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my-wild-imagination1996 · 3 months ago

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Life is Crazy part I

A/N: This is not proofread and I am not perfect. There will be spelling and grammatical errors. I have not written smut in over 6 years, I’m sorry if it’s terrible.

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION BASED ON THE AMAZING HUGH JACKMAN AND MY CRAZY IMAGINATION

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, alcohol, oral sex (f & m receiving), song referenced in the story is Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter, swearing, cum in mouth, mentions of anxiety

PART ONE: YOUR BIG BREAK

Being an independent artist had its perks. Most people still didn’t know who you were so you could usually keep a low profile. You were well known enough to make millions but not known enough for paparazzi to give a fuck about. You were thankful given your anxiety, but you always wished you could reach more people with your music, and occasionally you’d wish that you could be more of a star than you were but you figured if it was meant to happen, then it would. You were sitting in your mini studio that you had set up in the spare room of your Los Angeles suburb home. You were waiting for inspiration to hit you while you played random notes on the keyboard. Your watch started to vibrate to notify you of a call coming through from your manager. You stopped messing with the keyboard to grab your phone and answer the call.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hey y/n, you’re never gonna fucking believe this but I just had a casting agent reach out to me saying that they want you to audition for a movie.” Your agent stated not continuing to give you more detail.

“What movie is it even for?” You asked, thinking it was weird since you have tons of tattoos and usually movies don’t want that.

“Well, you see, that’s the fucking weird part. Um, it’s for a marvel movie. They only want you to audition so it’s not like a guaranteed thing that you’d get the role.” They told you.

“Any more information than that?” You asked, trying to understand why you’d be asked to audition for something like this.

“Kevin Fiege wasn’t so open to speaking on the role just that it was for a female anti-hero type deal. Said that their casting director thinks you fit the look of the character perfectly.”

“Okay. Text me the details and let them know I’m game.” I said thinking that there was no harm in auditioning.

A week had passed since the audition and neither you or your management had heard anything regarding being cast so you honestly didn’t think you got the part which was no surprise to you because of your tattoos. You were having a severe case of writer's block when it came to your music. You were playing Last of Us when your watch started vibrating with an unknown saved number. You hesitantly answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this y/n?” The man on the line asked.

“This is her?” You responded.

“Great! This is Nathan, I am the assistant to Sarah Finn. She was the casting director of the marvel film that you just auditioned for?” He explained making your eyes go wide with shock.

“Oh great! How can I help you?” You asked, mentally kicking yourself for your word choice.

“Well, we actually wanted to see if you’d be willing to come in again for another audition. We’d actually like to give you more detail about the character and see if you match what we’re exactly looking for regarding this character. If we like it, we’ll be having you do a chemistry test with the character's love interest. How does that sound?” He asked with a friendly tone.

“Absolutely. I’d love to come in again. I just need to know when and where.” You responded excitedly. Nathan proceeded to tell you the audition was in two days here in Los Angeles. They needed you there by 10 AM.

You woke up to the sound of your alarm blasting at seven in the morning letting you know to get ready for the audition. You opt to wear a t-shirt and jean shorts with sandals to the second audition. You straightened your hair and applied light make-up since it’s your normal go to look. You weren’t even sure who the love interest was. You loved the MCU and were honored they thought of you, but you were worried about getting your hopes up and what this meant for your music career. You entered the building and were immediately greeted by the receptionist who told you to take a seat and they’d take you back when they were ready.

“Hi! I’m Nathan. We spoke on a bit about the role on the phone and what todays gonna accomplish.” The man introduced himself as soon as you sat down, making you stand up again to greet and shake his hand.

“Alright so follow me, we’re gonna be going into this room down the hall. No pressure but we do have Kevin there to see if he likes you or not for the role. Now the role is the character Amethyst Santiago AKA Amethyst. Her powers are much like Agatha or even Scarlet Witch. She’s the most powerful one in the Marvel Universe. She has an intense relationship with the like of one Mr. Wolverine.” Nathan said, making you nervous cause if Hugh Jackman was here you were going to lose your shit since you loved the wolverine movies but also he’s hot as fuck so how could you not be excited.

“Now, if you’ll remember, on the phone, I did mention that if we like what we see, we will be doing a chemistry test between you and Hugh.” You instantly fangirled internally but you felt your hands become slightly clammy because of your nerves.

“Yes, I remember. Let’s do this.” You said as you entered the room where there was a table filled with people, some you recognized from the last audition and some you didn’t. They handed you a script and advised you how to read the role. You did exactly as they asked and stopped when they said ‘end scene’. Then Kevin spoke.

“I’m gonna be honest with you, y/n. I like your look for the character and I love how you’re portraying the character. I think it’s time we brought Hugh our to see if you guys can make this vision become reality, but Hugh’s a pro so I gotta say that I think you’ve got this.” He stated.

That’s when you heard the door open and then you saw him walk in and greet everyone kindly, before finally greeting you extending his hand.

“I’m Hugh, your scene partner.” He said flashing you a smile that made you get butterflies instantly.

“Hi Hugh. My y/n is name.” You responded confidently until you realized what you said. “I mean my name is y/n.” Making Hugh laugh. The executives gave you both a minute to review before getting into the scene. It was quite dramatic and ended with him inches away from your lips before they called the scene.

“Great. Thank you, Hugh. Y/n, we’ve got some things to discuss but you’ll have a response from us either way by end of day.

“Thank you so much for the opportunity.” You said before heading out of the room and to the bathroom.

As you were walking out of the building towards your car, you were staring down at your phone while walking when you felt someone tap your shoulder. You looked over your shoulder and saw no one other than Hugh.

“Sorry to bother you, but you’re going to get the role so I thought that maybe I should give you my number so that we could get to know each other for the roles.” He said.

“I don’t see why not.” You said opening up the dial pad on your phone to call him so you’d both have each other’s number. You figured he was only doing it for the role considering you were barely in your late twenties and he was in his mid fifties. You made the assumption he probably didn’t see you like that even if you saw him that way.

“I’ll see you around y/n.” He said before walking back into the building.

A few weeks had passed since your encounter with Hugh. You had actually come to meet lots of the stars of your youth. You ended up meeting Ryan Reynolds who you learned was going to be starring as Deadpool in the film. You ended up in a text chain with Ryan and Hugh which you were fine with but they usually just told stupid jokes. Filming was supposed to start in about a month. As a sort of celebration of sorts, Ryan invited you to his house for a barbeque/pool party that he was hosting with Hugh and other various castmates. You brought a beach bag that had your swimsuit but you were currently wearing a floral sundress with sandals. You pulled up to his house in awe of the mansion. As soon as you walked up the driveway, you heard the door open to be immediately greeted by a smiling Blake.

“Welcome to our home. If you end up drinking or anything, we have spare rooms you can sleep in.” She said in a friendly tone.

“Um, thanks. I have a quick question. I have a THC cart and I would like to smoke it outside if that’s okay.” You asked.

“That’s totally fine. No smoking in the house but the backyard is totally fine. Hugh smokes one too so it’s all good.” She said shutting and locking the door behind you.

You followed Blake to the back where the music and people were. You observed your surroundings. Nervous because you didn’t really know anyone but Hugh and Ryan.

“Y/n!” Ryan shouted. “Come get a drink and some food!”

You smiled shyly and found your way over to him, wondering where Hugh was. Maybe your crush on Hugh was slightly inappropriate given the age difference but you were well over eighteen.

“Where’s Hugh?” You asked while you grabbed a paper plate and built your plate.

“I think he went to get more liquor from the basement.” Ryan responded while you went to sit at one of the tables they had in their backyard.

You kept scanning the entrance to the backyard, waiting for Hugh to appear. Honestly, you’d socialized more with Hugh in person during this whole process than anyone else. You felt comfortable around Hugh. You finally saw him walking from the house carrying bottles of liquor. You weren’t much of a drinker and it worried you how much alcohol was around cause you were a lightweight.

Hugh noticed you sitting at the chair eating your food at a table alone so he decided to join you while everyone was doing their own things.

“Hey there. Hopefully I'm not interrupting your peace.” He said, food and his drink in his hand.

“Hey. Thank you for coming over here. I feel kind of out of place honestly. Ryan is great but I just, I don't know, feel overwhelmed, I guess. I don’t have many close friends and I haven't been to a party this large since I was like twenty so it's definitely nerve wracking.” You over-explained.

“Listen to me. I've been in this industry for ages. I can show you the ropes. Help you navigate this a bit.” He said, trying to reassure you.

You took a sip of the smirnoff ice that you grabbed. Surveying your surroundings, listening to Hugh ramble about whatever crossed his mind. You took the time to really look at him. The way light reaches his eyes while he smiles. The kindness evident in his eyes. You couldn’t help but be in awe of his beauty, but you didn’t want to come off creepy so you kept your staring to a minimum.

After a few drinks and a few hours, the sun was starting to set and they turned on their backyard lights and then Ryan said it’s time to really party. You looked at Hugh to figure out what he meant, but Hugh just gave you a smile. You shrugged it off, finishing off your drink feeling a bit tipsy, making you more sociable.

“Y/n!” You hear Ryan drunkenly yell.

“I’m over here.” You said standing up causing at least 20 or 30 people who may or may not be drunk looking at you. It made you nervous cause these were mostly famous faces and you were use to being in front of fans.

“Heard you’re quite the singer.” Ryan slurred.

“Oh no, I am not.” You responded not wanting to really sing in front of everyone.

“I’m a fan of your music so you’ve got to sing something for us.” Blake said really throwing you under the bus.

Contrary to popular belief being a singer of sorts, you had stage fright and most nights on stage you were either drunk or stoned. You walk over to where Ryan and Blake were stationed because that’s where the liquor was. You poured two shots of tequila. Downing them both.

“What am I supposed to sing?” You said feeling the liquid courage kicking in.

“Ooooh, you should do something new.” Blake said with a drunken slur.

You pulled out your phone cause you usually kept samples of beats you were using for projects on there. You hooked your phone up to the bluetooth speaker. You played one you had titled ‘Bed Chem’. You had written only a few days ago when you were fantasizing about Hugh. It wasn’t finished but you’d figure singing what you had wouldn’t hurt. The familiar butterflies of performing in your stomach. You took a deep breath and started singing.

“And what are the odds? You send me a text

And now the next thing I know, I'm like

Manifest that you're oversized

I digress, got me scrollin' like

Out of breath, got me going like, ooh

Who's the cute guy with the white jacket and the accent? Like (Ooh)

Maybe it's all in my head

But I bet we'd have really good bed chem

How you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense

How you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things, that's bed chem

How you're looking at me, yeah, I know what that means, and I'm obsessed

Are you free next week? I'd bet we'd have really good

Come right on me, I mean camaraderie

Said you're not in my time zone, but you wanna be

Where art thou? Why not uponeth me?

See it in my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy (Ooh)”

“And that’s all I got so far for this one.” You said, officially a little drunk. Everyone erupts out into applause, making you flash a smile.

“Who did you write it about?” Blake asked you, making your eyes go wide.

“Um, no one. Just a guy I met a few weeks ago.” You responded.

You glanced at Hugh, who was watching you intensely. You walked over to him and took a seat beside him.

“So what did you think?” You asked nervously while fidgeting with your hands on the table.

“I think whoever you wrote that about is about to be a very lucky man.” He said while moving his hands to caress yours, staring right at you. Letting you know that, somehow, he knew it was about him. You felt your whole body light up the second his skin touched yours.

You felt heat flush your cheeks and you felt yourself starting to respond to his touch and you had no idea how this man is affecting you so greatly. You moved closer to him placing your hand on his thigh while whispering that you think that you both should head out.

“I just have to say bye to some people and then we can go.” He whispered back.

As he walked away from the table, you became anxious. A million things running through your head but you put your brain together enough to go say goodnight to Ryan and Blake, thanking them for their hospitality. After saying your goodbyes, you made your way to your car when you felt a hand sneak around your waist.

“We most definitely are not driving anywhere.” Hugh said sternly. “You are in no condition to drive and neither am I. I live in this neighborhood. We’re a five minute walk.” He said pulling you in the direction of his home.

The walk was mostly silent. As you pulled up to his large home, he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door letting you in first.

As you both entered the living room, the dim lighting and the soft glow of the lamp created an intimate atmosphere. You kicked off your sandals, your eyes locking with Hugh's, both knowing exactly where this night was headed. You had been getting together weekly for the last couple months and your chemistry was undeniable.

Hugh pushed you onto the couch, his strong hands grasping your hips. You landed softly on the cushions, your hair spilling around your shoulders, and a mischievous smile playing on your lips. He loomed over you, his muscular frame casting a shadow on your body, and you felt a tingle of anticipation run down your spine.

"You look so damn sexy right now," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. His hands travel up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, revealing your skin. Your breath quickened as you felt his calloused fingers brush against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You were soaked already, your pussy throbbing in anticipation of what was to come.

"I don’t think I can wait much longer." he growled, his eyes darkened with lust. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. Your tongues danced, tasting the remnants of the liquor consumed earlier in the evening, but the flavors only added to the raw passion of the moment. Hugh's kiss was demanding, possessive, and it sent shivers through your body.

Breaking the kiss, Hugh trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking and biting gently, leaving a trail of wet marks on your delicate skin. You arched your back, offering yourself to him, your hands threading through his dark brown hair, pulling him closer. You wanted to feel his mouth everywhere, to experience the pleasure he could give you.

He worshiped your body with his lips and tongue, kissing and sucking on all of your sensitive spots. His hands cupped your breasts, kneading them gently through the fabric of your dress. You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders, urging him on.

"Please, Hugh," you whispered, your voice hoarse with need. "I want more."

Hugh chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin.

"More, huh? I think we can make that happen." He sat up, his eyes gleaming with mischief. With swift movements, he quite literally ripped your dress open, the fabric ripping easily, exposing your lace bra and the swell of your breasts. You gasped and moaned, a mix of surprise and pleasure rushing through you.

"You like that, don't you, baby girl?" he purred, his fingers teasing the lace covering your nipples. "You love seeing me take control over you, don’t you?" You nodded, your eyes half-closed, your body on fire. You loved the way Hugh was taking charge.

Hugh unhooked your bra, revealing your full, heavy breasts. He bent down, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking and teasing it with his tongue. You cried out, your back arching off the couch as pleasure spiked through you. His hands roamed your body, squeezing and caressing your curves, driving you wild.

"You're so beautiful, y/n," he murmured between kisses. "So responsive. I love watching you fall apart for me." His words only fueled your desire further, causing you to buck your hips, seeking more contact.

Hugh's hands found the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down your thighs, his touch deliberate and teasing. You lifted your hips, helping him remove the last barrier between the both of you. You were completely exposed now, your pussy dripping with your arousal. Hugh's eyes darkened even more as he took in the sight of your wetness dripping onto his couch. If you weren’t so turned on you would’ve been slightly embarrassed of what you were doing to his couch.

He positioned himself between your thighs, his hard cock straining against his jeans. You reached for the belt on his jeans, wanting to touch and stroke him, but he caught your hands, pinning them above your head. "Not yet, sweet girl. I want to drive you crazy first."

With that, he lowered his head down your body, trailing kisses along the way until his head was aligned with your core, he pressed kisses along your thighs. He blew gently against your clit, making you shiver. Teasingly close to your pussy but never quite touching it. You squirmed, your body taut with anticipation.

"Please, Hugh, I need you," you begged.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally granted your wish. His tongue flicked out, tasting your sweetness, and then he dove in, lapping at your juices, his tongue swirling around your clit. You cried out, your hips bucking against his face. He held your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he devoured your pussy, his tongue fucking you relentlessly.

"You gonna cum for me, y/n?," he growled against your pussy, his words felt vibrations against you. As though it snuck up on you, your orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing over you as you cried out his name. Your body trembled and shook,your juices flowing freely as Hugh continued to lick and suck through your climax. You had never had anyone work you so expertly on the first try.

As your tremors subsided, Hugh lifted his head, his hazel eyes glittering with satisfaction.

"You're so fucking beautiful when you cum," he said, his voice rough. You let out a light laugh while out of breath.

But Hugh wasn't done with you yet. He stood up, quickly shedding his clothes, revealing his hard, thick cock. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, your pussy clenching with renewed desire. He was older, but his body was a work of art—muscular and sculpted.

"Now it's my turn to taste you," you said as he sat on the couch and you got yourself off the couch moving to your knees so that you were facing his cock. You took it in your hands feeling the weight and girth. You leaned forward, your eyes locking with his hazel ones as you took the head of his cock into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum, and then you take him deeper, inch by inch, until you feel him at the back of your making you slightly gag until he pulls you back by your hair all while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

You sucked and bobbed your head, your lips sliding up and down his shaft, your hands pumping the base in sync with your mouth. Hugh's breath grew ragged, his hips thrusting slightly. You looked up at him, loving the sight of his pleasure, you increased your pace, wanting to give him the same mind blowing pleasure he had given you.

“Holy fuck, y/n, if you keep going like that I’m gonna cum in that pretty mouth of yours." he groaned, his hands tightening in your hair. His words only spur you on and encourage you to suck harder, your mouth slick around him, Hugh's hips bucked as he exploded in the back of your throat with a loud groan. You swallowed, your eyes had never left his but you had tears running down your flush cheeks from taking him so deep. Your eyes never left him as you sucked him dry.

As you had both caught your breath, Hugh pulled you up, kissing you deeply. "That was fucking incredible," he whispered against your lips. You smiled, feeling a sense of pride and satisfaction. This night had not gone as you expected it to and you were nervous about what this meant. Now coming to the realization of what trouble this could bring as he was basically your coworker now.

#wolverine #hugh jackman #hugh jackman smut #smut #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x you

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aisclosed · 2 years ago

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Match Found ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ - 10. pretty boy

Synopsis: Jungwon is sick of his friends' constant teasing over his lack of gaming skills. Determined to secretly improve and prove enha wrong, Jungwon sets out to learn to play, except he has no clue where to begin. Luckily for him, y/n is a girl with too much time on her hands, a desperate need for distraction and is more than happy to indulge him. Only, things are never that simple and Jungwon soon finds it difficult to explain exactly what the pair have become. college Student! Jungwon x gamer! Reader

prev masterlist next

smau + (1.8k) written work

warnings: suggestive jokes, ...nothing rlly,,,, tooth rotting fluff?

You let out a low whistle, Jake grinning wolfishly at your reaction. For a university, DCLS definitely invested a lot into their dressing rooms. Five vanities set with their own lights and chairs, which had to be comfortable considering Jay was already napping in one of them. If anything, the professional atmosphere of the room was kind of daunting and you shifted your bag on your shoulder awkwardly. I really hope I don’t fuck anything up today.

Looking over your shoulder to check that the makeup artists were already unpacking their equipment, you gently set down your own bag on the floor of the farthest station. You glance over to the couch to see Sunghoon smiling at you cheekily.

“Hey Mo-”

“Please do not finish that sentence,” you groan, taking a seat next to him. Sunghoon nods, giving you a mock salute. Satisfied by his obedience, you continue to take in your surroundings, mentally noting the absence of Niki, Jungwon and Heeseung.

“Jungwon’s grabbing some drinks and food with the other boys,” a knowing voice cuts through your thoughts. Startled, you look over to meet Jay’s discerning eyes. “Oh- I wasn’t -”

He simply cuts you off with a scoff, “Yeah right, you look like a lost puppy. He’ll be here soon.”

Rolling your eyes, you kick at his shin playfully, “I was actually looking for Heeseung and Niki, thank you very much. You wound me Jay, I can’t believe you would think so lowly of me, maybe you’re just projecting honestly”

“Yeah, sure I am” He waves you off, “Wanna see the stage outfits Y/N?” Jay offers a hand which you gratefully take, letting him tug you to your feet. You follow him to the back where the numerous clothing racks stand, boasting a variety of outfits.

“Damn, these are nice. You guys even have outfit changes? Who’s the stylist? They have good taste.” You finger the fabric of the clothes carefully, noting the brands and styles.

“Styled by me actually, pretty sick huh?” Jay says smugly with his arms crossed over his puffed chest. You giggle, nodding in agreement, you were no stranger to professionals in the fashion industry and Jay’s selection definitely did not fall short.

“I see how you blew the budget though, full Chrome Hearts? Damn, we definitely have to go shopping together Jay, my treat.” you say distractedly as you admire the silver attachments on the blazer.

“Where are we going?” a voice asks softly into your ear, Jungwon’s familiar scent flooding your nose as his arm snakes around your waist. You ignore the way your skin prickles at the feeling, turning around to face him with a raised brow.

“What do you mean we? Jay and I are going to go shopping. Isn’t that right Jay?” you ask pointedly. You falter slightly at the smirk on Jungwon’s face, trying to step back to regain some much needed space and air.

Jungwon only chuckles, tightening his hold on your torso. “Jay’s actually busy. Isn’t that right hyung?” You shoot Jay a desperate look over your shoulder but he only raises his hands in surrender, sauntering away from the pair of you.

“Pussy” you scowl bitterly as you watch Jay retreat safely to Jake’s side. You shift your gaze accusingly to Jungwon, ”You suck, I wanted him to pick out my clothes for me. He has a really good style.”

“Take me,” Jungwon smiles brightly, “I know best what looks good on you anyways.”

“Not like I have much of a choice now. I hate you Yang Jungwon,” you puff out your cheeks in annoyance, eliciting a laugh from your captor.

He squishes your face together in his hands, forcibly deflating your cheeks, “ Yeah right, you loveeee me. Come on Y/N, I got you your favorite drink, you’re not allowed to be mad at me sweetheart”

Finally breaking free of his hold, you huff, walking towards the other boys. “I should’ve never introduced you to Hyuck, you get more and more insufferable everyday.” You give both Niki and Heeseung swift side hugs in greeting before you somehow end up back in Jungwon’s grasp.

Polite introductions are made between the boys and the four makeup artists, and the boys play rock paper scissors to choose who’ll go first. Jungwon isn’t the slightest bit upset when he falls into the second slot, instead opting to tug you towards the empty vanity in the corner.

He takes a seat, swiveling the chair towards you, beaming up at you expectantly. You stare at him blankly and he sighs, motioning at your bag on the floor. “I saw you brought your stuff, come on you can do my makeup.”

“Oh fuck no Jungwon, I just brought that in case something went wrong or we were running late. We are in neither of those predicaments thank god so just leave it to the professionals. I don’t wanna mess up your makeup on an important day,” you shake your head vehemently.

Jungwon slumps, looking up at you in exasperation, “Oh come on Y/N, I know you’ll do amazing. Plus I feel uncomfortable with strangers touching my face, I want you to do it. Please?”

Unconvinced, you grimace and try to refuse but are quickly silenced by Jungwon reaching out to grasp your hand. He gives your arm a playful shake until you’re forced to look into his eyes with a sigh.

I'm not gonna cave this time. Fuck you and your big sparkly eyes Yang Jungwon. You chant to yourself internally.

“Y/N please? For me?” He says softly and you can almost audibly hear the sound of your willpower disintegrating into dust.

Letting out a groan, you run your hands through your hair in frustration. “Alright fine, but if I fuck up I don't want to hear any complaints.”

Jungwon smiles triumphantly, leaning back into his chair comfortably as you begin rummaging through your bag, unpacking all your equipment. Pulling your phone out of your back pocket, you scroll through your Spotify queuing up some songs. You slot an AirPod in your ear, wordlessly handing the other to Jungwon.

You begin working, humming along to your music under your breath. Jungwon melts under your touch, the soothing brush of your fingers and the gentle press of the sponge against his skin.

“Can you look up for me?” you ask and Jungwon tilts his head back. “No, not like that, keep your head still just look up.” you snicker. Jungwon knits his brows in confusion, ultimately tilting his head up again.

Exasperated, you grasp onto the nape of his neck, guiding his head to the proper position and holding it there. “Now, look up at the ceiling, I need to set your under eyes before they crease,” you instruct impatiently.

Jungwon’s eyes follow as instructed to the ceiling before flickering down to settle on you. Suddenly you’re all too aware of the weight of his gaze on your face and the placement of your hand against the back of his neck. You retract your hand quickly as if the skin contact had scalded you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to man handle you.” You clear your throat awkwardly, turning away to grab the powder. Discreetly, Jungwon watches your reflection in the mirror, a small smile growing on his lips as he notes the slight flush that warms your cheeks. He bites it back as you turn around, quickly fixing his eyes back up on the ceiling.

You pat in the powder, leaning back to examine his completed base, giving a satisfied hum.

“Look good?” Jungwon asks quietly.

“As good as you can,” you tease, to which Jungwon pinches your waist swiftly in response.

Jungwon grants you free reign with his eye makeup and you run with it. Gently diffusing soft browns into his crease and emphasizing the curve of his eyes with a thin liner.

“Look at me?” you command and Jungwon obliges, his pupils dilating when he opens his eyes to find your face inches from his. You look at him intently, unaware of the way Jungwon wets his lips and his heart hammers against the confines of his chest. She does this on purpose I swear to god.

Seemingly pleased by your handiwork, you brush some stray hairs out of Jungwon’s face and step back with a wide grin. “You look pretty” you say easily, invoking a choked laugh out of Jungwon’s tightened chest. “All done! Just need some tinted chapstick, but I’ll let you do that part yourself.”

Jungwon nods, spreading the balm across his lips and turning back towards you for a final once over. He startles when you reach out to cup his chin, thumb finding the corner of his lip and sweeping against it carefully.

“You smudged a little on the corner,” you clarify, stifling a smirk at Jungwon’s wide-eyed countenance. He rolls his eyes, shoving you away lightly before standing up and admiring his reflection.

“See? I knew you would do good,” he pinches your cheek affectionately , dodging the swat you aim his way. His group members echo his sentiments, patting you on the back and ruffling your hair humorously.

As the performance time nears, Jungwon finds himself stretched in all directions, talking to the director, audio team and running around to make sure all his members are taken care of. Everytime he looks for a second to breathe with you, he’s pulled away again leaving you nothing but an apologetic look. You give him an understanding shake of your head and a wave away his pout, busying yourself with Sunoo and helping the staff.

It isn’t until the final calls are made and the boys are filing out of the room that Jungwon’s at his wits end. After affirming with darting glances that everyone was too occupied to notice your absence, he pulls you into a nook behind the changing partitions.

Shaking off your shock at the ambush, you tilt your head up at him with an amused smile, “Hey Jungwon, fancy meeting you here.”

Jungwon doesn’t respond, wordlessly pulling you into a tight embrace. You falter for a second at the shaky breath that escapes him before wrapping your arms around him, rubbing his back soothingly.

Jungwon finally pulls away letting out a deep exhale, “Sorry, I was just kind of going insane and I needed a moment. I’m good now.”

You take his hand, giving it a firm squeeze, “You got this Wonnie, you’ve worked your ass off for weeks. You’re gonna do amazing, I’ll be watching from the crowd okay?” Jungwon stares back at you with an unreadable expression on his face , leaning in until you feel the ghost of his breath against your lips.

“Jungwon! Where are you bro we gotta go!” Jake calls out, breaking both of you from your reverie.

Jungwon steps back from where he had been caging you into the wall, giving you a sheepish smile. “See you after the performance?”

You smile back fondly, “Yeah, I’ll see you Jungwon. Good luck.” He gives you one last dimpled smile, before turning and scampering towards the direction of Jake’s voice.

prev masterlist next

a/n: hey :) miss me? posting this at 2 AM bc i've been depriving everyone ajsksk. I will do my best to get back on my regular schedule. lmk what y'all thought :))))) also i cant believe we're alr at ch 10

this is y/n:

taglist: open! send me an ask to be added! <3

@woncloudie @itsactuallylina @ifearjwn @fadedluvv @mangowonyo @xiaoderrrr @shinsou-rii @aki1e @makiswrld @jaehaki @criyiy @ilovewonyo @zeraaax @climbingmandevillas @pkjay @flower-lise @koudnd @beomgyusonlywife @dimplewonie @lacimolela @enhacatalog @llama-lyna @ahnneyong @coalalalinha

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m4iya · 7 days ago

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ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙ Matchup #6 @keishuii ˙⋆✮ᐟ.ᝰ

Hello!! I haven’t written a matchup in a while.. (I still have a bunch of bakery requests as well.. sob)

After reading a bunch, and letting some info simmer in my head, (I fell asleep) I’ve decided to match you to Tobio Kageyama!

So initially I was thinking someone upbeat and loud (Hinata-esque) but chose Kageyama since in my opinion he isn’t exactly introverted nor is he very extroverted either. And that reminded me of you :3

I think that outside of his obsession with volleyball, he’d be the type of person to appreciate the little things. I can imagine you crafting some small things for him, and him wondering how hard it would be for someone to make something so intricate out of a piece of paper. Maybe even origami? One of those foldable letters maybe, you might also draw something on them given your artistic nature. As we’ve seen, he doesn’t seem like a highly emotional guy, but your actions might soften him up a little c:

I can imagine you making him something that he’d keep with him all the time.

Let’s talk sentiment – I can see him keeping something like a letter; It might’ve been the first thing that you gave to him that made him come out of his shell. Something small but with meaning, something that would remind him of you during a match. I know I’m going on a lot about the crafting, but I can also imagine this as a mini hangout: The two of you meet up (probably at your place, (I don’t think he has many craft things lol) and follow some tutorials you found online for mini paper crafts. He’d see the first tutorial all the way through despite his lacking skill, but give up after that and opt to watch you instead. If you happen to crochet, I can also see you making him a ball keychain that he’d hang on his bag.

Here’s another idea that I thought of since you mentioned cooking and baking as one of your interests! Instead of baking or cooking together (which can be much more chaotic than some people make it out to be) I’d imagine you making things, and he’d be your taste tester. Only as a temporary thing before you find out that he isn’t the most eloquent with words. He’d tell you he’s trying to describe it, but all he ends up saying is “That was good.” or “Thanks, I liked it.” You'd scold him, asking him "Was it too sweet? How was the filling? Was it soft? Did it taste fresh?" He'd probably get too overwhelmed, and just give a simple thumbs up as he takes another bite.

And here is yet another idea that I came up with! Let’s say this is on a school holiday before a tournament, and you haven’t been seeing him much as he’s been very engrossed in his training, and you know how he can be. So when would he be have free time?

By the time you head home, have dinner and study for a few hours, it’s already pretty late. He’s told you that he usually goes for a jog after practice, but seeing as you’re both on a holiday from school, you’re not sure what he’d be doing. You call him and he picks up after a few rings.

“Hello?” You hear wind from the other end of the phone crashing loudly against the speaker.

“Hey.” He casually replied.

“What’s that sound? Are you out?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t fall asleep.” You can hear him panting as he jogs.

“Should I hang up? ” It might be distracting if he has to keep the phone up to his ear.

“No.” He pauses. “I was gonna call you.”

“Seriously?” You chuckle.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen you much lately..” His voice trailed off. “I guess I was thinking of you.”

That was the last thing you were expecting to hear from him. He wasn’t the most expressive person, and you were convinced he wouldn’t be able to say that to you face-to-face.

The two of you continued in conversation, talking about the various things that you’ve missed out on due to how busy he’d been lately.

You offer to bake him something – a way for the two of you to meet up soon.

Seeing as you also mentioned volleyball as an interest, even if it’s not a long term goal, I think the two of you could play together casually. Maybe if the two of you head to the park for a picnic, you’d bring a ball along, telling him that you’ve never gotten to see him play up close. He’d help you get better from time to time, teaching you the ropes, or correcting your posture and whatnot. He notes it as an effective way to practice with someone who’s always focused, using your skills as a way to make fun of Hinata whenever he messes up. He'd tell him things like “y/n wouldn’t have missed that.”

And now for the aesthetics:

I’ve done this before but I’m going to leave some outfits and aesthetics that remind me of the two of you. Seeing as you noted an interest in fashion and designs, I’ll touch on that as well! Seeing as Kageyama is – well, himself, you might help him pick out outfits from time to time, maybe even doing one of those colour analysis’ for him? He’d complain, telling you that “They’re just clothes.” (He probably has all solid blacks and whites in his closet, with an occasional pop of brown or navy blue). This might also lead to matching outfits! I’ll leave those down below :D

(The all black outfit with the cap is something that he ended up wearing a lot despite his complaints)

I know they're all relatively simple, so I'll include a couple things that reminded me of you!

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fluentmoviequoter · 4 months ago

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Gods and Monsters

Pairing: platonic Vicious characters x fem!mutant!reader ; platonic X-Men x fem!mutant!reader

Summary: You, a mutant with the power to detect and redirect the power of others, are transported to Victor Vale's world.

Warnings: Wade and Logan, fluff, brief angst, opportunity for part 2 if anyone actually likes this

Word Count: 1.3k+ words

A/N: I have no idea where this came from other than my obsession with X-Men and Vicious. It's probably terrible, but enjoy (said threateningly).

Picture from Pinterest (Bless you, artists. I love you all.)

“Shut up, Deadpool!” you yell as you throw your arms toward a fire-breathing mutant.

“But, sweet cheeks,” Wade begins, his voice surprisingly clear through his wet mask.

“Wade,” Logan growls.

“Oh, kabob, you know how it makes me feel when you use my real name.”

“I’d cut your tongue out if I thought it was worth the time,” Logan grunts, digging his claws into a shooter as he fires into Logan’s leg.

“Very Eli Ever of you,” Wade jokes.

“You and that stupid book.”

“Hey, don’t take your anger at Wade out on Victor Vale,” you call to Logan. “He would’ve ended this fight already.”

“He’s not real!”

“Whatever!” Wade interrupts. “Let’s... go!”

“I think you forgot a word, there, bub.”

“The writer threatened to put soap in my mouth, and I’d rather not get soap poisoning and go blind.”

“Uh, guys?” you murmur as an orange spark glints below you.

“Move!” Logan and Wade yell together.

You try to step back, but it’s too late. As you stumble on the dewy grass, or where it was a moment ago, you fall backward into a door-sized hole in the earth. Wade and Logan scream above you, but everything goes silent before you crash onto a sidewalk.

Coughing, you sit up and try to catch your breath. A large black dog presses its nose into your face and sniffs you, its tail wagging lazily.

“Hi, puppy,” you greet quietly. “You’re much cuter than Dogpool.”

Wade makes an offended noise somewhere in your mind, and you smile at the memory.

“Are you okay?” the girl with the dog asks.

You nod and rub your head as you look toward her. When you see her blond hair, water blue eyes, rainbow leggings, and red jacket, you freeze.

“Sydney?” you whisper.

Her eyes widen, and she steps back, pulling who you now believe to be Dol with her. This isn’t real, you tell yourself as you blink rapidly. I just hit my head or let someone in my head. You reach out mentally but only feel Sydney’s power and the dial of a dull ache settling deep in your bones. Victor, you realize. There is no way I’m in a book I’ve read.

“Sydney,” someone calls.

You prepare yourself to see Victor Vale, but your expectation falls short. He towers above you where you sit on the sidewalk, and Mitch stands beside him with his muscular arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh, come on,” you murmur, feeling Victor’s powers nudge you away from Sydney. Inside, though, you’re trying not to show your excitement at being in the same moment, the same universe, you presume, as some of your favorite book characters.

“… knows my name,” Sydney whispers to Victor.

“I can explain that, Victor,” you interject. Mitch’s eyes widen at your use of Victor’s name, and you add, “I swear I don’t mean any harm. Especially to you, Mitch, you’ve been through enough.”

“Explain it quickly,” Victor demands, upping the pain dial.

You shift uncomfortably but embrace the pain as you say, “I was at my home, where you are characters in a book, and then this portal opened in the ground, and I landed on the sidewalk here. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I know that I don’t belong here. I’d never hurt you, though, I just want to figure this out and get home.”

Victor hums, then shakes his head. He pictures the dial, and you rush to ask, “Should we meet at Falcon Price at midnight so I can prove it?”

Victor’s jaw tightens, and you allow him to flood your senses with pain. As your consciousness fades, you wonder what Logan and Wade are thinking. Maybe they’ve written you off already and have gone back to trying to kill one another.

“That seemed a lot more intense in the book,” you mumble as you wake, tied to a chair.

“So, you fell out of the sky. Where are you from?” Victor asks, leaning on a table across from you as he looks down at a knife.

“Westchester,” you answer immediately. “New York.”

“Who do you work for?”

“That’s complicated.”

“What do you do?”

“Save the world or try to. Can I ask you one question? Just one, I promise.”

Victor gestures with the knife for you to ask, a lazy movement with too much grace and fluidity. Now you wish you’d asked for two questions. You'd use the other to beg him to teach you.

“Thank you; Wade would kill me if I didn’t ask. Who’s taller, you or Eli? Because every time we try to find out, Victoria just confuses us.”

“Victoria?”

“She wrote the book,” you answer. “Named you after herself, prideful, I know. But she also made Angie look like her and look how she turned out. Wait, what color were Angie's eyes?”

You clamp your mouth shut and make a mental note to apologize to Wade. Now that you’re in the right situation, you can see why he runs his mouth constantly.

“You save the world?” Victor repeats, laying the knife blade across his palm.

“Or try to,” you remind him.

“So, you have powers?”

“Yeah.”

Victor’s patience is wearing thin, and you can tell when he asks, “What are they?”

“Well,” you begin, tilting your head. “Charles calls it power-kineses. I can detect powers and turn them against other mutants, people, whatever I want.”

“Charles?” Victor repeats, his pale brows drawn together. “As in Professor X, Magneto, X-Men, Charles?”

“You have him here?” you ask excitedly.

“No, he’s a comic book character.”

“Comic book?”

Victor stands straight at the realization that you’re not only claiming to be a powered individual from another universe but part of the X-Men. He hadn’t believed you so far, and his doubt is rapidly multiplying.

“Don’t make me do this,” you whisper.

Victor lowers the knife toward your abdomen, and you locate the pain he’s sending through your body and turn it. Sydney is the only other person in the room, so her gasp of pain is undeniable. Victor immediately turns the dial down, then off, and turns toward you.

“Just like I’m in a book here, you’re in a book where I come from. I know more about you than anyone else, Victor,” you explain, “even Eli.”

“Our worlds aren’t the same. This one can’t be saved.”

“In this world, powered people are monsters, right? Even Eli, as he fights to be a god. Victor, I’m used to the judgment, people calling me unnatural or a mutant. But I can help you.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Mitch announces as he returns. “There was a limited run of X-Men from the ‘70s. Nearly impossible to find today, but Radar is in them.”

“Radar?” you repeat. “That’s an awful name, so thanks for letting me get ahead of that one. Cyclops said he’d brainstorm something, but I didn’t expect it to be so…”

“Stupid?” Sydney suggests.

“Precisely.”

“Who’s your favorite character in our book?” she inquires, walking toward you.

Victor eyes you warily, but as you smile and tell her that you can't pick between them, then whisper that it’s Dol, he decides to trust you. Not because of anything you’ve said or the evidence that Mitch found, but because if Sydney and Mitch can trust you, you can’t be entirely bad. He walks around you, cuts your restraints, and returns the knife to the table.

“So, how do you stop Eli?” Victor asks.

“Well, it won’t be easy, even with the ability to alter his power,” you begin. “What exactly are you planning to do? Still out to kill him or just draw blood and lock him up?”

Before Victor can answer, a portal opens behind you, and a clawed hand reaches through and pulls you backward. You stumble as you fall out of the world you just agreed to help save.

Landing with a thud, you groan and look up at Logan and Wade, staring down at you.

“You’ll never guess who I just met,” you murmur.

“We weren’t done yet,” Victor says through the portal, which turns red around the edges as he uses his powers across the universes to keep it open.

“Is that Victor Vale?” Wade exclaims. “What the fridge?”

#victor vale x reader #victor vale #sydney clarke #mitch turner #eli cardale #eli ever #villains duology #villains series #vicious ve schwab #vicious #x-men #x men #fem!reader #mutant!reader #logan howlett #wade wilson #hanna writes✯

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indigolover97 · 6 months ago

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We’re Dripping In It

Chapter 1: Pied Piper

The next day Jungkook tries to ignore the jacket as he gets ready for his classes and tries to forget how warm he felt inside it. Tries to forget the beautiful words written in the notebook. But he doesn’t want to leave it behind, who knows, fate might be kind to him again and he’ll be able to return it.

With a resigned look to himself in the mirror, he slips the jacket back on, this time over a gray hoodie before picking up his backpack. He dodges the various seedy neighbors and yelling couples that litter the hallways until he’s on the street.

He checks over his missed messages from yesterday as he makes his way towards campus. He feels a pang of remorse at seeing Jimin’s frantic messages for his near lateness yesterday, but scoffs when he sees nothing after he had left him to flirt with Hobi-hyung. There’s one message from his brother Seokjin, reminding him to eat healthier, but there’s nothing else. He breathes a sigh of relief, thankful not to have missed any call-in from work for that night.

He decides to pass through the alleyway again today. Half hoping, half not, that he would run into the owner of the jacket again. He doesn’t.

He steps out onto the street from the alleyway telling himself not to feel bummed about it. He makes it halfway through his day before Yoongi, his boss, sends him a message about work and his plans for grocery shopping after class fly out the window.

The club that Yoongi owns, D-Town, is popular for underground shows; rappers, unknown artists, musicians, and freestyle dancers. Jungkook has worked as a bartender for him ever since he came to Seoul. Yoongi was the only person to give the scrappy, disheveled kid from Busan a chance.

He texts Yoongi back an agreement for the late shift tonight, then sends a message to Jimin not to wait up for their shared class tomorrow morning. And to save him some notes for it like a good hyung. He snickers at Jimin’s sassy reply before pocketing his phone.

The club is packed by the time Jungkook is ready for his shift, having placed his stuff in the employee lockers and mentally prepared himself for the long night. He helps Jisoo finish her line of customers before taking over the bar alongside Taehyung.

“How’s classes going, Kookie?” Taehyung asks after an hour of driving drinks out. There's always a pause just before a show starts on stage and they take full advantage of it to catch up and drink some water.

“Busy, as usual.” Jungkook answers with a shrug. “It’s just the start of the new semester, I’m not too stressed yet.”

Taehyung hummed as he sipped his water, “That’s good to hear, you gonna pick up more shifts then?”

Jungkook can only shrug as an answer before a new swarm of customers come up to the bar. What he truly enjoys about working at D-Town is that there’s no charming or low-key flirting with customers to get good tips, there’s no need for it. Most that come usually tip well because the show of the night is the main attraction, the alcohol just an added bonus. Plus Yoongi paid them well enough not to rely on tips.

“Who’s performing tonight?” Jungkook asks, after the swarm goes back to the dance floor, the lights dimming to signal the start of the show.

“I think it’s just some returning artists, nobody new tonight. Hey, when are we gonna finally have you up there, huh?” Taehyung nudges Jungkook in the arm and pouts at him. “Yoons has been saying for weeks that he thinks you’re ready to be up there.”

“He has?” Jungkook scrunches his brow at Taehyung’s nod. “I just.. I don’t know. I don’t think any of my music would fit this scene.”

Taehyung shrugs, “So what, you remember that lo-fi dude from last week? He killed it, even if you could barely hear him over the screaming crowd.”

Jungkook laughed at the memory, “Yeah, I guess I can't be that bad.”

“Exactly!” Taehyung cheered, clapping his shoulder. “Talk to him about it before you leave, you know he’ll be upstairs all night anyway.”

Jungkook eyed his hyung’s fond smile, “You let him stay that late, for shame hyung, letting your husband work all night with no rest.”

“Oh he’ll get plenty of rest later, trust me.” Taehyung rumbled with an exasperated eyebrow waggle, making Jungkook gag.

“Keep your bedroom life out of the sanctuary of my bar, please!” Jungkook whined, turning to finish cleaning the empty glasses on the bar.

Taehyung just cackled loudly as he turned to organize and restock their selection of vodkas and whiskey. The rest of the night passed with relative ease, the rotation of artists on stage kept the crowd thoroughly entertained, giving the bartenders something nice to listen to as they worked. Yoongi had a strong vetting system before allowing anyone on his stage, ensuring that every single one was a near hit for the night.

When 3am hit the clock everything began to shut down, last calls for drinks were given and the final band began to play until the club was empty. Once the doors were locked behind the last customers, the cleaning crew entered the room and began their rounds. Taehyung and Jungkook set to work getting the bar ready for the next day before calling it a night.

“Come on, you’re not getting out of this, let’s go up to Yoongi’s office.” Taehyung stated firmly, clutching Jungkook’s arm as he put the leather jacket back on.

Jungkook barely had time to grab his backpack and close his locker before he was being pulled up the long stairway towards Yoongi’s office. Taehyung didn’t even bother to knock on his husband's door, just waltzed right in and plopped down on the couch. Jungkook, ever polite, hovered at the door until Yoongi glanced over to him from his desk.

“Ah Jungkook-ah, how have you been?” The older man drawled, setting his pen aside from the papers he was writing on.

“I’m good hyung, thank you. Tonight was a busy one.” He answered, plopping down in the seat in front of the desk.

Taehyung stretched one of his long legs to poke Jungkook’s thigh, “Yah! Jungkook-ah, ask him before I do!”

Yoongi looked expectantly at Jungkook, completely ignoring his pestering husband on the couch. “You need something Jungkook-ah? Hyung can help.”

“It’s just… hmmm… I think I’m ready. I think I’m ready to perform one of my songs.” Jungkook stuttered out, fidgeting with his fingers as he spoke.

Yoongi broke out into a wide, gummy smile, “Yeah, you think so? That’s wonderful Jungkook-ah, what song would you like to sing? We can have you in as the main event on Saturday.”

Saturday was the biggest night for D-Town. Yoongi only reserved his best performers for that night. To be giving Jungkook a spot, and it being his first performance ever, was huge.

“Wait hyung that’s…”

“Perfect, Yoongles! Just perfect!” Taehyung cut up, leaping up from the couch and rushing over to crush the older man to his chest. “Kookie will do so well, I know he will! Saturday night is perfect for him!”

“But..” Jungkook tried again, but stopped at the look Yoongi was giving him in between Taehyung’s arms. It was a stern but proud look.

“You will do well enough for our Saturday crowd, Jungkook. I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. And if you agree to it, I know just the song you should sing.” Yoongi said gently.

Jungkook eyed the pair in front of him, Yoongi’s parental face in full effect and Taehyung’s beaming one, before hesitantly nodding his consent. Taehyung cheered and danced about the room while Jungkook and Yoongi began to discuss the song.

Jungkook only left after Yoongi was satisfied with their plan for his stage and Taehyung’s pestering for them to head home had become too much to ignore. He waved off their comments on having him stay the night at their penthouse as he closed the door behind him. He caught a glimpse of Yoongi’s gentle smile as he tugged Taehyung down for a kiss, the softness of their embrace made a twinge of loneliness pierce through his heart. The feeling didn’t leave him until he was halfway home, the cold early morning air making him clutch the leather jacket tighter across his body.

Without even realizing it he had taken himself back towards the alleyway, the peaking morning sun spilled between the two buildings eliminating it in an eerie glow. It was empty but Jungkook didn’t dare step through the passage. Without glancing twice, he began walking the long way around the buildings until he was on the street on the other side.

He glanced down the alleyway one last time, still empty, before heading up to his dingy apartment. This time he laid the jacket down on his chair as soon as he stepped inside and went to bed with an empty stomach.

The next day he headed for the closest grocery store. With his wallet much heavier from his paycheck last night, he confidently filled his cart with essentials. And to please his Jin-hyung, he added some healthier options with his piles of ramen packets. With giddy steps he carried his laden bags back to his apartment and set them nicely inside his cupboards and fridge.

Glancing at the clock Jungkook was shocked to see that he was nearly running late for an afternoon class. Rushing out the door he didn’t even hesitate to take the alleyway as a shortcut. Only it wasn’t empty this time.

Just as he was rounding the corner a tall figure stepped out from the alleyway. If there hadn't been quick action on both their parts, Jungkook trying to come to a screeching halt and the man grabbing him firmly around the waist, they would have fallen to the ground.

“Woah there, little one, where are you going in such a hurry?” A deep voice purred above Jungkook’s ear.

Jungkook jerked in surprise, his eyes widening as he got an eye full of the handsome face of the owner of the jacket. The dim shadows of the alley had done this man no justice. Jungkook was utterly speechless at the attractiveness of the man. His eyes sparkled with mirth as he gazed down at Jungkook and right in the corner of his cheek Jungkook thought he saw a hint of a dimple there.

“Cat got your tongue, little one?” The man teased with a smirk, and yes there was a dimple poking out of his honey colored cheek.

“Ah.. sorry…” Jungkook stuttered, slowly backing out of the man’s arms. “Just late for class… again.”

The man raised an eyebrow, folding his hands behind his back as he took a step away from Jungkook to survey him fully. “Is that a common occurrence for you? Being late?”

Jungkook vigorously shook his head in denial, “No, I try not to make it a habit.”

The man hummed a pleased tone, “That’s a good boy.”

Without knowing why, Jungkook blushes at the tone and the dark look the man has fixed on him instead of feeling creeped out by it.

“I believe you have something of mine,” the man continued, looking down at the jacket that Jungkook is wearing.

“Oh right, of course.” Jungkook moved quickly to unzip the jacket and take it off his shoulders, but was stopped midway by a pair of hands. He looks up in confusion at the man gently shaking his head.

“No, no you can keep the jacket. Please, it looks good on you.” He says with a chuckle, before reaching inside the jacket to the inner pocket where the notebook sits. Jungkook sucks in a breath at how close the man comes to him as he slips the notebook out. “I’m talking about this.”

“Oh,” Jungkook gasps, trying to shake himself from his stupor as the man backs away again with the little black book in his long fingers. “Your lyrics… they’re beautiful.”

“Ah,” the man ducks his head bashfully, Jungkook is shocked to see a slight red tint to his cheeks. “Should have known you might have snooped, but thank you. I hope this,” he gestures the notebook in his hand before slipping it into his pocket, “can just stay our little secret. I have some people that don’t need to know this side of me.”

Jungkook can only nod in response, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion but he doesn’t dare ask. The man smiles and softens his face, sending shockwaves through Jungkook’s body, then begins to back away.

“I’ll see you around, little one, keep my jacket safe will you?” He winks then turns and walks out of sight before Jungkook has a chance to even ask his name.

Jungkook is still in a bit of a stupor on his way to class. He doesn’t fully shake himself from it until he’s at Yoongi’s practice studio that sits on the third floor of D-Town. It's where all auditions and practice runs of performances are held. Yoongi introduces him to the six dancers that will be performing with him, some he recognizes from training in Hoseok’s studio. Speaking of the man, Hobi waltzes into the practice room sipping on a Starbucks.

“Hyung, what are you doing here?” Jungkook gasps in shock.

“I’m going to be helping you with the choreography,” Hobi answers with a shrug, pulling his sunglasses on top of his head as he takes another long sip of his iced americano.

“Ugh, how can you drink that shit. Buy the real stuff from a better cafe next time.” Yoongi sneers as he passes Hobi, the other man simply winks in reply before tossing his empty cup in the trash can.

“Alright!” Hobi said cheerily with a clap of his hands. “Let’s get this thing started!”

Hobi was as grueling and hard headed as Jungkook remembered, he pushed all of them to panting states as they ran through the choreo over and over again. Never once was he cruel, firm yes, but not cruel. They only had a few days to get everything together, they had to make the most of every hour of practice.

By the end of the night, Jungkook is sweating buckets and he can’t feel his feet, but they’re nailing it. With every run they’re getting better, him and the dancers becoming completely in sync.

After running it one last time, Hobi clapped his hands in delight. “I think you guys have nailed it! We can stop here.”

They all dropped like flies to the ground, groaning and panting in relief while Hobi simply cackled in delight.

“I expect this same energy tomorrow afternoon, so get some rest tonight!” He laughed at the groans he gets in response as he heads out the door.

Jungkook thanked all of the dancers individually, bowing to all of them as they left one by one until he was the only one left in the room. With his body still buzzing from practice he walks over to the stereo and plays his song again.

The song Yoongi had chosen. The one that Jungkook had spent hours, days, working on. And now it was alive, it played in the room. He flopped onto the floor, unknowingly using the borrowed leather jacket as a pillow and listened to the song blare through the speakers.

Taehyung found him hours later, snoozing on the practice floor and gently shook him awake, guiding him up to the penthouse of the building; his and Yoongi’s home. Jungkook barely noticed Yoongi looking up from the couch as they entered the apartment. Taehyung said something to him that Jungkook didn’t hear as he was guided into a guest room and tucked under the covers. He felt a hand comb through his hair and his shoes being pulled off his feet before everything went dark.

#ao3 writer #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #bts fanfction #fanfiction #bts #college au #mafia au #namkook #taegi #married Taegi #link in pinned post #just reposting my story here after posting it on Ao3 #at 61 chapters now #not finished yet #hopefully will be finished before the end of the year

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askew-d · 2 years ago

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sanctuary

a poem dedicated to xiao zhan

You don’t need to ask where I’ve been before, you don’t need to ask about a long past; how many people I encountered, how many paths I’ve crossed until reaching yours, you should know that it simply doesn’t matter anymore. I found shelter here, right here — in your eyes, in your arms, in your lips; and love is the way you continually struggle to understand me, to understand my ways, how you leap through the kitchen to prepare a new dish for us to taste, an odd kind of tea, a different type of pasta, a foreign type of bread — “hey, try this out, I think you’re gonna like it,” and I do, I do like it, I like how you cover my face in kisses as the first thing in the morning, as the most important thing before beginning the day, more important than opening the window or engaging into your routine of exercises, even more important than turning on the lights of our bedroom; you plant kisses on my face, pull the duvet close to my body and says “good morning, my love,” then sun embraces our curtains, and you stay. I like the way you focus on listening to what I have to say, although I mostly ramble about foolish stuff you don’t exactly care about, such as complicated games, a sports competition, a motorcycle race but you still nod to my ranting, and I like it when you nod still, I like it, I like the way you wash my hair at night, though I get home late and sometimes you’re too tired to wash my hair, you tell me you love the color, “blond suits you, it’s the color of oat and wheat,” I laugh because it’s stupid, but if you like oat and wheat then it’s fine; sometimes you’re better with your metaphors, and those are the times where I can barely hold my heart in the chest, sometimes, regardless if our sometimes are actually rare, you tell me, “blond suits you, your hair is the color of sunset,” and it’s really not fair, you’re such a wonder, my heart needs some rest — but oh, I like it, you know I like it. I like it when your hands find my hands most nights, and you hold me as if space has never, ever existed between us, then you tell me, “I love you,” and I am simply too weak, so these nights I sleep dreaming of red. I like it when you explain me art stuff I know too little about, you talk about indigo, cobalt, coral — colors I’ve never heard of, but I do know your eyes are color walnut, I only know it because of you, did you know I don’t care about artistic stuff if they’re not being used to describe yourself to me? I like it though, I like the way you ask sweetly about my day, and if I say that something upset me, you hug me protectively, then I fantasize that the world exists singularly for us both. I like it when your buy gifts for me and for my parents, because my parents love gifts, and you remember mom’s favorite color, dad’s favorite stamps, if they’ll enjoy this or that, we take pictures together and your first instinct is to send it to them, you three — friends, I imagine, must now know everything about each other, and it warms my heart, you know? I wish you to always know. I like it when you say my name — it’s a short-lettered name, but still, it sounds infinite when you claim; I like it when you get jealous, but you barely get jealous (I think you do recognize that there’s no competition, when you alone has dug a home here inside me). I don’t like it when we fight, but it’s fine because we almost never do, and if we do, we make it up soon, you continue to remember me to keep going further; I like it, no — I love it, I love how we’ll always find our route back to each other. Even right now, as you lay next to me beneath the covers, I strive to write you some words, because you’re so demanding, you’re so demanding and so lovely, how could I write you, if I already have you? How could I write about love, if you’re right here already? You see, love is in our bedroom, written in our walls, in the kitchen and backyard; whether this is a sin or not, let me rest inside your arms.

#yizhan #bjyx #the untamed #wang yibo #xiao zhan #my poem #poem #cql #literature

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nicka-nell · 3 years ago

Text

Pairing: Suna Rintarou x reader

Words: 4.519

Warning: Semi-public sex, alcohol consumption, drooling, slightly degradation/humiliation, possessiveness, blowjob/throat fucking, penetrative/vaginal sex, spanking, hair pulling, pet play (babe/whore), mention of sex toys (anal-plug), marking (hickeys), brat-taming, 18+, Minors DNI

Summary: For Suna, playing a stupid video game with his friend Atsumu is more important than having sex with his beautiful girlfriend. You. Now at his friend’s Halloween party, it’s time to show him what he’s missing out.

This fic is part of our Anilysium Server Collab with the topic Halloween. You can find the masterlist here. So check out all the other wonderful writers/artists.

Focused, you apply your red lipstick before putting on your fluffy bunny ears. They are soft, white and one is bent down while the other one is raised. With a cheesy smile, you strut out of the bathroom, down towards the hallway.

“How much longer do you need?” Your boyfriend’s slightly annoyed voice rings through the house. He knew it would take you a little longer, but he’s been standing in the hallway for ten minutes now, even though you knew the time you both should leave. Suna already stands in his Mad Hatter costume next to your door, the hands in his pockets.

Actually, you wanted to go as Mad Hatter and bloody Alice, but now you have other plans. You’re still mad at Suna for wanting to play a stupid video game with Atsumu the other day instead of sleeping with you. He hadn’t even looked at you in your lingerie. And you’re going to pay him back today.

“Hey babe… when are you c-” He wants to continue his sentence, but the words get stuck in his throat when he sees the sight of you. You look so hot, seductive in your costume. Yet he doesn’t know if he wants to forget the party and fuck you right here on the floor, or if he should be angry with you, because now that you don’t wear your couple costume even though you suggested that crap, he looks like an idiot. Besides, you show more skin than necessary, for a party night with Suna’s friends and some drunk strangers.

“What? I’m right here.” You answer sassy as you put on your black high heels that fit your too tight bunny costume, and these suspenders.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Suna’s eyes are narrow when he points his hand at your entire outfit. Amused by his expression, you act stupid and just shrug your shoulders.

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m talking about that… Do you want to go out on the strip or why do you practically wear nothing?”

These snippy words don’t surprise you, they only make you kind of proud. After all, that’s exactly what you wanted. “I just didn’t feel like wearing the other costume. What’s so bad about this? When I’m in the pool, I don’t wear much more than now.”

Visibly annoyed, Suna rolls his eyes, no longer wanting a discussion that is so pointless. If you really want to play such a game, still want to be mad at him after several days, then you should just go on. If it makes you feel better, do it, he thinks.

“It’s cold outside. Put on your jacket until we get to Atsumu’s house.” His expression now distant, he stands in front of you and holds out the coat, so that you only have to slip in. But you just grin, grab your coat out of his hands and dress up on your own.

On the way to Atsumu’s house, you can see many little children with cute costumes and their parents walking from house to house asking for sweets. “Trick or treat!” The children shout in unison before they giggle and thank the people for the sweets.

Some young people are on their way to other parties, running past you into apartments where loud music and colorful lights are playing. Hardly anyone notices you in the night's darkness, in your black coats under which your costumes are hidden.

You stop in front of your classmate’s front door, notice how Suna studies you again with a deliberate look before he reaches under the doormat and grabs a key. Atsumu had written to you that there would be a key there. With the loud music and all the people screaming, the sound of the bell would get lost in the crowd, so he thought that would be the best idea.

Warm air and the smell of alcohol reach you, followed by the deafening music and Osamu, who comes to greet you with open arms and a plastic cup full of beer.

Smiling, you take off your coat, stuck it over a free hanger before taking the cup off Osamu and holding it against your lips. “Thanks for bringing me a beer.” You wink at him and leave the two men standing at the entrance like fools with your provocative hip swing. The soft tufts of fur draw all eyes to your well-formed ass, only make your hip swing more sexy.

While you quickly mingle with the crowd, are the eye-catcher of all men, Suna hisses, throws his jacket over the dresser and looks at your dancing form.

“She should only wear that when we’re both alone. Such crap…”

“Did ya have a fight? Looks like she wants to get herself a new guy here at the party.” Osamu replies in confusion as he watches you throw yourself at his twin brother, asking him to dance with you. A little too close, a little too touchy. Yet, Osamu has to admit that after you took off your coat, he lost sight of his mate for a moment.

“Let her do what she wants. But she should know where her place is. Anyway, can you grab me a beer?” Suna tries to change the subject and follows his friend into the kitchen. Still, he never loses sight of you.

For a second your eyes meet, your cheeky grin, followed by a wink, makes him mad. But Suna counters with a disinterested shrug and smile. Like he doesn’t care what you do, even if he’s boiling inside.

Two beers, three beers, four beers flow through your lips.

The music is getting louder and louder, the people shaky on their feet, the air stuffy and the first strangers are already sitting tightly wrapped in some corners shoving their tongue in each other’s throat. So disgusting…

You’re still with Atsumu, sitting on his lap, his hand running up and down your thigh. Playfully, you sip on your fifth cup before you place it on Atsumu’s mouth and lift the cup to make him gulp the rest of your drink. The last sips of beer run down the fake blond’s throat before you give him a kiss on his cheek, as you get up and stumble to the kitchen.

Hungry, he looks after you, licks his lips before some stranger distracts him with a question. Suna doesn’t blame his comrade. He probably had some more alcoholic drinks than him and always found you hot since high school, even if he never wanted to admit it openly. Suna knew about it. After all, he wasn’t blind nor stupid.

Your steps are uncontrolled, shaky as they enter the hallway, and thus come to Suna. With a plastic cup, his arms crossed, he leans against the wall, watching you come closer and closer.

“Don’t you think your little game is enough? This is going too far, babe.” His voice is serious, but it’s not angry. Not really sober anymore, you just shrug.

“I don’t know what you mean, sorry.”

That was the sentence that made him lose his patience. Hissing, he follows you, grabbing your upper arm roughly before pushing you through the one closed door in the hallway. The door leading to a small closet.

“Rintarou, what the fuck?” You yell angrily, rip yourself off his grip and want to go out, but he’s blocking the door.

“What are you doing?”

“I could fucking ask you that! Strutting around like a whore and throwing your ass at my friend like a bitch in heat. What is this shit about?”

“Oh, look… you can get angry, huh?” There’s so much irony in your voice. But this irony becomes the truth, because you have made your boyfriend more than angry.

His warm hand quickly finds its way to your neck, through the dimmed light falling in the small door slits, before he pushes you against the wall, his face dangerously close to yours.

“Angry? I found out why you’re doing this. And I admit neglecting you about a video game wasn’t the best move, but this… This is going too far. I think I should show you where your fucking place is. That I won’t tolerate your behavior and you’ll have to be punished, you stupid whore.”

His gruff words bring you a shiver to the core. But you feel no fear. Excitement spreads within you, increases in pleasure from what Suna wants to do with you.

“And… how are you going to do that?” You ask provocatively and feel his breath as he snorts. His body presses closer against yours, holding you between the wall and him captive without giving you air to escape.

“I’ll make you beg.”

“For what?”

“How foolish of you to ask.”

He laughs and glides his hand over your bunny costume. Almost painfully slowly, his lips are close to your neck, his breath is moist on your skin, but Suna does not give you the kiss you hope for. Earlier through the alcohol, now through Suna’s touch, you notice how your body temperature rises, how you forget everything around you, as your mind is only with Suna.

“Don’t be such a tease….” You whisper as quietly as possible, don’t want to give him the satisfaction that he actually has you completely in his hand with what he’s doing. You can sense his fingers pressing against your covered slit, yet his hand doesn’t move any further. Almost automatically, you move your pelvis, want to feel more than just the pressure on one place as Suna’s giggle kisses your ear.

“So eager… I told you, beg.”

“Rinarou...”

“What, babe?”

You don’t want to say it, but the alcohol helps you to let your words run free despite stubbornness. “Please…”

“Please, what?”

“Make me come…”

“Oh? So I’m supposed to bring this stupid whore you are to come? Why would I do that after you rubbed your fucking ass against my best buddy like a bitch in heat?”

With his words, you feel his fingers moving at your entrance, slowly drifting up and down, as his tongue finds its way to your neck. A tingling pain spreads through your core. “Please Rin- I’ll do anything for you...”

You feel his proud grin without seeing it, as well as the fingers that now move more firmly up to your bud. He presses tighter against your slit, while his other hand removes your strapless costume down to your waist to reach for your breast.

Roughly he squeezes them, plays with his thumb on your nipple, his teeth nipping your neck. Full of excitement, you hold your breath, feel the fabric between your legs getting wet and try to suppress your sobs. Suna’s finger creeps under the fabric, already touching bare skin to his surprise as his index finger glides along your wet slit and is covered by your juice.

“You naughty whore, don’t even have panties on, huh?” His husky voice makes you moan, but he doesn’t hear it. Someone fell against the door from outside and now talks loudly with some girl in front of it.

The brown-haired must admit that this danger of being caught arouses him, especially if he can look into your anxious eyes. But even if someone caught you, it would probably be forgotten tomorrow anyway, since now almost all are already filled up with alcohol.

His pants are getting tighter and he knows he’ll have to do something about it soon. Every time his fingers playfully press against your entrance, he feels how you almost want to suck him in, to feel his fingers inside of you.

“Babe, you’re so fucking hot.” It escapes him quietly as he pushes his fingers into your wetness, watching your face relax for a moment and your eyes roll backwards.

“Oh fuck yes, Rin. Make me come, please.” You groan, bite the lower lip while your hand plays with your breast.

“Such a needy whore.” You hear the man whose green eyes almost pierce your back.

“Ah, yes, I am…”

“Do you want my fingers to make you cum or my thick cock?” He asks, twisting his fingers inside you and making you scream.

“D- Dick! I want your dick.” Cheeky before the words come out of you, they are uncertain and silent now. You want him to stop asking you questions, just want him inside of you. That’s what you’ve been missing for days. You’re drunk for his dick, his cum, and you want him more than anything else.

“Then get on your knees and show me how good you can suck my cock.”

The cold of the ground suddenly replaced all the heat that his body had radiated as Suna pulls you down by your hair, ignoring your slight outcry. Through the weak light, you see Suna leaning casually against the wall, looking down at you with narrow eyes while you hold yourself at the back of the head, trying to rub away the almost pleasant pain.

“Why do you look at me like a deer in the spotlight? Go on.” He says coolly, his eyes focused on you all the time.

The people who talked outside the door disappear and more light enters the small closet. Only now do you see Suna’s pants hiding a huge bulge. Automatically you lick your lips, crawl to him on all fours to get up on your knees and open his pants. You can hear the clanking of the metal of his belt, the coarse fabric, how it falls dull on the floor. When you take off his shorts, his gleaming length is already stiff, making you thirsty for more. His glans glints from his pre-cum, but you have little time to see its full glory.

“I’m not gonna tell you again, start.” Without hesitation, you grab his shaft, start licking his glans, feel the salty cum on your tongue and watch with your big eyes how Suna leans backwards. Still, he tries to keep eye contact with you.

“Yeah suck it babe.” He mourns and brings his hand around the back of your head, his fingers weaving into your hair. Bit by bit, you try to get your throat used to his length. Notice how you quickly get to the point where your throat stretches. His imprint becomes visible on your throat.

Tears tingle in your eyes, which suddenly become so small. Tears that block your view of Suna’s indifferent face make your eyelashes clump. But he cannot suppress his lust, for every time his glans reaches the end of your throat, he growls with clenched teeth.

You feel how he has to try not to come directly and you now more willingly wrap your tongue around his length, want to taste something different from this awkward beer. But Suna won’t let you milk him. Instead, his hands cling to your hair, pulling your head roughly backwards.

“Get up…” He orders, drops off the back of your head and stands straight, away from the wall.

“What’s wrong, didn’t you hear me?” He repeats, and you rest with your hands on the cold ground, pressing yourself up before looking into his green eyes. You don’t dare say anything. Your silence seems to make him visibly happy, because for a blink of an eye you recognize a proud smile on his lips, before he falls back into his monotonous and indifferent type.

“Turn around.” Again, his words are cool and brief, unlike your warm body that is screaming more and more for its distant nature.

Suna was never really the type for aggressive, appealing sex. He likes lazy sex in the morning, or when you ride his dick in bed in the evening, your hips roll back and forth as the mix of his cum and your juice dripped from your pulsating pussy, his hands on your ass to squeeze you tighter towards him to enjoy your sobbing louder. Rarely do you have sex where he’s being the more active part. This is completely new to you. But the way things are going so far, it could become a habit.

Because you feel the fabric between your legs getting wetter, your desire becomes almost unpleasant and you want nothing more than to finally feel Suna’s cock in you. Full of expectation, you turn around, present your round ass to him, before his large hand presses you against the cold concrete wall in front of you. It’s rough on your chest and face.

A quick breath escapes you as you feel something warm, thick between your legs. You don’t have to look to see that it’s Suna’s cock rubbing against your slit.

“Fuck, Suna ah!”

“You belong to me. You’re not some other guy’s toy.”

His grunt in your ear grows louder and louder, the munching of his lips as he nibbles at your neck is swallowed up by your cry. He sucks more and more tightly on your skin, then licks it, before distributing gentle kisses on the pulsing parts of your neck.

“M yours…” you say with shaky lips, almost swallow your own words in the pleasure that veils your senses. You can no longer think clearly. Your body, not your mind, only controls you. He knows that if you two get out of here, you’re going to get hickeys. That everyone will see that you already belong to someone. Even Atsumu.

“Still, you acted like a stupid whore, right?” He breathes into your ear, strokes your ass with his free hand before he slaps you on your bare ass cheek.

“Ah! Yes!”

“And what do we say then?” Suna’s hand quickly and aggressively finds its way back to your sore skin.

“Sorry!” You groan, squeeze your legs and make Suna murmur loudly, as his dick is now squeezed by your warm thighs.

“I’m really mad at you, a simple sorry isn’t enough. Try again.” Again, you feel his hand on your ass, this time stronger, louder.

“Please forgive me. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I’ve been a fool, a stupid bitch. I’m so sorry, Rin, please.” Your sniffing and the trembling of your legs only makes his length twitch more. Yet he would like to pull this stupid bunny costume completely from your body and fuck you until you would beg him with teary eyes to finally stop. But teasing you is so wonderful. Because he doesn’t miss the fact that every time he pulls back a bit, you push your pelvis back in his direction, rub your butt needy against him.

“Forgive you? You want to be a good little whore to me again?”

“Yes, yes, please! Please, I want your dick, only yours.” You’re almost crying, and you finally want to satisfy your hunger for him.

“Then go on.” He suddenly says completely seriously, move away from you and take a step backwards, only to lean against the wall again. Irritated, you turn around, while he points with his eyes at his stiff dick. But you’re not moving. Your gaze is still full of questions.

“What is it? Earlier, you screamed after feeling my cock in your pussy and now you’re not moving?” Rolling his eyes, he looks down, wants to bend to grab his pants, but your quiet “wait” lets him look up at you with his eyebrow raised.

Your cheeks are reddened, the eyes slightly glassy as your hand moves between your legs and you slide the black fabric to the side. Suna can already see your juice on your slit and hungrily licks his lips.

“Come here.” He whispers as he grabs you by the hip and pushes your entrance against his tip.

“Ngh!” You try to keep your moans quiet, notice how Suna’s hands slide off your body so you can get used to its length. Because even if it doesn’t seem like it, he would never want to hurt you. Carefully, you bounce up and down on your tiptoes, trying to absorb more and more of his length into you. You push your hands against the wall, ignoring the moving people passing by the small chamber.

“Fuck, you’re so tight”

Suna, who is still leaning against the wall, grunts at your stretched pussy that is now covering his cock. Your walls burn pleasantly. You feel how the present vein of his dick massages your walls and makes your juice flow more actively.

“Suna, your dick feels so good. Oh god.” You whisper, roll your hips and tilt your head backwards. Your breasts are shaking, touching the rough wall.

“Fuck, I love your dick!” You keep whining and flattering his ego.

“Yes, of course.” He whispers, now lift his pelvis from the wall to ram his thick cock harder into you.

“Hah! Rin!” Groaning, your eyes roll backwards, the heels in the air.

For a moment he has the feeling that the soft bunny tail twitched, is not a part of your costume. Wordlessly he raises his hand, grins before he snaps against the tufts of fur.

“Ah!”

He hears your muffled moan, which you try to suppress with your hand. You needy little whore, he thinks and looks again at the tail which is poking from between the swell of your covered cheeks. Too tempting, because he moves the little tail in a circular motion.

“Rin stop!” You cry, feel caught, and at the same time, you notice how a knot forms in your abdomen that slowly loosens, which makes your thoughts completely fuzzy.

“I knew it. Your rabbit's tail seemed familiar to me the whole time. Ain’t my dick enough for you? Do you need anything else to fill your asshole?”

“Ngh s- stop Rin… Ah please!” You groan, reach back to his wrist with one hand, but you just hold it loosely. Then you don’t want him to stop. It excites you how he plays with the plug, at the same time ramming harder and harder into you as your legs become more shaky.

His dick slides so easily into you, yet your walls squeeze it. Earlier, when you sucked his cock, he was already so close. Even now, you realize he is still very sensitive and will not need long.

Now completely aside from the wall, Suna bends over your body, wraps his hand around your waist, the other on your clit. With your forearms against the wall, he presses you against the concrete. His body ghosts over yours, sets the plug in motion with every thrust. Just like his fingers that start playing on your bud.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck, Rin, fuck me harder!” You almost scream, get goose bumps from his murmur and the sloppy bites he spreads on your neck. You feel your body getting warmer and warmer, your heart beats faster and your vision blurs.

“Please, I beg you!”

You know you’re about to come, and you’re sure Suna won’t need much longer either. His thrusts are getting harsher, the grip around your body tighter and the pressure on your bud more aggressive.

“I’ll stuff you with my cum until it drips out of your slutty pussy.” He murmurs with his eyes closed, notices your walls pulsating more and more. How they want to finally milk him dry.

“Yes, yes, fill me. Ah fuck, breed me!” Your words are anything but sober, as you almost scream his name aroused. You notice how the knot in you tears, a pleasant gush flows through your entire body as you become almost numb in Suna’s arms.

“Ah fuck I’m coming Rin! ‘M coming!”

Just after babbling your words, your tight walls cream his length, as your juice drips to the ground while your body gets weaker and weaker. Your walls, however, do everything to rob him of his seed.

“God babe, I’m gonna cum! Fill you with my sperm. Breed that little whore you are.” He sighs wet against your skin, which is just so sensitive. One last time, his tip hammers against your spongy spot, thrusting up to your cervix until his viscous cum shoots into you.

His length twitches while Suna’s chest moves up and down, exhausted. His breath is heavy, loud, the head in the crook of your neck, as the beads of sweat on his temple fall on your skin.

“You’re my girl, you should know that. But don’t piss me off again.” He says tired, gives you a far too gentle kiss on the dark parts of your neck, on all the hickeys he gave you before he lets you go and sinks back against the wall.

Your shaky legs can no longer hold you, letting your body sink to the ground. The costume is still pulled aside, exposing your swollen folds as the sperm slowly leaks out. Your breasts are still naked, not covered by your suit, which Suna had torn down to your waist. When you are both home, he will make sure that you still remember where your place is. Still running out of breath, he wipes the sweat from his forehead.

“This-”

“Anyone in here? All closed rooms are taboo, ya idiots!”

Such a familiar voice, you think as someone opens the door, but you are too weak to move. The loud voice suddenly falls silent as the fake blonde looks at the petite body of yours, which sat only a few hours ago on his lap, now lies on all fours in his storeroom, half-naked and completely lost, your chin full of saliva.

The bunny-suit does not cover the most important places, shows him the mess his friend has created. With his mouth open, he stands there, cannot turn away from your sight, as the clearing of his friend’s throat causes him to look in the other direction.

The green eyes of his friend look at him indifferently. Suna says nothing, just casually puts his pants back on before he climbs over you and passes Atsumu.

“Everything about her is mine. The next time I see you flirting with her, we’re both gonna have a problem. Got that?”

Atsumu had never seen him so seriously, only nods hastily and tries to keep his eye on Suna, tries not to look at you again. “Got that…” He murmurs quietly. As if he had only waited for this answer, Suna shoves his hands in his pockets and looks through the almost empty hallway.

“This party is shit. Let’s go up, play Genshin.” Dumbfounded, Atsumu looks at him, is not sure what to say.

“Eh… O- okay…” He stutters and only looks over at you briefly, before Suna looks at him almost fiercely as he already goes up the stairs to his room. Your glassy, tired eyes look at Suna questioning. You don’t understand why he wants to leave you here alone like a used and now no longer needed toy. But he just puts his index finger under your chin, wipes your saliva off your lips before giving you a fleeting kiss.

“Clean yourself and then come up. I’m not done with you, babe.” He smiles cheesy before he gets up and leaves.

#haikyuu x reader #suna x reader #suna smut #anilysium server collab #suna x y/n

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not-the-tie-youre-looking-for · 3 years ago

Note

Something that's been bugging me for years since the Legends finale. If Zhan had been the writer for Rebels, do you think he would have had Thrawn bomb Lothal to bring Ezra out? On the one hand, from Legends Thrawn's portrayal I imagine he would without a second of hesitation. On the other, Canon Thrawn has been much more... restrained? And on a third point, there's the fact that Legends and Canon Thrawn seem like they really could be the same person just at different points of time. cnt in next

...I'm just curious if anyone else was curious if Zhan agreed with that direction taken. Which, on that note, did Zhan ever say anything about his thoughts on how Rebels handled Thrawn? Both from a writing standpoint as well as an acting and musical one (Thrawn's various leitmotifs)?

Oh man. Ohhhhhhhh maaaaan. My friend, you have asked exactly the right person this question, because not only have I wanted to talk about this multiple times before, but I also have ~receipts~. 👀

⚠️Spoiler warnings for Star Wars: Rebels, The Mandalorian, the canon Star Wars novels Thrawn, Thrawn: Alliances, Thrawn: Treason, Thrawn Ascendency: Chaos Rising, and Thrawn Ascendency: Greater Good, and the legends Star Wars novels Heir to the Empire, Dark Force Rising, The Last Command, and Outbound Flight.⚠️

Oh man. Where to begin.

Lets start with who Thrawn is, because depending on who you ask, you're gonna get different answers—whether you're strictly a Legends fan, Dave Filoni, a guy who's only seen Thrawn in Star Wars: Rebels, Timothy Zahn, or just a writer/artist fan like me.

To Timothy Zahn, the man behind our favorite chiss, Thrawn is a character that is constant in both attitude and personality throughout all of his content. In multiple interviews, ranging from Thrawn's debut in Rebels to the latest about the writing of the Ascendancy Trilogy, Zahn states that Thrawn in canon and Thrawn in Legends are indistinguishable.

And so I present the receipts:

In a 2017 interview with The Verge on writing the first canon Thrawn book Thrawn, Zahn is asked the following question and responds as such:

How do you navigate bringing back a character who already has an extensive backstory and audience expectations, with telling a new story that fits in the new continuity?

Actually, I didn’t find that to be a problem. I’d never written Thrawn in this part of the Star Wars timeline, so it was simply a matter of bringing him into the Empire and chronicling his rise through the ranks. It’s still the same character as in the 1990s books, just a decade or two younger and in a very different military and political environment.

In another interview with The Verge in 2018 (a few months after the finale of Rebels aired) about writing Thrawn: Alliances, he repeats this sentiment twice:

Thrawn feels like if it had been written before the canonization purge a couple of years ago, or if you squinted a bit, it would serve as a perfect setup for Heir to the Empire.

Oh, I don’t think you need to squint at all. I wrote him in these two books to fit in with everything else I’d done. So if someone at Lucasfilm snapped their fingers, and suddenly all of my other books were canon, and there would be no real retrofitting that would have to go in. It would all fit together.

Thrawn: Alliances feels more at home in the new canon, especially because Thrawn has been fleshed out a bit more in Rebels. Was there any adjustments for that?

Not really. I’m getting to play with more canon characters like Vader and Padmé and Anakin, but the character himself, I still see him as the same person. He’s got goals, and he won’t necessarily share them with you, but he as long as you’re going the same direction, he’s happy to cooperate and assist along the way.

...and this is referenced again in a 2020 interview with Polygon about writing Thrawn Ascendancy: Chaos Rising:

Along with Thrawn’s appearance in Rebels, Zahn would pen a new novel, Thrawn, that chronicled the character’s early days as an Imperial officer. Zahn didn’t have to change anything with the character, telling me in 2017 that “he’s like an old friend who I understand completely.” While Heir to the Empire was no longer canon, a reader could easily read Thrawn as a precursor to that classic novel. Thrawn went on to become a major presence in Rebels, and Zahn continued to explore his origins in Thrawn: Alliances and Thrawn: Treason.

The next day, an interview with IGN was published on the same subject:

Thrawn is an especially unique case because Zahn has been able to effectively continue the work he started way back in 1991 with Heir to the Empire. That novel may not be a part of official Star Wars lore any longer, but as Zahn explained, Thrawn himself is basically the same character regardless of continuity.

[....] The closest comparison between Chaos Rising and Zahn's earlier EU work is probably 2006's Outbound Flight, which is set during the Clone Wars and details the first encounter between Thrawn and the Galactic Republic (while also retroactively laying the groundwork for elements of Heir to the Empire). That novel is no longer canon, but Zahn told us he prefers to operate as if it were. He's making a concerted effort not to retread the same ground as Outbound Flight and to avoid contradicting the events of that novel as much as possible.

So yeah. In Zahn's opinion, Legends Thrawn is Canon Thrawn is Book Thrawn, and there is no difference whatsoever between Thrawns in, say, Outbound Flight, Heir to The Empire, Alliances, and Chaos Rising. I wholeheartedly disagree, but lets move on.

Now that the books are out of the way, its time for Rebels.

In July of 2016, after the trailer announcing Thrawn's canon debut aired, Dave Filoni had the following to say about Thrawn's character in regards to Timothy Zahn:

“I was pretty adamant with a couple of people saying, ‘Listen, we need to have Tim sign off on this. This is kind of a waste of time [otherwise],'” says Filoni. “We, of course, can do what we want with a character that Lucasfilm owns, but without Tim’s okay, what does it mean? That’s not going to be good. Once we had some stuff, we wanted to do what we thought was right and make the character. Then we brought him in. We had the production fully prepared. I said, ‘Look, if there’s something that Tim says that I think is really valuable, even if it changes something dynamically, we need to be ready for that and see what we can do.’ I wanted to make sure we did this right by everybody. We brought him in and we didn’t really tell him why. We just flew him up to Lucasfilm and sat him down in a theater and said, ‘Hey, we’re bringing Thrawn into the show.’ He was like, ‘Wow.’ and I said, ‘Yeah, wow. And I’m going to show him to you right now and you let me know what you think.'”

(Before we continue, keep that first highlighted sentence in mind for future reference. I'm going to come back to that later.)

Fortunately, Timothy Zahn was delighted at the show’s approach to the Empire’s imposing blue-skinned Chiss.

“We showed him some of the scenes with him,” Dave Filoni recalls. “He looked like a kid in a candy store. I think it meant a lot to him not just because it was his character, but because you have to imagine what he went through when it was announced that everything is Legends now, not Expanded Universe. I get that and I’ve always appreciated the work that goes into the Expanded Universe… For Tim, I think it was us saying, ‘No, no, no. We really like your character. We want him to be part of the real thing. The canon universe.'”

So in 2016, before we even saw Thrawn in action beyond a trailer, we were told that Zahn gave the OK, and he was chill with the way Thrawn was created in the show. In 2017, he gave a little more of the background of this process in an interview with FANgirl Blog:

The events of Thrawn dovetail closely with Rebels and shed light on some of Thrawn’s more seemingly surprising actions on the show, like when he appears to lose his temper and yell at Lieutenant Lyste. What was it like to see Thrawn come alive onscreen? Is he how you’ve pictured him in your head?

I don’t see my characters in terms of voice or appearance, but rather as personality or attitude. That said, I very much enjoyed the way the Rebels team brought him to life, in his appearance, voice, and actions.

I also appreciated the freedom I had to tweak certain incidents, such as the one you mentioned, and give additional or alternate explanations for the viewers who may have thought those were somewhat out of character for him.

He doesn't really elaborate on this, but we can assume he had SOME creative input on Thrawn's character, and he was overall pretty happy with the choices made in the show.

But then, we have this from that earlier 2017 the Verge article:

When did you learn that Dave Filoni was intending to bring Thrawn to Rebels, and did you have any input into how the character would be handled?

[...] I didn’t have any real input into how Thrawn was going to be handled, mainly because the lead time of an animated series is so long that much of season 3 had already been finished. But I trusted Dave and the team to do the character right. After all, why bring him into Rebels if you were going to drastically change him? Having seen the entire season now, I think we can agree that my trust was completely justified.

So... he didn't have "any real input," but was satisfied with it in the end? I guess? I don't know. We're getting into some contradictions now.

The last thing I've got in regards to Rebels is an interview Zahn did with the YouTube channel Star Wars Explained after the finale aired, where he responds to the following:

“So, maybe let's jump over to Rebels for a little bit. Now that it has wrapped up, how do you feel Thrawn was represented in Star Wars: Rebels?”

“They did a really good job—they not only understood the character and how to write for him, but they also understood the meta around how you defeat him. The only way to defeat Thrawn is to throw something at him he can't control, or can't anticipate. Given perfect knowledge and control, Thrawn will always find a way to win. But they understood, this is how you defeat him, these are the things we can use against him... so his portrayal in general, is very good; he's smart, he's anticipating, he's a step ahead of everybody, he's looking at clues and picking up on them, so I was very pleased with how the Rebels team handled the character."

I think these quotes answer many of your questions, so to answer your initial question: If Zhan had been the writer for Rebels, do I think he would have had Thrawn bomb Lothal to bring Ezra out?

Yes—but ONLY because at that point, the only established™️ Thrawn content was found in Legends, where Thrawn was a ruthless and calculating warlord.

However!

I do believe that if given the chance to re-write the Star Wars: Rebels finale using his now-canon novels as a solid background TODAY, Zahn would choose to not let Thrawn bombard Lothal's Capital City.

I believe this because he made one single very interesting creative choice when writing Thrawn that completely overwrote Thrawn's pre-established Rebels character: Thrawn was not responsible for the civilian deaths on Batonn—Pryce was.

And that's that on that.

A few months ago I would have ended it there, but today, Thrawn's story is no longer just contained in the novels and Rebels, but also in that of The Mandalorian.

This is where I will proudly say I have no idea what the fuck is going on. Before The Jedi aired, I was 100% sure that the next time we saw Thrawn, it would be nowhere NEAR the Empire, because Zahn was pretty adamant in the novels that Thrawn was only in the Empire to help. His. People.

So now he's apparently doing fuck-knows-what in fuck-knows-where and is STILL associated with the Seventh Fleet and Imperial Warlords???

Huh??? Despite the fact that he held no true loyalty to the Empire or to the Emperor??? It's been months and I'm still confused as fuck. Add to the fact that Zahn also doesn't know what the fuck is going on to the equation and we get a big fat question mark with one pretty clear answer that Filoni said himself that we have to keep in mind:

"We, of course, can do what we want with a character that Lucasfilm owns."

So I don't think Zahn has much control over Thrawn as we would all like to think. We can hope he gives us the crazy Thrawn and Ezra Space Adventure™️ novel all we want, but ultimately, Thrawn's fate does not rest in his hands.

If you guys have more to add please let me know!!! This is, obviously, a topic I am very passionate about, so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

#tye answers asks #not the post youre looking for #thrawn #timothy zahn #thrawn trilogy #legends thrawn #star wars #rebels #lothal #star wars rebels #dave filoni #thrawn ascendancy #chaos rising #greater good #thrawn alliances #thrawn treason #thrawn books #wow this took a while #but I like the way this is looking

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 4 years ago

Text

that makes four.

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PART 4

Tristan had slapped his menu shut before you could even sit down. He’d been begging you to try a new place in Encino with him, you figured it was a good excuse to get Zoey out of the house and to let Maeve and CeCe duke it out in Shelli and Irv’s backyard instead of yours.

It was all work talk at first, he offered an update on a meeting you missed to drop off Maeve at a friend’s and Zoey sucked down a glass of wine promising to pump and dump before the night ended.

But now your plates were in front of you and you twirled spaghetti around your fork when she asked: “How’s your pool boy?” You stared up at her, unimpressed.

“He’s not my pool boy, and he’s fine.”

Tristan raised his eyebrows across the table. “Would you let Harry Styles be your pool boy?”

“Can we not talk about him like this, please?”

“Oh come on,” Tristan pulled a face. “If you’re not going to sleep with him at least let us fantasize.”

You must have twitched, a quick glance in Zoey’s direction or a quiver of your lip. Zoey leaned in and her voice was serious. “What was that?”

“What? Nothing.”

“What do you mean what was that?” Tristan asked.

“She made a weird face when you said that.”

“No I didn’t,” you defended. “I just don’t like talking about him in public, especially like this.”

“Bullshit,” Zoey laughed, leaned back in her chair. “What are you not telling us? Did you see him shirtless again?”

You let out a breath, wiped at your mouth and wondered if telling them would be the biggest mistake of your life. You couldn’t even get the words out before Zoey leaned in.

“You had sex with him?!” her eyes nearly bugged out of her head, Tristan’s fork clanked against his plate when his jaw dropped open.

You’d made it a whole week, almost. You pushed the thoughts down and brushed them under the metaphorical work rug. The body wash prototypes were in, you were booking models to do a photoshoot, video shoot, everything was getting lined up for the rollout in another few weeks. You didn’t have time to tell them about something silly and stupid and maybe a part of you didn’t want to fill them in because you were afraid they’d burst your bubble. It’ll never work out, what happens when his house is ready, he has a tour to go on.

“Be quiet,” you looked around and worried if anyone had overheard Tristan’s not-so-subtle name drop. “It’s not a big deal, okay? It’s not like it’s gonna be a regular thing.”

Tristan pulled his head back, offended by your words. “You had sex with him and you’re not going to make that a regular thing? Have you seen him?”

“Yes,” you made a face at Tristan. “I have seen him.”

“You are going to hit and quit Harry Styles?” Zoey leaned in and said his name much more quietly now.

“Well,” you dropped their gaze for a second, reluctant to be honest with them in fear of their reaction. “It’s happened once, and then we kissed once but CeCe came down, but she didn’t see anything. I’m just too old to be hooking up with a twenty-four year old.”

“Wait, okay, slow down. When did this happen?” Zoey asked.

“After my birthday dinner,” you shrugged. “We came home, had wine, the girls were out.”

“And when did you make out with him aside from that night?”

“The next night. And we didn’t make out, it was barely even open-mouthed.”

“Ew,” Tristan grimaced.

Zoey snapped to get your attention. “So twenty-four hours after you had sex, you kissed him?”

You made a face at her, unsure where she was going with it. You hadn’t been clocking or documenting your sexual encounters. “I don’t know, probably.”

“This is straight out of a trashy romance book written for middle aged women,” Tristan leaned back in his seat and took a pull from his glass of rosé. “I mean that in, like, a nice way.”

“Okay,” Zoey leaned forward. “So, nothing has happened since a week ago, then?”

“No,” you shook your head quickly. “Just those times. And I don’t think anything should happen again.”

They both groaned at the same time, Zoey’s shoulders sunk and she rolled her eyes. “You deserve to have sex with a hot guy.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“Even if he’s younger than you.”

“I don’t want to traumatize my children.”

“Well you don’t have to have sex in front of them,” Tristan made a goofy face and you waved him off.

Zoey snorted out a laugh but you ignored their immaturity.

“I mean that having Harry here is already probably confusing for them, right? Their dad leaves, their grandpa dies, now we have some stranger in our house and he’s playing with them in the backyard and--”

“Being more of a dad to them than Luke ever was?”

Zoey’s words brought a sigh out from between your lips. “Exactly.”

“Having a positive male role model is good for them,” Tristan said.

“Sure,” you nodded. “But what about when Harry moves out? He’ll just be another man that will leave them. They’ll be super fucked up.”

Tristan reached forward and took your hand in his. “Hey--it’s more about the fact that they have you and they have other people who love them. Who cares if their idea of a family isn’t the stereotypic, heterosexual norm?”

“I know,” you relented. “I just don’t want them to be poorly adjusted.”

“Okay, that sounds like something an obnoxious prep school guidance counselor would say to you,” Zoey eyed you with skepticism.

You shrugged your shoulders. “It was Maeve’s teacher.”

“Okay, fuck that teacher!” Tristan nodded. “Your kids are adjusting, and that’s because of how good of a mom you are to them. And mommy deserves a pool boy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even if his words were worthy of an eye-roll. Zoey tried not to let wine drip from her nose after a snort escaped between sips.

“Not my pool boy!” You giggled.

“Which is good,” Tristan nodded, his tone completely serious. “That would be so cliché even Nora Roberts wouldn’t write it.”

Slumber parties always made you anxious. They were one of those things that made you question how on earth people trusted you to watch a group of children when sometimes, you still felt like one yourself.

Maeve’s 11th birthday party was no exception. Five other girls danced around your living room and CeCe sat at the counter while you iced cupcakes. Her little face was scrunched into a pout so intensely that it almost made you giggle.

“You alright?” You asked her, dish towel over your shoulder when she let out another sigh.

“Just wish I could play with them,” she held her palms towards the sky in exasperation, reaching for a container of sprinkles when you let out a laugh.

“You get to go for ice cream with Uncle Jeff, remember? You’re gonna go to the beach, too, I think.”

You’d been trying to bribe her all week: a new tutu, a new doll, anything she wanted just to make her give up and accept the fact that her older sister didn’t want her at her slumber party.

And you couldn’t blame either of them. Of course Maeve didn’t want her younger (and very loud, dramatic, and demanding) younger sister trailing behind all night. But, on the other hand, of course CeCe felt left out when she saw all of the older girls arrive with their sleeping bags and birthday gifts.

She sighed again, your conversation interrupted by a ringing from your cell phone on the counter beside her.

“Uncle Jeff?”

She was right, you reached for the phone and held it up with your shoulder, hoping the laughter from the living room wouldn’t travel it’s way into the speaker.

“Hi--are you here?”

“Y/N, I am so sorry to do this--”

“Oh god, Jeff, no!”

“I just got called into the office because one of my artists apparently just posted some stupid shit on the internet--isn’t there someone else who can hang out with CeCe? Where’s Tristan?”

“I don’t know where he is, but I doubt he’d be thrilled to play dress up or skip through a park.”

“Zoey?”

You could hear traffic through his line, his karma for backing out at the last minute was having to sit on the 405. “She has a ten-week-old infant, Jeffrey.”

“Well where’s Harry? Can’t he pitch in?”

You let out a groan, CeCe had taken to pouring sprinkles into her hand and lapping them up with her tongue.

Harry was upstairs, hiding away from the girl gang currently singing karaoke and sipping on juice boxes. He had the day off and had dipped out in the afternoon to meet a friend for lunch. You tried to mind your own business--he could come and go as he pleased and just because you had slept with him once didn’t give you the right to suddenly start asking questions about his plans.

But the universe pitied you, apparently, because right when you told Jeff you’d figure it out and hung up on him aggressively, Harry pranced down the stairs and headed for the fridge.

“How’s it going down here?” He reached for a juice box, crisp apple, and fumbled with the straw when he turned to face you.

“Everyone is alive and nothing is broken,” you scanned the counter, another batch of cupcakes still in the oven with 10 minutes to go.

With the straw now between his lips, he raised his eyebrows. “Bar’s that low, huh?”

“Well, your friend Jeffrey just bailed on watching CeCe and going for ice cream.”

She was blissfully unaware of the change of plans, still licking sprinkles out of her palm, but now swiveled around on the stool to watch the girls jump around in the other room.

“I can take her,” he shrugged nonchalantly, ran a hand through his hair when you stared at him for a second.

If traffic was Jeff’s karma, Harry must have been yours.

“Are you serious? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he smiled. “CeCe? What do you say we do ice cream and pizza?”

She turned around at the sound of her name, her eyes lit up. “Pepperoni?” She asked.

“Of course,” Harry replied to her like it was a crazy question.

“Is Uncle Jeff coming?”

“He’s not,” You informed her, arms crossed over your chest. “You’re alright to go with Harry?”

You didn’t mean to make it awkward, but mom mode kicked in and you realized CeCe had never spent time alone with Harry except maybe in the backyard.

“Yeah!” She hopped down from the stool and grinned up at him. “Can I get a milkshake?”

Harry looked over to you and when you nodded, he held out his hand. “As many as you want.”

“That’s not what I said,” you called after him, watching as he led her over to the back door. He plucked his keys off the hook on the wall and smiled at you over his shoulder. “Please don’t be out late, text me when you get where you’re going!”

CeCe shouted a bye mommy!!!! before they disappeared into the driveway. A sudden raise in your pulse had you questioning what type of mother lets their 6-year-old get in the car with a pop star who’s probably hounded by paparazzi and maybe even doing cocaine on the weekends.

You picked up your phone and it rang four times before Zoey answered. “I need you to talk me off the ledge.”

“What ledge?”

The timer beeped and you gloved up to retrieve the rest of the cupcakes. “I’m apparently a psychopath because I just let Harry take CeCe for pizza and ice cream.”

You could tell she held back a laugh. “Why does that make you a psychopath?”

“Because he’s a stranger! What if he never comes back with her? What if he gets chased by paparazzi and CeCe is the next Princess Diana?!” The thought shuttered through your bones, a shiver down your spine when Zoey cleared her throat.

“Okay, so, as a mom, I totally get that. But I also think you’re freaking out too much.”

The cupcake tin rattled onto the granite. “How?!”

“He’s not a stranger, he’s been living with you guys for like, over a month now.”

You thought about it for a second. Two weeks turned into a few more, four weeks slipped by easily. What felt like it was going to be a blip on the radar now felt like a totally normal thing: dinners with him as the fourth seat and texts to him in the middle of the day asking if there was anything he was in the mood for.

“I just can’t believe I trust him enough to do that, I guess.”

“Y/N, he’s a good guy,” she laughed. “He likes your kids and he definitely likes you.”

“We’re not going there,” you said. “I have a house full of ten-year-olds and cupcakes to frost.”

“Okay, well, you’re not a psychopath. And there’s nothing wrong with having feelings for him.”

“Zoey! You are starting to sound like the psychopath!”

“I’m alright with that,” laughter through the phone when you told her you had to go. Love you, see you later, pinch Benny’s cheeks for me.

You were swept up in the excitement of the night. Your own pizza was delivered before 8pm, a movie turned on by 9pm. They decorated cupcakes at the dining room table and proceeded to eat more than they could fit in their tummies.

Maeve was in heaven, opened presents when you snapped pictures on your phone. Harry had texted to let you know they’d stop at Shelli and Irv’s before heading home. If CeCe came home in the middle of presents, she’d probably break down right there.

So when you heard the alarm signal a new entry, you hoped CeCe was too tired to argue with you about sleeping in her own room and not in Maeve’s with the rest of them. Your legs were folded beneath you on the couch, noise in the kitchen when Harry rounded the corner with CeCe asleep on his shoulder.

You stood up, eyebrows high when he smirked in your direction. “She’s out cold,” he laughed. “Fell right asleep on the way home.”

“It’s like a ten minute drive from their house,” you said, opening your arms to take her. “Sorry, here.”

“I can bring her up...just lead the way,” he motioned with his head for you to go first up the stairs. He followed you down the hall and to CeCe’s room, pink walls and a plush carpet underneath her twin-sized bed that still seemed too big for her.

He put her down when you flipped on a nightlight, watched when you tugged the duvet over her and kissed her on the forehead. You sighed when you stood up straight beside him, voice quiet. “I’m not waking her up to brush her teeth cause she’ll freak out and want to be included in the party. Am I a bad mom?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, smirked down at you quickly before looking back to her. “You’re a great mom.”

You elbowed him in the ribs playfully. “You have to say that.”

“I do?”

“I’m your landlord,” you laughed, leading him back into the hallway.

“I thought you were my friend?”

A sigh, the darkness a cover for your confusion and your fluttering heart beat. “Yeah, that too.”

He was quiet for a second, if it weren’t for the bedroom of kids down the hall you’d pull him into you despite better judgment. He stared down at you with a dimpled smile, but you took a step back.

“Thanks for taking her, and hanging out with her. You really didn’t have to.”

“I had fun,” he reassured you. “We got a pizza and ate in a park near Westwood Hills, then got ice cream, visited with Shelli and Irv,” he listed it off like it brought him as much joy as it did her.

“Hey, not to be weird or anything, but--how’s your house coming?”

He sensed the shift in the air too, but he didn’t know that it came from a place of fear. A question you had to ask: this was temporary, this wasn’t real, this was just a convenient set up and you couldn’t lose sight of that.

“Oh, yeah--I’m going over on Sunday to see it. Apparently there are still issues with the plumbing that have to be updated. They said it might be a few more weeks.”

“Okay, I just didn’t know.”

“Yeah, is that okay? I can try to find somewhere to stay if you need me out?”

“No,” you said it quickly. “I don’t need you to leave.”

“Okay,” he said, his eyes still on yours. He reached forward to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “I like staying here with you guys.”

“...I like it too.”

“Mom?” Maeve’s head poked out of her bedroom. “Hayley spilled soda on the carpet!”

He stepped back from you quickly, like his reflexes were getting better each time. You laughed at his sudden movement, “coming!”

He smiled down at you and let out an exaggerated sigh once Maeve’s door was slammed shut and the music was back on, a magnetic pull between your chests that maybe he felt too. “Hayley, Hayley, Hayley.”

But again, a rush of uncertainty and self-doubt made you grateful for the interruption, your stomach weaving itself in knots when you stared at your ceiling fan and hoped that sleep would come.

Work picked up in the next week, Tristan was in your office most days with spreadsheets and graphs and to-do lists that made you feel like you needed a margarita at 2pm. On Wednesday Harry made dinner and CeCe had a meltdown when you forced her to take a bath.

Friday night entailed dinner at Shelli and Irv’s, the girls and Harry and Jeff too. You stood in the kitchen with a glass of wine in hand, Shelli watched as their chef sautéed something through steam. When Jeff pulled Harry away to show him a new guitar Irv had been gifted, you ignored the smile on Shelli’s face.

“How are things going?”

“Fine,” you said, casually and calm and cool. “How are you?”

“Y/N,” she smiled. “Does Jeffrey know?”

“Know what?”

“About you and Harry?”

“No,” you told her quickly. “There’s nothing to know, alright? We were drunk, it was not a big deal.”

“Alright,” she held up a hand, effectively resigning when she sipped her Pinot Grigio, a disappointed sigh before she asked: “How are the girls holding up?”

You sighed, unsure if she’d really drop it. You told her about Maeve’s birthday party and caught her up on the body wash debut. Deadlines were quickly approaching, the launch party was being scheduled and production was full steam ahead.

You almost thought you’d make it through the rest of the night without any drama--no more mention of Harry or the happenings between you. But eventually he and Jeff found their way back to the kitchen and you hoped that no one noticed how close Harry stood to you.

Jeff was in the middle of filling you and Shelli in on Harry’s album plans: they were wrapping up production and soon they’d announce the release date, his excitement cut off by a shout from the backyard.

“Mommy!�� CeCe’s voice was shrill and desperate as it rang through the house. She let out a loud sob and when you looked up, you saw her clutching her elbow with a new grass stain on her shirt. She was fine, it was one of those moments where she thought the world was ending but everyone else knew getting knocked over by her sister wouldn’t kill her.

“She’s fine,” Maeve rolled her eyes, a quick look down to CeCe who’s eyes were already filled with tears.

“No I’m not!” she screamed back at her sister.

You looked to Shelli with an exasperated look, set your glass of wine down on the counter. Before you could make any movement, though, Harry’s hand hovered on the small of your back. “I’ll go, enjoy the wine. She’s fine.”

He was right, there was no question that CeCe would survive her scraped elbow and bruised ego. He moved towards the backyard and you were frozen in place when Jeff’s forehead wrinkled.

“What was that?” he asked, eyebrows strung together like tea lights once Harry was out of earshot.

“I don’t know--what do you mean?”

You looked over at Harry, now on the ground in front of CeCe who’s wails were much quieter. She wiped at her wet eyes, a little laugh escaped her lips when Harry brushed the grass off of her elbow and cracked a joke.

“Well, he seems pretty good with them,” Jeff leaned against the counter, the sliding door providing a perfect view as CeCe stood up and raced back towards Maeve.

“Yeah, I mean, he is.”

“He also touched your back in a funny way.”

Shelli raised her eyebrows and sipped at her wine again.

“And now my mom is making a weird face,” Jeff’s eyes narrowed when he looked at you. “Are you--is there, like, something going--”

“No,” you said quickly, a finger pointed at Shelli and another pointed at Jeff. “Do not say anything in front of the girls.”

Shelli stifled a laugh but managed to look incredibly innocent at the same time.

“Oh my god!” Jeff said this with a noise of shock, eyes wide when he looked between you and Shelli, then back out to the yard where Harry laughed with Irv. “Oh my god, and you knew?”

Shelli shrugged her shoulders, a don’t blame me look crossed her face when you took a swig of wine to calm the pounding of your heart.

Jeff had always been protective and caring and like a brother. Not in a weird way, not in the you can’t date my friends way. Just in the sense that he wanted to know who you were hooking up with and he’d been encouraging you relentlessly to stop picking assholes ever since you filed for divorce.

But this was different, this was a friend of his and a client of his. It was someone that his entire family knew and this was probably the worst choice of rebound.

“Please relax,” you said this with a look of warning in his direction. “I will explain to you what your lunatic mother is smirking about but you have about fifteen seconds to wipe the look of shock off your face before he comes back in here.”

“She’s fine,” Harry waved a hand once he was back in the kitchen. “And what look of shock are we wiping off of our faces?” The dimple was there again, the corner of his mouth pulled up and he scanned all three of you for any sort of information.

“Just that you are so good with the girls,” Jeff covered for you, a confident nod when he hoped Harry would believe him.

“That’s surprising to you?” Harry pulled his head back, an obvious look of mock offense. “I’m great with children. They love me.”

Maeve came in from the fading light, out of breath from running around with whatever ball they’d gotten their hands on. “Who loves you?”

“Kids,” Jeff replied for him.

“Oh,” Maeve said. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” You looked down at her, unsure if she was agreeing or just voicing that she understood.

She shrugged, plucked a chicken skewer from a dish in front of Shelli. “I mean, I like having him around.”

Harry was practically tickled pink. “Thank you, Maeve.” He turned to rub this in Jeff’s face. “See?”

“He cooks well, plays outside with us, definitely funnier than mom,” Maeve kept listing things off, pulling laughter from the rest of the crew.

“Maeve!” You whined. “I’m funny!”

“You’re like, sometimes funny.”

“Sometimes funny is better than never funny,” Harry nodded in your direction, an attempt to soften the blow.

CeCe had wandered in behind her sister, she picked at the scrape on her elbow until you called her attention. “CeCe--do you think mommy’s funny?”

“Mmmm,” the thought on it for a second, put her finger to her chin and scrunched up her nose. “Sort of.”

Jeff let out a big laugh at that, Harry tried to stifle one and you dismissed the jabs. “Okay, well, it’s not like anyone here is a comedian.”

“Harry’s funny,” CeCe said with a smile. “He reads books in silly voices.”

Jeff’s eyebrows shot up at that again, amused and surprised by the fact that Harry was in on the bedtime routine. But it was infrequent, sometimes CeCe would beg for more time outside or another thirty minutes of TV.

If the tears got aggressive or the tantrum became too much, she perked up pretty quickly if Harry offered to read with her. It was way more exciting than reading with you, Maeve had explained.

After showering Harry with compliments, the girls were excited to sit on Shelli and Irv’s patio. Pink lemonade and a delicious dinner, though neither of them would even so much as take a bit of your salad.

They ran around some more while you sipped wine, Jeff and Harry had been talked into a two versus two soccer match and Irv laughed his head off when Maeve actually scored on Jeff. Darkness came and CeCe crawled into your lap, eyelids getting heavy until you buckled her into the backseat.

You’d taken one car, CeCe’s booster seat was too clunky to move over to Harry’s so you drove and felt slightly embarrassed about the crayons and coloring books scattered on the floor of the backseat.

“Mom, can I have another sleepover this weekend?”

“With who?”

“All of the girls from last weekend.”

“Honey, no, that was a big party for your birthday.”

“I’m aware,” she shot back quickly. “But we all had so much fun and we wouldn’t be as loud as we were last time.”

“I said no, Maeve. You can do something with your friends if you want but we’re not doing another sleepover right now.”

You’d been hesitant about it in the first place. A group of ten and eleven-year-olds? With Harry in the house? It felt like a recipe for disaster and aside from a few excited stares when they were first dropped off, you all escaped relatively unscathed.

You worried at first about the whispers from other moms--she’s letting a twenty-four year-old live with her children?--but you soon realized that they were almost more excited about sneaking a glimpse of Harry than their daughters were.

“You’re so annoying,” she quipped from the back. “You never let me do anything fun.”

Harry’s lips twitched up in a tiny smirk, a sideways glance in your direction. You’d already told him how awkward it felt to discipline them with him right there, a glass of wine in the kitchen one night and he teased you about your frustrated mom voice.

“Maeve--don’t be rude. You just had a birthday party and now you want another, basically.”

“No, I want to have the same girls over. It’s not my birthday so it’s not a birthday party.”

A left turn into the driveway. “But you want me to order pizza and make cupcakes and you want to drink a bunch of soda again?”

“Yes.”

You pulled into the garage and cut the engine, turning to look at her. “Maeve, sweetie, I love you. But no.”

She let out a huff and shoved the door open, she typed in the entry code and slammed the door to the house before the rest of you could even climb out.

“The drama,” CeCe shook her head, tired steps towards the house.

“The drama is right,” you told her with a laugh. “Go wash up and I’ll come up in a few, okay?”

She scampered up the steps, you dropped your keys on the counter inside and then turned to look at him. “Do you have a second?”

He nodded, leaned on the counter. “What’s up?”

You didn't know if it was a good idea, but you'd spent enough morning drives to school lecturing about how honest is the best policy, so you figured you'd give it a shot.

“Uh, well--Jeff may or may not be suspicious about you and...me.”

Using the phrase made you nervous, like he’d laugh and think it was stupid. You and me.

“Oh,” he said, eyebrows arched. “Did you--why did that come up?”

“Well you went to handle my crying child, which is--you know--”

He laughed a little, “too boyfriendy of me?”

Your heartbeat picked up in pace, your face felt hot and it suddenly felt like he was watching you too closely.

“No--I don’t know--you touched my back and he just asked what was happening.”

He deflated at that, hung his head low for a second and then looked up. “Oh, I--uh--I’m really sorry, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You felt bad, that wasn’t the message you were trying to convey. If anything, you wanted to give him the out and the okay that he didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to step into your family like some hero for you or your daughters. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I just--I don’t know where you are at, I guess.”

“And now Jeff is asking questions,” he laughed, a nod like he knew where you were going with it.

There was no label necessary. It wasn’t that type of thing, you knew that. “That’s what you walked in on after CeCe got hurt.”

Another nod, like the puzzle pieces were fitting into place. “Right. Got it. Was he--how did he seem? Did you tell him that we--”

“He put it together,” you cut him off, again careful of the words used around the girls even though they were upstairs and--by the sound of it--bickering in the bathroom. “But he was fine with it. I just think we need to be careful, you know. The girls...and this is temporary, and--”

“Absolutely.”

“So, you know, just--”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence. “I should go tuck them in.” You turned on your feet and headed for the stairs before he could reply, desperate to get out of the situation out of fear of having to find more words to string together in a messy jumble of emotions.

Another slammed door from Maeve when you reached the top of the stairs. You knocked twice. “Can I come in, please?”

“No!”

“Maeve,” you leaned against the doorframe. Harry came up and offered an awkward smile. “Please let me talk to you.”

“I’m not talking to you!” She shouted.

Harry came over and knocked. “Maeve? It’s Harry--can I come in?”

Silence for a second, her footsteps were audible on the wood floor. The door opened a crack, she peered out with narrowed eyes. “Fine--but not her.”

You looked over at Harry, unsure of his game plan but also fed up with the theatrics and the overreaction. He shrugged his shoulders half-apologetically, a smirk in your direction before he slipped into the room.

Did you stay and listen? Was it weird? What would he even say to her?

You decided against it, headed for your own bedroom and tugged on pajamas after you flicked on CeCe’s night light and kissed her goodnight. At least only one of them was being dramatic today.

Five minutes passed, then ten. You tried not to look at the clock and focused instead on a book Zoey had told you was a must read.

Eventually there was a knock on your door, Harry pushed it open and smiled. “Do you want some intel?”

“Duh,” you said. “Come in.”

He walked forward and sat on your bed, a sigh when he brought his eyes to yours again. “Well, she said you’re annoying again.”

“Of course.”

“She’s just grumpy. Said Hayley wanted to have a sleepover this weekend because it would be better at her house.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “Some 5th grade rivalry.”

“Classic, really.”

You laughed. “Was she okay talking to you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyebrows low on his forehead. “Opened right up.”

“Well, we do know she likes you more.”

He rolled his eyes. “She just likes that I’m not you.”

“Feels like that’s the same thing.”

Quiet for a moment when he angled towards you, scanned your face with his eyes.

“I guess I’ll go say goodnight.”

“Oh, I tucked her in.”

Your mouth tugged into a smirk. “You what?”

“She said she didn’t want you to come in.”

“So you tucked her in?”

He let out a laugh, explained the process like it should have been obvious. “Yeah--pulled up the blanket. Patted her on the head. She said she brushed her teeth.”

You leaned back against the headboard, the same buzzing feeling in your chest took flight when he asked: “why is it so shocking to everyone that I’m good with them?”

It slipped out before you could think of the possible consequences. “Because you’re young.”

“I’m not that young.”

“And Luke was just--not like that. He was pretty disinterested after CeCe was born.” You hoped this was enough of a redirection.

“You’re really caught up on my age, aren’t you?”

“No.”

He raised his eyebrows and offered a look that said: bullshit. When he didn’t speak, you cracked a joke.

“Or...you are not hung up enough on how old I am.”

“Why should I care how old you are?”

“Cause you’ve had sex with me and you’re living in my house.”

“Both of those things I am aware of. And feel really good about both of them.”

You let out a laugh at his nonchalance, folded your arms over your chest when he stood up. “You’re something else.”

“I’m not,” you disagreed.

“I think you are,” he nodded, leaned closer to you and offered a challenging glare. His hair was messy, he’d been running around in the backyard with them at Shelli and Irv’s, a few glasses of wine in him seemed to loosen him right up to the point that he was ready to slide tackle your six-year-old.

He watched you for a second, almost like he was waiting for you to stop him. You didn’t, though, you wanted him to kiss you just as much as it looked like he wanted to close to the distance between your chests.

Instead of telling him you shouldn’t, instead of telling him that the girls were down the hall and this was risky, you pulled him on top of you, tugged him by the t-shirt until he flopped down on your bed with a laugh against your lips.

He lifted himself up after a clumsy moment, looked down at you and smirked.

“What?” You asked playfully.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been so turned on by someone in my whole life.”

His words circled around you, pulled your body up to melt into his when his hand cupped your face. He laced his fingers through the hair along your neck, the warmth from his body made your pulse rise with each second.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this when they’re home?”

If the dimples on his cheeks weren’t enough, if the way his tattoos littered his skin wasn’t enough, if the look in his eyes right now on top of you was not enough to create a full-on mom fantasy in your head, the way he talked about your daughters was.

“Yeah,” you tugged him back against your mouth, felt the way your hips tilted against his without any thought. His hands moved to your wrists, holding them in place when he trailed his lips down your jaw, down your neck, pressing kisses in a line along your collarbone.

His hands were warm when they grazed your hips, connecting with skin beneath the fabric of your shirt. You grasped for the hem of his and tugged it over his head in a quick motion, eager to reconnect and feel his skin against yours.

He tasted like wine and smelled like summer, yanked your panties down to your ankles and used his fingers to pull quiet gasps from you like no one had ever before. He held onto your headboard and thrusted into you after you begged: please, please fuck me.

S’probably my favorite thing to do, he said.

The lights were long off and when your heart beats settled and you wiped sweat from your forehead, he laced his fingers between yours.

“Does Jeff want to kill me?”

“No,” you giggled, turned on your side to get a better look at him. The moon through the window illuminated his nose, his eyebrows, the specks of light green in his eyes as they devoured you. “But I’m sure you’ll get a talking to.”

“Should I not talk to him about it?”

You knew what he was asking, you knew he really meant what am I supposed to tell him? What does this mean?

You didn’t have an answer. You didn’t know what he should say or how you should address any of this, because at the end of the day you were a mom and a business owner and he was eight years your junior. He had an album to finish and tour and you knew how that worked.

You watched your dad’s busy lifestyle pull his marriage apart at the seams. Late nights, dinner parties, too much coke in the 80s before you were born and all of those signs pointed in one direction: this would never last.

It couldn’t last, nothing about the equation made sense. Harry + you = fling, rebound, a hook up or friends with benefits type situation that would eventually fade into a memory when he went on tour or when he got the call: your house is finished!

You didn’t have to answer him, though, the pattering of feet in the hallway as a little voice shouted mommy! had you shoving Harry out of bed and onto the floor with a thud before CeCe could push the double doors open.

“Mommy! I had a bad dream!”

“Hi, honey, oh, it’s okay,” you were upright in bed and welcoming her into your arms when Harry grimaced in the dark.

He mouthed a few swear words as you held CeCe, squishing her face into your shoulder to keep her eyes from landing on Harry. You gestured at him wildly with your free hand, ordering him to duck down and remain unseen.

“It was just a dream,” you told her, “you’re okay. Do you want me to walk you back to bed?”

“No,” she cried out quickly. “Can I sleep here?”

You hesitated, then nodded and looked at Harry in the dark. “Of course, yes, you can fall asleep here and then I’ll bring you back to your room.”

“Okay,” she said, the steadiness of her voice returning when she crawled out of your lap and to the spot where Harry had just been. She tugged at the comforters, pushed the pillow in different directions before she let her head rest atop it.

She let out a sigh, her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and soon enough Harry poked his head up to look at you with wide eyes as you rubbed CeCe’s back.

You held up a finger to your mouth, gave him a threatening glare when he bit back a laugh. You rolled your eyes--it wasn’t funny. She almost walked in on the two of you and while she’d already endured some traumatic things this year, seeing her mom hooking up with the pop star from down the hall would be sure to take the cake.

When Harry caught your gaze again, you smirked, he giggled, clamped a hand over his mouth and watched you for a second.

“Be quiet!”

“You’re the one talking,” he laughed.

“Well she’s asleep now, but we can’t bring her back yet or she’ll wake up.”

“How long do we have to sit like this?”

“A while,” you told him with certainty. “This is called parenting.”

But he did, he sat on the floor on the side of the bed, watched you watch her and eventually, he picked her up from the mattress and followed you down the hall to her room. She softened into him, head on his shoulder and arms around his neck. The sight of it made you want to replay the earlier scene in your head over and over.

She didn’t stir, a few heavy sighs when you pulled the comforter back up to her shoulders, and once the door was shut behind you both, you smirked up at him.

“I think you should go back to your room.”

“Really? After all of that?”

“After almost getting caught by my six-year-old? Yes.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes playfully, crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine, but maybe we can do that again at some point and have it end differently.”

You nodded. “I think that sounds doable.”

He leaned forward, kissed you quickly, and then turned to head for his own room. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry came home from his house tour with good and bad news. The plumbing was fixed, which sped up their timeline, and yet the painters and interior decorator had gotten behind because of it, pushing the timeline out a few weeks.

You weren’t sure which part was good and which part was bad, because by now you were having trouble imagining what your house would feel like without him in it.

You got the news when he strolled in, athletic shorts and a baseball hat on his head when Jeff clapped him on the back. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Harry eyed him suspiciously, reached into the fridge for a juice box. “I live here…”

“Oh, I know you live here.”

“Hello, hi,” you waved at Jeff. “Please do not be weird.”

“That’s all he knows how to be,” Harry offered you a fake-apologetic look.

“That’s all he knows how to be,” Jeff mocked him. “Actually, I know how to be cool and not weird about the fact that my childhood best friend and my adult best friend-slash-artist are now, you know, involved.”

Your stomach did a somersault at his wording, a quick look in Harry’s direction, sure that he would deny the accusation or play it all down.

You found it hard to believe that Harry would be in support of labeling this as anything. Why on earth would a guy like him want to be tied to you with any sort of label or phrasing or word?

“Moving on,” Harry said with a nod. “Are we down to meet up with Tom and Sam tomorrow?”

“Yeah, and we have to do that phone call on Tuesday to go over tour dates.”

Maeve ran in then, a smile on her face when she looked up at Harry. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“I learned a new chord on the guitar. By myself.”

“You did?” He acted way more excited about it than he likely was.

Jeff smiled and then told Maeve: “If you learn enough chords maybe you can be his guitarist.”

“Really?!” She beamed.

“No,” you shook your head.

“Of course you would say that.”

“Maeve--you’re a kid, you can’t go on tour.”

“She’s right,” Harry said with a sweet smile, “You’re a bit too young for life on the road.”

“I’m eleven now, though!”

“I know! And very mature for eleven,” he complimented. “I’ll tell you what. You can for sure come visit and come back stage and maybe even bring a friend if your mother lets you.”

She looked to you quickly, excitement in her eyes when they all waited for your response. “Yeah--we can go at some point...see a show or something.”

“Hayley is going to die, oh my god!” She squealed with delight and then moved to sit at a stool beside Jeff.

He had half a sandwich on a plate, one he picked up on his way over for a boring Sunday afternoon of lounging by the pool. Maeve reached for a chip from the bag in front of him.

“By the way, mom, she invited me over Wednesday after school to work on a project, so can you bring me?”

“I have to bring CeCe to dance, sweetie.”

“Well I need you to bring me to the store to get supplies for this stupid poster-board thing we have to make! And Hayley’s mom said she had a question about Luna--something about a moisturizer or something.”

“I can take CeCe to dance,” Harry shrugged, almost like an onlooker in the room. “S’not a big a deal.”

“Are you sure?”

Jeff and Maeve crunched on chips between you, watching the exchange.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll just need to put her booster seat in my car.”

“And bring her a snack for after--she’s always cranky and hungry.”

He laughed, “I can manage that.”

“What would we do without you, Harry?” Maeve asked, a smile on her face.

Jeff put his chin in his hands, teasing. “Yeah, what would we do without you?”

“No one would get anywhere, people would seriously be missing out on my chicken tacos, and this house would be a lot less fun to live in.”

Maeve nodded in agreement, another chip stolen from Jeff. “True, true, and true.”

A few nights later it dawned on you that Maeve and Harry were as close as ever, spending evenings in your dad’s old office while Maeve tried to wrap her arms around a guitar long enough to strum a few chords.

CeCe didn’t seem to feel too left out, she was more than happy to be an audience for Maeve when she’d come running into the living room: Harry taught me a G chord!

On Tuesday night after school it was CeCe’s idea to go for pizza, she chirped about it in the backseat the entire way home, and after learning that the body wash production was behind schedule, you weren’t in the mood to cook.

You took Harry’s car--showed him how to strap the booster seat in and make sure it wouldn’t budge. He wore a hat and sunglasses which both girls found hilarious, but to you it was almost disheartening. What did it mean for him to be seen out with your family?

He sat beside CeCe and cut her pizza into tiny bites so it would cool off, Maeve sipped Mountain Dew from a straw and filled you in on the latest with Hayley. This week was going well, though Hayley said something annoying in the cafeteria.

It felt normal, not weird for him to be sitting across from you, his feet against yours beneath the table and a smirk in your direction every once in a while.

Both Tristan and Zoey had been dying to hear more details. It slipped out one day in the office that okay...maybe it wasn’t just a one time thing, and now the group chat you had with them was blowing up every day.

They were excited for you, rooting for your comeback and rebound and eager for you to just admit that there was something there. But you weren’t able to do that, especially not when everything in your heart wanted to.

By the time you’d all finished eating, he dipped out the back to pull the car around front. You pointed at Maeve and told her to watch CeCe while you went up to the counter to pay for the pizza.

The woman behind the register smiled when you approached. Long acrylic nails, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes made it obvious that she could have been your mother.

“We had one large plain and one small with pepperoni,” you told her.

“Oh, you’re all set, sweetie, your boyfriend paid on his way out.”

Your head pulled back in surprise. “Oh--he’s--we’re not,”

She let out a laugh at your hesitance. “He was just as taken back when I told him he had a beautiful family--said they're not his, though."

You forced a laugh, if only to match the humor in her voice when you turned on your heels to head back to your booth. The thoughts started spinning when Maeve and CeCe climbed into the back of Harry’s car.

He smiled at you when you slid in, patted you on the thigh before he turned around to make sure both girls were settled--Maeve clicked CeCe’s buckle into place and then he put the car into gear.

Sleeping with Harry was mostly meaningless, right? He was attractive and living in your house and clearly you both got something out of it. Convenient, easy, fun. Most of your brain had you convinced that there’d never be any more to it. There was no way that Harry would be interested in sticking around: two kids, a business to run. You didn’t exactly come with no strings attached.

And he corrected the woman too--not my kids, not my family, not my wife, not my anything. Had she settled on the next step down when she called him your boyfriend, or had he offered the label to avoid an awkward encounter?

It felt immature, your heart beating with urgency as you thought about it the whole way home, beads of sweat along your hairline and not from the warm weather. He sensed it, eyed you from behind his sunglasses when he parked in the driveway. Maeve and CeCe raced to the backyard, leaving the two of you alone.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, all good,” you offered a small smile, the same response you gave to one of the girls if they caught you on a bad day.

He followed you inside, kept his eyes trained on you when you dropped your purse on the counter. “What?”

“You seem off.”

“I’m fine,” you lied again. What were you supposed to say? The woman behind the register at the pizza place is making me question the relationship we have and what it means?

You weren’t 17. You were 32. He was 24. All of these numbers swirled in your head when he took a few steps closer to you, eyes out the window quickly to make sure neither of the girls were watching you through the sliding doors.

He pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, lips turned down when he looked over your face. “You can talk to me, you know.”

“I know,” you caught his wrist and held on for a second, like if you let go he’d disappear and take everything between the two of you with him. You closed your eyes, knew better but still said: “the woman behind the counter called you my boyfriend.”

He let out a laugh, unaware that your words were actually a confession. “She called you my wife, said the girls were cute. I told her I couldn’t take credit.”

“Yeah,” you forced another smile.

“Is that--are you, did that bother you?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” he said, eyes still on you like he wasn’t quite sure where your head was at. He pressed a confusing kiss to your forehead but then said something about calling his sister. You checked work emails and night faded into morning like it always did, no matter how uncertain life was, you always had that.

The next afternoon you brought Maeve to Hayley’s, dropped her off with glue sticks and markers and a plethora of project supplies. A yoga class after that, had her home and with dinner on the stove by 6pm.

Eventually, CeCe burst through the door with a smile on her face. Her pink tutu was around her waist, her legs clad in light pink tights and her hair in a messy ponytail on top of her head. “I had the greatest time at ballet!”

You turned around in the kitchen, eager to hear about her day. “You did?”

“I did,” she nodded confidently. Harry came in the front door behind her, sunglasses on his face and CeCe’s unicorn backpack in hand. Maeve was sat at the counter with a pencil, growing angrier with fractions by the minute.

“Why’s that?”

“We danced to a fun song, and we played a fun game, and everyone loved Harry!”

Your eyebrows rose at that, eyes caught his when he lifted the sunglasses. “They did?”

“Moms, not the six-year-olds.”

This caught Maeve’s attention--she sounded almost disgusted. “Moms?”

“I guess ballet pick-up is typically a mom thing?”

You shrugged. “I mean--I don’t see a lot of dads there, so yeah.”

CeCe shimmied out of her tutu and then climbed up to a stool beside Maeve. Harry walked to hang her backpack on a hook by the backdoor, you questioned if it was even worth asking.

“Were they, like, hitting on you?”

“I mean, not really.”

“Not really?”

He walked over to the island and leaned on it, the dimple in his left cheek let you know he liked the hint of jealousy in your voice. “Maybe a little.”

Dinner simmered on the stove, evening sun brought a glow to the kitchen that made his eyes even more green than usual. When you didn’t reply he broke your gaze, let out a sigh and said: “I’m going to shower before dinner, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you nodded quickly, embarrassed by the silliness of your question. Of course the moms were hitting on him, of course they were intrigued by his presence and of course they couldn’t help but say hi or even ask for a photo. It shouldn’t have surprised you in the slightest.

He was up the stairs and out of sight quickly, CeCe picked up an extra pencil of Maeve’s and started doodling on her agenda book. You pushed sautéed veggies around in a frying pan and pretended that all of this was normal.

“Hey mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you like Harry?”

You turned around quickly, Maeve’s eyes were inquisitive but not judgmental.

“Do I like Harry? Of course--he’s nice.”

“No, I mean do you like like Harry?”

CeCe didn’t seem too interested in your answer, she hummed to herself and kicked her feet back and forth. Maeve, though, waited patiently while you tried to piece together words that wouldn’t make the roof blow off of your house.

“Harry and I are friends, sweetie.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

You let out a forced laugh. “What is making you ask this?”

“You seemed jealous about the other moms.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you defended. Were you really about to get into it with your eleven-year-old? Would you really defend yourself and make this the hill on which you'd die?

She watched you for a second, looked back down at the worksheet in front of her. “You seemed jealous.”

You were thankful for the fact that she wasn’t making any eye contact now. You let out a sigh and decided that not responding was your best option. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, had it been that obvious? Was she old enough to pick up on the undertones of your relationship?

You turned back to the stove, watched the vegetables sizzle in the pan as your mind started to cave in on itself. All of this was getting out of control, right? First the woman yesterday and the dizziness that overtook you when she said the word boyfriend. Now Maeve sitting at the counter with a curiosity in her that you couldn’t really blame her for.

The doorbell rang, CeCe’s head popped up in excitement. “Who is that?!”

“I don’t know,” you said. She hopped off her stool and took off the door as you followed behind her. You hadn’t planned on a visit from Jeff, maybe Tristan needed last minute approval on a product.

But when CeCe yanked the door open with both hands and an excited smile on her face, you didn’t expect to see Luke, hands in his pockets and eyebrows raised high.

“Daddy!”

“Hi sweetie,” he knelt down on one knee, wrapped his arms around her when Maeve made a noise of excitement before rushing over. She crashed into him, pushing her way into their hug.

“What are you doing here?” she asked excitedly.

“I wanted to visit, I was in the neighborhood,” he said with a shrug, eyes glancing up to you.

It was bullshit, he’d always been good at talking his way out of things or coming up with an explanation, smile sweet and words even sweeter. He backed away from them when they let go, stood back up and smiled at you, a quick nod in greeting.

“How’ve you been?”

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annie-mit-ie · 3 years ago

Text

Glimpses: Part 16 (Kathryn Hahn x Fem!Reader)

Part 1 // previous chapter <<< >>> next chapter

Summary: A lot is happening.

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: hello again! I was away on a family vacation over the weekend and am sitting in a car on the way home. This is, one again, entirely written and edited on the phone so pls be kind 🥰

Moreover, I can’t believe how many people loved and reacted to the last part. Good confidence boost! Hope y’all will enjoy this lighter chapter as well - a new rollercoaster is already awaiting around the corner ;)

Tag List: @danvers97 @zafirosreverie @srtamercurio @wanatag @pulledbythestars17 @plantowl @spacehahn @sarahp-stan @agentbrownierso @our-blood-is-our-ink @fruityhahn @emril-osvigne

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“You told her WHAT?” Jennifer looks at Kathryn in disbelief.

Kathryn, who is sitting on the couch, tea in hand and a wide smile on her face, looks at her manager. “That I think I am in love with her. Yup. I did that,“ she takes another sip. „Because, you know, I think I am.“

She smiles to herself and looks at her tea before she continues talking. „I can’t stop thinking about her. I want her around. Preferably at all times. I know I haven’t talked to her or anyone about it, but really… the whole thing with Jeffrey really made me realize… I couldn’t touch that man. At all. I couldn’t even bring myself to think about it. Because of her. I really do think this is it, Jen.”

Jennifer looks at Kathryn and for a moment both woman fall silent. “I just… I don’t think it’s a good idea. You might be at the height of your career right now. I just have a gut feeling.”

“Eh,” Kathryn waves the remark off with one hand. “You’re wrong.”

Not giving it another thought, she sips her tea and sits in silence, as Jennifer shakes her head and leaves the room, running into Agnes who is just about to enter. Agnes reminds Kathryn that she had to leave for today’s set in a couple of minutes and collects whatever she needs with her.

Agnes seems to be in a very good mood and occasionally checks her phone to stay on track as she leads Kathryn out of the room towards the car she had called for her. The women slip into the backseat and Kathryn immediately lets her head fall back and closed her eyes.

Lately, whenever she does, she can see your face. She doesn’t mind that you didn’t say anything back after she confessed to you. After all, it was her fault for calling right after work where people usually still need her. Right after she poured her heart out, someone came running towards her and told her to meet the director for an urgent arrangement. Obviously, Kathryn had to hang up right away as the project is top secret and the actors are not allowed to have their phones on set at all to keep it that way.

Seeing the tears on her face, the crew member didn’t say anything about the rule and never planned to report her for using a device in the first place. You saw him on you screen for just a second and realized Kathryn had to leave immediately. Both of you smiled and it felt wrong but at the same time the way her eyes looked made up for it and her apologetic good bye forced your heart to skip yet another beat.

Back in reality, Kathryn opens her eyes again and smiles at Agnes who is placing her hand on Kathryn’s. “You okay, K?”

Kathryn nods. “Better than ever before. I just wish she was here, you know?”

Agnes knows.

Today’s shooting is long and Kathryn’s body aches as she falls into bed that night. Tomorrow will be just as long, especially since the crew has to leave the area for a 2-day-shoot in the mountains. She sighs as she leans up against the headrest to type out a message telling you about it all. This week, time is tight and she hasn’t had enough of it to properly talk to you again. Especially with Jennifer following her every step to make sure she takes care of herself.

Preparing for the long shoot, Kathryn puts herself in a kind of trance, especially since her scenes will be mentally and physically demanding. Two days later, she snaps out of it as Agnes and her sit in a car on their way back to the hotel. Weirdly enough, she is full of energy and beams as her team wants to go have dinner tonight to celebrate the end of the week.

She immediately strips and hops into the shower before getting ready for dinner. Thinking about how it’s only gonna be her and the team, she ditches an extensive make up and is just about to just put mascara on as it knocks on her door.

Expecting Agnes or Jennifer to pick her up, Kathryn wants to just ask for them to let themselves in. But something holds her back, so she gets up and opens the door herself.

It’s you. You, in all your beauty. Your hair the way she likes it best, some make up, an outfit that tells her you know she is on her way to dinner. Kathryn is not able to form any words and just continues staring at you as you fiddle with your hands and shoot her a shy smile.

For a moment, neither of you speak or move, until you take a sharp breath. “I am in love with you, too”, you hear yourself say, before you launch forward, cup her face with both hands and capture her lips with yours.

The kiss is long, but sweet and she holds you close after it ends. “Y/N… you are here… you are real…”

There are tears in her eyes as she reaches up to move a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve missed you so much. Oh god.” She sighs into your ear as she wraps you up in a tight hug while the door falls shot behind you.

A few seconds pass before she lets go and finally faces you. Realizing she isn’t in a position to talk, you take the lead, “I heard you’re going out for dinner?” She nods and cups your face to kiss you again. Hard. Wanting.

“Hold on!” You stop her. “We gotta get going, hm?”

Once again, she nods but you also feel your self slowly being pushed towards the wall behind you. Eventually, your back meets it with a thud, blowing some air out of your lungs. Looking at her, your chore burns and you bite down hard on your lower lip because you can feel yourself spiraling, wanting her, slowly giving in.

“Kathryn…”, you say her name, nearly moan her name. Teasing her with it, you want to see what effect it has on her as you let it roll on your lips. You are finally just about to give in as it knocks on the door again.

Realizing what had just happened, you jump back and remove yourself from Kathryn by ducking under her arms that are resting to your side. She takes a breath and flattens her shirt before running her hand through her hair as she opens the door. It’s Agnes.

“Boss? I’m - oh! HEY Y/N! Nice to see you found each other.” There is a short moment of silence in which she takes in the situation and realizes how out of breath Kathryn, highlighted by the cheeky smile you’re spotting in the background.

She coughs. “The limo is waiting. I’m here to pick you up, the others want to leave.”

Apologetic, she nods once and closes the door behind her again. Kathryn shoots you a short smile, grabs her blazer and your hand and leads you out of the room, following her right away.

The trip is nice. The whole team is there and you recognize Ben, the hairdresser, who is standing with Agnes and Jennifer, right away. As always, the manager acts professional and polite but keeps her distance while Ben wraps you up in a tight hug as he tells you he missed you. There is also a young blonde, whose name you don’t quite understand - Agnes introduced her as the set’s make up artist - and another assistant, who is responsible for all things regarding the project Kathryn is still working on. She seems very busy and organizes something after welcoming Kathryn shortly.

Quickly, you realize that Kathryn invites everyone out for a nice evening as a thank you for their work. She is one of the few people who realize that it takes a team to bring life into a character and it just makes you fall for her more. She shoots you a smile and lets her hand run over your arm before getting into the car where she sinks into the soft limo-seats.

Within the group, you look like you belong. No one would raise any suspicion asking who you are, especially since Kathryn’s set assistant, who is a local, organized a table at a restaurant far away from where the paparazzi would assume an actress would go out to.

The groups time at dinner is great. Once again, Kathryn takes the time to thank everyone and ask about their time and if anyone needed anything that she could provide. Occasionally, she would touch and squeeze your leg under the table and look directly into your eyes as you talk. You love when she puts her arm around the back of your chair to completely face you and take in every word you say. Sometimes, she would even run her index finger over her lip and bits down on it - a common thing she does that makes you forget every thought you’ve ever had. Other than Kathryn, everyone else also seems to be very interested into the stories you tell and they all make you feel like you are right at home, which is a welcomed change to how ex-partners treated you. Not that you and Kathryn are an actual thing.

When dinner comes to an end, everyone is high of laughter and slightly tipsy you are the last person to slip into the car. Kathryn is already sitting in the back of the long couch that fills out the limo. Sitting down, you move a little too fast, prompting her to use your momentum to pull you closer and plant a short kiss on your lips.

Immediately, you pull back and look at the others in shock as you realize you guys weren’t exactly open about it all, but no one seems to think about it any further. Jennifer types on her phone as the make up and hair artists discuss next week’s looks. Only Agnes really realizes and shoots you a wide smile as your eyes meet. Softly, you smile back and, having gained new confidence, lean into Kathryn’s touch who is playing with your hair and place another kiss on her lips before she wraps an arm around you and you just lean against her side.

Back in her hotel room, you sit down on her couch as you are unsure what to do with yourself. Agnes, who organized the whole surprise with you, organized a separate room for you where you put all your stuff this afternoon which is why you seem a little lost right now. She is an angel. Right after Kathryn’s confession, you called Peter who gave you his number just in case you ever needed him. He not only connected you with Agnes - he also offered to take you to the airport. With their help, you managed to get to the woman of your dreams within a couple of days.

Kathryn’s head pops out of the bathroom. “Make yourself at home, honey! It’s all yours as well.”

She shoots you a small smile before she pops back into the room. Sitting there by yourself for a minute, you try to take in everything that is happening tonight and are just starting to wonder where you’re gonna sleep as Kathryn walks back into the bedroom. Locking eyes with you, she walks straight towards you before plopping down next to you on the other side of the couch you are currently sitting on.

A soft smile plays along her lips and her eyes glisten in the bright moonlight that’s coming in through the open window. A light breeze is ruffling through her hair and the whole scene is soaked in dark blue light as the night makes your eyes heavy and you sink into the cushions.

For a moment, you sit in silence as she lets her head fall back with closed eyes and her hand rests on your ankle, slowly caressing it with her thumb. She smiles.

Suddenly, she straightens her back and sits up again, facing you. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You say back with the softest voice you have in you.

“I am so happy you are here. I feel like I can finally breathe again.” Her face lightens up, elevated by the moonlight.

You need a moment to comprehend what she has said before you respond. “I feel like there is no other place I’m supposed to be at.”

Fully focusing on you, she nods as she takes in your every thought while her smile widens. Another breeze comes in through the window and you realize one again how incredibly beautiful you think she is.

Actually,” she takes, “I really don’t want to change that. I would like to have you here.”

For a moment, your brain wonders if she wants to offer you a job - which, absolutely is dumb - but you remember to listen to her as she continues speaking: “If you want to… you can stay. Here. I would love that.”

You feel honored but at the same time you feel like this situation of not talking things out will continue if you don’t take the chance and step up.

You move a little closer to her, rest your elbow on the back of the couch and place your hand (that has been propping up your head) on her cheek, fingertips softly touching her hair. For a blink, you sit there and take in the moment of intimacy before you move a strand of hair behind her air and place your palm against the back of her neck, caressing her slowly.

“Kathryn…. I wanna be with you.” You decide to rip the bandaid off. “I want to hold your hand, kiss you, I want to spend any possible moment with you and just… be.”

Once again, she nods. “I want that, too.”

You both smile. Moving forward, you cross your legs as you take a seat right next to her to take her hands into yours. Her eyes shoot up and she looks at you in anticipation.

You take in a deep breath and collect your confidence to ask a question that makes your heart rate go up so far Kathryn would probably be mad at you for. Right as you open your mouth to talk, the brunette blurts out what is lying on your tongue. “Please be my girlfriend!”

You stare at her in disbelief. It’s what you wanted, but hearing her suggest it is a completely different story. “Please,” she repeats, “I know this isn’t gonna be the easiest ride but… in the short time we’ve been… together… I just.. I want to be with you. REALLY be with you.”

It’s time, it’s time and you can’t hold onto you anymore. You launch forward and pin her down on the couch. Her hands fall over her head and disappear in her wild mane. She looks at you with open eyes and widened pupils as a cheeky grin finds its place on your face.

“Yes! Let’s do it!”, you say before finding her lips and kissing her until both of you can’t breath anymore.

It’s not the romantic situation you’ve always imagined. It’s not the grown-up situation of being with someone older you expected. But somehow, it’s perfect. You remember the countless times she drove you mad. The times you had to hold back. The dreams you’ve had about her and somehow it just seems fitting that this is how she becomes yours. Breathless, on the other side of the world, on a spontaneous surprise after blurting out sweet confessions. After all, you are head over heels for each other which put you in the position you’re in in the first place.

Remembering all the hot longing glimpses she’d thrown your way tonight, you go in for another kiss and deepen it quickly, becoming one with her under the calming moon light.

#kathryn hahn #kathryn hahn fanfiction #kathryn hahn x you #kathryn hahn fan fiction #kathryn hahn x reader #groupie #groupie Au #glimpses

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years ago

Text

A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader) pt. 2

Doctor Strange and y/n confide their tragic backstories in one another. Y/n struggles with her feelings for him.

Trigger warnings: abusive parenting, use of firearms, discussion of death and grief, mention of alcoholism

"On the outside, always looking in

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass-"

You stopped yourself before you could indulgently belt out the titular lyric.

"Ew, why was I singing that?" You muttered to yourself. "I don't even like that song."

You knew, subconsciously, that it was because you were trying to avoid what you really wanted to sing. For the first time ever, you had an audience. Someone was paying attention.

"Love of my life, you've hurt me-"

"Oh, come on, butterfingers." He interrupted. "Love of my Life by Freddie Mercury. Give me something hard."

"I wasn't aware it was classic rock trivia night."

"Then why were you staring straight at me while singing?" He smirked.

"Was I?" You cocked your head, expertly deflecting his implication. "I'm so spaced out I don't even know where I'm looking."

"It's Freddie Mercury." He insisted.

"Uh, yes and no." You corrected, drawing on your encyclopedic knowledge of Queen from one particularly weird summer in high school. "While Freddie Mercury wrote the song, it was recorded on a Night at the Opera. Which was accredited to the whole band."

"That's a nitpick," he shook his head. "I'm still right."

You couldn't wear your heart on your sleeve anymore. You could only distract him with 70s glam rock trivia for so long before he started to notice a pattern. Although a sappy love song was in your heart, you sang the anthem of the depressed theater kid.

You were staring straight at him, though. But who wouldn't? You studied his features only for artistic inspiration. His sharp jaw and high, high cheekbones were… inspiring.

You couldn't lie to yourself. You fell and fell hard.

"Butterfingers!" Master Strange called out from the other side of the sanctum. "I need you!"

You dropped your pencil and pushed yourself out from the chair. "Coming!"

You followed the voice into his chambers. This was a new development, you thought. Out of respect for his privacy, you'd never dared to snoop around in his bedroom. But this was practically a written invitation.

The room was spotless. Not a book or a scrap of paper out of place. Nor was there much to look at at all. A handful of picture frames, some magazines from when he was a surgeon, all featuring himself on the cover.

"Butterfingers!" He called again, as if he knew you were about to snoop.

"I'm here!" You yelled back, eyes wandering around the room. "What do you need?"

"I left my watch somewhere in the library!" He sounded disproportionately panicked for what was just a minor inconvenience. "I need you to go get it for me."

"What does it look like?" You asked.

"It's a $27,000 watch." He snapped impatiently. "It looks like one."

"Jesus." You cursed.

"Don't give me that shit, [F/N]." He ordered, slamming his fist down against the sink. "Just do what you're goddamn told."

"Alright, alright!" You put your hands up. "Fine, I'll get it."

You hurried down the stairs and into the library. On the floor between his favorite chair and a stack of musty old books was a slim, silvery watch with a plain black band.

You picked it up and examined it. Apart from the price tag, was there really any reason for him to be so worried about it? He knew exactly where he left it. Did he have reason to believe it wouldn't be there when he returned?

All you needed to do was flip it over to get your answer. You read the inscription on the back.

Time will tell how much I love you -- Christine

You should have known that his massive ego wouldn’t keep the women away forever. Hell, it certainly didn’t deter you. Much uglier douchebags have gotten far prettier girlfriends than they deserved.

You closed your fingers around the watch and sighed. The fantasy you created for yourself, of slowly, deliberately earning his love was shattered. Christine already beat you to it, it seemed. You tried to smother the part of you that resented this person for her exclusive right to Master Strange's affections. You didn't know her, but you loathed her. And you felt filthy for it.

With a heavy heart, you brought the stupid, criminally expensive little timepiece back to its rightful owner.

"Here's your all-important watch, master." You mumbled, placing it on the bedside table.

"I know I told you I would give you space to question things," He said, swiping it from the table and expertly affixing it around his wrist. "But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't question this."

You tried to sound as non-passive-aggressive as you could. You attempted a more forgiving tone, but you couldn't hide your hurt. "It's fine. I don't care."

"I didn't mean to get short with you, [F/N]." His voice softened. "I'm sorry. But this watch-"

"It's fine." You cut him off, peering at the floor.

"It was a gift." He finished anyway.

You felt the lump in your throat rising. You knew what the watch represented and you wanted to smash it to pieces. Along with the sting of rejection, you felt the sting of tears in your eyes. "I know. I saw the engraving."

"She died two years ago." He lowered his head.

Suddenly, all your ill will towards this woman turned into guilt.

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said. "I can't imagine what it's like to lose someone who loved you so much."

"She had agreed to come to a speaking engagement with me. As a second chance, and-" Pain wrapped his voice. He closed his hand tightly around the watch and held it close to his chest. "Have you ever been in love before, [F/N]?"

From the way your heart ached, and how easily the thought of never being with him made you cry, you knew the answer. You'd been avoiding speaking it into being thus far, but you couldn't lie to yourself anymore.

"Yes." You whispered.

"You'll learn soon enough." He muttered. "It only brings more suffering."

The tears finally breached and you tried to blink them away. You didn't know what emotion was causing them: guilt, shame, contempt, anger, sadness-- they were all present.

"Master Strange, I-" you stuttered, tripping over your breath. "I respect what you've gone through, I really do, but it's not fair to take it out on me."

"You're right." He conceded. "I'm sorry. Please, go get some sleep.”

You nodded. “Right.”

You slept as late as you could get away with the next morning. In apprentice terms, that only meant sleeping until eight thirty. Your dailies could wait an extra hour while you laid in bed, feeling like garbage.

You stumbled down the spiral staircase in your pajamas. No bra, no makeup and no effort. You didn’t even run a brush through your hair. Why try, you thought. Why make an effort for the man who would never see you as anything but the help?

When you saw the piano, though, you did a full 180.

In the living area was a French cherry baby grand piano that definitely was not there before. You certainly would have noticed it before. You placed your phone on the counter and approached the new addition.

As if the memories were woven into the very muscles and ligaments of your fingers, you ran down a few octaves of C Major. The keys were smooth as porcelain and the sound that emanated from the instrument was next to heavenly.

A bright orange post-it note was stuck to the music rack.

“Love of my Life”, Queen, A Night at the Opera. 1975

Was this a request, or an admission of wrong? Whatever the case, it made you smile.

"You weren't being entirely honest with me, Butterfingers." He said, randomly materializing behind you.

You turned around on the piano bench and looked up at him. "What was I not honest about?"

"I'm so glad you asked." He sat down on the bench next to you, phone in hand. "Because when you said you used to play piano, you didn't specify you were actually a student prodigy."

Sure enough, on his phone, he was scrolling through your Instagram. Dozens of videos of a much younger [F/N] playing hundreds of different songs, singing with too many vocal runs and doing so with the entire content of her soul behind the music.

"Student prodigy is a bit strong." You turned your head to hide your blush.

He scrolled up and found a picture of a young, zit-faced teenage [F/N] holding an acceptance letter. "Last I checked, Juilliard doesn't give full-ride scholarships to just anyone."

You covered your face with your hands, smothering an embarrassed smile. "God, please. I'd rather you'd found my OnlyFans."

He raised his eyebrows. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd still rather hear your explanation on this. Why did you give up on something you loved?"

You looked at him in surprise. "You really want to know?"

"Well, I told you mine." He playfully nudged you in the side.

You took a deep breath in. "Well, it was about two years ago, now-”

"Cheers to you, [F/N]!" Your best friend Holly raised her glass of champagne in your direction. "Juilliard ain't gonna know what hit ‘em."

"I'll drink to that." You said, bring your own flute up to your lips and taking a swig. You wretched in disgust as the vile liquid ran down your throat. "Or maybe I won't."

"You're gonna have to get used to it." Holly nudged you with her elbow. "I think most professional musicians are alcoholics."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "I don't think that's right."

"Is too." She smirked. "Conductors are mad strict. Abusive even. Drive musicians to drink all the time."

You laughed. "Is everything you know about the world of music from Whiplash?"

"And The Perfection." She added.

"Thank you, Holly." You said, attempting to take another sip of champagne, purely for dramatic effect. "Very cool."

You felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. "Hi, Holly. Enjoying the party?"

Holly took a step back. "Hey, Mrs. [L/N]. Yeah, it's great."

"I hope you don't mind," Your mom said, her fake nice voice eeking through her clenched teeth. "I need to borrow [F/N] for a few minutes."

Holly's face fell. "Sure. I'll catch up with you later, [F/N]."

Your mother tugged you off to the side. With a stressed huff, she began. "Jason is out in the fields with his ROTC friends."

"And what do you want me to do about that?" You asked, knowing her drunk self couldn't read your sarcastic tone.

"Could you go get him and bring him home?" She said, squeezing your upper arm.

"Are you kidding?" You spat.

"[F/N], he's drunk." She scolded. "Do you want him to get another strike on his record?"

"I don't care." You mumbled under your breath. "Have him call an uber. Hell, let him sleep it off in the field. Not my problem."

"You know what he's like when he's drunk." She rationalized. "He gets rowdy. It had better be you."

You tensed up. "No. Holly and I are going to the French Quarter. I don't have time to babysit Jason."

"Just pick him up on your way there?" She pleaded. "It won't take long."

You knew this wasn't going to stop. "Fine, but this is the last time."

You were both dressed far too well to be trekking through the swampy ass nowhere when you should have been fucking your way through the French Quarter. Luckily for your evening plans, all you needed to do was follow the sound of gunshots.

You slammed the car door shut and Holly followed suit. Finding him was the easy part. The hard part was hauling his drunk ass back home.

"Fun's over, shithead." You announced, heels sinking into the sod as you spoke. You didn't have much trouble projecting over the gunfire and getting their attention.

"Shit, [F/N]?" Jason sputtered, so drunk he could barely keep his head straight.

"Holy shit, I didn't even recognize you in that dress." One of his dumb fuck friends added. He jabbed Jason in the side. "Why didn't you tell me your sister's hot?"

"Buster, I-'' You clenched your teeth. "I don't care if you live or die, but my mom needs me to bring Jason home."

"If you get in the car now, we won't have to use the chloroform." Holly added.

Jason scratched the back of his head with the barrel of his gun, then pointed it at you. "You're gonna have to make me."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You exclaimed, hitting the deck. "What the fuck, Jason!?"

Jason and his dumbass friends laughed. "You should have seen the look on your face, [F/N]!"

"Put down the fucking gun-" You seethed. "And get in the fucking car."

He lowered the gun and looked like he was going to concede. Just when you thought he would cooperate, he stuck it up again. He keeled over in a fit of laughter when you and Holly panicked again.

"Look at them!" He shouted. "They're so fucking scared!"

You knew out in the middle of the swamp, nobody could hear you scream. So you used it to your advantage.

"Jason, you're going in the car, or under it." You raised your voice. "I will mow your drunk ass down like eight day old roadkill right here in this field and you will be LUCKY if anyone finds your bloated, shit-covered remains before the crocodiles get a whiff of you."

That seemed to get his attention.

"Sorry, boys." He pouted. "You heard her."

He had to 'get you' one final time, though. Only that time, the gun went off. Just centimeters from your ear. You clutched the side of your head, trying to drown out the deafening ringing with your screams.

You vaguely remembered Holly pistol-whipping Jason before loading you into the car to drive you to the hospital, leaving him desolate and drunk in the field.

"It was a one-in-a-million shot." The otolaryngologist tried not to sound impressed at what was clearly some kind of anomaly very few got to witness in a medical career. "When the bullet fired, the gunpowder traveled down your ear canal, burning the cells of your auditory nervous system and... singing your eardrum... clean off."

Your eyes widened. "Off?!"

The doctor lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Miss [L/N]. I'm afraid you'll never return to full hearing again."

You didn't want to kill the messenger. You knew she was only doing her job. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"If we could do a tympanoplasty, which, given the condition of the drum, is unlikely-" she began. "There would still be no way to fully repair the hair cells along the ear canal."

You took deep breaths to try and quell your simmering rage. "I'm leaving for Juilliard in three months."

"Hearing aid technology has improved significantly over the last decade." She said, a somewhat hopeful upturn in her voice.

That was when your mother decided to join in on the conversation. "Oh, we can't afford that."

You thought you were going to crush your teeth into bits from how tightly your jaw was clenched in fury. "Take it out of Jason's college fund, then."

"Oh, [F/N]." She said as if you had just told the funniest joke imaginable. "Please. That wouldn't be fair to Jason."

"You can afford to send that blithering idiot to the Citadel." You hissed. "You can afford to buy me a hearing aid so I can play piano."

"Beethoven was entirely deaf." Your mom pointed out. "And he became the greatest composer of all time. It's really just mind over matter, sweetie-"

"Sure, that makes perfect sense!" You plastered on a deranged smile, feeling driven to the brink of madness. "I can repair my destroyed eardrum with the power of positive thinking! Jason gets thirty-five thousand dollars a year to play soldier, but I have to just use my imagination."

She covered her face with her hands as if she was being attacked and went into kicked-puppy mode. "Don't be mad at Jason, [F/N]. He didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Fuck this." You said, releasing all your tension in those two words. "Fuck all of this. I'm tired of you defending that chauvinist asshole. The next time you see me will be when one of us is dead."

"Where are you going?!" She wailed.

You snatched your purse from the table and threw it over your shoulder. "I'm moving out."

“Disgraced at age nineteen?" Master Strange said, leaning back on the piano. "Let me guess, you turned to alcohol to cope?"

"You'd think, but actually no." You shook your head. The tone of the conversation had taken a sharp left turn from sadness to dry, apathetic amusement. "I probably would have if I could have afforded it."

"You missed out." He said. "Drinking a whole bottle of eighty year old scotch was definitely the highlight of my grieving period."

You'd never joined the clauses 'Master Strange' and 'drunk off his ass' in the same sentence before then. It was an odd mental picture for sure. One you needed to see to believe.

"I got desperate." You admitted. "Luckily, New Orleans had a lot to offer someone like me, so I didn't have to go far to find people claiming to have answers. But it was all essential oils, incense, binaural beats-"

"I'm sorry," he cut in. "What kind of dickhead suggests binaural beats to someone with only one functioning ear?"

You threw up your hands. "Right? Doesn't make sense. Anyway, I came across a woman named Mistress Fantina and she pointed me in the right direction. How to heal my body through control of my spirit."

He looked at you with that fascination of the human body characteristic of those in the medical field. "It worked, I assume?"

"I figured it out." You shrugged. "But I got so invested in the Mystic Arts that I forgot all about Juilliard. Became a full-time student. Ever since, I never once thought about returning to my old life."

"I suppose if I'd discovered this world because I had lost, say, my ability to perform surgery, it would be hard to leave it behind and return to the operating room." He thought out loud. Sighing, he closed his hand over his watch. "But no matter how medical science evolves, you can't reverse death."

You let the quiet linger for a moment.

#doctor strange #doctor strange x you #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #doctor stephen strange #stephen strange #dr stephen strange #stephen strange x you #what if #what if marvel #doctor strange supreme #tw guns #tw abusive parent

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milenadaniels · 3 years ago

Text

Before the Night Fades, 8.6k - POV Outsider on Buck/Eddie double date shenanigans (AO3)

“I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box.

“Okay?”

“Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who."

---

Or, EddieAna and BuckTaylor double date and it ruins everyone's night.

The nearly-post-COVID return to normal rush is going exactly as well as management at the Tilted Cactus expected it would, which is to say it’s going as miserably as the waitstaff at the Tilted Cactus expected it would.

The owners lost a lot of money to lockdowns, diminished capacity and the general (extremely warranted) paranoia of co-mingling in public during an international plague for the sake of overpriced appetizers. And despite accurately predicting the business would boom once the doors re-opened, management didn’t feel the need to account for more staff to serve said business.

So despite owing $34k on her student loans (that’s after a generous gift from both her parents and her maternal grandmother), barely being able to afford rent in LA, and the utter lack of career prospects, Mere is taking a break in the backroom, next to the dirty mop bucket, mentally running through her finances before she officially gives her notice.

She can’t quit, she knows that.

Turns out leaving New Zealand for LA with nothing but a dream and the idea that if Taika could do it so could she was not the most future-proof plan she could have come up with. The starving artist thing was so 2010.

But Mere’s made up her mind. She’s not made for this abuse. This is bullshit. She’s going to pack up, go home, and you know, do...something else. She’ll figure it out.

Mere pulls herself up from her indelicate crouch on some empty crates and goes in search of a piece of paper — or a fucking napkin, who cares — on which to write up her official resignation.

“No, in section 3A,” she hears Tomas fake-whisper. He’s one of the few new hires to grace these hallowed halls and still thinks it’s disrespectful to talk shit about customers even in the backroom. Umida, a five year veteran of this distinguished profession, has been trying to disabuse him of this particular nonsense.

“Where the fuck is section 3A, Tommy? We have sections 1 to 9, we don’t have any letters.”

“The new sidewalk sections have letters, to distinguish them from inside.”

“You mean sections 10 and 11?”

“...Mr. Peters said they’re using letters.”

“Mr. Peters can swallow my entire ass. The sidewalk sections are literally right outside the door from 9, why would they not be called 10 and 11?”

“Or ‘Hell On Earth’ and ‘Kill Me Please’, as we call them colloquially,” Mere offers, startling Tomas as she pushes through the swinging door she’d been hiding behind. Patio dining is highly encouraged and an excellent way to dine if one has patios. The Tilted Cactus does not have patios. It has a temporary license to put tables on the dirty sidewalk outside their restaurant, where waitstaff get to weave around pedestrians, dogs, and carts like they’re completing an obstacle course.

“Yeah, those work,” Umida agrees, emphasizing her point with a dispirited index finger in Mere’s direction.

“Okay, whatever,” Tomas says with a pained eye roll. “Can you please just check it out and let me know?”

“What’s happening?” Mere asks. She’s leaving this popsicle stand (ideally, on fire as she walks away slowly into the night) but she’s also starved of both human attention and the inherent drama of the culinary world so she’ll be damned if she misses out on one final showdown.

Tomas takes a breath to steel himself. “I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box.

“Okay?”

“Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who.”

“You don’t have gaydar where you come from?” Umida asks in perfect deadpan.

Tomas glares harder, crosses his arms and juts one hip out. “I come from San Francisco. We invented gaydar. I’m saying I’m pretty sure the guys are together, but I’m also pretty sure they’re each with the women they’re sitting next to. So figure that out.”

“Like a double thruple?” Mere asks, now actually becoming curious.

“Like a ‘I don’t know what y’all are smoking this far north but I don’t understand your weird relationship dynamics and I’m still on probation and I can’t lose this job because I can’t move back in with my brother because I will murder him and I can’t be an only child with aging parents in this economy so can you please just go out there and tell me what the fuck is happening so I can throw this ring at the right person and punch out sometime before I ‘accidentally’ fall on the meat clever downstairs?’ kind of situation.”

Umida and Mere share a glance.

“Okay, well, don’t despair, new guy,” Mere says with a pat on his arm. “Save the meat cleaving for the capitalist elite. We got you. Let the pros handle this.”

“What did the note say?” Umida asks. “One ‘e’ or two? We can at least eliminate half of our options.”

Tomas does not check the note to spot whether the note-taker had written ‘fiancé’ or ‘fiancée’. He stares them down and fips the note in his fingers so the text faces them.

“It says ‘finance’.”

“Ah.”

“We’re going to need a more hands-on investigation, then,” Mere announces.

—————————-

Mere goes first, only because Umida was on her way to swap a side dressing for her table when Tomas intercepted her.

Mere carries a jug of water and makes the rounds of the outdoor tables, trying to hold in her visible distaste for the pseudo-patio vibe the owners tried to make happen out here. There’s a bike stand and a taxi stand two feet from where people are trying to have a romantic dinner. Every now and again, the LA traffic gets rowdy and noisy, completely butchering the atmosphere. There’s a shitty speaker funneling in some Frank Sinatra but it really does nothing to help.

But after this mystery is solved, none of this will be her problem anymore.

Like Tomas said, there are two men and two women sitting like cardinal points around a round table. The women are on the north and east ends, the men on the south and west ones. Two of them are brunets, one a redhead, and one a blond. They’re all disgustingly gorgeous.

And that’s all she’s got.

“The ravioli sounds so good,” the brunette woman says, casting a look at the brunet man to her side.

“Yeah, it does,” he says.

“Mm,” the blond man disagrees. “It’s got feta.”

“What’s wrong with feta?” Asks the redheaded woman.

“Absolutely nothing is wrong with feta,” he responds with a superior smile directed at the man next to him who’s preemptively adopting the look of someone ready to hear some bullshit. “Unless you have an underdeveloped palate and are simply overwhelmed by such strong delicacies as a moderately salty cheese.”

“Okay, don’t talk to me about an underdeveloped palate, Pennsylvania,” the other man responds, posturing despite the softness of his eyes.

“Hey, I said nothing to besmirch the great state of Texas. Texas is a wonder of culinary delight. I’m saying you’re...a simple man.”

“Feta’s disgusting and that’s a hill I’m willing to die on,” the brunet says with smug finality, holding the other man’s eyes until they’re both smirking and looking back at their menus.

Well then.

Mere’s a little bummed as she fills the water at table 36. She’d been hoping the mystery would run longer than 2 whole minutes, but these guys are definitely together. So the mystery will only come down to who’s getting eng—

“Thankfully Chris inherited a more refined palate,” the blond man — Pennsylvania — chirps as the last word.

“He did,” the brunette woman chimes in with a playful smile. “He loves my cooking. You both loved that greek salad I made last week, didn’t you? That had feta in it.”

“It did!” the brunet man replies, slipping his hand overtop hers. “And I loved it. So clearly context is a factor.”

Mere almost spills the rest of the water all over the lady at table 38 as she takes in the man and woman mooning at each other. Though if it’s any consolation, the redheaded woman looks as unimpressed as Mere feels.

“Yeah, I have no idea,” Mere reports back to Tomas.

“The redheads are playing footsie under the table now. That’s one couple at least right?” Tomas asks. The two of them are parked behind the bar where they can see through the window outside but the exterior tint prevents anyone outside from seeing them. The bar is still used for pouring drinks but the stools are gone — can’t maintain 6 feet between them — so the staff pretty much have the run of this corner of the restaurant.

“He’s not a redhead,” Mere mutters, looking out the window to catch the action. “It’s like a dark blond. And I don’t know, I’m pretty sure the two brunets are together, but then blond guy’s foot is way into the other guy’s space.” For a moment she’s distracted by just how damn long his legs are. “That’s certainly...familiar.”

“They’re lesbians,” Umida declares when she returns from dropping off plates at table 32.

“They’re lesbians?” Tomas parrots skeptically. “I did not get that vibe.”

“I could see lesbian for the redhead, I think,” Mere says. “Don’t know about the brunette.”

“Lesbians come in all flavours,” Umida informs them haughtily. It’s the start of Pride month and her hijab is held together by an “Ally” pin. “You can’t tell someone’s orientation just by looking at them.”

“But you’ve declared them lesbians,” Mere points out.

“Because lesbians are approaching their table and only lesbians know other lesbians.”

“That’s definitely not true,” Tomas reproaches.

“No, she’s right, lesbians coming up!” Mere watches as two more unfairly gorgeous women approach with two young boys in tow. Honestly, screw LA and their beauty standards. The parties look surprised to see each other, but they clearly know each other well. One of the boys stays with the women, but the other one breaks off to join the table.

“No, I mean you can know lesbians without being a lesbian.”

Umida and Mere ignore him.

“Okay, that’s one of their kids, right?” Umida asks. “Lesbians babysitting for date night?”

“He’s got Pennsylvania’s curls,” Mere agrees. "That's the blond guy, by the way, I think he’s from there. Brunet guy is Texas for the time being."

The boy reaches the table and is pulled into a strong hug by Texas, who then directs him to a hug with the brunette.

“Oh, unexpected.” Mere would have sworn he was a dead ringer for Pennsylvania. “But okay, that confirms the hand-holding I saw. We have a set of parents. And unless this is a super modern table, I don’t see the parents being here on dates with other people.”

“Mm, I don’t know.” Umida dithers. “That’s like an auntie hug, not a parent hug. Like if she is the mom, the kid is not happy with her.”

“Wait,” Tomas says.

The boy is wiggling out of Brunette’s grasp and rounding the table to Pennsylvania who’s waiting with a wide smile and open arms, and instead of letting go after, the boy finagles his way onto Pennsylvania’s lap to steal a breadstick. Pennsylvania reaches into the basket for another breadstick to pass to the little boy still waiting with his moms and Mere’s heart tugs a little.

Texas watches on from across the table with unrestrained fondness. His leg shifts to press against Pennsylvania’s who looks up with a smile.

“Boom, gay dads!” Tomas crows.

“And lesbians,” Umida adds.

“Redhead definitely has no part of this,” Mere notes. The woman is smiling but it’s polite and practised, not warm or welcoming. “I guess the brunets could be siblings maybe? Really close siblings?”

Finally, the babysitters make to leave so Pennsylvania kisses the boy’s temple and guides him back to his feet. Texas presses his own kiss to the boy’s curls as he passes, saying something they can’t make out from behind the glass. Brunette gets only a wave as he leaves.

“Gays and lesbians,” Umida concludes smugly.

“Okay, good,” Tomas sighs with relief. “So we know who the couples are, now who’s gettin—”

“Um,” Mere interrupts, pointing at the table.

Redhead’s foot is making its way up Pennsylvania’s leg and he shoots her a grin.

“For fuck’s sake,” Tomas spits as he walks away.

“Did you even take their order yet?” Mere calls after him. He doesn’t answer.

———-

Mere gets pulled away because now that she’s not quitting in outrage until this table 34 drama is over, she figures she should actually get back to work. Happily, having not seen her for the last 20 minutes, Mikael figured she had left or died and had taken over her section. She agrees to split half the tips with him and lets herself be pulled back into the tide of madness.

“Got it figured yet, Tim-Tam?” she asks when she passes him near the bathrooms.

“The guys are sharing their orders,” he says despondently.

“That’s not that incriminating. I split my orders with people. I’m not about to pay full price to discover if I like something.”

“No,” Tomas glares before gesturing to the window with disgust. “They’re sharing their orders.”

Tomas stalks away to hopefully take an herbal break to calm down and Mere goes back to the window just in time to catch the insanity. Mere feels Umida come up behind her and tries to suppress her shiver when her “what in all that is holy” skates across her bare shoulder.

Pennsylvania has just finished piling some of his spaghetti on Texas’ plate, which is exceedingly normal. But now Pennsylvania is reaching for Texas' burger.

“He didn’t cut that,” Umida notes.

“No, he did not.”

They have pretty messy burgers at Tilted Cactus, ones that are hard to share because if you cut them down the middle they tend to lose structural integrity. Of course, this isn’t a big concern if you’re sharing already-bitten-into burgers. Which these absolute freaks are doing.

“Gays and lesbians,” Umida declares again, the earlier smugness replaced with an air of disgust.

But when Umida walks away, Mere watches Brunette wipe something off Texas’ cheek and frowns. One throuple and redheaded side piece? Maybe?

————

“I’m struggling with lesbians as a theory,” Mere tells Umida the next chance she gets at the pickup counter. “I want to believe, but…”

“Yeah, I’m doubting now too. They’re almost exclusively talking to each other. But then I realized it was more getting-to-know-you conversation and this would be a hell of a weird first date.”

“Huh, so heteros all around?”

“Well, I also caught on that they’re spending all this time talking to each other because the guys are like in their own world. Finishing each others’ —”

“Sandwiches?”

“Exactly,” Umida grins, unexpectedly delighted by the reference. “So I don’t know. I really don’t envy Tommy.”

“Me either.”

“Hey Manish,” Umida yells out to the other side of the pickup window, “I’m picking up for Lenore but she’s got a two-seater, why do I have four dishes here?”

“Because Lenore can’t write for shit,” Mere says, picking up the order slip and squinting at the scrawl. “These are for table 24, not 29. It’s a four-seater.”

“Alright, well I guess you’re helping me, then,” Umida says with a wink.

Umida is fully capable of carrying four dishes on her own but she’s asking Mere to come with her so Mere’s already reaching for the plates, hoping the blush on her cheek can be written off as heat from the kitchen.

————-

During a slow stretch, Mere takes it upon herself to refill water and wine glasses in section 10.

From table 32 she can hear them talking about elementary school workloads.

“Oh, ah, I meant to let you know,” Pennsylvania says to Redhead, sitting up in his seat. “I can’t make it to the movies next Friday, can we move it to the next week? I should know my schedule by Wednesday.”

“Sure,” Redhead says with a hint of bite to her pleasant smile. “But I thought you had Friday off.”

“I do,” Pennsylvania says, his lips curving into a small, excited smile, “but Christopher won his class’ public speaking competition and they’re doing a kind of show of all the winners for the parents, and it’s on Friday.”

Mere moves around table 34 and heads for table 36 next, but catches the looks of discomfort on every face aside from Pennsylvania’s. He doesn’t realize he’s said something wrong, but the rest of them have.

“Isn’t that just during school hours?” Brunette woman asks.

Texas hesitates before saying, “yeah, but we’re taking him to Universal after to celebrate.”

Out of pity, Mere doubles back to table 34 and reaches for his water glass to fill. People tend to keep their drama buckled while the waitstaff is there. And sure enough, Redhead glances up and paints a tense smile on her face.

“Yeah, not a problem. That sounds exciting.”

There’s a bite to her words, and by the way his shoulders tense and his fingers curl more tightly around his fork, Texas seems to have picked up on it.

————-

By the end of the entrees, most of the staff have caught onto Tomas’ predicament and one by one everyone from the table-bussers to the cooks have gone out for a smokeless smoke break to try to be the one to divine what the hell is happening at table 34.

None are successful.

“This isn’t even like a romantic date,” Mani laments. “Like none of them are that dressed up and they’re talking about like natural disasters and shit. I don’t get a proposal vibe from like any of them.”

“Who even goes on a double date to propose? Who does that? It’s so tacky!” Gabby says from behind the bar where she’s helping herself to a quick nip before she heads home.

“Who still thinks the ring in the champagne bit is a good idea, is my question. It’s a choking hazard!” Mere says. “How romantic to start off your engagement with a trip to the ER.”

Tomas ignores them all. He looks about 10 minutes away from saying to hell with his probationary status and drinking the next hour away straight out of the vodka bottle at his elbow. “I know it’s Pride and I should be representing but I could really do with a little heteronormativity right now.”

—————-

Tomas is stalling.

Table 34 asked for dessert, of course, and when he vaguely floated the idea of champagne, Texas had readily agreed, so this is happening. The champagne flutes are lined up on a tray, the champagne in them is warming with every minute that passes, and he is no closer to figuring out what to do.

“What if I put all the glasses in the middle and they have to pick which one they want?”

“Okay but the person getting proposed to tonight likely doesn’t know?” Mikael says.

“What if you pretend you didn’t see the instructions?” Shania pitches. “As if we can ever write stuff down correctly anyway. Just say it said to bring out the champagne but nothing about the ring being in a flute! Just hand it back to the proposer and let them get it done.”

“You think we don’t know who the proposee is but we know who the proposer is?” Tomas bites. “If I knew that, Shania, I could have just called them away with a phone call or something and asked them who to give the flute to.”

“Geez,” Shania exclaims, hopping off the bar counter to walk away. “You try to help…”

“And then there were three,” Mario announces as he comes back from another completely unnecessary round of filling water glasses outside.

Tomas’ head snaps up from where he’d been staring into the countertops. “What?”

They all rush to the window and sure enough: Redhead is gone.

“I didn’t see her come in,” Mere says, almost breathlessly. If she’d come in to use the restroom, they would have seen her.

“No, she’s gone-gone,” Mario supplies. “Said she had to get back to work but I’m pretty sure she just wanted out. That’s the chick from the news, you know?”

“People still watch the news?” Mere wondered aloud.

Tomas tsks. “Redhead was the least probable suspect!”

“Well we can rule out Brunette and Pennsylvania as a couple, right?” Umida asks, waiting briefly for the gathered crowd to nod. “Okay, so we’re down to the brunets together, or Pennsylvania and Texas.”

“Or polyamorous,” Mikael sniffs. Mikael is trying polyamory. He doesn’t know there’s a bet going on how long he’ll last. It’s a fine relationship style to get into but one he and his jealousy and insecurity issues are deeply unsuited for.

“Apologies, Mikael, or polyamorous. So you have...yeah, 3 of 3 options left for that ring,” Umida grimaces.

“Wait!” So-Hee cries. She’s supposed to be hosting at the entrance but COVID-19 protocols mean people don’t show up earlier than 5 minutes before their reservation so the podium isn’t very backed up. “What does the ring look like? That could be a clue, right?”

They look to Tomas, whose face is blank.

“You didn’t look?” Mere accuses him, though to be fair it never occurred to her either.

So-Hee pounces on the deep purple velvet box without waiting for Tomas to answer.

“Please god,” Tomas mumbles, grabbing the box out of her hands and prying it open with almost reckless enthusiasm.

All six members of staff currently on duty at the window crowd around, many heads bumping together to catch a glimpse. The ring nestled in the box has a slim, dainty band with a solitaire diamond jutting out proudly, with filigree details on either side.

“Oh thank sweet baby Jesus, that is a woman’s ring!” Tomas nearly yells.

“It could be a man’s ring,” Umida protests weakly, almost sad to see the drama come to an end.

Mere’s a little put out too if she’s being honest. But even if they couldn’t tell from the design, the sizing is way too small to fit on either of table 34’s men’s fingers, as So-Hee demonstrates by plucking the ring up and sliding it onto her own tiny finger.

“Yeah, get it stuck on your sweaty fingers, So-Hee,” Tomas protests almost hysterically, feeling his win come into danger. He wrestles it back off her finger and shoves it back in the box before taking a deep cleansing breath.

“Okay, I’ve got a dessert course to deliver,” he says, the picture of calm professionalism as if he hasn’t spent the last hour losing his entire shit.

———-

They should disperse then, but like brothers in arms after battle, all of them feel the need to stand guard as Tomas prepares to deliver the goods.

Some of them, like So-Hee, stand because they’ve foolishly become emotionally invested in the upcoming nuptial bliss.

Some of them, like Umida, stand because they fell in love with their version of events and they feel the need to properly mourn for what might have been.

“They’re co-parenting that boy,” Umida grumbles. “We all saw that! They can’t deny that!”

And some of them, like Mere, stand because they really can’t be bothered to get back to work.

But stand together they do as Tomas plops the ring in one flute and carries the tray out.

“Excuse me,” comes a voice off to the side of their group.

So-Hee, ever the consummate people-pleaser, actually turns to take care of the customer. The rest of them stay fixed at the window. “Yes, sir, can I help you?”

“Maybe? I couldn’t help but notice that young man taking some champagne out.”

“Yes, would you like to order a bottle as well?” So-Hee pokes Mikael. “We’d be happy to bring some out to you.”

“Ah, no,” the man says. “Well, yes. But I’ve already ordered some. I called earlier, when I reserved my table.”

Mere stiffens, her sixth sense borne of years of customer service piquing. Beside her, Umida takes note as well.

“I asked that champagne be brought to the table with dessert, and I left a box...one that looks a lot like the one on your counter there. And I’m sure it’s just a coincidence but I couldn’t help but want to make sure it’s not my ring that just went out to that other table.”

Mere’s wide eyes spring to Umida’s.

“Oh my fuck,” Umida whispers.

Then they’re both racing for the door.

“Wrong table, wrong table, wrong table,” Mere mutters under her breath as she dodges a stroller and a dog walker trying to reach Tomas —

“Oh, Edmundo!” Brunette exclaims brightly.

Umida’s hand braces Mere like a soccer mom in a car.

It’s too late now.

There’s nothing they can do but watch this trainwreck happen.

Happily, Redhead vacated the seat nearest to them so they have an unobstructed view of Brunette’s eyes filling with tears, of Texas’ wide eyes, and of Pennsylvania’s face losing all colour.

From context, Texas is the Edmundo Brunette is so pleased with.

But Edmundo is shaking his head, his brow furrowed. “I...wha— ”

Pennsylvania comes back to himself first, though the smile he paints on his face is strained and frail. “Ah, con — congratulations.”

“Wha— Buck, no.”

Pennsylvania — Buck — stands up from the table like a colt learning to walk, his eyes darting across the table without landing anywhere. “I — ah — I should let you guys celebrate.”

“Buck, no, I—” Edmundo’s voice is firmer now, his hand darting out to reach for Buck, and Brunette starts to catch on that nobody’s getting down on one knee with a flowery speech.

“Edmundo?” she calls, her bright smile dimming.

Edmundo looks torn and trapped in equal measure, and Mere wonders for a heartbreaking moment if maybe he’s as confused about his relationships as the Tilted Cactus employees have been tonight.

With a sigh, and a reminder that she’s out of this place like Cinderella at midnight, Mere falls on the proverbial meat cleaver. Stepping around Umida’s still outstretched arm, Mere weaves herself in front of Tomas just in case there’s any physical fallout, and pitches her voice low so the neighbouring tables will have to strain to listen in.

“Excuse me, my name is Mere, I’m the assistant manager. I am so sorry to inform you there’s been a terrible mistake. We’ve delivered a ring to your table that was destined to another this evening. We apologize deeply for any confusion this has caused and we will of course be comping your meals.”

“It—Oh.” Brunette’s eyes land on the ring on her finger, and her remaining excitement implodes into embarrassment so quickly and resoundly that Mere’s surprised it doesn’t produce an audible sound. The fingers of her opposite hand grip the ring and pause for a moment before slipping it off. There’s no box to slip it into so Mere holds out her hand, the other tucked neatly behind her back.

“Thank you,” Mere says quietly. “Please forgive us for the mistake. We will be investigating what happened so it never happens again.”

“Of course,” Brunette says lightly, forcing some life back into her voice. “I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm by it.”

Her eyes lift then and take in the scene across from her. Edmundo and Buck still standing, Edmundo’s hand wrapped round Buck’s wrist to keep him from leaving, and her eyes shutter once more.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up,” she says politely, rising from her seat and escaping into the restaurant.

Edmundo watches her go but says nothing, frozen still, holding onto the man beside him.

With all eyes more or less off them now, Mere gathers Tomas and Umida and hauls ass back into the restaurant.

————-

The ring is cleaned and inspected by Gareth, its actual owner, who is amiable enough to not escalate the situation further. His fiancée-to-be is none the wiser on any of these happenings — luckily their table, 29, is indoors — so his proposal is still on for the next course. But, just in case it doesn’t go the way Gareth hopes and he turns on them, Mere preemptively comps their meal too and congratulates him before he’s reseated.

On her way back to the kitchen, she grabs Lenore and uses the last hour of her completely fake authority to formally bar her from ever answering the phone again, or taking notes from the phone, or writing anything anywhere ever again. Lenore, having heard about the drama at table 34 and having seen the crying woman rush to the bathroom just now, accepts with little resistance.

And Mere, heart heavy with the weight of what they’ve done to this poor woman, mentally shakes her fist at her own curiosity and need for schadenfreude. If she’d bailed on this place an hour ago, she wouldn’t be leaving with this heartache by proxy.

As if beckoned by her thoughts, Brunette emerges from the bathroom just as Mere is crossing in front of it. She looks better, her tears packed away, and her cheeks only slightly reddened. Mere is about to offer her something — a glass of water? wine? a whole bottle? — when Edmundo steps into view. Mere doesn’t break stride until she’s behind the protection of the pay terminal privacy partition where she can see them but not be seen.

“Hey,” he says softly, his frame pretty loose and relaxed for a man who looked so troubled moments ago.

“Hey,” she returns with a forced smile.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know—”

Brunette cuts him off with a hand. “It’s not your fault. They made a mistake. It happens.”

Edmundo nods.

“But…” Brunette continues, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. “For a moment, it didn’t seem far-fetched that it...might be real, you know? I know we’ve been taking things slow, but we have been seeing each other for nearly a year now. And I thought… I don’t know what I thought, but it...it didn’t seem so far-fetched.”

Edmundo’s shoulders have grown tense, and it doesn’t escape Brunette’s notice. She smiles sadly.

“But then I looked up and you weren’t even looking at me. You were looking at Buck. You were so scared he would leave and that — that just doesn’t make sense, does it? I mean, even if the...the ring was a big misunderstanding, wouldn’t it have been better that he leave so we could talk about it privately? But you were scared, because he was upset… And if he was...I don’t know...upset that you hadn’t told him about this, you could have caught up later and discussed it, cleared it up.”

Edmundo says nothing, but he hangs his head and gnaws on his lower lip.

“But you were scared. Scared of him leaving in that moment. Scared...that he’d leave with the wrong idea? That he’d leave thinking you were — we were... ” Brunette sighs sharply. “I think I’ve been a fool.”

“You haven’t—” Edmundo tries to say.

“No, I have. It’s felt so many times like there’s been a third wheel in this relationship, and I genuinely didn’t realize until now that it was me. And maybe I’m naive but I’d like to think you didn’t realize it until today either. That you’re just as big a fool as I am. And maybe Buck is too.”

Edmundo opens his mouth twice to say something but nothing comes out. In the end, he settles on, “Ana, I’m sorry. I...didn’t realize. I don’t even know if I understand what I realize. But I...I know you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met and you didn’t deserve this.”

Brunette — Ana — smiles again sadly, and if a touch bitterly, she’s entitled to it.

“Thank you,” she says softly, before fidgeting with her purse strap again. “I’m going to go. You’ll...say goodbye to Buck for me?” Edmundo nods.

“Goodbye, Edmundo.”

“Take care, Ana,” he responds.

Ana takes a few steps before stopping and turning. “Good luck. I think…” she shakes her head before repeating, “good luck,” and leaving out the side doors.

Mere unglues herself from the privacy wall and slinks sadly back to the bar where she finds Tomas and Umida already halfway through a glass of red each. There’s a third, untouched glass waiting for her.

“We’re horrible people,” Mere decides. “Brunette and Texas just broke up.”

“We didn’t do this,” Umida protests half-heartedly. “Technically, Tomas did.”

“Ugh, you ass,” Tomas sputters. “The note said table 34, you all saw it. It’s Lenore’s fault.”

“It is Lenore’s fault,” Mere agrees before downing half her glass like a shot. Out the window, she can see Pennsyl — Buck — slumped in his chair, staring at the tablecloth. There’s a fresh bottle of wine on the table, two empty glasses at his and Edmundo’s places. Mere raises a glass at Tomas for the gesture.

“If they don’t end up drinking it, I’m taking it home,” Tomas says, “I already wrote it off.”

That’s fair.

Unfortunately for him, when Edmundo gets back to the table, he immediately pours them both a very full glass.

Buck straightens out in his chair, looking concerned and looking around for Ana, who doesn’t materialize. Edmundo says something that has Buck relaxing but looking guilty. Then Edmundo shuffles closer and puts a hand back on Buck’s wrist.

“Okay, back to work,” Mere orders. “We’ve intruded on this drama way too much already.”

When she finds her way back to the bar some twenty minutes later for a totally appropriate reason, table 34 is empty.

————————

A year later, Mere finds herself sitting on the Tilted Cactus bar counter on a Friday night, legs swinging and popping olives like they’re mints. She ended up not quitting her job the night she intended to. Between the excitement, the drama, and the on-duty alcohol, she was feeling pretty chill about sticking it out at the Tilted Cactus a while longer.

But she ended up quitting two days later when the owner found out about how she impersonated an assistant manager and gave her hell for it. She could have stayed, he wasn’t really going to reprimand her. But listening to him talk down at her while her stomach filled with dread at the idea of having to apologize and walk back into that hell hole…nah. Fuck the Tilted Cactus, fuck the owner, and fuck two weeks’ notice. They weren’t getting a minute out of her ever again.

She took the gamble of taking out more student loans and was wrapping up her EMT certification. She’d be in an ambulance soon enough, actually helping people. Not the dream that got her to America, but one that would suffice for now. Make up enough karma to get her feet back under her.

“The lesbians are back,” Umida announces excitedly in a whisper as she fits herself between Mere’s legs against the bar.

“Which lesbians?”

“THEE lesbians,” Umida returns, pointing out the window.

“Those are two guys, babe. Three if you count the kid.”

“They’re lesbians,” Umida insists, waving her hand to dismiss the kid from her labels. “They have strong lesbian energy.”

“You’re claiming them for your people?” Mere grins fondly. It’s the start of Pride again and Umida’s Ally pin has been traded in for a lesbian-flag coloured hijab secured with the updated BIPOC Pride flag pin. She’s very pretty in pink, right down to the lipstick Mere isn’t allowed to kiss off of her until her shift is up.

“I am, they’re mine. I claim them.”

“Wait,” Mere squints, trying to pin down the familiar feeling she’s getting, “are those…”

“The guys! Eddie and Buck. I told you they were semi-regulars now. And we were right, that’s totally their kid. I don’t know how, especially since we know they weren’t together before that night, but he’s their kid. My money’s on one of them being trans because he’s literally their spitting image combined.”

Mere sighs happily and hugs Umida to her. “Well, I’m glad some good came out of that night.”

“Umida?” a young voice asks from across the bar. In the year since the reopening, a slew of new hires have joined the ranks to replace all the veterans leaving and Mere barely recognizes anyone anymore. She saw Mikael (unsurprisingly single again) a couple of weeks ago but he’s clearly on his way out too. Tomas lasted until his probation was over before quitting. Umida, in no small part because she was the longest lasting employee, was rightfully promoted to the role of assistant manager. Mere still hopes she’ll leave this hell hole soon but in the meantime, at least she’s getting paid. And authority looks really good on her.

“What up, Jerome?”

Jerome pushes his dark blue fringe back and holds up a sheet of paper. “I have a note here to deliver a ring to a table with dessert but it doesn’t say who’s supposed to get it.”

“Oh my god, no, no way,” Mere laughs and tries to push Umida away. “Let me out of here.”

Umida’s arms close around her hips, preventing her escape.

“Calm down. I created a form so that night doesn’t happen again. Jerome, did you use the form?”

“Um, yeah.” He shakes the sheet of paper in his hands. “I mean whoever took the call did. They checked off the table number, and it’s a ‘fiancé’ not a ‘fiancée’, but it’s a table with two guys so…”

“Okay, but there’s a field for the name, did they fill it out?”

“How am I supposed to know who they are from a name though?”

“Oh my god, kid, you schmooze,” Umida says. “You roll up to their table, you lay on the customer service thick and introduce yourself and ask their names. People are idiots, they’ll tell you, just like that.”

Jerome cocks his head in contemplation. “Yeah okay, but no, there’s no name. It’s blank.”

“But you made a form,” Mere mock whispers.

Umida turns on her, her eyeshadow catching the bar lights as she narrows her eyes. “This is not the form’s fault, don’t you blame this on the form! The form has a field for a name! The form provides!”

“The form is flawless,” Mere agrees quickly, running her hand down Umida’s arm soothingly. “You can’t account for user error.”

Umida glares harder before looking up to the ceiling in supplication.

Mere, who has never in her life been able to resist picking at a scab, asks, “what table is it?”

Jerome checks the paper. “34.”

“The cursed table. The cursed lesbians!” Mere gasps, squirming out of the way when Umida tries to pinch her side.

“Well it’s not like the kid is a contender, so it’s 50/50,” Umida points out. “Much better odds than last time.”

“And to be fair, if the wrong guy gets the flute, he can just improvise and propose with the ring in hand,” Mere continues. “Overall, much less exciting drama than last time. 3/10 for me.”

“Thank god. Yeah, let’s do that.” Jerome walks away with his marching orders and Umida turns to Mere. “I have to actually go work. You gonna hang out here?” She’s off in a half hour and they have tickets to the back row of the latest Marvel nonsense.

“I got booze, olives, and an unobstructed view of my favourite drama. I’m all set.” In lieu of a proper kiss, Mere lifts Umida’s hand and kisses her wrist, delighting in watching her girlfriend’s eyes soften. She blows Mere a kiss and flits away to put out fires.

Mere is usually on her phone while she waits for Umida but tonight she watches table 34. The guys — Eddie and Buck, Umida reminded her — are across the table from each other, Eddie is relaxed in his chair but Buck is leaning forward, elbows on the table as he tells their son a story that has him cackling in his seat. They’re not holding hands, but anyone looking can see they’re together. They have ridiculous heart eyes for each other, and from her vantage point she can see those long legs intermingling again, one knee occasionally jostling into the other. Little tangible reminders that they’re there and together.

She saw hints of this that night, and to see it have taken hold and blossomed...suddenly she’s really invested in them having a great night. One of them planned this night out, wanted to surprise the other, and she doesn’t want that going to waste because of a blank field on a form.

Mere’s wearing a dark long-sleeve blouse, not too far off the dress code, so slips off the counter, snags the backup apron they always leave behind the bar and ties it around her waist. One of the newbies whose name she doesn’t know watches her from the host pedestal and Mere raises a fierce eyebrow at them until they go back to minding their own business.

She rinses out a jug and fills it with water and ice and slips back into her customer service posture to make the rounds of the tables in section 10.

“Well now, I recognize you handsome folk, don’t I?” she schmoozes when she gets to table 34, picking up Eddie’s glass first to fill.

Eddie doesn’t place her and she doesn’t blame him, he was under a lot of stress that night. It takes Buck a second but he gets it.

“Oh hey, yeah! Weren’t you — “ Buck cuts himself off awkwardly and casts an eye to Eddie and the kid. “You, ah, gave us our meals for free! Because of the, um, mix-up.”

That’s enough for Eddie to place her, and where Buck relaxes back into his chair as she fills his glass, Eddie goes stock still.

Bingo.

“What mix-up?” the kid asks.

“Ah, they put something in our drink by accident,” Buck lies without lying. “Real choking hazard! So they gave us our meals for free.”

“That’s dangerous,” the kid says.

“It was dangerous,” Mere agrees, filling his glass. “Choking hazard was right. Could have turned a really great night all wrong with a trip to the hospital.”

Eddie’s brow furrows slightly and Mere struggles to keep a neutral face.

“It’s never a good idea to hide things in food. I don’t know why people keep trying instead of just calling us for advice. We have tons of ways to help people with surprises.”

“I completely agree,” Buck says. “We’re actually firefighters and you wouldn’t believe how many accidental choking calls we get.”

Eddie swallows, his eyes looking mildly panicked.

“Firefighters!” Mere schmoozes harder, smiling at the kid as he gets excited again. “Well I certainly feel safer then.”

“Ah, you probably shouldn’t. I was actually one of those calls once,” Buck says halfway through a smile and grimace, pointing to his throat where there’s a faint scar. “Emergency tracheotomy on the floor of a restaurant. But that wasn’t a surprise, just, ah, too enthusiastic about the breadsticks.”

Eddie’s looking decidedly gray now, eyes laser focused on the scar.

“Okay, well I’ll just go ahead and clear these,” Mere says, jokingly reaching for the bread basket until Buck laughs back.

“I’m better now, promise! Small bites, chewed thoroughly!”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she dithers dramatically, nodding to the kid. “If I leave those here, can I trust you to keep an eye on your dad?”

“Yeah!” the kid agrees with a toothy grin.

Buck’s cheeks redden quickly but he’s still smiling, his head ducked shyly in a way Mere doubts is due to her teasing. Eddie, meanwhile, is still looking poleaxed though fondness is fighting its way back in.

“Well, I was just subbing into this section so this will be goodbye for us but it was great to see you guys! Enjoy your evening!”

“Thanks, you too!” Buck says with an easy smile. Eddie manages a “thank you” and Mere has to restrain herself from patting his shoulder as she walks away.

She’s only just returned the apron to the bar when she sees Eddie walk in and head straight for the host before being led to the back.

“Ready to go?” Umida asks, back in her unsensible heels and cross-chest messenger bag.

Mere takes the hand she extends but tugs her closer instead of following her out, before saying the worst thing she’s ever said in her life, “Actually, do you mind if we stick around a little longer?”

“Something good about to happen?” she asks, peeking out the window.

Mere tugs her in closer and leans her chin on her shoulder. “I think so.”

Twenty minutes later, when Jerome passes by with a tray of assorted chocolate treats and two overturned coffee cups, Mere and Umida find themselves bracketed by half the front and back staff. Gossip still spreads like wildfire it seems.

Buck’s overturned coffee cup and plate is the last thing Jerome puts on the table, and as soon as it’s down, he excuses himself. He keeps a professional pace until he’s past the exterior doors and then he’s racing to take a front seat at the bar.

Eddie turns over his cup but doesn’t reach for the carafe, he wipes his hands on his jeans instead.

“Oh my god, he’s so nervous,” Jerome whispers.

“The kid is so in on it,” the host whose name Mere never caught says, and they’re right. Where Eddie’s tensed up, the kid is bouncing in his seat like he knows something’s coming.

“Come on, guy,” a bus boy mutters, checking his watch. His break is almost over.

Mere’s heart is beating hard in sympathy with Eddie’s as they all watch Buck ignore his coffee cup in favor of serving their kid from the tray. Then he signals to Eddie’s plate, who can’t not lift it for the offered chocolate tortes. Finally, there’s chocolate on everyone’s plates and Buck sits back to try a piece of brownie and Eddie can’t take it anymore.

He motions to the carafe and Buck perks up, finally reaching for his cup. But just as his fingers close around it, some idiot’s dog barks on the sideway, calling his attention away. His fingers flip the cup without ever looking at it, or the plate underneath it.

“Oh come on,” Umida moans.

The dog passes with its dumbass owner and Buck puts his cup back down, or tries to, but finds something in the way. He tries again, pushing the intrusion away with the bottom of the cup.

“Oh my god,” is whined in Mere’s left ear and when she turns her head she’s surprised to find not another Tilted Cactus employee but a customer dressed to the nines, pearls and all.

“Ma’am, did you —”

“Shh,” the woman returns, her eyes never moving from the window. Mere turns back too.

Finally, Buck has managed to push the offending items off the plate and settle his cup down and it’s a nail-biting few seconds where it actually looks like he’s going to reach for the carafe and go about his business.

But like a true wingman, the little kid points directly at it, prompting Buck to push the napkin aside and pick up — the ring.

Buck freezes, holding the ring between his thumb and index. His cheeks flush and a smile begins to break over his face before he looks startled and the smile falls abruptly away.

It’s about this time Eddie realizes that proposing by recreating the night they got together was never going to be the best idea when the impetus to their relationship was an engagement ring accidentally sent to the wrong person.

Eddie vaults out of his seat and into the empty one next to Buck, wrapping his hand around the one holding the ring, and bringing his other hand to his cheek to gently turn his head until Buck is looking at him. They can’t tell what he says, but they can watch Buck’s eyes fill with tears, watch as Eddie gestures to their son who’s smiling wide and reaching out for a hand, which Buck instantly provides. His attention comes back to Eddie then, who’s saying something that gets them both looking a little fragile and it’s hard to say if he actually popped the question yet but Buck is surging forward to kiss him hard and fast. Eddie gives as good as he’s getting for a moment before he slows them with small, gentle kisses. And when they finally break apart, Eddie plucks the ring from Buck’s fingers and slides it onto his ring finger as Buck watches, his eyes wide and half incredulous.

Outside, the nearby tables break out into applause, startling the trio and reminding the two men that they are indeed out in public. Eddie acknowledges the applause with an embarrassed hand and waits until they have a modicum of privacy again before taking Buck’s hand and kissing right near the where the ring now sits. He then reluctantly shuffles back into his seat.

Inside, Mere is hugging Umida to her with a strength buoyed by love. Around them, the staff are starting to disperse, some wiping their eyes, some with goofy grins on their faces.

“Young man,” the lady in the pearls says to Jerome, holding out her credit card, “I want you to charge that family’s meal to my card.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s very generous of you.”

The woman sniffs delicately and leaves without another word. Hopefully Jerome knows where she was sitting…

“I’m glad she did that,” Mere says into Umida’s shoulder, “I was going to, otherwise, and I’m a broke-ass student.”

“I would have pitched in,” Umida says, her voice soft and pensive. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Mere agrees, sliding off the bar counter for the last time. “Oh, hold on.”

She gets closer to the window and turns the flash off of her camera before taking a pic.

“I think that’s bordering on creepy now,” Umida says without judgement.

“It’s not for me.” Mere sends the pic off with a note and three ring emojis.

They don’t make it out of the restaurant before her phone dings.

“What does Tomas have to say?” Umida asks with a smirk.

Mere pulls up the text and reads, “Gays and lesbians. Both, at the same time. Never doubting Umida’s gaydar again.”

Umida laughs victoriously, which shouldn’t be as sexy as it is, and Mere lets her drag her by the hand down the street, letting the nostalgia from tonight settle in her chest.

If there’s anything she misses from working the restaurant scene, it’s getting this glimpse into people’s lives.

Yeah, most of the work was gross, obnoxious, or mind-numbing. But every now and again, she got to be a part of strangers’ stories. Got to be there for the happiest days like graduations, or bridal showers. And even the sadder stories could be beautiful sometimes, like when she got to be extra kind to the elderly woman coming into the restaurant alone for the first time in ten years, or watch a family have their last supper together before their kid moves away for school. It’s just all so human and some kind of wonderful.

She hopes her career as a paramedic will have just a little bit of that kind of magic.

#911fic #buddie fics #buddie #my fics #okay this is fic 2 of 2 for pov outsider for me!#completely opposite tone of the last one this is just fun and dumb :P #hope y'all like it!#my posts

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blueprint-han · 4 years ago

Text

desert rose — yang jeongin.

↪ “ Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid. ”

— “ You’d have never thought that one incident would’ve enlightened you of how much in love you were with your childhood best friend, but it turns out to be more of a problem when you’re threatened with a life-ending disease with no cure whatsoever. Or so you thought. ”

pairing: jeongin x reader

genre: hanahaki au; fluff, angst with a happy ending.

⇥ warnings: hanahaki disease, mentions of blood (not very graphic but enough that it’s tagged), lots of angst, also in this world the hanahaki surgery isn’t discovered yet, because it’s a fairly recent discovery, also y/n’s dad is nowhere mentioned in this fic idk take it as you like but i imagined him to pass away when y/n was 12 for some reason :((, please do not read if you triggered by topics of death or blood or disease! These themes will be prevalent though not in super explicit detail, they are still there. If I missed a warning, let me know. <3

word count: 11.09 K

type: long one-shot.

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Yang Jeongin, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

part of: the @bystay skznta event, written for @stayndays !!

song: inspired from Desert Rose by Lolo Zouaï <3 No relation to the fic but it did inspire the ~vibes~.

↯ note: I’m gonna be honest this tired me out so much that I’m glad I finished it, it took me longer than I expected and it got longer than I expected, but nonetheless, here you go shayna! Hi!! It’s me! Your secret santa! Sorry I couldn’t send you that many asks because my uni is a bitch™, and I wish I could’ve made this better, but I guess this will have to do for now. I hope you like it, and I loved being your santa! 🥺 I hope we can interact more in the future, and this isn’t edited so pls go easy on me （＞人＜；）eiury2y4er okay happy reading! <3 love you shayna! <3 I wish I could give this more editing time :( but... i hope u still like it! ⇥ dawn.☀️

Jeongin’s eyes are really pretty.

The first time you'd made this miniscule observation was during your summer vacation road trip when the sun shined a tad bit overly bright, and Jeongin’s umbrella had a hole in it. The exact details of how it ended up torn don’t matter, but the way Jeongin’s eyes seemed to shimmer in the harsh noon sun almost made it seem worth it.

You remember it clearly — He’d smiled brightly when his eyes met yours, eyes crinkling into tiny little half-moons before his expression turned neutral. At that moment, you were lost into the abyss that was his midnight black orbs. They seemed to hold glimmering stars in them, ones that outshone the specks of white in the night sky.

Looking back, you didn’t think of it much, opting to shake your head off it’s daze before running to where Jeongin stood, throwing a bottle of water into his backpack and laughing at some corny jokes the rest of the group cracked.

Jeongin was a friend — a good friend. In fact, you could call him your best friend, though it had never been verbalized. You couldn’t remember exactly when or how you’d gotten closer to him — it just happened, like everything important in this world did. Like how Jeongin says “It was fate, Y/N, fate” in that old-man-philosopher voice to get you to laugh (Of course it would never work, but you’d still laugh, because anything to see him give you that bright, toothy grin and that little scrunch of his nose in acknowledgement).

The memory of how it all started is as clear as the sky, as pure as the pigment of a rose.

“Don’t stray too far away, alright? Meet me back here in two hours.” The instructor screams, and all the students chime in with a collective “Yes, ma’am!”.

“Good, now go collect your flowers.”

A flower-picking expedition isn’t a common event in a school field trip, at least in your school. You’re more used to the normal visits to the ice cream factory, or the butterfly park (which, to be fair, had some pretty flowers, if only you could pick them) or another affiliated school. Nevertheless, you don’t complain, because the prospect of your school giving you a chance to collect all the pretty flowers you could spot here had you on top of the clouds.

You’re allowed to go alone or in groups of two, and of course, Jeongin has you by the arm the moment your teacher had screamed “Disperse!” at the top of her lungs (P.E teachers had a thing for screaming, apparently). Ignoring the teasing glances the other boys made towards the both of you, you set sail on your path, scanning all the bushes for any wild and unique flowers you could find.

“Oh look, there’s one!” You pointed out after a good four-minute-walk, almost stumbling in your one-inch-too-tight-shoes and ignoring Jeongin’s giggle at your antics. You beckoned him over to where you were standing and he obliged, tucking his sweater paws into his pockets before walking over to where you were staring at the pretty flower.

So, flowers. They’d always fascinated you. You’d developed said fascination ever since you were six. Something about the sheer way the petals were arranged, the various ranges of coloring — vivid, gradient, muted — the beauty of something so delicate and intricate always drew you in. You found yourself examining a flower for hours, and surprisingly, you never grew tired of it. They’d helped you through a lot when you felt particularly down, too. Perfect distraction — snuggling against Jeongin’s arm and playing with the flower he’d always pick out for every visit, surrounded by calming; almost numbing silence along with the sound of his steady breathing, maybe sometimes his heartbeat too when he’d get overly affectionate. Flowers in a way, in every way, were your escape. You loved them.

“Hmmm.” Jeongin hummed over the sounds of the leaves susurrating and rustling on the ground, the wind enveloping you like a cold, yet oddly comfortable blanket. He fixed his round glasses over his nose, quickly flipping through his encyclopedia. No one really questioned him as to why he carried it wherever he went — but just like you, he had a vivid fascination for flowers too. It was something the both of you fit like a glove on, and you were beyond grateful to meet someone who could click with you so well.

“This is wolfsbane, we can’t pick it.” He said, shaking his head. “It’s poisonous, the whole plant is.”

“Oh…” You pouted, staring at the flower once more. You took in the sight of lush, violet petals, the way they wrapped around the centre and had almost no smell.

“Hey.” He touched your hand worriedly. “You didn’t touch them, right?”

“No, I didn’t. I know better than to touch plants without knowing what they are.”

“Good.” There you could see it again. That lovely, bright smile, one more of relief this time. When you looked into his eyes, you seemed lost — you could capture every flutter of his lashes against his cheeks, count every lustrous star that was laid in his eyes. “That’s good, the poison can be absorbed easily through your skin.”

“Yeah.” You let yourself smile at him, hands dropping down to fiddle with the hem of your frock.

“Come on, I wanna get some shots for my book. Plus some flowers.” Pulling at your hand, he led you amidst the varying degrees of green and the damp smell of grass for a good distance, before halting in front of a bush. You knew what he’s referencing to by ‘shots’. The camera that hangs around his back, ready to immortalize the memory into his SD card, or rather make a polaroid (or a painting, if he’s being artistic) and tape it to his notebook along with the pressed flower.

“Look!”

Trip a step back, and you yelp at the sudden intrusion to your pace, pouting at Jeongin before looking in the direction he had his eyes fixated on. “Roses.” You giggle, kneeling in front of the bush and hissing when you feel the damp coldness of the grassy floor seep into your knees. “They’re pretty.”

You can barely hear the sound of students walking past you — the moment seems almost captivating — nothing heard, nothing felt except the whirring of the wind, and the fresh smell of various plants mixed together, it carries.

This part of the garden seems particularly shady and cool, and some of the roses haven’t bloomed yet. A few rosebuds, a few half-bloomed roses, and two fully bloomed, deep red roses, sitting nicely against the green foliage.

Jeongin kneels before you, and you turn to smile at him, chortling at the way his glasses are about to fall over his nose again. You ruffle his black hair gently before fixing the glasses up his nose.

“You might wanna get a chain attached to that thing. You know those strings that go around your neck and to your glasses to hold them in place?”

Jeongin chuckles. “It’s alright. I don’t like my glasses anyways.”

“Whyyy…?” You whine, poking his arm playfully before directing your focus back on the rose. “You look so adorable with them.”

Your friend feels a smile tug at his lips, leaning in to pinch your cheeks lightly. “You’re adorable.” He says, before focusing on the rose, (thankfully) oblivious to the way your cheeks feel warm after his action.

“Here, let me pick them out and then we can press them into our journals.” Yes. The both of you have matching journals, owing to your near obsession with flowers. You oft share them with each other and get fascinated by how the other views the flower, how they delicately craft words into how the little gift of nature meant to them. It’s a heartwarming tradition — one of the main reasons you follow it till date.

Jeongin pulls out a pair of scissors from his satchel, and albeit with a lot of force (and the adorable nose scrunch™, manages to cut off a decent amount of stem with the fully bloomed flower, carefully bringing it to his nose to smell it before doing the same to the other one. And all the while, you silently watch.

“Here, this one is more fresh.” It’s so surprising how he can just say that by looking at the flower. Then again, you know him better than anyone, so it’s not surprising at all. He looks at you with dreamy, fluttering eyes and that precious smile on his face, his hair falling perfectly on his forehead. You want to reach out and fix the stray hairs back into position, but you hold back, swallowing the lump in your throat when you look into his pretty, pretty eyes. Trying your damnedest to not get mesmerized, lost in them once again.

It doesn’t seem like a very, very special moment. And to you at that time, it wasn’t special. You simply ignored the heat that crept up your face at his silent gesture, nodding sporadically and ignoring the way you tensed up more when your fingers touched, barely.

Your heart suddenly thumped against your chest with renewed vigour, and you could tell Jeongin was close to noticing it too.

“T-thank you, that's very sweet.” Fixing the frills of your frock, you smooth them over before looking further and deeper into the garden.

“Lend me a hand, please.”

You once again, ignore the way your heart flutters at his statement, silently extending your hand and covering up your sudden emotion with a smile. His hand feels soft, warm in your hold, fingertips slightly rough from when he used to play the violin. You like it, though.

“Here.” He places the rose carefully in your palm, making sure no thorns prick the delicate skin of your palm, and you can’t help but smile at the tiny reassurance. A nod of approval and you tuck the flower away neatly into your satchel, almost like a valuable present he’d given you, oblivious to the way Jeongin’s eyes twinkled at your action, his smile beaming.

My god, who would’ve known this flower could’ve brought you so, so much trouble?

It had started simple, almost unnoticeable. Just little glances towards Jeongin when he’d come over to watch a movie, getting lost in the way his hair looked exceptionally soft to touch, silently drifting off into space as you admired him from the backseat during class — sure, you were supposed to be focusing on the lesson and taking notes, but something about the way the rim of Jeongin’s sunglasses caught the sunlight and created a lens flare effect was breathtaking to watch.

That, combined with his beauty, his personality. It was too much, too much to handle.

You found yourself waiting to get a glimpse of him, even a tiny glance of his smile would be enough to make your day — to make your heart flutter.

He was pretty.

You suppose it’s because being Jeongin’s best friend meant you already knew about the kind and empathetic man he was — but for the love of god, you could not stop your heart from fluttering when you heard his name, let alone looked at him and his mind-numbingly pretty smile, his dazzling eyes that always seemed to keep you off the ground.

Oh my, was this love?

You didn’t believe it. You didn’t agree, couldn’t accept that this was love. Maybe it was just your way of showing appreciation for him, for everything he’d done for you? Yes. That was probably it.

Love wasn’t something you’d experienced — how could you jump to the conclusion?

But you couldn’t pin the feeling you were feeling to another word — though you were desperate. The way your heart beat faster around him, the way you started noticing all the tiny details that made you fall for him even more, and for what? Just because he happened to give you a fresher, more lusciously colored rose after choosing them on his own?

Jeongin had noticed it too — it was hard not to when you’d start fiddling with your thumbs, twirling your hair, and the way heat would rush to your face when he did as little as smile at you — you’d fallen for him — and while he was ever-the-oblivious to realise the implications of your actions, he did know that something was wrong.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jeongin asks rather dully, seeming kind of worried about your current state. You’re resting your head against his lap, but Jeongin can feel the warmth of your cheek through the thin material of his shorts — and not the regular kind. The kind of heat one would radiate when they’d either been overly flustered. Or possibly a fever.

He rests a single palm against your cheek and your eyes flutter shut, and there it is again. The butterflies in your stomach, the fuzzies in your head, and the tingling that shot up to your fingertips. “Are you sick? Is that why you’re oddly quiet today? You haven’t said or eaten anything.”

“Ah, no, I’m alright.” You try to hide the dizziness in your voice, snuggling in his hold before fluttering your eyes close. Thankfully, Jeongin doesn’t question it.

“Alright, we won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.” Even though you aren’t facing him right now, you can feel him smile in melancholy.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“You know I’m here for you, right?”

Oh, you knew.

Sometimes you wish you didn’t — maybe that would’ve prevented it from ending this way.

It’s such a common scenario — in movies, in books, in media. Two best friends falling in love with each other, confessing their love in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over gentle touches and lingering kisses. You’ve always had an attachment to those kinds of movies or books — because for you, that kind of love was special in it’s own way.

Those little ways the lead characters had of showing each other their undying love, those subtle acts were so special, so special in their own way. Those books had shown you how heartwarming, how vulnerable yet rigid, strong that relationship could be. It was such a pretty world to explore, to fantasize. You kind of felt that you and Jeongin were the protagonists of those books, those movies.

Except, you had no happy ending.

The books failed to show how painful it was to swallow, to digest the fact that you could be nothing more than friends. Sure, there had been some moments where the main leads would be sad, but it was nothing compared to this, this suffocation in your chest that slowly built up, day by day, minute by minute, second by second.

It was hard.

The first prick in your chest hadn’t been entirely painful. It was barely noticeable even. Simply a tiny jolt of pain when you bent forward to grab your books from your locker. It had only been a slight jab, like when you’d accidentally poke yourself in the rib with the edge of your hardcover diary while picking it up. Nothing too hard.

Then came the slight feeling of breathlessness. You found yourself unable to run a full round in P.E (when you could easily do so beforehand), having to stop in between to catch your breath. You figured it could’ve been your dust allergy because the P.E room wasn’t cleaned that often, so it made sense. Somewhat. Still sceptical, but nonetheless, you covered up your random outbursts of coughs with any and every excuse you could find when your parents questioned you about it.

It was hard, but you figured it was just a matter of winter passing by, and soon you’d be alright.

Would you, though? You couldn’t bring yourself to accept that there was in fact something wrong happening to you, pushing behind that feeling of paranoia every time with a smile on your face and a hold of your breath, wishing for the pain to ebb away.

Who would’ve thought that a sudden infatuation would have led to your demise?

Jeongin can hear the noises.

Those loud, dragged out wisps of air that you borderline struggle to take in and expel out, Jeongin can hear them.

He can feel your struggle. It’s not easy for him to look at you like this, curled up into a ball and ignoring the rampant burn in your chest. The movie isn’t even the main focus right now. Jeongin has something to say, and he’s had enough of watching you struggle. He’s rather here to persuade you to go to the fucking doctor, and get some sort of diagnosis instead of beating around the bush.

Strange. Jeongin feels oddly affectionate today, when usually you’re the one to initiate such gestures. All he wants to do is pull you into his arms and rock you back and forth until you fall asleep, because you seriously seem like you need it.

“Y/N,” he calls, watching you lift your head up from where it’s rested against your knees. You don’t reply, because right now, your throat seems like a barren desert and all you can seem to let out is a croak.

Jeongin sighs and rolls his eyes as if in deep thought, turning on the couch to face you before touching the tops of your cheeks with his hands — they seem overly feverous.

“What’s going on?” He asks sternly.

“What d-do you mean?” You manage to get out, feeling your chest hurt more and more with each syllable that leaves past your lips in a croaked voice. It felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing your chest with the sharp edge of the knife, the burn in your throat and lungs getting too much to handle. You can’t even tear your focus from the fiery sensation to revel in the feeling of Jeongin’s soft palms cupping your cheeks.

“Y/N, you’ve been acting weird ever since the expedition.” Worry is laced throughout his tone, mixed in with a dash of sorrow to give rise to the most heartbreaking sound you’ve ever heard. Though you know otherwise, it almost seems as though Jeongin is disappointed in you.

“You’ve been getting more and more sick—” he raises a hand to stop you from contradicting his statement. You only look at him with mellow eyes, knowing that what he says is right. You’ve been ignoring your health for too long.

You can’t help it, either. While you have an inkling of what might’ve happened, you’re too stubborn to accept it, let along your unrequited love for your best friend, who seems ever-the-oblivious.

“—and you can’t tell me it’s the winter allergy, love. I know you more than that to believe it.”

Shaking your head in dismay, you turn around to get up. You can’t be having this conversation right now, not with the faintest taste of blood lingering at the edge of your throat — you can’t be showing yourself like this in front of him — broken down, vulnerable, confused of your own feelings, having no idea of what you should be doing.

Your mother had pointed it out too, at this point. They suggested going to the doctor, and you outright refused. You didn’t want your suspicion to come to life. It couldn’t- it couldn’t be this way-

“Y/N!”

Jeongin grabs your hands to stop you in your position and turns you around.

And that’s a wrong move.

Your whole chest tightens, and the thorns that stab against your chest has never been more painful. You cry out loudly, only causing them to dig deeper into your skin and almost bleed. Jeongin’s eyes widen in shock at your sudden, unexpected reaction and only tightens his grasp on your hands.

Which again, is a very wrong move, because the following bouts of coughs that take over you shake you up from the core. Jeongin feels blanked out looking at how much you’re suffering right now, so much that he doesn’t feel the wet, yet light flutter on the back of his hand.

When Jeongin snaps back in from his momentary daze, he’s borderline horrified.

He’s convinced, completely certain that there’s nothing more terrifying, heartbreaking, scarring — he could go on and on — than what he just saw. He can almost feel his heart break into a million tiny shards, but he knows that it’s nowhere equivalent to the pain you’re going through.

Well, looks like your suspicion did come to life.

Because what Jeongin sees is, gah, he feels horrified. There’s blood dripping down your lip, staining the skin below garnet red. Your eyes are tinted pinkish-red too, most likely from the exertion that came along with the horrendous amount of coughs that took over you.

Red, red everywhere. Jeongin had previously thought of red as one of the most beautiful, and most interesting colors ever — a symbolism of love, nothing but the pure love he felt towards you.

But now, all he could think of was how much he was tormented by the mere sight of the color.

When his eyes, still blown wide in shock, trail down to his lap, the mere sight of what’s littered on it leaves him in tears.

Red petals, everywhere. All over the back of his hands, all over your lap, all over his lap.

Jeongin could probably spend ages, ages sobbing and whimpering about the sheer pain the sight in front of him brought. It tormented him beyond imagination. This should be a dream — Jeongin wants to wake up any second now, anywhere, in your lap, in his own bed, just anything to save his heart from seeing you this way.

Yet when you cough again, the pain in his heart tells otherwise.

“Y/N!” He chokes out a cry, and from there, he acts quick. He could cry about this later — he needs to find you some help, and now.

You feel numb. As numb as you possibly can when you see the tears in Jeongin’s eyes, though your sight is clouded by your own tears. You’re numb to the blood dripping down your chin and pooling in your lap, you’re numb to the feeling of those bloody petals littered all over the couch.

“We need to get you to the hospital, quick.” He gets up, wiping his eyes that are surprisingly, surprisingly overflowing with tears. You barely feel the handkerchief quickly wiping against your mouth, causing you to snap from your trance and look at him. The numbness doesn’t fade yet.

You doubt it ever will.

You’re not sure that the events after the incident go super quickly or as slow as a snail, and you’re not in any state to care about it either. Jeongin had called your mother when he drove you to the hospital — albeit over the sound of your repetitive and raucous coughs — and now your mom’s standing next to him outside, nervously prancing back and forth as he waits for the doctors to come out.

The hospital corridor is moderately lit — perfect setting for Jeongin’s mood right now. There’s no sound except for the occasional encounter when a nurse or doctor happens to walk past them. The hanahaki treatment section of the hospital isn’t the most crowded place — surprisingly enough, the doctors had immediately known what had happened to you.

Your mother can’t bring herself to thank Jeongin for dragging you to the hospital — she’s too paranoid. Your daughter coughing up blood and — Jeongin hadn’t mentioned it to her — flower petals over a movie night isn't the best news you’d want to receive when her friend calls you; so Jeongin understands why your mother is overly quiet.

He doesn’t try to reassure her either. It’s hard to do so when she’s gonna find out her daughter houses a wedding bouquet in her chest — and Jeongin isn’t that oblivious to not know what’s going on, especially standing in the hanahaki department of the clinic. His mother, not so much. All she can do is silently sob and mutter prayers repeatedly, hoping her daughter would be alright. Jeongin feels his heart break more when he sees your mom like this, and he knows he’s not gonna last at this rate, when he’s allowed to enter your room.

At this point, he can’t get past his own brain screaming a million different things at the same time, none of them coherent enough to make sense. He’s a mess right now — red eyes puffy and swollen, hair completely disheveled and half of his sweatshirt hanging out of where it was neatly tucked in.

Two hands at his heart, and that’s when he notices the red rose petal stuck to the back of his hand, probably from when you’d coughed all over it. It’s fairly large in size — Jeongin examines it, in a slightly successful attempt at trying to distract from the feeling of anxiety that builds up inside bit by bit. It’s a deep, dark red color, exactly like the rose he’d given you that day, at the trip.

The boy sighs to himself before pulling the petal off his hand, eyes widening when the blood underneath it tints the skin it runs across.

That’s when a lump forms in his throat, but he isn’t given time to cry, because soon enough, the sound of a door opening clicks through his ears, and Jeongin’s head snaps up.

He can see you from where he’s standing, and his whole world freezes in front of his eyes.

The flowers inside your chest had grown moderately large — that’s what the doctor said, at least. You’d been hiding your disease for two months, and it wasn’t until the end that Jeongin caught on — you’d been too stubborn to accept your fate. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end, after all.

You couldn’t accept it then, but you did now. Did it seriously make a difference?

Jeongin had seen your scan, and what he saw would’ve truly been pretty, if not for the fact that these flowers could be the cause for your imminent death. The roses had almost fully bloomed — and the thorns were pricklier than ever. Jeongin could almost feel them stab against his skin, and he didn’t even have the disease. It was confusing — things were too confusing right now.

You couldn’t speak much, the painkillers you were on were making you drowsy and causing you to quickly fall asleep. Even if you weren’t asleep, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

Numbness ran through your veins. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything after what had happened.

Jeongin and your mother hadn’t spoken to you after the doctor had shown them your scan, and they preferred to not break the news to you either, figuring that you were pretty shaken up from the incident already.

The doctor said he could give you two weeks before the flowers filled your lungs completely and blocked your throat.

And Jeongin is devastated.

When the effect of your painkillers wear off and you open your eyes, you feel a soft sensation brushing against your thumb, slowly turning to look at your best friend — tears streaked all over his face, eyes ridden with dark circles and red and puffy, his voice sounded nasal as he silently cried, eyesight focused on the floor.

“J-Jeongin…?” You mumble past your oxygen mask, surprisingly not noticing it’s presence until right now,

He perks up at the painful call, lifting his head to gaze into your eyes. He looks worse than you look right now, if you’re to be honest. You doubt he’s even brushed his teeth or had breakfast. The hospital room is pretty dim just like the exterior, but the sunlight coming from the open window is enough to light up the whole room, enough to at least see your friend’s features clearly.

“You’re awake.” he says as a matter-of-fact and you nod, gently taking off the contraption placed against your nose. Jeongin flinches like he wants to stop you. But then freezes when you try to slowly get up.

Turns out that’s a wrong move, because you can soon feel the thorns of the garden you have in your lungs prick against your skin, making you gasp and shriek in agony. Jeongin jerks up and places a hand on your back, and the other across your stomach — and gently maneuvers you into an awkward but comfortable position, before lifting the top of the bed into a reclining position before laying you down onto it.

“Careful, love.”

Your chest tightens at the actions once again, yet you try not to cough like you did the last time. Surprisingly biting on your tongue works to rid the feeling of suffocation, or at least distracts from it.

“Where’s m-mom?”

“She went to pick up some of your essentials, plus a few clothes.”

“D-did she eat? Did you eat?”

Jeongin smiles at your concern. It’s something he’s found endearing about you — how you always seem to put others first, even though you’re in a worse situation. Though the habit isn’t healthy, Jeongin can’t seem to get over how thoughtful one would have to be to act that way all the time. You’re so innocent, so kind — you’re one of a kind, at least for him.

“What?” You chuckle, noticing Jeongin’s lingering stare on you.

Your friend only beams, taking your hand in his once again. “I forced her to eat something because of her medication, so you don’t have to worry. I ate along with her too, though the canteen’s food doesn’t taste that well.”

A soft giggle leaves your lips and quickly morphs into a set of coughs, more petals fluttering all over your lap and hands. When Jeongin stands up to call a doctor, you lift a hand to stop him, gesturing for him to sit down.

It isn’t as intense as the first time, but there’s still a tiny bit of blood dripping from the corner of your mouth, which Jeongin quickly goes to wipe off with his thumb. You flinch at the warm touch, sighing to yourself before dropping your gaze to your lap.

“So…” You start. “What did the doctor say?”

“What?”

Jeongin seems visibly tense at your question, kind of like he was dreading it. Which he was. He knows enough about this to know that patients usually don’t like knowing, and in fact can be traumatised by knowing that their apparent death would be in two weeks.

Jeongin in fact has no idea how he’s so calm. He should be sobbing, trashing, looking for a way to hold you back. He shouldn’t be so calm.

He figures he’s just accepted fate. He’s relishing what could be his last moments with you.

You don’t reply, and Jeongin knows he’ll have to make something up.

“They said it’s just a regular allerg-”

“Jeongin.”

The boy freezes.

“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice is laid with so much pain, Jeongin wants to reach out and crush every problem you have into his fist. He wants all your sorrow and worry to dissolve, and right now, he just feels helpless. He feels powerless.

“How many days do I have left?” You ask, sniffling before wiping your tears away. “Just tell me already, Jeongin-”

Jeongin’s grip tightens against your hand as he whispers — “Two weeks.”

The words are only let out as a soft mumble, as though Jeongin himself is questioning the statement the doctors put forth. Really, in two weeks? Would you really be gone? Would he seriously never see more of your smiles, your loving gaze, those times when you’d get overly shy of his compliments, those times when you’d silently smile at him from afar?

Was this the end?

“Two weeks.” You repeat. Your voice honestly sounds like a croaking frog, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Hey Y/N…?” Jeongin hesitantly calls.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” He puts his other hand on yours. “Two questions, actually.”

“Mhm?”

“This disease you have… hana-”

“Hanahaki.”

“Yeah, that.” A hand runs against the back of his neck and he continues. “Be honest, did you know that- that you had this disease before I found out?”

“Jeongin…” You’re about to shake your head, but then you remember the deadline. The deadline by which, you’re no longer going to be here, no longer going to be able to cuddle Jeongin during movie dates, no longer be able to even look at him from afar, or close for that matter. In other words, you didn’t want to end your days with him based on a lie.

Therefore you sigh, breathing out a ‘yes’ as your shoulders droop down.

You can hear Jeongin’s shaky sigh too.

“W-why?” He clenches your hand tightly, sadness mixing in with what you can only call disappointment. “How could you be so selfish?”

It's too late to take back those words now.

“Wh-what?” You raise your eyebrows, feeling scared at his sudden question. “Jeongin, I wanted to be sure-”

Oh who are you kidding? Jeongin and you both know that you’d hidden it because you didn’t want to accept it. It’s too late to change that now.

And Jeongin seems to know that too.

“Don’t- Y/N.” His breath morphs into sharp inhales, as though he’s downright angry at your actions — you know he has every reason to be — still, it doesn’t ease the pain in your heart. Or maybe that’s just the flowers.

“Do you think this is a joke?” His sobs grow louder in fervour, and you feel yourself break at the sight. The room is so, so quiet that you can hear his faint mumbles. You can hear the cries his heart screams in agony, letting you go is painful for him. The thought, rather the sound, only makes the plant in your heart grow further.

“Y/N- did you not think of your mother? Of me? Did you not think of what would have happened if you left us? You think it’s gonna be easy on the both of us? On everyone?” His gaze stern and his voice stable, you don’t get affected by his words, but you do understand what he means — and maybe wish that you could’ve reversed your actions.

“How could you, Y/N?” He gets up from where he’s seated beside your hospital bed. “How could you think that this would be the most appropriate action?”

Jeongin knows he’s angry. Jeongin knows you’re going through a lot. But he’s too.

He’s not angry at you, not at himself, but fate. He’s mad that this is your fate, that you have to go away so soon. He’s mad that he can’t do anything to help you, in any manner.

You don’t say a word, which only causes Jeongin to sigh — disappointedly, again — and walk to where his coat is hung against the edge of his bed, picking it off and pulling it over him in a hurry. Every cell in you wants to scream at him, apologize for what you did, but your voice feels small, almost like you can’t force it out of your throat.

He goes towards the door that leads to the corridor, stopping for a second before turning to look at you.

“Are you gonna tell me, at least, who this person is?”

“W-what?” Things are too confusing right now.

“Hanahaki comes with unrequited love, Y/N. Are you gonna tell me who didn’t return your love?”

“You didn’t” You want to say. But then again, you stay quiet, not being able to handle the intensity of the moment.

Jeongin wants for two seconds, then sighs and shakes his head. “Whatever, I guess.”

And then he leaves.

In the next week, your health goes down drastically. More of petals expelled out of your lungs, more blood dripping from between your lips, more of your mother’s horrified expression as she runs away from the room while the doctors tend to your coughs. More sobs from your mother when she thinks you’re asleep, more melancholic smiles when you’re awake.

But you feel so empty.

Every piece of you feels like it’s being ripped apart. You can’t even sit up without someone’s help, of such intensity is the pain. The pain of knowing that your love would never be returned.

The pain of knowing that you hurt the person you loved truly.

You were put on your oxygen mask 24/7, and instructed to not take it off whatsoever. Your medication stopped taking it’s usual effect, and if anyone saw you the way you were outside the current circumstances, they’d have assumed that you haven't slept for 8 days and were going to crumble into the earth any second.

“Honey?”

You gasp at the sudden intrusion to your thoughts, turning around to see your mother, sitting next to you and holding your hand with her own. You hum as a response, clearly unable to respond more than a mere mumble.

“Did you and Jeongin fight?”

A pang of guilt floods through your nerves at the mention of your friend’s name. He’d come to visit you only once in the past week. Perhaps even he couldn’t handle the fact that your death certificate was ready to be signed soon, and was trying to not be tormented by the fact. Or perhaps he was just angry.

“W-why?” You croak.

“I convinced him to come stay here while I go pick up a fresh change of clothes, but it took me quite a bit of arguing.”

You feel sad for her. She’s clearly paranoid — you can hear it in her voice, the shake lingers throughout. Yet she holds it in, trying not to let you worry about it.

You don’t answer her question. The last thing you need is for her to get mad at you too, though you doubt it. Your mom has never been the kind to yell at you for anything — provided, you’ve never given her a reason either.

“Do you think he’s mad because I didn’t tell him about the person who didn’t return m-my l-lo-ve…?” your throat goes dry towards the end and your mother quickly hands you a glass of water. You chug it down and sigh in relief, breath still short.

“Is that person him?” Your mother questions with her gentle, soothing voice one that can make you relax on the first listen. There’s no use lying to her, you figure. She knows you too well to do that, plus, like you said, you couldn’t bring yourself to end your days with her on a lie.

“Yeah…”

“Oh sweetheart,” She brushes some of your hair off your face, sitting down again before drumming her fingers against the back of your hand gently. “I don’t think he could be mad at you.”

“But he is. Didn’t y-you see? He didn’t bother to meet me as much after our argument. He’c c-clearly mad.”

“Hmmm,” Your mother ponders. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. I have known him for a while, dear. He’s been with you for more than five years. Maybe he’s having trouble taking this in? Just like…” Your mother stops after that, but you know the completion.

Just like her.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

You simply don’t get it. You should be scared. You should be sad and devastated that your end was going to come soon. You should be thrashing around and crying and wailing in despair — you just don’t have the energy to even bother about your end. It’s depressing, but you know there’s no way you could avoid the inevitable, or get your lover to return your love.

Love wasn’t supposed to be something forced, it had to happen naturally. And if Jeongin didn’t develop it naturally, you just had to learn to live with it. Or not.

“Don’t be, darling. Everyone deserves to love, just like how they deserve it back. I wish it could’ve ended differently.”

“It’s alright mom. He loves me too… just not on the way I love him.”

You sniffle as a single tear runs down your chin, though you and your mom aren’t given enough time to speak more when you hear a familiar voice at the door.

“Hey Mrs. L/N.” Jeongin says, shrugging off his half snow-covered coat before hanging it onto the bedside. Did he seriously walk in the snow? All the way here?

“Hello, Jeongin dear.” Your mother stands up, picking her coat before moving to fish the car keys from her purse. “Thank you for watching over Y/N while I’m gone, darling.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs. L/N.”

“Oh, so formal.” Your mom chuckles, though in her despaired state. “Y/N, you get some sleep, it’s about midnight dear.” She leans over to kiss your forehead while Jeongin excuses himself to the washroom, and you nod.

“Good night mom.”

“Good night, and don’t worry about him. He’ll talk to you eventually.”

Oh, how reassuring. “Mhm.” You smile, closing your eyes to drift into slumber before Jeongin returns, because the last thing you need right now is to feel sad and cry over how you’d hurt him.

By the time the sound of the door clicking resounds through the space, you’re already asleep.

It’s way past midnight. Jeongin shouldn’t be up.

Somehow, he still finds himself seated next to your bed, staring fondly at your calm features as you finally get the rest you’ve needed for the past few days.

Oh, he wouldn’t be able to compare your sheer beauty to even that of the moon; even when you’re in such a fragile and vulnerable state. Your eyelashes are still and unmoving where they sit against your skin, your breath is calm and slightly wavering as you struggle to breathe slightly.

His hand slips into your own gently, and his heart melts when you shift, tightening your grasp on his warm skin before falling into a slumber again.

Why was he mad in the first place? Jeongin feels dumb for acting so quickly on his emotions, especially when you’re in a bad place at the moment. He wants to wake you up and apologize, but he can’t, because you’re sound asleep — and that’s a good thing, since seep comes so scarcely to you these days.

Then, a single tear falls from his eyes. His thoughts traverse to the dream he had the previous night — you, cold, dead in his arms. Him, sobbing, trying to wake you up but you’re really gone. He can’t even hear your mother’s cries from behind him, because he’s devastated to know that you’ve left him. The dream had woken him up in a cold sweat — it was then he realised that he’d committed a mistake, and agreed to come visit you, because you had about 5 days left.

His thoughts then traverse to the conversation you had with your mother, while he was standing outside in the cold hospital corridor, curiously listening.

“Is that person him?” “Yeah…”

When he heard those words, countess, infinite thoughts crashed at his head; all at once. Nothing made any sense. The reality of the situation was dawning on him too quickly, and Jeongin was having a hard time processing it.

You loved him? He was the person who didn’t return your love?

“Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?” He mumbles in confusion — so much confusion, so much hurt — he wanted time to just stop for awhile and give him a fair chance to analyze the situation.

But, once all the initial thoughts were out of the way, only one question remained:

Was he the reason you were going to die?

Jeongin felt like a murderer — like he’d just stabbed you in cold blood. He knows it is’t like that — just like you’d said, love should come natural. So why did Jeongin feel so bad? WHy did he feel like he was the one at fault?

A fond smile crosses his lips when he remembers the book where you keep all your flowers safely. Who would have thought your fondness for flowers would morph into the reason for your demise?

Quiet, hushed in the midnight wind, Jeongin gently brings out the rose he’d picked from his satchel. It’s almost relieving to see a rose in it’s true glory, without scattered petals or blood covering the flower. A part of him grows sad that you won’t be able to gush over flowers together anymore, he won’t be able to see your smile anymore. It hurts him. It stabs his heart over and over again, and Jeongin is pained — almost like he’s being put to death slowly — he wants the pain to end, but only suffers and suffers.

The stem has already been cut and the thorns have been thrown out. Jeongin leans over to tuck the flower behind your ear, fingers brushing against the almost cold skin at the back of your ear before letting another tear slip from his eye, running down his cheek and falling on your palm.

A strange, oh-so-strange feeling creeps up on him. It’s like… a fluttering in his heart? Jeongin can’t quite place it — heck, he doesn’t try to make sense of it. There are more important things to look at, right now. He suddenly has the urge to pull you into his arms and gently murmur sweet words into your ear — seems odd for a situation like this, but oh well, feelings are feelings.

He pats your hand gently and smiles, before moving to sleep on the smaller bed in front of your own. Not allowed to go far, though, because your grip on his hands tighten almost immediately, and Jeongin tightens to look into your eyes, sparkly and slightly droopy from the intrusion of sleep.

“Y/N, go to-”

“Stay.” You mumble, feeling your voice choke as the petals threaten to spill out for what seems like the millionth time. Yet, you manage to spill out another, “Please?”

Jeongin feels like he’s about to cry. Your expression is so, so hopeful, he can’t bring himself to deny. He wouldn’t in the first place, because who was he to deny what could be his friend’s last wish?

A sob bubbles up his throat, but he swallows it down, smiling with melancholy before following your weak pull on his hand, genty climbing on your bed before slotting himself between you and the steel grill that prevented patients from falling down. He gently tucks his hand under you and pulls you close to himself, tensing up for a second when you wrap an arm around his own, gently rubbing on it before drifting off to sleep. You want to cherish this moment — this could be the last time before you could never see him again. Fuck your medication for making you so drowsy. Or not, because you were certain you would start crying, and that would certainly not end well.

The whole room falls silent for two seconds, and you fall asleep almost immediately.

And then, Jeongin releases all his tears, and everything comes crashing down on him. He breaks apart.

The world was too cruel to you. He was cruel to you. He can’t believe that in less than a week, you’d be gone. Gone from earth. Flowers had lost all their beauty for him, the moment he saw you coughing them up on that couch during movie night.

He wanted to do anything. He wanted any small sign to show that you would stay with him. He was in so much pain, he couldn’t accept your fate. He wanted to grab your hand and pull you to himself, keep you close, he couldn’t let go, he couldn’t give you up, he couldn’t —

“I love you.” You mumble unconsciously in your sleep, and Jeongin loses it then and there. His throat feels dry as tears flow and flow and don’t cease no matter what. His body shakes like a sobbing child, but thankfully you’re knocked out from the effect of your medication. He hasn’t cried this hard in a while, guess there’s a first time for everything. The three words pierce his heart, and they suddenly hold more meaning than anything — Jeongin wants to hear those words on a loop; he feels strangely ecstatic when you say them.

And so, with a shaky voice and a sorrowful tone, Jeongin replies after pressing a kiss to your forehead — “I-I love you, t-too.”

His eyes flutter shut and he basks in your arms just one last time, holding you close to himself as he finally, finally finds himself at peace, next to you.

When your mother finds you both snuggled up and asleep together, a smile crosses her lips. A hopeful smile.

“Are you ready for your scan, Y/N?”

You feel oddly light today — one would say it’s because your body was close to shutting down completely, but your throat felt a bit, a tiny bit clearer and less barren than a fucking desert. Nevertheless, the scan does make you nervous. This would make clear how long the flowers would take to reach your throat — the doctor’s estimation was about three days, which seemed way too short for Jeongin.

Oh, how embarrassing it was when the nurses, all giggly and mushy-eyed, found you snuggled with Jeongin like a teddy bear at the early hours of the morning, waking you and Jeongin up and only cracking up more at your bewildered expressions when you find yourself tangled with each other.

Before the scan, Jeongin had held your hand softly, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. You’d shyly smiled, nodding before letting the nurse drag you to the scanning room.

The details of the scan itself aren’t important, it went pretty well — as decent as a scan could possibly go. You’re able to cooperate with your nurses pretty feasibly, you feel the sudden urge to get out of your wheelchair and try walking. Sure, you can still feel the choked feeling in your throat and the burn in your lungs, but somehow, it’s just a tiny bit lesser than usual. Maybe it’s because your painkillers are working more effectively. Maybe.

Jeongin’s waiting for you outside when you’re led out of the room, and he smiles when he sees you.

You don’t even remember what you’d said the previous night. All you remember was passing out while Jeongin was in the washroom, and then waking up to him cuddled up, warm and snug next to you. His features were clear and calm as the ocean on a sunny day, a small smile on his lips, as though he was dreaming about something happy. You hope he did, because that boy deserves the happiness.

“You seem energetic today.” Jeongin says, taking note of your perky demeanour, that only causes you to giggle slightly.

Sure, you don’t remember the happenings of last night, but he does — and he’d promised himself to cherish every last second. Because in the end, it’s all he can do — for leading you to this state, for getting mad at you and wasting precious time in which he could’ve stayed with you. He’d promised to not let you live your last moment sad and desolated.

“I feel light, for some reason.” You mumble with a broken voice as Jeongin takes the wheelchair from the nurse, listening to what she has to say before bowing and nodding, leading you back to your room.

“What did she say?” You ask, fiddling with your thumbs.

“She said your scan results would come in an hour.”

“Oh… alright.”

For some reason, you’re too joyous today, after the little surprise you got as soon as your eyes opened. You can’t seem to bother about the end— you want to live in this moment, right now.

When you come back to the room, Jeongin lifts you up bridal style, causing you to gasp before placing you down onto the bed. The nurse waiting there quickly fixes your IV and helps you sit into a comfortable position (though it’s hard when thorns keep pricking at your ribs) before bowing to the both of you, and leaving.

Your mother has once again left to go fix up the house, leaving you in the trust of your best friend. You aren’t complaining though, especially when Jeongin sits down beside your bed, taking your hand in his before playing with your nimble fingers — just like always.

He looks gorgeous today. After a lot of nagging from your mother, he’d used the hospital bathroom to wash his face and comb his hair neatly, and you’re happy about that because he looks fresher and happier than ever. You want him to be smiling and happy, even when you leave, because… did you need a reason? You just wanted him to be happy and content with his life.

The thought invokes an angsty feeling of melancholy, but you brush it away, trying to focus on Jeongin and the silence that drops on the both of you like a warm blanket. You smile softly at him, gently letting go of his hand before tucking a few strands of his hair behind his ear, almost melting when Jeongin’s eyes flutter close.

“Hey Jeongin?” You call, grabbing his hand once again and interlacing the fingers together.

“Yeah?”

“When I… leave,” You notice the twitch in his expression, but nonetheless, continue. “Will you bring me flowers every week?”

You remember the red rose you’d found tucked behind your ear when you woke up — it had dried up a bit, but nonetheless, it was one of the prettiest objects you’d ever seen — even though there was a whole bouquet of them spewing out your mouth every two seconds.

“I will.” Jeongin sniffles. The thought of having to visit your grave every week to bring you flowers is immensely saddening, but Jeongin agrees anyways. He agrees, for you.

It’s the least he can do.

It’s funny how you say “leave”, like you’re going to your hometown for a month-long vacation and not actually like you’re going to be buried any time soon. Jeongin thinks it’s because you don’t want him to get too sad over his loss — a stupid thing to wish — Jeongin knows this loss is going to affect him in more ways than one.

“Jeongin, d-don’t cry…” You cup his cheek, gently brushing your thumb against his cheek and wiping away the tears that fall, one by one. Jeongin shakes his head, placing his palm on your hand and smiling at you.

“Can you do me another favor?”

“As many as you’d like Y/N.” He says. He’ll do anything you want — it’s your last wish after all.

“Bury me with my flower journal, please?” It may seem like a weird claim to bury oneself with a dusty old book, but Jeongin understands the significance — you want to hold onto those memories you made with him while writing it together, while picking flowers together and all those happy moments you exchanged.

Jeongin tries not to let his voice break again. “I will.”

You beam at his acceptance. Jeongin feels the slight thump of his heart against his chest, and a warm feeling envelopes him from inside. He’s suddenly overcome with an urge to press delicate kisses on your eyelids, though he tries to shoo it away, because it isn’t the main point of focus right now.

But soon your mother walks in, and it’s all small talk and deep conversations with her at the same time. You have breakfast, persuade (more like force) Jeongin to scarf down his meal and giggle about some random jokes thrown here and there, until the doctor comes in. Both Jeongin and your mother stand up, bowing and wishing good morning while you do too. Wish, not stand up. You’re basically tied to the bed at this point.

“Mrs L/N, I’d have had a word with you in private, but I think Miss Y/N needs to hear this too.”

“What is it, doctor?”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and Jeongin’s grip on your hand tightens, thumb rubbing over your skin to soothe your obvious tension. The doctor slides the transparent, firm sheet off it’s envelope before letting the sunlight hit the back of it, in order to enable a clearer viewing.

“This is… the most unusual case I’ve ever seen, but —” He points to a junction on the scan. “The flowers have actually reduced in amount, and they've separated from the windpipe by a whole two inches. See?” He points at the edges of the lungs and at the windpipe, but you understand what he means. The flowers are there, no doubt, but it’s almost like — a whole stem of them just disappeared into thin air.

Of course this could’ve been because you coughed them up, but the coughed up flowers go instantly, or so you’ve heard. There’s confusion written on all of your faces right now.

“Is that why I was feeling lighter and easier to breathe today? Because the flowers withered off and gave more space for air?” You ask in your low voice, and your doctor nods.

“Seems like it. Do you have your previous scan?” Your mother hands it to him quickly after a great deal of fishing out of her purse.

He places the earlier scan behind the newer one, and suddenly, you can see what he means. It’s almost like they shrunk — you don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but nonetheless, you’re happy you can breathe a bit more.

“What does this mean, though?” Jeongin asks, bewildered at the strange news. The room is so quiet and the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, and you can see both your mother and Jeongin waiting for the doctor’s words.

“It means that we’ll take another scan tomorrow, a deeper one. And check if the flowers are actually collecting somewhere else, or just disappearing. And if they are disappearing…” He trails off, and you giggle when Jeongin and your mother lean forward in anticipation, though curious yourself.

“She’ll be home by Christmas. Or even earlier, if the recovery speed is fast.”

“Y-You mean… I can be cured?” Your voice shakes with hope, and the doctor smiles sweetly at you, before nodding.

“Yes dear, you’ll be the first patient who’s walked out of this place cured from hanahaki.”

At that moment, it almost feels like every flower inside your chest wilts out — you feel so light, so ecstatic. You’re over the clouds at the news, and don’t even hear your mother’s cries of thankfulness before the doctor heads out.

“Y/N!” Jeongin exclaims, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his heart and the burn in his cheeks when he cups your own. “You’re gonna come home!”

You shake with soft sobs, and smile at Jeongin.

“I’m gonna come home.” Provided the scan tomorrow showed a positive result, but you don’t bother to mention that part.

And the next day, when your scan results come back, a huge smile adorns your face, and your mother is in tears. Happy tears.

The sunshine is overly bright today, leaving you squinting for sight, especially when you’re seated in a garden out in the open, book in one hand and the other one resting against the cool, moist grass. The air holds a musky forest scent, and you revel in the feeling of the shivers the cold air that cuts through skin brings.

The park is relatively empty for the morning — you’re glad it is, because it brings on a sense of calmness that you seem to like. The surroundings are just perfect — you don’t want anyone to disrupt your mood right now.

So yeah. The story ends that way. You recover, bit by bit, though it takes a whole bunch of time. There were times when you still had to cough out those petals, but you couldn’t be happier — it felt as though you were spitting out those vicious thorns that had tormented and threatened your life. The doctors had no idea how you’d managed to recover — but this was an interesting case to put into their portfolio, so they weren’t complaining.

And oh, you had Jeongin to help you through all of it, of course.

It had taken you two weeks to be discharged from the hospital and be able to finally walk again, but when you did it — you felt like a whole new person, in a whole new world. Sure, you had to hold onto your mother or Jeongin wherever you went for the first week or so — it was almost like your legs had turned jelly.

When you returned home, Jeongin insisted that he take you to the garden every day, and when you complained that you couldn’t walk, he’d lifted you into his arms (bridal style, again) and carried you all the way there, and then given you a piggyback ride you all the way back home.

Eventually, you ended up telling him the truth — that the unrequited love that caused everything was because of how you’d fallen for him. You figured he deserved it, especially when he’d stuck with you the whole time without any hesitation and helped you whenever he could — he was truly one of the nicest, kindest people you’d ever met.

Of course, you were surprised when Jeongin only smiled and told you that he knew what you were talking about, and then proceeded to narrate how he’d overheard you in the hospital. Giggles left his lips when you gave him that meme-worthy look, making him shake his head before slinging and arm over his shoulder.

Surprisingly, that night ended just like the books — lovey-dovey confessions exchanged in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over shy smiles and lingering kisses. The both of you finally gave in to each other.

Huh, so maybe you were wrong about them — books — after all.

So when, your love was returned in the end, every flower in your chest had finally disappeared, and you couldn’t have been happier.

“You know when I brought you here I wanted you to help me pick flowers and not read a book?”

You laugh at the voice that comes from behind, closing the book shut before placing it on the side while Jeongin takes a seat beside you, hissing at the slight coldness of the grass. Ah, what a romantic scenario — green and colorful flowers as far as the eye could see, a book that you’ve been trying to finish but have never been able to because your boyfriend keeps interrupting you with his random outbursts of affection, and said person sitting right next to you.

“Well, you keep interrupting me all the time!” You chuckle, sliding a hand behind his shoulder before pulling him down to lie on your lap, and Jeongin complies. A sigh of content leaves his lips when he feels your fingers comb through his hair to rid them of any tangles — Jeongin feels stupid to not realise how much he loves you. It feels nice to call you his, feels nice to be able to say I love you, in all of it’s true meaning.

“What, I can’t cuddle my girlfriend now? Come on,” He takes your other hand in his, turning onto his back to look up at you before pressing his lips to the back of your hand. You feel the heat creep up your cheeks when he calls you his girlfriend, still not being able to take it in without growing immensely shy.

“You crybaby, fine. I’ll read the book later only because I love you and you give exceptionally nice cuddles.”

“Hmm, good.” He mumbles sleepily, eyes fluttering shut in calmness when he feels your fingers brush away any stray locks of hair that may get into his eyes. The reaction to your touch is so immediate these days, Jeongin thinks it’s a part of his routine now. Spend at least an hour admiring you in all of your happy, healthy glory.

Meanwhile, you’re sitting there, admiring his features in silence. His hair has grown longer now — Jeongin refuses to cut it no matter your endless verbalizations of how his original haircut looked better — and a small part of you has grown fond of this look too. His warm skin, and his sparkly eyes when he looks up at you, the bright, loving smile that he displays before getting out of your lap, kissing you on your lips to break you out of your focus.

The action only makes you more shy, and Jeongin laughs, cooing at your behavior before standing up, dusting his clothes off the dirt and extending his hand for you.

“Lend me a hand, will you?”

The line seems vaguely familiar and you’re overcome with a sense of deja vu, but nonetheless, you give him your hand, standing up before picking up your satchel and handing him his own.

“Now are you gonna pick a rose for me or do I have to do it myself again?” Jeongin raises an eyebrow and smirks, and you frown, slapping his arm before walking off to check all the flowers in their bushes.

“Hey, wait for me! Y/N!”

When he reaches you, he slides a hand into your own, interlacing the fingers before looking at you lovingly.

“I love you.” You both say at the same time, giggling at each other soon after — perhaps at how well you knew each other to time the confession so well.

So, this is how it ends. While you do think that things could’ve been handled differently, you’re glad that everything went the way it went, because in the end, you’d found him, he’d found you, you’d discovered your feelings together. You loved each other.

Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid.

but what if she had never recovered?

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