#not your fault i can just feel my breakers flipping

[cannibal-nightmares]

run out of drawing ideas? draw sam beckett as literally any of your blorbos. anything's canon.

[thus-spoke-lo]

pairing: dr. gregory house x fem!reader cw: canon-typical banter. reader has a backstory discussed. wc: 1.4k a/n: felt like writing dialogue. do not perceive me.

You move down the hallway, inching towards your bedroom, a kitchen knife held tightly in your shaking fist. The sound of your window opening—shoddily-painted wood scraping against wood—was just barely noticeable over the low din of your television, but your ears pricked up and your skin prickled at the sound. You flipped open your phone to dial the emergency line and tiptoed into the kitchen to grab your weapon of choice before investigating—a stupid idea looking back on it, fighting instead fleeing, but acting without thinking was a talent for you.

As you carefully creep around the corner, you nearly yelp and your pounding heart finally stops trying to crawl out of your throat—there in your bedroom stands your boss, Gregory House, leaning over your nightstand, inspecting your copious bottles of lotion.

You inhale deeply and lower the knife to your side, trying to resist the urge to throw it at him. “You know, breaking in to do reconnaissance usually works better when the subject isn’t home.”

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” he mumbles, not bothering to look up as he opens a dresser drawer and rifles through it.

“If you actually did your homework,” you grouse as you quickly cross the room to snatch a pair of your panties from his grasp, “you’d know I’m always here when I’m not at work.”

“Not my fault Chase actually took you seriously as a party girl.”

It was all too convenient, Chase sidling up to you as you pored through MRI scans, asking the kind of get-to-know you questions that felt more like you were answering ice-breakers at a corporate retreat than having casual conversation with a co-worker. So of course you saw fit to lead him astray, if only a little, embellishing your social life and your love of flitting from jazz clubs to bars to late-night diners as a way of de-stressing. If Chase had even taken a moment to consider the particular impression you gave off, he’d have easily seen through your fibs and realized you were more indoorsy than adventurous.

You scoff and set the knife down on your nightstand. “Oh come on, you wouldn’t have fallen for it? I did a stint with an improv troupe in my freshman year.”

“Of course not,” he shrugs, holding a catnip toy between his thumb and forefinger. “I can smell a lonely cat lady a mile away.”

You exhale loudly and turn to walk down the hallway, back to the sanctity of your couch and a re-run of an old sitcom. House follows after you, and you can almost hear the machinations turning, gears whirring and spinning, waiting for someone to hit the switch so he can begin his work.

“Well?” You extend your arms out to the side, turning to show off what passes for your living room. “What do you think?”

“Smaller than I was expecting.”

“Tell Cuddy they should pay me more.”

You perch on the edge of your couch-cushion, and House says nothing, only stands there glancing around the room, occasionally meeting your gaze that unsettles you, makes you feel bare and exposed. You pull a blanket over your lap as if you create some sort of barrier between you, and you still feel naked and at the mercy of this man who you tell yourself is an intruder despite somehow not minding his presence all that much, but now you also feel too goddamned hot.

“So—what do you want to know, House?” you blurt, trying to do anything to relieve the strained silence as he examines the room and you in it. “Are you here to ask me who my favorite author is and what I like on my pancakes? Or are you hoping you can figure out exactly who traumatized me and when? Because if you have time to unpack that, I can certainly—”

“Let me guess—an only child,” House interrupts, leaning his body weight on his cane. “Mommy and daddy’s special little bundle of joy, either by choice or by circumstance, always picked first by teacher and last for dodgeball.” A smirk quirks up the corner of his mouth as he scans your features for tells—he knows he’s on the right track. “Except, mommy and daddy didn’t get along so well, did they?” He grins and lowers his voice to a whisper. “So who asked for the divorce?”

“Neither of them.” You’re almost proud to prove him wrong—it’s a sick feeling that passes quickly. “They’re still married. Just…miserable.”

“And how old were you when you started having to raise yourself? When wine became your mom’s special little helper and dear old dad started working all the time?” He pauses and squints at you. “I’d say nine, maybe ten?”

“I was seven. And it was painkillers, not wine.” You chew on the meat of your tongue until it starts to tingle—why is he right, why is he always right? The smug grin that flashes across his face makes your skin crawl and your teeth ache—he knows you, down to your marrow, and there’s not a goddamned thing you can do about it. He knows you in a way that feels invasive, and intimate, like no one has ever bothered to know you. It’s almost intoxicating, to be perceived against your will this way.

“Wanna take a stab at what my dad did for a living? Or what kind of pills my mom liked?” Your voice is shaking, why is it shaking? “Or is that just all superfluous because what you really want is to explain back to me what I already know—that I’m probably overly self-reliant, and a little bit broken, and a lot bit sad?””

House opens his mouth to speak but stops himself, a rare sight.

“Just get it over with.” You stare at your shaking hands as you fold them in your lap, unable to bring yourself to make eye contact and know just how deeply he’s gazing into your abyss. “Whatever it is you think you know about me, keep it to yourself, and whatever it is you still have left to figure out, just—just ask, okay?”

“Well I’ve certainly figured out you have a gift for whipping yourself into hysterics—”

You stand and cross to him in just a few short steps, your face just inches from his, close enough to feel his warm breath on your skin. “You broke into my home to dig around thinking I wasn’t here, and once you realized I was here, you’ve proceeded to psychoanalyze me and insult me at the same time, like some weird little two-for-one deal.”

This is what he wants—he wants you vulnerable, he wants you upset, he wants you malleable so he can fit you perfectly into the mold he’s already made for you. You stand there for a moment, almost swaying from your thudding heartbeat, closer than you’d like to be yet somehow not close enough.

“I think I’ve learned everything I need to,” he finally says after a moment, his voice low and the smallest hint of regret lingering in his tone. “For now.”

He starts towards the door, slowly, as if waiting for something. As if he knows all that will happen, has seen this night play out already and is simply lingering until the next scene begins.

“Do you want something to drink?” The words come out faster than you can stop them, faster than you can bite your stupid tongue. You want him to go, you want him to crawl back out the splintered window he came in through and leave you alone to sip your coffee and have one-sided conversations with your cat. Yet, there is something comforting about his presence, about having someone reach into your brain and poke around until they find something to exploit.

He lets out a small sigh and nods, and you head into your kitchen to rummage through the cupboards. You glance back to see House settling into your couch, an arm outstretched over the back of the seats, and something roils inside you, a disquieting feeling of—no, not that. It’s only courtesy that compels you to pour him the most expensive whiskey you have on hand, you remind yourself, nothing more. He’s already stripped you bare and left you raw and fragile—the least he could do is keep a lonely cat lady company for a little while.

That’s all.

[nanobyting]

“ you kissed my cheek. and then i knew, that you could be homesick for people, too. “

Mason x Mel

love me tender. || “sincerely yours” prompts (accepting)

He never considered himself a romantic. He knew what romance was - saw it in the movies, read about it in books, watched his parents kiss each other goodbye in the mornings and at night after dinner before his father went to bed first.

He was there when Marion introduced her first boyfriend at an age where he couldn’t fathom kissing a girl willingly to contract cooties. Was there when she cried about the break up only to sneak out with another boy a week later. And so on, and so on.

He met Marshall down the line, who promised to take care of Marion and to do right by her.

“He’s a veteran like you and dad,” Marion had said, as if that would get him to like her new boyfriend of the month.

“No,” Alex scoffed, “no, he isn’t. You wouldn’t be able to stand him if he was anything like us, Marion. What did he do? Logistics? Was he in the Navy? His hands are too soft. Your hands are rougher than his.”

Dot burst out laughing at that, though she quickly shut up when Marion shot her a look.

“I’m not saying I don’t like him,” Alex sighed, “what does it matter if I do or don’t? You’re just gonna be too stubborn to listen if I say I don’t like him.”

“It matters because I want you to get along with him.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll get along with a guy who’s hardly been in the thick of it and doesn’t even keep a gun under his pillow.”

“Alex!”

“Alex is barely even home. I bet next time he comes back, Marshall isn’t even gonna be around,” Dot teased.

Alex grinned and nudged Dot with his elbow. “Yeah, it’ll be some guy named Mitchell next.”

“Oh, you weren’t here!” Dot cackled. ”There already was a Mitchell!”

Alex had to stop Marion from strangling Dot to death for that one, especially if their Dad caught them - he’d surely give them a whacking despite them already being in their twenties.

He was there to beat up the boys who’d flip Dot’s skirt in grade school, snarl and throw a fit at the adults who insisted the boys only did that because they liked his little sister. Because he knew romance and it was bringing flowers and holding hands while walking down the sidewalk - not making the girl you like cry and feel humiliated.

“They’re bullies,” Alex explained to Dot time and time again. “They’re bullies. They don’t do that because they like you. They shouldn’t do that to you. You got that? If they make you feel bad, you give them a good beating. If they’re bigger than you, then you can come get me. You know I’m the strongest.”

Dot laughed through her tears and took his words to heart.

That’s when she started getting in trouble at school for getting into fights with boys.

“God, Dot, you’re making it worse!” Marion had yelled after Dot came home from another fight with that Jenkins kid. She was picking the snow and twigs out of Dot’s hair. “Why can’t you just ignore them? Don’t you know that boys just want to see a reaction out of you?”

“Ignore them?” Alex laughed incredulously. “Are you kidding me? She’s being harassed and you’re telling her to just take it? What the hell did dad teach us? We don’t just stand by and let things happen! You have to take a stand for yourself!”

“Alex! You’re a boy! Dot is just a girl, she can’t -”

“What does that have to do with anything, Marion?! Dot is the victim here and you’re acting like it’s her fault!”

“I’m not saying it’s her fault, but they’re harassing her because she keeps fighting back!”

“Fuck that!”

“Alex!”

For all his nagging about the relationships his sisters had with boys, he wasn’t exactly the best either. He became known as a heart breaker in his town just because he was willing to say yes to any girl brave enough to ask him out - and only made it worse when he was kind to them and offered small gestures of affection. A hand on their hip to hold them close, a kiss against their temple, a flower every once in a while.

They’d lose their interest soon enough when they realized they were never going to be his top priority. He liked them enough, but he could never say that he loved them.

We’re just kids, he’d think, what do we know about love?

It was always the same story when he’d tell them that he planned on signing up to join the Marines the moment he could.

“You’re going to leave me?” Lucy asked with tears in her eyes. They were always crying. He remembers every one of their names despite how many girls he’s been with.

The more it happened, the angrier he got. “You already knew that I was joining the Marines, Lucy.”

“I just didn’t think that you’d -”

“That I’d what? Not go? Because of you? Lucy, this is something I’ve thought about ever since I was a kid and my country needs me.”

Soldiers were attractive, but apparently dating one was too much to bear. Not many would be willing to wait at home while their boyfriends or husbands were on the other side of the world fighting for their lives, hardly ever coming back the same way they were before they left. He remembers the stress that took a toll on his mother when his father was away, and the simultaneous relief and grief that he was alive but injured. 

“Mom’s crying again,” he said with a hitch in his throat. Only ten and still a momma’s boy since his daddy wasn’t around for years.

“Just leave her be,” Marion said, on the verge of tears herself as they watched Little Dot scribble in her little notebook with broken crayons. “Dad’s locked himself up in their room again.”

“He’s just in their room. Why is she crying?”

“Because she thinks he isn’t gonna come out.”

“What do you mean?”

“His bum leg isn’t the only thing that’s hurt, is all.”

It became worse after Vorkuta. He just couldn’t get himself to trust anybody. He could pick up a girl at a bar and they’d use each other to relieve their stress, but that’s where it ended.

He didn’t have the energy to try and deal with a girl crying just because she couldn’t handle it when his mind would be somewhere else. When he’d close himself off and just wanted to be left alone. It was too much baggage and civilians would never understand it. Hell, not even Frank would fully understand the torture he’s been through. But at least Frank knew how to deal with him.

He never thought too much about a life outside of the military, having sworn it to his country. Semper Fidelis. Always faithful. Always loyal. He figured he’d die for his country down the line or pass away peacefully in his sleep when he was old, in the home he grew up in. He couldn’t really imagine himself with a family of his own - a lovely wife, adorable kids, and the white picket fence. Couldn’t even think about getting a dog to welcome him home because he was barely home.

Always overseas with blood staining his hands and his fingers itching for more. He felt like an animal some days, a cold machine the other - what they had in common was a penchant for killing. It always started with a rumble in his chest that would spread outward, it’d make him growl and the tips of his fingers curl, and his mind would buzz and flash with red numbers. 

He couldn’t in good conscience leave a girl to deal with himself when he could barely keep himself in check at his worst moments.

Mel held his shaking hands and he looked up at her with wide eyes. She stared back at him and didn’t say anything as she squeezed his hands to steady them and quell the trembling.

                                                              Ascension

                   Dr            7                   15                ago                  12               vich

              Kra                   19            vch            7              enko                25             6

They must’ve been sitting like that for at least an hour.

                 13                S            t       6               e   i              7                        n e         r

                    All                15                     Must            14               ?                 0

She watched him patiently until his eyes would clear up, until he came back to himself, laughing and intertwining their fingers then. He could feel himself gravitating towards her, feel his heart pulling him to her as if he wanted to envelop her into him.

“What were you thinking about?” She asked suddenly, making him stiffen. But she leaned up to whisper in his ear and he tilted his head even more so her lips would brush against his skin. “Were you thinking about the girls in Vietnam?”

“Ugh,” he groaned at her teasing, but he felt his affection for her grow even more, “Mel. Really?”

She just laughed at him, petted his hair, and he found himself wanting to stay with her and to forget about going to work for once.

He never considered himself a romantic - until he got to know Mel.

When he first met her, they had accidentally bumped into each other at a bar. Literally. He had a drink in his hand and it splashed onto her blouse. He thought she was going to cry or throw a fit, but she just stayed silent as she looked down at herself.

When she finally looked up, he thought he was in for it. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, after all. But instead, she asked for his button up shirt. Ashamed, he quickly shrugged it off and handed it to her. Though, he quickly became alarmed when she started to take off her blouse right there in the middle of the bar and had to steer her towards the bathrooms. It didn’t take him long then to figure out that she was a bit drunk - maybe that’s why she was so forgiving.

They exchanged names and numbers, her promising to clean his shirt up and return it to him. Talked about the friends they were with. The music choices in the bar. Eventually she left him to go back to her own friends and though his eyes kept going to her throughout the night (because she was wearing his shirt for everyone to see and they were strangers), he figured they weren’t going to meet again. She was drunk, so surely she’d forget. And it’s not like it was his favorite shirt or anything.

She did forget because he never received a call for them to meet up so she could return his shirt like she promised.

He eventually forgot too. Too busy dealing with saving the world on multiple occasions and whatever antics Frank got him into.

Just because he checked his voicemail every time he came home didn’t mean he was expecting a call from her. It was normal to be disappointed every time it was just voicemails from telemarketers. On the occasion Dot would leave a message complaining about work, Marion, or pretending she was in jail and needed a bail. Other times she might be drunk, crying, and asking if he was dead. Those always got an immediate call from him.

It was a some months later when he crossed paths again with Mel. When he was stuck in a military hospital after a mission gone awry.

And there she was, smoking in a stairwell in the middle of the night. She was a nurse working in the hospital. Not his nurse, but a nurse from a unit on another floor.

He recognized her right away.

She didn’t seem to have a clue as to who he was.

She was startled when she finally noticed him, cursing as she quickly stomped out the cigarette, and politely asked him what he was doing out of bed. He said he couldn’t sleep and she offered to take him back and help him sleep.

“How do you plan on doing that? Singing me a lullaby?” he drawled. 

“Sure, and I’ll even call you baby,” she laughed, tugging him along back to the room written on his wristband.

She didn’t sing him a lullaby, but she did talk to him for most of the night until her pager rang. They exchanged names. Talked about their jobs. Why he was here. Why she became a nurse. She thanked him for his service. He thanked her for hers. 

She made a joke about him buying her dinner once he was out.

You’re not my patient, after all, she laughed.

He wanted to ask her if she really didn’t recognize him, but she was already gone and he knew the ethics about nurses getting together with patients.

He kept finding her in that stairwell, smoking, and he’d stop her from putting it out because he didn’t care if she smoked. He even asked her for one, but she said that it’d be bad for his health - while not a lie, she was just trying to save an extra cig for another time because then she’d offer her half-finished stick to him.

When he stared at the lipstick stain wrapped around the filter for too long, she laughed, but he put his lips to it before she could pull out another cigarette for him.

They talked every night while he was there. About life. About the world. About growing up. About their friends. About music.

The night before he was discharged, he finally asked her if she didn’t recognize him. Explained to her what happened that night they met. She got embarrassed and apologized up and down about the incident despite her being the one to get a drink spilled on her. Promised then to get the shirt to him in the morning because she wondered where it even came from - she thought it was a friend’s or an ex-boyfriend’s.

He told her she could give it to her whenever she wanted, but she’d have to go to dinner with him.

“I knew you before I came here,” he said, watching her face illuminated by the moonlight. “And I’m not your patient.”

She blinked at him and raised her eyebrows.

“So, it’s alright if we go on a date, right?”

It wasn’t often that he’d ask a girl out on a date. It wasn’t often that he was interested. But there was something inside him that compelled him to see her again, to continue talking to her every night. He had to. He felt like his life depended on it.

He wondered if that was what love was.

If the reason why all those girls cried was because they loved him and couldn’t stand to be apart from him. He understood it now, this longing, this ache that could only be soothed if he held her and kissed her.

A feeling so unbearable he felt like it would undo him more than what the Soviets did to him. A torture he’s never experienced.

You’re a grown adult now, he thought, you should know about love.

Mel made him want to kiss her goodbye in the mornings and at night after dinner before he went to bed. Mel made him want to get her flowers every morning. Mel made him want to walk hand in hand down the sidewalk.

Mel made him want to spend every minute of his life with her.

Mel made him want to swear his life to her.

He felt like he was going crazy, wanting to do all these things with her.

To her.

It scared him.

Enough to make him avoid her at some point because he realized he could hurt her. He could really, really hurt her and he didn’t want to hurt her. Didn’t want to break her heart like he’s always done. Didn’t want her to deal with all his problems.

How do you tell a girl you like that you’ve been brainwashed to kill your president?

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her everything about him because she always listened. She never made him feel ashamed of anything. She had experience dealing with soldiers, with veterans broken by war. 

“It’s not about fixing,” she had said, “that’s what people think you’re supposed to do. People who’ve never been to war. They think you can just fix these broken soldiers. But they’re never going to be the same, that’s the thing. Instead of fixing them, you support them. You help hold them together.” She cupped her hands around his and he felt a heavy weight be lifted off his shoulders. “You hold them together like this so they don’t break any further.”

He’s endured torture ordinary people couldn’t think of and yet Mel made him want to spill every secret he held in his body. Every thought he’s ever had.

Your eyes are pretty. I was taken prisoner once. Your lips are soft. I was brainwashed. I love your laugh. I trusted someone that turned out to be dead for years.

I think I love you.

She never asked him to tell her anything. If he got too worked up about it, she’d make a joke to get him to loosen up. She was different from the other girls he’s been with, who always wanted to know what he was thinking. He wondered how Mel got him to feel upset that she wasn’t asking. When he asked her about it, she just laughed and told him that he’d eventually tell her when he was comfortable. She wasn’t going to pry it out of him. 

She was always patient except for when he avoided her. Weeks had gone by and every waking minute his thoughts strayed back to her - if she was doing well, eating right, sleeping peacefully at night. It was okay if he suffered, it’s what he deserved, not to be happy with Mel and living a life not meant for him.

Mel had hunted him down.

Found him in the bar where they met.

He was talking with another girl when he locked eyes with her standing across the room. He thought she would run away in tears, thinking he had cheated on her - then she pushed through the crowd and gently moved the girl aside.

Planted a hand on his chest.

Shoved him towards the bathroom.

Cornered him against the wall and made him slink to her height.

She asked him what he wanted.

He couldn’t answer at first.

She asked him again and her voice trembled.

He caved.

I love you. I’m scared that I’ll hurt you. I love you so much it hurts. You deserve better than me. I love you more than I can bear. You should be with someone who can take care of you. I’ve done things I cannot tell you, things you could not imagine. I’m sorry I was kind to you. I’m sorry you’re heartbroken. I’m glad we met, I’m glad I can love you, but you shouldn’t be with me.

He spilled his heart out that night and for once he cried and felt like a little boy again. He loved his parents and knew they loved each other, but as a young boy it was hard to truly understand after seeing the effects of his father’s trauma from war and how it made his mother cry. He couldn’t understand what love really meant when he was so young - he couldn’t understand that his father locked himself in his room to keep his family safe and he couldn’t understand that his mother cried because she loved his father so much that she couldn’t stand the thought of being apart from him.

He spilled his heart out and -

She called him stupid and kissed him.

He never considered himself a romantic until he met Mel.

“When did you fall in love with me, Alex?” Mel asks, a teasing smile on her face.

He pauses to think about it before a grin spreads on his own lips, reaching a hand out to pull her closer, his chest against her back. “When I was being called for a mission,” he starts, “and you dropped me off at the airport because you didn’t want to say goodbye at your apartment. You kissed my cheek, and then I knew, that you could be homesick for people too.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Frank groans. “Can a man eat in peace without you two making me sick to my fucking stomach like this?”

David glances between the three of them while his uncle helped him make a burger because everyone knows Uncle Frank made the best burgers.

Alex laughs and picks his son up to sit on the counter, pets his head and wonders if he understands what love is.

If David knows why he kisses Mel in the mornings before she goes to work and at night when she goes to bed after dinner. If he knows how much he loves him too. Knows what he’s willingly given up to be here with the two of them, to spend the rest of his life with them and not on the other side of the world trying to save it.

It’s okay if he doesn’t understand now.

He’s sure David will understand some day.

Just like he did.

[technicallymilkshakes]

Something Better than Tomorrows

A quarantine au oneshot Genre(s): Fluff Pairing: Xiumin x Reader  Word Count: 2k

“Hello?”

“Hey,” he answers back softly. “I'm here.”

You kiss the door. Four inches from the tips of your toes to his. The two of you are on your cellphones so you don't bother the neighbors, but you can still catch the cadence to his speech through the door. The lilt and timbre of his voice. No digitally processed sound waves can compete.

“I hate this,” he whispers.

“I brought some tteokbokki.” The plastic bag rustles as you pull out the container and pop the lid off. You're trying to distract him. Have been from the beginning. “Have you tried it yet?”

“Yeah. I think I like regular tteokbooki more.”

You make a disbelieving noise amid your chewing. Swallow. “Hm...” You pause. “I think I like regular more, too.” You smile as you hear his soft laughter.

“Dummy,” he says fondly. It's become a kind of pet name for you, one you haven't exactly discouraged. You've made a fool of yourself on more than one occasion just to make him smile. (Your favorite ones are his gummiest smiles, eye crinkled into commas, quick pauses in the language of delight.)

“What're you eating?” you ask in between bites. Your food has gone cold and it's not the most comfortable place to eat, sitting on the ground outside a hotel room door, but this is the closest you've been to Minseok in over a year. You wouldn't trade that, even for the relative comfort of your own room a couple doors down.

“'Isha,” he responds as he tears through a piece. You bet it's potato pizza—it's his favorite. “And sikhye,” he continues with a laugh. “For digestion. I sound like my grandpa. Must be getting old.”

You snort. He looks practically unchanged from when you first met him in high school and you tell him so.

“Wow,” he reflects. “Twelve years already...”

“We really are getting old.”

The line goes quiet for so long that you pull the phone away from your ear to check that it's still connected.

“Hello?”

“I'm here,” he says, but it's as if he's dragged the words out morpheme by morpheme. Like he almost doesn't want to be here. You wait him out, confident in your fluency of Minseokisms. He's too good at hiding his feelings. If you've managed to pick up on this, then it's something he wants to be known.

“I'm sorry for making you wait.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You should go. I'll be out tomorrow. I feel bad making you wait after all this time...”

Ah. So that's what this is about. You've had this argument before. Does the sea listen when you ask? Does the world lie down when you beckon? So tell me, how is it your fault? You square your shoulders, your head tilting back to lean against the door.

“Then open up.”

“What? I'm not opening the door.” He sounds shocked you'd even suggest such a thing. You can picture it—he's probably sitting up straight now, eyes wide. Sending concerned glances to the door like you'll pull a Kool-Aid man and break it down or just pick the lock.

He's talking as if you're on the opposite side of a war, not a door. As if it hasn't been over a year since you've seen him in person. As if you haven't been on two different continents, in two different time zones, with too much to worry about.

But now that you've spoken the words into existence, you can't reel them back in. They've been a bottle under pressure and you've just cracked the lid. You've been so patient. You've waited over a whole year, it's true, but having to wait another day when he's right here suddenly strikes you as an unimaginable cruelty.

“Minseok, your quarantine is up tomorrow. I'm one room down from you. Nobody's gonna even notice.”

“Still.”

You sigh. He's such a stickler for rules at the most inopportune times.

“Fine,” you say, gathering your trash and stuffing it back into the plastic bag. You stand up.

“I don't like it when you say that.”

“Why?” you ask as you walk the short distance down the hallway to your room.

“Because it means that you're gonna take things into your own hands. And that's never good.”

You laugh a full-throated laugh, the one he calls your genie laugh. He's ranked all of them. (His favorite is when he tickles you into squealing, breathless laughter. He plants adoring little kisses on the apples of your cheeks that make it worth it.)

“Aw, Minseokie, you know me so well.” You hold up the phone and make little kissy noises into the microphone.

You've made it into your room by this time and you peek outside. It's afternoon going on evening, with just enough sunlight hanging on the horizon to see. Perfect.

You throw the phone, still connected, onto the bed. You can hear tinny little reprimands, the words too muffled to discern, but his tone clear as day. You wonder how long it'll take him to notice you're not answering this time with a grin and step outside.

The balconies aren't connected, but the space is small enough that if you're straddling the balustrade, you can get a nice hold on the railing of the opposite balcony. You jerk it a few times to see if the posts hold fast. They do. You slide your other leg over and do a little jump over to the next balcony. You're not certain if this middle room is occupied, so you scurry quickly to the other side to repeat the process, only your foot gets caught between the posts and you hit the next railing full on in the stomach, knocking the wind out of yourself before you do an awkward flip and land squarely on your back on Minseok's balcony.

You catch the swish of the curtain opening, Minseok's disbelieving face gaping at you through the glass. He's still holding the phone up to his ear. He hurriedly drops it before sliding the door open. You'd be laughing at his face if you had any air left in your diaphragm. The whole railing rings like a gong has been struck and it feels like your ribs are trying to match pitch.

“Hey you,” you say with a roguish grin as soon as you're able to. Very suave-like. Zero hints of gasping fish. Definitely not.

“You big, big, huge, massive dummy,” he cries as he drops to his knees, his hands flitting over your neck and shoulders.

“I've fine.” You get up with a little help from Minseok and he guides you into his room.

You grab his hands from where they're wandering over your body, checking for injuries, and hold them. Your ego is more bruised than anything else.  

“Should've just opened the door.” You let go of one of his hands to poke his cheek.

He pulls back a bit and you let your arms fall to hang on his waist. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You're insufferable.”

“Thanks, babe,” you respond, kissing his finger.

Minseok looks at you wondrously. Even though you went through all that effort, neither of you can quite believe that you're here right now. Less than six feet apart. Your fingers find the places you have worn into each other's bodies—his sternum, the dip of your back, between his shoulder blades, the nape of your neck. Your skin still knows his touch, anticipates the slide of his hands up your sides. He is no stranger, it tells you. Reassures you that you still know him. And you can't quite express your relief to find him your lover still. It pricks at you, you see it in his eyes, too, welling up, he knows--

You find yourself in a crushing hug. He's crying.

Between the two of you, he's been the rock. You've always been the impatient one, the one in a rush. And he's the one you've always come back to, who's soothed you when you've broken yourself against the jagged edges of your own expectations.

“Just a little longer,” he'd say with such certainty, even as the world closed itself around you. He would tell you what you'd do the next time you saw each other, fairy tales that always started with 'tomorrow.'

“Tomorrow, we'll go out to the wharf.” Even though he was thousands of miles away, he'd still paint a picture of meeting you again. “The wind will be rising, tugging white caps from the waves. On the marina, the boats will clatter against the docks.” He would pull the phone away and thump against the table, or the floor, or whatever he thumped against. “We'll buy a cone of fries, and you'll run at the seagulls that get too close.”

Well, it looks like it's time for you to chase those winged fears away.

“I really, really missed you,” he whispers brokenly.

You gather him closer, anchor him against you. You'll be the breaker to all his storms. “I'm just glad you're safe,” you whisper, turning to bury a kiss in his hair. He smells of ocean spray, fresh and full of memories to remember and to make.

**

“It's too stuffy,” you say a while later, after he—after both of you have had time to calm down. You start unbuttoning your shirt to get more comfortable.

“You're not even supposed to be here, you know...”

You stare him right in the eyes as you drop your shirt on the ground and begin unzipping your jeans.

He gives you an annoyed look as he bends to pick up your shirt and starts folding it. You drop your pants with a smirk.

“You're such a brat,” he says with a roll of his eyes. He picks up your jeans, too, like you knew he would.

You chuck him under the chin with the knuckle of your thumb. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

**

Later, the two of you are in bed. He's lying between your legs, his head against your chest. He stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, his clothes folded on top of yours on a chair. All the better to maximize skin contact. It's late at night and you're drifting into that falling space between wakefulness and sleep. Occasionally, the tickle of Minseok's fingers on your thigh or his kisses on the soft inside of your arm rouse you, prompting you to drop a kiss to the top of his head or to slide a hand down his back.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he says all of a sudden.

You open your eyes.

“I haven't heard it in over a year.” He closes his eyes. He looks restful and at peace. “I didn't realize how much I missed it.”

You place a hand on his cheek. Surely this man must know how his words have crushed you.

He opens his eyes. You guide him closer to you. He sits up, and you're cradling his face in both of your hands now, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. Not a word is spoken, but he begins to smile. You can feel the swell of his cheeks as they gather up into a beatific smile.

“You don't have to miss anything anymore.

“Tomorrow, quarantine will end. We'll go out to Quick Fox to get your favorite bagels for breakfast. We'll eat at the park and people watch. And then we'll go home. You'll gasp when you see what I've done to the place and you'll spend the next five hours cleaning my mess up and complaining that you should've just stayed at the hotel. And then we'll go to sleep and wake up to another tomorrow together.”

“You're such a big dummy,” he says. He turns to kiss first one palm, then the other. “Why are you talking about tomorrow when I can do this today?”

He kisses you, a real one, no fairy tales required. Just the warm press of lips and laughter against you, the nip of teeth and teasing. He pulls back and there it is. That's the one. Your favorite smile.

Wow. Tomorrows can go kick rocks. Todays are much better.

[stellarstarwarsimagines]

Jealous?

Pairing - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary - Obi-Wan Kenobi Request: Never before did you think you would see Obi-Wan Kenobi jealous, but when he catches you agreeing that a certain Jedi Knight is attractive, you find yourself having to assure him that there’s only one man you have eyes for. 

Word Count - 1,468

Warnings - None!

From your years teaching at the Jedi Temple in Coruscant, you knew a group of Padawans gathered together giggling was never a good thing. When you approached them, ready to berate them for not working on their own training, you discovered what had caused the distraction. 

And weren’t surprised. 

One Jedi Knight, Anakin Skywalker was working on combat training with his Padawan, Ahsoka Tano. While it was true that Anakin was one of the most talented and powerful Jedis in the Order, the Padawans weren’t admiring his combat skills.

“He’s just so cute.” One of them sighed. 

“Ahsoka is so lucky she got him as her Master.” Another added. 

You had to fight back the urge to roll your eyes. “I don’t believe Padawan Tano thinks she’s lucky to have Anakin as her Master because he’s cute.” You interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest. 

The Padawans all jumped, and turned their sheepish gaze to you, embarrassed at being caught. 

“Now, what were all of you doing? I would think this would be an appropriate time to be training for your own trials that are approaching.” You asked, looking around at each of them.

“We were Master! We were admiring and learning from his technique.” The one that had called him cute spoke up. 

You raised your eyebrow. “Oh? Can you tell me what form he was favoring then?” 

Your question was met with silence. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“We were just looking! You can’t deny that he’s attractive, Master.” Another one spoke up. 

“I’m not, but allowing yourself to focus on something as trivial as how attractive someone is will allow you to get distracted. None of you even noticed me approaching, and mistakes like that in the field will get you killed. Isn’t that right, Anakin?” You asked, as the man appeared behind the Padawans, startling them once more and making them even more embarrassed. 

“Correct, Master.” He replied, a signature smirk on his lips as he bowed to you. 

“Thank you.” You told him. “So I suggest you all go attempt an hour of meditation. Help you focus on your surroundings and the Force instead of whoever is cutest in the Temple.” You said, watching all of them nod and leave the room before turning back to Anakin. “How long have you known they were there?” You asked him. 

His smirk didn’t waver even now with the Padawans gone. “The whole time.” 

“And you didn’t say anything to stop them?” You asked. 

“I thought it might be a good learning opportunity.” He replied. 

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure you did. Never hurts to have someone admiring your appearance, does it?” You teased him. 

“You said it, not me.” Anakin said, then something over his shoulder seemed to catch his attention, and it didn’t take much probing through the Force to realize what it was. “I’ll see you later, Master.” Anakin said, his voice much less teasing now, but still with a smile as he departed. 

“Finally decide to wake, Sleeping Beauty?” You asked, turning back around with a smile of your own as you found Obi-Wan standing there, watching you with a look on his face that you couldn’t quite place. 

“I thought you only had eyes for me?” He replied, raising an eyebrow at you. 

It took a moment for you to match his words and the look on his face to an emotion. Even then you were surprised. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.” You took several steps towards him, your eyes wide in realization. “Are you jealous?” 

Glancing around, he grabbed a hold of your arm, and pulled you to the closest door. After checking to make sure it was empty, he tugged you inside. “Of course not.” He replied, but you had heard him sound more convincing before. 

“Good, because that would be ridiculous.” You told him. 

To your astonishment, he didn’t say anything, but avoided your gaze. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Never did you think there would come a moment when Obi-Wan Kenobi, the most confident man that you knew, would be jealous. Even though part of you thought it was attractive, you knew that you couldn’t let him continue to feel this way. Reaching for his hands, now covered in his gloves, you tugged him forward until the two of you were chest to chest. “Because you know that I like my men intelligent, strong, and stubborn.” You teased, giving his hands a tight squeeze. 

“I assure you that Anakin possesses all of those qualities.” Obi-Wan replied, but there was now a small smile on his face. 

“Mhmm, maybe I should be with him then.” You replied, pulling away from Obi-Wan and pretending to leave the room. 

Before you had even turned the doorknob, Obi-Wan had grabbed you around the waist, spinning you around until you were trapped between the wall and his hard armor. Your breath caught in your throat as his nose traveled up your neck in a slow line, stopping when his lips touched your ear. “He doesn’t like sand.” He whispered.

“Oh, now that’s a deal breaker. You know how much I love the beach.” You replied, a little breathless as the sweet scent of his soap washed over you, and his lips brushed your cheek. 

“I do,” he replied, pressing a gentle kiss there. 

“Clearly we would be a terrible match.” You added, taking a hold of his armor to keep him close. 

You felt his smile against your skin. “Clearly,” Obi-Wan agreed. 

“Good thing I’ve already got someone I’m rather fond of. I guess I’ll have to stick with him.” You said, your hands sliding up the smooth chest plate and around his neck. 

He moved to rest his forehead against yours, his fingertips brushing up and down your back in a slow motion that had you arching into him. “Is that so?” 

“I do,” you replied, tilting your chin up so your lips brushed against his. “Can I trust you to keep my secret, General?” You asked him, waiting until he hummed his assent before continuing. “He was in my room all night.” You pulled back, biting your lip as you looked up at the ceiling as if lost in thought. “I do hope he slept well.”

His gloved fingers moved to grip your chin with a gentle but demanding pressure until you turned your eyes back to him. “I don’t believe he recalls much sleeping going on.” Obi-Wan teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes at your words. 

Your hands slid up and down his chest plate, your eyes filled with admiration as you took in what you could with him pressed against you so. It made you wonder how anyone could be focusing their attention on Anakin when Obi-Wan was walking around in this as if formed by the Maker himself to test your resolve. “It’s not my fault I can’t control myself when you’re wearing your armor. Besides, I don’t seem to remember any complaints last night.” You added, raising your eyebrows at him. 

“I wouldn’t dare sweet one.” He replied, a softness in his smile and tone that had you almost melting into his strong arms. “Perhaps an hour of meditation would do you so good as well though.” Obi-Wan teased, smirking at you. 

“I’d rather spend an hour doing something else -” But before you could have the chance to tell him what you would like to spend an hour doing, the comlink at your side interrupted the two of you. You frowned as Obi-Wan stepped away and let go of you as you answered. “Master Windu. What might I help you with?” 

“We need you in the Council Room as soon as possible. We need your expertise on an upcoming mission.” He replied. 

You had to bite back a groan. There were about fifty things you would rather be doing, forty-nine of them involving the man watching you, but you knew duty came first. “I’m on my way.” You flipped the device off and then looked back at Obi-Wan. “You better not leave for a mission without saying goodbye, Kenobi.” 

He took your hand and butterflies erupted in your stomach as he brought it to his lips for a soft kiss. “I promise.” He said. 

You smiled at him, holding onto his hand for as long as possible before you let go. Once your hand touched the doorknob, you hesitated for a moment. “Just so you know,” You turned back to him, finding him watching you with a curious expression and raised eyebrow. “I was once one of those Padawans, giggling and watching another Padawan training with Master Qui Gon, wondering how I was supposed to be getting anything done when he kept smiling at me.” 

The surprised, but clearly pleased expression he had almost made going worth it.

[haberdashing]

By Your Side

In the safehouse, Jon and Martin navigate discussions of Jon’s orientation and what that means for their relationship. Written for @jonsimsbipride and @aspecarchivesweek.

on AO3

Jon and Martin were laying side by side in the safehouse’s lone bed once again, alternating between flipping through the handful of mediocre-at-best novels that Daisy had left there and making small talk to kill time before they both felt ready to go to sleep for the night. (Jon had just abandoned the last book he’d tried reading, a hokey Western that seemed to use every cliché out there, while Martin was checking out an old romance novel that had come as almost more of a shock than the knives in the closet when they first went through the place.)

Jon heard Martin setting his book down on the nightstand beside him, and Jon assumed that he’d just lost interest in it before hearing Martin speak up.

“Can... can we talk about something? Something kind of personal?”

Jon was glad now that he’d abandoned his own attempts at reading for the time being.

“Sure, what is it?”

“You’re, er... you’re asexual, right?”

Jon nodded. His sexual orientation (or lack thereof) had come up some time ago, long before he’d even imagined the present context for that information might be possible, during an outing with Tim and Sasha back when working in the archives was fresh and new to them all. “Yes, that’s right.”

Martin’s shoulders slumped down a little. “I thought so, but... I just... I thought we were together.”

Jon blinked a few times, looking right at Martin. Was that fear in his dark eyes? “We are.”

“Not just, just together in this safehouse, I mean, but together. As-” Martin grabbed a blanket and made a fist, squishing the blanket’s fabric within his hand. “As a couple.”

“We are.” Jon repeated, adjusting his position slightly so that he could get a better look at Martin. “Both can be true, Martin. Both are true.”

“Wait, but, but I thought...”

As Martin’s sentence trailed off, Jon realized what must be confusing him so much, realized that he had incorrectly assumed they’d already discussed something that Jon had long since taken for granted.

“We haven’t gone through what my being asexual actually means yet, have we?”

Martin wrinkled his nose a bit before shaking his head. “What d’you mean?”

“Me being asexual doesn’t change my romantic feelings for you. When it comes to romance, I’m bi, not aromantic, so I can still, you know, date people. Be together with someone.”

Martin looked away from Jon’s gaze, staring pointedly at the wall in front of him instead. “Oh.”

“It just means that I’m not sexually attracted to you--or anyone, for that matter, so don’t take it personally. Never have been, never will be. But romance is another story.”

Martin looked back Jon’s way, though he still didn’t quite meet Jon’s gaze. “So... no sex, yes dating? Is that the gist of it?”

“Sort of. It is possible to...” Jon started fumbling around with his hands, trying to make vague gestures to explain what he struggled to put into words. “To be asexual and have sex. Or even to be asexual and like sex. But I, I’ve never cared for it personally, though if, if you want-”

“Jon.”

Jon’s half-finished sentence died instantly as he heard the certainty in Martin’s voice. “Yes?”

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. If, if sex is a problem... that’s not a deal-breaker for me. It’s nice, sure, but not as nice as...” This time Martin was the one gesturing vaguely towards their surroundings as a whole. “Well, as all of this. As just being here, by your side, no matter what.”

Jon let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “That’s... that’s good to hear. Maybe I should have said something sooner, I know it- it can be a deal-breaker, for some, has been before...”

Martin shook his head emphatically. “No, no, I knew you were asexual, if anything it’s my fault for not understanding that.”

“Well, a lot of people don’t get it, actually, it’s... it’s a common enough misunderstanding, really...”

Jon laughed a little, and Martin gave him a strange look in response.

“Is my ignorance really that funny?”

“No, no, it’s just... I’ve had this talk before, about how being both bi and ace works, it’s... it’s normal, for me to have to explain this to a potential partner. Despite everything, we’re- we’re getting to do something normal.”

Jon reached out and grabbed Martin’s hand, and Martin gave Jon’s hand a tight squeeze as he let out a soft laugh of his own.

“Of all the words to use for our relationship, I never thought normal would be one of them.”

“Neither did I, but here we are.”

Jon shook his head, and soon enough both of them were laughing, the two holding hands tightly as their laughter filled the room.

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 21/?

Part 20

"Jon? Did you- oh!" Martin's voice says above them. Gerry looks up at him, taking in his slightly confused smile. "What's happening?"

"We're planning a garden, apparently," Jon says before Gerry can respond.

Martin's eyebrows arch, and his mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. "That sounds lovely actually."

"Any requests?" Gerry asks. It's a bit ridiculous how happy this makes him, that the two of them just... hopped into his dumb idea. It feels hopeful, like they too want to plan for a future together.

Martin rests his chin on his crossed arms on the windowsill, and gives them a smile just the slightest bit mischievous.

"I think we should plant lavender."

XXI

Martin doesn't wake up with a start. His heart isn't hammering in his chest and his breathing isn't shallow and hurried; his nightmares are not the kind that makes you feel in danger, the kind your body wants to wake up from.

They're... gentle.

Calm walks down into a soft grey expanse where he knows nothing can hurt him, because he is alone asides from his thoughts, and the sadness that permeates his every step.

He guesses it must show somehow when he's dreaming of the Lonely, because he usually wakes up to Jon or Gerry's gently concerned voices, and a hand nudging at his shoulder until he decides it's time to come back.

Funnily enough, it's the lack of those what does it this time; if neither of the two is waking him up, that means it's one of those rare, blessed nights in which the three of them were able to sleep, and they're going to be pretty sad if they wake up and find that Martin dreamt himself into the Lonely.

He wants to think they'd be at least, even if it's a bit selfish.

It's with that want that he opens his eyes to the darkness of the bedroom, and he turns to Jon with a slow-spreading smile when he hears him muttering something about a cat in his sleep. He doesn't Watch people's nightmares on the nights Gerry feeds him, and it's nice to know he's just having a regular dream. It feels... normal. Like what Martin wants the rest of their lives to be.

He looks over Jon's shoulder, to see how Gerry's doing, and his stomach flips when he notices the man is not in bed with them.

It's okay, it doesn't have to be something ominous, Martin thinks. His heartbeat is speeding up now though, as he climbs off the bed and investigates the empty bathroom, before risking the rest of the cottage. People go for midnight snacks, that's a normal thing to do. Even if Gerry doesn't get hungry, he still likes to eat.

He jokes and says it makes him feel like a person, though Martin thinks he's the most human of the three of them, whenever he watches him hold Jon in his arms, looking down at the man like he's surprised he's still there, and the soft light of the cottage projecting a golden hue over his dark hair, making Martin's hands itch for a notepad and a pen.

His stomach knots tighter and tighter over itself, when he moves down the corridor towards the kitchen, and finds the entire cottage is encased in darkness.

"Martin?" a voice asks from the pitch-black kitchen, and Martin jumps, his chest flooding with the mix of exasperation and relief that has become synonym with Gerry in his mind.

"Why are you in the dark?" Martin asks, his voice soft. It feels important, for some reason, that they don't disturb the silence too much. As Martin's eyes get accustomed to the darkness, he can make out Gerry's form against the far end of the kitchen, his hair messed from restless sleep, his face tired, a steaming mug in his hand.

"Don't need it to see," Gerry whispers back with a shrug. "Why are you up?"

Martin makes his way over to him, leans on the counter by his side. It's hard to say if Gerry's radiating warmth, or if Martin is just too cold. "Nightmares."

"...Ah. Sorry." Gerry reaches over to place his mug on the table, and turns to face Martin. "Are you- I could make you a cup of tea. Can't promise it'll be any good, though."

His tone is genuinely apologetic, and Martin feels his lips curl into a smile. "Well, you had to be bad at something, didn't you?"

"Is my lack of tea-brewing ability a deal-breaker?" Gerry's voice carries the hint of a smile now, and his fingers brush against Martin's on the counter. "I'm willing to take some lessons, if that's the case. I happen know the perfect teacher."

"It apparently isn't a deal breaker, because you're both hopeless at it." It's mind-blowing, to think they're just... here.

Alive, standing at the kitchen in the middle of the night, the scent of coffee curling around them like a blanket as they make quiet jokes about a relationship that they haven't discussed, but that is somehow there anyways. The tension of looks exchanged over Jon's head, of brushes of skin that feel loaded with electricity and the knowledge that the other will be there, steady and reliable like the sunrise every morning.

"Well... the offer still stands, or if you want some of my coffee-"

"I shouldn't." Martin shakes his head. "It gives me anxiety, and I was hoping to go back to sleep."

"Oh." Gerry looks sideways and up at him, looking at a loss of what to do. Martin finds it endearing; of course Gerry can't deal with the thought of not fixing something; can't even fathom the thought that just his presence is doing wonders to ground him. "Can I do something, then?"

Martin looks down at him, at the faintest gleam of moonlight that comes across the dusty windows -they need to clean that before Jon takes it upon himself to do it- to only insinuate the beautiful mix of blue and green of his sweet, concerned eyes.

"You could kiss me, Mister Keay."

The embarrassment of being so blunt is more than worth it, when Gerry's eyes fly wide open, and a surprised chuckle escapes him, almost sounding like it was punched out of him.

"I- would that help?" he asks, but he can't keep the smile off his lips and Martin is so taken by the sight of him that he nearly leans down to do it himself.

"I think there's one way to find out." Martin smiles.

Gerry's hands are careful when they finally land on him; one on the back of his neck, one on his cheek, just like he's seen him touch Jon a handful of times before they kiss. Martin's heartbeat speeds up, and he might be drunk on the feeling already, the thought of being wanted almost as intoxicating as its counterpart.

He lets himself be pulled down, lets his face be tilted to the side, and the hand on his cheek pushes his glasses up his forehead so they don't get in the way.

It's a bit poetic, to kiss this ghost of pain and ink and love under the quiet glow of moonlight, and know that the only lonely thing in this kitchen is the mug of coffee cooling on the table.

They separate slowly, like waking up on a lazy morning, and Martin's wet lips tingle with want and with the weight of words it's far too soon to say.

"Did that help?" Gerry sounds cocky and pleased, but also a little bit breathless, and Martin rolls his eyes as a wave of warmth washes over him.

"You know, I'm not so sure," Martin taps a finger against his chin. "We might have to try again to confirm."

Gerry laughs quietly, probably to avoid waking Jon up, Martin thinks, and the words threaten to spill from his lips again. "Well, we have to be certain, don't we?"

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

"She knew these were not her children, and this was not her home. But they kept calling her mum, and there were many, many pictures on the mantle showing the happy life they lived. Feeding the ducks at St. John's, having a picnic by the lake, playing at the beach, practically every moment of their life documented in carefully crafted snapshots. She did not remember having a spouse that captured those moments either, but surely the pictures couldn't be lying to her, could they? She'd had a bad night's sleep, she was confused, and she needed to make breakfast for her children, what kind of mother would let them go hungry? She swore she'd never be like her own." Gerry readjusts his arms as Jon shifts on his chest in seek of a more comfortable position, and he reaches forward to kiss the crown of his head before continuing. "She started breakfast as she usually did, eggs on toast, and two slices of grilled ham, one for her and one for Dusty. Her hands stilled over the sizzling pan as she contemplated the name that felt so natural in her mind but that didn't fit with the reality she was currently living. She had two children, a house, and a lovely spouse with a lens for a face. She did not have a playful little mutt with ash-colored fur and a long lolling tongue, always with a chewed up stick by his awkardly large paws-"

"So what you're saying is you can escape the fears with the power of quiche and the power of puppies?" Martin asks, his voice tinged with amusement.

"That's exactly what I'm getting from it too, Martin, thank you." Jon snorts, and Gerry squeezes him in retaliation before looking at Martin. He finds him by the window, sitting at the little table they dragged there, with a notepad and a steaming cup of tea before him.

"Don't encourage him, that's how you end up having to pull him from coffins and alternate dimensions."

"In his defense, it was hardly his fault that he got hit on the face with that bat."

"See? Martin knows when things are my fault, that one wasn't."

"The coffin was definitely your fault, though." Martin points at him with the spoon he used to stir some sugar into his drink. "Is this a mixed one?"

"It definitely sounds like it. Spiral, Stranger, Eye... I'm thinking it's the house itself." Jon shifts some more on his chest to look at Martin too, before squeezing Gerry's forearm. "We'd known if someone would just finish the statement."

"So demanding." Gerry rolls his eyes.

"The hungry, hungry Archivist," Martin mutters under his breath as he blows on his cup of tea, and Gerry snorts over Jon's offended 'Martin!'. It's- it's good to see Marting feeling comfortable enough to joke around. "Sorry, sorry! Finish it, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Don't apologize," Gerry chuckles. "Where was I?"

"The power of puppies," Jon grumbles.

"I'm going to stop feeding you, sir."

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

"You should treat me to lunch or something, I've been sitting on a bus for eleven hours," Tim groans as he stretches his arms over his head to pop the kinks in his back.

"That's kind of your fault though," Martin chuckles. His shoulder feels cold where he bumps it against Tim's, a reminder that none of them really escaped the Institute intact. "You could've come through Helen."

"And miss the chance to feel like a regular human being? Martin, please." Tim bumps his shoulder right back as they walk down the main street. The little town is quaint and quiet, picturesque in a way Tim knows both Martin and Jon are suckers for, which he supposes is good enough. Martin deserves to end his story in a place like this. "How have you been?"

"Hm? Oh, we've- we're doing well. It's- it's good. We're good." There's a spot of color to Martin's face when he smiles, and Tim rolls his eyes. "What?"

"You've really got the worst taste in men, it explains why you were never into me."

"I hope you'll be able to forgive me," Martin laughs. "How are things back home?"

Tim shrugs, shifting the cardboard box he's carrying to support it on his hip instead. "It's going. Elias is still nowhere to be found, not that the police are really looking for him anyways. Basira could probably find him, but she's got other things to worry about now."

Martin lets out a slow exhale, his shoulders growing a bit heavier. "Still no luck with Daisy?"

"She knows how to find her just fine, and Daisy's leaving a trail of dead avatars that's pretty clear to follow even for regular people." Tim sighs as well, running a hand through his hair. "Daisy moves too fast though. There's no way to predict where she's going next, she's not following any pattern."

"Yeah... Jon said as much. He's tried- he says the things he Sees in her mind make no sense, it's all impulse and instinct, nothing logical that he could understand."

"That sounds about right," Tim mutters. The thing that broke out of Daisy's skin, that launched down the tunnels in a clash of claws and fangs and blood along with the other two... he doubts there's much human thinking going on with any of the hunters right now. "I suppose it's not too bad as long as she's only hunting avatars, isn't it?"

"I don't know," Martin says quietly. "I don't- things don't feel as black and white anymore, if you ask me."

Tim snorts.

"Some of your best friends are avatars?" He asks. Martin arches an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look, and Tim feels the teasing smirk on his face turn pleased instead. "Yeah. Okay."

-------

The place looks nice enough, a little stone fence with a wrought iron gate and a path made of stepping stones leading to a door whose blue paint has long since chipped and faded under sun and wind and rain. It looks... inoffensive, a little slice of the countryside to escape the chaos of the city, or whatever terrible plans your eldricht monster of a boss has weaved for you. Cozy and warm and welcoming, a place where one could make a home.

Martin pushes the door open, and Tim freezes at the very familiar scent coming from inside.

"...Tim?" Martin turns back to look at him when he doesn't follow him in. "What's wrong?"

How to explain it to Martin that nothing is wrong, or rather nothing he can put to words?

He remembers this smell, and the last time he felt it, the sound of rain spattering on the windows, and a movie on the background. He remembers teasing (back when he thought he was healing, that maybe one day there would be more to his life than just mourning his brother) about feeling like he was being set up for something, and then the hurried announcement and yes, don't be ridiculous, of course I'll move to the Archives with you, does that mean I have to call you boss now?

The thrill of being a safe space for someone, even broken as he was.

"Tim, are you-"

"Martin? Did you bring- oh." Jon stops just short of actually stepping out of the kitchen, looking at him like he's a ghost and the Desolation inside him burns, though whether it's Jon's sorrow or his own that he's feeding off of is anyone's best guess. "I'm- hi."

I hate you. I miss you.

"Hey," Tim pushes through a dry throat. "You- you made barg?"

Jon nods slowly. "I understand, if you don't want to eat with m-"

"It would be very stupid, though," interrupts a third voice, and Gerry's stepping out into the living room from somewhere deeper into the cottage. "You'd have to go all the way back to town to find yourself a sandwich or something. You look like crap, but I guess a long bus ride will do that to anyone, even fear avatars huh?"

His voice is somewhat terse, and Tim wonders if he can feel the hurt in Jon's voice just as intensely as Tim himself can. The air in the room grows heavy as every eye settles on Tim, waiting for him to reply.

"I'm- yeah. I think I'll ask Helen to give me a ride back. I can stay in her for a while to make it up to her," he says finally. Things are never going to be the same. Tim doesn't want them to be the same. The friendship they shared once was rooted in pain too, but this is different. "I could eat something, I guess."

-----

"I'm- I brought some statements," he says later that night, after they've had dinner and cleared the plates away.

"Oh?" Martin arches an eyebrow where he's dropping an armful of blankets and a pillow on the sofa.

Tim averts his eyes.

"I just- I know you have other ways to feed now, but I thought it would be a good idea to keep your boyfriend from running dry too soon." He can feel their eyes on him, but he keeps his gaze on the little radio on the table by the window. "We don't want you going out to hunt random people."

"Thank you, Tim." Jon says quietly, carefully. Tim doesn't have to look up to guess Jon isn't looking at him either, or the small lopsided smile.

"Hm," he says. "Dinner- it was good. Thank you."

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

"Gerry? Martin wants to know if- what are you doing?" Jon's words taste like surprise and laughter, like warm honey, like so many emotions Gerry has never had aimed at him before, and that feel like coming home. "You've got dirt on your nose."

Gerry looks up to find Jon leaning out the open window, looking down at him with bright eyes and a brighter smile. He's suddenly very aware of how he must look, the aforementioned dirt on his nose, and his hair done up into a messy bun to keep it out of his face, kneeling on the ground with a pile of badly pulled weeds by his side.

"I'm- I've never had a garden before." Gerry shrugs. It's not so much the words he's embarrassed about, but the implications. Like painting the door, like oiling the gate, building a garden is not something one does for a temporary place. "I just thought it would be fun to try- whoa, careful!"

He reaches up to hold Jon's forearm as he all but climbs out the window and comes to crouch down by his side.

"Have you started thinking about what you will plant yet?" Jon asks. There's not a hint of compulsion in the question, despite his eyes lighting up with the eerie green of his powers. "Maybe a raspberry bush, carrots... some potatoes later on?"

Gerry snorts. "Did you just use the Beholding to Know what veggies we could grow?"

"It's high time it was useful for something." Jon shrugs, giving him a coy little grin. When Gerry reaches over to pull him against his chest he comes easily enough, laughing. "You're going to get dirt on me."

"Get used to it." Gerry presses a kiss to his cheek. "I love you."

Jon turns his head then, to kiss the corner of his lips. "I love you too," he says.

The words pour into Gerry like warm water over a sore muscle, and they settle in his chest right where his heart should be, bright and warm and so sweet with emotion that Gerry can't bring himself to answer in any way other than squeezing Jon tighter against his chest, burying his face in Jon's mess of soft dark and grey hair.

"Jon? Did you- oh!" Martin's voice says above them. Gerry looks up at him, taking in his slightly confused smile. "What's happening?"

"We're planning a garden, apparently," Jon says before Gerry can respond.

Martin's eyebrows arch, and his mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise. "That sounds lovely actually."

"Any requests?" Gerry asks. It's a bit ridiculous how happy this makes him, that the two of them just... hopped into his dumb idea. It feels hopeful, like they too want to plan for a future together.

Martin rests his chin on his crossed arms on the windowsill, and gives them a smile just the slightest bit mischievous.

"I think we should plant lavender."

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

"I thought you were done with the pining, sir," Gerry whispers into his ear, the grin clear in his voice.

Jon merely smiles and moves along on the sofa to make some space for him, before he turns back to look at Martin.

He's practically nose-deep in the old transistor radio they found back at the toolshed, his sleeves rolled back over his forearms and a streak of dust across his forehead where he scratched absentmindedly a few minutes ago.

"I'll give it to you, it is a nice view," Gerry adds. He's got no regards for subtlety of course, and Jon smiles wider as Martin's cheeks flush a little, though he keeps his gaze stubbornly focused on the inside of the radio. "Are you sure you don't want us to get a new one?"

"This one is perfectly good, thank you." Martin rolls his eyes. "It just needed some cleaning."

The satisfied smile on his lips when he flips the switch and the speakers crackle to life is a memory Jon will treasure for a long while.

"You continue to surprise me, mister Blackwood." Gerry chuckles. "What are we listening to?"

"I don't really- oh, this is good." Martin smiles again when the radio picks up a frequency. The music is somewhat static-y, but still recognizable as some old 70s rock. The tempo is fairly upbeat and cheerful, and Martin bounces a leg to it. "The silence was starting to get to me."

"We can't have that," Gerry nods solemnly, climbing to his feet. "C'mere."

"What?" Martin chuckles, but his hand comes to rest on Gerry's offered hand as the song picks up in rhythm.

"I'm asking you for this dance, sir." Gerry grins and pulls him up and against him in a twirl that has them tripping over each other and stumbling to regain their balance.

Jon smiles softly to himself as he watches them fall into step with each other, laughing all the way like a couple teenagers that have had one too many beers.

Gerry leans up to kiss a freckle on Martin's cheekbone, and Martin's eyes slide over to pin Jon, brighter than ever and making his heart skip a couple beats.

Jon stands no chance when large hands wrap around his wrists to yank him to his feet, but realistically, he wasn't really going to put up much of a fight.

'You can't dance and stay uptight' indeed.

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

"It just doesn't make too much sense, if you ask me," Melanie says. She's not terribly worried about it, but it's been on her mind for a while now. "Jon feeds from you now, Helen has me or Tim in her corridors sometimes, I don't think I've ever seen Tim feed... I thought these things forced you to hurt people. Like the Slaughter did with me."

"I don't think anyone really knows, firecracker. The entities don't come with a manual, no matter how many old idiots have tried to write one." Gerry taps her knee softly with something cold and hard, and Melanie wraps her hand around the cider can. "Jon still has statements sometimes, so he and Helen are still feeding off of other's fear. My best guess is that Tim is feeding the Desolation with his own."

"What's Tim afraid of?" Melanie arches an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink. It's both sweet and tart on her tongue, a good contrast to the bowl of salty chips Gerry placed on her lap when they came to sit at the garden.

"Jon, mostly," Gerry grunts. "Or rather, Jon mourning the way he was before. The Desolation is about sorrow and loss too, and those two have enough of that."

"Wow, I didn't know you were still so bitter about him ruining your first date." Melanie hides her grin behind the can; she can practically see Gerry rolling his eyes from the scoff he gives next.

"I think I'm allowed to be wary of an avatar of the Desolation holding a grudge against Jon."

"Or thinking he does."

"Or thinking he does," Gerry agrees. "What I'm saying is- I don't think even the avatars themselves know how this works, asides from 'feed your entity or you'll have a bad time'. What Gertrude and Dekker knew, what I thought I knew- even what the Eye lets me Know now is very limited when it comes to this."

"What about Martin?" Melanie asks.

"What about him?" Gerry asks right back, his voice careful. Melanie rolls her eyes.

"Does he feed too?"

"Not quite," Gerry says quietly after a moment. "He's neither here nor there, you know? Lukas forced him into the Lonely, but then he chose it himself. He's like Basira, or you when you had the bullet, only there's nothing to pull out of him to fix it."

The disappointment at this fact is clear in his voice, and Melanie remembers once again the kind of person her friend is.

"I'm sure having you helps." She shrugs. "All of us, I suppose."

Including herself in it feels weird, but right. Georgie's laugh comes through the window, mixed with Jon and Martin's quieter chuckles, and a crackly radio playing old classic rock. The garden smells like moist dirt and the cool, crisp highland air, and she can hear Gerry digging around with what she guesses must be a spade.

"I wanted to kill you when I first met you, you know?" she blurts out. And now I'm here sitting with you while you work on your dumb little garden, she thinks, but doesn't say.

"I did get that impression, I don't know why. The knife, maybe." Gerry chuckles, and his spade thuds on the ground before he comes to sit against the wall with her, bumping their shoulders together. "I'm glad you didn't."

"Yeah." Melanie goes to take another sip of her cider to soothe her suddenly dry throat. She knocks her foot against Gerry's leg. "Yeah, me too."

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

What with his mother, his general insecurities and the whole 'comiting to the embodiment of loneliness' thing, Martin has had very few opportunities to live with people in his adult life. He's surprised to find that he likes it, despite the constant itch of frustration coming from the bits of the Forsaken buried feel within him.

There's something to be said about hearing Gerry whistling to himself as he works on the garden, or waking up from a nap to the scent of whatever Jon is cooking for supper.

There is notoriously less to be said for stepping on a wet towel at four in the morning when he's just trying to go into the bathroom to pee.

"Gerry!" he snaps, trying to keep his voice to a whisper because even if Jon isn't asleep or even in the room right now, it's four in the morning.

"Martin? What happened?" Gerry asks a second after, his voice just the slightest bit shaky still, which Martin would take pride on at any other time. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you insist on leaving your wet towels on the floor?"

"...Oh. Sorry?" Martin can practically hear Gerry's sheepish smile. "In my defense, I mostly lived in motel rooms?"

"Yes, and then you lived with Jon for like seven months." Martin rolls his eyes, straightening back up. "I'm going to have to do something about it."

"Oh, are you? What will you- oompf!" Gerry's low, teasing voice is cut short when the balled up damp towel finds its mark, and Martin closes the door to the bathroom with a satisfied smile.

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

"We should start thinking of what we're going to do, I think." There's something to Martin's voice when he says it that gets Gerry into high alert mode immediately, which is a bit ridiculous, considering they're standing in front of the produce rack at the farm shop while Jon chooses some vegetables.

"About what?" Gerry asks.

"Well mostly I-" Martin stops and clears his throat. "I just-"

Martin stops again, this time with a little chuckle that sounds more nervous than amused. Jon turns around, eggplant in hand and eyebrow raised questioningly.

"Martin?"

"This is probably the weirdest way I've asked 'what are we?' in my life," Martin says after a couple seconds, shaking his head with a smile. "But mostly- are we staying here? At the cottage, I mean."

Oh.

"We can't keep living off of our savings, and I somehow doubt Elias is going to keep paying me and Jon a regular salary," Martin continues far more casually now that he got past the initial awkwardness, seemingly unaware of Gerry's brain blanking. "It does get a lot cheaper with the two of you not needing to eat, but I should probably try and get a job to, you know, feed myself and the like. I guess my question is if you'd rather stay here or go back to London or...?"

Gerry feels his eyebrows raise as what Martin is asking slowly rains down on him. It's- it's one thing to entertain his normal, boring life fantasies, and another one completely to hear someone else voice them.

"Hm. I suppose we do have to return to London eventually, to help look for Daisy." Jon taps his bottom lip with the eggplant's stem. "Whether we stay there or not is another matter entirely, I suppose. I don't really have a preference, Gerry-"

"The carrots won't be ready to harvest until next year," Gerry blurts out when they both turn to look at him. It feels important, for some reason.

These past three months have been a dream, so pleasant and calm Gerry has caught himself thinking on more than one occasion that maybe- maybe he's done, and he can rest now, here at the end of the world with these two.

Maybe he's earned this.

Jon and Martin are still staring at him, the former's eyes are gleaming with something that looks like fondness, and the latter's got a hand up to hide his grin.

"I mean- we can go wherever-" as long as they're together, that is, but he's not about to say that, not after using carrots as his excuse. "Just-"

"He does have a point, Martin." Jon interrupts him with a shrug, coming closer to slot himself under Gerry's arm.

Martin nods sagely. "We can't just leave the carrots."

"Stop," Gerry snorts, shaking his head as Martin comes to lay a kiss on his forehead. I guess that's a yes on the job hunting, then. I could try to get something too."

"Huh." Martin blinks, and his shoulders shake with a little huff of laughter. "Gerry, I think you might be the one person on earth whose CV could look worse than mine, even with the unverifiable previous job."

"What a blast of an interview though, can you imagine? 'It says here you haven't had a job since... Pinhole Books around ten years ago?' 'well yes, I was off stopping terror rituals and killing people, and then I was dead for four years, but I got better.' "

"I think I'd hire you just for having the guts to lie like that," Jon says from under his arm, before accusingly pointing the eggplant at Martin. "And your previous job is hardly unverifiable. I actually think your previous boss would give you a sparkling review."

"The one you killed after he put me in a nightmare dimension?" Martin asks, an eyebrow arched and his lips curled into an amused grin.

"I'm trying to flirt with you, sir," Jon deadpans. His voice has the light, tangy aftertaste of his bittersweet jokes, and Gerry squeezes him a bit against his side.

Martin's grin turns pleased as his face colors slightly, which makes Gerry smile when he realizes Martin was just fishing for the confirmation.

"I could give you a recommendation letter too." Gerry tangles his fingers in Martin's free hand. "Martin Blackwood? Overqualified for any job you throw at him, his only areas of opportunity are the occasional arson in work premises and the fact that he's very bad at keeping people out of his office."

"Certain people," Martin says, butting his forehead against Gerry's with a smile.

"You two are ridiculous," Jon chuckles. "Let's get home already."

Home, the word rings in his chest like a bell, like the heart he wasn't given back but feels the pull of at every waking moment.

"Yeah. Let's go home."

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

The creature -it is shaped like a human, but the hunter knows better, can smell the monster in it- squirms and thrashes in its jaws, though what end it hopes to achieve is a mystery to the hunter, because the only thing it gets for its trouble is for said jaws to clench down tighter around it, until yellowed, long fangs pierce skin and stain red.

It tastes like dirt.

The hunter despises the taste of dirt, and even more so the feeling of it sliding down its throat, far too evocative of another time, another life that might as well have lasted forever, were it not for the prey it let escape, that for some reason came back and clung to it as tightly as the hunter now clings to its newest victim.

Deep down in the hunter's chest something sparks to life at the thought, the memory of thin hands pulling at it even as pointed stones dug into their skin. The prey has a name, or at least it used to.

The hunter shakes its head, trying to rid it if the useless, confusing thoughts.

It too had a name one day, but that does not matter now. It is the hunter, and what it does is to chase, to kill.

It lets go of the broken body between its jaws, just as another scent drifts into its nose.

The hunter changes tracks, and starts the chase again, leaving behind any thoughts of previous prey, named or not.

Jon sighs, blinking the black and white and red of Daisy's vision away.

It's nothing new, he had an inkling of what he'd See even before he looked, but it still hurts. With each day that Daisy passes under the thrall of the Hunt her mind grows more and more distant, far from any reach they could have.

They need to go back to London soon. Between himself, Basira and Gerry, they might be able to pin Daisy's location before she bounces again.

It hurts. Jon is more than aware that after so much fighting to become something else, what dragged Daisy back into the pit she promised to not to return was her fondness for him.

The darkness in the room recedes a little when he opens his eyes again, the green glow casting eerie, menacing shadows out of every unassuming object, like trying to convince Jon he's not the most dangerous being to ever sit in this living room.

Down the little corridor come the sounds of Martin's soft snoring and whatever it is that Gerry's mumbling in his sleep, and Jon sighs. The tape recorder still runs somewhere in the living room, waiting perhaps for a declaration.

"I'm- I'll breach the topic with them tomorrow." He says in the end. Talking to the tapes has always felt grounding. "We just have to find Daisy, and then we'll be free to come back here for however long we want."

For the time being... there's no use in worrying, Jon guesses.

Out the corner of his eye he catches Martin's notebooks on his little table by the window, and he feels his lips arching into a smile despite himself.

They've come a long way from Jon fishing out discarded poetry from garbage bins, he thinks to himself as he pulls one of the notebooks. Thankfully, Martin has said he doesn't mind them reading his things as long as he isn't in the room, so this will make for a nice distraction.

"Good things", Jon reads aloud from the page he opens at random, which he notices has a lot less crossed out sections than the others. Apparently Martin found his words pretty easily after a few stumbles at the beginning. "You'll- you'll have to forgive me, Martin," he tells the recorder, chuckling. "I've never had a voice for poetry, in my opinion. But I'll leave it to the jury to decide."

He clears his throat, holding the notebook open with two fingers, Martin's neat, tight handwriting illuminated in green.

'Good things, by Martin K. Blackwood.

There is something interesting to be said About things that come in threes.

Like coins in a fountain rings to a circus, or stars to Orion's belt, Like three acts parts to a story that is not finished yet.

Why is it that three's a crowd, yet Good things come in three's? People always say hello, Jon. My apologies for interrupting whatever it was that our mutual acquaintance managed to sneak this into, but I thought it better to let her arrange the delivery as she saw fit.

Hopefully this finds you alone; I shouldn't speak ill of a gift from our patron, especially with how well he served his purpose, but as useful as he's been in keeping you alive and encouraging you to develop your powers, your dear Gerard is quite adept at getting in the way, no doubt he gets it from Gertrude. Though I do suppose I should stop underestimating Martin by this point, shouldn't I?

I must admit, I neither expected nor wished to watch him walk out of the fog with you. It is far too late in the game for unwanted variables, but by this point I suppose I must simply sit back and hope that the Mother's blessing is enough to keep him out of my designs.

By this point I suppose you have attempted to stop reading, I don't recommend it, you will only hurt yourself. I thought your little retreat had lasted enough already, and you could use some help getting back into the flow of work.

Let us begin then, just one more, for old times sake.

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

[inkjam-moon]

The Making of: Love (M)

Summary: When the movie you’re in requires to to film a risque scene with a world renowned sex symbol, your virginity is suddenly all you can focus on.

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Smut, fluff

Word Count: 12.7k

TW: unprotected sex, loss of virginity

“Cut!” The director calls and you freeze in place. “Please stop. That’s a wrap on today everyone. We’ll pick up again tomorrow.”

You sigh, knowing one hundred percent that it’s your fault he called cut, and sure enough as you try to walk off set toward wardrobe, the director waves you over.

“I-I’m sorry Mr. Kang.” You whisper, your head low.

“Seriously, Y/N, what’s up with you?” He asks, leaning back in his chair. “I swear, it’s like you’re not even here.”

“I know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

“Well I suggest you figure it out.” He sighs. “Namjoon will be here tomorrow.” You simply nod. “Make sure to get some sleep, alright?”

“Of course. Thank you Mr. Kang.”

“Get out of here hun.”

You walk off toward wardrobe to change, handing over your costume as you slip into the clothes you arrived in this morning and head out of the sound stage toward your trailer; the director’s words ringing in your ear; “Namjoon will be here tomorrow”. You know. God you know. He’s the reason you couldn’t focus today, he’s the reason why you sucked; it’s because you’re terrified to meet him.

When your manager gave you the script for this movie, it was just a simple romantic comedy, but after you auditioned and were casted as the female lead, the writers and director changed half the script to make it more steamy. Now there was a sex scene, one that’s basically softcore porn; and you, being the shy virgin that you are, have no idea how you’re going to have stage sex with one of the most iconic sex symbols of the century. Kim Namjoon. He’s going be to here tomorrow, and your director wants to do the ‘first kiss’ scene first thing in the morning as an ice breaker.

You shake your head as you open the door to your trailer, wanting to do nothing more than to curl up in your bed and sleep for three years. You plop yourself down on the bed and turn on the tv, wanting to distract yourself from your thoughts. You grab your phone and check your messages; three from your mom, one from your manager, and one from an unknown number. You open the unknown text to read it.

Unknown Number (9:37pm): Hey, Y/N? This is Kim Namjoon! Your manager gave me your number. I can’t wait to start working with you tomorrow! I hope you sleep well!

Your heart nearly explodes from your chest. Great. Of course he’s super sweet. That just makes everything worse. You quickly dial your manager’s number, ready to yell at him.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I-”

“I’m on my way to your trailer, are you there?”

“Yes but I-”

“Good, I’ll see you in a minute.” And then he hangs up. Sure enough, a few minutes later, there’s a knock on your door.

“It’s open.” You call. You hear the door open as you stare at the ceiling and then after a few seconds you feel the bed sink down next to you.

“Here.” He throws a stapled stack of papers on your face.

“Jimin, what the hell?” You ask, grabbing, the papers and sitting up.

“There was a script change for tomorrow’s scene.”

“Another one?” You whine, rifling through the papers to see extra highlighted parts scattered throughout.

“He wants to add in rain.”

“Rain? You’re shitting me, right?” Jimin flips to the front page and points to the scene description. The first sentence reads ‘In a thunderstorm…’ . “Why?”

“Said it’ll add drama or something. I don’t know.” Jimin flops on his back next to you and sighs. “So are you going to tell me why everyone said you were shit today?”

“Chim, I really don’t want to talk about it.” Along with being your manager, Jimin’s been your best friend since you were kids, and having a business degree, he agreed to manage you when you broke into the business.

“Tell me you’re not still freaking out over Namjoon.”

“Of course not.” You lie. “By the way, why’d you give him my number?”

“Because he asked for it. Why, did he text you?” Jimin excitedly grabs your phone from where it lays beside you and opens it, quickly skimming over the message Namjoon sent you. “Aw, see he seems nice! Why didn’t you respond? You could’ve at least put his name in your phone.”

“Because I didn’t have anything to say.” You shrug. Jimin quickly starts typing something and you sit up in suspicion and try to take your phone back, but he holds onto it tightly. The two of you wrestle for the phone as he attempts to continue typing but just as you manage to snatch it out of Jimin’s hand, he hits send and cackles with success. “Jimin!” You growl as you read what he typed.

You (9:46pm): Hi Namjoon! I can’t wait to see you. If you have any questions, let me know! Have a good night! Xo

“I’m going to kill you!” You screech, tackling Jimin to the bed. “Who says ‘xo’? What the fuck??” You climb on top of him, smacking his chest repeatedly until your phone goes off twice beside you. You both freeze for a moment until you scramble to grab your phone before Jimin can, holding it out of his reach as you read it.

Kim Namjoon (9:47pm): Actually, I do have one.

Kim Namjoon (9:47pm): Did you get the script change? I was wondering if you wanted to maybe meet up a little early and go over it. I’d like to practice before they start rolling since it’s my first movie. If not it’s okay, don’t worry about it!

“What’d he say??” Jimin asks, shaking you.

“He wants to meet up before the shoot tomorrow to go over lines.”

“Say yes!”

“What? Why?”

“So you can meet him before you have to act with him. You need to get over this fear of him and this is the best way.”

“Jimin-”

“Don’t ‘Jimin’ me. Just say yes.”

You sigh before typing out your response.

You (9:49pm): Do you want to get breakfast?

Kim Namjoon (9:49pm): My trailer or yours?

You (9:49pm): I think yours is closer to craft service.

Kim Namjoon (9:50pm): Craft service?

You (9:50pm): The caterers.

Kim Namjoon (9:50pm): Oh okay. I’ll meet you there at eight?

You (9:51pm): Sounds good

Kim Namjoon (9:52pm): I’ll see you in the morning!

You put your phone down and roll off of Jimin, laying face down on the bed.

“Well?” Jimin persists.

“We’re meeting for breakfast.”

“Yes! This is so exciting!”

You sit up on your elbows to glare at him. “Why do I listen to you?”

“Because I’m a genius!” Jimin squeals happily. “Trust me, this’ll help you get over whatever fear you have of him. Just hang out with him as a person first, it’ll make it easier to act with him.”

“Fine!” You groan. “Now get out so I can get some sleep.”

“Alright alright. Just promise me you’ll be nice?”

“Of course manager Park. Now get out.”

“God please stop calling me that.” Jimin whines as he gets up and walks over to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow during wardrobe, okay?”

“Yeah yeah.” You wave him off as he opens the door. “Night Chim.”

“Goodnight Y/N-ah. Don’t forget to go over the change!” Jimin shuts the door behind him and you sigh, getting up to scrub your face and then laying back down, setting the alarm on your phone before cracking open the new script.

You skim it mostly, not many things that you say or do have changed, it mostly just has to do with the rain and towels, that is, until you get to the fifth page. The kissing scene. You read the highlighted stage directions to find out the scene now transitions into a hot shower and sex. Fuck. You were hoping you could put the sex off for at least a week. What the hell are you supposed to do? You’ve never had sex before; you don’t know the right things to do, the right noises to make, or the right ways to move. You’re so fucked. You read over your lines that have changed until you think you have a handle on them, and then you turn out the lights and listen to the sound of the tv to help you fall asleep.

Your sleep is riddled with the oddest of dreams, none of which you remember when your alarm goes off at seven thirty. You roll over and hit snooze, wanting just a few extra minutes to yourself before this hell of a day starts. You finally drag yourself out of bed and check the weather, seeing it’s going to be a hot one, you grab a pair of jean shorts and a t shirt and slip them on before washing your face. You wish you could put on a little bit of makeup before meeting him, but the makeup team would kill you. You settle for your bare faced self, grab your phone and your script, and then head out of your trailer, locking it behind you before heading off toward craft service.

It’s about a ten minute walk across set to get to the big white tent of craft service, and since you’re here so early, it’s pleasantly quiet and gives you time to steel your nerves. You don’t know if you should wait for Namjoon or go ahead and grab your breakfast, but before you can decide, you hear a squeal of excitement and look up to see a mop of stark black hair in the distance. He’s here.

It’s no surprise to anyone that he immediately gets rushed by the catering staff to ask for pictures and autographs. You scoff. These people are supposed to be professionals, but you know on the inside you’re just jealous; none of them asked you for an autograph. But the buzz is quickly silenced when director Kang walks up and shoos them all away like pesky flies before giving Namjoon a nice smack on the back in greeting. You can see Namjoon scanning the area as he talks to Kang, so you decide to make it easier on him, rounding the corner you were hiding behind and making your way toward Namjoon.

When he sees you, his face lights up with a wide smile. It’s obvious he’s no longer listening to the director when Kang stops talking and turns to see whatever it is Namjoon is staring at; you. When you arrive at their little circle, you bow, first to Kang and then to Namjoon, before smiling and greeting them.

“Good morning.”

“Y-Y/N, hi! It’s nice to meet you finally. I’m- Hi, i’m Namjoon!” Namjoon stumbles over his words, seemingly nervous as he bows to you.

“Hi.” You giggle, taking the hand Namjoon has outstretched. He’s wearing knee length jean shorts and a tank top, his hair looks messy from sleep, pushing back off his forehead, and his dimples poke at his cheeks as he smiles.

“Ah, the meet cute of my favorite actors!” Director Kang exclaims, grabbing you both and pulling you into a weird sort of group hug where he’s the only one doing the hugging until he releases you again. “You two should get to know each other, but remember shooting starts at eleven! Enjoy your breakfast!” He calls as he walks off toward the kitchen.

“Wow. Is he always so…”

“Eccentric?” You finish for Namjoon. “Are you kidding? That’s him relaxed.” You joke, making Namjoon let out a small huff of laughter. “Anyway, hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too! I’m so excited. You’re one of my favorite actresses in the world, so, um- oh gosh, hah…” Namjoon stops in his tracks once he realizes he’s gushing.

You can’t help but blush as you wave him off. “Tell me about it Mr. Sexiest Man Alive.”

“Please,” Namjoon shakes his head, running his hand over his face. “I don’t even know why they gave me that title.”

“Oh, sure you don’t.” You tease, making him smile wide.

“So, should we get breakfast?”

You nod, “Sounds good.”

You lead Namjoon into the kitchen, showing him where all the food and drinks are. He happily piles his plate full of food. You grab some eggs, toast and strawberries, along with a coffee and a donut, waiting for Namjoon to finish getting his coffee before you both head back outside and he leads you to his trailer. It’s only two minutes from craft service. You can’t help but wish yours was closer so you could sneak in a midnight snack on your way back after shooting.

Namjoon unlocks the door and leads you inside, taking a seat on the couch and gesturing for you to do the same. You take a seat next to him and place your plate on the table before you realize something.

“I forgot silverware.” You sigh, not wanting to get back up.

“Eat with your fingers.”

“What?” You look over at Namjoon in confusion.

“Eat with your fingers.” He repeats with a shrug. “I’m not going to judge you.” You want to say no until you see Namjoon grab a piece of egg and lift it to his lips, eating happily. You stare down at your plate, happy you didn’t get anything too messy before you figure, why not, and begin eating.

You eat in silence, both of you finishing around the same time, and you watch Namjoon lick his fingers as you sip your coffee, smiling to yourself as he gets up to wash his hands. You hadn’t expected him to be this much of... Well, a dork, but honestly, you prefer it to the stone cold sex god the media paints him as.

“So,” Namjoon starts as he sits back down. “Do they always shoot these kinds of scenes first?”

“Not usually, but Kang thinks they’re good icebreakers. Every movie I’ve worked with him, we shot the kissing scenes first.”

“Is this your first time doing something like uh, this? On screen?” Namjoon holds up the script change.

You nod. “I’ve seen other actors film it, but I’ve never had to do more than kiss.” You admit quietly.

“At least we can be nervous about it together.” Namjoon chuckles.

“Right.” But at least you’ve had sex before, you can’t help but think.

“Why’d he add the rain?”

“My manager said dramatic effect or something.”

“Ah, okay.”

“So, do you just want to do lines? Or do you want to act it out a little?”

Namjoon gulps visibly. “Um, I think just lines for now.”

“Okay, are you ready then?” You ask. He nods. “Alright. So it starts out with me locked outside my house in the rain and you come home and find me. Go ahead.”

Namjoon nods again. “Hey.”  He yells, startling you. “What are you doing?”

You fake a sigh and roll your eyes. “What does it look like?” You knock on the table, pretending it’s a door. “Auntie!!” You call out.

“They’re not home. You’re going to catch your death out here.” Namjoon scolds.

“Like you care.”

“Come on.” Namjoon grabs your arm.

“Let go.”

“I’m not going to let you freeze to death.”

“I said let me go.” You wrench your arm free.

“Fine. and then I pick you up, right?”

“Yeah. And carry me into your house.”

“Okay, and then, we keep going?” You nod. “Okay.” He clears his throat. “You can stay here until they get home.” He grabs the pillow off the couch and tosses it at your face, making you laugh out of surprise. “Oh god I’m sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it! Just caught me off guard! Keep going.”

“Right uh, Dry yourself off.”

“I would, except my clothes are soaked too.”

“Hm. Come with me.”

“And then we go upstairs.”

“I push you into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Clean yourself up. I’ll find you some clothes. And then shut the door.”

“And then I bathe.”

“Should I play the jeopardy theme, or perhaps some old orchestral bath house music?”

“Sto-op.” You laugh, pushing his shoulder playfully, making him smile widely.

“Okay, next, you come out in a towel.” He wiggles his eyebrows, making you blush.

“Ah, y-yep! Um, did you find anything?”

“And then I dramatically look up to see you in said towel and gasp. Fuck…” Namjoon suddenly leans over and traps you against the back of the couch, his arms on either side of your head as he gets right up in front of your face, your noses almost touching.

“N-Namjoon?” You stutter.

He pulls back, and looks at you confused. “Wrong name.”

You forgot you were still acting. “Oh shit, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Namjoon smiles brightly. “That’s the last line anyway, do you want to run it again?”

“S-sure.” You nod, still slightly shocked at just how close Namjoon was to you.

“Great.”

Namjoon settles back against the couch and starts the scene again. You run it four or five more times before your alarm goes off, signalling it’s time to go take a shower before you head to wardrobe.

“You’re leaving?” Namjoon seems to pout.

“Yeah, I’m going to take a shower before hair and makeup. You should too, they like a clean slate to work with.”

“Oh, really? Okay.” You stand, grabbing your things before you walk over to the door and Namjoon follows you. “I guess I’ll see you out there then?”

You nod. “I’ll be there.” you open the door and turn to leave, but Namjoon grabs your arm.

“Oh, Y/N? Thanks. For meeting me and everything.”

You offer him a smile. “Of course. I’ll see you in a bit.” You exit his trailer and head back to your own, smiling to yourself as you hop into your shower and refresh before heading off to hair and makeup.

There isn’t much for them to do, since you’re going to be rained on, your hair stays wet, and they smudge your makeup after applying to make it look like you’ve been outside for a while, you’re about to head to wardrobe when Jimin pops up out of nowhere to escort you.

“So how’d it go this morning?” He pesters.

“It went really well actually. He’s nice.”

“Did you practice the scene?”

“We just went over lines.”

Jimin sighs. “You should’ve kissed him at least.”

“Why? I’ve kissed on screen before.”

“But you haven’t kissed Namjoon. You should’ve just seen what it was like.” He whines as you walk into wardrobe.

“Chim, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to set me up.”

“Um, obviously?” Jimin states. “Think of the publicity this movie would get if you two were actually dating. Think of the publicity you would get!”

“Nope. Jimin, I’m cutting you off right now. It’s not going to happen. Remember what happened last time you tried to get me to date someone?”

“He was an asshole though.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Fine.” Jimin huffs. “Just think about it though. You’re basically going to have sex with him anyway.”

“Nuh uh.” You shake your head. “That’s not how this is going to work and now you’re pissing me off. Get out.”

“Alright alright.” Jimin turns to make his leave. “I’ll see you on the set.”

You sit back in your chair as you wait for your stylist to arrive. She quickly dresses you and then you’re whisked away to set on a golf cart to see Namjoon has beaten you there.

“Namjoon.” You nod to him as you walk up.

“Y/N, hey!” His face softens when he sees you. “Look at your hair!” He giggles at the wet strands that dangle next to your face.

“Look at yours!” You tease back, laughing at just how stiff and tall his hair seems to sit on his head. “You’re even taller.”

“Alright everyone!” Kang calls, and the stage goes silent. “Now that we have both of our lovely leads here, let’s make a movie!” Everyone cheers and claps as Kang heads to his chair. “Okay Y/N, I want you looking inside the window to your house and then you go up on the porch. Do we have the rain ready?” Kang grabs his megaphone as his assistant opens and umbrella and holds it over them both, several other members of the staff following their lead. “Alright, cue the rain!” Kang yells. It takes a second but suddenly the stage starts dripping, and then it begins to pour buckets on buckets of rain. You’re going to be soaked.

“Quiet on the set.” Comes over the loudspeaker and then Kang yells into his megaphone. “And we’re rolling.”

Someone steps in front of camera A and speaks. “Scene seventeen. Take one.” He smacks the clapboard together.

“Action!” Kang yells. “Cue Y/N!”

You take a deep breath and then run onto the set, letting yourself get drenched in water before walking up to the window of your ‘house’ and peering inside, seemingly frantic, banging on the window for effect.

“Now Namjoon, you come down the sidewalk and see her outside.”

It only takes a few seconds before you hear it. “Hey!” Namjoon yells over the rain. “What are you doing?”

You turn and glare at him. “What does it look like?” You walk around the front steps and up onto the porch, banging on the door before crying out. “Auntie!!”

“They’re not home. You’re going to catch your death out here.” Namjoon scolds, opening the gate to your house and walking up to you.

“Like you care.” You state, ignoring Namjoon and continuing to knock on the door.

“Come on.” Namjoon grabs your arm.

“Let go.” You turn to face him again with a glare.

“I’m not going to let you freeze to death.”

“I said let me go.” You wrench your arm free.

“Fine.” You turn back to the door, but then you’re swept off your feet and thrown over Namjoon’s shoulder, he carries you down the steps and then hurries over to his own house next door where he opens the door and then shuts it behind you both, but he walks over the threshold at a weird angle and smacks your head against the doorframe, making everyone, including you, start laughing.

“Cut!” Kang calls. The rain stops and you and Namjoon both come back out from behind the door to hear his notes as you hold your now sore head. “You good Y/N?” You give him a thumbs up and a smile. “Good, you guys that was great. Um, next time, Namjoon, carry her bridal style instead? That might prevent further incidents.” Namjoon nods. “And Y/N try not to seem so pissed at him. Remember, you don’t hate him even though he just hit your head on the door, you’re just trying to ignore your feelings for him.”

“Got it.”

“Alright, let’s run it again.” You run the scene seven more times, with no further incidents and various camera angles; Kang changes something small each time until he deems you’ve got it right, which is good, because by now, you’re shivering.

“Someone get Y/N a towel and then we’ll run over to set two for the house scene.” Kang calls. A production assistant immediately runs up to you and wraps a warmed fluffy towel around your shoulders just as Namjoon walks up to you.

“Y/N, are you okay? I’m so sorry I hit your head, is it alright?” He asks, cradling your face, his expression laced with worry.

“I’m okay, don’t worry.” You offer him a smile. “Just cold more than anything.”

Namjoon nods before turning to the assistant, “Can you get her another towel please?” The assistant immediately runs off, returning moments later with another warmed towel which Namjoon takes and wraps around your torso.

“Come on,” You tug the second towel tightly around you and tilt your head in the direction of Jimin who is already walking toward you. “My manager can drive us.”

“Oh, okay!” Namjoon follows behind you and you introduce him to Jimin who fangirls just a little bit before ushering you both into the back of the golf cart and driving away.

“This is kind of fun, isn’t it?” Namjoon smiles down at you as you ride.

“Yeah, until you have to do a scene a hundred times.”

Namjoon furrows his eyebrows. “Do you think we’ll have to do that?”

“Kang doesn’t usually drag things out that long if we do what he wants.” You inform him. “But so far, you’re doing really well.”

“Really?” He beams at you.

You nod. “Really.”

You pull up to the second set of the day, ‘inside’ Namjoon’s character’s living room and hop out of the cart, ignoring Jimin completely as he shoots you smirks out of the corner of your eye; he knows what’s coming, and unfortunately, so do you.

“Alright, let’s not waste anytime.” Kang yells into his megaphone as he pulls up. You and Namjoon take your places as the cameras start rolling and Namjoon sweeps you up into his arms again. “Action!”

Namjoon pushes through the door and carries you inside, shutting the door behind him with his foot and then setting you down gently.

“You can stay here until they get home.” He grabs a towel off one of the chairs and tosses it at you. “Dry yourself off.”

You stare down at the towel in your hands. “I would, except my clothes are soaked too.”

Namjoon turns and gives you a once over before nodding. “Hm. Come with me.” He takes your arm and tugs you upstairs until Kang calls cut and they move the cameras accordingly to continue the scene. When action is called again, the cameras are filming you as you come up the stairs. Namjoon drags you into his room and into the bathroom where he finally lets go of your arm to turn on the shower, but he can’t figure out how.

“Wait, I can’t… I can’t get it. How does this work?” Namjoon asks.

“Cut.” Kang calls as you giggle. One of the prop team managers comes over and instructs Namjoon on how to operate the shower.

Once he has it down, the cameras start rolling again. Namjoon quickly turns the shower on this time and then shuts the curtain again. “Clean yourself up. I’ll find you some clothes.” He states before turning and leaving the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. You look after him like you’re going to say something, but he’s already gone. You shrug and Kang calls cut again.

You run the scene two more times and then the end bell rings, signalling it’s time for lunch. “Alright! Remember after lunch it’s essential personnel only. I’ll see you back in two hours.”

Even though you want to have lunch with Namjoon, he gets swarmed by production members and other actors, so Jimin drags you away to talk about the next scene. Lunch goes by quickly and before you know it, you’re back in the stylist chair. A nude thong is the first thing that’s handed to you, but no pasties, and she explains that the director would rather use your real breasts for the scene. After you’re dressed, and your hair is re-wet, you head back over to set to see it’s significantly less crowded; only the essential camera men and tech people are around. Namjoon has beat you once again, but he’s standing as though he’s uncomfortable.

“Did they put more gel in your hair?” You tease as you walk up. “Is that why you look so uncomfortable? Afraid of low clearance ceilings?”

Namjoon looks down at his shoes, a blush decorating his cheeks. “N-no. It’s this stupid thing they’re making me wear…” He mumbles.

“What thing?” You ask, eyeing his attire curiously, nothing seems abnormal.

“The sock.”

“Your socks?” You look down at his feet.

“No,” Namjoon crosses his hands in front of his crotch. “The sock thing they put my junk in, they strapped it to my leg and it just feels...weird.” He admits, making you blush now too.

“O-oh.” You nod. “Well I feel you. I’m wearing two pairs of underwear and just found out director Kang wants to use my real breasts for the shots, so no pasties, or dignity, for me.”

“Oh god, really?” Namjoon asks. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine.”

“Yeah, welcome to my life.” You pout, making both you and Namjoon laugh until Kang walks onto the soundstage.

“Alright. Let’s get this shower scene out of the way. Y/N?” You nod and walk into the bathroom they moved to ground level during lunch. “Quiet on set. Rolling… Action.”

You walk over to the mirror and take a look at yourself, seemingly shocked at how terrible looking and wet you are. You sigh deeply before beginning to strip off your clothing piece by piece; sweatshirt, jeans, t shirt, bra; they all fall to the ground before you finally shimmy out of the lace underwear you have on over your nude thong before you pull back the shower curtain and disappear behind it. The curtain is reopened a few seconds later to reveal two steadicam operators, and then you hear Kang’s instructions.

“Take off the thong really quick.” You sigh before obliging, adding it to the pile of clothes on the floor and feeling more naked than you are. “Alright, face the water and let it run over you for a minute. Okay now grab the body wash. Good. Clean yourself. Choi, make sure you get a shot of the soap running down her ass and legs. Perfect, that looks great. Cut! Y/N, that was great, I don’t think we’ll have to do another take of that.” Everyone in the room claps as someone hands you a towel. Which you quickly wrap around yourself. “Alright, Y/N, dry off and out next shot will be you coming out of the bathroom. Everyone except Choi and Kim can leave.”

You watch as everyone except the two camera men and Kang leave the stage, leaving just the three of them, you, and Namjoon. Shit. Your heart rate picks up and your nerves take hold of you. You pull the nude thong back onto your body when you’re dry and keep the towel wrapped tightly around yourself as drops of water from your hair drip down your shoulders. Namjoon stands next to the dresser and you shut the door when the cameras start rolling, only to open it again when Kang calls action.

“Did you find anything?”

Namjoon looks up to see you standing there shivering. “Fuck…” He gasps before standing and walking over to you, trapping you against the wall, much like he did on the couch earlier.

“M-Minhyuk?” You stutter, happy that you remembered the right name.

“Chaesoo-yah.”

Namjoon grabs your chin and moves in close, his lips just barely brushing against your nose before he hovers over your mouth. You take a deep, shuddering breath before closing the gap, pressing your lips to Namjoon’s for the first time as his free hand grips your waist tightly and pulls you close. The kiss itself is, well honestly, boring. Something in you is screaming to move, but you’re frozen, unable to do anything, and you accidentally open your eyes, causing Kang to call cut.

“Y/N, you can’t… you can’t open your eyes.” He sighs and Namjoon steps back from you.

“I know, I know.” You groan. “Sorry.”

“Start from the wall push please.” Kang shouts before calling action.

Namjoon pushes you against the wall again and you say your lines before his lips connect to yours once more, this time you can move, but something still doesn’t feel right. It feels forced, hard, awkward; and then Namjoon steps on your foot, causing you to break the kiss in pain and sure enough, cut is called again.

“Namjoon-” Kang starts.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry, are you alright?” He asks, stepping back again and you shake your foot.

“Folks, can we get it together please?” Kang orders, started to get pissed. “It’s like the two of you have never kissed anyone before.” You and Namjoon both mumble a ‘sorry’ before Kang continues. “Alright, let’s skip the kiss and just keep going. Namjoon start by taking her towel off and throwing her on the bed, then I want you to focus on her breasts. Don’t be afraid to touch them, Y/N doesn’t mind.”

You raise your eyebrows. I don’t? You shrug and nod, trying to mentally prepare yourself for this scene. You don’t know if you’re ready, but it’s not up to you, it’s Kang’s decision.

“Are we ready?” You both nod. “Okay, we’re rolling. Action.”

Namjoon quickly drags you over to the bed, letting your towel drop to the floor before tossing you onto the mattress and crawling on top of you. He starts by placing small kisses against your neck before sliding his hands up your sides to caress your chest, trailing his lips across your collarbone and then down between your breasts as he grips them.

“Good. Let your hands feel every inch of her.” Kang instructs.

Namjoon obeys, his hands tracing every curve of your body, but something about it still feels off to you, and you unintentionally clench your legs together as Namjoon’s hands slide over your thighs, until he gets to your knees and parts them, settling his body in between your legs as you bite your lip from the nerves of being so exposed like this. He sits up and pulls his shirt off over his head, and you can’t help but marvel at his physique. He’s truly beautiful.

“Y/N, your turn.” Kang states. “Touch him.”

You sit up and place your hands on Namjoon’s abdomen, trying to seem as fascinated by him as you feel, but something tells you it’s not working. Your hands explore what bit of him is exposed to you before they fall to his jeans and unbutton them, tugging at the zipper.

“Yes, good ad lib Y/N. Now pull them off.”

You gently slide them down Namjoon’s thick thighs, only from the sides, you’re too nervous to touch him anywhere else yet, leaving him in his boxers. He takes you by surprise, pushing you back down against the bed and latching his lips to yours once more and you feel him shimmy out of his boxers between your legs.

“Good, now, keep going. Let’s get to the good stuff. Remember Y/N you have to pretend as if it’s really happening. Guide him into you.”

You blush at Kang’s lewd words before reaching your hand down between your bodies as Namjoon moves to kiss your cheek. He pushes his hips forward and you feel your centers touch for the first time and you let out the smallest gasp, before you remember he’s supposed to have just slipped inside you and you throw your head back, letting out a small moan, apparently startling Namjoon enough for him to pull back and look at you, making you blush even harder and try to look away, but he tilts your chin back to him, meeting your gaze for a moment before leaning down to kiss you again. You wrap your arms around his neck as you hear Kang talking to the camera men.

“Choi, get the wide shot, Kim get the close up of their faces.”

You can feel Namjoon’s hips moving, but he hardly ever touches you and when he does, it just seems to make him blush. He places sporadic kisses against your lips and on your face as he pretends to focus on fucking you, until Kang is heard again.

“Alright, good. Now, flip it around. Y/N, I want you on top.”

You sit up as Namjoon rolls off you, giving you a chance to glance at what’s between his legs to see some sort of sock contraption taped to the inside of Namjoon’s left thigh. Regardless of the sock, Namjoon still seems to be rather large on his own and something stirs inside you; something hot. Oh god, is seeing him like this turning you on? Shit… What if he knows? What if he can feel it? Fuck, oh god you’re so screwed. He’s going to know immediately! He’s Kim Namjoon for christs sake, he probably has a sixth sense for these kinds of things, and now you have to sit on top of him? You’re-

“Earth to Y/N?” Namjoon’s voice shakes you from your thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Are we gonna do this or what?” Comes Kang’s voice from behind you.

“Sorry.” You hold up your hand to apologize. “Call it again.”

“Action.” Kang repeats.

You take a deep breath and then climb into Namjoon’s lap, straddling him. You reach a hand down between you again to make it seem like you’re aligning him before ‘sinking down’ onto him and beginning to rock your hips back and forth. This time, your centers connect every time, every ‘thrust’, and you can feel yourself steadily growing wetter as you imagine what it would be like to fuck Namjoon for real; to have his hands all over you because he wanted to, not because a script told him he had to.

You can feel yourself growing hot, your face flushing as you trace your hands all over Namjoon’s chest, following the contours of his muscles as you bounce on him. He looks so good, just a little bit sweaty, just a little bit flushed, his golden skin shining in the stage lights. You can’t even hear Kang anymore as you’re transported to your own world, throwing your head back with a moan when Namjoon grabs your ass tightly, thrusting his hips up to meet yours with every bounce. You can almost feel him, if you angle your hips in just the right way, his pubic bone provides you with the smallest fraction of friction that you suddenly crave so desperately.

Namjoon sits up and pulls you closer, one of his arms wrapping around your waist as the hand of the other threads in your damp hair, pulling you down for another kiss. This one… this one is breathtaking; you’ve never been so weak in the knees from just a simple stage kiss before, but when Namjoon breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against yours, you have to try and hide your panting, only hoping he can’t hear how quickly your heart is beating.

“Keep going.” Kang’s voice interrupts your thoughts and you quickly pull Namjoon back to you for more, for some reason now obsessed with the feeling of his plush lips pressed to yours.

Namjoon wraps both hands around your waist, pulling you closer and you throw your arms around his neck, lacing both of your hands in his hair for a hot and heavy makeout as he bounces you in his lap. When the first hint of his tentative tongue comes out, you accept it greedily, parting your lips as you swipe your own tongue against his bottom lip.

“Alright end it.” Kang instructs.

“I’ll follow you.” Namjoon whispers in your ear.

“K-Kay…” You whimper. He bounces you faster, harder, allowing you to hit his lap with a nice slap every time as a strong heat wells up inside you, obviously panting now. Oh no. It’s coming. It’s coming and you can’t stop it. You should stop. You should stop before it happens, but it feels so good, you can’t help yourself and-

“Oh god~!” You cry out as your first ever orgasm hits you, knocking the breath from your lungs as you hold Namjoon tightly, hearing him grunt in your ear as he pulls you down against the bed, pretending to be spent while you lay on his chest, actually spent and out of breath.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Namjoon mumbles against you hair, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

Shit you have a line. Fuck. Fuck what is it? “And now that you have?”

“I couldn’t ask for anything more.” Namjoon smiles as he pulls you in for one last kiss, letting it linger.

“Cut!” Kang calls, halting the sweet kiss. “That’s a wrap for today you guys, that was great.” You sit up and immediately climb off Namjoon. Mortified, you grab one of the robes waiting for the two of you and walk over to Kang.

“Do you need me for anything else today?”

“Nah, go have fun.” Kang waves you away and you happily make for the exit, wanting to get out as soon as possible.

“Y/N, wait up.” Namjoon shouts. You turn to look behind you to see Namjoon getting up off the bed to come after you.

“I have to go meet my manager. I’ll see you tomorrow!” You call back, waving goodbye and then disappearing out the door, grabbing the nearest golf cart and heading to wardrobe before Namjoon knows where you went.

You slip back into your jean shorts and t shirt, the wardrobe girl on duty giving you a confused look when she sees you toss your thong in the trash. You assure her not to worry about it, explaining that they got wet from the rain scene before grabbing your things and hightailing it back to the safety of your trailer, shutting and locking the door behind you before climbing into your bed and hiding under your blankets.

You can’t believe what just happened. You don’t think you can ever go out in public again. You can definitely never see Namjoon again; he knows. He has to know. There’s no way he doesn’t know, and just the thought makes your eyes tear up out of embarassment; you’ve never had sex with a guy, but you can randomly orgasm while sitting on top of one, fantasizing about it. You’re so fucked.

You grab your phone out of your pocket and immediately text Jimin, asking him to tell Kang that you feel out of it in the morning and he should just work on some of Namjoon’s solo scenes. You hit send and then before he can ask questions, you shoot Jimin another text that simply says ‘Don’t ask questions’. Jimin responds with a thumbs up and you relax a little, at least you’ll have one day where you can live in your own mortification and not have to deal with anyone. But then your phone goes off again. You pick it up to see a message from the one person you really don’t want to talk to.

Kim Namjoon (6:37pm): Hey are you okay? You ran off so fast, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you afterwards! I wanted to ask you something

Not now Namjoon... 

You (6:37pm): Yeah, I’m fine

Kim Namjoon (6:38pm): Do you want to grab dinner with me?

You (6:39pm): I can’t, I have to meet with my manager

Kim Namjoon (6:40pm): Really? I just ran into your manager, he said you guys didn’t have anything planned

Shit… You stare at your phone. You’ve been found out. You can’t think of a response, you just stare at his words on your phone.

Kim Namjoon (6:44pm): Y/N?

You don’t have anything else to say to dig yourself out of this hole, so you turn your phone off, sighing as you sit up and drag yourself into the bathroom, stripping out of your clothes and hopping in the shower, trying to calm down. When you get out, you slip on your pajamas and climb back into bed, not even wanting dinner. You watch tv for the rest of the night, and hardly get any sleep, your mind too busy racing.

A week later, you wake up at 10:30 in the morning, wishing you could get more sleep, but you don’t want to fuck up your sleeping schedule. You drag yourself out of bed and throw on some clothes, taking your time, you want to make sure they’ve started filming before you leave your trailer so you can eat your breakfast in peace like you have been for the last few days. As you make your way to craft service, you turn on your phone, watching as it lights up with at least twenty missed messages, like it always does in the morning, most of which are from Jimin, which you ignore, like you have been the last week, but a few of them are from Namjoon. He’s been messaging you sporadically the last few nights, trying to help, but he’s too nice and it makes you want to hide even more.

Kim Namjoon (6:57pm): Are you feeling okay? They said you aren’t coming to set again tomorrow.

Kim Namjoon (9:32pm): If there’s anything I can do to help you, please let me know. I could bring you some soup? I know a great place downtown.

Kim Namjoon (10:20pm): I hope you’re resting well at least.

Your heart hurts in your chest. Why can’t you stop ignoring him? Now you feel worse… You walk into the kitchen and pile up a plate of food, starving because you didn’t eat dinner again last night. As you grab some coffee and walk out of the kitchen you hear someone call your name rather aggressively.

“Y/N!” It’s Jimin. He marches across the floor on his way over to you, seemingly furious. “Why didn’t you answer your phone again?”

“I turned it off last night.” You state, walking past him and heading back to your trailer.  

“Don’t you walk away from me.”

You stop and turn back to him. “I’m not. I know you’re going to follow me, and I don’t want to do this here.”

Jimin huffs in annoyance, but he follows you anyway, fuming the entire way back to your trailer as you leisurely stroll and sip your coffee, trying to wake up a little before Jimin chews you out for whatever he’s upset about. When you finally reach your trailer, you hop inside and Jimin slams the door shut behind you.

“What the hell is wrong with you??”

“Can I at least sit down before you start yelling?”

“No!”

“Fine.” You put your plate on the table and turn to face JImin. “What’d I do this time?”

“First off, Kang was furious this morning that you’re still not showing up, so I got the brunt of that thank you very much. And second, what the hell is happening to you? Kang said you were terrible at the kissing scene last week, but then Namjoon told me he thought you did really well until the end and then you ran off before he could ask you about it and then this morning I come to find out you’ve been ignoring his texts while you’re hiding from the world?” Jimin stamps his foot down. “Why are you still pretending to be sick? Why can’t you get your shit together and go do your job? Seriously if I didn’t know any better I’d say you-”

“Namjoon made me cum.” You cut him off and then collapse onto your couch, wallowing in self pity as you rest your forehead against the table next to your breakfast.

“I’m sorry, he did what?” Jimin squeaks.

“He made me cum! I had my first orgasm sitting in Namjoon’s lap. Jimin, I can never look at him again!” You whine, banging your fist on the table as you sit back up.

“Holy shit…” Jimin’s quiet for a moment as he tries to process what you just said. “How did that even happen? There was no interaction?? What did you do?”

“It was fine! It was fine at first, everything was normal, but then clothes came off and I saw him in that- that sock thing and my brain just fucking ran with it!”

“But how Y/N-ah?” Jimin repeats, a little calmer. “There was no intercourse.”

“But there was touching Jimin. And apparently that was enough for a dry ass orgasm.”

Jimin scoffs, trying to hold back his laughter. “Y/N, you need to get laid already.”

“Chim!”

“I’m serious! It’ll help you realize that sex is completely different when you have it versus when you film it. It would probably stop this from happening in the future.”

“You’re a little late! I’m stuck on a movie set! Who am I gonna fuck? A camera guy? You? I don’t think so.” Jimin smirks, giving you a look that says everything he’s thinking. “No. Jimin no, I’m not having sex with Namjoon. Bad idea. Terrible. No good. Stop, it’s not happening.”

“Y/N-”

“This is Kim Namjoon we’re talking about here! International sex god? Do you seriously think he’d ever be interested in someone like me? A virgin? When he could have any woman on the planet? I don’t think so.” You state, looking down at your lap.

Jimin just rolls his eyes at you. “I think you need to sit down with Namjoon and talk about what happened. He knows something’s up, and you ignoring him isn’t going to help either of you, or this movie at all. He’s been moping around for the last week.”

“He was upset?” You lift your head to look at Jimin.

“He must’ve asked me a hundred times if you were okay, or if you’d said anything to me about him, or if he’d upset you somehow.”

“Well, now I know he’ll never want to talk to me again. I should just quit the movie.”

“You’re not doing that, we worked too hard to get you here for you to flake out now.” Jimin growls. “Text Namjoon. Meet with him and talk to him. Stop being so fucking awkward.”

“Fine! Fine, I’ll text him right now, okay?” You grab your phone out of your pocket and unlock it, pulling up Namjoon’s name and shooting him a text.

You (11:21am): Hey, I know you’re filming right now, but could you come by my trailer after you’re done for the day? It’s behind lot two.

“Happy?” You ask, turning the phone so Jimin can see it.

“Elated.”

“Good, now get out so I can enjoy my breakfast.”

“I’ll see you at dinner.” He gives you one last smirk before leaving you alone to your now cold omelet and rice.

You decide you’re not going to dinner again, just to avoid Jimin and you stab your omelet furiously, unable to believe that you fell for his trickery again. You don’t know how you’re going to look Namjoon in the face tonight, but you have a feeling it’s not going to be pretty.

After taking a shower, drying your hair, and putting on just a touch of makeup, you’re ready for Namjoon’s visit until you walk over to your stash of clothes. What should you wear? Something sexy in the hopes that Namjoon will make a move? Something simple, so it doesn’t seem like you’re trying to hard? Shit. A little bit of both?

You slip into your cutest bra and underwear combo that you have with you; nothing flashy, just pretty lace; and then slip on some short shorts and a t shirt just as there’s a knock on your door. You look at your clock. 8:13pm. You’re surprised they wrapped up so early as you walk over to your door. You take a deep breath before opening it to see a paper bag, speckled with rain drops, where a face should be.

“Um…”

“Hi…” Namjoon slowly lowers the bag to reveal a very pouty, wet face, causing you to look up and realize it’s raining. “I-I brought you some soup. I had one of the assistants get it, so I hope they didn’t mess it up.” He mumbles, looking down at his hands.

You smile softly. “Come in.” You step to the side and allow Namjoon to join you. He enters hesitantly, like he’s afraid you might kick him out at any moment, but when you shut the door behind him, he relaxes just a fraction, watching you as you walk over and take a seat on your couch, patting the cushion next to you. He sits gently and places the bag on the table, nudging it toward you. You open it up and take out two plastic containers of soup and some spoons and napkins, handing Namjoon one container and a spoon, surprising him.

“You expect me to eat two servings by myself?” You ask, amused by the look on his face.

“N-no I just figured you’d save it for later.”

“I’d rather eat with you.” You say with a smile. You’re about to dig in when you notice Namjoon is still dripping from the rain, so you get up and head to your bathroom, grabbing a dry towel before sitting back next to Namjoon and gently pressing the towel to his face, surprising him as he turns to you.

You gently dab and wipe at the rain drops on his cheeks and forehead, trailing the towel down to his jawline and wiping down his neck, feeling him gulp beneath your fingertips before you toss the towel on his head and shake it to help dry his hair. He giggles and takes the towel himself, running it through his hair to help it dry as you go back to your food, popping open the lid to your soup and dipping in your spoon to have a taste.

“Oh my god.” You groan, causing Namjoon to peek at you from beneath the towel. “This is so good?”

He smiles. “I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure what kind you would want. Seolleongtang is my favorite when I’m sick, so I went with that.”

You sigh mid sip before putting down your spoon. “Namjoon I’m… I’m not sick.”

“Well, I was hoping you wouldn’t ask me to come over when you were still sick.”

“No, I mean I never was sick.”

“You weren’t?” He looks at you confused. “But Jimin said-”

“I asked him to tell everyone that. In reality I was just hiding.”

“Hiding?” Namjoon quirks up an eyebrow. “From what?”

“Honestly? From you…” You admit.

His eyes go wide. “I knew it. I did something to upset you, didn’t I?”

“No, no. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s what I did. It made it hard to… to be around you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Namjoon, the last scene we filmed, do you remember how I ran off?”

“Yeah, it seemed like you were really upset.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“By what?”

You take a deep breath before explaining. “That orgasm? It… It wasn’t faked.”

“W-what?” Namjoon stutters, taken aback by your words.

“I had an orgasm while sitting on top of you, and I was so ashamed I let it get to me that I couldn’t face you. So I hid myself in my trailer for a week. And honestly, inviting you here tonight was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Namjoon pauses, studying your expression before a small smile plays at his lips. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. I mean… Orgasms happen to everyone.”

“Not to me.” You huff.

“What do you mean?” He asks, his curiosity piqued.

You bite your lip. Do you really want to admit to him who you really are? Do you want him to see the real you? “It’s nothing… Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N-ah, it’s obviously something that’s bothering you. It’s okay, you can talk to me. I promise I won’t judge you.” The informal turn of his speech somehow makes you feel more comfortable and you relax back against your seat as you fiddle with the spoon on the table.

“I’m… I’ve never had one before.” You mumble.

“You haven’t?”

“Namjoon I’m… I’m a- god damnit…” For some reason you can’t seem to spit the word out not matter how hard you try.

“It’s okay. I think I- So you’ve never had sex before?”

You shake your head. “I broke into the business so young, I never found someone I could trust, so it just never happened.”

“Virginity is a social construct used to make women to feel terrible about themselves. Honestly Y/N, you shouldn’t let this get to you.”

You scoff. “Says the sex god.”

Namjoon chuckles at this. “People call me that, but do you want to know the truth? I’ve only been in one relationship in my entire life, and I’ve only had sex with two different people.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I am not.”

“At least you’ve done that much. And you’ve probably had an…” You cut yourself off, Namjoon doens’t want to talk about this stuff, right? You’re probably just making him uncomfortable.

“You have now too.” He teases, poking your shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t bring it up again, it’s hard enough to look at you right now!”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed to talk about this stuff. It’s completely natural.”

“Yeah right.”

“Honestly,if it makes you feel better, I had a hard time that day too.”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, finally lifting your head and meeting his gaze to see his cheeks starting to flush.

“Seeing you on top of me like that, all worked up and panting, it gave me an insane boner.” You start laughing and Namjoon joins in. “I’m serious! It’s a good thing my dick was tied to my leg or you definitely would’ve noticed.”

“You’re so full of shit!” You giggle, smacking Namjoon’s arm.

“I’m not! Are you kidding? Seeing the girl I’ve had a crush on for years bouncing in my lap, being able to touch you and kiss you? It’s a good thing the cameras were rolling and made me terrified to do anything.” He laughs and then stops, realizing what he just said.

“You. You had a crush on me? Now I know you’re fucking with me.” You stand up and grab what’s left of your soup, putting it in the minifridge for later and then throwing out your plastic spoon and napkins.

“The only reason I agreed to do this movie was because I’d get to work with you.” Namjoon confesses. “And when I met you, I liked you even more. Do you even know what a sweet person you are? How beautiful and kind-hearted? And funny?”

You freeze where you are. Is this it? Is he telling the truth? Is this what it feels like when someone likes you back? Your heart starts pounding in your chest. You hear Namjoon behind you, fumbling with his spoon, but you can’t seem to move.

“I-I’m sorry if I crossed some sort of line…”

“What would you have done?”

“What?”

You take a deep breath before forcing your legs to move, turning to face Namjoon. “If the cameras weren’t there, what would you have done?”

Namjoon looks shocked by your question and quickly fumbles for an answer. “Well, I don’t think our first kiss would’ve been so awkward.” He jokes. “But I would’ve taken my time with you.” He whispers as he stands and crosses to where you are. “I would’ve felt you; mapped out every inch of your body, felt every dip, every curve so that it’s ingrained in my memory. I’d show you just how much I want you, but I’d only take you if you’d let me.” He’s mere inches from you, his breath fanning your lips, but he’s not touching you at all; he’s waiting patiently. He’s waiting for you.

Can you trust him? Will it make things awkward on set? Can you know that he won’t just leave right after it happens? You look up into his eyes to see nothing but kindness and gentleness in his gaze. He really cares for you. You give him a small nod before taking his hand and leading him back to your room. He shuts the door as you climb onto the mattress before he joins you, the two of you just staring at each other for a moment before he moves closer, lifting a hand to cup your cheek. He moves slowly, his lips hovering over yours. You can feel him let out a shaky breath before you close the gap, pressing your lips to his.

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as your mouth moves against his, relishing in the feeling of his plush pout pressed against you. It feels so good, so right, you’re quickly desperate for more. Namjoon seems to sense this as he gently pushes on your shoulder, pressing your back down against the mattress before crawling on top of you. He swipes his tongue along your bottom lip and you grant him access, parting your lips and allowing the wet muscle to sneak through to dance against yours.

Your hands reach up around Namjoon’s neck and find purchase in his black locks, tugging gently as you lose yourself in the kiss, never wanting to be anywhere but in this moment with Namjoon right now. He breaks the kiss and moves his lips to your cheek, your jaw, your neck; kissing, sucking, and nipping all along the expanse of your skin, making sure to cover every inch as his hands slide up under your shirt, quickly unhooking your bra before pulling it off along with your t shirt, his lips leaving you for only the briefest moment before they return to your shoulder and begin to trail down to your chest as his hands cup your breasts, squeezing just hard enough to make you gasp.

“Namjoon…” You whimper when he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, watching the bud perk up at his touch before he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sucking gently as he grazes his teeth against it. As he works his mouth all over your chest, leaving behind bright red marks, his hands trace all over your body; your neck, your shoulders, your chest, your waist, your hips, your thighs; he doesn’t leave an inch of skin untouched.

Namjoon sits up for a moment to rid himself of his shirt and pants before he grabs the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down your legs, trailing kisses behind the fabric all the way down to your ankles before returning his lips to your neck. He lays at your side as his hand finds the outside of your thigh again, lightly brushing your skin with his fingertips and causing goosebumps to show as his right hand comes to rest on the inside of your thigh, squeezing it tenderly before softly caressing it to push your legs apart just enough for his hand to be able to find your center.

You gasp softly at the first brush of his fingertips against your core, feeling wetness pool in your underwear from something so simple. It makes you embarrassed and you try to close your legs, but Namjoon keeps them apart.

“Do you trust me?” He whispers in your ear, tugging on your lobe with his teeth. You nod, trying to calm yourself as you feel Namjoon’s fingers slip under the lace of your panties, touching you directly for the first time. His fingers slip into your folds, rubbing lightly to get the blood flowing until he ventures down to your entrance to see just how wet you are for him, humming pleasantly at what he finds. “So wet for me already jagiya.” He coos. You’re about to retort when your words are replaced by a soft moan at the feeling of Namjoon slipping one of his long dexterous fingers inside of you.

“J-Joon…” You gasp, your hands reaching out to grip his shoulders tightly as your head falls back.

He wastes no time in slipping another finger in, pumping them inside you. “Does that feel good baby?” He asks.

“Uh-huh.” You nod fervently, your eyes squeezed shut as you focus on the new feeling between your legs.

“God you’re so beautiful like this.” He groans, pressing his hips into your side, alerting you to his growing erection. “I’ve got a treat for you.”

Namjoon pulls his fingers out, making you whine from the loss before he sits up and grabs your underwear, pulling them down your legs before he spreads your thighs apart and lays on his stomach in between them.

“W-what are you doing?” You squeak, trying to close your legs again.

“Relax. I need to make sure you’re ready for me babygirl. I promise it’ll feel good, okay?”

It isn’t until he rubs the pad of his thumb against your clit that you nod, giving him permission. He smiles and you watch as he buries his face between your thighs. The first thing you feel is a tentative lick from your entrance up to your clit, and when you shudder from pleasure, he takes it as his cue to continue, letting his tongue dip deeper into your folds.

Namjoon gets really into what he’s doing, you can tell by the groans and grunts that leave his lips as he ravishes you, his plump lips wrapping around your clit and sucking harshly while his thumb toys with your entrance. When he finally sinks two fingers back into your core, you can’t help but reach out and grip his hair tightly, lightly bucking your hips up into his face as you chase your pleasure, but just before you feel yourself getting close, Namjoon pulls away, wiping his chin on the back of his hand before giving your center two light smacks.

“We don’t have to do this today, you know.” Namjoon whispers as he leans over and places a hot kiss on your neck. “I’m okay with waiting if you’re not ready. I can just eat you out until you can’t move and I’d be happy.” He teases.

“Joon,” You giggle at his lewd confession. “I want to do this, I do. I’m ready.” And judging by the bulge in Namjoon’s boxers, he’s just as ready.

“Okay baby.” He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss against your lips before sitting up and leaning over the edge of your bed to grab his jeans, he fumbles for his wallet, opening it to dig out a small foil package.

“You don’t have to use that.” You stop him, causing Namjoon to look at you with surprise, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Are you sure?” Namjoon doublechecks.

“I want… I want to feel you.” You mumble.

Namjoon places the condom back in his wallet before leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Anything for you babygirl.”

“Actually before we um… I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“Can I see you first?”

Namjoon can’t help the chuckle that slips past his lips before he sits up and nods, quickly shimmying out of his boxers before sitting back on his knees on display for you. Your mouth practically drops open at the sight of just how hard he his; thick and throbbing. You reach out and run your fingers along his length, making him shiver. You press the head of it down and then release it, watching it bounce. For some reason, you want nothing more than to put it in your mouth.

“Can I… Can I try something?”

“Define ‘something’.” He teases.

You carefully wrap a hand around his base a squeeze gently. “My mouth.”

“Shit…” Namjoon curses, his dick twitching in your grasp from just the thought as he nods. “Go ahead.”

You lean forward and flick your tongue out, tasting a bitter saltiness as you do it again and again before you finally wrap your lips around his head. Namjoon gasps above you as the warmth of your mouth encases him deeper and deeper with each pass. He’s too long to be able to get all of him, but you try your best, effectively choking yourself before you pull off, a string of saliva connecting you to his length as you look up at him.

“Fuck, baby that feels so good, but if you keep going, I don’t know how long I’m going to last.” His cock twitches in agreement, making you giggle as you nod. Namjoon pushes you back down against the mattress and settles himself between your legs, kissing you deeply as you feel his erection pressing against your folds. “It… It might hurt at first.” He warns. “But it shouldn’t last long. Don’t be afraid to stop me, yeah?”

“O-okay.” You nod, immediately stiffening as you feel him spread your legs further apart.

“Don’t tense up baby, that’ll make it worse.” He chides softly, slipping his fingers into you again to help you relax. When he thinks you’re good and ready, Namjoon removes his fingers and scoots forward, pressing his cock against your entrance with purpose; hard enough to slip inside, but soft enough that it happens slowly.

“Ah~!” The cry leaves your lips before you can even think as Namjoon breaches you, the pain instantaneous. You grab onto his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he continues to press into you.

You don’t realize that you’re holding your breath until Namjoon is buried inside you as far as he can go and you finally breath out in short, heavy pants, tears forming in the corner of your eyes from the burn between your legs. Namjoon presses sweet kisses against your neck as he waits for you to be ready, holding himself still inside you.

“D-does it always feel like this?” You whimper in his ear.

“No baby, but if it doesn’t feel better here in a minute I’m going to stop, okay?”

You nod as Namjoon sits up on his elbows, using one hand and his mouth to play with your breasts to take your mind off the pain. Surprisingly, it works, and you find the burn between your thighs lessening as Namjoon’s tongue trails across your nipple, making you wetter and easing the squeeze of his cock past your walls. It’s not long before your cheeks flush with want and your breathing picks up, suddenly needing Namjoon to move. You lift your legs and wrap them around Namjoon’s waist, urging him to get going.

“I guess you’re ready now?” He chuckles as he lifts his head from your chest to look at you.

“Please…” You gasp.

Namjoon smiles, leaning down for one more kiss before he pulls his hips back and pushes into you again, making you inhale sharply at the feeling. His pace starts out slow, easing you into it, but it isn’t long before he can no longer control himself, his speed increasing as he groans low in his throat. You can’t deny that it feels good, and small moans start to escape your lips with each thrust.

“God, even your moans are beautiful.” Namjoon whines, sitting back on his knees to look down at where you’re joined as he fucks you; fuck is too strong of a word. He’s making love to you. “You’re gorgeous Y/N-ah.”

“J-Joon…” You whimper, pulling him back down to plant your lips on his. His tongue slips into your mouth as he changes his pace; slow, deep, and purposeful. He grinds his hips up against yours, pleasuring you in a way that has you moaning unabashedly, lost in the pleasure of his cock filling you up so well you could almost cry from the bliss you feel. “It f-feels… s-so good.”

“I told you it would baby.” Namjoon grunts against your lips before leaning down to bite your neck, moaning when it causes you to contract harshly around him. His moans are so melodic, such dulcet tones leave his lips that you close your eyes, letting your head fall back against the pillows as you allows his noises to fill your mind. Surrounded by his sweet sounds and filled with pleasure, it isn’t long before you that familiar feeling begins to creep up on you.

“N-Namjoon…” You gasp.

“It’s okay baby, you can let go.” He encourages. “You can cum for me, yeah?”

“Uh-huh~” You nod, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of him stretching you open over and over, but after a minute, you realize it’s not enough. You need something else, some other form of stimulation. “I c-can’t… I need-”

“I’ve got you baby. I’m gonna take care of you.” Namjoon interrupts, bringing one of his hands down between your bodies and circling your clit skillfully, bringing you right up to the edge. “Cum for me Y/N-ah, just like you did the other day love.”

“Fuck, Namjoon~!” Your orgasm hits you like a brick, bringing your entire body to a halt as you quiver under Namjoon, unable to think, unable to breathe, unable to process anything except for the pleasure that takes hold of you, making you shiver with delight. Your core contracts harshly and spastically around Namjoon, causing him to moan breathily as he fills you with his hot release, his own orgasm taking him by surprise. He grinds into to milk the feeling for the both of you before he can’t take it anymore and collapses on top of you, his body pressed to yours, both of you panting as you come back to reality.

It’s a minute or so before Namjoon sits up and looks at you, a goofy smile playing at his lips. You study him; his hair sticking to his forehead, his body glistening, almost sparkling with sweat, his pupils dilated, his breathing heavy; he’s so gorgeous. He leans down and kisses you sweetly before very carefully pulling out of you, both of you wincing. He stands up and walks over to your bathroom, returning a few moments later with a damp washcloth.

“Spread your legs for me?” He asks, leaning over you.

You can’t help but blush as you do, unable to look at him as he cleans up the mixture of releases dripping down your center. When he’s done, he returns the washcloth to the bathroom before putting on his boxers and picking up his t shirt. This is it. He’s going to leave. Your heart sinks in your chest as something hits you in the face. His shirt. You look up at him confused as he crawls back onto the bed and lays down, pulling the covers up. You pull the shirt on over your head and lay next to him, surprised when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, placing a kiss on your cheek before nuzzling into your neck.

“So,” Namjoon clears his throat. “Now that you know I have a giant crush on you, um… what would you think if I asked you to be my girlfriend?”

“I think after that, I’d have to say yes.”

“Well, you don’t have to say yes just because we-”

You silence him with a kiss. “Namjoon I like you too.”

“O-Oh! Really? Great!”

“You know, I never expected the sexiest man alive to be such a dork.”

“Thank you, I try my best.”

“But can we keep this to ourselves for a little bit? I feel like if Kang finds out he’s going to make it awkward when we film.”

“Yeah definitely, I agree. He’d be way too excited and-”

Just then the door to your room opens wide. “Hey, Y/N. You didn’t answer me so I was wondering if- Holy shit!” It’s Jimin. You didn’t even hear him come in your trailer.

“Chim!” You squeak. “Don’t you knock?”

“I was just going to call, but you turned off your phone again!”

“Get out!” You take a pillow off your bed and chuck it at him.

“Right, sorry! Um, good job!” He winks at you and then leaves. You fall back against the mattress with a sigh.

“So much for that.”

“So much for what?” Namjoon asks, relaxing a little now that the intruder is gone.

“Jimin… How do I put this nicely? Doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

“Ah.” Namjoon nods. “Well, next time we’ll just have to make sure we’re doing it when he walks in.”

“Oh yeah?” You giggle. “Why’s that?”

“It’ll teach him to knock.”

Copyright © Inkjam-Moon 2019

[dewitty1]

A Series of Neighbourly Epistles

slytherco @slytherco

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger Additional Tags: Neighbors, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Anonymity, Letters, anonymous notes, Top Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Mutual Masturbation, Blind Date, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair, and it's glorious, Draco Malfoy in a leather jacket, Brief Draco Malfoy/Other, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, some French food, Bisexual Harry Potter, Dirty Talk, the morning after, Pillow Talk, One Night Stands, that turn out to be possibly-not-so-one-night, Snark, Banter, Sexual Content, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, in general there's sex but it's not graphic ok?? Summary:

Harry finds himself in a very awkward spot when he calls the Aurors on his neighbour… having very loud sex. As in not actually killing anyone. He writes him a disgruntled note and thus begins a very interesting exchange. When they finally decide to meet, Harry’s not quite prepared to find out who his mystery neighbour turns out to be. Or for everything that happens next, for that matter.

Excerpt:

“What… What were you thinking about?” Malfoy asked, a little out of breath but with sudden clarity that Harry didn’t like one bit.

He had to physically take his eyes off of Malfoy’s mouth before he did something reckless. “Just— Home?”

Suddenly, Malfoy exhaled softly and his eyes darkened. “You’re lying, Potter.”

And, technically, he was right. It was his fucking fault, anyway — looking at Harry like that, carefully grazing him with those damn fingers like Harry was something to explore, to feel. The hand that was entangled with Malfoy’s felt clammy and Harry needed air, needed to calm the raging heat building behind his sternum. He shook his head slightly, a little helplessly, and that only spurred Malfoy on as he pressed Harry closer to the wall.

All the systems in Harry’s brain went into shutdown.

“You see,” he said, watching Harry’s reaction, “I’m attuned to powerful magic. It’s in my job description, right under understanding how such magic functions.” His voice dropped an octave as he leaned further into Harry’s personal space. “So let me explain how this works, Potter. If a wizard’s magic is strong enough, they sometimes let it... slip.” A single shudder overtook Harry’s whole body at the way the word curled around Malfoy’s tongue. He was closer now, practically whispering into Harry’s ear, hot breath tickling the sensitive skin. “Particularly when they experience unusually strong emotions.” Harry inhaled sharply as Malfoy’s lower lip brushed against the shell of his ear, a barely-there touch that sent scalding heat straight to his pants. “When they… lose control.”

Malfoy disentangled his hand from Harry’s and let his fingers slowly travel up the length of Harry’s arm. It was excruciating, each touch sending a jolt of electricity all over his skin—and that was over the clothes, for the love of Merlin.

“And your magic, Potter, is… exceptional,” Malfoy panted against his neck and Harry thought he might be dying. “It’s tempestuous, turbulent, savage,” he inhaled deeply, still barely touching Harry, still restraining himself. “If I were to cast a diagnostic charm, this room would light up like a Christmas tree; it’s all over the place, I can feel it, Potter,” He growled.

His hand found Harry’s shoulder and slid further up, to the back of his neck, grabbing Harry by the hair, hard enough to make him feel as if he was on fire. At that point, Harry was fully hard and undone; he finally let out a low, shameless moan as Malfoy pressed them flush together, his own arousal evident through the fabric of his trousers.

“So stop fucking lying,” Malfoy punctuated the words with a sharp thrust of his hips that made Harry see stars, “and tell me: what were you thinking about when we disapparated?”

Malfoy leaned back, just enough to look straight into Harry’s eyes, barely an inch between them. It was over; there was no denying it, Harry thought—he wanted this. If they didn’t get naked in the next thirty seconds, Harry was pretty sure he was going to pass out.

He leaned in, ever so slightly, their lips almost touching, and Malfoy sucked in a breath. “Just,” he whispered and closed the distance.

The second their lips touched, Harry realized that going forward, he was completely and utterly ruined. Because as far as kisses went, kissing Draco Malfoy was a bloody religious experience. There was no coaxing, no shy preambles, only pure, animalistic want; the filthy drag of tongues and clattering of teeth. Malfoy kissed with his whole body: hands grabbing and pulling, hips grinding, tongue licking into Harry’s wanting mouth as if he was a water spring and Malfoy had been lost in the desert his entire life. And Harry kissed him back, sliding the band off his hair and burying his fingers in the white-gold strands. Soon after, he discovered he could probably come just from the sounds Malfoy made when having his hair pulled.

They broke apart, panting, and Malfoy went for Harry’s neck, kissing and nibbling, peppering the soft skin with little bites and sucks that were sure to leave marks.

“Fuck, Malfoy,” Harry gasped, grabbing Malfoy’s arse to slot their clothed erections together in the tight space between them. “I— Ah! Fuck, I…”

“You liked it, didn’t you? You thought about it,” Malfoy dragged his teeth over Harry’s neck, making him shiver. “There’s no shame in admitting it, Potter. You were listening to me fuck that bloke and you wished it was you.”

“That’s— ahh,” he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. They were wearing too many clothes and it was driving him mad.

“You listened to me wank and you did the same, imagining it was my hand on your cock.” He looked Harry in the eyes as his hand slid down to the front of Harry’s trousers, swift fingers brushing him through the thick fabric. Harry moaned and buried his face in the crook of Malfoy’s neck, mouthing at his pulse point.

When he finally found his brain, Harry pushed at Malfoy’s shoulders. “Bed,” he growled, and licked into his mouth, steering him backwards.

Malfoy finally fell on top of the covers and Harry followed suit, straddling his hips. Fingers working on Malfoy’s tie, Harry kissed him messily, slow and hot. The shirt buttons were next, and then, finally, there was just skin. The blond gasped under him as Harry kissed and bit his collarbone, his shoulder, his neck. “Potter, ah—”

“And you?” Harry whispered against Malfoy’s mouth. “You didn’t regret it for a second. You liked it as much as I did.” He ground his hips down and they both moaned.

Malfoy’s hand moved up from Harry’s groin and under his shirt, fingers teasing a nipple, making him gasp. “Of course I did.” He bit Harry’s lower lip, laving the spot with his tongue right after. “And when I saw you— Fuck. I wanted it,” he whispered frantically. “I wanted you.”

Harry straightened and started undoing the buttons on his own shirt. Malfoy looked up at him, dark eyes greedily following the movement, hands rubbing Harry’s thighs.

The blond gasped when Harry shucked off his shirt and flipped them over. He grinned at the pure, ferocious want in Malfoy’s touch, pale fingers stark against his bronze skin, touching, brushing, exploring. Harry’s hands went to Malfoy’s belt.

“Well then,” He whispered, savouring Malfoy’s low groan as he unfastened the buckle. “You better put your money where your filthy mouth is.”

₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡*✲ﾟ*｡⋆♡ོ

[dalamjisung]

say it ✽ bang chan

word count: 4486

genre: fluff

pairing: reader x bang chan

description: all you needed to confess was a noisy neighbor; who knew?

It’s six in the morning, and, once again, you’re up. The law clearly states that constructions are only allowed to start after 8am, however, your neighbor seems to be in a hurry to move in– and in the process, trying to make everyone else move out. You try to muffle the shattering should of the stone breaker and the loud chattering of the poor workers that have to work early hours with your pillow, but it didn’t help. Nothing would, at this point. You got home from work late– around 11PM– and still had to finish a couple of things for the end of the week’s presentation, and you only fell asleep around three hours ago, only to be brutally awaken, yet again.

The worst is that you know there is nothing you can do. Talking to the workers would amount to nothing, because they are simply following orders, and talking to the new tenant didn’t work. You tried everything; sleeping pills, ear plugs, white noise machine, and you even checked how much it would cost to have a soundproof window, but it was way above your pay check. You just have to wait, and wait you do; you toss and turn until seven, and it stopped sometimes– but then it started right again. 

At this point, you were overworked, stressed, and sleepless, and you couldn’t help but cry. You sobbed on your pillow, just wanting absolute silence and warmth. You want to turn your phone off and disappear for a day, but it’s now almost eight in the morning and you need to get ready for work. Everyone notices as soon as you walk into the office– your dark aura emanating the warning you so much wanted to shout out loud, stay away. Not even your boss bothers you today, and you consider yourself lucky.

Time passes as if it was supposed to be this slow; you finish the presentation and starts your next project. You have lunch and you get your fifth coffee of the day. You go back to work but nothing feels productive anymore– you just feel spent. 

“Y/N,” Your boss calls from his office and when you look at him, he motions you to go inside. 

Taking a deep breath, you make your way to your superior. The last thing you need is to blow up on your boss and get fired, so you force yourself to calm down. 

“Yes, Mr. Min?” You ask, sitting down on the chair facing his. 

He waves his hand. “None of that formality now,” He chuckles. “I called you here to ask if you’re okay?”

“What… what do you mean?” You look at him, puzzled.

“Well,” He clears his throat. “Is just that you are one of my best workers but I’ve noticed you’re a little… off today. I’m your boss, Y/N, but now I’m asking as a friend. Are you alright? Do you need to leave early?’

And although Mr. Min is being incredibly kind, going home would just make things worse. You think that if you hear one more bang from that stone breaker, you will flip. 

“I’m fine, Mr. Min,” You smile, or at least you try to. “Thank you, though.”

“That is a lie,” He laughs. “I know because you look exactly like I used to when I was in your position. Please, take the rest of the day off. Even tomorrow– take tomorrow off, too. I know you’ve worked enough extra hours this week to meet your hourly quota for the month. Relax a little.”

“Ah,” You have no choice, then. “Thank you so much, Mr. Min. Really, I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” He smiles. “Now, do you have anyone to take you home? You are too pale for me to be comfortable with letting you go home by yourself.”

“I have someone, yes,” You bow to him, thanking him again, before leaving to retrieve your things. It is only now that your boss pointed out that you feel it– the exhaustion, the dizziness, the nausea. You need to go home and sleep, but you can’t. The noise won’t have stopped, and it goes until late at night. With a defeated sigh, you call your older brother. Usually, you’d never call Woojin if not to chat mindlessly as you cook dinner– he works too much, and too hard, to have to spend time and energy worrying about you, no matter how many times he begged you to put him down as your energy contact. However, you had no one else to call; your friend’s are all working and you know that Woojin has today off.

“Hello?” You hear his voice from the other side of the line and you swear you’d cry if you weren’t in front of other people. No one offered you comfort like your brother did… well, no one besides him, but you are trying to not think about that right now.  

“Hey bear,” You chuckle, walking out of the office and waiting for the elevator. “Busy?”

“Not for you,” You can hear the smile on his voice and it kills you that you are bothering him on his day off. “What’s up?”

“Uh, I’m not feeling well and my boss let me go early,” You mumble, looking at your feet in hidden shame. “Would it be possible for you to come pick me up?”

“On my way.”

And the line goes silent. Sighing, you sit down on the side of the street, breathing deeply as a way to try and maintain your head right. The pain was dulling all your senses and it is wild how much people take sleep for granted. You know what will happen next: Woojin will offer to take you home, you’ll try to convince him not to, he won’t give up, and you’ll be stuck with the noise you’ve been trying to avoid for weeks.

The car honks and you know it’s your brother, taking your time to get up and stabilize yourself so you don’t worry him more than you’re about to. When your vision comes back to normal, after getting up too fast and feeling light-headed, you notice that, yes, that is your brother… and Bang Chan. Your eyes go wide in recognition and you blush– why is he here?

“Y/N!” Chan smiles, opening the door for you. “Are you alright?”

“Ah,” You mumble, chuckling uncomfortably. “Yeah, I’m just–“

“Sleep deprived,” Both Chan and Woojin say at the same time. 

“How’d you know?!”

“Look at us,” Woojin laughs. “We recognize one of our own. The difference is that we know how to handle it; you don’t.”

“It’s not my fault,” You whine like a kid. “The neighbor’s constructors are starting their work everyday at 6am! I tried everything– complaining, earplugs, sleeping pills–“

“Pills?!” Chan shouts, turning to look at you with a frown in his face. “Y/N, no!”

“Hey,” You deadpan. “Don’t knock it ‘till you try it. They helped for a couple of hours, but then I woke up again and couldn’t sleep.”

“Y/N,” Woojin speaks softly, and you think that if he keeps doing that you’ll finally fall asleep. “Why don’t you come over to the dorms? Felix is back in Australia for the week, I’m sure you can sleep in his bed.”

“I don’t know, guys,” You sound reluctant, even if you want to agree. “I’m not sure how Jeongin and Minho would feel about this…”

Chan rolls his eyes, and mumbles a I’m sure they’d love it.

“I’m sure they’d be fine with it,” Woojin smiles, swatting Chan in the arm. “It’s just for a week. Now let’s go to yours grab some clothes.”

They only really understand you once they walk in; Woojin shouts something but you shrug, clearly not being able to hear him. You think your neighbor is in the final stretch of re-doing the apartment, but the breaking down the walls and drilling, and chattering, and hammering has been killing you. Your eyes tear up at the loud sound, stress getting to you as you pack your overnight bag. 

“Let’s go,” You say, pointing to the door. 

“What the fuck?” Chan whispers once you’re all outside. “That’s so loud… how long has it been like that?”

“A few weeks…” You mumble weakly. 

“Weeks?” Woojin repeats, mouth hanging open. “Y/N, why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“Because,” It’s all you say.

In the car, you doze off. You wake up slightly as you feel yourself getting picked up, and the flash of camera sounding off into space– but it’s not enough to make you open your eyes. You grumble something and go back to dreamland. You do wake up, though, once you are deposited in a soft bed.

“I’m a little to old for that,” You chuckle, letting Chan remove your shoes as Woojin pulled the covers so you could be tucked in.

“Nah,” Chan laughs, and you remember that. You remember his laugh and it’s nice. “No one is to old for this.”

His hand brushes a wild strand of hair and he smiles when he notices your eyes closing again. You looked really peaceful, and that’s his favorite look on you. He saw it once before, and after that night, he never really forgot, but it’s nice to see it again.

The music is loud and the booze is strong. Your body sways fluidly and it’s been a while since you’ve enjoyed dancing like this. Sora and Jennie disappear somewhere, as they tend to do, and you are by yourself, just how you like– the freedom of loneliness is something you don’t experience often, but you bask in. To be free, and feel free, enough to dance and act like no one is watching… ah, what a blissful moment for you. 

But all good things come to an end.

This time, is a simple touch. A hand, you assume, on your lower back, and a chuckle coming from behind you. You smile to yourself, thinking that if the approach is soft, then the rejection should be as soft. And you are not sure if it’s the fact that you are lonely and free or if you are horny and drunk that makes you grind back into this mysterious person. A hiss and a groan settle it; the man brings you closer to him, back to chest, and mumbles in your ear.

“I hope I’m not bothering you,” He says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “But you look very beautiful tonight.”

A polite one, it seems. As a ‘thank you’ you grind on his once again, and no words are needed after that. You two dance for what feels like hours, and it might as well have been, because you are pretty sure it’s already day when you turn around and–

“Goor morning,” You hear someone whisper while shaking you lightly. Your eyes open slightly to see your brother smiling at you. “It’s 6:30am. Do you have work today?”

You shake your head no, and go back to sleep after he kisses you in the forehead. It doesn’t last long, and you wake up again in a couple of hours. You stretch almost as if you were a cat– limbs long and wide,– and you go to the bathroom, knocking to make sure there was no one in there.

“Just a sec!”

In your hazy state of mind, you barely register Chan’s shirtless form emerge from the foggy bathroom, missing his shy wave and ‘good morning’ all together, focusing only in changing from your uncomfortable work clothes to the comfy sweats in your hands.

You make it through your shirt, as it falls on the floor, and you are working on your pants button when it dawns on you, and you shout– it’s short and brief, more surprised than anything, but enough to make the troop of boys outside worry. 

“You alright?” By the voice, you assume this is Changbin.

“Yes!” You shout back, covering your face with your hands, trying to calm yourself down. You try to recollect the image, but you can’t– it was too fast. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god–“

“Language!” Minho. “We have kids in the house.”

You thought you were whispering, but you were wrong. 

“Noona,” Your sweet angel speaks. “Are you coming out anytime soon? I need to brush my teeth.”

“Just a second, Jeongin-ah!” You shout back, changing as fast as possible, completely forgetting about your hair and just letting it be. “Sorry I took too long.”

“No problem, Y/N noona,” Jeongin smiles and goes in, while you make your way into the living room, where everyone is sitting down while eating breakfast. 

“Here,” Woojin scoots so you can sit in between him and Seungmin. He shares his plate with you, and you two feel as if you are seven again, eating breakfast together while watching TV in the living room.

“Ya, what was that scream earlier?” Chan asks, frowning. You choke on a piece of toast and blush, noticing how your eyes instantly went to his chest, now covered and protected by a thick hoodie.

“Uh, my hair.” 

“What?” Changbin laughs.

“My hair looked terrible,” You shrug, trying to sell the lie. “It shocked me.”

“Do you scream everyday, then?” Woojin asks, teasing you as he messes your hair even more. You whine and everyone is laughing. Thanks to your brother you got to know the boys pretty well, so proud of them for everything they do and achieve, and Woojin couldn’t be happier about your friendship with them– but would he be happy if he knew?

You close your eyes, ignoring the shouts and laughter in the background, recalling the dream from memory. You want it again.

You turn around and you see nothing, but feel everything. The kiss is hungry and soft at the same time, and you can’t help but compare this kiss to the others you’ve had before. His lips are certain and careful, making sure that there is no controlling from either side, but rather a mutual effort. He pulls and you push, and vice versa. His hands are on your waist and your back and you can feel how respectful this boy is. You open your mouth to him and you’re a goner. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He mumbles over your mouth, lips touching each other as you two breath harshly. “What’s your name?”

And you smile, ready to hear your name falling from such perfect lips. 

“Y/N.”

“Y/N,” He repeats and you savor it. He does too, closing his eyes again. 

You don’t remember the rest, but you do remember the moment he speaks again.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Y/N,” He smiles, pecking your lips. “My name is Bang Chan.”

“You alright there?” Minho asks, waking you up from your daydream. You blink, a little lost, and then smile at him– it’s uncomfortable and forced, and everyone knows. 

“Yeah,” You mumble, resting your head on Woojin’s shoulder. “Just tired, still.”

“How long has it been since you slept, noona?” Jeongin asks worried. 

“A few weeks,” You chuckle. “Would you guys mind if I took a nap?”

“Go for it,” Chan smiles warmly at you. “You can use my room, since Changbin and I will be out all day.”

“Oh,” You aren’t going to oppose to that. You’d be lying if you say that Chan’s smell didn’t bring a certain comfort to you. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” His voice is soft, almost as if saying you shouldn’t even ask. “It’s all yours, Y/N.”

Even you?, you want to ask, but you know better. 

As you lay down in Chan’s bed, surrounded by his everything, you can’t help but think what would happened if you told Woojin– if you gathered the courage to say hey, I kissed your best friend, but it’s okay, because it was before I knew he was your best friend. But now that I know, and now that I know him, I just wanted to say that I am madly in love with him and everything he does. 

You try to remember when was it, exactly, that you knew you fell in love. You know it, now; but when did it start? Was it when Woojin finally properly introduced you two, and you two awkwardly shook hands, blushing from memories past? Or was it when you two go to know each other better and you noticed that his dimples show when he smiles and that he messes with his hair when he’s nervous? Maybe it was when you saw him working, concentrating on the beat and the bass and his eyes closed, like that night, as if he was soaking it all up. You are not sure of any of it; when it started, or how it started, but you are sure of it. You are in love with Bang Chan, and you have to tell Woojin somehow. 

The thought of hurting your brother overwhelms you, and you only realize are crying when it’s too late. Chan apparently needed something in the room, and when he approaches his bedside table to grab what looks like earphones, he hears it– a soft sniffle. 

“Y/N?” He whispers, and moves to take a look at you. “Hey, what happened?! Why are you crying?”

“I can’t do this, Chan,” You sob, hiding your face on his pillow. “I can’t do this to Woojin.”

“Do what?” Chan moves to sit on the bed, bringing your head to lay on his lap, softly running his fingers through your hair, and it only makes it worse. You see him typing something on his phone and you are sure that any time now, your brother would come in. “What can’t you do?”

“This.”

You think he knows what you are talking about; his hands cease their caress and his legs tense up. Woojin slowly creeps in, and you close your eyes just in time to pretend you are asleep. You hear him murmuring something, in conversation with Chan, and the door closes as you feel your head falling back onto the pillow. Sighing, you open your eyes.

“I knew you weren’t sleeping. We need to talk.”

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

“You like him.”

Of course Woojin knows. He’s always been really perceptive, and being the eldest of you two, he’s always been in tune with you, knowing when you were hurt, or happy, or tired. 

“I do,” You sigh. “But I won’t do anything about it.”

“Why?!” He whines, eyes wide and hands wild. What?

“Wh– Woojin, he’s your best friend!” You screech, thankful that the apartment is empty with the exception of you two.

“That’s why I know he’s a good guy!” 

“What the actual fuck is happening right now?!” You groan, pulling on your hair. Woojin holds your hands, just like he always does, and chuckles.

“Y/N,” He starts. “I’ve known for months. I see the way you act around him, and it’s actually pretty funny.”

“It’s not funny!” You defend yourself. “I just get… nervous.”

“Yes, and that’s adorable,” Woojin teases, pinching your cheeks. “But I’d never be angry at you for that, monkey. Seeing you happy is all that matters for me, and if you are happy with Chan, and he is happy with you, I’m happy, too. Chan is a great guy; I know that because I live with him. And because he told me everything.”

You look at him with wide eyes.

“You knew?!” 

“Of course,” He shrugs. “Y/N, you are a grown woman. You are strong and independent, and although I’ll always to protect you, I’m not angry you and Chan kissed in the club that night. You didn’t know each other, and Chan doesn’t just do that– he doesn’t usually go to girls in clubs to just make out and leave.”

“He doesn’t?” You mumble, and Woojin melts. You look like a kid, and he wonders how much you like his friend, if you feel this insecure.

“No,” He smiles softly, climbing on the bed to hug you. “Chan cares about you, monkey. And so do I. And I want to see you two happy. So go for it.”

“Sure, because it’s that easy,” You say sarcastically. “I don’t even know if he likes me.”

“Sure,” And you two really are related, because he sounds exactly like you when he’s sarcastic. “And the sky is green.”

You just look at him. 

“Wait, are you serious?!” Woojin squints at you. “I know your slow, but wow, I didn’t know you were dumb, Y/N.”

“Thanks, brother,” You roll your eyes.

“Chan is in love with you.”

Woojin says as if it is nothing new, but it makes your heart stop. You never thought you hear that, specially coming out of your brother’s mouth. 

“Okay, ew, don’t look like that,” Woojin complains, pushing you away.

“Like what?” You try to cover up, but it’s too late. He knows you too well.

“Like you are ready to run after him and jump his bones,” Woojin fakes vomit and you think you might just do it for real.

“Ew,” You say rather loudly. “Let’s not ever think of that again.”

“Agreed,” You two shake hands. “I’m serious, though. He is in love with you, but at the same time he is worried. He thinks you don’t feel the same, no matter how many times I told him you did, and he is worried that he might scare you away. So do something, yeah? Anything. I don’t think I can hear him talk about you anymore… it’s so awkward.”

You hug your brother. “Thank you, Woojin. Really, this means the world.”

“Your happiness means the world, Y/N,” He whispers. “Now take a nap. Chan will be back later and I’ll take the boys our for dinner tonight; give you two some privacy.”

“What did I do to deserve a bother as awesome as you?” You joke as he gets up.

“You are right,” He winks. “I am awesome. Love you, kid.”

“Love you too, bear,” You send him a kiss and lay down again. Now, with Woojin’s blessing, you feel like you can finally do it. You fall asleep again, and this time, when you wake up again, you fell fully rested.

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

The boys get home late, but Chan’s not with them. Everyone notices your nervous glances to the door and your bitten nails, but they say nothing. They shower and then leave again, your brother leading them out with promises of barbecue and karaoke; you tell them you are too tired to go and that’s the end of it– you are alone once again. 

You make some ramen, but you are too anxious to eat. You are not sure what time is it, but you fall asleep, and wake up once again with the sound of someone punching the passcode in. Chan gasps slightly upon seeing you laying down in their couch and, dropping his backpack in the floor, he walks to you. 

“Ah, you silly girl,” He whispers, and you do your best to pretend you are still asleep. “What are you doing here? I told you to sleep in my room…”

His hands go around you– one under your legs and the other on your back,– and just as he moves to pick you up, you pull on him, making him fall on you. 

“Waiting for you,” You grumble, still a bit sleepy. You rub your eyes as he moves, trying to avoid depositing all of his weight on you. “I was waiting for you, Chan.”

“Why?” He asks once the shock passes; he is sitting next to you, one arm resting on your bent knees, almost as if he is hugging your legs to him. “Something happened?”

“A lot happened,” You smile, pulling your self up and getting closer to him. “And a lot more is about to happen.”

He smiles. You squint your eyes and you notice how relaxed he looks, how at ease. 

“You know,” You say, voice coming out a little bit accusatory. “Woojin told you!”

“Not everything,” Chan laughs, hiding his face on your knees. “Just the important parts.”

“It’s all important!” You exclaim, laughing with him. “No fair– I wanted to say it!”

“Then say it.”

The atmosphere is quick to change; the playfulness from before disappearing in a swift moment. His eyes are one yours, and his chin is still resting on your legs, trying as he might to not just grab you then and there. Touching you like this would suffice, for now, at least. 

“Come on,” Chan coaches you softly, hands caressing your thighs. “I want to hear. I need to hear it, Y/N.”

The desperation on his voice– for certainty and confirmation,– is what makes you smile. You take his face on your hands, and brings him closer, allowing him to kneel in between your legs, arms circling your waist as he grunts with the effort to keep him stable. You shudder at the sound, and kisses his right cheek. Then the left cheek. And then offers him your mouth, and he is the one that kisses you now. A small peck, it’s what it is, but you don’t care. 

“I love you,” You whisper into his mouth, feeding him, touching him. “I love you, Bang Chan.”

His turn is a while later, after he satisfies his immediate need; he kisses you for as long as he can, bringing you closer each time, even though you think there isn’t any space in between you two. His mouth is open and smiling and soft and you go back to that night. You remember it; his hands, his taste, his voice. Everything is Bang Chan and you adore it. You love it.

“Love you,” He whispers frowning, eyes closed just like he does when he is concentrating. You soothe his forehead with your thumb, and kisses his nose. “Love you so much, Y/N.”

“Good,” You pull back, and lay down, pulling him with you. “Or else this would be a little awkward.”

He laughs. “Let’s go to my room, my bed is more comfortable than the couch.”

You let him carry you to his bed, where you lay down with your head on his lap as he works some more. You let him kiss your forehead, from time to time, and you let him shush the boys as they all scream in excitement to see you two cuddled up in bed. 

You smile, feeling him put his computer on the floor, and turn around to cuddle you. You kiss him, just one more time for the night, before falling asleep again. 

You wake up the next morning thinking it was all a dream, until Chan comes in the room, with a steaming cup of coffee, and he says it again.

“Love you.”

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

it’s been a while since I wrote for skz, but I quite like how this came out :P what do you think? let me know! your support means the world ❤️

[bebepac]

The Wrath of the Crown

I hope you are ready for this. 

The 9th Chapter of Their Hidden Pain  To catch up on what you’ve missed Please click Their Hidden Pain.

Sorry guys to throw you this curve ball, better early than late I guess!  My state is now doing the mandatory Stay at Home for most people. However me being in healthcare, I get to sport a lovely letter on my car, that says I am essential staff and must work during curfew and outside of the state mandated curfew hours.  

I really feel like this is me and my coworkers right now. 

Trying to keep the humor, but I’m stressed out y’all.  So that being said, after this chapter of Scar Tissue, it’s going on hiatus, as I mentally need a break from things that are stressful, or things that will possibly increase stress.  This is an angst filled story that is honestly mentally draining.  I enjoy what i’ve created to this point, but man,  I have shed legit tears over these chapters.  Every chapter pretty much.  I’m going to focus on fluff for a little bit, then finish this up.  Don’t worry Scar Tissue will be finished.  I have a lot of good ideas for it and a lot of bombs to drop in reference to it.  I’ll give you one.  Drake’s journal is found after his death.  He kept a very meticulous journal of his misdeeds. 

 At least 3 more chapters of Scar Tissue are coming.  We still have more to address and loose ends to tie up .

Musical inspiration for this chapter.  Before it was even created, before i completely had the idea realized.  Saints from the Streets.  This is the Reckoning. Please give it a listen.  I don’t own rights to the music but it’s totally bad ass.  I am streaming it while i type this playing on repeat. 

https://youtu.be/D3rSrD9dmTs

All characters belong to Pixelberry with the exemption of Nico Karahalios , and mentions of Mollie Lancaster.  

Warnings: Mentions of Rape of multiple characters, assault on a female, drugging multiple people without their knowledge, date rape drugs, gun violence, death of a major character, torture? beating the crap out of someone, blood and murder. 

A very very special thanks to @loveellamae for being my beta on this one.  I appreciate you friend so very much. 

Word Count: 2083

Tagging: @dcbbw @queenjilian @janezillow @kingliam2019 @glaimtruelovealways @annekebbphotography @queencordonia @kaitycole @custaroonie @camersworld @the-soot-sprite @sevenfuckslefttogive @yukinagato2012 @cordonia-gothqueen @cordonianroyalty @kimmiedoo5@hopefulmoonobject @my0123456789universe​ @we-lazystudent @queenwalton @indiacater @losingbraincellseveryday @furiousherringoperatortoad @atha68 @islandcrow @marshmallowsaremyfavorite  @unusualvisionsblog @flutistbyday2020  @lovemychoices

“King Liam, I spoke with the Queen.  I know what you’re here to do and what Drake has done.  And I implore you to think clearly, Your Majesty. You can’t do this here.”

Drake laughed again. “Pussy ass bitch can’t even finish what you started. Your wife is lucky she had a real man for a night. Me.”

Liam turned around again to face Drake.  He hit him so hard the force of his punch not only knocked Drake over, it took the chair with him.  Blood gushed from Drake’s nose.

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

Bastien continued.  “He must face the Crown’s wrath in the proper place….. The Palace Execution Room.“

Liam contemplated for a few moments.  “You’re right Bastien.  Let’s take him there.”

“You haven’t got the guts.”  Drake said.  Liam’s next hit rendered Drake unconscious.  Liam stood over Drake looking down at him.

“Drake Walker is going to die today.”

Liam walked out the door.

Bastien and Leo picked up an unconscious Drake, dragging him, following behind their King.

“Queen Riley, I’ve been instructed by King Liam to bring you to the Execution Room.  Follow this way ma’am.”

Hana got up as well. “I’m sorry Lady Lee, per King Liam’s orders only the Queen has been requested.”

Nico, Bastien’s second in command, led her through older parts of the palace she didn’t even know existed.

“I’ve never been in this portion of the palace before. Nico have you?”

“Yes ma’am, but only briefly, when I first started. I was taught to navigate it for situations like this.“

They stopped in front of two wooden doors.  The inscription on the door was in a language she didn’t know but had seen Liam reading. Maybe Greek since she knew he was fluent in it, as well as multiple other languages. She rubbed the inscription feeling the curves of it on her fingertips.

"Is this written in Greek, Nico?” She asked.

“Very good eye, Your Majesty.  Do you know any Greek yet?”

“Does baklava count?”  She smiled.

Nico smiled back. “King Liam and his sweet tooth.”  

“My Greek is a little rusty, but I can tell you what it says, if you like?”

“Please, Nico, if you would. Can you read it in Greek first though?”

He read the passage in Greek first pointing to the words as he read them. She liked the rich sound of the language, and the way they rolled off his tongue. She hoped one day to learn.

“ Your Majesty now in English it translates, ‘if there is harm, then you shall pay life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.”

“Seems fitting for an Execution Room I guess. Can’t say I’ve ever been in one before.”

“Nor I ma'am.”

Nico took out a large skeleton key, unlocking the door.

“I’ve been instructed to wait with you until the King arrives, they should be here shortly.”

It’s not long before she hears the sound of Liam’s signature wing tip shoes on the palace hardwood floor, before she sees him. When he rounds the corner, she screams.

Liam is covered in blood.  His face, his hands, his hair, his clothes. Everything that was white was red. She started to run towards him.

He holds up his hand to stop her.

Nico gently restrains her. “No, Your Majesty, please stay calm.”

Liam was not alone. Bastien and Leo were dragging a bloody and unconscious Drake.  When Riley and Liam were face to face, the only thing she could notice was how blue his eyes looked in contrast to all the blood on him.

Though she could see where two spots were clear on his face; it looked like tears had washed away the blood.

“It’s okay, I’m okay. It’s not my blood, Riley, I’m not hurt.”

Physically hurt, no, but as Liam looked at Riley, she could tell his heart was broken.

Liam pushed the double doors open, walking inside. 

Riley followed him. The room was dark and had a unique smell to it. Nico took Bastien’s place holding up Drake.

Bastien flipped a switch that sounded like a circuit breaker being tripped and the lights flickered for a moment, then the room was bathed in light. Once Bastien was done, Nico and Bastien switched places again.

The room looked medieval with unlit candles that lined the walls. There was an ancient looking fireplace that held a black cauldron.  There were hanging chains and ropes and in the middle of the room a chair.  Devices she had no idea what they were, but they looked like torture devices and were placed in strategic areas around the room.

They dragged Drake to the chair in the middle of the room. He was slumped in the seat, head bent forward. They cuffed his hands to the chains located on the floor.

“Nico.” Liam’s voice was stern and authoritative.  

Nico nodded, disappearing for a moment. He came back in carrying two buckets of water.

Riley watched Liam. She had never seen him look so cold. The sparkle in his eyes, the one she fell in love with that first night was gone.  

He looked stern, angry, and honestly incredibly regal.

“Do it.” Liam said.

Nico tossed the first bucket of water. The water landed on Drake’s face and chest as the water drenched his clothes. Nico glanced at Liam.

“Again.” Liam’s voice was stronger, more authoritative. When the second bucket of water hit Drake, he sprang to life.

“What the fuck is this?” Drake jumped up but was limited by his movements because of his arms. Drake pulled his left arm seeing the chains then his right. Seeing he was powerless at the moment, he sat back down in the chair.

Liam then crouched down to his level intensely watching him.

“Welcome back, but you won’t be here long. You already knew that, didn’t you, Drake?”

“Fuck you.”

Liam hit Drake hard.

He stared at Drake as he stood and stepped closer to him. He continued to speak.

“And I looked and behold a pale horse, and the name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. I have told you this multiple times, you mess with what’s mine, I will come after you. I told you, I would end you. You brought this on yourself.”

He pointed to Riley. “YOU MESSED WITH WHAT’S MINE. SHE IS MINE. RILEY IS MY WIFE!!!!”

“You were the last person she was thinking about when she was riding my cock in Vegas.”

Liam punched Drake in the gut causing him to cough up blood.

“YOU RAPED MY WIFE!!”

“She loved it,”  Drake said with a smile.  “Tell him how loud you screamed when I fucked the hell out of your tight pussy Brooks.”

Liam backhanded Drake.  “DON’T YOU TALK ABOUT HER THAT WAY!!!”

“I just knew today was the day, it felt like there was something special in the air. I don’t usually have these on me.”

He reached into his pocket pulling out two pairs of women’s panties.

“Recognize these?” He held them up for Riley to see.

Riley gasped. They were hers.

Drake licked his lips, laughing, tasting his own blood. Liam’s hits had gotten quite strong over the years.

“I had her Liam, not once but twice. Mementos of the two V’s, I shared with your wife King Liam, Vegas, and Valtoria.” He balled them up in his hands inhaling deeply.

Liam was completely floored. How did he not see all this crazy radiating from Drake until now? How the fuck did he miss this?!?!

“They still smell like her.”

Liam heard Riley whimper. He looked at his love, tears streaming down her face, and she was shaking.  Had he believed Leo back then, who said he didn’t trust Drake and Mollie, Drake would not have been here to do all this damage to her life, their marriage. Even the heir’s paternity had been potentially compromised by all of this.  It’s all my fault Liam thought. He basically handed Riley to Drake’s evil hands on a silver platter.

He caused Riley all this pain by not stopping the monster well before he could get to her. Riley couldn’t even touch her stomach to start bonding with the baby growing inside her because she knew she was getting an abortion if it turned out to be Drake’s seed that had implanted in her. On the flipside, she was missing out on the beginning stages of bonding with the royal heir if it was Liam’s baby growing in her womb.

Seeing the pain in Riley’s milk chocolate brown eyes as she stared into his blue ones, Liam screamed in anger, turning to face Drake once again.  

“GET ON YOUR KNEES!”

Drake complied.

“Wait. Liam before you go any further, I have something to say to him.” Riley said. Both of them seem surprised she was speaking.

Riley walked up to stand next to Liam.

“Whatever you need to do, my love,” he said.

She stared down at Drake on his knees, arms stretched out from the cuffs, looking like he was being crucified.

“I hate you. We used to be friends. At least I thought we were.” She stared in his eyes. “Your eyes….There’s nothing there.”

“Brooks, it’s easy to fake emotions. Is this what you need?”

She watched the look in his eyes change dramatically.  His eyes now looked like the funny sarcastic marshmallow that was her friend and confidant. Riley gasped.

“Marshmallow Man?”

His eyes immediately changed back to his previous cold, blank stare. “Brooks, he wasn’t real. This is the real me.”

She shook her head as if she had finally broken the trance.

“You’re a monster. ”

“Maybe I am.”

“What my husband isn’t telling you is, I’m six weeks pregnant.”

"From Valtoria? You’re telling me I could be a father right now? It could be my baby growing inside you?”

“Could be your baby, yes, but you’ll never be a father.  I would rather die first than give birth to your child. If it turns out to be yours, I will end the pregnancy. Just like my husband is about to end you.”

Drake laughed, “Well isn’t this an absolutely delicious turn of events, more than I could have hoped for.”

He smiled looking up at Riley. Then his eyes rested on her stomach.

“DON’T LOOK AT HER, YOU LOOK AT ME!!!”  

Liam’s free hand, not holding the pistol, grabbed for Riley’s hand pulling her protectively behind him.

“By order of the King of Cordonia for the numerous crimes you have committed against the King and Queen…”

"And Mollie Lancaster,” Riley said from behind him.

“And Mollie Lancaster, I hereby sentence you to death, Drake Walker, in front of these witnesses. Do you have any last words before I carry out your sentence?”

Liam released the safety on his white and gold glock 9mm pointing it at Drake’s chest.

“I really hope the baby is mine, do you want to know why King Liam?”

“Why?”

Drake laughs. “Because it would mean I beat the King of Cordonia to the Promised Land.”

He winks at Riley. “His Queen’s womb. Her first baby sired by the commoner.”

Riley gasped, choking back a sob.

“You sick motherfucker,” Leo said.

Bastien and Nico winced.

Liam screamed, squeezing the trigger twice, two bullets hit Drake’s chest.

He fell to the ground gasping for breath, writhing in pain.

Liam stood over him preparing for the kill shot.

“Liam, don't…… Please.”

“You don’t have emotions, remember?”

“I don’t, but that will be the part …… you’ll never forget…….. A little parting gift.”

Sadly he knew Drake was right. He was already trying to push it to the back of his head.

“Burn in Hell.”

Liam delivered his kill shot to the head.

Neither Riley nor Liam ever forgot the sound of that last gunshot made as the bullet pierced Drake’s skull, ending him.  They also had a long time to think about it, as they were married a very long time, and had a rich life full of family and children, grand children, and great grandchildren.  

Liam and Riley watched whatever it was, leaving Drake’s eyes because it couldn’t be called light.

Drake . Walker . Was. Dead.

There was deafening silence in the Palace Execution Room, after that last shot rang out, after Drake took his last breath.

King Liam had finally avenged his Queen, his beautiful phoenix.

Ever Rising.

[usual-day-dreamer]

Ice Breakers (Hockey Player!Timothée C. x Figure Skating!Reader) Chapter One

WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: back to you hometown, ready for a better life and to finally fulfill your dream as an olympic skater.

MASTERLIST 

Everyone was clapping at your flawless presentation, feeling happy and overwhelmed you thanked them, glad that happy tears were falling down your face. Your test results were perfect, and every coach wanted you, but you already knew the one you wanted. 

Your smile widened as you locked eyes with her, you made your way out from the ice, putting on your skate guards you hurriedly walked towards her, your first coach Katy.

She playfully slapped your arm once you were close to her “I can’t believe you left me” she hugged you tight “I missed you so much, I’m glad you are back”

“I knew you couldn’t live without me” you said, and she rolled her eyes. “Everyone seems eager to coach me now” 

“Well, you did leave everyone speechless back there”

“I think I did, and to think that no one had faith me, except you of course” you smiled 

“I was expecting to find you at nationals, what happened?” she asked “I had some trouble a year ago, I’ll tell you somewhere else, I don’t want anyone else to know” Katy nodded.

“But I really want to skate again, and I want you to be my coach, if you’ll have me” you playfully vowed at her.

“Of course, I will, silly” you smiled “Should we catch up?”

*

It was just like old times, talking with your coach who was also your closest friend since you were little, you felt at peace.

“So, what happened? How was college?”

“Before I tell you everything, I want you to know first that I’m getting help now, I have a therapist and I`m doing a lot better now” her look softened and nodded.

“Two years ago, I met this guy, he was a hockey player from that rink. We kinda started dating, it was really weird and it was also full of violence, he...” you took a deep breath “He was taking me back to campus one night after training and... he raped me in his car” you looked at Katy and continued “I could not skate after that, I panicked every time because he followed me everywhere, he did it like four times and I had no idea what to do, I thought it was my fault and I convinced myself that was what I wanted”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry to hear that”

“We broke up two months after that, but I was wrecked, I felt like my life was falling apart... until I started going to therapy” 

“My coach there was a bitch too, I guess I was emotionally wrecked back then and I just wanted a break, I just had one year left so I stayed there and as soon as I graduated bought and apartment here, got a job and tried to move on”

“I’ll do anything in my power to help you, let’s start training tomorrow, you`ll be ready for competition faster than you can imagine”

“I`d love that”

*

“Y/N? Is that really you?” You looked up and smiled, your longtime friend Anna stood before you with a wide smile. You opened your arms and she hugged you tightly.

“Anna! I can’t believe it’s you! “she sat next to you to tie her skates “I am so happy you are back; will you sign up for the festival?” 

“Maybe I will, today is my first time skating after a year”

“You`ll do fine, I bet Katy will give you a routine for it as practice” she looked ahead and rolled her eyes, you looked behind you and your eyes locked with Justin’s gaze, he smirked at you and you looked back at Anna.

“He’s still an asshole” you stated “Yeah, just ignore him like always”

“Hey, talking about assholes, where’s Tim-” the peace and quiet suddenly disappeared as the hockey team busted inside loudly. 

“Is that who I think it is?” you huffed and stood up, looking down at Anna telling her you’ll meet her on the ice. You turned around and walked towards the entrance of the ice, but he caught your arm, you immediately panicked and trashed around trying to break free, flashbacks of that time filled your mind.

“Aren’t you gonna say hello?” you glared at him as you tried to calm your heart beat, you were almost at his eye level thanks to your skates “Chalamet” you said, jerking your arm away from his grip, relief washing over you. He noticed this odd behavior but kept it for another time.

You turned around and walked inside the ice “Meet you inside in a few princess!” you rolled your eyes and ignored him.

“Nice reunion” Katy said and you huffed “I still hate him” you looked back and met his gaze, he smirked and winked at you, you angrily looked back at Katy, a smirk plastered on her face.

“Glad to see you still have a crush on him”

“I do not!” you exclaimed, and she laughed.

*

“Well, you are actually amazing” Katy said, let’s arrange a routine for the festival as a warmup, then we’ll begin with something for competition” you nodded taking a sip of your water.

“That’s it for today, do you have to go to work?”

“No, I still have half an hour, I’ll stay around a little longer. What about you?”

“The little girls are coming, so I’ll be busy” as if on cue, the group of girls skated inside. almost crashing against each other.

“I’ll go to the training rink then” you waved goodbye and skated out.

You walked towards the other rink, which was meant for self-practice and public. 

“Y/N! Wait!” you stopped and looked behind you, Timothèe was running towards you “Is your practice over?” you nodded “Do you mind if I join you inside?” 

“Well, I actually-”

“Great! I’ll put on my skates really quick” he ran away, and you rolled your eyes but smiled. It wasn’t long before he was back, and you stepped inside.

“Listen, I’m sorry for grabbing you earlier, I noticed you kinda panicked” he said, and you looked away nervously

“Don’t worry, it’s fine”

“I really did miss you; you know?” He playfully nudged your shoulder and you smiled at him.

“Dickhead” the two of you laughed lightly.

“Do you have a place to stay? Work?” He asked.

“I do, I found a job at the lounge and a small apartment, what about you? Still living with your mom?” Your teasing tone made him smile.

“Actually, I don’t, I have a job here as a coach, I’m teaching the little ones how to skate, and I also found a place not far from here”

You hummed in agreement “What about your Olympic dreams?” You asked

“Getting there, and you?”

“I guess you could say the same”

“You’ve missed a lot of Justin drama” you rolled your eyes and laughed “I bet I did”

You turned your head and looked at the clock “I’m sorry, I have to go to work”

“Can’t believe you’re working for Justin’s dad now; I hope he doesn’t try to buy you as a partner for him”

“Justin wishes I was his partner” he laughed “See you around” you asked away and Timothée watched you with a smile.

*

Work was not as busy as you expected, and even though you were nervous, everything went just fine; until Justin decided to step by.

“Wow, Y/N Y/L, what a pleasantly surprised” he sat down by the bar, right in front of you. You’ve rolled your eyes, but stayed calm, he was your boss’ son after all. He smirked at that.

“What can I get you?” You asked

“Just some juice please”

“You’ve quit drinking” you asked pouring him some orange juice.

“It’s just early” he answered, and you hummed.

“The day of your exam, you do realize everyone was there just to see you right?” You stopped cleaning the counter and looked at him.

“Is that so?”

He nodded taking a sip of his juice “Everyone loves your skating; they say you are a prodigy”

“So I’ve been told”

“Have you ever thought about pair skating?” He flashed you a smile and you frowned.

“Listen, I- “

“Y/N, could you please take that table’s order?”

“Sure” you smiled at your coworker, “If you’ll excuse me” you said walking away from Justin.

*

It was already dark outside when your shift was over, the snow crunched underneath your boots as you walked towards the bus station. You enjoyed the cold, there was some calmness about it, everything that came with it made your stomach flip with happiness. The wait for the buss wasn’t long, and the road back home wasn’t bad. You’ve learnt to enjoy being by yourself after what happened; you enjoyed the snowy scenery out the window while listening to music.

You thanked the bus driver when you arrived at your stop, walking towards your apartment while singing quietly to the song playing through your earphones. Your building was quiet, and warmth enveloped you as you stepped inside your apartment, taking off your boots and shrugging off your coat. You’ve had dinner at the lounge, so you just went straight to bed.

*

“Do it again, from the top” you nodded at Katy skating towards your starting point.

You sighed, getting ready. Killer Queen by Queen filled your ears and you started your routine. Katy watched you carefully, you were fully concentrating, when out of nowhere Justin and his partner blocked your way, making your skates crash against each other. You tripped, and flared at Justin from below, he smirked at you and faked innocence, not even stopping.

You kept glaring at them as you stood, the music already gone. You were already skating towards him when someone stopped you.

“Don’t waste your time with him” it was Anna, her hand was around your wrist, but not in a painful grip.

“Why don’t we take a small break?” Katy suggested and you skated away, Anna rapidly behind you.

“I fucking hate him” you spat “Yeah, me too” she answered honestly.

It has been a week since you first arrived, and even though everything has been going just fine, Justin would not leave you alone.

“He goes sometimes to the lounge just to piss me off, he’s such a mess, it amazes me how he always gets away with the shit he does”

Angry tears were blurring your vision, Anna noticed and grabbed your shoulders “Keep ignoring him, he just wants your attention, remember you’re the only girl he hasn’t taken to bed”

You bit your lip, she looked at you surprised “Y/N, please don’t tell me you’ve fucked with him”

“It was only once! And I was really drunk, as soon as I woke up, I left his stupid room, he wasn’t even awake”

“Gosh” she seemed angry, but then smiled wickedly “Was it good?”

“Mmm, could’ve been worse” you laughed, and she smiled

“If Timothée was here, he would’ve already punched that asshole to oblivion”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you serious? It’s obvious he’s got a massive crush on you”

“That’s not true!”

“Come on! All that teasing he does is to get your attention, you know, ever since you left, he counted the days until nationals just because he knew you’d be there”

You looked towards the floor and softly said: “Let’s go back in the ice”

[ashesonthefloor]

you are an angel (or maybe you could’ve been) part two

summary: Ashton starts adjusting to his new life with his guardian angel, and all the twists, turns, and responsibility that comes with it, part one found here, ao3 found here

rating: PG-13 (cursing, someone takes their shirt off, Michael is an idiot, lots and lots of fluff, one allusion to depression)

word count: 4693

A/N: wow! the response on this has been absolutely insane! but here’s the long awaited part two, coming two weeks later whoops. big shout out to @calumcest for being my biggest cheerleader on this and letting me scream about it way too often. and, of course, a massive thank you to every single person who’s commented. they live in my mind completely rent free at all times and they absolutely make my entire day. I hope you all love this as much as the first part <3 I’ve got some big plans for part three!

Last night had been a bit of a struggle. Only because Ashton hadn’t really known how to fall asleep next to a literal angel. It had taken longer than he was used to before he eventually managed it, lulled into a comfortable sleep by the additional warmth radiating off of Luke.

He was awake again, early as always, and didn’t really see the point in laying and staring at the ceiling. He figured he might as well get up and make breakfast for the two of them. He moved carefully, doing his best not to rouse Luke. It didn’t seem to matter much because as soon as he was up, had tucked the covers back around his companion, and started towards the door, Luke spoke up again. “Where are you going? His voice was soft in the early morning quiet, not even disturbed by the sounds of the city outside, or his neighbors to the left who liked to blare the news later in the morning.

Ashton turned back to look at him, taking in his messy curls and rumpled, sleepy appearance. He squashed any thought of how soft he looked. Or he tried to, at least. “I’m going to make us breakfast.” At Luke’s mildly confused expression, he continued before he could ask. “It’s food you eat in the morning. Eggs, pancakes, cereal, french toast.” He paused, figuring Luke probably didn’t know any of those, either. “I’m making pancakes. Do you want to come? You can watch.”

Luke shifted the covers off of him, carefully getting out of the bed with a little shiver as his feet hit the cold hardwood floor. Ashton was surprised by just how fond the little action made him. He led Luke into his kitchen, getting him settled in a seat at the island before starting to make pancakes. 

“This was one of the first things I learned how to cook myself,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Luke before back to cooking. “I always liked adding extra chocolate chips. And whipped cream.” He smiled a little at all the fond memories before remembering Luke didn’t know what anything was. “All of that is sweet. Pancakes aren’t, necessarily, but people generally like adding sweet things to them to make them more flavourful.” He was quiet for a moment, letting Luke process the information. “Do you need to eat?”

“No. Angels don’t eat. Or drink. Or sleep. We can, but we don’t need it. So we don’t.” That didn’t do anything to mitigate Luke’s rapt curiosity, it seemed.

Ashton paused, realizing something. “So when I gave you a Coke last night...you didn’t know what that was?” Poor Luke. That must’ve been stressful for him, having Ashton list a bunch of things he didn’t know and have him choose.

Luke shook his head. “No. I knew the name from watching you, sometimes it’s on your TV.”

Ashton nodded a little, flipping the pancakes on autopilot since he was lost in his thoughts again. “Did you like it?”

Luke took a moment to consider before answering. “I don’t know. It was cold. And felt weird.”

Ashton smiled a little, endeared again by Luke’s innocence. “It’s carbonated. So there are bubbles in it. Do you want to try it again?” Most people didn’t drink coke for breakfast. But Luke didn’t need to know that. And, to be fair, he wasn’t really most people.

Another pause. “Okay.”

Ashton grinned. “Great. They’re in the fridge.” He gestured lightly with his head since his hands were busy. “Grab one?” He heard the chair scrape backward on the kitchen floor, and Luke’s surprisingly light footsteps as he went to retrieve his Coke. He glanced over at him, watching the way his nose crinkled as he looked at the bottle. “Do you need me to open it?”

Luke looked at him, just a little helpless, and nodded again. “Yes, please.” He offered Ashton the bottle, and Ashton opened it for him before passing it back.

“There you go.” He finished with the pancakes and put some on two plates for them. “You know, Coke usually comes in a can. I just think it tastes better in a bottle.” At Luke’s mildly confused expression, he moved to the kitchen to grab one of his cans of beer. “Like this. This is an aluminum can. Most soft drinks are packaged like that. Coke is a soft drink. A soft drink, or a soda, is something sweet and carbonated. There’s lots of kinds.”

Luke sipped his Coke, nose crinkling again at the taste, making Ashton grin (maybe a little more fond than he should’ve). “I like it,” he decided. “It still tastes funny.”

Ashton smiled again, amused. “Yeah. That’s kind of how it is.”

Luke considered his words for a moment. “It tickles.”

That was a fairly astute way of putting it, Ashton had to admit. Using his new vocabulary to try and describe his new surroundings. Go Luke. “Yeah? Because of the bubbles?” Luke nodded. “I’m glad you like it. Go sit down again and I’ll bring you your pancakes.” 

Luke made his way back over to the island with his bottle of Coke and Ashton joined him just a moment later with both of their plates. He went back to grab syrup and nutella, figuring Luke would probably like at least one of them. When he sat down again, he smiled at the sight of Luke holding the pancake in his bare hands. Luke just looked at him, confused.

“Does it smell good?” Ashton asked with another hopelessly fond smile on his face. He couldn’t help it. Luke was just the most endearing being he’d ever encountered in his entire life.

Luke sniffed the pancake again with a nod before taking a tentative bite. Ashton still didn’t comment on his lack of silverware. He probably didn’t know, and he wasn’t going to make him anxious or insecure over something that ultimately didn’t matter. 

He dressed up his own pancakes before starting to dig in. With silverware, of course, because that was how he preferred to eat. “Is it good?” He asked after a few moments, swallowing his food before speaking. He was polite, after all. And chewing with an open mouth was one of his serious pet peeves.

Luke nodded again, watching Ashton with an expression he didn’t really have a word for. He looked interested, though. Which was probably a good thing. “I like them.”

Ashton beamed, taking it as a personal accomplishment. “I’m glad. They’re my own recipe you know.” He paused. “I mean, all pancakes kind of use the same recipe. But I like to think mine is a little different.” He turned his attention back to his pancakes.

Luke shrugged. “It is. No one else can do anything the way you can.” It would’ve sounded cheesy from anyone else. But the genuine, earnest way Luke said it had Ashton’s face tinting pink.

“Thank you,” he said, just slightly taken aback.

“You’re welcome.” Luke seemed to have impeccable manners. Just not table manners. But that was okay. Not his fault.

A few beats of silence passed between them, only broken by the light scraping of silverware against the plate. Once Ashton had finished, he looked at Luke. “So you’re a guardian angel?”

Luke fixed his startling blue gaze on him again, finishing his pancake. “Yeah.” He nodded a little bit.

“What...do you do, exactly? You mentioned watching over us?” Ashton asked, hoping he wasn’t crossing a line with him. He liked Luke.

“Yeah. We sit and watch you to make sure you’re okay.” He sipped his Coke, nose crinkling as he glanced down at the bottle. He had the same reaction every time he tried it. It was a little bit adorable.

“What do you do if we’re not?” He just really wanted to know.

“Um...” He frowned. “We try and steer you in the right directions.” He paused, thinking. “Positive affirmations,” he finally settled on and, funny, that was the same name as Ashton’s yoga DVD he was so fond of. “Sometimes it doesn’t work and we have to just...accept it. It hurts a lot though if we have to watch someone go down a really bad path.”

With the level of sadness on Luke’s face, Ashton wondered what he’d been through. He himself had had a couple spirals that weren’t so great but he made it through to the end of all of them. Maybe Luke was to thank for that. “What’s Heaven like?”

Luke considered for a moment. “Very white,” he settled on, seeming to choose his words carefully. “Like the inside of a hospital.” That Grey’s Anatomy binge with Michael might have helped him there.

“Clinical?” Ashton offered. “It’s when something is very impersonal feeling and very stark. People use it a lot for hospitals.”

Luke nodded. “Clinical. We’re all focused on watching our humans. And then there’s a couple angels in charge of delegating new jobs and helping new angels and assigning new humans to angels. And they take care of the rule breakers.”

Ashton knew he shouldn’t ask it. But he wanted to anyway. “What happens to rule breakers?”

Luke paled. Which was interesting on his already pale complexion. “I don’t know. Most of them just don’t come back.”

Yikes. That wasn’t exactly great. He reached a hand across the table to offer Luke some comfort. When he just looked confused, he explained. “You can hold it. This is me offering you some quiet support, to say ‘I’m here for you’ and ‘I want to make you feel better’.”

Luke gave him a very soft, appreciative smile; and put his hand in Ashton’s. “Thank you.” His hand was warm. And softer than he’d expected. He gave it a small squeeze, not missing the way Luke’s face flushed when he did. That was endearing. Everything about Luke was, really.

He would be perfectly content to stay in that moment forever. Luke was sweet, and clearly appreciated whatever form of comfort Ashton could give him. Instead, the private moment was broken by his phone vibrating on the table. He grabbed it with his free hand and answered.

“Hello?” He said, keeping his tone level as always, but still mildly annoyed at the interruption.

“Ashton! Are we still on for dinner at- fuck off, don’t do that - dinner at your place?” Calum asked, rustling and distant complaining heard in the background. And fuck. Ashton had forgotten about that.

“Would another night work better for you guys?” Michael and Calum liked coming over for dinner. Half the time they ordered takeout, though, because Michael preferred it, and Calum was soft for him. Although when it was just them, Calum never minded cooking with Ashton.

“Come on, we do this every- get your hand out of my crisps before I smack you, Michael Gordon Clifford - week. Movie night and a pizza. Are we really going to break tradition now?” And he could practically hear Calum’s puppy dog eyes and accompanying pout through the phone.

“I’m up to my neck in paperwork right now,” he lied, seeing Luke scrunch up his nose out of the corner of his eye. “I really can’t. Can we reschedule?”

He could hear noises, the sounds of a quick scuffle from the other end of the phone before, “Ashton, come on. I’m more important than some dumb paperwork. You’ve brushed it off before. Why do you have to be all responsible now?” And Michael had a point. He had brushed off duties before and just stayed up late to catch up. But he hadn’t had an angel then.

“Because.” That was really all he could come up with, honestly. He couldn’t very well tell the truth. ‘Hey, guys, sorry I can’t hang out with you this week, my guardian angel came down from heaven and I think either he or you guys will freak out if I put you all in the same room so it wouldn’t be a good idea’ wouldn’t fly super well. With anyone, honestly. Least of all himself. He might actually have a heart attack, the way Michael joked about all the time.

“That’s not a real answer. What’s up with you?” Which was, honestly, about as close to concern as Michael got. Which was sweet. 

“Nothing, Mikey. Really. I just...need a day, you know?” He felt really bad lying. But he couldn’t help it. He needed to be left with his angel. Preferably alone. 

“I get it.” He felt guilty at just how understanding and compassionate Michael sounded. Because he was fine. He just had an angel. “Let us know if you need anything, alright?” There was another little scuffle before he heard Calum’s voice.

“Yeah, we’re here for you. Always. Are you coming in to work tomorrow?” Fuck. He was on the schedule. Thankfully, it wasn’t for long. He, alone with Michael and Calum, worked at the music store a block or two from his apartment called Just For The Record. He’d been the manager there for a long while. 

“Yeah, I’m coming in in the evening to do some organizing and do the schedule for the next week,” he answered, Luke still staring at him. That was still disconcerting, no matter how long he did it. 

“Great. I’ll see you then?” Calum said.

“Yeah. See you then.”

“Love you.” Ashton’s heart warmed a little at the sentiment. Calum was always good at that. Being comforting.

“Love you too.” There was a beat of silence after Ashton’s words before Calum hung up, presumably to go back to Michael. The two of them had been pining for each other practically the whole time they’d been working at the music store. It was a wonder they hadn’t realized it yet, or just died from ignorance.

“Calum and Michael,” he explained to Luke, setting his phone aside and turning his attention back to him. His angel. Which was still pretty weird to think about. 

“They work with you,” Luke provided, gaze still on him. Did he ever blink? He honestly didn’t know. He’d have to start paying attention. It was a little startling being reminded just how much Luke knew about him. And, of course, how little he actually knew about Luke. But he didn’t want to pry, or ask too many questions at once. 

“Yeah, they do.” Ashton didn’t really know what else to say to that. “They’re nice.”

Luke just nodded a little bit at the information. Not that he didn’t already know it. “Are they coming over?”

Ashton shook his head, catching the slight trepidation in Luke’s voice. “No, not tonight. They come over regularly since I’m not sure Michsel actually eats anything but takeout on his own. But I thought it would be nice to have today just for us. I have to get laundry done and a couple other things, and I thought you might want to just chill. We can watch a movie or something.”

Luke smiled and, god, Ashton was going to have a heart attack at some point. He didn’t know how his whole face lit up like that, but it did. Maybe angel magic. Did angels have magic? “That sounds nice. What’s laundry?”

“It’s where you clean your clothes. Like what I did last night with yours. I can show you how to do it.” He paused, thinking for a moment. “You said you watch me, right? How much do you...know about me, exactly?”

Luke was quiet, clearly thinking the question over. “Everything,” he said simply, like that didn’t raise more questions than it answered.

“How much is everything?” Ashton asked, knowing full well he should stop asking things or he’d run the risk of making Luke upset again.

“Um...” Luke thought again. “If I didn’t see it, anything important was in your file. I know your full name, your birthday, your life, about your work, your friends, I know you’re worried you’ll die of stress someday so you’re working on calming down, I know you kind of want to get a dog but aren’t sure it would work with your life, you like to dye your hair and dyed Michael’s hair a lot when he went through that phase, you like to cook and Calum likes to help, you’ll watch almost any movie if you like the plot enough, and you like to sleep in the middle of the bed because it’s more comfortable. So everything important.”

That was...a lot. Ashton felt his face redden a little bit, unsure what to do after Luke had unleashed all of that. It was one thing to know he was an angel and knew everything about him, and another for Luke to prove it. “That’s...a lot,” he said, absolutely positively not flustered. Ashton Irwin didn’t get flustered. Ever. “You definitely know a lot.”

Luke beamed, like it was a compliment. “Thank you. It’s my job. And I like knowing things about you. You’re the most interesting person.”

That only made Ashton blush harder. Luke never seemed to stop being positive. That was...endearing. It made him feel weirdly warm inside. Like he’d just finished a mug of tea wrapped up in his favourite blanket while someone complimented him on things he was unsure about. “Thank you,” he said, unsure what else to even say. Luke was without a doubt the sweetest being alive. Was he alive? How the fuck did angel logic even work?

Luke nodded. “You’re welcome.” He paused, looking at him with his wide blue eyes. “Are you doing laundry?”

And right. He needed to do laundry. He’d almost forgotten after Luke had one of his adorably charming moments. He was a little convinced his compliments were some weird form of magic. Though, realistically, he knew it was probably just because of how genuine and earnest his compliments were. “I am. Do you want to watch?”

Luke nodded, finishing off his Coke. His nose crinkled again but he looked quite pleased. Ashton smiled a little to himself as he gathered up their dishes and put them in the dishwasher. He led Luke to his bedroom to grab his hamper and then into the laundry room. 

“This is the washing machine,” he explained, internally asking himself how the hell he’d gotten to this point in his life. “It washes your clothes. But then they get all wet - like you were last night - so you have to put them in this, the dryer, so they’re dry.” He tossed the clothes into the washing machine and put in the detergent, Luke’s eyes following his every movement like he’d be tested on this later. He smiled slightly, seeing his eyes widen after he turned the machine on.

“So that’s laundry,” he said simply, turning to look at Luke properly. He was kind of cute, in an innocent sort of way. Absolutely everything was interesting to him. Most of all, it seemed, was Ashton. 

“That’s laundry,” Luke repeated thoughtfully. “Okay. What next?”

“Now I guess we can go watch something while it finishes.” Fuck, what did they watch? Did he have any Disney movies? That would be ideal, honestly. He didn’t really want to scar his angel. Disney movies could be pretty scarring, though. Like the Lion King. What the fuck should he show him? Was Cinderella fine? It had some abuse in it but it was fine. He just didn’t want to scar Luke. Friends was probably fine too but it was pretty boring and he didn’t really want to sit through it. 

“Okay,” Luke said, seemingly oblivious to Ashton’s internal turmoil.

“Do you know what you like to watch?” He finally asked, honestly unsure how much Luke had seen. If anything at all.

“Um...I’ve only gotten to watch what you watch. I liked Indiana Jones kind of? It was confusing.”

Luke was endearing. Ashton really didn’t know what to do with the surge of protectiveness that suddenly went through him. “Yeah? We can watch Indiana Jones, then.”

He got the two of them settled on the couch pretty easily, turning on one of the older movies. Their age didn’t really matter too much, they were still good. No matter how much Michael said to the contrary. He just liked being difficult. He tossed a blanket over both of them about fifteen minutes in. His apartment was pretty chilly, but he knew it would warm up in the afternoon with all the sunshine spilling in from the large windows. 

Luke slowly scooted his way over to him throughout the movie, eyes still fixed on the screen. He gave the movie the same rapt attention he usually gave Ashton. And, sue him, that was pretty endearing. He didn’t move quickly enough for Ashton to even notice really. The first time he realized Luke was too close was about an hour into the movie, when Luke’s leg brushed his more than it had been. Then his leg was pressed to Ashton’s about thirty minutes later. Ashton didn’t say anything, either. Didn’t rush him. Didn’t point it out. And maybe that was because some tiny party of him was scared that he’d stop if he pointed it out. So, he decided he’d take what he could get.

He eventually ended up pretty close to his side, leaning into him, some time after he’d started their second movie. Luke was...warm. The same comforting warmth Ashton had felt earlier blossomed in his chest. He draped his arm across the back of the couch, fingers brushing against Luke’s shoulder, making the blonde shiver. And that made affection bloom somewhere in his (cold, Michael would say. Dead, even) heart, fondness for this being he barely even knew wrapping around his heart like a hug. It was nice. A little scary, sure, to feel so endeared by someone so soon. But it was fine. He was just going with the flow.

They pass the rest of the day curled up like that. Luke eventually ends up closer to Ashton than he would’ve ever assumed, still weirdly stiff in that way Ashton credited to Luke not being used to any sort of physical contact. He eventually leaned into him a bit more, letting go of that aggressively perfect posture and letting himself be something a little less formal and a little more comfortable. It was nice, really. Nice enough that, as he played their third Indiana Jones movie, he realized he’d lost track of time and they’d spent pretty much the entire day just watching movies. With Ashton answering plenty of Luke’s questions. (Such as “what’s that?”, “why’s he doing that?”, “what does that mean?”, and, Ashton’s personal favourite, “am I watching this right?”)

The third movie finished without too much drama. Luke let out a content little sigh, shifting against Ashton’s side to look at him. “What do we do now?” He asked, head tilting just slightly in a way that reminded Ashton of a puppy.

“It’s starting to get late. So now we do dinner and go to sleep again.” As per Ashton’s usual routine. Though he’d sort of thrown that out the window the moment Luke had shown up. Which he wouldn’t take any criticism about at all. What was the proper reaction to suddenly knowing about the existence of angels and knowing you had one of your very own? He’d love to know.

Luke nodded a little, sage. “That sounds good. Food and sleep are important.”

That made Ashton’s lips quirk up into a smile. Luke couldn’t be more adorable if he tried. “They are. That means we have to get up, though.”

It took a few more minutes of them sitting there, enjoying each other’s warmth and company, before Ashton even had the heart to get up. He made his way to the kitchen, humming a little bit to himself. Luke ended up following him fairly soon after. He really didn’t seem to like being left alone which Ashton took note of, not wanting to make his angel uncomfortable at all.

Dinner went by without a hitch and with very little conversation, other than him watching Luke struggle to eat. It was a little amusing but it tugged on his heart in a weird way he didn’t really have a word for. It certainly wasn’t something he was used to. He decided to pack that away to deal with later. Or not. That actually sounded like a much, much better option. There was so much he was dealing with, it made more sense to just not.

“Here, do you want to change into some fresh clothes?” Ashton asked before bed, realizing he’d forgotten to offer early on. And sure, it was just pajamas, but nothing was worse than sitting in the same clothes for days on end. He would know. He’d done it before, and he’d also had to go over to Michael’s to drag him out of the clothes he’d worn for a week in one of his worse depression slumps.

He pulled out some more comfortable clothes, offering them to Luke. Luke looked mildly confused but accepted them anyway. “You’ll feel better,” Ashton promised, turning back to grab a change for himself. He turned back around, face flushing when he saw Luke struggling out of his shirt with absolutely no shame whatsoever. And he prayed to whatever deity Luke worked for that they weren’t able to hear any of his thoughts because they weren’t the most holy. They weren’t exactly unholy either but thinking that his guardian angel was built wasn’t chaste behavior.

He couldn’t even bring himself to tell Luke he’d meant him to change in the other room, his tongue way too heavy in his mouth to speak coherently. “I’ll be right back,” he said, a little dumbly. “Uh. You finish changing. Just...have to piss.” He left into the bathroom, clothes still in his hands. He changed there, slower than normal, so he had a moment to consider things. Luke really took things at face value, so he’d have to start choosing his words better. He really didn’t want to confuse him and, frankly, he didn’t want to accidentally kill himself with surprise. He was fine, if just a little startled. He kept almost forgetting that Luke wasn’t human, and he hung on his every word the same way a young child would. He just clearly wasn’t a child. Just...a little bit naive. Innocent.

He tugged his shirt on over his head, still moving a little slower than normal. Hopefully that had been enough time for Luke to change. He made his way back into the bedroom, finding his angel standing there. Waiting for him to give more instructions, probably. “You can sit,” he said, forgetting he had to tell him what he could and couldn’t do. “My apartment...it’s your home right now. So you can do what makes you feel comfortable. I can promise you I don’t mind. My bed, couch, blankets, clothes. Pretty much whatever you need.”

Luke watched him as he spoke, bright blue gaze still unwavering. He broke into a smile, just a touch shy, after Ashton finished. “Okay. Thank you.”

Ashton gave him a smile in return. He couldn’t help it. Luke was just....endearing in every single way possible. “Of course.” He made his way over to the bed, sliding under the sheets. Luke hesitated before he came over to join him, steps surprisingly silent for so tall, and slid into the bed with him.

He gave Ashton another sweet smile, pillows already starting to muss up his curls. “Hi.”

Ashton gave him a smile again, fondness curling fast and unexpected in his chest. It settled there, almost a tangible weight, comforting, like a childhood stuffed animal. “Hi.”

“I’m glad I came down,” Luke said, as honest and earnest as ever. He seemed to not notice the pink that dusted Ashton’s face.

“I’m glad you did, too.” His voice was soft, though there was no doubt Luke heard it with how close they were. And with the way it made Luke’s whole face light up, the blonde beaming at him like he’d made his entire life with that one sentence.

“Yay,” he said, the light not fading from his eyes.

“Yay,” Ashton repeated, a little bit dumb with just how pure Luke’s reaction was.

It was safe to say that the second night wasn’t much easier than the first. Luke was warm and comforting and, after Ashton agreed that it was time to sleep, was out like a light. Leaving Ashton alone in the very dim light, still able to make out the messy curls framing his face like a halo, and the way the very little light in the room seemed drawn to highlighting his fair but gorgeous facial structure. He really was, by all aspects, an angel.

[missnight0wl]

Isolation

Summary: Have you wondered what Rowan is up to after their “death”?

I recommend reading “Six minutes” first.

Words: 3215

Winter, 1990

Rowan didn’t remember much about what happened right after she was revived. She wasn’t sure how they got to Rakepick’s house – or what she assumed was Rakepick’s house. She passed out shortly after arrival, and according to Jacob, she was asleep for the whole day.

“It’s good, you need to rest,” he told her. “The thing is that Rakepick and I have to leave now, only for a while. Can you manage on your own?”

Rowan knew that he’s asking rather for formality sake, so she simply nodded. After that, she was instructed where she can find necessary supplies like food and medicine.

“You can use the study if you want,” Madam Rakepick added when they both were ready to go. “Just keep your wand by your side, Miss Khanna”.

Rowan stiffened a bit hearing that remark. “I thought it’s safe here.”

“It is.”

“But it’s always better to be cautious,” Jacob hurried to explain. “You’ll be fine as long as you’re inside. And you won’t be alone for long, hm?”

The empty house appeared overwhelming at first, but Rowan quickly got distracted by pain. It could’ve been from the curse, from the physical impact she experienced in the Forest, or maybe from the times they had practised her timing with the Banishing Charm. Most likely, it was due to all of that combined. Potions and ointment were helpful just enough to let her focus on anything else. She wouldn’t dare to snoop around, she wasn’t even tempted to. But since there were plenty of books available and she had permission to use them, time was passing pretty fast.

It had been three days when she finally heard the front door opening. Madam Rakepick appeared at the doorstep of the living room where Rowan was spending most of her days so far.

“How you’re doing, Miss Khanna?”

“I’m fine,” Rowan replied quickly.

The Curse-Breaker glanced at a small pile of tomes next to the girl, yet she didn’t comment. She got to her business in other parts of the house, leaving Rowan to herself. Then she left for a night. The similar situation repeated a couple of times in the next week. Sometimes, Madam Rakepick would ask her more questions or suggest her reading particular titles out of nowhere. Other times, she said nothing at all and just watched her carefully. No matter what, it always made Rowan a bit uneasy. Until one day, the front door opened once more, yet it was someone else who came in.

“Hi,” said Jacob blithely, popping into the room with Sickleworth on his shoulder. “How you’re feeling?”

Rowan got surprisingly happy to see him again. She could definitely use some change in the company. Besides, she actually grew to like him during that short period they knew each other, even though they had a quite hard start. A lot of things had rocked the girl’s world at that time. For one, she had to process the fact that Madam Rakepick is not evil - or at least that there’s the bigger plan behind her actions – and that she’s not going to actually kill her. Rowan was often worried about that even before the events of the Buried Vault, so overcoming it after everything was a huge deal. And then, she met Jacob – her best friend’s infamous brother, whose second disappearance was maybe as devastating as the first one. Should Rowan be angry with him because of her loyalty to Helena? But then, all of that was supposed to protect her, and not only her… There was also the fact that Jacob was older, more powerful, and appeared to be able to easily kill her as well if he wanted to. It required some kind of respect. Rowan had been conflicted. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she already had a difficult time around new people, even without those additional factors! Now, it seemed rather silly, and she still felt awkward about the moment when she called him “Mr Ellis”.

“Just call me Jacob, please,” he said then, partially amused and embarrassed. The young witch could swear that Rakepick smirked at that too.

Unlike his associate, Jacob didn’t leave shortly after his arrival, and he hung about for the next day. In fact, it turned out that he’s staying for longer. Rowan thought at first that it could be strange to have him around all the time. However, he was doing fine at being busy with his things, and usually, he wasn’t paying much attention to her. Not that she felt ignored. It was simply… natural. Sometimes, she was peeking at him curiously when she entered the study for new books, trying to figure out what he’s working on, but it was hard to tell if he’s noticing her at all. Unless he was smoking at the moment, that is. Then he would stand up almost immediately to open the window.

“Don’t tell Rakepick I smoke in here, okay?” he tended to say with a coy smile.

One day, he came downstairs and sat in the armchair, putting his legs over an arm rail – almost like his sister used to do in the Ravenclaw Common Room.

“What is it?” he asked suddenly, making Rowan realise that she’s staring at him. She shook her head, startled. “You look like you want to ask me about something, so…?”

“No, it’s nothing. It’s just… I’m sometimes noticing how you and Helena are similar.”

“Is that so? O.W.L.s were so hard on her, huh?”

Rowan didn’t understand right away, but then it occurred to her that when he smiled, you could see small wrinkles on his face. That he had bags under his eyes and single grey streaks among his dark hair. He looked tired and ill, even if he was making up for it with his attitude. It must’ve been caused by the Vault. Come to think about it, it was odd that Helena had never really mentioned his physical state. On the other hand, perhaps it’s understandable for a sister to focus more on his behaviour. Everything was always happening so fast, after all.

“Oh no, not like that! That’s not what I--”

“I know, that’s all right.” He smirked and spaced out for a moment. “I’ve got something for you. Wait here.”

He jumped out of his spot and ran back upstairs. When he returned, he was holding a purple notebook, marking some pages with his finger.

“When Helena was ten, I bought her a diary for Christmas,” he started explaining.

“I know, she was writing in it quite a lot.” Rowan recognised it as soon as she saw it. It wasn’t the exact same diary – the one Helena owned was more worn-out, and it had stickers and drawings on the cover, but they could’ve been indistinguishable when they were new.

“Yeah…” Jacob seemed to be pleased to hear that. “Though she probably didn’t know that it’s a two-way notebook. I never had a chance to explain it to her because, y’know…” He paused and cleared his throat. “Anyway, that’s the second notebook from the pair. I left it here long ago and nearly forgot about it. I normally wouldn’t read it, but… It turned out she was writing letters to me, so I guess it’s not that bad. Right?” Rowan got the impression that it was an excuse more for himself than her. He sighed. “She stopped writing months ago, but I’ve noticed recently that new entries are appearing.”

He passed to her the open notebook, and she took it uncertainly. On its pages, she saw familiar handwriting, the same she knew so well from the notes exchanged during classes.

My dearest Rowan…

She glanced over the first sentences and put her hand over her mouth to stop a sob. She closed her eyes to calm down. When she looked again, Jacob was watching her with sympathy.

“It’s your choice if you read it,” he said gently. “I didn’t look at your parts, but I imagine it’ll be a rather bittersweet experience, so consider yourself warned.”

“You said it’s a two-way notebook,” she tried to control shaking of her voice. “Does it mean I could use it to contact Helena?”

“Probably. But you know you can’t. I’m sorry, Rowan.”

She shook her head and smiled weakly. “No, don’t be. Thank you for showing me that.”

It seemed like Jacob wasn’t sure if he made the right decision. “Hey, would you help me with something, too?” he asked more cheerfully. “You know Ancient Runes, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You think you could translate something for me?”

“I can try,” Rowan replied, pressing the notebook to her chest.

“Brilliant. I’ll bring you the texts then. Take your time with them.”

She wanted to get to work right away once she got materials, but the purple notebook was still in the corner of her eye. Eventually, she gave in and started reading about what was happening at Hogwarts. She laughed and cried, learning about how her friends were dealing with everything. She was proud of them for being strong, and she wanted more than anything to hug them in the weaker moments. She felt as if Helena was sitting next to her, telling her all of that in-person – except she was so far…

Rowan couldn’t bring herself back to translating that day. Though after the sleepless night, she was glad to have something to focus on. She wondered if Jacob gave her that task right now purposefully.

“How it’s going?” he asked when he came to check her progress.

“Pretty well, actually. I had some difficulties at one point, but it went easier when I overcame it. I think I’m about half-way through.”

“Already?” Jacob flipped through some pages of her work. “I’m impressed. Good job, Rowan.” He smiled at her, but then he frowned unexpectedly. “Can I see your glasses?”

She blinked, surprised. “Um, sure.”

He carefully took them from her and examined them against the light. “They’re not mended properly. That’s why you squint,” he declared. “Did you do it yourself?”

Rowan felt that she’s blushing. “Yeah, I did…”

“It’s not your fault, glasses are tricky. They’re not as complex as tissue, but still,” he reassured her. He took his wand out to cast the spell. “Here, it should be better now.”

Rowan put her glasses back, indeed noticing a difference in her vision. “Thanks.”

“Why you didn’t say anything earlier?”

She shrugged, ignoring the warmth of her cheeks. Truth be told, she didn’t know why. She didn’t want to bother anyone, and she assumed any discomfort she’s experiencing might be related to her other injuries.

“I think I’m gonna cook something,” stated Jacob casually, changing the subject. “Are you hungry?”

He left the room and apparently encountered Madam Rakepick, who happened to be at the house.

“You could’ve at least checked her glasses,” Rowan heard him saying. He didn’t talk loudly, and the girl didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help it.

“What’s wrong with her glasses?” Rakepick replied with a question.

“They had a flaw from mending. You should take care of things like that.”

“How was I supposed to know? She didn’t complain to me.”

“Maybe because she’s afraid of you.”

“Why would she be afraid of me?”

Jacob made a weird sound which could’ve been a cough or an attempt at hiding a snigger. Rowan didn’t catch the Curse-Breaker’s response, but she made a note to herself to never reveal how sensitive her hearing is. Still, that short exchange made her think again. Because a lot of things in her life recently were confusing, yet the relationship between those two had to be at the top of the list.

Madam Rakepick continued to come back every now and then for short periods. She was spending her time mostly with Jacob alone, but sporadically, Rowan had an opportunity to be around them, too. To her surprise, they usually were getting along really well. Whether it was the case of them used to working together or just knowing more than they were telling, they quickly understood each other, and it seemed they’re making a good team. Rowan even caught them joking around a couple of times. Everything was fine - until they started fighting. Even though they never did it in front of her, she always knew about it because of yelling, which was the most unsettling part, although she rarely could distinguish the exact words.

As far as Rowan remembered, she had never heard Madam Rakepick shouting. Even when she raised her voice occasionally, she was still steady and cold. It definitely fitted her ominous aura. Supposedly, her behaviour was different in the Buried Vault, but Rowan didn’t witness that, and she never wanted to even imagine the whole situation. As for Jacob, though… Well, if Rowan didn’t know that he’s the only other person inside, she’d doubt he could yell at all. His appearance could intimidate at first, sure, but the longer she knew him, the more certain she was that he’s one of the gentlest people she had met. She kept in mind that his approach towards her might be related to Helena. However, she could also easily see him using that natural appeal to endear both teachers and classmates during his school period. Ironically, that’s probably the most effective type of troublemaker. Overall, getting into such heated quarrels seemed unusual for both of them, so the girl never knew if their subjects were this serious or it’s the matter of two characters clashing.

After one of those argues, Jacob stormed into the kitchen where Rowan was sitting at the table. He lent over the counter, hanging his head down in frustration until the door slam.

“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered. Rowan looked at him questioningly. “Me and Rakepick, that is,” he clarified, straightening up. “I imagine it’s not very comforting when the only two people you’re supposed to depend on are at each other’s throats.”

She didn’t know what to answer, so she kept quiet. Jacob in the meantime took out his pack of cigarettes and lit up. He took a puff and chuckled softly.

“Patricia can be difficult to work with,” he continued talking. “She’d probably say the same about me. But it’s nothing that should concern you. In fact, things go pretty well.” He seemed genuine, as always.

They sat in silence for a while before Rowan tried to take up the conversation. “It had to be hard for you to trust her…”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, after she left you in the Vault and all.” She felt nervous talking about it, but it was bothering her for so long. “Or did you know that she had no choice or something?”

He didn’t reply right away and bit his lips. “Yeah, something like that…”

He suddenly appeared more absent but not upset with her, so she decided to push further. “Jacob? Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Last year, when there was the Portrait Curse at Hogwarts, our friend’s sister got trapped. She was getting weaker with each day, losing the sense of reality. How it’s possible…” She forced herself to raise her head and look at him, hoping to see his reaction. “How did you even survive for so long?”

There was no reaction, he only stared at the floor. That’s what Rowan was afraid of. She kept noticing little things that weren’t adding up. Like from time to time, Jacob would mention not seeing his sister in years. She also couldn’t believe that Jacob would reproach anyone for anything, even if it was about hesitating before setting him free – and that’s what he was doing according to Helena’s stories.

“You weren’t trapped at all, were you?” she asked quietly.

Their eyes finally met. “No, I wasn’t.”

Rowan instinctively reached to her wand, which she always carried with her, just like Madam Rakepick told her to. Yet Jacob remained calm, resting against the counter and smoking casually.

“But you are Helena’s brother? And she has only one brother?”

“Yeah.”

Her heart started beating faster. “Then who did she save from the portrait?”

“Let’s not talk about it.” He took a deep breath. “Look, Rowan, I’m sorry, I really am. I just can’t tell you everything, at least not now. Helena is safe, and I’ll do anything to keep it that way as long as I’m alive.” He put out the cigarette and sat in front of her. “I want to protect you, too, but it means keeping information from you. I know it’s hard, and frustrating, and scary. But it has to be that way. Do you understand?”

Rowan truly wanted to believe him. But at the same time, it hit her how little she knew about what she had gotten into. What if she was on the wrong side? What if she got manipulated? But it couldn’t be… She spent the whole night thinking about different possibilities. She ended up browsing the purple notebook once again. Could it be fake, forged to influence her emotionally? No… The new entries were still appearing and some of them were too detailed to not be written by Helena. No, neither Jacob nor Madam Rakepick was lying to her. But even when holding to that faith, it was terrifying to realise that there is a lot of unknown danger out there. Rowan believed that her decision would keep her friends safe. However, how much truth was in that? And if she somehow could warn them to be careful, how would she warn about something she didn’t understand? She closed the notebook, resisting the urge to write something in it.

The next morning when she went down to the kitchen, she found there both Jacob and Madam Rakepick drinking coffee. It actually was the first time she saw them in a situation like that, and it was almost bizarre. If she had any company in the morning, it was Jacob alone. For a moment, she was taken aback, not sure if she can interrupt them. Nevertheless, she wanted to talk to them anyway, so she got the courage up to speak up.

“I want to help,” she announced. “I don’t have to know everything, but I can still do something. I did translations for Jacob, I can do more. I can do analysis, I can organise things--”

“I hope you paid attention to the books I recommended you, Miss Khanna,” Rakepick cut in.

Rowan hesitated, confused by the sudden remark. “Yes, of course.”

“Good. It’ll be helpful in your research.”

“I’ll be doing research?”

“Yes, you just said that you want to help.”

The girl immediately got excited and lightened up. “On the Cursed Vaults? Or on R? Or–”

“How about you start with breakfast?” the redhead interrupted her again, raising her eyebrow. She took a sip of her beverage, temporarily closing the case. Jacob only grinned at them while placing an additional plate.

Rowan took her seat at the table, even though she wasn’t hungry at all. If everyone fights, she’s going to fight, too, in the best way she can. And should the worst happen – whatever it would be – she’s going to be prepared.

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Not Without You (Canon Divergence Stucky Fix-It-Fic)

Eleven:

"Okay, here we go!" Bruce announced, "Time travel test number one. Scott, fire up the uh… the van… thing…"

Gazing over the breakers and making sure the generators were good to go, if need-be, Steve crossed the lab to where everyone else was. Bruce was pushing a lot of different buttons while Scott stood in his Ant-Man costume in front of the Quantum Tunnel.

"Breakers are set," Steve informed, "Generators are on standby."

"Good," Bruce assured. "'Cause if we blow the grid, I don't wanna lose Tiny here in the 1950s."

"Excuse me?" Cassie asked, defensively crossing her arms along her chest as she looked startled for her father.

Scott attempted to reassure her, "He's joking," even though it was easy to see that he wasn't too sure either.

Natasha rushed in hushed tones as she reprimanded, "You can't say things like that!"

"Just… It was a bad joke," Bruce poorly lied. So much so that even Steve rolled his eyes at him.

Worried, Cassie crossed the distance to Scott and wrapped her arms around him again. Considering how she had just gotten him back, Steve couldn't imagine what she was feeling now. Scott was brave.

Or stupid.

"You were kidding, right?" Steve quietly questioned, keeping his gaze on the Langs. Feeling personally responsible for whatever was about to happen to them.

Whispering, Bruce confessed, "I have no idea. We're talking about time travel here. Either it's all a joke, or none of it is."

Steve didn't like that answer. He didn't like it one bit. It caused his stomach to sink at the possibility that if this was to go wrong, it'd be his fault. Again. And Cassie didn't deserve that. Scott didn't either, and Steve knew that if Scott was lost, he'd never be able to forgive himself.

"We're good!" Bruce loudly exclaimed. Enthusiastically giving Scott a big thumbs up while Cassie moved until she joined the trio behind the control panel. He instructed, "Get your helmet on, Scott. I'm gonna send you back a week, let you walk around for an hour, then bring you back in 10 seconds. Make sense?"

"Perfectly not confusing," Scott sarcastically commented, jitterily moving around.

"Good luck, dad," Cassie encouraged.

"Thanks, Peanut," he smiled at his daughter.

"You got this," Steve added with a nod and a grin.

"You're right," Scott agreed, "I do, Captain America."

The Quantum Tunnel whirred even louder, the lights shining brighter, and in a blink of an eye, Scott was gone. For a moment, Steve's heart jumped into his throat as he watched the man just disappear. And although his first reaction was to jerk and flinch, he decidedly didn't do that. Instead, he dug his fingernails into the red sleeves of his Henley cladded arms and stood as still as the other three, all because he didn't want to cause the one anymore anxiety than necessary from watching her father poof away in front of their very eyes.

"On the count of three," Bruce started, flipping switches as he counted down, "Three, two, one!"

Pressing the button, everyone let out a breath of relief when a body was standing in front of them. However, that relief didn't last when it was very obviously not the man they were all expecting. No, instead a young teen stood there.

"Uh, guys?" The boy questioned.

"This isn't right," Cassie commented, eyes wide as she looked at the person in front of the Quantum Tunnel.

Keeping his tone low, Steve asked, "What is this?"

Distracted by the panel in front of him, Bruce questioned, "What's going on," all of two seconds before looking up and seeing exactly what was going on.

Not that that stopped Natasha from clarifying, "That! Who is that?"

Through thinly veiled panic, Bruce started pushing more buttons and flipping more switches. Very obviously trying to fix whatever they did wrong as he assured, "Hold on."

"Is that Scott?" Nat questioned, exchanging a worried glance with Steve.

"Yes, it's Scott!" The boy rushed, tapping his chest and the suit that was definitely not made for a child.

In another blink, the younger iteration of Scott was sucked back through the Quantum Tunnel. Of course, that didn't make Steve feel any better. And neither did the older man who came back in his place.

"Ow! My back!" The man complained, bringing his hand to his back as if that'd help with his pain.

"What is this?" Steve asked Bruce through clenched teeth.

"Can I get a little space here?" Bruce pointedly questioned Steve as he moved about the panel, trying to fix this.

"Yeah, yeah," Steve commented, dramatically throwing his arms up in the air while taking a step back.

Cassie held her hands in tight fists by her sides as she asked, "Can you bring him back?"

Hitting his palm against the side of a button pad the same way Steve would to a TV remote as he assured, "I'm working on it!"

Through the Quantum Tunnel, the old Scott was pulled back in. Within an instant, a baby sat in the spot before the tunnel. Stunned, Steve stated the obvious, "It's a baby."

"It's Scott," Bruce corrected.

"As a baby!" Cassie shouted, on the verge of hysterical.

Trying to ease the situation, Bruce reassured, "He'll grow."

"Bring Scott back!" Steve demanded on behalf of Cassie.

Motioning towards the breakers and generators, Bruce instructed, "When I say kill the power, kill the power."

"Oh my god," Natasha rushed as she quickly walked over to the breakers.

"And," more switches flipped, Bruce pointed to Natasha as he pushed on a large button, "Kill it!"

Nat pulled down the lever, shutting everything down. Thankfully, Scott -- the normal Scott -- was standing there. Admittedly, looking a little queasy and disconcerted. But at least it was their Scott, Steve guessed.

Cassie touched her hand to her chest as she sighed in relief and commented, "Oh, thank god."

Theatrically holding his arms out, as if showing off the panel display, or even the lab itself, Bruce enthusiastically stated, "Time travel!"

Scrubbing his hand over his face, Steve shook his head. Relieved that Scott was back. But losing an ounce of hope that they'll figure this out without Tony. It wasn't anything against Bruce and his seven PhDs, it was just that this seemed more up Tony's alley. He wondered if he groveled and begged and flattered Tony enough, the man would find pity for Steve and agree.

After all, this was all Steve had now.

While Cassie helped Scott over to a chair, Steve finally let himself ease in his position. As Natasha wrote something down on her notepad and Bruce tinkered around with the panel, Steve decided that he needed some air.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, Steve scrolled through his contacts. Knowing that it shouldn't be such a deal to call Tony up. Sure, their relationship wasn't the steadiest. But when was it ever? No, this hesitation was because he didn't want to take Tony away from his retirement. He didn't want Tony to come back because he knew that he wouldn't want someone to call him to return either.

Before he could make a decision, a snazzy, shiny Audi R8 sped up the compound drive. And considering there was only one person that would ever be so casually ostentatious, Steve couldn't help but breathe a little easier.

"Why the long face? Besides looking like you just lost a lumberjack little league game?" Tony asked as he climbed out of the car and causing Steve to glance down at his 3/4 sleeve Henley white-red shirt. Arrogantly, Tony assumed, "Let me guess: he turned into a baby."

"Among other things, yeah," Steve admitted. Crossing his arms along his chest, he questioned, "What are you doing here?"

Ignoring Steve's question, Tony walked around to the back of the car and explained, "That's the EPR Paradox. Instead of pushing Lang through time, you might've wound up pushing time through Lang. It's tricky. Dangerous. Someone should've cautioned you against it."

"You did," Steve confirmed, half-annoyed with the intelligent man, but mostly grateful for him being there.

"Oh, I did," Tony mocked, "Thank god, I'm here."

Playfully, Steve rolled his eyes, but he didn't interject. No, he knew Tony well enough to know that the man wanted to gloat some more.

Sure enough, Tony held up his hand, to show the back of it and the small watch-like device as he confirmed, "Regardless, I fixed it. A fully functioning Time-Space GPS." Dropping his hand, Tony's expression twisted into a more somber one as he confessed, "I just want peace. Turns out, resentment is corrosive, and I hate it."

"Me too," Steve conceded, feeling so hopeful that he could feel the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes.

"We got a shot at getting these stones, but I gotta tell you my priorities," Tony started, causing Steve to tense. "Bring back what we lost? I hope, yes. Keep what I got? I have to, at all costs. And… maybe not die trying will be nice."

There was absolutely no way that Steve would ever let anything happen to Morgan or Pepper, or Tony. So, it really wasn't difficult for him to agree, "Sounds like a deal."

Turning, Tony reached into the car's trunk and pulled out the shield. The one that Steve had worked so hard to honor. The one that drove a wedge between him and his loved ones. The one that he wasn't sure he could ever wield again.

As Tony held it out to him, Steve hesitated, "Tony…"

"Why? He made it for you," Tony reasoned, pushing it further towards Steve. Teasing, he continued, "Plus, I have to get it out of the garage before Morgan runs off with it again."

Fitting his arm into the straps, Steve smiled up at him, "Thank you, Tony."

Hiding behind humor, Tony joked, "Will you keep that quiet? Didn't bring one for the whole team." Pausing, Tony asked, "We are getting the whole team, yeah?"

"We're working on it," Steve assured with a celebratory smirk.

[hollands-poppet]

Dancing with Our Hands Tied // Part 8 ( Last Part..) // Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Tom Holland is your best friend and your roommate, but you both have undisclosed feelings for each other.

Word count: 3K💛

A/N: HELLLOO BABIES!! AMY IS BACK FROM THE DEAD. HAHA jk, well kind of. I really wanted to finish this story because I just kind of want to move on from this phase of my life, as far as my fan fictions go. I still want to write, I just want to move on from this story. I love you guys, hope it was worth the wait!!!  💛 💛 💛

Warnings:  cussing, I didn’t proofread at all lmao.. I’m just gonna copy and past all my warnings now hahaha y’all get so butthurt on here (like fake fucking homecomings like wtf), its just a fucking story. anyway, this shit ain’t real..if you don’t want to read what people want to put out then maybe fan fictions aren’t for ya.. y’all are super sensitive on here lmao k thanks for coming to my ted talk bye and I kind of proofread but not really

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7

-

-

“You what?!” Zendaya yells at Tom who is zipping up his spidey suit.

“I broke up with her.” And he says it with such anger in himself, he would admit that he had a short temper but he knew he fucked up. He didn’t mean to break up with her but the heat of the moment brought up all these emotions and he wanted to hurt her in that short second. It had been a day since he had about seen y/n but it felt like a lifetime.

In that short second, he wanted to hurt her because she had hurt him. But had he waited another second, none of this would have happened if he had just listened to what she had to say..but he didn’t. He brought breaking up first, and he knew it was fault.

“Tom, you realize that you screwed this up right? I really don’t know what else to tell you.” Zendaya says as she waits for her co-star to get ready to shoot.

He wouldn’t admit it but the truth burned, “I know! I know! But- I just..I didn’t think about what I was saying..I just wanted her to come back with me, y’know?” He finishes zipping up the side of the suit and faces Z in the face and away from the mirror in his trailer, “I fucked up..and that’s that.”

Zendaya gives a sarcastic smile as she begins to slow clap, “Royally, my friend.”

Tom rolls his eyes and flips off his friend whose only laying out the plain truth, and only a few seconds later Harrison walks in with a cup of coffee.

“Is that my coffee?” Tom asks as he walks towards his friend/assistant but finds that the cup of joe moves over his hand.

“No mate, sorry.” Haz takes a sip, “Honestly, you don’t want to kiss Zendaya with coffee breath though.:

Z and Tom’s heads both snap at the exact moment in shock and at same time speak, “that’s today?!”

Haz gulps down another sip of his coffee, “Yeah, talk about bad timing. Break up with your girlfriend and kiss another girl right in front of her. What a time to be an actor!” The blonde says exaggeratingly to annoy his best friend.

Tom sighs as she walks towards the exit of his trailer, “Is y/n on set yet?”

Haz shrugs as he looks at himself in the vanity, “Not sure, maybe.” Z lightly smacks the back of his head, “You’re literally no help.”

-

Everyone on set was ready, it had taken about two hours to prep and all the crew was waiting for was the talent. y/n was along one of the crew to wait around to touch up Z, she wore barely to any makeup for the role of MJ. Her job for this specific film was to make sure her hair looked consistent and to pat away any shiny-ness on Z’s face.

She waited for Tom and Zendaya along with everyone and she didn’t know how she really felt about that, she wasn’t sure what they were filming today to be honest. She did notice some harnesses, so she figured that her ex was probably going to be filming some stunts. Even though they were no longer an item, to even refer to Tom as in ex in her mind really hurt.

She didn’t understand why he would do that to her, and for such a stupid reason too, well in her opinion at least. She knew Tom was going to feel some type of way about her not moving to Kingston, but she didn’t think the worst. She didn’t know it was going to be his deal breaker.

y/n clears her throat as away to get back in focus because the talent is finally arriving on set, and from the distance there she spots him. She sees Tom and Z walk on set, and his mask is already on. The only visible part of his face were his eyes, he couldn’t put on the spidey eyes until they were ready to film for safety reasons.

Z breaks off from Tom and makes her towards y/n to get touched up before they start filming. Tom makes his way towards the stunt coordinator and towards the harnesses to discuss what’s about to go down.

y/n hears her name and immediately focuses back on her task, this was not the time and place to be thinking about this. She pulls a powder puff and brush so that she can begin touching up Zendaya.

“How you feeling?” Z asks as she looks into her friends eyes, y/n sighs as she pats down her forehead and completely avoids eye contact.

She almost whispers her response because she doesn’t want to even think about it, “Just leave it alone, please.”

Y/N puts away her brush and powder in her belt and re-adjusts Z’s hair just to make sure it’s been consistent since the last time they shot. “Don’t worry about me today.”

And for the most part, Y/N was zoned out until she was called to fix Zendaya’s hair or touch up her shine. A lot ran through her mind as she stand behind the tents and cameras, and a lot was about her and Tom and if all these fighting was worth it anymore.

When y/n wasn’t zoned out, she would catch glimpses of Zendaya and Tom laughing and talking. It almost stung because he was so nonchalant about everything but he also had a job to do, and so did y/n.

y/n and tom started off as roommates and nothing more but this nothing turned into something. She knew what she was getting herself into and now she just wanted a way out of it.

All she needed was time and he couldn’t give that to her… well that’s what it seemed like. People in love say ‘home is where the heart is’ and if that’s what Tom was then why couldn’t she let go of the rest.. right?

More bitterness began to hit as the day was closer to ending. This was the last day of filming and she couldn’t believe that these past few months had gone by so quickly. It also hit her that she hasn’t gotten help for her trauma that she hadn’t taken care of.

She knew it was a reason that caused her and Tom break up.

As Tom and Zendaya swing down from the air and onto the pavement, y/n watches from the distance as the two lock eyes and the film is still rolling. He pulls of his mask and immediately locks his lips with Zendaya, and it’s almost a stab to the heart.

And they didn’t just shoot this scene once, they shot it enough that y/n had to move away from the main set while she hung out at the food table.

This was all fake and she knew that, and she was going to be fine. It was a little annoying to see but she knew that he loved her whether he had to kiss her best friend or not. And this was one of the last of her problems because she had nowhere to live and also had ptsd.

“cut! and that’s a wrap!”

y/n sighs and lets out a fake smile as the rest of the crew who claps out of excitement because quite literally this was the last scene. She claps from the food table as she watches her friends from the distance. Spiderman:far from home was done and so were her and Tom?

-

-

y/n had began packing for a couple of hours now, shooting was wrapped and she had no other reason to be in new york anymore. z was on her way back home to vacation with her family and y/n literally had nowhere to go. She wasn’t sure what Tom had done with their apartment back in LA but she as hell didn’t want to back there.

Her ptsd from that awful situation still haunts her and being alone in that place would trigger her so bad. This was truly one of those moments that she didn’t know if she could escape from, she had to face her fears whether that meant being homeless for a couple of days or facing Tom. She didn’t know if she could do either of them but she had to choose.

It was like in that moment the energy had brought up the knock on your hotel room door, “Who is it?” She asks as she continues shoving some of her toiletries in her luggage. The person’s voice at the door was too faint to hear so she decided to look and there stood her tall friend, Zendaya. y/n wasn’t too excited about company at the moment but she decided to open the door for her friend, “ Hey..”

Z smiles awkwardly, her snaggle tooth making an appearance, “Can I come in?”

y/n purses her lips in thought and nods almost hesitantly but let’s her friend into her room, “What’s up?” She asks as she closes her room door.

“I just wanted to check up on you, you’ve been pretty distant since we filmed last..” Zendaya turns around to face y/n who is still close to the door, “Like right now, your energy feels so off.”

y/n sighs, rubs her eyes in frustration and completely forgets she has mascara on, “I mean, Tom and I are done. I’m kind of upset about that.”

Z crosses her arms, she believed y/n but something felt different. “Okay, I get that but did I do something?” Her arms unfold and she rest her to hands on her chest, “Did I do something personally to upset you?”

And in fact, y/n wasn’t upset with her good friend at all but just bitter because she was freely being intimate with Tom on set. It was work though, Tom and Z’s job is romantic at the moment and y/n had no say in that but it also wasn’t her friend’s fault. In truth, y/n couldn’t bare the sight of them together but she had no right to be upset at her friend.

Although y/n wanted to tell Z the truth, right now wasn’t the time. “I- I just have a lot on my mind, I’m kind of homeless right now so I’m trying to figure out where I should even book a flight to.”

Z walks up to her friend and holds both of her elbows, she is super confused. “What do you mean..homeless? Your apartment..?”

y/n nods her head in defeat, even bowing her head because she can’t look her friend in the eyes, “I can’t go back there..it’s just too much.” Just thinking about the break in makes her so nauseous, the tears in her eyes beginning to overflow.

“Is it because of Tom?” Z asks, and y/n’s head immediately shoots up, “How dare you ask that.”

y/n’s tone becomes serious, her two tears flow down her cheeks as her eyes dry up, “I have more important things to deal with than him. I think I fucking need therapy for that fucking break in because I’m so fucked up and I can’t be alone.”

“Then don’t be, y/n.”

y/n nods her head, her throat burning because she is triggered that her friend is hitting the spots that she has been avoiding.

“For fucksakes, he literally wants to move to a different country with you..please help me understand.” Zendaya’s voice is in between frustrated but also understanding, she wants nothing but the best for her friend.

“That’s the thing... I need to be alone.” y/n moves past her friend and sits next to her luggage, “I need to be okay to be alone again. I love him so much..I just can’t be alone and what if-”

“What if?” Z asks before she can even finish her sentence. She makes her way next to y/n and moves her hair behind her ears, desperate to try and help her friend find an answer.

“What if I let my trauma take over my life?” She sighs as she lets out a few more tears, “I just know that I have to take care of this.”

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Even though filming was done, Tom was going to stay in the big apple for a couple of more days. He was going to make an appearance at jimmy kimmel the next night so he was resting up. He lay on his bed in his pajamas and phone in hand just scrolling through his instagram when he gets a call.

Her name reads across the screen as he sits up quickly and blinks a couple of more times to make sure this was real.

“Hello?” He says into the phone, waiting to hear her voice on the other side.

“Hey...uhm, I’m outside your door.”

He keeps the phone to his ear as he gets up from his bed and makes his way to the hotel door, removing all the extra locks and there she was.

There is awkward tension but the energy flowing between them also feels safe. She brings her phone to her jean pocket and clears her throat, “Can I…?” She doesn’t even finish her question, it doesn’t give Tom more than a second to move out of the way.

He finally removes the phone from his ear, “I didn’t think you would still be here.”

She shrugs her shoulders as she stands in the middle of his room, “There were still things I needed to take care of.”

“Like us?” Tom bluntly asks, he needed to know and she needed to know that he fucked up. y/n looks to the ground and bites her bottom lip and makes eye contact with him, “There is no us..not anymore and I just wanted to-”

“No,no,no,” He repeatedly says as he drops

his phone to the floor and makes his way to her, “Listen, I fucked up so badly and I just wanted you to know that we don’t have to move anywhere you don’t want to.”

y/n purses her lips in thought, not even directly making eye contact with him. “I just- I need help.”

Tom shrugs his neck back a bit in confusion, “What?”

Tears begin to flow down her cheeks as she lets out a sigh in between an awkward laugh, “I need to be able to be alone..whether we’re together or not. I need to be able to be independent and not afraid.”

Before he can even respond, she continues. “And trust me, moving to a different country with you has nothing to do with it. And the old me would’ve went in a heartbeat...I need to find her again.”

Tom is still slightly unaware at what she is hinting it, he understands that the break in still has her a bit paranoid. “So, what are you saying?”

“I’m going to start going to therapy.” She lets out as she stands in the front of his bed, she meddles with her fingers as she finally releases her truth.

“And that’s okay, darling. I’m literally going to be here with you every step of the way.” Tom remarks as he finally makes his way to her, his hands interlocking with hers. Her hands weren’t as warm as they usually were but there he was to make her feel safe again. His hands move from her hands and up her arms, she still isn’t making eye contact with him.

“We can’t, Tom.” She doesn’t move, not even an inch because the warmth feels nice and familiar. She’s weary of even giving into a hug or a kiss, she doesn’t want to regret her decision.

He notices her not wanting to give into him but he also knows that this is what she has wanted for a long time..actually what they both have wanted for the longest time.

“Come on, love...aren’t you tired of dancing with our hands tied?” He asks as his hands rest on her neck, and her hands slowly come up his.

Her head comes closer to his, their noses touching at this point, “I am tired..but I need to work on myself first.”

Their lips touch and it felt like nothing has ever went wrong between the two. They were just two young kids who wanted only this and this moment to last forever.

She pulls away and her sighs, she needs to express a bit more before any of this goes further, “Tom..I just want you to know that I can’t move to Kingston…”

He nods in agreement as their noses are still intact, “That’s okay, love. You don’t-”

“But, I do. I really do want to move there and be with you.” She bites her bottom lip as her hands hold onto arms tightly, “I just need to make sure I’m okay..And I don’t know if that’ll be tomorrow, a week, a month, a year.” There is a pause between the two, she’s nervous. All she wanted was this to work and whether that meant they had to work on themselves separately or together.

All y/n wanted to make sure was that he made her heart feel safe, and that if this wasn’t okay that he needed to tell her that. All she wanted to hear was that it was going to be okay, and his response was only a few moments away. She hoped he didn’t run away this time.

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A/N: SO DON’T FREAK OUT. THERE IS GOING TO BE AN EPILOGUE. UNTIL THEN...HIT MY MESSAGES..SEND ME THEORIES, THOUGHTS ANYHTING! LOVE YOU GUYS.  -Amy 💛