#november hurry up >:T

[mukuberry]

Rabbit Hole reloaded...... [shivers]

[anna-hawk]

Pardon my French

Michael “Mikey” Berzatto x Reader

Summary: You should never assume that the person you're talking about in another language doesn't happen to speak that same language.

Rating: T | WC: 5.8k

CW: none except my sense of humor, French-speaking reader, French, crack, fluff, meet-cute

Read it on AO3

The happiest of birthdays to my favorite person on here, @darlingshane. Amaya, I don't even know what I could say that I haven't already said 100 times. All I will say is that I love you from the bottom of my heart and that having you as a close friend has been a wonderful experience these past 4 years 🧡🧡🧡

This time, as a gift, I decided to go for Mikey, considering how much you've grown to love him. Your fics for him are some of your best, with “Salt of the Earth”, so I thought I could do a little homage. I was reading through a list of prompts for meet-cutes last month and this really spoke to me. Your Spanish reader fics were extremely fun, which was what inspired me and made me decide to make this into your gift. While I obviously can't write a Spanish reader, I thought you would enjoy something with a French reader instead.

✨Have fun and again, happy birthday!✨

Taking a left at the next street corner, you quickly hurried across the road when you saw the green traffic light for pedestrians. 

“You really suck, Caroline,” you grumbled into your phone, as the chill of November blasted a cold gust of wind into your face. 

Your cousin laughed before sighing deeply. “I know… Trust me, this was not what I had in mind for today either.” 

You sighed in turn as you glanced around for a place to head inside and warm up a bit. “How’s the fever?”

“It’s a bit lower. She’s sleeping for now.” 

“Good,” you smiled at the relief in your cousin’s voice. 

You had intended to spend the day together, but her daughter had come down with a nasty cold that had held both parents up for most of the night. 

“What’s the plan now?” Caroline asked right as you entered the nearest shop to get out of the cold wind. 

As soon as you were inside, you were met with the sound of shouting from the register as someone called out orders, while the delicious smell of homemade food hit your nose. 

“Getting something to eat,” you replied distractedly while taking in your surroundings. 

You hadn’t noticed what kind of establishment you’d entered, but since you hadn’t had breakfast that morning, and with the scents all around you, you figured that you could grab a bite. 

“Oh, where?”

“Dunno.” You looked around until you saw a white sign with green lettering. “The Beef… some small place selling Italian beef, apparently… Smells really good,” you added, as you walked up towards the small line at the register. 

“Yo, cuz, what’cha doin’ back there?” the man at the register bellowed to the back of the shop. “People fuckin’ waitin’ here. Get a fuckin’ move on.”

“Fuck you, Richie. You come back here if-”

“Hey, hey, hey. Will you calm the fuck down, yeah?” said another man, who was straightening from where he’d been looking for something under the counter next to the shouting one. 

Your eyes instantly slid to that man, taking note of the thick, dark hair on top of his head, the sharp jaw and the broad shoulders stretching out the shirt. 

“Ah, ben maintenant je sais pourquoi ça s’appelle The Beef, (Well, now I know why it's called The Beef),” you uttered into the phone, automatically switching to French to talk to your cousin, while giving the man a slow once over as you reached the front of the line. 

She laughed heartily and made a curious sound. “Pourquoi? (Why?)” 

“Hey, what can I get for you today, sweetheart?” asked the guy called Richie as he shot you a smile. 

You unfortunately had to look away from the other man and smiled as you looked at the sandwich list. 

“Hold on a sec,” you addressed Caroline. “Hey, hi… um… an Original would be good, thanks… and a soda, please.”

“Sure thing… want it to go or you stayin’?” 

“Not going back into that wind for a while if possible,” you stated fervently, which had Richie chuckling, while the dark-haired man snorted and nodded his head as he finished another order. 

“Right, that’ll be $8.50… Go have a seat. We’ll send someone out in a sec.” 

Nodding and quickly paying while Richie bellowed your order towards the back, you made your way to the two-person table that had the best vantage point on the register. 

“We’ll definitely have to come back here,” you stated to your cousin, as you sat down and removed your coat while you watched the dark-haired man smiling or shouting his way through the orders. 

“I think I’ve actually heard of the place. The name sounds familiar anyway. Family run business, I think.”

“Sure looks like it. From the way they keep freaking yelling at each other, it probably is.” 

“So… tell me more about this Mr. Beef,” she snickered. 

Switching over to your earphones to make eating easier while talking to Caroline, you made a more detailed description of the man’s features. 

A few minutes later, you sat up straight when you noticed him coming into your direction with your order. “He’s coming over, hold on.”

“Here you go, sweetheart,” he smiled, placing the sandwich and soda in front of you. 

“Thank you,” you grinned, hearing him calling you sweetheart having a wholly different effect on you than when Richie had said it. 

“Lemme know if you need anything else,” he requested, while pulling a rag out of his apron and walking backwards to the table next to yours. 

“Thanks. I’m good for now.” 

He nodded and turned around, which revealed his denim clad backside to you.

“Tu sais quoi? Je ne t’en veux même plus de ne pas être venue, (You know what? I'm not even mad you couldn't come anymore.),” you told your cousin, as your eyes fixed on the moving ass before you while the man cleaned the table-top.  

She snorted at your tone. “Et qu’est-ce qui te fait dire ��a? (And what’s making you say this?)”

“Et bien… Il est en train de nettoyer la table juste à côté de la mienne… Et je peux te dire qu’il a une belle paire de miches**. C’est sur elles que j’aimerais manger cet Italian beef. (Well… He's cleaning the table right next to mine… And let me tell you that he has a gorgeous ass. I'd rather eat that Italian beef on that.)”

She burst out laughing this time. “T’es pas possible. (You're the worst.) ” 

You grinned at her laughter, while continuing to watch the man, who'd stopped for a second before resuming cleaning the table.

“Je les pétrirais volontiers celles-là. (I'd love to knead that.)” 

“Toi et tes blagues de bouffe. (You and your food jokes),” she wheezed, and you could easily imagine her shaking her head. 

You chuckled lightly and bit into your sandwich, which turned out to be delicious. You moaned your appreciation. 

“We're so coming back here,” you said with enthusiasm and took another bite. 

The man turned around and shot you an amused smirk, before walking up to your table and leaning slightly into your space.

“Et comme mes miches, tout est fait maison ici. (And like my ass, everything here's homemade.)”

Your mouth fell open and only reflexes kept the sandwich from slipping through your fingers as you stared at him in utter shock. He winked at you and began walking to the next room where other tables stood. 

“Oublie ce que je viens de dire… Je dois quitter la ville, (Forget what I said… I need to leave town.),” you said feebly, while staring after him and hearing him laughing at your words. 

“Hein? Pourquoi? Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? (Huh? Why? What happened?)”

“Caro…” you whispered, still in shock. “Il parle français. (Caro… He speaks French.)” 

There was a second of silence, soon followed by your cousin's loud, screaming laughter coming through the earphones. 

“Qu'est-ce qu'il a dit? (What did he say?)” she gasped out in between peels of laughter. 

“Que, comme ses miches, tout est fait maison ici. (That, like his ass, everything here's homemade.),” you mumbled, while putting the sandwich down and hiding your face in your hands. 

She laughed even more, cackling through wheezing breaths. 

“I can't show my face here anymore,” you groaned, looking forlornly at your sandwich. 

“Was he angry? From what he told you, he didn't seem to be.”

“No… he looked amused. But that's not the point… I talked about kneading that man's ass right in front of him,” you moaned and shook your head. 

Caroline chuckled lightly. “At least you weren't badmouthing him.” 

You only hummed and folded up the sandwich. There was no way that you could eat this now. About to bemoan going back into the wind to escape your embarrassment, you heard your niece’s tiny voice calling for her mother. 

“Sorry, gotta go,” Caroline said hurriedly before speaking softly to her daughter. 

“No problem. Give her a big hug from me.”

“Will do… Keep me posted on the hot stranger situation.”

You snorted. “There's no situation at all. I'm gonna slink out of here and never come back.”

Caroline laughed softly. “Whatever… talk later.”

“Yeah, later.” 

You removed the earphones and placed them back into their case before checking your surroundings. How could you have been so stupid and run your mouth like that? Caroline was right, he didn’t look angry at all, but you’d rarely felt this embarrassed in your life. You quickly put everything into your bag and left a large tip on the table before getting up. As you put on your coat, you noticed the man standing in front of a wall as he checked the light fixture. Glad that he couldn’t see you, you were about to run out when something held you back. You bit over your bottom lip as you contemplated him and sighed deeply. 

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” you asked tentatively as you reached him. 

His head turned to you in surprise, before a large smirk appeared on his handsome face as he moved his whole body toward you. Damn, he really did look incredibly good. 

“What can I do for you?”

“Uh… well, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I hope I didn’t offend you or anything. I’m always the first one to tell people to be careful with speaking another language in front of others and not assume they don’t understand you, but here I was doing it anyway,” you said in a rush, glancing at him in between words while mostly avoiding direct eye contact. 

“Eh, don't worry, it's not like you were talking shit about me so…” he trailed off with a light shrug, while his grin never left his face. 

“Maybe, but still… I'm sorry.”

“Don't be…” He leaned in closer as he lowered his voice. “Ça ne me gêne pas. Surtout quand ça vient d'une aussi belle bouche que la tienne. (I don't mind. Especially when it comes from a pretty mouth like yours.)” 

Your eyes widened, while you felt your whole face warming again when his gaze dropped to your parted lips. That’s not what you had expected him to say. 

“Well,” you breathed, your eyes locking with his as he looked up again. “Good to know.”

You stood there, watching each other for a few seconds, before Richie’s voice boomed through the snack. 

“Hey, Cuz, Fak’s on the line ‘bout the fridge.” 

The man in front of you didn’t react except to briefly lift his eyes toward where the voice was coming from before looking at you again. 

“Mikey!” 

“For fuck’s sake. I heard you. Tell him I’ll call him back in a sec,” he called out irritably. 

You laughed to yourself at his annoyance at being interrupted, which had his attention returning to you. Shaking his head with a small grin and a sigh, he put his hands in the pockets of the blue apron.

“You leaving already?” he asked after a beat, as he noticed that you had your coat on and your table was cleaned off. 

You grinned inwardly at the word already, as if he was regretting seeing you leave sooner than he had expected. 

“Yeah… think I’ll just head home for the day. No weather for nice walks outside.”

Mikey only hummed in agreement and looked down with a small crease between his brows. 

“But I’ll be back,” you blurted out, which had him staring back at you with raised eyebrows. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm… best Italian sandwich I’ve had… Need to have another taste and all.” 

“Glad to hear it,” he smiled, inclining his head to one side as he stared at you intently. 

You suddenly didn’t feel like leaving at all anymore, but sitting back down would seem weird now, right? He was obviously flirting with you, much to your surprised delight, yet you didn’t feel like coming across as too eager either. 

“‘Kay, then… I — uh — I’ll see you next time, I guess.” 

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he smiled softly, while his gaze remained focused on you. 

“Right… bye, Mikey,” you babbled, finally taking a step back just when you saw him grinning at you using his name. 

“A la prochaine. (Until next time),” he replied, following you towards the front of the shop. 

Your name came through your lips like a reflex, and you would have felt embarrassed about that too had Mikey not smiled at learning it. When he repeated the goodbyes with your name this time, you left with a wide smile and barely felt the wind across your skin as you headed home. 

**The word ‘ miche’ stands for a loaf of bread, but it’s often used to refer to someone’s butt because, as you can guess, of its rounded form. Reader wants to "knead that dough". 

After that day, you had returned as promised. 

On the first time, they’d had a busy day, with the line far longer than the last time you’d been there. Mikey hadn’t been at the register, which had disappointed you, but you’d still ordered the same thing as last time. You hadn’t lied when you’d said that it was the best Italian beef you’d had. As you’d been about to walk to a free table, Mikey had come out of the kitchen with a large tray filled with orders. He’d stopped in his tracks as he noticed you and smiled brightly in recognition. Unfortunately, this had been the only interaction that day, since he’d had to return to the kitchen immediately. 

On your third visit, Caroline insisted on coming along. She told you that she wanted to taste the infamous Italian beef that people raved about at her job, but you knew that it also was to get a look at Mikey. However, like last time, he wasn’t at the register. She looked at Richie and then back at you with a raised eyebrow, but you only rolled your eyes at her. 

“Il a les yeux bleus, celui-là (This one has blue eyes.).”

“De très beaux yeux bleus (Very pretty blue eyes.),” she commented with a smile directed at Richie, as he asked for your order.

Caroline ordered a few different things to bring home a little later, while you went with the original as both other times. Richie yelled the order to the back as always, while he invited you to take a seat. 

“Maybe he isn’t in,” Caroline said as she looked around herself. 

You shrugged as you took a napkin and folded it in half. “Maybe.” 

You wanted to sound nonchalant, but you seriously hoped that he’d be around. 

A little while later, the kitchen door opened, with Mikey stepping through it while talking to the person behind him. With your direct view of the register, you noticed him immediately. At your sudden silence, Caroline turned to look as well, which had you hissing at her to not be so obvious. 

“What? I’m just checking where my order is,” she waved her hand around at you, and you huffed. 

Mikey was still talking while he lifted his eyes to stare around the shop distractedly, only to notice you and smile as he spoke. Your face heated, and you bit your bottom lip at the way he smiled at you. You saw him say something to Richie, who looked towards your table before pointing at an order. 

“So?” You heard Caroline ask, but you were too busy watching as Mikey picked up the order and walked towards you.

“Hey,” he said with a grin. “So, these two for now” — he placed a sandwich in front of each of you along with your drinks. — “and this to-go, right?” He put a packed order in the center of the table. 

“Yes, thank you,” you smiled. 

“Alors c’est lui, pas vrai? (So, that’s him, right?)” Caroline asked while staring at him, which had you making wide eyes at her and groaning softly. 

“Caro…”

Mikey looked at her with a lifted eyebrow, before glancing at you with a smirk. 

“Oui, c’est moi (Yes, it’s me.),” he replied easily. 

Caroline grinned and nodded her head. “Alors, tout est fait maison ici, c’est bien ça? (So, everything’s homemade here, correct?)”

“Oh my God,” you whispered, and kicked your cousin under the table. 

Mikey laughed heartily and nodded. “Oui, absolument tout. (Yes, absolutely everything.)”

“Great. Good to know,” Caroline shrugged and sat back casually, like she was just a satisfied customer. 

Mikey chuckled and looked back at you with a sly smile. 

“Anything else I can get you guys?” 

“Nope, we’re good, thank you,” you quickly replied before Caroline could jump in and embarrass you more. 

Mikey nodded with another small laugh and walked off with a “Bon appétit. (Enjoy.)” 

“I fucking hate you,” you hissed at your cousin, who had the gall to snort and roll her eyes. 

“I had to see if the man can take a joke, and he does.” She took a bite from her sandwich and groaned in satisfaction as she chewed. “Besides, the man already knows you find him hot… Which, you were right about, he’s a good-looking dude… But, I’ll take the yelling, blue-eyed one,” she added matter-of-factly after taking another bite. 

You snorted at her words. Caroline was married to one of the chillest men on this planet, and she loved the hell out of him. But she’d always had a thing for the loud ones. Except that it never worked out with them because of her fiery personality. She and her husband balanced each other out perfectly, though. 

“Still, you didn’t have to remind him of what I said,” you grumbled, biting into your own sandwich. “I was more hoping he’d forget about it.” 

Caroline snorted softly. “That first impression is gonna be unforgettable. But I really don’t think he minds that at all… The opposite, really.”

“Right…” You rolled your eyes and sipped from your drink this time. “He might have flirted with me last time, but it doesn’t mean anything. He was just being nice.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said, while swallowing another bite and glancing at you with a smirk. “The attraction clearly does go both ways with how he can’t stop looking at you.” 

“What?” you asked in surprise and sat up straight in your chair. 

“He’s talking to customers a few tables over, and he’s looked at you at least ten times already.” 

You blinked at her at the revelation and ducked your head with a shrug. 

“Maybe he’s just looking at our table in general.”

“Yeah, right. I could be dancing around naked that he wouldn’t even notice it.”

This had you uttering a loud laugh of amusement, which turned into a small, pleased smile as you took in her words. 

“He’s coming back,” she whispered suddenly, having you jerking in your seat. 

“Ça vous plait? (Do you like it?)” he asked Caroline, although he glanced at you. 

“Aussi bon qu’on me l’avait dit. (As good as I was told.)” She nodded with a hum of approval. 

“Content de l’entendre… Et toi? (Glad to hear it… What about you?)” he glanced your way with a lifted eyebrow. 

“Délicieux (Delicious.),” you smiled, feeling your face warming as you saw your cousin watching the two of you with a smirk. 

Mikey nodded with a pleased smile and was about to say something when Richie called for him. He sighed. 

“Enjoy the rest of your meal,” he said and shot you a smile that was obviously only for you before he headed back. 

You followed him with your eyes until he vanished in the kitchen, which had you noticing Caroline’s lifted eyebrow that clearly said ‘told you so’.

“Could be dancing naked,” she repeated meaningfully with a smirk. 

Shaking your head at her with a small laugh, you went on eating the sandwich. 

An hour later, you left The Beef, but Mikey never came back from the kitchen. 

In the following weeks, The Beef became one of your regular places. It had everything to do with Mikey, obviously, however, as the weeks went on, you got into talking to the other people working there. The place was chaotic, with everyone running around and shouting obscenities at each other, but you quickly realized how deeply everyone cared about each other. Caroline, and even her husband, came along a couple more times. However, you mostly went by yourself. For the simple reason that Mikey would often come to your table and strike up a conversation whenever you went alone. 

You seriously enjoyed talking to him. He could be as loud and all over the place as the rest of the Beef’s staff, and flirt with you in a very obvious way, while he could also give off this more introverted and thoughtful persona. It was during the later moments that you talked the most, with Mikey sometimes sitting down at your table and talking about the most mundane stuff. You shared stories about your jobs and families, which told you that he also had a younger brother along with the younger sister you’d seen a couple of times. Watching her interact with the loud men in the restaurant, looking so sweet and calm, only to see her biting back if needed, had been an incredibly funny moment. 

Caroline was getting more and more frustrated with the two of you for not moving things along, though. However, you really didn’t care. Did you want there to be more? Yes, but you also genuinely enjoyed spending the time with Mikey the way that you currently were, despite how much you wanted to kiss him when he stared at you from under his eyebrows like he often did. Only time would tell, and you weren’t in any particular hurry. 

“Hey, Basic Beef. How’s it goin’ today?” Richie hollered as soon as he saw you. 

You chuckled at the nickname and walked up to him. Richie had taken to calling you that a few visits back after you’d been talking about your choice of order. He’d teased you about always taking the same thing and not being adventurous enough. To which you’d laughed and shrugged, telling him that you were okay with being a basic bitch. Richie had almost keeled over with laughter at your words, wheezing out the word Basic Beef. To no one’s surprise, Caroline had almost lost it after you’d told her the following day. These two got along far too well.

“Hey, Ducon. (Hey, Asshole),” you snorted and leaned against the counter. 

He grinned and turned towards the list of sandwiches with a hum of faked curiosity. 

“What will it be today?” he singsonged. 

“You’re such a dick,” you laughed. 

“Hey, Mikey,” Richie smirked, as he shouted to the back while maintaining eye contact with you. “Your girlfriend’s here.”

You groaned and shook your head, while you heard Mikey’s voice from the kitchen. 

“Hope you ain’t being a dick about her order again.”

Richie grinned at you, which had you fighting down the warmth rushing into your face at the fact that Mikey knew exactly who Richie was talking about. 

“Yes, he is,” you called out with a laugh to hide your embarrassment, knowing that the other customers could hear everything too. 

“She insulted me in French,” Richie threw back with mock outrage. 

“Serves you right,” Mikey said, stepping out of the kitchen with a wide grin directed at you. “Hey, Sweetheart.” 

“Hey,” you smiled. 

You saw Richie sighing and rolling his eyes at the two of you before moving towards the kitchen. “Guess I’ll be making that sandwich myself.” 

“God, you’re such a fucking drama queen,” Mikey snorted, while you laughed at Richie’s theatrics. “Can’t I just say hi?”

“That’s not sayin’ hi, cuz, that’s undressin’ her with your eyes.”

You almost choked on your spit, while Mikey closed his eyes as if praying for patience and sighed. “Why do I even let you work here?”

“Cause this place would come crashin’ down without me, asshole.” 

Mikey shoved him hard with a huff of a laugh and took a step back before looking at you and then back at Richie. 

“I’ll have that order out in two,” he finally said after looking at you again. 

“Uh, thanks,” you nodded, while Richie watched him with a raised eyebrow as Mikey made his way back to the kitchen.

Richie sighed again while you took out your wallet, and nodded at the customer who had just entered the place and was waiting behind you. Handing over the cash, your money was met by Richie waving it away. 

“Go have a seat, Love. It’s on the house tonight,” he said with a much softer tone. 

“Oh… Um, okay, thanks, Richie.”

“No problem,” he winked with a genuine smile. A smile that you returned easily. 

One thing had to be said about Richie; he might be loud and obnoxious most of the time, he was also a nice guy who you actually really liked. Putting everything back into your bag, you made your way to your usual table. 

As promised, Mikey was out with your order barely two minutes later. 

“There you go.” He placed everything neatly in front of you. 

“Thanks,” you smiled brightly, looking into his face. 

Mikey nodded and looked back towards the register and the kitchen with a tiny frown. 

“I — uh — I’m kinda stuck back there with preparing stuff for the weekend and-”

“Oh, uh, that’s okay. I know you can’t chat every time,” you cut in, nodding your head in understanding. You didn’t want him to feel bad about not coming out to talk if he was busy. 

“Yeah, no, I know, but I was kinda thinking…” he trailed off and looked down for a beat, sucking on his bottom lip. “Will you stay after we close?” he finally asked, looking at you from under his lashes. 

You blinked a couple of times at the unexpected question. “Oh… um, yeah, sure. Of course.”

“Yeah?” he smiled softly. “It’s gonna be” — he looked around the place — “another hour at least, though.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind waiting. I can go pester Richie if I get too bored.”

Mikey barked out a laugh at that and nodded his head a few times. 

“‘Kay… See you later.”

You smiled in acknowledgment and watched him walk back, stopping next to Richie, whose eyes shot to you after a moment, but you quickly averted your gaze. Picking up your sandwich, you took a bite to stop yourself from looking up again. Your face felt warm as you thought about Mikey’s request to stay. That had never happened, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what was going to happen. In any case, you could only imagine Richie grinning like a lunatic at Mikey informing him that you’d be staying. To distract yourself, you pulled out your phone and went through your various social media platforms while you ate and then sat out to wait. 

A little while later, you were reading through an article about a show you were looking forward to when Richie appeared at your side. 

“You can already go through to the back. Everyone’s left there, and I’m gonna finish with the couple customers left and close the front.”

“Oh, okay.” You got up and looked towards the kitchen. 

“Okay, listen,” Richie started, looking suddenly serious. “I know I’ve been givin’ you shit and all that about him, but truth is, Mikey’s been… kinda all over the place lately. But since you showed up, speaking French and all that… I’ve seen more glimpses of my best friend than I have in a while.”

You stared at him in surprise. That’s not what you had expected to hear. 

“Shit… I don’t wanna scare you off or anything. But… shit… Mikey, when he falls, he falls hard, yeah? And I can tell that you’re not some bitch out to hurt him or nothin’.”

You chuckled at his agitation. 

“Nah… I’m just some Basic Beef, remember?” you said softly. 

Richie snorted and nodded his head. 

“But seriously, thank you, Richie. I’m glad that he has someone looking out for him… But yeah…” You looked towards the door leading to the kitchen. “Mikey, he… I just really, really like him”, you stated with a smile that you knew revealed how smitten you were by the man. 

Richie nodded again with a small smile.

“Yeah…” He finally cleared his throat and waved towards the kitchen. “Right… Go ahead… And please, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, yeah? Remember, kitchen, sanitary measures.” 

You groaned and shoved at his arm. Now, that was what you had expected. “Don’t be gross, Jerimovich.” 

You heard him laughing as you walked towards the kitchen. 

Stepping through the door, you looked around at the rows of appliances, pots, and pans, while you hung your coat and bag on a hook near the staff door. As you moved to the deepest part, you found Mikey in front of the stove, with three large pots bubbling away on it. 

“Hey,” you said softly, coming to stand next to him with your hip against the counter as you faced his profile. 

Mikey lifted his head from one of the pots he’d been leaning over and stirring, his hair curling at the top from the steam. He beamed as he saw you. 

“Hey. Richie gone yet?”

“No, not yet. There was still a table left. He said he’d close the front and leave from there.”

Mikey looked towards where the front of the shop was, as if he could see Richie, and smiled.  

“Smells delicious in here,” you said after a second, staring at the insides of the pots. 

Mikey grinned. “Making the last batch of pulled pork and beef.” 

You made a long hum of appreciation at that, which had Mikey uttering a pleased chuckle. 

“Can I help you with anything?” you wondered, looking around yourself.

“Nah, I’m good. There ain’t much left to do except wait a bit, but…” he trailed off like earlier. 

You tilted your head in question. He was being incredibly tentative tonight, which was kind of cute. “But?” 

Mikey shot you a small glance and cleared his throat. 

“Just wanted to see you for a bit longer.” 

You ducked your head and smiled. While Mikey had flirted with you intensely over the last weeks, it had all been done in a lighthearted fashion. The interest had been genuine, but it had never been this open. This confession was raw and hit you straight in the heart. 

“Yeah? Well… While I love the food you guys make here, you know that’s not really what has me coming back every time.”

Mikey smiled warmly, before he smirked. “C’est mon cul, pas vrai? (It’s my ass, right?)”

“Ah non mais t’es pas possible, arrête. (Oh come on, you’re the worst, stop it),” you half groaned, half laughed while pushing at his shoulder. 

Mikey laughed heartily and caught your hand as he turned to face you fully. You looked into his eyes, filled with mirth, but also something so tender that it took your breath away. 

“Wanna know something embarrassing about me?” he asked in a soft tone. 

You nodded lightly, your heart in your throat and unable to speak with the way he was looking at you.

“J’avais déjà envie de t’embrasser le jour où on s’est rencontré. (I already wanted to kiss you on the day we met.)”

Your heart missed a beat before it started to beat faster. 

“Alors pourquoi tu ne l’as pas encore fait? (Then why haven’t you done it yet?)” you breathed. 

Mikey smiled and cupped one side of your face with a large and warm palm. “Bonne question. (Good question.),” he whispered, before slowly leaning in. 

Your eyes automatically fell shut when his lips met yours. It was a soft kiss, just his lips pressing onto yours, as if testing the waters. You lifted your hands to his waist, your fingers gripping at his t-shirt as you slanted your head in request for more. Mikey huffed out a small breath against your lips, and moved in closer, giving you what you wanted. His hand went to the back of your head, with the fingers sliding into your hair as he parted your lips with his. You moaned at the first, soft stroke of his tongue against your bottom lip, just grazing the skin teasingly before he delved in further. Your fingers tightened in his shirt as the kiss turned into something more. More intense. Hungrier. Leaning against the stove, Mikey’s other hand went to the middle of your back, pulling you as close together as possible. In turn, you wrapped your arms around his chest and clung to his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright. You suddenly felt ridiculous about ever thinking that you didn’t have any issues with just seeing where this thing with Mikey was going, since you had clearly underestimated how much you actually wanted this. Wanted him. And from how he was kissing you, holding you so tightly against him, the feeling was unmistakably mutual. 

You couldn’t say how long you stood there, locked together, with no signs of letting up, but you were pulled out of the moment by the pots suddenly bubbling wildly. Mikey cursed while you gasped, the two of you springing apart to see the contents of the pots sputtering around and almost starting to overflow. Jumping into action instantly, Mikey turned the heat down and stirred the pots while muttering under his breath. 

Once everything was under control again, Mikey held himself up with his hands on the counter and exhaled deeply as he turned his head towards you. 

“I think my ass is responsible for this too… I turned the heat back on high when I leaned against the stove,” he explained sheepishly. 

You stared at him for a second, before you burst into laughter, while he watched you with an amused smile. 

“You know,” you said lightly and stepped into his space again, wrapping your arms around his neck while he circled your waist with his. “I think I need to take some responsibility for this too.”

“Hm… you did distract me,” Mikey agreed with a chuckle, and leaned in to kiss you.

You grinned against his mouth, the kiss about to continue like you’d never been interrupted, when Mikey forcefully leaned his head away with a grunt and kissed your forehead instead. 

“Okay… let’s just…”

“Am I distracting you again,” you laughed softly, looking into his warm, brown eyes. 

“You have no idea,” he confessed, pulling you into a hug this time. 

You smiled into the embrace and took in a deep breath, staying in this position for a few long minutes.

“Rentre avec moi? (Come home with me?)” you finally asked, although you kept your face against his shoulder. 

Mikey cupped your face and tilted your head until he could look into your eyes, revealing his warm gaze. 

“Avec plaisir. (It would be my pleasure.)”

[misactrl]

eyes, nose, lips

⭒˚｡♫ now playing: eyes, nose, lips - taeyang.

𖡼⭒˚｡pairing: toxic!toji x fem!reader

⭒˚｡𓍯𓂃content: angst, no comfort, i apologize toji lovers.. (me) psa! english isn´t my first language soz for grammar mistakes x

⋆⭒˚｡ don´t be sorry, that makes me more pitiful.

"i’m sorry.." the silence is loud. you don’t dare to meet his eyes, so you look down at your feet. he should know why you want to leave, he’s been nothing but a horrible boyfriend.. no, person.

⋆⭒˚｡ with your pretty red lips, please hurry, kill me and go, i'm alright.

he looks at you with nothing but guilt, knowing it’s all too late. you’re getting impatient, biting your lower lip, tasting the raspberry chapstick. your eyes now meet his green ones, and you immediately regret it, feeling tears blurring your vision. you still love him, how foolishly. he has nothing to give to you, how could he when the only thing he’s ever done is take. toji stares at your red lips, then meets your eyes again. "it’s alright."

⋆⭒˚｡ look at me one last time, smile like nothing’s wrong.

his words bring you back to reality, the last bit of hope gone with the november wind. it’s humorous really, and you smile to yourself, remembering how you two first met. you bumped into toji while running late to work, accidentally making him drop his shoulder bag. you were apologizing over and over again but toji reassured you: "it’s alright."

⋆⭒˚｡ so when i miss you i can remember, so i can draw your face in my mind.

he remembers that smile, the one on your face right now. it thanked him while telling him: "it was nice meeting you." before you scurried away down the street. you were beautiful, it was only thing on his mind that day. even in this moment, you were still as beautiful as on that morning.

⋆⭒˚｡ my selfishness that couldn’t let you go, turned into an obsession that imprisoned you.

he was stuck to you like a parasite. he couldn’t bear the thought of any other man looking your way for even one second, his obsession with keeping you hidden suffocated and trapped you. you weren’t allowed to see your friends during evenings, and male friends were completely off limits. what had you gotten yourself into? echoed in your head at night. but you loved him, and he loved you. it was all an act of love.

⋆⭒˚｡were you hurt because of me? you sit silently.

it remains quiet around you two, other customers voices getting drowned out by the silence. you’re crying now, a tear rolls down your cheek, and another, and another. toji hated seeing you like this, hurt because of him, yet he kept hurting you. he knew it himself too, but it was just how he was.. not meant to love or care for anyone. those were things he stopped believing in ever since his late wife’s passing, then he met you on that gloomy thursday. he really really liked you, even though he felt guilty about her. all this thinking made him realize how much he’d taken you for granted. "yn, don’t do this.." desperation hit him hard all of a sudden, but he was far too late. you’d gotten up from your chair already, exiting the cafe doors.

⋆⭒˚｡ why am i a fool? why can't i forget you?

he felt so stupid. you were perfect, everything he could’ve asked for. why was he realizing all of this now? why now all alone in his apartment, days after your breakup? the beds emptiness pained him, but your small trinkets you left behind and even those white ankle socks that were left in his laundry basket hurt even more. he couldn’t bear your absence anymore, he felt too guilty. toji gathered the small things in a tote bag you also left behind and brought it to your building. a part of him felt like it was a given to return your things, but a part also hoped you’d wanna give him one last chance. a lady who was leaving let him in through the gate and he walked up two staircases to your door. he knocked once.. no response. he knocked twice.. and nothing again. toji was all too late, you're already gone. ⋆⭒˚｡

-‘๑’- my first time writing, stay safe luvs x

[ichorai]

broken machine ; miles morales.

track four of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; miles morales x mutant!gn!reader

synopsis ; stuck in a time loop, miles had to witness the one thing that he dreaded the most in life over and over again: your death.

words ; 5.1k

themes ; angst, action, mild fluff, mutant au, time loop au, established relationship au

warnings / includes ; repeated major character death, descriptions of injury/blood, cursing, two brief mentions of sex, wolverine & omega red & doctor strange cameos, mentions of x-men & daredevil & wong, set in an alternature universe from the mcu, miles throws up at one point, one (1) reference to spider-man: nwh wink wonk, miles' parents are adorable and i love them

main masterlist.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE ONE.

Three knocks to his door, in rapid succession. 

“Miles,” barked his dad. “Up and at ‘em, kid!” 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Miles groaned into his pillow, propping himself up with his elbow and glaring at the closed door. 

Outside, a car honked. A plump pigeon hooted by his windowsill. The sun beamed directly into his narrowed eyes. 

With a muffled yawn, Miles swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He could smell his mom making breakfast quesadillas from the kitchen. 

The day droned on like any other. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, shrugged on the same black hoodie he wore yesterday, snatched a quesadilla from the plate—nearly burning his fingers in doing so, much to his mom’s dismay, and kissed her cheek apologetically when she scolded him for not taking out the trash like she’d asked the day before. His dad was scarfing down the steaming quesadillas by the small kitchen table, eyes scanning over the day’s newspaper. 

“All these so-called ‘heroes’… and yet crime rates are as high as ever. What a joke.” Jefferson pulled a scowl, reading on about the newest debacle with X-Men and mutants in court. 

Miles could feel his stomach twist at his dad’s words, but he pushed it down.

“Miles, come sit down and eat,” said his mom, urging him to the table.

With an apologetic grimace, Miles replied, “Sorry, ma, I gotta meet Y/N at the diner—I promised breakfast with them today. I’ll be back before dinner, okay?” 

“Alright, mijo. I want you back before the sun sets—I don’t want you out and about during the night now,” she huffed, straightening the lopsided collar of his hoodie. “Tell Y/N I said hi. Remember what I told you, Miles—use protection. And don’t forget to take out the trash!”

“Okay, okay, Jeez, mom!” blurted Miles, clearly flustered at the prospect of his mom giving him yet another sex talk. He was already pulling on his shoes and waving goodbye to his dad, who muffled out something unintelligible around a mouthful of his breakfast. Just before he was about to stride out, he remembered to grab the bags of trash and toss them into the bins outside, before hurrying down the street to the diner. 

Knowing you, you were probably already waiting at the diner, halfway done with your milkshake.

Correction, you were well into your second milkshake by the time Miles jogged in.

“You’re late,” you told him, a fond smile on your face. “I ordered for you.”

“Bacon cheeseburger with a side of curly fries? Lemonade with extra ice?” Miles asked, sliding into the seat across from you, the sticky red leather of the booth making him grimace.

You cocked your head at him. “Yup. Extra ketchup on the side, too.”

“See, that’s just telling me we spend too much time together,” said Miles, affectionately kicking at your feet beneath the table. 

Scoffing, you popped a curly fry into your mouth. “You wouldn’t last two seconds without me.”

Before Miles could fit in a scathing remark, a loud crashing resounded from far outside the diner, followed by distant screams. Both you and Miles exchanged worried glances, peering out of the window to see civilians frantically running down the street. 

“Got your suit?” you asked quietly. You had yours on underneath your sweater already, since you had planned to go training with Daredevil after breakfast.

Miles bobbed his head, the light-hearted atmosphere disappearing in an instant. “In my bag. I’ll meet you there?” 

You nodded. “I don’t know what it could be this time—whatever it is, it doesn’t look pretty. Stay safe, Miles.” 

With that, you slid out of your booth, planting a quick kiss to his cheek, before dashing out of the restaurant, running against the current of the panicked crowd. Squaring his jaw, Miles darted into the diner’s bathroom, hurriedly changing into the suit May Parker had gifted him, and hopped right out the small, rectangular window. 

The fight was about two blocks from the diner. He swung down onto a streetlamp, eyes widening when he caught sight of a bloodied Wolverine pinned against the asphalt—Omega Red not too far from him, his carbonadium coils wrapped around Logan’s biceps and neck. 

Wolverine let out a growl, his adamantium claws slashing out, but not long enough to reach his attacker. 

Miles shot a web out to get closer. Though he wasn’t all that close to the infamous Wolverine, Miles knew he was a halfway decent guy, and deserved a bit of help. 

Mid-air, he blasted web fluid straight into Omega Red’s eyes, blinding him momentarily. Furious, the large man roared out an expletive, letting go of Wolverine in shock and scratching the sticky webs away from his face with one fluid motion, before rounding his angry crimson gaze at Miles. One of the metal tentacles shot out in his direction, but before it could reach him, you came barreling forward out of nowhere, a purple blade of energy stemming from your clenched fist. 

“No, kid, wait—!” gruffed Wolverine, a warning about Omega’s death spores just on the tip of his tongue.

It was too late.

Omega Red chuckled darkly as your blade of energy sunk into his abdomen with a sickly squelch. To Miles’ horror, he seemed practically unfazed by this. You snarled up at him when he wrapped one of his burly hands around your neck, the other coming up to lay over your skull. Miles scrambled forward, shouting your name, but Wolverine held him away, frantically telling him to stay back—something about deadly pheromones.

But Miles wasn’t listening. All he could see was you, and the final second of your expression shifting from determined rage, to raw fear.

A misty fog began surrounding Omega Red—his death spores. Your eyelids fluttered and you fell limp in his grasp. He was feeding off of your life energy. 

A sick crack of bone as he effortlessly crushed your head in his palm.

A raw, blood-curdling scream tore from Miles’ lungs.

Wolverine wouldn't let him go.

And then, it all went black.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE TWO.

Three knocks to his door, in rapid succession. 

“Miles,” the muffled voice of his dad drifted from beneath the doorway. “Up and at ‘em, kid!” 

Outside, a car honked. A plump pigeon hooted by his windowsill. The sun beamed directly into his narrowed eyes. 

He immediately sat up on his bed, breathing heavy and labored. A tear fell down his cheek and Miles hurriedly wiped it away with the back of his palm.

“What the…?” he muttered beneath his breath, glancing at his phone to see that it was November seventh. 

Huh. So it must’ve all been a dream. Wolverine, that weird metal-tentacle dude, you dying…

It was all a dream.

Huffing out a sigh of relief, Miles swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He could smell his mom making breakfast quesadillas from the kitchen. Funny, his dream-mom had made quesadillas as well.

The day droned on like any other. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, shrugged on the same black hoodie he wore yesterday, snatched a quesadilla from the plate—nearly burning his fingers in doing so, much to his mom’s dismay.

“Miles, I told you to take out the trash!” she scolded, crossing her arms expectantly.

For a second, Miles froze. This was… eerily similar to his dream.

Realizing that he had yet to reply, Miles hastily choked out, “Sorry, ma. I’ll take it out when I leave.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“Diner. Meeting Y/N there for breakfast,” Miles responded. “I’ll be back before dinner, okay?”

From the small kitchen table, his dad glanced away from the day’s newspaper. “All these so-called ‘heroes’… and yet crime rates are as high as ever. What a joke.” Jefferson pulled a scowl, before reading on about the newest debacle with X-Men and mutants in court.

Huh. Miles could swear his dad said the exact same thing in his dream…

“Alright, mijo. I want you back before the sun sets—I don’t want you out and about during the night now,” she huffed, coming forward to straighten the lopsided collar of his hoodie. “Tell Y/N I said hi. Remember what I told you, Miles—use protection. And don’t forget to take out the trash!”

“Alright, alright, Jeez, mom!” blurted Miles, flustered at the prospect of his mom giving him yet another sex talk. He was already pulling on his shoes and waving goodbye to his dad, who muffled out something unintelligible around a mouthful of his breakfast. Just before he was about to stride out, he remembered to grab the bags of trash and toss them into the bins outside, before hurrying down the street to the diner.

“You’re late,” you told him, a fond smile on your face. Cupped in your hands was your second milkshake, already half-empty. “I ordered for you.”

“Thanks,” said Miles as he slid into the seat across from you, the sticky red leather of the booth making him grimace. “Hey, something really weird happened this morning. It’s like—deja vu, but in my dream? Like everything I saw in my dream felt weirdly real and then when I woke up, the exact same things started to happen—”

Before he could continue explaining, a loud crashing resounded from far outside the diner, followed by distant screams. Both you and Miles exchanged worried glances, peering out of the window to see civilians frantically running.

This happened in my dream! thought Miles. Unless… unless it wasn’t a dream…

“Got your suit?” you asked quietly. You had yours on underneath your sweater already, since you had planned to go training with Daredevil after breakfast.

Miles opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water.

You blinked at him, miffed. “Miles? We gotta go help them.”

Head feeling stuffed full with cotton, Miles bobbed his head hesitantly. “It’s, uh, it’s in my bag. I’ll meet you there?” 

You nodded. “I don’t know what it could be this time—whatever it is, it doesn’t look pretty. Stay safe, Miles.” 

With that, you slid out of your booth, planting a quick kiss to his cheek, before dashing out of the restaurant before he could even begin to think to stop you, running against the current of the panicked crowd. Squaring his jaw, Miles blew out a deep exhale and ran into the diner’s bathroom, hurriedly changing into the suit May Parker had gifted him, and hopped right out the small, rectangular window. 

As soon as Miles saw Wolverine and Omega Red a couple blocks down the diner, he knew whatever he had seen in his quote-unquote ‘dream’ hadn’t actually been a dream. Maybe he was in an alternate dimension? Or could it have been time travel of some sorts?

Whatever it was, Miles had to find you.

He swung down onto the road, ready to stop you from getting too close to Omega Red. Swiftly, he shot out web fluid straight into Omega Red’s eyes, blinding him momentarily. Furious, the large man roared out an expletive, letting go of Wolverine in shock and scratching the sticky webs away from his face with one fluid motion, before rounding his angry crimson gaze at Miles.

One of the metal tentacles shot out in his direction, but before it could reach him, you came barreling forward out of nowhere, a purple blade of energy stemming from your clenched fist. 

“No, kid, wait—!” gruffed Wolverine, a warning about Omega’s death spores just on the tip of his tongue.

Prepared, Miles pushed you out of the way, frantically yelling out, “Stay back, he’s got killer pheromones!”

But it was too late.

The long, spindly carbonadium cords darted forward and snaked around both of your ankles, sweeping you off your feet and dangling you upside down in a matter of seconds. Desperately, you tried to hack away at the metal with your energy blades. The determined snarl on your face began to wane into one of fear when it proved to be fruitless.

Omega Red grinned manically, eyeing you like a wolf would a hare. 

A misty fog began surrounding Omega Red—his death spores. Your eyelids fluttered and you fell limp in his grasp. He was feeding off of your life energy.

Miles yelled out your name, but Wolverine held him back, telling him it was for his own safety. 

“They’re long gone, kid,” the X-Man gruffed, grip unrelenting. “I’m sorry.”

A raw, blood-curdling scream tore from Miles’ lungs.

“Let me go!” he cried. It wasn’t a dream. None of this was a dream—it couldn’t be.

Wolverine wouldn't let him go, no matter how much Miles struggled.

And then, it all went black.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE THREE.

Three knocks to his door, in rapid succession. 

“Miles,” said his dad from the other side of the closed door. “Up and at ‘em, kid!” 

He shot up from the bed, breathing ragged. 

Miles swiped at his watery eyes, burying his face into his palms. If that hadn’t been a dream… what was it?

Car honk. Pigeon hoot. The sun beamed directly into his tired eyes. Right. This was the third time he’d lived through today. He must’ve been stuck in a time loop of some sorts. 

But how was he supposed to get out?

Swallowing heavily, Miles slipped out of bed, changing out of his pajamas, and got ready for the day. He had to get to the diner.

The mouth-watering aroma of his mom’s quesadillas wafted from the kitchen. 

“Miles, come have breakfast!” she called out just as she noticed Miles pulling on his shoes, tilting her head. “And just where do you think you’re going?”

“Out. Diner. Y/N,” said Miles, rushing. “Sorry, ma. I’ll be back soon!”

“Wait—!” she exclaimed, but he was already dashing out the door and sprinting down the block.

You were just starting on your second milkshake, brows raising when Miles stumbled into the diner, nearly ripping the door off its hinges in his haste.

“Hey, you’re not late for once!” you proclaimed, clearly amused at his haggard state. But your humored expression melted away when you saw that Miles was in no smiling mood. “What’s going on? God, Miles, you need to sit down.”

Blowing out a breath, Miles slid into the booth and began to explain. It was a terrible explanation, one that made no sense at all—but Miles was desperate and clearly not thinking straight.

“Right, so, I’ve been living today for the past two days. And I’ve seen you die before—twice! I wake up every time you die. It must be like, uh, like—”

“Miles,” you said, brows furrowed. “I’m so confused right now. You’ve seen me die? Like… like a vision or something?”

“No! Uhm, yes? Wait, no, I don’t think so, at least. I—”

Before he could finish, the loud crashing resounded from far outside the diner, followed by distant screams. Your concern skyrocketed, and you glanced out the window to see what was going on. Miles pulled at the skin of his face, frustrated. 

Civilians were screaming and running every which way like headless chickens. A woman with a baby stroller tripped over the curb and you sprang up to your feet, immediately breaking out of the diner to help her.

“Y/N, wait, you can’t go—!” exclaimed Miles, rushing out after you.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled under your breath as the both of you caught sight of Omega Red and Wolverine barreling down the street in their altercation.

With no time to change into your suit, you clenched your fist, purple energy blade crackling to life around your skin, mildly burning at the cuffs of your hoodie sleeves.

“No, Y/N, listen to me, you can’t go, you’ll die!” Miles exclaimed, grabbing your forearm to stop you.

Rounding on him with a heated gaze, you shook your head. “Miles, hundreds of people are going to die! That’s Omega Red. He can kill anyone in a close vicinity. I can’t just stand back and let him do it. I need to go help Logan.”

With that, you shoved away from him, leaving Miles to stumble after you. He cursed under his breath, shooting out his webs to swing after you.

Omega Red caught sight of the both of you from afar, the red of his eyes gleaming hungrily.

The carbonadium tentacles curled around Miles first, crushing his lungs until he struggled to breath and black dots danced about his vision. He could only helplessly watch as you dived down and slashed at his legs, but were dragged out by the other coil, lifting you up by your head as if you were a ragdoll. 

To his horror, Omega Red flung you hard across the street. So hard that you crashed clean through the windows of the opposite building, and straight into three consecutive plaster walls after that.

And then everything went dark.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE FOUR.

“Up and at ‘em, kid!” 

Car. Pigeon. Sun.

Diner.

This time, Omega Red threw a car at you.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE FIVE.

Quesadilla. Newspaper. Trash.

Diner.

Miles was helplessly pinned to the street as Omega Red used Wolverine’s adamantium claws to slice you to pieces.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE SIX.

Running down the street. Your milkshake spilled all over the diner table. Miles frantically trying to tell you not to go out. He was so tired.

You went out anyway.

Omega Red picked you up and ripped you clean in half with his bare hands.

Bending at the stomach, Miles threw up all over the sidewalk.

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE SEVEN.

Miles didn’t go to the diner this time. He stayed in bed, eyes unblinking and wide, his stomach roiling nauseously. 

“Miles!” came the muffled shriek of his mom. “Miles, it’s Y/N!”

Legs trembling, Miles stepped out of his room and slowly shuffled down the hall to see his mom and dad standing in front of the television. Rio���s eyes were quick to water, tears dripping down her cheek at the sight. His dad bowed his head and rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

The news was on. 

It was you, being recorded on a shaky camera—barely visible behind Omega Red, with his burly hands wrapped around your throat as he squeezed, squeezed, squeezed—

NOVEMBER SEVEN — TAKE EIGHT.

Three quick knocks to his door.

“Up and at ‘em, kid!” 

Miles threw himself out of bed just as the car honked. He was so very tired, eyes bloodshot and limbs weary. But he couldn’t give up. 

Hastily, not even bothering to change out of his pajamas, he ran out of his room after grabbing his web shooters, barely acknowledging his baffled parents. He bolted out the door at lightning speed, using his shooters to hurl himself down the street, to the diner.

People gawked and stared at him with wide eyes. They all gawked and pointed fingers, exclaiming, “Hey, it’s knock-off Spider-Man!” 

Miles couldn’t bring himself to care.

Not wasting any time, he barged into the diner, making his way to your booth. Before you could fit in any comments about how he was late, or how he looked like he’d just gotten run over by a bulldozer, he grabbed you by the shoulders, looking you straight in the eye.

“Listen to me. I’ve been stuck in a time loop, watching you die over and over and over again. You cannot leave this diner, Y/N. I’m being serious. Omega Red is going to come rolling down the street any second now—but you can’t help in any way, no matter how much you want to, or you’ll die and it just resets the loop for me. I need to keep you alive. Do you understand?”

With wide, unblinking eyes, you stared at your boyfriend as if he’d gone mad. A part of you thought this was just some elaborate joke—but the longer you looked into his eyes—his tired, weary eyes, the more you could see how sincere he was being. He was telling the truth.

“Time loop… like groundhog day?” 

Miles nodded.

“Do you know how to fix it?”

Crestfallen, Miles blew out a shaky breath. “No. Every time you die, the day just resets and I wake up back in my room—your death is basically… inevitable.”

A sick feeling twisted in your gut. Not really at the fact that you were fated to die in this loop, but at the idea of Miles having to watch and relive that over and over again.

“Oh, Miles, I’m so sorry…” you began, unsure of what else to say. Eyes softening, Miles released your shoulders, sliding his hands down your arms to thread his fingers with yours. 

A tentative idea sprung forth when your friend and vigilante mentor, Daredevil, once mentioned in passing a certain sorcerer living in New York that specialized in all things time-related.

“I think I might know someone that can help,” you said, squeezing his hands with a hopeful grin.

The Sanctum Sanctorum was a large, spacious building that remained suspiciously clean despite having only two ‘cleaners’ that looked far younger than you—Wong liked to call them apprentices, though. You’d passed by the building before twice—but never actually had any reason to come inside.

For such an important place, you were surprised there weren’t any guards by the door. You and Miles exchanged nervous glances, before stepping in. 

Stephen Strange was by the fireplace to the right, nursing a mug of a thick purple liquid. Draped over his shoulders was the infamous red Cloak of Levitation, which seemed to perk upwards in the presence of guests.

“Y/N L/N,” he greeted, narrowing his eyes at you, as if he’d known you were going to come. “Miles Morales—what brings the two of you to the Sanctum Sanctorum?”

How the peculiar sorcerer knew your names, neither of you had a clue.

“Hello, uh… doctor, er, sir—uhm, I’m—I think I might be stuck in a time loop?” Heat flushed over Miles’ face as he stumbled over his words, clearly overwhelmed that he was standing in front of an Avenger.

One of Strange’s eyebrows arched closer to his hairline. “You think?”

Clearing his throat, Miles winced as he replied, “I know I’m in a time loop. I’ve been living the same day over and over again more than half a dozen times.”

The sorcerer tilted his head, free hand coming up to stroke his well-groomed goatee. “Yep… that’s a time loop, alright. I’ve been stuck in one before—nasty thing it is.” The unpleasant memory of Dormammu made a grimace pull his lips thin. With that, he began striding away, leaving the two of you awkwardly standing by the Sanctum's entrance. 

After a second, Strange glanced back, rolling his eyes. “Come on, what are you two standing there dilly-dallying for?”

The two of you scampered along behind him, making your way further into the large building. Down a winding staircase you went, one that seemed to go on for ages. You peered over the railings, blanching upon seeing nothing but darkness for as far as the eye could see. Nervous, you reached out for Miles’ hand, which he gladly took.

Once the three of you had arrived by the floor, torches by the walls magically burst aflame, bathing the room in a warm clementine glow.

“Something incredibly wrong must have messed up your stream of reality’s timeline for it to fall back upon itself. Something that isn’t supposed to happen. Usually time loops occur when alternate realities collide into one another, thereby permanently damaging both realities’ time continuum—but it can sometimes happen on its own to prevent incursions from occurring in the first place. Like a safety net of sorts. It’s the universe’s way of giving you a second chance. Or… seven, in your case,” explained Strange, waving his hand in front of the Eye of Agamotto that rested just above his chest. The golden platelets pulled back to reveal a glowing emerald gem—the infamous time stone. Most of what he said had flown right over your head, but you nodded as if you understood anyway. “What is it that resets the loop each time, kid?”

Miles shifted his weight from foot to foot, suddenly feeling queasy. “Y/N dies,” he mumbled.

The sorcerer’s eyebrows twitched up in surprise. 

“Ah,” he said, his usually stoic demeanor melting into one of stiff, uncomfortable sympathy. “My condolences.”

“Thanks—uh, condolences… taken? Received? Yeah,” Miles awkwardly choked out. If it weren’t the dire situation at hand, you would’ve laughed at your boyfriend’s inability to just keep his mouth shut.

A glimmer of amusement danced behind Strange’s irises, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. 

“Alright, kid, I can fix it for you—just promise not to talk during the spell. You’re not the only person who’s come to me asking to make life-altering changes to the time continuum.”

Neither of you really knew what he was talking about, but you stiffly bobbed your heads up and down nonetheless. 

With that, Stephen clapped his hands together, chanting lowly underneath his breath. The time stone began to emit a bright, lime-hued light—one that nearly hurt if you stared directly at it. 

And then… it all stopped.

Strange stopped murmuring in his foreign tongue, the stone stopped glowing, and everything felt eerily still.

Confused, Miles asked, “That’s it?”

A ghost of a smile traced the corner of Doctor Strange’s lips. “Yeah, kid. That’s it. It should all be over now—you’ll wake up in the real tomorrow, tomorrow. Now get outta here—before Wong mistakes you guys for his apprentices.”

“Thank you, Doctor Strange. This means the world to us,” you said, genuine gratitude shining through your expression as you squeezed Miles’ hand.

“Yeah, thanks Mr—Doctor—Sir… uh…” Miles began stumbling over his own tongue again, and this time, you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. Strange cracked an actual smile as well, jerking his head towards the staircase.

The two of you began walking back up the steps, a weight settled off both of your chests. Miles more so than you—having to watch you die over and over again had taken a serious toll on him.

In a blink of an eye, the stairs disappeared beneath your feet, and the two of you found yourself right outside the Sanctum. Bewildered, the two of you glanced back, only to see a golden-ringed portal just behind you. Strange saluted with two fingers, raising his mug to slurp at the mysterious mauve sludge within his mug. 

The portal closed a second later. 

You and Miles stood in a fragile silence for a long moment.

“Miles… what you had to go through… I’m so sorry, it must’ve been a living nightmare. I can’t possibly imagine what that’s like. Are you sure you’re okay? Because I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it,” you whispered, glancing his way. Your expression had softened with raw concern, practically bleeding with affection for the young man beside you.

Instead of answering your question, Miles just shook his head, tightly winding his arms around you and squeezing. His nose rested against the crown of your head as he inhaled the homely scent of your shampoo. After recovering from your initial shock, you returned the embrace, the fabric of his shirt crumpling beneath your grip. His shoulders began to tremble.

“Are you crying?” you asked when he sniffled quietly.

“No,” he replied, voice thick. “Doctor Strange just has… dusty magical carpets, is all.”

A peal of laughter fell from your lips, and you fondly knocked your forehead against his. “Careful now, wouldn’t want Wong to fire his ‘apprentices’ now, would you?”

Miles gave you a watery smile, before pulling away, holding you at arm’s length. “Can you stay with me tonight? I just… I don’t wanna lose you again. I wanna make sure I wake up in the real tomorrow—where you’d still be alive.”

Leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, you gave him a gentle grin. “Sure, Miles. Oh, we can watch the new season of Yellowjackets together!”

“Okay,” Miles said, watching you with a lovesick gaze as the two of you began walking down the street, one that made his dark irises all molten and doe-like. “Anything you want.”

NOVEMBER EIGHT.

Miles’ eyes cracked open blearily. A ray of sun was glaring through his window, shining directly into his face. From outside, he could hear cars honking and the flutter of a pigeons’ wings as it flew away from his windowsill.

Memories of yesterday—or rather—several yesterdays, came rushing to the front of his mind. Immediately, Miles sat up in bed, his foot accidentally knocking against the laptop sitting on top of his blanket.

Initial panic beginning to wane away, Miles looked to his side, relief flooding his veins upon seeing you splayed out on the other end of his bed, cheek smushed into his pillow as you slept. You groggily mumbled something unintelligible at his sudden movement, but slipped back into a peaceful sleep not two seconds later.

You startled back awake when Miles let out a sudden whoop of unrestrained joy, loud enough to alert his parents in the kitchen.

“Ugh, Miles,” you groaned, burying your face deeper into the pillow. “Shut up.”

Wincing, Miles eased back into bed, patting your shoulder while whispering, “Sorry, sorry. Go back to sleep.”

He tugged you close into his side, finding solace in your warmth—a physical reminder that you were real. 

This was real.

Miles grinned into your hairline, and clutched you all the closer.

By the time his mom and dad peeked their heads into his room to check that you two were alright, they were not at all surprised to see the kids fast asleep, limbs tangled and softly snoring away, with Miles taking up most of the space while you were squished against the wall.

The door softly shut once more, and Rio casted an amused glance at her husband, who also had the habit of taking up too much space in bed. “Like father, like son.”

Affronted, Jefferson followed after his wife as she strode away, thinking she was talking about his loud unconscious mannerisms (snoring, and, on occasion, talking in his sleep). “What? What do you mean by that? I told you, I don’t snore! Not anymore, at least…”

[nausicaamusiclover20]

Since I love November, I couldn't help but write something about the vibes it gives me. Anyway, I got this idea while I was walking in a park.

Wrapped in love

The November air bites at my skin, and I pull my scarf tighter around my neck, wishing I'd grabbed something heavier than my thin coat. The park is almost empty now, with only a few stray leaves dancing in the wind. James walks beside me, his steps steady, matching mine without a word. The trees are bare, their limbs reaching up to the gray sky, and the world feels still, like it's holding its breath in the cold.

I shiver, my breath puffing out in little clouds, and James glances over at me, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Are you cold?" His voice is soft, but I can hear the concern in it.

I shake my head quickly, trying to brush it off. "No, I'm fine. Really. It's not that bad."

But he looks at me, his eyes soft and searching, and his expression softens even more. "Y/n," he says, his tone quiet but firm. "You're freezing. Come here."

Before I can protest, he's already pulling off his sheepskin coat, the familiar warmth of it making me smile a little even before it's wrapped around me. It smells like him—like leather and something else I can't quite name—and it feels like home.

"James, I'm okay," I begin, but he's not hearing it. He carefully drapes the coat over my shoulders, his fingers brushing against my skin, and I feel the warmth seep into me immediately. But it's more than just the coat. It's the way he looks at me—tender, like he wants to take care of me, like he *always* wants to take care of me.

His hands linger for just a moment on the collar, adjusting it around my neck, and I can't help but watch him. There's no rush, no hurry. Just him, looking at me with that soft affection I've come to know so well.

"You're shivering," he says quietly, his voice low, full of concern. "I'm not going to let you freeze."

I smile at him, my heart fluttering at how much he means it. I move closer, pulling the coat tighter around me and instinctively stepping a little nearer to him, wanting to share the warmth he's offering me.

"Don't freeze because of me," I murmur, pressing a hand against his arm.

James looks down at me, his expression softening even more, and I feel that little spark between us—a quiet, intimate connection that's always been there, but now feels a little more special. The way his fingers graze my cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear makes my breath catch. I don't even try to hide the smile that spreads across my face.

"I'll survive," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you're the one I'm worried about."

I pull the coat tighter around me and shift just a little closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder for a moment. It feels natural, like this is exactly where I'm supposed to be.

"Thank you," I say softly, my voice full of affection, of trust, and more than just gratitude for the coat.

James's lips curl into that familiar smile, the one that always makes my heart race. "Anything for you," he says, the words carrying a weight that makes my chest feel full.

I look up at him, feeling the love between us in the air, and for a moment, I just want to stay like this forever. In this little bubble where nothing else matters but the two of us.

"I think you're right," I tease softly. "It does look better on me."

James laughs, the sound rich and warm, and he leans in to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. "I don't mind," he says with a grin. "I'll just have to steal it back later."

I roll my eyes playfully, but the truth is, I never want to give the coat back. It's not just the coat that makes me feel warm, though. It's him. "Always him."

We sit on a bench beneath a bare tree, the last of the leaves fluttering around us. I'm still wrapped in the coat, and for a long moment, neither of us speaks. I can feel his presence next to me—so familiar, so comforting. The way he looks at me, the way his hand brushes against mine, like we've always been this close.

Finally, I whisper, "I'm keeping it. For tonight."

James smiles that sweet, knowing smile. "Keep it as long as you need," he murmurs. "I don't mind being the one who's cold for a while, as long as you're warm."

And just like that, the world fades a little—just the two of us, the cold night, and a coat that's shared.

Suddenly, I feel like I can't leave him in suspense any longer. Without thinking, I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. It's gentle, full of affection, and when I pull back, I see the surprise in his eyes. But it's not awkward; instead, he smiles, warmth radiating from him in a way that only makes me love him more.

"Thank you," I whisper again, my voice barely more than a breath. But this time, it's not just for the coat. It's for everything. For the love he gives me, for the way he cares, for the way he makes me feel like I'm the most important person in the world.

James pulls me into a hug then, strong and sure, wrapping his arms around me like he never wants to let go. I bury my face into his chest, feeling safe and loved, my heart swelling in my chest.

"Always, Y/n. I'll always take care of you," he murmurs into my hair.

And with him holding me like this, wrapped up in the warmth of his embrace, I know—I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 5 - Open Doors

Pairing : Sinclair Bryant x OC (Contessina)

Summary : Five Christmases during which Sinclair realises that sometimes, closing one door opens a thousand others.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Mention of incest.

A/N : Puppy boy is back !

Also on AO3

December 24, 2020

Sinclair, for the first time in his 39 years of existence, did not feel like celebrating Christmas. His divorce had been finalized at the very end of November. A difficult divorce, not so much because of his ex-wife who had too much to reproach herself for to really argue about silver vases and spoons, but for the nature of the betrayal.

Sinclair wasn't in the mood to celebrate, but William, his friend and the judge who had finalized his divorce had insisted, telling him that he had been moping for a year now and that it was high time to move on. Or at least try. And it was not like Sinclair not to try.

"Sinclair, my friend, life is a succession of rooms and in each room, there are people who mark your life for better or for worse. Natalie was not a good person and I am sorry for what she did to you, but it is time for you to close this door and open a new one," William had wisely said.

And Sinclair had given in. Not really because he had been convinced by the philosophy of doors and rooms, but because he did not really want to be alone for Christmas, and deep down, he knew that his friend was right. It was time to move on, to turn the page, to close the door. His parents were on a trip to Sardinia and all his friends and colleagues had family plans when he had to mourn the family he would never have.

Family... a word that left a bitter taste in Sinclair's mouth, he who had believed he had found his soul mate in Natalie and the mother of his children. Now he wasn't so sure he'd ever have the chance to have children. He wasn't sure he'd ever fall in love again.

Sinclair shook his head as if to shake off all the bad memories. He was in front of William's house, a bottle of his best champagne in his hand. Sinclair had learned at a young age from his own father that one should never arrive empty-handed. His friend's sumptuous house, which was more of a small manor than a house, had been sumptuously decorated by his wife while the buffet - prepared by professionals - already had his mouth watering in anticipation.

Sinclair rang the bell and William greeted him with reserved kindness.

"You've come ! That's good ! Come in, hurry up."

"For your table," Sinclair said, handing him the bottle.

"A Dom Pérignon ! You shouldn't have," William said, taking the bottle with sparkling eyes.

Sinclair then lingered by the fireplace. It was not his habit, he usually so outgoing, ready to become friends with everyone, he who always had something to say found himself petrified. Natalie had left much more of a mark on his soul than he himself would have believed.

That's when he saw her. Alone in a corner, she seemed to want to disappear, like him. She didn't seem to be from the same world as Richard, or even Sinclair. Probably a friend of his wife who was the headmistress of a private school for girls in central London. Intrigued, Sinclair approached to greet her. She was pretty in her purple dress, a dress he was sure to have seen on a famous singer but he couldn't remember her name.

"Are you all right?" he asked kindly.

She just nodded with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. But beneath her apparent coldness, Sinclair could see a gentleness and a light that was just waiting to be revealed.

"My name is Sinclair. Sinclair Bryant," he introduced himself.

"Nice to meet you, Sinclair, I'm Contessina," she replied softly.

"It's a very pretty name," Sinclair said sincerely, "not very English," he added with a twinkle of curiosity in his eye.

"My father is Italian," she replied before quickly adding that her mother was English, as if having mixed ancestry was a fault.

Sinclair told her about a trip he had taken to Rome. She admitted, shyly, that she had never had the opportunity to set foot in Italy. Sinclair sensed her unease, so he tried not to brag too much about his travels across Europe. Contessina and he must have had very different childhoods. Sinclair had grown up with a father who had one foot in business and the other in politics and a mother who was a lawyer who had put her career on hold to take care of him after his birth, a sacrifice she had never regretted because in her opinion, her son was her greatest achievement.

"Are you friends with William or his wife?" Sinclair asked casually.

"His wife. I work for her. I teach English and drama."

"Oh ! Are you acting in theatre ?" Sinclair asked with renewed enthusiasm.

Contessina seemed as enthusiastic as Sinclair to talk about one of her passions. And the conversation continued with Sinclair's incessant questions that didn't seem to bother her in the least.

interlocutor, though she asked few in return.

He knew before the meal that she had spent two years at drama school before having to drop out when her parents could no longer afford to pay for her tuition. She had failed to get a scholarship, so she had worked a series of unfulfilling jobs before settling on teaching. It had not been her dream career, at least not when she was a teenager, but she had eventually found a certain comfort in it that had erased her past failures. She lived alone in London, her father having moved to Blairgowrie after her mother died to be closer to his brother, and Sinclair could tell that she must not have made friends easily. She was reserved, though not without wit and intelligence. Talking to her was a treat. She could talk about anything and was not ashamed to admit when she did not know something. But most of all, she was interested in what he was saying and that was a change for Sinclair.

During the meal, he made sure to sit next to her. They continued to talk about everything and nothing and for the first time in a long time, the weight in Sinclair's chest had gone away. He wasn't thinking about the events of almost two years ago. There was no more Natalie, Richard, betrayal in his parents' bed, under his own roof, before his eyes and the eyes of the housekeeper.

Shortly before midnight, the two were sipping a glass of Sinclair's champagne. She had finally dared to ask Sinclair what he did for a living and, although she admitted that she didn't understand much about his job, she listened to him talk passionately about what he did and his clients... who sometimes had unconventional habits.

Midnight finally struck, Christmas arrived and Sinclair felt that in a few days, the new year would finally bring him new peace.

"Merry Christmas, Sinclair," she said with her enigmatic smirk.

"Merry Christmas, Contessina."

A half hour later, much to Sinclair's dismay, she was leaving the party.

"I can give you a ride if you want ?" he offered.

"No, it's not necessary, I don't live far away."

Sinclair doubted it. She was in one of the most expensive neighbourhood in the city, but he didn't insist.

"I was glad to have you as my companion for the evening," she added as she put on her coat and scarf.

"Me too !" Sinclair exclaimed with a big smile, "I didn't notice the time go by."

He watched her go down the steps when suddenly she turned around.

"Sinclair ?"

"Yes ?"

"You should smile more often. It suits you."

And without adding anything else, she disappeared into the night, leaving those simple words etched in Sinclair's mind forever.

He had felt something new but he had preferred not to push it further. He could have asked William to find his phone number, to get everything she knew about Contessina from his wife, but he didn't. He wasn't ready to be hurt again.

However, fate seemed to want to put Contessina in his path. Three months later, Sinclair saw her again at a market. She was buying small perfumes to offer to her students for Easter which would soon arrive and, as if she were a magnet that attracted him, Sinclair had not been able to turn around to avoid her. He had invited her to share lunch with him, then dinner and after that, there had been other dinners, evenings at the movies, galas for his work and then a whole weekend at his place, then a whole week. And slowly but surely, Contessina had made her way into his heart just as Sinclair had made his way into the young woman's.

December 24, 2021

Over the months, the relationship between Sinclair and Contessina had evolved, had built itself, without rushing, with caution, with respect, with trust. There wasn't a day when the two did not see each other and tonight, Sinclair wanted to take an important step.

It was the first Christmas that Sinclair had had at his place since his divorce and he had decided to do things simply. Contessina was his only guest. He had cooked a simple, unpretentious meal and bought a dessert from his favourite bakery, a dessert without fruit since Contessina had once told him that a dessert with fruit wasn't a real dessert.

The table was elegant. Sinclair had set a white and gold tablecloth on which he had placed candles and a few flowers prettily arranged in the vases he had inherited from his grandmother. In the background, he had put on Christmas carols, as cliché as they come.

"It's beautiful, Sinclair," Contessina said as she discovered the dining room.

Near the door that led to the veranda, the large fir tree dominated, splendid with its multi-coloured light garland and its glass balls.

"Is this a real tree ?" she asked, gently touching the needles.

"Yes. My father didn't like artificial trees. We always had real trees at my house."

"It's funny, my mother didn't like real trees so we always had a synthetic one. A faded green tree. But it didn't take away from the warmth of the party."

It was the first time she wasn't spending Christmas with her dad, but she knew he was fine, doing it with his brother and his family and most important : he was happy that his daughter seemed to have found a good man. He had met Sinclair thrice and he have had a very good impression of the man. 

Sinclair smiled at her, gently kissing her temple. Contessina brought a simplicity to his life that he had never known. She didn't seek luxury, she wasn't after her money and she liked simple things. This wasn't really the case for Sinclair who had grown up with money and firmly believed in spending it. He liked beautiful things and collecting expensive objects, but this contrast between them brought a certain balance to his life, a balance that did him good.

"I hope you like it. I spent hours in the kitchen," Sinclair said as he arranged the dishes on the table.

Contessina hadn't imagined that Sinclair was the cooking type, and she was pleasantly surprised, even touched by the attention he had put into making everything perfect for their first Christmas just the two of them.

A little before midnight, Sinclair decreed that it was time to open the presents, as excited as a child, which made Contessina laugh with a crystal-clear laugh that, after a year, still made Sinclair shiver.

"Mine first," she said as she handed him a large package that weighed quite a bit in his small hands.

Sinclair unwrapped it without ceremony and his eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and joy.

"Where did you get that ?" he asked incredulously.

"One of my colleagues knows someone who knows someone who works for an antique dealer."

Sinclair shook his head in disbelief.

"Are you happy ?" she asked shyly.

"Am I happy ? Contessina, you managed to find that impossible to find book of poems ! I didn't even think you would remember it !"

Sinclair kissed her tenderly and a slight red colour rose on the young woman's cheeks. Of course she had remembered what he had told her. She was like that, reserved, speaking little although she had many interesting things to say, but she always remembered the important things. Like him, except that Sinclair talked to her all the time.

"Mine now," he said, handing her a very small box.

She unpacked it carefully to find a key. She looked up at him questioningly, one eyebrow raised.

"This is the key to here," Sinclair explained. "All this coming and going... it's a bit redundant, isn't it? And you're here more often than you're in your shared apartment. Stop spending your money to live in this chicken coop and move in with me."

She looked at him, unsure of what to say, and Sinclair felt panic rising in him. Had he wanted to move too fast ?

"Are you serious ?" she finally asked, "I thought you weren't ready," she added.

"I thought so too, but that was before. Contessina, I want to move on. It's time for me to open a new door, to enter a new room, and I want to be in this room with you. I want you to be the one to mark my life for the better."

Contessina squeezed the key between her fingers, nodding briskly, her eyes slightly moist.

"Is that a yes ?"

"That's a yes," she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

"This is the most enjoyable Christmas I've ever had," Sinclair said, resting his forehead against Contessina's.

December 24, 2022

It had been almost a year since Contessina had moved in with Sinclair. They had gotten to know each other better, to live together, to discover and accommodate each other's little flaws. They had had their first fight, their second, their third, but they had never gone to bed angry. That was Contessina's rule: he always had to settle their differences before he went to sleep.

Sinclair's rule was that he should never hide anything from each other. He wanted honesty, even if it hurt. She shouldn't hide anything from him, neither her sorrows, nor her torments, nor what annoyed her about him and above all, above all, if one day she fell in love with someone else, she had to tell him. She should never make fun of him.

Sinclair had insisted so much on this last point that Contessina had timidly asked him if he had been betrayed in the past. Sinclair had hesitated, but in the end, he had told her everything. He owed her that much, after all if he demanded total honesty from her, he had to be so with her in return. Contessina couldn't hold back her grimace of disgust when Sinclair had told her that Natalie had slept with her own brother, in the sheets of her parents' bed.

"When you say her brother... you mean her half-brother, right ? Not a real brother right ? They don't really have blood in common," Contessina had asked.

"No, her real blood brother by blood," Sinclair had coldly answered.

It had made her feel sick. How could this woman she didn't know but never wanted to meet, firstly betray a man like Sinclair who would have served her the moon on a silver platter if she had asked for it, and secondly with her own brother ? 

And to top it all off, she had the nerve to get fucked like the female dog she was in Sinclair's parents' bed.

But this revelation had helped Contessina to better understand Sinclair, to better understand some of his behaviours and to definitively tolerate his possessiveness and his slight jealousy that had annoyed her a little at first.

Sinclair felt that he didn't really have any reason to doubt her. He didn't imagine her as the type to sleep with another and she was an only child. But he had wounds that didn't would never truly heal and he couldn't put to sleep that primal instinct that had awakened in him when he realized he was in love with her. That instinct that pushed him to protect what was his, in this case her. He loved her, deeply. She was his second chance and he couldn't bear to have his happiness taken away from him again. She was his redemption.

That Christmas, he was spending it at Sinclair's parents' house. It wasn't the first time he'd taken her there, but it was the first time she'd celebrate Christmas with them. He'd been reassured when his mother had told him one evening on the phone that she adored her. She was kind, polite, well-mannered and much more cultured than "the other one".

Of course, Sinclair's parents didn't know the whole story, he had been too ashamed to tell them that apparently he was such a poor husband that his wife had needed to find comfort in sticking his brother's penis in her sheath, but when he had told them of their divorce, he had been surprised to see the relief of his parents who had finally admitted to him that they had never loved him.

"She wasn't the one for you," his mother had whispered to him, "but she, Contessina... she can hold a conversation with you. She's interested in what interests you even if at first she thought she wouldn't like it. She reads your books, she watches the movies you like... and you do the same... She's the one, my boy."

His mother's approval that night had definitively erased any doubts he had been able to harbour. And as midnight struck and everyone exchanged enthusiastic "Merry Christmas," Sinclair watched Contessina get a kiss on the cheek from her slightly tipsy father and smiled. He had done well three years ago to agree to try to close the door to his past and open a new one a crack. He had done so shyly, but that half-open door that had pushed him to accept William's invitation had introduced him to Contessina. She was in the right room at the right time and his life had changed.

December 24, 2023

Sinclair and Contessina had flown to Italy five days earlier. He had promised to show her Rome and he had kept his word. He had taken him to all the tourist spots, from the Colosseum to the Vatican, had made him eat pizza at what he thought was the best pizzeria in the city, and had convinced him to eat "the best ice cream in the whole world" despite the bitter winter cold.

On this Christmas Eve, they were sitting at a table in a fancy restaurant that Sinclair had booked for the privacy it offered. In their alcove, away from prying eyes, they shared different varieties of pasta, grilled meats, and tasty vegetables.

"I'm so happy to be here with you," Sinclair told him as he poured him a glass of champagne.

"And I'm so grateful that you introduced me to Italy," she said, her eyes sparkling with joy.

"We'll see many other places, I promise. How about Paris for the spring ? And maybe Florence for the summer ? You wanted to see where Da Vinci had lived, right ?"

"Sinclair ! You spoil me too much," Contessina replied, a slight pinkness on her cheeks.

"Nothing is too much for you," Sinclair replied firmly.

And he meant it. She brought him a happiness, a joy that he thought he would never find again. He had known many people since his childhood. Each one in different rooms, each one who had marked him, hurt him, shaped him, broken him sometimes too. He had had to close many doors, open others, sometimes open windows when the doors refused to open, but he felt an endless gratitude for the door that had opened on this woman in front of him who looked at him as if he were the most wonderful person in the world.

Dessert arrived. A tiramisu, Contessina's favourite dessert, and fresh fruit. But before she could sink her fork into what she called the dessert of the Gods, Sinclair grabbed both of her hands in one of his.

Contessina raised her green eyes to Sinclair's, eyes in which he could read her soul and in his soul, the sincerity of the love she had for him. This was the moment, he was sure of it. The dim light of the restaurant reflected on his curved nose. His heart was beating wildly.

"Contessina, meeting you is the best thing that could have happened to me. I didn't think I'd get a second chance, but you are my second chance. And I just regret not having had the patience to wait longer for you to be my one and only chance."

He let go of her hands to take a small velvet box from the inside pocket of his jacket. Contessina briefly closed her eyes, sensing what was coming.

"Contessina," Sinclair began as he gently opened the box, "will you marry me ?"

The young woman's eyes immediately filled with tears she had been holding back. Before her was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. A sapphire surrounded by small diamonds set in a gold band.

"Contessina ?" Sinclair asked with emotion as she was slow to answer.

"Oh, Sinclair ! Yes ! Yes! A thousand times yes !"

Sinclair took her left hand and placed the ring on her ring finger, his own eyes misting with tears.

"I promise to be the best of husbands," Sinclair said as he kissed each of her fingers.

"And I promise to be the best of wives, Sinclair."

And seven months later, in a small, discreet church in Paddington, Sinclair and Contessina said yes to each other for better or for worse, even if Sinclair had no doubt that he would only get the best since he had already had the worst.

December 24, 2024

In his arms, Contessina had fallen asleep, still exhausted from the last few frightening days she had spent. Sinclair did not blame her, he knew that although she hid her weaknesses, and although he didn't doubt her strength, she still had to heal. Her body had been tested, more than it should have been. She had lost a lot of blood, but fortunately, the doctors had managed to stabilize her and had assured Sinclair that she would recover provided she stayed warm, hydrated and fed properly to regain her strength, and above all, had plenty of rest.

It had been their little secret for a long time. As long as she could hide it. On the wedding day, no one had noticed anything except Sinclair who could discern the subtle changes in the body of the woman he loved most in the world. He and apparently the father of his brand new wife, but he couldn't blame the old man for knowing his daughter so well.

When she had announced to him one evening in April that he was going to be a father, Sinclair, for the first time, had been at a loss for words, which had made the young woman burst out laughing.

"You fill me with joy," he had finally said, taking her in his arms and squeezing her with all his strength as if he was afraid she might disappear.

The pregnancy had not been easy. Contessina had nothing of the fulfilled mother-to-be. She threw up all the time, her back, legs and feet hurt all day long and at six months pregnant, she had to stop working when her placenta had slightly detached, causing bleeding that had nearly made Sinclair's heart stop.

But there had also been good times. The baby's first kicks as Sinclair, his head resting on his wife's belly, read him a Dickens story. His moments when his wife's eyes shone with an indefinable sparkle that made her even more radiant or how she had shone by his side, head held high despite her discomfort, during an important evening at Sinclair's work celebrating his brand new promotion.

There had also been the decorating of the baby's room, their little quarrel over whether or not he would know the sex of the baby - Sinclair absolutely wanted to have the surprise, and he had won - and all the evenings when, despite his own fatigue, Sinclair had patiently massaged his feet.

The baby had finally arrived two weeks early. Contessina had woken up in the middle of the night and Sinclair had woken up with a start when she had shaken him lightly.

"I think the baby is coming," she had said with tears in her eyes.

Without waiting, Sinclair had helped him put on a pair of jogging pants and one of his own t-shirts, had put him in the car where the maternity bag had already been in the trunk for over a month and had driven him to the hospital. And indeed, their little treasure, eager to celebrate Christmas with his parents, hadrents, were ready to show themselves. The delivery had been long, tiring, stressful, especially when she had started to lose so much blood that the doctors had had to take her to the operating room to perform an emergency cesarean, leaving Sinclair alone in a sanitized hallway that stank of disinfectant and where a rickety Christmas tree had been placed.

He had been afraid that night, afraid of losing his wife and child, of losing his child, or worse still of losing his wife. But the two of them had held on, two true warriors who had won this battle against life and death, who had broken down the door of survival.

And it was with joy that Sinclair had opened the door of their house to this new little being that he had loved at first sight. His flesh and blood. His son.

"Sinclair ?"

Sinclair came back to reality when he heard the voice of Contessina who had just woken up.

"Are you okay, my love ?" he asked her, smoothing a strand of her brown hair behind her ear while she was rubbed her eyes in a very cute way that reminded Sinclair their young baby.

She moaned slightly before sitting up with Sinclair's help, who, without her having to say it, guessed the pain she was still feeling.

"I think I could use a hot chocolate," she whispered, her voice still hoarse with sleep.

Sinclair immediately complied as she sat comfortably on the couch, noticing that Sinclair had just started the first episode of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Her body was still aching. She knew she had to be patient. She had had a lucky escape in that operating room, that room where they had put her into an artificial sleep to get her baby out of her body, to save their lives.

When she woke up, in her hospital room, the two men of her life were there: her father and her husband. Finally, the three men of her life, since in her grandfather's arms was her son.

She would never forget the emotion she felt when Sinclair took the baby back to place him in his arms.

"I waited for you for the name," he had told her while kissing her on the forehead.

She briefly closed her eyes while smiling softly at her memories when Sinclair's voice brought her back to reality.

"My lady's hot chocolate. And mine," he said while placing two steaming cups, full of marshmallows, on the coffee table.

A small whimper was then heard right next to them, in the small crib that was in the living room.

"I'll get him," Sinclair said while standing up.

He came back with their little boy in his arms and sat next to Contessina who rested her head against his shoulder, as well as a protective hand on her son's stomach, which was still sensitive because he's difficult start in life. But with a loving mother and a strong and caring dad, he will be very soon becoming stronger.

"He's beautiful," Sinclair said, looking at him with the same wonder she had when the nurse had come to put him in her arms.

"He looks just like you," Contessina said, kissing Sinclair's cheek.

"Thank you," Sinclair said, his hazel eyes looking into his wife's.

"For telling you that our son looked like you ?"

"No, for coming into my life. For giving me hope in love again. For agreeing to marry me, for never telling me to go away when I talk too much, for genuinely caring about me, for always supporting me and him. Thank you for giving me our child. For giving me a family."

Contessina snuggled closer to him, moved.

"Thank you, Sinclair, for noticing me and for never thinking that I wasn't good enough to be in your life. In your world."

Sinclair rested his chin against the top of Contessina's skull without ever taking his eyes off their child. 

Thomas Sinclair Bryant. 

His son. His heir. The fruit of his love with the true woman of his life, the one with whom he would grow old and face the trials of illness, of old age, but not for a long time. 

Before being old and sick, they still had many things to experience together with their little boy. Many doors to close, many doors to open, rooms to explore. And Sinclair, overwhelmed by happiness, made a promise to himself to help his son get out of the rooms where the people who will be there will have bad intentions, to help him choose his path carefully, but above all, he would teach him that no matter the difficulties of life, the trials and sufferings, he should always have the courage to get up and open a new door.

[faerybones3]

come back to bed

simon riley x gn!reader

wc: ~600

warnings: none, pure fluff, no pronouns used for reader

Sleep escaped you tonight. No matter how many sheep you counted, how much you tossed and turned, sleep remained just out of reach. 

You sat up in bed and gently pushed the duvet away, careful not to wake the large man still sleeping beside you, his soft snores filling the room. When your bare feet touched the hard-wood floor of your apartment, you winced, and hurried to your wardrobe to retrieve the warmest pair of socks you could find. 

Padding down the hall and to the kitchen, you began your little ritual of putting the kettle on, grabbing the biggest mug you could find, and looking through your stash of tea. 

Earl Grey seemed like a good choice for tonight. 

10 minutes later and your tea was warming your fingertips as you perched in a chair on your tiny balcony overlooking your street. It was mid-november, and London’s usually bleak climate turned frigid and unbearable very quickly after Halloween. You were bundled in a wool blanket to keep yourself warm, and you could faintly see your breath in the air, mingling with the steam emanating from your cup. 

“You’re up late”

Nearly jumping out of your skin, you turned to face the speaker. 

“Christ, Simon”

He chuckled softly and came to join you on the balcony, sitting in the chair next to yours. He was dressed in just a thin t-shirt and his boxers and you shivered, thinking of how cold he probably was. However cold he might be, though, he didn't show it. Instead, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered you one. You took it. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said. “Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head as he lit his cigarette and handed you the lighter. You weren’t a heavy smoker, and neither was Simon, but sometimes you needed the buzz. You also liked the way you could feel the smoke curl in your lungs, warming your chest from the inside out. 

It stayed quiet between the two of you for a while. Not in an uncomfortable way. Simon was probably the only person in the world you felt comfortable sharing this kind of silence with. The only noise that could be heard were the cars and taxis passing by down below. 

When you finished your cigarette, you stamped it out and rose from your chair, Simon trailing behind you soon after, an unspoken agreement that it was time to head inside to the warmth of your shared apartment. He silently followed you into the kitchen as you placed your teacup in the sink.

You felt Simon’s warm hands snake around your torso and his chin rest on top of your head, pressing a light kiss to your hair. 

“Come back to bed, love.”

You turned your body around to face him, still held in his grasp. Your hands came up to rest on his chest and you nodded.

He led you back to the bedroom and you hurriedly crawled under the covers. Simon crawled in behind you and gently but firmly pulled you back into his warm embrace, wrapping his arms around your waist and pushing his hands up beneath your shirt to rest on your tummy and trace little circles against your skin. 

Eventually, your eyes drifted shut and you fell into the sweet embrace of sleep beside the man you loved most in the world.

A/N: this is my first time writing in like 5(?) years?? so please be nice i’m sorry if this sucks but i’m obsessed with cod rn and NEEDED to write about my babygirl simon <3

[ladylooch]

Best Thing I’ll Ever Do - Lio x Savannah (Part 4)

ICYMI: Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3

A/N: The way you all are not gonna recognize Lio in this AT ALL. Ah, I am so proud of him! He is sooooo good for Sav in these moments. So strong, dependable, the voice of reason when she needs him to be, and how he loves her so throughly. AH! I cannot wait to hear your thoughts! Enjoy 😊

Word count: 4.4k

November’s date night has been an absolute dream. Savannah feels like she is floating from being swept off her feet by her husband. He planned every minute perfectly. She feels so loved and understood by him when he adds in details she mentions in passing- like the new restaurant she showed him on Instagram that he booked reservations for tonight. Or the way he remembered that she specifically wanted their viral dessert, so he called ahead to make sure they saved one for them. 

In the darkness of the car, Lio holds her hand on his right thigh. He flicks the blinker up, signaling as he exits the freeway to wind through their neighborhood. Savannah leans forward, running her right hand along Lio’s chest. She cups his neck, pressing her lips into the opposite side of his throat. Her teeth nibble in places as she works her way down to the sweet spot in the crook of his shoulder. Lio sighs, removing his hand from hers to glide up her thigh. 

Savannah opens her eyes, kissing along his jaw bone. When he gets to a red light, Lio turns, grabbing her face so he can kiss her deeply.

“Mmm.” She sighs into their kiss. 

The light changes and Lio begrudgingly lets go of her chin to keep driving them home. Her lips go back to his throat, working it over while her hand drifts down to cup his hard cock. Lio’s fingers work under the skirt of her dress, palming her ass as she turns onto one hip. He kneads his fingers into her bare cheek, making Savannah moan into his skin. 

“Drive faster.” She requests breathlessly. “Need you in my mouth.” She undoes his Prada belt, keeping her lips pressed on his warm, pink skin, then she follows her hands down. 

“Baby.” Lio groans, squeezing her ass tighter as she kisses his erection over his pants. 

“Hurry, Lee.” 

“We’re home.” He tells her, tossing the car in park.

Savannah squeals as Lio unclips her seatbelt. She falls face first into his lap while he laughs, hand coming to the back of her head to hold her there for a moment. He presses up into her mouth then releases her with a slap of her ass.

“That’s for teasing me.” Savannah sits up, flipping her hair back and biting her lip.

“You should make me pay for that inside.” Lio’s smiles softly, holding her cheek again. 

“Kinda wanted to make love to you tonight.” Savannah’s lower lip immediately pushes out in a pout. 

“Lio Meier is a make love kinda guy. Hell froze over!” She exclaims, leaning forward to kiss him deeply. She drapes an arm across his shoulders, running her fingers through his hair.

“I’ll be making love to you forever, beautiful.”

“Mmm, I know.” She confirms, then kisses him again. “Let’s go!” She bounces on her knees, them untucks her legs to get out of the car.

“Wait for me.” Lio requests. He gets out of the car, walking around to her door. He opens it, then presents his hand for her to use to get out. Her heels click on the sidewalk as she stands proudly next to him. He shuts the door, then wraps an arm around her waist, leading her securely to their front door. 

Once inside, Lio grabs Savannah’s purse, putting it on the entry way table so he can work her jacket down her arms. He places it in the closet while she steps out of her shoes. After his coat is hung as well, they walk together to the stairs, climbing them side by side to their bedroom. 

Savannah gathers her blonde hair up into a makeshift pony tail for Lio’s fingers to work her zipper down her back. One slim strap after the other falls down her shoulders. Lio pulls her back by her stomach into his hard shaft, grinding it into her ass. Savannah sighs, reaching around to hold him there. Her head falls to the side as Lio’s lips brush along her shoulder.

Lio moves his leg forward, encouraging her to step towards the bed. Then his hands on her hips turn her in his grasp. He kisses the front of her shoulder, then down to the swell of her left breast. He bites her there, savoring the redness of her skin under his touch. Lio forces the dress the rest of the way down her body so it pools at their feet. Eager fingers come to Lio’s shirt tucked into his pants, pulling it out and working his belt apart. Lio scoops up Savannah’s breasts in his hands, gently thumbing her nipples into hard peaks. Her head falls forward, caught by Lio’s chest as he smirks into her hair. 

“Lay down, baby.” He whispers, nudging her backwards until her knees hit the side of their bed. Savannah complies, spreading her legs for Lio to follow her down to the mattress. He hooks one of her knees around his hip while they kiss, grinding his bulge into the wetness of her core.

Little whimpers drop from Savannah’s mouth as Lio works his lips around one of her nipples. Shivers of pleasure dash down her arms, collecting in her clit until it pulses, calling for Lio to shift his attention south. She grabs his hand, moving it from next to her hip to her core, pressing his fingers deeper into her folds. Lio moves her panties to the side, stroking the tips of his fingers through her wetness until she bucks up into his hand. Lio pulls back, raking his blue eyes over her face as he gives her the tight circles she needs. His eyes are feral, passionate, like the look of her below him by it’s self is enough for him to finish. She moans his name breathlessly. 

“Babe, I want you inside of me.” She pleads, running her fingers down his arms.

“Patience, beautiful. I’ll be worth the wait.” He mumbles next to her belly button as he continues to kiss down her body.

“Oh!” She gasps, gripping the sheets next to her hips as Lio strokes his tongue up her slit. “Wow.” She continues, spreading her legs wider for him as he settles on his knees off the bed. He pulls her down to his mouth, rolling his tongue up from her entrance to her clit. Her hand drifts down to her thigh, asking for his hand. He slides his fingers into hers, rubbing his thumb along her pointer finger as his mouth continues to work her over.

His lips hold over her clit, lightly suctioning her into his mouth, savoring the sharp inhale of her breath. He knows she’s loving this, but of course she has to tell him too.

“Oh, that feels so good.” She cries, fading off with a moan as he goes in for another lap with his tongue. Her muscles clench, collapsing around an uninvited emptiness. Savannah reaches down, stroking his cheek with her hand as she curls her knees up closer to her chest. 

“Lay still.” Lio murmurs, knowing she is adjusting for her release. “I’ll give you what you need.” He assures her. Because he can now, especially this way. Lio glides her legs back to where they were, but resting his middle finger at her opening. In tandem with his mouth, the finger glides into her wet heat. “Ohmygod.” Savannah sighs immediately. Lio grins into her folds. She’s gonna be a wreck for him in under a minute. 

Synchronized strokes of her entire pussy have Savannah trembling hard on the bed. Lio builds and builds the tempo and pressure exactly as she taught him. Her fingers fist their expensive sheets as her mind goes blank, only capable of following every stroke of her husband’s tongue through her slit. White explosions blast along her eyelids as she comes loudly and wetly into Lio’s mouth. He slurps her up greedily, whimpering at her taste coasting his tongue. 

“Mmmm, baby.” He moans. “Taste so good tonight. Never wanna leave this pussy.”

“Yeah?” Savannah asks, watching with lowered lids as he kisses along her pubic bone, nuzzling his nose into her short hairs there. 

“Yeah. Fucking love how you taste for me.” He compliments, then drags his coated fingers along his tongue, groaning at the taste on his tongue. 

Savannah’s eyes close in pure ecstasy. Fuck, he drives her wild. 

“You’ve been such a good girl for me.”

“Yeah.” She snaps, grabbing his hand and trying to pull him forward. Lio chuckles at her eagerness. “Reward me.” She smiles coyly as she says it. 

Lio shoves his pants and boxer briefs down his thighs, gripping his cock in his hand as he steps out of his clothes. Savannah’s blue eyes drink in the sight of him, strong muscles, gorgeous thick lines coming to a V where he seeps at the tip for her. 

“I love you.” He murmurs, smiling cutely, eating up her mouth as he leans over her. Savannah cups his face, kissing him deeply as his swollen head meets her core. 

“I love you more.” She mumbles. He grins into their kiss, then pushes in, biting her bottom lip when he reaches the hilt. Savannah pants into Lio’s open mouth, collecting his tongue with hers. “Fuck, you feel like heaven.” 

“Made for me, baby.” He compliments her. 

Lio gathers her knees by hooking them in his elbows, working her legs up to create the positioning she loves. Savannah moans loudly, wetness filling the room with each of Lio’s pumps into her. 

“I love you so much, Savannah.” He pulls her tighter into his chest, not letting her move at all as he fucks deep inside of her. Her head bobs back, hair tickling his forearms.

“You’ve helped me become a better man. Better partner. Better brother. Better son.” His lips collect her needy gasps. After each comment, his thrusts began to increase, until the bed squeaks in protest beneath their bodies.

“Better everything. I don’t know who I would be without you. I’m glad I’ll never know.” He feels her begin to shake in his hands as he fills her need and desire to be more than just a body to him. She’s the complete package and he wants her to know it tonight. Sure, they’re married and she should know. But Lio didn’t go through losing her to leave anything to chance.

“I’m never leaving your side. You and me forever, baby. No one else.” He assures her, collecting her moans as she comes hard around him. Her walls concave into his cock, ripping the orgasm out of him quickly with his persistent pumps into her. 

Lio kisses all along her face and upper body as they both come down from their highs. Then he slides out of her, rolling her to her side so he can continue to kiss and love on her. He holds her breasts, kissing them too in a worshipping way, then back up her body. He works them both back up before he throws her leg over this hips, driving into her and fucking his cum deeper inside of her, just to fill her back up again. 

When they finish their second round, they both begin to drift to sleep, wrapped in each other. Lio has her crushed into his chest, buried under the blankets except for her nose and eyes. His gentle snores make her face rise and fall on his chest. He twitches slightly in his sleep, then pulls her tighter still. 

Savannah smiles into his warm skin, then kisses his chest. She feels Lio’s seed creating a sticky mess between her thighs. She crosses her legs, keeping what she can inside of her and off the bed. 

By morning, it will all have leaked between her thighs, but she doesn’t think twice about the consequences of what is inside of her. 

- - - 

Deep under her duvet, Savannah Meier bites her tongue as another wave of nausea threatens her stomach. She places her palm over it, willing everything inside of her to settle down. She already had to cancel all her meetings today and lunch with Liv, who was in from California. The last thing she wants is to create more work her weak body can’t do by throwing up in this bed. 

“Baby I’m home!” Lio calls out after the front door shuts. He is returning from team meetings. “How you doing?” He asks, voice getting closer with his hard footsteps on the floor.

“Shitty.” She moans.

“Oh, baby.” He whines, pouting at her. “What are we gonna do with you? Should we just let you die like this?”

“Yeah.” She whimpers.

“Well, I can’t live without you, so I’m gonna have to go first somehow.”

“Your brothers would probably do it for you.” Lio laughs.

“I could outrun those little shits.”

“You’re supposed to want to die.” She reminds him.

“Oh…” He pauses, rubbing her thigh over the blanket. “Yeah. Maybe Connor instead. He would make it quick out of respect.”

Despite her current circumstances, Savannah chuckles then groans.

“Ugh my boobs hurt so bad too.” 

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Can I get you anything?”

“No, I just want to lay here by myself.” 

“Okay.” He kisses her. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.” 

The rest of the day, Savannah drifts in and out of sleep. She requests ginger ale from Lio, who happily complies and brings in some Crunchmaster crackers for her to snack on if she needs. The combination of the two help, allowing Savannah to take a three hour nap. When she wakes, it’s because Lio is coming in to check on her.

“Babe, it's around dinner time. I was thinking of getting some soup from the corner. Is that all you want, or a sandwich too?”

“Just soup.” She moans. “Do we have any tums?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab some for you.” He walks into their bathroom, rummaging through the drawers for the medicine she requested.  “Um, babe?” Lio says, grabbing the unopened box of tampons from her side of the bathroom. “Are you late?” He asks. Savannah tilts her head at him. They had to make a special trip to buy that box on the way home from a game in preparing for the following days. But now the same box sits there as purchased.

“No… well… I guess a little, maybe?”

“You’re usually never late.” He murmurs, confused.

Although most men probably aren’t in sync with their wives cycles, Lio has become accustom over the years in his support of Savannah’s journey, including having access to her period app she used to track everything in the midst of all her changes with the specialist. She gropes for her phone on the nightstand to pull it up. The app immediately gives her a notification that she may be late, or reminds her to put in her last period. She pauses. This is weird. 

“Why would I be late…?” She trails off, mostly speaking to herself. She nibbles her bottom lip, then looks up at Lio. He raises his eyebrows at her. “What?”

“No reason you could possibly be late?” He trails off.

“Lio, I’m not pregnant.” She rolls her eyes. “Can’t. We’ve been over this.” 

“You have always said can’t…. The doctors never said can’t…” He reminds her. He is trying to be gentle, but Savannah feels anger bubble up in her chest. 

“Okay.” She snaps. She flips her blonde, disheveled hair over her shoulder. 

“Don’t get upset. It is reasonable.”

“No, it’s not.” She scoffs at him. “And I’m allowed to not like that you’re bringing it up as an option.” Lio backs off. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right. That may be coming off hurtful, but it’s not my intention. I’m sure it will come.” 

But it doesn’t. So when Savannah is over 14 days late while still refusing to take a pregnancy test, Lio takes matters into his own hands. He comes home from practice with a Target bag. He puts it on the counter, pulling out refills of hand soap, a few chocolate bars requested from his wife, her face wash and two different brands of pregnancy tests. Savannah’s mouth starts to open in protest. 

“Before you jump down my throat.” He holds his hands up in a truce. “Go take it. If it’s negative, then fine we know. But this…” He gestures to her overall avoiding disposition. “Is not working for me.” 

“Lio.” Savannah sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “I have Endo, have been told my whole life having kids is likely impossible, and I’m on birth control pills.” She shakes her head. “This is going to be negative.”

“Okay. Go be right then and take the test.” He shoves them towards her. She looks down at them, already having the sinking feeling of being mocked by the pictured two blue lines she won’t be seeing in three minutes. 

Savannah is right. She doesn’t see the two blue lines in three minutes. She sees them in twenty seconds. She is so in shock, she doesn’t even stop the timer on her phone. She blinks, then raises her gaze to her reflection in the mirror. Her mouth is gaped open, face white as ash, as she brings the pregnancy test up to eye level. 

This can’t be right. 

Savannah rips open the remaining tests in both boxes dipping them in the cup she peed into to control the testing process.

“Oh my god!” She yells when they all light up quickly. “Lio!” 

Lio comes running into the bedroom as she rips open the bathroom door. 

“I’m dying! I have cancer! They’re all positive! All four of them! Like immediately positive!” Lio’s look of concern drops and he blankly stares at Savannah, blinking rapidly as he tries to formulate a response.

“Babe.” He says very tenderly. He steps forward, gripping the tops of her arms. “You have four positive pregnancy tests on the counter in there?” She nods, tears racing down her cheeks as she begins to shake. “And you’re late?” He pauses, moving his hands up to cup her cheeks. “And you’ve been sick?” He licks his lips, voice beginning to shake a bit. “And your boobs hurt?” He laughs gently. “Baby, I think you’re pregnant.”

“No.” She says immediately.

“Okay, maybe this is ah, just um, a…” He trails off, swallowing hard because he too is kind of freaking out, in a really good way, and he wishes Savannah was feeling any sort of joy from this. “Maybe you’re just trying to protect yourself right now. But we should try to think what’s more likely.”

“I’m not.” She says, swallowing hard. “I’m- I’m seriously Lio, I’m not.” She shakes her head. Lio collects her into his chest.

“Let’s go be sure, okay? I’ll call Dr. Barnes.” 

Dr. Barnes isn’t in until the next morning, but the clinic squeezes Savannah in right away at 8:00am. She pees in a cup and gets blood work drawn, then returns to the room they placed her in when her and Lio arrived. Lio waits in a chair opposite the door, standing to help her up onto the exam table. Neither of them talk, unable to move forward in any sense of the way until the doctor comes in with answers. 

A knock sounds at the door, breaking Lio and Savannah’s silence.

“Hi. Good morning to you both.” Dr. Barnes comes in with a polite smile. She shuts the door, then goes over to sit down on the stool. “Well, we don’t always get to have exciting moments like this. But yes, you are pregnant, Savannah.” Dr. Barnes lets her words sink in the air. Then clears her throat at the lack of response from them both. “I am sure this is a shock. But I figured, since you’re here, we can do an ultrasound and give you a visual. It can be helpful in processing this surprising news.”

“I…” Savannah’s mouth hangs open. Her heartbeats so hard and fast in her chest, she is sure the doctor and Lio can hear it. Lio. Oh my god. Lio Meier who doesn’t want babies is now going to be a father. A lightheaded wave collapses over her. “I’m gonna pass out.” Savannah cries. Lio and Dr. Barnes stand up, each grabbing an arm to gently lay her back on the bed. “How could this happen?” She asks the room, eyes rapidly moving back and forth, searching for an answer on the ceiling.

“Everything came together perfectly.” Dr. Barnes states.

“How!? I’m on pills.. I have Endo so bad it lights up all over the scans. What!?” She practically howls.

“Well, that was before your surgery.” Dr. Barnes cautions. “As for birth control, it isn’t 100% effective.”

“Well you would think it would be in my case!?” She slaps her hand on her forehead, continuing to breathe heavily. “Oh my god.” She closes her eyes as an avalanche of nausea collapses in her stomach. Lio rubs her shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s okay, babe.” Lio assures her.

“It’s not going to stick.” Savannah says. “I’m going to lose it. The tissue isn’t conducive for pregnancy.” 

“I understand the concern. But the hardest part is implantation with tissue irregularities and here you are. By the looks of your blood work, around 7 weeks pregnant.” Dr. Barnes addresses immediately. 

“I won’t.. carry to term though. It won’t work.”

“We don’t know that for your case, Savannah.” Dr. Barnes speaks calmly and clearly, holding her hand as she speaks. “Right now, we should shift our focus to what we can control. Like this ultrasound, discussing prenatal vitamins and getting you scheduled for an appointment in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” She sniffs. Lio gently wipes the tears falling down from the corner of her eye. She hiccups slightly from the emotions breeding in her chest. 

“With your medical history, it will be a high-risk pregnancy. I want to see you more frequently. That does not mean you will have complications. We just don’t know yet. We will have to see how your pregnancy progresses.” Savannah’s eyes drift away from the doctor to Lio. She licks her lips, feeling the fear grip her throat at ruining the entire trajectory of his life. 

“Ahh okay, but can- can I talk to Lio alone, please?” 

“Yes, of course.” Dr. Barnes agrees, then slides from the room, leaving them alone.

“You don’t want this.” Savannah immediately blurts when the door closes. “We should.. discuss-”

“We are going to be parents.” He cuts her off, wondrously. Savannah inhales sharply. Her and Lio stare at each other in silence again for a few pauses. His blue eyes swim with tears, so unexpectedly. He steps closer to her, cupping her cheeks in both of his hands. Savannah feels the splash of his tears on her cheeks and she begins to sob into their kiss. The feeling is indescribable. Adrenaline and hope sprint through her veins as she clutches his shirt in a fist between their bodies. “Baby, we are pregnant!” He says incredulously. He laughs excitedly, then wraps his arms around her shoulders. “We are having a baby.” He whispers into her ear, clutching her head with the hand threading through her hair.

“You don’t have to pretend. If this isn’t what you want-“

“Baby, oh my god, I am so excited I could run a fuckin’ marathon. Please. Be present with me in this moment. We are going to be parents. Our dream is coming true.” 

Our dream. Their dream. Not hers. Theirs.

Savannah begins to sob hard. It’s worst case scenario for her: he is excited. Overjoyed. Over the moon. And he doesn’t understand the risks of their case. It’s like all the cautions they need to consider went right through his brain and out the other side. 

“I’m so scared. Lee, you cannot get attached this.. it might not..”

“But it might.” He corrects her tenderly. “But it might.” He whispers to her again after pulling away to look into her eyes. “Let’s go see our baby on the ultrasound. Maybe we can hear the heartbeat.” 

It’s too early, so they don’t.

But they see the little blob of their baby on the screen in black and white. They are holding hands when they find out their due date is August 7th. As hard as Savannah tries to be realistic about these odds, she is already in love with this baby. Their baby. Her baby.

She is pretty sure she floats out of that office with her ultrasound pictures in her purse. She scans the room of pregnant women waiting, connecting immediately with the sight because she is one of them. She starts to laugh, tears building in her eyes as her and Lio push through to the winter scene outside. 

“We’re having a baby.” She tells Lio. He grins back at her, then wraps her up into his chest for a hug. 

“Yeah, babe. We are.” Lio’s hand drifts down to cup her flat stomach, pressing in slightly. Savannah puts her hand over his as Lio’s lips cover hers. When they pull apart, Lio can see the deep fear returning to her face as her mind rushes over how fucking hard it would be now. To lose this. To know she is pregnant and not be able to keep it. To not be able to hold their baby in her arms 

“I know you’re scared.” Lio nods. “I’m a little scared too. But baby, we’re doing this together. All of it. The good, the bad, the maybe devastating, I don’t know. What I do know is I’m going to be right here holding your hand. No matter what.” Savannah nods, letting Lio wipe her tears away.

She has never needed anyone as badly as she needs Lio right now. 

Her fingers lace with his, body feeling heavy with each step knowing what she carries inside of her now. Lio opens her door for her, watching her carefully as she slides into the passenger seat. He comes around to the driver’s side, getting in quickly to avoid the chilly wind.

“First dad hunch here, it’s a girl.” He says as he puts the key in the ignition. “I don’t know why. I have nothing to go off here, but on the screen it looked like a girl.” 

For a moment, Savannah lets herself picture it: a little girl with a pink t-shirt, and little blue jean overalls, baby blue Nikes on her feet, with pigtails that runs around a backyard with Stella and Winnie Wood. 

All of it is a surreal dream.

One Savannah won’t let herself fully believe is coming until well into her second trimester.

Read more Lio and Savannah here.

[ithinkyouhealedmyheart]

Ghostwriter CH 18

Unbetad Unedited Unhinged || AO3 Wattpad

Character(s): Kendall Knight, James Diamond, Carlos Garcia, Logan Mitchell, Gustavo Rocque, Kelly Wainwright, Mrs. Knight, Katie Knight, Veronica Clark oc, James Clark oc

Pairing(s): Kendall Knight/Veronica Clark, James Diamond & Kendall Knight & Carlos Garcia & Logan Mitchell, James Diamond & Veronica Clark

a/n: Happy Birthday Ronnie!!! My sweet, traumatized girl

The air that morning felt different. Thursday, November 21st, was a typical day on the calendar, not circled or marked with a red pen. But, for some reason, Kendall slept in. On work days, he rarely slept in. He didn’t know why he slept in, but his elbow smacked against the wall, causing him to jolt awake. In a mess of limbs he jumped around the surprisingly vacant bedroom, grabbing clothes at random off the floor. Hopping into his jeans, he had one arm through a sleeve and the other halfway through. Frazzled and mostly half-dressed, Kendall yanked the door open to find his mother serving breakfast to James, Carlos, Logan, and his sister. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears as if he were flatlined at the hospital. 

“Morning, honey.” Mrs. Knight greeted him, and she put waffles on the empty plate. 

“Why aren’t you guys at work?” Kendall sat down and tucked his chair against the table. “I thought Gustavo got angry when we were late?” 

“Kelly made him give us the day off,” Carlos said with a mouthful of waffles. 

“Why?” Kendall turned to his mom. 

“She said it was her birthday gift for Ronnie when she stopped by earlier.”  Mrs. Knight sat at the head of the table. “What are you boys planning for her?” 

“It’s her birthday!” Kendall choked on the orange juice. 

“What?” Logan and Carlos dropped their forks on their plates. 

James looked like the only one who knew it was Ronnie’s birthday. Katie rolled her eyes. She had a feeling the three of them were going to start freaking out because they weren’t told it was her birthday and they couldn’t not give her a birthday present. Luckily, she wouldn’t have to worry about gift-giving because she and her mother would be making something for Ronnie, which meant she could avoid stupid teenage boys since she’d be in the apartment. Mrs. Knight was a bit confused. She knew the boys hung out with Ronnie often, and it seemed strange that her birthday surprised them. The mother thought her son and his friends would have at least known about this. Mrs. Knight’s smile faltered for just a second. 

Kendall was already trying to formulate a plan, but setting up a birthday party for Ronnie would be different from anyone else's. He didn’t know her as well as he thought, not even enough to get her a proper birthday gift. Considering he wasn’t warned, he didn’t want to half-ass it and get her a card. She’d probably end up hating him, but how could she if he didn’t even know? Okay, maybe he would hate himself because he always believed he was a great gift-giver. Also, Ronnie is his friend and doesn’t deserve something he picked out at the last minute that has nothing to do with any of her interests. He was typically the first to finish at the breakfast table, but his thoughts slowed him down. James completed his breakfast first, followed by Logan and Carlos, who scrambled out of their seats in a hurry. The brunette stayed with Kendall when Katie changed in the bathroom and Mrs. Knight went to change in her room. With his fork, the blonde poked at the last waffle and stared at it like he had laser eyes. He was mentally cataloging all kinds of ideas for a surprise party. He was sure that Lucy and Camille would be over the moon to throw a party for their friend, and he could even try to get Mercedes on board once he figured out how to contact her. 

“So, what are you planning?” James took a piece of bacon from his plate and chewed on it. 

“Trying to figure that out,” 

“Well, you should figure that out soon.” James shrugged. 

“I’d figure that out sooner if you could help me.” 

“You’re the guy that comes up with all these plans.” 

“James.” 

“Okay, okay. Do you really want to get Ronnie a meaningful gift?” 

“Yeah?” 

“How much do you know about her?” James asked, draping his arm over the back of the chair. 

“Her favorite color is yellow?” 

“Get her sunflowers!” 

“I’m not getting her flowers. That would be weird because she already has a boyfriend.” 

“What? You asked for my help, and I gave you an idea,” 

“It’s a bad idea.” 

“Okay? It’s not like you’re coming up with anything better,” James scoffed. 

“What are you getting, Ronnie?” Kendall raised a brow. He either called James on his bluff or caught him lying, but regardless, he was skeptical the brunette got her anything. 

“That… Is a secret.” James smiled sheepishly. Kendall shook his head with a laugh. 

“You didn’t get her anything, did you?” 

“No. I ordered it, and it hasn’t arrived.” 

“How did you know about her birthday?” 

“She and her dad talked about it last week when I went to dye her hair.” James shrugged. “I ordered her a songbook since it looked like she was running out of space in her notebook.”

“Oh.” Kendall’s face fell. There goes that idea, but it was too obvious. 

Anyone who knew she was a songwriter would try to get her a new songbook. He needed something with a deeper meaning. But why did this matter so much? On James’ birthdays, he gets his beauty products; on Logan’s, he gives him an advanced calculator; for Carlos, he buys a corn dog maker. Perhaps it was because he had been friends with them since middle school. He had known them for so long, and of course, he was able to give them a proper gift. This told him that he must get to know Ronnie instead of denouncing her as an unreasonable girl who wanted nothing to do with him. 

James sat at the breakfast table when Kendall washed the dishes, and he moved to the couch when the blonde went to change in his room. He looked around his room now that he was fully awake. At the front of his mind, the first thing he thought about was that Ronnie always wore that yellow sweatshirt. It had to be the only one she had if she wore it 24/7 in the heat. He had all kinds of sweatshirts that he had taken with him from Minnesota; they were in his suitcase under his bed because they took up too much space in the dresser, not because he had too many clothes, but once sweatshirts were folded, they were way too bulky. 

He pulled out his suitcase and set it on the bed. Because Los Angeles was so sunny and warm, he didn’t have much use for his sweatshirts. Of course, if Big Time Rush ever went on tour, that would be a different story. It’s non-negotiable for them to make a show in Minnesota. If their songwriter tagged along, he could show Ronnie around and take her to the ice skating rink– Wait. That’s a damn good idea. Assuming she didn’t know how to ice skate, Kendall could take it upon himself to teach her how. Hopefully, it’s not something she hates. He wouldn't know what to do if she didn’t like ice skating or hockey. At the top of the neatly folded pile was a cornflower blue hoodie. Gingerly, he picked it up and unfolded it. Blue was his favorite color, and he didn’t have an emotional connection to this sweatshirt. Oddly enough, this felt less weird than giving her a bouquet of sunflowers like James suggested. For some reason, it felt less intimate than providing her flowers. That was something a boyfriend did for their girlfriend, and he knew well enough that he wasn’t Ronnie’s boyfriend. 

James wasn’t in the apartment when Kendall exited his room. The sweatshirt in his hands felt heavier than it should. He didn’t know why he checked to see if the coast was clear. But, for some reason, he didn’t want to get caught. The blonde sneaked out of the apartment, closing the door carefully to avoid making any noise. 

“What are you doing?” 

Kendall jumped and spun around. Lucy stood there with a hand on her hip. She quirked a brow and tilted her head. 

“What do you mean? What am I doing? I’m not doing anything.” Kendall laughed awkwardly and put his sweatshirt behind his back. Lucy was unimpressed and very skeptical. 

“You’re up to something, aren’t you?” 

“No!” Kendall paused and cleared his throat. “No, no. I’m not up to anything. No schemes or plans.” 

“What are you hiding?” Lucy tried to peek around him, but he took a step back. 

“Hiding? Nothing– I’m not hiding anything.” 

“Bullshit,” Lucy took a step closer. While he was frazzled and most likely trying to come up with an explanation, she peeked around his back and held a hand over her mouth. She tried not to laugh. 

“It’s a sweatshirt. Why are you so nervous about a sweatshirt?” There was a tinge of amusement in her eyes. 

“I’m not nervous.” Kendall frowned. “It’s a present for Ronnie.” 

“You’re giving Ronnie a sweatshirt.” Her brows shot up. “You? What’s going on between the two of you?” She stepped closer, and he stepped back nervously. 

“It’s her birthday, and I figured she only has one sweatshirt–” 

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Lucy interrupted. “But, if it’s for her birthday, I won’t pry.” She shrugged. “Don’t you need a card with cheesy messages?” 

“Right, yeah! I was on my way to get one!” Kendall turned on his heel and started walking down the hall. But Lucy couldn’t be shaken off easily. 

“You do know that Curt is her boyfriend, right?” 

“Yeah, why?” Kendall tensed. He didn’t need to be reminded of that every five minutes. 

“Thought I should remind you,” she shrugged. “It’s kind of shitty to get her a card the day of her birthday.” 

“Did you know when her birthday was?” 

“No.” 

“Then you don’t get to talk.” 

Lucy opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She shoved her hands in her pockets and frowned. Kendall pressed the call button for the elevator. They waited in silence. The doors opened, and Ronnie stood in the elevator. She was almost as surprised as they were. 

“Kendall, Lucy!” Ronnie’s face lit up. “I was on my way to Rocque Records. I woke up a bit too late.” 

Kendall hid the sweatshirt behind his back and tentatively stepped into the elevator. Lucy did her best to help him hide it. Ronnie was, in a way, glowing; she looked, albeit happier than usual. Her vibrant green hair was pulled back in a fishtail braid. Instead of her usual sweatshirt, she wore a baggy turtleneck patterned with butterflies and bumble bees. Her jeans were distressed at the knees, and her cuffs were rolled at the ankles and decorated with stars in a black Sharpie. Her mustard yellow Converse were slightly dirty and creased, but it made them look worn in like they had been cherished for years. Kendall was taken aback. It wasn’t that she never cared about her appearance, but sometimes he thought she would roll out of bed and consider that good enough. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. It was almost like she was different, but he could tell something was hidden behind that smile. The corners of her mouth quivered in the slightest. 

“Ah, about work…” Kendall finally snapped out of it when they got to the lobby. “Gustavo gave us the day off!” 

“Oh.” For a split second, Ronnie’s expression changed. Her smile snapped back like rubber, and she shook her head with a laugh. “I don’t think they’ll mind if I stop by, right? Gustavo needs to give me some pointers about one of my songs.” Her notebook was tucked under her arm. 

“Right…” Kendall nodded slowly. Maybe he was imagining things. There was no way she couldn’t be happy on her birthday. Opening his mouth to say something, she disappeared out the door before he could wish her a happy birthday. 

With Lucy’s help, Kendall found the perfect card to get the songwriter from the convenience store down the block. He didn’t expect to see Cat’s Crew again since Gustavo liked to keep them separate from Big Time Rush, but it was nice to see them around L.A. It looked like the three girls had a fourth member with them. She wore a cropped leather jacket, and her dark, curly hair was pulled up. Seeing them again reminded Kendall that they had to record another song with Cat’s Crew. The first was received well, and the second might even be better. He used the self-checkout machine and even paid for Lucy’s birthday card even though she didn’t want him to. 

Across the street, Ronnie stepped into a coffee shop on the corner. Since the guys weren’t going to Rocque Records, she decided to walk from the Palm Woods. Los Angeles was such a scenic city it only made sense that she wanted to walk. But, it was a pretty lousy idea considering her birthday “curse” had plagued her since kindergarten. Anything could happen. A car could run her over. She could roll her ankle, break her leg, or lose her notebook because she accidentally left her bag at Rocque Records. Anything could happen. The bell above the door jingled as she pushed it open. The smell of pumpkin spice and ground coffee beans hit her like a tidal wave. The small tables with chairs were relatively vacant except for the booths by the back wall. A barista at the counter with long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail was tapping her nails against the counter. She was lost in thought. 

Ronnie’s eyes trailed over to the big menu on the wall. Various options made her brain stop in its tracks. The high-pitched whirring of the coffee machines made her jump. She leaned against the counter and cringed. It was unsurprisingly sticky, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t expected it. The barista looked tired, but she forced a customer service smile. Her name tag read A. Torres. The muffled noise from the outside world spooked the songwriter. Although it was louder outside, it was jarring how much sound was muffled by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. In a panic, she ordered a mocha, and instead of pulling out her debit card, she pulled out the Rocque Records credit card. She didn’t know about this mistake until she got the receipt. If Gustavo and Kelly were at the recording studio, she could talk it over with them, and hopefully, they wouldn’t crucify her. The coffee was five dollars, but it was better to be cautious than reckless, especially considering it was the company’s money and not hers. She wouldn’t complain if they took the five dollars out of her paycheck. She hastily pulled cash from her wallet and stuck it in the tip jar. The barista thanked her with apprehension, and Ronnie moved to the end of the counter to wait for her coffee. She wasn’t a big coffee drinker because it tasted bitter and joyless nine times out of ten, but she needed as much caffeine as possible to make it through the day. 

While she waited, she flipped through her notebook. She was running out of space, and many songs went unfinished. Invisible wasn’t yet finished only because she needed to know what the guys would sound like singing it. Typically, Gustavo handled splitting up the lyrics for the boyband, but she wanted to split it up for them this time. At first, she tried to mimic how they sounded since she wasn’t too keen on letting them sing it yet. Only trying to imitate them when they’re singing made it all the more complicated. But throwing herself into her work was the best way to distract herself from her birthday and her birthday “curse.” 

The so-called curse started when she was in kindergarten. She was so excited to celebrate her birthday then. Before lunch, she got sick, and her mother had to drive her home. She spent the entire day in bed with a stomach bug and could not enjoy her birthday cake. It sat in the fridge untouched for three days until she could finally partake in it. Then, in second grade, she sprained her ankle while trying to play kickball with the other kids. In fourth grade, she got her braces; in fifth, she had to get stitches on her leg. The list of misfortune went on and on. The curse mellowed out a couple of years ago, but she was cautious and observant. The last thing she needed was to break her arm or accidentally hurt someone. It was more like she didn’t want to hurt anyone. She could handle it if she got hurt. Her dad might not. 

“Hi, Dave!” she waved to the security guard behind the reception desk. 

“Vee,” the old black man waved back. He was nursing coffee in a styrofoam cup. “Happy birthday!” The songwriter stopped, her hands clenched around the edges of her notebook, the pointy corners digging into her skin. 

It’s started. She thought to herself. All it took was an acknowledgment of her birthday. Sometimes, she could trick herself into forgetting her birthday, and then she could get through most of the day without something terrible happening. It worked in Freshman year. She could only hope it would work this year. She hesitated when the elevator came down. The cables could snap, and she could plummet to her death. 

“Are you okay?” the security guard asked. 

“Fine– Fine!” Ronnie smiled over her shoulder and stepped into the small metal room. She continuously pressed the button to close the doors. 

The moving part of the mechanism echoed in her ears the same way her heartbeat did. The edge of her vision pulsated as the blood moved through her veins. Okay, don’t freak out. Ronnie reassured herself as she took steady, deep breaths. You’ll be safe inside Rocque Records. Nothing will happen. She half-heartedly believed it. With the addition of the four teenage boys in Big Time Rush, her life was suddenly chaotic. She didn’t think much would happen initially. When she first got to Los Angeles, she expected the guys would not want anything to do with her. They would only talk at work but otherwise would be strangers. She hadn’t expected four boys to befriend her and include her in all shenanigans. Part of her couldn’t wait to see how Callie and Addison would react. 

BTR was so viscerally different from her friends in L.A., which made their interactions enjoyable. Of course, Addison loved Big Time Rush, so she would probably fangirl on them. If her friends ever decided to visit, they could meet her boyfriend and her other friends. Addison and Mercedes, Lucy and Callie would get along. Camille was excellent, but she lived for the drama and the action. Addison and Callie did not like drama, or well, they didn’t like drama unless it was theirs. If she had stayed in Vermont, this would have been the first birthday she celebrated with them, but life had a strange way of pushing her in different directions. Her friends shoved her face in the cake on her last birthday as a joke, but Ronnie wasn’t laughing when the party ended. She hid in her room with headphones, playing Insane Clowne Posse on her computer at total volume. The loud music grounded her. She left her room when her dad came home with the cake she actually wanted since her grandmother vehemently despised Italian rum cakes. She shared the cake with him in the kitchen, and they talked about comic books.  

Throughout his childhood, her father collected comic books. He often reminisced that they went for nickels when he was younger. Her father also liked telling her that his comic books would go to her if anything happened to him because the collection was expensive. Of course, he had always planned to sell them in his old age, but he would give them to her if he never got around to selling them. Ronnie looked forward to when he would pass them down to her. It was a hobby they shared, and she cherished comic book collecting. She specifically loved Detective Comics and a few different Batman runs. But she never shared her love for comic books with anyone else because someone at her high school would have made fun of her. 

The door to recording studio B creaked open, alerting Gustavo and Kelly. They were confused. They didn’t expect anyone to be there because they had given the five of them the day off. Ronnie opened the door wider and waved at them. Her half-empty coffee was in one hand. 

“Ronnie!” Kelly stood up and quickly tried to cover what they were working on. “What are you doing here? We gave you the day off,” 

“It’s Thursday.” Ronnie furrowed her brows. “Typically, when you give us a day off, it’ll be a Friday. Also, I left my bag here.” 

“Yes, but you shouldn’t be here. It’s your birthday!” Kelly grinned from ear to ear. “Don’t you have anything planned with the guys?” 

“No. They don’t know it’s my birthday. I like to keep it under wraps– Wait…” Ronnie paused. She looked between Gustavo and Kelly. “How do either of you know it’s my birthday? “How did the security guard know it’s my birthday?” 

“Your dad told us,” Gustavo said nonchalantly. “Now, enjoy your present and get outta here!” He shooed her with his hands. 

“My dad?” Ronnie’s shoulders slumped. “Of course…” She mumbled. “But, wait, I’m not leaving. I walked here so I could avoid my birthday.” 

“Seriously?” Gustavo raised a brow. “What kid wants to avoid their birthday?” 

“Me.” The songwriter shrugged. 

“You.” Kelly shot the record producer a look. 

“I figured I would work on some of my incomplete songs,” 

“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. Go to studio A.” Gustavo waved her off and turned to what he and Kelly were working on. He wasn’t going to throw her out of the building. 

Ronnie didn’t wonder about what they were working on. She could only assume it was a surprise to the band. She grabbed her bag off the sofa by the back wall and walked across the hall to recording studio A. Thankfully, it was empty. For some reason, she was half expecting the guys to be waiting for her in the dark and would jump out of their hiding spots to surprise her. Kendall had been acting weird when she saw him in the elevator, but it could be entirely unrelated to it being her birthday. She hoped it was unrelated. She sat in the roller chair by the recording equipment and put her notebook on a music stand. She flipped to Invisible and stared at the lyrics. 

“When the lights go down in the city,” she sang softly under her breath. She tapped a pen against her chin. The bridge felt like something they would sing together or perhaps layered like an echo. 

“There needs to be something between those verses,” she scribbled the pen against the paper. “You’ll be right there shining bright.” She tried to mimic the pattern of the first verse but decided to change the flow because variation made it sound better. 

Once again, it was creepy that Kendall Knight was watching Ronnie from a crack in the door. Or, he wasn’t watching her. She didn’t close the door fully, and he wanted to ensure she was alone in the recording studio. The songwriter wasn’t that much shorter than him, but she managed to walk faster than him even when she stopped in a coffee shop. He could smell the coffee wafting through the air. He never knew she liked coffee since she rarely brought drinks to the studio except for water. He hesitated, unsure if he should make his presence known. Would it ruin the peaceful atmosphere? 

Ronnie shrieked when Kendall opened the door. Her instinct was to cover her notebook like a teenager covers their laptop because their parents barged into their room. The blonde wrapped the sweater and signed the card before he visited Rocque Records. The wrapping paper was patterned with multicolored letters that spelled HAPPY BIRTHDAY in caps. Ronnie froze. She stared at the gift in his hands. Her face was void of any expression. She didn’t know what to say or what she should do. When it came to gifts, she was almost always stunned, but the person who gave the gift always wanted a reaction, and as much as she could fake a reaction, she couldn’t fight the lack of words in her brain. It was as if she flatlined. 

Kendall panicked when she didn’t say anything. She was staring at him, and he was scared he had done something wrong. Lately, he’s been doing everything wrong. He didn’t want her to be mad at him after finally reaching their weird truce. He moved back away because it was beginning to get awkward, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to stick around if she started saying mean things to him. 

“W– Wait–” 

She stared down at the gift in her hands. The words died in her throat, and she felt like she didn’t know what to say. Her thumbs gingerly brushed over the wrapping paper that crinkled. Cold and smooth, but the glitter on a few letters was scratchy. He didn’t put the sweatshirt in a box, so it was malleable in her hands. 

“I don’t– I’m sorry— you– This…” Anything she tried to say died out as quickly as it was vocalized. 

Kendall relaxed. He was put at ease because she was speechless instead of quietly stewing angrily. He sat across from her in the second roller chair. While she stared down at the gift in awe, he took this opportunity to steal a look at her notebook. His friends wondered what she wrote because she was so secretive, but Ronnie snatched her notebook off the music stand before he could even look at the words. She tucked it against her chest. She could feel her heart hammering out of her ribcage and was scared that Kendall could hear how erratically it was beating. Her hands shook as she carefully tore through the wrapping paper. The notebook fell, but she couldn’t grab it. A yellowing piece of paper slipped from her laptop, and Kendall picked it up carefully. The handwriting was dainty cursive, not anything that matched Ronnie’s messily scrawled homework. He furrowed his brows. 

The title at the top of the page: Homesick

Under it followed: by Annette Clark

Kendall picked up her notebook and stuck the page behind the front cover. He knew that was something he shouldn’t have seen. He put her notebook on the music stand and smiled when he saw her trying to keep the wrapping paper intact. 

“I have more at home, you don’t have–” 

Ronnie ripped the paper without a second thought and paused. It was a blue sweatshirt. She furrowed her brows and looked at Kendall oddly for a second. Why did he get her a sweatshirt? Was it his sweatshirt? She blinked twice and lifted it from the wrapping paper by the shoulders. If she put it on now, it would be baggy on her. There was a ghost of a smile on her face. Was smiling the proper reaction? Should she show her teeth? Should she give him a tight-lipped smile? 

“You like it.” Kendall chuckled. “I can see that twinkle in your eye,” 

Ronnie’s eyes widened, and the tips of her ears flushed pink. Was he that observant? Did her eyes give that much away? Was she not micromanaging her reactions enough? Say something. Say something. Say something. Say– 

“Thank you,” the words didn’t fit in her mouth properly, and she felt like she was chewing her words. She did want to thank him because this was a nice gesture. But was thanking him enough? 

“Are you okay?” 

“I– I’m caught off guard…” she trailed off her sentence, her knuckles curling around the sweatshirt's soft fabric. Why couldn’t she just be normal? She’d seen so many people get gifts, and their reactions were natural. Why was this so forced? 

“Ronnie?” 

“I’m fine.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her shoulders heaved. The good thing was that Kendall wasn’t judging her. Maybe he didn’t mind the silence. Perhaps he wanted to give her the space to gather her thoughts. 

A heart was a heavy burden to bear, and yet it felt as though it was thousands of pounds. It beat heavily in her chest, and she could feel the way her skin clenched around the red muscle. Realistically, it was safely tucked away in her chest, but it was as if someone had cut it in half and displayed it for everyone to see. The way it swelled and pulsated as if it were being dissected like a frog in a science classroom. She got up from the chair. Her body was buzzing restlessly. She gingerly draped the sweatshirt over her bag and looked at the card sitting next to her notebook on the music stand. The card was blue with a sunflower on the cover. She reached out and grabbed it, but the card sang to her when she opened it. Startled, she quickly closed it and gave Kendall a weird look. 

“Logan helped me figure out how to replace the audio in the card,” Kendall cracked a smile again. “Trust me, I think you’ll love it.” 

She opened the card again, and it was audio from the first song she helped Gustavo on, Paralyzed. The writing on the card was generic and meaningful but not sentimental. Kendall signed his name in big, swoopy letters, much like how James liked to practice singing his name on his homework. Ronnie laughed. 

“This is awesome! Thank you,” 

“Of course, you’re my friend.” Kendall scratched the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. The word friend felt so weird, but he didn’t mind it. That was all they ever were and ever will be, probably. “So, what were you working on?” Kendall switched the conversation quickly. He didn’t want to dwell on something like the status of their relationship for too long because it wasn’t like he could change it, even if he wanted to. 

“Oh, a song for Big Time Rush.” The gears in her mind switched, but she felt rattled to the core that he hand-delivered her birthday present. 

“Can I help?” 

A metaphorical lightbulb went off in her head. 

“Actually, yeah!” Her eyes lit up. She grabbed her notebook and flipped to the page in her notebook. “I’ve been trying to figure out who should get which lines.” She thrust her notebook in his hands. 

“Oh, okay– “ Kendall looked down at the words. ”Wait, this is the song James was asking about.” 

“I originally wrote it for myself, but I think it would be nice to give it to you guys since I’m the songwriter for Big Time Rush now, and I no longer write for myself but the group.” 

“I think you should write for yourself regardless.” 

“Yeah, but most of my songs will go to the band.” 

“Not all of them, not if you hide them from Gustavo.” Kendall chuckled. 

“Well, yeah… I should have thought about that.” Ronnie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Let’s get started on this song!” Kendall clapped his hands together and stood up. She handed Kendall her notebook. 

“For now, we should just work on vocals. Then Gustavo can tweak the song however he likes.” 

“Alrighty then, you’re the boss.” Kendall snapped finger guns at her as he walked into the recording booth. 

Ronnie flipped switches and ensured everything was plugged in before she gave him the go-ahead to start singing. Kendall had to admit that he really liked the bee and butterfly-patterned turtleneck she was wearing. He enjoyed seeing her without her sweatshirt, but he couldn’t understand why she didn’t like wearing long-sleeves. Considering Los Angeles could get terribly warm, it was a bit weird, but he wasn’t going to ask about it unless she wanted to tell him. He couldn’t help but think of her like a cat. He was sure she would be an orange cat if she were a cat. 

The two of them stayed in the recording studio for a couple of hours. Between recording Kendall’s vocals and playing around with different lyrics, they also goofed around whenever they needed to take a break. At some point, Gustavo had to kick them out, or Kelly made him kick them out because it was Ronnie’s birthday, and she shouldn’t be cooped up in Rocque Records. The talent scout was vocal about how the teenagers should be teenagers instead of dedicating the last of their childhood to a nine-to-five job. Kendall and Ronnie stood shoulder to shoulder outside the building. It wasn’t awkward, but they didn’t know what to do. 

Then, a lightbulb went off in Kendall’s head. 

“Have you gone ice skating in Vermont?” 

“What? No,” Ronnie adjusted the strap of her drawstring bag on her shoulder. The sweatshirt and card were tucked inside. “I worked at an ice skating rink but never went skating.” Ronnie tucked her hands under her armpits because her fingers were oddly cold. “My mom taught me to roller skate, so I assume it’s the same.” 

“Sort of?” Kendall shrugged. “Come on, I’ll teach you.” 

“What?” Ronnie’s hand dropped to her sides, and her face turned red when he grabbed her hand and tugged her along. 

In the back of her mind, she was yelling at herself. She should have been spending her birthday with Curt instead of Kendall, but he hadn’t texted her all day. Of course, Curt didn’t know it was her birthday because her father only met him briefly. She felt terrible for not telling him but didn’t want him to make it a big deal. It was weird that Kendall was making such a big deal about it. She was seventeen now, but that didn’t mean she needed special treatment. At the same time, she had no idea what Curt would have done. It was sweet that Kendall did this much despite knowing her for a month. Maybe Curt would have been overtly romantic and showered her with unnecessary affection. She was never too keen about PDA. 

The ice rink wasn’t far from Rocque Records, so they could walk there. Kendall tugged her along, chirping happily about ice skating and hockey like a bird. He and his friends had been playing hockey since middle school. She was a casual fan of the Vermont Catamounts, the collegiate men’s hockey team, but her mother was a much more avid fan. Since her mother grew up in New England, she adopted the pride of New England teams as soon as she could talk. Her mother’s favorite team was the Boston Bruins. The only reason Ronnie watched hockey was because her mother loved watching it. She and her father would search high and low for Bruins merch whenever her mother’s birthday came around. 

Kendall paid for rental skates before she could even take her wallet out of her bag. Ronnie promised herself to pay the blonde back. It was cold inside the ice rink, but she would make do. It was almost this cold in Vermont. She hadn’t gotten used to the sunny California weather. He talked while he laced her skates. His eyes sparkled. There were freckles of gold in his green eyes. She tried to keep up with what he was saying, but when he got excited, he talked fast. 

Thirty minutes later, they were on the ice. Only a few people were there. Kendall was better on the ice than she ever could be, but he kept his arms out in case she fell over. 

Ice skating was so much different. It was nothing like roller skating. 

The songwriter expected to fall several times; the ice was cold, and her body was numb. Before she got on the ice, she put on the sweatshirt Kendall had gifted her, and he nearly choked. He hadn’t expected her to put it on at all. Ronnie was hesitant even though he told her not to hesitate since that would make her fall even more. But, of course, she didn’t listen. 

“Stop looking at your feet,” Kendall laughed. She clutched his arms with a vice grip. 

“I need to make sure they aren’t going to hit each other!” Ronnie snapped, her voice wobbled when she wobbled. 

“They aren’t going to if you keep a wide stance.” 

“How wide of a stance do I have to have?” 

“Your feet should align with your shoulders.” 

“...Okay.” Ronnie tried not to look at her feet, but it felt weird looking at Kendall when they were already an arm's length apart. 

She fell a couple more times. Their hour was up before they knew it. Of course, time passes quickly when you’re having fun. Ronnie removed the sweatshirt and tucked it into her drawstring bag again, carefully avoiding bending the card. The sun was about to set, and Kendall pulled out his phone to check the time. 

“Oh, shit!” Ronnie’s eyes widened. “I should be home by now!” 

“What?” Kendall panicked slightly. He never shared much of a conversation with her dad, but he was scared of what her dad would think if she wasn’t home on time. 

The singer and the songwriter ran back to Palm Woods. Kendall apologized to the people on the sidewalk as they ran through. Paparazzi caught sight of them in the distance and tried to get some pictures. It was peculiar that Curt Haverfield’s girlfriend was seen hanging out with Kendall Knight from Big Time Rush, much less that she and him were running through L.A. This would be a story for the ages. 

Ronnie breathed heavily as she rummaged through her bag for her keys, but the door opened. They both were out of breath, but it was surprising Kendall looked like he was going to keel over and die. Her father was on the other side of the door with a big smile. He threw his arms out wide. James, Logan, Carlos, Mrs. Knight, and Katie were further in the apartment. Ronnie felt like there was a puncture in her lungs. 

“Happy birthday!” Her father cheered as he wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She was grateful for the pressure and hugged him back. 

“Thanks, Dad!” She chirped back. 

Kendall’s eyes widened, seeing his mom, sister, and friends. No one told him they were setting everything up at her apartment. Mr. Clark gave him a weird look as he ushered his daughter inside. Kendall swiped his hair back. The sweat made it stick to his forehead. 

“Where have you two been?” Katie asked. She eyed her brother suspiciously. 

“Ice skating rink,” Ronnie tucked stray strands from her face. Her braid was messed up because of all the running, but she wouldn’t fix it. 

“Here, let me honey.” Mrs. Knight circled the table and pulled out a chair for Ronnie. Cautiously, she sat down and tensed when Mrs. Knight started fixing the French braid. 

“You took her ice skating without us!” Carlos gasped. “How dare you!” He punched the blonde’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, dude. We would have loved to help teach her how to ice skate.” Logan chimed in. 

“Did you have fun on your date?” James leaned an arm on Kendall’s shoulder. 

“It wasn’t a date.” The blonde shrugged his friend off. “What is it with you and dating?” 

“Oh, nothing.” James shrugged. 

“There! It’s nice and neat again,” Mrs. Knight stepped back. Ronnie hesitantly touched the braid and smiled slightly. Her mother used to do her hair in the kitchen on special occasions. 

“I hope you’re hungry for cake.” Mr. Clark grinned. 

The lights went out, and all the kids froze. Her father lit the candles on the beautifully decorated cake and carefully carried it over to the table. Her name was written in yellow cursive writing on top of the Italian rum cake with strawberries. Technically, it was a tradition that her grandmother started when her father was young for an Italian rum cake to be had on birthdays. She had grown up with them for a good majority of her life. It was the last semblance of her family together and tasted like home. Everyone around her sang Happy Birthday, but James was showing off. Kendall smacked his chest because this wasn’t the time or place to practice vocal runs. That was reserved for rehearsal. When the song ended, Ronnie paused. What should she wish for? She was living her dream already, but what else could she want? She had a boyfriend– Oh God, her boyfriend. Curt hadn’t texted her today. He went radio silent. She blew her candles before she could think about her birthday wish. 

The room erupted in clapping and cheers. 

Her father handed her the knife to cut the first slice. She was hesitant to cut the cake, as it was so beautiful, and she was afraid to mess it up. But they all waited patiently. Ronnie took a deep breath and cut the cake when she exhaled shallowly. The last thing she wanted to do was breathe on the cake. Eventually, the cake was passed out, and BTR played softly on the radio. Maybe the birthday curse didn’t exist. It had to be all in her head. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she wouldn’t pick it up. She didn’t need to be on her phone right now. She was with people who cared about her and wanted to be there. Being present at this moment was the best she could do. 

Curt: Happy Birthday… 

[papyrusxii]

casual - jeon jungkook

synopsis : never could you imagine falling so quickly for someone without his intentions being clear

pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

genre : casual relationship, pining, relationship development

warnings : explicit material, drug and alcohol use, tobacco use, angst

cross posted on ao3 : papyrusxii

one

2.2k words

masterlist

The crisp air and mid-November rain blew completely through you. Standing there soaked, you witnessed the steam rolling off your engulfed apartment building. That apartment building that you worked so hard to afford, that you decorated meticulously, and that held so many of your young adulthood memories. 

Four firetrucks and a hoard of firemen surrounded the building as you and the other tenants watched the flames roar. You sat on the curb of the sidewalk perpendicular to your apartment, swaddled in a thin blanket one of the paramedics gave you. 

Luckily, you hadn’t been in the building when it caught fire; you were just pulling into the parking lot. You tried to pull the wet hair away from your heavy-laden eyes to pull out your phone. 

Not mom. She can’t do anything in another country. 

Ugh… not my brother; he's on vacation.

Oh! Hoseok!

You quickly dialed your best friend, hoping he would be awake. 

“Hello?” He groaned over the phone. “Everything alright? It’s 2 a.m.”

Oh, thank God. “Bless you, beautiful boy." You sighed in relief. “We have a slight issue.” 

You heard him shuffling around in bed. “What’s wrong?” His once-tired voice was now filled with worry. 

“My apartment is in flames.” You giggled as you reflected on the absurdity of the situation. Silence filled the call before Hoseok screamed as the realization set in. “In flames? What the fuck? Are you safe?”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m okay—just soaked, cold, and mourning my material possessions.” 

He sighed. “I’m glad you’re okay and sorry about all that. How can I help you, love?” 

It was in times like these that you couldn’t be more grateful for Jung Hoseok. He should win an award for every time he saved your ass and gave you a dependable shoulder to lean upon. Why he wasn’t your first thought on who to call was honestly absurd. He was your personal Superman. 

“The cops and firefighters told us all to find a place to stay while they investigate and work out the insurance logistics with the landlord. Now I know you just moved in not even a week ago, but do you think I could stay with you until the dust settles? I’ll pay rent too, and even grocery shopping—I know you hate it.” You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. 

“Y/n, it’s no problem at all. You are more than welcome here, and don’t even think about paying me. Now get out of the rain and come over immediately.” Hoseok reassured you beyond belief, and suddenly a sense of calmness coaxed you into the middle of the madness. 

“Thank you, Hobi. I’m feeling a bit calmer.” You sighed in relief. 

“Good. Now hurry over. I love you.” 

----

Not even twenty minutes had passed, and you were at Hoseok’s door. You had only ever been over the day he moved in, a week ago, to help him unpack. You had barely been acclimated to the new space, adding another wave of nervousness. 

At this hour, the hallway was calm, and you weren’t used to how spotless it was. The hallway of your apartment always had a tinge of grime or business, juxtaposed to the beautiful, almost regal nature of your best friend’s. 

You knocked on the deep blue door gently and readjusted the sack on your back. 

The door cracked slowly, and you grew with anticipation to bask in the comfort of your best friend, only to be greeted by an unfamiliar face. 

Stepping back slightly, you observed the stranger in front of you. A man you had never seen pierced your gaze. His lousy position and bare-bones attire led you to believe he had just woken up. His black hair reached just past the nape of his neck, led askew by the imprints of sleep upon it. He adjusted his oversize white t-shirt and rubbed his eyes before greeting you. 

Your once relaxed manner was replaced with a timid stance. How could you forget he had a freaking roommate? Hoseok informed you before he moved in that his friend had a buddy that was new to the area and also needed an apartment and a roommate to share costs. Your best friend’s and the stranger’s mutual needs led them to room together. You hadn’t met him when you first visited the apartment because he was due to move in later in the week. From what Hoseok told you of the man who stood in front of you, he was tidy, charming, and chill as hell, yet in his presence, you couldn’t help the rising anxiety. 

His eyes trailed down your body, still clothed in your work attire and dirty from the gross fluids that spewed from the hundreds of patients you had seen in the last 12 hours. His face slightly cringed as he eyed the stain on your abdomen: vomit. “Hey.” You broke the odd tension with the stranger. 

“I’m Y/N; I’m not sure if Hoseok told you, but I-” He interrupted, quickly changing his posture to straighten. "Yeah, he told me you’d be staying with us. I’m sorry to hear about your apartment; that’s awful.” He shook his head.

His voice calmed you instantaneously. It’s smooth tone coated you like warm honey and caught your breath. His words chipped away at the unease that plagued your thoughts of the initial meeting, leaving you with more ease to enter the apartment. 

He stepped away from the door and motioned you in. “J is in the bathroom; he’ll be out in a second. You can set your bags on the couch for the time being, and I’ll get you a drink.” His tone remained deep and crunchy in the late hours of the night but lifted when he smiled at you. 

You nodded and sunk into the couch you helped build last week. Good taste, Hobi. 

Your eyes scanned the apartment slowly until your friend’s roommate returned with a bottle of iced tea. “He told me you liked tea.” You looked up at his extended hand and dipped your head in thanks. You didn’t even know his name, and he already knew one of the smallest details about you. 

He sat in the large chair next to the couch and glanced at you as you drank from the bottle. “This is good.” You smiled toward him. He nodded with a small smile in return. “I don’t think I introduced myself properly; I’m Jeon Jungkook.” His name…. 

As he said his name, you recalled Hoseok mentioning it once while he was unpacking, and you felt stupid for forgetting. “That’s right, nice to meet you, Jungkook. Sorry for interrupting your peaceful sleep.” You let out a small chuckle. 

He leaned back in the chair and said, “Don’t worry about it; I wasn’t getting much of it anyway." You raised your eyebrows at his statement but left it alone with an awkward nod. After a moment of silence, Jungkook spoke again: “You work at the hospital, right?” He leaned forward, keeping eye contact. 

“Yeah.” You gulped. “Sorry about these awful scrubs; it was a rough night.” You dipped your head. 

“Stop apologizing.” He laughed. “You had a long and stressful night; I couldn’t even imagine. You’re more than welcome here, and I’m sure you need a second to even catch your breath.” 

Wow. How could a stranger’s words be so comforting? 

Maybe it was the stress of the situation that allowed you to cling so easily to his kind words, but you appreciated them more than he could understand. “Thank you. Yeah, I could really use a moment of peace.” You laughed. 

“You deserve it.” You smiled at his words as he leaned back, closing his eyelids. 

You heard a door open from behind you, and you turned your head over the back of the couch to see your best friend. He was shirtless and wearing a pair of pajama pants. He decided to jump over the back of the couch and on top of you. He pinned your body to the gray cushions and tightened his grip. Your breath compressed as he squeezed. 

You saw Jungkook stifle a laugh out of the corner of your eye upon you and your best friend’s exchange. 

He finally lifted himself from you and pulled you across his chest. “Hey, Y/n.” You smiled in the safety of his arms. Oh, you loved him. Your best friend was yet again raising your comfort level with his gesture of affection. 

“Thank you for letting her in.” He directed it to his roommate. 

“No problem.” He opened his eyes and winked. You didn’t like how that wink made your breath catch again in his presence. “She’s been keeping me company.” He smiled. 

Hoseok nodded. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?” You rolled your eyes and smacked his bare chest. 

“Stop, Hobi. The “amazing title” should go to you both for waking up at 3 a.m. to welcome me.” You sighed again as you reflected on your situation. You really couldn’t believe your apartment was gone. It was the first big thing you had purchased on your own, and it showed your hard work was paying off. Now it was all gone. 

Jungkook realized the shift in your demeanor as you lost yourself in worry. “Hey, why don’t you grab a shower? I’ll get you a towel.” He lifted himself from the chair and disappeared into the hallway. You gave your friend one squeeze and then went to meet Jungkook by the linen closet. 

He pulled a small chain, and the small closet was illuminated. He leaned down to grab you a towel and a washcloth. He arose with them in hand and led you to their bathroom. As you entered the space, you looked over the simple decor. The marble countertop was adorned with two small bags, which you assumed held the toiletries for each of the men. The shower was a tempered glass box that added to the modern simplicity of the room. 

He slid open the shower door, which revealed the different soaps and shampoos on a metal shelf in the corner. “Here are all of our soaps and stuff. Mine are on the top shelf, and Hoseok’s are on the bottom. Feel free to use either, but I will say mine are better quality; you know, Hoseok just buys whatever catches his eye first.” You chuckled as you recall shopping with him once and seeing him pull a kid Spider-Man body wash, claiming “the bubbles made him feel like a kid again.”. 

“Thank you, Jungkook. I really appreciate your kindness.” You smiled at him. 

If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t have caught his ears turning red after you smiled. “No problem; I don’t want my ambiguity to deter you from being at home here.” 

“Don’t worry, you seem pretty cool from what I’ve gathered.” 

“I hope to maintain that impression, Y/n.” He let the biggest grin you’d seen from him thus far grace his lips. His two lip rings caught between his lips, and you noticed his prominent cheeks. “I’ll get you something to wear and then have at it.” He exited. 

Twenty minutes later, you felt beyond refreshed. Jungkook’s lavender shampoo and aloe body wash coaxed you into a feeling of relaxation; you commended the male’s choices. He had fetched a pair of his clothes, which you thanked him for: a pair of basketball shorts and a very large t-shirt that adorned the logo for the Korean national football team. 

You exited the bathroom to see your best friend knocked out on the couch and Jungkook scrolling on his phone in the same spot he was earlier. The man heard you enter the room and looked to see you. “Thank you again for letting me borrow your clothes; you could have just given me Hoseok’s.” You began. 

“He would have slaughtered me if I picked out something he wanted to wear at any point this week.” He chuckled. “That color looks good on you anyway." He nodded to the red shirt that lay over you. You bit your lip and looked to the ceiling, “Thank you.” 

He stood up, “I’m sure you’re tired, and I don’t know what sleeping arrangement you and J discussed, but feel free to sleep in his bed as he’s hogging up the whole couch.” You laughed quietly as you observed the position your friend was in—one leg off the side of the couch and the other nearly to his chest—and using his hands as a pillow. 

“Of course.” You smiled. “Again, thank you for everything; it means the world.”

He put his hand in the pockets of his pants and rocked back, “No problem, get some sleep. It was nice to meet you; I can see why he admires you so much.” 

Jungkook’s compliment just added to your growing impression of the stranger. He offered up a drink, his shower products, and his clothing to someone he’d never met before and who interrupted his night. You couldn’t help but already admire him and his seemingly selfless attributes. “Thank you; sleep well!” 

You disappeared into Hobi’s room and melted into his sheets, no longer reflecting on how awful the events of today had been but now reminiscing on the warm impressions you felt from Jeon Jungkook.

[thecouchsofa]

2023 ao3 wrapped / fic review / whatever else I'm putting here

@oflights, the human, the myth, the legend, has made me go look at my stats and now you have to look at them too. Tagging @jtimu @elskanellis @sillywives @sleepstxtic @maesterchill @peachydreamxx @hoko-onchi-writes @starquestingfordrarry @rainstormradish @apricitydays-lazynights @annanother-thing @uncannycerulean @drarrymyheart @mallstars so they can also feel this sweet, sweet pain (if they want).

First up, some stats!

Fics posted: 7 public, 1 currently hidden, 1 awaiting submission date + 3 tumblr microfics

Fics started (and maybe finished): 18 + 3 tumblr microfics

Word count of fics posted: 414,013

Total word count written: 513,953

Sorry, but what the actual fuck do you mean I've written over 500k words since April? Put me in restraints, truly.

My favourite fic I wrote this year: The Brightest Constellations of Our Souls

My most kudos'd fic of this year: Driving me crazy (but I'm into it)

I've also read, like, a fucking horrendous amount of fics this year. More than I think I read back when I was deep in the One Direction trenches as a teen. Getting back into writing has given me a fresh appreciation for everyone's work; it's so fucking hard to write well and everyone who puts themselves out there and does that gets an online hug from me.

After Erised reveals I'll be posting a ridiculously long list of my favourite fics that were posted in 2023. It is ... exhaustive. I should probably be embarrassed by how long it is.

But without further ado, a recap of my fics from this year.

May

Driving me crazy (but I'm into it) (8k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Draco’s fucked a lot of people. He’s fucked models, Quidditch players, members of the Wizengamot, even a Muggle actor, but none of them come quite as prettily as Harry Potter.

September

A Walk in the Woods (48k, E) (Draco/Harry)

After ending up in the Spell Damage Ward at St Mungo’s, Harry is put on mandatory holiday leave.

The catch: he has to spend it with Malfoy at his cottage deep in the woods. Harry has no idea why Malfoy agreed to host him, considering he avoided ever being alone in a room with Harry before he left for his sabbatical a year ago.

To complicate things, Harry’s enormous longstanding crush hasn’t waned at all in Malfoy’s absence.

For: HP Cottagecore Fest

The Brightest Constellations of Our Souls (256k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Harry doesn’t know how to cope after the War. The only things that make him feel even remotely normal again are taking risks while flying and fighting with Malfoy. It’s not likely to end well.

Or,

Draco becomes obsessed with ‘Wonderwall’, reads Muggle books, and drives a campervan, while Harry slowly falls in love with Draco. A story about travelling around the British Isles in the late 90s while healing deep scars.

October

Capillaries (3.6k, M) (Draco/Harry)

Draco’s Sectumsempra scars have never fully healed. He says that it’s not Harry’s fault, that he doesn’t blame him for it. Harry hears him, but he’s not sure that he believes it.

Evergreen (23k, T) (Harry/George)

“You’d better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will have gone.” Fred leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly thinking that he’d now exceeded his allowance of brotherly wisdom for the day.

“Who are you going with then?” Harry asked suddenly. He looked between Fred and George, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Harry asks George to the Yule Ball because it’ll be a laugh and he’s in dire need of one of those. If George can continue to keep his crush under wraps it should all go swimmingly.

For: HP Rarepair Fest IV

Celestial (paint me like one of your starscapes) (30k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Draco needs a partner for an art project. The only catch is, they have to be magically compatible with him for the paints to work properly. He’s fairly certain that he knows who his partner will need to be, he’s just not sure that he wants to admit it.

For: H/D Sudsfest Lite 2023

November

November Flush (5k, E) (Draco/Harry)

Draco Malfoy might be an absolute raging arsehole, but he gives Harry exactly what he needs.

Microfics (all Draco/Harry)

From one to another, for the prompt 'follow': tumblr link

Til resentment do us part, for the prompt 'keep': tumblr link

Satiate, for the prompt 'indulge': tumblr link

Thoughts / feeling / goals for next year

Pride, slight embarrassment, love, appreciation.

For the coming year I'm excited to get stuck into writing even more. I've got so many ideas that I'm excited to work through and a fantastic community to do that with. I will need to be bullied into not signing up for more fests in the new year, so please give me a nudge if my blogging starts to look stressed. Also never be nervous to send me a message about random shit if you're on the fence!

If you have read this far, have read even a single sentence I've written this year, or have thought my Squirtle pic looks cool, I love you, I appreciate you, and I support you.

The motto for 2024? Bedcurtains. One word, not two.

Thanks for being here! ❤️

[oceanbilly]

Sorrow's native son

hi, i've never posted a fic and what i wrote might seem strange and unusual, so i wanted to give an explanation beforehand. i happened to read that one page from the stranger things book, max's book to be exact, it was the scene where neil abused billy with a belt and something in me broke and what i wrote was like a knee-jerk reaction to that. it's not really a romantic setting, i think it ended up being gender neutral too (but not 100% sure), i just needed to find a way to make billy less lonely. anyways, i hope there's at least one person who will enjoy it and relate to it.

My finger slid across the different boxes on the shelf. My eyes eventually landed on the one with the sale sign hanging below it. The store was quiet except for the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights. It was getting late.

I heard a bell announcing someone’s arrival. The cold air wrapped around my body like a blanket and I shivered. As I entered another aisle, my eyes fell on Billy Hargrove.

Our paths rarely crossed, yet his sight was uncomfortably familiar. Back in high school, he always made sure to be obnoxious enough to be noticed by everyone. He was loud and bold. Liked showing off his body even in the most inappropriate places and despite the dreadful weather, as if he was rebelling against Hawkins for the sake of it. He liked being intimidating and feared. He liked being admired.

All of that used to make an impression, until the thin veil of bullshit dropped and I saw the nasty truth.

Not long after graduation, when I was walking down Cherry Lane, I saw him carrying a big box out of the back door of his house. I wouldn’t pay much attention if it wasn’t for his father, who was walking closely behind him, pushing him to go faster. When Billy tripped and the box fell with a loud clash, I stopped. I wasn’t planning on helping – it was sheer curiosity more than anything else.

Before even a thought could pass my mind, his father’s booming voice rang in my ears. His mouth danced around the word ‘useless’ like he was used to it, like it was his favorite word and saying it caused him great pleasure. I wanted to scowl and move on, telling myself that it was none of my business, but a pained noise made me freeze. A heavy boot collided with Billy’s ribs once, twice, three times and I felt every kick in my own body. His father spat on him, yelled a few more offensive words and left. I saw Billy push himself up until he was on his hands and knees. His head hung low as he took a few deep breaths. I didn’t know what I should do, or if I should even do anything at all. Billy, however, decided for me, because when he raised his head, his cold eyes pierced through mine and I knew I shouldn’t get close.

In that position on the ground, he seemed like a wounded animal, glaring at me silently. I felt like an intruder. I looked away and forced my feet to start moving again. I walked, but it was harder now, slower, because of the heavy guilt that kept weighing on my shoulders.

After that day, I saw him everywhere. It was like I was being punished for what I did. Or didn’t do. His sight alone always brought back the shame and the guilt.

Right now he was browsing the medicine shelf. He picked up the aspirin and then put it back down. He pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill out of his pocket and looked at it like it was offending him. He also looked different. His hair was gathered in a bun, and instead of his usual showy outfit, he was clothed in sweatpants, a plain t-shirt and a red plaid shirt thrown on top of it. It hung loose on him, too, and it was dripping wet. I looked outside the window, where the heavy November rain was wreaking havoc. He eventually stuffed the money back into his pocket and put the bottle down. He huffed, irritated, and stormed out of the store.

I bit my lip nervously. I quickly grabbed the aspirin and made my way to the checkout. When I went outside, I saw him walking slowly down the street. He wasn’t in a hurry, like there was nowhere he was supposed to be in this nasty weather. His figure illuminated by the street lamps seemed small.

I chased him down and stopped in front of him, successfully cutting him off. I pushed the bottle of aspirin into his hand. He furrowed his brow and looked confused for a second, before his features were clouded by anger.

‘I don’t need fucking charity,’ he spat.

‘Take it or don’t, I don’t give a shit.’ Lies.

Billy has been all I could think about. Every time I saw him in public with his father, my heart sank. It was easy to miss – the light shoves, the way Billy never really looked him in the eye. Whenever I saw him, my mind immediately recalled the image of Billy on his lawn. It was burned into my brain and it paired well with the pang of guilt somewhere in my chest.

He also seemed to remember this moment well, because whenever he spotted me in town, his body tensed and he turned his head away. We never actually talked, but his posture was a warning in itself.

Billy clenched his jaw, but his hand tightened on the bottle. The dim orange light couldn’t hide his swollen eye and a bruised cheekbone. He opened the bottle and took out three pills. I dug in my shopping bag for a water bottle, which I passed it to him. This time he accepted it without any biting remarks. My gaze flickered down to his hands and one look at his clean knuckles told me everything I needed to know. He swallowed the pills.

‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift,’ I said and pushed past him to go get into my car.

I half expected him to just leave and not look back, maybe flip me off as a goodbye, but to my surprise he slipped into the passenger seat next to me. I took in his face which scrunched up in pain for a second, but he schooled it very fast. The raindrops slid down his cheek.

Billy didn’t seem like the person who could simply accept help. It wasn’t taught to him. His pride got in the way too. His whole body was stiff, like he was ready to bolt any second. Like he was still on the verge of making his final decision. However, these last gruelling months have taught me that he also had a strong survival instinct. If he did something uncharacteristic – he did it out of pure need.

‘So what, you just pity me? Is that it?’ His voice was low and quiet. There was a layer of anger to it. This situation was taking away his control and he didn’t like that.

‘No,’ I replied, starting the engine and pulling out onto the road. ‘I pity your dad.’

‘For having a useless son?’ He asked louder now. The cool mask of anger was cracking, allowing the anxiety to seep through. From the corner of my eye I could see the end of his sleeve gripped tightly in his hand. I flinched at the word. It was now my least favorite word.

‘For being a braindead pissbucket.’ I spat. ‘I believe it’s incurable.’

I risked a quick glance at him and found him staring at me like I grew a second head. He snorted loudly and turned towards the window, a smile playing on his lips. I felt a bit lighter now that he was slightly less tense.

‘Do you want me to…’ I hesitated, knowing I was about to bring his mood down, ‘drop you off at home?’

He didn’t reply, but he shook his head, still looking out the window. I clenched my jaw, eyes fixed firmly on the road. He was out late in the pouring rain in the middle of November wearing these damn rags. He clearly walked for a while and he didn’t have his car. I wondered briefly if his father would be above kicking him out of the house for the night. I didn’t ask where to take him, because I had a feeling he didn’t have anywhere to go.

After ten minutes of silence I pulled up to my driveway.

I got out of the car and leaned down to look at Billy. ’C’mon.’ There was no point in asking. I let him make his decision based on what he really needed right now. He followed me without a word.

I opened the door and pushed him inside first. The pleasant warmth of the house made me sigh in relief. I took off my jacket and shoes, and looked at Billy, who was currently leaving a small puddle on the floor. I walked up to him and gently slid the dripping plaid shirt off of his shoulders. I was going to put it on the radiator in the kitchen, but something caught my eye. His white shirt had splashes of red all over his back. My heart stopped and the shirt slipped out of my hands. No. No, no, no.

‘Billy?’ My voice sounded weak and uncertain.

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re… You’re hurt,’ I said, eyes glued to the blood stains.

He tensed immediately. He didn’t reply and I was worried I saw too much. The most he had hoped for was probably just the painkillers and a place to crash. He didn’t actually plan on letting me in and now I accidentally stepped into his personal space. I was too close to the issue and I knew it scared him.

‘It’s fine,’ he said in a defensive tone. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

I could just let it go. In fact that’s what I should’ve done.

But then I felt it again. It creeped upon my shoulders slowly just to crush me all at once. The guilt. It didn’t let me move. It didn’t let me breathe. After that the panic started to set in. I let him suffer for so long.

I grabbed his hand, led him into the kitchen and made him sit in a chair. I pulled the first aid kit out of the cabinet and I saw it in his eyes. The flash of anger and betrayal, but I have already made my decision.

‘Take your shirt off,’ I said in a serious tone. ‘Please,’ I added quietly.

I expected him to put up a fight or at least make a suggestive joke, but he didn’t. He knew there was no use. The curtain was ripped away a long time ago and he had to accept that. But it was clear that he had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that someone knew the truth.

He gripped the hem of his t-shirt and started pulling it up, but halfway through he made a pained noise and let out a frustrated sigh. I grabbed the shirt for him and gently pulled it off.

When my eyes landed on his back, I felt dizzy. His tan skin was littered with angry red welts. The bruises were slowly blooming all over his back and the skin was broken in places. My first instinct was to ask him if he was hit by a car, but I knew better. And then I saw a few deep red squares that made me sick. The belt buckle.

“Jesus,” I breathed, before I could stop myself. I reeled back horrified. I’ve never seen anyone hurt this badly. I tried not to overreact – I had a feeling he would just run if I did. I suppressed my rising panic and closed my eyes for a second. It didn’t help much, the image already burned behind my eyelids. “I’m gonna clean it up, is that okay?” I asked, full of hesitation. I wasn’t sure how to even approach this without making him upset or ashamed. He was in a very vulnerable position, which could trigger his fight or flight response.

He didn’t reply, but he did give me a quick nod.

Feeling slightly relieved, I took out a cloth, dampened it and gently pressed it against his skin, trying to clean the dried blood away to see the wounds clearly. He flinched, but stayed quiet. I had to resist the urge to just take my hand away, so that I wouldn’t cause him any more pain, but this had to be done.

I drenched a gauze in an antiseptic and with a light hand started to disinfect the injuries. That did get a hiss and a muted fuck out of him, which I tried my hardest to ignore. Looking at his massacred back up close was making me lightheaded.

How could someone do this to another person? To their own kid?

The shame I felt was shattering. I knew. I knew this whole time and I failed him. My mind was cruel enough to make me feel like I was the one holding the belt.

I tried to be quick with the antiseptic, because his body felt like a tightly wound up string, ready to snap at any moment. I looked at the pile of bloodied gauzes and felt nauseous.

I took a few clean ones and covered the wounds, and then secured them with some medical tape. It looked a bit ridiculous and not professional at all, but the aesthetics didn’t matter right now. After I was done, Billy didn’t say anything. He wasn’t really moving either. I could only imagine what was going through his head right now.

I sat down in front of him to check how he was doing and I was met with a very hard image to take. He wasn’t crying. His head was hanging low and he was staring at the floor. His eyes were eerily hollow. Emotionless. There was no dramatic reaction, no sobbing, no fighting. Just acceptance.

I put away the first aid kit and cleaned up the used supplies.

‘Any cracked ribs?’ I asked standing awkwardly next to him. He shook his head without looking at me.

I was conflicted. I didn’t feel like I had the right to act like his friend now, but leaving him alone was not even an option. I looked at him sitting there. His body wasn’t as muscular as it used to be, he looked thinner. When he was hunched over like that, his skin stretched over his ribs grotesquely. He seemed to be a shell of the Hawkins High king he once was. All of his friends who used to worship him left the town. He was alone.

I put the kettle on and prepared some hot tea to warm him up. He didn’t even move, didn’t speak. He was lost in thought. I put two mugs on the table and sat down in front of him.

I wasn’t certain if I should say anything, but when I looked at him my heart broke. I saw my hand reach out involuntarily and cover his. It was cold. His head snapped up and he looked at me surprised.

‘I… I’m sorry, Billy. I’m sorry for what I did.’

He seemed confused. ‘What did you do?’

‘I pretended like I didn’t see it. I acted like I didn’t know.’

He looked down again and shook his head. ‘It’s not your job to help. I manage on my own.’

I squeezed his hand lightly.

‘I know we’re not friends, but… I don’t want you to be on your own anymore. If you let me, I’ll be there for you. With you.’

The look he gave me was indescribable. His brows were drawn gently like he didn’t quite understand what I was saying.  The feeling of support was so alien to Billy he wasn’t sure how to react. I wanted him to know that if he shared this burden, it would get a bit lighter. He didn’t have carry it alone anymore.

He didn’t sob or open up immediately. He did not pour his feelings out to me. He sat there quietly for a long time, but I could see that there was no anger or fear darkening his beautiful face anymore. He was weighing his options, thinking carefully about the secret he has kept for so long. He was now forced to confront it, to look this monster in the eye and call it by its name. He had to acknowledge his pain, really feel it instead of burying it deep under his skin.

The yellow overhead light in my kitchen betrayed Billy and I caught the glimpse of how glassy his eyes were. He didn’t let the tears fall. He didn’t even let his voice break.

All he said was: ‘Okay.’

And I knew he was ready to let me in.

[magicshopaholic]

Other People (Seokjin x OC)

Summary: You learn a new trick, while Seokjin discovers something unexpected at Big Hit.

Pairing: Seokjin x OC

Genre: Best friends; angst

Word count: 8.5 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, mention of diets, mentions of brain surgery, mentions of a car accident (again, Nari is a surgeon, so)

A/N: This got unnecessarily long; I would apologise for it, but I couldn't find a single thing I wanted to delete. It's also two am so I've made an executive decision to not proofread this. I wish I could predict the reaction to this fic but I honestly have no idea. Takes place approximately three months after The Test.

Tagging:  @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @dreaming-with-happiness @meirkive @faearchives @margopinkerton @purpleseoul7 @kflixnet (italics could not be tagged; drop a message if you want to be added)

Listen to: "don't know why" by norah jones

seokjin masterlist | main masterlist

It’s cold and rainy in Seoul, even when it shouldn’t be. 

The day had started off as a nice sunny winter morning in November, the sun a soft golden, a welcome respite from the low temperature. As noon arrived, so did the clouds. By late afternoon, they were grey and ample, sealing the city in a coffin.

Now, the evening doesn’t look at all like it’s continued from the same morning. The rain comes down in torrents, creating a constant din, loud enough for people to have to speak in slightly raised voices to be heard properly. 

Nari stands outside the ER with a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, waiting for the ambulance to arrive. The coffee is losing its heat with every passing second and she tries to gulp it down as fast as she can without burning her tongue in the process.

“What do we have?” Daeun appears from behind her, tying her hair into a ponytail, trauma gown already on.

“Two cars crashed into each other outside the mall,” supplies Nari. “Five victims, multiple contusions, broken bones and at least one head trauma. Coffee?”

Daeun accepts the cup with a nod and takes a noisy sip. “Ah, that’s good stuff. Shit, the rain is bad. I don’t think this will be our only car accident today.”

“Not even close,” mutters Nari, as two more fellow doctors join them. “I just hope we have the room.”

“We don’t,” says Jason, shifting from one foot to another. “Two of the trauma rooms are still unusable from the pipe leakage and the most of the X-ray machines are done after the Wednesday Soccer Team Incident. We have exactly one CT machine in working condition. The hospital is going to have to scrape money off the sidewalk to pay for all those repairs,” he adds, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Good thing they’re hosting a fundraiser then,” says Daeun dryly, just as the ambulance pulls in and the paramedics spill out. “A bunch of rich donors with their cheque books hanging out of their pockets - if that doesn’t work, I don’t know what will.”

Two patients, strapped to a gurney each are then lowered out of the ambulance. All four of them dash forward and tag themselves to a patient, hurrying inside as they listen to the paramedics rattle off their initial assessment and vitals on the field. Nari finds herself next to a woman, possibly in her thirties, with fresh cuts on her face and arms. Her t-shirt is drenched and her jacket has been ripped off, most likely by the paramedics themselves.

“Abdomen is tender so there might be internal bleeding,” says one of the paramedics. “There was no fire but there’s indication that she might have a swollen airway because of the fumes.”

“Alright, we need to get a CT,” says Nari, scanning the ER for an empty trauma room but finding none. “Damn it,” she mutters. “Okay, we’re going to have to keep her here - maybe we can use an ultrasound for now until we can move her.”

“Empty bed over here.” Jason steers the gurney over and immediately hooks the patient up to an IV. “I’ll get the portable ultrasound.”

“I’ll check her airway.” Nari gets to work immediately, trying to intubate the patient, who seems to have passed out entirely. She’s almost done when Jason returns, a nurse and the portable ultrasound machine in tow.

“This better work,” he mutters to her as the nurse begins positioning the patient correctly. “If we can’t find the bleed on this, we’re going to have to get in line for CT, which will take… hours.”

“Here’s hoping,” she agrees, standing back and observing the screen as he moves the transducer over the patient’s abdomen. She sighs and bites her lip when the image comes up clean. “Nothing. Move it to the left?”

Jason obliges, clicking his tongue. “I can’t believe the hospital doesn’t have a budget set aside to fix this stuff. This is a hospital,” he repeats, sounding appropriately frustrated. “Damn it, this bleed is really small. It’s barely showing up on the scan.”

“It has to be there. Here, let me try,” she offers, taking the transducer from him and moving it slower along the woman’s torso. “Do we all have to actually go to this fundraising thing, though? Can’t we skip?”

Jason scoffs. “It’s either dress up and smile at a bunch of rich people or stay here in the ER all night because all the attendings will be at the event. We’re not going to get a night off. The best we can do is make sure we’re all there so we at least have someone to talk to.”

It takes a second to click. “Shit, that’s it.” 

“What is? Did you find the bleed?”

“What? No. Sorry,” she mutters, going back to the ultrasound, feeling an encouraging flutter in her stomach. I didn’t find the bleed, she thinks apologetically. I found a segue.

—

It’s hours later when Nari finally gets a moment alone. Sitting at a table in the residents’ locker room, a sandwich in one hand and her phone in the other, she stares at her last chat with Seokjin. It’s a depressing series of heys and what’s ups and not muches, which is all it’s been for months now, ever since they’d last seen each other in August.

It started with superficial questions and forced conversation, half-hearted plans to meet before he had to leave for Europe again, until they dwindled down to monosyllabic answers that Nari found herself too humiliated to keep going, for more than one reason.

For one, it didn’t help her newfound insecurity of being a clingy friend, especially to a man who had made perfectly clear that he didn’t see her as anything but a friend. On top of that, she had no way of knowing what he was thinking. He wasn’t angry; she knew what Seokjin was like when he was angry and if he truly was, she would know. 

No, he wasn’t angry. He was… distant. Part of it could’ve been that he was busy, completing an entire promotional activity across Europe. But now that he’s back from their last stop in Japan, Nari knows that they have to get back on track. Being her date to a fundraiser isn’t her top pick, but it might just be the right balance between an organized event where he can’t ignore her and a public enough place that they won’t have to be alone at any point. Besides, if it doesn’t happen now, between his stint in Europe and his tour beginning early next year, she has a sinking feeling that their relationship will stagnate right here.  

She swallows, her heart racing slightly. It’s the middle of the night; Seokjin is most likely asleep, which gives her a great excuse to text and not call. 

Nari [01:11]

Hey.

She sends it before she loses her nerve, the soft whoosh sounding awfully final. Her stomach tugs uncomfortably with anxiety that she’s only recently started to associate with Seokjin, a strange and new feeling of not being able to expect what’s coming. 

She continues staring dementedly at the phone, its screen dark, until she finishes the entire sandwich. 

“It’s the middle of the fucking night, Nari,” she mutters to herself, standing up with a groan and stretching. There’s no point wasting her night worrying when she’s probably not going to get a response until tomorrow. She changes out of her scrubs and runs a hand through her unwashed hair, counting herself lucky that she can get a good six hours of sleep before she has to return in the morning.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle now; despite the cold, Nari tilts her head to the sky slightly, welcoming the fresh air. She runs her hands through her hair again, feeling the droplets cooling her scalp as her hair falls around her shoulders in clumpy strands. She doesn’t even make it past the entrance when she feels the unmistakable vibration of her phone in her bag, touching her hip. 

Nari freezes. This is unprecedented; Seokjin is never awake this late. Fishing out her phone, she lets out a low breath when she sees a message from him. She can ignore it, to be sure, and deal with it tomorrow morning - but then she would come off as a coward. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s ridiculously late, maybe it’s the fact that she just spent a better part of the evening fixing a bleed in a person’s abdomen - but the inner voice in her head simply sighs tiredly and goes it’s just Seokjin, prompting her to shake her head and open his message.

Kimbap [01:35]

Hey.

It’s anticlimactic, for sure, but still unexpected. Nari takes a seat on a bench near the parking lot and wipes the droplets off her screen with the sleeve of her jacket, hoping this isn’t going to be another one of their pointless conversations.

But he replied, didn’t he?

He did. Even though it’s the middle of the night. Encouraged, she responds.

Nari [01:39]

Didn’t expect you to be awake.

Kimbap [01:40]

We’re watching a movie at the dorm.

Nari [01:40]

Oh. Which one?

Kimbap [01:41]

Hereditary. I hate it.

Nari [01:41]

Jesus. Then why are you still watching it?

Kimbap [01:41]

There’s a bet and Jungkook is involved. It’s a long story.

Nari’s immediate response of I have time gets backspaced instantly. The honest truth is that she doesn’t have time and he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. She can’t be sure how well a joke will land right now but she also knows that she needs to respond fast or this is doomed to be another one of their hopeless attempts at a conversation.

All of a sudden, her phone rings and Nari almost drops it. It’s Seokjin, his name blinking bright on the screen. Now fully panicking - because this was not part of the plan - Nari looks around wildly around the empty parking lot, as though hoping for someone to spring out of the bushes and tell her what to do.

The phone is still ringing. Before she realises what’s happening, her thumb does an awkward sort of spasm and lands on the screen, answering the call.

Here goes nothing, she thinks. “Um, h-hello?” she stutters.

“Hey.” 

It’s like a football being kicked into her ribcage from the inside. Nari winces, wondering when her anxiety got this severe, to the point where her best friend’s voice is starting to cause her physical comfort. She leans back on the bench and tries to breathe slowly.

“Aren’t you, um, watching a movie?”

“Yeah. But if I’m on the phone, I have a decent excuse to get out of it.”

Oh. Nari feels her shoulders deflate. “Glad to be of help,” she murmurs, chuckling awkwardly. “How - how are you? Are you in Seoul?”

“Yeah, I am. Busy, though,” he adds quickly. “The album’s coming out in a week, so there’s a lot of work going on for it.”

“Right. Of course. How’s that going?”

“It’s fine. Hectic, as per usual. What about you?” he asks after a moment. “How’s the hospital, and the… surgeries and stuff?”

“Same. I mean, hectic. As usual.” Nari closes her eyes and feels her heart sink at the sheer effort this conversation is taking. She can’t begin to think about how they got here and it seems way too exhausting to even try.

“You sound tired.” Seokjin pauses, the sentence sounding incomplete. “Have you - I mean, are you still at the hospital?”

“Going home now. I just got a sandwich at the cafeteria,” she adds, hoping she’s guessed his half-question right. 

“Now? I thought you hated the night cafeteria.”

“I do, but it beats the vending machine crap. Have to make do when the jajjangmyeon isn’t an option,” she jokes, bracing herself for his response.

But all he does is chuckle half-heartedly. “Yeah. What’s up? You texted?”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Nari had barely worked up the nerve to text him about the fundraiser; asking him over the phone was a whole different ball game. “I was just thinking…” She trails off, her eyes widening as her vocal chords stay unwilling to go further.

“M-hm?”

Pull yourself together, woman.

“I was thinking that… we haven’t hung out in a while,” she ventures bravely, her knee jerking up and down. “And there’s a - there’s a thing later this week, so… that could be… you know.” She swallows, wishing Jason hadn’t put this stupid idea in her head in the first place. “... If you want,” she finishes lamely.

Seokjin is silent for a few seconds, during which Nari goes from anticipation to full-blown horror. “I’m sorry, are you - are you inviting me to something?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Um, kind of?”

“Like a party?”

“Well, no. Not a fun one,” she says wryly. “It’s a - there’s a fundraiser. And I have to go and… yeah, I was wondering if maybe you do, too. Since we haven’t hung out in a while.”

“Fundraiser, huh?” He doesn’t sound enthused at all. “Like, for charity? Wait, who’s the charity?”

“We are the charity,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “The hospital. Which means it’s just going to be all board members and senior doctors and other board members - and us. The residents.”

“Huh. Way to make it sound appealing, Nari.”

“It’s not appealing, at all. But it’s free food and booze and I get a chance to get out of my scrubs,” she points out. “Nice dress, straightened hair. And you’ll have to wear a suit,” she adds apologetically. 

“Right.” There’s a soft sound and Nari realises a moment later that he’s laughing quietly. It makes her stomach feel uncomfortably heavy. 

“What?” she asks, a bit defensively.

“Nothing,” he says, still chuckling. “We haven’t hung out in a while, so your idea was to do so at a… boring work event?”

Nari is quiet for a moment. The fact that he laughed is still prickling. “Well, I’d be open to other suggestions but you haven’t really had the time,” she can’t resist saying. “I work long hours; I don’t really get a lot of other opportunities to go out.”

“Yeah, Nari, I work long hours, too,” he reminds her, sounding irritatingly calm. “But if it’s either that or a hospital charity fundraising event filled with doctors… I think I’ll pick the long hours.” He chuckles again.

You’re a fucking idiot, Nari.

“Got it. See you around, Seokjin.”

“Nari, come on, I was joking -”

His words get cut off when she hangs up, fuming. She puts her phone on silent then, for good measure, and begins storming home in the cold. She won’t respond to any of his calls or messages tonight, the arse, she thinks. But fate must be on her side, for even after she gets home, changes and gets into bed, Seokjin doesn’t call or message.

—

Seokjin reaches the Big Hit building earlier than required. There’s no one in the rehearsal room yet, not even Hoseok, so he decides to get a much needed shot of caffeine from the cafeteria on the fourteenth floor. As he waits in line, he scans the food menu, each item like a gourmet creation.

Have to make do when the jajjangmyeon isn’t an option.

Seokjin sighs and tries not to think about what Nari had for dinner last night, but by the time his coffee is handed to him, he knows he’s a goner. It had taken him every ounce of restraint to not reach out to her again last night, knowing that no good would come of it. But now, in the light of day, he knows he can’t avoid it any longer. 

He calls her before he can talk himself out of it. Looking out at the city from the floor-to-ceiling windows and sipping his coffee, he hears her phone ring continuously until it goes to voicemail. He tries not to read too much into it; she’s probably already at work and she rarely answers unless she’s taking a break. It’s better than the other option; the feeling of Nari being angry with him is too foreign for him to consider right now.

He dials her number again to be certain and when it once again goes to voicemail, he clears his throat and takes another sip of coffee for liquid courage.

“Hey, Nari,” he begins, then sighs. “Look, I’m sorry if I was a bit of a dick last night. You just caught me off guard. Honestly, I… I didn’t think you really wanted to hang out with me so when you said you did, it just kind of threw me. And your event does sound boring,” he adds, hoping she hears the teasing in his voice, “but I’ll be there anyway. Suit and everything. I want to hang out with you, too,” he says after a moment, knowing the words don’t even begin to explain the magnitude of how much he wants to see her again, how hard it’s been to distance himself since the last time he saw her. “So… yeah. Text me the details.”

He should be saying something more but he can’t think what. As he looks around, hoping the words will come to him, he spots a figure just outside the cafeteria doors and does a double take. His mind runs through a myriad of memories to zero in on the right one, when he remembers he’s still on the phone.

“Anyway, I have to go. Bye.” Locking his phone and heading out towards the figure, Seokjin pushes his shoulders back and hopes he isn’t wrong. She’s in a slim navy blazer, skinny jeans and very high heels, a sleek laptop tucked under one arm and her fingers flying across the keypad of a Blackberry.

He taps her shoulder with a feather-light touch. “Um, hi? I think I have something that belongs to you?”

When she turns around, face carefully blank, Seokjin is momentarily sure of two things: one, that she is exactly who he thought she was, and two, that her lack of expression can only mean that she doesn’t remember him.

“You do?” A moment later, her perfectly lined lips tilt upwards slightly. “That’s right. What was it again?”

“Um…” Seokjin licks his lips, glad that he didn’t just go up to a random stranger and interrupt her in the middle of what seems to be a very long email. “I think it was a collectible of some kind? Very glamorous. Had a name on the inside?”

Her smile widens. “Do you remember what it was?”

Seokjin gulps but keeps his face still. “Of course. It was… Seulgi.” The relief at her nod is unexpected. “You think I’d forget the person that saved my hand that night? How would I ever hold a mic otherwise? My career might have been over!”

Seulgi laugh, a nice, low laugh. Her teeth are perfectly lined and perfectly white, shining against light bronze skin without a single pore. Her hair is long, straight and black, not a strand out of place. She looks like she belongs on a pamphlet for corporate employees.

Which reminds him.

“Do you - do you actually work here?” he asks. “In Big Hit?”

“Yeah,” she answers, looking only very slightly apologetic. “I thought I recognised you that night as well but I couldn’t be sure. I only just moved to the Marketing team. Sorry.”

“Uh, no, don’t be.” Seokjiin shakes his head. “It’s good to see you. And now I can return the wrist brace to you, too! This is great.”

“I mean, you don’t have to. I told you, I have a bunch of them,” she reminds him, raising her left hand slightly. From under the sleeve of her blazer, a navy blue brace, just like the purple one she’d lent him, peaks out. 

“No, no, I should,” he says anyway, shaking his head and glancing at the clock on his phone. There’s a message on his notification tray… “It’s back in my…” He wracks his brain, “... uh, flight. Which I took. The day after you lent me the brace.” He drops his face in his hands when she laughs again, low and husky.

“It’s really okay,” she says, touching his arm before taking a step back. “I actually do have a lot of them. And maybe they’ll help out some other poor soul who’s hurt his wrist.”

“That’s the hope,” he agrees, knowing his ears are reddening. “Man, I really wish I’d known you worked here. I would’ve… I don’t know. Broken the news about losing your brace sooner, for starters.”

“The loss would’ve been easier,” she agrees.

Seokjin bites his lip, preparing to let the awkwardness wash over him but it doesn’t. Seulgi’s warm, despite her appearance suggesting she’s about to walk into a room and fire a dozen people. 

“I feel really guilty, though,” he repeats after a moment. “Can I - I don’t know… buy you a coffee? It’s no collector’s edition wrist brace, but still?”

“Oh, that actually sounds good,” she replies, and for a moment his heart skips a beat of relief, “but the line seems long and I have a meeting.” She holds her Blackberry up apologetically. 

For the first time, Seokjin notices a Galaxy in her other hand – a personal cell and a work cell. She’s core corporate, he realises, possibly senior management. He doesn’t know why, but it’s slightly intimidating.

“Oh. Oh, okay. Sure.” He nods as she moves past him. “It was good to see you, though.”

“Yeah, you, too. Glad your wrist is better.” With a quick wave, she heads down the corridor and disappears from view.

Seokjin watches her leave, still cringing somewhat over the wrist brace he hasn’t thought about in months. She’d been the only person that night he’d had a normal conversation with - somehow, this doesn’t seem like the best way to show his gratitude.

It’s time to head for practice, anyway. As he steps into the elevator, he opens his messages and breathes a sigh of relief. 

Nari [09:14]

[Location]

Nari [09:14]

Friday, 7 pm

—

It’s hours later when they’re finally done with practice. All seven of them, a choreographer and a couple camerapersons are the only ones left. Jimin and Jungkook are still standing, going over their portion of the choreography as Hoseok watches, even though they look like they might collapse any second. Taehyung is spread-eagled on the floor, his bowl hat on his face. Yoongi is sitting in one corner of the room, staring into nothing.

Seokjin feels too tired to move, every single muscle aching. He leans back against the mirror and tries to catch his breath. Next to him, Namjoon is lying on the floor and texting. Seokjin catches a couple of words and immediately looks away; It seems to be in English, so it’s a fairly easy guess who the other person is.

“Any plans tonight, hyung?” Yoongi trudges over and tumbles down on his other side, crossing his legs.

“Not a one,” answers Seokjin. “In fact, I don’t think I’ll be getting out of bed for a while so if you need anything, I’ll respond to you in two to five business days.”

“You need to be at the studio tomorrow morning.”

There’s a pause. “Fine, but apart from that,” he amends, wagging his finger in Yoongi’s face, “two to five business days.”

“There’s also the interview on Friday.”

“Damn it, Yoongi,” groans Seokjin, glaring at him. “Fine, but that’s the last one. I have plans to vegetate all weekend in my apartment,” he informs him, knowing that there’s no way he'll get the entire weekend off, but needing to put across the point, “so just… don’t ruin it for me.” He watches Yoongi make a motion that might be a chuckle and rolls his eyes. “And besides, the interview is on Thursday. So my weekend begins on Friday.”

“The interview is on Friday,” says Yoongi calmly.

“No, it’s not. It’s Thursday. The twenty-fourth.”

“Thursday is the twenty-third.”

“No,” repeats Seokjin, feeling his pulse start to race, “it - it was always on Thursday.”

“No, it’s Friday,” pipes up Namjoon from his other side, not looking away from his phone.

And thus, Seokjin is left to spend the rest of the day in a growing pit of guilt, knowing that he’s going to have to disappoint Nari yet again - this time, completely unintentionally.

Her hesitation last night had not gone unnoticed by him. It was hard to hear but equally hard to respond to, and Seokjin half-hoped that she would find it too hard to go through with actually inviting him somewhere and drop the idea altogether. 

But she persisted and while it made Seokjin profusely glad that she still cared, it also meant that he would have to find a way to face her after avoiding her for months.

It doesn’t feel nearly as easy as it sounds, for Seokjin has absolutely no idea what to expect when it comes to Nari now. Part of him still feels guilty for lying to her the day after the wedding; her question had taken him completely off guard and lying about his feelings was the only way he’d been able to think of to avoid the situation getting worse.

It was a mess already but somehow, twenty-four hours later, it was So Much Worse. Somehow, Nari had come to him with a problem he couldn’t ignore. Somehow, he suddenly had to reevaluate his entire life with her in it, and somehow, in less than a day, his short-lived future with Nari as the mother of his child and best friend for life had been created and shattered.

It was hard to think of, and so much harder to talk to Nari about. Seokjin had been on the verge, dozens of times, of just breaking the ice and chatting with his best friend while he sat in cold European towns and watched Taehyung get his heart broken over and over again by Dilara Komyshan.

At least we’re not that bad yet, he’d tried to tell himself. He wanted to tell her, too, that they weren’t that bad, that they were okay, that he just needed some time. But the thought of confessing his surreal daydream, of irretrievably changing their friendship felt like too much of a responsibility - especially if she didn’t respond well. Avoiding her sucked, but it beat being around her with nothing to say.

Still, saying no to her outright, when she’d asked him point blank to accompany him to something was too hard. The fundraiser thing did sound boring, but he wanted to see her, too, so badly. It felt like a missing limb, not being able to talk to her. 

Nice dress, straightened hair. And he would have to be in a suit. He shudders when he remembers what happened the last time she was in a nice dress and he was in a suit. 

“Namjoon.” Seokjin jogs over to the leader as they’re heading out of the building to their cars in the basement. “About this press conference on Friday.”

“Yeah?” 

Seokjin hesitates, already sensing a no-nonsense mood. It hasn’t been the best day for Namjoon; the choreography was a complicated one, he was having to negotiate schedules all day, and if he’s not mistaken, he and Kaya have definitely been having some disagreement all day.

“About this press conference on Thursday -”

“Friday.”

“- I was - yes, Friday -” Seokjin clears his throat. “How important would you say it is for all of us to show up, on a scale of one to… Grammys?”

Namjoon stares. “At least VMAs.”

Seokjin nods seriously, even though it doesn’t help him in the least. “Okay,” he says, changing tacks, “how long do you think it’ll go on?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Namjoon sighs, scrolling through some document on his phone. “It should be done by six, but there’s a sponsors’ dinner after that - but that won’t be filmed so maybe we can leave early… of course, we’ll need to let management know so they have an exit plan…” He shakes his head and continues muttering under his breath.

“Okay, sure,” interrupts Seokjin, sensing that Namjoon is starting to lose the plot. “But what time do you think the event will actually end? Because I have to be somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Uh… a thing. With Nari,” he adds shortly. To his relief, Namjoon simply raises his eyebrows but doesn’t probe.

“I - I don’t know, hyung,” he says, not sounding apologetic at all. It’s definitely a fight with Kaya. “We won’t know until we get there. Depends on the sponsors. If it helps, it’s happening right here, in this building.”

It does help, a bit, for the location is closer to the Big Hit building than the hospital is. Still, it could be better.

“Look, I just need to tell Nari if I can make it or not,” he says, no longer beating around the bush. “I don’t want to make her a promise I can’t keep.”

Namjoon licks his lips slowly and nods. “I think you’ve been in this business long enough to know the answer to that, hyung,” he says cryptically, patting his shoulder and walking away.

“What the hell does that mean?” Seokjin demands, but Namjoon just shrugs and continues walking away. 

He does know what it means, though. But you’re a coward, Kim Seokjin, says the voice inside his head, sounding like Nari’s, as he prepares to text her later that night rather than call, knowing (and somewhat hoping) that she’ll be too busy to answer right away.

Seokjin [20:11]

I have some not so great news.

To his horror, she replies almost immediately.

Nari [20:13]

Bring it.

Seokjin [20:13]

Promise you won’t get mad?

Nari [20:14]

I’m two beers and a tequila shot down. This would be the right time to give me some not so great news.

Seokjin pauses. She’s drinking, which means she got off work at a reasonable time tonight. He should be glad about that, for her, but he can’t figure out what is also bothering him about it.

Seokjin [20:16]

Oh? No surgeries?

Nari [20:16]

Nope, I’m not on call tonight. I was going to go home and crash but the others convinced me to have a drink first.

Seokjin [20:17]

Sounds like more than a drink.

Nari [20:18]

I may have gotten carried away, but zero regrets. 

Seokjin [20:18]

Do you have a ride home?

Nari [20:19]

I live half a block away from the hospital. I’m sure most of these guys will crash at my place when they’re too trashed to get home.

Seokjin [20:19]

Are you sure?

Nari [20:20]

Yes. You don’t have to worry about me, you know.

She’s drunk; her transparency makes that clear. This may be the best or the worst time to give her the news, but Seokjin doesn’t think he can continue worrying about this for the rest of the night.

Seokjin [20:21]

Okay. Look, I need to talk to you about Friday.

Nari [20:21]

Something came up and you don’t think you can make it?

Seokjin’s heart jerks. He may not have met Nari much over the last few months, but he still knows her well enough to tell when she’s reaching the end of her tether.

Seokjin [20:22]

It’s a press thing. I can’t miss it.

Nari [20:23]

Of course. Unfortunate that you found out about it only today.

Seokjin [20:23]

No, it’s not that. I actually forgot. I thought it was on Thursday but it turns out it’s actually Friday. It’s my fault - I mixed up the days.

Nari [20:24]

Of course. Some other time, I guess.

Seokjin can picture her scoff, locking her phone and placing it on a bar table, screen down. He scrambles.

Seokjin [20:25]

I’m just saying I’ll be a little late.

Nari [20:25]

Late? Are you sure?

Seokjin [20:26]

Yeah. I don’t know how late but I’ll be there. I’ll try my best anyway.

Nari [20:26]

I’m sure you will.

This time, her status goes from “online” to “offline” and he knows she’s gone. This is a side of Nari he hasn’t seen in years: snide and sarcastic. It’s incredibly rare, requires a mix of things to be going wrong in her life, and has never, ever been directed at him.

Seokjin feels squeamish and guilty and helpless all at once - but he’s also beginning to get mildly annoyed. He’s determined to show up now, if for nothing else than to prove her wrong. 

Take that, Nari. He pictures showing up at the event, jogging up the stairs and bursting into a hall filled with white-haired individuals in conservative finery. Nari, in the same leaf-green bridesmaid’s dress with strappy high heels, would be at the end of the hall at the bar, looking victorious at the assumption that he hasn’t shown. The crowd would part then and she would turn, the satisfied smirk fading at the sight of him, late and panting - but there.

The next moment, Seokjin cringes at this ridiculous fantasy. Even the imaginary voice in his head that sounds a bit like Nari snickers. 

—

Nari fingers the strap of her dress nervously, feeling rather odd at being this dressed up around people who only ever see her in scrubs. Most of the other doctors seem to be feeling similarly, though, and she tries to coach herself to remember that they’re still the same people - just wearing make-up and cologne.

“Hey,” comes Jason’s voice from behind her, and she turns, glad to see someone she knows. “You - wow, you look amazing.”

“Really?” Nari asks quickly, smoothing down her dress. It’s long and plain black, nothing fancy, with a thin necklace and the only strappy high heels she owns. “It’s not too low cut?”

“Um -” Jason frowns and immediately looks away. “I - I don’t know. It looks - I mean, I didn’t -” He stutters in confusion, his gaze darting around in panic. “I don’t - I mean, should I look?”

“What? No, of course not.” She shakes her head and sighs. “Sorry. I’m just not used to it.”

“Used to what?”

“This,” she says, referring to nothing in particular. “The dress and the hair and the - the make-up. I don’t do it very often.” Looking up to see him still deliberately looking away, she slaps his shoulder. “Damn it, Jace, you can look at me now.”

“Oh.” He makes a big show of slowly moving his gaze towards her, grinning when she chuckles begrudgingly. “Don’t worry, dude. You look great.”

“Thanks. You, too, by the way,” she says honestly, noting the suit and the neatly brushed hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your jaw this smooth,” she remarks, turning his chin slightly.

“A last minute shave in the residents’ locker room changed the game.” Jason rubs his jaw and winces slightly. “Should I be concerned about my skills as a surgeon that I cut myself in two different places while doing it?”

Nari laughs, feeling slightly less nervous. “Not unless you’re the patient. Also, where the hell is everybody else?”

“Oh, Daeun got pulled into surgery - her motorcycle guy ruptured his spleen,” he answers, gesturing to the bartender. “She said she’d be back if it got over in time. Hyeri had to monitor her valve replacement lady to see if she’ll make it through the night. Oh, and Eunji is over there,” he adds, pointing to the other end of the hall.

Nari squints in the direction he’s pointing. “Who’s that she’s with?” 

“Her boyfriend, probably.” Jason shrugs as the bartender comes over. “A chaebol type, from what I can tell. Hey. you want a drink?”

“Uh, sure. Beer. Wait, can we have beer?” She frowns.

“I don’t know. Not fancy enough, is it?”

“We don’t have beer,” volunteers the bartender.

“Right,” says Nari. “In that case, I will have a glass of your strongest… whatever is strongest.”

Jason nods seriously. “Two of those. Thank you.”

The bartender raises an eyebrow but nods anyway, going back to mix their drinks. 

“So… it’s just you and me?” She leans back against the bar and scans the room. “Wait, do you have a date coming, too?”

“What?” Jason wrinkles his nose. “No. I’ve been on a neuro rotation all week - I haven’t had time to breathe, forget about looking for a date. You?”

“Have I had time to breathe?”

“Do you have a date.”

“Right.” Nari bites her lip. “Not exactly. I mean, I - I invited a friend. Seokjin - you met him, remember?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jason nods as their drinks arrive and they automatically pick theirs up. “Cheers. So why isn’t he a date?”

“Because he’s a friend.” As she says it, a terrifying possibility occurs to her: could Seokjin actually think this is a date? It would explain his random excuse to arrive “late” - if he does at all.

“He is? Really?” He looks mildly curious. “Because that night at Hyeri’s - I could’ve sworn he had a thing for you.”

Nari’s heart skips a beat. “You’re not the first person to think that,” she mutters into her glass, taking a stinging sip of what tastes like scotch. “Ugh, that’s disgusting.”

“It’s strong,” he remarks. “But I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, the painful humiliation of that moment after the wedding seeping into her body again. “Just… he doesn’t. Have a thing for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really? I mean, because it seemed like -”

“Jason,” she interrupts him, needing this conversation to end. “He doesn’t. Believe me. I’m completely sure.”

For a moment, it looks like he’s going to say something else but then seems to think the better of it. Nari is thankful; reliving that moment is bad enough, but her mind is now also preoccupied with the possibility that Seokjin might be avoiding coming tonight because he thinks she’s asked him on a date - and because he’s nice and can’t reject her outright twice, he’s having to resort to half-hearted lies and work excuses.

It’s a grim thought. She and Seokjin haven’t spoken since he told her he’d try to make it - and she’d been less than gracious about it. It was the alcohol, she’d reasoned the next morning, and despite the annoyance with his flimsy attempts at avoiding her, she’d dropped him a cursory Seriously, don’t worry about it. She’d waited just long enough to get a I’ll still try my best, and tried not to think about it since.

Nari takes another sip of her disgusting drink, not sure which is worse - if he shows or if he doesn’t.

—

“There he is. Jerk.”

Seokjin’s ears perk up at Taehyung’s quiet snarl. He follows the younger member’s gaze and feels his mouth twist as well when he spots the one journalist who had pestered them relentlessly with questions, each one more backhanded than the previous one, ranging from their solo ambitions to accusations of plagiarism.

“Where’s Namjoon?” he mutters, looking around. “Let’s make sure he doesn’t run into that guy without other guests around. Or witnesses,” he adds.

“He’s over by the water,” supplies Jungkook. “I think he’s talking to one of the sponsors.”

“Let’s keep an eye on him, then,” says Yoongi dryly. “Just in case he decides to do something drastic, like get into a logically structured argument.”

Seokjin half-chuckles. He does want Namjoon to come over, partly to keep an eye on him but mostly to check when he can leave. He checks his phone; it’s almost eight. As much as Nari’s last message, days ago, hadn’t seemed at all confident that he would make it, it only made him more determined to show up.

Namjoon doesn’t come over, though. Eventually, Seokjin joins him, hoping to get a moment of his time between guests.

“Maybe you should take a break,” he suggests, after another one of the sponsors leave and Namjoon’s well-practiced public smile fades. “Eat something? Or even have a drink?”

Namjoon smiles wearily. “Thanks, hyung. Maybe later.” He runs a hand over his face. “God, I can’t wait to get out of here. Zoom date with Kaya,” he adds, answering Seokjin’s silent question.

“Then we should leave now,” he says immediately, jumping at the opportunity. “Or you’ll just get even more tired and you’ll have to cancel on Kaya.”

“Are you kidding? It’s the only thing I’ve been looking forward to all day,” he replies, shaking his head. “There’s no way I’m cancelling.”

Seokjin responds to this with a grimace; while he would ordinarily find it sweet, right now, this blatant happiness is just annoying. He tries to think of another line of reasoning that could convince Namjoon to bounce, but before he can, two middle-aged people, one man and one woman, join them.

There’s some initial greeting; Seokjin gets through it robotically while Namjoon goes from tired to charming in a microsecond. The topic predictability begins with the press conference that just took place, followed by both guests praising Namjoon for his wonderful answers that he receives with respectful gratitude.

“I’m sorry you all have to stay for the dinner,” the woman says to Seokjin while the other two speak about something else. “You’re so young; I’m sure you all have other plans tonight.”

Lady, you have no idea. But he forces a smile on his face. “We’re happy to be here. Besides, if I’m lucky,” he adds hopefully after a moment, “my plans might still be there after this.”

“Oh?” The lady seems most interested. “A fancy party you need to get to?”

“Something like that. I have to meet someone at an event.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No,” he answers hastily. “Just a friend. It’s a work thing at the hospital she works. She’s a doctor,” he adds for good measure.

To his surprise, the lady nods. “Oh, I know that. It’s a fundraiser, right? Seoul National Hospital?” When Seokjin raises his eyebrows and nods, she smiles in acknowledgement. “I have a couple of friends there, too. Those doctors do such good work - pity they don’t have the money to continue their work in peace. Your friend is smart, though,” she says after a moment, patting Seokjin’s shoulder with a knowing look, “inviting a BTS member to the event.”

Seokjin doesn’t immediately understand. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, they need the money, don’t they?” She chuckles, sounding almost impressed. “Not a lot of people have the contacts to bring in someone like BTS to be a donor.”

Something drops in his stomach. “Oh, I - I think you’ve misunderstood. She’s my friend and we - we haven’t met in a long time because we’ve both been very busy. It’s not a - I mean, I’m not a - a donor.”

The lady looks confused for a moment. “Oh. My apologies. It just seemed like a smart thing to do, you know?”

Seokjin swallows. “Sure,” he says shortly. “But, uh… it’s not like that.” He nods to himself, knowing he’s right. “Nari would never do that.”

—

Nari shuffles through the crowd to where she can see Jason with Eunji and her boyfriend, taking care not to trip in her heels. She sees them turn and spot her as she gets close, but she doesn’t have time for pleasantries.

“Incoming,” she states. All of their eyes dart up and behind her; Eunji is the first one to notice.

“Damn it. Come on, babe,” she commands her partner, taking his hand and setting off. “Let’s go dance before he gets us.” In a flash of a second, they’re both gone.

“Okay, it’s our turn,” she says hurriedly to Jason, placing her drink on the bar and gathering her long dress in her hand. “If Dr Jung gets hold of us, it’s going to be a repeat of the mixer.”

Jason grimaces. “Oh, God. You mean when he tried to recruit each of us one by one by using his holiday calendar as a selling point?”

“That’s the one. Come on, he’s already seen me, but maybe we can still make a break for it!” she whispers dramatically, getting ready to go but stopping when he grabs her wrist.

“It’s too late,” he says gravely. “We’re going to need another plan. Tell me about your craniotomy today.”

“I - what?” Nari’s eyes widen. “Did you not hear me?”

“I did. Now talk to me about something medical,” he instructs. “And make it seem like there’s a problem - like, just talk urgently. Come on,” he urges, shaking her wrist.

“Um - okay, uh, the patient came in with migraines and was having seizures so we did an MRI and found an aneurysm located in the temporal lobe of the brain -”

“That’s great,” he whispers, and Nari notices his gaze slide carefully to the left to watch Dr Jung reach them, before quickly looking back at Nari. “But his vitals still aren’t stable,” he says suddenly, at a regular volume.

Nari’s jaw drops before she realises what he’s doing. “His blood pressure is what we need to observe carefully or he’s going to need another surgery tomorrow.”

“Is there any chance the aneurysm could’ve burst anyway? Even after you clipped it?”

Nari stares, a little thrown by how convincing his acting is. 

“Answer me!”

“A little over the top, don’t you think?” she mutters.

“The man is two feet behind you,” he replies, equally quietly, before tugging her closer and placing his hands dramatically on her shoulders. “What if it’s a brain bleed? What if -”

“How dare you?” She interrupts him, jabbing him in the chest. “My aneurysm was clipped perfectly, you son of a bitch!”

Jason’s eyes flicker with this unexpected turn of conversation but he plays along. “We still need to get an MRI to rule out any other complications, like a hematoma, or an air embolism or -” He pauses, craning his neck slightly, “... and he’s gone.” His shoulders relax and his hands slide off her arms.

“No way did that work,” she marvels in a low voice, turning around to check and see that he’s right.

“Of course it did. Nobody interrupts two doctors discussing a patient,” he says absently, rubbing a spot on his chest. “You may need some practice, though. I think you bruised my chest.”

“Don’t be a baby,” she tells him teasingly, asking for another drink and feeling a lot more relaxed than before. “But that was a pretty neat trick.”

“I can teach you many, young ‘un,” he says seriously, casually taking a sip of his third scotch. “But I don’t think we have the time tonight. Won’t Seokjin be here soon?”

Her drink arrives then and Nari takes it with a quiet thanks. Taking a larger sip than intended, she shakes her head. “He’s not going to make it,” she says, swallowing and wincing.

“Oh.” Jason frowns. “Did he call?”

“Nope.” Nari shakes her head, finding it a bit sad how unsurprised she is. “But he’s not going to make it.”

His frown deepens slightly and she’s sure he’s picked up on her change in tone, but she’s thankful he doesn’t mention it.

“Do you want to learn another trick then?” he offers.

Nari smiles, trying to look at the bright side: Seokjin would not have enjoyed this. He wouldn’t know anyone and he wouldn’t understand any of their conversation. A call would have been nice, but things aren’t the same anymore. 

She’s here, she has a night off, and she’s not alone. It could be a lot worse.

“Sure,” she answers. “But I’m going to need to be a lot more drunk for the next one.”

—

The ETA on the map says forty minutes. Seokjin has no idea how long hospital fundraisers last, but he needs to try. He exits the building, already tired from the negotiating he had to do to leave early. It’s starting to drizzle, so he ducks into the nearest establishment - a small cafe - as he waits for his car. The traffic outside is ridiculous, though; he hasn’t the faintest idea how long it’ll actually take him to get to the fundraiser.

Nari hasn’t called or messaged, though. Neither has he, he knows, but her last message had implied such a lack of faith in his intention to show up that it had rankled him just a bit. Over the course of the week, it had festered until it’s now more of a challenge than anything else, for he can’t think of a single other reason as to why he’s going to this thing. 

For Nari, says the voice weakly, sounding unconvinced. Nari, it seems, neither knows nor cares if he shows up, for all the interest she’s shown in his whereabouts. I’ll try me best, he’d said, meaning it completely, but she clearly didn’t believe it.

Seokjin sighs, mentally so exhausted that he can’t even muster the energy to be annoyed or hurt or confused right now. He’s just about to step back outside when he hears a voice he doesn’t expect.

“Can I get a bottle of water, please?”

He turns to see straight hair and a blazer, mint green this time, with the sleeves pushed up. “Seulgi?” he calls unsurely.

She turns and her eyes light up in recognition. “Hey, Seokjin. How are you?”

“Tired,” he admits. “You?”

“The same. Just trying to find the guiltiest pleasure on the menu to break my diet with tonight,” she says, pointing at the few items on the board. “It’s just been one of those days.”

“Tell me about it,” he murmurs, taking a few steps to stand beside her. “Anything catch your eye?”

“Not really. It’s just sandwiches,” she grumbles. “But I don’t really have a lot of options right now.”

Seokjin is quiet for a few seconds while she gets a bottle of water and takes a long swig from it. “I actually know of a ramen place close by. If you want. I break my diets there all the time,” he tells her.

“Really?” This time he isn’t imagining it; her eyes do light up. “How much?”

“Well… enough to feel like I’ve rebelled against the company for the night, but not so much that I can’t resume it the next day.”

“That’s the perfect amount.”

“Is that a yes?”

Seulgi grins tiredly, reminding him for a moment of Namjoon earlier tonight. “It is.” Her eyes flicker lower and her smile fades. “Oh, wait. You’re in a suit - are you going somewhere?”

Seokjin bites his lip. “I was at the press conference, and the dinner after that.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t look fully convinced. “And you were going… where?”

“Well, now I’m going to get ramen because it’s in my head.”

She cracks a smile. “I’m serious, though. You’re in a suit,” she repeats, adjusting the strap of her handbag on her shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t need to be somewhere?”

Question of the hour. But Seokjin knows that even if he does make it through the traffic, this will still be the easiest conversation he’s going to have all day.

“No. I don’t need to be anywhere.”

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

[steddiebang]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours)

Author: @steddieasitgoes l Artist: @doomcheese l Artist: @strawberrysh0rk Posting on Sunday, November 5

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my terrible mailman,” the man jests, letting his weight fall against the half-opened door. “To what do I owe the pleasure.” “It seems like some of your mail has slipped through the cracks at the post office,” Steve says with an air of causality he hopes pay off. “M’just here to deliver it and apologize for them losing it.” “Right, ‘cause the post office lost it. Not my mailman who hates me house.” “I don’t hate your house!” Steve objects. “That’s two lies in under a minute. I don’t think your boss will be too happy to learn that you’re lying to your customers…” the man trails off, gesturing at Steve. “Steve.” “So you are the mailman that has all the Housewives of this hear street’s panties in a twist.” Or: The year is 1991 and Steve Harrington is working as a mail carrier who is pettily withholding mail from Eddie, who has just moved into the neighborhood. When Eddie threatens Steve’s job, he is forced t making amends by hand-delivering the missing mail. In a surprising twist, Steve and Eddie end up hitting it off and the two start spending an alarming amount of Steve’s lunch breaks getting to know each other. But the more time they spend together, the less time Steve spends delivering mail which might just end up costing him his job and his newfound relationship with Eddie.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Steve is about to cut his losses, set the bin of undelivered mail on Mr. Darkness's doorstep with a quick note of apology, and head back to Posty when there's a loud commotion from inside. It's hard to hear beyond the thick wood door, but Steve can faintly make out the sounds of someone cursing. Heavy footsteps race towards the door, voice becoming clearer as they get closer and closer. 

"I already told you people. I've found something better than God. It's called marijuana, and it makes me a better man than any of your stupid books and pamphlets will!" 

The door swings halfway open in a hurry. It's so fast Steve doesn't have time to make himself look even halfway professional, the overflowing bin of mail teetering in his hands. He manages to save it from falling on his feet, but he can't say the same about his jaw, which feels like it's just been disconnected from the rest of his head. 

Truthfully, he hasn't given much thought to what Mr. Darkness might look like. 

Sure, he's listened to the Birchwood Court Housewives sing their praises. And Robin's lamented about her own theories. That a guy who paints an entire Victorian house black-hole levels of black and is never around in the day must be a vampire type. Long coats and dark boots, maybe even a corset or cape or two. She even joked about him having those cheesy faux vampire teeth they sell around Halloween one night. 

But other than their theories, Steve hasn't theorized for himself. Hasn't given Mr. Darkness's appearance any real thought, too consumed with getting his petty revenge instead. 

That might have been Steve's biggest mistake yet. 

Because the man in front of him isn't decked out in dark capes and soft linens, nor is he red carpet-ready with a swoon-worthy smile. 

No. 

The man in front of him is an utter disaster that makes Steve's heart race. 

Wild curls radiate from his head in every direction, wispy bangs falling in his sleep-heavy eyes. One hand grips the frame of the door, large, gaudy rings adorning his slender fingers. The other forms a fist that he uses to massage the sleep from his eyes. 

His lean but muscular legs are on full display, given his lack of pants. Light brown hair covers the expanse of his calves and thighs, blending with the rich colors of tattoos that ebb and flow with the contours of his muscles before disappearing under the most absurd apron Steve has ever laid his eyes on. 

Garfield the cat is splayed out across his chest, eating a bowl of pasta. A word bubble above him noting that he's "an eater, not a cooker."  

It's so cartoonish and out of place on his ink-covered body. Black lines weave up and down his arms, too. Drops of red and white accenting the purposely erratic lines. Steve can't help but stare at the work of art on this man's body. It's a glorified eye spy of sorts. Meaningful shapes and words hidden within the lines and floral designs. Steve thinks he makes out a music note in the mix, maybe even a heart with a W doodled inside. 

Mr. Darkness clears his throat, pulling Steve from his ogling. He feels his cheeks burn under the intense gaze brought upon him. A pit forms in his stomach as he takes in Mr. Darkness's face again. He's sporting an equal look of utter confusion. Lips barely parted, owlish eyes beating into Steve's. 

"Well," he clears his throat again before pulling at the hem of his tacky apron. "You're not the Bible thumpers." 

"I am not." 

It's hard not to squirm under the man's intense gaze as his eyes trail up and down Steve's body. Taking him in bit by bit — Steve can't help the rush of blood that pools below his belt. It's not his fault this man is simultaneously sizing him up and taking him apart. 

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my terrible mailman," the man jests, letting his weight fall against the half-opened door. "To what do I owe the displeasure." 

"It seems like some of your mail has slipped through the cracks at the post office," Steve says with an air of causality he hopes pays off. "M'just here to deliver it and apologize for them losing it." 

"Right, 'cause the post office lost it. Not my mailman who hates my house." 

"I don't hate your house!" Steve objects.

"That's two lies in under a minute. I don't think your boss will be too happy to learn that you're lying to your customers…" the man trails off, gesturing at Steve. 

It takes a moment for Steve to realize this is his way of asking for his name. Steve considered giving him a fake one just in case Mr. Darkness himself is serious about reporting his wrongdoings. But it would only take his boss a matter of seconds to figure out who he was really talking about, so Steve decides to tell the truth. 

"Steve." 

"So you are the mailman that has all the housewives of this here street's panties in a twist." 

It doesn't seem possible, but Steve feels his face heat up even more. He's never been a big blusher, not even in high school when he was pumped full of alcohol and had girls dangling off both his arms. But he doesn't need a mirror to know he's been rendered into a blushing mess in under five minutes by Mr. Darkness. God, it's probably so obvious against the harsh backdrop of his house and the navy blue polo of his work uniform. 

"Look," Steve trails off, eyes glancing down towards the mail bin in his hands. He tries to catch sight of Mr. Darkness's real name, but all the letters on top are still addressed to an E. Munson. And he's not about to call this guy Mr. Munson. That's reserved for his superiors and this guy is anything but. 

"Eddie," Eddie supplies, the corner of his mouth twitching up momentarily. 

Steve nods. "Right, Eddie, I don't hate your house, and I'm really sorry about the…" Steve trails off again. His nose turns up as he's hit with an overwhelming waft of something burning. A smell he's accustomed to smelling, thanks to Robin's need to cook despite the kitchen's hatred for her. "Is something burning?" 

"My bacon!" 

Read more on November 5!

[bu1410]

''Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971." - Chapter III - March 5th, 2024

Bari - Italy

Bar - Montenegro

Kotor - Montenegro

Sveti Stefan - Montenegro

Dubrovnik - Croatia

Lake Skadar - Montenegro.

BAR - MONTENEGRO- FORMER YUGOSLAVIA – October 1982

I returned from Saudi Arabia quite disappointed by the behavior of the Works Director, Eng. Birago. I liked the Taif hospital project, but I think the old Engineer had the whiskey affair tied to his finger, and at the first opportunity he got rid of me. I therefore responded with enthusiasm to the call from VOLANI, a company from Rovereto (Trento, Italy) specialized in industrialized architecture, essentially a direct competitor of FEAL Milan. I went to Rovereto for the interview with the Chief of Staff ''accompanied by Mother''! In the sense that my mother, as soon as she learned that I was going to Rovereto, immediately jumped on the car: beyond the desire to go around, it was one of her favorite destinations! The interview went well, and I was offered a job at their construction site in Bar, Montenegro, then still a territory of Yugoslavia. Before leaving for Bar, I wanted to spend a weekend in Madesimo, in Italian Alps. In 1981 there was no Internet, and therefore we had not booked the hotel. When we were in Medesimo we soon realized that the hotels were all closed (we learned that October/November are the months in which hoteliers go on holiday). In the end we turned to the local Carabinieri station, who suggested we go up to Alpe Motta where there was an alpine refuge that was definitely open.

JOURNEY TO BAR I had bought a new jacket, grey/blue on the outside, and with yellow padding on the inside. I took the flight to Bari, and then from Palese airport a taxi took me to the port. The ferry to Bar would leave in the evening. I enjoyed a single cabin, and the crossing of the Adriatic was uneventful. In the morning, when I tried to open the cabin door, I bumped into the bodies of those less fortunate than me, who had spent the night sleeping on the floor in the ship's corridor. We went ashore, and I noticed that I was surrounded by the usual dozens of women who at the time were shuttling between Italy and Yugoslavia, bringing all sorts of merchandise to their country. One of them, a middle-aged woman, asked me in in somewhat broken Italian:

Do you have something to declare?

No….

Well, it means that you will go through customs with these bottles of cognac, these shoes and these t-shirts on my behalf.

Ok…… Once we passed the customs control, the woman hurried to collect her goods, and she didn't even say thank you!!. I had made a first approach to the typical rudeness of Montenegrins; I would later have to experience other, even worse examples.

HOTEL SUTOMORE At the port exit there was the Site Manager waiting for me. A nice gentleman originally from Mantua: middle-aged, beard, open smile, had already been in Bar for several months with his wife and a few-month-old daughter in tow. He took me to the Hotel Sutomore, located in a village of a same name, a few kilometers north of Bar. The semi-deserted hotel given the season, a 9-storey building, was directly on the small but beautiful beach - the transparent sea reflected the sun of the afternoon that has just begun. It was lunch time, and after a shower, I went to the hotel restaurant, located on the mezzanine. Very large dining room, on Saturdays it was always occupied by receptions and weddings, with horseshoe tables, full of bottles of whiskey as per local custom. (Perhaps this is the reason why wedding dinners often resulted in furious arguments between relatives and friends?) I sat down in the half-empty room, took off my jacket and placed it on the back of the chair in front of me. The waiter, a young man around 20-22 years old, appeared out of nowhere, and without saying a word he took off his white jacket, took my jacket and put it on. -It's fine with me - he said, looking satisfied in the large window - how much do you want?

I looked at him astonished, with a mixture of surprise and anger and told him: it's not for sale, take it off immediately.

And he: but why not? Here all foreigners do this?!

''As well as? I said annoyed.

In the sense that they come wearing new things, sell them to us, and then leave again.

Well - I replied - I'm not "everyone" and I bought the jacket for myself - end of negotiation.

Oh well… if you say so….

What is there to eat? And here was the second unpleasant impact with another locals.

NIGHTCLUB Below the hotel there was a disco-dance hall. On Saturday evening it was packed, with a musical group that performed a Slavic variant of the rock songs popular in the 80s. The evenings inevitably ended in fights, to which alcohol, which was consumed in large quantities, made a substantial contribution. One evening I was at the entrance of the club, and an obviously drunk guy, with the help of a chair, demolished all the telephone booths positioned at the entrance of the club. I asked the girl at the checkout why no one called the police.

It's better not - she replied - things would take a worse turn - and in any case we know who he is, and the police will show up at his house around 5.00 am tomorrow, when he will be sleeping and will be unable to resist.

Ah… okay – I said.

OUR PROJECT The project consisted of the construction of a building for the Municipality of Bar, one to be use by the new Court, plus a school complex. Also included in the same contract were the rehabilitation of an analysis laboratory building in the hospital of Podgorica, 50 km inside Montenegro, as well as the capital of the state - The construction of a clinic in Ulcinj, 26 km south of Bar, the last city in Montenegro next to Albania border. In view of the supervision and some particular processes in which Italian labor was used, the bulk of the workers employed in the project were Yugoslavians. I noticed a detail that I remembered later, when the war broke out in Yugoslavia in the 1990s: carpenters, bricklayers, structure assemblers, were organized into ethnic groups (Slovenes – Serbs – Croats etc) and had no relationship between them. The construction time was from 7.00 in the morning to 2.00 in the afternoon - at 10.00 am there was a break, during which meals were consumed, sometimes cooked on site, with improvised barbecues. All the buildings were of a high standard, with continuous aluminum facades - the Bar complex stood out for a certain elegance, and the imprint of Italian design and materials immediately caught the eye.

THEFT ON CONSTRUCTION SITE Unfortunately the construction site had been the subject of a series of thefts, which essentially never stopped. An estimation made showed that the total value of the thefts amounted to the considerable sum of 870,000 USD. Several reports to the local authorities had brought only one result: one day we Italians were all summoned to the police station where they took our fingerprints. The Chief of Police told us that ''thieves don't exist in Yugoslavia, so it must be one of you who steals the materials''.

We had noticed - and photographed - that numbers of shacks buildings used as garages or warehouses had arisen in the vicinity of the construction site and beyond - all made with particular metal sheet that only VOLANI imported from Italy. One morning I arrived at the construction site very early, and I saw a man had loaded into a van some our anodized aluminum sheets - we used it as pillars cladding - I stopped him and asked him outright what he was doing: - Well – he replied – I saw these sheets of metal on the ground and I thought you didn't need them anymore.

Put them back where you found them – I told him

Okay… okay… no problem….

PODGORITZA Every now and then it happened that for work reasons I had to move to Podgoritza. The road first wound along the coast, and then inland, passing through Lake Skadar, the largest in the Balkan peninsula, which Montenegro shares with Albania. For lunch we used to stopp at a restaurant on the lake shore, where they served excellent fried carp. These gigantic fish were the result of cooperation between the then allies Albania and China: the Chinese had introduced millions of carp's fry into the lake, repopulating the waters which risked being left without fish. One morning we were going from Bar to Podgorica – me and a colleague of mine in two different cars. It was late November and very cold. It had rained during the night, and the morning frost had formed a thin film of ice on the road. Suddenly my colleague's car began a series of spins - I was following him closely, but luckily I managed to engage a low gear, and without touching the brakes I stopped on the edge of the road, also scraping the side of the Ritmo FIAT against the mountain rock that flanked the road. The colleague's car stopped in the middle of the road, with its nose facing against the direction of travel. I ran to help him get out of the car, just in time: another car arrived, the driver had lost control and crashed into my colleague's car! We realized that the situation had become very dangerous, and that we had to go to both sides of the road and try to signal the oncoming cars. Luckily the traffic was light at that time and we somehow managed to stop the traffic before anyone else ran into the two damaged cars. Then other drivers who arrived helped us to push the damaged cars towards a nearby dock. Once everything was over, and traffic was restored, the police arrived. First thing they asked me why we had moved the cars.

Because they were in the middle of the road, and represented a danger to other drivers – we replied.

No, said the policeman, you had to wait for our arrival, how can we do the investigations now?

Well, do as you like – my colleague told him.

But since the local police, when they meet a foreigner, always looked for every excuse to steal money, they gave us a report for having ''caused danger with dangerous driving''. And we had to pay immediately, otherwise the cars would be confiscated. So eventually we could leave that nightmare of wind and ice.

LIFE IN FORMER YOUGOSLAVIA IN '80. We stayed in Podgoritza for about two weeks, there was a need for a major overhaul in the work at the local hospital. Our Construction Manager had reached us and brought his family with him. His wife was desperately looking for diapers for her daughter, a rare commodity in Yugoslavia in 1982. Finally one day, through one of our local employees, the lady came into contact with a transporter who made frequent trips abroad and who had availability of otherwise unobtainable diapers. They met at a newsstand, generally in the early hours of the morning, and packs of diapers were wrapped in newspaper, so as not to arouse ''suspicions''. Annother day a colleague who had just returned from Italy told us that he had brought an 8 kilo bag of coffee. Unfortunately the coffee was in grains, therefore someone suggested to go to a small supermarket, where he had seen that there was a machine for grinding coffee near the cash registers. Very bad idea! While my colleague was inside the supermarket grinding the coffee, when by magic - perhaps attracted by word of mouth - dozens of local people showed up asking ''where is the coffee'…we heard that the coffee has arrived…'' The cashier said no that the coffee had not arrived (we learned that it had been missing from the supermarkets for some time) and that it had been brought by an Italian who had just arrived from Italy. But the crowd did not want believe it, and began to shout that it was ''the usual story of making the goods disappear and then selling them on the black market at increased prices''. My colleague, frightened by the crowd, didn't even finish grinding all the coffee and left the shop in a hurry, fearing for his own safety. In the meantime a couple of cars from the ''Milicija'' had arrived and quickly put an end to the uproar.

NOVEMBER 29TH - DAN REPUBLIKE PARTY

November 29th was a special day in the former Yugoslavia. Two important events in their history were celebrated: the second plenary session of the AVNOJ (Anti-fascist Council for People's Liberation of Yugoslavia) in 1943 and the first session of the Yugoslav Constituent Assembly in 1945. Propaganda via radio and TV had begun about ten days before , and it portrayed Germans and Italians as oppressors, occupiers of sacred Yugoslav soil, and responsible for countless war crimes. We had been instructed to keep a low profile, not leave the house or hotel in the evening, and to limit inspections on site as much as possible. Despite this, we suffered various provocations from the local authorities, until the day when a delegation from the Municipality of Bar held a remembrance ceremony inside the complex still under construction, where they had forced us to prepare a classroom complete with carpet and stage for the authorities. And so after having set up the classroom, the mayor gave a speech lasting almost two hours, during which he did nothing but insult Italy and Germany. The sovereignist and nationalist rhetoric still took root in a nation that would soon descend into a war which, as an Italian journalist said during the Yugoslav conflict ''was fought with the ferocity of ancient wars but with the lethal weapons of the era modern''.

A SAD STORY OF AN ITALIAN COLLEAGUE. There was this colleague, Adriano, a young man from Udine, who had been datinga beautiful local girl for some time. Adriano would be returning to Italy for a period of holidays, and was preparing for the return journey with his own car, with which he had reached Montenegro along the entire Adriatic coast. He asked his girlfriend's mother if he could take advantage of this trip to take her with him to Italy. Permission was granted, and on the morning of departure Adriano arrived early at the girl's house. At the honking of the horn the girl looked out from the balcony and urged Adriano to go up into the house. What happened a once the Italian boy entered the apartment it was never really clarified. From what we learned from Adriano it seems that his girlfriend's policeman brother had returned from Belgrade during that night, where he served. And had said he was against his sister's relationship with the Italian guy. The fact is that we were called around 10.00 am from the local emergency room, where Adriano had been admitted in a state of shock and with multiple fractures, especially in his face and upper limbs. A complaint was filed, but the local police, knowing who was involved in the beating, dropped the matter, classifying it as a ''Private Accident''. Adriano returned to Italy after 2 weeks in hospital, with an ambulance sent by VOLANI Rovereto.

WEEKEND's During weekends I always took the opportunity to visit the region around Bar. I have beautiful memories of Dubrovnik, a walled city built by the Venetians modeled on Venice but dry. Very beautiful and evocative is Svety Stefan, the islet connected to the coast where General Tito spent his holidays - Kotor, a picturesque fjord which during World War II was used to hide warships. Cavtat, a fishing town near Dubrovnik, where you could enjoy excellent fish and local wine. I also visited Cetinje, little more than a mountain town, birth placeof ''Jelena Petrović-Njegoš, princess of Montenegro, and then Queen of Italy'' following her marriage to Vittorio Emanuele III, King of Italy. At the time, Montenegro and Croatia showed great potential for tourism development, even if heavily penalized by the socialist system. In essence, the reception was modest, the infrastructure was missing or insufficient. With liberalization - and the arrival of the large international hotel chains - I believe that these shortcomings have been filled.

END of 1982 - ABANDONMENT OF THE PROJECT At the end of 1982, VOLANI decided to abandon the project in Montenegro, given the continuous thefts on the construction site, and the lack of payments by the Yugoslav Government. All Italians returned safely home for Xmas & New Year Holidays. I board a flight of then JAT Yugoslav Airlines, which reached Milan' Linate airport after a stop over in Sarajevo.

VISIT TO BAR IN 1984 In August 1984, on the way to a holiday in Greece, I did made a detour to see what had become of the Bar complex. Arriving near the former construction site, I found a disastrous situation: the project had been abandoned unfinished, the local population had wreaked havoc, stealing and dismantling everything they could. The unkempt grass reached up to the first of the 4 floors of what should have been the new town hall. Broken glass, false ceilings, doors, blown out windows, everything was in a state of abandonment. A disconcerting and somewhat incomprehensible vision. I didn't understand the reason why the local administration hadn't finished the project and taken the buildings into use, given that it was so close to finishing them.

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Never Better

Jonathan/Eddie | 1.3K | Rated T for mentions of weed Or: Eddie sells weed but he's not very good at it yet <3 (set right after season 1)

Jonathan just wants to eat his lunch in peace.

The cold wind nips at his cheeks because he was too stubborn to get his scarf from his locker. His nose goes numb almost instantly. At least he’s the only one stupid enough to eat his lunch outside in this weather. At least he’s going to be alone.

He tucks his hands deep into his pockets and braces the snow. It’s been non stop since Christmas and the first layers of it have frozen to the concrete. He takes small, careful steps as he crosses the courtyard toward the football field.

He keeps his chin tucked into the collar of his coat so he doesn’t notice the boy until he’s reached the foot of the bleachers.

He’s sitting on the middle seat of the top row, leaned back like he’s enjoying the sun. The sky has been paper white for weeks now, but Eddie Munson might’ve missed the memo.

Jonathan doesn’t really know Eddie, but he knows of Eddie. Everyone does. Another one of Hawkins’ finest, with his last name stitched permanently to his first. That’s Al Munson’s kid. He’s trouble.

It might as well be Byers. It has a similar ring to it. Laced with rumors and preceded by reputation. Their father’s used to hang out. Drinking buddies down at the only local pub that hadn’t kicked them out yet. But that was before.

Ever since November, Jonathan's got a new set of rumors stuck to him. They add his first name, too. It’s not just Byers anymore. To this town he has always been his father’s oldest, but now he’s also his mother’s son.

Eddie turns his head to the side and looks him straight in the eye.

It would be rude to turn around now. Personal.

Jonathan drops his backpack from his shoulder and catches the strap right before the bag hits the ground.

“Uh… Hi.”

He takes two steps up the broad staircase, leaving a few rows of chairs between him and Eddie. He doesn’t seem like the type to keep his head down, but he also wouldn’t have any reason to strike up a conversation. Eddie’s a senior. They’ve haven’t so much as exchanged pleasantries since the start of high school. But Eddie tilts his head back and reaches for a metal box by his feet without breaking eye contact.

“What do you need?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“How much?” He raises an eyebrow and flips open the lid. “I can do fifteen for the half ounce, cut you a deal?”

His tone is so casual, almost like customer service. The practiced ease of a transaction. Oh.

Jonathan swallows hard. He tries to take a step back and bumps his boot against one of the seats on the row below him. The plastic shakes with a hollow thump.

“And… You’re not here to buy weed, are you?” Eddie winces, more awkward than scared, like he just committed a social faux pas and not a crime. “Fuck.”

“You sell weed?” Jonathan can’t help but ask. “At school?”

He holds onto his bag with both hands because he doesn’t know what to do with his arms.

“Where else am I supposed to do it?” Eddie asks sincerely. “Can’t exactly set up shop on Main Street, can I?”

Jonathan can’t really argue with that. Though maybe he shouldn’t be selling weed at all. If the cops are gonna suspect anyone, he’s top of list. Virtue of his leather jacket and that sticky last name.

“You’re Jonathan, right? Byers?

It’s exactly the thing he came out here to avoid. The pity. The gossip. Being poked and prodded until everyone moves on to the next big thing. It’s been almost two months now and the charity has run dry. With the last bits of empathy under thick layers of snow, everyone who wants to ask him about it now is just there for all the gory details.

“I’ll just leave you to it,” Jonathan says.

He turns around and hurries down the steps. Maybe the English teacher left her classroom unlocked. She does that sometimes. He could eat in there. If all else fails there’s always the bathroom.

“Are you sure you don’t want any weed?” Eddie yells after him, far too loud for such a public setting, but Jonathan just keeps walking. “If anyone here could use some it’s probably you.”

He whips around.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He spits. Meaner than he wants to be, but he’s just so done with being Jonathan Byers.

Eddie raises both hands in the air, palms facing out like he’s playing at innocence.

“Just that it seems you’ve had a rough couple weeks,” he says quickly. “That’s all.”

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t know why he’s so defensive all of a sudden. “It was my brother, you know… Who went missing. Not me.”

A beat of silence stretches between them.

“Still… Must’ve been fucking hard.”

Jonathan shakes his head. That’s not what he’s supposed to say. It’s not what anyone else said. Definitely not lately.

“Will’s fine,” he grits through his teeth. “He’s home now. He’s all good."

And he is. His mom is still in celebration mode. Will came back. He’s alive. It’s ice cream for dinner if he wants and a never ending supply of hugs. A happy ending. They don’t have to talk about any of it. Not anymore.

Jonathan looks back at Eddie only to find him already staring.

“And you?” he asks carefully. Eddie’s got those big eyes and that unwavering stare and it makes Jonathan’s skin itch. It bubbles in his stomach like anger, but it stings behind his eyes like something much more embarrassing.

“Never better.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Well then, Jonathan. Guess you won’t be needing my services.”

He closes the lid on his metal lunch box and taps a quick rhythm once it’s shut. Jonathan can’t believe he’s just keeping weed in there. On school property, practically out in the open. He’s never smoked before, cigarettes sure, but he’s never even had a beer.

“What’s your name again?” He’s not sure why he’s asking. Eddie still knew his name. It wouldn’t be weird to skip the introductions all together, but it’s the only thing he can think to say.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, doesn’t buy it one bit.

“You don’t remember me?” He frowns, but there’s something teasing to his voice. “Come on, man.”

Jonathan digs his teeth into the inside of his cheek. Two boys under the table, on the sticky floor of a bar. Jonathan played dinosaurs and Eddie played cars despite being too old for either. Their fathers talked, sloshing beer over the side of the table, dripping down the seats. The bar got darker and their voices got louder. Eddie ran his toy truck over his father’s steel toed boots and got a kick to the ribs in return.

They didn’t talk much. Joyce picked him up before Eddie’s mom did and he wasn’t allowed back after that.

“Eddie.” He sounds it out with a flourish and half a bow. “Pleased to formally meet you.”

“I can’t believe you’re selling weed at school.” Jonathan says it without thinking about it.

“I’m not…” Eddie frowns before quickly resetting his face to a more neutral expression. “I’m not very good at it yet. Only started selling a couple months ago.”

It’s a strangely charming admission. Human.

“Would it help?” Jonathan swallows before he can keep talking. “The weed. Would it help?”

“I mean… Probably not,” Eddie admits like the terrible salesman he is. “But it won’t hurt either. It gets your mind off of shit. If you happen to need that.”

He shrugs casually, bunching his leather jackets around his shoulders like he couldn’t care less. It’s not quite the peer pressure teachers always warned him about.

He glances at Eddie’s hands, still wrapped around his lunch box. Pictures those fingers wrapped around a joint, pictures himself inhaling a thick cloud of smoke and then he quickly shakes his head.

“Never mind.” He takes a step back.

“No pressure, man.” Eddie grins with a comfortable familiarity and suddenly Jonathan feels like he shouldn’t be here at all. Shouldn’t be talking to him. Shouldn’t be out here by himself. “But if you change you’re mind you know where to find me.”

“I’ll see you around.” He slings his backpack over his shoulders and turns around before Eddie can say anything else.