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wonderlustlucas · 4 years ago

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home - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.” ⇢ pairing hyunjin x female reader ⇢ word count 2.7k ⇢ genre fluff, kind of angsty? ⇢ warnings insinuated that this takes place during covid & that reader has some case of depression/anxiety i literally wrote her as me so like ⇢ summary In which Hyunjin shows you just how special you are.—college!au ⇢ a/n happy birthday to my love, my comfort, my home

What am I doing here?

Unfortunately, there is no one else to blame but herself for being left without plans on this Friday night. Regretfully so, she instead finds herself alone on the upper level of the business building. Scratch that, the whole building, probably – she’s been here since four, and the few students that were once alongside her left hours ago. Initially here to work on an essay, she now occupies her time bouncing between YouTube, Twitch, and Crunchyroll, watching whatever she is feeling at the moment despite Monday’s deadline looming over her.

Sighing, she looks away from a boring page of YouTube recommendations, stretches her neck, and reaches for her hot chocolate. Well, not hot anymore, she realizes with a wince after taking a sip, struggling to swallow the now cold drink. Gaze flicking to the time on the corner of her laptop, she frowns. 9:43. She considers walking home once it hits ten, the unstirred silence of the building starting to prick up her spine like needles. Home, she thinks with an amused exhale from her nose. A too small, overheated double dorm room that technically is a single now that her roommate has gone online for the rest of the semester. Home.

She wonders, briefly, if anyone were to miss her if she were to go home home. If anyone would even notice, anyway.

She wouldn’t expect them to, honestly. It’s not as if she goes out of her way to hang out with anyone, usually opting to cozy up in her room and pretend she does not see the groupchat blowing up with plans to meet at the dining hall, a study session at the library, a trip to the mall. She loves her friends, really, but can rarely find it in herself to actually participate in said friend activities. Sure, there are some nights she actually leaves the confines of her room to join them, but to be quite frank, she’s glad they have learned to simply stop inviting her. Makes the whole looking for an excuse problem a lot easier.

Besides, who would want to go out on a night like this, anyway?

Just as she has flipped to page fifty-three of The Old Man and the Sea, she looks away in boredom, instead opting to gaze out the window. Focusing past her reflection on the tall glass pane, a warm feeling she can only describe as peace seems to settle over her, watching the snow fall like moonlit glitter across campus. The snowstorm had started light when she first arrived, soft enough she could manage with her hood down, dotting her with only miniature droplets of water. Now, though, the flakes are so large she can focus on one at a time as they fly past, covering the ground with a solid two or three inches at this point. In the distance, she can spot snowplows making their rounds to clear the pathways, the route to the business building already turned slushy blue as salt melts the continuous snow.

She sighs, eyes wide like a child as she represses the urge to go outside and grab a handful of it, maybe fall onto one of the lawns and make a snow angel, stick her tongue out and try to catch one of the large flakes. Tomorrow, maybe, she thinks, looking at her grey sweatpants and deciding walking back with soaked pants in this weather would not be the best idea.

So late into March, she cannot help but chuckle at the number of students complaining about the snow and cold temperature on SnapChat, even her friends having to change their plans. She, on the other hand, finds such last chance snowstorm beautiful; sure, she was ready for spring and eventually a break from school, but watching the snow dancing under the streetlights, choreographed by the gentle wind, she thinks it’s something to hold on to, keep her grounded to reality that albeit the stress and monotony of college, such moments like these still exist.

She jumps at the sound of the front entrance slamming closed.

Who the hell? She frowns, annoyed at whoever decided now was a good time to come inside, subsequently ruining her little moment of serenity. Turning red at the thought of some raunchy couple thinking to spice things up in the presumably empty building, she considers packing her bag and heading out. But no matter which exit, they would still see her, and that would be painstakingly awkward. Maybe she could escape into one of the smaller reservation rooms, or at least make some exaggerated noise so they at least know they’re not alone.

Could just be a janitor, or maybe someone else deciding to shelter somewhere other than their dorm to buckle down and do some work, she thinks. No matter who it is and what their intentions are, her leg is already bouncing a mile a minute having gotten used to having the space to herself.

So caught up on how or when she should take her leave, she does not hear the footsteps coming up the stairs until they’re right behind her. Tensing up, she watches in the window’s reflection as the business building’s second occupant steps up onto the platform and… heads towards her. Panic setting in, she tries to decipher who it is through the blurry reflection but to no avail, heart racing at the thought of a stranger approaching her, one of her friends finding her here on a Friday night, a janitor going to ask her to leave.

She turns her head as soon as they stop beside her.

“Hyunjin?” She blurts, taken aback. This was the last person she expected to be here. Somewhat relieved but heart still beating in her throat, she blinks up at the tall boy to make sure it’s really him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” he returns, pulling his mask down below his chin and smiling cheekily at her. “I went to go pick up my food and saw you in the window,” Hyunjin explains, tugging the beanie off his head and shaking his hair out, showering her in the tiny droplets. Wrinkling her nose, she takes notice of the Chipotle bag in his hand and how soaked his coat is.

“Here,” she offers, reaching for the bag. Passing it to her with a grateful smile, Hyunjin unzips his coat and sets it over a chair beside her alongside his beanie, wipes the melted snow and sweat from his eyes, and tries to fix his now mused bangs. “So, what are you doing here?” He asks while doing this, regarding her with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Work,” she sighs. Then, glancing to the screen of her laptop and realizing it’s still the home page of YouTube, she grimaces. “Trying to do work. Not really. Just watching the snow.”

“It’s a lot prettier when you’re inside,” Hyunjin comments, following her gaze to watch the frenzy of snow before taking the bag from her and offering a quiet thanks. “But I meant more why are you here?”

She isn’t quite sure what her relationship with Hyunjin is. Having been one of the many acquaintances she barely made at freshman orientation, he did not seem like the kind of person she expected to still be in her life. She wouldn’t exactly say they were close, but she considers Hyunjin a friend, she thinks. After a good month or two forgetting he existed, she randomly bumped into him at the dining hall, recognizing that unfairly attractive face of his in line for chicken nuggets and immediately falling into conversation. Turns out, he was mutual friends with her lab partner, Kim Seungmin.

She does not see Hyunjin as much as she wishes she did. She had not shared any classes with him in the past three years, and even if her friend group and his overlapped in the slightest, it was not always a given that they both would be able to hang out as much as their closer friends do. Still, there always seems to be a random occasion, such as now, where they bump into one another. Each time is a pleasant surprise, of course, and not just because of his pretty face and wide shoulders, but because he has always seemed to care for her in a way no one else does, and that in itself is enough to have her heart racing every time he comes close.

Not that she has a crush on him or anything, but it definitely is hard trying not to fall in love every time he even so much as smiles at her.

Face heating up in embarrassment at his question, she avoids looking him in the eyes and randomly minimizes the Chrome tab on her laptop. “You know,” she drones on, “just taking it easy for the night.”

Hyunjin hums in agreement, opening the lid of his burrito bowl and stabbing a fork into the layers. Even her mouth waters. “I feel like I never see you,” he contemplates, finally taking a bite. His words surprise her. “Uh, yeah,” she coughs, forcing herself to look away before she gets too enraptured over how beautiful he looks even after trekking through a snowstorm, long hair messy but falling over his face in a way that has her fingers twitching to tuck away. “I usually don’t go out with everyone. Not my scene.”

“Aw,” he coos, “I get that. Sometimes I’m the same way, I just want to relax on the weekends after working so much all week.”

Thank you!, she almost shouts, but bites her tongue. She agrees, but even she does not know why she can’t find it in herself to go out and party with everyone else. She’s just lazy, to put it simply. Nevertheless, his words put her at ease, no longer worried that he might think she’s a loser for staying in every weekend.

“Exactly,” she agrees, “parties are fun, sometimes. But I just prefer laying low. I don’t think my friends like that, though.”

Gaze finding his, her heart does somersaults at the smile he offers. “Nah,” Hyunjin says, confident, “no one thinks that. Everyone has their way of having fun. Honestly, all I’ve ever heard is your friends complaining how they miss you and that you would make going out more fun since you’re so funny.”

“Which is true, by the way,” he adds.

She feels as if she is going to combust. “Oh,” she croaks, throat dry, “um, thank you. That’s sweet of them. And you. I guess I didn’t consider that they miss me when they go out.”

Hyunjin scoffs, raising a brow but finishes chewing before speaking again. “Are you nuts? You’re so fun to be around, of course they’re going to miss you.”

“Okay, stop that,” she laughs, burning from the inside out at his compliments. “Just being honest,” he laughs, opening the bag of his tortilla chips. “Want any?”

She looks at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.”

“Okay,” she huffs out an airy laugh, rolling her chair closer to his. Miscalculating that he was going to move, too, she quite literally feels her blood pressure skyrocket as her knees bump into his. And he doesn’t move. “Here,” moving the bag closer to the edge of the table, Hyunjin glances at her for only a split second before focusing on his bowl again.

Reaching into the bag, she feels emboldened not only by his previous flattery, but his proximity as well, and scrambles to continue the conversation. “Why are you eating Chipotle so late?”

“Pre-birthday celebration. Also, DoorDash took forever,” Hyunjin laughs.

“When’s your birthday?” She asks, munching on a chip.

“In,” he pauses, tapping his phone, “two hours.”

Oh. “What?” She gasps, blinking at him. “What? Why aren’t you out? It’s your birthday weekend and you’re here eating Chipotle?”

“Woah, okay Miss I-Prefer-Laying-Low. Maybe I wanted to chill tonight, since tomorrow I’m going out? Hm?” Hyunjin chuckles at her scowl, pursing his lips. “Okay, yeah, I guess but—”

“No but’s,” he interrupts, the amused glint in his eyes disappearing, “I’m here now, and that’s what matters, right? I’m lucky I saw you in the window.”

“I guess,” she mutters, realizing her heart has not stopped its staccato frenzy since moving closer, “you scared me, by the way. I’ve been here alone for hours and suddenly someone is walking up to me, I think I shit my pants.”

Hyunjin bellows out a laugh, and such an airy sound momentarily leaves her awestruck. Oh, god, she’s in deep. It’s over.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he giggles, battling her hand to reach for a chip. Even the touch of his long fingers against hers has the entire butterfly population roaring to life in her gut. “Look, I made up for it by gifting you chips.”

“True,” she hums, licking residue salt off her fingers before leaning back in her chair to catch a breather. Too much physical contact and emotion for one night.

“What are you doing next weekend?” Hyunjin asks, taking her by surprise. Again. She thinks she is going to faint if she isn’t able to wrap herself around him within the next fifteen seconds.

“Um,” she starts, then remembers her previous idea of going home after this week was over. “I was probably going to go home next Friday.”

“Oh,” is all Hyunjin says, seemingly disappointed. “Why?”

She grits her teeth. Why? Really? “I don’t know,” she shrugs, not even convinced herself, “I’m bored and lonely here. I love everyone here but I miss my friends at home. I might as well be slightly less bored at home.” Hyunjin frowns.

“Okay, what about this,” he starts, leaning close enough she can count his individual eyelashes and nearly smell the flavor of his lip balm, “you go out with us tomorrow night and if you have fun, you hang out with us next weekend, too. Oh, and whenever you want some company, you text me and we’ll come here or somewhere else and do homework together or just chill. How does that sound?”

All she can do is blink at him. Her initial thought is how dare he try negotiating whether I go home or not? But, there it is, again, she realizes. That extra step he takes, the genuine care he shows her, acting like her well-being is his responsibility. “You don’t have to do that, Hyunjin. I don’t want to bother you every time I feel lonely. I’ll be fine.”

“Christ, you’re dense,” rolling his eyes, Hyunjin sets his fork down, wipes his hands on his thighs, and suddenly leans in to hold her face with both hands, “I wouldn’t offer to sit around and do homework with you when you’re in need of a friend if I didn’t want to.”

Her heart is racing so fast she fears he may be able to hear the thud of it against her chest. What he’s saying is starting to sound a lot more than some friend-to-friend comfort, and it’s making her head hurt, especially with his thumbs ever so slightly swiping against her cheeks. At her silence, he starts again.

“Y/N,” he says, voice dropping an octave, “don’t go home. This is your home, too, you just don’t want it to be.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she thinks she is going to say something, but nothing comes out. There is nothing to say. Hyunjin is right, he has read her like an open book, and he’s here to offer his shoulder to lean on. “Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll go out with everyone tomorrow. And I’ll try and stay here for the rest of the semester.”

“That’s my girl,” Hyunjin smiles, leaning closer and pressing a featherlight kiss to her lips. At first, it takes her by surprise. But then it all starts to make sense. The snow makes sense. Her essay makes sense. Being here makes sense. Hyunjin makes sense. His birthday makes sense. She makes sense.

Outside the glass windows, the wind starts to howl, blowing the composed ballet of snow to its final act, covering the pathways and the streetlights and the roof of the business building in perfect white glitter. Inside these windows, she realizes they would notice if she were to go home.

Why would she ever do that when her second home is right here in front of her?

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theelvenhaven · 4 years ago

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Elves Reacting To Your Period

Imladris

Elrond

Elrond is an ellon expert knowledge of healing, humans and had a sibling who chose a mortal life. Let alone making Imladris a haven for all races and walks of life- that were peaceful, of course. So you wouldn’t be the first menstruating human he’s been around. He is completely and utterly supportive yet subtle and discreet knowing that this is a delicate time for you. As well as possibly embarrassing to make a tremendous fuss over it.

Elrond discreetly brings you pain relievers, has soothing teas prepared for you, checks in on you when he has the time available. The Healer in him brings him to fret over you some, and should your pain be severe, he is quick to alleviate it. He’s had thousands of years to assist with such things, and you being his partner, he will more than happily help you. He will also make sure any menstrual products are there at your immediate disposal.

Elrond is very gentle with you, being sure to provide you with the emotional and mental comfort that you might need during the day. Making himself far more available through your period if he can help it, wanting to make sure you have the proper support you need. Saving any physical comforts for later when you two can be alone properly and uninterrupted.

Glorfindel

This warm ball of sunshine isn’t entirely clueless about humans and their menstruation cycles. He has spent little of his time around it or reading about it. While logically he knows you menstruate, it surprises Glorfindel the first time he encounters it with you. Glorfindel is worried he has hurt you somehow or another, even if the placing of blood on your clothes and sheets show that he couldn’t possibly have hurt you.

Glorfindel is quick to try to get you to a healer or a healer to you, wanting to make sure you are in fact okay. Though when you explain to him that partially, you are okay and that the bleeding is normal; he is quick to simmer down. The ease with which you speak of it is what brings him to trust you on it, and he attentively listens to you. Glorfindel also asks you a lot of questions about it, as it is human men he is used to being around, so his knowledge about your reproductive health is not extensive. He is also quick to help you clean up any sheets or clothes that need to be taken care of, or take over gathering the items while you clean and situate yourself.

Glorfindel will do what he can to take some time off during your worst days of menstruation and is unfortunately not exactly tactful about it at first. You will have to tell him if it bothers you, in the event you find it embarrassing, as he has no shame in announcing it. Because he will straightforwardly tell them “Y/N is menstruating I am afraid I am unavailable until further notice.”. Once you tell him, Glorfindel will keep that talk between you, him and the Healers if need be. When he can’t be there with you, he instead sends a healer in to check on you and bring you the things you need.

Erestor

Erestor is extremely knowledgeable and has spent a copious amount of time absorbing everything there is too in the library. Even on healing subjects, no matter how gruesome or unusual they may seem to him. But with dealing with menstruation... Well, that is a completely different story. Erestor won’t make a massive fuss over you being on your period, but he is entirely flustered by what you are going through.

At first he genuinely doesn’t know what to do. He never imagined he would have to deal with a menstruating human. Even when he started courting you. But Erestor is very technical and by the book- literally here. So he does what he thinks anyone should do, and goes to reference his books quietly and away from prying eyes.Erestor is extremely discreet about helping you, keeping the matter very private. Don’t mistake this for him being ashamed of you, he is far from ashamed of your bodily function. Erestor is just a very private ellon.

He places a few orders for a dozen or more every month, for pain relievers to be kept in your shared chambers at all times. Stashed away in your desk drawers too so they are readily available and you or him aren’t having to haul off to the Healing Halls all the time. Quietly he will consult Elrond- the only other elf he will tell about it- if he feels like he isn’t doing enough until he gets the hang of helping you. If your pain and discomfort is severe, Erestor- while one for privacy- will go with you to the Healing Halls and explain the matter to them. Diligently sticking by your side and listening intently for care instructions and how to help you further.

Lindir

Lindir is completely and utterly flustered when he discovers that you are menstruating. It is not that he is doing it to make you feel bad- which only makes him feel worse when he sees his embarrassment is distressing you- it’s that he just doesn’t know what to do. Seeing the blood on the sheets and on your clothes makes him feel faint as are you hurt? But then you explain its your period?

Of course he knows what a period is from what he has overheard when coming to see Elrond in the Healing Halls. But that doesn’t make him any less uncomfortable about it. He is stammers and stutters asking questions and is bright cherry red trying to figure out what to do next. Despite all this fuss he has stirred up, Lindir is really supportive. Just the first few times this is what you will encounter. With him profusely apologizing for embarrassing you or distressing you.

Trying to help somehow, nervously going down to the healers or Elrond for the things you need while you tidy up. Elrond swore the first time he came to him and had to talk to him about it, that he was going to faint over the ordeal. Elrond made him sit an extra ten minutes until he could calm down and send him back to you. On his way back, Lindir sends for someone to fix you your favorite meal and may grab a flower or two as an overly sweet gesture to apologize with the pain reliever in hand. In time, every time you have your period, he gives you a flower with your first meal after he sees how happy it makes you the first time.

Elrohir

While Elrohir is used to being around humans, them being menstruating humans is a completely different subject. As it is, he is already pretty protective over you and your well being, especially since you’re human and considers you to be more fragile. So when you wake up and are bleeding or have bled through your clothes and maybe even on him, worried is a very simple way of putting it. He certainly makes a fuss over it between you both!

While being such a great healer himself, he is ready to give you an exam from head to toe and figure out why and where you are bleeding. When you tell him what your period is, and its purpose, Elrohir’s visibly relieved that no, it is not life threatening. And grateful that no he didn’t sleep through you getting hurt- as he is a heavy sleeper. Though he voices his concerns that you are now physically uncomfortable. But like his father, Elrohir is quick to use his skills in healing to good use to help ease your pains and discomforts. Making and bringing you tonics and pain relievers and anything you need to ease the nuisance of your menstruation.

Elrohir will prefer that you take time off from any work and take time off his own duties to be with you when he’s in Imladris. Like this goes without question and there is no making him change his mind, every single month. Without fail Elrohir takes that week off to be with you. Even if you tell him you will be fine, Elrohir is taking the time off regardless and will absolutely even go as far as to delay his leavings with the Rangers until the time has passed. He’s happy to hold you and kiss all over you and lounge around with you if that makes you feel better. He’ll read softly to you, or comfort you through such tough emotional difficulties, and most definitely not skip over any whims you may have for food.

Elladan

Like Elrohir, he isn’t used to be around menstruating humans at all. Though he is far more laid back compared to his brother. So rather than making a huge fuss about your menstruation, Elladan will ask you seriously if you are okay and carry on as if it were not really a big deal. Making a few light hearted jokes to keep your mood up if he can tell it is negatively affecting you.

Elladan will help you clean things up without question. The sheets are dirty and you’re embarrassed? No big deal, you can’t help it. Elladan just carries on normalizing these instances for you entirely, as he just wants you to be comfortable with him. I headcanon that while Elladan does and can heal, making tonics/pain relievers aren’t his strong suit and he will definitely ask his brother to do so for you.

Elladan is laid back, so if you need anything from him you can most certainly tell him and he will do it without question. You want alone time because you’re furious? No big deal, he will back in an hour or two. You want him all to yourself all day? You’ve got it. It embarrasses you to go to the healing halls for menstruation products? Say no more, Elladan is already halfway down the hall to get it for you.

Bonus:

Haldir

Haldir is no stranger to blood or humans and their customs and bodily functions. So when you menstruate the first time while together, he completely and totally expected it to happen. It was inevitable, but that doesn’t mean that he knows everything you need. Haldir knows that pain is something that generally seems to be an issue for menstruating humans and is at least prepared for that much.

He asks you what all you need while bringing you a vial of pain reliever he has stored in talan or on his person specifically for you. Telling you not to fuss with anything other than yourself, if it's like a bedroll or comforter you’ve bled over. The ellon knows how to get blood out of fabric and will first handle the list of things you need and then tend to the stained fabric. Haldir will go and fetch the things you need without batting an eyelash, and he just brushes any of the healer's concerns aside.

Even if they offer to help, he just shrugs away their words, knowing you’ll go to them if you need it and that there is no sense and making a big deal over something so normal for you. Haldir will listen to all of your woes about it, comforting you even in his more subtle ways however he can. Holding your hand, rubbing your back, and in private holding you close. Haldir though will just tell you flat out to do something that will help you if he knows you are putting it off or have forgotten. Unperturbed by the conversation or needing to help you when he’s around and not on patrol.

* * *

tags:

@saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @icarus-fell-in-spring @iwenttomordor @red-riding @elarinya-nailo

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kissinginkitchens · 3 years ago

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You Bring Me Home—Chapter Eleven: Water Under the Bridge (Finale)

a/n: welcome back my loves <3 It’s so weird to think that this is the final chapter of YBMH and I’m definitely having a lot of feelings about it (denial, mostly). I want to say a huge thank you from the very bottom of my heart for sticking with this story and these characters that I love so much. I’ve had the most fun over the past few months talking to some of you and hearing your thoughts; I cherish it more than you’ll ever know. With all of that said, I’m going to miss this era so so much but I would still love to hear from you lovelies, so please feel free to drop by my inbox and let me know what you thought of this series!! Feedback, criticism, all of it is welcome :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, angst

Word Count: 6.7k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten

January, 2018

A strand of hair tickles Harry’s nose and his eyes flutter open. The faint sound of car horns and traffic outside reminds him of his location when his memory fails. He gently slips out of the bed and tiptoes over to the window, careful not to wake the girl sleeping soundly next to him. A thick layer of snow blankets every building and surface in New York City as far as the eye can see, and the grey sky above signals another storm on its way.

I’m going to die of hypothermia, Alani shivers, nursing her steaming cup of tea as she walks away from the office window and takes a seat behind her desk. Even after living in the city for a year, she still hadn’t adjusted to the cold weather and feared that she never would. Her boyfriend had joked on numerous occasions that you can take the girl out of the island, but you can’t take the island out of the girl.

“Vanessa’s on line three,” her assistant calls from the doorway.

“Thanks,” Alani nods before bringing the phone to her ear. “So, what did you think?”

“It was brilliant,” the editor admits. “Insightful, witty. I think they’ll love it,”

Alani smiles and spins in her seat to face the window again. “St. James has been on my ass about this piece for weeks. I hope it’ll shut him up,”

“It will, trust me. Hey, I gotta go, but I sent the revision notes and we can discuss more later,”

“Great, thank you so much. See you at dinner,”

“Ta-ta.”

Alani reaches for a pen and scribbles a reminder onto a pink post-it note nearby.

Bloody five-star hotel, you’d think they could afford decent pens. Harry grumbles to himself, shaking the ballpoint to no avail.

“Where are you going?”

Harry freezes in his tracks and turns to the brunette stretching out her tired limbs. He has to clear his throat to keep from saying the wrong name.

“Just a quick walk,” he explains with a tight lipped smile. “Go back to bed.”

She flashes a wide grin and snuggles back into the covers, but he secretly hopes that she’s gone by the time he returns.

The snow crunches under Harry’s feet and he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He had never been very fond of the cold, but he did have to admit that Central Park looked unbelievably beautiful in the winter. His phone buzzes inside his pocket and he digs it out to read the message.

Mitch: Me and Sarah are going to Bisous in ten. Meet us?

Harry: See you there.

********

“French is such a pretentious language,” Maleah scoffs, taking a bite of her pastry. “But I’ll be damned if I have to give up my chocolate croissants,”

Alani chuckles lightly and traces the restaurant’s logo of a red kiss printed on her napkin. Going to Bisous at least once a day had become a tradition during her best friend’s visits.

“I’ll have to smuggle a real one back for you and then you can tell me if this one’s the real deal,”

“When are you going, again?”

“Next month,”

Maleah wiggles her brows. “Oooh, Valentine’s Day? Are you taking Mason with you?”

“No,” Alani says casually. “It’s for work,”

“Well, who says you can’t mix business and pleasure?”

“Literally everyone.”

“Okay,” Maleah sighs, patting her full stomach. “Let’s go now before I get sleepy.”

The two friends make their way out of the busy restaurant and Alani’s shoulder brushes someone next to her.

“Sorry.” she apologizes, making brief eye contact with the other person before doing a double take.

Mitch purses his lips and turns his head back to the other girl at his arm while Maleah drags Alani out the door.

********

“I mean, what the hell was that? I could barely keep my drum kit together,” Sarah laughs gently, sipping her coffee.

“Cause of death: rocking too fucking hard,” Mitch shrugs. “There are worse ways to die,”

Harry stirs his black coffee with a spoon and watches the mini whirlpool grow. “Rob said you could feel it in the balcony, too,”

“I’m surprised you didn’t die,” Mitch pokes. “Mr. defective lungs,”

“Heyyy, I can’t help the asthma thing, alright?”

“Well it’s the last night,” Sarah chimes in. “Are we gonna try to beat the Kiwi record and go for four times in a row?”

Harry shrugs, a soft grin on his lips. “Dunno. Maybe if it feels right,”

“I say we cut out the middleman and just bulldoze MSG ourselves. What difference does it make if the fans tear the house down or if we do?” Mitch suggests.

“Oh yeah,” Harry nods. “I’m sure Irving would love that.”

“Some food for thought.”

The trio finish their breakfasts and excitedly continue their conversations about the impending show, but the entire time, Mitch is haunted by the knowledge of Alani’s presence in the city. He debates telling Harry, but is suddenly reminded of the intense aftermath of the pair’s falling out.

********

“Where’s Alani?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that name to me ever again.”

Mitch’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

And with a simple question, anger had subsided into grief. Mitch still didn’t know all of the details surrounding their split, but he had pieced together sufficient bits from Jeff and, in part, from the lyrics Harry penned in the following weeks. The slump had lasted through the fall and winter of that year, but as spring rolled around and the album’s release drew closer, Harry pulled himself together enough to promote and tour. It felt good to be on the road, and he found himself revitalized by the energy of those who came to support. Tour itself had been relatively intimate, as he had actively decided to play smaller venues than the sold out stadiums he was accustomed to, but the enthusiasm of the crowds hadn’t changed from his band days. As Harry occupied his attention with music, Hawaii grew smaller and smaller in the back of his mind. Eventually, it dwindled into a dull ache at the center of his chest, felt only on particularly long nights coaxed with a little bit of alcohol in his bloodstream. For now, he tried to focus on his last show at Madison Square Garden.

********

Alani’s stomach turns. Had she really seen Mitch or had it been a remarkable doppelgänger? She hoped it was the latter, knowing that if he really was in New York City, Harry wasn’t far behind. This was by no means the first time she had been reminded of her summer love turned sour, but it stung just as much every time. The first incident was last April when she turned on the T.V. only to find Harry performing one of his new songs on Saturday Night Live. It had resulted in the loss of her favorite mug as it shattered against the hardwood floor in her apartment. Since that day, Alani had seen his face on countless billboards in Times Square and habitually asked taxi drivers to change the radio station or turn it off entirely. After a while, she had gotten better at dealing with the sinking feeling whenever he was mentioned, it was easier to detach feelings for someone who lived on a screen. Running into Mitch, however, had blasted a hole straight through the fourth wall that Alani had erected, and she knew that there was absolutely no way she could cope with a similar encounter from Harry.

“Oh shit,” Maleah gasps softly, looking through the windshield at the hundreds of people lined up on the pavement outside of Madison Square Garden.

“What?” Alani asks, head still spinning.

Her best friend immediately turns to her with a nervous smile and shrugs. “Oh it’s nothing. Hey do I have something in my teeth?”

Alani glances out the window behind Maleah and her eyes bulge. “Woah, what’s happening there?”

“Oh it’s probably, like, Lady Gaga or something. Anyways, look at this random text I got the other day.”

But it wasn’t “Lady Gaga or something.” The marquee reads “Harry Styles—SOLD OUT” in bold lettering. Alani retches into her bag.

********

“Oh, for fucks saaake!” Harry shouts playfully, the sound of his obscenities echoing throughout the large venue.

Mitch and Adam chuckle beside him and continue setting up their equipment while Sarah offers a comedic “badum-tss” on her drum set.

“Okay then at that point, stage lights will come down and it’s ‘Meet Me in the Hallway’,” the technical director speaks into his earpiece.

Harry nods and watches the screen behind him roll through the animation that will play during the song.

“Alright, then it’s—”

“Wait,” Harry interjects over the mic. “Sorry, can we run it?”

“Run ‘Meet Me’?”

“Yeah,”

Mitch tenses listening to the conversation that filters through his own inner ear piece, but he continues fiddling with the strings of his guitar.

“Running ‘Meet Me’,” the director affirms. “Sarah, stand by.”

Harry’s eyes dart over to Mitch and he nods as a sign to begin. The guitarist clears his throat and strums the opening chords.

Meet me in the hallway

“M’gonna go wait in the hall…”

Meet me in the hallway

“Give you some space to think and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

I just left your bedroom

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Give me some morphine

“I hope you got all the material you wanted.”

Is there any more to do?

“Please don’t go.”

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Maleah offers. “I can catch a return flight tomorrow,”

Alani sits up in her bed and shakes her head. “No, Mi, it’s okay. I’ll be fine,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something,”

Maleah gives her friend a tight squeeze and pulls away to read her face. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll come right back,”

“Thank you,” Alani says, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry to put a damper on your last day.”

“Nah, there’s nothing to worry about. Feel better soon, Nani.”

The door closes softly and Alani burrows deeper into the covers. She tries to bury the emotion back under a lock and key, but a gentle sob fights its way up her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, she cries, but maybe it was. Just as the sun rises and sets, so had Harry entered and exited her life, and maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to be. After all, Alani had gotten exactly what she wanted, hadn’t she? So why does it still hurt?

The snow falls gently outside of her window, but the entire scene blurs into shades of white and grey behind her tears. It had snowed just like this on the day she moved to the city. Shortly after the article about Harry had been published by a small gossip site, Alani had contacted the publishers and threatened litigation if they didn’t take it down. Unsurprisingly, they had also been contacted by Columbia Records and thus, the piece was removed that same day. Despite the quick turnaround, Rolling Stone had caught wind of the storm brewing on social media and reached out to Alani a few days later. They had been impressed that the elusive Harry Styles granted her an interview, but they didn’t push the matter much further. Instead, they had offered her one piece of her choosing to prove herself. If the reviews were favorable, she would be given a regular contributor spot, unpaid of course. They would re-evaluate at the beginning of the new quarter and negotiate from there. When January of 2017 rolled around, Alani’s writing was making surprising waves in the Rolling Stone community, so she had been hired on as a junior writer and assistant to the Editor in Chief. The pay wasn’t great, but it was a leap in the right direction.

Despite everything that had changed in a year, a string of random letters on a building that Alani passed a million times had brought her emotions right back to the day she had tried so hard to forget. Her phone buzzes under the covers and she reaches out a hand to locate it. Her editor’s name appears and she answers it quickly.

“Hello?”

“Darling, hello! Where are you?”

“Oh my god,” Alani groans. “Vanessa I’m so sorry,”

“Is everything okay?”

Alani sits up and clears her throat. “I have food poisoning,”

“Christ, from where?”

“Bisous,”

Vanessa sighs. “Poor thing. Okay, no worries we’ll just reschedule,”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you,”

“No need to be sorry, get some rest and we’ll catch up later!”

The call ends and Alani gawks at the time. 7:30 already? She slumps back under the covers and sifts through her social media, wincing when she sees several of her friends posting about the line outside of Madison Square Garden. No, Alani decides sternly when the sudden urge to go stirs in the pit of her stomach, absolutely no fucking way.

********

“10 minutes!”

Harry scans the crowd from the monitor backstage. He pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb as the nerves settle in.

“The house is packed,” Jeff comments with a hand on the singer’s shoulder. “And there’s still a crowd outside,”

“We did it?”

“You did it,”

So why does it still hurt?

“Thanks for everything,” Harry says, bringing his manager in for a hug. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jeff pats Harry on the back. “All in a day’s work for the dream team.”

Before heading out, Harry stops one of the crew members and asks if any of the guests on his list have arrived yet. Names are read off, friends from different inner circles over the years, but there’s one name in particular that isn’t called. He offers a thumbs up and a forced grin before making his way to the stage.

It always surprises the technical crew at every venue that Harry has specific lighting requests for the house. Performers had their individual preferences, this wasn’t unusual, but no one made a bigger deal about being able to see the crowd like Harry did. He enjoyed being able to see each person and connect with them, especially when performing an album that was as personal as this one. But in every sea he searched, one face was always missing. Tonight’s audience, much to his disappointment, was no different.

The crowd cheers as “Sweet Creature” fades out and the lights on stage dim. More than half of the show has already gone by and they’ve reached the point that is always a little harder to get through. Harry takes a swig from his water bottle and clears his throat to fight the lump that forms. He breathes in deeply and “Meet Me in the Hallway” begins, but no matter how hard he tries to focus on the technical aspects of his performance, it’s nearly impossible not to get dragged back into the moment when the song was written.

“I should go back,”

“H, I don’t know if that’s such a good—”

“I have to go back.”

And so he had. After two hours of pacing the airport lounge, Harry had jumped into an Uber and sped back to the hotel. It had taken another agonizing twenty minutes to explain his situation to the front desk workers and retrieve his old room key, but it was no use. He was too late. The bed was still unmade, but there was no sign of Alani save for the faint scent of Baby Honey and a gold necklace tucked away between the sheets.

The flight back to the mainland had already departed by the time Harry stumbled through the hotel lobby, and there wouldn’t be another one for three more hours. In the meantime, he decided to get some fresh air and clear his mind, hoping all the while that he would find Alani at the edge of the beach waiting to run back into his arms. She never did, and he was left with all the words he wished he had said.

I walked the streets all day

Running with the thieves

‘Cause you left me in the hallway

Just take my pain away

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Great show,” praises Rob Sheffield, author of one of Harry’s favorite books, Love is a Mix Tape. “Drummer’s incredible,”

Sarah beams and Harry flashes her a grin. “Thanks. It’s Sarah’s band, really. I’m just the frontman,”

“Well she kicked ass. All of you did, and I can tell by the way the floor was shaking that I’m not the only one who thought so.”

“Thank you so much, that means a lot.”

More guests filter in and congratulate Harry and the rest of the band, but while he sincerely appreciates all of the love, he can’t help the way his eyes flicker to the door every once in a while in the hope that someone else will straggle in. He slowly loses that hope when the room empties and the night drags on.

********

This isn’t ethical, Alani chastises herself, this is wrong on every level and you’re gonna pay. She runs her fingers over the Rolling Stone press badge in her hand and stares at the marquee towering over her. What the fuck are you doing?

“Excuse me!” Alani calls when she sees an employee slip through a side door. “Hi, I know I’m really late but I’m actually here with Rolling Stone,”

The blonde-haired woman blinks and scans over the badge with an unamused look on her face.

“Nice try,”

“No, wait,” Alani begs. “I have to get in there, please—”

“You and every other girl within a twenty-five mile radius.”

Alani takes a deep breath and re-groups. “You don’t understand. I really need to get back there, I’m working on an important piece,”

As the struggle continues, another woman in stiletto heels exits through the side door with a clipboard in tow.

“My name is Alani Hale, see? Please just—”

“Wait,” the woman with the clipboard intervenes. The name sounded strangely familiar, probably from the blacklist, in which case security would need to be notified. “What did you say your name was?”

Alani holds her badge out and swallows hard. “Alani Hale, junior writer for Rolling Stone.”

The woman checks through the blacklist but the name isn’t registered. She does a cursory glance over the V.I.P section and her finger lands on a note that reads “Mahealani ‘Alani’ Hale—Code Carolina: escort backstage and inform Mr. Styles immediately.”

“Follow me, please,”

Alani trails behind, doing her best to keep up with the long strides of the woman with the clipboard.

“Marta to security, I have a Code Carolina,” she murmurs into her ear piece. “Repeat, I have a Code Carolina.”

Alani’s heart races as they zig-zag through the arena. Did Harry know that she was coming? Had Mitch told him that they saw each other at Bisous? The answer was no, Mitch hadn’t told and Harry didn’t know. He had only hoped. Unbeknownst to Alani, her name was printed on the Madison Square Garden list and on every list of every show in all the countries scheduled. Through Paris and all through Rome, Harry had looked for her face in the crowd and he dreamed that one day his efforts wouldn’t be in vain.

“Wait here,” Marta instructs, leading Alani to a back room with mirrors, a couple of couches, and a clothing rack. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

Before she can ask any questions, Marta is gone and the sound of her heels echo down the hall. Alani takes a deep breath and her lungs are immediately filled with the familiar scent of vanilla. Her eyes carefully rake over the scene and land on a familiar white shirt hanging on the rack and the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey.”

“Thief,”

“I meant to return it.”

Alani spins on her heel and Harry stands with his fists shoved deep inside the pockets of his flared pants, eyes cast down at the floor. She tugs on the sleeves of her coat and offers a shy smile.

“It’s okay, looked better on you anyway.”

A brief silence follows and they size each other up like it’s a gunfight, each waiting to see who will draw first. His hair is longer and curlier, Alani notices, chest and shoulders broader, too. But there’s a familiarity in his creased brow and in the heart shaped curve of his cupid’s bow. Harry does his own inventory; dark, almond shaped eyes, check. Round face, cinnamon skin, check and check. Her long, wavy locks are now shoulder length, but he’d recognize the scent of Baby Honey anywhere. The two are absorbed in their own silent assessments for a moment longer, but Alani quickly gets the urge to flee after she counts too many similarities between this Harry and the one that left her with a broken heart.

“I should go,” she croaks, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have come—”

“Why did you?” Harry asks earnestly.

Alani tugs at a loose thread on her sleeve before crossing her arms. “Saw your name outside and got curious. For a while there, I started to think that maybe I imagined you,”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he had haunted her as much as she had plagued him. He had spent so long believing that he meant nothing to her, but nevertheless, a part of him left room for her return.

“You did, this is a hologram projection,”

Alani smiles and her shoulders relax at his humor. It really was him.

“Did you enjoy—”

“I didn’t see the show—” they speak at the same time, eager words overlapping.

“Oh,” Harry laughs softly. “You didn’t miss much,”

Alani shakes her head and takes a single step forward. “No, that’s not true. I’m sure it was amazing,”

Harry offers a coy grin, the shadow of a dimple on his left cheek. One hand emerges from his pocket and his knuckle brushes against the tip of his nose. Alani catches sight of the silver rose on his finger and she still remembers how it feels under the pad of her thumb.

“Are you hungry?” he asks softly, pulling her from her reverie.

“What?”

“Have dinner with me?”

Alani blinks, her throat suddenly dry. “Oh. Well I don’t know, I don’t wanna interrupt—”

“Never an interruption,” Harry assures her.

She nods and he takes a step back.

“M’gonna go change,” he explains. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“What, you don’t wear custom Marc Jacobs suits to dinner?” She teases.

He grins, amused, and continues backing away towards the door before correcting her. “It’s Gucci.”

Alani rolls her eyes and he disappears into the hallway.

When Harry reemerges in a beanie, puffy coat, and light wash denim jeans, he leads them through a series of tunnels and exits.

“Where are we going?” Alani asks, bracing herself for the snow outside.

“It’s a surprise.” he offers and she doesn’t fight him on it.

********

“We’re not eating here?”

A soft smile falls on Harry’s lips. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed her incessant questioning.

“No,” he replies, opening the passenger door with one hand and passing her the bag that contains their dinner. “Too crowded,”

“Oh,”

It made sense that Harry would want to keep a low profile and avoid any possible paparazzi sightings of the two of them, but it still felt strange to worry about such things after they had lived so carefree in Hawai’i. But that was then, and this was now, things had inevitably changed.

“D’you wanna play some music?” Harry asks, settling behind the wheel. The parallels between this moment and their first excursion together make her chest tighten.

“How about,” Alani starts. “Your album? Since I didn’t get to hear it live,”

Harry’s breathing hitches. “Well, I dunno—”

“Please?”

He meets her pleading eyes momentarily and, against his better judgment, agrees.

“What’s it called?” she questions.

“It’s just my name,”

“Self-titled, very classy. I like it,”

“I thought about calling it Sign of the Times,” Harry reveals. “But it’s already been done before,”

Alani hums. “Prince,”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But then I also thought about going with ‘Pink,’ because, you know, when in doubt—”

“Go with the pink one,” they say in unison and Alani smiles softly. How had he remembered that?

“And it’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” she continues.

Harry beams. “Exactly. But then Jeff suggested that we just go with the name. Simple, but effective,”

“Okay, so now that we’ve got the background,” Alani pokes. “And you’ve sufficiently distracted me, can I listen now?”

He swallows and checks the GPS, still twenty-five minutes to go.

“How about we hold off,” he suggests. “Just for now so we can listen to the full thing and really soak it in?”

Alani backs off. “Alright, deal.”

She presses shuffle on the playlist of her frequently played songs for the month and immediately regrets doing so. Clearing her throat, she goes to press skip but Harry stops her.

“S’a good one.” he says gently, so Alani lets Adele fill the awkward space.

If you’re gonna let me down

Let me down gently don’t pretend

That you don’t want me

Our love ain’t water under the bridge

********

Harry opens the passenger door and Alani steps out, her eyes squinting to make out any recognizable landmarks in their surroundings. They remain a comfortable two feet apart and make their way to the entrance of what appears to be some sort of greenhouse. Alani is filled with more confusion, but she doesn’t ask further questions until they reach the white double doors.

“What?” Harry questions. “Never been to the New York Botanical Garden?”

Alani’s eyes widen. “The—wait, you—we’re?”

“After you,” he chuckles lightly, opening the doors.

“Are we even allowed? I mean is it open?”

“I pulled some strings,”

She enters cautiously, immediately met with an archway of blush colored flowers and string lights that takes her breath away. A long, narrow pond in the center reflects the image back and creates a kaleidoscope of pink, green, and golden hues.

“How did you,” Alani begins, at a complete loss for words. “Who are you?”

Harry nods in the direction of an adjacent hallway. “There’s a ballroom set up for a wedding tomorrow night, but Jim said we could crash as long as we clean up after ourselves,”

“Jim?”

“The director.”

“Of course.”

Sure enough, round tables with cream colored tablecloth and elaborate floral centerpieces are arranged around the room. A delicate, yet undoubtedly expensive, chandelier twinkles in the center of the room and casts such a warm glow that Alani momentarily forgets about the snow outside.

“Dig in,” Harry instructs, setting the pasta on the table in front of them.

Alani sits and gently sheds her winter coat as he does the same. Underneath his jacket, Harry wears a yellow shirt that catches her eye with the words “treat people with kindness” printed in black lettering. She freezes when she spots a gold chain with a sun and moon pendant nestled comfortably between above the words.

“How is everyone?” Alani questions politely to shift her attention. “Mitch, Tom, Jeff,”

“They’re good, yeah,” he nods. “How’re Freddie and your family?”

“They’re fine, and he’s living his blissful little life,”

“Good for him. Miss his cuddles,”

And yours, Harry thinks, but he pulls back. Alani offers a shy laugh and thinks about the elephant in the room yet to be addressed: the break-up. It’s worth discussing, but she sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to bring it up.

“And how’ve you been?” Harry asks when the silence stretches out for too long.

Alani chews and ponders the question. “Good. Been working a lot,”

“Where at?”

“Rolling Stone,”

“Really?” he beams. “That’s incredible, congratulations,”

“Thank you,” she replies graciously.

Harry’s chin rests in his palm and he twirls a noodle around his fork. “So you live here?”

“Yeah, in the Village,”

“Wow. Greenwich Village, a real city-slicker now. Traded Stevie in for the Holland Tunnel?”

A bittersweet smile spreads across Alani’s lips at the memory of her beloved Bronco. “Sadly, yes. And you?”

“Malibu,” Harry divulges. “I hate the cold.”

“It’s not so bad. You can always cuddle up with the giant rats,” she jokes, which makes his nose scrunch.

“I’m just gonna pretend you didn’t say that,”

“Speaking of pretend,” Alani wiggles her brows. “You were in a movie after all,”

“I was,”

“I didn’t watch it, sorry,”

Harry feigns offense and Alani quickly back pedals. “I don’t like war movies!”

“And you hated my guts.” he teases, though it pains him that there might be some truth to his words.

Alani shakes her head and fights the urge to reach across the table for his hand. “No, not really. It was kind of the opposite, actually.”

Harry’s eye wanders to the outside of Alani’s wrist and a faint smile creeps across his face when he spots the black outline of a crescent moon. He wonders if there are any new inked designs that he isn’t aware of. Despite all the time that has elapsed, there is a familiarity in her presence that he hadn’t felt even in the comforts of his California residence. It was like kicking off your shoes in the doorway after a long trip. It was like coming home.

They finish their meal and continue their light-hearted banter into the night. Harry tells his favorite stories from tour and Alani wishes more than anything that she could have been there. She details the events of her own busy life in New York and the highlights of working for Rolling Stone, one of which being the time that she got to meet Stevie Nicks in the flesh.

“Did you tell her about your car?” Harry presses enthusiastically.

“No way,” Alani chuckles, draining the last of her drink. “I wasn’t gonna embarrass myself in front of the Supreme,”

“I think she would’ve found it flattering,”

“Naming your child after someone is flattering, not a car,”

Harry shrugs. “I think it’s cute,”

“Yeah well,” Alani sighs. “You’re not like most people,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She mulls it over, studying the familiar sea glass irises that she never thought she’d see again. What had Alani meant by that statement? Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could put it into words, nor had she meant to say them in the first place. But something about Harry always made her feel brave, like she could speak her mind uncensored and he would understand without even trying.

“I just meant that you’re, you know,” she starts. “Not judgemental. Like, I could tell you that I think I’m part alien and you’d probably try to help me find my home planet,”

Harry laughs and leans forward with his elbows on the table, an unspoken challenge for Alani to continue her thoughts.

“You make people feel seen and heard,” she says finally with a wistful look in her eye. “I mean, why do you think all those people lined up to see you tonight?”

The last part of her statement is a deflection from what she really wants to say, which is that Harry makes her feel seen and heard. Despite all the time and space between them, it was still true and it terrified her. There was only so much bravery that Harry’s presence could evoke. The mood shifts suddenly when Alani’s phone buzzes and the name “Mason” with a pink heart emoji lights up the screen next to her glass of water. Harry hadn’t meant to look and he deeply regrets that he did.

“You have a boyfriend,” he comments dejectedly, and though he hadn’t meant it to be accusatory, all words carry the sting of judgment when falling on guilty ears.

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ve stayed celibate this entire time,” Alani bites back.

Harry’s brow furrows. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” she apologizes, standing with her coat.

“Wait,” he jumps up. “What just happened?”

“I have to go—”

“Just stop for a minute, please,”

Alani stops in her tracks and turns back to face Harry slowly. His jaw is tight and the crease between his eyebrows is deeper than she remembers.

“I’m sorry,” she begins carefully. “Thank you for tonight, but I really shouldn’t be here—”

Harry’s eyes clamp shut and he runs a frustrated hand through his messy curls.

“Can you stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by leaving and just talk to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Alani pushes back. “‘I’m sorry that I saw your name in flashing lights and I got caught trying to spy on you’?”

“Alani—”

“‘I’m sorry that I tried to move on’?”

“Stop apologizing—”

“I’m sorry that I fell in love and fucked it all up because I was afraid and I’m sorry that I betrayed the one person who meant everything to me,”

Silence falls between them and the only sound is the sniffling of Alani’s nose as she tries, and fails, to hold back the emotions that pour over.

“That’s why I went,” she continues, voice wavering. “Because I’m selfish and I couldn’t stay away. Every single day, I’m reminded of how royally I screwed everything up and it tears me apart, so I went to try to make things right and take some of that pain away. Even though I hurt you and there’s nothing I can ever do to change that,”

Harry swallows hard and his eyes sting, but Alani speaks up again before he can respond.

“So please,” she begs. “Please, just let me finally do something right by you and let me go,”

He takes a cautious step forward and shakes his head. “I don’t want to,”

They both hold their breaths, anticipating the other person’s next draw.

“And maybe that makes me selfish too,” Harry adds. “‘Cause I went back that day, back to the hotel,”

Alani blinks. “You did?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Because I wasn’t mad that you published the article, I was scared that it was the only reason you were with me—”

“Harry—”

“But then I realized that I didn’t care,” he laughs dryly. “Because I still loved you, and I figured that having you— having just a little bit of your heart and your attention—was worth it, even if you didn’t really love me back,”

He takes another step forward and the toes of their shoes nearly touch. “And maybe I’m being selfish now by asking you to stay, but you’re not the only one trying to get rid of the pain,”

Alani takes a shallow breath and studies the eagerness in his eyes. The sight makes her chest pound.

“I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt,” she whispers. “But I meant every word I said, you were everything to me. You were the sun that my life revolved around and I was terrified of losing you because the truth is that I hate the cold, too,”

Harry gently reaches a hand up to her cheek and Alani leans into the warmth of his touch.

“Can I show you something?”

You and your goddamn surprises. “Yes.”

He leads them down several winding hallways before flicking a light on in the gallery. Alani’s heart stops when she sees it.

“Not quite as impressive as the real thing,” Harry offers. “But Ms. O’Keeffe did a pretty damn good job,”

An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting of a waterfall, their waterfall, the one that Alani had mentioned all that time ago, is displayed proudly on the wall before them. A replica had hung above the bed they shared on many nights and all at once a faint memory resurfaces.

“Where did you say the original was?”

“New York Botanical Garden,”

“M’gonna take you one day,”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Alani takes a step closer to the artwork and examines the details of the oil on canvas. A few steps behind, Harry is only concerned with her reaction and pays little attention to the piece of art on display. As far as he was concerned, Alani was the only one worth admiring.

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked why you went to the falls to write?” Alani asks.

Of course Harry had, but he remains silent to let her continue.

“You said that you liked going there,” she adds, deliberate. “Because it made you forget about every bad thing that ever happened to you, because none of it was real in comparison to the feeling of standing in front of that waterfall,”

Harry nods gently, but he still doesn’t speak.

“Do you know what that feeling is called?”

“No,”

“It’s called home,” Alani says softly, turning to face him. “It’s what I felt, what I feel, when I’m with you,”

His breath hitches and he stands frozen as she carefully walks toward him.

“And while we’re making wishes come true,” she smiles delicately. “I never told you what I wished for the day we saw that rainbow,”

“What did you wish for?” Harry searches.

Alani’s eyes fall to his parted lips. “That you would kiss me.”

His mouth curls at the edges and he releases a long breath. “Think maybe I can deliver on that one, too.”

Harry leans in, ever so slightly, and Alani closes the gap. They had been standing mere inches apart, but the meeting of their lips bridges an entire chasm. Over and over again, like waves against the shore, their mouths collide desperately as they pull each other closer with no intentions of ever letting go.

********

February 14, 2018

“Comment est le temps?”

Alani peers up at Harry and shields her eyes from the sun behind his back. “What does that mean?”

He grins softly and kisses the top of her head before taking a seat on the balcony next to her.

“Means ‘how’s the weather?’,”

“Oh,” she leans over, lips puckered for a kiss. “Full of perfectly Parisian sunshine,”

“Try sayin’ that ten times fast,”

Alani swipes his pink, heart shaped sunglasses and slips them onto the bridge of her nose with a contented sigh. Ahead, the Eiffel tower stands proudly in the distance and the lenses of her glasses tint the entire scene in a picturesque rosy glow.

“La Ville de L’amour,” she hums. “Did I say that right?”

“Oui,”

“Hey, you know what I saw on the room service menu?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, what?”

“Piña coladas,” Alani wiggles her brows. “Think they deliver at midnight?”

He chuckles lightly and his hand takes purchase on her knee. “They better,”

“Never had a Parisian piña colada. Sounds romantic, though.”

“Sure does, sweets.”

Alani stands and reaches for Harry’s hand. He accepts and rises to his feet, pulling her close. Below, the sounds of the city serenade them as they gently sway in the chilly breeze. When Harry feels Alani shiver, he hugs her to his chest and rests his chin comfortably on the top of her head. She feels his steady heartbeat against her cheek and smiles softly, fingertips smoothing up and down his back.

“Are you ready for Valentine’s Day surprise number one?” he asks, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes.

She narrows her eyes. “Where are we going?”

Harry pulls back with a mischievous smile, hands still attached to hers, and leads them back inside.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Alani giggles but she doesn’t push. Instead, she happily follows him out of their room, down the hall, and into the bustling streets of Paris.

We don’t know where we’re going

But we know where we belong

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

It’s hard when we argue

We’re both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road

You bring me home

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #ybmh #so!!!! that's all folks <3

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rosy-cheekx · 4 years ago

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I Want To Be A Real Fake

@kaiserkorresponds said: Black and White + "I want to be a real fake" + formal clothing <3

Prompted fic that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I received it! Hope you like it, Kaiser!

Jon would not consider himself fashionable. He has a distinct sense of style, yes, but that style lately has been Tired-Academic-Works-in-a-Cold-Office,-Steals-Sweaters-When-Necessary-core. Not exactly suitable for the business casual dress code The Magnus Institute “requires” (no one seemed to pay attention to the Archive staff’s choices of attire), but certainly not suitable for the small rectangle of cardstock Elias Bouchard hands him, on a quiet spring morning in the Archive.

“What’s…what’s this?” Jon asked, staring at the neat, printed text as if it was Greek. (If it were Greek, at least, he could decipher parts of it. He was an English Lit student, after all, and he had really enjoyed etymology.) The card was a stiff black and white, with the black owl logo, the symbol of the Magnus Institute, printed in the top middle. Glancing down at it, he saw a date, and the words: “black-tie.” Shit.

“My apologies, I forgot how tired your position tends to leave you.” Elias’s voice was prim and polite, but Jon still winced inwardly. “As a head of a department, you are now strongly encouraged to attend the fundraiser I host in April each year. Our donors are fascinated by our departments, and especially the Archives. Gertrude’s disappearance has raised questions as to her successor, and I trust you can assuage the concerns of our donors at your accomplishments in the position.” Jon chose to believe that Elias’s keen eye didn’t sweep the mountains of paperwork that surrounded his desk as he surveyed the small, poorly lit office. “I’m certain you’ll be able to find appropriate attire for the occasion.”

He turned on a heel, halfway to the door before seemingly considering something. “Ah, and Jon, one more thing. Gertrude always requested she bring an assistant. Would you like to do the same? I am happy to accommodate one more for the catering count.”

Jon snapped his mouth shut, utterly dumbfounded by the responsibility just thrust upon him, and nodded mutely, before clearing his throat. “Ah-um, yes, I would appreciate that. Does it matter which one?”

“Someone who can make a pleasant impression, please.” Elias raised an eyebrow, nodded almost imperceptibly, like he had made a decision, and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe on the way out. “I trust your judgement.”

Jon counted to thirty, to be certain Elias wasn’t coming back, and slouched into his office chair, scanning the save-the-date again, without the immense pressure of Elias’s eyes on him.

“The Magnus Institute Fundraiser Gala,” it read below the embossed owl, within a thin black border. “23 April, 7-10 pm. Black tie. Catered.” Jon traced the owl with the pad of his finger, flipping the card over to see, in Elias’s thin cursive: Make a good impression, Jon.

God, this is going to suck.

“Sasha, come on.” Jon wasn’t one to beg, but desperate times and all that. He had cornered her in the breakroom, while Martin was on a research trip and Tim was getting takeaway from the chippie down the street. “It’s only three weeks away, and you’re the one I trust the most. Please.”

“Jon,” Sasha sighed, smoothing her skirt patiently. “I would if I could, I swear to you. But my sister’s wedding has been planned for months, I’ve already requested time off, and I can’t undo all that for a work party.”

“Fundraiser,” Jon corrected instinctively, even as he signed in resignation. “Fine. I just really didn’t want to go alone.”

Sasha scoffed, shaking her head to herself as she opened the fridge and pulled out her bagged lunch. “You have two other assistants you know. What about Tim? Or Martin?”

Jon wrinkled his nose at the thought of bringing nervous, rambling, doe-eyed Martin to the gala. “God no. Martin would be too much; I need someone who can handle themselves and hold a decent conversation. I need someone who can attend a black-tie gala and look more at-home than me.” A withering look from Sasha.

“So why not Tim, then? He can do all those things.”

“Do all what things?” Jon jumped and spun around to see Tim, carrying a grease-spotted bag in one hand and a paper soda cup in the other. He surveyed Tim in a moment: the button-up shirt, red and printed with tiny black balloons, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, dark black hair artfully mussed. High cheekbones dotted with freckles, and what Jon swore could be the faintest bit of eyeliner.

“Tim, would you like to go to a fashionable, catered work party with me?”

“Boss,” Tim lowered himself to a knee and held out his soda solemnly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Tim, that’s backwards. The kneeler isn’t the one who accepts,” Sasha chuckles helpfully.

“You’re just jealous of our love, Sash!”

Good Lord.

Jon was really hoping the food would be good. He was in Tim’s flat, in the toilet, checking himself in the mirror one final time. His hair was carefully braided, courtesy of Tim’s deft hands and coiled into a thick bun at the base of his skull, gold and emerald hairpin snugly in place. His suit was nice: a respectable white shirt, dotted with tiny lime-colored flowers he had to strain his eyes to see, under a dark green suit jacket and matching trousers. The suit itself was cut in a rather androgynous style, pulling tight at Jon’s waist in a way he rather liked, and contrasted beautifully, he thought, with the smooth brown of his skin. He flicked an invisible piece of lint from his thigh and, satisfied, stepped into the hall to tell Tim he was ready to go.

“Tim, I’m all-woah,” the exhale was accidental. Tim’s suit was certainly not subtle. He was wearing a deep blue turtleneck, hair perfectly coiffed. Over the turtleneck, the suit jacket was white, a spray of water-color flowers in all shades of blue and purple shifting with every movement. The navy blue heeled suede boots on his feet accentuated his already-tall frame “Tim, you look good,” Jon breathed.

“Ouch. No need to sound all surprised. I know I clean up well; I dirty pretty damn good too.” Tim chuckled and adjusted his sleeves. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. ‘I don’t want anything too crazy.’”

Jon grinned shyly, rocking on his heels of his own, less intimidating dress shoes. “I like it, I think. It feels nice.” The excitement over how good he felt in the clothes had, all too briefly, suppressed the impending doom he was feeling about the evening’s events. “Are you ready for tonight?” he asked for what must have been the fiftieth time, spinning the solid black ring he wore around his finger.

“Yes, Jon. Talk about the reorganization process as a structural renovation, converting files to audio formatting for future accessibility, don’t talk about artefact storage even a little, don’t get caught up with anyone too pretty, I get it.” His voice was flat, bored by the repetition. “This is going to be fine.”

“What-what if it isn’t, though, Tim? What if they ask about Gertrude or how their money is being used, o-or how the restructuring is going? I can’t bloody well tell them I’m using a tape recorder that’s probably older than I am.”

“Jon,” Tim’s well-manicured hand was on his shoulder, nails the same blue of his turtleneck. “Take a deep breath. For Gertrude: be honest. It was a tragedy, and you hope she’s found, but until then you’re doing your best to act on her wishes as her replacement. And for the rest, be vague. Restructuring is going ‘as well as can be expected’ or ‘is running quite smoothly with the help of your three wonderful assistants.’” He winked. “And tell them you’re using a multimedia system, that’ll confuse those old boomers enough to move topics. And it is technically true. Laptops and a tape recorder are multiple medias. Anything else we can riff, you know? I can talk with the best of them.” He eyed Jon meaningfully. “This will be fine. It’s one night. And we’ll get chips after. Promise.”

Jon nodded and closed his eyes, breathing steadying. He was grateful Tim had been available. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“So, how did you know what black tie meant?” Jon asked, eyeing Tim across the seat of the cab. They’re on their way now and Jon’s hands are steepled tightly, pressing his fingertips against each other until it hurts to do so. “I had to Google it last week when I went shopping, in case we had to wear literal black ties.” He needed to talk about anything, anything but this stupid fundraiser they drove steadily towards.

Tim grew silent for a moment, considering his words. “My brother was an extra in a movie once and started dating a stylist for one of the leads. He fibbed his way into getting us tickets for premieres, so I’ve made my way through a few high-fashion events.” He shrugged, fiddling with a thin silver bracelet along his wrist, were Jon knew the letter D was carved in delicate cursive. “I like it, too, you know? Dressing up for events. It makes me feel debonaire, like a spy.”

Jon shook his head in disagreement. “Makes me feel fake,” he mumbled, eyeing the lorry floor beneath them. “Like everyone knows I don’t belong. I hate having their eyes on me and knowing they’re better than me.”

Tim prodded Jon with his elbow gently, raising his eyebrows in a comforting manner. “That’s it though, isn’t it? We aren’t fake. We worked our way here. Hell, you’re the boss of an entire department, Jon. We’ve gotten to where we are in the Institute because we deserve to be here. And anyways, everyone at that party next week is gonna be fake. They’re pretending to care about our jobs, and we pretend to care about their money, and they pretend they’re even the ones who write the checks and not some snooty financial advisor in Wales.”

Jon shrugged, trying to keep himself from biting back that he wasn’t enough, didn’t earn this spot, that Sasha deserved it more than he did and was doing nothing to prove to Elias he was up to the monumental task of being the Head Archivist. He didn’t, though, and instead took a steadying breath, nodding to Tim’s comforting words.

“And anyways,” Tim continued, shrugging. “Even if we have to be fake for a night, it’ll be fun. We get to be a part of ‘the queen’s high society,’” he added in a high-pitched, overly fake RP accent, eliciting a chuckle from Jon. “And Rosie said the catering Elias orders is divine. Apparently we should keep an eye out for tiny samosas?”

As if on cue, the cab shuddered to a stop. Jon thanked the driver, paid, and followed Tim out.

The Institute looked different under the pretense of wealth and success. It was still the same building of course, but the floor was clear of the rain mats and the smooth marble floor paved the way to the library, the main sitting room of which had been cleared as a rather respectable grand hall to host a party. Tables lined the cordoned off books, hot plates and silver trays steaming slightly. Bottles of wine lined a bar, behind which a vested individual with slicked-back hair was pouring small glasses and taking orders. A quiet orchestra completed the scene, cello and piano in a delicate duet. Before tonight, Jon couldn’t have imagined this many people in the Institute alone, least of all the library. Not that it’s packed. There’s maybe thirty or so well-dressed individuals milling about, the din of conversation white noise in comparison to the floating of the music.

Tim’s hand is on his back, pressing kindly into his spine. Oh yes, he remembers dimly, and nods, allowing Tim to guide him into the library and hand him a glass of wine. They stand out a little, two beacons of color around what is a pretty drab spectrum of black and grey, save for a few spectacular dresses in the crowd. Jon finds he doesn’t mind it, except that it may lead to unwanted conversation. It’s not his looks he fears being judged on, but that he be found wanting when it came to his capabilities. He was always selectively self-conscious like that, some things utterly meaningless, others inexplicably important.

Jon isn’t a huge fan of wine, but he finds himself clinging to the glass as a lifeline as he and Tim meander through the crowds, largely ignored. The music is intoxicatingly simple; he finds himself caught up in the deep reverberations of the cello as they walk, feeling it deep in his chest. There were, in fact, samosas, as well as small cannoli, and he and Tim piled plates as high as they could without garnering stares.

There weren’t many people Jon recognized; he didn’t even see Elias as he scanned the crowd for faces. Wine in one hand, a plate in the other, he thought maybe the night wouldn’t be too bad.

Jon shivered, the sensation of being stared at prickling the back of his neck. He spun around, trying to appear casual, and spotted Elias at last. He was standing with a large man, broad and wearing a deep blue suit, scruffy beard a mix of tawny and white. Elias crooked his finger, smiling primly. As Jon made his way over to the pair-who he could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen previously, he was intercepted by a short bald man in a plum velour suit, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Ah, Archivist,” he smiled warmly, extending a hand to shake before seeing Jon’s hands were full, and nodding his head instead. “Congratulations on your promotion. Elias has told me he expects great things from you.”

Jon smiled politely, glancing over to see Elias and the other man gone again. Regretfully, he turned his attention back to the man. “It’s a shame about Gertrude, yes, but I’m hoping I can do her proud,” he said in a practiced tone. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Tim? He was just with him.

“Of course, of course. I was hoping I could have a word?”

“W-with me?”

“Yes, you see, I was rather concerned when I heard Gertrude’s position had been left open. When Elias said you yourself where at the junction to take over, I wanted to meet you for myself. I worry about the Archivists in your institute, so many of you do such monumental work for so little recognition. Do you worry your work to be meaningless? Your name insignificant when it is all said and done?”

(It is this conversation he remembers, months later, when he demands to record Prentiss’ attack. He refuses to be another mystery, a name on a placard to be wondered about.)

“I-ah, yes? No?” What was the right answer here? Jon stammered out a half-assed reply about doing his best, midway through when he felt a hand firmly on his shoulder, where his neck and collarbone met. Glancing to his peripheral, he saw a golden ring, an eye, and was frustratingly grateful to hear the cool tones of Elias Bouchard over his shoulder.

“Now Simon,” he said, voice even, “you aren’t trying to scare my dear Archivist, are you?” He gave the shoulder a squeeze but remained put. “Jon, I believe you’ve heard of Simon Fairchild, a significant donor to our establishment.”

Jon nodded wordlessly, not really listening to the two bureaucrats delve off into some topic or other, craning his neck to look for Tim. The music had picked up, he registered dimly, a orchestral melody led by a violin, sharp and whimsical.

“Jon?” Another squeeze to his neck, and Jon tried not to wince. “Wouldn’t you agree,” Elias asked, voice patient at surface level. “That the best way to move forward is to restructure the Archive?”

Jon nodded, trying to recall the answer he had rehearsed. “Yes, ah—my team and I have worked quite hard at recording the statements a-and organizing them in a way that will last long-term.”

“Ah, what a delight,” Simon—Mr. Fairchild—said warmly. Jon was reminded of the voices adults would use when they spoke to him as a child, when his inane facts about space or etymology had moved from endearing to obnoxious.

The conversation lasted for what felt like days, Jon feeling rather like Mr. Fairchild’s cane: a statement piece, contributing nothing to the conversation but unable to find a smooth exit. Leading questions from Elias led to thankfully rehearsed answers before Simon found his own exit and walked away smoothly, eyes wide and taking the room in.

“I-I really should find Tim,” Jon muttered, glancing around the room anxiously.

“Nonsense. He’ll be back,” Elias said, releasing Jon’s shoulder and taking his elbow in turn, “I would like to introduce you to a few dear friends of mine. I believe Tim is keeping one occupied at present.” Jon sighed inwardly (and maybe outwardly as well) and allowed himself to be led around the room. His wine glass was empty, as was his plate and he found it snatched away by a member of catering. He had nothing to cling to, to keep his hands busy, and was struggling not to pull out his delicately-placed hair pin just so he could fiddle with something.

Jon was taken on a tour of old rich people of England. Names flew past him, conversation buzzed around him, and still Jon felt like nothing more than a well-dressed trophy to be ogled at. Did Gertrude do this every year, he wondered dimly. No wonder she disappeared. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times, speaking when needed, and feeling the swirl of the orchestra build up in pressure behind his eyes. The music was beautiful but hard to listen to. Something about it was ugly, hiding a dark secret behind the innocent melodies.

Eventually, the evening was so much of a blur that he couldn’t even begin to fathom how much time had passed. It may have been weeks, may have been merely twenty minutes. Jon glanced down for his watch before realizing he had taken it off at Tim’s flat and never strapped it back on. Pity. It only added to the dreamscape reality he seemed to be participating in.

At last, Elias led him towards the large burly man that was suddenly in view (hadn’t he always been? Jon wasn’t quite sure. The wine must have affected him more than he thought with the nerves) and Jon saw Tim, similarly trapped in conversation as he had been. He smiled apologetically as Jon and Elias approached and the larger man smiled warmly at the newcomers.

“Ah, Archivist. I hope you don’t mind I stole your companion away briefly. I was curious about the nitty-gritty of your Archive. Timothy here was very informative.” Tim winced at the use of his full name and a part of Jon smirked, relating to the sentiment of being called Jonathan or worse, John.

“I’m glad he can answer your questions.” Elias spoke before Jon could open his mouth. “I’m quite proud of the Archive staff. Jon chose well and I am sure the four of them are going to do great things together. Jon, you remember the Lukas family?”

Jon nodded, confused for a second before the man in front of him extended his hand. “Peter Lukas, at your service.” The hand was cold, and a feeling of dismay washed over Jon as he shook it. He couldn’t help the feeling that the shake of that hand was a seal of his fate.

The orchestral music had picked up, a swirl of strings and piano, ascending in pitch until it grated at Jon’s ears. No one else seemed to react to it, however, as the manic notes pulling at something inside Jon’s brain, something he couldn’t explain. It was almost like a migraine, but sharper and deep in his spine and in his ears. Elias let go of Jon’s arm at some point during the conversation with Peter Lukas, a discussion about boats, maybe? Travel? This was the conversation Elias was so keen on Jon being a part of?

As Jon felt that grip relax, the glint of the ring on Elias’ finger seeming to wink at him, Jon took a staggered step backwards. “Mr. Lukas, ah-Peter, it’s been a pleasure. Elias, ex-excuse me.”

Jon turned and dashed out of the library, feet carrying him on instinct through the winding halls and down the stairs of the institute, deep into the Archives. He stopped when he felt his feet echo against the cold, solid lino of the archival storage and bent over, hand on the wall, gasping in shallow, rapid bursts. It was too much, it was too much, he thought he could do this but it was too much and he wasn’t enough for them-

“Woah-boss.” Tim was there. When did Tim get here? Was he speaking out loud? Shit. “Jon, yeah-hey, Jon. I’m here. You’re okay. Take some deep breaths, okay? You’re going to black out if you’re not careful.”

Jon felt his suit jacket being shrugged off of him and the newly allowed freedom of his shoulder helped. He took a deep, sputtering breath, the sweet oxygen flooding his system and sharpening his thoughts.

“The-the music and the talking,” he said under his breath, Tim craning to listen without infringing on his personal space. “Too-too much.”

“The music? Jon, hey, hey, just focus on calming down, okay? That was a dick move of Elias to separate us immediately. I was talking to that Lukas guy for way too long. Not even sure what we talked about. I think he’s just one of those guys.” Jon smirked to himself as he focused on the floor beneath his feet, breathing slowly until his heart rate had resumed a normal rhythm.

“Says you,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he pressed his warm cheek to the cold wall.

“You bastard!” Jon felt a light swat on his shoulder. “I listen to people! I have meaningful conversation; just ask Martin and Sasha and Alexa from Library and Calvin from Artefact Storage. I am practically a professional listener.”

Jon smirked, satisfied with his jab and turned around, now pressing his back to the wall. “God, Tim, I do not want to go back in there.” It was hard to admit out loud, even if the evidence was written all over his face.

“Okay. So, we won’t.”

“What?” the answer was so mind-bogglingly simple, Jon reeled.

“We don’t want to be here. We’ve talked, we’ve eaten. Let’s just leave. I can tell Elias I had an emergency and you had to escort me home, like a true gentleman.”

“Lie to Elias? I feel like that cant end well.” The offer was tempting, Jon hadf to admit.

“I mean, Sasha has keys to my flat. I could ask her to start a fire, if you think that’s sufficient?”

Jon barked out a laugh at that. “Ah, no, lets save a fire for something big. Yes. Let’s-let’s go, Tim. And-er, I suppose I should thank you. For coming tonight. I know its not an ideal way to spend an evening.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim did a twirl, Jon’s own jacket slung over his shoulder. “I look hot. You think I’d pass up an opportunity to dress up like this? You’re dreaming.” He smirked and took Jon’s arm, leading him back up the stairwell. It felt different than Elias’s touch. That had been a cold tug, directional and leashed. This felt…snug, more like a link in a chain than anything else. Comforting, reassuring.

(Luckily, they weren’t laughed out of the Nando’s they popped into late at night. Lemon and herb and spices covered their hands, but they were careful to keep their jackets clean. Jon, when looking back on the evening; remembers this moment, talking and laughing and letting the fresh night air was over them. Elias, Lukas, and Fairchild be damned. He’d deal with that tomorrow.)

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #tim stoker #prompt fic #black-tie #elias bouchard #still a dick #peter lukas #simon fairchild #sasha james #me? write everyone BUT martin>#amazing

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theherothechampiontheinquisitor · 4 years ago

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Pepperony Gift Exchange

Title: Like It Never Happened Pairing: Pepperony Word Count: Almost 13k TW: Implied/referenced Alcohol Abuse Rating: G Summary: When Tony and Pepper get stranded alone in Colorado after a long (mostly) working weekend they learn more about the other in one night than in the five years they spent working together. Not only that but they discover there may be the possibility for more for them in the future. What started as the weekend from hell blossoms into something unexpected and life changing. OR There was only one bed. - "Hey, Pepper. Want to make out?" Notes: I wrote this for the Pepperony Valentine's Gift Exchange via @dailypepperony for @river-bottom-nightmare. I am so sorry that this is so late. Life has kicked my butt this last month but I hope the nearly 13k in content is a good apology. I had a lot of fun with this one even as it grew from just a funny little idea into something with actual plot. I hope that you enjoy it!! Sorry again for the wait. <3

Read it on AO3 Here

They were supposed to have gone back to Malibu on Thursday night after the conference. Instead, here Pepper was on Saturday night, trekking through one of the worst blizzards in Colorado history because her boss just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take a mini vacation and go snowboarding with a gaggle of busty sycophants.

She’d been working for Tony Stark for almost five years now, so she wasn’t sure why she was still sometimes so surprised by his need to go off script and wildly alter all of their plans, but at least when he did they were normally in California where it was warm and sunny, not this frozen tundra.

She almost left without him, sure he would never notice or care she was gone but even though she and Tony had a good back and forth relationship, she had less of one with the CTO, Obadiah Stane and knew that Obadiah would be less thrilled if she left the wild child CEO on his own to get into trouble.

By the time that she had been able to finally convince Tony that they needed to leave and then to check out from their hotel and make it to the airport, the storm was already in full effect and all planes had been grounded, even for America’s premier billionaire weapons developer. So, they had to turn around. Or they would have if they could have made it past the airport parking lot but the snow was falling so heavily that their driver wouldn’t even attempt it, and he was a Colorado native.

This left Pepper with the unique challenge of now finding lodging nearby because she would be damned if she was going to sleep inside the airport. There were several hotels and motels that were airport adjacent at least, so now she was mostly left with the issue of them all being fully booked by other stranded flyers.

The concierge at their latest chain hotel was being very polite and understanding of their dilemma, however there was only so much they could do and apparently the Stark name meant nothing in the midst of a blizzard.

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose and then massaged her aching forehead as she parsed through her options, not that there really were any. It was almost midnight, she was tired, had been working all day when she wasn’t corralling Tony. This hotel would have to do. Tony only had himself to blame if the room wasn’t up to snuff.

Speaking of which…

She turned around from the front desk, eyes scanning the mostly empty lobby until they zeroed in on her boss, leaning against the wall talking to another guest, female of course, with a wolfish smile on his face.

Bleh.

“Mr. Stark?” she called out across the room to him, a fake pleasant smile plastered to her face and a thin veneer of exasperation lacing her words.

“Yes, dear?” He responded automatically without so much as even a backward glance.

Breathe, Potts, breathe.

“I think we are just about set up over here, just need your signature as always,” she replied, proud at how in check her temper was at the moment.

For a moment she thought she’d have to physically remove him from his conversation until a tall, buff looking guy came in the door carrying several suitcases, dropping them at the feet of the woman Tony was talking to, and he did not look pleased. Tony quickly gave a wink and a smile before he strategically retreated.

“You got it all figured out, huh?” he asked, as he made his way to the desk.

“I always do.”

He smiled genuinely at that and she felt just the slightest bit of her anger melting away and instead the butterflies she’d sometimes get in her stomach stirred to life instead. It was ridiculous really how nice of a smile her boss had, so she was allowed to be a little weak internally. From the looks of the young concierge, she would seem to agree, as well.

Tony reached across the front desk to grab a pen, and Pepper slid the forms over to Tony. Technically, her job did give her the power to sign for him but early on she had deemed it entirely necessary to make him put forth at least the bare minimum of effort, especially when situations like this would arise and it was all his fault.

Tony signed his name with a flourish, only the ‘T’ and ‘S’ distinguishable on the line. As he did the lights in the lobby flickered.

“What’s up with that?”

The concierge kept a smile on her face as she took the information from them. “The blizzard might be causing an issue with the power. We have emergency lights and fireplaces in each of the suites in case it were to go out.”

Tony raised a brow and looked sideways to Pepper. She raised her hands in mock defense.

“We wouldn’t even still be in this state if you weren’t pursuing your...extracurriculars.”

“Pepper, I’m insulted.”

“No you’re not.”

“No I’m not,” he agreed with another one of those smiles that made those butterflies start fluttering again...until he turned his head back to the concierge, his hair flopping to the side. “So, what time do you get off work?”

Tony definitely knew how to clip those butterfly wings in a single instance.

“No, no. We have to share a room and this is definitely one of those things that is not in my contract to have to deal with.”

“Aw, Pep you’re no fun. Besides, I’m sure she has her own room,” he said winking at the girl who let loose a nervous giggle.

Oh puh-lease.

“Tony,” she finally stated in her no nonsense voice that cut through all of his bullshit.

He looked at her then, really looked at her she thought, and saw something, probably her extreme exhaustion and distaste for him at the moment and he straightened his stance from leaning against the desk and turned back.

“Do you at least have a bar around here or in the room?”

“They closed at nine.”

“What in the prohibition is wrong with this place?”

“I’m sure we could have something sent up for you?” The girl asked entirely unsure if that was even possible, Pepper was sure, though seemingly willing enough to risk her job to earn another grin from her boss.

Thankfully Tony spared her from much more flirting and they were finally handed their room keys and directed to the elevator down the hall. They were on the third floor with a view overlooking the mountains which the concierge promised was a sight to behold in the mornings. The only sight Pepper was looking forward to was the back of her eyelids.

She leaned heavily against the rail in the elevator and let her head flop back against the wall.

“You okay, Potts?”

“Nothing a good night of sleep won’t fix,” she mumbled automatically.

Tony shrugged and went back to looking at his phone but every now and then she could feel the weight of his stare on her, even with her eyes closed.

-------------------

“There must be some kind of a mistake…”

Pepper dropped her bag in the doorway even as Tony shuffled around her to see what the problem was.

The room was definitely much smaller than either of them was used to, and certainly a downgrade in quality but that was to be expected from a chain airport hotel. Still it wasn’t exactly a slum either. There was a mini kitchenette with a coffee pot and microwave on one end of the room, what he assumed was a door leading to a bathroom, and then at the opposite end was the fireplace that was boasted about, along with the balcony overlooking the mountains. A small desk and couch was also wedged up against the wall.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, finally coming up with nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the horrific beiges and generic prints lining the walls.

That must have been the wrong answer because Pepper turned to him with the most unamused face in her arsenal.

“There’s only one bed,” she finally pointed out. “This was supposed to be a double. I’m calling down to the front.”

Tony didn’t consider that the end of the world but apparently Pepper did, as she stormed over to the old looking phone and dialed down to the front. He just shrugged and entered the room more fully, dropping his bag in front of the wardrobe/tv stand combo and instantly went to get a better look of the view, occasional snatches of Pepper’s conversation drifting to his ears.

“...no you said there was a room available you did not say that it was a single…”

Tony would almost be insulted by how vehemently his assistant was fighting against the hotel staff if he didn’t already know that she fought equally hard in all of her endeavors. It was one of the many reasons that he had hired her on in the first place.

“Okay, so they don’t have any more rooms, it’s this or nothing,” Pepper finally said, slamming the receiver down.

Tony turned back to his exasperated assistant and just grinned at how flushed she was. “It’s not the end of the world, I’m sure we can manage.”

Pepper was still not amused or comforted. “Sure, you can say that because you are literally inhuman and can fall asleep anywhere, but I have been chasing you around for two days, while also keeping everything caught up with SI and it's cold and I’m tired. I don’t exactly relish sleeping on a couch after everything that has happened.”

Tony flinched and scrunched his face up. “Why would you sleep on the couch? C’mon we’re adults, it’s a big bed, there’s no reason that we can’t just share it. And if you’re cold, then I’ll get the fireplace going.”

Pepper paused and looked like she was considering his words, her eyes roaming over to the bed, probably calculating the amount of space that they would each have between their bodies. He could probably seal the deal if he could just keep his mouth shut for the next two minutes and swallow down the flirty retort on the tip of his tongue, alas though, he was Tony Stark and he had never been good at not saying what was on his mind.

“Besides, I have been trying to get you in bed with me for years.”

He could see the exact moment that the light left her eyes and all considerate notions of bed sharing were instantly quashed.

Oh, well. Maybe next time.

“Orrrrrrr,” he dragged the word out and at least had the decency to be mildly apologetic in tone and features for his joke, “I can sleep on the couch. I’ll still build you a fire though, cause I’m such a swell guy.”

Pepper rolled her eyes but he could see some of the tension drain from her shoulders and knew that he had made the right choice, chivalrous even. And to be honest, she really did deserve the very least of which he could give her in this instance. She was right, he could sleep anywhere. He had once fallen asleep standing up at his drafting board and Rhodey could probably write a book about all the weird places he had found him dozing while they were at MIT. Some of those naps might have been more alcohol or drug induced than by choice but the sentiment remained the same. And as Pepper so angrily stated, she had been running after him like his mother for the past few days. He’d make sure to give her a raise too. He liked to do that anytime he knew he had been particularly burdensome. Pepper got a lot of raises.

Pepper didn’t say anything else but she went back for her bag and rummaged through it for a bit, pulling out night clothes and toiletries before disappearing into the bathroom, so surely she had agreed to their new terms.

Tony wandered his way over to the fireplace and realized it was just an old electric thing. He turned a few knobs to get it going and by the time that Pepper had exited the bathroom, it was at least putting out a pleasant warmth and Tony had already mapped out ten different ways in his brain to improve the energy efficiency and output ratio. He liked finding new ways to fix old age problems. It was often a welcome relief from building the next big weapon, often saving him from his creative stifle.

“Check it out, Potts,” he said over his shoulder and then turned his head to face her from where he was crouched beside the fire. When he looked at Pepper though his brain may as well have shut down entirely.

He had seen Pepper in all manner of power suits and business attire. Had seen her on the rarer occasion in her ‘off the clock attire’ containing various jeans and t-shirts. However, he had yet to see her in any kind of nightwear, the past few days they had had separate rooms and any time she may have crashed at the mansion before that she was always hidden behind closed doors and in fresh clothing by the time he was pulled out of his bed.

Seeing her now...well it wasn’t quite what he would fantasize, no fantasies were just that and really there were no practical reasons to sleep in sheer lacy lingerie when one had no intentions of seduction, no this was right. This was very Pepper. Practical. Comfortable. Still surprisingly sexy?

She sensed his eyes on her as she stuffed her folded clothing back into her bag and slowly turned to him, her toothbrush still hanging out of one side of her mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing just you look…” he held his hands up as if lost for words and he kind of was at the moment. He felt that strange churn he’d sometimes get in the pit of his stomach when he would sometimes zone out in the middle of an all nighter and think about Pepper, really think about her, not just the curves and the pretty face, but all of her, and how he never smiled more than when he was with her. That feeling was back, gnawing at his gut as his eyes swiped over her one more time.

Pepper was instantly on the defensive. “They’re my winter pajamas. I never get to wear them in California, leave me alone,” she said, smoothing out any of the wrinkles of her pink flannel set.

“No, no, I didn’t mean anything bad about it. It’s just…” he started to correct, “very you. It’s cute,” he shrugged.

Pepper softened at the recognition of one of his real admissions, dropping her guard back down and allowing a smile to creep across her face. “Not the lace and silk you were hoping for, huh?” she teased him back and he knew they were good again.

“Nah, this is better,” he admitted to her again. It could have been the light from the fireplace or just her body warming from the cold, snowy night but he thought he saw a flush of pink spread across her cheeks and tinge the top of her ears. It was adorable.

A knock at the door broke the moment and Tony took it upon himself to answer. It was the hotel general manager, a tall, balding man in his forties with a bushy mustache. He apologized about the inconvenience over the room and the bar being closed but offered Tony a bottle of, “their best wine,” free of charge. Tony accepted it and the man scurried away like a mouse.

Tony turned the bottle in his hand, reading the label.

“We’re rolling in luxury now, Pep.”

“Oh yeah? Did they bump some poor couple from a double room?”

“I thought we already solved the bed issue?”

“We did, but I could still hope,” she shrugged, and went into the bathroom to spit and rinse her toothbrush out.

Tony knew no boundaries though so he followed behind her and leaned into the doorway as she went about removing the days make up. Now that he had seen Pepper without, so it didn’t phase him to watch.

“No, they did apologize though with their best red wine, vintage 2004. A whole year. We should be honored.”

“Not everyone in the world has exclusive access to their own family wineries in Italy, Tony,” she said, blotting at her face.

“Okay, I’m a snob,” he admitted. “You like wine, right Pepper? Let’s crack this bad boy open.”

“Tony,” she started in that tone that usually ended in a solid ‘no.’

“C’mon Potts, a quick nightcap. Live a little.”

“You live enough for the both of us.”

“That wasn’t a no,” he pointed at her and fled the room in search of cups before she did say no.

No glasses had been provided by Bill the general manager, nor the kitchenette, so Tony had to settle for the paper cups that were meant for the coffee pot. He’d just rinse his cup out when he was done and reuse it for the coffee in the morning. No big deal.

The wine wasn’t the type that needed a corkscrew, nor was it the type that he thought needed to breathe after being opened but he went ahead and waited a few moments anyways. It certainly couldn’t make it any worse...he hoped.

After further thought he flipped off the lights then glanced at the bed and pulled off the four fluffy pillows and sat them around the small fireplace, two of them he propped against the wall and leaned back against, the other two he left for Pepper to decide what to do with.

He then grabbed the wine and the two paper cups and poured himself a measure. It smelled just like your basic, cheap, supermarket wine, and after a taste he knew that he had definitely had worse in his life but that wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement. Satisfied that they at least wouldn't be poisoned tonight, he filled his cup the rest of the way and then Pepper's and waited.

-------------------------------------

“What is this?” Pepper said, haltingly when she finally emerged from the bathroom makeup-less and ready for bed. She looked Tony up and down, the way he was sprawled out on the cheap carpet, propped up only by the wall and the bed pillows beside the warm fire with suspicion. It felt like a cheap seduction attempt.

Tony however never faltered. “It’s our nightcap,” he said with a grin and raised his paper cup. “It tastes like shit but I figured maybe some ambiance wouldn’t hurt.”

Pepper hesitated again. Tony had always been flirty and he knew better than to try anything further with her. She had made it very clear from day one exactly where he could go if he tried to treat her like a one night stand. He had surprisingly been very respectful of her boundaries, testing the limits on occasion, but he never made her feel uncomfortable or anything.

This whole situation though had been wearing her thin. The aggravation of what occurred and why mixed with the fact that there was a part of her that was singing in glee at being confined to a single bed room with her good looking, charming boss who despite all the bravado she had put forth about leaving her alone, she had still managed to harbor a crush on. Maybe even could develop genuine feelings for. This was neither the time or the place for those kinds of thoughts.

Tony sighed loudly and drew her attention back to him after she must have zoned out for a decent while. “C’mon, Potts. We can pretend this is a slumber party and exchange gossip and paint each other’s nails. If you’re really good we can even end with a pillow fight.”

“Is that what you think happens at slumber parties?” Pepper asked. She gave the bed a longing glance but Tony just looked so damn earnest, so she ultimately gave in and grabbed the two pillows Tony had left for her and fixed herself a spot a respectable distance away from him and plopped down on the pillows with a groan. It felt so good to finally be sitting down.

“I mean that’s the Hallmark version of what I think happens. My only other experience is with porn and I have a feeling that would be even less accurate,” he smiled cheekily.

Pepper rolled her eyes and accepted the Styrofoam cup from his outstretched hand, their fingers brushing against each other ever so slightly, sending a pleasant tingle up her arm. “I haven’t had nearly enough to drink for any of that kind of talk,” she said, taking a sip.

“Well, we do have this bottle all to ourselves…”

This time Pepper laughed a real laugh.

“It would take more than a bottle for either of us to be drunk. I’m pretty sure this is the same brand that my Mom used to buy when I was in high school and it’s pretty weak. Sometimes I’d still steal a drink or two when I was feeling particularly rebellious though.”

Tony gasped and clutched at his chest dramatically at the revelation. “You mean to tell me that the Pepper Potts was an underage drinker?! And here I thought your soul was completely pristine.”

Pepper snorted. “Please. Not that pristine,” she said, taking another drink.

“Ohhh. I am liking this darker side of you, Pep, I have to say. What else did you do? Shoplift bubblegum? Forget to tip your waiter?” he teased.

“I’m sorry my criminal history is not living up to your expectations. Not everyone grew up with a lawyer on retainer and parents that could bail them out.” As soon as the words left her mouth she gasped lightly and covered her mouth, her eyes wide as she looked to him for his reaction. “I’m sorry, I was just teasing, and that was unprofessional…”

It was an unspoken rule to not speak about Howard and Maria Stark literally ever, if one could help it. Sometimes it was unavoidable due to press members who thought they were clever comparing the son to his father or if it were related to Stark Industries business, but never as a joke.

Pepper didn’t know the full story why the subject was so touchy, she’d always just assumed it was due to the tragic nature of their loss. She knew that they had passed years back in an auto accident, Pepper had been a senior in high school, and could still remember the headlines splashed across her father’s newspaper for weeks with photos of the wreck or the elder Starks. There was just one photo of a young Tony that she could remember taken from the funeral. He was all alone and even in black and white she could see and feel the sadness and vulnerability that had been radiating off of him. It was the first time she was cognizant of who he was. Sometimes she could still see the hints of the sad, lonely boy in the man before her and it made her heart ache.

When she looked at Tony he didn’t seem offended at least but the sadness was there. His eyes grew a little more haunted and the smile on his face became a little more downturned but in the blink of an eye the smile was back, a little more cautious now, as he waved a hand at her and filled the cups back up.

“You’re fine,” he reassured her as he poured the wine, “I’m a snob and sometimes I forget how normal people live. And I’ll have you know that there were a couple of times when my parents were out of town that my Aunt Peggy let me cool my heels and sober up in the luxury of a jail cell overnight.”

“Is this Peggy Carter?” Pepper figured she was safe to ask about since she was still alive and well and she knew they were still in contact. She’d seen her flowing script occasionally on the mail she would bring to Tony and had always been a little curious. The woman was an icon.

“It is. You been checking up on me?,” he said, a genuine smile taking over his face again. She loved those smiles.

“It is part of my job,” she shrugged.

“I'm surprised you two haven’t met before, compared Tony-wrangling notes. I’m sure she could provide you plenty of pointers. On second thought--scratch that. Maybe you should never meet,” he laughed. “She’s a great woman though. You would really like her. You’re alike in a lot of ways. Strong, beautiful, capable women who don’t take anyone’s shit.”

Pepper’s heart fluttered a little erratically to be compared to a woman like Peggy Carter, but especially at the word beautiful. She was starting to feel flushed and she knew it had nothing to do with the wine. Time to deflect and redirect, a tried and true Tony-wrangling method.

“You don’t talk about her very much.”

“I don’t?”

Pepper shook her head.

“That’s too bad. It’s not intentional. She’s gone her own way with her family and I suppose I’ve gone mine. That’s life right?”

It sounded like there was more to it than that but Pepper wasn’t going to press her luck any further. Tony though became a little antsy, shifting his body around into several different positions before resettling and drinking the remnants of his cup. He refilled it again and they sat in silence for a moment.

Pepper watched him stare into the fireplace contemplatively, the fake embers casting warm shadows across his face. In this lighting his eyes were a warm, honey brown, and she couldn’t help to be drawn to them as he clearly fought some internal fight.

Finally, after what felt like forever he spoke again, his voice soft and serious.

“Aunt Peggy isn’t too happy with me at the moment.”

Pepper frowned. “Why not? The stocks are the best they have ever been.”

“It’s not the company. Me in general. She thinks that an almost thirty-five year old man shouldn’t still be behaving like his twenty-one year old counterpart,” he said, trying for a wry grin that came off more painful than anything.

“She thinks I need to settle down, have a family like she did. Cut down on the alcohol. Well, not just cut down but check myself into Betty Ford or some shit. I told her to mind her own business, we had an argument and I haven’t heard from her since,” he finished with a deep sigh of regret.

Pepper couldn’t say that she disagreed with Ms. Carter’s assessment and honestly, looking at Tony now, she didn’t think he disagreed now either, if he ever really had. There was a difference between knowing you have a problem and accepting it and seeking treatment. It was clear the woman had meant well, but Tony could be so guarded and so bullheaded.

She mentally fought herself over what to say next. She didn’t want to overstep her bounds, she was still his employee, no matter how friendly they could be off office hours, but he was clearly in pain and seeking a little direction, clarity even.

“Do you disagree with her?” she asked, cautiously.

Tony didn’t blow up at her or fire her. His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at the dancing light in front of him, engaged in his own mental struggle. Slowly he shook his head, the strands of his overgrown hair that had started to curl, waved back and forth slightly.

“No.”

At least he could admit it to himself even if he wasn’t necessarily ready to do anything to change it.

“Call her when we get back. I bet she would love to hear your voice,” she smiled, encouragingly and scooted closer to him so that she could rub her hand down his back in a comforting manner. It was something that she had done a million times before but something about this moment just felt different.

Tony turned his head to face her then, and she felt her heart begin to beat faster in her chest. His eyes traced over her face even as she stopped her ministrations, slowly coming to a stop at her lips before darting back up to her eyes. His tongue darted out just for a second across his own lips and that was when she realized that he was thinking about kissing her. Actually kissing her!

“Hey, Pepper,” he said, voice soft and velvety.

“What?” she squeaked out, a little terrified.

“Wanna make out?” he asked, and was that longing she could detect in his otherwise nonchalant delivery?

Was he actually serious?

For a moment she let her mind wander, let herself give in to the possibility of actually sharing a kiss with Tony Stark. She couldn’t lie and say she hadn’t imagined it before, she was only human after all and Tony was good looking and could even be quite charming when he wasn’t entirely self absorbed. She wondered if she would be able to taste the cheap wine on his full lips…

No.

There was no way that Tony was actually being serious.

She had just caught him in a vulnerable moment and he was deflecting the only way that he knew how and that was via flirtatious behavior. He didn’t want to kiss her because he liked her. Well, like he really liked her, as in he wanted to be with her for longer than a single night, where they were trapped together in a cheap hotel room with only one bed, her as his only option.

No.

She couldn’t do it no matter how much she wished to know what he tasted like, no matter how alluring he looked in the flickering light of the fireplace. She would regret anything that happened in the morning, and knowing herself she would end up resigning, if Tony didn’t just outright fire her. She may have been his longest lasting PA so far but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still expendable once he got what he wanted.

“Mr. Stark, you are being entirely inappropriate right now,” she answered him, adopting the most detached, work voice in her repertoire and immediately scooting away from him.

He frowned at her but didn’t try to close the gap between them again as he rubbed his eye.

“Back to Mr. Stark now, huh? I thought we were outside of office hours?”

“And sometimes I have to remind you of your boundaries.”

“Why? Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

“Why? Because you’re my boss, it’s inappropriate!” she reminded him, though she still felt a little flustered, even more so when he looked at her again the way he had before he asked her to make out, eyes intense and longing.

He smirked then leaned back up against the wall, his face and mannerisms melting away back to the normal facade of her cavalier boss. He raised his eyebrow to her and spoke. “I can’t help but notice that you didn’t deny having a boyfriend, only that it would be inappropriate given our working relationship.”

“Oh, please,” she groaned. She drained the rest of her cup, then stood up and tossed her pillows back onto the bed and pulled back the duvet.

“Where are you going?”

“To bed.”

“Aww c’mon, Pepper, I’m sorry.”

He stood up and reached for her, just brushing his hand against her flannel shirt before she pulled away. He actually looked a little hurt by the rejection.

“I’m really tired, Mr. Stark and I’d really just like to go to bed now, please. I had your nightcap with you.”

“The slumber party was just getting started. We were having cheap booze, I told you a deep dark secret, there was an almost kiss. You owe me a deep dark secret, Ms. Potts.”

“Don’t count on it,” she said, sliding between the sheets and facing the opposite direction.

For a moment the room was silent except for the sound of the wind and snow outside the room and she thought that Tony might actually have given up. Then she listened to the sound of his shuffling feet and felt where the bed dipped in as he sat down at the very end, almost falling off the edge entirely as if he didn’t want to offend her by getting any closer to her.

“Look I really am sorry. You’re right, it’s been a long day, which is mostly my fault and then I just went a little too far. I didn’t mean anything by it and I am sorry if I offended you or hurt your feelings or whatever. I appreciate all you’ve done for us tonight. Are we good?” At that he did ever so carefully reach out and place his hand on top of her covered foot, a gentle weight meaning to convey his sincerity.

She appreciated the apology, and really had it been that big of a deal? Tony was just being Tony, it wasn’t his fault that she had started to get swept up in the moment. She sighed lightly against her pillow and lifted her head slightly to look at him. He had his head down but met her eyes when she looked at him.

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?” she smiled after her customary phrase to let him know that all was forgiven.

His lips twitched up into a half smile. “That will be all Ms. Potts,” he returned the gesture and patted her leg before standing up.

Pepper had just laid her head back down when he spun back around.

“Actually, no, that’s not it, I’m sorry again. Can I at least get the top sheet? I’m a naturally hot-blooded male but even I need something to keep me warm at night,” he grinned and offered a mischievous wink.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep her own face neutral, a small smile slipping across her face as she sat up and pulled back the duvet again, grasping at the top sheet underneath and pulled it free from where it was tucked in at the end of the bed. She balled it up once it was free and tossed it into Tony’s waiting arms with a little more force than was strictly needed..

“Thank you, Ms. Potts.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Stark,” she said, her smile completely uncontained now and snuggled once more under the warm blanket, waiting for sleep to claim her.

Or at least she would have if Tony wasn’t so loud as he moved about the room, placing his pillows on the couch and spreading out his white sheet.

Next came the thunk of his heavy snow boots coming off and being dropped on the floor and she said a mental apology for whoever was stuck beneath them as she kept her eyes screwed shut, desperate for him to finish whatever he was doing and be quiet.

Then came the distinct sound of his belt clanging together as he undid the fasten and Pepper’s eyes shot open in disbelief.

Tony unabashedly stood beside the couch, the direction she happened to have been facing, and was actually undressing. It wasn’t like she hadn’t caught more than an eyeful before when she’d come to collect him in the mornings and he certainly never seemed to care about any level of nudeness. However, she thought he would at least attempt to have some modicum of decorum while they were sharing a room. Apparently not.

She could have looked away. She should have looked away. Alas, she watched him undress through squinted eyes in case she were caught, sleep would be easier to feign.

He pulled his green sweater up over his head and she watched as his white t-shirt beneath was caught up with it, revealing the well defined muscles of his back before he corrected the mishap and the t-shirt fell back down to cover it.

When she heard the zipper of his pants being undone she did squeeze her eyes shut, what was she even thinking spying on him like that, even if he was doing it right in front of her. She was ogling her boss in the same manner that she always got onto him for.

“Do you really have to do that right there?” she asked, frustration laden in her tone.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he said with a playful tease, like he knew exactly what she had been doing.

She just huffed and turned around the opposite direction, lest his dark chuckle tempt her to look again.

“Your virtue is safe, Ms. Potts, I had shorts on under my pants.”

“Why were you wearing---I don’t need to know.”

He laughed again. “Goodnight, Pep.”

“Goodnight, Tony.”

-------------------------------------

Tony really tried to fall asleep after that. He spread out under the sheet, across the couch, his legs just hung over the edges where he was a little it too tall. It wasn’t uncomfortable, he was used to curling up anywhere he could to sleep. However, like most nights, he couldn’t seem to be able to get his brain to shut off.

His mind was racing with thoughts, ideas, calculations. How if he adjusted the processor chips for one of Stark Industries missiles he could make it that little bit more accurate. Schematics came and went as he did the mental math and how long it would take to adjust versus the cost and if it was even worth it to tweek or just create a whole new line.

He had other ideas too. Ways to improve the intellicrops. An electronics line that could put Apple to shame.

Sometimes he thought about Pepper. Nothing dirty surprisingly. Just about her. The way she looked in the Malibu sunlight, her hair flared out all around her, or even here in Colorado bundled up in snow gear or her ridiculous flannel pajamas. The way that he sometimes caught her staring at him the same ways he knew she caught him staring at her. She took care of him. Listened to him when she clearly didn’t understand half of what he was talking about. Helped him keep the company going. Put up with his whims. Just thinking about her, even her scolding him could put a smile on his face. If he believed in love then he would definitely equate love with Pepper.

Thinking about love would make him think of his mother, then his father. Jarvis, Ana. What they all would think if they could see him now, spending every free moment drinking or chasing after the only version of companionship he could accept.

Wonder what the world would have been like if he had been in that car with his parents, if he’d told them that he would come. Or what would have happened if he would have spoken to them a little longer.

Hell sometimes he still wondered what happened to Shannon Dorman who gave him his first kiss in second grade when his father wasn’t able to make it to parent weekend at Andover.

The only difference in all these thoughts from a normal person is most people thought about them one at a time. For Tony it was everything all at once. Like someone had left a bunch of tabs open on a computer and they all were playing different music. It was hard to focus and distinguish one thought or emotion from another when he was left idle like this.

He thrummed his hand against the back of the couch, the sound echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet room, so he stopped. He bounced his foot instead and turned his head to look out the window and watch the large chunks of snow as they continued to fall, not as heavy as before but still steady.

In lieu of counting sheep he tried counting snowflakes. He made it to nearly one thousand before it became just another tab running in the background of his mind.

He needed a drink. Or sex. He didn’t think Pepper would be offering though and he was well mannered enough that he would refrain from slinking away to the bathroom for some self love.

That left Tony with a drink. 10% alcohol content was a drop in the bucket for him but perhaps it would at least let him close out some of those tabs for a while. At least enough so that he could catch a few hours sleep.

Making up his mind, he threw back the covers and walked back over to the fireplace and retrieved the forgotten bottle. There was still a little over half left, it should theoretically do the trick.

He collapsed back against the couch and haphazardly strew the sheet back across him as he took a long pull straight from the bottle. He didn’t figure that Pepper would be wanting anymore tonight so there was no one left to be considerate for. After a couple more long pulls he could feel that little tingle start working its way across his body, warming him from the inside. Whiskey did it better but it was still a pleasant start.

“Tony...” Pepper’s tired voice called out to him and for the first time he noticed her blue eyes watching him.

“What?”

“Don’t drink anymore tonight.”

He tried not to bristle against the perceived admonishment. “Why not?”

“I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business what my boss does,” she said.

“Okay...as my friend then. Why?”

Pepper was quiet for a moment before she shifted around on the bed and clicked on the bedside light and sat up. Her hands were almost hidden by the cuffs of her pajamas but he could see how she twisted them together nervously, one of her only tells of discomfort.

“If you’re serious about what you said earlier, about agreeing with your Aunt...why not start now? Just little steps. You don’t need to drink, you don’t even like that stuff,” she finally spoke, her voice steady and sure despite her earlier nervousness. When Pepper committed to a decision she always went all in.

“Look, I’m sorry that I woke you. I just needed something to help me to sleep. This helps.”

“Well, what normally helps?”

He smiled.

Ah Pepper. Ever the problem solver.

“Normally, I have a glass of whiskey and well, company with me, to tire myself out. That helps usually. When I’m home I can work. Right now I have none of that,” he shrugged.

“Have you thought about taking a sleeping aid?”

Tony scoffed. “Uh. Yeah. That’s not going to work. You missed the early nineties with me so I forgive you, I just try to stay away from anything in pill format these days.”

Pepper brought both of her knees up to her chest and pulled the blanket back over her, one arm resting against her knee and propping her head up as she racked her mind for alternatives. “Is there nothing else that helps?”

“Working out, but I’m not sure you want me doing calisthenics while you’re trying to sleep.”

“What about talking?”

Tony thought it over. He remembered more than one night where he and Jarvis talked until he fell asleep. It was worth a go. At the very least the conversation was a distraction and he had a good partner to speak with.

He nodded his head. “Talking helps.”

“Then talk to me.”

“Aren’t we already?”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Tell you what, you can try and dig for slumber party gossip if you think it will help.”

“Ohhhh I knew you would warm up to the game,” he said, and took one final sip of the wine before standing and putting it on the bedside table beside Pepper so it would be out of his grasp.

“So, tell me about Virginia Potts. We’ve spent every day together for five years and I feel like I don’t know anything about you aside from your remarkable ability to keep my ass in line, your acumen for business, and your minor shoe addiction.”

Pepper shrugged and to his surprise took her own little drink from the bottle, seemingly nonplussed that he had been drinking straight from it like a heathen. “Well, I’m from a small town in Ohio…”

“Riverbend,” he finished.

She smirked back at him. “So you have checked up on me too.”

“Just your resume and the standard background check when you were originally hired. I did have to make sure you weren’t actually a crazy person you know after the pepper spray incident, you know? Happy wouldn’t let me breathe until I did.”

“And that’s why he is a great bodyguard.”

“Eh, jury is still out on that one. He did let you get by after all.”

There was another genuine smile. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was her smile. He could already feel his mind slowly beginning to calm, just with the little bit of banter between them.

“Anyways, my Dad used to run a farm with my Uncle Morgan but my Uncle was always a little flighty. When that was a bust my father started his own handyman business and then became a contractor. My mother was an elementary school secretary. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, I just knew I wanted to get out of there.”

“Well, yeah. The land of corn and astronauts. There’s gotta be some reason all those guys wanted to leave Earth after a stint in your state. Nevermind the biography let's just get to the fun stuff.”

He could honestly sit and listen to Pepper talk about her life forever. She could be as detailed as a Tolkien novel and he’d never complain. He just wasn’t sure when he would ever get this opportunity for questions again, and while young Virginia fascinated him, he wanted to know more about Pepper now.

She raised her brow questioningly. “Like what?”

“What do you say to a fast money round? Favorite color?”

She laughed a little, surprised perhaps by the simplicity of the question. “Blue. You?”

“Red. Favorite food?”

“Pad thai.”

“Not bad. Mine is pasta carbonara. My mom…” he trailed off a little bit, suddenly struck by a memory of cooking with his mother in the kitchen. So much for forgetting. Pepper looked at him with concern as he mentally regrouped. “She made the best version of it. Authentic.”

His words hung thick in the air until Pepper broke the silence.

“Least favorite food?”

“Caviar. I know I’m probably destroying your elitist view of me but I had a terrible experience as a kid. Never again. You?” he said, grateful for the continuation of their game.

“Strawberries.”

“Really? You have a whole strawberry-blonde aesthetic going on,” he said pointing his finger at her hair.

“Yeah, I’m allergic. Like deathly allergic, so it’s a no go for me.”

“Bummer. There’s some irony for you. Do you want me to ban strawberries from the entire Stark Industries campus? Because I will.”

“I don’t think that is necessary.”

“Well, at least from the house. I’ll have Jarvis erase anything strawberry related from the grocery list.”

“It's really not-”

“Please?” he insisted. He could think of at least ten different running items off the top of his head with strawberry in them. She was in his home just as much if not more than he was, he wanted her to feel comfortable there. “You’re at my house more than your own and the least I can do is make you feel safe. Mi casa es su casa, y’know?

“I hardly think that I need protecting from the big bad strawberries but if it really means that much to your chivalrous pride then yes, delete strawberry related items from your grocery list,” she teased, but her soft smile let him know how it was appreciated.

“Done deal.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“You’re welcome Ms. Potts. Now where were we? Oh yes, searching for your deep, dark secret. Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, raising his brow expectantly.

Pepper groaned. “Didn’t you already ask that?”

“You didn’t answer the question. Look, it doesn’t have to be a boyfriend. Girlfriend maybe? You know there’s no judgement from me. It'd be like the pot calling the kettle black because you’ve seen the array of company I keep.”

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend, Tony, sorry to disappoint, and no boyfriend either.”

“Why not? This may be crossing a boundary but you are smoking hot. You can’t tell me you haven’t left a trail of broken hearts from Ohio to California.”

“Like you?”

“No, that’s coast to coast. Global even,” he said with a wink that he knew would draw an eye roll from her.

“Not that it is any of your business,” she predictably began with the eye roll, “but I really haven’t. There was someone in college that I thought maybe...he didn’t want a partner though he wanted a trophy. The people I have dated in between have never lasted very long and I don’t have the time for that right now anyways.”

“Because of me?” he questioned.

“No. I’m just focused on my career and I have been since college. It’s hard finding a person who isn’t intimidated by a powerful woman who knows what she wants. You’d be surprised by all the fragile egos out there.”

“I’m really not. You forget about the people I’ve been expected to mingle with my entire life?”

She smiled at his words and took a few moments to collect her thoughts, her face pinching together in a frown. “I don’t want to compromise my goals just because my partner thinks barefoot and pregnant is a more appropriate title for a woman.”

Tony thought her feelings were perfectly understandable. He couldn’t ever imagine Pepper relegated to taking a back seat in her own life. Not to say that being a mother is less than a corporate business woman, but that idea that someone would want to repress who Pepper was just to fit their own outdated ideals of what a family and relationship should be.

“I agree, Pep, that’s ridiculous.”

If she was shocked by his response she hid it well. Maybe she wasn’t though. He always thought he was a progressive guy, even if sometimes he could be a bit contradictory in his actions. That was mostly for show though. The carefully crafted Tony Stark persona.

“Besides, when would I ever really even have the time to date someone seriously with our schedules? We’re in a fast paced world, where plans can change on a dime…”

“Like spending an extra couple of days skiing, snowboarding and getting caught in a blizzard?”

She held out her hand towards him. “Exactly. Who would understand that? I feel like I’d spend more time justifying my work than actually having a relationship.”

“So, it is my fault then?” he asked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“Ugh. Maybe a little. Don’t feel too bad,” she said, waving his feelings off. “The last time I did have a semi successful date, the guy ended it with what I’m sure he thought was an earth shattering kiss but he literally kissed like a fish. It was disgusting and ruined the entire night.”

Tony actually cackled at that anecdote. “So, no second date?”

“Oh my god. Definitely not. Completely turned me off of the concept for the foreseeable future,” she laughed with him.

“When was that?”

Pepper thought about it a moment. “About a year ago.”

Tony flinched. “Oof. You sure you don’t wanna make out? You shouldn’t let that be your last kiss.”

“Thanks, tempting but no.”

“Ooh I’ve gone from an outright no to tempting, huh?” Pepper opened up her mouth to protest but he immediately cut her off, pointing his finger at her. “No, no, don’t take it back. You said it. That’s going to be tattooed on my brain for a very long time.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

They both fell silent after that, just enjoying each other’s company. Tony shifted on the couch folding his arms behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. Pepper shifted to lay back down on her pillow, she still laid on her side facing him though, he felt her eyes watching him.

“What’s on your mind?” she finally asked.

“Do you ever think you’ll have a family one day?”

“I’ve really never thought about it, to be honest.”

“I find that hard to believe. Even I have thought of it.”

“You have?”

“Hard not to when there’s a new paternity suit every year.”

That was the truth. He had thought of family in the traditional manner of course. Settling down like Aunt Peggy said with a wife and 2.5 children like the American dream dictated. He didn’t see it ever happening, but sometimes it was a nice thought if he didn’t think he would turn out just like his father, cold and neglectful.

The paternity suits were another beast. None ever panned out and he expected none ever would. He may be promiscuous but he wasn’t an idiot. Still, it was always an interesting couple of weeks wondering what if. He wasn’t the type that would pay the mother off he knew that much. He would take an active part in any child of his life, fears be damned.

“I guess it’s not something I’ve ever pined for. Maybe someday in the far off future where I’m the CEO of my own company. Maybe then.”

He turned his head to face her. “You gunning for my job, Potts?

She smiled tiredly back at him. “Maybe I am. I have to keep you on your toes somehow.”

“You’d probably do a better job. You like all the boring details of the job. I just want to be left alone to create.”

“Please. Don't sell yourself short. Creating is your passion, but you have an eye for business. If you didn't then I don't think this company would have survived the last decade and don't say it was all Obadiah either. You're way more progressive than he is.”

“While I appreciate the vote of confidence, weren't you already concerned with how you'd fit my ego in the room though? I don't want to suffocate you.”

“I think I can manage this once. Tony, can I ask you something?” she asked.

Something in the tone of her voice made him look over at her. She was chewing at the bottom of her lip in indecision so he had a pretty good idea that like earlier in the night, whatever she wanted to say was probably something that he wouldn’t like.

“Prying for the deep, dark secrets again?” he asked, going for levity and turning his attention back to the ceiling.

“Why did we stay here after the conference?” she asked softly.

Of course she asked that.

“Just wasn’t ready to go back.”

“You didn’t even want to go to the conference and then you stay here longer? You hate the cold and snow.”

Tony shifted into a slouched position, one arm curving across the back of the couch as he drummed his fingers against the material again. He could feel his heart begin to race as he debated whether he wanted to tell Pepper the truth or not. This was one of those things that had been floating along in his myriad of thoughts and ideas, keeping him up at night the closer that the date approached.

Pepper had shown good faith in him all night, humoring him even though he knew she had to be exhausted. After his behavior he supposed an explanation was the very least that he could provide her.

“I didn’t always hate it,” he began gingerly.

Pepper seemed to make a decision then, sitting back up and moving herself and her pillows to the opposite side of the bed. She left the duvet upturned and patted the empty space beside her invitingly.

“I trust you,” was all she said.

He stood up from the couch and let the sheet fall away as he stretched out his limbs. He wasn’t a very tall man, but he was way too long to be scrunched up on the couch and was thankful for the reprieve. Tony wrapped the sheet back around his body as he slid beneath the warmth of the duvet and flipped the cover up over them both. He turned on his side to face Pepper, propping his chin up with his arm and she mirrored his movements. Tony tried to use the quiet moment to gather his thoughts and not to think about how the warmth he felt from the mattress was from where her body had lain.

“Today...well, yesterday,” he conceded given the hour, “was my mother’s birthday.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered and shook her head.

“You wouldn’t. I keep my parents close to the vest as much as I can these days,” he shrugged and absolved her from any guilt she might be feeling. Pepper hated not knowing important information.

“I grew up in New York as you know, and she used to love it when it snowed. When I was younger we would build snowmen, snow angels, we made ice cream out of the snow and shared hot cocoa. Whatever you could think of. When I was older, the week of her birthday my parents would take me out of boarding school, and since it doesn’t usually snow in April, we would go to the Alps or Aspen or wherever else and ski, snowboard, whatever. It was one of the only times I ever remember feeling like I was really a part of the family. When she died…” he trailed off softly.

“It was snowing that night?” Pepper inferred. She always knew what he meant to say.

He nodded slowly. “The snow and cold didn’t bring me any kind of joy anymore.”

“So, why now?” she asked gently.

He had come this far. May as well go all in.

“If we’d gone back to Malibu I would have done my best impression of drinking myself to death, like I do every year. I don’t know. I guess something Aunt Peggy said struck a chord and I wanted to try and honor Mom a better way. I still drank but when I’m in public it’s easier to stop. To control it. There’s no control when I’m alone.”

He ducked his head in shame not wanting to see any kind of judgement on Pepper’s face. She knew he had problems. How couldn’t she? She was always one step behind him cleaning up his messes and he had even admitted his problem to her tonight. He just wasn’t sure she knew the full extent. The reason why he was on full lockdown and unavailable on certain dates because he would rather drink himself to death than have to remember.

“If you needed someone to keep you company, all you had to do was ask,” she answered him quietly and he dared to lift his head and take a peek at her face from beneath his hair, trying to gauge the sincerity behind the words.

“I don’t pay you enough for that.”

She immediately frowned. “I don’t need you to pay me. I am your friend, Tony. If you’re struggling, I want to help.”

He wanted to believe her. Oh how bad he wanted to believe her. He could see the sincerity on her face and hear it in her words, He had just had so many experiences that told him the opposite. That everyone had a motive to be close with him, no one really cared. Until Rhodey and Happy. And now Pepper.

He smiled sheepishly and wiped a tear that he didn’t know was there away with the back of his hand. “I guess I don’t know how to ask for help.”

“We’ll work on it,” she said and reached out and brushed the stray hair from his face, her hand lingering as it softly caressed his cheek.

“Hey, Pep,” he began hoarsely, his eyes downturned to the pattern of the duvet, ”in the spirit of asking, I guess I should start learning now.”

“Anything,” she replied honestly and that made him grin for the ghost of a moment.

“Do you think maybe when we get back you could put together a list of some, uh, outpatient facilities for my, uh...you know,” he stumbled.

She moved her hand from his cheek down to grasp his free hand and squeezed it in hers. “Of course.”

“Maybe keep it quiet from Obie and everyone else in case it doesn’t take.”

“It’s a process, Tony. You’ll get there in your own time, but yeah. I can keep it quiet as long as you’ll at least tell Rhodey. He’d want to support you too. And Peggy.”

He clutched her hand in his and ran his thumb across her skin soothingly. “You drive a hard bargain, Potts. You sure you aren’t trying to take my job?”

“Not today.”

“Then I accept your terms,” he said squeezing her hand again.

“Good. Do you think you can sleep?”

“Maybe. I feel a little better.”

“Well. Just try. I’m here if you need me.”

He wanted to tell Pepper that being in such a close proximity to her was part of what was keeping him awake now but he didn’t. Instead he carefully turned and clicked the light off before settling back into his pillow. He wasn’t about to give up this moment for anything, even if he didn’t sleep a wink.

---------------------------------------

Pepper couldn’t believe that she actually was sharing a bed with Tony right now. It had been awhile since her declaration to get some sleep but even though she was dead on her feet she couldn’t seem to get relaxed enough to drift off. Maybe that also had something to do with the fact that Tony was still loosely holding her hand in his and every time he took a breath she could feel it tickle against her skin.

What did all of this mean? Did it even mean anything? She had always prided herself on enforcing boundaries and making sure Tony always stayed on the other side of the invisible line but tonight she felt like they both had leaped over it hand in hand. Skipping over the line between professionalism and friendship right into something more. Just what she could not say yet. Not even in her own mind. It wasn’t able to be defined yet. All she knew was that this little detour in the snowy mountains of Colorado had been a turning point in their relationship, seemingly for the better.

If Tony was comfortable enough now to tell her about such intimate information about his family and his drinking, reaching out to her for help, then that could only be for the better. He didn’t have many people he could trust like that and she was proud to be counted among them.

Were they still just friends though?

“Pepper, I can hear you thinking from over here, what’s on your mind?” he asked groggily, his hand closing around hers once more, causing her to flinch in surprise.

“I thought you were asleep?”

“The room is only big enough for one loud thinker not two. So spill it, what’s going on?” he asked, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal dark brown eyes.

Oh, nothing, just thinking about how distracting it is to be touching you and sharing a bed.

“Just the usual. Wondering if we’ll be able to fly out of here tomorrow. Thinking of everything that will need to be pushed back if we’re not.”

He didn’t buy it for a second she knew but he hummed in assent and kept his eyes locked on her own.

“What?” she chuckled nervously under his gaze.

“Hey, Pepper, now do you want to make out?”

There was something different about the way he asked her this time. Tony wasn’t teasing, he wasn’t vulnerable any longer. Enough time had passed that he had seemed to come back to himself which made this even scarier than all the other times. This time she didn’t doubt the sincerity as he held her gaze, jaw locked firmly in place in anticipation of her response. She was finding it harder to find reasons to turn him down.

“Tony…” she began, hoping for her brain to come up with something. “I know today has been difficult and we have had some really hard and emotional conversations…”

“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not that compromised,” he grinned, his face lit up only by the moonlight pouring in from the window.

“I just don’t think that’s going to happen,” she finished lamely.

“Why not?”

She had to give him something real or he would never stop. She slowly pulled her hand away from his, instantly missing the warmth he had provided and hid it beneath her pillow. “I can’t be just another one of those girls, Tony.” He would have to understand that.

“Is that what you think, Pepper?” he asked, unable to mask the small amount of hurt from creeping onto his face and in his tone. He actually looked like a wounded animal.

All she could offer was a shrug in response because it was exactly what she thought from the moment that she had met him until this evening when she finally started to see that other side of him.

“You’re not, Pep,” he reassured her and reached back out and found her hand beneath the pillow anyways. “God you’re not.”

“What’s changed?” she dared to ask.

“You have always been different than everyone else. You’re not someone that I could or even want to throw away. You mean more to me than anyone else in my life. I thought it was obvious by the way that I am a complete and utter disaster without you. I have been wanting this since you first came through my office doors and until tonight I wasn’t completely sure, but I know you like me too. Don’t you?” he asked so earnestly, his eyes opened wide and his eyebrows raised. He looked like a literal puppy, begging to be let in from the cold.

“Tony…” she started to deflect again but he cut her off.

“Look, it’s okay if you don’t, I’m not going to fire you or anything. I don’t want you to ever be worried about that because like you said, we’re friends right?”

She nodded her head gently.

“Good. I just want to know that I’m not crazy, Pepper. That I’m not the only one that gets these weird little butterflies in the pit of my stomach whenever we’re together. You feel it too, right?”

Pepper hesitated a long time, instinctively chewing at her bottom lip again. She had another choice to make. Another boundary to shatter. Should she do it? She let loose a deep full body sigh, ignoring how shaky the exhale really was before she looked him in the eye.

“You’re not crazy,” she admitted.

His face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“You’re my boss,” she simply offered. Another truth. It was inappropriate. The press would always talk about the power imbalance and trash her for falling for it like all the others.

Tony had the nerve to scoff at her words. “Please, if anything you are my boss.”

“Okay then. You don’t do relationships,” she tried again.

“I could try. I want to try. With you,” he clarified gently, his voice lowering to that honeyed timber she loved.

Her heart wanted to sing with his admission. In fact it was. She could feel how quickly it was pumping, the adrenaline sending shockwaves all across her body as she thrummed with anticipation. Her mind however knew otherwise. There was always a but.

“Tony...you’re not ready for that yet.”

And he wasn’t. Her brain knew that even as her heart rebelled. Tony was a mess. On this trip alone he had been with at least three different girls. He was slowly coming to terms with being an alcoholic and what that meant for his personal and professional future as he started to seek help. That was on top of his already full work plate. He didn’t have the time or the mental capacity right now to try and begin a new relationship and to do it the right way. He had no idea the work it would entail. Maybe someday in the faroff future, but not tonight.

His face dropped as his eyes flickered across her face, his hand going loose in hers so she could pull away but she didn’t. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right. I’m a bit of a mess aren’t I?” he asked, flashing a pained toothy smile. “It’s fine.”

“Look, I’m not saying no forever,” she clarified. She was helpless against that face.

“So, there’s a chance?” he asked, hopefully.

She squeezed his hand. “Perhaps.”

“Well, in that case I will do my best to become the kind of man you deserve.”

It was probably the most sincere declaration of affection she had ever received and she tried to hide the dopey grin in her pillow. That made him smile back and this time it was him who pulled his hand free to run the back of his hand down her face almost reverently, taking his time and just soaking the moment up.

“Hey, Tony…”

“Yeah?”

“Want to make out?” she asked, coyly.

His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline as his head shot off the pillow. “But you said--”

“On one condition,” she continued unperturbed.

“What would that be?”

She waited until he settled back down and then looked away from him nervously. “After tonight...we pretend like it never happened.”

“Never?”

“Never. Can you do that?”

“I can.”

“We can count this as an experiment. Maybe we won’t even like it, maybe it will be too weird,” she shrugged.

“You know me. Always willing to sacrifice anything needed in the name of science,” he teased and scooted closer to her.

She held her breath when she felt his body brush up against her own as he tentatively leaned in closer to her. He brushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear and searched her face seemingly for any sign of doubt of discomfort. Anything saying that she was uncomfortable. Aside from her heart beating like a freight train inside her chest though she felt perfectly normal.

“You’re sure?” he asked again. He liked to play the field but she knew that he was always all about consent.

“I’m sure,” she spoke so quietly she could barely even hear her own words.

Pepper met his lips halfway and only had half a second of panic that this was really happening before his lips met hers and with it threw out any sense of logic or reason. Instead her mind was flooded with the happy influx of endorphins as her heart continued to pound away, the fluttering of the butterflies in her stomach melting away into something hotter as it spread across her body.

Her hand reached up to tangle itself in his hair, gently pulling and encouraging him. When he opened his mouth to hers she almost giggled like a school child when she realized she could taste that cheap wine on his tongue like she wondered earlier and also knowing that it had never tasted better than it did right now.

It was like a spark had been lit between them and nothing else existed.

All that she knew were his lips, the smell of his aftershave and collage blending together in perfect harmony, some kind of leather and sandalwood type smell, not his usual expensive brand and she found that curious. His hands rove from caressing her cheek to burying themselves in her hair as well, or running up and down her back softly. It made a shiver go down her backside and he only pulled her closer for it.

She actually whimpered when he pulled away, mouth still parted and wanting as they both were left breathless.

“Weird?” he asked, after a moment, his sweet breath tickling her nose, he was still so close.

“No, I don’t think so,” she immediately shook her head.

“Good, once more for science?” he asked, but it was rhetorical and she never got the chance to respond.

Oh, how she wished that this never had to end. That it was the future already and Tony’s life was put together the way that they both hoped it would be. That the endless parade of booze and women was over and he was celebrating his sobriety and they were away celebrating. But it wasn’t. And this did have to end before it got too far.

Pepper pulled away from him slowly, letting him chase her and kiss her softly a couple more times as he came back down from the rush. She put a finger to his lips to prevent him from anymore but he just kissed her index finger instead.

“I think that’s enough for one evening,” she said, regrettably.

He looked as disappointed as she did but also satisfied in a way that she had never seen him except maybe after some breakthrough on a project. His hand stayed buried in her hair, brushing and pulling at the strands.

“It will never be enough. But I think we have collected sufficient data for the future,” he grinned dopily in the waning light of the moon.

This time Pepper did giggle and she blamed it on the swell of emotions mixing with her utter exhaustion.

“You could say that,” she agreed when her giggles subsided.

He gazed at her longingly and licked his lips, her attention instantly flying to his tongue. She knew what he tasted like now, and she didn’t ever want to forget it.

“Since this night never happened, might I trouble you for one more thing?” he asked hesitantly.

She clenched her teeth worried about what kind of favor exactly he had in mind and if it was going to put a damper on their evening.

“What is it?” she asked cautiously.

“Can I hold you tonight?” he asked, his voice barely coming out in a soft rumble that sent more shivers down her body.

Of all the requests she wasn’t expecting that one. Not something so innocent.

“Well, since it never happened,” she simply said with a shrug of her shoulder and moved in closer beside him.

The hand that had been in her hair moved as he laid on his back and let her tuck herself in against his chest comfortably, before encircling her, the reassuring weight of his bicep against her back. She tentatively let her own arm creep across his torso and gently fist into the fabric of his shirt as she inhaled his scent beneath her. She heard more than felt when he kissed the top of her head.

“Goodnight Ms. Potts,” he said, his voice already thick with exhaustion. She thought he might actually be able to get some sleep tonight.

“Goodnight Mr. Stark.”

They missed the brilliant sunrise the next morning, and the gentle rapping at the door of the nervous general manager checking in on his guests. When she woke it was with the comfort of Tony’s arms still around her as he snored softly in the morning light.

They made it back to Malibu of course. Back to Stark Industries and deadlines and projects. Tony did start at an outpatient program and he did make that call to Peggy Carter to apologize and to his best friend to let him know what he was doing.

They never spoke about that night.

Whenever, she’d start to feel like it was all just some strange, exhaustion induced fever dream though, she would catch Tony looking at her. Not the way that he always had with what she figured was nothing more than base lust. No, now he looked at her almost lovingly. Reverently. Hopefully. Like she hung the stars and the moon and nothing else existed in that moment. Then she was reminded of that moment. How he looked, how he felt pressed against her.

If she ever did start to forget though and his gaze was not enough to remind her, she would come and find him. At home, at work. She’d slip away to where they could be alone and he could remind her once more, that what happened was real. What she was feeling for him and he for her was real

They could never talk about it just yet.

Instead it was like it never happened.

#pepperonygiftexchange #river-bottom-nightmare #pepperony #mel's fics #pepperony fic #mcu

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arrowverse-next-gen · 3 years ago

Text

That Funny Feeling / ch 27

ao3

Monday morning, Q and Tommy went to the local Jitters where Isaac can usually be found as they scoured the internet for apartments in the city that Q could afford. While there were many options available, he was looking for a specific sized space. He didn't want a family apartment, but he wouldn't mind having an extra bedroom set aside for random shit he plans on owning.

Obviously he has his laptop, he doesn't need space for that, but he's stealing a keyboard from Owen. Not technically stealing if it belonged to him before he started medical school and Owen is no longer using it. That would need space, it's bigger than the usual digital keyboards that you can find, and he'd like to have his living room space be available without being questioned about the piano.

The two of them sat in the coffee shop for over 2 hours, looking for apartments, contacting people who had apartments within Q's price and size range, and waiting for a response from any of them. On the third hour, they finally heard back from one of the better options.

The apartment was downtown, but closer to city hall than the Glades. Right in the middle of everything while still being separated from the city. Q could walk everywhere important, and driving was equal distance no matter where he was planning to go, except for the Queen mansion which was a bit out of the city. But all and all, a really good location to be downtown Star City. Just before scheduling a time to meet up with the landlord to look at the apartment, Q took the phone from Tommy and sat it down on the table they were sitting at.

"What?" Tommy looked over at Q, raising an eyebrow. "Housing commitment giving you cold feet too?" He joked, cracking a small smile as he did.

"What about noise?"

"It's a nice complex, I'm sure the noise isn't going to be that-"

"What about my noise?"

Tommy sat back in his seat, considering what Q was talking about. He thought for a minute, a minute longer than Q liked so he continued.

"I'm getting my old keyboard back from Owen."

Tommy took the phone back, looking over the information for the apartment. There was no mention to what was allowed as far as instruments, he shrugged, sitting the phone down again. "It should be fine. Get some of that wall paneling Miriam and Owen set up in their closets."

Q nodded as he watched Tommy respond to the landlord. He took a look around the coffee shop, the absence of Isaac was noticeable as they weren't interrupted a single time during this search. It was both pleasant, and torture. He kind of wished there was some sort of interruption, some sign from the universe telling him what to do. While he had a plan, an idea more like, he still felt like there was no solid direction in which he was supposed to go. And that feeling sucks.

He worked for years, gave up a relationship that he felt could have gone further, to become a doctor in the city and help people. He had an apartment that he liked. He had Bex with him at work so he was never really alone. That didn't feel right so he left. Fair. He met a girl, one with a fire inside of her, one who was stubborn, and mean in a nice way, and funny, and interesting, and smart. He ruined that.

He tried to backtrack to when he really felt at home, when he didn't feel the pressure of succeeding, when he didn't have responsibilities, even if they weren't his alone weighing on his shoulders. It always goes back to high school. Just before he and Bethany start dating, right after Logan moved to Central City. He was in high school, he was tall and weird and he had 2 friends, 1 being his sister, he wasn't popular. It didn't matter. He had people, he had his things.

He wasn't sure when exactly everything changed. When did he decide that instead of joining the band of misfits in a literal band, he decided to become a doctor and take on responsibilities that he isn't ready for when he can hardly take care of himself? When did a light bulb turn on, when did that match flicker? What drove him to that decision? He wasn't able to put a finger on it, though he was sure he had a reason. It didn't matter now. Time has went on, things are different now, and it's never too late to change things up. He can always go back to the doctor thing when he's in a better headspace, and until then, he'll figure out how to get into that better headspace.

***

A few hours later, Tommy and Q are standing in the middle of an empty apartment. Tommy was in charge of looking for things that would not be Oliver approved, Q was in charge of distracting the landlord while Tommy looked in and under things that most people would want you to avoid. This was a nice building, and a nice apartment, but there is always something hidden below a floorboard or behind a mirror. After carefully examining everything, Tommy gave Q a thumbs up and left it up to him to finalize the deal. Since the apartment was empty and Q had the money already, and not being stuck in a lease by staying in Ada's apartment, he was able to get the keys the same day. Now onto furniture.

The two of them went to the Star City mall to look at furniture, they went to a large shopping center, and eventually they found themselves at the actual furniture store right on the edge of the city. They tried their best to avoid the furniture store because things there cost a little bit more than they would have if you were to get them somewhere else, but you can't win them all.

As the two of them walked through this maze of endless room decor and couches, Q paused in front of a green cabinet. His apartment comes with cabinets, this was obviously meant for someone with more creative control over their housing situation. But it caught his eye, and he immediately knew the reason.

"The bed, the coffee table, a dining table-" Tommy was listing off things that they had already bought and were getting shipped to the apartment when he noticed that Q was no longer beside him. He stopped in his tracks, backing up to where Q was standing frozen in front of the green cabinet.

"Want a little more vigilante representation?" He joked.

Q shook his head. He let out a long sigh before turning to look at Tommy. "How do I get her back?"

Tommy's smile faded into a more serious expression when he asked the question. It wasn't one he was expecting to be asked, but it was one he was prepared to answer.

"You have to build back the trust."

"How?"

"Slowly explaining things, keeping the ball on her side of the court, let her control the conversation."

"She doesn't want a conversation at all." Q scoffed as he looked down at his feet, then moved further into the furniture store. He still needed a couch.

"It's been a week, you showed up at a bad time. Go back next week, try again."

"And if she still doesn't want to talk?" Q looked back at Tommy, not pausing his steps even though he was still moving forward.

"Try again in another week." Tommy suggested, Q shook his head.

He brought his attention back to the path in front of him just before he bumped into someone rounding the corner. He quickly jumped back to avoid the collision, then recognized the person standing in front of him.

"Bethany?"

"We have to stop meeting up like this." She shook her head with a laugh as she looked up at him. "I gave you my number, you don't have to stalk me." She gave him a light punch on the shoulder to tease.

"What are you doing here?" He ignored the tease, he opted to put his hands into his pockets rather than stand there not knowing what to do with them.

"Picking out furniture. I've been using the same shit since getting out of college." She rolled her eyes, gesturing to the grey couch beside them. She then looked past him to Tommy and gave him a small wave. "Hi, Tommy."

"Hi." He gave her a nod, then patted Q on the back. "I'll go look for a couch over here." He pointed to the section of couches over before he walked off and left the two of them to talk.

"What are you doing here?" She turned the question over to him, he shrugged.

"I've got a new place, my previous place had pre-placed furniture."

"Not a fan of floor sleeping?"

"No." He shook his head, looking over at the grey couch that Bethany just gestured to a moment ago. "I am a fan of this, though."

"Kinda basic."

Q looked over at her, she shrugged, he sighed. "What would you recommend?" He turned back to her, crossing his arms over his chest. "What did you pick?"

She pointed over to a navy blue puffed up couch in the corner of the section they were standing in, his eyes followed where she was pointing, nodded, then brought his focus back to her. When he turned back to her, he noticed that she was wearing a ring now, his brows furrowed without his permission. He tried to fix his expression before she noticed, but she noticed anyway.

"What? You don't like my couch?"

Q shook his head, looking to the couch again. "It's very blue. It works for you."

"What's that face, then?" She moved in front of him, trying to read his expression. He looked down at her.

"Are you here alone?"

She nodded.

"Why?"

"Y'know..." She shrugged, moving out of his way. "Life is busy."

"Are you busy? Right now?"

"Why?"

Q tapped on the grey couch. "I'm gonna get this one, keep your opinions to yourself, then I'm gonna get some food with Tommy. You're welcome to join us."

Bethany considered this offer, she really did, he could tell. But then shook her head. "I have to finish up here. Rain check?"

Q nodded. "Of course."

She gave him a small wave and a smile before walking off. Within a few seconds, Tommy was back by his side.

"So, how was that?"

Q shrugged, looking over at Tommy. "I'm getting this one." He tapped the couch again and then walked back towards the front of the store. Tommy watched him for a minute, looked over to where Bethany went, then back at Q as he followed him to the front.

#fic: that funny feeling #q lance #bethany mcintyre #tommy merlyn #next gen fics

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nicknederson · 5 years ago

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nancy drew games rating by cooking/food minigames present in them

secrets can kill: no food minigame in either version. can’t even order a burger. shit game. 0/10

stay tuned for danger: there is mention of pizza and there are bagels physically present. cannot take the bagels. also a shit game. 0/10

message in the haunted mansion: no food. no cooking mini-game. nancy is just eating broken porcelain in the corner of her room. shit game. 0/10

treasure in the royal tower: there is mention of a bag containing fifty frozen chicken wings but we are denied access to the chicken. shit game. 0/10

the final scene: there’s just gross ground pizza in this game and you can’t even steal concessions. shit game. 0/10

secret of the scarlet hand: there are diarrhea inducing cookies that nancy vandalizes art with but no other food. literally a shit game. 0/10

ghost dogs of moon lake: nancy subsists solely on jerky, raw worms, and soda. shit game. 0/10

the haunted carousel: there is food nancy can eat but nothing beyond that. thin fucking ice. 3/10

danger on deception island: cooking minigame which gives you the power to kill someone as well as available food. excellent game. 10/10

the secret of shadow ranch: you can make a cake and interact with vegetables. i will allow it. 5/10

curse of blackmoor manor: available food and a cooking mini-game for birds that, again, gives you the power to kill someone. excellent game. 10/10

secret of the old clock: nancy can carry around a raw fish in her purse but she cannot eat it. there is pie, but it is merely a construct. thin fucking ice. 1/10

last train to bluemoon canyon: great cooking mini-game even if it’s for a limited time. can kill someone in spirit with a cheeseburger. nancy can’t eat herself sick with anything so that kind of sucks. 8/10

danger by design: parfait mini-game, cookie mini-game, tea mini-game and rats free for nancy to devour as she wishes. good game. 8/10

the creature of kapu cave: shaved ice mini game and i guess technically the frass sorting mini game since nancy could eat that if she felt like it. do not get to see a pineapple in person once. good enough game. 4/10

the white wolf of icicle creek: cooking mini game with multi-facets and the ability to harass people with seasoning. nancy is apparently just eating snow but i’ll allow it. excellent game. 10/10

legend of the crystal skull: no cooking mini-game but plenty of food nancy/bess can eat themselves to the point of endangering their lives. acceptable. 5/10

the phantom of venice: both gelatto and poisoned sausage as well as plenty of bird feed for nancy to munch on if she pleases. passable game. 4/10

the haunting of the castle malloy: no available food besides bricks but there is a drink mini-game. also a passable game. 5/10

ransom of the seven ships: i’m pretty sure there’s fruit but nancy can’t eat it. all she can consume is sand and the adrenaline of the hunt. shit game. 0/10

warnings at waverly academy: no food, but a fantastic cooking mini-game. purpose, eavesdropping, and unholy culinary abominations of toasted tomato bagels. excellent game. 10/10

trail of the twister: nancy only eats candy and nothing else. it’s like being six years old again and not trusted with kitchen implements. thin fucking ice. 2/10

shadow at the water’s edge: bento mini-game, but no consumable food for nancy besides the leaves in the garden. she must graze like a deer to survive. acceptable game. 5/10

the captive curse: nancy can eat pretzels until she becomes an over-salted corpse. an efficient and strategic way of surviving during an investigation. no cooking mini-game, but nancy can dunk her head in a bucket of well water so that makes up for it. great game. 8/10

alibi in ashes: no cooking mini-game but there is enough ice cream for nancy and the drew crew to force their bodies into complete digestive shut-down. passable game. 5/10

tomb of the lost queen: no cooking mini-game. no food. nancy only has the sand and locusts. shit game. 0/10

the deadly device: again nancy is forced to subsist on candy and gummy bears. no cooking mini-game despite being there being a kitchen. barely passable game. 4/10

ghost of thornton hall: there is only the tea mini-game and no available food. nancy is eating rocks in the graveyard, but at least she can put seven limes in her tea to prevent scurvy. good enough. 4/10

the silent spy: cookie making mini-game and plenty of food for nancy to shove into her hungry mouth hole. acceptable game. 8/10

the shattered medallion: no food and no cooking mini-games. nancy is seemingly expected to cannibalize her fellow contestants to survive which is a concept i’m into. thin fucking ice. 1/10

labyrinth of lies: no snacks besides thanos. shit game. 0/10

sea of darkness: cooking mini-game that is limited to still images and requires math. no available food for nancy besides the snow and soren’s sweaters. i’ll allow it. 5/10

midnight in salem: there is a cooking mini-game, but the enjoyable parts are limited and unrepeatable. no available food besides the pancakes nancy makes and carries in her pockets. remedy making mini-game is acceptable, but pointless. thin fucking ice. 3/10

#wow this is a long post #i did this all from memory and have no idea what my actual criteria for rating is #so it's just a long shit post

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jilytho · 4 years ago

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and they were roomates

Jily/Marauders roomate thing just for fun. Happy Jilytober!!!!

Read below or on AO3 of FFNT

Moving in together had always been the plan. The Marauders, out in the real world. Throughout Uni they were always forced to split up into different apartments in groups of two, usually ending with Sirius and James in one apartment and Remus and Peter sharing one down the hall. Remus insisted it be that way because he insisted he wouldn’t be able to focus on schoolwork if he had to deal with his idiot of a boyfriend 24hours a day but separate apartments in no way made them spend any less time together. James swears he spent more nights on the floor of Remus and Peter’s kitchen than in his bed. Still, once they were done with school and off in the Real World having an apartment for all of them to live in was the ultimate goal.

They set out to look for a spot that was nice enough to fit the bizarrely high standards of Sirius, while still not breaking the bank for Remus or Peter who insisted on paying their own way without any help.

It was Remus who ended up finding their place, somewhat dodgy area of town but right down the street from his favorite Thai takeout place, three coffeeshops with adequate reading vibes within a four block radius, and a seven minute commute for Remus to get to the lab everyday. 14C was a once cute three bedroom apartment now covered in years of dust and grime and now officially theirs.

Sirius and Remus claimed the master with its very own ensuite so James could stop having to pick Sirius’s hair out of the shower. It wasn’t a perfect set up but they all found ways to mesh together and make it just right and just theirs. Peter was immediately made interior designer and found a couch and two armchairs off of craigslist so that they could stop sitting on the floor in front of the TV. James was in charge of the kitchen and bought real utensils and bowls so Sirius would stop pouring his cereal onto frisbees. Remus developed his very own homemade cleaner filled with bleach and alcohol and was likely poison in a bottle but it somehow made the beige counters white and sparkling.

Technically James and Sirius were the only names actually on the lease, a Sirius suggestion, so that if they were ever late on rent it wouldn’t impact the credit Remus had spent so long building up. It had the added benefit of Peter and Remus not having to worry if their paycheck was being delayed and they had to pay Sirius or James a few days late because the boys were always good for it.

Being adults in the real world never stopped any of them from still behaving like children. Sirius refused to take out the trash so James took to dumping the trash on his head while he was sleeping, and accidentally got day old noodles onto Remus’ pillow. They broke two TVs during two separate games of indoor football and Peter was a world class baker but was the worst at cleaning in the whole flat and left flour everywhere, constantly. But still, they were happy. They ate dinner together almost every night and had movie nights on Thursdays. Peter and James invested in heavy duty ear plugs within three weeks of moving in and realizing just how thin the walls were.

After a full year of making Apartment 14C home, the lease was up they unanimously decided to resign because this was their place. But then one day they wake up to find that Pete has his bags packed and is all “I got a job across the country bye”. They want to fight him and Remus, always the logical one, brings up that they literally just signed for a whole year and are only 20 days into this new lease. And Peter, the little slimy rat, smirked and said “Not my name on the lease, not my problem” and just left.

They learn from Facebook that he was working for some politician that stands for everything the boys do not. The kind of politician who would actively root against the happiness and togetherness of Sirius and Remus. Once they learn that, they are officially done missing him.

At some time in the middle of the night all the pictures that Peter was in from school are mysteriously replaced with pictures of James’s cat.

Sirius wants to keep He-Who-We-Do-Not-Talk-About’s bedroom empty and make it into a yoga studio/library combo but Remus says that it's ridiculous to pay that much extra in rent and he refuses to let Sirius pay for the room and so the roommate hunt begins.

Everyone they met with was either too sweaty or too loud or was great on paper but had a super distinct death like scent so the room sat empty for almost a full month. James was content to let it stay that way and just keep finding reasons because it was good with just the three of them. They weren’t the same and James was sometimes a third wheel but these were his brothers, he didn’t need anyone else.

It stays empty until one day, Remus comes home from work one day saying that he has a friend from class, a nice well mannered and smart girl who would pay her rent on time but is in urgent need of getting off of her sister and terrible brother in laws couch before she “sets it and the house on fire”. Sirius isn’t sure he wants someone willing to commit arson moving in across the hall from him but a quick look from Remus shut him up and he was suddenly all for the mystery girl coming in. Remus said she would be moving in in three hours and would James be available to help her carry in her bags? James felt slighted that he wasn’t even given a vote or a chance to meet the girl, but that was mostly because despite Peter leaving and betraying them, James is loyal to a fault and still saw the room as Pete’s room and Pete’s stool in the kitchen despite the fact that the lying bastard just took off with no warning and changed his phone number and was a traitorous little bastard. Still, he couldn’t argue the point too much or he’d look stupid so fine, let the new girl move in but “Remus I swear, make it clear that this is just temporary until she figures it out and we find someone else we can all agree on”. He decided he just wouldn’t hang out with the new girl. They’d be apartment mates but they wouldn’t be friends.

She shows up with seven boxes and three bottles of wine to her name. James’s mouth is full of pasta when she introduces herself to him and he is so startled by the green of her eyes that he swallows without chewing and starts hacking noodles up while waving hello as she watches, green eyes wide with concern and amusement, hand still held out to shake.

The first week after she moves in, he avoids her like the plague. He mentally insists that he has no need to get to know her because this is just temporary and she is going to find a new place and it doesn't matter how green her eyes are if he just doesn’t look at them.

By the start of the second week, it stopped mattering if he didn’t directly interact with her because she was still everywhere. The living room was transformed from a bare bones TV and couch room to completely cozy with scented candles and fuzzy blankets and fun, colorful throw pillows that James instantly became obsessed with. He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love the lemon scented soap in the kitchen or how she always made sure there was coffee in the pot for him or how the scent of her rose body wash somehow fills the whole apartment everytime she showers and is amazing or how the whole apartment just felt warmer and better now that she was there.

He stopped getting surprised when she found ways to just fit with them. He always thought Peter worked well with them, they were brothers of course, but now he couldn’t help feeling like Peter had been a square peg squeezing into a circle hole. He fit but it was also just a little tight or tense or unequal. Lily, on the other hand, clicked in just right. She was instantly just one of them, even before James had accepted it. On her 10th day of living with them (a celebration Sirius insisted required an ice cream cake) all reservations about her completely imploded because there was no arguing that she belonged with them and they belonged with her. When he woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water, he wasn’t at all shocked to find her and Remus reviewing chemical formulas at 3am on a Tuesday. Like of course they were, why wouldn't they be. It felt even less surprising that he just walked himself over and sat on the ground in front of her and stole her flashcards so he could quiz them both. It felt only natural when he saw her and Sirius getting ready to go to spin class together, even though Sirius never brings James to spin class with him anymore because of the one time he fell off his bike and caused a ruckus. He’s barely even confused when he ends up at a sunrise yoga class with her even though he had never been awake to see sunrise a day in his life. He’s even less surprised to learn that he enjoyed it immensely and had never been so happy to be up that early. He tells himself that it's just the impact of the yoga that he is in such a good mood but knows it has a lot more to do with the laughing goddess in the downward dog next to him.

They get glared at all through the class because he keeps whispering things to her and making her giggle and then he becomes so transfixed by her laugh that he loses his balance and falls out of his pose, almost toppling the woman next to him. She laughs so hard her face matches her hair and giggles every time she looks at him for the rest of class.

And then it’s Sunday and Blokes Brunch easily becomes “Lily, let’s go time for brunch” and when she pops the champagne (which had always been James’s job but he couldn't’ even fight her properly for it) he sees the sparkle in her eyes so much clearer than the sparkle in the drink and he lets himself actually see her and oh my god did she look good.

It still hurts when they see a picture of Peter on facebook or in Snapchat memories but slowly their memories start to fill up with green eyes and red hair and lovely smiles. It is no surprise when just the suggestion of her moving out became criminal. It was no surprise to any of them except for James when she stopped sleeping in her room and started sleeping across the hall with James. None of it was how the Marauders expected their lives to be at all but there was also more joy and warmth and love than any of them could have ever predicted.

#happy jilytober #jilytober #jily #drabble #mywriting #James Potter #lily evans #maurauders era

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sombreboy · 4 years ago

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Mused obsession (4)

Written by @sombreboy as Jungkook & @chimoona as Jimin Banner by @carly-bean-blog��

[ masterlist ]

⇢Explicit (18+) ⇢Pairing: Jungkook & Jimin ⇢Genre: yandere, smut, mxm ⇢Word count: 9k ⇢Ch.warnings: profanity, jealous jk, tattooing, light descriptions of blood/pain, exhibitionist jk oh boy, graphic desc. of piercing jk's cock (I'm no piercer so don't take this literally it's fiction, infections don't exist in this world pls be sanitary.), more intense sexual tension because why not, jk is a total sadomasochist and this you need to remember forever for every damn chapter. xo

Industry famous Jeon Jungkook of GJK photography takes an interest in a model and up-and-coming fashion designer, Park Jimin. After an opportunity to study the man behind his trusty lens, he thinks he may have just found his new muse.

The next morning Jungkook’s alarm went off early, and he groaned out curses. For once, he didn’t want to wake up. The quality of sleep he’d gotten was a rarity in his life, all thanks to the man laying next to him. Jungkook turns the alarm off before clinging to Jimin, pressing soft kisses on the crook of his neck, wishing he could stay in bed forever.

It isn’t the alarm that rouses Jimin but the motion of Jungkook behind him. Gentle kisses tickle his neck and strong arms hold him close—a kind comforting touch he hasn’t felt since his ex. He turns to face the man, pressing his parted mouth to his, still groggy with sleep. “Good morning,” he coos, brushing his plump lips down Jungkook’s flushed neck before resting in the indent of his collar. He slept well enough, but the unfamiliar setting caused him to wake a couple times throughout the night. Even then, Jungkook’s warmth and protective hold coaxed him back to sleep. “What day is it?” He wonders out loud, not ready to sit up and check for himself. The mixture of liquor from the night before doesn’t help his focus in the slightest, feeling slightly hungover and lethargic. “Have you seen my phone?” He dreads the many messages he probably has from his manager, or even Tae.

Jungkook hums, ignoring every single question being thrown at him. He just wants to hold Jimin forever. But eventually, he reaches over to the nightstand where he’s placed the elder’s phone and hands it over, then cuddles up close to get a look at the screen as well. He’s extremely curious after all—does anybody miss Jimin? How easy would it possibly be to just...keep him?

No, that’s too early. Things take time.

“I don’t know, but there’s breakfast ready whenever you’re hungry...” Jungkook murmurs with a raspy morning voice.

“Mm, sounds good…” Just as Jimin suspected, ten messages and four phone calls. Most are from his manager, a couple from Taehyung apologizing, and one from… interesting. Jimin flicks off the covers from his side of the bed and wriggles out of Jungkook’s arms, regrettably. “Breakfast sounds great,” he picks his robe from the floor and wraps it around himself in a hurry, “I just need to make a few phone calls.” He leans onto the bed and gives the younger a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll make it quick, promise.”

Before Jungkook has a chance to reply, Jimin steps out onto the attached balcony and closes the door behind him. First thing’s first, he definitely needs to let his manager know he’s not dead in a ditch. However, more importantly, he’s dying to know why his ex messaged him out of the blue after so many months of silence. He’s a vague man. The only thing his text said was “Proud.”

Jungkook’s lip twitches as he watches the blonde close the balcony door in a hurry. What is so important? He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a bit curious...and frustrated. He doesn’t like secrets, even if Jimin doesn’t owe him anything... technically . Jungkook wants to know, and he will, eventually. The photographer lays low, gets out of bed to puts on a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. He grabs his own phone and sits back down, scrolling through social media... Jimin’s show was a hit, trending, both photos and praise, on the news. Of course, there were the photos of Jungkook, smiling as he was enjoying the show—which also drew a whole lot more attention towards the blonde, as if making Jeon Jungkook smile was an achievement. Jungkook scoffs, but nonetheless happy about the many pictures available of Jimin, saving several to his phone as he continuously glances over at the balcony.

Who is he calling… Kook cranes his neck to try and decipher Jimin’s facial expressions, but can’t quite make it out...

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. No, Jeon didn’t kidnap me and hide me in his basement. No—GOD, what kind of man do you think I am? Yeah…yeah…okay, thanks for covering. It went really well? Trending? Goood…okay, yeah, thanks for calling. Sorry to worry you…bye.” Jimin checks in with his manager. They’re annoying as hell but they mean well. He shoots Tae a quick text, telling him to sleep it off. Then Jimin flicks through his contact list until his thumb hovers over the one name he didn’t think he’d ever call again—Seung-Ho. The man started as a lifestyle influencer, wearing Lululemon shorts at Machu Picchu or casually eating the latest novelty hipster food with a bright smile on his face. Now he’s the brand ambassador and face of Jimin’s biggest competitor.

“Jimin, baby…,” he coos over the receiver. “I’m so proud…”

Inside, Jungkook grows restless, bouncing his leg with clasped hands as he stares at Jimin through the glass door. Who is he talking to? Why is it taking so damn long? Why did he hover over the screen for several seconds before pressing the call button? He didn’t want to wait any longer—who is more important than Jungkook? Normally, the younger is extremely patient in every other aspect of his life, but when it comes to Jimin giving somebody else his attention, it runs out quick. He gets up to saunter over to the balcony door, carefully sliding it open to eavesdrop.

“Seung-ie—“ Jimin catches himself, “Seung-Ho.” He rolls his face in his palm. It’s too early in the morning to have this conversation with the ghost of his past. Regardless, he’s very curious to know why he reached out after all this time. “Why did you text me? To say you’re proud?” He can’t help but smile a little when the man on the other line praises his clothing collection. Apparently Seung was in the audience the whole time, absolutely loved Jimin’s little speech, and even took note of how well the model looked on stage under all the glowing lights. He laughs, recalling the last time he took Jimin out on a date—how he spilled slushie all over his pure white button up and they had to make an emergency stop at Neiman Marcus for a spare.

“I miss you, Mochi,” he says lowly from the other side, deep and seductive. “When can I see you again?”

Seung-ie?… Seung-Ho. Why does the name sound familiar? Jungkook rolls his tongue against the fleshy inside of his cheek, listening for merely a minute before he decides it’s enough. He announces his presence by snaking his arms around Jimin’s waist, placing his chin in the crook of the elders neck, placing soft kisses against it.

Mine…

Kook leans in to whisper into Jimin’s ear, “I’m hungry…”

It distracts Jimin’s train of thought to have Jungkook kissing his sensitive neck. One ounce of attention from the man and he is absolute putty.

“Who was that?” Jimin hears Seung-Ho chime from the other end.

“I’ve got to go, but thank you for coming to the show,” Jimin replies, wrapping up the call. He presses the end button and turns in Jungkook’s arms to face him. He looks annoyed to say the least, but he doesn’t blame him, he would be too. “Just a stupid ex,” Jimin whispers before melding his lips to the other man’s. “Let’s eat…”

Jungkook grasps and guides Jimin’s chin between his long, tattooed fingers to face him. “Why’d they call you?” He’s no longer subtle with his concern, the mere mention of an ex causes his eyebrows to furrow. “They bothering you?” He continues, his fingers tightening ever slightly around the blondes chin, his face so close that their lips graze together with every word spoken. His other hand remains wrapped around Jimin’s waist, keeping their bodies tightly pressed together, as if the elder would disappear if he didn’t hold him.

Jimin rolls his eyes and tries to shake off the goosebumps still prickling from Seung-Ho’s compliments. “He’s probably bored,” he covers, still not entirely sure why the man reached out. He said he was proud, but why should Jimin care what he thinks? As Jungkook’s hold tightens, Jimin feels the need to be honest, as if the truth is being squeezed from him. “He liked the show. Wants to see me again, but...,” he squeezes Jungkook back, “I’m far too busy.”

“Too bad for him.” Jungkook mutters, a small smile tugging at his lips as he feels Jimin’s reassuring squeeze. He feels his stomach rumble, looping his fingers between Jimin’s as he pulls the elder with him inside towards the dining hall. If the blonde isn’t already constantly reminded by the wealth the young photographer possesses, this would be one of many reminders. A large table filled with all kinds of breakfast delicacies greet them, way too much for one, two or even three people. This might as well be a buffet for a party. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so...I got everything.” Kook shrugs, as if this isn’t his everyday life anyway, zeroing his eyes in on the fridge filled with his favorite beverage.

Jimin never has to leave. Every little thing that could possibly accommodate his needs is right here in the photographer’s house. “There’s so much to choose from...” Jimin’s hunger increases the longer he looks. He doesn’t even feed himself most of what’s available, but he almost feels like he’s on vacation, so he grabs a pastry and quickly devours it before the guilt sinks in. The flakey, sugary taste is sweeter than sweet as it hits his lips. “Here…” he lifts the danish to Jungkook’s mouth and coaxes him to take a bite without a second thought. The instinctual domestic nature is less and less jarring the longer he stays.

Jungkook’s eyes widen a tad bit in surprise at the sudden gesture, but quickly grasps Jimin’s wrist to guide the pastry to his mouth, chomping off a large piece. His eyes flutter shut with a quiet hum in content—his adoration for sweets so strong that one would wonder how the hell he has the physique he does. “You’re a man of taste,” he chuckles, bringing the straw of his drink to his lips to wash the pastry down. He could definitely get used to having Jimin here, seeing the elders' reactions to his everyday life, so adorable. Having somebody here is a nice change. Sharing this with him is all Jungkook starts to crave. “Try the fruit. Get me some grapes.”

The grapes grabbed Jimin’s attention right away—so ripe and juicy. He lifts a vine from the table and plucks off a single grape, popping it into his mouth and biting down with a satisfying crunch. A light moan tickles his throat, unable to contain how much he enjoys every bit of this. “Want one?” He plucks another grape and grasps it between his teeth, bringing it up to Jungkook’s lips to feed him directly.

With a smile, Jungkook leans in to bite the exposed half of the grape and within the same movement, grasps Jimin’s waist to push their hips together. “Want you ,” he shamelessly admits, digging his long fingers into the blonde’s sides, tipping his head forward to press a soft kiss on his plush lips. Jimin is already acting more and more in the manners that Jungkook wants; so sweet and almost domestic, like they’re actually together. He really likes it...and in his own mind, they might as well be. He has no eyes for anybody else since he saw the blonde step into his photo session.

Jimin’s hold tightens, digging to be grounded in reality while his mind floats somewhere else. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, feeling so clingy and lustful since the second Jungkook called him “baby.” “N-need you,” he says quietly. His eyes fall away from the other man as his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He isn’t sure what exactly he needs, but every little facet of his time with the photographer is so overwhelmingly euphoric he can’t imagine being apart.

One of Jungkook’s hands moves up the elders body until he reaches his neck, carefully sliding down the robe on one side to expose his small shoulder. “Yeah?” He nuzzles his nose into Jimin’s neck. Fuck, he smells so nice... A deep inhale follows, unable to resist the urge to brush his lips against Jimin’s soft skin. This man is the human embodiment of a drug.

“Yeah,” Jimin replies, weak in the knees. He pushes his robe down further for Jungkook to feel and breathe in any part he desires. He does the same to the other man, tugging the robe loose until it hangs slack around his back. He kisses his way up his built arm, paying close attention to the tattoos that decorate his skin. “Didn’t expect you to have so many,” Jimin notes with lips pressed lightly to a dark tattoo engraved in his shoulder. “I’ve always wanted more. Love the way they look.”

“Want a tattoo?” Jungkook muses. The mere thought clashes in his mind. Jimin’s skin is precious , not just any tattoo would be good enough. He sighs at the sensation of the elders lips and knows exactly who he’d choose to fulfill his wishes, if he wanted. There’s nobody he’d ever trust more than his personal tattoo artist, Kim Namjoon. He’d lie if he said he wasn’t anticipating the sounds the blonde would make as soon as the needles graze his tender skin... “What would you get?”

Jimin lifts the hem of his robe, exposing his naked thigh. “It would need to be special. Maybe something small. I’m thinking here...” he motions to the taut muscle, pure and unmarked. Jimin surveys Jungkook’s expression as he rubs a thumb over the flesh, “Wouldn’t it look pretty here, Jeon?” Clearly the younger appreciates body markings. It’s only fair his input is taken into consideration. He is, after all, the one who unknowingly influenced Jimin to finally do it.

Jungkook crouches down in front of him, allowing his slender, inked fingers to smooth down Jimin’s thigh until he reaches the part that’s meant for the tattoo. He takes a short moment to just admire the firm, untouched skin before gazing up at the blonde. “It would look gorgeous...I have the perfect person for the job. Maybe after today’s fitting?” He tilts his head in question, wondering if the model would truly be up for it. If Jimin mentions he wants something, Jungkook can’t get it out of his mind until he has it. Was it a small comment in the heat of the moment?

For Jimin, it’s so easy to just say yes when Jungkook asks a question. His wide bambi eyes sparkle with intrigue, and who is Jimin to strip that joy from him?

“Yes,” he answers, a little hesitant. He was just playing around to get a rise out of the younger man, but the idea of getting permanently marked while Jungkook watches is even more exhilarating. “But after the fitting. I need to be in top shape if I’m going to get down on my knees and measure you properly.”

Jungkook’s expression lights up—a yes is definitely what he wanted to hear. He knows he’ll have to set the plan in motion, because Jimin wants it.

“That I agree with,” Jungkook coyly replies with a crooked eyebrow. The playful spark in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed as he leans in to kiss the blonde’s thigh. He plants a soft peck before standing up to cup Jimin’s cheeks. “Have you eaten enough? We should get ready.”

Jimin quickly devours another danish before his body tells him not to, living just a little longer in the fantasy world Jungkook created. It really is too good here, and with the other man adoring every facet of his being, it’s very hard to leave. Leaving Jungkook to finish his breakfast, Jimin finds his way to the nearest shower and instantly gravitates to the shampoo Jungkook lathered him with the night before. It’s a comforting smell that is now regrettably faint on his skin from a deep sleep. He hurries to coat himself in it, head to toe, blissing in the cloud of humidified scent blooming under the warm cascade of heat. After a short while, he steps out, feeling like a new man, ready to give Jungkook the suit of his dreams and repay him for everything.

Jungkook doesn’t bother with a shower, but simply gets dressed and waits. He runs his hand through his messy locks. The ruffled look adds to his childish yet not so innocent charm, juxtaposed against his black dress shirt that fits his firm physique, paired with black jeans. It’s a casual look, yet his adorning jewelry showcases that he is anything but ordinary, with many shiny rings and an expensive necklace that rests at the base of his neck. While waiting for Jimin, Jungkook lays down on his couch and contacts Namjoon to make sure he’s available and ready after the fitting. He’s giddy to surprise Jimin with the news... later .

All the while, Jimin wrapped back into his robe and padded down to Jungkook’s studio in hopes of retrieving his clothes, however, he found them neatly folded on a decorative console table just outside. The studio door was shut and locked tight, which he found slightly odd for a mere photography studio. Regardless, he was sure Jungkook had his reasons. He changed into his clothes from the night before and finessed his hair into a presentable style with a bit of product he found laying around. It’s not best practice in the world of fashion to be seen in public wearing the same thing twice, but he made an exception for the day.

Eventually, Jungkook grew bored and decided to go find the blonde roaming around his house, only to find all ready in yesterday's outfit. Cute.

“Ready to go? Car’s waiting outside for us.” He reaches out with grabby hands for Jimin, waiting for him to get the hint; to run to him. The younger wishes for the domestic feeling to never go away, and he was curious how the blonde would act among other people.

Luckily for Jungkook, Jimin got the hint right away and walked towards him quickly, still taking the time to admire his fit as he approached. Today is going to be difficult— how can he build upon perfection? It’s hard not to implode by how cute Jungkook is, looking the way he does, so effortless and cool; truly a muse fit for the occasion. “Ready,” Jimin nods, smiling widely and snuggling into Jungkook’s arms to enjoy a few last moments in this fantasyland before transitioning back to Park Jimin, the supermodel and fashion aficionado.

Jungkook cups the blonde’s cheek and guides his face to look up at him—a last close up look before their one-on-one dynamic would be broken, momentarily. His butterfly truly has a duality to him that is admirable, however the way the elder can easily crumble for him is incredible.

“Okay, let’s go.” He flashes his signature toothy smile and turns to guide them to the waiting car. His arm tightly grips Jimin’s waist until he has to let go to hold the door open for him.

Preparations were made on Jimin’s part during the ride. It seems his assistant is used to last-minute bookings since he started his Be Your Light collection. Last-minute tailorings for industry events and spontaneous all-nighters when inspiration struck. For this occasion, he requested that all the materials be ready for him to use alone—No assistants. The attention would be purely put on Jungkook. Just like the photographer’s preferred work style, Jimin wanted no distractions.

It was go-time the second they arrived—Jimin’s assistant guided the two men into a secluded wing of his studio where a myriad of patterns, leathers and fabrics were laid out.

“This is perfect, thank you,” Jimin nods his approval and flashes a sparkling smile, then begins to pull together his measuring tools. “Jeon, please, take a look around and tell me if anything catches your eye.”

Jungkook begins to stroll around the different materials to work with, fingers smoothing over the fabrics tentatively. His eyes keep looking back and forth between the black silk and leather. He always tended to like darker, edgier themes, but the soft and shiny material is so comfortable to touch. Jungkook grasps it in his hand and holds it up for Jimin to see with a lopsided and challenging smirk on his lips.

“Could you make me something with this?”

“There’s a lot I can do with that.”

Jimin strolls up to feel the smooth silk beneath his fingertips. Leather would have been a fine choice for its stability and durability, but he likes a challenge. “Black silk,” he notes, plucking the swatch from Jungkook’s hands to inspect it further, “it can be very complimentary to your skin tone.” He rubs his thumb over the rise and fall of the fabric’s exterior—a faint textured brocade, so unique and fitting for the man—dark, yet subdued. “If I tailor it just right, it can hold your shape or flow loose, if you choose.” His designer mind flicks on and he plots the form internally. “What kind of event do you plan to attend in a silk suit, Jeon?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jungkook shrugs, a smile mixed between sheepish and coy replacing his challenging smirk. His eyes follow Jimin’s delicate fingers as they smoothe over the fabrics, already wishing they were on him instead. Growing impatient, he jumps a bit in his position. “I want the silk, make it fitted…” He muses for a moment. “And a low front?”

“A low front, huh?” Jimin glides a hand down the front of Jungkook’s shirt and tugs a little to reveal his defined collarbones. “A very wise choice,” he smirks, releasing the shirt with a snap, “take this off, I’ll need to get close to your body for the tightest fit.” He takes a couple steps back to give Jungkook space, itching to rid the shirt and everything else. However, this is a big opportunity to make something neoteric and special. The process will be the greatest test of his patience.

“Everything?” Jungkook coyly replies as he pulls his shirt over his head, shamelessly exposing his upper body to Jimin. He kind of likes this side of Jimin. No, scrap that–he really likes it. The photographer is rarely ever told what to do, and the elders' confidence and passion for his work is just adding to the younger's growing infatuation.

Jimin bites his lip at the question. “Eager, aren’t we?” His fingers fall to Jungkook’s waist, gliding across his exposed hips and down to his belt buckle. “No, Jeon, just the shirt for now.” He gives the buckle a light tap and then steps behind the photographer, releasing a soft sigh at the smooth expanse of flesh he’s blessed to dress any way he likes. “We’ll start with the top and work our way down. Now stay nice and relaxed, I want to make sure the measurements are precise.”

Jungkook’s coy pout matches the mischief in his eyes as he glances over his shoulder at the blonde. “Yes, Mr. Park.” He turns his head back to look straight forward, letting his arms dangle loosely on his sides. “Take your time with me.” Jungkook really dragged out the way he said the elders last name, as if they weren’t already past the point of formalities.

Jimin takes his time to touch and measure Jungkook’s torso until he has every inch of muscle definition saved to memory. The younger’s enthusiasm encourages him to work with full concentration as he daydreams about the low neckline and how he’ll form it. However, he’s easily snapped from his thoughts whenever he is referred to as “Mr. Park,” like he’s never been called the name before. When it rolls off of Jungkook’s tongue, it’s no longer a name given at birth but a name given to tease. He drapes the measuring tape around the back of his neck and pauses, taking one last second to admire all of Jungkook’s tattoos, fully exposed just for him. What a predicament he’s gotten himself into. He doesn’t want to rush the process, but once the pants come off, he may need to pick up the pace.

“Now the pants, Jeon,” Jimin instructs with the firmest tone he can muster, “take them off for me.”

Jungkook cocks a playful eyebrow at the elder male, letting his hands work his belt to slowly unbuckle it. “You’re so cute when you’re bossy.” He unzips and peels his pants down, letting them fall and pool by his feet before stepping out of them, standing in nothing but his boxers. It’s new, being the one to follow orders. But, the way Jimin tries so hard to remain professional is the best part. So the photographer plays along, curious as to how long the blonde can hold his mask before it crumbles.

Jimin continues to act like he doesn’t want to take advantage of Jungkook’s vulnerable state, which is even harder than it looks.

“I’m always cute,” he responds just a little too late and winks at the younger man. He doesn’t know what he’s saying at this point. His brain switches to autopilot once Jungkook’s thick thighs become visible. All he can think to do is take a deep breath, bend to his knees and measure. Measure, measure. He jots down his findings on a small notepad to keep his hands busy. The process is almost complete—just one more measurement and Jungkook can get dressed. Jimin places his palms on Jungkook’s inner thigh to hold the measuring tape in place for the inseam. “Hold still,” he asks quietly, feeling small and meek under the younger man’s gaze, “I’m almost done.” His hand soothes over the expanse of his exposed flesh, lingering a little longer than professionally advised.

Jungkook firmly places his hands on his hips as he gazes down at the blonde from above. His potent stare along with the confidence practically oozing off of him is sure to make just about anybody nervous. However, it is Jimin that he wants to bring to his knees, and conveniently enough, he already is. Before Jimin could properly measure his inner thigh, Jungkook playfully reaches his hand down to brush the blonde locks away from Jimin’s face, then runs his long fingers through it, giving a light tug before withdrawing.

“Done?”

Jimin shudders from the tug at his roots, causing his muscles to tense from the pleasure and proximity of the man above. He can’t resist the effect Jungkook’s beautiful hands have on him, especially when they’re carded through his soft hair, caressing him any way they please. “Almost done,” he says in a low tone, aching to deflect attention from the growing tent in his pants. “But if you keep distracting me, we’ll be here all day.” He glides his hand higher up the younger man’s inner thigh until it touches the hemline of his briefs. “Would you like that, Jeon?”

“Is that a question or a proposition?” Jungkook’s light smirk doesn’t go unnoticed. His hand doesn’t leave the blonde’s curls as he twirls the light ends between his fingers. God, did he love to tease the model, who’s eyes seem to dilate with lust as they gaze up at him with innocence. But Jungkook knows by now that he is far from the angel he initially presented himself as.

Jimin replies with a smirk of his own, dragging his small fingertips down the younger’s inner thigh to take the last measurement. He purposefully brushes the back of his hand against the bulge in Jungkook’s briefs and teases him through the fabric for just a second, then withdraws completely as if nothing happened. “I’ll pass my notes to my assistant so she can begin the preliminary steps—shouldn’t take long.” He stands to his feet and steps so close to Jungkook that their bodies nearly touch. “You did great, Jeon. You can get dressed now.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose in a small, toothy smile. The blonde really tried to play him at his own game. Well, if that’s what he wants... He nods lightly before turning around to bend over and pick his clothes up, slowly putting the fabrics on one by one without a word. Maybe Jimin expected a different reaction, but Jungkook wanted the blonde pining rather than simply giving him what he wanted. As he is fully dressed, he turns back to face Jimin and reaches out to caress his cheek with the back of his hand. “I'm thrilled to see what you come up with… Now, are we done for today?”

“That’s a wrap,” Jimin nods, internally cursing himself for encouraging Jungkook to dress so quickly. Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to show some affection now that the measurements are recorded. He melts into Jungkook’s caress and curls his arm around the small of his waist to guide him to the door. He peeks up at the taller man beneath his blonde fringe, feeling more relaxed now that he doesn’t have to focus on drafting the suit.

“So, about this tattoo...”

Jungkook’s face lights up at the mention. “Yes! Do you wanna go now?” He is a tad bit over excited about the fact, as he’s made sure that Namjoon was ready to clear his schedule the very second he made the call. Kook wraps his arm around Jimin’s shoulder to pull him close as they head towards the waiting car. He may have asked, but his mind is already made up—Jimin is getting that tattoo.

“I’m a little nervous,” Jimin confesses, grasping the car door handle and hesitantly tugging it open, “It’s been a while.” He slides into his seat and gets comfortable next to Jungkook. He’s a little out of his element, but he trusts the man, surprisingly enough. He can’t pinpoint why, but he finds solace in his touch—a sense of calm that makes him feel like he could tackle anything. “I don’t even know what I’m going to get,” he laughs, “Shit, Jeon, what did you talk me into?”

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook’s eyes fall on Jimin as he says so, repeating the same words he once said back at their first photoshoot. Without a response, he gives a vague wave of his hand and the chauffeur begins to drive. He places his hand on Jimin’s thigh and let’s it rest there, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze.

It’s not just Jungkook’s words or his touch that pulls Jimin closer—it’s the undivided attention, and his tranquil gaze. Every now and then, Jimin swears he can see the man’s soul in his dark irises. They’re so receptive and kind, but piercing and cool, all at once.

“I trust you,” he speaks above a whisper. Just as he did at their first photo shoot, Jimin places his full and complete trust in Jungkook’s hands. He’s a proven visionary—not only a renowned artist but a man with true vision. If he wants this permanent marking to have the greatest meaning, he’ll leave the final decision up to Jeon Jungkook. That moment in the glass room changed Jimin—seeing his faults fall between the cracks of those mirrored shards, scattered across the floor. He owes this to him. Everything that’s come from that moment has only made Jimin stronger—a better version of himself. “I want you to choose what I get.”

‘‘Really?’‘ Jungkook’s doe eyes widen before they squint in a smile. Small wrinkles appear in the corners of his eyes, adorning his skin. He feels butterflies erupting in his chest at the way Jimin willfully gives his trust. He seems entirely head over heels, and that’s exactly what he wants. Jungkook cranes his neck to close the last bit of distance between their lips in a sweet kiss. He pulls back just enough to stare at how Jimin gazes back in awe, only to lean forward and place another kiss on his plush lips...and another, and another. It’s like a drug. Lips, intoxicating, the way they envelope his with loving care.

Jimin presses back firmly to Jungkook and unbuckles his seatbelt to get closer. There’s far too much pent-up energy and nerves in his body to resist. He moves his hand to the back of the younger man’s neck and guides the kiss. He pulls him deeper, gliding his velvety tongue along Jungkooks, crawling into his lap and straddling him face-to-face. “Really,” he breathes against his hot lips, “Want you to mark me, sir.”

Jungkook can tell that Jimin’s words have double meaning, which causes him to smile. The plush of his bottom lip grazes the blonde’s. “It’s a promise, butterfly,” he whispers smoothly as his hands settle in a firm grip on Jimin’s hip bones, squeezing lightly to feel the soft flesh push out between his fingers. Jimin always seemed so fragile when he was like this, yet the innocence in his eyes is nowhere to be seen when he’s slowly becoming corrupted by Jungkook’s various temptations.

Jimin soaks in the feeling of Jungkook’s hands on his hips and allows them to hold him close for the duration of the ride. He wants them to hold him everywhere at once, but unfortunately, Jeon Jungkook isn’t Vishnu with four arms. However, at least in Jimin’s mind, he is god-like. Is it odd for him to think so highly of a man he’s known for less than a week? Life moves quickly in the world of fashion—working partnerships are just another part of it. In the words of Heidi Klum, “one day you’re in, and the next, you’re out.” At this point, he’ll do anything to stay in.

The model cards his fingers through Jungkook’s soft hair as he slides off his lap, giving him a small peck on the lips before settling back into his seat. The car pulls up to the curb of the shop; Jimin instantly feels his tingly heartbeat in the tips of fingers as they wrap around the door handle. A moment of pause, then... “Lets get it,” he breathes out in a wisp of a laugh.

Jungkook smiles as he leans over Jimin to place his long fingers on top of the blonde’s, unlocking the door with him to push it open. As they head inside, the bell to the shop chimes.

“Jungkookie!” They’re met with a dimpled smile greeting them across the room, pen in-hand, working on a sketch. The man stands up to approach the two and gives Jungkook a hug before doing the same to Jimin.

He surely isn’t shy.

“Is this Jimin? I’m Namjoon.” He takes a step back to observe the blonde, shooting a quick glance at Jungkook that basically says ‘nice.’

Jimin straightens his posture to give the best impression as it seems this man is not only the one about to stick needles in his flesh, but also a good friend of Jungkook’s. As he’s quickly gathered, it’s a rare occasion to meet anyone Jungkook would call a friend. Jimin can only imagine what he makes of his relationship with the photographer. Namjoon’s dark-lined eyes hold firm on Jimin’s, almost softening to put him at ease. “Park Jimin,” the model smiles, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Namjoon smiles back, his prominent dimples on display. He heads towards his desk to pick up the sketch he was working on, beckoning for the others to come closer, “Check this out.”

Jungkook steps beside Namjoon to take a look. “Perfect,” He coos, doe eyes observing the beautiful flower that Joon had sketched on the paper.

“Great,” Namjoon smiles wider, showing Jimin the sketch. It's a delicate drawing of red petals from the sage flower—the meaning behind it being ‘Forever mine,’ which is sketched in a short note at the foot of the page for reference. Joon already knew this is what Jungkook wanted for this one—always something floral, and always different meanings behind them. This one is the most meaningful one he’s ever done...and not just one more flower to be added to Jungkook’s collection on his arms.

Even on the paper, the red petals seem to burn off the page. It’s as if they’re begging to escape the confines of 2D and become immortalised forever, sunk permanently into Jimin’s flesh. He’s lost for words as he scans every detail even though he’s already set on having it on him for life.

“It really is perfect,” he smiles at the cheery dimpled man. He turns to Jungkook and is pleased to see he’s equally enthralled with the finished product. “You’ve chosen well, Jeon.” He drops his hand down onto his own hip until it lands high on his thigh. “Are we still thinking here, or…somewhere else?”

Jungkook’s eyes rake down Jimin’s body in thought for a long moment until they land on his upper thigh. It seems like the perfect spot, and watching the process will be the most enticing part of it all.

“Right here is perfect,” He agrees, placing his hand on top of Jimin’s to apply light pressure onto the firm muscle.

“Splendid,” Namjoon nods before gesturing towards the large, comfortable chair in the room. “Please remove your pants and have a seat.”

Joon heads over to his chair and rolls it over to his desk to gather necessities while waiting for the blonde to get ready.

Mind over matter—Jimin slides his pants down quickly like he would at any runway show. In a situation like this, modesty flies right out the window. In a matter of minutes he’ll be poked raw while Jungkook watches, and the thought alone makes him hastily take his seat in front of the artist, eager to begin.

“Jungkook?” Jimin asks, looking up at the tall man while he towers over him protectively, “You’ll stay here, right? You won’t leave?” His hand itches to hold his as he hears Namjoon whir the machine a couple times to prep the needles.

“I’ll be here every second,” Jungkook promises with a small nod, reaching to brush away Jimin’s fringe from his forehead before grabbing a chair to take a seat next to him, “I chose the piece after all.”

Namjoon smiles to himself at the sweet exchange, noting just how well Jungkook has Jimin wrapped around his finger. It almost reminds him of how he himself used to feel the same way, once upon a time. “Alright, take deep breaths and don’t move. Let me know if you need to take a break,” Namjoon says as he scoots closer in his chair to place the stencil on Jimin’s upper thigh. He observes the placement before giving Jungkook a questioning look, rather than giving the decision to Jimin. Once Kook confirms with an approving nod, Joon gets to work, whirring the machine as he draws the first line. Both men glance at Jimin between strokes, attentive to see his reaction.

The stinging sensation of pulsing needles on Jimin’s soft flesh is not foreign, yet they feel sharper this time around. Deeper. Joon does not have a light-handed approach, likely as a stylistic choice for bold line work, but it makes the fine hairs at the back of Jimin’s neck stand on end. The artist’s attention to detail reminds him of the perfectionist in himself. He acted similarly when he sketched his clothing designs for the BYL collection, so he respects the process. He grits his teeth and bares through the pain. He can feel Jungkook’s gaze land heavy on his thigh as the needles stitch into his skin and embed vibrant ink. The younger man’s investment in this spontaneous decision is enchanting. The design he chose is brilliant and thoughtful. Jimin wonders if he’s devoted this much of his undivided attention to anyone else besides himself. Surely a man of his prestige has better things to do than this with him .

Nonetheless, Jimin pushes his insecurity aside and places his hand on Jungkook’s thigh for assurance.

Jungkook observes every stroke of Namjoon’s wrist with deep focus to make sure there is not a single mistake done to Jimin’s precious skin. He’s more invested in this moment than he has been with anybody else. Luckily, he knows he can trust Namjoon to do a job that is nothing but absolutely perfect. Watching Jimin’s skin slowly gain lines and colors with a design he chose...it’s a feeling unmatched by any other. ... Well , possibly matched by the way Jimin is obviously struggling to keep a straight face. The light twitches in his plush lips are so endearing. Jungkook grabs Jimin’s small hand and gently strokes his knuckles with his thumb, holding it like that the entire time.

Then, after what feels like forever, the buzzing of the machine finally comes to an end. Namjoon places the needle gun back on the desk before cleaning Jimin’s thigh off, inching forward to inspect the finished result. “Alright, we’re all done. Take a look by the mirror over there if you want a proper view.” Joon directs his words towards Jimin, but his eyes flicker to Jungkook’s.

Standing on his feet is a raw task, but Jimin does it with a brave face, placing weight on the leg until it feels comfortable enough to walk on. The mirror doesn’t do the piece justice—up-close it is perfectly placed on his toned thigh and brilliantly shaded. He ghosts his fingers over the fresh ink, hovering just above, slightly bewildered that it’s a part of him forever. He turns to Namjoon and nods his approval, then looks to Jungkook, trying to assess his reaction. From what he could tell, then man is just as pleased, maybe even more. It is his design concept, after all, and he should be proud. Jimin rests his hand at his side but can still feel Jungkook’s hand—thumb working in soothing circles. It makes him wonder if perhaps he’s relaxed enough to take the pain as well.

“While we’re here,” Jimin says confidently, feeling the dopamine pulse in his rosy numb flesh, “are you getting one too?”

“I am, actually.” Jungkook's small smirk tugs at his lips as he remains still, eyes still admiring the work on Jimin's thigh. Forever would he be marked with the piece that he had chosen. And now he’s about to get one of his own. Kook guides Jimin to have the seat next to him as he gets himself ready, extending his arm to expose the ink-free piece of his skin on his lower arm. Meanwhile, Joon prepared another set of needles. He rolls up to the youngest to place his stencil, raising his eyebrows in a silent question of 'Good?' With an approving nod from Jungkook, the familiar buzzing sound of the machine echoes once more. Joon marks Jungkook with a similar design as the one on Jimin's thigh; however, slightly different. While Jimin's is a work of red petals, Jungkook's is the flower itself, with petals falling off of it. As with every other piece Namjoon had done on the photographer in the past, he marks Jungkook's flower tattoo with a barely visible number. It’s a sly way of tracking each time the man has brought someone in to tattoo themselves for him. Why? Who knows. It is a mystery only known to the man himself.

Jimin notes the small number as Namjoon etches it onto Jungkook, not even sure if it is a number he’s seeing or just another part of the blooming bud. The photographer’s silken skin beads with fresh droplets of blood, obstructing his view of the design. He doesn’t even wince when the hairpin needles pierce his skin over and over, like he’s done it so many times it’s as casual as a monthly haircut. Jungkook is a seasoned professional in Jimin’s eyes. He admires the painless way he endures Namjoon’s heavy-handed pricking in what he assumes to be a sensitive part of the body to mark. He can’t pretend he isn’t shocked the photographer had the foresight to plan matching tattoos, and was too bold to assume Jimin would want it. But Jeon Jungkook's bold decisions are what attracted Jimin to him in the first place.

“You’re doing well,” Jimin assures, soothing his hand over the wide expanse of Jungkook’s back. “You’re doing really well...”

Just as the tattoo begins to form into a coherent piece of art, Jimin’s pocket vibrates. He pulls his phone free and stares down at the notifications, quickly hiding it at his side once he realizes who messaged him.

Jungkook smiles at the sweet words coming from the elder, but it fades just as quickly when he notices the slight tilt of Jimin's phone screen to keep it just out of his vision. Kook can't help the curiosity that gradually morphs to swirling annoyance in his gut. He just can't help it—he hates secrets when they’re kept from him. Could it be the same person Jimin was on the phone with earlier? The younger isn't oblivious, and he really wishes this wouldn't cause any trouble. But before he can comment on the split second, the phone is shoved back into Jimin's pocket, and Namjoon chimes that he's finished.

“Alright, we're done here,” Namjoon clicks his tongue and wipes Jungkook's arm clean, observing the masterpiece with his squinted eyes. He rolls his chair out and stretches his back until his spine pops. “Good, Jungkookie?”

“Perfect.” Jungkook approves as he gets up off his chair, looking down at the new piece of art on his skin. A mark just for Jimin. He displays it for the blonde, a crooked eyebrow following with his toothy grin, “Now we match.”

Jimin tries to muffle the sound of incoming text messages as they continue to vibrate in his pocket. If it isn’t Seung-Ho, it’s surely his manager on behalf of Seung-Ho. The man is persistent when he wants Jimin’s attention—but why does it have to be now? Jimin doesn’t have the nerve to check his phone, especially not when Jungkook proudly displays his fresh ink.

“It’s—” Jimin leans closer, grasping the man’s bicep to steady his body. He squints to take in every little detail, down to the faint number etched at the center of the design—but is it a number? It very well could be, but what does it mean? Jungkook doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest, so Jimin pushes his curiosity aside and examines the rest of the tattoo. “Not to be biased, but I think It’s the most beautiful flower.” The delicate way the red petals seem to fall down from Jungkook’s arm and onto Jimin’s thigh is wholly picturesque. Jimin would be lying if he said it didn’t excite him, knowing the two of them will share this for the rest of their lives. If anything, let it serve as a reminder of their working partnership and the bond they shared shooting Jimin’s first solo collection. Give it time and perhaps the tattoos will increase in value. It’s not even a day old and it’s already Jimin’s new favorite piece of art. He lightly taps his tender thigh and savors the sting, flicking his eyes between both tattoos until they are melded in his mind as one. “It’s been a long day, Jeon,” he winces, tapping his tender flesh a little too roughly. “Ready to head out?”

Jungkook shakes his head with a mischievous, toothy grin growing on his face. “Not yet, I have one more thing.” He speaks as he stares at Namjoon, who suddenly seems to shrink where he stands despite being the tallest of them all.

“Are you sure? It'll hurt.” Joon asked with his eyebrows raised high, feeling the itch in his fingers. He really wants to do it, but he also wants to make sure this was truly what the younger desires. He does hope for a ‘yes’ though. There is nothing else he wants right now than to feel and see Jungkook, even if it's in a professional setting.

“Yes, I've planned this for a while now.” Jungkook's hands travel to the hem of his pants, tugging at the waistline as his grin grows wolfish, “And I want it right now.”

“O-okay...” Namjoon's voice strains, his heart practically bursting within his rib cage with excitement. He loves tattooing, but if there is anything he loves more, it’s body piercing. There is just something about the adrenaline he feels rushing down his spine when he feels the needles easily penetrate through flesh, to be adorned by a piece of jewelry. Joon would be lying if he said it didn't make his face heat up a bit.

“Alright, take a seat,” Namjoon clears his throat, sitting back down on his rolling chair and patting the client seat.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate to pull his pants down along with his underwear, shameless and confident in his body as he sits down, half laying in the seat, eyes fixed on Jimin's. He notes how the blonde's eyes immediately find exactly what Kook expects.

“Don't stare so intensely, I'll get excited,” Kook teases Jimin, then flickers his gaze down to meet Namjoon's, who is also seemingly swallowing tightly to keep his professional mask on.

This is too much fun.

“A-are you—” Jimin’s voice weakens as Namjoon grasps Jungkook’s flaccid length and lines up a small barbell at the tip, measuring for size. He very clearly is, no doubt about it. If he was confident going into the tattoo, Jungkook is beyond confident going into this. Jimin wants to ask permission to watch, but can tell right away that it’s Jungkook’s full intention that he do so. He really does like to put on a good show, and, well, Jimin is captivated.

Namjoon finds the perfect piece of jewellery and sets it aside to ready the needle. It’s much larger than Jimin would have imagined—it looks hallowed throughout and incredibly sharp. It’s difficult to understand why in this moment, but Jimin feels his skin heat with arousal at the mere thought of seeing Jungkook’s tip gleam with a pretty stud through it. He takes a seat beside him, aching to be as close as possible. He crosses his legs, already feeling his cock stiffen at the sight. Jungkook seems to be affected as well, gradually growing thicker, unabashedly, right in front of his audience of two.

Jimin nips his plushy bottom lip and focuses his curious eyes on Namjoon’s hand as he grasps the hardening cock, ready to pierce. “Be still,” Jimin warns, nearly salivating at the sight. “I want it to be perfect.”

“Namjoon knows what he's doing, it'll be nothing but perfect,” Jungkook sighs out his words when Joon's warm fingers wrap around his length, already half hard from having two sets of eyes immersed in him, and him only. “Right, Joonie?”

“Right…”' Namjoon whispers through his teeth, his eyebrows tightly knit together in focus. It’s not easy to keep himself collected when Jungkook's cock is literally within his grasp. It’s heavy, and the all too familiar feeling of it makes his gut stir. “Just take a deep breath and don't move,” he warns as he brings the needle closer. His other hand keeps a firm grip around Kook's length, twitching once Joon's fingers tighten around it.

“Just do it before I get too hard…” Jungkook groans quietly. In all honesty, the photographer doesn’t care if he’s rock solid while getting pierced, he’s too much of a glutton for pain to mind it. Maybe he'd even prefer it that way. To say this is arousing would be an understatement.

Namjoon doesn't need to say anything else, and finally presses the needle through the flesh. For other professionals, this might've been too slow, but for the two of them, this was just the perfect torture. The needle is so sharp it practically melts through Jungkook's cock, and it has Namjoon foaming at the mouth when he hears Jungkook's audible moan echo in the studio.

“Fuck, hyung!” Jungkook curses through gritted teeth. His hand instinctively reaches out to grab Namjoon by his hair, tugging harshly. “All the way through, keep going.”

Namjoon's lower lip is tightly clamped between his teeth as he holds back the vibrating groan in his chest, finishing what he started as he finally pushes the needle through entirely; the bloody sharp tip of the needle sticking out on the other side. It’s gorgeous.

Jimin’s body feels hot and electric as the pain of his tattoo dissipates and is replaced with pure exhilaration. He watches every movement with wide blown-out pupils. His mouth is impossibly parched, he can’t will himself to swallow out of fear he might blink and miss a millisecond.

Namjoon loops the barbell through the hallowed tip of the needle and threads it through as the needle glides free of Jungkook’s stiffening length. It’s set aside, freeing a small bead of blood to trail down his shaft.

Jimin tears a fresh sheet of paper towel from a neighboring roll and dabs the wound gently. The younger man’s reddened tip swells under his touch and only spurs Jimin on to dab with excess—more than what’s needed, but selfish and satisfying for his own pleasure. He nips his bottom lip roughly until he’s sure he might draw blood of his own, then looks up at Jungkook with nothing but urgent need, silently begging to leave straight away. Jimins needy look doesn't go unnoticed by the younger, giving the blonde a reassuring wink.

“You did well hyung.” Jungkook leans in to press a light kiss on Namjoons forehead before he stands up, observing the little addition on his length. The pain is delicious, stinging and amplifying the throbbing pulse rushing from his heart to his cock.

Yeah, he needs to put it to use...there was no way around it.

Jungkook pulls his underwear and pants on, nonchalantly clasping the button on his jeans before he beckons Jimin to follow him like a puppy. “We will be back when I want some additions to my butterfly.” Jungkook grins at Joon, knowing the man knows exactly what he means, and that he'd have to be prepared. Soon.

The bell chimes loudly as Jungkook holds the door open for Jimin, giving Namjoon one last silent look before he walks out.

#fic: mused obsession #yandere jungkook #jungkook x jimin #jikook #yandere bts #bts mxm #jikook fic #sombreboy #chimoona

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