#i have a mat down under my chair and a bin on the floor next to me

[poodiciary]

sitting at your table teasing a giant poop in and out against the resistance of your chair >>>>>

[bubmyg]

orchid - myg

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre/warnings: fluff, angst, childhood best friends to lovers, fake engagement au? kind of?, emotional constipation to the max, rapper/singer!yoongi, wedding planner!reader; set in a beach side town because i can’t help myself, loosely based off like three different hallmark movies, told entirely in yoongi’s pov, random svt members appear too

word count: 19,079

summary: everyone has a theory as to why renowned singer songwriter min suga hasn’t released an album in over two years but none of those theories point to a crippling inspiration block. or to a wedding. or the one where yoongi doesn’t know his fiancé's favorite flower but he knows yours.

a/n: the longest fic and the hardest fic i’ve ever written is done. i’ve never written something that was this invested completely from a member’s point of view so this was certainly something new and challenging and fun! i hope u enjoy (pls let me know if u do) and thank u for reading this monster jfkjsld

Petals of bleeding purple, a hard line in the center of white where blending hadn’t been buffed out with a brush, almost pink meeting in a jagged line as if dipped onto nature by the curved tip of a damp paintbrush. They came in uneven waves, plucked from their stem to rest on the edges of Yoongi’s yellow notepad. His smile grew with the volume of words he scrawled across the page, patient in gently brushing them aside with the curve of his tiniest finger the longer you fiddled with the flowers in your grasp. 

“Sorry,” You hushed after the third time he’d nudged the offending petals aside, burying them in grains of sand that moved each time you shifted closer to him. He dropped his pen just to glance at you, something bleeding into his own vital organ at the way your eyes were comically, genuinely, dilated in apology. 

“S’okay,” Yoongi’s hand fist in the sand behind him, lounging backward. “I suppose I should be, you know, talking to you.”

“Why?” You gently shoved at his shoulder, “Special occasion?”

His cheek lulled against his arm, eyes falling shot as the corners of his mouth turned up. One deep inhale and he hummed, “—going to miss you, you know?”

Your grasp didn’t move from his arm, instead sliding downward to curve your fingers around his elbow. When he didn’t budge, you shifted closer, squashing any remaining petals below your thighs as you settled your cheek against his sleeve. “Are you really, though?”

Yoongi’s eyes shot open, chin pointing down towards you, “Are you serious?”

A sliver of your irises appeared under your eyelashes, turning away into his grasp after a second to shrug. 

“Well…” He let out a grunt as he shifted, dropping his notepad and pen on top of his nearby bag, “I probably won’t miss you catching crabs just to drop them down the back of my shirt. I won’t fondly remember that time you shoved me into the tide with my work uniform on. I definitely will be forgetting your haircut in seventh grade—” You smacked his thigh, earning a gentle grin as he jostled his arm, coaxing you to look at him. 

“But you?” Yoongi reached past his bag, gathering one of the flowers you’d plucked into diligent fingers. The crooked end of his index finger pleated it behind your ear, hand hovering there. He leaned closer instead, heart swelling in the same way your pupils dilated to collect all the celestial bodies glittering on the push and pull of the tide beyond your tiny campsite. 

He shook his head, barely a twitch in his neck, “I could never forget you, angel.”

“Good!” 

Yoongi startled forward instead of back, bashing your foreheads together with an audible, hollow sounding thump. He groaned in time with your scrambling, your touch leaving him to instead stretch over his lap, rustling around in your own bag. It didn’t come without you digging your palm into his inner thigh, forcing another tiny grunt from Yoongi’s mouth before you settled again, a safe distance away. 

He eyed you again, welt quickly swelling onto the crown of his hairline, sand digging into the dip in his eyelids. You held something in cupped palms and he had half the mind to assume it was a crab to dump down his shirt like some sort of sick joke. 

But Yoongi supposed the sick joke was on him because in a blur of momentary pain and a two percent chance that you’d snatched a ghost crab out of the darkness, you were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“—because I bought you something to remember me by.”

Yoongi’s studio collected trinkets. A baseball jersey with his stage name plastered across the back draped to his chair. A tiny Kumamon plush squished between his monitor and a sea turtle shaped coaster that held his favorite coffee tervis. An oxymoron of a welcome mat with a brutish cat advertising go away. 

A framed platinum record for his debut single encased on either side by a song of the year and a record of the year trophy. Just trinkets. 

Something meticulous to his nature never moved his items. Their arrangement created some sense of security and warmth, feet stepping out of rubber sole slippers in the hallway to the thick grey rug over the tile floor like brushing away a curtain of gathered mist in the haze of an already uneasy conscious. The programs on his massive computer monitors didn’t help, nor did his untouched keyboard or the various other pieces of equipment scattered with less than neat wires over his work space. 

But the trinkets didn’t move. That he could count on. 

The press, he could count on them too. Their newest angle, an attempt to prod their way into his growing collection of items, was plastering a grainy image of himself onto their glossy covered magazine front. He could handle the images when they were nothing but background noise in his email, a notification from an intern in marketing that he’d been caught. Yoongi deleted the email with a good conscience. Going to a bar didn’t warrant front page gossip news. 

He’d seen it all in two years since releasing any substantial work. The first guess had been that his contract was under negotiation. Dropped after successful debut? Then he’d signed for five more years and they had to scramble for something else. A fake feud with long time soloist Jung Hoseok, battle of the company’s two superstars, who will come out on top? Hoseok released new music first. Yoongi had producing credits on it. 

And Hoseok was the other shadow in the grainy press image in the present day, his face cut off by the massive pink banner that curled around the perimeter of the magazine’s layout. 

Excessive partying? The headline read. Yoongi pressed his thumb to the center of the cover, bending the magazine as he lifted it closer. Font a handful of sizes smaller than the title looped underneath the image, the curled edges of characters slipped around his throat and stalling his sharp inhale for a half second. 

Min Suga, one hit wonder? New questions as hiatus stretched toward the two year mark. 

The vibration of his cellphone startled him out of his trance. The magazine flopped forward in his grasp, giving out to curl over his knuckles as he poked at the device with his free index finger. 

“Hey.”

Yoongi dragged his fingers down his cheek, letting the limp magazine rest against his thigh. “Yeah, Tae?”

“Are you working on something?”

His blank monitor mocked him, the plain black screen with massive SUGA written through the center ridiculously simplistic and frustratingly idle. Yoongi shook his head even though his manager couldn’t see him over speaker phone. “No.”

“Great, they want you in the conference room in ten,” Taehyung’s voice dropped an octave, falling out of professionalism as he casually asked, “Have you seen the headlines?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi let the magazine fly, hitting the free space near his keyboard with a smack and a tinkling noise. Just another trinket. “What do they want me for?”

“To talk about the headlines,” He could hear the smile in Taehyung’s voice and he could hear the way it erased at Yoongi’s lack of response. “No we’ve...figured out a way to move forward from this. From all of this. Maybe. Just be here, alright?”

“Where else would I go?”

“I don’t know, the bar?”

Yoongi let himself laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. The last time he’d set foot in a club was the last time he’d been photographed in one. An incident that happened far before his first album when he’d just been signed to the label from some offhanded success on a self published streaming site. 

“Watch it.”

“Didn’t know you still had it in you, old man,” Yoongi could sense Taehyung beaming and he relaxed. Marginally. 

“Whatever. See you in a few.”

His phone hit his work space with another elicited click of soft against glass. The reflection of his idle monitors curved over the object in question, contouring shadows around the silver and purple object until Yoongi reached for it, dragging it out from underneath where he’d shoved the magazine. 

A tiny glass orchid purposed to be a pin with the sharpness of a gold latch strapped to the back teetered in Yoongi’s open palm. A misplaced trinket. He clutched it tightly, letting the smooth edges cool into the calloused lines of his hand as he stood from his desk chair, safely depositing the object a tier up on his desk, far away from any further misplacement. 

The magazine didn’t last long in Yoongi’s collection, though. He rolled it, depositing it with a heavy thump into a trash bin on his way out the door. 

Taehyung fidgeted in time with Seungcheol shuffling papers at the head of the small conference table. He crossed his legs, uncrossed, shuffled to the side, fingered at the edge of his own stack of folders slipped sideways from their neat tower, shifted enough to bump shoulders with Yoongi where he sat white knuckled in the chair directly next to him. Yoongi nudged him back, intentional, reaching over to pat his thigh until he settled. His manager and friend glanced at him with wide eyes and Yoongi shrugged, retracting his hand to fold it with the latter then shoved intertwined fingers between his thighs. 

“How’s the writing coming?” Seungcheol asked finally. He hadn’t looked up, continuing to filter through a myriad of stapled packets, one eyebrow cocked into styled bangs. 

Yoongi shrugged again, features wincing. His shoulders hunched from the curl of his stature into himself but he allowed his muscles to relax, and inverted shrug. “No different,” It was shame at himself in his voice, at the nagging innards that told him he needed to make music and at the smoldering creative synapses that refused to fire anymore. Softly, he added, “But I’m working on it.”

“Have you spoken with Jihoon?” Seungcheol looked up then, enough to flatten a packet to the table and slide it across. It was a list of credited songs to said company producer, ones Yoongi would have to do no more than record over his soft vocaled friend and send out a release date to the public. 

The high value Yoongi held his art to, personal and important to him, loomed in his subconscious. Somewhere in the archive he was sure he could connect to Jihoon’s words, dig out enough content to compile into an EP and sate the media. 

But it was the principal of the thing. 

“I’ll figure it out.”

Seungcheol accepted the packet when Yoongi pushed it back, nodding with folded fingers settling over the paper. “About the press...recently—”

“We have an idea!”

Yoongi glanced at Taehyung like he’d grown a second nose from the round of his smiling cheek but Seungcheol didn’t seem affected, nodding with a gentle smile curving upwards on his lips. “Go on, Taehyung. You explain.”

It was only the three individuals in the cramped conference room, a spare in the back corner of the company hallways that was grabbed for the sake of privacy and the ability to drop formalities between the artist, manager, and CEO who’d become easy friends. Yet, Taehyung’s dramatic pacing around the perimeter of the room suggested he was plotting a multi-million dollar investment to a swath of shareholders. 

“What’s the one thing in the world that takes ages to plan?”

Yoongi squinted, “...I don’t believe that description is limited to one thing.”

Taehyung ignored him, “When googling this very thing, there are to do lists that range anywhere from a ten step process to an eighty-eight step process, depending on how you choose to split up the planning…”

“It’s an event in which there is an entire job created to plan the very thing.”

“Event planners are a universal job,” Yoongi sighed, “Go on.”

Taehyung’s steps stalled, one arm still folded behind his back, the latter lifting one finger in Yoongi’s direction. “What’s the one, single most romantic day and event that will ever happen in a couples life?”

“Romance is not limited to a singular interaction and often the horrors of capitalism prey on that insecurity when in reality, leaving someone their favorite coffee in their favorite coffee mug before they go to work can be considered romance—”

“Correct!” Taehyung remained unaffected by his rant, letting his wrist hinge to point a stiff index finger in Yoongi’s direction, “If one day you happen to find someone willing to put up with those kind of statements, what would you like to do to them? Or with them, I guess—”

Seungcheol sighed, brushing his paperwork aside to clatter ring clad fingers against the top of the conference table. “How do you feel about getting engaged?”

Yoongi briefly thought the world had chosen that exact moment to flood the remaining thirty percent of it’s surface with water, voices sounding far away as if muffled by an echo and thirty pounds of wool. He managed to pull himself out of it by actually looking at something blue, the stretch of skyline on the tiny window just beyond Seungcheol’s shoulder and even if towers of smoke created faux clouds, it still reminded him to breathe. 

As a result, a neanderthal question tumbled out of pouted lips, “To who?”

“Someone,” If Yoongi weren’t fond of the organization in his files, he would have tossed one like a frisbee directly at Taehyung’s neck. His manager flailed his hands as if it were simple, “Anyone! That’s the beauty of the plan.”

Seungcheol had shifted forward to bury his face in intertwined fingers, muffling the audible sigh he let out. “At first, we thought to sign a contract with someone within the company,” Red marks were left in the path of his fingertips dragging down from underneath his eyelids, “But the aftermath of the eventual breakup would be too much for both parties. We can’t do that, not to someone in or outside the agency—”

“I wouldn’t do that anyway,” Yoongi’s levelheaded sternness faltered as he dropped his gaze to the fiddling fingers in his lap, “This is all my fault. I’m not incidentally sharing my burden with someone innocent.”

“Besides—” He tried to smile, “—not sure you could get anyone to want to fake marry me.”

“You are so dense,” Taehyung scoffed, “Half our talent would add a dating clause to their contract right now if you were on the other end of it.”

A deep spring pink blossomed in jagged puzzle pieces over Yoongi’s bare cheeks and he was thankful for the lack of schedule and makeup as he involuntarily lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. 

“Essentially, your partner will remain nameless,” Seungcheol drew a shape on the table with his nail, “We’ll disguise them as a non-famous individual. Something about a short term relationship but a long term planning process for the wedding—” He nodded solemnly, “—that’ll be why your music has been on hold.”

He wasn’t done, lifting his finger from the table, “The suddenness and the eventual break up of the relationship will be a win win. Each will buy you time to write.”

“And you know what else?” Taehyung had sat again, barely, dangerously hovering on the edge of his chair as he leaned toward Yoongi. “You can go home!”

Another folder glided across the table, coming to a stop in front of Yoongi’s furrowed eyebrows. He tucked his thumb inside, flipping it open to be met with a full page ad, one that had his breath stalling in his throat and his tongue curling into a dried knot. 

“There’s still a wedding business that runs out of your parents’ former home.” 

Yoongi watched you spread the petals with a delicate touch, fingers placing pressure in the sand as you instead created them a tiny rut to rest in, safer from the curl of gentle night breezes brushing off the calmed waves. His gaze trailed in a jagged line, from the ballpoint tip of his pen to the half drawn character crooked between the lines on his yellow notepad to the stretch of his legs outward on the tiny embankment to the crouched curl of your stature. Finally you settled, one full flower in cupped palms, breeze catching the petals there to drape them across the lines in your hands. 

“Did…” He paused when you glanced at him quizzically, “You got the last of the contract details finalized, yes?”

A bright smile encased your features at his question, nodding, “Same day you signed your contract, superstar!—” You leaned closer, hand falling over his knee and he tensed, “Technically I’m a business owner now. You should be nicer to me.”

“So you never finished the application then?” You tilted your head and Yoongi clarified, “School. Scholarship. The city…” My city. 

A quiet smile graced the wrinkles next to your eyes even if your teeth died from it, dropping your chin. One petal plucked from it’s center, lifted by the pinch of your fingers until the wind caught it and it drifted toward Yoongi, slipping up over the spine of his notepad and settling against his belt. 

“I don’t need a degree to teach me a business I already manage,” You said kindly. “If your parents felt confident enough to completely sign it over to me in their retirement, then I suppose we’ll just have to trust their judgement.” 

You tilted your head, “Why? Do you not trust me?”

Yoongi swallowed. He wasn’t holding his bag, but it felt heavier in that moment, like it’s very important contents were weighing on the straps slung to shoulders that drooped involuntarily. You’d gone back to plucking at your flower by the time he gathered himself, eyebrow still raised albeit. 

“No, no, it’s not that,” The next mark on his page was angrier, dark and scuffing through thin pages to leave flakes in its wake. “You’ll do great.”

“I…” Your speech stalled but your petal picking didn’t, “You know, up until I signed the contract, the business was yours to have. Your parents would have left and still would leave it to you in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t want to run the business. You do. We both know that,” And he meant it. Taking over the family business had never been more than a joke passed over dinner and the occasional holiday, especially not when you’d earned full time employment there. His parents had never been interested much in the idea of keeping it in the family. It hadn’t started that way and there was no reason for it to be such in the future. Why allow you to spend thousands of dollars to start your own aspirations from the ground up when you could continue something that had only improved in legacy from your thoughts and ideals in the time you’d been employed there, anyway. 

Still, Yoongi knew you felt a certain level of apprehension towards signing the contract. There were invisible standards to hold up in your mind, just like there were invisible boundaries you desperately never wanted to cross. 

There was a feeling of indebt clouding the way your clammy fingers shook to sign the paper on the same dinner table you’d been invited in to by the boy whose gum filled smile only shined for you. 

The petals had stopped drifting against his calves again. He glanced at your shoulders rounding, arms limp between the part of your thighs. 

“You’re sure?”

Yoongi nudged your shoulder, incessant until you looked at him.

“I’m sure.” 

Your face grinned at Yoongi in melded inks, ones clearly from the office printer in Taehyung’s office slapped onto low grade, basic copy paper. 

“Do you know the owner, by any chance?” Seungcheol nodded toward the document in Yoongi’s possession, “The person who bought it from your parents?”

Purple specks bled into pink when he dropped the folder to the table, instead using the last link of his middle finger to rub at his eyelid. 

“No,” He met the tattered edge of his fingernail instead of the eyes of his boss, “I have no idea who took it over after them.”

Fingertips patterned a beat to the table top, lining over Seungcheol’s soft hums as he considered the information, shuffling a bit more at his paperwork. 

“Story will hit the press in three days. Your flight will leave in a week. I’ll email you the itinerary but essentially there will be a series of different press dockets done in your time at home—” Seungcheol gestured vaguely, “—engagement photos, staged bits of you planning, things to make it believable, completely produced and sent by us, of course. Keep the prying away from your next album.”

“We’ll insinuate that this is a wedding you’ve been planning for a while, something you’ve been fronting the majority of the work for in the comfort of your ridiculously romantic seaside hometown.”

Yoongi set his shoulders after a half heartbeat of silence, one that earned Taehyung’s gaze on the side of his face, “Is that our only option?”

“Of course not. It’s an idea, no more no less,” Seungcheol sighed, “Unfortunately, we’re to the point where there is only so much I can do for your image. Refuting claims of going to a club seems ridiculous, but the narrative is out there now. No one cares that you were there with Hoseok, they only remember their fabricated feud.”

A gentle smile crossed his lips, “An inspiration block isn’t a good story until there’s music that comes out of it.”

“How do I keep—” Yoongi’s tongue dried on your name, stuttering it back into his throat as he corrected, “How do we keep those close to the situation from telling the press?”

“We’ll give the wedding planner a check. Otherwise, no one should know the wedding is fake. Improve authenticity if anyone gets a hold of the gas station attendant who met you one time,” Seungcheol made air quotes with his fingers, “Trusted sources, you know.”

“...is that something we should be worried about?” He leaned forward in his chair, “Someone leaking something to the press, that is?”

Yoongi swallowed. His chin broke the rigidity of his stature first, dropping, then shaking, fists on curling outward until flattened palms curled around the edge of the table. 

“No,” He said finally, “Shouldn’t be an issue.”

Particular details he knew would be in various reminder emails and sent by text from Taehyung well in advance became background noise to him, like the water from earlier had returned and lipped over his ear canals. They’d taken his lack of protest as a go ahead on the plan, discussing contract details for legality and file purposes without much input from Yoongi. He wasn’t going to deny them, anyway. No matter what the selfish ball unfurling in the sinking pit of his stomach told him to feel. 

Taehyung standing caused him to stand, numb in moving as his brain registered the quiet dismissal without his conscious quite catching up. It was his name that startled him enough to focus, Seungcheol standing opposite him with a hand resting on the back of the chair he previously sat in. 

“Enjoy your trip home,” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a request. The next bit was a comfort, “It’ll come back.”

In the light of his trinkets, Yoongi lounged into his office chair, carefully pulling his phone to his face. The expected text messages were there, ones Taehyung had labeled with giant letters WRITE THIS DOWN WHEN YOU OPEN IT, an email from Seungcheol with his flight information, and an obligatory email from Jihoon that he assumed was at the prodding of their shared boss. He swiped past all of them with a delicate index finger, instead tapping around meticulously organized folders until he found his contacts. 

Phone changes had been abundant through his young career but he maintained a vast majority of the information. Including your name, one he scrolled by without truly remembering if it were there but quietly hoping to see anyway. He let that same finger hover over the name, gathering enough courage only to press on it to pull up the full contact page but not to hit the tiny blue phone hovering out next to the number. 

Instead, he slipped his phone to his desktop, shaking awake his idle screen to click onto an internet browser. The business name appeared in the search box from a prior investigation but Yoongi typed it all out anyway, making sure to add the town so that the relevant place was pulled up. 

The website was a bit generic but it was leaps and bounds ahead of what it had been when his parents still held control all those years ago. In any case, it was a higher quality version that the manila folder Seungcheol had presented him with, that a screen cap of the business homepage that currently stared at Yoongi in ridiculously bright pixels. 

Incidentally, the cursor hovered over your picture, one slightly bigger than the panels of options and tabs scattered underneath. His gaze wandered from the familiar lines of your smile to the orchid he’d placed aside earlier, gaze wavering until he could see the reflection of the glass in the computer monitor. 

Long fingers plucked the trinket out of it’s place for the second time that day, letting it rest to the heel of Yoongi’s palm as he placed it between his thighs, sighing. 

“See you soon, angel.”

Muscle memory presents in things like riding a bike, something your body never quite forgets how to do. But even the trained cyclist will bobble after years of not climbing aboard their vehicle or at the very least, they certainly won’t be hitting their personal record the first time back out. In a similar fashion, Yoongi’s wrist remained limp over the head of his steering wheel, bypassing the correct turn twice. 

It wasn’t that he was lost. He recognized his surroundings once engulfed further into the scenery, pulled into the days of his youth and budding adulthood. But it wasn’t his final destination. 

By the third time his rental SUV rolled past the gravel turnoff, he started to think his subconscious was doing it on purpose. 

His conscious remembered the back way, guiding his car out to the highway that circumvented the coast line, blue blurring into the early afternoon sky until he was almost startled by the return of trees as the road curved back on to land. A few purposeful turns later and his phone GPS, a backup that he’d tuned out the nagging of, happily informed him you’ve arrived. 

The grass was a bit greener than he remembered, almost plush under his tennis shoes as he stepped out of the car. The flowers definitely were, decorated meticulously around varying archways, wire and wooden in build, chevron patterns of pink and purple and blue and yellow and everything in between. Paneled outsides of the main building appeared to have been freshly painted, a red outlined in white dirtied near where the cinder block foundation peeked up from the ground and the mulch collected in the landscaping. 

Yoongi scuffed his way to the winding dirt path that led to the front door of the two story farmhouse, the only thing that appeared as though it hadn’t changed. Bits of gravel stuck here and there but the path was otherwise a beige dirt, dust clinging to the ground from the lack of rain and kicking up around Yoongi’s ankles as he shuffled. Ground lanterns lined the way, solar panels absorbing the heat for their evening duty, some staked out of the ground more so than others, tilted at all angles but the effect in the night was there regardless.

A handful of paces from the house was a wooden sign, it’s white outer edge not fairing the same as the house as chips were missing to show the wood underneath, splinters poking out in all directions otherwise. Most were covered by stacks of hay bales positioned strategically around more clay pots of flowers, ones that had started their vining process up the rough posts. 

Your face wasn’t there this time but your logo was, contact information splayed out underneath the looping script, Be Happy, white on top of a powder blue. You hadn’t changed the name when you took over ownership. Yoongi had a size too small t-shirt somewhere deep in the recesses of his closet with the same name in opposite colors, black and white. You’d looked ridiculous when you worked events together, even when you returned back to the house and spent hours on the front porch swing sipping slightly unbalanced lemonade Yoongi made on the spot while shit talking the groom.  

The memories, plural in the way they swirled to the forefront of his conscious at the first step of his sole onto the lowest porch step, elicited a tiny upward curl to the outer seam of his lips. Curled fists stuffed their way into the pockets of his pants, hanging his head as he vaulted another step up until two heeled boots cinched at the ankle came into his view. 

The lipped edges of his white bucket hat flopped into his direct line of sight but he still managed to register a lot of black, skin tight in a pair of ripped jeans, in the ajar hang of a leather jacket on toned collarbones, in the widen of perfectly round irises that blinked three consecutive times at Yoongi’s frozen figure. 

“Suga?” The man squeaked, taking another step backward on the staircase. “What are you....why are you....”

“How did you get to this town of all places?”

Yoongi’s lips parted just enough to let out a noise that would stall the younger man, a prolonged hum until he finally settled on the gentle answer, a tease in a monotone, “By plane and then rental car.”

The black figure giggled, giggled, a high pitched noise that made his features crunch up in the center of his nose. In his distraction at Yoongi’s poor attempt at humor, he rushed out your name, something that made the younger man pause in his laughter fit to cock an eyebrow. 

“Do you need to....” The poor man blinked again, chin cocking in the slightest, “Are you needing…” A high pitched noise of confusion came from the back of his throat and his chin twitched the opposite direction, “How do you know Y/N?” 

Yoongi’s lips pressed into his cheeks again, just for a fraction of a second, “Small world—” Determined yet wobbly steps carried him to stand level with the man yet still leaving him a few inches below eye level. Sharply, he stuck out a hand, “—Yoongi.”

“What—”

“Call me Yoongi,” Yoongi slipped his bucket hat off with his free hand, letting black locks fluff in static pieces around his eyelashes, “Please.”

“Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk,” The younger man surprised Yoongi by grasping his palm with both hands, giving it a firm shake. He continued to stay attached to him as he turned up toward the house, eyes darting wildly until he chirped, “T-they’re out right now but if you want to come inside, I can go see if I can find—”

“That would be great,” Yoongi smiled kindly, letting his hand stay in Jeongguk’s grasp as the younger enthusiastically began to drag him toward the front door. 

A lot of things appeared to be updated from when Yoongi resided within the creaking floorboards of the house yet somehow, you’d tastefully managed to keep its original charm. There wasn’t anything that said you couldn’t update whatever you pleased, you owned the house and you owned the business, his parents happy to hand over everything in favor of an easy retirement a few cities up the coast, a bit more lively than the sleepy, tourist free town they’d spent the majority of their adult lives in. Even then, Yoongi found himself oddly charmed by the way you’d retained a lot of what you’d grown up around too, a consistent visitor from your cognitive teenage years to a steady employee through high school and college. 

It was between admiring the sealer you’d chosen for the hardwood floors and wondering how you’d so artfully covered up the floral wallpaper his mother insisted on piling onto drywall that Yoongi’s heart stopped beating somewhere in the base of his throat, resuming it’s patter at a skyrocketing pace as it shot downward into the pit of his stomach. 

There was something to the low sitting wardrobe piece kept in the foyer of the business section of the house that Yoongi couldn’t quite understand. In the end, he decided it was probably due to the fact that none of the drawers would quite stay on their tracks, sticking shut when you tugged on their flapping gold handles after twirling tiny gold bars into minuscule locks and then tipping out and forward when you finally could get them out, puffs of dust curling outward from the harsh scratch of wood on wood in the process. 

Maybe it was that the top left drawer stayed unlocked at all times, enough to harbor a cardboard box that kept the keys for the rest of the drawers. Maybe it was that he knew there was nothing in the locked drawers aside from some decades old paperwork, a handful of paper grocery bags, and his every day personal items, ones that never stayed in there during business hours. 

That is, until he started storing a few secrets underneath his wallet and car keys. 

The first secret didn’t remain that way for long. Plane tickets were booked just as a formality but they signified so much more, like the unsigned contract he’d had emailed to him in the middle of recording something on his half dead microphone to upload to the very account that had pushed him toward getting recognized by an entertainment company. Unsigned quickly became signed and synonymous with the day it no longer became a secret, breaking the news to his parents that he wouldn’t be going back to university after the summer of catering to carrying any and all truckloads of equipment associated with a wedding planner to and from their positions. Yoongi was careful then, softening the news as to why there was a new key on his lanyard and garnering the warmth that his announcement of finding an apartment near his new job had lessened his parents' apprehensions in the slightest. 

Then there was you. The person who’d started off as willing to listen to his halfhearted rants about basketball and the specifics of what an angry bride sounded like over crust-less peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and eventually became the person his parents trusted with hearing those complaints firsthand. In a roundabout way, he had your eventual co-workership to thank for starting his career, giving him more time to write and record and publish, particularly when you lessened your hours at your shared university in order to take over a greater role at the business. 

In Yoongi’s mind, the ideal scenario was the one with the highest probability of becoming reality. He would sign with an entertainment company not minutes away from a university with a high ranked business graduate school. You would get into said graduate school, giving his parents a final few years to iron out any details they wished for your eventual takeover. 

He would have enough time to translate song lyrics into Yoongi words and effectively cure part of the yearning in his heart that dragged his chest first toward you anytime you were in his general vicinity. 

The addition of you to his secret drawer came in the form of a tiny velvet box, the first step toward allowing his yearning to manifest in an exterior way rather than remaining simply as his heart swelling and spilling between the spaces in his rib cage. 

Yoongi took the staircase two at a time, dropping onto the ground floor with a resounding creak. Socked feet pulled at the various splinters formed between the spaces in hardwood as he made his way through the silent business level of the house. His plane tickets and apartment key came out of hiding, resting on top of the wooden piece of furniture as to not forget them with the addition of his massive grey suitcase stationed next to the refrigerator two rooms over. He left the normal essentials though, allowing himself that familiarity in what would be his last night in the house potentially for good. 

Meticulous fingers balanced the proper key between the hole underneath the handle, mechanical click making Yoongi’s tongue pull back into his mouth in triumph as one hearty tug had the drawer popping free. He shrugged his backpack from one shoulder, enough to deposit his wallet into the front pouch and snag his keys on the twirl of his index finger. The next object made his throat dry, digits clasping around the box with a hard swallow. 

If you can’t see it, it can’t make you anxious. Yoongi promptly hid it away next to his wallet, shoving his arm back through the dangling backpack strap and striding for the front door. 

You seemed to be just as startled as his most vital organ, pausing your advancements into the house just in front of the heavy piece of furniture, loose knobs rattling with the steps you took. Yoongi instead scrambled, tripping out of the oak chair Jeongguk had left him in when he’d scurried away in search of you. In the process, his hip nudged at the corner of the round conference table, scuffing across the floor and effectively rattling all the metal again. And every other loose object in the house, it seemed. 

“Yoongi?” Your voice came out soft, lips parting like a fish out of water. Your apprehension lasted long enough for a soft smile to corner into the seam of his lips before you were coughing, shaking your head as your stature set, “What can I do for you?”

The bashful smile spread into a bit of heat that sprinkled his cheeks and his hand touched his neck, shoulders hunching. “Uhh—” He squinted from underneath his eyelashes, “—do you happen to plan weddings?”

He missed the way your stature froze again, rigid all the way down to the tips of your toes that rooted to the ground inside your shoes, gaze instead jerking to the squeak of delight Jeongguk let out from the doorway. The younger’s eyes widened when your gaze whipped to him, trying to retreat outside before you could scold him but to no avail. 

“Can you go finish loading the archway into the trailer for me?” Jeongguk nodded frantically, another step dragging the door with him until you added an octave louder, “The sunflower pots go with it, not the petunias.” His got it! was muffled by the echoing shut of the front door. 

“Thank you. I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble—”

“Sit.”

Yoongi plopped directly down into the chair, watching with pursed lips and round eyes as you drug out the chair across from him, taking your time in sliding to the end of the wood. A sharp inhale racked your shoulders, keeping your gaze on the grain of wood where it peaked out from the lace table runner curled down the center of the furniture until you finally looked at him. 

“No how are you? No how’s business going? No stack of signed CDs for me to hand out to customers as incentive?” Your eyebrows furrowed in teasing but the light didn’t quite reach your full smile. Not the one Yoongi remembered. “Just a I’m getting married.” 

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

Yoongi’s smile softened, leaning forward until one of his hands could encase the fiddling of yours. You glanced at him between picking a bit of skin from around your thumb nail. 

“How have you been, angel?”

It was childish, the way you pulled your hands against your chest, and there was still a hint of something in your voice, teasing, “No, too late now.”

He shook his head, a soundless laugh leaving through his nose. “Business seems to be going well. I see you’ve made a lot of upgrades on the property—”

“I told you,” Your arms instead threaded at your chest, leaning back into the chair, “You are too late. Should have done those formalities first.”

“Ah, right. Customer treatment now?”

“What’s your spouse's name?” You shifted again, enough to cross your legs, “For the paperwork. Not for the press.”

Part of Seungcheol’s monologue curled into his mind in that second but he had no reason to believe you were series. He shook his head, earning a laugh from you that confirmed his suspicions. You were kidding about the last part. 

“That’s actually, uhm—” Yoongi turned, glancing in the general direction of the staircase, “—is there anyone else around?”

“Jeongguk is my only employee. Spill, who are they?”

“Have you...read anything about me lately?”

“Truthfully, Yoongi—” Your arms uncrossed to grip the chair underneath you, legs unfolding to place your feet flat on the ground, “—I try not to.”

Yoongi nodded. Right. You’re the one who left. You’re the one who stopped returning phone calls. 

“The press hasn’t exactly been...patient in waiting for my second album. The negative press has piled on so much that it’s started to reflect on my image and frankly the state of my agency.”

“Is any of it true?”

He blinked at you, “Last week they contrived the image of me being an excessive party-er.”

“Right, they have no idea then.”

Part of Yoongi grew warm at your conviction. “I suppose…”

“The idea is to create positive press with a story my agency can control.”

“Ah, so to fake a wedding,” You nodded gravely, “Everyone loves a celebrity wedding.”

That’s what Taehyung said. “I guess. They thought if they sent me home, that it would give greater meaning to the story. That I’ve been pining at home trying to make the wedding perfect for all these months.”

“And your music?”

Yoongi blinked, finding you leaning forward again with your fingers clasped together, thumbs rubbing at each other. “What about it?”

“Why is it so delayed?” You were gentle again in your obvious statement, “You used to write a song a day here. At least.” 

“Wasn’t that much.” And something in Yoongi remained endeared at the fact that you thought he was constantly writing something new each time he carted his notebook around with him and not fretting over a set of three songs he’d written with your smiley nose wrinkle in mind. 

“Just haven’t felt anything in a while,” To say it out loud felt weird, especially in the presence of someone he’d no much as said hello to in the past handful of years let alone confided his feelings in. The house wasn’t your weekly beach trips.

And you weren’t his best friend anymore. 

“I’ll figure it out.”

“So you need me to…”

“Help me plan a fake wedding,” He said it simply because in his head, he wanted it to be simple, “Obviously, we don’t need the nuanced things in between. But I do need the outward details to be very apparent.”

“...there will be press here eventually to take pictures of me planning. I need to be seen at a venue...here...picking out flowers...you know. Doing wedding planning things.”

“After a few weeks, my company will call it off and I’ll go home. Somehow, they plan to frame the story as a mutual breakup that leaves me in heart break,” He had to refrain from rolling his eyes, “Hopefully from that I can slap together some music to sate them. At the very least, maybe they’ll give me some space.”

“Probably not.”

The tension left Yoongi’s stature and he allowed himself to laugh for a few beats at your bluntness. “Yeah, you’re right, probably not. It’s worth a try or at least, my agency thinks so,” His eyes flicked across your face, “It’s nice to be home, anyway.”

You didn’t allow him the luxury of enjoying the simple silence of your presence, instead standing with a harsh scrape of the chair across the floor. He held his breath as you approached the wardrobe, exhaling when you reached past the top to crouch on the bottom, yanking open the right to retrieve a stack of stapled papers from within. 

“Do you want to go ahead and start?”

Yoongi frowned, “You don’t have any questions?”

“No.”

“You aren’t worried about the press being here?”

“You’re my client,” You shrugged, “Whatever comes with that isn’t my business.”

“...do you want your check?”

It was your turn to frown. “Has your service been fulfilled to your utmost satisfaction?”

Yoongi settled back into his chair. “No...not yet.”

“Then I don’t need paid yet.” A pen materialized in your grasp, one you twirled twice before clicking on. “State your full name.”

You blinked at each other in a challenging silence until you shrugged, “I could just put Min Suga, if you like—”

“Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi watched the poke of your tongue between your cheek fondly, enamored even when you didn’t look up from writing to say, “Spouse...to be determined…”

You’d moved your paperwork party to the front porch of the building, sign now flipped closed and the main entrance gate shut and looped together with a rusted old chain. Condensation lipped down Yoongi’s knuckles when he reached for the glass of lemonade Jeongguk had brought the both of you, ones that garnered his attention away from your incessant chattering. 

“I don’t need to make a full guest list,” He said finally and when you didn’t respond, just continued to rock yourself in the wicker chair you perched upon, he clarified, “The wedding isn’t actually happening.”

“What are you supposed to tell the press then? What if they want a rumored guest list?” 

“I’ll just tell them Hoseok—”

The chair stopped abruptly. “...J-Hope?”

Yoongi rolled his lips together to keep himself from laughing, “That’s the one.”

The rocking resumed and the audible sound of the pen scratching against paper could be heard over the breeze and chirping of birds. “I forgot you were signed under the same agency. Hope World is one of my favorite albums.”

“I had a feature on there, you know.” It was embarrassing how quickly he informed you of the obvious fact but you smiled to his flushed cheeks. 

“You also had a number one best selling album.”

“Did you ever get the album I sent you?” 

“I gave it to Jeongguk.”

Yoongi didn’t have to remind himself of his guilt, he just had to keep it at bay. He smiled, “I can get you another copy.”

“So can I,” You scribbled a nonsensical line to the paper, letting your wrist rest on the pad of paper as you looked at him, “Who else?”

“You.”

You didn’t blink. “I’ll be there. I’m the event coordinator. Theoretically.”

“And theoretically, I’d want you there,” Yoongi didn’t blink, “In another circumstance. I’d invite you.”

He didn’t miss the way your voice softened into a murmured thanks, resuming your haphazard scribbles, “—but unfortunately I am nothing the press would be interested in. Give me another name.”

“Uh...Taehyung I guess. He’s my manager. The fans know a good deal about him. It may be obvious that he would be there, though.”

“It’ll work for now,” Your wrist carried your pen in looping circles down the length of the page until you flipped it at the stapled corner. “Okay, next. Who would you have stand up with you?”

“Taehyung.”

You couldn’t hold your laughter that time, puzzling Yoongi’s features. “I can do that—” You eyed him as you pressed pen tip to paper, “—but that would really make it obvious that he’s attending.”

“Oh,” Yoongi frantically reached for his lemonade again, downing a sizable gulp, “You’re probably right.”

“Okay, most important question. For me and for the press,” You clicked the pen a few times in a rhythm he didn’t recognize, “Give me a date.”

“I was told I had a four week time frame. Agency orders,” His eyebrow cocked when you choked, “What? Do you need more time, because I can call—”

“You think a month is enough time for people to believe you?”

There wasn’t anything condescending about your question. You’d been sitting with him long enough for the sun to start to hide behind the coastline, bathing the world in a color that bordered between black and blue, a hue he couldn’t quite place a name to but knew by heart. You hadn’t jumped at the first opportunity to write a number on the blank line of the check tucked neatly in his wallet. You’d barely considered the validity of his motives and immediately jumped into the task at hand. 

You hadn’t asked him what was wrong when you, of anyone, had the absolute permissions to do so. 

“The press currently believes I’m lazy, undermine close friends for fame, am not genuine in the message of my first album, and, for some reason, that I am unapproachable,” Yoongi shrugged, “I’m, frankly, not too worried about what they do and don’t believe at this point.”

Your features quirked as you shut the packet on your lap, settling your palms flat to the paper to let the pen roll a few paces away in your lap. 

“Yoons.” 

Part of his facade crumbled at the tenderness in which you uttered the nickname as he gripped a bit harder to the chair in an attempt to keep it in place. An audible breath shuddered in and out of his nose before he looked at you. 

“Are you doing okay?”

The fragmented part of his heart that had tumbled into his throat threatened to spill out as you offered him the compassion he wasn’t quite sure he deserved from you and the only way he knew to keep it down was to stand and swallow. His bucket hat came in white knuckles, smashing the article of clothing over wind ruffled hair as he averted his gaze to anything but you. 

“Fine. It’s getting late and I’ve already kept you far past business hours,” Long steps carried him past your stature, pausing with a hand on the rail and a foot on the second step. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

For a second, Yoongi’s peripheral swore to him that you reached for his hand in passing. 

“You’re…”

“Hi,” Yoongi thrust his hand toward the blonde headed man in front of him before he could finish. “Min Yoongi. Nice to meet you.”

The stocky florist blinked at the hand presented to him, then to the taller Jeongguk standing behind Yoongi. Yoongi didn’t have to look to know that giddy smile was still plastered on Jeongguk’s lips and he swore he felt him nod against the side of his ear from how close the younger man was standing to him. 

“Park Jimin,” He said finally, settling his smaller hand into Yoongi’s grasp. After a brief shake, his fingers continued to grip on as his gaze wandered to you where you were picking through a jar of fresh lilac. “What...what can I do for you guys today?”

“Why else do I come to you, Minnie?” You turned, wielding one of the long purple stems to tickle toward the blonde’s nose. Jimin broke away from Yoongi to giggle, swatting at you. “New client. New wedding. New flowers.”

“Right. I have a few of those,” Jimin nearly head butted the glass counter displaying arranged boutineers and sample bouquets, returning a moment later with a tiny notepad and a pen he took off the cusp of his ear, then jammed in plump lips while he flicked through the lined pages. Through the object in his mouth, he muffled, “What can we start with?”

“The usual. Twenty some of each,” Yoongi watched in muted fascination as you moved about the shop, dropping the lilac back in its place in favor of something green and leafy. Various other stems snagged on the ruffled leaves, dragging a messy handful of vegetation, earning a surprised squeak from your lips as you began to untangle them. 

Subconsciously, he reached across, fingers brushing yours in route to pull away one of the three strands. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Helping you?” Yoongi plopped the freed strand back into its container, again stretching long digits toward you. 

“Do you want to be photographed with me?” You wielded the stems away from him until he stopped making grabby hands and instead resorted to jutting his bottom lip out. “Me being your fake fiance’ wasn’t part of the deal.”

“They’re not going to think that,” Yoongi finally succeeded in snagging the tangled flowers away from you, gentle fingers prying them apart and placing them back in their rightful container. He smiled to the glare you set on his cheek, “We’ve got it covered.”

“We’re here for flowers,” You childishly poked your tongue out at him, “Not to argue the logistics of your weird celebrity powers.”

“Don’t make it sound so glamorous,” Yoongi huffed, trailing you as your footsteps took off rapidly through the shop. As abruptly as your speed picked up, it stalled, making him nearly topple over you and a stand of glass butterflies in the process. His hands gripped your waist to steady himself, an action you barely flinched at as you covered his wrists with your hands, leaning past his arm in silence. 

After a handful of heartbeats more, Yoongi ducked closer to your ear and whispered, “Why did you bring me back here?”

There was a small crash from somewhere on the opposite end of the store, then a fit of mingled laughter, something that had you relaxing out of Yoongi’s embrace to look at him. 

“They can’t hear us back here,” You explained. “Now...if you were to actually be getting married, what kind of flowers would you want?”

Yoongi blinked, “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

You weren’t amused, “What about your fictional spouse? What would they like?”

~

He spotted your figure on the bridge carrying over some of the largest sand dunes, your figure just a silhouette but your features lit up by your phone pulled to your nose. He ignored the buzz of a notification in his pocket, instead calling out your name. 

“Yoongi!” You bounced a bit in greeting, arm waving so that the illumination on your screen remained for him to see. He ducked his head in response, gripping the straps of his backpack a bit tighter as he stepped out of his sandals, crooking them in between his index and middle fingers to change terrain to the sand coated wood. He barely reached you when you were snagging his wrist, dragging him down the opposite side of the bridge until bare feet changed once more to pure, cool granules of the beach. 

“Come on,” You tugged a bit harder until he fell in step next to you, “If we hurry, we can pick some before it gets dark.”

“These would be the ones you’d pick,” Yoongi grunted a few minutes later, crouched on a sliding hill of sand to reach his fingers into the vined mess of vegetation rooted to the dirt underneath. The rumble of a crab itched in the arch of his foot where it was buried deep in the sand to anchor him in place but he was afraid to jerk away in fear that his already squinted eyes would be unable to spot the singular stem of pink flowers again. Something in his shoulder popped, knee too, and the crab finally secured it’s pinches into his skin, but he managed to return with the stem in twirled fingers, falling backward onto his backside in a pride crushing triumph. 

Your phone flashlight blinded him as you jogged around the corner, frowning first then breaking into soft giggles. The center of the light shifted away from his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the fact that you were hovering above him with an entire handful of pink and white stems. 

Miserably, Yoongi lifted to a seated position, quite as the last of the sand fell back to the ground from his shoulders and around the crevices in his cloth backpack. His arm stretched slowly upward, holding out the flower with eyes scrunched shut until you slipped it in with your existing bouquet.

One eye peaked when you didn’t say anything, the second falling open in time with your lips softly touching the apple of his cheek. You held your free hand out, palm up, until he laced his fingers with yours. 

“Thank you, Yoons.”

He waited until he was standing, stalling your excited dragging of his figure down the beach with an exclamation of your name. 

“I have something else to give you later,” Yoongi said slowly, “Don’t let me forget.”

You used your intertwined fingers to punch his thigh with his own knuckles, “Better than this flower?”

A slanted smile was the only thing his rapidly beating heart would allow him. 

“Hopefully.”

“Orchids,” Yoongi decided finally, gaze still wavering off beyond your figure, “They’d probably like orchids.”

You swallowed, bouncing once on your heels. Your chin cocked, eyes staring straight ahead from where he stood in front of you. Quickly, he amended, “Is that okay? Are those not good wedding flowers—”

Your steps picked up in speed like they had before, effectively bumping into the bin of glass landscape decorations in trying to brush past him. He took the time to balance the tin, centering a blue butterfly and it’s green caterpillar counterpart before dashing off after you.

Jimin and Jeongguk appeared as though they’d been caught with their hands in a cookie jar although they were no more than crowded around the computer monitor of a shop that Jimin owned and managed. Nonetheless, you seemed to pay no mind to their startled appearances, speaking past Jeongguk’s chin on Jimin’s shoulder to nod toward his forgotten order notepad flopped open on the glass container. 

“Did you—”

“Orchids,” You said, “Pink ones, if you can.”

There was a strange lingering scent from the greenery Yoongi had helped you separate, one he didn’t notice until he was rubbing crooked fingers underneath his nose while waiting for Taehyung to answer his call. He squinted at the smell with a wrinkled nose until the dial tone rolled over to an obnoxious rustling that projected loudly through the speaker. 

“How’s it going, married man?”

Yoongi flinched at the content of Taehyung’s words and the volume, using his thumb to lower it while holding the phone away from his face. When he was sure his manager’s excited outbursts wouldn’t be wholly projected to the entire hotel, he sighed, “I’m not married.”

“But you’re going to be soon,” Taehyung sang. More rustling on the other end. Yoongi wished he could hurl a much too white hotel pillow through the screen. 

“Why did you send me five texts asking me to call you? What do you need?”

“Oh, right,” There was something muffling Taehyung’s speech now that wasn’t the aggressive sound of crinkling. The heel of Yoongi’s palm met his forehead in realization and he could picture the over-sized hamburger clenched between Taehyung’s fingers from miles away. “Namjoon and the team will be there with a new photographer tomorrow to get some staged shots for the press.”

“Staged…” Yoongi rolled to his stomach, sanctioning his weapon pillow against his chest, “Of what?”

“It’s supposed to simulate an engagement photo shoot. They want the pictures for a cover story. That’s why there’s a different photographer coming. You’ll actually get to meet this one,” More wrapper crinkling. An audible swallow. Yoongi began to think a pillow wasn’t the only weapon he needed. 

“How am I supposed to do that with just me?” 

“They only want your face. The anonymity adds to the suspense and interest,” Taehyung sighed, “They should be bringing a model with them. They’ll just be used for their shadow, essentially. Maybe their hands, hand shots of the rings will be good—”

“I don’t have rings.”

“We do.”

Yoongi groaned into the plush of his pillow. “Won’t that ruin the whole facade if someone figures out who the model is? I don’t want to drag a literal total stranger into this mess.”

“Give me a better idea, Yoongi. Use both your hands? Craft a cardboard cutout in your hotel room?”

“I just…” 

If he closed his eyes, it was like traveling through idealization with a fish-eye's view, placing him first in the depth of that rickety old wardrobe piece while a hand he recognized as his own looted around inside to snatch a velvet box, one his point of view was tethered to as he then was transported to the inside of a backpack, rattled around inside with a yellow notepad and a handful of uncapped pens. 

Somewhere along the way, the trip was halted, marked by a nonsensical swirl of color as his fingers rubbed at his eyes, Taehyung’s sarcastic rambles just background noise as the story picked back up in the forefront of his consciousness. It was a longing that generated the second half between the darkness of the backpack and the open breeze off the beach, viewpoint now situated in his own palm, looking up at your tear filled eyes, then skipping forward to peer into the familiarity of his own gaze as he was slid securely onto a finger. 

It was the ridiculous daydream about becoming a literal piece of jewelry that made him speak, cutting off Taehyung’s increasingly outlandish suggestions.

“I’ll do it just…” Yoongi settled his chin on top of the pillow, letting his eyes open to the cloth headboard in front of him, “Don’t send the model. I have someone I can get to stand in.”

There were muffled noises of surprise marked by more, very apparent, chewing until Taehyung sighed, “Won’t that just create the same issue you said previously? What if someone finds out who your stand-in is? What do we do then? Pretend to marry the two of you?”

“That won’t happen,” Yoongi saw shades of pink in hazy petal shapes when he closed his eyes a second time, squishing his cheek against his free hand that rested on his pillow. “Just don’t send the model. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“I don’t know much about the entertainment industry but don’t they generally have models available that can do these kinds of things?” You blinked across at Yoongi as his stylist, Mingyu, jabbed a makeup brush between the closed crease of your eyelids. 

“They do if you’d like me to have them call one,” Yoongi shifted in his own chair, fiddling at the collar of his button up that had just been meticulously fixed for him. He tucked an index finger under the tight fabric, tugging it away from his neck. When that couldn’t sate him, he popped the top button and folded the lapels across his chest. “This isn’t exactly part of your contract…”

“It’s not.” He continued to be amazed by the nonchalant way in which you accepted his suggestion, seeming to move in autopilot since he rigidly explained the dilemma from your dew covered front porch that morning. Stunned must have graced his gaze when you glanced at him, your eyebrows raising considerably when Mingyu moved on to poke and prod at your hair, “But you’re my friend, so I’m helping you.”

You ducked a bit, catching his eyes that darted away while gloss tinted lips parting into a neat oval. “We are still friends...right?”

Yoongi masked his relief with his tone, pitching his voice in firm words so that you couldn’t hear the way his heart did several back flips that tickled the back of his throat and retrieved some of their broken pieces in their tumbling path, settling a bit of warmth that was a step closer to full into his chest cavity until it spread upward into the tiny tug on each curve of his lips. 

“Of course we are,” Stoic faltered when you blinked at him. Yoongi let himself smile. 

“One more question,” You lowered your voice, dipping a bit closer to him Mingyu shifted behind you to continue toying with your hair, “Why do I have makeup on if you won’t see my face?”

Yoongi’s shoulders bounced in silent laughter, lips wrinkling then rolling together to prevent anything audible and he shrugged. His healing heart let him study your face for far more time than necessary, finally settling on your eyes as his cheek nearly lulled to his shoulder. 

“You look nice,” He assured gently.

You turned away, surprising Mingyu in the process as he now had better access to final touches, but even through the touches to your face with fingers and brushes and pads, Yoongi didn’t miss the trace of your smile. 

“Okay you two…” The photographer approached you like walking through sand was wading through knee deep water, sandals dangling on feet he lifted in high stepping advancements until he was stationary in front of your folding chairs. Knee length jeans appeared to be self tailored by a pair of kitchen scissors and a pink hoodie hung off broad shoulders along with a camera dangling off an equally thick strap. “Are we ready?”

Yoongi slipped off his chair first, offering a hand to you. You took the offer delicately, feet hitting the sand with a minimal puff of debris. He was a breath away from addressing the photographer until he spoke to Yoongi’s publicist Namjoon instead, the only other individual wandering around beyond Mingyu’s box of equipment. 

“No faces, right?”

“Uhm, you can get my face. Just...my face,” Yoongi smiled kindly, squeezing your hand in reassurance, “That’s preferred actually.”

The photographer blinked at the smaller man in front of him for a passing beat before addressing Namjoon again, “So...no faces then?”

“Seokjin,” Namjoon warned tiredly, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a crooked knuckle, “Cooperate.”

A wheezing laughter broke out from the photographer’s lips, Seokjin’s lips, the noise carrying upward into the coastal breeze of early afternoon. There was a minuscule tug on the twine of Yoongi’s fingers and he found himself, perplexed, glancing at you. Despite the fond expression on your lips, he could sense the confusion in your aura too. He gave a second comforting squeeze until Seokjin’s laughter quieted away into periodic hiccups placed between the raise of his free hand until it landed on Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“I’m just joking,” A kind smile was left in the wake of Seokjin’s giggles, patting twice at Yoongi’s shoulder before he was off wading through the sand again. 

You tugged down on Yoongi’s hand, squeaking, “Are we supposed to follow…?—”

He pulled in the opposite direction, leading you through the ruts Seokjin’s fussing left. When you caught up to him, shoulder bumping into his arm, he laughed quietly, “I guess so.”

“Okay!” Seokjin’s sweeping announcement sent a domino effect through the small caravan of three people now subject to the wind in the center of the beach. Yoongi bumped into him, you bumped into Yoongi, Yoongi was sure Namjoon was laughing from where he watched on. The photographer turned, catching sight of intertwined hands first and he lifted an eyebrow as he addressed Yoongi.. 

“Just your face, right?”

Instinctively, Yoongi pulled you closer even if the inquiry was spoken without any ulterior motive, instead a genuine confirmation. “Just my face,” Yoongi nodded sharply, “In fact, if we can limit the pictures to shadows and features—”

Seokjin held up a solaced palm, “No worries, I know what’s going on here.”

Yoongi felt your gaze on the side of his face but he situated his thinning eyes to the man in front of you as he began to fiddle at the various knobs and buttons on the back of his camera. His smile erased into something of confusion when he found Yoongi eyeing him, rushing in a series of startled noises to amend, “It’s understandable that you would choose to keep your partner anonymous if they are not in the spotlight themselves. I’ve covered it before—” Yoongi’s expression softened only slightly when Seokjin lifted his camera to his face and the lens twirled closer to the point of Yoongi’s nose. The shutter clicked over, making Yoongi blink, and Seokjin pulled the device away to squint at the preview. A thumbs up followed, paired with the purse of tulip shaped lips that spread into a kind smile, “—your secret is safe with me!” 

Part of him forgot that there was a limited group who were aware of the full situation even in scheduled events like a photo shoot, a timeline for what was supposed to be something of life changing unity. The weight in his pocket wasn’t one that would hold any higher meaning, rings faux quality and meant to superimpose elegance where Namjoon had pulled them from a plastic prop bag. This wasn’t his bulky backpack with his deepest regret hidden in the front porch.. Instead, it was just another gimmick to save face and time for his favorite writing journal that he’d unpacked from his suitcase only to move over into the shoulder bag he carted around everywhere. 

And, to some people, it looked like he was, truthfully and honestly, engaged to you. 

There was a twitch of your hand in his and Yoongi relaxed with that pressure in mind, nodding once. A grateful smile laced the seam of his lips and he backed off of his stance with a nod, “Oh, right. Thank you…”

“Of course,” Seokjin beamed, gesturing vaguely again, “Should we get those face shots first?”

You were turned gently around the pivot point that was your connected hands, free palm slipping gently into the crooked fingers Yoongi offered face up. As for your hand he’d previously held, you slipped it away, just quick enough to rub the clamminess against your thigh before returning it to its previous position. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to Yoongi’s. 

He didn’t even try to hide his fond smile as the camera shutter whirred over your shoulder. 

“Do couples actually do this?” You complained through clenched teeth, rigid smile coating your mouth even if no one could see you but him. Something genuine twitched upward in your lips when his smile grew a bit brighter at your whined complaints, “This is so awkward.”

“That’s great, perfect,” A few more clicks and the sound of Seokjin’s thumb against plastic buttons. “A few more...could you touch their face, maybe?”

Yoongi didn’t give you time to complain, cupping his palm to your face, stroking his thumb gently under your eye to soothe the tension that immediately curled upward in your shoulders. 

“Better or worse now?” He teased, tilting his head to look between your wide eyes. 

Your fingers responded to him, slipping around his wrist to keep his hand cradling your face. In the same moment, you took your hands that remained intertwined and molded his hand around your waist, stepping closer to him in the process. Your thumb pressed against his racing pulse point and he swallowed, a moot attempt to calm his heart that he was sure you could hear and feel. 

“I don’t know,” You shot back, smile loosening, “You tell me.”

Yoongi shook his head, a genuine laugh emitting at your antics while his thumb continued it’s strokes to the apple of your cheek and his hand scrunched it’s way to the small of your back, holding you against him. 

Seokjin jogged backward across the beach with some vague instructions, haphazard words sticking in Yoongi’s brain to act on. Pretend and dance. The implication of the words roused a single syllable laugh from your lips, head tipping back, more of an amused smirk settling into your expression when you came to.

“This should be good.”

Yoongi cocked an eyebrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” You repeated the challenge from before, a daring confidence seeping into your aura now. 

His touch fell away from your face, holding his hand palm up instead. “Give me your hand.”

Your expression didn’t falter as your hand landed in his, head only tilting when he squeezed your hand and started to move you. 

“You know, the sand doesn’t exactly make this easy.”

“Is that your excuse for squishing my toes?”

Yoongi’s expression crossed into horrified for a fraction of a second, “I haven’t stepped on you!”

“Not yet.”

“What if I dipped you?” He tightened his grip on your waist. 

“Then they’ll see my face,” You squeaked when he half jerked to do so, lightly smacking his chest in retaliation. 

“The picture will be cropped.”

“Yoongi—”

“I’m going to do it.”

And he did, a full pivot that bent you at the waist, half hovering over your angled stature. The slow spread of his laughter across his features came in time with his foot giving out as support underneath him, sending your figures stumbling a few paces. He managed to ground himself while you clawed at his shirt in an equal amount of startled joy, dragging yourself up by tight fists on the open collar of his shirt with your forearms pressed to his chest. 

“I think you need some dance lessons, Min Suga.”

If you were anywhere else in any other circumstance with any other person, Yoongi would have kissed you. He told himself that, a firm response to his conscious that was trying to will his muscles to do so. He was wholly aware of the desire, one stirred by your proximity and your presence and you. And, given a few more seconds of silence aside from the lip of foam across neatly created ruts in the sand and the mechanical flick of a camera shutter, he might have excused the situation and the circumstance and the presence of another person. 

But, Seokjin, who was none the wiser to any of it yet assumed the relationship before him was very real, tried to combat a kiss regardless. A loud, satisfied wah! Came as he approached in messy steps that sent sand flying everywhere below his still attached sandals, startling your embrace apart to find him hunched over the preview screen. 

“Great,” His smile was knowing and his wink confirmed it, “Shall we move on to something else? Hands, maybe?”

Yoongi took to threading his fingers around yours to combat the heat that curled behind the thin layer of makeup on his features, staring straight at the overlap of your index and middle fingers around the bend of his thumb. You cleared your throat into the painful silence and the ambiance of waves continued to be blissfully unaware. 

Seokjin sliced into the tension with confusion, “Uh, yeah, that’s great but...rings?”

Yoongi felt like those waves had just become self aware and barreled out of gravity’s clutches, swallowing him whole and effectively dragging him into their depths. 

“I mean, if you guys aren’t doing rings, that’s fine too. There are all kinds of symbolic ways to outwardly show your unity, I just assumed it was with rings but perhaps that was wrong of me. We can do something else—”

The band meant for his finger was just too small but Yoongi jammed it on anyway, aided by the clamminess slowly engulfing every inch of his skin. Scrambled movements nearly sent yours tumbling to the sand below but he managed to secure it between the pinch of his thumb and index finger, joints twitching periodically as he let his gaze meet yours again. The tips of your fingers barely brushed his curled knuckles and he moved the ring out of your reach. 

Yoongi swallowed, taking the crook of your left hand in his free one. “Let me.”

The hollow echo left by the screen door clattering shut on his shoulders felt like the raw crescendo before the soul gripping bridge in a song. Except the final chorus wasn’t the round trip loop, a tie up with a neat bow on top that made a song a story. His story wouldn’t lead him back to the rickety screen door and the creaky floorboards underneath the heavy piece of wardrobe furniture in his parent’s, your, business foyer. 

Yoongi didn’t think the last time he’d open the top drawer would be to put the velvet box back, its contents still very much intact, his heart very much not. The plane ticket and apartment key mocked him, a reminder of his unfinished heart song, one he supposed would remain a rough draft with no clear path to an end. 

At least, that end wouldn’t include you. 

He felt selfish for the hot tears that pricked the back of his eyelids, the direct result of your excitement, your adamant exclamations of how perfect your futures were about to become. The guilt was eating him alive, that he couldn’t simply feel happy for you without his conscience drifting to the ring he’d bought you and how selfish, horribly selfish, his confession would be after you’d just poured your one track soul to him. He couldn’t remember half of what you’d told him due to his own personal inhibitions. 

He couldn’t tell you he was hopelessly in love with you. He couldn’t do that to you.

Yoongi let the drawer shut for the final time, choosing to drag everything else out so as to not see the black box again. One tear became three, lipping down his nose and dropping onto his fumbling fingers as he jammed the lock into the knob, turning the mechanical click one more time. 

And then, he simply went to bed. He had a flight to catch, after all.

“Is it true?”

He stopped flipping through the paperwork, non disclosure agreements and consent forms you’d scribbled your support onto in the dull blue pen Namjoon had handed you. You sat in the chair from before, makeup wipe Mingyu had handed you damp against your thigh as you instead took to fiddling at the diamond band still wrapped to your finger. 

Yoongi pressed the pages shut, leaning into the back of your chair, “Is what true?”

You turned to peer up at him, diamond tucked between your fingertips, “...that you get to keep props sometimes.”

“You want to keep the ring?”

“It’s pretty,” The band slipped easily off your finger, cradled in your palm, “A little big, but that’s okay. Who doesn’t want the evidence of their first fake engagement?”

“Not your first magazine cover shoot?”

“No one will ever see my face. I’m basically a hand and head model.”

“You can keep the ring,” Yoongi conceded with a laugh, “Are you done with this paperwork? Nothing else you want to read?”

“I am and if you are as well—” You jumped off the chair to stand in front of him, “—I want to take you somewhere.”

“Don’t you have work to do today?”

“I’m working right now. Wait right here.”

 He watched, silent, as you skipped over to where Seokjin was chatting with Namjoon in the small gravel area beyond the sand. Seokjin’s expression flitted to you while Namjoon’s went to him, raising an eyebrow while you tugged on the photographer’s sleeve to cup your hand around his ear. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi heard Seokjin exclaim, scrambling backward away from your whispers with a frantic smile, “Yeah, of course. I have a few hours before my flight leaves. Lead the way!”

You approached him in a similar, giddy fashion, taking his wrist. He raised an eyebrow, stumbling a few dramatic paces when you tugged on his arm. 

“Yeah. Lead the way.”

“Why are we at a dance studio?”

You tugged on the strap of his bag rather than his hand this time, ignoring him as you coaxed him through the glass doors. It was dimmer inside, lights shadowing the rounded front desk and the flutter of various flyers pinned to a cork board in the corner with the small ceiling fan that whirred overhead. Even then, Yoongi still startled at the noise, yes noise, of greeting the man twirling in an office chair at the front desk let out. 

The man knew you by name, stretching forward rather than standing up to take your hand over the desk. He directed his attention to Yoongi next, standing but in a quieter fashion than his previous actions suggested, gradual in the way he held his hand out. 

“And you’re...Suga, right?”

“Yoongi,” He corrected quietly, slipping his hand into the man’s, “Nice to meet you…”

“Soonyoung,” You and the man provided at the same time, effectively earning mingled laughter. “I thought I heard from somewhere that you were in town. Planning a wedding, right?” Soonyoung leaned away to pass his gaze between your two figures, “I guess the rumors must be true if you’re hanging around with this one.”

That earned a halfhearted swat from you and more giggles from the man as he shuffled around, presenting a clipboard to the top part of the desk. “Are you needing studio space again?”

You nodded, pressing a pen between Yoongi’s fingers and sliding the paper underneath his curled hand. He blinked absently at the words name, time in, and time out. You continued to talk while he feathered the general outline of his name above the line, “If anyone asks, it was his idea to rent studio space.”

Puzzled, Soonyoung slipped the clipboard from Yoongi to squint at it. “Will someone ask? Why would someone ask—” 

Again, your hand was on the strap of his bag, dragging him around the corner, “If, Soonie, if!” 

An echoed got it! was the last thing Yoongi heard until you shut him inside a dark studio space. He watched his shadow light up in the mirror when the lights crackled to life, tint uneven on his lips, shirt he wore to the shoot a bit haphazard across his collarbones, black fringe windblown and stuck in blinking eyelashes. 

“Am I allowed to know why you brought me here yet?”

“I told you,” He watched in the reflection as you crossed the wood floor, crouching next to a small set of outlets with varying cords dangling out of them. You jammed the short white one into the end of your phone, prodding around with your index finger until the soft sound of something top forty began playing through the speakers. You stood, approach to his figure marked by swaying, off beat movements, “I’m giving you dance lessons.”

“Are you going to show me how to do that?” Yoongi accepted you when you took his hands despite his dismissive words, “Because if so, I don’t want them. I want a refund, in fact—”

“I told Seokjin to follow us here and take a picture of you signing up for dance classes. They’ll run the story like you did it directly after the cover shoot photos,” Dramatically, you swung your twined fingers together to the rising beat of the music, “Cute, right?”

Yoongi hummed, continuing to allow you to lead him in messy circles around the studio, “I thought Namjoon was my publicist?”

“Maybe you should hire me,” Your eyes cut in zigzags down his features before you dropped your chin, movements relaxing enough for him to take over, “This soft image suits you better, anyway.”

“You’ve been reading the articles?”

“Free publicity. Need to see how my business is being represented” You shook your head when he squinted at you, “I’m joking. They’ve never mentioned the business directly. The pictures don’t give enough clarity to location.” 

You looked at him again, “So yes...I have read a few.”

“And they’re portraying me as…” Yoongi’s nose wrinkled, “Soft?” 

“Quiet. Gentle. One who shows his love in simple ways,” One corner of your mouth turned up in a smile, “Frankly, it’s rather unfair that they thought anything otherwise.”

Another broken chisel of Yoongi’s heart slotted itself back into place, healing with the warmth that spread quickly to the tips of his toes. He squeezed your hands, “I’m glad you still see me that way.”

“The Agust D video though,” You gripped his hands back, tilting your head, “The bleached hair and the makeup. Perhaps I understand the savage hype—”

Yoongi shoved you away, a halfhearted attempt as you still clung on to him with the last link of your knuckles tucked between the empty spaces in his spread fingers. Laughter followed suit, mingling with the silent, shoulder bouncing emission of his before you were brought close to him once more. This time, there were no cameras. No Namjoon to type reports to Taehyung and Seungcheol, no Mingyu to tuck plastic ends of brushes into sea breeze hair, no Seokjin to fool. Second time failed to be the charm, Yoongi’s face leaning a fraction of a space closer to you until you dropped your gaze again. 

“We can leave soon, if you want. Seokjin should be out of town by now.”

Yoongi didn’t move until his silence coaxed your eyes back to him. “I was dragged here against my will for dance lessons,” He let go of your hands, stepping back to shrug himself out of his cross shoulder bag and place his appendages on the high rise of his hips, “and I intend to get them.”

Lessons came less in the form of serious intention and instead manifested in you teaching him what not to do as he observed with his back against the mirror and his pen against his notepad. The yellow pages were no longer empty, the tray of ink shoved through the middle of his pen now considered to be used. The radio hit on max volume couldn’t drown out your laughter and if Yoongi ignored the tiny, unfamiliar space the joy was confined to, he could convince himself that everything was back to normal. That this was just another off day between carting flowers and chairs and catered crock pots to venues where he got to watch your joy overfill his heart with a warmth that he had to make space for more by manifesting that into something tangible. 

Filled lyric notebook and all. 

“This is going to look like a stock image.”

Yoongi couldn’t contain his snort, adjusting his stance a bit to fit your comment. Legs angled wide from his hips, arms folded neatly to his chest, nothing relaxed about his stature. He turned to where you were mirroring his position. “You’re probably right.”

Jeongguk leaned so far across Yoongi he stumbled out of his similar position, tripping to a stop between the two of you as he looked up with wide eyes. An apology came soft but his inquiry came an octave lower, “...what is going to look like a stock image?”

The item on the agenda was picking a venue, or rather, make it look like you were picking a venue. With the rumored wedding date less than days away, finishing touches were to be in order, but the press would be days behind by virtue of what was being actively publicized as a private wedding. And by the way you were standing just in front of a mock row of chairs beyond a meticulously decorated arch, pastel pinks and yellows and blues and purples, it looked like you’d just been cut directly from a wedding magazine’s ad section for structure rental. Yoongi wasn’t sure how the press would frame it. The house wasn’t the rumored location for the wedding, anyway. The beach was. But the press was only available for a short time, their hired stint by Yoongi’s company lasting until their flights left in the evening after they would capture what would eventually be the last of Yoongi’s wedding planning ventures. 

He shifted in the plush grass, squinting closer at two flower pots that made symmetry to the front display of the mock wedding alter. The way they moved with the wind was artificial, and his focus slid to see if those beautiful petals on rungs of the arch were fake flowers as well. 

“Do people actually have weddings here?” He thought back to his years as an employee. You’d always arranged for off property events. Your set up in the field behind the house suggested otherwise. 

“Not yet,” You nudged Jeongguk where he’d scrambled to stand between the two of you, managed to fit his broad stature in the minuscule space, “Jeongguk has been heading the project to get us a space to do so here. We could offer a discount on the venue if they used our services. Extra profit.”

“But for now it’s just a mock set up,” Jeongguk nodded. “That’s why I don’t understand why we’re here...shouldn’t we be getting the last of everything set up at the beach?” He turned to Yoongi with a question in his round irises, “And Yoongi, when is your fiance’ getting in? Have you arranged for transportation from the airport? Should I go get them?”

“Jeongguk,” You touched his arm, squeezing gently, “Why don’t you take the rest of the night off? I’m going to need you to be at full capacity the next couple days.”

“But I can come help—”

“Jeongguk.” 

Yoongi glanced behind him as the sound of tires on gravel descended, watching as the familiar SUV that had been trailing him through the weeks made it’s exit. Somewhere in his pocket, flight details buzzed from Taehyung. His gaze found your serious expression when the car peeled out of sight, speaking kindly to your coworker, “I’ve got it. Please take the night off. Tell Jimin the same.”

It hit him then that it wasn’t just you he’d be leaving to deal with the aftermath of his press playtime. In fact it was you that he’d be leaving to deal with it, your knowledge effectively making it ten times harder to sate what would essentially be a town’s population left confused and without him. The panic of it made his lips part but you cut him off before he could speak. 

“Do you want to go down to the beach for a little bit?” Your eyes widened, gesturing to where Jeongguk was still very much in earshot in the trek for his car. “Make sure everything is in order…”

Part of him was relieved that you seemed to want to talk to. The tension left him in a sigh, “Absolutely. I’ll drive.”

“Hold your hand out.”

Yoongi blinked, still trying to shake off the vibrating blurs in front of his lenses from the force in which his head had smacked into yours. He rubbed at the space that throbbed in an attempt to lessen it, “What?” 

“Unless you don’t want my gift. I can keep it.”

He was slightly disoriented but he didn’t miss the embarrassingly fast thrust of his hand toward you. “No,” He said simply, “I want it.”

You beamed, taking his wrist to press your fist against his palm. Slowly, you spread your fingers, depositing the smooth object against his skin. Then, you folded his fingers together over it, gently pushing his curled digits towards his chest. 

“It’s a…”

“Orchid!” You nodded, bouncing slightly where you sat, “It’s a pin, if you want to put it on your backpack. Or you can just display it. It’s yours.”

Yoongi turned the glass piece over in his palm, stroking his index finger through the smooth rivets of glass where white and purple mixed in a marble like texture underneath the surface. His smile was teasing as he passed it to his opposite hand, “Anything to remind me of nearly dying in sinkholes trying to help you pick these, huh?”

“Shut up,” You dug your fist into his thigh, leaning closer to him again. Dangerous territory for the endeared roar of Yoongi’s heart in his ears. “Where’s my present?”

“What?”

“You told me to remind you that you had something else for me. You know, other than the orchids gathered by near death experience,” You blinked at his confusion, “This is me reminding you.”

The weight on his bag could finally be released, a weight that had previously tucked into that wooden drawer and forever had resided on the tenderest part of his stuttered heart. All his pent up emotions, ones swallowed down and confined to the red lines crossing horizontally on his yellow notepad, could be released, could fly off the page and relieve a bit of his intense yearning. 

At the very least, he could say I love you out loud. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t bring himself to do that to you. 

So, instead, Yoongi reached past you, bringing his lyrics back into his lap. His flips through the pages were calculated, counting until he made it to the eighth draft. Meticulous fingers peeled back everything in its way, tugging until it was a clean rip in the paper. Gently, he held the page out to you. 

“A piece of paper—”

“It’s the song the label wants to release as my first single,” Yoongi blinked at you until your teasing sobered up, dropping back a bit from where you leaned over him to take the page with you, “The first draft of it anyway. I want you to have it.”

It’s for you.

Your eyes widened, squinting through its contents as the sun began to bath dusk pastels into the landscape surroundings. Yoongi added softly, “Something to remember me by.”

“You make it sound like you’re dying.”

“That’s what you said,” He laughed gently.

“Yeah, but the way you said it. The way you keep talking. This song…” You frowned, “You’re only moving a plane ride away. A phone call away at that. We don’t have to say goodbye.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

You tried to reach for his hand, “But not for good. This isn’t the last time we’ll ever see each other.”

Yoongi evaded your touch to make it hurt less. The more time between your last touch on his skin, the easier it would be to forget. He stood to not have to see the hurt in your eyes, holding his notebook against his chest as he reached for his backpack. 

“Speaking of, I have to be at the airport fairly early tomorrow,” He adjusted the straps of his backpack, pointedly shoving his hands into his pockets. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“Remember the last time we were here?”

“Similar circumstance, too,” You brushed spread fingers across the small hill of sand in front of your crossed ankles. 

Glittering fairy lights strung to a timer on varying ends of the venue set up reflected on your skin and in your eyes when you eyed him. White chairs in a ten by thirteen grid buried into the sand, a velvet pink rug cut between the fifth and sixth chairs in the row, leading upward to where a white sheet took the place of where the wedding party would presumably stand. There was a custom arch, too, one Jimin had sweated over to have only the best pink and purple orchids threaded through the white rings and rungs. The venue space existed even when there wasn’t an event scheduled, that part of the beach roped off to tourists and locals alike, but it had certainly been magnified at the premise of the false wedding that was supposed to be occurring the Saturday following the current Thursday.

“You’re really leaving tomorrow?”

“Day after.”

“Ah,” You nodded, scooping up some of the sand and letting it drain between the spaces in your fingers, “Rather than being left at the altar, you’re doing the leaving.”

“I’ll have someone sent to help you clean everything up,” Yoongi touched underneath his chin, letting his fingers slide to the back of his neck, “I’d stay and help but—”

“No need,” You waved a hand, “Maybe making Jeongguk do it will suppress most of his questions.”

“Right…” Yoongi’s lips pressed into his cheeks, “Sorry about that, by the way. I hope he doesn’t think too horribly of me.”

You ceased all movements, turning to him. He paused in plucking miniscule specks of dust from his jeans, seizing at the softness of your tone. “Why are you saying a definite goodbye again?”

“I’m not.”

“Then you can make sure Jeongguk doesn’t hate you when you come back and visit. Or when you text me. I’m not asking for much. Even a happy birthday would suffice.”

He hadn’t felt a chomping sense of all consuming guilt since he’d lied about not saying goodbye before. 

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” The curl of your hand wrapped around his index and middle fingers where they rested in the sand, “Just don’t say goodbye to me again. Not like before.”

The suffocating weight was back, like a crater sized boulder resting directly in the thinnest part covering his most vital organ. Yoongi let himself nod. 

“Okay, angel. I won’t.”

You smiled away from his gaze, letting your fingers slide just barely away until the two of you were no longer touching. Instead, you scrambled, gathering your feet underneath you to crouch next to him. 

“Want to help me pick some orchids?”

“Can I take them off the decorations?” You smacked him, standing yourself to brush sand from the backs of your thighs. “What? No one is going to see them anyway.”

“Don’t remind me,” It was scoffed but he sensed the sincerity. He didn’t want to remember either. “Come on, I think there’s a patch further up the shore—”

Yoongi fully woke the third time his cell phone rang on his bedside table. The light bathed his stack of packed luggage in the corner when he dragged it closer, ignoring the caller ID in route to accept it and press it against this ear. 

“Yeah?—”

“Yoongi,” Taehyung sounded as exhausted as the sand heavy behind his eyes felt, “I booked you an earlier flight. You’re to get on it.”

“Why?”

“Do it. Details are in your email. Don’t look at social media, if you can help from it.”

“I won’t look at social media,” Yoongi found it within himself to snort, rubbing at his eyes with a tired knuckle, “How early is this flight? I still have to pay the wedding planner.”

“Let us do that. We’ll direct deposit it. It’s the twenty-first century, we should do it that way, anyway.”

“Taehyung,” He sat up in bed, letting his duvet and sheets curl around his torso as he squinted at the soft white filtering through the sheer curtain of the singular window in the room, “I’m not leaving without telling them goodbye. They’ve helped me, us, tremendously through this. The least I can do is tell them thank you in person.”

“Besides, what’s the rush for me to get back? I don’t have a schedule for at least another two weeks.”

“Yoongi, they know.”

In the silence left by that vague yet horrifying statement, Yoongi swore he heard a camera click. Then another. Then a flash to pair. 

“They know what? Who is they?”

“The press. And not that the engagement is fake,” Taehyung rushed to amend as if that made it any better, “They found out where you are. Someone must have been tipped off through the pictures we published and sent their own team to investigate. And they found out the identity of the wedding planner. Which, I kind of commend you, having them step in for those pictures was genius. Are they wanting any extra money for pretending to be engaged to you? Seungcheol said he’d pay whatever they want. You should see the headlines, marrying the wedding planner, the story just keeps getting cuter!” 

“You told me not to look at the headlines,” Yoongi cut off numbly. He was on autopilot moving about the room, yanking things back out from their neatly packed suitcases, managing to locate a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that vaguely matched. “I’ll call you later.”

“The flight, Yoongi! Don’t do anything stupid please—”

There was a small group of reporters waiting on him in front of the hotel, ones he managed to shake off with relative ease but it did nothing to calm his nerves as he sped through familiar streets to get to you. He found the same scene in the parking lot of Be Happy, a handful of reporters crowded around with their cameras and phone mics and notebooks, shouting out questions that were still so far off base from the reality of the situation that it forced a headache behind his ears and on the spot below his fringe almost immediately. He shrugged them off too, leaving them at the gates to the drive that you hadn’t opened well into business hours, jogging until he reached the front door. 

It was locked, understandably so, forcing him to tap knuckles gently at first and harder the more frantic he got while calling your name. “Angel, it’s me. Let me in, please, let me help.”

Yoongi saw red, red and pink, and more red when you fiddled at the locks, dragging the door open to reveal tear filled eyes that only amplified at his presence and the volume of the shouts outside. He touched you only enough to shuffle you backward, letting the door shut behind him and he was halfway through locking it when you thrust something toward his face. 

It was a blurry picture from the night before, your face fully on display as you accepted something that was very much not an orchid from his grasp. It was a weed, something Yoongi knew the name of when his only thought wasn’t occupied by the tears lipping angrily down the slope of your nose. 

“I don’t know why it shocked me, really. That someone found us. Even if I hadn’t done that photo shoot with you, it wouldn’t have mattered. People would have assumed it was me, anyway. People were already starting to question with all the things your company allowed to be released. I was getting weird phone calls to the business phone and I just assumed they’d all go away when you did,” You swiped your phone away from him, letting it clatter harshly to the circle table, “I didn’t think the universe was selfish enough, that you were selfish enough to leave me like that again.”

“You should have told me you were getting weird calls,” Yoongi rasped hoarsely.

“Right, and what would you have done?” You blinked, “Called it all off? And then what, left me again?” 

“Why do you keep saying that, angel—”

“Don’t. Do not call me that,” You held up a hand, collecting yourself until the streams of tears weren’t as thick on your skin, “I keep saying that because it’s what happened. You left me here without so much as a second glance back. Then, when you needed me again, something to save face for a writer's block, you came back.”

“Why couldn’t you have just come home before that?” You were sobbing again, unable to help it. Yoongi felt all the healed pieces of his heart scar for a second time, “You were always writing when I was here. I could have helped you.”

“And I did help you. But I hurt myself. I had to live through all the reasons why I fell in love with you with no plausible endgame that wouldn’t shatter my heart. Again,” You laughed despite the unattractive sniffle you sucked in, “You did this to me again.”

He could hear his heart in his ears, “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“How could you have?” Another laugh, one that made Yoongi wince, “You forgot to not forget me. Even then, you never let me get a word in.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Great,” He watched your fists curl at your side, setting your shoulders, “Then if you’ll excuse me—”

“What—”

“I have a wedding to get ready for,” You shrugged, “That’s what everyone expects, right? Then that’s what we’ll give them. In real time, not on some corporate media delay.”

“I’ll fix this. I will, I’ll—”

“Yoongi.” You paused across the room from him, facade clearly shattering as you begged, “Please just go. You probably need to pack for your flight tomorrow still, right?”

“Angel.”

“Go.” 

“You’re to call it off. Now.”

Seungcheol sighed into the phone speaker, overlapped by Taehyung interjecting, “We can’t do that, Yoongi.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. I do not care how you cover this up, how you choose to handle it, or if you have to eliminate my contract. I don’t have a preference and I don’t have any ideas,” Yoongi sighed into his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, “All I ask is that it’s called off. That the media knows it’s not happening and that they leave me and everyone in my hometown alone.”

“All I can think is to suggest that the wedding is postponed indefinitely due to some sort of complications—”

“Great, do that. I’m not taking my flight, either. Neither flight.”

“You have schedules in a few weeks.”

“I’ll handle that when the time comes,” Yoongi sighed, covering his face with his hand, “I just...I really need to stay here for as long as possible.”

Taehyung continued to mutter to himself while Seungcheol murmured, “May I ask why?”

“It’s a long story,” Yoongi eyed the bouquet of pink in his fist, swallowing toward the heavy tides as they propelled towards the shore on the heels of heavy winds, “I’ll have to tell you some other time. But right now...I have to go.”

In any other circumstance, Yoongi would have sobbed seeing you ascend the aisle. And frankly, in the given circumstance, he wanted to as well, breath welling in the base of his throat when you hesitated upon seeing his figure, choosing eventually to drop your head and stalk for him. When you were in earshot, he said, “You didn’t pause.”

Tear tracks were still evident on your skin, fresh in fact, when you glared in confusion, “What?”

Yoongi gestured with his free hand, cuffs on his suit jacket riding up over the jewelry dangling from a delicate wrist bone as he pointed for the place beyond the last row of chairs. “You’re supposed to pause until the proper music starts. Standard wedding procedure.”

“Good thing this isn’t a wedding,” Your fingers brushed at your cheeks, trying to cover up, “Why are you still here? I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

“Change of plans. I don’t think I’ll be leaving for a little while now. Turns out I have a fiance’ here,” He took one step toward you, kicking up sand with the polished toe of his dress boot, “Weird, right? Who would have known…”

A short huff left through your nose. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Otherwise, I wouldn’t find this funny.”

“I don’t think this is funny. Not what I have to tell you, at least.”

 “Well get on it with it,” You kicked up some sand without moving, “I have wedding details to finish.”

“I’ve kept this in for far longer than I should have. I thought it would be selfish of me to say it, especially when I really wanted to. After all, I was leaving. I wasn’t just leaving to go to university a few towns over or to accept an internship. I was signing to release an album. A real life album, something I’d always dreamed of doing.”

“And in my ideal situation, you would come with me. You would have taken the scholarship for that business school and at least stuck by my side for just a few more years. It was selfish of me to even have the thought. I feel guilty about it every day.”

“The extension of that thought was why I had it in the first place. Why my conscience would even think to conjure up such a painting of the future, one that included you in the short term but would assure you in the long run. Hopefully. I always hoped that.”

“When it didn’t work out that way, I didn’t want to give you any indication that I had wanted that in the first place. You had your mind set up and you were so excited. So excited. I couldn’t do anything to pull you away from that. I didn’t want to. I still don’t want to.”

“And I’ve regretted it every day since that night,” Yoongi used the bouquet as a wand, waving it vaguely as his free hand dug around in the pocket of his jacket. “Have you ever looked through the drawers of that wardrobe piece in the foyer of the first floor?”

You blinked, welled up tears not able to break from the streams you’d previously wiped away, “I could get all but the top right open after your parents moved out. I guess I lost the key to it.”

“It’s because I had the key,” The black box balanced between his fingers, tucked underneath the first knuckle on his thumb and the pad of his index finger, “This was in there.”

Yoongi popped the box open, revealing the glittering band inside. It was real, unlike the prop you’d happily collected from the photo shoot, polished in its original condition where the dusted outer edges of its container didn’t fare the same. “This is what I had to give you that night. It’s not what you think,” He shrugged, shifting to let the box slide fully into his cupped palm, “Or maybe it is. I wasn’t proposing, certainly. But I didn’t want to give you this. Not the draft of that song. Nothing else.”

“And it had a message attached to it so—” Yoongi thrust the flowers toward you, waiting until you took them so he could fully cradle the ring box in both hands, “—if you’ll allow me to be just a little bit selfish for a second, I’d wholly appreciate it.”

“I’m in love with you. I always have been and at this point, I think I always will be. My goodbyes and my horrible communication all were done with the idea of protecting you in mind but now I know it did nothing but hurt you more and for that, I apologize.”

He stepped twice, bringing him to stand directly in front of you. “I don’t think what would have happened if I would have told you all this that night. I can’t predict and I don’t want to think about it. I can’t change it,” Yoongi shut the ring box, gripping it tight in one hand as his opposite appendage tested your wet cheek, finger breaking the trail in route to cradle your face, “but I’m telling you here and now that I love you, angel. I really, really do.”

“I can tell you what would have happened.”

Yoongi frowned, attention split between clearing your tears and watching your teeth try to collect your trembling bottom lip. 

As if it clarified, you added, “I would have told you the same thing I’m about to tell you now.”

“I love you. Then, now, always,” You sniffled into quiet laughter, “Even a few Min Suga scandals can’t push me away.”

The seam of your lips tasted like salt and strawberry lip balm and you, one touch of your mouth as a result of the words Yoongi had waited years to hear come out of your mouth effectively sweeping up all the pieces of his shattered heart into a dustpan and fusing them back together, leaving it to soar in his ears as the moon fondly watched his hand on the side of your neck draw you closer. 

“I have two questions,” You mumbled against his lips. “Can I have the ring now? I think I’ve waited long enough.”

Yoongi laughed, pecking your mouth one more time in fear you’d dissolve into the ocean waves and he’d wake up in his apartment in the city. His grip fumbled the box back open, just as shaky as he had been in pushing the fake ring onto the proper finger as he nodded, “Yes, you certainly have. Second question, shoot.”

“Do I still have to marry you tomorrow?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Better you than J-Hope,” You grinned through your tears when he laced your fingers together to squeeze your hand, dragging you in for more sweet affections from his pouted mouth. 

“Right,” Yoongi punctuated his words through stamped kisses down your jaw, “I’ll remember you said that when I introduce you two.”

“Besides. I’m only wary about the wedding being tomorrow,” Your features scrunched when he nosed your cheek, “We need a little more time to plan, don’t you think?”

“Maybe just a few years. Maybe just a few months,” You shrugged when his gaze returned to yours, laughing as the realization flickered over in real time to Yoongi’s expression, “Just some more time I think would be good.”

Yoongi hummed, letting go of you to pry apart the stems in your hand picked bouquet, careful in plucking one of the flowers away from the center before reaching to pleat it behind your ear, lips following to settle on your cheek. 

“Good thing I know a wedding planner.”

Min Yoongi, better known as rapper, singer, songwriter, and producer Min Suga released his second studio album on Friday. Titled ‘Orchid’, it’s rumored to be a series of poems written for and about his spouse with which he recently celebrated marriage to from the privacy of his secluded, beach side hometown. This release comes nearly four years after his debut album and some fans have speculated the songs seem to be speaking to each other, as though the track lists tell the story of the couples love from Min’s perspective. The album is projected to debut number one, proving that perhaps the wait is, in fact, worth it in the end. 

[janekfan]

hi mom! quick update: i had a panic attack at work the other day. luckily my coworker/manager knew what it was and helped me out but i still had to do the rest of my shift but at least i got the next day off. hours are still bad but everyone around me is talking about how proud they are of me... i just barely managed to scrape up a 50 cent raise... im one of three people on my shift... i cant take time off. i know you already did one for me but... i dont have much else to bring comfort

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27072691

My darling child! <3 <3 <3 This is inadequate! And I shall do better soon! But I love you and hope this offers a little comfort!

When asked later if he’d known, Tim lied. Of course not. He hadn’t realized just how sick Jon had been, certainly didn’t know how long it’d been. After all, no one really saw him most days, skulking as he did around the archives, a flickering, limping shadow among the stacks. Jon didn’t have use for them and Tim didn’t have use for him. Not until they enacted their plan of attack and finished things once and for all.

So no. When he’d dropped by to toss Martin’s research at him he ignored the pallor, the beads of sweat dotted along his forehead and matting his curls. He paid no mind to the dark flush high in his face, the glazed distance in his eyes, the shortness of his breath as he fought to form one coherent thought. A plea veiled in a request and it gave Tim all the excuse he needed to conveniently forget to fetch Martin for him.

“T’Tim...could, could you ask Martin to, to.” Jon could barely finish a thought. Exhausted, he’d been under so much stress, running himself ragged on adrenaline and awful, terrible statements, and he just wanted to see someone kind. Someone who might help him instead of hate him. Someone who maybe didn’t want to hurt him or kill him. Or worse. “I’d like t’to speak with him? P’please?”

“Sure, Boss.”

Martin wasn’t coming.

Martin wasn’t coming and Jon was miserable. But he didn’t blame Martin for staying away. It was alright. He was probably upset with him or angry or had a hundred other reasons to avoid seeing him and it was fine.

Jon let his cheek collide with the tea-stained blotter and slow tears slipped down to join the other watermarks, the rust traces of his blood. With a thin, trembling finger he connected the scars etched into the surface like constellations, each one tied to a memory; some he remembered, some he’d forgotten, some he wished he could forget. Why the old desk even had this second skin he would never know; it was already damaged and scratched and why bother protecting it when it could never go back to the way it was before? Heaving a shaky breath that didn’t give him near enough air to sustain him, Jon closed his eyes. It would be a lovely thing if sleep restored anything or made him feel anything other than relief for the blissful span of unmeasured time he spent not feeling. Floating, dizzy and suspended here in the dark, so tired it seemed like the room was expanding around him with every hard won exhale, shrinking to crush him with every inhale.

It didn’t seem worth it.

Like he wasn’t worth it.

When Jon was asleep, he drifted along unfamiliar currents, memories that didn’t belong to him or anyone that he knew from hundreds of years ago, from mere months ago. From far underwater he listened to the sounds of the office fade away through a closed door that may as well have been a kilometer away for all the strength he had left. Everyone was leaving for the weekend and he wasn’t able to stand. Everyone was leaving and he wasn’t able to call out, snared in these fathomless depths and sinking fast.

Silence.

Thick. Blanketing. Suffocating.

He was drowning in it. Struggling to breach the surface only seconds at a time to snatch at sips of air and seawater.

The safety lights cast shadows that slipped along the floor like oil, into the cracks, up the walls Jon clung to, casting just enough light to see by and aggravating his head. He wanted to sleep. He needed water and it was how he found himself in the dingy break room leaning heavily on the sink, holding on for dear life as he weathered the salt swells, the tilting of the room and the vertigo swirling up, up, up. The first glass met its end on the floor when it slipped from Jon’s grip and he could have sobbed from the loss, from how hard he’d worked for it only to let it go. The next he cradled close in both hands, sitting at the rickety table and gulping down close to half before coming up to breathe. Cool rivulets trickled down his throat, soaked into the neck of his borrowed tee and he shivered. It was always cool down here. For the documents. Only now he was freezing, longing to fall into the cot, just rest, but it was too far away. He’d never make it as he was. He drank the rest of the water and went through the trouble of a second glass. There were no bottles in the fridge, none in the cupboards. He’d never be able to carry it back to his office. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes. Why was this so hard? Laying his head on folded arms, Jon let the frustration come, shoulders shaking, and when he woke again he forced more water on himself and limped to the doorway.

Which way?

This time, a cough bubbling up in his lungs jerked him out of the deep. It was harsh, painful, and he lost the remaining water in his stomach from the force of it, tasted iron behind his tongue. Groaning, clutching at his aching chest, Jon realized he was on the floor in the hallway. Not even halfway to his goal and he didn’t remember collapsing. His limbs were lead, movement sluggish because of it, and he only managed to drag himself another meter before the spiraling of the corridor forced him to close his eyes. The fever was relentless, sapping him of everything, throbbing in his bones and boiling in his blood. Jon coughed again. The hot, tight tangle in the center of him drew tighter, a noose, instead of giving way and the black lurking at the edges of his vision swallowed the rest of it.

Martin adjusted the blanket in his arms, thinking again that it would have been easier to have put it in his bag for the walk from the train. He didn’t regret his choice though. He remembered how cold it could get down in the archives and Jon looked like he could do with a bit of comfort these days. Maybe being wrapped up in this monster would do it. Shouldering it, he took the narrow stairs, surprised that no one else was here yet. But considering none of them really wanted to do much actual work these days it made sense. Martin got his things situated at his desk, leaving the comforter overflowing in his chair before heading off to start the tea kettle warming. Glass crunched under his shoes and when Martin turned on the light it was clear Jon had dropped it. What was confusing was that he had left it. He wasn’t the most fastidious about his appearance or his surroundings but even he wouldn’t leave broken glass just lying around. WIth a crease in his brow, Martin swept it up, dumping it in the bin before turning off the squealing kettle. He prepared two mugs as usual and the only reason he didn’t drop them upon seeing Jon crumpled up in the hall was because he froze stock still.

“J’Jon?” He abandoned the tea on a desk, skidding on his knees to a stop at his side. “Jon! Oh, no, no. Jon, wake up.” Ashen, burning up under Martin’s fluttering hands, chest stuttering with half breaths. Had he been like this all weekend? Had he been like this before they all left? How did, why didn’t he check on him? Only when Martin slid his arms beneath his body did Jon stir at all, a pitiful sound of pain pulled from between his lips when he was lifted. A halfhearted cough ending in a moan. “It’s alright, Jon. You’re alright. I’ve got you.” He should call 999. That’s what he should do but with all that had been happening, was that the right choice?

“Mmar’in…” He toed open the door to document storage and laid him down, brushed back his curls and took up the cold hand Jon was reaching with. “Ma--” His grip was barely there when the deep, damp coughing jag stole the air right out of him, so strong Martin levered him forward, worried he would choke. Days. Days alone like this. He swept the tears away with careful fingers, traced the shadows like bruises beneath his eyes.

“It’s alright.” He propped him up against the corner, wishing there were more pillows to make him comfortable and pulled away, heart twisting up when Jon whimpered at the loss. “Hush, now. I’ll be back, I won’t leave you.” Quick as he could Martin gathered supplies, medicine for the raging fever, the blanket he’d brought along, a thermos of tea, checking on Jon in his fitful sleep with each trip. He sounded bad, he was having too much trouble breathing and the crackling wheeze was terrifying. The next time he came back it was with a basin of hot water and a towel. He placed it in Jon’s lap, sliding behind him to steady both him and the bowl, gentling him when he startled. “Just breathe, Jon. This, this should help.” The steam rose, bathing his face with humidity and it was probably wishful thinking but Martin thought each breath came a little easier. When Jon coughed Martin pressed a handful of tissue against his mouth, tossing the mess into the bin and letting him curl up against him for just a few moments. He was so warm. Too warm and Martin plied him with paracetamol and tea, as much as he would take before letting him fall back to sleep, smoothing a damp flannel over his forehead and leaving him to rest.

Soft, cool hands, kind, reassuring words. Jon drank them in like a desert after the rain, let them flood him, take away all the fear and loneliness he was holding onto. Martin was here. Martin was helping. Martin was holding him, saying things he didn’t quite understand in a steady voice. He wanted to cry from the relief of it, of having someone, of not being alone and he thought he might have but there was no teasing or threatening. Nothing he did made him hurt more. Everything he did made him hurt less. There was tea and pillows and blankets, warmth to replace the memory of lying on a cold floor and drifting in and out.

But he was gone now. He’d left him alone and Jon wanted him here. Struggling to his trembling legs he gave himself time to steady, limping out of the room and following the familiar voices and latching onto Martin’s. He sounded upset and Jon wondered if it was because of him. Most people were upset with him these days. He heard Basira and Melanie and Tim and he didn’t want to see them but Martin was with them and he wanted to see Martin. Martin with his kindness he didn’t deserve. He was cold. He was shaking.

Tim was yelling.

It made something in him afraid.

It made his chest hurt. It made it harder to breathe. It made him want to hide. And when he became even louder, Jon shrank into himself. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t.

“And speak of the devil!” Tim’s mocking tone rang in his head like a bell. “He shall appear.”

“Tim!”

“I’m. M’Martin? I.”

“What, Boss? What else could you possibly take that you haven’t already?”

“J’just--” Still human enough to want, too much a monster that he wasn’t allowed to have. Tim took a threatening step forward, and Jon forgot what he was going to say in favor of stumbling backwards, falling to the ground and knocking the air out of himself. He clawed at his neck, suddenly completely unable to breathe when Tim stood over him, towering and tall and seconds later Martin was taking up the whole of his horizon. Just Martin.

“It’s alright, Jon. Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

“W’will you stay?” He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth, the sniggering coming from behind the larger man confirming what he already knew. Martin had already helped him. He had no right to ask for more. But again Martin carried him to document storage and again he placed him on the cot and this time, he stayed with him, wrapping him up warm and safe and tucking his head beneath his chin. Jon shuddered, the aftershocks of his panic and embarrassment still rocketing through him. “Martin...don’t. Don’t feel well…”

“I know.” Martin pet his head slowly and Jon relished it, pressing his ear against his broad chest and listening to the rhythm of his beating heart. He probably wouldn’t remember this anyway, not with a fever like this already making everything so fuzzy, and he wanted, just for a little while, to feel safe. “I’m sorry.” It was nice to hear even though Martin had nothing to apologize for. It was still nice that someone would say sorry to him. Exhausted all over again, the space between blinks stretched longer and longer. “You can sleep, Jon.” But what if he left? He didn’t want him to leave, the thought of it wetting his face and just like before Martin wiped the tears away. “It’s okay, just close your eyes. I’m not going anywhere.”

[reddesertcolbs]

sleepless nights // colby brock

this wasn’t requested, but i can’t stop thinking about colby being a dad and i needed to write about it, so here you go :) 

i apologise in advance that this is a short one. 

feel free to request blurb ideas. 

masterlist 

//

the sound of your daughter’s cries shrieking through the white baby monitor, pierced both of your ears. you rubbed your eyes to remove your blurred vision and sat up slowly in bed, as you’re still sore from the birth. you check the time, the bright red numbers flashing on the alarm clock next to the baby monitor, displayed 5:12am. 

the sound of your husband turning over and lifting himself out of the comfy bed makes you look towards him, a sleepy smile plastered on his face. 

“it’s okay baby, i’ve got her. go back to sleep.” he mummers, planting a quick kiss to your lips and slipping on his grey sweatpants to cover his black boxers. you watch your gorgeous husband as he walks out of the room, shirtless, and towards the direction of your daughter’s room. 

you shuffle down to lay back onto the fluffy pillows, wincing slightly at the pain between your thighs. once your head is rested on the pillow, you close your eyes, smiling as you hear colby on the other end of the baby monitor. 

“hey my little princess, you gonna tell dada what’s wrong?” he whispers, voice lacing with concern, as he plants a peck onto his daughter’s head before strolling to the changing mat. 

your daughter is the image of colby and you couldn’t be happier. you adored her bright blue eyes and dark brown hair and your hoping as she gets older, her brunette locks will start to form curls, just like colby’s when he doesn’t style his hair. 

colby opens the buttons of your daughter’s baby grow that she is currently wearing, to check her nappy for any accidents. he changes her nappy just in case, and discards her used one into the nappy bag, mentally telling himself to take it downstairs to put it in the bin. securing the nappy in place with the sticky straps, colby buttons her back up again, and holds her tight to his chest. 

she has stopped weeping now, and colby takes a seat on the dark brown rocking chair that is situated in the corner of her room. he uses his right foot to gently rock back and forth, stroking his newborn daughter’s cheeks and forehead with his thumb softly, to send her back to sleep. 

the rocking of the chair, and the calm breathing of his daughter’s breath makes his eyes close. as much as he loves being a father and the fact his daughter is only four days old, he still can’t get used to his sleep being broken every two hours. but when colby looks down to see the beautiful baby that he helped to create, he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

you’re sat up in bed again now, waiting for colby to come back to bed. after looking at the clock, which now displays 5:34am, you start to wonder where your husband has gone. 

you dangle your legs off the bed, readjusting colby’s shirt that you’re sleeping in, and stand up. wincing a bit, as you slip your white fluffy slippers onto your cold feet. steadily, you make your way to the bedroom door and walk towards your daughter’s room. 

“colbs?” you whisper from down the hall, careful not to wake your daughter, who you’re guessing is now fast asleep. 

“colby?” you shout a little louder, confused at you don’t get a response. however, a smile takes over your face when you walk into the room to see your husband and daughter flat out asleep on the rocking chair. 

you tread towards him quietly, not wanting to startle him awake, and remove your sleeping daughter from his arms. you give her a kiss on the forehead and move towards her white cot. you place her down onto the memory foam mattress delicately, and turn off the lamp that is on the nightstand next to her. colby must have turned on, on his way in. 

after making sure she is fast asleep, you turn towards colby again, stroking his bare shoulders to wake him. 

“baby,” you whisper, running your hands through his locks, trying to wake him. “c’mon, come back to bed.” 

he opens his eyes slowly, and blinks. he looks down at his arms and gives you a confused look when he realises his daughter isn’t laying fast asleep in his arms. 

“she’s okay bubs, i’ve put her in there.” you respond to his confused look, smiling softly and using your thumb to point behind you. your daughter’s soft snores and breathing is the only sound in the room. “let’s go, you need rest.” 

“you’re the one who needs rest, angel.” he says, his voice is groggy due to his quick nap. you smile at him and you intertwine your hand with his, lifting him up as much as you can. 

once he is standing up, he stretches his muscles and wraps his arm around your waist, careful not to hurt your bruised body. he looks at your daughter, who’s sleeping peacefully and looks at you again with a huge grin. 

“i still can’t believe that we made her.” he whispers, using his pointer finger to caress her soft, chubby cheek. you both grin when a small smile appears on your daughter’s face, as colby continues to stroke her cheek. 

“i know, it’s crazy.” you mummer, looking at the two bonding, and tuck yourself further into colby’s side. you wrap both arms around his waist to support your now achy body, due to you being stood up for so long. 

“can we go back to bed now baby? i’m getting sore.” you ask, looking up at your handsome husband. you close your eyes at the feeling of his warm lips on your forehead. he pulls away from your forehead, bending his neck down and hovers his lips over yours, connecting them for a short moment, before pulling away. 

“yeah, c’mon momma. let’s get you to bed.” he winks, checking on your daughter one last time, before walking towards the door slowly to keep up with your pace. he pulls the door shut, leaving it open just a crack, and you both continue to walk back to your bedroom. 

he helps you back into bed, lifting your legs up carefully and removing your slippers, throwing them onto the floor. he pulls the covers up to your chin and presses a kiss to your plump lips. 

“thank you, baby.” you say softly, watching as he walks around to his side of the bed, pulling down his sweatpants and hopping in next to you. 

“no need to thank me, just looking after you. that’s my job.” he pulls you to him, careful not to put you in anymore pain and tucks you under his arm. you wrap your left arm around his waist and rest your head on top of his chest, yawning, as sleep tries to take over your body. 

“i love you so much.” colby announces, before running his fingers over your shoulders and back, comforting you and lulling you to sleep. 

“i love you more, colbs.” you say, planting a small kiss to his chest and you dig yourself into his chest more, closing your eyes and letting sleep take over. 

[meow-bebe]

stellatus

Pairing: Lee Felix x artist!reader

Genre: fluffffff

Warnings: literally nothing. this is so sweet asghk we’re channeling the cute here. like honestly not even my usual cussing

Word count: 3614 (!!!)

A/n: remember that idea I posted a while ago? well heres the fic! Im suuuper proud of this one because its the longest thing ive written for this blog (3k! more than 3k! that makes me so happy ahhhh!) and also I just really love it! usually I don't particularly like my own writing but this one I feel like is my best work. also about half way through writing this I found this amazing drawing by @panini-byanyothername​ which gave me the encouragement to finish this and also deserves all of the love because its an amazing piece of art! it was drawn based on another fanfic but its super pretty and is very close to what my story is about so I thought it would be appropriate to include a link

~~~

stēllātus; first/second-declension adjective starry, stellate, starred

“I have an idea,” you announced, bouncing with excitement as you ran into the room where Felix was currently sat at your desk on his computer. Latching your arms around Felix’s neck from behind, you rested your chin gently on his shoulder. 

“And what would that be?”he asked, spinning the office chair he sat in and successfully rotating within your arms. 

“I want to paint on you!” you said brightly as Felix’s hands came to rest on your waist as you snuggled closer, plopping down into his lap. 

“What?” Felix asked, slightly startled by your bold proposition. 

“I want to paint on you,” you repeated, “like, kind of use you as a human canvas?” It came out more as a question than a statement, and you grinned awkwardly, the incredulous tone of his voice making you shy. 

“I’m not opposed,” Felix mused, and you immediately brightened back up again. “Why though?”

“Well,” you said, fingers playing with the strings of his hoodie, “first of all you’re the only person I have on hand at the moment.” You giggled, and Felix raised a hand to his chest in mock offense. “But I’ve always loved painting on skin. There’s some strange appeal that comes with turning another human being into art. Unfortunately, I’ve only ever done it on myself before, but I had this really amazing idea a while ago and have held onto it forever and you are absolutely perfect for it.” You finished by pressing a sweet kiss to his nose. “So?” you asked eagerly, “what do you say? Let me paint on you?”

Felix chuckled lightly, and you could feel the deep vibrations where your hands were set on his chest. “Aren’t you going to tell me what your amazing idea is?” 

“Nope!” you said cheerfully, popping the ‘p’ as you smiled happily, “You’ll just have to say yes and see what I do. It will be beautiful, I promise.” 

Felix playfully narrowed his eyes at you. “You won’t do something stupid or make me look weird?”

“I would never,” you said, sticking out your littlest finger, “pinky swear. And anyway, nothing could ever make you look weird, pretty boy.” Felix’s eyes widened at your compliment, a light shade of red creeping across his cheeks as he wrapped his pinky around yours. No matter how often you complimented him he always had the sweetest flustered reactions. 

“What are we waiting for then?” you practically vaulted out of his lap, tangling your fingers together and tugging on his hand to try and get him to follow you. 

“What, now?” he asked, a bewildered look on his face.

“Yes, now,” you said, pulling on his hand again, “I can’t wait any longer, I’m dying to finally do this.”

“Alright,” Felix said, laughing as he stood up from the desk, whatever he was working on earlier abandoned as you enthusiastically pulled him along to the spare bedroom turned art studio. 

“Here,” you said, tossing one of the already paint-stained cushions you often put to use out of the closet, “sit down while I find what I need.” 

Felix grabbed the cushion and set it on the large, clear plastic mat you always kept set out over the hardwood floors. There were several places you had set up for painting, laying on the floor and the easel by the window being two of your favorites, and you rotated between them depending on how you were feeling that day. It seemed like today was a sprawled across the floor day, although that made sense, Felix reasoned, if you were going to be painting on him. He sat down and watched as you zipped back and forth across the room, picking through your jars of brushes and bins of paints to find the supplies you would be using. 

Thrusting one of the mason jar mugs you used to wash out your brushes at Felix, you asked, “Could you go fill this up with water for me?” He nodded compliantly, pulling himself up off the floor and traipsing across the hall to the bathroom to fill the glass mug with water. When he came back into the room, you had set up a jar of brushes to pick through, tossed a few tubes of paint to the floor next to the two cushions, and were currently spread across a decent portion of the floor with one of the large folders you had labeled as “inspiration and references.” These were collections of anything you could possibly want to give you ideas or utilize in your art, ranging from newspaper clippings, old photographs, passages from books and poems scrawled on torn notebook paper (or on the more rare occasion, printed out), and absolutely filled to the brim with doodles and practice drawings. You were a firm believer in the idea that anything could be reused or help inspire you in the future, which ultimately lead to your large collection. Usually you tried to date the bits of paper you tucked away, but it didn’t help with your chronic lack of organization. 

“What are you searching for?” Felix questioned, assuming that you wouldn’t answer but asking anyway. 

“Can’t tell,” you said, eyes twinkling with a spark of mischief, “it’s supposed to be a surprise, remember?” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop asking. What do you want me to do then?” he asked, looking around the room and wondering what you had planned for him. 

“Just sit, I’ll find it in a moment.” Felix settled himself back down on the floor as you continued to rifle through the folder barely containing the papers inside it. He watched as you carefully separated a few glossy photos that had stuck together and shuffled through a stack of what appeared to be old school work. “Aha!” you shouted victoriously, startling Felix and holding a few taped together pieces of paper in the air. 

“What’s that?” he asked, his curiosity over both the project itself and the haphazardly folded but carefully assembled papers in your grasp too much to handle. 

To his surprise, you gave in this time. “Star chart!” you chirped, obviously too pleased with yourself to continue hiding your intentions. “I’ve always loved space, specifically stars, and I took an astronomy class in high school but never got rid of the papers that weren’t just worksheets. I always hoped that someday I would be able to use them for painting. And here we are!” Felix smiled at the happy grin lighting up your whole face, your excitement too endearing to not acknowledge. 

“Cute.” Felix grinned happily as you shuffled over to where you had set up all of your supplies. All of a sudden his smile turned bashful, stammering slightly as he asked, “Should I like, take my shirt off or something then?” 

You giggled, setting down the star chart and plucking a thin marker from amongst the plethora of materials. “Not this time. I want to do your face!” 

“What?” Felix gasped, eyes widened in surprise. 

“I want to paint on your face!” you repeated, excitement fading as you rolled the marker between your hands, suddenly nervous. “Your freckles, specifically. Only if you’ll let me though.” You fidgeted slightly, focused on the marker before looking up at Felix who still wore a slightly startled expression. 

“My - my freckles?” he asked, and you nodded. 

“Yeah. Finding patterns that match my constellations-” you patted the papers sitting beside you - “and then turning your face into a little galaxy.” 

“Y/n,” he said softly, and you braced yourself to be turned down, “I think that’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever come up with. Why would I ever say no?” 

Your eyes shot up to find Felix’s, and you could see all of the adoration that he held for you in their depths. “Really?” you asked, pulling yourself into his lap and tucking your arms around his waist.

“Really,” he confirmed, sealing a gentle kiss against your mouth. “Now, how do you want to go about this?” 

You clamored off of Felix, grabbing the marker from where you had dropped it at his side and snatching the star chart into your hands before thrusting it at Felix. “Pick a few that you like, and I’ll see if what I can do to weave them out of your freckles,” you said, placing the folded chart into his hands and backing off to begin rifling through the paint tubes you had chosen. “Try not to do anything too difficult, I think the simpler ones would look better for this.” 

Leaving him to pour over the constellations, you realized that you had overlooked finding a palette earlier in your scramble to find paints, so you pulled yourself up off the floor to move to the closet once again. Shoving a few bins of paints and stacks of assorted canvases to the side, you finally found the collection of palettes stored near the back of the shelf. Just barely managing to get your finger under the one on the bottom (the shelf was slightly too high, not enough to really bother you, but it could be a minor inconvenience sometimes), you dragged the precariously balanced stack towards yourself. 

“What about Lyra?” Felix called from behind you. 

“That would work,” you mused, shuffling through the pile in search of one not too caked in dried paint. 

“Or Aquila?”

“Also fine,” you responded, selecting a mostly clean palette. “I really want to try Draco, so we’ll do that one first and then fit the others on after that. Sound good?” 

"Anything you want to do is good with me," he replied, and you turned to see the pretty blush staining his cheeks.

"But you're the one making this project come to life," you said, crossing the room in a few steps and settling down in front of him. "You should have some input."

"I'm merely the final product in this situation. You, y/n, are the one bringing it to life." Now it was your turn to grow flustered by his compliments. 

"Oh hush," you said, searching on the floor for the marker you had set down.

Finding your marker, you uncapped it and scooted closer to Felix. "Ready?" you asked.

He looked at the marker warily. "I thought you were painting."

"I am painting, but I have to sketch it out first," you laughed. "I always do."

"Oh," he said, looking down shyly. He always loved to watch you paint, however paying attention to the process was something else entirely. "Well go on then."

Studying his face carefully, you placed a small dot on top of a freckle close to the top of his cheek. Glancing back at the star chart, you drew another right under it, and awkwardly angled your pen to try and reach better. Pulling the papers mapping out your reference closer, you shuffled to the side and drew another dot.

"This isn't working very well," you said, taking Felix's chin in your hand and tilting his head to the side to try and reach better. "I might move you again, so try not to move and tell me if it's too uncomfortable."

Felix nodded in response just as you set the tip of the marker against his cheek, leaving a small inky streak down his face. You sighed. "Next time just say you heard me. I'm going to get the rubbing alcohol.” You stood up and headed to the bathroom, opening the cabinet and rummaging around to find the necessary bottle. Finding what you needed, you stood up and crossed the hallway once again to rejoin Felix.

"Here." Felix held out a cotton ball that he had no doubt found in the depths of one of your many bins of random art supplies.

"Thanks," you said quietly, already flipping the top of the rubbing alcohol open and soaking the cotton in liquid before scrubbing it gently across Felix's cheek. He held still for the moment, letting you remove the ink from his face and watching your movements carefully.

"Done?" he asked as you tossed the now somewhat grey cotton ball to the floor.

"Yep." you picked up your marker again. "Good to go?" He nodded again, this time making sure that the marker was nowhere near his skin.

You set back to work, switching between analyzing the star chart and making small dots where you could connect the freckles strewn across Felix's face to resemble the constellation you had picked.

After readjusting Felix's face for the nth time, you sighed. “This isn’t working,” you complained, capping your marker and letting your hand fall into your lap. 

“I can tell,” Felix mused. “Any ideas?”

You tilted your head, scanning over his face, and Felix could see the imaginary lightbulb pop up above your head as a grin spread across your face. “Maybe,” you said cheekily, crawling into his lap and once again uncapping your marker. Placing the non inky end into your mouth, you cupped your hands around Felix’s cheeks, gently moving his head around until you think you’ve found the perfect angle. “Don’t move.” 

Finding that your new vantage point gave you perfect access to the soft skin of your boyfriend’s cheeks, you steadily set back to work, sketching light lines between the makeshift “stars” that quickly began to fill the freckles dotted across Felix’s face. 

“Alright! I’m all done.” You leaned back a bit to admire your work, already extremely happy with the way that everything was turning out. “And now -” you clambered off Felix’s lap to let him stretch while you gathered the scattered supplies necessary for the next step of your project - “we paint!” 

Felix giggled at the enthusiasm spreading a happy brightness across your face, bringing you closer for a chaste kiss as soon as you had settled yourself back across him. Clasping the brush you had picked up between your teeth as you seemed prone to do, you grabbed two of the few tubes of paint selected from a small box of metallics Felix wasn’t aware you had and unscrewed the one containing silver paint. Squeezing a small amount onto the palette in your other hand, you replaced the cap and set it to the side. 

You pulled the paintbrush from your mouth, and said, “This is it. No going back after I start painting,” you warned, absolutely failing to hide the playful tone in your voice. 

“I have sharpie all over my face,” Felix laughed, “I’m pretty sure we reached that point a while ago.” 

“Right,” you said, ducking your face a little, trying to hide your embarrassed expression. “Well then, let the painting begin!” Placing a sweet kiss to the tip of Felix’s nose, you swirled your brush through the silver paint and hesitantly hovered over the inked lines connecting his freckles. 

“You’re not going to mess this up,” Felix reassured, almost as if he could immediately pick up on your thoughts, “anything you paint is always beautiful and I have complete confidence in you.” 

The compliments flustered you even more, and muttering a soft, “Oh, be quiet,” you set your brush down, dragging the bristles across the lines you had laid down earlier. 

Felix shuddered under the cool touch of paint stroked across his face, and you backed off for a moment, letting him adjust to the foreign feeling. “Try not to move,” you said, setting down your palette and cupping his jaw sweetly. 

You painted thin, careful lines over all of the drawn out constellations, painstakingly smoothing the edges and adding a second layer to those where the black ink was still visible. While you kept all of your focus on the paintbrush in your hand, Felix lost himself in the way that you concentrated on the task you had set yourself to. He loved to watch you paint, and the experience was ten times better when you were right up close. Felix watched your expressions as you immersed yourself in your work, noticing every little forehead scrunch, loving the cute way that you would chew on your lip or poke your tongue out when you got to a particularly tricky spot. There wasn’t enough focus left to be self conscious when you truly absorbed yourself in your art, and it was times like these that Felix thought you were most true to yourself, which lead to it also being when he found you most beautiful. Not that you weren’t other times, certainly, but there was something enchanting about your little expressions and the way your hair would stick up from running your fingers through it. You would always have paint all over your hands, no matter how careful you had been, and when it was still wet the pigment often transferred to your face or hair. Of course you never noticed, and so Felix would let you know you should probably look in a mirror, but only after silently appreciating the way that the smudged paint on your forehead somehow only enhanced the glow of beauty that truly being in your element brought out.

“There we go!” you suddenly exclaimed, startling Felix out of his reverie. “I’m finished with the lines,” you told him, dropping your paintbrush into the cup of water and swishing it around a little. “Now I just have to do the stars.”

You leaned to the side and reached around Felix to grab the other tube of paint you had taken out and added some of the gold to the palette before screwing the cap back on and tossing it next to you. Balancing the palette on your knee, you grabbed the cup containing your brush and dragged it toward you. Quickly and thoroughly rinsing the paint from the bristles, you wiped off the excess water and took Felix’s face into your hand once again, gently maneuvering him back into a position where you could easily paint. 

Now used to the feeling, Felix didn’t startle when you began painting again, the cool touch of the paint to his cheek calming. You worked steadily, crossing tiny strokes to form the stars connecting the constellations created by his freckles. Every now and then you would shift in his lap, or make sure that the angle his head was at wasn’t making his neck ache, but for the most part you worked silent and still. 

You smoothed tiny lines into shapes, keeping them tidy and occasionally layering more paint on where it had smudged or the first coat had been too thin. After finishing one of the stars higher on his cheek, you leaned back to admire your work. 

“I think I’m done,” you said softly, wiping a bit of golden paint off Felix’s forehead. 

“Can I see?” he asked, plucking the paint brush out of your fingers and placing it in the paint water. 

You nodded, climbing out of his lap and gesturing towards the messy desk in the corner of the room. “There should be a mirror up there. I’m going to go get my Polaroid camera.” You loved that camera, it had been a gift from a friend years ago, and you only pulled it out for special occasions. Felix knew how much it meant to you, and the fact that you wanted to capture this moment with it warmed his heart. 

When you returned to the room, Felix was sitting back on the cushions you had pulled out, the small hand mirror next to him on the floor. “It’s beautiful, y/n,” he said, and you smiled at the compliment, whispering a quiet “Thanks.” 

“Where do you want me?” Felix asked, nodding towards the camera in your hands. 

“By the window, probably,” you said, “I think backlighting would look good for this.” It was reaching late afternoon now, and the sun was beginning to sink to the horizon quickly. The golden light would shine through his hair beautifully, and Felix always glowed in the sunlight. 

The two of you moved to the other side of the room, and Felix quickly set himself up in front of the window. 

“Should I pose or something?” Felix asked, and you shook your head in response. 

“Just do what feels natural,” you said, squinting at him through the viewfinder on your Polaroid before lowering it to watch him adjust for the photo. He seemed to relax under your gaze, and turned his head to the side so he was looking straight into the lens as the light washed over the paint trailed across his face, illuminating the shine of the metallics you used. He stilled after a moment, and after you were sure he wasn’t going to move, you pressed the shutter. The camera began printing your photo, and after a moment you plucked it from the slot, pressing it between your lips and bringing the camera back up to your eye. 

“I want to take one more,” you mumbled around the developing photo in your mouth, “close your eyes for me?” Felix complied, letting his lashes flutter against the top of his cheeks as a small smile settled across his face. You snapped your second photo, bringing the camera down and tucking the earlier in between your fingers as you waited for the second to print. Felix came to stand next to you, taking the second photo and looking over your shoulder to see how the first one turned out. 

As you watched the color seep onto the glossy paper you knew that the stars across his cheeks, no matter how pretty they were, could never compare to the stars that shone in his eyes. He was truly beautiful, and standing there with your camera in hand, his hair brushing against your cheek, you were never more aware.

[howaboutthat111]

From the Ashes, You Will Rise PT: 6

Series Summary: You were eleven when the snap happened, and Peter was the last family you had left. Now he’s gone, and you swear you’ll bring him back.

Chapter Summary: Y/N gets attacked but a certain Devil is there to save her.

Series Masterlist

Its been four years now since the snap. You are now 15 years old. You have nearly completed the time machine. You don’t have the money to afford that actual building of the time machine but you will cross that path later. You now know that the key to time travel is through the quantum realm.

All you need to do is figure out how to navigate it. The navigation part is the biggest problem though. You do not know enough about the quantum realm though. The only person who knows more about the quantum realm is Hank Pym.

You go to the library, and walk towards the computers. You go onto vanishingmemorial.com. Its a website that contains the list of everyone who died or is assumed dead from the vanishing from earth. You type in Hank Pym, checking to see if he is still alive.

“Hank Pym, deceased”, it says.

“Shit” you say to yourself leaning back in your chair.

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The librarian across from you saying.

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” You mockingly day back to her, putting your finger to your lips.

“See how annoying that is”, you tell her, as she rolls her eyes at you and walk away.

You continue reading on Hank Pym, it says that his daughter, Hope Pym, also died in the vanishing. It also says that his van and his possession are held at East 81st Locus Road, San Fransisco. To take possession of the items, you need birth certificate, proof of relative, and driver’s license. All of which you do not have.

You go back to your warehouse, and go into your notebook to write some more theories. As you are writing, your pencil breaks.

“Gosh damn it” you say to yourself at you get up to go upstairs. The old warehouse has leftover pencils from the office upstairs that you steal only when needed. You start walking up the stairs, stepping over holes and stair opening where there are no longer stairs. You get to one of those opening, jumping over the gap. Right when you feet hit the next stair, the wood brakes, dropping you onto the group. You scream as you fall, letting out a loud “UGH!” As you land, braking the wooden floor on impact. Your feet and butt land on a soft object, saving you from getting hurt. You look down to see what it is.

Its another backpack. You grab the bag and get out of the hole, walking over and sitting down on the mattress. The red and blue backpack looks old, with what looks like bullet holes. You open the bag to find protein bars, blue jacket, jeans, shoes, and a shirt that says “find x, found x” with an arrow pointing to the x in the equation. Farther in the bag, there is a small brown paper bag, that says in black sharpie, “this belongs to you -TS”. You open up the baggie, pulling out a red and blue suit. You look closer at it, flipping it over. Two wide white parts stare at you, surrounded by black lines and red.

“Oh my god, Peter is Spider-Man. Peter is SPIDER-MAN!” You jump up, continuing to stare at the mask. You then run out of the warehouse, shocked by what you have learned. You run to an alleyway in Hells Kitchen, not too far away from the warehouse, about two blocks. You breathe hard, you mind running with thoughts. You try controlling your breathing, in and out, in and out. You repeat the process until you have completely calmed down.

“Ok, ok, ok, ok. So Peter is Spider-Man. He is Spider-Man. So he was on that donut in the air, yah ok yah. But that also means he knows the avengers. And the avengers are rich so maybe I can get them to fund the machine. Yes, yes I can, YES I CAN! OMG!” You screen out jumping up, smile on your face against. You start pumping your fist into the air, jumping up and down again.

“Turn around”, a voice says from behind you, stopping you mid-celebration. You slowly turn out, seeing a man standing behind you. He is wearing an old brown jacket, blue shirt, and cargo pants, all of which are littered with holes. His brown hair is ruff, matted, along with his extremely long beard. His arm is strYou put your arms up slowing, eyes growing wide with worry.

“Just give me your money, and we won’t have any trouble.” The man says, his other hand out, palm open.

“I-I-I-“ you stammer, having trouble saying even just a simple word.

“SPIT IT OUT GOD DAMN IT OR ELSE!” He yells out, turning the safety off the gun.

“I don’t have any money” you spit out, faster than you could even think.

“You lying,” the man says stepping closer to you. His forehead now only a few inches away from yours as your back is against the wall.

“I-I’m not! I swear!” You tell him, tears almost spilling out.

Right then his fist smashed into the side of my face, making me fall to my knee’s.

“STOP! LYING! TO! ME!” He yells as he delivers kicks to my stomach.

“I would stop hitting that girl over there and get away from her.” A voice then says. The man the stops hitting you, letting you finally lay on the ground in peace.

“Yah, and who’s going to stop me”. The man says back, looking at the shadowy figure.

“Me.” He says. The man and the figure start fighting, until the sound of a gunshot is heard. Time freezes as the man runs out of the alley, and the shadowy figure drops. You stand up painfully, stomach being filled with pain. To kneel in front of the figure, looking to see what ails him. You finally see the blood pooling out of him, coming from bullet hole in his left side.

“Oh my gosh, ok ok ok I gotta, I gotta clean him up. You look to the side and see a trash bin. You jump inside it, looking for anything that could be used to help bring him to the warehouse. You find a big piece of wood, two small circles, duck tape, and a blanket. You put the objects together to form a wheel barrel kind of thing, putting the figure on top of it. You then cover him with a blanket. You rush him over to the warehouse then, pushing the contraption a fast as it could go. Once you arrive at the ware house, you finally get a good look at him. He is wearing an all blood red suit, with black eyes and horns on his head. He’s the devil of Hell’s Kitchen, daredevil.

“Oh Shit,” you say, putting pressure on his wound. You remove his vest like shirt, getting a better view of his injury. You get out your tweezers, digging into the skin until you feel the metal object. You grab the object with the tweezers, slowing pulling it out of his body. You the run over to the Spider-Man backpack, pulling out the blue jacket. You remove a long thread from it. You run back over to the devil, tying the small thread around the needle. You go to sowing up the wound, putting in around 4 stitches. Once finished, wrap up the wound.

Once done, you walk to the wall and sit down. Your eyes slowly close, as you begin to drift of to sleep.

You wake up to the sound of a pain, quickly getting to your feet to attend to the devil who is trying to get back up.

“Wow wow wow there. You are in no condition to be standing right now.” You tell him, trying to stop him from standing.

“Well I’ve done it before so it’s fine.” He says standing up.

“Look, it’s nice of you to stitch me up and all but if you don’t mind, I’m just gonna be heading out of here.” He tells you, walking towards the door.

“Hold up,” you say, running over and putting your hand on the door to stop him from opening it.

“I need your help,” you say, looking him dead in the eyes.

“With what”, he questions annoyingly.

“Learning how to fight,” you say bluntly. He then starts laughing in your face, completely shocked at the request.

“I need to know how to fight, just help me”, you plead with him.

“And why would I do that,” he ask, looking back at you.

“Out of the goodness of your heart? Or because I saved your ass from bleeding out. Or that I didn’t look under the mask without permission.” You tell him, listing off the things you did for him. He looks at me for a second, contemplating if he should.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

Ok.” He says again turning around.

“Yesssssssssss! Thank you Mr. Daredevil you won’t regret this”, you tell him, giving him a big hug as he awkwardly stands.

I’m going to learn how to fight.

[thatnerdnextdoor24]

Bathtime and Bubbles

Technically. I didn't finish the Kit/Ty challenge. But, 27/30 ain't half bad. Besides, I simply did not vibe with the last three challenges. Now, instead, I re-read The Land I Lost, and uhhhhhhh want more Lightwood-Bane family content. This takes place at the end of The Land I Lost.

Ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They spent the next hour tumbling through the living room. Alec stood on the mats, teaching his boys how to stand and fall safely. Magnus called words of encouragement from where he sat on the floor, and translated in fluid Spanish for Rafe. Rafe himself had taken to the training like a fish in water, listening intently to everything Alec said, even if he couldn’t understand. After every tumble he looked to Alec for a shy approval, and when Alec praised him, he would go to hide by Magnus until his next turn.

Max had taken to the training with much enthusiasm, despite his lack for balance. But Alec was proud, nonetheless. Max stumbled through somersaults and always fell with a dramatic cry followed by a giggle. Magnus clapped after each one like it was a Broadway performance. Alec found himself laughing, a grin plastered on his face. 

He was showing Rafe how to tuck and roll one more time, when he noticed Max had curled up in Magnus’s lap, his eyes growing heavy. Another look at his family had him noticing Rafe try to hide a yawn. A softer smile came over Alec’s face, “Alright,” he said. “I think it’s time for bed.” Max seemed too tired to argue. 

Magnus translated in a soft voice, proof that he, too, was getting tired. Rafe suddenly looked at Alec with wide eyes, he shook his head rapidly and Alec didn’t need to speak Spanish to know what he said. I don’t want to be alone. Rafe ran forward and crashed into Alec’s legs, wrapping his arms tight around them.

The realization suddenly really hit Alec. Rafe had never been alone and safe. In Buenos Aires, he had slept in a room with Alec and Lily. Before that he had-

Alec didn’t like thinking about where Rafe might have slept before. 

He knelt down in front of the boy, enveloping his too small frame in his arms, “It’s okay. You’re okay. I won’t leave you alone.” He said in a low soothing voice. Rafael looked up at him, his eyes lined with unshed tears and his lip trembling. He nodded, once, and hugged Alec’s neck, nuzzling his face into his chest. Alec held him tight, looking over the boy to Magnus, who had that soft look again. He opened his mouth to say something but was caught off by a soft murmur, 

“I stay wif brodda Rafa…” Max mumbled from Magnus’s lap. Magnus huffed a laugh, “Good thing our bed is big,” he met Alec’s eyes, and if it wasn’t for the kids between them, he would have kissed Magnus right then. 

They scooped up the boys and carried them into their bedroom. By the time they had the two of them tucked under the blankets in the center of the bed, Alec felt ready to collapse onto the bed with them. He almost did, but Magnus grabbed on to his arm and pulled him back gently, “Easy tiger,” he whispered.

“You, my love,  are absolutely covered in soot, which, by the way, I still don’t know why or how,” He frowned, whipping a black smudge off Alec’s face for emphasis. Alec smiled, he liked the way Magnus reminded him of these things. Brush your hair. Did you eat lunch? That sweater has a hole in it. Before Magnus, Alec had never had anyone to take care of him. He pressed a kiss to Magnus’s temple, and when he went to pull away, Magnus held him there for a moment more. His hands traveling over his arms and chest and shoulders and back and, finally, his face. Just checking, to make sure he had come back in one piece. 

Alec kissed his lips again, Magnus smiled against him, “Seriously, you need a shower,” he scrunched up his nose. Alec chuckled quietly, pulling back. He pushed Magnus’s hair back, he leaned into Alec’s touch. His makeup was gone, his hair no longer spiked with gel, and his eyes closed against Alec’s hand. “I’m going to take a shower now,” Alec whispered, Magnus nodded, but still held on tight to him. 

“I’ll be waiting,”

“Okay.”

“Then you’ll tell me about Buenos Aires?”

“Okay.”

“Okay…” Magnus finally opened his eyes, giving Alec a sleepy smile. He wondered if Magnus would be awake when he came back. He kissed him once more, for good measure. It was slow and sweet, and woke Alec up just a little more. They finally pulled away. Magnus, to climb into the bed now occupied with their boys. Max and Rafe lay in the center, clutching each other tight. Magnus slid in on their left side, draping an arm over both of them. Alec smiled at them once more before disappearing in the bathroom.

The first look he got of himself in the mirror had startled him. He really was covered in soot. Alec was more surprised that Magnus had let him walk around for so long like this, or that his dad hadn’t said anything about it earlier that night. Alec sighed and stripped his soot covered gear off, throwing it into the bin that Magnus called, “The unredeemable gear bin,” 

The shower washed the soot off in dark streams. Watching the dirty water flow into the drain, Alec thought of the bottom of Rafael’s feet. Stained black from dirt. He had a feeling that Rafe would not like bathtime. And though he had yet to be bitten by the boy, (Who had a reputation of doing so) that might all change tomorrow morning during bathtime. 

Alec shook his head, the hot water rolling down his face. Steam filled the bathroom, and Alec closed his eyes against the familiar rhythm of the showerhead gurgling water above him. His moves mechanical as he reached for the soap and scrubbed the soot off his skin. He almost fell asleep, standing right there. But he managed to drag himself awake enough to turn the water cold. 

The iccy water tore a gasp out of Alec. He blinked several times before abruptly turning the water off. At least he was more awake now. He snatched the towel off the rack and rubbed at his face furiously. Shaking the water out of his hair. When Alec emerged from the steamy bathroom, he found three figures on the bed, right where he left them. All breathing in that quiet, familiar rhythm that sleep brought on. 

Alec dressed in Shadowhunter silence. Not even turning a light on in fear that it might wake them. Once he had downed a soft sweatshirt and sweatpants, he tiptoed to the right side of the bed. Careful not to disturb Rafe, whose back was turned to him as he clung onto Max, Alec eased himself under the covers. Despite his cold water awakening, once he had cuddled close to his new son, Alec felt that relaxing tiredness fall over him. He rested his arm on top of the boy, who didn’t even stir. Distantly, Alec wondered if this was the first real sleep Rafe had had since the Buenos Aires Institute fell. He closed his eyes, holding the boy close.

A hand wrapped his fingers around Alec’s. He knew who it was, and squeezed back on instinct. “You had a story to tell me?” A sleepy voice murmured over the mound of kids. “I thought you were asleep.” Alec whispered back, not even opening his eyes. “You thought you could get away with not telling me,” Magnus countered, Alec didn’t deny it. “There isn’t much to tell,” He pointed out, finally opening his eyes to find gold slitted ones looking back at him. The face he loved most.

“Yeah there is. You’re a hero and I want to hear about it,” “I’m not a hero.”

“I beg to differ.”

Alec huffed a laugh, and supposed that Magnus wouldn’t go back to sleep until he heard the story. The story of how Alec came home covered in soot. The story of how he found Rafael. So Alec bit the inside of his cheek, and decided on the best place to begin.

“Do you remember that werewolf girl we met on the Orient Express?”

~*~

The next morning, Alec woke to an empty bed and laughter floating from the kitchen. Along with a seamless stream of lovely Spanish and familiar English. Alec smiled into his pillows, his hand running along the still warm, rumpled sheets. When he ventured out into the kitchen, he found his boys sitting at the table, and Magnus talking to them from the kitchen counter, where he flipped chocolate pancakes. Alec stepped up behind him, wrapping his arms around Magnus’s waist. 

“Good morning,” he murmured, pressing his nose into the crook of Magnus’s neck, breathing in his sandalwood scent. Magnus reached back with one hand and tugged Alec’s hair playfully. “Good morning,” he said brightly. Perhaps with more energy than someone should have before breakfast. “We are making pancakes.” Magnus scowled at the boys at the table, “Well, I am making pancakes. Those two lazy bones don’t want to do the work.” he repeated himself in easy Spanish, then stuck his tongue at the two boys.

Alec chuckled as Max rose onto his knees from his chair and stuck his tongue back at his Papa. His face in a brilliant smile. Rafael sat in a chair next to him, a fluffy blanket wrapped tight around him. His eyes were wide and he seemed more shy than he was last night. Alec knew what he was feeling. Rafe had gone to sleep, and woken to find that he wasn’t dreaming. Alec had that feeling himself, many times. 

“Here,” Magnus said, pulling Alec back from his thoughts. He waved his hand through the air, blue sparks dancing between his fingers. A cup of coffee from the cafe down the street suddenly appeared in his hand. “I paid,” he said, as he held it out to Alec, before he could raise a brow. “We’re out of coffee beans.” Magnus supplied as Alec pulled away and took the coffee. “We’re out of a lot of things, I think I’m going to take Max to the store.” He said, lowering his voice so Max wouldn’t hear the word ‘go’ and get excited. 

“Maybe while you give Rafe a bath??” Magnus asked, wiggling his eyebrows. Alec had told him about his fears for bathtime last night, and Magnus had laughed and agreed. Alec took a sip of his coffee, “You just don’t want to be the bad guy,” he said, seeing through Magnus easily. Magnus waved him off, “What? Nooo. Hey look! The pancakes are done!”

Alec rolled his eyes with a smile, helping Magnus carry the pancakes to the table. Where, it seemed, Max was introducing Rafe to Chairman Meow. He was holding the cat up, over the table, while Rafe hesitantly ran his hand over the Chairman’s fur. The cat was surprisingly calm for once. Seeming to understand that he needed to be calm and still for this kid. A smile had blossomed over Rafe’s face, and grew bigger as Alec set a plate down in front of him.

Max discreetly pulled Chairman into his lap, holding the cat. Trying to be sneaky, even as Alec reached over to cut his pancakes for him. “Max, the Chairman doesn’t eat at the table,” Alec said without looking up. Max frowned, letting go. The cat immediately leaped from his lap and went to sit under Magnus’s chair. Alec felt Rafe’s eyes on him, with that narrowed, studying look of his. 

Rafe picked up his fork, and tried to cut his pancakes. The fork was held in an odd grip, and got stuck against a chocolate chip. Without thinking Alec moved to Rafe’s side. “Here, like this,” he said, gently. Rafe went a little still, but let Alec show him how to hold the fork, and cut his food. When Alec sat back down, he found Magnus looking at him with that odd, soft expression of his. Alec raised an eyebrow, but Magnus only leaned over and kissed his cheek. 

After breakfast, Magnus whisked Max away, promising Rafe that they were going to be back soon. Rafael seemed better this morning. Like he now believed that Magnus and Max were truly going to come back. Once they were gone, though, Rafe stayed sitting at the table, the blanket now fallen to the ground. In this lighting, Alec could see the dirt smudges on his neck and face, the grim under his nails. Alec licked his lips, steeling himself, and stood. If bathtime was bad with Max, he could only imagine how Stubborn Rafael would deal with it. 

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand, and nodding down the hall. Rafe looked wearily, but took his hand, his fingers sticky with syrup. He stood, allowing Alec to lead him down the hall and into the bathroom. As soon as they entered, Rafe got more weary. When the water turned on, he out right bolted for the door. Alec beat him to the door and stood in front of it, blocking the exit. Rafe growled. 

“It’s just a bath,” Alec said, holding his hands up. “That’s all it is,” Rafael glared at him as if to say, That is NOT all it is. “It’ll be fun!” Alec tried, Rafe crossed his arms. Alec let out a breath, “Let me show you,” he pulled the bubble bath out from beneath the counter. While he approached the tub, Rafe backed up closer to the door, ready to run out at any given moment. Alec kept one eye on him while he poured the bubbles into the filling tub.

“Rafe, come look at this!” He called, waving Rafe over. The boy eyed him, but as Alec made an admiring noise at the contents of the tub, curiosity seemed to get the better of him. Rafe kept the distance between the two of them, as if he thought Alec might throw him into the bath. He stood on his tip toes, peering down. 

Alec heard him gasp, just a little, as the bubbles rose and rose from the water. While Rafe stared at the bubbles in wonder, Alec ran his fingers through the warm water. Before Rafe could remember that he didn’t want to be in the bath, Alec dashed his finger through the bubbles and booped Rafe’s nose. Leaving a soapy sud on the boy's nose. Rafe blinked, then erupted in giggles. Alec rumbled out a laugh in response. 

“See? Not bad at all,” Alec nudged him with his elbow, and gestured to the bath. Rafael still glared at him. But the corners of his mouth were quirked up into a smile. Gently, Alec tugged on the hem of Rafe’s shirt, “Will you get in the tub, now?” he asked. Rafael looked once more at Alec and said, “No te entiendo,” as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Boludo,” he muttered, and Alec decided not to hear it. 

He helped peel off the ratty clothes, revealing the too thin frame beneath. Leaving the dirty clothes in a pile. Alec scooped up Rafe with ease, placing him, gently, into the tub. Rafe let out a squeal as his feet touched the warm water, and a laugh when the bubbles stuck to his arms. 

Alec let out a breath and smiled. Turns out, Rafael secretly likes bath times. Who knew? When Alec poured some sweet smelling soap into his hand, Rafe held it to his nose and breathed in the scent with a smile. He let Alec scrub him clean. He even relaxed as Alec washed his hair. Alec’s heart burst when he blew the bubbles into the boy’s face, causing him to shriek with laughter. He was just rinsing the shampoo of the boy's head, when Rafe let out a sound of alarm. Alec yanked back, afraid he had hurt him, but Rafe held up his hands. His eyes wide. 

For a second, Alec wasn’t sure what was wrong. Then Rafe thrust his fingers into his face, and Alec noticed the pruned fingertips. A laugh tore its way through Alec before he could stop it. Rafe pulled back, startled. “It’s fine,” Alec managed between laughs, “That happens when you're in water for a while. It’ll go away when you dry off,” he promised. Rafe still stared wearily at his hands. 

Chuckling under his breath, Alec pulled the drain on the tub. The dirty, soapy water sucked down with a gurgling noise. Rafe stood abruptly at the sound, and watched the water go down with narrowed eyes, his pruned hands clutched to his chest. Alec snatched down a fluffy white towel off the rack, and wrapped it around Rafe’s little body. Then he picked Rafe up, out of the water, and carried him out of the bathroom. 

The new room Magnus had conjured last night, remained mostly empty. Except for the twin size bed and the giant window. Laid out across the bed was a new set of clothes that Magnus must have produced before he left with Max. Alec set Rafe on the floor, who looked at the clothes with raised eyebrows. The shirt was blue with a green dinosaur, wearing a cheesy grin across the front.

Rafe looked at it and shook his head. But he wore them nonetheless. He kept rubbing the fabric between his fingers, and Alec wondered when the last time he wore clean clothes was. The thought brought a frown to his face. It instantly fell away as Rafe pressed his face against the window, to look out at the city below. 

His eyes were wide as he took in the traffic and lights and people below. Alec remembered that Rafe hadn’t seen New York in the day. It suddenly struck him that he wasn’t even sure he had told Rafe where he was last night. So Alec came to kneel beside Rafe, and look out the window. “This is Brooklyn,” he said. Rafe tore his eyes away for just a second, “Brooklyn…” he whispered. His accent heavy over the word. 

Alec nodded, “Mmhm, in New York.” Rafe licked his lips, and mumbled the words, “New York…” With something like wonder in his voice. Alec found himself grinning, because Rafael was smiling. He looked so different from when he first met him, even if it was just a few days ago. There was more color in his face, his hair fluffier and curlier after being washed. His eyes were brighter. He held himself taller. Alec ruffled Rafe’s hair, his heart almost felt like it would burst. 

When Max and Magnus came home, they found Alec and Rafe on the floor, playing with legos. (They were succeeding in building the biggest tower and then knocking it down) Max ran for his new brother, tackling him to the ground in a giant hug. Rafe shouted in protest, scolding him in Spanish, and Max erupted in contagious giggles. While the boys rolled around and laughed, Alec stood to help Magnus with the grocery bags in his hands. 

Alec traded the bags for a kiss, “Hi,” he said, still smiling. Magnus smiled back, looking him up and down. “Your clothes aren’t soaked. I take it bathtime went well?” Alec flashed him a grin and a wink, sending a laugh through Magnus. “Turns out, Stubborn Rafael  is a fan of bathtime. And bubbles.” He said, putting the groceries away into their rightful places. When he looked back, he found Magnus staring lovingly, softly, to where the boys played in the living room. 

“Who’d have thought?” He whispered. Alec wasn’t sure what he was talking about. About the two boys, his sons, already acting like brothers. That he had sons at all. Or, that Rafael, with his serious face and stern voice, liked bathtime and bubbles. Regardless of which one it was, Alec wrapped his arm around Magnus’s waist, letting him lean against him. “Who’d have thought,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to his love’s temple. 

[lovelyparkers]

set it up

summary: two overworked superhero teenagers decide to drive two pushy adults in their life together so they can get a break. but it doesn't exactly go to plan. 4.7k+ words

warnings: swearing duh, angst, fluff, superhero!reader, pepperony!! romanoff!reader ps i hope no one has done this before. follows the movie 'set it up'

"come on y/n, keep it up, don't hold back."

you were in the compound's gym, breathless, just wanting some water, and pepper was still pushing you to your limit. and not to mention you were sparring nat. and she was extremely tricky.

"pepper i think she's beat," nat shouted.

pepper sighed, "alright alright. go get cleaned up and meet me in my office."

pepper left the room leaving you and nat on the mat. she held out a hand to life you up off the sweaty ground after slamming you down on it.

"jeez, she ever gonna give me a break?" you groaned out and you were pulled to your feet.

"i doubt it sis. she's so tense lately. i think it's tony."

"tony?"

nat side eyed you, "oh please. the tension between them is almost unbearable. they should just get together already. but they don't wanna hear it."

"so why is she taking it out on me," you cried.

"you know she wants you to protect yourself," your older sister shrugged, "but yeah she's really tough on you."

she took a long sip of water before continuing and throwing you a towel, "i'm telling you, it's tony."

"interesting."

later that night

you were now freshened up and heading to pepper's office, which never meant good. you trudged through the door, legs weak and tired.

"sit," pepper said.

"what now? it's almost midnight."

"i need you to run down to the lab and pick up some paper work for me," pepper held up a finger as you were about to speak, "and before you complain, it's concerning your new suit."

your eyes brightened real quick. new suit eh? you started to nod before getting up to head to the elevator lobby.

"oh and y/n?"

you turned to face pepper once again.

"take the stairs, good for that stamina."

——————————

"i need you to go upstairs and get me some paperwork from pepper, and take the stairs!"

"but mr stark-"

"just go pete, you know how much i get on pep's nerves."

peter sighed and ran out of the lab to the big back staircase to run up to pepper's office. at the same time you were running down the stairs and collided with peter.

"ah!"

you fixed your hair after the impact, "geez you sure have a high pitched scream for a teenage boy peter."

"hey!" he whines and pouted his lip.

"sorry bout that. where you headed?"

"pepper's office. mr. stark is being so tough on me lately. like i cant get a break."

"yep same here. they should just get together already."

"what?"

but you were already making your way downstairs to answer peter.

when you got to the lab tony was in there looking down at a desk doing something with his many computers.

"y/n," he greeted you, not even looking up to know it was you.

"just here to grab some papers," you walked over to the stack tony started pointing at.

"thank you," and you walked out with out saying another word.

you trudged back up the many flights of stairs only to come face to face with a very slow moving peter doing the same.

"hey again," he whispered, "i'm so tired."

"me too," you sighed, "meet me in my room for hot chocolate in 20."

"sure."

and you continued to pass by each other until you arrived at your expected places. when you reached pepper's office, you plopped the papers onto a chair before noticing she wasn't even sitting there. but there was a yellow post it note that read

went to sleep, we will go over it later.

"she really doesn't know when to quit, huh," you spoke to yourself. at least you would get some rest with it now being past midnight. you walked slowly down the same, long hallway to your room. when you walked in you plugged in your keurig brewer on your nightstand and popped in some hot chocolate cups for you in peter. while it was heating you got on some comfy pyjamas and threw your sweaty work out clothes in the hamper. seconds later peter walked into your room in his pyjamas.

"that was quick?"

"yeah well i took the elevator up here instead."

you looked at him for a few seconds before saying, "nice."

you gave peter the first cup.

"gosh y/n thank you so much."

"of course," you started brewing your cup while peter got under your bed covers as per usual.

"if you spill that i will literally beat you up."

"i won't!"

"you said that last time and remember what happed?"

he looked down into his mug, "yeah."

"it's okay i trust you this time."

you joined peter in bed and turned on Superstore, one of your favourite shows to watch together at night. after many episodes and a whole mug of hot chocolate, peter looked at you with drowsy eyes. you turned to him with a face of confusion.

"what?"

"nothing, just thinking about what you said earlier. about pepper and mr. stark."

"yeah! what if we actually got them together? like, set them up. then they would be too busy with each other to push us around and we get more free time."

"i mean, i don't know. i wouldn't wanna get in any trouble with mr. stark. i'm trying to get him to see me as a partner rather than a protégé ya know."

"oh come on! you don't think i want that with pepper too? but for real. we need a break."

"yeah but- i don't know. i'm going to bed," peter stuttered before pulling up the blanket over his head and falling asleep beside you.

you sighed, "everytime."

————————————————

the next morning you woke up peter was gone, which gave you time to devise a spreadsheet for your plan. you typed away at your laptop for a little over an hour before you were supposed to be up to train with pepper. once you were finished you bolted to peter's room where he was sitting at his desk, unaware of your presence.

"peter!" you yelped, shoving the computer in his face. he jumped.

"gosh don't do that! how are you so quiet you move like a prius."

"whatever. look. it's everything we know about tony and pepper, literally everything. we can control theirs schedule too! in order to set them up. we have to keep getting them in the same room, break the tension, and get them to date!"

"that's crazy," he responded.

"i think it's a great idea, just- just think about please? for me?"

peter shook his head and in a mocking voice said, "no."

peter got up and left the room, probably headed to tony's side. meanwhile you headed to pepper's office.  you walked in to see the bin full of papers and blueprints, for your suit.

"what's going on?"

"i hate those designs tony did! i need something fresh and different!"

"well i might have a design!"

"what?"

"well i have one in mind i haven't actually worked it out yet but-"

"just go meet your sister in the gym."

you nodded your head and headed to the gym to meet up with nat.

"parker!"

peter jumped up at hearing tony yell his name upon entering the lab.

"y-yes?"

"where were you last night? i was looking for you?"

peter's eyes widened, "oh i was with y/n sir."

"y/n? huh."

"mhm."

"anyways get up. we're going for a swing. well not really i'll be trying to take you down while you try to swing."

oh gosh, peter thought. this week had already been so much on him. and now he was gonna get beat up by tony.

later at night peter practically crawled to your room, bursting in and flat out saying, "i'm in."

you smiled. your plan was about to go in full motion.

—————————————

"okay so we need a meet cute!"

"a...what?"

"like when two people meet before they fall in love," you said while walking through the city the next afternoon with peter.

"but they already met? they've known each other for years!"

"i know but like, what if we got them stuck in an elevator together, break the tension."

"hmm yeah i guess. ya know ned is really good with that stuff. we could ask him!"

"perfect! call him right now."

in the tower basement

"so, what's in it for me?"

peter held up a hat.

"a new hat?"

"okay i'll do it."

ned was now messing around with some circuit board in order to shut down the elevator once pepper and tony were both on it. you told pepper to meet you in the lab and peter told tony to meet him at the gym, a way both of them will get on the elevator together, unknowingly.

you guys watched the security cameras, pointing out when pepper stepped on the elevator, immediately taking out her phone and check emails. seconds late the elevator stopped a floor down, and tony got on.

"miss potts."

"tony."

tony pulled out some sunglasses to put on, though he was currently in an elevator. just as ned was about to shut down the elevator, thor walked in.

"damnit! what's thor doing?!" you yelled.

"should i still go?" ned asked.

"i don't know y/n! just go ned," peter said, meaning for ned to leave because the plan had failed. but ned didn't catch that and pushed a button stopping the elevator.

"what just happened," thor asked pepper and tony.

"the elevator shut down, point break," tony replied.

"oh my, i do not like that, this is why i take the stairs!"

"ned! what did you do?"

"peter said go!"

"peter!"

"y/n!"

you groaned, "just fix it ned!"

ned pushes the button. nothing. then again. nothing.

"um it's not working," ned said worriedly.

"shit," you and peter yelled in unison.

meanwhile pepper pressed the security call button in the elevator, thor was hugging tony's leg and tony was calling someone.

"who could you possibly be calling?" pepper asked.

"a mechanic?" tony replied.

"that's what the call button is for!"

"you really think security is gonna fix this?"

"yes!"

after messing with the circuits and buttons a few minutes later, the elevator finally moved again.

"oh, thank goodness!" thor yelled.

pepper left the elevator to head to the lab leaving tony and thor behind.

you shook your head, "well, that went fantastic."

——————————

"do you think tony likes the yankees?" you asked peter later that night.

"yeah, he likes baseball, when it's business related."

"okay, perfect. what if we buy two tickets next to each other for pepper and tony to meet 'business' people, but they actually just sit together?"

peter looked at you in confusion, "why?"

you smirked, "trust me! i know a guy! plus i already bought the tickets," you pulled four tickets out of your pocket, "two for us too!"

next day at the game

you and peter arrived at the yankee stadium, you meeting him at your way far back almost last row seats wearing yankee's merch. tony was in his first class seat up front already, and you expected pepper to be there soon.

"y/n! where have you been! the game started."

"okay so i had to talk to my guy, and then i got distracted by the gift shop and bought this hat and jacket which was really expensive but i don't care i over dicked it."

peter was confused, once again, "you- what?"

"you know, i over dicked around?"

"no?"

"whatever," you squinted trying to see tony in his seat way far away and notice pepper walking up, "ooh! look there's pepper!"

pepper walked up and sat one seat over from tony, "really are you my business partner?"

tony scoffed, "no, i'm meeting some dude, goes by peterson."

oh if only you heard that fake name peter made up.

"whatever, guess they're late."

after an inning or two the jumbo screen lit up all pink with lip prints, the kiss cam.

you started jumping out of your seat, "yes! yeah! here we go!"

peter looked embarrassed, "so this was your plan?"

"yup, i knew my guy would come through."

"really curious how you know this guy."

"eh, long story."

the kiss cam floated around a few times before finding tony and pepper.

"ladies and gentlemen, tony stark and pepper potts!" the announcer belted out.

"woooo!!!" you shouted.

pepper just waved the camera off and tony put his hat on. the camera was on them for a solid 17 seconds before moving on and nothing happening.

"oh c'mon!" you jumped out of your seat once again, mad and passionate.

a few people kissed and the camera went back on tony and pepper. people starting chanting 'kiss!' and pepper again waved off the camera before just leaning over and kissing tony's cheek very quickly. tony smiled.

"what?! booo!" you yelled followed by the audience. the next inning started up but the kiss cam wasn't done yet. your guy new he wouldn't quit till that kiss happened. and again cheers of 'kiss' erupted from the stands. tony moved a seat over next to pepper now, take off his hat and sunglasses. pepper was now smiling, finally giving in. tony leaned over and kissed pepper for like two seconds. at the same time the batter up hit an out of park home run. everyone was cheering. you and peter were probably the loudest. you jumped and screamed and peter screamed and you jumped into his arms hugging him before screaming again. after the game was over you two headed back to the compound.

"well, would you look at that! your plan worked."

"heck yeah it did! they are gonna have an 'and yet' moment. i know it."

"a...what?"

"you know. i hate you because blah blah...and yet i love you more."

"oh, so now what," peter asked while standing next to you on the subway.

"we wait!"

——————————

the next morning you woke up bright and early to meet pepper at the gym. you were all ready to be brutally challenged and exhausted. yet she wasn't there. after sitting on the gym floor, you phone rang—pepper.

"y/n, take the day off, we'll talk later tonight."

"okay!" you said, but she already hung up.

you jumped up off the floor running to peter's room to tell him the news. you didn't even knock and just walked in on a shirtless, terrified peter, shocked from your sudden presence.

"y/n!" he whisper-yelled before pulling on a shirt.

"guess what?"

"what?"

"i got the day off! i'm literally going to do nothing!"

"yeah? tony just called me saying he won't be around today."

"huh? look at that. i bet they are together! and we get our lives back!"

peter tilted his head to the side, "well you know our lives consist of being superheroes so there really is no day off."

you sighed, "you know what peter, i'm going to watch movies on netflix all day. you're free to join me but don't bring that attitude. we deserve a day off."

you ruffled his hair making him blush before running back to your room, ready to change into some sweats instead of work our clothes and a full day in bed, hopefully peter joining you. spoiler alert: he did.

"so, what should we watch?"

"killing eve!"

"that sounds...violent," peter said.

"well, yeah it is. but you're gonna love it! let's watch!"

"okay!"

after finished two seasons of killing eve, you and peter were out of it, completely exhausted from doing nothing, and were dead asleep. you got food and drinks along the way but now it was late and why not sleep. you never get days off.

the next morning you and peter were startled awake by a loud knock on the door.

"peter i know you're in there! it's training time let's go!"

it was tony.

peter didn't move. but you were now wide awake. you got up off of peter's stomach where you fell asleep and nudged him and poked his face. he still didn't move.

"peter!" you screamed really close to his face.

his immediate reaction was to jump up and grab you.

"WHAT?!"

you were now very uncomfortable in peter's arms, "um tony said he wants you to go to the gym for training."

he let go of you before saying, "oh okay."

he left your room with a little smile and wave while you got dressed for the day to meet pepper in her office. she wasn't there yet so you sat waiting for her. and when she finally walked in, you said,

"hey pep! where've you been?"

"i was with someone, thank you."

"ooo who?"

"frankly, that's none of your business, y/n."

"was it tony?"

pepper looked at you with wondering eyes, "how did you know?"

you were in deep shit, "i- uh the...thor told me!"

"whatever," pepper sighed, "so about the suit..."

"so parker, what's with y/n? you weren't in your room this morning so i knew you'd been in hers," tony said winking, while sparring with peter.

"i- it's nothing mr. stark," peter groaned out.

"uh huh."

"anyways, big gala tonight!"

"what," peter deadpanned.

"yup, pepper and i planned it together last night. you know, she's a great woman."

"kinda last minute but okay."

"bring y/n, alright. be a gentleman. 5 pm sharp, main room."

"okay, i will!"

tony tricked peter out getting him square in the abdomen. it didn't hurt, but still.

"haha, gets distracted with the girl on the mind. go freshen up it's already 1. caterers are on their way."

"sure sure," peter was out of breath and sweaty. he slowly walked to his room ready for a cold shower. he ran into you on the way there, also sweaty.

"hey."

"hey parker. pepper just made me run 18 blocks! i'm literally dying! but hey! last minute gala tonight! wow!"

peter laughed, "yeah, yeah. anyways go with uh, with me?"

you laughed now, "yeah of course. duh."

——————————

you and peter showed up to the gala dead at 5pm. peter was wearing some black dress pants and a white button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. meanwhile, you wore a black romper with white detailing. the others were dressed head to toe in luxury, fancy dresses, tuxedos, million dollar diamonds and what not.

"wow, okay. we are way underdressed," you said shocked.

"yeah," peter nervously chuckled.

you and peter decided to head over to the hors d'œuvres. delicious and expensive. you two stuffed your faces until literally full and exploding and decided to find your sister to bother.

you sneaked up behind her, peter following suit. she had on a black and red dress, of course. you ran and jumped on her back screaming,

"NAT ATTACK!"

nat immediately pulled you off her and put you in a loose head lock. when she saw it was just you, she let go. still drawing attention to you two. and peter was just nervously standing a few feet away.

"y/n what the hell!"

you pointed to peter, "he said to!"

peter threw his hands up while nat gave him a look.

"i know it wasn't you peter. i know my sister."

he dropped his arms and sighed, not wanting to get beat up by natasha.

"go bother someone else, i'm talking," nat whispered to you.

"okay," you whispered back.

you and peter were lousy and out of it from all the food you ate, and yet you developed a craving for pizza.

"peter?"

"yeah?"

"let's go get pizza right now!"

"okay!"

and now you and peter left the compound to find a cheap little pizza joint, your favourite. it was $5 for a pizza. yikes. but you liked it. on the way back, you and peter were dancing around and laughing, holding the warm pizza. you snuck in through a secret back door only the avengers knew about to avoid the crowd. you successfully made your way up and up to the rooftop to enjoy your pizza.

you and peter sat and began to eat the pizza while gazing out over the city.

"this is so good," you cried out.

"yeah."

"like, so good," you looked at peter who was still looking at you. you continued eating your slice. then you were just staring at each other and time painfully stopped.

you stared at each other a little too long.

"um, i should go. it's getting late. early day tomorrow."

peter shook out of his trance, "oh yeah of course. take some for the road," he said holding out the box, getting two more pizzas for you.

"fold it crust side out. i'm a lady."

peter laughed, "sure y/n, sure."

you waved and left to the elevator with your pizza to go. peter sat on the roof and finished it, thinking about you.

two weeks later after everything going smoothly

"let's go parker! we need to fight!"

"what?"

"you heard me!"

tony sounded furious. he practically charged at peter in the gym.

"mr. stark, what's going on?"

"pepper and i, are done."

peter's eyes widened, "what happened?!"

"adult stuff you wouldn't understand. get out of here."

"but you just said-"

"out."

peter left to go find you.

"you know, tony didn't deserve me. i'm a much more mature woman. a man like him doesn't deserve me."

"you're right. get it girl!"

pepper gave you a questioning look before finishing, "he's a man child. doesn't know how to please a woman."

she walked out of the office before returning again, "and you know what, maybe i'm better off being independent."

you nodded and she walked off again. you started to walk away before the door opened.

pepper began to talk again, "but i did love him. but he's crazy!"

she finally left and finished her rant, giving you time to think. maybe this was a bad idea. you knew pepper meant no harm to you and just wanted you to be safe and strong and independent. she really cared for you. and you liked working with her. she was a great mentor in reality.

oh god, this was a bad idea.

you had to find peter.

you ended up running into him in the hallway of living quarters.

"peter!"

"y/n thank gosh. i ran here! they broke up! we have to fix this or we will never hear the end of it."

"no no no! we can't keep tricking them like this."

"what do you mean? they were falling in love!"

"yeah," you yelled, "because of us! if they want to fall in love it should be on their own terms, not just because we are forcing them to for our benefit. that's not right."

"yeah but think about how much free time we have had! we can literally do anything we want!"

"come on! you know training is actually good for us. i didn't realise it until now. but really we messed up."

"but if tony and pepper aren't together then i will never get to be tony's partner. i will always just be the protege. he's so mad since they broke up. he will never let me live it down."

you scoffed, "see it's just that. you're just too focused on being on tony's level and becoming tony that you're choosing to be a piece of shit."

peter took a step closer to you, "oh yeah, and what about you. you designed a suit. or at least tried. but you gave up because you can't commit. just like this plan. if you just stuck to something for once, maybe pepper would pay more attention."

you shook your head. that was a low blow.

"you know what. do what you want. i'm done. this is over."

you walked away, and immediately peter felt regret. terrible, horrible, regret. he fucked up.

"y/n."

you were already outta there.

——————————

peter walked back to the training room to find tony and pepper laughing.

"h-hey guys. what's going on?"

"oh, we just sorted out our differences. i think we can make this work. with time, healing, and honesty," pepper said softly, grabbing tony's hand.

"anyways, partner," tony began, "care to join me for dinner?"

"me?" peter asked shocked.

"yeah you've earned it. let's go. tomorrow night."

tomorrow

so peter was now sat in a mega fancy steak house in manhattan with tony. tony ordered him the most expensive meal and they sat eating together. but peter was troubled. over you. he texted and called you a million times that day and during the drive. and you didn't answer once. the moment he sat down in tony's fancy car he realised he fucked up and should've listened to you. you can push people together, but they have to fall in love themselves; not by force.

and he only realised that now.

"this," tony said referring to the steak, "is fantastic. best meal i've ever had."

peter looked down at his phone. still nothing from you.

"best meal i've ever had was a $5 pizza on a rooftop," peter whispered.

"what?"

"i gotta go."

peter got up and left the restaurant leaving tony to enjoy two meals.

meanwhile at the compound

"so y/n. show me these suit designs you have."

"oh, um i really only have one that i worked on all night. it's fresh and not very finished but," you said handed over the papers to pepper.

"no, no i think these are great," pepper replied as she scanned the sheets, "inspired by your sister, yes?"

"mhm. and a little bit of...peter."

"mmm, lovers quarrel."

"what? no!"

"i see how you two act together."

"whatever."

pepper got an alert on her phone that peter entered through the secret back entrance. and an idea popped in her head.

"y/n, go up to my bedroom and get the other sheets off my night stand. i think if we combine our designs, we can make a great suit. teamwork," she smiled.

"okay," you grinned.

you were about to head for the stairs when pepper stopped you, "take the elevator."

so you were now off to pepper's room to get the papers and peter was running in the main lobby almost straight into pepper.

"she's in the living quarters."

peter nodded and ran up the stairs to get to you.

you were now leaving peppers room, holding both your designs and pepper's. peter spotted you in the hallway and slowed down. you were too busy looking at the sheets to notice him until you were right in front of him.

"oh, hey. what are you doing here?"

"pepper told me you were up here."

"of course."

"so...look y/n i'm sorry. i shouldn't have acted the way i did. i know we messed up. we can't force two people together. but hey, they made up their differences. all this time i was just trying to get to tony's level and to get myself some rest. i didn't think about anyone else's feelings. and i didn't listen to yours. i'm so sorry. but if there's one thing i learned, they found what they like. and so did i. i like you. so much."

you smiled. he was sincere.

"you're not hard to get. you're hard to earn. and that's so much better."

"you're a dick. you don't understand half my references."

"what," peter was hella confused.

"and you snore really loud. like really loud."

peter now realised what you were doing.

"well y/n you're a sore winner. you're too loud and you're...you're too pretty," peter bit back.

you laughed.

peter laughed.

"and yet," you began.

"i still love you," he finished.

now it was silent. smiles being exchanged. then peter stepped forward to hold your cheek and press a soft kiss to your lips. you kissed him back. your lips moved in sync. then he pulled away, smiling oh so bright at you.

you laughed, coming to a realisation about pepper, "i guess in the end she was the one who set us up."

WOO! this was a long one. i really really enjoyed writing it, as it's based off my fave rom com on netflix starring zoey deutch and glen powell! i highly recommend. anyways i hope you all enjoy this! i love you all mwah love, juli <3

[witchyvampyre]

Oh, and Hestia and 11 for Harry Potter asks!

11: who's your favorite non-human character?

To be honest, my favorite non-human character is either Dobby or Aragog.

Hestia: describe your ideal house

I actually had a friend ask me this the other day and it's quite long. But the short of it is a 2 story, stone cottage that looks like a witch hovel.

Scene

You turn off the street through a rod iron, ivy covered gate, Down a treelined rough brick drive, the house is hidden from the road by trees and the gate that is half cobblestone half rod iron with ivy spilling over the top in spots. The house is seemingly placed on a pedistul with rock stairs built into the hill from the drive that leads to a rock path through the small lawn that is littered with purple thyme and wildflowers that grow about ankle height.

Surrounding the house is a small cluttered garden of herbs and flowers purposefully creating a wild forest of witchy and homeopathic ingredients that smell divine. There is a well positioned porch that wraps around the opposite side of the house with more potted plants littering around a few chairs and an end table which holds a vintage bed warmer being used as an ashtray. The front door is purple and rounded at the top. With 2 mini windows in it and iron support bars acrost the wooden panelling.

Inside the front door there is a little stone tile entryway with shoes littering the wall to the right behind the door with hooks for coats . To the left there is a small table against the parallel wall with mail and a bowl for keys and an umbrella stand with hats and scarves and leashes for the animals. Passed the entryway the floor changes to older wood flooring, at the end of the wall to the right opens to the dining room with a rough cut, viking style, repurposed wood table with 8 chairs atop an area rug. The table has a hidden leaf to accommodate the 4 chairs stored at various places against the walls of the room. There is a beautiful Victorian style China cabinet filled with a variety of different china patterns on the far wall. There is a buffet table on the adjacent wall (across from the large window that faces the lawn) with a lovely doily runner and dried flowers displayed with tall candlesticks on either side and a crystal candy dish on one side filled with butterscotch and peppermint candies. There is a sliding pocket door beside the buffet table that leads to the kitchen.

The kitchen is a moderate size with vintage tins for each bulk ingredient, drying herbs and flowers hanging all around. There is more ivy growing around the cabinets, which have fogged glass doors, and the bottom cabinets have curtains. There is a garden sink with a window looking out to the wrap around porch and an island in the middle with a grate hanging above it which stores baking pans and hangs pots/pans and various other things. There is a door way to the left of the door you just came through that leads back to the hallway and a walk-in pantry to the right with a hidden root veggie and wine storage beneath a trap door in the floorboard. On the opposite wall of the pocket door you just came through between the oven and the refrigerator, there is a farm door that leads out to the back part of the porch with a secondary screen door.

Going through the door to the left you're back in the entryway/hallway where you can see into the open livingroom passed the bottom of the stairs. Beneath the stairs there is the half bath, a simple toilet and sink set up. The livingroom has a small library in the front of the house surrounding a bay window that doubles as a comfy reading nook crapped in vintage lace curtains. (There is no TV!) There is a wood burning fireplace in the center of the far wall an alter is set up on the mantle with a swing arm that holds my cauldron over the fire fronted by a couple of wingback chairs. To the right further in the house there is a Victorian style couch with a small but long coffee table (with floor pillows stored underneath) facing a TV mounted to the wall surrounded by mounted gaming systems and music system complete with record player. In the corner there is a closet with records, movies, internet router, board games, blankets, and other various things.

Up the wooden stairs the floor the center of the layout is hall with 5 doors. The hallway in the upper floor curls to the left. And there are 2 doors on the left, one ahead, and 2 on the right wall and on at the end of the hall to the left. The closest door is at the top of the stairs to the right. Which leads to an office/library/craft room with shelf's lining the walls except the wall with the window which has a work desk that houses my computer, various printers (3d philament/resin, ink, and graphite), and the scanner. There is a closet to the far right which houses various tools, fabric, etc. In the middle of the room is another work table that looks more like an oversized cutting mat with a few chairs and stools surrounding it. Looks like we've had more than a few paint and marker fights over it. There is a rocking chair in the corner with a small foot stool that has a lovely crochet throw over it for reading when I don't want to go downstairs.

Back in the hall the next door is a full bathroom which has a lovely larger than standard tub in it with a small cabinet over the toilet and a farmhouse washing basin style sink. It is more of a vintage meets farmhouse style guest bathroom. With tile flooring and a small window with a stained glass. There are a few hooks for towels behind the door and on the wall beside the tub for easy access. A few small fluffy rugs to keep people from leaving puddles on the floor. The curtain for the tub is wrap around with some sort of quilted pattern on it. It's not a huge room but is big enough to bathe the baby while your teenager tries to fix their eyeliner in the mirror. Lol

(All of the floors are wood with at least one area rug in it to accent the color or mood of the room)

The next door you come too is a guest bedroom. It is about the size of the office with a queen sized bed pushed almost against the far right corner. There is a small end table with a lamp allowing for a bit of walking room between the bed and the far wall (opposite the door). There is a small chest of drawers across from the bed to the right with a vanity mirror and a vintage washbasin on top complete with pitcher and handtowel. Beside it is a small door to a closet with extra linens and pillows. It's relatively empty other than a few extra things like winter coats and a few hidden Christmas gifts for next year and a forgotten golf bag that dad left last time he was there to visit. Beside the door to the left there is a taller chest of drawers with a few pictures of family get togethers and fun memories on the walls. There are two windows one that overlooks the backyard and one that is on the wall opposite the door. It's simple cute and cozy.

The next door is the kids bedroom. (If I have three the guest bed will be the oldest siblings room before they move out and the younger two will more than likely be twins so they'll share or will segregate boy/girl etc.) The kids room is bigger than the guest room. With a bed coming out of the middle of the wall to the left. To the right there is a large mirror-double-doored wardrobe which houses clothes, shoes, uniforms, hats, winter wear etc. In the Tob there is a shelf for a few extra linens for sleep overs or whathaveyou. There is again 2 windows. There is a blown glass style window above the headboard of the bed which has a drapey sheer curtain that falls behind the bed, and there is a more stained glass window to the wall opposite the door that is behind a sort of work desk littered with books and papers and a laotop. Their school bag hangs by one shoulder strap off the chair. There is a more modern floor lamp beside it with a rubbish bin beneath it overflowing with wadded paper. There is a bookshelf to the right of the desk between the wardrobe and the wall full of novels and a radio/Bluetooth speaker. It also stores games and other things my kid has collected (stolen from me) over the years. On the wall to the left of the door is a huge lovesac covered in laundry next to the laundry basket in the corner. There are a vanity to the right of the bed and a small end table to the left (between the bed and the wall). both are littered with books, jewelry, makeup, niknacks,chargers, and a lamp. I don't want to know what's under the bed, but there is a small chaise at the foot of the bed. There is enough floor space to have a blanket fort or a small sumber party of about 6 kids.

The last room is the master suite. You walk in the door, and there is an attached bathroom to the left. Through a door at the far corner of the room. The queen sized bed is rod iron, with a lovely victorian Italian feel to it. It is against the far wall coming out from the middle with an end table on either side (his and her style). At the foot of the bed there is a chaise with shoes underneath. To the right of the door there is a window that overlooks the front of the house, it looks to have a bit of a window seat for reading. There is a glider chair int he corner beside the window. With a foot stool infront of it. To the left between the glider and the bedside table seems to be a combination of a quilt rack and a Butler station with a hanging suit and a little surface with my husband's daily accessories on it (wallet, belt, cologne, rings, knives, etc). To the left of the entry door is a bit more witchy/girly. There is a small writing desk that looks to double as a vanity with a collection of vintage and antique niknacks with drawers and built-in storage for my jewelry, knives, stamps, stationary, passports, etc. Between the vanity and the bathroom door looks to be a 5 panel changing screen where I have a few outfits hanging on a vintage clothes rack behind it. my silky house coat and a towel seem to have taken residence draping over one of the screen panels. Through the bathroom door there is a larger garden claw-foot tub with a Waterfall showerhead that takes up the majority of the back wall. There is stone tile flooring that also lines the walls about a 3rd of the way from the floor. The sink is to the left of the door and is a bit modern and standard with cabinetry beneath in storing towels (extras included) as well as toiletries and toilet paper. There is a cabinet over the toilet to the right that stores most of my body and hair products including my husband's few various products for hair care and maintenance. There is a small stainglass window that lets in natural light between the tub and the toilet where the towel rack is mounted just below it. And there are a few hooks behind the door as well as right next to the tub(to the left) for towels and robes for dressing.

When you go back downstairs passed the half bath between the stairs an dthe livingroom there is a sort of mudroom/laundry room. That leads to the back porch (is about 8 feed from the kitchen door which is to the right) to the left there is a set of stairs that lead you to the little bit of a backyard that has a trampoline and an in-ground pool. There may be a 2 door garage to the left where the workshop is for building and restoring/fixing things along with a section for gardening stuff. I really hate grads do there will be little pads of clover and creeping thyme as well as little gardens lining the gate and overgrown ivy with a few trees--one has a tree swing. Maybe the kid and my spouse plan on building a treehouse soon. I probably have a little garden labarenth hidden in the corner somewhere to do ritual outside. Or offering or whatever.

Yea... That's my house.

[niallsstainedcoffeecup]

The Right Message Part 2

Gemma approves of Harry dating her best friend, but what will happen when things become rocky?  The lovely @pxrrishly requested a part 2.  I hope you all enjoy.  Feedback and Requests are welcomed.  Lots of Love!

           “You’re dating my brother?” Gemma asked, quirking an eyebrow at Y/N.   Y/N eyes darted between Harry and Gemma before nodding sheepishly, “Yeah.” Gemma nodded, focusing on Harry’s flushed cheeks, “You’re dating my best friend?” Harry wrung his hands together, “Yeah, we’re dating.” Gemma nodded, keeping her eyes locked on Y/N’s coffee table.  Harry glanced across the room where Y/N pressed herself further against the loveseat in an attempt to disappear.  Harry’s thin fingers pinched his rosy lips while he waited for Gemma’s response. “How long have you had feelings for her?” Gemma asked, flipping her head toward her brother. Harry huffed, dragging a hand through his messy curls, “Well, I can’t remember an exact moment.  I think the moment she returned home from college one Christmas, and she seemed to have this different glow about her.” Y/N blushed, chewing on her bottom lip, “Was that the Christmas when I returned from my study aboard trip?” Harry nodded, “I remember the fire in your eyes when you talked about exploring the world.  I nearly kissed you that night.” Gemma gagged, “Okay, this is too weird. Y/N’s like my sister, but I couldn’t imagine her with anybody better.” Y/N giggled, “We promise not to disgust you.” Gemma chuckled, patting Y/N’s knees, “I’m glad you finally dropped James.  Michal and I talked about hooking you up with someone, but we never planned this.” Harry smiled, “I love her.” Y/N grinned, “I love him too.” Gemma rolled her eyes, standing from Y/N’s couch, “Okay, Y/N and I have important business to tend to.  Can you leave?” Harry pouted, “What if I wanted to spend the day with my girlfriend?” Y/N giggled, “H, Gemma and I need to finish these sunglasses.  I’ll see you tonight?” Harry nodded, stretching his aching muscles. Gemma shuffled into Y/N’s kitchen, placing the blue kettle onto the stovetop.  Harry pressed his hands against the leather cushions, ducking his head down.  Y/N grinned, pressing her lips against Harry’s chapped lips.  Harry shouted his goodbyes, leaving Y/N and Gemma alone in her house.   *  *  *  *  *  *            Steam danced above the sizzling chicken and seasoned vegetables. The white wine sloshed around the wine glasses.  Y/N swayed her hips along with the soft jazz music playing from Harry’s speakers. Harry smiled, admiring his beautiful girlfriend dancing around his kitchen.  Her bare feet slid across the white tile while her hands swayed above her head.  Harry chuckled, interrupting Y/N’s next step by placing his hands on her hips. “Have you decided to join me?” Y/N asked, winking at her blushing boyfriend. Harry smiled, pressing his lips against Y/N’s wine-stained lips, “I love you.” “I love you,” Y/N breathed out, keeping her forehead against his.   Harry’s green eyes enchanted Y/N’s as they continued waltzing around the middle kitchen island.  He intertwined his fingers with Y/N’s fingers, ignoring the chicken sticking against the nonstick pan.   “I go back to the studio on Monday,” Harry mumbled. Y/N frowned, swallowing down the dry chicken, “I forgot that my boyfriend’s a pop star.” Harry chuckled, sipping his wine, “I’m glad I’m a pop star.  I don’t think I could be a chef.” Y/N giggled, “The chicken isn’t that bad. I like my chicken cooked.” “Yeah, but I don’t want my chicken tasting like a brick,” Harry grumbled, poking around the dry meat. “Will the band meet for Monday’s rehearsal?” Y/N asked. Harry nodded, “Mitch and Sarah, but I don’t know about Adam and Clare.  Jeffrey invited everyone, but Adam’s busy with his family.” Y/N smiled, “I love Adam’s kids.  Hey, have you heard from Ben?  Did Ruby like her birthday gift?” Harry nodded, “She loved it.  She’s a little bookworm.” Y/N and Harry continued talking over the dry chicken and vegetables. *  *  *  *  *  *              The black pen scribbled against the notebook paper.  Harry’s thin fingers pressed against the cold ivory keys. Mitch strummed his guitar, humming along with Harry’s melody.  Jeffrey scanned over Harry’s lyrics, shaking his head at the last line. “I don’t like how this sounds,” Jeffrey grumbled. Harry huffed, dragging the pen across the page until the ink pooled near the end of the line.  He bopped his head along with the flowing lyrics.  The song portrayed another fun night out with a beautiful girl, but the lyrics refused to mash with Harry’s idea.  His pink phone buzzed against his jiggling thigh. “I’m sorry.  I better take this call,” Harry mumbled, swiping his thumb across the screen. Harry rubbed his aching neck, “Hello?” “Hey love, are you free for lunch?  I finished another project, and I need a greasy meal,” Y/N giggled. Harry smiled, scratching at the scruff growing on his chin, “I’m sorry.  We’re working hard on this new album.  I’ll see you tomorrow for our date?” Y/N huffed, “Harry, we haven’t seen each other all week.  I miss my boyfriend.” Harry nodded, “I promise to spend all night with you tomorrow.  I love you.” “I love you,” Y/N mumbled, hanging up the call. Harry’s thumb pressed against the phone’s side button until the screen faded black.  He slipped the phone into his pocket, returning to the uncomfortable piano chair.  Mitch, Jeffrey, and Harry continued messing with the lyrics and melody.   *  *  *  *  *  *              Liv hopped onto Gemma’s red couch, cuddling against the gold plush pillows. Y/N smiled, petting Liv’s sleek black and white fur.  Gemma shuffled into the living room, placing two steaming tea mugs onto her coffee table. “How are things?” Gemma asked, falling onto her couch. Y/N sipped her tea, shaking her head, “I’m well.  How’s Michal?” Gemma crossed her legs, scrolling through the television’s guide, “He’s doing well.  How are things with my little brother?” Y/N’s panicked heart begged Y/N’s mouth to spill every worry about her failing relationship, but she couldn’t complain about Gemma’s brother.  Her eyes zoned on the television shows zooming past her racing thoughts. “Are things okay between you two?” Gemma wondered, facing her stressed friend. Y/N huffed, rubbing under her bagged eyes, “Gem, I haven’t seen him in forever.  We are going out to dinner tomorrow, but he won’t answer my calls. He turns off his phone once he steps inside the studio.” Gemma nodded, “Well, maybe you should talk to him.  Did it bother you when you were his friend?” Y/N shook her head, “He wasn’t my boyfriend then.  Sure, I missed talking with him, but I never wanted to bother him.  Now, I want to see my boyfriend.” Gemma frowned, “I’ll stand by your side with whatever decision you make.” Y/N smiled, returning her attention toward the woman saying yes to her wedding dress.  She hoped her relationship with Harry wasn’t in danger. *  *  *  *  *  *              The clocked ticked down, mocking Y/N’s broken heart.  The tall waiter tripped past Y/N’s table again, eyeing the empty seat.  The cold white wine warmed up under the restaurant’s warm yellow lights.  Y/N ducked her head down with every customer that passed by her table.  She couldn’t stare into their eyes filled with pity.  She messaged Harry again, wondering where her boyfriend might be. After spending thirty minutes alone at her table, she chunked the crumpled cash against the cream table cloth. Her black heels clicked against the brick floor while her hands tugged up her black jeans.  She drove home, swallowing the rage burning up her throat. She slipped into her comfortable gray sweats and a gray sweater.  She wiped the red lipstick from her lips, blinking back the tears pricking her eyes. Y/N wrapped a blue blanket around her shivering body.  Her eyes drooped shut, ignoring Harry’s calls buzzing her phone.  Someone pounded on Y/N’s door, startling Y/N awake from her dreams.  The door swung open, revealing a glaring Harry. “Harry, how did you get inside?” Y/N asked, propping herself up on her elbows. “I remembered you hid a key under your doormat. Why haven’t you answered my calls? I was worried sick,” Harry shouted. Y/N rolled her eyes, “Now you know how I feel. Did you read my messages?  You forgot about our date.” Harry’s scowl dropped, “I didn’t forget. Didn’t we schedule that for tomorrow?” Y/N stood up, “Harry, you agreed to meet me for dinner tonight.  You promised, and you broke that promise.  I can’t keep waiting for my boyfriend to make time for me.” “You knew my busy schedule when you started dating me,” Harry huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Y/N nodded, “Yes, but I thought you might give your girlfriend more time than you gave me when I was your friend.  I haven’t seen you all week.” “I’m working on an album.  I wasted three months after the tour with you, and I can’t waste any more time.” Y/N’s jaw dropped, “You think you wasted time with me?  You weren’t calling it wasted time when you fucked me.” Harry opened his mouth, but he knew he messed once the words left his mouth.  He wished he might swallow those words.  Y/N shook her head, blinking back her heartbroken tears.  She refused to cry in front of Harry. “I’m done.  I can’t fight for thirty minutes of your time.  I think it was better off when we were friends,” Y/N mumbled, biting down on her trembling bottom lip. Harry’s heart cracked once Y/N’s words wrapped around his cloudy mind.  He shook his head, staring in disbelief at his girlfriend.  He glared, storming out of Y/N’s house.  He wished he never read that message three months ago.   *  *  *  *  *  *              “You broke up?” Gemma gasped, dropping the pink box filled with donuts onto Y/N’s messy bed. Y/N nodded, blowing her red nose into a tissue. Gemma gripped the musty white curtain, dragging the cloth against the sleek rod.  The bright sunlight burned Y/N’s bloodshot eyes.  Her matted hair shot up in every direction around her throbbing head.  Gemma tossed the dirty tissues into a nearby bin, processing the new information. “What happened?” Gemma wondered. Harry confessed the secret first after sobbing on Gemma’s couch.  He took the blame, saying he should’ve never attempted to date their best friend.  Gemma panicked and drove to see how her best friend happened to take the break up.   “He ditched our date for another writing session.  I told him that I couldn’t fight for his time.  I dumped him because he refused to make time for me,” Y/N croaked out. Gemma frowned, digging through the donut box, “Y/N, you realize that you were dating Harry Styles?  You understood his career before dating him.” Y/N rolled her eyes, “Gem, I understood his career as a friend.  I didn’t need to see Harry when we were friends because I shut up my aching heart with shit boyfriends.  When Harry admitted that he loved me, he allowed that love in my heart to blossom, but he didn’t shower my needy heart with love.” Gemma chuckled, “Do you always get deep when heartbroken?” Y/N flipped Gemma off, hiding her smile behind her donut, “Shut up.  Are you still my friend?” Gemma snorted, flicking Y/N’s knee, “I told you that I’d be by your side no matter what.” Y/N smiled, leaning her head against Gemma’s shoulder.  Gemma planned how she might bring her heartbroken brother and stubborn friend together again. *  *  *  *  *  *               Gemma’s green mittens slid the red pan from her hot oven.  Michal swept the dust bunnies away from the dining room table. Y/N screwed the metal device into the thick cork, pulling until the bitter grape scent greeted her nose. Gemma invited Y/N over for Sunday dinner because Y/N never turned down a free meal.  Gemma also invited Harry over for their mother’s roast because Harry never turned down Anne’s roast recipe.  Michal worried that Gemma’s plan might fail, but Gemma understood these two people better than they understood themselves.  The doorbell echoed throughout the silent house. “Who’s here?” Y/N asked, handing Gemma her wine glass. Gemma shrugged, “I don’t know.  Michal, will you open the door?” Michal nodded, hiding his nervous smile. He opened the door, revealing his grinning brother-in-law.  Harry pressed the green wine bottle against his body as if he were holding a baby. Michal stepped aside, greeting the cheerful man.  Y/N froze upon hearing Harry’s husky voice compliment the scent.  Y/N faced Gemma with wide eyes.  How could Gemma trick her like this?  Y/N didn’t have time to flee the scene because Harry stepped inside the kitchen with a blushing Michal.  Harry’s smile dropped once he spotted Y/N near his sister. “What are you doing here?” Harry asked, shooting daggers at Y/N. Y/N rolled her eyes, “Gemma invited me. She is my best friend.” “Yeah, well, she’s my sister.  I think I have the higher right to be here.  We’ll miss you.” Y/N glared, “I’m not leaving.  Perhaps the studio needs you more.  We’ll send a plate with you.” Michal chuckled nervously, rubbing his neck, “Did you hear about those crazy cats stealing the neighbor’s underwear?” Gemma rolled her eyes, “You two were best friends before you dated.  Now, can we act like adults and eat together?” Y/N huffed, “I can.  Can you do that, Harry?  Or will you join us thirty minutes late?” Gemma shoved a plate into Harry’s hands before he could reply.  Everyone gathered around the dining room table, shoveling the delicious chicken into their mouths. “How’s life been?” Gemma asked Harry. “Good, we’re getting some progress on the album,” Harry mumbled between mouthfuls. Y/N grinned, thinking about the new songs. She wanted to ask about the songs, but her prideful heart sealed her lips shut.   “How’s the project going?” Michal asked Y/N. Y/N nodded, “Gem and I finished the last pair last night.” Harry smiled, wishing he might congratulate his friend, but his broken heart tainted that idea.  Instead, Harry planned on rubbing salt into Y/N’s wounds.  He’d make her wish that she never broke up with him. *  *  *  *  *  *              Harry kicked his feet onto Gemma’s coffee table, placing his hands behind his head.  Y/N dragged Liv’s favorite pink string across the floor.  Michal and Gemma cuddled together on their couch, watching the couple admire each other from afar. “Well, I better head home soon.  I have a date tonight with this new girl,” Harry yawned.  Y/N dropped the string, staring wide-eyed at her ex-boyfriend.  Gemma gasped, her eyes darting toward her heartbroken friend.  Michal frowned, watching Gemma’s plan backfire.  “You’re dating someone already?” Y/N’s broken voice spoke up.  Harry nodded, “This new girl is willing to deal with my work schedule because she loves me.”  Y/N shook her head, “I loved you.  I love you too much, and that’s why I couldn’t handle your work schedule.  I couldn’t go hours without your lips on mine.  I couldn’t go a week without gushing about my new project with you.”  Harry’s heart stuttered at the tears flowing down Y/N’s cheeks.  He expected her to admit that she moved on too, but he never wanted to make her cry.  “I’m sorry.  I guess I never listened to you,” Harry mumbled.  Y/N nodded, “You didn’t call me at all for weeks.  How would you feel if I ignored your calls?”  Harry frowned, “I wouldn’t feel good.”  “Yeah, I hope you have fun with this new girl,” Y/N mumbled.  Y/N staggered past a stunned Gemma and Michal. Her sobs haunted Harry’s mind as she stuffed her feet into her boots.  The bitter wind brushed against her damp cheeks while she unlocked her car. Harry’s hands gripped the couch, begging his feet to move.   “You better go fight for her,” Gemma smiled, patting Harry’s knees.  Harry nodded, jogging out the open front door. Y/N’s car roared to life, scaring Harry’s fragile heart.  He couldn’t let her drive away from his life.  Harry’s fist tapped rapidly against her window.  Y/N glared, unrolling the window slowly.  “What?  What do you want?  Do you want to dig the knife deeper into my heart?” Y/N spat out.  Harry shook his head, “There isn’t a girl. I lied because I wanted to get back at you.  You broke my heart, and I didn’t think you cared about our relationship.”  Y/N gasped, “Harry, you thought I didn’t care that the love of my life walked out of my life?  You thought I would’ve moved onto another shitty guy after dating the only person who mattered in my life?”  “I’m sorry.  Please, I need you in my life.  I promise to make time for you,” Harry begged through his sobs.  Y/N frowned, patting Harry’s cheek, “I don’t know.  I mean, I can’t go through this again.”  “We won’t break up again.  Please, I need you in my life,” Harry mumbled.  Y/N nodded, “Okay, you aren’t off free, but I’ll give us a second chance.”  Harry smiled, leaning his head through Y/N’s open window.  He crashed his lips against Y/N’s trembling lips.  Y/N smiled into the kiss, cupping Harry’s wet cheeks.  Gemma and Michal watched the happy couple reunite from their front window.  Gemma knew her plan would work.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Stray Bird

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC, BatFam - Jason Todd/Red Hood

Rating: PG-11/T- (minor violence)

Original Idea: I dunno. Nothing in particular.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) This one’s been sitting in my drafts for ages along with a bunch of others that I’ve been sitting on. I’m gonna try to get some of them posted ‘XD @jason-todd-squad @welovegroot @batboys-and-other-messes

^^^^^

Thud! Thwack! Pow! Crack!

Grunting and the sounds of blows and bones breaking filled my ears. I curled up tighter against the wall in the shadows, desperately wishing not to be noticed.

Just as quickly as it begun, it stopped.

One man stood victorious over the others. He was tall and strong powerfully built. There was a gleaming red helmet over his head and a red bat symbol on his chest.

Red Hood. I recognized him from news reports.

He approached me carefully, holding out a hand. “Are you alright, miss?” he asked. I shrunk away from him as much as I could, pressing my side against the bricks even harder. I whimpered. If he’d taken three men down in fifteen seconds, what was he going to do to me when he realized what I was?

He noticed that I was absolutely terrified, because he dropped his hand, but put both of them up, palms out.

“It’s okay, miss. I'm not going to hurt you,” he said. When I didn’t reply, he sighed and lifted his hands. I yelped. “Don’t worry. Just taking this off.” He pressed the jawline of his helmet. Something on the back of it released, allowing him to pull it off.

He was handsome, but intimidating. Strong jawline, intense gunmetal blue eyes, black hair with a streak of white at the front. He knelt in front of me and offered me his hand again.

“C’mon, little one. I'm not going to hurt you. We’ll get you somewhere safe before these bozos wake up,” he entreated.

Steeling my courage, I reached one hand out and took his. He helped me up.

^^^^^

As the girl stepped into the light, Jason almost gasped.

She had wings. Huge and strong. Under the grime and dirt covering them, they might have been white. She held them so tightly to her back Jason was surprised that she didn’t break the joints.

He shook his head to clear it. “Yeah. We’re going to take you somewhere safe. Come with me,” he said, popping his helmet back on. “I promise I won’t hurt you. No one will ever again.” He kept a loose but comforting grip on her hand as they crept out of the alley and onto the abandoned street. It was nearly four in the morning—it was a wonder that there were still lights on in the city. Why wasn’t everyone asleep?

Jason slung his leg over his bike. “Do you know how to ride?” he asked.

She nodded tentatively.

He patted the seat behind him. “Hold onto me tightly. Keep your wings in,” he said.

“You don’t… you don’t think I'm a freak?” the girl asked quietly.

Jason shook his head. “Princess, my two best friends are a wayward Amazon and a faulty Superman clone. My two best friends before that were a recovering alcoholic and an alien princess who had hair that was literally on fire. A girl with wings is not the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.

The girl carefully got on the back of his motorcycle, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face in the back of his jacket. “Drive careful,” she muttered.

“Of course,” Jason said.

He drove them back to his safehouse—the old bunker under Police Plaza.

Familiar figures were waiting for them.

“Gee. I thought it was Batman’s thing to pick up strays, Hood,” Nightwing said.

^^^^^

I stared. Red Robin, Nightwing, Robin, and Batman were all standing in the bunker where Red Hood had brought me. I could barely see them in the darkness. I wondered if they could see my wings or if it was too dark. I was huddled slightly behind Red Hood.

“She was being attacked, meathead,” Hood snapped at Nightwing. “I took the dudes out.” He turned to look at me, removing his helmet again. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? I’ll show you to the shower and then deal with these guys,” he said. I nodded and followed him past Batman and the other vigilantes. I heard Nightwing gasp as I ducked under a spotlight. The other three were silent.

Red Hood took me to the end of the bunker to a small, cramped space with a concrete shower.

“Need a hand washing your wings or anything?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I'm used to doing it alone,” I said.

He nodded. “Holler if you need anything,” he remarked before ducking out of the small room.

“Thank you!” I said as he shut the door.

I stripped out of my clothes and turned on the shower.

^^^^^

“What are you doing here anyway?” Jason asked Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian. “I haven’t been causing any more problems than usual.”

“So that explosion yesterday had nothing to do with you?” Tim demanded.

Jason scrunched his eyebrows. “No I wasn’t even in that area of Gotham yesterday. You can check security cameras in the theatre district and see I was there all day. Honestly keeping me in line doesn’t require all four of you to turn up. You coulda just called,” Jason said, keeping his temper in check for the sake of the flighty bird-girl through the other door.

“And what about the stray?” Bruce asked.

“Like I said, she was being attacked. I took out the men who were hurting her—they’re alive—and brought her here to clean up and be safe,” Jason said. “She was terrified and injured and I figured I should give her a hand.”

“She has wings,” Tim said.

“Astute observation, Sherlock,” Jason snapped.

“Jason,” Bruce warned.

“What? You gonna tell me to play nice with my brothers? C’mon, B. You know me better than that.” Jason took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you all politely to get out. I got stuff to attend to and that girl with wings is at the top of the list. I gotta figure out where she’s from and what help she needs. So, thanks for dropping by. Hope I don’t see you again soon.” He started pushing Dick and Damian toward the door, causing them to bump into Tim and Bruce.

The rest of Jason’s family filed out. Jason slammed the heavy metal door and locked it. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the rest of the bunker.

The shower was still going, so he strolled over to his giant computer and whistled while he set about seeing what he could find on this new girl. She’d shed a feather on the floor just outside the bathroom that Jason scooped up to run through a DNA scan, looking for a name. He also took her fingerprints off his leather jacket.

Was that weirdly invasive considering she was showering in the next room over? Probably. But if he could find out more information, he could find some way to help her.

An Instant Message popped up on his screen.

Nightwing: Good to see you playing nice.

Red Hood: Shut up.

Nightwing: I'm serious, J. You act like you don’t care about anyone or anything. But when we’re out of the frying pan and into the fire, you always give us a hand. Always. I know you care about innocents. Protecting civilians. It’s just good to see you offering the same care to someone as unusual as we are.

Red Hood: Bold of you to assume she’s not innocent just because she has wings.

He quit out of the IM program and went back to running his tests.

Nothing. She didn’t have a name. Nor any DNA in any database he could access. He grunted in frustration—

And quickly closed all the windows he had open as she emerged from the bathroom. Her hair, skin, and wings were all clean, but she was still wearing her filthy clothes. Jason would have to fix that… “Is… everything okay?” she asked timidly, massaging the end of one of her wings between her hands.

“Everything’s fine,” he replied. “You feeling any better?”

“Yes. Thank you for being so kind to me.”

“Of course.”

“I, uh, I don’t have any way to repay you…”

Jason spun around in his chair to look at her. “Kid. You don’t have to repay me for a shower and a ride away from thugs who were trying to hurt you.” He paused. “I never caught your name,” he said.

She shook her head. “I don’t… I don’t have one,” she said. She pushed up her filthy sleeve to reveal a 00319 branded into the muscle of her left deltoid. “I was three-nineteen.”

“Where are you from?”

She shook her head. “A terrible place,” she said.

“If you’re another one of CADMUS’ creations I'm going to level that building and destroy everything underneath it,” Jason muttered. He met her eyes again. “You wanna stay here for a little while? I’ll keep an eye on you till you figure out what you want to do.”

“I don’t want to intrude—”

“You’re not intruding. There’s a cot in the corner. Feel free to crash. And, uh, before you do, here.” He got up and went over to a storage bin. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. “These’ll probably be a little big on you, but they’re clean. If you need to cut holes in the back, feel free.” Jason pulled a pocketknife out of a drawer and passed it to her with the clothes. She accepted them and looked up at him.

“Thank you,” she offered.

“It’s no problem,” he replied.

She slipped into the bathroom.

^^^^^

The sweatpants were way too long on me and the sweatshirt the same. It bagged on my short torso but the holes for my wings were perfectly sized in a way I didn’t usually get with normal clothing that fit me.

The clothes were comfortable though. Soft and warm. The clothes I’d worn with the doctors were stiff and scratchy. I’d gotten used to the feeling, but these clothes made me want to fall asleep.

I went back out into the rest of the bunker. Red Hood was still sitting at his computer, typing away. I didn’t say anything to him, just walked over to a cot in the corner. It looked different from the cot I used to sleep on in my room—my cell. That one was mesh suspended between the metal frame. This one had a… what was the word? Mat? Matter…? Mattress! This one had a mattress on it. I glanced back at Red Hood as I put my old clothes at the foot of the cot.

“I never got your name,” I said. “I know you’re Red Hood but that’s all.”

He turned and just looked at me for a moment. “I'm Jason,” he finally said.

I nodded. “Thank you, again, Jason. For everything.”

“You’re welcome. Get some rest. We’ll get you a name and anything else you need in the morning,” he said.

I crawled under the blankets covering the cot. It was softer and more comfortable than anything I’d ever slept on. I sighed with pleasure and relaxed for the first time in… a long time. I released the tension in my wings and let them relax too. No one was going to hurt me in the middle of the night.

I wasn’t sure why I trusted this Red Hood—Jason—as much as I did, but I couldn’t help it. Something about how genuine he seemed made me believe that I really was safe. I hadn’t felt safe since Dr. Evans left. She used to keep the other doctors from pushing me too hard.

With a sense of security, I pulled the blankets up over my shoulder, and fell into the deepest sleep I’d ever had.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

300 followers prompt-a-thon: ObiYuki; Nightmares

Set up with the same backstory as An Economy of Suffering. Same warnings apply. Check the tags on the original if reading from a reblog.

Follows Cat in the Cradle. 

Three days.

Three days since they came. Three more they will stay.

Three days since one of those that he escaped had laid an enchantment on him, had stolen his mind, had pulled the veil from his eyes and shown him what he was. What he always had been. What he will always be.

~ ~ ~

“Obi, you need to put those away.”

His head snaps up, the wooden dowels meticulously stacked atop one another collapsing from their structure to scatter all over the empty work station. The sound goes straight through him. Hands frozen mid-air, he fixates on a single one of them as it rolls across the table, clattering loudly on stone floor. He can feel it echo all the way through his fingertips.

“Aw, Miss.” His straightens, letting his lips curl lazy and slow. “I worked hard on that.”

Her lips thin worryingly, but she turns away. “Sorry.” Her back is so straight, so prim as she packs away dried plants into little wooden boxes. “But you need to go to bed.”

He’s careful to control his breath, to let it slip out of him in measured counts rather than one shuddering gasp. Without a word, he turns back, and scoops all of the dowels up at once, then stares.

Which bin did this belong to again?

~ ~ ~

Three days. Three days since he woke with a bone deep satisfaction. Rested. Warm. Adored.

Three days since he felt like he belonged in the boundary of his own skin.

~ ~ ~

“Obi.” Her voice is clipped, sending him into a flinch. The wooden dowels clatter to the floor and he scrambles to pick them up. He’s only rescued half of them when she’s reached his side, hand stretching out and then pausing midair between them. He moves faster.

When he finishes, the smile he has painted on his face falters. Her eyes are glassy and red. “Miss…”

She blinks, whetting her lips. “I’ll finish up here.” Her voice has gone soft, too soft. “Go to your room. Rest.”

“I’m not tired,” he protests.

She takes the dowels from him carefully, not touching his skin. “I told Ryuu back in Wistal that you always tell the truth. Don’t make me a liar.”

The words lands like a blow, and he’s so raw, so on the edge, it takes everything he has to scurry out from beneath her presence. “I can’t leave you alone while the delegation is here. Lord Makiri’s orders.”

She puffs out her cheeks, and the last thing he wants to do is remind her of them, but protecting her is his job. Not the other way around. “If I go back with you, do you promise to go to bed?”

Obi’s shoulders fall. “I’ll even get under the covers and lay my head on my pillow.”

Some of that worry loses hold when her face softens in a smile, hand raised between them. “Promise.”

He swallows, throat tight, and wraps his pinky around hers. “Thousand needles in my eye.”

~ ~ ~

The sweetness didn’t stay for long. It never did. The space between sleep and thought has always been far too short. Even shorter when awareness landed on him that his face was pressed into her lap. That her- that her hands were on him.

~ ~ ~

He doesn’t want to sleep. He doesn’t mean to.

So he won’t.

Obi folds down the bedding, pulling the tight corners free from the edges of the mattress and strips off his shirt.

But he won’t make himself a liar. Not to his Miss. Not to little Ryuu. Not to anyone in this city of misfits that sought fit to place their trust in him.

So he lays down between sheet and blanket, places his head upon his pillow, and the relief is so palpable that his head spins. If only he could just keep his eyes open a little longer, he can get up. Move. Keep going without breaking his word.

~ ~ ~

It’s just the one, but it is heavy with sleep, curling itself over his shoulder, thumb absently tracing circles into his bicep. And it hurts. It hurts that he longs for something so much that it gives him pain. It hurts that even his Miss’s touch makes his heart hiss and spit, angry and vicious and scared.

~ ~ ~

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy sleep. On the contrary, those rare moments that he manages more than a few scattered hours at a time, he becomes intimately acquainted with what it means to have peace.

The problem is-

The problem is…

Miss can always tell. She never asks, but her eyes follow him, her worry eating away at them both. One of these days his tongue was going to fly loose and bury her in his words. Tell her everything. And she wouldn’t understand what it meant to be scared to close his eyes. Who would be upset to relive memories filled with sunshine and flowers; the sound and smell of stew bubbling over in the hearth; bread in the oven; the safety of being wrapped thrice over in soft and worn blankets?

In those dreams he’s small, so small, pressed tightly between two big bodies that playfully hold him when he squirms, that whisper that they love him, that tickle his face with kisses and fill his ears with their steady heartbeats.

And then he wakes up, biting into the flesh of his palm as he relearns their absence all over again.

Those are the ones that make him never want to sleep again, that make him curse his too perfect memory and whatever god deemed it fit to give it to him. Those are the ones that bring him to the door that splits their rooms in half, shaking and needful, to bow and rest his head against solid wood until the sunlight comes and the sound of life on the other side chases the ghosts away.

He doesn’t know how to explain what happens next if he lingers in sleep too long. How he prayed for them, wished that they would come find him, wished that they would spirit him away. He doesn’t know how to explain that every time the door to his room opened or the flap of his tent pulled back, his heart had jumped, hoping it was them.

It was never them.

It was always others that came.

And they never took him home.

~ ~ ~

He can feel the magic take hold, feel the witch’s tongue wrap around his name. It’s been so long since he found his freedom and just in the space of a breath, she’s dragging him into submission. Vaguely, he can hear Miss screaming. Vaguely, he can hear her reply, reminding him he’s someone’s pet.

“It helps you see who you truly are.”

~ ~ ~

Obi claws to consciousness, gasping. In the pitch blackness of night, his heart hammering in his skull, he can see nothing. But the bed is too hard beneath him and the room too cold. When he breathes in, there is no scent of sticky perfume, only the sharpness of ice and snow. Lyrias’s unforgiving chill burns his lungs and he takes refuge in the sting.

The dream slips away before it can be fully grasped, not meant to be remembered, only to remind, and there is some kindness in that.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice lost to the dark. He forgot to light his burner, thinking he could conquer sleep, and the room is freezing.

But his skin crawls like maggots are wriggling underneath the surface, scalp tingling as if every hair was a wire pulled tight to be plucked. Rubbing his face, blunt nails digging pink welts to flesh, Obi briefly wonders if Shikito could be summoned so he can disappear into the bath houses for a short time. This late at night, he could sit under the stream that feeds the pool until his skin sloughs off and no one would stop him.

There’s a knock at the door.

He starts, the sound knocking him out of his brain and back into his body. Blinking, chest still heaving, lungs still aching, Obi hears the soft murmured echoing of his name, and he remembers how he is meant to obey. Grabbing a shirt from the back of his chair, he mops the sweat off of his face before using it to hide the rest of him.

The warmth hits him, almost knocking him over - he did not forget to light her burner - and Miss stands on her side, the pristine white of her nightgown glowing like moonlight. She smiles at him when he opens the door, hands tucked behind her back. Her eyes are tight with concern, though, searching his face.

Shame churns in his stomach.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She says, a blatant lie. Her face is still puffy, creases of her eyes still matted with slumber.

He smiles his best smile. “Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?”

She laughs. It is… good to hear it. “I was thinking about going for a walk.”

His brows raise towards his hairline and he glances towards her window. There are no stars, only thick and heavy clumps of snow floating towards the earth. “It’s late.”

“Not so much.”

He grants her a skeptical look.

“I suppose I could go by myself if you wanted to stay here,” she suggests.

His lips purse, annoyed, and she smiles brightly, rocking back and forth on her bare feet. Miss has been spending far, far too much time with Suzu.

He scrubs his face with his hand. “Let me change into something warmer.”

~ ~ ~

The shock of snowflakes dusting his lashes and kissing her clothes is pleasant – even more pleasant when she giggles at him when he wriggles his nose after one lands on it – but even this late at night, the scholar’s city is loud. Alcohol, sweet and fermented, is heavy in the air and without his meaning to, he steers them away from the bars and popular food vendors. A drunken party would not meet his Lordships definition of keeping the both of them ‘out of sight.’

She doesn’t seem to mind, though. Miss just yawns, a long and wide mouthed kittens yawn, and smiles dazedly at the road ahead.

His heart softens.

“Oh, Obi! The tents are back up!”

His gaze follow hers, the many shades of blue and purple and red glowing from within their peaked tops. Out of the corner of his eyes, hers are glazed and he wonders, just for a brief sting, if she is lost in memory.

She doesn’t stay there long. Miss glances up at him, lip pulled between her teeth, and tugs at his sleeve – still so careful of touching skin – before finding the vender and counting her coin. When the old man places the timer in her hand with a skeptical look in his direction, he finally finds it in his voice to protest.

“Miss,” he begins, hesitating between the rows. “I don’t-”

“I thought we could take a break,” she complains, no real bite to the words. “We’ve been walking through the snow for over an hour and my toes are numb.”

“Oh.” Had it been that long? He hadn’t noticed.

The inside the tent is lovely – made to look like lush interior of a Samese pleasure tent. Covered in ornately embroidered pillows with little bits of mirror sewn into them; colorful carpets protecting the renters from the ground; lanterns filled with shards of colored glass reflect different shades against the interior. And even though he cannot remember the dream that woke him, Obi’s stomach rolls.

“Pretty,” he says, his tongue working the word like wet sand.

“You looked… a little lost.” She’s still tugging on his sleeve, and she brings him all the way down to the plush ground. “I thought that this might be better?”

His eyes feel as wide and round as hers. “I wasn’t-” A simple glance from her reminds him of his promise and he bites his tongue. “This is… nice. Quiet.”

“Obi,” she doesn’t look at him, but her cheeks are flushed. “You know I love you, right?”

His heart reaches for his throat. He swallows it down. “Yes, Miss.”

“You know you can… talk to me? About anything?”

He doesn’t want to talk about anything. “There’s not much to talk about.”

She pinches his sleeve between her fingers. “It was the drug, wasn’t it? Or- or maybe it’s them?“ Her brain is rushing too fast, searching for a cause, and her words cannot keep up with it. It’s painful to watch her stumble over them. “You- you haven’t been… well… and I- I just want to know what you need from me.”

He huffs a toneless laugh. She deserves to know, but she deserves his honesty more. “I wonder.”

Miss pauses, pulling her lips between her teeth. “Would it be easier if I went back to not touching you?”

He stares at her for so long, so lost for words, that he sees the very moment resignation and determination both settle on her heart.

She nods. “Okay.”

“Wait.” He reaches out to her, but falls short of touching her arm. “You don’t- I haven’t…” He huffs, irritated at the words he cannot find. “We could try.”

“Try?” Miss hesitates. “Try what?”

“It depends,” he shrugs, wiping his palms against his thighs. “What would my Mistress like?”

“We-” she squirms, peaking up at him shyly. “We’ve never kissed, Obi.”

Obi presses his open palms to his knees to keep them from jostling and smiles brightly at her. He wanted- he wanted so much. And she wanted so little. It wasn’t fair how greedy he was. She had given up kingdoms, and here he was, a simple knight with no holdings about to lose his dinner at the thought of a single chaste kiss.

He looks at her from under hooded lids and lets his voice drop. “Are you going to kiss me, Miss?”

Her eyelashes flutter, pink blooming across her cheeks sweetly, and then she is shifting onto her knees in front of him, breath hitched in anticipation. “Is that… okay? Is that what you want?”

It’s been years since he’s played this game. “Only as much as my Mistress does.”

His words seem to hurt her. “Call me by my name first.”

“Shirayuki.” His heart flops like a dying fish in the cavern of his chest. “Are you going to kiss me?”

She gives him more than enough time to prepare for it, so when she leans forward, touching her mouth to his, he doesn’t flinch.

Her lips are soft, so soft against his - more sweet exploration than a request for more - but it’s a battle with his memory, the bile threatening at the back of his throat at the remembrance of the presses of other mouths. Other tongues. Other-

He forces it down. It’s just muscle memory, that’s all. He can train it out of him the same way he trained himself how to dodge, how to fight, how to smile when he wanted to do anything but. 

He tilts his mouth over her firmly, trying to blot it out.

She makes a noise in the back of her throat, encouraging, and he nearly sags in relief. Good. He’s doing… a good job.

Miss places her hands on his chest and pulls back.

“Obi,” she breathes, fingers lacing through the winkles and buttons of his coat and- his lungs are too tight. He can’t get enough air. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

He nods his head, trying to close the distance between them and she pulls back again. A sort of desperation, insanity even, fills him. He needs to stop. He needs to let her know that this isn’t all he has to show, that this is all he has to please her. This can’t be the only chance he’ll ever get to show her that she’s the only person he’s ever wanted to kiss.

“Obi.” She places her hand over his mouth and when he looks up into her eyes- “Don’t push yourself.”

Somewhere in his chest, what was left of his heart crumbles to dust.

“Ah Miss.” It strikes him all at once, the realization that makes his eyes sting and turns his laugh bitter. “I’m so sorry. I think they broke me.”

“No, no,” she whispers, fierce. “It’s my fault. If we’re going too fast-”

He blinks rapidly, looking towards the canopy and its little embroidered animals in black and red. “It is such a lovely night. It’s a shame I woke you.”

She’s silent after that, settling down next to him, and the sand continues to count each second. When it runs out, this brief little dream of his will be over. He can’t expect her to stay, not when he can’t bring himself to give so little. He only hopes- he only hopes that she will let him sit by her side just a little longer, just like Master did.

Delicate, cool fingers slide over the heel of his palm. He looks down, startled, and her fingers slip between his.

“This?” Her grip is loose. A baby could escape it. “Is this okay?”

His skin feels tight, it crawls. But not as much as it feels… good. To have someone hold him. Even in such a small way.

It’s all he had ever wanted, all these years later.

Without a word, his fingers press tightly to hers, and she breathes out a sigh of relief. He doesn’t want to ask, but he has to. “It is enough?”

Miss stares up at him, searching. “You’ve always been enough.”

His smile feels brittle on his own lips.

“Obi.” This time, his voice doesn’t flinch at the sound of his name, even though the same steel rests in her voice as just a few hours ago. “You’ve waited for me. I’ll wait for you, too.”

His face goes numb, but for a minute, just for one, he thinks that everything might be alright.

[call-signtracer]

Talon's Claws Part 1B

This will be a little long so it will be cut into parts. I'm still writing the rest but though I should share what has happened so far. hope you enjoy and all that jazz.

@runephoenix6769 Special thanks to Runepheonix here for helping me actually go through with writing a fic and being there as my first audience as well as to bounce ideas off of.

Before Lena could ask Widow lifted the tray lid and an array of food was before her. Against her will her stomach growled again and she dug in with only the slightest hesitation that it might have been poisoned. Her meal finished Lena piled everything back on the tray and glanced at the clock on the computer, it was nearly midnight. Just how long was I out for she wondered.

"I uh, Luv. What day is it?"

Widowmaker thought a moment before replying coolly, "The 18, though it will be the 19th not too long from now. Why?"

Lena's stomach clenched. "Three days..."

When Widow's brows furrowed Lena followed up her last statement, she leapt up her hands clenched. "Three. Bloody. Days! Ohhhh, Ang is gonna kill me! This is bad. Really bad! What happened while I was out! I don't feel any different. Do I look different? Would I know if they messed with my head? Crap! Sombra said she disabled my blink what else of my tech did she mess with!"

Lena began pacing back and forth muttering to herself. She was so wrapped up in her own rambling that she didn't notice Widowmaker stand and place herself in Lena's path. Next thing she knew she and run into Widowmaker; she jumped in surprise and looked up at the taller woman in need of some reassurance. Widowmaker tilted Lena's head this way and that and peered into her eyes before shrugging.

"Did you notice anything off about the rest of your body when you showered? The changes start in the eyes 90% of the time if they were messing around with your head but you look fine to me."

This did not ease her fear as much as Lena hoped and she continued to pace the floor. Widowmaker grew tired of the Brit's constant movement and snatched her by the back of her shirt and pulled her onto the bed.

"I have just spent a week on the road. I am finally in my own room. And you are tearing a hole in the floor. Lay down and shut up."

Lifting her hands in surrender Lena curled up under the blanket, thoughts of what could happen preventing her from her usual deep slumber. Rolling onto her side she found herself staring at Widow's back, the other's slow breathing helped pull her into a light sleep. She felt like she had just closed her eyes when a hand on her shoulder shook her awake again. Jumping up hands balled into fists before she remembered where she was, she stared up at Widow only to have a soft bundle hit her in the face obstructing her view. Pulling the fabric from her head she realized it was another set of clothes and she began to strip tugging on the fresh ones.

"So Luv, now what?"

"I am going out. That's what. And you are going to stay here and behave until I get back." She leveled Lena with a stern glare, "Do not touch anything. I'll have food sent."

With that Widow disappeared out the door and Lena flopped back onto the bed curling up muttering to herself, "Roight. Bye Luv, catch yah later Luv. Totally could have left a note Luv."

She yawned and fought to find that uneasy sleep she had managed to get while she waited for whatever it is Widow had to do.

______________________

Widowmaker stalked through the halls, a thunderstorm in a bottle. Her anger and suspicions driving her forward she found her target honed in. Slamming her hands down on Sombra's desk she let her presence be known.

"What did you do?"

"Do what chica? You'll have to be more specific, I've done a lot of things?" Sombra replied nonchalantly with a chuckle.

"To Le... Tracer. Why is she here and why has she been here for three days?" Widowmaker snapped harshly after nearly slipping up.

"Ohohoho, that one? What? Did you not like your gift? You've been complaining lately that you don't get to see that pretty little girlfriend of yours so I arranged a playdate."

"I have said no such thing!" Her voice cracked like a whip at the accusation.

"Pssh, listen chica. You get into such a mood when you haven't tossed her around in a while. I'm doing us all a favor here."

Widowmaker continued to glare, not believing Sombra for a moment.

"Ay, believe me or not that's your choice."

"Three days. She said she was out for three days. Explain that."

"Hey, I didn't expect it to be so easy to snap her up, no wonder you like to do it. I thought it would take longer and when it didn't and you weren't back I wasn't wasting my efforts. So she was asleep for a while, big deal." Sombra scoffed offhand rolling her eyes, "So suspicious, why do you care anyway?"

Widowmaker's eyes narrowed, why did she care? Amelie cried out first, of course you care do you want her to end up like us? Visciously snapping a lid on those thoughts before she did something stupid, Widowmaker grabbed Sombra by the collar and tugged her forward.

"If I find out you did anything to her, you had better be as good at disappearing as you claim to be because I will personally see to it that your days will see no respite from my fury." She hissed from between clenched teeth.

Letting go of her collar Sombra unceremoniously dropped back into her chair where she scoffed, "Yeah yeah yeah, I'd like to see you try Chica. And you're welcome by the way."

____________________

Widowmaker continued out of the room, forcing herself to get some distance between her and Sombra. While it would be satisfying to put her in her place, Widowmaker would gain nothing and lose a lot getting on her bad side. As always when her thoughts were troubling her, she found herself outside the range simulator. Flipping the required switches and retrieving a sniper rifle from the wall she let her emotions sink away until it was just her, the rifle, and the targets. Shooting until she had buried everything deep inside, she gave the rifle back to the omnic maintaining the range, and made her way back to her quarters.

The doors slid open and she was greeted by the sight of Lena throwing a myriad of paper airplanes around the room. Her scowl grew when one of the planes flew veered towards her and bounced off her temple falling to the floor.

"Is this what you call not touching anything?"

Lena burst out laughing at Widowmaker's incredulous scowl, piecing together what happened with her facial expression and the plane with the bent tip on the ground.

"What? It was all in the trash anyway. You were gone and obviously I couldn't just waltz out of 'ere and have a look around."

"Clean this up. And quickly I have places to be."

"Alright alright, don't get your knickers in a twist."

Lena gathered up the paper scraps and tossed them in the trash bin followed by a mocking salute to Widowmaker. At least she's back to her annoying self, for now Widowmaker thought. Rolling her eyes Widowmaker led Lena out of the room and deeper into the catacombs of the base. Lena looked around with interest, even if they were just dingy grey steel walls. Her curiosity peeked when they went through a double set of doors and she found herself in a room about as big as a soccer field and covered in rubbery black mats. Brow furrowed she turned to ask a question when the doors at the other end of the room opened and a squad of black and grey swathed soilders entered. Lena quickly figured out who was in charge based on the fact he was barking orders like a dying seal. Widowmaker looked on unimpressed as parts of the group peeled off and began sparring or practicing on different mats around the room. A good third of the group made their way over towards them and the man in charge narrowed his eyes at Lena begrudgingly addressing Widowmaker.

"And who is this?" He asked sourly, shrewdly looking Lena up and down like a cut of meat.

"A forgettable annoyance." She answered coolly, her steadfast gaze letting him know that was all he was going to get.

Huffing the man drew himself up and snapped at the assembled men behind him. Widowmaker took a place on the mat in front of them as another man drew a chalk line across the black surface. Sitting off to the side Lena watched as the men tried in vain to fight their way past the line to the other side but none succeeded. Hardly breaking a sweat Widowmaker continued to look bored even as they switched to actually sparring. Knocking aside the soldiers like gnats she began to take them on in teams of two and still they all landed flat on their backs if with a little more effort.

"Isn't there anyone who can even put up more of a fight than a wet paper sack! This is ridiculous! She is just one woman and you lot are fighting like infants! I'll est my hat if anyone of you can last more than 5 minutes!" The commander howled throwing his hands up in the air.

Lena perked up and raised her hand. "Oye, General Loudmouth, I'll take yah up on that offer!"

Whirling around Lena could have sworn she saw murder in his eyes, "You?! You?! Do you really think you'd last even a minute?" He let out a loud belly laugh, "Hell I'd like to see you try."

"Alright then I will! Just be ready to start chewing on that ridiculous thing you call a hat." Lena snipped, jumping up and jogging onto the mat.

Widowmaker raised a brow as Lena took up a fighting stance across from her, "Are you sure about this cherié? There will be no last minute escape for you."

"Ha, I don't need my chronal accelerator to take you down!" Lena quipped as she moved forward feigning to the left before aiming for the right.

Widowmaker easily knocked her fist aside, "So entirely predictable."

Lena and Widowmaker began their dance in earnest, paralleling each others moves as they tried to get the upper hand. Wincing as Widowmaker's fist connected with her shoulder she used the backwards momentum to twist the other way ending up behind her. Lashing out with a kick she caught Widowmaker on the small of her back sending her staggering forward. Whirling to face her Widowmaker closed in as they traded blows, Widomaker's landing more than Lena's as time went on. Lena made the mistake of exposing her torso. In a flash she felt Widowmaker's foot connect with her ribcage and she prayed that the crack she heard was from somewhere else in the room as pain blossomed there.

Wheezing as the breath left her lungs she staggered backwards still bringing up her arms to block Widowmaker as she advanced again. Sucking in several breaths Lena danced forward accepting the risk of being caught and managed to land a solid jab to Widowmaker's stomach. Even as she winced, more from the force behind it than the actual pain, Widowmaker gripped Lena's arm and twisted it behind her back. Pulling the girl in close she swept her leg under Lena's bringing the Brit to her knees. Once down Widowmaker's arm snaked around Lena's throat, holding her securely and cutting off her airway with steady pressure. Releasing Lena's arm Widowmaker tangled her now free hand into that brunette mop of hair pulling back to hiss in her ear.

"Do you feel like giving up Pet, or shall we continue?"

Lena gasped uselessly as she felt her vision become fuzzy and the lights dim. She brought her hands up and tapped several times on Widowmaker's arm, hoping that that sign for mercy was universal and was rewarded with Widowmaker loosening her grip allowing Lena to suck in a breath.

Smirking against Lena's ear Widowmaker purred. "Good girl."

Widowmaker stood completely releasing Tracer letting her fall onto her hands and knees gasping in ragged breaths, her face red for several reasons. Coughing Lena staggered to her feet one hand cupping her throat.

"H-How long was tha?" She croaked out.

Everyone was staring, the other matches having come to a standstill to watch the two of them try and destroy the other. The commander puffed up nostrils flaring in fury at his squad being shown up by this strange woman.

Begrudgingly he answered, "Seven and a half minutes."

"Ha! Hope you like the taste of polyester and cotton for dinner!" Lena smirked in triumph.

Before either one could have a go at the other Widowmaker grabbed Lena by her hair again, her voice serious. "Enough. Come."

A shiver running down her spine Lena nodded numbly shooting one last look to the soldiers she jogged after Widowmaker. She navigated the maze of hallways barely and managed to catch up with Widowmaker before she got lost. Falling into step behind her Lena rubbed her throat wondering if it was going to bruise. Widowmaker was silent so Lena decided it would probably be in her best interest to be quiet as well. Plus her throat was still burning from that chokehold, she was going to have to ask Widowmaker how to do that later. Widowmaker opened the door and Lena hurriedly ducked inside feeling Widowmaker's predatory gaze on her back. She managed to turn around at the sound of the door closing before Widowmaker was on her.

Their lips crashed together and Lena's eyes closed. Her arms circled around Widowmaker's waist pulling her closer and she felt the taller woman smirk into the kiss. Long delicate fingers tangled into the deflated spikes and pulled backwards exposing Lena's neck. Kissing along the Brit's jawline she nipped gently before moving down to her neck. Sighing softly Lena leaned into Widowmaker as her other hand began to wander tugging up Lena's shirt. Shivering at the coolness of Widow's hand as it moved along her stomach and up to her breast Lena inhaled sharply at the contrast of her soft touch and the sudden stinging pain of teeth digging in roughly where her neck met her shoulder. Stifling a moan Lena backed up keeping her arms around the other to lead them towards the bed. Amused Widowmaker let the smaller woman go eagerly to her bed once they were close enough she moved forward quickly pinning Lena to the bed.

The kisses came hot and fast Widowmaker's hands wandering downward and tugging off Lena's pants and tossing them aside. Oh sure, save your clothes but mine get ripped to shreds Lena thought. That was the last coherent thought she had as she began to squirm beneath Widowmaker's hand. Breathless, pleading cries echoed off the walls as Lena's hips jerked up into those satisfying digits building her up. So close, so so close and yet Widow stopped. Whimpering she pressed against Widowmaker a semi silent plea to continue.

"On your knees."

Shaking but her mind too hazy with need to care about her lack of coordination she managed to get off the bed without falling flat on her face. Kneeling down she quietly waited as Widowmaker disrobed, her eyes immediately going over every curve drinking her in. Burying her fingers in Lena's hair once more she tugged the time hopper forward guiding her to where she wanted. Lena bit back her moan and looked up at Widowmaker hesitantly lifting her hands, when she didn't receive any rebuke she placed them on either pale purple thigh to steady herself even as the hand in her hair anchored her. Nuzzling forward she set to work, every right move rewarded with a quiet noise of pleasure spurring her onwards. Her own needs neglected at the moment but she knew better than to finish herself off without being told, she learned that lesson the hard way. Widowmaker's grip tightened on her hair as she got closer, Lena's soft whimper lost to her work as Widowmaker gasped out Lena's name.

Panting softly Lena looked up at her lover memorizing the way she looked after coming undone by her. Widowmaker reached down and pulled Lena up onto her lap her hand delving back down to where she knew Lena needed her most. She couldn't stop herself from moaning now as Widowmaker redoubled her efforts, Lena's hips rolling in time with her thrusts. Her nails digging into Widowmaker's shoulders Lena cried out in release, shivering she leaned against Widowmaker her body limp. Brushing away a lock of hair Widowmaker kissed Lena's forehead shifting on the bed laying them both down and pulling the blanket over them both.

It was a God awful time in the morning that Widowmaker shook Lena awake again. Groaning Lena looked up bleary eyed at the assassin and had another bundle of clothing thrown at her face. Lena rolled out of bed grumbling to herself and it wasn't until she was halfway dressed that she realized she wasn't pulling on black or grey yoga pants, it was her orange spandex. A little more alert now Lena finished dressing, more than a little relieved to have her bombers jacket back. Running her fingers over the familiar leather she furrowed her brow and she turned to find Widowmaker holding a blindfold. Knowing it was pointless to resist she let her blind her again and she was led out of the room and down the dead silent halls. She felt like they were climbing higher and was rewarded with a breath of fresh air as they left the compound. Breathing deeply Lena was brought across the tarmac and loaded into a Helicopter Widowmaker securing her in before herself. Lena felt the reassuring sense of the chopper taking off and she was in the air. Judging by how cool it was and the dead silence under the chopping rotors Lena figured it was either late at night or the very early hours of the morning. The helicopter began its descent and she couldn't help but wonder where they were now. Widowmaker helped her up and brought her to the edge of the Helicopter belly. With the bobbing motions and steady sound of the motors running Lena could tell they hadn't landed even as Widowmaker removed the blindfold.

With a shove Widowmaker sent Lena plunging from the chopper and tumbling along the rough, sloped concrete top of a high rise building. Skidding to a stop Lena winced as she stood, her clothing scuffed and dirty she could feel the start of road rash on her hands and knees. She jumped up as the Helicopter peeled away Widowmaker mockingly blowing her a kiss leaving Lena dumbfounded and silent until they were a speck on the horizon. The sun began to dawn over a familiar cityscape and Lena sighed pulling out her phone from the bag that Widowmaker had dropped after her. Bringing up the home screen she flicked through the contact list until she reached the number she needed. It rang in her hands for what seemed an eternity before an achingly familiar voice answered.

"Hey Em... do you think it would be possible to give me a lift? I may have gotten in over my head." Lena asked, rubbing the back of her neck with a hand.

[thethespacecoyote]

I’m still invested in dumb omegaverse mpreg fluff ;-; so here have some more with Jack being posessive over a ridiculous unicorn plush that ends up poached by Rhys for his nest

Nobody could ever know about Cupcake Princess.

Only a few people could ever know that Jack was capable of that mushy thing called affection. Even then, it was affection aimed towards only a couple choice things—most of those things revolving around Rhys.

Rhys himself, Rhys’ favorite clothes, the pup growing in Rhys’ belly—to name a few.

But there were things he treasured that even Rhys didn’t know about, stashed around the penthouse in places even the nosy omega hadn’t found yet. And one of those things was Cupcake Princess.

He’d seen her in the window of one of the gift shops in the Hub back when Helios was still under construction, before he’d even dreamed of becoming CEO. He’d found it a bit strange at the time that a weapons company had any gift shops at all, much less ones that sold bright, sparkly stuffed unicorns, but the fur had looked soft enough to tempt Jack to go inside. And from the moment he’d plucked her off the little wooden shelf and given her a testing squeeze, he’d been in love.

Cupcake Princess hadn’t left his side since.

She was looking pretty well-loved at this point, the stuffing in her chest mushed down to her belly and up to her head, leaving her all mishmash, like a smashed potato. Her fur was dull and slightly matted on the head, where Jack had chewed the plush many nights in his sleep. He’d even left tiny little holes from his fangs just below her ear, which was starting to become loose of its stitching. Her mane was threadbare, sparkle just barely lingering in the purple fluff. She was a bit messed up from years of aggressive snuggling, but to him that only made her more valuable.

Jack kept her stowed under the bed in a box now that he lived with someone, surrounded by decoy bins full of vintage pornography and dusty antique guns and other trinkets that might satisfy the curiosity of a snooping omega. Now that Rhys was hampered by his growing belly and aching feet there was less of a concern that he might scrounge in every nook and cranny, but Jack still didn’t want to take any chances with Rhys finding that particularly embarrassing relic of his past.

However, he still took her out whenever Rhys got cabin fever and decided he needed to go down to the office or hang out with one of his nerd friends. Jack let him, grateful for the moment alone to get Cupcake Princess out of her hiding place and hold her to his chest and stroke her fur as he reflected on the imminent reality of becoming a dad.

When Jack looked into those big dumb eyes, dewey with shimmering violet, he felt like everything was gonna be okay and he hated the fact that this stupid plush could actually make him feel things that usually only Rhys made him feel, because it was just a lump of stuffing wrapped up in soft pink fur and dunked in sparkles and Jack loved to hug it to his chest and sniff its strawberry vanilla scent until he fell asleep.

He’d always wake up, however, when Rhys buzzed the front door security, and he’d always managed to toss Cupcake Princess back into her box and kick it under the bed before Rhys came calling into the bedroom.

He kept his secret safe—until one afternoon when he returned from the office, to find that Rhys had constructed another nest.

Jack had been finding them all about the penthouse lately. Rhys had clearly grown bored of watching television or playing his video game system, and he couldn’t nap in the bed any longer without kicking about the sheets and turning the entire thing into a messy lump that seemed to make sense to Rhys in some way Jack couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

He’d managed to coerce Rhys into nest-making off of the bed, but that’d resulted in new nesting popping up in places Jack didn’t expect. He’d nearly stepped on his pregnant mate one morning when he sleepily stumbled into his closet to find a fresh pair of pants, only for the floor below him to suddenly become alive in a warm, growling mass of omega that scared him so bad Jack’d nearly fallen on his ass.

Lately, Rhys had finally gotten it in his head to not use common routes of foot traffic as places to build his nest, so when Jack found that he’d pulled all the chairs in the living room together to make a huge bed for himself, he wasn’t completely surprised. Rhys had already re-arranged the furniture several times over the course of his pregnancy, out of boredom or maybe a fuzzy sense of fengshui, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

What was a big deal, however, was the little bit of purple fur peeking out from below Rhys’ chin.

Jack recognized it immediately, his stomach dropping as he sniffed harshly at the air, picking up on the faded strawberry-vanilla scent underneath the overpowering odor of his mate. His heart thudded in his chest, an ashamed flush spreading across his cheek like a rash as he watched Rhys brazenly snuggle Cupcake Princess before his very eyes.

For the moment, Jack put the thought of exactly how and why Rhys had found his beloved plush out of his mind. First things first—he needed to get it out of his mate’s grip and back into the box under the bed.

That proved a little harder than he thought it would be. He carefully leaned over Rhys’ snoozing body, brushing aside the stolen bed comforter and exposing more of where Cupcake Princess was trapped.

Rhys was latched on pretty tight. Those little omega fangs of his were latched nearly right where Jack had himself nibbled on her, and he had his arms wrapped tight around her body. It was…it was a cute enough sight, to see his pregnant mate so affectionately cuddling something he’d loved over the years, but he was far too ashamed to just leave her there. Maybe if he got her away and hidden now, he could just pretend that it had all been a dream that Rhys had been having when he woke up. Yeah. Just a dream. Stuffed purple unicorn where?

“C’mon…” He whispered as he tried to shift Rhys’ arms from where they were wrapped about the plush, but Rhys just shifted, mumbling as he hugged the animal tighter. Jack blew frustration softly through his lips, eyes scanning over Rhys’ form to try to find a way to make this work. The omega curled even tighter, as if to spite him.

Jack gazed about the room, trying to see if anything around him could offer a solution. He needed something soft, that smelled like him, something just as huggable as Cupcake Princess was…

His eyes fell upon a pillow that had, apparently, been deemed unworthy of the nest and cast upon the floor. He plucked it up, hefting it around in his hands as he glanced down at Rhys, a grin spreading over his face.

That was it! Just give Rhysie the ol’ switcheroo. He grinned as he stripped his sweater off, hoping the thick scent would placate Rhys enough that he could grab his plush.

He wrapped the sweater tightly about the pillow, before tucking it underneath his arm and leaning back over Rhys. The omega shifted, letting out a soft noise muffled against Cupcake Princess’s head. Ugh. Was that drool? He wrinkled his nose at a damp spot near her ear. Definitely drool.

He tugged lightly on Cupcake Princess’s hoof, trying to pull her out of Rhys’ arms at the same time as he pushed the pillow down into his embrace. Jack’s heart thumped in his chest, feeling like he was a treasure hunter inside of a vault, dealing with some hair-trigger alien technology. His breath caught in his throat as he managed to get Cupcake Princess halfway out of Rhys’ grasp. Victory was in sight.

And then Rhys had to suddenly shift and flop onto his back, completely throwing off Jack’s precision and tossing the sweater wrapped pillow off into a remote corner of the nest.

“Crap!” Jack swore, too loudly, because the next moment Rhys was rubbing his eyes and yawning and looking up at him with a dewy squint.

“Mmm, Jack, what’re you doin’?” Rhys mumbled, clasping Cupcake Princess to his chest as his other hand moved down to rub his belly. Jack froze like a skag in a bandit’s scope, cursing inwardly. Rhys blinked rapidly at him, trying to figure out what exactly his mate had been doing hovering above him.

“I’m…uh….I was just…I was just…” Jack’s eyes moved from Rhys, to Cupcake Princess, and back to Rhys again. He could feel his blush connecting across his nose, body practically shaking with embarrassment. Rhys wrinkled his nose, looking down at Cupcake Princess before returning to Jack.

“Were…were you trying to take this?”

“No.” Jack answered too quickly. “Definitely, positively, abso-frikkin’-lutely not!”

“Oh my god, so it is yours.” Rhys smiled devilishly, bringing Cupcake Princess up to his nose and inhaling deeply. “I wasn’t sure, but it smelled like you. Adult you. Don’t tell me you—“

“You’re the only cuddling it right now, pumpkin, so it’s not—I don’t—it’s not like it’s weird!” Jack defended, cheeks practically growing purple with blush. Rhys just kept giggling at him as he sat up slowly, hand cradling his belly as the other kept Cupcake Princess glued tightly to his chest. Her head flopped limply forward as Rhys sniffed deeply into her mane, a happy little smile creeping across his face.

“It’s not weird at all, Jack. It’s just kind of funny that the most feared man in the galaxy has a favorite stuffed toy that he kept hidden under the bed.”

“H—How did you even find it, anyway, you can barely get your pants on without crying, how did you even get on your knees to look underneath—“

“I have my ways. When I get into my nest-building mood I’m willing to do anything to find something that smells nice…and your little unicorn friend smelled really nice.” Jack folded his arms petulantly over his chest, lower lip set out in an angry pout. Usually, when he was this annoyed, he’d pull out Cupcake Princess and give her a quick snuggle, but his mate just had to be pregnant and nosy, didn’t he? Stealing his favorite, secret plush and hugging her right in front of him. So rude.

Rhys pulled his nose out of the unicorn’s plush, rubbing its fabric delicately as he rested his chin atop her head.

“Lucky for you though, I can think of someone who smells a little better.”

“I’m only gonna cuddle your thieving ass if you let me hold her,” Jack admittedly grumpily, determined to keep his sour expression on his face until Rhys gave in. The omega wasn’t the only one who could deal in a little emotional manipulation.

Fortunately, Rhys seemed to take a little pity on him, as he finally parted with Cupcake Princess, holding the unicorn out to Jack. The alpha quickly grabbed it, hugging it gleefully to his chest as he hopped over the back of the couch nest and slid in next to Rhys.

“See? She’s a lot happier being back with her king.” Jack brushed his nose affectionately against the unicorn’s head, surprising pleased to find Rhys’ scent rubbed into her fur. Maybe he’d let the omega cuddle her sometimes, as long as he vowed not to breath a word about this to anyone.

“As am I…” Rhys purred softly as he cuddled in close to Jack, keeping Cupcake Princess tenderly cradled between their chests as he slowly fell back asleep, eventually luring Jack to follow in kind, his nose full of the scent of strawberry-vanilla.

[kinsale42-blog]

Invitations (part 3)

Jesse just looked at Hanzo for a minute before he replied. “Well, shucks. Don’t you worry about that. Water under the bridge. Didn’t stop me coming to fetch you, did it?” The lump in his throat dissipated, his fears not having been realized. He thought longingly of the cigar in his inside coat pocket, but he had promised himself he wouldn’t smoke around Hanzo so long as there was a possibility they might kiss again. At this point, there was still a slight chance of that.   

The assassin’s expression softened visibly. He’d expected almost any response but the one he’d gotten, and he felt the warmth grow within him as another layer of his defense peeled away. Taking a long swallow of his swiftly cooling chai, he considered his next step.

“Shall we return to my home?” Hanzo asked. “The time for a meal approaches, and I would be honored if you would join me.”

He was rewarded by one of Jesse’s famous smiles, the kind that lit up his whole face. “Please don’t go to any trouble for little ol’ me, but yes, I would love to.”

They began walking, disposing of their empty cups as they passed a waste disposal bin. Hanzo still felt a bit flustered, and tried to diminish the formality of his invitation a little. “It is no trouble. I was merely going to collect our dinner on the way back.”

The gravity of his decision to allow Jesse McCree into the private sanctum of his personal residence didn’t hit Hanzo until they were in the elevator on the way up to the eighth floor. He choked back the fear that he would be exposing his inner world. To him, every piece that decorated his apartment had meaning--things that he had created, or ones that represented memories, brought him peace, gave him inspiration. To Jesse, they would just be furnishings of little significance. He focused on his breathing and composed his face as they approached the door of his apartment.

They entered, and Hanzo indicated a peg where Jesse could leave his coat. He looked down at the cowboy’s boots. His own practice was to follow the tradition of removing outside footwear at the door, but he had no slippers to offer Jesse that would fit those feet. He decided to say nothing. Jesse was a guest, after all, and it would be polite to allow him to follow his own custom. Hanzo removed his own shoes and slid his feet into his slippers.

“Where would you like this?” Jesse asked, holding up the bag of take-out he’d insisted on carrying. (“If you won’t let me pay for it, at least let me carry it,” he’d said.)

“I will take it,” answered Hanzo, taking the bag and unpacking it onto the kitchen counter as Jesse hung up his long coat and hat.

“You don’t have to get all fancy for me. I have eaten out of take-out containers more times than I can count,” Jesse said before Hanzo could get plates down from the cabinet. “Less work to do afterwards, too.”

Hanzo’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Why does that not surprise me?” he asked. “Can I interest you in a fork, or are you comfortable with chopsticks?”

“Are you trying to smile? I think you’re trying to smile.” Jesse grinned, then turned slightly sheepish. “Yeah, I uh, probably should use a fork. Last time I tried chopsticks I got a little too much leverage and launched a prawn across the room.” He held out a sealed white envelope. “Your invitation to the party.”

A fork went on to the tray with the food, next to the chopsticks and the pile of napkins. Hanzo reached into the small refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of beer. He traded them for the envelope Jesse was holding. With the envelope between two fingers, he picked up the tray and led the way from the kitchen to the living room, bumping light switches with his elbows along the way to turn off and on lights.

“Well ain’t this nice,” said Jesse as he took in the details of the room. The walls were a pale dove gray except for the wall with the holo-fireplace, which was a muted blue around the stone fireplace. The furniture was all of a graceful Scandinavian style, primarily in walnut and birch. A folding bamboo screen separated the living area from the kitchen, something he hadn’t noticed from the kitchen side.  Soft, indirect lighting gave the area a sense of warmth and illuminated a grouping of woodblock prints over the sofa. “I wouldn’t have expected your place to be quite like this, Hanzo.”

Hanzo set the tray down on the coffee table and turned on the electric holo-fire. “What did you expect? Tatami mats and rice paper screens?” He fished a cushion out from behind a chair and positioned it carefully next to the table before sitting cross-legged upon it.

Jesse found spots for the beer bottles on the tray, and sat down on the edge of the very rectangular charcoal gray sofa. “I suppose I thought you’d either be pretty traditionally Japanese or, I don’t know, very utilitarian.” He thought of all the bachelor crash pads he’d inhabited since he’d left home as a kid: the mattresses on the floor, milk crates and folding chairs, and only the hardwired overhead lighting to keep him from darkness. “This is very comfortable though. It suits you.” He reached for a beer and twisted the top off before settling in to eat from the box Hanzo had opened and placed in front of him.

Hanzo tore open the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper enclosed within. He read it quickly, then read it once more before refolding it and laying it down on the table. As he picked up his chopsticks and reached for his box of yakisoba, he said, trying to sound casual, “The letter is dated a week ago. And the flight to HQ is booked for tomorrow. Did you come by bus?”

Jesse coughed and sputtered mid-mouthful. Hanzo handed him a napkin and waited for him to regain control. “Ahem. Yes, well, I...uh, I had to locate your address.” Hanzo continued eat his noodles, his eyes fixed on Jesse’s face and his expression revealing nothing. “And, uh, I had to decide on a good method to contact you.” And I was nervous as hell, he finished silently. He looked around the room, trying to think of a good way to divert attention from himself. His gaze landed on the single decorative object on the mantelpiece.

“Is that a cherry branch? Where did you find one of those blooming this time of year?”

Automatically, Hanzo looked back over his shoulder, even though he knew without thinking what Jesse referred to. “It is artificial. I made it.”

“It looks real. You really made it?”

“Yes, I did. I do not just sit and stare at the wall when I am not working.” Hanzo’s mouth twitched again. He was amused at a flustered Jesse, amused at his transparent attempt at redirection, and just a trifle flattered that a little bit of his hobby-work had made an impression.

“What else do you get up to between gigs?” Jesse asked, genuinely curious. In his surprise at Hanzo’s artistry, he forgot to be embarrassed about his own failings of confidence.

Hanzo swallowed some beer before answering. “I train, I read, I have a few other hobbies.” He left out the part about standing at the edge of the Strait of Georgia and staring westwards towards his old home and the life he had lost, the life he had himself destroyed. But even though he didn’t say the words, Jesse sensed the underlying sadness. It was something he struggled with, too, the regrets, the unfinished mourning of what had happened in the past.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Hanzo said, “I have everything I need here, but I wish I could have some living things with which to share it. A pet, some plants. But this life we lead does not permit such a luxury. Too much time away.”

“I know what you mean,” Jesse answered. “It can be a lonely sort of life in a way, even when you’re part of a team.” He fished the last piece of katsu out of his box and ate it. “So, are you going to join us in Gibraltar?”

“Yes, I will.” Hanzo began gathering up the empty food containers.

“Ever going to join us Overwatchers full time?” Jesse asked.

The assassin looked up into the cowboy’s dark grey eyes. “I will decide that when I receive the offer to do so.” He paused. “Do you experience no difficulty working for them, even after your history with the organization?”

“Well, now, I would say there are good days and bad days.” Jesse made eye contact with Hanzo. “More good days lately than bad.”

Hanzo did not look away. “Are you trying to flatter me?” he asked. His eyebrow lifted.

“Let me ask you one thing before I answer that...Is it working?” Jesse grinned.

Hanzo laughed, a short bark of a laugh, and got up with the tray. “Another beer?” he asked as he began towards the kitchen.

“Please and thank you!” Jesse answered. Part of him wanted to dive headlong into trying to woo this man, and the other part was completely terrified of doing so. It had been so long since he’d been involved with anyone, and that last time had been no good from start to finish. This seemed like it might be a lot better, but then, he wasn’t sure he could handle something so fine, or that he even deserved it. Damn, he needed a smoke.

“Would you be interested in going up to the roof?” Hanzo asked as he handed Jesse a bottle. “The view is impressive on a clear evening like tonight. And, you can smoke there, if you would like to.”

“You read my mind, friend. Lead the way.” Jesse hadn’t given up on his idea of kissing, but he would just have to figure something else out. He stood up and took a quick swig of his beer before heading for the entryway to grab his coat.

It was then that Hanzo noticed Jesse was in his sock feet. He’d removed his boots at the door without a word. Hanzo was touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

In just a few minutes, they were out on the rooftop terrace under the stars, bundled up against the cold of the January darkness. The city glowed around them, the streets still busy in the late evening, the buildings lit from within, full of life. At twelve stories, the breeze off the water was brisk, but Jesse got his cigar lit with only a little extra effort. He’d had lots of practice.

“Ahhh that’s nice. I needed that.” He tried to stand downwind of Hanzo to keep him out of the smoke.

“I would suggest sitting,” said Hanzo, indicating the cedar benches around the terrace, “but it is colder than I expected.”

“It’s fine,” replied Jesse. “You were right, very nice view from up here. I can even see those cranes you’re so fond of.” He gestured to the north. Then he looked back at his friend. “D’you come up here to satisfy your sniper nature?”

“Heh, it is not quite my style of perch, but I do come here when I feel the need to keep an eye on things.” Hanzo took a drink from his bottle. He switched it to his left hand and stuck the colder right hand in his pocket to warm it up.

“How do you do it? Live a normal life when you’re a sniper, I mean. Don’t you see assassins in every shadow? Constantly scan the skyline for that rifle that’s going to remove you as a threat?” Jesse dropped the ash off the end of his stogie into a receptacle apparently designed for the purpose, then returned to watching Hanzo’s face.

“I could ask you the same.”

“I tend to meet my adversaries face to face, though, toe to toe. And admittedly, I try to talk my way out of every situation I possibly can.” Jesse smiled wryly and looked away. “I talk too damn much for my own good sometimes. Anyway, I know what it’s like. To a hammer, everything looks like a nail, right? I guess I just assumed your hypervigilance would be more developed than mine.”

Hanzo nodded slightly as he gazed at the city lights. “It is possible that it is. I still expect that there are elements that wish to ensure I never return to reclaim the Shimada empire, and those that would seek revenge for losses incurred in the empire’s fall. Perhaps they exist, perhaps they do not. So, yes, I do look for assassins around every corner and atop every building, but it has become so much a part of my nature that I do not always notice it.” He turned his head back towards his companion. “And I assume you already have a plan in mind to extricate yourself from this situation if it does not proceed the way you intend.”

“I, uh…” Jesse was startled to realize Hanzo was right. He hadn’t even been consciously aware of it, but he’d been marking exits and thinking of excuses the entire afternoon and evening in case things went sideways. “I guess we both have work to do, if we want any sort of peace, eh?” He took a pull on his cigar.

“I am beginning to believe that to find peace, one must accept what one is, and choose to live anyway. A considerable challenge.”

part 1 http://kinsale42-blog.tumblr.com/post/169254960082/invitations-part-1

part 2 http://kinsale42-blog.tumblr.com/post/169413810732/invitations-part-2

[lhugbereth]

KP- I'm crying omg, Ignis almost fighting the stranger in his bed 😂 I imagine Noctis is adamant that he's too comfy to leave and says he has nowhere to go anyways because SOME asshole named GLADIO kicked him out. Ignis softens a tiny bit but is still reluctant to let Noct stay, tho he looks harmless enough he supposes, just too sassy for his own good. Cue awkward bed sharing maybe? ;) Bonus: Ignis stretching out before bed and noct pretends to be asleep but he's watching like ?! DAMN! I'M GAY!

I’m sorry this has taken so long, but at last it’s time for a side-Ignoct catch up post!! These two are almost as bad as Promptio when it comes to being totally obvious-slash-oblivious about their mutual crushing. So I hope you enjoy this post featuring flexible Iggy and Noct’s Big Gay Awakening :3 

(idk where this gif is from but it’s too appropriate not to use...?????)

Noct appreciates the view under the cut! v v v 

[The night of the Grand Prix in Altissia]

- Noctis has never been in love. He’s had flings, sure, mostly when he was in school and none of them serious. Nothing that lasted longer than a single semester. Before that, it was mostly him avoiding the people who only saw him for his name and his father’s money. At twenty, he’s already pretty sure things like love and dating just...aren’t for him.

- Which is why he doesn’t get Gladio. Like, at all. Flying both of them across the continent just to watch Prompto skate? Noct doesn’t think he could ever feel that strongly about someone else. He really, really doesn’t get it.

- So when Gladio tells him after the competition not to wait up, Noct rolls his eyes and makes his way to their hotel all alone. He takes the scenic route, admiring the city streets lit up at night and ordering a gelato from a vendor. But even the area near the canal is filled with couples enjoying the romantic atmosphere. Noct sighs, tosses his empty cup in a trash bin, and continues on his way.

- If he’s expecting Gladio back at all, it certainly isn’t an hour later and with Prompto attached to his hip. They burst into the room in a flurry of laughter and kisses, almost ignoring Noct’s presence until he clears his throat from the other bed.

- “Oh. Hey, Noct. Uh, this is Prompto -”

- “Nice to meet you!” The blonde smiles, waves, but looks a little embarrassed as he puts a half-inch distance between him and Gladio.

- Noct rolls his eyes again. He’s doing that a lot recently. “Yeah, hi. Are you guys gonna...need the room?”

- Gladio’s mouth twitches. He looks at Prompto, back to Noct, down at his feet. Next to him, the blonde flushes as he reaches into his coat pocket. “Um. You can have the key to my hotel room if you -”

- Noct is already moving. He says nothing as he snatches the card key out of Prompto’s fingers and starts down the hall toward the elevators. Behind him, the sound of the door closing follows him all the way to the lobby.

- Luckily for him, Prompto’s hotel is only a block away - a five-star kinda place called the Leville. The room is on the tenth floor, and invitingly empty with one large bed in the center. The skater’s bags are against the far wall - he seems to travel with enough stuff for two people, at least - and there’s a spa-style tub in the bathroom. Noct considers it for a moment before his exhaustion gets the better of him and he collapses on the bed without even getting undressed.

- He’s asleep when the door opens. A figure enters quietly, stops in the doorway to watch him. He doesn’t notice when the figure approaches, or even when a gentle hand reaches out to touch his shoulder. In fact, he doesn’t wake up until that same hand shakes him hard enough to knock him nearly off the edge of the mattress and onto the floor.

- Noct bolts up. There’s a man standing over him - a stunningly beautiful man, his groggy mind supplies - looking about as confused as he is and somehow even angrier. Before Noct can stop himself the words are tumbling out of his mouth. “Who the fuck’re you?!”

- Silence. That probably wasn’t the wisest choice of words if the other man’s harsh green glare is any indication, but it’s too late to take them back now. Noct waits, tense with nerves, until at last the silence is broken by the most elegant Tenebraen accent he’s ever heard. “Is that how you usually greet someone whose bed you’ve sequestered?”

- It takes a moment before the words sink in. By then, Noct has already started babbling about how Gladio kicked him out and Prompto gave him the key and he doesn’t know who this guy thinks he is but this is his room now and --

- The man cuts him off with a sigh. “I should have suspected those two. What did you say your name was?”

- “Nocti -- Noct. Just Noct.”

- Gods, this man has spectacular eyebrows. “Well, just Noct. I suppose kicking you out now would only make me as bad as them. You can stay, but forgive me for asking for the use of my bed?” Noct blushes. He actually fucking blushes at the thought of his beautiful man falling asleep next to him, this stranger who hasn’t even bothered to give his name. It isn’t until he slides over to make room that he realizes the man is gesturing to the chair in the corner. Oh. Oh.

- He’s certainly slept in less comfortable positions, but he can’t help feeling all of this is Gladio’s fault. If it weren’t for him and his stupid crush, Noct thinks, he would still be back home in his own room, with his own bed and his video games. He wouldn’t be curled up in a worn armchair with a thin blanket tucked around his shoulders, simultaneously trying to fall back asleep and keep watching the show across the room. He thinks the man must be a skater like Prompto because damn he’s flexible - stretching on the floor at the foot of the bed, one leg straight out behind him and the other in front, his body pressed flat against it as his fingers curl around his heel. Then a smooth transition into a side split, his sleep pants leaving little to the imagination when he twists and arcs his back. Noctis wonders if the man knows how good he looks. If perhaps he’s doing this on purpose to torture him, as if Gladio and Prompto hadn’t done enough. Either way, it isn’t fair - and it makes his cramped position in the chair even less comfortable (although perhaps trying to hide his boner in the bed would have been worse)

- He swears he’s never going to forgive Gladio for any of this.

[The next morning]

- Ignis finds his guest still sleeping when he gets out of the shower in the morning. While he dresses, he finds himself studying the young man curled up under his sheet in the chair. He appears to be no older than Prompto, around nineteen or twenty. Attractive (he tries to ignore that). A student, perhaps? Although he claimed the night before to be an acquaintance of Gladio’s, he certainly doesn’t strike Ignis as having the build of a hockey player. He does, however, seem like someone who has secrets.

- If there’s one thing Ignis hates, it’s not knowing something.

- He slips out of the room as quietly as he can, but the mystery continues to eat at him all morning. Even after he checks out at the front desk (hoping Noct will find his way home before he’s carted off with the linens), Ignis can’t seem to reign in his thoughts. Why, for example, wouldn’t Noct give him his full name? What was it he was hiding? And why had he looked so disappointed when he’d been kicked out of the bed? Ignis chalks his curiosity up to the strangeness of the whole situation, and tries his best not to mention the young man in front of Prompto once they arrive at the airport.

[Several days later:]

- “Oh, hey! Gladio says he can make it after all!” Prompto’s looking at his phone again, for at least the dozenth time since Ignis first told him to put it away and concentrate. At this point, he can only give up trying and plop down next to the blonde on the mat.

- “Wonderful. As if you weren’t already distracted enough this evening.”

- Prompto smiles and pats his knee. “He’s bringing you coffee to make up for it.”

- “Well, I suppose that’s something.”

- What Prompto fails to mention is that Gladio isn’t coming alone. He’s dragged his friend with him again, and the moment Noct walks through the door carrying a bag of take-out lattes, Ignis loses the capacity for rational thought. Everything he’s been trying to ignore since Altissia (those deep blue eyes, that perpetual hint of something tugging at the corners of Noct’s mouth, the inexplicable obsession/attraction he’s felt toward the kid) come back in full force.  And still Ignis knows next to nothing about him!

- He doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Noct shifts uncomfortably and reaches in the bag to pull out one of the steaming hot coffees. “Nice t’see you again. Gladio said you, uh, like double shots?”

- “Oh. Yes, I do. Thank you. Er - “ Reaching out for the gift, he can’t help but notice the “name” scrawled across the side of the cup in black marker. “‘Specs’?”

- Noct flushes as his eyes somehow grow ever more beautiful. “O-oh. I didn’t…. I mean, you never told me your name, and Gladio said I should...ask you myself….” (Nearby, Gladio is grinning and whispering something in Prompto’s ear until the blonde’s mirth grows to match) “U-um, I hope you don’t hate it. T-the nickname, I mean. It’s ‘cause of your glasses, y’know, and - “

- “Ignis.” He clears his throat when Noct blushes again. “My name is Ignis Scientia. I apologize for my apparent lapse in manners when we met in Altissia.”

- “Yeah, um, me too.” (Gladio and Prompto are, if possible, being more obnoxious than before. Prompto’s actually filming this with his phone while Gladio shoots him the thumbs up from over Ignis’ shoulder). “I’m Noctis. But Noct is fine.” And now Ignis is smiling at him - it’s subtle, more in the way his eyes soften than the barely-visible curve of his lips - but Noct thinks it’s completely unfair how gorgeous he looks when he does it.

- “Thank you for the coffee, Noct.” Ignis takes a sip (is it wrong to be jealous of a plastic cup lid??) and gestures for him to have a seat next to Gladio on the mat. Noctis watches for over an hour in awe, unable to tear his eyes off Ignis while he limbers up, runs Prompto through their basic drills, and eventually demonstrates a new beam technique that shows off both his flawless flexibility and his impressive upper body strength.

- Halfway through, Gladio leans in and with a knowing grin, tells him to pick his jaw up off the floor.