#putting aside everything else to truly listen and concentrate your loved ones

[baepsaetan]

Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) - Jungkook

Summary: You miss him so much, but it seems like getting to spend time with Jungkook is going to take a Christmas miracle.

Ao3 Link: here 

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader, side Namgi

Length: 17.6k

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Warnings: Suspicions of cheating, misunderstandings, panic attack, suggestive content, swearing

A/N: Oooof I am finally done my Secret Santa fic for @thebtswritersclub​ and only - *checks calendar* - too late. So sorry this is so late @jjeongukkie​! It got so much longer than I had planned, and while I had a lot of fun writing it, I did not plan it quite well enough to finish in a timely fashion. Still, I hope you’re able to enjoy a last blast of Christmas vibes and fluff and angst as you slide into 2021! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you have an awesome new year! 

I always appreciate all likes, reblogs and comments! If you enjoy reading this, send me an ask! Happy belated New Year to everyone! 

---

“You’re not coming home now?”

Even as you say it, you’re vaguely surprised you manage to get the words out. Your lips are numb with shock and disappointment, and Jungkook’s wince on the screen of your phone just makes the feeling even more jarring. More painful.

“I’m sorry,” he says, half pleading and half desperate. “It’s just, this project is so important, and we need to have it ready for rollout…”

Throat tight, the fingers of your free hand pushing into your thigh, you adjust the phone with your other before saying thickly, “You said it would be a few hours in the morning, Jungkook. It’s – it’s Christmas."

"I know, I know, I just..."

He’s still speaking, quick and anxious words about necessity and pressure, and while you’re listening, you’re thinking about the cute lingerie sitting next to you on the bed. You'd been planning a little gift for him when he got home, and when he'd surprised you with a Facetime request, you'd pulled them out of the drawer, thinking it might be a fun little tease to give him a flash of the red and black set. Now, though...

"Hey, Y/N, I'm sorry. Really." Biting at his lip, Jungkook somehow manages to look a bit pitiful, even with the dress shirt he's wearing, ironed to sharp definition. The collar of the black shirt is open, sans a tie – he’d mentioned this morning no one cared about perfect business attire while working over Christmas – and the bare curve of his collarbone just adds to the disjointed clash of his clean outfit compared to his dejected expression.

The look has your throat closing even more, and you try to force a smile. You're well aware of how stressful the new position has been for your long time boyfriend, seen the casualties of the job; late night arrivals at the apartment, distracted eyes while making and eating dinner, forehead creased with frustration every time his phone vibrates, fatigue that throws him into sleep before you and he have really even had any time to talk together. He's also been hitting the gym almost religiously lately, another outlet for stress, and while you love Jungkook's enthusiasm for staying active, two sessions a day, every day, is excessive for him. It also eats into what little opportunity is left for you two to spend time with each other.

But he's doing his best. You know that. You're sure of it. And he promised it would get better, soon.

Soon. So, you swallow the disappointment, and the thing that’s more dangerous, simmering below it and too perilously close to anger. You hitch on a smile, and hope it doesn't look quite as forced as it feels. "I get it, Kookie. I'm just sorry you have to work for so long. Will you be back in time for dinner?"

He hesitates, teeth still sawing into his lower lip as he jiggles his head indecisively and the camera frame shifts a bit. "I'm not sure but – probably?" Your expression must sink just as much as your stomach does, despite your best efforts, because Jungkook immediately grimaces, his hands making desperate little waves of abortive denial. "I mean, I will. For sure. I'll be home, okay?"

When he flashes a thumbs up, deliberately and extravagantly enthusiastic, you can't help but smile, just a tentative lift of your lips. "Just – I love you, Kookie. I hope we get to spend some of Christmas together."

"We will! Promise." Both hands are up now, clenched into eager fists under his chin, and he really couldn't look more earnest if he tried.

The smile comes a bit easier now, and you nod, feeling some of that enthusiasm reaching through the screen. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, you try to redirect the conversation, too painfully aware that sulking isn't going to help at all. "Have you eaten lunch yet? Don't miss it just for your stupid boss!"

His grin is a small, toothy thing. "Nah, I haven't. I –"

"Jungkook!"

"I was saving room for when I got home!"

"Hah! You think there's going to be food on the table for you?" This bickering is so much easier than anything else that you might say, and you fall into it with something like relief.

His eyebrows fall, nose scrunching dramatically. "On the table? Y/N, that's so unsanitary."

"So unsanitary...?"

At your puzzled look, the grossed out expression whirls away, replaced with a smirk that's so abruptly suggestive that you find your breath catching. The way his voice drops, becoming a low hum, just concentrates the effect. "I was saving room for you, of course. But I'm not gonna eat you out on the table, baby."

You huff in scornful incredulity, but it can't take back the fact that you almost choked a second ago. It also doesn't really hide the way your cheeks have heated up into a patchy red, and besides, Jungkook knows you too well. If anything, his smirk just gets even sharper, and he adds playfully, "Unless you have it on your wish list. Then I might consider it."

Fucking around with Jungkook on any surface is absolutely on your wish list, but you're too proud and currently too annoyed to tell him that. "With my luck, it would break trying to hold up your inflated ego."

"My inflated muscles, you mean," he says, and flexes. Which is just so obnoxious, and also the long sleeve hides his arms too well to be truly impressive.

"Do that again when you get home," you order imperiously, and immediately he bows his head.

"You got it, boss," he agrees, and it's that easy, sudden switch, that flexibility, that's at least part of the reason you love him so much. Jungkook is what you need him to be; he's always been comfortable with that role, and your flighty ass needs him in so many different ways. He's never failed you in that respect. Well – not much. You need him with you right now, after all.

Want, you remind yourself sternly. You want him, that's all.

Abruptly he stiffens, turns slightly. You hear someone speaking off camera, high and strained, and Jungkook replies in a confident voice, talking about something you don't have enough information on to fully understand. They have a short conversation before Jungkook says, "I'll be over in a moment, okay?"

Then he's turning back to you, the by now familiar crease back between his eyes. "I've got to go now, Y/N. I'll get out of here as quickly as I can, okay?"

"Okay. Love you, Kookie. And try to eat something."

He nods, curter now, already turning away from the camera. "See you soon."

And you're left with a call ended screen and no reciprocal "love you". The flicker of warmth that had been blooming in your stomach wilts until there's nothing but a cold tightness left. For a few minutes you scroll aimlessly through your apps and messages, fingers restless for something the phone can't give. There are too many Merry Christmas posts, too many pics of friends and family having a good time together with gifts and food, and it grows the hurt in your gut. You and Jungkook had decided not to travel to any of your families' gatherings, to save some money this year after a big and expensive move, but that had been with the assumption that you would be able to take comfort in each other. Now...

Before too long, you give up, toss the phone aside. It lands next to the lingerie, and for the time being you leave them both alone, suddenly anxious to get away from the remote device and the painful reminder both. Your apartment isn't large, and it only takes you a few steps to leave the bedroom and head to the kitchen. You spend several moments milling around there, but you've already prepped everything for dinner tonight; the only thing left to do is the dishes from this morning's simple breakfast, eaten long after Jungkook had already bolted his and left. You clean them with desultory effort, trying not to remember that you and your boyfriend had planned to make something fancy together. The restless feeling doesn't leave with the dishes done, and you check, doublecheck and triplecheck everything before you're even halfway to feeling like this part of the apartment might not need anything else.

The living room, attached to the kitchen, has been decorated with reckless abandon. You've got at least an ounce of beauty aesthetic in your bones, and so does Jungkook, but for some reason when put together it equals a pound of ugly. The tinsel – red, gold, silver, and green – is flung about the room over pretty much any surface that will support it, along with red and green lights. The Christmas decorations are a hideous mash up of whatever you and Kookie have scrounged together from your families or garage sales or cheap outlet malls, plus a few modest clay additions of your own making. Several of the larger succulents and other plants are bowed morosely under the weight of ambitious ornaments, and the cactus on the windowsill looks positively garish with a star perched jauntily on its crown.

And you love it all so much.

Remembering the absolutely wild hour or so that you and Jungkook spent together decorating the apartment – such a rare and precious moment, since you moved here – makes your eyes start prickling with unbidden tears. Jungkook's staggering workload hadn't been so bad, while you were working; acting as a long distance design consultant for a large collection of homegrown companies tended to keep you busy, and you hadn't noticed his absence in a way that demanded you address it. Now, though, with Christmas an enforced break, since none of your suppliers or other contacts will reply to emails, your loneliness curls itself up in your chest, all barbs and agitation. You’re beginning to suspect that maybe the long absences have hurt you more than you thought.

One of your projects is on the coffee table, the spread of files and print outs of possible designs covering the worn surface. You've always preferred working with physical copies for the initial stages, moving to a tablet for more detailed work. You fling yourself onto the couch, telling yourself you might as well do something productive and hoping it might provide a distraction. That lasts for about half an hour, but it's a constant fight to keep your thoughts on the papers in front of you. The unhappiness is curdling your concentration, and more and more you're aware of a simmering resentment, sharp and insistent under your sadness.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. There'd been so little conflict about moving when Jungkook got the job offer. You were already working remotely, and while the pay increase at Jungkook's new company wasn't that much, it was the promise of what could come that made it nearly impossible to turn down. Saying goodbye to your family hadn't been an issue; you were already living in a different city than them, settled there after university. It had been harder for your boyfriend, but not impossible, and despite both of you leaving friends behind, you'd left with excitement. Hope. The future opening up before you two, together.

With a sigh, you shove the papers away. Leave the living room and take shelter on your bed. Send and reply to some Christmas messages. Make a face at the snap Jin sends you, a little blurry, his flushed cheeks matching the red reindeer antler headband he's wearing. He's holding the gifts you sent several weeks ago, an adorable pair of windup salt and pepper shakers shaped like teddy bears that can walk across the table, along with a few duck-shaped strainers. The caption makes you snort. I'm bearly making it without you, sis. I'm like a duck out of water. The next snap is clearer, of him and his two roommates, Jimin and Hoseok, all making heart signs. Thanks for the gifts! Hope you have a Merry Christmas!

He's in the same city as your parents, and you know he spent yesterday with them. Looks like he's having a great time with his roommates, too. Before the affection can sour, you save the photo and put your phone down again.

Kitchen, living room, bedroom. A discontented circuit you don't know how to break yourself out of. It feels so dumb to be making yourself even more miserable like this. You should phone one of the few friends who aren't with their families, or maybe your parents – hell, you could even phone Jin, he and his roommates would be sure to talk with you for an hour or two. But the thought of admitting you're alone, Jungkook having chosen work over spending the holiday with you, has your shame rising to scalding levels. The mere prospect of hearing and seeing everyone happy while you’re alone is another hurt, one that makes you curl up more tightly on the bed, clutching his pillow to your chest like it could fill up the hollowness settled in your lungs. Just like all of the sheets, it has his scent, light and flowery and soft, and it inspires an aching, cloying feeling that isn't really close enough to comfort, but you hold it tighter anyways.

The day drags on like that, swamps of self-pity drained by bursts of frantic activity. You clean up a bit more, work on a project, watch some TV. And then the rush of drowning loneliness fills up your lungs again and you're reduced to more aimless pining.

By three, with no texts from Jungkook and the need to start cooking soon looming large on the horizon, you send him a message. Hey. Gonna be home soon?

About half an hour later, you add a ? that still gets no immediate reply, and agitated tension has you wondering if you should call him. But what if you interrupt something? Get him in trouble? Worrying the thoughts ragged in your head, you resolve to give it just a little more time. Hell, for all you know, maybe he’s on his way home now.

At around four, your phone starts vibrating. Not a Facetime request, this time, but the name that pops up is welcome all the same. You answer almost breathlessly. "Hey Kookie!"

"Hey Y/N."

Right away you know this isn't the kind of phone call you were hoping for. Jungkook's voice is gravelly and tired, more like a bruise than a sound. Your shoulders slump, and you can't find it in yourself to say anything.

Your boyfriend tentatively breaks the silence a moment later. "Y/N, I'm sorry. Things are spilling over and I'm not going to be able to leave for awhile longer."

"..."

"Y/N? Are you -"

"How much longer?"

You can practically hear the wince. "I'm not sure yet."

"Jungkook..." But once again, the words catch in your throat, trapped by just how ungrateful and immature you feel.

"Look, Y/N, I was thinking. Maybe, if I come home too late, we can move dinner to tomorrow? I'm definitely going to be home all day, so we can have a nice breakfast and dinner and maybe open our presents and..." There's nothing in the quiet between you two. Certainly not your agreement. "I know I messed up and that this isn't fair to you, Y/N, and I'm sorry. Maybe – couldn't we just... reset? Start Christmas for real tomorrow?"

"Reset?" you repeat. "Like – what, like one of your video games?" The swampy depression is bubbling now, surging with the outrage that's been building all day.

"No, that's not -"

"We can't just reset, Jungkook. This isn't a level you get to just do over!"

"I know that, that isn't what I meant, you're -"

"I've been waiting here all day, Jungkook! By myself! Just waiting here for you! Do you get how bad that makes me feel?"

Jungkook sounds choked when he replies, though it's hard to tell if it's from guilt or anger. "I know I've made you wait, and I'm sorry. But the project -"

"I don't care about the fucking project! You should have told them to fuck off when they asked you to work!" You're full on shouting now, eyes stinging with tears, the sound tearing from your throat. "This has been the worst Christmas I've ever had, and you just want me to forget about it?"

His voice doesn't get louder. If anything, it gets quieter, smaller, coiling in on itself into a tight mass. "Do you think I'm having a good time? I've been working since 8:00 on Christmas day! It's not like I asked to come in, and they barely gave me a choice! I'm the junior here, do you think they would have been okay with me shrugging today off?"

"Today? Today?" Your laugh sounds too cruel, even to your own ears. "It hasn't just been today, Jungkook! This is just – more of the same! More ditching me – ditching us – for work. For some stupid reason I thought that you might consider Christmas an important enough day to knock it off for just one fucking second. But I guess not."

"I'm doing this for us! For – I told you how much work it was going to be! I thought you'd be okay with it!"

"And I thought there might be a tiny little exception made for Christmas. I guess we were both wrong!" you spit furiously.

There's a pause, heavy with the sound of both of your staggered breathing. You're too angry to regret what you've said – or at least, to acknowledge how much you regret it – and the bewildered hurt is travelling straight to your head, leaving you dazed and disconnected. Could Jungkook really have thought you were okay with what's been happening? Okay with being left alone for what feels like months now? How can you be listening to his tense exhales and still not understand the person on the other end of this call?

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Too polite, too gentle by far. Where the hell did he get off sounding like that? You know that's Jungkook – that he's far more likely to shutdown during an argument, to close off – but it leaves you clashing against air. No opposing force to clamp down on your own anger.

Heaving in a sharp exhale, shaking your head even though he can't see it, you say, "Do what you want, Jungkook. I'm not making the dinner if you're not leaving right now."

"Y/N..."

"Merry Christmas." You hang up.

It feels horrible. The phone is a dead weight in your hand, the anger an even heavier weight in your heart. You make a fractured noise, a frustrated scream that quickly trails into a barely checked sob. If you felt bad before talking to Jungkook, it's nothing compared to the mix of self-recriminations and resentment assaulting you now. He was just - why did he have to - why couldn't he -

Why did I have to say that to him?

You know Jungkook. How hard working he is, how dedicated, how keenly he wants to do well in front of and for others. He isn't working late because he doesn't want to see you; you're sure of that. It's just an inability to say no to his superiors. And... and you really haven't told him how unhappy you are with how often he's away.

But still. Couldn't he figure it out? Did you need to spell out your misery for him to get it? Is that really what your relationship amounts to?

Another aggravated exhale parts your lips, and you start pacing faster, needing the release. The next few hours stretch in front of you with wretched promise. What do you do now? Just wait by yourself until he gets home? Have to see his ashamed, hurt, averted eyes, the way he would creep into the apartment with a shield set between you and him? And then what? Go to bed with that block between you two, wake up and somehow try to pretend it doesn't exist tomorrow?

The tears flow down your cheeks despite your hands’ furious attempts to press them away and there's no way to stop them once they've begun. You cry, the way people often cry when they’re lonely, like silence is their only companion and they're afraid of scaring even that friend away. Quietly, then, no longer trying to hold the tears back but unable to give voice to the magnitude of your pain, either. The wet, soft sobbing quickly sends you back to bed, where you curl up once again, struggling for some kind of self-control.

God, you just miss him so much. Not today, not now, not – it's a void of the little things. The snicker when you berate him for being messy. His warm, gentle hands on your neck after a day hunched over a project, massaging out the pain. A little giggle as you watch a Ghibli film together. The shoving matches when you're out shopping and competing for who can get the most stuff on the list. The quick kisses and the slow kisses and the deep, hungry kisses that always lead to you waking up in his arms the next day, far later into the morning than usual.

You miss him so much, and you just pushed him away even more.

With a muffled sob you push your face further into the pillow, hating how pitiful this is, how much you're struggling to get your emotions under control. This is so – it's ridiculous, that's what it is. Childish. It's not as if you've lost Jungkook forever, and you haven't lost all of the things you love about him, either. It's not like you never goof off anymore, or cuddle, or talk. It's just – it's just that everything has been so much more frantic, hurried, and stressful since the move. It seems like there's never a moment where you can just sit together and love each other and think of nothing else.

The anger, remorse and dejection feed off each other, first growing and prolonging the wrenching feeling choking your throat, and you cry until time doesn’t mean much anymore. The grief is so horribly thick it’s like you can’t even breathe through it, let alone do anything but lie in bed. It goes on and on and – and then exhaustion overtakes your convulsive crying. Eventually, without ever actually being filled, the hollow ache contracts into a hard pit, the tears all forced out. Nothing else, though. The guilt and resentment and sadness are still there, dulled to a grey, insubstantial mass.

But at least you can think a bit. Listlessly, with all the colours drained out of it, but you can do more than sob. Wiping at your clogged nose and tear-streaked face, you find you can actually breathe, something of an improvement. You sit up, gently set the pillow back on Jungkook's side of the bed, giving the soft material one last swipe, trying to rid it of the wet evidence of your meltdown. No luck there, but it'll probably be dry before your boyfriend gets home.

If he gets home.

The bitterness of that thought is too tired to summon more tears from the hole in your heart or your head. You shake it away, more because you're just too drained to cling to the heavy emotion than because of some angelic impulse to forgive.

You know you have to do something. Anything. Literally anything will be better than just sitting here, waiting for Jungkook to come in, getting pricklier with each passing minute. With the Christmas dinner off the table, you suppose you could just pick up something to eat. Fast-food or something... have it ready for him to heat up when he was done work... like you're some trophy girlfriend.

Once again you need to stop yourself, biting back the wave of resentment. God, this isn't doing you any good, and it's so, so unfair to Jungkook. Yeah, maybe he shouldn't have agreed to work on Christmas. Maybe he should have been more sensitive to how far you've been drifting apart because of his long work hours. But at the same time, yelling at him over the phone wasn't the answer, either. He's probably having as bad of a time as you are, and with no private room to cry in, either. He'll be totally repressing the argument now, shoving it into a locker and subconsciously telling himself he's to blame, that he's a horrible boyfriend. Trying to listen to his coworkers and do his work with those harsh criticisms running low and dark through his head. That's how Jungkook is. He takes everything onto himself, especially if you give it to him.

Running your hands through your hair at the thought, pity clenching your chest, you abruptly get up. You and Jungkook definitely need to talk, and soon. But – but there's no reason to close out this shitty day with an even more horrible evening of strained silence and brittle rebuttals. Neither of you are particularly good at apologizing, even though you're both great at feeling guilty. You just don't have the words for it. So, unless you do something – make some gesture – this is just going to stretch into an awful, prolonged fight that isn't a fight at all, both of you retreating from each other.

It's unbearable. You can't stand it. So… you're going to do something about it.

Resolved, as resolved as you can be, you change out of your PJs. The weather's been quite warm, with no snow to speak of, so it's not like you need to bundle up much. After a moment of hesitation, you choose to snag the ugly Christmas sweater. It's got a comically drawn pink bunny on the front, absurdly muscular, with a red Santa hat settled firmly between its ears, and a myriad of red and green patterns crammed into the background. It was the rabbit's expression and the accompanying phrase that had got Jungkook to laughing until he was doubled over when he'd seen it at the mall last year. A challenging, almost intimidating grin is plastered on the rabbit's face, with the words This Bun Don't Want None in cheerfully bedazzled white underneath. Your boyfriend had quite literally begged to get two and wear them to the upcoming Christmas party, and he'd been too imploring for you to say no.

Slipping it on, with the accompanying memory of his hysterical amusement, crinkled nose, and bunny grin every time he caught a glimpse of you at the party, is the closest you've felt to peace in the last few hours.

You throw on some dark jeans and apply your makeup with a thoroughness that's a little much, given that you're not going anywhere for long. You don't care; it feels good to dim the red-rimmed eyes and splotchy cheeks your breakdown has gifted you, to cover it over with something prettier. Finishing with the last of the mascara, you grab your transit pass and head out, closing the door behind you with a finality that could almost be a goodbye.

The air outside is cool, a relief compared to the stuffy apartment, at least for now. You inhale deeply, the mild cold burning your sinuses and clearing your clogged head a bit. In a while, you might regret not having a warmer layer on, but for now it’s a relief to begin to walk, to stretch both your legs and your mind from the cramped defensiveness the apartment had been inspiring. This is – this is a good idea. You’re positive about it now, and can feel your shoulders loosening, steps becoming brisker.

If Jungkook can’t come to you – well, you’ll just go to him. At least for now.

Your building isn't too far from Jungkook's work; you only have a short train ride and a shorter bus ahead of you, according to your phone. You’ve been to his work three times before, but always in your shared car, and you walk with eyes fixed on your screen, calculating the time schedules. Part of you wants to text him, send a little olive branch to smooth the way and let him know you’re coming, but a larger part longs for something romantic and cute to happen today. Fast-food might not quite cut it, but surely a surprise visit might? You won’t stay long, won’t interrupt his work, but just to see his face, confused and then quietly grateful and loudly gleeful when he realizes why you’ve come –

It seems like that shouldn’t be too much to ask.

The trip flies by; you're too anxious in your own head to notice much outside of it, and besides, there aren't many people out and about today. Probably busy celebrating with their families.

You bite your lip at the thought, and violently yank your attention away.

At this rate, you should sign up for a game of Olympic tag. Surely nothing can run as agilely as you've been doing, avoiding every uncomfortable idea.

Jungkook's work is downtown, and there are tons of fast-food options nearby. You pick a smaller chain, KTown Fried Chicken, that both you and Jungkook enjoy. It's hard to convince yourself the cashier isn't judging you at least a little bit for your weird presence on Christmas night. Or maybe she's just eyeing the sweater. That’s another possibility.

With only one other person in line, the food comes quickly, and then you're on your way. Somewhere between stepping off the bus and smiling awkwardly at the girl behind the counter, it occurred to you that you didn't know when Jungkook was actually leaving work. He obviously didn't pack up right away after your argument – he would have made it home before you left – but that doesn't mean he isn't going to be heading home some time soon.

What if you show up and he's not there? What if he shows up and you're not there? What would he think? It is entirely too much to ask your wrung out brain to decide if it would be hilarious, infuriating, or some kind of karmic justice, but you do know that you'd rather just catch him at work with this peace offering. Much simpler that way, so you hurry your steps, snugging your sweater a little tighter around your frame as you do so.

You make it to the imposing office building of Projeck at around six, which is, as it happens, when two of Jungkook’s coworkers are leaving the building. Jungkook talks about them quite a bit – actually, gushes might be a better word – and you’d met them at the office Christmas party a couple of weeks ago. Namjoon, a tall, elegant man with blonde hair currently dressed in a black turtleneck, is one of the lead game designers, and he holds the door open for Yoongi, an audio engineer. The older of the two, in an oversized, comfy hoodie markedly at odds with his companion’s attire, slouches through with a tired smile of thanks.

Both had made a good impression on you at the party (it helped that they were obviously fond of Jungkook and appreciative of his talents) and you’re a little relieved to see them. Solved the awkwardness of trying to get into the building without letting Jungkook know you were here. Both pause at the sight of you, confusion creasing their features, before a grin flashes across Namjoon’s face.

“Hey, Y/N! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” offers Yoongi as well, shoving his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he’s wearing. His eyes are on your chest, a little furrow across his brow, and it takes you a second to realize it’s the bunny again. After a moment his lips quirk, quiet amusement in the expression, and it makes it easier for you to reply brightly.

“Hey Namjoon, Yoongi. Merry Christmas! Are you heading home?” The prospect makes you a little excited. If they’re leaving, surely Jungkook won’t be far behind?

“Yup,” Namjoon agrees easily. His head tilts a little, scouring over you quizzically, before his gaze finds the bag in your hand. “Are you bringing something for Kookie?”

“Yeah… He, uh, was working so late I thought it might be nice to surprise him with some food.” You say it more like a confession, shoulders tight with the knowledge that this is making you sound way better than you actually are.

Namjoon whistles, eyes widening. “Wow, that’s really nice of you.”

“I mean, I haven’t done much today so –”

“He’s not here.” Yoongi states it so bluntly that it takes you a second to process what he said.

“…not here?” you ask, dismayed.

“Nah.” As your stunned eyes fall on him, giving him your full attention, he shrugs uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. He left like… twenty minutes ago?”

“He did?” Namjoon demands, and Yoongi just shrugs again.

Clutching at the paper bag that suddenly feels pathetic and cheap, a stupid idea, you say weakly, “Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, and both of the men’s expressions are soft with a sympathy that doesn’t make you feel any less stupid. “I guess… I’ll go home, then.”

Shifting again, a movement that has him brushing briefly against Namjoon, Yoongi trails a hand up to his ear. “Uh, I don’t think he was going home? Or at least, not right away?”

"What do you mean?" Maybe he'd mentioned he was stopping to pick up dinner, too? Maybe the fast-food you're lugging around is even more useless than you'd thought? Why hadn't you texted him? Why hadn't you -

"He was asking me about the fastest way to get to, uh, the Golden Closet Gallery. I think he was dropping by there first."

"Did - did he say why?"

"Meeting someone? Maybe? I dunno, he's been quiet almost all day, and he rushed away pretty quick."

You stare at him, tired and confused and more than a little guilty at the mention of Jungkook’s withdrawn state. What are you supposed to make of all this? You know about the Golden Closet Gallery – of course you do. You and he went a couple times, early on after your move here, both of you taking a lot of enjoyment from the art displays. But – it couldn't be open now, could it? And even if it were, why would he be going? Who could he possibly be meeting? Was he trying to take a late tour to calm down? Something else entirely? And – it didn't even matter. It wasn't as though you could reach him in a timely manner.

You were just going to have to go back home, and – you weren’t sure. Certainly not eat. The thought of trying to swallow any food right now, with your stomach tearing itself into pieces of shivering disappointment, is too much. Maybe Jungkook would already be at the apartment by the time you got there. Maybe you two could just – sit together. Just be together.

You’re not sure what’s sadder; how much happiness that simple picture gives you, or how sad you are that it makes you happy.

Trying to straighten your crumpled expression, you smile. "Well – thank you for letting me know. Guess I get all of this for myself." Your laugh as you heft the fast-food bag is a small and lost thing. "Sorry to keep you guys. I hope you have a good night!"

You've just begun to turn away, aching to end the conversation before you start bawling in front of these two men, when Namjoon clears his throat, his gaze shifting to Yoongi for a moment. The other man jerks a shoulder, bobs his head, and Namjoon looks back at you. You shuffle a little, desperate to be away but not wanting to be rude to two of the few people at this company who actually seem to be lessening Jungkook's stress.

"Did you take the bus to get here? We could give you a ride if you wanted."

Your throat tightens, and you're already shaking your head before you've even thoroughly processed the offer. "No, thanks, I don't want to take you out of your way."

"Well, if you wanted to drop by the Gallery and see if Kookie is there, it wouldn't be out of our way at all. We live pretty close by." Yoongi nods in agreement, his round face scrunching reassuringly with something that's not – quite – a smile.

When you waver, Namjoon says with studied nonchalance, "Even if he's not there, Yoongi and I don't have any plans for tonight. We don't mind dropping you off."

Still, the thought of inconveniencing them because of your stupid planning – not to mention that you don't know them that well – makes awkward turmoil roil in your stomach. Reading your reluctant expression and apparently hesitant to press you, Namjoon relents. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“Y/N. Come on. We’ll save you a lot of time, and I’m sure Jungkookie would be mad if we didn’t give you the ride. He already throws stuff at me when he thinks I’m not looking; I don’t want him to start chucking shit that actually hurts.” Yoongi’s eyebrow is lifted, an inviting gesture accompanied by a smile with just a hint of gums, and you can’t help but respond, a rueful chuckle that slips out at the picture his comment puts in your head.

Jungkook had mentioned there were a few people he liked to mess around with at work, but somehow it hadn’t crossed your mind that the quiet and slightly intimidating man would be one of his targets.

It decides you.

With a sharp dip of your head, you assent. "Okay, okay. Yeah, sure, and thank you guys. It means a lot to me, and, umm, if you need gas money or something..."

Namjoon throws back his head and utters a loud, barking laugh while Yoongi chuckles. "The company doesn't pay us enough, sure, but I think we can afford to cover this trip, Y/N. Besides, Jungkook's been working overtime so often, I feel like we practically owe you for stealing him so much."

That leaves a sour taste in your mouth that you're quick to swallow. Grinning weakly, you follow the two to their car, a compact grey Honda that's seen better days. Namjoon tries to insist you take shotgun next to Yoongi, but you're far too flustered at the thought of taking his spot and practically dive into the backseat. The first few minutes are a little strained, the fast-food bag on your lap rustling every time you move. Namjoon shuffles through a bunch of Christmas songs on his phone and Yoongi hums to them under his breath, seemingly unperturbed every time his companion switches mid-note.

Eventually, though, Namjoon finds a song he likes enough to leave on, and you find yourself drawn into a relaxed talk with them. Yoongi throws in a comment here and there, and together the two of them are so – easy. They add teasing remarks about each other without pausing for breath, Yoongi praises an arching plotline Namjoon had finished storyboarding today, and when a particularly loud Christmas jangle comes on, Namjoon's already changing it before Yoongi has time to huff in displeasure. You know they're roommates – more than that Jungkook hasn't said – and there's something uplifting about listening to their comfortable conversation.

They don't leave you out of it, either. You talk about your home city. You talk about how you met Jungkook in university, when you both arrived late to a morning Intro to Computer Animation course and were locked out of the classroom as a result. (You'd whispered furiously at each other about who should knock first until another hectic student had come charging up, bleary with sleep, and literally ran into the door when it failed to open. That had pretty much dissolved the tension between you two.) On a wave of laughter from that story, you tentatively ask how the job has been for Jungkook so far.

He's always so keen to hide his stress, so anxious not to talk about it and burden you. It seems like these two coworkers might be a good way to get a better picture, rather than the stitched together portrait you've gotten from the late nights and short, hesitant answers he gives you. At the thought, you pull out your phone to see if he’s sent you anything, but you have no texts.

The laughter dwindles, and you hear Yoongi rattling the spit in his mouth loudly enough to be heard over the music as he makes a lane change. In the other seat, Namjoon runs a hand through his blonde hair. Their silence immediately winds you up, and your hand, holding the phone, falls to the side. Had Jungkook not been telling you something? Was it worse than the late hours? Was –

"This isn't a great company," Yoongi states flatly, when it becomes obvious Namjoon is still groping for something more tactful to say. "They make you feel like you owe them your finger bones just because they pay a bit above average, and if those aren't showing from hitting the keyboards enough, you're some kind of failure."

"Yeah..." Namjoon sighs. "They tried that with me, but Yoongi's been there for several years, he's the best they've got in the audio department, and he made it clear that if I left, he would too. So they pulled back a little. Jungkook, though..."

"He doesn't say no. I've told him to – told him I'll throw in for him – but he's really afraid he's gonna get tossed. Can't blame him. People get fired too easily at Projeck." His voice is disinterested, but Yoongi makes another lane change, too abruptly this time, and that, plus his tight grip on the steering wheel, is a hint that he’s not quite as untouched as he sounds.

You press your back into the seat, trying to give yourself a semblance of a spine as your whole body threatens to fold. You'd had an inkling that Jungkook was maybe conceding too easily to upper management, but it sounds like he's having way more than a little pressure to work late put on him. This – actually this sounds toxic. Crippling. And Jungkook hadn't said anything about it.

And you barely asked.

Gnawing on your cheek, you lapse into silence, struggling for something to say.

Namjoon looks back, brows pulling together at whatever he sees on your face. "He's trying to get ahead of his workload, Y/N," he says gently. "I know after today he doesn't plan on going in until after New Years. He said he really wants to spend time with you."

"He was literally moping all over the office today," Yoongi adds. "Was surprised he didn't break his computer screen, he was sighing on it so much."

They're trying to make you feel better, reassure you that Jungkook had missed you and hated being separated on today of all days. They are accomplishing the exact opposite of what they intend, but that's not their fault. After all, they don't know what you'd said to Jungkook over the phone. Part of you wonders if they'd even have been willing to give you a ride if they did know. You're pretty sure you wouldn't have been if you were them.

You might also have tried to run yourself over on the way out of the parking lot, if you were them.

Before you can pull anything resembling words from the mire of rabid guilt curdling in your throat, the car pulls into the Gallery's small parking lot. It's almost surprising to find that there are two other vehicles already parked, and with the way the night is going, it's even more surprising that you recognize one of them as Jungkook's.

"He's here!" you cry out, relief and something heavier saturating your voice.

With a pleased exclamation, Namjoon gestures excitedly, smashing his hand into the roof of the car with a loud thud in the process.

"If you fucking dent my car..." Yoongi begins, but their mild bickering slips by you.

Your eyes are straining for some sign of Jungkook. The parking lot is empty of people, and the big sign above the building isn't lit up. However, it looks like there are some lights on in the Gallery, spilling out into the dimly lit lot, and as you fix your anxious gaze on the interior through the wide glass windows, you think you see the dim form of at least one person moving inside.

He’s here. You’re literally lightheaded with the joy of that certainty. This day has stretched out with excruciating discord, but now, everything is drawing tighter, shorter, focusing into a promise of reprieve. Finally, finally, something’s going right. The blissful expectation of getting to see Jungkook is almost enough for you to forget about everything else. For this moment, you think you’d forego everything Christmas – the gifts, the dinner, the decorations, everything – just to press your face against his chest and feel him holding you.

Hand on the door handle, you keep yourself from leaping out and dashing to the building only with difficulty. “Thank you so much for driving me. I almost can’t believe we caught him.”

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?” Namjoon replies. “Escaping from Projeck before eight was our miracle – looks like this gets to be yours.”

The three of you chuckle at that, and then you’re opening the door. “I’ll let Jungkook know you helped me. Maybe he’ll stop throwing things.”

“And maybe Santa exists,” Yoongi grumbles, but there’s no annoyance in his rasping voice. “’Sides, that’s not what I want from him. Tell him to think about what we’ve said, ‘kay?”

Assuming he means saying no to the boss more, you nod, emotional with how lucky both you and Jungkook are to have run into such kind people. ‘Thank you’ doesn’t really cover the gratitude their thoughtfulness has inspired in you, and on top of everything else you’ve been through today, it’s almost enough to set you to crying again.

Namjoon seems to sense you’re at a loss for words; at any rate, he fills in the space. “If things change for the better in the new year, we’ll see more of you, Y/N. In the meantime, take care! I hope you and Jungkook have a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!”

Your voice comes out husky with gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you. I – Hope you both have a Merry Christmas, too! And a Happy New Year!”

Then you’re out of the car, shutting the door carefully behind you, your jaw tight to keep back the ridiculous tears. Yoongi and Namjoon wave, you wave back, and then Yoongi pulls away, leaving you standing and waving in the parking lot until the car turns and is gone. You take a couple of deep breaths, a smile easing the urge to cry. The excitement hasn’t dimmed at all, and, clutching the fast-food bag tightly, you pivot towards the Gallery, little shivers of anticipation darting under your skin.    

You practically run to the doors, and nearly commit the same mistake that student had, years ago, when they don’t open at your touch. The thought of smacking into them and announcing your presence to Jungkook that way has a low laugh bubbling in your throat. Yanking yourself to a halt, you try pulling and pushing on the doors, to no avail; they’re locked. You give them one last jerk, just to be sure, but they remain stubbornly shut. It’s not enough of a deterrent to dampen your spirits, though you find yourself bouncing impatiently on the soles of your feet, unable to get rid of the fizzy energy coursing through your veins.

You’re okay to wait outside until Jungkook comes out – it’s still not that cold out, and how much longer could he really be? – but nonetheless you start heading to the right, circling around the building, peering into the windows on the off-chance you can catch sight of your boyfriend and get his attention. The lights are off in some of the areas, but a few are flooded in a soft glow, and you skim your eyes over all that you can see. The more you look, the more confused you are about why Jungkook would be here. There are no other customers that you can see, so clearly, it’s not some sort of special Christmas showing. You literally can’t think of another reason he might be here. And hadn’t Yoongi said he was meeting someone?

It’s a mystery you can’t solve yourself, and you keep up your roaming examination. Most of the building has glass walls, except for an area near the back, and you can see inside fairly easily, where the lights are on. The Gallery is pretty typical, all open spaces and white, dismantlable walls, the better to more starkly exhibit the art pieces scattered across the wooden floors. There are paintings and sculptures, a few more abstract works, little plaques beside most of them –

But no Jungkook.

Lips pursued, you make your way further around, until you’re on the other side of the building, ears keen for any sound of a door opening. Wouldn’t that just be typical? While you’re wandering around out here, he comes out and leaves…

You should text him. A surprise visit is one thing, but at this point you being outside is going to be surprise enough. With that thought in mind, you begin fumbling in your pockets, awkwardly cradling the fast-food in one hand as you search for your phone. Not in your back jean pockets. A horrified panic starts building, and by the time you’ve clawed all the lint out of your sweater’s pockets, you’re certain. You don’t have it.

A memory, stilted and strained, of your hand falling to your side when you’d been talking about Jungkook’s stress in Yoongi’s car. In your anguish, it suddenly becomes clear to you; you’d dropped it. Forgotten to pick it up again. It was in the car!

For a second, you think that’s going to be the breaking point. The straw on the camel’s back. Your frustration peaks, eyes stinging, hands balled into fists as your excitement is drowned in self-reproach and an overwhelming sense of despair. Why were you so stupid? Fighting with Jungkook, sulking around the apartment, this dumb idea to get fast-food that’s definitely cold by now, and now – now this. You start walking again, barely looking, just planning to get to the front of the building and maybe collapse on the pavement. The crushing unhappiness doesn’t let up. Were you cursed? Was the world out to get you? Had you kicked a puppy in a past life? Why did you end up –

Your raging internal soliloquy is interrupted by movement within the Gallery. Someone is moving inside. Someone tall and muscular, with his black shirt rolled up to the elbows, long, shaggy black hair tucked behind his ears as he lounges against one of the white walls. He’s partially turned; you can only see half of his face, and even that not perfectly because of the narrow angle, but the sharp definition of his jaw is obvious, even from here. There’s something rectangular leaning against the wall next to him, wrapped in brown packaging paper, but you barely notice it. He’s talking to someone equally as tall, their back turned to you, but you barely register them.

Jungkook. It’s Jungkook!

It is not an exaggeration to say that for a second you doubt your eyes. Everything has just been so, so shitty today that you’d almost believe he’s a hologram or a figment of your imagination before buying that your flesh and blood boyfriend is standing some twenty feet away and that all it will take to end this horrible experience will be to catch his attention.

The person he’s talking to must say something funny, because his nose crinkles, lips rising as he tilts his head back and laughs. It’s just a giggle, quickly stifled, but it’s also a needle; the second you see that laugh, your bubble of disbelief pops with a force that’s almost audible. You can’t hear him, but at the same time, you can, fully aware of the way his snicker of amusement started out low and then pitched higher in tandem with his head being thrown back. The sound that isn’t a sound but a memory and a gift and a promise altogether gives rise to something hot and aching in your chest.

“Jungkook,” you say, barely aware of the name slipping between your tingling lips. There’s a rushing sensation in your ears, through your veins, like your blood has just remembered that it’s alive and is eager to prove it. The misery of moments and minutes and hours ago doesn’t disappear, but the sight of your boyfriend is enough to lift you out of it, to buoy you above the churning waves and set you, heart alight, in the clouds.    

“Jungkook!” you call, a shout this time, and start waving. He doesn’t hear or notice you, attention fixed on the man he’s with. You still don’t recognize whoever it is, but then again, with his back to you all you can see is the vibrantly patterned orange shirt stretching over his shoulders and a fluffy bit of brown hair. However, whatever he’s saying has sobered Jungkook; from what you can see of his face, his lips have tightened, and he shakes his head now and again.  

Who the hell is that, anyways? More vigorous gestures still don’t pull Jungkook’s gaze away from the other person. You know that any second now he’s going to look over and see you, break into a silly, bemused grin, rush over to the window, if only you could just– You’re about to tap on the glass when whoever it is abruptly steps closer to Jungkook. From what you can see, the guy’s large hands are moving passionately, persuasively, and a moment later he grabs Jungkook’s wrist, other hand rising up towards his face. You can’t quite tell what’s happening, except that Jungkook doesn’t shake him off or push him away. Doesn’t push him away, even when he leans closer, their faces inches apart, and the way they’re standing, you still don’t know who it is.  

Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind that his personal space is being invaded. There’s an attempt at a scowl on his lips, but you can tell it’s fake, a laugh on the verge of breaking through. You realize your hand is still raised to knock on the window, and let it fall. Brows pulling together, you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. The other man leans in even more, and when their lips are about to touch you wrench your eyes away.

For a long moment you stare at the pavement at your feet, mouth moving silently, like you’re searching for a word that fits what you just saw happen. It couldn’t be what you thought. Any second now, a reasonable explanation is going to come to mind. You’re going to find some frame of reference that makes this understandable. There’s going to be something that changes your point of view, makes reality into fiction. Because this can’t be true. This can’t be happening.

Jungkook could not have just kissed someone else in an empty art gallery while he thought you were waiting for him at home.  

Except that’s exactly what happened. You feel yourself change. You’re not a person anymore, not a human; you’re a wound, red and open and weeping. With a strangled sob, you suddenly find your feet moving to match your reeling thoughts, and you stagger away from the warmly lit building. The disbelief is like novocaine, numbing the screaming pain of the betrayal, but it’s not strong enough to force your gaze back through the window. Back to your boyfriend and whoever he’s with. Who knows what they’re doing now?  

Stopping yourself from crumpling to your knees and curling into a ball takes almost all of your strength, and you can’t keep yourself from doubling over slightly, one hand across your middle as you stumble blindly down the sidewalk and away from the Gallery. You press on your eyes to keep back the tears, cover your mouth to stifle the high, anguished gasps you’re making, but it does little to fool anyone, least of all yourself. Each sob rips from somewhere deep inside you, opens up the injury even further, until it feels like you might very well be tearing your chest apart.

He couldn’t have. He just– he couldn’t have. You can’t reconcile what you saw with what you know, but how can they be two different things? How can your boyfriend – loving, loyal, protective – exist in the same place as that man who hadn’t mentioned he was meeting anyone, who snuck around on Christmas day to see someone else? How can Jungkook be a cheater? How? How?

How could I not have known?

Bewildered, you scrabble through your memories like they’re a pack of spilled cards, struggling to piece them together, to pick them up and put them in order after they’ve fluttered to the ground in a chaos of white and black and red. At first you can’t find a hint. Can’t find a reason. There’s warmth and laughter and closeness in your memories together, with only spots of friction and hurt. What could the memory of you throwing tinsel around Jungkook’s neck and him parading around the living room teach you about this moment? What could the recollection of Jungkook’s arms wrapped around your shaking form when you’d received news of your grandmother’s passing tell you that you should have already known? What could the shadow of his quiet admiration as you showed him your most recent design reveal to your befuddled mind?

Was the staying late the only clue? The only ace card that trumped every other moment together? Or had there been others? Did you confuse his withdrawal from you as stress when it was really guilt? Had the silence been resentment? Boredom? Was he really going to the gym? Or into someone else’s arms? Did you do something wrong? Say something wrong?

Is this your fault?

You don’t know what to do, and as your steps slow, tears still going strong, you realize you barely know where you are. It’s fully dark now, and people are passing infrequently, with the streetlights only vaguely reassuring as they spill over faces. You haven’t taken any side streets, just followed this main road passed gas stations and boutiques, offices and fast-food joints, so you’re not lost, exactly. But you don’t have your phone. How are you supposed to get home?

Home. Suddenly the ache is more real. Present. Demanding. How are you supposed to go home when you thought home was Jungkook?

What do you say to him? What can you say? The thought of facing him has you trembling with something approaching nausea. Or maybe it’s the cold. It’s late enough now that the temperature is dropping, your heaving breath misting from your mouth, and you hadn’t planned to be out so late. The sweater is doing nothing to keep you warm. The sweater…

“Oh, God…” you mumble, your fingers digging into the tacky material, creasing the bunny that had made Jungkook so happy. “What do I do?”

What do I do?

---

With a grunt, Jungkook shoves Taehyung away using a hand against his stomach, the other man’s breath spilling across his face as he huffs in surprise. The push is strong enough to send Taehyung staggering back several paces, and he nearly trips and falls. Even as he catches himself, Jungkook is regretting the violence of the motion. It’s just – he’s feeling so vulnerable right now, so strained, and his friend acting like a clown doesn’t help matters.

Rubbing at his stomach, the other man complains reproachfully, “I was just trying to show you what to do!”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing at his face. “I don’t remember saying I needed help with how to make out,” he points out.

Taehyung throws up his hands. “You’ve missed the point!” he exclaims in disgust. “Didn’t you see the concern in my eyes? The tenderness? Dude, I was stroking your face. That’s how it’s done!”  

He snorts but the irritation is already fading, replaced by the amusement he’d had when Tae first started his shenanigans. Jungkook shakes his head, clearing his hair from his eyes, and relents a little. “Do you really think I should do it like that?” A beat. “Well, I mean, not like that. Better.”

With a grand gesture at their surroundings, Taehyung ignores the insult (or misses it, it’s hard to tell with Tae sometimes) and tells him, “You’re already doing better. You’ve got her a painting from an artist she loves.” He stops, points to himself. “Courtesy of your friendly neighbourhood art dealer, who sacrificed his Christmas night and drove all this way to make sure you got it. Plus, there’s the big news – she’s going to lose her mind when you tell her. Anyways, yeah, Koo, I’m pretty sure she’s gonna forgive you, even if you don’t use my sweet moves.”

“But I still don’t know what to say.” Jungkook hates how whiny his voice sounds, how uncertain. At the same time, it feels… good, to admit how he hasn’t got a clue how to make up with you. Or– That isn’t quite right. He does know, somewhere in his gut, in the palms of his hands, in the way his lips ache to skim along your skin. It’s just turning that feeling into words that’s struck him dumb.

“Dude, say what’s in your heart.” There is no one in the world but Taehyung who could say that earnestly and not sound like a weirdo, yet there the other man is, mouth set solemnly, somehow almost making sense. “You love her, you’re sorry for what’s happened, you want to hear her opinion, you’re working to make it better… Koo, you’ve told me all of that in the last half an hour. Now you just need to say it to her.”

“But what if…” He can’t even put it into words, the fear and uncertainty and guilt. Is he asking too much of you? Does he even deserve to ask anything? And what if… what if…

Reading him like a book, Taehyung smiles, simple and brilliant. “She’s going to forgive you. You’ve already forgiven her, so what else is there? Just the getting it done.” Still Jungkook hesitates, and his childhood friend says, a little more gently, “You’re a good person, Koo. I know that, and she does too. Talk to her. You won’t regret it.”

He hangs his head, slowly running his fingers against each other, exploring their lines like they might lead him to the courage he’s searching for. The call with you this afternoon had – shaken him. Although Jungkook had been aware – painfully so – that the two of you weren’t spending enough time together, he hadn’t realized how much it was harming you, and your anger had been both shocking and hurtful. Work had just sucked, so much, and to have you yelling at him…

But after the initial defensive reaction, he couldn’t get the thought of you sitting alone out of his head. It was never his intention to leave you for the whole day, but when he broached the subject of leaving with the boss, the look he got on his face, the way he said, “Well, of course, since I assume you’re done everything you were assigned,” had just been…

You still shouldn’t have left her. Jungkook knows that, knows equally that he didn’t have all that much of a choice if he didn’t want to get fired. It was the balancing act between those understandings that had his shoulders hunched, his cheek fair game to be chewed on. He was working on changing the situation – Namjoon and Yoongi were helping – but what if you thought it wasn’t fast enough? What if you decided you had enough? How can he bear to face you with that possibility on the horizon?

Taehyung gives him space, just hums under his breath and wanders a little, examining the various pieces on display. The Golden Closet Gallery isn’t one of his usual haunts – he tends to deal with artists further up north – but he’d come at Jungkook’s hesitant request, with an alacrity that still has Jungkook wondering what he’d done to deserve such a friend.  

He’d had his eye on your favourite local artist’s website, and when the painting went on sale, he’d known he had to get it. However, Projeck employees didn’t get paid until the 20th, and by the time he had enough money to comfortably purchase it, the artist wasn’t available on short notice and wouldn’t have been around to give it to him until after New Year’s Eve. Taehyung is well known in the community, though, and the painter had had no qualms letting him deal with establishing the price and then handing the piece over. It was practically a miracle, even if Tae had only been able to slip away from his family on Christmas afternoon.

Eventually, with Taehyung’s deep baritone hum a soothing presence, Jungkook tamps his fear down. Gets it to a manageable level. At the end of the day – Taehyung is right. He loves you, more than anything, more than he thought he could love anyone. That’s enough. It has to be enough.

He looks up, clears his throat. “Thanks, TaeTae,” Jungkook says quietly. “I really couldn’t have done this without you.”

His friend beams. “Nah, you couldn’t have. But what else are friends for, right?”

“I’ll get you an early release copy of Urban Anonymous. I think you’ll like it,” he promises. “But in the meantime… I think I’ve got someone to, uh, speak my heart to.” For half a second Jungkook thinks he’s about to die from the sheer cringe of saying that, a blush flooding across his cheeks, but at the same time – it feels kinda good to say. Goofily so, and very embarrassing, but still.

If anything, Taehyung’s beam intensifies. “Then my job here is done! I should hit the road anyways, I wanna get back home. I promised my parents I’d make them something nice for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Sure you don’t wanna stay over?” Glancing out the window, taking in how dark it is, Jungkook feels bad to be sending Taehyung out on the road at this time.

The other man snickers. “And get in the way of a beautiful thing? Nah. Besides, you know I like driving at night, and it’s only a little over three hours. I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so…” Jungkook snags the painting off of the floor, and together they walk through the Gallery, to the doors Taehyung had locked behind them when they entered. He unlocks them now, and they leave the aesthetically pleasing space, spilling out into the chilly night air. As Taehyung locks up, Jungkook glances around, breathing in deeply. Now that he’s resolved himself, he actually feels – a little better. Steadier, as though his world isn’t about to jerk out from underneath his feet.

Their cars are parked together, and once there Taehyung flings himself at Jungkook – scrupulously avoiding hitting into the painting, of course – and they hug, Jungkook staggering under the weight of his friend. The fond affection is a fluffy, sleepy thing, and, with one hand wrapped around Taehyung’s shoulders, Jungkook repeats, “Thank you, TaeTae.” It’s not eloquent, but with Taehyung, it’s enough.

They break apart, and Taehyung is grinning, a wide, boxy affair that has the nostalgia and warmth growing. “I’ve missed you, Koo. I’m glad we got to meet up. Tell Y/N that I miss her too, okay? And that I wish her a Merry Christmas.”

“We’ll have to get together again soon; Y/N will be disappointed she missed you. Although I know she loved your blue hair, so she’ll probably be sad you changed it.” It had even surprised Jungkook a bit when Tae had first ducked out of his car. The blue had just been so… riveting, and compared to that, the darker tone really changes how he looks. Not to mention that Tae went with a curlier style this time around.

Taehyung runs a hand through his fluffy brown locks before shrugging. “I got bored. Besides, I haven’t had brown in, what? Five years? It was a nice change.”

“It’s a good look. Almost as good as mine,” Jungkook teases, and Taehyung laughs in his deep, rolling way. “Okay. Merry Christmas, TaeTae. And have a Happy New Year! Don’t drive into a ditch, but if you do, call me.”

“I’ll get you to drag the car out by yourself,” Taehyung agrees amiably. “You look like you could manage it these days, and it’d save me the cost of the tow-truck.”

He gives Jungkook’s upper arm a cheerful poke, whistles in exaggerated admiration and then dodges Jungkook’s swipe at him. “See you soon, Koo! I’ll send you a text when I get home. Hopefully you’ll be too busy to read it until tomorrow.” And with a wicked little giggle, he gets into his car.

“Bye, Tae! See you! Thank you!” Jungkook waves until the other man has pulled away, blasting an R&B version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and then he gets into his own car. Being with Tae is like inhaling a warmer version of helium, all uplift and expansion. It suddenly occurs to Jungkook, with a little jolt, that he’s excited to get home.

No matter how scared he is, scared of the future and scared of the conversation ahead, picturing you, thinking of walking into the apartment and seeing your face, is enough to drive a sharp spike of joy through his trepidation. You are the best thing in his life, and even with this fight, even with the hurt still nestled against his ribs, he wouldn’t have drawn it any other way.

It’s as he’s starting the car that he realizes he got a text from Namjoon and didn’t notice. Hey Jungkookie. Can you let Y/N know we have her phone? She left it in the car.

He stares at the words, waiting for the moment when they’ll make sense. When sense is not forthcoming despite scrambling his brains for what it could mean, Jungkook types out a reply, his fingers sweaty with sudden anxiety.  

what car? you saw Y/N today?

…Yeah? We dropped her off at the Gallery. Did she not mention it?

at the gallery?? when?

His heart is in his throat, the unease ricocheting to unprecedented levels, and Jungkook shoves open the car door, begins looking desperately around like you two could have possibly missed each other in the empty lot. When his phone vibrates thirty seconds later, he almost drops it in his haste to unlock it.

Thirty minutes ago. Around there. Is she not there? Is everything okay?

Jungkook rips his eyes from the screen to the empty parking lot and back to the screen, a bewildered trek that gives him no hints, and he doesn’t know the answer.

---

When you finally get back to the apartment, your hurt has become a cramped, flattened pressure at the back of your throat, and every breath scrapes painfully on the way out. It’s taken you close to two hours to get back. The first person you’d asked for directions had given you the wrong bus number, and while you’d realized it eventually, you’d been going the wrong way for a significant period of time.

Usually, you and Jungkook laugh at how bad your sense of direction is, but this is just more humiliation to stoke an already raging fire of shame. Your steps literally drag – you almost trip on your way up the stairs – and your fingers are tingling, almost numb. It’s gotten progressively colder as the night wore on, and by now the icy feeling has sunk deep into your bones, passed the hard exterior until its wrapped around the marrow.

You’d thought about checking into a hotel. You at least hadn’t forgotten or lost your credit card. There was something tempting about postponing the moment when you had to see Jungkook. But at the same time… If you didn’t answer your phone and didn’t come back, he might worry (would he worry?) and worse, he might get other people involved. What if he talked to Namjoon and Yoongi? Or phoned your parents or brother? You can’t stand the thought of having to explain to them what happened without any preparation – without even knowing what happened yourself.

So here you are, facing the door, empty-handed. You’d thrown out the fast-food at the first trashcan you’d come to after deciding to return. Would Jungkook be home by now? Had he finished with – was he done? Or was he still out there, still… You have to say it eventually, you try to tell yourself firmly, but your whole being cringes from making that acknowledgement, from putting it into syllables that might somehow trap it in reality. It’s not something you can manage tonight. You really don’t know what will be worse, him being inside or not, but you can’t just stand outside forever.

Forcing the key to the lock is no harder than flinging yourself off a cliff, and you approach it with the same amount of dry-mouth apprehension. Your hands are shaking so bad it’s hard to get them to align, but when you finally do, the click of the key sliding in is too loud, like its announcing that you’ve slunk back in shame to all of the apartment building inhabitants. A ridiculous notion, but you flinch anyways, heart seizing as your stiff fingers fumble with the little jiggle required to get the door to open. It takes you three attempts, your anxiety growing, and when you finally manage it, you’re so strung out with tension that you don’t hesitate. You just fling the door open and stumble through.

Straight into Jungkook.

For just a second, it feels like the magnetism you learned about in school. For just a second you fall into him like there’s nothing else in the world more natural than falling, and for just a second you press against his chest and feel dizzy with the light, clean scent that surrounds you. For just a second, as he catches your weight and closes his arms around you, calling your name with a voice of choked relief, you let yourself forget.

For just a second.

And then reality floods back in, a tainted torrent of regret and grief, strewn with rage and humiliation that drifts just below the surface. Though you’re so unsteady you can barely see, your lungs blocked and battling to heave in enough air just to keep breathing, you struggle to get away from him.

“Let go of me,” you say, dry and curt, and when his arms only tighten – more, you suspect, to keep you from pitching over than in denial of your demand – your efforts become harsher, more violent. Without room you can’t get any momentum to really push away from him, but your motions are frantic with the desire to do just that. There’s a panicked, screaming need to get away from him, to get enough space, like he’s the reason your lungs are crumpling in on themselves. “Let go, Jungkook!” you cry, your voice spiking up into shrillness, shattering the syllables of his name.

Like he’s been electrified, Jungkook jerks, his arms flying open. Instantly, let loose, you scramble away, down the entrance hallway. Just as off balance as he’d feared, you nearly trip over something long and cumbersome leaning against the wall that you’re too distraught to look at, and you have to windmill to catch your balance. A moment later you slam your shoulder into the corner of the wall as you try to take the turn too sharply. “Y/N, please, stop!” you hear, and wish you hadn’t. Barely registering the sharp throb in your shoulder, you catch yourself and keep going. Seconds later you’re in the bedroom, and you slam the door shut.

It doesn’t have a lock. Putting your back to the door, your air rattling hollowly out of your mouth – too fast, too shallow, but you can’t seem to calm down – you slide down the solid surface. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your forehead against them, eyes tightly closed, still gasping. Your eyes are aching, but you can’t cry against the immense pressure of overwhelming panic. There’s just a stinging sensation and a pulsing rigidity in your face, like each and every muscle there has chosen to stage a personal rebellion at the exact same time.

I can’t, I can’t, oh God, please, I can’t do this I can’t look at him I can’t I –

“Y/N?” Jungkook sounds like he’s directly on the other side of the door, but he makes no attempt to open it. “Baby, please, are you okay?”

His voice is so raw with worry that it’s red. The colour blooms across your closed eyelids, swathes of crimson and scarlet, and you imagine that it’s blood, trickling from the wound inside of you. You can barely tell where your back ends and the door begins, like any moment you might slide through it, or maybe through the floor, or through the ground, or maybe you’re already there, floating in nothing, and the red breaks into jagged pieces of black and orange and you still can’t breathe.

“Y/N? Can you talk to me? Just – say something, okay? Just so I know you’re okay.”

You can’t even manage that. Even if you wanted to. Even if he deserved to know. Throat moving convulsively, you choke out a sob but nothing else comes after. Just wheezing breaths, and you think you’re shaking but you’re somewhere outside of your skin so it’s hard to tell.

“Okay, okay. I’m – I’m gonna be here, okay? Right here. If you need me, I’m here.” Even through the hazy distortion swamping you, Jungkook’s clear, resonant voice comes through. Maybe it’s the concern, too heavy to be swept away by the raging panic. Maybe it’s the compassion, too anchored in you to be broken away by the tremendous pressure.

Or maybe you just know Jungkook’s voice so well that even your disassociation can’t make it unfamiliar to you.

“You’re doing good, Y/N. I’m still here. Just on the other side of this door.” A pause, a deep chasm of silence, and then he continues. “I think it’s a panic attack. I know it’s scary, but it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”  

Later, you will be both annoyed and touched that Jungkook realized you were having a panic attack before you did. You’ve had a few throughout university, but none within the past year or two, and in the moment, you’d been too overwhelmed to identify what’s going on. The insight is helpful though, something to cling to and repeat to yourself. A grounding. It’s a panic attack. You’re going to be okay.  

Jungkook keeps talking, slow and steady. Nothing serious. Just words. You lean on his voice just as hard as you’re leaning on the door, and, slowly but surely, in a stretch of time that doesn’t mean anything to you, the constrictive bands across your chest loosen. You sink back into yourself. The tips of your fingers make sense again.

And you start crying.

“Y/N? How’re you feeling?”

Funny. Now, with your throat something other than a fist and pain, you still struggle to say anything. This is a softer kind of crying, not quite quiet, with little, hiccupping gasps as the tears run down your face. Possible to speak through. You just don’t know what to say to the man who just talked you, with kindness and compassion, through a panic attack. Who cheated on you. Your fingertips might make sense, but nothing else does.

“I – Y/N, baby, I get that you’re upset, but I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.” So anguished. Why did he have to sound like that? What right did he have?

You don’t know if it’s outrage or bewilderment or grief or pity that has you answering. Is it possible to have all of them in your mouth, gritty across your tongue? At any rate, your tone is as washed out as you feel, fatigued and grey. “I saw, Jungkook,” you whisper to your knees.

There’s silence on the other side of the door. Denial? Guilt? His reply is sluggish, thick with confusion. “You saw what?”

That makes you laugh – or not really, though the tortured sound was supposed to be one. “I was there. At the Golden Closet Gallery.” Will he really keep pretending after he knows you were there? Could he really be that brazen? The Jungkook you know couldn’t. There’s no way he could carry a lie like that, holding it effortlessly in the face of the truth. The Jungkook you know would blush, shuffle, collapse like a house of cards. He’s really not good at lying.

The answer isn’t a lie, but it confuses you all the same. “I know you were. Namjoon texted me to say he’d dropped you off, but – Where did you go? I – I drove around for like an hour trying to find you, and I couldn’t and when I got home you weren’t here…” The stream of words dies out like Jungkook can’t quite find any more to say, or maybe he’s embarrassed to say them.

When your reply isn’t forthcoming, confusion churning up anything you might spit out, he continues, more subdued. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you after what you just went through, I just– Are– How are you feeling? Was it – did something happen while you were getting here? Is that what took so long?” Another pause that you can’t fill, that stretches on and on as you try to understand what he’s talking about. How he can apologize for that and not the actual offense.  

Abruptly his voice bursts out. “Why won’t you talk to me!?” Tighter and more uncertain than you’ve heard tonight. Maybe more afraid than you’ve ever heard him.

It rips at your heart, and you realize in a swell of furious sorrow that you can’t stand to hear him sound like that. With a sudden, unstable surge, you get to your feet. Immediately your vision falters a bit, and you stagger, but catch yourself before you fall, clinging to the doorknob. You take a deep breath, fighting away the residual nausea and light-headedness. It clears within a few seconds, and your hand tightens on the knob as you take a deep breath. You can’t just leave him standing out there. You can’t just leave this incomprehensible thing hanging in the frame between your two lives.

You open the door. Slowly. Reluctantly. But you open it.

His long black hair is a wild mess, pushed back from his forehead, strands sticking up here and there. Even as you inch the door open, he runs his hand through it, ruffling it even further. His shirt is wrinkled, only partially tucked in, one sleeve rolled to bare his forearm, the other slipped down almost all the way. With his jaw so tense it’s a wonder he’s not cracking his teeth, Jungkook stares at you, lips set and pale. He doesn’t look like someone who committed a betrayal only hours before; if anything, the anguished panes of his face speak to a betrayal committed against him.

You’re so, so tired. Too tired to grasp at the outrage that wisps at the edge of your consciousness. Sniffling to clear your throat, you wipe at your face, trying make yourself a little less pitiful. “I was at the Gallery, Jungkook. I saw you,” you repeat because it’s still so hard to think of anything to say. When his expression doesn’t change – unless his eyebrows furrow, just a little, in innocent perplexity – you exhale. “I saw you with that guy. I saw you…”

“That guy? Who do you–” Jungkook breaks off, examines you more closely, like you’ve given him something to be concerned about. “Are you talking about Taehyung?”

The name is startling in its sheer unexpectedness. What the hell did Jungkook’s best friend have to do with any of this? “Taehyung? No, I’m not talking about Taehyung. I’m talking about that guy you were with tonight, in the Gallery. The guy you–” The words catch, but only for a second. You push them through with a surge of vehement exasperation for the blank expression he’s wearing. “The guy you kissed!”

In another place, the nonplused spasm across his face would have been hilarious. As it is, it just heightens your frustration, and the way he starts sputtering does absolutely nothing to reduce it. Even when he finally gets himself together and manages to talk, your aggravation is here to stay.

Right next to your mortification, as it happens.

“I didn’t– Y/N, that guy at the Gallery was Tae! Could you not tell it was him? I know he has brown hair now, but…” Jungkook shakes his head, flipping his own hair back. The tension seems to have slipped from his jaw, at least a little, and it might very well have crept into yours. “Is that– Is that what this whole thing has been about? You thought I did something with some random guy?” His lips twitch, and it doesn’t seem like he can decide if he wants to smile or scowl, and you feel the beginning of a flush heating up your face.

“It was Taehyung! And I didn’t kiss him. I mean, he tried to kiss me but it was just to–” Abruptly there’s a wash of faint scarlet crawling up his cheeks – cheeks that are rounder than they were a second ago, as he looks down and away, gaze slipping from you for the first time since you opened the door.

“Just to what?” you demand, the challenge extra belligerent to make up for the belated shock of suspended relief that hangs like smoke over your head. Too intangible for you to catch with your hands right now, though present enough to burn your throat with its sooty possibility.

He’s still looking at the ground, the blush becoming more prominent, and he begins to shift, the rustle of his dress pants loud in the fraught silence. “Um,” Jungkook begins awkwardly, head ticking to the side the way it always does when he regrets saying something or doubts his ability to do something. “It’s just, uh… he was helping me.”

“Helping you.”

Jungkook winces at your deadpan echo. “Yeah. I, um, asked him to…” Hands drumming on his thighs, drawing your attention for a second before you snap back to his flushed face, Jungkook bounces on the balls of his feet. “Uh… This is totally not how I planned this,” he mumbles, before hauling his gaze up to meet your own. “Hold on for a sec, okay? I just want to grab something.” For all that he’s definitely lightened a bit, the request is tinged with urgent appeal, his eyes scouring your face hesitantly like he’s afraid you’re going to retreat back to the room the moment he loses sight of you.

You’re not entirely sure that isn’t going to happen, but there have been so many emotional upheavals today you’ve just about exhausted your ability to feel more defensiveness. The more Jungkook speaks – the longer you’re in his presence – the more the sheer impossibility of what you’d believed is sinking in. He’s just – he’s Jungkook. Such a focal point of light and energy, such a reserve of easily offered comfort in a form so much more substantial than words. Somehow – maybe because of his prolonged absences, maybe because of your staggeringly challenging day – you’d managed to forget just what he is, but it’s in front of you now, demanding to be seen and acknowledged against the backdrop of what you’d thought. What had seemed so possible, even an hour ago, suddenly seems ridiculous when set next to the quiet solidity of him, of everything he is.

Wiping again at eyes that haven’t ceased watering yet, you nod.

He hurries away, down the short hallway and back towards the front entrance. You hear a thump, a muttered curse, a short dragging noise, and then Jungkook rounds the corner, hefting a rectangular object covered in brown paper. When you examine it more closely, you’re pretty sure it’s what you almost fell over when you ran inside. By the time he’s standing in front of you, the unwieldy item put on the ground and balanced against his knee, you’re pretty sure you know what it is by the shape and packaging alone.

And somewhere, in the back of your mind, you’re beginning to make connections. About Taehyung and the art gallery and the thing on the ground in front of you.

Jungkook just speeds up the process. “I was gonna wrap it in something nicer,” he offers apologetically, “but I was… Baby, I was so scared when Namjoon said you should have been at the gallery and I couldn’t find you and you weren’t at home. I thought – hell, I didn’t know what to think. That you got kidnapped or something.” He laughs, that shaky sound of amusement reserved for disasters that are absurd to imagine until they actually happen, and you shift, the heat crowding your face growing.

With a slight roll of his shoulders, he nudges the brown-wrapped object. “Anyways… Tae was helping me get this. For, um, you. Because I thought you might like it.” When you make no move to grab it, his eyebrows knit together. “Y/N? I swear, I didn’t do anything with anyone else. I wouldn’t do anything with–”

“I know.” You cut him off, unable to bear the imploring tone. It’s impossible to meet his beseeching gaze with the burden of your stupidity weighing on you, and you keep your eyes on your fingers. “I know you didn’t. Jungkook, I’m…” The winded feeling is still lingering, a hollowness in your lungs, and you have to inhale deeply just to remind yourself you can. Your anger at being abandoned by Jungkook for work died out so long ago it might as well be a relic, and with the betrayed grief swept so thoroughly out of your stomach, you’re left feeling strangely empty of anything but guilt.

“I’m so sorry. I – God, I’m so stupid. I saw you two and I thought – I assumed…” All of the logic that had founded your incorrect assumption is trickling through your grasping fingers, and you don’t know how to explain in a way that makes sense. In a way that justifies how you’d leapt to conclusions.

“I’m sorry,” you continue unevenly. “I just…”

“It’s okay.” When you keep staring down, Jungkook moves closer, reaches out, tentatively puts his arm around you. Light enough that you could break away if you wanted to. You don’t. You absolutely don’t.

The contact feels like an anchor, pulling you ever closer to reality. Making the trembling relief that much more real. The embarrassment, too. “Really Y/N, it’s – I know today has been…” After a moment he sighs, faint and low, shaking his head. “Today has sucked so bad, and Christmas isn’t supposed to be like this. I get why you thought what you did. After everything that’s been happening, after I’ve – I haven’t been around.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” is your whispered protest, still unable to look at him. “I should have just talked to you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that would have saved us both a bit of panic. But Y/N…” He waits, waits longer, until you’re forced to bring your eyes up. Meeting the dark softness of his gaze summons up more guilt, more regret – but also a clear, undeniable relief. Light at the end of a pitch black tunnel. You’re not out of the darkness, but with those sympathetic eyes on you, you have a sense of striving. Like taking a step, and then another, is possible. And might just be worth it.

“Y/N, baby, it’s not all your fault. It’s on me too.” His arms are resting lightly on your shoulders, fingers gently rubbing across the nape of your neck. “I haven’t talked with you enough. Kept just pushing it off, pretending it’s okay.” When he laughs softly, his breath tickles your face. “Not quite okay, hey?”

Your strained giggle isn’t heartfelt, and it fades quickly. “In the car, when Namjoon and Yoongi gave me a ride, they said – It seems like work has really, really sucked. More than I thought it did.” You lean back, just a bit, his arms a steady support against your back, and search his face. He’s biting his cheek, little lines skittering across his forehead. This close, the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced, his skin sallower than it should be. He looks tired, but he doesn’t look away from you.

“Jungkook,” you say quietly. “How bad is it?”

Something flickers behind his eyes, a shadow of his normal reserve. You can feel the tightness in his body, the slight tremor that suggests he’s about to move away. The protective distance he clings to when he doesn’t want to worry you rears up – and you kill it with your hand, trembling only slightly as you tenderly trace your fingers along his temple, down his cheekbone, to cup the strong lines of his jaw. “Please, Jungkook. Tell me.”

The admission comes, fast and breathless, like he needs to get the words out before his teeth clench over them. “Bad. It’s bad. I hate it there.”

“Oh. I–” This is a different kind of pain from most of what you’ve been feeling today. More selfless, an anguish that extends and expands outward instead of curling up. “I’m so sorry. Kookie, I didn’t know. I should have but–”

“I didn’t tell you. How could you know?”

“I should have,” you insist.

His mouth quirks, a flash of teeth showing in mild amusement. “You can’t expect me to know you’re upset, but you should know when I am? I don’t think it works that way, babe.” When your mouth opens to object, Jungkook pulls you to his chest, cutting off your protest. You sink into his embrace, boneless and aching and grateful for the support, and if the gift’s hard frame weren’t digging into your leg, it would almost be perfect.

Perfect enough.

Pressing your face against his shirt, you feel him kiss the top of your head, arms still wrapped firmly around your shoulders. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispers.

“I’m glad you told me about work,” you mumble into his chest, reluctant to draw away. “If I told you to quit today, would you?” You’re not really joking, even though you know what the immediate answer has to be. You don’t have enough savings for one of you to quit without any other prospects lined up.

“Actually…” There’s something restrained in his voice, teetering on the edge of anxiety, or maybe excitement.

Shock has you looking up, resisting the comforting pull of his warmth for a moment. “You did!?”

“Oh, uh, no,” Jungkook says hurriedly, biting at his lower lip. Far from pleasure, the reassurance has disappointment funneling into your heart, funds be damned. To say that Jungkook’s job was the mother of all evils would probably be both unfair and exaggerated, but if it’s making him (and you) as miserable as he says...

“It sounds really bad, Jungkook. Killing yourself trying to please a bunch of jerks isn’t worth it.”

“You’re right.” He’s smiling now, smiling completely, showing off his teeth. “I don’t know if I can keep working for them for much longer, but… Ah, I was so scared to talk about this, and here you are, making it easy!” In his excitement, he’s playing with your hair, hands restless as they dance around. For once, the mystery isn’t extended. “Namjoon wants to break off. Start a new company, one that’s not an absolute dumpster fire to work for. He’s got several other people lined up who are happy to go, and Yoongi, obviously, and he asked me if I would join, too!”

“Is that why they gave me a ride?” Even as you demand it, you can feel yourself picking up on Jungkook’s energy. Not too much – the exhaustion sucking at your bones won’t allow it – but still, the lightness in your chest is a far cry from the sodden despair that’s taken up space there for most of the day.

Your boyfriend jiggles his head back and forth. “I dunno. Maybe. But I think mostly they did it because they’re pretty nice people.” He sounds a bit awed as he continues. “We can’t start for a couple more months – Namjoon said something about getting funding from some rich guy, Bang Sihyuk – but I still can’t believe they want me to come along. I mean, some of the people are, like, the best there are, Y/N.” You can almost see stars shining in his eyes.

Your response is firm, albeit playful. “So, it makes perfect sense that they’re having you join! Kookie, you’re gonna fit in so well, because you’re one of the best, too.” And honestly, you’re not even just shovelling empty praise; Jungkook is a truly talented artist in his medium.

His smile grows, eyes thinning with happiness. “And – you’re okay with it? There aren’t any guarantees that it will work out, with it being a new company.”

The trials of the day – mostly made from your own mind, though no less difficult for all of that – pass through your head. The loneliness and anger and sadness. All of it dimmed if not gone entirely, simply because here you are in his arms, speaking to each other instead of covering your hurt up. “Jungkook, one of the few guarantees I have of anything is that I love you, and you love me. If you’ll be happy working with Namjoon, with moving companies, then that’s all I need to hear.”

With a low hum, Jungkook sweeps you into another hug, and you’re glad to give up what space is between you two. Enfolded in his arms, listening to his steady heartbeat, is about the securest place you can imagine being. “I love you,” he says, voice thick with the truth of what he’s saying.

“I love you, too. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.”

“I haven’t even given you your presents yet. Here –” And you’re breaking apart again – although not really, because you can still feel the connection as a thin warmth snuggled beneath your ribs – and Jungkook bends down, picks up the item sandwiched between you two. “Feel up to opening it?”

“The mystery gift that almost broke our relationship? Yeah, I’m up to it.”

Nose scrunching, he hands it over, and in your haste to see what’s inside, you make short work of the brown packaging. You can’t honestly say you’re surprised with the first glimpse of the mahogany frame – you expected a painting – but as more of the brown rips away, you feel shivery awe cascading down your spine. Once the painting is completely uncovered, you clutch it with sweaty palms, well aware of how precious a gift you’ve been given. You’d recognize the style anywhere.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, “oh my God, Jungkook, this is one of Ayeong’s, isn’t it? You – you actually got one of her paintings!?”

The quality is unmistakable. It’s a detailed piece, zoomed in on a small, dilapidated house. Almost everything about the house is bleak; the colours are all dull greys, blacks and browns, the porch is crumbling, and the shutters over the windows are chipped and cracked in places. However, right in the center of the house, taking up a good portion of the painting, is a door flung wide open, and the inside is flooded with warm colours and details in stark contrast with the exterior. There are people inside, crowded around the entrance, laughing and vibrant, and they dominate the doorway with their collective presence. One person, the only one who is looking outward, has her hand raised in greeting, as though inviting the viewers in.

“It’s called Homecoming.”

Soft and reverent, the name feels like an echo, a reverberation of your hopes and fears, and against a suddenly blurry vision, you smile. “It’s beautiful! It’s so, so beautiful. Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Do you feel like opening the rest of our presents? Or should we wait until tomorrow? We can grab your phone in the morning, too.”

Your fatigue drags at you, overwhelming even your hunger, but you try to rally, lifting your chin up. “What do you want to do? Do you want to open a present?”

His head tilts as he looks you over, a quick assessment. “I don’t have to. It’ll be nice to look forward to it later.” You’re absolutely positive he’s saying that for your sake, and it makes you just that closer to crying in gratitude for what’s in front of you.

Swallowing hard, you suggest, “How about tomorrow, then? We can…” You pause, scrambling for the memory, and then grin tiredly. “We can reset. Start over tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s laugh washes over you in cozy tides of amusement. “Now there’s a great idea. Whoever thought of it is a genius.”

With a chuckle, you carefully set the painting to the side, planning on figuring out where to put it tomorrow. As soon as it leaves your hands, Jungkook is there again, claiming the free territory. His grip firm and warm, he asks you, “Do you wanna eat? Or maybe nap for a bit?”

Your panic attacks always leave you drained, and the fact that Jungkook remembers is just another fond ache to add to the collection in your chest. “Nap,” you reply gratefully. “But… do you wanna lie down with me? Just for a bit?”

He couldn’t have looked any more solemn, or any more beautiful, if he’d tried. Squeezing your hand, he says, “I’d lie with you forever, if I could get away with it.” A second later the somber façade breaks apart, leaving a blush and a squirming, quietly giggly Jungkook.

With a snort, you pull him along with you, into the bedroom, a tightness across your chest that has everything to do with just how much you love the man next to you. “Now I know you were with Taehyung.” That makes you remember, and as you both walk to the bed, you glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Are you going to tell me what Taehyung almost kissing you had to do with helping you out?”

As expected, his blush grows, painting his cheeks with a pale pink, but he surprises you by pulling you closer. With a hand under your chin, the other arm wrapped around your waist, he tilts your head up. Meeting your eyes with a tenderness that floods you with reassurance, he brushes a thumb along your lips, leaving a tingling trail. When it comes, his voice is hoarser than before, firmer. “He was trying to teach me something I already know.”

And then his mouth is on yours, steady and certain. Your lips soften against him, and time becomes languid, moving by the count of each breath that flutters against your lips. Jungkook isn’t demanding, not tonight; he kisses you sweetly, gently, conveying everything that he hasn’t managed to put into words. His body has a gravitational pull all its own, drawing you closer, and you skim your hands against his back, relishing the powerful certainty of his shoulders and the intimate confidence of his mouth on yours.

A second later, he sweeps you off your feet, and you gasp in surprise, breaking off the kiss. Jungkook places you on the bed, stands looking down at you with unmasked adoration. You open your arms, a wordless invitation that unwittingly bares the front of your top. His eyes fix on it, and if anything, they soften.

“I like your sweater,” he comments quietly, and as you laugh, he climbs onto the bed with you.

You take off the sweater in question, and your jeans and bra, easy and unhesitant in his presence. He follows suit, and then grabs your pajamas, placed as they always are at the foot of the bed. You wiggle into them, and for his part, Jungkook just throws on a pair of loose pants. The feeling of familiarity sinks into your system like a sigh of contentment, and when he pulls you against his chest, you snuggle into the embrace.

Wrapped in his arms, the smooth warmth of his skin pressed against your cheek, you let the drowsy bliss sweep over your body, and you relax, sinking against the sheets even as you curl closer to him.

Jungkook’s voice ripples against your mind, a soothing undercurrent taking you closer to sleep. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas,” you mumble. With one last faltering effort, you say, “Jungkook?”

“Hmm?” You feel the inquiring murmur just as much as you hear it, a smooth hum on your cheek.    

“Thank you for coming home.”

[haikyuu-appreciation-club]

Are your emergency requests open? If you're not comfortable taking this then that's ok, but could you please do Kenma, Tsukishima, and Tendou when their s/o comes out to them as non-binary? Thank you~

hello hello beautiful anon

just a quick fyi, I am not non-binary myself so i apologize in advance if i did not do you justice with this. i talked to some of my non-binary friends about this prompt and took my conversation with them and the characters personality and created these headcanons so please let me know if there’s anything i messed up or if these make you feel invalidated in any way. i have no problems making adjustments or deleting these if they are not up to par

the pronouns they/them are used in these headcanons so i deeply apologize if you are non-binary and do not go by these pronouns, you are all valid no matter what pronouns you use

also a reminder that my non-binary loves are all valid and always welcome here <3

hugs n kithes, I hope you enjoy

•Kenma, Tsukishima, and Tendou Reacting to Their S/O Coming Out as Non-Binary (They/Them Pronouns)•

warnings: none

genre: comfort/fluff

characters: kenma, tsukishima, tendou

•Kenma•

you were very nervous to face your boyfriend this weekend

you, kenma, and kuroo usually spent saturdays playing video games at kenma’s house

this had been a tradition even before you and kenma made things official

it was a way for the three of you to unwind from a busy and stressful week and spend time with one another

you had decided that this particular gaming session would be a good time to gather your courage and come out to kenma

it had been something you had come to terms with quite a while ago and you were finally ready to share everything with your boyfriend

and it had seemed as if the universe was rooting for you this weekend because kuroo had texted the two of you letting you know he would be running a bit late, giving you the perfect opportunity to have a private conversation with kenma

as his attention was focused on his switch, you collected your thoughts and gathered all the courage you could, 

“Hey Kenma?”

you watched as he slowed his motions on his game, a small tell that let you know he was listening,

“Can we talk?”

he imminently paused his game and set his console aside, turning towards you,

“Sure Y/N.”

you scooted closer to him allowing him to pull you into his lap and wrap his arms around your waist

you two stayed like that for a moment before you finally spoke up and broke the silence,

“Uhm, I'm non-binary.”

you didn’t really know how else to say it other than to get straight the point

you bit your lip in anticipation as silence filled the room

his grip around your waist faltered a bit as kenma grabbed your hands and returned your now intertwined fingers back to your mid-section,

“Oh, that’s cool. You go by they/them now right?”

you nodded slowly, still taking a minute to process his reaction

he hummed and rubbed his thumbs in soft circles over your hands,

“Okay, thanks for letting me know.”

his reaction was so calm and nonchalant, it kind of threw you off guard

but then again, kenma wasn’t one for big reactions 

even so, you could tell by his actions that he understood and he loved you for who you were

kenma had gone back to his switch while you watched, cuddled next to him, when he got a phone call

he put it on speaker and continued his game,

“Hey Kenma, I'm on my way. Is Y/N there yet?”

“Yes, they’ve been here. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Ah sorry sorry, I’ll be there soon. See ya!”

kenma sighed as the line cut off and returned to his game, snuggling closer to you as he rested his head against your body and regained his concentration 

your heart swelled hearing him address you for who you truly were and you had no regrets opening up to kenma

•Tsukishima•

your hand was slightly shaking as you dialed your boyfriend’s number

you and tsukkishima had been dating for quite a while now and during that time you had begun to question your gender identity

something never truly felt right about the pronouns people had addressed you by

and after some careful thought, you realized you were most comfortable going by they/them

you had come out to some of your friends but still kept things on the low when it came to your boyfriend

honestly, you were really scared with what his reaction would be when hearing the news

you knew he loved you but this would be something that was completely new to him and honestly you just hoped he would take it well

your phone rang a few times before the dial tone connected

you heard the sound of volleyballs slamming against the floor from the other line and the heavy breathing of your boyfriend,

“Hey shorty, what do you want?”

you let out a small laugh at his typical greeting as you clutched the phone closer to your ear,

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to you but I forgot you were in the middle of practice, so I'll just call you back later.”

before you could hang up, you heard ruffling around and the familiar sound of the gym doors opening and closing

“I’ve got a few minutes so spit it out Y/N.”

you took a deep breath before you spoke, you knew that it was now or never and you weren’t about to chicken out right now,

“Well, I wanted to tell you that I'm non-binary so I go by they/them now. Um, I'm sorry this is so out of the blue and stuff but-”

you were cut off by tsukishima’s laughter,

“Don't start rambling now, I got it. They/them right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Alright, I'll remember that.”

you smiled at the ground as you dug your heel into it

tsukki’s voice met your ears once more, dragging you out of your trance

“I gotta go now but don’t be an idiot and forget about our date later. If I remember right you were the one who begged me to go on one.”

“I won't, I promise Kei.”

with that the two of you hung up after saying your goodbye’s and you couldn't wipe the smile off your face

although your conversation with tsukishima was short you knew that he accepted you for who you were and loved you no matter what

and you couldn't be happier

•Tendou•

tendou had always encouraged you to be open and honest with him so you didn't know why you were so nervous to talk to him after practice

lately, you had felt really uncomfortable when people addressed you by your birth pronouns

at first it was a small discomfort but overtime there was a strong tug at your chest whenever you heard them

after looking a bit into things you discovered you weren't the only one who felt this way and discovered a term for it and pronouns that made you feel comfortable in your own skin

even before you and tendou got together, he was always the person you would go to for everything, so it wasn't a huge surprise he would be the first person you’d want to come out to

but you still didnt know how he’d react to the news

as you tried to calm your nerves you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist as a chin rested on your shoulder 

“Hiya Y/N! Sorry if you get a little wet, I had to take a shower before I finished up.”

you turned around and saw his damp crimson strands frame his face as he smiled down at you

you wrapped you arms around his waist and buried your face into his chest,

“Hey Satori, how was practice?”

although your words came out muffled they still met tendou’s ears as he held you tighter

“It was fun, definitely lived up to my title of guess monster with my blocks today!”

“I'm proud of you, next time I'll come and watch.”

tendou pull away from your embrace and intertwined your fingers,

“I would like that Y/N.”

the two of you began walking home hand in hand, enjoying each others company but your anxiety of the conversation to come was creeping up on you,

“Hey Satori? Can I talk to you about something?”

he slowed down a little bit and began swinging your hands

“Sure thing, I’m all ears.”

“Um well I was thinking about this a lot lately and I wanted to tell you I'm non-binary.”

“Non-binary huh? That’s pretty cool! That means you go by they/them right?”

you let out a giggle at his response and squeezed his hand a bit

“Yeah that’s right.”

he spun you around and pulled you into his chest before placing a kiss to your head,

“Thank you for letting me know Y/N. I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.”

you returned the hug and felt his love flow throughout you

you knew how much he cared for you and honestly you didn’t understand why you were even nervous in the first place

the way he held you tightly reminded you that you had nothing to worry about

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[mymegumi]

cœur fidèle

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x fem!reader

genre: fluff, minor angst, childhood bestfriends au, royalty au, and friends to lovers

word count: 2.1k words

warnings: mainly ushijima’s thoughts, not a lot of dialogue/actions. fluff & sad ideals about unrequited love.

summary: he wants to make a life with you, and yet you’re meant to build a life as someone else’s lover.

notes: i’m almost positive this isn’t coherent bc i’m just rambling <3 also the end was rushed as fuck so sorreh bout that <3

dedicated: to thalia, may you continue making me and everyone else around you smile. ( @wak4tosh1 )

Royalty, by definition, are those of royal blood or status. A league above normal people, and meant for wealth and luxuries that people would only dream of even seeing with their own eyes. It’s a life of luxury, of people to work at your beck and call, and of never truly worrying unless you had to.

Why does Ushijima feel so empty then?

A prince in his early twenties, he’s in the prime of his life—a father that loves him unconditionally, friends by his side that love and value him for things other than his title and wealth, and even a hobby he can do when things feel so suffocating he can’t come up for air.

He’s grateful for everything he has, don’t get him wrong, but it’s always felt a bit… lonely somehow.

Ushijima, as the heir to a king’s throne, knows the weight his decisions will make on the kingdom his father’s built up, and yet he can’t help but wonder about what kind of life he could have had if he’d just been born from a peasant woman. Would his life be so much more insignificant than it was now?

He thinks the first time he really truly wondered about a life without a crown, a life without power and influence, was when he met you for the first time.

A princex from a neighboring kingdom, you were everything that Ushijima wasn’t.

Where he was more reserved, tending to keep his thoughts and opinions to himself, it seemed as if you were always willing to give yours. You were bright and beautiful in all the ways that Ushijima tried to keep himself in the shadows, the brightest star on a black sky.

When he first saw you, he thought you were otherworldly. An ethereal being at the ripe age of fourteen and his cheeks dappled with heat, but he thinks that this is what ladies in the court meant when they talked about love.

Ushijima is only fourteen, and yet when you pull on his hand to tug him into the gardens, laughter on the wind and sunshine beating down on your backs, he thinks about the love beginning to blossom in his chest without knowing the word for it.

It’s warmth on a summer day, and the way you smile at him when he says something snarky about the other royals.

“Ushijima!” you called to him, hand curled around your mouth in an attempt to amplify your voice, trying to get it to carry throughout the courtyard, “I know you can hear me, stop hiding from me!”

“We’re playing hide and seek,” he called back, hands behind his back as he peeks his head out from behind the tree he’d chosen as his hiding spot, “You’re ruining the point of the game, you’re supposed to seek, and I was supposed to hide.”

Your bottom lip jutted out, arms crossed across your chest as you walked towards him, “Okay, but I didn’t think I’d have to walk around by myself, this is only my first time being here. I don’t even know any of the good hiding spots!”

“Do you want me to show you for the next time you come?” He hadn’t hit his growth spurt at the time of first meeting you, so he’s not yet looking down at you from his height above you. “The best ones are in the kitchen because sometimes the chefs will give me snacks.”

“Snacks?” Your eyes lit up, and Ushijima remembers feeling something in his chest tighten a bit, the smile you gave him was one of the first, and yet he remembers it like it was the most recent, “Okay, let’s go then!”

You grabbed his hand, then, and it was warm, and Ushijima was sure he could do that for the rest of his life.

He asked his father about you, later in the month when you went home, and he just smiled at him. His father put a hand on Ushijima’s head and ruffled his hair. Ushijima didn’t know it back then, but his father was sad, most likely knowing his son lost his heart.

Perhaps it was when he was first learning about marriage and the concept of having a ruler by his side that he realized that feeling he got whenever he was with you meant he was in love with you.

“Are you here for very long?” You tilt your head to the side as you contemplate Ushijima’s father’s question, “We haven’t seen you in a few months, and I’m not sure if Ushijima did, but I certainly missed you, princex.”

Ushijima always misses you when you aren’t around, he decides in his mind.

“I probably have to leave soon,” you respond, hands curled delicately around a porcelain cup that his father had made shortly after he turned eighteen. His country’s colors look good on you, he thinks, “Forgive me for not sending any letters, I’ve found it hard to write lately since my life has been so busy.”

“Yes,” his father smiles, and his face is all Ushijima can concentrate on, because he knows what conversation topic is coming up, “how are the wedding preparations coming along?”

He forgets sometimes. He forgets when you smile at him like he’s the only thing in the room, eyes focused on him and only him. He forgets when you call his name, light with laughter and filled with sunshine. He forgets when you pull at his hands, begging him to dance with you to music that only you can hear, but he always pulls you in, savors the feeling of you pressed against him as you sway together.

He’s always reminded again when he sees the foreign country’s pin claiming you as theirs.

Sometimes he wishes his father had introduced you earlier. That he met you before you were promised to someone else, and yet, he fantasizes about a life where he met you before.

Before what? He laughs to himself bitterly, fork pushing his dinner around the plate as he listens to you talk to his father about your wedding—sometime in the next few months, with blush pink roses and carnations the color of strawberries, even if he knows you hate carnations.

Before you were someone else’s, before you were going to be leaving him, before he could tell you he had loved you for what he thinks is his entire life.

His father told him thinking about ‘what ifs’ only hurts you in the end, and he’s starting to think he was right. In a life filled with expectations in return for nothing, Ushijima supposes he could just settle down with anyone. He won’t be an unloving husband, he’d hate to be what his mother was to his father, and yet, he’s sure he won’t ever be able to give his heart away as willingly.

“Wakatoshi,” god, he hates when you use his first name, and yet it’s worse when you use his last name, because yours will never be the same, “want to walk in the gardens? Your father told me about the renovations he’d done a few months back, I’d love to see them.”

He places his fork and knife over the plate easily, quiet and refined since utensils were one of the first lessons he’d learned, and looks at you, face as neutral as he can make it, “Of course.”

You push back from the table, and fold your hands behind your back, ever the polite guest. Ushijima stands and pushes in the both of your chairs before holding an arm out for you, a polite gesture disguising his desire to hold you as close as he can.

Perhaps most of his life had been spent selfishly hoping for you. In a way that someone in love would, he’s kept his distance from you before, but you’d just barged back in like you were a storm and he was a loosely latched window. He held you at an arm's length away, and you always managed to press as close to him as you could, fighting against his every instinct to turn you away.

He doesn’t mean to monopolize you, not really. Sometimes he just wishes to keep your smile to himself, but he knows you, and when you smile at him the way you do, with a little sparkle in your eye and a tease on your lips, he knows you’re only smiling for him.

He wonders if your betrothed has ever made you smile like he has.

“The roses always look so lovely this time of year,” you muse, both of your shoes clicking in time with his as you make your way to the gardens. A window overlooks the winding green plants, and the cut glass showcases the evening sunset, rainbows splaying across the concrete walls of his father’s castle, “It’s a shame this genus won’t be in bloom when my… wedding is to occur. I’d love to see some Shiratorizawan roses in my bouquet.”

Maybe he’s imagining it, but you sound sad—perhaps it’s only because you won’t have his country’s national flower as a set of your wedding piece, but a man can hope.

“Perhaps we could arrange for a bouquet of dried roses to be set aside for you,” he murmurs, holding the door open for you as you settle into the courtyard, “The scent will be immaculate, and they’ll stay for a good few years.”

Your smile is sweet, but your eyes are sad, he notes.

“Mm,” you pull away from his arm to cradle a wilting rose bloom in your hands, thumbs pressing feather-light against the wilted edges, “I wonder what it would be like to see such gorgeous roses every morning from my balcony. You’re lucky, Wakatoshi.”

“You could,” he says without thinking. A fumble in his normally stoic nature, he tries to cover it with a cough, but you have always been more perceptive of him than he’d like.

He can’t see your face, but he can see the way you release some sort of tension from your shoulders. Dropping the flower, you turn back to him and press a hand to the outside of his arm, “You mean it?”

“Maybe not from a balcony,” he murmurs, hand setting at your waist, his head begins to tip towards you without him even realizing it, “from a kitchen window, perhaps?”

“Overlooking a flower garden, and a vegetable garden?” Your hum is inquisitive, and Ushijima smiles at you, grateful you’re playing along at his fantasy, “Let’s do it, then.”

Oh. Maybe not a fantasy, then.

“Run away with me, ‘Toshi,” your hands reach up, cupping Ushijima’s cheeks as he blinks at you, “I don’t want to get married to anyone that isn’t you.”

“But, my father… I can’t just leave my family like this,” he pulls you into a hug when you sigh against him, thumbs brushing along the highs of his cheeks, “My sister’s not yet ready to take the throne, I can’t just abandon them. What if something happens to father?”

“Your sister’s always wanted to take the throne,” you whisper back, voice tight with desperation, he wants to go with you more than you know, and yet there’s something holding him back, “Let’s go somewhere where we can live like normal people. No crowns, no kingdoms to rule, just you and me.”

“What about your husband?”

You laugh, arms winding around his neck as you press closer to him, “Toshi, darling, don’t think. You’ve always thought too much, just. Let’s just go.”

You rocketed into Ushijima’s life like a shooting star, streaking across his sky without a single thought for the effects you’d leave behind. Yet he can’t help but watch you go.

“Of course.”

The lavender plant that grows along the edges of Ushijima’s house has always offset the harsh pinks of the roses he’d planted underneath the windows. It’s convenient, of course, that his father had left a baby rose bush on his desk the night he left.

“Toshi! The ladies in the town are asking after you again, they want you to come fix the gutters again.”

“I just fixed them last month,” he calls back, back of his hand wiping away the sweat forming on his brow as he looks up. He has to block the sun from his eyes, and your figure is shrouded in shadows instead.

“Mm, perhaps they’re looking for an excuse to see you work again, darling,” you call back, basket in hands as you smile at him. He really will never get tired of your smile, he thinks, “But, while they were distracted talking about you, I managed to sell everything for a little higher price than normal.”

By now, Ushijima has gotten up from the ground and is in front of you, his shadow over your face to block the sun, “My little swindler.”

Your smile loses its intense edge, and instead softens, “Do you ever regret it?”

“Regret what?” He mumbles, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek, “Being with the love of my life?”

“Mm,” you nod, eyes dreamy as he smiles.

“Not even for a second.”

[donutloverxo]

The donut mishap

Note - This is the first of my soft!reader series. I'll try to post them chronologically now on. Note that this is set in 2013. And a dear friend helped me out with this. Thanks a lot to her <3.

Summary - A quest of baking donuts brings you to the avengers tower. But what happens when your paths cross with the star spangled man?

Warnings - curse words, steves ptsd

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2.3k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You squinted your eyes concentrating on putting just the right amount of pressure on the piping bag to get the perfect swirl of frosting on the cupcake. Your breathe hitched as a little air bubble appeared, aside from that it looked perfect. With a nice stiff peak.

You smiled looking over the cupcakes and donuts; over 12 hours of work. You felt like a proud mama.

When you started working at the Bakery, granted you only did so because you loved how cute their desserts looked but never could afford them, you thought you’d get to make money off of your love for baking.

Instead they stuck you in the back, doing books and maintaining accounts. Yeah you were going to grad school to be an accountant but it still wasn’t fair!

You never got to learn anything new about baking, or even try any delicious pastries. You just spent 4 hours everyday playing with the numbers.

And then you got a call from Linda, your boss. Panicking about how the head chef is sick and they have an order from the Avengers.

The Avengers were just a bit controversial. But for the most part everyone was grateful for them and looked up to them.

You can’t disappoint them. They’re superheros! Literal gods!

You didn’t really have much of an opinion on them. Except that the God of thunder from space made you all tingly sometimes.

You were just happy you got the chance to make such variety of desserts. Maybe now you could convince Linda to let you help out in the kitchen every now and then.

“You’re going to have to deliver them yourself.” Linda said looking them over and taking a small bite from the mint macaroon. “Take a taxi. Think you can handle it?” She handed you a hundred dollar bill.

There were only two boxes, one with the donuts and another with different assortments of patisseries. You accepted the bill and called for an Uber.

Normally the bakery doesn’t do delivery but when someone even mentioned Tony Starks name, Linda agreed to deliver, almost gave it away for free.

You made it to the tower in one piece. Glad to know that all the desserts seemed like they were doing alright in the boxes. You craned your neck up to look at the tower. Yet you couldn’t see the top.

You tried your best to be careful with the giant pink boxes in your hands muttering ‘excuse me' to anyone you may come across so as to not bump into them. You gently lay the boxes on the reception counter. Giving the brunette receptionist a huge warm smile.

“These are for Pepper Potts. Should I just leave them here...” You trailed off.

Looking around to see everyone dressed to the nines in sleek business formal clothes. You were wearing your pink dress with small red strawberries splattered all across it, it ended just below your knees, maybe not the perfect dress for the beginning of fall, or making a delivery for that matter. It made you feel self-conscious you tried your best to not think about how unprepared you must seem.

Which wasn’t entirely your fault. They were the ones that expected such a large order in under 12 hours.

“Alright ma'am you can go up and set them up.” She said hanging up the phone and giving you a visitors pass.

“Oh I...” You wanted to disagree. Ask for someone else to do it. You just KNEW you were going to mess it up.

But you couldn’t really say anything when she smiled “Thank you.” Probably in a way to shoo you off and deal with the person behind you.

You somehow made your way to the elevator, asking for directions twice, only it was too crowded and you were running out of time. “I’ll take the next one.” You said, although no one really seemed to care, they were either looking at their phones or chatting with each other.

A nervous smile painted on your face, so you could delude yourself into thinking everything is fine to calm your nerves. You couldn’t even afford to take your phone out of your sling bag to look at the time, not with your hands occupied.

After waiting for forever you were able to get into an elevator which was only occupied with a few people. Finally you were at your desired floor.

You were to take the boxes to conference room B12.

So you looked around, distracted. Your mother had always told you that your absent mindedness will one day come to bite you in the ass.

‘Try living in reality once in a while.’ She had said in such a condescending tone.

You huffed back then, thinking you were fine just the way you are. Until you bumped into what you thought was a brick wall, too distracted by the numbers and signs and twists and turns.

You quickly looked in front of you, when you felt the boxes you had held up collide with something. It wasn’t a wall, it was what looked like a human man. You tried to balance your feet stumbling back a bit before falling flat on your ass.

“Omph” You let out as you felt the cold hardwood floor sting your behind. Your precious donuts and desserts falling to the ground.

You looked at the ruins, how the frosting and sprinkles decorated the floor, taking it all in, asking yourself if this is a dream.

By the angle you were sitting in, you were sure the man could see your underwear, but you didn’t care. Because you were completely ruined.

You looked up at him, your lips quivering and your eyes glossy. “Why?” You asked as he stared at you completely dumbfounded, as if he had never seen a girl before.

Steve wanted to refuse right away. As soon as they said the words ‘honor’ and ‘appreciate’. A ceremony just to honor him and thank him for his service to his country.

He did try to convince Tony that he hated such things. To be the centre of attentions and plaster on a pageant smile for all the flashing cameras. That is not what he signed up for. His goal was never to get fame and recognition.

He ultimately had to relent. Because it was supposed to be an inspiration for others and to ‘boost morale’.

“Just flash your perfect pearly whites for a few hours, it’s really not that hard.” Tony said slapping Steve’s shoulder. As if they’ve been friends forever and he doesn’t take some kind of sick sadistic pleasure in watching Steve suffer.

They spoke of how brave he was, how even as a sickly kid he stood up for what was right. For his country.

Really he could tolerate all that. Even be grateful for it.

But his anxiety came back as they showed pictures from the wartimes, projected onto the white screen.

He’s a hero they said.

So brave.

Selfless and compassionate.

A man out of time.

Lies. Blatant lies. He was far from a hero. He knew that. But he realized the extent of it when he saw the pictures, some of them familiar to him, having happened just in front of him not so long ago, even if it had been decades for everyone else.

All of his brothers, his best friend died. Protecting their country. For their duty. They made the ultimate sacrifice and were more than happy to do so.

He recalled one commander saying how he would love to die serving his country. It would be his greatest accomplishment.

And here he was. Wearing a suit that he had no doubt cost thousands of dollars. Drinking expensive champagne, giving interviews, having his face on magazine covers. Taking pictures with his ‘fans'. Living the high life.

How the fuck was he a hero?!

He couldn’t look at the remaining pictures or listen to them. He tried to zone them out, tune out his anxiety and his guilt. To not let his mind go to those dark places, to linger on the past. Nothing good would come out of it.

He could still do good. Be good. Wash off his sins. If he kept trying and moving forward. If only it wasn’t so hard.

There was no such thing washing your sins off of you. No one can resolve their sins by simply confessing to them in church. Or counting thousands of hail marys. His hands and his soul will always be tainted with blood.

Somehow he got through the whole thing. He was about to run off the men’s room. To take a breathe and collect his thoughts.

Tony stopped him “What’s with your resting bitch face Rogers?” He snarked but was taken aback by the scowl he received “Fine go. Remember we have a meeting with the corporal.”

Which was what the whole ruse was all about. To appease the army. He was surprised at just how bad the whole world is, but he couldn’t even begin to comprehend the shitshow that the army had become.

He rubbed his face sprinting towards the balcony. To get some fresh air, be alone as long as he can before he has to go back to being Captain America.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t hear your footsteps, which his sensitive hearing really should’ve picked up on.

He turned the corner only bump into you. Making you fall on your ass.

“Why?” You gave him a look of betrayal as tears fell down your face. You wiped your cheek with the back of your hand kneeling and working on putting your desserts back in the box.

“Oh my god... ma’am I’m so sorry.” He apologized as soon as he registered what he had down. Crouching down before you to help you clean it up. But he doubted that you would be able to eat them.

“All my work.” You moaned looking up and meeting his eyes.

Your defeated face almost made him pull you into his arms. But it wouldn’t exactly be proper to do that to a stranger.

“Don’t call me ma'am!” You huffed as more tears escaped your eyes. “I’m not like 50!” You crossed your legs sitting on the floor and staring at your boxes.

“What should I call you then?” He asked his tone gentle and inquisitive. Truly curious to know what your name was.

“How about you call me nothing? You’ve done enough.” You frowned as you looked into his crystal blue hues. He was simply put beautiful.

You never thought that’s the adjective you’d use to describe a man, but that was all you could think of.

However his beauty didn’t excuse his actions. It certainly wouldn’t bring back the desserts you worked so hard on. So all you could do was be mad at him.

“I can pay for them.” He blurted out and then winced. You probably made them yourself. He can’t exactly replace them.

“It was the first time I truly baked. And now I’ll lose my job.” You sniffled tracing the frosting which was smeared on the floor with your finger. “And the Avengers will all go hungry...” You rambled your voice small. All you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry into a pillow.

You sneered at him as he chuckled. He immediately stopped pressing his lips into a straight line. “I doubt they’ll go hungry. I promise you won’t lose your job. No one has to know.” He reasoned. His plump rosy lips stretch into a smile, that must be worth at least a million dollars. His eyes creasing and yeah he really was beautiful.

You felt your anger resolving but decided to remain firm. To not let him work his charms on you. “They will call my boss when the delivery doesn’t arrive. And my boss will fire me!” You exclaimed spelling it out for him. Since he seemed to fit the stereotype of the dumb pretty blonde. Or was that exclusive to women?

“I can promise you no one will tell your boss.” He hesitated but then put his hand over yours in an effort to reassure you.

“What? How – how will you do that?” You asked getting more and more frustrated that he failed to understand just how grave this situation was for you.

“I uh... do have that kind of authority.” He said giving you a small nod. At least he could do some good with this ‘status' he held.

“Hm” You hummed still suspicious. But he was wearing a suit which looked expensive. His stance seemed that of someone who was powerful. His voice although soft held some stern undertones. “I – how do I believe you?” You asked and laughed at your misery as you realized you didn’t really have a choice.

Finally, pressing a palm on the floor you got up. Collecting your boxes. “It’s okay.” You sighed. “I guess I wasn’t really looking either. Whatever happens I’ll deal with it.” You said giving him a somber look.

“Uh – are you sure?” He stammered afraid he got you in trouble and couldn’t really do anything about it. Even more so that you were leaving and he’d probably never get to see you again.

“I’m not really a liar.” You shrugged as he stood up with you.

You didn’t have the opportunity to marvel at his tall stature, and how big he was compared to you. Or just big in general. You simple turned around your head hung low.

Only to look back at him over your shoulder. You tried to suppress a whimper, at just how hopeless you were, and asked “Which way is the elevator?”

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or shoot me an ask/dm.

Please note that my work is NOT to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

[writefightandflightclub]

what do you think Nathan would do if his girl wasnt in the mood for sex... like, nonsexual intimacy with Nathan Bateman,,, what would that he like I wonder

Thanks for the ask, Anon, and sorry it took a while to respond! I’m not sure if this is exactly what you wanted but I hope you like it! :D If you don’t, I’m sure you will at least enjoy the GIF :P

Affection (Nathan Bateman headcanons)

GIF: @yoongifilm

So, I think Nathan has all sorts of non-sexual ways to be intimate. Intimacy can be so many things! Sure, he’s got quite a high sex drive, but if his partner isn’t feeling it he’ll never push. He knows when he can tease a little to win you over and when it’s clearly a hard nope.

Nathan can be reluctant to show affection and emotions, especially in “typical” ways, but if he cares for someone and they engage him in the right way (and put in the work to decipher him) he really opens up (I mean, compared to before, still not a ton :P).

So, what are some of the ways he will get intimate, and spend his time with you?

First of all, Nathan isn’t a small talk kinda guy. He prefers deep, passionate discussion, and he loves the intimacy of a deep conversation with you, over dinner, out on the deck looking at the moon and stars, or curled up somewhere cosy in the house under a blanket. He loves how your mind works differently to his, how you alert him to some of his blindspots, and how you surprise and challenge him. He also loves that you can keep up with him, and he loves that he can express himself fully without judgement. The two of you have had so many lengthy discussion on philosophy, ethics, AI, art, music, humanity, the meaning of life, that movie you watched the other night that you have conflicting theories about... the list goes on. Nathan loves knowledge, and there are so many topics he’s interested in and passionate about (learning about you now being one of them, and when he’s interested in something, he goes all in!).

When the two of you are in your safe bubble of intense conversation, you love the way his dark eyes animate and his hands wave to express himself as he talks to you. You love how when you speak he truly listens, and the way you can see him processing your input and adjusting his theories at a mile a minute. He’s incredibly cultured and well-read (and obviously a genius), and you’re in awe of him, and there’s also something special about him taking the time to share his knowledge with you. You love this kind of intimacy, especially when he gets excited about an idea and you see that rare and happy spark in his usually calculating eyes. It really shows how much he trusts you, even with classified ideas and some of his inner and more personal thoughts. Plus, you’re the only one who gets to share and see this side of Nathan, when he can be so closed-off to everyone else.

Sure, sometimes the discussion will get heated, and often you end up teasing each other and having some banter, but knowing that you also make each other laugh is also a really important part of your relationship. Nathan has a dark, singular sense of humour, which is a little hard to pin down, but now that you know him well, he can always bring a smile to your face. Even better if one of his cheap, crude comments draws that dirty, throaty chuckle from you that he likes so much.

Sometimes it’s physical affection. Whilst physical affection seems more important for you than it is for Nathan, that’s not to say it doesn’t feature. Your favourite thing is the way he has you sit on his lap as he taps away on his laptop, just so he can hold your body close to his and feel the heat and weight of you settle on him while he works. His lips will find your hairline to pepper unconscious kisses onto you at intervals, and every now and again his fingers will lightly and absent-mindedly wander over your skin. Strangely, you enjoy his physical touches a lot when his head is half in his work, as you can simply enjoy it without wondering if he’ll want to escalate things, or whether one or both of you will end up making a comment that will prickle the other. Like this, when you’re both quiet and still and just enjoying this closeness, you can truly appreciate his soft affection, and you can feel how much he likes having you around. Plus, he’s beautiful when he’s concentrating on something, bathed in blue light, his eyes intense one moment and then ever so slightly softening; for example, when you brush the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck, wriggle on his lap, or nuzzle closer to him. You love the little hums he emits, and you’d never point it out to him as you’re not even sure he knows he’s doing it. You feel utterly content, and, even better, you can tell how much it relaxes him too. He always seems to get his best work done when you’re soothing him.

I mean, to be honest, the fact Nathan allows you to be by his side at all, shows how comfortable he is being intimate with you, in ways he would never be with anyone else. He’s let you into his private space fortress, and into all of his secrets. Nathan can be quite introverted, and often needs to retreat from everything , going through intense periods of inspiration where he isolates. People can exhaust him... he’s just not good at peopling. Basically, there aren’t many people he could stand to be around constantly. You two, however, have developed a comfortable way of being, whether you’re working out together, hiking together, cooking dinner together, or working on opposite sides of the room, you have this blissful, comfortable silence with one another. You feel free enough to be yourself and you think he does too.

Nathan does care for you, and the way he notices a lot of little details about you is really touching. Sure, a lot of the times he might be an asshole, self-involved, and completely oblivious when you try to verbalise your feelings, but he’s a lot better at picking-up on a lot of your physical cues (he’s spent a long-time studying body language and he’s very in-tune with your body, which he loves, by the way). He might tend to a small wound that is worse than you let on mid-way through a hike, pulling you aside and carefully, wordlessly patching you up with a stern expression. He might notice you twinging from that niggle in your back and slip up behind you to rub your shoulders as you stir the food in the saucepan. He’s also very conscious of keeping you safe and healthy, and while you may not find love notes all over the house, sometimes the snack he leaves for you on the corner of your desk shows he cares just as much as something sappy would.

He’s not a super snuggly person, and he doesn’t really like lying down and “doing nothing” (even when you try to explain the benefits), but on the ocassions you can get him to stay in bed a little longer, or coax him breifly into a warm bath, he will wrap those strong arms of his around you and hold you close from behind, planting a soft kiss on your shoulder, his beard nuzzling and tickling at you. There is no better feeling than this. You think , over time, that Nathan’s even come to enjoy it more too, as, sometimes, when you fear that you’ve held him in place too long, it turns out he doesn’t want to let go, and will find some excuse to stay just that little bit longer. (The first time you convince him to be little spoon in bed as well, oh my GOD. He almost jumps up immediately and practically flees, however, you’ve noticed him backing himself up to you at night, on the rare ocassions he needs a little affection of his own. You are nice enough not to tease him.)

Also, Nathan’s not super tactile unless sex is involved, but he’ll let you do little things for him, like massage and oil his sore muscles, or run sweet-smelling oils through his beard, or even shave his head for him (the first time was hilarious). You know no-one else would get to do this for him, and so it always feels special to touch him and take care of him like this.

Basically, Nathan likes being around you.

And, on the occassions where he’s not pissing you off, you feel exactly the same.

[pochiperpe90]

Points of view – The Interview: Luca Marinelli

How do you approach your characters. 

Sometimes I also wonder how I get to the character. For “Non essere cattivo”, I had a very detailed script and a fascinating director at my disposal, so I didn't struggle to relate. It was a very brave script for the way it dealt with reality. At first my auditions went in the direction of Vittorio's character but also knowing the figure of Cesare, more than once I thought I would like to play him. I saw the auditions of others and I stopped to think how I could have done Cesare. Then at a certain point I remember that Claudio looked at Valerio and told him that it would be better to reverse the roles, to let me try Cesare, and so it went. When I read the script of “Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot”, the first thing that struck me, besides the courageous imagination, was to understand how a film of this kind could be made. 

In the first part of your career, you brought an image of introverted and staid youth to the screen. Was this a choice. 

Absolutely not. Or rather yes, it was the choice of those who met me first. Perhaps a part of my personality has been seen that could best marry the characters in question. It happened both in “La solitudine dei numeri primi” by Saverio Costanzo and later with Virzì in "Tutti i santi giorni", then it can be said that with Casare of “Non essere cattivo” and the Zingaro of “Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot” I was allowed to turn things around slightly, to play a character who had a disposition and behavior that was completely the opposite of what I had faced previously. 

What do you remember about your debut with Saverio Costanzo. 

He was my initiation into cinema, I came from the Academy and I had no idea what it was like to work on a set. The best memory, in addition to the experience of the film with him and Alba, is the first meeting, the first audition, where I really understood that I strongly wanted to work with him and that if this had happened I would have ended up in the hands of a great author. 

With that film you found yourself in the main competition of the Venice Film Festival. What memories do you have of that first time at the lido. 

Of a huge confusion and a big headache. We were tossed around from one interview to another and not only that, because the worst thing was always answering the same questions, and I was terribly worried not to make the situation even more boring for the machine operator, who never changed, and I don't think could take it longer to hear the same phrases over and over. Fortunately, Alba was there as well and saved me in more than one interview. The experience helped me because the following times I knew slightly more what I was going through and how to manage situations and keep stress at bay. Or maybe not yet, it's a long way. 

I noticed that when you talk about your job you do it using the verb “to play” (giocare). Is it a coincidence or the choice has a precise meaning. 

Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that in English the term recite is said precisely in this way because in my opinion to play, or the French jouez, represents the feeling of freedom and fun that is inherent in the job I do, better. As far as I'm concerned, the moment of the take is when the actor has to stop thinking, abandon worries, to be able to bring out the energy of his character. He has to play with the same seriousness and commitment with which a child does. I remember a piece of advice from Carlo Cecchi on the fact that in acting counts listening and the here and now. Being actively present to oneself and to others at that exact moment.

You have a method for achieving this condition. 

If someone asked me something about technique, I wouldn't know what to answer, apart from listening. On the set of Andrea Molaioli's film in which I am the father of the young protagonist, the actor who plays him, Ludovico, who is really good, full of talent and very smart, once asked me what was the technique to make the best of the character, and the only thing I felt able to advise him was to try to be present in that moment and then to let go, listen and not think about the rest. 

But I imagine that there are also practical aspects in the preparation that precedes the start of filming. 

As for me, I try to prepare as much as I can before arriving on set because at the start of the shoot it would be good to be ready. But not everything happens automatically, in the sense that you can’t always find the character immediately. However, I have always been lucky enough to have more or less long periods of rehearsal before starting a film. I remember this moment with Saverio and Alba, where we spent weeks among us and also with the kids who would have played us as children, to try the various scenes and to create a union and harmony between the characters. The same happened with Paolo Virzì, Thony and I, more than once we gather, facing the script, to clarify all the passages and moments of the scenes. 

And how did things go with Claudio Caligari. 

The same thing also happened with Claudio even though the illness made everything more complicated for him. He asked us to change our bodies, to participate in the auditions of the other actors. This allowed all of us, the cast, to integrate and develop a unity of purpose and a truly rare familiarity. So in front of the camera it seemed to me that the gang, to which Cesare and Vittorio belonged, was really part of my life, that it wasn’t hard to pass from Luca to Cesare, because I had found him. And always to identify with the environment of the story, I preferred a house in Ostia, and Alessandro often came to me from Rome to spend time between the two of us. Claudio, in addition to having reading meetings together, also showed us films that were a source of inspiration for him for this film, such as “Accattone” by Pier Paolo Pasolini, “Rocco e i suoi fratelli” by Luchino Visconti and “Mean Sreet” by Martin Scorsese.

Instead, I wanted to ask you what happens between takes, for example when you come home after a day of work. You stay inside the character as it happens to Daniel Day Lewis, or you put it aside and think of something else like Marcello Mastroianni did. 

I try to disconnect from the set. I try. I go home and try to do something else, but the last thought before falling asleep always goes to the next day's work plan and I leave myself a few minutes for the memory and concentration useful for tomorrow and then I close my eyes.  

We asked Roberta Mattei and we ask you too. During the processing you were aware of the exceptional nature of what you were doing. 

Yes. Let me explain: I saw with my own eyes that what was happening was exceptional, a man who was dying wanted to give his latest work to the public, to his audience, to his people, to people. This has no equal for me. Don't think about yourself in such a situation but about others.

Then it was the turn of Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot. 

I shot Jeeg Robot in March 2014, and therefore before “Non essere cattivo”. The fact that Mainetti's film is only coming out now is due to the long post-production period necessary to assemble the shot with the special effects present in the film. 

Here as well it was an interpretation and a character who completely overturns the transparent and pristine image of the first part of your career. 

To make Jeeg Robot we had to convince each other, Gabriele Mainetti and I, about my success in the character. I pushed him towards a theatricality and Gabriele towards a real madness, a pure pain. In the end, I think we have found the right amount. 

The construction of the Zingaro was already very clear in the writing and it was up to us, however, to find its true aspect. 

Guiding him is this crazy and boundless ego, and the obsession with having to leave a mark. The Zingaro's eccentricity is partly reflected in his look, halfway between a rock star and a suburban bully. For the costumes and make-up we were inspired by the great rock icons. We dared in some choices, such as the black coat with pink leopard lining that characterize the wardrobe. For the aspects related to the way of performing, his model was Anna Oxa and in particular the video of her at Sanremo, when she sings “Un’emozione da poco”. 

In part you have already answered, but I wanted to know how you choose to accept the proposals that are made to you and if you have any foreclosures towards television, or more generally towards commercial cinema. 

I choose the proposals on the basis of love at first sight that must happen with the film, with its screenplay. Then figure out who will be leading the film, meet the director. I don't have any kind of foreclosure, let's say that if I don't like something I don't do it and if I like it I do. And it doesn't matter if it's cinema or television. 

As a spectator what is the cinema you love. 

I like films that have something to say and that I also choose based on who directed and starred in it. Usually when they ask me to name some titles I have a void. Think that the same thing happened to me also during the audition to enter the experimental center, when Lina Wertmuller asked me the title of a film I had seen recently. I was struck by a cosmic void and instead of naming her an authoritative and important film I left her stunned by citing Batman, I think Nolan's first, still a good film, but I still had Wertmuller in front of me... But to go back to what you asked me, I tell you that in general I always like to watch films that come from Sundance, of which I remember, for example “Like Crazy”, which I found disarmingly beautiful, the films of P.T. Anderson, Wes Anderson, the Cohen, there are many, and among the Italians those played by Alba Rohrwacher, Valerio Mastandrea, Elio Germano, Kim Rossi Stuart and directed by Alice Rohrwacher, Costanzo, Virzì, Sorrentino, Garrone, Salvatores. Without forgetting those of the great Joaquin Phoenix. But in reality I look at everything, let's say that I try not to lose anything of these. 

Despite the certificates of esteem you have received for your performances, the impression is that of an understatement that almost seems not to be aware of what you have achieved so far as an actor. 

Whenever I see a film of mine I always think there is something I could have done better. But basically I'm happy with what I've done so far. Having said that, I think that the films alone should be enough to explain everything and that the interviews don’t add anything new to what there was to say before making them. But when I am in the dance, when I need to promote, I am committed to doing it in the best possible way. I strongly think that in life and at work it’s important to demonstrate that you know how to do and not to show at all costs that you do.

DREAMINGCINEMA

Just wanted to translate this old interview for the non-italian’s fans ^^ (sorry for my English)

[hit-me-with-a-ladle]

Ch.9 Creepypastas x Fem! reader

" Now, the first thing I'm going to be making very clear is. This isn't Harry Potter or whatever. You don't have a magic wand that you can wave and 'poof' all of your issues are gone. The only way you can cast spells is by studying a very old book that you humans know as a 'Grimoire'. Which, let me tell you, is super hard to learn so that's why we're starting out with potions. I'm not saying it is easy but you understand."

The girl began to vigorously take notes as she listened and watched him fill the cauldron up with water, putting it to a boil.

" So with that put aside, let's start talking about potion-making itself. Potions don't always have to be magical but to calm the soul in a way. Each potion's strength is dictated by what you put in it so, if you were to make a, I don't know, a power potion. Deciding what you put in it can define its overall effectiveness and strength. So for example, if you put peppermint instead of sage you'll get a weaker overall result. And also the time its effects will reduce significantly."

He spoke quickly and very precisely, the way he articulated and carried himself showed that he was in his element. He began to cut different plants with a sharp silver blade and put it in the cauldron, stirring it once in a while.

" You most likely know that it takes more than a few ingredients to make an effective potion, so that's why experimenting is crucial. Mixing and matching different ingredients, not just for the hell of it but with a purpose, will help you improve. But to do that you'll need the basic knowledge of what, most, of the things, you're using do. I don't have all of the herbs and plants that exist, I have a very small portion in fact. This little cottage was built by me for the sole reason to have a place to store things you'll need to, well basically, survive."

He was quick with his movements as he looked through the shelves packed with different jars and glass bottles filled with different coloured liquids. Reading the labels that were neatly put on each of them, searching for something. She thoroughly took notes as she listened to him talk.

" So you actually made this by yourself?" She asked surprised.

" Yeah mostly, I had some help from Jack. He knows his way around that kind of stuff. But everything else is made by me."

" Are you and him on good terms?"

" Yeah, you can say that we are. He's alright, very chill dude, calm, lever headed. Sadistic, yes, but he would never hurt someone he cares for too much. He loves messing with people. But Jesus doesn't get him mad. It's very hard to get under his skin, but the moment you do, it's over for you. I've seen him crush people's skulls with one hand. He got in a fight with Masky once, broke his arm like it was a twig. Got in huge trouble with The Operator for that, after that incident things between them haven't been the same."

" What did they fight for?"

" Not sure, I wasn't there when that happened, but it's most likely Masky's fault."

He shrugged as he carried on with work, the girl was deep in thought now, curious of why they fought. Hearing the snapping of fingers quickly averting her attention to Ben who now carried on with this lesson.

" Hey listen so you'll know what the hell you'll be doing for the next week."

" Sorry."

" Great. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, each of these ingredients has its own magical properties, some even have multiple uses. For example, this is one you'll most likely know." Holding up a purple plant in his right hand, twirling it in his fingers. " Is lavender, the main reason someone might use it is for warding off evil spirits and whatnot, but it can also be used for purification if used correctly. Understand what I mean?"

The girl began to shake her head as she took notes. He crushed the lavender in his hand and added it to the cauldron. Now that she thought about it. What exactly was he making all this time? Her eyes followed his lengthy form as he strolled through the cottage getting what he needed or put things back in its place. At times he would stand in front of the large bookshelves and search for certain books, comb through them, read what he needed to find and place it back in its place. He was truly in his element, his posture now perfect and he was dead concentrated on what he was doing. Seemed to have the placement of everything memorized to a T. It was nice in a way, he knew what he was doing and it showed.

" I don't have much to say really. Course, I didn't tell you everything, you have much more to learn but for now that is enough I think. So if you have anything you want to ask, go ahead." He said continuing with his business.

" Actually I do. So the Raskovnik, what does it exactly do? Masky was very adamant about me getting it so why exactly is it so important."

" Oh well, it's not that it's very important, it's just that I really need it. Used up the last of it I had a while back so I asked if he could get some. This stuffs super hard to find, ya gotta have a good ass eye to even notice it, I'm surprised you were able to even find it. And as for what it's used for according to lore I've heard, Raskovnik has the magical property to unlock or uncover anything that is locked or closed. Needed it for a potion I'm making and ran out. It's not the most powerful but it's still super effective."

" So it's able to unlock basically anything right."

" Yeah pretty much."

" So how do you use it?"

" You can use it in a bunch of ways, but the most effective way for me is in a liquidated state, I guess. you'll learn how to do that, don't worry."

A new sense of hope soared through the girl's body when she heard its usage. There was a way to leave. A small smile crossed her lips as she looked into her hands. Roughly scribbled on the pages were the many notes she took.

" Done."

Ben solemnly said, making her look at him in confusion. He approached one of the shelves and took out a wooden cup. Dipping it in the cauldron, filling it up to the top and handing it to the girl. She took it in her hands, careful not to spill it, now even more confused than before.

" Drink it." He said.

" What's this?" She asked.

"It's meant to help your wounds. They seem a little uncomfortable, so I thought it would be best for some of them to heal. Now it might not fully heal some larger wounds. But overall it helps with medium-sized cuts and bruises and reduces pain and blood loss."

Muttering a soft 'Thank you.' She drank the whole thing at once. It barely had a taste but there were chunks of different things that made the texture strange and unpleasant. Like drinking a thick crema. When she finished she felt tingling in her neck, legs and arms as the skin began to twitch. After about five minutes that gash on her neck was almost gully gone. The discomfort on her arms and legs was now non-existent. And a wave of confidence washed over Ben when he saw the result of his work.

" I feel really good. Thank you." She spoke up as she touched her neck. " Can we go now?"

" Yeah sure."

He answered, nearing the door and opening it up for them to leave. Walking outside about to leave he quickly stopped himself.

" Wait, I forgot something inside, you go ahead and I'll catch up to you."

With that, he ran into the cottage once more. Searching for something. The sounds of bottles colliding and papers being put aside were soon heard as he dug through his belongings. The girl only laughed and carried on. After a few minutes, Ben caught up to her and together they walked towards the cabin. Finally reaching it she walked in and was about to go and make herself something to eat. Ben grabbed her by the shoulder and stopped her. She looked at him confused and before she could ask he pulled out a small necklace from his pocket. Locking eyes with her.

" I made this a while back. It's a charm meant to protect the wearer, and as you're going to be guarding the whole forest you'll be the one needing it most."

He then began to put it on her neck. When he was done she got a better look at it. It was a chain necklace with a tiny glass bottle hanging inside. Inside was some sort of green herb.

" What's inside of it?"

"Rosemary." He flashed his signature creepy smile.

[one-piece-dumpster-fire]

Normally I'd be too shy to send but heck it. May I have fluffy headcannons for Sabo, Thatch, Ace, and Marco of cuddles, kisses, and encouragement while trying to help their s/o study? Please and thank you queen uwu💖💖💖

I'm so sorry it took so long my dear😭!!! I hope you can forgive me and still enjoy what I came up with- despite the terribly long wait rip💔

The boys 'help' you with studying- headcanon

Sabo

he actually suggests that you should study together- since Sabo always has some reports left to fill anyway, he thinks it's a brilliant idea to take care of your duties together.

spoiler: it isn't. He can't focus on his work when you're next to him. No way. His fingers are constantly wandering from the papers on his desk over to your hand or face

sometimes he also can't help himself and starts toying around with your hair and compliments you on how beautiful you look, and the work he was supposed to do is almost completely forgotten within minutes

some may say he's just so touchy because he wants to distract himself from the boring paperwork, but you and I know that he simply adores you too much to ignore you. It seems almost cruel to him to focus on his work while you're by his side! Obviously he needs to show you how much he loves having you around, even at the price of barely getting anything done himself

when he reached the point where he absolutely can't keep his hands to himself anymore, he'll just pull you into his lap and tells you to stay focussed while he's taking in your scent and the feeling of your skin

okay, as nice as this is, you're not really making any progress right now. Mh. Perhaps Sabo could try and help you with your studies first, and then you can keep him company while he's doing his paperwork...? Technically, you'd still be taking care of your duties together that way!

the Chief of Staff most likely has no clue on what you're studying, but that won't stop him from telling you how smart you are and how he believes that you'll rock whatever subject you're focussing on!

whenever you're finished with a portion and turn to the next page, he makes sure to reward you by pressing a soft kiss to your temple or neck while encouraging you to go on

if it helps your cause, Sabo might even suggest to take your book and ask you questions about the current topic, almost like a small pop-quiz. It always ends in disaster though since he knows barely anything about the stuff you're working with, and sometimes he even answers his own questions as a result

whenever that happens, you are bound to break out in laughter and correct him when he gets something wrong. The pop-quiz he envisioned might not work, but this is another good way to test your knowledge, wouldn't you agree? And of course you two also get to goof around together that way, which is a huge plus to him. Studying and being focussed is super important of course, but you also gotta take a break and have a good laugh with him from time to time!

Thatch

he's such a devoted boyfriend that he actually helps you plan a studying schedule. Your sessions are usually in the evening or early afternoon, aka when he's not busy in the kitchen and can be with you while you're working on your stuff

now, Thatch is aware of the distracting presence he might have, so he tries to keep his interruptions to a minimum. As much as he'd love to be by your side and cheer you on 24/7, it probably won't be a good idea

instead he occasionally leaves to patrol the hallway to make sure that no one else tries to interrupt you. Especially Ace is forbidden from entering your room during study time- Thatch knows that the young pirate will just drag you away from your books and pull you into some dumb nonsense as always, and you can't have that

however Thatch is also unable to leave your side for long. He's slightly worried about all the work you have to take care of, and soon enough he's in your room and by your side again to make sure that you're okay

and- you probably guessed it- he also provides you with snacks and meals all throughout your study session. You need to eat and supply your brain with enough nutritions if you want to power through this!

if there is any topic in your textbooks that Thatch is even vaguely familiar with, he'll pull out a chair and sit down next to you to 'help' as good as he can. Even if it's not much. In his mind it might make you feel as if you're not alone with this

when it starts to get late and more cold, he's always sure to get you a blanket and some hot chocolate to keep you comfy. And- of course- he'd gladly reward you with some snuggles and kisses after your long studying session as well. You more than earned it!

in the end it's always him who pulls you away from your books and reminds you to get some rest. You can't argue with the cook on this- when he says it's time for bed, it's time for bed

during some nights, when you find it hard to fall asleep because your mind is still filled with all the knowledge you forced into it, Thatch comes up with a little game to play- instead of counting sheeps, you need to list something new you learned today and then he'll do the same. It usually ends with him rambling on and on about some new kitchen tool he found, which he keeps talking about right until he notices that his boring lecture has put you to sleep. Just as he planned...

Ace

he's flunctuating between wanting to help you with your studies and wanting to pull you away from them so he can keep you all to himself

whenever you're sitting in your chair, hunched over your books, Ace will show up and hug you from behind, his eyes peeking over your shoulder to look at what you're studying, feigning interest

sometimes he'll read a few words and pretend to know what it's about, just so he can talk with you. But you're always so caught up in your studies that you have to push him aside; and although Ace sorta understands it, he's still a bit upset that he can't spend time with you as usual

in an attempt to get you to pay attention to him, he would often press small kisses to your cheek while his head rests on your shoulder and he continues to engulf you from behind

he definitely admires your determination and how you can stay focussed on boring stuff like this for so long. If it was him, he'd probably be dead asleep in just a few moments

talking of which... 15 minutes into your studies, the sound of Ace snoring will ripple through the air. And since his head is still lying on your shoulder and close to your ear, you get to hear it at full volume

after you shake him awake a bit, your boyfriend will try his hardest not to fall asleep again- because he's scared that you might send him away if he does- but this is a battle he just can't seem to win...

as he's desperately trying find something to distract himself, Ace eventually decides to grab one of your textbooks and take a look at what you're dealing with. But again, he's unable to make any sense of it and asks you how you can stay concentrated on weird stuff like this

perhaps you could enlighten him a bit and explain what your current subject is all about? There's no guarantee that he'll understand anything you're talking about, but Ace would rather listen to you talk about the stuff than try to read about it in some stupid book by himself

the young pirate is utterly fascinated by how much you know. Obviously he still has no clue why you have to learn all that stuff, but it sure is impressive! Compared to how little education he has, it's almost as if he's dating a genius!

such a smart and determined partner definitely deserves some recognition. Once you're done with your studies, Ace will pounce on you like a needy cat and show you just how proud he is by pulling you against him and peppering your face in greedy kisses as if there's no tomorrow

even though he's proud of you for staying strong throughout your studies, he's far more excited to have you pay more attention to him now; without any of your annoying books getting in the way

Marco

unlike the others, Marco is truly 100% keen on making sure that you can work as efficiently and calmly as possible. Before you even start with studying, he's already setting up your desk for you and also observes how you're feeling to see if you're really in the mood for it

after all, nothing good is gonna come out of it if you force yourself! Your thoughts might wander and the time will be wasted. So before you sit down and learn, he is sure to spoil you and make you feel utterly relaxed so you won't stress too much

during studies, he often prefers to take on the role of a teacher and 'tutors' you on what you're currently working on

at night he secretly stays up and looks through your textbooks to see what subjects you have to prepare for, and if he can help with anything, he sure as hell will

it's kind of his personal job to stay up to date with whatever you're doing, so you always have him to rely on whenever you might struggle or not understand something.

whenever he can, Marco will come up with memory-bridges to help you mesmerize certain things more easily, and sometimes those references can even connect to situations you might remember from something that happened with the crew

and of course Marco often praises you for how strong and smart you are- even if you don't understand something at your first attempt, he knows how hard you're trying and always encourages you to keep going. He's certain that there's not a single obstacle you won't be able to overcome, as long as you put your heart and soul into it!

whenever you reach a new milestone or finish a study session, he rewards you. Said rewards can be cuddle sessions, showers of kisses, or him giving you a nice massage to help relax your muscles from sitting at your desk for so long

as your doctor as well as boyfriend, he's always concerned about your well-being. Intense studying sessions as well as the pressure to get everything mesmorized can be very emotionally taxing, and Marco makes sure to keep a close eye on you and your mental health so you won't get burned out

there's definitely a break-plan he designed just for you, and if he's not around to remind you to taking some time off every now and then, he'll get another crew member to jump in for him

what matters the most to him is how you're feeling. So even if there are days where you don't live up to your own expectations, Marco would never dream of scolding you for it. Instead he reminds you that you did your best and already learned so much- plus, tomorrow is a new day! If you couldn't do everything today, you probably will do it some other time. He's confident in that!

[fizzyxcustard]

The Right Thing

Masterlist of all fanfics/headcanons/prompts here

Fandom: seaQuest 2032

Pairings: Lucas Wolenczak x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety, insecurity, age difference (but legal), language (mild)

Word count: 6505 (a longer one)

Summary: You are a Lieutenant aboard the seaQuest DSV vessel, under Captain Oliver Hudson. You have been aboard for two years and in that time have grown very close to Lucas Wolenczak. But not only are you of higher rank, you are ten years his senior (he’s 20). As your feelings deepen and Lucas opens up to you about how he feels, your anxiety rises. Will everyone be judgemental of you for loving a younger man? Others aboard the boat, and shore leave, help you to see how right you and Lucas are for each other.

Comments: If you have any questions regarding this fic and the fandom, by all means message me. I’d love to hear your thoughts and feedback. I will probably try and make graphics for my fics in future if people are interested in reading more of this as I have a full length fic in the works and a prequel one-shot as well. If you would like to be added to my tag list for anything seaQuest related, please leave me a message or comment. The above image shows Captain Oliver Hudson (left) and Ensign Lucas Wolenczak (right) from the show. 

Never before had you felt this awkward, torn and utterly disgusted with yourself. Whenever you sat beside Lucas on the bridge, you could feel his stare now and again as he turned his mesmerising blue eyes from the helm monitor. True, you had always had a very deep friendship with Lucas, who was now an Ensign and seemed to be on duty with you more than any other officer, but the tension was becoming too much. He was two months past twenty and you were the wrong side of thirty. However, most people assumed you to be younger than Lonnie, at twenty-one, but no, the years were against you. In fact, you were the same age as Tim O’Neill.

That day was rather uneventful. Your shift passed by without incident. You laughed with Lucas, Jim Brody and Lonnie in the mess hall. But again, you could sense Lucas’ eyes on you.

Captain Hudson was at a UEO summit meeting, leaving Commander Ford in charge. It was always more laid back and chilled when Jonathan Ford took the helm. No complaints, no shouting, no frustration. Ford had been on seaQuest now since her first tour, along with Lucas and Tim. The rest of the crew, including you, came later. All of you missed Captain Bridger, who had been more than just a Captain, but a friend and a fatherly figure.

“Have you got any plans for shore leave?” Lucas asked you suddenly.

You swallowed hard and turned to face him, pulling your headset from off your head. “Not at the moment, no,” you replied. “You?”

This was all your conversations had become now. Idle chit chat. Whereas when Captain Bridger was still your skipper, you and Lucas would spend time together, laughing at stupid movies, listening to music, taunting Tony Piccolo and simply basking in the things of youth.

Lucas knew there was something very wrong between you both; he could sense it. He didn’t have to be like Wendy Smith, psychic; he could see the cold shoulder that you gave him often. He watched you concentrate on your monitor, staring through the glasses that you always wore when on any computer or when writing. The atmosphere had changed aboard the boat when Captain Bridger left, but surely that wasn’t enough to make you grow cold.

When it was time for shift change, you walked off the bridge with Lucas. Both of you strolled slowly, side by side. “Hey, ummm,” Lucas began, stopping in the corridor. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” you asked.

Lucas sighed at the cold, abrupt edge to your tone. “Us….”

“What do you mean us?”

“No…no. It sounded weird, I know. I’m sorry,” Lucas said, silently grilling himself for sounding stupid. “Things just seem weird. We don’t spend time together like we used to, and I guess I…”

“We’ll talk later. In private,” you told him. Officers were speeding past you, starting and ending the shift rotation. It was too open for such a chat. There was a lot that needed to be said. “I’ll come to your quarters about seven. How’s that?”

“Perfect,” Lucas replied with a smile.

As you parted ways, you felt breath catch in your throat. Your hands shook and tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. You felt something for Lucas and you despised yourself, at just over ten years his senior. You were ashamed of it.

It wasn’t until you ventured from your quarters and down the corridors to Lucas’ shared quarters that you realised just how deep his feelings for you ran. You could distinctly hear his voice as you stopped outside the door, which was slightly ajar. The other person, you assumed, was Tony Piccolo.

“You need to tell her, Lucas,” the second voice came. Sure enough, it was Tony.

You waited outside the door, listening.

“I can’t stop thinking about her, Tony.”

“You’ve said that before with girls.”

“This is different. I barely knew Juliana and Sandra. I’ve spent months with her, and when I am with her, it’s like she’s my age. And she cares. I mean truly cares. Probably because she’s just as alone as I am. But lately she’s grown cold towards me. She won’t speak to me sometimes for almost an entire day. There’s no laughing anymore.”

“It’s pretty hard to laugh around here with Hudson in charge,” Tony replied.

You straightened your back and swallowed hard, bracing yourself and tapped on the door.

A few seconds later and Tony appeared. “I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t mind me,” he said, grinning at you. “Go easy on him.” Tony winked at you. All you could do was grimace and then descend the steps down into the main sleeping area which Lucas and Tony shared.

Lucas looked at you, dressed in jeans, Converse and blouse. How could you be the age you were? You looked twenty-two at most. Everything about you enthralled him; your small and discreet tattoos scattered about your body, your quirky sense of humour, the way you cared for everyone and put them before yourself, the odd looking ornaments you kept on your desk and your taste in rock music. Jim Brody had teased many times how your attitude would be suited with Tony Piccolo. But you needed people who were steady and mature.

Things were silent for a short while as you both stood a couple of feet apart, your hands shoved in pockets. Then you broke the silence and looked at Lucas. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It’s just…Maybe I’m being arrogant, I don’t know. But I sense that you like me…”

“And does that bother you?” Lucas asked, his hands growing more and more sweaty.

“I’m a lot older than you, Lucas,” you reminded him. “You’ve only just become an adult, and I know you forget my age when we spend time together. I’m still young in my appearance and ways. Maybe I haven’t grown up myself yet.”

“I think you’re amazing,” Lucas said softly. “Why does age have to be an issue? We’re good together; I know that you know that.”

His words made something pour in your stomach and you closed your eyes, trying to shake the feelings away. “Lucas, no. Stop it, please,” you whispered.

“You have feelings for me, too. I know you do. I can see it,” he said, approaching you.

You felt his arm wind around your waist, edging you closer towards him.

“Stop it!” you cried out, pushing him away. “No means no!”

You left his quarters only moments later, leaving Lucas behind to slam his hands down onto his desk. Leaving seaQuest was the only way this would end. Lucas would move on and meet a girl his own age. And you would transfer to another boat, hopefully to ace your officer exams and get promoted to Lieutenant Commander.

That evening was long as you drowned in your own thoughts. How could Lucas be what you needed? Would he be prepared to look towards marriage and children within the next two to five years? You would be rushing him, forcing him to put aside all the years of adventure and experience to build a family. Because that was what you wanted. If you met the right man, then you would gladly take time away from your career. And Lucas seemed to think that man was him.

Around nine, a knock came to your door. Your heart leapt and you gasped, expecting it to be Lucas. But it was Tony. You knew why he was here; it didn’t take a lot for anyone to put two and two together to see the reason for his visit.

You let Tony in and sat back down in your seat. “I know why you’ve come to see me, Tony. Lucas doesn’t see the shame I feel every time I look at him.”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing, too. I know Lucas isn’t always the easiest person to say no to. In that way, he’s still a kid.”

You sighed. “We’re both still kids in a lot of ways. I’m going to put in a request for transfer. It’s the only way to solve this.”

“But you can’t,” Tony exclaimed. “Everyone loves you, you know that. It wouldn’t be the same without you. You bring a bit of life to this place.”

Tony’s words brought a smile to your face. “Thanks. This place feels more like a family than I’ve ever had anywhere else outside of my actual family.”

“Look, if you two really do like each other then nothing should stop you. Some people might think the age gap is weird, but who cares? You’re both single adults.”

You sighed again and reached for your mug of coffee which had started growing cold. “I want to think about marriage and settling down. Does Lucas want that? It’s something that needs to be thought about. I can’t be responsible for slowing him down. He’s still young.”

“And so are you. Man, you’re talkin’ as though you’re fifty. Come on!” Tony said.

You barely slept that night, constantly tossing and turning, thinking of Lucas, whom you doubted was asleep either. The air was warm and stale, and your heart raced, reminding you of the anxiety which you kept hidden. Being a Lieutenant in the Navy meant that you had been aboard vessels under attack, had nearly drowned and been shot in the leg. But it was your indecision and shame that caused you to panic uncontrollably.

Tears poured down your cheeks as you flung your legs out from the covers. You flicked on the table lamp and staggered sleepily to your chair. Writing always calmed you. In a world of discipline, uncertainty and instability, you felt so alone. Friendships were strong between you and the main crew, but you had become the glue holding them together. You listened often to Lonnie deny her budding feelings for Jonathan Ford; Tony Piccolo opened his heart to you about his unconventional family; Lucas relied on you for stability and companionship. Now was the time that you needed someone.

After finishing your journal entry, you ventured out into the corridors, finding the gentle hum of seaQuest to be soothing. In the mess hall, you poured yourself a mug of coffee from the vending machine and took a seat in the back corner of the room.

“I thought I was the only one who had insomnia,” a voice came.

“What? Oh, sorry,” you apologised, raising your head out of your hands to see Jim Brody.

“You okay?” Brody asked, approaching you. He was dressed in his uniform, obviously in the middle of night shift.

“I’ll survive,” you chuckled wryly.

“You don’t sound very convincing, you know?”

There was a sincerity in Brody’s eyes that you had always been drawn to. He never minced his words or failed in keeping his promises.

You sighed deeply and looked at your untouched coffee. “How do you handle it when you like someone but have your reservations?”

“What kind of reservations?”

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell another soul? I’m so ashamed.”

Brody began to look puzzled and slightly nervous. “Umm, okay.”

“Lucas admitted that he has feelings for me, and I know I feel something for him. But the age gap terrifies me, Jim. And you know how sulky he can be when you say no to him.”

Brody smiled and then sighed. “I know you two have always been close, but maybe if you’re feeling uncomfortable, it’s something you need to deal with yourself. You’re both adults and it’s down to you both. Don’t try and seek everyone else’s approval.”

“That’s what makes me ashamed: everyone else’s judgement.”

The shame and embarrassment of your admission made you look away and run your shaking hands through your short hair. It made you think back to the day you had your long locks cut off, which was the day before your first tour on seaQuest. It was an almost boyish cut, but there was no mistaking your femininity.”

“It’ll work out, I’m sure. Thanks for listening, Jim,” you said, forcing a smile.

You remained in the mess hall for a short while longer, sipping your coffee. The tall, broad figure of Dagwood drifted past the door as he cleaned. He never noticed you, but you watched him for a couple of seconds; his attention to his duty was unbroken and unwavering.

Sleep finally took you away a couple of hours later. In the dark of your quarters, you began counting. Gradually your heart rate slowed.

Suddenly your alarm was blaring! Pain rested behind your eyes and in your temples. No doubt it would remain with you for the rest of the day.

After a shower, you got dressed into your uniform and headed for the mess hall for breakfast. The bright overhead lights assaulted your eyes, making you wince.

Lucas, Tony and Lonnie were all sat together to the left hand side of the room. You suddenly felt sick, insanely sick. Tony looked at you, his eyes widening. Thankfully Lucas had his back to you. It was impossible for you to avoid him now; once you were up for duty, you couldn’t go back to quarters until the next shift rotation. On an almost mile-long submarine, and you couldn’t hide.

You grabbed fruit and a mug of herbal tea. With a huge sigh, you approached the table where your friends were, a spare seat having been left between Tony and Lucas.

Lucas swallowed hard and shifted in his seat as your perfume wafted up his nose, mixed with the smell of your sweet-scented hand cream.  

“Morning,” you said softly. Your eyes met Lucas’ and you could see the sadness swimming in them.

“You look awful,” Lonnie said. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” you said, forcing another smile. “And it’s caught up with me this morning.”

By now and you could feel your pulse racing, thumping in your head and chest. Your hands were shaking, and you knew the day wouldn’t get any easier. Tony kept watching you as the atmosphere remained tense. Lonnie left a few minutes later, uncomfortable by the silence.

Lucas was looking down most of the time and once Tony had also left, he spoke, but didn’t look at you. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” you admitted, swallowing hard.

Lucas heard the quiver in your voice and finally looked at you. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

Almost on instinct, you placed your hand on his. “We’ll be okay. Whatever happens, we’ll be okay. Shore leave in two days. We can talk more then.”

That morning seemed to ease some of the tension between Lucas and you. On the bridge, you began to ease back into your laughter. You temporarily forgot your fatigue and the events of the evening previous. Until Lucas held your gaze for a few seconds longer than usual. Normally you looked away, trying to avert his attention elsewhere, but this time you maintained eye contact and smiled.

Tony smirked to himself, recognising that look anywhere.

**

The next two days passed without incident. You felt more at ease now and found yourself making jokes out of mundane things. As it always had, it entertained Tony greatly. The two of you played off each other in the mess hall. A lot of your jokes were at Captain Hudson’s expense. To most people, you outwardly seemed more suited to Tony Piccolo, but those closest to you knew better. The bond you shared with Lucas was unlike any other relationship on the boat. Even though you paled into insignificance when it came to Lucas’ IQ, you could both normally tell what the other was thinking with just one smile.

On the evening before shore leave officially started, Lucas remained in his quarters after shift rotation. There was still a deep pain when he saw you. When you turned your head and smiled, your eyes shining bright, he knew that he would love no other smile. Your attention to detail was unparalleled; that was obvious from the drawings of yours which littered your bedside wall. Your mind didn’t store facts, theories and calculations like Lucas’; it was curious, deep, questioning. You observed deeply. Your genius was in colours, shape, emotion, behaviour. Not cold fact like Lucas.

The Navy had taught you to be disciplined, orderly. No more piles of clothes left at the end of your bed or un-pressed clothing that hoped no one would notice. Why had you even enlisted? Was it your wanderlust? Perhaps. Or maybe it was a way to get away from the ordinary world and embrace your difference.

A sudden knock came to your door, a metallic tap.

“Come in,” you called, placing your copy of The Lord of the Ringsback on your shelf.

Lucas entered, not quite sure why he was even visiting.

“Sorry. I was tidying. You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” he replied.

“You think so?”

Lucas sat down on the edge of your bed and looked up at you as you placed your hands on your hips.

“Please don’t do that. You remind me of my mom,” he chuckled.

Somehow, that comment didn’t amuse you quite as much as it did Lucas. It hit a rather raw nerve that you had hoped you had figured out how to manage.

Lucas got up from his spot and stood before you, being slightly taller. “What?” he asked. You turned your head, shame surging through you again. But just then, the gentlest touch came to your cheek. Lucas’ large blue eyes were full of concern and adoration for you. His hand cupped your face and seconds later, you felt his lips against yours. Soft, unsure, but above all, kind. The kiss of a young man, some ten years your junior, was enough to remind you that there was still kindness in the world, especially amongst the male of the species.

Realisation hit you hard in the stomach and you turned from the kiss. You heard Lucas sigh and stepped back. “Have you thought about this properly? We’re at different stages in our lives. You’re just starting out in your adult years to find out what you’d like…”

Lucas cut you off. “You talk as though I have no idea what I want.”

You looked at him sadly, seeing the frustration in his face. “What experience have you had? Do you know if you want to get married? Have children? These are probably things you haven’t even considered yet. I’ve been forced to push it aside because I’m too different.”

Lucas remained quiet, not quite sure what to say.

“Please think on this more,” you said.

“I have,” he said in desperation, his hands cupping your face again. “I want to be with you, and whatever you want, you can have it.” His voice became a whisper and you kissed again.

You woke a few hours later at just after one in the morning. There was a solid warmth against your back and an arm draped over you. The two of you had fallen asleep after an evening of chatter and cuddles under the blanket.

In all the time that you had known Lucas, which was two years, you had never seen him smile so much as he had done that evening. True, since enlisting in the Navy, Lucas had had to grow up somewhat and that change in him had been amazing, going from a boy to a man. A seriousness had settled in him, overriding the boyishness.

You slid out of bed and positioned the blanket back over Lucas. He rolled over and mumbled in his sleep. Something about this still felt wrong. It made you concerned that everyone would see it as predatory. Everything that felt wrong was pushing you to begin writing up that transfer request. Crew from the infamous seaQuest were always welcomed aboard other UEO vessels. The sub still remained the pinnacle of the fleet, highly sought after by new officers for their first tour. A reserve list with thousands of names on had been written up, and if you left, then you’d open a door to someone more deserving of their placement. Allowing Lucas to get close to you had been an abuse of your authority.

“You’re making a habit of this, ain’t you?” Brody laughed, finding you in the mess hall again at an ungodly hour for the second time that week.

“Maybe I am,” you chuckled. “My sleep routine is shot to shit.”

“Did you get things sorted with Lucas?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned. “It still feels wrong. I’m seriously considering putting in a transfer. But I know that Hudson will only take a valid reason before signing off my request.”

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Brody leaned closer to you across the table.

“I can’t stay, Jim. Things are getting too deep between me and Lucas, and I know that he’s always going to expect something that I can’t give him.”

“I can’t force you to go against what you think is right, but you know we’d all miss you. None of us would want to see you go.”

“I know that, and I thank you so much. You’ve all supported me and I absolutely love working on this boat.”

“Yeah, it is a great place.”

Suddenly, you stopped rigid, eyes wide as Lucas wondered into the room. Brody turned after seeing your expression, and then wished you both a goodnight.

“You okay?” Lucas asked, replacing Brody in the seat opposite you.

“Got a lot on my mind,” you told him.

Lucas reached out and curled his hand around yours. “What’s up? Talk to me.”

Tears filled your eyes and fell down your cheeks. “I can’t do this…I’m sorry…”

“What have I done?” he whispered.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” you sobbed. Your gripped his hand tighter until he came and sat at your side. “You need someone your own age. I’m taking advantage of you with my authority and rank.”

“How are you taking advantage of me?”

“I’m ten years older than you and I’m a Lieutenant.”

“And why should that matter?”

“I…” words were lost.

“We’re both legal age and consenting adults. So does it really matter?” You remained quiet. Then you heard the gentle whisper of your name. “Does it really matter?” he asked again.

“I was considering putting in a transfer,” you said, the words tumbling from your mouth like an avalanche.

“No….no,” Lucas begged, drawing his hand up your face. “Don’t leave me.”

You couldn’t help but kiss his hand and lean into his touch.

“Captain Bridger left. I don’t know if I could handle you leaving, too.” Lucas’ eyes were wide and full to the brim of tears. Everyone in Lucas’ life had left him or cared little, never putting him as their priority.

And you knew then that no matter the outcome of your relationship status, you couldn’t leave. Lucas needed an open ear, heart and mind to express himself to. He’d found that in you.

As everyone prepared their belongings in order to enjoy three days of shore leave, you sat in your quarters with music playing away on your com-link. There was a positive buzz outside your door and foot traffic was loud. It was always the same whenever shore leave was approaching.

A knock came to your door.

Tony appeared. “Mornin’!” he chirped happily. “All ready to go?”

“Yes, I think so,” you replied.

“Lucas told me about your conversation over the transfer. I’m glad you told him you’d thought about it. Are you still considering it?”

You sighed and looked towards Tony. “No, I’ve decided not to leave. Whatever happens, I know my place is here. Lucas has had enough people walk out on him. He needs at least one person to stay.”

“Make sure you’re stayin’ for the right reasons.”

“I thought you wanted me to stay,” you replied with a smile.

“I do. We all do. But you’ve got to want to stay for yourself.”

“Everyone here feels like the friends I never had and the family I lost touch with. Of course I don’t want to leave.”

As everyone began gathering in the corridors to head to the docking bays, you stood between Lucas and Brody, dressed in your shore uniform. As usual, Tony was telling jokes to keep everyone amused.

“Do you ever pause for breath?” you asked, laughing.

“Only when I’m sleepin’, and even then I still talk,” Tony countered.

“He’s right there,” Lucas mumbled.

Shore leave began with all of you checking into a local hotel in downtown just from the seaQuest berth. As usual, the UEO paid for all expenses incurred on shore leave.

Lucas looked on a little suspiciously when you announced that you were next door to Brody and Lonnie, but he was on the floor below. He merely smiled at you, swept a glance to Brody and Lonnie, then disappeared to his own room.

In your room, you placed your bag down on the bed and began inspecting the cleanliness of the place.

You made sure you had a bath before doing anything else. The heat relaxed you and the sweet scent of lavender and jasmine wrapped around you. For a short while and you forgot all the trials in life, all the things that kept you up at night and made you over think. Suddenly, your phone began to chime. With a groan of irritation, you lifted yourself out of the tub, wound a thick towel around yourself and picked up the ringing nuisance from your bed.

“Are you alright? You took a while to answer,” Lucas’ questioning voice came.

“I’m fine. I was taking a bath.”

“Oh, okay. Do you mind if I come and see you?”

“Give me ten minutes to get dressed. I’m in room 712.”

“Okay. Bye.”

He seemed put out somehow. You sensed disappointment in his voice. Did he think you were avoiding him purely because you took time to answer his call? There was definitely a lot that needed to be ironed out between you both.

Lucas came to your room shortly afterwards, holding two paper cups of coffee, probably from the vending machine on his floor.

You thanked him for the coffee and then sat opposite him on your bed. You pulled your leg under yourself and watched him lower his head in that way he always did when he was unsure. “If this is how things are going to be between us now, then I wish they would just go back to how they were,” he said. His voice as pained by the realisation of all the tension he’d placed on your once deep friendship. For a young man who was so intelligent, far beyond that of most people, he held a lot of insecurity and uncertainty. He wore his heart on his sleeve and had never been able to hide his true emotions. There was an honesty and innocence that drew you in. A purity of heart. But also a sadness. If everyone else had abandoned him, how could you be so selfish and do the same thing?

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

Lucas was staring blankly into his coffee. “This. All of it.” He then looked up at you. “The last few days have been hell. I haven’t known what to say or do. And even if you don’t feel anything for me, can we just go back to the way things were?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’ve driven a gap between us out of my own fear. Maybe I felt that backing away would help. Being around each other constantly only makes the feelings deepen. I’ve missed you and I do have feelings for you. A lot of them. I was scared of everyone judging me because I’m older and abusing my authority. I have to be careful, Lucas. Especially now that Captain Bridger is gone. He didn’t push Naval code like Hudson does.”

“I know that,” Lucas said, edging in a little closer towards you. That beautiful scent. It made his deeper instinct ride; butterflies were flapping with ferocity in his gut. “You worry too much about what other people think of you.”

“We’re not civilians, Lucas,” you reminded him.

“What would you have done with your life if you never enlisted?”

You took a sip of your coffee and smiled. “As a kid, I always wanted to be a vet, so I’d have worked with animals more than likely.”

“What made you enlist? You’ve never had that typical Navy way about you.”

“I finished university with a useless degree in English and I saw advertisements at a job fayre. I wanted something new and interesting. I almost failed my initial medical though.”

“Why?”

“I was taking medication for panic attacks. I stopped taking it a week before my examination and never declared it. Who wants a Naval officer who’s always anxious?”

“I don’t believe that at all. You’re probably the most chilled of anyone when we have an emergency.”

You chuckled. “I’ve learned to control it. And I find when I’m leading others, I’m more at ease. I can be calm for other people but not myself.”

That evening, a large group of you decided to head for a sit down meal at a local restaurant. Piano music was playing overhead and the lighting was dimmed, adding to a relaxing atmosphere. The waiter, a hook-nosed Italian man in overly tightly trousers, guided you over to a large, round table in the back corner.

You nudged Brody and pointed to the waiter. “It’s a wonder he doesn’t pop a nut.”

Lonnie and Tony immediately smiled, enjoying the fact that your usual self was coming back to the surface.

The whole meal was laid back, fun and light-hearted. You couldn’t help but notice the subtle glances that were exchanged between Lonnie and Jonathan Ford. Tim O’Neill seemed a little irritated by it, rolling his eyes a couple of times. When you saw Tim be so quiet, it reminded you of Miguel Ortiz, whom you had had a slight crush on when you first came aboard seaQuest. He and Tim had been good friends, and since Miguel’s passing in combat, Tim seemed a little lost at times.

By the time that the meal was over, most of the group had disappeared into the bar. There was only you, Lonnie and Jonathan Ford left at the table, which made you feel like a spare part. You excused yourself and walked out the front door of the restaurant. Chatter and laughter filled the air outside on the veranda. Dozens of people were drinking, eating and enjoying the night time air.

You began to walk, crossing the street and heading onto the empty beach. The chill in the air, the bright, full moon and the sound of crashing waves soothed you. In a hectic world where you were constantly fighting for control, you were now centred. Everything was simple. No worry. No orders. Just the stars, sand and sea.

Lucas looked for you, only to spot you standing on the beach. He could tell you from across the street. Proud shoulders, hands in pockets, bright coloured blouse, bandana in hair. That could only be you.

“You okay?” he asked.

You turned and smiled, then stepped back towards him. You curled your arm through his and put your head on his shoulder. The two of you remained quiet for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s company. To Lucas’ surprise, you took his hand and held it tight.

Tony and Brody looked on from the front of the restaurant.

“If the age gap is their only concern then they’ve got more going for them than most couples,” Brody said.

“He’s definitely lucky to have her.”

By the time you made it back to the bar in the restaurant, you and Lucas were hand in hand. Tony grinned at you both and then cheered, drawing attention from the rest of the crew who were all sat in a booth together.

Laughter ensued almost immediately as all the men, apart from Lucas, began competing in a drinking game.

“One, two, three,” Tony counted, banging his free hand on the table top. All of the participants of the game tossed shots down their throats, then proceeded to continue on with a further two, downing them as quickly as possibly without vomiting. Tim O’Neill gagged, almost propelling his meal from his gut. Jim Brody fell into a coughing fit. Jonathan Ford blinked hard, pushing vodka-induced tears away. Tony merely laughed, playing a drum beat on the table.

You could sense Lucas’ eyes on you as you sat beside each other. His arm was stretched across the back of the seat behind you. His nerves were finally beginning to settle a little, reminding himself again and again that it was still you. You were the same person he had known now for almost two years and had had a bad crush on the whole time. There were so many times that he had imagined how you would feel under his fingertips, the way your lips would taste against his, the sound of your hitched breath as you kissed with passion. And you did not disappoint. All of his fantasies had fallen short of the beauty of reality.

Around midnight and the men of the group were considerably less sober than when they’d arrived for dinner just over four hours earlier. Tony was now daring Brody to go swimming in the sea naked, which the Lieutenant was actually considering to do. Ford and O’Neill were arm wrestling, leaving you to chat with Lucas and Lonnie. A bottle of expensive red wine was on the table. Lonnie sipped from her glass now and again, encouraging you to have a drink, but you never drank alcohol as it only made your anxiety worse.

“I’m going to retire to bed, I think,” you announced.

“I’ll walk you back,” Lucas proposed.

Together, you and Lucas began your short walk back to the hotel. You strolled along comfortably hand in hand. People walked past you, glancing at you for only a brief second before continuing on. No one stared like you thought they would. They were all unawares of the age gap between you both that you always thought was noticeable.

**

You woke the next morning to bright sunlight shining through the open curtains. Lucas was lying with his back to you. You slipped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Lucas heard the toilet flush and looked up at the ceiling, smiling. Would you regret the night previously? He hoped so much that you wouldn’t.

“Good morning,” you said with a smile, exiting the bathroom in your pyjamas.

“Morning,” Lucas replied, groggy with sleep and happiness.

You slipped back into bed and rolled over to him, kissing his lips. He seemed to gain more confidence the more that you kissed. The tension was seeping out of your actions the more that you acted on your feelings. Fear was losing its grip on you.

Both of you remained in bed for a short while, until you announced that you were getting dressed to head downstairs for breakfast.

“I’m tired,” Lucas groaned.

“Get up, Ensign. That’s an order,” you chuckled.

“Now who’s abusing their authority, Lieutenant?”

“Well if you’re expecting any kind of repeat of last night then you’re going to have to be well-behaved now, aren’t you?”

“You never seemed the type to subject me to blackmail.”

“I’m going to head down,” you said, putting the conversation back on a serious note. “Do you want me to bring you anything back up?”

Lucas just smiled. “I’ll come down with you.”

When you got downstairs, Lonnie and Commander Ford were already sat at a table for two. You and Lucas made yourself comfortable just across from them.

“How’s the head, Commander?” you chuckled.

“Strangely it’s okay. For now. No quick and sudden movements and I should be fine,” he replied with a smile.

You poured yourself a mug of English tea and began to eat your breakfast which had been served.

Tim O’Neill came half staggering into the large dining area and plopped down on a seat next to Lucas. “Remind me to never drink again,” he groaned.

Lucas looked up at you ever now and again, his blue eyes twinkling with something you hadn’t seen before. Contentment maybe? Or perhaps happiness? Whatever it was, you knew he needed both, and you hoped that you had given that to him.

The rest of that day was fairly eventful, with a visit to the local art museum with Lucas, Lonnie and Commander Ford.

Jonathan Ford couldn’t deny that he was shocked by the sudden and dramatic change in yours and Lucas’ relationship dynamic. His Navy instinct told him that something needed to be said, a warning to you both of potential consequences. But the kind side of him won out. Why try and damage that haze of happiness that was suspended around you both? Once Captain Hudson returned to the seaQuest, a relationship was something that you and Lucas would have to either end or keep secret. No way would Hudson advocate romance on his boat.

At the beach during the afternoon, Tony sat beside Lucas whilst you remained with Lonnie, enjoying an ice cream cone.

“So? What happened last night? Brody told me that you stayed in her room,” Tony enquired.

“Yeah, I stayed with her. What happened is none of your business,” Lucas replied.

“Lucas, come on! You gotta tell me. I didn’t arm you with rubber for nothin’!”

Lucas merely smirked. “Lets just say that it was put to good use.”

“Way to go, my boy!” Tony exclaimed.

“Tony, shut up. She’s only over there,” Lucas growled.

“So, I need details. How was it? Was she good?”

“None of your business,” Lucas hissed and moved away. He approached you and Lonnie, and as he looked at you, he knew there was only one word that could have described the night previously: incredible. No way was he about to disrespect you and discuss your private life with others.

“Can I borrow you for a few minutes?” he asked you.

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, and got up from the warm sand. “Everything okay?”

You both moved away from the rest of the group. “Yeah. I just wanted to be alone with you for a while.”

The two of you took a slow walk down to the water’s edge, the tide returning from its long descent out towards the horizon. Hand in hand, you were silent for a few minutes. The sun’s rays were warm against your back, but a gentle breeze refreshed the air, biting through the humidity. You felt that inner calm come flooding to the surface again. Lucas’ arm wound around your waist and you prayed in silence that this was the right thing for both of you.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Light My Fire - CH07

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She always thought her boss was an ill-tempered man, but when he presents her with a proposition she can’t quite deny, she gets to know him better. It’s not bad, right? Because all she has to do is being fake married to him for six months, sounds do-able, right? Right.

Warnings: Flangst, feelings, teasing

WC: 2803

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​ <3

SERIES MATSTERLIST 

BECOME A PATRON ~ BUY ME A COFFEE

Dean returns from outside, sets the glasses down and pours the wine into it. He walks into the kitchen, takes out two bottles of water and sets them on the table. “What you wanna eat tonight?” 

Y/N shrugs, she really doesn’t mind. She knows what he likes to eat and she likes the same thing too, “I don’t know, what do you wanna eat?” 

There’s a small grin on his face and it turns wider, more cocky too, and he wriggles with his eyebrows. 

Oh my god.

She just walked right into that one, didn’t she?

“Jesus, Dean, I didn’t mean me!” She mumbles, rolls her eyes and Dean has to laugh out loud. 

“Well, that’s a shame because I love how you taste,” He winks, turning around to take out the delivery leaflets. 

She’s glad that he doesn’t notice the red in her cheeks.

*

They have settled for Thai and they held a stupid competition on ordering the most spicy dishes and eat it. She won, but at what cost.

The bell rings right when they both are chugging milk over the sink with tears in their eyes. Dean was already standing up straight to go to the door but he didn’t need to, because they hear the key turning in the lock and then, Sam Winchester walks right in. His eyes widen when he sees them both huddled by the sink in the kitchen.

“Uh, Am I interrupting something?” Sam asks with raised eyebrows.

“Nah,” Dean winks, “Come in.”

Sam nods, looks at them both with a grin before he walks over to the couch. They follow him after drinking a mouthful of milk.

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean asks, sits next to Sam and she makes herself comfortable on the other side of Dean, pulls the blanket over herself to hide her bare legs and pussy. 

“Just wanted to come by and give you a quick update,” Sam says. He looks from Dean to her and she can’t miss the grin on his face, “How’s it going with you guys?”

She shrugs and tries to keep a straight face, “Eh, he’s okay,”

“Hey!” Dean shouts out, “I’m more than okay, alright?” 

Sam burst out laughing, “Yeah, well, I don’t have much time to listen to you two bickering, but I have a court date. It’s going to be in a month. So everything should be over by then.” 

“Meaning?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Meaning that you need to live together for at least a month and afterwards you can go back to what you were. You stay married on paper for another four months after the court date and after we win, of course, and it’d be good if you can sometimes go to social events together. Just to keep up the facade.”

“Oh,” Dean says, “Yeah, that sounds good, doesn’t it, Y/N?”

He puts her right on the spot and she feels quite uncomfortable, “Yeah,” She answers. “Yeah, great.”

“Amara’s lawyer called me today, though. Said he believes that your marriage to Y/N is fake.” Sam pauses to snort out a laugh, “Well, I’ve seen the picture of the gala. Good job, both of you.” Sam eyes Dean and then her, before his gaze returns to Dean and Sam nods.

Dean shrugs but there’s a little smirk on his face, “We try.”

“Dean, you have to inform your employees that you two married in secret and kept in under wraps because you didn’t want to jeopardize your work relationship. Do they know this already? It’s important for when someone comes snooping.”

“I actually had a meeting with my staff today. Told them that we have been secretly dating for a while before we decided to take the next step.”

Her eyes widened. So they all know? She can be glad that she isn’t close to anyone else in the company other than Ruby. Otherwise there would have been questions that neither she or Dean would want to answer.

We decided to take the next step. She laughs to herself. How very business-like and not at all romantic. But that’s totally Dean. Because yeah, he sees it as another business deal and she knows that she should too.

“The lawyer also said that Amara would agree to annul the marriage if she can get 30% of your net worth.”

“SHE WHAT?!” Dean leans back on the couch, clasps his hands over his face and rubs at it. The sound of his palms rubbing over his scruff is loud in the room that just went silent after Dean’s outrage.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “But we have the upper hand in this. You guys are already married so Dean marrying again in Vegas was illegal. The court will grant us an annulment if we play our cards right. That’s why it’s crucial for us that you keep up your fake marriage and try to convince the court that what you have is real. I did my best with the documents, there’s no worry about that.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Dean scoffs, and Sam frowns at his brother.

She can see that Dean’s very much tired of it all.

“Anyway, I need to get going. Oh, and I have a meeting with Amara in two days. You wanna join?”

“Over my dead fucking body,” Dean hisses.

*

They settle on the couch after Sam leaves, and he hands her the remote. She zaps through the channels, settles on a movie that has already started. Cocktail. It’s easy viewing and that’s probably just the right thing since she can’t really concentrate anyway with Dean next to her. Not when she knows how he looks underneath his clothes. Not when he’s wearing his shirt and her pussy is throbbing. He made her come twice earlier already, she should get a fucking grip. 

“Aren’t you worried?” She has to ask. She can’t not just ignore it.

He shrugs, “I’m not happy about it but I’m not worried. Not really, no.” It comes out too easy, as if he is truly not worried in the slightest, and Dean sees the frown on her face. She’s sure that he sees the pout on her lips as well. He reaches out, thumbs over her bottom lip, “Don’t worry about it, alright? I got this.” 

She nods. She really wants to believe him. She does. She’s doing this because she wants to help him — double pay aside — because Dean’s a good boss. A little short tempered but he has the company's best interest in mind. He can also read people very well and offers people opportunities to prove themselves if he sees that someone has potential. Like Donatello? He started in the company as a fucking janitor and now he’s leading a sales team. Y/N helps Dean because she wants everyone to keep their jobs and be happy, and another thing is that she really can’t stand Amara so it would be a double win if they can get rid of that bitch, too.

They watch the movie in silence for a while. It’s when she starts to yawn that Dean suggests she lays her head in his lap, and honestly, it looks inviting and the smile on his face is big, she couldn’t find it in her heart to say no to him. 

He strokes her head, when she lays down and they continue to watch but she just can’t really concentrate with Dean playing with her hair. 

“You like that movie?” Dean asks, his fingertips trailing along her jawline, which sends goosebumps throughout her body. 

“No, but I like the scenery.” It’s the truth, the movie is not really her style but they’re in Jamaica and it looks picturesque with the clear blue water and white sand.

“Have you ever been there?” 

She has to snort out a laugh at that, “No, I couldn’t afford it in a million years. But maybe one day I will be able to. Once Jack is earning his own money I can save some for myself.”

It’s silent for a long while until Dean suddenly speaks, “Maybe I’ll have a job for him once he’s done.” 

She frowns and sits up, pulls her knees to her chest. Dean’s body is still close to hers, she can feel the warmth radiating from him, “He won’t take it.” 

“And why’s that?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Because Jack would know that you’ll just do it out of pity and he’s too proud to take the offer.”

“Well, I can make him sweat for it, if it helps,” Dean has a boyish grin on his face. Something she’s never really seen on him. It makes him look younger. Makes him look relaxed. It suits him. She could get used to seeing it more often.

Y/N has no doubt that Dean is able to do that. He’s been doing that for longer than she knows him, making people sweat, that is. But it’s not for her to decide. Jack is his own person. Even though sometimes, she still thinks that he’s a little nugget and needs to be protected but he is very capable of making his own decisions. The only thing she always tells him to do though, is to own the decisions he’s making. He has to be able to live with every consequence of his decision making and so does she. Like, right now, when she feels Dean’s hand come up to pull her into him and that is because she agreed to be his wife. It’s a decision she made and she’ll deal with everything that comes with it.

“How are you feeling?” He changes the subject, probably feels that he’s invading her privacy when they talk about Jack.

“I feel good,” She smiles and leans her head on his shoulder, tilts her head up to look at him, “It’s certainly not what I was expecting,” 

Dean cocks an eyebrow, “Better or worse?”

She has to grin, “Better,”

“Good, I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay,” 

She knows that he does. He has a weird obsession with making sure that she’s okay. It has been like that since she started to work for him. Dean was grumpy and loud, yelled around a lot but at the end of the day he’d always come by and asked her if she was doing okay. The behaviour scared her at first but she somehow puts it down to some kind of OCD. He is obviously someone who likes to have control over every aspect of his life.

“Can I ask you something?” She asks and gets nervous all of a sudden.

“Anything,” Dean answers without a second thought. He didn’t even pretend to take a couple of seconds to think.

“I was going to ask you if I could have my job back?” She squints her eyes, a little afraid of his reaction and she doesn’t even look up at him, instead she keeps her head on his shoulder and looks straight into the TV.

Dean doesn’t say anything for a long time and she’s really afraid that he’ll say no. She listens to his breathing, feels his chest moving, hears his heart beating. 

“You know,” Dean sighs, “I was kind of hoping that you would want to come back.”

“You were?” She sits straight and looks at him to see that he’s grinning. So she was so worried for nothing. 

“Yeah,” He smiles, “You didn’t talk to Ruby, did you?”

“No, I was too wrapped up with— you know, you a-and— Jack.” 

Dean chuckles, and takes his arms from around her to rub at his scruff. He leans forward, takes a sip of water before bracing his elbows on his knees, and she follows, sits close enough to lay her face on his back. She can hear his heartbeat even better. “Yeah, uh, I was so close on firing her today but then I thought that I would be left with no assistant at all. So, yeah, you can come back.”

“Dean!” She punches his arm and he chuckles. 

Y/N can hear the vibrations of his voice. Hears it deep inside of him, and she can feel every back muscle moving. It’s so sexy, she can’t lie about it.

“In my defense—” He looks back and starts to talk, but then he stops. She rests his chin on his back. He changes the subject abruptly, probably knowing that she’ll hear it from her friend anyway, “Tomorrow you’re coming back to work as my PA because you’re my wife.”

“Your fake wife,” She adds. She needs that reminder herself. 

“My fake wife,” Dean agrees, his lips are pressed into a thin line, his dimples showing. She calls them his dimples of discontent. He does have dimples of content as well, but they are rarely seen. People in the office say that it’s a myth.

“So, your PA?” She raises an eyebrow.

“It’s the best solution. You’re my wife, I can’t let you handle other things.” 

She grins, “So you just let me handle your thing.” 

There’s a blush in his cheek and Dean clears his throat before his face settles on a frown.

Y/N pokes her head under his armpit with a smile. He basically holds her in a headlock, and Dean opens his arm a little more so she can fit in better. She kisses his cheek, whispers a “Thank you,” 

“You wanna call Ruby?” He asks and looks down at her, his double chin showing. He looks damn cute. 

“Nah, I’m gonna surprise her. But I’m going to bed.”

“It’s only 10pm?” 

Dean’s right. It’s not that late yet. Well, he’s probably more used to staying up late because she has a lot of meetings outside of work as well, but she isn’t used to it and honestly, her body feels tired. She can’t wait to hit that comfy mattress. 

“I have to show up on time tomorrow, my boss will be angry if I’m late. Maybe he’ll even fire me.” She makes a disgusted face.

He smirks at that, “He will fire you for being late? That sounds a little extreme.”

“Oh,” Y/N scoffs, “I’m telling you, he’s the worst. One little misstep can get you fired. I told him to change his attitude a little, and I hope that he takes my advice.”

“Has he ever treated you badly?” There’s something in Dean’s eyes. Something she can pin point as remorse. But maybe she just imagines it.

She smiles, “No, actually, he never did lash out at me. He was probably close a couple of times, though. But I’ve seen him take out his anger on others that I know try their very hardest, and that’s not fair either.”

Dean lets out a snort, “You know what? Your boss sounds like a dick.”

“He is, but I like him.” She grins, sees Dean smiling back, “Okay, I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, and thank you again.” She kisses his cheek once more, and she feels him leaning into her kiss. 

When she gets up, Dean grabs at her wrist, making her fall back on him and he manhandles her into straddling him. It takes her by surprise as well as the kiss that follows. His big palms are cradling her face, pulling her down, his tongue teases at her bottom lip, “I’ll try to change, okay? Thanks for telling me.”

“Okay,” She says, nodding and he grins, pulls her in once more. He kisses her soft and gently, tongue sliding smooth alongside hers, and she lets herself fall, weaves her arms around his neck.

Y/N’s awfully wet down there already and she can’t help but grind onto his growing bulge. His hands are on her ass cheeks, kneads them, as he pushes and pulls to help her grind on him.

Before it can get too heated, he breaks the kiss and leaves his forehead on hers, “You should go to bed, I’m not sure I can restrain myself from fucking you if you don’t go now and I know that you’re sore. So, I’d rather not hurt you.”

She can only nod, “Yeah,” She pecks his lips once more, gets up and sees that she wetted his pants, “I’m sorry about that.”

Dean stares at what she’s pointing at and lets out a soft chuckle. 

Y/N starts to walk to her room and is almost around the corner when she hears him speak. 

“‘M sorry if I was too rough. I should have controlled myself better.”

He’s talking about their quickie, she knows. 

Grinning, she turns to him, smiles bright, “Don’t worry, I like it rough,” With a wink, she walks to her room and smirks to herself because she saw Dean’s eyes widen at her comment. 

CH08

[vacker-jew-au]

Chapter 2: Fuck Livvy But Like In A Different Way

Summary: Livvy is such a good parent for the Vackers, but the kids aren’t the only reason she stuck around.

Or

Livvy is a little over the top in getting Della to go on a date with her

XxX

✡️🏳️‍🌈✡️🏳️‍🌈✡️🏳️‍🌈✡️🏳️‍🌈✡️🏳️‍🌈✡️🏳️‍🌈✡️🏳️‍🌈✡️🏳️‍🌈

It was late, but unpacking seemed to take even longer than packing had. Not even half of the boxes were empty yet. All Della wanted was to collapse on the bed she apparently now shared with Livvy, but she kept emptying the boxes. It still didn’t feel entirely real that she’d moved.

So much had already happened that night. They leaped all the boxes over. They started to decorate the kids’ room. They quickly realized Della couldn’t share a room with the two little monsters. So, awkwardly stumbling around like the teenagers they were the last time they spent a night together, they came to the conclusion she would sleep in Livvy’s bed, with Livvy. Though Livvy apologized over and over they both knew it was okay, in fact, a small voice whispered that it was much more than just okay, Della shook it off.

And that’s how the two of them wound up sprawled on the couches, half unpacked boxes open all around them, laughing about their school days. Despite being high off a lack of sleep and a tad flustered, Della was having a great time.

“You remember how,” Della giggled, “Oralie and I were so close-” she coughed “-and practically dating, but!”

Livvy smiled, because, wow she’s so cute when she laughs, and Della grinned back because Livvy was listening and patient while she took a minute to breathe.

“She never even noticed,” Della finally said. “I gave her crush cuffs and she still didn’t know we were dating! I mean, I’m a disaster bisexual, so I know about obliviousness, but that’s kind of taking it to a whole new level.”

Livvy laughed. “She’s aroace, love, it was nothing against you.” She froze. “Shoot, I outed her, shoot!”

To be perfectly honest, Della had barely noticed everything else Livvy said, focusing instead on the endearment. She called me “love.” Love, that thing I promised myself I wouldn’t fall into, but already I have. Panicking, she brushed the thought aside and tried to concentrate on the conversation. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to, I haven’t even spoken to her in years. I’ll just forget about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Livvy agreed, nodding. “So, now that you’ve dumped Alden- good riddance, by the way, he sucks- are you interested in dating anyone else?”

Like maybe me? She continued silently.

Della choked on her water and fought down a blush. “Um… I don’t think I will for a while? But you?” as in I want to date you, but I can't think that. She wouldn’t want to, would she?

Livvy frowned. Della’s answer was too panicked, too quick. Did she know that Livvy was trying to flirt with her? Probably, and she wasn’t interested. “I don’t know… maybe,” she muttered. “I mean, I kind of like a girl, but… I don’t think she likes me back.”

“Oh no, that sucks. To be honest? Me too,” Della looked away.

“Um… bedtime?” Livvy asked. Della nodded.

The next morning Biana poked Fitz until he woke up, “finally! Fitz, Mom is cuddling with Livvy!!”

“Shhh!” He hissed, “You're gonna wake them up.”

“Oh shit,” Biana whispered. Fitz punched her lightly.

✡️✡️✡️

Biana and Livvy quickly became close, in fact, they were so close that Biana started to think of her as a second mom. Fitz loved her too, Alden never had time for him, but Livvy? She taught him how to play Bramble, practiced Tae Kwon Do with him, helped him with baking because she noticed his ever-growing love of it. Fitz loved baking with his two moms, and he couldn’t help but notice the long looks and gentle touches they exchanged.

“Boop!” Della giggled, touching Livvy’s nose with flour on her fingertips. Livvy swatted her hand away and wiped her nose on Della’s cheek.

“Ha! Who’s the flour girl now?” Livvy grinned.

Whether she intended to or not Livvy had quickly become the parent Alden never was. It was nearly two months later when Della and the kids finally moved out and there was no question of whether Livvy would stay in their lives.

Even so, both kids were disappointed that Livvy wasn’t spending nearly as much time with them. She came over for dinner a few nights a week, but she wasn’t just down the hall when Biana had a nightmare, and she couldn’t help Fitz with his homework whenever he needed it.

Still, the kids cherished the time they had with Livvy, even if it wasn’t as often. Because it had started to interfere with Della’s work schedule, and Livvy took an interest in learning about the family’s religion, she agreed to take them to Hebrew school.

While they were on their way, Livvy’s tone turned from laughing about Fitz’s dramatic retelling of his best friend’s Great Gulon Incident to more serious. “Kids, I’m going to tell you a secret, but you have to promise you won’t tell your mom. Like, pinky promise.”

Fitz and Biana nodded solemnly and took turns pinky promising her.

“Alright, here goes. I have a crush on your mom and I want to ask if she’ll date me.”

Although neither of them were particularly surprised, Fitz and Biana exchanged excited glances. “I bet Mom will say yes!” Biana piped up. “She sometimes acts like she has a crush on you too!”

Livvy blushed. “Maybe. I hope so. But anyway, I know being Jewish is very special to you and your mom, so I want to make that a part of how I ask her out. And I don’t know a whole lot about Judaism yet, so I wanted to know if you two could help me.”

“Tu B’Av is coming soon,” Fitz suggested. “It’s kind of like the Jewish version of Valentine’s Day. Maybe you could do something then?”

“Okay, so, kiddos, are you down to help me plan?”

Biana squealed a loud “Yes!! Oh my goshhhh!!!”

And so plotting commenced. Tu B’av was on Sunday, a day the kids often visited, and they quickly figured out that the living room was a great dance floor if you moved the couches out of the way. Fitz found a recipe for rugelach and debated the best way to make them heart-shaped, individually or as a pull-apart type dish?

Biana was put on strawberry-dipping duty, the best she could do in the kitchen. She was a pro at decorating even then, so she helped Livvy with the living room. There were a couple bouquets of pink roses and lavender and the table looked better than any caterer could make it.

✡️✡️✡️

When Della finally arrived, Livvy was in the kitchen, she was scared, sweating. Biana pushed her into the living room, gave her a thumbs up and stage-whispered “You got this!” Della had no idea what was going on, and the assortment of flowers and heart shaped rugelach added to the confusion.

“Livvy?”

“Della- I- okay.”

“Liv?” Della asked, concerned

Livvy swallowed. “Um… tu b’av sameach?”

“Tu b’av sameach,” Della replied tentatively, smiling, scared to guess what she was about to say.

“Della, I love you so much, and I love your children and I love being with you. I want- Della, I want to be yours. I want you to be mine. I just….”

Della takes Livvy’s face and pulls her in, kissing her gently, but forcefully.

“You better not be joking,” she whispers against Livvy’s lips, feeling like a teenager, she really shouldn’t question this.

“Does this look like a joke?” Livvy grinned, pulling back and showing her the room.

“Liv, this is- this is amazing.”

Livvy beamed.

“Wait, where are the monsters?” Della asked.

A little hand poked out from the kitchen doorway, pressing play on the phone Livvy had set up for music.

“Hi, Mom,” Biana grinned.

“Bye, Mama, Mom,” Fitz smiled behind her. “We’re going to Keefe’s.” They stood in the backyard and waved as they leaped.

The song faded and a new one began. Della recognized it immediately.

“Love of my life.”

Livvy pretended to continue the sentence, “dance with me?”

And then they were standing chest to chest swaying.

Love of my life, you've hurt me

You've broken my heart, and now you leave me

They stepped back and forth, neither sure exactly how to dance with another woman.

When I grow older

I will be there at your side to remind you

How I still love you

Livvy spun Della out and as she dipped low crooned, “I still love you.”

Della tilted her head up and kissed her. Suddenly they weren’t dancing so much as kissing while standing in the middle of the room.

“Oh, Liv…..”

Livvy pulled Della with her to sit at the table. “Rugellach?” she offered. Della took one happily and laughed when she realized it was shaped like a heart.

“This is wonderful, Liv.”

“You’re wonderful,” Livvy replied, and Della blushed.

“How did you know about Tu B’av?” she asked, slightly breathless after they kissed again. “I didn’t think you knew much about Judaism.”

“I don’t,” admitted Livvy. “Your kids suggested it when I was picking them up from Hebrew school. I said I wanted to do something Jewish and romantic for you and they told me about it. Though I do want to learn more about Judaism so I can celebrate with you and your family.”

Della teared up a little, thinking about the contrast between Livvy and Alden. Thinking about the way she loved Livvy, loved her kids, Keefe, Grady, Edaline, her old mentors, the Rabbi.

“Today truly is a day for love.”

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Intro

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Lee Minho (SKZ)

Warnings: Angst and Fluff

Genre: Family AU; Haven Prequel (thus the title)

Word Count: 3K

Summary: It was nerve-wracking sometimes - keeping her new relationship with Minho a secret from the others. But Y/N also has bigger problems on her mind, like why Seungmin seems determined to ruin her life.

It was warm outside with the promise of summer interrupting the long weeks of mild temperatures and cool wind. But I loved when the weather felt like this - full of potential that would carry through the weeks leading to summertime. Because there was nothing better than that prospect - escaping school for a few months while I relaxed inside the house with everyone else.

When I was younger and still inexperienced, I might’ve enjoyed reading in the basement with Jeongin because he liked the sound of my voice. But that was a long time ago, and I had recently developed another preference. And he was 172 centimetres of imposing height and stature - spending most of his waking hours working at the warehouse before returning home in the evenings to relax with the rest of his family. 

At first, I tried to keep my feelings a secret from him - following Minho around the house or helping him outside. But I must’ve been too obvious, especially when he confronted me about my sudden interest. It was probably around the same time when I realized that one of hugs was far more arousing than it should’ve been.

Thankfully, Minho reciprocated my admiration, and we both agreed to try out a relationship. But one that we kept to ourselves because the rest of our family might prove to be an unanticipated obstacle. I trembled just thinking about the idea of Chan finding out that Minho often snuck into my room at night to sleep with me while we tried to keep silent. Because there was no way that he would understand, and I was afraid that Chan would try to separate us before we could truly explore our feelings.

But I guess we were really good at keeping things private, and it was probably for the best. In the meantime, I could prosper under Minho’s affection, and it was kinda nice to keep him to myself without anyone else’s intervention. It almost felt like we were lost in our own little world - enjoying the honeymoon phase of our romance.

I smiled just thinking about it, even though I was still in the middle of my class, and I was startled out of my thoughts by the sound of the dismissal bell. “Good work, everyone,” our teacher said as I collected my books together - listening to my classmates wish one another a great summer vacation. I offered several of them a courteous smile on the way out the door since they were nice, but I was far more excited to see Minho again. 

And I could already feel the tension start to lessen when I located Jeongin standing next to his locker. “Hey,” I said, knocking my shoulder against his own. “Are you ready?”

“Y/N, I’m sleeping for the entire summer,” Jeongin said. “It sucks to wake up early.”

I smiled at him while patting his shoulder. “We can take a nap together when we get home.”

Jeongin brightened at the suggestion before glancing at someone over my shoulder. “Seungmin!”

I hesitated at the mention of Seungmin, even as I glanced at him from my peripheral with a murmured greeting. “Felix is waiting outside,” Seungmin offered as a response when he started walking in pace with us. 

“Felix is picking us up?” I questioned, and my mood instantly deflated because Minho had promised to bring us home after school.

“Yeah?” Seungmin scoffed. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, following behind Jeongin and Seungmin as we walked outside.

Sure enough, Felix was waiting in the parking lot next to Chan’s car with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his jeans. “Head count,” he announced before making a show of looking around.

“That will never be funny, Felix,” Seungmin said, and I wondered if he was having another one of his infamous bad days.

Felix shrugged indifferently because he had an amazing ability to remain perfectly nonchalant. “Let’s go home.”

“Can we stop by the store to get a snack?” Jeongin asked, climbing into the backseat next to me while Seungmin sat up front.

“Sure,” Felix said - agreeable as always when he started backing out of the parking spot.

“Hey, Felix,” I said, running my hands against my thighs. “Did Minho have to work?”

“He was called back in,” Felix replied, and I couldn’t help the way I sighed upon hearing this unfortunate news.

“Why are you so worried about him?” Seungmin asked before glaring at me in the rearview mirror. 

“I’m not,” I insisted while crossing my arms over my chest. 

Screw Seungmin and his stupid attitude problem!

“I wish Chan would just let you two wrestle your problems out,” Jeongin commented.

“Like she could beat me,” Seungmin said.

“I’d just substitute somebody in to fight for me,” I retorted.

“I’ve got dibs on Changbin!” Seungmin shouted.

“No way!” I exclaimed. “Changbin would fight for me!”

“I’d go for Chan,” Jeongin contributed as if he was somehow involved in our conversation. “I think he could take Changbin.”

“Whatever,” Seungmin huffed, slinking down lower in his seat. “Can’t you go any faster, Felix?”

“The speed limit is 45,” Felix said, and I glanced at the speedometer to confirm that, yes, Felix wasn’t budging over the limit.

“He’s doing fine,” I said - just to spite Seungmin because it was way too easy to rile him up.

But it was the unique dynamic that we shared - a strange coldness reserved for one another ever since I could remember. And no matter how many times Chan sat us down together in the kitchen for one of his infamous “interventions,” we still always argued over trivial things. 

“That’s wise of you, Y/N,” Jeongin remarked. “If you’re nice to the others, then you’ll have more allies in your war against Seungmin.”

Seungmin growled from the front seat, and I smiled with a renewed sense of satisfaction.

By the time we returned home, I was practically sitting on the edge of my seat as I surveyed the driveway for any sign of Minho’s car. But I found myself disappointed yet again - resigning myself to a boring afternoon until he returned home. Meanwhile, I noticed that Changbin was working at the bushes lining our front porch, and his skin was practically burning from his time under the skin.

“Put on some sunscreen,” I suggested to him as I passed on my way inside.

Changbin glared at me playfully. “Do I not get a hug?”

“Maybe later,” I replied, laughing at the pout on his face.

It was far too hot for me to be outside, and I entered the kitchen with a sigh of relief as I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. I also spotted Chan looking over some documents on the table - shifting through the pile with a concentrated expression.

“What are you doing?” I asked while trying to peer over his shoulder.

Chan didn’t respond at first - humming to himself before meeting my gaze. “Will you help me out?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, dropping my bag near the table.

“I need you to clean up the kitchen,” Chan said. “I have to help Changbin in the yard.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem,” I said, smiling when Chan ruffled my hair on his way outside.

I was actually grateful for the distraction, especially since I didn’t have anything else planned. “But what about our nap?” Jeongin whined, and I watched him sit down on top of the counter.

“Maybe Seungmin will give you some company?” I suggested - making my way over to the sink to run some warm water for the dishes. 

“He’s moody,” Jeongin replied, and I snorted around a laugh.

“You could always help me.”

Jeongin shrugged while he considered my proposal. “Okay, but I’m not touching the trash.”

“Fair,” I agreed, and we exchanged places at the kitchen sink so that Jeongin could clean the dishes while I took care of everything else. 

It wasn’t really meant to be that much work, and I had almost finished when I noticed Seungmin walk into the kitchen. “Must be nice to be Chan’s favorite,” Seungmin said. “He’s making me wash the cars.”

“The water might feel good,” I said, even though there was a slight part of me that was laughing at Seungmin’s predicament.

“Yeah, whatever,” Seungmin muttered, and he pushed me aside as he opened the fridge. “At least get out of the way!”

I frowned as I looked around to ensure the kitchen was presentable. “Fine, have it to yourself,” I snapped at Seungmin, ignoring his glare on me as I stormed down into the basement with Jeongin hot on my heels.

It was too quiet for the remainder of the afternoon, and I had been sleeping next to Jeongin in his bed when everything fell apart around me. 

At first, I was paralyzed by the remnants of sleep, and I was blinking my eyes repeatedly when I realized that Chan was calling my name: “Y/N!”

I startled awake from my nap at the sound of Chan’s voice, noticing that Jeongin was groaning from next to me. “You don’t have to get up,” I told him and he simply grunted in response.

I was careful when I rolled out of bed, trudging upstairs because I wasn’t sure why Chan needed me. But when I walked into the kitchen, my mind instantly went blank when I realized that it was a complete wreck - like I hadn’t just spent half an hour cleaning. “Y/N,” Chan said, giving me a very stern look that I usually never experienced. “Can you explain to me why the kitchen was never cleaned?”

“Channie,” I started, but there really wasn’t a rational explanation, until Seungmin made his presence known as he smirked in my direction. 

“I never ask you to do much, Y/N,” Chan said, and he seemed far more disappointed than angry, which was honestly worse. “I hope you’re not planning to be this lazy all summer.”

I could feel my heart breaking at Chan’s cruel words because I knew that they were misdirected, but the evidence was against me. Instead, I quietly murmured an apology and promised to clean everything while Chan groaned in response and messed around in the cabinets for an Advil. “Please listen to me from now on,” Chan said before leaving me alone with Seungmin.

“Why would you do that?” I asked him - getting straight to the point.

“Like you didn’t deserve it,” Seungmin snapped, and his tone was harsh.

“Can you just leave me alone?” I sighed, and he had the decency to give me enough space to re-do everything once again.

It was still a tedious process - scrubbing down the counters and re-washing the dishes. But this time I didn’t even have Jeongin’s assistance, and I couldn’t help but wonder how Seungmin even managed to make such a mess out of the kitchen. Did he not care at all about my feelings?

I was close to a breakdown, and it was the condition Minho found me in when he came home. “Y/N,” he cooed until he realized that I wasn’t returning his enthusiasm, and his smile disappeared when he saw me. “Y/N,” he said with a careful tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said, tossing aside a wayward dish rag before slumping down at the table. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” Minho said, but it wasn’t accusing; instead, it was a gentle observation - a reminder that I didn’t need to lie to him about these things.

“Maybe it’s hard to talk about,” I said, and Minho sighed.

“Come upstairs with me,” he requested, and I allowed him to support my weight as he once again acted like my silent guardian.

There was nothing better than the feeling of Minho’s arms as he kept me close next to him in bed. It was warm and comfortable - allowing him to run his fingers through my hair while I breathed in the faint scent of his cologne. It had long wore off since he came home from work, but I could still find it on the collar of his shirt with every deep inhale.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Minho asked, and I squirmed next to him.

“Seungmin and I had another fight, I guess,” I replied.

“That’s nothing new with the two of you,” Minho remarked. “I know Chan’s already said something, but what’s keeping you both from getting along?”

“We weren’t always like this,” I said - remembering all the special moments that I had once shared with Seungmin. For example, there was one in particular that stood out to me, and it had occurred only a few months after I first moved in:

Seungmin and I were still learning about each other because we had become roommates in the blink of an eye, and I could tell that we were both still reserved around one another. But I also sensed a mutual desire to open up and talk about our lives, and we developed this interesting ritual where we would talk every night before bed and share our most intimate secrets.

“What’s something that you’re embarrassed about?” Seungmin asked, and I looked over at where he was laying across his bed.

I thought long and hard about his question before allowing the first thing that popped inside my head to speak for me: “I’ve never been kissed before,” I revealed to Seungmin.

When I met his gaze from across the room, my new roommate’s eyes visibly widened upon hearing my confession. “Oh...”

I smiled at him. “It’s okay, though, I guess I have to be patient.”

“Not necessarily,” Seungmin quickly interjected. “Uh, I mean, I could always help you out.”

“What do you mean?”

Seungmin quietly scrambled off his bed, tripping over the sheets, and he was sitting next to me in a flash. “I can be your first kiss,” Seungmin said, and his chest was heaving from his previous efforts.

“Are you sure?” I asked while moving into a better sitting position.

“Yeah,” Seungmin said with his best puppy-dog eyes. “I want it, Y/N.”

“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes and puckering my lips - waiting for him to make the first move.

And the simple slide of his lips across mine sent a shiver down my spine. But I held myself in place - allowing him to move his lips against mine as he gently held my face between his hands. It was nothing outrageous, and I found a delicate peace in the simple act.

It was nice - both warm and familiar, and I had never felt closer to Seungmin. Yet, when I offered him a new secret during one unforgettable night a few years later, those moments between us eventually stopped:

“Seungmin,” I said, finding myself smiling before I could even get my words together. “I think I really like Minho.”

It felt nice to finally come clean about the confession, but there was a strange silence from the other side of the room. 

“Seungmin?” I questioned my roommate, but he never answered, and I simply assumed that he had gone to sleep.

However, in the present, my brain quickly put the pieces together, and I felt an unmeasurable guilt weigh heavy on my consciousness. “You couldn’t have known, Y/N,” Minho said - offering me one of his familiar kisses instead.

“It’s my fault that he hates me,” I said, and I could feel myself on the verge of tears before Minho quickly pulled me away from the edge.

“It’s not,” he told me sternly. “Seungmin made that decision for himself, and he’s the one who allowed that to come between you both.”

I shook my head as I buried myself into Minho’s chest. “I feel really bad.”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Why don’t you get some sleep? We can talk about it again in the morning.”

I nodded my agreement before closing my eyes, and I found myself dreaming about the past.

It was quiet when I felt Minho whisper my name. Despite the grogginess of sleep, I craned my head to the side to see him. “What time is it?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Minho said. “I don’t have to be at work for another hour.”

“It’s early, then,” I noted, turning over onto my other side because it allowed me to burrow closer to Minho.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“I’m better,” I replied, and I met his expectant gaze. “Do I have to keep talking about it?”

“Of course not,” Minho said, and he encouraged me to lay back down. “If you’re not comfortable, then you should never force yourself.”

“But it makes me sad sometimes,” I said. “I don’t think Seungmin likes me anymore.”

“You’d have to ask him that yourself,” Minho said, but I dreaded the prospect of such a conversation. 

“No thanks,” I grumbled. “I’ll just suffer alone.”

“Look at me,” Minho instructed me softly, and I obeyed with only some hesitation because there was nothing more reassuring than the affectionate gleam in Minho’s familiar eyes. “You’re never alone, Y/N.”

He was serious - I could tell by his tone and the manner in which he forced our eye contact. “I didn’t mean to say that,” I told him. “I know that I’ll always have you.”

“That’s right,” Minho said, and he gave me a proud smile. “Whatever we have between us - I hope it’s the deepest bond you could ever imagine. Because I’m never going away, Y/N.”

I closed my eyes when I felt another soothing kiss across my lips. “I like you a lot,” I said, without really thinking.

But Minho just laughed, and there was something safe about him. “I like you too,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper - like his next words were only meant for us to share: “More than you could ever know.”

I grinned and reached for his hand. Because if Minho liked me even half as much as I liked him, then there was nothing that could stop us.

It was our special relationship as long as we remained together.

[glimmerglanger]

Iiiiiif you’re still taking angsty prompts, maybe #6 or #49? For Codywan or Obikin? :) (I love your writing!! Thank you so much for doing these!)

I am! So I picked #6 because it’s “Why are your eyes so red?” which is, uh, perfect for some more Sith shenanigans. Note that this turned into a FIC apparently, it even gets a title. Codywan. TCW AU. In which Obi-Wan embraces the Dark, wins a war, and loses his soul.

aut viam inveniam aut faciam

“Why are your eyes so red?” The first time Cody asked, Obi-Wan was standing in the middle of a Separatist laboratory. They’d fought their way into the bunker over the course of days, Obi-Wan taking the last push by himself, forcing his way into this terrible room.

The first time Cody asked, Obi-Wan was surrounded by the dead, releasing the body of the last man he’d killed so that it could slump to the ground beside all the rest. The room had stunk of blood and cauterized skin.

The first time Cody asked, it had been after Obi-Wan spent hours walking through the results of the experiments conducted in this place, looking at the remains of the men and women - the children - and granting those poor souls that had survived some measure of peace and--

He blinked, rapidly, turning his face away from his Commander, regathering all the emotions in his head and chest. There were lights flashing all over the room; the power had started failing within hours of their assault.

“What?” he asked, when he felt… contained, inside, turning to glance at Cody. Cody stood in the doorway, looking across the ruin within. There was no horror in his expression, only a grim sort of satisfaction. But, then, he’d seen everything Obi-Wan had seen.

Cody looked at him, a small frown passing across his face, and said, “Could have sworn your eyes were red a second ago, sir.”

Obi-Wan flashed him a tired smile, stepping over a body. “A trick of the light,” he said, clapping Cody on the arm. “Shall we get out of here?”

#

Obi-Wan had not been aware of the issue, not truly, before Cody asked about it. Oh, he knew he grew exhausted, he knew he was angry, but he had not thought that it had gone so far. But after Cody mentioned it, sometimes he glanced towards a mirror and found a red gleam across his irises.

He closed his eyes. He tried to meditate.

But all the meditation in the world did not undo the effects of the war on the galaxy. It did not bring back the dead or soothe the tormented. It did not put a stop to the unending stretch of madness and deprivation.

And so he glanced sideways at mirrors.

And red eyes looked back, more and more often.

#

“General,” Cody said, the second time, weeks later, on the bridge of a Separatist command ship. “Your eyes are red.” His men had made it in as Obi-Wan cornered the General leading the orbital bombardment of the planet below; they were wiping out hundreds with each shot, causing permanent damage to the planet’s crust, filling the atmosphere with particulates that would take a century to clear.

He’d heard them lower their blasters when the General’s head rolled away, his body slumping to the side and then falling, his hands - upraised - finally lowering. Obi-Wan expected to feel… something.

But he felt only a sense of grim satisfaction, standing there in the smoke-filled bridge of the ship, reaching out to cease the bombardment. “It’s the smoke in here,” he said to Cody, looking up to meet his gaze.

Cody stared back at him, dark eyes searching, and Obi-Wan waited.

They’d seen the General’s hands up, when they entered the bridge. They’d, no doubt, heard him pleading in the hall, though that hadn’t gone on for very long. Obi-Wan had seen no reason to drag things out. Such a waste of time would only result in more deaths.

Cody said, still watching him, his tone slow and thoughtful when he said, “Then you should get out of here, sir. Get some fresh air.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head. He said, “Good idea, Commander. Thank you.”

#

The third time Cody asked, they were in the war room on the Negotiator, reviewing the newest orders sent down by the Senate. Obi-Wan read over them twice, looking at the holos swirling through the air, considering the troop deployments, the strategies advised by the Senate.

The plan would - almost certainly - win them the planet below. 

The problem, of course, was that it would, almost just as certainly, mean feeding hundreds - if not thousands - of his men into a meat grinder. Putting living men in, getting dead bodies out, and--

And Obi-Wan had his orders. He was to obey, the same as everyone else. The Senate had final word, their word was the law, they--

“Sir,” Cody said, quietly, at his shoulder. “It’s alright. We’d follow you into hell and back.”

Obi-Wan turned to look at him, the familiar lines of his face, the determination in his eyes, his battle-worn armor. He’d added a new decoration to it, recently, a small circle, half-red and half-blue. Obi-Wan had seen it on troopers throughout the battalion, but they’d been evasive about what it meant. They had things that mattered to them. Secrets they kept. Whole lives...and something shifted inside of him, something in his chest hardening and going cold. They’d follow him into hell. Willingly. 

But he saw no reason to make them burn.

He waved aside the holos, cold anger moving through him with each beat of his heart. He worked quietly for a moment, leaving the holo spinning slowly in place, and said, gazing upon it, “This is what we’re going to do.”

He stayed quiet while Cody looked over the plans for deployment. Cody had seen, after all, the orders they were given. These hardly matched. And Cody had every reason to follow the Senate’s orders, no reason at all to--

“I’ll let the men know,” Cody said, reaching out for his helmet, as something like relief or satisfaction unfurled inside Obi-Wan’s chest. He hesitated, a step away, glancing back, and added, “Sir, your eyes…”

“I haven’t been getting enough sleep,” Obi-Wan said, gaze on the spinning holo. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

#

And after that, after ignoring the orders of the Senate once and securing a victory that felt like a victory, Obi-Wan could see no reason not to continue doing so. He wondered what the Senate would do about it; it turned out little.

It was difficult to reprimand the person bringing you the victories you claimed to want, Obi-Wan supposed.

He wondered, breathing hard following a battle, the dead spread in a circle all around him, why, exactly, it had been so difficult to make progress before. He was still wondering when Cody approached him and said, quietly, “General, your eyes.”

Obi-Wan blinked, and said, “It’s just--”

“I’m not looking for an excuse,” Cody interrupted, coming to a stop so close their shoulders bumped, leaning closer to keep his voice quiet. “I’m just telling you because Master Secura is making her way over here, and I thought you’d want to know.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment, considerations speeding through his mind as he said, “You know what it means.”

Cody flashed him a smile, sharp, there and gone. “I know,” he said, and Obi-Wan felt a thrum down his spine, wondering if this was how it all ended, if Secura had brought enough men to take him, if Cody planned to pull the trigger--

And Cody continued, “And General Secura will, too, if you don’t do something about it.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, concentrating, reaching for peace and calm.

It was not that hard to find.

Lately he felt very sure of what he was doing.

#

Secura did not try to take him in to answer for what he had done. She seemed troubled, but willing to listen, willing to understand why Obi-Wan had taken the actions he’d taken, why he’d disregarded the Senate’s orders.

Results, Obi-Wan found, again, were difficult to argue with.

She spoke with him, listened to him, and when she left again she felt at peace, as well. More confident. Less burdened.

“That went better than I expected,” Obi-Wan told Cody, who had spoken with Bly, earnestly and quietly to one side, throughout the meeting. They’d gripped hands before Bly followed Secura away, shared a look of determination.

“Well,” Cody said, bumping his shoulder, “they do call you the negotiator.”

Obi-Wan snorted a laugh. It surprised him, for a moment, that he could still manage laughter. He’d thought, for some reason, that he would lose it. But amusement spread through him, warm and pleasant. 

He asked, “Did you have a pleasant talk with your brother?” He kept his weight leaned against Cody’s shoulder. He’d wanted that closeness for so long. Denied himself. Sensed the risk of attachment and retreated, as he should have. But-- 

“I did,” Cody said. “I’ll tell you more about it later.” 

#

“The war needs someone to be able to make decisions across the entire front,” Obi-Wan said, after his next victory, speaking to members of the Council and the other Generals. “Someone who knows what’s going on. Attempting this with so many different plans is losing us this war.”

He watched them exchange glances, concerned, but… But he also saw flashes of agreement. They worried about what he was saying, he saw. But they knew he was right, all at the same time. He stifled a smile, continuing, “Master Yoda would be the obvious choice, his experience could only benefit us.”

“Experience I have,” Yoda said, shaking his head, far away on Coruscant, “but a mind for battle, I have not.” He glanced to the side and nodded at Master Windu.

“We agree that an overall strategy would benefit the Republic,” he said, “and will put the matter before the Senate. An assignment can be made if they agree.”

Obi-Wan nodded, discussed other plans, other battles, until the discussion ended.

It was less than a day before the Senate reached a decision.

Obi-Wan felt strange, listening to their decision. Not satisfied, exactly, only like he was one step closer to fixing things. He’d never been promoted before, and smiled at the congratulations, at the clasp of Cody’s hand around his arm, and the warmth of his expression.

“We should celebrate,” Cody said, drawing him down a hall, warm interest radiating from him through the Force.

Obi-Wan glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow, “Oh? How?”

Cody flashed him a smile, tugging him around a corner, leaning closer when he murmured, “I have a few ideas, sir. Would you like to hear them?”

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow, his stomach tightening, his skin thrumming, and he should have said no. He said, “Why don’t you show me?” And Cody’s mouth was as warm and soft as he’d thought, his hands as strong and sure as they moved against one another.

#

Obi-Wan had never assumed that it would be easy, to - to fix everything. To end the war, to make the galaxy make sense again. And so, really, the attempts on his life were not unexpected.

The first assassin was a clone - not one of his men - and he had a blaster snugged against the back of Obi-Wan’s skull before Cody pulled the trigger. The assassin slumped down, afterwards, lifeless across the floor, and Obi-Wan said, “Oh, next time you should try to keep them alive.”

Cody grabbed him, then, pulling him around and looking him over, saying, “I’m sorry, sir, I should have--”

Obi-Wan waved a hand, dismissive. “You saved my life, Commander,” he said, and watched Cody flush a little at the warmth in his tone. “I hardly think you need to apologize. Let’s see if we can learn anything from him.”

In the end, the body gave up no secrets. But the next one they took alive, and the story he told left Obi-Wan with a cold feeling in his gut. It did not take overmuch work to determine who had sent him, who his orders had come from.

It took much less work to quietly send someone to address the problem.

#

Obi-Wan was in battle, when word of the Chancellor’s untimely demise reached him. He smiled, and did not need Cody to tell him about the state of his eyes.

#

“Padmé is worried about what you’re doing,” Anakin said, months into Obi-Wan’s campaign, when the Separatists had been pushed back and contained almost completely. He’d visited frequently; they were always working together. Most of the troopers in the 501st wore the blue and red circle on their armor.

He knew by then that it meant they were his.

He blinked up at Anakin, who seemed… worried, and asked, “What concerns her?”

Anakin shifted, uncomfortable. “She says… it’s a lot of power. For one person to have. She says you’re making decisions without consulting anyone else. She says it’s - it’s not democratic.” He glanced to the side. “A lot of other Senators are worried, too. She says.”

Obi-Wan smiled, soft, comforting. He straightened from where he’d been gazing at battle plans. He’d known there would be pushback. A few people were bound to notice what he was doing.

He said, taking a step towards Anakin, reaching out to grip his arm, “I understand. But, Anakin, what do you think?”

Anakin glanced to the side, jaw working for a moment, before he said, “I don’t - I know Padmé tries her best.” And Obi-Wan knew, then, that he had nothing to worry about. There was a relief to that. When the time came, he didn’t want to have to hurt Anakin. “She doesn’t understand that we’re just doing what needs done.”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head, “she doesn’t. But that’s alright, she had other things to worry about.”

Anakin nodded. He looked relieved. He said, “And we’re winning the war. We’re really - it’s going to be over.”

“Soon,” Obi-Wan agreed, squeezing his arm. 

Anakin smiled at him and said, “You’ve done a good job, Master.”

#

The war ended with Dooku slumped at Obi-Wan’s feet, body going still and lifeless. Grievous had been sorted out already, overwhelmed by sheer numbers. The leadership council of the Separatists, those still alive, were already begging to surrender.

Obi-Wan gave them his terms and accepted it, on behalf of the Republic.

General Unduli, there to watch the proceedings, looking uneasy as he did, but she said nothing, nothing at all, as the remaining leaders knelt and groveled and pled, until Obi-Wan waved them to their feet, insisting there was no need for such theatrics.

#

The galaxy at large celebrated. Obi-Wan put off his celebrations for a time. His work was, after all, not finished. He stood on the bridge of the Negotiator, looking out across an army without a war to fight.

“What will you do now?” Cody asked, standing, as always, at his right hand. Obi-Wan looked at him, and smiled.

He waved a hand, changing the holos, focusing on the bright, beautiful, core worlds.

“Now,” he said, grinning, “I think we should go home. I think we’re all owed a victory parade, don’t you?”

#

Obi-Wan took the remaining capital ships, took all his fleets, and ordered them towards Coruscant. He stood on the bridge during the final approach, his heart beating calmly behind his ribs, the knowledge of what he had to do stretching out before him, smooth and clear.

“Do you know,” he said, gaze on the window but well aware when Cody stepped up beside him, “in the old days of the Republic, we used to have a Senate and an Emperor.”

Cody made a soft sound. “Did we? I’m afraid we never learned much ancient history.”

Obi-Wan frowned, briefly. He had so much work to do, to ensure his men were treated fairly. But that was a problem for tomorrow. “We did,” he said, gazing at the bright gem of Coruscant. “The title passed down through a family line for a while.”

“Until?” Cody asked, putting a hand on his back. 

“Until the line grew weak, I suppose,” Obi-Wan said. “And people decided to be more… proactive about taking the position.”

“Hm.” Cody drew him a little closer, his affection bleeding across the space between them. “And then who ruled?”

Obi-Wan’s mouth quirked. He stared, unblinking, out across the stars. “Conquering generals, mostly.” He felt… calm inside. Calm and still. He would fix things. So many things. Take all the necessary steps to undo so much damage, and if he damned his soul in the process, well…

So be it.

“Your eyes are red, sir,” Cody said, softly, and Obi-Wan glanced towards him, quirking a smile.

“Does it bother you?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

Cody shook his head. “No,” he said, reaching out, sliding his fingers into Obi-Wan’s hair, moving closer. “I’ve always thought it suited you.” He brushed a kiss against Obi-Wan’s mouth, shifting to take it deeper after a moment, until they were both breathless.

Obi-Wan said, against his mouth, “You told me once you’d follow me into hell. Are you ready?”

Cody tugged him closer. He said, “Always, sir,” and kissed him again as they came out of hyperspace above Coruscant.

[harrypotterthehufflepuff]

Doubt

This was requested by: Anon !

Request: could i request where the reader and george both have a crush on each other but the reader thinks shes not good enough for him and when he confesses she gets her feelings hurt because she thinks its a prank to be mean and runs off and george finds her and tells her he's honest and its cute and happy? :)

*

Note: I’m finally home from Norway!! I can return to my regular computer to writen on. So I can upload more often. So yeah, yay!

*

Warnings: none

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Words: 2k

If you’d like to request something please head over to my other blog, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ronaldandremuslover and I’ll try and fix it for you !

~ ~ ~ ~

"Sure, just tell Snape to shove it up where the sun doesn't shine and walk away. I bet you he'll let you off without homework then." Fred said, taking a big bite out of his chicken thigh.

"Yeah, because he's hexed you into the beyond." George finished.

You exhaled, dramatically. "I just want to relax, you know. It's our last year. We should enjoy it, taking it all in."

George snorted, his lips curled into a pretty grin. "We've been here for seven years. What more is there to take in?"

Shrugging, you took a gulp of your pumpkin juice. You looked around the great hall, watched the students. "There are so many people who I don't know here."

"Yeah 'cuz here's hundreds - if not thousands - of people here, Y/N." Fred said.

Your last year at Hogwarts. It felt incredibly strange. After this, you'd have to apply for a job. It was like being thrown into an abyss; completely unknown and scary. There were only three months left, and you felt stressed, apprehensive and uncertain. Of course, there was some excitement mixed in there. But you'd have to leave your friends... and him.

Him. His stupid crooked grin and red hair. His fantastically absurd witticism. His amazingly freckled face and his crazy long, attractive fingers. His crazed character and his wonder jokes. His sexy voice. His stupid tall and lanky figure that you loved so much. His dumb but famous swagger when he walked.

You'd miss him the most.

Of course, you would still be... friends. But you wouldn't see him as often and not in the same way. It'd be radically different. You knew that there would come a time where you had to grow up. Become an adult. A responsible adult. But with him - with George - you rarely felt older than twelve again. The things you'd do together were often childish and honestly quite lame, but it made you feel alive and purely happy.

He made you happy.

"-Y/N?"

Leaving Hogwarts felt foreign. Waking up without your friends around you. Not having to go to class or eat in a giant hall with hundreds of other people together. Or having stupid fights with another house or pull insane pranks that could potentially put you in detention. But that was the thrill. The thrill of Hogwarts. You never knew what would happen.

"Y/N?"

"Y-yes-yeah-yes-what?" You said with a start. Looking around yourself, as if you were surprised to find yourself in the great hall.

Fred looked at you with a funny smile. "Whatchu thinkin' 'bout?"

"Nothing." You faltered.

"Are you sure?" It was George.

Nodding, you smiled at him. "I'm sure."

George looked you up and down, looking uncertain. But he merely laughed a little and pointed a finger at you.

"You're funny."

"Thanks, means a lot when it comes from you."

He smirked.

It made your heart skip an extra beat.

~ ~ ~ ~

The book you were reading was not nearly as interesting as Fred and George. The twins were playing wizards chess. Fred was losing miserably. His constant grunts of displeasure and his head in his hands were a wonderful sight. George was often the one to get beat at wizards chess by Fred. It felt nice to watch the tables turn once and awhile.

"How's it going over there?" You called from your position at the very comfortable sofa.

Fred didn't say anything, George however beamed at you.

"It's going fantastic."

Putting the book aside, you strode over to the small table in the corner by the window that they were seated at. George was playing with the black chess pieces.

Trying not to laugh, you said, "Fred, not looking too good here, huh?"

"Hmph."

You and George exchanged a look, both smiling from ear to ear.

"How about this," George said, "if I win, you'll have to kiss me. If I lose, I'll have to deal with the shame."

You froze. You were used to his teasing. He would usually throw some funny comments your way, but you would always play them off. He didn't mean any of them. He was only joking. George liked to play with you. He just didn't know how much it hurt when he did these things.

"Right, Hermano." You tried to sound casual.

Fred moved his queen and suddenly George got pulled into the game again. So you retreated to your seat at the sofa again and picked up your book. But you couldn't concentrate. What if he did win? Would he actually kiss you then? Or would he only laugh at your face? Was it bad that you didn't want him to win now? Or did you want him to win, solely so you could possibly get one kiss that doesn't mean anything?

~ ~ ~ ~

It only took another half an hour before you heard a shout of victory. You looked up from you barely read book. As you feared, George won. Now what?

"Well, good match, brother." Fred said, reaching out to shake his brother's hand, who was currently doing a lame but cute victory dance.

"About time." George said, probably more to himself than anyone else.

Sitting awkwardly in the sofa waiting for something to happen, you said nothing. But George's sly grin from across the room made you even more nervous.

"Still up for it, Y/N?" He asked, standing up from his chair.

You tried to play it off, like every other trick he plays on you. "You sure you won? You didn't cheat?"

George shook his head, smiling. "All real, all raw. Now, are you still up for it?"

He sounded genuine when he asked you. Like he was actually expecting it. Did he mean it? Did he want you to kiss him?

"Are you still up for it?" You said trying fish out if he did mean it.

"I'm game." He said quickly.

A bit too quickly.

Okay, so he did want a kiss.

You stood up and walked up to him. He was beaming and it made you want to hug him and never let go. But you had a horrible feeling this was only a joke. A cruel joke that George would pull on you, not knowing how much it would truly hurt.

Stopping when he was in front of you, you tried to smile. You didn't say anything. You just stood on your toes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

A kiss on the cheek.

A kiss on the bloody cheek.

George looked like a question mark. But he didn't say anything. He gave you a smile, not a real smile, his lips were pulled to a thin line but curved up at the ends a bit.

"Well done." You offered, lamely.

He just nodded. "Thanks. I think I'll turn in. Coming, Fred?"

Fred, who has been sitting by the table and watching this whole ordeal play out, looked bothered. A bit annoyed. He's probably a sore loser.

"In a minute. You go, though."

His twin waved them goodbye and said goodnight and descended up the staircase to the boy's dormitory.

You stood in place for a moment, cringing at what had just happened. But you broke out of it and plopped down on the sofa, defeated. You ran your hands over your face and groaned loudly. What. the. hell.

You felt someone sitting down next to you, so you turned to see Fred who looked none too happy.

"I'm sorry you lost. You seem rather distraught."

"I'm not distraught. I'm annoyed. And not over the fact that I just lost to my brother. But because you are too dim to see that he fancy's you."

"Uh-"

"Can't you tell? Like for real? After everything he does for you? Everything he says to you? Just the way that he looks at you?" Fred ranted, his hands waving all over the place.

Dumbfounded, you stared at him. One word travelled across your mind. Just one.

What.

Was Fred lying? Did George like you in the same way that you liked him? And how could you not see it?

Now, as you sat next to Fred, it started to make sense. Fred was right. Everything George has done for you, and you still couldn't see it.

He had invited you to his family home, invited you to dinner at Hogsmeade, bought you flowers at random, made you tea whenever you're sick and stay by your side. Listening to you while you rambled on about your favourite band, helping you out with insecurities and doubts. Always telling you how beautiful you look, complimenting you at things you're bad at, holding your hand whenever you're scared, finding excuses to touch your hair. And lastly, asking for a kiss.

Even when he had asked you for a kiss, you had doubted yourself. How could you have been so foolish?

"Oh shit." You blurted out, your eyes widening.

Fred nodded slowly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "Ah, I see you finally see what all of us other sees every single day."

"How do I fix this?"

"There's nothing to fix, dear friend. He'll try again tomorrow. Like he has done for at least two years now." Fred said calmly. "And this time, actually respond to the hints."

He got up from the sofa and started to head to the stairs that lead up to the boy's dormitory.

You heard his footsteps fade as he walked up the stairs. Leaving you bewildered at your new discovery.

~ ~ ~ ~

You saw him turning a corner that leads to the boy's lavatories. You hurriedly said goodbye to your friends and ran after him, your heart beating fast.

He had just stepped inside when you reached the door. You hoped to all of the gods above that no other than George was in there. And with that, you opened the door and stepped inside.

"George?" You asked, quietly.

"What the-" George cut off when he saw you. "What're you doing in here?"

"I never thought George Weasley would look so shocked to see me breaking the rules. I thought it was common by know." You looked at him, astonished that he likes you.

He chuckled. "I never took you for a perv, though."

His handsome smile brought you to the subject that you had wanted to talk to him about. So you took a big, deep breath and prepared your silly and probably very cheesy speech.

"George..."

He waited, his eyebrows raised. But when you didn't continue he looked at you, confused.

"...Yes?"

Talking about your feelings suddenly felt more nerve-racking than you had thought. And your thoughts on explaining to him that you like him was terrifying. So you felt like the best way to express yourself was to just show him.

Walking slowly and looking at him with big, nervous eyes, you reached him and gently put your hands on each side of his face and tenderly claimed his lips with yours. Your hands remained on his face, your thumb brushing his cheek softly.

He was tense for only a second before he relaxed and put one arm on your lower back, and one on the back of your head.

When it was over - which felt too soon - both of you slowly pulled away from each other. For a moment, you just looked at him, and he looked back at you, seemingly lost in your eyes. His lips were starting to curl into a sly smile. Here it comes.

"That was nice." He said, laughing a little.

You couldn't help but laugh a little yourself. It was a bit funny, was it not? You had just had your first kiss with George Weasley in the boy's lavatories. But for some really odd and peculiar reason, it felt right. It sort described your whole situation.

Plain strange.

"It was." You responded, shocked at your own braveness.

"Would you mind if we do it again, sometime?" George didn't seem ashamed or shy to ask you, which made you feel a lot less nervous as well.

"I wouldn't mind at all."

He nodded his head, looking satisfied. Not breaking his character, he said, "Not to ruin the moment but I have to take a dump."

Laughing, you put your hands up. "I'm leaving."

"I'll see you later." He said.

You walked out and started to head to the Gryffindor common room.

Oh, how you couldn't wait to tell Fred.

[sylvain-writes]

Guarded Hearts and Safe Houses (Leonardo x Reader) Chapter 8/9

Rated: T

Gender Neutral Reader, canon typical violence/injury, light angst, strangers to lovers, supportive family.

for @melodiousmelodrama

Raph tracks the signal of Leo's phone with his. "He ain’t far."

You take off at a sprint, but Raphael is faster. And so strong. He grabs you with an "alley-oop" and lays you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

It's terribly uncomfortable, but by the way you bounce against his shell you can tell you're making great time.

You expect to hear the sounds of fighting growing louder. The maniacal laughter of the Krang. The mechanical screech of battered robots taking their last stand against the ninja turtles.

You don't expect Raphael's voice to boom against your ear, rendering your ears to ring for a full minute.

"Leo!"

Considering the panic in his shout, you're surprised Raph has the foresight to put you down easy before rushing into the fight.

When you find your feet, you see the same as he. There's no time to think. The guys move in sync. Always in motion. Dancing around each other, springboarding off of each other, going hard against the aliens without a break to rest.

And you see the cause for Raph's panicked cry. Leo's lost a sword. You don't think he'd be able to lift it if he had it.

The fight brings him toward you and you inch closer, staying out of sight as best you can. "What happened?"

"You shouldn't be here!" He growls at you. His eyes are blown wide with adrenaline, he's unfocused. His mind clouded by pain and fear.

"Take this," you say, holding up a few glucose tablets to his face. "It'll help."

"With the pain?"

You flinch. You think that may be the first time he's admitted to that kind of vulnerability. You wish you could give him something more. "I'll find something stronger."

Leo takes what's offered without further question. "Stay outta sight," he pleads. "Don't get in the way."  

"Let me help."

"You have a problem listening?"

"Only so far as you have a problem admitting when you need help." You lift his katana, the long curved sword too heavy for you to do much by way of fighting. But you find your stance anyway. You won't forget what you've learned. The forms Raph taught you when he needed to keep calm through long nights on the rooftop. Of course you had been weilding a pair of thin axes from your cousin's cosplay.

Leo takes the sword from your hands and sheaths it at his back. You were right about the injury to his arm. He doesn't trust it to fight.

"You know how to use this?" He presents you with a short blade from his belt.

You do the fancy toss and flip Raph Donnie taught you.

"No goofing off. If you're going to do this, I need to know you can do this."

The Krang come through the ceiling with a crash and drywall crumbles down on you from overhead.

"Doesn't look like we get a choice."  You dive into the fight head first and Leo doesn't have time to object.

You get split up, but you can hear him. He shouts for you to dodge an incoming bot before you even see it coming and you think the most you're doing is being a distraction for the bots while Leo heads for the biggest brain of them all.

Leader against leader.  You watch them square off. The bots grab you and hold you to make you watch, not that you would dare turn away.

Leonardo doesn't look your way, however. And no matter how many ways you reason it out, it hurts. The metal hands clamp down on your shoulders and drop you to your knees and Leo doesn't even spare you a glance.

Just a distraction, you remind yourself. You keep your mouth shut. Letting Leo have his focus on the Krang is the best chance for survival. Yours, his, and everyone else in the city. In the world.

The weight of Leo's responsibility hits you like a kick in the stomach. He really takes on so much, alone.

Mikey let out a whoop from the towering building to your left. And the surprise of it brings a smile to your face. "Look for old friends in high places,” he says. “Fortune favors the bold."

He flips down to your rescue, dispatching the bots with ease. When he lays waste to your last guard, Mikey gives you a light chuck on the chin. "Horoscopes, amiright? They never lie!"

Raph is next to drop into place behind his brother. Donnie last, but not without reinforcements.

"These blasters will eminnate a percussive blast that should disrupt the pink matter of their neurostructure. If we can lure them out of the robot casings, I think even a concentrated sonic blast could neutralize the threat."

Raph reaches for a gun. "You had me at blaster, Don. Just hand 'em over."

"Where's Leo?" Donatello asks as he assigns you and Mikey with a blaster each. "Radar said he'd be here."

"Krang led him off the ledge," you say testing the weight of the gun in your hand. "This way."

The turtles are faster than you. And the four of them together move in synchronous, fatal beauty.

Mikey delivers the final blast, paying the Krang back for pulverising him that night a month ago.

Once the Krang is destroyed, Leo looks to his brothers. All standing, weary but whole. They watch as their leader passes through the destruction calling your name.

You're trapped under a fallen wall, but you're fine. You try to tell him as much, but he quickens his step.and his shouts grow more frantic.

"Leo, I'm here. I'm ok. I'm here."

Leo struggles with the block and you assure him you’re trapped, not pinned. It takes more convincing than you think is necessary considering there’s no pain or panic in your voice. Only relief.

Killing the Krang caused the other aliens to fall lifeless to the ground. And while city clean up will be a mess likely drawing more questions than answers, you’re grateful the fight is over.

Sirens blare on the streets below. But they’re a distant sound. Leo is in front of you, promising you’ll be out soon.

“Guys!” He shouts, and his voice is breaking when he realizes he can’t lift half an abandoned warehouse without assistance. “Guys! Hurry!”

Then, you hear what his more sensitive ears have already picked up. The rubble is shifting.

Your heart rate speeds up, each beat thumps in your chest hard enough you wonder if Leo can hear it.

"I see you!" He says as he and his brothers work frantically to get you out.  

You blink through a gap in the rubble, a confused tilt to your neck because, yes, he sees you. You've caught his glances every few seconds as he scrambles to move rock and steel from the pile that's locked you in.

"I was wrong," he says as Raph helps him cast a concrete slab aside. "Before.”

As Leo speaks, his voice cracks, and his brothers pick up their pace while he reaches for you through the gap. He pulls you to him and once you're safe, you recognize his hands on your arms are trembling.

His blue eyes shine with apology. "I was wrong. I see you. What you do for us. I see you when you think no one's looking."

You hear the truth in his words, but you don't understand.

"I see you when you're with the others. You help them feel understood. You're a friend when they need someone to trust."

"I help them…"

"Me. And me." His hand lifts, shaking, as he tucks a hair behind your ear. "You see me. You've always seen me. But I didn't think I wanted to be seen."

"I’m a distraction,” you argue despite the way it breaks your heart. “I make you lose focus.”

Leo drops his head, shaking it slowly as he looks down at his feet. “Only because I’ve been fighting a war within myself. It blinded me to what was going on around me.”

You hear, more than see, his brothers shifting behind you, because you can’t take your eyes away from Leo.

“Almost losing you,” he says, “without making my apology. I couldn’t-”

“So don’t,” you tell him, placing a hand on his chest. Touching his chin just enough to tip it up.

He looks at you with his mouth drawn in a frown. “I’m sorry I pushed you away, when all I wanted… what I truly wanted… was this.” His thumb caresses your cheek and you lift your hand to cradle his face.

When he leans down for a kiss, Mikey gasps and Raph rears back with a low “Whoa” but you don’t notice any of that. Leo’s mouth is firm against yours, but the press of his lips is tender, slow. Your arms reach up to slide around his neck to pull him down, to pull him close. He lifts you off the ground instead. And he smiles into your kiss.

You can’t believe you’re witnessing his first real smile and you don’t even get to see it. But feeling it against your own is so much better, you think.

“I almost lost you,” Leo mumbles against your lips, as if remembering anew. His uninjured arm tightens around you and it feels like he’s holding on for dear life.

The truth of his words hits you square in the chest. The shock of the day - terror and relief - wash over you like a flood and you start to shake and laugh in his embrace.

He checks you over to make sure you’re not hurt and you assure him for what feels like the thousandth time that you’re fine, before he looks you in the eyes again, takes your face in his hand, and brings your heads together for another kiss.

Donatello clears his throat forcefully enough you know he means to interrupt. “Undoubtedly this display of affection is lovely, but it is public and a bit uncomfortable for present company. Additionally, there’s the matter of us being out in the open - in broad daylight - to consider. So, perhaps it’s best we take this party elsewhere.”

You look around at the destruction and down at Leo’s injured arm. It’s all worse than anyone is letting on. But the city is protected. The city will heal.

“May I take you home?” Leo asks. He looks to Donnie to confirm he’s got them somewhere safe.

“It’ll calm my mind,” Leo says, stroking your cheek, “knowing you’re with your family.”

In spite of everything, you have him. You smile. “You think I’d walk home alone in this mess?”

[ad1thi]

just friends (?) p4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4  ||  also on ao3

- its finally done!! im still thinking of doing an epilogue, and a companion piece w Tony’s perspective; but that’s probably going to have to wait until after AU-gust. major s/o to @iam93percentstardust and @/lilacqueen for looking over this, i wouldn’t have been able to post this without you guys

//

Despite what Steve told Sam, he couldn’t get his words out of his head. His answer might surprise you, Sam had said last week, and it ruminates in Steve’s head - refusing to let him go. Steve might not be the best judge of character, but he’d like to think that he can recognise attraction, especially when he’s the object of said affection. Could he really have - no there’s no way.

(Right?)

‘No it’s impossible’, Steve thinks to himself, fists pounding at the bag in front of him, as if punching it hard enough will make these words leave him alone, ‘I’ve been friends with Tony for 5 years, I would’ve known.’

Steve knows what attraction looks like for Tony, he knows it intimately and deeply, he watched it directed at every person who made Tony’s head turn, he saw it in every relationship that Tony pursued, he recognised it in every look of long lost fondness, and it was never directed at him.

Hell, Steve had been instrumental in some of those relationships himself, deluding himself in the belief that if he saw Tony with someone else it would somehow help him get over his own feelings and finally move on. 

Sam just doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Steve thinks resolutely, collapsing onto the floor of the gym in exhaustion, one hand half-heartedly extended to still the bag, He doesn’t know what attraction looks like for Tony. 

Steve wasn’t sure of a lot, but he was absolutely sure that Tony had never shown him any sort of affection. It wouldn’t do him good to dwell on Sam’s words - because he’d meant what he said, he’d rather have Tony part-time than none at all, and wondering about impossibilities is what ruined their friendship in the first place.

No, Steve had to make a concentrated and forceful effort to dull his feelings, or at the very least bury them so far down that nobody could reach them, if he wanted any chance of making his friendship with Tony work. He lays on the floor of the gym for a couple more minutes, trying to catch his breath - before ignoring his screaming muscles so he can stand up. He pulls up the end of his tank so that he can wipe off the sweat that’s collected on his brows, and just as he’s pulling it back down and adjusting it - he catches the receptionist giving him an appreciative once over from the corner of his eye.

Huh, he thinks, looking around for his water-bottle so that he can take a large sip (and also pour some on himself to cool down, Interesting. 

It’s been an age since Steve has flirted with someone, but it doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how. He isn’t vain by any means, but he knows that he isn’t ugly, and that if he tried he might actually have an active love life - or at the very least, an active sex life. He just hasn't wanted to. Not since Tony, his traitorous mind supplies, and even now - just thinking of hitting on someone else feels like he’s cheating on Tony.

But he and Tony aren’t more than friends, and if he’s serious about moving on - then he needs to go all in. You have to run before you walk and all that jazz, he thinks to himself grimly, grits his teeth and puts on his most winning smile when he reaches the front desk. 

“Hey,” he says as he passes over his member-card, tilting his head and smiling warmly at the receptionist, “I’m Steve.” Predictably, she blushes, and says, “I’m Sharon,” as she passes his card back, “looks like you had a good workout back there.”

“Oh that?” he instills fake nonchalance into his voice, “That’s just an off day for me.” This can go one of two days - either she’ll wrinkle her nose at his obvious brag, or she’ll giggle. 

She giggles, and even though Steve isn’t attracted to her at all (he doesn’t think he knows how to be attracted to anyone but Tony anymore), he still preens internally, because after all his time, he’s still got it. They chat for a couple more minutes, and Sharon works in asking for his number before he can get around to it. Steve scribbles it on the closest scrap piece of paper that he finds, before waving goodbye and making his way out. 

He’s out of the building and about to turn the corner when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out to see a text from Sharon:

>> Sharon: free on Wednesday for a coffee?? X

His instinctive reaction is to say no, because Wednesday is his day with Tony, but then he remembers his newfound resolution to move on from Tony and pauses. Cancelling on friends for a date, that’s a normal thing right? Steve is almost certain it is. All in, Steve thinks to himself again, fingers hovering over his keyboard.

>> Steve: works for me!!

The entire way home, he vehemently tries to ignore the growing pit in his stomach. 

(He fails)

/

Steve’s in the middle of debating whether a button up is too much for a coffee date or whether Sharon will appreciate that he’s made an effort when his bell rings. And then rings again. And again. And then he hears fists on his door. 

“What the fuck?” he mutters under his breath, grabbing the closest vee and pulling it over his head as he makes his way over to the door, yelling “I’m coming!!” when the knocking gets more incessant. 

He opens the door and he barely has any time to digest the fact that it’s Tony at the door before Tony pushes past him in a huge motion of flurry and stops in the middle of his living room, spinning on his heel and pointing a finger at him. 

“You - !” is all he gets out before he lets out an incoherent scream, and Steve says, “Come in,” dumbly because his mind is still trying to process the fact that Tony is here, in his house, 20 minutes before he’s supposed to go on a date. 

Steve knows that that’s supposed to mean something, but right now his mind is hyper-focused on the fact that Tony is here. Meanwhile, Tony seems to have regained use of his mouth because he’s clearly yelling at Steve.

“ - because Rhodey says I’m supposed to be using my words, so this is me trying to use my words. What do you mean ‘you have a date?” he asks furiously, pointing at his phone aggressively, “What does that mean?” “I uh,” Steve fumbles his words, “the girl at my gym asked me out a couple days ago. Asked to meet for coffee. I said yes.”  “I know what a date is Steven,” Tony stresses his name, “I’m just trying to understand what you’re doing going on one.” Tony looks crestfallen all of a sudden, and for the life of him, Steve can’t figure out why, “I thought we -” he gestures half-heartedly between them, “Did I misread everything again?”

Something akin to hope starts growing inside Steve, and he blames the fact that his entire world view is changing on the fact that he almost misses Tony’s words. 

Almost. 

“What do you mean again?” Steve asks slowly, carefully, “We’re friends. We’ve always been friends. That’s all we’ve ever been. Just friends.”  “Is that really what you think?” Tony asks, and his voice sounds wretched, “That we’ve only ever been friends. Have I truly never been more to you?” His answer might surprise you, Sam’s words come back to him, unbidden, and suddenly Steve feels like his whole heart is in his throat. 

“Tony,” he says softly, deliberately, because if this goes wrong he doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself, “Tony I’ve been in love with you for close to five years. It was never my decision for us to stay friends. That was always yours.” “Five yea - you never gave me any indication that you wanted more!!” Tony’s face is red, and his hands are running through his hair and leaving it messy and spiky.  “How could I?” Steve asks helplessly, “you always belonged to someone else.” 

He shrugs, eyes falling to his feet  “I never thought it was my place. Hell Tony, you fell in love with my bestfriend, what was I supposed to do - pull you aside and tell you to leave him for me? I couldn’t do that to Buck, or you.”

“No!” Tony points at him threateningly, “no you do not get to put Bucky on me. You all but begged Bucky to get back together with me, he showed up at my door talking this and that about you told him that we were ‘fated to be together’. How else was I supposed to take that apart from proof that you didn’t want me?” Tony starts listing names off his fingers. “Rumiko, Ty, hell you even convinced me to get back together with Sunset, saying shit about ‘Oh Tony you’ve just misunderstood her’ and ‘She just wants another chance’.” “I just wanted you to be happy,” Steve says in a small voice, “Even if it wasn’t with me.” 

Tony takes in a deep breath, and it’s like all the fight leaves him as he exhales. “5 years?” he asks, and Steve doesn’t think he’s making up the wonder in Tony’s voice. When he looks up, Tony is close enough that they could be sharing the same breath, “I could’ve had you for 5 years?”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, “You mean -?”

“Have you not been listening? I love you too, you absolute dumbass.”

Steve’s wanted to hear those words for so long, but now that he finally has - he doesn’t know what to do. Fortunately, Tony has no such qualms, and leans up on his toes, to press a feather-light kiss on his lips. 

“I love you too Steve,” he says again softly, against his lips, and Steve lifts an arm to cup his face, thumb carefully rubbing against his cheek. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” Steve says, “It feels like I’m dreaming.”

“Well now that you have,” Tony says cheekily, “What’re you going to do about it?”

Steve doesn’t reply, just leans down ever so slightly and seals their lips together, feeling the knot in his stomach unfurl and unwind, until there’s nothing left in him but happiness. He kisses and kisses and kisses until he’s walked Tony backwards against a wall and he’s got a thigh in between his legs. He kisses until he’s left a map of bruises against his neck and Tony’s skin is flushed red. He kisses until he can’t kiss any more - because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do now that he has Tony in his arms; but he knows with singular focus that he’s never going to let him go. 

Fin. 

//

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