, pancakes, and coffee wafting from the kitchen. Right as you were about to enter, you realized you weren’t the first one to arrive. 

“Good morning, Sammy. Why are you up so early?” You heard Mary ask her son. 

“I’m . . . making an apology breakfast.” 

Those words made you stop in your tracks. Apology breakfast? Was he regretting last night and going to try and let you down easy? 

“What are you apologizing for?” Mary asked curiously. 

There was a beat before Sam replied. “I think I may have taken advantage of someone last night.” 

“Y/N?” She said immediately, shocking both you and Sam. Had your feelings for each other been that obvious to everyone? 

Sam spoke the words you were thinking. “How did you -”

“I’m your mother, I know things.” She said, and you could almost see the little smirk on her face. “I’ve got to tell you, I don’t think she’s the kind of girl that would let someone take advantage of her.” 

You smiled and when Sam spoke, you could tell he was doing the same. “You’re probably right.” 

“Then no need to apologize.” Mary told him, and you heard her patting him on the shoulder. Her footsteps started to retreat, but Sam stopped her. 

“Hey Mom?” There was a pause while he waited to make sure she heard him. “Do you think it . . . it would have been different if you and Dad had both been hunters? Would you have given him a chance?” 

It was a few moments again before Mary responded. “I don’t think it would have made a difference. You just . . . you love who you love. Hunter or not. This life? It’s too short to waste it being worried about the future. What might or might not happen. Take it from me Sammy, don’t waste anymore time. You won’t get it back.” She told him. 

“Waste any time?” Sam asked, confused. 

“Tell her how you feel. You might be surprised.” She told him. Within a few moments you saw Mary exit out the second door to the kitchen farther down from you. As soon as she saw you, you gave her a thankful smile. She winked at you. 

Instead of walking into the kitchen, you decided to go back to Sam’s room. You needed to think, and you figured that Sam did to. 

Dating a hunter hadn’t been something you shied away from. Of course it was dangerous, and rarely did it end well, but you had done it before. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was the inevitable heartbreak that came with dating Sam Winchester. Sam and Dean had been your friends for years. You knew how their lives went. How bad luck seemed to follow them around like a bad habit you were trying to quit. Even you didn’t know how many times that they had been dead in some sort of fashion and been brought back to life. You knew it would probably happen again. The question was, could you handle watching the guy you really, really liked, die and put himself in danger over and over again? Could your heart take it? Were you strong enough? 

The door to his room swung open slowly, revealing the Winchester in question. There Sam stood in his white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He was carrying a tray filled with breakfast food and two mugs of coffee, one of them being your favorite with your Hogwarts house on it. You had expected it to feel awkward, but that wasn’t the case. You smiled at him. “Good morning.” 

You watched as Sam’s shoulders relaxed at the sight of you. “Hey,” he replied, returning your smile. “I-I made breakfast.” Sam said, holding up the tray. 

“I can see that.” You said, looking down at your hands for a brief moment and playing the with the ends of your sleeves. “You gonna join me?” You asked, looking up at him, vulnerability in your eyes. 

“Do you, do you want me to?” Sam asked, and you couldn’t help but notice a little bit of unsureness in his own eyes as well.  

You couldn’t let that happen. “I do,” you replied without a moment of hesitation. 

Sam smiled softly at you before setting the tray down and joining you on the bed. “So . . . last night, I’m sorry -”

You cut him off before he could say anything else. “You don’t have to apologize for something I’ve wanted for a long time.” You had wanted it for a long time. No matter how bad it might end up, sitting here with Sam, his eyes locked on yours and his face gentle with an expression you never saw him give anyone else, you knew you did. You wanted it. 

“I was going to say,” to your surprise, Sam reached out to place one of his hands on your knee, stilling the slight jumping you hadn’t even noticed it was making. “I’m sorry that didn’t happen sooner.” 

Another smile crept onto your face at his words while warmth filled you. “You are?” 

He nodded. “Last night was . . .” 

“Amazing I hope.” You supplied. 

“Better,” he said, his hand now sliding under your knee, a spot he had discovered was very sensitive last night, and stroked your skin gently. “I really like you, Y/N, and I knew it’s going to be hard and less than what you deserve -”

You reached out with your own hand this time, cupping his cheek and tenderly brushing your thumb across his lips with slow movements, memorizing every thing about his face. “I think . .  .” You met his gaze as you spoke your next words. “You’re more than anyone could deserve Sam Winchester.” 

Sam shook his head, but there was a grin on his face as he did. He gripped your knee and pulled you close, meeting your lips in your first sober kiss with the man. 

His lips were just as you remembered, soft, a little chapped, but gentle against your own as he took your bottom lip in between his and nibbled. A noise of approval left you as you tugged him even closer. You felt light as air while he kissed you thoroughly, claiming your mouth with his own. 

He wanted more though, adjusting himself to hover you, his knee parting your thighs easily. Already you felt a different kind of warmth pooling in your belly, and you pressed down against him to relieve some of the ache. Your actions caused a groan to leave his lips, and he pulled away to leave a hot trail of kisses down your neck.

“If you keep doing that, breakfast is going to get cold.” You told him breathlessly, hands tangling in his long hair. 

Sam pressed another kiss against your skin before sitting up and starting to unbutton his shirt off you. “We can always reheat breakfast, but it’s only a matter of time before someone interrupts us.” His hands trailed over your skin, leaving chills in their wake, “And I’m going to take advantage of every second I’ve got with you.” 

You smiled softly, and your hands slid down his chest, reaching for the tie around his sweats. “I’m so glad I’ve finally got a smart one.” 

Sam laughed at that, pulling the covers over the both of you and meeting your lips in another fierce kiss filled with promises of what was to come. 

[nevillelongsbottom]

oscines pairing: george weasley/neville longbottom word count: 2,437  for the @hpqueernet favourite queer ship event

“Neville,” George gasps, the sweat dripping from his forehead, his eyes screwed shut, “ah, fuck, Neville-”

George finds Neville sitting in the kitchen in the morning: Neville’s house isn’t exactly something he had paid much attention to before, but it’s sweet. Plants line every windowsill and many stand proud on the floor, some singing as he walks past, dancing on their stalks. Everything seems to have a warm hue to it, furniture in streaks of orange and green, and Neville’s loose knit jumper is no exception. He blends in to his house, deeply ingrained in it as if he is its living breathing heart.

He looks up from his mug of tea as George walks in. The loose knit is too loose, and the jumper too large, and George can see his collarbone where it slides off, the red marks he left on Neville’s soft skin. He runs a hand through his hair and doesn’t know what emotion necessitated it.

“Please don’t say something about how you regretted it,” says Neville, “because I enjoyed it, and I haven’t - I just haven’t felt safe like that in so long. And I know you regret it but I just want to let myself believe that something is okay.”

“What makes you think I regret it?” George asks. Neville’s knuckles go white, then he slackens them again, quite unsure of what to do with his limbs, his reaction unsteady through him. He looks like he might cry for a second.

“Haven’t you heard all those people saying that we’re each other’s - pity projects?”

“And what does that mean?”

Neville’s mouth moves for a moment as if moving to explain, and then he licks his bottom lip in thought, and then gives up on the process entirely in favour of setting his tea down. “I don’t know. Am I your pity project? Am I supposed to make you feel - better?”

George laughs, but not unkindly, cracking open a window and lighting a cigarette. Foul habit, he knows, but the tang just seems to take him through moments he might not manage unguided. Neville doesn’t like it, nor do his plants, but George doesn’t like Neville’s self-deprecation either and that’s never stopped him. “I mean, you make me feel better. I feel better when I’m around you. But that’s because we’ve been working our arses off trying to get better, and helping each other, not for anything else. Maybe we are each other’s project, but I’m not here because I feel sorry for you. I’m here because you feel like shit, and I feel like shit, and we’ve been through some shit, and you’re one of the few people who just understands that. I don’t regret anything except that I didn’t take you out to a nice dinner or something first.” George coughs on his cigarette for a moment and wonders if it’s a sign. “Merlin, Neville, you have no idea how much that meant to me.”

“Maybe I do,” says Neville. George looks over his shoulder and raises his eyebrows. Neville is chewing on one of his fingernails, which is another habit George is not fond of, but they’re both full of bad habits. They’re both just waiting to find the strength to break out of them. George thinks they’re getting there. “I never really had anyone else to speak to about this. Harry and that lot, well… when they went out, you know, they didn’t want to hear about it. And I understand that, but there was no one to say I really need some help to until you.” Neville smiles a little at some thought he’s having, lets out that noise that’s between a breath and a giggle. “I felt so bad that night, unloading all of that onto you, because you had so much going on yourself, but…”

“I mean, Flamel’s sake, Neville, I was so happy to finally hear somebody else’s problems! I was stuck with my own and nobody would be honest to me because they all thought I was too bad myself, and there was that point where I just wanted to scream and say it’s fine that we’re all big messes right now, and then, of course, you happened.”

Neville smiles. “I regret so many things I said to you and some of the things I did, but… I don’t regret you.”

George has to stifle his own grin in his shirt, because he loves it when Neville says that, just loves it. Most of the time he feels like somebody’s depressed brother, the wrong half of a whole, a person who still has to be spoken about in awkward whispers. But Neville has never thought so. He knows what it’s like.

The singing rose on the windowsill is whistling up at him, and George thumbs one of its petals, and wonders why he’s never let himself be here before.

He is scared of commitment, true. Scared of definites and absolutes and things that could go wrong and things that don’t last forever.

He is not scared of Neville.

George is scared of truths, he discovers.

“Sometimes,” he says, “when I look in the mirror, I don’t see myself, I see Fred, and I let myself believe that it isn’t a mirror, and that he’s standing there. And he’s in my dreams, all of them, because he always has been, and so I can’t say that he’s dead and have it ever feel real, but last night I dreamt without him and it felt like someone cut the last cord between us. And now when I look in the mirror all I see is myself and he’s gone and I have never let myself accept the truth that he is dead because I’m scared of it and what it means for me because I don’t know how to live on my own, Neville. I don’t know who I am without the other part of me and I’ve just been pretending and the truth is fucking here and I can’t keep pretending but I want to, I want to, I don’t know how I can live in this world when it’s all so real, and…”

Neville is tempered, waits and listens, lets George rock on the floor of his house with his hands over his eyes and his feelings like an oil spill between them. He draws little shapes on George’s back, and George slowly lets his hands drop, lets Neville see his tear stained face and his bloodshot eyes because, he supposes, this too is a truth.

“And I am absolutely in love with you and I’m too scared to say it because I think I’m going to drag you down with me and Merlin, you deserve better.”

Neville waits a moment, sits, lets that digest; his eyes shift, and the edges of his mouth tug softly. “There’s a species of magical plant,” he says, “that cycles through all the seasons in just a day. So in the morning it’s spring and blossoms and it stands proud and tall in the afternoon for summer and then goes red in the evening and sheds all its leaves at night. But then in the morning again, it’s blossoming.” He reaches out, touches George’s face for just a moment, feeling the patterns of smooth and bumpy that are becoming familiar to him. “You’ve always known these things,” he says eventually, and George would argue, but of course, Neville is right.

The truths are not new. He just reads them like they are because suddenly they seem truer, fresh again.

But it doesn’t make him hurt any less, and he knows that, and Neville knows that, too. George catches his breath again, follows Neville’s own.

“I did say I love you,” he says eventually. “That is - that’s true. Maybe it’s the easiest truth to say.”

There is something so unnameably spectacular about Neville sometimes; not just in the moments where he’s sitting calmly and George can count the moles on his arms, but more so when he’s taking the world head on again. The shine of his sweet smile when he’s talking to Molly, the way he holds his mouth tightly in concentration when he’s casting his housework spells, the sound of his laugh when it’s genuine and unbridled. Neville even dances sometimes, when he thinks no one is watching, listens to the Weird Sisters and lets himself go for a minute at a time. No more than that, of course. George knows better than most people that Neville is never quite off edge. He had held Neville’s hand when they had lowered the wards on his windows, though he still has magic strong enough to give George a headache at the front door.

George stirs his cold coffee thoughtlessly, watching the early crowd of shoppers out of his window. He isn’t opening today, and is giving himself an hour or two before he goes into the shop. He is instead letting himself think and entertain an idea that he knows is completely preposterous and yet is totally enamoured by.

He reheats his coffee, finishes the dregs, throws his coat on and apparates out of the house.

Harry Potter does not seem particularly used to surprise visits, and knocks over a whole row of the Black family’s ornaments when George arrives; he swears, and mutters “reparo”, though much to George’s amusement, none of them seem to quite look the same even when he puts them back on the mantel. Harry rubs his forehead. “Jesus Christ, George, most people knock.”

“Yeah, well, you said it there. Most people. I’m one of the least people. Harry, do you ever clean your mirrors?”

“Well, I was trying to.”

“With that amount of effort, you might as well just blow the dirt off.” George plucks his wand from his belt, spins it round in his hand a moment before bellowing “scourgify!”. This, of course, does the trick perfectly, and the mirror almost shines as it shakes off its layer of filth. “Wow, I look great today.”

“You are looking better,” Harry notes, leading George through the dark corridors and to the dining room, where he hangs his coat up and runs his fingers across the peeling wallpaper. “Are you actually going to tell me why you’re here or are you just going to make me feel guilty for being a bad homeowner?”

“You can let this place rot, for all I care,” George says, then trips his tongue over the thought a few times before allowing himself to finally say it: “would it be ridiculous if I asked Neville to marry me?”

“Yes,” says Harry, immediately, then, “wait, you guys are dating?”

“Harry!”

“What?”

“How did you not know? We were the talk of the bloody Burrow for about two months! It’s not every day you get a gay wizarding couple with quite the amount of cumulative trauma we have.” George rests a hand on his hip. “Wow. Wow.”

“Hey, I’ve been busy.”

“So I heard.”

“You really want to marry him this soon?”

“Without giving you a very soppy speech about it, yes.”

“Why don’t you ask Neville?”

George sighs. “I don’t want to ruin things. If he doesn’t take it well, and doesn’t want to see me any more, then…”

“If you think Neville would leave you just because you wanted to get married and he didn’t,” Harry says, “are you sure you know him?”

That, George thinks, is a very good point. Not that he shouldn’t marry Neville, of course; George is still caught up in that thought, but he’s doing the thing he should never do and giving too much credence to irrational fears. There are no Death Eaters coming for them, the war will not happen again, buildings will not crumble at their foundations and swallow them whole, Fred is not trapped in George’s dreams, Neville would never stop talking to George because a marriage proposal went badly.

He looks at Harry, not quite sure what to say.

“Just go ask him and stop looking at me,” Harry says.

(“My gran will throw a fit,” says Neville, throwing his arms round George;

“So will my mum,” he laughs, burying his grin in Neville’s shoulder.)

Fred appears again in George’s dream, a fully-formed thing; they’re somewhere in Hogwarts, in a secret corridor that’s an amalgamation of reality and imagination, one covered in portable swamps and all sorts of magical mishaps. Fred is waving his wand, casting little sparks about them, looking younger than George does now. He always was the more mischievous of the two. George is probably thinking himself into grey hairs.

“Didn’t we turn him into a canary?” Fred asks.

“Yeah,” says George. “He made a cute bird.”

“You know, canaries used to be popular among old Muggle kings in England and Spain,” Fred says, sniffing and twisting his nose comically, in that way that he and George would always do behind peoples’ backs to make them laugh. George resists a snort. “Because of their beautiful songs. Hermione told me that.” He groans. “I can’t believe I bloody remember that. You’re meant to be the brains.”

George laughs. “The canaries were your idea in the first place.”

“Oh, clearly I have an affinity with the bird. I, too, am colourful and love a good song. Always trust a canary.” Fred beams, looking as proud as the day he first apparated; or maybe as proud as the day they first tricked Filch.

George nips out of the party, stands in the back garden, in the shade of The Burrow. The summer heat is incredible, and he undoes a button of his shirt, eases off his dress robes til he’s just in ruffled shirt and trousers. There’s a breeze rippling through the air, but a warm one, not quite enough still to cool him off.

He would’ve asked Neville back here with him, but Neville seems to be making himself at home among the family. So he supposes he’ll treasure the moment alone.

He takes out his wand, always close at hand, and runs it across his palm for a moment.

He shifts it between his fingers, holds it, lets his breath steady. He is moving on, he thinks, taking this step forward. The past isn’t gone but he asks it to stop haunting him all of his waking moments, and with an elegant swish, he casts:

“Expecto patronum!”

And from his wand bursts forth light, and in his mind he captures Neville’s smile, shy like the first time he saw it, gentle in the light; and from the trees, the sound of birds, singing through the branches.

[jaxsteamblog]

Four Toasts

Zuko woke up to see Sokka looming over him. He normally woke quickly, but seeing his friend’s face so close to his own made the shot of adrenaline almost propel him out of bed. Feeling a weight on his chest, Zuko kept himself still, letting his thoughts collect and give him a proper reading of the situation.

He was in bed, but obviously not his own since Sokka was standing next to him and not the body lying on him. He was half dressed as he could feel the shared warmth of skin on skin. Sokka’s face was irritated and bemused.

“Hey, the lights are back on.” Zuko remarked. The air system was working properly now and blew a gentle heat into the room.

“Why are you sleeping with my sister?” Sokka asked. Zuko looked down and saw the tangled cloud of Katara’s wavy hair.

“Because I had the choice between you and her and I mean, can you blame me?” He replied.

“I don’t like that you’re dating her.”

“You’re going to make me marry her to spite you, and is that really how you want your sister to end up married?”

Sokka chuckled and Katara finally roused, lifting her head to glare at them both.

“Can you two put a sock in it? I was sleeping.” She stated.

“You were not. Your breathing changed the moment I spoke.” Zuko said. Katara muttered to herself before rolling back to her side, pulling the blanket up over her head.

Zuko eventually untangled himself from the snare of the sheet and blanket Katara had wound in her sleep. Sokka went downstairs for breakfast while Zuko went into their shared room to shower.

For all the inane rhetoric that had been drilled into his head by various firebending teachers, Zuko felt at peace in the shower. The water hit his skin with muffled paps that sounded like rain hitting the stone pavers in the gardens of the palace. Fat, warm, summer rain that came down heavy from lazy clouds that tottered overhead. As Zuko stood, his head bent to allow the spray to fall on his neck, he could almost imagine being soaked in a surprise storm.

His mother had been caught out in a such a storm before, and Zuko had watched her run shrieking toward a covered walkway. He had been inside, neglecting some lesson, and knelt at the window with his arms crossed on the sill. He had smiled at his mother’s beautiful face - a beauty that all mothers had to their children, but that apparently Ursa had naturally earned herself - and how her long, ink colored hair clung to her face and neck. Servants came running with the thick, fluffy towels she preferred, but paused as another figure approached from the other building. Zuko recalled his father’s face - also young, also beautiful but in a fearful sort of way - as he saw his wife, soaked and improperly laughing with the servants.

But Ursa’s beauty afforded her luxuries not available to many. To only her, really.

Ozai had taken hold on his mother’s face and gently pushed back her wet hair. Ursa trembled, from fear or from a chill, and Ozai only smiled at her.

It had stirred a sort of jealousy in Zuko then. That his father, who hated so many, still had the ability to lay hands on his beautiful mother and to make her afraid. To look at her as one does a rare orchid, or exotic pet.

Years later, after his grandfather had been cremated and Ursa had disappeared, Zuko stood out in a sudden rainstorm. He felt the impact of the drops but not their warmth. He was soaked, but had felt no absolution of the falling water.

The shower he could feel. The water was like Katara’s fingers, tapping against him in a moment of idle rest. He could breathe here, in the warm, wet air, with the steam curling around his face. With the water hitting the back of his scalp, and running down the lines of his cheeks and nose, he was able to breathe. It was an odd sensation, to take in air that seemed as wet as the rain. The first time he had experienced it, it had taken his breath away.

Zuko remembered when Katara had held back the rain.

He never wanted to explain to her how he found that more impressive than the bloodbending. To her, the bloodbending had been dark and weighty, made more important by the very fact that it was forbidden to speak of it. But bloodbending had seemed almost obvious when Katara had done it. How many poems had he read where shedding blood was likened to an ocean wave, or how lust was the moon that pulled on the tide of a body’s pulse?

Stopping the rain was something else entirely.

Determining the strength of the Bender usually equated to the same thing: how much could they control? That implied a sort of physical limitation to the art, and Earthbenders were assumed to be the proof. The most powerful Earthbenders were impressively muscled and could push against the earth’s rigid desire to stay in one piece, in one place.

Toph’s simple existence threw that out of the window as she had been outlifting people five times her size since she was twelve.

Billions had been poured into research over bending, to see what made it occur and how a Bender became powerful. If it was genetic, or tied to chakras, or a manipulation of chi. If it could be found and quantified, there may be a way to increase it.

Zuko had very quietly created a lab to try and answer those questions. He was ashamed of himself, knowing that he did it mostly to see if his own power could be enhanced.

Azula’s ability had made him feel small, or damaged. Katara made him feel like he was standing in the presence of a god.

He had looked up into the sky that day and it seemed like the rain had frozen for miles upward. It wasn’t until that moment that he felt fear, but a sublime kind of terror that occurs when one succumbs to the will of something greater.

Zuko knew he could never match her skill.

With a sigh, Zuko turned off the shower and stepped out for his towel. He steamed much of the moisture off of his body with his bending, but he too had a weakness for large, fluffy towels.

The table had been set with platters of food. Cut slices of toast were decimated and a small plate of butter had been hacked apart. Bacon and eggs were neatly parted on the same platter, with a spoon jutting haphazardly out of the yellow mound. A ceramic teapot sat next to a shiny metal coffee urn, looking like a tall stern husband with his squat cheerful wife. Cream, sugar, pots of jam stood like beehives, with tiny spoons and sticky pools littering the expanse. At the dining table, five seats were taken. Zuko felt a lump form in his throat.

“Hello. Zuko here.”

The embarrassment attached to this very specific fear came on quickly. As he worried about it, Suki looked up and waved him over.

“Good morning Zuko!” She greeted as he approached the table and dragged out a chair.

“He-y.” He faltered, switching the word mid-stride. Clearing his throat, Zuko tried, and failed, not to make eye contact with the two people that scared him the most in this situation.

“So, just to address the Tigerphant in the room, I do already know.” Aang said as he hefted his mug of coffee. Katara patted Zuko’s hand as he hung his head down and groaned.

“See? Just like ripping off a bandage.” Katara said. Zuko groaned louder and let his head fall onto the tabletop. The others laughed and Toph kicked him under the table.

“Cheer up Zuko, I’m pretty sure everyone at the table has had a crush on you at one point or another.” Toph said. Zuko lifted his head but kept his chin on the table.

“Really?” He asked.

“Not me.” Suki said. She smiled at him as Zuko rolled his head over to look at her. “No offense, you’re just not my type.”

“Look, no one cares about you or your relationships.” Sokka interjected. “Today is about Suki and me.”

Zuko snorted and sat up. Katara passed him a coffee and he lifted it toward Sokka and Suki.

“To two of the greatest people I have ever been blessed to know. May it finally be enough to keep Sokka out of my bed.” He said. The others, laughing, lifted their own mugs and cups.

“Here, here!” They shouted and began leaning over the table to clink their drinks.

“Oh by the way,” Katara said as Zuko sat back and started to drink his coffee. “Chang has said that in repayment of you breaking everything last night, you get to do the honors of clearing the snow.”

“Snow?” Zuko repeated.

“Oh yeah man, it dumped snow last night.” Sokka added. Zuko looked from Sokka back to Katara, trying to look as helpless as possible.

“But you’re a Waterbender.” He said.

“I didn’t explode twenty grand worth of electronics last night.” Katara replied in a saccharine tone.

Zuko sighed and rolled his head back on his neck, looking across the table at Aang.

“You are both a Fire- and Waterbender.” He said. Aang shrugged and took a loud slurp from his mug. After smacking his lips, he set down his mug and smiled back at Zuko.

“You’re dating my ex girlfriend.” He countered.

“Fine.” Zuko said, dragging the word out as he set his shoulders. “But can I at least eat first?”

Aang pushed over the platter of bacon and eggs, using his bending to reheat them enough for steam to start curling in the air. As Zuko started loading his plate, the table resumed their conversations and Katara casually reached over to steal his food.

It was normal, light-hearted, and just enough to almost distract Zuko from the more disturbing theories his mind was putting together about his family. It had been years since Ozai had been defeated and his sister carted off to Ba Sing Se, plenty of time for them to plot.

Zuko sat down with his food and swatted Katara’s hand away. She muttered before leaning over the table and using her fingertips to pull the platter closer to herself. Sokka, without pausing in his conversation with Toph and Aang, very leisurely yanked it back. Zuko smiled and bit into the bacon, making sure to lean away from the group as Katara used her bending to splash Sokka in the face with cold tea. Normal and light-hearted.

Reaching into his pocket, Zuko was momentarily paralyzed when he couldn’t find his phone. Remembering the events of last night, he just sighed and continued eating.

“So Zuko,” Aang started and Zuko looked up. “I hear you were wondering about the new king of Omashu.”

“Yeah,” Zuko paused to swallow and wipe his mouth. “Do you know him?”

“I do. He was in Jiangsu when I was there last year. He’s an interesting guy, name’s Li Jing.” Aang said.

“Who is he, though?” Zuko asked. Aang made a few faces as he thought before sucking air through his teeth and rubbing the back of his head.

“Minor nobility I think? Apparently, he’s like a distant cousin of Kuei’s.” Aang replied.

“So it was just a family favor thing?” Sokka questioned, having mopped all the tea off his face.

“So it’s assumed. The ministers haven’t been able to prove the lineage yet.” Aang answered and Zuko scowled. Katara patted his arm again and he sighed.

“Have you heard about him marrying Azula?” Katara asked.

“He’s doing what now?” Aang said immediately and now Katara sighed.

“So this is news to everyone then.” Toph added.

“It doesn’t make any sense. Azula is still a war criminal right? This would take international approval.” Suki said.

“Technically, the Earth Empire has the most skin in this situation you know?” Sokka replied.

“And the Empire and the Fire Nation are the only ones who can really kick up a proper fuss, if they made a decision between themselves, it’s not like the Water Tribes can do anything about it.” Toph said

“But that would….” Zuko drifted as he poked at his eggs.

“Did your uncle know about this Zuko?” Aang inquired.

“He must’ve. My father doesn’t have the power to do something like this on his own.” Zuko answered, staring down at his plate.

“It’s okay, maybe he thought-” Katara stopped when Zuko wrenched his arm away from her reaching hand.

“Thought what? That I was still tied to Mai and going to suffer through that just so my kid could be the next Fire Lord?” Zuko snapped, glaring at Katara. She, looking more shocked than hurt, only blinked at him.

“I’m going to go clear snow.” Zuko said darkly and pushed himself away from the table.

It had snowed a lot.

Zuko stood without his coat and shivered slightly as he surveyed the area. From the stoop, he could see that the main road had been cleared, but the lane from the bed and breakfast was very much not. A snow shovel was propped next to the door, where someone had cleared the snow off the porch steps by hand.

Using fire for this was actually not ideal. There would be the issue of residual water and the chance that he would burn whatever was hidden underneath, but he had been tasked with the job.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to just do the labor.

Rolling up his sleeves, Zuko took up the shovel and started his work.

It took twenty minutes for his muscles to start burning. The accumulated snow was almost a foot deep, and it was a heavy, wet snow. Zuko made a good dent into clearing the lane but took a break to use his firebending to clear the small patches that had turned to slush. Sweat pooled between his shoulders and were making small, tickling trails down his back. Exhaustion was starting to creep into his arms and Zuko shook his hands when he turned to walk back to the porch.

He smiled sheepishly as he took the mug Katara offered.

“I’m sorry.” He said and took a sip of the bitter black tea.

“I forgive you.” Katara said and started to walk down the steps, kissing his cheek as she passed him. Zuko sat down on the steps and watched as Katara, like a maestro at her stand, she raised her hand up. Bringing them back down in a sweep before throwing them to the side, the snow responded and was shoved into its banks. Zuko kept drinking as Katara walked down the lane, bending the snow back as she went. Walking back, Katara got to the snow on top of the porch and swept it off. The snow cascaded down the side in a rush, spraying Zuko with small crystals and scenting the air with an icy crispness.

“Zuko, I don’t know if there’s a plot or not, but we can think of something.” Katara said as she stepped up to sit next to him. Forever practical, no matter how much Zuko hated this one habit, Katara started to pull the sweat from Zuko’s skin and clothing. The act always made him feel weird and left a salty residue he had to wash off anyway.

“What are you talking about?” He said and shifted away from her. Rolling her eyes, Katara only pulled the sweat from his shirt.

“I’m saying that, you know, I’ve never been against having kids.” She replied.

“Kat, we only just started dating.” He said.

“We’ve known each other for years Zuko, it’s not like we’re in a preliminary get-to-know-me stage.” Katara countered.

“That doesn’t mean we need to treat this like it’s endgame.” He said. He finally slapped at Katara’s hands and she left him alone.

“Why not? You don’t assume every relationship is going to end do you?” Katara asked.

“For one thing, I’ve only had one relationship. So.” He swirled his tea and fed some heat into it. “For another, I don’t assume anything about relationships because doing so invariably results in disappointment.”

“What do you want to do then?” She questioned.

“I want,” Zuko bit off the rest of his sentence. He couldn’t drag Katara into his paranoia and risk her getting hurt.

“I do want to get to know you Katara. And I want you by my side for however this all goes down.” He finished.

“Every Agni Kai, I’ll go with you Zuko.” Katara said. Zuko lifted his tea.

“To new relationships.” He said.

“Rising from the ashes of an old one, how appropriate Firebender.” Katara remarked and took his cup to drink from it.

“Are we not still friends?” Zuko asked and took back the tea.

“Semantics.” Katara said and waved him away. “Now take another shower. You stink and the party is about to start.”

The wedding rehearsal was restricted to the actual wedding party. They all travelled together to the pavilion - after Zuko had a second shower - and stood by their cars as Aang and Katara cleared the snow. Other cars soon started to arrive and Zuko sank into his coat. He peered gloomily as Aang and Katara started laughing, throwing snow at each other. Aang always carried himself with what Iroh called a summer breeze. He was light and fun, and usually welcome in most instances. He moved through circumstances with an easy confidence and optimism. To put it simply, he was everything Zuko could never be.

Zuko leaned against a car, turning his head, but not really wanting to interact with anyone. Suki walked off as her Maid of Honor and the mayor, Biyu, emerged from a taxi. Sokka walked over to chat while he waited for another car, hopefully bringing his father and his other groomsman. Zuko had only met the other man once, a quiet fellow named Possum. Sokka had spent some time in the Swamp Tribe and Possum had apparently been an adventurous friend, though his timid disposition made Zuko doubt that.

“It’s a wedding Sparky, don’t look so gloomy.” Toph said as she approached.

“Don’t you have a wedding planner to intimidate?” Zuko replied and stepped away from the car. Toph laughed and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You know that both of us are going to miss things from time to time. We made certain choices that ensures that.” She said.

“This was big though Toph. I should have heard about this. From legitimate channels.”

“You mean through your uncle?”

“He had to have known. There’s no way he couldn’t.”

“No duh. Why do you think he didn’t tell you?”

“I have no idea.” Zuko fidgeted, snapping little flames down into the snow. Each one hit with an identical sizzle, leaving a small crater in the top of the snow. “It’s the only thing that makes me think this isn’t a plot. And that maybe Azula is…” He stopped himself and frowned, still shooting at the snow.

“Maybe that Azula is about to be yoked to some poor politically hungry sap?” Toph finished for him. Zuko sighed and kicked the snow over where he had been shooting.

“I just want her to be happy.” He said.

“Are we still talking about Azula?” Toph asked. Zuko looked over at her.

“Is Katara unhappy?” He questioned in response.

“It’s just weird that you have this soft spot for your sister after literally everything.” Toph said.

“No offense, but I don’t think you can understand. You didn’t have siblings, or even a pet.” Zuko replied.

“I had the badgermoles!” Toph said indignantly. She punched Zuko’s arm and then leaned back on the car, both of them turning to see that most of the wedding party was now engaged in a massive snowball fight.

“But, you know, you guys are my family now.” She said.

“That’s gross.” Zuko retorted and dodged as Toph turned to smack his arm. They both laughed and watched the snow flying for a moment.

“I get what you’re saying though. It’s definitely different considering the fluid swapping.” Zuko said and Toph snorted.

“To found family.” She said and held out a fist.

“To a bunch of weirdos who let me hang around.” Zuko said and bumped his fist against hers.

The rehearsal went smoothly. The wedding planner, whose confidence steps faltered around Toph, moved them all through the ceremony. Biyu walked Suki down the aisle, whispering something to keep Suki laughing. Sokka stood at the front, holding his hands together so tightly in an attempt to keep them from shaking. Zuko mimed handing over the rings, pretending to trip at the last moment. Sokka’s face went white and Zuko nearly burst something from laughter, while Sokka looked like he was about to throw him.

The wedding planner ended up in a chair with her head in her hands.

After the rehearsal ceremony came the rehearsal dinner. They had all gone back into Kyoshi where the central plaza had been swept clean. Temporary canvas pavilions were propped up with rows of long tables underneath. Tall braziers were standing in various places, the fire held inside looking like plasma. The Water Tribe party was already seated, drinking with some of the villagers.

The dinner started out fairly professional. The local cooks brought out small plates for the wedding party to try and approve. Once the menu had been finalized, and more people had shown up, the drinking really started. As the sun began to set, the musicians started playing. Katara took Zuko’s hands and led him to where the dance floor was going to be set. Other groups and couples joined them and they all started moving and laughing together.

Someone at some point let Hakoda in on the changes, and Zuko had caught the man’s eye at one point in the evening.

Hakoda had been an interesting man to interact with. Zuko recalled meeting him for the first time right after the war. He saw the man struggle with a lot of things. Zuko was representative of everything Hakoda had hated; he was Fire Nation, had chased after his children, had fought with them. He was the son of Ozai, the great-grandson of Sozin.

It had been hard, but Hakoda had accepted him as an ally, unable to truly hate him when Zuko wore the badge of his own father’s hate bare on his face. Over the years, the group had drifted, and Zuko hadn’t been much in contact with the leader of the South Pole. However, with the wedding looming and Zuko bankrolling a lot of it, Hakoda now had to deal with the feeling of shame that turned into projected anger.

And so Hakoda watched as his daughter, his heir, a piece of his late wife, laid her head on Zuko’s chest as they moved slowly on the dance floor.

Zuko didn’t know how to tell him that Katara’s love was both a weight around his neck and the only thing that made him feel free. Having her in his arms made him forget about Azula, about plots, and about the future in general. His entire existence was just in this moment, and he couldn’t gather together enough curiousity or desire to think about what would come next.

Hakoda, watching from his seat, lifted a glass of sparkling wine. Zuko gave a quick nod and saw Hakoda sigh, but the other man tossed back his drink and turned away. Zuko looked down at Katara and spun her out, watching her face light up with laughter as she twirled under his arm.

“So what about your destiny?” Zuko asked as he took Katara’s hand and put a hand on her hip.

“What do you mean?” She moved easily with his steps and kept her eyes locked on his.

“After you cure HIV and become the world waterbending champ, aren’t you going to rule the South Pole?” Zuko inquired and Katara chuckled.

“Who knows? The Swamp Tribe is probably going to be the new capital, considering the global market connections and political stability.” She answered.

“Would you be okay being the wife of the disgraced Fire Nation prince?”

“Are you asking?”

Zuko moved them both through a wide turn, dipping Katara and holding her there.

“Not yet.” He replied.

“Then you’ll never know.” She whispered. Zuko pulled her up and Katara took the step in, kissing him in full view of the gathered group.

Perhaps it was even more impressive that she could make his whole world come to a complete standstill.

[zombriekid]

Night Off [Dabi/Gender neutral reader] 

Series: Boku no Hero Academia 

Summary: a slightly injured dabi interrupts your night off

  There’s a Dabi in your window.

  It’s your first night off in over a week, there’s a stream of Bob’s Burgers eighth season waiting for you on your tv, your little convection oven is done reheating your leftovers, you’re pouring yourself a mug of freshly brewed coffee, and there’s a grown ass man named Dabi climbing through your kitchen window. 

  He’s straddling the sill, one foot in the kitchen one foot out on the fire escape, and his blue eyes don’t take long to find you. The left side of his mouth pulls up into some semblance of a lazy grin and you internally congratulate yourself for not cringing. “Hey airhead.”

  Any ounce of surprise you’re feeling is immediately replaced with irritation; he knows you don’t use that moniker anymore, you made that pretty freaking clear the first time he confronted you! And you’re ready to remind him of that, ready to use every curse word in both English and Japanese to chew his ass out when your brain finally catches up to your eyes. 

  He’s covered in shallow, oozing cuts and large, blooming bruises that you know will turn purple later.

  God, you already feel tired. “What the hell, dude?” You groan.

  The zipper glides around the corners until the case is fully closed, and you toss the med kit on to a side table. Other than the bottle of rubbing alcohol the kit itself is completely empty of any real medical supplies and it’s all thanks to the little shit sitting next to you. Not that the jerk cares, judging by the way his body is just sagging into the cushion of the love seat, but still he owes you so many band-aids now.

  (At least three months worth now, actually, and a part of you wonders when this became more of a regular occurence.) 

  “Can’t do much about the bruising but your cuts should be good,” you say as you allow your posture to match Dabi’s.

  “You expectin’ a kiss or somethin’?” He asks, his tone monotonous and bland.

  You can’t help the snort that escapes your nose. “From you, hell no. But I would like to know what happened.. and who did this.”

  “Aww. Cause you care?”

  “So I can thank them for kicking your ass.” 

  This time it’s his turn to scoff but he doesn’t do much beyond that; he chuckles a few times at the antics of the animated Belcher family (Dabi understands English? How did you not know that?) and gives his neck a scratch or two but otherwise he’s quiet.

  “Is it a don’t ask/don’t tell sorta thing?” You glance at him from the corner of your eye after you ask the question, and of course he doesn’t do shit to respond. “I mean regardless you owe me a new first aid kit.”

  His silence persists. Your heart slowly kicks up its pace. 

  “Is it serious?” And still he says nothing. You’re outright staring at him now, torso twisted in a way to ensure that he’s all your looking at with one hand ready to grab his shoulder. “Are you in danger?”

  When he doesn’t acknowledge you you almost fly into a “Mom/Dad Friend” mode. The hand that’s ready to grab him does and though you’re afraid of any potential, more serious injuries that might be hiding under his clothes you still wind up shaking him a little. (You’re worried for his wellbeing, and you don’t know when that became a thing.) “Dabi?!”

  The twenty something year old villain rolls his neck until his patchwork face is looking at you, and just like the shit eating cat that ate the canary, he’s wearing a big ol’ smirk on it.

  You can feel yourself physically deflating.

  “Sure ya don’t care, airhead?”

  The apples of your cheeks and tips of your ears grow warm, and when the asshole gives a few snickers- at your expense of course- it takes every ounce of your willpower and strength not to throttle him.

  First time not having to close the restaurant in god knows how long and you gotta spend it with this idiot...

  With a one-shouldered shrug sent your way, he turns his attention back to the television and says “nah,’s just fuckin’ with some two-bit no-name hero,” here he looks at you in his peripheral. “Don’t worry, I won.”

  You don’t ask him what exactly that means but you have a feeling that you’ll be seeing it on the news in the morning. The sudden, tragic death of an upcoming hero will probably be mentioned in passing, briefly mentioned by the news anchor before they move on to a hotter topic, and that’ll be the end of it. You quash any old residual instincts that boil up from Dabi’s words.

  No need to try and be a hero again.

  Moments pass by, the television quietly playing in the background; your mug of coffee is sitting on the table in front of you, untouched and totally forgotten until now; the leftovers of a greasy burger and fries are next to the mug, and though you were absolutely famished just an hour ago you don’t really feel like eating anymore; and then there’s Dabi’s intense, blue eyes, still on you and still looking for the chips in your neutral disposition (a game he often plays, and there’s never a clear winner.) 

  Ultimately you decide that his “fuckin’ with” a small time hero has nothing to do with you- and yeah, it bothers you that your reaction is so lukewarm but... well, if you care about the one then you gotta care about them all. And you’re not a hero, not anymore. So you turn away from Dabi, away from his inquisitive stare, and he breaks the silence with another chuckle.

  Half way through the next episode of Bob’s Burgers, a headache born from caffeine withdrawal starts to bud in the back of your skull, so you bend to grab the mug from the coffee table. However, the moment your fingers graze the cool porcelain you realize that your drink is a. now cold and b. you’re going to have to get up to reheat it.

  “Goddammit...” you grimace. 

  You’re about to hoist yourself up on to your feet, soles already loudly protesting, when the villain’s left hand comes into your personal space. His palm is up and his fingers are out, and you realize that he wants your mug.

  “You know where the cups are at. If you want some then go make it.” You say with irritation.

  “Just give it.”

  “That’s how mono gets spread.”

  “I’m not gonna fuckin’ drink it.”

  Perhaps against your better judgment, you hand the mug over to him. His long fingers curl around the bottom and from the tips tiny blue flames flicker to life. You’ve never actually seen his quirk before, and you can’t help but to equate the color to that of his eyes. (Startlingly you like it.) 

  Dabi holds on to the cup until steam rises from the lip then holds it out to you.

  “Thanks...” you mumble as you grab the mug. The porcelain is warm now and it feels so wonderful against your (perpetually) cold hands.

  The expression on his scarred face doesn’t change, maintaining that same bored aloofness that you’re so familiar with. He acts like he doesn’t hear you, though it’s probably more like he just doesn’t care, but still the fact that he used his quirk to manually heat up your coffee for you makes you smile. You settle back into the love seat- barely recognizing that the two of you are practically hip to hip- and sip at the hot beverage.

  “You still owe me a new first aid kit.”

  “Will you shut the fuck up?”

  The next time Dabi shows up on your fire escape, he’s sporting some new (minor) injuries and a red case with a white, blocky cross on the front.

  “Hey airhead.”

a/u: listen. listen. i know that i said that i was done with writing, but then this cocky burnt chicken nugget came into my life and now here we are. bnha is a great series with great characters and of fucking course the first bit of fanfic i do for a. this series and b. in fucking forever is about a hot topic villain. so sue me. ain’t much of a content creator but holla at ya girl if you want more.