#i offer you this lazy half hour of work in place of any real content

[tardxsblues]

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 2

“Since when do we buy each other sextoys?”

> genre : light angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 5k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity; chaotic oc; clueless koo

previous - next

It all starts with the first box and the vague memory of a warm touch on your face.

When you wake up that morning, groggy from exhaustion and the sensation of having spent the night waking up, again and again, you sense something. You struggle to point out if you’ve dreamt or if it really happened, but there’s the lingering of a warm hand's trace, cupping your cheek, soothing the stress lines on your forehead, and softly brushing your hair back from your face. You can’t tell if it’s happened but it left a lovely sensation both on your skin and heart. 

You get up and out of bed, slowly stroll to your living room with a lazy hand raising to your head, meaning to scratch at the snake nest you expect to be sitting on it. Instead, your fingers are met with a rather neat braid you definitely didn’t go to sleep with as you were too fucking done with this day to even try and deal with your tight bun -the very bun that elongated your time to fall asleep by at least a good half an hour. The same fingers that caressed your face took care of your hair and you know exactly to whom they belong. 

Of course, giddiness ensues and the mildly serious feeling of mortification -you despise the idea of not knowing in what state he found you, in what state of ugly, of dishevelled, of smelly. There’s no room for embarrassment in this friendship, not this kind anyway, fortunately or not, he’s seen you at your worst (at a time when you didn’t care much if he did or not) so it counters, always a bit, the shame.

He hasn't left your side yet, has he? And he’s exposing himself to this face of yours, so why should you feel bad about it? He sneaks into your apartment at night just to brush your face and bring the covers up to your chin, tuck you nicely in as if he’s your mom or something, so why should you care. He doesn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind. He’s the best of friends. The best of all the people you know and the best of your friends. 

And of course, naturally fitting this role, you’d find the morning of Christmas, a mysterious box you’ve never seen before sitting on your coffee table. 

The girls, your friends, have presents for you, you know they do, but yesterday you were working and couldn’t see them, therefore, the little celebration was reported and you didn’t expect, you wouldn’t expect them to come at night or early in the morning to bring you your gifts. It can wait (so they decided). 

But Jungkook is sweet like no one else is. 

And he came to wish you a merry Christmas even if you were too tired to wish him back and he left a present for you. 

There’s not a name attached to it but it’s obvious it comes from him. There’s just a post-it he stole from your desk, with a Merry Christmas written on it, the lines of the letters, round and neat, you’d recognize from any other lettering and a bunny with teeth as big as the eyes smiling at you, drawn next to it. 

The box is so pretty, you feel an actual pressure thinking about opening it, as if there is a certain way, a proper way, to go about it. 

And apparently, there is. You go wash your face and rinse your mouth, prepare yourself one of your good teas, tear the curtain wide open and slowly, almost ceremoniously, take a seat on the ground, right in front of it.

The box is neat. You don’t know what’s inside, probably a perfume or some kit for the bath you’d assume, but you already know that whatever is inside, even if it’s not of your liking -which is impossible, it comes from Jungkook-, will be balanced out by the appearance of this perfectly elegant, tasteful box that you’ll use again to stock anything, maybe your face masks, maybe nothing -it’ll just sit, looking good on a shelf. 

It’s a pastel blue, with a black rose drawn on top of it, the icon to a brand you absolutely don’t recognize. With fingers trembling with excitement you drag the box to yourself, it’s mildly heavy, for some reasons, it gives you a little rush of anxiety. There’s just a tiny black ribbon holding the box firmly closed. A tiny pull on it and it slips open. 

Slowly you lift the lid, a grin already plastered on your face, hurting your cheeks. You expect a blinding magical light to come out of it, with the sound of bells ringing near your ears and sense to suddenly knock into you as you’d understand what wondrous present is in front of you.

But none of it comes. There's just a thing hidden inside a black satin bag.

It’s not a perfume nor a bath kit and you’re confused.

A bit scared.

Honestly, maybe a little shameful part of you has guessed it. But the louder yet weaker rest of you can’t see it. It would be too... ludicrous. And wouldn’t make sense, would it? You’ve never actually seen any in real life so how would you know what the packaging would look like and how would you come to this conclusion now? And how, why, how would he, Jeon Jungkook, come about to offer you this?

Doesn’t make any sense. 

But somehow, when you pick up the courage to open the little bag and drag the object out of it, you hardly even gasp in surprise when you discover a dildo. You just let it drop to the table, thumping loudly the fake wood. 

Why did you guess it to be that and why did he get you this shit?

Scorching red seize your face and your whole being.

You are infuriated.

How dares he? You are mortified.  How dares he?

What does this fucking mean? 

A joke?

Is it a joke?

If it a joke then what’s the fucking point? It’s not fucking funny. It’s weird as hell and you can’t believe he came in the middle of the night, pretending to be Santa to leave you a fucking kidding present as if your miserable life needed that. 

And if it’s not then what the actual fuck? Does he think you’re that desperate? Does he have really no notion of boundaries?

Conveniently your phone lays centimetres away from the offending thing, you don’t even need to get up to grab it and therefore, you start looking furiously for his name in your recent call list. After only two rings as if he was just expecting your call, his bright hello reaches your ear. 

“What the actual fuck, Jeon?” He must hear the madness in your voice, both the anger and the hysteria. There’s a pause during which he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a sound and you even check your screen to make sure he hasn’t hung up on you. 

“That’s- not- the reaction I expected.” He sounds sheepish. Mumbled words, lisped syllables, long pauses. 

“What did you expect?” You yell a bit, you can just picture him, dragging the phone out of earshot and winding, the same way you do when your mom who doesn’t get the concept of telephone screams in it each time she calls you. The realization hits you, that in your quiet little apartment, in this (for once) quiet morning, you are screeching like a banshee. You quiet down instantly, some of the anger soothed down by embarrassment. “Are you insane?” You whisper in his ear and comically, he starts whispering too, with the same alterations to his usually bright and open tone. 

“M’not. I just- you said that’s what you wanted so I got it for you.”

Now he’s making stuff up and blaming this insanity on you and that serves to raise a bit more the bar of anger -along with the loudness of your voice, “When have I ever said that I wanted a-“ You choke on your own saliva once your brain realizes that you’re supposed to say the word, out loud, to him. In an angry whisper, as if someone, your mother, for example, could be listening “fucking dildo!” You blush furiously at that and it’s ridiculous. Probably the reason why you didn’t own one in the first place and maybe shouldn’t yet. Because you’re a grown-ass woman of a quarter of a century, living alone and admittedly independent and responsible for your own existence, but you can’t even say the word “dildo” out loud to this asshole of a friend who apparently, and that’s new news, doesn’t have an issue talking about sex and everything related to it with you. 

“Y-you said-“ There’s a pregnant pause. You can’t know for sure since you’re not seeing him if he’s faking it or not but he sounds confused as hell. Like he genuinely doesn’t understand what’s wrong. Moron. “You said you wanted sex but not a boyfriend so I thought- it’s pretty much- it’s exactly what it is. Why are you so mad?”

The question in itself serves to drag you a little further over the edge. So much so, it clogs your brain with anguish and leaves you unable to give him an answer.

When he’s starting to talk again, maybe ask again his question, you just hung up, slamming your phone down on the carpet. 

You hear it vibrate to life twice before it shuts down completely. Good. At least he knows you well enough, still, to assume rightfully so that you won’t pick up his calls anymore. Not today.

You just have the time to pack the dildo back in its bag and inside its box, throw away your tea that tastes unbearably bitter and maniacally scrub your face in an attempt to get rid of the red patches that don’t want to fucking leave before the telling high beeps of your front door’s digital lock alert you. Your face is soaking in cold water, another attempt to cool it, your face and your troubled mind.

You mean to ignore him. Dipping your head further in the filled up sink, closing your eyes tight shut hoping somehow it’ll help you push aside the calls of your name better.

For a few seconds, it works. You can’t hear him anymore. You wonder if the furious pleas you were chanting in your head could have been loud enough to make the sound of the door slamming behind him as he would have left, completely quiet.

He’s such a try-hard. You hung up on him because he’s saying batshit crazy things and his first reflex is to barge in your house again. You really need to change your lock and not tell him. You can do that. You’re an adult and you have the right to your own fucking place. It’s not a fucking benevolent stay in, for fuck's sake. 

The cold water really seems to work. You feel better, light-headed, coming down after the earlier hysteria. And knowing that he’s left and won’t pursue this mess any further, for now, surely helps a lot. 

Except it doesn’t last for, as soon as your face leaves the water, your hands reaching clumsily for a towel that falls magically in them, one wipe at your eyes and your worst nightmare is standing right in front of you. 

“Fucking- Jungkook!” Burying your face back in the towel, drying your face as much as possible, maybe even trying for a second to suffocate yourself, you wish vainly that when you’ll take it off he would have disappeared.

He is still here though. Watching with dark eyes and a straight severe line replacing the cute button he owns for a mouth, he looks awfully serious for a guy that’s never really serious. Your towel ends up centimetres away from his face, he catches it right before it touches him. You hoped it would blind and confuse him momentarily, long enough for you to escape but of course, this guy would never miss a shot, even a surprise one. 

“Why are you like this?” He asks when you try and push him from the ribs, out of the door frame. You hate that you think about it. About his chest being so hard and warm and his fucking smell of sweat that you’d recognize amongst any others (pretty easily as any other makes you gag and this one, probably because you’re a primary animal guided by hormones, leaves you dizzy and wanting). He doesn’t budge until he decides to, mercilessly stepping aside to let you through. Because you’re an idiot, you don’t think and head for the living room and it’s only once you’re there, very aware of his steps following you, that the devilish object of your discord is right fucking there, obnoxiously sitting on the middle of your coffee table. You groan and squeeze your eyes tight.

What meditation technique, an extra effective one, could you use right now before you definitely lose it and throw yourself out the window?

Before you find one, you end up clinging to the opposite wall, forehead pressed to it, back to him, in a vain attempt to suppress yourself from the situation. You might look a little insane or at best, somehow on edge, but who cares at this point?

“Jungkook, if I don’t pick up your call, do you think I want to see your face?” 

“But why though?” His tone is still harsher than usual. You notice it and you notice you don’t hate it either. What a little bitch you are. If you like his usual self, with the bright smile, soft words, boisterous laugh, dainty manners, you can’t deny that this rougher version of him, genuinely pissed off as you’ve never seen him, tickles your fancy. You’re fucked. “Seriously these days you- you’re such-“

“I’m what?” You bark, swirling on your feet, expression distorted by an offence he hasn’t even made yet. You completed the sentence he’s never finished with terrible words that you’ve never heard him use talking about anyone: bitch, hysterical, cunt. 

“You’re trying to pick a fight with me all the fucking time, I don’t get it!”

Now you feel terrible. You’re still bothered by the raw edges of his tone, it’s literally sending electric shocks to your lower tummy. But his eyebrows have dropped and his fiery dark eyes have turned shiny and sad, your heart hurts in your bosom.

Ugh.

You’re such a bitch. 

“I’m sorry. I know I’m insufferable. I’m on my period. Sorry.” You send a mental apology to womanhood. You're just an idiot lacking imagination. 

Jungkook frowns, his eyebrows dancing in all kind of ways, before they settle for an, unfortunately for you, attractive finale, one straight down, one tilt up. He stares at you, dubious. 

“For three weeks. You’ve been on your period for three weeks.”

The first thing you take notes of is the fact that he dated it way shorter than you would have. Honestly, you found yourself becoming a weirdo with inappropriate feelings that reindeer you into an asshole for at least a month and a half. Before that, it was extremely tamed, totally under control. You’d just notice his handsome face and cute smiles and nice smell, thinking “oh yeah that’s right. He’s kinda attractive. How funny I never really noticed.” And slowly it progressed to not being able to handle him touching you without having something close to a panic attack.

The second thing you note is that he doesn’t believe you. His stare is insistent, turns a bit dark as he lingers, studying your own eyes with judgment in his. He’s frowning even more, looks down at the floor and sighs so deep, heartbreakingly so. He looks hurt that you’re lying and don’t want to share what's really been up with you. If only you could be a better liar. 

“It happens sometimes, all women are diff-“ 

He just sat down on your sofa, eyes fixed on the blue box. Before you can finish your sentence, he sends you a glare that awfully looks like a threat. You shut up. He doesn’t believe you anyway. He knows you and your periods (sort of) way too well. He knows you’re in pain the first day, you’re a bit tender on the following ones and he takes it upon himself to be gentler and not try to play WWE with you on those but you don’t turn into a mean dragon. This much he knows for sure. 

There’s something he’s seeking for within the box. He’s grabbed it, holds it now in between his fingertips, piercing virtual holes into it. It’s probably the answer he didn’t find in your eyes. 

It makes you flush furiously. Seeing his pretty hands with his long fingers touching it. Here’s the reason, he would have caught it on your cheeks if he wasn’t so busy looking for it elsewhere. 

“I really thought that- you’d like it.” He sounds so saddened. You’re caught off guard. Again. So this present wasn’t meant to be a joke. It is a genuine one. It makes sense that he’s hurt then. You’re shitting all over his gift but how could you not? How could he believe that you could just accept that for a random gift? Slowly he makes the top of the box slide up, pout sucked in in concentration, dimple out. Your heart seems to stop at that. He’s not going to take it out, is he?

He can’t take it in his hands.

You’ll die if he takes it in his hands. 

Fortunately, he just opens the box, looks at the satin bag, looks at it with a pained expression as if he feels bad for the thing, then closes it back. 

“The woman at the shop said that it’s one of the best ones, for starters.” He sulks like a child. Bottom lip all plumped out, shiny eyes under curved eyebrows.

Jungkook looks up at you, ultimate sad puppy look on.

“She said the size and the texture were perfect if you’ve never used one before. It wouldn’t be too... what was that again?” He asks aloud as if you’d know. And you’re mortified. On behalf of him. The concept that he’s not embarrassed right now and that he went to an actual shop, browsed through the shelves and asked an actual saleswoman for help is absolutely insane. Unbelievable if it were not for the sincerity he’s dipped in. “And I picked blue because I know you like this colour. It matches your planner, doesn’t it?” He adds as if he’s not sure when obviously he knows.

It is surprisingly very close in shade. And so what? He expected you to love it so much, take fucking aesthetic pictures with it and your planner sitting on your fake marble desktop, next to Diego the succulent? What an idiot. And for how fucking long did he talk to that woman?

Silence hangs heavy between you. You watch as he scowls some more, mumbles under his breath while staring with despair at the box.

Slowly, resolute to be the better friend you have not successfully been these past weeks (months), you leave your protecting wall. Taking a seat on the carpet, on the opposite side of the table, you do your best to ignore the blue patch invading the bottom of your vision and try to give him the softest expression you can come up with at this moment. 

“Why are you so butthurt?”

His curiously perfect round eyes raise in a swift motion, pouty lips agape in a silent little gasp. 

“Sorry.” You apologize before he even gets to respond because, maybe, you could try harder to be good and nice to him. 

“Because it’s a present.” He starts at a very slow pace. He pauses between words like he’s addressing a dim, dim brain. And he might be honestly. But he’s one to talk. How can he not see an issue? “That I’ve looked for and bought for you. That’s why I’m butthurt, what do you mean?” 

“But- since when are we buying each other-“ You need to grow up. There’s no one else but him hearing you and since your last conversation about it, when he too was embarrassed, he’s able to say it just fine apparently. Still, you whisper the following, “sex toys?”

“Since you turned twenty-five and said you were interested in it.” His right-hand raises from the box to start flapping the air and you know it means bad news. He’s upset. When he needs his hands to further accompany his speech, it means he’s a bit too taken by the conversation. And in this case, you don’t feel like it’s a good idea for him to be. “When you were fourteen and into Legos, I bought you a set of Legos.”

Hardly makes sense. 

“You’re just going to pretend it’s a random present?”

“It’s not random. I put thought into it.” His eyes are digging up intensively in your own. It might be desperation that leads you to remain still, allow him to look. Hopefully, he won’t dig deep enough to find stuff he shouldn’t. “Why do you hate it? I thought- I don’t know- you’re a- flourished single woman and-“

Flourished? Really? The words don’t come out of your mouth but he reads them on your face and an adorable smile cracks open the mask of gravity.

“Jungkook.” You owe him an effort. Maybe you should look into why it requires an act of inhuman courage for you to admit your shame. It might be because if he were anyone else, you’d be embarrassed by the present for five seconds because clearly, you’re still half of a fucking child but soon enough, you’d probably be enchanted by the thing. Who doesn’t need a good sex toy? You definitely do. You thought about getting one for a long while but never got to it for some reasons and here’s one offered to you (in a very pretty shade of baby blue).

The thing is you don’t think about anyone sexually except for him (and his friend Jimin, once in a while, just by curiosity because the guy is a very sexual being). If you don’t even consider them in this light, you don’t have to think about them using it, do you? But he’s all you think about, unfortunately. And you’re friends. And it feels like one step closer to your fantasy while simultaneously one step closer to betrayal. And he certainly is not offering you this wishing for you to keep close in mind the fact that this is his. His present. He knows about it. Maybe can think of you using it and liking it without any further implications. Because obviously, it’s not like that for him. “It's awkward. How can you not see that.”

“Is it? What is?”

“First of all, we don’t- we- don’t even talk about... it. And suddenly you’re buying me- this?”

“Yeah, I realized that too!” It’s too much enthusiasm. Eyes too big and hands not leaving the air. You can already guess his next sentence. It’s probably going to be a terrible suggestion. “I talk about sex all the time with the guys,” Your eyebrows jump to your hairline at that. You’re not even that surprised but the formulation could probably be fixed. “and you talk about it with your girls, right? But we’ve known each other the longest and we never talk about it. Isn’t it fucked up?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’-”

“Well, I would. I am.”

“Don’t you- don’t you see that you’re a boy and coincidentally you can easily talk about it with the guys who happen to be boys and I am a girl, right? And I-“ Who would have thought? It took you fifteen years to finally be giving him the beginning of the talk about the birds and the bees. You would have given it to him sooner if you’d have known how far behind he’s been. 

“But what if I need girl advice-“

“I’m sure Jimin knows a whole lot about girls, Jeon.”

“From a girl point of view. Real girl advice.”

“Jungkook-“

“If I ask what the G spot exactly feels like, what-“

“Jungkook!” 

He’s amused, the fucker. He’s not as clueless as he sounds. But the crooked grin on his face is too telling. He might just be messing with you. Usually, when he’s just playing he wouldn’t insist so much, he wouldn’t take the conversation this far so surely, there are some genuine intentions. However, he's still having way too much fun.

With his frowned nose, and squinting shiny orbs and stupid bunny teeth. 

“You’re just embarrassed, aren’t you?” You might have terribly loud red streaks painting your cheeks that you try naively to cover with your hands. He can see it all and silently, he nods his head, looking like he’s reached the final touch of his experiment. “How? What happened to the teenage girl who spent her nights writing dirty stories about Harry Styles?”

Horror.

How the fuck-

“How the fuck do you know about that?”

“You showed me!” He defends, hands high above in the air like a soccer player claiming innocence. “You did! You don’t remember?” No, you don’t. But you can tell he’s not lying. Apparently, young you was quite the fearless bitch.

What happened indeed? 

Years happened. A growing sense of self-preservation along with them. Undesired feelings for an idiot with a bunny smile. An inappropriate sense of shame along with those. 

“Anyway. So it’s a bribe for girl advice?” You ask, chin pointing to the box. Jungkook looks down on it, drums his fingertips lightly on the top before he looks up, beaming. 

“Sort of.” Shrugging, he adds with a shifty eye that telltales a certain vulnerable sincerity. “I just wish for us to be able to share everything. Be comfortable like before.”

“Before what?” He stares for a long time, mouth shut. He then blinks the moment away and for the first time, you might believe ever, Jungkook looks like he might have a secret too. 

“Just before. Back in the days, I mean.” He simply explains. His attention is back on the stupid box. He’s staring at the rose on top of it. Fingers playing with the corner of it. 

“Back in your old days.”

“You’re older than me. So you really don’t want it?” Here he comes again with the sad puppy face. Why would it be breaking his dumb little heart to refuse a dildo from him? What kind of insane parallel universe is this? “Is it like a 'men are fine but little Jeon Jungkookie still has cooties so I can’t accept his present, it’s gross'?” 

“Something like that.”

“Oh.” Defeated, he sighs. Another one of those soul-harming sighs. “Fine. I’ll get it refunded and you’ll buy yourself something else with the money then.” 

Is he really going to make you do that?

As if the question is even to be raised. He can make you do anything. 

“No, Guk, sorry. It’s fine. Sorry.” You start, hands clasping over the box you drag your side of the table. The only way you can do it is if you don’t actively think about what’s inside. “I’ll keep it. Sorry.”

“So you kind of want it?” He is grinning from one ear to the other. You can feel him giddy and excited, kind of jumpy on his seat and really, you don’t see any difference with the excitement he portrays each time he gets you any kind of presents and you tell him that you like it. 

“I won’t use it.” It’s almost a threat. Eyes squinted in severe slits, index finger millimetres away from poking his eye. “It’s a gift so I won’t make you get a refund, that’s rude but- I won’t use it.” After a second of seemingly deep reflection, he breaks out in his loud, annoying boyish laughter. Eyes watery at the corners and hands clapping like a stupid seal. “I’m serious!”

“Sure.” He’s still cackling, the idiot. “But you should. The lady said it’s a best seller too.” 

“Great. I don’t care.” 

He has his eyebrows high, a twitch in his wide grin, and the amused black orbs. He doesn’t believe you one bit. “Course, you don’t.”

The idea that he sincerely expects you to use it might drive your delusional brain for a loop. He just wants to be the best gift-giver, the best Santa, and wants you to make good use of whatever he's got you. But how can he not consider that you could not use something like that, to pleasure yourself, when it’s directly related to him, your best friend? It’s weird as hell. It can’t be just weird to you. 

Unfortunately, there’s no one you can come up with the question to have them agree with you. You already know what the girls will say. They’re even worse than you when it comes to Jeon Jungkook and your ambiguous (on your side solely) friendship. They’ll say the ship is sailed and start buying themselves bridesmaid matching dresses.

They don’t understand. It’s not like they’ve grown up with someone like him. Someone rather simple, authentic and kind, so much so, so much more than most people, that it turns him complicated because so different from other humans you can meet. There’s nothing to be read in between the lines with him. It’s always lovingly honest, blatant, generous.

He doesn’t mean anything else behind the gift besides a “have a good one!”. 

And you didn’t mean anything else but the truth when you said you wouldn’t use it. 

At the moment, anyway, you meant it.

A/N: hoping it makes sense and is not too raw, edited it at midnight TT; may i manifest a sugar daddy that would pay me to stay home and write fanfiction for you guys all day :). i really hope you like it, and hope also that you can handle the secondhand embarrassement because even i struggled. let me know what you think of the series so far, sending everyone reading this an infinite amount of virtual kisses and hugs, take care of yourself, love yourself and others a lot, BYEE.

tag list: @moon-asia​ @btstrasht​ @jkbangtan7​ @taehugger​ @kaepjjangiya​ @daggerbeneathmygown​ @cuteipat​  @jinsalpaca​

PLEASE ASK TO BE TAGGED IN THE COMMENT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER! TY <3

[thefanbasewhore]

Silent treatment - Din Djarin & Javier Peña. || Preference #1.

Summary: Just a little preference/head cannon on a snipet with Din and Javier dealing with the silent treatment. Enjoy!

Warnings/Content: none but pettiness lol

Din Djarin

Din is more of the intervert type, he likes the quiet. The shift of light to dark, nothing is more relaxing then the stars that reflect off the 'T' of his visor in complete silence.

While you understand he likes it, you tend not to talk too much, which can be difficult but you find yourself falling into comfortable silence against the mandalorian's chest more than you like to admit.

Quietness was the normal between the clan often because of the excitement that came when they were off the ship, blasters, yelling, threatening was no existent.

The Razor Crest resembled a place of peace, a place where skins real skin can press against your own without worry, he can remove the helmet in the dark to kiss you, kiss promises against your skin, a safe haven.

It would take Din longer than he would like to admit to realize you're not speaking to him, it takes almost hours to realize something is wrong.

There were hints of it, your nose turning up when he entered the cockpit, the small huffs, you avoid his gaze a presence at all times. You would even speak the child with the sweet voice but the moment he walks into the room you're silent.

Finally he's had enough, leaning against the door frame of the cockpit, you in the co-pilot seat with the child, the child holding the ball to show you for the millionth time his favorite toy. You smile sweetly at him, fingers pressing against his ears, rubbing the petals with a coo. The other hand holds out a small chunk of fruit, "Take one bite for me."

The child declines with a whine, making you huff. "C'mon buddy, you can play with the ball later." It's useless.

He clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. He stands unsure, hands nervously shaking as he fears the worst. You want to leave. "Is....Is something wrong?"

There's no answer, like he hasn't even said anything just the small gaze that meets him with a grimace. Again, the child distracts you instead. His heart pounds with anticipation as his chest falters.

This makes him frown, muscles straining as he grits his teeth nervously. "Hello?"

The thick tension that fills the air makes it almost impossible to breath for the pair, both are fearful, it's a new relationship, mistakes were still to be made. It pollutes the air with a sickly feeling.

Not only was the Mandalorian surprised, he was frustrated. You can see it in the way he tenses, fingers shake but not in the way his skin turned red under all the armour, that was for him to feel the heat run up his back and blush his neck.

He clearly didn't like the way you responded, long strides until he's between your legs. He stands tall, towering over your sitting figure. Intimidating with his large shoulders, the metal points of his helmet staring down at you. His fingers find your chin, gripping to finally feel your eyes but his words are gentle, pleading. "Tell me.. what is wrong?"

When you don't speak he does, "Cyar'ika, sweet girl if something is wrong you need to tell me."

"You're an idiot." He finds humor in the words, a chuckle tightening his chest.

"Care to elaborate? You say that a lot." Gloved fingers move up your jaw, fingers press against the soft spot in the back of your ear, apply just enough pressure to make it comforting.

"It's not funny. I'm mad at you." Your face was serious, lips pursing with a slight frown. This makes Din sigh, he kneels down until he's at your height still in-between your legs.

"I'm not laughing, I'm sorry. Tell me."

Your words make his heart pound, tears starting to stings eyes, the glossing over makes him worried. "You just jumped into the Krpt Dragon without a worry. You didn't think about me or the child. You don't care if you die.. but I do."

"I do care... You and the child are the only two people I care for." He disagrees, the cool basker pressing against your collarbone, leaning against your body. "I would do anything for you two."

"I know that... But you cannot be risking your life for people like this. I know you like to help but it's too much to loose." You pause, "I can't take it, the thought of loosing you."

The words make him pause. Throughout his life Din has heard a lot of things these words were yours and yours alone. They make him nervous, his breath hitches, he doesn't know how to feel. He's never had to think about this before.. he's was like but now he has a girl, a family waiting for him.

"I-Im sorry." It's uncharacteristic, they way he lifts his helmet just enough to press a soft kiss against your shoulder, another one to your neck before pressing against your lips for one final one, he words whispered against lips. "I never thought about it like that before, forgive me.. I don't want you to worry."

"Well I can't help it." You sniff, a lazy smile at his warmth but his helmet drops back down as you catch of glimpse of blushed lips.

"I'm sorry. I'm not alone anymore, I forget." His arms wrap around your waist pulling you as close as the child on your lap will allow, the basker clad chest should be uncomfortable, cold but it's the exact opposite, warm and safe. "Forgive me Cyare."

"I can never stay mad at you." The words are breathlessly murmured against the small patch of skin on his neck, the spot where you would often pull down in the collar of his tunic to feel his skin. "I love you Bear."

"I love you sweet girl."

Javier Peña

Javier Peña's life is anything but boring, it's filled with chaos, long nights, alcohol and woman of any kind. The woman is where the problem was, no matter how much you told him it bothered you, that it should be more than just sex, he made sure it didn't.

It was pure raging hot jealousy that seared inside your veins, it crept warmth up the nape of your neck, fist ball under the table of the bar. Murphy must have noticed how violently you are chewing on your bottom lip, eyeing the pair across the bar. "You alright?"

"Fine." You snap rather quickly, eyes growing wide in realization. "Sorry Murph, I'm fine."

His eyes show it all, head tilting with an unamused look. "You don't have to lie to me."

"I'm not I'm just tired." And jealous, so, so jealous that Javier's lips press against the brunettes collar bones, flash of pink as his tongue rolls against her neck, pressing his weight against her.

You knew it was just sex, Javi made sure to let you know despite working together nothing would change, it was just sex , a stress reliever with someone who understood the faults of working for the DEA, the struggles that went with it. Except now it was more, it was those nights with next to each other naked in bed, the kisses, hugs, cute nicknames and the long talks of promises, potential future but now it seems you were never part of it.

He acted as if he were your boyfriend, he often made dinner for you, picking up a coffee before heading into the office for you every morning, he gave you gifts, his main reasoning being "It reminds me of you."

Javier was confusing, late at night after a long day he would confess his affection for you, even let it slip a few times that he loves you, swears you are his other half, his soulmate. Of course it's when he's drunk but you hold onto it being the truth he's afraid to admit.

Javier doesn't notice you leaving that night, he doesn't notice Murphy offering to walk you home, assure you get their safely despite it being right next to his own.

The next morning you decide to go into work a little earlier, hoping your sleepless night filled with tears would be worth it. At least it took your mind off it.

It was like clock work, Javier placing the large coffee cup in front of you on your desk, this time some kind of pastry is next to it, tucked in a wax bag and a kiss presses against your cheek. "Good morning Hermosa."

The silence is uncharacteristic, very seeing he literally has to beg you to shutup sometimes. His face twist into confusion as you pull away from his lips, but the mark still burns against your cheek. The same lips that you know for a fact were all over another woman's body last night.

"What's wrong?" He notices as Murphy shakes his head with a huff, clearly annoyed with his friends ignorance. Javi's eyes drift from his with shrugging shoulders to yours with a look of surprise. "What?"

"I'm going to bring these down to Lopez, meet you in a half an hour downstairs Murph." Your words make Javier's brows flur, why?

The coffee is left, along with the muffin. He sits down at his own desk, leaning over to grab it, he starts to pull it apart, pick at it with ever intent to eat it but suddenly doesn't feel hungry.

"What's her problem?"

"Really Javi? What's her problem?" The words make Javi's jaw clench, he doesn't much care for his friends tone as he speaks. "You're an idiot, you hurt her feelings."

"I didn't do anything! I even got her a muffin today, it's blueberry her favorite!" Javi feels nervous, in all the time he's known you this had never happened; intentionally ignoring him.

"you didn't do anything?" Murphy stands, Javier guesses it's to meet you. "You invited her out last night and then ignored her to fuck a girl in front of her."

"I didn't fuck her, all we did was kiss." Javi hisses back, rubbing over his face with a growl. "Besides we agreed it was just hooking up.'

"Well it doesn't seem to be for her anymore, you need to apologise. She was crying to whole way I walked her home."

"She.. She walked home?" The words sit deep in his gut, squeezing his chest with a soft sigh. No matter how much he tried to help it, all the alochol and woman could distract him from how he feels for you, even when he tries to hide it. His words faulter, "Why didn't you just tell me? I would have walked her home, when I came back you both were gone."

"She didn't want to speak with you, I made sure she got home safe. If it was any of your concern."

The words were sour, a dig that made Javier growl. Of course it was his concern, even thought he promised to never admit it, he cared for you in a way he never has for another person.

Sure he almost got married, had plenty of girlfriends but it wasn't like this. Nothing compared to the feeling of having you close at night, waking up next to you. Javier's fingers shakily reach for a cigarette, watching Murphy slip out of the main office with a huff.

As time went on, Javier couldn't get out of his own head, while they agreed that it was strictly just a way to relieve stress it was also a habit by now.

The nights spent back and forth at each other's houses, the particularly rough days were together, holding each other close.

When he found himself down you were always there, comforting him, making sure he eats telling him that alochol and cigarettes are not a meal, even going as far as making meals for him. Call him selfish, but he didn't want it to end.

The moment he heard that the next group was heading out over the intercom he was up, he knew Murphy and you were going to it, he be dammed if he would ever let you go anywhere near action without him.

You would be fine.. eventually. You give a small smile of reinsurance to Murphy as he slides into the car next to you, but both of your faces drop the moment Javi opens the door, clearing his throat with a nod of acknowledgment.

"Javi.. I thought you weren't on this one?" Murphy questions, rubbing over his face as your eyes narrow at Javier's which are already on you.

"Change of plans." It's gruff, sharp as his narrow back. "Want to tell me what's wrong sweetheart?"

He's only met with more silence, your arms wrapping across your chest as you lean into the seat, eyes roaming over the different shades of green head resting across the glass. It was going to be a long ride.

"Why are you acting like a brat?" It's a dig, he's trying to break this silence, the only way he can think of is to piss you off. "You're acting like a baby."

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the words turning your head to look at him, then to Steve who looks the other way, deciding now was the perfect time to mind his own business.

Javier obviously doesn't get what the silent treatment is, he shifts, leaning against the seat, spreading his legs to give you the perfect view of his legs, his thighs. There's a small smirk, cocky as his hands run across his inner thigh. "Come talk to me."

It's an invitation one that makes your blood boil, you can't help the words that fall past your lips. "Go ask that girl from the bar, you pig."

"Mmhmm." He mumbles, eyes flickering with that stupid knowing smirk. "You're mad about that mija? I thought we agreed it was no commitments besides I didn't fuck her."

The car comes to a holt, quick you and Steve tumbling towards the seats across where Javier sits, Murphy catches himself hand extending to the seat belt while you find yourself heading toward the window but fingertips softly grapsing your hips stop you, pulling you into a familiar chest.

Steve mumbles something about 'getting to work' and you two being 'ridiculous already' before opening the car door and shutting it.

You're about to follow him by pushing against Javier's chest but his grip never falters. "Relax." He mewls, lips pressing against your neck. "You know you're my girl, my Hermosa."

"I bet you said the same thing to her before you fucked her."

It's a sigh, breathlessly and exaggerated. "I told you I didn't fuck her. We only kissed."

"You could have kissed me." There was no use in struggling, but you managed to keep distance. Cold eyes on his own.

His hand presses against your chin, thumb on the sharpest angle trying to bring his lips to your own, his apology but you move your head to the side.

"I don't think we should do this anymore.." you eyes don't meet his, adverting as all cost. His jaw drops, resembling a fish out of water as it closes, opens to say something but closes against deep in thought as he hears his heart beat in his ears.

His heart stuttering at the words, chest heavy, crushing as he held in a breath. "N-No, I mean it. You're my girl, I'm sorry. You know how I feel about you."

The words sit on the tip of his tongue, his eyes shoot over to Murphy with a group of other officers talking tactics but suddenly he doesn't care about that anymore only the fact his own heart was breaking inside his chest.

"I can share you anymore. I can't do this to myself."

"I'm yours, I-I won't -." He can't seem to say the words, they choke up in his throat, eyes show his internal panic his heart against his mind, Javi didn't commit, this life style didn't allow it.

But when your fingers find the handle, trying to leave the close proximity of the car he knew he'd loose your forever. "I'll stop sleeping around, I'll stop all of it. Only me and you."

Eyes test him, even like this, large bags, no make up you looked beautiful. You're unsure letting out a deep breath, it wasn't looking good. "Please, I need you. You can't just go.."

"You get one chance Javi, one slip up and I'm not putting myself through this." He lets out a sigh of relief heart claiming down for the anticipation but before he could manage another word you open the door, stepping outside. "You coming Agent Peña? I believe you have a dinner to take me to later, since you're officially making me your girlfriend and all. I rather get this over with." Javi smiles, shaking his head as he rolls his eyes at your playfulness.

[satendou]

⟼  iwaizumi hajime & matsukawa issei

⍣ the proposal: poly edition | previous: shirabu & tendou | next: to be decided | 2/?

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ pairing: iwaizumi/reader/matsukawa

⇢ au: aged up!au

⇢ summary: where you went on one of your first dates

⇥ masterlist

⇢ warnings: none

⇢ word count: 1552

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢ a/n: one thing i love about the seijoh boys is that literally any pairing works together

“hey, you guys wanna go do something?” iwaizumi said, coming out of the bedroom already dressed in jeans and a blue flannel button down. it was open, displaying a white t-shirt beneath, his hair still wet from the shower.

matsukawa raised his eyebrow, glancing at him over his phone as if to say, “now?”

“aren’t you tired, haji?” you asked, brows furrowing as you looked up at him from matsukawa’s lap. your phone was also in your hands, scrolling through twitter absently, ready to stay in even though it was a saturday. iwa hadn’t been home more than an hour from practice with the team, and usually he just wanted to veg afterwards.

iwa shrugged in response, motioning for the two of you to follow him out the door. it was true that he was tired, but he had something much more important planned for the three of you than falling asleep on the couch.

he didn’t say where he was taking you, the conversation consisting mostly about how the team was coming along and matsukawa telling you about a strange couple that had come into the funeral home that day to look at caskets. iwa’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he drove out of the city and, from the backseat, it seemed like your partners were forcing the conversation. it felt tense in the car, causing your heart to beat faster while you flipped between watching them and the scenery flashing by outside the window.

after what felt like ages, iwaizumi pulled off the road into an empty parking lot. you knew where you were, since it was a well known spot to look out over the city. the sun hadn’t quite set yet, but the lights of the city were already shining bright, overlaid by the pinks, purples, and oranges cast by the dying light of the sun.

it had been ages since you had been there, though you still remembered coming on one of your first dates with the two of them, when the three of you were still figuring out your dynamics. it was a fond memory and, as your fingers wrapped around the worn wood railing, you smiled.

“what is it, sweetheart?” matsukawa asked, coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle. his impressive height allowed him to comfortably rest his chin atop your head, taking in the beautiful sight before him and the warmth of you in his arms. he was sure he already knew what you were thinking-- it was the whole reason he and iwa had chosen to come here tonight.

iwa was the last to join the three of you, bracing himself against the railing and surveying the city before him with satisfaction as you answered matsukawa.

“remember when we came up here on, what was it? our second date?” you asked, looking to iwa for confirmation. it’s what you always did when you were unsure-- he always had the answer.

“third, and i do remember. how could i forget? we were still trying to figure us out and this is where we decided we would make it work. i’ll never forget,” he said, the corner of his lips turning up in a gentle half-smile as he looked at you and matsukawa. a soft fondness swept through him, overtaking the pounding of his heart for just a moment.

“now look how far we’ve come,” matsukawa said, turning to rest his cheek on top of your head so he could look at iwa. the weight in his pocket was a reminder of exactly that, how easily the three of you first clicked, how unsure you were when you first realized you all felt more for each other than just friendship, how hard you had fought to make it work through the derision and ridicule of others that said your relationship wasn’t normal. there had been fights, jealousy, and insecurity as with any relationship, and the three of you had all come out stronger on the other side, more determined than ever to be together.

taking a deep breath, iwa took your hand, smiling gently even though it felt like his heart was going to come up though his throat. the words he wanted to say stuck for a moment, his lips parted as he stared down at you before glancing up at matsukawa.

with a nod of reassurance from him, iwa said haltingly, “y’know, i never really imagined this-- having two partners. let alone one of them being my best friend or it lasting as long as it has. i-- i’m not good with words--”

“not unless you’re yelling at someone,” matsukawa interrupted, grinning at the way the faint blush on iwa’s cheeks exploded into true color. “i feel the same though. back then, i never would’ve thought we’d come this far. don’t think anyone else did either.” he pulled away from you then, turning you so that you faced the both of them, the setting sun at your back, setting off the color in their eyes.

your heart was pounding, wondering where they were going with their little speech, until they each knelt down.

“i know we can’t actually get married,” iwa said, glancing at matsukawa beside him. this was as much for him as it was for you, and vice versa, even though they had planned this together. neither of them were confident in their ability to pick out a ring, and neither of them was well known for being good at romantic ideas, but together they had come up with something they thought was perfect.

matsukawa took iwa’s hand in his, linking their fingers together while he gave him his signature lazy smile. “we may not be able to get married but we can still have a ceremony to make it official. even if it’s just to us.”

you were standing before them, silent as a mouse, fingertips touching your lips with a look of surprise on your face. iwa took your free hand in his while matsukawa pulled a box out of his pocket, flipping it open and presenting it to you.

“that is, if you want it to be official,” matsukawa said, trying to joke to soothe the nervous beating of his heart. he was surprised you couldn’t hear it with how hard it was banging against his ribs. 

you looked from matsukawa to iwa, searching his face for something, some sign of joking or malice and found nothing. his eyes were swimming with anxiety and unshed tears as he looked up at you, backlit by the dying sun.

“we want to know-- want to ask-- will you marry us?” he asked, barely a broken whisper of sound in the silence between the three of you.

it took you a moment, looking from iwa to the ring to matsukawa and back, your heart racing so fast it left you lightheaded. part of you had been expecting this, given the location, their strange behavior in the car, and their little speech, but it managed to blindside you anyway.

you realized you hadn’t answered after several long seconds, during which iwa and matsukawa traded worried looks. they couldn’t know that you were thinking about how many times you had pictured this exact moment, hoping it would happen but unsure of how to bring it up when they never said anything either. your daydreams could never compare to the real thing though.

“yes,” you whispered, voice high pitched and strained with tears coming on. “god, yes, please. hajime, issei--”

you found yourself swept up in their arms, crushed against matsukawa’s chest while iwa smothered you from behind. you couldn’t stop the sobs breaking free, muffled by mattsun’s hard chest. lips were pressing kisses everywhere they could reach-- the top and back of your head, your ears, your cheek. you could hardly breathe from the strength of their holds, unsure of where one began and the other ended, knowing only for sure that it felt right.

after a few minutes-- during which you soaked the front of mattsun’s shirt-- iwa finally pulled you away, turning you around to face him. his hands remained on your hips, lips touching your forehead briefly before the two of you watched matsukawa slip the white gold band onto your finger from behind. the diamonds glinting from it weren’t small by any means, but weren’t as big as they could’ve gotten. it was representative of them and your bond, with three stones sitting front and center on two bands woven together.

iwa pulled out another box from his pocket, inside of which were nestled two plain white gold bands. offering them to you, you plucked one from the soft velvet and examined it, finding your name and matsukawa’s engraved inside. fresh tears pricked your eyes and you took iwa’s hand, slipping the ring onto his left ring finger. iwa took the last one from the box and took matsukawa’s hand, pressing a chaste kiss to his knuckles before his ring was placed on his finger.

the three of you stood in silence, admiring the rings together. your heart was still racing, mind still spinning with a myriad of emotions but with iwa’s face hidden in your neck and matsukawa pressing kiss after kiss wherever he could reach, you couldn’t have been more content.

⇥ masterlist

⍣ the proposal: poly edition | previous: shirabu & tendou | next: to be decided

[reidgraygubler]

ethan(spencer reid/fem!reader)

*{ gif belongs to @toyboxboy​  }*

Title: ethan Request: no Couple: spencer reid/fem!reader Category: angst, fluff Content Warning: pregnancy, mentions of someone being shot, mentions of gun use, talks about almost dying, swears (if any), vomiting, casework, allusions of ex Word Count: 5,500 Summary: reader has some really important news to share with spencer, but he’s away on a case. that is until really important news is shared with her. A/N:  based on the season 9 finale episodes Angels and Demons. I genuinely loved Alex and was lowkey sad when she left. The end of this one shot talks a lot about her and the end of Demons. anyways, enjoy and thanks for the love! Check out my masterlist!

{***}{***}{***}

Spencer held me close to his body, pressing his lips to my neck and breathing deeply. I shifted a bit before rolling to face him. He looked down at me with a lazy and tired smile. 

“Why are you awake,” I mumbled as I pressed my hand to his bare chest. He hummed and looked at the watch on his wrist.

“Got a case, Texas,” he whispered as he looked back down at me. I pouted and shook my head.

“No,” I whined and shook my head. Spencer looked down at me as he sat up in bed. “You’re gonna be gone forever, Spencer.” I copied his action and sat up beside him. He grasped my hand as he looked at me.

“I’ll be home before you know it. You know I’m always a phone call away,” he leaned over before kissing my lips. I pouted as I watched him slip out of the bed. “I’ll be safe,” he spoke as he pulled clothes out of his dresser.

“You better be safe, Spencer, I don’t want to get that phone call,” I scolded as I pulled the blanket around my body and got out of bed. I walked over and stood beside him. I placed my head on his shoulder, not letting him move. I looked at the few photos he had on top of his dresser. One was of him and his mother a few Christmases ago; it was nice going out to Vegas to visit Diana that year. Another photo was Spencer and me on our wedding day, 3 years ago now. That was the happiest day of my life, and I’m sure of Spencer’s life, too. And the final photo was the two of us with his work family (who’s more real family than anything else).

“You’re not going to get that phone call,” he said as he looked down at me and smiled, “I’ll call you every night at 9 pm Eastern Standard, okay?” 

“Okay, and if I don’t get a phone call from you, I’m buying the first ticket to Texas and finding you.” I lifted my head off him and walked back to the bed. 

“I look forward to that.” Spencer smiled before walking back to my side of the bed, “I love you,” he whispered as he looked down at me. I looked at him and smiled.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do. Hurry back soon.” I pouted. He chuckled before kissing me one last time. “I love you too!” I shouted as he left the room. The light laughter that came from him made me feel happy as I drifted back to sleep.

{***}{***}{***}

A week, 7 days, 186 hours, 10,080 minutes, 604,800 seconds. That’s how long Spencer (and the rest of the BAU family) was gone for. And I was at home, sitting on the bathroom floor with three pregnancy tests lined up in front of me. I only had a few symptoms, but they were enough to get me curious. I’m sure if Spencer were here he’d prove to me that I was pregnant and then get me to take a test anyway.

“C’mon, let’s get a nice welcome home present for Spencer,” I whispered, staring anxiously at the tests. Like that’ll make the tests be positive and make me pregnant. 

The timer on my alarm binged, causing me to grab it and silence it. I took a deep breath and said a prayer to whatever God would listen to me before I blindly flipped each test over. I looked down at them and saw two pink lines in the little window. I stared at them, in shock and in awe. My mouth fell open as I stared at them. My heart rate picked up and a smile grew on my lips. 

“Pregnant,” I whispered, looking at them. I collected the three sticks in one hand and my phone in the other before standing up. 

Spencer should be home soon. He said a week. And that’s exactly how long he’s been gone. I just hope this case doesn’t make him stay away longer. I want to tell him right away. This is something he needs to know as soon as possible. 

I looked down at my phone and noticed the time, 9:15 pm. He’s late. He’s probably just busy. Although, that hasn’t stopped him before. It was always 9 pm, whether he was busy or not. But now? He’s 15 minutes late. Does that mean I call? I’ll give it a little bit. I won’t call right now. Maybe they made an incredibly important break in the case and the unsub! I won’t overly worry… yet.

I sat down on the couch and looked at the objects in hand. My excitement was through the roof and I couldn’t wait to tell the others about my secret. We’ve wanted kids since before we got married, and here we are. I don’t think this excitement will ever go away.

Aaron Hotchner calling...

I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at the contact to make sure it was Aaron. “Aaron?” I pressed my phone to my ear. I placed the tests in a line on the coffee table.

“There’s been an accident with Spencer.” his tone was low and stern as he spoke. I dropped my shoulders and felt my heart sink to my stomach. “We need you here now. Section Chief Cruz and Garcia are on their way to your apartment,” he continued. Okay, wait, hold on. 

“Spencer… He was… Is he…” I could feel my hands begin to shake as I brought myself to my feet. I should have just stayed sitting. 

“He was shot in the neck. He’s in surgery now. But we need you to come out here as soon as possible,” he explained. I fell to my knees and brought a hand to my mouth.

Maybe that excited feeling could go away. Because it just did. Two extremes hitting me in a very short amount of time. My anxieties are already through the roof. 

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked, my tone so soft I was worried Aaron didn’t hear me.

“He’ll be fine,” he spoke softly. I swallowed roughly and nodded, “Call me when you get here,” he stated before hanging up. I dropped my phone from my ear and looked at the black screen.

I quickly scrambled to my feet and nearly tripped into the bedroom, catching myself on the dresser. I grabbed whatever I needed and tossed it all into a backpack before running downstairs where Penelope and Cruz would be.

Okay, no, yeah… Maybe now I worry...

{***}{***}{***}

I swallowed roughly as I followed behind Penelope into the waiting room. JJ and Alex were sitting together, waiting for a doctor or nurse or someone to tell them how Spencer is doing.

“Hey, looks like you guys made it.” JJ looked over at Penelope, Cruz, and I. I pulled my sweater tighter around my body as I stood beside Penelope. JJ looked over at me before standing up. 

“It’s nice knowing multiple people who own jets,” Penelope spoke as she gestured towards Cruz. I bit my lips together and looked around the waiting room. I felt nauseous being here. The scent of it made my stomach churn.

“Yeah, called in for a few favors,” Cruz spoke as he looked back at JJ. I rolled my shoulders and finally looked back at my friends. JJ was still looking at me, waiting for me to say something. 

“How is he,” I whispered, hugging my arms around my body. 

“He’s still in surgery. We’re waiting to hear how he is,” JJ whispered as she held out her hands for me to take. I stared at it for a moment before grabbing it. “He’ll be okay,” she reassured. I swallowed roughly and nodded.

“You all can see Agent Morgan now.” A doctor came up beside us and looked at everyone. Penelope looked at us before peeling away with Cruz. I looked back at JJ and bit my lips together as tears slowly rolled down my cheeks. 

“C’ mere,” she whispered before pulling me closer to her and enveloping me in her arms. I pressed my face into the crook of her neck and let out a small sob. JJ only hugged me tighter before stepping back. “Let’s go sit.” She pulled me in the direction where Alex was sitting. I swallowed roughly and followed behind her. 

“Hey there.” Alex looked up at me and smiled softly. She had a mildly guilty expression on her face as she looked at me. I don’t know why she would be guilty of what happened. Unless she was the one who shot him. And, honestly, from what Penelope half told me, and Cruz fully telling me, what happened… It honestly wasn’t her fault at all. He would have taken a bullet for anyone and everyone. 

I waved lightly at her before sitting across from her. JJ sat beside me. I looked around the room and noted we were the only ones here. 

“Do you want anything?” Alex asked in a whisper. I looked at her and shook my head. 

“I’m actually going… I’m gonna get hot chocolate. You said he’s still in surgery?” I glanced at JJ. She looked back at me and nodded.

“Do you want me to go with you?” JJ offered, watching as I stood up. I shook my head and pushed my hands into my pockets.

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” I spoke, but my voice was shaky and quiet. JJ nodded before allowing me to leave. 

I tried being quick as I got my drink. Mostly because I knew that the chances of something happening while I was gone were pretty high. That always happens though… Something always happens when you’re gone. I don’t even know why I left to get a drink. I should have just stayed. 

I kept my head low, my eyes on the steam rolling off my hot chocolate, as I re-entered the room. Something to keep me distracted and busy while I walked back towards Alex and JJ. I quietly sat beside JJ and stayed silent.

“He’ll be fine. He’s still a kid,” Alex’s voice caused me to look up at her. What conversation did I just join in on?

I swallowed roughly and nodded, agreeing that Spencer Reid, the man I married, is still a kid himself. Although he’s going to be a dad in 9 months. “There’s still things for him to do,” she added in a whisper. I sighed deeply and looked down at my hot chocolate.

“He wants kids you know,” JJ whispered as she looked at Alex. I snapped my head up from my hot chocolate, again, and looked at her. “He’d be the best dad,” she laughed as she looked at Alex. I took a shaky breath and pretended to be fine with the conversation. I was honestly anything but fine with this conversation. 

“That’d be the luckiest kid in the world,” Alex laughed as she looked between JJ and I. I rubbed the underside of my nose before wiping my eyes with the tips of my fingers. “He’s gonna be fine,” she whispered, mostly to herself. I looked at her and exhaled deeply.

Yeah, I know he wants kids. Everyone knows Spencer wants kids. No one knows better than me, considering I’m pregnant with his baby. But no one knows that except for me. I didn’t get the chance to tell him before he left for this case. Considering, I’d only just found just a few hours ago, I was beyond ecstatic. But who knows if I’ll get the chance to tell him now. Because I’m currently sitting in a hospital waiting room because he got shot. 

I let out a deep and shaky breath of air and shook my head. JJ looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. “Other than the obvious, are you okay? Can I get you anything?” JJ asked, causing Alex to look at me. I didn’t exactly like the feeling of their eyes on me 

Before I got the chance to speak, my stomach gurgled a bit, forcing me to throw a hand over my mouth and run to the bathroom. I almost didn’t make it before I emptied my stomach contents into the toilet. Why, oh, why? This isn’t fair…

I splashed water on my face, forcing myself to calm down as I stared at my reflection. The door swung open behind me and JJ stepped in. She was looking at me with concern on her face. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” she asked as she came over to me. She pulled a fistful of paper towels from the dispenser and handed them over to me. I stared at her as tears continued to roll down my cheeks. “He’s going to be okay. Spencer will always be okay.”

“No, I know. I know he’ll be okay.” I wiped my eyes with the paper towels as I looked at her, “Spencer’s gonna be a great dad,” I whispered as I dropped my gaze to the ground. “He’s gonna be an amazing dad,” I repeated as I glanced at her, hoping she got the hint. 

“Are you...?” JJ asked as she placed her hands on my shoulders. I bit my lips together before nodding lightly.

"I found out a few hours ago," I forced a smile on my lips as I looked at her. I was happy that I was telling my friend about my exciting news. But part of me had several worries, again one of them being Spencer in the hospital.

JJ smiled at me before pulling me into a tight hug. I pressed my face into the nape of her neck. Part of me wanted to break down in her embrace. But, something felt off. It would be validated though if I did break down. Considering everything that is happening at the moment.

"I didn't even know you guys were trying. That's… this is so exciting," she half-whispered, half exclaimed. I smiled and shrugged as I stepped back away from her. She smiled as she grasped my hands. 

"Well, we weren’t exactly trying. We were kinda just letting it happen. And, if it happened, it happened,” I laughed lightly and shrugged, “And, I guess it happened," I blinked as tears raced down my cheeks. JJ smiled as she wiped the tears off my cheeks before hugging me again.

“I’m so happy for you,” she whispered before grasping my hands, “You’ll be able to tell him. He’ll be fine.” She squeezed both my hands and nodded.  

“I know, I know… You said it yourself, JJ… Spencer will always be fine,” I tried to reassure myself. He will be fine. 

“I have to go. Derek and I are going back to the station. Alex and Penelope are staying here, with you and Spencer. Call me if anything happens.” JJ looked at me as she guided me back out of the bathroom and towards where we were sitting. 

“Of course. You still have a job to do. Be safe,” I flashed her a sad smile as she collected her things. 

“See you guys later,” JJ looked between Alex and I before leaving the two of us alone. I sat silently, my head low, while Alex sat across from me. She was bouncing her knees anxiously while waiting. In the two years she’s been here, I never really had a good friendship with her. It’s not that I didn’t like her… we just disagreed on somethings and our personalities never meshed together. I love her, don’t get me wrong. 

“Do you want kids?” Alex asked, pulling me from my thoughts. I looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. Do I want kids? 

“Yeah, kids… They’re great,” I exhaled deeply and nodded. I looked up at her and furrowed my eyebrows. I’m not so sure I want everyone to know my news just yet. It’s still too early. “I’ve wanted kids since the day I met Spencer. I knew I wanted to have kids with him,” I laughed lightly and nodded. And that wasn’t an exaggeration or anything. I knew the day I met him that kids would be in our lives.

“You guys would be fantastic parents.” Alex smiled at me as she reached out to place a hand on my knee. I smiled back at her and nodded. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell her just yet that I was pregnant. I think JJ was enough people right now.

“Thanks, Alex,” I whispered as I kept my eyes on her. We stayed sitting in a tense silence. It felt as if time was moving slowly, almost like someone changed the speed to 0.5 speed. I honestly hated how long we waited for someone to tell us what was going on.

“Spencer is ready for you guys,” a doctor came over to us and spoke before Alex got to say anything. I looked at him and smiled before standing back up. He led the two of us to the room Spencer was. Penelope was already in his room, putting various ‘Doctor Who’ action figures on the little roller table in front of him. 

Spencer was still asleep from his surgery. A white bandage and gauze pad was pressed and wrapped around his neck. He looked so peaceful as he slept. But he always looked peaceful like this. Although, I didn’t like that he was knocked out because of anesthesia because he was shot in the neck.

“Oh good! You’re still here.” Penelope looked up at me with a sad smile. I returned the sad smile before sitting in one of the chairs beside the bed. Alex sat on the other side while Penelope continued setting up the action figures. “This’ll be nice… When he wakes up they’ll all be looking at him… And it’ll be the first thing he sees.” Penelope stepped back and looked at the action figures before looking at me and then Alex. 

“That will be nice.” Alex smiled at Penelope. I looked back at Spencer and sighed deeply. There was a moment of silence as we all stared at the sleeping Spencer. 

“Alright, this’ll be weird… We’re all just staring at him when he wakes up.” Penelope clapped her hands together as she looked up at me. I looked away from Spencer for a moment to look at my friend. “I’m gonna stand over here,” she whispered before stepping to stand by the window behind me. Surely it wouldn’t be too weird if I watched him while he was out. I mean, I’ve watched him sleep before, and that wasn’t too weird. 

After a little bit, I moved so I was kneeling on the ground beside the bed with Spencer’s hand in mine. Penelope was sitting where I once was sitting, her laptop on her lap as she was working on researching something for the team. Alex was sitting, half asleep in the chair by the doorway.

“Do you need anything?” Penelope asked me, resting her hand on my shoulder. I turned my head and looked over at her, feeling slight exhaustion in my eyes. I shook my head and watched her stand.

“Actually, can you get me hot chocolate,” I stopped her once she made it to the door. She turned and looked at me, nodding lightly. 

“I’ll go with.” Alex spoke up as she stood to her feet.

“We can get him food for when he wakes up. He’s going to need the carbs and calories,” Penelope�� I swallowed roughly and watched the two ladies leave. I looked back at Spencer and cocked my head to rest on the bed.  

Spencer’s nose twitched slightly before his eyes slowly opened. I lifted my head before moving to sit on the bed beside him. He gently squeezed my hand as he looked at me.

“Hey,” his voice was low and mildly raspy as he spoke.

“I don’t think you understand how happy I am to see you awake, Spence,” I whispered as I grasped his hand. He tiredly smiled at me and blinked. “Penelope went to get ice chips and food for you,” I smiled at him before exhaling, “Alex… Alex went with,” I gestured towards the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered before squeezing my hand lightly. It wasn’t very hard, but it was just enough for me to notice the action. I furrowed my eyebrows.

“Don’t be sorry,” I shook my head as I rested my lips on the back of his hand. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t as safe as I should have been… And that I made you get that phone call.” He wrinkled his nose as he closed his eyes. I wiped my own eyes and shook my head.

“It wasn’t your fault or Alex’s fault… It’s no one but the guy who shot you… Please don’t blame yourself,” I whispered as I grasped his hand in mine. “I’m just happy you’re okay.” I looked up at him as tears rolled down my cheeks. Spencer tiredly smiled back at me. 

Although I was angry that he was currently in the hospital, in Texas, I was okay that he was finally awake and safe. I feel like there was no one to actually blame for this though. I mean, sure there was the bad guy. But, Spencer was just trying to protect Alex. 

“What’s wrong,” his voice shook me from my thoughts and brought me to look at him. I wiped my eyes and put a small smile on my lips.

“I’m pregnant,” I whispered as I looked at him. Spencer furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at me. He wanted to readjust in his spot, but I stopped him from moving. “Don’t hurt yourself, Spence.” I rested a hand on his shoulder. He looked at me with a fresh and certain dampness in his eyes.

“When… When did you find out?” he asked as he lifted his to hold mine. I smiled and let him hold it. 

“Just -Earlier tonight… Before I came here. I wanted to tell you when you got home. But then I got a phone call from Aaron about… Well-” I looked around the hospital room before looking back at Spencer.

“You’re not jus-”

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Look who’s awake!” Penelope exclaimed as she stepped into the room. I looked over my shoulder at her with a forced smile. Her phone was pressed between her shoulder and ear, and a tray with food in her hands. 

Spencer looked at me, his lips still parted, and tears fresh in his eyes. Obviously, he wanted more information about my sudden news to him, but he didn’t want to talk about it in front of Penelope and Alex. 

“Just woke up.” I squeezed Spencer’s hand lightly. Alex looked over at me before handing me a paper cup with hot chocolate. I nodded and silently thanked her. 

“Tell her she can go now, please.” Penelope looked between Spencer and I as she nodded towards Alex. I laughed as I looked at her. 

“I’m okay, Alex. I’m sure the team needs you more than I need you.” Spencer lifted up his other hand and waved her away. It was Alex’s turn to laugh.

“Okay, okay. I’m outta here.” She looked at the three of us with a relieved smile. “I’m happy you’re awake,” she squeezed Spencer’s hand before leaving.

“I got juice, broth, and Jell-o!” Penelope exclaimed as she placed the three items on the table. 

“Oh boy, jello! My… My favorite.” He peeled his eyes off me and looked over at Penelope. I kept my eyes on him for a moment longer before looking over at Penelope.

Spencer lifted his hands to pick up the spoon on the table. I smiled as I watched him poke at the food in front of him.

{***}{***}{***}

I looked down at Spencer, who was fast asleep with his head in my lap. I smiled softly as I ran my fingers through his hair. He looked so peaceful as he slept. It was a good thing too. He hardly got any rest in the hospital… Especially after everything that happened. I don’t blame him though.

“When did you find out?” Aaron looked at me with a small smile on his lips. I looked up from Spencer���s face and at Aaron. I noticed everyone was looking upon Spencer and I with joy and excitement on their faces. Do they seriously know? Did they really profile me and my pregnancy? I know JJ wouldn’t tell anyone. 

“What… What’re you talking about?” I raised an eyebrow. I continued running my fingers through his hair. I looked down at Spencer when he adjusted in his spot. A small smile tugged onto the corner of my lips as I watched him.

“You have that new mother glow,” David spoke with a smile as he swirled his whiskey. I bit my lips together to hold back the smile I didn’t want to share. 

“And, I think you’ve thrown up a dozen and a half times since you came here,” Derek pointed out. I looked over at him, my lips half parted as I prepared to argue back. 

“I found out 3 days ago, okay. A few hours before Aaron called me about,” I pointed towards Spencer’s neck. “It’s still new to me… And Spencer,” I whispered as I looked back down at Spencer. I smiled and dropped my shoulders. “I’m just happy he’s okay,” I wrinkled my nose as I lifted my free hand to wipe my eyes. 

“Wait, you’re pregnant?” Penelope looked down at me as she stood at the small corridor that held the cockpit and bathroom. I looked up at her and smiled. “How come you didn’t tell me? You were literally in the room when I shot a gun?! Poor baby,” she cringed as she held a hand out towards my belly. I laughed lightly and shrugged.

“I just found out, Penelope. You didn’t scare the bean.” I smiled as I watched her walk towards the back of the plane. The jet was filled, hardly any seats open. “I think you scared me more than anyone else. And that includes Spencer,” I laughed lightly. 

“He was about to hurt Spencer! I couldn’t allow that!” she exclaimed as she finally sat down by Cruz. I smiled and looked back down at Spencer. 

“And, I appreciate that.” I looked back down at her. It looked like she wanted to continue on about my sudden announcement of my pregnancy, but it seemed like JJ got her to be quiet. I looked back at JJ and mouthed a quick ‘Thank you,’ before looking back down at the still sleeping Spencer. 

He wrinkled his nose before shifting so he was facing me. I looked up and over at Alex, who was staring at the table in front of her. Her expression was emotionless and the way she remained silent and away from our minor celebrations worried me.

Aaron’s phone chimed, causing everyone (Spencer excluded) to look his way with fear on their faces. I could feel my heart rate pick up, fearing for everyone around that they’d have to go back.

“Please tell me we don’t have another case, Hotch,” Derek asked, looking at Aaron. I looked between the two before dropping my stare back to Spencer.

“No, we’re going home. We’re getting a break,” Aaron said as he placed his phone back on the table top. I let out a sigh of relief as I pressed my head to the wall behind me. And suddenly I could feel the exhaustion hit me for the first time in 3 days. 

{***}{***}{***}

“How are you feeling?” Alex asked Spencer as we went up the stairs to our apartment. I fumbled for our apartment key as we stepped onto the landing.

“I feel great!” Spencer’s tone was sarcastic as he led us to our home. “Eh, that’s overselling it… I feel great considering I just got shot in the neck.” He placed his hand on his shoulder, near where he was shot. 

“Is it the whole being a dad thing that’s making you feel great?” Alex asked, looking between Spencer and I.

“That’s what I was thinking,” I smiled back as I looked at Alex. She smiled at me as I stood in front of the door to unlock it.

“I guess you could say that.” Spencer entered the room once the door was unlocked. I allowed Alex in before I stepped in and locked the door. “Having a baby definitely adds to the feeling great feeling.” He smiled at me. I returned the smile and stepped up to him. He looked down at me before kissing me.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick. Alex, if you’re not here when I get out, it was nice seeing you again… And I hope you have a good rest of the night.” I smiled at her. 

“It was nice seeing you again… Wish they were different circumstances,” she dryly laughed as I walked over to her. I wrapped my arms around her body and embraced her in a tight hug. She let out a deep sigh and pressed her face into my shoulder. I bit my lips together and felt tears form in my eyes before stepping away from her. 

“Have a nice night,” I whispered before leaving the room. I glanced at Spencer and smiled. He returned the smile with a shy one and waved as I went into our room, and then the bathroom.

I made sure to be quick. I knew Alex would be going home any minute and I didn’t want to leave Spencer alone. He’s been through too much already… He shouldn’t be alone right now.

When I stepped out of our bedroom, Spencer was standing by the window, looking out at the street. Something on my face made me not feel good.

“Where’d Alex go?” I asked as I stepped over to be beside Spencer. I wrapped both my arms around his middle and rested my head on his chest.

“Went home,” his voice was a low whisper. I pouted as I looked out the window to see Alex getting in a taxi cab. Spencer wrapped an arm around me and hugged me tightly.

“Lets go lie down. It’s probably best you get some rest. Maybe the both of us.” I looked up at him. His eyes were wide with a familiar wetness in them. He blinked and looked down at me. “We can talk baby… Something happy,” I smiled at him. Spencer forced a smile onto his lips and nodded.

“Let’s go lie down.” He nodded towards the bedroom. I grasped his hand and pulled him back to the room.

“How long ago did you find out,” Spencer asked, resting his head on my shoulder. I pulled the blanket over our bodies before resting my head on top of his. 

“Few days ago… Before Aaron called about…” I shrugged when I didn’t continue my statement. Spencer nodded when he gathered the rest of my thoughts. “But it’s true… I took 3 tests…” I chuckled lightly. Spencer let out a small sigh and nodded.

“Ethan’s a great name… If we have a boy,” Spencer whispered to me as I sat beside him on the bed. I looked over at him and took note of the badge he was holding on to. I dropped my shoulders when I saw Alex’s photo.

 “She left, she quit,” he said so softly to try to keep his voice from breaking. I reached over and grasped his hands and rested my head on his shoulder, “Why does everyone leave?” he sighed deeply as he rested his head on top of mine. I glanced up at his face and saw tears were rolling slowly down his cheeks. He was quick, though, to wipe them away. I’m sure he was hoping I didn’t notice. But I did.

“Sometimes people just need to move on. And, I guess it was just Alex’s time to move on,” I replied in a whisper. I lifted my hand and reached for the other side of her badge. “I know her husband wanted her to move to Boston with him,” I added. Spencer flipped the badge closed and dropped it to the comforter.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Spencer whispered as he grasped my hand. “She called me Ethan, at the scene where I was… I asked her who Ethan was, while you were in the bathroom. And, she had a son. No one knew that. He died when he was 9…” his voice broke again and suddenly I was crying. 

“Ethan’s a great name.” I wrinkled my nose as I rubbed my other hand over my incredibly flat tummy. “Perfect name,” I nodded. We sat in a comfortable silence, a silence that was more than welcomed. "Isn't Ethan the name of your college best friend and roommate?" I asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. Spencer’s breathing stilled for a moment before he answered.

"Possibly." 

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Day 22: Dukexiety

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 22:  When you close your eyes, you can see what your soulmate sees.

Content warnings: Sleep deprivation/what could be considered insomnia, food mentions, energy drinks, parental abuse, drunk abuse, mentioned anxiety attack, physical altercation, dissociating, school security, maybe PTSD?

Word count: 3.5k 

For as long as Remus could remember, he’d hated sleeping. 

At some points it got so bad he couldn’t function. Falling asleep at the breakfast table before violently jolting awake, asking his mother or teacher to repeat things four or five times until it finally clicked that they were asking if he was okay, staring off into space for what felt like a couple minutes, only to learn that it was several hours later and he’d missed dinner. Roman had gotten used to his twin’s habit of losing sleep, and although it never ceased to worry him, it became more of a given thing that if Remus forgot to do his chores, it was (most of the time) an accident. He’d walk into their shared room and snap his fingers in his face a few times, ask if he wanted dinner until Remus finally understood, and then help him stumble downstairs. 

It was also a given in their family that if Remus ever did fall asleep, whether in his own bed, or on the couch, or outside in the backyard, never wake him up. He so rarely got any rest whatsoever that the seldom times he was able to conk out, it wasn’t uncommon for him to be down for over twenty hours. In those cases, their parents would silently close all the curtains and shut off the lights if he was indoors, or cover him with their deck umbrella and lay a blanket on him if he was outside, and make it law to not disturb him. He’d miss school, it was fine, just let him sleep.

And it was all because of his soulmate. 

Because it wasn’t so much the act of sleeping in itself that he hated. No, the times he actually got deeper than the REM phase, when he was actually out, it was amazing. Blissful and relaxing and made him so hyper aware when he finally woke up. Like the colors were no longer dim and words made sense the first time they were uttered. It was the actual act of falling asleep, when he had to close his eyes but was still fully conscious, that he hated. 

He didn’t have a proper idea who his soulmate actually was. Every time he closed his eyes and their vision fused, when he saw everything his soulmate saw from their perspective, they never seemed to be around a mirror. That would have made life a whole lot easier, if he only knew what it was. Then at least he’d have a chance to save them.

It started when he was little, when their soulbond was just forming. Back then, it was still shaky and glitchy, sometimes showing what his soulmate was seeing, and sometimes just showing the blackness of his eyelid. He saw grassy fields of a park that he couldn’t identify, a dimly lit bedroom with toys scattered on the floor, the night sky from a window that wasn’t his. But then it morphed; playgrounds becoming littered liquor bottles on the floor of an unkempt living room, dark lego-covered carpet evolving from something once played upon to something his soulmate was thrown harshly onto, the view of the stars suddenly filled with the face of a screaming man. The man. 

Remus had no idea who the man was, but he knew his face well. He knew every fury filled expression on his drunken face, the way his nose wrinkled in disgust, how his mouth twisted and contorted as he screamed. Their ears weren’t connected, so he couldn’t tell what the man was saying, but it was punctuated with flying fists and hands gripping collars, thrown beer bottles and pushes to the ground. It didn’t happen every time he closed his eyes, but it had happened enough for Remus to suddenly jerk awake the moment their vision was shared out of pure panic. It happened enough that if his mother reached up to adjust his hoodie strings, he’d flinch violently, or when Roman snuck up on him just a little too quietly, his hands would fly over his face to protect himself. He wouldn’t develop bruises, or take the undoubtedly cruel things the man said to heart, but he was still affected. If he tried to sleep, and the man appeared in his sight, he’d bury his face in his arms, eyes wide and staring at his pajama pants, knowing what was happening to his soulmate however far away they were and he was unable to do anything to help. At least he could open his eyes and be free of the horrors. It was only in the rare instances when he’d close his eyes and his soulmate was already asleep, revealing nothing but the black void behind his eyelids, that he could actually sleep. 

When Roman awoke that morning, he blinked his bleary eyes and turned to the other bed in the room, sighing when Remus’ bloodshot eyes met his from where he was curled against the wall, blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The bags under his eyes had worsened more than they had before. If he was counting right, this was the third night in a row that Remus hadn’t slept at all. The last time he’d slept had been days ago, and only been for a couple hours before he awoke with a sob.

“Are you okay?” 

In a move unlike Remus, he shook his head no. He rarely admitted that he wasn’t fine, but it was getting to that point of almost mania where his eyes glazed over every couple minutes, hands constantly shaking, unaware of anything around him.

“You probably shouldn’t go to school today.”

“It’s f’ne,” Remus mumbled, hitting his head into his arms, “T’st in Engl’sh. Gotta go.”

“It’s not like you to care about school.” Roman threw his blankets off, noticing the way Remus flinched at the sudden movement, and began to change out of his pajamas.

“S’nior year. Failing Engl’sh. Ac’demic probation.” 

“Ah,” Roman hummed, gingerly placing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie in front of Remus. “Is English your first class?”

“Mmhm.”

“How about I drive you back home after your test?”

Remus had zoned out, staring blankly at the clothes in front of him, so Roman took that as a yes. As much as he hated letting Remus go to school when he was like this, he knew that if he didn’t drive him, Remus would find a way to go by himself and probably accidentally walk into the highway or something. 

By the time Remus zoned back into the real world, Roman had left the room. Lethargically, he changed into the lazy outfit Roman had placed in front of him and pushed himself off the bed, debating if he had the energy to brush his teeth or not. Just as he was considering just pouring the toothpaste into his mouth and gurgling it, Roman walked into the bathroom with an open can of Monster. 

“I have a stash in the basement so Mom doesn’t find them. Keep it down low and don’t take them, or I’ll cut you off.”

Remus didn’t even realize he’d grabbed the energy drink until he had half finished chugging the can, almost sighing at the immediate burst of adrenaline. 

“Hell yeah.”

“Get ready and be downstairs in twenty minutes or I’m leaving without you.”

It was an empty threat, they both knew it, but Remus rolled his eyes anyways and set about to brushing his teeth, pulling out his phone to check the time. There was a barrage of missed messages and notifications that he hadn’t been able to care about after sleepless night number two, so he sent back explanations to the people who’d questioned his disappearance and gotten up to date on what he’d missed on social media. 

He stumbled downstairs as Roman was opening the front door, offering him a bagel silently. Their parents were both at work already, so they locked the door and got into Roman’s car. Remus wasn’t allowed to get his license, not when there was a solid chance that he’d fall asleep behind the wheel. 

“I’m driving you home after English, capiche?”

“I’d probably skip after the test either way.” His hands twitched against his bouncing legs, still unbearably exhausted but now with his heart beating at a rabbit’s pace. 

“You are not walking.”

“Yes, mom.”

Roman let out a tired sigh, leaving the drive quiet except for the soft sounds of the radio hosts. When they pulled into the school lot, minutes before the bell, Remus was getting out of the car before it had stopped all the way.

“Meet me in the main office after first period, dipshit!” Roman yelled as Remus disappeared into the building, flipping him off and letting the doors close behind him just as Roman shouted something else. Whatever. 

While caffeine was perhaps his most helpful crutch in this nightmare that was living, it had side effects. As soon as his test paper was down before him, his mind completely blanked of every word he’d ever heard in his entire life. Though, in all fairness, that also probably would have happened without the energy drink. He was so used to barely sleeping that it had become a norm to him, but it wasn’t a healthy way to live, so even if he’d learned how to function on twelve hours of sleep a week (on good weeks), his brain hadn’t quite caught on.

The instructions for the test wavered and throbbed before him as he blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to banish the blurriness from his sight. He could barely hold a pencil in his shaking hands, his thoughts somehow flying at the speed of light and equally as stuck and lethargic. Pretty much how he felt. 

“Remus?”

His head flew up, his unruly bangs flopping into his eye. Since when did he need a haircut?

“I’ve been calling you for a few minutes now,” His teacher said quietly. Although they were trying to hide it, he could see his classmates glancing at him from the corners of their eyes, “Are you alright?”

As if perfectly on cue, he could feel his mind zoning out again, vision going blurry as his thoughts disappeared. Vaguely, he could feel a gentle hand on his arm slowly lifting him to his feet, a voice giving a foggy command to the class, and then he was led out of the room, the painfully bright hallway lights blinding him. It also brought him back to the present, ever so slightly, as he was taken down the hall to the main office. In the back of his mind, he was grateful for it, because this was where Roman would pick him up. Did this mean he was going home now? Was the test over?

“-last time he slept. He keeps zoning out. I think it would be best if he went home and retook the test another time.”

Hm? He blinked hard, until his eyeballs hurt, to try and get the gears in his brain to start working again. The teacher was talking to one of the secretaries, and they both kept looking to him in concern. 

“Can I call someone to come pick you up, Remus?” The secretary asked, already flipping through her contacts book.

“His brother also goes here, and can probably take him home. Would be easiest,” The teacher cut in before the question had even fully settled in Remus’ mind, and he internally cheered. At least that was settled. And by the sounds of it, he could do his test another time, which was a huge weight off his shoulders. He didn’t have, nor desire, Roman’s perfect grades, but he at least wanted to graduate.

“I’ll get him excused from class. Thanks for bringing him by.”

Remus blinked again and realized the teacher had left, leaving him wavering in the middle of the office in front of a very worried secretary. She was saying something, her mouth was moving, but the words didn’t compute. However when she gestured to a dimly lit backroom, he got the message and stumbled in, nearly collapsing on the small cot in relief. The door was closed nearly all the way, leaving just a crack of light shining through. 

As much as a nice break the darkness was, it just made his eyes want to close farther, and took twice as much effort to keep them open. Pulling at the skin in the corners of his eyes, he reluctantly sat up and focused his stares on the miscellaneous anatomy posters on the wall. 

That was when his gaze fell to the hunched form in the corner, staring at him with dark glistening eyes, and he nearly fell off the cot.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He yelped. The figure flinched back, curling more into the chair they were perched on. 

“Sorry. She told you I was here when she brought you in. Didn’t you hear her?”

“In all honesty, no. I didn’t.” The two kept at their staring contest for longer than necessary, before Remus decided to break the silence, “So, what are you in for?”

For a good minute, he didn’t think he would get a response. The guy kept staring back at him, like he was trying to size him up, before he muttered, “Anxiety attack in class. Teacher forbade me from staying here.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yeah, well…” He finally broke the eye contact, staring down the nails he was picking at. “What about you?”

“Haven’t slept in three days, I think. Maybe four? I was all zone-y during a test so the teacher said I had to go home.”

“Damn teachers and their sudden respect for mental health.”

Remus snorted, resting his head against the wall. “Why’d you have a panic attack?”

“None of your business. Why haven’t you been sleeping?”

“Soulmate stuff,” Remus answered easily, not put off by the other’s suddenly annoyed tone. It wasn’t common to be unable to sleep due to a soulmate issue, whether it was trauma or another issue entirely, but it wasn’t unheard of either. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it sucks. Still don’t wanna tell me why yo-?”

“No.”

“I accept your rejection and will now take my leave to cry in the bathroom stall.”

The other boy actually snickered, a reaction Remus had been wishing for but hadn’t dreamed to expect. He waved a hand dismissively. “I hope you have a good cry.”

“Aw, thanks,” Remus cooed, leaning forward on his hands. “I haven’t seen you around. What’s your name?”

“Virgil. Only moved here recently.”

“How recent is recent?”

“Couple months.”

“Ah. I’m Remus. School disgrace, nice to meet you.”

“Oh boy, befriending the wrong crowd already.”

“I would be offended if you weren’t correct,” Remus grinned, hitting his baggy eyes a couple times with his fists.

“Virgil?” The nurse poked her head through the door, squinting in the low light, “Your dad’s here.”

Virgil stiffened immediately, casting Remus a look he didn’t quite understand before getting to his feet, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. She smiled at him and opened the door wider, gesturing for him to exit.

That’s when Remus saw him.

Him.

It took him a moment to understand that yes, his eyes were open, and yes, this was the man from his shared vision with his soulmate. 100% him, the same dark eyes and half grimace, except now wearing a pristine three piece suit that very much didn’t match his memories of him. He was signing a sheet, presumably to ensure that he’d picked Virgil up, and didn’t notice as his son stood frozen in the doorway, watching him with fear filled eyes.

Remus jumped to his feet, stepping next to Virgil.

“That’s your dad?”

Virgil let out a choked hum, one that was probably meant to be an affirmation, before gripping the strap of his backpack. “Why?”

“I’m your soulmate,” He said with absolutely zero tact, and the way Virgil’s face paled was enough indication that he’d understood. He gently laid a hand on the shorter’s shoulder, a silent indication to ‘stay here’, and marched towards the man at the desk. 

“Can I just say one thing?”

He looked up, surprised, and gave Remus a once over. His stomach twisted, being under the man’s gaze, the person who had made it impossible for him to sleep, now in front of him. Eye to eye, he appreciated, because in all the times he’d seen him second hand, he’d towered over him. Now they were the same height, and that brought a sick joy to him.

“I suppose?” The man asked, voice as calm and professional as his suit, looking to the secretary with an almost laugh.

“With all due respect,” Remus snarled, hand curling into a fist, “Fuck you.”

And then he hit him. Hard. All his pent up anger, years of watching his soulmate get beaten to a pulp, losing sleep until he was a zombie of himself, panic attacks of pure worry and fear, flew out in one punch, hitting him square in the nose and sending him stumbling back.

The secretary yelled something he didn’t hear over the blood pounding in his ears, and suddenly two arms were wrapped around his waist.

“Let me the fuck at him!” Remus screamed, fighting against the grip with everything he had. The man was on the ground, staring up at him with equal parts horror and pure rage, dabbing at his bleeding nose.

“Remus, breathe. Just calm down, you’re okay. Just breathe,” A shockingly calm voice whispered in his ear, and he immediately sagged against his brother, the restraining arms becoming supporting. 

“That’s him,” He said weakly, pulling away so he could turn to Roman, “That’s him.”

Roman furrowed his brow for a moment, looking between his twin and the man on the floor, before his eyes widened. He knew all of Remus’ stories, being the one a young Remus would come to when the visions got so bad he’d break down, listening to his rants about the abusive guardian of his soulmate. 

“Call the police,” He deadpanned, turning his glare to the secretary.

“I don’t think Remus-”

“Not for Remus, for him!” 

A gasping breath caught everyone’s attention and the focus shifted to the boy still standing on the doorway, his expression one of absolute terror, staring at his father. Remus broke completely away from his brother to cross to him just as the office door slammed open, two security guards-- the secretary had probably called them at the first punch-- taking in the scene before them. He could vaguely hear Roman explaining the situation, glad that he didn’t have to justify anything because he would most likely just end up throwing hands again. 

Virgil watched him approach, almost cowering in on himself, as Remus extended a hand. 

“Let’s get out of here. You’re not going back with him.”

It took the shorter boy a second, a nervous glance between his earnest eyes and the outstretched hand, before he took it in his own. Remus let a relieved smile take over, interlocking their fingers and leading him past the scene. As he passed a still talking Roman, he swiped the car keys from his pocket with no one any wiser.

“He’ll notice eventually,” He stage-whispered as they exited the large double doors, making their way through the parking lot. “I can’t drive, but we might as well sit in the car until Roman’s done.”

Virgil was quiet, allowing himself to be led through the rows of parked cars before Remus stopped, unlocking the doors and sliding into the backseat, pulling his soulmate in after him. There was a blanket tucked under the front seat and he yanked it out, unfolding it as well he could in the cramped space. 

The shorter boy was shaking violently, trying to hide his hands and now bleeding fingernails in his hoodie sleeves. Remus, for maybe the first time in his life, opened his arms for a hug, and was genuinely shocked by how fast Virgil lunged into his grip. He didn’t have many soft spots, but he could make one for his soulmate. 

“You’re not going back to him. Over my dead body. We’ll figure everything out later, but for now-” He shuffled backwards, leaning his head on the window so Virgil was basically laying on top of him, “I don’t know about you, but I have about a million hours of sleep to catch up on, so I’m going to catch a cat nap before Roman’s done.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“And it’s not even noon,” Remus snickered, maneuvering the blanket so it covered them both. 

He closed his eyes, and for a split second, all he saw was himself, from a lower angle. It was disorienting to say the least, but before he could comment, the world was engulfed in black as Virgil closed his eyes as well.

And for the first time in… who knows how long, Remus wasn’t afraid to sleep. 

[themysteriousphoenix]

Dawn Breaks

I have temporarily jumped ships because I fell in love with Colin and Penelope! I wrote a little something that is *gasp!* not Newtina. Should I write more of these two? 

(Rated T for some kisses and skin)

___________________________________________________________

The first rays of morning light began to light the room and, unused to the dawn breaking through the curtains that she must have forgotten to close last night, Penelope blinked awake. She knew it must have been very early, and her thoughts were still clouded with the haze of sleep. Her body was tired, almost aching. She took a deep breath, intending to roll over and try to doze for a few more hours until her ladies’ maid came to wake her. Sleep sounded heavenly, indeed.

Her legs stretched out beneath the soft sheets, and it was then that she realized something felt different. The texture of the sheets, the softness of the featherdown mattress, the angle of the early morning sun cascading in through the window… She opened her eyes and her sleepy thoughts aligned almost immediately, jolting her awake. She was Penelope Bridgerton now. She had been married yesterday.

Colin laid at her side.

This was her life, but part of her still wondered if this was all a wonderful dream.

After years of loving him, after years of pining and waiting, dances of pity and obligation, standing to the side while every young woman of her age was married off... here she was. Colin Bridgerton had chosen her for his wife.

The part of her that still lingered inside, that child of sixteen who loved unconditionally without understanding what love was, wanted to pinch herself to make sure this was real. Penelope grinned to herself. This was very real. The past month had been real. Last night had certainly been real.

His hair was wild from sleep, it settled across his forehead boyishly and unstyled. His lashes were long and fanned across his still tanned cheeks as he slept. His lips were slightly parted and he breathed deeply, evenly as he slept. As Penelope’s eyes traveled down his form she realized that, while she had decided to don one of her delicate, ivory nightgowns from her trousseau chest before climbing into bed in the early hours of the morning, Colin had fallen asleep as he was following their wedding night activities. The white sheet had fallen to his waist, and she was privy to a very lovely view of his shoulders and back.

Her emotions began to overwhelm her as she took in the sight before her. She had never awoken next to someone before, and the fact that the person she was waking up next to was Colin was mind-boggling. Throughout their short engagement, she had been looking forward to the wedding night, for being in their own home, and loving each other openly without any barriers or worry.

If their first time together had been about their declaration of love for each other, last night had been about pure pleasure. They had not held back. Penelope, inexperienced as she was, had been curious and determined to give back to her husband every pleasure he had given to her. It had been a wonderful and memorable night. Both newlyweds had fallen into bed spent and giddy with happiness.

She could feel the tightness of her muscles, their pleasant ache after the exertions of the previous night. Stretching again, Penelope rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. She smiled widely, still not fully believing that her life was reality. How, after so many years, did she end up here? The love she had for the man sleeping at her side overwhelmed her and she felt tears pick at the corners of her eyes. He may not be the perfect man she had dreamed of throughout the past eleven years, the Lord knew that she had seen many sides of him that she hadn’t known existed in the past several weeks, but it made him even more desirable to her. His perfection had always been overwhelming to her, but suddenly he was entirely human. He was troubled and conflicted, a bit spoiled, and had a fierce temper that ran under the surface, hidden away. He was a wonderful puzzle and, while their short engagement held many trials that had upended their emotions and caused tension, the moments in between had drawn her in.

She thought she fell in love with Colin when she was days away from turning sixteen. She learned what love truly was in the past month since Colin had reentered her life as a close friend. It was as if they had been given a new start, and in her heart, she knew that things had happened just as they were supposed to. They both drifted alone for so long, longing for the fulfillment that could be found in each other, a home together, the family they would become. They were truly lucky.

Penelope felt a tear roll down her cheekbone and into the soft hairs just above her ear. A soft whisper of fabric caught her attention and she looked over at Colin. His eyes were open and he was watching her beneath sleep-heavy lids.

“Hello,” he whispered softly, the corners of his mouth quirking into a lazy smile. His eyes blinked slowly as he watched her and he took a deep breath in and released it slowly. Penelope turned her head toward her new husband.

“Good morning,” she whispered back, rolling to her side and tucking a hand under her pillow. The movement caused the white, cotton sheet to fall away from her shoulder, exposing the delicate tie that held the garment on her body. Colin reached over slowly to tug the fabric back into place, but he did not remove his hand. His thumb caressed the small sliver of skin that was left exposed, sending shivers through her body. It was that sense of intimacy and familiarity that she was beginning to grow accustomed to. Whispered words, small touches, and fleeting glances, each reaffirming her decision to call this man hers and hers alone.

His green eyes were admiring her now, sleep had fallen away from his face and she only found contentment in his gaze. “It’s early, my dearest,” he said to her in a soft voice, “why are you awake at this hour?” He continued his ministrations and gooseflesh spread over her arm as her body responded to the slight tickling sensation.

“We forgot to close the curtains last night,” Penelope replied with a grin. Colin chuckled and his wide smile matched hers once he caught her double meaning.

“I wasn’t thinking of the curtains last night, I can assure you. I was rather…”

“-Distracted?” she offered cheekily, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks.

“Mmm...yes. That sounds accurate,” he quipped as he pushed himself up onto his elbows and slid over so that they were face to face, only inches apart. His hand that had been on her shoulder now found the curve of her cheek. His thumb ran over the fading tear track above her cheekbone and he leaned down for a kiss. Softly, tenderly his lips touched her own. It was far from the searing kisses they had shared the night before. This was an expression of happiness and contentment. She could feel the heat of his skin as his chest brushed her own, the thin layers of cotton and satin the only barriers between them. He pulled away slowly, gazing down at her with a smile. “I suppose I don’t mind waking early, at least this time.” Colin settled himself down to the mattress once more, his head falling ungracefully to lay on Penelope’s pillow, his forehead nearly touching her own.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she replied. She lifted her arm to loosely wrap around his waist, holding his body lightly against her own.

“No harm done,” Colin leaned forward, the tip of his nose just barely touching hers, “this way I get a few more hours with my beautiful new wife before I have to share her with the world.”

Penelope felt her smile widen. Her heart fluttered as she tightened her hold on him slightly. The shift in her face caused a forgotten tear to fall down her cheek.

“Are you crying?” Colin asked, his playful mood shifting to concern as he leaned away slightly to observe her. He thumbed away the errant tear before running his fingers through the soft hairs at her temple. Shaking her head softly, Penelope leaned forward slightly so that they were face to face once more.

“No, not really,” she whispered. “I’m just a little overwhelmed this morning.” Her fingers trailed up Colin’s spine, her cold fingertips a contrast to his heated skin. She watched him close his eyes in response, not fully believing she could have this effect on him. “I woke up and I was...well,” she inhaled, the scent of vanilla and soap with a hint of musk surrounded her. She closed her eyes, collecting her words into a coherent idea before opening them to meet her husband’s concerned gaze. “I couldn’t believe that after so many years of wanting you, that you are here. I woke up next to you, you married me. I—I still feel like I’m dreaming and that I could wake up at any moment.”

Colin shook his head as he pulled away to look at Penelope’s face. “I was an idiot for not seeing you for who you were all those years…”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she interrupted. “What I’m trying to say is that...I have yearned for this moment for half of my life, but... I am thankful that we came together when we did. Life never felt complete for either of us,” she reached up to slide her fingers into his thick, chestnut hair, “but we needed those years to find ourselves before we could find each other. As lonely as we have been, I’m glad to have you now.”

“It doesn’t mean that I don’t constantly wish I had realized that you were who I was meant to be with a decade ago.”

“Well,” she began, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to lean over her, “how about instead of worrying about the past decade we concentrate on the decade ahead?” Colin, hummed in agreement, his eyes closing as her fingernails raked over his scalp softly. He leaned down to kiss her. This kiss was more pressure and feeling; his lips slid over hers in what was beginning to become a practiced dance. He captured her bottom lip between his own and his fingers began to work the knot on the shoulder of her dressing gown. As the thin strips of fabric gave way, her lips parted in a silent gasp.

“Can the next decade start right now?” Colin mumbled into her jawline as his lips trailed across her cheek and to the creamy column of her neck. Penelope’s eyes closed as she lost herself in the sensations.

“Oh, yes. Please,” she replied breathily. Colin chuckled into her skin in response as he began working the satin bow on her opposite shoulder.

“Excellent,” he replied as the second knot gave way. Some things, he thought, were worth waking up early.

The early morning sun continued to stream in the window of their bedroom as the light grew in the east over Bedford Square. The curtains were entirely forgotten once again by the room’s occupants.

[vantaenims]

bittersweet | yoongi

pairing: idol!yoongi x reader

genre: established relationship au | fluff, bit of angst

word count: 7.6k

warning/s: alcohol consumption.

summary: Being miles away from you, Yoongi’s starting to feel like he’s missing out in your life and he can’t help but be guilty about it hence the reason why he made it his mission to be with you as much as possible now that he’s back home.

Part of BTSGhostieBingo (idol!au prompt)

masterlist

all rights reserved © vantaenims - do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

—

Yoongi has his hand around the steering wheel, drumming his fingers against it whilst his other arm is placed beside the window, knuckles pressed against his temple as he impatiently stared at your door for about five minutes now. Unlocking his phone, he was about to text you again until a blue bubble popped up saying ‘wait’ as a reply to his first text when he told you he’s outside already, making him wonder what’s taking you so long.

During your call last night, you mentioned to Yoongi that you’re running low on food and that you’ll be going to the grocery store tomorrow, causing him to immediately tell you that he’ll join and accompany you even though he still has a song that he needs to work on which he didn’t told you since you’re probably going to decline his offer to help if you happen to know it.

It’s a song he’s been working on ever since the tour started which is exactly three and a half months ago but he only got to finalize it last night just so he could spend the weekend with you hence the reason why he’s running low on sleep for today but it’s not like that mattered to him right now.

Given the circumstances of his idol life, the majority of the time spent in your relationship is being far away from each other that’s why he tries to make up for the lost time by being with you almost every day ever since he got back last week.

Truth be told, Yoongi never really believed Long Distance Relationships could work and as a matter of fact, he thought that this relationship would just be some sort of a fling to him, bearing in mind that it’s hard for him to enter in a fully committed relationship given his hectic life but luckily, his opinion about it changed when you two somehow managed to make it work - for about two years already and more years to come.

His thoughts were then cut off as soon as he heard a knock coming off from the window of the passenger seat, unlocking the doors once he saw that it was only you whom he'd been waiting all this time.

“Finally, what were you doing for the past ten minutes?” 

“Hello” you greeted in such a cheery voice as you always do whilst you leaned towards Yoongi to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Did you just got out of the shower?” Yoongi chuckled as soon as he saw how the upper half of your hair is dry while the other half is still damp.

“Sorry, i just woke up when i read your text that you’re on your way” you said as you buckled yourself in your seat.

“I got out of my house at 2 p.m.” Yoongi said, looking at the time that’s displayed on his touch screen stereo, “What time did you sleep?”

“I think it was about 1:30 or 2 in the morning” 

“You’ve slept for twelve hours!?” Yoongi bewilderingly looked at you, slightly jealous at how you’ve managed to get a full sleep while he’s only running on four hours of sleep even though he willfully did that on purpose.

Of course, he wouldn’t tell you the lengths he had to go just so he could free his time for today  because knowing you, you’d probably scold him and tell him to just rest which he thinks is surprisingly the last thing he wants to do, not when time’s limited for him as he needs to leave in a few days to continue the tour.

“It’s just one of those lazy days” you said whilst yawning as you stretched your arms to fully awaken yourself.

“You haven’t eaten anything yet then?” 

“Not yet but I’m fine, I don’t really feel that hungry” you smiled, grabbing Yoongi’s free hand to intertwined them with yours when he gave you a discontented look that didn’t last for long as he return back the smile, raising your intertwined hands to kiss the back of your hand before he freed his hand to switch the gear.

Yoongi proceeded to drive towards the direction of the grocery store where the grocery is but he thought that a little detour won’t hurt, not when that detour is towards the Mcdonald’s Drive Thru.

“I’ll have the six pieces McNuggets meal and can you make the drink and fries into large, thanks.”

As soon as Yoongi got the paper bag, he then placed it on your lap as he continued to drive to exit the drive thru and onto your real destination, not even sparing you a look, making you laugh at how he’s still trying to appear so nonchalant after all these years when he does caring things like this but it’s fun to tease him when he’s acting to be one.

“Aww Yoongs, Thank you” you pinched his cheek which only caused him to scoff as he tried to remove your hand away from his face even though you could clearly see he’s trying to hide his smile as he rolled his eyes.

--

It has been a year since your relationship with Yoongi was announced to the public but you still have to be very cautious whenever you two go out in public as to not raise any unwanted attention and you were both given a set of rules that you need to abide with but there’s this one rule you always seem hard to follow - lessen any displays of affection in public as much as possible.

You put on your mask and put the hood of your jacket up once Yoongi turned off the engine as he followed you in disguising himself, wearing his black bucket hat and mask. As you got out of the car, your hand instinctively went to reach towards Yoongi’s until you realized the situation you both are in, causing you to keep your hands inside the pockets of your jacket as you walked distantly beside him. 

It was weird for you to act so secretive when you two started to date and it was way too hard when you both have to keep your meetings a secret when your relationship got official like that time when you were told that you can only eat out in public at this designated place which is an exclusive restaurant that’s owned by one of Yoongi’s trusted friends for the sake of protecting both of your privacy.

Eventually, talks about your relationship with Yoongi gradually died down after it was publicly announced as time passed by though it can’t be helped that it’ll be sometimes brought up in one of their interviews even though it’s totally unnecessary in the first place but you guessed that you just have to live and deal with it.

“What do you want for dinner?” Yoongi asked as he got one of the carts from the aisle, volunteering to push it around while you scan for food.

“Are you going to cook dinner?” you looked back at him with wide eyes, a surge of excitement crashing at the news.

Yoongi knows how big of a fan you are of his cooking and he’s certain about it because you basically bombard him with messages whenever you get a sudden craving for it or how you’ll express your disappointment whenever you buy something he would cook only for it to be compared, saying how it’ll never taste as good as his which he’s taken pride of.

“Does steak and mashed potatoes sound good?” Yoongi asked as he put the frozen sirloin into the empty cart only to see that it wasn't empty anymore as he spotted the bottle of red wine.

“I knew you’d say my favorite, that’s why i got the wine”

“You never liked the taste of wine”, Yoongi stated, remembering that time he brought a wine with him when he visited your house only for it to be only consumed by him as you can never stand anything that tastes bitter which is one of the things he first learned about you.

But there was that one instance when you got him amused when you decided that you’ll be drinking with him although it’s totally way out from what he expected. The memory is still as clear as day when he remembered you walking out of his kitchen with a wine glass on hand  that you placed on the centerpiece table of his living room.

“Are you going to have a wine?” Yoongi asked with his brows raised, settling his glass filled with wine on top of the table.

“I thought it’s not fair for you to drink alone so might as well join you” you adjusted yourself as you sat down on the carpeted floor beside Yoongi.

“You really don’t have to drink -” Yoongi didn’t get to finish his sentence when you whipped out a grape juice box behind your back, watching as you poked the covered hole with it’s straw to squeeze out the contents into the glass.

“Cheers?” you said as you swirled the liquid in the glass, making it look as if it’s the same wine he’s drinking and Yoongi can’t help but laugh at your quirky attempt. 

“A grape juice?”

“Hey, wine is also a grape juice except it’s fermented and i can never like anything that tastes bitter so what do you expect?” you reasoned out but nonetheless find the whole thing funny too.

Yoongi can only watch in delight as you get more defensive about the topic of grape juice vs wine, convincing him that both of the beverages are sourced from the same fruit, the only difference is that the other one tastes bitter whilst the other one tastes sweet.

“It’s okay baby, it’s the thought that counts” 

You stopped yourself from talking as soon as you heard the term of endearment come out of Yoongi’s mouth. It was always you who would call him ‘baby’ until now and you can’t help but blush as you try to conceal your growing smile when you remember what Jungkook told you.

“You are indeed cute when you’re drunk” you looped your arm around his as you rested your chin on his shoulder to kiss his cheek, making his smile bigger.

Yoongi clinked his glass with yours before he downed the remaining wine in one go as he try to quickly cover up the embarrassment he felt although there’s no use in hiding it anymore once he felt how warm his face feels like, not knowing if it’s the effect of the alcohol or if it’s your effect - obviously, it’s you.

--

“Can we grab a coffee first before we leave?” Yoongi asked once he felt his energy slowly depleting, the cup of coffee he had in the morning clearly out of his system now that he’s feeling a bit grumpy which is more of a reason that he needs to refuel with caffeine.

“Sure” you said as you closed the trunk of the car after you helped him load the groceries, following Yoongi to the cafe that’s right beside the grocery store.

Thankfully, there aren’t many people dining inside the cafe that’s why you’ve gotten to the counter right away as Yoongi did the work of telling your orders to the attendant whilst you scanned the cakes that are displayed as you munch on a pack of Skittles you got back in the store.

“Do you want anything else?” Yoongi asked just before he could finalize the orders.

“I’m fine, there’s no red velvet cake” you said as you managed to stand beside Yoongi, a piece of Skittles in between your fingers ready to go straight to Yoongi’s mouth until you stopped when you felt the cashier attendant’s gaze on you as if she’s trying to recall why you looked so familiar.

You’ve clearly forgotten that you’re still out in public and that your face is perfectly visible as you’ve lowered your mask to eat but it’s too late to hide your identity as you saw how her eyes widened once she recognized who you are. She definitely got starstruck once she glanced beside you where Yoongi’s standing though she remained professional and offered a smile towards the both of you which you both gladly returned with a bow of your head.

“Your orders will be ready in a while”, she said as she handed the receipt to Yoongi who let out a little chuckle as you both made your way towards the claiming area, still finding it hilarious how you quickly retrieved your hand to eat the candy instead when the attendant recognized you.

“I think i should eat this later” you muttered as you placed the mask back again on your face, sealing the pack of candy for later. 

Looking over your side, you bumped your hips against Yoongi’s when you saw his shoulders still visibly shake from laughter and how his eyes turned into little crescents from smiling. 

Yoongi went over the counter as soon as your orders were called, getting his Iced Americano while he handed to you your Caramel Macchiato, muttering a thank you to the staff as you made your way out of the shop and back to the parking lot.

“Ah finally, i could eat in peace” you said as you got inside the car, discarding your mask and taking your hood down. You reopened the pack of Skittles, pouring them over your palm as you straight out put it on your mouth and also pouring more for Yoongi but he offered his palm instead when you reached your hand out to feed it to him.

“Say ah” you said as you picked one piece of candy instead, zooming in your finger like an airplane into his mouth.

“What am i? A child?” Yoongi playfully grimaced but obeyed nonetheless as you popped them into his mouth.

“Yes you are” you chuckled, resting back in your seat as you raised your leg to tuck it under the other leg, “Why don’t we play a game and you try to guess the flavor of the skittle i’ll feed you?”

You strictly instructed Yoongi that he could not cheat and inspect the color of the candy, telling him he could only look straight ahead at the road, causing him to laugh, saying how he’s going to look straight either way as he needs to keep his attention on driving you both home safely.

“Raspberry”, Yoongi said in full certainty.

“How can you tell Raspberry apart from Wild Cherry?” you squint your eyes at him, skeptical if he cheated or he’s just really good at guessing it because you’re positive that those two flavors taste exactly the same - for you, atleast.

“Maybe my sense of taste is better than yours”

“Yeah you’ve got all the flavors right” you’re impressed to say the least as you try to feed Yoongi another piece of Wild Cherry to test him again until he gently grabbed your hand to stop you as he felt his throat itch from eating too much sweets.

“Doesn’t your throat itch from eating too much sweets?” Yoongi looked over at you, watching as you devoured the candy you were going to feed him instead and as if that isn’t sweet enough, you grabbed your caramel based beverage to sip on it which just made Yoongi cringe in distaste.

“I just really like anything that’s sweet”

“You’re going to get Diabetes at an early age” Yoongi warned as he always has but he knows that his warning will just be disregarded as you continue to satisfy your sweet cravings as you always do.

“That’s why i’m eating as much sweets as i can before i’ll not be able to”

“What kind of logic is that?” 

“You like anything that’s bitter as much as I like sweets so shut up” you shrugged as you pointed out but you totally get that he’s just looking out for you and you appreciate that.

“I atleast won’t get any chronic disease from it”, Yoongi retorted, chuckling at how silly this banter is to begin with and that reminded how adverse you two are and he’s not just talking about your taste preferences but personality wise too.

You and Yoongi are too different from each other - you’re more of an outgoing and friendly person while he is more reserved and quiet one. All his life, Yoongi thought he’d prefer someone who’s similar to him yet here he is, eating up his own thoughts as he eventually got you and he’s not saying that as a bad thing because he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your relationship is a living testimony that opposites do attract and it’s not as bad as what everyone makes it out to be though there were still a lot of differences and barriers you both have to overcome in the beginning of the relationship which he thinks is inevitable for every relationship to work.

The reason why you two get along so well is because you complement and balance each other, like how you both are able to strengthen each other’s weaker aspects. You’re always able to get him out of his comfort zone and he could always let you be vulnerable to him, let you out of that happy facade you’re always trying to keep up.

In conclusion, you bring out the best in him and he could hope you felt that way about him too, making you two a perfect pair, not even minding a bit how cheesy that thought is to him because it’s only a matter of fact.

--

“Why are you still here?” Yoongi sets aside the sirloin he’s been seasoning, getting distracted how you’re standing so close to him as you peer over his shoulders at what he’s doing much like a curious kid.

“What should i do next?” you asked him for the second time even though Yoongi told you that he’ll just call you whenever dinner’s ready but you’re so persistent in helping him out, causing him to gave in as he told you that you can set up the table which he think is done now that you’re pestering him again.

“Lounge in the sofa, i guess” 

“But i want to help you, Yoongs” you whined, making him chuckle, “Should i peel these potatoes?”

“I’ll do it” Yoongi grabbed the potato from you as well as the bowl that’s filled with it, keeping it close to his side so that you won’t be able to touch it and help him like what you’re suggesting, keeping in mind that he’s doing all of this to make up for the times he’s away.

Guilt would always creep up on him whenever he’s far away from you because you don’t deserve to be neglected like this, dating someone who’s mostly physically absent that’s why he’s doing the most of his ability as much as he can whenever comes back home so that he could actually fulfill the duties and responsibilities of being your boyfriend.

“Let me atleast wash the dishes later then?” you frowned with a pout, causing Yoongi to shake his head at you as he sheepishly smiled.

“Fine if that’ll get you to stop” Yoongi kissed your forehead before he diverted back his attention towards the potatoes but before he could even do so, you grabbed both sides of his face as you inched towards him until he felt your warm lips on his.

Yoongi closed his eyes as he kissed you back, hands almost going towards your waist to reel you in once you kissed him fervently until he remembered how his hands are still dirty and covered with sauce and seasonings for the steak but that didn’t stop him from wanting to deepen the kiss as he slowly tilted his head to the side only for you to break the kiss.

“Right, you don’t need my help” you teased as you peck him once more and also patted his bum right before you left to disappear towards the living room.

Yoongi scoffed that you got him stunned for a moment but nonetheless busied himself as he went back in preparing the dinner that didn’t take too much time to finally get it ready now that you’re not there to bother him anymore.

Withdrawing a plate from your cabinet, Yoongi then began to place the mashed potato first whilst he set the steak beside it, dripping some sauce around it as he tried to recreate those  plating presentations that’s normally seen in high end restaurants.

Yoongi grinned as soon as he entered the dining area, catching the sight of how you set the table into some sort of a candlelit dinner that’s accompanied with pieces of nearly wilted rose petals which he suspected came from the bouquet he bought for you last week but it now surrounds the four sides of the table.

“Y/N! Dinner’s ready” Yoongi called out as he placed the plates on the table. It didn’t take less than five seconds before you emerged in the dining room with a delighted look adorning your face.

“Oh wow it smells really good” you enclosed Yoongi in a back hug as you tipped your toes to kiss him on the cheek, “Thank you, baby.”

Yoongi hummed as he pulled your chair back, guiding you to sit before he made his way to his place as the gentleman he is. Picking up the bottle of wine, uncorking it as he poured it over his glass and onto yours right after but he let the mouth of the bottle hover on the rim of your glass before letting it pour as he looked at you.

“You sure you’d like some wine?” 

“It’s fine”

“If you say so” Yoongi smirked, filling your glass up even though he knows full well that you’re only going to take a sip or two before giving it all up. Clinking both of your glasses, Yoongi watches you whilst he takes a sip of his wine only for him to chuckle after he has seen you scrunching your nose from the bitter taste. 

“It tastes better with this” Yoongi said as he cut up a portion of his steak to feed you with it. The dissatisfied look on your face now gone as the bitterness mixed with the savory taste only made the flavor stronger.

“Your brother told me he taught you how to cook one”

“Yeah, how’d you know that?” Yoongi tried to rack his brain, recalling if he had ever informed you that his brother is the one who taught him to master the art of cooking but he can’t remember telling you that, knowing how he likes to take credit in his cooking skills.

“Your mom invited me over to their house on my birthday and your brother took in charge of cooking the food. I’ve sent you pictures, remember?”

You took out your phone to went over your photo gallery, scrolling over the pictures until it landed over the series of photos you took on the day of your birthday, showing Yoongi a picture of you and Holly nicely cuddled up in the sofa, earning a warm smile from him and on the corner of the picture he spotted the bouquet of tulips he assumes is the one he arranged in advance right by the local flower shop near you, instructing them to deliver it on your doorstep with some note he had written himself.

Lastly, you showed him the selfie you’ve taken on the dining table that’s filled with a sumptuous meal along with his whole family gathering around - his mom, dad, older brother and Holly whom his brother carried in his arms to fit in the picture. 

“I’m glad you had fun” Yoongi gave you a faint smile as he felt his guilt creeping up on him once again.

It has been two months since he had dearly missed your birthday because of the tour and he felt bad for missing out on a special day like this but that’s how it’s always going to be and he hates how this is conceived to be normal in your relationship when it’s unfair, specially for you.

You must’ve noticed his mood faltering a bit as you’ve put your phone down the table, placing your hand on top of him to squeeze it, making him stop focusing on slicing over his steak as he directed his eyes at you to give you a warm smile that indicates not to worry about him.

“I think the tour must’ve been a whole lot of fun, no? How was it this time?” you said, sipping on your wine that had you still scrunching your nose though albeit less noticeable now as you get more accustomed to the taste.

“It’s still great but more than ever now that we get to see more of our fans” Yoongi beamed a smile, taking pride how their hard work and the support from their fans has taken them to where they are now like how they were able to do stadium tours around the world or how they’re able to play concerts in places they’ve never imagine which is something beyond their goal and expectations.

“I’m proud of all of you and will always be, how about we toast on that?” you raise your glass as you take a big gulp of the alcohol out of courage which is a totally bad idea as it had made you immediately regret it, coughing up the bitterness away, causing you to give up the drink all in all.

“Just grab your grape juice from the fridge” Yoongi suggested, chuckling when you stood up to go over the kitchen to do as told and guessed right that you’ll never be able to withstand the alcohol.

The dinner went on with Yoongi urging you to talk more about what you’ve been doing lately but you protested that it has been practically boring and uneventful like his which he interjected that it goes the same for him as well. Apart from performing, he spent most of his time holed up in his hotel room to produce and compose songs or sleep like you’ve never known this or how he’ll just go out to buy some music equipment he needs for his studio.

He’s pretty sure you’ve told him over the phone the story of how you’ve managed to step on a puddle that reached up to your shins on your way home from work, remembering how you’ve complained that it ruined your favorite pair of suede flats.

“Have i told you about this before?” you said, noticing how he continues to smile unfazed like he’s already familiar with this story.

“Yeah but go on” Yoongi assured you that he doesn’t mind at all if he’s heard it before. Nothing compares to all those facetimes and phone calls because this is what he truly missed - getting to talk to you in person with no distance and time difference in between you two.

Soon as you know it, the table looks almost empty now that all the food are completely gone except for Yoongi’s wine glass that’s still filled with the alcohol as he still continuously drink from it while you opted to go for dessert and eat the cookies ‘n cream ice cream flavored you’ve got in the grocery.

The conversation’s still pretty going at this point with you doing most of the talking as you relaxly laid back against the chair with your crossed legs and Yoongi would just stare at you as he rested his elbow against the table with his cheeks pressed against his palm, casually laughing or putting in a few words.

“Tired?” you asked once you noticed his half lidded eyes and how he’s blinking them ever so slowly.

“No, i’m just a bit buzzed i guess” Yoongi denied as he tried to fight off the exhaustion but you did not buy his excuse as you abandoned your pint of ice cream by placing it on the table to stand up and get the plates to put them towards the sink.

Yoongi tailed behind you as he got the pint of ice cream to put them back in the freezer and the wine glasses which you got off of his hand as soon as he was next to you.

“I got this, why don’t you go up and pick something to watch”

“I’m not tired” you laughed now that Yoongi’s cute side is starting to come out as he placed his head on your shoulders with his arms around yours whilst you opened the faucet to run down water over the kitchenwares.

“Just go and let me do this” you turned around to push him away from you with all your might though it’s useless as he stubbornly stood his ground but nonetheless let you guide him when you grabbed his hand and led him towards the end of the stairs.

Standing on the first step, Yoongi leaned down to leave a kiss on top of your head that had you giggling whilst he told you to hurry up before he ascended to leave you to do your task. You ran back to the kitchen as you cleaned up the place as quickly as possible but still making sure not to miss a spot.

You wiped your wet hands with a towel now that you’re done with the dishes which leaves you to your routine of checking every corner of the first floor - unplugging the appliances, getting your water container in the fridge, and securely double checking the locks.

As you went up and open the door to your room, you were immediately greeted with a dimly lit light setting thanks to the television and on the edge of your bed, you see Yoongi clad in a loose white shirt and gray shorts that has been kept in your closet for times he chooses to stay over in your place as he drys his hair with the towel on his hands, signifying that he had just gotten out fresh from the shower.

“What are we going to watch?” you asked as you stood in front of Yoongi to grab the towel from his hand so that you could do the work of drying his hair instead.

“What do you want? I haven’t seen anything that’s interesting yet” Yoongi grabbed your waist to set you aside so he could have a good view of the television as he clicked on the remote to scan the films but still remained his hand on your waist even though you’re not obstructing the view anymore.

“Well, you decide. I’ll join you in a second” you detach yourself from Yoongi’s hold as you go over to your closet to grab some comfortable clothes to change into. You let the damp towel dry as you hang it on your chair before you could enter your bathroom to take a quick shower.

With his hair damp and unruly, Yoongi got up to go over your vanity table where your hair comb is as he drag it along his hair until he noticed the corkboard hanging on your wall just beside the table which he has never seen before, guessing you might’ve put it up while he was away.

It was filled with polaroid pictures of the both of you but mostly of Yoongi and he looked unaware in mostly all of it as you like to candidly take pictures of him but there are also random things attached to it like movie tickets, flower petals, and other things you deemed sentimental but what catches his attention the most is the tissue with some scribbled words on it.

It was a tissue from Baskin Robbins and it has a badly drawn stick figure on it with a text bubble on the side - ‘It’ll be okay’ is what’s written on it. The smudged black ink giving away that it has been sometime ago - two years ago to be precise.

If he remembers it right, he had drawn this when he picked you up from work that time and you remained silent for the whole ride, reasoning that it’s just one of those bad days at work. 

It was also a time when you still find it hard to be vulnerable around him given how the both of you just started dating and that just gave him an idea to go to an ice cream store first on the way to your house, knowing how sweets could always lift your spirits up.

You both got settled inside the car once you got your ice cream and finally be on your way to your house which is something you’ve been dying to do ever since you got from work. Yoongi’s clearly concerned for you but you’re glad he’s not pushing you to say anything but at the same time you felt bad for being silent for the whole time, not wanting to pass the burden you’re feeling.

“Here, have some tissue with you” Yoongi handed it over to you as he got the car out of the parking area until he felt your hand on top of his.

“Thank you, Yoongi” you said with glassy eyes and he’s glad that it’s what took for you to confide in him and for you to start trusting him enough that you managed to show the weak side you’re trying to conceal from him at the start.

Yoongi removed his hand from the tissue at the sound of the bathroom door opening as you came out with a towel wrapped around your hands, dressed in one of those short sleeved top and bottom silk pajama sets he got for you back when he was in Japan.

“I didn’t know you kept this”, Yoongi said with a smile tugging on his face.

You discarded your clothes towards the hamper as you came closer to Yoongi to see that he’s pertaining about the board you’ve recently hung, making you flushed at how he’s not supposed to even see how you keep every piece of something that just reminds you of your time with Yoongi but it’s just the way you are with how those pieces serves as a token of your memory.

“Yeah, I know it’s weird” you said as you look over the board and spot the receipt from the restaurant you both have your first date, embarrassed even more as you sit on the chair to remove the towel from your head as you focus instead on keeping it dry.

“It’s not weird, baby”

Yoongi enjoys making you fluster as much as you like doing it to him too that’s why he’s taken this as an opportunity to tease you more. He took the towel from your hand as he gently blotted and squeezed it against your hair much like what you did to him awhile ago, setting aside the hair you purposely let down to cover your face to the side and place it behind your ear.

“Ow be gentle, let me do it” you complained when Yoongi yanked your hair a bit as he combed through the tangles.

“Sorry, let me just take care of you” Yoongi swatted your hand away but his sweet words got you giggling and also a blushing mess.

As soon as your hair got fully combed, you stood up as Yoongi grabbed your wrist to drag you with him on the bed. He first got himself settled as he sat down with his back pressed against your headboard whilst he pulled you in to let you sit in between his legs, encircling his arms around you as you laid the back of your head on his chest.

“I really can’t find anything fun to watch, why don’t you choose?”

Getting the remote on the nightstand, you scan through the wide variety of movies as you read the plot and watch each trailer but nothing piqued your interest much as what Yoongi told you, sighing in discontentment as you turn off the television.

“Do you want to listen to some music instead?” you suggested, looking up to see Yoongi nod in agreement. You turned on the bluetooth speaker as you paired it with your phone, searching for some songs to play until you just thought of an idea that had you stifling your laughter.

“Ah why play this one?” 

Yoongi’s proud of his recently released mixtape but you had him cringing upon hearing Daechwita play which is the least thing he’s expecting for you to choose. His mixtape just doesn’t fit the mood right now, he’s thinking you’ll be playing those mellow songs you could easily sleep and cuddle into which is something he feels like doing tonight.

“Why? It’s your song” you chuckled even though you can’t clearly see Yoongi’s reaction right now but you just know he’s scrunching his face, “Fine, i’ll change it.”

You chose another mixtape to play and that is Honne’s No Song Without You. Pressing shuffle, the track By My Side instantly played that got you smiling as you remember how you thought of Yoongi when you first heard this song. Actually, all love songs remind you of Yoongi if that isn’t cheesy enough.

Humming along to the song, you grabbed Yoongi’s hand to face his palm towards you as you set your palm against his just to compare how small your hand is compared to him. You decided to trace along the lines with your fingers as you write down the letters of the word that perfectly describes what Yoongi is to you - Home.

“Are you going to do some palm reading and tell me about my future?”

“Hmm your future’s still pretty bleak but there’s one thing that’s clear”

“And what is it?”

“I’m in it” you said that had you giggling which also caused Yoongi to do the same.

“Of course you are”, Yoongi hugged you tighter, swaying the both of you side to side as he kissed your cheek.

You twisted your body to the side so that you’ll be able to put your arms around his neck, the side of your face still remaining on his chest whilst you closed your eyes as you get even more comfortable in this position until you’ve thought of a better idea to make it more comfortable or rather relaxing for Yoongi.

“Lay down on your stomach” you commanded, sitting up straight that made Yoongi’s hold loosen around you.

“Why?”

“Let me take care of you” you repeated the words he told you, sitting yourself on the other side of the bed as you watched Yoongi plopped the side of his head on the pillow where he also kept his arms under. You then straddled his waist after he got himself settled, pressing both of your palms on his shoulder blades, massaging it gently to untie the knots.

Ever since Yoongi got back from tour, he did as much to be with you and to literally take care of you which didn’t go unnoticed - he helped you in assembling your bookshelf that you never bothered to open or how he even changed one of the bulbs from your chandelier that you didn’t notice had burnt out already. 

“Your muscles are a bit tense” you said as you dug the heel of your palm to apply more pressure to his shoulder that had Yoongi humming in pleasure, “Have you even rested properly ever since you got back?”

“I’m okay” you sighed, grabbing his shoulders as you instructed him to turn around so that he could face you but you remained to be straddling him still.

“Yoongi, you’re almost with me everyday and i know that you’re still working on some songs”

The least thing he wants right now is to make you worry about him because he’s the one that should be worrying about you when you’re always the one that’s being left behind here and no, he’s not actually worried but scared that it might literally happen with the two of you growing apart that one day you’ll wake up and suddenly feel the whole long distance thing to be overwhelming and unbearable.

“I just feel guilty for leaving you here and i also want to make the most out of the days i have left with you” Yoongi finally confessed as he sat himself up to be closer to you, hands on your waist as he drew circles on your exposed skin where your shirt rose up before his other hand made way to the side of your face to reel you in for a kiss.

Yoongi bit your lower lip, causing you to slightly open your mouth which he took as a sign for him to slid in his tongue to clash it with yours, making sure to kiss you gently and passionately as he could as he pour his raw feelings into it, wanting to savour the moment slowly rather than taking it in a rush.

The kiss was nothing but pure longing for each other - longing for all the times you’ve missed and for the time he’ll leave again which will be in three days to continue the Asian leg tour. It isn’t also a bad thing because when he comes to think of it, it’s the last part of the tour but that still isn’t an excuse to make Yoongi feel guilty again as he’ll be gone in a span of three months.

It was clear that your kiss is getting more eager as you play with the hair on the nape of his neck, pulling him in close as much as possible when you wrapped your legs around his waist whilst your other hand has made its way under his shirt, resting it above his chest where you can feel his heart that’s beating erratically.

You’re making it hard for Yoongi to take this slow reason why he detached his lips from yours, chuckling when he heard you emit a disappointed grunt but not for long when his warm lips then invaded the base of your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he work his way up to your jaw, pecking the side near your ear as he whispered.

“I’ve missed you”

He was about to kiss your cheek until you pulled him in by his shoulders, snuggling your face into the crook of his neck that had him quite puzzled at the sudden action but nonetheless let you do so as the both of you stayed like that for a while - you sitting on his lap with your legs around his waist and your arms securely around his neck, head still hiding from him while he rubbed your back and gently caressed your hair.

The warmth of your bodies and gentle touches against each other are exchanged between the two of you, not minding how you’re just basking in the silence as you solely focus on enjoying each other’s presence with the music making everything seem so melodramatic and it was just one of those moments you’d call to be bittersweet.

The silence between you two was soon gone as he heard you sniffling, alarming him even more when he felt hot tears falling onto his neck. Yoongi tried to pry you away as he leaned back to get a proper look at you but that just made you tighten your arms around him, burying your face even more into his neck.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, chuckling a bit to mask the reason why you’ve suddenly gotten so  upset, “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure about that?” Yoongi asked as he laid back down the mattress, joining you with him.

“I'm sorry, it’s just that i still can’t get quite used to it” your voice was muffled but he perfectly heard you and catched on that you’re referring to him leaving so soon again. Finally, he was able to see your face as you adjusted yourself, wiping the tears as you pressed one of your hands on his chest where you rested the side of your face onto.

“You don’t have to be sorry about it” Yoongi comforted you as he gently ran his thumbs along your cheek, “I should be the one saying sorry to you.”

“Yoongs, you don’t have to be sorry about it too” you leaned in towards his touch as you rested your hand on top of his that’s cradling your face, earning Yoongi a smile. 

“I know our relationship is far from normal and it’s sometimes hard for the both of us but I just want to assure you that the distance wouldn’t keep us apart. I won’t leave you because you’re my home and my safe space, Yoongi.”

It’s a rare sight to see Yoongi get emotional but here he is tearing up at your words and how you instantly eliminate the doubts and guilt he has been carrying with himself. Yoongi chuckled as he covered his eyes with his arm, making you laugh too with tears welling up your eyes at the sight of Yoongi crying as the emotionally sensitive person you are.

Turning to the side, Yoongi set you to lay beside him as you both completely faced each other, fondly staring at you whilst he thread his fingers in your hair that had you closing your eyes. Your left hand in between you two caught his attention, fingers immediately landing on your palm as he wrote down the word you’ve written on his.

Yoongi looked up at you as soon as you enclosed your hand around his, watching how your eyes are still close but a small smile is now adorning your face. He scooted closer until  your foreheads touched, closing his eyes as well but before he could drift off to sleep, he dearly whispered the words to express the same sentiment.

“You’re my home and I'll always come back for you.”

--

A/N: The tissue with scribbled words was based on irl and it just gets me soft everytime, reason why i had to write it down hehe. Anyways, hope you like this one and if you like, you could give me feedback about it hehe.

[thefanficmonster]

Death’s Tales

The Curator (The Dark Pictures Anthology) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None (Maybe slight spoilers and slight mentions of death)

Genre: Dark Theme, slight Angst

Summary: This isn’t Y/N’s first visit to the Curator’s repository. She’s visited two times so far and deep down she knows she’ll keep coming back. Stories have a way of trapping you in the place where they live. But then again, it’s nice to have some good company for when you are introduced to those stories. Someone to laugh with during all the humorous parts. And also someone to offer you tissues when you are going through the thick of the lives written on the pages of the many books.

Requested by Anon! Hi there! Thank you so much for your request! Sorry it took so long to write, though I hope the fic makes up for the wait. I hope I captured what you had in mind. Please, enjoy. Love, Vy ❤❤❤

“Hello? You here?!“ Y/N calls out as she walks into familiar room. She immediately gets the feeling that she’s in the presence of a more intense power than she could explain - the power of all the timeless stories currently surrounding her. This is by no means her first tango with the deathless death turned into words written on thin, delicate pages for people to enjoy. She has always had an odd connection to each and every story she reads, so this place was the ultimate trap when she first wandered in, expectations low and head held high. She underestimated the repository, however, it didn’t take long for it to turn the tables on her with all it has to offer. In less than an hour, she had her nose buried in a book, her expectations exceeded by miles and her mind transported to a different place and time.

“Where else would I be?” The distinct voice she’s gotten so used to hearing replies from somewhere near by, “You know I rarely leave this place.”

 “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that’s a sad way to be spending your time. But man, if I could stay here all my life I would.“ She struts into the room where the reply came from.

He is indeed there, standing by one of the many shelves, a candleholder with lit handles in one hand, browsing the shelf’s contents with the other. He chuckles at her statement, brushing it off completely, “I was waiting for you. Have a seat, I’ll pick a story for you.”

She gets comfortable, unwrapping her scarf and shrugging off her jacket. Sitting down in one of the leather chairs opposite his desk, she crosses her legs and waits expectantly.

“Ah, there we go. ‘House Of Ashes’, how does that sound to you?” He pulls out a book, holding it under the candlelight for Y/N to see the cover with the title engraved in the, what seems to be, leather surface.

She frowns, scrunching her nose, “You know what, no. I’m tired of these sad and scary stories laced with death. I can’t live knowing I gave those characters a bad fate. I know it’s redo-able, but I can’t help but feel shitty afterwards.” She shifts in her seat, “First all those people left stranded on that boat! Then I was tricked into sympathizing and emotionally investing into characters that were nothing more than the product of a broken mind!” She gives him a glare that’s looking through him more than at him, “I think I deserve a different story this time. Something lighter.”

The older man chuckles. “I was gonna have you choose between this one and this other oldie I have,” he points at the desk where another book is already sitting, “it’s a longer story, I might have mentioned it before.” Y/N reads the title ‘The Impatient’ engraved in the olive green cover of the large book, “But that’s not in any way lighter either. I would even say it’s among the more depressive ones.“ He pauses for a second, returning ‘House Of Ashes’ in its spot, “Perhaps I could find a story of a less melancholic premise.”

“Wait.“ She lifts her hand, putting his actions to a halt, “Why don’t we change it up for once? How about you tell me a story instead of reading me one?“

He’s very clearly taken aback by this. “I’m afraid an old man like myself doesn’t have a lot to share. Especially not when I’ve spent a rather big chunk of my life in this very place, doing this very thing.”

Y/N shakes her head, “Quite the contrary, mister Curator. I believe you have way more stories than all the people my age combined.” She smirks, “Don’t worry, I won’t tattle if you have some dirt on your name. What is it? Robbery? Fraud? Murder?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I am not that interesting.“ He chuckles, settling in his chair. “But I believe I could tell you the story of the only time I helped someone directly rather than through the riddles you hate so much.“

She’s clearly pleased with the outcome of her protest. She gives him a smile, “I’m all ears.“

He can’t help but shake his head at her child-like enthusiasm for something so simple. He’s determined to make it worth her while, so he digs through the contents of his brain, looking for the most interesting memories he has stored there - the ones that would entertain her. Eventually, he comes up with one.

“Have I ever mentioned my dear friend Alan to you, by any chance?“

Y/N thinks for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, but as usual, you were very vague.”

He chuckles, “I know you hate not being given details, so I’m gonna make sure not to leave anything out.” He absentmindedly picks up the pen on his desk, twirling it between his fingers, “Well, a brief introduction to our character Alan: he’s a psychiatrist. A year or two younger than me. He’s from Calgary. I met him in my mid-thirties, when I was still what some would consider young.” He smiles at the pleasant memory.

Y/N fakes shock, placing a hand over her chest, “You mean to tell me there was time when you, the Curator, were young? You can’t be serious. I refuse to believe that.”

“I was. And I was quite handsome, mind you.“ He takes out his wallet, opening it and handing it to Y/N. On the right, covered by a thin layer of clear plastic is a black and white photo of two men in their early to mid forties.

“You’re the one on the left, right?” She asks, staring at the photo wide eyes, looking up at him for confirmation. He nods in response. “Wow, I honestly wouldn’t have recognized you.” 

“Understandably so. Time has really taken a toll on me.“ He actually looks saddened when he says that. She can tell that was less a joke and more the truth.

“I wouldn’t say so.“ She tells him sincerely, a small genuine smile on her lips.

He returns her smile, his eyes becoming a bit livelier. “Him and I are still friends till this day. He’s a walking book of stories, I’m sure you’d like him if you ever get the chance to meet him. You see, he has spoken to me about all his patients, never once naming one of them. Until this on young man had come into his office. He was struggling with issues medicine in and of itself couldn’t completely fix. His name was Joshua. The boy was having a really tough time dealing with the loss of his sisters.” He sighs at the memory, “Alan told me he tried everything. He tried all things his years of practice and work have taught him but the boy was slowly sinking further and further down into the void of his mind.“

His voice is way different from his usual narrator tone. You can hear the weight of the events he’s reciting in every syllable that leaves his lips. She is now an accomplice, exactly like if she were there when it all happened.

“It was troubling my friend to the brink of madness, I couldn’t just stand aside and watch that. Also that kind young man, Joshua, deserved a lot better than what life was giving him. Every branch that poor boy held onto snapped. Everything he ever tried to make of himself crumbled. I admired him for the fact that he kept trying and seeking a way to succeed. What he failed to see was the obvious need for help he had. He was longing for a helping hand but no one noticed, or they simply didn’t care. Except this one girl. Her name was Samantha. She saw right through his act. But he never allowed her helping hand to reach him. He never wanted to be a weight on her shoulders. Never wanted to be nor the bump in her road nor the baggage she carried while walking it. So, I stepped in. I taught him the importance of having someone by your side, and taught her the importance of never giving up on someone who means a lot to you. Luckily for themselves and for Alan and I, they listened.“

“Forget about Alan, I want to meet Joshua and Samantha. I want to meet them and give them a big hug.“ Y/N says, her mind wandering to the images she has compiled. A broken boy and a girl with the strength to carry both her and his world in her arms. She can quite see their face, but she can picture their auras, their energies. They feel so real to her, and all just from the Curator’s words alone.

Soon enough, her eyelids start giving out, her eyes fluttering closed. She’s fighting to the best of her ability to stay awake, see this story to its end, but the Curator’s storytelling and the dark, candlelit room aren’t helping her with the battle. Her mind is drifting further and further into the land where the story she’s being told will keep expanding with elements added by her imagination. She’s certain she’ll dream of this tale.

“Oh you’re already clocking out, huh?“ The Curator chuckles, pausing his story mid-sentence.

“Can’t help it.“ Y/N mumbles, already more than half asleep, “Just tell me how it ends, you’ll fill in the gaps when I wake up.“

“Well, it hasn’t ended yet. I can tell you where it’s at at the moment.“ She hums approvingly, “It’s been five years since I stepped in and now they are happily married. They have a little one on the way. A little girl, I believe.“

A lazy smile forms on her face. “That’s nice.” the words leave her lips in the form of a sleepy sigh moments before she has been dragged into the deepest crevasses of her mind and imagination.

The Curator calmly and quietly gets up, taking his jacket from the coatrack. He drapes it over the girl asleep in the armchair on the other side of his desk. Little does this college student know, he has seen both her past and future. He has met her in several different periods of her life. She’s been like her own personal guardian angel. In her past-lives too.

Guardian angel of death.

He was lucky to have met Alan before that curse was bestowed upon him - making the psychiatrist the only man he could interact with without bringing him a sooner than anticipated and inevitable demise. He wasn’t completely honest with Y/N about the time frame of meeting the other man, but that was not an important piece of information. She could do without it. He used the only hall-pass he had to do his old friend a favor - settle the storms that raged between Joshua and Samantha. And now, he’s locked away from the world, waiting for souls to come to him instead of the other way around.

Nowadays, he just stays hidden from people and only meets with those who wander into his repository. It’s always the same pattern: they come in, not really sure how they ended up there; He coaches them through a story they think they have some sort of impact on; and then they leave and never come back.

Color the man surprised when he saw her walk in the first time. It took him no time to connect the dots, he’d recognize her anywhere. She wasn’t clueless like the others, she actually seemed like she was looking for the place. He spent the next week or so feeling like he had failed the only purpose he had - to keep her safe. That was until she showed up again, even cheerier than the first time. That’s when he knew he shouldn’t fear for her, for she was a phenomenon beyond his understanding. A soul never in death’s reach.

“I hope you never get to see the same fate as everyone else who meets me.“ He whispers, looking down at her sleeping form.

He knows she’s special. After all, he never has never met anyone more than once.

[captainjimothycarter]

Prompt- Peggy is royalty (steggy)

This is so not what you asked for, but this just hit me and I ran with it.

--

“Peggy?”

The name slipped from Steve’s lips in a worried tone, hearing the heavy thumping past her apartment door. He frowned at the frame, watching the silver number three jiggle and fall to the carpeted floor with a heavy thunk. 

What the hell was she doing in there? She’s normally much quieter than this, almost to the point Steve forgot that his new neighbor of a year now was even home half the time.

She’d moved in practically overnight, with nothing but a backpack thrown over her shoulder and a smile on her red lips. Over time the apartment filled with furniture and knickknacks to make the small place home.  She was easygoing and laughed everything off. 

They’d first met when he was carrying too much at once, boxes stacked on top of each other and trying to balance his small frame as he carried them to his front door. He hadn’t seen her, all he saw were a pair of white flats that were suddenly coated in pizza sauce when they’d collided. He heard her fall before he fell himself, the weight of the boxes toppling over and his groceries for the week were spilled over the floor.

He’d apologized, despite it hadn’t been his fault, even offered to take her shoes to the dry cleaners because those looked expensive but she said no and laughed it off. That laugh, the sound of church bells ringing in the distance made him relax and believe everything wasn’t so bad as it seems. It didn’t mean he wasn’t embarrassed, trying to salvage what he could. She’d helped him clean up and give him more than enough money to replace his groceries five times over, apologizing once again.

Then they just...kept running into each other, pausing in the hall to chat or wait for one another on the elevator.

When the lights had gone out during a storm, Peggy was knocking on his door with a generator in hand. When he questioned it, she said she noticed how he had to use an oxygen machine sometimes and wanted him to use it in case the power didn’t come back on. She had spent the night on the couch despite his insistence she should take the bed. They’d both slept on the couch that night, Peggy’s head in his lap.

It was fond touches like that, little gestures that made him think okay something was there. Could be there. If only either of them reached out and grasp it. He was trying to work up the courage to ask her for a date but as of late, these last few weeks, Peggy had been withdrawn, rarely came out of her apartment, and seemed to push Steve away at every opportunity.

It worried him simply because that wasn’t Peggy.

Another thunk hitting the door drew the blonde from his thoughts. This time it defiantly sounded like a body hitting the frame. He had no weapon on him, no means to defend himself but the portrait he’d spent hours painting down at the rec center. 

Peggy could be in trouble.

That terrifying thought alone caused him to shoulder the door open, hurting his frail shoulder more than the door. He stumbled through and took in the torn apart apartment. The few pictures she’d bought off of him had been ripped from the walls, her furniture turned over, drawer contents emptied, and the trail just continued to her bedroom where the sounds were coming from now.

Stepping over a painted scene of a meadow that he’d done for her, Steve slowly followed the trail into the bedroom. 

A grunt was heard and a body came stumbling towards him. Steve didn’t hesitate, taking the thick, framed painting and slamming it on the guy’s head. The force cartoonishly rips the canvas in the middle and made the taller, broader man stumble. It was enough of a shock for Peggy, bruised and bloodied to knock the man out by swinging the bat at the man’s head.

Steve’s eyes widened as he watched the body slump to the floor, looking up at her. Her hair was a frazzled mess, matted and stuck to a gash on her forehead. Her lip was split open and her eye blackened. There were rising bruises around her neck where someone had choked her and a few on her arms. The blouse and jeans she wore were splattered with blood, a sinking feeling telling Steve that most of that was not her own.

“Is he...is he…?” He didn’t know if he could finish that statement. He didn’t want to know.

“No, just knocked out. I didn’t hit him nearly as hard as I possibly could,” Peggy panted, lowering the bat to sag into the wall. “He’ll wake up in a few hours with the worst headache in history and a reminder to leave me the hell alone.”

Nodding his head as if this all made sense and this was a normal occurrence, Steve could feel the shock running through his system. His mouth opened to question her when she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him down the hall to throw them both into the bathroom. She jammed the shower chair against the frame and turned back to him, barely able to make him out amongst the dimly lit bathroom. The only light came from the frog nightlight over the sink.

“What the-the hell is going on?!” Steve stuttered, scrambling to stand up.

“Sit down!” She ordered, Steve instantly dropped back down. “And lay low for a minute. Hush.” 

She pressed her ear to the door, her breath held. Whatever she was listening for, she didn’t find. Steve watched as she slid down the wall, taking in a deep breath that barely contained the emotions.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t....want you to get involved, but now that they’ve seen you...they’ll involve you. I wanted to protect you.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper and Steve swore he had heard again but at this point, his ears were ringing and he was starting to feel nauseous.

“Whose out to get you? What’s going on? Pegs, seriously. I deserve to know if I’m involved now. Are you with the mafia?”

The question made Peggy laugh, laughing until she started to cry. Despite how he should be angry, Steve dragged himself over to her and laid her head on his shoulder. She held onto his small frame and cried for a solid few minutes.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized yet again. “I don’t have much time to explain before they realize we’re in here, but I’ll explain as much as I can, okay? Those guys...the one you saw me beat up - he’s from an organization named HYDRA. No, they’re not the mafia or the mob or whatever you want to call it. They’re royalty.”

Steve’s head bobbed as if this made sense. As if he knew it all along. “And...they’re after you because you stole the family jewels?”

“No, doofus. They’re after me because they and my family have had a long-lasting history that spans generations. They’re after me because I left. I’m not...Peggy from England who moved to America for a new start. I...I’m royalty, Steven.”

“Uh-huh. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, laying Steve low to the cold floor seconds before a bullet shattered the small window above them. 

“You have to believe me, Steven,” Peggy whispered, holding tightly to his collard shirt. “I know it sounds far fetched and trust me, the more details I go into the more far fetched it will sound, but you must trust me. I have to keep you safe. I have been completely selfish and I apologize for that - you were not meant to be involved. You had a nice life.”

Any questions Steve had were lost and he had plenty of them. She spoke to him, at him, stuck in another memory, another lifetime. She sounded almost whimsical and distant in her tone, the way her hands clung to him soothingly rubbed at his jawline. 

“Okay,” he swallowed, flinching when another bullet buried itself into the wall. “How do we get out of here? Only way out is through that door.”

He followed Peggy’s eyes to the laundry chute and his heart dropped. “Oh no,” he groaned. “No.”

“You want to face Brock Rumlow out there - fella is one of the sharpest shooters I’ve met. Or do you want to go down the long slide like the child in you wants to?”

She had a point, but he could remember as a child going down the slide and getting stuck for hours. It terrified him. His answer was chosen for him when the bathroom door started to shake on its hinges. 

Forcing Steve up to crawl, Peggy ran to the door, putting her full weight into it. She waved her hand at Steve, teeth-gritting when it bulged against her. “Go! I’ll be right there.”

Throwing open the chute, he threw one last look at Peggy, desperate, worried before jumping down. His last look of her nearly blinded him in bright, white light, and the sound of a male voice screaming.

--

Changing into ‘borrowed’ clothes is not how Steve saw his day going. The ball cap was far too big for him and kept sliding over his eyes. The black button-up smelled funky and the jeans were twice his size, he had to roll the pants legs up twice to get his feet free and hold them up with his hand. 

Yet, Peggy insisted this would help them escape. A change of clothes and keeping their head down. She found clothes amongst the masses around them, a simple sundress that someone was too lazy to even take the tags off of. She hid her hair under a blue, silk scarf, pulling sunglasses out from the lost and found box. They made quite the pair but somehow Peggy looked better. 

Steve watched as she pulled a backpack from behind a false wall, and grabbed at his hand. “Have you been preparing for this?!”

“Since I first arrived, yes. Questions later, Steven.”

The sun was starting to set, painting Brooklyn in a warm glow of orange and pink with the fluffiest white clouds anyone could’ve painted. Nothing looked real. Nothing felt real. He felt like he was walking in a waking dream at this point. His feet lead him wherever Peggy tugged him through, keeping up just because of the hand she held. 

As promised, he kept his head down and eyes on the ground, which was fine because he couldn’t see his feet in these pants. He felt disgusting like he needed ten baths just to feel himself again.

Ten baths and questions answered.

What the hell was going on? She said she was royalty. She had knocked out a man. She knew the people she was fighting and yet convinced that he had lived a normal life? She spoke as if she knew him, knew some part of him that he had yet to even know. 

The sky was hidden behind the thick wave of clouds, blocking out the night sky and making everything seem more dreary than it was. Brooklyn even felt more dreary than normal, the mass of people was gone, still some on the street but not nearly as much. People avoided them and he could hear Peggy mumbling to herself in something that didn’t sound like any language he’s heard of.

“Where are we going?” He finally asked after the unkempt turn down some alleyway. He stumbled over a loose brick and cursed as his knee bashed into the wall.

Peggy easily hoisted him onto his feet and led him down the long, cool path. “Safehouse.” She sounded uncertain and he didn’t like that. 

“Seriously. Where? Because I feel like we’ve walked all of Brooklyn at this point.” Peggy shot him a look that instantly shut him up, sighing. “I’m just frustrated, okay?! I know nothing and now my life is in danger because-because you’re, what, a princess supposedly who didn’t wanna play royalty?!”

She stopped them to let him go, letting him fall back into the wall. Maybe it was the play of the street lamps but her eyes suddenly looked older. Not just by years but decades, like she’s lived a thousand lives in his simple one.

“You have no idea what my life has been like,” Peggy hissed, pointing a finger at Steve’s thin chest. “The sacrifices I’ve had to make, the choices I’ve done, the people, my people who suffered because of it. Because I tried to do the right thing. I lost my brother to these men’s cruelty, Steven, and yes, yes I know this isn’t fair to you at all, but you…” 

Her eyes had turned almost golden in the light and in a blink, they were gone. She took in a sharp breath and scrubbed at her face, shaking her head. “Let’s go,” she continued. “A few more blocks, then we can rest.”

--

They were two more blocks over when a crowd of people passed through them, separating them. Steve stumbled through it, losing sight of Peggy. He heard it before he saw it. He felt it. Everything was in slow motion - the bullet expertly cutting through the air, missing every person but its target. 

Peggy. 

She wordlessly fell to the ground, bleeding from her shoulder. The bullet hadn’t passed through but it did nothing to help the gushing of blood. She gritted her teeth and touched the wound, pulling away to see the red staining her fingertips. 

No scream. No sound of pain. No falling apart as any other human would. 

The people around them didn’t react - they still walked around the pair, obvious to the bleeding woman on the street. Did they not see what the hell he was seeing?

“Peggy!” Steve shoved a man out of the way to get to her, kneeling to cradle her. “We have to get out of here. They’re going to keep firing.”

She grunted as she staggered to her feet, throwing herself to grip at the light post. Steve swore her eyes turned gold again as he took her good arm and threw it over his shoulder. His one hand tried to do the best to use the ripped end of his shirt to press against the bleeding wound as he walked with her.

“This way.” 

Her voice sounded weak and frail, a thousand miles away. Older than what she was herself.

She leads him towards a hotel, the name lost on him as he stumbled through the revolving door with a bleeding woman sagging against him. The only person to have some valid reaction was the single receptionist. Her eyes widened at the sight of a pale woman leaning onto a scrawnier blonde, standing up instantly with a phone in hand.

Peggy reached across to put a hand on the receiver, shaking her head. She said something and maybe it was the shock, but this time Steve knew it wasn’t in English. Something in the back of his mind, that tiny voice that has always been there since he was a child translated for him, Arrow Suite. 

The woman silently nodded, hitting a button on her keyboard and handing Steve a golden key card with the instruction to tap it once to open their door. 

Getting up to the suites was hard enough, Peggy losing strength with each step of the way. By the time they were inside of a large hotel with grand windows, spread out furniture, even a kitchen, and living room, she was barely conscious.

Sitting her on the bed, Steve rushed to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom and tugged her dress down, apologizing the entire time. He didn’t expect this to greet him.

Scars. Peggy’s back was littered with scars, thick scars that laid in no simple pattern, crossing over one another. Some looking older than others. Larger scars stood out from the rest, burn marks that mirrored each other perfectly. His fingers had brushed over them and she hissed, jerking away from the touch.

“Don’t...don’t do that. Get...get the bullet out of me. I can...heal it on my own. The copper - it’s taking my strength.”

He wanted to question it, but at this point, he’d do anything Peggy said to keep her alive. Giving her a towel to bite on, he got to work pulling the bullet out with a pair of tweezers and rubbing alcohol. Sure enough, a copper bullet fell to the bed and he batted it away, thinking it must’ve still been hot to burn his hand as he did so.

Peggy groaned as she laid a hand over the sluggishly bleeding wound, a bright, white light coming from her fingertips. Steve had to look away, reminded of the light he’s seen earlier. 

“I think…” Peggy sighed, tongue darting out to run over her dry lips. “You deserve an explanation. C-Call room service for me, please?”

--

Taking the coffee cup from Steve, Peggy downed the sludge inside in two minutes flat while he picked at his plate. She stood up slowly to pull the rest of her clothes off, in the time it took dinner to arrive Steve had shed his clothes and taken a hot shower. She was used to her nudity but as he looked up at her, holding tightly close the robe, something about her wasn’t human.

She just didn’t look human in her skin. He should be embarrassed about seeing her naked and some part of him was, but he was more annoyed and frustrated. Embarrassment can come later.

She strolled closer to him until they were a foot apart and raised her arms as if to make some grand speech before they dropped. Her mouth opened and closed and all at once, she had wings.

Bright, white wings. Pure. A golden hue around them as she turned around for Steve to see they had come from the very spots that had been burned. She turned back to him, the food falling from his plate as he struggled to place what he was seeing. He touched them, stroking over the tips, and shaking his head.

“What...I…” Why wasn’t he so much shocked by this?

“You know,” Peggy whispered, kneeling so they were level. She shuddered at his touch, taking his hand to pull it away. “You know what I am, Steven. Some part of you always has, hasn’t it? Some voice in the back of your head tells you this.

“I am not human, the people on the earth consider me an angel. The closest to texts I could find classify me as an Aasimar.  We are a civilization that is vast and well beyond these simple mortal’s lives. I am...one of the Fallen. The scars you saw? Burn marks? Those are scars of my pasts, marking me for my sins. The smaller ones are from the time I spent in HYDRA’S hold, being tortured for who I am, for the information I hold. I spent thousands of years in their company. Thousands. 

“And all to save you.”

Her lips twitched, her warm, brown eyes now turning a shade of gold. Steve swallowed, feeling as Peggy had said, he knew this. This was repeated history and yet, he didn’t know this. 

“I don’t understand. How. Who are you? What’s going on? How did you get here? HYDRA? - What?” 

A small laugh escaped her throat, a hand coming to tussle his hair. For his sake, she wrapped herself up in a soft robe and sat in the chair across from him to give them some distance.

“Once upon a time, Steven, you and I were bonded. Soulmates. You bore my mark and I bore yours. We lived hundreds of lives together, we spend decades together, learning to love one another. We grew up as children, to teenagers who got in far too much trouble, to sturdy adults. You were to become my partner, to rule beside me. Until the day you were cruelty ripped from my arms.

It was our ceremony. You were to become my husband, my partner. We were to be placed on the throne and take over my father and mother. You looked so handsome, you always did. We were steps away from touching and…” Her throat closed up, but she pressed on. “You were killed. A bullet had pierced your heart. The only mercy I had was that your death was a quick one.

War broke out a week later.”

“With...HYDRA?” Steve murmured, feeling a shiver run down his spine. He laid a hand over his chest, where he knew a puckered scar laid. It was always tender to touch. “How did you become a Fallen? Get captured? You said your brother…? And...how am I here? How are you here?”

The questions just made her smile again, shaking her curls. “Little one, there is time, shush.”

“Yes, with HYDRA. My brother insisted on leading the first charge. I insisted on going but I was forbidden. I was forbidden without my soulmate to rule the kingdom as well. My brother, Michael, was killed in battle. The first killed amongst thousands. They put his body on a stake, where others could see it. He did not get the mercy of a slow death. 

I left that very night, I snuck out from our kingdom and trekked to HYDRA’S walls where my brother laid, decaying. It was foolish to think I could do something but I was so caught up in a rage, with the loss of you, the loss of my brother, far too much. I killed their leader that night. Schmidt choked to death on his own blood, a rod made of copper burning him from the inside out.

I was captured. I was tortured. I was made to watch as HYDRA invaded my kingdom and killed my mother and father and killed anyone who defied them, who rose up against them. I singlehandedly destroyed my kingdom with my actions. 

Time had passed and my bond with you never faded as one should when their partner dies. It was the only thing that gave me the strength to leave. To fight my way out. I did the only thing I could do. I burned my own wings off. I disguised myself as a human with what limited powers I still possessed. I found a way to earth and...found you. 

I tried to keep my distance, but I couldn’t. I was drawn to you. I still am. You know me, you know this because you’ve lived it. You were reborn as a creature of this earth but you still possess the knowledge of your other lives. I had hoped that upon seeing me you’d remember everything, but I am not that lucky. I wanted to keep you safe but I couldn’t. I failed even in that.”

Her head hung and Steve found himself drawn to her, kneeling between her legs. His nimble fingers cupped her cheek and pressed their foreheads together. She was right - he didn’t remember. Yet he had some feeling that he did. It was locked away inside of him, the key thrown away. He couldn’t explain the complicated emotions inside of him, the guilt on her face felt like a copper rod was in his stomach right now.

“I want to.” It was the only thing he could think to say, pressing their lips together.

A shiver ran down Steve’s spine at the touch of her lips to his. More than a shiver, his nerves were on fire. A trail of them spreading out in open flames in all directions. Burning from the top of his head to the souls of his feet. His shoulders ached the worst, muscles twitching, nerves searing in white-hot pain.

He couldn’t even scream, Peggy held him close and kissed him again. She was speaking to him, trying to calm him down. He couldn’t hear it, his ears were roaring.

Then all at once, it stopped. He laid against her, panting hard, feeling weak all over. His eyes slowly opened to feel a pair of wings on his back. They were just like hers - bright white. Smaller, but they felt like home when he touched them.

He remembered. He remembered Peggy, their life planned together before either was even born. He remembered going to school with her, stealing sweets from the kitchen, sparring with Michael, decades and decades of reading in the library.

He remembered the nervous feeling of the ceremony, his last sight was of Peggy before he just woke up one day, here, in Brooklyn. None the wiser.

“Steven? Are you…?” Steve pulled away and shakingly got to his feet, flexing the wings slowly with a shaken grin. She looked up at him with a fierce amount of pride that made his heart melt. 

“I remember,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. “And we’re going to get our kingdom back, Pegs. HYDRA will fall, I promise you that.”

[goldinavonlea]

Prompt: Anne/Gilbert courting they’re in Anne’s room and then marilla returns so Gilbert has to sneak out lol!

OKAY HERE WE GO! I actually finished something for once! It is TOO LONG and SELF INDULGENT and I had the BEST TIME! A few people have expressed interest in this (madmen, all), so I’ll tag you in then post with a cut, or you could rock on over to read it on Ao3! @platonic-oxymoron, @jump-on-winds-back, @chocolatelatte121, @andim-pirate, @neliel-deathberry

So without further ado (or only the brief ado it takes me to figure out how to cut on desktop)…

Summer had arrived in Avonlea. In all truth, summer had arrived in Avonlea several weeks earlier, but the inclement internal weather of Anne’s life of late had rendered the view rather cloudy from her window for a while there, and so perhaps it was better to say that summer had arrived—finally—in Anne. 

And what a summer it was.

The Snow Queen had advanced her reach so far that year that, with Anne’s window thrown open to the warm breeze, her outermost boughs reached past the casement and allowed the scent of blossoms to settle without having to do the tremendous injustice of cutting any sprigs loose. In the deliciously lazy few hours after lunch, the sun was in its prime and perfect position to extend its rays into the gable room, that so beloved tree stepping in again to render the light not sharp or overbright, but soft and golden and glorious, throwing shifting patterns on the floorboards. All the air was warm, perhaps under other circumstances too warm but with the light wind, the shade being indoors offered, the lack of necessity—there, in her own space—for long thick stockings or fussy aprons, no one to tell her to roll her sleeves back down her arms, rather than oppressive the afternoon seemed sweet, a little sticky but not unpleasantly so, stretching out slow and endless like toffee.

The house was quiet, Matthew tending the back field and Marilla having retreated to Rachel’s for the afternoon, leaving Anne alone but for the beating embodiment of her sudden shift in seasonal outlook, making himself quite at home as he lay, barefoot and trousers rolled to the knee, nose in a book with his head hanging upside-down off the edge of Anne’s bed. 

He had more freckles, in the summer. Anne could count them all, if she wished to, but for the moment found herself quite content to sit propped up against the footboard, a book of her own in her lap, watching. 

Well. Almost content.

“I don’t believe for a moment that actually works.”

“Sure it works,” came Gilbert’s reply as he lazily turned a page, the book obscuring his face for a moment though she could hear the smile in his words. “The brain needs oxygen to function, oxygen is carried in the blood, blood is as amenable to the affects of gravity as anything else, therefore: lying upside-down makes your brain work better.”

“There’s a logical fallacy in there somewhere, I can smell it.”

“Oh can you?” Gilbert asked, the smile in his voice broadening. “Where?”

“Don’t know,” Anne replied with a sigh, flicking a strand of hair out of her eyes. “It’s too hot to think: ask me again in Autumn.”

“I strongly suspect neither of us will remember to raise the argument again come Autumn.”

Anne snorted. “Me, miss an opportunity to point out a flaw in your intellectual argument? I think not.”

“Well that’s true,” Gilbert agreed, his smile finally reappearing to Anne’s eyes as well as her ears as he set his book down, still open, on his chest. Blinking at her a few times (and looking rather comical doing so, being as he was upside down), he sighed. “I’ve been reading the same three pages for half an hour and I don’t think I’ve taken in a word of it.”

“Probably too much oxygen to the brain,” she quipped back, before setting her own book aside. “I never would have thought there was any circumstance that could deter me from the written word, but even I am struggling to process much from the page on so compellingly syrupy an afternoon,” Anne said, swallowing down a yawn and swinging her legs round so that she could lie back besides Gilbert, eyes drifting shut. “It’s like bathwater: I just want to fall asleep.”

“If you fall asleep now you won’t tonight, and then you’ll have hell to pay from Marilla when you refuse to get up in the morning.”

“Oh why should we get up in the morning, anyway? There’s so much day to be getting on with at the moment, surely some small portion of it could be given over to that most delightful and rare of luxuries that is the lie-in?”

“I thought mornings were for chores around here,” Gilbert said with the grin of one allowed entirely free reign over his own comings and goings.

Anne groaned. “Oh don’t, it’s summer: a season much too romantical to be tainted by the likes of laundry before ten in the morning. And don’t think I can’t feel your smugness without looking at you, Bash keeps you on entirely too long a leash.”

“Hey, I do laundry!”

“You do laundry precisely when you do everything, which is at whichever point in the day suits you. I love Marilla with the depth and wholeness of my heart, but Lord in Heaven does the woman love a schedule. I swear, once I have my teaching certificate and the promise of endless, uninterrupted summers, I won’t be getting out of bed before eleven a single day of them. I won’t even sleep that long, I’ll just wake up and stay in bed for hours and hours and hours, simply because I can.”

Gilbert’s grin softened at this, all teasing and fond. “I don’t reckon you could last ten minutes in bed after waking up without being bored to tears.”

“I certainly could,” Anne insisted, warming to her theme. “I’d keep a veritable mountain of books on my bedside table and spend the whole morning just reading. Maybe I wouldn’t even bother with a bedside table: just pile up all my books on the floor and balance my coffee on top of them.”

“If you don’t plan on getting out of bed,” Gilbert began slowly, clearly aware that he was walking into a trap and full of the imminent delight of being thus caught, “how do you suppose you’ll be getting ahold of coffee?”

Anne paused, then rolled her head ever so slightly to the side and cut a pointed and speculative glance at Gilbert.

The beaming, boyish smile that overcame his face was thrilled.

Gotcha. 

“Now that seems decidedly unfair.”

“Well,” Anne sniffed, returning her gaze to the ceiling. “Doctors don’t get summer holidays.”

“That is a sore wound and rubbing salt in it is actually very cruel.”

“Oh how you shall suffer, upheld as you shall be as a paragon of upright gentlemanliness wherever you go—”

“I’ve no doubt you plan to make that very difficult.”

“Positively fawned over by your grateful patients bringing you flowers and cakes and… and jars of various preserves—”

“From which you will get equal if not greater enjoyment, so you are, in advance, welcome.”

“People naming their dear children after you—”

“God, I hope not.”

Anne pulled up short at that, snapped out of the playful exchange as she turned again to Gilbert with a frown. “Well what’s that supposed to mean?”

His face screwed up in evident distaste. “We have to swear an oath, you know: Do no harm. Not sure I’d be able to say I was honouring my promise if my presence lead some poor child to being named Gilbert.”

“What’s wrong with Gilbert?” Anne asked, contrarily offended on his behalf. “I like it.”

He gave her a look that suggested she might have gone quite mad.

“Well I do! I don’t think I’d considered it all that much prior to coming to Avonlea, and… I will admit for a while it did prompt a thrill of what I generally assumed to be rage, but now… names are just words for people, aren’t they? Gilbert is the word that means you, so naturally it has to be one of my very favourites.”

Again his faced softened, became something that wasn’t exactly a smile but was so unflinchingly open, so tender, Anne was of half a mind to look away. She didn’t. 

“You know,” he said, absently tangling their fingers together on Anne’s faded quilt, “for someone who seems to relish in being mean to me you can be incredibly sweet when the spirit moves you.”

Anne shrugged. “I contain multitudes.”

Like that, the broad, delighted grin was back. “That’s Whitman—Song of Myself.”

“I know. I might have to wait until sunset at the moment but I have managed to do some reading.”

“And you chose to read Whitman.”

“Of course,” Anne said, genuinely a little baffled that he seemed so very pleased by the fact, as though it wasn’t obvious the copy of Leaves of Grass would leap directly to the top of her extensive to read list the moment he placed it in her hands. “I know it means a lot to you.”

He simply blinked at her for several moments, before his mouth went crooked in a wry smirk. “I might start handing you copies of The Lancet, just to see if you could force yourself through all that dull writing.”

Anne, forsaking for a moment the mantle of a mature young woman, stuck out her tongue. “Now who’s mean?”

“I suppose we’re equal.”

“Well then, rejoice old world, for all is as it should be.”

He squeezed her hand, his eyes soft and brown-sugar warm, something in them that, even in the summer, always seemed to remind her of Christmas. He smiled. “Yeah.”

Anne wasn’t sure, with all the years and years of promise she had ahead of her in order to test the truth of such a belief, that she’d ever grow accustomed to this part. For all the marvellous, sweeping romances she’d read through the years not one of them had ever truly provided any great detail on a kiss, shying away into the vagaries of metaphor which, while lovely, paled in comparison to the focus and specificity of the real thing, and to that entire grand pasture (until recently existing entirely unbeknownst to Anne even in her wildest imaginings) of all that was around a kiss in and of itself. 

For example, this: those breathless moments leading up to it, wherein contact became an inevitability and yet still—even after several seemingly eternal weeks of increasing familiarisation with one another—the thrill of nerves, the restless, impatient aching in the palms, the sides of the neck, the small of the spine that those eyes, suddenly heavy, brought forth in her. The fading out of the outside world, only ‘fading out’ wasn’t quite right, it was more like fading in, all the focus that had been spared for other things narrowing its scope (and how could she ever have imagined that a narrowing of scope might bring such a rush of muchness!) until all it encompassed was her, and him, and them—this thing that they became together, united in purpose and humming like one of Miss Stacey’s wires, the length and breadth of them startling and electric and alive. 

God, he hadn’t even touched her yet. Perhaps attempting this with their heads hanging off the edge of the bed wasn’t their wisest of plans: the whole thing left her light-headed enough when she was the right way up. 

Still, Anne had never been one to back down from a bad idea, and Gilbert had never once tried to dissuade her—only ever asked for the chance to join in. 

He asked her now, with the tilt of his head, his breath warm in the already warm room, the soft downturn of his softer eyelashes blurred to dark brown smoke from this close (and he really was terribly good at getting that close without Anne entirely realising it was happening. Probably she should ask how he did it, but really she already knew that the answer was magic).

Anne, as she was so often inclined to do where he was concerned (now that she had allowed her inclinations the free reign they rightly deserved) said yes.

Oh, she was certain she’d never get used to this.

It started soft, as it usually did, the barest brush of lips that sparked and made her breath catch, reminded her that she was breathing at all. His fingers, still intertwined with her own, tightened their grip involuntarily, and even with her eyes closed Anne could feel the furrow of his brow, that little line of concentration and control that baited her, bothered deliciously at her until she inevitably managed to soothe it flat, until he relaxed and melted into it like clay under her hands.

That wasn’t just yet, though: that part came a little later. 

For now it was delicate and fluttering, not indecisive but unhurried, a little awed. There was no reason, Anne had concluded, no reason at all why placing one’s mouth on someone else’s ought to be so thrilling to every last thread of her, except for the fact that every point of contact, every movement of his lips against her own (a little firmer, now, a little longer, a little more intent) sang with the knowledge that this was Gilbert, Gilbert with the good heart and the gentle hands and the lopsided smile and the brilliant mind, and that that mind had chosen in that moment to put his mouth to her, to kiss her this way and then that, that of all the things that he could have elected to be doing right then it was kissing her that he wanted… that was where the thrill lay. Kissing in general, she supposed, might well be fine enough, but kissing Gilbert…

He shifted his attentions from Anne’s top lip to the bottom, and she pressed her sudden advantage to slot them together properly, like puzzle pieces sliding into place. Surely no-one else would fit her the way he did? Surely they were made for each other, when they worked together so well?

Ever so gently, his teeth scraped against her lip, and any question marks in her thoughts turned to dust.

Loathe to lose the contact, Anne decided against trying to sort out which fingers belonged to who on their entangled hands, instead rolling onto her side just enough for the hand she had spare to reach Gilbert’s face, trace the high of his cheek, the cut of his jaw of which she was so inexplicably fond—perhaps because its sharpness under her palm felt so very real, perhaps because the roll and motion of it took her back, again, to the mechanics and deliberation and will—his will, Gilbert’s!—behind his mouth on hers, or perhaps because of the way that every time she touched him there he shivered a little, and she felt the kick of it in her bones. She felt rooted, certain of and one with her skin in a way she rarely had the luxury of experiencing: she knew she was solid, and grounded, and there, because Gilbert was, and she had moved him. What a power that was, she thought as her fingertips skimmed the shell of his ear, found their way to the curls at the nape of his neck (which she had found she was also tremendously fond of)—to know that she could put her hands on him and he would move for her, just like that. She couldn’t entirely fathom what she’d done to deserve such a thing, but then she felt the instinctive shift of her own spine under his hand as it found her waist, and realised perhaps that was it: the utter trust it took Anne to be able to respond to him without thought or hesitation was a gift that earned the same in return. It was about balance, and faith, and equality, in this as in all things between them. 

She loved it.

She ran her fingers down the line of his throat to his collarbone, felt him draw a sharp breath straight from her own lungs as his hand flexed, tightened against her waist, and then gave her breath back in the shape of her own name.

“Anne.”

She wondered whether that was one of his favourite words, too—it certainly sounded that way, when he said it—and decided it was only fair she got the same opportunity to voice the name of her own joy that he did.

“Gil.”

Things blurred and sharpened then, the passage of time becoming hazy and malleable even as otherwise minute details—the exact pinpoint location and pressure of his thumb against her ribs, the back of her foot brushing against his shin, how she could just feel his heartbeat against her palm with her fingers hooked over his shoulder, the only fast thing in a world gone slow as honey. 

What a thing, to feel with her hand the impact she had on the heart of him; to know his love (he loved her, he loved her!) as something tangible, this thing she’d longed for no longer only curled through the landscape of her imagination but right there, held close, a rhythm against her skin.

His mouth sought out her throat, the exact spot just above the collar of her dress where her pulse beat strongest, and how could she do anything but smile, laugh breathlessly at the reassurance he was searching for? Yes, she said, with her fingers tangled in his curls, with the tilt of her head to make room for him, yes, Gilbert Blythe, I love you too.

And so they went, the tick of Anne’s clock forgotten amidst the heady sweetness of being together, and close, and in love in their own little corner of the world, into which nothing else might enter and from whence no-one might remove them.

Or… almost nothing. Almost no-one.

Divinely and determinedly distracted as she was, even Anne’s dubious sense of self-preservation cut sharply through that most pleasant of fogs at the creak (oh blessed creak!) of the kitchen door. Gilbert, who had eventually corralled enough mental direction to unwind their joined hands and set about one of his favourite pursuits—the utter destruction of whatever sense of order Anne had managed to impose upon her hair—displayed less wisdom, taking a few moments to respond not to the sound of the door itself, but the sudden tension of the girl in his arms. 

“Anne?” he asked, withdrawing with evident reluctance from the crook of her neck, eyes dazed, colour high in his cheeks and—and this Anne noticed with a dangerously distracting level of satisfaction—his hair just as dishevelled as her own would inevitably be.

“Shh,” she hissed, utterly still as she strained to hear any further sound from downstairs, as yet hopeful that she might have been imagining things. 

Footfalls, sharp and eminently recognisable. Anne’s eyes snapped back to Gilbert’s, wide and alarmed as the same sudden understanding dawned on his face. “Marilla.”

Sitting bolt upright (and fighting the sudden head rush the movement prompted), Anne let out a soft curse she’d never have voiced in any other company, hands flying to one of her braids as Gilbert followed suit, the protocol for such a disruption already perhaps an undignified level of established. 

“I thought you said she wouldn’t be back until five?” Gilbert whispered sharply, doing, Anne had to admit, an admirable job of not becoming sidetracked as he combed his fingers through her hair and set about reconstructing her right braid. 

“She’s an autonomous being, Gilbert: evidently she changed her mind! See this is precisely why we should meet at your house instead of here.”

“And risk Hazel wandering in? If you’d like to explain to Bash how his mother came to have a heart attack then be my guest!”

“You have a barn, don’t you?”

“You have a barn!” Gilbert replied, sounding just a little hysterical as he fumbled with her ribbon and dropped it. Twice.

“My barn is regularly occupied by both Jerry and Matthew, idiot.”

“And mine by Bash.”

“Better Bash,” she said, turning her focus to the potentially tricker task of flattening out Gilbert’s hair into some semblance of decorum, “than Marilla.”

“I… that’s fair. Okay, what am I doing?”

Anne bit her lip, casting about the room for escape routes. “You could climb out the window?”

“Out the window?” he repeated, managing to sound simultaneously amused and horrified. “Anne, I’d land directly outside the window downstairs, do you not think she might notice?”

“Well what if I climbed out the window?” Anne asked, rather clutching at straws at this point.

Gilbert was evidently trying to swallow down laughter. “What good would that do?!”

“Fine, okay, okay you’re just going to have to be quiet and hope she doesn’t come in here, and then we’ll… figure it out.”

“Anne, what do you—”

“Shut up, shut up she’ll hear you just, just shh!”

“Alright, alright I’m—” he stopped mid sentence, falling abruptly silent at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Again they stared at each other, eyes locked in panic, although it became rapidly obvious that this was a mistake as Anne felt a fit of giggles bubbling up her throat.

“Anne? Anne, are you up here?”

Praying that the Good Lord (being entirely responsible for sending trouble her way) might allow her passage through her current trials unscathed, Anne swallowed the laughter down and attempted to even out her voice. “Afternoon Marilla!”

If the look on Gilbert, eyes screwed shut and the back of his hand pressed to his mouth as his shoulders shook silently, was anything to go by, her attempt had failed.

“Oh, you are home! I’d not have expected to find you inside on a day like this,” came Marilla’s voice again from the other side of the closed door.

“I… it’s only, you know,” Anne began a little desperately, thwacking Gilbert with the back of her hand as the trembling of his suppressed laughter increased, “sunburn is such a tremendous pain to be dealing with, I thought I’d better not chance it.”

“Well now. How uncharacteristically responsible of you.”

At this Gilbert threw his head back, having to turn his hand to cover both his mouth and nose as tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, the suggestion of her responsibility whilst she desperately fought to evade the detection of a young man in her bedroom clearly proving itself too much for him. Not today, and perhaps not even tomorrow, but some day soon Anne was going to push him into the Lake of Shining Waters for this.

“Yes, well. Thanks.”

“Well I’m only back for a minute or two—Rachel’s gotten it into her head that she absolutely must furnish you with a new quilt when you leave for Charlottetown, honestly that woman has too many sons and is far too intent on spoiling other people’s daughters,” Marilla added in a undertone which threatened to unbalance Anne’s tenuous grasp on herself and reduce her to Gilbert’s level of amusement, “so she’s sent me back to collect all my patterns that she might judge the most appropriate.”

“That’s… that’s very kind of her. She really needn’t trouble herself.”

“As I have endeavoured to explain to her, though she’s having none of it. Still, I don’t suppose it can do any harm—I do hate to imagine you getting cold all alone, come winter.”

Something about the tone of Marilla’s voice bled the hysterical amusement from the moment, leant it a fond softness that Gilbert clearly felt too, since he was able to uncover his mouth and reach for her hand, thumb brushing softly across her knuckles.

Anne squeezed his fingers. “I won’t be alone.”

“No,” came Marilla’s reply, before a pause. Anne, who was well acquainted with Marilla’s various pauses, could hear the smile in it. “No, I don’t suppose you shall. Well, anyway, I just thought you ought to know my return may be a little later than I’d anticipated, what with Rachel on a mission, so you and Matthew may have to fend for yourselves for dinner. Stick to the stovetop, mind, and don’t be laying a finger on the cake in the pantry, it isn’t for you as you well know.”

“Yes, Marilla, I know.”

“Good. And enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

“You too,” Anne replied, the tension slowly draining from her shoulders as she heard the footsteps retreating back down the stairs and then, a few moments later, the opening and closing of the kitchen door.

A further few beats of silence, and then a great relieved sigh from her co-conspirator. “Well. That was a bit close.”

Anne, entirely without hesitation and displaying the height of dignity, picked up the small cushion Marilla had sewn for her and whacked him over the head. “You rogue, you utter disaster of a man, could you not have made a little more of an effort to contain yourself? She could have heard you!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Gilbert laughed, sounding anything but as he raised his hands in defence.

“You are not, scoundrel, you’re no good at lies and they don’t become you so you’d do much better not trying. See if I invite you here again.”

“Perhaps it’d be wiser if you didn’t,” he replied, still evidently amused. “Wouldn’t want Marilla thinking you aren’t responsible.”

“Oh she already knows I’m not,” Anne said primly, standing at last from the bed and smoothing out her skirts. “It’s your dishonourable conduct she’d be shocked by: she thinks you’re such a nice young man.”

“Most do,” Gilbert agreed cheerfully, leaning back against her headboard with that lopsided grin again, entirely at his leisure. Oh how intolerable of him, to make her love him so even when he was being absolutely insufferable. “And what do you think, Miss? Do you find my conduct to be dishonourable?”

Though he smiled, Anne was attuned enough to him by now that she could detect the undertone of sincerity in the question. Seating herself again on the bed beside him, she raised a hand to his face then ran it back through his curls, flooded with impossible fondness at the way he leant into the touch. “I believe… that there surely cannot be anything dishonourable in offering a young lady precisely the affection with which she longs to be treated.”

“Well then,” he said, his hand coming up to cover hers where it had come to rest against his cheek. “Can’t imagine anyone else’s opinion matters all that much.”

Anne grinned. “Except Marilla’s.”

“Except,” Gilbert said, tilting his head in deference to her point, “perhaps Marilla’s.”

They sat like that in tender silence for several long moments, before Anne sighed and broke it. “You do realise you have to leave now, right?”

The wide-eyed, childlike disappointment on his face was Anne thought, tremendously comical. “What, why?”

“Because if you don’t we’ll only end up having this exact palaver again in a few hours.”

“We’ll keep an eye on the time!”

“Do you have the faintest idea what time it is now? No, don’t look.”

Having been instructed away from the small clock on Anne’s bedside, Gilbert narrowed his eyes. “… One…ish?”

“It’s half past three,” Anne informed him, unimpressed.

Blatantly disbelieving, Gilbert sat up to get a look at the clock himself. “It never is, it can’t…” He stopped, blinking at the hands. “Are you sure that’s right?”

Anne grabbed his hand and pulled, tugging him up from the bed. Probably her pillows would smell like him that night. “Come on, out.”

“No, Anne, come on, don’t make me go home: Dellie’s teething, the crying’s unbearable.” He fought her as she dragged him to the door, not hard but enough to make her laugh at his recalcitrance. And to think, she’d once thought mystery and melancholy to be the grand romantic ideal: how much better this was, to love and be loved by someone who shared his feelings with her unreservedly, however fleeting or ridiculous they might seem. 

“Then don’t go home,” Anne suggested, pulling him behind her down the hall, then giving him a gentle shove in the direction of the stairs. “Go for a walk, get some fresh air: they say it’s terribly good for you, Doctor Blythe.”

“Sunburn isn’t,” he argued, somehow managing to reach the ground floor without falling as he took the steps half-backwards, eyes still on her as she followed him. “It’s a terrible pain to be dealing with, I hear: I could be laid up in bed for days, and then how would you feel?”

“Find some shade,” Anne said, restraining a grin as she held the kitchen door open for him.

“Surely, being the far greater adventurer of the two of us, you’d be much better at such a search than I would,” he said, standing firm in the doorway and giving her a look of such utterly unconvincing false innocence she couldn’t help but laugh. “Come on, it’s a beautiful day: how could you stand to miss out on it? And think—it’s a matter of weeks before we’re off to the city, surrounded by smog and buildings and the great urban sprawl.”

“Eight weeks, which is in fact two months.” 

Gilbert elected to ignore this correction. “Think how badly you’ll long for a summer afternoon with trees and flowers and rivers then. Can you really throw away this chance, when it’s right here for the taking?”

Anne crossed her arms, fighting a smile and doing, she knew, a very poor job of it. “I suppose it is a glorious day…”

“Glorious,” Gilbert agreed, nodding enthusiastically.

“And I wonder… have I introduced you to my very favourite tree yet?”

He tilted his head, considering. “The Sugar Maple, up near the Andrews’ place?”

“Elm, outside of town—past the old bridge beyond the schoolhouse?”

“Then no, I don’t believe you have.”

“Well then,” Anne said, answering his triumphant grin with one of her own as she fetched her hat from the hook by the door and slid into her boots. “Who am I to deny the most wondrous call of summer?”

“Who indeed?” Gilbert replied, grabbing hold of her hand and pulling her beside him, out into the sun.

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 22 | 23 | 24

“Here you go,” Natsu places his laundry basket on the floor near the front door.

It was Gray’s week to be on laundry duty and his to cook. Their arrangement worked for the most part to share in household duties because it offered each other a break on things most never enjoy doing.

“Yeah, thanks.” The man looks up from the couch, “I’ll get it done this afternoon.”

“I got a test to study for, but I’ll have dinner made by 6.”

Natsu gets a thumbs up from his friend then heads back to his room. Fire chemistry and physics was his hardest class this semester, but the subject fascinated him, so it wasn’t a big burden... just a lot of content to remember. Considering how talkative he could be, most never would guess that numbers were his forte, while words were what he struggled with.

Time passes by quietly for the roommates, like a lazy Sunday should. At 1pm Gray grabs the two baskets of clothes and heads downstairs to the laundry room of the building. He nods an acknowledgment to the one other person there folding their clothes and picks a spot by the open washing machines.

Without hesitation he tosses his clothes into the first machine, sets, and forgets it for now. He always preps his own before coming down. But Natsu couldn’t be trusted. Gray lost count of the amount of times he’d scolded his friend.

And sure enough, as he rifles through a pants pocket, he finds a piece of paper tucked inside. “Damn it Natsu,” he mumbles under his breath and slides it into his own pocket for later. Gray finishes checking through the clothing and tosses them into a second machine.

Gray pulls out his Switch to kill time. The washer will take about 45 minutes, then it’ll be the dryers turn, maybe another hour and a half. Perfect opportunity to catch up in his Animal Crossing game. He wasn’t as obsessed about playing it like some of their friends, but to keep Erza off his back he logs in at times like this.

He was surprised the woman would play such a game considering Erza Scarlet was more a sword play kind of girl. Though he guessed there was one good thing to come from it. He’d met another gamer on the site who lives in the next prefecture over. The girl, Juvia Lockser, was sweet and pretty, and they had plans to meet in person once the semester ends for summer break.

When the washer finishes its part, Gray moves the clothing into the dryer and settles in for the final leg. He could have gone back to the apartment in between, but there were problems with theft, and he didn’t want to chance his clothes being stolen. Losing shirts was already a problem for him, with his quirk of stripping any time he felt hot or uncomfortable.

With about 30 more minutes to go, he puts the Switch down, flexing and cracking his fingers. He then stands up and stretches his back. That was enough of messing with his village. He pulls his phone from his pocket instead, intending to scroll social media for the rest of his wait, when the piece of paper falls out.

Gray picks it up and unfolds it, his eyes widening, but mouth turning up into a grin. “Who is Lucy?!” He snickers. Just a name and phone number, nothing else.

Has Natsu been holding out on him? If his friend had met a girl, he was pretty sure he’d say something. Unless he was purposely trying to hide it. Thirty minutes needs to hurry up, cause he couldn’t wait to get back to the apartment now!

Laundry baskets filled, and finished, Gray heads back up. Once inside, he drops them right at the door, then marches over to his friends room. He knocks as he enters.

With the paper held up, “are you holding out on me Natsu?”

Natsu turns from his desk, “holding out on what?”

Gray waves the paper. “Who is Lucy Heartfilia? I found this in your pants pocket. A girls name and number.”

‘Lucy...’ “Lucy?! Holy shit she’s real?”

“What the fuck do you mean, she’s real?! Unless an imaginary person wrote this information down!”

Natsu gets up and snatches the paper from his friends hand. He stares down at it; yup not his handwriting, so it must be hers. “I-I thought it was a dream,” he looks at Gray in shock. “I swear! I fell asleep on the train a week ago and thought I’d dreamt her up.”

He sits back on his desk chair and fills Gray in on everything he remembered or at least thought happened, describing the woman he’d met, and how. “I didn’t tell you, because I thought it was a dream.”

“Well, she sounds like a fox, and if she left you her info, it means she wanted to keep in touch.”

“So, you think I should call her?”

“No shit Sherlock! And if this was a week ago already, you better hope she doesn’t feel like you’d stood her up.”

“Ugh!” Natsu runs a hand over his face. “Why me?”

“If you’d check your damn pockets before tossing your clothes in the basket, you wouldn’t be in this predicament!”

“I know, I know,” he groans, then picks up his phone. “I hope she answers.”

“Good luck idiot,” Gray snickers and walks away.

Natsu stares at the phone screen as he taps in the numbers. But what to say?! Hey, sorry I just found your note... All this time he’d convinced himself Lucy was a figment of his imagination, so to find out she was real was shocking to his brain.

It meant everything he remembered was probably true! Stealing her seat, pulling her onto his lap! Holding her! He groans out loud. ‘I must have seemed like such a pervert! But she did leave her number so it couldn’t be that bad... yeah, I’m just psyching myself out.’ “Idiot, get ahold of yourself!”

He takes a deep breath and hits send, placing the phone to his ear. Every ring adding to the nerves torturing his mind.

“Hello?”

“H-Hi, um may I speak to Lucy please?”

“This is she. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Hey, it’s me Natsu... the guy from the train...”

[wherevermyway]

we’re professional. (1/??) // minbin // 18+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

we’re professional. chapter one: sophisticated series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

pairing: lee minho x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, eventual sexual content, age difference, art student changbin, artist minho, fake dating AU. word count: 4,807 also on AO3

originally posted: 17 december 2020

series summary: Lee Minho, or Minho: The Heartless, is a famous artist, which comes with an annoying entourage of paparazzi that are very invested in his life.

Two years ago, a piece at UBC's annual student's exhibit catches Minho's eye: "arranged: in black", a series of greyscale paintings crafted by sophomore Seo Changbin. Minho talks with Changbin at length for hours, then offers to help him financially if they pretend to date for a while, so Minho can please the press. Naturally, a walking exhibit of the "starving artist" stereotype, Changbin accepts the offer wholeheartedly.

There are no strings attached: Changbin can leave at any time. Hell, Minho doesn't even ask him for sex in exchange for the money, just companionship and occasional skinship. Changbin knows that Minho is emotionally damaged from several bad relationships in the past, so to have someone pay him just for providing them company is nice. Sure, he could go off and date someone and work on settling down, but he just doesn't want to. Minho is too interesting, too valuable.

Eventually, something's gotta give. When it does, it could potentially damage their relationship and careers forever.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

chapter summary: Minho brings up an interesting proposal while celebrating the second year of his professional arrangement with Changbin.

“I can’t accept this.” The young, blue-haired man at the opposite side of the table of a middle-aged brunette pushes an open envelope back across the table. “It’s too much. You’ve already given me so much this month, I couldn’t possibly accept anymore.”

“Changbin,” the brunette smirks, bringing the crystal glass of wine up to his mouth. “Please, don’t insult me. I’m not offering this just off the cuff. Besides, it’s not just cash that’s in there.”

The bluenette frowns, bringing his gin and tonic to his mouth, taking a careful, prescribed sip as he watches the older man cautiously. He lets the gin burn its way down his throat before he sighs. “It’s sex, then. That’s what you want, Minho?”

“No.” Minho’s expression quickly turns serious and slightly sour. “Not at all. I told you when we first started this arrangement that this wouldn’t turn sexual.”

“Right.” Changbin cocks his eyebrows up in response, his tone somewhat sarcastic. He brings the glass up again, tilting it and his head backwards, letting the ice slink down and hit him in the nose as he finishes off his drink. He sets the glass down on to the table, ice settling with a soft clink, before he rolls his eyes up and frowns. “What’s all this for, then?” The young man rolls his wrist around, bringing his chin down to his right hand. “You’ve really gone all out for this date.”

Minho softly smiles, then mimics Changbin, mirroring him in the way that he places his head in his left palm. “It’s been two years, officially.” He makes eye contact with a server somewhere off in the distance, and nods upward.

“Two years, eh?” Changbin tuts. “Surprising that neither of us have gotten sick of each other, nor found other people to spend time with.” He takes in a quick breath, then flashes his teeth with a lazy smirk. “Sure you’re not getting serious with me yet?”

The older man opens his mouth to speak, but quickly recedes his statement as a lanky waiter confidently struts over to the table. “Hyunjin, could you please bring me the bottle of Clos D’Ambonnay I have in the back?”

“Of course, Mr. Lee,” the blond waiter nods his head once with a polite smile before he makes his way back to whence he came.

Changbin squinted, knitting his brows together as he shook his head once. “You own this restaurant, too, don’t you?”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t necessarily say own it, no.” Minho hums, bringing his index finger in between his teeth as he ponders. “It’s a partnership with an old colleague of mine, Chan; you met him at the Vivace Vancouver exhibit over the spring. He had that dreadful red hair, the one where you said he looked like he got electrocuted and then spray painted by an angry ex-lover.”

The younger man’s eyes go wide as he tries to hold back his laughter. “Oh my god,” he sighs, “I remember that. How do you forget something so audacious, is that even possible?” He regains his composure and rests upright against the back of the chair. “In my defence, though, I was two glasses of Chianti in when I said that. Please tell me that his hair isn’t that horrible shade anymore. It was so bad.”

Minho smiles widely and softly shakes his head. “No, no, god, no. I met with him the day after and told him that he needed to go back to see my stylist immediately and never go back to the hellspawn that butchered his hair.”

“Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Lee,” the lanky waiter from before returned, presenting a black bottle before he placed it on top of the table. “As requested.” He placed well-crafted champagne flutes in front of both Minho and Changbin.

“Hyunjin,” Minho tutted as the waiter grabbed the bottle, “I’ve told you several times that just ‘Minho’ is fine.”

The blond waiter half-smiled as he wrapped a hand towel around the cork, deftly wiggling it off with a muffled pop. “And I will tell you each time,” he poured some of the champagne into Changbin’s glass first, “you will always be Mr. Lee when I’m at work.”

“You’re too stiff,” the brunette gently pushed his glass towards the blond as he set Changbin’s glass down. “I know that Chan — sorry, Mr. Bang — is strict with all of you, to maintain a pristine image,” Hyunjin picks up Minho’s glass and bites his lip as if he’s holding back commentary, “but you’re still in your prime. Bend the rules a little while you can get away with it.”

Changbin watches the way Minho’s eyes flutter around from the glass to Hyunjin, catching himself getting caught up in the way the light sparkles against his brown eyes, the way his eyelashes paint shadows on his irises. He doesn’t mean for every detail to be etched into his memory, but there was always something about remembering the details of Minho’s soft face that warmed him. If it were any other world, any other person, perhaps he would be catching feelings.

This arrangement, however, was strictly professional. There was no room for feelings.

Hyunjin sets the bottle back down onto the table. “Sure thing, Minho,” he sarcastically scoffs as he wiggles his shoulders in some sort of strange dance of mockery. “Would you like an ice bucket to keep this chilled?”

Minho shrugs, seemingly indifferent, but his expression turns a bit more serious. “I suppose. Don’t worry about us, though. Tend to the other customers first — we’ll be here for a while longer. A bit of champagne slowly warming won’t be the end of the world.”

“You got it, Mr. Lee,” Hyunjin says, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead in some sort of joking salute before he spins on his heel and walks off to another table.

Minho grabs his champagne flute and flashes his teeth at Changbin. “Sorry about that, love, I’ve just gotta give the staff here trouble every now and again.”

Changbin blushes as he picks up his champagne flute, bringing it close to Minho’s. “Don’t apologize.” He tries to restrain his embarrassment, still mentally replaying the way that Minho called him ‘love’, desperately trying to get the sound to imprint upon his memory. “Anyway,” he lifts his head from his palm and stares directly into the brunette’s eyes. “Two years? I can’t believe it’s been this long since I met you.”

“Your ‘arranged: in black’ series captured me, Changbin, what can I say?” The older man tilts his head to the side, tugging his lips into a smile. “I still think about it every day.”

“It’s hard to avoid thinking about it when all four pieces are hanging behind your bed, wouldn’t you say?”

“Suppose that’s fair,” Minho bites his bottom lip as he avoids laughing. “But, wow, two years. Two very eventful years. To think, you were a scraggly sophomore two years ago when I met you. You really kind of fit the ‘starving artist’ stereotype back then, hmm?”

Changbin’s eyes subconsciously darted down to the maroon tablecloth. He avoided thinking about his life before he met Minho, since it wasn’t something he was overly fond of. Sleeping for a couple of hours a night after a late dishwashing shift at the restaurant, waking up before dawn to run to his part-time barista job, then somehow getting to class just in time to nearly doze off mid-project sketch, all to repeat it again the next day. The chronic sleep deprivation painted him in an ashy grey, and he perpetually smelled of instant ramen and coffee.

No. That was in the past.

He shuddered at the thought of his past life. It was stressful, and he was thankful that Minho came along and offered him some kindness. Most art students either came from wealthy families, or lived in the same shoes that Changbin did. The ones that weren’t from wealthy lineage would probably stay under the poverty line for the rest of their lives, but at least they would be happy creating things that came from the depths of their soul.

For some, it was worth the sacrifice. He knew what he was getting into when he was accepted into the visual arts programme at the University of British Columbia, and he was prepared for the pain and agony it would cause him for the small chance he could make it big while doing something he loved.

“Binnie, love?” Minho’s soft voice pulled Changbin from his memory. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Changbin nodded his head a couple of times, almost as if he was willing himself to be calm. “Sorry, I just kinda got distracted. Thought about when we first met and kinda got transported back in time.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it definitely was far from the truth.

The older man softly smiled and nudged his champagne flute forward. “Well, here’s to two years of whatever the hell this is. Here’s to however long we have left and to wherever we may go next.”

Changbin smiled, turning his chin slightly inward as he tapped his flute against Minho’s. “I like that. To whatever the hell is next.”

“‘Whatever the hell is next’,” Minho smiled as he brought the flute up to his lips. “That’s a good one.”

They didn’t get to the bottom of the bottle of champagne until about a half-hour past closing. It had been two years of the same company every Tuesday and Thursday night, and usually most Fridays and Saturdays, yet they still found new things to talk about each time they met. “You’re still so foolishly young and in university,” Minho would scold Changbin over the phone, “so go out and get hammered at a stupid house party and I’ll come by tomorrow and help nurse you out of your hangover.” Minho was really a sweetheart, even if he didn’t want to date and was, to quote Minho himself, ‘emotionally unavailable’.

It had been two years, and Changbin still didn’t fully understand why people were so pressed on calling Minho heartless.

“And so,” Changbin took a sip of water from his glass, setting it down a bit roughly, some of the water sloshing around and splashing on to the table, “I had to sketch a live model, right? Turns out Seungmin makes a horrible model at two in the morning, but we thought the idea was brilliant.”

Minho loudly cackles, throwing his head back and clapping his hands once in front of his face. “You had just gotten done downing several shots at the bar. What made either of you think that sketching in charcoal was a good idea?”

The younger man folds over, resting his head in his palms as he tries not to collapse on to the floor in laughter. “The project was due on Monday! And, hey, we got it done, and I somehow got a decent grade in the end.”

“Ah,” Minho leans back into his chair as he looks up to the wall to his left, smiling as he wipes a tear from his eye. “I’d love to scold you for that, but the truth is, I can’t. I did the same things in uni ten years ago.”

Changbin rests his chin against the back of his hand, languidly smiling as he watches Minho get lost in memories past. These moments that they shared, where they were just so plainly human — not a famous artist, not a struggling art student, but simply Minho and Changbin — these were why Changbin never sought out another partner. It was unconventional to most people, especially those his age, to have such a hands-off relationship, but it just worked for them. Sometimes, the things that came off the most discordant could somehow still find a way to harmonize, and that was what they did.

“You know, you didn’t totally open the envelope,” Minho points at the middle of the table with an open hand, as if he were guiding Changbin back to the thick paper.

Changbin shrugged his shoulders and bashfully looked away for a moment before staring Minho down. “Come on, Min,” he lowers his voice a bit, “I don’t need to know how much you’re giving me, at least not now.”

Minho dismissively waves his hand before nudging the envelope back to Changbin. “It’s not just money, love, I promise. Nothing too domestic, either. Just,” he pauses, bringing a finger to his chin as he looks up at the ceiling, “I suppose it’s partially a token of my appreciation? Yeah, that sounds right. A way to tell you I’m thankful you’ve stuck around for so long, even with all of the weird shit we’ve gone through. There’s more to it than that, but that sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I dunno, you’re making this feel like a real relationship,” the bluenette sarcastically mumbles a bit as he gingerly picks up the envelope, squinting a bit at Minho. He opens it, then pulls out a few plastic-like polymer bills: some green, some red. His expression quickly shifts to confusion when he comes across papery stationary, the textural difference causing a nerve to spark up in his arm. Stationary. A letter? He pulls the light grey paper out of the envelope, eyeing Minho as he opens it. “Really? Getting awfully boyfriend-like on me, Min.”

“Oh, come on, just read it,” the older man tuts, rifling through the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I promise, it’s not as sappy as it looks.”

Changbin plucks his glasses from the table, wiggling the temples to fit just behind his ears, then clears his throat. He tries to swallow down the smirk on his face as he mocks Minho’s intonation and speech. “My loveliest Changbin,” a laugh creeps up from his stomach as he reads on. “Every single day, I wake up and I see your ‘arranged: in black’ pieces, intricately framed behind my bed, and I’m taken aback by the fact that your mind knows no bounds when it comes to expressing creativity.” The younger man peers over the sheet again, studying the somewhat bored, slightly flustered expression on the elder’s face.

“So I had a couple of glasses of wine while writing, I got a bit sentimental.” Minho flutters his lips as he rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist. “At least it’s not as bad as last year’s letter.”

Changbin smiled, but quickly brought the paper in front of his face to hide the subtle reddish tint growing on his face. “I usually don’t like keeping my own work, as you know,” he continued to read off of the letter, still avoiding eye contact with Minho, “but the graphite portrait of you, asleep on my bed from your last bout of finals — it holds a special spot in my heart. I love seeing it every time I enter my closet. It’s like there are little reminders of you scattered across my apartment, and across my heart.”

Oh.

There was a warmth that blossomed and grew in Changbin’s abdomen. The warmth reminded him of ivy hanging off of old buildings, quickly encompassing and embracing everything within its reach. It was a strange sensation, and it gave him pause before he continued reading the note.

Perhaps this was more than sentimental.

Perhaps Changbin was reading too far into things again.

“Changbin?” Minho’s voice pulled the bluenette from the cavern of thoughts he had recessed himself into. “Where did you go?” His tone was firm, distracting Changbin from the fact that Minho had interlaced his fingers between the younger man’s left hand.

This was something they always did. Minho was always touchy-feely, even if it didn’t progress past shirtless embraces as they slept next to each other, or walking hand-in-hand. The way the pads of Minho’s fingertips softly caressed the back of his hand, though, made things seem different. Special.

“Your closet.” Realizing he had spent too much time losing himself in between the grooves of Minho’s fingerprints, Changbin sputtered out some words to barely form a coherent thought. “You reminded me that I still have one of your Burberry hoodies lost somewhere in my apartment.”

Minho furrowed his brows for a moment, trying not to get caught up on how distant Changbin’s response was. “The oversized black one? You know I don’t mind if you keep it, Bin.”

“It was nearly a thousand dollars, Minho.”

The older man scoffs and rolls his eyes a bit, bringing his left hand up to the table, a small brown box of sorts covered up by his palm. “Well,” the brunette squeezed Changbin’s hand a bit, causing them to make eye contact, “when you’re done reading that letter, I’ll be sure to avoid telling you how much your ‘anniversary’ gift is.” Minho winked as he ended his sentence, right when Changbin was thinking about saying something in protest.

“Minho,” Changbin whines, drooping his shoulders a bit as he frowns.

“Changbin,” Minho teases a bit as he mockingly whines in response. “Trust me, it’s not just me spending money aimlessly. It’ll tie into the idea I have in that letter. You know, really make some of those tabloids make us look nice and get off our backs for a while.”

The younger man bit his tongue and scanned his eyes down the letter, trying to find the last spot he had read over. Across my apartment , reading the words caused his hands to sweat, across my heart, made his stomach clench. Domestic and soft, exactly what they were, but also, somehow exactly what they were not. He continued reading off the letter, but his memories started creeping up during the empty gaps between sentences.

There was the callous bite to Minho’s tone during their first real meet-up. “Our arrangement is for mutual gains: you’ll be able to live comfortably, and I’ll get the press off of my back. You won’t be a starving artist, and I’ll no longer be ‘Minho, the Heartless’. We’re professional boyfriends: all of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings.” His bony hands felt cold, like ice, when they shook hands to confirm their arrangement. Changbin had felt in over his head then, but he knew he didn’t have anywhere else to turn.

In contrast, there was the night that Changbin had recently stayed over at the end of October. They had gotten back shortly after one in the morning after celebrating Minho’s thirty-first birthday with a handful of his friends and several well-renowned professional artists and gallery owners. Sure, Changbin had been Minho’s quote-unquote “boyfriend” for the night, but it benefitted his art career a bit, just to branch out and connect. None of that had mattered, though, because the best part was when they had gotten half-undressed and passed out on Minho’s duvet together, giggling about how some of the attendees thought ‘artist’s birthday’ meant ‘licence to dress as insanely as humanly possible’. The one-on-one time was always what Changbin looked forward to the most: that soft, personal connection with another person on such a raw, human level.

That was the weekend he borrowed Minho’s black, oversized Burberry sweater to wear home. Changbin lied earlier. He knew exactly where it was: curled up next to his wall in his bed. The soft scent of bergamot and mandarin of the Dior Sauvage that Minho wore on his wrists and in the divots of his clavicles had slowly started to fade into hints of vanilla and sandalwood. While he knew that his arrangement with Minho wouldn’t last forever, he wanted to live in the moments that made him feel like he was in a true, caring relationship. He had a friend in Minho, he truly did. It would probably hurt like hell when they eventually decided to move on from their agreement.

We're professional. Changbin would remind himself every night as he curled up into Minho’s sweater, remembering the way Minho’s arms felt warm on his back and on his shoulders, how soft his manicured fingers were when they fit perfectly in between Changbin’s. We are not real boyfriends. The sweater would catch his inevitable tears as he lost himself in the confusing haze they had painted themselves under. Business dynamic. This was the price he would pay to get into the elusive elitist art world. Strictly professional.

Even if it cost him his sanity.

“Did I just read that correctly?” Changbin’s voice was alarmed, and he frantically re-read the words on the paper before darting his eyes around nervously. Minho smirked as Changbin leaned over the table, dropping his voice to a just-audible whisper. “You want to do what to get the press’ attention?”

Minho grabbed the ashy brown jewellery box from the table, letting go of Changbin’s left hand. He opened the box and his expression flattened. “Exactly what the paper says, Bin.” Inside the desaturated box sat a contrastingly bright, rose gold band.

It was a ring embedded with actual fucking diamonds.

To anyone else, this would be serious. ‘Call your parents, scream at your best friend, even at two in the morning’ levels of seriousness. However, Changbin and Minho were not ‘anyone else’. They were in their own strange, unique bubble where the rules of modern society did not apply to them.

“How about we graduate from professional boyfriends to professional fiancés?”

Like most Sunday mornings nowadays, Changbin woke up to the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. Minho may have travelled to fancy galleries across the world and tried extravagant blends of coffee during his tenure, but he would always fall back on Starbucks’ blonde roast for his morning routines. “Why bother going through all of the effort of getting my hands on something overly fancy from Europe? I have yet to be let down by this one, and it’s been over ten years since I started drinking it. Why stop now?”

The logic made sense, really, and the coffee wasn’t bad.

“The Vancouver Sun’s already got an article out,” Minho excitedly muttered under his breath, setting a ceramic mug down on the nightstand closest to Changbin. He stared at his phone as he made his way back around the bed, causing the mattress to sink as he sat down. “So many people are speculating, like it even matters. If they had really been following me these past two years, they’d know better.”

It was too early for this. Minho was always business as soon as he woke up: endearing in theory, terribly annoying in practice.

Changbin rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he rolled onto his back, sleepily glaring up at Minho. “You’re loud.”

“And you’re hungover,” the brunette quipped, not looking away from his phone as he smiled at himself. “Drink your water and your coffee, love, you’ll feel better.”

“Whatever,” Changbin grumbled under his breath as he sat up, reaching over to the nightstand. There was a sheen on his left hand that caused him to momentarily lose his breath. Shit. He drew his hand into his face to stare at the ring he had conveniently forgotten about overnight. It felt like nothing before he noticed it, but now that he was staring at it, it felt like the ring was going to cut off the circulation to his finger. It felt like a boa constrictor was tightening around him, making it hard to breathe.

Changbin had every intention to pull himself away from the suffocation of the ring. Instead, he found himself trying to count each small diamond wedged between the two layers of rose gold. A sudden dip right behind him and an arm around his waist literally pulled him from his thoughts. “Min!”

“It’s pretty,” Minho gently grabbed Changbin’s hand, tucking his chin into the younger man’s shoulder. “I didn’t know if you’d like rose gold, but I know you hate gold, and silver’s too simple for you. For a fake engagement ring, seems pretty convincing, hmm?”

As much as he doesn’t want to, Changbin sinks into Minho’s embrace. Blame it on the fatigue, he figured, but found himself surprised that the older man didn’t pull away. For the shortest of moments, it almost feels like they’re meant to fit together like this. “It’s expensive,” the brunette whispers, “to no one’s surprise, so please don’t lose it.”

The younger man squints in disapproval. “How much was it?”

“It’s impolite to ask a fiancé something like that, you know,” Minho huffs a bit dramatically as he feigns irritation.

Changbin, however, seems plenty irritated for the both of them. He rolls around, mere centimetres away from Minho’s face as he frowns up at the older man. “It’s a good thing this is all fake, then, right? How much was it?”

“Bin,” the brunette’s expression falters as he cocks his head to the side. “It’s not important, I don’t understand why you’re so—”

Changbin desperately wants to stay this close to Minho, to drown in his embrace and the warmth of his touch. Professional. Fake boyfriends, fake fiancés. “It’s just for show, I know. Since it’s fake, though, you shouldn’t have a problem telling me, right?” There’s a layer of hurt in his voice that he knows he can’t hide. He dips his chin into his chest and closes his eyes, desperate to make this all just stop and go away. Something about this, though, just felt too real, too close to an actual relationship.

What the fuck were they doing? All of this had to cross some sort of unspoken relationship rule somewhere, right? The blurred lines between what was real and what was fake in their arrangement was causing Changbin's head to spin.

Minho doesn’t seem sure about how to handle the situation. The moments pass by in silence until the older man takes in a deep breath, then he wiggles his index finger under Changbin’s chin, tilting his face upwards. “Hey,” he quietly demands, “look at me, Bin.”

So, the bluenette does as requested. He stares into Minho’s eyes and instantly softens.

“If it bothers you that much, I can go out and get something simpler.” Minho’s voice quivers a bit, almost like he feels how uncomfortable Changbin is. “I just… I don’t know what I was thinking when I went out and I got this one. I looked around with the agent for over an hour, and then that one just caught my eye, just as things were looking hopeless.”

Suddenly, Changbin’s hand is in Minho’s again, and the older man stares at the band with purpose, rotating the younger man’s hand around freely. “I guess I put in a bit too much of a personal flair on this. I really prioritized what I figured you’d like before the importance of keeping up the façade that this is all fake.”

They both stare at the ring for a moment, then look at one another. Neither of them moved, neither of them breathed as they stared at each other with shared panic, concern, worry. There was an unfamiliar emotion that lingered at the back of their gaze, but it was hard to place. Changbin hadn’t felt anything like this before. He was equal parts nervous, nauseated, and lost.

If this were like the romantic comedies that Changbin and Seungmin would watch while hungover, this would be the part where Minho would roll on top of him, say something like “fuck the rules, I just want you”. They would cry and kiss and roll around the sheets together. There would be a swell of uplifting orchestral music in the background, indicating that fate had given its blessing on the couple.

This wasn’t a movie, though. This was fucking reality, and there was nothing but tension in the air and a yearning in the bottom of Changbin’s stomach. Their situation was complex and convoluted and it was going to end in heartbreak for him, and only him. Really, he had no one to blame but himself.

Our arrangement is for mutual gains. Minho’s voice was so loud.

We’re professional boyfriends. It was sour.

All of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings. It hurt as it echoed in Changbin’s head, but Minho’s voice was all he wanted to hear.

Feelings.

Feelings?

That’s when it hit Changbin: he was falling for Minho — Minho, the (supposedly, yet to be proven) Heartless — and he couldn’t stop himself, no matter how stupid he knew it was. Perhaps the most terrifying part of this, though, wasn’t the fact that Minho didn’t feel the same way.

No, the most terrifying thing was that Changbin couldn’t tell if Minho was actually interested in him or not. Minho always felt strongly one way or another. For them to sit here, struck dumb in silence, was unnerving. The silence meant uncertainty.

It meant possibility.

[losingmymindtonight]

Trope: Clingy

AN: me, editing this fic: god, why is Peter so ANNOYING?

that little voice in the back of my head that’s an asshole: it’s because you based him off of you

As usual, I didn't edit this very closely, and it was written on a bus and in dining halls. This is just the new standard for the semester, y'all. I'm so sorry. Still, it's my usual brand of sleepiness (+ fixing Tony’s story in Endgame). If you've read of my other stuff, welcome back. I'm a one-trick pony.

--

Peter smacked his bedside clock, and his ceiling lit up with a galaxy, swirling and lazy. In the center, bright green numbers spelled out 1:58 am.

He could hear the indistinct murmur of the TV wafting up through the floorboards. When he focused, he could pick up Tony’s breath, and unmistakable off-kilter, over-fast thud of his heartbeat. Tony had told him that the technical name for it was tachycardia. A permanent reminder of Afghanistan and the damage done there. Even without the reactor and the shrapnel that had orbited it, Tony’s heart would never be healthy again.

He probably could’ve gone back to sleep. Actually, he definitely could’ve gone back to sleep. He’d been burning the candle on both ends, recently, with Spider-Man and all the summer work Midtown had assigned, a half-assed attempt to catch the Dusted students up to speed. His general lack of self-care had come to an apex last week: when May had ambushed him with a print-out of his sleep patterns, courtesy of the biomonitor Tony had given him. 

And that was, of course, how he’d ended up here: on a forced break from the suit and school and everything else. He’d been a little bitter about it, for the first five minutes, but then Morgan had lunged into his arms and a late-summer breeze had rattled the trees and Tony had pulled his duffle bag off of his shoulder, squeezing the back of his neck as he did it, and he’d decided that being bitter was for people who hadn’t died yet.

He hadn’t even realized how exhausted he was until he’d had Pepper’s homemade mac and cheese in his stomach and his head pillowed against Tony’s shoulder. He’d made it all of fifteen minutes into the classic Cinderella before Tony was ushering him off to bed, guiding him up the stairs and griping about teenagers having a major deficit in self-preservation skills.

To be fair, he was probably right.

Those few hours of sleep had been nice, but Peter could tell that he needed a lot more. Maybe an entire week’s worth. If he moped enough, he was pretty sure Tony would let him do it, too. Yeah, that would be nice. Sleeping for a week, curling into his sheets, listening to Tony’s heartbeat thumpthumpthump-skip through the floor.

Except it was 1:58 in the morning, Tony was watching TV in the living room, and Peter was too curious for his own good.

He pushed off his bed, grabbed the throw that Pepper had folded over the foot of his mattress, and settled it over his shoulders like a cape.

The hall was cold. Peter traced the wall as he headed for the stairs. There were picture frames everywhere. So many that he could barely see the wallpaper through them. Of course, there were dozens of photos of Morgan, from the first picture taken after she was born to one they must’ve hung only a few weeks ago: her dangling upside down from a swingset in the backyard, grinning wide. There were a few photos from Tony and Pepper’s wedding, the one they’d had during the five years Peter had missed, and a few more from the vow renewal they’d put on after he’d come back. And then, of course, there were the photos of him.

When Peter had first come to the cabin, there was only one picture of him hanging in the hall, which was definitely one more than he’d expected to see. Tony didn’t really talk about it, mostly because he didn’t really seem to like talking about anything that had happened during the missing years, but Pepper had told him that he’d put it up sometime after Morgan’s second birthday.

The funny thing was, it wasn’t even a picture of Tony and Peter together. In fact, it’d been taken long before Tony had ever even met him. Peter couldn’t have been more than two, but he was sitting in a patch of grass, brandishing a flower out to whoever was holding the camera with a smile on his face.

Apparently, Tony had found it when he was going through his and May’s apartment. He’d shyly offered it back to May, once everything had been reversed, but she’d just smirked at him and told him to keep it.

Now, though, there were at least half a dozen photos of him, all framed and hung alongside Tony and Pepper and Morgan. Peter holding a Spider-Man themed tub of Ben and Jerry’s. Peter and Morgan sitting on the dock. Peter and Tony working in the lab. Peter curled over his desk, taking notes from a textbook.

The stairs creaked under his feet, but Peter knew the pattern. Third step, seventh step, twelfth. The TV was louder, now, and he could tell it was turned to a History Channel documentary on Hitler and aliens. Tony wasn’t actually watching anything, then. He was just using it for background noise.

Sure enough, Peter turned the corner to see Tony slouched back on the couch, eyes fixed on his StarkPad rather than the badly-rendered animation of Hitler being abducted by a UFO.

“Hey, bud,” Tony said, not glancing up. He moved his arm, though, holding it up in an unspoken invitation for Peter to curl up with him.

(It was Peter’s favorite kind of invitation.)

He padded over, hardwood cool and textured against his bare feet. He flopped bonelessly into Tony’s side, and he heard the man let out a little snort of amusement, like Peter’s laziness was the most precious thing in the universe.

“You comfy?” Tony whispered, fingers tracing gently through Peter’s hair.

“One sec,” he muttered. He spent the next few seconds curling himself into a ball, knees knocking against Tony’s ribs. He poked him irritably until he twisted a little, letting Peter settle more comfortably, cheek pressed up against his collarbone.

He let out a contented sigh. “Now I’m comfy.”

“Oh, good,” Tony said, dry. “Glad we’ve got that sorted.” His voice softened, low and concerned. “What’re you doing awake?”

“I woke up and heard you breathing.”

It was probably something Peter wouldn’t have said if it wasn’t 2:00 am and he wasn’t half asleep. From the way Tony went all still and quiet for a few seconds, he guessed that his mentor had realized the same thing.

“You can hear me breathing from your bedroom?”

“Mhm. And your heartbeat.”

“Huh.” Tony turned his attention back to whatever it was he was doing on his tablet, seeming perfectly content to end the conversation there. “Fascinating.”

He hadn’t exactly had a specific intention in coming downstairs, outside of finding out what Tony was up to, but being ignored was not on his list of expectations. May kept making offhand jokes that Tony was spoiling him, and maybe that was a little true, but it was nice to have someone who looked at him like everything he said was lined with gold. He’d gotten used to it, after coming back. Tony listened to him like he was speaking scripture, or something. Like everything he did was a miracle.

He reached out and plucked the StarkPad out of Tony’s hands, setting it on the arm of the couch.

“Hey,” Tony chastised, but there was no real bite in his words, “I was doing something.”

Peter glanced up, smiling innocently. “Whoops.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but there was something curious there, too. Curious, gentle, concerned. “Why’re you being difficult, huh?”

“I just wanted to make you pay attention to me.”

Tony huffed out a breath that was half laughter, half fondness. “You don’t have to make me pay attention to you, buddy.”

Peter didn’t really feel a need to respond to that. Instead, he just nuzzled closer, pleased.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Tony asked, eventually. It took him a lot longer than Peter had been expecting.

“Nope.”

Tony was quiet for a second.

“So you really did just want attention.”

“It’s what I deserve,” he joked, and he felt a satisfied rush of success when Tony laughed.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Another soft chuckle. “God, I’ve created a monster, haven’t I? Everyone kept telling me it would happen, and now it has. I’m reaping what I’ve sown.”

“You like it.”

“What, having clingy children? Absolutely not. I despise it.”

Peter just shook his head. He was too cozy to play along with Tony’s game. It was past 2:00 am, Peter had been dead this time last year, and he just wanted to have a few moments of warm, honest affection.

“You like it,” he repeated, and he could tell that Tony got the message, because he pulled Peter closer with a long, white-flag sigh.

“Alright, I do. Just keep that a secret, okay? If Morgan finds out, we’ll have trouble on our hands.”

“I think she already knows, Mister Stark.”

“Oh, god. We’re doomed.”

He snorted. “You weren’t doomed with just me?”

“That’s a fair point, actually.” There was so much affection in Tony’s voice that it overflowed into Peter’s chest. “There was never any hope for me, huh?”

“Nope.”

A few minutes slid past in relative quiet. The TV still droned on in the background, but Peter mostly tuned it out. Tony’s heartbeat was a better soundtrack, anyway.

Tony rubbed his side to get his attention. “Can I have my tablet back, Pete?”

Peter squinted one eye open, suspicious. “Why?”

“Because you’re going to be asleep in,” Tony faked glancing at a watch, “approximately five to ten minutes, and I have work to do.”

He didn’t really take offense to the estimate. Anyway, he was tired, and there wasn’t a better place to catch up on some sleep than with Tony there. Nothing, not even nightmares, could touch him like this.

Peter lazily handed him the tablet. He guessed it was probably a defeat, but it didn’t feel like one. After all, Tony just set it aside again and kept all his focus on him.

“You know,” Tony murmured, and he was using the tone he always put on when he read Morgan a bedtime story, “I saw an article earlier. I don’t remember what it was about, exactly, because you and Morgan were distracting me, but it talked about a study this institute did into parents. D’you wanna know what it said?”

“Uh-huh.”

“It claimed that the average parent worries about their child for five hours every day. And right away, I thought, that can’t be right. That’s not enough. I’m worrying about Morgan and Peter constantly.” He felt Tony press a light kiss to his head. “You never need to make me pay attention to you, Pete. I promise that I’m already doing it.”

He liked it when Tony referred to him and Morgan as one unit. My kids. My children. It didn’t really matter how often Tony reassured him that Morgan didn’t change anything, that Peter still mattered to him just as much ever: the hint of insecurity lingered. But these moments, these little slices of full-focus, all-on-him attention, soothed it away, if only for a little while. If only for a second.

“It’s a full-time job,” he whispered.

Tony paused. Peter recognized the silence as thought. Tony Stark may be known for rushing ahead, but that wasn’t all he was. He was careful with Peter, in the same way that he was careful with Morgan.

“It’s more than that,” he finally said, slowly. “You and Morgan… you two are the most important pieces of who I am. It comes before everything else. Everything I want, everything I need, is a secondary concern. And I know you hate it when I say this, but it really isn’t a feeling you’ll be able to understand until you’re older. Right now, it’s all about you, and that’s how it should be. It’s how it’s meant to be. But one day, you’ll have kids of your own, and you’ll get it.”

Peter just hummed. He hadn’t really absorbed much of what Tony was actually saying. He’d been way more content to doze during the speech. And in his defense, he had gotten the gist of it. Tony really could’ve just said I love you, I love you, I love you over and over again and ended up with the same result. 

Tony huffed a gentle laugh.  “You didn’t pay attention to a word of that, did you?”

“I kinda did.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tony scratched lightly at Peter’s scalp. Somehow, he always knew the exact spot to hit. “Get some rest, kid. I swear I’ll give you all the attention you want when you wake up.”

“And now.”

“Yeah, yeah. And now. You want constant attention when you’re tired. I’ve gotten the memo.”

“No, all the time.”

He could sense Tony shaking his head, hands moving to carefully tuck his bedroom throw more firmly around his shoulders. “You’re gonna be so embarrassed about this when you’re not sleep deprived, bud.”

“Nah,” Peter mumbled. He was already done with the conversation, if he was being honest. He was curled up against one of his favorite people in the world, he was exhausted, and he just wanted to sleep. “‘M never embarrassed with you.”

The comment won him Tony pulling him closer, which was never something to complain about. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“And attention,” Peter added, grinning lazily. “And food. And money.”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s not forget all that.”

--

AN: This was, as many of my fics are, inspired heavily by my dad. He tends to stay up really late working, and I like to come downstairs and bother him. 

I stumbled across the statistics I mentioned while doing some reading for my Women’s and Gender Studies class. When I asked my parents if it was true, they both immediately went, “absolutely not, I worry about you and your brother 24 hours a day, every single day.” Hence Tony’s little speech.

[all-you-need-is-paul-mccartney]

The Couple Next Door II (Roger Taylor x Female!Reader)

Find Part I Here

A/N: Been a long time coming. I know it’s been literally half a year. I’ve been working through stressful family things, prep for university in the coming fall, spending as much time as I can with my boyfriend before we go our separate ways for a few months, etc.

 Stuff just got busy and I am SO sorry I haven’t addressed any of that. I know many of you want part two, and here it is. I don’t know if it’s as good as my other works on here, but the only way to find out is to post it, right? 

But anyways, yes, this chapter is here, and it’s kinda a filler. there’ll be more plot development in the next chapter, and I promise, if this part does well, I will not hesitate to post a continuation. 

Like I say in my other author’s notes, feedback, and any sort of note, whether it be a reblog, a like, or a comment, is greatly appreciated. it inspires me more to keep writing. So thank you!

Summary: Moving day is here, and you and Roger had the honour of meeting the neighbours across the street, the Garrisons.

(This can be read as Borhap!Roger or IRL Roger. Whatever mows your lawn)

WARNINGS: Swearing, mild sexual content (but NO smut), and zero knowledge of U-Haul History (I know they no longer exist in the UK, but I’m Canadian and I’m too lazy to do any research to make sure the timeline is matched)

Like the previous fic in this series, it’s rated a T for Mature Subject Matter

It was a bright, sunny morning in London (shocking, right?). 

The day would have been hot, but the wind chill cooled down the city rather nicely. 

Not only was this a wonderful day, but it was moving day. 

Roger was pushing the last box of vinyl records into the trunk of his car. He shut the trunk, and huffed a sigh before running his fingers through his sweaty hair. He didn’t remember the last time he’d lifted so much.

He took a minute to catch his breath, two ladies roughly the same age as him, jogging past. He drank in their appearances before winking at one of them and retreating to the apartment in which he and you once resided. 

He made his way down the hallway leading to your room, and although he was planning on going to the empty room that once was his own, he figured he could receive the same amount of nostalgia when looking at your now vacant bedroom. 

Roger found it so strange– The bare walls and stripped mattress. The empty closet and the unoccupied corners of the room. 

“Weird, eh?” Roger asked you, who was simply packing away the last of the books on your shelf. You turned to him, and he leaned against the threshold of your bedroom door, arms crossed over his chest. 

You shrugged your shoulders, glancing down at the floor and scratching the back of your head. 

“Just a little, yeah.”

Roger playfully pouted at you, shoving his hands into his jean pockets as he entered the bedroom. 

He looked around silently, and you went back to shoving your final books into its box before closing it up and labelling the cardboard. 

“I’m gonna miss this place,” you said, frowning at the realization that you’d already slept, ate, showered, cleaned, and cooked for the last time in this apartment. 

Roger took immediate notice of your upset tone. “Don’t get all melancholic on me now, y/n,” Roger teased, taking a seat right next to the box you just packed. 

“But won’t you?/" 

"Miss this place? Of course.” Roger smiled a little. “And Brian will miss us." 

”Oh yeah. He’ll definitely miss my awful singing in the shower every morning, and your extremely loud noises when you bring a girl over to bed.“ 

He just shrugged. "What can I say? I’m not about to fake being unsatisfied, especially when I’m trying to get a girl off." 

You shuddered. "I don’t wanna hear about your sex life, Roger." 

He laughed loudly, rising to his feet and picking up the box of books on your mattress. "Then I don’t wanna hear you complaining about how loud I am in bed." 

"You’re making it sound like we fuck,” you crossed your arms accusingly, your face twisting sourly. 

“Might as well be. We’re basically a couple.” He turned on his heel and left the room, but not before he sent a teasing wink your way. 

You simply shook your head, mumbling “gross” under your breath jokingly and moving to the bathroom to retrieve your remaining possessions in the medicine cabinet. 

_____________________________

“Are you sure you don’t need my help, guys? Christine isn’t going to get here for another few hours." 

"I think we’re all good, Bri,” Roger assured the tall guitarist, giving him a kind slap on the back. 

“But if we do, we’ll give you a ring,” you added, to which Roger smiled. He liked that about you. You were so humble, but weren’t afraid at all to ask for assistance. It was an admiring trait of yours. 

“Will do,” Brian confirmed with a grin and a simple nod of his head. You and Roger returned the nod, and walked to the car. 

After climbing in, and giving one last look at the apartment building the both you and Roger once called home, he drove you both off to your new humble abode.

____________________________

“We can just put it here,” Roger directed as the both of you lowered the piece of furniture on the floor. When it was set where the both of you wanted it, you plopped down in the chair on the other side of the living room, sighing loudly.

“It was real nice of Christine to give us some of her furniture,” you commented, watching as Roger collapsed on the sofa in exhaustion. 

“Well she’s got all Bri’s stuff now, right?" 

The question sounded more like a statement, and Roger wasn’t surprised when you didn’t respond. 

”… d'ya know what’s left to bring in from the U-Haul?“ 

"The mattresses and all the boxes from the car, I believe." 

Roger groaned, and got to his feet, much to his dismay. "Then we can rest,” he exclaimed with a sigh. You just smiled at the idea, pushed off from your place on the chair, and followed Roger out. 

He walked straight towards the moving truck and into the back, where one more box hid with the mattresses, which were now the only things occupying the truck. You, on the other hand, stood at the steps of the condominium, your eyes wandering around the complex. 

Roger, who was just about to pass you with the final box in his hand, bumped your hip playfully with his own before slipping away into the building. You turned to where he was a moment ago, smiling to yourself at the idea of just how childish Roger could be. 

Your eyes shifted to the right a little, and you caught the gaze of a man and woman who appeared to have been in their early to mid sixties, across the complex’s main stretch of road. You smiled, and waved at the couple, something you’d expect them to return. 

What you didn’t prepare for was when they waved back, and began approaching you to properly greet themselves. 

Your eyes widened and you began to internally panic. Roger was just exiting the front door, and you extended your wrist out, grabbing his arm tightly and pulling him back before he could go any further. 

You turned to face him, your expressions hidden from everyone but him. “Neighbours’ coming,” you warned in a hushed tone, your eyebrows bent in worry, and your bottom lip rolling between your teeth anxiously. 

“Hey, hey, nothin’ to worry about. I’m here. All you need to do is hold my hand, yeah? I can do all the talking." 

You let go of his arm after a moment, and he slowly curled his fingers around yours. He took a deep breath, as did you, before putting on bright smiles, and turning towards the neighbours, who just appeared from in behind the truck. 

"Hi! You two must be the new couple. Welcome to the complex! I’m Anna Garrison, and this is my husband, Charles." 

You and Roger branded the friendliest smiles you both could muster. You watched as Roger let go of you to reach out and shake the couple’s hands. 

"I’m Roger Taylor,” he introduced, glancing down and snaking an arm warmly around your waist. 

“… and this is my beautiful girlfriend, y/n.” You tried to ignore what Roger said despite feeling your face grow hot. You reached out and politely shook the Garrisons’ hands as well, keeping the smile plastered on your mouth no matter how much it ached. 

“I remember when we were that young and in love,” Charles mused in a soft tone. Conversations like this, Roger knew, you wanted to avoid at all costs, and he did as well. He was just… really good at lying. 

Although the Garrisons looked nice, there was something about them that made them seem rather nosey. 

And your suspicions were proven true when you watched Anna’s gaze fall on your bare wedding finger despite just hearing Roger and you were only “boyfriend and girlfriend”. 

“So… do you two plan on marrying soon? You may be young, but time does pass." 

You knew you should have remained quiet, but you began to panic, and you let out a laugh. "Yeah. We… we kinda talk about it. Not much." 

"We wanna settle in first,” Roger offered, knowing if he didn’t start talking soon, you would have said too much. 

You wondered how Roger could do that so easily: pretend, yet be so believable. You wondered if he simply tossed extra words in without thought. Like adding “girl” before “friend”, something he’d called you since you met. 

You wondered if he found it awkward to hold your hand, or have you so physically close to him. Then again, you two never exactly had/ personal space. 

You knew he had a method of doing this, but you couldn’t quite place exactly what he was doing, or how he did it so naturally. 

“Well, it’s gonna be nice, having another couple to have over for dinner." 

You could feel your throat swelling. If you made a list on everything you wanted to avoid doing with these neighbours in this complex that you were gonna end up having to do, a quarter of the list would have probably already been crossed off. 

"That sounds lovely,” Roger nodded politely, silently wishing himself that the day never had to come, for your sake. 

But it seemed Charles and Anna thought differently, and when the married couple made eye contact with one another, you and Roger just knew this invitation was not going to be forgotten about. 

“Why don’t you two come tonight?” Charles asked, to which his wife nodded in agreement. 

“Don’t worry about having to cook after a long day of moving in. I’m making a lovely casserole, and we can send you home with leftovers. There’s always too much for Charlie and I to eat anyways, with our kids having moved out and away long ago." 

Roger opened his mouth to politely decline the offer, but like a few moments before, you panicked and spoke again. "That sounds great, actually!" 

The blond looked down at you, and you could see in your peripheral that Roger seemed lost, though the Garrisons didn’t even notice. 

"Perfect! We’re right across the road. I suspect it will be done near six-thirty. Gives you two some time to yourselves after everything is moved in." 

"We’ll see you around six then?” Charles asked Roger, his old grey eyes wide and expecting. 

“Six it is,” Roger agreed, matching smiles with the older gentleman. 

“Six it is,” Anna repeated before linking arms with her husband, bidding farewell, and returning to their condominium. 

As soon as they closed the door, you tightly grabbed Roger’s wrist, and stepped inside your new home. When the door shut, you let out a long groan, bending your knees and squatting, your face in your hands. 

“I thought this is what you wanted to avoid!" 

"I know, I know, and I panicked and I fucked up and now we have to have dinner with them,” you whined helplessly. “You’ve known me for years, you know I do this all the time!" 

Roger, whose knees were bent, palms flat against his thighs as he thought, took a deep breath, and regained a neutral posture. 

"You know what,” he raised his hands in a calming sort of gesture. 

“It’s not as bad as you think." 

 "What do you mean "it’s not as bad as you think”?!“ You were horrified with Roger’s words. 

 "We do this once, and we never have to go back!” You raised your head from its once defeated position in your hands, but you could see Roger’s reasoning. 

"Oh my God…" 

"I know! Then we’re home-free!” He explained with a grin, his arms wide open. 

You leaned backwards, falling on your ass and leaning your head up against the wall in relief. 

“Oh God. We just gotta get through tonight.” You opened your heavy eyelids and smiled up at Roger. “We’ll be fine." 

 "Yes we will. Now, c'mon, Love. Let’s get those mattresses in here before someone takes notice we have different beds." 

And that’s exactly what you did. 

 And after the car was all unpacked, you and Roger took a well-deserved nap together on the couch.

_____________________________

A/A/N: Thank you all for your patience. Happy reading!

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[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 59

Warnings: Profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @ocfairygodmother​

A hot shower and a three hour nap -aided by a mixture of antidepressants, anxiety meds, and pain killers washed down by three shots of tequila- has done Tyler a world of good.  Waking up feeling energized; still riding the high of the morning’s adrenaline rush and relatively pain free. Nothing more than a dull throb in the deepest part of the shoulder; some discomfort and audible cracking and popping when he stretches and manipulates it. But it’s bearable, unlike the agony that’s been a near constant fixture in his life for the past couple of years. While the initial replacement surgery and rehab had both been complete successes, a full recovery had eluded him. It had been his own fault, of course; the surgeon’s orders  had been to alter his lifestyle and to avoid the very ‘activity’ that had caused so much damage in the first place. That ‘advice’ had lasted all of four months, until Nik had called, desperately needing his help and he’d been unable to resist both the lure of the game and the promise of damn good money.

He’d attempted to walk away several times in as many years, fully intending to commit himself to being a family man with his own little side business. Content with the motions of being the one to stay home with the kids while his wife either went back to school or found a new career she’d be happy with. But sometimes the best laid plans don’t work out. Not long after an early term miscarriage when the twins were two and a half, she’d  gotten pregnant with Declan DESPITE being on birth control and coming to a mutual decision to wait until both Millie and the twins were in school full time before once again trying to add to their family. It had been completely unexpected, and off of their previous plans regarding their home life quickly went by the wayside. The job was easy money; he was confident in his skills and his abilities and Nik had promised to offer only the easiest of gigs.

That changed quickly. What should have been an ‘in and out’ assassination of a key political figure in El Salvador turning  into a four day shit show that had him falling into dangerous enemy territory and almost needing to be extracted himself. After that, he’d said ‘fuck it’ and began taking whatever Nik brought to the table. And his physical health began to pay the price.

He orders a meal from room service and cracks open the bottle of whisky in the mini bar. He’s stuck to his word; staying sober while actually ON the job and not ever indulging during his downtime. Unlike the old days, he’s able to both pace himself AND stop after just a couple. A far cry from the guy who’d polish off an entire bottle and would be either too hung over to get up with his kids in the morning, or already passed out in the early evening; missing school events and extra curricular activities that he’d promised he’d attend. He refuses to be that guy again; the one who’d almost single handedly ruined his marriage because he put the bottle and the pain meds at the top of his priority list; allowing his addictions to take precedence over his family. The one who’d rightfully had his ass kicked out and then spent the next six months in a drunken stupor.

Never again. Never again will he be ‘that guy’. The absolute failure as a husband and a father. He can control it now; no longer needing to silence the inner demons or lessen the emotional suffering by getting. The want not nearly as powerful. Before it had been a way of life; no day complete without at least the smallest buzz. Now it’s a matter of convenience. Even enjoyment. A feeling of satisfaction and relief when the whisky finally hits the tongue and he experiences the initial burn in the back of his throat. After that, one drink doesn’t make him crave more. Instead satisfying his palate with bottle water and Gatorade and terrible coffee made in the hotel provided maker.

He’s lounging in the middle of the bed in a pair of boxer briefs when Koen finally returns. Back resting against the headboard and his legs stretched out; laptop resting on his thighs and a plate of food in his hands. And he only gives a brief glance towards the door when Koen stomps in and allows it to slam shut behind him.  Offering no greeting, calmly and casually eating from the enormous serving of goat curry and naan bread,  eyes never leaving the video playing on the computer; his three oldest on the plane, reading HIM a story and every so often having mispronounced words gently and lovingly corrected by their mother. And the grin that plays on his lips is double fold; pride and love for those beautiful and intelligent little human beings he’d had a hand in creating, and amusement at Koen’s mutters and complaints and strings of profanity.

“Look at you,” his friend grumbles. “All fucking relaxed and shit. Cocky, shit eating  grin on your face.”

Tyler’s attention  never leaves  the laptop. A different video this time; Addie giving a real, genuine smile when she has her chin tickled. That one brings the prick of tears to his eyes. She’s still so tiny and so fragile, but she is...in fact...growing up.

“Why do you swear all the time?” He finally asks. “Makes you sound stupid. Find another fucking adjective.”

Koen smirks. “Well aren’t you just the clever one. Leave it to your brain damaged ass to remember THAT.”

“It’s my short term memory that’s fucked. Although I do remember threatening to throw your ass off the balcony. Keep calling me stupid or brain damaged, and it’ll happen.”

“Don’t be so goddamn sensitive. What’cha watching?”

“Just some videos Esme sent me. Of the kids. I’ve got two five year olds and a six year old that can read better than I can. How’d the fuck that ever happen?”

“Well their momma’s pretty damn smart. Maybe just be thankful their brains at least took after her.”

Tyler frowns, then flips Koen the middle finger.  “I meant that they’re practically babies still and they can read like they’re a lot older. They’re so smart. So fucking smart.”

“Definitely gonna be trouble makers when they’re older. Imagine them as teenagers? Especially Millie? With that mouth of hers?”

“That mouth of hers is going to keep trouble AWAY from her. She says what she wants; fuck anyone’s feelings. Someone gets mouthy with her when she’s older, she’ll put them in their place. And if her own mouth doesn’t do it, her right hook will. She's a savage that kid.”

“Best of both mom and dad if you ask me. And look at you just kicking back. Acting like  you didn’t just butcher two people this morning.”

Tyler shrugs. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for them?”

“Just thought maybe you’d be a little more...I don’t know...grumpy.”

“Why would I? They got what was coming to them. And they deserved a lot worse. You think that was brutal? Wait until I have more time and more space.”

“You’re starting to scare me a bit, mate. You’re enjoying this a little too much, I reckon.”

“Well if it was  your family being threatened, you’d enjoy it too. You know what kind of things they would have done to my wife and kids? What I did is tame compared to what they had planned. I’ve heard the threats; you haven’t. It’s nightmare inducing shit. Let’s leave it at that.”

“That why you been freaking out in your sleep? Waking up barely able to breathe and shit? Scared the crap out of me the first couple of times.”

“It’s fucking with my head a bit,”  Tyler admits. “Kind of hard not to let it mess with you. Trust me when I say that what I read? What was said about Esme? About the kids? I don’t wish any of it on my worst enemy.”   It makes bile rise in his throat just thinking about it and he places the laptop on the bed and reaches for the bottle of Gatorade sitting on the nightstand. Downing half in order to rid himself of the bitterness and the burn.   “Heard you guys had a bit of trouble.”

Koen scowls, pausing in the middle of taking off his gear. “Don’t get all cocky again, young man.”

“Not getting cocky. Just repeating what I heard. Didn’t you guys leave the same time I did?”

“Your point?”

“No point.” A slow, sly grin spreads across his face. “Just making an observation. I mean, I was alone and had to take out two people. By myself. Took me twenty minutes. And that includes me getting there AND back. You know all the shit I’ve done since then?”

“Nope. But I bet you’re gonna tell me, aren’t ya.”

“Took a shower, ate, slept for three hours. Now I’m eating again. And you’re getting back. Just now. It’s almost six. In the evening.”

“You’ve kept yourself busy. You jerk off sometime in there too?”

“Twice, actually.”

“Your lazy ass could have handled some more work. Instead you’ve been here slacking.”

“I’d done my bit for the day. Next time be faster.”

“Easy for you to say,” Koen scoffs. “Mister ‘I have all the experience’.  You now, we could have used your help out there.”

“Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that. Can you repeat it?”

“Don’t be a little prick."

“I swear you just said that you could have used MY help. I swear you just said that.”

“You’re asking for an ass kicking, you know that?”

“Funny how you wanted my help when this morning you were acting I like I didn’t know what the fuck In was doing. It’s almost like...I don’t know...like you’re actually admitting you were wrong.”

“I ain’t admitting shit. Just saying we could have used your help.”

“Why? Apparently I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I am five seconds away from punching you in the face,” Koen growls. “And your wife won’t be too happy if I mess that face up. So…”

“Just swallow your pride and admit you’re wrong, mate. That you shouldn’t have underestimated me. Get it off your chest. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Make you feel better, you mean. I’d rather stroke your cock than your ego.”

“Well you’re definitely never getting anywhere near my cock so it’s my ego or nothing.”

“Fine,” Koen sighs heavily. “I underestimated you. I will never again second guess your skills or your abilities. But I still think you’re a brain damaged fuck.”

“I’ll take it,” Tyler says, then sits the now empty plate and Gatorade bottle on the nightstand and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “How did it go in the end?” he asks, groaning and grimacing as he stands. Forty starting to feel like it’s closer to death, never mind middle age.

“They’re dead. So it ended on a good note. Put up a hell of a fight. Rata took an elbow to the face and went crazy. Beat the guy to death. You would have been impressed. I think he’s a natural.”

“And you?”

“I prefer the simple things in life. Pull a trigger and it’s done. I’ll leave the more hands on, gruesome shit for you two. Gotta date or something?”

“Going to the airport.” He slips into a pair of jeans and a simple black t-shirt. “Going to see my wife and kids.”

“Think that’s a good idea?”

Tyler sighs in exasperation. “Don’t fucking start this shit again.”

“Just if anyone is following you and you lead them right to your family…”

“Anil gave me the okay. Said he’s got tons of guys keeping their eyes on things. Yaz is sending a couple of people with me. So fuck off with this overprotective bullshit.”

“Now you know how your wife feels.”

“I have a reason to worry about her. A LOT of reasons. Damn good ones too. If you’re going to ride my ass so hard, at least pull my fucking hair.”

Koen smirks. “You’re into that kinda shit, aren’t ya. I knew it. Always knew you were a freak.”

“As much as I’d like to stay here and discuss my sex life with you, I’ve got better things to do.”  He attaches his holster to his right hip, gathers up his wallet and hotel key card and both phones.

“You better not come back here with that ‘’just got fucked’ grin on your face,” Koen warns. “Because I will beat your ass.”

“You’ll be too busy beating something else.” Tyler retorts, right hand mimicking jerking off. Chuckling when Koen throws a shoe at him when he steps out the door.

****

It’s only a fifteen minute drive to the airport and he already knows everything there is to know about the young tech that Yaz has recruited to ‘escort’ him. It’s annoying enough not to be able to something as simple as driving, but to have to stuck with someone that is overly chatty and friendly is nothing short of torture.  He’s never been a social creature; unlike his wife who makes friends easily and never shies away from making conversation with just about anyone, including strangers in the grocery store or out on the street. She’d been the first...and only...chatty person that hasn’t gotten on his nerves.

Her name is Riya and she’s twenty one; last of eight kids, her mother and father both extremely successful and wealthy business people in Dubai. The so-called ‘black sheep’ of the family; all but disowned when she’d decided to attend an American university  -Georgetown- and  make her home there. Even if he HAD have been talker, he wouldn’t have had the chance to offer up much commentary; her mouth running a mile a minute as she nervously and awkwardly spills even the smallest details of her life.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her to stop her. The old Tyler...the one that existed only six short years ago...would have already snapped and told her to shut the fuck up. But who he is now...the man he is...is different in so many ways. Far more patient. Considerate. Empathetic, even. And the father of a little girl that is the very definition of a chatterbox. Who’s bright eyed and bubbly and talkative from the time she opens her eyes in the morning until the moment she closes them at night. And he wouldn’t want some asshole speaking to his own daughter like that, so why would he?

“How long HAVE you been married for?” Riya asks, and he can hear Esme’s voice in his head; reminding him that not everyone is out to get him. That their curiosity is often just that. They’re genuinely interested in him and want to be his friend.

“Six and a half years.” Sometimes it doesn’t feel nearly that long. Other times, considering all of the bad shit they’ve been through and the time they didn’t think they’d make it. It seems a hell of a lot longer.

“And five kids, right? In only six and a half years?”

“We’ve really been together for seven. Well, almost seven. But yeah. Five kids.”

“They must be really close together.”

“First three are. My daughter is six, the boys are five.”

“Twins? Identical or…?”

“Fraternal. Millie...my daughter...was only two months when we found out they were on their way. They were kind of a surprise, needless to say. We have another boy after them; he’ll be two in a few months. And we have a baby girl. Almost eight weeks.”

“Just a little one.”

Tyler nods. “Very little. Very tiny. My wife is, too, Small. But feisty as hell. And tough. Toughest and strongest person I know.”

“Yaz said you met on the job.”

“Yeah, we got sent out on the same gig, To Bangladesh. Actually had to pretend we were married.”

Riya laughs. “Really?”

“First time I ever got mixed up in something like THAT. It’s a long story, but in the end, my fake wife ended up becoming my real wife.”  He doesn’t feel the need to fill in the gaps between beginning and end; Dhaka and what happened there has never been kept off the radar. Word travels fast in the dame, and every single details has been made available; everything from Mahajan fucking him over to Gaspar’s betrayal to  his near death experience.

“Probably the best ending to a job you’ve ever had,” Riya comments.

“Took me nearly dying and her sticking her fingers in my neck to keep me alive, but yeah, in the end things turned out pretty damn good. What about you? You got a family? Other than the ones that don’t speak to you?”

“Nope. It’s just me. It’s hard finding someone that understands this kind of life. Who won’t judge you for it. And the people you meet through this life aren’t exactly the settling down types. As much as I want to believe I’ll meet someone, I probably should just prepare myself to be alone for the long haul.”

“There’s gotta be someone out there. Either in the game or someone who won’t be bothered by it.”

Fuck. He’s starting to sound like his wife. Years spent listening to her reason with her little sister over the phone that there has to be a guy -or girl- out there that would be into her; a full time student with five cats and a host of mental health issues and an extremely toxic family. Or hearing her talk Ovi through his personal issues; always chasing the wrong girl and left brokenhearted in the end. Normally he just stays out if; offering shrugs of the shoulders or a simple nod or a head shake when Esme attempts to get him involved.

“Maybe there is,” Riya sighs. “Do you have any single friends?”

“My single friends are single for a reason. And I’m a lot older than you and they would be too. So…”

“What about Ovi? He’s your friend. He’s young. Is he single?”

“He’s actually more my son than my friend”

“Son?” Her brow furrows in confusion. “How…?”

“Another long story. We ended up taking in him, giving him a proper home, a family. But yeah. He’s single.”

“Do you think  maybe you could…?”

Tyler laughs. “Yeah...no.  Just no. I’m not trying to be a dick about it, but I don’t get involved with this kind of thing. That, and I’ve got some pretty serious shit I’m dealing with and it’s definitely NOT the time even if  I WAS  the kind that would help. I mean, my wife likes to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong. You could always ask her to talk to him or whatever. I’m not who you want. Trust me.”

“Do you think she would? Put in a good word for me?”

“I guess,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Look, I’m not the sociable type. So I don’t mean to come across as an asshole, but…”

“You’re honest,” she says. “I heard that about you. That you don’t say much, but you mean what you say and don’t pull any punches.”

“I can be a little harsh,” Tyler admits. “So I’ve been told, anyway.  I’ve bet you heard a lot of things about me.”

She nods.

“Probably not a lot of good things.”

“More good than bad. But the bad is pretty...well...bad.  I don’t know; you don’t seem that awful to me. I mean, how awful can someone be when they have a wife and five kids? No woman would stick around long enough to have one kid, never mind that many.”

“Never thought of it that way. I’m not an easy person to live with. I’ve put her through a lot. But maybe I’m not as terrible as I think I am.”

“I don’t think she’d still be around if you were. If she’s as tough and strong as you say she is, she would have hauled ass a long time ago.”

****

He’s still thinking of those words when they arrive at the airport; pulling right onto the tarmac behind the smaller hangar he’d flowed into only two days before. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then. Since he’s stood in front of his home, kissing and hugging his wife and kids goodbye and wondering if he’d ever see them again. With how successful the morning had been, he wants to be more confident in regards to the eventual outcome. But he knows how things work; each kill will get harder and messier and more complicated. Mahajan will clue into his involvement and up the stakes even more. One good day doesn’t mean you can let your guard down. Not in the slightest.

Riya waits in the car, but both drivers and passengers of the three vehicles that had followed them climb out. Staggering themselves along the tarmac, eyes surveying the surroundings; bullet proof vests under their clothing, weapons at the ready.  The jet’s already arrived and the stairs being placed in front of the open door when he crosses the distances between it and the car; less than ten feet away when the first little body appears. Millie with her ever present messy hair and those Spiderman sandals; an Incredible Hulk t-shirt paired with a frilly -and glittery- pink and purple tutu over a pair of camo leggings.  Her head down at first and a slight frown on her face; shrugging a unicorn and sloth themed backpack onto her shoulders and one foot tentatively checking the strength and support of the stairs in front of her. And when she finally does glance up, the look is one of shock at first.  Her brow furrowed and those huge blue eyes wide and disbelieving. Then quickly widening and sparkling when realization sets in; a brilliant smile spreading across her face.

“Daddy!” She shrieks, and immediately forgets about her discomfort on the stairs, rushing down them and leaping from the second last one; not even stumbling or missing a single stride. “Daddy!”

Tyler catches her as she throws herself at him, effortlessly scooping her up into his arms. Feeling those little arms immediately circle his neck, squeezing as tight as they can and how soft her cheeks and her forehead are against his lips and how impossibly light she seems.

“You said we wouldn’t see you  for a few days!” Her tone has a slight scolding quality to it.

“I thought I’d surprise you guys. I got things finished nice and early so I could come and say hi. I missed you,” he lays a hand on the back of her head and presses a kiss to her temple and then her brow. “I missed you so much.”

“I miss you too. This is the best surprise EVER.”

“Even better than getting Saju as a late birthday gift?”

"I love Saju, but I love you more. You’re my daddy. And I was worried about you. About the bad guys getting a hold of you.”

“The bad guys don’t stand against me. You know that.”

“Daddy!” TJ hollers, and soon both he and his brother -and two dogs- are racing towards him. And with Millie still on his hip, he drops down to one knee, laughing when the force of those of those small bodies - and all of the power and excitement and love inside of them- knock him off balance and he finds himself on his ass on the damp, cold tarmac. Gathering all three kids into his arms and pulling them tightly into him.

“I knew you could do it,” Tanner’s face is buried in the side of his neck, tears hot against his skin. “I knew you could beat up the bad guys and still come and see us! I missed you. I missed you so much.”

“I’ve only been gone two days, mate.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s only two hours. I still missed you.”

“I missed you too. I missed ALL of you.”  

He presses his lips to each forehead, returns each tight, fierce hug. Still sitting on the ground as he listens to all three speak at once’ excited tales about what they’d done on the plane and the movies they’d watched and the naps they’d taken and the food they’d eaten, Millie showing off her matching bracelet.  And she moves out of the way when Delcan arrives; a beaming smile on his face and a ‘miss daddy’ in his tiny voice before throwing his arms around Tyler’s neck. And he runs his fingers through his son’s silky red hair and showers his cheeks with kisses and holds him as tight as Declan will let him. And even now he’s not sure he deserves all of this. The adoration and the unconditional love and their blind faith and trust in him.

“Good to see ya,” Kyle says in greeting, placing Addie -in her car seat carrier- on the ground beside him, then offering a hand to help Tyler to his feet and giving him a one armed hug. “Especially in one piece. Heard today was the day. Must have went okay. You’re standing here.”

“Went better than I thought it would. I’ll take a good start over a bad one any day.”   He drops to a knee once more, smiling at his baby girl as he unfastens the straps of the carrier.  “Hey sweet pea...hey little peanut…” he scoops that tiny body into his arms, settling her against his chest; a forearm under her bum, hand on the back of her head. “Daddy missed you. He missed you so much.”

“What are you even doing here?” Esme inquires as she joins them, a playful scolding tone to her voice and a look of pure relief on her face.

He grins down at her. “I guess crossing your fingers worked.”

“I guess it did,” she says, and he’s able to keep Addie pressed securely against him with one arm as he wraps the other around his wife; pulling her tightly into him, lips meeting her temple. “I know it’s only been two days,” her voice is muffled against his chest, both arms around his waist. “But I have missed you so much.”

“I missed you too. It’s felt longer than two days.”

She nods, pulling away slightly to look up at him, tears sparking in her eyes. “I was so worried about you. Everything went okay?”

“Better than I thought it would. I’ll call you later and tell you all about it. Fill you in on all the gory details.”

“Yes, because I just love your stories of mutilation and homicide. You’re okay?” Her hands rub at his sides. “You look okay.”

“I’m fine. Not a scratch on me.”

“Guess you haven’t lost your touch after all. And to think you were worried about that.”  Her face turns serious, the amount of tears in her eyes increasing. “I was so fucking worried about you, Tyler.”

“I know you were.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t cry. Everything’s fine.”

“I’m just relieved. That I didn’t just have to take your for it and I got to see it...you...with my own eyes. I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”

“Now you’re going to make ME cry.”

“Did you get the videos? Did you watch them?”

“I did. And I’m slightly concerned that my six year and five year olds are already smarter than I am.”

“I don’t think they’re anywhere near being that smart yet, but they are crazy intelligent. Almost scary HOW intelligent. We are going to have our work cut out for us, I think. Having three brainiacs in the house?”

“Four if you count their mom. Where do you think they get it from? My looks, your brain. We’ve been through this.”

“Is that some sneaky, backhanded way of calling me ugly?” she teases.

“Baby, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, you know that. And I love you,” he places a soft kiss to her lips. “So much.”

“I love you too. And did you see Addie? Her smile? Her REAL smile? She smiles exactly like you.  Her eyes crinkle and everything. So there. She DID get something from you, after all. Are you okay?” She reaches up and lays a hand on the side of her face, running her thumb over his lips. “With what happened? You’re alright?”

“I’m okay. I just missed you guys. It’s been harder than I thought it would.”

“It’s been six months. You had a whole different life for half a year. I’d be worried if going back to this WASN’T hard.”

“It’s not just that. It’s...I don’t know….” Tyler shrugs. “I can’t talk about it right now. Not with the kids around.”

“Is it about what you did?”

He nods. “About what I did. How I felt about it. How I DIDN’T feel. We’ll talk later. I can’t stay long; just in case someone is keeping an eye on me. You guys will be safer at the house than you will be standing out here talking to me.”

“Thank you. For making the effort to get here.  The kids needed that; to see you. I needed that. I really needed to see you. I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“I needed to see you, too. I was worried I’d never get the chance again. And I wish I could stay longer. Or go to the house with you guys. I’d give anything to be able to do that. Anything.”

She gives a small, understanding smile. “I know you would.”

“I gotta go.” He holds Addie out in front of him, kissing her forehead. “I love you, little peanut. Stop growing up so fast. You might be the last one.”

“We’ll talk about that later too,” Esme says, and he leans down to press a kiss to her temple before placing Addie in her arms. “I love you. We’ll see you in a few days, right?”

“Yep.” He attempts a reassuring smile, then kisses her; long and soft and sweet. “I love you. Call me when the kids are asleep. We’ll talk about stuff.”

“Okay,” she agrees, squeezing him tightly and burying her face in her chest once more when he gives her one last hug. Holding onto him longer and tighter than before.  Unable to control the tears that trickle down her face.

****

“You should see this place,” Esme says four hours later, after all the kids have finally settled in their rooms  and have managed to fall asleep. “Remember when we stayed at Mahajan’s? What that place was like? Well this Mahajan’s on steroids. I am serious. Ten bedrooms. TEN! And eleven bathrooms! Who cleans all those bathrooms? We have three and we can’t keep up half the time. And the master ensuite is bigger than our entire bedroom. And our room at home is what I consider huge.”

He can’t hold but smile at the youthful exuberance in her voice. He knows she’s exhausted; physically and emotionally. Not just from a twelve hour flight with five kids, but with everything that’s gone down within the past month and a half.  But he can hear the difference; being in Mumbai and closer to him has lifted some of the stress and worry, replacing it with relief and at least some peace of mind.

“And you should the shit this guy has,” she continues. “I’ve never seen anything like it. An underground garage full of insanely expensive exotic cars. A home theatre, indoor and outdoor pools and jacuzzis, his own tennis and basketball courts. Who needs all this stuff? I thought we had a lot of stuff. This? This is our stuff times a thousand.”

“We have a lot of stuff...normal stuff...because we have five kids. He has a lot of stuff because he doesn't have anyone or anything else to spend his money on.”

“”I mean, we have money too. We’re not exactly poor. Not anymore, anyway.”

“We don’t have  his kind of money, babe. What we have in the bank is like a month’s salary to him.”

“We also don’t buy stuff just to buy and have stuff. This is just insane to me. And the animals. It’s not one or two, Tyler. It’s its own goddamn zoo. He’s got tigers and monkeys and peacocks and a sloth. And snakes. So many snakes. Don’t even get me started in the snakes. All I have to say is thank god they’re far enough away from the house and securely contained. Because you know my fear of snakes.”

“I don’t know where this fear comes from. We’ve only had one snake in the house so far”

“In  my shoe!” She reminds him. “Which I tried to stick my foot into, thank you very much.”

“What was one of the first things I told you when we first moved back to Australia? Especially where we moved TO. Check your shoes before you put them on. If you listened to me more often…”

“What if it bit me?”

“You would have lived because it wasn’t poisonous. And it was a baby. The way you fucking screamed, you would have though it was an anaconda trying to eat one or two of the kids.”

“I don’t like snakes. I told this when we first lived there. That I’m scared of them but I loved you enough to live somewhere where there’s tons of them. And you promised you’d be the one to handle them.  And the spiders.”

“Which I have. And the dingoes. Have I let a dingo get you?”

“You’re probably waiting for the opportunity to feed me to one.”

“Baby, if I wanted to get rid of you, there’s about a hundred different ways I could do it. And feeding you to a dingo is NOT one of them. And I don’t want to get rid of you, so…”  He stretches his legs out in front of him, resting his bare feet on the top railing of the balcony. “...you’re safe.”

“What I don’t understand is our children’s fascination and love of snakes and spiders. If you didn’t encourage them to pick the damn things up and let them crawl all over them…”

“They’re not dangerous. They can’t hurt the kids. Let’s not raise pussies, okay? They have to learn about stuff, yeah? Let them learn. As long as they’re not in danger, what’s the worst that could happen? What are they going to do? Want a Huntsman as a pet?”

“I will refuse to step foot in the house again,” she declares. “I will move out. I will live with Ovi in the guest house. If you EVER let the kids do anything like that, I swear…”

“I’d miss you too much. I know what lines I can’t cross.”

“Speaking of lines you shouldn’t cross. Who’s the girl you were with tonight?”

“Are you serious right now?”

“What? You thought I wouldn’t notice you left with her?”

Tyler grins. “Esme, are you jealous?”

“Do I have a reason to be?”

“I kind of like this. You getting all jealous. You getting all worked up. It’s kinda hot, actually. And no, you don’t have a reason to be jealous. She’s young enough to be my kid.”

“Maybe she likes older men.”

“Good for her. But I like you, so…”

“So who is she?”

“Riya. She works for Nik. She’s from Dubai. Apparently her folks are loaded and basically disowned her for going to school in the States and picking the job she did. Sound familiar?”

“That DOES seem a little too close to home for my liking.”

“She actually wants to talk to you.”

“Oh how cute,” Esme scoffs. “She wants my permission before she bangs my husband. Well at least this is asking before she tries.”

“Only person I want to bang is you. And she wants to talk to you about Ovi.”

“Ovi? What about him?”

“You’re the one who can’t stay out of other peoples’ business, right? You like meddling in relationships.”

“Pardon me? It’s advising. Not meddling. Advising.”

“She wants you to hook her up.”

“With Ovi?”

“Are you following along at all or have I been talking to myself?”

“I mean, it’s Ovi. He’s like my kid. No. Scratch that. He IS my kid. I can’t set him up./”

“Why not?”

“Do you want me setting Millie up? Or TJ? Or Tanner?”

“First off, Millie is six. The boys are five. It’s not the same thing. Just do it. Put in a good word for her.”

“So now you’re encouraging me to meddle? That’s a first for you.”

“I’m encouraging you to help a poor, desperate girl out. And Ovi too. He’s been acting like a little bitch since Chloe took off and I can’t can’t take much more. So do me a solid and save what’s left of my sanity and help Ovi get laid.”

“Okay, wow. THAT’S a little disturbing. Isn’t that supposed to be your thing? Anything sex related? You’re a guy. You find him a piece of ass. Call one of your hoes from your old  little black book.”

“Actually, I didn’t have anyone in India,” Tyler admits.

“You poor baby,” she scoffs. “My heart bleeds for you. And find. I will put in a good word for this girl. But if you want him to get laid, you figure out how to make it happen. And don’t sample the goods, either.”

“Only goods I want to sample are yours. So why don’t you come over here and let me.”

“You’re hurting, aren’t you,” Esme laughs.

“A little. It’s been forever.”

“It’s been two days, Tyler.”

“Feels like it’s been forever. What are you wearing?”

“Are you serious right now? You want to have phone sex?”

“You can’t come here and I can’t go there, so…”

“I’m wearing a lovely combination of premenstrual syndrome, baby puke, and dog hair.”

“Now THAT’S sexy. PMS, huh? So things are going back to normal that way.”

“It was going to happen eventually,” Esme sighs. “After the next one, they can take everything out. I’m done. I won’t need any of it  anymore. They can have it. If I never have a period again, that’s fine by me, I’d say it’s good for you too because you won’t have to put up with my extreme bitchiness once a month, but you have two daughter who will go through this one day.”

He frowns “Can Addie at least get to her first birthday before we talk about this shit?”

“It’s going to happen, Tyler. I mean it could happen to Millie in a few years. I was ten.”

“Esme, for fuck sakes. I don’t…”

“Sorry, honey. I hate to break your heart like this. But one day it’s going to happen. And one day she’s even going to want to have sex and need to go on birth control and…”

“Do you want a divorce? Because bringing this shit up is how you get a divorce.”

“I love you,  Tyler James. You’re my favorite human And I love how you can impale someone with a garden rake but you can’t handle the thought of your daughter maturing. You’re so fucking cute. You’re so cute, I’d have phone sex with you right now if my cramps weren’t so bad. I am telling you, after the next one? My body is done. That’s it. Take it all out. It’s not needed anymore.”

“Next one? I thought we weren’t going to talk about that until I got home.”

“I made the decision. Without you.”

He smirks. “Oh, so you mean like you usually do about everything.”

“Pretty much. If you really want another one…”

“You gotta want it too. Not just me. I don’t want you doing it just because I want it.”

“I do want to. One more. An even number.  And if something happens like it did with the one that should have been between the twins and Declan…”

Tyler sighs. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“We stop if something goes wrong. Because once was bad enough. Well twice, if I count the one with Mark.  I can’t keep having my heart broken like that. And if we can’t successfully carry another one, we just stop. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees. “And it wasn’t fun for me, either. Going through that. It was my baby too.”

“I know. But you were amazing and so good with me and it made me love you even more. I’m worried about you, Tyler. There was something in your eyes tonight. When you talked about what you did today. I can’t put my finger on it. I just know what I saw and that I’ve never seen it before. It wasn’t old Tyler OR new Tyler. I don’t know who it was.”

“Before I tell you what’s going on, I need to tell you what  I did. And I know you hate hearing the gory details. But I need to tell you.”

“Okay…” There’s a slight rustle of the phone as she shifts positions in bed. “...I’m not going to sleep for a couple days after this, am I.” While she accepts and supports what he does, she draws the line at hearing the details. She’d seen enough in Dhaka, and once that was over, so was her desire to ever see -or think about- another drop of blood again. “Did you shoot them?”

“No. I didn’t shoot them. I was more...hands on.”

“Like your bare hands, or…?”

“Sort of. I kinda slit a guy’s throat and gutted another one. Literally.”

“Okay…”

“And I liked it. I liked doing it. And I’ve never liked doing it before. I killed because I had to. Because I had to keep myself alive. Now I’m doing it because I WANT to. Because I enjoy it. That’s fucked, yeah? Tell me that’s fucked. That I’M fucked.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s fucked. And I definitely won’t say you’re fucked. And I can’t say I’m totally shocked. Or shocked at all, to be honest.”

“Maybe we’re both fucked,” he says. “And not in the good, fun way either.”

“Well before you question our levels of depravity and insanity, let’s look at this for what it is. This isn’t a normal job. This isn’t what you’re used to. You’re used to not having any emotional ties to what you do. You go in, you do what you have to do, you get out. That’s it. You don’t know these people, you don’t know the people they’re hurting, none of that. You’re not connected to any of them, right?”

“Right.”

“Well this time you DO have a connection. A very personal one. These people threatened your family. And I don’t know exactly what the threats are, but they must be pretty bad if you won’t tell me.  I mean, people are saying horrible, twisted things about people you love. About me and your kids. It doesn’t get more fucked up than that; threatening children. Addie’s one of them and she’s just a baby. What kind of fucked person says shit like that about a baby?”

“Evil people,” Tyler concludes. “Really fucking evil.”

“And you’re pissed. To your very core. I see if in your eyes, Tyler. I hear it in your voice. How angry you actually are. How disgusted you are. And you have every right to feel those things. This is as personal as it gets. And you wonder why you enjoyed it? I’d enjoy it too if someone threatened you and I got to kill them. I’d enjoy every fucking second.”

“It just makes me feel like such a dick,” he admits. “Like I’m a horrible fucking person. I made the one guy look at me. Made him watch me while I slit his throat. And he recognized me. He knew who I was. And I liked that he did. That my face was the last thing he saw.”

“And that doesn’t make you a bad person,” Esme says. “A bad person wouldn’t  be worried that it makes him a bad person. You’re a good person, Tyler. I know you struggle to see that. But I see it. And I know it. I know who you are away from all of this. I know how loving you are. How gentle you are. What you did today...what you felt or didn’t feel...that doesn’t erase who you are or what you’re like away from all of this.”

He blinks back tears “This is fucked. This all so fucked.”

“You’re doing what you have to do. You’re stopping them before they can do the same thing to us. Or worse.”

“Definitely worse. Much, much worse.”

“Do you want to tell me what the threats were or…”

“No. You don’t need to hear that. You don’t need that shit in your head. It’s bad enough it’s in mine. That it’s  probably never going to leave.”

“We’ll work on that,” Esme promises. “Your brain. When we get home. We’ll work on it TOGETHER. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Tyler. So much. And I wish I could be right there with you. I know this isn’t easy for you. That you’re struggling with so many things. But I love you and I’m so proud of you.”

He swallows around the lump of emotion sitting in this throat and using a forearm to wipe the tears from his face. “I love you. And this sucks. Being away from you. You’re so close but it’s like you’re so fucking far.”

“If you need me there, I can find a way. And I will. You know me. I’m pretty sneaky and tenacious on a good day.”

He gives a small chuckle. “Yeah, you are.”

“And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. So if you need me there….”

“I’m okay. For now anyway. Stay with the kids. They need you.”

“So do you. Even if you won’t admit it.”

“I do. Need you. But they need you more.”

“Promise me you’ll call if it gets worse. If you change your mind. Because I’ll figure it out. How to get to you and stay with you. Promise me.”

“I promise. I’ll call you if I need you.”

“Get some sleep, okay? It’s been a long day. Call  me in the morning. Just so I know how you’re doing.”

“I will.”

“And thank you. For showing up tonight. Seeing you did a world of good for the kids. Especially Tanner. He’s finally smiling again. And he has such a beautiful smile. YOUR smile. And it did me a world of good too. To see you. I miss you, And your arms. It was really nice to be in those arms again,”

“It felt good to have you in them. Hopefully in a few days…”

“It’ll happen. I know it will. You’re doing fine. Just keep doing what you have to do. That’s it. We’ll talk in the morning, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Get some sleep,” she gently orders, and then disconnects the call.