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runningonmarvel · 5 years ago

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because we are strong (we learn to ask for help) ~ a muffy fic

A/N: this is about the rest of the marathon when Buffy and Marty together that was not shown on screen. as my friend aarushi put it: ‘they talked for five hours’. 8k words. Just Marty and Buffy. Canon compliant (aka Marty still had a gf). Also on AO3 (quietmarvel is my account name there as well) Enjoy! :)

Five more minutes on this bench and Buffy might lose consciousness completely. Something about the metal pressing into the back of her legs, her neck, and her back is pushing her awareness out of her, sending it spiraling toward the sky as her half-closed eyelids sink further down. The all-encompassing exhaustion which brought her to stop in the first place diffuses from her shoulders to her knees to the balls of her feet, and she tries to control her breathing.

The only clear words in her head are these: make it stop.

And as Marty had jogged away a few minutes ago, leaving her on the park bench, one more thought had topped her jumbled mind: that she, Buffy Driscoll, the girl made of willpower and stubbornness, had never in her life felt more pain than this.

Five more minutes, and Buffy might have stayed on that bench forever. It isn’t just her body shutting down, and it isn’t just her mind accepting defeat. It’s the nagging issue in the back of her mind which began to creep up after the first few miles took more of a toll than she was prepared for.

It is this: that she, Buffy Driscoll, was wrong.

Thoroughly.

She was wrong to challenge Marty, to belittle his months of training into nothing more than a race. She was wrong to try to push her body through something it wasn’t ready to handle. She was wrong to run this marathon at all. But most of all, she was wrong to call Marty, to befriend him with the guise that she had changed at all from months ago when they had first been friends. To pretend to be this new person who could be reasoned with, who could accept anything other than total success.

Buffy feels the tears before she knows they’re coming, but she swallows them back so they only brim the edge of her eyelids. Is she still that girl? The one who stole and destroyed Marty’s shoes, who coerced him into a race, who played tug-of-war with Jonah for five hours straight? The one who runs a marathon with no training on a whim, just because an old competitive streak flared up? Has she even changed at all?

And yet here she is, on a park bench, less than halfway into a race, every bit of fight gone out of her. Marty would be disappointed—no, he wouldn’t. He wanted her to stay here or go to a doctor. Her mother would be disappointed—Buffy cuts this thought off before it can grow. This is her old self speaking, isn’t it? She isn’t disappointing anyone by not being strong enough. She almost sounds like Cyrus, telling herself that, and she allows herself a small smile.

Then she drops the grin completely. The park already looks hazy enough; she doesn’t need other people’s voices in her head, even if it’s just Cyrus. But her own voice, alone in her mind, sounds so angry with her. It keeps telling her to get up and stumble through the next 16 miles, no matter the cost. It lists the people who are angry with her right now. It tells her that if she can’t run this simple race, how can she expect to do well in the basketball championships in a few weeks?

Buffy closes her eyes and is trying to block that voice—her own voice—out, when she hears footsteps pounding toward her. Footsteps in the wrong direction.

“Nice try, Driscoll!”

And it’s like she’s falling. The hazy conversation that follows feels like a fever dream because every word Marty says is fighting away the horrible thoughts in her own head. He wants to cross the finish line with her. He is lifting her up, not tearing her down. She is coasting on air, feeling like she could pound out the next 16 miles in her sleep. With Marty’s arm around her back and her arm around his, pulling each other to the next step and the next, there is a fire burning inside of her. She can do this. She can—

—-

One mile later, and Buffy is sucking air. They are jogging at the minimum pace that can still be considered jogging, and every step feels like the final one she’ll take today. Marty is close enough that he can catch her if she does fall again, and every time their elbows bump Buffy grounds herself in the thought that he is there beside her.

“What do you think about when you run?” Marty asks abruptly. He also slows to a walk, probably because he sees the effort Buffy is expending to move forward isn’t leaving enough energy for her to breathe.

“In track races? Nothing. Just beating the hotshots around me.”

Marty’s exasperated scoff-laugh is exactly what she should have expected. “No, I mean races like this.”

“For cross country? I guess, um, I guess I think about my friends a lot. Things they’ve said to me.”

He nods, offering a hand around her back for support. Buffy accepts, leaning into him, and she notices his intake of breath—must be surprise. The Buffy who Marty first met wouldn’t have blinked an eye at that offer. But this Buffy knows she can’t run this race by herself. She can’t, right? Doubt starts creeping in, and Buffy feels herself wanting to pull away. To start running again, as far from Marty as she can.

The thought of running away from him makes her feel a little sick, so she turns to ask him a question instead. “And what do you think about, as a ‘wise and experienced’ ‘distance runner’?”

“That excellently unhealthy meal I get to eat afterwards,” Marty answers immediately, and Buffy bumps his shoulder in pretend anger.

“Oh, come on. For real.” “Honestly?” he pauses for a second, but their slow walk continues on. A man wearing a weight vest jogs past them, breathing hard. “Music.” That isn’t a surprise, considering the countless Spotify links Marty has sent without invitation since they started talking again about a month ago. Buffy doesn’t complain, though: just listens to them from start to finish then adds each new one to a growing playlist entitled ‘from the party bops’. After runs, they sit in silence outside his apartment and stretch, sharing his earbuds while his new music find of the day pumps through them. Buffy doesn’t mind never getting to choose, although she had made sure to send him a playlist of her favorite songs of all time. But most music is good music in her opinion, and Marty happens to have good taste. Still, his passion for music runs deeper than that of the majority of the population, and she’s even heard him mention hopes to record something himself.

“What kind? Rare Ariana Grande bops? Bluegrass? Mainstream rap? One of those indie bands which you go through daily?”

Marty frowns, but his mouth quirks because every one of her guesses is a valid one considering his music history. “Right now I just have ‘Tongue Tied’ by Grouplove stuck in there on repeat. Motivational, I guess.”

Buffy feels a kick of adrenaline—hopefully another runner’s high arriving to magically carry her through the next 15 miles—as the lyrics pop into her head. She glances around, then pushes down whatever insecurity she feels. The words spill out, dialed up to a shout. “TAKE ME TO YOUR BEST FRIEND’S HOUSE, ROLL AROUND THIS ROUNDABOUT OHHH YEAH.”

Marty’s eyes get big, but he’s smiling across at her. Buffy breaks away from his arm and starts to run, feeling alive, alive, alive with her arms splayed behind her. “TAKE ME TO YOUR BEST FRIEND’S HOUSE, I LOVED YOU THEN I LOVE YOU NOW!” Marty joins in, running after her. Some of the runners around them look up, smiling or narrowing their eyes through their labored breathing. Looking back at Marty, whose eyes are fixed on her as he continues to sing the words, Buffy reaches out a hand to pull him forward. They round a corner, where the next mile sign shines up at them. He squeezes her hand, lets go, and then bumps her shoulder as they fall back to a jog but continue on, the lyrics caught in her mind on repeat, reminding her to smile.

—-

“So what were you thinking about when you stopped?” Marty asks. They’ve been talking about music and concerts for a bit, but after a few moments of comfortable silence he’s come back to this.

Buffy closes her eyes as she walks, trying to remember the moments before her unsteady run came to a halting stop. “I think…I think I was hashing through a memory. Trying to encourage myself. Um…” She trails off, wondering how much she should let her guard down, let her emotions spill out. She doesn’t do this, not even with the Good Hair Crew most of the time. It feels dangerous.

Marty doesn’t say anything for a moment, then speaks. “I do that too, all the time. I think about my first track race, when I almost gave up and just left the track. My friend Nick was there watching, and he yelled at me from the bleachers to ‘get myself together and just run’. He didn’t know it, but it was what I needed to hear. And I thought about what my coach had said to me the day before, sort of offhandedly: ‘do it for the feeling you get when you’re done’. I wanted that feeling, and so I went after it.” “I want that feeling too,” Buffy breathes. She wants it right now, mainly so the pain and dehydration will end. Marty’s right that plain success feels different than victory or triumph. But it’s still all-consuming, overpowering. More than winning, it’s a sense that you can accomplish anything, given the time and the effort.

Marty falls into another silence, and she knows they’re both tasting the finish line in their minds. But they’re still 14 miles out, not even halfway done, just walking along.

While he’s silent, Buffy replays the memory in her mind, the one that she was trying to use for inspiration. She wants to tell him, because he of all people understands. And he knows how much it is to ask for her to be vulnerable.

So after a few minutes, she inhales and begins to speak. “I was remembering a time when Cyrus and I went waterskiing.”

A pause, and Marty smiles. “I bet you kicked ass at waterskiing, huh? Poor Cyrus.” “I did, but that’s not the point. On another note, please go waterskiing with me at some point because Cyrus swore it off. Anyways—after we went waterskiing, his parents left us alone on the dock, and we were just laying there. I remember it was afternoon, and…and it was when I was like ten or eleven. I hadn’t really talked to anyone before that about my mom, or at least, not seriously. She had been back for a year or so when I was nine, but after that she was deployed for a while and I didn’t see her for a couple more years. Anyway, I couldn’t stop thinking about that the whole trip, even when I was flying out there on waterskis. So I talked to Cyrus about it, and I started… well, I started crying. That was definitely the first time he saw me cry, and probably the first time anyone did. I would never cry when my mom left because I didn’t want to make her sad. But Cyrus… he just listened, and he was so kind. I told him I didn’t think I could handle her being gone the next couple years, because they were such important years in my life and she wouldn’t be there.” She pauses to breathe in, collect herself. The pain in her legs has disappeared in the haze of the memory, but her mouth is dry. It’s too late to stop the story now, though. She glances over at Marty quickly and then continues.

“I remember a moment when Cyrus just looked at me and smiled. He said ‘you can handle a lot more than you think you can’. And that just stayed with me, I guess.” Nostalgia and love for Cyrus rise up in Buffy, and she sets her jaw, turning to Marty. “That’s what I was thinking about, but it didn’t stop me from stopping.”

“Maybe, but it might’ve kept you going longer than you could have otherwise,” he says slowly. “And Cyrus was right. Look—we’re halfway done!” He points to the 13.1 mile marker on the side of the road, and Buffy lets out a whoop. A few spectator families with encouraging signs give a celebratory cheer in return.

Buffy turns into Marty’s cheek, whispering,“Why is that family holding up a sign that says ‘it’s all uphill from here’?”

He laughs, bumping his face against hers. “The Shadyside marathon course has all the hills in the second half. Buffy groans, tilting her head back.

“Despair—“ she starts to lament, when Marty gives her a tug on the arm. He gestures to the water station, and Buffy nearly falls over her feet trying to get to the table. “I feel slightly less despair,” she concedes, swallowing the whole cup. Marty passes her an energy chew, which she gladly accepts.

“Whoaa, we’re halfway there,” Marty sings to her quietly, and Buffy resists the urge to smack him upside the head as they continue on. They start to jog-walk away from the water station, even passing a few people. Buffy searches herself for another coveted runner’s high but finds no such hidden energy, only a well of memories and Marty’s arm around her shoulder, Still, it’s enough.

—-

“No, you’re wrong. Platypi are objectively the best animal. I mean, come on! Nothing can top that. Honestly, nothing can top most of Australia.” “Honestly, the first time we met you asked me if I had ever eaten a live frog. Making your opinion on any animal invalid. Besides, whale sharks are better. I mean, have you ever seen one?” “No, but—“ “Oh my god. We have to go to the aquarium. Next week?” “Tuesday. Okay, but if you ever go to Australia you’ll realize the error of your ways.” “Have you ever been to Australia?” “Well, no—“ “Point made. According to Cyrus, there are spiders that eat birds there. So.” “So that’s even more cool! Come on, did you not watch Animal Planet as a kid?” “Only if I wanted a scary story on Halloween. Saturday morning cartoons with my dad was always a tradition.”

“My mom and I used to bake cookies all night on Christmas Eve while my brother was asleep. I always thought I could make it late enough to see Santa, but I never could. I always fell asleep.” “Aww little Marty, everyone knows sleep is for the weak!” “Not if you’re a distance runner! You are getting in your sleep every night, right? To get ready for cross country?” “Of courseee I am.” “The exaggerated winking isn’t helping your case.” “The fingerfeet aren’t helping your case either, but I’m still here with you.”

—-

Buffy’s English teacher had once assigned the class to write a personal response on what silence meant to them. At the time, Buffy had stared at her paper in exasperation, twisting the pen in her hand and occasionally throwing looks at Andi, who was furiously scribbling. Writing had never been Buffy’s thing, and ‘the meaning of silence’ wasn’t exactly the most riveting topic. Basketball was, or track, or action movies with dance sequences.

As she stumbles past the 15 mile marker, though, halfway between a resigned walk and a pathetic jog, Buffy keeps on returning to that word: silence.

Marty hasn’t spoken for the last mile, just offered an arm whenever she faltered and jogged along at his own pace beside her. But, for once in her life, Buffy doesn’t want to fill the quiet with words piling on top of each other.

Comfortable silence is the term Mrs. Beckett, her English teacher, would use to describe it. But ‘comfortable’ isn’t a word Buffy is prepared to use so easily, not when she’s just getting used to Marty’s being around again. She keeps thinking, though, considering the easy quiet between them as they trudge along. It’s a painful opposite of the stark silence in her own home back when she was younger, every afternoon and night that her mom was deployed and her dad was working. Reliving those empty moments feels like waking back up in her twelve year-old body, pressed between the couch and the wall, listening to herself breathe in the small space because at least that was more noise than the hum of the air conditioning. Or pressing her ear to the running washing machine. The hum was like a weight on a see-saw, tipping her back into balance, and she could pretend her mom was running around behind her, dropping papers or cycling on her spin bike in the hallway.

Now, she can hear her own footsteps, pushing to be in time with Marty’s. She can hear the wind snapping through the trees and blowing bright green leaves into their path. And she can hear her own heartbeat slamming against her sternum, like it wants to jump out of her chest and splatter on the ground—that’s what this race is taking from her. And maybe—if she’s being generous, if she’s being the version of herself that spills personal memories to Marty—it’s also nerves.

Her flutter-heartbeat understands what running this race with him means: a concession of the greatest sort. A failure. If she finishes this race, if she even can, then she is surrendering her past self. Completely. She’s becoming someone new, the person Marty thinks she can be. And yet, she still feels the same tether, that pull toward isolation. Toward the empty sort of fulfillment that comes with sole success.

That’s how quick it comes—the spiral backward. Next to her, Marty inhales quickly, coughs a few times, and then shakes himself back into the rhythm of jogging. Then he hesitates a second and slows to a walk.

And Buffy wakes herself up. Holds a calming hand to the anger inside her. She listens to the quiet breaths next to her, keeping her eyes focused on the tree line in the distance. Kicking at the leaves gathered on the road in front of them, she lets the tension go out of her clenched fingers, her neck, her squinting eyes.

This silence isn’t sharp; it doesn’t cut through her. But it surrounds her, down to the soles of her running shoes and the curves of her ligaments and tendons. She gives Marty a nudge as they walk, nodding toward the sign they’ve just passed. Sixteen miles in.

He flicks his eyes in her direction, in a way that says just ten miles left, Driscoll. But he doesn’t have to say anything at all.

—-

Somewhere in the seventeenth mile they reach a wooded path behind Grant High, trails packed with mud and shaded by birches leaning into each other. In the distance Buffy can see the tips of football stadium lights blinking over the forest, but for now the path is quiet. Most of the runners are gone, well into their final stretch of miles by now.

She and Marty are having a conversation about the merits and downsides to living in a small town like Shadyside, where everyone knows everyone. Just before she can make a point about the nonexistence of privacy, Marty stumbles over a root and goes crashing down onto the muddy ground.

All this exertion must have slowed down her instincts, because Buffy just stares for a second before falling to her knees beside him.

“Marty, I don’t mean to be blunt, but if you injured anything we’re getting off this course immediately.” She waits a second as he rolls over onto his back, then slides to sit up beside her.

“Hate to disappoint, but I think we have to keep going,” he says, mouthing the words around a poorly concealed smile. He moves to stand, but Buffy reaches a hand out to hold him back, splaying it against his arm.

“What happened? What hurts? Was it those stupid shoes that made you trip?” Shaking his head, Marty reaches down to his ankle, where Buffy can see a newly formed bruise spreading out from the center of the bone, accompanied by a shallow cut which is currently staining blood on his finger-shoes and the dirt.

Buffy almost starts yelling about how he’s injured, but Marty turns to face her, bringing his face close enough that she can see the flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes.

“Buffy. It’s fine.” He cleans his fingers on his shirt, then scrapes the dirt and blood off his ankle. The bruise remains, sickeningly fresh. “See? No injury.” She shakes her head, reaching to point at his ankle. “That is not good, Marty. It could be sprained.” “Or it could be just bruised. The cut will heal; besides, we don’t have bandages or anything anyway. We should just keep going.”

Restraining herself from yelling back at him, Buffy inhales slowly and takes note of how her body feels, from the cramps in her stomach and legs to the soreness in her heels to the aching in her tense arms. Then she looks over at Marty, who, apart from the bruised ankle, seems a good deal less disheveled than her. He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

She almost starts to nod, when they hear footsteps from behind. Marty does a double take—they haven’t seen anyone in what feels like hours—but turns back to see a graying man with a Shadyside Track Club jersey, a sweatband, and a number on his stomach. He jogs along toward them, taking stock of their askew numbers and reddened faces. Buffy imagines how they must look, framed in the afternoon sunlight with their legs thrown out across the path, facing each other intently.

“What are you kiddos doing?” he yells from twenty feet away. When he finally gets to the turn in the path where they are, he gives them both a stern look, as if he’s caught them breaking some rule. “Get up and run your race! You can’t lose to me.” “We’re walking, not running,” Marty says matter-of-factly, losing his symmetry with Buffy to shuffle to his feet. Buffy shakes herself from her haze and stands next to him, slightly swaying. In her peripheral vision she checks on Marty’s ankle, but he seems to be standing on it just fine.

The man frowns some more, than shrugs and keeps running. As he recedes, he calls back, “Sorry lovebirds, I’d love to stop and talk. But no stopping for me!” And then he’s gone.

Buffy scoffs immediately and then turns to Marty, whose eyes have gotten large. He looks flustered for the first time since when she yelled at him to leave her on the bench. Lovebirds? Maybe they looked like an old married couple having a squabble. Maybe.

And Marty’s the one with the girlfriend, so he keeps glancing from the path ahead to the ground to the trees—anywhere but her. Buffy swallows and centers herself, and then she gives him a gentle shove on the back.

“Let’s go. We’ve got miles to walk, arguments to have.” And she starts to walk, pushing him along with her. His visible panic breaks, and he grins lopsidedly over at her, eyes still enormous.

“I prefer to think of them as ‘spirited discussions,’ actually…”

—-

If Buffy notices how Marty winces when he lands on his ankle for the next mile or so, she doesn’t comment. He would tell her if he needed to stop; she’s sure of that. It’s one area where they differ completely. Marty never taught himself to reject help, to turn inward no matter the cost. But as Buffy catches herself thinking these thoughts, she attempts to strike through them. And she focuses back on the running. On Marty.

Short of a first-rate miracle, there’s no chance they are anywhere close to his goal time. Per his instruction, they both left their watches at home, planning to run based on mental timing, instinct, and mostly just measuring their own reservoir of energy. Now Buffy is sure they’ve been running for four and a half hours already, with eight miles left. The sun is high in the sky, scraping in the bright hours post-noon. Marty keeps pointing at the overwhelming blue above them, alternating between appreciating the endless generic niceness of the day and expressing annoyance for it.

“Clouds or no clouds?” Marty asks, while Buffy attempts (and fails) to muse artistically about the sky. Andi would be ashamed “Which do you prefer?” He is turned around to face her, taking careful step backwards along the road.

“Clouds, no question.” She hands him her water bottle, and he waterfalls a few drops before tossing it back to her. “They make the sky prettier.” “And since when has the prettiness of anything mattered to you?” Buffy nearly gives him a shove but stops because he’s already stumbling trying to walk backwards. “I can appreciate aesthetic appeal! Like clothes and nature and people and all that. I don’t know why you thought I couldn’t.” In lieu of the frustrated shove she gives him a petty sigh of disdain and an eyebrow raise, which seem to do the trick. He purses his lips to consider, then focuses back on her.

“Wait, the aesthetic appeal of people? Please elaborate.”

The eyebrow goes up even farther. “In your dreams, Marty from the Party. Now tell me, what is it about a cloudless sky that’s so appealing?”

He bites his lip and turns his head upward. “Feels like I could go on for miles, and the world would still be the same. It would still trace back to the place where I started.”

“So no matter how many steps you take, you’re always stuck under this same horrible blue. You can’t escape.”

“I don’t want to escape,” he says quietly. He stops—and so Buffy stops—and they both stare up at the overwhelming blue. “I want to be out here, in the world, making it a place I know and understand. And only running can do that for me.” Their conversation is starting to feel strangely existential, a territory which Buffy usually only breaches with Cyrus in tow after a long night of talking. But there’s something about miles under the same sky that carries people over that boundary quicker than should be possible.

“Maybe. But don’t you ever feel trapped?” Like both of your parents left you to an empty house, to grow up in the arms of friends and friends’ parents, to build strength like an armor that was only keeping you locked inside?

��Never. Not while I can run.” And he takes off jogging, not even hand-waving that she follow—but she does.

—-

“What’s Marty short for?”

Asking him about what boys did at sleepovers hadn’t been too much. Asking him to reenact his childhood church performance of ‘Deep and Wide’ had been acceptable. Even asking for a few details about Rachel, the most awkward conversation yet, had gone fairly well. But this—

“What?” He says it as if she’s just broken into his home and thrown around a few things before demanding highly personal details.

“Uh… your name. A name which, I might add, is usually reserved for sixty-plus senior citizens who play the piano in old folks’ homes.” She points at the 20-mile sign as they pass it, signally they’ve got 6.2 miles left. A 10K—something she’s done before. Something she can do again, no matter what the aching in her legs and lungs is telling her.

“My name’s Marty. Last name is irrelevant. What’s the question?” Marty tugs at his tee-shirt, a tell which Buffy has noticed comes up whenever he’s avoiding talking about something. Their first few meet-ups after the fateful phone call had involved some awkward moments as they got back into the swing of things, and he had always tugged on his collar to fill the silence. The residual discomfort between them is Buffy’s fault—before their friendship-break, Marty and Buffy had never felt the sting of awkward silences. But now it’s part of their rebuilding routine, just like hour-long runs, movie nights, and actual conversations.

“The question is: what is Marty short for? Matthew? Matthias? Mateo? MARTIN? It’s Martin, isn’t it? That’s what it is.” He shakes his head slowly and then faster. “It’s just Marty.”

“Does Rachel know what it’s short for?” As soon as the words are out Buffy regrets them.

Now he looks genuinely horrified. “Listen, Buffy, I don’t really know—“ “Wait, why is this so hard for you to answer?” She squints, remembering that feeling in her chest when he had asked about the memory with Cyrus. Vulnerability. Even if it’s just over his less-than-common name, Buffy recognizes that same emotion in Marty now. So she stops, just for a moment. She waits for him to continue.

“I…it’s not short for anything. Just Marty, I know that’s weird, but that’s what it is. Marty. From the party, if you prefer,” he says, all in a rush, and then he stops.

“Okay,” she says slowly, as they turn a bend and pass another park. “Um, sorry?”

Marty starts to gasp softly, and Buffy turns, alarmed. But she sees the gasp become a soft snicker and then a full-blown, uncaring laugh.

“What? What!” she asks, attempting to contain her own laughter. He shakes his head, rubs at his eyes, and calms down enough to look her in the eye.

“It’s just…” he trails off, biting his lip and laugh-gasping. “It’s just, the Buffy I knew months and months ago would never—“ “Alright, I know, I know!” Buffy interrupts, yelling. No one’s around, so she lets the words echo past the scattered oak trees into the empty sky. “I get it, okay—“ “No, no, Buffy, it’s a good thing,” he says, calming the laughter. He puts a hand on her shoulder and works his mouth into a smile. “It’s incredible. You’re amazing, okay?” She shuts up at that. His voice sounds like it did when she called him out of the blue to apologize for what went down—struck with wonder. Exposed. Bordering on vulnerable.

“Okay, just Marty,” she says softly, looping her left hand around his neck and bumping his side. “Let’s finish this little run.”

—-

Six miles. Five miles. Four miles. Three. The markers tick off as Buffy and Marty stroll or jog past them in varying states of distress. Marty gets a cramp in the 22nd mile, and no amount of stretching or vaguely official remedies seem to help until a mile passes. At one point they stop to fish out water cups thrown in a local creek and toss them into the actual trash bin.

Buffy knows now what exhaustion is. She feels the all-consuming desperation to stop, just like Marty must—but they can’t stop now. It’s afternoon, and every inch the sun moves down on the horizon is more incentive to finally, finally cross the finish line. So she continues to suck in labored breaths, accepts a hand from Marty when she needs it, and goes on.

“Who do you think won?” she asks at one point, leaning on Marty for support.

“Us,” he says gently, elbowing her in the stomach. She gives a yelp and pretends to sprint forward like they’re racing each other. “Oh, now you want to have a race? Because I’ll totally out-sprint you.” “In your dreams, Marty,” she asserts, stumbling forward.

“Careful, Driscoll. You already used that line on me, remember?”

“The only thing I remember is signing up for this so I could destroy you in an athletic competition. And there’s still time.” Her confidence falters as her drained legs threaten drop her on top of Marty again, but she still meets his dark eyes.

“I would say unbelievable, but really, this is all too believable. Honestly, if we get to that finish line and you start sprinting, I won’t even have the heart to be disappointed,” he responds, and his tone is joking but his eyes are sad.

Buffy closes her eyes and locks one hand on his upper arm. “You wanted to cross the finish line together, and this is our race. So we will.” She looks up at him, trying to will away the drowsiness she’s feeling. But he sees it and smiles, wrapping his arm around her waist to support her. She does to the same to him, and they speed-walk past the sign informing them that after twenty-four miles they only have 2.2 more.

“Shit,” he says, “we’re so close.”

“Not done yet,” she whispers. They’ve traversed a few more meters when Marty suddenly stops beside her, letting out a low gasp. “What’s wrong?” He shakes his head but nods forward to the side of the path ahead of them, where a small figure is hunched on the curb. Buffy focuses and sees that it’s a young girl, probably eleven or twelve, wearing a tank top and running shorts. Marty pulls her back when she starts toward her.

“What should we do?” he asks slowly.

“Talk to her, first. Ask what’s going on.” It’s what Cyrus would do, and he’s the one who taught her how to be kind. So Buffy pulls Marty behind her toward the girl, who is currently rocking back and forth and tugging at her braid.

“You okay?” Marty calls out as they get closer. The girl’s eyes flicker up immediately and Buffy sees that she has a number on her stomach.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says immediately, frowning at them. Buffy nods but slides to sit down beside her on the curb.

“You sure? What’s your name?”

“Taylor.” It’s all she’ll give up before clamping her lips again. They tremble slightly on the word tough, and Buffy shares a look with Marty, whose eyebrows are drawn together as he appraises the situation.

“Listen, Taylor…” she starts.

“Go away, please.” Buffy notices for the first time that Taylor’s eyes are red and swollen, like she’s been crying.

“Are you running the marathon?” Marty asks, sitting down on the other side of the girl. Buffy swallows, nods appreciatively toward him, and caps any annoyance with the girl’s attitude. She thinks about Cyrus, about the countless moments they’ve shared kindness like it cost nothing. It shouldn’t cost anything here.

“I was. I can’t finish it though,” she says shortly.

“Why not?” Marty asks. Taylor shakes her head slowly. And then it all comes out at once.

“I’ve run a marathon before, actually. This is my second one, and I thought it was going to be better. But four separate people have asked me while I was running by them: why am I doing this? Telling me I shouldn’t be doing it. Telling me I can’t. Like, aren’t runners supposed to support each other? That’s what my mom always says. I’m gonna stay here until she calls me and ask her to pick me up. I don’t want to finish. Whatever.”

Across from her, Marty takes a shaky breath. Buffy can see his dark eyes darting back and forth, trying to formulate a plan. In the back of her head, Buffy imagines the clock at the finish line, ticking up and up—they’re so close.

But this matters more.

Buffy lets out a breath and turns to Taylor. “Who’s stronger, you or those idiots who trash-talked your race?”

Marty inhales and turns to look at her, his eyes once again widening. But he doesn’t say anything. He trusts you. Buffy puts one hand on Taylor’s shoulder as the girl processes what Buffy asked.

“I—I’m stronger.”

“Exactly. But if you sit here and don’t finish the race, then you’ve proven them right. And they think they’re stronger than you,” Buffy says, meeting Taylor’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter what it takes to get there. I couldn’t finish this race running, so I’m going to walk. My…um, my friend here is helping me. And we can help you, if you want.”

Taylor shakes her head slowly, but Buffy can see her jaw working as she considers the offer. Finally she gets to her feet, adjusting her number and then turning to look down at Marty and Buffy.

“I can’t accept your help,” she starts, and Buffy gets on her feet, ready for another round of inspiration. But before she can reassure her, Taylor shakes her head and keeps speaking. “I can’t accept it because I need to run the rest of this race, not walk. But… I’ve got to finish. You’re right. Um, thanks.” Buffy watches her turn away and start to run—not jog, but truly run—toward the finish line. Beside her, Marty slowly gets to his feet, rubbing a hand up and down his arm.

Buffy is already walking in the direction Taylor took off when Marty catches her by the forearm.

“Buffy.”

It might be the quietest she’s ever heard his voice.

“Buffy, where did you learn how to do that?” he asks to her back. Slowly, she turns around to look at him, the afternoon sun catching on every feature as he considers her, and she considers him.

“Um, what do you mean? How to be so flexible? So good at running? So expert at bantering—“

Marty squeezes her arm, and Buffy feels it down to her bone. “No, I mean… I mean, that was incredible. It was kind, and fierce, and you totally just changed that girl’s life, and—“ “They were just words,” Buffy says incredulously, raising her eyebrows to meet his gaze. “They couldn’t have done that much—“ “Buffy, I know you’re used to your actions speaking louder than what you say. And I know you’re not used to this—“ he gestures in Taylor’s general direction,”—being a strength. But that was something more than banter or competition. That was kindness. Inspiration.”

Buffy pulls away, the words swimming inside her head. She’s not sure she’s ever heard Marty so boldly sentimental, not since he indirectly asked her out on the bridge. He’s right: this, whatever this is—emotions, feelings—is not supposed to be a strength of Buffy’s. And it’s not something she’s willing to confront, not 24 miles into a race and not in the middle of a park, not again.

Marty is still looking at her, his eyes even more fiercely concentrated than they were on Taylor a few moments ago. But he doesn’t say a word, so Buffy turns and walks in the direction of the finish line. She trusts he’ll follow.

—-

Andi once sent Buffy a series of elaborate messages on the taste of sunlight. At the time, Buffy had written it off as a byproduct of spending too much time with either Jonah or Amber—it’s hard to keep up. By the end of the marathon, Buffy isn’t tasting sunlight (it had disappeared behind the trees), but she is tasting a variety of other things. First and foremost, exhaustion, which is familiar at this point. Secondly there’s sweat, and maybe a few tears of frustration slipping down her face. But last is the achingly close taste of success, of her feet pounding across the finish line, which is less than a mile away after hours and hours of moving forward relentlessly.

So close, but Buffy is slipping. Dehydration, Marty’s first warning, is the first cause to come to her mind, but she’s been drinking water at every station and sipping on their shared bottle as well. Fatigue can account for the dull pains up and down her arms and legs. Lack of training explains the slightly wheezing breaths, and her right ankle is just constantly sore. But her eyes keep drifting off, unable to focus on the asphalt ahead of them or Marty’s voice beside her. It’s like she’s detaching from herself, floating somewhere high above this stretch of road littered with cups and long forgotten signs of encouragement.

Buffy thinks about Taylor flying across the finish line, her braid swinging behind her. Then she imagines herself following behind, but she can’t quite picture it. She can see herself falling over the line, just like she collapsed onto Marty earlier. In the dream, Marty watches her fall and smack her head against the concrete. His eyes are as big as they were when the old man called them lovebirds and when she convinced Taylor to keep running. They’re like dark stars, shining at her but also sucking everything into them. She wonders how often he looks at her like that.

She wonders about a lot of things, but they’re all sucked away into the hazy dream-state that is her exhausted mind. The runner’s high—unfortunately a temporary occurrence—had hit her in the eighth mile, back when she was still running on her own. Now all that’s left in her reservoir is willpower. That, and anger. No matter which way she attempts o spin her own personality, there is always going to be some of that. It’s nonnegotiable, and maybe it’s resentment that she doesn’t want to take out on her parents. Maybe it’s a screwed up expression of that strength she wanted more than anything. Maybe it’s just who she is. Maybe it means nothing at all.

But here, out on the course, the anger doesn’t stay anger. She learned that the moment she was first allowed to run in practice, hair flying freely behind her and feet pounding into the ground. Anger on the course is drive. It’s passion. It’s courage.

But courage is not always enough, not when her body is giving up on her. No amount of pent-up feelings can overcome that.

“Buffy? Buffy!” The voice fades in and out of her consciousness as she runs on, knowing only half a mile remains.

Here we go again. And there’s the same voice in her head—you could black out!—I can’t leave you—I want to cross the finish line with you. She needs to stay awake so she can hear that voice, loud and in the present, as they cruise across the finish line. She needs to stay focused on it, needs to—

“Buffy.”

Two hands on her shoulders shock her whole body awake, pull her down from the dream-high, and ground her feet on the road.

She takes two shaky breaths before meeting Marty’s eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Shock doesn’t widen his eyes like she expects but softens them instead as he grips tighter on her shoulders. “We’ve got less than half a mile left. That’s less than two laps on a track, less than your walk to school, less than a trip around the block. Just breathe, and walk.”

Buffy waits for him to finish and then shakes her head, putting both her hands on his arms. “If I keep walking I’m going to black out. You go on without me; I’ll wait.”

“Hell. No. We started this race together, and we are crossing that finish line together. You’re strong, Driscoll. Strong enough to do this.” Marty draws himself closer so they’re almost hugging, and Buffy doesn’t resist. The image keeps replaying in her mind, of her being unable to cross the finish line herself. Of collapse. Of failure.

So many basketball games, races, and competitions later, and it all seems to come down to this. Not anger, not competitiveness, not even strength. Just that tiny four letter-word: fear.

Buffy Driscoll is afraid of failure. Of being wrong. Of showing the world that she isn’t who they think she is. It’s in every card game, every brainstorming session with her friends, every test, every exchange of words, every fleeting moment of eye contact. It’s in everything, and it’s inside of her as much as the exhaustion is.

She wonders if Marty knows. He’s always looked at her like he can see right down to the bone without even trying.

“I can’t do it,” she says simply. If I finish, I’m a failure for conceding to help. If I don’t finish, I’m a failure for not completing what I said I could.

No matter what I do, I’m vulnerable, vulnerable, vulnerable.

Marty waits a few moments, their arms still pulled tight against each other. He looks her in the eye for several long seconds, and she tries to meet his gaze. She can’t.

And then Marty breaks away, and Buffy’s heart drops to her feet with the knowledge that he’s going to leave her here. Like the bridge, like the bench. It’ll just be her and the empty silence. Her and the fear.

His eyes never leave hers, though. Not until he turns around completely and drops to the ground, facing away from her. Buffy waits for him to take off sprinting, waits to be completely alone. But he doesn’t leave.

“If you can’t run, then walk,” he says. He’s still facing away. “If you can’t walk, take a break. If you don’t think you can keep going,“ and now he turns around, lips pursed together and cheeks tinted red, “I’ll carry you.”

It takes a second to register. “What?”

“Get on my back. We’ve got to go, Driscoll. This is how we finish our race.”

In her head, Buffy falls across the finish line once, twice, a thousand times. In her head, Marty leaves her to the elements, to her own emotions. But here, where she can taste her own sweat and here her own unsteady breaths, she climbs onto Marty’s back and hooks her legs around his arms and her arms around his neck. She doesn’t say a word. But Marty keeps walking unsteadily forward until they close the distance to a final hundred meters and he starts to run, terrifying every cell in Buffy’s body as they fly toward the line.

There are no words, just laughter and relief as they stumble the few final feet. The wind bites at Buffy’s shoulders as she digs her fingers into her own arm, trying to hold on. Over and over, instead of seeing herself collapsing, she hears his voice: I’ll carry you. I’ll carry you. This is how we finish our race. I want to cross the finish line with you.

And then they do say words, but Buffy is already too full of—everything—to appreciate most of what is said, besides what is simultaneously the easiest and hardest thank you she has ever said. The past five hours seem indefinite and unreal, already blurring in her memory. But the time on the clock and the lowering sun in the sky prove they were undeniably, impossibly real.

As Buffy slings her arm around Marty, pulling him toward that unhealthy meal he was craving so much, she doesn’t try to summarize the race in her head or contain it to a few single words. Because the marathon is made up of every moment, every conversation, every glance and touch, every gesture—physical or emotional, every breath and every step. That’s how it has always been with Marty, a step forward each moment, requiring focus and dedication and introspection from both of them. And he, of course, at the end of it all, is right. No matter what situation they put themselves in, or the world puts them in, as long as they have this, as long as they have the run—the growth, the steps forward, the challenge—they have their strength. And they will stay free.

#andi mack #muffy #buffy driscoll #marty from the party

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jackmarston · 5 years ago

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content warnings for journal entries are of about the same standards as the games, I will say so if anything is different

Thunder cracked hard and heavy outside the Blackwater Hotel. The storm had rolled in within an hour, unexpectedly, leaving me to ride into town to find shelter on a very frightened horse.

My clothes were soiled and soaked and considering the last few days- I probably smelled of dirt and wet horse. I found the old room in the hotel that had been rented indefinitely and stoked the fire. I barely had time to get warm and dry, stripped of most of my wet clothes, before someone came beating at the door.

“Jack, it’s Sadie.” Another three raps on the door followed. I scowled, pulling my wet pants back on over my union suit. “Open up. I know you’re in there- I seen you ride in.”

I pulled open the door with a little more force than I intended. “What? I ain’t having the best day.”

“Well it’s about to get better… maybe.” She grinned, her long, thick leather coat and hat were shiny with rain. “Back in the day, your Pa used to help me with bounties for a big half of the share. Well, I find myself in need of help again, and I figured I’d ask the other John Marston I know.”

“What makes you think I’d even be interested in that?”

She shrugged. “There’s money. It’s something to do besides drink yourself into a stupor and roll around in the mud. It’s legal and mostly honest.”

I sighed, leaning on the doorframe. It was true that I needed money. It wouldn’t be long until I was hard pressed for bullets and going to sleep for supper. I tried to push down my irritation. “I need some details.”

“Well, I ain’t got a lot of details right now.” She turns and looks briefly down the stairs. “Got a fellow, sought me out and asked me a favor. He’s down at the bar and he’s gonna fill us in. It’s not a traditional bounty, per se, but he promised to pay well and I want you to back me up just in case…”

“Yeah.” I scrubbed my hand over my face. “Alright.”

“Get dressed and meet me downstairs. We’ll talk.” She looked me over and grimaced. “And try to clean yourself up a little.”

I did as she said, although there wasn’t anything significant, I could do besides try to wipe the dirt from my face and hands. I dug through my bag until I found a mostly clean shirt, although incredibly wrinkled, and buttoned it on before pulling on my still-wet coat.

Sadie was downstairs where she said she’d be. The bar and restaurant below the hotel was mostly empty, what with the weather outside. Sadie saw me coming down the stairs as she threw back a shot, and the man working the bar knew me well enough that he didn’t spare me a second glance.

Standing beside her was a stranger with a familiar face that I doubted I’d see again. He was a fat man of average height, with black hair and a thick mustache curled at the ends. His fancy clothes were soaked, especially the shoulders and the top of his belly, which he kept brushing at as if to clear off the water.

“Ah, then you are Mr. Marston?” He had a thick Saint Denis accent. “I believe we’ve met before, but only briefly. Not long enough to exchange names. I’m glad we’ve met formally now. My name is Phillip Ramsey. My daughter is here as well, but she’s not part of our business.”

“Didn’t know y’all had met.” I looked over to Sadie, who was on the other side of Mr. Ramsey, and she’d leaned across the bar with a cigarette while the barkeep lit it for her.

“As I said, it was too brief to exchange names.” Mr. Ramsey clapped his hands together. “But, this is a new opportunity.”

“Aren’t you a lawyer?” I asked him. “Why do you want us bounty hunting?”

Ramsey’s hands lowered to the bar, sweeping it as he contemplated his words. “It’s not bounty hunting, actually. It’s more of the opposite. You see- I have a client who has gotten himself into trouble. He does have an actual bounty out on him now. The law desperately wants to find him… so he’s disappeared himself.” He grimaced. “However, it’s only a matter of time before someone does find him. I don’t want him getting killed or anything unnecessary happening to him. His circumstances are- Well, they are unfortunate. I believe I can help him if he comes to me first.” He looked back and forth from me to Sadie. “He must see me first. That is crucial.”

“So, essentially, you’re asking us to kidnap a man and bring him to you?” Sadie asked.

“Is that not what every bounty is, in essence?” Ramsey replied.

I leaned back against the bar. The rain crashing against the windows and the roof was loud. Nearly too loud to think. “We’ll do it.” I said.

Sadie shot me a glare, but Ramsey didn’t notice.

“Excellent.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a few wet bills, throwing them on the bar. “You need not go tonight. I cannot pay you if you’ve been struck down by lightening. Still, I can pay for a few drinks.”

“I won’t argue with that.” Sadie chuckled.

The old man ordered himself something fancy and expensive, I didn’t pay much attention, but he took his glass and laughed loud over something Sadie said. He had a loud laugh, long and raspy. While he reminded me of Dutch in some ways, in others he reminded me of my father. I doubted my Pa would like that some lawyer who saved murderers from the rope reminded me of him, but it was true. Phillip Ramsey didn’t seem like a bad man, or an entirely dishonest one. In another life, I imagine he would’ve gotten along well with Dutch’s gang. I couldn’t help but imagine what could’ve been different if they had a lawyer on their side, so many years ago. Ramsey obviously was no upstart. He dressed too well and shelled out money too easily. He had to have friends and connections, pull in places that would’ve been important. It left a bitter taste in my mouth knowing that one man, had we met him earlier, could have altered the fate of my father.

But that was in the past. Far in the past. When I took a deep swallow of my drink, I had to remind myself to temper my usual habits. Sadie would skin me alive if I made a fool of myself and ruined her business now. A drink wouldn’t hurt, especially when it was free, but I didn’t need to take things at the pace I usually did. The barkeep’s eyes on me, on and off as to not be rude or obvious, told me the same thing. I needn’t develop the reputation of the town drunk either. Following in Uncle’s footsteps wasn’t exactly something I wanted either.

The daughter, who I barely looked at before, stepped to the bar at my side. She was over a head shorter than me, and I got a clear view of her rain-soaked scalp. She was pretty. She had her father’s hair, black as a crow’s wing. Her skin was nearly too-pale, likely because she was cold due to the soaking rain, although she was less wet than her father. Her dress was more well-made than anything I’d seen my mother wear, although I don’t know much about dresses.

She looked up at me, and her eyes were silver like two new coins. Her mouth quirked up at the side, not quite a smile.

“You’re working with my father, then?” She asked. She accepted a drink from the barkeep, taking a small sip. Her mouth was stained like she’d been eating something red all day.

“I suppose.” I took another sip of my drink, looking away from her.

“There’s no supposing to do with it. You either are, or you aren’t.” Her tone was just light enough to take the sting off. Just.

“Well, I am working with your father, then, ma’am.”

“Good.” She took another sip. Her accent was much lighter than her father’s, and her words were crisper and more enunciated. “My father is very good at seeing people. Who they are- I mean. I think it comes with the trade. You meet enough guilty people and innocent people, you start to learn to tell them apart. Anyway, I think it’s good for him to work with someone other than paper pushers and clients… Well, for now. No offense.”

“I don’t… See how I would be offended.” She smirked again and I felt like I was missing out on some joke, but quickly that thought was brushed away. She plucked a cigarette from the bar and reached into the shoulder of her dress, pulling out a wet bundle of matches. She sighed, tossing them on to the bar, and turning her silver eyes back on me as she placed the cigarette between her lips.

“I bet you have a match, mister.”

I did. The matchbox suddenly felt like hot coals in my pocket. I fished it out and struck the match for her, holding it to the end of the cigarette as she pulled in the light. Her hair had been pulled up, as most ladies did it, but the rain and the wind had knocked some dark strands loose against her neck where they still clung. And above, her cheek hollowed as she drew in her breath and her eyelashes lay against her skin. Her eyes opened and her lips curled up again.

I dropped the match and smothered the flame with my foot. My mouth was dry, and I took another deep swallow of my drink.

“Jack!” Sadie’s voice cracked across the bar and I turned my head. “Stop wastin’ time. You and I are gonna go restock and plan for tomorrow.”

“Alright.” I quickly finished my drink and left the girl at the bar.

#Journal Entry #Jack Marston

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cherry3point14 · 6 years ago

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The Wrong Winchester

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x FakeGirlfriend!Reader Warnings: Mostly fluffy goodness, a tiny bit of like OMG but it’s like one tiny chocolate chip inside of a marshmallow. You’ll hardly notice. Word Count: 21,748. (Not a typo. Strap in.) Square Filled: Fake Dating Summary: You are one of Sam’s best friends and his co-worker at the legal firm where you both work. One day you waltz into his office for your usual lunch together to find that he is entertaining his mother. What begins as a little white lie to save Sam some embarrassment spirals into attending the Winchester fourth of July celebrations as his (fake) girlfriend. Celebrations where you meet his brother... A/N: This is a fill for @spnfluffbingo. I started writing this like, ho ho ho, what’s a few thousand words between friends and then THIS fell out of me. Ao3 if you prefer

You got out of court early after your client took a plea bargain. A result you heavily favored, not because you didn't believe in your ability to win, but rather you knew you couldn't win. The guy was guilty as sin and he was lucky he was getting a plea bargain at all. Well, not lucky. He's paying you enough to get a miracle.

You'd only taken the guy's case on as a favor to a mutual friend anyway. Even this guy's friend agreed he was done for, he just needed you to do the best you could to get him something other than the maximum jail time.

At this point, with the whole messy business settled, you're relieved to be done early for the day. In fact, maybe getting out early will mean that the deli down the street from the office will still have one of those seeded bagels that you love. Usually when court overruns they sell out and you're left eating pastrami on white like a chump.

Despite the potential for your favorite bagel, you don't head straight there from the courthouse. You can't. That's not the way lunch works. No matter what you and Sam check in with each other before going to eat and today is no exception. Which is why you head to the third floor of your firms building rather than heading straight to bagel-y goodness.

You rap your knuckles on the dark wood of his office door waiting for his usual greeting. When you hear the familiar, "come in," you don't notice how it's a little more cautious in tone than normal. You're so used to hearing it at this point the words may as well have been screamed for how much you listened to the way he said them.

"Sam! My guy came to his senses thanks to yours truly—hold the applause—so I'm ready for an early lunch. Let's go, I could not be more starving."

It takes five steps into the room and for you to finish talking before you spot the blonde woman sitting down opposite him.

"Oh damn. I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were with someone," you throw him a pointed look for giving you zip warning. "I'm sorry I'll come back later or..."

You were going to suggest he call you when he's ready. Or you'd happily grab lunch and bring it back since you knew Sam's order as well as your own. But before you can offer any of those excellent suggestions the woman jumps up from her chair, smiling warmly at you, "it's absolutely fine I'm not a client so don't worry about me."

Sam clears his throat awkwardly, "Y/N, this is my mom. Mom, this is my friend Y/N."

The woman, who you now notice has shades of Sam in her face and smile, thrusts a hand in your direction. Of course, you've heard about the famous Mary Winchester. You've even heard her voice a few times when his phone is on speaker and she calls to make sure he's 'still alive'. This is simply the first time you're putting a face to the name.

As you lock hands with her she talks to Sam on a feigned aside, her volume far too loud to be a secret, "is this the girl? The one you hung up on me to take a call from last week?"

You happen to know that you are not the girl. The girl's name is Eileen and she's a librarian Sam helped in a civil case a few months back. The 'call' in question was actually an hour-long Skype session he'd told you about the next day like a lovesick teenager, because the poor sucker has it bad and doesn't even know it. Your lips tremble for wanting to form a knowing smile but you hold it back because you can't sell Sam out like that. Instead, you start to answer the question that wasn't meant for you with a firm, "nope." What you don't expect is for Sam to sell you out.

"Yes, this is her! I mean… please don't embarrass me, Mom."

You'll give him that he's a wonderful actor and his skills are lost on civil litigation. He could make a killing in court with a poker face like that. What you don't understand is, why the lie?

You bend past Mary to send a questioning eyebrow in his direction but as you do Mary turns back to you, positively beaming "Me? Embarrass you? Never! Y/N it's a pleasure to meet the girl my son is so infatuated with."

You smile as quickly as you are able, attempting to explain away your confused expression, "the pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Winchester. I just had no idea we were telling people yet. Right, Sam?"

"Please call me Mary."

You nod gratefully as Sam jumps up and slips an arm around your shoulders. The gesture itself is not unusual, you and Sam are best friends. You hug, you're playful and sometimes he pretends to be your boyfriend to scare away bar jerks. His arm around your shoulders isn't odd because of the way he touches you but rather because of what he says as he does it. "Oh I know we didn't plan to say anything honey but Mom surprised me with a visit before she leaves town and you walking in was perfect timing"

Unlike Sam you do spend a lot of time in court since you specialize in criminal law, so you're very good at reading between the lines and thinking on your feet. You do not miss the emphasis of his words or his plea for your help. He may be a wonderful actor but you are better.

"No problem babe, just give a girl some warning next time. I don't want to give your whole family a bad first impression down the road." You settle into your role easily, knowing Sam will hate the nickname but if you have to put up with 'honey' then you'd fight fire with fire.

Mary waves a hand dismissively, too overjoyed at this turn of events to care, "nonsense. If you're half the woman, my Sam says you are then you're already perfect to us!"

You blush, basking in the glow of Mary's praise, even if it's praise intended for someone else. Someone who might love literature more than Sam.

"Thank you, Mary. I'm so glad we got a chance to meet. But I'm sure you want to get lunch with, Sam? I can spare him for the day, I'll catch up with him later." You grin and nudge him in the ribs from your vantage point, still tucked into his body by a heavy arm on you.

That's when Mary's eyes light up, "or, since he's been keeping you all to himself, we could all get lunch together so I can get to know you?"

And because you walked into the room complaining about your empty stomach and talking about being free of obligations there's absolutely no excuse on earth that can get you out of lunch with Sam and his mom.

"You're joking, right?" There are tears in your eyes and you're holding your aching sides as Mary tells you childhood stories about Sam . She's just finished a story about Sam having a terrible reaction to a clown when he was five. Kicking the poor guy in the shins and then stripping his clothes off and running around the birthday party naked until somebody caught him.

"No, really! His friend's mom calls me up and says I'll need to bring a new pair of underwear because he threw them somewhere and nobody knows where they got to!"

You both howl and you throw your head back. Sam, who's sitting next to you at his mother's insistence, is stiff as a board. "Could you maybe remember when I asked you not to embarrass me?"

His mom does not seem compliant, "it's fine. I'm sure Y/N's mom has plenty of stories too. One day we can all trade them at a family event, like say, a wedding or something."

You smile at him with fake sympathy. His groan is comical, considering he got you both in this ridiculous situation. Plus, he's probably figuring out that he'll never hear your stories and yet you have these gems to hold over him forever. If you played your cards right you'd bet Mary could even get you some dorky childhood pictures to put on his next office birthday cake.

"I can't believe you kept me a secret from your mom, she has all the good gossip babe!" You've been laying it on thick for the last thirty minutes or so. Mary seems to be lapping it up and Sam glares down at you while you look up at him adoringly through fluttering eyelashes.

"Yeah. Sorry honey." He manages with an increasingly strained smile. You know you're going to pay for this, you just have no idea how.

Although your moment of fake intimacy with Sam seems to have given Mary an idea.

"I hope I'm not being forward, I haven't even spoken to Sam about this..."

"Mom." Sam makes one little word threatening. She ignores it.

"Hush Sam. Anyway, I would love for you to come to the fourth of July next weekend. If you don't have plans that is. The whole extended family comes in." She leans across the table and wraps two hands around yours reassuringly, "and I know everybody would love to meet you. I can already tell you're going to be a Winchester someday."

You almost snort water through your nose at the idea of 'being a Winchester'. You know Mary is being nice though, so you resist, Sam's kick under the table also helps keep you in line.

"I'll have to talk to this guy," you hike a thumb over your shoulder in his general direction, "but I don't see why not."

It seems like exactly the answer Mary was hoping for and not what Sam wanted. Or exactly he wanted? You're not sure, he's twitchy and hard to read, which is unusual for him. All you know is he started this lie in the first place. Plus, it's not your fault that his mom is, apparently, the parent Sam inherited those hard to resist doe eyes from.

The rest of the lunch happens in a vague blur. By the end, Mary is hugging you goodbye and telling you she's so glad that she came to see Sam because it meant she met you. She makes it hard not to feel guilty about lying to her for over an hour.

Sam wraps his arm around you again as his mom gets into a cab and you both watch it drive off. You're a considerate person so you wait at least ten seconds after the car disappears before you turn in his arms and land a vicious punch to his ribs. You're not strong enough to cause any real damage to the giant of a man but you barely manage to swipe at him with the way he also sidesteps away from you.

"Mind explaining when we became a freaking couple?"

His eyes are wide and panicked but his smile is sheepish. He holds his hands up, palms facing you, in a show of defense. "I'm sorry, I- let me explain."

You cross your arms and purse your lips, "I'm waiting for you to do exactly that babe, explain. Stop stalling."

There a lot more bite to the nickname as it slips out this time, but he knows you. Sam knows you're mad about being caught off guard more than anything else.

"I love my mom, I do. But you spent an hour with her, you can see she's nuts, and her latest obsession is finding out about this woman I've been talking to She wouldn't have given up. I only just asked Eileen out on a date, it's way too early for her to meet that crazy. I mean my mom met you today and you're invited to fourth of July already."

He's tricky and he knows what part of his excuse you're going to be distracted by, "you finally asked her out? Sam, you sly dog, you didn't tell me! Your first real date!"

His shoulders shrug and his eyes roll, "I've dated women before Y/N/N but yeah we're going out on Friday."

"I'm proud of you, it only took you what three months? At this rate, you might have a real girlfriend by next July."

You both laugh, slipping back into your normal back and forth, "you're not mad?"

"I'm not thrilled that you decided to pawn me off as a pretend girlfriend without telling me, but it's fine. You know I'll always help you out if you need it. Besides, I know we're not supposed to say this out loud, but we do a considerable amount of lying for our work. What's one more between friends?"

He bumps your shoulder with his, except with Sam's height it's more like he bumps your shoulder with his bicep, "still friends huh?"

"As if I'd let you go what with all those childhood stories I have now! I've gotta get my kicks somehow."

He flashes you a bitch face and you, as always, reach up to grab at his chin, "don't bitch face me babe or I’ll surprise you with a clown in the office”

You're not sure if it's the threat or the nickname that makes him roll his eyes again, but you catch the flash of genuine fear he tries to hide. He needs to accept this is his life now. You have enough dirt on him for months of relentless torture.

The heavy courtroom doors spring open and you breathe a sigh of relief. The air feels lighter out here, less weighed down by the law, and even though your client was just acquitted you're far happier about your own freedom. It's been two days of back and forth but you're not due in court again for the rest of the week. You've never looked forward to two and a half days sat in your office more.

The drive to your building is short and the elevator ride to your office is quick. In no time at all you've sunk down in the comfortable desk chair with a smile. It's like coming home. Until there's a knock at your door reminding you that you're still on the clock.

Luckily, it's familiar long, brown hair that flops around the door, "Y/N?"

"Come in loverboy," yes, this joke is still going strong.

He slides into the room like it's a secret and closes the door firmly behind him. You don't care about that though, you're more concerned with the paper bag from your favorite deli in his hand.

He laughs as your eyes light up and you make childish grabby hands from your desk, "oh, did you want this?"

"Cut the crap, you hate their bagels."

He keeps playing because he's the worst fake boyfriend ever. He holds the bag at a height you wouldn't be able to reach standing, let alone still sat at your desk, "who says it's a bagel?"

You shake your head, disappointed in his lack of faith in you, "I know a bagel when I smell one."

Finally, he plops it down on the table in front of you with a smile, watching you gleefully rip the bag open and concentrate on spreading cream cheese with the small plastic knife. "Couldn't let my lady go hungry after her big case today. Good job by the way."

The thing with your running joke, the fake couple one, is that until now Sam hasn't joined in. He laughs, he might go as far as saying you'd 'make' the worst girlfriend for how much you tease him, but he doesn't actually say the words. As if he thinks Eileen might find out.

You both know it's a joke. Sam is like a nerdy brother or dorky cousin to you. He's about as sexual as a Ken doll in your eyes. You can appreciate his objective handsomeness but downstairs he's all smooth, and you're absolutely sure he feels the same way about you. It's what makes the joke so funny because it will never happen.

Which is why him playing along after a week of your playful mocking is suspicious. It makes you whip your head up to look at him skeptically

"Excuse me?" You splutter through a mouth full of deliciousness.

"Thought I should get used to calling you it before the weekend."

He says it so casually you're not sure if he's actually casual or if he's just super good at pretending to be.

You're cautious as you ask, afraid of taking some imaginary bait, "what are you talking about?"

"Fourth of July weekend with the Winchesters."

You laugh. His answer catches you so off guard that it bursts out of you. "Ok. I admit it, you're good, you almost had me. But if I remember rightly you told me I had a stomach bug this weekend and we'd be breaking up in a few weeks."

"About that..." he starts running a hand through his hair, an obvious sign that he wasn't as cool as he's pretending to be.

"What did you do?" Your tone is hard, but your entire face softens as you take another bite. You can't stay mad at food and damn does Sam know it.

"I was talking to mom and… well… she's so excited. Then I mentioned that you weren't feeling so great and next thing I know it's either stay here and look after you or we both go together So, I mean the choice is yours but…"

"If I don't go to the family get together then Sam doesn't get to go?"

"Pretty much."

You suck in a lungful of air considering your options. It's not like you have your own family get together to go to, you have no siblings and two cousins that you haven't seen in a few years. Plus, your parents aren't the family backyard barbeque type. They're the go out to dinner at a nice restaurant and then take you to the opera for your fourteenth birthday type. In other words, they're Republicans.

He sits down and lets you finish your bagel, which you do. If you take an excruciatingly long time, chewing every mouthful twenty times, then so be it. You're not going to say no, obviously Sam is your friend and his mom is nice enough. You don't have anything better to do and he keeps mentioning this barbeque which you assume will have grilled meats of every kind.. Plus, you know Sam, pretty damn well, and you know he doesn't go home often. He wouldn't be asking you to do this if it didn't mean a lot to him.

Just because you know you're going to say yes, doesn't mean you can't have a little fun with him first.

"This is a pretty big ask Sam. I mean a whole weekend of Winchesters."

He nods, sullenly, from the seat he'd taken up while you ate in silence, "I know. It's my fault all this happened anyway."

"Why don't you say you broke up with me and go home alone?" You ponder good-naturedly.

"Are you kidding me? She'd kill me. It'll be bad enough when I tell her in a few weeks. Plus, I'd spend the whole weekend as poor can't-keep-a-girl Sammy."

You almost splutter bagel everywhere, "Sammy?"

His cheeks flush if only for a second, "my brother calls me it."

A wicked grin spreads across your face. "OK. Here's the deal. I'll come with you and be a perfect doting girlfriend all weekend if I can call you Sammy now and forever because that's the cutest thing I've ever heard"

He lets out this puff of frustration mixed with acceptance because of course, he's going to fold like a cheap suit. "Do I have a choice?"

If possible, your grin gets even wider, "of course not Sammy."

"Making my way downtown walking fast faces past and I'm homebound!"

"How much do I have to pay to get you to skip this song?"

"And I need you. And I miss you. And now I WONDERRRRRRRR!"

Sam is driving to the airport and you'd insisted on control of the music. He’d cited some rule of his brothers and you’d cited this massive thing you’re doing for him. It's easy to insist on things when you're doing him a favor and boy did you plan to use that superpower all weekend. By Sunday night he would be giving you piggyback rides to the bathroom if you could help it.

You're flying down straight after work since it's only an hour or so, and that way you'll have a full day Saturday and Sunday. It turns out that fourth of July weekend is a bigger deal than you'd realized when Mary had asked you. You'd assumed it was a quick little backyard shindig. Oh no. This was the event of the Winchester calendar, it was nothing short of a full-blown family reunion. The more Sam tells you the more you see why he really wanted to go.

Not only is his family all the things families should be; huge, crazy and constantly fighting, but they go all out for this thing. There are traditions. Some of them are little things like someone called Bobby who brings the best bourbon and refuses to tell anyone where he got it. Some of them are big things like the illegal fireworks his Dad always manages to get. Because that's a thing people do, apparently?

His life is basically the opposite of the one you had growing up and it concerns you that you may not fit in with these people. You and Sam first bonded joining the firm only a few months apart which meant he'd only ever known the adult version of you, not the good little rich girl you'd grown up as There's a very real concern that these people will sniff out your privilege and hate you. Unfortunately, lunchtime on the day of your flight is not a good time to try and back out.

So, your afternoon had been spent trying to distract yourself and definitely not taking a small nip from the flask in your desk drawer. It wouldn't kill anyone, but it stopped the panic that tried to take hold. Not just for meeting all these people but lying to their faces while doing it. You figure it's the whiskey that's making you sing now.

The airport is busy even on a Friday evening and before you know it you're onboard the tiny aircraft and strapped in. As soon as you're in the air you order another whiskey, even if Sam thinks it's your first, he eyes you worriedly.

"You're not a nervous flyer, are you?"

You shake your head, smiling as the flight attendant hands you a whiskey that's far too nice to be served in a plastic cup. "No. It only hit me today that I'm meeting your entire family. I haven't exactly done the big family thing before."

He slides down a little in his seat and leans in as if someone else on the plane might be listening, "it'll be fine really They're all crazy. Great, but crazy." There's a slight pause, "you'll fit right in."

"Don't make me tell everyone in the office to start calling you Sammy when we get back."

He gulps, and you laugh. Both of you know to keep your jokes between yourselves. That's the unwritten rule.

"Anyway, you never told me, in all the prep and telling me about aunts and uncles and cousins, who’s your favorite? Who are you most excited to see?"

He doesn't hesitate. There's just this slow smile that spreads over his face like he's caught in a memory you wish you could see, and then he looks at you with shining eyes, "my brother."

He's not spoken much about his brother so maybe he's the secret Sam had leaned down to keep quiet. You hadn't questioned it when Sam was preparing you, you figured that he was focussing on telling you about the family members you didn't already know about. You'd met his mom and you were at least aware of his dad and brother. So, it hadn't seemed weird that he'd been determined to tell you about Uncle Bobby, Aunt Jodie and the rest. But now there's something different on Sam's face. This is like pure hero-worship, it's childlike and innocent and absolutely adorable.

"Tell me about him. Dean, right? He's picking us up at the airport?"

"Yeah. He owns his own garage out in St. Louis and he's basically a genius…"

Between the whiskey and Sam's soothing voice as he talks about Dean it's no surprise that you take a quick power nap that lasts the entirety of the hour and a half flight.

"Wake up honey."

You don't open your eyes, but you can feel his long fingers wrapped around your shoulder as he shakes you gently, "what the hell?"

His laugh low and deep, "I was practicing, since we're in Kansas already Toto."

That makes your eyes spring open. You're all curled up on the seat except for your lap which is still strapped in somehow, Sam looking down at you with a smile.

"We landed already, babe?" You might as well get into character as well.

He nods, "yeah. I'm surprised you slept through but somehow you managed."

The flight attendant wanders over and that's when you see that most of the other passengers are already leaving the plane. It's you, Sam, and only a few other stragglers left in your seats.

"Ahh, you finally got her awake?" She asks Sam knowingly.

"Yeah, I normally love watching her sleep, but I figured I had to wake her up at some point."

The woman honestly looks like she might melt as she presses her hand to her chest. She clearly has some cliché about them breaking the mold with him on the tip of her tongue. Luckily she's called away by some struggling passenger whose bag is stuck. When she's out of earshot you whisper to Sam, "you're sickening, you know that?"

"Only for you, sweet pea."

You wrinkle your nose in distaste, "no way, sweet pea is not an approved nickname. That's off the table."

He tries flashing you his puppy dog eyes but it's difficult to hit you with the full power of them while he's handling the bags.

You stand up in the limited space in front of your seat and proceed to stretch the flight out of your upper body. "Don't give me that look. I mean, you can have sweet pea if you don't mind your family finding out that I call you sugar buns."

He frowns and freezes mid-reach, "that's plain mean."

"Don't test me, I'll go full schnookums." You warn with a wagging finger in his face.

These games you play with Sam lessen whatever guilt you have about lying for the weekend because it keeps the whole thing as just that, a game.

He must notice how it puts you at ease, or it must put him at ease too because you both keep the jokes light and breezy as you clear security and wander through Kansas City airport. At some point getting close to arrivals he takes your hand and you let him. It's comforting, casual. It feels like slipping on a mask that you need to wear for a few days but it's not as much pressure as you thought it would be because it's Sam.

Or at least it's just Sam until it's not.

You see the sign first. It's a picture of this kid, teenager, who must be no more than twelve or thirteen and he's sporting this floppy boy band haircut with a smile that you know is all Sam, even if it's a little gap-toothed back then. It's clearly a school photo due to the typical blue backdrop and pose. Except it's been stuck on this bit of poster board with, "Sammy Winchester" in big block letters underneath.

Then you look up from the poster board and there's the happiest, proudest smile attached to this guy holding it up. Sam starts walking a little faster, fingers still laced with yours and dragging you along, until he gets to the stranger and hisses "Dean, what the hell?"

"Sammy!" is all that comes out of the stranger's mouth before he wraps his arms around Sam, an impressive feat since Sam has a few inches on his older brother. Dean still has the poster board flapping in one hand while he squeezes Sam, who lets go of you to hug Dean back.

When they do break apart Dean seems to be all but forgiven for the sign, although Sam doesn't seem like he was really that mad about it. You are already making plans to try and get your hands on the picture.

Dean turns his face to you and that's when you have to bite back a gasp seeing him up close. You don't know what it was when you met Sam, but you never once felt that tingle, despite how empirically attractive Sam is. Dean is, unfortunately, having the absolute opposite effect. Your eyes dart over every inch of his face and you don't find a single spot that you don't want to taste with the tip of your tongue. In the blink of an eye, you wonder what his lips feel like and whether his jaw would hang as heavy and strong as it looks in the palm of your hand. The freckles on his face are like a map you want to trail with your finger, and his eyes, god help you, it's like looking into his soul. And that soul is every shade of green that's ever existed, he's all cheeky kindness and grumpy anger in one.

Except you can't say any of that because Sam slips his hand around your waist as Dean beams at you, warm and happy. "You must be Sam's girl?"

There it is. The first thing you'll ever hear Dean say to you is that you must be Sam's girl.

You splutter and choke a little, the answer not wanting to come out. Sam probably doesn't expect you to fail so miserably at the first hurdle. Although you can only hope that he doesn't know why you're so nervous to agree all of a sudden.

"Sorry, this cutie just woke up, she slept the whole way. Dean this is my girlfriend Y/N. Honey, this is my brother Dean."

You somehow find the mask, the girlfriend mask you're supposed to be wearing that slipped off immediately at the sight of Dean, and pull it back up You thrust a hand out with a somewhat convincing smile, "erm, right. Sorry. Long day. Hi Dean, nice to meet you."

When he takes it, calloused fingers wrapped around yours, you wonder what his hands would feel like over your entire body, or specifically latched at your hips. Sam said he was a mechanic, right? You'd be willing to bet he's good with those warm, thick fingers of his. "Pleasure, mom said you were beautiful but…"

Sam purses his lips next to you, cutting his brother off at the chase, "come on Dean, you can try and flirt with my girlfriend tomorrow, let's get back home"

Dean seems to take this as a promise and flashes you a wink before taking your case from you. You fight to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck, or the tightness in your stomach. He pushes the poster board into Sam's chest and takes his brother's case too, walking a few steps ahead towards the parking lot.

"Hey, you ok?" Sam sounds worried and it adds to your nausea. You'd felt a little sick about lying to strangers but now you're also letting him down.

"Yeah sorry. Like you said, tired,"he doesn't seem to wholly buy it, so you add, "plus I'm totally trying to figure out how I get my hands on that picture without you realizing."

The joke, at least, he seems to believe. You would just have to do a better job at lying to absolutely everyone now, including your best friend, and maybe yourself.

The drive 'home' is a little under an hour which you spend sitting silently in the back pretending to be asleep again. You have zero chance of actually falling asleep since your brain won't switch off.

They don't talk much at first and you're sitting there with your eyes closed thinking about what an absolute mess you are in. Then halfway in they do start talking and unfortunately, it's about you. It's like the opposite of every time you want to overhear a conversation about yourself. As soon as they start you desperately want to be anywhere else.

Dean clears his throat first, "how is it that you end up with her and the first I hear about it is a week ago when mom tells me you're bringing a girl?"

You don't know whether the way he emphasized that was a good or bad thing.

"We work together dude. You spend enough time with somebody… late nights looking over legal precedents…" Sam trails off leaving his implication hanging in the air and it's difficult not to laugh. Your late nights are normally ordering takeout to the office and Sam not judging you for eating more than him

"Pshh. Just like you to woo a chick like that with boring legal jargon. She's way out of your league little brother." Somehow you can hear Dean's stupid smile.

"She's a lawyer too. And it worked didn't it? Besides she's out of everyone's league." You know that Sam's being nice because he's your friend and you're playing these parts, but you've never wanted him to shut up more than you do right now.

"It must be- you must be serious about her? Bringing her home this weekend. This isn't just meeting mom and dad, it's everyone."

You never even considered how this looks to other people if you're honest. You were so concerned with playing your part well enough that you didn't think about how it comes off. Dean is completely right, this isn't a little thing, this is every important person in Sam's life over two days. And he brought you, his fake girlfriend. The one he plans to break up with in a few weeks.

Sam hesitates, you can hear him thinking in the silence. Probably the same thoughts as yours swirling about his head. You know that he's not serious about you, as a girlfriend anyway. The woman he is serious about is back in Chicago. She's waiting on a date that Sam postponed till he gets back because he didn't feel right going through with this weekend and dating her at the same time. Because even caught up in this ridiculous lie he's a gentleman and when Sam does something with someone he actually cares about, he does it right.

Therefore, the lie that slips out of him scares you with how sincere it sounds, "I wouldn't have brought her if I wasn't."

You don't know what's worse. That Sam was probably thinking about Eileen while he lied to his brother, or that you were worried about what his brother might think.

The only sound for the rest of the trip is the low hum of rock music emanating from the aged speaker system. Dean hums a few songs and you can't help but want to know more. Are they the ones he listens to the most or are they his actual favorites?

When you arrive, you feign waking up as the rumble of the engine ceases. It's obvious your eyes don't have the residue of sleep, you're not tousled or creased like sleeping in the back of a car would make you, but neither of them says anything. You doubt they even pick up on it in the dark. Instead, they each get a case from the trunk and lead you into a decent sized family home in suburbia. Sam laces his fingers with yours again and squeezes when you get inside, whether for you or for him it doesn't matter. You appreciate the support anyway. This is a home where neither of them knocks, a place that's still their home even when they've grown up and left the nest. Again, it's a new concept for you. You don't even have a key to your parent's place anymore.

Seconds after the sound of the door closing echoes through the house Mary appears. Despite it getting late she brightens at the sight of Sam, wasting no time in marching up to him and hugging him as if he's still her little boy rather than the giant man that he is. It's nice to see this greeting since you missed it in Chicago, what you don't expect is to be wrapped up yourself after she lets go of him.

Apparently, the Mary you met, who invited you after knowing you only an hour, was the reserved version. Now you're in her home there's no escaping the full force of Mary Winchester.

"I'm so glad you could come Y/N, Sam said you weren't feeling well? Almost didn't make it?"

You barely remember then that you were supposed to be sick this weekend, "it was nothing, just a bug. I blame my speedy recovery on Sam looking after me so well."

The slightly shorter woman's eyes sparkle playfully, "only a bug? Not, say, morning sickness?"

"Mom!" Sam interrupts sharply, "we've only been dating a few months."

Mary waves him off but you support his argument, assuring her quickly, "there's absolutely no way Sammy and I are very careful."

Dean makes a gruff sound from where he's standing the other side of you. When you all look at him he pouts in his mother's direction, distracting her better than either you or Sam could manage. She concedes without much fight and hugs him too. "I only saw you a few hours ago."

His face tells her that information is irrelevant.

You're ushered into the living room next to greet a man who could only be John Winchester. Sam hasn't told you much about him except that he was no-nonsense and formidable in his opinions so you're wishing you could have had a shower or something. John is, in every way, the physical representation of Sam's description. He's all broad shoulders like Dean and dark hair like Sam. He's this mountain of a man which makes it all the stranger when he cracks this smile at you, a smile you can't place to either of his sons.

"You must be Y/N. The woman keeping Sam in line."

You shake his hand, making it as firm as possible, he seems like the kind of man who will respect that. From the twinkle in his eye, you think maybe he does.

"I don't know that Sam needs keeping in line, Mr. Winchester. He is the line."

John barks out a laugh that sets everyone else off. It feels like a test you've passed but you're not sure what the question was.

"Please, call me John."

And that's it. You've been weighed and measured by John Winchester, the patriarch, and deemed worthy. Or worthy enough to earn your first night's stay at least. You can tell that as much as he lends you a smile now, John isn't finished with you yet.

He turns to Sam next, the same handshake and some jibes about the big city Chicago lawyer. You decide to keep your New York heritage a secret, for tonight at least. You were too tired to defend yourself with any discernible wit right now.

In fact, it's your yawn that prompts Mary into action.

"Leave them alone John, they're exhausted. You can pick on your son tomorrow after he's had a good night's sleep."

"Yeah, looking forward to it dad," Sam says pointedly but not really, a wry grin on his face.

Dean is gone somewhere, and you only notice as you wish them both goodnight and turn around to follow Sam. You don't know how long he's been gone, but your chest hollows a little at the thought of not saying goodnight to him. And you wanted to thank him for the ride. And maybe, just see him again.

Sam's smile refocuses you. He reminds you of your loyalty, you're here for him. The guy that's there for you five days a week, and some weekends, the guy that goes over your cases with you while you help him with his. The guy who takes you out for dinner when you're sad and lets you bake him cookies, that he actually eats, when he's blue.

You couldn't let one very attractive, handsome brother distract you from being the best fake girlfriend you could be.

You'd hoped to pass out as soon as Sam showed you where you'd been sleeping but then you'd had a whole new room to look at. His childhood bedroom. It was a surprisingly intimate place to find yourself in. You'd only ever known Sam, the adult man who walked around in suits and said things like, "that information wasn't in the discovery." His room was all Sammy. All the little pieces of him through the years. You could see where his childhood had turned into his teenage years and pieces of everything melded together. There were books everywhere that made it look like he'd only left yesterday.

When you've finished teasing him relentlessly and finally lay down on one side of the bed, him on the other side, there's a comfortable silence. Both of you staring up at the ceiling, acutely aware that neither of you is asleep yet.

He breaks it first.

"I never really thanked you."

You don't think you can bring yourself to look at him not when the back of your mind had been thinking about a different Winchester, but even if you can't look at him your voice is thick with the shame you're feeling, "you don't have to."

"No, I do. This is pretty crazy, and I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd have laughed in my face. I mean, don't get me wrong you yanked my chain enough, but you didn't even think to say no."

He's too heartfelt and honest, it makes your gut ache. "Seriously it's nothing."

"It's not though."

"It's fine."

He huffs, and you feel him turn his head to stare you down, "would you just accept my appreciation, so we can get on with our lives?"

You smile and shake your head, still looking up, "you're welcome Sammy. Seriously, you know I'd do anything for you." You mean it, you really do.

"Same here. Night Y/N."

"Night babe."

He nudges you in the ribs for ruining a perfectly nice moment. You wait till he's asleep before you roll over to face the wall and close your eyes.

The next morning you wake up to an empty bed and a note that says Sam has gone for a run. This is supposed to be his weekend off and he's gone for a run? He needed to learn to relax, he was such a disappointment.

When you're done judging him you realize that you have no idea where the bathroom is, and Sam clearly doesn't have his own since there's only one door. Which means you get to play the fun game of sneaking around your fake boyfriend's house in your pajamas.

Sam's room is, at least, the first one at the top of the stairs so there's only one direction to go. The carpet is soft beneath your bare feet as you sneak, high knees, and elongated movements. You need to have a little fun with this task since it has the potential to be so awkward.

Then you walk past the next room and the door hangs wide open. It's Dean's room. No ifs or buts. It's certainly not their parent's room and you figure if they kept Sam's room the same then they probably did the same with Deans. Dean doesn't have a sea of books and academia. Dean has classic rock posters on his walls and a football helmet on top of his desk, which tells you the kind of guy he was in high school. Unlike Sam's room, which was pretty tidy, Deans could have still been in use by a teenager for the clothes already strewn about the place. An observation that makes you laugh, when his voice rumbles from behind you, heavier than the engine of his car. "What's so funny, sweetheart?"

You jump and in doing so step further into the room to enable a dramatic spin that ends with you planted in front of him with both fists raised. "Dean! Don't- you shouldn't jump up on people like that."

He finds your stance or your words amusing, either way, he chuckles, "you're in my room?"

He has a point. "I was innocently looking for the bathroom, it's not my fault you left your door open and I'm a curious person."

"Where's Sam?" As he walks past your eyes finally catch up with your situation. His hair is still wet from the shower and he has a towel wrapped around his waist. Although he's wearing a t-shirt it's thin and it’s sticking to his wet skin leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Every inch of his body outlined in cotton.

As you finally answer him you have to look up at the ceiling like he's naked, which he practically is, "he went for a run before I woke up. Like most people I actually like sleep, so I guess he figured he'd be back before I was up."

"Take it you're not an exercise freak like Sammy?" You're still not looking at him, so you can't see the way he's grinning as he watches you pace on the spot.

"No! Walking around a courtroom yelling 'you can't handle the truth' is usually all the exertion I need."

He laughs again, and you smile to yourself for having got that sound out of him before your bladder reminds you of what you were looking for.

"So, um, do you think you could tell me where the bathroom is?"

"Shit, yeah. Sorry. It's the next door on your right. You were so close to finding it on your own."

You finally pull your eyes from the corner of the room, taking a step towards him and jabbing a finger in his chest. "Don't patronize me." It doesn't come out as jokingly as you meant it, there's this low huskiness to it since you spin to him and he's still in that towel. This close to him you can make out every, single freckle. The shirt he's wearing, thankfully, isn't sticking as much. The sinful picture he had been moments ago becoming a little softer around the edges, no less tempting, but softer.

If he notices the way you look over him he hides it. Probably because you belong to his brother. Maybe he wouldn't even consider looking at you like that anyway. It doesn't matter. Dean is dangerous territory and being alone with him in his room, more so. He makes you forget your obligations, like the one to Sam.

Sam. Crap, you needed to get out of here before you lose all control.

"Thanks, Dean, I appreciate it. And, erm, nice room." It's a poor attempt at pretending you were distracted by his stuff rather than him. No doubt he'll see through it but hopefully, he won't call you out on it.

Not that you give him a chance to. You skulk away quickly, falling into the bathroom and closing the door with a satisfying click of the lock. Safety. For at least a few minutes anyway.

Breakfast had been you and Sam. Dean having finished eating as you both walked in and Mary and John already out for the morning. You're told that their parents were notoriously early risers which is where Sam had inherited the habit from. Nobody knew where Dean had got his love of sleeping in.

So, without anyone else breakfast had been peaceful and without pretense. You'd hardly even talked, opting instead to eat and enjoy the silent pleasure that came with not having to pretend. Eventually, you'd both started scrolling through your phones over coffee, only muttering the tiniest of titbits to each other about news articles or emails.

Now, it is decidedly past breakfast and you are sitting on the edge of Sam's bed again, aghast, as Sam explains today's activity.

Winchester family baseball.

"No, Sam. No. That's not a real thing that people do. This isn't some cheesy movie, people don't have family games of baseball on fourth of July weekend." You're not sure what he's searching in his closet for, but you don't appreciate only having half his attention.

"We do. Dad's coached little league since Dean was old enough to hold a ball and everyone is so competitive anyway, it just became a thing"

You don't know whether to laugh or cry. Then Sam makes an "ah-ha" sound and you find sobs caught in your throat at what he pulls out.

It's this white, worn baseball jersey with ‘Winchester’ on the back printed over the number 2. It cements his story with a foundation of truth. This is actually a thing that they do and you're going to have to take part. Sam once again proving that he isn't an idiot. He knows if he'd have told you about this before you came, you'd have stayed home.

And then he pulls out a second jersey. "You can wear this one."

Oh, he knows exactly what he's doing.

"I'm not wearing that." You fold your arms over your chest to illustrate your point and eye the thing suspiciously, like touching it might give you cooties.

He shakes the hanger it's on to try and tempt you into taking it anyway. "Come on honey. I promise it'll be fun."

He's never seen you play, well, any sports but he knows you have the coordination of a fish out of water. That's why he's enjoying this so much. He's evil and he's only giving you that irresistible look of his to ensure that you thoroughly embarrass yourself.

You have no athletic ability, the stuff you do during your occasional gym visits is exercising not, sports. You don't play sports, you hardly watch any sports. The closest you've ever got to watching a baseball game is watching The Sandlot and you know who you related to most in that film? The kid who knows nothing about baseball and looses a priceless piece of baseball memorabilia to a giant dog. In fact, the film is mostly about kids being afraid of a dog, not baseball.

But you're Sam's girl, kind of, and this is part of the deal. You snatch the jersey from him and hold it up to your chest. It's a little big but not as long as you're expecting and he answers your unasked question with a chuckle, "that's from before my growth spurt."

"Fine Sammy. You want me to play the part and wear your jersey like some horny little teenage fantasy you probably had? Then I'll do it."

His face falls a little, "what are you going to do?"

"You'll see. On a totally unrelated note do you have any tube socks I can borrow?"

You'd gone a little too far, maybe, you could admit that. Not out loud, of course, you never actually admitted defeat in case anyone heard you. Internally you could hold your hands up. This was a bit of a cheap joke for a family reunion.

Although it is hot out, you could blame the weather for how you're dressed.

You've got these little denim cut-offs on that are inches from being hot pants and these socks of Sam's pulled up to below your knees. He'd found some with red stripes on the top so basically, straight out of a porno. Sam's Jersey is hanging off your shoulders, the deep v cut stops just above your breasts and it's almost long enough to cover the shorts. So, you've half-heartedly tucked one side in, letting it hang over one hip.

This outfit is ridiculous. Matched with your hair in braids and big sunglasses sitting on your nose. You'd walked into Sam's room after commandeering the bathroom to get ready, and the poor guy had almost choked. He'd tried to tell you that you couldn't wear that, and you'd told him to shove it where the sun doesn't shine. Then, much more eloquently you added that Sam wasn't allowed to tell you what to do as your friend. There was no way in hell he could tell you what to do as your fake boyfriend.

It's only as you pull up at this gorgeous park, tons of trees and greenery, and a baseball diamond in the distance, that you catch on Sam wasn't worried about himself, in fact, you'd worn these shorts at last year's company picnic, so he'd seen them before. He had the foresight to consider the fact that you'd be meeting mostly everyone for the first time dressed like a wet dream. As comfortable as you are in the outfit the sight of the gathering people, carrying coolers and bags of food like it's a pilgrimage, makes you tug nervously at the braids from the back seat of the Impala. It doesn't help that Dean hasn't looked at you since you skipped out of the house. Even now he gets out the car without a passing glance in your direction and hollers at someone in a trucker cap as he walks off.

"I told you not to wear that."

Sam's know-it-all attitude clashes with your stubbornness and gives you back a slither of your earlier confidence "This is a perfectly acceptable outfit and I would have thought that my boyfriend would like this."

He shakes his head despite his answer, "he does, he does. Your boyfriend only hopes that nobody else likes it or I'll have to get jealous or something."

Even trying to play along you can't imagine Sam with a jealous bone in his body. Trying to conjure the image makes you smile away any lingering nerves.

"Thanks, Sam. At least everyone will know I'm yours, huh?"

"That was the idea behind the jersey. The shorts don't have my name on though."

The extra thirty seconds joking with him, and those few extra breaths, has given you back enough of your earlier attitude. Enough that you bow your head forward with an expression that asks him if he wants to go there.

He backs away from the topic wisely while you both slide out of the car, "ok, alright. Let's go introduce you to everyone so they can start telling me that you're too good for me. I mean I was hoping to wait until tomorrow before they started on that but…"

"You know I only dressed like this so that nobody would notice how bad I am at baseball, right?" You slip an arm through his as you cut him off.

He pats your arm sympathetically, "you look hot Y/N, but you don't look that hot."

Somehow, he slips away from you faster than you comprehend his words. When you finally catch up your eyes flare and he's jogging backward away from you, "what did you say, Winchester?"

He knows he's in trouble when you use his last name and yet, he's cocky as he answers, "you heard me!"

There's a playful grin on his face now as you set out in a run after him, "you're so dead!"

You're so focused on catching up with him, an impossible task given the length of his legs, that you don't notice running past handfuls of people you're supposed to be there to meet. There is nothing on your mind but revenge, which seems all the more possible when Sam stops dead ahead of you.

"Dad?" is the only questioning syllable Sam stutters out before you slam into his side taking him to the floor with ease now that he's let his guard down.

He could easily overpower you, but he's distracted enough to not save himself. There's a howl of a laugh from someone as you both go down, though you don't know enough people to hazard a guess of who it comes from.

All you know is that you hadn't adequately prepared for what you were going to do when you took him down. So, your big dramatic revenge becomes you getting up and leaving him on the floor with a haughty, "thought so."

Sam jumps up and starts wiping grass stains from his jeans when John wipes the smile from his face. "If this little miss can take you down what good is your team going to have this year?"

You're not sure if this is an incredibly tense, serious moment or if everyone is about to start laughing so you patiently wait with bated breath.

Sam's lip twitches, "don't worry dad. Dean's going down this year."

Now you can't shut up when you hear mention of the other Winchester. "Dean?"

Both men in front of you share a well-timed nod, it's John that answers you, "Dean and Sam are captains. Dean won the last four years in a row."

Sam hunches his shoulders in on himself making him look strangely small, "five actually."

An idea pops into your head that has nothing to do with spending more time with the older Winchester, "Sammy, I think I have a plan"

"Are you sure it's not cheating? Shouldn't I tell someone that I was almost drafted for the majors before I decided to go to law school?"

You're huddled with Sam whispering at a volume that can't be considered whispering anymore, in earshot of someone called Michael. Apparently, Michael will absolutely take this information straight to Dean, you just had to sell it.

He affects an overly soothing tone, "it'll be fine. There's no rulebook, this is a family game."

"A family game you brought your semi-pro softball playing girlfriend too?" You're actually starting to believe you're good at sports, that's how you know it's going well.

"I really want to win."

"Are you sure he won't pick me?"

Sam laughs convincingly, "no, Dean only picks the best players first and he has no idea how good you are."

You giggle, the sound is foreign for how much you giggle in everyday life. But this isn't everyday life, it's Winchester family baseball. "Ok babe. If you say so. Let's kick Dean's ass!"

He wraps an arm around you and leads you away. Michael waits hardly a second before he's running off into the distance.

"You think he bought it?" You ask Sam as he hands you a beer, which you start drinking with earnest, no longer caring if alcohol further dampened your sporting abilities.

"Mike? Yeah, he bought it, he doesn't move that fast for anything outside of the game."

You hardly finish your drink before everyone is summoned by the booming voice of John Winchester. He's loud enough to call everyone without the need for amplification. Everyone automatically gathers around him in a semi-circle.

"Boys?" is all he says to pull Sam and Dean out of the small crowd and stand either side of him, "we all know the rules by now. Dean picks first, if you ain't drafted then…"

The rest of whatever John says becomes white noise because you realize you had the option not to play. There are more than 18 people here, they have enough people to spare. All you had to do was keep your big mouth shut and tell Sam not to pick you himself and you'd have got away with this. You glare at Sam and mouth, "I didn't have to play?"

You know he understands because he smiles in the same way that he did when he got you in the office secret Santa two years ago It's the smile he wore when you worked out it was him. This is a touch more menacing though. Like he planned this all along.

"I'll take Y/N." Dean, the poor idiot, is smirking like he won a prize.

"No, seriously. You don't want me. I shouldn't play." You start waving your hands and backing up but you hit a wall of people behind you. One of whom you recognize as Aunt Jody as she nudges you forward. So, they're all serious about the rules then.

Sam pretends to be mad enough that you almost believe him, "Dean she's my girlfriend. Don't you think I should pick her?"

John puts a heavy hand on Sam's shoulder, "you know the rules, Sammy. Once someone is picked they have to play, no takebacks."

There something in John's eyes that makes you realize this is bigger than you. You've stumbled across something, a conspiracy, that goes all the way to the top. And just as you think about blowing the whole thing wide open, because you're a lawyer so you've got the skills, you're pushed towards Dean. Both his hands reach out to catch you and he smiles down at you, making you melt.

"I choose Michael."

The moment ends as quickly as it began, Dean pivots you behind him as he turns to his brother, "Mikey is always on my team. Everyone knows that."

Sam sing songs, "then maybe you should have picked him, dude."

It seems impossible that you can hear Dean grind his teeth together but you're 100% sure you can. Along with the tick in his jaw. His entire upper body is tense as he swerves back to the rest of his family and barks out another name.

His stance doesn't change throughout the entire process. Dean yells fiercely at his team members and Sam can't wipe the grin off of his face now. As soon as the teams are full and everyone disperses you rush over to Sam.

"You were perfect, Dean totally bought it." He assures you.

You put a hand on your hip, angrier than you should be, "Is this some big plan? To screw him over? Is your dad in on it?"

"Woah, Woah. We're messing with him. He wins every year and we're taking him down a few notches. I swear it is just a game."

Your chest won't stop rising and falling at an uncontrollable pace, but you get out a nod. "Next time I would appreciate you telling me before we screw someone over."

"Dean, I need to tell you something."

He has his back to you as he talks to the rest of the team so when he whips around at your approach with a smirk like you're the answer to his prayers, it throws you for a loop. Your mind stops and the reason you'd rushed over flies out of your head.

"It's ok, I know."

"No, you really don't. Sam and I kind of set something up."

He's more insistent this time and even goes as far as to clap a hand on your shoulder, which, is this the first time you've touched him? No, it can't be. Or could be for how giddy his touch makes you.

"I get it. But I picked you first. Don't worry you're my secret weapon."

And that sounds pretty great. Dean picking you. Dean calling you his secret weapon. You could get used to it. And you get distracted by it as he starts saying things that you have no understanding of. Something about innings and then he asks you if you're a power hitter?

That's easy to deny, insist upon, with wide eyes. Thankfully he believes it and tells you you're batting last, or as he says it; save the best until last.

You all go sit on this bench, that you later find out is called a dugout, or in a dugout? How he hadn't already found you out was laughable.

Claire bats first and Dean leans over to you and mutters, "she's fast." Like you'd understand why that was a good tactical choice. The problem is every time you try to tell him that you're not an expert he shushes you and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. His own jersey, with a number one under his name, tightens around his biceps when he does it and the muscles in his back twitch distractingly. The sight makes the pads of your fingers tingle for wondering what it would feel like to feel those muscle flex under your hands.

And then you forget to tell him. Again.

Until finally Garth is stepping up to 'the plate'. So far you've not had a chance to use any of your 50's baseball references from The Sandlot and that's when it dawns on you that you're next.

You watch in horror as Garth, this scrawny guy who looks like he'd be knocked over by a breeze, hits the ball pretty far. Far enough that he makes it to third base. "Awesome. Think you can hit a homer?" What? WHAT?! You look up at Dean who is waiting for both your answer and for you to get up. When you do neither he pulls you up with his hand wrapped around yours before he nudges you towards home plate.

"You got this."

You don't 'got this' but Dean telling you that you do convinces you that maybe, magically, you might have it.

Sam is pitching so it's easy to see the not very restrained grin on his dumb face. The bat in your hands feels heavy and you're not used to the weight enough to counterbalance it properly, it's as unsteady in the air as you are. Everyone else before you had their own stance. Some threw a practice swing, Dean hitched the bat onto his shoulders then rolled them back, full of confidence. By comparison, you're visually awkward.

You're not sure who's in shortstop because of that thing on their face but Sam does that bit pitchers do in the movies, like shaking his head at whatever shortstop guy is suggesting. Or at least they did it one time in The Sandlot. Even if you tried to look you'd have no idea what the dumb signals mean. A hatred for baseball grows inside you at an alarming rate, nations pastime your ass. Then someone shouts your name.

You snap your attention back to the game in time to see the ball leave Sam's hand and then whizz eerily close to your face. You jump like a bolt of electricity sent you hurtling backward, "what the fuck!" Sam, your best friend, and supposed boyfriend laughs his ass off on the pitcher's mound. Ok. It hadn't been that close to your face, but it wasn't much closer to the bat either.

"Strike one!" John's voice booms carrying with it the heavy weight of failure.

You huff, flashing angry eyes at Sam before spreading your feet a little wider apart trying to gain better footing. There's a slight butt wiggle you're not proud of, hoping to distract anyone you can as your hands tighten around the bat. You would hit this ball or die trying.

"Strike two!" You'd at least swung that time, albeit in slow motion compared to the ball.

"Timeout!" Dean barks out before his dad has finished saying two.

There's a collective groan from both teams and someone in the infield shouts out, "give it up"

Dean ignores all of them as he walks over, your mouth opens before his. "I tried to tell you ok. It was a setup, I don't know anything about this stupid game. And now you've picked me and lost Michael and it's all my fault. I'm a dead weight."

He drags his hand down his face so intensely that you're convinced the dents made by his fingers won't fade. That's how frustrated he is with you, he's ruining his face, so you're quick to add on the only defense you can think of. "It was Sam's idea." Just like a lawyer to pass the blame.

"And he'll pay for that but right now I've got Garth on third and you're about to be my second out. Just, fuck, just hold your bat up here," he wraps his arms around you to show you how to position your body. And it must be innocent enough to everyone else because he's literally doing it in front of his entire family but to you? He might as well have pressed his dick in your ass for the heat that's rising up your chest. You stop listening for all of the seconds that he's holding you, fighting the instinct to blush and smile dopily "…and stay there ok. If my idiot brother pitches right, you might have a shot of making contact. I don't even need you to hit it, just make sure the ball touches the bat."

Your body shivers when he takes his arms away from the loss of heat. You're not worried about what you missed or striking out or dying by a curveball to the face, not anymore. His arms are gone, and you want them back.

He takes two steps away and then one step back, "you do know what to do if you hit it, right?"

You roll your eyes, "run, obviously."

His face looks relieved for a second, "run where?"

"Go away, Dean."

You're not that much of an idiot, you have seen seven other people, including Dean, run away from home, the only one who hadn't made it was Charlie. Dean had told her it was bad luck and, at the time, you'd nodded like you understood and agreed.

Sam pitches and you do everything to brace yourself. Somehow the ball connects with your bat and bounces out in front of you. Suddenly there's scrambling and despite your earlier snark, it takes several voices shouting, "RUN !" for you to drop the bat and move your feet.

Running is a pretty non-specific command in the heat of the moment. You discover that as your foot-pounds on first and carries on moving. You should have stopped at first. You'd have been safe there. But they'd told you to run and that was something your feet knew how to do, albeit not in a straight line.

They'd only just got the ball to first as your foot went over it, so you had no chance of making it to second. Your arms kind of flail while you run as if Freddy Krueger is hot on your heels. There's this eerie moment where everything slows down and your head sweeps skyward in time to see a white blur soar through the air above you. Someone you'd been introduced to as Gabe is on second. His glove in the air and a lazy smile gracing his face as he catches the ball with casual ease.

You stop in a cloud of kicked up dirt and grass twenty feet from second base, defeated. Even knowing that the likely scenario was you getting an out you're still disappointed. False hope had bubbled up inside you the second the bat had fallen to the dirt. It had gone to your head is all.

Sam knows how competitive you can be, he shouldn't taunt you as you stomp back to your team. He does though.

"That's a real shame, honey. Maybe next inning?"

You pause only to stare at him slack-jawed, "how many innings are we playing?"

He smiles, happy to report the news, "all nine."

"You're going to pay for this."

His snickers follow you as you make it back to your team. Claire rolls her eyes like you've given all women a bad name. To be fair, she's not wrong. Garth made it home at least, silver linings and all that. Dean plasters a clearly fake smile on his face, "next inning?"

You plop down on the bench next to him, your whole upper body moves with the sigh you let out, "yeah, jolly green said that."

"You just need to practice."

Now you cross your arms over your chest, one leg over the other, annoyed by the implication that practice makes perfect. "You know I figured out why guys think about baseball when they're trying not to cream their pants. This game sucks."

Unlike his fake smile at your out, the laugh that comes out of him is very, very real.

It's the ninth inning and you're on first base. You're told it's the best place to put those with limited skills. Normally you'd have taken that comment personally except you'd begged to be put somewhere that you couldn't do any more damage. In nine turns at-bat, you've been out eight times. The one time you make it around the plates is pure luck. You'd made it to first and then someone hit a home run. You hadn't believed your luck and you'd jogged around the bases with utter disbelief painted on your face. Charlie had hugged you when you'd got back, and Dean had nodded as if he'd personally ensured your victory.

The problem is the score. Michael is very good, you can see why Dean normally nabbed him. And every time Micheal scored a run, he looks apologetically at Dean. You wouldn't have been surprised if they ran into each other's arms at the end of this. Neither of them happy at being split up.

Sam's team needs one more run to win. You'd appreciate the drama of it all if you weren't so nervous. You've missed the ball a few times, obviously, and ended up fumbling for it and wasting time. Basically, every time anything happens hear first base all eyes are on you to see exactly how you'll mess it up.

Sam is up to bat and you're sure long legs would love to score the winning run for his team. You, however, would love to take him down. You pound your curled fist into your mitt while you wait for the pitch.

He swings and misses the first pitch and as Claire, who's on shortstop, throws the ball back Sam winks at you.

There's no time to comprehend that he has a plan involving you because it happens too quickly. The ball hurtles towards him and he hits it but barely. Had it not been for the wink you might have thought it accidental, but you know he planned this.

The ball bounces a few times in your direction, making it three-quarters of the way to you, so now it's a race. You're running for the ball and Sam is running for your base. Somehow everyone is suddenly screaming. Your hand wraps around the ball and then a chorus of "NO!" erupts. Sam has made it around you just as you stand up so you're chasing after him which is never going to happen for you. He's halfway to second when your foot touches the base again, so you pull your arm back to throw.

That's when it gets a little ridiculous.

You think only an idiot would throw it to second when he's halfway there. The obvious thing to do is throw it to third, right? It makes sense in your head anyway. You must be wrong because Charlie, on second, is shouting for you to throw it to her but as your arm springs forward to let go of the ball, your body adjusts to aim at third base.

Here's why you're an idiot. Firstly, and most obviously, Charlie could have got Sam out. He'd have been their third out. Secondly you have severely overestimated your ability to throw a ball for a long distance. Instead of it reaching third, it soars majestically for a few seconds, making you think it'll reach third, before it descends and hits Dean, the pitcher, in the head

At this point, you couldn't make this shit up.

Your lack of ability means it wasn't a particularly powerful throw so you haven't hurt him or anything. However it does give Sam a chance to start for third base since Dean is confused as to why you threw the ball at his head. It's enough seconds of confusion before Dean grabs the ball and throws it himself that Sam makes it past third and keeps running.

It's one of those movie moments with the guy sliding into home to the roar of his team. They don't hoist Sam up or anything but as soon as John shouts, "SAFE!" they are all there. Surrounding Sam and patting him on the shoulder.

The movies hardly ever show the anguish of the losing team but you see it. All of your team slump a little and Dean? Dean looks like he just found out Santa isn't real. Sam said everyone was competitive but you didn't realize it was to this extent.

You all kind of shuffle towards the pitcher's mound where Dean makes a half-hearted attempt to deliver commiseration speech about everyone trying hard and playing well. Then he gets annoyed and says, "screw that, those dicks cheated. We should have won." You'd laugh if this wasn't entirely your fault.

"I'm sorry Dean." You wait until everyone is walking back towards the food and drink.

"Don't be stupid it wasn't your fault."

You cock your head at him, "really?"

"Ok, it was a little your fault. But you know who I blame?" He leans in like he's going to whisper the meaning of life when the person he blames comes running up to you.

Sam wraps an arm around you both, "how're my two favorite losers?"

"Him, I blame him." Dean smirks, tossing his head in Sam's direction but otherwise ignoring him completely.

"Yeah, I blame him too." Sam laughs despite being ignored "What does this blockhead even win?"

Dean shakes his head, utterly saddened by life, "get this. He gets to pick where we eat tonight."

The restaurant is soft and dimly lit. It's homely but still nice enough that you don't feel out of place having dressed up a little. After all, you are still playing the part of Sam's girlfriend, you would want to impress them. Especially after your performance earlier that day on the field.

John orders a beer and Mary orders a bottle of wine. They both look at you next. The anticipation of the table is weighty so you duck your head, a small coy smile as you order a beer too. "I've never been a big fan of wine." Slipping past your lips to answer a question nobody uttered.

Ordering food is not dissimilar. When you come to order, spaghetti carbonara because bacon, everyone seems to hold their breath until you give the waitress your order. They don't wait like that for each other and it hits you then what this dinner will be.

All about you.

Every other person at the table knows each other already. Familial knowledge runs deep. However, you are the new, shiny toy. You are the wildcard. Perhaps your choice of beverage or food is not the most telling thing about your personality but it's only the start. Tonight is when you are put under the microscope. Tomorrow there will be too many people, distractions, but tonight sat at a table with four Winchesters, they can dissect you. Well, hopefully, Sam would help you out a little here. You've forgotten substantial parts of your fake relationship story already.

"So, Y/N..." Mary begins like she's been planning this for hours. "Where did you grow up?"

That’s how it starts. Dean has a smirk on his face like he too knew this was coming. Sam looks apologetic but unable or unwilling, to try and stop his mother. You wonder if surrounded by men she has always got her own way like this.

"New York. My dad is a stockbroker so I've always lived in the city."

She swirls the wine in her hand absently, her eyes fixed on you, focused on reading you like a book. "That must have been interesting. Living in the city as a child?"

"Not really I went to a pretty intense prep school. Kept me busy. I guess I did have some childhood experiences most people didn't. My friends and I would go to the theatre and see concerts easier than other kids I guess. But I didn't do the normal school thing so I bet I missed out on stuff too."

"Like learning to play baseball?" Dean chimes in. He’s chewing the inside of his mouth to stop himself laughing.

"It's too soon to talk about it!" You hold a hand to your head dramatically, hoping they can all read your joke. Their smiles say they can. "Yeah like learning baseball. Sport was very elective and I wasn't really interested in it. My parents never encouraged it, I think I took Latin instead."

John, who had been silent while you admitted to your privilege, chimes in now. He speaks in a way that implies he'd have a shotgun in his hands if he could. "Where did you go to school Y/N?"

You find yourself answering with the equivalent fear, "Harvard for undergrad and law, graduated top of my class"

"Sam graduated top of his class from Stanford."

"I know. We worked it out and if I were a year older we'd have met each other in our debate teams. When we started at the firm and everyone found out we were both valedictorians they started calling us the legal eagles"

Dean snorts and Sam is quick to counter, "nobody called us that."

You're still trying to keep it light amongst the interrogation so you shrug at Sam, "that's because you wouldn't wear the matching t-shirts I got us"

John, however, is on the warpath still, he gruffs, "New York native, why Chicago?"

Instantly you're back to trying to impress John Winchester and failing. Sam knows why you moved to Chicago so he throws his dad a stern warning, "Dad, stop." But you put a hand on his shoulder.

Unlike baseball, this conversation you definitely had covered. Defense was literally your job.

"It's ok Sam. Honestly, John, I did it to get away from my parents. I'm not going to pull the poor little rich girl my parents don't love me excuse, I think they do love me in their own way. They have always wanted the best for me and they expected me to come back to New York after school. But I'd spent my entire college career trying to prove to myself that I deserved to be there, never sure if I got in because I was smart enough or because my Dad is an alumni donor. If I had gone back to New York I'd be working with one of the family connections. Moving to Chicago was an opportunity for me to earn everything I have on my own."

John narrows his eyes across the table, not necessarily hostile but suspicious, "and what have you earned ?"

"I'm one of the top criminal defense attorneys in Chicago and I'll be a partner in the next two years. I own my car, almost own my home and I have a tidy savings pot, sir."

There's a hardness to your voice and your fingers are tight around your beer. Sam senses your frustration at John forcing you to reduce your life to a list of achievements. Not unlike your own parents might encourage you to do. He insists on your behalf, "Dad, that's enough."

Mary nods in agreement, "it would be nice if you didn't scare her away before the food gets here."

Everyone seems to share the opinion that John needs to cool it, even Dean though he doesn't say anything. He had, admittedly, been more interested in hearing more about your background even if John and his steely questions had been what got it out of you.

John is at least sated enough that he nods. It's not an apology but it's a truce. Enough to get you all through dinner anyway.

"It’s ok, I don't scare that easily. A defense lawyer by definition needs to be able to stand up to the brute force of a prosecutor," Dean chokes on his beer as he takes a sip. "Why don't we talk about something else though. I'm excited for tomorrow, Sam says you go all out with the fireworks?"

John is stuck between being angry at your first comment and wanting to detail his plans in answer to your question. He wisely chooses the latter under Mary's stern gaze.

He tells you that this year he has more fireworks than ever and he seems to be particularly excited about igniting so many explosives. Seeing John excited about anything is strange but humanizing. When the food arrives Sam leans over and whispers in your ear, "even for a fake girlfriend, that was impressive."

You wink at him as your lips suck up a strand of spaghetti in an utterly unladylike manner.

"The benefit of being surrounded by men, and it's why I had two sons, is that on days like this I have nothing to do but relax."

The wicked smile on Mary's face almost convinces you that it is, indeed, the only reason she had two sons. You wouldn't put it past her to have ensured she sired boys just to facilitate easy barbecues.

"It's better than not having to do the work," you reason with a finger on your chin, "you do none of the work and enjoy all of the food."

You both laugh as you sit on the sofa with your iced teas. Dean ejected you both from the kitchen an hour ago saying that his homemade BBQ sauce, which was simmering on the stove, did not need the negative influence of two women who didn't respect his process. The yard was already off-limits while Sam and John set up the fireworks d.own one end and generally did man things like chop wood or start fires or something.

Meanwhile, Mary had sat with you and told you more stories. Some were of Sam and some were of Sam and Dean together. Slowly you piece together a childhood of brotherly games and roughhousing. Once she started it was difficult to stop her, not that you wanted to. She was a great storyteller and after a while, you're so engrossed that you forget about being an imposter yourself.

"Were they always thick as thieves or only when one of them was in trouble?"

It's an innocent enough question considering she's finished a story about Sam covering for Dean when he snuck out. Or at least you thought it was an innocent question until Mary's face falls. She smiles again in a flash, quick to try and hide it, but there's clearly something she doesn't want to say too much about.

"Oh well, you know boys, they can butt heads. And there was one time right before Sam went to college that they had a disagreement. Sam didn't… he didn't come home at all that first year…" Her eyes zone off into the distance, reliving something that creases her forehead in the same way Sam does when he's worried. She shakes her head to clear it away, "but he was excited about college obviously. And they worked it all out. They've been like best friends ever since, well, until you came along."

You have a reassuring look on your face for whatever she'd been thinking about as you were taking another sip of your drink. Then you nearly choke, "I'm sorry?"

"I know you've been friends with Sam long before you two, what would you say? Got together? Honestly, for how much he talked about you I'm surprised he hadn't brought you home before as a friend. You've clearly been very important to him for a long time."

You forget yourself for a moment and start arguing your case like Mary is another person that has asked you when you're finally going to get together. "We've been there for each other for a long time. We get each other and there's no one I trust more, but I don't think of him like-" your eyes widen briefly as you finally stop yourself saying too much. "I mean up until recently I didn't think of him like that. We were friends. It's only very recently that changed."

She doesn't seem concerned by your almost slip so you think you've got away with it. Now though Mary seems to have naturally got the conversation to a different topic that she's been dying to ask about.

"And what did change?"

"Oh, you know. Extra late nights working together and one night out of nowhere he kissed me." You wave a hand like your supposed love story with Sam is all so breezy and nonchalant. You know he's told his mom how he won you over already, having come up with the story. That's not what Mary Winchester wants to hear, unfortunately. She wants to hear why you love her son.

"No, no. I mean what changed for you?"

You could tell her all the reasons you love Sam as a friend but none of those are terribly exciting or romantic. Romance. That's what she's looking for. She wants to hear why Sam makes your heart beat faster when in truth he doesn't. That's harder to cheat.

You're not proud of it but you suck in some air and think about the other Winchester. About the way, your body had lit up with his arms around you or how you still wondered what his lips felt like.

"I probably knew from the second I saw him, um, deep down. I don't think there are words for how I feel about him, it's something that just is. It's a connection between us that is pulling us together and the more I try and fight it, the stronger it gets."

You're interrupted by a throat clearing, "Dad wanted to talk to you, something about blankets and not having enough of them."

Mary rolls her eyes in your direction, a motion that seems to curse the fragility of men without saying anything. You turn in time to see a flash of flannel, that you knew was Dean, as he swept back to the kitchen.

So, it's like almost 100% that he heard you.

It's the start of July so it feels pretty magical when night falls with this much darkness. An inky black that hides absolutely everything. It's the perfect canvas for fireworks and it feels like it only gets this dark on this day. For America and all that good stuff.

John is at the end of the long yard with a flashlight between his teeth and a lighter in his hands while he gets ready to start. Everyone is sitting in random assortments by the house. Some people are huddled in groups on lawn chairs, and some people, like you and Sam, are sitting on a picnic blanket. There's a low hum of general conversation that makes the air buzz in anticipation. There are a few other houses in the distance that had fireworks going off but Sam assured you that theirs were always the best.

The longer it goes on the more this evening starts to feel like a relief. Lying to these strangers all weekend was one thing, but it was getting harder and harder to lie to Sam. You were running out of excuses for why you reacted to certain things or when you'd drift off into your own head and he'd ask you what you're thinking about. You used to be able to tell Sam anything including your deepest and darkest thoughts. But after the façade that you'd both put on for the past two days, how do you then tell your best friend that you have an insane crush on his brother?

The answer is you didn't. You keep it to yourself. You reminded yourself that Dean was a good guy who wasn't going to ever be interested in his brother's ex-girlfriend. He might not even be interested had you never pretended to be with Sam. It was a lot to risk telling Sam the truth when, actually, you just had to get through one more night, one more breakfast and then you'd be flying back to Chicago tomorrow lunchtime. You and Sam could go back to normal and you'd never see Dean again. Except in your dirtier dreams.

It's easy to tell yourself the plan anyway. It's easy to remind yourself until you hear a voice that after two days you know better than your own.

"Budge up, you're hogging the whole blanket gigantor."

You want to let out an exasperated sigh at his intrusion, if only because it will be another exercise in your self-control. You don't sigh though; a sigh might send him away. The reality is the idea of watching fireworks with Dean makes your heart flutter. You let your mind wander to what it might feel like sitting with your back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around you, while you and Sam shuffle to accommodate him.

The rearrangement leaves you sitting with Sam on one side and Dean on the other. The least ideal scenario in terms of keeping your feelings in check. It's dark enough that Sam isn't bothering with pretending, there's no arm over your shoulders or fingers linked with yours. Which means you have nothing to anchor you to your doting girlfriend role. Nothing tethers you to Sam so, in the darkness, your mind continues to wander to Dean.

Your eyes dart to him to take in the hazy shape of him that you can make out without much light. The way his bowed legs sprawl out in front of him as he leans back and rests on his elbows. There's just enough space for you to sit between his thighs in his current position. And there's a beer in his left hand so every time he takes a sip his entire body leans onto his right elbow. You're sitting on his right. Every time he leans in your direction he sends this wave of heat and scent, hot and musky, in your direction. He's giddying.

The first firework goes off. It shoots into the air with a familiar whizzing noise, a beat of silence as it settles high above everyone and then an explosion. A crackle that turns into sparks shooting through the night. Red, white, and blue of course. From somewhere further away John shouts, "happy fourth of July!" before he returns to his task. The next few explosions coming in quicker succession now, lighting up the yard with colorful sparks that look like stars falling from heaven.

Dean holds up his beer in Sam's direction, "happy fourth Sammy."

Sam smiles that same hero-worship smile he'd worn on the plane when talking about Dean as he clinks his bottle to Dean's, "happy fourth dude."

Then Dean looks at you in the middle of their brotherly moment, "happy fourth sweetheart."

You know by now that sweetheart is a name he offers out to most of the people he meets but it's softer than when you'd heard him say it to the waitress last night. It's as calm and silky as the night sky above you, while you allow yourself to look into his eyes, watching the explosion of the fireworks reflect in them. For a second you can pretend that he's yours. Just for this second the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and the curl of his plump lips, it's all for you.

You smile softly caught in your imagination. It's the most honest moment you've felt the entire weekend. But you went into it understanding the fleeting nature of pretending to have Dean. You knew you were only torturing yourself, but it was worth it.

"Happy fourth of July Dean." You raise your brown bottle to his as Sam had done, the sound of glass on glass punctuates the moment.

After a beat more you both turn back to the fireworks. The sky is starting to look smoky now and each new rocket that's sent up has to cut through the haze to explode.

"I know you guys might be a little too old for these but…" Mary appears from somewhere holding up sparklers and Dean's face lights up brighter than any of the explosions you've seen so far.

She gives him a handful which he passes to you and Sam while getting his lighter out of his pocket. After the initial excitement dies from his face it all becomes slightly lazy. He lights one for each of you and you all lay back drawing slow patterns with the handheld fireworks.

Sam's patterns are sharp, zigzags, and shapes with angled corners. Dean draws circles and swirls. You feel trapped between them with the light in your hands, though neither of them knows exactly how trapped you are. Unimaginatively you write your name a few times. In cursive and then block capitals and then once with extra flourishes before the crackling spark in your hand dies out.

"Another?" Dean offers you both, Sam takes one with a boyish grin.

"You know, I'm feeling a bit of a chill. I'm going to go sit inside, see if I can't warm up a bit. You guys stay, do the brother thing."

It's barely cold but they both let you go without protest, probably thankful for a chance to actually do the brother thing you suggested. You know they haven't seen each other in months and you've been glued to Sam since the second you got here.

The kitchen is quiet with everyone outside watching fireworks still and you can see why. The explosions lose a lot of their majesty viewed through the glass with the noises dulled. Although not cold outside it is noticeably warm inside. You rest your elbows on the counter as you half-heartedly watch the sky and then catch a glimpse of Sam and Dean nudging each other and laughing about something. Both of them seem at more ease with you gone and watching them, you can't wait to leave tomorrow. You want your best friend back, the one you could tell anything to, and you want to go back to a world where you don't have to pretend your feelings don’t exist.

When you get home you're going to collapse with no comprehension for how you got through this weekend. You never expected to be leaving with such a note of sadness, the loss of something that you never really had. In all the worst-case scenarios of agreeing to be Sam's fake girlfriend the most terrible thing you'd imagined was getting found out and ruining a perfectly good family weekend.

You'd known that you and Sam had no risk of falling for each other. You've seen the tv shows and read the trope-y romance novels, how pretending to love each other turns into the real thing. However, this is real life. You and Sam are best friends but that's all you'll ever be, that's all either of you ever want to be.

You'd not counted on Dean. In all honesty, you'd never counted on anyone even like Dean, even outside of this weekend. Attraction was usually just that, attraction. But whatever you felt for Dean has turned into something else. It could just be intensified by not being able to have him. Or it could be a fantasy written in your head.

Somehow you know it's not, it's real. Dean sets your mind at rest. Like all other thoughts are a restless sea and he is calm shores. And yet he's also heat. He's a burning fire inside your lungs as if he's stolen your breath without touching you.

And now you're standing here next to him. Both of you lean against the side of the Impala, his baby, waiting for Sam. A client called, as clients often think they have the to right to do even when the office is closed. They must figure they're paying you enough to be on call, which if it's important sure, but so often it's mundane nothingness. But as lawyers, it's the life you've both elected for, so you understand. Dean doesn't seem quite as forgiving. His face is clenched in a frown, a pout on his lips. You try to remember that. He pouts when he's upset about something.

"He won't be long probably Sam has a way of calming down the crazy clients."

Dean turns to look at you like he forgot you were there. His forehead somehow creases even more in absolute confusion at what you said making you wonder if you misread his annoyance at waiting for Sam.

"I wasn't worried about- it's fine. Whatever." The displeasure on his face finally melts away while he's looking at you.

You know this will be your last moment alone with Dean because when Sam comes out of the house all three of you will drive to the airport. All the goodbyes will be shared and public. There he'll be saying goodbye to Sam's girlfriend. But there's something persistent sitting behind your teeth waiting to come out, a goodbye as just you.

"I've had a lot of fun this weekend," not a complete lie, "and I'm sorry about the game."

His face seems to break for the grin that appears, accompanied by what you now know to be a Dean Winchester signature wink. "It means I'm the underdog next year, everyone loves the underdog."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you picked me. I never thought I'd enjoy it… but I kind of did. A tiny bit anyway."

He shrugs like it was nothing even though it was more than he knows. Neither of you looks away and you start wondering if either of you ever will.

"Dean, since I'm not going to see you again-"

He cuts you off faster than you expect, almost panicked, "why not? You and Sammy…"

The smile on your face is gentle and calm as you hold up a hand to silence him. You might be the only one this weekend that knows the truth. Not even Sam knows how you feel about Dean. At this moment it's hard keeping the honesty hidden amongst all the lies. The lawyer inside you argues that if you don't say the words then you've not broken your promise. But it's not the words you're concerned about. It's not about the big reveal.

It's about being selfish. It's about not wanting to go back to Chicago and always wonder what Dean's lips taste like. It's about how small the gap is between your bodies and not knowing when space got that tight.

"Just trust me. We're… I know we won't see each other again and since this is it I was wondering?"

"Yeah?" He has to know what you're thinking. He has to know by the way he drags his tongue over his bottom lip and leans down. Enough that you have all the opening you need. He's close enough that you can feel the heat that radiates from his expansive chest, even through the layers of cotton and flannel.

You can't not know. You can't never know. You only need to pretend for one minute that you're allowed him.

It's easy once you decide, like most things. Once you set your mind to it you do it without any hesitation in your physical movements. You lean up and press your lips to his, still expecting him to pull away and remind you that you're his brothers' girl.

He doesn't, and you've never been more grateful for anything in your life. His lips move against yours like you've both done this together a thousand times. You memorize every nanosecond of kissing Dean. The way his chapped lips press against yours, the way he tastes like the coffee and waffles you'd both eaten for breakfast, the weight of his hand as it settles on your waist. Barely there, a chaste reminder in the bright daylight that he's got you.

"What the hell?!"

You both pull back eyes wide, lips softly bruised. Reality crashes down on you at the sight of Sam, still holding his phone in his hand having hung up. You've known him years now and yet you've never seen the kind of hurt and anger that swims in his eyes. His empty hand is balled into a fist and even from a distance, you can tell that every muscle in his body is wound tight.

You expect the brunt of it, but he looks at Dean as he repeats himself, "what the hell?!"

Sam starts taking steps towards you both, or just Dean, but you step forward faster. You press two hands onto his chest, forgetting what this must look like to Dean, and try to use every ounce of strength you have to stop Sam coming any closer.

"She's my girlfriend dude. My girlfriend. How could you do this to me again?"

There's a flash of shock on your face for the hurt in Sam. The way he calls you his and the emphasis on 'again'. Your voice is a strained whisper, hushed yet forceful and only for Sam to hear, "Sam calm down. We're not really together. It's ok, take a deep breath and…"

"He doesn't know that!" Sam shouts in his brother's direction even if he's answering you.

"Sam look at me." Your tone leaves no room for argument and he does. It seems to take everything he has to give but his eyes leave Dean and meet yours. There's so much pain in his every line on his face you almost can't say it, but you can't let Dean take the fall for this. "It was me. I kissed him. I'm so sorry."

He jumps back from you like you're contagious. His expression twists into something more akin to disgust than the betrayal he'd been wearing for Dean, and his mouth hangs open in disbelief

You try to close the gap again, "Sam I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

There's no arguing out of this, there's no technicality to defend yourself with. You might not be his girlfriend, but you are his best friend. You'd made a commitment, for this weekend at least. If what you'd done hadn't been wrong, then you wouldn't be fighting the tears that are threatening to blur your vision.

"You-you and him?"

Until now Dean had stayed back but you feel him, of course, you do, taking cautious steps to stand next to you. "Sammy, it was an accident ok? I know she's your girl."

Jesus the big, dumb idiot would be the death of you.

You wave a hand at Dean to shut him up without turning to look at him. You're almost at Sam again, your hands almost wrapped around one of his, "please. Let's go to the airport and we can talk about this on the way home."

Sam sucks in this breath that stills him and then he exhales through his nose, making his nostrils flare but his shoulders fall an inch. He looks at Dean as he grinds out, "we're getting a cab."

"Don't be stupid, the bags are in the car and it'll cost-" Dean starts.

"It's fine Dean. I'll pay whatever it costs, can you please just call us a cab?" You beg him with the briefest of pleading looks.

It's the last look you'll get at Dean, knowing there's no way you can say goodbye now.

Sam doesn't look at you or say a word the entire cab ride even for all the pleading looks you send his way. He gets out the second the car stops at the drop off point outside the airport, getting his bag and walking off. You pay a generous tip to the driver for enduring the excruciating atmosphere for a whole hour before you get out and trail behind him with your case.

He has the tickets so you kind of can't get home without him, you're sure he'd have ditched you by now if he could have. As you catch up to him you're both called to check in and he makes no attempt to be subtle as he asks the woman at the desk bluntly if there's any way he can change his assigned seat. She spares you a sympathetic glance before she tells a stoic Sam that unfortunately the flight is fully booked.

You go straight to the gate because you were already delayed with Sam's phone call and then the fallout, plus waiting for the cab. The flight has already started boarding when you arrive. You don't attempt anything until you're both strapped in and he has no way out.

"Sam…"

"Save it." He mutters with, you notice, his eyes trained on the emergency exit.

You'd normally touch him now, a reassuring hand on his arm or your head on his shoulder. Then again normally doesn't cut it. Normally you're not the one that's put him in this mood. Normally you haven't kissed his brother in front of him.

Normally he's never gone this long being mad at you.

"Please talk to me." You beg with your own attempt at his patented puppy dog eyes. You suspect they're not quite as good but you're making an effort at least.

He sighs, crosses his arms, and then uncrosses them. You see the cogs in his head turning, weighing his options, talk now or no doubt be badgered to death for the entire flight. He knows how annoying you can be.

"I'm not an idiot. I know we're not- I mean we were never a real thing. I get it."

You open your mouth to apologize again and tell him that's not the point and you still shouldn't have done it but, for once, you wisely clamp your lips shut without a word. He needs to get whatever it is off of his chest.

"We were teenagers, ok. Stupid kids and she was my prom date, on prom night. And I caught Dean… well, you get the idea. I mean it was like, a decade ago. It's ancient history. But yeah, I get that you're not really my girlfriend but after pretending this weekend and then seeing you together, it just, it brought up a lot of stuff"

You nod, daring to reach out for his hand like you might have done any other day and trying not to be heartbroken when he pulls his away before you can touch him.

"It's going to take some time. I don't know how long, I just need some time."

As much as it hurts you cannot deny him, you have never been able to deny him anything. It’s how you got into this mess in the first place. "Sure. I- I get it. I can't exactly go anywhere for the next hour and a half but I'll, you know, put my headphones on and we can pretend we don't know each other?"

He follows your lead and you both spend the flight worlds apart. When you land he doesn't say anything, but he gets your bag down from the overhead. Progress at least. You follow him until he starts heading to the parking garage.

"Sam?"

He still tenses as you say his name, which feels like a punch to the gut.

"I'm going to get a cab home. I know you need some space and I don't want to force myself on you more than I already have."

His face softens into quiet exhaustion, "Y/N. Don't be an idiot. I made you pay for the cab in Kansas. Let me drive you home."

For the second time that day, you blink away tears that you intend to save for later, "it's fine. I'm a hotshot lawyer, I've got money to burn." You're not sure if you actually see the corner of his lips twitch. "Anyway, I live further away, go home, Sam. I'll see you tomorrow?"

There's too much hope in your voice. It gives away how desperate you are to go into the office tomorrow and everything to be as you left it on Friday. Sam's half-hearted, "sure," tells you that it won't be like Friday at all.

You love your job, you always have. You think it stems from being stubborn and having the joy of arguing with men who think they're smarter than you. But right now, watching Sam walk away, you've never dreaded going back to work more.

"Hi Sam, how are you?..."

"Hey, Sammy. Want to get lunch today?"

"Sam. We should talk about our feelings and then braid each other's hair."

You've read out loud and then deleted the start to at least twenty emails so far because you are a coward. It's been three days of nothingness and it's now the end of the week. It's Friday and you can't stand the thought of spending an entire weekend worried about this, about him.

You've eaten alone in your office every day so far, unable to go down the two floors to his office.

Now you're trying to write an email except everything that comes out sounds stupid, impersonal, and wrong. You know why. It's because he is your freaking best friend and you need to stop being a baby and go talk to him. Even if he tells you he never wants to speak to you again. At least you'll know. At least you wouldn't be taking the cowards way out with an email.

Your phone rings twice and both calls are mindlessly boring but incredibly welcome distractions. When you finally put the phone down it's been half an hour and the words still on your screen taunt you into action. You'd just go down there and knock on the door and say hello.

You get so far as the knocking on the door part, your knuckles rap loudly and purposefully under his name. It's the 'hello' part where you fumble because as you open your mouth he speaks, "come in."

This choked sob comes out of you. Obviously, he doesn't know it's you yet, but his voice is so normal that this could be any regular day for the two of you. Even if it's not. Even if when he looks up from his paperwork as you enter and keeps an entirely straight face.

"Y/N."

"Hey, Sammy." You're not sure what makes you decide to test the waters with the nickname you stole from his brother, the one that you kissed, but it slips out anyway. Rules were you could use it forever, back when you were friends anyhow. He doesn't immediately shut you down, so you take that as a sign to continue.

"How have you been? I was hoping we could talk?"

He nods and as faint as it is there's definitely a smile too, "seems like a good idea."

You sit down opposite him and settle into the seat that should be rightly yours for the hours you've sat in it before. "I'll start then?"

He nods, faintly bemused.

"I know I've said it to the point where it's losing all meaning, but I am so sorry. And I wish I had some excuse but honestly? I didn't plan it. Dean just kind of makes me feel something I didn't really know existed. And I've got no idea if he… it's doesn't matter. I'll never see him again, but I needed you to know why. I didn't throw this," you motion a hand between you both, "away because he's hot or something. Don't get me wrong, your brother is hot, but it was-I thought it was, more than that. The why isn't really so important anymore though. I shouldn't have done it. I was there with you, fake relationship or not, and you're my best friend Sam. I can't lose you. I will do anything not to lose you."

You've looked away in some of your tangents, unable to look at Sam while you tell him his brother is hot, although your eyes bore into him as you finish. Willing him to forgive you. Begging him to not take his friendship away. And for a minute, as he gets out of his chair, you're convinced this is it. He's going to use his superhuman giant powers to lift your seat off the floor and empty you into the hallway without a word.

You're an idiot. A lot of things might have happened, but this is still Sam, your Sam.

He lifts you up by the shoulders until you're standing, all the better for him to wrap his arms around you and for you to bury your face in his chest.

He mutters into your hair, "you're such a goddamn dummy."

And you are. You're an idiot for crying into his shirt and you're an idiot for holding him like you're still scared he's going to run away.

"You don't hate me?"

It's an odd moment of tenderness as he pulls back and wipes a stray tear from your cheek with this thumb, "no Y/N/N. I don't hate you. I may have, slightly, overreacted and I'm sorry about that. You were only there because I was a crazy idiot and I shouldn't have acted like that."

You laugh through your tears, "it's not your fault. You and Dean have a history and…"

"Yeah, ten years ago. I mean, even Dean didn't deserve that. He's not like that anymore."

You look up at him glowing with a smile you haven't worn in days, "wanna get some lunch?

Sam looks down at you with a smile that reassures you that everything will be ok, "best offer I've had all day."

Two weeks later and your life is pretty much back to normal.

Sam has been on two dates with Eileen and you've found the quickest way to make him blush like a twelve-year-old girl is to say her name . Alternatively asking him if he kissed her yet also does the trick. Basically, he's in looooooove and you are having a considerable amount of fun teasing him about it.

He also told his mom two days ago about the breakup. He said that she did not take the news well. You figure she'll be fine once Sam proposes to Eileen, which yes, you're getting ahead of yourself but also, it's totally going to happen. At least then Sam, as per your aforementioned agreement, has to tell her it was all fake. There's no way in hell you're missing out on donning a power suit to be one of his groomsmen. Legal eagles for life and all that.

In fact, if it wasn't for the occasional pang in your chest when you saw a pie in the deli, or a man wearing flannel, you'd say your life is almost exactly the same as it was. No harm, no foul, right?

The most important thing was that you and Sam were back to normal. Neither of you mentioned that last day in Kansas and you got along just fine without it. You were back to lunches and legalese, the first weekend of July was a blip on an otherwise clear radar.

You don't suspect anything when he invites you out for dinner. It's been a while since you had dinner, the two of you, and you're excited. Dinners are so much more personal than lunches. At lunch one of you ends up talking about work at some point but dumb dinners were what your friendship was built on.

There's a knock at your door and since it's Sam you answer with one shoe on and a bobby pin between your teeth.

"You're early," you accuse him while pinning your hair.

"Nice to see you too. You look great by the way." He closes the door behind him but unusually lingers in the entryway.

"When you saw me two hours ago I'd just finished arguing with Judge Shurley, again, figured I should make some effort." Sam hasn't made much effort but he's a guy, he can wear his suit from the office and still look like he's some shade of dressed up. That's the excuse in your head to explain his appearance anyway.

With the other shoe acquired and slipped on you strut back into the room for a final inspection, "good enough for you Sammy or should we give up and order in?"

A smile tugs at the corner of Sam's lips that you can't read. He nods through it, his head bouncing up and down like a bobblehead. "Perfect," slips out before he leads you out of your house and into his car.

He doesn't turn the key in the ignition though, he sits there waiting like you're the one who has something to say.

"Sam? You know how I get when I'm hungry." You remind him though he probably doesn't need reminding.

He nods, "yeah I know, I should have seen it before. The two of you."

You cock your head in an attempt to catch his line of vision but he's dead set on staring ahead into the darkness for another minute.

"Something about what you said has been bugging me." He almost whispers.

"Oh, are we playing the make no sense game? Your hair isn't even that long. Look, I'm winning."

He sighs and shakes his head, making his hair bounce to prove you wrong. It's a head shake he uses exclusively when you're being annoying or sarcastic, always with the ghost of a smile. "How long have we known each other Y/N?"

A classic question when breaking up with someone, not one you'd heard when breaking up with a friend but still, "I don't mark off the days, but I guess like six, seven years?"

"We know each other, well, right? I mean, you know pretty much everything there is to know about me." He's looking at his hands now like the answers are there.

You're getting frustrated with how weird he's being, "yes and you pretty much know all there is to know about me too. Who'd have thought it, two best friends knowing everything about each other? Alert the media." It's not often you actually call each other best friends out loud, at your age the phrase seems childish. But neither of you would deny that's what you are.

He frowns at you, which requires him to actually look at you, though it doesn't help you figure him out. "Look I'm just - I'm just establishing that I know you better than anyone."

"We're off the clock Sammy stop lawyering me and get to the point."

Another sigh. Deeper and more resigned. Clearly whatever he's decided to do there's no turning back but you're not making it any easier.

"Dean is in town. He's visiting for a few days. I didn't lie about dinner but I kind of figured you two would want to go together. If you want, I'll call him up and he'll meet you there. I'll drop you off for a date," he swallows thickly like the word is bitter, "with my brother and say nothing more of it. Or say the word and we hit the town, as planned."

Sam rushed through his offer so quickly that you're half convinced he didn't say it. When your brain does catch up you stutter over your words as much as your brain is stuttering over its options. "What makes you think I… I mean I was looking forward to… Why are you…?"

Sam must see something on your face that you can't control, be it a blush or a smile or both because he seems relieved at your reaction. "You don't even realize what your face looks like when you talk about him, do you? I don't know how I missed it back in Kansas because you're like a kid with a crush." You gasp at the accusation and he raises an eyebrow at you, daring you to challenge him, "I'm saying don't not date him because of me."

You feel your lips part in shock, "does he know that we were?"

"Faking? Yeah. He's the only one that knows. I had to tell him, first he spent a week moping every time I called and then when I told him we broke up he got mad. Started blaming himself, told me not to throw away someone so great because of one little mistake. Once I'd had enough of listening to him tell me how amazing you are I had to put him out of his misery."

"I can't believe you kept him in the dark that long!" You slap his arm in an attempt to be playful, but your cheeks are burning hot at the idea of Dean talking about you like Sam describes. It turns into a question you hadn't dared ask yourself. "He likes me too, huh?"

"Don't make me answer that, it's gross. He's my brother and you're my Y/N. It's still pretty weird. But this is the first and last time I'm ever going to be your matchmaker, so what's it going to be Y/N/N?"

You'd kissed Dean that day you left Kansas and justified your actions as a madwoman who would never see the nice, handsome man again. And now here he was, on a proverbial silver platter.

"I'll only go out with him as long as you don't go home and cry into a pint of ice cream because I didn't pick you."

"I think I can promise you that. I only have frozen yogur.t at home anyway."

You crease your face in disgust, "and that right there is why you and I would never have worked out."

"You look amazing, sweetheart."

You hear him before you see him, his voice crawls over your skin like a sticky heat contrasted against the coolness of the evening air. How he snuck up on you is a mystery, but you spin on your heel to find yourself staring up into his big, green eyes that seem endless even in the dark. He grins at the sight of you and you beam back at him just as pleased. If you're being completely honest you were worried that things might have changed since Kansas. Maybe he was forbidden fruit. Maybe one of you would get here and realize the moment had passed.

You needn't have worried. You can taste your heart in your throat for how much you want him and how happy you are to see him again. If anything, knowing you can have him, right now on the sidewalk if you wanted, only intensifies the need that boils under your skin. Like everything in Kansas had been dampened but only because you chose to dampen it.

Sam had been right about one thing, you had never been this way around anyone else. Dean makes your stomach sink with nerves at the same time as it's filled with butterflies from him even looking at you.

"Not having second thoughts, already are we?" He asks as he holds the door open for you and you remember that you've not said anything since you first locked eyes with him.

You press a hand to your chest, "not when you're being such a gentleman."

He's almost sheepish as he smiles back, "my brother told me I that I'd answer to him if I wasn't."

You look him up and down appraisingly as you step through the door of the barbeque restaurant Sam has arranged for you to meet at. Because Sam has such a sense of humor, "I think you can take him."

When you sit down at the table the atmosphere is heavy between you. Both of you waiting for the other to say something and distracting yourself with the menu when you can't bring yourselves to break the silence.

The waitress arrives and you both start ordering at the same time, laughing and insisting the other goes, then laughing again Finally, you jinx each other and that's the final straw.

"God, I'm really a teenager with a crush aren't I?" You hark back to Sam's appraisal.

His lip curls, "oh, you have a crush on me?"

"Don't get smart with me buddy. I kissed you while you still thought I was dating your brother, what else did you think was going on?"

Dean shrugs and laughs in one fluid movement, "I'm pretty irresistible."

You can't argue that with him. It's so true and you're such a sucker for him and his handsome face that you just tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear modestly. In the fastest service ever received your drinks arrive which at least gives you something to do with your hands.

"This is weird though." You admit looking into the glass in front of you.

He juts out his bottom lip, considering your words. "It could be weird, or we could pretend that weekend never happened."

The mere mention of the word 'pretend' makes you shudder. "I don't want to forget all of it. There were some great parts."

He leans forward on the table, "Oh yeah, like what?"

"Well, your mom showed me some super adorable baby pictures of you while she was trying to embarrass Sam."

It's not the answer he was expecting but he doesn't even flinch. He's smooth as silk as he rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, looking at you like you're his next meal, not the steak he ordered, "you're breaking my heart saying that was the only memorable part because I seem to remember this baseball outfit..."

"It's good that I'm finding out this early on that you're a super perv."

You both laugh except this time you can enjoy it. The crinkles around his eyes and the carefree sound to it. This is the liberation you've been looking for since Kansas. Repairing your relationship with Sam was one thing but being able to feel of the emotions you have around Dean was a puzzle piece you didn't know you were missing.

"I'll hold my hands up to it. I've had dreams of you in just my jersey."

There's something promising in the way you answer, "I can make that a reality."

If you enjoyed this, try: The Wrong Winchester: One Year Later

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok@fluentinfiction @fluentinfiction @assassinofmasyaf Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles

#spn x reader #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #spn reader insert #spnfluffbingo #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean x y/n #sam winchester #is also there #fake dating

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bleu-moo · 6 years ago

Text

Biblichor, chapter 2

massive, huge, enormous thanks to @et-pacis on tumblr. she is at this point pretty much a coauthor, and my biggest help. I couldn't have done this without her. <3 this is unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.

feedback soothes the savage beast! please tell me what you think.

The morning following your midnight rendezvous, one of your associates shook you awake. It was an hour before you usually woke and given the previous night’s events, you had much on your mind and little sleep. You brushed their hand away, finally sitting up.

“What? What is it?”

The girl before you was also a grey, but much younger than yourself. She seemed annoyed at your gruff tone.

“There is a new group going through decon right now. Venable wants us there.” She rolled her eyes and shrugged. “We will probably end up just standing there while she drones on about rules, or whatever. Who knows with her. Anyway I’m supposed to send everyone upstairs.”

You hoped the small smile that crossed your face at the mention of Venable would go unnoticed as you climbed out of bed.

“Yeah, I’m coming. I just want to change.”

The young girl shrugged her shoulders again as she spun on her heel to exit your room. Before she shut the door, she called out.

“I wouldn’t be late, you know how she gets about punctuality. She might flog you or something.”

Somehow, you doubted that.

---

The group of two men and one woman stood in front of Venable and Meade, flanked by the purples. You stood in the last of three rows of greys.

The young girl was halfway right. Venable was giving her usual speech, punctuating certain points with a rap of her cane on the tile floor. Partway through her talk of quarter assignments and shower schedules, the taller of the two men stuck his hand in the air. When he was not immediately addressed, he whistled through his teeth to grab the attention of the room.

Venable stopped mid sentence and the silence that overtook the chamber was almost suffocating. She stepped down from the elevated section of the floor. The crowd parted as she made her way towards him. He stood with his hand on his hip, a smirk on his face. His saccharine southern drawl made made your teeth hurt.

“So little lady, where’s the man in charge here? I need to talk to him about some things.”

Though you couldn’t see her face, you could picture the look on it. Eyebrows raised incredulously at the unmitigated gall of this individual.

“Had you been paying attention, you incompetent simpleton, you would know that there is no man in charge here. I am in charge here. In my absence,” she gestured to her right at Ms. Meade, “She is in charge here. As for speaking to me...” she stepped closer to him, placing her gloved finger squarely in the center of his chest and pushing. The man stepped back.

“Unless it is in regards to your abhorrent lack of decorum and tact, I can confirm that you and I have nothing to discuss.”

She dropped her finger and turned to face the assembled crowd. Her eyes met yours almost immediately, you cast your gaze to the floor as your faced turned pink. She raised her voice to reach the ears of all present.

“Does anyone else have any questions regarding the chain of command here? Anyone?”

The room remained silent.

“Excellent. Do try to make our new residents comfortable, however...,” she glanced behind her to the man from earlier, who had put his arm around the woman he arrived with. The woman looked exceedingly uncomfortable. “...irritating they may be. We are all in this together. You are dismissed.”

---

The rest of your week was rather uneventful. The obnoxious man from a the meeting had brought a trunk of books with him. Ms. Meade had convinced him to donate them to you, whether with bribery or threat of violence, you were not sure. As you finished cataloging the last few, you leaned down in your chair. You had little space on your desk so some of the books had to be temporarily relocated while you sorted them. The sound of the door to the library barely registered in your mind as your were focused in your task. Upon sitting up, you found yourself seated before Mr. Obnoxious. He was leaning across your desk, as much in your space as he could possibly be. His wide grin belied the salacious glint in his eye as he raked his eyes down your torso.

“Well hello darlin’, I see you got my collection there. What do you think? Pretty impressive, yeah? What all did I bring ya’?”

You shrugged, and pulled the list you’d just made towards yourself.

“Nothing particularly exciting. Mostly general reference books. Several sports how to guides, a waterlogged copy of ‘Guitar for Dummies’, and an issue of Newsweek from 1998.” You looked up, tapping your pencil against the cover of the sodden item in front of you. “Do you want this one back? I’m going to use it as junk, so if you needed it back...”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, though you doubted he had the capacity for it. While he was making a show of this simple decision, you again heard the sound of the wooden door thudding shut. As the sound of a cane echoing down the hallway reached your ears, the man reached out to take your hand from where you had it resting.

“I might be persuaded to part with it, if you’d tell me your name. I bet it is as beautiful as you are.” He smiled his cloying smile again, but you paid him no mind. Over his shoulder, you saw Ms. Venable stop in the foyer. Your eyes met her face and you swore you saw a muscle in her jaw twitch.

The buffoon before you must have been deaf as well as dumb, for he appeared to take no notice of the woman approaching him from behind. He was not much taller than she, especially considering the heels she currently wore. He remained staring at you, your hand limp in his, thumb rubbing circles on your palm. Ms. Venable leaned towards his ear as her eyes darted down to your joined hands.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

He jumped, dropping your hand and turning to face her.

“I was just seein’ how my books are doing. If I had known they’d be in the care of such a pretty little thing,” he made another move to brush your hand, you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms. “I’d have dropped them of here myself. You know I’m a purveyor of fine literature and fine women, and I got lucky here.” He made eyes at you, you raised a brow rolled your eyes. “This has to be the cutest librarian I ever saw, so I thought-- Miss...Venaby, was it? So I was thinkin’, why not--”

That muscle definitely twitched in her jaw this time. She held up a hand to silence him.

“Venable. Ms. Venable. And I can assure you, I do not care what infantile thoughts you have managed to put together in that Darwinian brain of yours. As for fine literature,” she held her hand out to you, and you handed the list of his donations to her. She perused the listing briefly.“What a blessing you have bestowed upon us the ‘365 Days of Golf Tips’ How impressive. I cannot imagine how we would have survived without it. If that concludes your business here, I encourage you to go elsewhere.’”

She lays the paper back in your palm, and you feel the tips of her fingers linger just a bit too long in the inside of your wrist. It is almost a caress. You blame the cool climate of the library for the goose bumps that appear on your skin. You also hoped the two in front of you were enough into puffing their feathers at each other that they take no mind of you.

Venable has now positioned herself across from you, her free hand rests on your desk, almost possessively. Her steely glare remains completely focused on the poor soul’s face. He had no idea what he was getting himself into. She manages to look down on this man who is at least a few inches taller than her. You can’t help but feel just a smidgen of enjoyment from witnessing this exchange.

He rocks back on his heels, casting a sidelong glance at you. He stage whispers in your direction. “Is she always this rude?”

You shrug, Venable strikes her cane on the floor and the sound sharply echoes. She steps forward, bringing the two of them toe to toe.

“If you have a question regarding me, it would do you well to address me rather than pretend I am not standing before you. To answer your query, as you will soon find...rude is an understatement.” She leans towards his face, looking every bit the imposing figurehead she claims to be.

“Now, get out of my sight.”

He looks from her to you, then virtually tucks his tail and runs from the room. Venable remains glaring after him until you both hear the sound of the door clanking shut. At this point you can no longer contain the laughter you had been holding in. She turns towards you, and you see her expression soften. She holds her hand to her chest, feigning concern.

“Do you think I was too harsh? He is, after all, our new literary benefactor.” You are still chuckling, you shake your head.

“I think you scared him off for the time being. Is that what you were going for, instilling terror in the first week?” You slide your chair back and stand, lifting your arms above your head in a stretch. You can feel your shirt ride up just a bit, having been bunched up from your sitting position. You watch her eyes dip to the band of skin that has come on display from your movements, see her swallow as you self consciously tug your top back into place. She avoids your gaze, moving a few books around on your desk and muttering, “I simply detest undesireables touching my things.”

Before you have the chance to ask if she is referring to you or to the books, you hear the clamor of several women coming down the hallway. Venable visibly stiffens. Without thinking, you place your hand on hers, giving it a quick squeeze. You can feel her relax, but only slightly. She tugs you closer to her, watching down the hallway, seemingly judging the time she has remaining before the two of you are no longer alone.

“Would you come to see me tonight? Ten?”

A broad smile comes instantly to your face. “Its a date.”

You can see, even in this low light, that you’ve made her blush. She releases her grip on you and steps back to put some distance between you, but not before you catch the smile on her face. She begins to make her way toward the door as the group of women enter, their chattering ceasing as she passes them. You take your seat again, hearing one whisper to the other as they pass your desk.

“Was she smiling?”

---

You slip from your room, narrowly avoiding two women in the hallway. In your hand, you held a small paper flower.

You had spent the rest of your day anticipating seeing her again. You tried to keep yourself busy; it had been a week to the day from your last encounter and you had missed her. Granted, you saw her at least twice a day, but it was different when the two of you could well and truly be alone. On a whim, you tore a page out of the ruined book you had on your desk and folded it the way your sister had taught you, intending for it to be a gift.

As you approached her room, you felt half foolish for even bringing it. You slipped it into your pocket, raising your hand to knock. She must have been waiting as after your first light tap, the door swung open and she stood aside to allow you admittance.

You felt the flood of blood rush to your cheeks as she came to stand before you. She was wearing the same outfit as before, however this time her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. The urge to take her into your arms was overwhelming, so instead you stuck your hands into the pockets of your pants. She was smiling softly at you, and you found yourself mirroring it.

You stood like that for a moment, both of you seemingly unsure. You took a breath and reached out to take her free hand in yours. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet her gaze. Instead you twined your fingers together and squeezed her hand.

“I’ve missed you,” you speak quietly, daring to meet her eyes at last. She chuckled softly and brought your joined hands to her chest for a brief moment. You felt those damn butterflies again, swirling in your belly as she rested her chin on your clasped hands.

“I’ve missed you as well. Thank you for coming.”

This exchange seemed to have done the trick. Any awkwardness the two of you had been feeling dissapated as you both took your seats.

She held up the deck of cards sitting on the table, and you nodded, watching as she split the deck and began to shuffle it.

“What do you know how to play?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully with a finger. “Gin, rummy, hearts, spades...go fish...strip poker?”

She laughed again, splitting the deck one last time before beginning to deal. Her laugh continued to cause your head to swim and you wondered if you could make her laugh like that every day; if you could see her like this every day. The thought made warmth spread in your chest.

“Why don’t we start with go fish, that’s easy enough for a first date,” she winks at you and you can’t help but giggle. You pick up your hand and sit back. She does the same. You cross your legs and lean forward towards her, smirking. “So what do I get when I win?”

She grins, reaching out to squeeze your knee. “Very presumptous of you to think you will. I suppose we will find out then, hmm? Best of five?”

Not that it is a surprise to you, but Venable has a shockingly good poker face. You manage to both win two games, and as she deals the final hand you sit back in your chair. Picking at a loose thread on the arm, you inquire smugly, “What were you saying before, about me being presumptuous?”

She finishes dealing and shakes a finger in your direction. “That kind of attitude will get you nowhere, you know. You haven’t won the war yet.”

You fan your cards in front of you, resting them against your chin. “That sounds like something someone who is about to lose would say.” She rolls her eyes in faux exasperation. “Your level of confidence in yourself is awe-inspiring, but need I remind you that I’ve beaten you twice?”

You balk for a moment, then begin to snicker. “And I beat you twice, what is your point? Let’s finish this, shall we?”

-- Shortly thereafter, you watched Venable throw her cards down with a self satisfied look on your face. You couldn’t help but gloat, just a little. “The mighty Ms. Venable, exhalted ruler of outpost 3, has lost the game!”

She squinted at you, attempting to keep her face straight. “Must you rub it in? I have a weak disposition; too much criticism could hurt my feelings.”

At this, you both began to laugh. To see her, here like this, was quickly becoming your favorite activity. Making her laugh filled you with joy, and the way her eyes lit up for you was the most endearing thing. You never saw her like this with anyone else, which was a good thing. If anyone else were to share moments like these with her, you don’t think you could bear it .

As your laughter tapered off naturally, she held her hands up in a display of defeat. “Fine, fine. What would you like as your prize? Anything you like.” She was looking at you admiringly. You chewed your lower lip a bit. She folded her hands in her lap, waiting expectantly.

Kiss me? Please kiss me? Please kiss me, right now.

You took a deep breath.

“Honestly, I want know more about you.” You could see something change in her eyes, and she rested her chin in her hand. Her unreadable expression made you feel like squirming in your seat. “What did you do before all this? What was your job?”

“Would you believe I was in HR? Don’t laugh, really I was. I was a ...human resourcesish, personal assistant of sorts to these...,” she pinched the bridge of her nose “...utter morons that consumed more cocaine than I could purchase in the Silicon Valley.”

You furrowed your brow and tilted your head to the side. “Your job was to...buy blow?”

She laughed ruefully, shaking her head. “I had many jobs, and I excelled at them all. Those morons of mine had more expendable income than they knew what to do with. They went through interns as if it was going out of style. I would say that I kept a multi billion dollar robotics corporation afloat, as its founders were too preoccupied with blow jobs and coke to do so. Does that answer your question? What did you do?”

You nodded, and shrugged. “I’m much less exciting. I owned and operated a bookstore in Portland. I had a cat. Rode my bike alot...made things like this.” You pulled the flower from your pocket, lifting your fingers to trace the paper petals. She was watching you, her eyes transfixed on the motion on your fingertips. You took a deep breath, holding it out to her.

She reached out, taking it from you tenderly, holding it close. “You made this? It’s magnificent.” She began lovingly stroking the petals in the same way you had moments before. You felt a hot rush of jealousy; that inanimate object was the recipient of one of your secret desires. One you had only recently admitted to yourself. You’d become fascinated with her hands, she was actually quite expressive with them if you knew what to look for. Always stroking along the intricate top of her cane, or absently running the tips of her fingers over covers of books as you two spoke in the library. You had begun to covet her touch, yet had no idea how acquire it.

“I did make it...I made it for you. I want you to have it.”

She looked up as you stood and kneeled beside her. She was watching you curiously but made no movements to get away. Taking her free hand and covering it with your own, you placed it upon the lower half of the flower.

“Watch, if you slide the part up, it blooms.”

Your joined hands disappeared as the paper expanded. You heard her take a sharp breath. Her eyes were slowly moving from the flower to your face. Her eyes met yours, an you were shocked to find her eyes were glassy with tears. You lowered your eyes, woefully.

“Are you alright? I didn’t mean to upset you. You can just throw--,” your words were cut short as her hand cupped your face. Your breathing hitched as the pounding of your heart increased exponentially. She smiled, and leaned her forehead against your own briefly before sitting back. Her hand remained cupping your cheek, and expression on her face was undeniably affectionate. The warmth you had been feeling all evening grew exponentially.

“I love it; it is beautiful. I have never received anything like this...”

She stroked her thumb along your jawline, Her eyes dipped your mouth, she hesitated before running her thumb slowly over your bottom lip. You just barely managed to control the yearning sigh that threatened to escape. Her voice lowered to a murmur.

“You are so very lovely, to me..., do you know that?”

“Yes...,” you were breathless.“And as I told you before, you are exquisite.” You reached up to mirror her actions the last time you were in this situation. As you laced your fingers together, you pressed your lips delicately on the inside of her wrist. You could feel her pulse jump as she bit her lip. You held your breath, awaiting her next move.

You both jumped from where you were at the sudden loud crack from the fireplace. The moment was broken as you stood and Venable jumped in her seat. She looked towards the hearth and for once, you could not read her expression. “That is the third time today.” She looked back at you and stood, motioning to the door. “It is getting rather late, dear. You should probably take your leave.”

She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself rather than you.

The disappointment on your face must have been obvious. As she un latched the door, she reached out to grab your hand.

“Same time next week, then?” her voice was hopeful and you finally let out the breath you were holding. You laced your fingers together, giving her hand a quick squeeze before leaning down to respond.

“It’s a date.”

#venable x reader #whilamena venable #femslash #ahs fanfic #ms venable #ms venable x reader

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cryptidsandcatacombs · 6 years ago

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Coffee Date

Summary: Tagora and Oz are out enjoying a small coffee shop on Alternia. Oz has a few mental issues to sort out and Tagora is being a sneaky ferret.

A/N: Take my s/i and what they are as part of a Homestuck/Hiveswap AU where I change the canon facts a little. I am aware of canonical facts concerning trolls and their biology as well as cultural norms, but again this is an AU and also *gives you a permit that says “I do what I want”*.

I should also specify that adults are indeed allowed on Alternia in my self insert au and Tagora and Oz are both depicted as 18+

It was a Fall day on Alternia. Well, what someone like Oz would consider Fall weather. The weather on Alternia was anyone’s guess on this bitch of a planet anyways.

Oz was wearing a lovely purple scarf given to him by Gamzee. It was a bit clumsily made at first but Gamzee did his best. With a bit of help from Marvus and Kanaya, the scarf turned out amazing. Gamzee said it was sort of something to “make a brother feel all welcome and shit into the dark carnival family.” The Dark Carnival being the name of the circus run by the purple bloods.It was wild and eccentric, but never left you bored. Then again, boring was never in a purple trolls nature. That’s one of the things Oz liked about them. He was still getting used to being a part of it himself. Though, despite his best efforts, he wonders if he’ll ever truly belong with them, even if he is a purple blood himself.

“But I’m only half,” he whispered to himself. Suddenly, his phone rang interrupting his thoughts. The phone ID said the words “GorGor” on it. Oz answered it without a second thought.

“Hey Gorgor what’s up,” Oz said casually. “Same old as always,” Tagora said with a pleased smirk. “I just called to inquire if you wanted to join me for a nice cup of coffee a bit of a ways into my area. It’s about a 5 minute walk from my office.” “Don’t you usually make your own coffee,” Oz asked. Tagora could be incredibly picky about his coffee. “That’s not what I asked.” Straight to the point as ever. “Or does practice schedule not agree with this,” Tagora asked. It’s true the circus practice schedule left him somewhat busy. Being both a tightrope act and a tarot reader was no joke. Also, not to mention everyone on Alternia wanted to come see the half troll from Earth. It was an overnight sensation.

“Nope, not today. It’s a bit of an off season right now,” Oz answered. “Excellent, meet me by my office in 10. Don’t be late,” he said with a click of the phone. He hung up afterward. “As expected, he never likes to waste time with pleasantries,” Oz said heading towards his office. It was going to be a boring day anyhow. All the other trolls were off doing something or another. Gamzee was having a jam with Tavros, Marvus was off doing god’s knows what, Karako was doing his own little art projects,and etc. Oz would have called Tagora earlier himself, but he didn’t want to bother him in case he was busy. Guess that answers that question.

Luckily, it wasn’t much of a walk to get to Tagora’s place. He kind of knew how to get there by heart by now anyhow. Oz gave a timid knock at the door. He was probably inside not wanting to be outside for as much as possible. This is another reason why Oz was surprised he asked to go to a cafe out of the blue. Being in a somewhat open and social environment isn’t really Tagora’s style. What was going on today? The door opened for Oz and he stepped inside. Tagora was busy getting his coat and scarf. Both in shades of teal and purple. Oz looked around as Tagora quietly got his stuff together. Oz would never stop being impressed with Tagora’s interior decorating nor his cleanliness. It smelled nice too. Wait, was that smell actually Tagora? What scent was he wearing? It was a nice floral scent, but also had a hint of cologne to it. Very nice combination.

“Ready to go,” Tagora said suddenly stepping into Oz’s line of sight. “Oh yeah sure,” Oz still kind of startled. It was then Oz noticed Tagora’s lusus over his shoulder. The ferret gave him a soft bit of acknowledgement. The lusus was already used to his presence.

“Well, then lets go. The seats in this place are sporadic and I don’t like standing around waiting for a table,” Tagora said leading him off. “Oh yeah, good idea,” Oz said following behind him.

“By the way, nice scarf.” Wow, a compliment from Gorgor was as rare as a blue moon. “Thanks. Gamzee, Marvus and Kanaya made it for me. Gamzee wanted to make me a gift,” Oz said giving a sentimental smile. Tagora made a small noise that made him sound almost impressed. “Whats up,” Oz asked. “Nothing just uh...never mind. Coffee shop is up here,” Tagora said clearly avoiding the question.

Oz had passed by this coffee shop a few times himself, but had been putting off going in.There were a few trolls outside. Some clearly art students. Tagora opened the door for Oz to step in. As Oz stepped through, Oz could tell that it wasn’t that crowded. Guess too many people don’t want coffee at this time of day. Pity. It was a nice day for it. Tagora was already off at the counter ordering for what appeared to be both of them. “Wow, not even gonna ask me,”Oz mumbled. Fair enough though. He probably knew more about Alternian coffee and tea than he did at this moment. Being around juggalos meant drinking lots of faygo and water. None of them were really that much of tea or coffee drinkers. Tagora came back with a couple of cups ushering Oz to sit in a nice place downstairs. “It’s a bit quieter down here to be honest. The only people you’ll find down here are people trying to study or writers,” Tagora shrugged picking a table towards the wall. Everything screamed him wanting to be away from people as much as possible. So again, why invite Oz out.

“I ended up ordering you the closest thing to a decaf mocha or whatever it was on the menu.” Now it was Oz’s turn to be impressed. “What? You don’t think I remember your preferences. For shame,” Tagora snarked. “But you didn’t ask,” Oz still kinda confused. “That’s cause I know you’re still having problems reading our writing and you can’t really understand cafe jargon yet I’m guessing. Plus, I know you get nervous in those situations. Your as much of an anxious wreck as I am face facts,” Tagora said in a matter of factly voice. “Plus, you don’t think I remember this stuff? Of course I do.” “Oh yeah. I told you that a few months back didn’t I,” Oz remembered. Tagora was being strangely open today. What was going on? What was up with Tagora period? Did he lose a bet or something?

“Anyways, how’s practice going? No accidents via the tight rope as of late I hope,” Tagora said taking a small sip of what could be described as something with a dark, burboun but very rich scent. Slightly sweet actually. “Meh,I had a close call the other day. Luckily, Gamzee has fast reflexes and a quick panic button,” Oz explained as he took a sip of the mocha. Wow, this was so nice. Tagora really did know what he was doing.

Oz looked up and..wait, was that panic on Tagora’s face. “Hey, you ok,” Oz asked taking notice being a bit concerned. “Yeah um I”m fine.” Liar. Tagora moved to once again change the subject. “They seem to be treating you well. That’s nice to have here on big bad Alternia.” Tagora was apparently trying to prod something out of Oz. “Yeah they are...” Oz said seeming distant. Tagora’s lawyer mind had already detected red flags. “But...” Tagora said getting to the point. Oz was taken aback. Well, no use hiding it now. Oz was used to Tagora being able to see right through him. To be honest, having someone like that around him that can see right through his bullshit is refreshing. “Well....god, how long has it been since I came to Alternia. Like almost a year,” Oz explained. “I’m just...I’m still getting used to the idea of being half Alternian. Ever since Dad found me and explained what he was...what I was...I thought I’d be ok,” Oz continued.

Oz then pointed at the several troll features that were slowly starting to develop on his body. He was in his 20s sure, but he was a late bloomer. His horn had fully grown and his teeth and eyes were following after. “When I started growing these, I was with my mother who didn’t tell me who my father was. My dad didn’t even know he had a kid,” Oz said kind of sadly.

“Does your mom know you’re here,” Tagora asked even though he kind of knew the answer. “No. Dad kind of found out about me on one of his visits to Earth. He wasn’t too happy mom hid me from him. She was kind of an abusive bitch anyhow,” Oz said bluntly. “So, it’s best she doesn’t know.”

“And to be honest, I’ve been getting acquainted at the idea of being a purple blood, but..” Oz cut off trying to find the words to say. Tagora leaned forward with a raised eyebrow. “I have no idea if I really fit in. Like they can rap. I can’t. I don’t have much of the clown thing going for me. What am I? Why am I here? What can I do? I want to be part of them so bad, but what if I can’t.” Oz held his head in his hands semi defeated. This had been bugging him for ages, but was afraid to tell his best friend Gamzee because he was afraid it would make him and the rest of the purple bloods like they weren’t doing a good job. That’s the last thing Oz wanted especially since they have been so welcoming and kind.

The sound of a chair can be heard backing up. The sound of steps moved closer to Oz. Oz looked up to see Tagora placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Give me your hands for a minute,” Tagora asked. Oz did as he said. Tagora took them both gently in his hands.

“Listen Oz,” Tagora said rubbing Oz’s hands in little circles with his thumbs,”You really do fit in with them in so many ways. They’re a pretty accepting and laid back bunch, which you are. You may not be able to do what they can do, but it’s ok to be just a little different. I’m pretty sure they are too. They just want you to be a part of their lives Oz. They worry about you. I hope you know that. You’re going to fit in, even if you’re different and you’re not going to lose them. I promise.”

Tagora always did have a habit of getting to the heart of a problem. It was his habit as a lawyer and as someone whose very much sharp as a whip. He may not be able to socialize much, but it’s moments like these where he shines.

“Besides, you’re a circus clown in your own way,” Tagora joked. Oz smirked and laughed a little. “Besides, don’t you have your own song writing and creative writing thing you do. It’s not rap or painting, but it’s your own thing . Trust me when I say you’re definitely one of them,” Tagora smirked.

“Hey Tagora...,” Oz said smiling a little,”Thanks.”

“Hey, I’m here ok. Just don’t be afraid to open up to them ok,” Tagora grabbing the cup from his original seat.

Oz gave a small smile. “Ok but no promises.”

Tagora shrugged. Something told him that’s was as far as he was getting right now. “Anyhow, tell me when your next show is,” Tagora asked.

“Why do you ask,” Oz said with a raised eyebrow. Wouldn’t he hate going to something like that?

“Curious. I want to see where our schedules land,” Tagora answered.

“Oh, in a month. We don’t have as many shows this time of year,” Oz explained. “Noted,” Tagora said taking a sip of his coffee.

Oz took a sip of his as well, but Oz couldn’t help but feel like Tagora was hiding his own secrets. Could just be the mocha or emotional high he was on, but Oz shook it away as just being paranoid.

Tagora walked Oz back to his hive where Gamzee was waiting. “Hey Gorgor. See you helping a brother out,” Gamzee said giving Tagora and small wave. “It’s fine just please use netting under those tight ropes please,” Tagora said in a bit of a naggy tone.

“Oh, you told him about your accident the other day huh,” Gamzee chuckled. “Yeah, but I’m fine as you can see,” Oz sighed. Tagora pulled Oz into a quick hug. “Just take care of yourself ok,” Tagora said before walking back to his own hive.

“So Gamgam, how was your jam quest with Tav” Oz asked letting Gamzee in. The sound of a huge dog was running to the door. The dog lusus was about as big as Oz. That wasn’t saying much seeing as Oz was 5′2.

“Oh you know. Crack some sick motherfucking beats. Lay done some wicked lyrics. Ya know how it is,” Gamzee said petting Oz’s lusus.

“So what you been all up to,” Gamzee asked flopping over onto the couch. “Went to a coffee shop with Tagora. It’s weird. He’s never usually into doing that stuff. He even asked when my next show was. He’s been acting weird all day.”

“Mmmhmmm about that. I was kinda waiting and keeping this little thing all up to myself and shit, but I think you gotta know seeing as it’s not ok to leave a brother confused and all,” Gamzee said. “We’ve been kinda noticing you haven’t been your old beautiful self, so we may have kind of caught Gorgor after one of our shows to lay down the deetz. He goes to all of them you know. I know you be all not up with the facts, but he does. You perform late, so I’m not surprised you don’t up and notice him from your tarot tent,” Gamzee explained.

“Wait, what, but he hates going to places like that.” This was shocking to say the least. “He does don’t get me wrong, but he cares. It’s why he all up and invited you for a feelings jam at the cafe. We told him we kinda had a hunch you hadn’t been yourself and something wasn’t right up in that thinkpan of yours and I think that kinda worried him a bit. We thought that you might be feeling a little out of place, so he thought maybe taking you to more places like a cafe would be a mighty fine solution. I figured that whatever you weren’t ready to be sharing to us you’d share in time. So, may as well get it all out with someone who can help,” Gamzee explained with a small smile.

“So wait he took me to a cafe cause he wanted me to feel comfortable with Alternian life and talk about my problems at the same time,” Oz asked. “Yeeepp,” Gamzee confirmed.

“Oh,” Oz face palmed. That explaines so much. “Shhiittt, he even suggested we make that nice scarf for you. Something about making you feel more at home or whatever. I was trying to use this old thinkpan of mine to think of a motherfucking idea on how to do that and Gorgor be all up and knowing a lot of amazing things, so I asked him,” Gamzee explained.

Well, that explains why he wanted to change the subject. Tagora you absolute goober. “But uh listen my brother, whenever you wanna slam down a cold one and have a good feelings jam, I’m here for ya,” Gamzee said giving Oz a soft but slightly protective hug.

“Actually, can we do that,” Oz asked. May as well. This afternoon with Tagora may have been just what Oz needed.

#self indulgent fics

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ontherockswithsalt · 6 years ago

Text

A Made Man

/1/ /2/ /3/ /4/ /5/ /6/ /7/ /8/ /9/ /10/ /11/

Chapter 12.

“Serious question--” Noble starts. He knocks the edge of the deck of cards against the table before he idly drops them into his other palm.

“Mm-kay.”

“Can the bet involve your handcuffs?”

A laugh rumbles out of me as I reach for my beer. “The handcuffs hurt, man.”

“Like good hurt, or bad hurt?” He wonders.

My brow arches at his curiosity. “Like bad hurt.”

Leaning forward, he cuts the deck and divides them to shuffle as he mutters, “Ah, I could take it.”

“Whoa, wai-- wait.”

“What?”

“I thought you're assuming you'd win.”

He shrugs. “I'll definitely win.”

My brows shift in confusion and I glance to the side while I ponder which one of us he'd hypothetically want in handcuffs. “So--”

“What?” He plays clueless with a little flick of a smirk.

Just then, a polite little rap-rap-rap knocks on the door down the short hallway behind him.

“Wait, tell me what you consider good hurt,” I tease him, pushing back my chair to stand up.

He lets out a loud, knowing laugh. “That's Nina at the door.”

“I want to get it.” I offer a playful grin as I pass by.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I bet you do.”

When Noble had given me a quick reminder of the rules to Texas Hold’em, he placed a call down to the lobby to get a case of poker chips delivered to his room. And apparently that was not an odd request because it wasn’t ten minutes later that Greenwich staff made it happen.

I cross to the end of the entryway and glance out the peephole before I pull open the door.

I'm greeted by a smile and a flash of surprise in dark eyes. Nina's familiar face, a polished black dress and glossy, almost-as-black ponytail.

“Hi there,” I offer.

“Well hello.” I don't miss the faint curve at her lips when she seems to recognize me. “Jamie.” She doesn't say my name in a question. More like she's confirming it, reconnecting a face with it.

“Nina, come in for a sec,” Noble calls out before he comes closer.

She obliges, her high heels announcing her idle pace on the wood floors. “How are you boys doing this evening?”

Stepping back to let her pass, I ease the door shut and follow in behind her.

“Excellent,” he answers.

“Your poker chips.” She crosses the room and places the small case on the table. Then she straightens up to rest her hands on the curve of her waist and surveys Noble's spread of food. “Oh look at this. How nice.”

“Yeah I heard you had a hand in this,” I muse.

“I do what I can. Anything for my favorite guest.”

“Oh ho--” Lifting his eyebrows, he cuts a smug glance my way. “See? She's too good to me.”

“I can see that. Don't do it to him,” I tell her. “Then it goes to his head and he leaves town and doesn't know what to do with himself without you.”

Nina manages a playful quirk of her gaze as she flits her lashes.

“It's true.” He smiles. “So then I just keep coming back.”

“You come back because of this handsome one.” Shifting to pass by us, she pats a hand gently on my chest. “I'm not blind.”

I blink hard, caught off guard by the praise and make a face at Noble like I'm impressed. “Oh, who's the favorite guest now?”

“No way. Dream on, handsome,” he scoffs, but the sentiment still flickers in my gut a little.

I shake my head with a laugh and move toward the table for my beer. “He needs the ego stroking,” I decide. “Because he's about to lose pretty hard tonight.”

Noble lets out this dismayed groan and I have to laugh as I glance back at him. “He'll regret saying that later,” he mutters.

“Mm. Go easy on him, Jamie.” Nina makes her way to the kitchen as if to take stock, aware of the fact that this hotel is hosting us. She assesses the coffee and pulls open the fridge and notes that he needs more bottled water, that she'll send some up. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”

“Should we deal you in?” Noble wonders.

With an airy note in her voice, she wonders, “Just cards? No.”

Pressing his lips together, Noble's gaze cuts over to mine. I meet it there and quirk an eyebrow. The both of us pause a moment with a meaningful squint and I have to wonder what she would be game for joining.

“I’ll leave you boys to it.”

Noble clears his throat and grasps his beer from the table. “Alright. Thanks again,” he tells her. “If you hear loud sobbing coming from up here later on, it’s Jamie losing all his money.”

With a giggle, she shakes her head and makes her way down the hall as she calls out, “I like you in those glasses, Nick.” Then she lets herself out.

The door closes and I turn back to look at Noble, brows raised in anticipation. “Damn.”

“What, you like her?”

“I mean, damn how long have you guys been sleeping together?”

“Oh shut up.” He rolls his eyes, but laughs anyway.

With a teasing smirk, I echo her words. “Anything for my favorite guest.”

“Can we play?”

“Wait, have you?”

“No!” He insists with a hearty chuckle and gently shoves me back at my chest.

A little smirk quirks my lips. “Just asking.” I step back and return to my chair. “So are we going to name the terms of this bet, or what? Because I didn’t bring any cash. I might have a five--”

“Your money is useless to me.” He reaches over and takes an olive from the tray on the table before he sits down and drops it in his mouth. “The question is did you bring your handcuffs?”

I have to smile as I reach for a piece of the crusty bread there and busy myself ripping it apart. “Yeah, I have them.”

Noble picks up his beer and considers it before he decides, “If I win, you handcuff me.”

“And then what?”

He swallows hard and breathes out a soft laugh. “And then I stay handcuffed.��

I narrow my gaze at him. “How is that a win for you?”

“Because I said so.”

While I ponder it, I can’t help the twitch of my eyebrow at the possibilities. “And what if I win?”

He drags the case of poker chips closer and flips it open. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Mm-hm.”

Nodding thoughtfully, I watch him focus on the stacks of red, blue and green chips he pulls out. As he makes his meticulous stacks, he glances up at me. “So what if you win?” He wonders.

I turn my empty beer bottle on the table and push back to stand up. “You’re gonna get fucked, that’s what.”

With a slack open mouth, he turns to watch me as I move to the kitchen and I have to smile back at him.

He coughs, amused and arches one eyebrow in this genuinely caught off guard way that makes me laugh.

“You’ve said before you’d be down for it.” I pull open the fridge and retrieve two beers.

“Uh--” He exhales hard. The corners of his mouth flick, but he still hasn’t closed it yet. “I’m down for it right now, do we have to play cards?”

“Yeah we have to play.” After twisting off both caps, I cross back to hand off a beer.

“Well I’m about to fold every hand and lose on purpose. Ready?”

I stop at his chair, standing over him while I tip the bottle to my lips. After a long swallow, I shake my head at him. “No. You gotta play the game. What’s the fun in folding every hand?” When I ask, I turn and step over his lap, sliding between his seat and the edge of the table.

Tilting his head back on the cushioned dining room chair, he looks up at me. “A lot. A lot of fun,” he answers. “If it makes the game end faster.”

“No, no, no,” I tease. I sink lower until I straddle his lap and he easily tugs me closer. “I’m only playing if we’re playing for real.” Just barely, I angle against him, urging the slight spark of friction between us. He draws a sharp inhale through his nose and I feel his hand coast across my back, under my t-shirt. But I merely look at him and take another drink.

“Alright, I’ll play for real.”

“Good,” I decide. Then I lean in to press a sobering kiss on his cheek and push myself up, not missing the disappointed little grunt that escapes him. “Let’s play.”

#jamie x noble #good times in the penthouse #sounds like a win-win for everyone involved

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chimchimchoo · 6 years ago

Text

Fly Me to the Moon :: Ch 8

Genre: Pure fluff crack

Word Count: 28,636

Pair: Yoongi x Jimin

Collaborated with @tayvengeance

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

“CHEER UP THIS SAD, EMO BOY!”

02-222-3333

Jimin stared at the note on the bathroom wall for a solid 5 minutes before he pulled out his phone and typed in the number.

authors note: we do not own any of the pictures, for better formatting so it’s more comfortable to read, check it out on AO3! AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944508/chapters/36315222 Twitters: Tae’s Sujin’s <3 - Tae & sujin

Prepare yourselves, this is a 28k moNSTER of fluffy goods

**WARNING, mild smut toward the end

Chat With Mochi_Moves:

2016.02.14

08:12

Mochi_Moves:

its the day

where it’s okay to be the most disgustingly

cute and amazing boyfriend to it’s fullest power™

HAPPY

VALENTINES

DAY

I love you Min Yoongi

you complete me

c: c: c: c: c:

also

you’re really fucking hot when you play the piano

just saying

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(i havent stopped thinking about that video since you sent it to me)

(thanks)

SUGA:

Morning, Jimin-ah

love of my life

The Sid to my Nancy

The Sally to my Jack

I’m sorry these are het couples

but

you’re my everything

I love you too

Mochi_Moves:

I cant wait to spend all day

in the hotel

it’ll be so nice to get away from everything

and just be with you

howEVER

tomorrows the big date night

and im even more excited for this

do you wanna hear the big plan i got for us?

SUGA:

LAY IT ON ME, BABY.

(also side note, there is a piano in the lounge that I will

play until I am forcibly removed from it, just for you)

Mochi_Moves:

weLL

i noticed by pure coincidence

that fall out boy was having worldwide concert

and one of the locations was here

tomorrow

so i /may/ have gotten us tickets for it

SUGA:

holy shit

Mochi_Moves:

but afterwards

i got a whole picnic planned out by a park

specially made by Jin because

1. its cheaper

2. he’s an excellent cook

but it’s going to have candles and music

and we can dance under the stars

and it’ll be the most magical thing in the world

SUGA:

I’m not crying

I promise

my eyes are just sweating

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=093GjYcDg-4

Mochi_Moves:

and tHEN

after you made that booking for tonight

and went to the bathroom

i added a second night

because why the hell not c:

c: c: c:

does this plan sound alright?

SUGA:

Jimin, that sounds so damn perfect

I could kiss you

in fact

I WILL kiss you

many many many many times today

because I CAN

In FACT

ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT I’LL MAKE LOVE TO YOUUUU

LIKE YOU WANT ME TOOOO

AND I’LL HOLD YOU TIGHT

BABY ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT I’LL MAKE LOVE TO YOUUU

WHEN YOU WANT ME TO

AND I WILL NOT LET GO

TILL YOU TELL ME TO

Mochi_Moves:

POUR THE WINE

LIGHT THE FIRE

SUGA:

is my command your wish?

will you submit to my demands?

will you do anything I ask?

Mochi_Moves:

baby tonight is your night

and i will do you right

SUGA:

Okay

so check in is at 3

before that

I made lunch reservations at a nice restaurant

at noon

and I figured as soon as you’re ready for the day, you could just come

over to my place and be with me until lunch

because it’s 8:30 am and I haven’t seen you in like

6 hours

Mochi_Moves:

well heck

where the hell are my pants

and my scarf

and the box of chocolates i may or may not have gotten for you

6 hours is so long

i’m coming over asap

(wow look how Gay™ we are)

SUGA:

God

I’m so whipped for you

***

Yoongi sat his phone down and realized he had a stupid, huge grin plastered onto his face. He couldn’t help himself. Two whole days with Jimin. No, three whole days with Jimin. Without faltering his grin, he got up and put on his date night outfit -- fitted black slacks with a white silk blouse that cut down mid-chest, topped off with a black and white floral jacket and a thick choker. He looked in the mirror and thought he might be going a little overboard but fuck it, he was spending Valentine’s day with Park Jimin -- aka the actual love of his life. And while it was exhilarating to think about, he was actually growing nervous about having sex with Jimin and was overcompensating for his nerves by over dressing.

Not more than five minutes after he had finished getting ready, Yoongi heard the soft rapping of Jimin’s knuckles on the front door, and he thought his heart might explode. When he opened the door, he was greeted by a Jimin imposter. There was no happy, bubbly, soft, sweet boyfriend staring at him, oh no. This Jimin had his hair pushed back and a choker around his neck. He was wearing a black blouse similar to Yoongi’s and tight black pants, complemented by a blue velvet jacket. Yoongi was almost positive that this was not the same boy who was just texting him sappy shit because it’s Valentine’s day. No, this was NOT Park Jimin. Yoongi licked his lips habitually, but also because the man standing in front of him was making his mouth water.

Jimin leaned against the doorframe, biting his lip followed by a wink. “Hey there sexy beast.” He wiggled his eyebrows, using everything he had to hold in his laughter.

On second thought, this 100% was Park Jimin, his complete dork of a boyfriend. Yoongi smiled as his eyes met Jimin’s.

“Hyung!” Jimin screamed as he jumped toward Yoongi, slamming his lips onto his. “Happy Valentines day to the best boyfriend in the whole entire world.” He shoved the glittery heart-shaped box of chocolates in his hands. “Is this cheesy enough for you?”

“I have no idea what ‘this’ is referring to, whether it be your fucking ensemble or the kiss, or the chocolates. BUT I will have you know that I am flattered and extremely turned on,” Yoongi babbled, taking the chocolates and pulling his boyfriend in for another kiss.

“Says the one who went out of their way to wear a silk blouse.” Jimin muttered under his breath.

Yoongi smirked, bringing his lips to Jimin's ear and his voice to a low growl, “I bet our bed sheets will be just as silky smooth against our naked bodies tonight.”

“Ohhhh,” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows dramatically again. “Someone's a little excited. We have a whole day ahead of us though, try to keep your mind out of the gutter for a few hours will you?” He giggled, his eyes turning into their usual crescents.

“Says the one who went out of their way to push their hair back,” Yoongi huffed.

Jimin dramatically flipped his hair with a grin. “But you love it, don’t you? I spent a whole hour trying to gel my hair into place okay, it took every ounce of my effort.”

Yoongi pressed his lips against Jimin’s once more, “Baby, ‘love it’ is an understatement.”

Jimin wrapped his arms around Yoongi’s waist, holding him closely. “Good thing my efforts didn’t go to waste then.” He took in Yoongi’s appearance, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. He had no words to express how much he loved Yoongi, or how amazing he looked for that matter. He was about to spend three whole days with this man and he couldn’t be happier. “I’d say you look absolutely gorgeous right now, but that too, is an understatement.”

Yoongi chuckled, “We both put too much effort into this. It’s just Valentine’s day for fuckssake.” He pulled Jimin along into the house and shut the door behind him. “But, can I interest you in some of Jin’s freshly baked Valentine’s treats?”

As if on cue, Yoongi heard a door slam open and feet hurriedly make their way to the kitchen. Jin appeared in the area with wildly tousled hair and one of Namjoon’s hoodies on. “I swear to GOD if either of you touch an unfrosted cupcake or cookie, I will decline Jimin’s sweet request to cook you dinner tomorrow.” Namjoon followed behind, munching on an unfrosted cupcake.

Yoongi looked at Jin and Namjoon with a ‘tch’ and crossed his arms over his chest, “First of all why does Namjoon get to eat one, and second of all, why haven’t you frosted anything yet?”

Jin almost looked appalled Yoongi would ask him such a question. Almost. He’s good at being fake. “The answer to both your questions is because I was too preoccupied getting completely fucked by Namjoon to care about frosting anything or the fact that he took unfinished pastries.”

Jimin stifled his laughter as he watched the scene unfold. “They’ve really hit it off since the knife incident, haven’t they?” He muttered towards Yoongi. “Jin-hyung! Since we don’t have any plans until lunch, can I help with the rest of the valentine treats?” Jimin pleaded.

Jin looked over at Jimin with a grin plastered on his face, “Of course, Jimin-ah!” His smile quickly dropped as he looked between Yoongi and Namjoon “You two on the other hand, stay the fuck out of my kitchen.”

Yoongi looked offended, “Excuse me, I have never disrespected your kitchen. Why am I being shunned?”

Jin grabbed his frosting knife and waved it in Yoongi’s direction, “Because I need alone time with my son. Gotta have the talk. You’re already too fargone, but I might be able to spare his innocence. Now the two of you can get the fuck out of here. We’ll call you when the sweets are done.”

Jimin gave Yoongi an innocent wave and joined Jin in the kitchen, putting on his spare pink apron covered in little hearts and bears, fitting for Valentines day. His eyes grew wide at the sight of all the treats covering every counter in the kitchen. “Exactly how many people were you expecting to feed with all of these treats hyung?”

“You’ve obviously never been around a hungry Namjoon. He’ll eat a dozen of each on his own. I swear he’s going to contract diabetes one day.” Jin tied his own lacy pink apron around him and motioned for Jimin to bring the big pink KitchenAid mixer over to the counter.

A squeaky laugh escaped from Jimin as he followed Jin’s request, carrying the mixer to an empty counter. “So,” Jimin leaned over, eyebrows wiggling. “You and Namjoon? Things are going well I assume?”

Jin tried to hold back a smile, but was betrayed by his own muscles, “Yeah. I’ve always fancied him, but never really thought we could be more than bickering housemates. I was so wrong. Our compatibility is wildly high. He’s so fucking smart and sweet but totally dumb at the same time. Also he’s really fucking good at sex, so I really can’t complain.”

“It’s like a match made in heaven. You’re the band-aid to his destruction.” He leaned against the KitchenAid, letting out a dreamy sigh.

“Not only the band-aid, but also the one to prevent the destruction from ever happening. You know how many Namjoon-related accidents we could have prevented this whole damn time if I had been with him to say ‘look out’ or ‘Joonie take it slow?’” A fond smile settled on his lips as he sliced off a chunk of butter and placed it in a small glass dish, “Can you soften that in the microwave for me?”

With a nod, Jimin took the small dish and placed it in the microwave, setting the timer. He carefully pulled out the warm dish when the timer went off and carried it back to Jin, dumping it into the mixer.

“Now as I mix the powdered sugar pour the buttermilk in, but not all at once. You can also throw in that vanilla whenever as well. We’re gonna mix on low until it’s all mixed, then gradually go faster to whip it up. Speaking of whipping things up, you and Yoongi are pretty serious, yeah? He told me you guys have a hotel room today and tomorrow.” Jin looked at Jimin as he flipped the switch on the mixer.

Jimin’s face suddenly flushed as he bit his lip, replying with a nod. “It’s a big weekend for us. But this entire week, I’ve been so nervous. Is that a bad thing hyung? I mean, it’s just Yoongi. I love him, and he knows that. I don’t know, it just feels...different this time?”

“Jimin, tell me this. Are you able to talk about sex? Because if you can’t talk about it, you aren’t ready for it,” Jin quipped as he scraped frosting off the side of the bowl and back into the beater.

“Yoongi and I have brought it up a couple of times in the past. But you know, I trust him, I really do, and I know he wouldn’t do anything to make me feel uncomfortable.”

“That’s good," Jin smiled. "You know, I’ve never seen him so mushy over anyone before you. He’s constantly smiling and in a good mood, and it’s so fucking weird. I guess we just got so used to him being so depressed and moody. He really cares about you, Jimin.” Jin turned up the speed for the mixer.

Jimin watched the mixer in a trance as a bashful smile crept up his lips. “I really care about him too hyung. So much, it almost makes me feel sick.”

“Ah, to be young and in love.”

Jimin glanced up at Jin, raising an eyebrow. “What does that make you and Namjoon then?”

“Our sex life might be new, but our relationship spans many years. We’re just two old fools.”

“Jin, you’re only 25.”

“Jimin, I didn’t ask for your sass.” Jin turned off the mixer and scraped the sides one more time. After confirming the frosting was fluffy and ready, he unhooked the bowl from the mixer and pointed to the red dye. “We’re gonna make it all pink. Pour in a few drops.”

Jimin carefully squeezed three drops of the red dye but nearly dropped in the bowl as he heard a loud knocking on the front door, follow by a slam as it forcefully swung open. “I heard someone was making treats today!” He heard a shout and peeked out of the kitchen, watching Taehyung pull Yoongi into a playful headlock. “Yoongi! Look how dressed up you are. Getting ready for the big bang tonight? You got all your condoms and lube right?” He sneered, ruffling Yoongi’s hair.

“Taetae, get your hands off my boyfriend. He worked hard putting that look together.” Jimin threatened waving Jin’s frosting spatula toward him.

“Taehyung, if you wish to continue being able to fuck Jungkook, I would advise you taking your hands off me right now,” Yoongi deadpanned.

Taehyung quickly pulled his hands off Yoongi and wrapped them around Jungkook, who still stood at the door. “Forget I ever put my hands on you, Yoongs.” He spat with a glare.

“The whole dysfunctional family is here now,” Jimin closed his eyes, muttering under his breath. “Lovely.”

“All we’re missing is Hoseok,” Jin noted, mixing the red dye into the frosting.

A faint scream echoed in the hallway. “You were saying?” Jimin glanced up at Jin.

“I ran into a fucking idiot who was on their fucking phone and made me drop all my fucking chocolates. This was fucking expensive, I busted my entire fucking paycheck to spread my fucking love to you all.” Hoseok dropped the bag onto the kitchen table. “And now half of these got fucking destroyed.” He sat in one of the chairs and crossed his arm, pouting. “Happy Valentines day, fuckers.”

“I just wanted to spend the morning with Jimin,” Yoongi muttered.

“Yah, you’re spending the next two days with Jimin. Shut up and thank Hoseok for the lovely chocolates,” Jin snapped at Yoongi, scooping some frosting into a squeeze bag and handing it to Jimin.

Ignoring the loud rambling and shouts being thrown back and forth, Jimin put all his focus on decorating the cookies as best as he could. Sticking his tongue out, he slowly drew on a cookie until he was finished, admiring the large, lopsided heart covered in sprinkles. “I did it!” Jimin beamed. “Hyung, look, look. I made this one just for you.” He picked up the cookie, setting it in Yoongi’s hand.

Yoongi smiled and placed a soft kiss on Jimin’s cheek, “It’s beautiful. How can I destroy such artwork by eating it?”

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Jimin grinned before smearing a small amount of pink frosting onto Yoongi’s nose and ran back into the kitchen.

“You can say, he’s whipped frosting now.” Taehyung whispered from behind as Jungkook bent over in laughter over his dumb joke.

“Kinda like when I ate whipped cream off you last night,” Jungkook poked through his laughter.

“I don’t want to fucking hear this,” Yoongi turned and walked over to the kitchen. “Don’t make me stay in there with the kink kings.”

“It’s fine. I’ve had my conversation with Jimin. You can help too if you want. Those cupcakes over there need frosting and sprinkles,” Jin pointed to the opposite counter and handed Yoongi a squeeze bag of frosting.

As Jimin finished the cookies on one of the counters, he moved over to where Yoongi was, standing close beside him, admiring the work he had done so far. “These look wonderful.” Jimin smiled. “Almost as wonderful as you.” He heard Taehyung make gagging noises in the background.

Yoongi ignored Taehyung and pulled Jimin in for a kiss, “Eat one and tell me how well I frosted it.”

Before Jimin could take a cupcake, Hoseok shoved his way between the two and grabbed one of Yoongi’s decorated treats and took a bite out of it. “What? Look, I deserve this after that tragedy I went through.” He whined with his mouth full and left the kitchen as Jimin proceeded to pick up a cupcake and tasted it. “Just as sweet as your sugar lips.” He grinned, extending it toward Yoongi. “Try it!”

Yoongi leaned forward and bit into the cupcake Jimin was holding out for him. Jin really knew how to make a cupcake. He smiled as he chewed and continued to frost the rest of the cupcakes.

When Jimin’s frosting bag was finally empty, he set it aside and took off his apron, admiring the treats he put all his effort into. He pulled out a stool and sat at the kitchen bar, watching Yoongi finish decorating his with dreamy eyes.

“You’re so fucking whipped.” Taehyung whispered in his ear and sat beside him.

“Yeah, I am.” Jimin sighed happily. “Look at him. Have you ever seen someone look so attractive decorating cupcakes?”

Yoongi bumped the side of his hand on a cupcake and accidentally frosted himself. With a mischievous gaze, he looked up at Jimin and proceeded to lick it off slowly.

Jin turned around and caught Yoongi in the act and kicked him out of the kitchen for licking his hands while frosting.

Jimin threw his head back in laughter, smacking Taehyung’s arm as he shouted in protest and smacked Jimin back. “Save your sexual innuendos for later, hyung.” Taehyung stated as Jimin covered up his cheeks, trying to hide the blush that found its way up.

“$90 bucks they won’t make it until tonight.” Hoseok shouted as he entered the kitchen.

“You’re on!” Taehyung shouted.

“Knock it off you two.” Namjoon interrupted, “Don’t you have anything else better to do than bet on their love life? Go take valentine selfies together and bother Jungkook instead. He’s been sitting on the couch by himself for gods sake. What kind of boyfriend are you Taehyung?” He shooed the two away from the kitchen.

He approached Jin, wrapping an arm around his waist. “How are the treats coming along, snookums?”

“Almost done. Just these last dozen cookies, baby cakes.”

“I’m gonna vomit all over my nice clothes,” Yoongi chimed in. “Come on, Jimin. We’re taking a plate of sweets and hiding in my room.”

“Ugh,” Jungkook groaned from the couch, “Why is everyone here so fucking nasty with each other? Save me, Hoseok. Insult my boyfriend!”

Hoseok shrugged innocently. “It’s Valentines day, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shook his head as Taehyung jumped onto Jungkook, nuzzling his nose into his hair. “I wuv you soooo much munchkin.”

“Just choke me out and end this,” Jungkook replied with a pained expression on his face.

“Choke you?” Taehyung’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well if you want to get kinky here and now,” He grinned. “We can get kinky.”

Hoseok groaned in disgust. “I’ll be at the kitchen table, eating my destroyed chocolates.”

Jimin shoved a cookie in his mouth as he helped Yoongi make a small pile of treats on one of the heart-shaped plates and followed him to his room, shielding his eyes from whatever was possibly happening on the couch. Jimin set the heart plate onto Yoongi’s desk, letting out a sigh of relief. “I love everyone to death, but they can be so exhausting sometimes.”

“I understand. Well, on the bright side, they successfully managed to waste two full hours of our time. Which means, our lunch date will begin soon and then we can check into the hotel and remain alone together until the day after tomorrow.” Yoongi smiled and walked behind Jimin, wrapping his arms around the younger’s waist. “Just the two of us, isn’t that just magical?” He kissed into Jimin’s neck as he finished talking.

“Just the two of us?” He replied with a laugh, “That’s a first.”

Yoongi trailed kisses up Jimin’s jawline, “And definitely not a last.”

A soft sigh escaped from Jimin’s lips and he spun around, wrapping his arms around Yoongi’s neck. He pulled him close, leaving no space between the two and pressed his lips against Yoongi’s. They had done this many times before, but every single time he kissed Yoongi, butterflies grew in his stomach feeling like it was his first all over again.

“We can’t let Hoseok get another $90, now.”

“So we’re making Taehyung rich then?” Jimin pouted.

“Fuck, there’s no winning,” Yoongi grumbled.

“We should start joining these bets, we’re guaranteed to win every time. We’ll make big bucks.” He gave him a mischievous smirk.

“Oh my god, you’re right,” Yoongi chuckled.

“I’ll take you out on hundreds of dates with the money we earn.” Jimin promised with a wide grin. “How great would that be?”

Yoongi smiled and kissed Jimin’s smiling lips, “I want nothing more than our friends to pay for our love.”

“That’s the dream.” Jimin muttered but then was interrupted by a light growl from his stomach. “Oh my god.” He hid his face in embarrassment.

“Babe, you hungry or something? Jeez,” Yoongi chuckled.

“Food has been on my mind ever since you told me about that reservation.” Jimin answered shamelessly. “A guy’s gotta eat, you know?” He stated with a shrug.

Yoongi’s chuckle turned into a chortle, and he hugged Jimin as close to him as he could, “Soon, Jiminnie.”

Jimin let out a whine and grabbed another cookie, shoving one in Yoongi’s mouth as well. He cackled when the cookie left a frosting mustache on his lips. “You should consider growing a mustache, it’s not a bad look.”

“And ruin this perfectly smooth face? I don’t think so. Plus, do you really wanna kiss a hairy face?”

“Who knows, maybe I have a thing for hairy faces and I just don’t know it yet.”

Yoongi scrunched his nose, “Find another man to test this possible kink of yours. I for one will not ruin my good looks for the sake of experimentation.”

“Oh but you’ll let me put my lips on another man?” Jimin teased. “Why don’t I just go ask one of the guys out there, I’m sure they’re willing to be a test subject.”

“If you really want to kiss one of them, go for it. I have nothing to worry about. I know you love me,” Yoongi smiled mischievously.

“Oh?” Jimin rose an eyebrow. “You’re sure about that? So I don’t need to go grab, I don’t know, Hoseok and test this out, just in case?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “Yah, Jiminnie.” He pushed Jimin down onto his bed and slotted himself between the younger’s legs. “Stop being a brat.” He wrapped his arms around Jimin’s neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

“Nah, I get a kick out of teasing you.” Jimin murmured when their kiss broke and gripped Yoongi’s blouse, capturing his lips again. The feeling was intoxicating and he couldn’t get enough. His sweet lips tasted of sugar and vanilla. Warmth radiated through Jimin’s body, his heart pounding so hard against his chest, he was sure Yoongi could feel it. When Jimin pulled away, gasping for breath, he gazed at Yoongi, taking in his features. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glazed and lips slightly swollen from their kiss. He lifted his hand, brushing a thumb against his cheek. “You’re so perfect.” He whispered, his lips curling into a small smile.

A fond smile slipped its way onto Yoongi’s face in return, “I know I say this all the fucking time, but I love you so much, Jimin.” He played with the short hairs at the nape of Jimin’s neck and brought their foreheads together, “So so so much.” Yoongi let his eyes close as he breathed in, breath mingling with Jimin’s due to their proximity. “My beautiful Jiminnie.”

“I love you too, Yoongi.” Jimin uttered. “I feel like the luckiest person alive.”

“I know I am the luckiest person alive when I’m with you. You’re like an angel, sent to protect me,” Yoongi mulled, stroking Jimin’s hair as he spoke.

“You have Hoseok to thank for that.” He ran his fingers down Yoongi’s spine, gliding over the silky fabric. “He was the one that wrote your number on a stall. I simply followed with a meme.” His fingers curled against the fabric and he pressed a chaste kiss against his lips.

“He can be best man at our wedding, and I’ll name our first adopted child after him,” Yoongi muttered against Jimin’s lips.

“I’m sure he would love that more than anything else.” Jimin giggled. “Having our own kid named after him. As long as we can name our second one after my precious Taetae.”

“Taehyung doesn’t deserve to have me name my child after him,” Yoongi huffed. “He didn't bring you to me like Hoseok did.”

A laugh escaped from his lips. “Alright, that’s fair. But lets get through this valentines first before we start naming our future children.”

Yoongi chuckled, “I’m getting ahead of myself, I’m sorry baby. I just… I see my future, and you’re right there with me. It’s a new sensation for me.”

“I mean,” Jimin grinned. “It is nice to think about how cute and domestic we’ll look in a little house with screaming children. But if it gets out of control, I’m paying Jin-hyung to be a nanny.”

Yoongi bellowed, “Imagine Jin, coming to our house dressed like fucking Mary Poppins, ‘practically perfect in every way.’”

“He’s got the voice for it too. He can teach the kids supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

Yoongi’s smile remained as he imagined the scenario, “I love everything about this future of ours.”

“I love everything about it, and I love everything about you.”

Yoongi’s phone beeped then, signaling his reminder for lunch reservations, “Well, would you look at that. It’s time to head over to the restaurant. Just what you’ve been waiting for.”

“Finally!” Jimin cheered, throwing his arms up in the air. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Excitedly, he pulled Yoongi toward the bedroom door, snatching one last cookie along the way.

“Joonie, I’m taking your car, hope you don’t need it!” Yoongi yelled as Jimin pulled him to the front door.

“Remember hyung, condoms for safe sex!” Taehyung shouted across the apartment.

“Safe sex is the best sex!” Jin yelled after.

“Enjoy that big bang, fuckers!” Hoseok screamed.

“Preparation is vital!” Jungkook added on.

“You shouldn’t know this, you’re 12.” Namjoon whacked the kid across his head.

Jungkook rubbed his head where Namjoon hit it, “I’m 20, thank you very much, and I was too eager my first time with Tae Tae and really hurt myself. Prepping yourself is KEY.”

“Oh my god, go be a kid and watch fucking Pororo.” Namjoon groaned.

“I hate this family, Tae Tae doesn’t disrespect me like this,” Jungkook pouted.

Jimin followed Yoongi down to the car, fingers interlocked with his. “We finally escaped from our dysfunctional family.” Jimin giggled, jumping up and down gleefully. “Two whole days together Min Yoongi, two whole days!”

Yoongi grinned as he slid into the driver’s seat and stuck the key in the ignition, turning the car on. “Two fucking days with the love of my life. It doesn’t get better than this, ladies and gents. Also please buckle up, Jiminnie. Seatbelt safety is important.”

“Of course, hyung. We need all sorts of protection today, don’t we?” He sneered, buckling himself into the seat.

“I can’t have the most precious thing in my life get hurt now, can I?”

Jimin’s ears grew red as he bit his lip. As Yoongi pulled out onto the road, Jimin extended his arm toward the radio, turning up the volume. A spanish opera blasted through the speakers and Jimin choked, trying to hold back his laugh. “I always took Namjoon-hyung for a hip hop person, but this is even better.”

“Joonie listens to weird shit. He’s all over the damn place,” Yoongi chuckled. “I suppose that’s a good thing though, to enjoy such a wide range of music.”

Jimin smiled as the spanish opera played softly in the background. He turned his head, watching Yoongi with admiration, his mind reeling back at the little things they’ve done together the past couple of months. It all happened in such a short span of time, but it feels like it’s been years.

Yoongi’s thumb tapped on the steering wheel to the tune of the music, and he had to smile in the tranquility of it all. “Lunch is on me. Order whatever the hell you want. Make yourself happy, Jimin,” Yoongi broke through the silence.

Gasping, Jimin’s eyes glimmered with excitement. “Really? You mean it? Anything?”

“Anything.”

A small squeal of delight escaped from Jimin’s lips. “This is already the best day, ever!” He was already having a hard enough time containing his excitement. The opera eventually came to an end and Lil Wayne followed after.

“See, very diverse.” Yoongi pulled up to the hotel parking lot and into a spot. He killed the engine and got out, walking over to the passenger side to open the door for Jimin. He held his hand out for the younger to take as he helped him out of Namjoon’s car. “Come with me, Mr. Park. Your lunch reservation awaits.”

“Look at you, Min Yoongi.” Jimin gasped. “Be careful,” He leaned in closely, “you’re just making yourself more irresistible by the minute.”

“Maybe that’s my plan,” Yoongi replied with a wink, opening the door so Jimin could walk through first.

Jimin glanced at him with an offended expression, clutching his chest. “How dare you.” He whispered before they walked over to the elevators and Jimin’s eyes went wide as Yoongi hit the button for floor 35. They rode up with an electric excitement bouncing off them.

“I’ve always wanted to bring someone here,” Yoongi whispered even though they were the only two in the elevator. “Always sounded romantic.” The two walked out of the elevator as it reached the 35th floor, and Yoongi held the door once again for Jimin to enter the restaurant. They were greeted by a woman at the front.

“Welcome to Pierre Gagnaire à Séoul,” She greeted with a warm smile. “Have you made a reservation?”

“Yes,” Yoongi responded, walking in behind Jimin. “The name will be Min Yoongi.”

“Right this way,” The maître d' grabbed the menus and mazed through the elegantly decorated restaurant, guiding them to their table. “Here you are.”

Jimin seated himself across from Yoongi, thanking the maître d' before taking a moment to look around, admiring the place. Beside them was a large window with a clear view of the Bukhan mountains beyond the cityscape. The ceiling above them were decorated with glass chandeliers, emitting a dim, amber glow. “This place is amazing Yoongi.” He opened the menu, gaping at the selection it offered. He always admired this place from afar and dreamt of trying their food one day, but he forgot how expensive it was.

“Only the best for you, love,” Yoongi replied with the smile of a man in love.

Jimin smiled warmly and studied the menu, mulling over the choices. “My god, do you even know what you want?”

“Well, we can do chicken or fish. What do you desire?”

“Mmm,” Jimin pondered for a moment. “Fish. Fish sounds wonderful.”

Yoongi hummed in agreement, “Fish it is. Shall we get a wine to go with our meal?”

“Yeah!” Jimin nodded, “It’s not every day you get to try wine in Seoul.”

“It’s imported French wine. Let’s do the white wine. I hear it’s more tasty than red wine.”

“If you say so, then white wine it is.”

Yoongi nodded, and when the waiter came over to take their order, he relayed their choice to him. he smiled and let them know he’d be back with their wine shortly and that he’d bring water glasses over while they waited.

Jimin extended an arm across the table, taking Yoongi’s hand in his, a comfortable silence hanging around them. “What are you thinking about, Min Yoongi?”

“How much I love you,” Yoongi smiled, looking at their intertwined hands. “How happy I am to be here with you. How jealous Jin will be when he hears we ate here, just to name a few things.”

“I bet he’s going to try to drag Namjoon here after we tell him,” He grinned. “Maybe get a few cooking tips out of a chef or two. You know he doesn’t like anyone who cooks better than him.”

Yoongi giggled, “Namjoon is too cheap to come here. There is no way Jin could convince him to waste his money on expensive food.”

“Not only that, but he’s too clumsy. Look around, there’s glass everywhere.”

“Namjoon is the bull in the china shop.”

Jimin covered his mouth, muffling his laughter. “Poor hyung. How Jin controls that beast, I’ll never know.”

“He just has to bat his pretty eyelashes at Joonie and he’s putty in his hands,” Yoongi snorted. “Always been that way.”

“Good,” He smiled. “It gives them both something to do anyway.” The waiter returned with their drinks, pouring the wine into the glasses and left the bottle at the table for them, announcing their food will arrive soon.

Yoongi brought the glass up to his nose and smelled the wine before lowering it to his lips and taking a small taste. He was surprised at the taste, having only ever tasted rice wine before, but it wasn’t a bad difference. “This is pretty good. Try it Jiminnie!”

Jimin grabbed his glass, catching the sweet smell of the wine before taking a small sip. He smacked his lips for a moment, tasting the flavor. “Hyung!” He replied with a surprised expression. “This is really good!”

Yoongi smiled at Jimin adoringly. “I’m glad the wine is good.”

Jimin took a few more sips. “I don’t think I can ever go back to soju after this.” He commented, gently swirling the wine in the glass. “It’s quite refreshing actually, and sweet, like you.” Jimin grinned.

Yoongi snorted, “Don’t get too used to this, love. This is a one-time kinda thing. Otherwise it’s not special, yeah?”

“Of course, but it’s so special that I’ll think about this wine every time I take a shot of soju, most likely for the rest of my life. Say, let’s come back on our 100 year anniversary.” Jimin laughed. “That’s far out enough, right?”

Yoongi laughed, “How about our golden anniversary? Nothing says 50 sweet years together like a nice rosé.”

Jimin’s eyes widened in delight. “That’s even better! It’s 50 years sooner!”

Yoongi smiled, “It is better, isn’t it? 50 years with you would be amazing.”

“There’s so much we have to do before our 50th anniversary!” Jimin exclaimed, growing excited as ideas ran through his mind. “So many things like...like traveling to other countries, or trying all the cafes in Seoul, or flying kites. Or make paintings for each other!”

Yoongi couldn’t hold back the laughter that overtook him as he watched Jimin’s face light up at the different ideas soaring through his head. “Those are all very good anniversary ideas, Jimminie.”

“That’s only 50 anniversaries.” Jimin signed, growing overwhelmed. “But I have hundreds of ideas, how do I even fit them all…”

“Then we celebrate every single month we are together!” Yoongi exclaimed. “That way, you can multiply 50 by 12 and have that many moreanniversaries.”

Jimin’s smile widened at the idea. “It’s perfect! On the 15th of every month, you’re mine for the whole day.”

Yoongi’s smile softened, “Hopefully someday the 15th won’t be the only day you’re mine for 24 hours.”

“Here’s to letting that someday come as soon as possible.” Jimin lifted his glass in the air. “With frequent interruptions from our lovely dysfunctional family.”

Yoongi softly clanked his glass against Jimin’s and took a sip of wine. “You know, you look so good in here. The fancy atmosphere makes you look like a lord or something. It’s damn sexy.”

Jimin leaned back, resting an arm against the head of the chair and crossed his leg, smirking. “Sexy, you say?” He subtly licked his lips and wriggled his eyebrows.

“Woah, baby. Save it for the bedroom,” Yoongi chided, nearly choking on his wine. “I’d rather like to make it through lunch without any issues.”

Jimin’s snigger faded the instant he spotted the waiter arriving to their table with the food. Gasping in awe, Jimin watched the waiter set the plates down and quietly thanked him. “Is this food or is this art? Wait!” He pulled out his phone, turning on the camera to take a picture. “I gotta do it for the ‘gram” He muttered under his breath and quickly snapped a photo. “It looks delicious...let’s eat!” Jimin picked up his fork but couldn’t get himself to touch his lunch. “It’s so pretty, I don’t want to ruin it.”

Yoongi chuckled and stabbed a bite onto his fork, guiding it towards Jimin’s mouth, “Take a bite, baby.”

Jimin took a bite, chewing the food slowly. “It’s so good! Try it!” He jabbed the fish onto his fork and hovered it toward Yoongi. “The best fish I’ve had yet.”

Yoongi smiled and let Jimin feed him. Jimin was correct. The fish was delicious. “Yah, that’s so damn good. What the fuck.”

Jimin lightly slapped his arm. “Yoongi!” He hissed quietly, laughing. “Watch your language, this is a fancy place. But you know, I completely agree. This is fucking delicious.” He whispered, making sure no one heard.

“Yah, I’m a man with a refined vocabulary. All the fancy people say things like ‘fuck’ and ‘damn’ to indicate their emotions,” Yoongi joked, taking another bite of food. “But yeah, definitely don’t get used to this place, Jiminnie. Shit’s expensive for the portions we got.”

“You’re right.” He glanced down at his place. “It’s like the size of your emotional capacity. A teaspoon.”

Yoongi nearly died trying to contain the food in his mouth while also trying to hold back a snort, and ended up choking on his fish. “Holy fuck I wasn’t ready for that,” He cried, gulping down water to help clear his esophagus. “You fucking bastard, how dare you go there.”

Jimin grinned proudly, taking another bite of his small dinner.

“Well, at least we won’t be eating a lot. That means there won’t be a lot to digest, which will mean whoever ends up taking it in the ass tonight should have clear passageways,” Yoongi concluded with a sly grin, patiently waiting Jimin’s response.

Loud coughs erupted from Jimin as he choked on his fish, disrupting the peaceful atmosphere of the restaurant. He waved apologetically to a waiter who shot concerned glances at him and chugged down his water. “You little shit.” He murmured, glaring at Yoongi. “Ruining such a beautiful moment between me and my dinner. Jesus.”

Yoongi just chuckled, “Sorry, I just wanted to get a reaction out of you.”

“Yeah and you got the whole restaurant’s attention too.”

“Ah, but only you heard what I said,” Yoongi winked.

Jimin’s ears grew hot as he resumed eating, trying to look anywhere but at the man in front of him.

“Aw, baby, did I embarrass you?” Yoongi asked, concern on his face. “I’m sorry, it was a joke. A really bad sexual joke.” He placed a hand on top of Jimin’s free one.

“No I just, i mean, thinking about tonight I-” He stammered.

“Jimin, if you’re not ready, we don’t have to do anything,” Yoongi reassured him. “There is absolutely zero pressure. If we kiss and cuddle all night, then we kiss and cuddle all night and that’s that. I just want to spent my nights with you next to me. That’s all I need.”

“I know,” Jimin smiled softly. “and that’s what I love about you. But it’s not even that, I just...there’s no one else in the world I’d rather do it with than you.

Yoongi sent Jimin a warm smile, “You set the pace these next two days.”

“Thank you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi finished his meal and watched Jimin finish his, “Hey, beautiful.” He smiled at the boy across from him, completely enamoured by him.

“Hey, Mr. handsome and stoic.” Jimin replied. “How was your teaspoon?”

“Delicious. Yours?”

“Absolutely amazing!” He exclaimed and picked up his glass, finishing the last of the sweet wine. “This was actually the greatest idea ever. Best Valentines day I’ve ever had, thank you for taking me here, hyung.”

“Anything for my Jiminnie,” Yoongi smiled. The waiter came back with their dessert, clearing their lunch plates to make room for the sweets. Yoongi smiled in thanks and grabbed his spoon to start eating.

“Wait!” Jimin stopped him immediately. “Hold on,” He pulled out his phone again, getting the camera set up.

Yoongi smiled as he watched Jimin take a photo of the food.

“Smile, Min Yoongi!” He held the phone up in the air, trying to get the two with a clear view of the restaurant in the background.

Yoongi shot Jimin one of his wide, gummy smiles.

As Yoongi resumed with the dessert, Jimin snapped a candid of him, smiling bashfully to himself. He wanted to freeze this moment and live in it forever, sitting at a table in Pierre Gagnaire à Séoul with the man he loves right in front of him. There was no other feeling he could compare it to. He put away his phone and grabbed a spoon, joining Yoongi.

The two sat in silence as they finished their desserts. It was a comfortable silence that Yoongi didn’t feel the need to interrupt for any reason.

Jimin set the spoon on the empty, glass dish with a soft clink and let out a satisfied sigh. “For something so small, everything had so much flavor in it.” He rested his chin in his hands. “Is it possible to thank you for this again, and a million times over?”

Yoongi smiled, “Of course. Just wait until we get to the room. You’ll be thanking me for other reasons too.”

“Oh?” Jimin perked up, raising his eyebrows in curiosity. “What other reasons?”

“We’re in a junior suite. It’s not exactly the royal suite, but it’s a fucking nice room with a big bed and a nice ass bathroom with a bathtub, and there’s space so like if you wanna dance around the suite you can,” Yoongi beamed.

“Space?!” Jimin gaped. “A big bed? Well if this room is that great, then by all means, where’s the check?” He scanned around the restaurant for their waiter. “I need to see this for myself. Excuse me!” He waved down the waiter, requesting their check.

The waiter came back over a moment later with the check, and Yoongi brought the check up to the cashier with a smile, paying for the dinner and thanking the cashier after the food was paid for. The two made their way out of the restaurant and back down to the receptionist to check into their room. Yoongi smiled at the girl as they walked up to the counter, “Hello, are you checking in?” she asked with a warm smile.

Yoongi nodded, “Yeah, Min Yoongi.”

“One moment while I search for your booking,” she smiled as she started typing onto the computer. “Min Yoongi, two nights in the junior suite?” She asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Fantastic. It looks like your room is ready! You’ll be on the club floor, 30, room 3069.” She slid a set of room keys over the counter and a small map of the building. Yoongi heard Jimin snickering behind him as the receptionist told them their room number. He held back a snicker himself, and accepted the keys from her. “Checkout is at 11am on the last day. Enjoy your stay with us.”

Jimin couldn’t hold in his excitement as he bounced beside Yoongi, nudging him toward the elevators. But as they walked toward them, Jimin took a moment to look around, admiring all the details surrounding them. The entire reception had a calming amber glow to it, one of the entire walls in the lobby was replaced with glass, showcasing a large waterfall. In the room were tables scattered around and a grand, pure white piano. “Look,” Jimin tugged on Yoongi’s sleeve. “The piano there, you should play it during our stay.”

“Should I play your song for everyone to hear?”

“Would you?” Jimin asked, his eyes glimmering with hope.

“I’d do most anything you’d ask me to do,” Yoongi smiled, taking Jimin’s hand into his own.

Jimin grinned and left a light kiss on his cheek as they continued across the lobby.

“Floor 30, huh. That’ll be one hell of a view,” Yoongi mused, walking into the elevator.

“We’ll be able to see most of Myeongdong,” Jimin stated. “And Namsan tower!”

“Woah, that will look so pretty at night. Too bad I have a better view right in front of me and won’t be looking outside too much.”

“I know, I know.” Jimin struck several different poses dramatically in the elevator. “Look at this body. No one can resist.” He teased, slipping off his velvet jacket halfway, and winked, a small bit of his shoulders showing.

“You’re making this the hardest elevator ride ever, Jimin,” Yoongi whined, noticing they were only passing floor 20. “I for one am finding it extremely hard to resist.”

Jimin pulled back up his jacket, giggling as his eyes turned into crescents. “I’m sorry, hyung. You’re just too easy to tease.” He leaned against his shoulder, batting his eyelashes at him.

The elevator finally dinged, signalling their arrival to the 30th floor. Yoongi grabbed Jimin’s hand and pulled him out of the elevator. They were nearly running down the hallways, looking for room 3069. Jimin let out a yelp when he found it and pulled Yoongi back so he could open the door. Yoongi stuck the keycard in, and opened the door to their suite. He made his way over to the bed and threw himself on the pillowy surface.

“Yoongi, this place is gorgeous!” He shouted, his eyes widening in surprise. The room had a small wall in the middle of the area, splitting the bedroom from the living room. In the living room was a giant window that overlooked the city with the Namsan tower on a mountain behind it all. There was a small leather couch in the room, just big enough for the the two of them and a tv perched on the wall. The bedroom contained a carefully made queen bed with a lamp on a nightstand on each side of the bed and door that led to the bathroom. But Yoongi was right about their room, there was so much space that he could dance across the floor without bumping into anything.

With a squeal, Jimin ran and flew onto the bed, landing beside Yoongi and buried his face in one of the plush pillows. “It’s perfect,” Jimin smiled, rolling around the large bed, ruining the work that went into the folded blankets. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

“Nothing but perfection for the perfect man,” Yoongi smiled, pulling Jimin against him.

“You spoil me rotten, Min Yoongi. What did I do to deserve you?” He curled up close against Yoongi, their legs tangled, their noses inches apart as he brushed his fingers along Yoongi’s cheek.

Yoongi leaned into the touch, “Whatever you did, I’m glad you did it. Because I certainly don’t deserve you.”

Jimin leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against his lips and smiled, staring into Yoongi’s dark eyes as if they carried the entire world. “I love you.” He whispered so quietly, it was almost inaudible. “I don’t think you understand how much you changed my life in such a short span of time. There’s no one else out there that could do this, even if they tried. Before I met you I...I really just holed myself away in the dance room. I didn’t have the energy to do much else, I just dedicated my whole life to getting into this school. Except for my dance team and Hoseok-hyung, because I was already around them all the time, I didn’t make the time to make new friends or go out anywhere. Actually, that day I texted you, I was hiding in the bathroom stall to avoid a dinner night with them and a couple of their friends.” Jimin went on, letting his words spill. “I don’t know, wasn’t something I usually do, I just saw the little scribble on the stall and thought, maybe this guy is like me, let me send a funny picture and make them laugh.” He shrugged, a light chuckle escaping his lips.

“I’m so glad you did, baby. I was so fucking depressed. You know about my loveless childhood, and all that sad shit. It really messes with you mentally when your parents are shit at loving you.” Yoongi stroked Jimin’s hair as he spoke, gaining comfort from the soft locks. “Even living with Joonie and Jin wasn’t really enough to get me out of my depression pit. I guess Hoseok was finally done dealing with my sad ass and hoped someone would answer his pleading call for help. Then you came along.” Yoongi smiled and kissed the tip of Jimin’s nose. “And you wiggled your way into my life, and somehow you captured my heart along the way. Baby I hated living before I met you, and now I don’t go a day without thinking about how lucky I am to be alive.” He placed a soft kiss on Jimin’s forehead. “I love you so much. More than you can know.”

Yoongi’s words made Jimin’s chest clench as he slid his arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. “I know some people hate hearing this kind of thing,” He combed his fingers through his hair. “but I’m so sorry you felt this way Yoongi, I’m so sorry you had to even experience that kind of feeling, ever.” He sniffled quietly, feeling a single tear roll down his cheek. “If Hoseok-hyung wanted us to meet so badly, he could have just forced your number in my hands forever ago. He wouldn’t stop rambling about you for the longest time.” He laughed quietly. “Funny how fate works out in the end.

“My god, all he ever did when we were together was talk about ‘Park Jimin’ this and ‘Park Jimin’ that, and how good of a dancer this kid was,” Yoongi let out a soft chuckle. “It kinda pissed me off. But he was right about everything. You are amazing.” Yoongi took hold of Jimin’s chin and pulled the younger boy’s face closer to his, making it easier to close the distance between their lips. “I love you,” he mumbled against Jimin’s mouth.

He sighed against his lips, a bundle of warmth spreading from his chest. Jimin couldn’t explain the feeling that rushed through him from Yoongi’s touch, even if it was the lightest one, like a feather. It could be a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins or just purely bliss from lying beside the man he loves with his whole heart. He loved every second of it though.

Jimin ran his hands along his spine and murmured soft ‘I love yous’ between each break they took for air. He felt so much more than those three simple words toward Yoongi though, but he had no other way to tell him than by just saying ‘I love you’ over and over.

Yoongi sat up to take his jacket off, since the garment was restricting his ability to move his arms freely, and tossed it onto the back of the nearest chair. He finessed this all without breaking contact with Jimin’s lips, too greedy to let a moment go by without the feel of Jimin’s lips against his.

Jimin’s velvet jacket joined Yoongi’s on the chair seconds later, snaking his arms around his waist and pulling him closer, if it was even possible. He tilted his head, trailing light kisses down his neck, careful as if Yoongi was the most delicate thing in his arms. He may have had that headstrong personality, but his light skin and smaller, intricate frame gave him an appearance that of a porcelain doll. When Jimin’s lips brushed below his ear, he whispered sweet little nothings to him, a soft smile growing across his lips. All Jimin wanted to do was shower Yoongi with affection and for him to understand that he was really, truly loved.

Yoongi let a soft moan escape his lips as Jimin started sucking on the sensitive spot behind his ear. They had made out multiple times before, but it was never this intimate. Yoongi tried to find his voice as Jimin kept sucking and biting on his delicate skin. “Ji-Jimin, baby. That feels so good.”

“Good,” Jimin murmured. “You deserve to feel good. You deserve to be happy.” He smiled as their lips met again, his fingers curling into the fabric of his silky shirt.

“Jimin,” Yoongi said between breaths, “I want you so bad. Baby, please.”

“Do you?” Jimin gasped as he pulled away for just a moment, admiring the man he loved in front of him, their cheeks flushed and their breaths heavy.

“I do, Jimin. I do,” he breathed, tangling his hands in Jimin’s hair. “I want to show you just how much I love you.”

“So do I.” Jimin replied softly, gently pushing Yoongi down on the bed, mounting himself between his hips. “I want you to be mine and mine only, Min Yoongi.” He leaned forward, their lips locked. Every kiss had a raw intensity to it, hearts racing, soft moans of pleasure escaping their lips and electricity running through their skin. Their bodies melded together in the blissful evening, completely and utterly drunk with love for each other.

∆ ∆ ∆

Jimin opened his eyes to the faint glow of the morning light threatening to peek through the curtains and tilted his head up toward Yoongi, smiling at his sleeping expression. His features were softened, his mouth slightly agape, making him look peaceful and childlike, only for Jimin’s eyes to see. His heart filled with so much happiness, he swore it was going to explode.

Under the blankets, their legs were tangled and their skin were covered in marks of love. Jimin nestled himself against Yoongi’s warm skin, resting his cheek against his shoulder, his fingers grazing over his collarbone. He felt so wholesome and complete in his arms.

Yoongi shifted and pulled Jimin closer to him, craving the skin-to-skin contact as he found himself stirring awake. “Morning, love,” Yoongi mumbled, leaving soft kisses along Jimin’s skin.

“Good morning, sugar lips.” Jimin smiled. “Sleep well?” He brushed the messy hair out of Yoongi’s eyes, looking at him fondly.

“Jiminnie, I haven’t slept this well since Christmas.”

“I agree with this.” He replied, “It’s so peaceful here too. Let’s just move into this room and stay here forever.” Jimin nuzzled his nose into the crook of his neck. “I’ll be content with that.”

Yoongi chuckled and kissed the top of jimin’s hair, “Baby, if I could afford to live in this hotel, I would move us the fuck here at the drop of a hat.”

Jimin smiled at his words. “Two days here is going to feel like a lifetime. We still have a whole anniversary date ahead of us and an entire hotel to explore.” He paused for a moment. “Speaking of which, happy two months honey.”

Yoongi smiled and rolled over so he was hovering over Jimin, straddling his hips, “And what a happy two months its been.”

“The happiest I’ve ever been. Here’s to more happy months.” He gave him a toothy grin.

Yoongi leaned down and took Jimin’s lips into his own, not even caring the two of them had morning breath. He worked the kiss slowly until he could coax his tongue into Jimin’s mouth. Yoongi let his hands get tangled in Jimin’s already wild hair, and pulled Jimin’s body as close to his as possible. “I love you,” he whispered as they briefly parted to breathe.

Jimin whimpered quietly under his touch, his skin growing hot. “It’s so early, sugar lips.” He chuckled under his breath. “I never took you for a morning person.”

“Baby, I’m a morning noon and night kinda guy,” Yoongi chuckled.

“That explains why you don’t get enough sleep unlike a normal person.” He teased, sticking his tongue out.

“Let my zombie-ass live. I don’t need this negativity.”

Jimin burst out in laughter. “Is sugar lips feeling salty?” He cooed, pinching his cheek. “You’re mine, so I’m allowed to tease you as much as I want.”

Yoongi smiled, “Ah but it goes both ways, my Jiminnie.”

“That’s fair.” Jimin’s eyes formed into crescents as he lifted his head, pressing a kiss against his forehead.

“I don’t know what you have planned for the daytime, but I vote we just lounge naked in bed until the concert.”

“That sounds like the perfect plan,” Jimin nodded, shooting him a thumbs up. “I’m all for naked lounging.”

Yoongi smiled wide and nuzzled his face into the crook of Jimin’s neck, “This is honestly so perfect.”

Jimin closed his eyes, the two of them laying under the blankets in a comfortable silence. Before he completely drifted off, a loud buzzing echoed from the nightstand, disrupting the peace. Jimin reached out with a groan, grabbing his phone and looked at the bright screen, temporarily blinding him in the dark room. A picture of Taehyung’s nostrils covered the screen as Jimin rolled his eyes, swiping the green button.

“Do you not understand what peace is, Taetae?” Jimin answered, mumbling as he stroked Yoongi’s hair.

“Put me on speaker.”

Jimin pressed the speaker button on his phone and held it in the air. “What is it?”

“DID YOU DO THE FUCK?” He screamed, his voice echoing loudly in the hotel room. “I can’t believe you stopped in the middle of a blow job to call them.” They heard Jungkook whine in the background as Jimin let out a snort, listening to the two bicker on the other line.

“Just hang up, baby. I don’t wanna deal with Tae right now,” Yoongi whined. “This is our time together.”

“You hear that, Taetae? My man wants some peace.”

“Yah, I’m getting blue balls here!” They heard Jungkook yell in the background. “Tae, baby, you need to finish me off.”

“Oh my god, Jimin hang up,” Yoongi groaned.

Jimin laughed so hard, tears pooled at his eyes. “Go take care of Kook, Tae.” He hung up the phone as Taehyung shouted incoherently and tossed the phone back onto the night stand. “They’re so ridiculous.” He wheezed, wiping away the tears. “Why am I friends with him?”

“Ditch him and come live with me,” Yoongi smiled, rubbing circles into Jimin’s waist with his thumb. “The pros are: you get to live with me and do whatever you want whenever you want with me, and you won’t live with that mess anymore. There are literally no cons, only pros.”

“You’re right,” Jimin agreed. “Kook and Tae practically live together now. What’s stopping me from living with you?”

“What, indeed,” Yoongi murmured, leaning down to leave a bruise on Jimin’s collarbone. “We could do this anytime. Fuck, I could wake up with you in my arms every day. You know, that’s my dream, Jimin.”

“You know I’d do anything to help make your dreams come true, hyung.” Jimin beamed. “I don’t think this one will be too difficult to accomplish.”

Yoongi perked up and hoisted himself onto his elbows, “Wait, you mean it? You’d live with me?”

Jimin reached a hand out, brushing a thumb along his cheek. He bit his lip and nodded. “There’s nothing else I’d love more.” Their eyes locked in a gaze as he gave him a warm smile, so ridiculously in love.

“Holy fuck. I mean, you’ll live with me, Jin and Namjoon, but they like never leave Jin’s room now so it’s not like there’s anyone to disturb us. Plus you get Jin’s cooking. That’s another pro of living with me.”

“Well I mean,” Jimin shrugged. “That is one of the major reasons I’d move in without hesitation. I mean-besides you of course! But you already knew that. But Jin’s food…” He swallowed, drooling over the thought of his cooking. “Hot, fresh breakfast every morning…”

“After some hot fresh morning sex, god what a perfect life,” Yoongi joked around.

Jimin rolled his eyes, giggling. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, hyung.”

“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t want to do everything we did last night every morning?” Yoongi challenged.

“Well, I-you know,” Jimin stammered, unable to hide his grin and swatted Yoongi’s arm in embarrassment. “I mean, if that’s how our mornings went down, I wouldn’t complain.”

Yoongi smiled, “Only if we both want our mornings to start like that.” He leaned back down against Jimin’s chest and kissed his forehead. “But I’m just really happy you said yes to my request. I thought you would think I was moving things too fast.”

“If I had thought you were going fast, I wouldn’t be lying here buck naked.” He laughed. “But here we are. The only difficult thing about this is having to tell my clingy roommate.”

Yoongi reached over and grabbed Jimin’s phone, opening it up to his last conversation with Taehyung.

Chat With The.V.Zone:

2016.02.15

09:23

Mochi_Moves:

Jimin’s mine now.

The.V.Zone:

nO SHIT

U TTLY FUCKED LAST NIHFT *NIGHT

Mochi_Moves:

No, like he’s 100% mine now

as in

morning noon night

24/7

The.V.Zone:

bithC WAT

WHAT U MEAN

LIKE MY CHIMCHIM IS LEAVING ME?

AND LIVING WIT UR PALE ASS?

Mochi_Moves:

that’s 100% what i’m saying

bitch.

you got your mans to care for

pull him out of his parent’s home

The.V.Zone:

bihtc

fUK U

Mochi_Moves:

i’m too busy fucking my boyfriend

in my home

whenever i want

because he’s gonna live with me now

The.V.Zone:

u kno wat

it ok

i can accept this

it gives me a reason

to cum ovr more

and eat jins food

jesus fukcin christ

his cooking is 2 die 4

but also fukc u

Mochi_Moves:

Love ya, cunt~

The.V.Zone:

BitHC

“What are you doing, hyung?” Jimin asked, his eyebrows rose in curiosity.

“I’m letting Tae know you don’t live with him anymore,” Yoongi smiled.

“How’s Tae handling that?”

“He’s in the acceptance phase. Jin’s cooking is a truly powerful bargaining piece.”

“That was faster than I expected,” Jimin grinned, pulling the phone out of Yoongi’s hand. “Well that settles it then, we got through the hardest part.” He tossed the phone aside, ignoring the buzzes of incoming messages from Taehyung and slid his arms around Yoongi’s neck, leaving a chaste kiss on his lips. “Here’s to this 24/7.”

“My god, do you know how happy I am? I get to leave this hotel with you tomorrow, and you will literally come home with me,” Yoongi grinned.

“That’s the plan.” Jimin beamed, “I’ll have my things moved over by the end of this week. But on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Please, for the love of god, let me baby proof the house. I can’t live with the anxiety thinking Namjoon is going to break a bone or two running into something.”

“Oh my god. I think he’d hurt himself even more trying to figure out baby locks,” Yoongi chuckled.

“Damn, you’re right. He’d probably break those baby locks without trying.”

Yoongi laughed, stroking Jimin’s hair, “He’s lived a solid 23 years, I think he’ll be fine.”

“Then by all means, I’m set.”

Yoongi leaned in to kiss Jimin deeply, pulling his body flush against Jimin’s. One lick across Jimin’s bottom lip had the younger boy opening his mouth for Yoongi to lick into, causing Jimin’s hold around his neck to tighten. Yoongi let his hands trail from Jimin’s hair back down to his waist, gripping onto Jimin’s firm sides as they kissed. Yoongi’s thigh brushed up against Jimin’s exposed™ dick, and he could feel the younger man start to harden. He broke the kiss, panting heavily against Jimin’s neck “We should stop before you get too excited. You’re probably sore from last night. I mean, unless, you want to of course.”

Jimin whimpered under his breath, last night definitely left him sore, but Yoongi’s touch was so intoxicating, so addicting, he couldn’t get enough of it. “Just...one more kiss.” He breathed, drawing Yoongi back in, closing off the space between the two.

Yoongi complied with ease, moving his mouth against Jimin’s with urgency. His mouth eventually trailed off of Jimin’s and down his jaw, pausing momentarily where his jaw and neck collide to leave a small mark. Once he was content with the little bruise, he continued kissing down Jimin’s neck, leaving soft ‘I love you’s’ on his skin as he went.

Jimin’s fingers curled up in his hair, tilting his head. “Y-Yoongi…” He sighed, his skin growing hot from the contact.

Yoongi continued kissing down past Jimin’s collarbones and between his pectorals, resisting the urge to move slightly left or right and grab one of Jimin’s nipples between his teeth. He followed Jimin’s happy trail down to his navel and moved his mouth over to Jimin’s hip bone, beginning to leave a mark there as well.

“Yoongi...hyung, please.” Jimin trembled.

“Please what,” Yoongi asked, looking up at Jimin with hooded eyes.

“Please just, fuck me.” He begged, his voice shaking.

Yoongi smiled and brought himself back up to meet Jimin’s face, “Baby, I know you’re not ready for anal sex again.” He leaned in for a kiss, “But I can help you get off.” His hand moved from Jimin’s waist and brushed up against Jimin’s dick. “Would you like that, baby?”

“Yes hyung, please.” His body hitched at the touch, soft moans of desperation escaping his lips.

Yoongi smiled and brought his hand up to his mouth and spit in it, “I’m sorry baby. I have to use my spit as lube again.” He brought his hand back down and wrapped it around Jimin’s erect cock. “We’ll make sure to bring it tonight when we go back to our place for clothes and food. How’s that sound, baby? Honestly, we’re lucky I stashed a condom in my jacket pocket.” Yoongi purred, slowly pumping Jimin as he spoke.

“O-our place...I like the sound of that.” Jimin struggled to keep his words together.

“God Jimin, hearing you say our place is almost orgasmic,” Yoongi cooed, pumping Jimin to the pace of his light hip thrusts. “Tell me what we will do together in our place.” Yoongi grabbed hold of his own dick, which had been pleading for attention since he started hardcore making out with Jimin and paced himself with Jimin’s rhythm.

Jimin dug his fingers into Yoongi’s skin, his back arching as electricity rushed through his veins. “We,” He inhaled, trying to find his voice. “We’ll do a terrible job trying to cook food,” A chuckle escaped his lips. “We’ll read books on the couch on rainy days. Sit by the fireplace when it snows.”

Yoongi smiled and took Jimin’s lips between his, “What else baby?”

“We’ll adopt a dog, a little puppy and raise it ourselves. I’ll make you coffee every morning before I go to class. I’ll give you blow jobs while you’re trying to compose music.” Jimin teased, a smirk growing across his lips.

Yoongi moaned at the thought of Jimin sucking him off in his private music room, and quickened his pace, leading them both close to their high. “Baby that sounds so fucking beautiful.”

“We’re gonna be so fucking domestic,” A whimper escaped his lips, his body slowly reaching its limit. “In our house.”

“Fuck,” Yoongi moaned, his cock threatened to spill its load as Jimin -- with a shaky voice -- said ‘our house’ again. “Baby I’m so close, Keep talking to me baby, your voice is all I need,” Yoongi commanded.

“I love you Min Yoongi,” He cried, a shudder rushing down his spine. “I love you so much and I can’t wait to do all these things with you and outdo how domestic our roommates are. I’ll spend every single day making you smile and tell you how much I love you and how much you deserve to be the happiest person in the world.”

Yoongi’s lips found Jimin’s as he harshly kissed the man under him, and brought them both to climax.

Cries escaped from Jimin as his body convulsed from the release. “Yoongi, fuck…” He panted, their eyes meeting as Jimin studied his features. His fingers grazed over Yoongi’s swollen lips and gave him the faintest grin. With a push, he flipped the two around so Yoongi was flat on the bed with Jimin lying on top. He leaned forward, sending trails of kisses down to the nape of his neck, leaving a few more love marks to add to the growing collection scattered across his delicate skin.

“Jimin, baby. I love you,” Yoongi breathed, his fingers tangling in Jimin’s hair as the younger kissed and nipped at his neck. “I love you so much, my heart might burst.”

Jimin left another bruise on the collarbone and lifted his head with a small smile. He leaned in, their noses brushing. “I love you too, Min Yoongi. My Yoongi.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. “I’m gonna go shower. I need to get all this off me” Jimin grinned, gesturing to his stomach. “And as wonderful as it sounds to lay here all day, we’re going to need to eat at some point. Especially after that teaspoon sized dinner last night. Besides, this place has a buffet!” He squealed. “All you can eat!” He pulled up the warm blanket, wrapping it over his head and body and hopped off the bed.

“Oh, shower time?” Yoongi smiled, following Jimin out of bed. “The only activity that could be better than sleeping with you is showering with you.” Jimin rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop Yoongi from walking into the bathroom with him.

“You’re a clingy one, aren’t you?” Jimin giggled as he started the shower and wiped his stomach with tissues, Yoongi’s following his. While waiting for it to heat up, He pulled the blanket closer against his skin as they stood in the cold bathroom. “I’m not gonna lie, I kinda like it.”

Yoongi smiled and wrapped his arms around Jimin, “Good. Because I’m stuck to you like the annoying piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe.”

“But a lot less annoying,” Jimin stated, stepping into the hot shower with Yoongi following behind, mentally thanking the hotel for always having shampoo and soap in stock since they forgot literally everything. He proceeded to wash himself off and playfully rubbed the shampoo into Yoongi’s hair, attempting to make a mohawk as he burst into laughter.

“I feel like Jimmy Neutron,” Yoongi mumbled as his hair flopped into his forehead. He poured shampoo on his hand and turned around to face Jimin, generously lathering his head.

“An attractive Jimmy Neutron, might I add.” Jimin pointed out, wiping the bubbles away from his face.

Yoongi booped Jimin’s nose, leaving a soapy snout behind, “Hell yeah I am.”

After the two finished washing up and making mustaches out of bubbles, they stepped out of the shower, the bathroom foggy from the steam. Jimin buried his face into a fluffy towel, drying himself. “God,” He mumbled. “Even the towels here feel like luxury. Do you think they’ll track me down if I steal one for myself?”

“They’ll probably just add it to the room charge,” Yoongi shrugged, toweling his hair dry.

“Damn, it’ll probably be expensive too.” Jimin went back out the bedroom, a groan escaping his lips as he scanned the mess of clothes scattered across the floor. “We were so hasty...we even forgot a change of clothes.” He laughed to himself. “Hyung, now we really got to go back to our place and get our things.”

Yoongi chuckled, pulling his pants on, “Yeah, let’s go. I can’t justify going to see Fall Out Boy in this fucking suit. Let’s put like jeans on,” Yoongi smiled, holding his hand out for Jimin to take.

Jimin finished putting on his suit from the night before and reached his hand out, their fingers intertwining as they left the hotel room, Jimin quickly snatching their card key beforehand. “I second this, as much as we both know I look hot in this suit, it gets so uncomfortable. I need my comfy sweater.” Jimin pouted, following Yoongi down the hall until they reached the elevator. “Oh, I forgot to mention before, but I bought a little something for us.”

Yoongi perked an eyebrow, “Oh?”

Jimin grinned as the elevator doors opened, pulling Yoongi in with him. “You’ll see, I left it in my bag back at our place.” The metal doors closed and Jimin’s eyes rose in surprise at their reflection, their necks covered in bruises, obvious ones. “Oh my god hyung, look at us.” He pointed out. “Taetae is never going to let me live this down.”

“Flaunt it. Rub it in his face. I dunno.” Yoongi shoved his free hand into his pocket and clicked his tongue. “Don’t let it embarrass you.”

“Oh I won’t,” Jimin grinned. “I’ll make sure the whole world sees this. It’s not a bad look.”

“I think it looks hot,” Yoongi smirked, reaching over to lightly stroke Jimin’s neck.

“Full credits to you.” He beamed as the elevator slowly made its way to the first floor. “I can get used to this.”

“Good,” Yoongi smiled and pressed a kiss to Jimin’s cheek. “This is us now.”

“Ohhhhh, I can’t wait to tell Jin!” Jimin exclaimed as the elevator doors opened up to the lobby. “I’m practically a son of his. I’ll finally be living with my parents.” The two exited the hotel toward Namjoon’s car.

Yoongi rolled his eyes and gave Jimin a fond smile, “Well, at least you’re excited.” They walked up to Namjoon’s car, and Yoongi opened the door for Jimin. The younger boy slid into the passenger seat and buckled himself in. Yoongi leaned down for a quick kiss before he shut the door and walked over to the driver side. “Off to fetch our luggage!” He exclaimed, turning the key in the ignition.

Jimin smiled as the rap that was last playing faded and Beethoven’s 5th Symphony came on. He stifled his laughter, baffled by the variety of music that Namjoon had. Their drive home was a comfortable silence with the music softly playing in the background. As they reached their house, Jimin jumped out of the car and ran into the house screaming. “Mom, dad, I’m home!”

Jin pokes his head out of the kitchen, “I thought you two were on a romantic getaway.”

“We were,” Yoongi chuckled. “But it seems we forgot to grab our overnight bags in our haste to leave yesterday.”

“I thought I raised you two better than this,” Jin sighed.

Jimin gave him an innocent shrug. “I was a little excited okay. But mom, mom, guess what!”

Jin arched an eyebrow, “You had sex?”

Jimin coughed violently. “Um, that’s not what I was going to say, but this decision was made shortly afterwards in fact!”

“Hmm, well first I hope you two followed my instruction and practiced safe sex,” Jin said with a faux scold. “But, what else happened, Jiminnie?”

“I’m moving in!’ Jimin shouted, throwing his arms in the air excitedly. “Your son is living here now!”

Jin looks wide-eyes from Jimin to Yoongi, “You’re moving in, huh?”

“And paying my portion of rent, don’t you worry. I’ll even chip in on your groceries!” He leaned in. “Cause god knows both of these boys have a tendency to forget about paying for your culinary skills.” Jimin whispered

“Actually, Yoongi is a big help in the kitchen. You found yourself a man who can cook nearly as good as I can,” Jin replied, loud enough for Yoongi to hear.

“What?” Jimin whipped his head around dramatically. “My Yoongi can cook? Hyung, why didn’t you ever tell me!”

“There’s never been a reason to,” Yoongi shrugged.

“I thought-but-damn...you’re right.” His eyebrows rose. “Hyung will you make me food as a welcoming gift?” He batted his eyelashes, wrapping his arms around one of Yoongi’s. “I want to try hyung’s cooking.”

Yoongi looked over to Jimin with a soft smile on his lips, “Anything you want, love.”

“My God, you are so fucking whipped.” Jin laughed.

“Leave my man alone, he’s cute when he’s like this.” Jimin defended, his eyes forming into crescents when he gave Yoongi a wide smile. “Soft Yoongi is my favorite Yoongi.”

“Okay, but my question is, how soft is he in bed?” Jin questioned. “Seems like he’d be rough and dominating.”

Jimin’s ears turned red. “That’s only for me to know and for you to never find out.” He teased, grinning. “There are just some things you’ll have to rely on your imagination for.”

“Except me fucking you. Don’t imagine that,” Yoongi pointed to Jin with a frown.

Jimin snorted as Namjoon wandered into the room, clad in underwear and his hair ruffled, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Honey bunny buns, what’s all the ruckus about?” He whined, before spotting the two. “Aren’t you two supposed to be in the hotel having sex?”

“Why does everyone assume that’s all we’re doing today?” Jimin huffed, flailing his arms.

“Because, they know how long I’ve been alone with naught but my hand to satisfy my needs,” Yoongi shrugged.

“Yeah, moaning Jimin’s name as he gets himself off,” Jin snickered.

“Thank god that’s over now.” Namjoon rolled his eyes. “He can escape to Jimin’s place to satisfy his needs and it’ll finally quiet down here.”

Yoongi chuckled, “Yeah about that.”

“Jimin is coming to live with us, hun,” Jin said, patting Namjoon’s shoulder.

“What the fuck?” Namjoon’s eyebrows rose. “We’re never gonna get any peace and quiet now.” He whined, letting out a groan. “In fact it might only get louder from here with this young love happening in front of us.”

“Sorry Joonie-hyung, just sleep with ear plugs from now on.” Jimin gave him a innocent smile.

“Oh, wah-wah. I’ve had to listen to you two since you got together. Consider this my revenge. I’ll make sure Jimin keeps you up all night.” Yoongi threatened.

“I need to warm up my vocal chords anyway.” Jimin boasted.

“So he is a dom,” Jin mused to himself.

“Jesus fuck, I don’t need to hear about this.” Namjoon complained, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Also, Jin. I’m not exclusively a dom,” Yoongi directed at the older boy.

Jin let out a small gasp, “Joonie we should try switching sometime.”

“Oh, I haven’t thought about that. It’ll add a little more fun, let’s try tonight baby boo.” He lightly booped Jin’s nose.

“And...that’s our cue to leave.” Jimin grabbed his hand, leading Yoongi to his room. “Oh hyung! My surprise!” He exclaimed as they entered the room, rifling through his small duffle bag, pulling out an insta-x, the same shade of mint as Yoongi’s old hair color. “I wanted us to take pictures of our adventures from here on out, but I did some thinking. Now that we’re living together, I thought we can cover one of our walls with our photos.”

Yoongi smiled and pointed to the wall his bed rested against, “There’s our blank canvas. We can get some fairy lights and clothespins and clip our photos onto the strands. How’s that sound, Jiminnie?”

Jimin lifted up the camera, taking a quick snap of his soft expression while he spoke, grinning as a little blank card popped out. “It’s a perfect idea.” He pulled out the card, waiting for it to develop.

Yoongi walked over to Jimin and put his hands on his waist, “Just know for every one picture you take of me, I’m taking ten of you and your beautiful face.” He leaned in and kissed Jimin’s lips. “Your beautiful, beautiful face.”

A blush crept up his cheeks as Jimin grinned. “For every picture you take of me, I’ll take hundreds of us. These walls will be covered before you know it.”

“Then we’ll have to move out into our own house so we can fill those walls,” Yoongi smiled.

“I look very much forward to that day.” He beamed. “So let’s fill these walls.” He lifted up the camera facing them and nudging himself as close to Yoongi as possible, smiling until there was the sound of a light shutter and a small card popping out again.

“Jimin, I love you,” Yoongi smiled.

“I love you too, Min Yoongi.” He replied and glanced down at the two cards, one already finished developing. “Look at your face.” He grinned, adoring the expression Yoongi had on his face while he was pointing at the wall, speaking. “Actually, this one I’m going to keep in my phone case.” He waved the second picture as it was nearly done. “This one of us can be our first picture that goes up.”

Yoongi smiled as he let go of Jimin and walked over to his desk, grabbing a piece of tape and rolling it up. He gently took the photo from Jimin and stuck the tape on the back before he knelt on the bed and crawled over to the wall to stick it up. “There.”

Jimin let out a squeal, clapping his hands. “I can’t wait to watch this grow. Let’s go on a lot of trips out of the country and take pictures there too. Europe! Let’s go to Europe!” His expression brighted, growing excited at the thought.

“Baby, we’ll go wherever you want. Pick a country, and we’ll go,” Yoongi smiled. “Once these winter recitals are over, I’m free for a little bit from teaching the kids piano.”

“Min Yoongi, do you know why I said Europe?”

“No. Why?”

“It’s the origin of the piano, the very heart of music. Do you know how many museums there are that we could go see? All the music, all the dancing?” His smile grew. “There’s even a Beethoven House with all the original instruments. I hear the food is great too, so that’s an added bonus.”

Yoongi smiled, revealing his gums to the younger boy, “I could kiss you right now. Wow. I - I honestly don’t know what to say, except fuck yes. Three month anniversary. We’re going to Europe!” Yoongi grabbed onto Jimin and spun him around in his glee, setting him down on the bed and following it up with a passionate kiss. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

“Only a few times I think.” Jimin pondered. “Can you remind me again?”

Yoongi kissed down Jimin’s jaw and neck, whispering a small “I love you,” with each one.

Soft moans escaped from Jimin’s lips, and then after an idea came to him, his moans suddenly grew loud and ridiculous, followed by laughter. He could faintly hear Namjoon groan in disgust and curse out loud in the other room. “Just giving the boys a welcoming gift.” Jimin snickered.

“I mean I can rock the bed too and we can give em the full Easy A stunt,” Yoongi winked.

“We could do that, and then give them the full show on my first night here.” He wriggled his eyebrows with a teasing smile. “Nothing beats the real deal.”

“Why tease when they’ll get it all tomorrow night?” Yoongi smiled mischievously. “Which reminds me, let’s change. We have a lunch buffet to devour.”

“And a concert to attend to.” Jimin pointed out as he rolled off the bed, peeling off his formal wear to change into a black, short sleeved shirt followed by black pants that hugged against his toned thighs. He slipped on a white jacket and ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it up. “I don’t exactly know what to wear for the concert, but this works, right?”

“Baby, you look good in anything. You could show up to the concert in a potato sack and heads would turn,” Yoongi stated as he pulled on a pair of tight black pants and a white Union Jack tee. he strapped on black suspenders and a white bomber jacket before shoving his feet into a pair of Union Jack Doc Martens.

“H-hyung…” Jimin stammered, scanning him from head to toe. Without hesitation, he picked up his instax from the desk and snapped a picture. “This is one hell of a look, I love it sugar lips.” He pulled out the card and set it on the desk to develop. “Are you ready to go?” Jimin asked as he zipped up the small duffle bag, slipping it over his shoulder, holding out a hand for Yoongi to take.

Yoongi smiled and took Jimin’s hand into his own. “You look so good, Jimin. Baby, you’re so beautiful. Thank you for spending these past two months with me.”

“Anything just to be with my Yoongi.” Jimin beamed as they exited their bedroom, taking one last glance at the small polaroid taped to the wall.

“Oh, you guys finished up quickly.” Namjoon’s voice echoed from the other room. “I take it you had a rather enjoyable warming up your vocal chords Chim?”

Jimin replied with a snort. “I sure did, Joonie-hyung. It’s good to warm them up often.” He sniggered as Namjoon cursed quietly to himself. “We got everything so we won’t plan on coming back until tomorrow so, uh, go crazy.” Jimin grinned. “But don’t sprain anything, alright?”

Jimin squealed and left the house with Yoongi as Namjoon chucked couch pillows toward him. “I love living here already.” He sighed happily, exchanging smiles with Yoongi as they walked back to the car.

“Good. You’ll settle in quickly. I’m still so shocked you agreed to live with us though.”

“I didn’t want to wait any longer. I already go to your house so often anyway, it may as well be easier to bring my pillow and keep it there forever.” Jimin shrugged.

“We can get matching couple toothbrushes too,” Yoongi giggled, opening the passenger door for Jimin.

“I call the pink brush!” Jimin shouted before thanking Yoongi for the door, leaving a small peck on his cheek and went inside of the car. As Yoongi entered as well, Jimin leaned over. “Or we can get Kakao emoji toothbrushes.”

“In that case, I call Muzi,” Yoongi laughed.

“I call Apeach, it’s head looks like a little mochi. We’re practically twins!”

Yoongi’s laugh filled the entire car. He smiled as he made his way back to the hotel, holding Jimin’s hand on the centre console. The two kept stealing glances at each other, and would chuckle as they accidentally made eye contact.

When Yoongi pulled up to the hotel and parked, Jimin grabbed his bag and got out of the car. As they walked toward the hotel entrance, Jimin ran over, joining Yoongi and clung onto his arm like an annoying girlfriend with a wide smile. They entered the lounge, walking past the old, white piano sitting in the middle of the room with a view to the waterfall.

Yoongi stopped walking as they reached the piano and sat down on the bench. He looked at Jimin with a soft smile, and adjusted his hands on the keys. A soft melody flowed from the ivory keys, and Yoongi closed his eyes. The song poured out of him, his hands moving mechanically thanks to the countless times he played it in his studio. He opened his eyes as the melody became softer and glanced over at Jimin. A smile spread across his lips as he watched the younger boy stare at him in awe and wonder, finally hearing his song being played for him.

Jimin watched in admiration as Yoongi played his song, all his love and attention being poured into each note. The melody was so soft, so calming. He could listen to it a million times over again. Each key he played struck a chord in him, his chest tightening. He could feel the emotion Yoongi put into the song. Unknowingly, a tear ran down his cheek as he closed his eyes, attentively listening to his song play, a soft smile growing across his lips.

Other guests had walked over to the piano to listen, awe on their faces as Yoongi continued playing. He smirked as he played on, feeling a sense of pride as these strangers enjoyed Jimin’s song. A song he wrote for his boyfriend. He finished with a soft press of the keys and stood up, giving a small bow as the people around him applauded. He grabbed his suitcase and held out his other hand for Jimin to take, and the two made their way to the elevators.

Jimin took Yoongi’s hand, gesturing toward him to the audience as they left. “That’s my boyfriend.” He whispered to them, proudly boasting. As they reached the elevator, Jimin pressed the button, watching one of the doors open. The two entered and the doors closed, taking them back up to their floor. “That song,” Jimin bought up. “It was really beautiful. Thank you.”

“Anything for the man I love,” Yoongi smiled.

Jimin returned a loving smile as they waited for the elevator to arrive at their floor. Once the doors opened, the two exited, Jimin letting go of Yoongi’s hand and skipping happily down the hall, humming the tune of the song Yoongi played, until they reached the door to their room. He unlocked it with his card key and tossed the bag onto the small couch. “Ready to feast until we explode?”

“Baby, I was born ready. That fancy meal was so tiny last night,” Yoongi sighed, throwing his bag down next to Jimin’s.

“We’ll eat so much more than the size of your emotional capacity now.” Jimin joked, but his laugh faded. “Although, dare I say, it has increased?”

“Baby, I could tell you that I love you with all my heart, and it wouldn’t be enough to let you know how much I really love you,” Yoongi smiled, stroking Jimin’s hair as he spoke.

“It’s definitely not a teaspoon anymore.” Jimin whispered. “It’s as big as the universe now. Like mine.” He pulled Yoongi toward the door, exiting out of their room toward the lobby that held the buffet. He could smell the food lingering down the hall as they entered the large room, rows of hot and fresh food ready to be served. Jimin’s eyes grew wide at the sight, setting off a rumble in his stomach. “Hyung...there’s so much.” He grew overwhelmed, unsure as to where to start.

“Just fill your plate and go back for more,” Yoongi said, piling random food on his plate.

Jimin’s eyes glimmered at the sight of the food in front of them and grabbed two plates to fill up for starters. He grabbed as much meat as one could hold and the second plate covered in vegetables and pasta for him to try. Once their plates were full, Jimin carefully held his and scanned the room for a table, spotting an empty one by a large window. He carried his plates there, setting them both down and stood by the window, looking at the view of the city with awe.

Yoongi followed behind, setting his plate down at the spot across from Jimin and walking over next to him. He wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled the younger boy into his side with a smile, “Quite a view, isn’t it?”

“When we get our own place, I want to live somewhere high. As high as Namsan. I’ll never get sick of this view.”

“We could probably find something in Itaewon that’s nice and high for you. Or just stay in the heart of Seoul,” Yoongi mused. He rested his head on Jimin’s shoulder with a chuckle, “I will do all necessary research to find you the most beautiful apartment in the tallest building possible.”

“But,” Jimin chimed in. “we would also have to find a space with an extra room. For your music studio, and an area to fit a piano in. I can never grow sick of hearing you play it.”

“And I will never grow tired of playing for you.” Yoongi brought his hand up from Jimin’s waist, and started stroking his hair, “When we get home tomorrow, let’s make a binder full of shit we want to do together and what our dream home will look like and fucking everything we could ever want to do in the future. Kinda like a bucket list, so we can see exactly everything we dream of together.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Jimin leaned into his shoulder, his mind already reeling with an overwhelming amount of ideas.

“Let’s eat, and discuss this as we go,” Yoongi decided, letting go of Jimin and walking over to his spot. He sat down and began shoveling food into his mouth, “Yah, this is delicious. Eat up, baby boy. I know you’re hungry.”

“Hungry? I’m starving.” Jimin joined Yoongi at the table, taking a few bites of the meat as if he felt like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He shoved even more food in his mouth, his eyes closing as he groaned in satisfaction. “This is so good.” He mumbled to himself, knowing that there will be more plates of food to come after the first round. “The binder can wait, this is the best thing in the world.” His voice was muffled, his mouth full of food as he stabbed his fork into the pasta, twirling it around.

Yoongi chuckled as Jimin ate like he was a starving child, “Baby, slow down. You’ll give yourself a stomach ache.”

Jimin gave him an innocent giggle before taking another bite of his pasta, clearing up one of the plates in a matter of minutes. “I’m just taking advantage of this buffet to the fullest.” He peered around the room suspiciously and leaned in closely. “You think anyone will notice if I sneak some of this bread in my pockets and bring them back to our room?”

“Baby, you could take a plate of food to your room. It’s the hotel buffet.”

Jimin’s threw his fists in the air in excitement. “As much as sex is great and all, I’m going to do nothing but eat all night. Sorry honey.” He teased, shrugging apologetically and ate another piece of meat.

Yoongi laughed, “Ah, my Jiminnie. You are so wonderful.”

“So are you, Min Yoongi.” Jimin crooned, waving his utensil toward him. “Alright,” He was halfway finished with the second plate. “Let’s get back to this binder of adventures.”

Yoongi smiled, chewing the bite of food he had just put in his mouth before speaking. “What are you thinking, Jiminnie?”

“First and foremost is our trip to Europe.”

“Obviously,” Yoongi smiled. His eyes lit up as he thought of something new, “Let’s go to America too! Could you imagine? The two of us in America!” Yoongi pondered the idea for a moment, “Fuck, we don’t know enough English to travel abroad. We have to bring Joonie with us. He’s the only one fluent in English.”

“If we bring Namjoon, he’s obviously going to bring Jin. If Hoseok finds out the four of us would go to America, he would invite himself along. At some point, Taehyung would find out through Hoseok’s big mouth and bring himself with Kookie. It’s just going to turn into a big family trip. But…” A smile creeped up his lips. “I like the idea of that though.”

“All seven of us having a Western adventure. It sounds like the best holiday ever. I mean, a trip with just the two of us would be fantastic, and I’m sure one day we’ll do it. But thinking about having the others with us brings a different kind of excitement to my heart. You feel me?”

“If our group chats are already crazy, imagine how wild it’ll get with all seven of us in America. America. The land of the crazies. It’s going to be a blast. Too bad Kookie wouldn’t be able to drink there yet.” Jimin chuckled, clearing the last meat on his plate.

“Fuck, let’s do it.”

Chat With international boys

2016.02.15

12:46

SUGA:

Hey fuckers

I have an idea.

please hear me out on this master plan

The.V.Zone:

wow

u guys stopped havin sex

to tell us ur master plan

the dedication

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

dID U GUYS DO THE FUCK?

SUGA:

Tae shut the fuck up

we haven’t even had penetrative sex today

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

thEY FUCKIN DID IT YALL

can jimin walk yet?

or did you totally destROY his ass

SUGA:

Jimin can walk perfectly fine

it’s called prepping

and I know how to fucking do that ok

iq.148:

not only did they fuck but

they came home with news

that jimin is moving in

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

JIMIN FUCKING WHAT?

The.V.Zone:

my bby boo is leaving me :(

Worldwide Handsome:

My son is moving in~

So Yoongi

What’s this “master plan”

The.V.Zone:

kooki bby come live with me :)

we can have all the uninterrupted fun now

Kookie Monster:

lik my mom still dsn’t kno we datin

she might kno im gay

idk

but lik

shed prolly let me room wit m bf(f)

The.V.Zone:

kookie bby

lets fuckin tell her tonite

iq.148:

okay kids, leave this coming out talk for your own chat

Yoongz what’s your plan?

SUGA:

Jimin and I were talking about going to Europe and America

so like

We wanna do that

and I realized we don’t know English

so I said we’d have to bring Joonie bc he’s fluent

which then turned into all 5 of you.

what do u think?

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

ur fucking right about including me into this trip i mean, all of us

america is my homeslice

california loves me

and i love california

im gonna fucking pack right now

lets fucking go

Worldwide Handsome:

Hobi, have u ever even BEEN to California?

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

i always connected with that place

you wouldn’t understand Hyung

iq.148:

i’d better be treated to something good for doing the translations

for all you idiots

who never passed high school english

The.V.Zone:

Kookie gay marriage is legal in some places there.

let’s get wasted and get married

and then go to vegas

iq.148:

you guys are fucking children

go to the park or something

Kookie Monster:

Tae i lov u n all

but lik

im 20

nd im not rly thinkn bout marrig

also i cnt drink in america

SUGA:

No one is getting married.

this is supposed to be fun

So yah

We wanna plan that shit

Worldwide Handsome:

I for one am looking forward to this.

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

let’s fucking

G O

iq.148:

if we all share a giant hotel room

I call the bed by the window

and yall are buying me alcohol

one bottle per translation

so study up bitches

Worldwide Handsome:

Fuck no, we are not staying in a hotel

air bnb exists for a reason

We’re gonna stay in a fucking nice ass house

and live like KINGS abroad

iq.148:

this is why I love you smoochy poo

The.V.Zone:

*gagging noises*

SUGA:

smoochy poo

Jiminnie

never let me call you something that terrible

k, baby boy?

Mochi_Moves:

that’s going to give me nightmares

maybe we’re the ones that are going to

need ear plugs in our house

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

i need to find myself a man

who will call me snuggluffagus

iq.148:

what the fuck

SUGA:

Why am I friends with you

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

thats ur own damn fault sugar beans

ur welcome to leave this friendship anytime

i have jiminie poo anyway

SUGA:

I can’t

I already vowed to name my firstborn after u

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

fuxk

i feel so powerful now

SUGA:

*first adopted

The.V.Zone:

name ur second kid after me

SUGA:

Give me a reason to, then we’ll talk

The.V.Zone:

my existence is already a good enuf reason

SUGA:

absolutely not, tae

Without hoseok

I literally would not have Jimin

Kookie Monster:

fin we wnt nam any of r kids aftr u eithr

The.V.Zone:

we have 2 name one after my precious chimchim

yoongi can be excluded from this however

SUGA:

Thank u

Worldwide Handsome:

I’m not naming any of my children after you lot

burn in hell

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

we fucking know jin

ur kids are literally gonna be

jin jr

jin jr jr

and jin jr jr jr

and maybe the fourth one is Handsome

Worldwide Handsome:

See Joon,

even Hobi thinks we should have 4 kids

iq.148:

Fuck that

i can barely take care of myself

i might snap an arm off of one of those things

Worldwide Handsome:

honey, the good thing about adoption, is that we can

literally skip babies and adopt children who can hit

you back when you do something stupid

iq.148:

what if i break one of their heads open

while they’re learning to ride a bike

or electrocute themselves in my music studio

chiLDREN ARE FRAGILE BUNNY BOO

Worldwide Handsome:

That’s why I’m part of this relationship you door knob

I’m here to protect and nourish, you’re here to

well, you’re here, sweet cheeks.

iq.148:

that actually makes me feel a whole lot better

thank you poopsie

♡

maybe ill consider 1.5 kids for now

bur we’re getting a fuck ton of insurance for these little beasts

SUGA:

Joonie

where is the other half of this child

iq.148:

u kno

in case one of their arms get amputated or something.

shmoopie may be here

but shit is still gonna go down

SUGA:

It’s a really good thing you’re gay

and won’t procreate

Worldwide Handsome:

But imagine if the two of us COULD procreate together

we would make one fucking handsome child

@science, I’m lookin @ u

SUGA:

Wow

When yall free to travel to Europe and America

Hobi_won_kenobi:

as soon as chimchim and i can bust out this final performance

at the end of the semester

we’ll both be fuckin ready to go

if ur talking like

this year

The.V.Zone:

im always ready 2 go

i can buss my birthday money on these trips

my professors can deal with an absence or two

SUGA:

I’m talkin asap guys

whenever the fuck we can all just GO

a spontaneous holiday

iq.148:

i say when summer starts

The.V.Zone:

agREED

Worldwide Handsome:

yes! I’m down.

Kookie Monster:

holup

SUGA:

i bet you all $50 he’s asking his mom

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

yall

yoongz made a fucking bet

tae u owe me 60 now

The.V.Zone:

fuCKU HOSEOK

SUGA:

Kookie Monster:

Mom says I cn go if I end th semestr wit As & Bs

SUGA:

See

i fucking called it

The.V.Zone:

cum over boo

i’ll tutor u

;) ;) ;)

Worldwide Handsome:

Do you WANT your boyfriend to fail?

Let Joon help you out, Kookie.

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

no one fuckin agreed to bet against you yoongi

ur not cool enough for this

iq.148:

come over after your classes and i’ll help you

i’ll throw in some of jins cooking too

Kookie Monster:

Sorry bab, I trust Joon wit skool more thn u

nothn prsnl

he jst a genius

iq.148:

my id isn’t fucking iq.148 for nothing

study up bitches

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

YAY America this summer it is!

im fucking PSyCHe DD

SUGA:

first of all I totally am cool enough to make a bet

right Jiminnie~~~~?

second of all I’m glad you are all in on this

Mochi_Moves:

you’re the coolest person in this chat sugar lips <3

The.V.Zone:

excuz me bitch

Mochi_Moves:

second coolest

SUGA:

what now

have fun sleeping in the guest room, Jiminnie

The.V.Zone:

move ur ass back here

i would nvr kick you out

Mochi_Moves:

you lock me out of our place twice a week tae

SUGA:

SEE

FIRST COOLEST BELONGS TO ME

I’D NEVER

IN FACT, I’D LOCK HIM IN WITH ME

that sounds creepy

nevermind

Jimin can do what he wants when he wants where he wants

in /our/ home.

Mochi_Moves:

actually

that sounds rather intriguing

lock me in a room with you c:

Hobi_wan_kenobi:

is jimin fucking kinkier than we think he is?

fuckin

SUGA:

Don’t worry

I’ll take one for the team and find out

Mochi_Moves:

iq.148:

why does this concern me

SUGA:

Any screaming you may hear from now on

is consensual.

i promise.

iq.148:

jesus fuck

jujubee, we need to find our own place now

Worldwide Handsome:

out kink them.

eh?

iq.148:

O H

the games have begun

Kookie Monster:

y do i feel lik ur hom is gon turn into a sex dungn

I feel dirty thinkn bout it

iq.148:

kook

ur 6

you’re not supposed to know what a sex dungeon is

The.V.Zone:

Hobi_wan_kenobi left the chat.

iq.148:

im noping the fUCK OUT OF THIS CHAT

Worldwide Handsome:

I just

Tae, you’re crushing his innocent soul

Mochi_Moves:

ヽ(ﾟДﾟ)ﾉ

Yoongi looked up from his phone with a laugh, “God, I can’t believe our friends sometimes. And you know, it’s always fucking Tae who gets everyone to leave the chat. What the fuck is up with that?”

Jimin threw his head back in laughter, replying with a shrug. “That’s just how Taetae is. What a beautiful friendship.” He wiped a tear away from laughing so hard and stabbed a fork into one of the meats on his fourth plate of food.

“What do you figure we should do until the concert tonight? We have that whole room to lounge in. We have a fucking bathtub with jets. The day is yours, Jiminnie. What do you want?”

“Joonie texted me earlier and said he slipped some video games into my bag. We can hook it up to the tv in there and watch me beat your ass.” Jimin grinned. “After our luxurious bath of course.”

Yoongi grinned wide, “That sounds heavenly.”

“But,” Jimin spoke up. “On the way, there’s somewhere I want us to go to.”

“Anywhere, baby.”

“We have to leave a lock at Namsan.” Jimin smiled and resumed eating his food.

“Of course. Yes. Let’s do it. We’ll go get a lock and write our names on it and lock it up for everyone to see how much we love each other.”

“Next time on one of our anniversaries, let’s get dinner at the top of the tower! There’s a really nice restaurant there.

Yoongi smiled at the thought of taking Jimin up to the restaurant at the top of the tower, “Of course, baby. Maybe we can get wine there too,” he added with a wink.

“Lot’s of wine!” Jimin exclaimed. “That’s going in our adventure binder.” He sighed, resting his chin on his hand. “There’s nothing more romantic than a date at Namsan. You know, when we put our names on a lock and throw the key away, it means our love is supposed to be eternal.” He bit on his fork, a dreamy smile growing across his lips.

“Good,” Yoongi nodded. “I don’t want our love to be anything less than eternal. More than is okay, but not less than.” He smiled, watching Jimin stare off out the window and knew the younger was concocting a fantasy of his own in his head.

His gaze wavered back toward Yoongi, taking in the sight in front of him. “You know,” Jimin finally spoke up. “I don’t get what our friends say about you being a cold hearted person. I never saw it in you, even from the start. You’re literally like a teddy bear.” Every time Yoongi smiled, Jimin’s insides melted. Whenever he spoke, he turned into putty. Even the first time they met at the cafe, Jimin couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He just simply didn’t understand why he was so intimidating to others. Yoongi was in fact, the softest person Jimin had ever met.

“I have a bad case of resting bitch face, and it scares people away from me,” Yoongi shrugged. “It’s how I weed out the weak ones.”

“I must be the strongest weed in your garden.” Jimin giggled

“You must. I can’t seem to get you out of my garden. But then again, I haven’t actually tried to.”

“Mmm,” Jimin scrunched his nose. “Don’t plan on trying. I already spread out and took over your whole garden.”

Yoongi stood up and walked over to where Jimin was still seated. He leaned down and placed a hard kiss on Jimin’s cheek and held out his hand for the younger to grab onto. He helped Jimin out of his seat and pulled him into a tight hug. “I want this whole damn hotel to know how much I love my Jiminnie.”

Jimin tightened his fist into the fabric of Yoongi’s shirt, his nose burying into the crook of his neck. “When we get to Namsan, I want the whole damn world to know how much I love you.”

Yoongi felt like he had a smile permanently etched into his face, but it didn’t bother him. He enjoyed the overwhelming feeling of happiness Jimin brought him. He loved the fact that he didn’t need to feel sorry for himself when Jimin was around. If a permanent smile was the price to pay for loving Jimin with his whole heart, then so be it. He unwrapped himself from Jimin, and pulled the younger along back to the room, “I have a lock in my bag. Let’s grab it and make our way to Namsan.”

“You...you have a lock?” Jimin asked with a surprised expression, following him back to their room. “You’re prepared for anything, aren’t you Min Yoongi?” A smile creeped up his lips. “Why do I feel like we’re the two disgustingly-in-love main couple of a rom-com movie?”

“I went to the gym the other day and forgot to take it out, but this is a better use for that lock anyways,” Yoongi shrugged.

“It works perfectly. The locks there are overpriced anyway.” They eventually reached their room, entering it after inserting the card key as Jimin watched Yoongi shuffle through his bag. His expression radiated when Yoongi found the small lock. “Got a sharpie in there too by any chance?” He squatted down beside him.

Yoongi shoved a few things aside, sticking his tongue out in concentration as his hand felt around the bottom of his bag for the familiar marker he knew was hiding inside. He let out an “ah ha!” as he gripped onto his lonely black sharpie and held it out like Link would hold his heart container. “I have a marker and a lock, who needs capitalism?” Yoongi smirked.

“Capitalism can suck it!” Jimin shouted before falling into a fit of laughter. “You’re always so handy Min Yoongi.” He stood up from the floor, brushing the dark hair out of his eyes. “Let’s go show the world how disgustingly cute we are together.”

“God, I want nothing more than that,” Yoongi sang out as he followed Jimin out of the hotel room.

Hands intertwined with Yoongi’s, Jimin led him out of the hotel and searched around the street. “Let’s take a bus to Namsan and then a stroll up the hill from there. It’ll be such a nuisance to try parking anywhere near that place.” He pulled him toward the bus stop, a bus luckily arriving right as they got there. They swiped their cards as they entered the vehicle, picking an empty spot toward the back. The bus wasn’t as crowded as Jimin expected, it was quiet except for the hum of the engine and a song playing softly in the background. He leaned his head against Yoongi’s shoulder, fiddling around with the lock in his hands.

Yoongi smiled at the contact, and wrapped his arm around Jimin, pulling him close. He leaned his head against Jimin and closed his eyes, taking a moment to relax. “Let’s write on the lock now so it’s all ready to lock up when we get there,” Yoongi suggested.

Jimin beamed at the idea. “It’s your lock, so you write your message first.” He tilted his head up, setting the lock into his hands.

“Jimin, my love for you surpasses the sound of the seventh trumpet,” Yoongi muttered as he wrote as small as he could on the back of the lock. He left enough room for Jimin to put his message underneath.

Jimin grinned widely, feeling his ears burn as he heard Yoongi’s mumble. When he was done, Jimin took the lock from him and bit his lip, thinking of a short message to write. When an idea came to him, he squinted and wrote the little note underneath Yoongi’s and added their names along the edges with a heart at the end. He proudly showed Yoongi the lock with a dorky grin. The note read ‘Our love goes to infinity and beyond.’

Yoongi knew the grin on his face was equally as dorky as Jimin’s but he didn’t care. Everyone in the bus could have been staring at them at that moment, but it didn’t mean a thing to Yoongi if he had Jimin in his arms. He kissed the side of Jimin’s head and whispered “I love you,” into his ear, and in the moment, it felt so intimate.

Jimin’s cheeks flushed as he looked down at the lock in his hands, admiring their scribbled messages. As dorky they were, it still made something in his chest flutter. The two were in their own little world on the bus, exchanging giggles and smiles. He took Yoongi’s hand in his, massaging little circles on the back of it. “Did I ever say,” He began. “Happy two months?”

“No, but that might have been implied during our morning handjob,” Yoongi smiled coyly.

Jimin sputtered, covering his mouth to suppress his laugh. “I mean, you’re not exactly wrong.”

Yoongi chuckled, “Happy two months, baby boy. Here’s to many more.”

“And to the best trip to America with our dysfunctional family.” He chimed in. “Happy two months, sugar lips.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

The bus came to a stop, Yoongi nudged Jimin that it was time to get off, and the two made their way out hand-in-hand. They approached the entrance to the trail that spiraled up toward Namsan tower. The buildings of the city faded into a forest, trees surrounding them. The brick trail in front of them alternated from stairs to a flat slope. It was a beautiful walk up the hill, the weather cool enough for them to go up comfortably, but it was steep as hell.

Yoongi scrunched his nose as he looked up the hill, “Yah, I’m already tired. Baby, carry me up the hill.”

“You’re so lazy, come on. We’re almost there! Even the ahjummas are passing us.” Jimin grabbed Yoongi’s hand, pulling him up the steep hill. “Look! We’re getting closer to the tower. They have a lot of refreshing drinks and snacks at the end of the trail.

“Good. I’m gonna need some.”

A few turns and whines later, they finally reached the end of the gruesome trail. Jimin was about to take a moment to catch his breath when he caught a glimpse of the tower behind the trees and skipped toward it, jumping up and down. “Yoongi, Yoongi! Hyung, look, it’s right there!” He pointed at the building towering up into the sky.

Yoongi panted, trying to catch his breath as he followed after Jimin. “Jiminnie, wait for hyung.” He took hold of Jimin’s wrist and followed his pace up to the tower.

“Hyung, hyung!” He shook his shoulder excitedly, pulling out his phone. “Can you take a picture of me? I’m going to jump!” Jimin set the phone in Yoongi’s hand, running out into the open space in front of the tower, preparing for his jump-shot.

“On the count of three, baby. Jump for me, okay?” Yoongi requested, holding up Jimin’s phone. “One, two, three!”

Jimin flew up into the air, spreading his arms and legs. A shout erupted from him, as if it would have made the quality of the image better. He landed back on the ground with a thunk and ran up to Yoongi. “Did you get it?” He peered over his shoulder, looking at his phone.

Yoongi pulled up the camera roll and smiled, showing Jimin the picture of him up in the air. “Perfect.”

“Now you! Go on!” He gently pushed Yoongi toward the open area, chuckling at his protests. “Come on, I’ll take a good one of you, I promise!”

Yoongi pouted, but once he turned around and saw Jimin’s smile, his pout disappeared. With a gummy grin, Yoongi gave Jimin two thumbs up when he was ready to go.

“Okay!” He shouted. “Three, two, one, jump!”

Yoongi jumped up in the air, hands stretched up to the sky, and his foot coming out in front of him in a martial arts kick. When he landed, he stumbled over to Jimin to see how the picture turned out.

“Oh,” Jimin pouted, glancing up at Yoongi. “I didn’t get it.”

Yoongi frowned and tried to take Jimin’s phone from his hands to look himself.

Jimin threw himself at Yoongi, laughing. “I was just kidding hyung, I took a perfect one. See!” He swiped to the picture of Yoongi kicking in the air. “As promised.”

Yoongi pinched Jimin’s cheeks in retaliation, “You’re lucky I love you so damn much.”

Jimin grinned proudly and swiped through the pictures of them. Before continuing their adventure, he made them take millions of selfies in every angle possible while trying to get the tower in the background. After Jimin was satisfied, he tugged on Yoongi’s sleeve, dragging him all around the area. Jimin hadn’t been to the tower since he was a kid, he had forgotten how pretty everything was, from the little temple perched on the top of the stairs to the sculptures of locks shaped as trees.

Jimin gasped in awe as he went to the viewing area, hanging just off the edge of the hill. The view looked over to the sprawling city of Seoul in between mountains.

“It’s beautiful,” Yoongi breathed.

“I don’t know,” Jimin hummed, leaning against the railing, facing Yoongi. “I found a much more beautiful view than that.” As half serious as he was, it took all his resistance to not cringe at his own words.

Yoongi leaned in and kissed Jimin’s lips, far too fond of the boy in front of him to do anything other than that.

Jimin pulled him in closer, leaning into the kiss, feeling himself grow warm and fuzzy from the embrace. He tilted his head back and smiled at him. “Yeah,” Jimin nodded to himself. “Beats the view. One hundred percent.”

“Let’s put this lock on so I can take you back to the hotel room,” Yoongi purred against Jimin’s jaw, leaving small kisses in his wake.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” Jimin snickered as he wiggled himself out of his embrace, guiding Yoongi toward the large porch, the railings covered with an overwhelming amount of colorful locks. “Jesus, there’s so much more than what I remembered. Where do you want to put it?” He held up the lock between the two.

Yoongi looked around them and pointed to a spot behind Jimin, “I want to put it over there so that it can rest on top of the other locks and everyone can see how much Yoongi and Jimin love each other.”

“Let’s do it!” Jimin chimed in, spinning around. He searched for a secure place on top of the pile of locks to attack theirs to. “How about here?” He pointed to a cluster of pink locks scribbled with messages at the very top.

“There is perfect,” Yoongi smiled.

Jimin attached the lock into place, pulling the small metallic key and tugging on it to make sure it was secure.

Yoongi snaked his hand into Jimin’s and rested his head on the other’s shoulder, “Now our love is eternal. Amazing how that happened so quickly.”

Jimin held up the key inches away from his face. “We still have to toss it in the box, and then it’s to infinity and beyond from there.”

“Then let’s toss her in and make it official.”

Jimin approached the small box perched on a wooden post in the corner. He slipped the key into the slot, hearing it clank against the pile of god knows how many other keys. He said a little prayer in his mind, a habit after having visited many temples with his family growing up. “It’s done!”

“Jimin, I do believe we are married now. I don’t make the rules, I just follow them,” Yoongi smirked, pulling the younger boy into his side.

“Lucky for you, I’m a rule follower too.”

“Suck it, Korea!” Yoongi yelled, flipping off the skyline in the distance.

Jimin cackled and ran up to the railing, screaming into the city, disrupting the small crowd around them. “Korea can suck it!”

The two received weird looks from the people around them, but they either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Yoongi laughed along with Jimin, and the two of them began their decent back down the hill holding hands the whole way down.

“The walk down was nowhere near as bad,” Jimin exclaimed as they arrived to the bus station, waiting with a few other people. “Let’s come back when the flowers start blooming! It’s supposed to be gorgeous here.” He grinned and realized how much time had passed. Jimin pulled out his phone and checked the time. “It’s almost time for the concert! Let’s start heading to the venue, the hotel can wait until tonight.” He winked.

Yoongi chuckled, “We’ll probably be sweaty from the concert anyway. Oh, did you grab the picnic dinner from Jin? I can’t remember.”

“Yes! Namjoon packed it in my duffle along with the video games.”

“Good! Show should be done by 9. That buffet should hold us over until then. After we eat, we can dance around under the stars, because it’s just what I know you’re waiting for.”

“I mean, I didn’t eat 5 plates of food for nothing.” Jimin shrugged and followed with a smile. “Dancing under the stars,” He sighed, leaning against Yoongi’s shoulder. “How romantic is that ? God we’re so gay. I love it.”

“You know earlier how you asked me why the others said I was so cold hearted? I’m only a hopeless romantic when I’m with you, Jimin.” Yoongi chuckled, grabbing Jimin’s hand and walking into the bus as it pulled up and opened its doors. “No one else on Earth could convince me to dance under the stars after picnicking.”

“I feel like the luckiest person ever then.” Jimin seated himself comfortably next to Yoongi on the bus as the doors shut and went on with it’s route. “Is it greedy of me to say I like being the only one to see this side of you?”

“Nah. It’s not selfish if we both feel the same way,” Yoongi winked.

“Okay, good.” Jimin leaned himself closely against Yoongi, combing his fingers through his hair. “Because you’re my Yoongi and mine only.” He whispered.

“Oh, possessive are we? Another one of those kinks I’m finding you have a lot of?” Yoongi quirked an eyebrow at the younger boy.

Jimin replied with a smirk. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.”

“Well I potentially have the rest of my life to figure it all out, right?” Yoongi whispered.

JImin nodded at Yoongi. “Of course. I would hope so.”

Yoongi smiled and kissed the top of Jimin’s head. “Technically eternity.”

“We may as well be the ones that get married in America instead.” Jimin laughed. “I don’t think spending an eternity with you would be so bad.”

Yoongi’s smile grew wider, and he pulled Jimin tight against himself, “Good. Because I think you’re kind of stuck with me.”

“You won’t be hearing any complaints from me, we made it through two months so far, haven’t we? Jesus,” He laughed to himself. “After talking about an eternity, two months seems like nothing.”

“What’s the saying? Time flies when you’re having fun? I definitely have fun when I’m with you.”

Jimin’s eyes formed into crescents. “I mean,” He flipped his hair dramatically. “People always said I was a fun person to hang out with.”

“Almost as fun as Hobi,” Yoongi smirked.

“You know what, you’re absolutely right. I can never outrank that man. He never fails to steal the show at every party we’ve gone to.”

“Him drunk is the party.”

Jimin snickered at his comment. “I’ve never heard a more accurate statement.”

Yoongi laughed along with Jimin, and the two kept their happy conversation going until they reached their stop. The two got out of the bus, thanking the driver (bc they ain’t a bunch of assholes) and made their way back to their room.

When they entered their rooms, Jimin bolted into the living room, jumping onto the couch. “Hyung! Let’s play mario kart!” He pulled out the console from his duffle bag with a competitive grin. “Winner gets a free dinner?”

Yoongi snorted, “How about, the winner is on top tonight.” He winked at Jimin as he grabbed the controllers and helped him bring the video games over to the TV.

Jimin hooked up the Nintendo® Wii™ to the TV and realized Namjoon left a CD in it. Pushing the eject button, it popped out and Jimin read the title, sputtering at the name. “Hyung,” He waved the CD titled ‘Cumalot’ toward him. “I think Namjoon left us a present.”

“What in the everloving fuck is this?” Yoongi asked, taking the CD from Jimin.

“Well, now we know a member of our family enjoys porn. I appreciate the gesture, but I think we’ll do just fine without it.” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows.

Yoongi laughed, “You’re right. We don’t need porn to help us get off. All I need to hear is you moan as I bite your lip and lick up your neck.”

Jimin swallowed, staring at Yoongi as he felt the heat creep up his cheeks, but within a second, the expression changed to a smirk as he inserted the game into the Wii™. “Don’t think you can use that as a distraction to win the game, Min Yoongi.” Mario Kart™ flashed onto the screen and Jimin hopped onto the couch, making himself comfortable. “Nothing can distract me from kicking your ass.”

“Oh, someone’s eager,” Yoongi chuckled. He sat himself down next to Jimin, and grabbed a pro controller and connected it to his wiimote. He looked over at Jimin, who was sat with his wiimote stuck inside the wheel add-on. He was sitting on his knees, excitedly bouncing up and down as the menu loaded up. “You look like such a child right now, baby,” Yoongi smiled. “You’re cute when you’re excited.”

“I get excited knowing I’m going to beat you, hyung.” Jimin bit his lip as he selected the Koopa Cape track and picked out the vehicle for his character, Toad. When the screen began the countdown, he hunched over with the wheel in his hand, ready to play.

“Baby, if you wanted to beat me, you wouldn’t have chosen Toad as your main driver,” Yoongi laughed, his Waluigi zooming past Jimin as the screen flashed “GO.”

“Wait...wait!” Jimin sputtered, shifting his wheel side by side to dodge through the other karts to catch up with Yoongi, but he was too fast. “Wait...you didn’t tell me you were good at this game. Hyung!” He whined, trying to launch items toward Yoongi’s car. “Just wait until I get a blue shell of death.” He murmured under his breath.

Yoongi laughed, “I’ll be too far ahead for it to make a difference.” Yoongi finished his first lap in first place, smiling as he saw the gap between him and Jimin in second place. “Also I was an unloved child with only one friend, you really think I didn’t master every video game I owned?”

“No, no no no!” Jimin tilted to the side, aggressively turning the wheel, finally finishing his first lap. “Sauron will remain victorious!” He collected a red shell and aimed it at Yoongi but it only hit the kart next to him. A string of curses left his lips as he scooted himself closer toward the TV, in full focus mode.

“Sauron needs to get comfy with the fact he’s gonna bottom again tonight,” Yoongi laughed.

Jimin pouted, refusing to reply to Yoongi as he finished his second lap, zooming past the other karts. His eyes squinted, watching his kart in the map catching up to Yoongi’s. Slowly, but surely. Halfway through their final lap, Jimin’s nose was practically inches away from the screen, shouting at his kart to go faster. When he glanced at Yoongi’s half of the screen, he watched his cart fly through the finish line at first place. Jimin let out a whine, falling onto the ground “No! Best out of three? I demand a character switch!”

Yoongi laughed, ruffling Jimin’s hair, “Alright, baby. That’s fine with me.”

“Yes!” Jimin jumped back up, changing the screen back to the character selection and picked Koopa.

“Ah, getting smart with your character choice, eh? Still no match for me and my Waluigi,” Yoongi said with a smug grin on his face.

“Koopa may be small, but he’s powerful.” Jimin glared at Yoongi before whipping his head back to the screen, in full focus mode again. “I only picked Toad to go easy on you.”

“Oh did you now? Alright, no mercy. I’m going back and picking the 150cc, and we are racing to the death.”

“It’s on, Min Yoongi, it’s fucking on.” Jimin scowled.

“You said best two out of three, but we’ll only need one more race to determine the winner,” Yoongi smirked.

“Shush hyung, I don’t need to hear this cockiness right now.” Jimin started the game and waited for the countdown, revving up his engine right before it started. When it said ‘GO’, the two of them zoomed off, racing side by side on the track.

“Oh, so he can race! I thought you were just messing around when you said you could beat me,” Yoongi jeered.

Jimin muttered an ‘I told you so’ under his breath as he tilted the steering wheel, trying to break through one of the item boxes, collecting a red shell. With Yoongi just ahead of him, he aimed it at his cart and watched it get hit, cackling loudly.

“You bastard,” Yoongi whispered.

“That’s what boyfriends are for!” Jimin beamed, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“I thought you loved me,” Yoongi pouted and leaned all his weight onto Jimin’s shoulder.

“I do, this is just my way of showing it.” They finished their first lap, Jimin shouting in victory as he placed in first and cackled at Yoongi. “Watch me kick your ass this time around.”

“Oh, sounds kinky.”

“Hyung!” Jimin screeched.

Yoongi just laughed and took a shortcut path to weasel his way in front of Jimin and back into first place.

“You...you-” Jimin stuttered, giving Yoongi a quick glance. “You cheated!”

“It’s called using my resources, and the game provides this shorter track for anyone to use.”

Jimin pouted and furrowed his eyebrows, spinning his wheel back and forth aggressively during the sharper turns. He glanced at Yoongi mischievously and pushed him with his arm, trying to throw him off.

“Fuck off, Jiminnie!” Yoongi laughed, still maintaining his spot on the race track. “That’s cheating.”

“I never said I played Mario Kart fairly.” Jimin stated, sitting himself in front of Yoongi to block his view.

Yoongi didn’t hesitate, licking up the side of Jimin’s neck as he blocked his view.

“Yah!” Jimin cringed, sliding himself away from Yoongi. “You brat! That’s not funny!” He shrieked as they finished their second lap, desperately trying to catch up to Yoongi.

“Oh babe, I’m sorry. I just thought since you seemed to enjoy it every other time I licked you, it might encourage you this time around.”

Jimin shot a glare at Yoongi, laughing sarcastically. “Not this time, Min Yoongi.” They were on their third lap now, Jimin shrieking loudly during every sharp turn, throwing his body to the side he turned the wheel. “No, no, nonononono” He muttered under his breath.

Yoongi pulled his item trigger to use his star power as they came up close to the finish line, gaining a speed boost and a “FUCK!” from Jimin. Yoongi just laughed as he crossed the finish line only seconds before Jimin.

“Damn!” Jimin tossed his wheel onto the couch, his arms flailing in the air. “I was this close, this close!”

“You know, since I’m the best boyfriend ever and you were that close to beating the Great Min Yoongi at Mario Kart™, I’ll let you top tonight anyways,” Yoongi grinned, pulled Jimin into his arms.

Jimin stuck out his bottom lip, pouting. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that out of guilt?”

Yoongi’s smile softened, “I’m sure. Plus, I fucked you last night. I wouldn’t have made you bottom again anyways.”

“Aw, Min Yoongi.” Jimin smiled. “You really are the best boyfriend after all.” He left a kiss on his cheek. “But I’m still salty you beat me, twice.”

“I’m just that good, baby,” Yoongi grinned, leaning back with his hands hooked behind his head.

“I’ll never admit that.” Jimin laughed, ruffling Yoongi’s hair. “You say what you want to think, but there’s a million more games out there I can clearly beat you in.”

“Okay, well we can certainly test that out. Every night before bed, we are now going to battle each other in different video games.”

“You know what, I’m up for that challenge. If we run out of games to play, we’ll just team up against Namjoon and Jin.”

“God yes. That sounds fantastic,” Yoongi grinned. Yoongi glances at his watch and let out an “oof,” as he read the time. “Alright, baby, it’s time to go! We’re gonna miss our bus if we wait any longer.”

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Jimin shouted gleefully, jumping up from his ground and grabbed Yoongi’s hand, helping him up as well. He grabbed the key and bolted out of the room with Yoongi, skipping down the hall, humming a song to himself. “I’m so excited, I haven’t been to a concert before! I’ve always been a classical show kind of guy.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat, baby. Fall Out Boy and Steve Aoki are gonna play for us.”

“I love Steve Aoki!” Jimin clapped his hands together, hopping into the elevator once the door finally opened, pushing the button to the lobby. “Oh my god, I’m going to see him live. Min Yoongi I’m going to see one of my idols live!” He exclaimed, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him.

Yoongi gave Jimin one of his gummy smiles, “Baby, I’m excited for you!”

“I’m excited for us! This concert is going to be so much fun.” The elevator doors opened again when they reached the lobby, exiting the hotel toward the bus stop. They only waited a few minutes until it arrived and entered the vehicle, taking the seats in the back. He nuzzled himself up against Yoongi, a smile grew across his lips, thinking about the concert and their little picnic afterwards. He was so ridiculously happy today, there was absolutely nothing that could kill off his joy.

Yoongi kissed the top of Jimin’s head as the younger nuzzled up against him. The two stayed seated in a comfortable silence the whole ride over to the arena. Jimin dozed off for about 40 minutes, but Yoongi thought he was too beautiful to disturb and let him rest against his shoulder. When the bus finally arrived, he nudged his Sleeping Beauty, and the two made their way through bag check and into the arena. They followed their tickets to their seats, and Yoongi’s eyes widened in awe at how close Jimin got them. “Yah, these are really good seats.”

Jimin shrugged innocently. “I just got lucky, I guess.” He pulled out his phone, taking pictures of the arena in awe. “This place is huge, hyung. Look how many people there are! Just imagine, one day you could be up there with the songs you compose.” Jimin exclaimed, pointing toward the stage.

Yoongi snorted, “I can’t even imagine that.”

“Are you doubting yourself? You’re a lot more talented than you think! Ask any of our friends, they’ll agree with me!”

Yoongi shrugged, “I’m mediocre at best.”

Lightly punching his shoulder, Jimin let out a whine. “You’re great, hyung!” The lights dimmed as the crowd screamed, Jimin jumped out of his spot excitedly, joining the rest of the audience. “Hyung, hyung it’s starting!”

Steve Aoki came out onto the stage then and began his first song. Yoongi looked over at Jimin and saw his face light up. A smile broke out across Yoongi’s face as he took in the sight. He leaned over to talk in Jimin’s ear, “Yah, you excited? I can’t tell!”

“This is the worst concert ever!” He shouted back with the biggest smile spread across his lips. “I’m such an idiot for thinking I would actually have fun!”

Yoongi playfully shoved him, and put his attention back on the stage… kinda. He mostly remained focused on Jimin throughout Steve Aoki’s set. Every time Jimin smiled or danced along, Yoongi felt a flutter in his chest, and a smile crept up onto his face. How this boy came to be his life in such a short amount of time, he’ll never know, but he’ll thank every god there is for letting it be so.

When Steve’s set came to an end, Jimin panted, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “That was fucking amazing!” He hollered, leaping beside Yoongi. “Did you see how close he was? He saw me, I’m sure he did!” The excitement rushed through his veins, impatiently waiting for the next show to start.

Yoongi laughed, “I’m sure he did, baby.”

“I understand why you like concerts now, hyung. There’s so much energy here, and I can dance as much as I want!” Jimin sighed, taking in the arena around them. “If that was only the beginning, I can't even imagine how much better it’s going to get.”

“I’ve heard Fall Out Boy puts on a good show, so we have a good time ahead of us!” Yoongi grinned.

“What should we do until then? We got quite some time, don’t we?”

Yoongi shrugged, “We can go look at the merch booth?”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “Do you think they have Steve Aoki merch? Let’s go, let’s go!” He grabbed Yoongi’s hand, leaving their seats toward the merch booth. “I’m telling you, I’d drop so much money for an Aoki shirt.”

“You’re not buying yourself a damn thing. I’m dropping so much money on Steve Aoki for you,” Yoongi scolded.

“Wait, what? Are you being serious hyung?” HIs eyes grew wide.

“Of course I am. You set up this amazing night, and I’m going to reward you for it in every way I can,” Yoongi smiled, kissing the back of Jimin’s hand in his own.

“Oh my god,” Jimin bounced happily on his feet, a smile forming. “You are literally the best boyfriend, ever!” They approached the merch booth as a gasp of joy left his lips, eyeballing all the merch hung across the booth. “There’s...there’s so many to choose from.”

“Get anything you want, baby boy,” Yoongi smiled, admiring the look of awe on Jimin’s face.

“Anything?” He gaped at the merch, pointing at a simple shirt with Steve Aoki scribbled across it. “What do you think of this shirt? And matching Fall Out Boy hats?”

“I love it,” Yoongi beamed.

Jimin asked for the two hats and shirt, holding them in his arms with a giant grin as Yoongi paid. He peeled one of the hats out of the plastic bag, putting it over his hair, fitting perfectly. As they left the booth, JImin took out Yoongi’s as well and set it on his head. “It’s a good look on you.” He beamed. “Thank you again, this is the best thing ever.” He unwrapped the shirt, looking at it with admiration. “I can’t wait to wear this!”

Yoongi laughed at Jimin’s excitement and adjusted the hat on his head, “I’m glad you’re happy, Jiminnie.” They stopped to grab a couple water bottles each, and walked back over to their seats with a good 20 minutes left until Fall Out Boy was supposed to even come out.

Jimin pulled out his phone, taking millions of selfies with them and their hats and filmed the arena around them, excitedly pointing at the stage saying Steve Aoki was just there. Once he was satisfied, Jimin sat back down in his seat, throwing an arm across Yoongi’s shoulders. “This is definitely going on my list of the top five best dates.”

Yoongi smiled and tilted his head towards Jimin, “Good. Me too.”

Jimin turned his head toward Yoongi, raising an eyebrow. “Best Fall Out Boy song?”

“I’m always a sucker for What a Catch, Donnie and Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy. But honestly, The Phoenix is my hoe jam. Take This To Your Grave is their best album, but Save Rock And Roll had a lot of bangers.”

“And Thnks fr the Mmrs! You can’t forget the iconic chimpanzees.” Jimin chimed in.

Yoongi chuckled, “Ah, yes. That one is good too.”

“It’s a classic, alongside Dance Dance!” Jimin sat up from his seat, performing the dokiest dance while singing out some lyrics.

“Oh my god, stop that. You’re such a dork.”

Jimin only raised his voice, singing louder and serenading his boyfriend in front of the crowd of people sitting around them. He heard a few chuckle and one person cheering loudly further up the row. “See, they like it!”

Yoongi laughed and pulled Jimin down into a headlock, pulling off his hat and ruffling up his hair, “Yah, cute Jimin is for me and me alone.”

“Aw, is someone jealous that I got a whole audience to fall for my charms?” Jimin fixed his hair, readjusting the cap.

“I’m not jealous. Min Yoongi is never jealous.”

“Mhmm.” Jimin hummed, pinching his cheek. “That’s not what your pouty face says, sugar lips.”

Yoongi huffed and folded his arms across his chest, “Whatever.”

“Ohh, sugar lips,” Jimin cooed, scooting closer. “You’re cute when you’re annoyed.”

Yoongi stuck out his tongue at Jimin, not wanting to press further.

Jimin grinned, taking Yoongi’s hand in his. “Don’t worry, my cute side is reserved just for you only. In fact, I’ll exclusively give you my very own Fall Out Boy performance, no one else will ever see it.”

“This sounds like it could be kinky,” Yoongi pondered. “Will you be wearing clothing during this performance?”

“That’s up to you.” Jimin grinned, winking.

Yoongi shot Jimin a mischievous smile and wiggled his eyebrows at him. “Hmm, give me a lap dance to Dance, Dance. That would be sexy as fuck.”

Jimin let out a laugh, tilting his head back. “Whatever you like, sugar lips.”

Yoongi grinned, “Wow I’m so fucking whipped for you.”

“I know you are, but you know what?” Jimin glanced back and forth before leaning in closely, whispering. “I’m fucking whipped for you too.”

Yoongi turned his head to catch Jimin’s lips with his own, not caring that there were people all around them.

“You’re not so shy when it comes to public displays of affection, are you?” Jimin muttered against his lips, grinning.

Yoongi shrugged, “I don’t really care. If that couple three rows ahead can be so into each other without fuss, then so can I.”

“Then let’s show this whole arena how disgustingly in love we are, I don’t care.” Jimin smiled, grabbing Yoongi’s shirt and pulling him in for another kiss.

Yoongi smiled into the kiss, reaching up to caress Jimin’s face. “I love you,” he mumbled against Jimin’s lips.

“I love you more, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi scrunched his nose, “Nice try, Jiminnie, but I’m the hyung and I love you more.”

“Nooo, that can’t be.” Jimin pouted. “I’m the one that found you, I was one hundred percent whipped from the start.”

Yoongi shook his head, “I don’t care. I definitely love you more.”

Jimin slapped the brim of Yoongi’s cap down, falling onto his face. “Shush, you can’t out love me.”

“Just you wait, Park Jimin. I’ll show you.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

Yoongi winked, “You’ll find out tonight, baby.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows rose in surprise. “This just gives me another thing to look forward to tonight.”

“We’re gonna be up all night, baby,” Yoongi smirked. “It’s a good thing checkout isn’t until 11.”

“Hmm,” Jimin gave him a smug grin. “You’re so full of surprises, sugar lips.”

As Yoongi leaned in for another kiss, the lights dimmed, and the audience erupted into cheers. The Phoenix started playing, and Yoongi broke away from Jimin. He perked up, nearly jumping out of his seat to cheer along with the rest of the audience.

“PUT ON YOUR WAR PAINT,” Patrick Stump sang. Yoongi grabbed onto Jimin’s shoulder with excitement. “PUT ON YOUR WAR PAINT.”

“You are a brick tied to me that’s dragging me down. Strike a match and I’ll burn you to the ground. We are the Jack-O-Lanterns in July, setting fire to the sky. Here, here comes this rising tide, so COME ON!” Yoongi sang along, a wide grin present on his face the whole time. As the chorus hit, he started jumping and dancing around with Jimin. It was the best feeling in the world, letting loose with Jimin to some good, live music.

Jimin was smiling, watching his boyfriend sing at the top of his lungs. Everyone around them were cheering so loudly, the beat of the music vibrated against his ears, they could practically burst. But Jimin didn’t notice, everything around him became a blur and all he could see was Yoongi jumping beside him, lost in the song. He felt so happy and content watching him in his element. He danced beside Yoongi, singing along loudly, and probably terribly with him.

Fall Out Boy played for what seemed like a fleeting moment, but it was really two hours. Yoongi lost himself in the music, having the time of his life. When the last song finished and the confetti was falling into the audience, Yoongi looked over at Jimin with the biggest grin on his face. Sweat was dripping down his neck, and he could tell that Jimin was hot and sweaty too. They both just smiled at each other, reveling in the time they had just spent together. Yoongi held out his hand and pulled Jimin towards the end of the aisle, trying to squeeze their way into the mass exodus.

Slowly, they mazed their way through the crowd of people leaving, still in a daze from the excitement earlier. When they finally reached the outside of the venue, Jimin breathed in the fresh air, the breeze cooling him off. “That was literally the best concert I’ve only ever gone to!” Jimin commented as they made their way to the bus stop, grinning to himself every now and again whenever he thought about the concert or seeing how happy Yoongi was.

The grin on Yoongi’s face never faltered as he walked, swinging his and Jimin’s hands between them. “That was really fun. I’m glad you took me to see Fall Out Boy.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it!” Jimin replied, his chest fluttering whenever he glanced toward Yoongi, seeing his wide, gummy smile. He had never seen someone elated, it was only expression he wanted to see on Yoongi.

“I’m hungry and ready to sweep you off your feet, come on. Get on the bus, baby boy.”

Grinning, Jimin followed Yoongi onto the full bus, standing in the aisle and holding onto one of the handles.

Yoongi let Jimin hold them in place, as he wrapped his arm around his waist and held on tightly. “If you go down, we both do.”

“If I jump off a cliff, you would jump too?” Jimin asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You jump, I jump, right?” Yoongi quoted.

“Aw,” Jimin smiled, touched by his words. “You so loyal, hyung. Let’s just jump together from now on.”

Yoongi leaned his head onto Jimin’s shoulder, “You already know I’d do anything for you.”

“You should know that goes the same for you too, hyung.” Jimin ran his fingers through the hair peeking out at the back of Yoongi’s cap.

Yoongi closed his eyes and smiled as Jimin stroked the hair on the back of his neck, still coming off his post concert high.

The two stood quietly in the bus, eventually spotting empty seats to sit in halfway through their trip back to the hotel. When they arrived to the bus stop, the two got off the vehicle into the cool, night air. A shiver ran down Jimin’s spine, his sweat having gone cold. “Come on, let’s get changed and grab our food. I’m starving and we have the gayest picnic to attend to.”

Yoongi chuckled as Jimin pulled him up into the elevator, eagerly waiting the 30-odd floors it took to get to their room.

When the elevator reached their floor, Jimin skipped out, twirling his cap in the air, singing Dance Dance out loud as his voice echoed through the hallway.

Yoongi shushed his boyfriend, whispering that there were humans trying to sleep at this hour, and that he needed to be quiet in the hallway. Jimin just rolled his eyes at his boyfriend and continued skipping to their room, humming the song. “You’re a menace,” Yoongi mumbled as they walked into their room.

“Just for you, hyung!” Jimin shot gun fingers at him before rummaging through his duffle bag, pulling out a warmer set of clothes to change into.

Yoongi followed suit, discarding his tee and jacket for a maroon crewneck sweater with floral print on it.

Jimin slid into a cream colored sweater with a red stripe across the middle, GCDS written inside of it followed with dark washed jeans. He ruffled up his hair after it created a coconut shape from the hat and slipped the bag full of food over his shoulder, waiting until Yoongi was ready.

Once Yoongi was satisfied with his messy hair, he grabbed onto Jimin’s free hand and let the younger boy lead him out of the hotel room. “So, where exactly are we going?”

A soft smile grew across Jimin’s lips as they headed for the elevator. “Olympic park. It’s the best place for a picnic, but because it’s night time, it’ll be peaceful and quiet there. There’s the cutest little lake there surrounded by trees!”

Yoongi smiled, “Sounds perfect, Jiminnie!”

“And Jin made us so much delicious food, we’re going to eat so well tonight.” JImin nearly drooled at the thought, resisting the temptation to pull out one of the tupperwares and start shoving his face with food. They eventually exited the hotel, going back to the bus stop and getting on as soon as it arrived. After a while, with the occasional small chatter and bursts of laughter throughout the ride, the bus arrived to the stop near the park as Jimin hopped out beside Yoongi, stretching his arms out. “Ah, we’re finally here!” He murmured and led Yoongi onto a trail through the cluster of trees until they reached the small lake, the bright, full moon reflecting off the water. “It’s so beautiful out tonight!” Jimin gasped, running onto the grass to claim their picnic spot.

Yoongi chuckled, and followed behind at his same pace, letting Jimin start the setup as he neared. “Yeah, you are,” Yoongi winked.

Jimin paused his setup, nearly choking on his saliva. “That was the cheesiest response…” He mumbled, thankful that it was dark enough so Yoongi couldn’t see his flushed cheeks. He finished taking out the tupperware, peeling off all the lids. “Jin really went all out, he made so much more than I asked for...bless him. Best roommate ever.”

“Just wait till he and Namjoon start going at it on a day where you are tired to the bone and all you want is proper sleep,” Yoongi mumbled.

“Oh no,” Jimin whined, handing Yoongi his chopsticks. “We’ll just have to give them revenge on their exhausted days.”

Yoongi arched an eyebrow, “Oh will we now?”

“What comes around, goes around.” Jimin grinned, picking up one of the tupperwares, tasting the homemade food Jin made. “This is delicious, try it!” He picked up one of the kimbap rolls, waving it toward Yoongi.

Yoongi leaned forward and grabbed the kimbap roll between his front teeth, taking a generous bite out of it. He chewed and smiled at Jimin, giving him a thumbs up.

Jimin stuffed his mouth with the food, being hit with the post-concert hunger. The silence was comforting between the two as they ate, exchanging smiles whenever their eyes met. The park around them was empty besides a person or two strolling along the trails. The air was filled with the faint chirping of crickets and the soft splashing of the water hitting the land.

Yoongi broke the silence first, asking Jimin how the night was going compared to how he thought it would go.

“Honestly,” Jimin spoke up. “This is been one of the best nights. The best weekend ever, actually.” He gazed at Yoongi as he ate, not realizing the smile that was stretched across his lips. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach whenever Jimin looked at him, feeling so unbelievably happy and ridiculously lucky to have this man in front of him.

“Good, because I feel the same way,” Yoongi grinned, shoving a bite of japchae into his mouth.

“I’m so glad,” Jimin chuckled, finishing one of the tupperwares of food and setting it onto his lap, staring at Yoongi again, unable to take his eyes off of him. “Min Yoongi?”

Yoongi set his food down and looked at Jimin, “Yeah, Jiminnie?”

“I love you.” He smiled. “I know I say it a lot, but I really, truly mean it Yoongi. I love you.”

Yoongi leaned over and kissed Jimin on the temple, “And I truly mean it when I say I love you, Jimin.”

“It’s only our two month anniversary, but why does it already feel like we’re celebrating five years?”

Yoongi chuckled, “Because we are a couple of romantic saps.”

“We’re so fucking gay, that’s what.”

Yoongi guffawed, falling onto his back in his fit of laughter. “We really are.”

Jimin laid himself over Yoongi’s chest. “In my opinion, out of all of our friends, we’re probably the most gay couple there.” He brushed a thumb across Yoongi’s cheek, grinning.

“I mean, have you seen Jin and Namjoon cuddling on the couch? They are as domestic and married as it gets.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, laughing at the thought. “You do have a point, they’re about as domestic as any other parent out there with 5 children to feed.”

“I don’t think we need to rank all of us. It’s just a given nowadays that gay people naturally find each other and become friends. We can all just be equally gay together.”

Jimin let out a happy sigh. “We need more people like you in the world, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi smiled, stroking Jimin’s hair. “Hey, I promised I’d dance with you under the stars. Pick a song, Jiminnie.”

“Under the Stars by John Legend.” Jimin giggled. “It’s fitting, no?”

Yoongi kissed the top of Jimin’s head, “Perfect.”

Jimin sat himself up, holding out a hand to help Yoongi up from the ground. “Let’s dance, hyung.”

Yoongi took Jimin’s hand and loaded up the music on his phone. As it began to play, he placed it on the ground and took Jimin’s other hand into his own, “Uh, I’ve never danced like this before. What do I do?”

Jimin let out a giggle. “Just follow my steps, it comes to you naturally.” Jimin took a step back as Yoongi took one forward, repeating with the other foot.

Yoongi dropped one of Jimin’s hands, and set it on the younger’s hip, “This is where I place my hands, right?”

“That’s right,” Jimin nodded, putting his hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “Just move slowly and don’t think too hard about it.”

And so Yoongi followed Jimin’s lead, picking up the steps quickly. They swayed back and forth for a moment, Yoongi completely serene as he held onto the younger man.

“You’re a natural!” Jimin exclaimed, letting go of Yoongi and extending the other arm to give him a short twirl before pulling him back in. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Not in real life, no. In my dreams, yeah. Always with you.”

“How can we be so sure that this isn’t a dream? It really feels like one.” Jimin smiled, gazing into his dark eyes he could have sworn held the entire universe.

“You can’t be. You just have to trust that you won’t wake up from this reality.”

“I never want to anyway, my reality seem far better than my dreams.”

“God, what cheesy drama are we acting in?” Yoongi laughed, leaning his face closer to Jimin’s.

“The kind that will capture everyone’s hearts and win a award in the most romantic and cheesiest.” He pressed his forehead against Yoongi’s, grinning.

Yoongi smiled, “Better than Goblin.”

“A million times better than Goblin.” Jimin stated and began humming to the song playing in the background, quietly singing along to the lyrics.

“You have the most beautiful voice, Jimin. Have I ever told you?” Yoongi swooned.

“It’s...it’s nothing.” Jimin stuttered, growing flustered at his compliment. “I mean, I like to sing but it’s nowhere near as good as the voices you hear out there.”

“Baby, I’m gonna write a song for you, and I want you to sing it, okay? Would you do that for me?” Yoongi asked with wide eyes.

“Me? Sing? I...are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Okay…” Jimin smiled shyly. “Okay, I’ll do it. Anything for you, honey.” They continued swaying gently, engrossed in their dance under the night sky of Seoul.

Yoongi smiled, resting his head on Jimin’s shoulder, “This night has been perfect.”

“I second this. This is the most peaceful I’ve felt in a long time.” They danced on until the music slowly faded to an end, finalizing their dance with another twirl, Jimin’s soft giggles interrupting the silence of the night. “Thank you for the dance, Yoongi.”

“It was entirely my pleasure, Jiminnie,” he smiled, letting go of Jimin’s waist and bringing his hand up to stroke Jimin’s hair.

Jimin tilted his head, leaning into his touch, his eyes never straying away from Yoongi’s. It felt like it was only the two of them in the entire world. Because of how calm and relaxed their past two days have been, Jimin’s mind had completely detached from the stress of reality. There was no one else besides Yoongi that could loosen him up this much, to realize that it was okay to disconnect himself from everything and enjoy the very moment between them.

Jimin realized at that moment that he was absolutely and completely smitten for this man. He could see his future so clearly with him and he could not wait for their lives to start as soon as this small trip was over. Just the thought of the littlest things like brushing their teeth together in the bathroom with matching toothbrushes or spending a Sunday folding their laundry together made him smile, excitement bubbling in his stomach.

“Jimin, let’s head back. It’s time to de-stress in that bathtub.”

“I’d love nothing more than that.” A soft smile grew across his lips as they went back to their picnic area, putting away the now empty tupperwares into Jimin’s duffle bag. He slipped it over his shoulder and they made their way back to the trail. Jimin followed behind, checking through his bag to make sure he had everything. When he found his small camera, he pulled it out and stopped in his tracks. “Yah, Min Yoongi!” Jimin shouted suddenly, causing Yoongi to jump around with a surprised expression. A bright flash lit up the area around them as a snort escaped from Jimin, a little card popping out of the camera. “Oh this is gonna turn out so good.” He cackled to himself, waving the card around in the air as if that would make it develop faster.

Yoongi stuck out his tongue at Jimin, “Did you get a good pic, baby?”

Jimin looked down at the picture, halfway through its development, nodding. “As usual, it’s so much easier capturing you like this than I expected.” He caught up beside Yoongi, holding the photo in his hand as if it was his prized possession. “Here’s picture number two for our wall.”

“Give me the camera, Jiminnie,” Yoongi requested, already reaching for it. “I need one of you now.”

“Mmm, no!” Jimin teased, waving his hands away from Yoongi, skipping backwards.

“Fine, I’ll just take pictures of you naked later tonight,” Yoongi teased.

“Kinky one, aren’t you?” Jimin pressed the shutter again, the blinding flash lighting up the space again. “You’re so photogenic, I just can’t help it.” He pulled out the developing card, adding it to his pile.

“Hmm, take one us kissing,” Yoongi said, pulling Jimin to his side.

Jimin tilted his head, pressing his lips against Yoongi’s as he held out the camera, the flash going off once more and the sound of another card popping out. He drew his arm back down and used the other one to pull Yoongi in, their kiss still lingering.

Yoongi didn’t mind the fact that Jimin kept kissing him. In fact, he just craved more of Jimin’s touch. He trailed kisses down Jimin’s jaw and stopped at the point where Jimin’s jaw met his ear. He took Jimin’s distracted moment to snatch the camera out of his hand and took a snapshot of a flustered Jimin.

“Hyung,” Jimin whined, pouting as he realized Yoongi’s ulterior motive, watching him take the developing card out. “That’s not fair, you can’t take advantage of me like that.” His cheeks flushed, crossing his arms.

“Hm, you can punish me later,” Yoongi winked.

Jimin’s eyebrows rose before a grin crept onto his lips. “Oh? If you say so.” He leaped onto Yoongi’s back, wrapping his arms gently around his neck and his legs around his waist. “Then hyung, carry me back, I’m tired. I need to save my energy for tonight.”

Yoongi grunted as Jimin jumped onto his back, but made sure to get a good hold on him. He walked them both to the bus, and sat Jimin down on the bench at the stop. “This was such a good night, Jiminnie.”

“I’m so glad.” He smiled. “I was trying so hard to out-do your last date with the sparklers at the Han River, but I’ll admit, it’s still my most favorite night. You should have seen your face when I finally called you hyung, I should have had the camera at the time.”

Yoongi snorted, “You have to understand, I wasn’t expecting that… like ever. You seemed so adamant to not call me hyung.”

“I was just waiting for the perfect time so I could get the exact reaction I got that night.” Jimin boasted. “At first I was too shy though, but you helped break those walls down. After that, I watched our friends make bets and waited. I gotta say, it was well worth it.”

“I’m glad you did,” Yoongi smiled.

The bus eventually arrived, Jimin hopping into the vehicle with Yoongi following behind. It was vacant, let alone the bus driver and Jimin skipped over to one of the seats, tugging Yoongi down beside him. He leaned against the window, stretching his legs across Yoongi’s lap. “You make a comfortable leg rest, thank you.” Jimin giggled as the bus went along its route.

“I’m here for you, baby boy. Whatever you need, I can provide,” he chuckled and rested his right hand on Jimin’s thigh.

“Ah, always there for me in dire times like now.” He giggled, his eyes forming into crescents. The bus was quiet and peaceful with a light melody playing softly in the background. “Min Yoongi, I don’t really think I’ve ever asked, but what’s your dream? Like after we finish college, what do you want to do?”

“I uh, actually wanna write and produce music,” Yoongi smiled.

“I think that’s amazing, are you looking into any music companies yet?”

“Nah. I just kinda post things on Soundcloud.”

“Ohh,” Jimin grinned. “I’ll post your soundcloud across all my social medias and promote you like the number one fan I am! Gotta represent my man, you know?”

Yoongi chuckled, “Good. I love you, Jimin. I hope you know that.”

“I too, love you, but you probably already knew that.” The bus made several stops in their route before reaching their destination. Jimin lifted his feet off of Yoongi’s lap and followed him out of the bus, thanking the driver before entering the warm hotel, the lobby now empty. They approached the elevator, waiting for the metallic door to open. Jimin stood closely beside Yoongi, his arm slung around his waist.

“I still love hearing you say it, though,” Yoongi smiled, kissing the top of Jimin’s head.

They entered the elevator, Jimin pressing the button of their floor before leaning in. “Well, I love you, Min Yoongi.” He whispered in his ear before leaving light kisses along his jawline.

“You really know how to seduce a man,” Yoongi smiled, eyes rolling shut in bliss as Jimin continued to kiss him.

“You’re an easy one to please.” Jimin grinned, stopping as the elevator doors open, leading Yoongi into the hallway toward their room. He pulled out the card key, unlocking the door and tossed the duffle bag aside in the the living room, bolting straight to the bathroom. “Bath time, bath time, bath time!” He shouted with a childish tone.

Yoongi chuckled and followed behind Jimin, slowly stripping off his suspenders and shoes as the door latched behind him.

Jimin peeled off his shirt, tossing it across the room, landing directly on Yoongi’s head and let out bursts of giggles. “That was purely accidental, I promise!”

Yoongi huffed and pulled Jimin’s shirt off his face. “Oh don’t think you’re gonna get away with that one,” he threatened, pulling off his own shirt and unbuttoning his pants.

Jimin stuck out his tongue, starting up the bath as it filled up, pouring some soap to create a thick layer of bubbles, the room lingering with the sweet scent of vanilla. He finished peeling off the rest of his layers, tossing them in a pile alongside Yoongi’s and stepped into the tub once it was filled, sighing at the warmth. He lifted up his arm covered in bubbles, gesturing Yoongi to join.

Yoongi smiled and stepped into the tub, situating himself between Jimin’s legs and leaning back against his chest. He sighed with contentment as his muscles relaxed in the hot water and turned his head to kiss Jimin’s cheek. “This is so perfect.”

“Not nearly as perfect as you though, hyung.” Jimin squeezed some shampoo onto Yoongi’s hair, massaging his fingers into his scalp, using a stress-relieving technique he once learned from Taehyung during the stressful nights before a big show. “Does this feel alright, honey?”

“It feels so good, Jimin. I now know why dogs like being scratched on the head.”

A snort escaped from Jimin as he ran his thumbs along the nape of his neck, pressing gently into some of the pressure points. “Let me know whenever you’re stressed out, I can provide with cheap head massages.”

“Cheap as in free for the man who stole your heart?” Yoongi inquired.

“Plus tax.”

Yoongi pouted, “The tax better be a kiss or something.”

“Hmm, I think I can take that into consideration. But one needs to make some money, you know.” Jimin shrugged innocently, shaping Yoongi’s silvery hair into little spikes across his head.

“Just add it all to my Jimin loan and I’ll pay it all off one day by buying us a home of our own,” Yoongi winked.

“It’s a deal!” Jimin beamed, piling bubbles onto Yoongi’s head. “We’ll have such a big and expensive place with all that loan money.”

Yoongi laughed, “Whatever you want, Jimin. Once I become a hot-shot producer I’ll buy you the biggest and best house ever.”

“I’ll support you every step of the way until you become one. You can do anything, Min Yoongi.” Jimin stated, washing the suds out of Yoongi’s hair. “Really, anyone who says otherwise is lying.”

Yoongi smiled, “Thank you, Jimin. I really appreciate you. Tell me, how can I appreciate you tenfold and help you with your dreams?”

“Just keep doing what you love and produce music for me to dance to, that is, if you like to. I love dancing to your music.”

Yoongi shifted so he could look at Jimin, “Of course, baby. Also, I know I said you could top tonight, but I’m so tired right now. Is it okay if we just relax and then go to bed? We can do whatever you want tomorrow in our bed.”

“Of course honey, we did a lot today and before you know it, will be back in school stressing over our assignments. Get as much rest as you can.

“Mmmh,” Yoongi hummed in agreement. “You know you’ll never be able to get me out of bed with you in the mornings. I’ll just hold tightly onto you and snuggle us deep into the blankets.”

“Now it’s just going to be harder for me get out of bed, sugar lips.” Jimin grinned.

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