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alrightberries · 4 years ago

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strawberries and cigarettes (always taste like you)

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: angst ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: Levi celebrates Christmas Eve the only way he knew how: getting drunk and high on a rooftop while thinking about you.

❈ trigger warnings: drinking and smoking. mentions of violence, gore, blood and death. brief mention of sex. profanity.

a/n: canon compliant but also kinda not? idk if they have cigarettes in the aot/snk universe or if they celebrate christmas so just roll with it.

Smoke puffed out of Levi’s lips, slowly dissipating in the chilly December night. The breeze that passed by caused goosebumps to rise on his skin, a product of the winter’s unforgiving coldness, and the thought of getting off the rooftop where he sat in silence briefly crossed his mind. His office wasn’t that far and it wouldn’t take that long to quickly grab his coat, but the longer he stayed and stared at the dark sky, the more he found himself not caring about the cold breeze or the below zero temperatures.

He took another puff from the cigarette in his hand, eyes drifting towards the barracks where the rest of the regiment most likely was at this hour. The torches and lamps scattered around the base glowed a warm orange-y yellow, a contrast to the whites and blues of the snow and darkness. It looked gorgeous, almost, and Levi silently chuckled to himself at the sickening thought of finding anything beautiful at this fucked up time of year.

Christmas Eve.

A time for friends. A time for family. A time for people to gather around the fireplace and drink warm beverages as they sang songs, told stories, and eagerly waited for the stroke of midnight to open and exchange their gifts.

What a load of bullshit.

Christmas Eve was Levi’s version of a pain in the ass. It was a holiday filled with a bunch of cadets greeting him with a warm and cheery ‘Merry Christmas, Captain’ every time he passed them in the halls, and he would only respond with either silence or a brief nod of acknowledgement. Not to mention, it was also the time where Hanji would try to get him to celebrate different festivities in an attempt to cheer him up.

It was technically a week-long headache for Levi, with the eccentric soldier- for an entire seven days prior to Christmas- trying just about everything in the book in attempts to get him to sit around the fire with the other squad leaders or even do something as small as switch out tea for hot chocolate to match the holiday spirit. It seemed like Hanji’s excessive invitations would always get worse around Christmas Eve, but of course, it never worked.

Levi took a swig of the whiskey he’d brought with him onto the rooftop, extinguishing the cigarette he was holding and lighting a new one once it had reached its end, before taking another deep inhale of the stick of nicotine.

Indeed, Christmas Eve was nothing but a pain for Levi.

Perhaps Hanji thought of him as lonely. Maybe Erwin had even just half a mind to worry about his well-being. But truth be told, Levi did celebrate Christmas Eve in his own little way: at around 10 o’clock at night, without fail, Levi would make his way onto the highest rooftop of their current base carrying nothing but whiskey, nicotine, and strawberries. From there, he would drink and smoke until midnight came, at which point he would start to eat the strawberries he’d brought. Then he would drink and smoke some more until he felt like his liver couldn’t handle it anymore, before eventually making his way back to his quarters at 4 o’clock in the morning and attempt to get his drunk and high mind to rest.

It was his fucked up little Christmas Eve tradition.

The first year Hanji had noticed that Levi wasn’t around the base for their Christmas Eve celebration, they went around asking people if anyone had seen him, to which everyone would reply with ‘No, I haven’t seen him, sorry.’ When the second year came around, Hanji once again noticed that Levi was gone and no one had seemed to know where he was. So when the third year came around, they waited for him to leave his office and stealthily followed him around the base to find out exactly where Levi runs off to during the holidays. Hanji got caught, of course, and by the third time they’d gotten caught (and almost strangled each time) they knew it was best to stick to pestering him rather than following him.

Levi grimaced at the memories of Hanji trying to follow him around, him sensing it immediately and going around the base in an attempt to shake them off his tail, failing, and eventually just resorting to telling them off (Oi, four-eyes, how much longer do you plan to stalk me like a creepy old pervert?)

He sighed.

He wasn’t always like this. He used to enjoy Christmas Eve and doing all the cliche holiday traditions that came with it; sitting around the fireplace with Isabel and Farlan and playing the guitar, pretending not to care about their tone-deaf voices as they sang their own version of holiday songs, never really knowing the lyrics but knowing the tune and making up words to accompany the melody as they go.

Where did he go wrong?

It was around his second bottle of whiskey and his second (or third? He couldn’t remember but didn’t really care at this point) packet of cigarettes when Levi’s fuzzy mind would finally unlock the memories he’d kept at the very back of his mind- a place where he couldn’t reach them and they couldn’t reach him. Memories he’d repressed years ago, never to be thought of, never to see the light of day. Except on Christmas Eve.

He closed eyes as he exhaled, lying down on the rooftop’s snow-covered shingles as he carefully set down the bottle of whiskey next to him, just within his reach. He went through cherry-picked memories of his life Underground once again, relishing in the warmth and happiness he once felt when he was with Isabel and Farlan. But at the very corner of each memory, always within his peripheral vision, was a fuzzy character- a person, no doubt- laughing. Smiling. Holding his hand. Playing with his hair. Kissing him good night. Bandaging his wounds. Showing him tricks with a knife. Making tea. Talking with Isabel and Farlan.

He took another swig of the bottle of whiskey, eager to make the fuzzy memory vivid in a way that only the drink that burned his throat could do. His heart skipped a beat as the blurry edges and lines he’d superimposed into his own mind cleared and revealed the one person that made this living hell a bit less terrible, and the only reason why he ever did his little Christmas Eve tradition.

For a moment, it felt like he was floating on air as he finally got a good look at the character that he’d tried so hard to erase from his mind but never could. His mind may have forgotten but his body still remembered, and he felt the tips of his fingers tingle not from the cold but from the memories of a touch, a touch so endearing, a touch so warm, a touch that felt like home. A touch that was unmistakably you.

Mind fuzzy from the alcohol and head just a little light from the nicotine, Levi can faintly remember the moments he’d shared with you during his time in the Underground.

He remembers being homeless after Kenny had left him, then meeting you as you both ran into each other- quite literally, at that- when you stole bread from a bakery and made a run for it as two angry adults chased after you, cutting him a deal that if he helped you get out of it alive then you would share your measly loaf of bread with him. He remembers teaming up with you from that day onward and watching each others’ backs, sleeping in alleyways and taking shifts for safety, rummaging through garbage cans for food before Levi decided that enough was enough and robbing a stall so you both could eat that day.

Faintly, he also remembers the day he joined a gang that promised him food, shelter, and a steady paying job if he could prove how strong he was by beating up a rival gang member. He remembers getting jumped by three other people as he beat up the man he was told to pummel, fighting them off and winning without so much as a sweat. He remembers the gang he wanted to join eagerly inviting him after the fact, and he agreed on the condition that you came along too.

He remembers the first time he’d taken a shower after years of being filthy, and how clean and fresh he felt without the dirt and grime caking his clothes and his skin. He remembers hearing the door to his small room open- knowing that it was you- and turning around so he could marvel at how clean he felt. But his words died on his tongue as he took a look at you, hair clean, face visible, dirt free, and looking ever-gorgeous in the clothes he’d bought you the day before using his blood money. The clothes weren’t fancy in any way at all, just simple clothes that he bought on a whim when he realized that you’d been wearing the same unwashed garments for years, but he remembers it was enough for him to decide that, even though he didn’t understand what it meant when his heart sped up and the tips of his ears started to burn whenever he was around you, he liked looking at you when were clean. He liked being clean.

He remembers the first time you kissed him. He was sat on the bed of your shared room, gritting his teeth as you stitched up a cut on his forehead and berated him for being so careless, being too confident, on one of the jobs his boss had assigned him. He finished the job, of course, his ability to get the job done without fail being the main reason why he was assigned so many assignments in the first place, but it didn’t make you less angry when he walked into the room with bruised knuckles and a large gash on his forehead. He remembers staying silent, breathing through the pain of what was essentially surgery with no anesthesia as your berating slowly died down and he could finally see in your eyes the worry you tried to conceal with anger. He remembers taking your hand in his after you’d finished cleaning up the materials you used to administer first aid, gently pulling you down to sit next to him as your hands reached out and cradled his face, careful not to touch the freshly sewn skin as he slowly leaned in until his lips met yours.

He remembers the first time he had sex with you, how it was nothing short of awkward and clumsy as two teenagers tried to figure out what goes where and how to do this and that. You were both each others’ first, that much he knew, and though the first time wasn’t as hot and steamy as everyone had worked it out to be, he still enjoyed it because it was you. He remembers cradling you in his arms that night as you fell asleep, a small smile on your peaceful face, and he made his first silent promise that night: that he’d do anything within his power to keep you safe and happy.

He remembers Farlan and the support he gave as Levi worked his way up to a higher position in the gang’s ranks, inevitably becoming the leader through his skills and hard work (a result of the second silent promise he’d made to himself: that he would work hard and become successful enough that you wouldn’t have to lift a finger to live a decent life.) He remembers taking you out of your small shared bedroom and moving you to an actual house that you could call your own; it was barren and filthy and needed a lot of tender love and care, but it didn’t matter- as long as you were with him, he was home.

He remembers getting his hands on some ODM gear through the black market, training Farlan to become his right-hand man as you stayed within the base and administered first-aid to any member of his gang that needed it. He refused to let you learn how to use the gear, fearing that if you were to be seen doing his dirty work with him then you would become a target of both rival gangs and the Military Police. You didn’t mind, perfectly comfortable with staying at home and handling the more business side of things that involved pay distributions and document blackmails.

He remembers meeting Isabel that fateful day she barged into your home, scaring away the thugs who chased after her and accepting her into the group, your odd little family of dysfunctional orphans now complete.

He remembers spending Christmas Eve with his little family, sitting around the fireplace as you laughed at one of Farlan and Isabel’s stories, hand tightly clutching his as he silently reveled in the peace and happiness he managed to find in the least happy and least peaceful city within the walls. He remembers you telling him to close his eyes as the clock struck midnight, eagerly placing a cardboard box on his hands and apologizing for not wrapping it because you couldn’t afford the wrapping paper anymore, money already spent on the gift itself. He remembers his heart swelling as he opened the box, a beautiful porcelain tea set staring back at him as Isabel and Farlan proudly proclaimed that they also got him a copper kettle and some quality tea leaves to match your gift. He remembers scolding the three of you for spending so much money on such lavish gifts, but you dismissed him and said that it was alright, the little extravagance and months of saving being well worth his present for Christmas and his birthday (which were, coincidentally, the same day).

He remembers the Christmas Eve after that. He remembers the three of you shyly apologizing for not getting him a gift, still recovering from your lavish spending the year before, and he said it didn’t matter because he bought whiskey and cigarettes to share. Faintly, he could still hear Farlan asking him what the hell cigarettes were, and he explained that since the whiskey itself was expensive, he couldn’t afford cigars and instead opted for the cheaper synthetic version of it. He remembers being sat on the roof as you laughed and drank and smoked until sunlight peeked through the gutters on the ceiling of the Underground, clumsily making your way back inside your home to sleep (really, it was mostly you, Isabel, and Farlan who were clumsy. Levi had a high alcohol tolerance and though he grumbled about having to always babysit the three of you when you drank, he always made sure that you were all tucked into bed and snoring away before he himself went to sleep.) He remembers it becoming a tradition for your little family, something that you did every Christmas Eve after that.

He remembers the mysterious nobleman who sat in his little carriage, offering a job to Isabel, Farlan, and himself in return for a generous fee and citizenship to Wall Sina. He remembers rushing home and relaying the news to you as you held his hand, happy that they would be able to go above ground, a privilege that few had. He remembers kissing your forehead and promising to use the money that came with the job to buy you citizenship as well, promising that he would take you above ground and show you the sky. He remembers you crying, tears of joy falling down your face as you kissed him, silently thanking whatever higher being there was that you met Levi.

He remembers his last day in the Underground, gearing up with Isabel and Farlan as they prepared to execute their plan of getting “arrested” by the Survey Corps and taken above ground to finish the job. He remembers your sad eyes and the way you tried to conceal them with a smile, yet he saw right through your act and promised he’d be back for you. He remembers sarcastically asking what souvenir you wanted for him to bring back after the job was done, and you kissed his nose before saying you wanted strawberries, a rare delicacy in the Underground but commonly found above. He remembers agreeing, giving you one last kiss farewell before they set out to do the job.

He remembers sitting on the barracks’ rooftop with Isabel and Farlan, admiring the heavens. He remembers being in awe of how beautiful the moon and stars were, the way they twinkled and shined in the darkness of the night. It was the first time any of them had ever seen the sky. He remembers smiling as he sat between his two closest friends, a feeling of wonder and serenity washing over him as he made another silent promise to himself that night: that he would show you the sky the way he sees it now, with your little family.

He remembers the horror he felt the day after when he rushed back to Isabel and Farlan in the battlefield, finding nothing but Isabel’s severed head and Farlan’s torso on the ground. He remembers the pain, the anguish, the despair that ran through him as he yelled and cried, killing the titan that murdered his friends and ripped away half of his family before collapsing on the ground, realizing that there was no point because he was too late. He remembers Erwin telling him that he knew what he was up to all along, but he was more than welcome to stay in the Survey Corps if he so desired. He remembers agreeing numbly, mind still reeling at his loss. He remembers realizing it had almost been an entire year since he last saw you, but he was too ashamed and in too much grief to come back empty-handed. He had failed the job. He had no money. He had no citizenship for you. And he didn’t have Isabel and Farlan anymore.

He remembers working hard for the next couple of months, realizing that the longer he stayed alive the more money they would pay him. He remembers the day he realized he finally had enough money to buy you citizenship, immediately requesting for time off on Christmas Eve, planning to finally come back to you and fulfill his silent promises. He remembers stopping by the local market, buying a fresh basket of strawberries as an apology for making you wait so long (and also because he still remembered your request), before heading to the Underground the day before Christmas to surprise you.

He remembers feeling nervous yet giddy as he walked to the location of your home, thoughts of finally seeing you for the first time in so long filling up his mind. Nervousness was replaced with worry the closer he got to your home, and he realized that something was horribly wrong. He rushed to the house, fresh bodies littering the front steps as he tried not to step on them. Blood dripped around him, and he knew that whatever happened, happened recently. The door was already open, and Levi wasn’t sure what he was expecting as he cautiously stepped inside but he already feared the worst. Just then, he heard a loud thump followed by a groan coming from your shared bedroom, and Levi rushed inside. He remembers the way his heart stopped at the sight he saw: you, bleeding out on the floor, multiple stab wounds on your abdomen and struggling to breathe. He remembers dropping the basket he held, strawberries scattering around the floor as he rushed to your side, fear turning into panic as he clutched you in his arms.

“Levi,” he remembered you whispering with a weak smile. Your hand reached out to brush a stray strand of hair away from his face. “You came back.”

He remembers scoffing because of course he came back. He promised you he would.

He remembers trying to put pressure on your wounds but not knowing where to start because you had been stabbed so many times and there was only so much he could do since he only had two hands. He remembers you trying to stop him, telling him it was no use. He remembers yelling at you to shut up, okay? You’re not fucking dying on me. Not now. Not ever.

He doesn’t remember crying, however. But he does remember you reaching out once more to wipe at his cheeks, and he was briefly aware that somehow his cheeks had gotten wet. He remembers you holding his hands that were still trying to put pressure on the wounds, begging him to stop, Levi, please. You and I both know it’s no use.

He remembers the unmistakable sound of a grandfather clock’s bell, signaling the strike of midnight. He remembers holding your hand as you weakly looked up at his face, a small smile on your lips as you whispered “Merry Christmas and a happy birthday to you, Levi. I love you.” before your hands fell limp in his.

He remembers collapsing, yelling out your name as he held your corpse in his arms. He remembers shifting, feeling an empty basket bumping against his leg, and he’s suddenly reminded of the strawberries he’d brought as he rushed to gather them all up with shaky hands and put them in the basket once more. “I brought you strawberries, just like you asked.” He remembered saying, pathetically placing it down next to your head. But it was too late. He was too late.

It was gang activity, most likely retaliation. He remembered the Military Police saying. You’re lucky, actually. They left just a couple minutes before you arrived.

He doesn’t remember what happened after that.

But he does remember that he broke all of his promises to you. He remembers that you never even knew that Isabel and Farlan were dead. He remembers that you never even got to see the sky or breathe in the fresh air. He remembers that you never even got to know what strawberries taste like. He remembers that he was too late. For you. For Farlan. For Isabel.

He was always too late.

The feeling of something cold and wet on his cheeks snapped Levi from his reverie. He sat up, silently cursing the snow that fell on his face as his hands wiped at his cheeks, letting go of the bottle of whiskey in favor of blindly looking for the strawberries he’d brought up with him onto the roof. He felt numb. He wasn’t sure if it was due to the cold, the alcohol, the nicotine, or his own heartbreak at the memories he tried to suppress. He never allowed himself any time to mourn, instead choosing to keep all those memories under lock and key somewhere within the dark crevices of his mind, only to be opened on Christmas Eve, the day he lost it all.

The day he lost his entire family.

He shifts, suddenly aware of the small box in his pocket. As he took out and opened the small black velvety box, he noticed more snowflakes had melted on his cheeks, the gold ring staring back at his face for a few moments before he angrily closed it once more and shoved it back inside his pockets, its weight feeling as heavy as his heart.

He was too late.

Silently, Levi realizes that snow wasn’t falling. He realizes that the wet on his cheeks isn’t from the snow melting on his face, but rather, from his own tears as they slowly came down in gentle streams.

The bell tower rang throughout the base, signaling the stroke of midnight. Bitterly, he took a bite of the strawberries as he lied down once more, reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

Merry Christmas and a happy fucking birthday to me.

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#this was supposed to be fLUFF believe it or not #writing #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #snk x reader

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kpophours · 4 years ago

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Haven

➵ Stray Kids: Jisung x fem. reader / one shot, college AU, frenemies to lovers AU / fluff

➵ warnings: slight cursing, mentions of alcohol/drinking, a teeny tiny bit sexual suggestiveness (nothing explicit)

➵ word count: 6k

It’s not even 8am, and your eyes feel as dry as sandpaper while your head is pounding with a slight migraine. You’re currently getting everything ready for the crowd of caffeine addicts that will soon arrive at the café you work at. It’s way too early to deal with the horde of zombies called students, but you got stuck with the worst shift of the day - starting at 7.30am which, in your opinion, is just inhuman. Stupid Minho and his stupid luck whenever it comes to drawing straws. For some reason, you always end up getting the shortest one. At least you’ll be done with work before most people your age have even made it out of bed. Still, right now you’d give almost everything to be back in your blanket burrito. Earning money is hard and annoying. If you’ve ever wondered if working at a café could ruin the beauty of coffee… the answer is yes. Because capitalism destroys everything, leaving no survivors.

“Good morning, Y/N!”, your co-worker and the other unlucky one having drawn one of the shorter straws chirps when she enters the café, and you grimace - Sana’s voice is way too cheerful so early in the morning. You only give her a curt nod of your head, not in the mood to talk right now. You’re not really in the mood to do anything, if you’re being honest. Ugh, you hate the morning shift. You’re currently 80% tired, but 20% also tired - you don’t even remember what it’s like to not be tired anymore. College is great!

Sana doesn’t seem to mind your grumpiness though, being the sweetheart that she simply is, and begins to wipe the counter while humming a cheery song under her breath. It’s only her second week at work, but so far she’s proven to be a better and more reliable part-timer than the last three who had worked here. Jun is usually a nice and caring boss, but he has some strict rules - always be on time, no drinking coffee while you’re working, don’t take more breaks than necessary, and don’t give out free drinks to your friends. The last three part-timers had broken at least one of these rules, so Jun had let them go again. Sana is doing well so far, and you think that Jun has maybe even taken a liking to her - not that you can blame him, she’s not only super nice and a general sunshine, but also incredibly beautiful and funny. You’re always happy whenever you work a shift with her. She’s a student like yourself, and wants to become a kindergarten teacher. You’d never let your children near her though, too scared they’d like her more than you - not that you could actually blame them. “Shall I put on some music?”, Sana asks after she’s finished with wiping everything down, and you just nod, finally being done with prepping the giant coffee machines. Just seconds later, smooth lounge music fills the cozy space of the café, and you inhale deeply.

Maybe you lied earlier. Capitalism did not destroy coffee for you, you still very much love the scent, taste, and especially the effect of it. You check the time, noticing you still have about 15 minutes left before you have to open the café - meaning you have more than enough time to enjoy a nice cup of coffee with Sana. She immediately agrees to drink a cappuccino with you, and just minutes later, you bask in the fresh scent of grounded coffee beans. Sana sighs deeply after having taken the first sip, and gives you a bright smile. “Heavenly. You truly make the best coffee out of all of us, Y/N!”, she compliments you, and you tilt your head to one side. Thanks to the caffeine in your system, you’re finally ready to talk to her now. “Well, if my academic brilliance proves futile, I can always become the best barista in the world, I guess. And by the way, don’t let Minho hear you say that, or he’ll force you to taste all the coffee he makes, resulting in you overdosing on caffeine. You know what he‘s like.”, you answer, and Sana giggles. “Well, I stand with what I said, and I’ll even say it to his face. He needs to learn that he can’t always be the best at everything.” You raise one eyebrow, lips twitching. “No offense, but I don’t think he’s ever been the best at anything so far, he’s just very good at pretending. He basically invented the phrase “fake it till you make it”.”

Before Sana can reply, there’s a knock against one of the café’s windows. Surprised, you look up, and groan when you see a familiar face staring back at you. “What is he doing here?!”, you grumble, and place your mug on the counter, not moving a single muscle. But Sana, being her nice and angelic self, is already walking towards the door of the café, and before you can protest, she’s already unlocked it. Jisung jumps over the threshold, sporting a bright grin. He greets Sana with a hug, before sliding his giant headphones off his ears. “Moooorning.”, he says, with at least five Os. You’re already annoyed. You’ve known Jisung for… well. For a long time. Too long, some would say (you, for example). Your moms have been close friends since their own college years, and while they thankfully didn’t move into the same neighborhood, they ended up living quite close to each other. Meaning Jisung had been there for pretty much you entire childhood and teenage years - at every single one of your birthday parties, at most Christmases, and sometimes even at Easter (even though neither of your families really celebrated Easter). You’ve also gone on hiking trips together, and on wildlife expeditions, and on holidays by the seaside… In almost all your memories, there’s Jisung.

“Ugh, why are you so obsessed with me?”, you whine when he leans over the counter to grab your mug and take a sip of your coffee, “There are literally hundreds of colleges and you had to go choose the one I’m attending?!” He grins, puffing out his stupidly adorable hamster cheeks. “I’d never be so cruel and rid you of my pleasant company, my dearest Y/N.”, he answers, dark eyes sparkling with humor. You just huff and turn around. “The usual?”, you ask in a flat voice, and he hums in confirmation. To say you hate Jisung would be a severe overstatement, you just often strongly... dislike him. And feel annoyed whenever he’s around. Mostly because he’s a walking disaster, who kinda thinks the world revolves around him (you blame him being an only child for that). One of your most vivid and probably also traumatic childhood memories is of your sixth birthday party: you had gotten a brand new, soft green bicycle, falling in love with it as soon as you laid eyes on it. Naturally, you had wanted to take it around the block for a little test drive, but all of the sudden, Jisung had thrown a big tantrum until your mom had made you give him the bike first. And being the clumsy child that he simply was (and kinda still is), he had crashed your beautiful new bike into a tree. The tree had won that battle, the handle bar completely bent, same with the front wheel. So you and your bike had been a very short love story with a tragic ending. Romeo and Juliet had nothing on you. And this instance has only been one of many - Jisung had also accidentally sat on your birthday cake once (till this day, you have no idea how he’d even managed to do that). He had also ruined one of your favorite jumpers by dumping ink all over it, had tipped over the canoe when you’d been happily paddling on a lake one summer day, and had given you a black eye when you went mini golfing for your eleventh birthday.

So Han Jisung has always been - and probably will always be - a walking disaster. Being his friend means you have a “Why is he like that” moment at least five times a day. Your biggest fear at the moment is that he’s accidentally going to sit on your brand new laptop and break it, the one you had been saving up for for over two years. And then you’ll just have to kill him which will probably make his very nice mom very sad. But as the bible clearly states: an eye for an eye, a life for a laptop. Or maybe he’s just going to set your whole apartment on fire - he’s truly a mess inside the kitchen, you sadly know that from experience (note to self: never try to bake cookies with Jisung ever again). Your old dorm kitchen will probably never recover from that one particular incident that ended with half the building having to be evacuated. This is one of the reasons why Jisung hasn’t been at your new place yet. The second one being that you also only just moved into it a few weeks ago. Ever since moving, he’s been pestering you though, asking you to have a movie night with him at your new place. Like you said, he’s kinda obsessed with you. He also literally spends every morning at the café you work at - or well, you just assume it’s every morning. As you’re a part timer, you don’t actually have to work every single morning, but he’s definitely always here when you have drawn one of the short straws again.

You quickly busy yourself with making a flat white for Jisung, his preferred drink of choice, while he continues to chat with Sana. They know each other thanks to a mutual friend of theirs, Chan - he’s one of Jisung’s roommates as well as Sana’s best friend. Everyone on campus knows Chan: he’s on the student council, he plays for the baseball team, and he’s one of the most promising music majors you’ve ever seen (or well, heard), already being scouted by different labels even though he’s not even a senior yet. And he’s also just so nice and down to earth, truly a prime example of a man. Jisung should really take a leaf out of Chan’s book.

“Here you go.”, you say while sliding Jisung’s finished order his way, taking your own mug out of his hands while doing so. You quickly shake your head when he wants to hand you his credit card, and he shoots you a happy smile. Jun would probably fire you instantly if he knew about this, but not once have you let Jisung pay for his coffee - and you’ve been working here for almost four months now. You try to ignore the way your stomach jolts when Jisung locks eyes with you, but fail miserably. So maybe he has the most beautiful smile in the whole world, and maybe his eyes hold entire galaxies in them, but what about it? It’s not like you even really like him, right?

You turn around and pretend to wipe down the coffee machine, but in reality, you just don’t want to look at Jisung’s cute hamster cheeks anymore, because they just make you want to squish them. And you have a reputation to lose. “Well, I’m off to my lecture now - I hope your day will be pleasant, ladies!”, Jisung finally says, and you turn around, catching him giving you a mock salute and mischievous wink. You just wave at him, while Sana wishes him a good day as well. As soon as the door falls close behind him again, you exhale. You really need to get a grip on yourself.

It’s Friday night, and there’s a party at Jisung’s frat house. At first, you don’t want to go, but your roommate Amber basically drags you with her. You know she’s only going because she has the biggest crush on Chan, and you honestly can’t even blame her - half the girls on campus have a crush on him after all, and at least a third of the guys. But while Amber and Chan are good friends, nothing more has ever been going on between them - not yet, that is. Who knows, maybe tonight’s finally the night.

You’re currently sipping on some stale beer Seungmin - one of Jisung’s roommates - had handed you the second you stepped over the threshold of the frat house, scanning the room for people you know. Amber is off to greet some friends from her architecture class, so you’re on your own for now. Which is fine, you don’t really mind just standing in the corner to observe the other guests, it’s actually highly entertaining. For example, there’s one guy twerking like crazy to some Beyoncé song. You think his name is Kevin and he’s in your calc class. A friend of his is currently hyping him up like crazy, while another one with green dyed hair is clearly wishing he was somewhere entirely else. You honestly can’t blame him, the secondhand-embarrassment way too real. A few seconds later, Sana enters the room with a group of girls, and she happily waves at you as soon as she spots you. You simply return her smile, before continuing to watch Kevin.

“Enjoying the show?”, someone beside you suddenly asks, and you jump, dumping some of your beer over your shirt. “Oh fuck you!”, you yelp, and turn around to glare at Minho’s shit-eating grin, “You definitely scared me on purpose!” “Fuck... me? Absolutely, just name the time and place, babe.”, he answers, and you smack his chest. “Not even in your wildest dreams, Lee.”, you reply, and narrow your eyes at him. He pouts playfully. “I just think we’d make a really great couple.”, he argues, and you shake your head. “Well, society should be able to limit what some people are allowed to think, then.”, you retort, voice flat, and he ruffles your hair. “You know what I love about you? You’re kinda mean and annoying, but unapologetically so.”, he says, and you raise one eyebrow. “I might be kinda mean and annoying, but at least my lock screen isn’t a selfie.” At this, Minho gasps dramatically, and protectively clutches his phone to his chest. “I mean, I could always change it to one of your selfies, you know?”, he then suggests, making you groan. He’s clearly drunk already or else he wouldn’t be flirting like this. If this sad attempt can even be considered flirting, it’s probably just him being his annoying and arrogant Scorpio self. Minho sighs deeply. “When will you finally accept my eternal love for you, Y/N?”, he asks, and tries to grab one of your hands, but you just smack him again. “Maybe when you finally stop cheating at drawing straws! I have the Monday morning shift again!”, you hiss, and he smirks. “You’ll never know my secret.”, he says smugly, and empties his cup in one single gulp.

You begin to pout and take a sip from your own cup, eyes wandering towards where Kevin is still throwing it back on the dance floor. “If I ever do something remotely like that, just take me out, and instantly.”, you say, an exasperated expression on your face. “On a date or with a sniper?”, a familiar voice on your other side suddenly asks, and you sigh internally. “Han.”, you greet your favorite frenemy, and Jisung grins while wrapping one arm around your shoulder. “Nice to see you accepted my invite.”, he says, and you quickly duck out of his embrace, trying to ignore your racing heart. Minho just wiggles his eyebrows at you, before flashing you a shit-eating grin and disappearing from view. Traitor.

“I only came because Amber asked me to.”, you explain, and stand on your tiptoes to look for your friend. Seriously, where did she even go?! It’s been at least 15 minutes since she left you on your own. “You can just admit that you missed my handsome face, you know.”, Jisung says, and you snort. “Yeah, whatever you say, hamster boy.” He groans, ruffling his hair with one hand and making it stand on end. You desperately suppress the need to flatten it again, and quickly take another sip of your beer. “Don’t you get tired of using that old nickname? Plus, my cheeks aren’t as chubby anymore! I have finally lost all my baby fat, the glow up we’ve all been desperately waiting for!”, he says, and you suppress a smile, looking him up and down. “I guess some people would agree that you don’t look bad.”, you finally reply, and ignore the way your heart flutters when he shoots you a wide grin. “Aww, you old softie, I knew you actually liked me.”, he says, lovingly punching your shoulder. You grimace, rubbing the spot he hit - you know he and Chan have started to work out recently, and apparently, Jisung doesn’t know his own strength anymore. “Now don’t get all sappy on me, just because I might have erased your name out of my death note.”, you reply, quickly draining your cup to hide your blush, and mumble something about getting a new drink before basically running away from him. When you enter the kitchen, you exhale deeply. Your hands are shaking, your heart is racing and you know the blush is still very prominent on your cheeks.

So yeah, maybe you’re kinda a bit in love with Han Jisung. He might be a complete mess, but he’s also funny, hard-working, intelligent and something close to a musical genius. And yeah, maybe you absolutely adore his stupid hamster cheeks, bright smile and beautiful dark chocolate eyes. You close your eyes for a few seconds, groaning internally. You don’t want to be in love with Han Jisung! There is literally no other person you want to be less in love with. Okay, except for Lee Minho, simply because you just couldn’t bring yourself to ever date a Scorpio, no offense. But Han Jisung is at least a close second!

You can’t even say when you first began to develop these kinds of feelings for him. After graduating high school, you had finally realized how much you’d actually miss Jisung’s constant presence once you had to go off to different colleges. You’re almost embarrassed to admit how your heart had leaped when he told you he’d actually be going to the same college as you. Maybe you had truly just always kind of loved him - him and his weird antics. He’s always been himself, and unapologetically so. In the modern world of snapchat filters, snow apps and facetune, he’s always felt real to you.

You shake your head, trying to get rid of these thoughts, and groan again. After you’ve refilled your red party cup, you drown it in a few gulps, repeating the process a few times. Drowning your feelings might not be the responsible thing to do just now, but well, you’re only in your early twenties, so you still have lots of time to become a more responsible adult in the future.

Half an hour later, you have probably drunk way too much beer and are also still trying to figure out where Amber has gone. So you finally decide to go search for her, noticing that for some reason, the floor seems to tilt a bit with every step you take. “Weeeeird.”, you mumble, squinting your eyes, “That’s new.” Just then, you manage to walk into someone, soaking their entire backside with your beer. The person yelps loudly, before turning around to glare at you. Your brain needs a few seconds to recognizes the handsome face, and when it finally does, you give him a bright smile while slurring “Hyunjiiiiiin.”, squishing his face between your hands. The boy turns from annoyed to alarmed, and pries your hands from his face while narrowing his eyes at you. “Okay, what and how much did you drink, Y/N?!” Your smile gets even wider. “Only the best kind of alcohol, which is a lot!” Hyunjin just groans and begins to look around for someone. “Where is Han when you need him?!” With that, he wraps one arm around your waist to pull you with him and through the crowd. You hold onto him like your life depends on it - and the way the floor is swaying from side to side right now, it truly just might. You make a disgusted sound when your hand touches Hyunjin’s soaked shirt. “You’re wet, do you know that?”, you mumble, head lulling around until Hyunjin gently guides it to rest against his shoulder. “Yeah, surprisingly I do.”, he says, but in your current state, his sarcasm gets totally lost on you. “You should change, it’s freezing outside, and we don’t want you to catch a cold!”, you tell him off, and he groans, half amused, half exasperated. “I promise I will change as soon as I’ve found Han.”

You raise both eyebrows at that. “Why do you need to find Jisung? Does he have clothes for you?” Just then, Hyunjin seems to find the desired person, sighing in relief. “Hey, Han! I think your girlfriend has had a little bit too much to drink tonight.”, he yells over the music, and you frown. “His girlfriend? Since when does Jisung have a girlfriend?! And why hasn’t he told me about her?! I’m his oldest friend! Like, not old in the sense of actually being old, but in the sense of time spent toge-”, before you can ramble on, Hyunjin basically shoves you into Jisung’s outstretched arms. “Here, she’s your responsibility now! Take her home or whatever. I’m gonna go change.”, he says curtly, before turning around and marching off. You wave at his retreating backside, before you look up at Jisung, who sports a very confused expression. “Uh, what exactly happened?”, he asks, taking in your glossy eyes, flushed cheeks and lopsided smile, “Shit, are you drunk?! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk!” He actually looks amazed, and you can’t help but ruffle his dark hair. It feels silky when it slips through your fingers, and you giggle to yourself. “Nice.”, you murmur, before you glare at him, “So, you have a girlfriend and didn’t tell me about her?! That’s rather rude, you know? We’re friends, after all! The oldest friends ever! I tell you almost everything.” Jisung just blinks a few times, before he shakes his head in disbelief. “Uh, okay, maybe I should bring you home.”, he murmurs, and wraps his arms even tighter around your waist, “Where’s your stuff?” You shrug while snuggling closer to him to bury your face in the crook of his neck. He yelps, and freezes for a few seconds, before he sighs and drags you towards one of the sofas. “Wait here, okay? I’ll be back in a second.”, he murmurs softly, and tugs some of you hair behind your ear. You lean into his touch, and close your eyes while nodding. The last thing you hear is his low chuckle.

Bright sunlight greets you the second you try to open your eyes. You groan and decide it’s better to just close them again. Seeing is overrated anyway, especially when your head is pounding like crazy. Mh, maybe you did drink a little bit too much yesterday.

“Are you alive? Groan once for yes, twice for no.”

You truly love your roommate, but right now, you’re prepared to throw her out the window as her voice cuts through your hazy state like a knife. Still, you manage to groan once.

“Okay, good. There’s water on your bedside table, and some aspirin. Take it.”

For the second time this morning (or midday, you honestly have no idea what time it is), you try to open your eyes, just a teeny tiny bit. Still half blind, you carefully fumble for said things on your bedside table. After taking the aspirin and drinking some water, you sigh in relief and fall back into your pillows. “You were really out of it yesterday, huh? Any reason for drinking for at least three people?”, Amber asks, her voice laced with quiet humor. You just grumble something unintelligible, and she chuckles. “Do you remember who brought you home?”

You finally turn around to look at her, raising one eyebrow. “... You?”, you guess, and she presses her lips together to try and stifle her shit-eating grin - she fails though. “Nope. I was kinda busy.”, she just answers, a smug expression on her face. You finally manage to sit up, ruffling your messy bed hair. “Busy doing what? Now that I think of it, I remember you were gone from my side the second we stepped foot inside the frat house. Talk about loyalty.” You try not to sound too offended, but while you don’t remember much from last night, you do remember that you spent some time looking for it, but in vain. “Chan.”, Amber just answers, and you squeal - regretting it a split second later when a sharp pain shoots through your head. “Remind me to never make that noise again while I’m nursing a hangover.”, you say, holding your head between your hands, and Amber giggles. “Noted. But yeah, Chan and I… well. Let’s just say we had a good night.” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, and you return her grin. “Well, congrats, then! You snatched the Bang Chan, props to you.” Her smile softens, and she sighs dreamily. “He even asked me on a date afterwards. So we’re going out to get some pasta tonight.”, she tells you, and your smile gets even bigger. “I’m so happy for you, Amber. He’s a really great guy, and you deserve a really great guy.”, you say gently, and she nods. “Damn right I do. But speaking of a really great guy - Jisung was actually the one to bring you home last night.”, she explains, grinning smugly when she sees your shocked expression. “He did what now?!”, you ask, not ready to believe her, at least not yet. Amber leans back on her elbows, obviously enjoying this way too much. “Well, after you drank about half the alcohol the boys bought for the party, you decided to give Hyunjin a beer shower, who immediately realized it was definitely time to get you home, so he went searching for Jisung who then brought you to our apartment. No idea what happened after you left the frat house though, I only got to know about this because Hyunjin told Chan who told me.”

You bury your face in your pillow and let out a long, miserable noise. You sound a bit like a dying whale which makes Amber laugh. “Ah, come on, it’s not that bad. You and Jisung are friends after all, I’m sure he saw you drunk lots of times already!”

You shake your head.

“Wait, he hasn’t?!”

“Nope. I very rarely get drunk, and it’s not like Jisung and I are actual friends like that - friends who take care of each other and so on, you know?”, you try to explain, and Amber frowns. “What do you mean? Y/N, you and Jisung have known each other since forever, you hang out constantly, and you always talk about him with endless adoration - well, and a bit of annoyance too, to be fair. But what do you mean you’re not friends “like that”?!” You blink at her, surprise written all over your face. “I don’t talk about him with endless adoration!”, you disagree. Amber just gives you a very long, hard look, and you begin gnawing at your lip. “I… do?”, you ask in a small voice, and she nods. “You talk to him every day, Y/N, and you talk about him even more. It would be annoying if it weren’t also extremely cute.”, she replies, and begins filing her nails, lips twitching while she watches you trying to digest what she’s just told you. “I guess… I should at least message him to thank him for bringing me home.”

“And for tucking you into bed.”

You groan and throw your pillow at Amber. She catches it and laughs. “What, you looked very cozy and all snuggled up when I came home! And I doubt you yourself did that, at least if Hyunjin told the truth about the amount of alcohol you consumed yesterday.”

You look yourself up and down, noticing that you’re not wearing your clothes from last night anymore, but your favorite pj’s, the ones with little succulents on it. “Does this mean…”, you whisper, but shake your head, “Nope, not even going there. I’m way too sleep-deprived and hangover to deal with any of that right now.” Amber grins and shrugs. “Just go ask Jisung, I’m sure he can fill you in on everything.” You groan again, and fall back onto your bed. “I’ll have to take a shower first.”, you mumble, and close your eyes again. “Yes, please do, you reek of stale beer.” And with that, your roommate throws your pillow back at you.

It’s already about to get dark again when you arrive at the frat house, nervously bouncing on your feet for a few seconds before you finally gather the courage to knock on the front door. You quickly stuff your hands back into the pockets of your leather jacket, gnawing at your lower lip while waiting for someone to open the door. Just a few minutes later, Hyunjin’s tired face greets you. He raises both eyebrows when he lays eyes on you, immediately noticing your nervous expression. “Hi.”, you say, and give him a small smile. He leans against the doorframe, and crosses both arms over his chest. “Hi yourself. You actually look less zombie-like than expected.” You roll your eyes. “Thanks, today’s look is inspired by sleep deprivation and a mean hangover. Water and aspirin helped though, or else I could have auditioned for The Walking Dead.”, you grumble, “And uh… Thanks for yesterday, by the way. I’m really sorry about your shirt, I heard I dumped beer all over it.” Hyunjin cracks a smile at that, and shrugs. “Yeah, but it’s fine. The washing machine will take care of that. Wanna come in?”, he asks, and you nod, quickly following him inside the warmth of the parlor.

Surprisingly, the house looks clean and tidy again - the guys must have spent the entire day getting rid of last night’s mess. You’re actually impressed. “Han is in his room.”, Hyunjin says, before you even have the chance to ask, and you gulp nervously. “O-okay…”, you mumble, and are just about to walk up the stairs, when Hyunjin tugs on your sleeve. You turn around to face him again, expression questioning. The boy gnaws at his lip, looking nervous. “Just… Finally tell him, okay? I’m like, literally begging you.”, he then says, and you narrow your eyes at him. “Tell him what, exactly?”, you inquire, but Hyunjin only gives you an exasperated gaze. “You know exactly what. We’re all tired of you guys pining after each other but not actually doing anything about your feelings. Quick reminder: this is not a cheesy rom-com where you have to wait until one of you guys leaves the country so you can finally declare your love at the airport or some big, stupid gesture like that. Just do it now, in his stuffy frat room and get it over with.” Before you’re able to reply, he gives you a mock salute and retreats into the kitchen. You huff, surprised at the audacity of his words, and turn around to finally go up the stairs and towards Jisung’s room.

You take in a few deep breaths before knocking on his door, trying to steady yourself. Then, you wait - but after a few seconds have passed and the door has not yet been opened, you simply turn the doorknob and let yourself in. Jisung sits at his desk, giant headphones covering his ears while he hums along to the music he’s listening to. Well, that explains why he didn’t hear you knocking. You quickly cross the room, and tap his shoulder. He screams, and whips around, almost ripping his headphones off in the process. You giggle at his shocked expression, dark eyes almost comically big in his face. “When did you arrive!?”, he almost yells, and you slide the headphones off his ears, brushing some of his hair back while doing so. His eyelids flutter for a few seconds, before he raises one eyebrow. “You don’t look that shitty, which is surprising considering the amount of beer you drank last night.”, he says after looking you up and down, and you defensively cross your arms over your chest. “Wow, thanks. Always the charmer, huh?”, you huff in mock offense, and he grins up at you. “No need to charm when I know your heart is already mine.” You almost choke on your own spit, and beg the blush creeping on your cheeks to just not do that right now. Truly not the time nor place. “I came to thank you, actually. For last night - I heard you were the one to bring me home.”, you finally admit, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.

Jisung just stares at you for a few seconds, before giving you a soft smile. “Well, yeah. I couldn’t just let anyone take you home - and Amber was kinda busy, I heard.” You nod. “True, I’m glad you didn’t interrupt whatever she was doing. So, uh, yeah, thanks, you’re… a good friend, I guess.” Almost immediately, embarrassment washes over you, and you groan at your own words. Jisung’s lips begin to twitch. “A good friend, huh?”, he repeats and crosses both hands behind his head, still looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You blink a few times, before slowly beginning to nod. “Y-yeah…?” “For someone so smart, you’re really fucking oblivious sometimes, you know that?”, Jisung suddenly states, and you huff. “Excuse me?! Who do you call obliv-” But before you can tell him off, he pulls you onto his lap and then, his lips are on yours. You yelp, freezing for a few seconds, before basically melting against him. He hums appreciatively, and wraps both arms around you to pull you even closer towards him, deepening the kiss. You bury your hands in his soft hair, gently tugging on it, and he groans against your lips. You use the chance to slide your tongue into his mouth while his hands wander lower to grab your ass. You shift on top of him, and he moans when you brush against his crotch.

When you draw back to catch your breaths, you simply stare at each other, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. Then, Jisung begins to smile at you, and your heart flutters. Twenty years of seeing his smile, but you’ll apparently never get used to it. “About fucking time.”, he then murmurs against your lips, voice pleased, and you roll your eyes at him. “I’m not oblivious, by the way! You’re the oblivious one - I never give anyone free coffee, because it could literally cost me my job, and yet you always get a flat white on the house!”, you tell him, and he smirks. “Oh, baby, the oblivious one is definitely you - or do you really think I just happen to have a lecture every morning you got the early shift again?”, he replies, a smug expression on his face. You just stare at him. “You-”, but before you can say anything else, Jisung quickly presses his lips against yours again. You immediately lean into his embrace, and close your eyes, losing yourself to his touch - so familiar, yet also so new and exciting.

Yes, maybe you’ve truly always been in love with Han Jisung - but at least he seems to feel the exact same way.

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letsperaltiago · 4 years ago

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🌟 HAPPY 12TH OF DECEMBER: DOOR TWO 🌟

Welcome to door two of four!

Behind my Christmas calendar’s second door is a... dating, kind of early-relationship, Peraltiago Christmas oneshot! ♥️

Summary: Amy feels like Christmas is crumbling around her and when the stress becomes too much, boyfriend Jake steps in and takes care of it. Takes place somewhere right before S03 E10: Yippie Kayak.

Rating: G

Words: 4k (just barely)

Read on AO3 here

🎁⬇️OPEN DOOR TWO HERE ⬇️🎁

my gift to you is all my heart

Christmas 2015 is the most special one so far, Jake dares to admit - and that’s coming from a guy who really couldn’t care any less about the season of families pretending to be picture-perfect and a 'shallow but pour some glitter on it'-kind of joy. Slap some red and green colors on an otherwise dysfunctional world and call it a happy place for a month or two.

It’s not that he wants or aspires to hate Christmas; it’s not that he wants to be the cynical one in a crowd of happiness and optimism. There just happens to be a lot of wounds, never fully healed scars, from the many lonely Christmases he spent as a child and teenager. Between his dad considering his parental role a part-time job and his mother working full-time to make a living for them, there wasn’t much - if anything at all - for Jake to love about the holidays and more specifically Christmas. On the contrary, the season rather emphasized how dysfunctional his family was...

Perhaps this year, he really hopes, the season of joy and light will feel more… like a season of joy and light. This year he has Amy which is an experience he’s never, obviously, had before and something he’s more than excited to try. His girlfriend loves Christmas and hopefully, it’ll rub off on him even though he’s surely the Grinch in their relationship the second Thanksgiving hits. It’s almost as if, for a month or so, he and Amy’s dynamic is completely flipped upside down. Not that he's calling his girlfriend a Grinch! Although, a secret to no one, Amy does take on a more serious role in their relationship. All that aside: the second the holidays come around, Amy is the most bubbly and cheery about silly, in Jake’s opinion, stuff like napkin-like turkey, too many pies, secret Santas, seizure-inducing fairy lights, and the only thing worse than normal vegetables: baked vegetables… Meanwhile, he’d rather isolate himself in his apartment, with his mayo-spoonsies and Die Hard, as the delusional world outside goes on.

Then again: he hasn’t had Amy around, at least as a girlfriend, before.

It’s a few days before Christmas eve. An evening he’s not looking forward to since Amy’s leaving tomorrow to spend the day and weekend at her parents’ place - which means not with him, and it’s definitely activating his so far decently subdued inner Grinch. How come Christmas wants to come off as this super jolly season when actually it forces him to be away from his girlfriend? What a scam.

About an hour ago he arrived at Amy’s place to find the door locked, which was weird considering that it was her precious day off. Luckily Amy’s already figured out that her boyfriend is of the clingy kind, which she enjoys, so she’s given him a key to her place. This so he can - quote Amy - “Come and go as you please. Like a cat. A really cute, hot cat.”

He’d chuckled at her comment, then kissed her out of sheer happiness because he has a girlfriend that wants him to have a key to her place! A girlfriend who wants him to drop by and cuddle her, laugh with her and annoy her - whenever!

And so here he is: flopped down on his girlfriend’s couch, watching Die Hard, since it’s the only Christmas movie he can stand to watch. He’d sent her a text telling her he was here, making sure he wouldn’t scare her whenever she was to arrive, but alas never heard anything back. This he suddenly realizes as Hans Gruber is taking the people inside of Nakatomi plaza hostage. He hopes she’s okay, suddenly feeling a bit worried. However, the feeling doesn’t last for long. Basically stumbling through the door comes Amy holding what looks like a thousand shopping bags, which impresses Jake so much that he misses the worried frown and sweaty glow on her forehead.

Being the good boyfriend he is, something he takes a lot of pride in, he of course jumps from the couch to help her. “Hey, babe. Need any help?”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

His offer just barely manages to make it out of his mouth before she’s already dismissed him and disappears into her so-called happy place - in reality, a room dedicated to all of her books and crafts.

Even though he doesn't comment on it, it's unmistakably unusual behavior for her. “You sure? I can do whatever you need; help you unpack, make you some coffee, look cute…”

In her little office, Amy is marching, all at once systematically and chaotically, around the room like the devil is after her. It’s as if he isn’t there, as if she’s avoiding him, and just barely takes the time to stop and throw him a vague glance. “Jake, please. I just need some space. I have presents to wrap and… stuff.”

Oh. Space. The word doesn't go by unnoticed and makes Jake's stomach drop. Space is usually not a good word when coming from a partner, he’s experienced, and this time around it seems to sting that much more than back with Sophia. Is this the end of him and Amy already?

Everything they've done runs through his mind with the speed of light. Things were going so well, he thought. Just yesterday they’d been snuggling on her couch, sharing lazy kisses and giggles as their favorite show (they have a show!!) played in the background. Things like “I love my family but I can’t wait to see you again after Christmas” and “Can you believe how far we’ve gotten since this time last year?” were said, making Jake feel so infatuated and sure. They'd even kissed and made stupid remarks at each other under the mistletoe Jake put up in the door frame leading to her bedroom.

Now, suddenly, it seems as if he’s the last person Amy wants around. Without even consciously deciding to do so he backs away from the tiny office, thus allow his girlfriend some… space. God, he hates that word and every memory associated with it.

Communication is key, Jake knows. However, it’s not as if it went well the last time he kicked down the doors when a girlfriend asked for space. Hence why he doesn’t dare to kick down any doors, literally or metaphorically, when the one to Amy’s office is closed.

He doesn’t know what to do; he doesn’t know what he can do? Make coffee - he can do that right? At this point, he isn't sure of anything. His heart starts beating faster and faster against his ribs, and he knows it’s because, maybe not that deep down, he’s afraid. Afraid of losing the possibly best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Coming from behind the shut door Jake can hear thumps and paper rustling. Jake isn’t the big Christmas-connoisseur but even so, he finds, what he believes is, Amy’s present-wrapping abnormally loud and chaotic - something that seems as unlike Amy as can be. He’s brewing a pot of coffee, for the both of them, something he hopes will be well-received, when suddenly the sounds coming from his girlfriend’s furious wrapping-project goes silent. All at once, with a thump, as if she’s hit a wall.

The silence lasts, and though Jake expects the rustling to pick back up any second, it doesn’t. He can feel himself grow considerably more worried. A big part of him, the one that’s still suffering Sophia’s actions even though he is fully and completely over her, haunts him. It feels a lot like being in a tug-of-war between pressing his way into the room, thus whatever is going on with Amy, and staying back and out of his girlfriend’s sudden need for space.

What does it for him is the sound of a loud mix between a groan and a whine. He has to go in, he quickly decides. Gently he pushes open the door, just enough for him to peak his head inside the room, and the sight before him certainly doesn’t calm his nerves: Amy, sitting at her little office desk with her computer before her, with her face buried in her hands and ripped wrapping paper surrounding her. He can’t tell if she is, but just the thought of her crying makes his heart wrench.

“Amy?”

The way her posture completely changes in reaction to the sound of his voice, from hunched over the desk to sitting straight up, as if she’s hiding something surely can’t be good. Even though she tries to be discreet about it, Jake can tell how she quickly wipes her eyes with the back of her hands. In a motion she hopes is discreet but isn't. If Jake’s poor heart wasn’t scratching the bottom of his gut already then it definitely is now. Still, he pushes the door wide open and tries one more time with a voice so soft and attentive that usually only comes out when they’re being really emotional; something he’s trying to grow into and better at. For her.

“Ames… Are you okay?”

Even though there’s no one else but them in the apartment - hopefully, it is Brooklyn, after all - he closes the door behind him to give them some privacy.

“I’m fine, Jake.”

Fine is definitely not how she sounds, a shakiness to her voice, and how she looks averting his gaze, rather diverting her eyes to her laptop screen. To make it even clearer she starts typing - she isn’t fine. Anything that can keep her busy and from unveiling the true colors of the situation seems to be on her agenda.

The urge to back out is so strong, overwhelming, and Jake quickly recognizes the old, certainly bad habit. Although this time around, with Amy before him like this - hunched over and so far from the confident Amy he knows - he also feels the opposing yearning to stay and challenge his former habits. For himself, for Amy, for them - the best six months of his life. Seven, to be precise. The fact that he cares to keep up with this, how long they've been together, says a lot about where he’s at. With her he’ll count every month, week, day, hour, minute and second he gets to be with her.

Emotions are key. He needs to do emotions - the very serious kind.

“You’re…” he halts for a second, feeling as if he’s about to jump off a cliff - not that he's ever tried it before. But it must feel scary. Kind of like this right now. “You're not fine. Obviously.”

Slowly he walks towards her and, after hesitating with his hands waiting in the air above her, contemplating whether it's what he should do or not, he places his hands on her shoulders. The way she stiffens under his touch has him alarmed, but just as quickly as she's tensed up she relaxes. As if she realizes she can safely surrender whatever fears or worries she has to him.

“Tell me what’s wrong - please. Is it something I did?”

“No!” She flies around in her seat to face him to hopefully undo whatever worries about them she's ignited. The first thing Jake notices then is her somewhat red eyes and a look that begs for him to believe her. Hesitantly, he does. Still, it doesn’t make the sinking feeling in his stomach vanish.

Amy turns back around in her seat to face the lit laptop to hide. Frustrated she runs her fingers through her otherwise perfect hair and ruins her perfect ponytail; small tufts of hair on the loose and going in whichever direction they please. Something he's only used to seeing first thing in the morning or late in the afternoon before bed. And even though Jake loves sleepy Amy, morning hair, makeup-free face and all, he wants nothing more than to fix her hair for her, carefully weave the flyaways back into the otherwise still somewhat neat ponytail.

“Ames, I’m just kinda worried. Tell me what’s up, please… Even if it has something to do with me.” His hands never let go of the soft grip on her shoulders as he says this. Right now holding on to her feels like the only grounding element in his universe. She suddenly feels tense under his touch again and he hates that he might be the one doing this to her.

“It’s really... stupid.”

His eyes wander across the lit laptop screen in hopes of a possible hint. USPS Tracking Service.

“I’m sure it’s not stupid, babe.”

“I just-” her hand reaches for the mouse but then hesitates as if touching it will expose her. Either way, she decides to go for it; she grabs the mouse and opens the program containing, what he recognizes as, her day to day calendar - the step down from her life calendar. "I bought this really beautiful necklace for my mom for Christmas…”

He figures they’ve got some time ahead of them and gently pulls over an extra chair for him to sit on. In his seat next to her he follows the cursor on her screen, flying all over the different dates, boxes, color-coded labels and appointments - the many perfect elements of a Santiago-calendar.

“But then earlier, a few subway stops before home, I got an email from USPS saying that the package's arrival would be delayed! So I tried to work a timeslot into my schedule, for me to shop for a new gift from my mom, but it’s impossible." Every word flies out of her so fast she can barely catch her breath and the last part basically comes out of her in the tone of a wail. Jake can easily sense that she’s riled up and is making it hard for herself to calm down. With every word, she grows more and more frantic, panicky, as she switches back to the window with her calendar. What he sees shows, indeed, no room for gift shopping. He knows she thrives on it but he sometimes wonders how his girlfriend lives her life, densely packed, like this.

“I knew it’d be hard to fit in, with me working a full shift tomorrow, the polar swim and then leaving for my parents’ right after, but I thought it'd be possible! Turns out it isn’t... I’ve tried to re-arrange the next 24 hours in my calendar in every way thinkable and nothing works. Nothing.”

“Honey...” he consoles, calmly placing a hand on top of hers. On his face is a small smile, one that can rest in the fact that there was indeed nothing wrong with them, even though he of course feels some concern for his girlfriend who is clearly completely beside herself. Though she's finally speaking up rather than shutting him out, it's obvious that it doesn't come easy to her and there's a vulnerability to her panicky explanation. But it's not, never will be, something that'll scare him away. "... It's okay."

"No, it's not, Jake!"

Yelling isn't exactly the right term but it's clear that the two are of a different point of view.

"I had ordered my mom the perfect Christmas present, one that would so surely beat my brother David's, and now? It's ruined. I won't receive the stupid present in time and I don't have time to shop for a replacement, which, either way, will be less good. I might as well stay home for Christmas this year and spare myself the embarrassment."

It takes a beat of silence for Jake to assemble his thoughts and form an answer. The smile from before is once again back; he knows how to kill her insecurities - with kindness.

"While I would not mind you staying here with me..." He leans in to place a soft peck on her shoulder. "... I'm sure there's no way your mother would want you to stay away simply because of something as silly as a present - no offense."

"Jake, I appreciate your support but you don't know her like I do."

Though the situation reminds Jake of just how stubborn his girlfriend can be, something both frustrating but also endearing, he also remembers just how stubborn he can be. Maybe this time, for once, the latter can come in useful. If there's anything more stubborn than a panicked Amy then it's without a doubt a Jake who wants to see his girlfriend smile. He's a man on a mission - Amy's very own John McClane.

"Okay... I know I have a questionable track record but hear me out..."

She looks at him and for a second, upon seeing the anxiety in her eyes, he stutters to assemble himself one last time before showing her, at least trying to, that he can take control and help her handle her problems - even the worst which honestly isn't as bad as she might think. Softly, making sure to not alarm her, he reaches over to remove her hand from its tight grip on the mouse and replace it with his own. With it, he moves the cursor on the screen to point at the blue '9 AM to 5 PM'-time slot labeled Work, followed by a yellow 'Polar Swim'-slot at 5.30 PM.

"... I was supposed to be off a bit earlier tomorrow but let me fill in for you instead. You can leave at 4, go get your mom a gift, which she by the way will love, and make it back in time for the polar swim. I'll stay till 5 for you. I'll run the arrangement by Holt so you don't have to worry about it."

The silence is loud but not loud enough to hide her thinking; it screams through the way she bites her lip and eyes wander all over his face in search of some kind of truth. She turns her entire body in her seat to fully face him and, somehow, she suddenly looks both cheered up but also remorseful.

"Jake, thank you, but you don't have to do that for me. I know I'm just being crazy. My mom can do without a gift this year."

"Amy Santiago," he reprimands before grabbing both of her hands in his, making sure to keep a hold of her gaze in the process. "Maybe I don't have to but I want to. Ames, let yourself live out the full 'Peralta boyfriend'-experience. Also, stop calling yourself crazy when, in reality, you just care a lot. That's good; to care like you do."

Finally, after it being gone for so long, he catches a glimpse of her characteristic glow. Her eyes are also once again shiny and inspired, and he knows he's doing something right. Everything within him wants to do right for her. For a moment they quietly stay back, in each their seat, and look at each other with admiring eyes. Both wondering how they got so entangled in the other's very much different lives. Yet both eternally grateful. Amy's the first to break and throws her arms around his neck.

"You're the best, Jake," she declares with newfound peace of mind. "Thank you so much."

"No need to thank me." His arms have returned the favor and are securely wrapped around her waist. He's forever sure; nothing feels better than holding her like this. Happy. They stay like this for who knows how long, for seconds or hours, until Jake suddenly retreats into his seat and offers her a cocked brow along with a teasing smile.

"By the way... What's up with the wrapping paper-mess?"

"I had to test the new wrapping paper I got!"

He chuckles. God, he adores her.

"But why the mess?" He hicks a ripped piece of paper lying at his feet.

"Turns out I've bought the worst kind of wrapping paper and I got... pissed." She timidly looks down but still smiles, Jake hopes it's because she knows he likes her love and passion for all things crafty. They go silent and he can tell she's thinking. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, rather insecurely and not affectionately like she would with a double tuck.

"By the way..." She clears her throat then looks at him. Right in the eye. "I'm sorry for earlier. I didn't mean to cut you off and push you away like I did. That wasn't okay - at all. I just-" the words get tangled up and caught in her throat to which Jake reacts by reaching over and softly clutching her knee followed by a comforting squeeze. In his eyes, she sees an invitation to speak her mind and she wonders, every day, how she ever lived her life without him by her side like this. The least she can do is explain her actions, ones that were actually just caused by a stupid defense-mechanism.

"I just didn't want you to see this... unfavorable side of me, I guess. I know I can be a bit much."

"Amy," he coos hearteningly. "Of all the sides of you that I've seen, or you will come to show me as this relationship evolves, never have I ever found any of them unfavorable. You're not 'a bit much'... You're everything I want and need."

Though he doesn't dare say it, not quite yet, this feels a lot like an undefined definition of love - one, he's quite sure, comes from everything she's taught him, shown him, and made him feel these past seven months.

She leans over the gap between them. Their lips collide in a kiss so meaningful that it speaks louder and more clear than any words ever could. He tastes like cinnamon and coffee, and with him she feels safe, like there are no ugly truths about her for him to see through. Every day with Jake is like coming home is. It's no longer just unlocking and walking through a door: it's being herself, even during critical moments, and still feeling welcome in her boyfriend's embrace and eyes. Her hands cling onto his cheeks for dear life, pouring all her emotions into the soft movement of her lips, and it's the most accepted and cherished her A-type self has felt in a partner's presence. Who would've thought that this kind of string of emotions would be a reaction to the touch and care of Jake Peralta?

On his part, with the three magic words just barely clinging to his tongue, he internally decides to hold back and keep them for a more suitable moment. Even if, something he's learned from their relationship, there is no such thing as 'the right time'. 'The right time' is only a theory made up by hopeful, sometimes also hopeless, lovers. Much like themselves just barely a year ago. But with this one declaration, what he hopes will be the greatest I love you of his lifetime, he does want some control. The moment shouldn't be surrounded by ripped wrapping paper and tipped over shopping bags.

Hopefully, she can wait just a bit longer. Then he'll tell her, even yell at the top of his longs, that he loves her. He loves Amy Santiago.

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tsbikersau · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 3

Even though the happy bustle of the small ice cream shop was nothing but cosy and relaxing – not too loud but at the same time not too empty, filling most people with easy thoughts and simple enjoyment of the moment - Roman couldn’t focus on anything other than his sour thoughts.

Of course they had to go watch a race with Remus there, it was just his luck. But he could at least check if he was going to compete instead of just assuming, just counting on….

“Roman, kiddo, come back to us”, Patton gently patted his arm to grab his attention. Roman didn’t even notice when he’d stopped talking Virgil’s ear off – he wasn’t even sure what exactly he was ranting about, which was, frankly, unforgiveable. Roman never got so caught up in his own misery as to not listen to the people he was hanging out with (and giving his own two cents wherever he pleased).

(…usually to spite Virgil, but they were supposed to be civil for “just one day, Roman, or I swear to whatever deity you seem appropriate, I will deliberately leave just one screw loose in your precious motorcycle”).

Roman couldn’t help but smile at the memory of a very tired, very annoyed Logan coming to a point of threats. True, he wouldn’t keep them, Roman sincerely hoped, but when the nerd is on no coffee, after a bumpy phone call with the parts supplier, after Patton accidentally bumped a table with his head when he was getting up and spilled some oil that was not, for some reason, in a tightly screwed bottle and ended up being the hardest thing to clean up since that one incident with slime…

Well, after a day when everything that could possibly go wrong goes wrong, Roman was not the one to deny Logan some slack in his usual extremely professional demeanour.

“Yo, Prince”, Virgil kicked him lightly under the table, to which Roman pretended he didn’t jump a bit, just teensy weensy not expecting that. Virgil smirked at the offended expression. “Good, you’re alive”.

“Of course I’m alive!”, Roman huffed, just barely restraining himself from kicking the mechanic in return. He was better than that, he tried to convince himself, succeeding just by a smidge.

“Then stop acting like a princess locked in a tower for eternity in a world without any princes to save her”.

“I don’t!”, the bafflement couldn’t be clearer in Roman’s exclamation, maybe just a little too loud.

Before the argument could get any more heated, it was interrupted by Patton asking Roman what he’d intended to ask him before he got distracted with memories. And Roman did try his best to get himself into the cheery mood that accompanied the discussion of the race they just watched, he just… he just couldn’t help but come back to that one moment, time and time again, against his better judgement, when his brother almost crashed into another contestant.

He was always like that, Remus. Irresponsible, reckless, putting others in danger for his own rush of adrenaline, thriving where others withered (sometimes literally – one time when they were teenagers he had to search for him for hours, only to find him swimming in trash at the local dump -he couldn’t get the foul smell off his car for months). Roman always had to be the responsible one, the one to drive Remus around because he was either getting drunk or just too jittery to drive safely, even though he had miraculously gotten his licence almost simultaneously with Roman.

How on Earth was he the favourite child of the family, Roman had no clue, and he tried very hard not to show how much those unequal expectations affected him.

The feeling of a light hand on his shoulder shook him out of his half-conscious state just as efficiently as Virgil’s kick, but was much more pleasant. He turned his head to look questioningly into the eyes of the person attached to the hand and even though he’d looked into Logan’s many times before (seriously, many times), he couldn’t decipher the emotion hidden behind those blue, blue irises…

Woah, Roman, what the hell is wrong with you today?, he thought to himself, shaking his head to clear his mind and smiling reassuringly, hoping it would answer all of the unspoken questions and concerns the head mechanic may have. After all, he was acting at least unusual compared to his normal self.

After that he tried extremely hard not to let his thoughts wander too far away from the present. They were sitting in an ice cream shop, Virgil was acting as if Patton’s puns weren’t making him smile, Logan was watching them quietly, keeping tabs on the bickering that arose every now and then between the two troublemakers of the group.

Time passed, desserts were eaten and they had to get going, back to the reality other than that of a small, cosy, just busy enough bubble the establishment offered. Roman was still significantly quieter than usual, though, and at that point in the evening there was not one person in the group that hadn’t started feeling concerned for the man.

He appreciated it, he really did. He’d noticed how Patton was trying extra hard to joke with him, make him laugh, distract him in some way, but he just couldn’t bring himself back to the easy was of being. Virgil had been shutting his mouth before he could start an argument, too, clearly getting more and more worried by the minute with not receiving normally heated yet friendly reactions from Roman.

And Logan, Logan was keeping his distance, but closer to him. Not enough to make him feel weird about it, but just a bit closer than usual. Glancing at him from the corner of his eye, Roman couldn’t decide if the nerd did that on purpose or if it just happened, but he didn’t have the energy to try to solve that riddle.

Roman was tired. Tired of that day, tired of the company, as much as he loved his friends. He just wanted to go home, close the door and let himself slide down and hide his face in his knees. He desperately wanted to be alone, which he knew came out of nowhere and he didn’t have any actual reason to feel that way. But he did, so he had to deal with it, and the only way to do that without worrying his friends was to be left alone.

Maybe cry a little, Roman thought as he sighed quietly. He felt tears prickling his eyes but couldn’t let them fall, not now, not for a little bit longer.

Just a little bit longer and everything will calm down in his head. A little bit longer and he will be his usual cheery self again.

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Masterpost ---- Next chapter >>

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taglist: @mxxangel

#sanders sides #logince #tsbikersau #sanders sides fic #logince fic #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #remus sanders mention #ts sides

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jessmt · 5 years ago

Text

Trust in Me

Summary: You've always had trust issues. In this world, it's all for one and none for all.

Or, at least you thought it was, until Jesse came along.

A close look into Lake's mind throughout season two and afterwards

Notes:

So, fun fact! This piece was originally meant for a zine that I'd applied for, but I never heard back from them, so I just assumed that it...wasn't happening anymore? Never even got a "sorry, we went with someone else/we're full" email back from any of the administrators. Oh well.

I've always had a soft-spot for fics written in a second person perspective. It's hard to write well, but some of my favorite fics I've ever read were second person fics. I've always found them so in-tune with the characters' and reader's emotions. I hope I did it justice, because I love Jesse and Lake an unhealthy amount.

AO3

You’ve always had trust issues.

Yeah, yeah, you know how edgy that sounds when you say it out loud. But you don’t mean it in the same way as those narcissistic teenage boys who call themselves lone wolves and act like an ass to everyone they meet for no reason.

You don’t have a choice. If you were naturally the approachable type with groups of friends in the double digits, you’d be just as happy. You’ve never told anyone, but if you’re going to be honest with yourself, you think you’d actually be happier that way. But it’s not, and it’s entirely because you know you can’t.

Everyone who takes a good look at you for longer than, say, a quick glance, automatically assumes two things about you. One, that you’re going to hurt them if they approach you, and two, that you’re a fugitive. And while there are the passive few who would rather not get involved at all, because they don’t want the Flecs to take them in beside you (even though that’s not how it works at all), most of them report you on sight. The worst of them will grab the closest reflective surface they can find and shove it in your face. Which is never fair, because all you’ve done since Tulip set you free is aimlessly wander around the train.

As a matter of fact, you don’t even trust Tulip that much. You’re sure that part of it is still because you’re holding a grudge against her for being forced to live as her reflection for thirteen years, which, okay, she couldn’t control. But it took you breaking down sobbing in front of her for Tulip to agree to help you at all, and that was already after one of her friends had called the Flecs on you.

You’re never just you. You’re a copy, you’re a reflection, you’re a criminal, you’re a sliver. Nobody ever gives you enough time to even ask you for your name, let alone give you enough time to even think of one. You’re not a person, you’re a mistake. Nobody cares about you, and if you need to shut everyone else out just to keep yourself alive, then so be it. If it’s gotta be all for one, then it’s gotta be none for all, because nobody cares about you.

Or so you thought.

Jesse Cosay changed your life in ways that you can’t describe. Yeah, okay, he never called the Flecs on you, and even when he had the chance to turn you in he refused (and actually listened to your story before he made that decision, Tulip), but that’s not what you’re talking about.

Anyone can be a good person. Anyone can just say “no, that’s awful, I’m not just gonna turn her in”. Most of the passengers on the train probably would’ve said the same thing, if they thought that helping you escape could help lower their number. Jesse was willing to help at the expense of his number going up, but that’s still beside the point.

He’s the first person to actually listen to you. He’s a chatterbox for sure, but he genuinely hangs on to what you have to say.

“I’m MT,” you’d told him when you first met. It’s the first real name you’ve ever given yourself, and you still kind of hated it, all things considering, but the more times he said it and the more enthusiastic he sounded when he used it, the less you started to hate it.

But the less you started hating your name, the more you realized how fleeting all of this is going to be.

The more comfortable you let yourself become, you realize, the quicker it’ll all be taken from you. Once Jesse’s number hits zero, you’re right back where you started. You’ll be stripped of your name, since nobody will give you the time of day to listen for it. You’ll be a copy, a reflection, a sliver.

You try not to let it bother you, because you already know what’s going to happen if you do. That’s how Tulip ended up on the train to begin with, by pretending that she wasn’t bothered by her parents separating. I’m fine! She’d claimed, but the longer she tried to convince herself she was okay, the less and less she spoke to her own best friend.

And, well, maybe it’s a bit premature to call for sure, and you’re sure you’d never hear the end of it if you ever said it out loud, but Jesse’s the closest thing you’ve got to a best friend. If you stop talking to him a few days before you’re never gonna see him again, you’re both gonna be miserable, which is just going to make matters so much worse.

You bury the feeling down, take your anger and frustration out on the Flecs, and that disgusting parasite, and pray Jesse doesn’t notice.

But Jesse “I’m friends with everyone I meet” Cosay notices right away, and he says the words you never expected to hear from anybody.

“I’m not just gonna leave you here with the Flecs chasing after you”.

Not “oh, I’ll try”, or a sympathetic hug, or a teary-eyed premature goodbye hug as everything’s just hitting him for the first time. “I won’t”, he promises, like he’s been planning this since the first time they encountered the Flecs in the Map Car.

He wants you to come with him. It’s not a fun hypothetical to imagine to pass the time, like all of his mirror questions had been. It’s a demand, rather than a question, because he knows that you’ll be miserable if you stay.

Your cheeks burn, and you’re speechless.

You regret nothing, you tell yourself, as tears pour down your cheeks. You’re covered in dirt and mud and every equivalent of blood you can think of, but you regret none of it as you swing your crowbar at steward after steward. You don’t care anymore, you tell yourself. You don’t care if you have to take the damn train apart gear by gear.

You already lost Jesse, and when the damned train still wouldn’t give you a number after everything, after you’re sure you’ve gone through more trauma than all of the passengers combined, there went your hope. And you’re not the kind of person who feels sad and gloomy when you’re feeling hopeless, oh no. You get angry. You get pissed. You run into the next room, guns blazing, ready to kick the shit out of the next person who even looks at you the wrong way.

Hope and positivity are a rarity for you, so when it’s forcefully ripped from your hands, you’ll do everything in your power to take it back twice as forcefully. It’s embarrassing, really, that you’re an angry crier, because you really need these sons of bitches to know that you’re paying them back tenfold.

You never fully understood what people meant by blind rage until you do right now. You just keep swinging, and swinging, since nobody’s paying attention to you anyway. Someone’s gotta cave eventually, right? Destructive behavior is a sure-fire symptom of trauma, isn’t it? Someone’s gonna come by and realize you’re acting out of hurt, and give you some random number so you can work out your problems and eventually get out of here, right?

Well, you’re half-right.

“Hello!” One-One chimes, eerily cheery for the situation at hand. “Please stop destroying my stewards”.

“Unless you want me to write up your obituary”, his gloomy counterpart chimes in.

And...threat aside, a tiny part of you is relieved. He’s Tulip’s friend, so there’s a chance he’ll understand, right? All you need to do is just explain everything, and you’ll be free to go, right?

You couldn’t be more wrong. He’s just babbling on about how you’re just there to help, how you were never really Jesse’s friend, and you’re close to crying again. You want to believe it’s out of anger, because you know that can’t be true, but you’re too burned out on anger and too exhausted to really fully convince yourself of anything.

Until One-One pulls up his list of passengers, and just two little words on his screen are enough to make your heart stop.

In-Progress.

Jesse Cosay: In Progress.

If One-One is talking to you at all on the way over to the Tape Car, you can’t hear a word he’s saying. Your heart is beating so hard in your chest that it’s making your ears ring, and as One-One carries Jesse back to the Number Car, you’re pretty sure you’re actually vibrating, because you can’t believe this is actually happening.

It’s an indescribable feeling, knowing that he cares about you. It’s indescribable, knowing he doesn’t take the word promise for granted.

He came back for you.

He literally went through hell and back, just to spend more time with you.

Now you feel like crying for an entirely new reason.

Jesse Cosay is something else.

You’ve been living with him for six months now, and he still insists on making every day a new experience for you. “Fourteen years on a train is nothing compared to four months off of it!” he’d exclaimed exasperatedly when you asked him about it. That’s not how it works, but you never argued against it.

It’s a sweet gesture. He’s gone out of his way to make you as happy as he possibly can ever since you broke down sobbing the first day you were off the train. You were able to wait until Nate went back home, thank god, but it was the ugly, uncontrollable kind of sobbing that overpowers your body so much that you end up sprawled across the ground looking like a complete and utter fool because you’re too overwhelmed. You’re still not entirely sure if you were overwhelmed in a good way, or overwhelmed in a bad way, but you remember pretty clearly the way Jesse held you in his arms and helped you to your feet when you were ready.

You hadn’t even told him what happened yet, but he was already promising you that you’re safe, it’s never going to happen, and that he’s personally going to make sure that your experience in Arizona is a significantly better one than the one you had on the train. That made you laugh, because literally anything would be better than what you went through on that train, but you know that he meant it.

You told him, later that night, and for the second time that day he held you in his arms as you shook and focused on nothing else but steadying your breathing. He didn’t say a single word unless you prompted him to, or he wanted to ask a question in the shyest tone of voice you’ve ever heard. It made you laugh, every single time, and you had to lightly tap on his wrist every time to silently tell him It’s okay, I’m laughing, and no, it’s not a stupid question.

It’s….adorable, how much he cares about you. And not at all in a sarcastic kind of way, either. He’s got this really sheepish smile, and he’s always brushing his hair out of the way, and when he hugs you to comfort you he touches you really lightly like he’s afraid you’re going to flinch even though he already verbally asked if it’s okay to hug you. It makes you laugh, when you think about it too much, and you’re painfully aware of the blush on your cheeks that accompany your laughter.

You can’t help yourself. He’s so goofy, and chatty, and cheerful, and friendly, and so the exact opposite as yourself from when you first met. But he’s so sweet, and honest, and caring, and...trusting. He trusts so easily, and where you would’ve rolled your eyes in his direction less than a year ago, it’s your favorite thing about him today, because you don’t know where you’d be today if it weren’t for his trust in you.

You’re not great at expressing your feelings. You’ve always known that about yourself. You suppose that’s probably the trauma talking, because if you’d even dared to express yourself to anyone on the train you’d be a pile of sand by the next morning. But you’ve been stewing in your feelings for Jesse for nearly two months, and you’re not sure how much longer you can take keeping it in. When you come from a place that always valued telling the truth, even if it was difficult, it’s a hard habit to break.

Okay, that’s not a hundred percent true. A few nights into your stay at Jesse’s place, you stumbled down the stairs in a fit of insomnia looking for a cup of water just to try and see if walking up and down the stairs would tire you out. Jesse’s mom was in the living room watching television, and you paused, unsure of whether you should keep going or if you should sneak back up the stairs and try again in an hour.

“Oh, hello, Lake”, she said, turning from her seat on the couch to face you. Well, that answered your question. “Is something wrong?”

You scratched at the back of your head as you made your way towards the kitchen. “Couldn’t sleep,” you replied, digging through the cupboard looking for a clean cup.

Mrs. Cosay patted at the couch beside her. “Oh, well you’re free to join me on the couch and see if my boring old movie helps to put you to sleep”.

You snorted at the idea, but figured it was probably a better idea than jogging up and down the stairs to tire yourself out.

You don’t remember the title of the movie now, but you do remember that it was some rom-com from the 80’s, since Tulip was never interested in those. Which, of course, was exactly the reason you wanted to check it out.

Spite really is the best motivator, you’d told yourself, but you ended up enjoying the movie a lot more than you thought you did. You’d tried watching a few other movies like it, just to see if Mrs. Cosay had just been watching a particularly interesting movie, but it turns out that no, you just really have a soft spot for romantic comedies. Maybe especially the really cheesy ones set to pop music from the early 2000’s. You’d deny it for sure if you were ever asked about it, but it was...interesting, to learn that kind of thing about yourself.

Tulip had never really been one for relationships, and here you were, living with your best friend, a class-A example of those soulmate AU fanfictions you definitely haven’t read. It’s not that you necessarily believe in soulmates, or anything, it’s just that you’re well aware that you experience a lot of….feelings, when you read them.

You’ve wanted to tell Jesse how you feel about him all week. Ever since his school let out for the summer, he’s been in an even cheerier mood than usual, and every time he directs that smile in your direction you swear you just want to pull him into your lap and kiss him.

But every time you get close to confessing, you freeze. Your ingrained trust issues always stop you in your tracks. If he says no, your friendship will be ruined and you can’t live there anymore. If he says yes and then you break up, you won’t be friends anymore. If if if if.

You hate that word. If. You wished it wouldn’t exist, or at the very least, that it would stop repeating itself on loop in your head. You shouldn’t need that word, because you know that Jesse is different. You know that things are going to be okay.

You trust him. You trust that you’ll be okay.

He said he wants to surprise you today. The way he’s practically bouncing up and down on his feet and pacing back and forth while he’s waiting for you to lace up your boots makes it seem like he’s about to take you on the most extravagant adventure you’ve ever been on. You’re laughing again, and pause to lace your boots up even slower, just for the sake of his exasperated reaction.

You flick him in the forehead, for good measure, and you’re out the door. He insists on walking, for the ~element of surprise~ , which, okay, has got to be the cutest, dorkiest thing he’s ever done. He swears it’s not a walk, but it’s not like it makes a difference to you. You’re walking side by side, and your hands are almost touching, and part of you is wondering if it’s purposeful on his part.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been walking when Jesse stops in front of….an ice cream parlor.

“Surprise!” he beams. “One of my friends from school works here, and he was just telling me they restocked last night before closing, so we can get any ice cream you want”.

You honestly don’t have the heart to tell him that you’re the reason his family keeps running out of ice cream and that this will not, in fact, be your first experience eating the miracle of ice cream, or whatever. You settle for rolling your eyes, hoping that he won’t take your silence for a no.

Actually, speaking of silence, there’s nobody else here yet, and if you’ve learned anything from all of those dumb movies, there’s really no better time to just go for it then when you’re alone.

“Jesse, wait” you say, reaching out to take his hand in your own just before he can head up to the counter to order. “We should talk”.

“Yeah?” Jesse replies, turning to you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah”, you say, bringing your hands up to eye level. “Everything’s great. I just...wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you, Jesse”.

He grins, and you swear to god it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. “Aww, you’re my best friend too!”

Your heart jumps in your chest. You take a few subtle steps closer, and hope he notices. He does, but doesn’t take a step back. Okay, that’s a good sign. “No, Jesse, I mean…” you pause, and the little devil on your shoulder is whispering all the things that can go wrong again. You shake your head, to clear those thoughts, and when you look up to meet his eyes again your foreheads are practically touching.

“I…” you start, and he can tell that you’re getting anxious, because he’s placing his free hand on top of yours.

“You…?” he asks quietly, his head tilting quietly to the side.

You take a deep breath. “Jesse...I trust you”.

And all of a sudden you want to curl up and die. You hadn’t meant to say trust. You had meant to say something else, but you were too busy arguing against yourself that you didn’t realize it until it was already out of your mouth. You want to backtrack, you want to apologize, you want to take it back, but you can’t, because if you try to take it back then it’s just gonna sound like you don’t actually trust him, or-

Jesse cups a hand to your cheek, startling you back into reality. He’s smiling, but not as exuberantly as he had been earlier.

“I trust you too,” he says, and leans forward to gently kiss you on the cheek.

#my writing #infinity train #jesslake #infinity train book 2

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sesamestreep · 4 years ago

Text

stack the deck with wild cards (chapter 2)

(read on AO3)

(start from the beginning)

SUMMARY: Jyn tries to tell Cassian about the pregnancy--and the abortion--but it’s more difficult than she thought it would be. And she was already pretty sure it was going to suck.

A/N: The next installment of the Obvious Child AU. Same warnings apply! See the AO3 links for more details! Discussions of pregnancy, abortion, and unsafe sex abound. Curate your own experience! I love you!

Jyn practically wears a hole in the floor of her apartment from pacing so much, but she does eventually find the courage to tap Cassian’s name on her phone and call him. It’s mid-afternoon on a weekday and she’s gotten precisely nothing done all day because she’s been fretting about this conversation. She tries to remind herself of Bodhi’s reassurances that Cassian will be cool about all of this, but in reality, the only thing that’s actually making her feel better is the thought of getting this part over with, so she can panic about every other aspect of this situation instead.

Cassian mercifully picks up on the second ring. “Hello?” He says, cautiously.

Somehow, despite the fact that she was very intentionally calling him on the telephone, actually hearing his voice still catches her off guard. It doesn’t help that Cassian has a really nice voice, something she’s allowed to notice without it being weird because she's an amateur musician and all. He tends to be pretty quiet in general, but he’s also been know to occasionally go off on a tangent about something he really cares about—some new thing a local politician is doing that he thinks is stupid, or one of the kids he works with doing something amazing with their life that he can’t wait to share—and Jyn somehow does not get bored of listening to him, like she normally would with anyone else who tries to talk to her about politics or children. She’s happy to blame that on the whole nice voice thing and to ignore the part of her brain that’s suggesting maybe she just likes him as a person.

“Hello?” Cassian asks again, sounding more confused this time.

“Cassian, hi,” Jyn says, finally snapping out of her reverie. “It’s Jyn.”

“Yeah, I saw the name on the screen,” he says, not unkindly, and she resists the urge to smack herself on the forehead like she’s in a cartoon.

“Sorry, I, uh, didn’t know if you’d have my number saved or not,” she says, glad he can’t see the way she’s grimacing at her own stupidity.

“Of course I do,” he replies, matter-of-factly. “What can I do for you? Is everything alright?”

Jyn panics at the question and she can’t keep the bristle out of her tone. “Why would something be wrong?”

“I just—I thought something might have happened to Bodhi,” he says, and his tone is hard to read. “You and I don’t normally talk on the phone much.”

We don’t talk much at all , Jyn thinks, petulantly, even though she’s the one who said she would call after they hooked up and then didn’t, so whose fault is it really? If she wanted them to talk more, she could have made that happen and she didn’t. And moreover, she supposes he probably would be her first call if something had happened to Bodhi. They live together after all and, beyond that, Cassian just seems like he’d be good in a crisis. She could imagine leaning on him—trusting him, that is—in a time of stress. Not now, obviously. But in a theoretical situation in an alternate universe where she hadn’t ruined whatever relationship they have or could have with her numerous issues, he’d be the guy to call, she thinks.

“Uh, no, I guess we don’t,” she admits. “Bodhi’s fine, though. So, no worries there.”

“Oh, good,” he replies, with obvious relief. “So, what do you need?”

It doesn’t sound dismissive, but she can’t see him and so she can’t be absolutely certain. Maybe he’s annoyed to hear from her after all this time. It would make sense, but the possibility of it still stings. She forces herself to push past it and keep going.

“I just wanted to tell you—” Jyn is cut off by some murmuring in the background of the call followed by some loud rustling, as if Cassian was blocking the phone’s mic. It only continues for a few seconds, before the sound on the line is clear again.

“Sorry about that, Jyn,” Cassian says, sincerely. “My co-worker needed to ask me something before our meeting and she didn’t realize I was on the phone.”

“Oh,” Jyn says, and that stops her short. She figured he was at work and that wasn’t really the ideal place for him to get this news, but she has no idea what kind of hours he works and she couldn’t bear to put it off any longer. But now, it seems like a terrible idea.

“Do you—I thought you had your own office,” she says, for all it’s a complete non-sequitur. She thought he’d at least be alone when she told him the news.

“Me?” He asks, as if she could mean anyone else. “No, it’s an open floor plan at the office. I just have a cubicle.”

“Oh,” she says again. The idea of breaking this news to Cassian when he’s in full view of his co-workers and won’t be able to process it in private suddenly feels so cruel to Jyn that she can’t even think what to say next.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’m just—I always pictured you as having your own office. Not that I picture you—I don’t think about your work, that is. I just, when I called you, I was imagining an office, that’s all.”

“Right,” Cassian says, evenly. Jyn could sink into the floor, she’s so embarrassed. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

Jyn’s brain is going into panic mode, which is the only explanation for why she blurts out what she does. “I just wanted to know if you were free for dinner,” she practically shouts.

“Dinner?”

“Yes, dinner,” she replies, cheerily, even as the reality of what’s she’s asked hits her like a freight train. That sounds like a date, you moron , her brain shouts at her.

“Me and you?”

Jyn closes her eyes against the embarrassment she feels, both at her suggestion and at his incredulity. “Yeah, me and you,” she answers, and with her eyes shut, she can allow herself to enjoy the idea of it, of getting dinner with him. Like they’re just normal people that like each other and everything is simple.

“When?”

“Is tonight too soon?”

“I don’t have any other plans,” he says and Jyn thinks he might sound nervous. It makes her feel incredible and terrible at the same time. “Did you have somewhere in mind?”

“Um, there’s this Thai place in my neighborhood that I really like,” she says, naming the first place she can think of. Besides, if she has to have this awful conversation over dinner, it might as well be at a place she likes. “If you like Thai food, that is.”

“Yeah. Yes. That sounds great.”

“I’ll send you the address. Could you meet me for 7 o’clock?”

“I’ll have to come directly from work, but if that’s okay with you, 7 is fine.”

“Totally okay with me,” she says, absently thinking of the sweater-and-a-button-up ensembles he normally wears to work and if that’s what he’ll wear to the restaurant tonight. She wonders if he’ll have the sleeves rolled up in the way she finds stupidly attractive for no discernible reason.

“Great,” he says, brightly and then clears his throat. “I’ll see you then.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Jyn replies, and then wishes she could take it back. She always likes seeing him, but under the circumstances, it sounds so cheery and fake.

Cassian, for his part, seems caught off-guard, but he recovers fairly quickly. “I am too.”

They eventually run out of pleasant almost-sign-offs and have to actually say goodbye and hang up, which leaves Jyn in her empty apartment to continue freaking out. Why had she put this conversation off even further? Obviously, telling him at work was not a great plan, but tricking him into thinking they’re going to have a nice dinner—maybe he even thinks she was asking him out on a date—is somehow worse. The only advantage to this new plan is that he’s very unlikely to cause a scene in a public place. Then again, Jyn has a hard time imagining Cassian causing a scene anywhere. He’s so calm and collected most of the time. That bodes well for how he’ll take her news, but she can’t really be sure.

After texting him the address for the restaurant, Jyn copes with the stress of her impending dinner by trying on literally every outfit she owns, in order to figure out what to wear. It can’t be too fancy or too sexy because she needs Cassian to know it’s not a date, but she also doesn’t want to look casual or frumpy, though she doesn’t examine her motives for wanting to look good for this awkward dinner too closely. By the end of this process, most of her clothing is in a pile on her bed that she will have to clear off later in order to go to sleep—a problem for future Jyn, as always—and she’s selected a pair of black overalls that seem to be the item with the least paint on them in her entire wardrobe to wear over a cropped sweater. It’s a cute outfit that doesn’t explicitly scream “DATE NIGHT” but also doesn’t make her feel hideous, which, for all her pregnancy isn’t far along, is a hard feeling to come by, thanks to the hormones.

She picks out shoes to match and even puts on some makeup and tries to get her bangs to look normal, which kills enough time that, if she walks to the restaurant instead of being lazy and taking a cab, she might actually beat Cassian there, even though he’s aggressively early to everything. After the obligatory search for wherever she left her keys—a daily ritual for her—she sets out for the restaurant feeling only a little queasy with what she assumes are nerves.

The restaurant is busy enough for a weekday evening but Jyn only has to wait a few minutes for a table. She warns the waiter she’s expecting someone and orders an iced tea while she waits. She bobs one knee up and down furiously underneath the table, anxious for Cassian to show up and secretly wishing he won’t so she can just go home and pretend none of this is really happening. Though she tries not to, she still watches the door like a hawk, practically jumping out of her seat every time someone walks through the main entrance.

Cassian shows up at 7:02 PM, leaving Jyn very little time to freak out alone, for all it felt like an eternity. She’s watching as he comes through the door and speaks to the hostess, so she sees him run a hand through his hair in what she assumes is a nervous gesture and her throat goes very dry, both at how attractive he is and at the idea of fucking up his night like she’s about to. It’s just then that the hostess points in her direction and Cassian’s gaze lands on her, which means Jyn gets to watch as his polite but guarded look melts into something more familiar and affectionate and relieved. He’s relieved to see her , she thinks, incredulously, even as she waves at him. Did he think she would stand him up? Did he think he imagined their entire phone call?

“Hi,” he says, a little breathlessly, as he reaches the table.

Jyn stands abruptly from her seat, for lack of anything better to do and leans into him at the same moment he leans towards her. She has a brief moment of panic where she thinks he might kiss her—not that a kiss from him would be a bad thing, generally speaking, but she would feel guilty under the circumstances—and so she swerves gracelessly to the left. Her mouth collides with the side of his face as he wraps an arm around her in a loose hug and she realizes, belatedly, that she completely misjudged what he was going for. She doesn’t allow herself to linger in the embrace, even if she kind of wants to, and pulls back quickly, before she can get used to the warm weight of his hand on her back.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he says, when she’s dropped back into her seat and he’s busied himself with removing his jacket and scarf.

Jyn resists the urge to laugh at that, knowing he’s being completely earnest. He was two minutes late, that’s nothing, she wants to say, but she waves off his apology without a word.

“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” She asks, instead.

“No, not at all,” he says, as he sits across from her. “The train was just delayed.”

“As always.”

He smiles at that, leaning forward on his elbows on the table, and it makes Jyn wistful for the version of tonight where they are just out to dinner for fun. In that version, the only thing she has to be nervous about is if they’ll go home together at the end of the night. In reality, she knows there’s no chance of that happening, but some part of her longs for it. She wishes she’d called him two months ago, back when things were simple—or, at least, simpler—and asked him to this same restaurant. It could have been nice, feeling these nerves for all the good reasons instead of why she has them now.

“So, I was—”

“Have you—?”

They both speak at the same time and Cassian’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, which is so unfairly cute that Jyn can’t even laugh in return at their shared mishap.

“You go,” he says.

“I, uh—” Jyn starts to say, but she’s interrupted by the waiter returning with her drink and asking if he can get Cassian anything.

“Just water, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Jyn asks before she can stop herself. She doesn’t know why she thinks adding alcohol to this situation will help, but she also thinks he might want to drink once he hears her news. “It’s my treat.”

Cassian looks puzzled by this, but his features clear after a second. “I’m good, really,” he says, before turning back to the waiter. “Thank you.”

The waiter hurries off, leaving them alone again. Cassian opens his menu and begins scanning through the first section, before looking up at her with obvious concern.

“Do you already know what you’re getting?” He asks.

“Oh,” Jyn says, flattening her palm on her unopened menu. “Yes, but just because I always get the same thing here. Their pad see ew is really good.”

Cassian nods, as if this is fascinating information to him. “I’m going to have to read through the menu, unfortunately,” he says, apologetically.

She makes an exaggerated hand gesture that is meant to bat his apology away but in truth conveys absolutely nothing. “Take your time,” she says, to clarify.

Cassian reading his menu gives Jyn some time to regroup and also to note that he is, in fact, wearing a navy blue cable knit sweater over what looks to be a light blue button-up. The sleeves aren’t rolled up to his elbows, which is disappointing, but she assumes that’s because it’s freezing outside. He’s also biting his lip as he concentrates on reading, which is simultaneously very cute and completely hot. She realizes she’s been staring at him intently half a second after Cassian does.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, looking embarrassed.

“No, it’s—nothing!”

“I should be making conversation, shouldn’t I?”

“No, don’t worry about that,” Jyn says, hurriedly. It’s not like she can just tell him she was staring because he’s stupidly handsome. “I just got lost in thought for a second.”

“Do you come here often?” He asks, completely sincerely and Jyn laughs before she can stop herself.

“Sorry,” she says, when she’s regained her self-control. “That’s just such a line. I know you didn’t mean it that way, but—”

Before she can finish her sentence or Cassian can defend himself like he clearly wants to, something lands at their feet with a thump and a rattle. Cassian leans down to retrieve it and returns with one of those baby toys with different bits that all make different noises or have different textures. It’s done up entirely in bright primary colors and seems to have a smiling puppy’s head at the very top. A screech from the table behind them alerts Jyn to the item’s true owner.

Cassian twists in his chair to offer the toy back to a chunky toddler with a mop of riotous curls who’s sitting in a high chair at the next table over. “I take it this is yours,” he says, very seriously to the baby, who squawks delightedly at the sight of the toy.

The child’s mother, sitting with an older child on the other side of the table, gives Cassian a grateful smile. “Can you say ‘thank you?’” She asks in a pleasant voice. The baby just gurgles in response, leaving the woman to thank Cassian herself.

Cassian turns back to Jyn with an amused smile on his face that honestly overwhelms her. It’s rare to see him smile without a hint of self-deprecation or irony to it. If she put her mind to it, she could probably count the number of genuine smiles like that she’s seen on one hand. He’s almost always pulling them back, reining them in, for whatever reason.

“Anyway,” he says, turning his full attention back to her. “You were making fun of me for using a generic line on you.”

“I wasn’t,” Jyn says, and can’t help smiling herself. “I knew that’s not what you meant. You were really just asking if I come here often.”

“Yes, I was.”

“I do, to answer your question. It’s my favorite place for takeout, when I’m too lazy to cook, which is almost always.”

“You don’t eat in? With this ambience?” He asks, gesturing around the place.

“Hey, don’t judge their decor,” she fires back, more defensive than she would have expected herself to be. There are a million string lights everywhere, and the walls are painted a very aggressive shade of red, and the owners decorate to the nines for every single holiday, which means there’s hearts and lace and chubby Cupids wielding arrows everywhere for Valentine’s Day. “It’s fun.”

“Very,” Cassian agrees, with one of his small cryptic smiles. It makes Jyn remember with sudden clarity how fun it was to kiss him, to feel that smile against her lips.

She shakes herself out of it, focusing on the present. “I suppose your favorite restaurant is very chic and minimalist with its decor,” she says.

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” he replies, giving the matter some consideration. “Honestly, I don’t go out for dinner a lot. I prefer to cook at home.”

“Well, I’ve been to your apartment,” she says, trying not to feel inadequate by comparison. “It’s pretty chic.”

It doesn’t occur to her what she’s said until after the words are out of her mouth. She obviously just meant that she’s been over to visit Bodhi before, but when Cassian gives her a surprised look in response, she realizes she has also unwittingly brought to mind the time they hooked up. It’s not an artful segue by any means, but she does need to get this over with and stop pretending they can just sit here and have a nice meal together, like normal people.

“Actually, that reminds me,” she begins, bracing herself for how much this is going to suck, “there’s something I wanted to tell you—”

Their neighbor at the next table chooses that perfect moment to toss their horrible mutated puppy toy at Jyn’s feet again and it breaks her concentration. Cassian, who’d been watching her and listening intently a second beforehand, spots the toy on the ground and leans to pick it up again before Jyn can even think to react. Instead of just turning around and handing it over again, he actually gets up and goes over to the baby this time, crouching in front of the high chair.

“You know, if you keep throwing this around, you might lose it,” he says, very solemnly, to the child. “Somebody might kick it into the kitchen. My friend over there might accidentally take it home with her.” The baby swivels around to look at Jyn and smiles at her with drooly gums that do nothing to make her want a child of her own. She smiles weakly in response.

“Anything could happen,” Cassian continues, drawing the baby’s attention back to him. “I don’t want you to lose it. Your mother doesn’t want you to lose it. You don’t want to lose it.” He’s saying all of this with that faux-serious tone people adopt with children, as if they’re grown-ups who understand what’s going on but also with a slight sing-song lilt to it. “So, no more throwing, okay?”

The baby shrieks and reaches for the toy, which Cassian pulls just slightly out of reach, delighting the child further.

“Do we have an agreement?” He asks, holding out his hand, as if the child is a small businessman he’s making a deal with. The baby smacks a drool-soaked palm against Cassian’s in response, which makes him smile. “Very good.”

As he stands up, the child’s mother says something quietly to him, which Cassian waves off nonchalantly. He turns and drops back into his seat across from Jyn as if nothing has happened.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “You were saying…”

Jyn’s throat feels completely dry and speaking feels beyond her abilities at the moment, so she reaches for her drink before she replies. “You have a way with kids, huh?” She says, gesturing to their friends at the next table.

“Oh, that?” He asks, shrugging it off. “I guess so. I helped a lot with my sister when she was that age. My grandmother tells me I was so obsessed with babies that my parents had another kid just so I’d stop bugging them about it.”

“Huh,” Jyn says, trying to sound noncommittal while she’s panicking internally. God, of course he loves kids. Why would this be easy?

Cassian, however, is oblivious to her distress, looking back over his shoulder at the family at the next table. “I’m really excited to have a bunch of little ones running around soon,” he says, out of nowhere, and Jyn’s stomach turns over.

She’s standing before she can even form a thought. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she knows she can’t stay here. The sudden movement draws Cassian’s attention back to her and he looks up at her in alarm.

“Jyn, are you okay?”

“I, uh,” she says, struggling for a lie that will get her out of there fast enough. “I think I left the oven on at my place, actually. So I have to go, right now.”

“Oh,” Cassian says, looking concerned and maybe even a little disappointed. “Well, I can go with you, or walk you out, if you—” He goes to put his coat on and Jyn throws her arm out to stop him, which just alarms him further.

“No need,” she says, half-frantic. She fishes her wallet out of her coat pocket and takes a few bills out, flinging them at the table in her urgency. “For my drink.”

“Oh, there’s no—”

“I’ll, uh—I’ll call you,” Jyn says, already rushing for the door. It doesn’t occur to her until she’s halfway to her apartment that she said the exact same thing the last time she ran out on him too.

#rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #rogue one #stack the deck verse #obvious child #obvious child au #star wars #abortion #abortion tw #pregnancy #pregnancy tw #my fic #my writing #anyway here's wonderwall #otp: built on hope #otp: your mother and i have been together ever since

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yayee-prsp · 5 years ago

Text

I was talking with a friend about this idea I have been having for a while, so i ended writing and drawing about them.

(It is a rough draft and i have no beta so all the mistakes are mine ,,)

The background is blurred from this

That time when Grantaire writes on cups.

Courfeyrac and Jehan have a café.

It is a small thing. Two stories building in a small space, cosy and warm, filled with different flowers every day at the request of Jehan himself. Various paintings and dried flowers are put up almost everywhere. Everything is environment-friendly, Jehan has made sure of it. No straws unless requested, uses paper cups and only a few plastic ones, with recycle bin near. Located in a quieter part of town, only a few people know of this place, but those who discover it will surely come around again for more.

The atmosphere is always warm, no matter how cold the weather is. It might be from the smell of coffee and tea lingering around and in the air at all time when you enter, or because of how welcoming Courfeyrac and Jehan are - or maybe both. Courfeyrac will always greet you with a smile and ask you about your day, while Jehan will always leave a small poem for you on your cup - a cheery little thing for your day.

One of the patrons is, of course, the friends of the owners'. A group of students who called themselves 'Les Amis de L'ABC', or the friends of the abase. They are a group of students who wish to change the world, and the small café is one of their bases.

At first, the idea of writing on cups was only reserved for customers, in which Jehan would write their names in beautiful cursives and end with a few couplets or tercets. However, some customers wanted to request something to write for their friends, namely Eliza, a cheerful sweet girl who stumbles into their café one day and wish to add a few things on the cup for her boyfriend.

Enter Grantaire, who sees this and thinks of an idea.

Grantaire, a man who believes in nothing but still a romantic at heart, wishes to spread his positiveness into the public world by requesting quotes for Jehan to write on the cups. Which, well, mostly consists of cheesy pick-up lines which never fail to at least put a small smile and a headshake from the poor readers' face.

The first customer who gets the cup mumbles to herself: “You look cold. Would you like to use me as your blanket?” A scoff leaves her throat, and she leaves with a small smile.

After that, the victims range from Jehan himself, to Courfeyrac, and some poor random customers - sometimes the friends. He wrote for Bahorel once: ‘You must be a broom, ‘cuz you just swept me off my feet.’ To which Bahorel laughed in an obnoxious volume, and jumped up to literally pick Grantaire up from where he was working on his art. And another time to Joly: ‘Can you help me, Doc? ‘Cuz I just broke my leg falling for you :(’ Which was fun, considering the face Joly made.

The point is, many people had to read his lines, except one. It has, and will never, been Enjolras, Grantaire has made sure of that.

Courfeyrac, however, will not have any of that. So he takes it upon himself to deliberately pick a certain cup for the leader of their little group.

"Do you have a sunburn, or... are you always this," Enjolras reads, "hot?"

Courfeyrac just grins and says nothing, while Jehan laughs and shakes his head.

"An admirer requested it," he replies, “Just for you!”

A small smile plays on Enjolras' face though, so Courfeyrac counts it as a win.

———

Grantaire, however, freaks out.

"Why would you give him that, you traitor!" He whines one day, a cup of hot latté held between his hands, and his face buried into the cold table top. Jehan laughs softly and pats him on the back, while Courfeyrac, too, is laughing. Hard. Apparently Grantaire sulking and embarrassment is kind of funny to him.

"It's alright, R," Jehan tells him, patting him a few times on his head, "Enjolras seems to like it. Plus, he doesn't know who wrote or requested that anyway."

Grantaire sniffles, but he looks up at the poet and considers it. Jehan seems genuine, and Courfeyrac seems to agree.

"Can I write it this time?" Grantaire asks and receives a brilliant smile of Jehan's in return.

——

"Roses are red, my face is too," Enjolras reads, "that only happens when I'm around you?" He raises his brow after finishes. Jehan, a sweetheart that he is, remains silent and replies with only a smile.

"This is not your handwriting," the leader observes his cup of black coffee, holding the weight firmly in his hand while careful not to spill it.

"From your admirer," the poet answers.

Enjolras frowns, but shrugs and turns away. Not fast enough that Jehan misses his smile and a small shake of his head.

If only Grantaire could see.

——

For the next two weeks, Enjolras has a collection of take-out cups with pick up lines on them. Some have 2 or 3 on them since he decides to reuse some of the cups. (He also notes that when he reuses the cups, Jehan would be the one who writes the lines. So whoever it is is not in the café when he is, or they do not wish to be found.) He hates to admit it, but those lines do make his days.

He wonders who comes up with all these cheesy lines, and can't help but think about it. When it comes to, he has narrowed it down to only a few people who could possibly do this. And he thinks he is pretty sure who it is, but he needs more proof.

One day he decides to pay back the kindness and walks up to Courfeyrac. He asks the man for a marker and a cup, and makes quick scribbles of words on it, before returning it to Courfeyrac.

"For my 'secret admirer'," he instructs, earning a raise of eyebrows from the cheery man behind the counter.

Then he waits a while, sitting in the café and pretends to do some work while trying to see if Courfeyrac will slip in the cup for someone. Apparently, the man is loyal because all the day he has been sitting, the cup is not given to anyone. So Enjolras just resigns and packs his stuff. He'll find out, one way or another.

As soon as Enjolras walks out, Courfeyrac springs himself into action. The sound of the coffee machine echoes out all over the room, emitting a pleasant smell of coffee everyone loves.

A few moments later, a cup of iced latté with extra whipped-cream is placed in front of Grantaire, startling him out of his trance. He jumps and glares at Courfeyrac who simply grins at him like nothing has happened.

Grantaire puts his sketchbook and art supplies down on an empty chair beside him. His hands, which are half-covered by his green knitted sweater reach out to grasp the cold drink, all the while saying, "I thought I would never get my drink in this life."

Courfeyrac just keeps smiling, then points to him his cup. Grantaire frowns and looks down before his eyes go wide.

"Apparently you also have an admirer," the barista states happily, before making his way out and throwing a wink over his shoulder, leaving Grantaire to his shock.

He would recognise that handwriting anywhere, and that makes it even worse. Because Enjolras, of all people, wrote, in his quick but neat handwriting, "I would say God bless you, but it seems he already did."

That bastard. Grantaire has lost the ability to focus on his work after that.

——

It goes like that for another two weeks, with Grantaire writing pick-up lines for several people every day, and one reserved coffee cup or a line for Enjolras, with additional doodle of small things on all the cup: flowers, cats, dogs, or whatever it is that inspires Grantaire. Jehan seems to like his addition though, and so Grantaire has become one of the professional coffee cup artists of the café after two or three days or so.

Customers seem to appreciate it since Jehan notices they would smile wider when they receive their cups. However, their little game has to stop when the reputation of their heart-warming café has spread for some reason, and there are more customers than ever. Courfeyrac loves it, and Jehan is more than happy, but it exhausts them every day. So, Grantaire takes the matter in his own hands and volunteers to be a barista.

"And don't you pay me with cash, I just want some free coffee every day and that's that. No argument," he says, dismissing any further complaints from the couple.

Now Grantaire has full-control of everything behind the counter. He spends some times learning how to make basic coffee and how to do it quick. But Courfeyrac prefers to let him station at the cashier, and Grantaire is more than happy to oblige. He loves talking to new people, and being at the cashier gives him the opportunity to write on the cups as much as he wishes. Jehan still comes in and writes beautiful poems at times though. He loves it after all, but making coffee at all time makes it hard for him. So, unfortunately, he can only do that when the customers are not so overwhelming. That gives Grantaire no time to write for Enjolras.

Grantaire wonders if Enjolras notices or misses the small exchange of random cheesy lines. But considering Enjolras, it would be indifferent to him, Grantaire thinks with a twinge of disappointment. Still, he is happy doing this - working and meeting people.

A month and a half after the first time Grantaire asked to write, or a few weeks after getting behind the counter, however, Courfeyrac hands him a latte cup with another line written on it, catching him by surprise.

"Apollo sent for you," he states. And on it, written in Enjolras' usual handwriting: 'No wonder the sky is grey today, all its blue is in your eyes.'

And that just leaves him with a racing heart and a face that can be used as a stove to fry some eggs. And the temperature of the countertop is just so perfect to cool his fave temperature down because damn this is so unexpected. It's been too long since their last exchange and Enjolras has to attack him with this-

He is so caught up trying to calm his racing heart and burning face down that he doesn't question why Enjolras knows his admirer's eyes are blue - or to see a smile of a certain someone just through the window outside the shop.

After a while, Grantaire moves to work at the coffee machine since he has mastered it. Jehan and Courfeyrac are more than delighted to know that he can also make latte art! It is amazing, and everyone loves it.

Grantaire practically works at their little café full-time by now, and Courfeyrac would not let him work for free any longer, so he guesses he's an official employee of this café. It's not that bad after all.

(He tried to refuse for a while but it didn't work anymore. Jehan can be terrifying when he chooses to.)

Even then, Grantaire still tries his best to write some messages on the cups, but since the new shop policy which tries to reduce even more plastic, he has to adapt. Hence, he chooses to write on the napkin or the receipt instead. Jehan seems to adore this idea also.

Enjolras comes to the counter one day, tapping absent-mindedly on the countertop. Grantaire, who takes on cashier duty, raises his eyebrow, holding up Enjolras' stainless tumbler.

"Human to the God of sun, Apollo?" Grantaire calls and smiles with delight when Enjolras snaps his head to frown at him. "Iced coffee like usual?"

Enjolras blinks at him then slowly nods his head. The artist smiles back, before turning away to the coffee machines behind him. Jehan and Courfeyrac are on a break since there are only a few customers and Grantaire declares they deserve a break. So it's a one-man job that Grantaire is more than happy to do.

The machine whirs into action, filling the cosy shop with a constant sound. The smell of coffee slowly swirls all over the shop once again. Grantaire smiles, watching as the liquid pours down and into Enjolras' tumbler.

"Well, there we go, Enj. We don't have straws to preserve the environment - you know the drill. And here's no poem from Prouvaire because he's not here. And since you've paid, you're free to go!" He rambles on with a big smile, handing Enjolras his stainless bottle. He frowns, however. When Enjolras takes it but doesn't move away, "Is there anything I can help you?"

Enjolras bites his lips, looking down at the countertop where he is still drumming his fingers. And - is that blush on the leader's face?

"Since you don't use as much cups anymore," Enjolras begins, looks up to meet Grantaire's eyes. "Would you now say those cheesy pick-up lines to me in person now?"

#enjoltaire #exr #enjolras #grantaire #fic #i guess #and now the rants:#I did want to edit this first but I've become unmotivated #i apologize for any mistake #i'm sorry if this has been done before but I need this-#if anyone wants to write more then please do #i need something

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jacksonwang-gae · 5 years ago

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nct dream as mcdonald employees

jaemin: all the customers love him bc of his beautiful smile. gives out extra fries to the elders and little kids. will buy some big macs for the homeless. genuinely likes his job. knows that the girls from the high school across the street are only there to see him but pretends not to notice. takes advantage of free coffee at work and pours fucking eight shots into his americano. manager mark has to cut him off after 10 cups of black coffee during break time. “jaemin, for the love of god we have to make coffee for our customers, not your coffee addiction.”

jeno: gets frustrated with the cash register every few minutes. nervously laughs and smiles whenever a customer seems upset with an order. gets bothered by jaemin every time they’re on their lunch break. tries to take shifts without jaemin bc jaemin keeps asking to hang out after work. every once in a while he’ll eat the grilled chicken sandwiches bc he’s trying to keep himself lean. has to call his mom after his shift ends. doesn’t really care for his job but he does it well.

chenle: the rich kid that doesn’t really need a part time job but got one anyway bc he was bored at home. really friendly with customers. all the old ladies love him bc he gives them free apple pies, which mark has to keep reminding him to stop doing bc they’re losing money. refuses to clean the bathrooms. will literally stand there for twenty minutes with a towel and cleaner in hand. maybe cleans the mirrors on a good day. likes to eat fries during break. jisung tries to steal them from time to time. teaches jeno and jaemin chinese whenever there aren’t any customers.

jisung: bless this kid’s soul. it’s his first job and he is shit at it. gets confused with orders. “oh, she ordered a chicken nugget meal? isn’t that just a number 12? what’s the difference?” hates drive thru bc the headset hurts his ears. he’s so quiet that the customers have a hard time hearing him. people tip him anyway bc he looks so innocent. annoys chenle in the back whenever he has to fry something. spills drinks at least once a day. doesn’t matter if they don’t ask for ketchup. he will grab a handful with his giant ass hands and place it in the damn bag. mark doesn’t have the heart to fire him bc jisung needs money to get through his dancing academy.

renjun: pretends to not understand the customers when they’re being rude or annoying. studies in the back during break. very sarcastic towards everyone. jisung thinks he’s serious sometimes and as a result is low key terrified of him. is actually really good at his job and almost got promoted to manager, but told his boss he’d rather stay where he was. mark and him are buddies. has to help him boss around chenle and jisung. doesn’t like fixing the broken ice cream machine, so he gets jeno to do it. “jeno, it’s broken again. i’ll give you my tips if you fix it for me.” has thought about quitting the job, but stayed bc his coworkers keep him entertained.

haechan: a ray of sunshine towards everyone. always tries to talk to mark during their break. sings high notes whenever he works on the burgers. he’s the happy go lucky guy. sometimes renjun finds it annoying, but haechan only elevates his cheeriness. kids adore him. he sings for them whenever they order a happy meal. whistles while mopping and slips on his ass when distracted. he applied for the job bc he knew mark was working there. low key is mark’s favorite so he gets away with eating most of the chocolate chip cookies. invites everyone to parties after work.

mark: the hard worker. he does everything well. was promoted to manager after just a few months. has two other jobs on the side. gets yelled at for messed up orders all the time and always offer them a free dessert. has to track down chenle and jisung during rush hour. tells haechan he’s busy every time haechan calls for mark. called in sick once bc all those kids were giving him a headache and he has no time for that shit when he has finals the next week. doesn’t find the time to eat bc he’s constantly working. somehow he manages not to get stressed at work, but sometimes seeing jisung take orders give him anxiety. “jisung, it’s that button. no, that one. no, i-.” is normally very patient but every once in a while his patience is tested.

#nct #nct dream #nct meme #nct scenario

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itsmyusualphannie · 6 years ago

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you had me at hydrangea

Chapter 5/6 - a peony for your thoughts

“I want him to see the flowers in my eyes and hear the songs in my hands.” ― Francesca Lia Block, Dangerous Angels

a phan flower shop/video editor au

(read on ao3) - start from the beginning!

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For the past four days, Phil had let himself entertain the thought of never going back to the flower shop. He toyed with the idea of moving all the way out of London, which might help his humiliation, and wished he was still in that stage of his life where he just ran away from every conflict. He resented his years-old resolve to stick with his problems until they were sorted. Because God, Sunday night had been horrible. It had gone so well until Dan had to leave. Phil never had, not in his worst scenarios where Dan found out that Phil was interested in him, thought that it would have gone like that.

He didn’t want to think about what had happened. He’d tortured himself enough replaying it over and over in his head.

And now it was Thursday again. Phil couldn’t even imagine bringing his laptop into the shop to set up in the corner and pretend everything was normal, but he hadn’t been lying when he’d told Dan that he wanted to be friends. Phil had never really thought that Dan might reciprocate his affections, even though he’d secretly wanted it and hated himself for it. He could never bring himself to get in between a couple, especially when Dan and Louise were so clearly happy together. Because of their brief conversations during Phil’s visits, though, Phil was convinced that he and Dan could be great friends. They really did have a lot in common, and Dan had even said that they could still be friends.

It was Cornelia’s birthday in a few days. Phil wouldn’t even have to make up a reason to visit the shop. This time, he told himself sternly, he would be fast about it. He wouldn’t linger and stare pathetically after Dan, not after Dan had told Phil that he knew what he was doing. He wouldn’t make an excuse to lurk in the corner and work on his computer. Phil could definitely go in, make small talk, and then leave. Maybe Dan hadn’t changed his mind about staying friends. Maybe he wouldn’t be creeped out by Phil’s presence.

Maybe.

“Am I being pathetic?” Phil asked the lava lamp beside his bed. It blobbed at him unsympathetically.

“Thanks,” he said. “You’re so helpful.” He yanked the blankets further up under his nose, feeling very pathetic indeed. It was an hour past noon. He definitely needed to get out of bed. As if the traffic itself agreed, a loud horn blared outside, its obnoxious sound making it all the way into Phil’s flat. Phil considered just going back to sleep. But no, his sleep schedule would be more messed up than it already was, and simply not showing up at the flower shop like he usually did would definitely go under the ‘hiding from problems’ category.

“Why?” Phil questioned the room at large. Unhelpfully, nothing answered him. Phil heaved a tremendous sigh and hauled himself from the bed, almost tripping over his duvet as he flailed an arm for his glasses. He shoved the frames onto his nose and made his way to the dresser to half-heartedly get dressed.

Thirty minutes later, he stood in front of the closed door to his flat, staring at it intensely while he tried to work up the courage to open it. It wasn’t that hard. He just had to turn the knob and pull it open.

The door looked very apathetic to his dilemma.

“Why is everything being mean to me?” Phil complained. Maybe it was just the mood he was in, but it felt like literally everything in his flat was judging him. Particularly the coffeemaker, which had spat half of its boiling contents at him earlier. He’d barely managed to dodge the mess.

Of course, nothing replied to him. Phil might have felt a little crazy for talking to inanimate objects, but what was new?

“Okay,” Phil encouraged himself. “You can do this.” He wondered if talking to himself counted as being crazy. He’d read somewhere that it only mattered if he replied to himself, but he hadn’t quite reached that stage yet, so he figured he was safe. He reached out slowly, grasping the doorknob, and it turned easily in his grasp. Once he’d gotten it open, it was a lot easier to slip all the way into the hallway and shut it behind him. He locked it and sighed.

Then he trudged down the hall toward the stairs.

It took him about five minutes longer than usual to get to the shop with the way he was almost dragging his feet. He wasn’t looking forward to any sort of conflict. The entire way, he ran through his mind the many ways he could act wholly nonchalant and not stare at Dan at all.

“Hello,” Phil offered, as soon as he’d pushed open the door to the shop, which he considered an excellent start to pretending to be okay. He noticed the soft music that drifted to him, a stark contrast to the usual quiet that inhabited the store, and glanced around with a pleasant surprise. “Oh! You got music!”

“Yes!” a cheery voice answered him. “I finally got a replacement speaker. Doesn’t it sound so much better now?”

That...was not Dan. Phil blinked at Louise, who was grinning behind the counter, and he winced internally. He wondered if Dan had told her what happened the other night. “Hi, Louise,” Phil said, then winced again at his dull tone.

Louise didn’t seem to mind. “Hello, Phil,” she said, leaning on the counter and beaming at him. Phil noticed the papers shifting under her elbows. Dan was still here, then. “How can I help you?” she offered.

“Oh, um.” Phil let his gaze float around the shop, his mind drifting with it. “I’m looking for flowers.”

She waited a long moment, then prodded, “Yes, that’s what we sell.”

Phil ferociously willed away the flush he could feel burning at his cheeks. “Er, yes, I need...some flowers for a birthday. Something pink.”

“Pink!” she said. “Well, we have plenty of those. Birthday...hmm.” She slipped out from behind the counter and trotted over to him, navigating around the various bins in the middle of the floor. She had a twinkle in her eye. “So who’s the lucky person?”

Oh god, Phil thought. She was trying to find out if he was dating anyone. Dan had definitely told her about what had happened. He couldn’t just lie to her, but he had to convince her that he wasn’t trying to steal away her boyfriend. Not that Dan could be taken. He wasn’t a possession or anything.

“Sister!” Phil blurted, trying to keep his thoughts from wandering. “I mean, sister-in-law. Sort of. Her birthday is in a few days. I also got her something else, but I thought flowers should go with it, too.”

“That’s a lovely idea.” Louise was still smiling, somehow even wider.

Phil wondered frantically how he could subtly let her know that he wasn’t really interested in Dan, he just...maybe...thought Dan looked very lovely. He couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t be incredibly obvious. “Um. What flowers would you recommend?”

She immediately snagged a bouquet from a tub hanging on the wall. “Pink roses,” she suggested. “They’re wonderful for sisters and birthdays.”

“That sounds good,” Phil hastily approved. The flowers did look beautiful, and he knew Cornelia would like them. His gaze, without his permission, slipped past her and fell on the empty counter. He wondered where Dan was.

“Brilliant!” she said. Her long lashes brushed her cheeks as she blinked at Phil. “Is that all for you?”

He hesitated, glancing at the open door to the back of the shop. “Yes, that’s all.”

Louise returned to the counter and began ringing up his purchase. Phil followed her but remained on his side. He reached out to poke at the little bobblehead by the till, regretting everything. Dan was probably avoiding him.

A moment later, as if summoned by Phil’s thoughts, there was a shuffling from the back, and then Dan appeared. There were deep bags under his eyes, and his hair was a limp mess. Phil thought he looked beautiful but immediately berated himself for it.

“Hi,” Phil said, hoping desperately for some clue about what Dan was thinking. “Um. How are you?”

“Fine,” said Dan. His tone was short. He didn’t ask how Phil was doing.

“Dan,” Louise said. She sounded gentle, and her hands had paused their movements over the till’s keys. “Are you going now?”

Dan made his way over to her and began gathering the scattered papers on the counter, clearly avoiding Phil’s gaze. “Yeah.”

Phil handed his credit card to Louise and cast furtive glances at Dan, who had shoved the papers into a bag that hung on his shoulder. Dan slipped past Louise, muttering a farewell, and started for the door. Phil felt a sudden urgency. He didn’t know why, but he had to talk to Dan. He wanted to apologize again, or maybe ask Dan if he was angry about how Phil felt for him. Hurrying after Dan, he abandoned Louise at the counter and barely catching Dan by the door.

“Dan!” he said, reaching out to snag Dan’s arm but thought better of it and yanked his hand back. He wanted to know where Dan was going, but also didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to know if Dan was just leaving to get away from him. “Dan, are...are you okay?”

“I said I’m fine,” Dan said. He hadn’t turned to face Phil, but he had stopped.

Phil hesitated. “Is it because I…” Phil didn’t know how to say it, and he didn’t really want to bring up the incident. “I’m sorry,” he offered, pathetically.

Now, Dan turned to face him. His eyes were shuttered and weary, mouth in a thin line. The dimples were long gone. “Not everything is about you, Phil.”

It stung, and Phil took an involuntary step back, hurt. Not the words, which were indubitably right, but the way Dan had said them.

“I’ll text you,” Dan added, expression cool. It was a mocking echo of Phil’s parting, unfulfilled words on Sunday night. Then Dan turned and left. Overhead, Matt Bellamy sang softly to the flowers.

Phil just watched Dan leave. He felt hot with shame and cold at the dismissiveness all at once. The door whispered shut, and Dan vanished out of sight within seconds. Phil heard Louise’s voice.

“I’ve got you all bagged up,” she called. She sounded horribly sympathetic.

Phil wanted to leave and never come back. Instead, he turned and went back to the counter, accepting the birthday card and the wrapped flowers from Louise. The little Luigi bobblehead nodded at him consolingly. “Thanks,” Phil said quietly. He moved to leave, but Louise reached across the counter and rested a hand on his wrist.

“Phil,” she said, expression soft.

Phil wished he could shake her hand off; instead, he stilled and looked at her. He didn’t want her pity, but he didn’t dislike her. She was a lovely person, and Phil thought he would’ve gotten along with her a lot better if he wasn’t always wary of revealing his feelings for Dan.

“Don’t feel bad,” she said warmly. “He’s just tired. He’s got a lot on his mind, you know.”

Phil didn’t know. “Okay,” was all he said.

Louise clearly wasn’t satisfied with that. She leaned across the counter, her long curls falling forward and brushing against Phil’s hand. “He’s just busy and stressed,” she insisted. “He’s not really upset with you.”

“I’m not angry with him or anything,” Phil told her. He wasn’t sure why it was so important to him that she knew this. “It’s fine, I don’t blame him.” Of course he didn’t blame Dan if he was upset. Phil didn’t know how he would react if he was in a relationship and found out that one of his customers liked him.

“All right,” Louise said, but she didn’t move away. Instead, she lowered her voice, as if there was anyone there to overhear them. “Look, I know he’s just going to wait for eternity, and I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but you should totally ask him out.”

Matt Bellamy’s crooning dulcet voice over the speakers almost drowned her out, and at first, Phil couldn’t quite understand what she’d just said. “Sorry?” he said.

She winked at him. “I’m not saying he likes you or anything, I’m just saying there’s an excellent chance he’ll say yes.”

Phil felt dizzy, all of a sudden. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what she was saying. “Sorry?” he said again. “Are you...what?” His ears buzzed with static.

“What?” she said, now looking just as confused as Phil felt.

“Aren’t you- ” Phil gestured helplessly. “You know. You’re both dating.”

Louise stared at him, blankly. “Um…” she said, then repeated, “What?”

Phil felt lost. “You and Dan,” he tried, then stopped. He blinked widely.

“We’re...dating?” Louise asked. Her brows were wrinkled. “No?” She said it more as a question than a statement. “Um...no. Why would you…? Oh. Oh, no.” Her face was melting into a look of comprehension, and then she dropped her face into her hands. Her shoulders began to shake.

Phil watched her helplessly. He still wasn’t quite sure what was going on or how he’d elicited such a reaction. He didn’t know if she was laughing or crying.

“Oh my god,” Louise said into her hands. Her voice was muffled. “Oh my...god. Wow.” She lifted her head, and her forehead was scrunched. She was giggling quietly, helplessly. “Phil,” she said. “Um. No. I’m definitely not dating Dan. He’s, uh...he’s all yours.”

“Oh,” said Phil, not sure what else to say. His brain was refusing to comprehend what she was saying, especially when she was still laughing like that.

Louise reached out and patted Phil’s hand, very sympathetically. “Phil,” she said. She had managed to catch her breath but was clearly still hopelessly amused. “Oh, Phil. No offense, but you’re both utter idiots.”

Phil couldn’t help but be offended. “We’re idiots?”

“Phil.” She leaned forward meaningfully. “I’m not dating Dan. Okay? Feel free to ask him out. Literally anytime now.”

“Oh,” said Phil, again, and then, “Oh!”

Louise nodded, her lips pursed with the effort not to laugh even more.

“But.” Phil looked down at the bouquet in his hands, then around the shop. He didn’t know what to do with himself. “But you - I saw you. You kissed him.” On the cheek, but that counted, right? And she regularly called him by endearing names like ‘darling.’

“We’re affectionate friends. Friends.”

Phil’s mind spun. It couldn’t settle on one thought. Dan wasn’t with Louise...Dan might like Phil...Dan probably hated him. The Luigi bobblehead nodded at him again, and this time Phil imagined that it was laughing at him, commiserating with his idiocy.

Louise patted his hand again, sensing his chaotic thoughts. “Listen,” she said. “Dan’s going to be here again tomorrow. We’ve got to prepare for a large party order on Saturday, so he’ll be working with me. Maybe you could...stop by.” She raised an eyebrow pointedly.

Phil knew it was hopeless to even try and make sense of what had just happened until he got back to his flat and drank another cup of coffee. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeated. Her eyes were small with mirth. Hozier started singing to them both over the speaker.

Phil turned to go, feeling abruptly weightless, but then he spun back to her. “Um,” he said. “What’s Dan’s favourite flower?”

Louise pointed at a rack of flowers.

“Thanks,” said Phil. His own voice sounded strange to him, high and breathless. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye!” said Louise, beginning to giggle again. She waved, but Phil didn’t see it as he stumbled through the front door.

So. That had just happened.

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#phan #phanfiction #phanfic au #flower shop au #pining #fluff #au #fifth chapter #this is completed #you had me at hydrangea

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erintoknow · 5 years ago

Text

my body is here and i am inside

fallen hero: rebirth fanfiction Ariadne deals with the aftermath of ‘helping’ Lady Argent find who was responsible for possessing her. ~3.3k words [ao3]

Prev: [maybe it will break and maybe it won’t]

Title from [Panic Attack by Liza Anne]

content warning for uh, suicidal thinking

–––

The wind whips the ends of your jacket about you. Stubbornly hold the halves together rather than zip up. Let the bay air curl around you, toxic smog and all. The Millennial Span Bridge isn’t really meant for foot traffic. There had been plans once, setting up a mini-mall in the bridge supports but the money had dried up not long after the bridge proper was built and the shops never opened.

But the walkway remained. Just had to hop two locked gates. No razor-wire, no electricity. Hardly a real deterrent. By the halfway point you’re high up enough above the water that you can see the occasional boat passing under. The sun is starting to set at this point – it’s been a long day – but you keep your sunglasses on.

Old L.A. would have have never called for a bridge like this, as far as you understand it. But things change when half your geography drops into the sea. There’s a safety railing to run your hand along, because of course there is. No one wants the bad press of your vanity project becoming a hub for jumpers. But it’s half-assed job. Find a joint that hangs down from the river of cars rumbling over your head and you could climb over it pretty easy.

On the other side and there’s even a convenient lip of metal wide enough for you sit on, let your legs dangle over the void. Kicking freely.

Well.

Here you are, Ariadne.

Now what?

It’s been, what? A few weeks? A month? Meeting Ortega in that diner. You haven’t gone back there since. It felt too portentous. And now the rest of the Rangers know you’re here. And you’re ostensibly alive. Hopefully they believe you about being retired. Hopefully Ortega kept quiet about what you babbled on to her about. She’s always been one to understand your need for privacy, but it’s not like she hasn’t screwed up before in the name of trying to ‘help’ you.

It had been a mistaken to listen to her at all. To let her drag you into somebody’s else’s problem. Why? Because you missed her? You miss plenty of things you can’t have. That doesn’t mean you should go for it. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And then–

You shudder, hug yourself tight as a wave of nausea washes over you again. God. You’re getting sick of that. Sick of feeling helpless. Sick of feeling powerless. Out of control of your own life. Sick of–

cables, like snakes in the grass,

coiled around your feet. the red threads wrapped

around your wrists pull

tight and move you forward. so much lighter now

that it’s not you that’s moving it

but then who’s driving?

and then there’s herald’s goofy smiling face and

doesn’t he understand that something is wrong?

somebody, anybody, help

Is that what it’s been like for every person you’ve possessed over the past two years? You want to believe Argent just got some unlucky combination; an unusually strong mind and the need to keep her not entirely under. She was just… unlucky. Sorry honey, you rolled snake eyes. Nothing personal, honest.

But Argent is the only mind you’ve actually seen the after effects for. How it has stuck on her like plaque on teeth, eating away at what’s underneath. You’ve never cared before. As long as no one immediately raised the alarm, what did it matter? Possession? Who would believe them? Nobody would. No one’s ever heard of such an ability in all the years the Hero Drug has been around, fucking up humanity.

But the Rangers would believe it.

Because it happened to them.

Because it happened to you.

Because coiled snakes and red strings wormed their way into your head and pointed your own gun at your head. Because the puppeteer tossed you through a window and over the edge.

How many people have you done this to already?

How many will never feel right again for the rest of their lives?

You lean your head back against the metal mesh of the protective webbing that’s supposed to keep you on the other side. Feel the hexagons of steel press against the back of your skull. Cover your face in your hands. You want to cry, can feel it in your lungs. But your throat’s too tight, your eyes are burning, the tears not coming.

Was it that you didn’t know or have you just been running away from the truth the whole time?

This is what you are now. A monster. Or no, a ghost. That’s cute. Maybe that should be your villain moniker. Or fuck it, maybe you won’t bother with one at all. Just roll with whatever the press calls you.

Or maybe they won’t call you anything because your body will have turned up on the beach, another waterlogged victim eaten by the city of devils.

Julia might be sad for a little bit, but it’s hard to imagine. It feels selfish pretending she’d care about you at all. Seven years is a long time. Maybe– maybe the Farm had been lying to you about her, about what she’d done, but that didn’t change the fact that having you in her life would only make Julia’s worse. Any passing pain she might possibly have over your loss again would be worth sparing her what’s coming down the line.

Chen would be relieved, you’re certain. All that talk about being happy you’re alive. You know a sack of bullshit when it’s thrown in your face. He wants you staying far away from his precious Rangers.

Lady Argent would rather just kill you herself. Or would if knew the truth. Maybe you should tell her. Let her have that closure, something you never got. Would that help her or make it worse? You don’t know. And then maybe she wouldn’t actually kill you. Maybe she’d just hand you back over.

Dr. Mortum would be confused about the sudden disappearance of her new favorite business liaison, you’re sure. But she’s been working in the underground for years. People disappear without warning all the time. She’ll have forgotten Jane before the end of the year.

Jane herself… without you to take care of her, she’ll wither and die, comatose as she is. There’s nothing you can do about that. She was a dead woman on life support before you found her. You just staved off the final verdict by a few years is all.

Are you missing anyone? You think that’s everybody. It’s not exactly a compelling list of reasons to stick around.

What reasons do you have to not to step off anyway?

So you can burn the Farm down? Expose the Directive? If you don’t try no one else will. No one else is in a position to even guess at what’s going on like you are. This project has literally been the only thing holding you together since you escaped their clutches two years ago. Sometimes you screw up and fall asleep instead of jumping into Jane and–

You drag your nails against your scalp, force yourself to swallow. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, rapid shallow breaths leaving you lightheaded.

At least out here there’s no one that can see you like this.

A lot more people are going to get hurt before this is over. Unless you stop now.

But if you stop you die.

The water’s far below you. Far enough? You’ll break bones against the water tension on impact. Enough to put you out? You’re not sure on the math. If you live, you probably won’t be in any condition to swim. You’ve always wanted to swim, but you’ve never actually put this body in water, would you float? You don’t know. Would you be able to stay composed until you run out of oxygen or would the animal brain take over and send you in a blind panic?

You don’t want to hurt but… maybe you’d deserve it.

“Enjoying the view?”

You freeze, head in your hands. Slowly you raise your head to find Herald hovering a few feet in front of you. His complete nonchalance at casually defying the pull of gravity feels a little surreal. You stare at him through your tinted lenses, uncomprehending.

Herald tilts his head with an uneasy grin. “Sorry, I was just passing by and thought I saw someone on the bridge. So…”

You close your eyes, breath out. In a way, this is a relief. You can focus all your anger on him instead. He’s obviously lying. ‘Just passing by’. Please. Bullshit. These assholes. As if you needed more proof the Rangers being aware of you now was only going to fill your life with even more problems.

“Are you okay?” Herald frowns and it’s all you can do not to groan. This is absolutely not a conversation you want to go down, and not with goddamn fucking boy-wonder Herald of all people.

“Were you following me, wonderbread?”

“Of course not!”

“D–don’t lie to a telepath, genius. Who put you up to this, Ortega?” There’s a tinge of guilt alright. It’s tempting to delve further, just pry the whole thing out of his head. Is Ortega having you tailed then? You didn’t work with her for five years to not have some idea how she likes to operate.

“Ortega has no idea I’m here, honest.” Huh, he’s telling the truth there. You’re not sure what to make of that. But then, that only leaves on other option.

“Oh. S-so it’s Chen then.” Yep, bingo. “What? Did the Marshal want to make sure I got home safe? How kind.” Why can’t these people just leave you alone to die in peace already?

“That’s– that’s not it,” Herald sighs, you can feel his exasperation. There’s a certain satisfaction in getting to knock that unsettling cheeriness out of his head. “Marshal Steel did ask me to look out for you, okay? But I mean it when I say I was just passing by.”

You open your eyes so you can glare at him.

“To be honest… I… kind of lost track of you three blocks from the building.”

“I don’t a–appreciate being followed.”

Herald dips down before returning back to eye level. “How did you know?”

“Of– of course I knew,” you lie, “I’ve been at this for years.”

“Were you always this cautious, back… uh, before?”

You flinch, scratch your neck as you avoid looking at him. “Y–yeah. Absolutely.” He buys the lie, thank god.

“Doesn’t that get tiring?”

Someone laughs, sharp and bitter and you realize it’s yours. Rub your eyes with the back of one hand. “Look. I value my privacy. O–okay?” You try to emphasize the word privacy, hope he’ll get the hint.

“I can respect that,” says Herald, the man who continues to not leave your presence. “Actually, um…” He hunches down, “I’ve been wanted to asking something, if you don’t mind, Sidestep?”

“Okay first; It’s Ariadne. Second; I do mind, actually. B–buzz off.” You flick your finger at him. God, just, go away already. You’ve got short and shorter futures to compare and contrast.

Herald frowns, shakes his head as he drifts a little closer to you. “Sorry, I can’t do that. Actually, uh–” He looks away from you again, scratching his neck. “You’re kind of technically trespassing now.”

“Are–are you kidding me.” You grip the edge of the lip with your hands, the metal cold to the touch. Would he actually try to catch you if you pushed off? “The Rangers really need to stoop to enforcing fucking trespassing signs?”

“If you need a lift somewhere I could carry–”

You cut him off with a hand gesture. “Absolutely not.” You grind your teeth. What do you need to say to make him go away? “You’re a hero, aren’t you wonderbread? Surely you’ve seen people brooding before.”

The spike of worry as Herald drifts even closer suggests that was maybe the wrong tact to try. “I heard you had a rough time today…?” He ventures, “I mean, from helping Lady Argent.”

“It’s n–n–none of your business.” Pinch the bridge of your nose, pushing the sunglasses back up against your eyes. “In fact, speaking of Argent,” you glare at him, “Shouldn’t you be off taking care of her? Isn’t she your girlfriend?”

That gets Herald to back off a little bit, a sudden backwash of unpleasant memories rushing back against you. “We’re on… a break right now, actually.”

“Probably because your– your priorities are so out of whack,” you snap. And yep, that one stings. He flinches and there’s a flush on his face now.

“She’s… been through a lot, and she just needs her space right now.” The way he talks sounds rehearsed, like he’s parroting what someone else told him. Not so confident now.

“I know perfectly well what’s she’s been through, thanks.”

“Was it… that bad?”

“God, Herald, that’s not my place to talk about. Try asking your partner.”

“I just want to… to understand what she’s going though?” Herald gives you a pleading look and you want to melt through the bridge and die. Is this really going to be your last conversation on earth? Playing therapist to some rich jerkward busybody with girl troubles? Really? This is how you go out? This is pathetic.

You run a hand through your hair, feel all the little knots and curls pull and snap. “You want to ‘understand?’ Then just try fucking listening for once.”

“I can’t listen if she doesn’t talk to me!” The genuine anger gets you by surprise. Herald blinks, and then his face turns beat-red. Ashamed of himself? Huh.

Maybe this is your chance. “Look, just leave me alone, okay? Go handle your own shit.”

Herald sighs, sits down next to you on the lip of the bridge. Goddamnit. “Did you and Charge go through phases like this, back in the day?”

You stare at him for a solid thirty seconds trying to process what he meant.

“Sorry, I just, I know you two had a thing and–”

“We absolutely did not!” You voice breaks and can feel your heart pounding in the back of your throat, “We worked together, that’s it.”

“Oh? I guess I got the wrong impression, I’m sorry.” Herald doesn’t met your death glare, the bastard.

You glare at him in silence and then… a morbid curiosity overtakes you. “What in the hell could–could–could have ever given you that impression?”

“Uh…” Herald balks, and suddenly there’s a dozen different thoughts running through his head and you can’t get a read on any of them. Finally he says, “Well, I mean, there had been a lot of rumors on the usenet forum back in the day?” Rumors!? “But to be honest, I never believed any of it until that first time when we were all together at Argent’s request and you and Charge walked in.” Herald shrugs, “And then I was like, ‘oh, well, that makes sense.’”

You don’t have a response to that. Don’t even know how to start parsing it.

It was so much easier not to care when you only knew these people from news reports or memories.

“So, I know you said you’re… fine – and I believe you, honest.” Herald’s lying again. “But in that case, do you mind if I just… hang out with you, watch the sunset? This isn’t a bad spot.”

You take a deep breath. In. Out. Push up your sunglasses while you rub the tears and salt out of your eyes. God. Did you smear your make-up? Are your scars visible? Shadow exposed? You can feel your heart-rate speed up again. It takes an active effort to let the thought go. Who cares? Ortega’s not here.

“Yeah, sure.” You say. “Kn–knock yourself out.”

You don’t give a damn what Herald thinks.

“Thanks.” You can feel Herald relax a little as he sits a few inches away from you. Not crowding, but close enough.

You close your eyes, sag your shoulders as you hit your head back against the metal railing lattice. “I know what you’re– what you’re doing.”

That gets a spike of alarm from him. God, his thoughts are like an open book. You hate it.

“I’m just happy to take a breather.”

“D–don’t bullshit me Herald. We’re both adults here.” You turn your head glare straight at him. “If you breath a word of this to anyone, I will find out where you live and fill your bed with thumbtacks.”

“Okay…” Herald looks away from you, uneasy. “Noted.” He fidgets, hands in his lap. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

You groan. “I can’t stop you,” you lie.

“Why ‘Sidestep’?”

“Huh?” You blink, stare down at the water far below. little waves beckoning you on down. “Oh, well… Why ‘Herald’?”

He cringes, embarrassed? Hah. “It was my management team that came up with it. Focus testing or something? I was just hap–”

“Stop.” You hold up a hand, dismiss the words with a wave. “I d–d–don’t really care that much.”

“Oh. Uh–okay.”

You sit in silence, kicking your legs up and back under the lip. Take a breath. In. Out. “I wanted people to focus on the fighting skills. That it–it was all trained or something. Reading people’s thoughts is… harder if they know you can do it. Th–throw up obstacles, walls.”

“So it was a strategic thing?”

“Well…” You allow yourself a small smile. Still not looking at Herald. “S–something like that. There… there was, uh… person I–I knew around then. Thought it w–was… too dangerous. She asked if I was g–going to to sidestep my way through every fight. So…”

“So it was… a spite thing?”

“Hah! Y–yeah. I guess.”

“How did they take it?”

You frown, trying to think back. “I… I don’t know. I can’t remember.” Did it ever come up? There was like, a year between when you started the name and Chelsea left, wasn’t here? It must have. “Wh–whatever. Spite can get you pre–pretty far in life if you use it right.”

“I don’t know about that…” Something’s buzzing just under Herald’s thoughts and you can’t quite get a read on it. Suddenly the boy’s a mystery, go figure.

You stay there for another hour or so, quietly suffering Herald’s little questions about your career, and it quickly becomes apparent he knows way more than someone who wasn’t there for any of it should. You’re not sure how to feel about that. Other then old.

When the sun starts to drown in the ocean, you reluctantly agree to let Herald give you a hand back over to the sane side of the railing. He follows with you back to the foot of the bridge, despite your repeated insistence that you were just going straight home and to buzz off already.

You go through four taxi cabs before you feel confident enough that you’ve lost Herald to actually go home.

Home.

It isn’t much, a singular combined bedroom-kitchenette and a tinier bathroom. Pretty sure the complex had been a tourist trap motel once upon a time. It’s yours though, and there’s something surreal about that. You’ve never ‘owned’ an apartment before. You keep telling yourself you’ll properly decorate one day, but it never happens.

Flip on the lights, greet the cockroach as it scurries under the cabinet “Hi Larry,” stagger over to your bed and fall over face down.

Roll over and grab a pillow, clutch it to your chest, draw your legs up into a fetal position. No more possessions ever again. If you can’t work a mental suggestion or rely on a bribe, you’ll just have to find another way. You’re not inflicting that on another person again.

You bury your head in the pillow.

If Herald hadn’t shown up then, would you be here right now?

You don’t want to think about it.

At least these days, when you don’t feel like being you, there’s a solution.

And you don’t have to worry about Jane being scarred for life; you’re the only consciousness she’s got.

–

next: [the space between the finish and the start]

#fallen hero #fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #fhr #fhr/Ariadne #mc #herald #tw: suicidal thoughts

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scriptura-adrepticius · 6 years ago

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Holidays - 9P

Hello, hello! I don’t know how many people even still care about this blog but @hyukcieee, here’s your Christmas present from the npn secret santa! It’s still Christmas where I live so I hope it isn’t too late?? I was going to post it like last week but everything picked up like two weeks before so I had 0 time to write, sorry :/

You said it didn’t matter which member it was for so I wrote a short drabble for each 9p member based on a prompt off of the npn winter prompt challenge :) I hope you like them!

I hope everyone who reads this is having a great day and happy holidays to you all!

Pairing: Nine Percent x reader

Genre: fluff, nonspecific!au

Word Count: 5.4k

Holidays with Nine Percent are certainly holidays that you will never forget.

Masterlist

beautiful group of people, i will love them forever

Someone decided to put mistletoe all over the school as a sick sort of joke, and you’ve just been shoved under a clump of the stuff by your conniving “friends.” Who are you supposed to kiss, you might ask? Well, your friends are eyeing a certain someone walking down the hall…

- - -

“So anyway, he -” You stop short, glowering at your friends as they immediately look away from each other, looking suspiciously innocent. “Alright, that’s it, what’s wrong with you all?” you snap. “You’ve been like this for the past two days!”

“Like what?” Dinghao asks a little too innocently.

“Yeah, I wasn’t aware that we were acting differently at all,” Huafei chimes in.

You huff, trying to formulate your jumbled thoughts into words. “You don’t pay attention to me when I talk, you’re always whispering with Linkai and his little gang, you keep giving me those strange looks - how can you say you’re not acting differently?!”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then someone grabs your arms and holds them hostage behind your back.

“What the fuck?” you snap, violently twisting. “Let me go, dumbass!”

“Uh-uh-uh,” Dinghao sings, looking very, very gleeful. Next to him, Huafei and Ruotian stifle giggles, while you struggle even harder. “What the hell is going on!” you yell, attracting quite a lot of attention.

Jingzuo looks upwards, smirking, and you follow his gaze, eyes widening in horror as you take in the small plant that hangs from the ceiling.

“Oh hell no,” you mutter, shaking your head wildly. “No, no, no, no, no! Gao Maotong, get your stupid hands off of me, or so help me I’ll -”

Then someone slams into you and Maotong releases your arms, allowing you to collapse in a heap on the floor. Disgruntled and feeling extremely murderous, you grit your teeth and look up, ready to chew your friends out.

Instead, you see an outstretched hand. Your eyes travel upwards, taking in dark clothes, a leather jacket, and then…

Oh my god.

You meet eyes with your crush of two years, Wang Ziyi.

It takes a couple of seconds to force yourself to calm down, and though you want nothing more than to run away screaming, you accept his hand, allowing him to help pull you up. You try really hard to look at his face, but it’s so hard - the whole situation is just so absurd. You drop his hand as soon as you can.

“Sorry,” he says in that low voice of his, giving you that soft smile that never fails to turn you into an absolute train wreck. “My friends pushed me.” He shrugs apologetically.

“I - uh, it’s fine,” you say quickly, willing the growing heat to leave your face. “I’ve gotta go, but -”

“You have nowhere to go!” Huafei snaps. “Don’t lie to Ziyi!”

If your face wasn’t red before, now it is. You shoot her a furious glare.

What in the world are you doing?! you scream internally, hoping she gets the message.

“Y/N?” Ziyi’s voice snaps your attention back to him. “I… I think I know why they put us here.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, cursing each and every single one of your so-called friends. “Yeah,” you reply, your voice tight. “Sorry. My friends are stupid. I - it’s cool if you, uh, if you don’t want to, I totally get it, I wouldn’t want to kiss me either, sorry about everything, this is all a mess, I swear I had no part in planning this -”

“Hey, hey, hold up,” Ziyi says, taking your hand again. You flinch at the suddenness of his gesture but otherwise manage to remain neutral.

His next words, however, have you shell-shocked.

“Who said I didn’t want to kiss you?”

Total silence.

“Sorry?”

His stupid, gentle smile is on his lips again and you can’t think at all. “I asked who said I didn’t want to kiss you.”

“I - I thought - I thought we were just friends?” you squeak. “I, uh, since when…” You let out a little huff. “What the hell?”

Ziyi’s little laugh is even more addicting than his smile. He leans in a little closer, and you can feel his breath puffing slightly on your face.

“You wouldn’t mind, would you, if I kissed you now?” he asks, ignoring the gasps and hoots of the crowd watching.

“For tradition or because you like me?” you manage to spit out.

A shy blush flits across Ziyi’s cheeks and you almost melt. “Because I like you.”

The smile that overtakes your lips is shaky but genuine and you feel like you’re on cloud nine. “Then, no, I wouldn’t mind,” you reply.

His lips press against yours, and your mind goes blank. You can register only the feeling of his lips on yours, his fingers clutching your hands, his hair tickling your cheek. You cannot hear the cheers of your friends, the squeals of the crowd, the claps of the audience. It’s like Ziyi is your entire world.

When he pulls away, cheeks flushed red, you seize on your temporary insanity and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close again.

“Remind me to kill my friends later,” you murmur, and you just hear the beginnings of his gentle laugh before you press another kiss to his lips.

. . . . .

Why did your best friend decide to put mistletoe all over the school as a joke? You don’t know. Why did you go along with it? You don’t know. All you know is that you didn’t expect to accidentally stumble under a bunch of it with said best friend. It isn’t just the cold that’s turning your cheeks red, now.

- - -

“How did this happen?” you ask, not looking at your best friend for fear of him seeing your blush. “Why are we so fucking dumb?”

Linkai snorts. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not dumb.”

“Oh yeah? Then who was the one that first walked under the mistletoe?” you snap.

“And who was the one that didn’t realize and walked under after me?” he retorts.

You cross your arms. “Fine,” you groan. “So are you going to kiss me? Or are we just going to walk away and pretend this didn’t happen?”

On one hand, you want him to agree to the second so your feelings for him stay hidden forever. On the other hand, you want him to agree to the first so you can fulfill one of your dreams.

“Tradition is tradition,” Linkai mutters, refusing to look at your face. You can see the pink tinting his cheeks though and for the first time, you think your feelings might be returned.

“Since when have you been a traditional kid?” you push, forcing him to look up. “Never. So how come you’re relying on tradition now?”

The tiny smirk he throws you gives you a heart attack. “Because… maybe I like you?”

You blink once. Then twice.

“Only ‘maybe?’”

A real blush spreads across Linkai’s face and you can see how much effort it’s taking for him to look into your eyes. Understandable, because you want nothing more than to duck and run away into the crowd that’s forming as well.

“Fine. I definitely like you,” he mumbles, ruffling his hair.

You smile a little. “Good, because I like you too.”

Amidst cheers and hoots, you press a short kiss to his lips, leaving the usually confident boy speechless. Then, suddenly, he regains his confidence and pull you to him for a deeper kiss.

Most of the time, Linkai’s mischief gets him into trouble. At least this time, something good came of it.

You smile into his lips.

. . . . .

Holiday season means holiday shopping, no? You hate shopping, but when you come face to face with that cute sales guy you’ve had a crush on for a long time… well, maybe your sentiments will change now that you’ve seen him decked out in holiday gear, looking stupidly, absolutely adorable.

- - -

The bus is full of people, and you curse your stupid, procrastinating self for leaving Christmas shopping for the last minute.

Christmas shopping is a bore.

With a tired sigh, you squeeze onto a seat. You can practically smell the sweat and heat radiating off of the people and you crinkle your nose up with another sigh.

Then, your brain decides it’s the best time to cut in with a stupid thought.

Hey, shopping isn’t that bad. You might get to see that cute sales guy!

You really hope no one sees the blush crawling up your cheeks. If anything, hopefully they’ll think it’s the residual cold.

Cai Xukun is literally the cutest guy you have ever met. He is drop dead gorgeous but down to earth and mellow at the same time. His smile is blinding, his eyes are sweet, his laugh is beautiful… there is literally nothing not to love about the boy.

“And here I am, thinking like a lovestruck thirteen year old,” you mutter, making room for another person as they squeeze by. The bus rattles and belches a cloud of smoke, then rattles away.

You sigh.

It’s going to be a long day even if I do get to see Xukun.

- - -

Ten stores later, you’ve found almost all of your gifts. Your wallet is about to start sobbing, your feet are about to start screaming, and you are about to sag into a tired puddle on the floor.

“One more to go,” you mumble, looking with trepidation at the fancy storefront.

Nine Percent. Your best friend’s favorite clothing store. They have some of the most outrageous items but at least the prices are fair.

Also the place where - guess who - Cai Xukun works.

You drag your sorry self into the store.

“Hello, welcome! Can I help you today?” a cheery-faced boy with a bright smile asks chirpily the second you walk inside.

It’s not Xukun. You hope the disappointment doesn’t show on your face as you give him a slight smile. “No thanks,” you reply. “Just looking.”

“Christmas shopping?” he asks, looking sympathetic. You allow a sardonic smile to show itself before nodding. “Yeah.”

“Shit, sorry,” he laughs. “But let me know if you need any help!”

“I will, thanks.”

The store is huge, but it doesn’t take much effort to find the section your friend loves since you’ve been here so many times. You drop your bags, rubbing your aching hands, before perusing the racks. Minutes later, you’ve found something, and after checking the size you back to the front of the store to pay.

Then your brain short circuits, because your stupid crush is manning the counter. He’s got a stupid little Santa hat on with a stupid green woolen sweater, and he looks like… boyfriend material. There is no other way to put it.

Suddenly, you care a little too much about the knots in your hair, the bags under your eyes that you haven’t bothered to cover up, your oversized hoodie that now seems too casual for this. You want to at least pat down your hair, but then you’d probably knock your bags everywhere, and you don’t want to look stupider than you already do. So you steel yourself and walk up to the counter.

“Hi!” Xukun says with his bright smile. Your heart thumps. “Ready to pay?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say quickly, pushing the clothing over.

There’s silence as he rings up the items and places them into a bag. You jab your card into the machine and look down determinedly because you are absolutely sure your cheeks are bright red.

“Are you okay? Your face is really red.”

Fuck.

“I’m fine.” You give him an awkward smile. “It’s just… the cold outside.”

The little smirk he gives you as he hands the bag over gives you a heart attack. “I see. Well, have a nice day! Happy holidays!”

What the fuck does that smirk mean?

“Thanks, you too!” you squeak before bolting out of the store.

Outside, the cold air cools your cheeks and after trudging a few streets, you sit down at the bus stop. With a sigh of relief as the pressure is taken off of your aching feet, you take out the receipt from your latest bag to stuff inside your wallet.

What’s on the receipt nearly gives you a second heart attack.

Hey, one of my friends told me you think I’m cute. Well, I think you’re cute too. Here’s my number, text me sometime, alright?

XXX-XXX-XXXX

A strangled sort of screech leaves your throat, causing more than a few concerned looks to be thrown your way, but you’re too busy staring at the receipt to care.

Once you’re settled on the bus, you take out your phone with trembling fingers and input the number. After agonizing over the text for several minutes, you settle for “Hey, you gave me your number on my receipt. Are you sure it wasn’t a mistake?”

One minute passes, then two, then three.

Read.

Typing…

No mistakes were made. I’m Xukun, but I’m sure you know that.

I hope you are Y/N?

You’re almost hyperventilating.

Yeah, I am.

He responds quickly.

Great. Want to go out for coffee sometime? My treat!

It takes all your effort not to scream out loud, but as you type out your answer with a smile on your face, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Christmas shopping isn’t so bad.

. . . . .

You’ve always wanted to be kissed in the rain, thinking that it’s the ultimate romantic gesture. Well, there isn’t any rain, but maybe snow will do.

- - -

“Why do you love rain?” Linong asks, shivering in the cold. He’s wearing a huge coat and has a scarf wrapped around his neck, while you only have a warm sweater. “Rain is so… cold.”

“But what about when the sun is out while it’s raining? Then it’s warm rain, and it’s like… fun! You can jump around in the rain!” You grin, whirling around with your arms out. “Plus, you’re so tall and fit. How come you’re still cold? It’s just a little snow!”

Linong shrugs, burrowing further into his scarf. “It’s still snow,” he mumbles.

Rolling your eyes, you grab his hand. “Warmer?”

You can see the blush on his cheeks despite his efforts to hide it. “Come on, we’ve been dating for nearly six months, Nong!”

The kiss you press on his cheek seems to increase the blush. “Warm now? That’s what your face is telling me.”

“Stop teasing,” Linong complains.

“What if I don’t want to?” You smile teasingly, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

“So you want to continue teasing? How about I ask you about your fantasy of being kissed in the rain?” Linong tosses back, finally pulling his face out of his scarf.

Suddenly, your face feels warm. Much warmer than before. “How - how do you know about that?” you squeak.

“You shouldn’t leave scribbles in the margins of your chemistry notebook,” he smirks.

Noted.

“Dammit,” you mutter. You can’t even be mad because you were the one who lent the notebook to him.

“I mean, I could help you with that,” Linong mumbles, looking away. His face is red again.

You look up at the sky, almost getting a face full of snow. “There’s no rain…?”

“Snow’s suitable though, right? Until we actually get some rain?” Linong asks, looking adorably awkward. You blush too, but you also place your other hand in his.

“Of course it is,” you say, leaning up.

The falling snow swirls around your faces, resting on your hair, his scarf, and both yours and his cheeks as Linong presses his lips to yours in one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever shared.

. . . . .

Baking cookies? Not such a good idea when your friends decide to come over and wreak havoc in the kitchen.

- - -

When you suggested baking cookies with Justin, you didn’t expect him to be this much of a mess.

“Even Linkai can follow directions!” you scold, taking the dough out of Justin’s hand. “And stop eating it, you could get sick!”

“But then I’d have you to nurse me back to health,” Justin points out.

“You’re learning too much from Lin Yanjun!” you snap, whirling around with the bowl. Your boyfriend just snakes an arm around your waist as he licks another bit of dough off of his finger.

“Huang Minghao!” you yell, snatching the bowl away from him. “Stop eating the dough or there will be no cookies for you!”

His eyes widen in mock terror and he backs away, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!”

You sigh. “Didn’t you bet Zhengting that if you could get through a baking session without breaking anything, you’d choose what he had to wear on his next date?”

Justin nods eagerly, and you have to stop your heart from melting at the sight of the sparkle in his eyes. “Yeah! I’m going to make him wear that stupid gag gift Chengcheng sent me.”

“Jesus,” you say, spreading the dough out. “What did he ever do to you? No one should have to wear a sweater that ugly.”

Your boyfriend just shrugs.

“I’m dating an evil idiot,” you mutter, taking out the cookie cutters. “Here. Let’s cut the dough, and then after the cookies are baked we can decorate them, alright?”

“The best part!” Justin cheers.

“You better not eat all of the frosting,” you warn. “The cookies are already enough sugar for you!”

He sticks out his tongue. “No amount of sugar is enough sugar for Justin!”

“If you keep saying stupid stuff, I’m going to kiss you to shut you up.”

“Then I guess I better keep saying stupid stuff -”

Justin’s lips taste like cookie dough. As much as you hate to say it, the sweet flavor is appealing.

“Stop with the stupidity, Justin,” you say when you break away, leaving the boy somewhat shell-shocked and red-faced. “Now help me clear up. Don’t break anything, or else Zhengting’s going to make you wear that sweater to the Yuehua party!”

You eventually clean everything and get the cookies decorated without Justin breaking anything, but not before he sneaks in about a half dozen more kisses.

. . . . .

Your neighbor just walked out wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater you’ve ever seen. You think your eyes are bleeding, but somehow, he still looks… kind of cute.

- - -

“So, Zhengting,” you say amiably, hoping your eyes aren’t too wide with horror, “why are you wearing what you are wearing?”

Justin cackles from inside the apartment and you stifle a smirk. “Was it Justin’s fault?”

Zhengting sighs, eyes narrowed with disdain and helplessness. “Yeah,” he grumbles. “Lost a bet, so now I have to wear this shitty sweater Chengcheng sent him.”

“I hope Chengcheng got that as a gag gift, and not as a real gift,” you say, looking Zhengting up and down. “Ooookay, that’s it, that’s enough, my eyes are bleeding. I can’t look at you anymore. Take that thing off!”

“He’s not allowed!” Justin yells.

“You better let him change, Huang Minghao, or so help me I’ll return every single one of your Christmas gifts this year!” you yell back. “We can’t go on a date like this!”

“Yes you can!”

Zhengting sighs. “Let the kid have his fun,” he says resignedly, giving you a half smile. “It’s almost Christmas.”

“What happened to my strict boyfriend who didn’t put up with shit from Justin?” you gasp in mock surprise.

“He disappeared. Now let’s go out,” he says, taking your hand. “Before Justin thinks of something even worse for you to wear.”

You snort. “He wouldn’t dare. Also, why is this sweater so scratchy?”

“Fan Chengcheng is the worst.” Zhengting shrugs.

“Well, it if helps, you still look kinda cute.” You give your boyfriend a wide smile. He just laughs.

“You look kinda cute too, I guess.”

. . . . .

Every year, you and your neighbor compete over who has the best Christmas decorations outside your house. It isn’t friendly competition. Last year, the kids were flocking over to your neighbor’s house, oohing and aahing over their sparkly lights, and this year, you’re determined not to lose.

- - -

“My decorations are better than yours this year,” you say smugly, watching the kids on your street stand transfixed by the sparkling lights.

Zhangjing huffs. “As if,” he mutters, looking salty.

“It’s the truth, Zhangjing.” You grin. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

Sweet, sweet victory. After two years of losing to your insufferable neighbor over your informal Christmas decoration competition… well, all you can say is victory is sweet.

The red and green lights illuminate Zhangjing’s sulky face and you have the sudden urge to pat his head like you would a small, whiny toddler. “Don’t be so sulky,” you coo.

“I’m not sulky!” Zhangjing snaps.

“Yes, you are. Also, it’s really cold now. Shouldn’t you be inside your house?” You look at him quizzically. “Why are you still out here?”

A small blush flits across Zhangjing’s cheeks. “Locked myself out,” he mumbles.

“You are a grown man, and you still managed to lock yourself out?” You snicker.

Zhangjing does not deign to reply.

“I can try to pick your lock,” you offer once your laughter subsides.

“Pick my lock?!”

You shrug. “Yeah. I used to be pretty good at picking locks until my friends forced me to stop.”

“For good reason,” Zhangjing mutters. “But yeah. You can give it a shot.”

“Cool, let’s go!” you cheer, fishing out a little bag of lock-picking tools from your pocket.

“Why do you have those in your pocket?”

You just grin in response.

- - -

You wiggle the pick inside the lock for a few seconds before looking up. “How come we do this every year? This stupid competition?”

Wind whistles through the air as Zhangjing does not respond.

“It’s weird,” you say, turning back to the lock. “No one ever put up lights on this block before I moved in. How come you did?”

Zhangjing mumbles something completely inaudible.

“What?”

“Yanjunmight’vesaidsomethingaboutgettingchristmaslightssothatyouwouldactuallynoticemebecauseithoughtyouwerecute.”

You blink. “What?”

Zhangjing huffs and smacks his head. “Why did I say anything,” he mumbles.

“Why’s your face so red?” you ask.

“It’s cold out!” he snaps defensively.

“My face isn’t that red… is it?” You shrug. “Anyway, didn’t catch what you said. Just Yanjun, Christmas lights, and… cute?”

A sigh of defeat rushes past your ear as you wiggle the lock pick around again. “When you moved in, I thought you were cute, so Yanjun suggested I get Christmas decorations to get your attention. And then it just evolved into some weird competition. Happy?”

“Uh, no?” you snap, standing back up. “If I’d known you thought I was cute, I would’ve asked you out like, two years ago!”

Dead silence. There isn’t even wind.

“In that case, unless you don’t think I’m cute anymore, I think we should go on a date tomorrow,” you say decisively, turning back to the lock. “I’ll come over at two!”

Snick. The lock opens. “And now your house is unlocked,” you say proudly. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

The kiss you then press to his cheek leaves Zhangjing speechless.

. . . . .

You love winter, but winter hates you. Every year you get horrible seasonal allergies, complete with a stuffy nose, sneezes, and a rasping cough that drives away everyone within a fifty-foot radius. The only person who cares to stay near is your best friend, which is a little bit of an issue considering you have a sort of kind of massive crush on them.

- - -

“Toss me into a fire,” you mumble, sounding like you’ve got dirt in the back of your throat. “Everything hurts and I’m cold.”

No one hears you, of course. You’re alone.

“And now I’m talking to myself like the dumb, sick, idiot I am,” you mutter. “No wonder no one wants to be around me.”

And of course you’re being overdramatic again.

It’s not that no one wants to be around you normally. It’s just that no one wants to be around your germy, snotty, allergy-ridden self.

Winter is fun. Winter is great. Winter is awesome. You love winter, because it means presents, joy, snow, and time spent with loved ones.

But winter hates you. It always gifts you a stuffy nose and a loud, headache-inducing sneeze-cough that always comes just in time for the holidays, leaving you knocked out at home, taking multiple allergy medications in the hopes that you’ll be better in time for Christmas.

A loud sneeze racks your body, followed by a volley of coughs, and then you sink under your covers again. You sigh as deeply as you can without killing your throat.

Then someone knocks on the door.

Two seconds later, your phone buzzes.

Fan Chengcheng, December 12, 3:00 pm

Open the door!

You blink once, then twice. Why is Chengcheng here? When it’s clear you’re sick and dying?

You, December 12, 3:02 pm

are you trying to get yourself sick

Fan Chengcheng, December 12, 3:02 pm

Allergies aren’t contagious idiot

You, December 12, 3:03 pm

ya but the germs in my snot probably are

He just sends back a puking emoji followed by ‘just open the goddamn door.’

“God help me,” you mutter, rolling out of bed. You’ve wrapped your blanket around you like a burrito and you remain huddled in it, teeth chattering as you trudge through the cold apartment.

“Get inside,” you sniffle, shoving the tall boy inside before slamming the door shut. Even then, some of the cold seeps in, and you shiver underneath your blanket.

Chengcheng sets a bag down on your coffee table and raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d look this bad,” he says offhandedly.

A scowl spreads across your face. “If I wasn’t so sick, I’d punch you,” you rasp.

“Yeah, I know.” He sticks out his tongue. “But you are sick, so I have immunity. Well, for now.”

Huffing, you stomp on his foot, making him yelp more so in surprise than pain. “I’m going back to bed,” you mumble. “Do whatever you want, just don’t invite anyone over and don’t break anything. And don’t complain tomorrow if you wake up unable to breathe through a stuffy nose.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Chengcheng lifts you up, and you let out a strangled noise of surprise and embarrassment. Your face is hot and you pray that you can put it down to allergies if Chengcheng asks.

“Put me down!” you yell, the end of your command turning into a hacking cough.

“In your condition?” Chengcheng counters, nearly slamming your head into the doorframe. “No way.”

He almost knocks you into your bedroom wall. “You’re trying to kill me!” you snap.

“I would never!” he gasps, affronted, dumping you unceremoniously on the bed and placing a hand on his chest.

With effort, you roll over, covering yourself in the blanket. “Good night,” you mumble.

Chengcheng laughs, a small, quiet laugh that’s so uncharacteristic of his usual boisterous self that you’re confused for a moment. And then the bed dips as he settles on the mattress, and his hand goes to rest in your hair, and you really want to tell him to stop or he’ll get sick but the feeling is so soothing and calming that you really don’t want him to stop.

“Go to sleep,” he murmurs, carding a hand through your hair. “You’ll feel better.”

As you drift into dreamworld, you hear a faint murmur.

“If only we could stay like this forever.”

You want to answer, but sleep claims you before you can.

. . . . .

Presents are a must at Christmas time, no? But no matter what you get this year, there’s only one thing you really want: you want him to come home.

- - -

“Still moping?” Zhangjing asks, sighing through the phone.

You roll over in bed. “Leave me alone,” you mumble, words muffled by the pillow. “Let me mope in peace.”

“Do you want to come over and see my Christmas lights?” he offers.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Are you still having that competition with your neighbor?”

“About that…” Zhangjing coughs. “We’re kind of dating now?”

“WHAT?! HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS? WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?! I WANT ALL OF THE DETAILS!”

“I’ll tell you when I come over, just please stop screaming,” he begs.

“Fine. Her lights were better than yours though last time I saw,” you joke.

“That’s it, I’m never speaking to you again,” Zhangjing huffs. You can hear him shuffling things around on his end.

“No, no, I’m sorry, Zhangjing,” you relent, rolling over again. Silence takes over the call and your smile slips off of your face as you remember who isn’t coming home.

On the other end, Zhangjing curses. “Damn you, Lin Yanjun,” he complains. “Can’t even come home to be with your girlfriend for Christmas.”

“Be quiet, he’s just busy. And I’m just being an overdramatic idiot. I’ll get over it,” you assure him. The skeptical silence that follows tells you that Zhangjing is not reassured.

“Alright, enough of this. I’m coming over with some of the boys. Chengcheng can’t come though, his friend is sick and he’s taking care of her,” Zhangjing says in his no-nonsense voice. “I have cookies and we’ll cook and then we’re going to binge watch TV shows, got it?”

A slow smile spreads across your lips. “Thanks, Zhangjing.”

- - -

Once laughter is bouncing off of your walls, you don’t feel so lonely anymore. Justin’s and Linkai’s screams fill the rooms, and you find yourself smiling more widely than you thought you would.

“Feeling better?” Zhangjing asks over the yells in the kitchen. You nod and grin.

Soon, all the food is cooked and your tiny coffee table is creaking under the weight of all the dishes. The younger kids attack it all with a vengeance, though they’re sure to leave enough food for the “oldies.”

(“Who are you calling old?” Zhengting’s girlfriend snaps.

“Not you!” Justin yelps.)

You simply sit on the couch, watching from a distance. Seeing them all so happy warms your heart but at the same time, it just makes you remember who isn’t here.

“Dammit, Lin Yanjun,” you whisper, the smile slipping off your face.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Ziyi asks worriedly from across the room, trying to pick his way along the floor while Justin and Linkai wrestle wildly. At his words, though, they immediately stop, looking at you with wide eyes.

“I think Y/N needs a hug!” Justin announces, launching himself onto you. Linkai follows suit and you groan under their weight. “Help…”

Instead of them getting pulled off, though, more weight piles on, and pretty soon you’re buried under a mound of people. A tired sigh escapes your lips but at least you’re smiling. “Get off me!” you yell playfully. “I can’t breathe!”

In the second of silence that follows your declaration, there’s a loud knock on your door, followed by the doorbell.

“Who’s that?” you ask, wriggling out of the pile. “You think someone’s lost?”

“Maybe,” Ziyi says, shrugging. “I’ll go check.”

“Don’t get murdered on Christmas,” Justin quips.

“Murdered?” Linong asks worriedly.

“Joking, Nong, I’m joking.”

“Y/N, it’s something for you!” Ziyi yells.

Your eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. “I thought packages weren’t delivered on Christmas?” you mumble to yourself.

“‘Something?’ What am I, not a human?”

You freeze.

“Y/N?” Ziyi pokes his head out of the corner to see you frozen. “Oh, there you are.”

“Is he actually here?” you squeak. “Like… I didn’t imagine that just now, right?”

Ziyi smiles. “He’s actually here.”

Two seconds later, you’ve knocked Yanjun into the doorframe with the force of your hug, but none of that matters because he’s home.

“Damn you,” you say, your words muffled by his jacket. “I hate you, Lin Yanjun!”

“I love you too, Y/N,” he says, patting your back. “Now can I come inside? It’s really cold out.”

You let him stumble inside and shut the door before wrapping him in a hug again. “I’m not letting you go,” you mumble.

“Not even to let me kiss you?” your boyfriend asks amusedly.

“Fine, I will make one exception.”

“KISS! KISS!”

“Remind me to slap Justin when this is over,” you say, letting Yanjun go briefly. He takes off his jacket and pulls you to him again as your arms go around his neck. He looks into your eyes with all the love in the world, and then he kisses you.

“I love you,” you murmur when you break away for air, “and I’m so glad you came back.”

“I love you too,” Yanjun says breathlessly before pulling you in again. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

53 notes · View notes

fanaticwritings · 6 years ago

Text

you’re all i think about [2]

part one

word count: 2.2k+

warnings: slight angst, fluff and flirting

a/n: This is the final part of the wonderful @dweeb0‘s commission! I hope you enjoyed this series!

If you like my writing and have an idea that you’d like to see come to life, consider commissioning me! || buy me a coffee

[note- unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own.]

Where in the world were you?

The room was scarcely lit, one blurred orb of white shining diagonal to you. You tried to blink the haze out of your eyes. The room smelled musty and like it had just been scrubbed clean with a disinfectant.

Disinfectant.

You were in a hospital room. The revelation brought back a storm of memories and the nerve in your temple began to throb wildly. What had happened?

All you remembered was rushing towards Connor and then something had happened. Had you been shot?

“Y/N?” A voice called in the darkness. It sounded fuzzy and distant but you recognized it almost immediately.

“Connor?” you croaked, struggling to get the words out. It was hard to speak through the oxygen mask attached to your mouth.

“Y/N. You're awake,” he whispered. He sounded immensely relieved. You couldn't quite see him, but you made out a smudge of his skin in the periphery of your vision.

You lifted your hand slowly and pulled the mask away with great difficulty. Every movement took humongous amount of effort and your tired hand flopped to the side.

“What the- fuck- happened,” you managed in between breaths.

Connor came into your field of you suddenly, scrambling to put the mask back on you. But you resisted.

“Talk to me,” you yelled but the words came out in a feeble whisper.

You heard him sigh deeply. “I am going to fetch the doctor so she can run tests on you.”

You heard him leave the room.

Shutting your eyes, your strained to remember what had transpired. But your mind blanked out after the point where you were running towards Connor.

You moved to sit up, your vision getting fairly clear now. You could make out the white, pristine equipment beside you, the blue walls and solid steel cylinders in the far corner of the room.

Just as you pulled yourself up, you felt a sharp tug in your lower back and bright spots danced before you eyes. You fell down back with a thump, feeling the sting crawl all the way up your back. Metal coated your tongue.

You heard three sets of footsteps just then, undoubtedly of the doctor, Connor and probably an assistant.

“Good Lord you're awake,” the doctor chirped, shining a bright light into your eyelids.

You squirmed under its intensity as the pain in your lower back died down slowly.

“Pupil functional,” the doctor mumbled to her assistant.

“Doc, what happened?” you managed to draw out.

Your vision cleared almost fully and you could make out Connor’s face next to the Doctor's. He was stone-faced, as usual.

“You, my dear, were stabbed,” the doctor said, reading something on the meter next to her.

“Brain functional.”

“What!?” you exclaimed and regretted it immediately. Just yelling made your back tingle with the sting.

“Yeah. Injury to the erector spinae. The muscle that holds your spine upright,” the doctor said quietly and you felt your heart quicken it's pace.

“Doctor am I-” you whispered, voice suddenly trembling. Your mind had already jumped to a hundred possible conclusions, each worse than the last.

“Sweetheart, no. We managed to replace the muscle. A very, very intricate surgery that lasted about thirty six hours,” she paused, reading something from a file the nurse had given her.

You glanced at Connor then. Your gaze clashed with the brown of his eyes and you saw his jaw clench. Without a word he turned away and presumably, stalked out of the room.

“But the muscle seems to be working now. However, you're going to have to rest for a month or possibly longer. The muscles haven't exactly.. set in,” the doctor explained.

You gulped. That could've been close. Permanent paralysis. You shook your head. Better not think about it.

“Doctor.. Connor.. is he okay?” you asked, remembering that you had rushed to save him. He seemed okay but you couldn't be sure.

“The android? Yes of course. He was the one who brought you in. And hasn't left your side ever since. Not once, not even during the surgery.”

Your heart fluttered at her words.

Connor had stayed by your side.

“How long have I been.. you know..?”

“A week.”

A week. A week you had been comatose and Connor had stayed by your side.

Your Connor.

“Your vitals are almost fully normal now. Except the fact that you cannot move your back much. If you want to sit up, you may move the bed but do not, under any circumstances, move your back,” the doctor ordered and you nodded. No way in hell were you going to argue about this. You loved your job way too much.

“Think we should get you some real food in you now, you've been surviving on only liquids and such,” the doctor said.

“Connor will take care of that. Could you please send him in?” you asked, glancing at the doorway.

The doctor nodded, smiling and left.

A minute later, a conflicted looking Connor walked in.

“Nice to see you too, handsome” you murmured, as he settled down somewhere next to you, without a word.

“Hey, could you help me sit up?” you asked, gesturing at what you assumed was the elevation controller in the bed.

Connor obliged wordlessly, twisting the handle so you could sit up.

You glanced at Connor as he sat back on the stool.

“Are you going to say something- anything?”

His forehead creased and you swore you saw his mouth twitch but his thin lips didn't crack.

“How are you feeling?” he asked instead

You could see the tension in his shoulders, the clench of his jaw.

He was furious and confused and all things Connor. You sighed.

“For someone who got stabbed in the back? Pretty dope,” you said wryly, glancing at your hands.

“You could've died,” he said, voice dropping low. Something like fear clouded his eyes and your heart missed a beat at the change in his expression.

“I know. But you saved me,” you said quietly, wanting to reach over and hold his hand.

“If I hadn't seen you, Y/N...,” he said, faltering and glanced up at you. “You lost a lot of blood. I barely got you here in time.”

“But you did. I'm fine, now, Connor,” you said. He seemed so serious, you didn't have the heart to make a joke. But you didn't like the frown on his face either.

“Are you actually feeling sad for me?” you asked, reaching over to brush your hand against his.

“I was afraid, Y/N. Afraid that I would lose you,” he confided, looking up at you with those gorgeous brown eyes.

You could've burned under his gaze.

“Are we literally having a chick-flick moment right now?” you said, rolling your eyes. You brushed off his words with a scoff but your heart was hammering against your chest.

Connor didn't say anything for a while.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked softly, finally breaking the numbing silence.

You pretended to think for a while. “Is 'You’ an acceptable answer?” you said, raising your eyebrows suggestively. The tension in the room was too much for you to bear.

Connor’s cheeks turned a bright blue at that.

“Y/N, that's highly inappropriate,” he stammered, glancing away and twiddling his thumbs.

You tried not to smile.

“Heard you watched over me all this week. You like watching me sleep?” you asked, winking at him.

You were being awfully bold with him today but with everything you had experienced recently, you couldn't hold back.

Life was too short.

And watching Connor squirm was too much fun.

“What will it take for you to stop?” he said, trying hard to not let his words affect you.

You pretended to think for a moment.

“Well, an extremely well-placed kiss would do fine, you know?” you said casually.

Connor turned a brilliant shade of azure at that and you had never seen anything prettier.

You were going home. After four weeks of being bed ridden and spending time in a boring hospital room, you were glad you were going home.

Connor had, as usual, been completely oblivious to all your flirtations and teasing the four weeks. To his credit, he was extremely patient and didn't let it bother him much.

You might as well have told him you liked him and he still wouldn't have gotten the hint.

You stepped out of the car, moving as slowly as possible. Your back was still wrapped up but felt infinitely better.

“Y/N!” a voice called, a voice you recognized as Hank's as he ambled forward to envelope you in a hug.

You had decided to make a quick stop at Hank's on his insistence. Besides, you wanted to see the old man too. You wouldn't, of course, tell him that.

“Crushing me,” you whispered breathlessly, as he hugged you tight. He pulled back at that, a rare grin on his face.

“Jesus fuck, it's been too long,” he said, pulling you towards the house. He was unusually cheery and it seemed sort of out of place but you couldn't complain. You adored a happy Hank.

Connor was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't been to the hospital for the last two days either. Perhaps there was work at the DCPD.

The door of the house opened to reveal about twenty five people crammed inside the living room, drinks in hands and music blasting from somewhere inside.

“Welcome back, Y/N!”

The entire crowd erupted in a roar as you walked in, a surprised look on your face.

Colleagues and friends greeted you, cheering for you and wishing you a speedy recovery.

All the officers on the mission with you were unharmed and you thanked all of them for fighting so valiantly. The mission had been a success because of them and the rogue androids were now in captivity.

It had all played out well in the end.

You engaged with some of them, talking and catching up on all that you had missed during these four weeks.

You were about to get a refill of your favorite drink (Hank knew you so well) when someone tapped your shoulder.

“Oh hey, look it's my favorite Android,” you said, as he pulled you behind him and to a secluded corner of the room.

“Where you been?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“Y/N.. I've been thinking about what you said,” Connor mumbled and you looked at him sharply.

Something in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

“Thinking about wh-” you began but faltered when Connor leaned in close, suddenly and brushed his lips against yours, ever so slightly.

He pulled away a little, waiting for you to decide if you were going to push him away.

Your brain had stopped functioning. All you could think about was Connor. You had fantasized about him, fantasized about first kisses and first dates and here he was, standing so close to you, waiting for you to decide if you really wanted this. Waiting for you to decide if you wanted it all to become very real.

“Connor, I-” you began but were distracted by his full lips. You glanced at them fleetingly before flicking your gaze back to his eyes.

Apparently, that was all it took to persuade him.

In an instant, his lips were on yours, one hand cupping your cheek and the other on your back, close to your wound. You winced a little at his touch but his eyes were far too distracting for you too care about the pain.

He pulled you close until there was no space left in between and you could feel his thirium pump thud against your chest.

In a room full of people, without so much as a care in the world, the android you were in love with kissed you with a comforting tenderness you had never felt before.

So many times you had pictured yourself in this very situation and yet no fantasy came as close to what you were currently experiencing.

He kissed you fully, immersing himself into the kiss and you felt your heart soar. You felt warm and light against him, a feeling so overwhelming you couldn't have enough of it.

You let him consume you whole, as the world fell around the two of you. People were perhaps watching but you didn't care. You kissed him back with the passion of a thousand burning suns, deep and whole.

You let everything you felt for him pour into the kiss.

You let him know that right now, you could’ve traded the world to freeze this moment forever.

You let him know that you were truly and madly in love with him.

When you pulled back for air, Connor was smiling. There were only a few things more beautiful than the sight.

He had kissed you. The android who couldn't tell if you were flirting with him or not.

“Damn son, where did you learn how to kiss like that?” you asked, still breathless.

“Since you..” he faltered, looking away for a second and composing himself. “After your accident.. I felt fear like I had never before. I was so afraid to lose you.. I realized that I felt things for you too. I didn’t understand much of it but every second that you spent asleep, I was afraid that you weren’t going to come back. And- that I was too late.”

You could’ve wept at his words but you only pulled him into a warm embrace, burying your face into his shoulder. “You don’t have to be afraid. I am here now.”

“And I’m never leaving you,” you said, pulling away and staring into those gorgeous eyes.

A blue tint suffused his cheeks as he laced his fingers through yours.

“Was that a.. well-placed kiss?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at you.

You burst into laughter at that, throwing your hands around his neck and pulling him close. The tension of a few seconds ago was momentarily forgotten as you rested your forehead against his, a smiled curling at your lips.

God, you hadn’t been this happy in a while.

You decided then that you didn't care about the issues you had with commitment anymore. You would have to learn to face and eventually overcome, them.

After all, you only lived once (took you a near death experience to realize that but hey, you did).

“It was and boy do I want more,” you whispered giddily, before pulling him into you again.

#dbh connor x reader #dbh connor #dbh connor x female!reader #connor rk800 #deviant!connor x reader #bryan dechart #connor flirting #dbh commissions #dbh reader insert

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babyboyoonie · 7 years ago

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hello 💖 thank you so much for writing my request for yoonseokook!! I have another request... Can you write babyboy!Yoongi for the boys, please? I think he will be so soft and fluffy... And BTS will probably so whipped bc he will be their precious babyboy and they will love him so much ❤

hi darling!! it was my pleasure ♥♥ n you’re right, Yoongi’s the fluffiest and the boys are WHIPPED for him ((;

hope you enjoy!!

So. Yoongi doing basically anything is a…it’s a thing. Jin doesn’t know when he started paying attention to the little one’s every move, but here he is, staring. Yoongi’s not even doing anything remotely interesting…? He’s…He’s cutting some vegetables for Jin, that’s it. But his lips are pouting in concentration, cat-like eyes fixed on the slow movements of his hands and probably unaware of the things happening around him.

That’s good, Jin thinks, heart immensely soft. At least Yoongi wouldn’t be creeped out by Jin’s attention and slight, slight obsession, let’s be honest. He’s not as forward as others members are, but that doesn’t mean his feelings aren’t here. Doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t melt at Yoongi’s adorableness. Yoongi just breathing and actually being the fucking cutest boy on earth.

He’s so caught up in his starring, the bottle of vinegar in his hands just kind of…kind of drops in the plate. Opening on the way, of course.

Jin stares at it in silent mourning. And finally, finally, Yoongi looks up.

He mutters a little “oh?” mouth parted prettily and narrow eyes wide open. It’s unlike his usual low voice. It’s an “oh?” of surprise, sweet as honey, a mix of concern and amusement. “Hyung,” the man says, grins with amusement dancing in his eyes as he walks hurriedly on Jin’s side. “hyung, are you okay?”

Jin presses his lips together, giving off a strained smile. Yoongi’s amused, and his eyes are twinkling like pretty stars, and Jin’s finding it hard to keep his cool. He just wants to…wants to hold the little one. Hug him, coo at him, whisper he’s the prettiest boy ever and that Seokjin wants to call him his. Wants to call him his, and be at ease, holding him forever. Free of the happy moods he doesn’t always want to portray, free to be just him and stare at Yoongi for hours to no end in pure silence. Jin wants. Instead, “I was just distracted,” he says, eyes finding Yoongi’s.

The younger boy hums. Dubious. It’s funny because Jin was actually distracted. By him, and his tendency to be adorable just by…by breathing. “Fine,” Yoongi relents, though he pokes Jin gently on his arm, gaze soft like heaven. “If you want to talk, though, I’m here.”

He’s darling, a complete darling. Jin wants to lift him and cuddle him close to his chest and, and rock him like a little baby and sing about how adorable he is.

Yoongi’s too cute by barely doing anything, and Jin’s gonna get gray hair before he even hits thirty.

So. Clothes. Hoseok hadn’t expected for it to be their thing but life was surprising like that. Helping Yoongi dancing? Learning new choreographies? Talking producing or going out to eat ice-cream? Yeah, that would be more like it. But no, clothes. A day spent inside, locked in a room to do nothing all day together and—and yeah, clothes.

Hoseok thought, after a while, that it would be fun. Actually, everything with Yoongi was fun, period. They could just—they could lay there and do nothing for hours and Hoseok would surely have a blast anyway. Yoongi was poker-face exploding in a second in the prettiest expression, eyes crinkling and wide smile and literal stars around him. Yoongi was all about doing the silliest things when nobody expected and coming out of it cuter than ever. Which shouldn’t have been possible. But here they were.

Here Hoseok was, sitting on the edges of the bed with his feet firmly planted down. Perhaps to keep himself grounded, to stop the urgent need to get to Yoongi and cuddle the hell out of him. This need was growing larger by the second, Hoseok’s throat was constructed with the urge to babble about—about how cute Yoongi was. To tell him, just like last time, that he looked like a flower. Tell him pretty things until he looked away in evident shyness, a little smile on his lips to try and pretend he wasn’t flustered.

Yoongi pokes his head out of the closet. Then his whole body, and he makes a show of twirling for Hoseok—because it’s just the two of them, and he’s at ease doing those kinds of things in front of Hoseok. When nobody’s looking but his soul partner, when there’s no camera to picture another of his soft moments. Yoongi makes a show of twirling and sweetly chuckling, and Hoseok, oh Hoseok hides his lower face in his hand because he’s most probably blushing like hell.

There’s something like a lullaby in Yoongi’s eyes, in his voice when he mutters, teasing and cheery, “Hoseokie, hey, Seok-Seok, do you like it?” perhaps it has something to do with the wide, brilliant grin on his lips or, or the gentle flush on his cheeks and the way those cute pins gently push his air backward, in the prettiest picture.

He doesn’t know what it is—liar, liar, you know, it’s just Yoongi being Yoongi—but it, it releases the knots in his throat and makes him grip his own thighs. As to not grab Yoongi and never let him go for days. They’re sweaty, and he wipes them against the dark material of his jeans, chuckling breathlessly. “Yeah,” he says, eyes racking up and down the too-big outfit on Yoongi. It was his, the one he wore some days ago to the airport as they flew to Japan. The one Yoongi has told him made him look like a university teacher in one of those epic movies. He’s all dressed up, and it’s too big, just like the beautiful grin he throws at Hoseok at his answer. “Yeah, hyung, you’re, you’re the prettiest.”

Yoongi flushes. Oh so prettily, and Hosoeks gone gone gone.

So. Yoongi’s cute. Like, this isn’t rocket science or anything new but—but Namjoon’s still surprised every day. His hyung’s really cute, as in little gifts spread here and there he denies with a pout having given. Cute, as in encouragements always ready for anyone that needs them. Cute in a fluffy, cloud-like amazement when they start a new activity. It’s a quiet process most of the time—slowly blinking eyes that widen, mouth shaped in a pretty ‘o’ easing in a smile before he settles down. It’s rarely exploding fireworks and childish amazement, it’s him, and it’s soft, still baby-like in the best way possible.

Namjoon rocks on his feet and watches him quietly. Listens to everything around them with an ear, attentive, always, but attention wholly turned toward his hyung even if it doesn’t really look like it. Namjoon’s looking out for him silently, discreet, but Yoongi catches him anyway. Smiles cheekily at him, eyes glinting in something Namjoon reads like—“yah, we’ve basically been married for eight years now, you really thought you could fool me?” And, and okay, it might be a bit creepy to guess that with just a glance but—Namjoon just knows Yoongi like that.

Knows he’s the babiest of them all, under the coat of the grandpa he was given the nickname of in the beginning. Namjoon draws a mood board in his head, for him. He pictures a frame of his little hyung laying in the sun, soaking it like a blooming flower. Places just aside, then, a bunch of roses and marguerites and pretty bluebells. Adds in lovely tunes on the sky; a peculiar way of eating, little attentions that never get unappreciated, and finally, a bouquet of surprising actions just—silly and utterly adorable.

Yoongi decides to act upon the last image, it seems. As if he had read his mind. He waddled toward him, little smile a tad bit mischievous, very much boyish and more than loveable. He places his hands on Namjoon’s shoulders, and kind of just jumps, and Namjoon of course—Namjoon catches him. Namjoon catches him and laughs and relishes in the butterflies exploding in his stomach at the adorable display of affection.

His little hyung clings to him all day like a koala, and Namjoon’s heart sings baby, baby, baby.

They create poetry. Taehyung and Yoongi. Feet dangling in the air just in front of the beach, safe and sound in the shade protecting them of the harsh sun. They create poetry. The thing is, Taehyung can’t wait to get started on the poem he wants to write about Yoongi. They had thought—had thought of just hanging out, side by side, tease each other in their mother dialect and reminiscing about the place they were from. That had been that, and then it became about literature, and poems and they started reading—ended up writing.

The thing is, Taehyung wants to write about Yoongi. Wants to write about how utterly soft he is under the way he appears sometimes. Wants to write and sing and scream about his smooth edges and his big heart. The heart he wears on his sleeve, tries to hide because he’s just that fragile and—and could be broken if someone wasn’t careful enough. His hyung was all tough and dry sarcasm, but he was more than that, so much more.

He’s…he’s small. Really fucking small, and should be held with caution. It’s fine to tease him, he likes it, teases back. But not too much, because he’s sensible, sensible and fragile and terribly good at hiding his weaknesses. It’s scary because his little hyung has been hurt before—has been hurt countless of times, and they barely saw anything, had barely been able to help him. He’s really small, tiny, and everything he shows—it’s real, but there’s more he’s hiding, more of the things that make him seem like he was made of glass, the childishness he only showed from time to time.

Yoongi falls on his side, and Taehyung immediately tucks him under his arm. Cooes, inaudible and in awe, at how tiny his hyung looked under him, how utterly soft—how sweet. His strong, tough hyung folded like a kitten in his side and nearly purring in delight.

Taehyung’s—Taehyung’s gonna write about him, Taehyung’s going to breathe flowers and compliments on his darling little hyung; whisper odes to his heavenly being.

Yoongi sleeps like an angel. It’s…It’s a fact. People look—they look normal while they sleep, okay. Neutral or peaceful or, or just, you know, the sleeping face. Jimin fumbles with his thoughts, bites his lower lip and inches a bit closer to his hyung. He’s really—he really looks an angel. Utter peace crowns his expression, from the delicate tilt of his nose to the butterfly-like movement of his eyelashes and the rosy bow of his lips. He’s gorgeous, angelic, a delicate set of everything that is pretty and more than tempting. Jimin’s always at war. Tugged between the desire to express just how cute his hyung is, alongside with the need to—to tease the hell out of him until he mutters—

“Yah, Park Jimin—”

In the most drowsy, delectable way. Yoongi’s voice is laced with heavy sleepiness, his words slurred, and the tone of his voice adorably low. He hadn’t cursed at him today. Which was sad, Yoongi cursing at him wasn’t offensive at all—just another expression of how, of…of how darling he was.

Still, still. Jimin’s satisfied. Can’t stop himself from cooing and reaching over to poke at Yoongi’s puffy cheeks. They redden slowly, as Yoongi blinks, furrows his eyebrows and tries weakly to get away. It doesn’t work. His fingers kind of, just, clenches the sheet underneath him as he curls up a little bit more inward himself. Body a little cotton, with the way his legs are folded, as if he wanted to make himself as small as possible.

Such a cute, delightful baby.

Jimin reaches out again. This time, lets his hand glide on his hyung’s neck, caressing the soft skin, ripping kittenish noises from the little one who bats at his hands in displeasure. It’s—it’s really fucking adorable, and Jimin could never have enough. Naps with the older man as much as possible to wake up to this face. Puffed up and angelic and soft soft soft.

He rocks Yoongi back to sleep with little “baby hyung,” muttered in his ear, and Yoongi whines, but he ends up falling asleep again shortly after.

Jimin melts into a puddle of never-ending adoration.

Jungkook isn’t sure if anyone else noticed it. He entertains the thought and realizes that—that no, they couldn’t. Because Yoongi-hyung’s pretty discreet about it, because it’s mostly said so softly they don’t think about it twice, don’t look further on it. Jungkook thinks…Jungkook thinks Yoongi has some sort of, of praise kink. It makes his cheeks redden immediately, renders him impossible to look at his little hyung in the eyes before he calmed down, but he’s sure on it. Had started thinking about it at the fan-sign in Japan. When—when in the middle of nowhere, Namjoon-hyung had complimented Yoongi-hyung’s eyes. And, and his reaction had been adorable? Adorable and…and he had asked again, soft, “are they shining?” as if he wanted Namjoon to repeat it, to assure him that yes, yes, his eyes were pretty.

He thinks about it then, and can’t stop looking further into the matter. Can’t stop remembering all those times, of his hyung making sure that they were really complimenting him. Asking for attention, sometimes boldly, sometimes in those cute little gestures of his.

In the way he’d whine quietly, hands waving in the air and tapping softly whatever surface under him to call their attention. He didn’t shout. Couldn’t. Never raised his voice, ever. He was all about little noises and whines and a low voice asking for attention and pouting when he wasn’t receiving it.

Sometimes people asked Yoongi to act cute, and Jungkook was baffled because his hyung was already the cutest.

When they finish their piano lesson, Jungkook says—“hyung, hyung you’re so talented, thank you for teaching me. You’re so good,” and Yoongi, oh, his charming little hyung looks away. Bashful, pretty pale cheeks taking the pink color of the roses at dawn.

“Do you,” Yoongi mutters, plays with his hands before stilling and flushing harder. “do you really think so?”

Jungkook doesn’t have half the self-control of his hyungs. Leans close to the little man, and presses their lips together in a sweet kiss. It leaves Yoongi brighter than ever, eyelashes fluttering, and so goddamn cute. “yeah. You’re a good boy, hyung,”

The stars in Yoongi’s eyes shine just as brightly as the little specks of beauty in his delighted expression.

His hyung—his hyung’s a baby boy. The prettiest, sweetest of them all.

#Yoongi’s!! a baby!!#yoonie 💕#he really is guys dhsn #so soft and cute and )): baby )):#yoonjin 💓💫#Yoonseok ✨💖#Namgi ��🌹#Taegi 🌺💗#yoonmin 😭💗#Yoonkook 🤧❤️#I love my boys n I love my baby #yoongimagines

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linssikeittomies · 7 years ago

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The Place Between Here An There - Chapter 2: Ship Of Fools

Masterpost AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 9(cont’d)

Ugh, Alfred is so hard to write! His POVs are all Thing happens, thing happens, thing happens, he has a thought, thing happens… Ivan’s POV is more like Thing happens, he has a thought about the thing, that reminds him of past thing, thing happens… And Alfred has too many non-plot-important friends, but leaving them out feels even more wrong because he’s a people person first and foremost. He does get more thinkey later, but at this point of the story he doesn’t really worry about anything so he doesn’t have too many thoughts floating around his brain. His parts feel like such filler orz Try and bear with me orz I got so sick of looking at this mess and not being able to write it the way I wanted to so I decided to screw it and let it be, filler-y and bad and all.

–

“Morning, sunshine!” a happy voice greeted Ivan right as he stirred. The grating cheeriness revealed the identity of the perpetrator before Ivan even opened his eyes. The act only confirmed that the annoying idiot was grinning from ear to ear. Seeing that his bedmate was somewhat awake encouraged the American to rise up on his elbows to peer down with an excited look. So he was near-sighted, since he hadn’t put on his glasses.

“Dobroye utro”, Ivan muttered, not sure if he was glad to see Alfred or not. The novelty of being treated like a normal human being was fading quickly now that he wasn’t allowed to wake up at his own pace. “Are you really a cop?” Alfred queried with badly contained glee, leaning in closer with his morning breath. With a grimace Ivan turned his head slightly, and Alfred seemed to get the hint. “Yes, a detective.” “Man, that’s so cool! I applied to the academy a few years back, but I had speeding tickets, and the air force didn’t want me for some reason so I’m still-“ Probably a store clerk. Maybe a cleaner. Likely living on his parents’ money. “- a fireman and it’s great ‘cause I’m saving lives and all, but man, cops! I love cops!” Yeah, right. This infuriating loser seemed barely literate. Pro wrestling would suit him much better: prancing around in embarrassing clothes yelling cringey lines, and no one would notice if he got brain damage. Claiming he actually did important work was the most bold-faced lie Ivan had heard in his life. “But how in the hell did you get in? Did you kill all the other applicants?” “How rude. I was never linked to those cases.” Alfred pretended to be struck dumb, and clutched his pearls like a scandalized granny. “I was hoping you’d claim to be the paragon of justice, but you just ran with it! How am I supposed to make fun of you with that attitude?” he laughed as he sat up, dragging the covers up with him and then letting them fall off his shoulders. The move revealed his toned chest and subtle six-pack again. Ivan contemplated taking a spied look between his legs, but decided against it. His senses were returning slowly, but the insecurity had already creeped in almost full swing. He pretended to be cold and wrapped the covers more tightly around him. “It’s not an attitude. It’s the truth.” Alfred laughed and told Ivan to dress his ugly ass, he was making pancakes. Ivan was not one to say no to a free meal, and the company only left something to desire.

Even if waking up next to someone was a questionable joy, having someone to eat breakfast with was undoubtedly pleasant. Much time had passed since the last time Ivan had a discussion at the table. They used to be common in the old days, and the siblings especially had been practically glued together, but then the thing happened and everything went to hell. Their family dynamics never got back to normal, even after 19 years of stability and moving halfway across the globe. It had no longer felt natural – one was missing and one became an outsider. It was almost more distracting to have his sisters in the same table than eating alone. But with Alfred there was no history so he couldn’t be reminded of anything, and as a result he found himself genuinely enjoying the moment. “Well, ya just don’t look the part, yannow? Think Magnum PI! Ya need a square jaw and a cool baritone voice and a great mustache.” “So what kind of cop do I look like?” “Hmmmm…” Alfred hummed and held an exaggeratedly long pause, took a bite off his pancakes, chewed and then shrugged. “I dunno, the kind who negs decent people and takes advantage of drunk guys?” Ivan shrugged nonchalantly. “Guilty as charged”, he agreed. He doubted Alfred had actually been all that drunk by the time they left the restaurant, and the stumble had been a conspiracy to make Ivan take him home. He still had trouble imagining Katyushka scheming like this, because she had always been the most honest and straightforward of the family. Her saintly nature must have come from a distant ancestor. “So are you gonna go and brag to all your friends about how you finally scored with a conscious person?” “I hesitate to call someone with your level of brain activity conscious.” “But you will brag to all your friends?” “I don’t have friends”, Ivan’s mouth said with brutal honesty before his brain could shut it up. His breath got stuck in his throat as he waited for inevitable pitying look. It always happened. He could be as terrifying as he wanted, the second anyone learned about his sorry excuse of a social life they suddenly saw him a charity case, defective, helpless… Nothing could be further from the truth, but nothing would convince the hypocrites that Ivan didn’t need anyone, people were only in the way, and he didn’t care for backstabbing gold diggers or emotional leeches. Jones was a person, Ivan had no use for him. God spared him just this once. Alfred, oblivious to anything but a jackhammer to the skull, missed his slip completely and continued with the friendly hostility. “Small wonder, with your personality.” Ivan was well aware of his flaws, but could do nothing to change them. His path had formed in front him on its own on that day and there were no side roads. He wasn’t like Jones, who had a say in what happened to him. He had no business commenting on what he knew nothing about, but spoken like a true American, he felt the need to police everyone else and just flap his mouth hole to make noise for the sake of it. And he had such a grating voice, too. Ivan wanted to get out of this apartment yesterday. “More coffee?” “Yes, please.” Watching Jones stuff his face with pancakes made Ivan wonder what he even found appealing about the glutton at this point. He was a slob with terrible table manners who loved putting people down. That answered the question of why he hadn’t gotten laid in ages, at least. He should get drunk more often, it seemed to better his odds. “Do you have the day off?” Ivan asked. He almost regretted it, since Jones didn’t bother swallowing his half-eaten pancakes, choosing instead to spit soggy crumbs all over the table. Ivan quickly lifted his coffee off it. Jones failed to take the hint, as expected. “Yeah, but my cousin’s coming over. I’ll have to kick you out by noon.” Ivan hadn’t been planning to stay after breakfast. He hadn’t planned to stay the night. Having to leave in a few hours was no problem for him. And even if he had been free to stay as long as he wanted, which was not a single minute by the way, he was a busy man. He had things to do. Plans to review. He wouldn’t stay even if Jones begged to blow him. “I’ll be gone before that.” Jones smirked coyly, for reasons unknown to Ivan. “Do you wear the uniform?” Ah, he was one who loved a man in uniform. Ivan could hardly blame him, he himself couldn’t resist a suit with a tie. Wonderful toys they were, so versatile, never failed to make him want to pull. He’d like to put one on Jones, for so many reasons. “Only for special occasions.” Ivan would have liked to have a newspaper at the table. The absence of one didn’t exactly surprise Ivan, Jones didn’t strike him as the type to read, even magazines. It was excusable – in his line of work it wasn’t important to know what had went on during the night. For Ivan, it was both a necessary evil and a questionable joy. Not knowing the latest updates when he walked into the office was considered bad work morale, and that’s where news apps really came in handy. A newspaper, after all, first had to go into print, and then be delivered. While all that happened, ten new things had unfolded. It was still nice to have a physical page in his hands, feel the crinkle. They were easily stored. Ivan had a whole bookcase dedicated to newspaper and magazine clippings: cold cases, cases he’d worked on, PD bashings, survival stories, true crime articles… Lately he had taken to throwing out some of the older things to make room for all the Baton killer related articles. 7 confirmed victims, 5 suspected, and that was only after a year and half of activity. Despite what you heard in popular media, it was actually quite rare for a serial killer to have more than 4 victims per year. Reporters liked to play up the numbers, speculating at least a dozen victims, but even more than that they liked blaming the police department for not catching the raving lunatic. Their words, not his – from the evidence and bodies it was clear as day the Baton killer was not crazy. Yes, he never bothered hiding the bodies well, but there was never any evidence left. Every body was cleaned thoroughly after the act to dispose of any DNA evidence, there was never a glimpse of him in security footage, no one ever reported seeing someone who didn’t belong… It takes meticulous planning and a clear mind to do something that carefully. The police weren’t even completely sure they were dealing with a male killer – the only reason to suspect that was that among the victims were two large men who had last been seen in gay bars, and an unopened condom left on the body of one female who had been reported to be fiercely faithful to her clean husband. Ivan didn’t like not knowing things. He got anxious when he couldn’t be sure. It should have been common courtesy to have one paper at the table. “A suit, then?” Ivan shook his head. He preferred wearing his everyday clothes to work, because they made him look just a bit less intimidating. A suit was a double-edged sword: on one hand, it tended to make people more nervous and slip up, but on the other, it isolated him further. Normal human interactions were few and far between for Ivan, so he cherished every single one. This was why he liked dealing with the the deaf: they couldn’t tell the disparity between his voice and stature, so they assumed he was just a normal, large man. In this Alfred resembled them. The bad thing about Jones was that he was insufferable. Ivan had a hunch Jones would be difficult with the authorities, just for the sake of being difficult. “Betcha you’d look hot in one”, Alfred said, winking. Ivan didn’t agree. He didn’t think he looked hot in most clothes. He still muttered a thank you because he wasn’t on the mood to argue.

~¨:.:¨~

Jeez, this guy was just too cute! No adult man should be allowed to have such an adorable face! The way he shyly blushed and averted his eyes to the side combined with his huge stature did something incredibly pleasant to Al. It was getting the best of two worlds. He tended to go for the big, tough guys, but enjoyed the odd twink every now and then, and here he had two for the price of one! Moving to the big city really was the best damn decision he had made in his life. Rural Kentucky just didn’t have these types. “Unlike you, no doubt”, Ivan answered weakly, and Al grinned again. He couldn’t explain why he liked exchanging insults so much. He did it all the time with Arthur, too, but the Brit always got pissed too quickly. Mattie’s game was too strong, so Al no longer did it with him. But now he had a new playmate! One that liked the game just as much! He hadn’t had this much fun since last night, and with any luck he might be able to convince the Russian babe for round two of that, as well! Maybe one day he could bring the insult game to bed? “Yeah, but I look good naked”, Al shot back. Ivan rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee again. “You get cross-eyed when you take off your glasses.” “Do not! Take that back, fatso!” With a teasing smile Ivan raised his gun again. “And you smell terrible. Have you showered in the last three days?” “Didn’t bother you last night.” “I had a momentary lapse of standards. The culture must be damaging my brain.” Aaahhh, that accent! That was paradise, right there! Ivan really had everything: looks, personality, huge body, huge dick… He should marry the guy before he wriggled away. The way to a man’s heart goes through his stomach, right? “Sure you don’t want pancakes?” Alfred confirmed. He was almost offended Ivan had refused them the first time. While his weren’t as divine as Mattie’s, they could still make a man moan in pleasure. Pancakes were the one food he never made from instant mix or in a microwave. “I am sure.” Al pouted and poured some more syrup on his stack. Fine, be that way!Vodka had probably ruined his tastebuds anyway, so he couldn’t appreciate the pancakes if he wanted to. Ivan gulped down the last of his coffee and got up. “Leaving already?” “I have work. Thank you for the coffee.” Work on Sunday? What kind of breakthrough had they had in whatever case Ivan was working on? Detectives usually only worked weekdays 9 to 5. “No prob. See ya ‘round!” Ivan scoffed as he put on his coat. He was wearing three layers, and it wasn’t even that cold yet. Guess he was just always cold, if he needed two sweaters even indoors. “No one would want to see you again. You are a headache on feet.” Al laughed. A lot of people commented on his loud voice, usually telling him to turn it down a notch. He just didn’t have an indoor voice and he got excited so easily. “And my ears are ringing from listening to you squeaking”, he joked back. He wondered why Ivan decided to use such a weird voice. Obviously he had a much deeper natural pitch, but it hadn’t come out much even last night. He sounded like a prepubescent boy. It added to his cute image, but couldn’t have been easy to produce. Maybe it was an effect of growing up with two high-pitched sisters? “Are you the youngest?” “The youngest what?” Ivan asked, voice muffled from the pale pink scarf. Another cute quirk, didn’t fit his towering height and wide shoulders at all. “Sibling. Katie’s the oldest, right?” “Yes. Katyusha is four years older and Natasha is five years younger.” “Really? You and Natalie look the same age. Do you look young or does she look old?” “It could be a little bit of both.” Ivan had his hand on the knob, but hesitated. Al tilted his head questioningly, and Ivan reached a decision. He dug out a pen from his pocket, but couldn’t find paper, so he wrote his number on the wall instead. “Call me if you want to go drinking sometime.” “After you ruin my fucking wall?! In your dreams!” Ivan gave an infuriating little smirk and closed the door after him. Damn that Russki and his adorable ways. How long should Al wait before he called? The same day would be needy and a little creepy, but he didn’t want to wait two days! Agh, this was just like that one time in Montana! Or, Christ, Tex! He couldn’t handle another bi-curious cutie deciding he wanted to stick to women! The guy was just too much fun, Al really liked just hanging out with him, not that he minded the afterhours, either… After wolfing down his seventh pancake Al did his morning pushups and jog. Artie had been right in that age would eventually catch up with him and he’d need to work harder to stay in shape. With his steady diet of junk food it was really a miracle he was so fit. Musta been good genes. Pissed Artie off to no end. Speaking of, he should clean up the place. Neither of them was looking forward to Mister Cleanliness nagging about Al’s housekeeping skills. It didn’t really even matter, no one in the history in the world had died of a few shirts on the floor, or a few weeks’ dust, or a messy closet, and penicillin had been discovered in dirty dishes. And so what if there was some food gone bad in the fridge, they were in closed containers, the bugs weren’t about to strongarm open the lids. Ehh, Artie was still three hours away, he had time. He could play some Mortal Kombat first. He needed to practice Kenshi’s fatalities anyway. And while he was on the sofa anyway, he might as well try out that GTA swing glitch! Oldie but goodie.

Knock knock. “Who’s there?” Just kidding, Al already knew it was Artie. His British cousin was the only person in the world who knocked when there was a perfectly good doorbell. “It’s me.” “Me who?” “Arthur, you bloody twat! Open up!” Sigh, ol’ Artie never played along. All he laughed at was that Monty Python show. Poor guy, he’d die an early death thanks to never laughing. Al threw the controller on the couch and got up to get the door. Yikes, those eyebrows were still a shock every time. “I swear you grow like twenty new hairs every time I see you!” Al commented, earning an irritated sigh from his cousin. After 17 years he didn’t need to ask what Al meant by that. “And you accumulate more and trash in your place. Three copies of Die Hard 2?” Artie whined looking at the living room table. Well, at least he wasn’t bitching about the dirty coffee cups and plates on the kitchen table. He should be a maid, he was so great at whining about pointless stuff. After setting his luggage in a corner, Artie made a show of placing the Xbox controller on the coffee table and making himself at home on the couch, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “Never again!” he announced. “This baby screamed the whole flight and my neighbour spilled his orange juice all over my trousers.” Seeing Al eyeing his perfectly dry pants, he explained. “I changed in the airport toilet.” “Wanna throw them in the washing machine?” “Go ahead.” Artie’s suitcases were works of art. He knew just the way to tightroll everything and exactly how much of any given thing was needed, then filled every square inch so perfectly it looked like a Tetris high score. Speaking of Tetris! “Hey, Artie! Guess who scored with a cop last night?” “Alfred, please! I don’t want to hear about your sex life!” “But he was so great! So tall and cool and burly and cute! And I got his number!” Artie gave him a confused look from under his arm. “Burly and cute? That’s a combination you don’t hear often.” “I know! But it was awesome! God, I wish I had a photo to show you, he was just perfect! He’s a detective!” Artie lifted his feet off the couch to let Al plop down next to him. “He acted all cool and aloof and then blushed when I said he’d look hot in a suit! It was adorable!” Al knew he was gushing like a teenage girl about her latest celebrity crush but he couldn’t help it! This was the single greatest thing that had happened to him since… since he first got laid, basically! “And he’s a cop! I’ve never seen a cop like him! He wrote his number on the wall”, Al helpfully pointed at the number scratched on the wall paper. The wince on Artie’s face was great. “You two seem like you would get along swell”, he muttered. “I know! He’s not at all uptight like you are!” “It’s called being a functioning adult! You git!” “A functioning adult would have brought me Cadbury creme eggs!” “The last time I did you thought I was flirting with you!” Oh right, it had been the day before Valentine’s and Artie had been blushing for some reason.

They cleaned up the place together. Artie tried to cook “as a reward”, which would have been about as much of a reward as a death penalty. Al insisted he wouldn’t make a guest cook, so they went out for dinner, even though Artie hardly counted as a guest. He was rarely over, thanks to the ocean between them, but the guy was as much family as Mattie. Every time he stayed at Al’s place it was like a roommate coming home. Artie didn’t buy the excuse, as he never did, and claimed Al needed a good English dinner in him just once and would never go back, as he always did. This was routine for them. Everything about Artie was familiar. He had gone through a few phases in his teens and early twenties, but ever since becoming a premature grandpa the only thing that changed were his clothes. He was as stagnant as Mattie. “You gonna go see Mattie after dropping by our folks?” “I don’t have time”, Artie said. “I only have three days left and I couldn’t get a ticket. I’ll see him on Christmas.” It was something of a tradition for the whole extended family to gather at Mattie’s place on Christmas, since he was one of the few who didn’t switch apartments every year. Not everyone could make it at the same time, some stayed for a few days before Christmas and some dropped in to say hi on Christmas Day. Al always stayed in the guest room, but the sheer number of relatives forced the large majority to stay in hotels. Artie got a mattress on the floor the years his pervert husband stayed home. They had learned from the first time. “Francis is still working out his schedule so I’m not sure if he can make it.” “Good! He’s already got a hubby, he shouldn’t hit on Mattie!” Francis was an okay guy most of the time, but you better not let your guard down or you’d find his hands down your pants. How Artie hadn’t dumped his cheating ass was something Al would never understand. If he ever started going steady, he wouldn’t forgive a single stray ogle. Luckily Ivan didn’t seem like the type to cheat, since it had taken him so long to even realize Al had been hitting on him from the first sentence he had said to him. It didn’t look like the guy had much of a sex drive. “And he better stay the hell away from my date, too!” “Your date? Weren’t you single just a few hours ago?” “I’m talking about that cop!�� Artie made a face, but Al couldn’t figure out what he had said wrong this time. “Al, you only met the guy yesterday, and now you’re bringing him to Canada for Christmas?” “No! I mean, I could, I think we really clicked and I’m of course awesome so he totally wouldn’t say no.” Another face, more concerned than exasperated this time. “Oh come on Artie, be a little more happy for me wontcha?” “I am, it’s just that – you’ve been hurt before, because you get so into it far too early.” Right, Tex. But this was different from Tex! Ivan was completely comfortable being with men! He wouldn’t pull the same “incompatible” stunt he had! Ivan and Al went so well together, they liked the same things, they understood each other, and talking was so easy between them. Talking with Tex had sometimes been like pulling teeth. “I’ll be fine! I’m a grown man! And it’s just for fun – I just meant I wouldn’t object to getting serious if he wants to.” “Well – good luck”, Artie muttered. “Thanks!”

The next morning Al woke up to a horrible smell drifting from the kitchen. Not the worst Artie had ever caused, but it still made his eyes water. The sentiment was nice, but Artie just didn’t get that his breakfast would be put to better use in torture chambers. They did the usual song and dance – Artie claiming his cooking was great and Al just didn’t understand the fine undertones of British cuisine, and Al dumping his portion in the garbage and frying a healthy dose of bacon. Then they went sightseeing, since this was Artie’s first time in this city – the last time he had been living in Waynesburg. He’d leave tomorrow while Al was at work, so they had to make the day nice, since they would next see each other on Christmas. Granted, they talked daily but it still felt important to part on friendly terms. The one time they hadn’t, Artie had cut all contact with Al for 5 years. It didn’t matter that it had been over a decade ago, that before and after they were thick as thieves. So the next morning Al let his cousin make breakfast, bravely swallowed one bite and washed it down with half a gallon of Coke, and finished with three sunny side ups. Artie insisted his “baked beans”, that is, a sad, dry heap of something bumpy, and black pudding were delicious and nutritious. That might have been the case with store-bought “pudding” that had no business being called pudding, if the ingredient’s weren’t so god damn gross to begin with. “It’s an acquired taste, that’s for sure”, Al muttered in response. How Artie was capable of swallowing his own hellish productions was a mystery for the ages. He was married to a master chef and still lived in a delusional world where his own cooking wouldn’t be censored in daytime TV. Al left the Brit to shovel his indescribable “consumables” alone, and 15 minutes later arrived at the station. “Morning, guys!” “Morning”, greeted a chorus. A slow night, then, if so many were at the station. José made space for Al at the table and they went over the incidents of the last shift. A couple car crashes, two kitchen fires, one false alarm. Such a big city and so few incidents, that couldn’t last. Today would have to be busy. Stu dug out the playing cards after the last shift went home. They were starting the second round of poker when duty called the first time – a false alarm from an old folks’ home, something had spilled on the stove and triggered the alarm. One of the nurses made eyes at Stu, who never wasted a chance to flirt with a pretty face. “Way to keep it professional, Stu”, Jack sighed back in the truck. Jack was a forty-year old virgin. Word on the street was he’d never had a single girlfriend, or boyfriend, and that was why he was so frustrated. He spent most of his free time exercising and fishing. “I just made her day”, Stu argued proudly. He never went beyond flirting, as far as Al knew – the man worshiped his wife. His phone memory was 90% pictures of her. That reminded Al - should he have called Ivan yesterday? Al knew he wouldn’t mind being contacted the next morning, but Artie did keep telling him he was the most socially clueless bloke in the world, so maybe he shouldn’t trust his own judgment? Why hadn’t he asked Artie yesterday? The old man might not have been in the game for a decade, but he had to still have some memories from his single days! “Hey Jack, suppose you gave your number to a girl. Wouldja think she was desperate if she called you the next day?” Jack sighed exasperatedly, like he always did when Al asked him for relationship advice. “I don’t know. I never know anything you ask! Think whatever you think.” “I just wanna make sure! ‘Cause I don’t wanna drive away a good guy by being creepy.” “You’ll drive him away by being obnoxious”, Jack snapped. “Can we please concentrate on work instead of your sex life?” “I’d rather not think about all the dick my coworker is sucking, either”, Stu commented from behind the wheel. Had it been anyone else, Al would have punched them. Stu was chill, he just had a crass sense of humor and no brain-to-mouth filter. “Honestly though, wait until next evening but not longer. You’ll want to seem interested.” Shit, so was it already too late?! A day and a half had already passed! And the station was still ten minutes away! Had he already screwed up his chance? Jeez, stay cool, man! Ivan was totally into him, if anything he’d be overjoyed Al had remembered him! Yeah, that sounded much better. Al could salvage this. Right when they got to the station he’d call. Riiiiight… nnnnnnnnnoooooooooow! “I need to make a call!” he yelled and sprinted for the relative peace of the locker room.

~¨:.:¨~

Ivan was in no mood for solicitors right now. Staring at files and security footage for hours on end was soul-sucking work enough without some young hopeful desperately begging him to buy just this one amazing supplement that comes free with this subscription of these seven home improvement magazines only for 19.99 per month! Ivan never had problems hanging up on them immediately but that didn’t take away the reminder of outside life. For now, the only place that was supposed to exist was this sleazy alley with dismal lighting where one frame in a week’s worth might or might not reveal that Richard Boyarin had walked by it at some point during his vacation. Incredibly important work. Ivan frowned at the screen. It was a number he didn’t have saved on his phone. That was no news, he had a total of eight numbers in there. Two were his sisters’, one his boss’, one his partner’s, one for the station front desk, three for delivery food. He suddenly had the irrationally hopeful thought that it might be Alfred. Absurd as the notion was, it was tempting. And Toris clearly wanted him to silence the ringing, so why not try his luck? Anything would be better than trying to distinguish the black pixels from the other, slightly less black pixels. Fully prepared to be disappointed, Ivan answered as harshly as he could. “Alyo?” ”Hey Vanya, it’s Alfred!” Thoroughly shocked, but altogether pleased, Ivan felt an unexpectedly honest smile forming on his face, and casually insulted Alfred’s pronunciation. “Oh screw you, I did fine. You free tomorrow night?” Alfred’s nasal voice asked, completely carefree and smiling widely. Typical American, but at least Alfred’s smile wasn’t deceitful. He smiled because he was happy, not because he needed a good tip to pay his bills. Ivan was free, and had the feeling he would even make himself free if he hadn’t been. But the idiot didn’t need to know that, his ego was bloated enough already. “Hmm…” Pausing as if to check his calendar, Ivan lifted a finger to his lips at the nervously disapproving Toris. There was never any evidence in the Baton killer’s cases anyway. Of course not a single hair, spit drop or footprint had been found in this one either, which was the whole reason they had been forced to turn to these good as useless security tapes. The only thing ever found were the bodies, and that they had already analyzed to Hell and back, and of course it had revealed nothing new. Why pour over the same old evidence, hour after countless hour without any breaks? There would be a new victim, perhaps soon, even, there had been a long break between the last two. Then they could actually work. “Yes, I have a few hours after seven.” It wouldn’t do to look too eager. Ivan Braginski did not chase after men. “Great! Wanna go out? Rocker’s has a party celebrating the owner’s daughter’s birthday so they’ll have free booze! See you there at eight!” It better not be punch. “I suppose. What’s the address?” “It’s right next to orthodox church, you’ll find it!” If he found the church. Ivan rarely paid attention to places of worship, and then only to avoid them. Well, he would just Google the place later. Couldn’t be too many Orthodox churches in a city like this. He wondered if Alfred suggested the place because he thought Ivan had an inclination towards the Eastern church. “And hey, you never showed me your badge”, Alfred whined. An adult man, so fixated on badges, how cute. “You didn’t ask.” “Well show it to me tomorrow! You’ll love it”, Alfred said, wiggling his eyebrows so hard they almost rode the electronic waves to Ivan’s desk. He truly did like cops. Alfred was delightfully childish in a way that was funny for a few hours, but no one could take for more than a day at a time. One could only imagine how he had been as an actual child. Ten times as bad, or exactly the same? Maybe some boys never did grow up, as they say. “Only If you promise to stop whining.” “I promise nothing! Come onnnn, I’ll show ya my hose…” Again the eyebrows wiggled and Ivan almost snickered. Such a strange person. How old was he? He had looked a bit younger than Ivan, so maybe thirty or late twenties? A good age, young enough to enjoy fun but not young enough go overboard, old enough to understand life but not old enough to be weary of it. “Well in that case. Will you show me how it works?” “Oh, I’ll show you all right, and let you try…” This time Ivan did snort. “Tone down the eyebrows and I might take up your offer”, he chuckled, making Toris tilt his head in confusion. It couldn’t be that odd to hear Ivan laugh, could it? Surely he had done it in his partner’s presence before. “Eyebrows?” Alfred asked and the eyebrows stopped wiggling. He must have done it instinctively so he didn’t even pick up on it. Ivan wouldn’t be surprised – Alfred hardly seemed the perceptive type. The only things he could think about were probably sex, cheetos and beer. “You want me to pluck ‘em? They’re kinda thin already…” “Nevermind. Just make sure to impress me and you’ll get something good in return”, Ivan smirked, whirling around on his office chair. “Ivan –“ Toris attempted, but a quick hushing from Ivan silenced him and made him go back to studying the badly pixellated security footage. “Oh, do you have company?” “Just my partner. We’re going through some evidence.” Thank you, Toris. Live a little, nerd. “Jeez, you should have said you were at work. Tell me all about it later! Seven at Rocker’s! Bye!” “Bye.” With a heavy sigh Ivan put his phone back in his pocket. Security footage was easily the most mind-numbing part of police work, even worse than paper work, and in homicide investigation it contrasted so badly with the actual interesting part it felt ten times more tedious than in any other department. “Toris, you wouldn’t mind getting me a coffee?” Toris silently nodded and scurried off. The diminutive Lithuanian was an interesting mix of courage and nerves: on the job he wouldn’t flinch even when a gun was pointed at him, but whenever he was alone with his partner, he became a fidgety mess. Brilliant man, great at his job, but very meek. He had joined the force three years before Ivan, and was also that same three years older. They had been partnered seven months ago, after Ivan’s then-partner had been crippled on duty when they had been chasing a suspect. Tragic story, really. She would have survived the car crash with minor injuries, had a freak malfunction not made her gun fire inside the car and lodge the bullet in her spine. One of the finest of the force, she had been. Dedicated, smart.

You might have noticed that Ivan goes back and forth with Alfred and Jones – that’s on purpose. He uses Jones whenever he wants to maintain some distance, and Alfred when he forgets to despise all of humanity. Oh Ivan, you’re not nearly as misanthropic as you tell yourself!

Dobroye utro(Дoбрoе утрo): Good morning Alyo( Алё): Hello

Chapter name comes from Ship of Fools by World party. I should probably mention that the song lyrics have nothing to do with the chapter contents, I choose them purely by title. Also the symbolism mostly only makes sense to me:D Don’t mind if you don’t get what I’m going for.

#hereandthere #fan fiction #hetalia #russiaXamerica #AmeRus #RusAme #linssifanfiction #wiptale

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