#it's NOT fine to hang onto that relationship anyway because at least feeling a gnawing lack of affection is feeling *something*

[snowshinobi]

i have a list of Songs Who Should Get Coffee (SWSGC) which is split into songs who would bond over their thematic similarities and songs who would tear each other into microscopic pieces in a Denny's parking lot due to their thematic similarities and when i tell you "Tiny Vessels" by death cab for cutie is getting beaten to a pulp by 3 sobbing emoboy tracks as we speak i am not kidding

[myriadimagines]

Chips and Orange Soda (part ii)

Brooklyn Nine-Nine One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Jake Peralta

Other Characters: Amy Santiago

Warnings: theft, threats of violence

Summary: When a series of bodegas are robbed, Holt assigns Jake and Rosa on the case. You, a cashier, become a suspect, but Jake has a gut feeling that you’re not a suspect at all. In fact, he thinks you’re the key to solving the case.

Part One: Chips and Orange Soda

Word Count: 2,319

A/N: the second part to my submission for @locke-writes​​‘ writing challenge!! admittedly it gets kind of into an ethical dilemma that i didnt mean to go into and that’s unnecessarily deep but you’ll see what i mean ajskdhas but anyway disclaimer again!! not in law enforcement!!! this is not accurate when it comes to crimes!!! i really hope the reveal/ending isn’t too disappointing and that u guys still enjoyed the story!!! it does get a little more serious in this part but i still hope it’s in character/tone with the show!!

reblog/feedback/comments are very much appreciated!!!

Jake is careful to open up the door of the bodega, which is all bordered up with tape as the shattered glass has yet to be replaced. The inside looks better at least, no longer sectioned off with police tape, and business seems to be going on as usual, with customers in between the aisles and some at the counter. Jake resists the urge to grab a snack for himself, and he glances around the room, frowning as he realises there’s no sight of you.

Jake finally approaches a young man manning the cash register. “Hey man, is y/n in?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry dude, they don’t work Tuesdays.”

Jake smacks the side of his head, remembering how you mentioned it to him. He moves to exit the store when he notices the live security footage playing on the screen behind the counter. Pointing it out, Jake says, “Hey, looks like you got your cameras working again.” 

The man looks over his shoulder, before turning back to Jake with furrowed eyebrows. “What?”

Jake frowns slightly, his hand falling to his side. “y/n told me that your cameras were down last week.” 

The man remains confused, staring at Jake as if he’s speaking another language. Slowly, he finally responds, “Nah, they’ve been working fine. I don’t know what y/n’s talking about.” 

Something inside of Jake’s stomach twists, and he frowns. Despite how hard he’s been trying to defend you, he can’t help but admit to himself that you’re not making it easy. He digs through his pockets, pulling out an old receipt, and he grins to himself as he flips it over and finds your number on the other side. Pulling out his phone, he cringes slightly at his 6% battery level, and he hopes he has enough to make a call.

Dialling in your number, he raises the phone to his ear. It rings a few times before someone finally picks up the phone. Taking in a deep breath, Jake says, “y/n? It’s Jake, the detective from last week. We… we need to talk.” 

—

Jake paces around the briefing room, shaking his head as he tries to piece everything together. After coming back to the precinct following his failed attempt to find you at the bodega, Jake had filled up a corkboard with pictures and other small pieces of evidence he and Rosa were able to gather, although it was looking rather sparse. Your lie about the security cameras definitely presents as an obstacle, but he tries not to think the worst of it. He hasn’t told Rosa yet, who had gone out to meet with the forensics team again, fearing what her reaction would be towards you. Maybe you were mistaken, maybe the robbers managed to figure out a way to wipe the footage. But something about the situation doesn’t sit right with Jake, and he lets out a defeated sigh. 

“Hey, Jake,” Amy peeks her head inside, knocking at the door, and Jake looks up. She gestures back to the bullpen as she continues, “You’ve got someone here to see you. Sounds like they’ve got some information on the bodega robberies.” 

Jake perks up, rushing past Amy out of the room. His eyes widen as he sees you linger by his desk, nervously glancing around the room. He nods as a thank you to Amy before making his way over to you, and he greets, “Hey, y/n, thanks for coming in. How have you been doing?”

You meet Jake’s gaze, and you can’t help but soften at his tone. He seems to genuinely care, and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. Nodding, you reassure him, “I’m okay. I’m… I’m glad you reached out, actually. There are some things that I need to tell you about. Can we go for a walk?” 

Jake hesitates. He knows that he should probably bring you to the interrogation room instead, but he finds himself nodding. He grabs his leather jacket hanging on the back of his chair, and he nods towards the elevator as he remarks, “Sure. Let’s go.”

—

You and Jake make your way through the streets of Brooklyn, finding yourself at a nearby local park. You can’t help but smile at the sight of children running around, squealing at one another as they chase each other in some sort of game, but you can’t ignore the pit in your stomach, the gnawing guilt that has plagued you ever since your first interaction with Jake.

You finally happen upon an empty bench in a quiet corner of the park and you silently take a seat. Jake sits beside you, and your breath begins to tremble. Jake patiently waits for you, eyes wide with concern as he finds himself shifting closer to you, subconsciously wanting to comfort you despite not knowing what’s to come. 

“I… I haven’t told you everything that I know about the bodega.” you finally confess, and Jake takes in a deep breath. He nods slowly, silently urging you to continue, and you look up to meet his gaze as you continue, “I know who did it. And the other robberies, too.”

Jake stares at you, and you can tell it’s clearly a lot of information to take in. He presses his lips together, trying to process all this, before he quietly asks, “You’re trying to protect someone, aren’t you?” 

Your expression crumples, and your shoulders slump as you bury your face in your hands. You swore to yourself you wouldn’t cry, but as the overwhelming reality of the situation begins to sink in, you’re suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Jake’s expression falls, and despite knowing that the two of you are practically strangers, he wraps an arm around you, gently rubbing his hand up and down your arm as he tries to soothe you. 

“It feels like I’ve been trying to protect him all my life, but I- I feel like I can’t, anymore.” you manage to say through sobs, and Jake frowns, eyebrows furrowing in concern. Gulping, you finally reveal, “My brother.”

Jake sucks in a sharp breath. He’s all too familiar himself with broken homes, with strained familial relationships. You’re almost afraid to look at him, but Jake’s expression is one of understanding, of sympathy. He gently reassures you, “Take all the time you need, alright?” 

You nod, trying to compose yourself the best you can. You fold your hands into your lap, perhaps a poor attempt at stopping them from shaking, and you manage to hold your tears back long enough for you to begin explaining, “It was always just me and my brother, you know? My single mom had to raise us, but we barely saw her because she was always working. But my brother and I always had each other’s backs, and I thought it would be that way forever.”

You’re distracted as a pair of kids dart past you, and Jake notices the bittersweet smile that appears on your face as you watch them. Quietly, he prompts, “When did you feel like things started to go wrong?” 

“I mean, my brother was always a rowdy kid, always getting into trouble, but it just kept getting worse and worse. I’d try to bail him out, but there was only so much I could do.” you continue. “As we got older, I started seeing him less and less. He’d show up whenever he needed help, but that was it. Until he showed up the night before the bodega robbery.”

“He came to see you?” Jake’s eyes widen in alarm, and you nod. You can feel a pit forming in the bottom of your stomach as you think back to that night, and you uneasily run your hands through your hair. 

“I didn’t know he had robbed those other bodegas. But he came around asking for me to let him and his friend in, basically. Asked me for the key. I told him no, that I could just lend him money, and he… he got angry.” your voice shakes slightly as you stare off at some point in the distance. “We’ve had our fights, obviously, but this was different. I was almost scared of him.”

You screw your eyes shut as you remember seeing the smashed in front door, the fear swallowing you whole as you worried what might happen next. Jake doesn’t try to prompt you further, knowing how difficult this must be for you, and he lets out a soft sigh as he wishes that you didn’t have to go through such a thing.

“I don’t want him to go to jail. I just want him to be okay.” you can feel your words getting caught in your throat as you struggle to continue speaking. “But he doesn’t even feel like my brother anymore. That night was just… I- I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“What about the cameras?” Jake quietly asks.

“That was me.” you sigh, nervously wringing your hands together. “I couldn’t sleep that night, so eventually, I… I just got up and went to see if he had really done it. Part of me still had hope that maybe he didn’t. When I saw the door broken in it just… crushed me. I almost feel like he did it on purpose, to scare me. But I still wanted to protect him, so I… I went in to delete the security footage, and rushed out before anyone could see me.”

Jake leans back onto the bench. This is it, he realises. With your revelations, it seems as though the case is solved. But seeing the heartbreak on your face doesn’t make the solved case as satisfying as it usually is.

“I just feel like I’ve failed him.” your shoulders slump, your voice barely audible. “He’s my family I have, and I just… I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.” 

“Hey, you didn’t fail him, y/n,” Jake gently insists, and to your surprise, he reaches out to take your hand, giving it a squeeze. “You’ve been an awesome sibling, better than he deserves, really. But he chose to do this, and that’s not on you.” 

You nod, trying your best to believe him, and from the earnest expression on Jake’s face, you feel like you could. You manage to muster up a smile, and Jake smiles back at you. Nodding back in the direction of the precinct, Jake tells you, “I do need you to need you to come back to the precinct to make a statement. But you’ve really helped us, y/n, and you did the right thing.” 

A part of you has doubts, but you try your best to take comfort in Jake’s words. Jake gets to his feet, and you stand up with him, and Jake offers you a small smile that reassures you that everything will be okay. 

—

You bump the cash machine closed with your elbow as you count out some change. Sliding it over to the customer alongside their bag of snacks, you politely smile at them before they step aside to leave. You wave the next customer in line forward, only to realise it’s Jake standing before you, and your eyes widen as he offers you a sheepish grin. He steps up to the counter, placing down a bag of chips and a bottle of orange soda, and you exchange a knowing smile as you lean forward, “Hey, Jake. Did… did everything go alright?”

“We got him and his buddy.” Jake confirms, and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “They tried to give us the slip, but I chased after them.”

You narrow your eyes slightly, and Jake quickly corrects himself, “Okay, Rosa chased after them, but that doesn’t matter.”  

You laugh, and Jake snorts with you before continuing, “There’ll be a trial, obviously. I’ll give you more updates when I hear them.”

You nod, before sliding Jake’s stuff back to him. You don’t even bother ringing his purchase up as you tell him, “It’s on the house.” 

“What? No.” Jake hurriedly searches through his pockets for some change. “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s the least I can do.” you insist. Jake offers you some cash, but you shake your head. “Seriously, Jake, thank you, for everything.” 

You reach out, closing Jake’s hand, and your gaze lingers on one another as your hand remains on his. He smiles, and Jake feels like his heart might beat out of his chest as you smile back at him. Before he can stop himself, he blurts, “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime?”

You blink at him in surprise, and Jake winces as he worries he might’ve blown it. Stammering, he continues, “It’s, uh, my way of saying thank you. For helping us solve the case. And for the snacks.” 

Jake watches as a smile spreads across your face, and you chew on your lip as if trying to contain your happiness. “Is this a date?”

Jake grins at you. “It can be.” 

“Just tell me when and where.” you nod excitedly, and Jake beams at you. “I’d love to go out with you, Jake.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jake claps his hands together. He scoops up his snacks, backing away as he continues, “Hey, I’ve got to run back to the precinct, but I’ll text you, okay?”

“Got it.” you nod, grinning from ear to ear. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch Jake clumsily try to open the door, but he stops himself. 

“Oh! By the way,” Jake spins around on his heel. “Do you guys sell batteries?” 

“Um,” you glance over your shoulder at the inventory behind you. “We’ve got some. What kind do you need?”

“It’s for a clock.” Jake sighs, and you raise an eyebrow at his reaction. “It’s… a long story.”

tag list: @myfriendmagislit / @thedamagedcne / @real-fbi / @writinqss / @thisismysecrethappyplace / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @dontjudgemepeepswrites / @hauntedpocdreamer / @locke-writes / @lgbtonystarks / @fangirlsarah16 / @kittensanddarkclouds / @randomfandomimagine / @ofthedewthesunlight / @bravelittlesunflower / @gothicwidowsworld​ / @halfofwhatisayismeaningless / @amirahiddleston / @interwebseriesfan24​

[hartigays]

rafe taking barry to a fancy kook party👀

“but you’re still coming, right?”

rafe is pacing back and forth in his room, gnawing on his lip with his phone pressed to his ear.

“sho’ thang, country club,” barry says from the other end, and rafe can immediately tell that he’s fucking blasted already.

it’s four in the afternoon.

but that’s fine, great even. the less barry tries, the better. that’s the whole point, after all. to make everyone but himself as uncomfortable as humanly possible at tonight’s fundraiser or gala or whatever shit his family is hosting.

rafe can never be bothered to remember.

barry maybe possibly perhaps could be a minor casualty in this little endeavor, when it comes to ward at least. it’s not enough to deter rafe - he’ll just. make it up to barry later, or whatever, if it’s a problem. that’s what normal people do, right? just do whatever the fuck you want then ask for forgiveness later. or something like that.

rafe can’t be bothered to remember timeless sayings or what the fuck ever, either.

“wear something- ” rafe pauses, effectively cutting himself off. he was about to tell barry to wear something nice out of habit (the words were even thought in ward’s voice. rafe can feel a vein start to pulse in his forehead). “wear whatever you want. and be late. bring the bike.”

barry is quiet for a moment, and rafe doesn’t know why, but he feels like barry is doing that small half-smile dimple thing that makes rafe feel all wobbly inside.

probably because, as rafe remembers with sudden clarity, barry lives for drama just as much as rafe. it’s kind of why they’re fooling around behind everyone’s backs in the first place.

sure, barry is nice to look at and decent in bed and blah blah blah, but the best part about their relationship is the knowledge of how much it’d cripple people if they knew about it. people like ward cameron, for example.

rafe thinks barry is just as interested as him in seeing ward’s head burst like a grape after seeing them together for the first time. although rafe is pretty sure that’s more because barry just wants their relationship to be public, and he doesn’t really give a shit one way or another how it happens.

ward’s head turning purple from stress is just, like, the cherry on top of the whole shit cake.

“heard,” is all barry says in response to rafe’s requests (or demands, depending on how you look at it) before hanging up.

rafe exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. he turns towards his mirror, smoothing a hand over the shirt that he’d stolen from barry’s closet earlier this morning.

he’d wanted to stay at barry’s all day and convince him that they should go to the fundraiser together instead of just meeting each other there, but rafe never even got a chance to suggest it, only getting so far as asking barry if he could go at all. because barry had to work, the busy fuck.

when he’s not working, he’s dealing nonstop. when he’s not dealing, he’s busy making rafe’s life miserable by filling him with all sorts of stupid mushy feelings that have him missing barry when he’s gone. it’s disgusting, and he despises the fact that he loves it so much.

but he’ll make an exception, because it’s barry. always because it’s barry.

that doesn’t mean that rafe has to fill barry in on all of his plans, necessarily. he can just invite him places and vaguely allude to the real reason for the invite without actually saying it and barry can either go along with it or not.

at least in this situation, barry is seemingly okay with being conned into going to a cameron family event for more reasons than just being rafe’s - well, they hadn’t exactly settled on barry being his date.

rafe had simply asked barry to go and barry had simply said yes.

after barry left for work, rafe had raided his wardrobe, and he’s been wearing the ratty t-shirt ever since. it smells like barry, and rafe wants to smother himself in it.

he also wants to show up tonight in it, just to make things that much worse for ward.

so, rafe does.

sarah’s eyes bug out of her head when she sees him. she opens her mouth when he breezes past her, but he doesn’t stop to listen to whatever she has to say.

rafe can deal with whatever sarah throws at him later. right now, he’s setting a plan in motion and can’t afford to be distracted.

by the time the party is in full swing, rafe has yet to make it into ward’s line of sight, and barry is late. which was the plan, but barry’s almost too late.

the speeches have long since passed, and everyone is either dancing or mingling at this point. his chance to crash the party on-stage, an idea he’d been toying with, comes and goes as the hours pass.

rafe had kind of been hoping he could make a scene.

in the end, he sort of gets his wish.

barry comes strolling in when the party is starting to wind down. he reeks like he smoked a blunt on the way over - rafe can smell it wafting off of him as he storms over.

“are you fucking kidding me?” rafe snaps, ignoring the way barry is eyeing his shirt.

“that mine?” he asks, one brow arched.

rafe looks down at his shirt, then back up at barry, glaring. “yes? whatever. shut up. i had a plan. would it have literally fucking killed you to show up on time?”

“shit, baby boy. you said be late,” barry snorts, rolling his eyes. “ain’t i late?”

“you missed- ” rafe snaps again, an octave higher, before cutting his response short and pinching the bridge of his nose. “i didn’t say this late.”

“pretty sure i don’t remember hearin’ you specify, country club.”

which is fair, rafe was vague for a reason, and perhaps it backfired on him a little. but whatever, he’s mad at barry anyway and there’s not much he can do about that, except, well. be mad.

“i had a whole goddamn thing i was going to do,” rafe bitches. “and you missed it.”

barry glances around, eyeing the rather quiet crowd starting to notice their little display. for a moment, it looks like he wants to pull rafe outside for some privacy. but he must see something on rafe’s face, because his expression shifts, and then he’s grinning like a shark.

“ain’t i tell you to quit takin’ my shit?” barry asks, suddenly taking the argument in a new direction. “the fuck i give a shit about being late for when you taking all my damn clothes?”

rafe glances around at the crowd, noting sarah eyeing him from the corner of the room. and next to her, ward.

staring right at rafe, looking murderous. it’s entirely too good, and rafe could kiss barry.

but there’ll be time for that in - well. in like, the next minute, but rafe is determined to draw this out at least a little bit.

“maybe don’t ruin my clothes in the first place and i won’t have to steal yours,” rafe tosses back.

he’s pleased to see barry’s cheeks turn pink - just a little bit.

and then, “you want me to ruin some more? keep stealin’ my shit, that’s what’s gonna happen, princess.”

barry dangles the bait in front of rafe so nicely, he really can’t help but take it.

“i do, actually,” rafe says, then adds, thoughtfully, “wanna take this argument somewhere else?”

“shit, country club. i didn’t know you was such a romantic.”

rafe will certainly show him romantic, if that’s what he wants. only because rafe gets a whole hell of a lot more out of it, too.

he kisses barry right there in front of the whole crowd, with purpose. like it’s the last thing he’ll be able to do.

based on the color of ward’s face, it just might be.

barry grabs the front of rafe’s shirt - or, well, barry’s shirt, technically - and hauls him in closer, kissing him deeper. barry always kisses him like it’s the first time - like he’s constantly discovering something he never knew existed, and now he can’t get enough of it.

rafe is utterly consumed by it. he feels like he’s burning from the inside out, like he’s being stripped bare in front of the universe itself, and he wants to drown himself in it.

“get me out of here and i’ll show you just how romantic i can be,” rafe breathes against barry’s lips, his fingers still knotted in his hair.

barry bumps their foreheads together before extracting himself from rafe’s embrace, barely sparing his surroundings a glance before dragging rafe right back through the front doors. rafe hears the heavy wood shut behind them.

he feels like he’s snorted the fattest line in history when he climbs onto the back of barry’s bike, hearing it roar to life. rafe pulls his helmet on and wraps his arms around barry’s middle, slipping his fingers under the hem of barry’s shirt.

just a touch to tide him over. just until they can get back to barry’s trailer.

it isn’t until they’re speeding out of the parking lot that ward storms outside, shouting something at them from the front steps. it’s completely inaudible, but rafe looks back in time to see the look on ward’s face. his expression alone speaks volumes.

rafe surprisingly finds that, in the grand scheme of things, he doesn’t really give a fuck either way.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (A/n-What happens when you click on instinct without looking you ask? Well, you delete a perfectly edited chapter. At least that's what happened to me the first time I tried to post this.)

Masterlist  Protective Service Masterlist

Warnings- The tiniest NSFW mentions, infidelity (sort of)

Chapter 10 All of Nothing

Y/n sat at her vanity, sifting through an antique jewelry box in search of a pair of earrings that would suit the outfit she'd picked. For the most part, she was so consumed with her menial task that Y/n hadn't noticed the person coming to stand behind her until he placed one hand on her silk clad shoulder, using the other to sweep her hair away from her neck. "Hi," her mirth was audible and her lashes fluttered as she raised her head, meeting John's softened gaze through the rounded mirror. 

"Hey," he threaded rough fingers through her soft locks, moving on to trailing them along the column of her neck when he’d swept her hair away, “You look beautiful this morning, you always look beautiful,” he corrected, grinning at the blush painting her cheeks. No one had ever made her feel what John did, the giddiness, the glee, the little flutter in her heart when she recognized another thing in him that complemented her perfectly.

“Thank you,” Y/n leaned into his touch, admiring how relaxed and at ease John looked; no shirt, hair still damp from his shower and exuding this warm aura of safety that made her just want to lose herself beside him. “What are you doing?” She taunted lightly when he started edging the top of her robe open, never breaking their shared gaze. 

Smirking, John licked his lips when one side of the garment finally gave way, revealing the top of one lace clad breast, the scalloped edges of the fine material standing out against her skin exquisitely. “That depends on what you want me to be doing,” his low, husky words were intertwined with desire and when he slid his finger beneath the strap of her bra teasingly, a shiver ran up Y/n spine. She watched closely as John crouched down behind her, just so he could lean forward and press his lips to the back of her shoulder, his straying hand travelling lower to undo the knot holding her robe closed as the other felt around her curves. 

“Why don’t you put this away for now?” He probed quietly, weaning the carved box out of her smaller hands before letting a calloused palm venture to the valley between Y/n’s silken thighs, “Do you have anything important this morning?”

Reluctantly, Y/n recoiled, knowing that if they continued, she would certainly be late. “I do actually,” she cringed, her expression only falling further when John pulled away altogether, bracing himself with a grip on the cushioned armrest, offering her a look that suggested that anything but ‘no’ was the wrong answer, “I have a meeting with Balinski and his head of campaign finance. It really is important,” shifting slightly to face him, hooking one leg under herself, Y/n reached out, laying an affectionate touch on his arm, hoping he’d understand.

Huffing an exasperated sigh, “Fine,” John leaned forward to quickly peck her lips, “Rain check until this evening then,” already, he’d repositioned his hand to her lower back, his thumb rubbing absent circles into the fabric.

“Uhh,” hesitating, Y/n gnawed on her lower lip, only succumbing to telling the whole truth after John’s gentle nudging, “Maybe later in the night?” Scrunching her nose, she broached the matter with great caution, bracing herself for the worst, “I’m having dinner with Donavan tonight, we might be a while.”

Even if they’d lapsed into some semblance of a relationship, things had really just happened unconsciously; one night together turning into waking up in Y/n’s bed, intimate touches became unconscious caresses in quieter moments and steamy kisses turned to sweet endearments. They hadn’t discussed mutual exclusivity though, yet John had somehow assumed that the talk they’d had at the Continental had implied it. Or maybe he just hadn’t thought of Y/n’s relations with Donavan at all. 

Sensing the shift in his mood, Y/n searched his features,  “John, it’s….it’s just….we know we haven’t really figured this out yet.” In that moment, Y/n knew that whatever the right words were, she had not just used them. She did however, manage to make things worse, in record time too. 

"Oh," standing abruptly, he was about to stalk off when Y/n grabbed his wrist, her eyes pleading with him to stay and hear her out as she tried to fix things, "I should go finish getting dressed," he mumbled when she wouldn't let up. 

"Can we talk about this later?" Her plea was genuine, Y/n really wanted to make things right, even if she didn't quite know how to do that.

Shaking his head, John resisted, "You don't have to say that because you think it's what I want. I know what I mean to you," he huffed, finally breaking away from Y/n, "And clearly it's not the same as what you mean to me. You can do whatever you want later," he grumbled, snatching his shirt off the foot of her bed. 

The legs of the little bench scraped loudly against the tile as Y/n stood, following John as he neared the door, "That is not true  and you know it. But things are complicated with me and Donavan, I need to work them out and what I want later is to talk about this, about us, with you." He stopped, his hand closed in over the knob and his stance stiff, "Please John."

When he released the knob and turned back to her, Y/n let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the tingle of relief spreading to her toes and fingers. "Fix this, by tonight, or we're done." 

She wasn't used to ultimatums, or at least, Y/n wasn't used to receiving them. But she knew that arguing with John wouldn't fare well and all she wanted to have things go back to the way the were mere minutes ago, "Okay, I'll fix it and not because I think it's what you want," stepping forward, Y/n took his hand again, bringing it up to her lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles as she drew closer, "But because of how much you mean to me and because I don't want anything or anyone to make you question that, okay?"

Swallowing thickly, John nodded slowly, bending his head so his forehead was pressed against hers, "Okay," he kissed her, his free arm engulfing Y/n as they continued, smiling at how she sighed against his lips and melted into his chest. It felt right when they were like that, as if every moment tangled up in Y/n’s arms had been meticulously orchestrated to ensure that there was nowhere else that he’d rather be. She was becoming his safe place, his haven, his peace. John didn’t know how she’d react if he told her, but he didn’t have any plans of letting her know soon anyway. Though, he did, for dear life, hang onto the hope that she felt the same, after all, what was the point of a second chance if it was going to slip right out of your grasp in the end?

She shouldn’t have felt guilty, just over a month ago, she wouldn’t have. But that evening, laying there in the mess of sheets with Donavan, right after they’d touched each other in the way they had for years, Y/n had never felt dirtier. Of course, she’d never guaranteed him exclusivity, and she had also firmly reminded herself that she had done the same with John, but still, the thought gnawed at Y/n. The wounded expression he’d flashed her that morning before playing it off and the way John had kissed her when she promised to fix things for them, like he trusted her. Not a lot of people trusted her, but knowing John did paled everything else. She did want from others what she’d found in him.

So she had to fix things. For him, for them.

Shoving the sheets down her bare body, Y/n worked on easing off the bed, ignoring Donavan until he roused her attention, “You’re leaving already?” They’d gone to his place in Manhattan and Y/n had found herself preferring it that way, at least she could leave when she wanted to, not have to pay the extra effort to drive him out. “I thought you’d stay a little longer,” he stated, a strange air about his tone as he followed her out of the bed, pulling on a pair of sweats.

“I can’t,” Y/n offered briskly, already pulling on her grey, tweed slacks, quickly looking for her blouse after closing up the front, “And I uh-”

“I have a proposal,” he cut her off, surprising Y/n just as she was shrugging on her black shirt, pausing before she could do the buttons.

Taken aback, Y/n eventually continued with the task at hand, though slowly, keeping her eyes on her old friend as he approached his dresser, rummaging through a drawer in search of a t shirt, “Okay,” she encouraged, “Well what is it?”

He was just turning, pulling on the cotton jersey before finally approaching Y/n. Donavan only stopped when he was less than a foot away, towering over her, leaving her face to face with his broad chest, “Will you marry me?”

To say the least, Y/n was definitely not expecting a literal proposal, worse yet one that casual. Though, she supposed that Donavan wasn’t the get on his knees type anyway. And she wasn’t the marry her fuck buddy type either. “Excuse me?” Was perhaps the most polite thing Y/n could muster up.

“I said-”

“I heard you,” heading to an accent chair near the bedroom door to collect her suit jacket, Y/n got into it as she spoke, chuckling and hoping her dismissiveness would speak for itself, “Donny, I think you’re mistaking this for something it's not. Why would I marry you?” Y/n chortled again quietly, her grin faltering when she met his more serious expression. 

“Because I-” He cut himself off, presumably before saying something they would both regret, “Because, this partnership with Balinski could expand your enterprise, I just thought that you might need help running things. And seeing as I’m the only one that knows the ropes almost as well as you do, I thought it would be the most logical way forward.”

Smirking, Y/n shifted her weight from one leg to the next, folding her arms, “So you’re suggesting some sort of political marriage?”

“In a nutshell,” he nodded.

Humming, Y/n straighten her back, ready to clear the air once and for all so she could get back to trying to make things work with John, “The sentiment is……sweet,” she hadn’t meant for her words to sound so taunting, but they had, and there was no taking them back, “But I’m not interested. I don't want you to help run things, I’ve got this.”

Sighing heavily, Donavan seemed desperate to get her on board, “Vila,” he pleaded, “Please, just consider it.”

But Y/n was already done with the conversation, and not knowing how to let him down easy, and not thinking that he needed it anyway, she did things the way she thought best, letting her icy disposition ring through, “I don’t need to. This conversation is over,” she started out the door, collecting her handbag as she entered his living room, “And we need to stop seeing each other like this.”

“What?” Confused, he probed incredulously, following her to the door.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow Donny,” Y/n pulled his front door open, not even sparing him one last glace, “And only at work.”

Merely two hours later, Y/n stood in front of John's door, swallowing down the events of the evening before knocking in three brisk taps. He didn't need to know the specifics, he just needed to know that she'd ended things with Donavan. Before she could even raise her fist again, he was pulling the door open, "Hi," she smiled softly, hoping he'd returned the gesture. 

John took a minute to drink Y/n in. She looked so young, more like her age actually, dressed simply in a black lace robe with a short matching nightgown beneath it, her fluffy slippers not affording her much height and the absence of makeup allowing the glow of youth to radiate unhampered. She looked lovely like that, softer somehow. "Hey," John breathed, longing to reach out, but wanting to know for sure where they stood first. 

She'd showered before coming to him, and that in itself said so much, too much. "How was dinner with Donavan?"

Quickly, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, barely glancing down at herself before meeting his stare again. Y/n knew what he was thinking, and they both knew he was right. In retrospect, she couldn't really put her finger on the reasoning for having Donavan one last time; maybe it was her way of trying to soften to blow. As if to tell him that it wasn't his fault, but he just wasn't the man for her. "It went well," she began stiffly, not knowing how to continue. Y/n wasn't used to that sort of thing, and knowing that John could tell she'd been with Donavan before coming to him was making things harder. "It's over now, but John-"

She was so, so close to telling him everything. Everything that he knew, and then probably much more that he didn't. And deep down, or perhaps right on the surface, John knew it would hurt him; he didn't want to see her differently or hear her reasoning for why she'd done things that way. Besides, as long as she didn't confirm it, it could all just be in his head, and he would much rather keep guessing until he could manage to bury it down instead of hearing the painful truth. "Doesn't matter," John cut her off before anything too damaging to depart from her lips, "You're here now," he bent, pressing a slow, sensual kiss to her soft lips.

"And I wouldn't rather be anywhere else," she mumbled against John's bourbon flavored lips, letting him lead her into his bedroom, kicking the door closed behind her. 

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[leilabeaux]

Luck Be a Lady

Chapter Four

Masterlist | One Two Three

Pairing: Alex x Reader

Word Count: 2161

Summary: Reader has some regrets and she learns something new about Alex.

Warnings: None

Author’s Note:  And this is where I leave you. ::tips hat and rides off into the sunset:: On a real note, sorry for the lack of updates. Work and personal life has been hectic and wearing your girl down.

----

The bright lights of the Vegas Strip illuminated the living room enough that you didn’t bother turning on any lights as you left your bedroom. Now dressed down in your worn-out, oversized hoodie and pajama shorts, you walked over to the wet bar and pulled a bottle of vodka down from the shelf, not caring how overpriced it was. You thought about grabbing a glass but instead shrugged and took a swig straight from the bottle.

Settling on the wide marble ledge, you looked past your reflection in the window to peer down at the sparse traffic on the streets. You felt so physically drained after all the tears you’ve shed. You rubbed your bare face in embarrassment, mortified over letting all your emotions get in the way and ruining what was otherwise a nice evening.

Now that you weren’t in the middle of a panic attack, you regretted reacting too quickly when you told Alex to leave. You wished you could have him come back or at least text him so you could explain yourself but you two never took a moment to exchange numbers. Not like it would make much of a difference anyway, you were sure he was grateful to get some distance away from your crazy ass.

You didn’t bother looking over when you heard the door unlock and open. The clicking of heels confirmed it was your best friend doing her walk of shame, or stride of pride as she lovingly called it. 

“So I didn’t see any sign of your Lover Boy when I snuck out of Marco’s room,” Bianca teased. You could hear her plop down onto the couch and then soft thuds of what you assumed were her shoes being dropped on the floor. “Is he here? Did you wear him out? Why are we sitting in the fucking dark?”

Light had filled the room after she clicked on a lamp. Although you were no longer crying, you knew your red, puffy eyes would give you away when you turned to look at her.

“Oh my god! What the fuck happened?” She rushed over to join you on the ledge. “What did that fucker do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” you gave a small smile, trying to put her worries to rest but as all the emotions from the night went through you again, you couldn’t stop your eyes from welling up.

Bianca wrapped her arms around you, comforting you until you were ready to talk. Her hand rubbed your back as you softly sniffled into her shoulder.

“What happened, sweetie? Are you sure he didn’t do anything? Because I won’t hesitate to put my shoes back on and kick his ass if I need to.” 

“No, Alex was sweet and a total gentleman the entire night. So you can calm down with all of that.” You pulled away from her, drying your face with the back of your sleeve before giving her a quick run through of your night.  “We were kissing and everything was good and...I don’t know. It felt familiar.”

“Familiar how?”

“It was like being with Trevor again. I know him and Alex couldn’t be anymore different but it somehow felt the same. And then all I could think of was him and how much I missed him. I just felt guilty like I was cheating on him.”

Bianca shook her head as she took your hand in hers. “Y/N, you have nothing to feel guilty about. Trevor's been gone for almost two years now. It’s perfectly fine to move on whether if it’s a relationship or just sex. I know he would want you to be with someone who makes you happy.”

“It still feels too soon, maybe I’m not ready to be with anyone. Ugh, as if being with Alex would be possible especially after I freaked out on him,” you clasped your hand on your forehead, grimacing over that memory. “And I basically told him I was married.”

“What? Why?” Bianca looked at you like you were crazy.

“He saw my ring and asked how long I was married. So I told him eight years.” It technically wasn’t a lie. You had been married for about eight years before a deputy stood at your doorstep, telling you that your husband would never be returning home. “You know I hate the pitiful look people give me when they hear I’m a widow. And I thought it would be easier to push him away if I pretended that I was a faithful wife. But fuck, man,  I couldn’t even keep that up!”

“It’s not too late to tell him all of this. I think I might remember what room they’re staying in.”

“Okay, even if he doesn’t think I’m crazy after all of that, I don’t think me and him would work. He’s young and I barely had the patience to deal with Trevor when he was that age. And he doesn’t even live in this country,” you tried to reason with her and maybe with your heart.

“Okay, he’s young and he doesn’t go here. So what?”

“I just think getting into a long distance relationship after losing your husband is a disaster.”

“Or it could be something beautiful. I’m sorry, Y/N. But if this boy could give even a fraction of happiness that Trevor gave you, then I’m all for it.”

You gnawed on your lip as you considered what she was telling you. You were too scared to take the risk. You were convinced that it would only end in heartbreak and you weren’t sure if you had enough strength to deal with another one of those again.

“I think I’m just too tired to deal with any of this right now...or ever.” You turned toward the window, staring at your worn down reflection. Definitely too damn tired.

——

The snow outside of your kitchen window was coming down hard and didn't show any signs of stopping. You sighed to yourself while emptying the remainder of the wine bottle into your glass, silently praying that you wouldn’t find yourself snowed in in the morning.

You sat on the couch, pulling the cozy throw up to your chin and trying to get comfortable while your lovable dog and cat duo, Dallas and Leeloo, were busy fighting over the spot next to you. Unfortunately for the young feline, it seemed like the elder Labrador was coming out to be the winner.

You sipped on your wine as you scrolled through Hulu for something to distract you from your headache of a night—your first and definitely last Tinder date. 

You had spent twenty embarrassing minutes waiting for your date to return after he excused himself to the restroom. There was no devastation on your part. You didn’t feel the same chemistry in person that you had over messages but you were willing to at least wish him a good night like a decent person. You deleted the app on your way out, already convinced that nothing good would be coming from it.

You weren’t even mad at this guy. All of your annoyance was aimed at Bianca who had spent the last six months encouraging—nagging and begging—you to go out and start dating. She claimed that it was officially time for you to start moving on but you suspected she just wanted you to see how wrong you were for letting the potential Mr. Right in Vegas get away.

You’d never tell her but she was right and you didn’t need a string of bad or mediocre dates to find that out. The nights you used to spend in bed wondering how life would be if Trevor was still alive were now spent thinking of what could have been with Alex. From the small amount of time you spent with him, you knew he would be the caring, supportive boyfriend who’d hang on every word you said and whisper into your ear to ease any of your self doubts and do anything to make you smile.

You had tried to search for him with the very minimal details you knew about him, during one very lonely night spent with a bottle of whiskey, but none of the Copenhagen based photographers named Alex turned out to be the one you were looking for. It shouldn’t have been too shocking but your drunk self still took it a bit hard, spending part of the night lying on the kitchen floor and crying into Dallas’s fur.

You gave up on finding something uplifting to watch and settled with the historical drama you had been slowly working your way through the past few months. You originally didn’t think a show about Vikings would be your cup of tea as you were more of a sucker for the period pieces with more extravagant, vibrant costumes but it came highly recommended by your Vegas fling. He said it was a pretty good show. After three seasons and nine episodes, he definitely wasn’t wrong.

You were down to the last ten minutes of the episode where Bjorn was going up to his brothers’ cabin. You had downed the rest of your glass only to spit it all out, your pets scurrying away to avoid the spray, when grown Ivar rolled over to show his face.

“What...the fuck?” You whispered to yourself as the scene cutaway. Your mouth hung open and your eyes were glued to the screen. 

“What the fuck?” You repeated again when you saw Marco on the screen next to Alex. “Why would they do that to his hair?”

As soon as the episode ended, you sat still with your brow furrowed. You went through all the conversations you had and didn’t remember him saying he was an actor nor that he starred in this “pretty good” show.

You grabbed your phone to do a quick google search of who played Ivar. Alex Høgh Andersen. This entire time you had access to his name. If only you had given in to your urge to binge watch the show in one sitting you would have had it sooner. 

You pulled up your Instagram and typed in his name. As you were about to click on his account, you quickly changed your mind and threw your phone next to you on the couch as if it scorched you. You weren’t seriously going to stalk this man on the internet, you were a whole grown woman who was definitely too mature to be drooling over some pictures. 

Getting up to get ready for bed, you left your phone where it was so it would be less of a temptation. But you found that you couldn’t help but stare at it through the mirror as you aggressively brushed your teeth. Your curiosity was beginning to get the best of you.

You quickly rinsed out your mouth and walked toward your couch but then turned around, shaking your head as you headed down the hall to your bedroom. Leeloo and Dallas sat next to each other in the living room, both looking down the hall and not bothering to follow as if certain you’d be back.

“I’m just going to look at a few pictures. Just see what he’s been up to,” you explained to no one when you returned for your phone. Standing in the middle of your living room, you looked through his posts from the funny videos to his beautiful photography. You thought maybe you spent too much time scrolling through when you found yourself unable to stop staring at his well defined arm as he hovered over a mattress.

It wouldn’t be too crazy if you sent him a message to catch up and see how he was doing. Or would it? What would you even say? “Hi, remember me? The woman you ate out in Vegas. You know the one who broke down before you got a chance to get it in? Oh, and remember how I said I was married? Surprise! I’m actually a widow and lied because I got scared over you being so into me and even more scared when I realized I may have felt the same.”

You kept going back and forth over what you should really say to him, typing one thing only to immediately delete it. Seemed like anything you wrote came out sounding awkward or just dumb.

“Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me? It’s Y/N. The baker you met in Vegas.” It was enough to start a conversation but would he think you’re only contacting him because you now knew he was an actor. Your thumb hovered over send as you contemplated your choice.

You looked up at the clock and sighed out loud. You couldn’t afford to waste anymore time on this unless you wanted to be a zombie when you went into work in the morning.

You brought your thumb down and hit send. Fuck it.

----

End Notes: This is the last chapter of this part but not the end of their story. So don’t be too mad at me. Will Alex read her message? Will they ever meet again? Does Reader need to tell Bianca that she was right? 

Tags: @castielsangelsx @xbellaxcarolinax​ @didiintheblog​ @jzr201​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @eroguroshoujo

[newcaptainofsquad9]

So, When Can We Tell The World? {1} Min Yoongi x black! fem! reader

Parts: 1 2 3 4  5 6 

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Summary: You and Yoongi have been collaborating for a few years, what the public world didn’t know however was that the both of you were in a happy, functioning relationship. After showing up to support at one of your shows, Yoongi suggests going public, making you anxious for him, but most of all your own well-being with his fans and of what the South Korean public would think of you. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Romance, Idol-verse, Smut (hinted at in this part, but none explicitly)

Word Count: 2, 046

Author’s Note: So, here we are another series. I know too many, but this one will probably be the same chapter length as Shakespeare Sub, I promise. Anyways, I hope ya’ll enjoy it and if ya’ll have any BTS or EXO requests, send them my way. Thanks!

The last song of the concert always feels surreal. The stage isn’t huge, just a decent sized theater in Bluetsville(your hometown). It’s the thought that gets me, I’ve played at bigger venues before, yet coming back always gets me emotional. Once the song finishes I smile so hard my cheeks hurt and glance out into the crowd as applause fills the entire venue. 

One person stands out the most with his over-sized black hoodie, glasses and a cap with my stage name on it. I wouldn’t have done a double take if he didn’t flash that familiar gummy smile, as if he knew I was going to look there. It’s only a moment, yet I recognize Yoongi’s smile anywhere, he hardly does it even around me. Maybe his fans don’t notice him but in that slip second I did as he claps the loudest before sending me his finger hearts. I start to do it back, but stop myself abruptly. No, that’ll just draw attention to us. It’s almost an exclusive k-pop gesture, which someone on Twitter could easily pick up on. Instead I send him a quick wink. 

“Thank you so much!” I scream.

The crowd reacts in thunderous applause once more, I give one last bow and turn back towards the curtain, disappearing behind it.

***

I find myself dressed down in my dressing room, wearing one of Yoongi’s old hoodies, a snapback and grey sweats. My phone lights up abruptly, signalling an upcoming call from my brother, Kevin of all people. 

“Sup loser,” I say through a low giggle. 

“Yo idiot,” he answers back, “how’d the show go?”

I sigh with a dopey grin.

It was amazing. Even though the people packed together in swayed, waved and sung together like a frenzied horde, I couldn’t help but think back to Yoongi. I hope he got to wherever he needed to safely. 

“Uh, did you hear me?” Kevin asks. 

“Y-Yeah,” I say quickly, “it went amazing, a little more daunting compared to my first tour.”

Kevin gaffs.   

“If that didn’t boost your chances at the Grammys, I don’t know what will!” 

I chuckle against the phone at my brother’s words. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works Kev,” I say, “I don’t really care, they invited me, I guess to preform.”

Kevin hums. 

“Yeah?” he asks, “And what about ol’ Agust D, eh? he performing with you? I heard him and the guys were supposed to be there too.”

I can’t help but smile when he mentions Yoongi’s other rap persona. That album was what made me discover Yoongi’s music, along with BTS’s discography and eventually pushed me to want to collaborate with them. What I didn’t expect was to fall in love with Yoongi during our time recording All The Crown Players(a song from your album). 

“I’m not really sure,” I say, “you know how they can be.”

“Oh, I know, how can they snub you twice!” Kevin whines, “anyway, I gotta go! Next time you talk to ol’ Suga tell him I said hey!”

I roll my eyes. 

“I told you  to call him Yoongi,” I groan. 

“Ey, that’s what the fans call him,” he says, “talk to you later, love you.”

“Love you too idiot,” I say.

Kevin starts to say something else but I hang up anyway. If he’s got something to do he won’t call back as fast and I won’t get another earful. 

“That’s what you get for teasing me about my boyfriend,” I mutter to myself.  

A text from Yoongi lights my phone up instead. 

Yoongi: It amazes me every time you perform, God you were so amazing babe

My dopey smile returns once my fingers numbly tap the keypad in response.

Me: I saw you at the end! How the hell did you get in without anyone recognizing you?

Yoongi responds straight away.

Yoongi: I have my ways. I’ve been doing this for seven years sweetheart, I’ve mastered the art of incognito mode. 😎

My grin spreads out at his message. My fingers follow the lame joke that pops into my head, yet I couldn’t care less.

Me: So, what you’re Batman? No, Anpanman! 😂😂

I giggle out as Yoongi’s response takes a little longer, as it should. Between my lame jokes and Jin’s dad jokes I think he’s fed up with the both of us. At least with me it makes some sort of sense. 

A moment passes, instead of a text back I get a call from Yoongi. Oh boy. 

“Hello?” I answer.

“I know you’re laughing,” Yoongi says, “I just want to confirm that it wasn’t funny.”

I cover my mouth to stifle the remaining giggles that flood out. 

“I know, but it’s true,” I say, “you are my Anpanman.”

Yoongi grumbles something that I can’t make out. 

“Sorry babe, what was that?” I ask. 

“Nothing Jagi,” he says, “anyway —”

“Yoongi,” I warn, “tell me, please?”

Yoongi sighs deeply.

“I said, I better be your Anpanman,” he admits, “are you happy now?” 

“Yes,” I say, “how long are you gonna be here?”

“As long as you want me,” Yoongi answers, “we got a small break before Grammys and the MMAs. I was wondering if we could meet at your place.”

My heart hammers in my chest at his words. We’ve stayed with each other overnight before, yet I always feel like I’m some lovestuck teenager when I’m around Yoongi. We rarely get moments together, if it’s public we have to remain friendly, but not too friendly to raise dating suspicions. Even when he’s here in America it’s difficult to schedule time for each other. I’m an artist too and BTS is getting just as huge, the fact that Yoongi and I both have time before the Grammy’s is a God send.    

“Y/N?” Yoongi asks, breaking me from my thoughts. 

“Yeah, we can meet there,” I reassure, “you still have a key?”

“You know I do,” he says, “see you there.”

I bit my lip before humming in agreement. 

***

The moment I step across the threshold of my house, I shut the door and twist the locks in place. A pair of strong arms wrap around my waist before I can get a chance to take my hands off the cold locks. 

“I need to go to your shows more often,” Yoongi says. 

I shiver at his breath near my ear and turn around in his arms to face him. He’s in his dark hoodie, but the hat is gone, revealing soft, short brown hair that falls into his eyes. 

“You come when you can,” I say, “I’m just glad you got there safely.”

Yoongi chuckles while he moves a hand up to cup my face. 

“You worry too much,” he notes, “I’m here, ok?”

His eyes soften as they bore into mine, he leans in to press our foreheads together. I follow his lead, our lips meet in a fierce kiss, something we haven’t been able to do in months. My fingers find themselves in his brown locks as he groans into the kiss, backing up slightly, yet not disconnecting from my lips. 

I pull back with a giggle.

“Are you good?”

Yoongi nods and nudges his head towards my velvet sofa. 

“I just wanted to take this to the couch,” he admits, “your concert took everything out of me.”

“Oh really?”

Yoongi nods as I take his hand and lead him to the sofa before we both plop down on it. 

“Really,” he confirms with a kiss, “you kinda got me worked up actually.”

I return his kisses fully, pull myself up into his lap and rub down his chest. 

“Is that in a good way?” I challenge. 

Yoongi growls against my jaw, kissing down my neck as his hands rub up and down my sides. 

“Oh it’s good baby, so good,” he groans, “God, tug your fingers in my hair again.”

I nod as our lips meet once again, my fingers find themselves in his hair as our make out continues. His moans make me smile, his hips bucking up against me as the kisses grow hungrier. 

“You’re so needy,” I whisper, “do you need me to take care of that?”

Yoongi’s eyes close as he nods. 

“Please, I, God, I love you,” he moans. 

My hands freeze once I reach for the buckle of his pants. Did he just say the l word? 

Yoongi opens his eyes, the lust that was once there is replaced with concern.

“Y/N?” he asks, “you all right?”

I nod and slide back onto the couch from his lap. 

“Yeah,” I lie. 

Of course I knew he loved me, he never says it though. I’m the one you says it, and Yoongi always responds with a “me too” or “love you more.” Never fully. It shouldn’t bother me much, yet it does for some reason. 

“Y/N,” Yoongi says. 

I look up and his face is only an inch from my own. 

“Was that too much?” he asks, “what did I do wrong?”

I stroke his cheek and shake my head. 

“Nothing, it’s just,” I pause before continuing, “it was just surprising to hear I love you from you.”

Yoongi pulls back to pull me into an embrace. 

“You had me worried,” he whispers, “I know I need to say it more especially when we’re pressed for time together.”

I smile in the crook of his neck. 

“No, it’s fine,” I say, “we can keep it between us.”

Yoongi pulls back with a puzzled glare.

“What do you mean?”

I sit up and gnaw at my lip. 

“Maybe, we shouldn’t say it often, because I don’t want it to slip out at the wrong time,” I explain, “with ARMY and all those girls clawing at you.”

Yoongi chuckles as he leans in to plant a few kisses down my neck. 

“Do they make you jealous?” he asks.

I can hardly focus as his lips continue to work. 

“Well, a little,” I say, “it’s a lot to live up to.”

Yoongi grows serious. I end up against his chest as his arms wound themselves tightly around me. His heart beats rhythmically in tune with mine, forcing me to calm down just a bit.

“They don’t hold a candle to you,” he says, “I love them, but it’s a different type of love. You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

The words get lodged in my throat at the intense look Yoongi throws at me. He’s completely serious. 

“Yoongi-”

“Y/N, I want to tell the world,” he admits, “ARMY, everyone.”

Where is he going with this?

“Yoongi, what are you-”

“We should be official,” Yoongi declares.

My mind goes haywire. He isn’t serious, right?

“But we are official,” I say, “Yoongi, we’ve already established that we’re dating.”

Yoongi shakes his head this time.

“Y/N you know what I mean,” he says, “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

A rush comes to my head at once. The headlines would be horrendous: “BTS star Suga has been revealed to be dating ‘urban’ Hip Hop artist Y/N Y/L/N.” Kpop Twitter will literally implode in on itself. Yoongi won’t get any rest and I won’t be able to live it down. If I was Korean maybe, just maybe I would get out alive, even if I was white too, but as a black woman? There’s not a chance in hell.

“Babe, please tell me what you’re thinking,” Yoongi pleads,”you’ve been quiet for awhile.”

“Yoongi, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.

“How come?” he asks.

“Well, for one, do you know what happened with Chen? Kai? Jennie?” I ask, “the fans would devour me!”

“They wouldn’t,” he grumbles, “you’re an amazing person, singer, rapper and writer.”

“Yeah and black,” I say bluntly, “they can’t get past that.”

Yoongi takes both of my hands prior to squeezing tightly. 

“I know, but they’ll just have to handle it, right?”

It’s like the words aren’t even being comprehended. Does he not hear me? 

I inhale slowly and stand from the couch. 

“Y/N-”

I give Yoongi an artificial smile, something to get him off my back for a moment. 

“I-I’m ok, I-I just need some time to myself,” I say. 

Yoongi deflates, but nods anyway before leaning back into the couch. 

[firewoodfigs]

Summary: Roy thought this was fine. Perfectly acceptable, in fact. Stolen, furtive kisses over daybreak and evening-time tasting of ginger tea and caffeine; the occasional quiet embrace or two filled with warmth and suppressed ardour. Little indulgences like these were enough to keep them hanging on to each other, to their shared resolve.

“... her eyelids flutter, her breath hitches, and Roy thinks there’s nothing more exquisite than the taste of her. Her morning coffee lingers within. Two spoonfuls of sugar, but it is the indiscernible hum in her throat that sweetens the kiss.”

(for @royaiweek day 5: picture prompt - lovers at sunset; part 6 of Royai Week 2020. thank you mods for the wonderful week! 💕)

~x~

It happened once, on Miss Hawkeye’s thirteenth birthday. Roy had overheard from some of her peers as he was making his way back from a trip to the nearby grocer’s that it was that strange girl’s birthday, and did you see, she didn’t receive any presents - does she even have any friends?  

In truth, it wasn’t difficult to figure out why she was friendless. From the little time he’d spent with her in the Hawkeye’s manor she wasn’t the nicest person around. Roy had tried to approach her a few times in the spirit of the good Samaritan, but any attempts at friendliness had been met with hostility. Like that one time he saw her swinging alone on the makeshift swing in their backyard. He had offered to push her on the swing, but she’d pushed him in the chest instead before disappearing back to her room. Or the other time he’d offered to help her with her chemistry homework when he saw her struggling with a permanent scowl etched on her features, in which she had merely stormed off after remarking angrily that she didn’t need an arrogant city boy like him rubbing it in her face.

… Like he said, Miss Hawkeye wasn’t the nicest person around.

Nevertheless, in spite of her antagonism, Roy liked to believe that she was an inherently good person somewhere deep down, if one looked hard enough. Really hard. He’d seen her feed leftovers to the dogs that visited their backyard occasionally though she barely had enough to eat for herself. The Hawkeyes’ abject poverty also meant that food was scarce, but even then she always made sure he got the bigger portion instead.

(Of course, he had tried - multiple times, in fact - to insist otherwise, but any resistance he put up was only met with a baleful glare and a stiff upper lip.)

For the most part, therefore, he was content to leave her alone, and she generally seemed to prefer dogs to people anyway. His days were filled with studying and thick tomes and incomprehensible codes, and Roy was focused on becoming a remarkable, respectable alchemist. One that his aunt would be proud of. Any spare time he had was typically dedicated to trawling through the awfully dusty library in the Hawkeyes’ estate for research and reading.

But this was different.

Birthdays were special, sentimental, as his sisters had indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to count. Enough to count their birthdays, they claimed. Roy therefore felt terrible at the thought of her spending it alone, without so much as a single gift or birthday wish. From the little he’d gleaned from her relationship with Master Hawkeye it was clear that the man didn’t pay much attention to her, and he found himself wondering if his Master even remembered that it was his daughter’s birthday.

Sadly, his theory was proven right over lunch.

As usual, Miss Hawkeye had been the one to prepare their meals. While he wanted to help, the kitchen felt a little like Miss Hawkeye’s untouchable holy ground - except for the fact that even the removal of his shoes wouldn’t permit him to enter. He ended up waiting awkwardly in the living room, pretending to be engrossed in a thick alchemical tome for the rest of the afternoon amidst sizzling pans and fragrant spices.

When lunch was ready, they ate together as a trio, but neither Master Hawkeye or Miss Hawkeye made any mention of her birthday.

It was just like any other normal day - tense, quiet and sombre.

Afterwards, he returned to his studies, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his gut, but not from Miss Hawkeye’s cooking. Lunch had been fine - great, in fact. Her culinary skills were fantastic, second only to his aunt’s and sisters’. Miss Hawkeye didn't seem to react well to compliments, though, so he smartly refrained from singing her praises.

Alone in his room, the mangled mix of emotions only multiplied tenfold. He'd tried to distract himself with the textbooks strewn across his table, on his bed, but it failed. Nothing could pacify the guilt that had been gnawing at him.

Roy sat upright on his bed, pillow to his chest as he thought long and hard about Miss Hawkeye’s birthday.

He didn’t even know what she liked, and he most certainly didn’t want her to feel like he was lording his money over her. Ordinarily, he might have gifted his sisters with a handmade card, but he didn’t know her well enough to know the words to write. Saying thank you for being so kind and loving all the time didn’t seem to sit well for some reason, and given how sharp she was she would probably see through the lie.

So perhaps something that didn’t cost him anything, and didn’t require him to pen down his thoughts (because really, it was hard to have that many thoughts about a person who barely said much to him) would work best.

A piece of driftwood, or flowers plucked from a nearby bush, maybe?  

But those sounded absurd, even to him, and he failed to see what purpose Miss Hawkeye had for those things. Maybe a place he could bring her to?

Then, it hit him like an epiphany. Of course.  

He had recently discovered, during one of his recent trips to the forest when he’d been tasked by his Master to collect firewood, that there was a secret hideout that lay within. Oddly enough, that particular corner was unshrouded by trees, and the sunsets there were exceptionally breathtaking - especially when the sunlight refracted off the clear, emerald lake in the middle of the little sanctuary. Occasionally, Roy would take a short break on the abandoned bench to admire the view and empty his mind of the vicissitudes of life that plagued a fifteen-year-old. But the bench was large enough for two, and he sometimes yearned for a companion who could enjoy the scenery with him…

And now, Miss Hawkeye could.

He grinned excitedly as he sprinted over to her room, though when he arrived the wooden door suddenly seemed rather... intimidating.

But Roy was determined to make sure that Miss Hawkeye had a decent birthday, at least. Such occasions were not meant to be spent in isolation, in bitter solitude.

He would not falter.

Taking a deep breath, he mustered all the courage in him and finally knocked on her door, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say. Why am I getting so nervous, anyway? It’s not even a date -  

She opened the door to stare at him quizzically. “Uh… hi,” he stuttered. Words eluded him.

“May I help you, Mr. Mustang?”

“Ah, yes... Would you mind taking a stroll with me?” With that one question the look of curiosity on her face was quickly morphing into scepticism, distrust.

“What for?”

“It’s your birthday, right?”

Now she was most definitely suspicious. “... How did you know?”  

He gulped. “I… overheard some… things…” he finished lamely. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you a little gift, that’s all.” The large, overbearing grandfather clock in the hallway signalled that it was about five o’clock in the afternoon, and if they went now the timing would be perfect. “Nothing weird, I just wanted to show you a place. If you don’t mind?”

Miss Hawkeye scrutinised him carefully, as if searching for any hint of deception. He kept his palms open, pupils dilated in earnest, and gave his most charming, sincere smile.

When she was finally satisfied that he was being honest, she relented. “... Okay. But not for long, I have to be back to prepare dinner.”

He smiled sunnily at her in response. “Of course, Miss Hawkeye. Shall we go?” She nodded in agreement before following him quietly, and he was thankful for the relatively comfortable silence that had settled between them as they walked through the forest.

Miss Hawkeye was quite a sight to behold, he realised. The sunlight that crept through the dense crowd of trees cast a charming light on her stoic but pretty countenance, and in the forest she seemed a lot more relaxed; a childlike innocence and joy twinkling in her golden eyes. Her skirt billowed gracefully along with the falling leaves that frolicked in the autumn breeze, but despite her attire she moved lithely; feet shuffling through detritus with disconcerting familiarity and ease like she’d done this before.

Eventually, they arrived at their destination. A light sheen of sweat was beginning to form on their foreheads, but they found, much to their delight, that the sun was starting to set in brilliant shades of aureate and tangerine. Roy tugged at her wrist gently to lead her to the bench, to which she shyly obliged, settling them both onto their respective seats. “Here we are. Lovely, isn’t it?”

“It is. I’ve been here before, actually,” she said, fingers fiddling idly with the hem of her skirt as she gazed at the picturesque scene ahead, lulled by the sighs of the water and the gently rocking waves before them.

Roy was a little taken aback by this new revelation. “How did you know about this place?”

Miss Hawkeye’s fingers continued to pick at the threads, and he wondered how they hadn’t come loose by this point. “My mother used to bring me here, too, a long time ago,” she murmured softly, a brittle sort of reverence in her voice.

He stiffened, fervently hoping he hadn’t offended her in some way by bringing her here. “I… I’m sorry, Miss Hawkeye, if this place brings back bad memories.”

She shook her head, but though her lips were beginning to curve upwards in a small smile there was a poignant  look in her eyes, like she was reminiscing a distant memory that could never be recreated. “No, it’s not like that. I just… it’s a nice place.”

“It is,” Roy echoed. The silence that had dawned upon them suddenly felt very awkward to him. He swallowed nervously, but decided to ignore the thoughts swimming in his head. Instead, he continued to stare at the sunset that was unfurling in front of them, silently hoping that Miss Hawkeye enjoyed her birthday gift.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Mr. Mustang,” she whispered, legs swinging in tandem with the water’s rhythm.

It broke him out of his reverie. Roy was delighted with the small affirmation that she did like her present, after all. He turned to look at her again, and was mesmerised by how tender she looked, saturated in orange. “Roy.”

“What?”

“Please, call me Roy.”

“... Okay.”

“Can I… can I call you Riza?” He asked, hoping she wouldn’t behead him there and then in the middle of the forest. She nodded imperceptibly while keeping her eyes ahead. Roy couldn’t tell if it was the sunset glow that painted her cheeks in the subtlest shade of scarlet, or if it was a blush.

Either way, he beamed, happy with the progress they had made. “Happy birthday, Riza.”

This time, the smile reached her eyes. Roy’s heart began to pulsate in his throat. He felt his breath being taken away, but he was unsure if it was because of the breathtaking scene in front of them or something else. For while the sunlight continued to scatter glittering diamonds on smaragdine, the sparkles dancing in her ochre eyes suddenly seemed infinitely more fascinating.

In front of them, their shadows began to lengthen with the sun’s movement, before slowly merging into one.

~x~

“What’s on your mind, sir?”

“Nothing, just appreciating the sunset,” Roy chuckled. After regaining his vision, he’d come to rediscover an appreciation for simple things that he might have previously taken for granted. But while the sight of the setting sun engulfing the tall buildings in Central was rather glorious in its own way, it paled in comparison to the warm, fulgent rays delicately kissing his Captain, painting her lovely visage in a warm, tender gold.

Roy often found himself wishing that he could be the one kissing her there and then instead during moments like these. Quite unfortunately, though, any semblance of a relationship they shared would have to remain strictly confidential. Their duty to make reparations took precedence over anything else, and in any case the anti-fraternisation laws were still in place.

Dating like two normal civilians were therefore prerogatives that they did not have.

But this was fine. Perfectly acceptable, in fact. Stolen, furtive kisses over daybreak and evening-time tasting of ginger tea and caffeine; the occasional quiet embrace or two filled with warmth and suppressed ardour. Little indulgences like these were enough to keep them hanging on to each other, to their shared resolve.

Anything beyond that - holy matrimony, domesticity and normalcy, perhaps a family of three - probably teetered dangerously close on the precipice of avarice.

This too, shall suffice. Roy ran a hand through his unkempt hair, as if doing so would quell his desires, before turning to give her a soft smile. A conspiratorial whisper, one that only she could hear. “And you.”

“I see,” she replied impassively, although the gears in her brain were already clicking as memories of her thirteenth birthday flashed behind her eyes. Speaking of sunsets and birthdays…  

Of course, it didn’t escape her that Roy’s birthday was coming up soon, the same way his daily schedule was never a mystery to her. Birthdays weren’t a particularly special occasion to Riza, but Roy liked to make it so.

She smiled gently as she observed fire dancing in obsidian, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude that his schedule was mercifully empty for the next few days.

Perhaps a trip to Tobha is in order.  

~x~

The train ride to Tobha was one filled with companionable silence as vast conglomerations of buildings faded past them into rustic fields and lush valleys of green. Roy picked indolently on a slice of cake that the train staff had kindly provided for their journey. Whether this was a surprise of sorts from his beloved Captain, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t help chuckling at the memory of almost-begging a young girl to follow him somewhere on her birthday nearly decades ago.

The close proximity between them now reminded him of that memory - the first time he’d inched so close to her without a looming death threat. But now, sitting so close to one another felt like second nature. Wherever they went, his feet always somehow drew him subconsciously nearer to her, and vice versa; revolving around each other like planets in orbit. In some ways, he supposed their presence had the effect of pulling each other in like gravity.

Slowly, he encroached into her personal space to lean his head on her shoulder. Then, he took her right hand in his (hers were smaller, colder) and ran a thumb gently across her knuckles, committing every callused ridge and line to memory to reassure himself again that this wasn’t a dream. That she was well and alive before his very eyes; eyes that could see once more.

“What are you doing, sir?” Riza muttered under her breath, an accusation and a protest. She’s a little embarrassed by how overtly affectionate he was despite the cabin’s privacy.

Roy, on the other hand, could care less.

“There’s no one else here,” he whined, like he was fifteen again. “And it’s my birthday, so let me have this privilege, please?”

She doesn’t bother deigning him with a verbal response. But with a free hand, she cards through his unkempt hair, and Roy feels the faint thrumming of a quickening pulse as she does so. He grins triumphantly to himself before allowing the inconsistent rhythm to lull him to sleep. It’s the most peaceful slumber he’s had in months: he dreams of gossamer webs and sunsets in autumn, reliving a treasured adventure, a cherished memory.

It’s short-lived, though. Soon enough, he’s awoken by her shoulders shrugging against his neck. “We’re here, sir.”

Roy places a finger on her lips. “Please call me Roy,” he requests politely, mirth and nostalgia dancing in his eyes as she rolls hers.

“Fine, Roy. Shall we go?” Roy can’t help but let out an unbridled, wholehearted laugh. It feels a little like a fairytale told in reverse, he thinks. One that he doesn’t mind countless retellings of.

“Of course, Miss Hawkeye,” he replied, intertwining his fingers as they got off the train. She grumbled at his idiocy, but was nonetheless thankful for the lack of prying eyes in this isolated, raffish town.

Together they walk to the forest, hand in hand, and with a quick glance at his pocket watch Roy realises it’s five. The perfect time to watch the sunset. Roy already has a rather accurate idea of where they’re going, but nonetheless obliges - teasingly, of course - when Riza tells him to close his eyes as they pass through magnificent woodland. The smell of wood and damp earth makes for a cornucopia of childhood innocence, one that he’s more than happy to immerse himself in.

“Close your eyes, Roy.”

“Or what, you’ll blindfold me? I didn’t know you were into stuff like -”

“On second thought, maybe I’ll just knock you out myself.” Riza glares at him, feeling like he’s just ruined the magic of the moment with his predilection for bad jokes.

Roy laughs again before complying, lifting his hands to cover his eyes. As he peeks through the infinitesimal gaps, he sees her shaking her head in exasperation, but the slightest hint of amusement makes itself known in the form of a subtle smile.

“Okay, now follow me.” Riza says, and he does. It’s easy to follow her. Roy knows her so well by this point that he understands every change in pitch, every hitch of her breath, every tug at his arm like simple chemistry.

(There’s an electrifying chemistry in the air between them, and he wishes he could seal it with a kiss right there and then.)

Patience, patience.  

“I’ll follow you into hell if you wish, Riza,” he opts for teasing her again, and though his eyes are closed, he can already envisage her scowl in his mind.

Regardless, she’s still a sight to behold, as she’d been as a thirteen-year-old.

“We’re here,” she announces a little excitedly, breathily. Instinctively, Roy removes his hands from his eyes to cover her open palm instead.

Tugging at her wrist gently, he leads her towards a wooden bench that’s all too familiar. It’s a little weather-beaten by time and rain, but sturdy all the same: it supports their weight comfortably as they sit, bodies adjacent to each other. Their shadows merge once more as the sun bathes their silhouette in crimson and orange. Roy pulls her in with an arm and relishes in the contact, sneaking a glance at her every so often while she watches the sunset unfold.

Before them, the vivid blaze began to soften into a gentle lilac as the lake drowned out the final vestiges of the sun. Any worries and sins and tragedies that might have plagued them receded like a spectre with the setting sun to give them a moment of undisturbed quietude. It’s incredible to watch, and Roy might have been fascinated by the show if he wasn’t so entranced by the way it reflected in Riza’s eyes; the scarlet mottling her cheeks (he’s pretty sure it’s a blush this time).

Lost in admiration, Roy doesn’t even notice that the enormous sky above them has turned a deep, dark blue until she points out that the first star of the night has appeared.

“Could be Venus instead of a star,” he muses out loud.

“You really have an uncanny ability to spoil things, Roy,” Riza frowns.

“Well, in Roman mythology, Venus was the goddess of love and beauty, and also sex and fertility...”

“... Let’s narrow it down to the goddess of love. Your point being?”

Her question is pure rhetoric at this point as she turns to look at him. Their noses bump against each other’s, but neither makes a move to withdraw. Roy leans in closer, nearer, the same way there was no distance separating their hearts.

Finally, their lips touch, and it feels a little like stars are being born in the enormous universe above them. It starts off tentative, gentle. Riza runs her hands tenderly through a crown of raven black to draw him deeper into the kiss, decades of pining and memories and love unfurling beneath them. It continues like a slow waltz, as though they had all the time in the world, but soon it quickens into a passionate, heated dance as they open their mouths to offer an invitation to explore charted territory. Her eyelids flutter, her breath hitches, and Roy thinks there’s nothing more exquisite than the taste of her. Her morning coffee lingers within. Two spoonfuls of sugar, but it is the indiscernible hum in her throat that sweetens the kiss.

“Happy birthday, Roy,” she whispers after they pull apart.

“Not Mr. Mustang?” Roy manages to quip, a little breathless himself.

Riza sniggers good-naturedly. Idiot. “No, sir.”

He flashes her a smile, one of bittersweet understanding, before leaning in to press his forehead against hers. “Let me savour this moment for a bit more before we get back to business, Riza.”

“Of course, Roy.” She supposed they could afford just this one moment of indulgence before resuming their roles as Brigadier General and Captain.

At the very least, we’ll have these hours of glory to keep our hearts alight, alive.

[here4theheartbreak]

Tasting Starlight Ch.4 (V3Min)

AO3 Link Here

Relationships: Lee Taemin x Park Jimin, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung x Lee Taemin x Park Jimin (V3Min) Rating: Explicit

Genres: angst, smut Tags: smut, angst, fake dating, jealousy, pining, friends with benefits, getting together, bottom Taemin, switch Jimin, top Taehyung, top Minho

Summary: Minho has been in love with his best friend since forever. But Taemin was determined to be unattached… Until suddenly he wasn’t. Taehyung spent his entire life pining after happiness with his best friend, only to have it ripped away when Jimin finds someone else. The rational response? Hatch a plan to make their respective crushes jealous. The part where they fell in love with each other, however, wasn’t part of the plan.

Chapter Word Count: ~3.2k

The following few weeks were an odd balance of enjoying time with Taemin and biting back jealousy when he opted to hang out with Jimin. A few times, when Taehyung was busy, Minho was given a chance to hang out with Jimin and Taemin. Though Minho distinctly felt like the third wheel now and then, Jimin’s bright, upbeat attitude made him feel welcome. More and more he found himself growing fond of Jimin. The two had a lot in common, he learned, from food preferences to deeper beliefs, even disagreeing with Taemin, much to his annoyance. Minho still wanted Taemin, but he often daydreamed about both, or all three, as Taehyung’s chipper smile often crept into his fantasies without him even being aware.

In late night talks with Taehyung, happening increasingly even when the topic wasn’t Jimin and Taemin, Taehyung admitted he enjoyed Taemin’s company. Though they didn’t see eye to eye on everything, he found himself seeking out Taemin’s opinion on deeper matters and serious discussions. Minho couldn’t help but worry a little at Taehyung’s admittance. He was happy they were getting along, even after this fiasco, he hoped he could stay friends with Taehyung. But he often wondered if their getting along was less friendly and more intimate. It was partly projection, he knew, because his thoughts about Jimin were less than pure, but it still gnawed at him. Despite his concerns, Minho couldn’t bring himself to ask Taehyung. Not knowing the answer hurt less, it seemed.

It was late on Thursday morning when Minho woke, snuggling further under his covers to try and catch a few final minutes of rest. A month since they’d returned from the film set, this Saturday was their planned video game date. Minho’s phone buzzed incessantly, dragging him further from sleep. He glanced at the name quick before answering. “Morning, Taehyungie. What’s up?” He asked, voice gritty with sleep.

Taehyung pouted. “Jimin actually blew me off. We had plans and he just ditched me for his boyfriend.” He paused. “Oh no, did I wake you up? It’s almost noon!”

“Hm? No, I was waking up when you called, I was up late last night.” Minho rubbed his eyes. “That doesn’t seem nice though – and he knew you two were hanging out?”

“Yeah, we’d been planning for a few days now to go see a movie today. He told me this morning he couldn’t, that he was gonna go see Taemin-hyung this afternoon.”

“But…” Minho scowled. He glanced at the date on his phone. “Taemin is supposed to hang out with me this afternoon. We’re going to see a movie.”

“Really? Then why would Jimin…”

Minho scowled, frustration bubbling up in his chest. “Fuck him. Come to my house today, we’ll hang out. I’ll make sure you have a good day.”

“But you were going out—”

“Jimin says otherwise. It’s wrong to blow off your friends, especially for a boyfriend. If he wants to hang with Taemin so bad, fine. Let him know you don’t need him.”

Taehyung smiled helplessly, shaking his head. “Are you sure?”

“Dead sure. Give me like thirty minutes to get dressed and showered and have breakfast, okay? We’ll play some games and go get lunch, figure out something to keep us busy today. Do you remember how to get to my place still?”

“Yeah, I remember. You’re the best, hyung.”

“See you soon, Tae.” Minho winked and hung up. He rose and headed to shower, thinking on things he and Taehyung could do. Though a small part of it tied back to their plot to break up Jimin and Taemin, another part of Minho was just angry. Ditching friends is something he hated, especially when partners were the cause. He knew he was doing the same to Taemin, but a point had to be made. After showering and dressing, he went into the living room to wait for Taehyung to arrive. He received a text:

‘Almost there   You’re the best.’ Minho smiled a little before he tapped out a quick message to Taemin.

‘Sorry, gotta cancel today, will try to hang out later’

It only took Taemin a few minutes to respond.

‘ Are you sick?’

‘No, just other plans came up – will probably be away from my phone for the day’

He silenced his phone and set it aside, grabbing one of his take-out menus.

Taehyung looked stunning when Minho opened the door. He grinned, hugging Minho tight as he stepped in.

“You’ve saved my day.”

“I just invited my friend over.” Minho said, but didn’t let go. He kicked the door shut and pulled back just enough to look at Taehyung’s face, his heart stuttering at how close they were.

“Was Taemin-hyung mad?”

Minho chuckled, letting go and rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“What do you mean?”

“I just texted him and told him something else came up… I haven’t looked at my phone since.”

“Why not?” Taehyung moved a little closer. “Aren’t you worried he’ll think you’re angry?”

“I am, kind of,” Minho admitted. “I like Jimin, but I don’t think it’s right to ditch a friend to hang out with a boyfriend. Especially when that boyfriend might have plans. I wanted to hang out with Taemin alone today, without Jimin.” He shrugged. “So if they’re more important to each other than their friends… I am mad.”

Taehyung bit his lip in thought. He reached out, touching Minho’s cheek. “I know we’re faking this… To get them for ourselves but… That’s the sweetest show of protection I’ve ever seen.”

Minho laughed, batting Taehyung’s hand away.

“Don’t get gooey.”

“I mean, hyung. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. If I know Taemin, he’s gonna be over here in about thirty minutes, pissed off.”

“Let’s make sure he walks in on something he’s gonna be really mad over then.”

Taehyung’s voice was soft and low, sending signals to all the wrong parts of Minho’s brain. He shifted his weight on his feet, worried he was misunderstanding.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, how many times now have we made out in front of them and they’ve looked ready to strangle us?” Taehyung moved so there was barely an inch of space between himself and Minho. “What would walking in on me sucking you off would do?”

Minho choked on his own spit, stumbling back. “You—Want to give me head?” He spluttered.

Taehyung laughed a little. “Well, it’s the next reasonable step, isn’t it? If kissing didn’t work, something more sexual might?”

“But you don’t like me enough to do that, Tae.”

“Says who?” Taehyung hesitated, lowering his gaze. “I mean, they think I do, right? And if Jimin wants to ditch us for him, then we can have fun without them. It’s all for show anyway, right? You want Taemin-hyung… I want Jimin.” He shrugged. “Am I pretty enough to turn you on? Even without the emotional attachment?”

Minho’s heart clenched at Taehyung’s question. He had no idea, did he? Minho closed the gap he’d created by stepping back, holding Taehyung’s face in his hands.

“You’re beautiful, Taehyung. I’ve said it a ton – Jimin’s a fool for overlooking you all these years.”  He nudged Taehyung’s nose with his own, their lips a scant few millimeters apart. “I promise you that.”

“Let’s make him jealous then, huh?” Taehyung glanced at the couch. “Looks like a good place.”

“Oh, you are crude,” Minho joked.

“You have no idea.” Taehyung pushed him playfully. “Sit down.”

Minho bit his lip, glancing at the couch. “You sure?”

“All for the plan, right?”

“Sure… All for the plan.” He sat down on the couch, his heart thrumming in his ears. Taehyung straddled his hips, smirking down at him.

“I feel like I should make out with you or something… Try to get you turned on. Is that okay?”

“Fine by me,” Minho said. He slid his hands down Taehyung’s back to his ass, squeezing gently. Taehyung’s eyelids fluttered and he gasped softly.

“I’m turning you on, not the other way around,” he complained with no venom. He cupped Minho’s face and leaned down, pressing their lips together gently at first but deepening it quickly. As their tongues met, Taehyung’s fingers found their way to Minho’s hair once more, tugging the strands hard enough to make him groan. He pulled Taehyung tighter against his body, arching his hips up.

Taehyung gasped, moving his lips down over Minho’s cheek and neck. He nudged his shirt out of the way before biting down, chuckling when Minho cried out sharply. He began to grind on his lap, and Minho felt Taehyung beginning to harden in his jeans. At least he wasn’t the only one. He squeezed his ass as Taehyung sucked a bruise onto his shoulder, letting his head fall back.

Taehyung pulled away and smirked. “You ready?”

Minho nodded, trying to focus his eyes. “You’re good at the whole… Turning someone on thing,” he mumbled.

Taehyung laughed and moved off him, dropping to his knees. He undid Minho’s jeans and they tugged them and his boxers down past his knees. Taehyung made a small noise of what Minho hoped was appreciation, spreading his hands on his legs.

“Wow.”

“Wh—What?” Minho asked.

“You’re big,” Taehyung said. He took Minho in his hand and wrapped his long fingers around it. One stroke, then two, and Taehyung went forward.

Minho moaned helplessly when Taehyung’s lips wrapped around his cock. Soft and full and perfect, Taehyung swallowed him down with ease and began to bob his head. The teasing nudges against the back of his throat had Minho’s toes curling on the floor. He buried his hands in Taehyung’s hair, tugging gently.

He wanted to say something, but each time he opened his mouth, Taehyung would drive down and swallow around his cock, his throat clicking and rendering Minho unable to do anything but moan.

Minho finally dragged his head back, shivering at the sight of Taehyung’s open mouth, little strands saliva running to his soaking cock.

“Lay on the couch. I wanna watch you stroke your cock while you do this.”

Taehyung nodded. He climbed onto the ouch and laid on his hip, shifting so his upper half was faced more downward. He opened his mouth again, letting Minho guide his cock back in and push his head down.

“Jesus, fuck,” he hissed. He reached down, undoing Taehyung’s jeans and pushing them down. Taehyung helped, still deep throating Minho’s cock with obscene noises. Minho spat in his own hand, reaching down to begin stroking Taehyung’s thick, curved cock. He smirked when Taehyung moaned and gagged.

“That’s it, keep sucking,” he groaned letting his head fall back. His own heartbeat was thudding in his ears, paired with the positively dirty sounds Taehyung was making as he sucked his cock, so Minho barely registered the front door opening. Taehyung heard it though, and pulled off Minho. He made a small noise of surprise and grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch, using it to cover their laps as he sat up.

Minho tilted his head a little at Taemin standing in the doorway, jaw agape.

“Dude, knock?” He said.

“Y— I—“ Taemin glanced between the two. “I didn’t think other plans meant getting your cock sucked!” He cried sharply.

“Don’t yell at me in my own house, Taemin.” Minho’s voice was firm and steady. He felt Taehyung look over at him. Taemin blinked, clearly surprised.

“I—”

“The reason I made other plans is because you did.”

“I didn’t—”

“Tell me, Tae. When we were going to the movies today. Would we have been alone?”

“What?”

Minho shrugged, awaiting the answer.

“Well, no,” Taemin said, “Jimin texted and asked to hang out this morning. I told him to come along. But how did you know—”

“Because he ditched Taehyung for it. They’d had plans today and he opted to hang out with you. You and I already had plans, and you deigned to change them to be with him.”

“You like Jimin.”

“I do. I like Jimin a lot. I think he’s an awesome guy and he’s fun to be around. But he isn’t my boyfriend. I had plans with you, my friend. I didn’t want to be the third wheel today. You have to understand, Taemin. I adore you, so much more than you’ll ever realize. But when Taehyung called me upset over this today, I felt like I had no choice but to make a point. I love you, and I really am getting attached to Jimin. But boyfriend or not, it’s never right to do what was done to us today. Get me?”

Taemin’s shoulders sagged a little. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry, hyung. And… To you too, Taehyung. I didn’t think to ask why he was suddenly free either.”

“It’s not your fault, Taemin-hyung,” Taehyung said.

“I don’t want this to start a fight between us,” Minho said. “I just wanted to make a point. You’re my best friend, but I care a great deal about Taehyung too. He was so hurt this morning, and I won’t let anyone hurt him.”

“I know… You’re a good friend like that,” Taemin said, lowering his gaze. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Minho said. He looked to Taehyung, who nodded as well.

“Really, it’s fine. It worked out, right? You get to spend some time alone with your boyfriend today that you didn’t expect to.”

Taemin tried to smile, but it came off a little flat. “I guess you’re right. And you two as well… I’m sorry I burst in here, I wanted to make sure you were okay, Minho-hyung.”

“I am. We should’ve been in the bedroom. Go, have a good day with Jimin.”

Taemin nodded, bowing a little. “We’re still all on for Saturday at my house, right?”

“Of course,” Taehyung said. Minho agreed.

Taemin turned to go, looking back once more before heading out and shutting the door behind him.

Minho released the breath he barely realized he’d been holding, his shoulders slumping. Taehyung tackled him in a hug, surprising him.

“Hey, what’s that about?” He asked, laughing a little even as Taehyung’s grip on his neck threatened to cut off his air supply.

“I’ve never… Just having you stick up for me. I knew you were frustrated but I didn’t realize… I thought it was mostly to make them more jealous. I didn’t realize…”

“That I was actually pissed? I am. It wasn’t right. I hated seeing you look so sad today.” He pulled back and stroked Taehyung’s jaw. “I wanted to make it better somehow.”

“Well, you have… Thank you.”

Minho shrugged. Taehyung bit his lip then, looking away. “Actually…”

“What?”

“If you wanted to really make it better… That… I know that was just for show but… I’m still kinda hard and so are you…”

“You wanna finish, huh?” Minho asked, his stomach twisting at the idea. He brushed Taehyung’s hair back behind his ear. “I don’t see an issue with that.”

“No?”

“Why not? Like you said, I’m still kinda hard. Come on… Let’s go to the bedroom though, more privacy.”

He rose and kicked his jeans and boxers off, pulling Taehyung up and kissing his jaw before guiding him into the bedroom.

Minho stretched out on the bed, shaking his head no when Taehyung went to crawl down between his legs. “Put your legs up here. I wanna help you get off too.”

“Really?” Taehyung sputtered.

“Yeah. I’m not a selfish lover.” Minho winked. “Take your pants off first.”

Taehyung obeyed, crawling onto the bed so his hips were up by Minho’s head. He rolled onto his side, stroking his hands over Minho’s thighs.

Minho reached out, running his fingers along Taehyung’s half erect cock. He gripped lightly and stroked Taehyung gently. He pressed a gentle kiss to his tip, glancing down and meeting his gaze. Taehyung was staring, lips slightly parted.

“What?” Minho asked, not missing the shudder Taehyung gave when he puffed air over the tip.

“You’re just... Really handsome. Feel lucky that you’re willing to... You know.”

“Suck your dick?” Minho asked, laughing a little.

“Among other things,” Taehyung said, laughing as well. He turned his focus onto Minho’s cock, opting to gently suck it back to its fully erect state.

Minho groaned, his hips twitching. He took Taehyung into his mouth, the soft, silky skin just salty enough to taste, but not at all unpleasant. He kept his head movements synced with Taehyung’s, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. Taehyung’s soft whines and groans sent vibrations through his cock, and he responded with the same, the room filled with the soft, wet noises of their mouths and their contented sounds.

All too soon, Minho pulled back, resting his head on Taehyung’s thigh. He reached down, tugging his hair. “Stop— Oh god, stop, I’m gonna come.”

Taehyung pulled off, stroking his cock instead. “Isn’t that the point?”

“In your mouth...” Minho groaned, twisting his hips with Taehyung’s hand.

“Is right where you should come. Don’t be shy.” Taehyung sank back down on Minho’s cock, sucking and bobbing his head with more vigor. He reached one big hand down, guiding his cock back into Minho’s mouth.

Minho struggled to focus, his mind fading as he neared orgasm. He pulled off with a sharp cry, hips jerking when Taehyung’s warm mouth and tight throat finally pushed him over the edge. Taehyung moaned with him, continuing to suck at his cock even while he spilled into his mouth. Minho looked down, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed it down, finally pulling off as the spurts slowed to a dribble.

Minho blinked hard, trying to focus. He stroked Taehyung’s cock once and took it back into his mouth, trying to pick up the same vigor. It seemed to work, as Taehyung threw his head back and moaned, burying his fingers in Minho’s hair. He tugged gently, hips bucking up hard enough to gag Minho. He shuddered, blinking away tears.

“‘M close,” Taehyung warned, “Pull off now it you— You don’t want— Oh fuck, hyung, I’m gonna—“ Taehyung’s toes curled when Minho dropped his head, swallowing around Taehyung’s cock even as he coughed. He felt it begin to throb and pulled back, letting the hot ropes of come coat his tongue. He stroked the part not in his mouth, still sucking gently. He swallowed when he had to, using his tongue to tease the underside of Taehyung’s cock and earning another sharp cry. He pulled back when he could get no more, rolling onto his back with a pleased smile curving the corners of his mouth up.

Taehyung shifted over and flopped next to him, putting his head on Minho’s shoulder. “That was amazing,” he mumbled, kissing Minho’s neck.

“It was.” Minho wrapped an arm around his shoulders, closing his eyes as he basked in the afterglow. For a good moment, he forgot that their relationship wasn’t nearly so intimate. It just felt nice to be with him, lying together.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Taehyung mumbled, sounding nearly asleep himself. “I’m hungry.”

Minho chuckled. “Why don’t we order something and then shower? We can play some games after we eat, then maybe go for a walk or a bike ride down by the river?”

“You really know how to woo a man,” Taehyung cooed, meeting Minho’s gaze. He grinned broadly, unable to help it in the face of Taehyung’s bright expression.

Despite reminding himself again and again that this was all for show, that he only wanted Taemin… Minho couldn’t help but find himself falling just a little more for Taehyung. He couldn’t be head over heels for three men… Could he?

[emospritelet]

Yes, I know it's been two years, I suck.

If anyone still remembers this fic, here's an update.  I've written beyond this chapter, so I'm hoping it won't take too long to finish.  Last time, Belle and Gold parted so she could go off to college and he could continue selling his body.  We fast forward two years (I'd like to say that's the reason for the two year hiatus but that would be a lie.  The truth is writer's block is a bitch and I'm easily distracted).  Cover art by @evilsnowswan

[AO3 link]

Lying on her front on top of her bed, feet kicked up behind her, Belle turned the page of her book.  She had been trying to lose herself in its words for the past hour, without much success: guilt gnawing at her over reading something frivolous that wasn’t on her list for class.  It was early May, and finals were due to start the following week. She wasn’t too worried about them; she had put the study in, but she was tired after another semester of hard study and grabbing hours as a waitress whenever she could.  She had managed to find a couple of part-time jobs in local diners, and had worked more hours than she had bargained for when she first arrived in Boston. College life had many wonderful positives, but the reality of her mounting student debt left her with an ever-present anxiety that was hard to shake.  Hence the waitressing.

The sound of the apartment door opening made her look up, and she smiled as Ruby put her head around the bedroom door, dark ponytail swinging.

“Pizza tonight?” she asked, and Belle wrinkled her nose.

“Do you mind?” she asked.  “I know we said we’d start eating more healthy stuff, but I’m exhausted.”

“Cheese, bread and prosciutto have to be three of the food groups,” said Ruby.  “We can add in wine. That was fruit once, right?”

Belle giggled.

“Okay, I’m convinced.  Call it in whenever you like.”

“I’ll do it now.  Want to watch a movie later?”

“As long as it’s not something terrible, sure.”

“Come on, the terrible ones are fun!”

Ruby disappeared, and after a moment Belle heard her speaking on the phone, ordering the pizza.  She soon returned, minus her jacket, hair free of its ponytail.

“So.”  Ruby flopped onto the bed beside her and winked.  “Tomorrow you’re officially in your twenties. Does Will have anything special planned?”

“I doubt it,” said Belle, turning the page of her book.  “We broke up.”

Ruby blinked.

“What?  Since when?”

“Since I decided to stop kidding myself.  Namely last night.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Belle closed the book, tossing it aside and rolling onto her back.

“I don’t know,” she sighed.  “He’s a nice guy, and I know you like him.”

“Screw that,” said Ruby fiercely.  “You’re my best friend! Of course I’ll support you over him!  What did he do?”

“Nothing,” said Belle wearily.  “It’s not him, it’s me.”

“Is that what you told him?” Ruby winced.  “Ouch.”

“I know, I know…”  Belle ran her hands over her face.  “It’s a terrible cliché, but it was never gonna work out, I was kidding myself.  To be honest, he hasn’t gotten over his ex. I told him to follow her to Europe. I think he might.”

“Wow.”  Ruby shook her head.  “So why did you say it was you, not him?”

“Because…”  Belle screwed up her nose.  “I never really tried, you know?”

“Not much point if he’s still pining after Anastasia.”

“Yeah,” said Belle gloomily.  “Still, I think maybe we made each other feel better for awhile.  He made me laugh, at least.”

“Well, that’s important,” said Ruby sagely.

“And I could talk to him,” added Belle.  “Not about anything that mattered, not like I can with you, but at least he listened.  More than most guys do.”

Ruby sniffed.  “Tell me about it.”

“But,” Belle went on, “I should still never have dated him.  I knew it was hopeless. All we did was go and see stupid movies and talk about crap.  Like that was ever gonna help him get over her!”

“Probably better than my way of dealing with a bad break-up,” offered Ruby, and Belle grinned.

“Come on, drunken one-nighters are a rite of passage for all college students.”

“You must have missed that memo.”

“Yeah.”  Belle pulled a face.  “Not really my scene.”

Ruby sighed, settling back against the blankets and eyeing Belle thoughtfully.

“You’ve never really gotten over that first guy, have you?” she said frankly, and Belle shifted uncomfortably.

“I didn’t say that.”

Ruby threw up a hand in exasperation.

“Belle, you can’t keep thinking about him!” she protested.  “The guy was a prostitute, it’s not like you know him!  However great he was, however attentive he was, you paid him to be that way!  It was all an act! You do know that, right?”

“Of course,” lied Belle.  “I wasn’t even thinking about him, anyway.”

“I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I wasn’t!” she insisted.  “At least - at least not much.”

“Great sex does not make a great relationship,” Ruby reminded her sternly.  “Look at me! A whirlwind romance with what I thought was the person of my dreams, and three months later I’m single and miserable and wondering what the hell I did wrong!”

Belle reached out to grasp her hand and squeeze.

“You’ll meet someone new,” she said.  “We - we both will. Eventually.”

“I know,” sighed Ruby.  “Doesn’t stop it sucking while we wait, huh?”

“Means we concentrate in class more, though.”

“Well, that’s true.  Every cloud, and all that.”

“You ready for finals?”

“As I’ll ever be.”  Ruby pulled a face. “I think it’ll be okay.  I haven’t screwed up in the lab in weeks. I have to ace these finals, there’s no way I want to have to take summer classes.”

“Yeah, I really need to work as much as I can, get some of this debt paid down.”

“Your dad never did come up with a surprise wad of cash, huh?” said Ruby, looking aggrieved on her behalf.

“I never expected him to, not really,” sighed Belle.  “It’s cool. I’ll have paid it off by the time I’m like forty-five or something.”

They shared a grin, and Ruby pushed up on her elbows, fixing Belle with a firm stare.

“Okay,” she said resolutely.  “Since we’re young, free and single, I say we celebrate your birthday together.  That means a prosecco brunch with all the sugar you can eat, followed by mani-pedis and a trip to Wonderland to get the one thing every girl needs.”

“What’s that?” asked Belle suspiciously, and Ruby grinned.

“A decent vibrator.”

x

Gold ran a hand through his newly-cropped hair and rolled his shoulders, the interior of Wonderland a little warm for the three-piece suit he was wearing. He wasn’t sure why he had decided to don the thing for his final visit to Blue Star, but it had seemed appropriate.  He had said his goodbyes to his colleagues, shaken hands and kissed cheeks, all wrapped in the armour of blue silk and fine black wool.  Having agreed to accompany Jefferson to Wonderland for the purchase of some tools of the trade, he was looking forward to leaving the place empty-handed for a change.  Then he could go back to his hotel room, take off the suit for the last time, and turn the final page on that chapter of his life.  He couldn’t say he would be sorry to do it, however reluctant Miss Blue was to lose him as an escort.

“What do you think of these?  Pretty, huh?”

Jefferson handed him a set of butt plugs in iridescent colours, and Gold raised an eyebrow.

“Does it really matter what colour they are, considering where they’re going?”

“Wow,” remarked Jefferson.  “You really are off the clock, huh?  Come on, give me your expert opinion while you can.”

“I’d be worried about the coating coming off,” said Gold.  “Stick with the silicone ones.”

“You’re probably right.”

“What about leather cuffs?” said Gold, pointing.  “You said you needed some new ones.”

“Oh yeah, thanks for the reminder.”

Jefferson went off to browse, and Gold fidgeted, fingertips toying with his hair again.  It was taking a little time to get used to. The short length made the silver in it more visible, and it was strange not to have it hanging around his face, but the haircut felt right, too.  Another break with the past.

“Since you’re staying in Boston, why don’t you come to dinner tonight?” said Jefferson, as he looked through the selection of cuffs and straps.  “Graham’s making tacos. They’re pretty good, if you add extra hot sauce. I can promise some decent tequila, too.”

“Sounds good.”

“Come over at seven, then.  You can meet our new cat, she’s adorable.”

Gold smiled.  He had thought about getting a cat himself, now that he would spending more time in Storybrooke.  It would be nice to have some company in the evenings. Of a different sort than he was used to.

“I’ll be there.”

Jefferson soon found what he was looking for, and paid for his choices, dropping everything into one of the recognisable turquoise bags and winking at Alice, the assistant.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” he asked, as he and Gold headed for the exit.

“Why would I?”

“Well, you never know,” said Jefferson.  “Long winter nights, up in Maine, all by yourself in that big old house...  A guy could get lonely.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Gold, and raised an eyebrow.  “What are you expecting me to get, a bloody sex doll?”

Jefferson snickered.

“No!  I just meant you should be prepared, just in case someone special wanders into your life.  You have great skills, or so it’s rumoured. Be a shame to let ‘em go stale.”

“I’ll have more than enough to keep me busy, I assure you.”

“You should start getting out a bit more,” said Jefferson.  “You know what they say, all work and no play—”

“—means I can pay the bills and get to class on time,” finished Gold, and Jefferson rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh.

“Well, if nothing else, when you eventually decide to let someone in enough to have an actual relationship, the sex will be awesome!”

“Thank you for that ringing endorsement,” said Gold dryly.  “I have a feeling it takes more than a bag of tricks to make a relationship work.  You’re lucky you and Graham know all one another’s secrets.”

“You need someone you can be honest with from the start,” said Jefferson. “Given how we met, that was never an issue.”

“Well, that’s unlikely to happen in my case, hmm?”

He grasped the door handle, pulling it open, and two young women almost fell in from the street in a mass of dark hair and jumbled colours.  He took a step back, opening his mouth to apologise, and whatever he had planned to say died on his lips as the first woman swept back her hair and looked up.

“Belle!” he breathed.

She stared at him, her eyes widening, a blush rising in her cheeks.  Dear God, she was beautiful!  Perfection. Small and slender and clad in a pale blue jacket and what looked like a yellow dress over wedge-heeled sandals, a blue beret pulled down over her chestnut curls.  Her lips were full and red, parted in shock, and he remembered with painful clarity exactly how she tasted. In every way.

“Alistair,” she whispered.

He swallowed hard, taking a step back as he noticed Ruby Lucas behind her.

“I - Miss French!” he managed.  “Miss Lucas. How - how lovely to see you. How are you both?”

“Fine,” said Ruby cheerfully.  “We’re just having a girly shopping day for Belle’s birthday, hence the trip to this place.”

Two years today.  It’s two years today since we—

“Right,” he said.  “Uh - happy birthday, Miss French.”

Belle didn’t answer, and was blushing, teeth worrying her lower lip.  She had dropped her gaze, fingers dancing along the brown leather strap of the purse over her shoulder.  He pulled his eyes away.

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr Gold,” added Ruby.  “With your - friend.”

“Yes, well, we were just - I was just—” he floundered.

“Regular shopping trip,” said Jefferson, holding up the bag.  “We spend a fortune in this place, but it’s worth every cent.”

Ruby smirked, and turned back to Gold, gesturing up and down.

“That’s a new look for you,” she observed.  “Like the suit. Love the hair.”

“Thank you,” said Gold numbly.  

“You girls should check out the White Rabbit range,” said Jefferson helpfully. “Hits the spot others can’t quite reach, if you take my meaning. Alice will steer you right, just tell her I sent you.”

Belle closed her eyes with an expression suggesting she was enduring physical pain, and Gold desperately tried to steer the conversation onto a more appropriate topic.

“I - ah - I had forgotten you were both headed to Boston,” he said.  “Are you enjoying college?”

“I - yes,” said Belle, still blushing.  “Yes, thank you.”

“We have a place together, a couple of blocks away,” put in Ruby.  “Studying hard, you’ll be pleased to know.”

“Good.”  His power of speech appeared to have deserted him.  “That’s - I’m very glad to hear it. Take care, both of you.”

He stepped to the right, and Belle stepped in front of him.  There was an awkward moment that seemed to last an eternity, in which they sidestepped to try to get past one another, murmuring apologies as they each stepped in the same direction.  Eventually he managed to escape with the help of Jefferson’s firm hand steering him by the shoulder. He left the store without seeing anything, and without looking back, dimly aware that Jefferson was following him.  His heart was racing, and he took a couple of deep breaths before he was able to focus on anything. The sun was very bright, and he fumbled for his sunglasses, almost sighing with relief as he slipped them on and cut the glare.

“Friends of yours?” asked Jefferson, and Gold sighed.

“Two ex-students from my high school,” he said tersely.  “I think we could have done without the vibrator recommendations, to be honest.”

“Oops,” said Jefferson, not sounding remotely contrite.

“Indeed.”  Gold ran a hand over his face.  “Of all the places to bump into those two…”

“Don’t worry, they didn’t hear us talking about anything they shouldn’t.”

“Right,” said Gold vaguely.

“You okay?” asked Jefferson.  “Sometimes it’s weird when your two lives collide, you know?”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” said Gold quietly.  “I’m fine, really.”

“Good.”

Jefferson leaned in, kissed his cheek and stepped back, the turquoise bag crackling against his leg.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he announced, waving a finger.  “Seven o’clock! Don’t forget!”

“I’ll be there,” promised Gold, and Jefferson grinned and turned on his toes, sauntering off down the street with the bag swinging from his hand.

Gold watched him go with half an eye, his mind full of Belle.  She lived nearby, with Ruby. How had he not seen her before? Admittedly he wasn’t in Boston much these days, and would be there even less now that he had given up escorting.  He sent up heartfelt thanks that he had never seen her while working his second job. God, she was as beautiful as ever. Beautiful and just as hopelessly out of reach. He blinked hard, shaking his head.

“Penny for ‘em.”

Another familiar voice made him jump, and he turned with a smile.

“Neal,” he said warmly, reaching out to pull his son into a hug.  Neal hugged him back, grinning, a small backpack looped over one shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” he asked.  “Are you staying in Boston?”

“Only a couple of nights,” said Gold.  “I was doing some shopping and finishing up a few business matters, that’s all.”

“Yeah?  Who was that?”

“What?”  Gold panicked for a moment before realising who Neal meant.  “Oh that - that was Jefferson. He’s - a friend.”

“Oh.  Okay, cool.”  Neal looked him over.  “You look great! What’s with the suit?”

“Oh.”  Gold looked down at himself.  “Yes. Well. I - uh - thought I’d try a different look.  I’m not sure it’s really me.”

“That’s a hell of a different look,” observed Neal.  “And you cut your hair!”

“I - yes.”  Gold ran his fingers through the short strands.  “Don’t you like it?”

“It looks great,” said Neal.  “Although I kinda miss the - floof.”

“Floof?” said Gold flatly.  “Whatever that is, I’m almost certain I never had any.”

“Have it your way,” said Neal, with a grin.  He put a hand on Gold’s shoulder. “You look good, but I gotta say you look tired.  Emma always says you work too hard.”

“Well…”  Gold shrugged awkwardly.  “Not been getting much sleep.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still working yourself into the ground for us,” warned Neal. “You don’t need to, I’m serious! I’m making good money now. No killing yourself with school and tutoring, okay?”

Gold smiled.

“You can tell Emma that I’m no longer working two jobs,” he said.  “Which means I’ll have a little more time on my hands to spend with you.”

“Good.  In that case, why don’t you come over tonight?” he asked.  “Emma was gonna do steak, but I’m sure we could use ‘em to rustle up something for the three of us.”

“Oh, I - I can’t, I already have an appointment,” said Gold hastily.

Neal glanced down the street.

“Okay,” he said lightly.  “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow would be great,” said Gold, with a smile.  “I’ll bring a bottle of something. What time?”

“Come over whenever you like, Emma’s in all day.  I should get back around six.” Neal glanced at his watch.  “Look, I’d better go, I only came out to grab some lunch. Couldn’t face the cafeteria mac and cheese.  See you tomorrow?”

“See you then.”

Gold hugged him again before Neal hurried off down the street, and he glanced after him with a tiny smile on his face.  It was going to be good to be able to spend more time with his family. It would all have been worth it to give them that good start in life, the start he had never had.  Time to make the most of it, and put the past behind him.

x

As the time approached seven, he knocked firmly on the door of the apartment Jefferson and Graham shared.  They had moved in together six months earlier, and he had been over a few times for dinner when he had been in town, but not since they had adopted a cat.  Jefferson answered the door with his usual enthusiasm, taking the bottle of wine Gold held out and exclaiming over it before ushering him inside. The walls had been painted a warm coffee colour, the couch dark brown leather with a paisley throw and cushions in cream, brown and olive green.  There was a savoury smell of garlic and spices coming from the kitchen, and Gold sniffed appreciatively.

“Graham’s in the kitchen,” said Jefferson.  “He thinks ten minutes until dinner, so what do you say I open the wine?”

“Sounds good.”  Gold looked around.  “The place looks great.”

“Thanks.  We nearly got into a pillow fight over the colour scheme.”

"Spare me the details," said Gold, with a grin.  “So, where’s your cat?”

“Oh!  Let me get her!”

Jefferson put down the bottle and hurried off, returning with a long-haired white cat with black and ginger patches on her head and back.  He held her up high, as though presenting her for inspection by the cat gods.

“I invite you to humbly prostrate yourself at the feet of Her Royal Highness, Princess Petunia Puffball!” he announced.  “Puff for short.”

Puff looked decidedly unimpressed at being picked up, and glowered at Gold as though it was his fault, so he elected not to pet her just yet.  Jefferson kissed her head, which she endured with a look of disdain, and then put her down on the couch. Gold held out a hand, and she sniffed at his fingers cautiously before butting her head against them and beginning to purr.  He scratched her ears, making her fluffy tail rise up and curl over.

“I knew she’d like you!” declared Jefferson, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on through to the kitchen. You want some of this wine?”

“Please.”

“Just give me a second.”

Gold gave Puff a final pet, and followed Jefferson through to the kitchen, where Graham was chopping tomatoes with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  He smiled, setting down his knife to give Gold a quick hug.

“Have a seat,” he said.  “Dinner won’t be long, I’m just making the salad.”

Gold took a chair, glancing around the kitchen.  The walls were painted a warm terracotta colour, turquoise shelves housing recipe books, brightly-coloured pottery and assorted houseplants.

“You’ve redecorated in here too,” he observed.  “It’s nice.”

“We thought we’d try for something warm and cosy,” said Jefferson.  “It’ll be nice when this place is two feet deep in snow.”

“Yes, it reminds me that I really need to repaint the porch at home.”

Jefferson set a glass of wine in front of him, and Gold nodded his thanks, taking a sip.

“So,” said Graham, returning to his chopping.  “No more Blue Star. How does it feel?”

“Not sure it’s sunk in yet,” he admitted.  “I’ll have to find something to keep myself busy with in the evenings.”

“Any thoughts?”

“Nothing specific.”  Gold took another drink.  “The house could use some work; I’ve been neglecting it for the past few years.  So there’s that.”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” suggested Graham, and Gold pulled a face.

“Unless Storybrooke has new residents I’m unaware of, doubtful.”

“There’s always online dating.”

“No thanks,” said Gold, pulling a face.  “I imagine that ‘I just stopped working as a prostitute’ is something of a conversation killer with the average woman.”

“How you chose to earn a living is no one’s business,” Jefferson reminded him.

“I know,” sighed Gold.  “But it’s something fairly momentous and I wouldn’t feel right keeping it to myself.”

“No one’s saying you have to give your life story on a first date.”

“I know,” he said again.  “But I could probably do with some time to myself, anyway.”

“Well, you know you’re always welcome here,” said Graham.  “If you ever need to get away from small town life, just call.”

“Thanks,” said Gold.  “But I think I’m actually looking forward to getting back into small town life, if only because the neighbours will stop speculating about where it is I go in the evenings.  Plus it’ll be good to get a full eight hours of sleep every night, for a change.”

“Well, we support you,” announced Jefferson, raising his glass.  “And someday we’ll drive up to that small town of yours and you can take us out and show us the sights!”

“That should take all of ten minutes,” said Gold wryly.  “Nothing ever changes in Storybrooke.”

“To boredom, nosy neighbours and a regular sleep schedule!”

They clinked glasses, Gold grinning as he did it.

x

Belle locked the apartment door, grasping her case in one hand as she shoved the keys into her purse.  Finals were over, and she could feel the stress of late-night studying starting to leave her body, her muscles aching a little, heavy and tired.  She was pleased to be done with study, and to be heading home for the summer, but there was an underlying nervousness there, a low-level twinge in her gut that she was trying to ignore.  It had nothing to do with the stress of exams, of that she was well aware.

She followed Ruby downstairs to where the car was parked in the May sunshine, throwing her case into the trunk and sliding into the passenger seat.  Ruby grinned widely, large sunglasses hiding most of her face.

“Next stop, Storybrooke!” she sang, and pulled away into the steady stream of cars heading north.

They were quiet as they drove out of the city, Ruby concentrating on the road ahead, and singing snatches of a song on the radio.  Before too long, they reached I-95, and Ruby settled back in her seat, fingers tapping on the wheel as she picked up the pace. She glanced across at Belle.

“Want to hit The Rabbit Hole tonight?” she asked.  “Could be fun to see who’s still around.  I bet it’s just as crappy as when we left, but there might be some new blood in there.”

“I should probably spend some time with Dad,” said Belle.  “I’m guessing Granny will be expecting you to spend at least the first couple of nights at home.”

Ruby grumbled, but nodded reluctantly.

“Your dad gonna give you some work?” she asked, and Belle wrinkled her nose.

“What he can,” she said.  “He said the shop wasn’t too busy right now, though.  You think I could get some diner shifts?”

“Already cleared it with Granny,” said Ruby, glancing in her mirror before overtaking the car ahead.  “We probably won’t be working the same shifts, but at least it’s something.”

“Every little helps,” agreed Belle.  “Assuming we didn’t flunk the finals, of course.”

Ruby sputtered in derision.

“Come on girl, we worked our pert little asses off for those exams,” she declared.  “Think positive! No class until September! We have three months to have some fun and earn some cash before we head back there.  And I intend to make the most of it!”

“Okay.”  Belle grinned as she sat back.  “I’m in. Positive outlook, here I come.”

“That’s the spirit.”

x

Storybrooke seemed smaller.

It was the first time that she had really noticed since leaving, and Belle wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not.  It showed that she had grown as a person; it would be ludicrous to expect two years of college not to have had some effect on her, after all.  She didn’t want to lose sight of her home, though.  She didn’t want to think she could never come back.

Ruby had dropped her at her dad’s place, along with her bags, and she had spent half an hour or so putting away her things in the battered old wardrobe in her room.  The house was silent; her father would not be home until around six, which was around an hour away. She decided to make a start on dinner, and hunted through the fridge to find something to throw together.  Moe French was never the best at eating vegetables, but she found mushrooms, onions and garlic, and so she decided on pasta.

She was reading a book, leaning against the kitchen counter and keeping one eye on the bubbling sauce, when the sound of the front door made her glance up.  Moe beamed when she saw her through the open kitchen door, and she set down the book and ran to hug him.

“I thought you were coming tomorrow!” he complained, almost squeezing the breath from her.

“I told you it was today,” she chided.  “More than once!”

“My brain’s turned to shit,” he grumbled.  “How’d the exams go?”

“Ruby tells me we smashed it, so I’m following her lead,” said Belle, in a dry tone.  “They were fine, I think. How are you?”

“Oh, okay love, okay.  Shop’s - well, we’re getting by.  The Nolans had another kid, so that meant a lot of orders.  And Ashley Boyd got married, so that was a good week. Getting by, getting by.”

“Doesn’t sound as though you have much need of an extra pair of hands,” she observed, and he shook his head.

“A couple of hours a day, to make deliveries and help out with the flower orders, that’s it,” he said.  “Sorry, love.”

“It’s cool, Granny gave me some hours at the diner.”  Belle turned to the sauce, snatching up a spoon and stirring it.  “You hungry?”

“I could eat a dead bear, I’m bloody starving.”

“Go wash up then, I’ll cook the pasta.”

They ate in comfortable silence, Moe praising the creamy mushroom sauce, and Belle watched in some amusement as he cleared his plate and looked hopefully around for more.

“That’s it,” she said, taking his plate and stacking it atop her own.  “You want anything else?”

“Better not.”  He patted his belly.  “That was great, love.”

“What do you want to do tonight?” she asked, and he looked uneasy.

“Uh - you know I said I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow?”

“Don’t tell me,” said Belle.  “Poker night.”

“I can cancel,” said Moe hastily, but she shook her head.

“Don’t bother.  You go and have a good time.  I can keep myself amused for one night.”

“You sure?”

Belle smiled.

“Absolutely.”

x

Gold finished cleaning up the kitchen, a glass of wine on the table behind him as he wiped down the counters.  He rinsed the dishcloth, humming along to the music coming from the lounge. A soft, Baroque piece, soothing strings and harpsichord.  Wiping his hands on the dish towel, he turned back for his wine, taking a sip as he wandered through to the lounge. It was strange not to have to plan for two or three nights out, and he was already enjoying the extra sleep.  Though losing the extra money was less welcome. Worth it, he decided. Worth it to start getting your bloody self-respect back.

The first few days back in Storybrooke had left him feeling a little out of sorts, restless and jittery due to the extra time on his hands, pacing the kitchen over and over with a glass of wine in one hand as he tried to burn off excess energy.  After the first weekend where he had felt as though he was going quietly mad, he had embarked on a thorough clean of the house, taking the opportunity to go through old paperwork and burn it, cleaning out the attic, and scrubbing the kitchen until it shone.  He had planned to work on the garden next, although that needed little attention, as Anton came to tend it once a week. Perhaps a couple of days out at the cabin instead, reading and relaxing. At least he still had class to prepare for, so he wasn’t entirely without purpose, but he would need a serious distraction to get through the long summer break.  

A hurried knock at the door made him frown, and for a moment he stood still, eerie fingertips caressing the nape of his neck and sending shivers down his spine.  Goosebumps rippled over his skin, spreading down from his shoulders, and he told himself to get a bloody grip, surprised at his own nervousness. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and he wasn’t sure why an unexpected knock would make him anxious.  Perhaps one of the neighbours needed help with something. Setting down his glass, he went to the door, the vague side outline of a diminutive figure visible through the rippled glass panels. Gold licked his lips, his breath held tight, a ball of iron in his chest.  His heart was thudding, his pulse throbbing in his ears, and he reached out with a shaking hand, skin tingling as his fingers closed around the cool brass handle.

The evening sun was setting, the sky a pale lilac fading into peach tones at the horizon, thin knotted ropes of grey cloud outlined in coral.  Belle stood on his porch, bouncing on her toes, chest heaving a little as though she had been running, dark curls glinting with reddish highlights from the sunset.  Her pale skin was tinged apricot, warm and inviting, and she inhaled sharply, raising her chin.

“Hey,” she said abruptly.

He could feel emotion stir deep within him, a rising tide threatening to engulf him and sweep him away.  Her eyes were shining, fixed on his, soft lips open and moist, and it was as though they had parted only yesterday.  He smiled.

“Hey.”

[magioftheseas]

A Meal With Chestnuts

written for @yuzuria​ because it’s her biiiiiirf

Summary: In which Hinata adopts a cat that's a whirlwind of fluff and trouble. His brother sometimes helps.

Rating: G

Warnings: Ehhhhh? There are some tribulations related to caring for a pet but that’s it.

Notes: Because I love Mewshi (cat!servant) I decided I’d whip up a quick fic with him and Hinata. Yep. Yeah. Look at this angel. Precious.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“I... Izuru... Hey...”

“Hajime.” His brother doesn’t miss a beat. “It is strange for you to call me out of the blue like this.”

“Y-Yeah. Um. I... I called because... I need, urgh, I-I need help.”

“Did something happen? Are you at the hospital?”

It doesn’t surprise him that’s the first conclusion Izuru jumps to. Honestly, if he were Izuru, knowing himself the way he does, that’s the first conclusion he’d jump to, too.

“I’m fine,” he says, almost snaps really. “But I...” He pinches his nose, swallows, and struggles. “I-I... I need money...”

“...”

“A-And I know!” he exclaimed. “I know I said I’d rather fucking die on the streets than borrow money from you when you offered—t-that was stupid...and immature... I’m sorry. I...”

“...”

“I... I...”

Can I really do this?

Just as he’s this close to hanging up, he glances over and ends up meeting the wide, gray-green eyes of a scraggly, tangled mess of fluff. Said fluff gives a weak chirp in acknowledgement.

How can I even ask myself that?

“I found a cat,” he said, sighing. “It’s in really, really bad shape. Like, its back legs are badly broken, one of its front paws is mangled, it has worms, and it... He smells awful, Izuru. And I don’t have enough to pay for the medical bills.”

“Understood.” The response was immediate. “Which vet?”

“Uh... The one on...” He rattles off the address. “So, uh, does this mean...?”

“I will be there right away.”

“Right away?”

“Right. Away.”

Just like that, Izuru hangs up. Hinata blinks at his phone before pocketing it. With a sigh, he reaches out to stroke the cat’s head, mindful of the plastic cone. He earns a purr for his troubles, and he can’t help but smile in spite of his grimace.

“You made me broke one of my oaths to never ask my successful, genius brother for help,” he said. “Fifteen years I kept that oath. And now it’s broken. Because of you.”

The cat nuzzled his hand.

“...I hope you’re happy. You’re really lucky, too. Izuru loves cats, and he barely loves anything. I’m still doubtful that he loves me, y’know.”

Another chirp.

“You’re...you’re in good hands. Definitely.”

--

Hinata Hajime was, putting it lightly, not the happiest he could be with his life.

Law school had been stressful enough, but actually trying to make it as a lawyer could be a nightmare with the weirdos he had to put up with and the cases he had to swallow his pride and do his damndest to defend when they actually made it to court. Even so, he wasn’t very successful.

Not like Izuru, never like Izuru.

Still, he had a stable life, if anything A good apartment, an alright car, a good neighborhood, a social life that sure existed even when he didn’t have the energy for it. He was doing well for himself. Not great, but well. Well, well, welly well, well.

Izuru called him boring for good reason.

He resented Izuru, of course, but he was hard-pressed to argue with him over anything. Izuru was right. Even Hinata’s own friends agree that he was the kind of guy who seriously needed to go out more. Relax more. Get laid.

Especially since his crush of seven years hadn’t picked up on any of Hinata’s painfully obvious hints. Better yet, said crush tended to fawn over his doctor. They weren’t in a relationship for that reason, but... But... Still. It was pretty damn hopeless.

Too fucking bad Hinata didn’t have the itch nor confidence to just find someone, anyone to put up with his boring, mundane, sometimes miserable ass in bed.

So Hinata was at a loss over what the hell he was supposed to do to find some level of actual contentment with his life. Or at least something if not someone to distract him from the void.

And then a flurry of wild, filthy white fluff rushed out in front of his car while he was driving and he almost wrecked then and there. Breaking the law, he ended up pulling over and investigating only to find out it was just some cat. Some cat that just chirped at him before returning to gnaw at the remains of some roadkill.

It looked like a possessed mop. Hinata took it home for the night. And then he went to the vet and called Izuru for help. Something he swore up and down for fifteen years that he would never, ever do.

Izuru didn’t hesitate at all. If anything, Izuru was immediately enamored with it. Hell, Izuru already ordered several cat toys and high-end cat food to be delivered to Hinata’s apartment around the time that the cat was expected to recover enough to go home with him.

He should feel pretty stupid right now, and he certainly felt awkward watching Izuru stare at the sleeping bundle of white.

“Does he have a name?”

“Uh... Huh?”

“A name. Did you name him?” Izuru frowned at him. “Were you planning on keeping him?”

“I...” He knows he should say no. That if anyone’s equipped to take in a cat, it’d be his crush. Komaeda already had a cat, he’d probably love another one and Izuru couldn’t have pets in his building, but... Hinata’s own apartment doesn’t have any pet policy. And it’s as alright a place as it is an empty one. And maybe, just maybe, he had fallen in love with the stupid thing overnight after making it a makeshift bed of towels, pillows, and blankets. “I wanted to, yeah.”

Izuru nods. “What’s his name?”

“His name, uh...”

And it just kind of comes naturally. The cat has long, white hair that’s fine and reminds Hinata of grain, and... Said cat had also pooped in his rice bag. Hinata still wasn’t sure how it got in there.

“Meshi,” he said, shrugging. “Is that an alright name?”

Izuru blinked at him, but glanced over at Meshi, still caught in a peaceful slumber.

“Meshi is a fine name,” he said. “After he gets cleaned up, I do predict that his fur will be as white as rice.”

“Yeah...?”

“Yes.”

Hinata could only nod along.

“Take good care of him, Hajime,” Izuru said sharply. “Or else I will not forgive you.”

“O-Of course I will!” he exclaimed, gawking. “I... I... Yeah, I will!”

He just hoped he was prepared for what he was getting into.

(He wasn’t. He had no idea.)

--

Meshi, as it turned out, was exceptionally fluffy, even more than Hinata already thought. In fact, Meshi likely doubled in volume entirely due to fluff.

Meshi had needed his front paw amputated but Izuru paid for a prosthetic. Of course he had.

Izuru also needed to leave for work but he had left several files on how to take care of Meshi and administer medication if need be. Izuru even set up an account with money for future medical bills. Just. In case.

And then Meshi bit Izuru when he tried to pet him. And Hinata hurriedly pulled him away. Meshi had chirped but nuzzled against him, and it was the first time Izuru had ever looked at him with such envy.

He...had felt a little satisfied. But only a little.

“I... Don’t worry, Izuru,” he said. “I promise, I’ll take good care of him.”

“Or else,” Izuru muttered. Hinata nodded again.

“...yeah. Or else.”

--

So...now he has a cat. And his apartment has gone from empty and clean to a mess of cat hair everywhere.

And there are child safety locks on his cabinets because otherwise Meshi would spill rice everywhere.

And the trashcan has to be facing the wall otherwise Meshi gets stuck in it. Meshi, Hinata learns, has a weird affinity for trash.

“Komaeda’s cat isn’t this high maintenance,” he grumbled while scrubbing Meshi’s fur clean for the umpteenth time today. “He’s lazy and always sleeping. Why do you have to be completely different, Meshi?”

Meshi meowed at him happily as he rinsed him off.

“A-And what kind of cat enjoys baths, anyway?!”

Another happy meow. And then Meshi gagged from trying to nibble at his soapy fingers. And then Meshi started to hack. Hinata panicked.

“Wait, no, don’t throw up!”

Hinata had to wash the tub as well that day.

--

Every ounce of his space is now Meshi’s space. Even when it’s late, rather than use the plush bed that Izuru bought, Meshi sleeps on his face and nearly suffocates him overnight.

He drags the cat bed onto his bed and tries to force Meshi to sleep there. It doesn’t work out.

He wakes up coughing up cat hair while Meshi innocently groomed himself.

“You,” he grumbles after washing out his mouth. “You’re impossible.”

Meshi chirps at him.

--

You would think that with one prosthetic and weakened hind legs that a cat like Meshi would have difficulty getting around.

Not so.

“Meshi! Meshi!”

Meshi kept on crying.

“How did you even get up there?!”

You would also think that with as much fluff that Meshi had, that it’d be difficult for Meshi to squeeze into all the weird places that cats liked to explore.

Also not so.

“Meshi? Meshi?!”

Hinata would’ve had a heart attack over his missing cat if not for noticing that the drawer was open. And, unsurprisingly, Meshi mewled at him when he peered inside.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

He ends up tying a bell around Meshi’s neck. It’s easier to keep track of him and... Maybe, just maybe, it suited him.

--

Meshi doesn’t play with cat toys. Meshi plays with his ties. And string. Meshi seems to really enjoy string.

“Luxuries are wasted on you,” Hinata grumbles. “Poor Izuru.”

Meshi attacks his antenna. He ends up with a shiner thanks to the prosthetic.

It’s very awkward trying to explain it to his coworkers and clients that no, he didn’t get into a fight, yes, it was just because of his new cat.

“Your cat seems to be quite the handful,” Kirigiri had murmured. “Be more careful, Hinata-kun.”

“R-Right...”

Meshi afterwards still had the gall to show him his fluffy belly and look like an angel while doing so.

Hinata knits him a mitten for his prosthetic. It takes a while because Meshi keeps gnawing at the yarn, but eventually Hinata manages.

“There we are.” He pulls back to inspect his handiwork and sticks his hand out to take Meshi’s newly knitted paw. “It’s not as soft nor as nice but... You’ll cause less damage like this.”

Meshi chirps almost cheerily and nuzzles him. In particular, the bruised side of his face. It irritates his injured eye. Hinata almost cries, but he valiantly holds back.

He forgives Meshi quickly even as the bruise lasts a while.

--

His life has gone from unbearably dull to dreadfully unpredictable, thanks to Meshi.

It also changed in several other significant ways. If Hinata laid on the ground, Meshi tended to trample him without missing a beat. Cooking was now a serious hazard with how curious Meshi could be in the kitchen, especially near the stove and with fluff like that—Hinata couldn’t cook until he was sure that Meshi was safely kept far, far away.

Because it’s a cat, I’m the one that has to be completely and utterly accommodating.

Sometimes he took Meshi outside and just...watched Meshi sniff around the grass and area. And afterwards, he’d have to give Meshi another bath due to Meshi rolling around in the dirt.

Because it’s a cat, it’s just going to do whatever it wants regardless about how I feel about it.

He always needed to keep a close eye on Meshi. Because, otherwise—

“Meshi, no! Out of the trash! Get out of the trash!”

Why am I willingly subjecting myself to this again?

The answer was obvious even without Meshi purring after being pulled out of the trash.

“I was already pretty busy,” he grumbled as he once more scrubbed Meshi clean. “You’re making this almost impossible.”

Meshi chirped.

“But...it’s not like you have anyone else, huh? I’m the one who took you in.” He rinses him off and wraps him up in towels to blow-dry his fur. “That makes you mine. Izuru probably could’ve found a way to make you his but—but you’re mine and that’s that.”

Meshi purrs against him as he brushes his fur afterwards.

“Mine,” Hinata murmurs. “You’re mine, Meshi.”

Meshi meows, and Hinata likes to think it’s a sound of agreement.

--

When Komaeda visits, bright-eyed and carrying a cat carrier, Hinata’s sure that his heart leapt up into his throat at the sight.

“I heard about your new cat!” Komaeda practically beams. “I brought Izumi with me for a cat playdate.”

There’s a low mreow from the carrier. Just a sound to acknowledge his name being said. Nothing else.

“Oh... Huh...”

He swallows as Komaeda brushes past. Komaeda sets down the carrier. And with the tinkling of a bell and the padding of feet, Meshi practically rushed up to him.

“Hi there,” Komaeda coos, reaching out to run his fingers through those long white strands. “Ooh, Kamukura-kun was right, you are a beauty. No wonder he was utterly enamored with you. Hinata-kun, you’ve been taking pictures and showing them to Kamukura-kun, right?”

“Uh, yeah, a few...” But whenever I bring out the camera while Meshi’s doing something cute, Meshi immediately stops doing the thing. “Are you sure it’s alright for you to be out and about, Komaeda?”

“Yep! Matsuda-kun even says I’ll be well enough to start working! Though he also says someone as rich as me doesn’t need to worry about that, haha...” He opens the carrier, humming. “Come out, Izumi. Come say hi! Oh.” Meshi rushed into the carrier, which Hinata more or less expected even as he worried. “H-Hey, Izumi won’t attack him right?” “Of course not! My Izumi would never...!” Komaeda stared helplessly at the fluffy tail flickering in the air sticking out of his carrier. “Meshi... Izumi can’t leave like this.” “Meshi doesn’t believe in personal space,” Hinata said. A pause. “Unless it’s with Izuru. So... I guess he’s warmed up to Izumi, at least.”

All the same, he swooped down and pulled Meshi out of the carrier. Drearily as ever, Izumi stepped out, sniffing as he did and elegant black tail flickering with those piercing red eyes.

It still weirds me out that Izumi is a lot like Izuru but... Come to think of it, Meshi looks a little like...

Meshi blinks those pretty gray-greens at him. Hinata flusters when Komaeda glances at him with eyes a similar shade and hurriedly looks away.

“Uh... Here you go, Meshi,” he mumbled awkwardly, setting Meshi back down so that he and Izumi could familiarize themselves with each other. Or at least so that Meshi could, seeing as Izumi just flopped onto the ground.

Yeah, that’s what I expected.

And Komaeda softly squealed, pulling out his phone to take pictures. Probably getting the most flattering ones, too.

“Kamukura-kun will love seeing these,” he hummed. “And Matsuda-kun will, too.”

Hinata deflated, nodding.

“I... Yeah... Anyway, can I get you anything to eat, Komaeda? I have some leftovers I can heat up if you want.”

“So kind, Hinata-kun!”

“Not...really. It’s just a courtesy.”

He still couldn’t meet Komaeda’s sparkling gaze directly and Meshi, at the very least, proved to be a very suitable distraction. Especially with Meshi crawling over Izumi like that, pawing at him curiously.

Cute... Shockingly cute...

With Komaeda bouncing after him, Hinata couldn’t help but wonder if he’d really be able to handle both of them at the same time in his tiny, tiny apartment.

God give me strength.

--

After they ate, Komaeda was almost as eager to look around as Meshi.

“Aha, there’s a lot of toys! Did Kamukura-kun buy these?”

“N-Not...all of them... But a lot of them...” Hinata rubs at the back of his neck. “That said, Meshi largely prefers the toy box to any of them. And sometimes he steals my ties regardless of what drawer I put them in. He’s...a weirdly intelligent cat when he wants to be.”

Even though I’ve had to keep him from literally dumpster diving more times than I had to count.

“I see, I see...” Komaeda claps. “Your apartment is still so clean, Hinata-kun, all the cat hair aside. You completely gave up on that, huh?”

“Sure did.” Hinata doesn’t even miss a beat. “Meshi gets around a lot. He’s the complete opposite of Izumi.”

Komaeda glanced towards Izumi, who still hadn’t moved from his spot, even though Meshi was kneading him. Chuckling lowly, he went over to scoop Izumi up and placed him atop the cat tower. Meshi immediately darted after him, squeezing right back into his space. Izumi didn’t seem to mind.

“I guess opposites attract,” Komaeda hummed. “That’s really nice. I’m glad. A lot of cats aren’t very sociable but Meshi seems really friendly!”

“...Yeah...”

I’m still on edge. Komaeda’s cat can be weird, but—at the very least he doesn’t look like he’ll snap at Meshi.

“Uh...” He shakes his head. “So how have things been? You’re getting better, right? That’s... That’s good...”

“All because of Matsuda-kun!” Komaeda chirped and then paused. “And Izumi, actually.”

Hinata blinked.

“I really appreciate Matsuda-kun,” Komaeda went on, blushing a bit. “But truth be told, it’s really Izumi who keeps me going. Matsuda-kun can’t always be there, of course not, he has other patients, so I used to be really lonely when he wasn’t around... Everyone’s always so busy, living their lives, I really envy them...being stuck at home by yourself and not really having anything to do, anywhere to go... It’s such a boring, empty life.”

Hinata frowned but couldn’t bring himself to comment.

“But after I got Izumi, that completely changed,” Komaeda said, lighting up. “Izumi isn’t the most energetic cat, obviously, but he’s still someone I have to watch over and take care of and... Honestly I’m never bored with him. He’s got his own little quirks that are fun to discover. For example, he does have bouts of curiosity with the strangest things. One time I accidentally left a coat hanger on the bed and he cried because of it. Another time he was absolutely fascinated with this documentary on boats so I bought him a rubber toy. After I set it in a small tub of water, he made such a mess! Haha!”

Hinata looks towards Izumi, unaffected by everything including Meshi draped over him like a big fluffy blanket.

That’s...really hard to imagine.

“...it’s the same for you, isn’t it, Hinata-kun?”

Hinata flinched at that.

“A-Ah, huh...?”

He flustered more at Komaeda’s widening smile.

“It’s the same for you, right?” he asked cheerily. “Having a cat around—it really livens up the place, doesn’t it? I was pretty worried actually about getting a pet. After my dog died, I didn’t think I would ever be ready for it, but... I’m really glad I picked Izumi up. He was so listless at the shelter and even though he’s still pretty lazy, he’s has moments of such brightness!”

“I...” Komaeda looks pretty bright, too. “I see...”

Suddenly Meshi hopped up to them, pawing at Komaeda’s side. He headbutted him, and Komaeda could only laugh, patting his lap. Meshi pounced before curling up as Komaeda stroked his fur. And then Izumi, too, lazily walked up and pressed up against Komaeda’s knee.

...I want to take a picture, but...

“You are right,” Hinata said, reaching out and pulling Izumi towards him. It still mildly unsettled him how Izumi reminded him of Izuru, but all the same Hinata petted him, and a smile pulled at his lips as Izumi pressed back against his hand. “They really do liven things up.”

And then Meshi leapt out of Komaeda’s lap and barreled into Hinata’s stomach so hard that he nearly choked.

“H-Hck...!”

“H-Hinata-kun?!”

Hinata quickly recovered, taking in deep breaths as Meshi whined at him.

“I-I... I... Huh...” He blinked at Meshi and then scooped him up, cradling him. “You’re possessive, too, huh?”

Maybe...we’re made for each other or something...

Komaeda still looked rather worried but after a while he snorted and picked up an ever-stoic Izumi.

“I’ve never seen you smile like that,” he remarked. “You’re actually really handsome, Hinata-kun.”

“H-Huh...?!”

Meshi smacked his face after he snapped up to regain his attention. At the very least the mitten did in fact keep the prosthetic from hurting.

Komaeda just laughs.

“It looks like you’re trapped,” he said. “Well, there are worse ways. Like with rubble!”

“I... Uh...” Hinata averted his gaze, nuzzling Meshi to keep him happy. “Yeah... Yeah...”

Komaeda’s laughter was carefree and calm. Even though, his heartbeat stuttered over it, but...

Meshi whapped him again and kept him in line.

In a weird way, he kind of appreciated that.

“It probably would be nice for Meshi to spend more time with Izumi since they seem comfortable with each other.” If Izumi even cares. Hard to tell. “I can’t always play with Meshi, so it’d be nice if he had someone else...y’know?”

“I do,” Komaeda agrees. “Cats usually rely solely on us for stimulation and they can get lonely while we’re busy. So it’s better to have friends, I think. So maybe you can visit sometime and bring Meshi?”

“I-I...” Another whap. He got right back on track. “Y-Yeah! Yeah... That... That’d be nice...”

“It’s a date theeeen!” Komaeda sing songs and claps with Izumi’s paws. “Yay, yay! Izumi, isn’t that wonderful?”

Izumi just yawned. Hinata snorted as Meshi meowed.

“I think they’ll be fine,” he said. “Thanks, Komaeda, for visiting.”

“Ehehehe! It’s nothing, it’s nothing! I’m glad I did!”

Maybe...just being like this...won’t be so bad.

Yeah. He was almost sure of it.

--

It didn’t surprise him that despite cuddling up against him all that time, Meshi kept his distance at bedtime, grooming himself as Hinata could only lie down and watch.

“You know,” he found himself saying. “I’ve liked Komaeda...for a really long time. Long enough that I honestly should’ve give up by now, but...”

He shrugs.

“I still...like him a lot...”

Meshi didn’t say anything. Of course not. He was too focused on licking his paw.

“I think even if he never understands, I’ll be fine,” he murmured. “Seeing him again... I’m just happy that he can smile like that. And according to him...”

I smile like that, too. That’s really embarrassing to think. Why? Just because of Meshi who causes so much trouble and yet...

Meshi crawls over to him and curls around him. Just when Hinata perked up, Meshi starts trying to groom him. And he can only sigh.

I’m going to have to shower in the morning. As usual.

“It’s hard to dwell in self-loathing when I have you to keep an eye on.”

Meshi is definitely frustrating...but it’s hard to resent him for that. If anything, I might just be grateful, black eyes and scratches aside.

“...Izuru loves cats,” he said, humming and turning towards Meshi’s fluff. “I guess... I can sorta understand why.”

Meshi bit his ear afterwards. It really hurt.

But it didn’t really change anything.

--

It didn’t change anything. He certainly wouldn’t regret taking Meshi in for the world. But. But.

“H-How did this happen?! Did Komaeda’s cat impregnate him?!”

“Hajime, that’s impossible.”

Hinata still screamed into his hands, meanwhile, Izuru observed more closely. As close as Meshi would allow anyway, with Meshi hissing if he so much approached within a certain number of centimeters. Izuru respected that, but he still blinked down at the small ball of tea green fluff nestled into Meshi’s fur.

“Tea...” Izuru mused. “Monaka would be a cute name for her, don’t you think?”

“I still don’t understand,” Hinata rambled on. “I just, I just left Meshi alone for two minutes outside and he darts inside the house with this...this...!”

“Kitten,” Izuru finished for him. “You now have a new kitten. Congratulations. She’s very, very cute.”

“She’s a demon, actually,” Hinata retorted, pointing to the scratch marks all over his face. “She’s only cute right now because she’s sleeping. But the second she saw me, she attacked my face. Meshi had to pull her off.”

Izuru frowned.

“I think you just startled her.”

“I was as careful as could be...!”

Suddenly, the kitten stirred awake. Yelping, Hinata quickly hid behind his brother but all she did was crawl up to Izuru and mew at him, blinking wide green eyes at him.

Hinata’s useless brother melted in a heartbeat, picking the kitten up and doting on her, listening to her purr.

“She’s an angel, Hajime, you must have been mistaken.” Izuru gave him a pointed look as she batted at his hair. “Or, as I said, you startled her. It was likely your pointy antenna.”

“Hey leave my hair out of this!” Hinata exclaimed heatedly. “Meshi doesn’t mind my hair!”

“Well Monaka is clearly different,” Izuru huffed.

“Where did that name even come from?!”

Izuru ignored him, humming softly as he stoked Monaka’s neck. Hinata groaned, rolling his eyes, but there wasn’t exactly much he could say.

Izuru only paused when Meshi bit his ankle, puffing up angrily at him. Blinking, Izuru reluctantly set Monaka down so that Meshi could drag her away.

“...you really are lucky, Hajime,” Izuru sighed, looking at him enviously once more. Somehow, the novelty had worn off.

He looked at Monaka. Monaka looked back and hissed.

“...I think...it all balances out,” Hinata said, sighing. “I wonder how Komaeda’s going to react...”

“I want pictures,” Izuru said.

“...don’t worry; he’ll definitely take pictures.”

It’s alright being like this...is what I thought.

Monaka doesn’t seem terribly content with Meshi fussing over her. Somehow, Hinata just knew she’d find a way to cause enough trouble to give his Meshi a run for his money.

Things are about to get wild. That’s just the feeling I’m getting right now.

He might have to ask Izuru to come over more often. They might just be closer in the future than they ever were for fifteen years.

Man.

That’s a thought.

[tavoriel]

"You're a wizard, Dudley"... Oh... Oh wow... Woooooooow!! (Can you imagine him having kids and finding a certain letter in the mailbox for their 11th birthday? )

“…Penny got accepted into Hogwarts,” Dudley tells his mother over the phone, after a struggle to find the right words.  And these seem to be the right ones; a direct approach, with no assumptions, nothing to latch onto.  If his mother is going to add negativity anyway, it would only be exhausting, and hurt his head, to try and anticipate its form and include a rebuttal with the statement.  He’s never been the best with puzzles.  

He’s never been the target of his parents’ disapproval.  He’s seen it.  Seen all the ways they tirelessly labored to make Harry feel like nothing.  He hasn’t heard from Harry in a while.  Harry’s off living his own life now, with the wizards.  A better life.  Or maybe Dudley’s parents won out in the end, and Harry’s off struggling somewhere, in a bad way.  Dudley wouldn’t know.  Because if Harry was in a bad way, this family is the last place he’d look for help.  Because the three of them made him so miserable.  Dudley’s seen the terrible full force of his parents’ disapproval.  He never had to worry too much about inviting it, because the things he did tended to be things they approved of.  He was mean to Harry, too – but he was ultimately copying them.  They taught him to be mean to Harry before they ever taught him what a wizard was. 

Every spark of what might be magic he noticed in Penny brought nagging, cutting worry that the cycle his parents inflicted on Harry might repeat, for exactly the wrong person.   And unlike the isolated incidents and maybe’s, Dudley can’t hide or shrug off the letter that came in the mail yesterday.  Will he have to choose?  Between a relationship with his parents, and protecting his daughter from their hatred?  His relationship with his family is, and has always been, one of the most important foundations in the structure of his life.  And being good to Penny is what his life has been about these past eleven years.  Should he have even told his mother at all?

“Oh,” is all his mother says, at first.  He waits for more, with curiosity like knives.  Oh, what?  

“That’s lovely!” Petunia says.  Her tone is one of forced cheer – but that she’s even trying to be positive is everything.  

“…You’re not… mad?” he asks, hating how submissive and fearful the question comes out.  He and his father have always been able to enjoy a good laugh at people who are too submissive, men especially.

“Of course not, sweetie!” Petunia chirps, with the love and concern he’s always known.  She sounds confused, also, and something tells him she should probably stay in the dark.  “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know,” he says miserably.

“Dudley, you’re our son,” Petunia says emphatically.  As if it should be obvious.  “We support you and your family in everything.”

Harry’s mother Lily was her sister, but he says he understands.  He does feel better, but he’s not sure what to trust at this point; what she’s saying now, or the decade plus she spent holding Harry’s self worth by the throat and shaking it.

They spend the rest of the conversation talking about the wizarding world, and ways Penny can prepare for entering it, as if every girl became a witch at eleven.  When his mother has to go, he hangs up the phone and doesn’t know if the conversation was successful or not.  

You made Harry sleep under the stairs!  

Is his mother guarding some hidden cache of hatred, to pour into his family, over his daughter, who is everything to him, at some later time when he least expects it?  If she still has any of that old hatred to spend, does she even know it?  Is she a well-meaning time bomb, who could be hurtful to his daughter at any moment?  Or could she really have completely moved past everything she ever thought about Harry and his kind?  (and for Penny’s sake, she needs to have moved past it all completely, to be safe for her).  Do people just, change like that, though, over time?  Full of spitting hatred one moment, completely safe the next?  Wondering over the phone why on earth you’d think to worry about their opinions, the very picture of parental and grandparently love?  He doesn’t know what to think.  He doesn’t know what to think at all.

He tries to explain the situation to his wife later.  His wife understands that he’s upset, but she doesn’t understand.  Dudley’s always had a good relationship with his parents, hasn’t he?  Why would they hate Penny?  Things will probably be fine.  Things are always fine in her family, when arguments crop up.  Dudley’s probably overthinking things.  They made Harry sleep under the stairs.  Dudley tells that to his wife, struggling to convey the thing she needs to understand; the thing he’s scared of, whatever intangible thing it is that lives in a family and wants Harry Potter to know he does not and never will belong, if he even ever deserved to be a person at all.  Dudley’s wife reflects on the years she spent sharing a room with her sister, before they moved and got a house where she could have her own room.  Now that she’s grown up, she can identify lots of ways she was selfish and needy when she was little; didn’t understand the whole picture.  Parents have their reasons.  They always do.

Dudley doesn’t know who else to turn to, and the sense that Penny is in some sort of danger won’t give him peace.  If his parents do turn on Penny, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to protect her from all of it.  If they call her something terrible, intending to or not, how much can he undo by telling her it was a bunch of nonsense?  If he ever thought it best to cultivate distance between Penny and his parents, how could he explain it to her?  How would it impact her, to know her grandparents thought so poorly of her that she couldn’t even see them, even if in doing so he could protect her from direct attacks?

A few days later, he shuffles into Penny’s room and has a talk with her.  He doesn’t always know when or how to dispense wisdom directly; she’s confused at first what this is all about, and he can tell she’s worried that something’s wrong.  He tells her that nothing’s wrong.  They talk about bullies (because she’ll be going away to school by herself, is the pretense he offers).  He thinks of Harry, of things he used to do to Harry before he knew what wizards were, and tells her that sometimes people will be mean to you for no reason, absolutely no reason.  He thinks of his parents, of everything his they’ve meant to him, and tells her that she has her family on her side, always.  He thinks of the tremendous gnawing worry that she’ll ever feel a tenth of what Harry felt, at the wish of his parents or anyone else, and tells her that she’s strong, and courageous, and he’s sure she’ll do great at school.  If he can’t completely protect her, he needs to make sure he’s done all he can to help her protect herself. 

By now, Penny is satisfied that this is a good serious talk.  The compliments delight her, and she says she will do great at school, ready to take on the world, with the bravery of blessed scant experience with fear. 

Dudley decides whose side he’ll take if it comes to it, and decides to believe her.  Because if she does run into trouble, it’s not Harry Potter’s guardians the school will have to answer to.