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shemarmooresfedora · 3 years

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Splish Splash

Summary: A pool day with the team and you and Spencer’s daughter. (Season 1 Cast)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content/Warnings: domestic fluff, swearing, mentions of poop and vomit

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: i included a lot of linked visuals because it helps me visualize better!

Masterlist

“Are you sure we have everything? I don’t want to forget something and have them think we’re bad parents. But they already know and like you so they’ll just think I’m a bad parent,” you nervously rambled.

You had only met Spencer’s team a few times before. He was hand-plucked right out of college by Jason Gideon. Of course, you being 6 months pregnant with his baby, dropped out of college and moved across the country with him.

When you first got pregnant, Spencer always promised he was going to give you and this baby the life you deserved so when his dream job offer came across the table with a hefty salary, Spencer assured you that you could take some time off college if you wanted.

By the time Spencer made it through all the mandated FBI training, he was in the office for one week before you went into labor and he went on paternity leave. You heard the stories about how he went pale and almost fainted in the bullpen when you called him.

Now, a little over a year later, you were pregnant again because who could deny Spencer another baby? He loved Sawyer with his whole heart.

“I’ve got diapers, sunscreen, her favorite toys, multiple changes of clothes, her bottle, and milk,” Spencer listed off the things in the diaper bag as you changed Sawyer.

“Do you like her pool look?” you grinned, “We may have gone on a bit of a shopping spree while you were away on that last case.”

Sawyer was sporting mini pigtails that held the little amount of hair she did have and a strawberry bathing suit with a matching bucket hat.”

“You are just the cutest little thing,” Spencer grabbed her, “I’m going to eat you up like a strawberry,” Spencer blew raspberries on her belly as she happily giggled.

“I got you a suit too,” you threw him a short lavender swimsuit that would barely hit his mid-thighs but that’s what you liked about it.

“So glad you guys could make it,” Hotch greeted you at the front door.

“We brought fruit salad,” you held up the giant bowl.

“Oh, thank you,” Hotch took the bowl and guided you both out to the back deck where the rest of the team was already hanging out.

Before you had even put your tote bag down, Spencer was already forcing sunscreen onto you.

“It’s so sticky,” you whined.

“I just did Sawyer and she’s not complaining,” Spencer looked at the giggly little girl in his arms.

“Well, Sawyer is used to her Daddy being all over her all the time,” you giggled.

You slipped the flowy sundress off, revealing your protruding belly bump.

“Oh mama, someone is definitely starting to show,” Penelope hollered from her unicorn floaty in the pool, already tipsy.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groaned, rubbing your stomach, “I feel like a big, sweaty whale.”

Spencer gave you a disapproving glare, “You look gorgeous, love.”

“You have to say that, we’re married,” you replied.

“Well, I’m saying it too. You look gorgeous, Y/N. I love the pregnancy glow,” Elle made her way over to greet you both.

“Thanks, Elle,” you smiled.

“Hey Sawyer! I missed you, babe!” Elle took your daughter from Spencer and kissed her cheek, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in months.”

“I know, it was tough when you guys had all those back-to-back cases,” you answered, “I was considering sending Sawyer on the jet with you guys because she was starting to miss her daddy too much.”

“That’s why she clings to me when I’m here,” Spencer laughed as Sawyer made a grabby motion with her hands, indicating she wanted Spencer to hold her again.

“You want to go in the water, sweetheart?” Spencer asked Sawyer who was staring at the froggy tube in the water.

“That’s Jack’s favorite tube, Sawyer, but I’m sure he’ll share,” Hotch smiled from where he was grilling burgers and hotdogs.

Jack, who was a few months older than Sawyer, was napping in his playpen next to his dad.

“Mind if I sit here?” you pointed to the lounge chair next to Gideon.

“Not at all,” he said, setting down the newspaper he was skimming.

You cautiously lowered yourself into the chair, trying not to lose your balance with your big belly. You and Gideon watched Spencer dip Sawyer’s little toes into the water and then pull her back up as she giggled.

“You know when I first recruited Spencer, I definitely hadn’t been expecting him to already have a family on the way. He got all excited, showing me the picture of you that he kept in his wallet. I almost tried talking him out of the job, saying it’s not for a family man. However, he insisted that he wanted to get rid of as many monsters as he could for his wife and daughter.”

“I can’t say that I like the long hours and time away that comes with his job but I respect it. He’s doing amazing work, you all are,” you replied.

“Thank you, dear,” Gideon smiled softly, “Spencer is very lucky to have found someone so understanding. Your job is pretty tough too, raising kids is no joke.”

“Thank you,” you smiled back, “It’s not easy but it’s so worth it.”

Derek took off his shades, setting them down on a chair before running towards the diving board full speed.

“Cannonball!” he yelled.

His ginormous splash reached all the way over to the shallow section, covering Spencer and Sawyer in her little tube, who promptly started crying.

“Oh no, my poor baby,” Spencer lifted her out of her tube and carried her out to swaddle in a dry towel.

Elle whacked Derek with a pool noodle once he emerged from beneath the water’s surface.

“Hey! What did you do that for?” Derek rubbed his head.

“You made Sawyer cry,” she replied, thwacking him again.

Derek climbed out of the pool on the ladder and made his way over to the two loving parents swarming over their crying child.

“Sorry about that, Sawyer. Guess I underestimated my splash,” Derek apologized to the little child who wouldn’t even be able to understand.

“It’s okay, Derek,” you assured him, “It’s just coming up on her nap time so she’s more prone to cry.”

Spencer caught a whiff of it as soon as he sat down on the lounge chair with you and Sawyer.

He took Sawyer from you and pretended to be speaking as her, making his voice higher-pitched, “Actually, Uncle Derek, if you want to make it up to me, you can change my diaper.”

“Uh uh,” Derek shook his head profusely, “I wrap it before I tap it for a reason, man.”

“I bet you could win a few single moms over if you knew how to change a diaper,” you added.

“Fine,” Derek accepted Sawyer into his arms but held her an arms length away like she was a bomb.

“I’ll teach you,” Spencer slung the diaper bag over his shoulder.

About 15 minutes later, Spencer came out with Sawyer on his hip and a traumatized Derek following them.

“What took so long?” you asked curiously.

“Morgan could only use one hand because he insisted on plugging his nose with the other,” Spencer chuckled.

“That shit stank!” Derek argued, “I’ve smelled dead bodies that are better than that.”

“I think your debt has been repaid,” you laughed as Derek sat himself on a tube next to Penelope in the water.

“Thank god,” he sighed, “I’m going to need a hazmat suit if you guys ever need me to babysit.”

“Who said you get to babysit?” Penelope looked up from her romance novel.

“I think Auntie Elle is being overlooked here,” Elle added from where she was sunbathing.

“Sawyer needs some time at Grandpa Gideon’s cabin. I think she will like watching the birds,” Gideon smiled fondly.

“Everyone who wants to watch Sawyer will eventually get to watch her,” you explained, “But I think you will have to pry her out of her Daddy’s hands.”

“How about date nights every Wednesday as long as we aren’t away on a case?” Spencer suggested, “Then someone can take Sawyer for the night.”

“Sounds good to me, love,” you kissed him and took Sawyer from his arms, “I think I’m going to join Sawyer in nap time today. Little one is really not having it today.”

Spencer rubbed your belly, “Is there anything I can do? Do you want something to eat or drink? I think JJ just finished making some potato salad,” he offered.

“I’m sure it’s really good but the thought of that right now is making me extremely nauseous,” you whispered.

Spencer guided you to the hammock in the shade and sat you down with a sleepy Sawyer in your arms.

“Sweet dreams, loves,” he kissed you both on the forehead and once on your belly.

You murmured something along the lines of ‘I love you too’ before drifting off.

Spencer pulled up a chair and just watched you both sleep. It was one of his favorite things to do. The peaceful look on your beautiful face with his adorable child gently cradled in your arms. Spencer’s eyes watched your belly bump rise and fall with each of your even breaths. You were heavenly, an absolute work of art in his mind. No other goddess could ever compare.

After about 40 minutes, Sawyer began to stir but you were still fast asleep. Spencer gently took her from your hold in order to let you continue to rest.

Spencer sat down at the table where the rest of the team was eating, pulling out a bag of your breast milk from his cooler and pouring it into a bottle for Sawyer. He accidentally spilled a little on his finger and instinctively licked it off.

“Alright, ew,” Derek set his fork down on his plate in disgust.

“What?” Spencer asked, “Breast milk is packed full of nutrients. It’s good for you.”

“I’ll taste it,” Elle volunteered.

“I wanna too!” Penelope demanded.

“Nope, I don’t know why I have to clarify this but no one is drinking my wife’s breast milk except me and Sawyer,” Spencer stated.

“Well this is an interesting way to wake up,” you grinned, rubbing your eyes, “Penelope and Elle, I appreciate the eagerness though.”

You sat down in the chair next to Spencer as he fed Sawyer. You nibbled on the fruit salad you brought and took a few sips of water.

“This all looks delicious, Hotch. Thank you. I wish I could eat more but I don’t want to puke in the pool later.”

“No worries. The morning sickness is still bad?” he asked.

“They should have named it ‘morning, afternoon, and night sickness’ because that seems more fitting,” you joked.

Spencer rubbed your belly softly which always seemed to calm your nausea, “She’s so strong. I feel so bad, I wish I could take all the pain away.”

“No, he’s a saint. He stays up with me all night if I can’t sleep even if he has work in the morning,” you told the team.

“That’s the very least I can do,” Spencer said.

“You both are just too cute!” Penelope exclaimed.

Dancing Queen by ABBA came on through the speakers, coincidentally a song you played a lot both times you were pregnant because it made the babies very active.

Spencer danced with Sawyer who could stand with a little assistance so he placed her on his feet and held her hands so he could move her around with him.

Penelope grinded up against Derek perhaps a bit too much for a Sunday afternoon with coworkers and you laughed as Spencer shielded Sawyer’s eyes. Hotch twirled Jack around in circles.

JJ and Elle brought out a chocolate cake for dessert and you passed it up despite how good it looked, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it down.

Spencer noticed you kept squeezing his hand tighter than usual.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah, I think the baby is just having a hard time getting comfortable or something…FUCK,” you hissed at the pain.

Everyone stopped their side conversations to look at you.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” JJ asked.

“Yeah sorry, I think I may need to lie down again,” you slowly got up as Spencer grabbed your arm to support you.

You felt a flush of water run down your leg that was way warmer than the pool water.

“Okay then it’s not just in my head. Those really were contractions,” you spoke, “Spencer Reid, this baby is coming out of me.”

This time, you got to see Spencer’s face pale and him go into a state of shock firsthand.

“Spencer,” you whined at the pain again, doubling over.

This seemed to snap him out of the daze he was in.

“Okay, we have the go-bag in the car. It will take us 17 minutes and 23 seconds to get to the hospital including the estimated traffic. I’ll call the obstetrician. Elle and Gideon, it’s your lucky day, you get to babysit. Here’s her diaper bag and a spare key to our house to get her more clothes.”

“What about us?” Derek and Penelope whined.

“You’re both drunk. You can tap in when you’re sober,” Spencer stated, “Okay, let’s go, love. You’re doing so good already. Remember, deep breaths just like the lamaze instructor said.”

“Spencer, tell them I want all the drugs they can give me,” you panted.

“I will,” he nodded, “Anything you need, love. I’ll be right by your side the whole time. Then, after the pain, we’ll get to meet the new baby and you can hold her in your arms forever.”

Spencer continued to make assurances and promises to you as him and Hotch guided you to the car.

“Why don’t we get to help?” Derek and Penelope pouted.

“You can hose her amniotic fluid off of the porch,” Elle replied with a smirk as Gideon rocked Sawyer.

A/N: thank you to @samuel-de-champagne-problems for beta reading!! <3

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puckinghell · 4 years

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Acts Of Service | Elias Pettersson

Summary: When people have different love languages, sometimes it’s hard to understand what the other is trying to say. 4 times Elias shows you he loves you, and the 1 time you tell him. Words: 7.5k (whoops) Note: This concept was very interesting to explore. Also yes, this entire thing was written because of that one picture of Elias in that blue sweater stepping out of the car like a fucking GQ model.

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(Some time ago)

“Didn’t you say there’s an apartment free in your building?” Brock asked as soon as you answered the phone, forgoing the “hello”.

“Hello, Brock, my very good friend, how nice to talk to you! How are you doing?” you deadpanned.

At least he had the decency to sound ashamed. “Ah, yes, hi. Sorry. I’m just in a hurry and it’s important.”

You frowned. “Why? Are you looking to move?”

“No.” Brock laughed. “Stetch would kill me. No, it’s about the rookie. Petey? I told you about him. Swedish, quiet, best fucking hands in the league.”

Yes. Brock had told you about the rookie, although you still thought it dumb to call him that. Brock was basically still a rookie himself.

“What does that have to do with my apartment building?”

“He said no to having a billet family but everyone on the team thinks it’d be good for him to have someone to kinda look out for him a bit. He’s never been to Canada before this, you know, and he’s never lived on his own either. His English isn’t that great and everything is new for him. And since you’re such a caring, loving person, we thought…”

“You thought I could babysit him?” you finished for Brock.

“It’s not babysitting. Just, being friendly if he needs anything. Obviously we’re there for that too, but it’d be nice to have you so close by.”

Close by would be an understatement: the free apartment was across the hall from yours.

You weren’t sure if this sounded like something that you would necessarily want to do, but you did feel a bit sorry for Elias: you’d met him at a team thing earlier that week and he’d looked completely lost in the midst of all the Canadian hockey slang that you barely managed to follow, even after having been friends with Brock for years. He mostly kept to Eagle, spoke in Swedish, and his eyes flickered nervously across the room whenever anyone else approached him.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I’ll talk to my landlord. But you owe me, Blondie.”

Brock was happy enough that he didn’t even call you out on the nickname.

“Have I told you lately how much of a lifesaver you are?” You lean across your desk, resting your chin in your hands. Elias looks mildly amused as he hands you the papers.

“Nearly every day,” he says, “but then I save your life every day, so that seems fair.”

You grab the papers from his hands.

“You’re a lifesaver and the love of my life, Petey.”

You think back to when Elias just moved into your apartment building, only because Brock thought he needed someone to look after him. You could laugh, now, thinking about how wrong he’d been.

Elias is the most self-sufficient, independent person you know. You don’t think he’s ever needed anything from anyone. Like in hockey, where he can make the play and score the goal all at the same time, Elias has his life together.

Unlike you.

Despite the fact that Elias hadn’t needed much help from you, you had become very fast friends. His quick witted sarcasm always managed to make you laugh and he liked how upfront and honest you were with him about things. It was easy, too, to spend time together. With him living just across the hall, you found yourself wandering to his apartment whenever you were bored, and he showed up at yours often when he didn’t feel like cooking.

Just because he could cook, didn’t mean he always wanted to.

And ever since the two of you had become friends, Elias had your back. When you needed someone to water your plants, or feed your cat Puck – Brock had named him – or, apparently, bring you the important work papers that you forgot at home after having worked on them all weekend.

You groan as you flick through the papers. “I thought I was going to die. Without these I can’t finish my presentation.”

“When is it?” Elias asks, eyes searching behind you. You know he’s looking out for your asshole of a boss, who will use any excuse to yell at you, especially the unannounced visit of a friend.

“Tomorrow. I got all the content in these papers here, but I still have to make the PowerPoint.” You sigh. “It’s still so much work.”

“Oh.” Elias’ face lights up. “Almost forgot. Brought you this.” Triumphantly, he reaches down and comes up with a paper bag from your favorite coffee shop.

The words fall off your lips in a gasp. “You didn’t!”

“Strawberry scone and a large caramel macchiato with soy milk.” Elias grins. “I also got you a chocolate chip cookie for later.”

“Marry me,” you proclaim, as you make grabby hands for the bag. The coffee is precisely what you need and your mouth is already watering at the idea of the food.

“Get me a ring, then,” Elias jokes, as he starts getting up from the chair.

Something tightens in your stomach, so you quickly take a bite of the scone: anything to push those feelings to the side. It works a little, and at the very least it tastes amazing.

You’re just friends. If you were gonna be anything more, Elias would’ve made a move already. Or, if you’d been brave enough, you would’ve: but he’s never said anything to make you think he’s interested and quite frankly, you’re not that brave.

“Thank you,” you say, mouth still full of scone, and Elias wrinkles his nose at that as you knew he would.

“I’m going to the store now,” he says, “anything you want me to pick up for you?”

“Wine?” you ask, hopeful. “I’m gonna need it after today.”

Elias rolls his eyes at you, but when you come home after the most grueling day at work there’s a bottle of rosé sitting in your fridge, next to a bag full of your favorite Thai take out food.

Love you, you quickly text Elias, even though you know he can’t answer because the game is about to start.

You take some time showering and putting on comfortable clothes, then situate yourself on the couch and put on the game. It has already begun, and you know it’s not gonna be an easy one, against the Bruins.

It’s not until the first intermission, when you check your phone, that you see there’s a reply from Elias waiting for you.

It’s just a simple heart emoji, but it makes your heart race anyway.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I can barely hear you.” Fiona’s tone is disapproving, and you pull your mouth away from where you’d pressed it into your arm to scream.

“I said, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me!”

She laughs. “It’s just a car, Y/N.”

You don’t necessarily like your job, but Fiona is one of the reasons you’re still putting up with it. She’s not just a colleague anymore, slowly turning into a friend and someone you confide into about everything – even about your Elias problem – and you love her, but sometimes you could murder her.

“It’s not just a car,” you bite. “It’s my only mode of transportation, because you know how much I hate taking the bus, and it’s broken, and I probably can’t even afford to get it fixed. And now I have to walk home, and it’s raining.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Fiona admits.

After a long day at work, you couldn’t wait to get home and watch The Bachelor until you fell asleep, your cat in your lap. However, when you finally got away from the office and stepped into your car, it was clear the universe had different plans.

It didn’t start.

After trying approximately 15 times, you’d screamed, nearly cried, hit the steering wheel, and then went back inside to scream and cry a little more at Fiona’s desk.

“I just wanna go home, Fi.” You know you sound miserable, but you honestly can’t help it. Taking the bus always heightens your anxiety, so you avoid it at all costs: however, walking home in this pouring rain doesn’t seem like much fun either.

And Fiona can’t even bring you home, because she takes the bus to work like a normal person.

“There’s a simple solution to this, you know,” Fiona says. She starts to organize the papers on her desk, a clear sign that she’s getting ready to leave the office as well. “You could just call…”

“No,” you interrupt her, knowing exactly where she’s going with this. “I can’t call Elias. He’s got the boys over today and I won’t interrupt his fun with my misery. Besides, he does too much for me already, I can’t ask him for more.”

“Right,” Fiona drawls, “but when he hears that you were stuck here and didn’t call him…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to.

Elias would be furious.

One time, you were on a night out when you got a little too tipsy and didn’t realize your phone had died. By the time you noticed, all your friends had already jumped in their respective Ubers, but you had been too busy chatting with some girl you didn’t know to order yours, and now you couldn’t because you didn’t have a phone.

You knew you could’ve asked any random person to order you an Uber, or at least to borrow their phone to call Elias – it’s not like you didn’t know his number by heart – but that felt like too much. It had been 3 am and he had a game the next day, so you decided to walk home.

When he found out the next day, he got so mad he didn’t talk to you for 4 days. Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and just sat on his couch pouting at him until he spoke to you again.

“Something could’ve happened,” he’d muttered, explaining to you why he got mad in the first place. “And I’m your best friend, and you should know me enough to know that I would much rather you wake me up than you walk home alone.”

You did know that, and he was your best friend, and you’d promised him you’d never do it again.

It’s only that promise, that causes you to reach for your phone.

“I’m texting him, but if he’s busy, I’m walking,” you tell Fiona stubbornly. She ignores you, which is probably fair enough.

Hey, you busy right now? Are the guys still there?

The answer comes right away. What’s wrong?

Damn, he knows you too well. You quickly explain the situation and before you know it, Elias is on his way to come get you, and Fiona is bidding you goodbye after you promise her you’re fine on your own for the twenty minutes it’s gonna take Elias to get there.

You’re just checking your email on your phone when you hear the bell at the front door.

“I’m coming!” you call out. You hurry to grab your bags and then walk quickly to the door, where Elias is standing with his car keys between his fingers.

“So Bella finally gave up, huh?” he asks, a sly little smirk on his face. He always teases you with the fact that you named your car.

“Yes, and I know you told me,” you sigh, and it’s clear that he immediately – and correctly – reads your mood.

Without a word, he opens his arms, and you gratefully fall into them, hugging him tightly to your body. There’s very little in the world that brings you more comfort than one of Elias’ hugs: although being on Elias’ couch wearing one of his old hoodies watching some stupid reality show might come close.

“Let’s go home,” Elias finally mumbles, and he holds out an umbrella when he lets you go.

It’s raining really hard, and you know he has to park his car a little bit away because there’s no parking in front of your office, so you take it.

“You could’ve just called, I would’ve ran out,” you tell him sternly, but he shrugs.

“But then how would you have gotten the umbrella?”

You would tell him you’re not made of sugar, but as soon as you step outside the rain clatters loudly against the fabric of the umbrella and you realize you would’ve really, really hated to not have it, so you stay quiet.

Instead, you walk after him as he runs to his car and opens the passenger door for you. It’s still running, and the heater is on: only then do you realize you’re quite cold.

This morning they said it would be nice outside, so you didn’t bother to take a coat.

It’s quiet in the car for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the silence that only comes when two people understand each other, and combined with the soft music that is playing on the radio it lulls you into a false sense of comfort.

Until you realize something.

“Oh God,” you groan, “I’m gonna have to call someone to tow Bella to a mechanic.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Well, you could just leave her there.”

Normally you would’ve at least playfully punched his arm for the sarcastic tone in his voice, but right now you’re too busy freaking out.

“And how am I gonna get to work tomorrow? Don’t you dare say you’ll bring me cause I know you’ve got morning practice and it’s super out of your way. Fuck, why did this have to happen to me?”

You let your head fall against the window. The glass is cold against your cheek and it’s enough to stop the spiraling in your brain at least for a second.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice has lost all sarcastic edge. It’s gentle now, and he’s speaking low as if not to startle you. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll call the tow truck and the mechanic and get your car fixed. And Brock lives close enough that he can take me to and from practice and you can just take my car to work.”

It’s… a reasonable solution, but once again something that Elias has to go out of his way for, even just a little bit, and you feel something warm bloom inside your chest.

“Okay,” you answer, the stress already ebbing away. “Thank you. You’re the best.” You reach out and place your hand on his knee, squeezing slightly. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Elias mumbles something incoherent. You think you see some color on his cheeks, but surely that’s just because the heater is on, because there’s no way he’s blushing over something you said.

You turn off the heater, and let your thoughts wander as Elias drives you home.

Traveling is fun, but traveling for work is instantly a lot less fun. You really don’t know how Elias does it.

You’re feeling run down and jetlagged when you come back from your work trip, which is ridiculous cause you flew to Toronto, not to freaking Europe. But it’s late at night and the three days you were away were so busy you can barely remember sleeping at all.

Fiona slept on the plane, so she looks a little more alive than you when your feet touch the ground at Vancouver airport.

“Is Elias coming to pick you up?” Fiona asks, as you’re both walking through the gate.

You shake your head. “I’m sure he would’ve insisted if he could, but he’s in California right now. They played the Kings tonight and they’re playing the Sharks the day after tomorrow.”

“I wish I was in California,” Fiona says wistfully. It’s cold and wet in Vancouver and it wasn’t much better in Toronto. The tiredness doesn’t help: it feels as if the cold of the night is slowly creeping into your bones.

“Come on then, I’ll drop you off.” You thank Fiona and follow her to her car. Normally you wouldn’t have minded taking an Uber, but right now you just wanna get to bed as soon as possible.

“If I fall asleep, just let me sleep here,” you mumble, resting your head back against the head rest. Fiona laughs as she starts the car.

“No way, you’ll freeze to death.” She squints outside. “Do you think it’s gonna rain?”

“It always rains,” you say, despite the fact that it’s not raining at the moment.

Fiona turns onto the highway. “So, are you finally gonna put up that bookcase you bought?”

Involuntarily, you groan. “Stop, don’t remind me.”

Your old bookcase is big and ugly, and it has been a thorn in your eye ever since you moved in. The person that lived there before you left it there, and you only kept it because you couldn’t really afford not to.

Four weeks ago, you finally allowed yourself to buy a new, prettier bookcase.

But…

“It’s just so big,” you whine, repeating the excuses you’ve been giving Elias every single time he raises a judgmental eyebrow at the old bookcase still standing in your living room. “It’s gonna take forever to take it apart and then it’s gonna take me even longer to somehow get it all downstairs and get rid of it.”

“And then you have to build the new one,” Fiona nods understandingly. “And you’re not good with furniture.”

“Hey,” you protest, but it’s weak. You’re not good with furniture, which was proven when you tried to help Fiona move in and didn’t manage to help her put together anything at all. Instead she ended up with a table with three legs.

You even tried to read the manual, but it’s just not your forte.

“I’ll do it,” you add, “I promise you I will. Just, maybe not this weekend…”

Fiona laughs, but she doesn’t call you out on the fact that it probably won’t happen during the week either.

Finally, you arrive at your building. You can’t wait to go to bed, and you thank Fiona multiple times before dragging your luggage upstairs. When you open the door to your apartment, Puck comes running up to you, meowing and weaving between your legs.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you tell the cat sternly. “Petey sent me many pictures of you sleeping in his lap and I know he feeds you chicken when he thinks I won’t notice, so you got spoiled this week.”

You lovingly scratch Puck’s ears, before flicking on the light and kicking the door behind you in the lock.

Instantly, you notice the difference.

Your apartment isn’t big: real estate in Vancouver isn’t cheap and your job isn’t great. You got this place mostly for the location, and you like the big windows in the apartment and how it manages to get in light even during the darkest of winter days.

One corner of your living room, however, was always darker than the others. The bookcase took away the entirety of the white wall, and it created a dim lit, sad looking corner.

Now, it’s open and bright, as your new bookcase stands proudly in its place.

There’s only one person who would’ve done that.

The phone rings a few times, but you know the Kings game ended a while ago so you let it ring. After a while, Elias picks up.

“Sorry for the background noise,” is the first thing he says. “We’re on the plane. Taking off in a few minutes, probably.”

In the background, you hear some yelling. Probably Jake.

“You put up my bookcase,” you blurt out, ignoring Elias’ statement. “You put it up and all the books are in it and the other one is gone.”

Elias sounds a little smug when he answers. “Well, it’s not like you were ever gonna do it.”

“Thank you.” To your own horror, you can feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Elias, seriously…”

“It’s nothing.” You can hear Elias’ smile even over the phone: you know everyone always makes fun of his deadpan tone when he talks to media but with his friends, his voice always betrays everything he’s feeling. “I know you were worried about it, and I know how much you hated that old one.” He laughs. “I get why now, by the way. It took me and Brock like four hours to get that thing out.”

“Brock helped too?”

“He did.” Elias is silent for a while, but in the background you hear another voice. “Brock says to tell you that I forced him. But that’s not entirely true.”

Entirely. You know Elias definitely did force him.

“Tell him thank you too.”

“He says you’re welcome,” Elias says, quick enough that it makes you think Brock didn’t say that at all. “We’re about to take off so I have to put my phone on airplane mode. But call me tomorrow okay? I wanna hear about your work trip.”

“Okay.” For some reason, you can still feel the lump in your throat. You didn’t notice it momentarily, while you were focused on Elias’ and Brock’s bickering, but now it’s back, and with a vengeance.

Fuck. You just…

“I miss you.” You blurt it out before you can stop yourself and if anyone would ask, you would blame the exhaustion and the fact that Elias can’t see how wet your eyes are over the phone.

“I’ll be back soon,” he answers softly, and his voice is gentle in a way that makes you think he knows about the tears, anyway. “And when I am, we’re gonna take a whole night to eat food and stare at that bookcase, because it needs to be appreciated after the effort I had to put in to build it.”

You laugh before quietly saying goodbye to Elias and hanging up the phone.

In the kitchen, Puck sits in front of the fridge. When you open it there’s a pan with chicken.

For Puck the note next to it says, and you send Elias a picture of Puck with his chicken.

“He spoils you,” you tell your cat. You decide to ignore the fact that he kinda spoils you, too.

When you open the door to your apartment, you’re met with the smell of garlic.

After yet another shitty day at work, you can already feel the lump in your throat building again. You didn’t even tell him, this time. In fact, you carefully avoided his texts because you knew he’d clock that something was wrong.

Fuck. That’s probably where you went wrong in the first place; usually you never ignored Elias’ texts.

“Hello?” you call out into your own apartment.

There’s soft music playing and there’s light coming from the living room, but the amazing smell that tickles your senses is clearly coming from the kitchen, so that’s where you go.

Elias is standing at your kitchen counter, chopping a carrot.

“Hey,” he greets, smiling your way. “I’m making dinner.”

It’s almost too much, how domestic it looks. And how right: like he belongs there in your space, waiting for you to come home.

Suddenly there’s the overwhelming urge to go towards him, so you do. His arm immediately lifts, creating space for you in the crook of his body, and you slip under his arm easily.

“How did you know?” you mumble into the fabric of his worn Canucks hoodie. It smells like him, a scent that reminds you of home as much as your mother’s signature dish.

“You didn’t answer my texts,” Elias hums. His arm tightens around your body. “So I figured you could use some good food and a bath.” His head motions towards the general direction of the bathroom. “I’m running it as we speak.”

God. You love him.

It hits you, then. You knew you had a crush on him, knew you wanted to kiss him and hold his hand and feel his hands on you. But it’s more than that, now.

It’s the realization that you want to share everything with him. The ups and the downs. The bad nights and the bright mornings. You want him in your kitchen, but more than that, you want it to be his kitchen, too.

Fuck. You’re so royally screwed.

Because he does this, and he does so much for you, but he’s never said anything, anything at all, to indicate that he wants that. Or has even considered it, thought about it.

Maybe it’s never even crossed his mind. Maybe he takes care of you like he would take care of a sister.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is gentle as it pulls you out of your thoughts, back down to earth. “You’re shaking. Go take a bath, and I’ll finish dinner, and then we’ll watch How I Met Your Mother. I wanted to watch the next episode but I waited for you.” His grin is a little lopsided. “Isn’t that chivalrous of me?”

It is, and normally you would tease him for it, but you can’t really think or speak, so you just nod.

“There’s wine in the fridge, if you want a glass,” Elias says. He holds out a wine glass, already waiting for you on the counter.

And who cares that it’s only a Tuesday: you deserve it, damn it, so you open the fridge to find the wine.

You’re met with more than just that.

“You bought groceries?” you ask, your eyes traveling through your fridge. You hadn’t gone grocery shopping in like a week, and when you left for work this morning the fridge was basically empty. Now it’s so full you wonder how you’re gonna close the door.

“How else was I gonna cook anything? You only had cat food left,” Elias tuts. You’re not surprised to find Puck at Elias’ feet, waiting for him to inevitably slip him some human food.

“Did you get…”

“Your coconut yoghurt? Yes.”

He did, and he got basically all your staples, and nothing you wouldn’t buy yourself.

“Honestly,” you say, as you finally reach for the bottle and pull your head out of the fridge. “I don’t know what to say, Petey. Thank you. I had such a sucky day and now it’s already endlessly better.”

This time you know you’re not imagining the flush on Elias’ cheeks.

“It’s fine,” he says. “You should go take that bath before it goes cold.”

You want to say more: to tell him time and time again how amazing he is, how much he means to you, how thankful you are. But you know once you start, you can’t be trusted to not say the one thing you don’t think he wants to hear.

So you say nothing, and simply go to take your bath.

But you think about it.

You think about it all throughout Christmas, where you don’t see Elias at all. You think about it during NYE, when you get a drunk SnapChat from Elias with his brother, right at midnight.

At least, you figure, he’s not kissing any girls.

You’re not kissing any boys, either. You’re at a NYE party with Fiona and it’s fun, it is, but it’s not the same as it would be if Elias wasn’t all the way in Sweden.

You miss him like a limb, and you know it’s not fair because he rarely gets time to go home to Sweden and he deserves that time with his family, but you can’t say you didn’t wish his time off ended already.

When it finally does, it’s not Elias you see first. Troy is throwing a late New Years party, just to welcome everyone back to Vancouver as they get ready to start the season back up, and when you arrive at his house it’s early enough in the evening that there’s only a handful of people there.

“Y/N!” Brock calls out, opening his arms to give you a big hug as you enter. “Missed you!”

You laugh. “Get off of me, you giant. I’m gonna drop the wine.”

“Not the wine,” Troy says dramatically, tearing it out of your hands. His eyes are sparkling when he thanks and hugs you, and then Brock is ushering you into the living room, where Jake is talking with Quinn.

Or talking at Quinn. To be honest, you never really know when Quinn is paying attention.

“Y/N!” Jake exclaims, much like Brock had. “I’m glad you’re here, we need your input on something.”

“Okay?” you ask, curiosity instantly taking over. Whenever Jake and Brock get together, it promises to be an interesting evening.

“We’re trying to decide Brock’s love language.”

It’s sudden enough that you laugh. “His what?”

“Love language,” Jake explains. “Like, how he shows people he loves them. He says it’s quality time, but I think it could be physical touch. He’s always touching people.”

“Jake is deflecting because his love language is physical touch,” Brock scowls. “I think I know my own love language, Tuna.”

“Hold on.” Unfortunately, you have to press the pause button on their discussion. “What options do we have?”

You’ve got no idea where they got this from, but it doesn’t really matter. You’re always down to share your opinion on stupid stuff with your favorite boys.

“There’s gifts, quality time, physical touch, words of affirmation, and…” Brock pauses, and you can nearly see the wheels in his head turning.

“Acts of service,” Quinn offers, which proves that he was actually paying attention.

“Mine is physical touch,” Jake says determinedly. “When I care about someone, I always wanna be touching them, and when I’m in love with someone that’s like twenty times worse.”

“Poor girl,” Quinn mutters, and the conversation gets paused in order for Jake to put Quinn in a headlock.

“I think yours is quality time, actually,” you tell Brock when Jake is done murdering the rookie. “Your ex was always on her phone during your date nights and I remember it drove you crazy.”

“See,” Brock says proudly. “Quality time baby. If I’m there I’m there.”

“What about yours, Huggy?” Jake asks. “Physical touch would make sense, since you’re called Huggy.”

“I’m not called Huggy,” Quinn deadpans. His face is devoid of any emotion, but you know him well enough to recognize the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He reminds you of Elias, when he does that. “And if we were going by nicknames your love language would be fishing.”

Everyone cracks up on that, and then the doorbell rings and Bo arrives.

The topic gets put on hold, then, because Bo is instantly talking about Gunnar’s first Christmas and Brock is talking about becoming an uncle again and you feel warm and happy on the couch with your wine, squeezed between Brock and Troy.

Until, a little later, you realize someone is missing.

“Where’s Petey?” you ask Troy. “Isn’t he coming?”

Troy shrugs. “Should do. But you never know with Pete.”

It’s not entirely true: if Elias promises he’ll be there, he will be there. But, to be fair, he usually doesn’t promise that to anyone but you, and you hadn’t asked him to come, this time.

You figured he just would.

“What about Petey’s love language?” Brock asks idly, not knowing he’s opening Pandora’s box for you. “Definitely not words of affirmation, huh.”

Troy laughs.

“Nah, Petey’s an acts of service guy. He’s always doing shit for Y/N.”

You would protest if you trusted your voice not to shake. As it is, you stay quiet and hope the flush on your cheeks gets mistaken for a wine flush, and not an Elias flush.

Brock brightens. “Oh, yeah! Getting her car fixed, making dinner, building her stupid bookshelf, feeding her cat… He is a typical acts of service guy.” He bumps against your shoulder playfully. “I hope you appreciate his showing of love, Y/N. He rarely does that shit for me.”

Troy snorts. “That’s cause he’s not in love with you, Boes.”

“He’s not in love with me either!” you squeak, unable to stay quiet any longer. You know if you don’t derail this trail of thought very soon, it’s gonna end badly for you.

Both Troy and Brock look unimpressed, at that statement.

“Yes, he is,” Brock says slowly, as if explaining something to an unruly child. “He drops whatever he has going on to do small things that make your life easier. That’s literally the same as him screaming I’m in love with you from the highest rooftop in Vancouver.”

“He’s not like you,” Troy continues, a little more gentle. “When people have different love languages, they don’t always understand what the other is trying to say. Your love language is words of affirmation. You’re always telling Petey how amazing he is. But he doesn’t see that as a declaration of love, or whatever. He thinks you tell everyone that they’re amazing.”

You do, to be fair, but not as often as you tell Elias. Because he’s…

Well. Amazing would be an understatement, actually. He’s everything to you.

Things are starting to make sense, like puzzle pieces fitting into place. Suddenly, you start wondering if there’s more to his acts of service than plain friendship, or him being a good guy.

It’s not like he does stuff like that for all his friends. He helps them out, sure, but he always goes above and beyond for you, usually not even needing to be asked.

But he’s not in love with you, surely? He hasn’t said anything…

But maybe words aren’t his thing. Not like they are yours: the way you can’t stop yourself from gushing into Elias’ ear even when you know you should stop.

What if Brock and Troy are right?

You don’t get much time to think it through, because that’s when Elias finally appears in Troy’s living room, looking endlessly cool in his blue sweater, wearing his glasses. He’s sending death glares at Jake, who wolf whistles from the corner, but then his eyes meet yours and they soften.

“Hi there,” he smiles, reaching out to you. You immediately jump up and launch yourself at him, any previous conversation about the two of you momentarily forgotten as you curl your body into his, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Missed you,” you hum into his shoulder, and you’re rewarded with a grin you can feel against the skin of your neck.

“Are you sure hers isn’t physical touch?” you hear Brock ponder, and you would flip him off if you could be bothered.

You can’t. All you can be bothered doing is plastering yourself to Elias’ side and not leaving him alone even for a second, the rest of the night.

It works at least for a while, until he asks: “Do you want another drink?”

“I’ll go with you,” you say, not willing to part with him yet, and you ignore the knowing look Brock shoots you as the two of you find your way to the kitchen.

Elias immediately goes for the wine, because he knows you better than anyone else.

“I asked my dad about the job,” Elias mentions casually, as if it’s not a big deal at all. “He thinks he can get you an interview.”

“Wait, what?”

Suddenly your heart is ticking in your throat. Before he left for Sweden, Elias had mentioned that his dad knows a guy who works for a similar company as you’re working for now: apart from the shitty boss you have or the ridiculous low salary you get paid. It’s your job, but better, and Elias promised you he’d get his dad to ask if there were any open positions.

There were. And you sent in your application not thinking there was gonna come much from it, but now…

Something warm washes through your chest, like your heart grew three sizes. Of course he asked, of course he made it happen. Looking out for you, always and at any time, from any distance.

“It’s not a done deal,” Elias warns, oblivious to your mental breakdown. “But he said he thinks they’ll like you and he’ll put in a good word for you.”

You squeal and throw yourself in his direction once again. Elias laughs as he catches you, fingers curling in your hair where your face is pressed against his chest.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

“It’s about time you get rid of that dumb job.” You can hear the frown in Elias’ voice. “They don’t take good care of you at all, it’s not good for you.” The distaste is obvious and it’s adorable. You pull away.

“I don’t need them to,” you say, carefully. You can still hear Brock’s words in your voice, and you figure it’s worth a try, probably. “Because you’re always there to take care of me.”

Elias’ cheeks darken substantially.

“I mean it when I say I don’t know what I’d do without you, Elias.”

“You’d be fine,” Elias waves away the compliment as you figured he would. But this time you’re not backing down.

“Maybe I would be. But I wouldn’t be as happy.”

They say when you really love a person, you’ve got to show them. But you’ve never really known how to do that, instead you always use your words to tell them. But it seems like Elias isn’t believing you, not even now.

And you’ve got to fix that.

It’s not until you’re in Elias’ car on the way back home that you bring it up again. The party wasn’t really the time and place, but the conversation with Brock and the guys has been nagging in the back of your mind since it happened.

If you didn’t realize Elias’ acts of service meant something, maybe he doesn’t realize your words of affirmation mean something. And even if it doesn’t mean he’s in love with you – you’re really not that sure about that – you need him to at least know how much you appreciate him.

“You know I’m always there for you, right?” you start, carefully breaking the silence in the car. Elias shoots you a glance from behind the steering wheel.

“What?”

“Like, even if I’m maybe not as good as you are at realizing what you need me to do, if there’s ever anything I can do to help make your life a little easier or better I wanna do it. I’d do anything for you.”

It’s too honest, probably, and too much all at the same time. But Elias doesn’t look that surprised. In fact, there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You make my life better by just being you, Y/N. You don’t have to do anything for me.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you wonder how you’re gonna get through this conversation. But it’s one that needs to be held, so you press on.

“What is your love language, Elias?”

Now he frowns. “Have you been talking to Brock?”

Of course Brock talked to Elias before he talked to you. The traitor.

You decide to ignore that, for now. You’ll talk to Brock later.

“You know my love language is words of affirmation, right?”

Elias shrugs. “Brock did say that, but I didn’t know what you thought it was.”

“And yours is acts of service,” you hazard a guess. You keep your eyes firmly on Elias’ face, which is the only reason you catch the slight change in his expression.

Like a wall, crossing over his features. He’s trying to protect himself, although you have no idea why. Does he not get where you’re going with this?

“I can tune it down if you want me to,” he says, a little grumpily. He’s staring straight ahead at the road, stubbornly refusing to look your way.

And oh God, he’s truly not getting it, and this is going the exact opposite way you want it to go.

Troy did say that when people’s love languages don’t match, they don’t understand what the other is trying to say. But you honestly don’t know how you can make it any more clear to Elias.

Well, except…

“I love you,” you blurt out. “Like, in love with you love you.”

The words ring loudly in the quiet car. For a second, nothing about Elias’ expression, almost like he didn’t hear you. You can almost feel your heart sink into your stomach.

Then, he pulls over the car.

It comes to a stop at the side of the road, two wheels on the pavement and two still on the road. It is, objectively, not super safe, but it’s also 3am and there’s no other cars to be seen. Very carefully, without looking at you still, Elias turns on the hazard lights.

And then finally, finally, he turns to you and kisses you.

You weren’t expecting it but it doesn’t really matter: it’s like your heart and head both light on fire, and everything outside of the car simply disappears. It’s just you and Elias, and his lips on yours and his hands on your body.

It feels right. Like it was always meant to end up like this.

After what feels like ages, he pulls away. He’s smiling, and his eyes are bright blue in the dark car.

“I thought you said those kinda things to everyone,” he admits, quietly. His thumb is rubbing your side, his eyes fixed on that spot. Almost as if he can’t really believe he’s allowed to do that.

You don’t want him to ever do anything else.

“I thought you did those kinda things for everyone,” you shoot back.

Elias raises one eyebrow. “That bookcase weighed at least 300 pounds.”

You can’t help it: giggles are escaping your lips and suddenly you’re both laughing. The tension in the car dissipates instantly, and suddenly it’s just Elias again, your best friend.

Your best friend that you’re now allowed to kiss. So you lean in and press your lips against his again.

After all, kissing is a love language you think everyone understands.

(+2)

“I’m home!” Elias’ voice sounds through the empty apartment, and you immediately leave your spot behind the kitchen counter to run into the hallway.

With a squeal, you fly towards him, and he catches you easily as you knew he would.

“Hey, babe,” he laughs quietly, pressing a kiss into your hair before returning the hug fully. “Is that my sweater?”

“Maybe,” you admit, as Elias’ hands make their way under his own blue sweater, that you definitely steal from him most evenings. “Missed you. And I’m very proud of you.”

“I missed you too,” he answers. “Watched the game?”

“Obviously.” You roll your eyes, even though you know he can’t see it with your face still buried in his shoulder. “A hat trick, huh? I think that needs to be celebrated.”

“Oh?” Elias pulls away then, one eyebrow raised and a cheeky twinkle in his eyes.

“Not like that,” you scold him, lightly punching his arm. “Or, maybe like that. But first, I made Kalops.”

At the mention of his favorite Swedish food, Elias’ face lights up. A while ago, you asked his mom for her recipe and it’s one of the only Swedish dishes you can make, but you make it well.

“Also,” you continue, as you take his hand and start leading him towards the kitchen, so he can sit at the counter while you cook as he always does, “I called the electrician so the TV is already fixed. I know you could have done it, but I decided I’d much rather use that time to hang out with you. I took Puck to get his shots at the vet and I also used my free afternoon to take your car through the car wash.”

When you reach the kitchen, you twirl around towards Elias and his arms immediately circle around your waist.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he mutters, taking the opportunity to kiss you once more. “But thank you. I love that you took the time to take care of that for me. And I love you.”

“Look at us,” you tease, lightly tugging at the ends of Elias’ hair. “Speaking each other’s love language like that.”

“Perfect couple,” Elias agrees, and you smile back at him.

Somehow, you and Elias managed to create a language of your own: one that you could speak with nobody else. But luckily, you don’t have to.

Cause he came home to your shared apartment like he always does, and well. That’s the biggest act of service he could do for you.

#elias pettersson #vancouver canucks #nhl fic #elias pettersson fic #elias petterson one shot #elias pettersson imagine #nhl writing

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hansolmates · 4 years

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jjk; angel’s trumpet [08]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter–mentions of sex, a panic attack w.c; 4.5k a/n; can’t believe there’s one more chapter after this! (+the bonus chapter!) its such a bittersweet feeling to close this all up so i hope u all join me in my w2!jk sobbing party im making matcha cookies rn so i can wallow

[07] [08] [final] -> masterpost

Jungkook’s worried.

After he left your apartment, he dove himself into his work and tried to get you out of his head. Somehow he ended up from his living room table to his bed, bleary and with a pen jabbing him in the cheek. He doesn’t know how he feels right now, and has micro analyzed every bit of your relationship in between breaks.

He fell fast, and loving you (as much as it scares himself to admit) was so easy it hurt. It’s why it’s so hard for him to accept that you would betray him like that. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? If you had just admitted your issues from day one, this crisis could have easily been averted and you would be with him right now.

But that’s not why he’s worried. Jungkook wakes up the following day around 10AM, noting the dozens of messages and unanswered phone calls from Jimin and Taehyung.

According to Taehyung, you’ve been missing for three days. Off-the-grid type of missing, to the point that Taehyung is debating on whether or not he should call the police.

The first day you didn’t come home, Taehyung chalked it up as you spending the night at Jungkook’s. The second day however, he visits the library where your office hours are held only to find your usual table empty and your students upset over your lack of contact.

“Here,” Doyeon had said, pointing to the vague email you sent. Taehyung skimmed through the barebones message, mentioning that you had to take an indefinite leave and that the students can email Professor Kim Namjoon if they still had lingering questions.

Taehyung notes the sincere apology at the bottom, and how you tack on that “you are a wonderful group of students and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.”

Almost as if you aren’t planning to come back.

He could hear Taehyung deflate on the line, knowing that Jungkook has no idea where you are either.

“Did you…” Jungkook scratches his head, sitting at his kitchen table, “did you check her room for a yellow notebook?”

“What?” Taehyung asks, “I checked her room yesterday. Y’know the weird thing is? Her room is clean, like clinically clean. There’s nothing on her desk, the sheets are washed, and her clothes are all folded and put away. Usually it’s like a whirlwind in here.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, remembering how your room is usually quite lived in, with warm sheets and a candle glowing.

“Why aren’t you more stressed out, dude?” Taehyung says, and Jungkook instantly feels guilty. “Your girlfriend’s fucking missing, are you gonna get up and help or not?”

“Y-yeah, I’m just a little shaken,” he manages to reply, thinking about how you tried to explain to him the other night. He pinches the bridge between his brows, regretting not letting you have your word when refusing to listen to you. Maybe if he heard it, things would have turned out differently.

Taehyung sighs, “Yeah, it’s a bit of a shock. She really isn’t like this normally, but I trust her. If you can, maybe contact Jung Hoseok? I already visited Kim Namjoon and he doesn’t know anything, but he’s the only friend I know that could have any idea.”

Jung Hoseok. He remembers that name frequently in your notebook. Not as frequently as his, but enough to have a good idea he could be involved in your sudden departure.

“Okay, I’ll visit him today.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

The tables that you usually occupy for study groups are painfully absent of your presence, noted by your stressed out students that are hoping you’ll show up unexpectedly.

Thankfully, Hoseok is working today. Jungkook eyes him from the doorway of the playroom, seeing Hoseok carefully distribute plates of snacks as a movie plays on the flatscreen. He looks like a preschooler himself, decked out in a sunflower yellow bucket hat and denim suspenders. Jungkook tries to see if there’s anything strange emanating from Hoseok, like if he also has secrets to hide, but feels nothing of the sort.

“You’re really creepy, Mister,” the door swings open to reveal a little girl, tugging impatiently at his cargos.

Hoseok makes a face at Jungkook, rolling his eyes. “God, just come in. You’re scaring my children.”

The little girl practically shoves him inside, forcing him to sit at the playtable on the very end. She then hands him a plate of cheddar Goldfish and strawberry fruit snacks, a toddler’s delicacy. Hoseok makes a show of telling the children to be quiet, focusing on the movie’s “historical elements” and “symbolic imagery” but they don’t understand any of that and just want Hoseok to move so they can watch Mulan.

Jungkook feels like he’s being crushed in the too-small chair and Fisher-Price table, munching absentmindedly on his Goldfish. Hoseok is playing on his phone, not sparing him a glance as he texts someone.

Jungkook swallows, wishing he had some milk to down the snack. “Uh, are you texting y/n?”

“No,” Hoseok replies coolly.

“Well, do you know where she is?”

“I can tell you where she went,” Hoseok replies eerily, plucking a fruit snack from Jungkook’s place, “as to whether she’s still there or not, I’m not sure.”

“I’m sorry, but are you mad at me?” he whisper-hisses, not wanting to disturb the children enamoured at the front of the room. He’s tired of the secrecy and blurry answers.

“Yes, I am,” Hoseok snaps just as quietly, leaning in to get into his face, “I’m mad because I believed in you.”

“Believed in me?” he gapes, “you don’t even know me!”

“I may not, but I believed you’d trust y/n at least. She’s a victim too, y’know.”

A victim?

“Look,” Jungkook puts some space between them, afraid he would get too heated, “just tell me what’s going on so I can understand. I know I messed up, but I feel like I’ve been in the dark for God knows how long.”

Hoseok bites his lip, “It’s really not my story to tell. Y/n didn’t want to tell you right away because she wasn’t sure of the circumstances. She wasn’t sure even if she was supposed to tell you.”

Jungkook watches the expressions morph on Hoseok’s face. He sees the faith in his gaze, as he holds his phone expectantly, as if he’s also waiting for a sign that you’re okay. Jungkook suppresses a sigh, looking at his own blank screen. Shaking his head, he manages to smile knowing that so many people believe in you.

So why can’t he?

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

You hate this. Three days ago you felt peachy keen, ready to transcend into your own universe and live your life to the fullest.

Now three days later you’re sitting at the wine lady’s cottage, waiting for the past two days for her to show up.

“How long does she need to go on this ‘spiritual retreat’?” you admonish, looking on angrily at the same waitress that has served you for the past two days.

“I don’t know,” the waitress has grown tired of your presence, waiting all day in the little restaurant for the owner’s presence, “until she feels more spiritual, I guess?”

It annoys you further that this waitress has the spitting image of Sehlyung. It’s weird to see her with natural pin straight black hair, always loving the pretty blond-white color and sacrificing her hair health for the bright hue. Every time she sees you still in the same spot, she makes it a point to roll her eyes and walk a little louder. This version of her is just as temperamental, unwilling to budge.

You groan, shamelessly annoyed as you drop your head on your arm. “And are you sure there’s no angel’s wine in the bar? I’m willing to take the risk of switching lives with my third dimension-self at this rate.”

The waitress eyes the one empty bottle of soju that decorate your side of the bar, chalking it up as a drunk episode. “No,” she says flatly, jerking her hand out. “Now, please pay and leave. We’re closing up, but I’ll give you a call if she decides to show up late. Since y’know, you’ve left your number here despite our protests.”

“Can I stay until you’re at least done cleaning—”

“No.”

You narrow your eyes, snatching up your half-finished bottle of soju before tucking it in your purse and offering up your credit card in exchange. You know you’re not in the right mind, but you’re pulling at strings at this point and you don’t know what to do.

After a couple paces of shaky walking and trying very hard not to appear tipsy in public, you plop yourself onto the beach, overlooking the shore. You place your backpack next to you, taking off your shoes and dipping your toes in the sand.

You glare hard at the moon, despite the distance the big ball of extraterrestrial rock is bright and full. It reflects in the ocean and bathes you in it’s grace.

Sighing at its beauty, you take a swig of your soju as your feet wade in the water. The touch of the ocean is glaringly cold, but your body feels warm and the contrast is appropriately jarring. You feel stuck between two worlds, your body in one while your heart is in the other, desperate to find the bridge to bring you home.

What exactly was the goal in bringing you here? Did you need a break from your real life? Did fate want you to remedy your relationship with Jungkook? Were you supposed to rewrite the wrongs you committed in your other life?

You snort, taking a long swig. It's easy to see how well that went.

You miss your life back home. As much as you love the one your alternate self has made here, nothing compares to Sehlyung’s humor and dirty jokes. Nothing compares to the look on Beomgyu’s face after getting a sentence translation correct. Nothing compares to the way Jungkook looks for only you after a concert, desperate to give you a hug and an affirmation that he did well.

Just as you are about to sing to the moon and beg for a reprieve, a body plops themselves next to you, snatching the bottle from your hands.

“Y’know, normally when people run away, they leave a mysterious note.”

You frown at Jungkook, who looks absolutely ethereal as he stares at the moon. He’s glittering in his denim jacket and black jeans, as if he’s part of an intimate moment in a slice-of-life film. You have half a mind to grab your phone and yell at Hoseok, but it’s far too late since your location has already been revealed.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying not to snap when Jungkook pours the contents of your drink into the ocean. “Hey, I paid for that.”

Ignoring you he says, “I’m here to take you home.”

“I don’t have a home here,” you snap, and you mean it.

Jungkook digs a hole for your bottle, letting the sea green grass sit in the sandhole. He turns to you, looking weary and worried. You try not to feel worried over the slump in his chest, or the way he looks like he ran a marathon to find you.

“Then where is your home?” he asks gently, resting an arm over his knee and turning to face you.

You curl up further into your body, hoping you’ll shrink if you press your legs close enough to your chest. “It’s not here,” you mumble into your knees.

“Tell me where,” and you don’t shove him away when he puts his palm on your thigh, coaxing you out of your shell. “I’ll listen this time.” Deathly slow, you lift your head up, letting him catch your stray tears and spread your body with warmth. He scoots over to you, the rough sand making it difficult as he tries to wrap his arm around you. The both of you let out a breath, missing each other’s touch. “I’m sorry,” he says, the apologies melting into your temple, “I should’ve listened from the beginning, and been more patient. It’s my fault you’re all the way out here.”

The oceans crash against both of your feet, the water eager to swallow you whole.

“Two months ago I got into a fight with you, the other you,” you start, and Jungkook doesn’t budge, and you’re thankful he doesn’t attempt to bombard you with questions, “it wasn’t a stupid fight. It was something building for a long, long time. And I came home drunk. One second, I was two seconds away from being sideswept by an incoming truck, and the next second it’s daytime and it’s you that nearly runs me over.”

He rubs small circles into your shoulder, and you almost hum at his touch. You miss Jungkook so much.

“The Jungkook I’ve told you about isn’t dead,” you explain, “he’s—and I’m, we’re from another universe.”

And between you, Jungkook, and the moon you profess your journey. Starting from the anxiety you felt from the first week, how you holed yourself in your apartment until Namjoon had to whisk you out, to your relief when Hoseok believed your crazy ideas. Halfway through you decide to piece your theories within the story, your last conversation with Jungkook, coupled with the angel’s wine and explaining how scary it was to see your matching tattoos and the meaning behind them.

“But, I wasn’t trying to fall in love with you so I could go home,” you admit tearfully, feeling the weight of the night on your shoulders, “it, it just happened naturally. It made me believe that in another world, we would’ve worked out. Just like he said.”

“I believe you,” he says firmly, exhaling. The whole explanation, understatedly, is a lot to take in. But he isn’t going to reject it, in fact as absurd as it is it makes far more sense than you planning out a Jungkook-inspired sci-fi novel or questioning your sanity. “I—I didn’t want to at first. It was easier to say you were crazy but, it doesn’t seem like the case. The way you saw me that morning we met, I could see how much you cared for me—him—us?” he scratches his head, unsure of how he should refer to himself in the situation.

“I don’t blame you,” you shake your head, “Namjoon wanted me to see a doctor.”

“It must’ve been hard,” he states, “seeing so much of him in me.”

“You are him,” you retort, looking up so that your noses are touching. There’s pain in both your gazes, equally upset at the circumstances. “I’m sorry you got the short end of the stick. I wish you could’ve met me, the other me, under normal circumstances.”

“Remember what I said before?” he asks, lifting a hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “I said that our meeting was fate. And now I believe it more than ever.”

You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Y’know, Jungkook believes in fate too. He used to joke about hearing the bell when he found ‘the one’ like in Kimi No Na Wa.”

Jungkook grins, “That guy of yours seems pretty cool,” he jokes, “let him know that in our case, the bell was my horn because I didn’t wanna run you over.”

The whole situation is confusing, but you’re thankful that Jungkook seems to be at ease now that all your cards are laid out.

“So does your Jungkook do film too?”

“Uh,” you choke out a cough, “he’s actually a singer, dancer, producer, and films when he has the time. Mostly singer, the main one in a K-pop group. With Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Seokjin.”

He gapes, “Kim Seokjin? The actor Seokjin? Damn he’s like, super fine—”

“God this is so weird.”

“So how many figures are they making a year? In the hundred-thousands, like six-figures?”

“Er, more like eight,” you squeak, “and then some. But you put a lot of your money into donations.”

“Damn babe, you downgraded,” Jungkook jokes, and you smack him playfully on the arm. “So that’s how you got the song, huh?”

“Still With You? Yeah,” you say, running your hands through the soft sand, “it’s weird to live in a world without your music, byproduct of my job. It happens to be a big part of my life,” your eyes glaze over the ocean, “I missed hearing your voice.”

“Y/n,” Jungkook threads his fingers through the sand to find your hands, “I’m really, really sorry I doubted you.”

You disagree, “It’s a crazy situation. I don’t even know if I’m really sane at this moment,” you chuckle, “I mean, the time went by so fast. I would be paranoid because for you, it’s like being in a new relationship. I didn’t think it would be so easy to love you all over again like that.”

“Neither did I.” Jungkook replies warmly, and he smiles when he sees you gaping. He leans over to press a kiss to your lips, a feeling long-missed. “And a little part of me knows he feels the same way, too.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s almost 12AM before you return to your apartment, dripping wet because neither of you anticipated the sudden spring shower. You tumble in like wet noodles, giggling like children in hushed whispers as you struggle to find the lightswitch.

The lights blare on for you, Taehyung’s fingers hanging by the toggle. His hair is wet from the shower, and he looks like he sees a Christmas miracle when he wraps you up in his arms, despite the protest of you being dirty with sand and salt.

“You dummy, don’t ever scare me like that ever again!” he sobs into your shoulder, and you return the embrace as you pat his head comfortingly.

“Sorry Tae,” you say, “had to do a little soul-searching.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, more like world-searching if anyone were to ask his honest opinion. But Taehyung is looking past your body to mumble a teary ‘thank you’ to Jungkook, and he nods his head politely.

“Well next time you soul search, you better call.”

“Done and done.”

Satisfied that you are going to stay the night and not budge, Taehyung returns to his room. He gives you a good scolding however, and he makes you promise that you’ll give him the full story over breakfast.

After that bump, Jungkook and you can’t keep your hands off each other. You two shower the grime off your bodies, taking turns shampooing and scrubbing. Even after you’re clean and towel-dried, Jungkook’s fingers fail to untack from your skin, pushing you eagerly to your mattress as he presses kisses along your clothed body. He’s singing against your skin, waxing poetics about how beautiful you are and how much he loves you.

“Jung—koo, Jungkook,” you say breathlessly, running your fingers through his damp locks, “Taehyung’s in the other room, we can’t be loud.”

“Don’t,” kiss, “give,” kiss, “a fuck,” Jungkook pants, large hands trailing over your soft skin, memorizing every inch of you, He presses his length against your thigh, insistent, “if this is the last time, we’re going off with fireworks, baby.”

And with that, you relent. It’s nothing short of electric, the way he takes great care but great power into your pleasure. He takes his time, as if it isn’t the first and last night, tracing every inch of your body because he doesn’t know what the future entails for the both of you.

You’re equally stung like live-wire, wracking with pleasure as he seals his affirmation to you with sweet nothings, bodies pressed against each other feverently like they’ve always meant to be. Every bit of contact is purposeful, unbridled and overflowing with affection.

When you’re done you’re both sweaty and almost painfully content, acceptant of the ambiguity of your futures.

“Jungkook?” you ask, holding his hand tightly.

“Yes, pretty girl?”

“Will you… fall in love with me again?”

“Is that even a question?” he balks, leaning forward to peck your nose. He smiles at the way you scrunch your face. “Your office hours are 1-3PM, Mondays and Thursdays in the general library. If you’re not there, you’re teaching the History of Neuroscience in the ARC building on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10:20 to 12:10. I also know where you live, so.”

You don’t care how sweaty you are, and tuck your head underneath his chin, needing to be closer.

“I will find you,” he promises, “hopefully not under my bike the second time around, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’ll have a lot of explaining to do, y’know,” you sigh into his chest, feeling it rumble as your hair dampens. Your hair has dried long ago from the shower, but you know Jungkook’s trying hard to be strong as he cries into your crown, “you should leave before I wake up, just in case.”

“Hoseok and I will handle it,” Jungkook assures you, “we’re like the Power Rangers, defenders of space and time.”

“Alright Red Ranger, make sure you’re at least clothed before I wake up, then.”

He pulls away lightly, seeing your equally red-rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. Both of you bump arms as you try to wipe away each other’s tears. The moon continues its power over your bodies, the only source of light in the room. Despite its movement since your time at the beach, it continues to illuminate the room and make the moment glisten with the rhythm of time.

“You really think this is the end for us, huh?” his voice cracks, his hands cradling your face.

Stretching to reach him, you press a kiss on every available centimeter of skin on his face. His forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his lips. You take care to kiss the tears away, silently wishing nothing but the best for him. He immediately melts into your touch, and he gives you a teary smile.

“It’s not the end,” you assure, “it’s our beginning. Thank you, for loving me.”

Jungkook nods, pressing a long, sweet kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to fall in love with you again.”

The two of you sleep like that, not with a goodbye, but with a promise.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1.

When you wake up, it’s loud.

The transition is jarring, painfully so. Gone are your soft flannel comforter, replaced with dry, scratchy sheets that are a poor excuse for bedwear. Your hands are heavy, bounded by the fluids snaking into your bloodstream. Your eyes are crusty and bleary, taking in the plain white and wood room. The sharp sound of the monitor reverberates in your ears, a high-pitched reminder of your slow vitals.

Everything is painful, confirming that in fact you did get hit by that truck. You give props to your alternate self for dealing with this for the past two months.

Your eyes dart around the room, taking in the night sky and the full moon looming above you. The only other person in the room is your baby niece, who is just short of five years old. She has since ceased coloring at her little table, her little mouth gaping open like a pufferfish. You make eye contact with her, and she nearly spills over her 64-count Crayola pack as she throws herself off the chair, running over to reach for your hand.

“Auntie!” she cheers, the biggest smile on her face, “you’re awake! Mama said you were hibernating like bears do, and that you would probably wake up by spring time. She was right!”

Although it pains you to smile, you manage to squeeze her hand in return. You open your mouth, the inside feeling tacky and gross. “Ah-ah,” you grimace when no sound comes out, just rasps and ghosts of what once was your voice.

Your niece’s face crumples, and she lets go of you. “Imma go get mama, she’ll bring help!”

She leaves you alone to succumb to the beeps of your monitors and the pain in your bones. Your fingers grapple the paper-thin sheets, and your gaze drifts to the moon. You think of Jungkook, sleeping blissfully in bed, holding you with so much tenderness and care. In a matter of what felt like minutes since you fell asleep in his arms, disappears just like that.

The doctors and your family find you hysterically crying, the monitors going crazy as you hyperventilate yourself into a stupor. You feel like you’re choking on air, whatever little tubes in your body restricting access to fully express how torn and conflicted you’re feeling all over again. The medical expertise does work to evacuate your family, chalking your reactions up as your trauma catching up to you and the shock of the past two months hitting you full force.

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s nearly 3AM when the music cuts out with no explanation, and Jungkook is annoyed. He just got that set down and he finally felt confident in adding facial expressions, but the manager killed the music and now his head is spinning.

He’s heaving, hands on his head as he tries to get his body back to equilibrium. He watches intently as Namjoon immediately takes the call, not even bothering to leave the studio to answer it. The rest of the members watch as Namjoon’s expressions morph into happiness, combined with short “yes”es and “I understands.”

Namjoon makes eye contact with Jungkook first and beams, “She’s awake!”

What originally felt like a hot and stifling room, immediately dissipates into an air of relief. While not all the members may not know you personally, the thought of a fellow co-worker on the road to recovery is enough to ease their exhaustion.

“What?” Jungkook doesn’t hide it, and collapses on the floor, thoroughly spent for today. “Is she okay?”

“Well, she actually just passed out. But she’s conscious.”

“What, why?” Jimin asks, rolling a water bottle over to Jungkook.

“Doctors say she woke up in a panic, started freaking out when it sunk in that she’s been in a coma since winter.” Jungkook’s heart squeezes painfully of the thought of you scared and feeling trapped in that small hospital bed.

“Well, can we go see her in the morning?” Jungkook says hopefully, biting his lip.

“We can’t,” Namjoon confesses, looking down at his shoes in disappointment, “at least not right now. y/n was apparently terrified. The doctors think she’s suffering from some form of PTSD, because she can’t recall anything that happened after she got hit. Her guardians are sending her to a facility for her to process her trauma. It’s in the countryside, and she’s not allowed visitors until she’s fully recovered.”

Just when Jungkook thinks he has you back, you’re already far from his reach. He should be happy, knowing that you are well on your way to get better. He’s thankful enough that you’re finally awake. But the small, selfish part of him wants to visit you, and comfort you.

Whether you’ll let him or not is your choice, but this time, he decides he’s going to fight for you.

#jungkook fic #jungkook angst #goldenclosetnet #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook fluff

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elizabeethan · 4 years

Text

Ladies Night

And the feelings right! this song was stuck in my head and thus was born a night of postpartum normalcy for our dear Emma. takes place in the It’s About Bloody Time universe (and no, this is not one of the one shots I actually plan on writing.) This is... pure crack.

Also on Ao3

Rated M

~2200 words

When Mary Margaret Blanchard insists on a Storybrooke Ladies Night, one complies, lest one desires to be berated for the remainder of the calendar year.

“Oh yes, it’s ladies night, and the feeling’s right!”

“Ruby, stop.”

“Oh, what a night!”

“Please, Ruby. Please stop.”

“What, you're not a fan of Kool & The Gang?”

“Not particularly.”

“Get down on it, c’mon get down on it,” she says, closing her eyes and soulfully swaying her shoulders from side to side while she snaps her fingers.

“That’s not even the same song!” Emma groans as Ruby reaches into her center console for what she knows must be the AUX cord. “If you play Kool & The Gang right now…”

“Oh yes it’s ladies night!”

She wants so badly to stop the car, open Ruby’s door, and shove her out into the road. She wants to slam her own head against the steering wheel and maybe she won’t be able to hear any disco. She wants to go home and spend the evening with her baby, who’s just starting to babble adorably incoherent nonsense. But when Mary Margaret Blanchard insists on a Storybrooke Ladies Night, one complies, lest one desires to be berated for the remainder of the calendar year.

Mary Margaret got the idea to celebrate National Best Friend Day with her girlfriends and hasn’t let it go since. The sad thing is, National Best Friend Day was three months ago, but something got in the way.

(Emma had a baby the day before.)

She’s neurotically decorated her loft in pink and purple hearts, baked all kinds of weird heart shaped desserts, and insisted that each guest wears purple to match. Emma Swan does not own purple.

“You’ll have fun, darling. You should go,” Killian had told her, and what the hell does he know? Just because they’ve been together for a year and have a child together, that means he knows her?

She’s feeling a bit belligerent today.

But could she truly be blamed? Her sweet baby is home with her sweet baby daddy, and she’s been dragged out to ladies night with her mother and all of her mother’s friends.

Okay, fine. They're her friends, too. But her baby is so, so cute. Come on.

“Come on, Emma, this can’t be that bad for you. Tell me you're at least a little excited to see your friends. You’ve been holed up in your house since Corrine was born!”

“That was only three months ago! I’m on maternity leave!”

“You need a drink!”

“I’m breastfeeding.”

Ruby shrugs. “What’s it called? Pump and dump?”

She groans, rolling her eyes before focusing back on the road. “I’m your designated driver, and I don’t want a drunk infant.”

“Well, Killian is her father. Doesn’t he have, like, 200 barrels of rum on his ship?”

“I only saw a few.”

“You were in the storage place? What’s it called? Stowage?”

Emma blushes, because there was only one reason that she ever found herself among Killian’s rum barrels, and she was not about to share that story during ladies night.

Once they mercifully arrive at the loft, Emma and Ruby make their way up and are immediately bombarded with hugs from her mother. “Hi sweetie,” she says, planting a kiss on Emma’s cheek, and oh god, is she drunk?

“Hi mom…” Emma says timidly.

“Sangria? It’s made with fresh peaches and strawberries. Also, wine.”

She laughs tautly and thinks hard. Killian did his research, of course. They have a stock of breast milk in the freezer, and she can pump and dump, as Ruby so helpfully suggested. Killian even insisted that she should relax tonight and to not worry about him and Corrine, to just have fun. It took her a while to accept that having a drink or two tonight does not make her a bad mom. She even talked it over with Archie yesterday.

So, she nods, takes a clear plastic cup, and fills it with the fruity concoction.

And damn, it’s good. And it goes down easy.

It’s been over a year since she’s had a sip of alcohol in her, and it shows. One drink in and she’s feeling a warm buzz over her skin and a smile toying at her lips that she can’t seem to get rid of.

“Let’s see them, then,” Regina says with an air of irritation in her voice.

“See what?” Ashley asks.

“The pictures. We all know Emma is dying to show us all pictures of the baby.”

“Hey, Ashley has a baby, too,” Emma argues in an attempt to defend herself,

“Yes, but you still have that sickening new-mother glow. I know you have at least a hundred new photos since I dropped Henry off on Tuesday.”

She’s right, dammit.

Emma whips out her phone and shows off countless images of little Corrine. She’s gained close to eight pounds since birth, and she’s a chunky little girl. Her hair still hasn’t come in, either, so she’s cursed with a fuzzy bald head. Emma is convinced that she’ll be a blonde, but for now, she’s a cue ball. Her favorite feature of her daughter’s, though, is her ocean blue eyes.

“I miss her,” Mary Margaret says sadly, and Emma nods.

“Me too. Look at these cheeks!”

“She’s so chunky. And look at Hook holding her!” Tinkerbell cries, reaching for the phone and giving Emma a sweet smile once she’s zoomed in. “This is so cute. You have to frame this.”

“I did.”

The evening goes on with games and lots more sangria, but Emma takes it easy after her second glass. At this rate, Ruby might end up being her designated driver.

After a few too many rounds of Cards Against Humanity, the game started to become too raunchy. When they first started, the answers were relatively tame, but when Ruby put down a card about a man on the brink of… something that made everyone in the room start hollering and blushing and nudging each other’s shoulders, it was clear where the night was headed.

“Let’s play Never Have I Ever.” Emma would have never assumed Ashley would be the one to suggest it, but here they are.

“Yay!” Ruby agrees, clapping enthusiastically. “Everyone, raise three fingers!” Emma catches Regina’s eye roll and Mary Margaret’s nervous hesitation before they all put three fingers into the air. “Who wants to go first?” Silence. “Alright, me! Never have I ever… been a parent.”

Emma rolls her eyes now. “Ruby, come on! You’re knocking out, like, everyone here!”

“Right, everyone but me and Tink. That’s the point of the game, Emma.”

“Alright,” Regina says brazenly. “Never have I ever changed into a different species.”

“Ooh, Regina, that’s fierce!” Mary Margaret says drunkenly as Ruby puts down a finger, now matching almost everyone else in the room, and then she asks, “Does Tink count?”

“Yes.”

“What!?”

“Emma’s next.”

“Never have I ever… um… shit. Um…”

“Yes, you have!” Ashley shouts with a giggle, and Emma blushes as the room bursts into laughter.

“Stop! Never have I ever… um… punched my true love in the face with a rock?”

Mary Margaret scoffs. “What? A compass doesn’t count?” she asks sarcastically.

“Huh?”

“Hook. During your sword fight in the Enchanted Forest. You punched him in the face with the compass, remember?”

“Why would you… Hook isn’t…”

Everyone stares at her. “Yes, he is, come on,” Tink says.

“Yeah, seriously. He’s due to propose soon.”

“What?!”

“Isn’t it almost a year now? How are you celebrating your anniversary?”

Emma’s tipsy self isn’t as emotionally mature as sober Emma. So, she bites her lips, widens her eyes, and changes the subject to something easier to talk about.

“Never have I ever been to a ball.”

Four fingers go down. Five sets of eyes roll dramatically.

“Never have I ever had sex while pregnant,” Ruby says, and seriously? How can she ask this many questions? It’s not even her turn.

“Never have I ever had sex with a pirate,” Tink says, and not only is that surprising because Emma thought for sure that they had a history, but also because, apparently, Emma is now under personal attack.

“Oh, come on! You really haven’t?”

“Are you asking if I’ve had sex with your lover and the father of your newborn child? Because I’m not sure I’d answer you if I had.”

“I wouldn’t answer,” Ashley pipes up.

“I wouldn’t either, but I would do him.”

“Ruby!”

“Look at him!”

“I do, quite frequently!”

“How frequently?”

“I have one,” Mary Margaret interrupts, practically drilling a hole into Emma’s head with how hard she’s smirking at her. “Never have I ever had sex in my mother’s home.”

Emma’s jaw drops. “Mom!”

“I just wanted to know! It’s my house, and your sex life seems to be… very healthy.”

“What the hell makes you say that?!”

“Well, you weren’t as quiet as you thought you were every time you were sneaking out.” While she started speaking slowly, her pace picks up. “Honestly, it’s a miracle it took you as long as it did to get pregnant with how often you and Killian were—”

“Ooooh!” Ruby howls.

“No! Of course I haven’t had sex here!” Emma does note, however, that both Ruby and Regina put their fingers down at that question, so Ruby is out. Thank god.

“Never have I ever done it on a rum barrel,” Ruby says, as if she didn’t just lose the damn game.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Well, I’m out,” Mary Margaret says.

~~~~

“Fun time, love?” Killian asks into the darkness of the living room when Emma starts to slink onto the couch, much later than she anticipated. She’s already too-loudly busted into the bedroom room before even acknowledging Killian, checking to make sure Corrine was sleeping, brushing a finger gently over her fat cheek but stopping herself from picking her up.

“Mhmm,” she hums happily, flopping towards him and resting her head on his lap. “I played games. And I drank sangria.”

He laughs lightly, rubbing a hand, his left hand, up and down her arm once she lies down. He bends and kisses her forehead before saying, “I’m glad. You needed a night out.”

“I dumped.”

“…hmm?”

“I pumped. And then I dumped. When I went to check on her.”

“Ah,” he chortles. “Very good, darling,” he says as he squeezes her shoulder and laughs. “Who drove you home?”

“Ruby, the damn scoundrel. She wouldn’t stop trying to get me out!”

“Of the car?!”

“No, of the game. She kept saying stuff that she knows I’ve done, like had sex with a pirate, or had sex while pregnant, or had sex on a barrel of rum.”

She thinks that if he had been drinking, he would have done a spit take. That would’ve been funny. She would’ve made him clean the couch. “How does she know about the rum barrel, pray tell?”

She shrugs, looking up at him and smirking. “I’ll never tell.”

“You told someone,” he says pointedly and laughs, planting a soft kiss to her nose. “Did you have water, Swan?”

She nods against his lap, sighing. “I thought I was gonna have sex tonight, but I think I’m too tired.”

“Who were you planning on having sex with?”

Emma gasps, sitting up quickly and straddling his lap, placing both hands on either side of Killian’s shoulders. “You!” she says a bit too loud, and he winces softly before grinning and leaning up to kiss her again.

“I was only teasing, my love. I know you meant that.”

“Am I your true love?” she asks, and someone should tape her mouth shut now, right?

He stills, looking her in the eye and wrapping both arms around her waist. “What makes you ask that?”

“I said, ‘never have I ever punched my true love in the face,’ but mom said that one wasn’t true.”

He laughs at her again, and she’s glad that she could serve as such reliable entertainment for him this evening. “I’d almost forgotten about that, you know.”

“I know you threw that fight.”

He smiles, nodding at her as she rests her head against his neck. “Aye, I did. But it was only because I was smitten with the fiery blonde lass who trapped me at the top of a beanstalk.” She giggles and nuzzles her nose against his skin because Emma Swan is disgustingly in love, and you heard it here first. “I don’t know if I’m your true love, Emma, the only ways of finding out that I know of are rather sordid, but I do know that I truly love you.”

Dammit, she thinks. When has Emma Swan ever swooned before? The sangria certainly plays a role, right? “I truly love you, too, you big fuzzy idiot.”

“Did you just call me fuzzy?”

“Yeah,” she nods, reaching around him to pinch his ass with great effort. “Your big fuzzy butt.”

He laughs too loudly for a baby to be sleeping in the next room, and rolls her over onto her back, pinning her arms above her head and rubbing his chin against her neck. “Fuzzy butt? I’ll show you fuzzy.”

“No!” she squeals, laughing as he starts to nibble at her neck, and if she said that she was too tired for sex on ladies night, she must’ve been lying.

~~~~

Tagging: (also here is my anxiety driven reminder to let me know if you want to be removed or added from my tag list)

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @emelizabeth88 @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @shireness-says @gingerchangeling @itsfabianadocarmo

#Captain Swan #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan ff #once upon a time #once upon a time fanfiction #once upon a time fanfic #once upon a time ff #ladies night

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sserpente · 5 years

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24 little kinks | Door 6 🎄

“You remember that chocolate advent calendar I got you for December?”

“I do,” he chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “You made me display it in the kitchen so I would not eat it all at once.”

Your smile widened. “How about we get another one?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, only now paying proper attention to the sex toy ad. Then, he frowned. It was an odd mixture of disgust, genuine curiosity and even a hint of arousal flashing in his blue eyes.

A/N: Happy Nikolaus Day to everyone who celebrates! Remember the Krampus will come and get you with rods and whips if you’ve been naughty. ;-)

“It’s Friday, Steve, give us a break. We’re still groping in the dark but Loki and I are doing our best. Enjoy your weekend for once, it’s Christmas.”

“Let me know when you two have a lead.”

“Will do. Bye, Steve.” You couldn’t hang up quickly enough. It was freezing cold in spite of you being wrapped in your warmest pullover and fluffy winter jacket, along with a giant scarf which covered half of your face. Being a Frost Giant, Loki had no problem with the cold whatsoever. Besides, he was still mesmerised by all those delicious Christmas treats you had introduced him to, along with the concept of hot mulled wine.

After all the unease the Chitauri had recently caused, a cosy Christmas market was just what you needed. You could tell Loki was impressed, for it truly was beautiful. Countless Christmas lights decorated the street lanterns and the various stands, not to mention the massive Christmas tree in the middle of the piazza.

There was a petting zoo for children and a pick-up train for tourists—and a Santa Clause taking pictures with children.

Loki nodded in his direction when you put your phone away. “Who is he?”

“Santa Clause. He’s the one who puts the presents under the tree. He climbs down the chimney every year, travelling the world in a sleigh pulled by flying reindeers.” Loki frowned, then opened his mouth in an almost disturbed manner, making you giggle. “It’s just a story you tell the children here. They write letters to him which their parents pretend to send to the North Pole, which is where he lives. He’s making a list and checking it twice, gonna find out who’s naughty or nice…” You sang.

“That is ridiculous.”

You giggled once more. “No, it’s not. And on the night of Christmas Eve, you prepare some milk and biscuits for him to eat.”

“Let me rephrase that, my sweet. Midgardian children are told that on Christmas, both burglary and theft are acceptable and that an old fat man with a long beard keeps an eye on them all year to find out if they have been naughty.” He paused, smirking a little. “And here I was thinking the Midgardian tales of my alleged adventures were brutal.”

You smiled up at him. “There are countless movies about him, you know. We should watch one tonight. The Santa Clause films with Tim Allen are a must-see every December.”

“Whatever you wish…” Loki replied tenderly, still a little taken aback by the costumed man in the red and white coat taking pictures with children on his lap. “Now, what about those Christmas treats you promised me?”

You came to a halt in front of the stand you had passed already. “I am eager to try everything.” The store owner snorted. He either recognised him or thought Loki to be a rich snot. Well, merry Christmas to you too, sir.

“Everything? Loki, I didn’t bring that much money. We can’t just buy the whole store.”

“Whyever not? You know I could simply duplicate those banknotes of yours in a heartbeat.” He whispered in your ear.

“You could but that would be… wrong. Look, why don’t we get the candied almonds, the chocolate strawberries and then that baumkuchen you were so fascinated with from that other store and then head home to warm up? Pretty please? I am freezing.”

“You forgot the mulled wine.”

“And we’re of course getting mulled wine.” You confirmed, shaking your head in an amused manner. Loki really was a sweet tooth. The biggest one you’d ever met. His blue eyes had lit up like those of a child whenever you passed something sweet and edible.

For the past hour, before Steve had called, you had been exploring the local Christmas market to the fullest, passing stands whose owners sold candles, wooden ornaments, real sheep wool clothing and other Christmassy trinkets. The most beautiful stand, however, had by far been the one with the dozens of snow globes. You had loved the one with the golden castle and reindeer… but then again, seventy-five dollars for a piece of decoration was way too much—even if Loki had insisted on you buying it if you liked it so much.

Half an hour later, you finally returned home. The warm air enveloped you like an old friend, slowly warming your frozen fingers which were completely stiff from carrying the many bags full of Christmas candy. On the way back, you had even bought some candy canes for your Christmas tree.

The mulled wine had done little to warm you up, however, made you a little tipsy. You started grinning once you had kicked off your boots.

“We haven’t opened our advent calendar yet.”

“That is a circumstance we will have to remedy, my sweet.” The alcohol had not affected him at all. Still grinning, you carefully dropped your purchases and took his hand, leading him straight to the bedroom. You could still watch those movies later.

Loki took the small box and opened it, revealing a pair of dice. Words were printed on each side.

“That does not look like a sex toy.” He concluded.

“Oh, but I know what that is. It’s a game. You roll the dice and do what they tell you to. Here, look. This side says ‘kiss’ and this one says ‘lips’. If you dice those two, you’ll have to kiss me on the lips and vice versa.”

Loki smirked. He instantly liked the idea. “I never lose games.”

You chuckled. “I doubt you can really lose this one.” But you guessed the winner would be the one cumming the most… you swallowed. Gods, it had been one cup of mulled wine.

“Alright then… let us play.” Loki had the audacity to wink at you. Your pussy clenched in joyful anticipation.

Munching on another chocolate strawberry, you waited, impatiently, for Loki to dice again. You had long lost most of your clothes sitting on the floor on a cosy blanket at the living room table and eating your Christmas treats. The game kept getting more and more interesting. The dice clattered on the glass surface.

“Kiss… toes. Off come those ravishing stockings, my sweet…” Loki pulled them off of your legs so painfully slow you moaned, then lifted them both up to kiss every single one of your naked toes. You shivered, pleasure having taken control over your body since you had started playing.

“My turn.” You whispered breathlessly. Once more, the dice clattered. “Nibble… ears.” You giggled. Loki’s ears were rather sensitive. Unceremoniously, you straddled him and brushed away his beautiful raven hair. You gave his earlobes a quick lick before you started nibbling on them in turn, even sucking a little and making him hiss. He wrapped his arms around you when you attempted to move away again.

“Where do you think you are going?”

He kept you on his lap as he diced again. Not that you would complain. “Tease… nipples. With pleasure…” he added. Blue eyes sparkling with desire, he cupped your breasts and rubbed your nipples with his thumbs, enjoying how they hardened under his touch. You arched your back to give him more access, allowing him to play with the stiff nubs until he had his fill.

You were panting when you took the dice again. Clatter. “Touch… penis.” Just touch? You almost pouted as you cupped him through his leather trousers, making him groan. Loki’s eyes never left yours. You squeezed him a little, making him long for more. He was rock-hard.

“Give me the dice.” He demanded hoarsely. Obediently, you let them fall into his palm. Clatter. “Lick… pussy.” He read, a mischievous smile spreading on his lips. As if Loki saying something so dirty and colloquial like ‘pussy’ wasn’t tempting enough already, you squealed when he lifted you up and laid you back on the floor, prying your legs apart hungrily. Your knickers came off so fast you didn’t know what was happening to you until he gave your dripping cunt a long lick, tasting his meal with relish. You were shaking already… but he did not stop there.

Abandoning the game altogether, he wrapped his arms around your hips to keep you in place, then ate you like his life depended on it. His teeth would gently bite your outer lips and nibble at your clit, his tongue pampering both your wet entrance and circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. Every now and then, he sucked it into his mouth, teasing it with the tip of his tongue until you whimpered. You moaned when he thrust his tongue inside of you, lapping up your juices like a thirsty tiger.

Silver tongue… he reminded you of this title of his every god damn time he buried his face between your legs.

Your orgasm hit you out of nowhere. Sending strong waves of pleasure through your body, you squirmed with Loki’s name on your lips. The God of Mischief moaned in approval. He drank you like the fountain of youth, greedily and eager for more of your pleasure.

You started to whimper when the stimulation became too much but he would hear none of it. Still in frenzy, he held on to you even tighter, massaging your clit with his tongue until your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Another orgasm tore through your body all too soon.

Loki helped you ride it out before he retreated, his chin glistening with your arousal. Satisfied and pleased with his work, he licked his lips, then hovered above you to give you a passionate kiss.

“My turn…” You stated when you broke apart. You knew were to lick and blow next, no dice needed.

A/N: Door 7 will be opened tomorrow, on December 7th!

This door included an anon request!

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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johncookewrites · 3 years

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My Dad and Peter Stuyvesant.

The Venezia was a much-loved Italian restaurant, with the most delicious ice cream, in Sea Point, one block from my High School.

Every other Friday, I would meet my father there after school for lunch. My parents were long since divorced and these Friday lunch dates alternated with the weekends I would spend with him and his new Austrian wife.

I would order a toasted cheese and tomato, and a strawberry milkshake, he would have something more substantial, along with cigarette after cigarette. I can still smell the acrid burning of his Peter Stuyvesants, a brand named after the Dutch peg-legged former governor of colonial New Amsterdam (New York) until he lost it to the British.

The slogan for this oddly-named cigarette was ‘Your International Passport to Smoking Pleasure’. The cinema ads depicted jet-setters touching down in New York on a luxury airliner in what seemed like some weird modernisation of the governor’s original colonial conquests. For white South Africans, it all made perfect sense.

So, after my father had asked me the same questions he asked every week, ‘how was school/rugby/that friend of yours etc’, things would lapse into silence and I would watch the ash on the end of his cigarette grow longer and longer and hope it wouldn’t fall into his coffee.

His habit was to stare at any woman in the restaurant that caught his eye. He wasn’t subtle, but preferred direct and continuing eye contact until I would tell him to stop, my cheeks blushing and wishing the red leather seats would swallow me up. He would pull his gaze away, mumble something, light another Stuyvesant, and then start staring again.

My Dad was tall, thin, with prematurely grey hair, lots of it. A teenager during the war, too young to join up, his height meant he was handed white feathers when walking in town with his mother by those thinking he was shirking his duty. When he did join up, as a dispatch rider, it ended up with him crashing his bike (allegedly forced off the road by pro-Hitler Afrikaners) and spending a long time in bed with broken legs. He never talked about it. In fact, now that I come to think about it, he never talked about anything much. He was from that ‘action, not words’ generation of men, the bread-winners, the head of the family, the kings of their Castle lagers. A man of action.

He did talk a lot to people in America, though. In fact, he hardly ever stopped. He was ZS1JD, his call sign as an amateur radio operator, or a HAM, as it was known. He bought and built huge pieces of radio equipment, receivers, transmitters, amplifiers, filled with transistors and glowing globes that smelled like burnt dust when they fired up. He would have long chats about whatever men of his 30-something age talked about.

In the age before TV came to South Africa, it was a crackly confirmation that there was another world out there, maybe the same place where the men in the Peter Stuyvesant advert cavorted with young women who wouldn’t mind you staring at them one little bit, in fact, they might invite you over to their table and light your cigarette for you.

These were the days of Vietnam, the Six Day War, space walks, and moon shots, so there was always something to talk about. But really the thing they all loved to talk about was their equipment, which model of this, the performance of that, tech talk turned them on.

One part of his ‘rig’ was the outside aerial that carried their signals through the atmosphere. This was nothing subtle again. In his case, he had a 50-foot iron tower standing on a reinforced concrete base constructed in our back garden, topped with a multi-pronged horizontal aerial.

The radio tower built by a crew of black labourers with a white boss man to oversee it all. As we watched the workers in their blue overalls swarm up into the sky, finishing off this grey metal edifice, suddenly a worker fell. He landed in the deep grass, winded and groaning. After a few moments, he got up and went back to work. Shocked at the violence of his fall, I looked at my Dad for reassurance. “Don’t worry, John,” he said, “you know they don’t feel pain like us.” The trouble is, he believed it. As a seven-year-old at the time, I had no reason not to.

As a travelling commercial salesman, he travelled throughout the Western Cape, hawking watches, crockery, cutlery and jewellery to small businesses. He stayed away for a week at a time, at least twice a month. Then, it was just me and my Mom in the house, and the ‘maid’, as domestic workers were called in those days. Things were a lot more relaxed with him away. We didn’t have to wait till his car finally pulled up outside in the evenings and we could eat our supper, now with meat grey from overcooking and vegetables equally worse for wear.

I don’t remember much about those meals, eaten at the open window that looked over Table Bay, with Robben Island in the distance, with its prisoner who would eventually challenge those who thought ‘they don’t feel pain like us’. I do remember how I mixed my mashed potato together with the gem squash to make something more palatable, and the tinned guavas covered with sweet evaporated milk that would be dessert.

Some nights, after supper, he would pull on a pair of grey trousers and a black polo neck, pack his drum kit and head out to play in various jazz bands. He wasn’t bad at it, he could hold a beat, but I think the point was to get out of the house, away from my mother and I.

It was such a strong urge that not much stood in his way. One evening, he managed to drop a carving knife into his calf, a deep wound that spurted blood, quickly staining his handkerchief and first one dish towel and then another one. Clearly, this was a wound that needed stitching and some rest. But no, the show must go on, so he bandaged himself as best he could and limped out of the house Did he play that night? I don’t know, but he definitely got out of the house.

My Dad eventually left the house permanently when I was about nine, and then it was just me, my Mom, and Elsie the elderly, often tipsy, ‘maid’. She was there when I got home from school with sardines on toast, or baked beans, or toasted cheese and tomato.

I don’t think I missed him really, though I must have felt something. He was just gone, and became the Dad I would meet at Venezia every second Friday.

He stopped playing the drums from what I remember, he remarried (that lasted ten years or so), he built a large sprawling house in the Durbanville countryside, with a swimming pool and a bull terrier, and another aerial, even higher than the first one.

He still smoked Peter Stuyvesants, the butts piling up in his ashtray as he sat at his radio and called out to the world, “This is ZSIJD, how do you copy, who’s out there? This is ZS1JD.”

#capetown #southafrica

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kirishwima · 5 years

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The RFA+V+Saeran with a female MC who is secretly a country bumpkin and they find out when they insist on a trip to visit her family? Hope you're safe and healthy, hon!

awe this is cute! Honestly, im from a really tiny island and a complete city girl, so this was a little hard to tackle, but hope you’ll like it regardless!! ^^

YOOSUNG:

*As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s also a bit of a country bumpkin-sure, he’s an absoloute introvert who loves to stay home and play games, but if he has to go out, he’d much rather be in the countryside rather than the city-the quietness and the friendliness of people just lifts his spirits every time, and he’s actually quite fond of gardening and farming chores!

* He realised MC is similar to him when they got talking and he realised how much she prefers the countryside to the city-she explained how she was born and raised in a little rural area hours away from the town they live in now, and how moving into the city was a huge deal for her.

* Yoosung’s so excited? He asks MC about anything and everything, asks her if her parents work in argiculture (yes, they do), what animals they raise (mainly chickens Yoosung, she answers with a little giggle), if all her family lives in the countryside (nowdays no, it’s just her grandparents but her parents aren’t too far away)

* He decides they HAVE to take the next weekend as an opprotunity to visit her family. It’s not like he hasn’t met them before-they’ve talked frequently through skype when they check in with MC, and her parents seem to adore Yoosung-he’s shy but such a little ball of energy, she’s sure they can’t wait to meet him up close.

* So they both pack their bags, hop on a bus and spend the hours-long ride watching TV shows on their phones or playing online games together ‘till the signal weakens too much-a signal that they’ve arrived.

* MC sure wasn’t exaggerating when she said it’s a very small rural city-by the time they reach the bus station the roads turn from asphalt to dirt-roads, and he has already counted over 4 donkeys walking by the side of the street!

* MC’s parents were there to greet and pick up the two of them, taking them to MC’s grandparents place where they’d be staying the weekend-and Yoosung was THRILLED. MC seemed so happy to be seeing her grandparents, and they both seemed to love Yoosung so much, if the fact that they kept trying to get him to eat more food was any indication?

* He let MC guide him around, taking him out to the back of the house and into the big courtyard where her grandparents had planted fruit-bearing trees and vegetables, stopping by the kitchen coop where she remembered the names of every single chicken around.

* It was different from what Yoosung was used to, but he loved it-and seeing the smile on MC’s face, he loved it even more.

ZEN:

* Zen’s a city boy, through and through. He was born for the hustle and bustle of cars and trains, for the busy bustling life.

* So when MC’s parents called, insisting she and Zen come visit them on their next time off, she was perplexed-she wanted to see her family, and Zen seemed eager to meet them too...only she never told him where she grew up.

* She never mentioned that she lives in the countryside, how her parents have their own vegetable patch and sell the best lettuces and potatoes to big supermarkets-it’s not that she was embarassed of it, on the contrary she was proud of her parents’ hard work, but she had no idea how Zen would react to the idea of staying where there’s barely a decent phone signal for a few days.

* Well, it seems she was worried for nothing-when she explained the situation to him, he was thrilled! He packed more relaxed clothes for their trip, slacks and even farmer jeans he’d been saving in the back of the closet, that really...shouldn’t look as good on him as they did.

* She was worried throughout the trip, and Zen rolled his eyes as he held her hand, rubbing soothing circles on her knuckles. “I love you, and I love everything about you, your hometown included. There’s nothing to worry about!”

* And well, he was right. Her parents were so excited to meet Zen, they’d invited her grandparents and cousins for dinner, a huge meditarranean feast with produce they had grown and were proud of, and Zen was so happy to try it all and even help set and clean the table-her mother had taken her aside at some point, tipsy with wine as she whispered in her ear ‘don’t you EVER let this man go!’

* The next morning, MC woke up to find Zen wasn’t next to her-no, instead, he was out in the field with her dad, where he’d been doing all the heavy lifting for her parents-and seeing her man with sweat on his brow, his sleeves rolled up and a sack of potatoes over his shoulder shouldn’t be as hot as it was, but it’s Zen so-that’s a normal reaction, right? Right?!

JAEHEE:

* Boy....

* When MC’s parents said they’d love to meet her girlfriend, she was so shooketh-of course she wanted to meet MC’s family, but this suddenly? They’d invited them over this weekend?! She had no time to practice her reactions and speech and oh god, what if they hated her, what would Jaehee dO-

* “Jaehee, baby...I have to tell you something.”

* Jaehee’s mind went on overdrive. Oh no. OH NO. Were her parents going to hate her? Were they inviting them over to tell MC to dump her, is this what it was about? What MC wanted to tell her?!

* “Um, my parents-I was born and raised in the countryside. Our property is actually a house with a farm where we raise cows and sheep for milk and wool. Uhm, I just-I guess I wanted to make sure it’d be cool with you to stay over at this sort of place for the weekend?”

* Oh. Oh?! Is that all? Jaehee breathed a sigh of relief, turning to look to MC with a small smile. “Of course it’s alright MC. I’d love to meet your family and see the place you grew up at. I just...” she shrugged, a blush on her cheeks, “I just hope your parents will like me.”

* MC rolled her eyes. From the little they saw of Jaehee when MC skyped them, they’d already said she’s the best partner for their daughter-’the only one able to knock some sense into you’, her father has specifically said.

* Turns out Jaehee was far more of a countryside girl than she’d initially thought-she spent the weekend learning all she could from MC’s parents, meeting the sheep and even getting licked on the cheek by an over-excited cow, at which she laughed until tears formed in her eyes.

* At night, she sat at the porch with MC, a glass of wine in one hand, her other interlaced with MC’s. She was wearing a woolen sweater MC’s mom had knitted specifically for Jaehee, a ‘welcome-to-the-family’ gift as she called it, and it took everything in Jaehee’s heart to stop from crying.

* “I want that”, she said as she looked out to the starry night above them, far brighter than what they could see from their little apartment in the city.

* “Want what?” MC asked with a hum. Jaheee sighed, looking to the woman she loved, imagining the future ahead of them. “This” she said, “A life like this, for us-to be able to just hold each other and be proud of our produce and live quietly in the countryside-I can see how much you love it here and...I love it too. I-I love to see you this happy” she admitted.

* MC smiled, big and toothy as she leaned close to give Jaehee a quick kiss on the lips. “And we’ll have just that. We have the rest of our lives to plan it out” she added.

* Jaheee laughed. “That almost sounds like a proposal” she grinned. “Maybe it is” MC said cryptically.

JUMIN:

* Of course he had to visit MC’s family and properly introduce himself, as he’d be the one to marry their daughter. Despite MC’s concerns, he was the one to call her parents and introduce himself, explaining that he’d love to meet the family of the woman he loves as soon as possible.

* MC’s parents were....baffled, to say the least, and demanded MC explain everything to them-how could she be ready to marry this man when she never even told them she was dating him?! But she promised they’d meet him soon and they’d explain everything, so they calmed down, and said they’d expect the two to come over this weekend.

* MC bit her lip as she turned to Jumin as she hang up the phone. “Um, baby-I should tell you first, my family lives um-they live in the countryside. Is that...okay?”

* Jumin frowned. “Why would it not be? I want to know everything about you my love” he said, taking a step forward to take MC’s hands in his. “I want to meet your parents, see the place you grew up in, learn everything there is about you-it wouldn’t make a difference to me if you grew up here or the other side of the world.”

* With that, MC remained quiet, saying little else about her upbringing until the day they were to go to her family’s home. She saw Jumin pack his usual suit and tie and smiled a tight-lipped smile. “You won’t need those there. Rather...it’d be best to take something far, far more casual” she said cryptically. Jumin blinked owlishly but complied, taking out his suits in place of casual shirts and slack pants, as casual as a man like him could get.

* When they arrived hours later to her family home, he understood what she meant. Her home was in a rural area, bordered by green lush forest all around, and right beside it was a long stretch of a vineyeard, where they met her parents, a crate of grapes besides them.

* They were more than weary of Jumin at first, eyeing him like a foe-especially MC’s father, but when they all sat down for dinner and explained the situation to her parents, they started warming up to him. Her mother was more than pleased when he started asking about their vineyeard, clearly knowledgable in both wines and the different kinds of grapes there were.

* MC loved to see Jumin bond with her family, and was so excited when the next morning he woke up earlier than her to get dressed and head down to the gardens to help her parents spray the grapes to protect them from bugs, then going down to the small strawberry garden with her mom to pick fruits to make jam.

* Seeing Jumin smile with no inhibitions, standing side by side with her mother as he carried a crate of strawberries so MC’s mom wouldn’t have to do any heavy lifting....already she could see a life ahead of her with this wonderful, gentle man, and she couldn’t wait another moment to start living it with him.

SEVEN/SAEYOUNG/LUCIEL:

* He’d talked with her parents many times online, peeking at the corner of the camera whilst they face-timed their daughter. At first he was shy, barely able to stutter out a word to them, but eventually he was more than used to greeting them, even cracking jokes with her dad and talking about the latest gossip from the farmer’s markets with her mom.

* Of course he knew all about where she grew up-he hacked into all of that information the moment MC had stumbled into the RFA chatroom!

* He’s not really fond of the countryside-Saeyoung has so much energy as a person that a place that offers him little stimulation is borderline furstrating, so he never attempted even visiting the countryside before.

* When he explained just that to MC though, she laughed, loud and bright. “Baby, if you want, just try and help out my parents with their daily tasks...I promise you by the end of the day you’ll be begging to just sit down and do nothing for hours on end.”

* Well, MC was....partly right. As soon as they arrived to her parents’ home, stopping a few times along the way as Saeyoung’s pricey sports’ car rumbled and complained on the dirt roads, he excitedly greeted her folks with hugs and kisses, telling them he’s ready to get to work.

* MC explained how he wanted to help them as much as possible this weekend they’d be staying over, and they were both overjoyed-a chance for them to relax a little was rare when there was both livestock and wide stretches of vegetables and fruit to take care of, and they’d take any opprotunity they could.

* So MC...barely saw Saeyoung the rest of that day. Instead she was content to let her parents guide him around, choosing instead to make some lemonade to take to all three of them on the fields as a little break.

* What she found when she walked out into the vegetable patch was an unexpected yet welcome sight-Saeyoung, a rake in his hands, farming gloves on his hands as he cleaned the soil and helped her mom pick out the cabbages that were ready for harvest, Saeyoung laughing besides her dad at one thing or another, looking like he belonged right there-it warmed her heart, to see a man that had been through so much laugh this bright.

* When Saeyoung turned to look to her, his smile shifted into something more private, his gaze clearly filled with love, enough to make her cheeks redden.

* Her mother walked up to her, taking a glass of lemonade from the disk MC held as she leaned close to whisper to her daughters ear; “This one’s a keeper honey. You better marry the heck out of him!”

* And boy, looking to Saeyoung, walking towards them with his bright silly grin, his hair matted with dirt from the soil, his eyes crinkling with glee-her mother was right. MC would marry the heck out of this man.

-I’ll be adding Saeran and V soon! I just need some more ideas first so it doesn’t become repetitive, sorry ^^”

-send me a mystic messenger headcanon/scenario for character reactions!-

#my parents also live in the countryside #at a little town that's a population of like 40 people and 2 donkeys #and i spend a lot of summers helping them there but i...never rly liked to lmao #mystic messenger #mysme #mysme prompts #mystic messenger prompts #jumin han #yoosung kim #jaehee kang #luciel choi #saeyoung choi #mysme zen #hyun ryu #Anonymous

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eternalstann · 5 years

Text

Strawberries

In Which waiting up for Tom turns into a lot more. You also enjoy some strawberries & wine 😘

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Warnings: Smut, Food!Kink, some drinking

Wordcount: 1K+

____________________________________

You were sitting on the couch eating strawberries and waiting for your boyfriend to come home. He was out with the guys and you were sat at home feeling incredibly lame. You probably could’ve done something with your friends but sitting at home seemed cool when you decided not to send the “wyd tonight” text to your besties.

You flicked through the channels, finally deciding on Jimmy Kimmel, wondering who was on tonight. A few minutes into the episode you found yourself pleasantly surprised when your boyfriend himself showed up on the screen, doing a goofy skit with Jimmy to promote SpiderMan. You smiled, he looked so fucking good. Suddenly, you really missed him. Taking another bite of your strawberry you groan, and look at the bright red fruit. Damn, these really were aphrodisiacs. You pressed your thighs together thinking back on some heated moments between you and Tom.

Jimmy Kimmel ended and it was almost 1A.M. You stood and went to pour a glass of wine. You’d planned on sipping it slowly but ended up downing the drink in one go. Tom would be in for a treat when he got back. You giggled to yourself and stripped off your clothes before carrying the entire bottle of wine and more strawberries back to the living room with you. You lay naked on the couch, drinking wine from the bottle, now laughing at Stans antics on American Dad. Two full episodes go by before you hear the keys jingle in the door. You glance at the clock, 2:04AM. A grin spread across your face when Tom stepped into your shared home. You pop up from your seat and shout his name. “Tommy!” You exclaim throwing your arms up with the bottle of wine in one hand.

“Jesus Christ Y/N” Tom groans, taking in the sight of you. He fumbles to lock the door, not wanting to take his eyes off your chest. “I missed you” you hiccup, attempting to walk towards him but stumbling a bit. Tom laughed at your tipsy frame almost toppling over and quickly walks over to help you. You wrap your arms around his neck and pout, “I was hoping you’d be drunk” you loved drunk Tom. Drunk Tom was rough and wild, just what you needed tonight. “Looks like you drank enough for the both of us” he mutters, hands on your waist. “Didn’t mean too, just needed something to go with my strawberries” You hum, reaching down to grab one. You place the strawberry at his lips and wait for him to take a bite. He does and you lean forward to lick the juice that drips down his chin. “You’re going to kill me” Tom whispers, letting go of you only to pull his shirt off.

You nod in approval, popping the other half of the strawberry into your own mouth. “Saw you on T.V today, been waiting for you to fuck me ever since” you spoke, dropping to your knees in front of him. Tom bites his lip and stares down at you, watching as you make quick work of his pants and boxers. He steps out of them, barely having time to kick them aside before you’re taking him into your mouth. “Shit” Tom moans, head tilting backwards at the feel of you. Your state of inebriation makes you careless. You suck him quickly and sloppily. Wetness runs between your legs and down your mouth as you work him. You bob your head with vigor, suctioning your cheeks to add to Toms pleasure and he nearly chokes on his own spit, not unlike your own state. You take him as deep as you can, and he’s chanting your name. His voice is like a cheer for you, encouraging you. You suck until he yanks your head back and he doesn’t even need to pump himself in order to spill his seed all over your tits.

“I wanted to swallow” you sulk.

Your disappointment is short lived when Tom pushes you onto the couch. He stared down at you for a moment; his chest heaving. He says something about being lucky but you can’t even begin to process his words. The ache between your legs, and him fixing it was all you could focus on. You murmur his name, hoping to spur him into action and it works. You gasp when Tom begins to pour wine over your abdomen. The liquid feels ice cold against your flushed skin. Tom leans down, slurping the wine from your body and your fingers tangle in his hair. His tongue draws circles around your belly button before licking back up your torso.

“Please stop teasing me” you whine, lifting your hips up and Tom grunts before pushing you back down. “Patience is a virtue. And you’re going to take whatever I fucking give you”

You nod your head, eyes fluttering closed, your arousal growing at Toms words. Tom grabs another strawberry biting into it before squeezing it over your hip bones, and then over your pussy.

Even in your drunken state you silently pray you don’t get a UTI.

Your prayer is interrupted by your boyfriend attaching his lips to your clit and sucking hard on the bundle of nerves. “Oh fuck!” You cry out, one of your hands reaching up to pinch your own nipple. Toms tongue runs up and down the length of your heat, tasting every part of you. Your body shakes, you can feel yourself literally buzzing with pleasure. You whine when Tom pulls away and kisses up your body. “No, no- why’d you stop” you groan, on the verge of tears. “I want you to cum on my dick” he whispered before pushing into you.

You both moan as he bottoms out inside of you. Tom reaches down and hooks one of your legs around his waist before thrusting into you hard. You cry out; hands splayed against his perspiring chest. “Who’s pussy is this?” Tom asks, your lips only centimeters apart. “Yours Tom! This is your pussy!” You nearly scream. His pelvis providing a delicious drag against your clit. He has you cumming after only a dozen strokes. “Fuck baby, did you just cum?” Tom asks, genuinely shocked and extremely turned on by how quickly you reached your orgasm. You nod feverishly, body completely overstimulated but you loved every second.

Tom fucks into you harder, making you take every inch of him. “I want you to cum again” Tom mutters, as a finger begins rubbing your clit. You pant as another orgasm builds inside of you. Your arms wrap around Toms neck, pulling him close to you. He relishes the way you say his name, the way your fingers tug at the hair on the nape of his neck.

Tom collapses on top of you as he cums, lazily pumping into you to milk his release. You grind against him, bringing your own climax. “I fucking love you” Tom breathes, smiling down at you before grabbing another strawberry. “And I love strawberries”

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omg how hot did Tom look on Jimmy Kimmel?! Also someone asked me for food kink with Tom a while ago and I never got a chance to do it so here you gooooo❤️

P.S I’m making a tag list so if you would like to be added let me know! Everyone who has already asked dw about asking again I’m going to start tagging you in my next post! Love you all xxx

#tom holland preference #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tsh #tom smut #spiderman #spiderman smut #peter parker #peter parker smut #avengers #spider man far from home

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brookelynnsanders · 4 years

Text

Practice Challenge 1 - Prompt 1

A/N a very big thank you to my amazing beta @freykitten for fixing my mess. Love you lots! Also thank you to @dawningofdrag for being my personal cheerleader! Hope you guys enjoy

In the Dream Girls and Pageant's flat the weekly post-lecture drinking session has just got started. An array of different whiskies, canned cocktails and wine litters the second hand dining table where Brooke’s Bachelor thesis has laid not five minutes earlier. A’keria pours herself and Brooke the second glass of scotch for the day - the first one was for calming their nerves while finishing up the last touches on their theses. Meanwhile, Nina helps Vanessa transform her favorite homemade dish, puerto rican pasteles de carne, into a vegan version - which seems to take longer than expected. Not really a surprise when considering the fact Vanessa’s abuelita had never used any proper measurements and just went with her gut. And if Brooke isn’t mistaken, she can hear Vanessa argue from the kitchen that the recipe just flows through her Latin blood, and therefore she needs no “motherfucking measurements”. The blonde can only chuckle and slightly shake her head before taking another sip from her drink.

“Kiki, have you seen Silky?” Brooke asks out loud, surprised by how relatively quiet the shared household is. The only noises to be heard coming from the kitchen, and, for once, they don’t even include wild chatter or singing.

“If I remember correctly, she wandered off to buy some pastries, but who knows where Big Silk actually is,” A’keria answers without even taking her eyes off her phone for a second. Her manicured fingers swiping left and right across the screen.

“Are you on tinder again?” A teasing smile present on her lips.

“You fucking know I am.” The snip of her fingers highlights her cocky attitude, knowing damn well most mean swoon over her. Fall for her feisty but wise dementor within seconds.

“Have you matched with- ” The blond starts, before getting cut off mid sentence.

“Guys, girls, and nonbinary pals - I have humongous news!” Silky bursts through the entrance, adding an extra door slam for the shock value. Three pairs of blown wide pupils stare at her - not necessarily in shock, rather in anticipation.

“Spit it out!” Vanessa shouts as Nina popps her head through the doorframe as well. Intrigued by the ongoing comotion - not even bothering about getting the sauce stains off her cheek.

“The application letters for Prince Arin Schreave’s Selection just arrived.”

For a second the world stands still. Everyone, including Brooke, holds their breath. The calm before the storm.

This sentence alone is enough for hell to break loose in the tiny college apartment. Vanessa and A’keria flock around Silky like pigeons waiting for seed to be tossed at them. Vanjie, the shortest of the trio, bounces like a ball around the other two, making up a song with random Spanish words and screeching at the top of her lungs, while A’keria and Silky argue about who would be a better queen. Nina simply settles by Brooke’s side with a small cuckle, brushing her blonde fringe out of the way. Both only roll their eyes, having forgotten about the Selection since the day it has been announced. There've been way more important things on Brooke’s mind - like how many additional hours she needs to spend in the lab to gain extra credit.

"How can someone be so excited about being objectified by the entire nation," Brooke mumbles to herself - very unimpressed by the whole ordeal, not really understanding the hype around the upcoming Selection. How come that her 20 something year old friends turned into 12 year old teenage girls dreaming about life as a royal within seconds?

Hormones - I guess.

"Because this ass deserves to be objectified," Silky whoops, putting on an entire twerking show in the living room with Vanjie and A’keria hyping her up and joining the jelly shaking. Usually Brooke finds her friends intoxicating goofiness amusing without any alcohol in her system. Apparently, today is not the day. So she falls back into her seat, taking a heavy swing of her liquor and watches her friends chatter about the possibility of an average looking rich boy falling for one of them.

An hour passes and the giggly girls still haven't calmed down, and since nearly everyone abandoned the food immediately - it’s between Brooke and Silky to finish the puerto rican delicacy. Tipsy Brooke doesn't mind that now even Nina joined the hype, seemingly having forgotten about her current boyfriend. The blonde keeps herself busy with alternating between online shopping for new pointe shoes and new plants she can add to her steadily growing collection. Not an ideal Friday afternoon, but at least this time around A’keria didn’t forget to buy vegan pork.

A glance to her clock tells her that her favorite trashy TV show starts soon. A silent prayer escapes her lips in hopes that this will spark a different conversation among the girls.

However, her prayer stayed unheard.

Another glass of liquor in, she starts to enjoy the laughter and excitement laying heavy in the air - drowning out the TV. The beaming smiles of her friends slowly melt her cold exterior, making her forget why she is so bitter in the first place. A fuzzy feeling spreads in her chest at the mention of sparkly ball gowns and which jewels would best suit Silky’s and A’keria’s darker complexion. Glue stains might now cover the table surface, but all Brooke can focus on is the twinkle in her friends' eyes. Especially Vanessa’s golden orbs seem to gleam like amber in the late afternoon sun. Brooke can perfectly imagine the same expression on a much younger version of the Latina - sparkling child’s eyes opening neatly wrapped presents on her 6th birthday.

A cashmere-like grin settles on Vanessa’s lips once she catches the blonde stare, adding a wink for good measure.

Ohh no

“Brookey, why don’t you wanna join us and fill out your applic-, aple-, whatever - your letter?” Gold orbs now work their best puppy look, while Vanessa attempts to milk every cute asset she posses, which leaves her with plenty of choice. Her head now rests on her palms propped up on the table, indulging the other woman in a silent staring contest.

“Vanjie, you know how I think about the Selection,” Brooke adds once she's glanced away. Her words merely louder than a whisper, accentuating her naturally husky voice.

“Prince Arin has two sisters,” Nina promptly slides into the conversation. The sly smirk on her face resembles a cat waiting for its prey.

“Yes, I know, Nina, but what does this have to do with me?” Blonde bushy brows are raised high, while her nervous fingertips play with the golden cross around her neck.

“Quit this shit, B! We all know you like girls,” A’keria shouts from across the room, head buried in the wine cabinet.

Wait what? Brooke feels her mouth fall agape before shooting back, “I’m not gay!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Nina retorts, which the blond pretends to overhear and checks the time on her phone again. An hour left before she has to catch her train.

“Well if you don’t wanna fill it out, me and Vanjie will have some fun.”

An eye roll from the blonde’s side is enough to make it clear that she couldn’t care less. Brooke Lynn takes a last swing to empty her glass, before grabbing the rest of the dishes littering the tiny table and bringing them to the kitchen. Instead of resorting to her usual weed abuse, she decides to clean the kitchen instead - hoping to take her mind off certain things. But with each scrubbed plate and cooking utensil the itch in her chest doesn’t seem to go away. What she would give for just a tiny puff- No, Brooke, you are going home tonight. Her shoulders slouch as she scolds herself, nearly missing the commotion going in in the living room. Nearly.

“I swear Brooke will end you if you note down ‘hiding in the closet’ for her special skills.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“Too bad I am not deaf, Silky babe.”

The stern look on the blonde’s face is enough for Vanessa to hide behind A’keria, yet unable to suppress the cackle bubbling up in her throat. However, Silky hasn’t got the memo, and attempts to pick a fight with Brooke. Nina frees the application from A’keria’s grasp and silently finishes filling in the last details needed to complete the form. A tap on Brooke’s shoulder is enough to break the two brawlers apart. The tick paper with carefully placed gold details is placed in Brooke Lynn’s hands who doesn’t look too amused. She slams the neatly filled form onto the table, adding wrinkles to the thoughtfully crafted application.

“Do me favour and just let me be,” Brooke continues with a deep sight, before leaving the common area to retreat to her room, tired of her friends for once. A glance at the clock hanging above her king sized bed tells her she needs to hurry up if she still wants to catch the last train going home, so she grabs her tiny suitcase from her bedroom, slips on a pair of vans, and grabs and olive toned coat.

“Brooke?”

“What?” The annoyance in the blonde’s voice only increases as the blood in her veins starts to simmer. Her fingertips already rest against the cold metal of the doorknob.

“Can you come over for a sec?”

Reluctantly, she turns around and struts towards the direction of the voice. Vanessa is seated alone on the living room floor, everyone else already getting ready for their evening plans - whatever they may be.

“You aren’t mad are you? We were just playing.” The brunette clearly looking worried - probably pondering whether or not she had overstepped a line.

“I know, Nessa, I know. It’s just a touchy subject. You know my parents-”

“I know, B,” Vanessa whispers, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. She signs grabby hands at Brooke, silently asking for a hug.

With a loving eye roll, the other woman let’s go off the suitcase handle and envelops the shorter girl in a tight embrace. She sighs deeply as she inhales Nessa’s strawberry scented shampoo, taking a moment to just breathe.

But she can’t stay.

“I gotta go now, V. I don’t wanna miss my train again,” Brooke mumbles into the brunette’s wavy hair. But she holds on a tad bit longer, closing her eyes for just a second.

Vanessa buries her head a bit deeper into Brooke’s embrace cautiously slipping a sheet of paper into the olive coat pocket before letting go.

The blonde gives the smaller woman one last smile, before grabbing her suitcase and walking through the door.

“Have fun in Dakota!” are the last words Brooke hears before leaving her flat behind.

Once her feet collide with the gum littered pavement, she picks up her pace and barely makes it to the platform on time. With a little huff, she slides into an empty cabin, throwing her suitcase on the opposite seat and catches her breath. The train isn’t near its full speed yet when Brooke already opens the window, grabbing the cigarette pack from her coat, unable to resist the urge in her chest, needing to fix her itch. So she lights her last cigarette inside the vehicle in a desperate need for a calm moment in this chaotic week. Praying she will somehow survive the weekend at her parents' place without her bong.

But honestly - how bad could it be?

#Selection oc #Brooke lynn Sanders #Practice Challenge one #Selection #Fanfic #Fic #Written words #please compliment me #Lmao #Jk

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waiting-for-motivation · 5 years

Text

black and white | part one

summary: In a world where you see everything black and white until you meet your soulmate, (Y/n) and Steve Rogers are dating because there was a small incident during their first meeting. The truth is that Thor is (Y/n)s soulmate but he doesn‘t tell her because he sees how happy she is around Steve. What he doesn‘t know is that she is even happier around him.

request: Thor request?? Reader and Steve have been dating. Yet reader isn’t sure she loves him. When everyone was drinking and trying to lift Thor’s hammer, reader is the only one to succeed. Thor knows that not only is she worthy, but also his soulmate. So he starts acting odd around the couple and even a tad flirty with reader. it is a sticky situation since she is dating Steve, but she knows she and Thor are meant to be. (Pre endgame please?) :)

pairings: Thor x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Avengers x Reader

warnings: soulmate au, cheating, fluff, angst

words: 1979

a/n: This idea is soooo good! Thank you @thoringaround! Oh and please don‘t get me wrong I LOVE MY GOLDEN STEVIE ps: sorry that this lasted soooo long :(

MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES PART TWO

Being together with your soulmate should feel overwhelming but still (Y/n) has this gut feeling that Steve and her aren‘t meant to be. Sometimes the way he talks towards her when he is angry feels the wrong way. Sometimes she is happy when he is away on a mission. Sometimes she doesn‘t like the way his lips feel on her own. Sometimes she doesn‘t feel completely happy around him, like something is missing. Something important.

They can‘t never be hundred percent sure if they are meant to be together because Steve found his soulmate back in the 40s. Peggy was the first person that let him see colors.

Nevertheless it‘s possible to have two soulmates if your first one died. So it could be that they are each other’s soulmate but this unsuspectingness unsettles (Y/n). Steve on the contrary is happy to have a second soulmate because after Peggy‘s death he felt like never being happy again. And here he is, in his arms his second soulmate.

In those moments like now when his arms are around her waist and she feels his warmth she is for once happy. And those moments let (Y/n) forget her bad gut feeling and believe that Steve is her one and only.

For a few seconds (Y/n) enjoys his warmth but then decides to do something good for both of them. Slowly she sits up and puts Steve‘s arms on the bed, always careful not to wake him up. As she leaves the room she grabs one of Steve‘s pullovers and puts it over her short pajamas so that she wont get cold.

With a smile on her lips she enters the hallway and walks towards the kitchen where she wants to prepare a breakfast planning to share it with Steve in their bed. To her surprise someone is in the kitchen making coffee. Thor stands with his broad back to her and waits for his coffee to be ready. In the moment he hears someone entering the kitchen he slowly turns around and smiles welcoming at the young woman.

„Morning Thor.“ (Y/n) returns the smile and opens the fridge to take some jam, butter and the strawberries she brought yesterday out of it. „Why are you awake? Couldn‘t sleep?“ She puts the strawberries into a bowl and places it together with the jam and butter on a small tray.

„Sleep is for mortals. I‘m a god.“ Thor grabs a spoon out of one of the drawers to mix the milk with his coffee and in his movement he slightly touches (Y/n)s hand. Both of them feel a tingling but ignore it. (Y/n) keeps telling herself that it‘s nothing, while Thor knows the truth.

Still they look into each other’s eyes and right then and there (Y/n) realizes that Thor is flexing his biceps. Is he trying to impress (Y/n)? Probably.

„How could I forget that.“ A small giggle leaves (Y/n)s mouth and in that moment Thor can‘t ignore the engaging happiness he feels in every part of his body. For a few seconds he is completely happy but that must get destroyed by a certain super soldier who is entering the kitchen.

Immediately Thor turns towards his coffee and stares at the brown brew.

(Y/n) puts two toast into the toaster and smiles at her boyfriend who is walking right towards her and as he reaches her, embraces her in his arms. Only then (Y/n) realizes that Steve isn‘t wearing a shirt which makes her a little bit flustered.

In the moment they kiss, Thor decides to leave the room because he can‘t stand watching someone kiss what is actually supposed to be his. Unintentionally he slams the door behind himself with a loud sound that brings Steve and (Y/n) to interrupt their kiss.

„Is he okay?“ (Y/n) stares at the door through which Thor left. Her boyfriend only shrugs his shoulders and eats a strawberry.

„He is Thor. He will be fine.“ He kisses (Y/n) once again but this time on one of her cheeks before he puts the tray with their breakfast on the table. With a sad expression (Y/n) stares for a little longer at the closed door, thinking about Thor‘s behavior and then joining Steve for breakfast.

A week later all of the Avengers are having a small party in their common room to celebrate their last mission. Everyone is a little bit tipsy so they are all having the time of their lives. While (Y/n) sits right next to Steve and plays with his big hands, everyone tries lifting Thor‘s hammer Mjolnir to see if they are worthy. It‘s kind of a ritual now for the Avengers because every time they have a party at least Tony tries lifting it.

„Why don‘t you try it, honey?“ Steve looks up from their entangled hands and into (Y/n)s beautiful eyes. For a moment (Y/n) truly thinks about standing up and try lifting Mjolnir but then she shakes her head.

„I don‘t want to make a fool out of myself.“ The Avengers that sit next to (Y/n) and Steve laugh because right now Tony tries lifting the hammer in his Ironman suit. „Like Tony.“ A small giggle leaves (Y/n)s mouth and turn Thor‘s attention from Stark to the smiling (Y/n) who has her head on Steve‘s chest.

„If anyone could be worthy enough to lift Mjolnir it‘s you, Lady (Y/n).“ Everyone looks at Thor who is grinning at a rather unwell and kind of ashamed (Y/n). Her boyfriend looks a little bit angry at the god of thunder because his words sound like flirting in Steve‘s ears.

„Well, if you say so, Thor.“ Slowly (Y/n) stands up and walks over to the hammer. At first she stares at it because she is unsure how to grab it. Then she grabs it and as she takes a deep breath the hammer rises from the table. It‘s like no one even breathes in the common room because it‘s so silent (Y/n) is afraid everyone can hear her heartbeat.

A small smile creeps on (Y/n)s lips. Only she does know if it‘s because of the impact the hammer has on her or because she is proud of herself.

„Now you are welcome to come to Asgard whenever you desire.“ Thor is the first one to speak again and he stands up to get his hammer back. „But this is mine.“ As their fingers brush against one another they both feel a weird feeling deep in their stomachs. Like a week before they ignore it.

„Should we call you queen now?“ Tony grins over his beer bottle and relaxes the mood with his words. Everyone laughs, except for Steve. He looks with a jealous expression towards Thor and (Y/n) who are staring into each other’s eyes as if they were alone in the common room. This makes Steve so angry that he stands up, puts his empty beer bottle on the table and walks out of the room.

„Steven!?“ (Y/n) watches her soulmate leave in worry and follows him.

The problem is that she breaks the heart of her real soulmate with her actions. Thor thought that maybe (Y/n) would realize that they are supposed to be together after lifting the hammer and seeing that she is worthy but that was just a hopeless thought.

The next morning everyone sleeps in because most of the Avengers drunk to much the night before. Thor is the first one to enter the kitchen. Because he is a god and can take much alcohol before getting drunk he feels physically good. Psychologically not. His heart is aching and it yearns after his soulmate. It‘s even worse that his soulmate is close enough to touch but he wont allow himself to do it. Thor can‘t take the happiness away (Y/n) has with Steve.

Thinking of (Y/n) she must of course come through the door and walk into the kitchen. She looks to her feet. As she hears that someone else is in the kitchen she looks up and Thor is greeted with a tired face. Not that (Y/n) looks tired, no, she also looks sad and exhausted. The bags under her eyes look like she cried through the night instead of sleeping.

„Hey, is everything okay?“ The young woman doesn‘t answer which is an answer to Thor. He thinks about asking her more questions but then he realizes that if (Y/n) would want to talk to him then she would.

(Y/n) opens the fridge and grabs herself a yogurt which she eats at the big table in the middle of the kitchen. Bored and with an depressed expression (Y/n) stares at the table and leads her spoon towards her mouth.

Thor who prepared himself a tea also makes one for the woman because that may be one thing that relaxes her. After the teas are ready he puts one in front of (Y/n) and sits right next to her.

This small gesture breaks the ice and (Y/n) starts talking.

„Steve and I had a fight last night. He said things that hurt me really hard. I can‘t tell you but they were really…bad.“ Tears begin to form in (Y/n)s eyes as she speaks of the fight with her supposed soulmate. Thor shifts next to her. He thinks about telling her and ending his and above all her pain. She can‘t live her life with a person that is not her soulmate.

„Can I ask you something?“ After Thor spoke his question out loud he swallows hard and closes his eyes for a second. (Y/n) looks confused into his blue eyes but then nods her head. One more time Thor takes a deep breath. „Do you really think Steve is your soulmate?“

Silence.

(Y/n) stares shocked into Thor‘s eyes.

„Yes, of course. I mean, he is the reason I can see colors so why wouldn‘t he be my soulmate?“ She raises her eyebrows and watches Thor who seems to fight with himself. He wants so desperately to tell her the truth but what if that makes everything worse? What if she doesn‘t want him after she gets to know he lied to her all those years?

„I need to tell you something important, (Y/n), and it‘s okay if you hate me afterwards.“ A small giggle leaves (Y/n)s mouth as she shakes her head. She could never hate Thor. „You remember the day we first met? It was the same day you discovered Steve was your soulmate. I stood right behind him and as you saw him you also saw me. What I‘m trying to tell you is…that I‘m your soulmate. The day you first saw colors was also my first day seeing colors.“

The spoon (Y/n) held in her hands falls onto the table and interrupts the silence. The young woman opens her mouth but she can‘t find the right words.

„I didn‘t tell you because you seemed so happy around Steve and I didn‘t want to take the happiness away from you.“ Thoughtlessly Thor grabs one of her small hands and looks into her tearfully (e/c) eyes. To his surprise (Y/n) puts her other hand onto his cheek and looks so deep into his eyes that he could swear she can see his soul.

(Y/n) knows that this isn‘t a thing everyone would do in this situation, especially because she actually has a boyfriend, but she can‘t resist and kisses Thor. They both feel overwhelmed and Thor can‘t stop grinning. The tickling in their stomachs gets more dominant but one feeling that describes this moment the best is: happiness.

Both of them never felt that fulfilled. It‘s like they can see the colors around them even clearer.

„I found you.“ None of them thinks of Steve and the problems their relationship will cause in the Avengers compound because all they want to feel right now is each other.

Taglist: @xmarveled

#thor #thor odinson #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #thor imagine #thor odinson imagine #thor oneshot #thor odinson oneshot #thor x you #thor odinson x you #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #soulmate au #marvel #avengers #tony stark

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continuallycrow · 5 years

Text

i could sit around here for the rest of my life

the coffeeshop/college au nobody asked for. casphardt week day 4: au day. read on ao3 here or below the cut.

“Caramel macchiato for Caspar?”

With a heavy sigh in anticipation of just how hideously Linhardt will have butchered his name on the cup today, Caspar heads to the handoff area and picks up his paper cup. The boxes are ticked and marked in his boyfriend’s easily recognisable scrawl, and just above the siren’s head, Cazpar is scribbled with a crude heart and what might be a butterfly, or might just be a mistake that’s not been crossed through all the way. From the register, Linhardt beams at him, and just for a moment, Caspar feels sixteen again, his heart clenching just a little, the way it always does when he gets to see that smile. It’s part of the reason why he acts so dramatic over the misspellings - because if it makes Linhardt grin and giggle like that, it’s got to be worth it.

“A fucking Z? Really, Lin?” He clutches his chest theatrically, pretends to stumble, and in the process, spills hot coffee all over his hand. “Ow!” “Idiot,” Linhardt scolds fondly, beckoning him over to the counter again and taking his hand. He mops at the coffee with a bit of blue paper towel, but Caspar knows that it’s just an excuse to touch him. Linhardt likes to be touching him. It’s just the way he is, especially now he’s got the Starbucks job at weekends and the football season is in full swing, it’s like they hardly see each other any more.

There’s no line, so Caspar lets Linhardt take him by the collar of his varsity jacket - it’s red and black, the Eagles colours, with his initials stitched on the left side of his chest and his jersey number embroidered on the back, and it might just be his most prized possession after Lin’s heart - and pull him in for a quick kiss. It tastes like coffee, obviously, because Linhardt always has a cup of something on the go, usually a weird secret menu creation or something topped with far too much whipped cream. Today, though, it’s something iced and black, and yet, Linhardt still hides a yawn in his sweater sleeve.

“You are not sleepy right now.” The disbelief is evident in Caspar’s voice. “Oh, but I am so sleepy right now, Cas,” Linhardt almost whines. “How much coffee have you had already?” His coworkers chime in, as if on cue, all bright-eyed as ever. “He’s on his third cup?” Ferdinand guesses. “Fourth, actually. I am surprised his heart is not stopping.” Petra sounds unamused.

Linhardt kisses Caspar again. It’s definitely just to distract him. “How could my heart stop, when you’re here? It beats only for you. And besides, I think I’ve become immune to caffeine,” he adds mournfully, gazing at his cup. Caspar rolls his eyes. “I don’t think that’s a thing. Please drink some water. And call me when you get off.” He leans up for one more kiss, standing on tiptoe, because Linhardt is just that slightest bit too tall, and has taken to wearing a pair of thrifted, thick-soled Doc Martens that Dorothea says are the perfect compliment to his oversized knit sweaters and torn jeans, but Caspar just thinks they were picked out to make his boyfriend an inch too tall to kiss unexpectedly. The only time he can surprise Linhardt with kisses now is when they’re laying in bed, and it’s annoying to need him to bend down every time Caspar wants to show off how fucking cute and how in love they are.

“I promise I’ll drink water. And I promise to at least text you.” Linhardt practically lies across the counter to hug him. “Have fun at practise, okay? Don’t get hurt.” “I never get hurt. I’m fine. I’ll see you tonight.” Caspar reluctantly detaches himself, waves to Petra and Ferdinand, and leaves, the door chime jingling after him.

If he has to run to make practice in time, and his coffee is cold enough to chug by the time he gets there, it doesn’t matter so much when he’s seen Lin.

~~~

“Gingerbread latte for C-Caspar?”

The first snow has fallen on campus, and Caspar has finally given in to Dorothea insisting that he needs to wear more than a hoodie so he doesn’t freeze. He thinks, though, that it isn’t him anyone needs to worry about.

It’s Linhardt, shivering in his Christmas sweater and red apron even among the heat of the coffee machines, his hair coming down from its usually neat half-bun as he flits between bars, grinding beans and steaming milk and pouring hearts and roses in the foam. Petra’s working the register, so Caspar’s name is spelled right for once, and as he goes to take the cup, Ferdinand comes out of nowhere behind Linhardt and pats his shoulder. “Take your half-hour, while you can.”

Caspar beams, and practically drags Linhardt around the handoff, coffee forgotten as he wraps his arms around him. “A whole half-hour? We’re getting spoilt, Linny.” He’s already gently untying the apron strings so Linhardt can take the stupid thing off, so they can commandeer a low table in the corner of the room and Caspar can actually hug Linhardt for the first time in a few days. They’ve been so busy with studying and working that they haven’t had the chance for one of their impromptu sleepovers, both squeezed into a dorm room bed, or even to catch up at lunch. Caspar has been wholly deprived of boyfriend time, and judging by the way Linhardt pulls him down onto an overstuffed couch and buries his nose in the crook of his neck. His face is hot, but his hands are freezing, stained with tiny splatters of mocha and espresso and soon firmly curled in the folds of Caspar’s parka.

“Feeling okay?” Caspar asks softly, nosing into his hair and then deciding to fix it for him. Gentle as ever, he twists the mess into an uneven braid, so at least it won’t get even more tangled as he works. The smell of coffee always clings to Linhardt’s hair, like his personal brand of perfume. In reply, Linhardt sneezes into Caspar’s shoulder. “I fucking hate winter.” A pause. “It’s cold. I want to nap. And I’d happily never see another eggnog latte for as long as I live.” “Aw. C’mon, it’s not that bad, right?” Caspar asks hopefully. “You’re just being a drama queen because you have a cold?” “My blood is ninety percent honey citrus mint tea and cough syrup. And it’s not just a cold. I’m dying.” “Sure you are, babe. Sure you are.” Caspar kisses his head fondly. “You have half an hour and my undying attention. That makes things better. Right?”

When he doesn’t get a reply beyond the softest of snores, his heart melts and breaks and swells all at once. It’s the mark of someone being comfortable, when it only takes a moment for them to fall asleep in your arms or your lap. And it hurts to wake him, when their precious half-hour is up and he has to get back to work, red-eyed and disoriented. Petra takes pity on him, and sends him to do dishes.

If he takes the next day off, and spends it in bed watching Hallmark movies, with Caspar petting his hair and bringing him tea and toast and NyQuil, who is anyone to judge?

~~~

“A pink drink, Caspar? Really? I expected better from you.”

Nobody does disappointment quite like Ferdinand, nose wrinkled in disgust as he holds the cup at arm’s length. “I thought you were an adult.”

Caspar pouts and takes the cup for Caspie. He is going to kill Dorothea for that one, especially as he spots Linhardt’s smug smile. He’s been saving that one up ever since he overheard a tipsy conversation between them at Edelgard’s New Year’s party, one that involved Caspar “waxing positively lyrical”, apparently, about just how much he adores Linhardt. A drunk mind may speak sober thoughts, but drunk Caspar is a sap, and drunk Dorothea is a giggler who likes pet names.

He realises he hasn’t answered Ferdinand. “I am an adult. An adult who likes strawberries, and coconut, and uh, acai. Whatever that is.” “I like the pink drink!” Petra chirps, waving her own almost-empty cup. “And I like a man who is so sure of his masculinity that he isn’t afraid to drink something baby pink,” Linhardt adds between sips of what looks like an iced latte. Caspar narrows his eyes at him. “I thought you made a resolution to drink less caffeine this year. All it does is make you anxious, it doesn’t even keep you awake. You’re broken.” He sidles over to kiss Linhardt anyway. “It’s decaf!” his boyfriend protests. “No it’s not. Decaf lattes are lighter in colour.” “Fuck you, Ferdinand von Aegir.”

Caspar tugs at a lock of Linhardt’s hair where it’s come tumbling over his shoulder. “I’m just trying to look out for you, Lin. For your health. And perhaps a little for my own sanity because your caffeine crashes are fucking awful .” “I don’t have caffeine crashes. This stuff doesn’t even touch me,” Linhardt scoffs, then yelps and lunges for the cup that Caspar has snatched from under his nose. “Give it back!” “If it doesn’t affect you, why do you need it?” “I don’t need it, I…” Linhardt pouts. “I want it. My coffee. Please, Cas.” Ugh. Caspar is absolutely powerless when it comes to Linhardt’s pout and his kicked-puppy eyes and his whining. “Ugh. Fine. You’re hopeless.” “I’ll quit tomorrow?” Linhardt blinks at him, feigning innocence. “I really will?” “No, you won’t.” Caspar rolls his eyes. “I will! From tomorrow, no more caffeine.” “I dare you.”

To his credit, Linhardt lasts until just after lunchtime, head aching with the withdrawal. It takes falling asleep on a cafeteria bench before Caspar relents and drags him back to Starbucks on his day off. He orders a quad-shot espresso and drinks it without a pause, gazing intently at Caspar all the while.

“Never, ever take my coffee again.”

~~~

“Cas?”

Linhardt slips into the changing rooms long after all the other players have gone. He hates it in here, it smells like Axe and sweat and dirt, but Caspar didn’t show up in the stands with the others, so it falls to Linhardt to come and find his boyfriend. The game was close, but not close enough - getting knocked out of the running so close to the final was pretty brutal.

One of the showers is still running, and Linhardt stops in front of it, hand on his hip. “Caspar. I know you’re not still showering. Come out for me.” And then, softer, “Please?”

Caspar always takes the team’s losses as a personal loss. He relies too heavily on himself for the outcome of the games, the actions of his teammates. He may be a captain, but he likes to forget that he’s a human, too. “No. Go away.” “You aren’t made of sugar, as sweet as you are. You won’t dissolve under the hot water. And besides, it can’t still be hot.” “It’s f-fine…” The chatter of his teeth betrays him, and he turns off the water, the cold air of the locker room immediately assaulting his skin. His hair drips down his neck. Maybe this was a stupid thing to do. “Come out, Cas. Come on. It’s only me.”

The curtain twitches aside, and Caspar more or less tumbles right out, into the towel that Linhardt has already grabbed from his bag and proceeds to wrap tight around him. “That’s it. Well done.” Linhardt ignores how wet he is, and kisses his forehead. “You played beautifully. You always do.” “Not good enough,” Caspar sighs. “We suck. We got so close.” A bruise is blossoming across his cheekbone, and when he walks to where he left his clothes, the ankle that got twisted beneath a bad tackle leaves a slight limp in his step. He can feel Linhardt’s eyes on him, concerned, pitying, pained. “You don’t suck. You’ve worked so hard this season. You’ll get to the finals next year,” Linhardt tells him, far too much confidence in his voice, or so Caspar thinks. “Whatever.”

Caspar dresses quietly, and doesn’t complain when Linhardt pulls out his scarf, and gently winds it around his boyfriend’s neck, finishing the gesture with a kiss to his nose, then his lips. “You don’t have to comfort me,” he protests, but it’s weak. For once, he wants the comfort Linhardt always so willingly provides, so he lets his boyfriend zip up his jacket, and towel dry his damp hair even though, outside, he can hear that it’s beginning to rain. “I’m going to anyway,” Linhardt murmurs. “I always will.”

As soon as the fussing stops, Caspar buries himself in Linhardt’s chest, in his layers of wool and his vintage pea-coat, in his embrace. Linhardt holds him there, steadying him, until he’s ready to face the world.

“I brought you hot chocolate,” Linhardt remembers, when Caspar breaks the hug. “Although, it’s probably more like cold chocolate now.” A small smile flutters across Caspar’s face. “We can make more at your place?”

Some things in life are constant. Highs come with lows, wins come with losses. Linhardt comes with sweet hot drinks and the scent of freshly ground coffee in his curls. With icy hands, and holes in his sweater sleeves for his thumbs to poke through. With paper cups and heart-wrenching smiles, and most importantly? Linhardt comes with Caspar. Always.

#fe3h #casphardt #lincas #caspar von bergliez #linhardt von hevring

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mrs-hollandstan · 5 years

Text

Behind His Back || Mobster! Harrison Osterfield {4}

•Pushing Buttons•

Pairing: Mobster Tom Holland Sister!Reader x Mobster!Harrison Osterfield

Warnings: language, mentions of blood and beating, mentions of alcohol, mentions of eating meat (dunno if this should be a warning or not), very brief/vague mentions of sex

Word Count: 4,818

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, finals are here and I was focused on Inheritance. 😊 I'm also going to be focusing on a Tom birthday smut to post on June 1st so if there's another delay, my bad! But enjoy this and let me know what you think!

Part One || Part Two || Part Three

Blurbs the series is based off: x x x x x x x

There was nothing like sitting across from your older brother at dinner. Just the two of you, like it used to be before the move to New York. The meal was full of laughs and reminiscence of what life used to be like. He was always on high alert, but just for that night it was nice and he let his guard down much to your liking. The both of you got a little tipsy off of the few bottles of red wine he'd bought. You closed the place down and Tom walked you home like the mature man he was, both of you too buzzed to drive, your hand holding his bicep to resume close to him. He just sighed, his breath showing in the cold air and his hands tucked in his pockets. He only looks at you when you shiver before offering up his suit jacket, the polyester warm and smelling of your big brother. Its comforting. Almost as comforting as Harrison standing at the foot of the stairs when you enter the house again. Tom looks him up and down, as do you and your initial reactions are that of the exact opposite.

While Tom looks his grey sweats and tight fitted navy blue muscle tee clad figure over in disgust, you're trying to focus on the drool threatening to slip between your lips. He smiles, knowing the thoughts that wracked your brain and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested in exploring them. Pulling his hands from the pockets of his sweats as you walk towards him and hugging you to his body, eyes locked in Tom's to gauge his reaction. Your older brother rolls his eyes as your body melts into Harrison's, but he doesn't verbally complain like usual. In his half drunken stupor, he's less whiny about you and Harrison and how gross the both of you are like that typical young child with his parents.

"Get up to bed. Both of you." He mumbles like a parent to children that he caught sneaking out. He reaches up to scratch his jaw awkwardly before you lock eyes. He sighs as you step forward, leaning in to let you kiss his cheek,

"I had a good time." He smiles, hugging you with one arm, eyes cutting up to Haz again,

"Me too. I missed you." Holding him close, you lay your head against his shoulder,

"I always miss you." He kisses your forehead before Harrison steps forward,

"I was gonna ask you... can I... can I take her out for like a little breakfast picnic? Just... us."

"No. I know what that entails and I'm not risking anything."

"First off, I'm on the pill and he uses protection. Secondly-"

"I said no, Y/N." Tom's face is stern as he looks at you. Letting your arms fall from around him, you walk towards Harrison. Tom watches you both, shaking his head,

"Look... I don't like babysitting you both as much as you don't like being babysat, but I can't risk ANYTHING. The two of you out together is the most dangerous thing. I wish I could tell you yes but... I can't." He hangs his head and you know he's genuine. When he looks up, he clenches his jaw,

"Get up to bed. I'll let you guys eat breakfast alone together tomorrow. But... that's all I can tell you." He shrugs but looks between the two of you. You both nod before you take Harrison's arm in your hand, leading him upstairs and down the hall to your room. When the door closes behind him and you push him against it, attempting to pull him free of his shirt. He smiles wide,

"Ya know... my room is perfect, just as much as yours. And my bed doesn't creak." You giggle,

"I know. I didn't say your room wasn't good. But this is the first place Tom will come if he's looking for one of us. And... we're not having sex. I'm a little intoxicated." He chuckles, unzipping your dress for you. You slide his shirt over your head, sighing in his scent. Flopping on your bed, Harrison walks forward, rubbing your shoulders,

"Good thing we're not havin sex. I think you're out of condoms." You smile, opening an eye to look at him. His smile widens before he leans in to kiss you. You sigh, reaching back to take hold of his wrist and drag him into bed with you. He lays on his back, arm slung around your shoulders when you lay your head over his chest,

"So-"

"You and I are going on that picnic. I know... he'll throw a fit but I know the perfect place to go. No one will know we're out there." When he's quiet, you look up at him, his eyes darting to yours and away after a quick moment. Propping yourself up on his chest, you sigh,

"I can handle him-"

"No you can't. Look at what happened when we got caught? We don't have control over this Y/N. We're being babysat just like he said." He's frustrated and you know it. His jaw clenches, rippling beneath your fingers as you stroke his cheek,

"I know, I know. But... we'll deal with it later. But... I wanna go on a little date with you. I'm excited and it's not fair that we have to tiptoe around him. We're going on a picnic and we'll figure it out when we get back." He stares down at you, watching you stroke over his pec. When you look up at him, he can't help but nod. You lay your head over his heart, listening to it beat, and him breath. When he starts to thread his fingers in your hair like he always does, you're lulled to sleep, Harrison close behind you.

-------

Harrison despised that God damn creaky door to your bedroom. Heaven forbid he need to sneak in at any point. He cursed lowly to himself as he pushed into the room the following morning. Walking towards you, he sat at the edge of the bed, running his hand up your bare arm to wake you slowly. When you gently whine, he leans in to kiss your cheek,

"Its just before sunrise. You have to get up now if we're doing this." When you roll over, Harrison sighs,

"I got you some of my comfortable clothes. It's quite chilly." When you groan, Harrison chuckles,

“Come on love. I made crepes AND omelettes but Tom is still in bed. Who knows how long it’ll take until he’s up and furious we’re gone.” Sighing and taking in the last few wisps of his body wash stuck in your sheets, you rise sleepily, undressing from his muscle shirt and re-dressing in his sweatshirt and sweats. He watches you, smiling when you walk towards him,

“Ready?” You nod and take his hand when he holds it out, following him downstairs. Just before exiting through the same front door Tom forbid you to have this little date in front of, he disappears into the kitchen, re-emerging with the typical wicker basket. He flashes you a smile before slowly opening the door. He glances at the top of the stairs as if expecting to see Tom before following you out into early dawn. He follows you through the rose garden, smiling wide when you turn and glance at him, the cool, gentle breeze blowing your hair in your face. When he's led to a clearing in the trees, he sighs, standing before you as you lean against the trunk of a tree,

"Its pretty huh? When we first moved here this is where I would come. It clears my head." You tilt your head back against the tree, Harrison setting the blanket and basket aside and strutting towards you. You smile when he stands before you, hands placed at your hips. You drape your wrists over his shoulders, sighing and smoothing down the collar of his button up,

"Ya know... I get that you're always to look presentable and all but... just one day I want you in a pair of jeans and a v-neck or something." He smiles, reaching up to brush hair behind your ear while his other hand rests at your lower back. Pulling you in, he bows his head to kiss you, lips lingering on yours longer than normal in your house. He smiles into it, holding your neck. You giggle and he leans back, lashes fluttering as you run your fingers through the short hair at the back of his head. He hums, leaning in to kiss your neck,

"Come on Haz, I'm hungry." He hums, sucking at a spot in your neck. You grant him access, tilting your head to the side and whining into him as you hold the arms of his shirt in your hands. He hums, drawing back,

"I'm hungry for something else." You giggle, a triggered chuckle falling from his lips before he stands back, staring up into your eyes for a moment before turning and picking the blanket back up. Bending over to smooth it out, you reach out and swat at his bottom which makes him laugh,

"I thought you were hungry."

"I am."

"Then quit feelin me up before I have to lay you out on this blanket." Holding his hand out as he speaks, you take it, sitting beside him. You watch him sit before he pulls the basket towards him with a sigh,

"So, I got two veggie omelettes, two meat omelettes, a peach and cream crêpe, a strawberry and mixed berry crêpe, two chocolate croissants, some strawberries, some bacon, a bottle of milk, and a bottle of orange juice." Smiling up at you, your eyebrows raise on your forehead,

"You really planned for this." He shrugs,

"I wanted you to have as many options as possible for breakfast. I wanted to take you on a breakfast picnic and you can't have a picnic without a plethora of food." Pulling out both of the glass bottles, he leans them against the small hump of a hill that sits just above you. He pulls tinfoil wrapped omelettes and crêpes from inside, all labelled just as Harrison had explained, before pulling out a Tupperware full of perfect strawberries and more tinfoil with the croissants and bacon inside, splaying all of them out in the space between you. He sighs and looks up,

"What sounds good my love?" You hum, looking between the sparkling wrappings of Harrison's creations,

"Uhmmm, the bacon." He unwraps the amazing smelling meat before looking up at you. You take a piece and bite into it, watching Harrison sip from the bottle of orange juice as his eyes sparkle in the rising sun. Setting it aside, he unwraps an omelette, sighing and finding a fork in the basket. Cutting the corner off, he spears the bright yellow food. Lifting it to his lips, he chews throughly, paying you no mind as you watch his jaw constrict and relax with each bite. Glancing up as he swallows the third bite, he raises his fork for you to eat off. You lean in, taking the cheesy bite from it, savoring the taste. He smiles,

"What did you tell Tom about us? Like... when he kept asking about why its NOW that we got together? Instead of way back when?" Waiting until you swallow, you shrug,

"I uhh... I told him that the restrictions is what made us commit. I told him it was like that quote uhh... restrictive parents raise sneaky kids. He saw it himself growing up. All those girls he slept with were the ones that snuck out. Threw away their virginities as a kick in the face to their parents. I-I know it's not the same thing but... I just told him that it took us so long because..." You trail off and Harrison cocks his head, waiting for you to continue. You shake your head,

"I actually- I don't even know why it took us so long. W-we had this coming since-"

"Middle school?" Harrison inquires, using the American term so loosely. He smiles as you nod,

"Yeah. Maybe even before that." Chewing the inside of his cheek, he sighs,

"I should have asked you out before this. I should've asked you to prom and-"

"Haz... you know he would've thrown a fit then too. Think about it. Think of your best friend fucking your little sister. Doesn't it like... doesn't it gross you out? Agrivate you?" He licks his lips before he gives a half shrug and nods,

"Yeah... okay, yeah, fine, I see it." You nod and reach for his fork, eating more of the omelette in front of him. He watches you, licking his lips and dragging his bottom one in between his teeth. His heart skips a beat when he thinks of the reason he brought you out here. The reason he wanted to get you alone for once. You offer him the last bite of the omelette and he takes it, watching you unwrap the croissants,

"God, it's been so long since I had one of these. Are these like... your mum's recipe?" He nods with a smile,

"Yeah. Figured it'd be a good smack of nostalgia. You used to stand in the window every time my mum made something. Asked if they were her croissants and every time she told you no, you were so upset." You giggled,

"I can't believe you remember that." His smile widens when you bite the corner off, savoring the sweet taste for a moment. You moan. Your head falling back before Harrison let's out a chuckle,

"You're cute. You always have been." Looking at him, you offer the toasted pastry to him, watching him lean in and bite into it. He chews for a minute before he swallows and sighs. Looking out at the sun again, he squints,

"Did you ever... talk to your mum about me?" Looking at you wearily, he cocks his head, waiting on you to answer, or not. After a moment of looking out at the sunrise, you nod,

"Course. She told me to go for you. Ask you out because she could tell that you liked me. She told me that if one of us didn't make a move... we'd separate, go off and do our own thing and it'd be the end and only time could tell if we regretted it." Looking at him, he glanced at you out if his peripheral vision and nodded,

"And you didn't. Even after-"

"I couldn't after the accident. That was the difference. I could barely... walk, eat, I couldn't sleep. The least of my worries was a boyfriend."

"What's your excuse now?" He jokes, quirky smile on his lips. Smiling down at him, you lean in, over the mess of food between you and kiss his cheek,

"Now I want you. And... with you making a move... why would I say no?" He chuckles again before leaning forward, pushing his lean body over the opened tinfoil packages, crawling between your legs. You giggle once more as he leans in to kiss at your neck, humming into the skin. You thread your fingers in his not yet gelled back hair,

"I kinda want some of those strawberries. They look pretty perfect."

"Like you?" Harrison quizzes. You squeal as he tickles you. Sitting back on his shins, he pulls the Tupperware closer,

"The cashier flirted with me. I spent a long time looking at strawberries." Cocking your head, he takes the lid off and seeks out the perfect, medium sized, red strawberry. Plucking it from the bunch by the stem, he lifts it to your lips, licking his own as you bite into it. You hum as the taste envelops your mouth and Harrison bites the rest off. You watch him, smile coming to your lips.

"I love you." The gentle breeze tries to drown you out, but Harrison hears you. His face turns up and he looks between your eyes before he smiles gently,

"I love you too." Reaching down into the strawberries you find a small one, biting it off in its entirety and glancing around at the trees as the wind rustles the leaves sprouting on the branches. Harrison watches you for a moment longer before reaching into the basket once more,

"Just... so you know I don't say it because you do," he cracks open the small velvet box revealing a ruby heart encased with diamonds on a silver band. You gasp, staring down at it as the blood red stone twinkles in the light. Meeting his eyes again, he shrugs,

"Its just a promise ring but uhh... I wanted you to have something. Something that you and I can know is how we share our love. Obviously... we're supposed to keep this under wraps, but I like the idea of you wearing my birthstone. S'kinda... relaxing... theraputic... relieving. Knowing that you're-" As he speaks you pull the ring from its box, slipping it onto your ring finger. You silence his rambling with a soft kiss, climbing into his lap, not a care in the world at the now spilled strawberries. He holds your hips, lips working against yours. When you pull back and press your forehead to his, he breathlessly sighs,

"-mine. I was gonna say mine." You share a laugh and nod, sitting back to look down at the ring,

"Its beautiful Harrison. I love it. And I love you. I'm yours always." He nods, watching you stare at the ring, twisting your hand to watch it twinkle. He smiles, reaching up to run his thumb over your lip,

"Wanted to bring you on a date to do that. Wanted a private moment to... give you that. The sex is super informal though. That was a terrible place to do it and it seemed like the only time we were alone together but... I'll risk Tom's pestering for this." Clicking your tongue, you look up at the sky, hues of blue chasing the night away,

"We better get back by the way. I get the feeling we're already fucked." He smiles and nods, waiting until you leave his lap to help you gather the leftover food. He picks the basket up after tucking the blanket under his arm, taking your hand in the opposite with a sigh,

"That was good. I'll hide these where no one can find them. You and I can have the leftovers later sometime." You smile, walking a little too close to bump shoulders with him,

"Can't wait." The rest of the descent back to the house is quiet save the wind picking up. Neither of you mind the coolness though, the blood coursing through your veins, blazing hot over the other's presence. But there's a sick feeling in Harrison's stomach as you approach the front doors. Walking up the stoop, you take a deep breath before turning the knob and pushing inside, Harrison just behind you,

"Check the-" Tom glances up at the intrusion, dark eyes even darker than usual and swimming in unmistakable worry and rage. He looks between you and Harrison, chest heaving as he glances down at the basket when Harrison comes to stand just beside you, meer feet from Tom,

"What's going on? Is there a phone tap or something?" Harrison quizzes, genuinely worried and oblivious to the scene you've just walked into. You know the look in Tom's eyes when he steps forward, not even flinching when he lays a brutal, heart stopping punch to Harrison's cheek.

"TOM!" You scream. As you attempt to stoop to Harrison's level once he's collapsed to his knees, basket askew and blanket a haphazard mess beside him, you're collected into someone's arms, drug away from the scene while the deafening sounds of blow after blow are dished to Harrison's face, blood, the same color as the ruby in your ring now darker on the hardwood floors,

"TOM STOP IT, YOU'RE HURTING HIM!" You scream, voice going hoarse already as Harrison struggles to breathe and Tom doesn't let up. You're kicking at the man holding you until you can nail him in the balls, his arms loosening enough for you to slip out. You rush towards Tom, giving a tug to his arm that knocks him off balance long enough to crouch over Harrison. His nose is broken, gashes litter his face and when you raise his head, he spits up blood. Resting your left hand on his chest, you stroke his cheek but he waves you off,

"M'fine." Opening your mouth, Tom roars,

"WHAT IS THAT?" You flinch before your head turns to look at Tom, poised over you, brushing Harrison's blood from his knuckles with his handkerchief. His eyes are locked on your hand placed over Harrison's heart which the blonde boy glances down at. When Tom dives in again, you both hold a hand up,

"Its just a promise ring! It's just a promise ring!" Harrison squeals, terrified of being used as Tom's personal punching bag again. Your jaw clenches and if looks could kill, Tom would be laying on the floor in a crumpled mess. Gritting your teeth, you shove at Tom's chest, knocking him off balance again before you take Harrison's hand and haul him from the floor. Pushing him in front of you, you shove him towards your room, Tom close behind.

"I don't understand why the both of you fucking push my buttons. I tell you not to do something, and what do you do? You go behind my back to do exactly as I told you not to do. I'm allowing you to see each other, but you're pushing boundaries and I-"

"STOP IT!" Tom is caught off guard as you turn, stomping your foot. He can see that you're just as angry as he is,

"Just fucking shut up and leave us alone. You've done enough. Heaven forbid we have one, ONE nice day out together without you fucking lingering over us. Just... fucking go away." He watches you walk away, Harrison just before you as you push him towards your bathroom. When Harrison is turning on the light, you turn to Tom, still stood in his place,

"Don't worry either, I'll pack my bags and get out of your hair. Both Harrison and I will." You don't wait for a response before closing yourself in the bathroom with Harrison, helping him sit on the toilet seat. Raising his head by his chin, you run your thumb over his already swollen bottom lip,

"Any teeth missing?" He shakes his head,

"Just bit my tongue." He opens his mouth to show you the teeth marks in the muscle. You click your own tongue, finding a washcloth and wetting it. Dragging it across his cuts, he winces, holding your hips tight in his hands he hums every time you apologize. Opening his eyes after you tend to the cut in his eyebrow and set the cloth aside, he swallows,

"You know you can't leave-"

"Don't start with me Harrison-"

"I'm being serious. You know you can't. Neither of you can... fucking breathe without each other." He shakes his head softly, letting go of your hips as you move to collect the alcohol pads from under the sink. He sighs,

"You know more than anybody that if you leave, this business won't last. You'll both go into a depression, you and I... we'll fall apart because you'll come to blame me and... it's just not a good idea. He shakes his head, wincing again as you completely clean the gashes now not covered in blood. He stares up at you and you sigh,

"So what do you suppose I do Osterfield? I just stay and let you get your ass kicked?" The corners of his lips twitch,

"We just have to show him we're stronger than this love. Just have to show him we're serious and no matter what, I'm not going anywhere and neither are you. You and I are a force and if we need to show him that we'll steamroll over him if we have to. For our own sake. As a couple." He rubs his thumbs over your hips, eyes finding yours as you toss the discolored alcohol pad into the trash. You press your hands to his shoulders,

"How hard did he hit you?" He chuckles,

"Really hard... multiple times." Leaning in, you kiss his busted lip, lingering longer than needed. When you lean back, he sighs,

"I'm serious. The both of you have been through too fucking much together. The three of us have been through a lot and yeah, it pisses me off, but... you can't live without him and he can't live without you. It just won't work." You huff, continuing to tend to him but listening to every word,

"But I'm just supposed to sit here and let him go over his three strikes? Let him continue to make you look like this and just beat the shit out of you and it'll just be stuck in a loop?"

"No, no, we fight back. If he's got something to lose, he'll let up. We show him that no matter what happens, whether we stay behind closed doors or we're out, we're good together. We're destined to be together." Chewing the inside of your lip, you cock your head,

"He told me that." His eyes are wide then,

"What?" You nod,

"When we had our little talk the other day... he told me that he'd never seen two people look at each other like they were more in love like us. He admitted that even though he didn't like the idea, he knew that we were destined to he together." Shrugging, he cocks his own head,

"Interesting." You smile and nod,

"He's an ass. He says stuff like that and then he sits here and tells us that we're still forbidden to do much of anything. It's just bullshit." He nods as you shake your head. There's silence that reverberates between you before you turn to him and sigh. He swallows,

"You have to fix my nose huh?" You giggle and nod,

"Unfortunately my love." He huffs,

"I can handle it. Go ahead." He takes a deep breath, straightening himself out before looking up at you, eyes scared as you grab his nose. With a quick count to three, you snap it back in place, tears running from his eyes and a deep, choked noise leaving his lips as the bone snaps back in place,

"Fuck... ah fuck that hurts." You clear his tears, and kiss him once more,

"You're gonna need an ice pack but... you'll be okay." He nods, watching you clean up the mess before standing. Pressing you back against the wall, he sighs,

"You know I always want you to be happy right?" You nod, looping your arms around his neck,

"Of course." He nods in return,

"I just want you to tell me what you want me to do. Do you want us to stop, do you wanna run away? What do you want?"

"I want you." You quickly interject. He swallows and nods, pulling you tight against him. Bowing his head, he kisses you,

"I want you too. That's why I gave you the ring." Pressing your palm to his chest, you glance down at your hand,

"I love it. I really do. I love everything you do and who you are and I want you. No matter what." He smiles and nods,

"And I, you." Kissing him once more, you sigh,

"Let's get you set up in my bed so I can go get you an ice pack." He takes your hand, following you out of the bathroom and into your conjoined room, pausing in the doorway, hand tightening around yours and body going stiff at Tom slouched over as he sits at the foot of your bed. He looks up as you enter, your pulse quickening when he looks Harrison over. His eyes linger on the bruising in the nasojugal grooves just under Harrison's eyes and the still crooked nose you've just repositioned. He remembers having his own nose broken two or three times before and how he and Harrison laughed the pain away while tears welled in Tom's eyes. He remembered your mum panicking every time it happened despite her knowing her son was just a little accident prone idiot who's sister would call him out while he cried after it was rebroken and she colored. He remembers everything. Swallowing, he looks away, down at his shoes where he's almost positive Harrison's spilled blood is hardening. He shakes his head just slightly, wiping his clammy hands on his thighs before looking up again, his eyes meeting yours as he sighs,

"We need to talk."

------

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