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justice4canyonmoon · 4 years ago

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An Evening Off

Summary: Both Y/n and Harry have a rare night off. Y/n has relaxing plans for how they should spend it.

Notes: Howdy! This is probably the last fic I’m going to post for the next two weeks; I have finals for college next week, and I have a fuck ton of work this week because professors love to give students everything at once 🙃 Anyway, I came up with the very fluffy concept because I crave emotional intimacy, so I hope you like it!!!!

Warnings: cursing ig. otherwise just a lot of fluff and taking a bath together 🥰

WC: 1.9k

Y/n was feeling lonely.

Her boring ass office job didn’t produce too many friends for her. While the people she worked with weren’t the absolute worst, they were just, well, bland. Their lives were cookie-cutter. The closest thing any of them had experienced to a true adventure was a trip to IKEA. Her two best friends, Maria and José, were across the country, since she had moved from one coast to another to live with her boyfriend. Sure, she could FaceTime them, but it just wasn’t the same. And after the call, she knew she’d just be more lonely than before.

Harry wasn’t an option either. He was working, far too hard for her liking. She understood, of course; it was album crunch time. He had to make all of the last minute decisions: finalizing the tracklist, photoshoots, and touch-ups on the chosen tracks in the studio. But she missed him. The only times she saw him anymore was right before bed, when he would stumble into the room sleepily and kiss her forehead before going right to sleep. So yeah, she was a bit lonely. And being alone on her day off wasn’t exactly the plans she wanted to have.

Luckily, the universe decided to answer her pleas. At around 1:00, after she had finished up a late shower, her phone buzzed with a text from her beloved.

H: Hi, baby! The only thing we have left on the agenda today is touching up a couple of the album tracks, so I should be home a bit earlier :D If you’d like, I can pick up some dinner on the way home.

She couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across her face. For the first time in ages, the two of them could finally have some time together! Maybe she could do something nice for him! He had been working so hard lately, he deserved it. And honestly, she did, too. An idea popped into her head, and she threw open the bathroom closet, taking a look through her bath supplies. She grinned triumphantly as she pulled out a citrus bath bomb, knowing that Harry enjoyed the calming scent of orange and lemon. A nice bath would not only help Harry destress, but it would also be the perfect cure to the loneliness that was settling in her heart. She quickly texted Harry a reply as she set the bath bomb aside.

Y/n: Sorry about the wait, babe, was just taking a shower. Forgot to this morning lol

He answered pretty much right away, making her smile.

H: It’s okay, baby! No need for apologies :)

Y/n: Okay! I’m excited to actually get to spend some time with you! I could really go for curry, if you’re up for Indian takeout.

H: Curry sounds good to me! I’ll probably be home between 6 or 7! I have to go now, but I can’t wait to see you :) I love you so much!!!!

Y/n: Can’t wait to see you, either, Har!!! I love you, too 💕💕

“Baby, ‘m home!”

Y/n looked at the clock. It was 7:30, a bit later than what Harry had said through text, but still much earlier than usual. She leapt up from the couch and sprinted to the front door, tackling Harry in a hug. He laughed loudly and wound his free arm around her waist, not fully able to hug her back because of the takeout bag in his arms.

“Let me put the food down so I can give y’ a proper hug.”

She let go with a small pout on her face, which Harry promptly kissed off while setting the bag down. He then wrapped her in a tight, two-armed embrace. She melted at the contact, resting her head on his chest and hugging him back just as tightly. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then rested his head on top of hers.

“Miss you, Har,” she said, her speech slightly muffled from talking into his t-shirt.

She could feel him frown against her hair, “I miss y’ too, Y/n. The album should be done by the end of the month, and then ‘m all yours until tour starts.”

“Good. I was gonna break into the studio and steal you back myself if you weren’t done soon.”

He chuckled, “I don’ think Jeff would like that very much.”

“Fuck Jeff! I need you back here,” she scoffed.

“I certainly hope y’ don’ want t’ fuck Jeff.”

She rolled her eyes, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned cheekily, “But yet y’ still here.”

“Lord only knows why,” Y/n grumbled, though there was a smile on her face.

They pulled away reluctantly, both realizing how hungry they were. The two chowed down on chicken curry and naan while chatting about their day. Y/n spent most of her day off watching The Great British Bake-Off and snuggling with Daiquiri, their black lab. Harry had been putting the finishing touches on three of the album songs (“I can’ wait to play them f’ y’, baby”), and ranted about the traffic coming home (“I would’ve gotten home 45 minutes earlier, but the freeway was ridiculously clogged up!”). It was domestic in a way that Y/n never thought she would have, and she loved every second of it.

When everything from dinner was cleaned up, Y/n figured now was as good a time as any to reveal her plans for the rest of their evening.

“Hey, Har,” she paused, then continued when she heard his hum of acknowledgment, “would you want to take a bath with me?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Is this a ploy t’ get me naked?”

“No,” Y/n said bashfully, “I just thought it would be nice to take a bath together. I found a citrus bath bomb at the back of the closet, and I thought it would be relaxing for us.”

Harry’s eyes softened and he smiled gently at her, “That sounds perfect, love. Y’ too sweet.”

The two made their way to the bathroom, hand in hand. Y/n plucked the bath bomb from the closet and laid it in the tub, turning on the warm water. The water became a pastel shade of yellow, reflecting the lemony scent of the bath bomb. As she was checking the temperature, a pair of tattooed arms wrapped around her waist, and a kiss was pressed to her cheek. The heat radiating off of his body led her to believe that Harry had already rid himself of his clothes. When she turned around, her suspicions were confirmed.

“You work fast,” she commented, making a humming sound when the temperature was to her satisfaction.

“A bit,” he confirmed, leaning over to turn off the nozzle “just wanna take a bath with y’, love. Speaking of, let’s get those pesky clothes off of y’, shall we?”

Y/n nodded and Harry reached forward, almost reverently lifting her (his) sweatshirt over her head. She shimmied out of her leggings and removed her undergarments. She stepped into the bath first, gesturing for him to follow. He obeyed, and sat between her legs, resting his head on her shoulder. The two sat in silence for a while, basking in each other’s company. Y/n couldn’t remember a time where she had felt this at peace. But she also knew that Harry had forgotten to shower that morning since he was nearly late to the studio, so she reached over and grabbed some soap and a washcloth. She looked down at him and giggled softly when she realized he was almost asleep

“Wake up, baby,” she crooned, “let me wash you.”

“‘M awake,” he muttered, “promise.”

“Sure you are, that’s why your eyes are closed,” Y/n teased.

He only hummed in response, making her giggle again. She kissed his forehead and began washing him gently. The soft circles she was rubbing into his skin with the washcloth were soothing, and a sleepy smile made its way onto his face.

“‘Y always take such good care of me. Dunno how I got s’ lucky.”

Y/n felt her face grow warm as she reached for the shampoo, “I think I’m the lucky one. You always take care of me, too.”

She began rubbing the shampoo into his silky locks. Breathy gasps fell from his lips as she tugged lightly as his hair, working the shampoo into his curls.

“Feels s’ good,” he murmured.

“Glad you’re feeling good, Har,” Y/n replied in a hushed tone.

She rinsed his hair and repeated the process with the conditioner. By the time she had finished, Harry had fully fallen asleep on her shoulder. She cooed softly at how adorable he looked. He was like an angel; his long lashes were speckled with little water drops, his wet hair stuck to his forehead in an oddly endearing way, and a small smile was spread across his lips. He looked so relaxed in a way that Y/n hadn’t seen in a while. The bath helped her feel more at ease too; the monotonous motions of washing Harry made the stress from her job melt away, and the loneliness that had plagued her earlier in the day was washed away by the warm water. But she knew she had to wake Harry. She wasn’t quite strong enough to carry all six feet of him back to their bedroom.

Y/n gently jostled his shoulder and whispered, “Harry. Need you to wake up, baby.”

He groaned softly, making her giggle softly once more. His eyes slowly blinked open to reveal his jade irises, and he stumbled his way out of the tub, making her laugh a little harder as she followed. Y/n got out two towels and dried them both off, knowing that Harry was much too tired to do it on his own. She took his hand and walked toward their bedroom.

When they reached the bedroom, Y/n guided Harry to sit on the bed while she picked out sweats for both of them to wear to sleep (she knew that Harry had a particular fondness for when she wore his clothes to bed, so she got out his clothes for both of them). Harry pliantly moved his limbs as she clothed him, and watched her with moony eyes as she pulled on her own sleepwear.

“Look s’ pretty in m’ clothes, love,” he complimented, relishing in the shy smile that appeared on her face.

“Thank you, Har. Let’s get you to bed, okay?” she replied.

Y/n turned off the light and joined Harry on the bed. He was already lying on his side, so she wound her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades. Usually, he was the big spoon, but with the whole mood they had set all night, it just felt right for her to be the one cuddling him. Y/n barely heard Harry mumble a “g’night. Love you,” before his breathing evened out. She smiled and closed her eyes, reflecting on the day. Just spending one evening with her boyfriend made her feel right as rain, and the loneliness that had once threatened to overtake her was totally gone. Though she had been taking care of him that night, he was also taking care of her. And sure, they were both going back to work tomorrow, but in two weeks, Harry would be done with the album and would be all hers. When sleep finally overtook her, all she had were the most pleasant of dreams.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine

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angelic-bee-enthusiast · 4 years ago

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Hope you'll enjoy it... It's just a short fic, but I wanted to write something a little bit more light-hearted for a change, hope it worked adhajks. It's canon compliant up until Jack's birth, then it diverges., though that's not really important. Again, I'm fairly new to this and still learning, so it may be a little bit ooc, I still need to figure out how to write each of them! ca. 1,1k, post-canon, domestic idiots, background toddler!Jack

Yes, he once led armies and was one of Heaven's best strategists. Yes, he is an Angel of the Lord, a celestial being unfathomable to the human mind. Yes, he is currently partaking in a heated discussion with Dean about which is the best bed to get for his toddler in the middle of an IKEA.

"Cas, man, I'm sure he'll be happy with whatever choice you make. He's three, and I don't think he has that big of an opinion on interior design. However, I personally think the one looking like a car is the best one," Dean argues, not even trying to hide his distaste for Cas' choice - a simple wooden frame.

"Not everyone is as fond of cars as you are, Dean. I know you think it's 'lame', but we could paint the bed on our own, that way Jack would have something a little bit more personal," Cas answers, hoping to finally reason with the other man.

"Didn't know you were much of an artist," Dean simply replies.

"Well, actually, I hoped you would do most of the painting, maybe add some little bees or flowers?" I saw the drawing you did of me for the bestiary - you're really good at it."

Obviously, Cas knows the hunter is shy when it comes to his artistic talents. It's something a lot of people don't even know about him.

As expected, Dean blushes immediately. Scratching his neck, he mumbles something that suspiciously sound like 'didn't know you saw that'.

Sighing, Cas continues nevertheless. "So, can we please just take that one and leave? Sam and Eileen have been alone with Jack for hours now, they'll need a break sometime soon."

"Dude, they can watch the kid for half a day - I've taken care of Sammy's sorry ass since I was four, they'll handle a Thursday afternoon. Besides, when we're already here, don't you wanna get something for your own room, too? Just something a little more homey than the standard bunker stuff," Dean responds far more cheerfully than he's been just minutes before, though there's also another, underlying question on his mind.

Ever since Jack was born, Cas started to spend more time and the bunker, but of course, there have also been times he had to leave, together with Jack, to protect him. Thankfully, everything calmed down the last couple of months after their last big fight ended, and even though Cas has been living with them ever since, Dean feels like the Angel doesn't see the bunker as his own home, too. The older Winchester wants to change that, first, to make his best friend feel welcome, secondly, to keep Cas from leaving.

It's selfish, Dean tells himself, wanting to keep his friend close at all times. Additionally, his non-existent self-worth supplies that Cas, a celestial warrior as old as creation, could certainly do a lot better than a broken 40-something-year old. Trapped in his self-deprecating thoughts, Dean, at first, doesn't even realize Cas asked him a question.

"Oh...I didn't know this was actually my room?", Cas retorts shyly, blue eyes now avoiding his gaze.

Gobsmacked, Dean stares at him, trying to figure out if that was a joke. It had to be a joke, right? Doesn't Cas know how important he is to them? Crap, they really need to get that into his thick skull ('Maybe if you used your words for once, he'd know it', another, unhelpful voice inside his head condescendingly points out).

"Buddy, you gotta be kidding me. Yes, obviously it's your room, dumbass. You know we like having you around just because you're you, right? Not only in live-or-die situations or when we need your help," Dean chooses his next words carefully, admitting he cares doesn't come easy to him after all. "I want you to stay, you gotta know that."

It's as close as he ever came saying that three words that have been laying on the tip of his tongue for years now. Suddenly, it's Cas time to turn slightly red, despite angelic control over his body.

"I'm sorry, I didn't really... not like that, anyway. Thank you for telling me," the Angel softly murmurs.

After that, it takes Dean a second to notice that he's been pulled into a tight hug, then another second to return the gesture.

In the corner of his eyes, the hunter sees that an older lady is watching them, smiling friendly. They embrace each other a little bit longer than it may be strictly platonically acceptable, but who cares? Dean doesn't. After they've parted, the woman starts approaching them.

"Please forgive me for interrupting, but I just wanted to say, you two really make a lovely couple! It's not often you can feel the love radiating off of strangers," she compliments the two men.

While Cas' initial reaction is mostly confusion, Dean feels like he's just been slapped. No even knowing what he's going to say, he opens his mouth and closes it again, only for a rushed 'Thank you?' to come out.

Nodding, and giving each of them one last smile, she returns to her own shopping cart.

Cas must have caught up to the situation now, because he doesn't let Dean off to easy.

"You could have corrected her," the Angel sates, a hint of curiosity behind it.

"Oh...yes, I guess I could've. I mean correct her, because - because we're not actually together. But I didn't."

The hunter is internally begging himself to stop at this point, never before having felt a desire that strong to just shut up. He doesn't even know why he said it, but maybe talking about their home and their... Cas' kid, the domesticity of it, made Dean's meticulously crafted walls crumble.

Squinting, and most likely seeing right through Dean's babbling, Cas decides to casually drop another bomb at him.

"You know, I don't mind you... not correcting people," he tentatively approaches the subject.

"You, uhm, you don't?" Dean asks, eyes huge enough to really earn him the nickname squirrel.

Cas doesn't know where he suddenly, after more than a decade, gets the courage from, but he reaches for Dean's hand, who lets him.

They're staring in each other's eyes, as if they could decipher what the other thinks just by looking hard enough. Finally, his expression soft and full of no longer hidden adoration and love, Cas whispers, "No, I really don't."

Something melts inside Dean, seeing his Angel like that, hearing the words he never thought he'd hear.

"Then let's get this stupid bed and head home, I think our plans for today just have changed," Dean grins like he hasn't in a really, really long time.

#destiel ficlet #angelicbee.fanfic #kashmircastiel #cillabee #userdainty #userstarry #seraphlm #chocolatecakecas #smiledean #cosmiccas #rainbowscas #usersila #offbeattraxx #gardenercas #rambleoncas

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eunoiaflow3r · 5 years ago

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Close Is More Than A Word

A/N: lmk if you want to be added to my Spencer Reid works taglist.

Warning: so much fluff, mistakes. fem!reader.

Word Count: 1.2k

Request(ed): no

Summary: Based off a post on instagram by Jack Johnson (the singer) a while back.

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

You were scrolling through Instagram when you noticed that Spencer had posted a picture of himself sitting criss-cross applesauce with his hand in front of his face in front of a whiteboard. The whiteboard read, a math equation, and “Newborn babies can hold their breath on average of .54 seconds.”

The caption read, “Haven’t got a new apartment for my couch yet because I’m waiting for someone to go to IKEA with me, but nobody will because IKEA is a freaking nightmare...there’s no way I’m going by myself if I have plans of retaining my insanity (which I do) so I will simply sit criss cross applesauce and solve riveting math equations for the time being.”

You decided to text him, you had completely forgotten that he had planned on remodeling.

You: Newborn babies can hold their breath on average of .54 seconds?

Spencer: Ah! You've seen my post.

Spencer: If you've seen the post that means you know what kind of predicament I'm in.

You: Such a predicament that you, and I quote, "will sit criss cross applesauce, and solve riveting math equations." ??

Spencer: Yes, exactly. So will you go to Ikea with me?

You: I guess. I kind of want you to retain your sanity.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You and Spencer decided you'd meet at his house and then he'd drive you both to Ikea. You were kind of excited. You were no interior designer, but you loved experimenting like you were one.

Half an hour later, and you were in Spencer's car, and he was telling you about the latest visit he had with his mom. He told you that she was doing well.

It was fun. You'd look at Spencer ever so often and just get this...happy feeling. Like, there is no other place you could possibly be right now, other than humming to classical music in Reid's car.

Soon enough you got there and Reid pulls you to where they have their couches.

You try to remember what his living room looks like so that you could find one to match.

“Y/N, what about this one?” Spencer asks walking over to a gray sofa that looks like a grandma dropped it off because even she didn't want it.

“Spencer, no, it looks terrible.”

Spencer attempts to sit down but then shoots right back up again. “You're right.”

You smile and walk to see other couches. “Hey, Spencer?”

As soon as he hears his name he walks over to you. “You should get like a bean bag seat to match whatever couch you get.”

His eyes widen and a smile creeps up onto his lips. “Genius.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Later, he finally found the perfect couch that would look great in his living room, and you were back in his car with the truck with the couch behind you.

Beethoven was playing on the radio, which you thought was weird, but Spencer just hummed along, and you eventually joined in. A couple of moments later, you feel something soft and warm on your thigh. Spencer.

Spencer's hand was resting on your thigh, and you didn't say anything. It didn't feel bad, so what really was there to say?

He moved his thumb back and forth, and honestly? It felt good. Like everything was right in the world. You were content.

After a couple of more minutes, you finally arrived back at his place, and he unlocked the door so that they could carry in the couch. After tipping them for their service, Spence throws down his bean bag and then jumps on the couch on his back.

“C'Mon Y/N, it’s comfortable.”

You smile and walk over to where J laid, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you down to him so that you were on top of him, chest to chest. You were both laughing at this point. “Spence, what is wrong with you?!" You laughed into his neck.

You lifted yourself up, but you were still on top of him. He looked into your eyes, while you looked into his. His eyes trailed down to your lips, and back up to your eyes. “Hey,” his voice quieter this time. “Wanna watch a movie?”

“Yeah.” you say at the same volume.

You get off of him, and he gets up from the couch.

“You should stay over tonight.” Spencer starts. “Unless you have something else to do.”

“No, it's okay. I'll stay. Can I take a shower?”

“Yeah, sure thing. You know where everything is. I'm gonna order us some food, I'm really hungry."

You laugh and walk to his bathroom setting up your toothbrush so that you can brush your teeth after you eat.

Knowing that he hadn't put his towels away, you walked into his room to grab some.

Shit. You don't have any clothes to change in to. Maybe you could just wear some of his?

You grabbed a band tee of his (that was actually Morgan’s), and some sweatpants he probably forgot about.

After your shower, you literally smelled and looked like Reid. Laughing to yourself you walked back into his room because you hate being barefoot so you went to find some socks.

After putting them on, you walked into the living room and saw that there was a note on the table.

- went to go pick up the food. I realized that I could have just texted you this but your phone was dead. I put it on the charger.

That was sweet of him.

After grabbing a Coke from his fridge, you grabbed a blanket and sat on the couch and turned on Netflix.

It was to the middle of an episode of The Office when Spencer comes through the front door with bags of food. You get up immediately helping him carry them to the table in front of the couch.

After you set that down he drops his keys to the table and then looks at you.

“I - oh...”

“What? Oh. Your clothes. Sorry, I - ”

“No, like, it's just...I can't believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

You smile to yourself and sit back down.

“You look good.” he states sitting down beside me.

After choosing an Adam Sandler movie to watch and thanking him for the food, you dug in and started watching.

Later, you were stuffed, and you weren't even halfway through the movie yet.

“Hey,” Spencer starts. “You have something in your hair. Want me to get it?”

You nod and he lifts up his arm to pick at a strand of your damp hair.

“Thanks.” you say after he pulls whatever it was out. It wasn't until after a few moments you realized how close you two were.

“Wait, don't pull away....not yet.”

And you didn't. Spencer looked into your eyes and down to your lips again just like he did earlier today. This time though, he leans just a little closer, and instead, it was you who looked at his lips and back up to his eyes again.

You’re not sure if you should have done it, but you did. You pressed your lips to his soft ones, and kissed him. Wait, what were you thinking? Spencer is your best friend! How could you even - this could ruin everything! Nevertheless, he scoots even closer and kisses you back. All those thoughts leave your mind when his hand goes on the back of your head and he continues to kiss you like he never wanted to stop.

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years ago

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When We Went From Friends to This - a. beauvillier

One day late, but here it is! I’ve been studying for the LSAT, but finally took it today, so I’ll have some more time to be writing more regularly now. Title is from Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings. I loved getting to write this, so please please let me know what you think, my inbox is always open! Reading the tags is one of my favorite things to do, and reblogs help me know people are liking my work.

word count: 7.7k+

September 18 (sat)

Astride Leclair was the kind of person you always wanted on your side. She’d drop anything for a friend, always be the first to reach out, and would never give up on something — or someone — without a fight. She was also incredibly stubborn. Astride had also always had a penchant for adventure, which is how she found herself in a new job 600 miles and one international border from her hometown. And she hated asking for help, it really didn’t matter the circumstance. Which is how she found herself alone, trying to heft an armchair up the stairs of her new apartment building after being very rudely informed by the width of the elevator door that it wasn’t going to fit.

The lump sum her firm gave her for relocation was enough to cover a fair amount of the furniture for her new place and she tried to bring as much as she could on the drive down, but it wasn’t like she was about to rent a U-Haul and there was only so much a Honda Civic could hold. And Astride was still her father’s daughter, still would rather step on a rusty nail than pay Ikea for assembly, so by God she was going to do it herself. And “doing it herself” apparently meant dragging an 80 pound box up three flights of stairs in 90º heat in September, when New York City seemed to have not quite yet gotten the memo that the rest of the Northern Hemisphere was now in fall.

Astride finally managed to get the chair in the door, propping the door open with one of her moving boxes, unceremoniously pulling the box through the entryway as she scooted backwards into the living room. The 600 square foot expanse of her apartment was covered in boxes, more boxes, and for good measure, extra boxes. There were moving boxes, furniture boxes, shoeboxes filled with anything except for actual shoes. There was her guitar leaning against the microwave, three suitcases worth of clothes in the barely-assembled bedroom, and her dog in a crate in the corner, who had started to whine.

“I know, baby, I’ll get you out soon,” Astride said, shooting a sympathetic glance towards the beagle mix. She had adopted Poutine a little over a year ago, soon after starting her first job out of university. It was never a question whether or not she would make the trip with Astride, and thankfully it was much easier than she anticipated to find a dog-friendly apartment in Brooklyn. It wasn’t too long a walk to Prospect Park, a little under a mile, and she was looking forward to getting out with Poutine later in the day. If, that was, she actually finished unpacking enough boxes to function like a normal human being. She had picked up her mattress-in-a-box earlier in the day, but it was still sitting in the corner of her bedroom and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to a night on the hardwood floor.

---

Three hours later, Astride had finally gotten all of the boxes out of her car and began to make decent headway on assembling the chair, finally having let Poutine out of her crate. The beagle trotted around the apartment, sniffing the baseboards, boxes, and single bag of groceries Astride had picked up from Whole Foods earlier in the day. The rest of her Ikea order was coming the next day, the actual bedframe and couch along with a couple of other larger furniture pieces that she had had to leave in Montréal. Whatever she couldn’t order online she’d find at a thrift store.

Astride looked tiredly over at the kitchen. She really wasn’t in the mood to cook, and was in even less of a mood to dig through all the boxes until she finally found her set of pots and pans. She really should have taken her mom’s advice and labeled everything, but Astride was stubborn as a mule, and once she was stuck in her ways, there was precious little anyone could do to convince her otherwise. Pulling out her phone, she navigated to her Uber Eats, feeling a tiny pang in her heart as she switched her location to New York. Not the language, though. Astride was so hungry that she literally clicked on whatever place could get there the fastest, which ended up being a Chinese place a mile or so away. After placing her order — she got an extra box of chow mein so she wouldn’t have to deal with breakfast the next day — she settled back into the hair, the only fully-assembled piece of furniture in the whole apartment. Her finger hovered over her Instagram for a moment before she clicked on it, liking a few photos before going to post one of her own. It was a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge as she crossed it that morning, Poutine’s head lolling out the front window. One tap and one caption later, it was posted.

---

Anthony flopped onto his bed, his duffel landing with a satisfying thump on the floor beside him. Training camp had just ended, and while he’d certainly been keeping up on his workouts over the summer, the hours upon hours of skating had nevertheless made him more than a little sore. He grabbed his phone, opening up Instagram and scrolling through the new posts, only half paying attention. Astride’s new photo caught his eye.

Sometimes, needing a change means a new haircut. Sometimes, it means a new country. Very excited to start this next chapter in my life. Salut, New York! Anthony quickly clicked onto her profile page and read her bio. International economics analyst. Eating my way through the world one pancake at a time. BCom McGill. MTL-NYC. He read the last line over and over again. MTL-NYC. He swiped back to the photo; she had tagged herself in Brooklyn. Brooklyn. She was less than an hour away, not even thirty if the traffic wasn’t bad. But she hadn’t told him, she hadn’t said anything. Anthony felt a pang in his heart. Astride knew who he played for — obviously — and she knew that of course he’d want to see her any time they were even remotely in the same place. She knew that. Right?

He spent the next twenty minutes typing out a message to her. Then deleting it. Then retyping it. Then continuing the type-delete-retype cycle until his head was spinning. This was his best friend. Why was he so nervous to talk to her? Because she was his best friend, and as much as he hated to admit it, he really wasn’t sure where they stood. He hadn’t been sure for a long time. Hey Asty! He internally cringed at himself at the use of her old nickname. I saw you moved to New York, that’s amazing! I’m over on Long Island, so I’d love to catch up with you for coffee or something when you get a chance. It’s been too long :)

It might have been a little petty — scratch that, it definitely was petty — but Astride didn’t respond to his text that night. She didn’t have read receipts on, thank God, but it sat in her messages, without response, like something she was too scared to confront. And she didn’t even know why. Okay, fine, she knew exactly why. She had moved and suddenly they were in the same city for the first time since they were kids and he was, had been, her best friend, but why now of all times? It’s not like he was never in Montréal during the year, or like they couldn’t have committed to a weekly FaceTime or something, or at least texted more than once a month. He could have done something. And that something, that lack of a something, was what kept her from responding until the next morning, tapping out a text as she halfheartedly made her way through a bowl of oatmeal. Hi, Tito, just saw your text! Lie. I did, an opportunity for a transfer came up and I decided to take it. I figured you were pretty close by, so it would be great to catch up. I don’t start at the office for a week, if you’re free any time between now and then. That much was true. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the Islanders played on, well, Long Island, and as much as she wanted to still hold a grudge against him, her heart ached at the prospect of finally being able to see him again.

Anthony responded almost instantly, Astride having just closed the door to the dishwasher — a luxury in New York, she was told — before seeing her phone light up with the telltale bubble. I’d love to, we just finished up training camp so I’m more or less free aside from practices. A second later. Is brunch still your favorite meal?

Astride laughed. It didn’t surprise her that he remembered, but it was still touching to see him say something about it. It is.

How about Tuesday? I’ll send you the directions. It’s this little café in Flatbush, I think you’ll love it.

I’m counting on it.

September 26 (sun)

Brunch had turned into dinner, which had turned into going to a Broadway show — Anthony had insisted the moment she told him she’d never been — which had turned into him coming over for Saturday night movies, an old habit of the pair’s from their days back in Québec. Which had turned into two movies and two bottles of wine, which had turned into Tito sleeping over on the couch instead of driving the thirty-odd minutes back to his apartment. Poutine sniffed him curiously, nudging one hand with her head. Astride stifled a giggle, opening the door to the balcony. “He’s very sleepy, Poutine. It’s not good manners to wake up your guests.”

“Even when they fall asleep on your couch and steal all your blankets?” Anthony said sleepily from behind.

Astride wheeled around, greeted by a half-awake Anthony Beauvillier, who was indeed bundled in all of the blankets she owned that weren’t actively on her bed. “Tito! Oh my God, you scared me. How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged. “Not bad, about as well as can be expected.” He tapped his phone, cursing when he realized it was dead. “Do you know what time it is?”

She glanced down at her watch. “8:52, why?”

Anthony jumped up, throwing his shirt back on and grabbing his still-dead phone. “I’m supposed to meet Mat for breakfast at 9:30, and the place is,” he paused for a moment, running through the grid system in his head, “probably half an hour away? I’m never the late one, can’t break that streak now.”

“Gotcha.”

He grabbed his keys, looking back at her. “Why don’t you come? You’re already dressed, and you remember Mat, right?”

She wiggled her hand. “Kind of?” She crossed the room, letting Poutine back in. “You only want me for my charged phone and navigation system.”

“You got me,” he said, laughing.

---

“You named your dog Poutine?” Mat snickered, taking a bite of his eggs.

“Would you rather I named him Tim Horton?” Astride deadpanned. “He’s a good Canadian boy with a good Canadian mom. He needed a good Canadian name.”

Mat raised his coffee mug, tilting it over towards her. “Touché.”

Anthony waved his hand in front of Mat’s face, trying to catch his attention from where he was utterly preoccupied with destroying his sourdough toast. “Hey, Mat.”

“Mmm?” He glanced up.

“Did you know that Astride lives right by Barclays? Like, right by Barclays?”

His eyebrows rose. “No way?” Astride nodded. “That’s a great area, would have been awesome if you were here a couple of years ago. Short walk to the games.”

“That’s what I told her yesterday,” Tito responded.

---

“You’re kidding,” Anthony said, looking up at her building, then across the street to Barclays, then back to Astride, one hand tangling through his hair. “We used to play right across from here.”

Astride laughed. “I thought about that,” she said. “You know I still watched your games, right? Even after we fell out of touch?” Anthony shook his head. “You were still someone I cared about, are still someone I care about, even when we only talked a few times a year.”

Beau stood there, unable to formulate a complete sentence. As far as he knew, the last Islanders game she watched had been the 2016 opener, his NHL debut and her first year at McGill. Why did he assume that? Why did he assume the worst? You can care about people even when they’re not in your life anymore. And sometimes, if you get really, really lucky, they come back.

October 9 (sat)

“Ebs is having a barbeque thing over at his house this weekend, just stuff to celebrate the beginning of the season if you wanted to come. No pressure if you’ve got plans already, though,” Anthony said over the FaceTime.

Astride nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great, I’d love to come! Just let me know when to show up and what to bring, and I’ll be there.”

It was almost a fifty-minute drive for Astride from her apartment in Prospect Heights to the house in Garden City, but there wasn’t too much traffic and besides, she had always liked driving. So she set off in her Civic, plugged her music in, and headed down 495. Anthony met her outside of the house, greeting her with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek as he cocked his head towards the backyard. “Party’s this way. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Astride dutifully followed, trying not to let her nerves take hold of her. Everyone might have already been Beau’s friends, but she didn’t know them, or the dynamic of everyone’s relationships, or really, what to expect at all.

He noticed her apprehension, stopping her with a feather-light touch on her arm just before walking through the back gate. “Hey, Asty. What is it?”

She let out a little huff, still upset that he could read her like a book even after all this time. “I’m just worried that I’ll feel like I’m intruding on everything, like everyone already has their friends and a group and everything, and here comes some random Québécoise who’s a friend of Tito’s—”

He laughed, turning her around to face him. “Astride, they’re going to love you. As long as you’re the hilarious, witty, caring person I know you are, they’re going to love you as much as I do, and you’re going to fit in just fine. Do you trust me?”

She gave a tiny nod. “Yeah.”

He smiled, squeezing her hand. “Good, now come back, everyone’s waiting.”

They walked through the gate, greeted by a crowd of smiling faces as Anthony brought her around to everyone to make their rounds. There was Anders, he was the captain, and his wife. There was Jordan and Lauren, and she already knew Mat, and JGP — who was excited to have another person to speak French to — and a dozen or so others, along with their respective partners and children. Anthony had gone over to talk to Mat and some of the other players, while Astride had wandered over to the drinks table. Some of the other women were chatting nearby; one of them caught Astride’s eye and waved her over to join them.

“Beau didn’t tell us he was bringing anyone!” one of the women said, pulling her over to the group with a bright smile and handing her a glass of sangria.

“Mhm,” she replied, taking a sip of the drink. “I’m new to the city, obviously, so I think he wanted me to have some people I know outside of just work.”

They all nodded. “How long have you two been together, though?” another asked. “I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone, did you?” She looked around at the others, who shook their heads as Astride’s eyes bulged.

“Together? No, no, we’re not together. We’ve been best friends for ages, but,” she shook her head.

“Could have fooled me,” Lauren said with the smallest of winks.

Astride suddenly became very interested in the floating berries in her sangria. She looked over at Anthony, who was throwing his head back, laughing at something one of the rookies had said, and smiled. But Lauren’s words kept lingering in the back of her mind. Could have fooled me. Okay, it wasn’t like it was the first time they had been mistaken for a couple; whenever she’d make the trip up to Shawingan to visit him when he was in the QMJHL, more than once she’d have to explain to his teammates that no, she wasn’t Beau’s girlfriend, they were just best friends who had known each other forever. Just best friends.

Astride had always equated her lingering feelings for Anthony to the nostalgia of a childhood crush, the safety and security that came with remembering something from a time that seemed so simple and so easy. But childhood crushes didn’t last for ten years. And that wasn’t something she hadn’t wanted to come to terms with, something she’d been putting off for years if she was being honest with herself.

“You didn’t tell me Astride was coming,” Mat commented, seeing her mid-laugh in conversation with the other girls.

Anthony nodded. “Yeah. She didn’t have any plans for the weekend and I thought it would be nice to introduce her to everyone. I remember how shitty it felt to be in a new city away from your family, don’t want her to be lonely. Plus, I genuinely think she’ll fit in great with everyone.”

Mat hummed his agreement. “She’s changed since Switzerland, don’t you think?” he asked appreciatively, referring to over five years ago, the last time he had seen her in person.

“Don’t even think about it,” Beau mumbled to Mat, seeing his eyebrows go so far up they were hidden in his hairline.

“I see a hot girl, I appreciate a hot girl,” Mat shrugged. “But don’t worry, I won’t try anything. I know she’s off-limits.”

The rest of the afternoon passed quicker than she would have thought, and after a few hours and more good conversations, it was time for Astride to leave. “Have a safe drive back,” Anthony said, giving her a hug.

“I will,” she responded.

He opened the driver’s side door for her. “I’m really glad you came, you know. Everyone liked you, you fit in great.”

“It wasn’t all me,” she said, sliding into the seat, turning her head to Anthony to continue the conversation. “Everyone really did seem to go out of their way to make me feel included, I think they understood the feeling of moving to a whole new place without a big support system and wanted to do what they could to help mitigate that for me.” Astride consciously left out Lauren’s little comment, four words that had been bouncing around in her head for hours since they had been said. He didn’t need to know. She didn’t need him to know, it could confuse him and complicate things when they were just getting back into the rhythm of friendship, of being each other’s person.

Anthony tapped his fingers on the car door. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

Beau went to sleep that night, Mat’s words bouncing around in his head. “I know she’s off-limits.” It’s not like Cass was his sister or something, someone who would inherently be barred from his best friend’s dating pool. But Mat seemed to know right away, without having ever been told, that she wasn’t someone he could ever even consider pursuing. Why? And what did Mat seem to know that he didn’t?

November 12 (fri)

It was early November, and Anthony and Astride had just settled down at a table in Prospect Park, coffee cups warming their hands through the late fall chill. “How do you feel about last night?” Astride asked teasingly. He had a three point game, two goals and an assist in a 4-1 win over the Canes, so there really wasn’t any question that he was still riding on the high.

Beau rolled his eyes. “Good, obviously. It would have been nice to get a hat trick, but I know that’s asking for a lot and I didn’t want to tempt fate too much. They made a really good push late in the second.”

“But you won,” she said, poking his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her mocha.

“But we won,” he agreed. He suddenly got quiet, the kind of quiet where, if you know the person well enough, you can tell that something’s up. That they’re thinking of something. And Astride was right. “Do you ever think about Switzerland?” he asked.

Astride looked at him from the side, knowing right away that he wasn’t asking about the country. “All the time,” she admitted.

---

It was the spring of 2015, and they were in Lucerne. By they, Astride meant her, Tito, and the rest of the 2015 Canadian U18 World Cup team. And by in Lucerne, she meant crowded into someone’s hotel room with no adult supervision. Anthony wasn’t sure where any of the coaching staff had gone, but if he was being honest, he was riding on way too big of a high to even care. They had clinched the bronze medal earlier that day, celebrating with the family and friends who had made the trip out, gotten dinner, and then packed into the first team room they came to. Well, technically, Astride, Tito, and Mat had made a stop at the grocery store before meeting everyone else back in the room. The drinking age in Switzerland was 16 for everything but spirits, and everyone was planning on taking full advantage of that. The cashier gave them a look as she took her and Anthony’s French licenses and Mat’s English one, but the charge went through just fine, and fifteen minutes later they were walking back through the doorway with three cases of beer and a few bottles of sparkling wine for good measure. Astride had never been so grateful to have her own checking account.

“You ever drink before?” Mat asked her as they opened the cases.

Astride shrugged. “Not really. A glass of wine every now and again back home with my parents, but nothing too crazy.”

He held out a bottle for her, fishing around in his pocket for the bottle opener they had picked up at the store. “Have fun.”

And have fun Astride did. She had finished off two of the beers, and one of the younger teammates — she didn’t remember who — had popped open the wine. In his slightly inebriated state, it took longer than it should have to twist off the muselet, which then led to foam all over the floor and fifteen sixteen and seventeen-year-olds running to the bathroom to grab towels to try and mop it up with. And then running back to the bathroom to get the water glasses because they needed something to drink it out of, right? And then to everyone else’s rooms because they quickly realized that two cups definitely wasn’t enough to go around, and then everyone was back in the room, on the beds and around the beds, finally letting themselves celebrate. Astride was just finishing her glass when Mat spoke. “Anyone up for never have I ever?” Nobody said otherwise, so two minutes later, they were all arranged in what could very generously be called a circle, fresh drinks in hand. After a solid five minutes of repeating the rules — there was always at least one person who seemed to genuinely struggle with the idea that you drank if you had done the thing, not if you hadn’t — they were slowly but surely making their way around the circle.

Questions ranged from the mundane — “Never have I ever gotten detention” — to the raunchy — “Never have I ever had my parents walk in on me” — neither of which Astride or Tito drank to.

By the time it was Mat’s turn, he had had plenty of time to think, looking around the group with a conspiratorial grin. “What is it?” Tito asked skeptically.

He shrugged. “Never have I ever...kissed anyone in the circle.” As expected, nobody drank, but apparently that wasn’t expected, not for Mat, at least. He looked between Anthony and Astride incredulously. “Seriously? You two have never kissed?”

Anthony shook his head. “Nope.”

“How? You’ve been friends for, like, a million years, not even when you were little or anything?” he asked.

“Never,” Astride said. “Kind of hard to kiss your best friend when you haven’t kissed anyone before.” She barely even realized that everyone was still listening in.

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” Anthony asked, surprised.

Astride looked down at her hands, sipping her beer. “Nope.” She gave him a brief smile. “I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but no. Just hasn’t happened yet.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe it was feelings buried so deeply in Anthony’s mind that he didn’t think would ever see the light of day, let alone have to be confronted, that made him say what he did next. “I could—if you wanted—you don’t have to, but—” he stammered.

Astride laughed, looking at him curiously. “What is it, Tito? You’re not normally one to stumble over your words like that.”

He picked at his fingernails, an old nervous tick from his childhood that his mother was never quite able to get him to break, keenly aware that the whole room had decided to listen into their conversation. “I was just trying to say...I could do it, if you want. Kiss you, I mean. If you just wanted to get it over with, or whatever. I just figured. You know me, you trust me, you’re comfortable with me. Better that than some idiot at school who doesn’t care about you.”

Her cheeks burned as she looked over at him, but even though it took her nearly a minute to respond, she had her answer after five seconds. “Why not?” Astride flashed him the purest, gentlest smile, the kind that let him know just how much she cared about him and how deeply she trusted him. And the look on her face meant the world to him.

Anthony leaned in, his hand coming up to rest on her shoulder, his fingertips just barely touching her cheek as their foreheads leant together. “You sure about this?” He needed her to be sure.

She nodded. “I’ve had a couple of drinks, and I never imagined my first kiss would be in front of an audience,” she paused to giggle at the rest of the team, who were giving the scene their full attention in a way that somehow wasn’t uncomfortable at all, just wholesome and supportive, “but yeah. I’m sure.”

That was all the permission Anthony needed to lean forward, pressing his lips against hers, in a kiss that was soft and sweet and somehow everything Astride needed all in one. He pulled back after a moment, a goofy smile on his face. “How was it?”

Astride couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Good, it was really good, Tito. Thank you for that.”

“What are friends for?”

---

“Friends are for kissing each other, apparently,” Astride giggled, leaning into Anthony on his couch.

He laughed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over her arm. “Did you ever think something was going to happen between us?” Anthony asked curiously.

Astride shrugged. “At some point, yeah. I think it was kind of hard not to, with our parents and literally everyone we spent time with saying we were destined to fall in love.” She looked down at her hands, trying not to give away the fact that at one point, she had believed them.

November 30 (tues)

“Do you want to come over Friday?” Anthony asked, sprawled out across her couch on one of his rare nights off. He had made the drive over to Astride’s apartment, cooking salmon and roasting vegetables while she took the much more daunting task of picking what to watch on Netflix. She settled on Back to the Future. “I can order in Thai, I know we’re trying to work our way through the Mission Impossibles.”

Astride grimaced. “I actually...kind of have a date Friday night,” she admitted.

Anthony made a hum of surprise. “You do?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so shocked, Tito. There are men in this city of nine million who want to take me out.”

He sputtered. “It’s not that that shocks me, Asty. You’d have men lining up around the block for you if you’d give any of them a second glance. It’s just that. You never seem to bother actually going after any of them. What made this one different?”

“I mean, honestly hour?” Astride said, shrugging.

“Honestly hour.”

“I haven’t been on a date since I left Montréal, you know that. It had been a few months there too. And I’ve loved hanging out with you more, getting to know Mat and the team and everyone’s partners, but...I needed something different, too. Something that felt like a part of my life that wasn’t directly connected to the team. Which, don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily, “I love them, and it’s been so nice to be a part of that group, I just…” Astride trailed off.

“You can’t let that be the only part of your life. I get it,” Anthony added helpfully.

“Yeah,” Astride agreed. “So enter Cole. He works in a different division of the IE department, I’m obviously Europe and he’s Asia, mostly does work with Taiwan and Singapore. Um,” she said, her eyes turning towards the ceiling, “he seems really nice, did international business at UPenn, which is a great program. Speaks fluent Mandarin, uh, I think he mentioned he’s got a few fish at home.”

Anthony snorted. “What’s wrong with fish?” Astride asked defensively.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with fish,” he said. “Just seems like an odd choice. Maybe his building doesn’t allow pets or something.”

“Maybe,” Astride responded. “I wouldn’t know, he lives in Manhattan, over in Tribeca. Bikes to work.”

Tito laughed again. “I don’t trust people who bike to work in New York City, Asty. They have zero regard for their own lives or safety.”

She giggled. “That might be true. But I’m looking forward to it, the date, I mean. I really am. It’s been a while since I’ve really put myself back out there, and I’m ready for something good. Something real.”

He gave a half-smile from his side of the couch. “I’m happy for you, Astride. I hope you have a great time, and I hope he treats you right. If he doesn’t, just let him know that you can sic an entire professional hockey team on him with a single phone call.”

“I will,” she said. “I’ll call you when it’s over, tell you how it went.” “

I’ll be waiting,” he said.

Anthony thought back on the conversation as he sat on the corner of his bed that night, about to go to sleep. He turned his phone over and over in his hands, his eyes fixating on the chip in the crown molding that he hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. He wasn’t lying to Astride when he said he was happy for her. He was, of course he was, who wouldn’t want their best friend to be happy? But while he wanted nothing more, nothing more, than to be able to give his full-throated support for her date, and the potential the future held for her and this Cole guy, he couldn’t do it. There was something stopping him. And the worst part of it all was that Anthony was starting to realize what it was.

---

Astride had said that their dinner reservation was at 7, some brasserie in the West Village. “That’s a French thing, right?” Cole had asked.

“It is,” Astride responded, gearing up for her translation skills to be used for the first time in months. She spoke almost exclusively French around Tito, and with JGP and Brassard, but the majority of her day was spent in English. Cole said that the restaurant had come highly recommended from one of his Wall Street friends, something that should have been the first red flag.

“Never trust the finance bros,” Reese, a German specialist and one of her friends at the office, had said. “They all think they’re God’s gift to mankind when I can guarantee you they ain’t shit.”

She had said it was at 7, so Anthony wasn’t expecting to hear from her until much later; honestly, he would have been surprised if she had called before 10. He tried not to think about what it could mean if she didn’t call at all that night. She had said it was at 7, so when he heard a knock at his door at half past nine, he practically jumped out of his skin before scrambling to open the door. His eyebrows rose when he saw Astride on the other side of the door, then his face contorted into a look of sympathy as he saw the sad smile on her lips, her jacket slung over one arm.

“Can I come in?” she asked. He nodded without question, holding the door while stepping out of the way. He padded to the kitchen, bringing out a bottle of Moscato and two glasses. Astride smiled gratefully at him as he uncorked the bottle and poured. He knew that she couldn’t do red wine when she was upset, and she was upset.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively.

Astride shrugged, sipping the wine. “Not much to tell other than it was probably the worst first date I’ve ever been on.”

That piqued Anthony’s interest. He’d never be happy that she was upset, but something told him the story wasn’t quite that simple. “What about it was so bad?”

“Where do I begin?” she sighed. “He was on time, but that’s pretty much the only thing Cole did right the entire night. He was rude to the waitress when we had to wait all of ten minutes until our reservation was ready, because the couple ahead had gone long. Then he ordered the most expensive bottle of red wine they had, without even asking me to see what I wanted. He really just was trying to show off that he could afford it. And it was a Sangiovese, and you know I hate dry wines, so I was just trying to choke the whole thing down. And then he insisted on ordering for me, which is probably the most chauvinistic thing I could think of, I mean, who does that anymore?” she asked incredulously.

Tito shrugged. It was disrespectful, absolutely, but more than that, it was just weird. If women have mouths that work, then they’re more than capable of doing something as simple as ordering their own food.

“And he kept trying to pour me more wine after the first glass, even when I told him a million times I was good.” Anthony’s grip on his glass tightened. Astride rubbed her temples with her free hand. “He just kept going on and on about work, and this big promotion he’s insisting he’s going to get even though I know for a fact that they want Maria for it. I could barely get a word in edgewise. That’s when I just decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I faked that Jean-Claude was calling, grabbed my jacket, and caught a cab over here.” She looked up at him, the same disappointed expression she had worn when he opened the door. “I was really hoping this one would pan out, Tito.”

He felt an ache in his heart. He may have been less than thrilled about the prospect of Astride going out on a date, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to see her so despondent. He leaned over, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen loose. “I know, Asty. And I’m sorry it didn’t.”

December 13 (mon)

Anthony and Mat were the last ones in the locker room after a morning practice. “I found this new place nearby last week that’s got great smoothie bowls, want to get one after you finish packing your stuff?” Anthony asked, looking over at Mat.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, Sounds good,” Mat nodded, half-listening.

Anthony glanced over at him, a weird look on his face. “You good, dude? You sound distracted.”

Mat spoke abruptly, looking over at Tito with a laser-focused expression. “How long have you been in love with Astride?”

Anthony’s eyebrows jumped a foot. “In love with Astride? Why would you think that?”

Mat gave him a look, the kind of look that let Anthony know he was dead serious about what he was saying, and more than that, that he believed it. “Tito, I’m dumb, but I’m not stupid.”

Anthony leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “It’s that obvious?”

“Yep,” Mat said, popping the p.

“Do you think she knows?” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Mat said, shrugging. “I don’t think so, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to really be able to know about something as big as that and not address it. Doesn’t like to keep things bottled up, it’s not really her style.”

Anthony nodded. “It’s not.” He raked one hand through his haid, his head still leaning on the other one. “God. How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with her?”

Mat put one hand on Beau’s back, comforting him as best he could. “I don’t know, Tito. I wish I could help. What I do know,” he said, “is that you’re going to have to eventually. Because it’s going to tear you up if you don’t.”

December 18 (sat)

Astride tossed one final empty can into the garbage bag. “I think that’s it,” she said, giving his living room a cursory look. What had looked like a warzone only less than an hour before now more closely resembled the somewhat-messy but perfectly respectable bachelor pad of a man in his 20s, like it should have. With the holidays approaching, Anthony had decided to take it into his own hands to host a party — alongside Astride, who he had practically begged for help — intent on showcasing his newly-acquired skills by playing bartender the whole night. He was surprisingly capable, Astride had thought, if her Sazerac was anything to go by.

He smiled at her. “Thanks, Asty. And thanks for staying and helping clean everything up, you really didn’t have to.”

She tied the bag off and set it by the door with the other one. “I wanted to. And besides, I’m staying over,” she said, looking over at Anthony, “so what did you think I was going to do? Lock myself in the guest room while you cleaned up the whole apartment by yourself? What kind of a woman do you take me for?” she asked in mock offense.

Anthony laughed, sitting down on the couch with a satisfying thump, pulling Astride into his side when she settled next to him.

“I’m so glad we got back in contact,” she said, muffled against the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m so glad we’re friends again.”

He felt guilty; more than that, he knew that the guilt, at least some of it, was deserved. “I should have done more,” he lamented. “I should have done more to keep in contact, more to show you I cared, more so you’d know that your friendship is one of the things I value most in my life.”

Astride gave a small smile. “It’s a two-way street, Tito. Sure, I won’t lie and say that you really put all that much effort into keeping in contact. You didn’t.” He winced, she shot him a sympathetic look. “I love you, but you know me. I don’t mince my words. But I definitely could have done more than text you congratulations or leave a thirty-second voicemail on your birthday. We both could have done more. We both should have done more,” she said, correcting herself. “What do you think happened, though? Where did we go wrong?” As much as she might have hated it, Astride was that kind of person. She went through every bad decision in her life with a fine-toothed comb, needing to know what went wrong, needing to know what she could have done differently.

“I think,” he began, “that it was just so easy to get distracted from ‘back home’ things. From our friendship, from my relationships with my family. From the important things, the things that I should have made an effort to prioritize even when the season got hectic and games got hard. And I’m not trying to make excuses,” he added quickly, “but there was just something about where I was, physically and mentally. I was 19, a rookie in one of the biggest cities in the world, and I think I just lost sight of things. Between the practices and games and going out and community events and trying to get in more than five hours of sleep a night, it was a lot,” he admitted. “It was stressful, probably weighed on me more than I wanted to admit. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I’m well aware I was — and am — living a life thousands of kids would kill for, but there’s a lot that goes on behind the scenes that you don’t really understand unless you’ve been through it. I don’t have many regrets from my rookie season, or really many in my career so far. Don’t regret moving for minors, don’t regret going to the Isles, don’t regret any of the contracts I’ve signed or plays I’ve made. Well,” he smirked, “maybe a few. But the one big one? The only real regret I’ve had? Letting you go.”

Astride swallowed hard, choosing her next words carefully. “What do you mean, letting me go?”

Anthony let out a hard sigh. He’d put it off for long enough. He couldn’t do it any longer. “Never telling you how I feel.”

“How you feel?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her fingers tangling in the fringe of the fleece blanket that was slung over the couch cushions.

“Like I love you so much my heart could burst.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “How long have you known?”

He looked at her with a soft smile. “Ever since Switzerland.”

“Six years?”

“Six years.” He reached out slowly, so slowly, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear when she didn’t move back. They sat in silence for a moment, and when Anthony spoke again, his voice wavered. “Asty? Say something.”

Astride’s lifted her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I knew since I was 15.”

His face split into a grin, wider and wider until she was sure she’d never seen a bigger smile. “You did? You do?”

She nodded, leaning forward so their foreheads were touching. She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat fluttering butterfly-fast underneath her fingertips. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since I knew what love was, Tito.”

He pushed forward, pressing his lips against hers for the first time since 2015, the first time since Switzerland. It was gentle and meaningful and somehow communicated all of the love and emotion that had been built up between the two of them in the past six years. Anthony pulled back after a minute, his lips pink and slightly puffy. “Tell me where your head’s at, Astride.”

“Is it too cliché to just say that this might be the happiest I’ve been in years?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Not at all.” But there was something that she wasn’t quite letting go of. “What is it, Astride?”

Astride sniffed. “I want this. You and I, I want it so mad it hurts. I just hate the idea that we’d turn into some sort of cliché. Childhood friends who grow up and fall in love, but something goes wrong and they split up and suddenly the dynamic of everything is messed up and I don’t want that, Tito. I don’t know if I could deal with you hating me because of how things ended.”

“But things don’t have to end, Asty. Every broken heart, every date where some asshole has stood you up has led you to know that you deserve more. You deserve so much more, Astride, you deserve the sun and the moon and someone who would hang them in the sky for you. It doesn’t have to end in heartbreak. It doesn’t have to end at all.”

Astride had always been someone who was cautious, someone who thought before she acted and never spoke without thinking through every possible outcome. But this was one of the times that she couldn’t do that, one of the times when, as much as she may have hated it, she needed to take a leap of faith. And so she did. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Anthony asked, his voice lifting.

She nodded, the happiness on her face unmistakable. “Okay.”

And as Astride and Anthony FaceTimed her parents to break the news, her mom slapping her dad’s shoulder, claiming that she had “called it” back in 2014, Astride was filled with a sense of undeniable, irreplaceable joy. The kind of joy that the poets write about and artists put brush to canvas trying to depict, the kind that most people go their whole lives only hoping to get a glimpse of. The kind that made Astride more certain of one thing than she had perhaps been in her entire life. It didn’t have to end in heartbreak. And this one didn’t have to end at all.

And as they stood two years later in a little church in their hometown, promising in front of their family and friends and the entire New York Islanders to love each other for the rest of their lives, Astride finally believed it.

#anthony beauvillier #hockey smut #hockey writing #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl smut #nhl writing #new york islanders

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sandwichrin · 4 years ago

Text

A Little into You (Junkyu x Reader) (Ch. 9)

Chapter 9 - A step further.

Word count: 3k words

Genre: Fanfiction, PG13, Comedy, Romance.

A/N: Hi! Here’s Chapter 9! Thank you so much for waiting, and I really hope you all love this one 😀🧡

Now, it had been three weeks since you last met any of the Treasure members since you all had that lunch at the Japanese Restaurant. What’s that? Did you read that right?

Yes, it’s been three weeks.

And by now, the group chat that you and the 5 members have, had already expanded after Yedam added in the rest of the group in there.

This was your first time being in a group chat with these many people. Aside from your office’s group chat of course.

So one day whilst at work, you received a text from the Treasure group you were in.

Chatroom:

Junkyu: Yeorobun~ Jihoon is asking if you all want to get some IKEA meatballs after today’s schedule!

Hyunsuk: Oh? But we’re finishing quite late today. Are you sure they’re still open late at night?

Junkyu: Oh. Right. @Jihoon Hey! Why did you recommend IKEA?? You know they don’t open after 11pm!

Jihoon: 😂😂😂 I knew they don’t.

Junkyu: ???? Then? Why’d you tell me to ask the group about it??

Jeongwoo: 😂😂 Junkyu-hyung…

Jihoon: I just like messing with you. Besides, you chatted the group with y/n in it so…. 😏

Y/n: ….are you guys okay….

You smiled to yourself reading the chat again. It was silly, yet, amusing. You sort of missed talking to your new friends to be honest.

“Y/n, Mr Bae is looking for you,” your colleague, Soomin said, making you stop looking at your phone.

“Oh? Oh, right. I’ll go to him now,” You said as you got up from your seat.

Soomin nodded and went back to her desk not far from yours.

Jihoon was grabbing himself a cup of water from the practice room’s water dispenser when he heard his best friend yell from behind him.

“YAH! PARK JIHOON! What’d you do that for???” Junkyu huffed, as he entered the door of the room.

Jihoon chuckled and drank his water before setting the cup down and facing his best friend.

“What? I didn’t do much?”

“Yahhhh, that was so embarrassing!” Junkyu exclaimed, as he ruffles his hair.

“Hm? What? Hey, I only asked you to ask the rest about IKEA and you were the one who chatted the wrong group,” Jihoon stated matter-of-factly.

“We need to change the group’s name! Y/n must think I’m dumb now,” Junkyu said, pouting.

“Sure, sure, we can change it later. We can write it as Treasure x Y/n. How’s that? Sounds like a collaboration, right?” Jihoon snickered as he pulls out his phone from his pocket.

“Whatever, as long as I don’t have to embarrass myself anymore,”

“Hmm?” Jihoon hummed. “Since when do you care about what y/n thinks of you, huh?”

“I-I don’t! I just don’t want to appear dumb, that’s all,” Junkyu stuttered slightly.

Jihoon grinned at him, “Sure, Junkyu.”

“Hey!” Hyunsuk’s voice appeared as he entered the practice room.

Both Jihoon and Junkyu turned to see who it was.

“You guys are early today. Your vocal training ended early?” Hyunsuk asked as he headed towards where Jihoon was, grabbing himself a cup of water from the water dispenser as well.

Both Jihoon and Junkyu nodded at his question.

Hyunsuk gulped down his drink, disposed the cup and walked to the middle of the room. There, he sat down and gestured the rest to sit with him.

“What are you both doing standing there? Come, sit! You should get proper leg rest before we start dancing later on,”

Junkyu and Jihoon went towards him and sat with him.

“So…what do you guys want for dinner tonight? Minus the IKEA idea of course,” Hyunsuk said.

Jihoon giggled when he saw Junkyu tense up from the word IKEA.

“No, noo! I didn’t mean it that way Junkyu,” Hyunsuk said, laughing a little. “Really though, where do you all want to order from for dinner?”

“I’m fine with whatever you guys are having,” Jihoon said.

“You guys want to gather in one dorm and just eat altogether there?” Hyunsuk asked, now scrolling his phone, searching for a suitable food menu for dinner.

“Sure, sounds okay with me,” Junkyu said. He tugged on the string of his pink treasure hoodie, realising that the strings were uneven.

“Ahh,” Jihoon stretched his arms out before laying down on the floor. “Hmm. Hey, Junkyu, do you want to invite y/n as well?”

Junkyu choked on his own saliva hearing Jihoon mention your name again. “Wh-what??”

Jihoon and Hyunsuk started laughing out loud.

“Hey, Jihoon, stop teasing Junkyu like that. He’ll hit us both later if you keep doing that to him,”

“Yeah! Why are you always mentioning her name here, huh? If you want to invite her so bad, why don’t you do it, huh?” Junkyu huffed as well.

Jihoon got up and sat back up properly. “Hey, don’t say that. I just might really invite her, you know,” he smirked at his two friends there.

“But y/n doesn’t know where we live? And I don’t think the rest are ready to reveal where we live to her too. I mean, we’ve only known her for what, a month or two?” Hyunsuk wondered aloud.

Jihoon shook his head. “Who says it has to be at our dorms?”

“Oh? Then, where?” Junkyu asked, extreme confusion portrayed on his face.

Jihoon smiled, showing his eye smile at his friends. “I’ll take care of it. Just find us some good food for takeout tonight,”

“I don’t think that’s necessary Mr Bae,” you said, shaking your head from the idea he mentioned before you.

“Oh come on, y/n! You’ve been working here for over a year! It’s only reasonable you get promoted to do something else,” he said.

You kept quiet. Truthfully, you didn’t think you deserved any promotion at all. A raise in your salary? Maybe yes to that, but a new post?

Your eyes were kept lowered, as you stare at your thighs as you stay seated opposite Mr Bae’s desk.

Mr Bae is the president of the company, and yes, he is your teacher’s son. This was the man who gladly took you in to work with him when his mother was worried what would become of you when you missed your college entrance exam.

“Y/n,”

Your eyes lifted to look at him. “Yes”

“My mother would have wanted this for you too, you know.”

“I…I don’t know, Mr Bae,”

“What’s stopping you? Tell me,”

You shifted uncomfortably in the big chair you’re sitting in. You picked your fingers as you began thinking whether you should voice your concerns to your boss.

“Y/n?”

You inhaled deeply before letting out a deep sigh.

“Alright, fine. You caught me. I am worried. I feel like I don’t deserve this because first, I am the youngest person here, and to be promoted into an important team of the company just makes it seem fishy, don’t you think so? Besides, what’s everyone gonna say when they find out that I’m given that post when in reality all I have is a high school certificate??”

Your president grinned at this. This was the first time you have ever said anything this much to him. You had always been quiet around the people in this company, and seeing you rant out your concerns somewhat eases him.

Mr Bae leaned back into his tall, leather office chair. “Hmm. That’s it? That was all you’re worried about?”

You shook your head in disbelief. How could your president see this as a small matter? You were anxious about this, and yet he was so calm about it.

“Mr Bae, you don’t understand—”

“Please, call me Joonyoung. Or Joon for short. You’re my mother’s friend, and to be frank, our age isn’t that far apart, no?”

Your eyes narrowed at this, “Correction; I was your mother’s student. And, you’re literally 8 years older than I am so—”

Joonyoung laughed at this, clearly amused by you. “Alright, that’s fine, y/n. I’d understand why you’d benchmark yourself. You are indeed, way younger than I am,”

“Yes, indeed,” you huffed.

“But I still think you should accept the promotion,”

You scoffed. “Look, I told you, I am already concerned abou—”

“Soomin recommended you to be in her team too, you know,” he interrupted you before you could nag at him about your reasonings again.

That made you stop. You straightened your posture in your seat.

“S-soomin-eonnie? The one who seats not far in front of me in the office?”

“Yeah. She’s been asking for you to be on her comms team couple of times now, actually. I just didn’t want to push you before this because I knew you would refuse, with your ‘I am only a high school graduate’ excuse,” he said, adding quote marks when he mentioned your excuse.

“But…why?” You asked, confused.

Surely, Soomin is the only person you’ve interacted most in the office, and she’s quite young too, around 6 years older than you. But your interactions with her were mostly work-based. You were in charge of designing brochures, pamphlets, slides, creating reading materials and such for her and her team.

Whereas for Soomin, she was the leader in her unit, the Comms Team; they call it. What her team does was, they would go out on trips to other companies and provide a lecture or meeting for staffs and brief them on how they can incorporate and learn English language for their staff and companies. Sounds easy but it’s a handful once you’ve experienced the pressure of meeting people all around the city.

“So..?” Joonyoung’s voice broke you from your string of thoughts.

“Will you join Soomin? She’s been talking about how helpful you were to her and she felt bad that you were stuck doing all the computer work in the office.” Joonyoung got up from his seat and decided to peek outside his office’s window.

“She said that she felt like you had more potential than just being a person who sits at her desk and doing all mini jobs for everyone else in the office,”

“H-hey! That’s not true! I have students too,” you added, not wanting to make it seem like your job was that pitiful.

Joonyoung turned to look at you now. “Please, y/n, your students are the 3 staff that will soon be leaving to be relocated into Karako W’s office,”

You pouted. You almost forgot about the merge your boss had secured almost a month ago.

“So, let’s just say yes, shall we?” he smiled at you.

You let out a sigh.

“Great! I’ll take that as a yes!” he said happily. “I’ll let my mother know about this, she’ll be happy for you,”

“Sure…”

“Oh come on y/n, cheer up! You’re getting a promotion and a raise! Anyone would be happy to be in your shoes!”

You groaned. “Anyone but me,”

“Hey, at least now in your new post, you get to visit other big companies and collaborate with them,” he smiled, still convincing you.

You blinked a few times. You wondered if you ever got a chance to visit YGE’s company as well?

You got back to your desk to see your phone buzzing non-stop. You hurried to sit down and looked at it closely.

4 new messages from Jihoon TRSR

“Huh? Jihoon-ssi?” you muttered to yourself.

Just as you were about to open the messages, your phone started buzzing again in your hands, but this time it was a heavy buzz since it was a call.

Panicked, you answered it without looking at the screen.

“Hello?” You answered, slightly whispering since you didn’t want to disrupt the quiet atmosphere in your office.

“Y/n! Quick! I need help!” Jihoon’s voice, rang in your ears, all panicked.

“What? Why? What’s wrong Jihoon?” you felt your forehead creasing, now that you heard his panicked voice. Did something bad happen to them?

“Y/n, please. You gotta help us. The management…Jaehyuk…”

“What, what?? What’s going on??” Your tone in your voice rose, now that you were anxious to know what happened. But Jihoon wouldn’t complete his sentences!

“Please, I’ll tell you all about it later. But you gotta help me, help us, please?” he pleaded through the phone.

You took a deep breath and exhaled. Your eyes dart around the office to see if anyone was watching you. None. Coast clear.

“Alright, Jihoon. What can I do for you?”

“Bingo!” Jihoon said happily, once he got off the phonecall with you.

The rest of the group looked at him and wondered what he was so happy about.

Jihoon walked to his spot in the choreography formation and did some light stretches since he took a short break to call you just now.

“Hey, Hoon, what are you so happy about, huh?” Hyunsuk said, as he noticed his friend’s beaming reflection from the room’s mirror.

“Nah, I’m just happy about tonight, that’s all,” Jihoon answered, his bright smile still plastered on his face.

“Ookay…”

“Speaking of which, have you decided what to buy for tonight’s dinner?” Jihoon asked Hyunsuk back.

“Oh, I asked the rest and they said they wanted pizza. That good for tonight?”

“Sounds great! And I’ve got the perfect place for us to eat too, tonight!”

Doyoung clapped his hands at this, “Wahhh hyung, both you and Hyunsuk are really treating us really well tonight, huh? What’s the special occasion?” he asked.

“Oh nothing, it’s just for all your hard work today,” Jihoon answered happily.

“Yayyyy! We’re having pizza tonight!” Junghwan cheered happily.

“Oh yeah, where are we going to have dinner tonight? Hyunsuk-hyung’s dorm?” Jaehyuk asked.

Jihoon winked at his dongsaengs. “It’s a surprise.”

(Y/n’s Apartment – Nighttime)

“Eonnie! Eonnie!” you called out.

Your sister’s breathing was ragged and heavy. Like she was suffocating badly.

You got up from your chair beside her bed and ran outside the room, hoping to bump into a doctor who wasn’t busy at the time.

You found one not far from the nurse’s counter, and you grabbed him by the arm.

“Doctor! Please, please, my sister—” you shook your head and gestured him to follow you.

When both you and the doctor arrived in your sister’s room, she was already shaking in her bed, her breathing more ragged now.

The doctor rushed in and checked your sister’s vitals and eyes.

“She’s having a seizure! Nurses, hurry!” he called out loudly.

Soon, you saw two to three nurses rush in to help the doctor.

You stood by the doorframe, holding on to it, as if you were going to fall if you ever let go.

You watched as they tried to tend to your sister and your tears wouldn’t stop flowing down your cheeks. You were sobbing on your own now, watching needles being poked into your sister’s delicate skin again.

You shook your head over and over again, sobbing.

Please don’t leave me, eonnie. Please.

You woke up from your sleep, panting.

You sat up in your bed slowly, trying to regain yourself.

It was a dream. It was only a dream.

You sniffled to yourself. You realised your cheeks were wet and you proceeded to wipe them on the sleeves of your shirt.

“Ah shucks. I can’t believe I cried in my sleep,” you mumbled to yourself.

Eeeeeekkk.

Your eyes widened. What was that? Did you hear wrongly? Or was it really a chair moving?

You gulped. You grabbed your phone on your nightstand and checked the time.

11.37 pm.

You frowned to yourself. Just how early did you fall asleep?

You kept quiet a little longer, just to see if there were any more noises.

A good whole minute passed by. No noise.

“Huh, I must be imagining things,” you assured yourself.

You were about to pull your covers over yourself again when you heard it again.

EEEEeeeeeekkkkk. Eeek.

That sounded like two chairs. Or specifically, the sound of the chair in your kitchen makes because you fairly remember how it sounds like ever since you removed the carpet underneath the chairs to be washed the other day.

Your heart raced. You slowly got up from your bed, slipped on your room slippers and slowly made your way towards the door.

You didn’t open your bedroom door or anything, since you didn’t have the courage to do so. But you pressed your ear against it, just in case you could hear anything.

“What are we doing here, hyung? Aren’t we trespassing?”

“Nah, we’re not. Believe me, this is legal,”

“But she’s not here. She’s probably asleep already,”

“Yeah, hyung, we should leave. This isn’t right,”

“Oh come on you all, she could be curled up in bed reading a book. Who the heck sleeps this early??”

You could your own breathing growing louder. Are there trespassers in your house??

Who should you call? Should you call the police?

Your head turned to look at your phone that you left on your nightstand. You decided to go over there to take it when suddenly you heard the doorknob getting turned.

This is crazy! You were in your pajamas and you didn’t have any weapon on you! Heck, you didn’t have your phone with you right now too!

You decided to just brace yourself and just throw in a hasty punch at whoever this trespasser is. The nerve! How dare they come into your home this time of the night?!

Just then, the door creaked open and you hurriedly pounced on the trespasser, making you both fall to the floor. Your eyes were shut as you swing your arms to punch the person but then you felt a hand grabbing your arm, making you freeze in your spot.

“Whoa! Easy there, cutie. What are you all feisty about?” a familiar voice spoke out.

Huh? That voice.

You opened your eyes to see….Jihoon laying on the floor beneath you, whereas his waist was trapped in between your thighs.

His hand was still holding on to your arm that was raised up earlier.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Jihoon?? What are you doing here??”

“Aaahhh! I think I just saw something I shouldn’t be seeing!” You heard another voice screaming not far from you.

You lift your head to see who it was, and there it was….the rest of the familiar faces you know…all looking at both you and Jihoon with shocked looks.

To be continued...

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bellafingadventure · 4 years ago

Text

Let’s talk about irony.

BANG.

The sky six hours from now will be illuminated by fireworks, annually, yet people are still surprised this is a thing that happens. Large groups of overworked middle class Americans taking their first and last sip of booze for months.

Irony.

We as a people, and even those “above” us, dictate what “worth” means to us.

This comes with how much we work, VS how much we’re paid, sided with a hotcake of WILL.

What are you willing to do for happiness? What are you willing to sacrifice?

I’m 27 years old and always seem to be in a battle with life. I used to think it was a battle with myself, but that's such a constant I usually don’t even give it the attention we all know it deserves.

Now I just battle life. Ya know, the ones your folks gave you without consideration of the awful traits they’d pass along with debilitating features they've both buried for years... oh.

I feel like the two of us signed up for a different post today, although this is usual, I figured that maybe I’d throw something new into the mix. Something a little more for my other blog.

YES, I have more than one blog. - This account was started when I was in 7th grade if I’m not mistaken, ugh theeverydayblues...I’m 27 now, and although Tumblr has become an alternate form of expression for me throughout the years, it still gets the job done..exactly how I need it to - EVERY-TIME.

It’s the 4th of July, again - I’m 27 years old.

What would you expect I was doing? Where would you think I am?

I’m currently at a restaurant, one I’ve avoided for a long time. The last memory-worthy relationship I was in was with my x; CHANG. We dated for almost 8 years, crazy to think that much time went by, but I guess when you’re being gaslighted nothing seems real.

Towards the end of our relationship I ended up finding out that the gym he went to daily, the one I always asked to join, he had met a nice young lady.. -

One who soon, less than a year later would be posing for the New Year in front of a IKEA photo he and I had bought for our apartment the first year we moved in years ago.

It’s funny, these days- Saying these things out loud and processing them just as well..

I’m sitting at a restaurant on 4th of July alone, across from a couple who you can tell has loved for many many years.

I’m usually the person to want to know the secret, to ask “What does it take?!” - Hopelessly in love with the idea of being in love..I’ve stumbled through my life not quite understanding it’s the basics you learn from that form your existence.

They sat as I was waiting for my desert, I’ve been working hard so I bought myself a bottle of wine and a steak to pair. My waiter had been charming and immediately caught my eye with his beautifully groomed Gentleman's stash. I noticed them because they were sat by the host at a four person table while I sat with what felt like selfishly at a two person booth.

Immediately they talked about how cold the place felt, how he wish he wore long pants instead of shorts and how she wondered if they’d be hated if they asked to move to a area with less of a draft.

It’s funny because for a period of my life in this industry I sat around and talked about how dramatic and selfish people with long left chapters felt about our air or seating. Usually when we’re going through something - we think selfishly. Even If it's just at a restaurant. We worry about ourselves.

She asked where the powder room was, after a glance at her empty seat. and empty feeling I’m sure he felt looking over at me, he journeyed off as well in hope of either not being alone, using the restroom, or both.

He came back quickly, anxiously looking around to make sure he didn't miss his love. The longest 15 minutes I’ve ever experienced.

When she returned, he made sure she was comfortable and ready to order. They chatted a little about the price and the indoor ambiance while waiting for the delightfully mustached server we both shared.

Their meal started off coy, he didn’t take a bite till she did, and she didn't ask for a bite from his food VS her salad. Her eyebrows were painted on with a color that didn’t quite match her hair, her expressions were misleading.

Although her relaxed face was writing the story of her 4th of July outing, her eyebrows seemed - uneasy.

I perfectly timed my glasses of wine to the bottle I ordered. I saved 2 1/2 glasses.

2 G - Desert

1/2 G - Waiting for bill.

After sitting alone, and watching them slowly start to talk and enjoy each others company throughout their meal, I melted.

I know what I deserve and what I’m capable of, but admiring a love everlasting like that really puts things into perspective.

The battles you choose, the selfishness you provide, if you want it - you’ll have it.

Nothing comes free, and sometimes sitting alone is the perfect way to remind yourself how you take care of yourself just fine - but not settling for the bare minimum from someone else feels just as good.

I overheard a intodroduction between the two of them and my server Adam, If I evesdropped just right - their names are Monte & Lana.

Those are gentle reminders, to be human, and to be selfless..

I’m going to go home now and watch some movies. Hopefully the text I just saw about us being open today are fake.

FML. CIAO

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oyesmendes · 4 years ago

Text

i keep on missing you

a/n: so remember when i said there would be a part two to “all i wanted was a happy ending” ? ya its here.... this was largely inspired by Missing You - The Vamps and i miss you, i’m sorry - Gracie Abrams. hope you guys got some tissues ready HAHAHA sorry in advance! @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @lonelyreputation

read part one here

'Cause I'm sat here in my front room with a girl who ain't you / Hopin' and prayin' you're breakin' up with another fool

The sunlight that streams through the small crack between his curtains is what wakes Shawn up. He has his hand draped across a body - or should he say, his girlfriend’s body and he finds himself frowning at the lack of the olive skin he’s grown so used to waking up to. He’s quick to change his facial expression once he sees the body roll around to face him. The girl grins at him, stroking his cheek and pressing a soft kiss on his lips which he struggles to return.

“Morning, sunshine”

“G’morning” He mumbles back. They don’t say much, only sharing a few kisses and cuddle for what felt like too long before they both stumble out of bed into their morning routines.

Shawn is sitting at the dining table, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram like he was reading the morning papers. He likes a couple pictures posted by friends back in Toronto, before he lands on one that makes his breath hitch.

@kiara_hammani: everyday is worth celebrating with you. happy three months, sweet pea!

It was a picture of her - Kiara. His finger hovers above her face, wanting nothing more than to feel her skin against his. She was in that blue sundress they bought on impulse during a trip to Hawaii two years ago, and she was posing at the beach. Wrapped up in the arms of another man. He’s contemplating if he should zoom in or tap on the tagged account of the man, but decides to just stare at it for a couple more seconds instead. It’s only been less than five months since she moved out, how could she have moved on so quickly?

“Shawn? Hey you there, gorgeous?” Shawn blinks his eyes a couple of times to bring him back to reality. He quickly places his phone face down on the table and smiles softly.

“Yeah? Sorry I got a little distracted.”

“That’s alright, would you like coffee or green tea today?” She was holding up a French press in one hand and pack of teabags in the other. She smiles sweetly at him and Shawn feels himself cringe internally. This girl was everything but Kiara. The tone of her voice constantly laced with sweetness, and pale skin covered with fake tan which made her look orange. He thinks back to all the times that Kiara would purposely use a high-pitched voice to mock the waitress or random girl that was trying to get in his pants and they’d have a good laugh about it. He knows she would’ve done the same right now. Shawn looks at the girl standing in front of him and he hides the disappointment that fills his chest when he realises that she’s not here.

“I’ll have the tea, thank you Chris.” She nods and spins around to make him a mug.

Christine was your typical LA girl. Yeah, the ones that have beach blonde hair, holding a hydro flask and wearing cut off denim shorts all year round. How she and Shawn ended up together for the last two months? Ask management. They initially paired him off with another girl but she was way too much of a blonde that Shawn ended up ditching her on their first meet. He put up a strong fight with the team afterwards and they eventually settled on Christine. She was no where near Kiara, but according to Shawn’s publicist - Christine was the cure to his falling reputation.

So they’ve spent every single day together for the last two months, drowning out all the dirty news of their breakup. Shawn didn’t hate it completely, Christine was too nice to him that he forced himself to enjoy every moment. But he does catch himself comparing her to Kiara, and he can’t seem to shake himself out of it. He watches as Christine turns around, two mugs in her hand. At first, he doesn’t notice the pastel pink mug that belonged to Kiara. But as she places it down on the table, he sees the faint lipstick stain on the edge of the mug and he stops her from lifting it up to her lips.

“What’s wrong?” Christine asks when Shawn’s hand lands on top of hers.

“Throw it out.”

“What? Babe, I just made this-“

“I said THROW IT OUT!” She jumps slightly in her seat when Shawn raises his voice and he immediately regrets it. Christine pushes her chair back, letting them scrape the hardwood floor because she knows how much Shawn hates it when she does that. She gets up from her seat and stalks to the front door.

“You can throw it out yourself.”

Nothing happened in the way I wanted / Every corner of this house is haunted

The front door slams and Shawn is left with the same deafening silence from two months ago. His eyes focus on the mug and then roams the house. Every corner was filled with the essence of Kiara. After their heated argument, she moved out the next morning, taking everything that she could without the need to turn back. Naturally, she left a few shared pieces in the house which Shawn never touched, and it was starting to feel haunting. Each object that she had left - the dark blue curtains from Ikea, the cream coloured throw from a boutique in London, and even that chipped porcelain vase she bought from a kid at a yard sale held three years of happy memories. Memories he couldn’t bear to relive or throw away. Shawn would much rather be alone than to share this special place with someone new, but he couldn’t lose Christine now, especially when his career’s on the line. So he forces himself to grab his keys and pull himself out the front door. He’s out on the streets and thankfully, Christine hasn’t made it too far from the apartment building.

“Christine!” She increases her footsteps but before she could make the corner, Shawn grabs a hold of her arm.

“What do you want, Shawn?” He pulls her closer to him and she’s resting her hand on his chest. Her touch felt different. But Shawn settles for it in the moment.

“You, me and the grocery store.” He smirks at her. A small smile erupts on her face and Shawn knows he’s immediately been forgiven. It’s been a vicious cycle that’s got them through the last 8 weeks - Shawn does something stupid, then he makes it up by suggesting Christine’s favourite activity which he would hate, on a normal day. He knows this isn’t the way to love someone, especially someone who only has good intentions for him. But he needs Christine to stay, at least he thinks he does. She makes the silence less deafening, and it stops Shawn’s head from reeling into his horror movie of thoughts. She was his imaginary safety net, somewhere he could fall into for a moment and not think until reality hits him like a truck again.

The store was quiet, and Shawn is thankful for it. He doesn’t need to put on a loving couple front for the cameras or fans that would recognise him from a mile away. He’s pushing the trolley behind Christine, empty focus on the squeaking of the wheels.

“Should we try cashew milk this time? I was watching Claudia’s vlog the other day and she was raving about this brand.” Christine holds up the cartons in front of Shawn’s face. He smiles at her, knowing well that he has to give her some sort of attention or care in order for this relationship not to crumble.

Kiara couldn’t care less about the type of nut milk we had at home. He stops himself before he dives further into that part of his brain.

“Well if Claudia says it’s good, I don’t see why we shouldn’t try it.” Her face immediately lights up when Shawn showed the slightest interest in her rambling. She drops the carton of cashew milk into the trolley and scampers off while he trails behind her. They wander around the fresh produce, and while Christine goes on about which kind of salad she wants to make next week, Shawn hears the distinct laughter and voice.

His eyes dart around the store until they land on a specific couple and he sees her. In all her 5’7” glory, Kiara stood next to the same man that was on her Instagram post, trying to catch her breath from all the laughing the pair had been doing.

“You’re telling me, you microwaved eggs?!” She’s still laughing, shaking her head as she placed the carton of fresh eggs into the trolley in front of her.

“Hey, no shame in that! We were in college and really dumb. Besides, you’re the one that burnt the kettle to a crisp while making tea last week.”

“Well, we’re both to blame for that.” Shawn watches as Kiara gives the man one of those cheeky smiles that she used to give him. He watches as he attacked her sides, tickling and then peppering kisses down her neck as she squeals in excitement. Shawn should look away, he knows he should before he gets caught, but he can’t help himself. Before he knows it he hears Christine next to him,

“Shawn? Did you hear me? What are you- Oh for god’s sake!” The couple turns when they hear Christine raise her voice and Shawn snaps out of his trance. His eyes meet briefly with Kiara’s and her face falls just enough for Shawn to notice. Christine shoves the packet of spinach she has in her hands back on the shelf. She shoots Kiara a death stare before pushing Shawn out of the way and storming out of the grocery store. He doesn’t go after her, instead his hand tightens its grip around the handles of the trolley and he forces himself to breathe. The man with Kiara is rubbing both sides of her arms, a concerned look on his face as he mumbles something to her. She’s shaking her head, giving him a reassuring smile as they continue with their shopping, not taking another look at Shawn.

I still love you, I promise / Nothing happened in the way I wanted

Shawn abandons his cart, the Canadian in him feeling guilty about not placing the stuff back on the shelves. But his mind is running too fast that his legs couldn’t comprehend his own actions. He finds himself squatting outside the store, baseball cap pulled far down on his face. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, sitting out here in the middle of nowhere, waiting for some damned miracle to happen. Something to fix his heart.

“I’ll drive the car up here? That way we don’t have to push the cart back.” Shawn recognises the same voice and he peers up slowly.

“Sure, I’ll wait here.” Kiara.

He waits for a couple moments before he scrambles to his feet and it makes Kiara jump out of her skin.

“Pinché pendejo.” She mutters under her breath. Kiara’s about to push her trolley further away, when she recognises the white and pink Dodgers baseball cap that used to belong to her.

“Shawn?”

He feels like a deer caught in headlights, looking down at her with widened eyes. The look on her face was unreadable as she puts her hands deep into the pockets of her hoodie. He tries to drink in as much of her looks as he can - the change in the way her hair now falls just above her shoulders instead of having it in those long beach waves; how she now has the confidence to be out in public with barely any make up on. The moment of staring doesn’t last too long though, when Shawn hears a voice call out for her.

“Babe, you good?” Kiara and Shawn both seem to be shaken back to reality quickly. She’s pushing her hair out of her face and smiling softly to her boyfriend.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Let’s load her up.”

And I know you said that we're not talking / But I miss you, I'm sorry

“Wait.” Shawn says barely above a whisper. Both of them stop in their tracks and look to him.

“Can I-can I talk to her for a second? I promise you it won’t take long.” Kiara’s boyfriend is already dropping the bags back into the cart, trying to go in front of her to give Shawn a piece of his mind.

“Ryan,” She pulls his arm toward her and he switches his attention to his girl, “I’ll talk to him. I won’t take too long.” Ryan looks at Kiara then back at Shawn and he stalks toward him, chest out, looking like he’s ready for some brawl. Kiara’s holding her breath as she watches him walk, the anxiety in her chest just become worse by the second. Ryan has his pointer finger up, voice low as he stares at Shawn in the eyes, “you hurt her again and I guarantee you, I will ruin you.”

He turns back around, kissing Kiara on the cheek before he loads the groceries into the car.

Shawn smiles awkwardly at her, “well, he seems nice.”

“I’m so sorry, he’s just protective.”

“That’s okay, I understand.” An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of them and Kiara think’s this is probably the worst idea in the entire world. To be standing out on a cold day in LA, next to her ex, with her boyfriend waiting less than 10 feet away. She’s wrapping her arms around herself, bouncing on her feet to keep herself warm. Shawn doesn’t say anything for awhile and Kiara’s growing frustrated by the second.

“Did you want to-“

“So I-“

They start at the same time, and it makes Shawn chuckle. But it makes Kiara sigh and she’s hugging herself tighter. Shawn finally sees the hint of annoyance on her face and his mind scrambles for the right words. (Though, I’m not exactly sure these are the write words, Shawn)

“How are you?” Kiara gives him a look, and she couldn’t believe her ears. After standing out in the freezing cold weather, he just wanted to ask how she was doing?!

“Get to the point, Shawn. I don’t have the time for small talk right now.” He’s fiddling with the loose thread from his sweater, trying to avoid Kiara’s intimidating brown eyes when he speaks.

“I just-I, I just miss you, Ki.” Kiara scoffs, very audibly and she takes a step back to look at him.

“Cariño,” He recognises the same sarcastic tone that her mother uses, “don’t you have a girlfriend you should be with?”

Breaking dishes when you're disappointed / I still love you, I promise

“Yeah I do, she’s standing right in front of me.”

“You did not just-“ Kiara mutters under her breath, shaking her head violently. She looks around her to ensure that there’s no one in earshot, then steps toward him and pokes his chest.

“Shawn Peter, you do not just squat out here wanting to talk to me after you argued with your current girl and then say that you want me back. You do not just walk up to me and say all those things after what you did, how you hurt me and-“

He grabs both her wrists and Kiara stops mid-sentence.

“What are you doing?” She mutters under her breath. Kiara knows that Ryan would be watching them both, and any bigger movement would send him running out of the car to punch Shawn in the face. She looks over her shoulder and she already sees the door of the Range Rover opening slowly.

“I miss you, I really do. I still love you, Ki, I still fucking love you.” He tries to lean in and Kiara finally had enough, pulling her hand out from his grip.

“Fuck Shawn, I’m happy now can’t you see? We’re over, it’s over.” Kiara turns around, her eyes meeting Ryan as he stands next to the car. She musters up a smile for him before she hears Shawn shout from behind her.

“Does he love you like I do?” She stops in her tracks and looks over at him.

“No Shawn, Ryan has done a better job in the last three months than you ever did in the three years I’ve known you.”

With that, Kiara walks away, and Shawn is left with half of his heart and the image of her back burned in his mind.

#shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes x reader #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes angst

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marveloussupernerd · 4 years ago

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Forgiveness - Platonic! Saeran Choi (Romantic! 707 lowkey too)

No this is not what I planned to post tonight but I forgot I had hw and now I’m tired lol. I still think Saeran had a thing for MC in Seven’s after ending but didn’t really go into it too much here. But I’m just saying...

Warnings: panic attack, PTSD, spoilers for Seven’s real name and the Secret Ending!

Summary: you know Saeran is Saeyoung’s brother, but you knew him first as the hacker who sent you to the RFA, who threatened your security, who held you in a chokehold and threatened to blow you up. Obviously he was mentally manipulated... but it’s hard to get the image and fear out of your mind. Lowkey Seven x MC, takes place after Seven’s route

You were seeing Saeran for the first time since everything that happened at Mint Eye. Saeyoung hadn’t wanted you to; he said he was still unstable. But he was home with his brother now. And he probably wasn’t completely mentally stable. But Saeyoung, after receiving his surgery, had to go through physical therapy and was told to take it easy, especially when it came to housework. You just wanted to help.

Saeran had been in the hospital for a while; the doctors had said he was improving, but then he lashed out at one of them, physically harming him. So maybe he wasn’t completely ready. But! You would try your best not to be nervous.

You knocked on the door to Seven’s house and it started prompting ridiculous tasks. Fortunately, he opened the door almost immediately, saving you the struggle. “Hi,” you smiled, holding his waist very gently, afraid of hurting him in any way. “How are you?”

He rested his hands on your shoulders. “Good, good. A... lot going on.” He looked nervous, but he moved from his spot and waved you inside.

“Don’t be so nervous, Babe. I’m just here to help you get things together for Saeran’s room and maybe make some dinner,” you reassured him. Goddamn you were nervous, and he wasn’t helping.

“Oh! Yeah. I had the frame sent to the house for a new bed, but obviously I can’t put it all together on my own,” he explained, rubbing his arm absentmindedly.

“I don’t know how handy I am, but as long as you tell me how to do it I can do it no problem!” You wanted to bring that confidence to the room. It made him break out into a grin.

“His room will be right over here.” He opened the door to the room. “He offered to bring in the box,” he pointed to the box, “but didn’t know who to build it.”

“Where is Saeran?” You looked around, wondering if you had missed him.

“Oh, he’s showering. He tends to spend a while in there reflecting or whatever. We’ll probably finish the bed by the time he gets done.”

“You have a lot of faith in me,” you giggled, rolling your eyes.

And it was well-put faith. Seven barked out instructions dramatically, helping you pick out which pieces go together and how. It was surprisingly not that bad? Good thing you hadn’t gotten it from IKEA.

There was a spare mattress in the closet. Why? Who knows, but you ignored that fact. Putting a mattress on the bed by yourself was... nearly impossible. Saeyoung ended out having to help you a little, bypassing his doctor’s orders, but he only lifted things for just for a few seconds, so apparently it was fine.

“There are blankets and sheets in the closet too. Divide and conquer? You get the sheets and I find some pillows?” He offered.

“Sure, sure,” you grinned. He left the room and you got to work in the closet, standing on your tiptoes to reach the sheets on the top shelf. You tried to make sure not to accidentally knock some of Saeran’s clothes off the hangers as you brought it down, but they still rattled a little. Still, everything was in place.

You turned out of the closet with sheets bunched up in your arms pretty quickly. And there was... Saeran, bumping right into you as he tried to enter the closet. His eyes turned dark, he jumped and wrapped his fingers around your throat.

He hadn’t even put any force into it. He had to train himself not to act this way. It was hard. But you still passed out. Why? He didn’t put any pressure on it? He caught you as you went to fall, picking you up and setting you on the mattress. He yelled for Saeyoung at the top of his lungs.

He rushed into the room. “Shit! Saeran, what happened?” He knelt next to the bed, taking in your form.

“I don’t know, I panicked. I thought someone was going to get me and I jumped into action. I...” he was so embarrassed. “I almost choked her. I wrapped my hand around her throat. Didn’t put any pressure on it but... I think I frightened her.”

You opened your eyes hazily. Saeyoung was kneeling next to the bed, your attacker hanging over him. You didn’t realize you were frantically backing away until you had fallen off the opposite side of the bed onto the hard floor. Seven came rushing over to you. You buried your face in his chest, crying. He wrapped his arms around you.

You were hyperventialting. What was he supposed to do? He rubbed your back, whispering to you that it was okay. Saeran stood there, staring confused, feeling like a piece of shit. You were having a panic attack or some form of PTSD. Who could blame you? He had broken into your apartment and choked you in the past. Sure he was trying to be different... but he was still a monster. He ran out of the room, desperate to help you.

“Saeyoung,” you heard Saeran whisper. You glanced up at him from your current embrace, vision so smeared and teary that you could barely make him out.

He said your name apologetically, his voice soft. “This might help,” he held out an orange. “I don’t know... I thought it could help ground you. I’m so so sorry... I just thought that it was someone from Mint Eye.”

You took it from his hands, his fingers brushing over yours. They felt a lot like Saeyoung’s, which shouldn’t be such a surprise. He had a lot more callouses on the palm of his hands though, while Saeyoung’s mostly were on the sides of his fingers or his fingertips. You were taking way too long feeling you his hand for this orange. It was weird.

You left Saeyoung’s embrace, feeling sort of shaky, and sat on the end of the bed. Saeran knelt down next to you; you were taller than him in this position. It made him feel much less threatening. “The doctors at the hospital used to do this for me when the medicine triggered me. I doubt there’s any science behind it... but grounding yourself helps.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was so pissed off though I was shit about grounding myself.”

Saeyoung coughed, cutting Saeran off. “Oh! But, uh, this always helped me. The color’s bright, the scent is strong, the taste is all... sour to me honestly. You’ve gotta peel it... you’re focusing all your senses on one thing. Uh, at least I think that’s how it works.”

You nodded, eyes downcast on the orange. Your hands were shaky as you tried to peel it, to at least get it started. You just couldn’t seem to focus enough to get it. Saeyoung knelt down on your other side. Two twins on both sides. It was almost funny. He slowly moved his hands towards yours, and when you didn’t move them away he rested them on top of yours, helping you move to start the peeling.

Once you got started it became easier. The scent was strong as always. It reminded you of lunch in elementary school when you could tell someone across the table had an orange in their lunchbox; you could always smell it. You tore off a piece and put it in your mouth, eyes shutting to focus on the taste. You had just bought it today, so it wasn’t at its completely ripe prime, but it was still okay. A little sour, but it tasted like an orange alright.

You repeated these steps, focused on your breathing and the orange and the complete silence of the room, until you finished about half the fruit.

Your eyes opened. You took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Better.”

“I’m so so so sorry,” Saeran frowned, still kneeling by your side. “I feel like the worst person ever. I never meant to do that to you.”

“It’s okay,” you gave him a small smile. “It’s... something we need to work on. Making our presence known.”

Saeyoung stayed silent, watching the scene unfold without a word. What could he say? Add to the situation? They had been through so much because of him and he was the only one to emerge mostly unscathed.

“I promise I’ll be more careful around you too. What I did in the past... is really unforgivable.” He couldn’t meet your eye. “I appreciate you being nice to me.”

“It’s not unforgivable.” You disagreed, shaking your head. “I understand what you’re going through; not completely, but hey. We can maybe work through this trauma together? You helped me a lot.”

He smiled a little, looking up at you. “Thank you. Truly. Both of you. For giving me a second chance.”

“Maybe not now, but when you get more comfortable, I’d love to give you a hug,” you told Saeran, a small giggle slipping out of your mouth as you thought about how silly the proposition was. “I dunno, you’re just so sweet and deserve so much more than what you’ve been dealt.”

“I wanna hug him first!” Saeyoung called.

“You’ve already hugged me you idiot.” Saeran replied, rolling his eyes. You could see from the glint that he was just messing with his brother though. He turned his attention back to you. “Are we okay?” He held his hand out, palm up, to you.

You took it, shaking his hand, holding it gently even after the shake. “We’re gonna be okay Saeran. Promise.”

Saeyoung bounced on the bed next to you, very gently (but enthusiastically) wrapping his arms around you in a hug. You jumped for half a second, dropping Saeran’s hand, but relaxed immediately when you realized who it was. You could tell by the way his chin dug into your shoulder so perfectly.

“You’re adorable,” he chuckled, placing kisses on your cheek. “But I was worried about you.”

You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his lips then letting him continue his attack. “I’m okay. We’re all gonna be okay.”

“Seeing you two put things in the past like this... it just warms my heart.” He put a hand over his heart dramatically.

“Please get out of my room,” Saeran whined. “Before I suffocate you with my bedding.”

Seven lifted you into his arms, running out of the room frantically, as though he actually thought his brother would do such a thing. Maybe in the past, but not anymore. Saeran was changing for the better, and the two of you were there to help him.

#mystic messenger #mysme #Saeran Choi #707 #saeyoung choi

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emmy-writes-sometimes · 5 years ago

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And They Were Roommates!

You’re Tom’s roommate and you both have crushes on each other. Harrison knows, and Harrison is trying to get you together. Will Tik Tok do it, or will you both keep dancing around the subject?

“Are you still watching those?” Harrison asked you as you continued laying on the couch. He had learned to recognize the audio of the song by now – something about coffee. And he knew that it was usually some kind of challenge where girls would kiss their best guy friends. And he happened to know that you had a crush on Tom, because of course you did, and he also knew that Tom had a crush on you. And no matter how hard he tried to play matchmaker, neither of you believed him.

“It’s addictive!” You defended yourself. He walked up behind you and peeked over the couch to watch another girl kiss her best guy friend. Surprise. This guy kissed her back.

“Mmhm. You should do that with Tom.” He giggled like it was nothing but a joke, because everything was a joke to him. Especially when it came to your and Tom’s relationship.

“For the last time, Haz, I’m not going to do anything stupid because you tell me to.” The last time you did something Harrison told you to, you ended up with a broken nose and no memories of that night. The front door opened and Tessa bounded in, heading straight for her water bowl as Tom dropped her leash. Tom walked inside after, walking right into the living room where they were all sitting.

“Are you still on Tik Tok?” Tom asked with a little laugh.

“Maybe,” you answered. You could feel your face going red. “It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

“Well, I need the SUV so I can go pick up from Ikea,” Harrison suggested. “So can I…?” You shook your head, standing up. Your knees cracked from how long you’d been laying there, and your phone was on ten percent. Tom hid a smile when you stretched and your hoodie rode up on your abdomen. He loved when you wore cropped shirts. You looked cute. It made him want to grab onto your smooth skin. And he also loved when you wore those tiny little shorts.

“I’ll drive,” you volunteered. “It’s my car anyway. Let me go put shoes and pants on.” You disappeared up the stairs, leaving your phone on the coffee table. Harrison waited until you were out of earshot to look at Tom.

“She was watching the ones where people kiss their friends,” he spilled. Tom rolled his eyes.

“You’re not going to let me do anything stupid, man, I can’t mess things up with her.” Tom walked over to the table, where he had started another puzzle before taking Tessa out. The last thing he wanted to do was mess things up with you because you were one of his two best friends. He liked you ever since you were kids, but you moved away and caught another accent and didn’t even think he would ever see you again. And then he did, and you moved in a couple months later to go to the university down the street. He liked you. A lot. He just didn’t want to mess things up because what if you didn’t? What if Harrison was playing another trick?

“Look, it’s your choice. And I obviously don’t want you two to move in together so I can have her room as an office. But you should do it. Just… Make one of those and tell her that way. Then if it doesn’t work, which it will, you can just pass it off as a joke.” Tom rolled his eyes again.

“Just go get your furniture, please, and stop messing with us,” Tom begged his friend. You shut your bedroom door and took your keys from your pants pocket, walking down the stairs. Harrison smirked at the us, only holding up his thumb toward the door as the two of you walked outside to your car, leaving Tom by himself.

“Hey, so, I wanted to make a Tik Tok. Will you do it with me so I don’t look stupid? And, by the way, at the end I’m totally not gonna kiss you and post it on the internet so that way it won’t be like I actually mean it unless you want me to mean it?” Tom said to his mirror, sighing at how pathetic he was. Even Tessa thought so, sitting across Tom’s feet and wagging her tail.

“What do you think, Tessy?” Tom asked as he sat down on the floor, letting the dog crawl into his lap. “Should I say something?”

The dog didn’t respond, obviously, because she was a dog, and left Tom hanging. He sighed, opening his phone and starting to download the app. This could really change everything, for better or for worse. He could be publicly humiliating her, in which case he didn’t even have to post the video. He could just act like it was a joke if it doesn’t work, but then he would feel bad. He would feel bad regardless.

“All the girls leave me except you,” he said to his dog, who promptly got up and walked out of Tom’s room. “And I thought you were different.” He sighed and stood up, deciding to let the decision make itself. He headed back down the stairs, phone in hand, as he signed up for an account and tried to find the right audio. He should just do it, he thought. He could navigate weird. He was the king of weird.

“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” Harrison sighed as he saw the pieces that the Ikea workers had loaded into the back of the car. He was supposed to have enough to build a desk, but it honestly looked like parts were missing. He would be awake all night.

“Looks like it,” you responded. “Don’t even ask me where the tools are.” Harrison smirked.

“Speaking of tools, once I find them, I’ll probably be working for most of the night. With music on. So if you two decide to…”

“For the last time, Haz, I’m not going to. Not unless Tom does something first. And even so, I am classy. I’m not going to just smush him.”

“Classy? I’ve seen what you wear out sometimes. If I can see your whole…” You elbowed him as you unbuckled your seatbelt, then shrugged innocently as he glared.

“Fuck you, Haz. Carry this in yourself.” You shut the door behind you and walked into the house, where Tom was in the den. His phone was propped up and he was standing like he was using it as a camera. You knew Tom well enough to know that he was nervous for something because he was wearing a bigger shirt than usual to hide his sweating. You were about to say something, until Harrison walked in carrying a box. He looked at the two of you and then whistled his way up the stairs.

“What’s going on with him?” You asked, even though you knew what was up.

“He’s just being annoying,” Tom responded. “He’s been on my case today.” Tom took his phone and sat down on the couch, just as you had the same thought. You sat down on the other side, legs extended against Tom’s. You sat like that often, not even thinking how it might look. You just didn’t feel like buying another couch, so your legs would brush up against each other.

“About?” You asked. Maybe if Harrison was on your case about Tom, maybe Harrison was on Tom’s case about you. Come on, Haz, come through, you thought.

“That you were so obsessed with Tik Tok that I should make one too,” he lied. He wasn’t really thinking about making a Tik Tok. He was thinking about whether he should kiss you at the end.

“Oh, let’s do it,” you replied, relieved. At least nothing would change in the next few minutes. You sat up at the same time he did. “Which one?”

“Let’s do…” Tom scrolled on his app until he found a random one, and you nodded. You’d seen it the night before and it looked easy enough. “This one?”

“That’s fine.” He set the camera up and you started dancing, so did Tom. You were in your own world, not even realizing what was happening. Here it goes, Tom thought. He turned to you, having stopped, and so did you.

“What are you doing?” You asked. Tom smirked, suddenly feeling confident. He was doing the right thing, he was sure of it.

“You don’t know?” He asked. You shook your head, laughing a little. He fixed his hands on your waist as your hoodie rode up and, in a second, his lips were on yours. Oh. So Harrison hadn’t been playing you. You leaned into him. His lips were soft. And they tasted like the gummy bears he’d had earlier for a snack. And you grinned like an idiot.

“Harrison’s such a div,” you said out loud. Tom howled in laughter, taking your hand.

“He told you?”

“No, he said you liked me, but… Wait, this isn’t a joke, right?”

“No!” Tom said, pulling you back in for another kiss. “I was doing those videos you were watching earlier.”

“Then post it and get back over here!” You insisted. You felt like you were melting. Tom liked you too? Harrison hadn’t been an ass for once? When Tom turned back you were already walking toward him. His hands crept higher and higher as he kissed you again, this time his tongue finding its way through your sealed lips. You found your back on the couch, Tom on top of you, and even though you knew you needed to stop you couldn’t find the words to make him. Until Tom leaned in again, and so did you, and your foreheads hit the other. Tom was a giggly mess, but your head was throbbing.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a smile.

“It’s okay. Just come back.” Tom snaked his hands up to your hoodie, slowly pushing it off, and you once again remembered Harrison.

“Harrison,” you said, your voice muffled by Tom’s lips.

“Okay, then, let’s not be suspicious.” Tom kissed you once more. “Put your hoodie back on, and then I’ll go to my room. I’ll text the group chat and ask you to come and then…” You just laughed.

“Whatever you say, Holly.” He smiled at the old nickname. When you were little you had too many Toms in your class, him being one of them, and you had just shortened his last name to Holly. In your phone, his name was still T Holly. And that made him grin like an absolute idiot.

“Oi, if you are done making out, I’d really like to come get some water!” Harrison called down the stairs. Both of their faces turned red, and Tom, still on top of you, did his best to hide his face in your neck. “I heard the whole thing. And I’ll go annoy T later so I don’t have to listen if you want to fuck all night.”

“Harrison!” You both said at the same time. He just winced and ran out the door to get another box.

“Now!” Tom called, pulling you off the couch. “My room, go!” You rushed up the stairs to Tom’s room, him following you, and he slammed the door behind him and locked it to leave you two alone.

“Where were we?” Tom asked with a smile, hands once again on your hips. You just reached down to your sweatshirt and pulled it up, revealing your sports bra. “Ah, that’s where we were.” You laughed again, putting your hands in Tom’s curly hair, just elated that you were finally with the guy you’d had a crush on for so many years.

A/N: I wrote this awhile ago and wanted to go ahead and get it up. I love this idea of roommate to lovers and thought it would be such a cute thing to write 💕

#tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff

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crimeronan · 5 years ago

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ik youre not a therapist and i dont want like therapy or anything but im 17 and ive known i was bipolar for 3 years now and i dont know how im supposed to live the rest of my life like this. im so fucking tired. how do you stay alive

you sent this a couple days ago & i’m posting at a weird time so i’m not sure if you’ll see it but.

i’ve been looking at this message trying to decide how to respond

because i don’t know your situation, your symptoms, how you’re feeling, whether you’ve had positive or negative experiences with medication, psychiatrists, therapists, hospitals, all that related shit

the bipolar life advice i give to people is vastly different depending on the individual. it’s not a one size fits all thing. and there’s never even a guarantee that my advice will be the right choice

so since i don’t know about your situation or experiences or what you want, i’m not gonna tell you what to do. i’m gonna focus on the “how do you stay alive” question and try to pen down some personal feelings. and if they help then great, and if they don’t then... this is the most honest i can be

(you can always ask another question to get a better answer. my inbox is a coin slot and i am a vending machine of varied-degrees-of-helpfulness replies offered at varied-inconvenient-too-long-intervals)

how do i stay alive

it’s a 2-parter, actually. i pondered how to condense my thoughts/feelings, and it came down to these two things

1. love 2. spite

1. love

the spite is easier to write about than the love. love is hard to reach when i feel like shit.

spite is where i go when i want to die. love is where i go when i want to want to live.

maybe i don’t want to be alive. but maybe i wish i did. spite doesn’t help me much there. spite keeps me afloat, but it doesn’t make the floating pleasurable. there’s more to life than outlasting everything that ever hurt me. i need a reason to continue when there’s no enemy to fight

so. love

i almost wrote about the spite alone because that’s rawer, realer, more visceral. that’s the shit that CONNECTS when everything feels hopeless. but it would be a lie of omission. spite is only one of the major food groups, you’ll waste away from malnutrition if you eat it for every meal. or at least, i will.

“so you’ve got a bunch of people you love,” you say, “and you stick around for them. cry on them. support each other. like each other. fine.” you’ve heard this story before

nah.

i mean - yes. i have people i love. i live with two partners, i’ve got a third girlfriend, i’ve got a long-distance platonic life partner. i have a support net, i have a family i’ve forged, i have confidence that i’m not alone. i have, in a bare-bones checklist sort of way, fulfilled my physiological human need for connection

but i could live without every single one of them. i’m not dependent upon any of them for my survival. i’m not dependent upon them for love, given or received. (this isn’t a callous cruelty, it won’t hurt them if/when they read this. i’ve told them all this, they know. they’re glad of it.)

so. what the fuck does “love” mean, then?

the short explanation is that it’s my love of life, of things in the world. it’s all the little connections i’ve made. every time i love something, a hook tethers to the universe. hook enough tethers, and i no longer feel the need to float away. no dissolution of self today, sir

the rest of this section is some of the things i love. partially it’s to show how i connect to little things and ascribe magic to the mundane. partially it’s because i like thinking about things i love, i like typing them out, and i like that i could keep going for thousands and thousands of words.

i am laying in bed at 7:30 AM with the lights off and the shades drawn. blue light comes through the slats because it’s the better time of year, the one where i finally get vitamin D, the one where the birds chirp at 4AM, the one where the sky isn’t impenetrably black til 10PM.

there’s a weighted blanket tucked around my legs. my partner rafi bought it for us to share because it’s soothing and heavy and comforting and helps with my physical pain. right now it’s soft on my skin and if i get too emotional as i write, i can pull it over me like a cloak until i’m settled.

the apartment’s walls are blank because we’ve spent eight months intending to put art up and keep forgetting. but there’s a newly-unearthed dining area in the kitchen because i finally shifted around the unpacked boxes that were dominating the space. it’s new and it surprises me every time i walk out there. it’s open and inviting and bright and it’s a sign that we’re making this place home.

we’ll put a cheap IKEA table by the window and we’ll probably never eat family dinners there - why would we sit in hard chairs and make stiff conversation when we could all cuddle on the couch - but my partner dev will create a place to do their art and the surface will be constantly littered with drying watercolor experiments.

we’ll hang our art one of these days, too, when our collective adhd offers a miraculous combo of remembering + having time + having motivation + having inspiration. rafi has the most art because they’ve been collecting it for years. i have to start smaller. i’m not used to keeping physical objects. dev has a few pieces thrifted or bought at local artist events or painted themselves

so we’ll put art up in the living room, my single “you are magic” flower print alongside a naked monster lady that dev fell in love with when we browsed art at a yuletide event months ago, alongside rafi’s monster girls and comic characters and book characters and literature art and quotes and abstract pieces and whatever else they have hiding in boxes.

my head protests that naked monster ladies do not belong in the living room, although the picture isn’t overtly sexual. but then i remember that they do, actually, because it’s our space and we can do whatever we want with it as long as the lease isn’t broken. there isn’t anyone in the local social circles who’d be perturbed by the decor, as far as i know. i don’t have to hide anything from my parents because i live 3600 miles from them, and even though i miss my mom, the distance is good for me

there are two exquisite chairs on the porch. they fold and recline from thrones to nearly-horizontal beds. there are pillows and cupholders and trays and specific spaces for both a book and a phone. i can sit there while the morning sun rises and read or play word games or browse tumblr, cup of coffee beside me, trees shielding my eyes from stabby sunbeams

there are remnants of the last tenant’s garden in one corner of the yard. we’ve done fuckall for yardwork but plants struggle through anyway. some seem to have sprouted by accident. mushroom clusters populate the edges of the fence. the apartment squirrel (there are probably several, but i like to think it’s a single energetic creature) runs back and forth along the fence & i always lose my train of thought & then laugh my ASS off at the “SQUIRREL! XD” adhd moment. birds kick up leaf litter and play on the ground looking for insects to eat, they wiggle their tail feathers and flap their wings and sometimes they disappear and then return with friends

a little more than eleven months ago, i packed all of dev’s and my shit into a uhaul and drove and drove and drove to get to this city i’d never been in before to live with a partner i’d never cohabitated with. we were homeless for more than a month, we weathered some financial disasters, we met some great people and some shitty ones

on the drive i fell in love with the sky. i didn’t know how big it can get - actually, that’s a lie. i’d FORGOTTEN how big it can get. i’ve loved the sky thirty miles out to sea, no land in sight in any direction, just blue water and blue space above. i’ve loved the vastness and the yawning beneath me and the knowledge that everything is BIGGER than i can fathom. the depth of the sea doesn’t frighten me, it’s home. i don’t want to die, but if i had to, the ocean makes a soothing grave

in north dakota i discovered that i’ve been partially blind my whole life, which is a different tale that showed me i’ll never stop learning myself. in montana we struggled up thousands of feet of mountains with the car huffing and puffing at the trailer’s weight, and when we finally coasted downward, it felt like sudden freefall. we ended up in the pitch darkness of night on sheer winding interstates with midnight construction projects forcing detours. the mountains felt hungry, they had teeth. mountain cliffs are much scarier to me than the ocean depths

i bought a red bull and poured a little out the driver’s side door as an offering to hermes, because i’m not particularly religious but i’ll take help where i can get it. slammed that back in a few gulps and shook to bright-eyed alertness and ended up behind a slow-driving red pickup truck that guided us over about a hundred miles of mountain terrain

i thought, that’s just some construction worker driving between sites. the roads are empty at this time of night, but it’s an interstate. of course we’d end up behind someone. this isn’t divine intervention. this isn’t the benevolence of a god

i thought, but it can be a little magic. if i want it to be.

and it was. it stays with me.

god help me but i’ve been writing this stream of consciousness for more than 30 minutes and i’ve said nothing. i haven’t talked about the city, the parks, the people, the conversations, the books, the tv shows, the movies, the communities, the library, the animals, writing, reading, singing, acting, swimming, analyzing, creating, supporting, building. and i can keep going. i can come up with hundreds and hundreds of things i love and i can write paragraphs about all of them

so i’ll stop here. you get the picture. love is the life i’ve made for myself, the surroundings i’ve built, the quiet moments i can capture, the inspiration i pin, the magic i commit to memory.

i had to work so damn hard for every single bit of this.

i’ll be fucking damned if i let it go because my brain tried to trick me into thinking death is better.

2. spite

there are people who want me to die.

i don’t mean that i have a giant entourage of personalized enemies who curse my name and plan my individual demise. although there have been plenty of people who have not liked me much. probably some of them would enjoy my death. i don’t give a shit about that

there are people who want me dead because i am a dot on a grid they dislike. a faceless anonymous enemy who meets too many bad criteria with numbers and percentages and shrinking majorities and shifting public opinion

because i’m gay. because i’m bipolar. because i’m autistic. because i’m a dropout. because i grew up poor. because my spine curves and my shoulders ache. because i squandered my potential, because i didn’t have enough potential, because i didn’t love god enough, because i love the wrong gods, because i don’t worship, because i worship wrong, because i didn’t seek a husband, because i never wanted one, because i talk too much, because i can’t be controlled, because i chose to leave the fold when i realized it was suffocating me, because i’m ugly, because i’m gorgeous, because my body belongs to me

pick your poison.

this bothered me growing up, a lot. i knew i did not deserve to die. but if enough people tell you that you should, a little part of you will wonder if they’re right. that little part might become bigger the closer they get and the louder they shout and the longer they wear you down

we know the rough shape of this story, i don’t need to tell it. mine was messy and not triumphant and i survived more by chance than premeditation.

i’m older now. by and large i’m still young as shit - i’m 24 - but GOD i am LEAGUES away from 15, 16, 17. i know who i am. i know what i want. i know how to get it. and when i don’t know that, i find out. i tell the truth. i ask for what i want. i use my time how i want. i do what i want.

there are days that i can’t access the “love” side of the equation. no finding poetry in birdsong or sugared coffee for me, thank you, i feel like shit and the world is awful and everything is too big and fast and cruel and everything wants me to die and it wants everything i love to die, too. everyone i love. it’s all garbage. the good doesn’t touch me

trauma is difficult to describe. the difficulty is compounded by the fact that my trauma is influenced by my various neurodivergences, bipolar included. i never know if i’m feeling what other people do. i don’t know if i’m voicing unpalatable feelings others are afraid to express - or if i’m just othering myself, admitting i’m not as human as everyone else.

there is something malevolent and monstrous inside me. i don’t touch it all the time. but i don’t pretend it isn’t there. it sits in my chest and molders or radiates or oozes. it presses at my throat. it curdles in my stomach. it hurts what it touches, whether that’s me or someone i love or someone i hate. it sets things aflame with no regard for the precious or the fragile. it tears down walls and razes shelters and begs for apocalyptic rain.

i can give this thing names, clinical descriptors. i know what it is on a diagnostic chart, in a ponderous article, in an academic debate, in a fiction novel, in a war movie, in a memoir. there are a thousand ways to describe this thing. the descriptors aren’t important. what is important is this - i have learned that most people do not walk side-by-side with a tornado-hurricane-hellfire-weaponized-open-nuclear-reactor. this is not a “normal” expression of human emotion, this is not me trying to ascribe power to “bad bipolar feelings.” this thing lives in me and i know why it’s there and it is not designed to be held/silenced/muzzled/controlled by my body.

it does not help to pretend this thing does not exist. it does not help to try to reason it away or ignore it or tell it to stop. it wants what it wants, it does what it does. possibly if i was better at therapy or stubbornness then i wouldn’t resign myself to that

but it is fucking EXHAUSTING to try to fight something that’s part of me. to try to reshape it, rename it, pare it down, make it consumable for the masses. it’s a war i have never won and it’s a war that i will lose if i keep fighting it. i cannot fight with myself. i cannot beat my monster into submission. if we’re gonna battle like that, head to head, me trying to cut it down, me trying to be the hero, it rearing back like a fire-breathing dragon,

then it’s stronger. it’s always stronger.

so i surrender.

but that’s not where i stop.

can’t fight it. can’t kill it. can’t muzzle it. can’t reshape it, can’t disarm it, can’t contain it.

alright.

so what now.

if the surrender was a full giving-up, this is where i’d passively accept that i’m doomed to hurt and destroy everything precious to me. can’t fix it. will lose everything, will never experience or deserve happiness, will make the world worse simply by existing.

that sure does sound like impending-doom rhetoric. hop skip and a jump from some dire-ass conclusions.

so fuck that, i say.

here’s a better question.

if it has to get out, then what happens if i control where it goes?

here’s the thing.

the monster doesn’t care what it kills or destroys or hurts.

“have a conscience, care about things, remember love, stop yourself, don’t do this don’t do this don’t do this.”

losing battle. lost war.

it’s not the monster’s fault. the monster doesn’t have complex motivations or hates or fears. it exists to protect me through scorched earth. a remnant of a chemical imbalance, maladaptive coping mechanism, bipolar crazy, traumatized injury. it doesn’t know that its job is obsolete.

i can’t change the monster.

but my mind is a separate thing. my mind knows what matters, what my priorities are, what i find precious, what i want to protect. my mind remembers all the things the monster doesn’t.

my mind has learned things the monster can’t.

when i fight it head-on, the malevolence is stronger than me. but as i am, walking with it, sitting in my bed writing this while examining the void and the consciousness, describing it, quantifying it,

that’s when i’m stronger.

and with my mind as the stronger force, i can decide where the monster goes. what it touches. what it destroys. what it burns. where the ashes land.

i do not want to be a destructive person. i want to be someone who builds, repairs, changes. i want to make the world better for kids like me. i want to stop pouring more gasoline onto a fire that’s been burning since long before i was born. i want to believe - i do believe - that positive change is better than negative. i do my best to plant good things and enact that positive change instead of becoming a beacon of wrath.

but there are a lot of kids surrounded by people who want them to die, and not all of them have a protective monster.

so it’s good.

when i’m depressed, my mind loses its battles. my cognizance slips. i forget why i care. i forget what i want. i forget how happiness feels, how to find pleasure in quiet moments.

i don’t get depressed as often as i used to since my meds are adjusted correctly now. but it still happens. it will keep happening for the rest of my life.

my mind weakens and curls up and stops fighting, and the monster is always there.

it’s a very powerful thing when it wants to be.

it wants to survive.

the thing is, it knows there are people that want me/us/whatever dead. it’s been fighting them forever. die like they want? my mind says, sure, what does it matter.

the monster says, nah. our work isn’t done. and fuck them, anyway.

so we get up.

so that’s how i stay alive.

i typed this for 90 minutes and after editing i’d spent two hours on this post. i don’t know if anyone will read it all. i don’t know if it’ll mean anything. i don’t know if these thoughts even make sense, much less if i’ve conveyed the feelings i have.

i love being alive. and when i don’t, i love being a monster. it’s good. all of it is good. i’ve reconciled my uglier pieces. it’s not one or the other, love or spite. it’s symbiosis. i need both, i love both.

no guarantees that this is helpful, but based purely on my own life experience, these are my tips for survival:

you’ll have to find your own roots. i can’t give them to you.

but it’s possible to dig them in and spread them far enough that one uprooted peg doesn’t shift your whole equilibrium.

and when you’re tired, rest, and let yourself be tired, and find the reason why you’re staying in the world.

i’m positive there’s at least one.

figure out why you’re losing your battles and then change the game.

if you can’t win one setup, don’t try to beat the system. adjust your strategy.

you’ll be surprised by what you can love when you stop fighting the disparate pieces of you, and instead figure out how to use them.

#i have several other questions to answer in my inbox if you've asked me st over the past few weeks #im not ignoring it im figuring out how to phrase my reply #replies #bipolar blogging #actuallybipolar #my writing #life advice #long post #REALLY long post #it's under a read more but if mobile deletes it i apologize #c ptsd tag #suicide m #ok to reblog #Anonymous

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atths--twice · 4 years ago

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So... when I wrote these stories a couple of years ago, I kept the pregnancy stories in real time, updating it every month. As that’s not necessary, I hope you’re enjoying this... elapsed time frame of pregnancy, : ) Here we go...

The Seventh Month 3/6

Mulder and Scully spend the day shopping for baby items, facing and dealing with past guilt, and coming to resolutions.

August 2018

Scully sat in the bath, her head back, and her eyes closed. She let the scent of jasmine permeate her senses as she relaxed in the water, Mulder humming and singing in the shower as she did.

Mulder had treated her to breakfast in bed after treating her to wonderful morning sex. He was extremely careful and concerned about their lovemaking recently, following the doctor’s orders at the last checkup. He took his time and always made sure she was okay. She loved him more in those moments than any other, when his focus was solely on her care, and then her pleasure.

She sighed and then lightly moaned. Even with the ease they were taking, her body would be a little sore after. Having a growing baby pressing.. everywhere, would do that to a person. He had drawn her the bath after she expressed some aching.

He had looked at her with concern, opened his mouth to say what she was sure would be something she did not want to hear, so she had silenced him with a kiss. A kiss that left him panting, as he had looked at her with desire in his eyes. She had raised an eyebrow and he huffed out a growl, but nodded his acceptance.

He had surprised her with jasmine bubble bath and by the look on his face as he took off her robe, she knew what he was thinking about. A night long ago when he stood nervously in his bedroom, jasmine scented candles filling the room, waiting to see her reaction. The love they expressed in words and then with their bodies that night, would forever remain locked in that scent.

“So I was thinking we should go get some baby stuff today,” Mulder called out over the sound of the shower, breaking into her thoughts. “Maybe hit up Ikea or a baby store. Didn’t you say the girls at the hospital were throwing you a baby shower? We should make one of those registry list things for what we’ll need.”

“You want to do that today? On a Saturday? It’s going to be pretty packed,” she said, eyes still closed, raising her voice to be heard over the shower.

“Eh, we’ll be okay. We need to get the stuff sorted before the time gets too close. We could get some lunch, then pick out paint colors for the bedroom?” he said, his words muffled at times as he washed.

“My my, aren’t you the busy little bee?” she teased him. “How about we flip the plan and pick out colors first? Then we can see which color crib and whatever we get looks best." She ran her hands along her stomach, smiling as she felt the baby moving, apparently happy with that plan.

The water turned off and the shower door opened. Mulder stepped out, grinned at her, and grabbed a towel. He dried himself off, then wrapped the towel around his waist, as he put in his hair product and ran his fingers through it. She watched him clean the steam off the mirror and look at himself as he stroked his face.

“You gonna shave?” she asked, knowing he was debating it.

He turned to her and met her eyes. “You don’t like the scruff? I think it gives me the rugged look,” he said as he stroked his face, smiling at her.

“Hmmm ...” she said, swirling her fingers around the bath water. “True. But ... it’s scratchy sometimes in ... places.” She gave him a look and watched his eyes widen as he swallowed.

“Didn’t hear you complaining earlier,” he said leaning against the sink, acting a little too casual. She knew he was trying to appear as if her words did not affect him.

“Well ...” she said, holding his gaze as she raised an eyebrow. “Earlier your face wasn’t where the scratchiness causes a ... problem.”

He exhaled and stared back. She saw him swallow again and then he cleared his throat, as he turned and reached for the shaving cream and razor. She chuckled, and he met her eyes in the mirror, as he put the shaving cream on his face. She stared him down, his eyes creating a liquid fire in her veins. God, there was a possible chance they might not make it out of the house today.

He finished shaving and walked over to her. Helping her out of the tub, he let the water out and then dried her off, kissing places he met along the way. He pulled her toward him, as he knelt in front of her and kissed her hips, her inner thighs. He rubbed his smooth face across her skin, causing a breathy laugh, then a gasp as he moved closer to his goal.

She tugged gently on his hair, and he took the hint, rising to his feet and leading her to the bed. He helped her lie down and then settled back down to business. He kissed her center, his tongue sliding in and tasting her. She gripped the sheets and opened her legs wider, silently asking him to love her with his mouth. She started panting and felt her orgasm approaching. He continued using his mouth and then slid two fingers in and out, driving her over the edge. She breathed his name over and over, holding onto the sheets for dear life. Her heart racing as he joined her on the bed.

He made love to her again, slowly, both of them breaking together, calling out each other’s names. She was pleasantly surprised at his ability to be ready so soon again after their morning romp. She expressed so to him as he lay next to her, still joined, her fingers in his hair as he lay with his head at her throat. He laughed and raised his head to kiss her, tasting herself on his tongue as she moaned into his mouth. He pulled back, his eyes mirroring the desire she felt.

“You taste so delicious, Scully. Your scent, your eyes, and Jesus, your words. I don’t have a need for any little pills when I’ve got a gorgeous redhead telling me that if I shave, I’m guaranteed to spend some time in my most favorite place.” He whispered before kissing her again, his tongue sending jolts of desire to her core.

She laughed as she pulled back, stroking his smooth face. She kissed him again and began to untangle herself from him. They did need to get out and get items for the baby. They had nothing planned and only two months to go. As much as she would love to spend the day in bed with him, they needed to go. He had to help her up and they both laughed at how the simplest task was made harder with a big pregnant belly in the way.

A short time later, she was smiling as the wind blew through the windows, and they headed down the road. She had her eyes closed, letting the wind cool her down and bring her a sense of calm.

“So, where to first boss?” he asked, as he reached for her hand and held it loosely in his own, turning to her with a grin.

She turned her head toward him, opening her eyes. “Hardware store for paint samples and possibly ordering the paint to be picked up later. Then the baby store, then ... Ikea. It’s going to be busy regardless of time, so let’s save it for last,” she said, squeezing his hand. He smiled at her and nodded.

“Then ... Mulder, if it’s not too late, I’d like to stop by Melissa’s grave,” she said quietly. “Having the stuff from my mom’s place at the house, has had me thinking about her and Melissa. I wish mom knew her last words had not been said in vain and we found William. I wish she knew about this baby and she and Melissa were the ones planning the baby shower, not the women at work ...” She trailed off and sighed.

He looked at her and squeezed her hand. “First. We’ll go there first, Scully. It shouldn’t be an afterthought or if we have time. We’ll go there first, okay?” She nodded and wiped her eyes with her other hand. She closed her eyes again, holding his hand tightly, and took a deep breath.

They stopped at a florist shop on the way to the cemetery where they picked out white roses and yellow daisies, flowers Melissa had always loved. Mulder paid for them and asked that they be wrapped together.

Pulling up close to Melissa’s grave, Mulder turned off the car. He got and opened her door for her, helping her out and handing her the flowers.

“Take all the time you need, okay? If you need me, I’m here,” he said softly, as he stroked her cheek. She nodded and touched his hand, before turning and walking over to the grave. He knew. Without her saying anything, he knew she wanted to be alone and take some time.

She laid the flowers down and stood looking at the headstone, as the usual guilt rose to the surface. If she had just waited, she would have been home and armed. No one would have gotten in and Melissa would still be alive. Melissa had not deserved to die for this quest that Scully willingly participated in, but had never wanted or expected to reach those she loved.

Talking out loud to her sister seemed odd and like something people only really did in movies. She thought about what she wanted to say instead. The apologies she made every time she was here, which was not enough, and the things that had transpired recently. Mulder, William, this new baby. How she wished she could share it all with her. To hear Melissa’s take on the connection she and William shared. She laughed and then choked on a sob, putting her face in her hands at the same time she felt a hand on her back.

Mulder. She had not even heard his approach, but there he was, right when she needed him. He rubbed her back and she turned into his chest, wrapping her arms around him. He held her as she cried, saying nothing, simply offering his strength.

They stood there holding each other, as her tears subsided. She pulled away, but kept her arm around his waist. A few minutes passed and then she squeezed his side, nodding as she pulled back and turned around. When he did not follow, she turned back.

She watched as Mulder placed a hand softly on Melissa’s headstone. He murmured something she did not hear, then stepped back and walked toward her. He reached for her hand and they walked back to the car.

She was quiet for a bit as they headed toward the hardware store, many thoughts still swirling around, and her guilt still weighing heavy upon her. She needed to let it go, to find that point where she finally could. It would not be today, but she would keep trying. She breathed deeply, gave a little shake, and then gave him a small smile. It was the best she could do.

When they arrived in the paint section of the hardware store, they had quite a debate over which colors they wanted. Neither of them wanted pink or purple, even if they knew for sure it was a girl. Scully was not a “pink kind of girl," she explained as they looked at the samples. He looked at her pointedly, as if he did not know everything about her.

Finally, after much back and forth, they picked a light slate blue for every wall but one, which would be beige. The sand and the sea, Mulder said and Scully smiled. Without really intending to, they had settled on colors that had connections to their childhoods. Scully growing up near the ocean, him near lakes and the ocean.

They ordered the paint, picked out all the supplies and arranged to pick it up on the way home. The man working at the counter was incredibly kind and told them he and his wife owned the store. He said if they had other purchases to make, they could pick up the items when it was best for them. They thanked him kindly and headed back to the car.

Scully took out her phone as they buckled in, to get directions to the baby store .

“Baby Mine?” Mulder asked, as he looked at her screen. “Seriously?”

She looked up at him as she programmed the address in and hooked the phone up to the holder. “And what’s wrong with that store? They have really nice stuff. I was looking at the website the other day. There is a really cute crib I want to check out,” she said, as he backed up the car and began to drive.

“The name though,” he said, waiting for the light to change to get on the highway. “That has to be the worst name for a baby store, ever.” He shook his head and proceeded as the light changed.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” she asked him, completely confused.

“Dumbo, Scully. Didn’t you ever see that movie as a kid? People always say how Bambi is so sad, and it is ... Jesus, but Dumbo ...” he said shaking his head slowly.

He glanced at her and saw her perplexed look. He sighed. “In the circus, the people were allowed to come up and see the animals. Some asshole kid was making fun of Dumbo’s big ears, of which that kid had some himself, and then he was teasing and poking at Dumbo. His mother protected him. She spanked that kid with her trunk, and that little fucker deserved it, but they locked her up because she went after him. They put her in chains, away from her baby,” he was almost shouting as she tried to remember the movie.

“So, he’s all alone before he finds that mouse. He takes Dumbo to visit her in her train car jail and she put her trunk out to find him and he reached his up to find her." He stopped talking, shaking his head and breathing deep.

“He was so happy to see her, to feel her, he hugged her trunk and she slid hers down. She rocked him in her trunk and that “Baby Mine” song played and Jesus Christ ... it made me sob like a goddamn baby,” he said, his voice breaking.

She looked at him and felt tears in her eyes. She could not remember that movie that clearly, but of course he would. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white. He shook his head again.

“My mom almost had to take us out of the theater because Samantha and I were crying so hard,” he said, his voice quieter now. “The movie was rereleased when I was eleven and Samantha was eight. My mom took us as a special treat and had no idea we would react that way. She held Samantha on her lap, but I was too big and should have been past such emotional outbursts.”

Scully scoffed and looked at him with disapproval. “Because you were eleven? You shouldn’t have emotions anymore? That’s ridiculous. You were still a kid.”

“Scully, it was the 70’s and it was my family. My father especially. “Have to be a man” and all that bullshit,” he said by way of explanation. “My mother never told him how I reacted. She kept it between us. She and I were closer for about a week after that, before I moved on to other things. I was up late one night, years ago, and that movie was on some channel. It got to that part and I cried like a baby again." He shook his head and laughed as he glanced at her.

She smiled back, put a hand on his leg, and squeezed. He took a hand off the steering wheel and held onto hers. He squeezed it and she squeezed back. He shook his head again and she stared at him with a smile. His passion and emotional expression, was and had always been, something she dearly loved.

The store approached and they turned into the parking lot. It was a large store with cute window displays. Scully unbuckled her seat belt and started to gather her things, when she heard Mulder sigh. She looked at him and saw he was looking at the store sign.

“An elephant, Scully. The sign has an elephant on it." He stared at her, but she could see he was beginning to smile.

She smiled and kissed him, then stepped out the door. He met her at the front of the car, looked at the sign again and shook his head. He opened the door for her and walked in behind her.

They spent the next couple hours looking at cribs, strollers, clothes, sheets, toys, car seats, and books. Scully watched Mulder’s eyes widen as the sales assistant kept suggesting items. He asked about a registry and happily took the scanner gun and went off adding things to it.

Scully found the crib she was looking for, in a beautiful dark chocolate color. She asked them about it, before adding it to their purchases. She sat in one of the glider chairs for a while “testing it out” before deciding on which one to buy. The motion began to make her sleepy, when Mulder came up to her, holding an outfit with spaceships and aliens on it. He grinned at her and she smiled back. He helped her up and they continued their shopping.

By the time they had filled a registry, picked out the bigger items, loaded up the car with their purchases, and arranged for delivery of certain items, Scully was ready to get some lunch.

They found an Italian restaurant nearby and ordered their meal. Scully ate all of hers and half of Mulder’s before he laughed and ordered an extra plate of pasta. If she did not have a hungry baby growing inside her, she would have been embarrassed to eat as much as she did. As it was, she simply laughed and grabbed the last piece of bread.

She watched Mulder swirl the pasta on his fork then messily shove it in his mouth. She reached over and wiped his mouth. He winked at her, his eyes burning a fire in her, as she remembered a barbecue place where she experienced very unpartnerlike feelings for him. She smiled as she shook her head and he tilted his head to the side, silently asking her what what she she was thinking about.

“You know, Mulder,” she said with a mischievous smile. “All the things that we bought today- the crib, the bassinet, the changing table, the stroller, and then whatever else we buy, you have to put together.”

He blinked at her and swallowed his bite. “What exactly are you implying, Scully?” he asked with a smile of his own. She raised her eyebrows and stared at him.

“I put the bookcase in the living room together, if you recall,” he said to her, as if that proved his point.

“Oh, I recall,” she said, reaching for her water and giving him a look.

He stared at her. “The books only fell off one time, Scully.” She nodded her head, twirling her straw around her drink, staring in the cup, then looked up at him. They had a stare down as she let him realize what he just said. He finally sighed, nodded, and took another bite.

“I’ll call Skinner. You know he’s got a toolbox full of tools he never really gets to use,” he said, his mouth full.

She snorted and nodded. “I’m sure he will be more than happy to help once he hears about the bookcase.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said staring at her, his fork frozen on the way to his plate.

“Tell him one of the reasons we have books on the stairs and on so many surfaces is because you are not exactly a “handy” handyman? That bookcases and other things that need to be put together are not exactly your forte? No.. I’d never dream of it,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

He narrowed his eyes at her and she started laughing. He shook his head and began to ready another bite.

“It’s okay, Mulder. You don’t have to be good at everything. The things you are good at, make up for the ones you are not. More than make up for it,” she said with a look.

He paused with the fork in midair and stared at her. She watched his eyes realize what she said and how it made him react. He swallowed, shook his head, and shoved his bite in his mouth. She could not understand the words he said as he mumbled around his bite. She laughed and took another drink.

They left the restaurant a little while later, full of delicious food, and laughing as they discussed whether it was truly necessary to go to Ikea. They ticked off the items they had and what else was needed. A dresser, maybe a rug, shelves, or a bookcase. The car was kind of full, but they could move some stuff around.

They pulled into the parking lot and they looked at each other as if wishing the other safe travels on their journey. Seeing how crowded the parking lot was did not bode well for the hope of a small amount of people on the inside.

Scully grabbed a cart and they went up in the elevator to begin meandering through the store. They passed through the living room and kitchen sections. Scully walked through the little “apartments” they had set up to show the use of minimal space. She always found them interesting and somewhat cozy feeling. All the stuff that was needed in one small area. It made a person really think about what was truly important.

She glanced at Mulder as she looked around one of the rooms. She thought about how they had lived when they were on the run. The clothes on their backs, minimal extras, just each other. She had learned then what was truly important. The man she loved at her side was all she needed to make her feel complete. Everything else, that was an afterthought and so minuscule to what was truly needed in life.

Mulder was watching a mother and her children looking at things by him. He was smiling at the kids and said something to the mother that made her smile and then they both laughed. She walked away and Scully walked up to him. He was watching the mother and smiled at Scully as his head turned back toward her.

She reached up and kissed him, surprising him for a second, before he put his hands lightly on her hips and kissed her back.

“What was that for?” he asked, placing his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” she whispered to him, her hands lightly holding his upper arms.

He pulled back and smiled at her. “I’m sorry ma’am, but I’m taken. Have you seen a gorgeous, pregnant, redhead walking around here? She gets awful angry when I kiss random strangers.” She laughed and put her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, his laughter mixing with hers as they held to each other, the other shoppers rushing past.

He rubbed her back and still chuckled. He put his mouth by her ear. “The feeling is mutual Ms. Scully. So much more than mutual,” he breathed, giving her the chills. She pulled away from him, patting his chest as she stepped back with a smile. Grabbing the cart, she started walking again.

They picked out a bookcase and a dresser, both in dark brown, then moved onto the children’s section. It was packed, but they navigated it easily. Since they had already purchased many items, they had an idea of what they needed.

Mulder put almost every stuffed animal in their cart, but not the elephant she noticed, then started to walk away. Scully grabbed his arm and brought him back. She looked at the animals and then at him.

“Yes, Scully, all of them." He smacked a loud kiss on her and walked away.

She shook her head and kept walking around. She checked out the curtains and the rugs, picking a gray rug with stars that she knew Mulder would enjoy. She did not find any curtains she liked, so she went to find Mulder.

She found him with his arms full of toys, checking out the others on the shelves. He saw her and sighed with relief. “There you are,” he said as he set the stuff down in the cart. “What do think about these?”

She looked at all the things he added to the cart and she shook her head. “Mulder, no. We don’t need all these toys. The baby won’t even be playing with anything really, for six months, at least. Wooden trains, kitchen toys, wooden figures. Mulder, we don’t need these right now,” she said, putting them back on the shelf.

“Scully!” he said, trying to stop her.

“Mulder, the baby doesn’t need all these toys, and they will just clutter up the house for now." She tapped his chest, forcing him to raise his sad eyes to hers. “We’ll come back, okay?” He nodded his head, his lip sticking out a bit in a pout.

“Good. I’m glad we could easily reach that compromise." She put all the toys back, except the stuffed animals, shaking her head. As she walked past him she said under her breath, “What a baby.”

“I heard that,” he said, grabbing the cart from her and bumping her shoulder. He stared at her and then smiled.

They took the elevator back down and walked through the remaining rooms, grabbing a couple of lights for the room and heading to the warehouse. They traded their cart for a flat one, adding the items they were looking for to their other items, and headed for the checkout lines.

The lines were at least eight people deep. Mulder grinned at her and walked away. She rolled her eyes and leaned against the cart. Her back was aching a little and her feet were tired.

She moved up a couple spots in line when Mulder walked back with two ice cream cones and a bag of bulk candy under his arm. He smiled as he handed her hers and set the candy in the cart. She smiled her thanks as she ate her ice cream and eyed the bag of candy.

“It’s all chocolate, in case you were wondering what I picked,” he said, as he licked the side of his cone.

“Good man,” she answered him. He chuckled and they ate their cones as they waited in line.

Once they had paid, repacked the car so everything fit, with Mulder lifting his arms and proclaiming, “Tetris!” while she laughed, they were on their way home.

They pulled up to the house and Scully grabbed a few bags and went in to start some dinner. Mulder unloaded the car and set all the stuff in a corner of the living room. He had said there was no need to put it all upstairs until the room was painted and he would be doing that soon.

After they ate their meal, they took stock of the big items they had purchased: a crib, bassinet, changing table, stroller, dresser, bookcase, some lights, and a rug. They also had some smaller items: the stuffed animals, the spaceships outfit and some others, crib sheets, and a couple lightweight blankets.

The crib mattress and glider chair would be delivered in a couple of weeks since they were in no immediate hurry, and had painting to do first. Car seats and other items would be ordered online after they searched for the ones they wanted. The registry was full of items they could use that were not too overwhelming in price. Mostly clothes, storage items, pacifiers, little toys, bottles, nursing pillows, more blankets, and bath items.

Scully shook her head at the amount of stuff in the house and still what was needed. God, a baby needed a lot of shit for something so small. Mulder suggested they go upstairs and look in the other room to get an idea of how they wanted it to be arranged.

There was stuff stored in there that they would need to go through, but not too much, thankfully. They looked around and discussed which wall to paint which color, where the placement of items would be best, and laughed about how insane it was they were having this discussion. Planning for a baby was never something they had thought of, nor expected, yet there they were.

Mulder went downstairs to straighten up and lock up the house as Scully used the bathroom and changed for bed. She got under the covers and sighed as she put her head on her pillow. It had been a long day. A long “normal” day and god knew they needed those kinds of days. She was tired, but happy, with all they had accomplished. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Mulder came barging in the room in his usual Mulder way- like a puppy whose legs were too big for its body. He hummed as he changed and used the bathroom. He slid under the sheets and cuddled up behind her, pulling her close. He kissed her temple and laid his head on his pillow.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Then Scully spoke, asking a question that had been on her mind all day.

“Mulder?” she asked, seeing if he was awake.

“Hmmm?” Came his sleepy reply.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but ... I was just curious what you said at Melissa’s grave today,” she said quietly.

He pulled her tighter and took a breath, nuzzling her neck. “I told her I was sorry,” he said quietly into her hair. “Then I thanked her.” Scully’s heart pounded and her breath caught. She started to ask what he meant when he spoke again.

“I thanked her, Scully, because ... you were the target. Someone was sent to kill you. Use you as a pawn again and take care of loose ends. They thought I was dead, and needed you gone too. If I had come back and found you ...” He gripped her as tight as he could with the baby blocking him. “I didn’t want her to die. I would have protected her if I could, but I, we, weren’t there. But if I had lost you, Scully, I would have lost everything. Even then, you were the only thing I gave a damn about. You, your safety, you, Scully. I never wanted anyone to get hurt, but if I had lost you ...” He took a shuddering breath, as tears fell from her eyes. She gripped the hand he had around her belly.

“I thanked her, Scully, because as perverse as it sounds, and I’m sorry that it does, I’m thankful it wasn’t your grave I visited today,” he whispered, as she cried.

She turned over and held his face in her hands. She cried, putting her forehead against his, and tried to catch her breath. She felt a weight, that had been sitting on her, begin to dissolve. He said what she was so afraid to say. So terrified to voice her relief without sounding as if she was okay her sister had died, had been killed in her place. She had to reassure him, to tell him he was not alone.

“Mulder,” she whispered, her voice still shaking. “For so long, the guilt of that night has weighed on me- if I had only been there, if I had waited for her instead of leaving, so many if’s. The worst guilt was that I lived and she died." She stopped and took some sobbing breaths. “I thought of how it would have been if it had been me who was killed. You alone, on your own, the guilt you would have felt..” she gasped out a cry.

“Alone I could handle, Scully. Alone without you ... was a future I could not foresee. It’s ... it’s not a future I ever want again,” he whispered to her.

She took big breaths, her eyes closed. “I have felt guilty relief that it wasn’t me who died, for years. I don’t visit her often enough because of that guilt, but I know I can’t do that anymore. I need to let that go. She would tell me the same thing. Call me foolish and silly for holding this like a poison inside me. That everything happens for a reason and it was how it was supposed to be. So many things, Mulder. So many things have happened, I have to believe she would be right. I need to.” She lifted her head and looked in his eyes.

He had tears in them and she wiped them away. They stared at each other, both feeling that guilt and that messed up form of relief. She pulled him close and held him with his head in her neck. They held each other, as Mulder whispered his love and comfort to her.

She thought of Melissa and how she would look at her, knowing she had held her guilt for so long. How it had blocked her from her grief and kept her from expressing it. The guilt she felt sitting in her like a clogged drain, allowing only so much through, but leaving the core problem behind. She knew Melissa would not want that for her.

She took a deep breath and whispered to Mulder she wanted to do it together, to let that guilt free. He breathed into her neck and she took a breath. Together, they let that guilt release from their lives, letting the two people affected most by her death, breathe easier than they had in years.

Scully stayed holding him for awhile. The silence in the room bringing a peaceful feeling into her heart. Mulder pulled back from her, lying back on his pillow, bringing her with him. She lay her head on his shoulder, his arm around her, her hand gripping his shirt.

“As much as it hurts and makes us feel like shit, it’s good we’re doing this, Scully,” he said quietly, squeezing her arm and kissing her head. She lightly chuckled, a sob punctuating her feelings. “I’m serious. This breaking us down, will help us move forward. I don’t want to hide our feelings from each other anymore. Jesus, Scully, that has not led us anywhere good and I don’t want that to happen again. Never again, Scully.”

She nodded against his shoulder. He was right. No more hiding how they felt or what they thought. This was their second chance. Fuck that, it was more like the millionth chance to get their shit together.

She wrapped her arm around him and took a deep breath. “No more hiding, Mulder. Reason and faith in harmony is hard to achieve if the harmony is off key. We’ll just need to keep fine tuning this old song until it’s perfect,” she said, sleep beginning to take over.

“I don’t know if we will ever achieve “perfect,” Scully, but we will keep strumming the tune until we get it right. A million and one will be our lucky number." He pulled her closer, his voice sleepy once again.

She smiled. A million and one, that seemed like a fitting number. Each of them on opposite ends, two opposing viewpoints, but with paths shaped like circles in between so they could never stray too far from each other. Scully snuggled closer to him and he softly breathed her name.

A million and one. It was about time they got it right.

_________________________________________________

I love writing Mulder and Scully happy and being “normal.” Finally reaching that point where they can move forward and be together, no more problems weighing them down.

Of course, they have to have the bad and feel the guilt to get to the happiness they deserve. But, they are finally realizing it and facing it head on instead of hiding it and keeping it buried down deep. They will be better people and better parents, to BOTH of their children, for it.

And.. man oh man, is Mulder going to spoil this baby.

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Post MSIV #Family Life: The Story Beyond the Series #Happiness #A little bit of angst #Preparing for the new baby #Making plans for the future #Little bit of morning sex to start the day

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 4 years ago

Text

Being Simon

Chapter 1: The Past

Chapter 1/2 (All chapters)

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 8493

Summary: Simon's type of therapy is...unusual to say the least. He has the incredible chance to go back in time to fix what he regrets. However, things get more complicated when Simon meets someone very interesting in the past.

Read on AO3

AN: Ahahahaha I did it!!! I finished a fic! That's a big achievement for me nowadays tbh. This has taken forever because stupid fucking health, but I did it! Of course I'm not 100% good with it but I'm still proud. Being Erica is one of my fave shows ever and is severely underrated imo. Then I saw this post and was like "oh damn that would be great for snowbaz." Now like three-four months late, here we are! Big thank you to @carryonmylovelies as always. She has been a big support for me through this writing slump. I couldn't be more grateful for her <3

World basics: time travel therapy is a thing, no further explanation given, and going back in time to fix past regrets teaches patients how to live better in the present. Patients take over their past selves' bodies for a bit. Patients can return from the past either suddenly or by stepping through doors. So just imagine Simon doing that. Saying much more is spoilers.

I’m gonna post chapter 1 today, then chapter 2 sometime within the next week. Hopefully y'all like it!

———————————————

You know that guy who’s got it all? A perfect job, a perfect partner, wonderful family, a life that people are secretly jealous of? You know that guy, everyone knows that guy. Unfortunately, I am not that guy.

My name is Simon Snow, and I’m a fuck up. But I’m getting better.

“Mr. Snow, Mr. Snow!” Cassidy shouts, waving her hand, “I know the answer!”

“Cass,” I say, “what did we say about inside voices?”

She pouts and crosses her arms. “Keep the volume down for all those around.”

“Exactly. Now, try again.” Cassidy raises her arm with no added sound effects. I point my chalk at her. “Cassidy, what’s the answer?”

She puts her hand down, grinning wide. “It’s 42.”

I hold my hand out to her. “Nice job, Cassy, right on the money.”

She gives me a big high five. The feeling of accomplishment surges through me. God, I love this job. My old customer service work made me feel dead inside. Day in, day out, same old fucking garbage from garbage customers. It was just never something I wanted to do. Now I get to see a little girl smile, and I helped her smile. Yeah, little self centred, but I’ll take it.

“Patrick,” I say, “can you tell me how we can find 8 times 4?”

Patrick nods and starts rattling off the technique he’s come up with. It’s a bit odd and round about but all his. That’s what I love about kids, the strange and unique things their little minds come up with. It’s why I wanted to be a teacher in the first place, before I lost my way.

The bell rings and everyone's on their feet immediately. “Alright everyone,” I shout over the clamour, “make sure to finish chapter three for tonight. And get your worksheets done! We’re going to go over them with a fine toothed comb. Have a good weekend, kids.”

“Bye, Mr. Snow,” they all parrot back. I wave them off, then start on my laptop. Being a teacher means having a lot of paperwork. (Or Google Doc work, I guess.) Everything is in mismatched folders and I have to scour them for my lesson plan draft. Unfortunately, I’m still not great at organization, but I’m working on it. I’m working on a lot in my life.

My phone rings. I look up from my screen, and notice there’s no sunlight from the windows. Holy shit, how long have I been sitting here? I quickly grab my phone. “Hello?”

“Simon!” Todd shouts. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Oh, uh, hi Todd.” Fuck, what did I do this time? “I-I’m still at work...”

He scoffs. “Of course you are. Shit, Simon, I’ve been sitting at Casper’s for an hour!”

My heart drops. I look down at my watch. It’s 6:34. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, love, I just totally lost track of time-”

“Yeah, I guessed that. I should expect that of you now.”

Well, that stings. A lot. I’ve felt like a screw up my whole life, so much so even my parents didn’t want me. Like they had some prophetic vision that their kid would be a no good moron. Therapy has started to rid me of those thoughts, but they still creep up every once in a while. Like now.

“I’m sorry, darling, I’m really sorry. We can go to my place, have take away-”

“No, Simon,” he sighs. “I just...I picked the day, the time, and the restaurant. All you had to do was bloody show up, and you couldn’t even do that. I mean...do you even care, Simon?”

A horrible, familiar pain goes through my heart. I can still hear Agatha’s voice all these years later. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. My thoughts get all muddled up, mixing up old fears and trauma with today.

“I do care, Todd, I really do. I just- I didn’t- I was- We can-”

“Please stop..” He sighs again. I can almost see him rubbing his pretty black eyebrows together. “Don’t stress stutter, it’s alright. Enjoy your work and takeaway.”

“Uh, could we reschedule?”

“No, we can’t.”

I gulp. I hate that I know what’s coming. “Are...are you too busy?”

“No, I’m just...I’m done. I can’t do this anymore, Simon. Hope you do well. I mean that.”

I slump in my chair. “Okay. You too. Bye, Todd.”

“Goodbye, Simon.”

He hangs up, but I keep the phone by my ear. My body feels too heavy to move and get out of this fucking chair. Once again, I screwed up my relationship. And the fact that it’s too familiar is even worse. This is what, the third partner I’ve lost in the last year? An abysmal track record. Before that I had been alone since uni, yeah, but I think it was better than feeling like this.

Slowly, I pack up all my stuff. Everything is quiet, like the world is in mourning for my latest lost relationship. Self centered as fuck but a nice thought. I sling my book bag over my shoulder and walk towards the door. It’s not even a shock when I don’t enter the foyer, but step through and end up in Dr. Margaret’s stony yet brightly lit office instead, complete with torches and pristine furniture. It’s like some medieval version of an IKEA showroom. Dr. Margaret is sitting in her chair with a book in hand, obviously waiting for me. Just another day with a super powered therapist who has her office in a pocket dimension outside of our reality. (That’s my theory anyway).

I speed walk forward and flop down face first on her white couch. “Hi to you too, Simon,” she says. I groan into the cushions. “Good day, huh?” I groan louder. “Tell me what happened or get off my couch.”

I move my face to the side, glaring at Dr. Margaret. She just keeps looking at me blankly from her large leather chair. Dr. Margaret has little time for my whining, something I usually appreciate. “Todd broke up with me.”

“You poor baby.”

I narrow my eyes even more. “Aren’t therapists supposed to be all sympathetic and shit?”

She scoffs. “Sympathetic when you’re not being pathetic.”

“My boyfriend just broke up with me, I’m allowed to be a bit pathetic.” I rub my very strained forehead. “I always get dumped.”

“Mhm.” Dr. Margaret picks up the notepad, the one I filled with my regrets the first day we met. It’s embarrassingly long, but a lot are crossed off too. “Tell me about ‘breakup with Agatha.’”

I groan, head falling back against the couch. “God, that’s one I’ve been waiting for.”

“Stop groaning and tell me.”

“Okay, okay, gimme a sec.” I sit up and put my elbows on my knees, rubbing my temple. Headache is coming. Though I’ve started to actually pay attention to my health and take care of myself now (thanks to Dr. Margaret), the headaches still happen sometimes. Especially when I think about this.

“It was 2003,” I sigh. “Agatha and I had been together for six years. Just before third year finals, Agatha broke up with me. I got really pissed at her. Turned into a huge screaming match. She said I didn’t care, and I called her an arsehole that never loved me.” I run a hand through my hair. Old stress habit. “I’ll never forget the look on her face. She was so unbelievably hurt. I knew it was wrong the moment after I said it, but I was too angry and proud to apologize. Agatha walked out. And that was the last time I ever saw her.” The words piece my heart like a knife. I feel like I'm about to shatter into pieces “We avoided each other all through finals. Right after graduation, Agatha moved to California for her masters. She wouldn’t take my calls, then she changed her number. So I gave up. Haven’t talked to her in twelve years. No idea where she is now and what she’s doing.”

Dr. Margaret nods thoughtfully, placing the notebook down. “What would you do differently? Try to fix things? Stay together?”

I shake my head vigorously. “No, god no. We weren’t good as a couple. But Agatha was one of my closest friends way before she was my girlfriend. I just, I want the breakup to not be so awful. That way we can stay friends. I want to keep her in my life. If I wasn’t such an arse, she would be.”

“Sounds reasonable. Let’s see if you can do it.”

A familiar chill hits me. At first it was terrifying but now I expect it. “Alright.”

Dr. Margaret nods, and the world spins.

———————————————

“You’re not hearing me, Simon!” Agatha screams. “I’m trying to tell you that it’s over!”

I stumble, blinking at Agatha and trying to focus on what’s around me. Dirty walls, Lady Gaga posters, a shitty desk I picked up off the curb. Yeah, this is definitely my uni apartment. And this is definitely Agatha screaming at me, trying to break things off and I’ve just been yelling. She’s so mad but I can’t help but smile. God, I’ve missed her.

“What are you smiling about?! Are you listening to me?!” She groans and shakes her head. “We’re done, Si. I can’t do this anymore. Goodbye.”

She turns around to leave and my pulse skyrockets. No no, not again. “Ags, wait! I-I am listening. Please, don’t leave!”

Agatha freezes, hand on the knob. She glares at me over her shoulder. “What?”

“I-I’m sorry for yelling, that was awful. Can we just sit down and talk this out? Please?”

She looks me over, probably trying to figure out if I’m being sincere. I know I am, but as far as she's concerned I was screaming my bloody lungs out a minute ago. Must be weird for her. Thankfully, she lets go of the knob. “Fine.”

I sigh in utter relief. I sit down on my shitty mattress (pretty sure I got this off the curb too) and Agatha follows. She’s tense, arms crossed. I fiddle with my fingers. The nail beds are all chewed up, hangnails surrounded by dark dried blood. Glad I broke that habit, but right now I sort of wish I still did it. It made me feel better.

“Are you going to say something?” Agatha asks, voice biting.

“Yeah, yeah, just, uh...” I rub the back of my neck. Words are getting fucked up again.

“You’re not going to change my mind, Simon. We’re through.”

“I know, Ags, I know. I don’t want us to stay together.”

Her eyebrows furrow. It’s really cute. I miss when she did that. “You don’t?”

“No, no, we’re not good as a couple. We don’t work well.”

“Oh.” Her arms fall into her lap. “Okay. Yeah, I think the same.”

“Awesome.” I turn towards her with a big grin. “But, uh, could we still be friends though? You’ve always been one of my best friends, Agatha. I-I don’t want to lose you after this.”

Agatha rubs her lips together, But slowly, she nods. “Okay, yeah.”

A huge weight lifts off my shoulders. I grin so wide it hurts. “That’s great! That’s so great. I-I just, I don’t want to lose you just cause our relationship didn’t work out.”

She looks even more confused, and I’m not sure why. “What do you mean ‘didn’t work out?’”

“Well, I-I mean, y’know, we just don’t work as a couple. We haven’t been happy for awhile because things have kind of...fizzled out, right?”

Suddenly, that infuriated expression comes back. She groans and stands up. “I can’t believe you, Si! You really haven’t been listening to anything I’ve said, have you?!”

I stand up too. “No, no, I have! You want to break up, and I get why, we’re not happy together. We’re not a good couple-”

“Because of you!” she screams. I stumble back slightly from the force of her words. “You fucked up!”

A horrible, upset, disgusted feeling takes over my whole body. Like my very soul is sicking up. I step towards her, reaching out. “Ags, I don’t know what you mean. H-How did I ruin things? Tell me what I did wrong!”

She shakes her head and backs away. “I’ve told you a hundred times, Si. If you don’t know by now, I don’t think you ever will.”

Agatha starts to stomp away. I chase after her. “Agatha! Ags, please, don’t-”

She slams the door so hard all my knick knacks rattle. I’m left in silence, except for the thoughts rattling around in my head. Fuck, what did I say? What did I do? I can’t think of anything I’ve done horrible enough to warrant such a response from Agatha. I pull at my hair and gnaw at my nail beds. I mean, this me already does it, so where’s the harm? Fuck, I don’t know what I did. I can’t remember!

Penny. I gotta go find Penny. She always has the answers. She’ll remember why I fucked up. I rush out the door and swing my way down the shitty stairs, careful to avoid the usual vomit puddles. I’m speed walking across the lawn towards Pen’s TA building when I spot familiar frizzy white hair.

“That was fast,” Dr. Margaret says, looking down at her book with a Starbucks drink in hand. She’s dressed in a horribly ugly orange tank top and boho skirt. Perfect for 2003. She needs to blend in with the time period, or at least that’s what she says. I think she just likes to dress up. “Saw her storm out. Looked really mad.”

“What the fuck was the point of this?!” I yell. I’m so angry, I can’t help it. My temper is something I need to work on but I really don’t care right now. “I still cocked things up with Agatha, so she still hates me, and all I’ve learned is that I apparently did something horrible that I don’t even remember because it’s been twelve bloody years!”

She takes a long drink from her large Starbucks cup. “Hm. Quite difficult. What’re you going to do?”

“Find Penny, I guess, She’ll know, right?”

Dr. Margaret shrugs. “Don’t know. You have a phone. Call her.”

Oh, right, phones are a thing. I dig around in my cargo shorts (god, I can’t believe, I used to wear these things) and pull out my old Nokia slide phone. I sneer at the thing. It was my first and shittiest cell phone. I thought I was so cool because my mobile slid out. I was such a prat.

I go to my contacts, and Penny is one of five. That makes me a little sad. I always liked people, but I was always bad at making real friends. I’ve gotten better now but past me barely had anyone. I click her number, and she picks up after two rings.

“Hey, Simon, what’s up?” she asks.

“Um, not much,” I respond automatically. Dr. Margaret glares at me. Right, I don’t need to push down my problems and pretend everything is okay. Penny’s my friend, she’ll want to help. “Actually, there’s a lot. Aggie and I just broke up.”

“Oh Si, I’m so sorry. How’re you feeling?”

“Not too bad. I guess it was inevitable. I’m more confused than anything. Ags said I ruined it by doing something, but I’m not sure what I did. Do you have any idea what she meant?”

“Uh...I really don’t know. She hasn’t told me anything. She doesn’t usually tell me things anyway.”

I sigh and rub my face. “Yeah, true. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Pen.”

“Welcome, Simon. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” I hang up and shove my phone back in my massive pocket. Dr. Margaret is back to reading. “Well, that was no help.”

“Too bad. Maybe going to the source would be better.”

I frown in utter confusion. “You want me to go talk to Agatha again?”

“She knows what’s wrong. You don’t. Ask her.”

I put my hands on my hips. “You’re never this direct. What’s going on?”

She flicks her eyes to me, smiling slyly. “Don’t trust me, Simon?”

“No! I just know you always have something else going on. Nothing in therapy is ever easy or simple.”

“Know that. Taught you that.” She snaps the book closed. “Do what you think is best, Simon. Then live with choices.”

She stands up, book tucked into her hippie purse, and walks down the lawn. I huff, blowing a piece of stray hair out of my face. “You know I hate when you say that! It’s just pointing out the obvious! That’s lazy therapy!”

Dr. Margaret, the woman who has changed my life in so many ways, makes the “whatever” W sign at me. I chuckle and shake my head. Okay, well, this is probably some weird test (again), but Dr. Margaret has a point. Best to be direct. Maybe Agatha will have cooled down by the time I get there. I should do something nice. Bring her flowers, yeah, that’s a good idea. I look down at my cargo shorts, baggy Eminem shirt, and filthy knock off converse. Definitely need to change too.

I rush back to my apartment. It’s dingy and gross, but there’s a weird nostalgia to it. I should’ve put up more posters. (Why can’t that be a regret? That would be so much easier.) My dresser is bursting at the seams as usual. I throw my t-shirts around looking for something passable, but everything is dirty, tacky, smells like weed, or all of the above.

“Christ, how did I live like this?” I grumble, as if I wasn’t pretty much still living like this a year ago. (Minus the weed. Kicked that after uni, thankfully.)

Eventually I find a plain brown shirt and a pair of jeans with only one tomato sauce stain. Alright, I’m passable now at least. That’ll get Agatha’s attention just because it’s so out of character for who I am in this time. I open the old pickle jar where I keep all my change and scrounge together about 20 quid. Should be enough for flowers, especially before the 2008 crash. The exchange rate is the only thing I miss about the past, honestly.

“Alright,” I mutter to myself, slinging my bookbag over my shoulder, “decent clothes, okay hair, pocket change, bag to hold flowers. Let’s do this.”

I walk out my front door feeling confident, hopefully not too much. Can’t get a big head. Need to focus on Agatha.

“Simon, mate.” I turn around to see Rhys wheeling out of his flat. “What’s up? Heard a lot of shouting earlier, you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m cool, man. Agatha and I broke up and things got messy.”

He inhales sharply between his teeth. “Yikes. Sorry to hear that. Can’t believe she dumped you for that snotty prep.”

I stand ramrod straight, then spin around on my heels to face him properly. “What snotty prep?”

“Oh you didn’t know?”

“Didn’t know what?!”

Rhys raises his hands in surrender. “Whoa, take it easy, man.”

Shit. Reel in your temper, Simon, don’t explode. “Sorry, sorry, mate. Just, what are you talking about with this prep?”

“Yeah, this preppy pretty boy Agatha sits next to in our romantic literature and creative writing classes. They’ve always got their heads together. I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my business, but then you said you two broke up, so...”

“So you thought she told me, got it.” I rub my temples. Headache is coming back. “Do you know who he is?”

Rhys scratches the side of his head. “Yeah, think so. Tall, dark-ish skin, grey eyes, posh accent, even more posh clothes. Name starts with a T. Terrence, Terry, Tyler-” He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Ty! That’s it!”

My face scrunches up. “Ty? Ty what?”

“Dunno. Just Ty, I guess. Like Madonna. Dude thinks he’s better than fucking everyone just because he’s rich or something.”

My blood boils to a fever pitch. So Agatha broke up with me for someone prettier and richer. She said it was my fault because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Mission failed, because I am fucking gutted.

“Thanks for telling me, mate,” I say, holding out my fist to him. He bumps his own against mine. “Really appreciate it.”

“Sure thing, mate. Come have a beer with us to commiserate?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, but you may have to remind me later. Brain like sieve.”

“Gotchu. See ya.”

“See ya.”

Rhys rolls down the hall towards Gareth’s. Right, it’s their weekly beer and footie night. I would hang out with them sometimes. I miss that. I should call them when I’m back in 2015. Right now though, I have a mission.

———————————————

Finding Ty will be pretty easy. I know when Agatha and Rhys’ creative writing class is, which is in a couple of minutes. (Rhys skipped a lot of class. Luckily he was a genius so he graduated at the top of our year. And Agatha never went to class when she was upset, so I know I won’t see her.) I run over to the building I know it’s in, a massive hall made from dingy grey stone and filled with caffeine addicted twenty somethings. Then I sit by a tree, waiting to see someone like Rhys described. Oh and when I find him I’ll- Well, I’ll do something. Not sure yet but it’ll be something!

Droves of zombified uni students pass me by. None of them look posh and preppy enough to be like this Ty dude. He sounds like such a twat. What the fuck does Agatha see in him? (Or did see in him, I guess. Time travel is weird.) Maybe Agatha is still with him. Maybe they went to California together. She talked about me going with her for a bit, but I was scared to leave England. I don’t regret staying, but I do regret the crushed look on her face.

The guy passes by me. He looks ridiculous, wearing oxfords, black slacks, and a goddamn tweed jacket with leather patches on the sleeves. It’s the preppiest posh shit I’ve ever seen. I can see his hands, curled around his textbook, and his slicked back hair. Dark-ish skin and ear length black hair. I’m on my feet in an instant.

“Hey!” I shout. He doesn’t move. “Hey, Ty! I’m talking to you!”

He finally turns around, and my heart stops for a second. Holy shit. This guy is beautiful. Like, super model on the cover of a high end fashion magazine gorgeous. He’s got cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and his eyes aren’t just grey, they’re green and blue mixed together. Like deep ocean water. And right now they’re staring at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

“Yes?” he says. His voice is smooth, strong, really pretty. “You called my name?”

I shake off my small gay panic (technically pansexual panic) and my anger returns. I glare hard at him. “Yeah, I did. My name is Simon Snow, Agatha’s boyfriend.”

His confusion quickly switches to stone faced boredom. “Oh you’re the boyfriend. Well, the ex-boyfriend now, according to the text Agatha sent me.” He tilts his head to the side, ocean eyes scanning me over. “I thought you’d be taller.”

My body feels like it’s on fire. This guy may be hot but he’s a total prick. How could Agatha dump me for him?! “Who do you think you are, huh? Flirting with someone’s girlfriend? That’s fucking low, you pathetic shit!”

He scoffs, putting on hand on his hip. “Very well spoken. If you’re done with your little alpha male display, I have a class to get to.”

Ty turns away. I’m ready to explode. I haven’t felt this angry in years but this guy is getting so under my skin. I grab his shoulder and force him to look at me.

“You don’t get to walk away, dick!” I roar. “Do you think you’re better than me?! Well you’re not!”

“I’m not the one shouting at a random stranger on the quad.”

“I’m shouting because you stole my girlfriend!”

“I didn’t steal her, you sexist shit,” he hisses. “She’s my friend. Are you the kind of arse to not allow his girlfriend to have friends?”

“No! And I’m not sexist! I just don’t like someone flirting with the girl I was with when I was with her, especially when you’re all...posh and shit!”

Ty scoffs again and leans forward. “Well, at least I don’t wear dirty jeans out in public. I have more self respect than that.”

My entire body explodes in a way it hasn’t in ages. My vision goes completely fucking red. I shove Ty, hard. Way harder than I mean to. He stumbles backwards, dropping his books on the grass. He looks at me in utter shock.

“What the fuck?!” Ty shouts. He then shoves my shoulders, and I stumble five steps back. Holy shit, he’s strong.

“Fuck you!” I shout back. I charge forward with all my might. Ty blocks me but that doesn’t stop me. I claw and push and pull at him, no clue what I’m doing at all. I’m just so angry and pushing it all at him. He pushes back just as hard. Neither of us will give an inch. We scrabble like a pair of cats. I can’t think, I just feel. I'm so angry and sad and worthless because...because....

Because I’m losing my friend again. And I don’t know what to do.

My hits get weaker and weaker. All the energy dribbles out like a melting ice cream in July. As I slow down, Ty stops pushing back. My arms fall down at my sides. His hands rest awkwardly on my shoulders.

“Uh,” he says, “are you alright?”

“No,” I choke out. Tears fill my eyes and cloud my vision. “No, I’m not.”

I break down, crying with heavy, ugly sobs. Everything is just collapsing in and around me. I really am losing Agatha all over again. It hurts even more this time. I’ve never fallen apart this badly on a regret. But everything from the past and present, losing all my partners in the past year then Agatha again, is just hitting me in one terrible mental blow.

“Oh shit,” he says. “Um...” I feel his hand move off my shoulder and slowly pat my head. “There, there?”

I snort like one of the kids I teach. I pull back, wiping the still flowing tears under my eye. “Seriously? That’s the best you can do?”

Though it’s a bit hard to tell, I think Ty’s face flushes. He crosses his arms defiantly. “Well, what the fuck are you supposed to do when a stranger attacks you then breaks down crying?”

I shrug. “Dunno, really. This is new for me too.”

Ty rubs the back of his neck, shuffling his polished oxfords in the dirt. I’m still sniffling like a child. “You want to go somewhere private? Where no one can see you?”

My eyes catch a couple of people glancing and outright staring at us. Or just at me. I nod vigorously. “Yeah, that would be good.”

Ty collects up the books I knocked out of his hands. He jerks his head to the side, and I follow behind him. Tears are still streaming down my face. They won’t stop no matter how hard I try. Ty leads us through a secluded area, past large trees and bushes, until we reach a completely hidden, beautiful ravine. Holy shit. Was this always here? I went to this uni for three years and I have no memory of this place. Either I’m super oblivious or getting old. (Probably both.)

We go past a couple more bushes until we come upon a ramshackle rainbow coloured bench against some trees. It looks handmade by some stoned out art major. The mess of cigarette and joint butts on the ground only reinforces that theory. Ty sits on one end of the bench. I take the other, but we’re still pretty close. It’s not very big. We sit in silence for a bit, save for my continued sniffling. Something bumps my arm. I look down to see Ty’s long fingered hand holding out a cigarette pack.

“Want one?” he asks.

“Smoking is bad for you,” I say automatically.

“Like you’re one to talk. You reek of marijuana”

“Fuck, really?” I sniff my shirt collar and get a whiff of weed. I groan, letting my head fall back against the tree. “Dammit. Thought this one was clean.”

“Unfortunately not.” He shakes the box. “You want one or no?”

I sigh and pluck a stick out of the box. Ty takes one as well, then pulls out a pristine silver Zippo lighter. He lights us both with one flame. I watch the paper crinkle and shrivel away into ash. I’m a bit nervous. Technically, I haven’t smoked anything in over a decade. Hopefully I can depend on past me’s muscle memory.

Ty takes a long, deep draft and breathes out a long puff of smoke. I try to mimic him. My lungs burn with the heat of twin suns. I wheeze out, thumping my chest. Ty throws his head back laughing, hair touching his neck.

“You must be a shitty stoner,” he chuckles.

“Yeah,” I cough, “never been great at inhaling.”

“Bring it into your mouth, then your lungs. Don’t do it all once.”

I nod, even though I kind of knew that. Just been awhile. I smoked a few joints but I preferred my old bong. But I try again, doing what Ty said. This time I only cough a little instead of wheezing like the world’s most pathetic dragon.

“There you go,” Ty drawls. He’s definitely mocking me a little.

“Fuck off.”

“Christ, what bug crawled up your arse?”

I glare at him, and his face is completely unaffected. “The bug that Agatha broke up with me for you.”

He scoffs, flicking cigarette ash on the ground. “Your ex- girlfriend did not break up with you to be with me. We’re only friends. I’d never date her.”

“That’s mean, Agatha is amazing.”

Ty rolls his eyes dramatically. “It has nothing to do with Agatha. She’s wonderful. I just don’t like women.”

My eyes grow wider than saucer plates “You’re gay?”

He cocks an eyebrow. How did he get so good at that? Does he practice in the mirror? “You have a problem with that, Snow?”

“No, no, of course not. Just didn’t realise...”

“It’s not like I’m hiding it.” He gestures to his perfectly pressed button down, spotless navy slacks, and polished Oxfords. Okay, he has a point, most straight men don’t take such meticulous care of their clothes. 2003 closeted me had the excuse of being heteronormative as fuck, but 2015 pansexual me needs to work on his gaydar.

“I, uh, didn’t want to assume...” Usually a safe answer in my experience.

“How noble.” Ty takes a long drag. I still hate cigarettes, but the way his lips fit around the smoke plume is kind of attractive. “Agatha knows I’m gay. I told her after she almost kissed me.”

“What?!” I throw down the cigarette and shoot to my feet. The fire in my gut is back, along with the sense of utter worthlessness. I fucked up so badly, made Agatha so miserable, that she nearly kissed a gay bloke. I feel so awful and confused and I don’t know what I'm supposed to do, I’m just mad.

He rolls his eyes, again. “Sit down, alpha male, I said ‘almost.’ I’m not even sure she realised what she was doing, we were both completely pissed. She leaned forward slightly and I blurted out that I was gay. Then she promptly burst into tears.”

My heart feels like someone has reached inside and twisted every vein. My arms relax at my sides. “She...she was crying?”

“Yes, quite heavily.” He taps the cig with one long, graceful finger. (Does he play piano? He should.) “She said she was sorry, then blubbered for an hour about how conflicted she felt about wanting to break up with you.”

The impact of those words send me back down onto the bench. My whole body feels heavier than lead. “She felt conflicted?”

“Of course she did.”

“I-I thought this was easy for her. That our relationship was already going downhill, then I did something so bad she decided to end it. And then I thought it was because she found you, someone better than me.”

Ty scoffs. “My god, she was right, you are completely oblivious.”

I scowl at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. You’re so blind to what you’ve been doing.”

“What’ve I been doing?!”

“You’ve been a terrible boyfriend!” he yells. “You’re forgetful, you miss things, you don’t pay attention to Agatha, and most of all you take her for granted!” He sighs, rolling the half finished cig between his fingers. “Ags says you don’t mean to do it, you’re just oblivious, but she’s still hurt. There isn’t one bad thing you did, Snow. You’ve been hurting her for awhile.”

Every word is slap to the face. My body literally aches with all the guilt I feel. Ty is right. I was an awful, awful boyfriend. Every missed date, every burnt meal, every stupid thing I’ve ever said, they all rush into me. Fucking hell. How could I have not seen it? I always had reasons, and they were always small things. But I guess a lot of small things pile up.

“Fuck,” I choke out. Tears make little wet spots on the dirt floor. I don’t know when I started crying again. God, I’m a mess.

“Please don’t cry,” Ty says, sounding almost sympathetic. “I only have so many cigarettes.”

That makes a laugh surprisingly fly out of my mouth. Yet I’m still picking at my nails, flicking away bits of my cuticle like I want to get rid of my pain. I’m nervously babbling before I even realise it. “My brain’s always filled with...stuff. Keeping my scholarship, keeping my job, working towards my future. E-Everything’s always been about my future, what I’ll do eventually, even with Agatha. She was supposed to be my happy ending after all the shit I’ve been through.”

“She’s a person,” he mutters, “not your goal.”

“I know that!” I rub away more tears. “Well, I’m learning. I dunno. I-I had a shitty childhood, okay? So I’m always waiting for things to get better. And I thought if I did well at school and found a nice girl, things would just fall into place. Turns out shit is more complicated than that.”

I laugh to try to break the tension, but Ty stays silent. I cautiously flick my eyes over to him. He’s still holding his cigarette. It’s burnt down to the filter. His face is stone again, yet I can see the slight tremor in his fingers. It’s miniscule but it’s there. I don’t think he’s okay, but I barely know this guy, I’m scared to ask.

“I don’t know how to fix things with Agatha,” I sigh. “I’m bad at talking, bad at relationships, sometimes bad at friendships. It’s not like I want her back. I...I just want her in life. She’s amazing. I don’t- I can’t lose her again.”

“Again?” he says. My face goes bright red and my breath hitches. Fuck. Stupid time travel, screwing things up.

“Y-Yeah, we’ve had fights before, stopped talking for a while. I know this feeling, I hate it. I want her to be in my life and be happy and I don’t know how to do that!”

“Tell her that.”

I face him, blinking in confusion. “What?”

Ty sighs and flicks the butt onto the ground, crushing it beneath the toe of his utterly perfect oxford. “Tell her that. Say you’re scared and clueless but you want to still be friends, so you want to figure out how to do that. Be honest. What else are you going to do?”

My mouth flaps up and down. Fuck. It’s so damn obvious yet it never came to mind. I thought I needed something big and smart so Agatha would understand. But... “All I need to do is be honest with her.”

“Exactly.”

I smile for the first time since I got here. “Wow, can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

“You do seem to be a bit thick.” His slight smirk and teasing lilt save me from getting angry. I scoff and shake my head.

“Yeah, well, you seem like a bit of a prick.” He scoffs too, but he’s still smiling.

We sit there in silence for a little. All I can hear is birds chirping and students in the distance. I feel calm. So calm I don’t want to get up for a while. I just want to catch my breath. Ty slowly tilts his head back over the bench.

“I haven’t sat down in awhile,” he says quietly, almost as if to himself, but too loud for me not to hear. “I’m always at class or studying. I don’t sit down and just...sit.”

“Well you haven’t really been only sitting,” I chuckle. “You’ve been helping me.”

“Would it be sad that this has actually been the most relaxing time I’ve had in months?”

“Uh, yeah, and a bit concerning.”

Ty laughs a little louder this time. His smile seems a bit more genuine, but his pretty eyes are a bit sad. It may just be his face. It looks like it’s designed for pouting. “I’m a political science and English double major getting ready for law school. My whole life is stress.”

I chuckle sadly. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“It is. A nightmare I chose...” He spins the cigarette pack between two fingers. I know he’s just fiddling but it looks so damn cool when he does it.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re happy about that choice.”

His eyes shift over to me without moving his head. “Since when do you know anything about my feelings?”

I shrug, crossing my arms. “I usually know what sadness looks like.”

Ty sighs. He rubs his temple slowly with his elegant ring finger. (What is with my finger fetish today?) “Ever since I was little, it was expected that I follow in the family tradition. Get perfect grades, go to a good university, go to an even better law school, become a lawyer, then finally take over the family practice. It’s what my mother did. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” he scoffs.

I tilt my head towards him, but not too close to scare him away. “Well, if you could do what you want, what would you do?”

“I told you, it doesn’t mat-”

“Then pretend it does matter. What would you do for the rest of your life?”

Ty sinks further into the bench. It makes his stupid tweed jacket bunch up slightly, and he almost looks like a normal young adult. “Honestly, I just want to read books forever.”

I giggle quietly, and Ty glares at me with a now obvious flush in his cheeks. “Fuck off,” he snarls.

“I’m not laughing at you!” He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s just, when I first saw you, I never expected you to be a total bookworm. You seem too posh for that.” Ty snorts, keeping his arms crossed. He won’t meet my eyes. I lean closer, and he doesn’t back away. “Reading books forever sounds hellish to me, but it sounds like heaven for you. It’s a great idea. Why not do it?”

Ty’s glare somehow gets even more intense. His eyes are just slivers of beautiful grey. “Because I’m a responsible person, unlike you.”

The words hit me right in the gut. I scowl deeply at him. “That is beyond not okay. You don’t know me, you don’t know my life. So you don’t get to spew shit like that just because you’re pissed off. Got it?”

Honestly, I’m surprised how clear and articulate I’m being. A year with Dr. Margaret has made it a lot easier for me to stand up for myself in a meaningful way, not just with growls and punching. But still, it’s hard, and I did this so easily. I’ve really made progress.

Ty scowls back, but I don’t back down. I’ve always been good at standing my ground, thankfully. Slowly, Ty’s face falls and gets less angry. In fact, he looks a bit regretful. We slowly move apart again. He takes a few deep breaths before he finally speaks again.

“You’re right,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Good, apology accepted.” I lean my cheek onto my fist. “Seems both of us are having trouble with our futures.”

“Mine is secure.”

“But not happy.”

He rubs his lips together, like he’s chewing his words. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Why not? Why not do what you want instead?”

“Because I’ve already applied to law school!”

“Okay.” I put my back to the bench again, staring up at the sky through the trees. “Well, I’m nearly done with my maths and am about to start my teaching degrees. Then I've got a private school job lined up, but who knows? Maybe I’ll hate the job and quit and work at shitty customer service jobs for years until I decide to get my shit together and find an actually good teaching gig at a school I like.”

Ty’s dark brows furrow together. “That is extremely specific.”

I shrug, hoping my smirk doesn't say too much. “I don’t know, just a possibility.”

“Alright,” he snorts. “My life will be fine, it won’t go off the rails.”

He looks so sure and resolute. I don’t think I’m going to change his mind, and I don’t think it’s my job to. I can’t save everyone, something Dr. Margaret taught me. Plus I just met this guy. No matter how pretty he is, I don’t know him. (Wish I did.) Hopefully he can figure out his own shit.

“Okay. Your life, you can figure it all out.” I put my hands behind my head, leaning back, staring at the sky.

“Your life is going to be fine,” Ty says. “Agatha says that despite what you think, you’re smart. And I’m partial to agree. You have trouble with relationships, but who doesn’t? You’ve still got a good head on your shoulders. You’ll figure everything out too.”

I can feel my face turns bright red, and from the smirk on Ty’s face he can see it. I rub the back of my neck, trying to use my arm to hide my blush. “Y’know, I get why Agatha liked you. You’re weirdly nice and, well, really hot.”

Now it’s Ty’s turn to have his eyes go wide. He looks very cute. “Wow, you’re pretty forward for a straight guy.”

“Whoever said I was straight?” I smirk at him with one eyebrow raised. I hope I look confident and sexy and not just fucking weird.

“Oh.” His voice is almost a squeak. “I’m sorry I assumed.”

“S’alright, common mistake.” I look down at my stupid Nokia. “Wow, you’re beyond late for your class.”

Ty scoffs. “And who’s fault is that?”

“Okay, yeah, guilty as charged. You should probably get to it though. Need good grades for law school and all.”

“Yes, good point.” He stands up, and I follow, hands in my pockets. I both hate and love that Ty is a little taller than me. “But...it was nice to talk to you, Snow.”

“Feeling’s mutual, Ty. So, uh, see you around.”

I grin brightly, then turn around before I say something really stupid. I usually do in front of pretty people. Plus I need to see Agatha. That’s why I’m here, back in 2003. I’m not supposed to be chasing after a pretty guy who went to my uni ages ago. Even if he is like, really pretty.

“Simon.” His voice makes me stop in my tracks and turn back.

“Yeah?”

Ty steps forward and holds out a scrap of lined paper. “Since you’re newly single, and now I know you’re not straight, give me a call sometime? If you’re up to it, that is.”

My brain completely short circuits. Blows a fuse. Maybe every fuse. I just stare at Ty with my mouth hanging open for a bit too long. Ty starts to look genuinely concerned. But thankfully the synapses start firing again and I shake it off.

“Um, y-yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I would like that.” I take the paper. “Uh, thank you.”

“You’re most welcome. I hope to see you around as well.”

I watch as he walks away, and I’m mesmerised by the way his hips swing. Fuck, he is so hot. And he likes me. I honestly have no clue why but I’m not going to question it. I have to make sure to call him before I go back to 2020. But right now I have to find Agatha, so I carefully put the paper in the smallest pocket of my bag, then dash off towards Aggie’s dorm.

———————————————

I knock on the door softly, and there’s no answer at first. “Aggie?” I say. “I came here to say I’m sorry. I won’t yell, I promise.”

Still silence at first. I nearly leave, but then the sound of soft footsteps comes from under the door. The doorknob slowly turns and my pulse increases every second. Agatha is wearing her purple Watford lacrosse sweater, a pair of my trackies that I left behind last week, and blonde hair piled up in a bun. Her eyes are puffy and her cheeks are red. My stomach drops at the sight.

“What are you sorry for?” she asks, voice low and flat. She sounds more tired than angry. For some reason that hurts even more.

I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I treated you, Ags. Our relationship didn’t fall apart for no reason. I didn’t pay attention to what you wanted and took you for granted. I was a terrible boyfriend. And I’m really, really sorry.” I start nervously pulling at my hair. “I-I’m not saying we should get back together. We weren’t happy, and you deserve someone who will put you first. But I still want to be your friend. You’re one of my first and best friends. I’m not sure how to do that, considering I was such an shit boyfriend, but can we figure it out? Together?”

Agatha rubs her lips together, taking slow deep breaths. Her fingers tap against the door one by one. I don’t know if I’m going to throw up or run or both. All are possible. But then Agatha nods slowly.

“Okay,” she sighs.

“Okay?”

“Let’s try to be friends again. I don’t want to lose you either.”

I grin ear to ear. “Okay, awesome, that’s great. I’m so glad you want to as well. I do love you, Ags, and I’m sorry I hurt you so much.”

“Apology accepted, Si, so you don’t need to do it anymore. Let’s just move forward, alright?”

“Alright, yeah, I’d like that.” I rub my neck and nervously gnaw at my lip. “Um, could I hug you? As a friend?”

She smiles softly. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her smile. Not just because I’m from the future, but I can’t remember the last time she smiled back when we were together. I hope I can make her smile more now.

“Yeah,” she says, “that would be nice.”

We both step forward and throw our arms around each other. I haven’t hugged Agatha in a long time either. Sure, we snogged and had sex, (though not very often honestly), but this is so much better. There’s no pressure or nerves. It feels normal. The most normal I’ve ever felt with her.

As we slowly part, we’re still smiling. “You,” Agatha pokes my chest, “need to study for your exam on Monday.”

I chuckle and nod, being silently thankful I’m not doing that exam again. Once was more than enough. “Yeah, I know. This felt more important though. You’re more important.”

She blinks in confusion. I can’t blame her. Past me was always too focused on my work so that I could reach the happy ending I always wanted. Future me is figuring out that there is no happy ending. There’s just life, and I have to make it what I want, not just wait for happiness to fall into my lap. I haven’t got it down pat but I’m getting there. That’s more than good enough.

“Well, I’m definitely glad to hear that,” Agatha says. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll go get brunch, okay?”

I nod enthusiastically. “Sounds great.” The voice in the back of my head reminds me about the small fact of time travel, and that when I go back to 2015, past me is only going to remember bits and pieces of this day. “But, uh, studying may fry my brain. So could you maybe call instead? And I’ll call next time?”

Agatha sighs with exasperation, but she’s still smiling. “Alright, that’s a valid excuse.” She presses a small kiss to my cheek. It’s completely platonic, and it feels great. “See you later, Simon.”

“Yeah, definitely.” I hug her tight one more time before I go. She gives me a kind wave before closing her door. I’m grinning like a mad man as I walk down the hell. I did it, I saved my friendship with Agatha. I’m so damn happy. Plus I met Ty.

Oh right. I reach into my bookbag, feeling around for my notebook. My hand curls over the rings of the spine as I push open the stairwell door. And I instantly fall face first onto the dirty public school floor.

“Mr, Snow!” Ms. Petty, the nicest janitor in the entire school, possibly in the whole world, rushes to me. “Are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” I say. “I’m fine. Just clumsy.”

“Here, let me help.”

I take her hand and she hoists me to my feet. I still feel a bit dizzy, a small side effect of time travel I know all too well now. Ms. Petty keeps a hand on my back until I regain my bearings. “Alright, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll be alright.”

“Okay, dearie.” She pats my shoulder. “Go get some rest, get your mind off work.”

“Right, yeah, work...”

Ebb gives me one last comforting pat and goes back to sweeping the hallway floor. I wave at her as I leave, hoping she doesn’t see the distress in my face.

Fuck.

———————————————

AN: Chapter 2 will be posted within the next week, i.e whenever I'm well enough to edit it lol. See you all next time!

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on fanfiction #being erica au #time travel #time travel therapy #fluff #angst #first meeting #mysnowbazfic

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gwoongi · 6 years ago

Text

𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒 ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ (01)

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: boyfriend au, fluff rating: general words: 2155 warnings: none, book a dentist appointment because this is tooth rottingly sweet ༼∗ღ۝ღ∗༽ a/n: this is a new short small series about jeongguk being a whole boyfriend. see the full series post on my masterlist :)

➸ Jeongguk just really, really, really loves waking up next to you in the morning.

Like all children, Jeongguk hated waking up early when he was growing up.

It was only in the rare case of waking up an hour before his school alarm to find that he had time to continue sleeping that Jeongguk found joy in the early hours of the day; morning people were the same kind of people who woke up on Monday’s feeling refreshed and ready for work, the same kind of people who liked doing homework and catching the bus to school.

Now that he’s an adult, the ripe age of twenty two and living in his own house with his own rules and own morning schedules (to some extent), Jeongguk finds that he quite enjoys mornings. Not for the simple fact of waking up to birds or the sunrise, or the way that mornings, when early enough, feel like out-of-body experiences; Jeongguk savours those moments being awake in the morning because it means extra moments stolen in your arms, or you in his; extra moments spent looking at you, peaceful and beautiful until the annoying sound of your alarm clock set off the day to a grumpy start.

Today, it’s six fourteen, on a Wednesday. Mid-week, otherwise known as the day Jeongguk actually doesn’t have control over his morning schedule due to working from nine to three at the local leisure centre, where he, only on Wednesdays, supervises the Over Fifties swim and sits on the Holy Seat of baby-pool-lifeguard-duty. Regardless of that fact, Jeongguk stares up at the white ceiling for a moment and glares at the pathetic excuse of curtains in your shared home. They were advertised in IKEA as blackout curtains, but Jeongguk begs to differ, considering how the bedroom floods with a muted natural glow, the selfish peek of sun through the parting of the two drapes.

Next to him, you shift slightly, your cold feet brushing against his calf and he doesn’t even flinch; he’s so immune to things that might have once annoyed him, having gotten used to your habits and quirks over the past nine years of dating you.

Jeongguk rolls to his side, blinking down at you as you subconsciously shuffle towards the heat of his body, your left cheek squishing up against the bare skin of his bicep. Half of him wants to bring you closer, kiss your lips awake; instead Jeongguk smiles, widely, and gently brushes away the hair that’s fallen over your face as you moved. He tucks it behind your ear, smoothing his hand across your face because, remarkably, you never wake up from it. In actual fact, you snuggle into it, like a kitten to the warmth of a blanket, and Jeongguk inwardly coos.

He gathers in his sighs of content, wrapping his arms around you with a quiet groan that blows your hair softly, the breath catching the tip of your ear and in your sleep, you shudder and curl closer into Jeongguk. He accepts it happily, resting his chin upon your head and closing his eyes with a smile. Moments like these are moments Jeongguk has learned to love; little moments of domesticity, affectionate things that couples do all the time but are things that Jeongguk and yourself don’t do normally. In the nine years of dating, the honeymoon stage of being a grossly touchy and lovey-dovey couple had ended around the three year mark.

Don’t get him wrong- Jeongguk loves you the same way he did nine years ago. Each day, you give him something new to love, something new to never grow tired of. You get on his nerves, irritate him to no end when you want to, but, God, he loves you. Every single inch of you, even the bits you don’t like so much. Jeongguk knows you feel the same- he knows you enough to recognise your particular habits, like the way you stroke his hand with your thumb when you’re holding it, or the way you absolutely have to sit opposite him when you’re going out to eat, or when you refuse to sit by anybody else on the couch when you’re all watching movies. Actions spoke louder than words, glances screaming and smiles listening.

To Jeongguk, it’s been five seconds since he closed his eyes, five seconds of inhaling the strawberry smell of your hair when the shrill sound of your phone alarm disrupts the silence, screaming out and waking both him and yourself in surprise. It’s seven already. Jeongguk jerks away and in his arms you groan in annoyance, your eyes still clenched closed and your face disappearing into his chest. A low hum leaves his mouth as Jeongguk wraps his arm back over you, ghosting his fingers down your spine and then back up to the back of your head, where entangles his fingers bravely in the mess of hair created by sleep.

“Guk, turn your fucking alarm off.”

He lives for adorable, first-morning words that make his heart flutter.

“It’s not mine,” he replies, his voice groggy and hoarse, like it always was when he woke up. Twisting by his chest, you make a noise of acknowledgement and for a second, look over your shoulder to where your phone still vibrates on one of the bedside tables. You groan, pushing yourself back into Jeongguk.

“Oh. Lean over me and turn it off,” you tell him.

“But it’s so far away.”

“I’m too lazy.”

Jeongguk sighs in defeat, nonetheless smiling and rolling over with you still in his arms as he reaches to grab your phone, clicking the snooze. Beneath him, you let out a low growl, his weight of pure muscle and last night’s eleven pm takeout on top of you.

“Get off me,” you mutter, half-heartedly because secretly, you don’t mind it. He’s warm, he’s always warm, and when he’s done silencing the alarm, Jeongguk drops down, his face in your neck and his arms caged on either side of your body. Jeongguk’s not heavy enough to crush you, leaving you room to encircle your arms around him and wrap your legs around his own. He lets out another hum, this time in satisfaction, and presses a kiss to your underjaw.

“I love when you’re bossy in the morning.”

“I love when you try and kill me by lying on top of me,” you deadpan.

“Oh, come on. I could have done worse.”

He could have done, and you’re suddenly reminded of that one time where Jeongguk felt particularly loving and had ripped one under the covers, and found it hilarious to wrap the duvet around your head. Of course, he was temporarily kicked by the groin off the bed and onto the floor, and after laughing for about five continuous minutes afterwards, learnt his lesson.

With a huff, you finally open your eyes, seeing the curve of Jeongguk’s neck and shoulders in front of your gaze. Angling your head to the left, you peer down at Jeongguk as he breathes into the skin of your neck, occasionally leaning to press little kisses to the skin in front of his lips. Eventually he looks up and catches your gaze; after nine years, the sight of his boyish smile in the morning still gives you butterflies. The moment, however, is ruined when Jeongguk drops his head back down with a gleeful sigh, and his right hand shoves itself up the front of your shirt to hold your boob. The affectionate smile on your face drops.

“Really?” you deadpan. When he chuckles through his nose in your neck you scoff, never pushing his hand away. “All men are the same.”

“Sorry. Love your boobs.”

“Do you have to love them so early in the morning?”

“Yeah. I can’t love them again until after three,” Jeongguk explains, his voice muffled and pouted slightly. “I have work today.”

“I imagine you’ll see a lot of boobs today, then.”

Jeongguk restrains the urge to gag at the idea of Over Fifties ladies in swimsuits at nine in the morning, and settles on a shudder that says it all. You laugh at that, sweetly and Jeongguk then picks himself up onto his elbows. His hair is wild and sticking in various curly directions, his face still swollen with sleep and his lips wet, leaving a sticky kiss on your lips followed by a smile that you can’t argue with.

“Wish I had granny boobs,” you say with a pout, looking down at your chest to where you see the outline of Jeongguk’s knuckles. He has the nerve to look amused by the statement. “These are too small.”

“Well, give it a few years,” he quips and you glare at him.

“Are you saying I’m a few years off being a granny?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “I like your tits. Small and pretty and soft, and they fit in my hand!” He squeezes with a smirk, “my mouth too.”

Shaking your head, you smile with an exhale of breath and Jeongguk smiles brightly, chuckling and snaking his hand around to your back. He lifts himself up with the back of his hand and he wriggles over to you, humming as he draws closer and presses a morning kiss to your mouth. This time, he pulls away first, gauging your reaction of fluttered lids and lips that are still pouted expectantly, and how can he refuse? So he kisses again, and again, and again until each kiss is fleeting and tickly, making you squirm with a giggle that has you folding like origami under his touch.

“Mmm, don’t wanna go to work,” Jeongguk decides when he’s finished being annoying.

“But then you’ll be poor.”

“Then we’ll be poor,” he corrects playfully.

“I do have a job too, you know.”

“Yeah, but you have more fun than me,” he grumbles. “I wanna play with puppies all day too. Instead I get babies in pools and granny tits and floating bandaids.”

You grimace. “That’s gross.”

“I know. Babies are the worst.”

“I meant the bandaids, Guk.”

“Those too.”

For a moment, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. It is just the sound of the traffic outside and that one annoying bird who has decided to make a nest in the drainpipe on the roof, as well as the tiny breaths in your ear as Jeongguk breathes, his fingers brushing your ribcage, circling up and down and occasionally trailing higher up, to the curve of your breasts. Jeongguk wants to go back to sleep so badly; he wants to pull the covers to his chin and wrap the both of you up in a duvet burrito, for another three hours minimum.

He always wants that when he wakes up.

Before he can act on that impulse, your alarm screeches for the second time. This time, a louder groan of irritation leaves your lips and you push yourself up and out of Jeongguk’s arms to snatch your phone and unlock it, promptly stopping the alarm all together before it literally drove you insane.

“I thought you turned it off,” you complain.

“I pressed snooze.”

“That doesn’t do shit.”

“It got it to shut up for a little bit.”

True. “Ugh, I’m so tired. Wanna eat birthday cake for breakfast? I think Namjoon left us some when he came round the other day.”

Jeongguk hums, thinking about it. “Yeah. Yeah, I do want birthday cake for breakfast. That sounds amazing.”

“Cool. Well-” your voice rises as you begin to shuffle off the bed, and Jeongguk forces his voice of protest back down his throat where it belongs. Noticing that he hasn’t moved off the bed yet, you move back to straddle over his body, moving your head to the right to find his face smushed against the white duvet, and when he opens his eyes sleepily, you smile and kiss his forehead. “Let’s go, baby. If you’re up in less than ten minutes, we can eat and I’ll let you shower with me before you leave for work.”

“Mmm. I’m up,” he yawns. “M’up.”

“Come on, big guy.”

As you pick yourself up off the bed and step down onto the cool wooden floors, Jeongguk lifts himself to watch you leave, his eyes gazing over your hair in tangles and probably knots too, and the way his shirt lifts just a little bit above the curve of your ass, which, yes, he does watch move until you’re out of the door and heading towards the kitchen.

For a few seconds, he enjoys the abandoned warmth of the bed before getting himself up and out, reaching up to the ceiling with ball fists to iron out the creases in his joints. Faintly, he hears you singing to yourself and he smiles, wanting to laugh and yell and dance and it’s probably the fastest he’s got out of bed since you seduced him out on Valentine’s Day.

Jeongguk just really, really, really loves waking up next to you in the morning.

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baby-army-ff · 4 years ago

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feelings -- J-Hope x Emma

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

Emma trailed behind Monte as the proud girl flung the doors open to Big Hit Studios. The foyer was bright and the epitome of professionalism—tile floors that looked polished and shined that morning, not a dust bunny in any corner, and a large desk that looked fresh from IKEA decorated the entire entryway. Behind it sat an unsuspecting, tiny Asian girl dressed in a pencil skirt and loose blouse.

“Good afternoon, Yuri!” Monte shouted, echoing off every wall in the foyer. The girl shook and dropped the pen that she had been writing with. Even Emma jumped at the reverb. Monte continued her stroll, seemingly unphased.

“How are you today? I’m stupendous.” Monte rolled without missing a beat. And without letting Yuri get a word in. “Emma and myself were just stopping by to drop off sandwiches to the boys. I mean, no offense to Big Hit, but they are always waayy too excited for food. So, we thought, we might as well give them the full American experience with none other than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

Did Yuri understand a word Monte was saying, Emma wasn’t sure.

“I’m not sure they’ve ever had this exact entrée before. At least, not by two of the best PB&J artists in the United States. I think it’ll blow them away. What do you think, Emma?”

Monte hadn’t given her a script for this scene.

“Yes?” She responded more as a question.

“Perfect! Thanks for your understanding, Yuri. We’ll be out in no time! And also, if you could not tell Bang PD or Sejin about this, that’d be awesome. Thanks!” Monte pulled Emma past the security guards before she finished the last sentence.

When they made into the other room, Monte plopped the cardboard box filled with paper bags down on the couch in the waiting room.

“The security guards let us right past them.” It seemed to easy to Emma.

“Oh,” Monte snickered. “We are well acquainted, trust me. I think Yoongi would kill them if they laid a finger on me again. Anyways, we have a lot of ground to cover. Yoongi, of course, will be in his studio, so I’ll take that one.”

“I can take J-Hope’s. I’m pretty sure I know where the dance studio is.”

“Perfect! I don’t want you to get lost, so let’s just meet back here after that and we’ll figure out where to go from there.”

Emma nodded, grabbing a bag from the box and heading out into the hallway. The first time she had been here, the large building seemed like a maze. Given, she had only visited two other times since, but somehow the directions to the studio were committed to memory. Maybe because Monte and J-Hope had made it into an annoying song when they were trying to teach Emma the layout.

God, J-Hope and Monte were absolutely insane together. How did Yoongi deal with them alone before Emma came on as their fourth wheel? Emma refused to call it double dating, especially now that she had been on a few dates with Jimin. The only reason J-Hope and Emma were as close as they were was because they were always helping Monte and Yoongi sort through their issues. It came with being their best friends.

Emma slid through the dance studio door as she pushed it open. J-Hope sat on the wood floor, legs sprawled out in front of him as he leaned against the mirror-filled wall.

“Hey, good time. I finished practice.” He spoke clearly. He obviously had been practicing his English since she first met him months ago.

“Monte and I made sandwiches for everyone, so I thought I’d bring you yours.” She held the bag out to him as he pulled himself up and came over to her.

“That’s sweet. Thank you.” He tossed the bag onto the ground where he was previously sitting.

The boys did usually eat like they were starving, but J-Hope’s body alone was built and toned, muscles twitched down his arms with every move. It wasn’t a surprise—he danced several hours throughout the day, Emma knew that. The sweat that coated his forehead was proof enough of his work ethic.

Emma turned towards the door, her mission complete.

“You’re leaving?” The pout on his face made him look like a hurt puppy.

“I have other sandwiches to deliver, you know.” She chuckled.

“Dance one song with me.” He walked over to where his phone was plugged into the speaker.

“J-Hope, I don’t dance. I’d look stupid next to you.” There was no way. Nope. This is where she put her foot down. No matter how comfortable she got with J-Hope, there was no way she was dancing next to a professional, even if he was one of her best friends.

“Take off your shoes.” He hit play, quieting her protests.

“Why?” She shook her head laughing, kicking her tennis shoes off.

He copied her, kicking off his shoes near hers. “You need to..” He flung his arms in the air, modeling what she needed to do.

She laughed. “Let loose?”

“Let loose!” He mimicked her English words, tugging her hands towards him and swinging them to loosen up her arms.

“You’re crazy.” She followed nonetheless, letting him pull her towards the middle of the room.

Dropping her hands, he spun in circles around her, socks allowing him to glide across the floor. “You don’t have to dance.” He ran halfway across the room, jumping to slide the rest of the way to the wall.

Emma laughed as he nearly rammed into the wall. “You want to slide across the floor?”

“Slide! Yeah!” His eyes lit up at the new word.

He was too excited for her to say no and crush his dreams, so she ran to join him against the wall. They got in position to sprint and slide across the room as the beat dropped.

Right on the beat, J-Hope dashed to the center of the room, hopping onto both feet to glide the rest of the way.

In between laughs, Emma followed him, trying to gain speed before she skidded across the dance floor. The two bust out in more laughter as she collided against him.

He led the way for most of the song. Every once in awhile, she’d dash off in front of him, getting a head start. They even got fancy and began to slide in circles around each other.

Emma couldn’t remember the last time she laughed until she couldn’t breath. Could too much laughing give one abs? If so, she would definitely have some by the time she was done hanging out with J-Hope. He had to have a full six-pack already by how much he laughed, and danced. Probably both.

J-Hope grabbed one of her hands, pulling her along to catch her up to his speed as the song was coming to an end. As they hopped into their last coasting across the dance floor, J-Hope slipped on his own feet and fell with a thud, their hands broke apart.

Emma held in the laughter until she noticed he was laughing at his own mistake. Shaking her head, she held her hand out to help him up. “I thought you were the professional dancer! How did you fall before me?”

“I’m not perfect!” He smiled up at her before taking her hand.

When he stood up, she didn’t realize how close they’d be. How she could see every detail of his eyes. His bright smile. The sharpness of his nose and jawline. It wasn’t a question, he was perfect.

He squeezed her hand as they stood facing each other, smiles turning into gazes. Her heart beat out of her chest, and she worried the moment would be gone with her next breath. So she held it in.

How could anyone ever say that he was ugly? Yeah, she’d read those comments on their social media posts. They were blind, or had an awful taste in men. His duality was the most astonishing. A second ago, they were like children sliding across the dance floor. Now, her stomach was flipping under his stare, and there was a warmth growing in her body that she had never felt before.

Should she be feeling this way on her dates with Jimin?

He pulled his bottom lip in, chewing on it.

Emma entertained the thoughts of what if. What if she leaned in, went for it? Whatever it was. Would they kiss? Would he pull her in, bringing her body flush up against his? Could she push the sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes and run her fingers down his jaw bone, down his chest, down—

“Hey!”

She sprung away from J-Hope like he was on fire and she was the gasoline.

“Hey, Jimin.” J-Hope nodded towards the boy sauntering through the studio door.

She smiled the best she could, greeting Jimin.

“What are you doing here, Emma?” Jimin asked, throwing an arm around her to give her a side hug.

“She was just dropping off a sandwich for you.” J-Hope gestured towards the paper bag.

“Awwww, thank you so much!” A smile spread across his face as he squeezed his arm around her tighter.

Jimin and her were nothing serious, but the few dates they had gone on were enjoyable. He seemed to really like her, constantly feeding her compliments and asking her what she thought of different things. Compared to him, she had been majorly slacking in that department. He hadn’t even crossed her mind when she thought of whose sandwich to deliver.

With Jimin’s back turned to grab the sandwich, Emma’s eyes met J-Hope’s one last time. For the first time since they met, he looked sad, his mouth turned down in a frown.

“I should probably go grab another sandwich for you.” She headed over to the mirror to grab her shoes. It broke her heart to see J-Hope with that look.

“Yeah.. whenever.”

One of them said, but she barely caught it as she rushed out the door. Leaning against the wall outside the studio, she tucked her shoes back on. Monte’s words from a few nights ago rang in her head. How so many girls would die to be in my position, going on casual dates with Park Jimin. It was their dream.

She didn’t deserve him. He deserved one of those girls. One of the ones who dreamed about him. Not the one who ogled over his roommate. God, she really was becoming an awful person.

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