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lucyintheskywithxanax · 4 years ago

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I Saw You Trying, My Love

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: ok so this is long, and angry. It all happened because I really wanted to explore the headcanon that Wilhemina would be very possessive and very jealous if she were in a relationship. How would that relationship work? Could it work? I hope you’ll enjoy this piece, lovelies <3

Word count: ~ 8 200

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

Wilhemina’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and angry.

You ignored her. You kept shoving the contents of your wardrobe into your bag.

“I said, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I heard you the first time,” you snapped. You threw one last pair of socks – your favourite, fluffy and glittery – into your bag and gave it a shake. “I thought you’d have figured it out by now.”

You zipped up your bag and stomped past Wilhemina out of the room you had shared with her for the past two months. She must have realized how serious you were, by then, because she followed close behind you. She had never done that before when you had had a fight. She was too proud to run after you like a desperate child. Usually she would let you walk off and wait for you to blow off steam. But today, the sound of her cane followed you down the stairs and into the living room as you went around it, grabbing items you would need – your book, your glasses, your phone charger. Wilhemina’s watch. You threw that back on the couch when you realized what it was.

“Has your brain turned to mush? Where do you plan to go? You have nowhere to go to, Y/N.”

Wilhemina positioned herself in the doorway, blocking your way, both her hands gripping her cane. You came to a halt in front of her and scowled.

“I’m not a baby, Wilhemina,” you retorted, your face mere inches from hers. Your words were thick with anger. “I’ll get along just fine without you. Actually, I’ll be better off without you. Now move.”

She stood her ground, glaring back at you.

“What are you gonna do?” you hissed. “Uh? Lock me up? Bring me food once a day, torture me? Are you going to lock me up in here until you break me and turn me into the obedient pet you wish I were?” You paused to take a breath. “Is that your plan, Mina, my love?” You all but spat the last two words at her like a curse.

For a second you recoiled. You hadn’t meant to do that, turn a term of endearment, a promise of care and tenderness whispered so many times before to soothe and comfort and reassure, into poison. But on second thought, you were glad you had. She deserved the sting.

“I don’t –“she started, but you interrupted her.

“For God’s sake I have the right to spend time with my friends! Not all my life revolve around you, Wilhemina! You cannot keep me with you every minute of every day like a fucking dog!” A fresh bout of fury rose to your head and took control of you. “I can spend time with other people, I can enjoy myself without you! But what I can’t stand is you snapping at me and calling me names every time I so much as smile to someone else! I’ve had enough.” You lowered your arms in defeat, shaking your head at her. “I’ve had enough. I’m leaving. Move.”

Wilhemina’s face was hard and angry, her jaw clenched tight, her poise proud and dominating, but her eyes – you had always been able to tell what she truly felt by looking into her eyes. They were your favourite thing to stare at, not only because it was so easy to get lost in them, but because they were the key to understanding her. The key that opened the safe where she hid herself when she did not know how to communicate or thought she had to lie to keep herself safe. Her eyes were always, always honest. Especially with you. You took one look at them now and then had to look away before your resolve left you.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To Maggie’s place.”

Wilhemina scoffed bitterly. “Why, of course. Right into the arms of the daft prostitute.”

“Mina she’s my best-friend since high-school,” you growled, raising your free hand to rub your forehead in frustration. “Please don’t insult her.”

“And what a friend indeed. Always so eager to please, so eager to have you all by herself so that she can lay her dirty little hands on your arm or - ”

“This is what best-friends do!” you roared.

Wilhemina didn’t even flinch.

“Why don’t you screw her tonight?”

“Alright, you – you know what, I’ve had enough.”

You pushed past her, and you must have been too brutal, or maybe she had been unsteady to begin with; in any case, she dropped her cane, and her knees gave way. She winced as she braced herself for the fall, for the pain – but you wrapped your arms around her waist to support her, and held her against you. “I’ve got you,” you whispered into her hair.

Time froze. Silence fell. You closed your eyes, nuzzling your nose in her hair. What were you doing? Leaving her? Ridiculous. As if you could live without her. You pressed her closer against you, feeling like you could burst into laughter at your own excessive behavior. This was just like any other fight you had had with Wilhemina before, nothing you could not mend. Leaving this house, leaving this woman, had never been an option. It would mean leaving your heart. Leaving a part you wouldn’t – couldn’t – survive without.

You dropped a kiss on her forehead and were about to pull away. To cup her face and kiss her mouth and laugh with her at how stupid, how childish you were.

But then you remembered. All the times she had gone too far. All the snapping and the hurting and the possessive, jealous, unhealthy behavior. Earlier this afternoon she had slapped one of your coworkers and friends for “standing too close to you”. It was the first time she had used physical violence. The last straw.

You knew where it all came from, the insecurity and the fear and the pain. But that did not make it acceptable.

Gently, you let her go, picked up your bag and made for the front door.

“Y/N?”

She followed you down the corridor, stopped a few inches away from you as you turned the key in the lock. You felt her hand brush your elbow, but she did not touch you. Somehow it was this, her hesitation, that broke your heart.

“Don’t come after me,” you told her over your shoulder.

“Y/N don’t you dare –“

You opened the door, ignoring her, closing your eyes against the setting sun and the tears that were starting to pool. Wilhemina’s voice rose behind you again, not angry anymore, but shaking, and terrified. She was terrified.

“Y/N don’t you – “

You slammed the door behind you and ran down the driveway to your car, afraid you’d turn back and fall into her arms if you stopped for one second.

It hurt. It felt like your heart had been torn out of your chest. You opened the door of your car with shaky hands, sobs wracking your body, barely seeing anything through your tears.

You didn’t remember much after that. You must have driven all the way to Maggie’s. Knocked on her door, with your bag in one hand and sobs bubbling out of your throat. She must have let you in, asked you, were you alright, was Wilhemina alright – perhaps she hugged you. Certainly she made you some tea, for Maggie was one of those people who believe tea can make everything better. As if you had not irremediably broken what you cherished most.

You must have drunk your tea, to please Maggie.

The bed in her spare room was big and comfortable. The sheets smelt of fresh peaches. You spent the rest of the evening cocooned in their warmth, alternating between dozing and sobbing into the pillows. When night fell, Maggie brought you dinner on a tray. She sat beside you as you swallowed what your stomach could hold. And then she asked you what had happened.

You hadn’t been able to tell her yet. You’d thought that, perhaps, if you kept it a secret, your leaving Wilhemina wouldn’t be real. You would be able to go back home and find her there waiting for you. She would rise when she’d hear you come in, and she would smile that fond smile of hers and wrap you up in her arms and kiss you slow and sweet. Somehow, all of your problems would be gone.

It didn’t work like that. You knew it didn’t. But still, you couldn’t help but hope.

Maggie didn’t believe you, at first. She gawked at you, then narrowed her eyes and scrutinized your face. She was naive, Maggie. Very romantic. She believed love was stronger than everything else. She had spent five minutes with you and Wilhemina and proclaimed with tears in her eyes that she had never seen two people more in love. It simply wasn’t possible for you to be without Wilhemina, and for Wilhemina to be without you. You would cease to exist. The world would explode.

But then, as you dissolved into tears again, unable to finish your story as you desperately clang to her, her face fell. She let out a small “oh” that sounded so surprised, so final, so defeated. It rang in your ears like a bell mourning death.

You didn’t go to work the day after. Nor the day after that. You knew Wilhemina would be at Kineros, knew she was too hardworking to even consider taking a day off. Hell, Wilhemina could be dying of pneumonia, she would still drive to work and sit at her desk and boss everyone around. Throwing snarky comments like knives at frightened employees, making sure everyone was doing their jobs. You could picture her, sitting straight and proud in her chair, with her cane leaning against her desk and her hair tied in that high ponytail you loved so much, for it accentuated her sharp cheekbones. Had she taken off the photograph on her desk? Of you and her, on a sunny day in the countryside a year ago, a few days after you had started dating. Your hand on her cheek, your teeth on her chin, her eyes half-closed and crinkled up with laughter.

You wouldn’t have gone to work even if Wilhemina hadn’t been there. There was no point anymore. You had never really cared for the job anyway. The only thing that had made life interesting had been Wilhemina.

So you spent hours in bed until the sheets no longer smelt of fresh peaches but of your sweat and tears. You went for a run with Maggie. You tried to keep yourself busy, read a book, watched movies, cleaned Maggie’s house. You knew you couldn’t spend the rest of your life at Maggie’s, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It became harder to get up in the morning. Harder to fall asleep at night. So you daydreamed and thought of Wilhemina. To soothe the pain of her absence. You thought of her face in the morning, still soft from sleep. That magic moment when she would wake and those big, brown, doe eyes of hers would meet yours and smile. How deftly she would do her hair, ponytail always perfectly centered. How sometimes, while she waited for the water to boil for her tea, she would stare out the window and get lost in the view.

One day it struck you how often Maggie did touch you. She was a very touchy-feely person, had always been: she would pat your shoulder or hold your hand or stroke your arm or kiss your cheek. It was innocent, she behaved like that with everyone. But now you realized how it must have looked to someone as insecure as Wilhemina.

Maggie was beautiful. All blue eyes and soft strawberry blond locks and pink cheeks and pretty flowery dresses. She was soft, and selfless, and very kind, and everyone adored her. She taught French at the University. Had a fiancé, wanted to start a family. Exercised every day. She was normal and healthy – more than that, she was perfect in every way. No rough edges, no high walls, no back pains that kept her up all night, no early appointments to the doctor’s, no days that could be ruined by one glance at her reflection in the mirror. Maggie had found her place in the world and the world cherished her.

And yet – and yet how brighter Wilhemina shone in your head. She was a lighthouse, Maggie a candle. How much more precious and rare Wilhemina was. There were a million things in her that singled her out as one of the most fascinating person you had met. How she could make a witty comment on something the likes of Maggie would never notice in the first place. How she would stare right into the eyes of whatever scared her and defeat it with patience and determination. How deeply, how fiercely she loved.

On the eighth morning without her you woke up completely panicked and haunted by the knowledge that she was hurting on her own. She would never tell anyone she needed help, she had never allowed anyone but you to see her vulnerable. She would push on through her days as if everything was perfectly fine and go back every night to a dark, cold, lonely house where everything would remind her of you. Did she get enough sleep? Was she even eating? It seemed likely to you she would use food deprivation to punish herself. Eating the bare minimum to make it through the day without collapsing.

You asked Maggie to check on her. She drove to your house one evening and came back in a sour mood. Oh, Wilhemina was just fine, she jeered. Her usual pleasant, cheerful self. She had opened the door, taken one look at her, and sent her off with a scoff. Maggie was so angry she spilled most of her drink on the floor. And despite it all, you couldn’t help but smile.

In the morning of the tenth day, after Maggie had gone to work, you came downstairs and slumped on the living room couch. It was a beautiful, sunny day, so you had opened all the windows and the front door to let the draft in. You prayed the fresh air would take away some of the ache in your chest. Or maybe a murderer would walk into the house and put an end to your misery.

You were starting to doze off when you heard a knock on the front door. You started, and sleepily called out “It’s open”.

Silence, as if whoever stood outside hadn’t quite made up their mind to come in yet. You yawned, scratched your head. The sound of a cane tapping on the floor filled the hall.

For a second you felt you were about to faint. Then your body sprang up, eyes wide-opened, heart pounding in your ears.

You sat down on a nearby chair facing the door. Ran a hand through your hair, straightened your clothes. You waited.

Tap. Tap. The sound of her cane brought tears to your eyes – for how you had missed it. Not so much the sound itself but the promise that came with it, seeing her, being with her. Love and happiness and everything that mattered in the world.

The tapping stopped. You raised your head. Your racing heart leaped out of your chest straight into her hands, like a fledgling that had left its nest too soon and flew back trembling and terrified to the safety of home. How stupid you had been to leave at all.

She stood in the doorway more beautiful than you remembered her, because so painfully missed, so hoped for, so loved.

She looked tired, but fine – not exhausted, not starved, not over-worked. Thank God. Some of the tension that had been building in your shoulders vanished. You searched her face for signs of emotions and truth behind her facade, but could find none. Even her eyes were inscrutable.

For a few, agonizingly long seconds you both stayed silent, glaring at each other, both of you too proud to lower your eyes or look away first. Then Wilhemina took a breath and opened her mouth, and your body leaned towards her in expectation.

“Your productivity at work this past week was astonishing,” she said.

Right. You straightened in your seat, and crossed your legs.

Wilhemina waited, but as no answer came from you she added: “Do you intend to get fired?”

“If you’ve come here to scold me, you can leave now,” you mumbled. Your hand started rubbing circles on your knee. “I’m not interested.”

Another pause. You picked a book on the coffee table and stared intently at it. The silence was painful. From the corridor came the ticking of the clock hung on the wall. You could just make out Wilhemina’s purple shoes and pale ankles out of the corner of your eye.

When the silence became intolerable, you tilted your head just enough to shoot her an angry glance and snapped: “Why are you here?”

Wilhemina tapped her cane threateningly on the floor. That didn’t faze you. Not anymore.

“I’m here,” she said in that low, slow voice she always used when she was mad, “as your superior and as Kineros Robotics’ HR manager, to remind you that you have a job and that you are expected to actually show up at your workplace.”

Was she getting enough sleep? Only now did you realize that she was leaning on her cane a bit more heavily than usual. Was her back hurting her? Did she even take her pain medicine? On several occasions before she had refused to, as a form of punishment against her disability. You had had to coax and beg for her to finally agree to swallow the pill.

“I expect you to answer me when I talk to you.” Wilhemina’s voice, sharp and angry, brought you back from your thoughts. You glanced up at her again.

“Yes, Ms Venable.”

“If you do not go back to work tomorrow I will have to dismiss you.”

“Yes, Ms Venable.”

“Your unjustified absence is quite simply intolerable.”

“Yes, Ms Venable,” you repeated.

Another pause. You had no idea what you were feeling anymore. Anger and irritation had subsided and been replaced by a sort of numbness that still had an aftertaste of want. You stared at the book, your fingers still rubbing circles on your knee as you listened to the ticking of the clock in the corridor.

Wilhemina spoke, and this time her voice wavered on the last word. “When are you coming back?”

She meant to work, of course. You lifted your head, met her eyes. She meant come home.

“I’m not coming back,” you answered, keeping your voice casual to hide the fact that your heart was breaking yet again, small pieces drifting away and colliding with each other.

“What do you want me to do?” Wilhemina cried, her eyes widening in exasperation. “Crawl at your feet and beg for mercy?”

She barely ever raised her voice. Her anger and contempt were always expressed in a dangerously slow and low tone. A high, raised voice meant she felt cornered. It meant her self-control was slipping away. It meant her facade was breaking.

You leaned towards her in your seat, hope seeping in your veins.

“How about you start by apologizing to Pat?” you said, as casually as before.

“Who’s Pat?”

“My co-worker and friend you so kindly slapped in the face last week. And to Eva, whose fingers you threatened to clip off one by one because she had the audacity to touch my hand. And to Maggie. You called her such terrible names when all she did was being there for me. Do you see the problem, Mina?”

Your little speech had made you angry again, bad memories flooding your brain, so it was a surprise when her nickname slipped out of your mouth. It seemed to quiet her for a second. Her shoulders relaxed. She even took a tentative step towards you. But then her face hardened again, and when she spoke her voice was back under control.

“I will do no such thing,” she snapped, tapping her cane on the floor. “All those idiots you mentioned had it coming.”

You sighed and slumped back into your seat. You knew what she was doing. Suddenly you were brought back to the first time she had allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of you. It had been one evening in the second week of your relationship. She had had a bad day, and her back was hurting her, and the only way she had found to express that – the only way she had known how – had been by snapping at you for overcooking the pasta. You had been about to snap back, when an apology had slipped out of her. Soft and unexpected. You had fallen silent in surprise. Her hands had started to fidget, and she had looked angry with herself, couldn’t meet your eyes, couldn’t find anything more to say, couldn’t stop fidgeting. So you had hugged her, run her a bath, made love to her, brushed her hair until most of the tension had left her body.

Snapping was her way of protecting herself, you knew that. But still – it hurt, and you had had enough.

“Well then, please, leave,” you mumbled, closing your eyes and raising one hand to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“So you can be in the delightful company of Maggie the Cat?” she snapped.

“Oh for God’s sake, Wilhemina,” you sighed, but she didn’t seem to hear you.

“Sweet, sweet Margaret,” she sneered, taking one more step towards you, her hands shaking. “With her sweet maiden face and her cheerful disposition. So charming, so lovely. She’s part of that disgusting group of radiant fools who will lead the world to its demise with their shallowness and their stupidity.”

You jumped to your feet. “Maggie is my friend,” you growled, planting yourself a few inches from her, your whole body hot with anger. “If you loved me as you claim you do, if you had an ounce of respect for me, you wouldn’t say such things about her!”

Something on her face changed at your words. You couldn’t tell what exactly, but a feeling of dread suddenly came over you.

Wilhemina tapped her cane on the floor, raised her chin and hissed, “Maybe I don’t. Love you, at all. Maybe I only used you for company.”

You took a step back, reeling as her words echoed in your head. You knew she was lying. What you two had shared had been too strong to be fake. She had trusted you with things and parts of herself she had never told or shown anyone before. She had let you love her and trusted you would not hurt her.

In a better world you would have been able to control your anger. You would have taken a few deep breaths to calm yourself and put your hands on Wilhemina’s shoulders and told her for the hundredth time what she obviously still needed to hear – that in your heart, Maggie did not hold a candle to her. That Maggie was your friend and you loved her, but not the way you loved Wilhemina. That you would go to Hell for her and beat Lucifer’s ass if it meant keeping her safe.

But this was the real world, where battered souls keep hurting each other. Anger burnt in you like a fire and filled your brain with smoke until you could no longer think. Only fight back.

“Maybe I did, too,” you snarled.

You saw her hesitate. You saw her snarky retort die on her lips as she took in your words. And for a moment it felt great. To know you could still affect her, still peel off her layers and press the pads of your fingers on bare skin. But you had only ever stroked before; never scratched.

The tap of her cane on the floor surprised you, for it sounded weaker than usual. It did not bounce off the walls but fell at her feet like a weak preemie and died.

“If you do not show up tomorrow at 8 then don’t bother coming back at all,” Wilhemina commanded. “Kineros will do just fine without you.”

She was staring at something above your left shoulder, and she was breathing too fast, as if she were trying very hard not to cry. When she felt your gaze on her face she briefly shifted her eyes to yours. She blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Mina,” you started, taking a step towards her. She raised one hand to stop you.

“That will be all,” she said, and wiped the tear away.

You let her turn on her heel, walk down the corridor and close the front door behind her. You stood as if petrified in the middle of Maggie’s living room, until something in you broke. You grabbed the book on the coffee table, hurled it at the wall, and screamed.

When Maggie came home that evening, she walked into your room with a moody, “What happened to Virginia Woolf?” She waved the battered book at you until you turned and she saw your face.

“Oh, babydoll, what’s wrong?”

She held you as you sobbed and wailed. She stroked your hair and whispered sweet-nothings to calm you down. It only made you cry harder, for it reminded you of all the times Wilhemina had comforted you. How she, too, had held you close and tried to find the right words to stop your tears. But Maggie was taller and stouter. Her body did not fit yours as Wilhemina’s did. When you eventually took a long breath in through your nose, her perfume smelt wrong. Too sweet, too floral.

You didn’t show up at 8 at Kineros the day after. It had been hard to care before, now it was simply impossible. You stayed in bed, wishing you could disappear into the sheets. You ignored Maggie’s encouragements and reproaches. You didn’t care.

Maggie brought you water and food, which you nibbled at mechanically. Time passed. You dozed often, but never slept.

Time kept on passing. You waited. You weren’t quite sure for what.

On the third day your phone rang. You reached out for it, and accepted the call without looking at the screen.

“Hello?” you mumbled, your voice raspy from disuse.

“Oh, Y/N?” said a familiar voice. “I thought you were dead.”

“Jeff.” You closed your eyes. “Look,” you started, “I know I haven’t – “

“What have you done to Venable?” Jeff cut you off.

Your eyes opened. “What do you mean?” you asked, your grip on your phone tightening.

“She hasn’t shown up for the past three days.” There was a loud noise at the other end of the line, then Jeff’s voice again. “Last week she was even more bitchy than usual, and now she’s gone. I don’t know where the file I need is, I missed all of my appointments and what’s worse, we’ve run out of coke. I can’t be a genius if I’m not high. Y/N?”

You barely heard him call your name. You could barely breathe from fear.

“Y/N, you still here?”

“Yeah, I –“ You swallowed around the lump in your throat.“Are you sure she’s not at Kineros?”

“I’m at Kineros, Y/N, and Venable isn’t,” Jeff answered, annoyed. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I won’t let your sapphic affairs ruin my company.”

“I – “You stood up on shaky legs. You had to move, you had to do something to keep the panic at bay. It wasn’t like Wilhemina to miss work. She’d rather die than shun her responsibilities. And three days in a row? Something must have happened to her. Your brain started making up all kinds of dreadful scenarios in which she had been hurt, hit by a car, abducted, in which she had locked herself up in her room without food or water, jumped from a bridge, bought a plane ticket to some faraway country where you would never find her.

“Y/N?” came Jeff’s voice, interrupting the mad race of your thoughts.

“Yes, I – “You forced yourself to take a deep breath. “Venable isn’t my responsibility,” you heard yourself say.

“Look, Y/N,” Jeff retorted, his voice growing angry. “You’re expendable, Venable is not. We need her. I don’t care what you do, but you better make sure she comes back tomorrow.” And with that he hung up.

For a few seconds you stood petrified with your phone still pressed against your ear. And then you jumped into action. You dressed, grabbed your handbag, flew down the stairs and in your haste nearly collided with the door of your car. You forced yourself to drive under the speed limit on your way to your house. Dying wouldn’t help.

Part of you realized that it felt good. The life pumping into your veins again. You felt like you had finally woken up.

You parked on the sidewalk in front of your house, too impatient to maneuver your car up the driveway. You ran to the door and knocked on it. You closed your eyes as you waited, panting. You sent a prayer to whomever you could think of – please let her be okay. You didn’t care how mad you were with her anymore. Just, let her be okay.

The door opened. You looked up.

Wilhemina was wearing an old, faded lilac sweater and a pair of black cotton shorts. Her hair was down. She had no make-up on. When her eyes met yours, her face didn’t harden or fall or change at all; she merely held your gaze, as if she were too tired or too numb to react.

“You’re here,” you breathed out in relief. You could have burst into tears of joy at the sight of her alive and safe.

“I only own one house,” she said dully.

“Right, of course, I know.” You scratched your head nervously. “Er, Jeff called. He’s, er, worried about you.”

Wilhemina watched you unblinkingly. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. It was all you could do to stop yourself from collapsing into her arms and kiss her senseless.

“He said you haven’t been to work for three days,” you tried.

“And why,” she said, “do you care?” There was no trace of animosity in her voice. In fact, there was nothing at all. No emotion. No life.

“He asked me to come check on you.”

Shit. You could have slapped yourself. Wilhemina’s face did harden, then, and she made as if to close the door, but before she had time to you cried out: “No, wait, that came out wrong. Please.” You held up a hand. Wilhemina waited. “He told me you hadn’t shown up in days, and I got worried. That’s why I came. Not because he asked me to.”

She watched you for a few seconds more, then lowered her gaze. Her left hand came up to fidget with the hem of her shorts. She looked so small in those clothes, so young and so fragile. Tears stung your eyes. You blinked them back.

“Can I come in?” you tried.

Her eyes met yours. Please, you begged her in your head. Please, let me in. Please, give us this chance to make it right. Your heart was beating so fast it was starting to hurt.

Eternity passed before she finally – oh what bliss! – stepped aside to let you in. You brushed past her, got a whiff of her perfume mixed with the faint smell of sweat. She ran a hand through her hair nervously, leaning slightly away from you to close the door.

The house was exactly as you had left it, and yet it looked so different. Quieter, somehow, and a bit battered, as if it had just come back from the battlefield to rest and mourn its departed friends. Your footsteps echoed loudly down the corridor as you walked to the living room. You took off your shoes and shoved them in a corner. To make a point. That you didn’t mean to leave until you had talked things through.

Wilhemina stopped in the doorway and waited.

“Um, thank you,” you mumbled. “For letting me in.” As if it weren’t your house, too. But that wasn’t the point.

Wilhemina nodded. Silence fell. You looked around the room nervously, at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” you finally blurted out. Wilhemina glared at you. “Right. Sorry, stupid question.” You swallowed hard. “Have you, um, have you eaten? I could make something.”

“Who am I to stop you?” Wilhemina answered flatly. “We both know how you need to keep yourself busy when you’re nervous.”

“It’s not about me,” you countered. “I was wondering when you last ate, that’s all.”

She held your gaze for a few more seconds, then proceeded to walk around the room to rearrange things – a candle on a shelf, the cushions on the couch, anything. You watched her, noticed the slight shaking of her hand, how tightly she was gripping her cane. Her hair fell over her eyes as she leaned forward. She briskly pushed it back.

When there was nothing left for her to tidy, she sat on the couch and opened a book.

You stared at her profile, your hands twitching at your sides. Wanting nothing more than to reach out. Sit by her side. Hold her close. Sink into her warmth.

You cleared your throat, and went into the kitchen.

It did help, having something to do with your hands. It relieved some of the ache in your chest. You were too preoccupied to be creative, so you settled on frozen Yangzhou fried rice and an endive salad. Substantial, but easy to eat. In case she was feeling as nauseous as you were.

You were cutting the endives when you heard Wilhemina call from the other room. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Alright,” you called back, trying to catch a glimpse of her through the door. “It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

You listened to the sound of running water as the rice thawed out. Thought of the right words to say. Part of you wanted to forgive her without further ado and pretend nothing had happened. But that would only buy you more time. Until the next insult, the next fight. Anger swelled in you like a wave as you remembered Pat’s perplexed face, lifting a hand to his cheek where Wilhemina had hit him. His own outburst, “What the hell is wrong with her?!”, Wilhemina’s cold, unreadable expression. The fear in her voice when you had slammed the door behind you.

You closed your eyes and sighed. The only way you could think of to make things right was to have Wilhemina truly, fully open up to you. Convince her that sharing her fears with you would be better than lashing out on other people. Make her realize, and trust, that there was nothing you wanted in the world more than a future with her.

You turned off the heat under the rice and sat at the table as you waited for Wilhemina. Half an hour had passed since she had disappeared in the bathroom. She loved to take long showers, but she hated being late even more. You had told her she had twenty minutes; any other day, she would have made sure to be ready in fifteen.

You waited ten more minutes before you started to get truly worried. You walked to the foot of the stairs and called out her name. There was no answer. You called out again, louder. Silence mocked you.

You hurried up the stairs, your heart in your throat, and knocked on the bathroom door. “Mina? Are you alright?”

And still there was no answer. And you were starting to grow angry again, at her silence, at her shunning you, when you heard it. Faint and muffled, but unmistakable. A sob.

You opened the door and rushed into the room.

Wilhemina was sitting on the floor with her back against the tub and her face hidden in her hands. Her wet hair was dripping on her lap, soaking the purple bathrobe she was wearing. She must have dropped her cane, for it lay on the floor under the sink a few feet from her.

You rushed up to her and dropped on your knees.

“Baby,” you called, reaching for one of her wrists, “what happened? Are you hurt?”

You tried to gently pry her hands away to get a look at her face, but she didn’t let you. If anything, she stiffened and buried her face deeper in her hands.

Her shoulders shook as she tried to stifle the low, painful sobs that wracked her frail body. You gently brushed her hair back as you waited for her to calm down, not daring to wrap your arms around her, but dying to offer her comfort.

Eventually her sobs turned into sniffles and soft hiccups, and you asked her again what had happened.

“I dropped my cane,” came her answer, weak and muffled. “As I was getting out of the tub.” A shudder ran through her.

“I’m sorry,” she went on. “This…” She lifted one of her hands, then, to gesture at her body, and you caught a glimpse of her face, red and coated with tears. “You deserve so much better than this. Please, go back to Maggie.”

You blinked at her words, at the pain and anguish they expressed. How had it come so far? How blind had you been? Not to realize how insecure she was, how convinced she was she could never be enough. To the point that she had agreed with herself to let you go.

You shook your head sadly. “But Maggie’s not the one I want.”

She let out a small, pitiful noise at that, and dissolved into tears again. This time, you didn’t think. You scooted over and gathered her into your arms. She sank into you, her hands coming down to clutch your shirt, her face pressing against your chest. There was no restraint anymore. No trying to stifle her sobs or hold back her tears. She let it all out, sobs shaking her body as she sank deeper and deeper into you, as if she were desperate to make one, to leave herself behind and become part of you.

Her sobs grew louder, and she seemed to have lost all control on her breathing, a gasp in and out and out again without inhaling. She was working herself up in quite a state, so you did the only thing you could think of to help her calm down. You tipped her head up. Captured her lips with yours.

Her mouth was wet and hot and salty, but you didn’t care. You wanted so much more of it. It tasted like home, and love, and safety. You had missed it so much, kissing her, feeling her. Your hands came up to cup her face, fingers pressing on her drenched cheeks as you pulled her closer, humming softy into the kiss.

It did quiet her. Her breath hitched, her shoulders tensed, but then she was kissing you back fervently, as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did. You didn’t know anymore. You were only aware of the sweet warmth of relief coursing through your veins and making your head spin. And of something else, something that ached and throbbed – want. It frightened you, this level of want. Your whole body was burning and tingling with it. It wasn’t so much lust as merely wanting to hold her. To feel her again. Love her freely and endlessly.

Again it hit you how stupid you had been to think you could ever live without her.

When you broke the kiss for air, she let out a whine and immediately chased after you. She was still crying, hiccups rippling into your mouth, drenched skin rubbing against yours. She circled her arms around your neck and bit down on your lower lip, hard, as if to mark you hers. A vampire bite, to contaminate your blood with hers and make sure you and she were the same.

After a while she broke the kiss and slumped into you. She was practically sitting on you now, arms tight around your neck, face buried in your chest, hip digging into your lap. You ran a hand through her hair as you rubbed circles on her back, humming a soft lullaby as a few last tremors shook her body.

It had started to rain outside. You suddenly became aware of the patter on the roof. You leaned your head on top of Wilhemina’s and closed your eyes.

“I didn’t mean it, you know,” came her voice, raspy but soft. “What I said the other day. I do love you.”

You hummed, dropped a kiss on her hair. “I know.” A pause. “I love you, too. Of course I love you.”

She let out a shaky breath, then sat up. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. You leaned in to kiss her burning eyelids. You kissed her forehead, a magic kiss, to soothe the throbbing in her head.

She met your gaze, bit her lip. You gave her a smile.

“Come on, get up,” you urged.

You waited for her in the living room as she cleaned her face, dried her hair and dressed. She put on the pajama set she always wore when she wasn’t feeling confident: baggy pants and a shirt that was too big for her. It didn’t cling to her body. It hid her body completely from view.

You managed to convince her to eat some of the rice. You ate in silence, watching her as she chewed and swallowed. She was sitting perfectly straight in her chair, head held high, eyes on her plate. When she was done, she delicately dabbed her mouth with her napkin, which she then folded on the table.

You waited. She stared at her empty plate for a moment, and then frowned.

“Look,” she finally said, “this is hard for me. I don’t know where to start.”

You nodded. “I know. That’s alright. Take your time.”

“I don’t usually… talk – “Her voice faltered. She glanced up at you, eyes dark and still rimmed red. You smiled in encouragement.

“Your friends,” she went on. Paused. As no other words came out, you got up from your seat, kneeled in front of her, and reached for one of her hands.

“I don’t hate them,” she said very quietly, staring down at her plate.

You couldn’t help but scoff. “You have a very peculiar way of showing it.”

Her lower lip quivered and her brow pushed up as if she were about to start crying again. You gave her hand a squeeze.

“Hey, none of that. Talk to me. What really bothers you about my friends?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed hard. You waited. When she opened her eyes again, they were shining with tears.

“I – “She shook her head, let out a sad laugh. “I don’t – “Her voice cracked. Her eyes met yours. “Please don’t – “

“It’s okay,” you whispered, bringing your free hand up to cup her cheek. ”I’m staying. I’m listening.”

A tear dropped from her eye, crashed between your thumb and index; and then she inhaled shakily and it all came out of her at once, words stumbling out like a panicked mob out of a room on fire.

“I’m afraid you’ll find someone better than me. All those kind, healthy people, I’m afraid you’ll truly see them one day and realize you could have so much better, so much more.” A breath out, as her face crumpled. “I don’t – I can’t – “A sob pushed out of her throat, and her breath hitched, and when she tried to inhale again she let out a noise as if she were choking. “I don’t – I don’t think I can ever be – be enough for –”

“Okay, you’re okay,” you cooed as her breathing grew frantic. “Mina, you’re okay.” She shook her head, her body slumping as fresh sobs tore their way out of her throat. “Hey,” you breathed, blinking back your own tears. You let go of her hand to cup her face.

Her cheeks were burning. You ran your thumbs over her cheekbones, catching her tears as they fell.

“Mina, I know you’re hurting,” you whispered. Your voice broke. You cleared your throat. “Baby, I want to be here for you.”

She nodded, hiccupping as she tried to wrestle her emotions back under control. One of her hands came up to wipe sloppily at her nose.

“Let’s move to the couch, ok?” you suggested. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

She didn’t let go of your hand on the very short way to the couch, her palm clammy against yours. She always did that, always had to be touching you: her ankle pressed against yours, her hand resting on your arm or on your waist, her shoulder brushing yours.

You sat down, and she hesitated before she snuggled up to you. She rested her head on your shoulder and reached for one of your hands in your lap.

There was a quiet moment, silence only broken by Wilhemina’s sniffles, and then you shook your head and teased, “What am I going to do with you?”

You felt her stiffen against you. “Because it’s such hard work and you never do a stroke of work,” she snapped.

“Mina,” you warned.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

You dropped a kiss on her head. “Okay.”

You wrapped one arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. Automatically your hand started playing with her hair.

“You know,” you went on, “it’d have been easier if you had just told me how you felt instead of taking it out on my friends.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do. From now on, you be honest with me. Whenever the bad thoughts come, whenever you feel like you could never be enough, you tell me. It doesn’t have to be with words, if that’s hard for you. We can decide on a code. Like this,” you poked her hip, and she jumped and let out a chuckle,” or this,” you leaned in, blew raspberries on her shoulder, “or this,” you stuck out your tongue and licked her cheek.

“You’re gross,” she laughed. She raised one hand to keep your face away from hers, but you dodged it and gently blew into her ear.

“Y/N.” She had meant to sound firm, but laughter rang in her voice.

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a threat?” you teased.

“I think the real question is, what am I supposed to do with you.”

“Um.” You pretended to think that through.”Love me.” A kiss on her shoulder. “I think love me is good.”

She looked up at you with a wistful look in her eyes. Her hand came up to touch your cheek. She smiled, soft and tender and fond, the smile she only ever gave to you. “Love you is good,” she whispered.

Her eyes flicked down to your mouth. You leaned in to kiss her, pouring tenderness into her mouth. When you pulled away, she let out a soft sigh as if she were about to fall asleep.

She rested her head on your shoulder again and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s alright,” you whispered back.

It still rained outside. You listened to the patter on the roof. Leaned your head on top of Wilhemina’s.

She fit so snuggly against you. She made you feel entirely safe, entirely you. You drank from her warmth the solace you had not been able to find in the peach-scented sheets or in Maggie’s reassurances and embrace.

After a while, you felt her nudge her nose on your shoulder. She drew a shaky breath, and asked, “So you’re not leaving?”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability and fear in her voice.

“Um, no,” you answered. “I’m giving you a second chance.” A kiss on her forehead. “How long I’ll stay is entirely up to you. And Mina, please believe me when I say I hope you’ll give me reasons to stay forever.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be content with forever,” she said.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you’re not.”

She shifted against you, moved her head to plant a lazy kiss on your neck, draped one arm loosely around you. Her hand slipped under your shirt and she dragged her nails on your skin, across your belly, down the curve of your waist.

And then you felt it. A poke, on your left hip. Like a question.

You grinned. “Just like that, my love.”

#ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable #wilhemina venable x reader #fics

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

Text

Vivaldi on Full Volume

Summary: Spencer's done enough pining, so he decides to write a letter for Aaron telling him exactly how he feels and gives it to him on the jet. He cannot be held responsible for what happens when they land.

Tags: Love Confessions, Fluff, Getting Together, Insecurity, My Typical CM Characterisation: Protective Aaron, Shy Spencer oops

Pairing: Hotch/Reid

Word Count: 5.2k

Read on Ao3

The Love Letter, Uninterrupted

Spencer’s hands are shaking as he gets up from his seat in the corner of the jet. They’re 40 minutes away from landing, deliberately planned well in advance: everyone’s well and truly settled, there isn’t long to wait for a private conversation and people haven’t woken up to prepare for landing yet. This is well thought out, he tells himself, trying to be convincing. There isn’t much that can go wrong.

Except there absolutely is. He’s run all the possible outcomes over and over in his head, at night, on the jet, spare moments in cases; he knows pretty much every possibility in and out. The worst case scenario, of course, is Aaron flips and hurts him or never talks to him again, but he knows logically that this is unlikely. No, the most likely situation is a polite rejection and a rift in their relationship, but it’s a risk he has to take. This limbo is too painful to exist in forever: he has to give himself a chance at happiness, and if that doesn’t happen he needs a chance to get over him.

Aaron is, predictably, sitting on his own at the other end of the jet, getting a head start on his paperwork. He’d shot Spencer a questioning look when he’d opted to sit on his own instead of opposite or next to him, but everyone knows that Spencer sometimes needs a moment to himself and after he’d responded with a reassuring smile, Aaron had smiled back and looked down.

“Reid,” he greets him as he looks up from the plethora of forms and files and reports littering the table in front of him, that questioning look returning and bleeding into his voice. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks after Spencer stands there frozen for a moment, shaking him out of his head and reminding him of his mission.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says softly, chuckling a little. “Here. Can you do me a favour and… read this for me? All the way to the end? Leave your questions for the end, and we can talk once we land.” He hands him the pretty stationery wrapped in a tissue paper envelope. The seal is a deep navy that had reminded Spencer of Aaron the moment he saw it in the shop, and he used it even though he knew it would tear the tissue and was utterly pointless. His hands still shake a little as he passes it over, but he doesn’t blame himself. Anyone would be nervous. This isn’t just a Spencer thing.

Once Aaron has the letter in his hands he turns it, looking it over, before meeting Spencer’s anxious gaze with his own steady one, now filled with growing curiosity. “Of course,” he says, indulgently. It’s one of Spencer’s favourite things about him, his stoicism in the face of a surprise. He doesn’t react in a way that might further upset somebody when they share something with him, and it makes him an excellent leader.

Spencer shoots him another nervous but meaningful smile, the kind he uses with his friends, with Henry, with people he cares about. People he’s been in love with for five years. Whatever.

He turns away and doesn’t look back.

★

Aaron struggles to contain his curiosity long enough to wait until Spencer is settled back in his seat on the other side of the plane. This must be why he’d chosen to sit somewhere other than next to him on this flight which had admittedly confused him a little, Spencer usually liked the familiarity and comfort of sitting next to him. He’d suspected he needed space but now it seems as though he was psyching himself up to hand this letter to him.

It’s not a resignation letter, Aaron is fairly certain of that, Spencer would never use such beautiful stationery and a seal in his favourite colour for something so straightforward and professional. He’d also given him one of those heart-warmingly open and trusting smiles before turning back, even if it was a little anxious. This is something personal.

Finally giving into his curiosity, he carefully opens the handmade envelope and pulls out the letter written on high-quality paper in Spencer’s delicate script.

Aaron,

I have debated sitting down and putting pen to paper to write this letter for a long time, much less handing it to you to read. This is perhaps the most forward thing I have ever done, and you will understand that it is also the bravest. I know I am crossing a line in writing this. I have never been one to break the rules, it's something we have in common, isn't it? We're both straight arrows. Perhaps I am hoping for too much. I am not the object of many's desire and maybe it is foolish to hope that someone as amazing as you could possibly be the exception, but if I don't get it out of my system I'm afraid this secret may bubble up and swallow me whole, its acidic aftertaste never quite leaving my mouth.

Immediately, Aaron’s heart starts beating out of his chest. Spencer rarely calls him Aaron -- the whole team operates on a largely last-name only basis -- but he’d be lying if those infrequent times when his first name leaves Spencer’s lips don’t make his heart flutter and insides warm. His face betrays him, he knows, but this might just be everything he’s been hoping to hear for the last four years and the team is asleep or preoccupied right now, thanks to Spencer’s clearly well-planned timing. He can afford to let his guard down a little.

His stomach clenches, though, when he sees Spencer’s insecurity bleeding into his writing, the ink revealing his painful self-doubt where his lips keep them tightly sealed away. He’s absolutely everything Aaron is craving, and if others can’t see that then it’s their own loss. He knows, though, that Spencer is too oblivious for his own good: the rest of the team don’t miss the looks he gets when they go out for drinks, but Spencer does. Spencer could get anyone he wants, even if he doesn’t realise it, and the honour of being the chosen person isn’t lost on him.

The truth of the matter is we live dangerous lives. This plane could crash, one of us could get shot, stabbed, blown up and not survive it next time. I need to take advantage of the fact that right now we are alive, and if there is any chance that I could live my life alongside yours then I must take it.

That makes Aaron let out a small, breathy laugh. He’d thought the same exact thing so many times, but Spencer was a lot braver than he was. Even if it didn’t have the potential for a sexual harrassment suit and the loss of his job, he’s not sure he’d have the bravery to tell Spencer just how in love with him he is. Not in a letter written with a fountain pen on pretty stationery, not to his face, not in front of others, not alone. Spencer has guts he’d lost a long time ago. A risky job had led to a tightly controlled personal life. He plays it safe. Spencer doesn’t.

Here is what I want:

I want to throw caution to the wind and live vicariously with you. Let's eat pancakes for dinner, drive down the interstate with the windows down and listen to Vivaldi on full volume, let's hold hands in the street in Virginia and say fuck it to anybody who has a problem with it. I want to get stuck in your head the way you're stuck in mine: when you're doing paperwork, I want to be in the back of your head. I want to excite you when you think of me naked, when you think of me spread out beneath you. Not a moment goes by where I don't think of you, Aaron. I wish I was on your mind in the same way.

Aaron’s face breaks out into a much wider smile. Oh, God, Spencer, he thinks, sending his eyes to the ceiling of the jet. You have no idea. Spencer doesn’t have to wish for this, to crave such a thing, it’s already happening. It feels like paperwork takes twice as long as it used to do before he fell in love with Spencer. It’s not even limited to his job: doing laundry, washing the dishes, cooking dinner, driving Jack to a soccer match, watching TV -- everything he does is consumed by thoughts of Spencer.

And Jesus Christ have mercy, the thought of Spencer spread out naked beneath him, what he looks like under those conservative button ups and cardigans, plays out behind his eyelids far too often. It’s made him feel like a pervert for years, fantasising about his much younger coworker and wondering what he likes in bed, how he could make him feel good. The idea that the same thoughts about him fill Spencer’s brain has him weak at the knees and hot under the collar. Of course he chose the jet to do this, he thinks amusedly.

Let's find new TV shows and movies together! There's nothing I'd like more than to cuddle up against your chest after a hard case and watch something that we both enjoy, that gives us a sense of comfort and familiarity. On the weekends, let's get dressed up and visit fancy restaurants only to have a cheap crepe at the end of the night before rushing back home to get undressed again. I want to be yours, and I want you to prove that to the world.

Aaron’s heart is melting slowly, dripping down the inside of his chest, he’s sure of it. He’s walked into his apartment after a hard case feeling empty and defeated, wishing Spencer was there to give him a hug and take away the pain far too many times. It only ever made him feel worse, the belief that that would never happen, it never could happen, only now he’s being proved wrong.

He already knows the first place he’ll take Spencer. Rossi had treated him to dinner there once after Haley passed away, and the ambience and seafood paella had wedged itself firmly into his mind. He’d fantasised many times about how Spencer’s eyes would look in the soft lighting, how he’d laugh in the relaxed setting, how he’d feel spoiled and loved when Aaron footed the bill, ignoring his protests. His heart feels full and bursting at the thought that soon these ideas might not be as far-fetched as he’d convinced himself for so long. He wishes he could see Spencer right now, but he knows he’s probably panicking quietly in the corner, and he was told to save his questions for the end. He’ll play on his terms, especially since it was Spencer who’d had the bravery to do this in the first place.

My biggest fear in writing this letter, though, may not be that you simply won't return my affections, but that you're still in love with Haley. I could never seek to replace her, but I know how deeply you loved her and how painful the wounds of your grief still are. I hope you know, Aaron, that if you do love me back, I'm not jealous of Haley. Not at all. I respect her and I respect your grief.

He can’t help the stab of pain in his gut at the mention of Haley. He’d loved her so deeply and he knew the team was acutely aware of that, Spencer probably more than anybody else if this letter was anything to go by. It strikes him then, just how kind Spencer is. He’s always known it on some level, of course, but the selfless compassion and love for the people around him is so overwhelming when he takes a moment to properly comprehend it. He could have glossed over his late wife in such a letter, but instead he chose to promise Aaron that he could share his heart with Haley. He knows Spencer will keep such a promise.

I've tried for years to hide the way I feel, Aaron. I went on dates to try and get over you, I dodged you in the break room and bullpen to avoid conversing with you which only made my infatuation worse each time, I feigned plans to get out of family nights because seeing you in a casual setting is so cuttingly painful. I can't hide it anymore, though. I'd rather transfer out of the BAU than continue in this limbo of awkward pining. If you hate me, that's okay, I can deal with that. But there isn't much I don't know, and not knowing this? It's agonising.

Aaron’s stomach clenches again. He wishes they hadn’t been pining all these years so Spencer didn’t have to exist in the parallel of his own realm of wistful agony. The thought of him avoiding him in the break room with the empty ache of unrequited love filling his insides, believing he could never have him when Aaron had been doing the same thing is almost laughable: they were both so oblivious.

Seeing Spencer dressed in jeans and a t-shirt last year when Morgan had invited them all to one of his renovation projects had tortured him for weeks afterwards, and now he was being told that he’d done the same to him; Spencer had gone home after those gatherings and thought about him casual and relaxed, unbuttoned polo shirts and all. It’s almost unbearable.

It’s reassuring, though, to know Spencer is as committed to this hypothetical as he is. Aaron would leave the BAU, too, if it came to it. If it meant he got to come home to Spencer and cuddle him on the sofa with history documentaries playing on the TV that Spencer was subconsciously memorising and would repeat the next time it was even slightly relevant in conversation. If it meant he could smile knowingly, and wrap an arm around his oblivious boyfriend’s waist, proving to the world that Spencer was his, just like he asked.

The only way to end this letter is with hope. Any answer you give me I will respect, but I am holding out hope that you will say all this back to me, that you will write your own love letter or profess your own love. That you have similar fantasies and daydreams about me, that you've thought of all these things, too. Thank you for reading this all the way through, Aaron. All that's left to say are five simple words:

I'm in love with you.

Spencer.

Aaron reads the letter over once more before folding it carefully and placing it back in the envelope. He’s completely floored, to be honest. The last thing he expected after a fairly straight-forward case in Seattle was a love confession from the man he’d been in love with since before Haley even passed away, but he’s going to take it and run with it, consequences be damned.

The plane starts to descend and the rest of the team begin rousing from their naps or putting their books down as chatter starts to rise. “Right,” Aaron says, grabbing everyone’s attention, though Spencer keeps himself carefully tucked away in the corner. “We should have the next few days off though we are on standby, okay? Everyone get some rest, make sure you come back refreshed and ready to tackle the next case. Don’t forget your reports though, have them emailed to me or on my desk by Monday.” He gives everyone a tight smile before turning away as conversations resumed.

He knows Spencer is tormenting himself by analysing every cadence in his voice, trying to gauge his reaction and he longs to walk over to him and kiss his anxieties away, but he can’t. Spencer specifically asked him to wait until they landed, and he can’t reveal anything to the team so early, certainly not without discussing it first. Instead, he sits back in his seat, abandoning the paperwork in front of him in favour of fighting the fond, excited smile off his face and imagining his first kiss with Spencer, the anticipation making it so much more intense now that it’s actually real.

Time, as it always does, passes, however slowly. They eventually land and Aaron schools his face as the rest of the team pour out onto the tarmac. “Right everyone, I’ll see you in a few days but keep your phones on in case we get called up,” he calls once they’re all off the plane. As everyone starts to peel off to the garage or the office, he turns to Spencer, still keeping his face straight for the sake of others around them. “How about we go to my place and talk.”

“That sounds good,” Spencer says, small smile taking the edge off the anxiety on his face.

★

The car ride back to Aaron’s apartment is quiet. “I don’t need to pick Jack up until the morning, so it’s just us tonight,” he explains, and Spencer is relieved to see his face soften significantly now they’re alone. He allows a dash of hope to flare in his chest before forcing himself to temper his expectations. You don’t know anything yet. He could be letting you down easy, this could be a pity thing. His fingers drum anxiously against his thigh as Aaron drives, eyes focused straight on the road, his face still unreadable. God, does he have to be so sexy when he drives?

Just like the time on the plane, though, the time in the car eventually passes, the tension thick between them by the time Aaron pulls into his apartment complex. He smiles gently at Spencer as he takes the key out of the ignition. “Shall we head up?” he asks, and Spencer’s floored at what he sees in his face: he’s wearing the expression he only pulls when he looks at Jack or the team as a whole on a relaxed evening out. To see it directed at him exclusively is a kind of intensity he isn’t prepared for and it bowls him over for a second.

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs breathily. “Sorry, yeah. Let’s go up.”

The apartment door closing behind them sounds way too loud to Spencer and, sick of the tension, he decides to try and clear the air. “Look, Aaron, Hotch, can you just tell me--”

He’s cut off by Aaron’s lips pressing firmly against his own, a hand coming to rest on his waist while another grips his face gently. It takes him a second to catch up before he’s kissing back, overwhelmed by the feeling of Aaron’s hands on his body, the very hands he’s admired for years, the hands he’s fantasised about, the hands that make him feel things. He reaches up to place his own on Aaron’s chest, feeling the broadness there, the strength in the body against his making him weak at the knees.

Aaron pulls away eventually. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he says, voice as breathless as Spencer feels.

“Me too,” he replies, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Maybe… maybe we should do it again.” He smiles shyly at Aaron before leaning in again, this time gasping a little as Aaron pushes him back against the door for leverage, tracing his hand up and down Spencer’s sides, making him tremble in his grip.

“God, Spencer, you’re so damn breathtaking,” Aaron says in between fervent kisses. “Literally.” They both giggle into each others’ mouths at that, relief filling both of them up to the brim as the knowledge that finally, finally, their pining is over sets in. This could be it, they could build something real.

“Aaron,” Spencer moans, trembling more as Aaron presses himself closer, right hand moving to grip the back of his neck gently, holding him firmly against his body. It overwhelms Spencer a bit, feeling completely surrounded by a man who was so unattainable for so long, by the person he’s been in love with for years.

It was completely involuntary, but it makes Aaron pull away, resting his forehead against Spencer’s as they both breathe deeply. “We should talk,” he says softly, pressing a final chaste kiss to Spencer’s lips before pulling back completely and taking his hand, leading him to the sofa.

“Could I have a blanket or something?” Spencer asks shyly, looking sheepish. “I’m a bit chilly.”

He sees realisation dawn on Aaron’s face along with a little bit of guilt. “Of course, Spencer,” he says. “Sorry this is so backwards. Do you want anything else? Something to eat or drink?”

“No, I’m fine,” Spencer says lightly. “Let’s talk and then we could order some dinner?”

“Sounds perfect,” he smiles, reaching over into a cupboard and bringing out a thick, fluffy blanket. He drapes it over Spencer and makes sure he’s completely comfortable before sitting down opposite him on the sofa himself. “So. Your letter.”

Spencer ducks his head, a light flush tinting his cheeks. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t know how else to say it?” he says, a question colouring his voice.

“No, I’m not criticising you,” Aaron rushes to clarify. “It’s possibly the most romantic, beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me, and the truth is, Spencer, I’m in love with you, too.”

Spencer’s head darts up, wide, earnest eyes meeting Aaron’s serious gaze. “You are?” he asks, voice filled with the surprised sort of wonderment that always betrays him whenever any sort of love or affection is revealed to him.

“I am,” Hotch chuckles fondly. “Very much so. I’ve loved you since before Haley passed, to be honest. I’ve done all the things you wrote in your letter, too; I want all the same things you do.”

Spencer’s blush darkens a bit at that, remembering… certain parts… of his letter that he hopes Aaron includes in that statement. “All of it?” His voice is a little squeaky, almost cracking as he clears his throat at the awkwardness.

“Yeah,” Aaron grins cheekily, loving that he can appreciate the blush on Spencer’s cheeks openly now. There’s no more room for hiding. “All of it.”

Spencer clears his throat again. “So, is this what you want? Me? A relationship?” he asks, still a little uncertain, not quite secure in the fact that Aaron won’t back off and say this was an experiment, he’s not really committed in the same way Spencer is.

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” Aaron says earnestly. “I want you. I want everything that comes with you, I want the highs and lows of a relationship, I want commitment, I want fun, I want seriousness. Spencer, will you be my boyfriend?”

Spencer’s brain short circuits for a second before he looks up with the widest smile, one usually reserved for Henry, the kind that reveals unadulterated, unconditional love. “Yes,” he whispers as he launches himself across the sofa and into Aaron’s arms, resting his head on his chest as he revels in the comfort of that exact moment. Finally, though, the extreme emotions of the evening catch up with him and he can’t quite fight them off anymore, maybe his brain is finally convinced that he doesn’t have to, that he’s safe here. Whatever the reason, he can’t help the tears that start to leak from his eyes, or the sobs that softly wrack his shoulders.

“Spencer,” Aaron whispers back, voice dripping in concern. “Spencer, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just… it happened,” he tries to explain through his snivelling. “What I hoped for… at the end of my letter. I wrote ‘I am holding out hope that you will say all this back to me, that you will write your own love letter or profess your own love. That you have similar fantasies and daydreams about me, that you've thought of all these things, too.’ And you did. You do.”

“Yeah,” Aaron says, struck with awe, too. “It’s pretty overwhelming for me, too.”

They lie like that for a while longer, finding comfort in one another’s arms, the weight of Spencer weighing Aaron down in a way that feels like security and Aaron’s arms wrapping around him in a way that gives him all the comfort and protection he craves.

Eventually, Spencer picks his head up and meets Aaron’s tired eyes. It had been a long case and an emotionally exhausting evening, and it was nearing midnight. “Shall I order some pizza?” he asks, playing with the tie Aaron was still wearing, slightly loosened but still sexy enough for Spencer to very much appreciate.

“Please,” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips. “I can’t believe I just get to do that now.”

Spencer hums in content. “Well, by all means, Mr Hotchner, do it again,” he says in a sultry tone.

Aaron groans. “You’d better not talk like that, Spencer, or we’ll never get our pizza.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles. “You get us some drinks and get the telly set up. I’ll be right back.”

Aaron closes the curtains, turns off the overhead light and turns on some lamps and lights some candles. Spencer raises an eyebrow at that and he puts his hands up defensively. “What? They’re cosy!” Spencer giggles at that, kissing him again.

“Can we put the history channel on?” Spencer asks while Aaron turns the TV on and fiddles with the volume.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, sweetheart.” Spencer ducks his head and blushes, insides warming and tingling at the affection. He’s still not entirely sure this isn’t a dream. Aaron, unfortunately, doesn’t miss it. “Aw, are you blushing? Do you like that, you like it when I call you sweetheart?” he teases, smiling warmly at Spencer, clearly relishing in the deep red colour of his face. “Or is it just any pet name? You like it when I call you pretty names, baby?”

Spencer nearly outright moans at that but manages to stifle it, not that it makes much of a difference in Aaron’s delighted expression. “Stop, Aaron,” he whines in a manner that conveys he would very much not like Aaron to stop.

“God, baby, you are too much to handle,” he groans, leaning across the sofa to pull Spencer away from his perch against the corner and into his chest. They lay quietly like that for a few minutes while the history channel plays a documentary about the Battle of Trafalger, breathing deep and slow as they appreciate this little slice of serenity while they wait for their dinner to arrive.

Once their pizza boxes are empty and they’ve finally had something to eat, Aaron turns to Spencer who’s meticulously wiping the pizza grease on his fingers away with a napkin, making him smile fondly. “Hey, Spence?” he asks, grabbing the attention of the younger man. “I wanted to talk to you about something you wrote in your letter.”

Spencer looks a little bit like a rabbit caught in the headlights, hesitant as to what Aaron is about to say. What if he was mortally offended by something, or he didn’t like something I wrote? Was I too forward?

“First of all, I’ll always love Haley, but in a distant, wistful kind of way that I can’t quite explain. She’s been gone for a while now and I’ve moved on,” he explains, and Spencer’s flush returns. It’s one thing to write the letter, hell, it’s one thing to hand it to Aaron, but it’s another thing entirely to discuss the ins and outs of his heart in such graphic detail. “I fell in love with you very slowly, but I’d realised it around four months before Haley died. I’ll grant you that in the following year I didn’t really have much time or emotional capacity to dwell on it but it was always there in the back of my mind, and it’s only intensified over the last two years.”

“Really?” The flush is still firmly rooted to Spencer’s face, but his eyes are wide now, staring into Aaron’s with an earnest sort of intensity. “I had no idea.”

“Well I had no idea that you wanted everything I did, either,” Aaron chuckles. “Instead we’ve just been existing in a state of perpetual mutual pining and if you hadn’t had the bravery to do what you did, maybe we never would have known.”

“It was rather brave,” Spencer smiles, joking a bit, but they both know it’s the truth. “I’ve been in love with you since the Tobias Hankel situation. After you understood me and knew how to find me, how you saved my life. It spiralled from there and no effort to try and get over you has succeeded.”

“Mmm you mentioned,” Aaron hums. “I must say, I’m a bit jealous of these other dates you speak of.”

“Well you shouldn’t be,” Spencer says. “They didn’t hold a candle to you, and the few that made it past the first couple of dates knew that all too well.”

Aaron chuckles lightly at that before they settle into a comfortable silence, the TV still playing the background. “Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asks, voice low and a bit unsure. “No funny business, I just… don’t want to let you go yet.”

“Me neither,” Spencer says honestly. “Of course I’ll stay.” He can hear his voice still sounds a little squeaky, still vulnerable in this new situation.

Aaron smiles back and turns the lights and TV off, blowing out the candles before offering a hand to Spencer as they make their way to his room.

“Oh,” Spencer says, stopping in his tracks as soon as they step into Aaron’s bedroom. “I left my go bag in the car.”

“I’m sure we can find a solution to that,” Aaron smirks, pushing the bedroom door closed with his left hand and crowding him up against it with his right, diving for his neck. Spencer moans high in his throat, pressing forward further into Aaron’s hold. “You can wear one of my shirts. God, I’ve fantasised about you in my clothes for years, baby.”

“So… so possessive,” Spencer teases through Aaron’s kisses.

“Yeah, you love it.”

“I do. I love you.”

That gets Aaron to pull away, looking deep into Spencer’s eyes, awe filling his gaze. “I love you, too. Fuck it feels so good to hear that, to finally say that.”

“I know.” Spencer’s blushing slightly, the forwardness of his remark embarrassing him slightly.

“Come on,” Aaron says, pressing one final kiss to Spencer’s lips. “Let’s get ready for bed. I’ll find you a top and I know I have a spare toothbrush around here somewhere…”

Spencer smiles, sitting on the bed as he watches Aaron bustle around the room, finding the stuff he needs for the night. This could be it, he thinks. This could be my life now. Domesticity had never much appealed to Spencer, but sitting there now as Aaron chatters away about the visit to the shopping centre that has resulted in buying the top he tosses Spencer’s way, he knows he was right to change his mind. He was right to crave this, to crave pancakes for dinner and new TV shows and lazy mornings.

And when they’re finally cuddled up in bed, warm under the covers and safe in one another’s arms, he knows he was right to share that craving with Aaron.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #hotchreid #hotch x reid

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gukyi · 5 years ago

Text

for you, anything | ksj

summary: in the popular online multiplayer game, kingdom, you are the top-ranked knight with money, fame, and power. in real life, you’re a graphic design geek who’s got a very unsubtle crush on her gorgeous coworker, kim seokjin. but when you’re suddenly dethroned from the first place spot in your game, you and your kingdom character embark on a journey to reclaim your title, and learn on the way that things are not always as they seem.

{friends to lovers!au, enemies to lovers!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy, fantasy word count: 21k warnings: alcohol mention, brief and non-graphic descriptions of violence, this is basically two fics in one so you get double the fun and double the word count!! a/n: once again, a massive, massive thank you to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me!! you can find her on twitter as well under @btspresso_!! she’s the genius behind this enemies to lovers and friends to lovers seokjin fic wrapped up into a nice package just in time for the holidays!! you ever seen a fic with e2l and f2l together? that’s right, i didn’t think so. enjoy!!!

check out the post-script drabble here!

♚ HERE ♚

“Oh, shit!”

From twelve feet away comes the sound of these three things in this order: fingers furiously mashing keyboard keys, wheels of an office chair swiveling angrily on the linoleum floor, and a war cry. All of which could either belong to a video game world championships in a big-city stadium or your simple, office of two-floors in a more-than-one-hundred-stories skyscraper based in graphic design and media for small start-up companies.

“I can’t tell if Photoshop crashed again or if you’re playing that weird online multiplayer game again,” Yoongi grumbles from across the way, where he’s gnawing on a Clif bar in one hand as he mindlessly taps his mouse with the other.

“Please,” Jimin says, carelessly waving a hand. “Don’t act like I haven’t caught you watching My Hero Academia multiple times this year while we were supposed to be doing work, you absolute piece of toast. But if you must know, I was in fact playing Kingdom.”

“I’m going to tell Namjoon,” Yoongi says with zero emphasis, because everybody knows that Namjoon’s got dirt on everybody in the office anyway (including Yoongi) and that if you try to expose somebody else to him, he’ll expose you back. It’s colleague culture.

“And what’s Namjoon gonna do? He already knows you carry a flash drive of illegally-downloaded animes with you wherever you go,” Jimin retorts casually. He’s not wrong, and you can confirm that Yoongi indeed carts around a USB drive in the shape of a pineapple that has 64GB of anime.

“What do I know?”

Namjoon comes trotting into view from the corridor that leads to the gender-neutral bathrooms with glasses hanging from the collar of his sweater vest, a clipboard with nothing attached to it in his right hand, and a steaming cup of jasmine tea (he hates coffee and declares this publicly at least three times a day) in his left.

“You know that Yoongi—”

“Has been doing his work the whole time you were in the bathroom so you don’t need to worry about him,” Yoongi interrupts quickly.

Namjoon shoots both Jimin and Yoongi a suspicious glare, but moves on. He’s got enough blackmail on the both of them to bury them into the next calendar year, but he’s wise, and he only uses it when absolutely necessary. “Just doing checkups on you guys before Boss Man calls me back into his office and gives me a pile of over one hundred hours of work I’m supposed to do in a forty-hour work week.” It’s been obvious from the moment you were hired that Namjoon does the most work out of anybody in this office, including your boss, and gets very, very little from it.

“You don’t even have any paper attached to your clipboard,” Taehyung points out rather unhelpfully, from where he’s been drawing hearts on the cheeks of the Surprised Pikachu meme he’s taped up on the wall his desk is pushed up against.

Namjoon looks down at his clipboard like it just spit mad fire at him, furrows his brows, and lets out a sigh equivalent to three years worth of pent-up aggression. “Shit.”

Jimin cackles from his computer.

“Whatever, I’m still going to do checkups.” Namjoon takes the pen from behind his ear and writes himself a note, presumably to get paper for his clipboard later. “Jimin, you’re still working on that website layout for the art critic and photographer. Yoongi’s on coding for that search engine that we all know is never taking off but is still paying us. Taehyung’s on marketing because he’s got the most charming voice and Hoseok and Jungkook are on media production for the indie movie company. Y/N and Seokjin, you guys are on clientele and coding. Everybody good before I go get more paper?”

“Yes, Tiny but Large Boss Man,” Jimin says, and it’s enough of a confirmation to send Namjoon scurrying down the corridor again in search of paper as everyone else returns to their prior business.

“Y/N?”

You turn around from the font website you’ve been browsing for about half an hour to find Seokjin standing behind you, an earpiece in his ear and that charming smile on his face. It’s the same smile he gave you on your first day on the job when he was introducing himself, same smile he gives when he meets clients in person, same smile he gives Namjoon whenever the man is about to have a breakdown. It’s a friendly, personable-but-universal kind of smile. The kind models need. The kind that Seokjin has mastered.

“Hey, Seokjin,” you say, only just then coming to realize that Seokjin is much closer to you than his voice originally implied. You’ve rotated 180 degrees in your office chair and he is hardly a foot away from where your feet are. It’s a lot. Seokjin is always a lot. In the best sort of way. “Is anything the matter?”

“No, just wanted to check in and see how the project was going for that one guy that wanted a nice advertisement to put on Angie’s List,” Seokjin says, leaning down to look at what you’ve been doing.

“Oh, well I’ve been browsing this font website for ages and I still can’t find a nice one for the sub-heading. All of these are too flashy or difficult to read,” you say, beginning to scroll as you and Seokjin both look for one that you like.

“Hmm, I see what you mean,” his voice sounds like honey and if you had any less dignity you’d let the chills send shivers down your spine. Luckily, you know how to maintain your composure in an office setting. And you also know that Yoongi and Jungkook would never let you hear the end of it, ever. “Oh, how about that one?”

“This one? Rose Quartz?” You ask, pointing to it.

“Yeah,” Seokjin says. “It has a nice flair that matches with the font for the business name, but it’s still easy to read. It would probably look really nice with a crisp shadow behind it, don’t you think?”

“Maybe you’re onto something,” you say, clicking to read the fair use and copyright.

“Couldn’t have done it without all the hard work you’ve put into this,” Seokjin says, standing up and shooting you another one of his famous smiles. “You’re the best partner anybody in this tiny media production and design company could ask for.”

He leaves without bidding you farewell, but it’s enough to have you staring blankly at your computer, contemplating existence itself. Sometimes, a little part of you wonders if Seokjin only treats you like this and none of your other coworkers, but then you immediately remember that Seokjin is naturally charming and that he probably speaks to newborn babies in the same way.

Yoongi wheels over to your desk from where his is, smirk lacing his features as he chews on another, different-colored Clif bar.

“Ever heard of a personal bubble?” You ask snarkily, because you already know why he’s over here, and so does he.

“Why aren’t you asking the same question to Seokjin, hmm?” Yoongi taunts. He’s know about your dumb crush on your coworker (of all people, your coworker! A fellow employee!) for months now. He isn’t being any more helpful whatsoever.

“Go watch your pirated anime,” you grunt out, too overwhelmed with the way Seokjin smiles at you to really give Yoongi your full attention. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Sure, but I’m not Seokjin,” Yoongi says. Then he wheels away and you’re left staring at the Rose Quartz font, whose sample text reads: This was meant to be.

At least Namjoon doesn’t know.

It’s midnight on a Tuesday, and you’re just about to turn off the lamp on your bedside table and get some well deserved weekday-night shut eye when your phone begins to blare, a disgustingly ugly picture of Jungkook’s face appearing on the screen.

You stare at your phone like it’s personally offending you (which, if Jungkook’s face is anything to go by, it definitely is) before you turn off your ringer and close your eyes. Jungkook can wait. Very seldom is he at the top of your list of priorities.

Barely five seconds after you’ve put your head on your pillow, your phone begins to vibrate, this time even angrier than the last. Aggravated and a little concerned—because Jungkook never, ever calls twice—you pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! Something crazy just happened!”

“I hope so, otherwise you wouldn’t be calling me at midnight on a work night,” you grumble into the phone, monotonous voice a stark contrast to Jungkook’s easily excitable one.

“Have you been on Kingdom recently?!” Jungkook asks, and you practically see his eyes bulging out of his head in front of you. One of your youngest coworkers, it’s moments like these that remind you why he bears a striking resemblance to a university student—up late playing video games even on a work night—despite having a couple years in the workforce under his belt. He keeps telling you that he wants to go back to school and get a Masters in something, but he isn’t sure what yet.

“No,” you tell him like it’s obvious, because it is. You typically begin to wind down your night around ten, which means that anything that’s happened on Kingdom in the past two hours you are thoroughly unaware of. “Can’t this wait? Kingdom’s fun and all, but I really do need to sleep.”

“But Y/N,” Jungkook says with a whine, insisting that you stay on the line, “someone beat you! You’re rank two, now.”

If Jungkook’s loud voice and jumpy attitude didn’t wake you before, you’re certainly wide awake now.

“What?” You ask, shocked. “Just now?”

“Yeah, like fifteen minutes ago! I don’t know what happened,” Jungkook says sadly, lost. “I was dueling with another knight when the horns and banners appeared on the screen and said there was a new top player. You’ve been dethroned!” He cries out like it’s him who’s lost their place.

You’re fumbling out of bed, making a beeline for your desktop computer across your bedroom. Normally, you’d be ashamed about how high-school you’re behaving around a video game, but you’ve invested an embarrassing amount of time and energy into Kingdom, and you’ll be damned if you think someone else can outdo you.

As you’re logging onto the game, Jungkook continues to wail into the phone. “I don’t even know who this person is, I feel like I’ve never seen them before! I mean, they must be really good since they practically appeared out of nowhere, but still! I’m a decent player so we must have crossed paths. Maybe I just don’t remember…”

Sure enough, the moment you open your screen the horns blare and the banners appear, congratulating a different player on achieving the top rank. You watch helplessly as the celebration fades on your computer before the leaderboard appears in the top left corner, your name a sad second place.

“Who’s JK0901?” You shout into the phone, earning an exasperated sigh from Jungkook on the other end. You scowl at the name that’s knocked you off your pedestal, before narrowing your eyes to look at it more closely. “JK? Is that you, Jungkook? Are you just calling me to make fun of me for beating me? Don’t disrespect your elders, Jungkook.”

Jungkook gasps like he’s been accused of murder. For people that take Kingdom as seriously as you and Jungkook, it may as well be. “No! What the heck, Y/N, you know that my username is KookieMonster97, for God’s sake. Accusing me of being the best, how could you?”

“You should have just taken the compliment,” you frown into the phone, “Now all the girls are gonna know you aren’t, in fact, the number one Kingdom player.”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Jungkook mutters. “But it’s not me, I swear. You would have received a very different phone call from me if it was. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have even told you and then ruined your day in the office tomorrow. So it’s not me.”

“I can’t tell if I’d be more or less angry if it was you,” you admit.

“Why, because I’d finally have something to hold over your head other than my unwavering youth?” Jungkook taunts. Definitely still a university student at heart.

“No, because it means I’d have to hear the entire office praise you for a day, and I’d rather permanently pop my eardrums,” you tell him informatively. Jungkook has enough of a head. You actively try to not do anything to enlarge it unless he wholeheartedly deserves it.

“I love our coworker chats, you know,” Jungkook says. “Whoever this person is though, I bet they’re receiving bucketloads of praise for knocking you off the top spot. You’ve had it for like, three months now, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you tell him through gritted teeth. “I’ve put my blood, sweat, and tears into this game and look how it’s repaying me,” you grumble, staring down the Kingdom home screen.

“JK0901 probably did a ritual sacrifice to beat you,” Jungkook supplies unhelpfully.

You sigh. Whoever they are, they proved that they are just as good at Kingdom as you are, a veteran player with an embarrassing several years of experience under your belt. In fact, they proved that they’re better than you.

♚ THERE ♚

It’s cloudy today, which means that more of the market stalls are out on the main street. You pass by them on your way to the castle, vendors calling out to you with promises of apples, jewelry, and perfumes.

You’ve got money to burn and your responsibilities can wait a couple of minutes, so you indulge one of the stalls and purchase a couple of apples. One should give you a bit of energy now, and the rest can be roasted later for a better meal.

“Miss Y/N, off to the palace?” The vendor asks. From how much you frequent this part of the kingdom, every artisan, farmer, and merchant alike knows your name. That, and the fact that you’ve amassed quite a group of followers from your daily knightly escapades.

“Of course,” you respond happily, paying the merchant with a couple of silver coins and then some, just as a thanks. The extra money helps the farmers raise the quality of their crops and allows them to earn more for their efforts. It also boosts your standing amongst the townsfolk. “His Majesty requested my presence for further instructions on fortification, most likely. But I’m just honored to be recognized.”

“As you should!” The man responds dutifully. “You are our best knight, after all.”

“Please, you flatter me. When the work day is done, go home and feed your children well, alright?” You ask, giving a firm nod to the merchant before you’re on your way. As you stroll down the stone-paved path, other vendors call out to you, hoping that you, too, will indulge in their finest clothes and trinkets on your way to the castle.

Maybe another day.

You take a hearty bite of the apple as you head towards the palace, a satisfying crunch ringing through your ears as the townsfolk nod and bow to you. It’s easy to figure out that you’re the top-ranked knight in the kingdom, with badges of honor pinned to your torso, ink black armor clinging tightly to your body, and red sashes tied around the black ones on your wrist, signifying approval from the highest ranking military official in the kingdom: the king himself.

The guards at the palace gates step aside as you nod to each other, bowing courteously. You repeat this process several more times as you slowly proceed towards the throne room, where the King (and maybe the Queen) are likely to be waiting for you. They had increased their security at every door frame after an attempted assassination several months ago, which you (with the help of other high-ranking knights and castle officials) discovered was a plot orchestrated by Their Majesty’s second-most-trusted advisor.

Finally, you reach the golden arches that signify that you’ve arrived at the most expensive room in the entire palace (save for Her Majesty’s bathroom, which, though you have never been inside, is rumored to have a golden bathtub and sacred water from the River Blancheur, over two thousand miles away. But you cannot confirm nor deny.), threatening red doors slowly creaking open as the King and Queen come into view.

They’re sitting on their thrones, as per usual, but they aren’t the only ones in the room like they normally are. Instead, there’s another knight, as equally decked out as you, standing before them, arms crossed behind their back.

“We hope that you can wear these honors proudly and do your duties with pride,” the King says regally, deep, thick voice echoing throughout the room.

“I will stop at nothing to ensure this kingdom’s greatness,” the knight says back, just as formal. The knight gives a long bow, red sashes around their wrist dangling towards the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were being replaced. But of course, that’s not the case.

“Oh, Y/N,” the Queen says happily, noticing your waiting right in front of the closed doors to the throne room. “Prudent, as always.”

“I aspire to please,” you say with a bow. The King gives you a warm smile, one you’re willing to bet that this other knight isn’t often on the receiving end of.

“Your timing is impeccable,” the King says, ushering for you to come forward. You do so, taking calculated steps along the red carpet, woven nearly two centuries ago and maintained ever since. “We were just congratulating Sir JK on his recent accomplishments in the Black Forest.”

“Of course,” you say with a nod, refusing to turn to your left so you can stare down this Sir JK for yourself. “The military made groundbreaking strides for our kingdom there.”

“You are the first person to know this, other than him, of course, but we’ve decided to appoint him as the Head of the Royal Knights of the Kingdom of Kalar,” the King says proudly.

It takes everything in your willpower not to let your mouth drop open. You blink rapidly, making sure that you aren’t in a daze nor still asleep. Sure enough, you’re wide awake and your ears and eyes seem to be working perfectly. The knight next to you is taking over the highest position a knight can hold in your kingdom, one that even you haven’t been given.

You’ve been replaced.

“What an incredible honor,” you say, body stiff. You can practically feel the ego of the knight next to you radiating off of him. It makes your nerves twitch.

“I think so as well,” the King says proudly. He has, luckily, not picked up on your sudden mood change. “So, I’ve called you here to appoint you as his second-in-command.”

You bow graciously at his words, ensuring that, despite your bitter attitude, you are still thankful for this opportunity. Mostly. You are mostly thankful for this opportunity.

“I’m honored and grateful, Your Majesties,” you say, head facing the carpet. “I would rather die than let down my kingdom.”

“You two are to work together closely,” the Queen advises, words that make your ears bleed. Oh, wonderful, now you have to work hand-in-hand with the person that stole your favor with the royal household right from underneath your feet? You can think of nothing more enjoyable. “Your cooperation alone will ensure the utmost safety and security of this kingdom.”

“We shall do better than our best,” the knight beside you says. His words make your eyes roll back into your head, but you’ve been a bigger brownnoser in your past. You can forgive that, even if the man next to you radiates an energy you’d rather not surround yourself with.

“I’m pleased to hear it. Your training and work together begins now, so do not hesitate to get to know each other.”

You and him take one baited breath each before turning to each other. You both bow out of obligatory respect, which satisfies the King and Queen well enough. And as you come up, you catch a glimpse of each other’s eyes. His are dark, rounded pupils. They’re hiding something.

You’re determined to figure out what it is.

“Call me J,” the knight says the moment you’ve stepped foot outside of the palace. The setting sun shines dimly on the main road, and many of the vendors are beginning to pack up their belongings in order to head home.

“Okay, J,” you say suspiciously. Everything about him unsettles you slightly. Perhaps it’s the fact that behind the armor and the mask and the badges, he’s extremely good-looking. Or maybe it’s the fact that he swiped the top-ranking knight position right from your fingertips. It must be that. “It’s baffling to me that we haven’t met yet. If you’ve been in such high favor with the King and Queen, then I must have seen you somewhere.” You wonder if he can hear the bitterness lacing your features. You sure hope that he can.

“I guess our paths just never crossed,” J says, taking a bite out of a peach he just purchased from a farmer’s daughter, who was watching over the stall as her father haggled with another vendor. You watched as he winked to the girl as she gave him two peaches for the price of one. “I’m more on the ground than you are, am I not? You spend much of your time strategizing in the castle.”

“You don’t know what I do,” you huff out. He finishes the peach and wraps up the pip in a piece of cloth from his pocket before tucking it away. There is no place to dispose of it on the main street anyway.

“Don’t I?” J says with a sly grin, one that makes you want to kick him in the shin and push him into the grass. “Everyone knows what you do, Y/N. You were the King and Queen’s favorite.”

The way he uses the past tense doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“But, as it seems, being on the battlefield outweighs directing it from above,” J says. He keeps his eyes off of you and his head held high while your gaze focuses in on him out of pure fury, just another way to hold his newfound superiority over your head. Five minutes next to him and he already seems to know how to push every single one of your buttons.

“So it seems,” you say bitterly.

“You and I really must get along, Y/N,” J says casually as you begin to stray from the hustle of the main street. Neither of you seem to have a particularly clear destination in mind, only a path that must be taken for the sake of the greater good. It’s only the prospect that if you do well enough, you’ll impress the King and Queen and regain your favor with them that’s keeping you from socking J in the face and dashing off, taking his second peach with you. “We’ll be spending lots of time together.”

“Doesn’t that sound like the bee’s knees,” you mutter to yourself. For the greater good.

“Should it not?” J asks innocently. It makes you want to wipe that smirk right off of his face, that knowing tone in his voice. “I certainly don’t have a problem with you, Y/N. Do you happen to have one with me?”

He asks it because he knows that whatever you say will incriminate you. He knows that if you say no, you’re a goddamn liar, and that if you say yes, you’re weak. Weak because you’re admitting that you can’t handle spending time with him even though you have to. Weak because you’re showing him that he has power over you.

“No, of course not,” you say, plastering the fakest smile on your face. Two can play at this game. “In fact, would it be alright if I had that other peach? I’m absolutely starving.” You can be civil. If he can, at least.

“Sure thing,” J says, unwrapping the peach from the woven napkin the farmer’s daughter gave him.

You reach out to take it from him, but in the blink of an eye his hand dangles it over your head, too far out of reach for you to grab without losing all of your dignity in the process.

“What do we say, Y/N?” He asks sweetly, like a parent disciplining their child. God, everything he does absolutely aggravates you.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes. Perhaps you aren’t on the front lines as often as he is, but you sure know how to fight. Maybe now is a good time to remind him that you received the same training he did.

“Please?” You ask, just as saccharine.

“As you request, Y/N,” J says with a bow, finally handing it over.

If this is what the next several months have in store for you, you wonder if maybe sinking down to a lower ranking might be worth it after all, especially if it means you’ll never have to see him and his bouncy hair and dark eyes again.

You take a bite into the peach. It’s sour.

Just your luck.

♚ HERE ♚

When you walk into work the next day, a hush falls over the room.

It’s not even as if the entire office has been quiet so far this workday, not as if the clock struck nine o’clock and everyone decided to start a competition to see who could shut up for the longest amount of time.

(For the record, if anyone were to win that competition, it would be Yoongi, who usually only speaks either 1) when spoken to or 2) to let someone know when they’re being dumb via insult. The first person to lose would be Namjoon, because his job description is to boss people around. And he’s awfully good at it.)

The elevator door dinged on the twenty-third floor and you could hear Hoseok’s loud gasps and Jungkook’s cackled laugh even through the glass door that separates your office from the rest of the companies that take up residence in this particular city skyscraper. And then, as your loafers tapped on the hard linoleum floor and the glass door creaked open, the entire office fell silent.

Quickly, you wonder if you’ve forgotten someone's birthday or if anybody’s due for a celebration of some sort. But nobody’s come to mind and the lights aren’t off, which means that this isn’t the kind of sudden silence that precedes a surprise party.

This is the kind of sudden silence that makes everybody go, “Oh shit.”

It feels like you’re walking on eggshells as you make your way over to your desk. You’re a couple minutes late due to oversleeping (for reasons that start with J and end with -ungkook) so everybody’s already here, and the office should be as boisterous and rowdy as always. And yet, something’s different.

You’re left entirely in the dark in concern with what the reasoning is, so you just decide that you’d rather not be the one to break the tense quiet that’s befallen your office and settle down, logging into your work desktop and checking today’s assignments on Slack.

Five minutes pass and you can’t help but think that, of the many, many days you’ve spent in this office with these people, this has got to be the most awkward by an overwhelmingly long shot. Not even the time Namjoon showed up with his hair dyed purple and traces of a sharpie drawing with a certain phallic design on his cheek was more awkward than this.

It seems that even Namjoon’s picked up on the vibe of your workspace today, walking in and out without a word. He wheels in a portable whiteboard from one of your meeting rooms and writes down everybody’s assignments on the board in his handwriting, which makes his O’s look like D’s.

Ten minutes in and this is the quietest your office has ever been in the history of mankind, probably. You’re almost convinced that genuinely no one will speak to each other until five o’clock, when Jimin’s end-of-work alarm goes off and you all pack up and go home, and that today’s workday is an exercise in meditation and peace, two things that are seldom available in your usual office environment.

And then, out of nowhere,

“Oh my God, I can’t take it anymore,” Hoseok says loudly, letting out a breath you didn’t even realize he had been holding. It’s highly unlikely that Hoseok spent the past ten minutes holding his breath because he wasn’t allowed to talk under your office’s societal norm of silence, but you honestly can’t put it past him. Speaking is essentially the equivalent of breathing to him. “I’ve been wanting to bother Jimin for not responding to my email from yesterday for the past five minutes. I don’t even know why we’re doing this, it’s clear that Y/N doesn’t care at all about what happened.”

“What don’t I care about?” You blurt out, equally as curious as everyone else also seems to release their baited breaths.

Hoseok and Jimin immediately begin to argue about appropriate email-response time between coworkers and Yoongi rolls a couple of feet over from his own desk to enlighten you.

“Jungkook told everyone that you had been docked from your top rank in Kingdom, and the whole office seems to have taken it very seriously,” Yoongi mutters into your ear, making you scrunch up your nose in exasperation. Is he kidding?

“That’s why everyone was so quiet? Because they didn’t want to bring it up?”

“I guess so, but I was just quiet because it was nice to have the whole office shut up for a few minutes in the morning,” Yoongi says with a shrug before wheeling back to his own desk, where an anime you vaguely recognize as Haikyuu!! is playing on his monitor.

Immediately, you whip around to meet eyes with Jungkook, who looks like he’s been expecting your furious glare all morning. He smiles guiltily and can offer you literally nothing other than a mouthed sorry because you two are in a workplace environment where shouting is, generally, socially unacceptable.

Despite your standing on the game, it’s easy to argue and even easier to prove that your coworkers care much more about Kingdom than you do. The loading screen of the castle in Monet’s art style is Hoseok’s desktop background. Jungkook has a little sword decoration next to his computer, and a couple of his pens are official Kingdom merch that you’re pretty sure he purchased from Hot Topic. Taehyung and Jimin play during their lunch break, the only time in the workday where shouting is socially acceptable, and the both of them came to last year’s Halloween party dressed as knights. Even Namjoon’s in on the game, though he rarely has time to play and usually has no idea what everyone else is referencing when they talk about Kingdom.

Contrastingly, you enjoy the game but very seldom do you actually broadcast that affection in public. You need to have at least some semblance of personal dignity in this absolute free-for-all of a place of employment.

So really, it’s no wonder that all of your coworkers acted like it was the end of the world when you got knocked from first place. To them, that would be like having a winning lottery ticket only to drop it onto train tracks and watch as the public transportation system has a field day with it.

“We’re really sorry, Y/N,” Taehyung says as he comes over and hands you a Tootsie Roll from the stash he keeps in one of his desk drawers for bad days. Apparently, this is a bad day. “Jungkook told us and we didn’t want to put salt in the wound.”

Even if their methodology was weird and slightly unsettling, the sentiment was there. “Thanks guys,” you tell Taehyung with a smile, “but I think you guys took it harder than I did.”

“Of course we did!” Jungkook says with a cry. He is objectively the most torn up out of the lot of you. “We had the top player in Kingdom in our very office, and now what! You were famous, Y/N! Whoever that bozo is who took your place is gonna feel the wrath of Jeon Jungkook and company.”

“Who’s feeling the wrath of Jeon Jungkook and company?” Seokjin asks as he strolls into the office, even later than you. To be fair, it’s looking like he’s got a box of a dozen Dunkin’ Donuts, which is enough for anyone to forgive him, even your hard headed boss. “Is it Jimin? Did he steal your Post-Its again? I saw he had a new pack.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen for barely a second before they narrow in on Jimin, who is already skirting away to find Namjoon so he can use him as a human shield. Jimin has quite the history of taking Jungkook’s office supplies only for a second and then failing to return it.

“No, but I’m gonna deal with him later,” Jungkook says, fishing through his office supplies on the hunt for his Post-it notes, which may or may not be currently in his possession. “We were just talking about how Y/N got knocked from the top spot in Kingdom by some asshat none of us have ever heard of, and now he’s going to feel the wrath. Of us. Specifically me, but also us.”

“What wrath?” Taehyung jokes. “You’re fresh out of college. You’re practically as intimidating as a baby bunny.”

Jungkook growls just for emphasis, and it only proves Taehyung’s point more. He’s always had a baby face.

“Well, I brought doughnuts to cheer everyone up,” Seokjin says, opening the box to reveal a dozen doughnuts of varying kinds that is likely to be finished within the next thirty seconds.

“Oh my God, Kim Seokjin, I love you,” Hoseok says before immediately taking one and a half and bouncing off.

“Save the pink-frosted one for me, will you? It’s my favorite,” Seokjin requests. He’s not even monitoring the box, too busy putting all his stuff away and getting settled at his desk. He’s basically asking to be robbed.

“Aw, I wanted that one,” you joke sadly, already going for the chocolate-frosted one with rainbow sprinkles. The box is nearly three-fourths empty. Even Namjoon’s materialized out of nowhere to take the glazed one to eat while he completes the next fifty-four things on his to-do list.

“Then let’s split it,” Seokjin says without missing a beat. Your heart does the exact opposite.

“Jimin, you wanna split one with me?” Taehyung asks.

“Ew, gross, no way, I want a whole one to myself,” Jimin immediately rejects.

“I’ll go and grab it,” Seokjin says, standing up to nab the doughnut for some evil being (by the name of Jimin) takes it for himself. He plucks it from the box and takes two napkins, too, walking over to your desk as he splits the doughnut in half.

“For you,” he says casually, like it isn’t making your heart beat out of your chest.

“Thank you, kind sir,” you say jokingly, taking the doughnut and placing it on the napkin he hands to you.

“Tell me about this Kingdom thing? You got knocked from first place?” Seokjin asks, making conversation as he lingers by your desk. It’s obvious that nobody’s going to be getting any work done.

“Yeah, but it’s really nothing special. Everyone was making a huge deal out of it, which you should be very glad you missed, because the first ten minutes of this workday were absolutely silent and it was awful in every way that something can be awful,” you tell him.

Seokjin laughs, and it warms you from the inside out. “Then I’m glad that I came late,” he says with a chuckle. “I couldn’t imagine a day where Jimin and Taehyung were silent for more than two minutes.”

“I lived through it,” you say, smiling. “Anyway, everyone seems to have gotten over the fact that I’m no longer the top-ranked Kingdom player. I’m kind of down about it myself, just because I worked really hard, but whoever it is that took over, I’m glad for them. I mean, it’s just a game.”

“That it is,” Seokjin says. “How about a toast to your Kingdom-playing skills, and to whoever it is that beat you.”

“Cheers,” you say, holding out your half of the doughnut.

“Cheers,” Seokjin echoes.

The two of you clink doughnuts, and they squish together awkwardly.

“You should bring doughnuts more often,” You muse.

“If it means we don’t have to work and can just talk like this, then I will,” Seokjin says as he takes a bite, already heading back over to his own desk. He waves goodbye with a smile, and only then do you finally indulge.

Sweet. As always.

♚ THERE ♚

When you were moved to the Military Tactics Unit, the King and Queen pulled you out of military training in favor of you spending more time working on strategies for the Kingdom’s armies rather than sparring with fellow Knights. It was a wise move on the part of Their Royal Highnesses, who feared losing you to a rebel group or warring kingdom, and you didn’t mind not having to engage in the physicality of training with those that would be spending more time on the battlefield.

And at the time, you saw it as a much-needed break from hand-to-hand combat training for years on end when you hadn’t set foot on the front lines in months. But now, that decision has decided to come back and bite you where it hurts.

Because as second-in-command to the Head of the Knights, you (and J, both luckily and unluckily) are tasked with the important duty of supervising the military training of the new recruits. This spells doom in various ways, some of which include (and are not limited to):

Having to spend more time with J.

Having to spend more time with J without letting all of the recruits know you both vastly dislike each other.

Having to spend more time with J in a scenario in which there is constant hand-to-hand combat.

Having to spend more time with J without being able to make up an excuse about needing to attend to urgent military business in order to leave.

Having to spend more time with J.

Attempting to remember how to spar.

So, in essence, you’re screwed.

This is the mindset with which you walk into your very first training session in over six months, a few minutes late, of course. Recently you’ve been attempting to calculate the maximum amount of time you can spend either being tardy or leaving early from events that involve J without you facing any repercussions. So far it’s been working out well.

When you walk in the door, before you can greet any of the recruits or even offer J a slightly sarcastic wave, he says, “Look who’s finally shown up,” loud enough for all of the recruits to turn to look as you stroll in tardy.

“I got held up by a vendor on the main road, my apologies,” you lie like a liar. It’s obvious that J does not believe you whatsoever, but it satisfies the recruits, who return to their business as usual.

“Well, you’re just in time for warm-up,” J says, false positivity radiating throughout every single word.

You walk up to where he stands at the front of the room, wearing much less of his official armor than he normally is. Right now, he stands in front of you in a plain tan cotton shirt and training pants, similar to the rest of the recruits. It’s really quite jarring, to see him dressed so differently from what he usually wears—dark armor and scarlet red sashes. It makes him seem… almost softer.

“Thought you might have bailed on me,” J mutters into your ear as the recruits begin to stretch.

“Have a little more faith in me, for God’s sake,” you grumble in return. You may not like him, but you aren’t about to abandon your responsibilities just because of a little bit of distaste.

“Do you wanna take warm-up, or should I?” He offers, motioning to the recruits. They all look so nervous, so desperate to prove themselves on the first day of training. It reminds you of yourself, like you’re looking into a mirror and a time machine all at once.

“You’re the boss,” you say, unabashedly letting the bitterness seep through your tone. “You choose.”

Unsurprisingly, J decides to let you handle the warm-up session, something that is just a precursor to the main event and therefore, not as important. He takes a couple of steps back and follows your instructions as you go through stretches and basic movements in combat, allowing all of the recruits to get a feel for what knighthood is really like in the Kingdom of Kalar. Warm-up was always your least favorite part during training, so boring in comparison to the sparring and hand-to-hand combat that you would engage in soon after. Sure, it was necessary, but when you were a wide-eyed, overeager trainee, you were willing to risk a pulled muscle if it meant you could beat someone up sooner.

With this in mind, you wrap up the session in a fairly timely manner, letting the recruits do their own stretching after everything absolutely necessary has been covered. It also means that you can sit back and let J do most of the heavy lifting, which, while you’re bitter about him getting all of the attention, is better than having to do it yourself based solely upon memory. You remember combat well enough to handle yourself in the battlefield, but the technicalities of training have completely slipped your memory by now.

J and everything else about him may leave a sour taste in your mouth, but you have to admit that he’s a good teacher and an even better morale booster. This must come from his experience out in the field, on the front lines, where raising his troops’ spirits came as a necessary quality to develop when times were tough.

He speaks slowly, explains everything in enough detail to cover all of the bases without losing attention, and frequently opens up the floor for questions. And as per usual, the recruits already begin to cling to him like vines, desperate to soak up every ounce of knowledge that he doles out.

J doesn’t need the ego boost, that’s for certain.

“Now that I’ve gone through everything, I believe that the best way to learn how to spar is just to start doing it, even if you haven’t the slightest clue what you’re doing. Despite what you may think about me, experience is the best teacher,” he says with a smile, earning a laugh from the crowd.

You roll your eyes.

“Um, sir?” A timid recruit raises her hand, her body curled in on herself. You take one look at her, and know that she’ll come out of her shell soon enough.

“Yes, a question?” J asks.

“Would you mind giving a demonstration? Just so we can watch. So we, well, don’t injure ourselves or each other while we’re sparring.”

A demonstration? You blink, having awoken from the trance you had placed yourself in one J stepped up to take over the training session. Doesn’t a demonstration mean… well, you and him?

J seems to come to this realization at the same time that you do, and grins wildly, giddy. He knows exactly how much you’ll hate doing this, which is all the more reason to say yes. “Of course, we’d be happy to. Y/N?”

You hold in the sigh you’ve been wanting to let out for about five minutes now, taking a deep exhale as you turn to face J. You’ve been in close proximity to him before, but you are about to get a whole lot closer.

“If you say so,” you say with a shrug, trying to keep this as lighthearted and casual as possible. Though, both of those things are likely to be tossed out the window now that you’re about to spar with your worst enemy.

J grabs a mat from the side of the room to lay down on the floor in front of you, and the two of you step onto it. Instantly, you’re transported back to when you were still in training, bouncing up and down on your feet with your fists raised in front of you, ready to take on the next recruit. You had always been quite good at sparring, back then.

Now is a completely different story.

“Are you ready?” J asks as you face each other in front of a crowd of recruits, all of whom are watching you with hawk-like intensity.

“Guess I can’t say ‘no’, can I?” You joke, though if J offers you a way out of this, you’d gladly take it, shame and dignity be damned.

“Well then, do your worst.”

He’s an open target. You’ve never been given an opportunity to sock him in the face before now, and you’d absolutely love to take it, but this is a sparring session, not a revenge session. That can be saved for a later date. Instead, you bounce on your feet like a nervous, excitable recruit, and aim for his neck.

He easily dodges, but you expected that, and counter his attack with your leg. It goes back and forth like this, as your muscle memory kicks in and you remember exactly what sparring was like back in your training sessions. For a few seconds in the middle of it, you genuinely think you and him are on a pretty level playing field.

And then—

One punch gone wrong and he’s got you lifted up off of the ground and onto his back, having grabbed your wrist at the perfect time to hoist you over his shoulder. You gasp in shock, body not necessarily remembering this part, and then—

He slams the both of you down onto the mat, your back hitting the cushion with a thud as the breathe gets knocked from your lungs. You definitely haven’t done this part in a while.

You know the recruits are all watching you intently, but you refuse to lose like this, even if this is normally the part where the person pinned underneath the other one surrenders. With both of your arms and all of your force, you attempt to shove J off of you by using your elbow to punch him in the chest. If you go down (which you most certainly will), you will go down with a fight.

He sees your move coming from a mile away, and immediately pins both of your arms above your head with a simple swish of his hand. The other one is holding up his body by your head as you both stare at each other, breathing heavily. His leg sits in between both of yours, resting up against your thigh, and his head hovers a very dangerous less-than-three inches away from your own. If a particularly near-sighted person were to stumble upon the both of you, you’d be absolutely screwed.

The both of you gaze into each other’s eyes for a second, the wind knocked out of you. You never quite realized what his face looks like up close. His cheeks are bright red. But it’s a second too long because the recruits have gone silent, refusing to applaud or do anything else to signal that the sparring match is over.

And then, it feels like a million years pass as J slowly removes himself from on top of your body, standing up and dusting his hands off before leaning down and offering his hand to help you up. Too floored and absolutely speechless to reject his extended palm like you normally would, you grab onto his hand and let him hoist you up, unable to speak.

“How was that for a demonstration?” J asks the recruits, who are all blinking like they’ve just witnessed something far too shocking for their liking.

Another trainee, a boisterous young man who walked into today’s session with his energy fully up and his eyes on the prize, raises his hand. “Could you show us again?”

You and J take one look at each other.

No. Way.

♚ HERE ♚

Because your office is both tightly knit and also uncannily resembles a cast of grown adults playing various high school stereotypes in a Hallmark movie, every year you do Office Superlatives. Office superlatives are basically an excuse for everyone to come up with a way to insult each other 1) while getting paid to do so and 2) without facing any repercussions whatsoever.

For three years in a row, your office has designated you as “Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Really Important”, a superlative that came about because on your very first day, you spilled your coffee on the one and only Kim Namjoon, who you then mistook as your boss, and thus ensued the most embarrassing one minute and thirteen seconds of your entire life in front of a bunch of colleagues you would have to see every weekday for the foreseeable future.

Thankfully, you haven’t spilled your coffee on anyone important since then, even if you do regularly knock over your pencil cup and send every pastel-colored highlighter flying across the hardwood floor. It became such a frequent occurrence that, for April Fool’s Day last year, Taehyung and Jimin taped every single thing on your desk to your desk to see how long it would take you to notice.

(It took you over three weeks, but that’s besides the point.)

“I know that the saying is ‘the customer is always right’, but this client I’m working with right now is literally wrong,” Taehyung says with a sigh. He collapses back in his office chair, mindlessly playing with the fur of the stuffed Pomeranian dog he keeps on his desk, staring down the email on his desktop. “Like, I’m not Squarespace or Wix. Either you pay me to design your website entirely, or you do it yourself. I’m not a drag-and-drop of a person, and I don’t get paid to be consulted on every font choice.”

“Didn’t you write on your resume that you can identify every standard Microsoft font without being told the name?” Yoongi asks with a frown from across the office. He’s making the most of his gigantic desktop computer, and has a tab open with One Punch Man right next to a Photoshop logo design he’s working on.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want to do it,” Taehyung says with a frown. “I need someone who knows how to let people down easily.”

“Jimin?” Hoseok pipes up unhelpfully, earning an eraser to the face from Jimin, who is notorious for going on a bunch of first dates and very, very seldom going on a second one. You don’t even think that for the entire time you’ve known him, he’s ever gone a third date with someone. Ever.

“Do not make fun of my lifestyle choices!” Jimin shouts out defensively. “I just like meeting new people.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says like a white girl in a Disney Channel Original Movie, “and then never meeting them again.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken,” Jimin tells him pointedly, already beginning to stand up from his office chair to attempt to further convince him that serial-first-dating isn’t all that bad. “Two weeks ago, I saw this guy that I had gone on a date with last year and he told me that his friend was starting up a small pet barbershop business and needed help with the graphic design for his company. Now I’m designing this guy’s logo and backsplash for his wall.” He says matter-of-factly.

Hoseok frowns. “So, what I’m hearing is that you saw a guy you had gone on a date with last year, and what you got out of it, was more work.”

Jimin opens his mouth to say something else, but he flounders. Hoseok cackles to himself, shaking his head because Jimin’s just proved his point further.

“I’ll ask Seokjin,” Taehyung says with a sigh. “He could tell me that I’ve lost my job and that I’m getting evicted from my apartment and I would thank him.”

Amen.

“Hey, where is Seokjin?” Jungkook asks, spinning around in his office chair for the most efficient way to scan the entire office in search of the man. “He was just here watching One Punch Man with Yoongi.”

“I didn’t even notice he had gotten up,” Yoongi says, turning to the empty spot next to him where Seokjin once was.

“I’ll go look for him, I need to grab something from the printer, anyway,” you volunteer, pushing your chair back, standing up, and avoiding the gazes of anybody in the office who happens to have knowledge of your not-so-secret secret crush. This means that you are staring down at the lines of the wooden planks in the floor as you walk over to the back hallway, because every single person in the room currently has at least… well… some insight.

“He’s all yours, Y/N,” Taehyung wolf whistles, making you roll your eyes as you head down the hallway.

Too busy counting the planks that make up the hardwood floor and hoping that you’ll maybe be able to identify Seokjin by the shoes he’s wearing rather than anything else, you don’t look at where you’re going as you make a beeline for the printing room. That is, you make a beeline for the printing room until you crash right into an unsuspecting colleague.

“Oh, shit!” Said colleague cries out.

Oh God.

You look up to find Seokjin standing in front of you, a nearly-empty cup of low-grade office coffee in his hand, and a growing brown stain on his pale blue dress shirt. One look on the floor and there’s a puddle of coffee gathered at your feet, wet splotches on your flats and his loafers.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide and apologetic as he immediately searches for some place to put down his coffee to avoid any more casualties. He looks right at you, making you want to curl in on yourself, before his eyes train down to your torso.

Only then do you realize he’s not shamelessly staring at your chest, but rather at the massive brown stain on the front of your blouse, quickly seeping into the fabric, the scalding temperature of the coffee having gone right over your head the moment you realized who exactly it was that you crashed into.

“Uh…” you stammer, brain crashing as everything that’s just happened in the past thirty seconds catches up to you all at once.

“Oh my God, I’m such a mess,” Seokjin says, fumbling awkwardly as he finally finds a trash can to toss his sad lump of a coffee cup into.

No you’re not, you want to tell him, but the words don’t come out and you’re left standing there, looking sort of like you blame him for everything, when in reality, you just have no idea how to function in front of him.

“Coffee stains,” Seokjin says, hands fishing through his seemingly bottomless pants pockets (he could probably fit an entire Nintendo Switch and its dock in there) until he pulls out this measly little thing that vaguely resembles your orange highlighter. “Here, I have a Tide To-Go pen.”

Before you can tell him that you can just deal with the stain and wash it in the privacy of your own home where you don’t look like a bumbling idiot, he grabs your hand and pulls you into the gender neutral bathroom nearby, locking the door as the light flickers on.

“Here, do you need help?” Seokjin asks, holding out his Tide To-Go pen as he wets a paper towel made of entirely recycled materials and begins fruitlessly dabbing at his shirt.

“I’m alright, really,” you insist, staring into the mirror and trying desperately to avoid the fact that Seokjin’s shirt becomes transparent when it’s wet. Maybe quitting your job and moving to another city doesn’t sound unappealing after all. “I can just get it out with OxiClean at my apartment, Seokjin, seriously.”

“Are you sure? That’s what the Tide To-Go pen is for,” Seokjin says, holding it out towards you again as a final attempt to get you to use it.

“No offense, Seokjin, but I don’t know if the Tide To-Go pen is even going to make a dent in the stain on my shirt,” you chuckle, the only thing you can think of to get him to stop offering the thing to you. The Tide To-Go pen is meant for when you accidentally get a bit of ketchup onto your jeans as you move the french fry from your plate to your mouth. Not when you’ve got a giant coffee stain on the front of your shirt.

“God, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Seokjin says, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt to try and get a better grip on the fabric as he relentlessly scrubs at it. God help you. He may as well take the whole thing off at this point—though you really, really hope that he doesn’t. “I’m such a klutz.”

“No, it’s my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you tell him. You still know that you passed by 107 wooden planks before you crashed into him, because that is what you do when you don’t want to look anyone in the eye.

“Seriously, though, I had the cup of coffee. I feel really bad, I could pay to get it dry cleaned for you?” He offers, eyes wide and in search of some way to make it up to you.

“No, no, that’s not necessary. I’m can handle a stain, Seokjin. I’m an adult. I live in my own apartment and everything,” you say firmly, refusing to accept anything else from him. God, if he paid for your dry-cleaning, you’d never be able to live that down. “Maybe I’ll finally stop being voted Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Important,” you joke, trying to make light of the fact that you’re standing in the tiny gender-neutral bathroom together, Seokjin’s practically got half of his transparent dress shirt unbuttoned, and you both have massive and very conspicuous brown stains on your tops. All wonderful, wonderful things.

At this point, Seokjin stares down at his shirt and, quite frankly, just gives up, smoothing out his shirt as best as he can and tossing the poor, now-coffee-colored paper towel away.

“I suppose it’s high time we give you a break for always knocking over that pencil cup of yours,” Seokjin jokes back as he opens the door, motioning for you to leave first.

“We should invest in some Velcro for it,” you suggest, making Seokjin chuckle as he shuts the door behind him.

“Uh… what the fuck?”

The two of you are stopped in your tracks by a particularly suspicious Taehyung, who just witnessed the two of you walk out of the same bathroom with both of your clothes fairly askew.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you immediately tell him, eyes wide. Count on him to get the wrong idea.

“Okay,” Taehyung says, eyes narrowed. “Sure.”

“Taehyung, come on, I spilled coffee on the both of us,” Seokjin attempts, but Taehyung is absolutely not having it.

“That’s what they all say,” he says cryptically, nodding as he heads to the printer room with his eyes still narrowed. He glares at the both of you until he rounds the corner, out of sight, and by then your cheeks have heated up so badly you think you might actually start sweating.

“Now the whole office is going to think we’re dating,” you say, somewhat jokingly but also somewhat seriously. There’s no way Taehyung’s going to be able to keep his mouth shut for any longer than the next five minutes.

Seokjin laughs, looking at you and shrugging. “There are worse things, right?”

Are there?

♚ THERE ♚

“Oh, Y/N!”

You inhale.

Of all of the places in the Kingdom that J has not yet infiltrated and ruined for you, the small cafe on the edge of the kingdom borders has to have been the last one. You discovered it while you were on night watch as a baby knight, a task given to those too dedicated to the job to release but not yet prepared enough to fight on the front lines. It’s a quiet place, open more hours of the day than closed, owned by an old lady with no other family to take care of the business. You’ve already promised her that after she passes, you will immediately begin funding the cafe yourself, too much money on your hands and not enough wonderful places like this to spend it on.

When days are loud and hectic, when the King and Queen and all of their military advisors are stressed and have been snapping at you all day, this is where you come. The old lady keeps her door open especially for you (at least that’s what she tells you), always with a steaming cup of jasmine tea and a wise old story to tell you. Sometimes, you’ll get to tell a story back, and you exchange words of wisdom from a knight at the highest ranking in the kingdom and an elder with many years of experience in the kingdom behind her. She always tells you, “keep your eyes wide and your heart open, because things can only enter it if you’re looking out for them.”

You’ve held those words close to your soul ever since the first time you heard them.

But when your eyes are wide and staring down a certain knight in the kingdom who seems to have stumbled upon your one sacred place, you’re a little bothered, to say the least.

You exhale.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say sourly, the scalding tea burning your tongue as you take a sip.

“I’ve never seen this place before,” J admits helplessly, already bowing to the old lady who runs the place. He introduces himself handsomely, and much like everyone else bewitched by his good looks and unrealistically charismatic personality, she immediately warms up to him.

“I wish it could stay that way,” you mumble to yourself, far too quiet for anyone except you and your tea to hear. “It’s far away,” you say to him as the lady ushers him to the seat next to yours, already promising him tea on the house. You sigh. “Wouldn’t expect you to go hunting for a nice tea place when there are so many wonderful places in the city.”

“I guess it’s nice to branch out,” J says with a shrug. “I have to say that I don’t really go out to cafes all that often. Too busy.”

“You know I understand how that goes,” you tell him honestly. For once, it’s something you can actually relate to. “But I think that it’s important to take a break from our duties and just relax. We don’t have much time to do that, you know.”

The lady brings over tea, and J insists he pay her for it despite her insistence for him not to. She shuffles off into the back before he can even get out some coins.

“Tell me, where can I leave this? I feel terrible not paying,” J asks you. It catches you off guard, really, mostly because he seems to be the kind of person who walks around the center square winking at every vendor in the hopes of receiving free merchandise.

“Oh,” you say, embarrassingly speechless. “Well, I suppose I could take it and give it to her. If we left rather soon then we could simply leave it on the counter for her to find. It’s likely that she won’t come back out for a while, since I have company.”

“Am I your company, Y/N?” J asks, almost teasingly. It makes you want to chuck your cup of jasmine tea into his face.

“Don’t think too much of it,” you advise him, a warning to tell him to knock it off. “We’re just here together.”

“Lucky us,” J says, holding up his cup of tea for a toast. You indulge him (begrudgingly so), letting your glasses clink together as you both finish a much needed warm drink on a chilly afternoon.

Too soon, the respite of the cafe is broken by a knock at the door. You both turn to find a messenger waiting patiently outside the cafe, motioning for J to come and speak to him.

“If you’ll excuse me,” J says, scooting back his chair and heading over, shutting the door behind him.

The moment the door closes, the old lady reappears from the back of the room, collecting your finished cups as you both listen intently to the murmuring outside.

“That young man mentioned that the two of you spend lots of time together,” the muses, cleaning the cups with a wet rag. She’s got a knowing look in her eye, like she’s picked up on something the both of you seem to have overlooked.

“We’re both knights,” you correct. It’s important to you that she knows that you don’t spend time together out of personal preference. It’s merely obligation. “So we see each other quite often.”

“I’ve never seen him around before,” she says pointedly, “but he seems to know quite a lot about you.”

“Oh, not really,” you insist. How could he? You’ve barely known him a month. Still, it’s clear that the lady doesn’t believe you.

“As you say,” she says, skeptical.

You’re about to open your mouth and reject her notions further, but then the door opens up again, and J looks terribly apologetic as he walks inside, joining your side. “We’ve been called in.”

As per usual, the Kingdom appears with impeccable timing to ruin the rest of your afternoon. It has a striking tendency to do that.

“For what?” You ask, exasperated. J doesn’t look much happier.

“Criminal hearings,” J says, and the words make you you toss your head back and sigh.

Criminal hearings and its many, many procedures are quite possibly your least favorite part of being a top-ranked royal knight. With your knowledge of the ins and outs of the military and the kingdom’s inner workings, as well as with you being an advisor to the generals and the King and Queen, you are often obligated to attend these, just in case there is a desperate need for the technicalities of military crimes that no one else can provide. It is, admittedly, extremely boring, since you can’t really offer any sort of insight or opinion on the actual criminal and their crime at hand.

“Fine,” you say, suddenly much less energized than you were approximately thirty seconds ago. “I suppose that we’ll have to be on our way.”

“Ma’am,” J says, attracting the attention of the old lady behind the counter. He holds out some coins, palm facing up. “Please accept this from me. I couldn’t leave without paying you for your wonderful tea and service.”

“Oh, pish posh,” the lady says with a shake of her hand. “Any friend of Y/N’s is well-deserving of some tea. You both work very hard. You should take any opportunity that presents itself to relax, and enjoy being young.”

“Please,” J insists, placing the coins in her hand, “a token of my gratitude. We shall return soon, right Y/N?” He gives your shoulder a nudge, making you look up at him. Return? You’d be blessed if J forgot about this place entirely, though you know that he’s bound to come back soon.

Perhaps there are worse things than losing your favorite cafe to him. Perhaps, you can simply learn to enjoy his company, instead.

“Of course, how could I resist?” You say, waving goodbye to the lady at the counter. “We really must be going, but I shall see you soon.”

“Take care of yourselves, the both of you!” She sees you off with a smile and a wink directed right at you for a cause you aren’t too keen on picking up. Old ladies are always so vague.

When you walk outside, you’re surprised to find yourselves alone. “Where’s the messenger guard?” You ask, looking around to see if he’s found a tree to take respite from the sun under.

J laughs, warm and hearty. “I sent him off, told him we would be able to make it ourselves.”

“Oh, alright,” you say with a shrug, already beginning to trudge the familiar path towards the castle.

You take six steps before realizing that J is neither next to you nor following you, still standing on the porch of the cafe as the sun makes his hair glimmer a dark caramel in the light.

“Aren’t you coming?” You turn around to ask, an eyebrow raised as you tap your foot on the cobblestone road.

“Have you ever skipped a criminal hearing before, Y/N?” J asks, and the very notion of bailing makes your eyes go wide.

“Skipped?” You clarify.

“That’s what I said,” J confirms.

“No…” You trail off, feeling more and more like the try hard you once were while training, wide-eyed and eager to prove yourself. Standing in front of him, rocking back and forth on your toes and twiddling your fingers as he steps off of the porch, taking long strides to reach you, makes you feel so nervous. With every step he takes closer to you, your heart begins to beat faster, faster, faster.

“Well,” J says, reaching out his hand to take hold of your own. “Would you like to start?”

When you were stationed on the Kingdom’s borders, you thought you had explored every nook and cranny of Kala. You had wandered through forests, across rivers, and into small edge villages with goods you had never even heard of before. You thought you had seen it all.

Clearly, you were mistaken.

J pulls you off of the cobblestone path and immediately takes you into the woods that surround the cafe, weaving past trees and ferns and grass alike. This time of year, the forest is ripe with greenery, right when summer is coming to an end but the leaves have yet to begin to fade to brown. Even without landmarks or a path to guide him, J seems to know exactly where the two of you are going, like he’s taken this road a million times before. And still, you had never seen him before this.

It’s a wonder that the two of you missed each other for so long.

“Where are we going, J?” You ask, laughing as the exhilaration of skipping your duties in favor of a fun day in the forest begins to flow through your veins. You’ve never done this before.

“Just wait, you’ll see,” he says cryptically, taking you down a large hill. You must be out of the Kingdom borders by now, with how far you’ve been going, and yet, no one had ever thought to place guards in this area.

Five more minutes of travelling and you’re near convinced that J is about to take you to some cave in the floor of the forest and murder you, when he tugs you up a hill to reveal—

It’s a clearing with grass so green you’d almost think it was enchanted. The leaves of the trees whisper to each other, voices flowing with the wind that breezes by each and every one, saying hello to the branches as they rustle. Tall grass and ferns grow on the edge of the forest, disguising the clearing to anyone who wouldn’t bother to keep looking, make their way through the overgrowth and into the oasis.

Never in a million years would you have been able to find this place on your own.

“What do you think?” J asks excitedly as he pulls you into the middle of the clearing, where the leaves of the trees have left an opening for the sun to shine through, a halo in the middle of the forest.

“I—I’m speechless,” you say, eyes wandering from every piece of bark to every blade of grass. You’ve always loved your Kingdom and its beauty, from the extravagant castle to the little shacks on the border, but this is more than that. This isn’t just beauty—it’s magic. “How did you find this place?”

“Strayed from the pack during military training outside,” he says guiltily. Clearly, skipping out on responsibilities has become a habit of J’s.

“Unbelievable,” you say, fingers tracing along the wildflowers growing close to the forest floor. You take a seat in the middle of it all, letting the sun stream through the leaves as the flowers open their petals at your touch. It’s as if every single living thing has been enchanted—like none of this could exist naturally.

“Do you like it?” J asks, taking a seat on the stone next to you. He reaches down to run his fingers through the grass, letting the soft dirt gather on his skin.

“I don’t think I have the words,” you tell him. You thought you had found a hidden respite from the hustle and bustle, but he has found not just a respite. He’s found a home. “Why would you show me this place?”

“What do you mean?” J asks. He finds a small yellow flower, a buttercup, and plucks it from the ground, twirling it between his fingers.

“I mean, why would you bring me here? Wouldn’t you want to keep this place all for yourself?” You inquire, curious. Certainly, that’s what you would do.

J pauses for a moment, staring down at the buttercup in his hands. Wordlessly, he hands it to you, watches as your fingers touch his own, taking the buttercup from him. You twirl it between your fingers, and wonder what all of this means.

“No,” he eventually answers. “Because a place like this deserves to be shared with the people that deserve to see it.”

♚ HERE ♚

[You have 5 unread messages]

Jungkook (5:53PM): Is it still acceptable to talk about Kingdom at company dinners? Jungkook (5:53PM): Is the ban that Yoongi instated last company dinner still going? Do you think he’ll be mad if I talk about how I just got a bunch of gold from solving the mystery of the time capsule?

Yoongi (5:55PM): If I have to sit through another company dinner where everyone is talking about Kingdom and nobody is talking about anime or my dog Holly I will lose it

Taehyung (5:57PM): You’re coming, right? You mentioned having a thing that ended pretty late this evening so you weren’t sure you’d make it

Seokjin (6:03PM): Excited to see you tonight! Promise I won’t spill anything on you tonight haha

Your office’s annual company dinner is the one and only opportunity you, as employees, get per year to talk about whatever you like in front of your colleagues, all while getting a meal paid for by your wonderfully unassuming, hardheaded boss. It is both a celebration of camaraderie and, of course, being employed, and a chance for your personal group to talk about Kingdom for two hours straight without repercussions.

Needless to say, many of you are looking forward to it.

To Jungkook (6:07PM): Yes, but only if we get to talk about how I’m still the best at the game out of everyone To Jungkook (6:07PM): Also, don’t forget to talk to Yoongi about My Hero Academia I know that you secretly love it

To Yoongi (6:08PM): Bring earplugs? Or maybe a manga book to get the conversation going?

To Taehyung (6:08PM): Yeah, I’ll be there To Taehyung (6:08PM): Probably be late though To Taehyung (6:09PM): Save me a seat!

To Seokjin (6:10PM): Not sure if I can promise the same thing! Fingers crossed we make it out tonight unscathed by scalding hot liquids

The company dinner starts at 6:30, which means that it really starts at 7:00 by the time everyone arrives, but even still, you’ll probably be late because you are actually doing last-minute laundry, and not attending a special event like you had told Taehyung. Sue you. Your clothes were dirty.

Standing in the middle of your apartment wearing the slouchiest clothes you own, you wonder if it’s even worth going when you know that you will probably 1) be late and 2) have to endure two hours worth of Kingdom talk and other things that leave you thoroughly embarrassed, like your nonexistent love life.

You’ve never skipped out on a company dinner before, but then again, never have all of your colleagues been so on top of you about your very insignificant, not at all soul-crushing, extremely minimal, super unimportant, tiny little infatuation with a certain coworker, so there’s that to consider.

Not to mention the fact that your entire office genuinely believes that the two of you hooked up in the gender neutral bathroom during the middle of the workday, which is a circumstance so improbable you have no idea how Taehyung managed to convince everybody that that was actually what happened. It’s not as if your coworkers didn’t see the ridiculous brown stains on the front of your and Seokjin’s shirts, or didn’t smell the office coffee stench all over the both of you.

So, for once in your life, you are genuinely considering just staying at home, finishing your laundry, and eating the frozen veggie burritos you bought from Costco two weeks ago. It sounds very tempting.

This thought is immediately combated by the fact that you usually have some of the most fun during the year at this company dinner, and a free meal at a nice, upscale restaurant is something that you would normally never pass up. But then again, Seokjin will be there and he will be dressed very nicely, and the rest of your coworkers will also be there, and they will be relentless.

Jungkook (6:33PM): Tae said you’d be late but please come soon! We can’t talk about Kingdom without the best player present!!!! Jungkook (6:33PM): Oh no Namjoon sees me with my phone

And out of every possible text you could have received that night, that one is the one that convinces you to pull out the same dress you’ve worn to the company dinner (it’s not as if anyone else will remember) every other year, tug it on, and head out. Your Costco veggie burritos will have to wait for another stay-at-home night.

You arrive fashionably late as always, walking into the restaurant and just asking for directions to where the “big group of loud office workers” is, a term easily identifiable by the scrambled hostess with fifteen different tables to seat all at once. She points you to the back room, where you can already hear Hoseok’s laughter from outside in the main dining area.

“You guys are loud,” you say in lieu of a greeting, everyone letting out cries of “Y/N!” and “You made it!” as you look around for the last empty seat.

“Here, saved you a spot right next to me,” Seokjin volunteers helpfully, motioning to the empty velvet chair next to him. In the seat next to that sits Taehyung, who is grinning guiltily, like he didn’t just dupe you into thinking he had saved you a seat next to him and someone else other than the person you were hoping not to embarrass yourself in front of.

“Thinking of me when I’m not even here, how thoughtful,” you say, walking over and sending a glare Taehyung’s way as you take your seat, the glass at the top right corner of your placemat already filled.

“How could we forget about you?” Seokjin reasons, and he says it so casually but it makes your heart flutter all the same.

When Seokjin’s finally started talking to Hoseok and Jimin on his other side, the two of them attempting to explain the inner workings of Kingdom to him (to little avail, as per usual), you round on Taehyung, who is every bit the best wingman and the worst friend in the entire world.

“How could you do this to me?” You hiss at him, trying not to attract the attention of the man sitting on the opposite side of you.

“I said I had saved you a seat!” Taehyung says defensively, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

“This was not what I had in mind,” you tell him pointedly.

“Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have hidden it from you,” Taehyung says. He motions to Seokjin, who’s laughing at something that Jimin’s just said, eyes crinkled into half moons as the waiter places the cocktail he’s ordered down in front of him. “You know, it’s not so bad having a crush on him, right?”

“He is our coworker and way out of my league, of course it is,” you remind Taehyung.

Taehyung shrugs you off with a wave of his hand. “Give yourself some credit, Y/N. You’re hot. Embrace it.”

“I will not, thank you very much. This conversation makes me want to hurl,” you say as normally as possible, blinking to show your discomfort to Taehyung.

“You need to stop being so afraid of what might actually come out of this,” Taehyung says, a reassuring hand on your arm. “You never know what might happen.”

“What’s definitely going to happen is that I’m going to feel too cold from the vent above my head, and we’re going to switch seats,” you say. You immediately make to stand up, but Taehyung grabs onto your wrist and looks up at you like a child begging for candy in a supermarket.

“Please, Y/N? Just give it a try, and if you hate it by the time the entree comes around, we can switch. Alright?” He asks, a simple compromise to get you to sit back down.

You sigh. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt to shoot your shot, no matter how terrible your aim is.

“I didn’t order any soup, so hopefully we can last through this dinner without ruining more of our clothes,” Seokjin says, an icebreaker to ease the obvious tension between the two of you. He breaks down your walls so easily, carves out a path in the side of it to waltz right through.

“I don’t know,” you say sarcastically,” you better finish that cocktail soon or we might both be in big trouble.”

Seokjin chuckles, warm and full, and takes another sip of the fruity drink for good measure. “Don’t know how you keep getting crowned Most Likely to Spill Coffee on Someone Important when I’m here, a walking coffee volcano.”

“When the superlatives roll around, I’ll petition the court and see if we can crown you instead,” you promise.

“I’m honored. I’ll cherish that title for as long as I live,” Seokjin jokes, bowing to you just for good measure. “This is nice, you know.”

“What is?” You ask, peering down at the large group menu. Everything looks awfully delicious and awfully expensive, so you just go for a classic pasta dish and hope that Taehyung orders something different, so you can try each other’s.

“Sitting next to you,” Seokjin says like it’s obvious, making you blink at your menu like it’s just offended your entire family ancestry. “I don’t think we’ve ever been paired up like this at a company dinner.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” You ask hopefully.

“It’s nice,” Seokjin says. “I feel like we don’t get to talk very much at work.”

“You said you’d bring more doughnuts,” you remind him. Seokjin has held up on his promise, actually, and since the first round of doughnuts, he’s brought on two more occasions to brighten up everybody’s day.

“I think I need a better excuse than doughnuts,” Seokjin says to himself. “I can’t keep going to Dunkin’ right before work, pretty soon all of the workers will know me by name and that is a level that I’m not sure I’d like to reach yet.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you tell him, a hand instinctively coming to rest on his shoulder as comfort. “Some of the Costco employees recognize me even when I’m wearing my sunglasses inside.”

“You wear your sunglasses inside Costco?” Seokjin asks with a laugh.

“Sometimes I just forget to take them off when I walk from my car into the store!” You say defensively. “It’s really bright in there, sue me.”

“No, no, I think it’s cute,” Seokjin assures you. “Maybe being recognized by the Dunkin’ employees won’t be that bad. At least they probably wouldn’t know who I was if I had my sunglasses on.”

“I’m being attacked, I’m pretty sure,” you say pointedly.

“Only affectionately. You’re still ridiculously endearing.” Seokjin says with a chuckle, smiling at you as Jungkook calls your name to tell him something about Kingdom that he’s forgotten. But even as Seokjin gets tugged into another conversation and you get pulled into your own, your brain can’t help but replay the sound of his voice in your head, over and over.

You’re still ridiculously endearing.

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jimin asks over a mouthful of complimentary bread with olive oil. “Did you ever figure out who knocked Y/N from the top spot in Kingdom?”

“No,” Jungkook cries out, suddenly thirsty for justice. “It makes me so mad that I don’t know who they are, especially since they’re getting all the in-game brand deals and Y/N gets nothing,” he says pointedly as he motions to you, clearly exasperated for a cause that wasn’t even his to begin with.

“Jungkook, it’s not a big deal, it’s just a game,” you remind him, the table too wide to reach over and pat his hand comfortingly. “I still get a lot of things in second place.”

“What’s Jungkook talking about?” Seokjin asks, motioning to where Jungkook seems to be on a rampage as Jimin and Namjoon listen in.

“Oh, Kingdom, like always,” you say fondly. “He’s determined to figure out the name of the person who dethroned me.”

“Is that so?” Seokjin asks with a laugh. “He’s got his work cut out for him. How many people play Kingdom?”

“Hundreds of thousands, probably,” you say. “Maybe millions.”

“Millions of people, and somehow we ended up with the second-best player in the game right at this table,” Seokjin says with a grin. “We should be honored.”

“It’s just a game,” you remind him, even though the sentiment is awfully sweet. “I think I much prefer the real world, don’t you?”

Seokjin smiles at you as the waiter comes around to offer him another cocktail.

“Another one, sir?”

Seokjin looks down at the cocktail, then at your unstained clothes, and he shakes his head, laughing to himself. “No, I’m alright, thank you.” The waiter nods, taking his empty glass and moving onto another coworker. He looks at you, and his eyes are swimming in stars. “I think that I do, too.”

Dinner ends with Hoseok and Jungkook gobbling down everybody’s leftovers, your boss paying the bill without even glancing at the check, and you laughing alongside Seokjin, who keeps your end of the table entertained with fantastic stories about his past job at a luxury department store and less-than-fantastic dad jokes that he prides himself for coming up with on the spot.

Taehyung had nudged you when the entrees had come around, motioning to the vent above your head, but you hadn’t even noticed the cold.

“Ugh,” Jimin says with a groan as the group of you head outside once everyone is finished, the chilly night air hitting your skin as you open the door. “I hate that we could only schedule this for a Wednesday, because it means we have to come into work again tomorrow.”

“When else are we supposed to schedule it for?” Yoongi asks with a frown. “Did you even look at the When2Meet? Nobody had any free time for the rest of the month.”

“Well, if everyone’s cleared their schedules just for this dinner, anyone want to keep the celebration going at my apartment? I just bought a box of wine from Trader Joe’s,” Jimin asks.

“On a Wednesday?” Yoongi says, nose scrunched up in disapproval.

“Yeah, when else would you drink boxed Trader Joe’s wine?” Jimin responds like it’s obvious.

Everyone begins to either disperse back to their cars or get Jimin’s address so they can get wine drunk on a Wednesday like you’re supposed to, leaving you and Seokjin out of the crowd.

“Are you heading over to Jimin’s?” He asks you as you begin to walk towards your cars, taking a step every five seconds as you watch Jimin tell everybody his exact address, loudly and slowly enough for any burglars and axe-wielding murderers within a three-mile radius to also hear him.

“No, I think I’ll just head home for the night,” you say, checking the time on your phone. It’s nearly ten, already. Where did the time go?

“Ah, then I guess I will, too,” Seokjin says. “Oh, here’s my car.”

“You parked close,” you comment.

“I thought that I’d be late because I arrived at 6:45, but I was the second one here,” Seokjin tells you, making you laugh.

“Sounds like our office, doesn’t it?”

“I guess. We’ll have to do this again sometime just to see how late everyone shows up,” Seokjin says.

“Promise I’ll be early next time,” you say.

“Next time, then?” Seokjin asks, already opening his car door and beginning to step inside. You stand on the sidewalk in front of him, watching as he pulls the door shut and waves to you through the windshield. A next time sounds awfully nice.

“Next time.”

♚ THERE ♚

The King and Queen never do find out about your truancy, though you have to admit, you were never really worried about that in the first place. Not when J was grinning as he told you he had sent the messenger guard off, laughing as he dragged you through the forest, smiling as he twirled a buttercup between his fingers. He had done it before and he’ll do it again, and look where that’s gotten him.

Maybe you could learn a thing or two from him.

Still, despite your high ranks, the two of you can’t avoid your responsibilities forever. Eventually, you will always have to report back to the castle, get a new assignment, and start the cycle all over again.

“At least they’re letting us go together,” J reasons as the two of you nod to the knights standing guard at the border of the kingdom, by the main forest that leads directly to a kingdom with whom your relationship isn’t all that strong. No wars have broken out between your two lands in years, but never has stability been one-hundred percent earned, which means that both kingdoms must be on high alert. You never know when a rebel group will attempt to invade the land.

“Like I’d want to spend any more time with you,” you joke, giving J a nudge in the side as you stroll along the forest edge. In the middle of the day with the sun high above your heads, neither of you are particularly worried about being attacked. It would be foolish for an enemy group to do so, especially at a time when the kingdom’s guards are the most awake.

“Am I really such awful company?” J asks, and he’s smiling but he asks in such a way, it’s almost as if he means it. The two of you have never been on the best of terms, but you’ve found yourself growing out of the competition-fueled rage you once always found yourself in whenever you were near him. No longer is regaining your first place your most important priority. Rather, it’s doing your job and doing it correctly, upholding the duties that the kingdom has entrusted you with, regardless of who’s by your side.

(Though, even if you’d never admit it, J makes quite good company, most of the time.)

“No,” you insist, a hand reaching out to rub comfortingly at his forearm. “You aren’t.”

“You think so?” J says with a laugh, almost bitter. “I must say, you’ve never been that fond of me.”

“You may have charmed your way into the rest of the kingdom’s hearts, but I needed some convincing,” you remind him, reminiscent of how he would tease you constantly, dangle his promotion right above your head like a trophy you’d never be able to reach.

“Did I do a good job, then?” J asks, hands in his pockets. It’s a quiet day, today. Even the birds have begun to murmur.

“You did quite alright,” you say, nudging him. “Though I must say, I absolutely hate how all of the vendor’s daughters fawn all over you and give you free items like fruit, and jewelry. I’m never given that treatment.”

“You just don’t have my naturally charming, handsome, soft looks,” J says, posing in front of you as the two of you walk. The obnoxiousness of it all makes you almost want to chuck the apple you’re about to eat right at his face.

“What do you mean? I can be charming,” you say with a pout. You pretend to flip your hair, just for emphasis.

“You and I are different types of charming,” J says casually. “You’re strong. You speak loudly and clearly and you don’t ever flounder. You always know exactly what you want, and know the best way to get it. You aren’t afraid of anything, and are always willing to take on any challenge that comes your way. It’s… it’s different.”

And even if he thinks you never flounder, never stumble over your words or stutter, for once, you can’t think of anything to say. You’re walking along the forest’s edge with a knight you had convinced yourself that you would never befriend, and he’s just told you all of these wonderful things about yourself you never would have known he’d thought otherwise.

J’s right. It is different. This is different. And you can hardly remember when it started to be like this. Only one day, it was just like this, and it never stopped.

“Do you really think all of those things about me?” You ask, staring down at your boots as you walk along the dirt path, kicking small pebbles as you go. They go flying off into the grass, never to be seen again. But sometimes, you come across one you had kicked a few steps back, and you try again, earnestly hoping to see how far it will go with you by its side.

“I mean, well…” J says, stumbling. “I don’t just think those things about you, you know? They’re facts, aren’t they? Those are things that, well, I suppose, everyone would think about you. Right?”

“You know what I think?” You ask, looking up at him. His dark hair shimmers in the light, like reflects of gold have been sprinkled amongst the ink black. “We are different types of charming. You’re charismatic and friendly, always willing to listen. You accept things graciously and are always grateful for what you receive. You pay people back whatever they’ve given you, even if it’s not the same item, even if it’s just the thought that counts. You always want to do better, and then you do. You work hard for each thing you get, and you never take it for granted.”

J grins down at you. “But you don’t actually think that, do you?”

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head. “Just facts.”

“Just facts,” he echoes.

When did talking to him become so easy? When did it all start coming to you naturally?

“Did you ever hate me?” He asks you, curious. He knows, he must, that that’s not the case anymore.

“No,” you admit, perhaps more to yourself than to him. “I think that I just hated that you were better than me. But… like you said, it’s different now. Now, I don’t care if you’re better than me. That sort of competition makes me a better soldier. You make me a better soldier.”

“Really?” J wonders, genuine. His eyes are wide in surprise, shocked at such a candid admission coming from you. To be honest, you’re surprised with yourself, as well. “I had no idea.”

“Keep it up, then. You know—”

A taut string let go.

The wind stopping in its tracks.

And an arrow headed right for your heart.

“Oh my God!” You shout quickly, unable to do much except alert the man next to you that the two of you are in imminent danger.

Before you can even blink, close your eyes and wait for the tip to pierce your heart, J is pushing you out of the way, sending you flying to the forest floor and he pulls his bow from his back, sending a steel arrow flying in the direction of the woods. You both wait there, only a second but it’s a second too long, until you hear a thud on the ground, a final breath, and then—

Silence.

The moment you’re both positive the assailant is dead, J turns to you, eyes wide. “Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m alright,” you assure him, telling him (and yourself) over and over as he pulls you up from the ground. Your heart is racing and you can’t quite seem to catch your breath, but you’re alive and so is he, and that’s all that matters. “Are you?”

“Yes,” he immediately says. “As long as you are.”

You look behind him to find an arrow stuck in a tree, but what alarms you more is the sight of blood on the tip. Immediately, you turn back to J, only to find the side of his arm covered in blood, bleeding right through his armor.

“Oh my God, J, you’re hurt,” you cry out, fumbling for something to stop the flow.

“I’m alright, Y/N, really,” he insists, placing a hand on top of your own, rubbing the back of it with his thumb for good measure. “It’s just a graze. I’ll be fine.”

“We have to take you back to the kingdom,” you push, already beginning to head back towards the gate.

“I’ve suffered worse injuries, Y/N, seriously,” he tells you, hoping to ease the pit of worry in your stomach. “I’m a top-ranked knight who prefers the battlefield over anything else. I’ve broken bones, gotten stabbed, and nearly died. This? It’s nothing. Really. Please, don’t worry.”

“We still have to get you back to the Kingdom and patch you up,” you insist firmly. “Even if you say you’re alright.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Y/N.” J goes with you obligingly, lets you walk him back to the kingdom gates.

You urge him into the local medical practitioner, sit him down on the bench and watch as the doctor bandages his wound, reminds him not to engage in any strenuous activity while it’s healing. He sits patiently, glaring at you slightly and rolling his eyes any time the doctor speaks, which is fairly frequently. It’s clear only one of you wants to be here right now, and it’s the one of you without a scratch on your body.

When the doctor leaves to tend to another patient, you get up from where you’re seated and sit down next to him on the bench, resting your head on his shoulder.

Working for the Kingdom makes you stronger. Sitting in the cafe makes you think. But being with him, standing by his side, it makes you wonder. It makes your heart race and your mind clear. It makes you feel safe.

“I think you saved my life,” you whisper softly, clutching onto him like a lifeline, like if you let go, one of you will drown.

But that’s not the case. Neither of you will let go. Not without the other. Never without the other.

“Really?” He asks. He already knows the answer.

“No, I know you did,” you tell him. Things are different now, but maybe they’ve always been like this. You just never noticed. “Because in a heartbeat, I would do the same for you.”

♚ HERE ♚

“I have not seen Seokjin all day,” Jimin comments loudly one day, making everyone immediately turn to Seokjins’ desk, which looks practically untouched. His computer is asleep, his chair is pushed in, and his desktop is empty. The only thing that suggests that the man is even here in the first place is the messenger bag resting against the desk drawers, though it doesn’t look like it’s even been opened today.

“Probably too busy avoiding you,” Yoongi deadpans, earning a “zing!” from Hoseok that makes you feel even more like you’re standing in the middle of a high school movie made by people who don’t know what high school is like.

“Is he even in today?”

“He is,” you pipe up. “His bag is here.”

“Of course you would know!” Taehyung teases, and he earns a highlighter to the face for his trouble.

“He’s probably just trying to get his work done in a place that doesn’t consist of screaming and constant insults being hurled across the room,” Jimin says with a sigh, turning back to his work. It’s a fair statement, especially when the environment in your office is most often distracting, loud, and not at all an ideal work environment. It’s an absolute wonder that any of you manage to get your work done while you’re here.

“Y/N, wanna go hunt him down?” Taehyung suggests, sending a wink your way as your eyes widen.

“No, absolutely not, no way. I will not be tricked by you again,” you say, very reminiscent of the last time you went to go look for Seokjin and ended up with a coffee-stained shirt and a group of coworkers who thinks the two of you hooked up that one time.

“If you say so…” Taehyung says, voice trailing off as he turns back to his work.

But for once in your life, Seokjin’s absence is more noticeable than ever. He’s become a fixture in your everyday office life, always stopping by your desk with a second cup of low-grade office coffee for you (with a lid, of course), sending you emails complaining about Jimin and Hoseok when they’re being loud, asking you for help on every one of his difficult font decisions for logo designs, drafting emails to clients with you. It’s a sort of closeness that you never really had before—sure, you worked together and often got paired up for projects, but it’s different now. Like you jumped ship on being just colleagues but instead of drowning, you began to float.

Five more minutes pass and you pretty much resign yourself to getting back to your work, knowing that Seokjin’s probably just grabbed his laptop and found a place where he can work in peace and quiet without Hoseok’s shrill voice interrupting his thoughts. You’ll have to ask him what place he’s discovered.

When there are four minutes left in the workweek and you are finally beginning to close out of the fifteen thousand tabs open on your Google Chrome window, the door busts open.

It doesn’t actually bust open, so much as Seokjin comes flying through it and it slowly goes to rest on the padded door frame like it’s been designed to. His tie is loose around his neck like he’s been tugging on it all afternoon, his laptop is clenched carefully between his arm and his torso, and he’s got a flurry of papers freeballing it in a stack in his hands.

“Oh my God, what tornado did you come from?” Jimin asks as Seokjin rushes over to his desk, cramming everything into his tiny messenger bag that definitely isn’t meant to fit a laptop and a stack of papers that thick.

“Sehun just dumped an entire project on me that’s due on Sunday at noon with no warning, and now I have to pull together fragments of a crumbling magazine label before their final review on Sunday afternoon,” he says, terribly out of breath. He’s scrambling to gather his belongings, crashing into anything within a two-foot radius of him.

“Dude, what the heck? I’m gonna tell Namjoon to kick Sehun’s ass,” Hoseok says with a frown, nose scrunched up. “Do you need help?”

“No, no, I’m alright, I can do it,” Seokjin insists, rubbing a hand through his hair as he leaves before the clock has even struck five.

“Are you sure? You look like you want to jump out of the window,” Hoseok asks again, just for clarification. He’s not wrong. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Seokjin become so stressed in such a short period of time before. “At least let one of us help you get settled back into your apartment.”

To your right, Taehyung whispers into Jungkook’s ear, who then does this sort of weird hand movement to Hoseok, who nods understandingly. It looks suspiciously like they just plotted someone’s murder.

“I can’t,” Jungkook says with an obnoxiously fake yawn, suddenly speaking much slower than usual, “I’m deadbeat tired.”

“Me neither,” Taehyung says, coughing in the way people do when they just want to get out of something. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

You whip your head around as everyone besides Yoongi comes up with an absolutely bullshit excuse not to accompany Seokjin to his apartment—Jimin says he has a date right after work and Hoseok says he needs to feed his puppy before he gets too hungry, leaving only you and a Yoongi that hasn’t been listening to the conversation whatsoever to vie for the spot.

“Yoongi?” You ask, somewhat desperate not to be the one to accompany Seokjin to his apartment. You turn to your head to glare at Taehyung, who shamelessly coughs again when he meets your eyes, smiling guiltily.

“Huh?” He asks, turning around.

“Fine, you know what? I can come with,” you say with a sigh, already grabbing your belongings as Taehyung and Jungkook high-five next to you.

“Oh, really? You’re a lifesaver, Y/N, you know that?” Seokjin says, and even when he’s stressed it’s like the weight has been lifted off of his shoulders once you volunteer, and you suppose that there are worse things that can happen than accompanying Seokjin to his apartment for ten minutes.

Seokjin gives you the address of his place so that you can drive to it yourself, the both of you pulling into the parking garage underneath his apartment complex at the same time, waving to each other from adjacent parking spaces.

“I really, really appreciate this, Y/N,” Seokjin says with a smile as he brings you into his apartment complex, nodding a friendly hello to the security officer in the lobby. “I know that it’s a Friday night and everything as well. You’d probably want to be doing something else.”

“Ah, yes, you know me, I frequent all of the clubs and bars in this city,” you say sarcastically as you walk into the elevator. Seokjin hits the button for the seventh floor and laughs. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. It was a dick move of Sehun to drop this on you when it’s due in, like, thirty-six hours.”

“Tell me about it,” Seokjin says, exasperated as he leans back against the steel walls of the elevator. “I thought I would just get to go home this Friday night, pull up Netflix, and have a one-man movie night, but now I have to spend the next thirty-six hours doing this.”

“Well, you know all of us are just looking out for you, wanted to make sure you didn’t injure yourself from stress before you got back to your apartment,” you say as the elevator door dings. Seokjin leads you down the hallway to his door, sticking his key in and jiggling it until the door pops open.

Admittedly, you have never been in Seokjin’s apartment, but you it was like you had already painted a picture of it in your head from his personality traits alone. You thought it would be fairly minimalistic, clean and neat, not too many flashy colors or kitschy items but things like photographs and magnets to make it feel like an office and more like a home. Pictured it as a sort of very simple, modern home, like the ones that celebrities live in because they can afford to keep their belongings clean all the time, because Seokjin looks exactly like a celebrity, gorgeous and put-together.

Instead, Seokjin’s apartment is almost a hodgepodge of everything he could think to find to decorate, a stack of photobooks on his coffee table, slouchy leather couches wrinkled from wear, various kitchen supplies splayed all over his countertops. It’s the kind of place you can imagine him being in, existing in. You can see him standing behind his kitchen island with all of the ingredients and supplies for this wonderful dish he’s making littered across the counters. You can see him curled up on the couch, leaning against the corner of it to find that perfect spot, watching television.

There’s a difference between owning a place, and living in it. Living in it makes it feels like a home, like it’s real, and not just for show.

“Wow, your place is—”

“It’s really messy right now, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t expecting guests,” Seokjin says, letting his messenger bag plop down on the ground as he scrambles to make his living space nicer for you.

“No, I was going to say it’s lovely,” you tell him. “It feels exactly like you.”

“Does it?” Seokjin asks genuinely, a soft smile lacing his features. “Well then, thank you.”

You wait around in his apartment awkwardly, not really sure if stepping past the front of his couch is socially acceptable since you’re just “visiting” and he hasn’t officially invited you inside yet. The main objective of accompanying him to his apartment has already been accomplished: you made sure he got home safely and that he can do his work in peace. Finished. But even still, you’re hanging around, wondering when he’s going to kick you out for being a weird, unknown fixture in his home.

“Um, would you like to stay for dinner? I made soup last night and I have way too much for me to eat on my own,” he offers, opening up his fridge and taking out an enormous pot. It clinks as it hits his countertop, the metal sound echoing throughout his apartment.

“No, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say, taking this as your cue to remove yourself from the situation before you do anything else to make an absolute fool of yourself.

“I insist, please,” Seokjin says, stopping you in your tracks. “I may have a whole project to finish by Sunday, but we should at least spend this Friday night together, right?”

You look down at your shoes before looking up at him, meeting his eyes from where he stands behind his counter island.

“Then I will,” you say, removing your flats and padding over to where he stands, coming to a stop on the other side of the counter island. “But only if you let me help you with the project, too. It was asshole-y of Sehun to dump it all on you. At least let me handle some of the graphic aspects.”

“Y/N,” Seokjin says, reaching his hand out over the counter, “you have a deal.”

This deal mainly consists of you eating some of Seokjin’s homemade soup on his couches, your laptops on his coffee table and that ridiculously thick stack of papers spread out amongst you. Seokjin already has a fair bit of information about the project at hand, but he still has absolutely zero progress since he received the assignment four minutes before the end of the workweek.

“So, basically, what we have to do is re-organize the magazine’s overall design and aesthetic before their final review on Sunday, because if they don’t appeal to the publisher, they’re getting tanked,” Seokjin says, paging through the papers in search of a sketch.

“So we’re their last hope,” you summarize.

Seokjin nods. “We’re their last hope.”

“Great,” you say, not at all enthused. “No pressure at all.”

“I know. I’m so relaxed right now,” Seokjin says, clearly not relaxed.

“You know what’s making me relaxed? This soup,” you say, finishing the last of what’s in your bowl. “It’s delicious. I didn’t know you cooked.”

“It’s just a hobby of mine,” Seokjin says with a shrug. “I picked it up when I moved to college and didn’t know how to make anything except toast.”

“You’re a very fast learner, then,” you say. “I’d pay you to make all of my meals, honestly.”

“Would you like more? I have a ton, so we can eat it all if you’d like,” he asks, already standing up and reaching his hand out for your bowl.

You hand it over, shaking your head as he makes his way back to his little kitchen, ladling more soup into both of your bowls. “You’re too nice, Seokjin. Seriously. How am I supposed to pay back this kindness?”

Seokjin lets out a warm chuckle as he warms up your next serving in the microwave. “Believe me, Y/N, volunteering to take on this project with me with a due date in less than thirty-six hours is more than enough. You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

“No,” you tell him. “I want to. You deserve someone who’s willing to help you with big things like this. You shouldn’t have to deal with it all on your own.”

Seokjin grins as he returns, handing you your bowl of soup as you get back to work. “I don’t deserve you, Y/N.”

What was supposed to be a couple of hours spent grinding out a project over a shared pot of soup turns into a night’s worth of work, scribbles on paper and the redoing of the same logo fifteen different times on your computer’s much slower, less-updated version of Photoshop. The application crashes on three different occasions, causing you to nearly slam it into the wall, but you just try to look on the bright side. Find the silver lining. Of which there are none.

Seokjin doesn’t seem to be faring any better than you are. You’ve never seen the man under such pressure before, not in the office and certainly not while you’re out of the office. He’s tugged on a crewneck sweater over his dress shirt and paces around his apartment in bright pink slippers, brainstorming aloud as you bounce ideas off of each other in a panic.

“What if we rebranded them?” Seokjin suggests wildly. When you turn to look at the digital clock underneath his television, it says 11:17PM. You’re surprised he hasn’t collapsed underneath the pile of work he’s got on his plate.

“What do you mean? Do we even have the authorization to rebrand them?” You ask, pulling up a new tab on magazine marketing techniques.

“The project description says requests for anything that will keep them afloat,” Seokjin says. He immediately opens an old photobook, buried underneath your laptops, sketches, and papers, flipping through before he sits down right next to you on his slouchy leather couch. “What if we gave them more of a minimalist kind of style? They’re trying to jump off of this super quirky, very basic Urban Outfitters kind of aesthetic, but I think it makes the magazine too young, you know?” Seokjin suggests. “We could do something more grown-up, attract their market audience.”

“Are we allowed to do that?” You ask, thoroughly interested. Maybe Seokjin’s onto something.

“Who says we can’t?” Seokjin responds, and it’s good enough for you to hop on board.

Sitting in his apartment like this, brainstorming different ideas and collaborating on logo designs, magazine layout, and website design together, you are more productive than you’ve been in a very, very long time. Even as the night stretches on into the early hours of the morning, as you watch the clock turn from 1:00AM to 2:00AM to 3:00AM, the two of you are wide awake, the only things illuminating his apartment being a floor lamp by his television and the blue light of your laptop screens.

“It’s…” Seokjin yawns when it’s nearly four in the morning, pen slipping from his fingers, “so late.”

“I know,” you say back, feeling your eyelids beginning to sink. “I’m surprised we’ve even stayed up this long.”

“Haven’t been up this late since college,” Seokjin says, smiling hazily at past memories. “Always had code to finish for my class the next morning.”

“At least we get to sleep in now,” you joke. Even if you still have to finish putting together a brand new image for this magazine that’s about to go under, tomorrow is still a Saturday.

“Thank God,” Seokjin says, resting his head on the back of the couch cushion, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I feel like we did a lot tonight.”

“We were very productive,” you agree.

He yawns. “We work well together, don’t you think?”

“Hmm?” You ask, leaning over to move your computer from your lap to the coffee table, exchanging it for a sketchpad to keep brainstorming.

“I think,” Seokjin begins, and it must be just the sleepy haze his brain has entered rather than anything else that could spur him to express this, that makes him say, “that you and I make a perfect pair.”

You sit up straight at this, looking over at Seokjin as the pencil in between your fingers falls onto the sketchpad before rolling onto the floor. It looks like he’s fallen asleep, exhaustion finally overcoming him as all of the work he’s done catches up to him. In the dead of night, the only sound in the room is his soft breathing, chest rising and falling slowly as his mind begins to wander. You watch him, eyelids heavy, and think that he couldn’t have possibly thought that. No way would he say such a thing to you if he was perfectly cognizant, wide awake. After all, you’re the one with a crush on him, not the other way around.

You lean back, pondering why a man like Seokjin would ever invite you into his home, offer you soup, and shower you with subtle compliments that couldn’t just be friends being friends, and before you know it, your eyes fall shut.

It is nearly one in the afternoon by the time you wake up, the sunlight streaming in from the side of his apartment. It forces you to finally open your eyes, groaning as your blurry vision begins to clear.

That is when you register these four things in this order:

This is Seokjin’s apartment.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, in which you worked on a project with him last night.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, and you fell asleep on his couch.

This is Seokjin’s apartment, and he thinks that you’d make the perfect pair.

You hear a clink from across the room, and turn to find Seokjin, still wearing the same thing he was wearing last night, standing in his kitchen, pouring two glasses of orange juice.

“Morning,” Seokjin says. He pauses, then corrects himself. “Afternoon, actually.” He walks over to you, handing you a glass of orange juice as you rub your eyes, waking yourself up.

“How long have you been up?” You ask him, too tired to thank him out loud for the glass of orange juice.

“About an hour,” he says, checking the time. “I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful.”

“I feel awful, I didn’t mean to intrude on your apartment for, like, an entire night,” you say, rubbing your forehead as you try to smooth out your hair, make yourself look less like you fell asleep at four in the morning in your gorgeous crush’s apartment.

“No, it’s alright, really,” Seokjin insists. “It was nice having company, for once. And I think we got a lot done.”

“I still feel bad, I didn’t mean to stay so long,” you say, looking around for your belongings as you try to gather your bearings.

“It’s fine,” Seokjin reassures you, sitting down on the couch next to you as he begins to clean up the absolute mess of the coffee table. “But your phone has been ringing nonstop, so someone must have missed you.”

You fumble around for your phone before finding it having slid in between the couch cushions, pulling it up to see three missed calls from Taehyung and two missed calls from Jungkook, as well as a slew of texts from the both of them.

“Oh, it’s just Taehyung and Jungkook,” you say with a shrug, deciding that now is not the time to bring them into the conversation. A quick scan of the texts gives you a rough summary of what you would have heard if you had answered their calls instead.

Taehyung (9:35AM): Y/N Taehyung (9:35AM): HELLO Taehyung (9:35AM): ARE YOU ALIVE??? Taehyung (9:36AM): YOU NEVER SLEEP THIS LATE ARE YOU OKAY??? Taehyung (10:03AM): I WENT BY YOUR APARTMENT AND YOU DIDN’T ANSWER IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT Taehyung (10:04AM): TEXT ME 1 IF EVERYTHING IS OKAY AND 2 IF EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY Taehyung (10:05AM): LAST TIME I SAW YOU YOU WERE GOING HOME WITH SEOKJIN DID HE MURDER YOU??????? Taehyung (10:18AM): oh Taehyung (10:18AM): oh wait Taehyung (10:19AM): OHHHHHHHHH Taehyung (10:20AM): ;)

Jungkook (12:18PM): Kingdom just started a new event! Get online with me and let’s crush this thing pleaseeeee

“Just want me to play Kingdom with them,” you say, ignoring Taehyung’s text messages and pretending like they don’t exist.

“You really like that game, don’t you?” Seokjin asks.

“Oh, they like it more than I do, really, I just try and keep the obsession to a minimum,” you say casually.

“But they always talk about how good you are,” Seokjin adds. “You’re ranked second, aren’t you? That’s a big accomplishment.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that exciting. I mean, it’s just a game,” you shrug it off.

“But you like it, which means that’s important,” Seokjin says. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of the things you like. They matter to you.”

“You think so?” You ask, smiling at him.

“I know so. Tell me about Kingdom,” he urges, nudging your side. “Please? I’d love to know.”

And for once, you don’t just shrug it off and brand it as a game you play occasionally. You let yourself love that game, for all it’s done for you and your friends (even if you aren’t the best anymore) and your happiness, and you tell Seokjin about it. About how you started playing it when you were bored one day during work and saw a forum on it. How you got the rest of the office hooked on it as well, even if they were much more obnoxious about it than you are. How you go home after a long day of work and log on, letting yourself relax as you weave your way through the rankings and quests, finding solace in the familiarity of it all. You tell him why you love it, and why you probably won’t stop playing it for a long time, no matter what becomes of your ranking.

“It was nice being ranked first, but I actually don’t mind whoever it is that’s taken over,” you tell Seokjin honestly. “Jungkook wants to hunt them down, but I think that, whoever they are, they deserve that spot. You know, I used to hate them because the top-ranked player gets all of the best rewards, but our characters have recently started to spend so much time together that I feel like they’d probably have fallen in love by now.” You chuckle to yourself. If life were a movie, everything would always work out perfectly.

“You do?” Seokjin asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah, of course,” you say. “They spend so much time together. Who wouldn’t, right?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Seokjin says, smiling. “I also have something to tell you.”

You shake your head. “Don’t tell me you’re obsessed with anime, please. That is where I draw the line.”

“Don’t shame us,” Seokjin says, a hand on his heart like he’s been personally offended. Your eyes widen. “I’m kidding,” he says, laughing as you exhale, relieved. “I actually play Kingdom, too. I just wanted to ask you about it.”

“Seriously? All this time and you just pretended like you had no idea what it was?” you say in disbelief. He’s been hiding this from you for how long? God, the rest of your office is going to have a field day with this information.

“I just wanted you to tell me about it,” Seokjin admits sheepishly.

You shake your head. “You could have talked to me about other stuff, you know.”

“I know, but you never talked about Kingdom and I could always see how much you loved it. It was nice, listening to you tell me about it,” he says.

“I’ve been betrayed,” you say dramatically, opening up your laptop to pull up the game. “What’s your ID? We can add each other.”

This is where Seokjin goes silent. “Actually, I think you might already know who I am. I’m above you in the rankings.”

Your mouth drops open.

“You’re JK0901? Are you kidding me?” You ask, absolutely floored. All this time and you had no idea that Kim Seokjin was a Kingdom expert. “What does JK stand for? I was convinced it was Jungkook and he was just lying to my face, but in reality, it was you who was lying to me!”

Seokjin lets out a chuckle. “Jin Kim. I’m surprised you guys didn’t figure it out earlier.”

“I can’t believe this,” you say, practically speechless. “How long have you been playing?”

“Not that long,” Seokjin shrugs. “I picked it up because I wanted to impress a girl I liked.”

“Really? All this effort for a girl you like?” You ask, still in disbelief. You suck up the way your heart is sinking at the thought of him liking another person, but then you remember that it wasn’t like you had ever made a move on him anyway. Smiling, you ask, “Will you at least humor me and tell me who it is?”

Then, Seokjin looks you dead in the eye, and says, “You.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he wraps a hand around your torso and pulls you into him, pressing his lips firmly on yours as you gasp into his mouth, body tensing up before you melt into his touch.

It’s a quick kiss, nothing too crazy, but it overwhelms you nonetheless, leaves you gasping for air like you’ve been underwater this whole time and have finally surfaced. When you part, you look up into his eyes only to find that they’ve turned into crescents. He’s grinning down at you like he’s finally gotten it right.

“You did all of that for me?” You ask. “How did you even know?”

Seokjin looks particularly guilty. “You’re not necessarily… that discreet, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, the heat already flaring in your cheeks. “Oh God, you knew?”

“It was fairly easy to figure out,” Seokjin admits. “But the good news is: I felt the same way. So, no harm done.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” you say, curling into his chest so you don’t have to look him in the eye.

“You’re incredible, Y/N, you know that?” He asks, pulling you away from him just so he can get a better look at you. He’s standing in front of you, looking at you like this is what he’s been waiting for. Like all this time, he’s been waiting for you. “I’d do it all over again if it meant I could end up with you.”

“You would?” You ask, pulling him in for another kiss. There’s plenty more where those came from, but you’re already feeling greedy. Why wouldn’t you? If life was a movie, then wouldn’t this be the happy ending?

“In a heartbeat.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

↳ check out the post-script drabble here!

#seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #jin fluff #jin angst #bts fluff #bts angst #seokjin scenario #jin scenario #bts scenario #jin fic #bts fic #bts au #seokjin imagine #jin imagine #bts imagine #bts enemies to lovers #bts friends to lovers #w: for you anything

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obscurelysevere · 5 years ago

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5: Introductions

Nerves that were uncharacteristic of her were flitting around in her stomach, as Usagi tugged at her and Mamoru's arms, pulling them toward Crown parlor. "Ooh, I can't wait to introduce you to my friends! Another senshi! This is so exciting!" the tiny blonde bubbled, as the sliding doors parted for the trio. "How many others are there?" Kat asked, betraying her own nerves. "Well, there's..." Usagi stopped to think, counting silently on her fingers. "Ten of us? If you include Chibimoon and myself." "Ten?!" She was not expecting that many. "Oh! But don't worry, not everybody is here all the time. Haruka and Michiru and Setsuna and Hotaru kind of like to... keep to themselves. And Chibimoon is in the future with Neo Queen Serenity and King Endymion," she continued to babble on. "Endymion? Neo Queen...?" Kat stopped walking, and looked up at her brother, who went by the same name in a previous life, with her, and Princess Serenity. Usagi stopped walking and looked back at the siblings. "Eh... uhm... yeah. So... Neo Queen Serenity and King Endymion are me and Mamo-chan in the future. And Chibiusa is their... our daughter." Usagi poked her two pointer fingers together a couple of times, sounding slightly embarrassed.

It was Kat's turn for her mouth to fall open slightly, at a complete loss for words. So Usagi continued. "Chibiusa - Chibimoon - comes and visits us here, in the past, sometimes. She also comes to see Hotaru - they're best friends, you see." Kat closed her eyes for a moment. She just spent the past few months trying to wrap her head around her past. But there was a future world she had to think about too? She couldn't help but smile, though. The idea that the prince and princess still existed in another time made her happy. "Well, I can't wait to meet her sometime." "I guess that would make her your niece!" Usagi exclaimed, excitedly, now that she knew she didn't freak Kat out. "So, then, if she's from the future... Does she already know about me?" The question tumbled from Kat's lips before she could swallow it. It didn't want to impose on their lives in any way, and that question almost felt too close to the line. Usagi and Mamoru exchanged an unsure glance. "Eh... She hasn't said anything about you, before," Usagi started, carefully. "Yeah, but, I only became aware of your existence after you did. So maybe, your... awakening will start to spark something in all of our memories?" Mamoru was quick to offer. "Yeah, yeah!" Usagi agreed just as quickly. She grabbed Kat's and Mamoru's hands, pulling them along again, as she walked backwards towards a booth full of four other girls and two... cats? "Usagi-chan!" A blonde with a red bow stood up, beaming. All the girls looked up at the sound of Usagi's announcement. They looked like they were going to greet her, but their voices stuck in their throats at the sight of the newcomer. The girl with the blue bob spoke up first. "Who's your new friend, Usagi?" Kat suddenly felt very under the microscope. All she had planned on doing was meeting her brother today. But she'd already met him, his fiancé - the moon princess - heard of their daughter, and she was meeting other senshi, that she had only had a very faint knowledge of just until an hour ago. Her face felt hot - was she blushing? "This is Roun Katrina! She's... well..." Usagi stopped again, looking up at Kat and Mamoru, as if asking them to finish explaining for her. Mamoru cleared his throat and put his free hand on Kat's shoulder. "This is my sister, from the Silver Millennium." "Whaaat!?" All four girls - and the cats - cried at once, in disbelief. "Your sister!?" the raven-haired girl repeated, the words almost sounding funny on her tongue. "Mamoru, honestly, how long have you been keeping this a secret from us?" she demanded. "He didn't know," Kat was quick to jump in. "I just... found him today. I only got my memories back a few months ago." "Right around the time Galaxia... killed me." Mamoru added. "Wait, what!?" Kat's head snapped up. "You died again?" Mamoru quickly put up his hands in defense. "Yeah... When you showed me your memories, I saw more than just our past, I saw your life up until... well, today, really." "Kat is a sailor senshi, just like us!" Usagi added, with much excitement. The girls began throwing a barrage of questions at Mamoru and Katrina. "Here, here, let me just show you," Kat offered. She glanced around, there weren't many people in the Crown parlor, so she felt fairly safe letting the other girls see her past. She wasn't aware that her past also included her transforming for the first time in the present and fighting the phages, which she assumed came from this Galaxia that her brother had mentioned. The girls each put a hand in the middle of the table, fingertips touching, and Kat hovered her hand over theirs. Her signature rosy-golden glow illuminated her fingertips and warmth flooded over the other girls' hands. They were all silent as the memories merged in their minds. Kat also sensed the two cats presences in the peripheral of her mind. They all opened their eyes as Kat pulled her hand back. They blinked slowly, and looked at her with new eyes. Not recognition, but acceptance. The warmth that squeezed at Kat's heart was new and unfamiliar. She'd never had so many people around her before. "Sailor Earth," the brunette said, wonder in her voice. They each began to introduce themselves - Minako, Sailor Venus, Makoto, Sailor Jupiter, Rei, Sailor Mars, Ami, Sailor Mercury, and even the two cats - Artemis and Luna. They all moved to make way for her to sit amongst them. Mamoru excused himself, kissing Usagi atop her head, saying something about really needing to study, and he was so, so sorry, but he promised Usagi and Kat that they could all get together for dinner that night. Kat wasn't in the least bit nervous about her brother leaving her behind with these girls she'd only just met. It felt like she'd always known them, Usagi especially. Conversation quickly bubbled up, about school and studies, and eating and sleeping and gaming (courtesy of Usagi, herself). It was clear the girls had a deep bond, one that went far beyond them just being sailor senshi. The girls asked where Kat lived, where she went to school, what she did for a living, etc. Kat tucked some hair behind her ear, looking down at the strawberry parfait sitting in front of her (one that Usagi had insisted that she try). "Well... I live in Hakone right now... but I've been looking at moving here and studying at Keio University. I want to continue studying biology, with an emphasis at animal husbandry and conservation. I'm currently a vet tech at one of the best vets in Hakone, but I want to be able to do much more." "So like, zoology?" Ami asked, smiling gently at her. "Yeah, exactly like zoology, actually. I would love to work at the Tokyo zoo, eventually. But that seems like such a long ways down the road. Especially after discovering who I really am. But it's gotten so quiet since you beat Galaxia, that I feel like I might be able to dedicate more of myself to my studies." Ami nodded sagely. "Being a sailor guardian can be a lot of work, itself. But I've been able to maintain my studies and honor roll, so it's not impossible." Usagi and Minako groaned and rolled their eyes a little bit. Kat laughed. "I take it you two aren't too fond of school?" Rei smorted. "Usagi avoids studying like the plague. And her grades show how vested she is in her 'studies'." "Why should I try to memorize something I'm going to forget immediately? And it's something that's not so important anyway, not like being Sailor Moon is!" Usagi's voice grew louder with determination. "Shhh!" The girls were quick to shush her, and she hung her head slightly. Kat laughed. "You're such good friends." "What about your friends, Kat-chan?" Usagi asked, innocently. Kat wasn't used to the affectionate nickname. It made her feel warm and welcomed. "Well... I don't really have friends outside of my coworkers back home, really," she admitted, quietly. "Don't worry, we'll be your friends, from now on!" Usagi cheered. "Especially if you're going to move here! Oh, you have to move here! Us scouts have to stick together!" Kat smiled at her. "You really think so?" "Of course I do! You can't stay alone! Especially now that Mamo-chan knows he has a sister. Mamo's parents... they died in a car accident when he was younger. So he's never had any blood relatives around. He was an orphan when he was younger. But I'm his family now! I could be... your family too, if you would let me." Usagi offered a soft, small, genuine smile. Kat couldn't help but feel the warmness spread through her. Though there was something that tugged sadly at her heart. How her brother grew up, it didn't sound too much different than her upbringing. Though her parents hadn't died. They had just given her up. She spent most of her life feeling unwanted, and like she didn't belong. But here, now, sitting with the five other girls, and knowing that Mamoru was in her life, it felt like she'd never really been alone at all. That night, Usagi and Katrina went to Mamoru's apartment. When they walked in, the rich smell of home-cooked udon ramen warmed the sparse living-space. "I don't cook often," Mamoru admitted, when he saw Kat eyeing the cooking food. "But this felt like an extra special occasion." He smiled at her and rested his hand atop her head, like he always used to do. It made her smile, fondly. Everything about this day had gone so much better than she had expected it to. In fact, she had been pretty sure that she wasn't even going to find her brother on this short trip at all. At the very least, she would check out Keio and talk to some professors, to see if it would be a good fit for her. But here she was, with her brother, and her new-found friend, whom she felt as if she had known her whole life. Usagi was purity and goodness and sunshine and love. It was no wonder she was Sailor Moon, and Princess Serenity. Even when she wolfed down her double chocolate parfait, leaving whipped cream and chocolate on her face, somehow Kat could still envision her as the princess of the Moon Kingdom. Even when she bickered with Rei in a losing argument, she could see it. Even when she tripped over the lip of the step up into Mamoru's apartment, Kat couldn't shake the vision of who Usagi once was; who she was destined to be. "It looks so delicious, En- Mamoru," Kat said, whilst Usagi peered over her shoulder. Usagi giggled. "Mamo-chan, it looks soooo yummy! Much better than the instant noodles that Mama buys me!" Mamoru laughed, and turned his affections to his fiancé. He slipped an arm around her waist, kissing her tenderly. Kat turned away. She wasn't used to this level of love, or any sort of stable relationship. Because of the way she'd grown up, and the deep-seeded feeling that there was something so very different inside of her, none of her relationships had lasted past the one year mark. And that was only a one time thing. All of her other relationships lasted far less, it seemed. Not that she minded - it had given her time to focus on her studies, and her job. But seeing her brother and Usagi together, Katrina felt a pang in her chest. Quietly, she pulled herself away from the small, but open kitchen, and padded around Mamoru's living space. It was very minimalistic, and she got the feeling that he didn't spend a whole lot of time here, save for sleeping. It was very clear that Usagi didn't spend more than a bit of a time here, either, as there wasn't a woman's touch to be seen. Not even a trace of clothing. "Oh, Mamo-chan! Katrina-chan is looking at enrolling at Keio!" Kat perked up at the sound of her name, and looked at the couple in the kitchenette, mainly her brother. He had one raised brow. "Oh really? What for?" He sounded genuinely interested. "Biology. Zoology to be more specific." "Yeah! Yeah! She wants to work at the zoo. Wouldn't that be so cool, Mamo-chan? She could spend all her days working with cute little animals!" Usagi was so animated. Mamoru smiled at Kat. "That doesn't surprise me. From what I can remember, you were very much an animal-whisperer, even when you were a little girl." It sounded weird having someone refer to her at such a young age. She was used to people knowing that part of her. No one had ever stuck around long enough to even try and learn. She laughed, a little self conscious now. "I guess I did spend a lot of time in the gardens, and the woods, getting to know the animals in the area." "Ooh. Like a real-life Snow White?" Usagi sounded fascinated. "Well... I never sang to them." Kat's face was a little flushed. She wasn't used to all of the attention, and positive feedback she was receiving from both of them. Kat was absolutely flabbergasted when she saw the way Usagi wolfed down three full bowls of ramen, not even waiting for them to cool down, and gasping and whining every time she took an especially hot bite. "Where does it all go?" Kat asked, half joking. Usagi shrugged. "That's what I wonder, all the time," Mamoru said with a chuckle. Once they were all finished, Usagi and Kat stood in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes. "You and Mamoru are really close, huh?" Kat asked. Usagi was happily wiping the dishes dry, and putting them away, as she went. "Of course!" she answered, without missing a beat. "I mean... he's my soul mate. And if time has proven anything to us, it's that we'll always find our way back to each other, every time." Usagi grew quiet for a moment, as if she were deep in thought. "I mean, Queen Beryl killed and brainwashed him, but he came back. Then, he was receiving warning dreams from King Endymion in the future, warning him that he might be my downfall. So we broke up. But he came back. And the Dark Moon Circus was draining his crystal with their powers, while they were here. But he never went anywhere, at least not completely. And then Galaxia... killed him. I thought he was just overseas, studying in America, and he didn't have time for me. But he came back, once I defeated the Chaos in Galaxia." "You know what I'm hearing?" "What's that?" "That you, and your love, have saved him time and time again. Without you battling to protect this planet, and everyone on it, none of us might be here right now. I really wish I had gotten to know you sooner, Usagi." Kat's voice had grown a little softer, a little more quiet. Usagi stopped wiping, and peered up at the other woman. "But... you're here now, and that's all that matters, right?" She smiled so brightly, the room seemed to glow with her energy. "Right." Kat smiled warmly back at her. "Usako!" Mamoru burst from his bathroom, in dark grey sweatpants, his hair still dripping wet from his shower. His voice was urgent. "People are being attacked downtown!"

#sailor moon #sailor earth #usagi tsukino #mamoru chiba #writing #fanfiction

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rainbowglittr · 3 years ago

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Love and Marriage - Chapter 15 (Mature, Minors DNI)

Description:

After a loss in the family uncovers a family secret, Jaleia and her husband Jesse are forced to balance one family crisis after another along with their budding careers and their plans to expand their family. Will the pressure to keep everyone else together ruin their own relationship? Can ruined relationships be fixed before it’s too late?

Chapter 15:

"Ugh." I lifted my head from the toliet as I finished heaving. Jesse was holding my hair back since it had decided it ws not going to stay in a ponytail. Pregnancy was really throwing me for a loop. A couple of weeks ago, me and Jess went to the doctor where she confirmed that I was indeed pregnant. I was now about 6 weeks pregnant and the side effects were kicking in real strong. I had been having morning sickness almost every sngle day for the past two weeks. Like clockwork. I was tired no matter how much I slept.

"You think that's it, baby?" Jesse said. This morning sickness routine had added on at least fifteen extra minutes to my morning schedule, so to not be late I woke up fifteen extra minutes early. We were still keeping it quiet, although I think Diana was cathing on. But we decided to still keep it quiet for another month to be safe.

She only was going to stay with us for about two more weeks, just before the end of August. That was supposed to be when Jesse's mom officially closed on the house that is just three doors away from ours.

And while Jesse did did best to try and convince her to move somewhere a little further away, she was sold on that damn house. We saw her almost non-stop. She also was lucky because someone had agreed to buy her old house, but that was going to take longer to close than the one she just bought. Jesse and Di were helping her when they could to pack everything from the house and move it to storage. They had made a lot of progress and this Friday they were going to move the last boxes of stuff into storage. Once her new house closed they would have to move all that stuff into the new house. I had to say her hating me really came in handy because I really did not want to help.

Jesse on the other hand was busy in a lot of meetings to determine whether or not he was going to be the labels next new artist. They really liked him, and he was going to start doing some local performances, and creating public social media accounts, depending on how well he did, with the label's help, determined if this record deal was going to happen. And even though he was still fighting really hard to get it, his previous work with Legacy Records really gave him a leg up. It was looking good but they were really reluctant to give one of, in my humble totally and completely unbiased opinion, their best song writers a shot a making it big. The just weren't sure he had that "star qualilty" they were looking for. In other words, he was a black, non-rapping artist they weren't sure how to market him or if he would sell.

I just sat for a moment, hoping that my stomach had settled. When I no longer felt the waves of nausea crash over me, I started to get up.

"I think I'm done for today, or this morning at least." I told Jesse.

"Good, that means my job here is done." He said. He stood up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder, and his hands on my stomach.

"Our baby is in there." I said smiling.

"Yeah, our little girl." he said, kissing my neck lightly.

"How do you know?" I said as I put my hands on top of his.

"Cause thats what I told my sperm to make."

I laughed and rested my head against his chest.

"You know, I've spent so much time not wanting to be pregnant, it feels so good to actually be happy about it." I said.

"I spent so much time trying not to get someone pregnant. It's nice that when I finally did, we're both happy about it."

"Shut up." I said, still smiling.

"Are you nervous?" he asked.

"Of course Jess, I don't want to be a shitty mom. Plus with all the issues I have, I'm scared but I always wanted this and I'm excited."

"You are going to be the most amazing mom ever. You shouldn't even be nervous, Love."

"Are you?"

"Course I am. But I got you, so I ain't even sweating it."

"I see you with Di, you ain't got nothing to worry about, you're going to be amazing as a dad."

"Well if you're going to be amazing, and I'm going to be amazing, then our baby is going to have two amazing parents."

"Damn right." I said.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"And then I took Benadryl, and it didn't get any better, and then I tried Tylenol, which, I, I,I don't even know why I tried that, I think my wife told me to, actually I think it was my mother actually who told me to take Tylenol, it didn't work and then-"

"Um, sorry to interrupt but do you have any relevant medical history that I don't already know? Anything you think you haven't already told us, um, anything you unusual that you've done or been exposed to that might be making your allergies worse, anything at all?" I said. My patient had been going on and on about stuff that I quite honestly really didn't need to know and I really didn't have time for. I just needed to know if anything had changed since the last time I saw him. But he was extremely long winded.

"Nah, not that I can think of. But you know I have been gardening a lot more, not that I haven't before but I've been doing more, and you know what my wife says, she thinks there's nothing more peaceful then gardening? I kinda see where she's coming from but at the same time it's a lot of work. have you ever done gardening?"

"Um, I used to. Maybe Mr. Ryilke, when you come back you can bring back some samples of the soil, maybe there's some sort of allergen in the soil that is making your lupus go haywire. So I'll give you some instructions on paper of how to collect the samples, how to store them, all that and next time I see you I'll get them tested. As for you nurse Jackie is going to come in and take some samples from you that we are going to test and we should have the results shortly, or within the hour. if you have no further questions, then I'll let Nurse Jackie get started. Do you have any questions, anything at all?" I said as I started to get up.

"Just one question, doctor. Is it normal for my pee to be orange?" I just stoppped and stared for a moment. Then I sat back down, this was going to be a long conversation.

>>>>>>>>>>>

"Let me just finish up this report, then I'm going to close up. I'm out after this." I said to one of my coworkers, Marie. I was in the research lab and ready to go home. I just had one report to submit and I could have the sweet taste of freedom. I clicked submit after a quick proof read and started to gather my things.

"If you're done then James is going to walk me out if you want to come." she said. I took off my labcoat and hung it around my chair.

"Yeah, that would be great." I called out to her as I followed her out the lab. Marie and James were your typical "should be a couple" in my group of collegues. They clearly had chemistry but they were still in the "will they, won't they" part of their friend/relationship. They were two of the sweetest people I've ever met but also two of the most clueless when it came to dating- well at least dating each other. But I loved working with them, and I figure they have about three months before they can't take it anymore and finally get together.

We walked down the stairwell, with Marie and James having another one of their passionate debates about something random. I guess today's topic was cats versus dogs.

"What about you Jay?" Marie asked as we got to the last landing.

"I got to go with James on this one, sorry Marie, I'm team dogs."

"Not you? Oh God, who do i work with?" she said dramactically.

"Somebody had to say it, Marie." James said.

We all waved goodnight to the nure's station as we walked out of the stairwell and past the Nurse's station.

"Are you coming to Janet's party, Jay?" Marie asked me.

"Oh crap when is that again?"

"This Saturday. it's at the fancy resturant, I think it's french or something." she said.

"I forgot, damn. I'll definitely be there, let me put it in my phone so I don't forget it." I said whipping out my phone. Janet was another doctor in our depatrment, she was nice, I didn't know her well but well enough I guess to go to her birthday party.

James and Marie talked a little more, as we walked through the parking lot. They often got lost in their little bubble and forgot about other people but I was used to it, it was cute. It reminded me of when me and Jesse first got together. It was like no one else in the world existed.

"We parked together here Jay, are you good or do you want us to walk you to your car?" James asked.

"It's still light out guys, I'm not that far away, I'm good. Thank you. I'll see you guys tomorrow!"

"See you!" they both replied.

I walked to my car, hoping that I wouldn't get car sick. I don't know what this baby's obsession with making me vomit was but I was over it. Every now and then being in the car would make me car sick enough to have to pull over and either throw up or let the nausea pass.

>>>>>>>>>>>

"Jess, babe? I'm home!" I called out as soon as I walked in the door. I wasn't actually sure if he would be home before me today. but the lights were on so I figured he had to be. I walked to the kitchen, looking aorund for him. His mom was sitting in our nook.

"Hello." I said flatly.

"You look really fat and pudgy in that shirt. I don't know why my son would be attracted to that." she replied.

"Why are you in my house if you're going to be rude?" I asked as I put my purse down on the table.

"Why did my son marry trash? I guess we'll never know." she said as she glared at me.

"I don't have to put up with your shit Aiesha. I don't care if you're Jesse's mom. You can leave."

"I don't care if you're his wife, you will never be worthy of my son, you will always be beneath him and if I had it my way, he never would've married you."

"There is literally no reason for you to hate me and yet inexplicably you do. Why?"

"I just think Jesse could have done a lot better than you."

"What does that even mean?"

"Hey, what's going on?" Jesse's voice rang out from behind me. I wasn't facing the door so I didn't even hear hm come in. I turned to face him, giving him a quick peck on the lips, before truning to face his mother again.

"Oh, your lovely wife over here was threatening to kick me out your house. Is that acceptable to you Jesse? You don't mind your wife kicking me out?" Aiesha crossed her arms, a gave Jesse a demanding look.

"Mom, no one is throwing you out. And maybe if you stop insulting Jay, she would stop wanting to throw you out."

"So you are taking her side over your own mother?"

"Mom, there are no sides. I want you two to get along, I love you both."

"I see I'm not wanted here. You would think that after everything that is going on Jesse you would have your own mother's back, but I guess not." she said getting up and storming out of the kitchen. Jesse quickly followed after her as I rolled my eyes. She had such a flair for drama, she should've been an actress.

I could hear him calling for her. I went to reach for a bottle of wine, knowing that I was going to need it to deal with this drama before I realized that I couldn't drink anymore. I put my hand on my stomach, even though there was not yet a baby bump. Since I couldn't have wine, I did buy my favorite brand of mocktails for moments like these. I went to the fridge and poured some into my favorite wine glass. I sat down waiting for Jesse to return. After ten minutes of just waitng there and sipping a mocktail, I got up and started looking for leftovers of the steak stir fry I made last night. I was pulling it out the frigde when Jesse came back in the kitchen.

"Um so, my mom is going to stay the night." he said.

"Why?" I asked as I slid the dish into the oven.

"I'm going to be honest I don't know why, it was the only way to stop her crying." he said rubbing his face as he sat down in our breakfast nook.

"Can you just go easy on her? I know she doesnt look like it but this whole thing is really stressing her out." He said.

"She's stressing me out." I said.

"Jay."

"Jess."

"JAY."

"What? Why am I always the one who has to play nice? I'm sick of it!" I said slamming my hand on the counter.

"You don't think I get sick of you both fighting constantly?" He said.

"If you don't want us to fight then don't allow her to disrespect me."

"I can't control what she does, she's my mother not my child. At least when my dad was here it was easier to keep the peace."

"I don't know what you want from me." I said. An awkward silence filled the room for a few minutes.

"It would be really impportant to me if you went with us on Friday to the old house. It's the last time me and Di and even Ciara is coming up, but it's our last time in the house before it's sold."

"What time?"

"I'll be there all day with Di because we still have to move some stuff out but whenever you get off would be great."

"I can do that, are you doing another gig this Saturday?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Cause I have a birthday party I have to go to, well I don't have to go to, but I should go to and I was hoping you would be able to go with me but since you have a gig I'll just ask Kiara."

"Sorry." He leaned back and closed his eyes.

"It's fine." I said.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as he opened his eyes.

"Annoyed."

"Jay."

"Jess."

"Can you just talk to me?" he said, getting up from the nook. He walked over to where I was standing and put his hands out for a hug, which I gladly accepted. I tucked my face into the side of his neck.

"M'sorry, I'm just tired Jess." I said into his neck.

"I know, baby."

"But I'm fine, Jess. How was your day?"

"Boring, a bunch of meetings and stuff, but I was thinking about the baby," he said as I put my hand on my belly.

"What about a baby?" Aiesha said as she walked back into the room. I quickly dropped my hand from my belly.

"Um, nothing mom, you know I always call her that." he said as we moved away from each other.

"Then why was her hand on her stomach?"

"No reason, I just happened to have my hand there, that all." I said. Of all people I didn't want to find out early, it was his mom. She would not keep it a secret at all.

"Okay, fine, don't tell me, I'll always find out." she said as she walked out. We let out a huge breath.

"That was close." He said.

"Yeah, where's Diana?" I said switching the topic, I didn't know where his mother was lurking around.

"She's at a sleepover, I have to pick her up in the morning." he said.

"Cool, I hope she has a good time she deserves it with all you guys have been through this summer."

"Damn straight."

I went to sit down at our breakfast nook when all of a sudden his mom burst into the kitchen shouting "I KNEW IT!" holding a paper in her hands.

"Mom, what are you talking about?" Jesse asked. My heart dropped.

"She is pregnant, it says so right here! I'm going to have another grandchild!" she shouted excitedly.

"What, what are you talking about?" I said. Hoping that we could keep it a secret just a little while longer.

"I found this test result just hanging around in Jesse's office. Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"Why were you in his office?" I asked.

"Nevermind that, when were you going to tell me that I had a grandchild coming?"

Jesse looked at me. I guess the secret is out. I gave him a look that pretty much said just tell her. I figured it would be less painful that way. He gave me a new favorite look, the "I'll make it up to you" look.

"Okay, mom, you caught us. Jay's pregnant. But you need to promise us that youre going to keep this a secret, we dont want to tell anyone right now."

"Why not tell everyone this is great news isnt it?"

"It is but mom, we've already been through a miscarriage before this and we just want to keep it quiet until we really know for sure."

"How could you not tell me that, Jess? I'm your mother, you could've told me!"

"Well it's not exactly something I wanted to talk about, even with you. But we would really appreciate it if you would keep it on the low."

"Awww baby, of course! You don't know what this means, especially during this time, after your father. My baby boy is having a baby! I'm so excited, for you both."

>>>>>>>>>>>

I hurried through the parking lot to my car. It was finally friday, the day that I was supposed to meet Jesse at his mom's old house. Ciara had drove all the way out here from Philly to be here. It wasn't supposed to be this big emotional thing but I guess that's what it turned into. Everybody wanted one last time to walk through the house they grew up in, except Shaun. Ciara heard from his wife that the loss hit Shuan hard, he didn't have it in him to visit the house. Which everyone understood, it had only been about three months, not even, since his dad died.

I called Jesse as I pulled out of the parking lot. The phone rang for a while until he finally picked up.

"Hey babe, did you guys get to the house yet?" I said.

"Yeah we all just got here, we have to clear out some boxes and then we'll do the final walk through. Are you just leaving?"

"Yeah, I'll be there in like twenty if traffic's not bad. How you feeling?"

"I'm okay, right now."

"Jess, don't bullshit me, I know you too well for that remember? What's really going on?"

He let out a heavy sigh. "It's going to be hard. I know we're just gonna bring up old shit and, I don't know how to feel about that."

"Well I got you Jess. It's important that you allow yourself to feel what you feel, Allow yourself to be sad."

"I know, I will, Just get here safe, love you."

"Love you too" I pushed the button on my steering wheel to hang up. This summer had taken so many twists and turns and it wasn't even over yet.

>>>>>>>>>>>

"And do you remember how Dad chased Shaun down the stairs and around the house? He was screaming stuff but he was so mad none of it made any sense." Ciara said.

Everyone in the room was bent over the counters as they laughed at the memory. I stood there behind Jesse's shaking back as he laughed so hard tears rolled down his cheeks. What we thought was going be a very sad and somber last trip turned out to be one of the funniest trips to the house. It was so weird seeing it empty. It was a strange contrast to be an the empty house with everyone laughing and joking and the lively energy it normally had.

Jesse's mom was somewhere upstairs making sure she had everything, we were all in the kitchen, enjoying our last moments here.

Diana smiled, and pointed to a burn spot on the wall.

"I Never noticed that, where was it from?" she asked. Jesse and Ciara exchanged a knowing look.

"You know where most of the damage in the house comes from? Shaun. Second place would go to either dad or Jesse, but most of the damage in this house comes from that idiot." Ciara said.

"Shaun fucked with the roaster, broke it months before thankgiving. Don't know what the hell he was trying to do with it, but he broke it. Mom never uses that thing during the year until thankgiving so she never noticed. She went to cook the turkey and the roaster caught on fire. That was the year we had fried chicken instead of turkey." Jesse explained.

"Me and Jesse both knew it was Shaun's fault so we blackmailed him for six months after that. Mom and dad thought it was just a freak accident and so did the insurance, so Shaun knew that if we told what happened it would've been over for his ass." Ciara said.

"That was a good six months." Jesse said.

"I remember when I found out you had a little crush on Jaleia." Ciara teased. Diana tried to stifle her giggle.

"Shut up, C." Jesse warned. He stood up straight.

"No, I wanna hear, what's this? Spill the tea." I said.

"Well since you insisted," Ciara said with a michevous look on her face. "Jesse was writing a song, and he wasn't expecting me to come home."

"We don't really need to-" Jesse started walking closer to Ciara.

"It was a cute song about having a crush on someone, I didn't let him know I heard it. Would you relax, this is a cute story, would you rather me tell the story of when I walked in on you pleasuring yourself?" She said as Jesse backed her into a wall.

"So you were never good at locking doors?" I said to Jesse.

"Hahaha, you're so funny." he sarcastically said as he briefly turned to face me.

"We will never speak of that day. Why are you like this? It's like you only want to embarrass me." He said to Ciara before backing up with his hands up.

"Because you are my baby brother, and I have to. Anyway, this was in high school, I don't even remember when but I was determined to find out who the song was about. I had some theories, but I couldn't really figure it out, being in college and all. But lucky for me, the homecoming dance was coming up and it was so late at night everyone was sleep except Jess, cause he was in his room practicing how he was going to ask you out!" she said.

"Awww, that's so cute!" I said to Jesse. He was trying to hide his face.

"You should've! I ended up spending most of the night with you!" I said.

"You were in love with Tyler, I didn't think you would say yes."

"So you chickened out? Cause I sure as hell wasn't in love with that boy. Don't play me like that cause you're embarrassed."

"I didn't chicken out, I just didn't think you would say yes." He said as I rolled my eyes. I flapped my arms like wing at him.

"Why did you and the Green bean fall out? Cause y'all made up after high school. You never told me." Ciara said.

"Because he stabbed me in the back. Guess who Imani Cheated on me with?" he said.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, you NEVER told me that Tyler, Tyler, the guy we grew up with was the one that screwed your fiance?" I said to Jesse.

"I wasn't going to tell anyone. That shit's hella embarrassing." He said. Me and Ciara just stared at him with our mouths open. I couldn't believe this shit.

"We gon talk about this at home." I said.

"So anyone else got any memorires to discuss?" he said, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah, like how the fuck the guy with three kids and no job managed to steal your girl Jess? And it was your best friend? Cause Damn, thats bad." Ciara laughed. She saw the pissed expression on Jesse's face and stopped laughing.

"Oh baby brother I'm not laughing at you, it just the stuation that's a little, you know what, it's not, it's not funny. Sorry." She said. She patted him on his shoulder as Di laughed in the background.

"And I don't know what Di is laughing at because we could be talking about her little boyfriend." Jesse said. Everyone turned and faced her as her jaw dropped.

"Jesse! Shut up!" Diana said. I already knew that Ciara was going to tear that girl apart.

"So what's this about having a little boyfriend, Di?" Ciara said as she walked over to Di.

"Nothing. I don't even have a boyfriend."

>>>>>>>>>>

I rest my head on Jesse's chest. We were back home after leaving from the house. I traced imaginary patterns on his chest as we let the air conditioning blast, with the TV lowly playing in the background. We spent so much time at that house, and eventually it did get kind of sappy and tears were shed but really, we had a really good time. I didn't realize how many memories I had in the house until tonight. Seeing Jesse and his sisters embarrass each other and bicker and fight, in a very weird way made me miss my own two sisters, I honestly hadn't even talked to them in a long time, which reminded me that I really needed to call my mother. And my father. I was such a horrible family member-who forgets to talk to their own family? Well it's not like I don't text them often, I just haven't called them, and it's not like I told them to move across the country. I have been so caught up in Jesse's family I kind of neglected my own.

"Whatcha thinking so hard about over there?"

"I am a terrible family member. I have to call like everyone in my family, I haven't spoken to anyone in so long."

"That doesn't make you horrible, it just means you've been busy"

"I feel so bad, I've been so wrapped up in everything going on over here I don't even know what's going on in my own family and that sucks. I have two nephews and when's the last time I even asked about them, I mean I did ask about them through text message but that's a shitty thing to do, just texting, I mean I am their aunt. My family must hate me I mean I never call or-" I was interrupted by Jesse kissing me. He pulled back and said,

"I'm just going to stop you there before you spiral any further. All you have to do to solve this is call them. None of your family live in this state, my family live closer than your and do you think I talk to mine every day?"

"I know I just feel bad and I kind of miss them, seeing you with your sisters, made me miss mine. And my mom and my dad."

"You know they're just one call away."

"Do you think your mom can keep the baby a secret?"

"We got maybe two weeks, three at the most."

>>>>>>>>>>>>

To Aiesha's credit she did keep it a secret.....for about a week. All of the sudden we started to get Congratulations and calls all from Jesse's side of the family, and then his brother and sister called, and they were PISSED that he didn't tell them. I think the only reason I wasn't mad about it was because after she found out she became the mother in law I had always wanted. She stopped insulting me, she started being respectful, she was a completely different person. I loved it and all I had to do is be pregnant? It was amazing. I knew it wasn't going to last though, she didn't just start liking me it was all because of the baby, I knew it but I was definitely going to take advantage of it. Jesse of course could never get mad at his mom for more than five seconds, but at least now we could tell everyone.

All we had to do now was tell my side of the family, cause I knew that if they found out from anyone else that I was pregnant all hell would break loose. So I skyped my mom. I watched it ring for a while. I was sitting on the couch while Jesse was washing the dishes. My heart was beating fast, I don't why I was so nervous to tell my mom, I guess once I told her it made it real. I actually had a baby growing inside me.

"JESSE, come here, I want you to be here when I tell my mom!" I shouted.

"Coming," he replied. I heard the water shut off and then his footsteps. My mom's face popped up into the screen.

"Finally you call. I could've been sick or something and you would never know because you don't call me." She said before I even had a chance to say anything.

"Hey mom. How are you?" I said.

"I'm okay, not that you would know, I haven't heard from you in so long. Texting doesn't count I want to hear your voice."

"Yes mom, I'm sorry, things have been really crazy here."

"Are you doing okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, better than fine actually. Um, I have some news that I want to tell you."

"Okay, what is it?'

"Hey Mom!" Jess said, sitting next to me on the couch.

"Don't hey mom me, Jesse. What kind of son are you to let it go so long without me giving me a call? You're not exempt. What? I move down here and all of a sudden I don't deserve a damn call? I don't see a damn thing funny." she said as he tried to hide his smirk.

"Shanice, I'm sorry. Like Jay said, it has been really crazy here."

"How the hell would I know that if you don't call? And you miss doctor, don't even have the time to call your own sisters. What's that about? I raised you all to stay close no matter what and now you can't even pick up the phone to call your own sisters?"

"Mom, I'll do better, it's not even like that, it's just been crazy, it really has. I'll call them after you. But I really want to tell you the good news we have."

"Okay, what is it?" she said, finally relenting from the lecture. I looked at jesse.

"I'm pregnant!"

"We're pregnant!" We said. My mom was shocked. I never told her we were even trying so I know she wasn't expecting it and I wanted to really surprise her.

"Oh my God, are you serious?" she said with her hand over her mouth.

"Yeah, she really is." Jesse said smiling.

"I am so happy for you guys, God bless you and my grandchild! That is the best news." she said as she started tearing up.

"Don't cry ma, you're going to make me cry." I said trying not to cry myself.

"Aw, baby girl, I really am so happy for you both. I cannot wait to be a grandma again. I am so happy." she said as she wiped the tears away.

"I'm going to call you later mom, I just really wanted to tell you the good news. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, love you both so much."

"Love you too mom."

"Love you Shanice, Bye!"

We hung up, I put my phone down on the coffee table.

"Your mom had the best reaction so far, it was cute." Jesse said as he engulfed me in a hug.

#love and marriage #original story #original writing #black characters #black writers #writers on tumblr

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quicksilversquared · 7 years ago

Text

How to Fake a Marriage: chapter 9

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

(AO3) (FF.net)

As it turned out, the dresses weren't the only things that the tabloids noticed. There were more than a few pictures of Adrien and Marinette at Fashion Week popping up in the racks in the grocery check-out lines. Some were taken out of context- seemingly intimate photos of Marinette standing close to Adrien and adjusting his lapels before he went on the runway, him giving her encouraging pats on the shoulder, both of them ducking into the changing rooms. The headlines made him blush- Model gets cozy with intern and Romance behind the scenes at London Fashion Week? and Agreste heir finds love?. When Adrien worked up the courage to flip to the article while they waited in line at the grocery check-out, he could tell that more than a little attention had been paid to the fact that he was a last-minute sub in the show. There was a lot of speculation about why the other model had been replaced by him, and most of it involved claims that his father had disowned him (insert photo of his father looking angry; Adrien suspected that they hadn't had to look particularly hard for that kind of picture), so he needed money for his "rebellious" dash to freedom in a physics program in London and his "girlfriend" had set him up with a modelling contract so he could pay for a lifestyle that would no doubt continue spiraling downwards with more rebellious acts such as drinking, smoking, and partying hard.

Yeah, it was a bit of a stretch, especially when they could have done a bit of research and found that the other model was still laid up with a broken leg.

"Oh, there's the wedding photoshoot pictures," Marinette said as they cooked dinner together that evening, and Adrien looked up to see Marinette looking through another magazine. Her colleagues (and Madam Rosalie) had found and bought pretty much every tabloid that had mentioned them and had come stampeding over earlier that afternoon to offload them on Marinette. According to her, they had been grinning deviously when they presented the giant pile to her. "This one's claiming we secretly eloped and used the photoshoot as a cover so your father wouldn't find out."

Adrien snorted and paged through his own magazine. rolling his eyes at the ridiculous jumps in logic that the writers were making. He could see how writers might have thought that he was dating someone if he showed up with a girl on his arm out of the blue, but Marinette had been his friend for forever. It was hardly strange for him to hang out with a friend.

As expected, Adrien got called by his father later that night. Gabriel wasn't furious, which made Adrien guess that Nathalie had already done some damage control (he owed her, like, a dozen boxes of gourmet chocolates), but he wasn't happy that Adrien had ended up in one tabloid, never mind nearly a dozen.

"Like I told you before, the previous model was injured and I just happened to be the right size and walk into the building about ten minutes after they got the call that he wouldn't be able to make it," Adrien explained. "So that's why they didn't call the agency up. And of course I couldn't say no, Madam Rosalie is a friend of yours and mom's, and Marinette is my friend. I couldn't just leave them hanging."

"Yes, yes, I know that," Gabriel said impatiently. Adrien could hear the sound of his father's fingers tapping impatiently on his desk on the other end of the line. "The pre-runway show photos I can understand easily enough. But then they have pictures of you and the girl attached at the hip during the rest of Fashion Week. Arriving together, walking around to presentations together, sitting together during runway shows-"

"It is customary for people to spend time together when they're friends," Adrien said dryly, trying to not let too much sarcasm slip into his voice. "I don't really know people there, and Marinette couldn't really track down her coworkers in the crowd. Besides, we enjoy hanging out with each other."

Gabriel snorted. "They have photos of you wrapping your suit jacket around Marinette and then practically hanging all over her. And kissing her, no less."

"On the cheek," Adrien clarified helpfully. He frowned slightly- he hadn't spotted that photo. It must have been in one of the magazines that he hadn't looked through yet.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"The show area was a bit on the chilly side Thursday morning," Adrien explained, figuring that this was no time to joke around. Of course, with his father, there was really never a good time to joke around. "Marinette was shivering and the button-up I was wearing under my suit jacket was on the heavy side, so I gave her the jacket. And then I was a little cold, so cuddling was an obvious choice."

There was a long, exasperated sigh on his father's end of the line. "And the kiss?"

"We're French. Cheek kisses are a thing that exists." He and Marinette had been messing around, teasing each other before the runway show started. Marinette had been pretending to complain about Adrien hanging all over her and so he had nuzzled her neck in retaliation before pressing a friendly kiss to her cheek. She had only laughed more and pushed him away with a finger on his nose. It had been fun at the time, being able to tease each other freely like he often did with Ladybug when he was Chat Noir, but maybe Adrien should have known that there would be photographers nearby who weren't only interested in the clothes.

It was a pain being semi-famous, really. There had been a duo straight-up making out before one of the shows a few rows behind them and they hadn't had their pictures splashed all over the tabloids, yet a little cuddling on Adrien's part and suddenly it was some kind of Big Deal.

Gabriel let out a long, exasperated sigh. "You know that's not the way the tabloids saw it. You aren't a child anymore; you need to consider how others might interpret your actions. I suppose there's no real way to prevent the tabloids from twisting things, but do at least try to keep from doing anything that would give them real ammunition."

Adrien was sorely tempted to say "aww, so I'm not allowed to spiral into a life of drinking, smoking, and partying hard?" but he suspected that his father probably wouldn't be particularly amused.

"Of course," Adrien said instead.

"You may get approached by gossip 'reporters' because of these pieces." The disdain in Gabriel's voice was clear. "Nathalie is sending you a list of ones that won't twist your words quite as much as others will. You only need to talk with one to get things straightened out."

Personally, Adrien didn't particularly care if things got straightened out. It wasn't as though the tabloids were trying to say hurtful things about him- Marinette was his friend, after all, and anyone would be lucky to date her- and it wasn't as thought their words actually affected his life. Still, it was probably better just to do what his father wanted. If his father wanted him to give the tabloids the real story and explain that he and Marinette were just friends, then that was what he would do. They could save the snuggling for movie nights in their apartment when they didn't have other people over.

(Plagg would still tease him about it, but it was better than getting a lecture from his father.)

"Is he angry?" Marinette asked as the call ended and Adrien set his phone down with a sigh. She wandered back into the living room and flopped down to join him on the couch. "The articles weren't your fault."

"He's not happy, that's for sure," Adrien said with a grimace. "He said that he understood the pictures that were during the run-up to Madam Rosalie's runway show, but all of the ones during the rest of Fashion Week..."

"But those were just of us sitting together, right? That's normal friend stuff."

"They got pictures of me giving you my jacket." A pause. "And pictures from when we were messing around and I was hanging all over you."

Marinette groaned at that.

"But I don't know why they're making such a big deal out of it," Adrien said, frowning. "Friends hang out. Friends hug each other." He caught Marinette making a slight face and he frowned. "Don't they?"

"The hugging...it depends, really," Marinette said slowly. "I mean, Alya and I hug each other all the time. Some people don't."

"Is it weird?"

"To some people it is," Marinette admitted, shrugging. "Some people aren't very touchy. You're very touchy."

Adrien frowned in confusion and tugged Marinette over so she would be sitting right next to him on the couch, practically curled up against his side. "Touchy? Like, oversensitive? What does that have to do with the photos?"

"No, no, not touchy like oversensitive. Handsy would be a better word, I guess. You like having your hands on people."

"No I don't," Adrien argued, draping his arm over Marinette's shoulders to tug her even closer and arrange her against his side. "My parents raised me to be a perfect gentleman. I keep my hands to myself."

Marinette raised an eyebrow at him. Adrien raised his eyebrows right back until Marinette glanced down at his arm, still hanging over her shoulder. He blinked, then groaned, pulling his arm away. Marinette laughed and pulled it right back before he could go too far.

"I don't mind, really," Marinette said as she settled his arm back into place. "It's nice. But did you seriously not realize that you do that all the time?"

"Do I really?" Adrien asked, completely dismayed. He hadn't even noticed. "Shoot, I didn't mean to get up in strangers' personal bubbles-"

"Oh, you don't do it to strangers," Marinette assured him hastily, patting his hand reassuringly. "Like, maybe there's the occasional shoulder touch with people you kind of know, but it's not like you go around cuddling random people on the bus all the time."

"You don't know that I don't," Adrien teased, relieved that she wasn't bothered by it. "I take the bus to and from school every day by myself. You don't know what I might do during those rides."

"You guzzle down something with caffeine on the way to your classes and review your notes on the way home," Marinette said, grinning as she poked his side, making him squirm. "Don't tell me you don't."

That was actually...surprisingly accurate. He didn't review his notes on the bus, but he did try to take a chunk out of his assigned readings while heading back after his classes were over. He had had conversations with people on the bus a couple times, mostly when there were fellow classmates he recognized on the same bus or when someone talked to him first, but for the most part he kept to himself or tried to hold a hushed conversation with Plagg.

"Have you been spying on me?" Adrien teased, giving Marinette's shoulders another little tug. "Because that's what it sounds like to me."

"No, you're just predictable."

"Oh, shush. I am not." At least, he was pretty sure that he wasn't. A thought struck him, and he grimaced. "I bet the people at school won't think so, not after all the tabloids. So much for people not knowing who I am here."

Paul was smirking when Adrien walked into his second class of the day on Monday and Adrien found himself repressing a groan.

"You look like that cat that ate the canary," Adrien informed him as he set his bag down on the desk. "Stop smirking, it's disturbing."

"I don't know if I can," Paul said smugly. "You see, I was grocery shopping this weekend and happened upon this most interesting magazine."

Yeah, Adrien could definitely see where this was going. Fabulous.

With a grin, Paul brought out one of the tabloid magazines that had gotten Adrien in trouble. "See, I didn't hear that you were going to be doing Fashion Week! Someone kept that a secret- well, until his face was plastered to every magazine at the end of the grocery lane. My sister was heartbroken to hear that you were apparently already married."

"Oh, is that the story that they're trying to sell with that one?" He vaguely remembered seeing something along those lines in the magazines he and Marinette had gotten. He had stopped paying attention after the first few. Plagg could probably recite the articles of by heart; the small god had been delighted by the pile of magazines that Marinette's coworkers had brought over and once Marinette was gone, he had settled in to read every last one of them. Adrien wouldn't be surprised if Plagg started quoting bits of the articles soon, just to be annoying.

Paul laughed, flipping through the pages of the magazine. "That's what it seems like. You have to admit, it does seem a little suspicious, with those wedding pictures. Even I could tell that there was something different with that photoshoot."

"If you say so." Adrien certainly didn't see it; after all, the photos had turned out lovely and everyone ended up looking very natural. Sure, it had a variety of body types, but Adrien was fairly sure that that was on-trend right now. Besides, they chose the interns that they did based on who fit the dressed Madam Rosalie had on hand. They had been planning to have variety in the photoshoot anyway.

Besides, the runway switch-out that that the tabloids were currently throwing such a fit over? Things happened to models all the time and replacements were hardly uncommon. Designers normally had a little more warning when a switch was needed, but the switches themselves weren't that unusual. His father usually had at least one model switch per runway show, usually two or three. Considering that that was higher than the industry average, Adrien suspected that the high turnover rate of their models probably had something to do with his father's demanding personality and harsh criticisms.

"You know, I've never really been one to read gossip magazines before, but if you showing up in them is gonna be a regular occurrence I might just have to do it more often." Paul smirked at the look on Adrien's face. "What? I'm just saying. This is absolutely hilarious, and the others are just as good."

"Please don't tell me that you decided to actually buy more than one of those magazines."

"My younger sister bought them," Paul said cheerfully, pulling out another magazine and waving it at Adrien. "Well, she and her friends. And then my mother confiscated them because she said they were trash rags, and then I got them from her for teasing purposes."

"Marinette's coworkers practically buried her under all of the magazines and articles they could find about us," Adrien admitted. From what he had heard by text from Marinette this morning, it sounded like her coworkers were trying to make a scrapbook with every tabloid article and picture in it. It would be funny if it weren't so embarrassing. "And then the daily paper apparently had a section devoted to daily sightings of celebrities and for some reason they included Marinette and I-"

"And did a daily update on you two being spotted together, I know," Paul said, still snickering. "I was going to text you and ask if you knew about it, but then I figured that the two of you would probably get all stiff and weird around each other if you knew people were watching you. And then it wouldn't have been quite as amusing."

"Thank you, you're so considerate," Adrien said dryly. Paul was right- he would have probably tried to put a little more space between himself and Marinette and he definitely wouldn't have done the snuggling and the kiss on the cheek had he known that people were apparently watching them- and while it wouldn't have been as fun, it would make trying to explain things during any interviews easier. As things stood, any interviewers would probably think that he was trying to hide a secret relationship because of the faux-wrestling and cheek kiss.

"I think I would get along with Marinette's coworkers," Paul decided as he tucked the magazines away. "If they're teasing the two of you, they're good in my books. Are they putting together a CD or anything of all of the times they showed the two of you together on TV?"

Adrien froze. All the times they showed him and Marinette on TV? "What?"

"I mean, mostly it was short clips of the two of you milling around looking at things or sitting waiting for the runway shows to start, but-"

"Did they have clips of us watching the runway?" If they did, that could be bad. Adrien had had his arm thrown around Marinette's shoulders for more than a couple shows, and then if they had any clips of him watching Marinette as she watched the runway...

Yeah, those looks could definitely be misinterpreted.

"No, they were a little more focused on the clothes, oddly enough," Paul drawled a bit sarcastically. "And from what I could tell, it was perhaps a little too dark in the rest of the room to be bothering with trying to record people's expressions. Why, were you up to something?"

"No, no, dark lighting can just make things look more intimate than they actually are," Adrien said hastily before Paul could get any ideas. "And the press likes making big deals out of shadows and claiming that there's a hand where there's actually a wrinkle in a jacket or something."

"If you say so." Paul shrugged and changed the subject. "So are you ready for the rest of the semester? I don't know about you, but I have projects for all of my classes and I'm not looking forward to trying to juggle all of them and studying and, y'know, having a social life."

"I don't think it'll be that bad," Adrien said with a small grin. "I've been looking at the write-ups for some of those projects and there's a couple that are pretty short. As long as I don't leave them all until last minute, I think they'll be fine." He had had to deal with projects before for his business major, and they only ever caused problems if he left them off until last minute, got too panicked about them, or- rue the day- if he got stuck in a group project. He was already halfway done with two term-long projects.

He could get anything done and still have time for weekend excursions as long as he had good time management. It was something he had had drilled into him throughout his life (and then driven completely home when he had to try to get all of his planned activities plus fighting akumas plus homework done) and thankfully he hadn't let himself slide at all once he headed off to university. From what he could tell, more than a few of his classmates had trouble with the concept, even including Paul at times. They spent too much time partying or procrastinating and then had to stay up late to get their studying done. Adrien preferred to try to get things done- or at least mostly completed- before going off to do other things.

"I started working on two projects over the break," Paul said. "So, y'know, it really wasn't much of a break. But I guess it really wasn't much of a break for you either, right? Because you were working?"

"Only on one- okay, two- days," Adrien pointed out. "And it was interesting to see some of the fashions going on right now."

"And now you have to deal with the fallout from being there. How soon d'you think the reporters are going to start to swarm? I'm surprised they didn't pounce on you while you were still at Fashion Week."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll turn up soon." Adrien glanced at the window. He was about 90% percent certain that he would run into at least a handful after class was over, hounding him as he tried to head to his class in another building. "Honestly, it's just a matter of time."

Adrien stepped out of the building to see a whole horde of reporters from various tabloids and gossip shows waiting for him right outside the door.

Great.

There was a general cry as they spotted Adrien, and he abandoned his momentary panicked idea of jumping over the side of the stairs and making a desperate break for it. He had faced the press before as himself just fine (and as Chat Noir numerous other times), and just because he didn't have Nathalie at his side this time didn't mean he couldn't do it. He didn't have to answer any questions now, which put him more at ease.

The ball was in his court. He didn't have to tell them anything and they knew that, and they knew that he knew that. As long as he didn't show his nerves, he could handle this.

"Adrien! Can you comment of your relationship with Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

"Mr. Agreste! Is it true that you and your girlfriend left Paris because your father didn't approve of your relationship?"

"Mr. Agreste-"

"I am not taking questions right now," Adrien said, cutting them off before they could really get going and attract any more attention than they already were. His voice carried easily enough over the clamor of the reporters, much to his surprise, and it also sounded disturbing similar to his father's. He let his eyes scan over the crowd, trying to figure out who exactly was there. He had spent an hour the previous night reviewing the lists Nathalie had sent so he could identify which reporters he should and should not talk to. It hadn't been enjoyable, but it had (rather unfortunately) been necessary. Unlike in Paris, where he knew all of the reporters on sight, Adrien wasn't familiar with the British tabloids at all.

"But Mr. Agreste-"

"I'll talk to one person," Adrien said firmly. "And not now. I have classes I need to be in right now."

The reporters didn't look particularly happy. One- someone who Adrien recognized from Nathalie's 'do-not-talk-to-under-any-circumstances' list- was more vocal than the others. "But this is important! Other things can wait-"

"I beg to differ," Adrien shot right back, letting his tone grow frosty. "My education is far more important than providing gossip to a bunch of tabloid reporters about my friend and I. Now if you'll excuse me, I have places to be and so do the other students."

With that, he strode forward briskly, sending reporters scattering as he did. Adrien kept a carefully neutral expression on his face- if he looked annoyed, the reporters (if he could even call them that) would no doubt interpret it as annoyance that his so-called "top-secret relationship" had been discovered. As he passed the last reporter in the group, he paused and turned halfway, making eye contact with the one reporter that had shown up that Nathalie had approved of.

"Madam Addison, I'll speak with you later. The rest of you needn't stick around."

And then he was gone.

As soon as he was settled in his next class, Adrien pulled out his phone to text Marinette. She had already said that she wasn't going to speak with reporters- and Adrien believed her, she was definitely strong enough to not crack under the pressure of dozens of reporters crowding around and throwing questions at her- but it wouldn't hurt to give her a heads-up. If she wanted to go out for lunch, she might find herself surrounded by pesky tabloid reporters.

"You did good," Plagg commented as Adrien sent his message. "Did you learn that from your father?"

"From Father and Nathalie," Adrien admitted, keeping his voice hushed. He could tell that there were more eyes on him than normal, so he had to be extra-careful. "And you know that Ladybug and I had to deal with the press all the time before we defeated Hawkmoth."

"They didn't bug you about your personal relationships, though."

"They did, actually. They asked if we were dating. And when we said no, they asked if we were dating other people. And somehow they thought that they would get a different answer if they asked a dozen times a year." Actually, it was more like five dozen times a year by the time they defeated Hawkmoth. He could have understood it if it was all different people asking- both reporters and kids, for example- but the question came from the same small handful of reporters nearly every time.

Thankfully Alya had only asked once and then let it be. Adrien suspected that she had noticed the looks of irritation on both Ladybug's and Chat Noir's faces when they got the question from others and decided that there was no point in probing them further. After all, she already got the scoops and seemed to be on Ladybug's good side when it came to getting interviews. There was no point in risking driving the superhero duo away by irritating them with probing questions about their love life or lack thereof.

Adrien's phone buzzed quietly and he checked it. Apparently Madam Rosalie had already chased away several reporters that were poking around, and Marinette had brought her own lunch in anticipation of the problem so she wouldn't have to go outside until the end of the day. There still might be an issue of particularly persistent reporters hanging around to pester her on her way back to her flat- and good lord, they were probably going to make a bigger deal out of the fact that Adrien and Marinette were neighbors than it really was- and if he went to escort her for the few blocks between the Rosalie's Fashion building and their building so that she wouldn't be making the walk alone and followed by harassing reporters, they would make a huge deal out of that as well.

Perhaps she could walk home with several of her co-workers, since several others lived in the same building. They could keep the reporters from crowding in too much. Adrien texted the suggestion to Marinette and then put his phone away before anyone decided to make a big deal out of him texting Marinette and then go trotting to the press to get their two seconds of fame.

He didn't want to think badly of any of his classmates, really, but he just didn't know all of them well enough to be positive that they wouldn't do such a thing. Besides, tabloid reporters sometimes offered money for information and, well, uni students and money...

As he waited for class to start, Adrien mentally reviewed what he was going to say in his interview. It wasn't as though he was trying to come up with some sort of cover story that he would have to keep straight or anything, it was just that he knew that it could be overwhelming to have to answer questions under pressure and have his answers come out in ways that couldn't be misconstrued, especially since he would be doing the interview in English, not French. If he knew what he was going to say in advance, there was less of a chance that he would be left fumbling for the right words to answer a question.

Even if the woman he was going to be talking to was one of the more reasonable reporters in the gossip business, Adrien wasn't particularly inclined to trust them not to blow things out of proportion if given the chance.

Class went too fast, and then he was leaving again. There would doubtless be more than just the one reporter waiting outside- they would be looking for reactions to their questions, even if he didn't actually answer anything verbally. It was annoying- really annoying- but at least he was prepared for it.

Well. Somewhat, at least. He hoped.

Half an hour later, Adrien had managed to dodge the questions from the still-lingering reporters and was on his way to Madam Addison's studio in her car. The woman was clearly thrilled to be granted the exclusive interview, but she was doing her best to remain in check. For his part, Adrien was trying to keep the nerves from showing.

Yes, it had been a good idea to get the whole circus off campus. If he wanted the whole thing to blow over, he had to keep the visible fuss to a minimum. Magazines on a rack could be ignored; a horde of reporters obstructing the doorway to the academic buildings could not. Still, they were definitely moving onto Madam Addison's ground now, and he couldn't just walk away from her questions like he had with the other reporters.

"We've arrived!" the driver announced as they pulled up to a building, and Madam Addison sprung out, waving Adrien out as well. She steered him into the news building and up the stairs, past staring workers and whispering interns. They ended up in Madam Addison's office, where she settled in her chair behind her desk and gestured for Adrien to sit in the chair opposite of her desk. The cameraman- well, camera lady- sat in another chair and turned her camera on.

"So, Adrien," Madam Addison started. "All through last week, you were spotted looking cozy with an intern from Rosalie Fashions during Fashion Week. It raised a lot of questions, but let's begin with the start of last week. You ended up replacing a Rosalie model very last minute."

"I did. I went into Rosalie Fashions on Friday around noon and found out that they had just gotten word that one of their male models had been in a car accident and would be unable to walk the runway. Since I've had experience walking the runway and was pretty much the same size, it was an obvious choice for me to step into his place."

Madam Addison's eyebrows rose. "And you just happened to be going to Rosalie Fashions... why? To visit a special friend, perhaps? A girlfriend?"

"To visit a friend," Adrien corrected. "Marinette gets very focused and forgets to eat sometimes, especially during crunch times such as the lead-up to Fashion Week, so I went to bring her lunch."

"That is a very boyfriend-like move, many would say."

Adrien shrugged. He wasn't going to get defensive, because he knew how that could be- would be- read. "Perhaps to some people. I'd do the same thing for my other friends if they were stressed and I had time to visit...and if we were in the same country," Adrien added. He knew full well that without the qualifier, he would have people trying to tail him to see if he actually visited anyone else with lunch, never mind that it should be obvious that the majority of his friends would be back in Paris.

"If you say so." Madam Addison glanced down at her notepad. "So that explains why you replaced a model last-minute, but then you were spotted throughout the week together."

"Marinette and I are friends," Adrien pointed out again. "We've known each other since collège. And friends, y'know, customarily hang out with each other. I had the week off, so I decided to spend it with Marinette instead of just hanging out alone in my apartment."

"But surely you've seen enough fashion shows in your life, for someone who isn't interested in fashion?"

"I'm interested in fashion," Adrien corrected again. He wasn't quite sure where this perception had come from that he wasn't interested in fashion. Maybe he wasn't crazy gung-ho about it, but it wasn't as though it bored him all the time. "I'm not one for designing, but I do enjoy looking at the finished product." A stretch, maybe- he could get tired of looking at the finished products, especially when they were old, rehashed ideas or just a little too weird- but it was close enough that the little white lie could slide.

Madam Addison was looking as though the interview was perhaps not going quite the way she had hoped, but she pressed on. "So you claim that there isn't anything of a romantic nature going on between you and Marinette, and yet we have photos of you throughout the week acting very much like a boyfriend...or something more." She pulled a stack of photos out from an envelope and spread them in front of Adrien. He leaned forward, interested, and then had to quench the urge to roll his eyes because really? They were really going to make a big deal about him filling Marinette's water bottle and getting a wrap for her to eat?

They were reaching, but then again, when were they not? There wouldn't be any news for the tabloids to sell if they didn't make up some of their own.

"Running errands, practically being plastered to her side throughout the week, giving her your suit jacket, cuddling, and-" she pulled out her last photo. "- a kiss."

"On the cheek," Adrien pointed out immediately. "We're French. It's a thing."

"I was rather under the impression that cheek kisses were for hellos and goodbyes, not while waiting for fashion shows to start."

Adrien mentally swore. He should have known that the reporter wouldn't let that slip past her that easily. But he could play that game too. He lounged comfortably in his chair, looking as comfortable and un-ruffled as could be. Sometimes model training came in handy. "I wasn't aware that cheek kisses came with rules."

Madam Addison laughed at that before turning her attention back to the photos. "Fine, then. A friendly cheek kiss. And what about these other pictures, then?"

"Workers really don't have the time to step away and get things to eat or drink before or when the runway show they're involved with is going," Adrien said, pushing the first two photos to the side. "Or directly after the show finishes, for that matter, because they have to clean up their backstage space and move out in time for the next designer to set up. So I decided to be helpful and run a few errands so that Marinette wouldn't get dehydrated or hungry." He moved to the next few photos. "And there's so many people at Fashion Week that if you go there with someone and don't stick to their side, you'll lose them pretty fast."

"You really do have an explanation for everything," Madam Addison said, sounding less than impressed. "And the jacket and the cuddling?"

Adrien couldn't help the smile. "Well, there was a fairly obvious answer to all of your questions. As for the jacket and the cuddling, it was a bit on the chilly side in the runway room that morning, and Marinette had a light top on, so I gave her my jacket."

"Just like a boyfriend would. Or a husband."

She just wasn't giving up, was she? And what was with those husband comments? "My parents raised me to be a gentleman, and a gentleman doesn't let a lady freeze."

His father would appreciate that comment, if he ever saw it. Of course, it had been his mother and not his father who had been the one to teach him manners, but details like that didn't really matter to Gabriel.

"And then a gentleman tries to squish a lady by hugging her?"

"Well, then I was cold, and she was a wonderful source of heat." Adrien shrugged. "We've been friends for forever, and we joke around sometimes. Occasionally that ends up with us acting a little ridiculous."

"My sources said that you and your friend live in the same building, just across the hall from each other," Madam Addison said, collecting her photos again before sitting back in her chair. "Normally friends don't go to the effort of getting flats right next to each other."

Adrien couldn't help but laugh at that.

"That was actually a complete coincidence, actually," Adrien admitted with a grin. "The building has a lot of Madam Rosalie's interns and workers living there, since it's so close to their workplace. And I didn't actually select where I was going to live- I know it sounds awful, but my father's secretary actually found the place for me. I had no idea that Marinette was even in the same part of town, let alone the same building." That they had just happened to be neighbors was still nothing short of a miracle. "And then I accidentally ran right into her as I was leaving my flat on my first day in London. She had been here for a couple months already, so it was great to have a friend here who could show me around."

"Do you explore the city together as well?"

"Of course, when we both have the time." There was no point in denying it. If he did and then the paparazzi saw them traveling places together, they would make a bigger deal about it than if he just admitted it outright. "It's much more fun to see the sights with someone else. She sees things that I don't, and I see things she doesn't. And sometimes the she wants to go somewhere I wouldn't have gone on my own, and then we both end up having a great time."

"So we're likely to see the two of you out and about together," Madam Addison filled in. "Now, there was one other burning question we all had. There was a wedding advertisement a few months ago that, I think, largely flew under our radar. I think everyone in London has seen it now. It features you and Marinette as the bride and groom, surrounded by what my sources say are her coworkers."

"It was a very fun photoshoot," Adrien said with a smile.

"Yes, it looked fun. But I think people were wondering why the models for the shoot were such a mix. I understand that having normal-sized people in photoshoots is a hot new trend- and a welcome one!- but this shoot had a bunch of normal men and women and a single supermodel. It was an odd mix."

"It was," Adrien acknowledged, but he didn't say anything further. He didn't particularly feel like digging himself into a hole with the wedding photoshoot. It was better to get a feel for how much Madam Addison knew before he gave away too much accidentally.

"And even more recently, other photos have popped up," Madam Addison continued. "And the most interesting of the photos was this one." She held up the photo of Adrien dipping Marinette and kissing her full on the lips.

Adrien couldn't help the impish smirk that danced across his lips. He shouldn't have been smiling, really- as far as photos went, that was pretty damning- but at least he looked pretty cool.

"And only this morning, I learned about a video that was taken during the so-called photoshoot," Madam Addison continued when she didn't get the response she wanted out of Adrien. "We have the highlights of the video compiled here." With that, she turned her laptop around so Adrien could see it. It was short and focused on the vows, the signing of the "official" paper, and the kiss.

"So we seem to have fairly definitive proof that you and Marinette are married," Madam Addison finished, with a wide grin at the camera. "And the photoshoot was used as a cover-up so your father didn't find out."

So much for the photoshoot cover. Clearly someone had leaked the video.

"Well, it would have been a bit pointless as a cover-up, since I posted that video to my Facebook," Adrien said, letting his smirk slip onto his face. Honesty was probably the best policy here. It was a prank, and it was a prank that people would probably find pretty funny. "My father was meant to see it."

Madam Addison's brows shot up. "Is this a confession? You're actually married?"

"No, not at all. The wedding thing was one part photoshoot, one part prank." He flashed a winning grin at the camera. "I felt as though I wasn't being trusted to not make any bad decisions while I was studying here in London, so when the opportunity for a wedding photoshoot popped up right after I arrived in London, I hopped on it." He pulled out his phone and opened his Facebook, scrolling downward. The actual posts would confirm his story. "We then extended the basic photoshoot to make it look like an actual wedding, and then I pranked my father by claiming I had just met someone and immediately gotten married." He handed his phone over to Madam Addison so she could see the screen. He could only hope that she wouldn't take the opportunity to try to go through the rest of his phone. There wasn't anything particularly incriminating on there, but the more information tabloid reporters had, the more they could take out of context.

"Oh, this is hilarious," Madam Addison chortled, laughing as she scanned the photos. "You really pranked your father? Your father, Gabriel Agreste?"

"It was fun," Adrien said with a grin. "Madam Rosalie was 100% behind it, which was great. And we only told the people involved and Marinette's family. All of our friends got pranked as well, and their reactions were hilarious."

"For those who are wondering, the earliest post here says, 'Just ran into her yesterday and we decided we had to get married' and it has a whole album of photos from the wedding," Madam Addison said. She scrolled up. "The next one has the full video and says, 'Some wonderful people took a video of our special day so we could share it with everyone who wasn't there! Apologies for not inviting friends and family back in Paris, but we just couldn't wait!' You were really laying it on thick there, weren't you?" Madam Addison asked with a laugh. "Very romantic."

"It worked better than I expected," Adrien admitted. "There were a lot of people who thought we were actually being serious."

"Including your father?"

"Including my father," Adrien confirmed. "And our friends seemed to believe us too, for some reason. They were ticked off that they weren't invited. We got quite a few texts from them complaining about it."

"Perhaps they believed you because they thought that you were already dating?" Madam Addison suggested. "Or that you should be dating?"

"I think it had more to do with the fact that they knew that we had known each other for years," Adrien said with a shrug. "But my father read the post like I meant for him to do, and so he thought that I had only known her for a day."

"That you had only- oh! 'Just ran into her yesterday and we decided we had to get married!' Very nice suggestive wording! I thought it was maybe a little awkward considering that you knew each other, but that makes sense!" Madam Addison was really laughing now. "And then here's your last post: 'Thanks to everyone who helped us pull off the impromptu wedding! In case you haven't already guessed, it was completely fake. I'm slightly concerned by how many people thought we weren't kidding though!' How many people thought you were serious?"

"Too many," Adrien admitted. "There were friends, there were models, there were other people that worked with me and for my father. I was really confused about why they thought that I would just up and marry someone I just met."

"So the photoshoot, then," Madam Addison said, composing herself again (a few more giggles slipped out anyway). "Was it originally meant to be all typical people plucked from the business?"

"I'm not sure," Adrien admitted. "It might have been. I never asked."

"And was Marinette originally supposed to be the 'bride' for the shoot?"

"She was the only person I knew would go along with my crazy plans to prank my dad," Adrien said with a grin. "And to be perfectly fair, she did try to talk me out of it at first. But I brought her around."

Madam Addison finally let out a somewhat defeated sigh. "So it sounds like you and this girl are great friends and partners in crime- or at least in pranks- and we'll see more of these kinds of interactions between you two. You're going to drive all of the gossip reporters insane, you know."

Adrien shrugged. He knew that. He also didn't care, unless his father really thought it was necessary for Adrien to make a statement every time some reporter decided to make a fuss about his and Marinette's friendship. Then it would just be irritating.

"Well, you'll keep things interesting, at least. You do know that people will keep seeing a relationship between the two of you- a romantic relationship?"

"They're trying too hard to see something, then," Adrien said simply. There was nothing else to say about it. "They're just making a mountain out of a molehill."

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #How to Fake a Marriage #...just a tiny bit late whoops #I'm hoping to go back to my regular schedule after this which means hopefully a one-shot tomorrow #but also my grandparents are coming over sometime tomorrow so I'll just have to actually post in a timely manner and not procrastinate

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