#technically it's already monday for me and i have to be up in a few hrs but let's ignore that

[gojoest]

i literally spent all of my sunday here so it's time to go

[dumpywrites]

Cat-astrophe - Min Yoongi / Suga

Summary: Your pet cat keeps going to your neighbor’s apartment and it’s a problem. 

Genre/tags: Fluff-ish, strangers to ???, minor mention of anxiety.

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her reader

a/n: cus we're all soft for long haired Yoongi, right? hehe

It had been officially a month since you had moved to a new apartment place. You loved the new place honestly. It was cozy and the neighborhood looked nice. There were many convenience store nearby and the street was always still busy until late at night, making you feel a little bit of secure when coming home late.

While the place was nice it had one tiny downside. It was rather on the far side from your workplace. It took you an hour of bus ride just to get home from the office, so some days could be more tiring than others. And today was one of those tiring days. 

It was around nine at night on a Monday. Having to work overtime for the deadline and missed the bus, really dreaded you out. You were both tired and hungry, arriving home only to find that your pet cat was missing. It really just was not your day.

To say you were panicking would be a bit of an understatement. Cookie was barely a four month-old cat and had a very tiny body. All the negative possibilities start filling your head and you were horrified by all of them. Not to mention how it was basically forbidden to bring pets in the apartment complex. It was one of the policies but you couldn't help it since Cookie was a rescue.

When you arrived at your apartment lobby with a cat snack on your hand, there wasn’t that many people there. You walked past a guy by the front desk, who had medium-length black locks and fair skin, with headphones dangling on his neck. You began to call your pet’s name as soon as you were outside the lobby, but suddenly you felt a light tap on your shoulder. 

“Are you looking for a small black Bombay cat?” It was the same guy who just walked past you.

“Oh my god, I am! Have you seen him???” You said, your voice was a little bit shaky. 

“He’s in my place, I’m on the seventh.” 

“Oh, me too!”

“I know.”

“Oh.” You said, surprised at how stoic he sounded saying that, but didn’t further question him on it. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, can I go get him now?”

“Sure, I was just gonna go up as well.”

When you both entered the elevator, you made a mental note to ask his name or at least introduce yourself. He was a neighbor after all. It was pretty silent inside the lift and you just hoped he didn’t hear your stomach rumbling ever so slightly. You took a deep breath, bearing the hunger for a little while. 

When the elevator door opened you followed him from behind as he led you to his door. When he stopped at his front door, your eyes were widened in shock. 

“You live next to me?!” 

“Yeah.” He said casually and unlocked the door. "I've seen you multiple times."

You chose to not further question and followed him but stopped when you had only took two steps in, because technically, the homeowner had not really officially permit you to come in. The guy seemed to notice how you just stood awkwardly and looked back. 

“You can sit down for a sec, I’ll go get him.” 

“Oh, right… yeah. Thank you.” You said awkwardly and walked to sit on his couch. 

A few seconds later the man came back with your cat in his embrace. Cookie was clinging on his tshirt before he tugged him and gave him onto your lap. 

“Cookie!” You called, almost teary. 

“I think he jumped from your balcony to mine. Make sure to close your balcony door next time.”

“Thank you so much, I owe you… uh…”

“Yoongi.” 

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You repeated and introduced yourself in return. “I’m Y/N, and if you ever need anything please let me now.” You said as you stood up, already making your way out. 

“Also, thank you for not reporting it…”

“No problem.” Was all the guy said and by this point you figured he was not much of a talker. 

You bid your goodbye to your neighbor, which only gained a small nod before he closed the door on you. You walked to your door and let Cookie down as soon as you got inside. Sighing deeply, you began to feel your stomach rumble again, this time it rumbled quite loudly. Your feet were aching from standing on the bus and now your body finally got on how tired you were. 

Cookie meowed and immediately went to his cat bed and laid down. You sighed and smiled at the small creature. 

“You little rascal… you’re lucky I love you.” 

You then went to your kitchen to cook yourself some instant ramen. 

The next day you went to work and had to take another overtime. Unfortunately you had to for the rest of the week until your current project was done. It was exhausting but you had to make it and mostly thinking about the bonus pay from it helped quite a bit. You spent the next few days the same, repeating the schedules, and the tiring work. 

It was almost ten at night that you arrived home and found out Cookie had gone missing again. For some reason your first instinct was to knock on your next door, in hope the neighbor who once helped you, could lend you a hand again, and hoping maybe Cookie just ran to his place again instead of being gone somewhere where it wasn't safe for him.

You knocked on the door and didn’t get immediate answer. You waited for what felt like five minutes, before the door opened and you were greeted with the sight of your neighbor with wet hair. He had a small white towel around his neck and the hoop earring that you saw him with before was absent. His skin looked glowing, you probably needed to ask about his skin care routine later.

“So sorry to interrupt you, I was wondering if Cookie might have gone to your place again?” 

“He’s right there on the couch.” He casually pointed. His expression was straight and had you wondering if he did not mind it, bothered, or simply didn’t care. 

You slowly walked to approach your cat and bent down to its level. “Cookie, you need to stop this…” You tapped the cat's nose, as if scolding the poor cat would do anything. 

“He jumped to my balcony again, did you forget to close the door?” 

“But I made sure to close it this morning…” You looked at your neighbor, who walked closer to inspect the cat. 

“I think he knows how to turn door knobs, since he’s quite a jumper. You need to lock the door.” 

“I can’t believe this little demon…” You sighed, fingers still stroking the purring cat. 

“He’s… alright.” 

You were slightly taken aback by the response and looked up to him, but much to your disappointment, his expression still looked the same. You were about to get up and excuse yourself, but you notice a small steel bowl under his dining table, half full with what you assumed to be cat milk (I mean, it would be weird if it was his, duh!). 

“You also have a cat?”

His eyes followed yours. “Oh, that. I got it the first time Cookie came here, I figured he must be thirsty since he came in around noon time.” 

“That’s… that’s very nice of you.” You looked at him and smiled. Somehow him addressing your cat by his name sounded lovely. 

“You can have the rest of the milk if you want, since you’ve figured out how he escaped and all…” 

“It’s okay, you can keep it! Just in case he ran into you again…” You chuckled but then stopped after realizing how that just sounded like you did not mind troubling him with your cat continuously. “I mean… I’m sorry, I’ll make sure he’ll never escape again.” 

“It’s alright, I’ll keep the milk for now.” He paused for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just in case.”

You looked at your neighbor and couldn’t help but to feel all warm inside. He seemed like a nice person and from the looks of it he also liked your cat. 

“Thank you so much, Yoongi. I’ll be taking this little guy here then...” You smiled at him and stood up with Cookie in your arms. 

“I got some dim sum…” 

You looked at the guy questioningly. 

“Do you maybe want some?” 

“That’d be too much, it’s okay, you go ahead and eat.” You politely declined. Although you were hungry, you could bring yourself to bother your neighbor any more than what you had done. 

“Have you eaten?” 

“Y-yeah?” You asked, afraid you heard it wrong. 

“Have you eaten?” He repeated. “If not, then I insist you take some.”

“I…” You wanted to lie, but at this point it would come off as rude if you refuse him again. “I actually haven’t. Thank you very much though, I feel so bad that you’re being this nice to me.”

“You can just eat them here.” 

“I don’t wanna disturb—“ You were awkwardly cut by the sound of your stomach rumbling. 

“You’re not disturbing me.” He cleared his throat and looked away. 

That was embarrassing. 

And that was how you ended up sitting down on your neighbor’s dining table, eating dim sums. 

In silence. 

This Yoongi guy really did not like conversation it seemed. He was sitting down on his couch and had turned the TV on. The volume was on but not quite loudly, and Cookie was on his lap, sleeping as he occasionally stroked the cat’s head softly. Funny that somehow you could see some resemblance of Yoongi with your cat.

“So… how long have you lived here?” You bit your bottom lip as you waited for his answer. You kind of regretted asking as soon as the words came out from your mouth, afraid it would be awkward. 

“Around ten months or so.” He paused. “No, I think it’s been almost a year cause I spent two months overseas.”

“Really? What were you doing overseas?” You regretted asking again. Looking at how quiet Yoongi was, you didn’t want to ask too much or indulge into too much conversation, afraid it would be too much for him. 

But much to your surprise, he answered. “I’m a producer. I was working for this artist and all the work had to be done in America.” 

“Wow, that sounds amazing!” You said. At this point you no longer were sitting facing the table, but to him. “Who was the artist?”

“Uh… Halsey.” He replied while looking at the TV screen, seemingly to avoid your stare.

“Oh my god???” You gasped. “That’s incredible! So you’re like crazy talented?!”

“I’m alright…” 

“You should show me some of your work someday!” You said enthusiastically. When Yoongi did not reply to it and stayed silent, you cursed yourself internally. “I mean compared to what I do that’s like really amazing.” You chuckled nervously. 

“I’m sure you’re great at what you do.” He looked at you, a small smile was on his lips. 

You realized it was the first time you saw him smile and it made your heart raced rather faster than usual. It was the first time you saw him with facial expression other than his usual poker face. 

“I’m just a normal product designer at a very normal company.” You shrugged. 

“Don’t downplay yourself like that. You work very hard.” 

“Thanks…” You replied shyly. 

After finishing your food, you got up and went to wash the dishes, which immediately got stopped by the homeowner. He politely told you to go back home and rest. Which again, you could not thank him more for. 

You took your pet in your arms and said your goodbyes to your neighbor. Right when you arrived back in your place you came to realize something. Yoongi did not eat with you and there was only one portion of the food. While it could just meant he had already eaten beforehand, you felt giddy, thinking about another possibility. Was this a crush you sense forming? Frankly speaking, you could not care less. You were welcoming the possibility with open arms.

— 

Friday finally came and you were ready to take it in. The days of working with your company project was going to an end, which meant you no longer need to work overtime after this. The thought of it put you in a very good mood. 

This time right after arriving home, you walked to a nearby chicken restaurant and grab some not only for you, but also for your neighbor. You wanted to repay his kindness the past few days. After changing into some comfortable clothes, not to mention the multiple times you had to re-check the outfit in the mirror for some reason, you took your cat in your left hand and the food in the other. You knocked on your neighbor’s door hoping he was home. 

And he was. You were greeted with his silence but he opened the door wider as soon as he saw your face without question. One thing that caught your eyes though was how he was dressed up like he was ready for a night out. He wasn’t in his usual sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, but instead in a ripped wide legged jeans and a light blue shirt, unbuttoned, with a plain white tee underneath. He looked handsome. And here you were, in your so-called comfy outfit that you were starting to regret.

“Before you ask, no, Cookie’s right here.” You smiled awkwardly as you raised the small cat in your hand for him to see. “I’m just here to drop by some chicken I got for you… as a thanks for your help these past few days.” You handed the plastic of food to him. “Alright, that’s all…”

He took the food from you hesitantly. “You don’t wanna come in?” 

“Aren’t you going out or something?”

“I was… but you are here.” He said, sounding unsure. 

“That’s ridiculous, why would I stop you from going out?”

“I was gonna go to your place…” 

Your mouth formed a small O shape, unable to form a word. He was going to your place? But what for??? The butterflies in your stomach were having a blast. 

“But you’re all dressed up…”

“I was gonna change back.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair, which made you gulped at the sight. “I knew this was a bad idea I shouldn't have listened to Hoseok—”

You stopped his rambling. “What do you mean?”

“I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go eat together at that one Chicken restaurant nearby…”

“Oh.” You widened your eyes.

“Yeah.” He looked at you, biting his cheek in annoyance. 

“This is awkward.” You chuckled. 

“Whatever, just… just come in first.”

You saw Yoongi putting the plastic of food on his table. You offered help after putting down your cat on his couch and walked to his direction. Both of you plated the food in comfortable silence, it felt oddly domestic and you liked it. At this point you were used to him being not talkative and see it as his charm. 

After you took the plates to the living room, Yoongi suddenly came back with cans of beers and soju in his hands. 

“We’re drinking?” You said with an amused grin. 

“You can drink, right?” 

“Sure, but can you?” You playfully eyed him. 

“Don’t challenge me.” 

You could see how he was trying to hide his smile, and it brought colors to your cheeks. 

—

You did not know how you got in this situation. Five episodes in randomly rewatching Avatar The Last Airbender and you both were drunk. You were resting your head on his shoulder as you watch the screen. It seemed like the booze gave you confidence, or made you shameless, or both, but the guy didn’t complain so it could be a sign of a good thing. While you could see Yoongi holding his alcohol better than you, he was not completely sober either. 

It was at this very moment where you saw things through a pink tinted lense. Had Yoongi’s hair always looked that soft? Had he always looked this handsome? You began to question things you should not be questioning.

“Why didn’t you change your clothes?” You randomly asked. 

“Do I look bad?” He replied, eyes still on the screen, hands stroking the sleeping cat on his lap. 

"Of course not, I just feel severely underdressed now..." You chuckled.

He eyed you from top to bottom, which made you nervous, but he shrugged, seemingly to not have any problem with your clothes.

“You look… handsome.”

“You think I look handsome?” He suddenly moved to face you, making you move to look at him as well. The tone of his voice sounded like he was teasing more than asking a question.

You nodded and bit your lips. “And you kinda look like Cookie.” You giggled. 

He raised one of his eyebrows, clearly not satisfied with your answer. 

“Your eyes…” You began to ramble. “They look just like Cookie’s, and when you look annoyed, or just your plain expression… you look like a cute cat.” 

“Really…” Yoongi hummed. 

“Yup!” You giggled like an idiot. 

You failed to notice how at this point, Yoongi has put Cookie down from his lap to the floor. His face only inches away from you as you kept rambling. 

“Your hair look so soft… like a cat’s fur.” You reached your hands closer to his hair, but stopped mid-way, scared he’d get uncomfortable. 

Yoongi surprised you again by grabbing both of your wrist and putting your hands on his hair, letting you stroke his head slowly. You saw his expression softened and as you kept playing with his hair, he closed his eyes. You swore you heard him purr. 

“Pretty.” You said with a drunk smile. 

“Hmm. Pretty.” He mirrored. 

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense. 

Yoongi chuckled. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.” 

—

To be frank, you could not recall what happened after. You recalled some bits of karakoe-ing? Singing random PSY songs in your broken Korean using a bottle of whiskey as your mic. That was probably all? You couldn’t think while the throbbing headache was present in the room with you.

So why were you now in a bed that was not yours, wearing a t-shirt that was too big for you and was clearly not yours, also for heaven’s sake, WHY IS YOONGI SLEEPING NEXT TO ME??? 

You froze. Did you??? There was no way. Sure you found him attractive and all, and you definitely had this huge crush on him, but you couldn’t just sleep with a guy you barely knew. Besides your headache, your body didn’t feel any pain, so that was probably a good sign. What if he was just that gentle? Okay, you need to stop thinking at once before you started a whole fiction about you and Yoongi in your head.

When you turned your back, you felt the other side of the bed shifted as well. 

“You’re up?” He asked with a raspy voice. 

“Yeah.” You said, still back-facing him. “We didn’t… you know…”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Oh, okay good.”

Yoongi did not answered to that, but instead you felt him scooting closer. 

“I’m sorry, this isn’t probably how you’d wanna spend your weekend.” You chuckled. 

Your breath hitched when you felt a hand over your waist. “Is this okay?” He suddenly stopped when your body tensed at his touch. 

You nodded, heart beating too loudly for you to form any sentence. 

“This is nice.” He said, resting his forehead on your back. 

When you stayed silent, he took your hand and turned you over to face him. Heat immediately took over your body as soon as your eyes meet. You noticed he was back in his usual home attire, oversized tee and sweatpants. His hair was messy, but it seemed like universe had its favorite cause he still looked good. 

“You know, I haven’t had good sleep in… weeks.”

You were surprised by his sudden confession.

“It’s half past eleven now, and it’s not even ten minutes after I woke up…” He tittered. “My anxiety has been getting worse the past month and out of nowhere a black cat suddenly jumped to my balcony, meowing non-stop while I was working.”

You looked at him, letting him finish his talk. This was the most words you had ever heard coming out of Yoongi’s mouth and it made your heart flutter. 

“I haven’t been caring. I’ve stopped caring, for a while now. Seeing you care so much for such a small creature… I don’t know, it feels good. It makes me wanna care.”

“Yoongi…” You cooed, caressing his cheek. "It's not true, all you have been since I first met you until this moment, was caring."

"I'm sorry if it feels like it came out of nowhere but I feel at home with you and I don’t know why...” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yet, at least.”

“I… like this too. A lot actually.” You said shyly. 

“I would like to get to know you more if you’d like.” He was being honest and exactly to the point, no flirty bullshit to spice his sentences.

“I’d love that...” 

Suddenly you heard a low meow from under the bed and Cookie jumped into the bed, joining you two. Apparently his bedroom door was left opened and none of you noticed how Cookie had entered. You giggled and he smiled as well, the widest smile and the most genuine you had ever seen from him, as he took the cat and cuddled both of you close.

"I think it's about time you give me your number..." You squinted at him playfully. "You know, so we don't repeat the whole chicken restaurant accident again?"

“Okay, but promise me first you won’t apologize again after kissing me.” He chuckled. 

“EXCUSE ME WHAT???”

— 

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense. 

Yoongi laughed. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.” 

“I can be crazier if you open that whiskey.” You wiggled your eyebrows.

Yoongi just shook his head, smiling at your silliness. He stood up and went to grab his Hibiki anyway, which earned a shout of celebration from you. 

Things escalated quickly after opening the bottle. Somehow you were starting a drunk karaoke session which followed by many dance breaks. You ended up crying when a sad song randomly came up in the playlist and when Yoongi asked why, you replied. You replied with your lips on his.

In your head it just made sense. It was his lips’ fault for looking so juicy. Yeah, totally his fault for looking so hot that it was driving you insane.

None of you moved and it only lasted seconds before your mood turned sour again. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean…” You pushed him gently. “Oh my god, you’re so gonna hate me!!!”

“Hey, calm down…“ 

You started to panic, tears now forming in your eyes again. “Please don’t hate me, I just wanted to kiss you…” You cried. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough drinking—“

And you puked. 

Yes, Yoongi did see your lilac colored bra when he helped you change into his t-shirt. But that’s a secret between him and little Cookie. 

Thank you for reading! 💎

part 2 is here!

[yesimwriting]

something about bestfriend!felix who's so used to the world bending over backwards to please him that he seems entirely separated from the concept of boundaries.

it's one of the few things about him that remains unspoken because it reminds those in his social circle that no matter how much influence or money they might have, someone has more. and that someone is felix catton.

he's never weird about it, there's just this rule that everyone learns to pick up on and never mention. if felix wants to go out for the night or do anything socially with someone, it's customary for that person to cancel any other plans.

it might be more of an issue if felix's proximity didn't feel like sunbathing on an early summer day, but it does. so he's used to not having to work to get someone where he wants them.

until you.

despite your friendship still being relatively new, the two of you have bonded enough for you to accept his presence instantly.

felix didn't call before coming over. you answered the door after two knocks, grinning as soon as you saw him standing there. you didn't even think to ask about the lack of notice, you just invited him in and made some comment about how you were just studying.

he told you he didn't mind if you wanted to keep studying, that he brought over his own textbooks just in case. even though you were set up at your desk, you moved your supplies over to your bed so that you could sit with him.

it started off as separated as the two of you ever are, just your bent knee pressing gently into his lower thigh. your shared restraint dissolved quickly.

you're practically laying down, back partially supported by a wall and two pillows, felix's head resting on your stomach as you comb your fingers through his hair. he's holding up a textbook for you with one arm, fingertips absentmindedly brushing against your bare leg.

he breaks the silence with a sigh. when you don't respond, he turns his head and presses his lips against your thigh. your nails freeze against his scalp. "felix."

"lovie," he replies, tone as scandalized as yours. you sigh, and he can practically feel your eye roll.

felix grins, turning his head look up at you. he knows he should be good about this, about you, but he's not accustomed to practicing this kind of restraint. he's preoccupied with terribly soft thoughts of closer when he blurts out the question, "come out with me tonight?"

it's only a question by technicality, his eyes bright as if you've already agreed.

you press your lips together, and the hesitance in the look jabs at him. he brushes his knuckles against the side of your leg like that might tip the decision. "i have an econ test on monday."

the excuse deflates him. it's only friday, and even if it wasn't, you don't need to worry about your grades. there's a naturalness to your schooling, you grasp everything almost immediately. any personal selfishness aside, you don't need a weekend of studying. it's objective fact.

you're still watching him, expression unsure. "y'know too much studying's bad for you." your lips part, but before you can say anything, felix is shutting the book he'd been holding up for you.

he extends his arm, his palm covering the upper half of your face with the palm of his hand. you laugh out his name. "what? your eyes need the rest." you shift, still giggling as you halfheartedly try to push him off. "you'll get a headache."

your fingers wrap around his wrist. "you're my headache."

he lets out a mock gasp before pulling away entirely. felix doesn't miss your slight pout as he sits up. "actually?"

you're chasing after him, sitting up and attempting to grab his arm. felix lets you. "no." you squeeze his arm to you. "i meant it in a you're my best friend way."

"that so?" you nod innocently, all wide eyes as if to say see? i have no intentions of being anything other than a perfect angel.

felix pretends to contemplate forgiveness, then, with no warning lays down. you're not given a chance to deliberate what that means before he's tugging on your arm. he mumbles a brief, explanatory, "c'mere," as he pulls you into his chest.

you listen, moving to rest your chin against the side of his chest. your arm's across him. felix's shirt has ridden up right where your fingertips naturally rest. the bare contact makes goosebumps break out across your arms.

"go out with me tonight," he tries, voice soft. you have to drop your gaze to keep from immediately melting and agreeing to whatever he wants. "c'mon, think it's good for you to take a break every now and then."

you lift your head up just enough to glare at him. felix shifts his leg, pressing it against yours. you push back gently, just enough to reciprocate the gesture. "so you're saying i'm a friendless loser that only ever goes out when you make me?"

"i'm saying," he extends the syllables to buy himself some time to think, "i have to go, and i won't have any fun without you."

you find it hard to imagine that felix catton ever has to do anything he doesn't want to. you're also confident in his ability to find fun at a party. "you have farleigh, and oliver, and annabel--you'll be fine without me."

his hand is on your back, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of your t-shirt. "i don't want anyone else." the soft whine in his tone paired with his slight pout makes him seem smaller, like a little kid that just needs to be wrapped up. "i want you."

"you have me."

felix frowns, "doesn't feel like it."

you're losing. "do you really want me to go that badly?"

he smiles, feeling the crack in your resolve. "we'll just go for a little. have a drink or two, then y'can sleepover if you want." you do like sleeping over in felix's dorm. "and then tomorrow we can do whatever you want--study, watch a movie, dinner."

a sleepover and a saturday. this no longer feels like a loss. you smile, "deal."

felix's available hand finds your hip. "that's my girl."

the comment makes your face feel warm, you drop your head to rest on his stomach to hide any potential signs of being flustered. he'd tease you to no end about it. "i should get up, start getting ready."

he runs his hand down your back, "it's not until later." he moves his hand back up slowly. his thumb starts traces circles against your shoulder. "we've got time."

----

omg bestfriend!felix blurbs are everything to me,, if you have any thoughts about bestfriend-verse pls lmk,,

also?? might have to write a full fic for bestfriend-verse

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey

[livwritesstuff]

for @steddie-week day 5 | exes to lovers

fully and completely inspired by @emchant3d's divorced dad's post [x] from a few weeks ago bc i did not once stop thinking abt it

tags: modern day, artist!eddie, finance guy!steve, steddie as rich gay divorcees, sort of an accidental parent trap situation

They were too young, Steve thinks in retrospect – married at twenty-three, their daughter born when they were twenty-five, and then divorced before his twenty-seventh birthday.

He gets to think retrospectively because in a few years it’ll be a full decade since the papers for that last bit got signed. Now, Steve is thirty-four and sweating his ass off in a red polo and crisp jeans, the stiflingly hot July sun beating down on him as he scans the perimeter of a crowded playground for a familiar head of curly brown hair – not his nine-year-old. He found Rosalind already, wreaking havoc on the jungle gym. No, he’s looking for his ex (-husband, technically, but Steve usually stops at ex; the -husband part just makes him sad these days).

It’s custody swap day, which is either his favorite or least favorite day of the week depending on who the swap is favoring.

Today it’s favoring him which is why he’s slowly making his way around the edge of a playground in Bushwick, keeping an eye out for his ex, Eddie.

“Steve,” he hears from somewhere behind him. Steve turns towards the sound and sees not that curly head of hair he’d expected. Eddie’s hair is completely buzzed (which, for the record, was not the case last week when Steve dropped Rozzy off with him) and he’s wearing a paint-splattered white t-shirt tucked into old jeans and all that combined is making it reeeally hard for Steve to pretend he’s not crushing hard on the guy he divorced eight years ago.

“Dude,” Steve started, eyeing Eddie’s hair (or lack thereof) as he made his way to the section of fence that Eddie was occupying, “What–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “Rozzy already hit me with all the good zingers so you’re too late.”

“No, I don’t –” Steve stopped, “It’s…not a bad look, just…you know. Why the change?”

Eddie looked away.

“Long story,” he replied as Steve remembered (yet again) that he doesn’t get full access to Eddie’s world the way he used to.

Luckily for Steve, Rozzy runs up to them and spares him from having to figure out a response for that.

“We should get pizza,” she says. Steve’s eyebrows fly up.

“We should get pizza?” he repeats.

“Please,” she adds, her eyes shining, “At Dad’s? And we play Mario Kart? Dad said I’m getting good at 200!”

“He said that?” Steve asked, and he glances over Rosalind's head to see that Eddie is making a so-so gesture with his hand.

He’s never been all that good at saying no to his daughter (or anyone), so it doesn’t take much more convincing on Rozzy’s part for the three of them to head off in the direction of Eddie’s loft, with a pitstop planned for the pizza shop down the block.

They actually have a nice time.

It’s true that Rozzy is getting better at 200cc – good might be a bit generous, but Steve’s fine with that (he doesn’t know if his ego could handle getting crushed by a fourth-grader).

Just as they’re finishing their second grand prix (the Star Cup, because Rozzy likes the dolphin race), one of the other kids in the building knocks on the door and invites Rozzy over for a sleepover, which Steve agrees to because he remembers the illicit kind of joy in a summertime Monday night sleepover.

Eddie doesn't show Steve the door after Rozzy's gone. Rather, he pulls a bottle of wine from the fridge – an expensive Sémillon he says was given to him by a client.

“So the art biz is still going well, I assume,” Steve comments as Eddie pulls two vintage wine glasses out of a cabinet and pours them each a healthy serving.

Conversation about work manages to sustain them through the first few glasses (Eddie actually remembered that it’s been just over a year since Steve left his dad’s Fortune 1000 for a CFO position at a marketing company that had just graduated from small to midsize status). They work through the second quarter of the bottle talking about Rozzy, and the third vanishes even quicker while Steve spills some of the latest Harrington family drama.

While Eddie is updating him on how Wayne is doing, Steve finds that he isn’t really listening, distracted in the way he can’t help but notice how Eddie’s paint-stained t-shirt is actually more like an undershirt, and a size too small for him, the torso and sleeves tight around lean muscle, and there’s a thin silver chain around his neck and a scruff of facial hair around his jaw, and –

Steve doesn’t immediately realize when Eddie stopped talking. When he does, when his eyes finally unstick themselves from the buzzcut and drop back down to Eddie’s, he sees that Eddie is staring at him too.

Eddie’s tongue darts out to wet his lip.

“Ask me again why I buzzed my hair,” he tells him.

“Why’d you buzz your hair,” Steve asks, because he’s obedient like that (and because he really does want to know).

“Steve–” Eddie stops, a giggly, wine-induced hiccup of a laugh slipping out before he shakes his head, “An entire can of paint tipped ov–” He cuts himself off with another half-hysterical laugh, barely managing to say, “Spilled on my head,” before he was completely doubled over, and Steve is laughing too because he can totally picture it and because he had a bit more wine than he planned to and this is honestly the first time that he and Eddie have hung out without their daughter in…Steve doesn’t even know how long.

“Steve,” Eddie says again when they finally both recover, and his tone is completely different this time around and there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that wasn’t there before and something is happening, something is happening, “Please don’t kill me for saying this, but…fuck, it’s really kinda pathetic how badly I still want it to be you and me.”

Steve thinks he tries to respond, but then he was too busy kissing Eddie to do anything else, too busy scraping fingernails over Eddie’s scalp, too busy choking back a moan as Eddie sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, too busy tugging Eddie’s shirt out of his waistband to shove a hand up underneath and finding that he’s built more solidly than Steve remembers from the last time they touched like this, but something is telling him that’s true about Eddie – true about himself too – in more ways than one.

And if Rosalind comes home the next morning ready to ask how she’s getting back to Daddy’s house only to find that he’s already there, stealing Dad’s mug out of his hand for a sip of coffee when his own is right there…that’s a conversation for another day.

part 2

[sofasoap]

When the rain stops

Pairing: Simon "Ghost"Riley x F!reader Rating: T-M rating. slightly open ending. no angst ( for once!)

Summary: You were stuck at the shop with your groceries, and your intimidating ( but nice ) masked neighbour waited the rain out with you.

Thank you @glitterypirateduck for organising the writing challenge! you are totally awesome :) Go here to check out other wonderful writer and artist's work for this challenge.

Prompt used : No.83 Stuck/Caught in the rain note: I have to thank @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world her roommate series simon will always be my inspo for any neighbour/roommate related ideas. *taking deep bow*

Part of the Memory in a Fragrance series Master list

Holding one bag of grocery in one hand, and a bag of rice in another arm, sighing as the sky opened up, regretting not listening to yourself earlier on.

Should have brought my brolly, or should have driven here instead of walking. Thinking to yourself. So much for wanting to get some exercise and steps into my daily routine. 

Oh well, What else can you do but wait? 

“You gotta be kidding me.” 

Suddenly a large shadow with a deep rumbling voice loomed over you, cursing away.

Looking up, stands Simon, your large yet mysterious neighbour, with a small bag of grocery, seemingly in the same predicament. 

“You too?”

Awkward silence. He slowly turns his head down towards you. You can almost sense his discomfort from the tense body language and the way he is staring down at you. 

“There’s extra storage space on the ground floor. Rubbish collection day is every Monday, remember to take it out. Oh good morning Simon.” your landlord greeted a tall masked man, with a big camo bag who was about to head out the door. He nodded his head towards the two of you, before turning away abruptly.

That was your first meeting with Simon.

After that, he only appears every few weeks, always carrying his Camo bag. Sometimes in his uniform, sometimes already changed into Civilian uniform.  The two of you never spoke a word to each other, nor acknowledged each other. 

“Um. I am your neighbour two doors down?” You shifted uncomfortably, thinking he doesn’t remember you. 

“I know.” 

Another awkwards silence. 

“I don’t think the rain is going to stop for a while.”

“…….” 

Pointing to the cafe next door to the grocery store,“Would you, would you like to um, have a cup of coffee while we wait?” WE? You don’t know why you offered.

“Tea.” 

“Pardon?”

“I drink tea.”  He repeated.

“Oh.” Well, you assume that is a yes. “Let’s.. Let’s go?”

You look out the window, at the rain that is currently bucketing down heavily, showing no signs of stopping. The drumming sound drowning out the chatting voices of the cafe patrons. 

“Not to your taste?”

Simon’s voice snapped you out of the reverie. 

“Sorry?” you blinked, confused at his question. 

He pointed at your coffee. “Not to your taste? Should I get another one for you?”

He has insisted on getting the drinks.

“I am very particular with tea.” He insisted as he gently set the groceries down beside the table. He raised a hand to stop you before you speak. “A cup of coffee isn’t going to break my bank. What would you like?”

You shook your head and quickly took a sip. “Oh nono, I was zoning out…looking at the rain. Listening to the sound.It’s very… calming.” 

He looked out the window, humming. Back to the silence between the two of you.

You took another sip of your coffee, and stole a glance at the brooding man in front of you. 

This is probably the first time you have seen him without any face covering on. 

Not a face of a model, but a pleasing looking face. Long eye lashes, framing those deep brown eyes,  full of sorrow, weariness and… loneliness? 

“What if the rain doesn’t stop?” You break the silence again after a while. 

“Then we wait a bit longer.” 

“Until the cafe closes?” You chuckled.

“Then I’ll walk back to get the car and pick you and the grocery up.” 

You cocked your eyebrow. Although the two of you are neighbours, technically the two of you don't know each other before this. He could have just left you there to your own demise..

“But I don’t think I need to do that. Seems like the rain started to die down. Come on.” Simon drained the last of his tea, donning his mask back on and stood up and picked up his bag of grocery and your bag of rice.

“OH, I can..” 

Before you finish your sentence, he hauls it over his shoulder like a bag of feathers and stares at you. Somehow you know it’s pointless to argue with him so you just pick up your bag of groceries and follow him out of the cafe.

Two of you walked home in silence. 

You couldn’t resist taking a peek at his strong muscles… you mean him. With the first glance he sends people scrambling with his deathly stare. But from his actions today.. You know he’s a man of action.  From the little things he does. Insisting on paying for the coffee. Carrying the heavy bag of rice.

Oh he smells so nice. You also couldn’t help but take a deep breath in as he gently nudged you to the inner side of the walking path and shielded you from all the puddle splashes when the car drove past. 

Smell of fresh pine. Citrus. Freshly cut grass.

Just like after the rain. Your favourite smell since childhood. 

It gives you comfort. And joy. Memories of going for a walk and running around on the field with your family and falling over onto the grass, big patches of mud on your butt while your siblings laugh at you, and your mother shook her head.

“You got the front gate key?” He grumbled, adjusting the bag of rice on his shoulder.

“Ah? Oh. yes. Sorry..” you quickly dug through your bag for the keys and opened it up to let the two of you into the building. 

“Well, Ah, Thank you for your help today.” You said as he put the bags down in front of your door. “ Would you like to come in for a cup of tea… OH.” What the hell are you saying, the two of you just sat in the cafe for more than an hour drinking afternoon tea.

He chuckled. Oh, he sounds nice when he laughs.  “I think we have enough tea and coffee for the afternoon.” 

You nodded your head, embarrassed and somehow disappointed at the rejection. You opened the door and half kicked your groceries in.  

“But maybe next time.” you snapped your head around, he was already walking towards his own door. “If you need people to go grocery with you. I will be happy to if I am home.” 

You blinked your eyes, is..that his way of asking you to go on a .. date but not a date? Or is he just being friendly??

You stood there for a long time mouth gaping, long after he returned to his apartment. 

Simon look down at the little container of home baked biscuits left on his front door step the next morning, and smiled. 

“Just a little thank you for the impromptu afternoon tea and carrying my groceries yesterday. This is my number just in case you want to ask me to go again…”

tag:

@homicidal-slvt

@cumikering

@siilvan

@gamergirlbones

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

@nrdmssgs

@writeforfandoms

@devcica

@liyanahelena

@okayyadriana

@clipperfly

@glitterypirateduck

[alpaca-clouds]

Walkable Cities vs Americans

Let me talk about this in more details, after I already brought it up on Monday.

I am very aware that most users of this wonderful hellsite are very much living on some stolen land in North America. And hence are used to urban sprawl and to not getting anywhere without using a car, because it is not really feasible.

I know this. I am from Germany, but I have spent about 3,5 months in the USA between 2013 and 2014.

Now, while living in Germany the longest distance I have ever lived away from a proper supermarket was about 12 minutes on foot. At the time we had moved into a newly constructed area and for the first two years the supermarket that was supposed to be build there was just delayed. Hence the next supermarket was a bit away. After that supermarket was build, though, we had one in just 5 minutes walking distance.

This is of course connected to the fact that I always have lived in towns and cities - and that the few years of my childhood where I lived in a village... That village still had a supermarket just at the end of my street. Yes, I do have a friend who lives in a very rural part of Eastern Germany, who has to drive 40 minutes by car to reach a supermarket, as she is basically living in the German equivalent of a food desert.

Technically I was lucky, too, when I lived in the USA. Because the dorm I was being housed in was right across the street of a supermarket. I learned how ever that said supermarket was a) expensive as hell, and b) did not have good food. So, after trying it three times, I opted to once a week take a handcart and make my way over to the next Amish market about three miles away.

But something I generally learned while there was: People look at you as if you are insane for walking. I still very much remember when I was walking through the city looking for the harbor and I asked some old ladies for directions. "Oh, yeah, that is just in this direction. But it is more than a mile. Are you sure you wanna walk that?" And I just stood there: *confused German stare*

In fact, when i arrived at the dorm, someone was like: "Oh, great. We should celebrate and get to the coldstone! Let's take the car." And then we took the car to drive like 300 meters. And again I was standing there like: *confused German stare*

But... It is a bit of a two-sided issue, right? Because yeah, American cities are build around cars. If there are sidewalks they are often not easy to walk on. And if you are disabled, then tough luck. Chances are the side walks are not accessible for you. Especially if you need mobility aids of some sort.

And suburbia is not really accessible without a car either way. Especially not safely, given there are often only few street lights for crossing the roads and such.

Sure, the city centers are a bit easier to get around in. But even there you often have to walk a good way. Of course, given that the zoning laws often keep housing from anything commercial. While over here in Germany we just have a supermarket in the middle of a housing district, or have shops on the ground floor of a building that is otherwise used for housing that is often not possible in the US. And I get that.

And still... I do feel that there also is a bit of an issue a lot of folks have with even trying to just not use the car. Again: Who the flying fuck uses a car for 300 meters? (Unless they are disabled.) And that is stuff I saw several times in the USA. And in that case there was a proper and even fairly wide sidewalk. So... WHY?! Just WHY?!

[papayadays]

daisies - f1 driver x engineer!fem char

warnings: none, angst, nothing f1 related explicitly mentioned but implied, driver can be whoever you want, enjoy! this is my first piece of writing so any feedback is greatly appreciated!!

It was always the flowers. Everything came back to the flowers. Every single moment shared was somehow linked to them.

One daisy.

He had showed up to her place, knocking on the door quietly, but with a sense of urgency that left her wondering who was at the door. It was the weekend, and she was traveling for her job, which she did constantly. Not that she was complaining though. She loved her job, the thrill of knowing she was a part of something so big was an adrenaline rush. It was amazing.

She was on the couch, looking over some data on her computer when four short knocks echoed through the hotel room. Furrowing her eyebrows, she stood up, dusting off some crumbs from the snack she had been indulging in. Opening the door, she was met with him. He was wearing a black hoodie with some grey sweats but the most striking thing in that moment was what was in his hand. A single daisy. His smile widened, the one that many were used to seeing, as he held out the flower to her.

“Hey,” he grinned as she took the flower, spinning it between her fingers to observe it. “Can I come in?”

“I thought I said no date?” she asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t date people I work with. Especially not…”

“Are you really working with me, per se?” he countered, a smug expression on his face. His dimples were visible as she enjoyed the sound of his accent. “C’mon, we just had a win today. Let’s just chill.”

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile formed on her face. Technically it was a podium, but whatever. “Fine,” she conceded. “But this is not a date.” She pointed a finger at him, but he merely pushed it away.

“Agree to disagree,” he shrugged, glancing at her computer. “Data from today?” She nodded, slightly embarrassed for no apparent reason.

“Yeah, just going over some things,” she responded quietly. “Anyways, I have some pasta cooking right now, does that work?”

“Perfect” he beamed. She went to the fridge, about to pull out a bottle of wine and two glasses before he stopped her. “I’ll pass on the wine today, already had enough champagne from the podium.”

“You’re just not going to let it go that you got a podium, are you?” she asked, an amused expression on her face as she went and got two cans of LaCroix. “Does this meet your high standards, podium boy?”

“I believe it does,” he smiled back, and this was a side to him, she realized, that she could get used to. “So, tell me a little bit about yourself.”

A handful of daisies.

On the marble counter was a white vase with some daisies as she walked by. By now, his apartment was a common sight, though she didn’t want to fully commit to living together just yet. She didn’t want to tie herself down, and she relished her independence. But at the same time, she loved spending time with him, her boyfriend. He had asked the question a few months back, during a dinner reminiscent of their first date together, and she had happily agreed.

Since then, it had been a whirlwind of the honeymoon phase. Travelling, dates, smiles, everything was perfect. Now, it was Monday and the two of them flopped onto the couch, jet lag kicking after coming back from a busy weekend.

He laid his head in her lap, her fingers threading through his brown curls. She smiled, humming absentmindedly as she read the book in her hands. “Whatcha reading?” he asked, eyes still closed.

“Just a cute little romance novel,” she responded, still reading. He paused for a moment, not saying anything, making her think he had fallen asleep.

“You know, if my life was a book, you’d be the best part,” he mumbled, sparkling grayish green eyes meeting hers. She felt her heart flutter as she closed her book.

“You stole that from that Daniel Caesar song,” she scoffed, a stupid grin on her face. “I still love you though.” She freezes, having not anticipated saying that. They hadn’t said yet, but she had thought it quite a few times. She studied his face, watching for his reaction.

“I love you too,” he smiled, pulling her down so that they were laying on the couch facing each other. Reaching over to pull her closer, she felt herself relax into his touch and grinned as he pecked a kiss to her cheek. At that moment, she knew he was going to be the one.

Ripped daisy petals.

She slammed her hand down on the counter, fed up. “I keep telling you, why are you so scared of us being public?” she snapped. Glaring at him, she dared for a rebuttal.

“I want to protect us, the media is brutal,” he retorted, stance mirroring her hostile one.

She gave him a pointed look. “That doesn’t mean you have to go out with models all the time!” she shouted, jabbing a finger towards him.

“It’s to keep up my appearance,” he protested. “So they don’t catch on.” She sighed in annoyance.

“Well what if I want them to catch on?” she practically screamed, eyes glaring daggers. “Do you know how hard it is to go on social media and see my boyfriend with a model who’s infinitely prettier than me?”

“This is best for us!” he yelled, frustration laced in his tone. “Don’t you see that?”

She snorted. “Best for who?” she questioned. “Because it seems awfully suspicious that you just so happen to hang out with a lot of models instead of me.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “You think I’m cheating?”

“I don’t know anymore,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just want us to be public but there seems to be something stopping you.”

“If you can’t trust me, I don’t know how this is going to work,” he said.

“Because it won’t,” she responded flatly. “All I’m asking is for one thing that means a lot to me. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep putting you first and I can’t even trust you, for God’s sake.” His jaw dropped open, eyes widening at her resolute tone.

“Wait, no,” he pleaded. “We can work this out, this sounds too much like a break up.”

“It is a break up.” With those five words, she watched as his face fell, tears welling up in her own eyes. Struggling to keep her voice even, she pointed at the door. “Just- get out of my apartment.” He hesitated, but after seeing her expression, headed to the door. Giving her a glance, he walked out, closing the door behind him.

Only now was when she allowed the tears to flow down her face, sobbing as she sank down against the kitchen counter. Nine months, all wasted. She thought he cared about her; apparently not. Next to her, she saw the shattered vase and daisies strewn on the ground. She had knocked off in her anger. Now, she reached for a flower, a piece of porcelain pricking her finger. She ignored the blood starting to bead up around her finger as she stared at the daisy, heart shattering at all the memories. Anger boiling up again, she grabbed a petal, ripping it off and throwing it to the ground. She kept going until she was surrounded by ripped petals, her heart broken like the vase and bleeding like her finger as tears streamed down her face.

A bouquet of daisies.

It was another weekend of traveling as she stepped out of the elevator. It had been a week or two after her break up, and thanks to her job, she still had to work in proximity with him. Every single time she saw him, all she felt was pain. She thought she was strong enough, but it hurt. Like hell. It was Saturday now, and she only had to go through tomorrow before she wouldn’t have to be around him all the time.

She opened up the door to her hotel room, not expecting the lights to be on as she closed the door behind her. The smell of pasta filled the air, but she was only focused on glaring at the person in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice cold as she scowled at the man in a suit in front of her. “Who let you in here? I’m going to go talk to-”

“Please, hear me out,” he pleaded. When she didn’t respond, he took it as a green light. “I messed up. I was so scared that once we went public, people would start talking and then you’d realize that I don’t deserve you. Or worse, people will come at you. I guess I just wanted to shelter our relationship without a lot of external forces. But I selfishly didn’t listen to you, and I went out with all these models to appease the public.”

She watched him, keeping a neutral face but not glowering at him anymore. “I just was so scared of our relationship changing for the worse with the media factor, and I was scared of losing you.” He chuckled bitterly. “But I still ended up losing you. I’m so sorry I hurt you, and I shouldn’t have put you in a position where you felt like you couldn’t trust me. I miss you so much that it hurts. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I can’t stand not being near you anymore. I’m sorry for acting like a selfish twat. I really hope you can forgive me, and that maybe we could restart.” He held out the bouquet of daisies he’d been fidgeting with, almost like a peace offering.

“We’re not restarting,” she scoffed as she snatched the flowers, making him flinch in shock. Her mouth then curled up into the mischievous smirk he had gotten so used to before settling into something more serious. “You did hurt me, a lot,” she started out. “But I know you had good intentions, and you’re apologizing now.” She stepped closer to him, gazing into his eyes.

“I missed you too,” she whispered before she pressed her lips to his for a kiss. Pulling apart, she watched the ways his eyes lit up as he held her face in his hands, pecking her forehead.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he murmured as she only smiled, burying her face in his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the daisies.

“I don’t plan on leaving.”

[dckweed]

THE NEXT THING YOU KNOW, gator tillman

in which gator tillman and his arranged bride figure out life and each other and what a real relationship means to them.

warnings: mentions and depictions of abuse, mentions of bruises, arranged marriages, romance, humor, dead parents, slow burn relationship (not completely but not not), basically we know the tillman men are asswipes so i 100% see Roy forcing gator into this kind of situation for money for his militia, eventual smut with kinks such as thigh riding, gun play, choking, spanking, lots of marking and possible spit play.

guess who's back :) torn ligament in my hand has officially been cleared for normal use (even though i've technically been using it like normal ((shhhhh don't tell my GM that)), anyway..) and im back with my babies!! originally, and you can ask @xxbookdrunkdemigodxx , i had planned this to be a little longer and lowkey include some smutty pieces, but, after sitting down and reading over the whole thing this afternoon i felt comfortable with this just being part six and letting the rest of what i had planned come together for part seven :) we've been working very hard behind the scenes to worldbuild for gator and his pearlie..

also, as a reminder i love receiving asks about these two! i also love recieving maybe some drabble ideas too :) my inbox is always open!

series masterlist here, series playlist here.

PART SIX: the bed, the smack and the date.

The weekend with Gator and his sisters was absolutely blissful compared to what you would probably be going back home to. Your fiancé had taken you home early Monday morning after you had helped drop off the girls, his parents on their way back from their trip, driving your car (which at the time you hadn’t realized was all part of his plan to keep you away from Boyd for as long as he could without it being suspicious) with you in the passenger seat, dancing bleary-eyed to the music playing through the speakers from your attached phone, one of your expensive fancy iced coffee’s (that he had happily paid for) in your hand. He couldn’t keep the smile from his lips as he watched you, something about the moment just so wholly you that he couldn’t help but wish he had more time to bask in it, but he was already pulling down the long dirt lane that belonged to Boyd, the house not too far off in the distance. 

“Thank you for drivin’ me..” You say, reaching up on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. He leans down just the littlest bit to make it easier for you and you can’t help but to blush at the action as he walks you up to the porch, your bag from the weekend clutched in the hand that he didn’t have loosely on the small of your back, guiding you. 

He hums in response, watching you turn your house key in the door. “I don’t have to be at work until tonight..” He says, following you over the threshold. “Figured maybe we could go back to sleep for a few hours..go get a late lunch or something later?” He had absolutely no intention of leaving you by yourself in the same house as Boyd, not after what he knew, and he would do all he could to make sure you were around him as little as possible, without you knowing. 

“..sounds nice..” You yawn, closing the door and shuffling behind him sleepily. You guys had been up awfully late planning the engagement party, set to be held next weekend, and hadn’t fallen asleep until about an hour before it was time to get the girls up, he had insisted on getting your things packed up and the both of you getting out of the house before his parents came back and despite being exhausted, you weren’t going to argue with him, not wanting to have to put on a show or face any questions about the wedding or dress shopping just yet. “Y’gonna snuggle with me?” “Pearl!” The tone in his voice is cause for concern, but for some reason, with Gator here, you don’t put yourself on high alert. “What have I told you abou-” He comes from his office, stepping into the large entrance of the house, eyes locking on the man behind you as you both turn towards his voice, Gator already on the staircase. “Gator, what are you doing here this morning?” He paints on a cordial face, his voice turning pleasant, but you see the way he looks at you. 

Gator puts a hand on your shoulder, pulling you against his firm body though he stands about two stairs above you. “Morning Sir.” The same coolness he uses with his father lacing through his voice, his hand squeezes your shoulder soothingly, as if trying to massage the tension out of it. “We were up all night planning our engagement party, and with my parents coming home this morning, we figured we’d come here to get some sleep..” You’re looking up at him and he looks down, giving you a small smile. “Right hon?” You nod your head, putting a hand over top of the one he has on your shoulder as you give your step-father a small, gentle smile. “Figured we’d go get a late lunch or somethin’ before I head in to work later this evening too..” 

Boyd seems hesitant but clearly doesn’t want to argue and simply nods his head, dropping whatever he was about to yell at you about before. “Right..i’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.” He says, turning to go back into his office. 

You both watch him walk away, leaving the two of you in your slightly awkward embrace. “What was that about snuggling?” Gator asks, his voice playful once the office door is shut firmly behind the man. You roll your eyes at him and turn around, swatting his butt playfully as he chuckles and starts heading up the stairs ahead of you. 

Your bed looks so warm and inviting when you walk in that you don’t even bother to take off your shoes before diving right into the middle of it, breathing in the smell of your favorite fabric softener. “God, i fucking missed this bed..” You groan, stretching. 

“Oh i’m sorry, is my bed not good enough for you?” Gator asks from the foot of the bed, you feel one of his large warm hands on your ankle, pulling your sandal off for you before tossing it unceremoniously onto the floor, doing the same for your other foot before crawling up the bed to lay next to you, his shirt and basketball shorts somehow having been shed and tossed onto the floor as well. 

“Your bed is fine but it’s..such a boy bed.” You say, scooting up towards your pillows so you can get underneath of your fluffy duvet, rubbing against his warm body as you go. “And it’s small..” 

“The hell does that even mean?” He asks, bewildered as he turns onto his side, draping an arm over your waist like he had been doing the past couple of nights to get comfortable. Now that he had done it, he found it awfully soothing. 

“It means that it was very obviously slept in by a boy for its entire life.” You counter, snuggling yourself against his chest, your ass wiggling against him as you pull the comforter up to your chin, his grip around your waist tightens but you don’t question it, happy to be in bed and relaxed. “It’s all hard and lumpy and cold..not nearly as inviting as rhonda..”

He lifts his head up, peering down at you through narrowed eyes. “Pearl you did not seriously name your fuckin’ bed.” He says, absolutely bewildered by you. 

“Named yours too,” You yawn, comfortable as you look back at him. “Steve.” 

“Steve?” He snorts, and you can practically hear his eyes rolling as he lays his head back down. “If anything, my bed is named like..Brock or something..something bro-y, you know?” 

“Brock is such a dickwad name, Steve is much better.” You cackle when you feel him flick the back of your head before swatting your ass when you start wiggling around. 

“Shut up and go to sleep you fuckin’ dipshit..” He says, and you really don’t need any more urging than that. 

Sleeping with Gator is like sleeping with a life sized teddy bear. He’s warm and snuggly, and despite his hard body, he’s quite soft. You’re not surprised when you wake up with your face buried in his chest, your body half slung over his own around four that afternoon. He had woken up first and had just laid there, his hand ghosting up and down your back as he stared at your dresser, hazel eyes focused on the photos smattering the top of it. 

“Gator?” He hums in response, turning his head to look down at you. His hand stops moving, and you miss the soothingness of it almost immediately. “What time is it?” 

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, the hand that wasn’t on your back going to rake through his messy hair. “We slept all day..” His voice isn’t gravelly like it normally is when he’s slept and you wonder just how long he’s been awake for. “It’s a little after four..” You groan, knowing you’re not possibly going to get any sleep tonight. 

“Boyd’s not going to be pleased..” You sigh, rubbing your eyes with one hand as you push yourself up with the other, Gator’s hand falling from your back. You don’t notice the pout on his lips as you let out a yawn, running a hand through your hair. Your stomach growls as you stretch, and you let out a gasp, embarrassed. 

“Hungry?” H chuckles, watching you from his perch on the pillows as you quickly crawl off the bed, giving him a nice view of your supple ass. “Go on and get dressed, I'll take you to an early dinner..”

You don’t need to be told twice. You emerge from your walk-in closet merely a few minutes later, a pink co-ord set on. The pants were a sweatpants material, but clung nicely to your legs and sat low slung on your hips, leaving your belly on display, giving Gator a good view of the belly button piercing he hadn’t realized you had before as it gleamed against your sunkissed skin. You hum as you stand in front of your vanity, arms lifting up as you brush your hair, slicking it back so you can put it up into a claw clip. Your top is the same material as your bottoms, only from wait Gator can tell, much thinner. You are clearly not wearing a bra, your nipples standing at attention under the fabric and he wonders briefly if you’re cold or if the material is tickling you..either way, he found himself thinking that he’d be more than happy to help you remedy the situation if you wanted him to. He swallows thickly as he realizes that you don’t have the zip done up all the way either, your tits pushed up and practically spilling out, but somehow, when you turn around to ask him how your hair looks, he realizes that it’s a perfectly innocent outfit on you, cute and almost certainly wholesome to those who might see you around town this afternoon. 

He wondered if you did that on purpose. If you knew you were sexy, but tried to downplay it with the innocent sweetness that always seemed to exude from you, whether it be in personality or your clothing. He wanted to find out. 

“You look fine..” He tells you, smiling gently at you from his spot on your bed. You beam with happiness, and the sight alone made him want to tell you that a thousand more times if it meant you would smile like that again. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom and get dressed, meet me out by the car?” You hum in agreement and he watches you grab your little white purse off of the top of your dresser, where you had tossed it when you walked in. He narrows his eyes but doesn't say anything, did you think he wouldn’t pay for everything? He wondered as he watched you step out into the hallway. 

“I am so fucked..” He breathes when the door closes behind you, letting out a relieved breath as he removed your thankfully thick comforter from his lap where it had been doing a mighty fine job of concealing his erection that had begun to pop up as he was watching you merely do your hair. 

You try to go down the stairs as quietly as you can, wanting to just slip out the door and avoid Boyd as much as you can, though he seems to sense you before you’ve even made it halfway down. 

“Y/N, my office.” He says (though you don’t see him anywhere), using your birth name in a tone of voice that sends shivers down your spine. You wondered if it was too late to turn around and run back up to your room, to lock yourself in there with Gator, where you knew you were safe..

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you step off of the bottom stair and onto the antique rug that lay at the bottom. “Yes, Boyd?” You ask softly, stepping through the doorway of his office when you feel confident enough. If you needed Gator, you knew you would only need to scream and he would come running. 

He looks up from his desk, eyebrows tightly knitted together. He’s poised to say something, though it never leaves his lips and instead, he purses them as he zeroes in on your belly. You flush, moving your purse in front of it. You hadn’t told him that you had gotten it done when you turned eighteen. 

“What the hell is that?” He asks, his voice stiff. He was quite the prim and proper man. He disliked piercings, thought they were rebellious and for people who were going to hell. 

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” You say, hoping that you can sway him from his anger. “I got it done on my birthday last year..” He stands from his desk and strides over to you, faster than you had ever seen before. “Boy-” He pushes your purse out of the way and stares down at it. 

“I ought to rip it out.” He says, voice seething. “It makes you look like a fucking whore, Pearl. Is that what you are? Are you a fucking whore?” You figured this wouldn’t be a good time to tell him that you most definitely were not a virgin. “Your mother would be asha-”

 thwack. 

Your hand stung from the force of the blow you had dealt to his face, smacking him so hard that his head flung to the side. “You do not get to tell me about what my mother would think of me.” You say, tears welling in your eyes. “Not when she was alive, and certainly not fucking now..she was my mom before she was ever your wife, you’d do well to remember that, Boyd.” 

You don’t know what came over you, but you had had enough of your mother being held over your head. You knew that she wouldn’t ever think you were a whore. She wouldn’t ever make you feel the way this man did, and she never did, even when she was alive. Even through all of the years of keeping Boyd’s abuse a secret from her, you knew that your mother had loved you, had cherished you. That was one thing that he had never been able to beat into your head, though he never ceased to try. 

You seem to have shocked him into silence for once in his life, and you take it as you winning whatever the fuck this standoff was, triumphantly but still on edge you turn on your heel and walk out, all but running to the front door before he comes to his senses and chases after you. 

You’re crying by the time Gator comes outside a few moments later, you’re standing next to the Jeep when the front door closes. Quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice you wipe your eyes, brushing away the stray tears as he comes down the walk. Even from where you were you could see his eyebrows furrow, the pep in his step turning into a brisk walk as he rushes towards you. 

“Pearl? What’s wrong, hon?” He asks, voice oddly gentle. One hand cups your face when you try to turn away, wiping away tears as they start to fall again. Your hand still hurts from how hard you had hit him, and you cradle it in your other one. “Why’re you cryin’?” 

You shake your head, looking over his shoulder as best as you can. Boyd is watching you guys from his office window. “Not here..please..” You whisper, looking up at him. “He’s watching us..” He looks briefly over his shoulder, his body shielding your own. “Let’s just go..please..” 

He ushers you into the passenger side of your Jeep, opening and closing the door for you before going around to get in, silently starting the engine before he starts pulling down the drive. It’s not until he’s halfway to town that he speaks again. 

“What happened, pearl?” His voice is soft, gentle and calming but you understand that there’s an edge to it. That finding you in tears wasn’t something that was going to easily be let go in his book and part of you found comfort in that notion. 

“I smacked him.” The car stops so quickly that you have to smack your hand on top of the dashboard to keep yourself from being choked out by your seatbelt. “Ow..” You pout, shaking out your still smarting hand. 

Gator turns to face you completely, one hand still on the wheel as he peers at you from the driver's side. “You did what?” A sense of pride swelled up inside of him at your words, but he was so shocked that he wasn’t sure he had actually heard you properly. 

Your lips quiver as you look at him. “He..he told me i looked like a whore because of my belly button piercing..” His hand tightened on the steering wheel. “And i..and then he told me he should rip it out and that my mama would be ashamed of me and i don’t know what came over me but I smacked him..” Tears glistened in your eyes as you looked up at him, pouty lips and all. “Are you mad at me?” 

What kind of silly question was that? “Babygirl..why would I ever be mad at you for standing up for yourself?” He asks you, and you could have started bawling. “I would be mad if you hadn’t hit him for talking to you that way, you know?” He says, his hand coming to your face to wipe the tears falling from your eyes away. You lean into his touch and he presses his hand against your face even harder as if he was trying to soothe your mind. “Pearl, if anyone ever talks to you that way again or in any fuckin’ way that offends you, you give them what's comin’ you hear me? Even if it’s me.” Just thinking about talking to you that way makes him want to smack his own self. “No, especially if it's me.” You give a teary eyed nod and he leans over the console to place a surprisingly gentle kiss to your forehead. “Good, now let's get you something to eat, okay? Make you feel better..” 

You knew it was too late in the day for it, but you finally weren’t too shy to ask him for it. “Can we get an iced coffee, please Gator?” And somehow, just like always when it came to him in the short time you’d known him, you got what you wanted, he even went in with you this time before walking with you to the diner, enjoying the nice afternoon air with your hand slipped in his. 

It was practically dinner time but neither of you had actually eaten anything yet that day, having spent all of it sleeping and neither of you were surprised when you ordered the heaviest things you could imagine. The two of you talked throughout your meals, eating slowly to enjoy the time together without even realizing it, you enjoyed hearing him tell you about his friends and how he couldn’t wait for you to meet them, all the while people were stopping by your guys’ booth to say hello or introduce themselves and congratulate you guys on your engagement. The entire time however, your mind is locked on to one thought, and it makes you quiet after a while (which is fine because Gator can talk enough for the both of you when he wants to). 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about over there?” He asks suddenly, bringing you out of your thoughts. You’re pushing your side order of french fries around your plate, whats left of your biscuits and gravy coating them. “Whatever it is, looks like you’re pondering awful hard on it..”

You open your mouth to answer before closing it again, not wanting to sound..well..you weren’t sure how you didn’t want to sound but whatever it was, you were worried that your thoughts were going to make you sound annoying in some way or another. “Gator, can I ask you something?” You ask quietly, to which he only hums, taking a bite of his giant burger. “Um..when we..you know..get married..are..is it..um..are we going to like..see other people?” You cringe at your own words, surprised when he chokes on his mountain dew. “Gat-”

“What?” He asks, looking at you as if you were a cat that had grown five heads right in front of him. 

“Well, it’s just that.. You know..I know both of us are being forced to do this..” You start wrinkling your nose in disgust at your own words and wishing you could turn time back about fifty seconds so you wouldn’t have to keep living through this. “We barely know each other, let alone love each other..so i was just..thinking that it’s..it’s okay if you want to carry on a relationship with someone else once we’re..married…” 

The look on his face was one of someone who had just seen a puppy being kicked. Hurt and confusion masked his face as he made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “No.” He says, finally finding his voice after a few long moments. “It’s not.” You look up at him, confused. “We are getting married, Pearl. The only relationship that should be carried on is with each other..I know we haven’t known each other long, but i’m doing my best here to try and..try and date you at least before we have to go and say ‘I do’ in front of the whole entire town..” He scratches the back of his neck, looking out the large window and into the light of the slowly setting sun. “I want us to have a chance, as crazy as it sounds..You deserve to be happy, Pearl, and I suppose I do too despite what our parents seem to believe..I was hoping to give us a chance at that with each other, you know?” 

You were stunned. You couldn’t think of any words to say as he stares at you, wide eyed and skin flushed, as if he were embarrassed. You find yourself sliding out of the bench seat on your side of the booth and sidling up next to him. “Pea-umhf” You kiss him. Both hands on either side of his face, body as close to his as you can possibly get in the tight fit between the table and seat. He seems completely stunned but doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back, his large hand cupping a side of your face, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you harder against his side, struggling to turn to face you properly in the small space. 

You have to take a deep breath when you finally pull away, your mind hazy from the lack of oxygen reaching your brain. Your lips felt swollen and bruised from the intensity of the moment and dammit if you didn’t like it. “So..we’re dating?” You ask, cheeks flushed as you situate yourself next to him, reaching across the tabletop for your dr. pepper. You stay sitting next to him for the rest of dinner, his arm over your shoulders, both of you sneaking in little kisses in between mouthfuls of food. 

taglist: @ruth-barnes @justherebecausesafarisucks @daisy-is-a-writer @xxbookdrunkdemigodxx @girlwiththerubyslippers @keerygal @lilllbabyyy @boa-hemian @sweetdazequeen @emilyj444 @whisperingwillowxox @babyqnn @lou-la-lou @aestheticaltcow @finalmoondragon @boxofsmittens @pollyspocketdimension @kassy-munson @frostandflamesfanfic @mysticalstar30 @totally-bogus-timelady @nerdypinupcrystal @emmiecrush5-blog @witchcovenboys @starksbabie @marrowfrog00 @boop369 @lelenikki @xmalfoyweasleyx @girlwiththerubyslippers @keerysfolklore @gothicwidowsworld @palmtreesx3 @sacr1ficial-lamb @kingdomkitten32 @littlelovebug98 @cillsnostalgia @stardancerluv @iamaconfusedpan @cupofjoekeery @underthecanyonmoon

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for reporting my previous place of employment for shady work practices?

Disclaimer: this would be strictly petty revenge for firing me - while illegal, technically, the malpractice doesn't harm anyone.

This might get a little long.

Backstory:

I worked a receptionist position at a family-owned funeral home (in the US) where recently, the managing funeral director was replaced from a highly respected individual by a couple from a different state that had come out of retirement and were completely changing everything - some for the better, most to their liking... and some that while legal in their home state isn't allowed in the current state we are.

I had a strong feeling out the gate that the person out of the two that would end up becoming my direct supervisor didn't like any of the current staff, which got solidified when during a meeting she pretty much stated it would be her way or the highway.

Sometimes when we're slammed, we all work through our lunch and don't get a break for 8+ hours at all, so instead of forgoing eating altogether the entire staff got used to just scarfing down their food super fast at their desks.

We also don't have company cellphones, we only have landlines, and the way we dispatch our team to go pick someone up after they pass is to call the person to make sure they're available, and then text them the needed info (we also don't get a stipend to offset our cell bills).

Dilemma:

Tuesday morning, I got fired due to "gross insubordination" for a. eating at my desk and b. using my cellphone to call the dispatch team. The owner himself fired me, and was pretty rude and, imo, pretty heartless about it (due to some events that occurred on Sunday, I had to call out of work Monday, and when I asked if I should prep myself for the meeting since I had a rough weekend, he responded with "well, it's about to get worse").

He already had my final check in hand (which had a copy of my timesheet with the days that I skipped lunch marked as "busy" or "no lunch cover") along with a termination letter, so he didn't even care to hear my side of the story.

Since I was the receptionist, I've got receipts on some, if not most, of the slightly shady things that they were doing (i.e. selling insurance without a license, selling insurance under a different identity, breaking some state statutes from false advertising, etc etc), and was thinking about reporting them to the necessary agencies.

Its possible that this could lead to the place getting shut down (i dont doubt that the fines would definitely add up) and leave people without work (which is my main deterrent but out of everyone that works there, only a few of the original staff is still there - the rest have either quit or are actively looking), but at the same time, if they continue unchecked they're gonna keep getting away with it, keep making bank, and with the state we're in being a right to work state, as long as they can frame it a certain way, they can use anything at all to fire someone.

So... WIBTA if I went through the proper channels to report them for their malpractice and have them audited?

What are these acronyms?

[avatarmerida]

We're getting skater girl part 2?!?! I'm so excited!

Actually it's Part 3! You can find part 1 here and part 2 here

aaaaaaand here's part three:

Hunter usually got to school early anyway, but Monday morning he was there before Bump had even unlocked the door.

He had hardly slept, which wasn’t terribly new, but this type of anxiety didn’t just make him scared he was also a little… excited?

Friday night played over and over in his mind. During breakfast and his chores and his collection of endless lessons, his mind wandered back to the school steps. He stood at the bottom of the stairs at the edge of where the shadows started, looking at her like she was the only light that could cast them. One second they were just standing there and he got to see just how green her eyes were up close and the next he was kissing Willow. 

He kissed Willow.

He kissed Willow.

He kissed Willow. 

He had been impulsive, he still wasn’t sure if it technically broken school policy but he didn’t care? But he also cared a lot? But not about policy for once, no he cared about what it actually meant. He knew things happened at dances that would not happen otherwise, things people hoped for, things that happened impulsively under the guise of the flashing lights. Things people came to regret come Monday morning.

He knew his moment with Willow had been two of these, but he hoped it wouldn’t try for all three.

When she had gotten him to his house with plenty of time to spare they were a collection of muffled laughter as they tried to keep quiet. Normally, he’d be anxious about what his uncle would say, but Willow made him feel safe. When Willow touched him, it activated a bubble. It was like the pressure of his position, the weight of every expectation was gone because they were too fast for it to catch up. Even when they were standing still, if he was near her it still felt like flying. 

“Thank you again,” he said once his house was in sight. 

“No problem,” she said as she caught her breath. They would’ve gotten here in time with her usual speed, but she had gone faster to try and impress Hunter. The fact that the faster she went, the tighter he held onto her was just an added bonus. “I think I set a new personal record.”

“Cool,” he said, equally as breathless for a different reason. “Happy to help.”

They stood there as the autumn air hung between them, both in and out of their element. He wanted to say more but he didn't know what else there was to say. He was still a little embarrassed, a little confused, but being in her arms he felt like those problems could wait for him on the ground. But the realist in him knew he couldn’t stay here forever. Granted, he knew he could probably stay here awhile; she was pretty strong. 

But he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. 

“Um, Willow?”

“Yeah?”

“You can uh, put me down now,” he chuckled nervously, a part of him not wanting to say anything. Willow blushed at the realization that she was still holding him.

“Oh yeah, of course,” she said with a matching chuckle as she gently set him down. She playfully brushed imaginary dust off his shoulder. “Another successful delivery.”

“Heh, yeah,” Hunter said with a faint smile, kicking the ground knowing he had a few minutes to spare and not wanting to leave her just yet.

She fiddled with her braid, sharing the feeling. 

“It’s a nice night,” she sighed, looking up at the night sky. “You can see the stars out here. It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, really beautiful,” he breathed, looking at her looking at the sky. She smiled, feeling his eyes on her as they listened to the crickets chirp. 

Hunter knew if it wasn’t for him, Willow would be back at the school laughing and dancing and having the night she deserved. Now she had to skate home in the dark by herself and probably be late for her own curfew. How was he worth all that trouble?

“Willow, I need to apologize,” he said softly.

“You’ve apologized like twelve times already,” said Willow. “Hunter, I promise I’m not upset with you, you know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

He could tell she was trying to take it easy on him.

“It’s just… I still feel really bad for yelling at you,” he admitted.

“Oh stop, you yell at me all the time,” she reminded him.

Not like that, he thought. Never like that. 

“And also for making you miss the dance.” He said, realizing he had a long list of things to apologize for. “I mean I know how much you were looking forward to it and you didn’t even get to dance-.”

“Ah, it’s fine,” she assured him, waving her hand. “Besides, I probably wouldn’t have too much luck dancing in skates anyway.”

“Yeah but if I wasn’t such a jerk then maybe we could have gone together properly and you could have worn dancing shoes and a dance dress-.”

“‘A dance dress?’” Willow repeated with a giggle. “What’s a ‘dance dress?’”

“You know, like a fancy formal dress for a dance,” he said, slightly embarrassed. 

“Hmm, so you wanna see me in a fancy formal dress for a dance huh?” she teased.

He blushed. “I just want you to have the night you deserve,” he said, carefully choosing his words. “You deserve to be in the gym with all your friends having fun, not doing favors for me.”

“Hunter, I promise you more than made up for it,” she said with a smirk. “I had a wonderful night.”

“Really? How?” She had spent her whole night babysitting, then getting accused of Boscha’s lies, and then running home to help him. She had spent her whole night helping other people

“Because I got to spend it with you,” she said simply. “And that’s all I really wanted anyway.”

In this small serene moment outside all the chaos, Willow’s words caught up to him: I’ve had a crush on him for awhile now…

Did that count as a confession? Did he need something more direct or in writing to confirm that he hadn’t imagined or misheard her. Because it didn’t quite add up that this dizzy, silly, floating feeling that he had for Willow was returned. Even more unbelievable was that he hadn’t blown it. He had wanted to impress her, to be a perfect gentleman but even when she saw the side of him he wasn’t proud of, she still stayed. What had he done to earn such affection?

 He thought about kissing her again. They were far from school and there were no rules stopping him now, just nerves. But he didn’t want to do it just because no one would see. He didn’t want her to think he was doing it because he was grateful she had gotten him home before his curfew. He couldn’t describe in plain words why he wanted to do it, but his heart beat loud in his ears as the memory flooded his mind again. Whatever that was, he wanted it again.

“Well maybe next time we can hang out when you don’t have to rescue me because I’m running late for something,” he attempted to joke.

“Well maybe I like rescuing you,” she teased, moving closer to him. 

“Well maybe I like…” you he so desperately wanted to say. He wanted to show her how grateful he was for her, to know her, to be seen by her, to spend any amount of time with her. But again, it was complicated. He felt like he wasn’t allowed to like her but, like she was above and outside his world. She was a mystery and an open book at the same time, like a contradiction mixed with a shooting star. 

“…being rescued?” She offered. 

Did he like being swooped into her arms and whisked away like his troubles were a physical thing he could run from? Maybe more than he should. Being rescued implied inconveniencing someone, burdening them with his troubles. But with Willow it felt like being noticed, being cared for. Oh, she could rescue him anytime she wanted to.

“I just… uh… thank you. I know I’m not always the warmest or friendliest person but I’ve always thought you were so kind and patient and beautiful and I’m just not used to someone-”

He was cut off by her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides as her face rested against his chest. 

“Uh… w-what’s going on?” He asked. “N-not that I’m complaining I just don’t-.”

“I wanna help you get used to it,” she said. “Because I think you are a very warm and friendly person, even if you don’t think so.”

She didn’t mention that he had so casually called her beautiful, she kept that fact in her back pocket for a rainy day. 

“Well, I-I think you’re very… uh…”

“Beautiful?” she teased, resting her chin on his chest to look up at him mischievously. Okay, so maybe a rainy day didn’t have to be so far in the future. 

“Yeah,” he said, knowing he couldn’t believably deny it and frankly he didn’t want to. Something in her eyes hypnotized him and allowed him to move his arms around her back. The moving of his arms led her to naturally move hers up around his neck as they both gravitated towards each other. Normally being so close to her and being so quiet would make him nervous, but this somehow felt natural and calming. 

“Ya know this kinda feels like we’re slow dancing,” Willow observed with a smile.

“Yeah I uh guess so,” Hunter replied with a nervous chuckle as she adjusted her grip on his neck. He could not wrap his head around that this was how she had wanted to spend the night originally, that he didn’t see it sooner. That he had held himself back from believing it could be something she’d want with him. 

He didn’t know how to dance but he felt like that didn’t matter now. 

When he first allowed himself to entertain the idea of going to the dance with her, he tried to imagine a grand, romantic evening. He knew little about romance but felt the word suited her very being, romance was supposed to be whimsical and spontaneous and exciting which she effortlessly was. But he was organized and calculated and skeptical which maybe didn’t have to clash which made it hard for him to see what she saw in him. Would he have known to hold her like this under the flashing lights and loud music barely covering the whispers of their peers? Would he have known how to keep the conversation going, known the right thing to say, known how to tell if things were going well? 

But maybe just trying was enough.

“Maybe you can work your magic at the next student council meeting to see if we can push up the next dance,” she said, her voice a mixture of humor and genuine hope. He hadn’t totally blown it and he wasn’t blowing it now, though he didn’t fully understand how. 

“Maybe,” he said. Oh, he would pull strings, pull rank, pull in any argument he could to make it so. He wanted to show her he was capable of showing her the time she deserved. He felt he owed her so much. Why couldn’t he say more? “It’ll give me time to practice so I actually know what I’m doing.”

“Well I’d be happy to help you practice,” she said and Hunter realized they had started to slightly sway. He intended to practice in order to impress her when the time came so he wouldn’t want her to see his awkward progress but something in her voice made him suspect she knew that but was implying something more. He tried to match her tone.

“Luckily I’m a fast learner,” he said, smoother than he had ever said anything in his life. He demonstrated by focusing all of his courage to pull her closer and skillfully lean her into a small dip. Her grip on him tightened, but not for fear he’d drop her. She let out a light giggle as her eyes locked down the way the streetlights above framed his head like a halo and how natural it looked resting in his golden hair. She held her breath, thinking about kissing him again. Thinking so hard she swore he could hear her thoughts as he leaned in closer. 

Then out of the corner of their sight a light went on that stopped them dead in their tracks. 

“Oh no,” Hunter whispered. “My uncle is awake.”

Without thinking Willow shifted her weight and knocked Hunter off his feet and brought them both down to the ground, out of sight in case his uncle happened to look out the window. She covered his mouth to prevent his sounds of surprise from giving them away. 

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll get you inside so he doesn’t know you’ve been out.”

“But how?” Hunter whispered back, too focused on his panic to process their position on the ground which would normally leave him flustered. “I won’t be able to use the front door because he uses the chain lock.”

“Can you climb through a window maybe?”

“Probably, but I’m not sure I can do it without him hearing.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Willow assured. “I said I’d get you home and that’s what I’m gonna do. Let me handle distracting your uncle.”

Hunter’s heart sank, he knew his uncle was a stern and cold man and he didn’t want Willow to have to endure such energy on his behalf. “But you’ve already done so much for me, I can’t ask you to-.”

“Hey now,” she cut him off by pressing his finger to his lips. “I like being your knight in shining armor, okay? Just leave it to me.” 

“But what will you say? How are you gonna explain knocking on a door at 10pm?”

“Don’t worry, he won’t suspect I’m here to see you or anything” she assured him. “I’ll tell him I’m lost, that I’m looking for my aunt’s house or something. I’ll make something up and it’ll give you enough time to run upstairs.”

“Do you have a lot of experience sneaking into places?” Hunter gulped, trying to mix a compliment into his concern.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she said playfully, moving her finger from his lips to boop his nose. Her confidence made him calm and he cracked a smile. “When you get inside safely, text me and I’ll head out.”

“But I don’t have your number.”

“Well it’s about time you asked for it then, isn’t it?” She smirked. “C’mere.”

She grabbed his hand as she fetched a marker for her skirt pocket, skillfully removing the cap with her teeth as she delicately wrote her phone number on his wrist. He watched with bated breath as she finished it with a tiny heart and he hoped she couldn’t hear his heart beating as his mind screamed at him that he would never be this cool.

“Wait like a minute and then make your way to the back, okay?” Willow instructed as she recapped the marker. She leapt back onto her feet as she dusted the dust from her blouse. “I won’t leave until you text me.”

“Okay,” he whispered from the ground, now in awe of the halo that found her. “And uh, w-what should I text you?”

“Send me a heart,” she said with a wink before taking off to the door. He watched her through the sheaves in the bushes, wondering how she continued to out-wonderful herself. 

After a minute, he tiptoed around the house listening as Willow spun a tale of asking for directions unsure of the order of the numbers of the house she was looking for and color of the house. She kept going, giving his uncle no time to turn her away as she added to her fictional predicament. He stifled his laughter as he silently bolted up the stairs, marveling at the way she was able to make a normally panic inducing situation somewhat comical. 

The minute he carefully closed his door, he dashed to quickly change] his clothes before diving beneath the covers to copy the numbers on his arm to text Willow the code. He agonized a minute over which heart to send her before deciding on the yellow one, so she would know for sure it was from him. 

After another minute he received a green heart in response. He stared at them, hypnotized by them on the illustrated screen together as he tried to decide if it was appropriate to say something else. Maybe he was to only use her number for business purposes. He didn’t have much practice texting, he didn’t want to risk misusing an abbreviation or emoji so he decided on: let me kno w hen u get h.Ome sa fe

He didn’t fall asleep until another green heart appeared from her.

———

Hunter didn’t know what to do next. She somehow kept getting cooler and he felt like he was falling behind when it came to showing her another side of him. He had her number now but he felt as though whatever came next had to happen in person. 

He didn’t want Darius (or even worse for his uncle) to hear him practice what he would say when he saw her so he knew getting to school early was his safest bet. 

But he needed to be ready for every possibility.

If she was cool, he had to be cool:

Oh hey Willow, do anything… fun this weekend? He would say, leaning against the locker. He imagined she would look at him with sparkling, mischievous eyes as she offered a clever retort. Maybe she would giggle, believing his attempt at charm.

If she played it off, he would too:

Oh yeah, it was uh so random right? He would say, and she would brush her hair behind her ear or twirl the end of her braid. Like, that’s just dances, ya know? Craaazy haha

If she was mad, he would be mad:

Boscha had no right to try and drag your name through the mud. We should work together to try and get back at her in a way that doesn’t violate school policy or anyone’s privacy but also has us spend a lot of time together.

Hmm, that one might need some workshopping.

He could be nonchalant, he could be business as usual, but the one thing he didn’t want to be was regretful. 

Because he wasn’t, and he hoped it wasn’t too much to hope she wasn’t too.

She had implied that she liked him, that she like-liked him. His mind wanted to trick him that she really meant something else but as much of a rule breaker as she was, she was not a liar. She didn’t tease him to be spiteful or cruel, she did it because she knew him. She knew he had a certain way of thinking and operating and speaking, so she had crafted a language just for them. As far as he knew she didn’t speak to anyone else like that, in a way that made his heart pause and pound and spin.

It took him awhile to accept that he liked her, but accepting it didn’t make it less confusing. He looked forward to seeing her everyday, and he liked things the way they were but lately she had been seeing him more, saying more, implying more. He didn’t know how to want more, he didn’t know what that looked like. 

It was risky, but Willow was all about risks. So maybe he needed to take a risk.

Hunter heard the hustle and  bustle start up in the hallway and knew Willow would be joining the masses any minute, and he wanted to be looking cool and proper when she did. 

He imagined her skating down the hallway, her loose braids trailing behind her like a comet’s tail and she’d spot him leaning against the locker looking suave and confident and her mind would straw back to Friday night with fondness. 

He took one last deep breath and prepared himself to enter the hallway, knowing he was losing time before the bell rang. But as he rushed into the hall, he bumped into someone and it sent him flying backwards onto the ground. 

“Sorry!” He said as he tried to regain his balance to once again rise to his feet, but the faster he got up the faster he’d fall down again. “Sorry! I take full responsibility, I know I shouldn’t even be-.”

“Hunter?” A familiar voice asked and he stopped himself as he looked up to see Willow standing over him with a confused smile. She caught his eye as he looked up at his name and extended her hand to him, “Are you okay? I didn’t see you come out and I uh -wait, are you wearing skates?” “Willow! I uh- wait, are you not?” he said as he took her hand and she swiftly pulled him up. He rolled a bit but she caught him to keep him up. 

“Oh, yeah,” she said as though she herself had forgotten. “I well, uh I thought we could walk to class together and I didn’t wanna be faster than you so I changed out of them before I came in today.”

“I uh, I had the same idea, actually,” he chuckled as he tried to keep his balance, but she instinctively placed her arm under his to keep him steady. He was extra tall now, towering over her without skates with the added height from his. Like a tree, a Willow and her tree.  

“Oh, so does this mean skates are no longer against school policy?” she said sweetly.

“Oh no, they uh definitely are,” he said, fully in her embrace now.

“So you’re knowingly breaking school policy for me?” she asked. “Ooh, how romantic.”

He averted his eyes to the ground and Willow’s heart did a skip when she saw him struggle to find a clever comeback and instead found a vivid blush splashed across his face. She was glad that the events from Friday hadn’t changed her favorite part of their dynamic. In truth, that was the best response Hunter could have hoped for but as usual she stumped him.

“Uh, well I hope you don’t mind but after I dropped you off at your house I went back to the school and I picked up the flowers you… had,” she didn’t want to say ‘threw at my feet in hurt’ even though that technically was accurate. “And I spruced ‘em up. You picked a really nice selection.”

“Oh, uh thanks yeah,” he replied, secretly thankful she appreciated his efforts as he took notice of the arrangement in her other hand.”I uh… read a book about it once.”

“Cool,” she said, biting her lip like she was dying to say something. “So I uh, brought them because I thought they were really nice and if I had asked you to the dance like I wanted, well… I would’ve brought you flowers so I thought….”

“You brought these for me?” Hunter asked breathlessly. 

“Yeah,” she said, suddenly flustered by her own actions. “But now I’m realizing I’m just giving you the same flowers you were going to give to me and that’s probably stupid so I’m sorry if I-.”

“It’s not stupid!” He said louder than he meant to. “I uh… thanks.” 

Willow giggled as she handed them to him. “So, you were gonna give them to me, right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah well when I thought you had… well I know it’s customary not to show up empty handed so I wanted to be prepared.”

“And you said you read a book about flowers?”

“Uh yeah maybe a few.”

“So you picked those particular flowers for a particular reason then?”

He gulped. He knew she knew what the flowers meant, he had hoped she would know but hearing her say it aloud made him nervous. He wasn’t going to take it back, wasn’t going to deny it but he had picked these particular flowers to say what he didn’t have another way to say. 

“I guess I-I did yes.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Because I wanted to give them to you because they’re the same flowers I would have picked for you. Because I…  have also read a few books about them.”

“Oh yeah well that figures since you’re in the gardening club and you-uh,” he looked from the transformed bouquet (not before noting she had added a few flowers of her own to enhance it) back to her looking as though she was waiting. She was waiting for him.

Waiting for him to understand why they’d buy the same flowers. 

“Hunter, you know I like you, right?”

She said it so simply, so easily, so street-of-factly as though she was reminding him of the weather or day of the week. He had hoped everything was adding up but when he applied probability to the idea of Willow liking him he always left room for error. He was always 75% sure or 80% but never 100%. He knew his judgment was clouded by a selfish, confusing desire. He knew wanting wasn’t enough to make something so. But he didn’t know how else to turn the gamete, he didn’t see how just being himself was enough to win her over. 

But somehow it was. 

“I… suspected that maybe the feelings between us were… slightly more than platonic?” He said, unable to bring forth a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ because it just wasn’t simple for him, it just wasn’t. “That’s uh what the gardenias were meant to symbolize.” He wasn’t nearly as confident and cool and he had sought out to be, but that didn’t seem to bother Willow who was bouncing on her heels as the words bubbled up inside her, as though they couldn’t decide if she was about to fly away or burst as she delighted in his response and was eager to share more.

“So I was wondering if you’d want to come to my roller derby match later,” she said bashfully. “I know it’s kind an unusual date since we can’t really talk while I’m skating and it’s a little loud so I don’t know if you’d feel comfortable and it’s okay if you’re not but either way after we could go get ice cream and I know this spot in the park by the lake and I thought we could-.”

“A date?” Hunter gulped, acting as though the word had been lost to society until Willow rediscovered it. He wasn’t used to second chances, especially when he felt he hadn’t earned the first one, but once again Willow knew more.

“Uh yeah,” she said with a nervous giggle. “Tonight.”

“W-with me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But… why?”

“Because I like you silly.”

“I know but… why?” he looked at her from behind the flowers, almost startled.

He could justify that Willow didn’t know him well enough to like him, but the side of him that she did know wasn’t exactly the most appealing. The students called him a narc, a nerd, annoying; things he couldn’t exactly argue with. But beneath that even he wasn’t exactly sure what he was, so did Willow see more or did she just not believe it? Sometimes he didn’t really like being himself so it was hard to keep up the charade that someone as vibrant and silly as Willow would like being with him more than what was necessary.

“I told you,” she said sweetly as she pushed past a rose to see him better. “I can tell you’re a warm and friendly person. I also know you’re smart and passionate and cute and I wanna know more about you and spend time with you.”

“Wow thanks,” he breathed, holding her gaze as everything else around them went silent. His instinct to mention how packed his schedule was as he had grown to instinctively do when he longed to do anything that couldn’t enrich his transcript. He didn’t want to talk her out of it or deny he liked the sound of it, he just didn’t know how to say that yet. “Y-you too.”

“Thanks,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was also wondering if maybe you’d wanna wear my captain’s jacket.”

“Wear your jacket?” “Yeah, cause Skara has her boyfriend wear hers as a way to like show everyone they’re together so I thought maybe if you wanted to we could… do that… too.”

It took a moment for Hunter to process the request within the request but when he finally did, his eyes widened in wonder. “You want me to be your boyfriend?”

“Mhm-hmm,” she said with a smile and a nod.

It was everything all at once, Hunter was sure he must have wandered into a dream.

“And you want people to know I’m your boyfriend?”

“Mhm-hmm,” she repeated, this time more bubbly as she felt like she was about to leap out of her skin. “I uh I know it’s technically breaking dress code and it might be too soon so it’s okay if you don’t-.”

“I’ll wear it!” he said much louder than he meant to, as though worried that not answering right away would cause her to take it back. “I-I wanna wear it! Of course I will! Yes!”

“Okay!” Willow giggled as she bent down to fish it from her bag. She held it out to Hunter and he looked at it like it was a corner of the sky. She took the flowers back from him as he slipped the jacket over his uniform. He knew it was impractical and he would get too hot and surely be told by the first teacher who saw him to keep it in his locker but he didn’t care. The smell of fresh grass and jasmine filled his nose, and he felt giddy to be in the jacket he had seen her in so many times. His arms were longer than hers and the sleeves bunched higher up on his arms but it had always been long on her and it fell perfectly on him. It was pristine and he knew she had washed and carefully folded it with the intention to give it to him. 

“H-how do I look?”

“Cute!” she beamed as she smoothed the collar and Hunter felt he would melt. He meant alot to her. She didn’t care that talking to him could be considered social suicide, let alone so publicly declaring an advanced friendship between them. She had a confidence rooted in kindness that he hoped was contagious enough that he made her feel as safe and seen as he did in her perfect, peridot eyes. But as much as he was willing to publicly wear his feelings for her on his sleeve (well technically it was her sleeve since it was her jacket, right?) there were still things he felt more comfortable expressing in private. 

“Um…c-can I give you something of mine to wear?” he asked timidly, clearing his throat as he tried to shake the nerves to sound suave.

Willow nodded excitedly, having the exact Monday she had hoped for as Hunter reached inside to his own jacket as he fetched something small from it and quickly placed it in her hands.

“Your honor society pin?” Willow marveled as though he had given her a diamond. “Hunter, are you sure?”

“Yeah, uh Amity lets Luz wear hers and I always secretly thought it was kind of… romantic but if you think it's weird I can find something else-.”

“Are you kidding? I love it!” she declared as she held it close to her heart. “Thank you Hunter, this is so sweet! I’m gonna wait to put it on so it doesn’t get lost during the match. Can you hold onto it for me until then?”

“Of course,” he said, as he went to take it. “I’ll give it to you after you win.”

“Aw,” she said. “I think it’ll be my new lucky charm.”

He looked down as saw her hand had not left his, happily content to be held by his as her finger danced to intertwine with his and a very familiar idea reappeared in his head, as though the timing had been gifted to him. But the hallway wasn’t the right place.

“S-shoud I walk you to class then?” he transitioned. “I uh don’t want you to be late.”

“Well then,” she said with delight, reconfiguring their hands to link pinkies with his. “Let’s go.”

“Y-yeah let’s,” said Hunter happily as he allowed her to help him roll slowly down the hall. Her grip on him was gentle, but he felt secure in his link to her. 

“Um, actually I need to make a small detour first,” he said after a moment when they had escaped one of the more populated parts on the hallway.

“Oh, of course,” said Willow. “Did you forget something?”

“Uh, no I just wanted to see if I could get a vase for the flowers,” he said. “To keep them looking great, er m-maybe there’s one in the janitor’s closet?’

“You wanna look in the janitor’s closet?” Willow repeated. 

“Uh… yeah?”

“Hmmm… sounds good to me!” she said with a shrug as they turned the corner, and ever the gentleman he held the door open for her.

She knew he knew nothing (or at least, wasn’t able to focus on in this moment) the implications of quickly whisking her into a janitor’s closet before the bell rang. But she couldn’t wait to see his face when she told him.

He carefully closed the door behind them as Willow took in the sight of carefully organized buckets, mops, and large rolls of toilet paper. There was barely enough room in the closet for the both of them let alone a shelf of emergency vases.

“So… just need to get a vase, huh?” she asked playfully and Hunter quickly spun to face her, his face stung with guilt.

“Okay, to be honest I’m fairly certain there are no vases in here,” he admitted, unaware it was unnecessary. “Actually, I’m positive; I put them away myself after the student council luncheon.”

“So then, what are we here looking for?’

“Um well, actually I thought I could uh,” Hunter began as he cleared his throat. “G-give you uh something else for luck...too.”

“Oh yeah?” Willow asked, raising her eyebrow flirtatiously. “What did you have in mind?”

It sent Hunter over the edge as he let out a high, nervous laugh and hid his face in the bouquet, overwhelmed in a way that felt both new and familiar. He felt the subtle need to still check to see they were not being watched before he quickly darted down and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. His heart pounded as he pulled away just as quickly as she looked back at him with an absolutely smitten gaze.

“Hehe okay,” she giggled, her mind joyfully flooding with the reality that she couldn’t tease Hunter about people thinking they ducked into the closet to kiss and get him flustered at the  misunderstanding.Now she was the one flustered but there was no misunderstanding. 

“I just um thought it was fair ya know?” he said as though his actions needed a more complex explanation. “Since you gave me your jacket and the flowers and that’s two things I wanted to give you two things so you would know t-that I uh-.”

“Well hold on, technically you gave me the flowers first so you did give me two things so I actually owe you one,” she stood up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek, lingering for a moment before returning to the ground. He smiled, feeling as though he was a part of the world’s best inside joke .

“Well you added flowers of your own so that can count as another thing,” he said, matching her tone, leaning down to press another kiss to her other cheek and lingering for a moment just as she did. Her face was soft and warm and somehow made him feel like a dream did.

“Actually, I should probably thank you for each flower,” said Willow, shuffling forward to take hold of his lapel as she brought him down to her level this time as her lips crashed into him like a wave, seeking to cover every inch of his doting, dumbstruck face as he surrendered his balance to her affections. He was more than fine collapsing into her as she decorated him with rapid kisses, as though she was bestowing one for every flower in her greenhouse.

Too enamored with each other they didn’t notice the door handle begin to turn. They didn’t notice the door had opened until their private, idyllic atmosphere of the closet was broken by the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway.

They froze as they slowly turned their heads to see who stood in the doorframe. Hunter panicked, knowing how it would look to have a student council member littered with dress code violations sitting on a bucket as he forgot how to breathe because the prettiest girl in the whole school covered his face in kisses. What would they think?

Well, what beside ‘lucky him?’

More importantly, how would their reputations survive? He winced., knowing Willow must be mortified to be caught with him and having someone think-

“Oh, hi Gus!” Willow giggled, and Hunter could tell she found it more humorous than embarrassing. Hunter held his breath as he tried to read Gus’ expression, knowing if he was at risk of being blackmailed or sent to the principal’s office or if he’d tell Willow she was making a bad decision or if he’d-.

“Oh, so he said ‘yes?’” Gus asked nonchalantly, taking the jacket as a sign in addition to their… situation. 

“Yup!” Willow replied happily, adjusting her glasses.

“Cool, congrats guys,” said Gus, looking down to check the time and text Luz to let her know Willow wasn’t running late but was just… occupied. “Does he wanna sit with us at lunch?”

“Do you?” Willow asked, admiring the lipstick marks all over his face, a lipstick she may or may not have purposely worn in case an opportunity such as this presented itself. 

He nodded, unable to form worlds at the moment. 

“Cool, well the first bell just rang,” Gus let them know as he went to shut the door. “Don’t be late.”

“K, thanks!” called Willow. “Bye!”

“Did you uh wanna get to class then?” Hunter asked with a gulp, weirdly not caring about preserving his perfect attendance as he was captivated by the way even in the low watt lighting she reassembled an angel. He was suddenly aware of her hands still resting on his chest as though keeping him tethered to the earth and allowing him to linger in the moment just as her lips had once lingered on his. 

Please say no, please say no the less poetic part of his brain couldn’t help but think.

“We’ve got time still,” she said as though reading his mind as she wiped a smudge of raspberry gloss from his top lip before leaping up to assure the door was really locked this time. “I know the quickest way everywhere on skates.”

And she crashed into him again.

She didn’t mention that she may have memorized his schedule in order to increase her chances of running into him between classes after the first time he had threatened to write her up. Ever since she had been doodling his initials in hearts in the corner of her notebooks, finding delight in every rip and tear her mode of transportation granted her as she knew he would drop the facade to sew it up for her, treasuring every time she got him to crack a smile

He spent so much time trying to catch her that it had taken him so long to realize that she was waiting for him to catch up to her.

[blushweddinggowns]

Part two to this

"How would you feel about meeting up with Trisha?" Steve asked one night, completely casual. Like he didn't just send Eddie in to a tailspin, "We were talking this morning and-"

"You talked to her this morning?" Eddie interrupted, nerves coloring his voice, "I thought you already talked to her on Monday?"

Steve leaned back onto Eddie chest with a sigh, tilting his head to stare up at him from their spot in bed, "Sweetheart, we've talked about this. You don't really get to be jealous considering I left her for you. On our wedding day. I think it's safe to say you won babe."

"I'm not jealous," Eddie mumbled into his hair, a complete fucking lie, "Just...concerned."

"Concerned that I'm going to leave you for the girl I left for you? You don't think that's a little counter-intuitive?"

Eddie knew he was right, of course he was right. He was being stupid, but that didn't stop the fact that he was scared. And okay yeah, technically he had no reason to doubt their relationship. It had over a year since he crashed Steve's wedding and stole him away. And it had been a great fucking year.

The first few months had been a little rough, jumping from not speaking for years to suddenly living together was bound to have some complications. But they got over them quickly enough, mostly because Eddie hadn't been fucking around when he said he'd do anything to keep Steve around.

If anything, it was all too easy. Suspiciously easy. It made him feel a little paranoid, that he was just allowed to be this happy with a guy he didn't deserve, after getting him back in one of the most dramatic, inconsiderate way possible.

He just...got away with everything a little too cleanly. And Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn't scared shitless at the chance that he could lose him. Even if that chance may just be in his head.

Eddie sighed, breaking eye contact as Steve stared him down, "I'm sorry."

"You should be," Steve said, leaning up to press a comforting kiss to his mouth before continuing, "But I love you anyway. And for the hundredth time, we're just friends. She's not even mad anymore. Sending that check over to her dad definitely smoothed things over. She even has a new boyfriend already."

Eddie may not have liked his ex-finance, on the selfish basis that she had gotten way to close to marrying the love of his life, but paying for their wedding was the least he could do after stealing the best part of it. Being rich and famous had to come in handy sometime right?

But that didn't mean he wanted to meet the girl.

"Come on," Steve tried, turning his body to make them face each other. He wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck, shamelessly ready to pull out the puppy dog eyes, "There's nothing to be worried about. I love you, obviously. And no one else. Besides, she deserves the chance to chew us out a little, considering what we did. Don't you think?"

He had a point, Eddie knew that he had a point. But just because it was the right thing to do didn't mean that Eddie wanted to deal with it. But it's not like he had a choice, not when Steve decided to pull that disgustingly adorable face.

And that's how Eddie found himself sitting across from the girl whose husband he stole, just two days later. It was awkward, or maybe Eddie was just awkward, because she and Steve were talking like they were old friends, instead of the bitter exes that they should be.

Trisha Rogers was a pretty girl, unfortunately. Tall, blonde, and put together. Like she could have just hopped right off the set of Baywatch. Her attractiveness was definitely not helping with Eddie's growing paranoia, but it wasn't exactly a shocker that Steve almost married a Farrah Fawcett clone.

But the pleasant smile on her face when she turned the conversation to him kind of was, "So you're the guy who ruined my wedding, huh?"

She turned back to Steve, a perfect brow raised, "He's cuter than you said he was."

Eddie blinked, glancing over at Steve, "You talked to her about me?"

"Since the start of our relationship," Trisha answered for him with a nostalgic sigh, "Actually, I think his exact words were, 'He's like if sexy fucked adorable and gave birth to a man who would ruin your life.' Something like that. He was surprisingly upfront about the whole 'I'm in love with someone who doesn't want me' since the get go."

"I wasn't that bad!" Steve whined, "And you're the one who kept asking questions about him!"

"And you're the one who failed to mention that he might pop up a year later to steal you away," Trisha said with a warm smile, "And if you had I would have gotten someone else to have a sham marriage with."

"Sham is kind of a strong word there Trish," Steve laughed, "I always thought of it as a marriage of convenience. Besides, it was your idea in the first place."

Sham? Convenience? What the hell were they talking about? Eddie looked between the two of them, brow furrowed at the words and the weird way they were smiling at each other, "Am I missing something here?"

"Well long story short, I met this really hot guy right?" Trisha started, winking at Steve, "And he was a great boyfriend for like, a solid two months. Then I find out he's still in love with an ex I'm still not 100 percent deserves him. And the romantic side of the relationship kind of died there. The sex kept being great though."

Trisha laughed at the way that made Eddie grimace, the shit head. He was starting to understand why these two got along in the first place.

"Anyway," She continued, "He made it pretty clear that he wasn't going to be an ideal life partner. But a friend with benefits was still on the table. And as a friend, he was set to do me the biggest solid imaginable, before you came along."

"She wasn't going to get her trust fund until she got married, her Dad's a massive traditionalist," Steve finished for her, "That's where I came in."

Eddie could feel his eye twitch as he looked over at Steve, "And you didn't think to mention that?"

Steve shrugged, "You're the one who looked constipated every time I said her name. Do you blame me for not bringing that up before?"

"Yes!"

"Oh he is cute when he's mad," Trisha giggled, "You hadn't been kidding about that."

Steve grinned, snaking a hand under the table to lace their fingers together, "Isn't he? And I am sorry about not following through. We both are. I just...got a little bit caught up in the moment."

Trisha shrugged, "It's okay. I mean, I'm still kind of pissed because of the humiliation factor, but everyone felt so bad for me I got to keep all the gifts. And my Dad gave me the trust fund anyway. He has some pretty choice words for you by the way."

She turned to Eddie, a tiny smile on her face, "But he's a big fan of you for sending the money over. He wanted me to mention that if you ever want to leave Steve at the altar you already have his permission for my hand in marriage-Hey!"

Eddie held back a laugh, watching as Steve lazily lied, "Oh whoops? Did I kick you on accident? Sorry about that."

She laughed, "Okay, okay! No flirting with the soulmate! Got it. So what's been new with you? Besides the whole life partnership thing?"

They talked for a little while longer, with more than a few more jokes being made at both of their expenses. But they definitely deserved it, even if the circumstances of their relationship weren't as serious as Eddie originally thought. It helped, especially since it was becoming crystal clear that this girl had every intention of staying Steve's friend. Though...he was still a little pissy that they slept together, as irrational as it was.

He kept that insane thought rightfully to himself.

But either way, by the time they made it home, Eddie's paranoia about the girl who almost married his soulmate was functionally dead.

"I still wish you had told me about the sham part," Eddie groaned as they stepped through the front door, "Could have saved me some serious heartache there Stevie."

Steve grinned. He wrapped his arms around Eddie's neck, stopping them in the hallway to give him a quick kiss, "Consider it payback for ignoring me for three years."

He knew he was joking, but that didn't stop Eddie from flinching. He was 100 percent right, if anything Eddie deserved a much worse punishment for putting Steve through all of his bullshit.

"Oh, don't pout," Steve said at the look on Eddie's face. He leaned in, pressing kisses all over his face, comforting him despite the fact that he didn't deserve it, "I already forgave you, remember? Now you can consider us even."

Eddie shook his head. He refused to let himself off the hook for this, not when he came so close to losing Steve forever because he had to go and be an idiot. He wrapped his arms around Steve's waist, pulling him in until they were flush against each other, "Don't let me off the hook yet. I got a lot more groveling to do. Preferably for the rest of our lives."

Steve grinned, hiding the smile in the crook of Eddie's neck, "I can live with that."

[ddejavvu]

hiiiii this is my first time requesting <33 I saw you’re open to writing au’s so I was wondering if you could do a dog owner!au for matt murdock where his guide dog and the reader’s dog tie them together with their leashes like that scene from the beginning in 101 dalmatians? thank you!

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

--

Technically speaking, Matt doesn't need a guide dog. His senses keep him pretty well-protected, but sometimes there's a curb he doesn't see, or a fire hydrant that he doesn't smell the chemical paint on. Even his stick has its flaws, and after the last one had gotten jammed in a gutter drain, he'd made some innovations to his life.

Said adaptation's name is Sadie. She's a sweet dog, damn good at her job, and if he had to guess, probably cute as a button. She's helped him cross one-too many silent crosswalks for him to ever doubt her skills.

Which is why he's infinitely confused when her leash catches on something. She's always aware of how it feels, when it's too tight or too loose, when it's snagged on a bush, anything that could put the strain on Matt instead of her. So when he waits for her to rearrange it and she doesn't, he stops in his tracks.

"Sadie.." He calls tentatively, "Honey, where are you?"

"Oh," he hears a voice beside him, one that he'd been too caught up in worrying to hear before, "She's checking out my dog! I hope that's okay," You worry, and Matt's chest pulses strangely at the sweet tone of your words, "She came right up to us and.. well.. you hadn't stopped her, and I didn't know-"

"It's fine," He assures you, hoping that his smile is charming, "She just doesn't usually approach anyone else. She's my seeing eye dog, and I thought she had work procedure down pretty well. But I guess dogs will be dogs, sometimes."

"She's cute," You gush, and he chuckles as he feels a wet nose against his fingertips, then a paw on his stomach, different in size to Sadie's.

"Oh, that's my boy! Sorry," You chuckle, but Matt's fingers curl against the dog's scalp to scratch at his fur, "He doesn't normally jump up at people like that."

"It's alright," He promises, feeling your dog's tail against the back of his legs as he curves around, "What kind of dog is he?"

"Oh, I'm not sure," You hum, "He's a mutt."

"Well he seems very sweet," Matt hums, feeling a tug on Sadie's leash that compels him forwards a few steps, "Oh- uh, sorry. She's a little rough for some reason."

"It's okay!" You giggle, but he feels the toes of your shoes bump against his own with another yank on Sadie's leash, "Oh- wait!"

Your hand grabs his and he latches on in a panic, his other flying to a part of your body that he hopes isn't obscene before he can identify it. He thinks it's your waist, but it's maybe more your stomach from the way it feels when you shift.

"They're- hey, stop running!" You plead, and a short bark comes from your dog that Matt laughs at.

"Are they tangling us up?" He tests out a flex of his calves, feeling leashes wound tight around the muscles there.

"I think so," You breathe, the puff of air hitting his shoulder as your voice hovers beside his face, "I'm sorry, uh..."

"Matt," He squeezes the hand of yours that he's still holding, giving it a shake, "And you are?"

"Y/N," You supply, laughing at your makeshift handshake, "Does your seeing eye dog usually tangle you up like this? That seems counter-intuitive."

"You know, I can't say she has before," He laughs, and he hears your mouth shift as you release a giggle. He imagines a smile on your face, bright and cheery, as your eyes crinkle at the corners with your laugh.

"I'll have to remind her of her training when we get home," He teases, but what he's really planning is an abundance of treats for Sadie, and a special seat of honor at the picnic he's already imaging the two of you at.

[dreadsuitsamus]

Green With Envy | Renji Abarai x Reader |

author's note: more mechanic!au stuff! i love this au with renji sooooooo much. it's so damn fun

pairing: renji abarai x reader

warnings: au, jealousy, some background renji x rukia

The tick of the clock on the wall only serves to irritate you further, the tickle of what's soon going to turn into anger settling tightly at the back of your skull. Renji's late. It's a Monday morning at the shop and he's uncharacteristically not here. He's usually here before you or right on time with you, and while it's technically his shop, it's still rude to not even send you a courtesy text.

You can't help the bounce of your leg and tightness in your jaw. Rukia is in town, and surely it's because of her that he's not here. She already had the entire weekend with him, and God only knows what the hell they were up to. You didn't hear from your friend not once, and in fairness, you didn't reach out yourself. Working together for sometimes more than forty hours a week is already a lot of time together, not to mention Renji often treats you to dinner after work or you'll invite him over and have a drink together to de-stress from the day.

To put it simply, you monopolize quite a bit of his time, and as nothing more than a friend and coworker, you have no right to feel so strung out about him being with another woman.

Another woman he was certainly fucking the entire weekend.

The bell above the door dings and the way you cut your eyes at him must be pure evil, because Renji reels back as if struck. He's got a frappuccino in hand and his usual black coffee in the other— he certainly knows the best way to extend an olive branch to you. He takes his usual seat before your desk and holds your drink away from your reaching grabby hand.

"Before I give you this and you start tuning me out," He starts, and damn him for knowing you so well. "I just wanna say I'm sorry I'm late, and that I missed you over the weekend."

And ohhhh how your heart warms at his sincerely spoken words. Combined with his dumb-looking, apologetic face, you can't really stay mad at him. "You're forgiven. Did you have fun with Rukia?"

Renji sets your drink down and has a quick pull from his own. "Yeah, always. We went and watched the new Fast and the Furious movie."

You snort and take a sip of your vanilla bean frappe. "And was it as ridiculous as you hoped?"

"Dumbest one yet." He flashes you a bright, dumb grin and sets his cup down to pull a pen and piece of paper from your desk and begin writing out his day's plans. "How was your weekend though? Any hot dates?"

"No." You mutter bitterly. "Seems you're the only one that has any fun like that."

"I dunno why." Renji murmurs, his eyes flitting to you for a moment. "You're extremely hot. Men should be falling to their knees left and right for you."

"Now you're just kissing my ass."

"Who, me?" Renji's smile is blinding, and the telltale twinkle of playful mischief is in his eyes. "Only if you asked."

"Take me to dinner first."

"Busy tonight, but lunch is all yours, babe." Renji scribbles out a schedule for you to keep him on, like always, and grabs a set of keys for his first few jobs— they're theoretically just simple oil changes.

"When does Rukia return home?" You hum, and frankly you're not doing a good job of hiding just how badly you dislike her existence. She's never done anything to you personally, no.

You just want what she has with Renji and the jealousy burns you.

"Tomorrow morning. I shouldn't be late again though."

"I don't care if you're late. I just would appreciate a heads up."

"I care if I'm late. I could lose my job, y'know. My boss is a bit of a hard ass like that, even though I'm the best worker she's got." Renji winks at you and rushes into the shop before you can chide him any, and the sound of his cackling laugh echoing from the garage is enough to ease the tension in your body and let you have a laugh too.

"Idiot." You mutter fondly before answering the incoming phone call.

A few hours pass by before you see Renji again, and he hooks the keys back up to the key wall. "I am not doing even one more goddamn oil change today."

"Hit your head a few times?" You hum as you browse your computer for lunch ideas, and snort as you feel his eyes shooting daggers your way.

"I don't wanna talk about it." He snarks and goes to his small selection of nice shirts, picking up two for you to choose between. And he nods, expecting your choice of the teal Henley shirt and pulls it over his white tank top. "Lemme go wash up and we'll go get a bite."

"Yes sir."

Renji heads down the short hallway to the bathroom and you tidy up your desk as you wait, and your heart sinks as you see a very familiar pain in your ass walking up to the door. Plastering a small yet still fake smile on, you wave a hand to Rukia. "Hey, Rukia."

"Hello!" She's always been so damn kind to you, it's ridiculous for you to have so much disdain for her. "Where's Renji?"

"Restroom." You murmur, eyeing her carefully. She's wearing a cute little sundress, emphasis on little, and no wonder you didn't hear from Renji during their weekend. And thank the fucking lord they're just friends with benefits and that she lives so damn far away, because you're not sure you'd still be in this business with Renji if you had to see Rukia more often.

It's petty, but your heart doesn't like to share, one-sided or otherwise.

Thankfully Renji's out of the bathroom before the awkward silence can linger, and he greets Rukia with a hug. "Hey, you! What're you doing here?"

"Wanted to get some lunch with you." She smiles brightly and good lord she's a teeny thing compared to him.

"Oh!" Renji rubs the back of his head. "Not that I don't want to, but I already promised to take-"

Rukia pouts, and you sigh to yourself. "Just go, Ren."

Renji frowns. "No, I told you that I would treat you to lunch and I meant that."

"Just go. Make it up to me tomorrow." She'll be gone then, is unspoken, and you're sure hoping he's picked up what you've put down. Much as you dislike her for stupidly selfish reasons, being rude to Rukia isn't an option.

His brow furrows together as you set your purse back into its normal spot and you toss his car keys to him without so much as another glance his way, and he only barely catches them in the midst of his frustration. You're upset, that much is obvious, and he doesn't want to leave you behind like this. "I really don't feel right about this. Let's just all go out together, okay?"

"We shouldn't really leave the shop unattended." Your voice is damn near robotic, and the frustration in Renji's chest digs a little bit deeper. You won't even look at him. "Since Mondays are my busiest days. I'll be fine; I brought my lunch anyway."

And before Renji can argue further, a repeat customer steps through the door and they shake hands for a quick greeting before the man steps to your desk to schedule service. You smile at the customer, grateful he's earlier than he said he'd be— Rukia pulls Renji out of the building and they're off to their lunch, and you get an hour to yourself before your dear friend returns.

"He wants a state inspection, oil change, and he'd like you to do an alignment as well." You mutter when Renji steps back inside, setting the customer's keys at the edge of your desk for your mechanic to move the man's truck out back. Your packed lunch, a simple Caesar salad, sits in front of you almost completely untouched as your fingers tap against the keyboard for yet another email response.

"Alright." Renji eyes you carefully, tugging the keys into his palm and removing his Henley. He hardly ate a thing at lunch, much to Rukia's annoyance. But his happiness is very much dependent on your own, and knowing you're upset because of his inability to keep his word sends a feeling of pure sickness to his stomach. He let you down, despite his best efforts.

You pointedly avoid his gaze, and he sighs gently before he sulks out to get back to work. You end up tossing what's left of your salad, your tummy too full of feelings to want to eat. Renji stays in the shop for the rest of the day, not even emerging for a snack or a set of keys before lockup. The air around you is tense, and you curse yourself for being the very source of it.

But damn this jealousy will not let you go.

You're already shutting down your computer and organizing your desk for tomorrow when the door to the garage opens up, Renji's work boots scuffing against the floor as he comes back for the first time in several hours. He sets all the keys on the desk instead of the wall, indicating he's gotten all the work done.

"Nice job." You murmur, pulling them into one of your desk drawers. "I'll send the invoices tomorrow and depending on when they pay up, we can send out the rent—"

Your chair swivels around, causing your heart to skip a beat as you come face to face with your mechanic, his hands settled on either armrest with you subsequently caged into the chair by his body. When the hell did he even cross over to this side of the desk?? "Renji, what the hell—?"

"I can't stand you being mad at me." He admits honestly, and you can see just how pained he is with his gaze alone. "I'm sorry about lunch, okay? I really, really am."

"Renji." You sigh softly, and it takes everything in you to hold your hands back, keeping them in your lap and not cupping his face and kissing him like you so desperately crave. "It's not a big deal."

"You're mad at me and you're hungry. I got a double whammy on my hands." He moves just a tad closer to you as he shifts his weight, the scent of his savory, expensive cologne still there even after a day spent working hard. "And they're both my fault. You didn't eat your stupid little salad because what you wanted was a grilled cheese with all your little fixins from that place down the road, and also because you're upset and you don't eat when you're upset."

"How do you have me so figured out?" You ask softly, eyes so stuck on his handsome face. The shape of his nose, the way his lips curve, the sharpness of his eyes… The tiny little freckles you've never even noticed dusting over his cheekbones… Being in this close proximity only makes you realize and memorize the finer details of what you thought you already had discovered entirely. But it isn't often you're this close for this long, and hopefully he can't hear the way your heart beats in your throat.

"We have been together for almost six years now." He murmurs gently. "We know almost everything about each other at this point. You're my best friend and my business partner— I'd have to be the dumbest guy in town not to know you better than the back of my hand."

"Best friend?" You whisper in fear of your voice cracking if you talk any louder. Your chest is tight with want and the corners of your eyes begin prickling with tears; this is all too oddly intimate to take place at work, of all places, closed or not. Though it was this place that brought you together to begin with— "We have been together almost six years now." is how he phrased it, as if you were a couple.

"The very best." He whispers back. "Rukia is my childhood friend, but she doesn't know me better than you do. And I definitely don't know her half as well as I know you now. I could talk all day long about things she liked before she turned fifteen and moved away, but I don't even know what her favorite restaurant is now. That's the thing with time. It changes people, y'know? So if you don't keep up with them, you drift. Seeing her once or twice a year isn't enough to beat out my bond with you, no way in hell. I see you every day, all day, and I enjoy every second and always look forward to more time with you."

"You promise?" Your eyes are filled to the brim with tears now, and Renji smiles ever so gently as the pad of his thumb wipes away a renegade drop.

"I do." He presses his lips to your forehead in a sweet kiss, and your arms loop around his neck— and in turn you're pulled into a crushing hug and receive a longer kiss to your temple before his lips graze down your skin to speak softly into your ear. "Let's go get you that grilled cheese now, okay? My treat, and after that we'll go get some ice cream from that other place you like."

"What about Rukia? It's her last night in town, and you said you were busy tonight."

"She's probably packing anyway, and her flight is so early that she'll be in bed within a couple hours. It's fine. I meant it when I said I missed you, and I wanna take you to dinner. It'll be okay." His voice buzzes against your ear, and he gives you another squeeze when you relent and nod along to his idea.

Grinning widely, he lets go of you to pull on that same Henley from earlier. "C'mon, before you start acting hangry and yell at me."

"Hey! I do not yell at you!"

Renji snaps his fingers and points. "There it is, right there! Hangry!!"

You laugh and bat your purse at him, and he screeches playfully and runs out of the building. "You'll never take me alive!"

"Only because you left me to lock up!" You call back, laughing giddily as you ensure the building is secure and follow him to his car.

"Hey, you know the rules. Last one out is a rotten egg." Renji explains as he opens the passenger side door for you

You just laugh at him, chest warm and fuzzy at the day's turnaround. And the little green monster at the back of your brain, the toxic little thing, is sated as your mechanic slips into the car for an evening with you.

[thedeviltohisangel]

FOR A FORTNIGHT THERE WE WERE

A little something about Evelyn and Callum at the screening in LA last weekend xoxo

“Do you want to go to the Dodgers game tomorrow night?” Ev had been daydreaming out the window of the Escalade currently taking them to a screening and reception of Masters of the Air.

“Sure that’d be fun.” He held her hand in between them and brought it to his lips.

“You feeling ok? You’ve been quiet the whole ride.”

“Just preemptively tired. I have to fly to New York Monday morning for the premiere.” More and more recently she had just wanted to cocoon herself in blankets at their home, wherever that may be, and never leave. She hoped it wasn’t another bout of depression rearing its ugly head. “I’ve just been feeling a little different lately. Like I’m back in the same headspace I was before we started filming. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” While he hadn’t known her well before Masters of the Air, he had only met her a few times at parties, he had known she was not herself that first day of their chemistry read.

“You’ve been super fucking busy between press for dragon and press for this and the fact that you insist you can try to be in New York and Scotland in the same day-“ that got a smile across her face “-maybe your body is just telling you it needs to rest a little bit.”

“You forgot that I’m the best girlfriend ever and have been flying to Vancouver every chance to see you,” she teased. “Please add that to your list.” Callum laughed and threw his arm around her should to pull her in close.

“I love you. Wouldn’t want you any other way but want you to take care of yourself. If you need a break, you need a break.” But breaks meant silence and Evelyn had never really been good in the silence.

“Having you back in LA this weekend is kind of like a break.” They’d spent the day lounging in bed before walking Golo to a farmers market, buying flowers and bagels and plants for the herb garden Evelyn had started tending to in their back yard. No one had stopped them for selfies and if people were taking photos, she hadn’t bothered to notice. It had felt good and normal to hold his hand and live her life if only for a few hours.

“You made me pinky promise to still spend every weekend with you while filming!” She giggled as the car pulled up to the curb to drop them off, her publicist, assistant and representatives from the Apple PR department waiting to greet them.

“I did and so far that’s meant me going to Canada and not the other way around. So technically I only encumbered myself with that one.” The longer they were together, the more horrible being apart felt. They were both committed to not letting distance get the best of them during the busiest year of their life. Every weekend one of them was on a plane to go be with the other. They were two halves of the same whole and wouldn’t survive if kept apart. “Hi Tracy,” she greeted as Callum held her hand to help her out of the car.

“Hi you two.” Evelyn wrapped her in a hug and then gripped his hand tightly as he led them in the direction of the party. She made sure to wave to fans that had collected on the sidewalk and posed for some photos from afar as they held their phones up. “Let’s make sure you get an individual shot with all the other actors here for from the other shows and then we can do all the cast group shots at once, okay?” Ev nodded as she took a welcome drink and smiled, a line of people already forming to talk to her and try and snap a selfie for their social media. She greeted all of them with a practiced ease that had them feeling like they were the only person in the world with her for those few moments. It was a skill that she had honed early in her career and had fared her very well.

“I got to go check on that handsome lad over there but I’ll find you after!” She kissed Maya Rudolph’s cheeks and did her best to not get pulled aside too many times on her way to Callum.

“Must be hard to be so popular,” Gary teased as Ev hugged him tightly.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Cal mumbled as he leaned down to kiss her. She smiled against his lips and used her hand on his neck to keep him there for an extra peck.

“I can’t hide when I’ve got a bean stalk following me around so I might as well embrace the attention.” Gary laughed, her arms wrapping around Callum’s waist and cheek resting on his chest.

“You two are so good together. I take all the credit.” Gary had been there when they’d met at the chemistry. Had watched the infatuation only increase from that moment forward. Not so subtlety, Evelyn noticed his eyes flicker to her bare ring finger and deflate a little. “I’m going to go make sure everything’s set in the theater. I’ll see you both in there.” She kissed his cheek in farewell and Cal offered him a one handed hug.

“You good? Need another drink?” Evelyn shook her head and rested her chin on her chest so she could look up at him.

“I love you. Just happy to be here with you. Happy that we can keep celebrating this show that brought us together.” He dropped a kiss to her nose.

“I love you even more, how about that?” It earned him a giggle as she turned to remove herself from his embrace, Callum kissing the top of her head as she sighed.

“I’ve got a few more people to get photos with before Tracy yells at me. I’ll find you before the cast photos.”

“Love you, baby.” An arm around her shoulders pulled her back into his orbit so he could kiss her again.

“Love you, Cali Wali.” He blushed at the little nickname she normally saved for the privacy of one of their homes. “Handsome when you blush.”

“Good thing you think so cause I seem to do it a lot around you.” She almost let it slip that she hoped their future kids inherited his propensity for handsome blushing. But she bit her tongue just in time. Since their pregnancy scare a couple weeks ago, Evelyn hadn’t been able to stop thinking about a baby. Like the moment in time where it might have been true had opened a door inside of her. There was still no strong desire in her bones to get married again but now there was one to become a mother. To share in that honor with the man in front of her. “Where’d you go, Ev?” He furrowed his brows and brushed some hair from her cheek.

“Sorry. Just thinking for a minute. I’ll see you in a little bit.” With a final kiss to his cheek, she was off before he could reel her back in. She didn’t know how to broach the conversation. Didn’t know how he’d react to her rejection of his attempts at proposing but her desire to have a child. Would he feel confused? Betrayed? Like he couldn’t have what he wanted but was expected to give her what she wanted? Her hand shook as she made her way towards Karen and Josiah with a smile. The more distractions, the better.

-

Anthony gave her the loudest kiss on the cheek she had ever received and Evelyn giggled at the tickling sensation.

“Missed you, pretty girl,” he smiled as she hugged him and the cameras snapped endlessly.

“Anto, what the fuck is on your face?” she teased as she poked the facial hair.

“Swoon all you want.”

“Bel and I show up looking like ladies, Cal and Nate even shaved for this and you brought that.” Cal rested his arm around her shoulders and her hand reached up to twine their fingers together.

“You loved the mustache when Cal had it!”

“Not a great argument,” Bel cautioned.

“Okay let’s gather round and smile at the camera.” They all set their laughing aside to smile professionally, Evelyn not allowing Callum to move his hand, her arm around his waist where she stood on the end. Fully in his embrace exactly where she liked to be.

“Everyone make sure you come to the screening. Evelyn will be giving a speech!” Anthony announced to laughs from the crowd and a loving roll of Evelyn’s eyes.

“I’ll give one to spare you the pain, baby,” Callum offered.

“I’m claiming the Emmy speech, Anthony. And you won’t be mentioned if you keep up this behavior.” Anthony stuck his tongue out as she chased after him towards the theater. Everyone laughing at their sibling banter the entire way.

“Don’t let that one go.” Callum looked over at Gary.

“I’m trying my best,” he joked back. “Doesn’t get any better than her. Than this.”

He caught her gaze over her shoulder as she looked to make sure he was coming up behind her. Yeah. This. This was once in a lifetime.

[runariya]

Drive to Survive (JJK) • Chapter 6 “Addicts Deny”

pairing: F1driver!Jungkook x female race engineer!reader genre: colleagues2L, formula1!AU, racing!AU, drama, kind of fantasy/cyborg!AU fic rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: denial, denial, denial, unethical thoughts regarding race practice, lil meow makes an appearance, the FIA is sus, Jungkook is sorry, protective Jungkook because that's a warning for and of itself, MC is jealous, a little bit of fluff, but still she's in denial 🙄, a lot of embarrassment, MC is reckless, physical violence, threats, Jungkook has anger issues, slight PTS, a lil 'babe', MC can't face the truth, foul language, lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 7.400

🎵 Treasure - JIKJIN 🎵

a/n: okay, I've clearly lied regarding the writing break. Last night I've stayed awake with mini-me on me sleeping (even though we're both down with a high fever but whatever) and so I've spent the night writing away...so yeeeey! double unedited DtS- AND HR-Update 🎉

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. Content errors related to the sport of Formula 1 are not excluded. Please do not use this story as your own. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • series masterlist • 07

It's Monday after the race in São Paulo, and you find yourself back at the headquarters, preparing for the triple header ahead: three races in three consecutive weeks. The jet lag nags at the edges of your consciousness, but you push it aside, just as you try to maintain the facade that keeping Jungkook at a distance is easy. 

The wreckage of Jungkook's car has arrived this morning at the headquarters as well, and your immediate task is to retrieve the crash data. Specialised crash sensors in the car have recorded crucial information on impact forces, angles, and speeds, which you'll need to analyse to assess the severity of the crash. This data is essential for the mechanics, who must start working immediately to ensure Jungkook's car is ready in four days for the sprint race weekend in Japan. Toto has already informed you that he wants the data discussed in the debriefing in a few hours, adding to your stress level. 

As you sit at your desk, your thoughts drift back to the chaotic events of the race. Jungkook's crash and the subsequent confrontation with Mingyu replay in your mind. After the race, Jungkook underwent a thorough physical check, and thankfully, he emerged unscathed. Still, you worry about the potential impact on his performance, which you'll have a chance to evaluate during tomorrow's simulation session. You focus on extracting and compiling the crash data, immersing yourself in the technical details to drown out the lingering anxiety.

Once you finish the report, you print it, gather the papers, and make your way to the garage where the mechanics are already hard at work. The sleek, partially disassembled race cars glint under the bright lights, the smell of grease heavy in the air, and the walls are adorned with various tools and parts, neatly organised yet exuding a sense of controlled chaos. As you enter, you spot one of the lead mechanics, a man you think is named Yoongi, though everyone here calls him Lil Meow. He's hunched over Jungkook's damaged car, his hands deftly manoeuvring the wrench.

"Yoongi," you call out, approaching him with the crash data. "I have the data from Jungkook's crash. The debriefing starts in a bit, so I thought I’ll give it to you in person."

He looks up, nodding as he wipes his hands on a rag. "Thanks. Let's see what we've got."

As Yoongi begins to look over the data, an idea pops into your head. "Yoongi, hypothetically speaking, could a device be ingrained and hidden in a car that sends electromagnetic shockwaves to disturb electrical connections?"

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Hypothetically, it’s possible. It would be against regulations, though. Such a device could emit controlled electromagnetic pulses that interfere with the car's electronics. It'd be tricky to detect, but if someone knew what to look for, they might catch it."

You hum thoughtfully, processing this information. "Interesting. Thanks, Yoongi."

Leaving the garage, you mull over the idea. If Mingyu plays unfair, then perhaps you could too. The notion of using such a device to either disrupt his car or his body gnaws at your professional integrity, but the stakes are high, and the competitive edge is razor-thin. Returning to your office, you decide to keep the idea in your back pocket, a potential ace up your sleeve. The balance between ethical boundaries and the fierce desire to win is a delicate one, and you can only hope you navigate it wisely in the intense weeks to come.

In the cool, dimly lit conference room at the team headquarters, you stand beside Toto and the engineering team, surrounded by screens displaying telemetry data and race footage. The atmosphere is tense as you begin the debrief with a detailed analysis of Jungkook's crash with Mingyu. On the large central screen, you replay the critical moments leading up to the incident, dissecting every move and decision.

"From what we've reviewed," you start, gesturing towards the screen where the onboard footage plays in slow motion, "it appears Jungkook attempted an overtake on Mingyu into Turn 4. Mingyu defended aggressively, causing contact that sent Jungkook off track."

Toto nods, his expression grave. "We need to understand why Jungkook chose that moment. Was there a miscommunication on strategy? Please replay the radio communication."

You do as said, the communications during the incident echoing through the room, emphasising Jungkook's frustration with Mingyu's defensive manoeuvres. "There were clear frustrations expressed over the radio. Jungkook felt he had the pace and opportunity, but Mingyu closed the door aggressively."

Jungkook, seated among the team, clears his throat. "I believed I could make the move stick. I saw an opportunity and went for it. In hindsight, perhaps I should have waited for a better chance."

Toto interjects, "We need to ensure incidents like this don't repeat. You have to trust the team's strategy and communicate effectively."

You move to the next slide, focusing on the damage assessment. "Fortunately, the crash data indicates that the impact was primarily absorbed by the car body. The chassis integrity remains intact, which is crucial."

The chief engineer chimes in, "The initial assessment from the mechanics confirms that the car will be fully operational for the upcoming race weekend. We'll conduct thorough checks to ensure all systems are optimal."

Toto nods, turning towards Jungkook, he address him directly. "Jungkook, let's discuss your perspective on the incident and your decision-making process during that crucial moment."

Jungkook meets your gaze briefly. "I thought I had the pace to pass Mingyu. I misjudged his defence. I'll be more patient in the future."

You nod towards Toto, appreciating Jungkook’s honesty. "We'll work on refining those split-second decisions."

Transitioning to the broader strategy review, you outline the team's approach to the race. "Our strategy focused on tyre management and capitalising on the race pace. We opted for a two-stop strategy which, despite the incident, allowed us to compete for points until Jungkook's retirement."

Next the chief engineer addresses you, being the engineer responsible for Jungkook's car. "What feedback did Jungkook provide post-incident regarding car handling and performance?"

You respond, “Jungkook reported minor understeer pre-crash, but overall, the car's balance was manageable. Our focus now is ensuring all components are thoroughly checked and aligned."

Shifting focus, Toto then assesses the impact on team morale while looking around. "Given the incident, how are team dynamics holding up?"

Jungkook sighs, "It's frustrating, but we're a resilient team. We'll learn from this and come back stronger."

Turning to the positive, Joongki acknowledges George's stunning victory. "On a brighter note, George's performance was exceptional. Starting from P5 and mastering the changing track conditions to clinch victory showcases our team's capabilities."

The room lightens up with smiles and nods. George beams from his seat. "Thanks, everyone. It was a team effort all the way."

You hastily write down Toto’s next words. "But again back to the crash. To prevent similar incidents, we'll reinforce communication protocols and strategic decision-making. Clear rules of engagement between drivers and rivals will be crucial moving forward."

"Now, regarding the FIA's decision regarding the fight after the race," Toto proceeds, his tone turning almost cheerful. "Thanks to my and Christian Horner's intervention and negotiation with them, Jungkook and Mingyu won't face a ban from the next race. However, there will be a fine to be paid. This is a lesson for both drivers."

There are visible sighs of relief, with shoulders relaxing and expressions softening around the table. Engineers exchange nods of approval, while a few team members even allow themselves small, cautious smiles. Spontaneous clapping breaks out, followed by a few cheers, as the gravity of Toto's influence in this decision is silently acknowledged by the team.

Jungkook glances again to you, as if you see your reaction but averts his eyes to Toto. “Thanks, boss.”

Toto stands, offering final words of encouragement. "Let's channel today's lessons into preparation for the next race. We have a championship to contend for."

As the debrief wraps up, you hastily make your way back to your office, focused and no time for chatter. 

The rest of the day passes in a blink of an eye, the quiet hum of the building’s A/C underscoring the solitude of your surroundings. You’re once again the last one working, or so you think. As you step exhausted into the lobby, ready to call an Uber to take you back to your hotel, you come across Namjoon and Jungkook standing by the entrance. Namjoon offers a quick goodbye, leaving you and Jungkook enveloped in an awkward silence.

Jungkook breaks the stillness. "How are you getting home?"

You shrug, trying to keep your tone nonchalant. "I’m taking an Uber, like always."

He frowns, clearly displeased. "It’s too late for you to go alone. I don’t want you walking around at night by yourself."

You roll your eyes, the familiarity of arguing with Jungkook bubbling up. "Jungkook, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Thank you very much."

"No. And before you start, it’s not about patronising you," he insists, his voice dropping to a softer, more earnest tone. "It's about me genuinely fearing for your safety. I can't bear the thought of something happening to you."

You sigh, frustration and a hint of something warmer mingling in your chest. "I'll be fine, Jungkook. It's just a short ride. I’ve done it for weeks at this point.” 

He shakes his head, his eyes locking onto yours, the determination evident. "If something did happen to you, I'd never forgive myself. Your parents would say the same. It’s just not worth it.”

Reluctantly, you concede, the weight of his words settling over you. "Fine," you mutter, "but only because you're being so insistent."

You follow behind Jungkook as he leads the way to his car, the contrast between his towering frame and your smaller stature evident, even though you navigate in heels. Despite the footwear, you feel shielded by his presence, almost invisible to anyone who might approach. His athletic build is unmistakable—broad neck, shoulders, and arms hinting at strength, while his small waist is hidden under an oversized gym shirt. The scent lingering around him is enticing, a mix of sweat and something distinctly masculine, wrapping you in its comforting familiarity.

Reaching his car, Jungkook opens the passenger door, gestures for you to enter first, a small smile gracing his lips, his eyes warm and reassuring. You settle into the passenger seat as he takes his place beside you, the warmth of his presence contrasting with the cool leather of the car seats. The interior smells faintly of his cologne and detergent, bringing you an unexpected sense of comfort. As he starts the engine, you feel a surprising peace wash over you, his presence beside you calming your nerves. You try to swallow down all these feelings, focusing on the passing city lights outside the window.

"Do you have plans tonight?" you ask, breaking the silence, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Jungkook snorts, a bitter laugh escaping him. "With who?"

You raise an eyebrow and look at his profile. "Any of your flirts?"

He glances at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you realised what was behind the flirting.”

“What’s there to realise?” Your tone is more snarky than you intended and you regret opening your mouth at all. But Jungkook seems not to mind it at all. 

"For years, flirting has been my self-defence mechanism. Those women who fall for it are usually gold diggers. I know to keep my distance from them…like Trish."

You nod, absorbing his honesty and the subtle repulsion after he said her name, but he isn’t finished.

"The ones who are disgusted by my flirting," he continues, "are the genuine ones. Those are the ones I can befriend. Or more," he adds in a whisper, his eyes flicking to you before quickly returning to the road.

“Oh…” Your breath catches, but you can't find the words to respond. His admission leaves you speechless, and you can feel your heart thudding in your chest. Jungkook takes a deep breath, the tension in the car thickening.

"No matter what happens on track," he says softly, "I’ll never disobey your orders again. I’m sorry. We’re a team, and I need you to know that I understand that now."

Before you can react, he reaches over and takes your hand, his thumb gently rubbing your knuckles. The simple touch sends a jolt through you, making you gulp while warmth spreads from your hand to your entire body. You feel a mixture of emotions—comfort, confusion, and a deep-seated denial of what this could mean. You tell yourself it’s just a friendly gesture, nothing more.

You don’t protest, your hand remaining in his as he continues driving. The silence between you shifts, becoming something more intimate and reassuring. You can feel his strength and sincerity through the connection of your hands, and despite your best efforts to deny it, a part of you feels a deep sense of belonging.

As the car glides through the streets, Jungkook’s touch remains steady, anchoring you to this moment. His presence, his warmth, and his words blend into a quiet promise of trust and solidarity. You tell yourself it’s just the circumstances, you being lonely, the late hour, the emotional weekend behind you—but in the back of your little heart, you know it’s more. And for now, you let yourself enjoy the fleeting peace that comes from simply being beside him, his hand in yours.

After Jungkook dropped you off at your hotel last night, you couldn't sleep all night. You kept overthinking the car ride, replaying every moment in your mind. Yet, you told yourself that the sleeplessness was due to your jet lag and not because of Jungkook. 

The race simulation room you're in this morning is a high-tech haven within your team's headquarters where you'll spend the next few hours. The walls are adorned with monitors displaying data streams and circuit maps of the Suzuka International Racing Course in Japan. The vibration of machinery and the occasional click of keyboards form the backdrop to your team's focused atmosphere.

Jungkook is seated in the futuristic simulator, which replicates the cockpit of his Formula 1 car. The simulator's three large screens wrap around him, providing a near-360-degree view of the track. He’s fully suited up, helmet on, and hands gripping the steering wheel with the intensity of an actual race. His focus is tangible, his eyes darting from the virtual track to the display on his steering wheel, which shows telemetry data in real-time.

You stand at the control station, a complex array of monitors and control panels before you. Each screen shows a different aspect of the car's performance: speed, gear selection, engine temperature, tyre wear, and countless other parameters that will inform the team's strategy for the upcoming race in Japan. Your headset is on, allowing seamless communication with Jungkook and the rest of the engineering team.

“Okay, Jungkook, we’re ready to start the first run,” you say, your voice steady and clear through the radio. “Let’s focus on getting a clean lap to gather baseline data.”

Jungkook nods, and you watch as he navigates the simulator's controls. The car roars to life on the screen, and he accelerates down the virtual pit lane and onto the track. You keep an eye on the various readouts, watching how the car behaves through the corners and straights of Suzuka's iconic layout.

As Jungkook takes on the first set of S-curves, you notice slight oversteer. “You’re doing great, Jungkook. Let’s try to manage the oversteer through the Esses. Adjust your throttle input a bit earlier.”

“Got it,” he replies, his voice calm yet focused.

Lap after lap, you gather critical data. Tyre temperatures rise and fall, fuel consumption rates adjust, and the balance of the car shifts as Jungkook fine-tunes his driving lines and braking points. Each piece of data feeds into the computer models that will help predict how the car will perform in the actual race.

“Alright, let’s try a few different setups now,” you suggest after a series of consistent laps. “We’ll start with adjusting the front wing angle to see if we can get more downforce.”

You signal to one of the engineers, who quickly inputs the new configuration into the simulator. Jungkook waits patiently, using the brief pause to take a sip of water.

“Okay, new setup is loaded. Let’s see how this feels,” you inform him.

Jungkook nods and restarts his run. Immediately, you notice the car’s behaviour changing through the corners. “How’s the balance now?” you ask.

“Feels better, more responsive at the front. But I’m getting a bit of oversteer in the hairpin,” Jungkook reports.

“Copy that. We’ll try adjusting the rear suspension next,” you respond, making notes on your tablet.

The session continues, each adjustment bringing you closer to the optimal setup. You guide Jungkook through various configurations, each one providing valuable insights. The simulator’s feedback is so realistic that it’s almost like being on the actual track.

“Let’s do a race simulation now,” you announce after a while. “We need to see how the car behaves over a longer stint.”

Jungkook prepares himself, taking a deep breath and settling into a rhythm. The laps roll by, each one providing a wealth of data. Tyre degradation, fuel usage, and lap times are all meticulously logged. You communicate with him constantly, advising on tyre management and fuel-saving techniques.

“Pace is looking good, Jungkook. Keep it steady,” you encourage as he maintains a consistent lap time.

The simulation runs smoothly, and after a predetermined number of laps, you call him back into the virtual pit lane. “Great job, Jungkook. That was a solid stint. We’ve got a lot of good data to work with.”

Jungkook exits the simulator, removing his helmet and wiping the sweat from his brow. A sight you appreciate even in a professional setting. He joins you at the control station, where the team is already analysing the data.

“Let’s review the telemetry,” you say, pulling up the graphs and charts on the central monitor. “We can see here that the tyre wear was pretty consistent, but we need to look into the slight drop in pace during the middle stint.”

Jungkook leans in, his scent hitting you square in the face as he examines the data with you. Flashbacks of yesterday running wild in your mind. “I felt a bit of a drop in grip around lap ten. Could be the tyre temps spiking.”

You nod, trying to snap back to the present while you highlight the corresponding data points. “Yes, the front-left tyre temperature was higher than expected. We might need to tweak the camber settings.”

The debrief continues, with Jungkook providing invaluable feedback on how the car felt at different points of the simulation. You discuss potential adjustments, comparing them with the data gathered to formulate the best strategy for the race weekend.

As the session wraps up, you give Jungkook a pat on the back. “Excellent work today. We’ve got a lot to go on for Japan.”

“Thanks, it felt good. Looking forward to the weekend,” Jungkook replies with a smile.

You watch as he heads out, already thinking about the next steps. The data from today’s session will be critical in fine-tuning the car for the unique demands of the Suzuka circuit. You and the team will spend the next two days poring over every detail, ensuring that Jungkook has the best possible car for the race.

The room gradually empties, the noise of activity dying down. You sit back for a moment, reflecting on the day’s progress and Jungkook’s magnetic pull. Even though he sometimes feels like the sun you can't stop orbiting, there's still work to be done. With Jungkook’s skill and the data you’ve gathered, you would feel confident about the upcoming race weekend, if there wasn’t Mingyu. 

As you power down the equipment and gather your notes, you can’t help but feel a sense of excitement. The race in Japan is just around the corner, and with every data point analysed, you’re one step closer to a successful race weekend.

Making your way up the floors to your office, you stop by the kitchenette to fetch a coffee after the sleepless night. The day ahead isn’t over yet, and you need a boost to keep going. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the small room as you pour yourself a cup. Just as you’re about to head to your office with your coffee in hand, Namjoon approaches with a smile.

"Hey, good morning," he greets you warmly.

"Good morning, Namjoon," you reply, returning his smile.

"Got a minute?" he asks, his tone friendly yet a bit hesitant.

"Sure, what’s up?" you respond, curious about what he wants to discuss.

He clears his throat and begins, "I wanted to clarify something about the first day we met. I’m sure you heard what Jungkook said as you were leaving."

Intrigued, you nod and encourage him to continue. "Go on."

"Well," Namjoon says, a bit awkwardly, "I wasn’t looking at your butt. I was actually looking at your posture. Your left shoulder seems to sag a little bit. Do you wear your purse on that side?"

A wave of embarrassment washes over you as you realise you had misinterpreted the situation. You thought he was checking you out. "Yes, you're right," you admit, feeling your cheeks heat up. "I do carry my purse on that side."

Namjoon nods, seemingly relieved. "Would you like to do a little workout for it? I’ve got an hour until I’m scheduled with Jungkook."

You ponder for a moment, but the idea of a break sounds perfect given your level of stress and tiredness. "Sure, why not," you agree.

Soon, you find yourself in your gym clothes, which you keep in your office for moments like this. You follow Namjoon to the team’s gym, a well-equipped space designed for quick yet effective workouts. Namjoon starts guiding you through a series of exercises meant to correct your posture and strengthen your shoulder.

As you move through the exercises, Namjoon breaks the silence. "By the way, you and Jungkook don’t have to worry about me. I’m gay and dating George."

You’re taken aback, not because of his disclosure but because it confirms he noticed your earlier embarrassment. "Oh, um, thank you for sharing that," you stammer, then quickly clarify, "But just to be clear, the relationship between Jungkook and me is purely professional."

Namjoon gives you a knowing look. "I don’t believe you," he says with a chuckle. "Jungkook talks about you all the time. You’re his favourite topic of conversation. He always brings up how you first met when you were teenagers and how you couldn’t stand him."

You feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you. Embarrassment, confusion, and a hint of something else you don’t want to place. "Really?" you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"Yes, really," Namjoon continues. "He admires you in a way that’s more than professional. And I can see it in the way you look at him, too. It’s mutual."

You deny it again, "Namjoon, it’s not like that." But internally, you’re struggling with the truth of his words. Memories of late-night strategy sessions, the way Jungkook's eyes light up when he talks about racing, and the fluttering in your stomach every time you see him after a race flash through your mind.

Namjoon doesn’t press further. Instead, he focuses on guiding you through the next set of exercises, his demeanour still friendly but more subdued. "Just think about it," he says finally, offering a gentle smile.

You tease, “George, huh?”

Now it’s Namjoon’s turn to blush. “Yeah, it’s still fresh,” he admits, looking slightly embarrassed. “We’re at the stage of getting to know each other. Please keep it secret for now.”

You nod, a playful smile on your lips. “Your secret’s safe with me. But if you need any advice, you know where not to find me,” you say, masking your own embarrassment.

Namjoon laughs, shaking his head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll manage. Just don’t spread it around.”

“Of course not,” you reply, still smiling. “But if I see you sneaking off, I’ll know who you’re talking to.”

Namjoon chuckles again, the tension easing. 

You finish the workout feeling more relaxed physically but with your mind in turmoil. As you change back into your work clothes and head to your office, you replay Namjoon’s words over and over. You know there’s some truth to what he said, but admitting it, even to yourself, feels like opening a door you’re not ready to walk through.

The day moves on, filled with meetings and data analysis, but Namjoon's words linger in the back of your mind. Every interaction with Jungkook feels charged with a new awareness. You catch yourself watching him a little too closely, analysing every smile, every glance.

Later, as you work late into the evening, Jungkook stops by your office. "Hey, I wanted to go over some of the simulation data with you," he says, his voice as casual as ever.

"Sure, come in," you reply, your heart beating a little faster.

As you discuss the data, you find yourself distracted by the way he leans in, his focus on the screen, the small gestures that seem so familiar yet newly significant. You wonder if he feels it too, this strange tension that Namjoon has made you so aware of.

"I'm heading home in an hour. Will you be done by then? I can drive you home," Jungkook offers.

You look up at him, seeing the hope in his eyes, and can only hum in response.

"Great. I'll meet you at the lobby entrance," Jungkook says, standing up with a gentle smile that you reciprocate without thinking.

When Jungkook finally leaves, you sit back in your chair, staring at the door. You know you need to confront these feelings, but for now, you bury them deep, focusing on your work. The race in Japan is just days away, and you can’t afford distractions.

But as the hour ticks by and the office grows quiet, you can’t help but wonder what might happen if you allowed yourself to acknowledge the truth. Namjoon's words echo in your mind, and for the first time, you consider the possibility that your relationship with Jungkook could be something more than professional.

But for now, you pack up and push the thoughts aside as you head to the elevator, Jungkook already waiting for you with the same smile that leaves you breathless. 

Friday evening in Japan is eerily quiet at the paddock. The day's training session had gone well, the team managing to make final adjustments that promised a successful qualifying later that day. However, a strategic error in tyre management—a responsibility that fell squarely on your shoulders—left Jungkook in P3 during the qualifying session. The sense of disappointment still lingers as you step out into the darkness, determined to salvage the weekend by any means necessary.

The Red Bull garage looms ahead, bathed in dim, ambient light that casts long, eerie shadows. Each step you take echoes softly in the stillness of the night, your heartbeat a frantic drum in your chest. Fear and determination war within you, a volatile cocktail that drives you forward. The vast expanse of the garage stretches out before you, empty and silent, offering the perfect opportunity for your second solo mission. You move swiftly, your movements fluid and precise, slipping inside like a ghost. Your eyes dart around, frantic, scanning every nook and cranny for any sign of Mingyu or his team. The air is thick with tension, but as you search, you find the space blissfully clear of any presence. With a quiet sigh of relief, you head straight for Mingyu's gear, the objective of your desire. The silence around you feels both a blessing and a curse, heightening your senses and making every sound seem louder than it is. You remain on high alert, fully aware that discovery could mean serious consequences for both you and the team.

Carefully, you pull out your phone, the cool metal a reassuring weight in your trembling hand. You activate the camera, its bright light slicing through the darkness and casting sharp, eerie shadows that dance over the metallic knobs embedded in the fabric. Each click of the shutter feels like a small victory, highlighting the unusual and illicit modifications better than the pictures you’ve taken weeks before. The knobs glint under the stark light, their presence a silent testament to your growing suspicions. Encouraged by your discovery, you delve deeper into the search, your breath quickening as you rummage through more gear, adrenaline high in your veins. To your dismay and confirmation, you find similar knobs embedded in his right racing boot. The sight sends a chill down your spine, a cold reminder of the dangerous game you're playing. But the thrill of uncovering the truth fuels your resolve, and you focus intently on documenting the evidence, pushing fear to the back of your mind.

Just as you're about to snap another picture of the racing boot, a strong hand clamps down on your shoulder, wrenching you around with a force that knocks the breath out of you. Your heart leaps into your throat as you come face-to-face with Mingyu. His eyes blaze with anger and suspicion, his imposing frame casting a shadow over you and filling the garage with an oppressive presence. His tall and buff build swallows you whole and blocks out the dim light, making you feel small and vulnerable. 

"What’s a little bird like you doing here?" he snarls, his voice a dangerous, low rumble that sends a fresh wave of fear coursing through you. The menace in his tone is unmistakable, and you can feel your body tense up, every instinct screaming at you to run.

You open your mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. Your vocal cords feel paralysed by the sheer panic rising within you. As Mingyu steps closer, his towering frame becomes even more intimidating, forcing you to instinctively back away. Your hands tremble uncontrollably, making it hard to keep your phone steady, and a cold sweat breaks out on your forehead, trickling down your temples. "I... I was just..." you stammer, but the words catch in your throat, refusing to form coherent sentences. The weight of the situation presses down on you, making it hard to think or react rationally.

Mingyu's eyes narrow, his gaze piercing and unforgiving. He steps even closer, closing the gap between you with a menacing determination. You keep backing up, your steps frantic and unsteady, until you find yourself at the very edge of the garage. The cool night air brushes against your back, offering a stark contrast to the oppressive heat radiating from Mingyu's anger. "Tell me, what exactly are you doing here?" he demands, his voice a dangerous growl. Suddenly, his hand shoots out and grabs your neck, the pressure firm and unyielding. You gasp for breath, your hands instinctively flying up to grasp his wrist in a futile attempt to loosen his grip. The fear coursing through your body now is overwhelming, drowning out any semblance of bravery you thought you had.

Regret floods your mind like a tidal wave, threatening to drown you in its intensity. You curse yourself for embarking on this dangerous mission alone, for underestimating the risks and overestimating your ability to handle them. Thoughts of Jungkook, your team, and the potential consequences of your actions swirl in a chaotic storm within your head. What if you don't get out of this situation unharmed? The fear is almost paralysing, making it hard to focus on anything but the desperate hope that somehow, someone will come to your rescue. The reality of your vulnerability hits you hard, and you can't help but feel a deep sense of despair and helplessness.

Mingyu's grip tightens, the pressure on your neck intensifying as you see the rage boiling over in his eyes. "Answer me!" he growls, his voice a harsh, guttural sound that shakes you to your core. He shakes you slightly, his grip unrelenting. The world starts to blur at the edges, your vision narrowing as lightheadedness takes over. You feel your strength ebbing away when, suddenly, a voice cuts through the oppressive tension.

"Hey! What’s going on here?" Taehyung's voice slices through the air, sharp and authoritative. Mingyu's head snaps in Taehyung's direction, his expression a mix of surprise and annoyance. Relief floods through you, a lifeline amidst your mounting fear. Taehyung strides toward you with purpose, his eyes immediately locking onto Mingyu's hand around your neck, the protective fire in his gaze unmistakable.

Mingyu releases you abruptly, and you stumble back, gasping for air as you clutch your sore neck. "She was trespassing," Mingyu snaps, pointing a condemning finger at you. "Spying. That’s against regulations."

Taehyung steps between you and Mingyu, his stance solid and unyielding. "All I saw was a man assaulting a woman. You might want to reconsider your actions," he says, his tone icy and eyes never wavering from Mingyu's face. The tension crackles like electricity, a standoff between the two men that hangs in the air.

Mingyu's eyes flash with unrestrained anger, but he takes a reluctant step back. "This isn't over," he warns, jabbing a finger in your direction one last time before turning on his heel and vanishing into the shadows of the night.

Taehyung turns to you, his face softening with concern. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice now gentle, a stark contrast to the sharpness it held moments before.

You nod slowly, still rubbing your neck where Mingyu's fingers had left their mark. "Yeah, I think so. Thanks to you," you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

"We need to report this to the FIA," Taehyung insists firmly. "Mingyu physically assaulted you. This can't go unaddressed."

"I'm not sure," you reply hesitantly, the thought of further exposure daunting. But Taehyung’s unwavering resolve cuts through your doubt.

"It's the best course of action," he says, his tone brooking no argument. "And we won't say a word about what you were doing before Mingyu showed up."

You sigh, a mixture of resignation and acceptance washing over you. Knowing he's right, you agree. "Okay. We'll report it. But what were you doing here, anyway?"

A small, wry smile tugs at Taehyung's lips. "I had the same idea as you. But you beat me to it," he admits, a hint of admiration in his voice.

As you and Taehyung leave the paddock, the night air cool against your flushed skin, you glance at him, a new worry gnawing at you. "Promise me you won't tell Jungkook about this," you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Taehyung frowns and glances at your neck. "I’m afraid I won’t have to, it’s quite unmistakable." 

The two of you walk side by side, the night’s events casting a long shadow. Mingyu's warning echoes in your ears, a constant reminder of the stakes involved.

Back at the hotel, you part ways with Taehyung, thanking him again for his help. Alone in your room, you sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the pictures on your phone. The evidence you’ve gathered is significant, but it has come at a cost. You hope that tomorrow will bring clarity and that you'll find a way to move forward without further jeopardising yourself or the team.

Sleep doesn't come easily that night. The memory of Mingyu's hands around your neck haunts you, and the weight of your decisions presses heavily on your mind. But amidst the fear and uncertainty, you feel a flicker of determination. This fight isn't over, and you’re more committed than ever to seeing it through.

“___, could you please follow me?” Toto steps in front of you, blocking your view of a raging Jungkook, who is stomping his way toward you through the paddock on this Saturday morning before the sprint qualifying begins.

You glance up at Toto, his face passive and pale, and nod. “Yes, boss.”

Following him to the back room of the garage, you notice two representatives from the FIA and Taehyung sitting by the table, clearly waiting for Toto and you.

“What’s going…” Jungkook had clearly followed you but his presence and voice are cut off as Toto, unimpressed, closes the door in his face.

“Please take a seat,” one of the representatives says, thick with an Italian accent. Your nerves flare up, but Taehyung’s reassuring smile eases them a little.

“We heard that a driver had physically harassed and injured you. Is that true?” the same representative continues emotionless. 

You glance again at Taehyung, who nods, his warm smile still in place, giving you the reassurance you need. “Yes.”

“Could you name the driver who harassed you and what he did?” the other representative asks then. 

Last night flashes in your mind, the fear returning momentarily as you fiddle with your thumbs. “It was Park Mingyu. He choked me.”

Both representatives note your answer down, nodding before standing up.

“Thank you very much for your statement. If it’s not a bother, could we take a picture of your neck?”

You reach up, feeling the slight swelling on your neck. The bruises, shimmering in red, green, and blue at some spots, are a reminder of the aggression you faced. Each tender spot under your fingers feels as if Mingyu's grip is still there, the phantom pressure of his hand lingering around your throat. A shiver runs down your spine, and you gulp, realising the importance of this evidence. It must be documented meticulously to ensure there’s no doubt about what happened. The thought of the photographs being taken, capturing your vulnerability and the violence inflicted upon you, makes you uneasy, but you know it's necessary. “Sure,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. 

After the pictures are taken, the representatives thank you and exit the room. Almost immediately, Jungkook seizes the opportunity to peek into the room, his anxious eyes scanning for you. You realise he must have been waiting outside the entire time. The door closes softly behind them, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. Now, you're alone with Taehyung and Toto. The room feels smaller, more intimate, with just the three of you. Taehyung stands quietly beside you, his presence a comforting reassurance, while Toto's gaze remains steady and composed, though you can sense the undercurrent of worry in his eyes. The gravity of the situation hangs in the air, making the room feel even more charged with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Toto says, his tone distant as he speaks. “And I appreciate your assistance.” He adds, turning briefly to acknowledge Taehyung. “It’s unusual for a rival team to intervene like this.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Taehyung waves his hand around, still smiling at you as if knowing you need this more than ever. 

“Are you good to work?” Toto asks you.

“Yes, boss,” you reply, telling the truth.

"Good," Toto murmurs, his brow furrowing in contemplation. "Make sure to stick close to the team from now on, alright?"

"Yes, boss. I'll keep close," you reply, though Toto's shift in demeanour leaves you feeling unsettled.

"Good, good," Toto repeats, his voice trailing off slightly as he heads out the door. There's a visible tension in his movements, contrasting his usual composed self.

Jungkook strides purposefully into the room just as Toto makes his exit, his gaze flicking from you to your neck and then to Taehyung with a mixture of concern and anger etched on his features. His steps are quick, his posture tense as he points an accusatory finger at Taehyung. "What did you do to her?!" The words are sharp, laden with worry and protectiveness.

Taehyung responds with a laugh, raising his hands in a placating gesture while you move to stand in front of him, hoping to diffuse Jungkook's escalating emotions. "I saved Miss Dangerous here," Taehyung explains calmly, his tone light despite the seriousness of the situation. "Mingyu's the one who hurt her."

Jungkook's brow furrows as he processes the information, the tension in the room palpable as both you and Taehyung attempt to calm him down. You speak softly, explaining what happened and reassuring him that you're alright, urging him not to confront Mingyu in anger.

Later, as the sprint qualifying session is about to start, news spread through the paddock like wildfire. Teams and media alike learn of Mingyu's ban from the weekend's events, the result of his repeated violations of regulations, specifically for his assault on you. The atmosphere at the Suzuka Course is a mix of relief and lingering tension, with whispers of the incident circulating among team personnel and journalists alike, punctuated by murmurs of support and solidarity from your colleagues. 

Race day arrives on Sunday, and the paddock is clamouring with media for statements about Mingyu's ban and the incident involving you. Toto steps in, shielding you from the press frenzy, urging you to focus on the impending race while he handles the public relations. 

Watching his interview on the pit wall through a nearby screen, you feel grateful for a boss like him. He speaks confidently to the reporter, highlighting your skills as one of the most talented race engineers across all teams. Toto emphasises the importance of protecting women in a sport where they are still a rarity, citing the FIA's response as evidence of their commitment to a safe work environment.

Just as you start to settle into the seat, Jungkook startles you by placing his large hands on your shoulders. 

“I’m sorry.” He squeezes your shoulders lightly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“It’s okay, I’m fine.” You smile at him, your voice quiet.

“You ready for the race?” Jungkook shifts to beside you, leaning against the pit wall with crossed arms. He’s already in his black gear, fitting his body perfectly. 

With a playful grin, you counter “It’s you who needs to be ready.”

“We’re are team. Aren’t we, babe?”

You blush at his playful persona but laugh along, realising how much you've missed his relaxed and humorous side. As the anticipation builds, you feel a sense of optimism washing over you, hoping that everything is finally starting to align positively.

The race unfolds spectacularly, the anticipation building with each lap as Jungkook skilfully navigates the track. As the final lap approaches, Jungkook's dominance is undeniable. You with the pit crew, glued to their monitors, erupt in unison  cheers as Jungkook crosses the finish line in first place. The shouts reverberate through the paddock, faces full of elation and pride for the team's achievement.

With George closely following in second place, the team's success is complete. The pit lane becomes a stage of jubilation as Jungkook's car rolls to a stop, surrounded by cheering mechanics and team members. They hoist him and George onto their shoulders, their exuberance contagious as they celebrate their victory. The air is filled with high-fives, hugs, and congratulatory shouts. 

Standing at the back of the crowd, you fix your gaze on Jungkook amidst the post-race celebrations. His figure stands out, exuding triumph and relief, yet there's a subtle hint of something unresolved in his expression. You observe him scanning the crowd, his eyes searching earnestly as if seeking something beyond the victory itself. Your heart races with conflicting emotions, wanting desperately to catch his attention without uttering a word.

Finally, his gaze meets yours, a brief moment that feels like an eternity. In that instance, his smile lights up like the sun itself, mirroring the warmth that spreads across your own face. The connection is fleeting yet profound, a shared acknowledgment that transcends words.

Suddenly, the realisation hits you like a thunderclap. Your expression falls rapidly, hands pausing mid-clap, the color draining from your face. 

Jungkook notices the shift in your demeanour, his brow furrowing in concern, but before he can react, you pivot abruptly, heart pounding as you retreat from the scene as fast as you can.

Your only destination being away from him. 

01 • 02 • 03 • 04 • 05 • series masterlist • 07

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for upcoming chapters 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @jksusawife

[eluxcastar]

*slaps my brain* this bad boy can churn out so much angst. Greetings, i arrive with pantalone x male reader : -- reader + a group of agents are sent on a mission. They're ambushed by the enemies (some rebellion group against the fatui) and everyone is killed except the reader. -- reader begs for their life and agrees to join their side and give out info about the fatui (But in their head, reader just comes up with an improvised plan to use this opportunity to lie and double cross the enemies) -- (un)fortunately, one agent survives... and delivers the news that reader has betrayed the fatui... to both Pantalone and Arlecchino. -- Poor banker man has a short breakdown before realizing that the Knave would be sent out to hunt down the traitor. (ouch) -- Perhaps it was just a few crumbs left of his love and trust for you, that convinced him to take over the duty of hunting you down. Perhaps he just wanted to see you one last time. -- He faces the brunt of Arlecchino's mockery and amused pity when he tells her that he's gonna kill you himself. -- Reader thankfully succeeds in escaping the enemy's headquarters. So imagine their panic and surprise when halfway into returning, pantalone pulls up and aims a gun at their head and demands an explanation (congratulations! both of them have trauma now! Reader is now paranoid in every way to never disappoint Pants every again! Pantalone now has paranoia for betrayal!) -- for roughly a month, reader moves out from their shared bedroom and occupies a guest room(fun!)

Super (un)happy (un)fun times with Pantalone ❤️

── ୨୧：pantalone x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: an expedition gone wrong as you are attacked by a group of rebels who win only by catching you off guard, they wipe almost your squad out, at least so you thought, and will little other option you decide it's best to choose the humiliating one and get on your knees to grovel and beg for your life like some poor dog

୨୧﹑genre :: angst

୨୧﹑content :: masc reader, mentions of blood, injury, death, reader does technically get kidnapped, the root of their problems is a lack of communication fml

୨୧﹑words :: 7.2k

nom nom nom this THIS this has eaten my brain since it was sent to me, this little thought that I wanted to do right away but was in the middle of Capitano and didn't wanna make that anon wait longer than the like two months they already had which was like two months BUT I SAID IN THAT ARLECCHINO POST that it was coming directly after Capitano so now I am LEGALLY obligated to do it (I have literally put off the Pierro request I said I would do since December) (I just want an excuse)

there may not be a post tomorrow because I'm tired and in pain so if that's the case the requests will resume either Monday or Tuesday

I also just liked that this request was like "These events, this order" cause it's so easy hmu anytime this literally ended up my longest post. also this kinda seems like it could even be the predecessor of the events of the previous post if only for a few details which tbh is an interesting thought

Somewhere along the road, you got to the point where you were surrounded by corpses; those used to be your comrades. You stare through bleary eyes at your weapon tossed aside on the ground. If only you could move freely, you could reach it. You might be ok if that was possible, but it's not. You lay surrounded by enemies who kicked at your comrades' feet to finish off whichever of them wasn't already dead. Quickly you have to think, lest you become the next one to get a sword to the back of the neck.

Ignoring a nasty knock to the head and some shallow scrapes, your health is the least of your worries. You have a splitting headache and a bit of trouble focusing. You can make out your weapon enough to reach for it; it's close enough if you're not mistaken, but if you're wrong, you'll likely end up as a red stain in the snow. 

Your hand finds the hilt of your blade as a boot crushes the backs of your knuckles, barely able to cry out when the weight leaves your head. There's a relentless kick to your ribs, wedging a foot under and flicking you onto your back. The tip of a sword finds your throat, sharp like a prick against your skin; the wielder is clearly not worried about making you bleed as you are.

"Do you believe you've achieved something?" You ask, slowly smiling up at the man who looms over you. His foot rests on your stomach just enough that it doesn't hurt, though you suspect it will change quickly. "Killing only grunts, you're so impressive."

He knows you're mocking him; you can tell he knows as he presses his foot down until you grimace from the pain and then some.

Your ribs still hurt, and they'll probably bruise later.

You just aren't thinking about that because you don't want to die.

You don't understand why you're, for some reason, not as willing to die as you promised you would be. When you set out on this mission, you were prepared for the idea that you would be happy to go out in the name of the Tsaritsa, but...it felt much different when faced with the situation.

It would be the end. Never again would you see anything you love in this world. You would never see your lover or your family. You'd never get to train another new squad of rookies and never go home to eat a warm meal, to feel how stupidly soft Pantalone's hair is, or get to kiss him. You already know you won't see your squadmates again, and they wouldn't see you no matter how shameful you become for the sake of your life.

If nothing else, you would escape, and with all hope of saving everyone else long gone, that much is all you could ask for.

Your dignity isn't worth dying for.

"Wait," you speak out, placing your aching hand around the blade of the sword to stop any sudden movements, not fully registering the choice as strange. "If you spare my life, I'll give you information about the Fatui." You're relieved to feel the sword pull away ever so slightly, though the sting doesn't subside.

The man looks sceptical of you, rightfully so, considering your actual plan. "How do I know your information will be worth sparing you?"

"I'm the captain of this team, I'm very useful."

He appears to consider your offer for a moment before abruptly snatching the sword away, running a shallow cut across your palm, making you once again cry out as that poor hand has seen much better treatment. Immediately it blooms with fresh blood that pours down your hand as you roll yourself over to clutch it with your good hand.

Tears prick at your eyes, your vision blurring, no doubt the result of the cold making your wound hurt like hell.

"I'm not convinced you're really so dedicated to living since you seem to be able to run your mouth so much." Now he's taken to mocking you, wearing a smug smirk like he came here to see a fatuu on his knees kissing his boots for a chance at redemption. He wants to watch while his comrades just watch him pull the poor little fatuu's strings. "Get on your knees and beg for it."

In your mind, you know this is what survival demands, but you resist solely because of your stubborn pride, which tells you that it is not something you are willing to do. You tell yourself this is necessary for your plan to work, for Pantalone to not receive the news that you've been killed in an ambush attack on your squad. If you can prevent even just that, you will gladly get down on your knees in the snow to prove a false promise that you will supply information to them, if only to buy time to find an escape plan.

You push yourself onto your knees, crawling a few feet ahead before placing your forehead to the snow and trying to ignore the burning pain in your palm that tells you to move it now. You can't, so you must endure it with a shaky voice.

"Please spare me… I don't want to die. I'll do anything you ask if you spare me, I swear, I'll betray the Fatui, give you any information you want! Please just spare my life."

someone grabs you by your hair, and when you're jerked up to see who it is, a different person from the man who was previously hurting you, this time a woman. You doubt she's eager to let the chance to beat a poor little fatuu slip away, either. How she smiles down at you so tenderly yet so sadistic tells you so. At the very least, you seemed to please her, and what more could you ask for? If even just one wanted to, they would likely spare you.

"He's so eager to please…." She lets go, and her hand travels down to stroke your cheek, making you fight the urge to pull away. "Let's keep him."

Those weren't exactly the words you aspired to hear when you joined the Fatui; you won't complain now that they're saving your life.

It was only supposed to be a simple mission. Many hours of silence proved that to be incorrect. Some time since your team set out, only one fatuu returns to Pantalone's awful habit of pacing like the floor owes him money. Worse still, that fatuu isn't you. It's not exactly a sight you see every day, Pantalone stuck in discontented thought as he stares blankly through everyone he looks at. You're supposed to be working under him. Why is nobody telling him anything? He doubts that it's as simple as not knowing.

Everyone must be aware of the undeniable fact that, right now, your life is in grave danger. The second thing everyone must know is that you will remain in danger for as long as he is not given the route you took when you set out to— 

"Pantalone, a skirmisher from the expedition team has returned." Pantalone startles, his thoughts interrupted as Arlecchino approaches. She is tailed by a slow and trembling man, freshly home and the victim of severe frostbite. Blood still clings to his clothes from the wounds he bears. She brought him so quickly that he didn't even get a chance to have his condition treated. "He says that the news he came back for is important, so I've spared ending his life for desertion. It still doesn't explain why he chose not to die along with the others."

"Is that important?" a part of him is filled with dread as he knows you would never allow yourself or anyone else to turn tail and run away, meaning it does matter. it's a sign that on the other side of all the chaos, he will likely arrive at the site where this man last saw you all to your bloodied corpse. "Where did your Captain go? He was supposed to be leading this team."

"H-He…" clearly hesitant to explain, Pantalone assumes he's about to say you had died in the heat of battle. "He betrayed the Fatui so the enemy would spare him, and agreed to give up important information in exchange for his life."

Something about that strikes him cold. However, he turns searing hot as the worry sets in like dread, and he realises everything will end here. the Knave will be sent to kill the traitor, and in the end, he will never hear your sweet voice again like music to his ears. It was for nothing to have held out hope you were alive because he was right. In the worst way possible, Pantalone was right. As he stands here pacing in worry, you probably don't care. Rather, you are spilling every secret Pantalone has slipped you about the Fatui he wasn't supposed to. Somewhere out there, you're betraying every ounce of trust he ever put in you as you take advantage of whatever you have to save your skin.

if only he could go back and be there, you probably never would've had to do such a thing, but what if this is the Tsaritsa's gift? To know that you would be willing to betray all that the Fatui stand for? that is a cruel way of thinking. He can't force Arlecchino to unhear that, meaning he can't keep it a secret. Pantalone certainly can't stop this information from getting out as he might've liked to. You will be hunted by the Knave to the edges of Teyvat for your crimes.

"Pantalone." he looks up to Arlecchino's stone-cold glare like she knows the deliberations going on in his head as the more significant part of him questions your innocence. "He's a traitor. Don't spare your thoughts on him, just pretend that he died and I'll bring his corpse back and call him a hero."

"No--" At that moment, Pantalone's voice sounds so strained. he thinks he's on the verge of tears even if it doesn't feel like he is. Pantalone speaks without thinking, and he can't tell if it's because he wants you to come home or to ask you why. maybe he just doesn't want you to die, even knowing you probably betrayed them. "No, I'll go. I'll go, and I'll--" he hesitates momentarily, "kill him." 

he can't even believe he just spoke those words out loud. Something about the entire situation is surreal, though he feels like someone has wrenched his heart from his chest and run off with it. That 'someone' would probably be you, off to present it to a new master on a silver platter. you took a piece of him and stole it, and now only an aching lingers. something in that aching longed for you to pay for your actions, but it also demanded an explanation. that part of him wants to hold you down and wring the life out of you with his bare hands so you can feel the pain he wants you to. it wouldn't be enough to let the Knave kill you, no matter if it was slow, drawn-out torture. he wants to see your face as you die, to watch the life drain from your eyes, and see if you hold any remorse as you see the point you've driven him to. 

worry fades away into anger, frustration too, but mostly anger. 

Pantalone is angry about many things, angry at you. He's angry that you made him fear for your safety. He isn't sure he can ever forgive that you had so carelessly become a traitor. He can't forgive that you would even betray him.

"Will you really kill your own loverboy?" He's angered that Arlecchino would say such a thing. The lilt in her voice makes it painfully obvious she isn't extending her greatest sympathies. "I thought menial work was below you."

he opens his mouth to retort but decides not to dignify that with a response.

it's cold out. it would be far too hard for you to survive without help. Pantalone is accompanied only by the skirmisher who returned from your squad with the news of your betrayal, though unbeknownst to him, he is taking his last steps as he has orders to kill the man once he has fulfilled all of his use. he also betrayed the mantra of loyalty, but perhaps he hasn't realised such a thing yet.

he and Pantalone arrive at the remnants of your last squad, the last place where you were seen alive and where enough blood was spilled to dye the snow red. he sees almost the entirety of your team strewn about and abandoned, only one of the attackers amongst them having succumbed to his injuries as he lay face down and lifeless.

this is far enough. he can die amongst his comrades.

"Lord Harbinger, they went in this direction." Though he has already begun to draw a blade, he turns his attention to see what the skirmisher is crouched before, noticing vague impressions left behind. It's been a little over half a day since he returned alone, meaning these would be your last traces. however, no matter how far you've gotten, he should tend to the bodies first. by the time he attempts to follow those tracks, they'll be covered in a new layer of snow. for now, he must deal with this skirmisher who decided that his fleeing was not a disgrace to the Tsaritsa's name.

Pantalone draws the knife he had tucked away out of sight. In the second it takes to turn around, a deep slash is carved into the fatuu's throats. He topples over himself to the ground, where he lands atop his slain comrades, struck by the shock more than anything. 

"Tsk tsk, and to think this was a mere decoration piece." 

Already another day and a half out, he stumbles upon the camp of rebels, as dead as your squad. They are all just as carelessly tossed aside as the last corpses he found, and much like the last group, only one is missing. it seemed to be the same one missing each time as suspiciously, you're nowhere to be found amongst the people you were betraying him for. gone with the wind just as you were the first time you hadn't come home. moreover, this certainly is not their primary base of operations as it lacks any semblance of permanence. It was put together in a hurry to survive the night without succumbing to exhaustion, not for a long-term stay. there's a freshly lit fire still burning by their sides, surrounded by the people who had likely been sitting by it for warmth before their lives were snuffed out by the sole survivor he knew of.

the cherry on top is that the bodies are still barely warm — you're nearby. You can't get far in that amount of time, and the snow gives you away quickly, even with the night falling. you're so close it's as if he can see you already, as the memory of your presence is left behind In the form of footsteps. most noticeably, however…droplets of blood trail beside those footsteps. 

in the place of your footsteps, Pantalone begins to walk along the trail you make for him, following behind you like a dog that chases the scent of blood to find its master amidst danger. stepping directly into the divots left behind is the only way to feasibly track you in the dark, with no source of light yet coming into view. the wind is picking up, however, and as he focuses closely on the direction he walks, he begins to hear the faint sound of life at last. the singular life who managed to escape certain death not once but twice and who will not be so lucky the third time. 

the glow of a lantern appears in the distance.

somewhere out there, the light ahead of Pantalone glows brighter as the distance between you grows shorter, and the silhouette of a man enters his view.

it's you, carrying a lantern you had likely stolen, bloodied bandages crudely wrapped around your hand, dripping bright red into the snow. more than anything, you seem ready to collapse from exhaustion from how slowly you move.

"Is someone there?" You must hear Pantalone as you turn back, hands shaking audible in the clattering of the lantern, a cut across your cheek.

You make eye contact with the gun he points at you. You are trapped in the middle of nowhere with no backup, little food, and barely any water, but you know it's him. if not for the gun, you might not worry, yet something about it sends chills up your spine just from the coldness of his eyes. You're not used to such a gaze on you. It's like steel and raw feelings cloud together into one terrifying man who feels the most profound form of betrayal a person could know. Even in the line of work of the Fatui, this is something different. Not due to circumstance but because he is a Harbinger. some shivers dance across you, spiking goosebumps into your skin, and you feel like you could collapse, but you know that if you do, all will have been for nothing.

"Pantalone--"

"I want to hear a thorough explanation for the things you've done."

You want to provide one, but…but how do you tell him you still betrayed the Tsaritsa's trust in you to die for her cause when the time came? Every lie that spilled from your lips, masked as information you provided, was shared out of self-preservation, not loyalty. That alone was enough to get you hunted and killed, especially in your position. 

Now you stand small and weakened by circumstance before a man burning with rage, only a lantern slowly draining away as the minutes pass. You can't blame him, only able to imagine how he could've possibly heard that you hadn't returned and what it must've looked like to see you gone so many times from places you should've died. Does he think you killed your squad to desert the Fatui? Or was there someone who told him you had betrayed him? Maybe he just decided that for himself upon seeing the very place where you had thrown away your dignity for him thinking you could do it all alone.

"I wanted to see you…" you try to say, throat rough and voice quieter than you'd like. "I didn't want to die so I lied. I was just coming back, everyone else is dead! Everyone was killed, but there was a way…a way that I could live and come home." Without meaning to, you begin to tear up, met with only unwavering disbelief, not of shock but of an unwillingness to believe you aren't a filthy liar. "I didn't want you to hear the news that I had died." You choke the last part out on the verge of breaking down.

"Was it me you lied to or them? How am I supposed to trust you're being honest now when everyone you've come into contact with has died?" You didn't think you'd ever hear such venom in his voice, but more than that, he was hurt more than you could be by his words alone. You just can't think of a way to prove to him you're being honest, not when you're so tired and worn down and working against what is likely an order to kill you for your actions.

How are you supposed to tell a man overcome with grief and emotion that he's wrong? There's no way he'll see reason.

"You can observe the wounds," you say slowly, unsure if he would buy such a story, "they weren't made by a weapon like mine, and you know what I'm like — hopeless with other weapons." 

will he wait that long? you doubt that, but you can make him wait even a moment for you to explain yourself.

"They were a hopeless rebel group who thought of me like a dog. why would I be loyal to them?" 

"You were supposed to be loyal to me!" like a rubber band pulled to its limit, it's as if something snaps, the boiling anger bubbling over. "I thought we were trying to stop lying all the time; I thought we agreed not to run off and try to do things on our own. Maybe only I had agreed to those things because you seem to be fine doing both of them."

His words anger you, but you know that denying them will only anger him instead. You have spent the past few days lying to him whether you meant to or not, the past few days have been hell, and yet he has experienced greater suffering in the form of overwhelming grief. for the past few days, Pantalone has believed you were dead, then that you had betrayed him in your most excellent schemes. it was what people told him. it was what the evidence pointed to.

But your body, appearing so small and trembling from how cold you are, wrapped in the now tattered clothes you had departed in, tells a different story. Blood spilled over your collar, the furs of your overcoat matted, your hair tangled, and your skin bruised. The sight brings pity to Pantalone for you, such a pathetic little thing still begging for only his forgiveness, not even your own life.

Pity reasons with the side of him that, even now, holds his love for you close. You are closer to his heart than anything else has ever been. He finally asks what should've been an obvious question that whole time: when did he start believing Arlecchino over you?

With the possibility considered, more questions flood his mind: why were you walking closer to where the Fatui gather most if you were betraying them? What use would you find in killing them if they were your accomplices? there would be far more benefit in allowing them to cart you out to the edge of Snezhnaya then betraying them. even you would know that and which direction you were walking before he caught you — back to where you came from. when your shaking form is back in focus, he realises his gun shakes with the faint clang of metals like the bullet rattles in the chamber.

You are returning to Snezhnaya, he realises, you are coming home.

Slowly, he forces his hand to lower alongside his gun. The tension in his body runs high; he's surprised to hear the gun slip and fall to the ground, landing somewhere in the snow with a dull sound that he ignores. there are more important things. Pantalone moves, forcing his feet to comply with what he wants — you are cold and need a warm coat wrapped around you tightly.

Pantalone freezes in place rather quickly, however. He realises you are shaking violently, and not just from the cold. the look on your face spells sheer terror as if you're a little child face with the big scary monster in the dark. you don't know. Unable to hear his thoughts, you have no idea his intentions. Inching back to put some more distance between the two of you for your safety, your sense of self-preservation acting for you. would you believe a word he says if he tries to reassure you? or would you suspect his habit of using flattery to get the things he wants? either is a reasonable assumption on your part.

There is a silence that spells nothing but decisions for both of you, thoughts running wild with possibilities. It drags on for so long that it feels like an eternity before you move. Both of you impossibly still, too afraid to do anything lest you provoke the other with even the slightest wrong move.

the first to act so happens to be you, lips quivering and eyes watering as they sting with tears you've been holding back far too long. The lantern is lost to the snow. You crash into Pantalone's chest, almost toppling the both of you. You finally break, your emotions overflowing before you get a chance to catch up with them. you're terribly upset and worn down, exhausted, anxious and, most of all, more afraid than ever. Still, you are so happy to finally have a single taste of home back in your arms, even if he's gone stiff as a board, and you're scared he'll toss you aside. just a moment, and you'll be satisfied to have your love end then and there in a single gunshot because of your stupid decisions.

However, as soon as the action registers, your embrace is returned awkwardly at first. you soon both relax enough to hug so tightly you might suffocate before you make it home. you would be more than glad to spend your last moments that way, but thankfully that isn't the case. you will go home safe again tonight.

the guest room is a lonely place, even in your own home, but once your wounds were carefully bandaged and placed in front of the fire to warm up, you had more time to think than you should've. each time Pantalone approaches, even just to offer you warm tea and an extra blanket, you would flinch so violently it was as if he still held a gun to your head. 

you tried so hard to spend the first night back in your shared room, but even with all the warmth and assurance you could ask for, you found yourself on edge. you've spent every night of the past three weeks sleeping in the guest room by yourself. can your relationship ever be repaired? from something like that, you're not sure. you desperately want to believe there is something that can be salvaged, even when you have seldom spoken to each other since your return. The two of you exchange little more than curt greetings before Pantalone leaves to carry on his work. Still unfit for active duty, you remain alone in the silence of your shared home. you thought the silence might make it better and give you time to think, but you know at heart that you would much rather be distracted.

You doubt in this state that you could convince even the ever battle-hungry Tartaglia to agree to spar with you and that plants you firmly in bed, unwilling to get up. If you got on your knees and begged, you might be given some paperwork to complete. You choose to ignore the helping of papers on the desk in the corner of your room, blank if not for your name. you were supposed to write a report of everything that happened during your stint as a rebel. spending several days AWOL isn't something the Fatui looks past, even when it's a Harbinger's lover doing it, though it certainly helps to have that kind of reputation.

In your mind, you've had thousands of interactions with Pantalone where you tell him anything and everything. In her fantasy, you say everything you want him to hear and spill all your thoughts and worries. However, when you come face to face with him, you freeze up and choke on your words until he's gone. Pantalone leaves the house earlier than he used to and doesn't return until later. Maybe he's shutting you out to think, or perhaps he's shutting himself away from you to let your physical wounds heal before thinking of your psychological ones. Clearly, only one of you wants to talk, and Pantalone's sudden turn to pulling away only worsens that.

You want to tell him that, but even that conversation gets stuck to the confines of your mind when you can barely say a quiet good morning to him. 

All at once, it seems you've lost everything. First, your team and now your husband; next will probably be your job, and your life will follow suit if that happens. The Tsaritsa's benevolence must include letting those under even harsh scrutiny for their actions get medical care before they die. Otherwise, you're sure you would've heard something horrible about the verdict on that investigation Arlecchino threatened you with. Supposedly you would receive a letter including the conclusion, though you were warned it may take months to conclude. If a letter arrived, you certainly don't know about it.

You're not entirely sure what possesses you to check Pantalone's office. There's a sinking feeling in your stomach like he may have hidden it or innocently collected it and has yet to read the mail from this morning. Both options have you looking through the mail in search of the letter. Is it even there? Probably not. You simply convinced yourself that is it, and now you must find evidence to prove or disprove that idea.

You sort through the stack of envelopes left aside on his desk. You started with the unopened ones, but, finding nothing, you forced yourself to move on to the letters he had most definitely already read. You can tell by the way the ends have been cleanly sliced with a letter opener.

In no particular order, you restack them as you go, thinking there are too many envelopes for him to memorise their order.

Before you know it, you're staring down at the seal used in official — mostly only important — letters from high-ranking officers of the Fatui. You want to open that letter to be a request from the Jester. You'd also settle for a nag for funding from the Doctor or a written apology from Tartaglia for blowing an exorbitant amount of the Fatui's funding during his stay in Liyue.

However, you know that seal too well; it is used only by the Knave. Harbingers have customised variations of the official seal; some you've memorised more than others, as the differences can be slight.

Forget your words. Your breath catches in your throat as you reach into the opening to pull the neatly folded paper out. Please don't be a verdict. Your mind races with dozens of possibilities. As you read through the words as quickly as possible, the worst of your thoughts seems to be coming true. First, details of the investigation, including the validity of your initial testimony being validated by the evidence. Your men were killed by the blades carried by the enemy. Arlecchino then goes on to discuss the logic of your actions and the order the events took place. She mentions the physical state you were found in and examples of your injuries, noting many couldn't have been self-inflicted. She does not entirely dismiss the idea you may have had help, but you can probably work with that mindset.

Finally, however, she notes that, in all likelihood, your version of events is correct.

Arlecchino won't release the final verdict until she's sure, not one to put half-baked conclusions on official paper, but the fact Pantalone didn't even mention this much to you fills you with a rage you didn't expect. How could he hide the most crucial thing since you returned from you? He knows how much you've been fretting over this, even in the absence of proper conversation between you — the few words you managed around him were to ask about it.

You're unsure if your hands shake from weakness or a new influx of emotion you're not ready to handle. It's tiring being shut out; you're sick of being shut out. Even if you did move to the guest room, you still live in the same damn house. You still share everything but the bed you slept in, so why? Why is Pantalone keeping so much from you? Why did he suddenly stop speaking to you? he was the one going on about you lying, so what about— 

"What are you doing in here?" 

a voice from the doorway catches you so off guard that you jump at the sound, looking up to find Pantalone with a nasty look on his face. Judging by the state of your emotions, you imagine the look you're giving him to be equally rotten, pissed off, maybe. You didn't hear him come in; he must've done so quietly.

"The hell's wrong with you?!" Without meaning to, you raise your voice, half due to frustration and half the fault of that pent-up desire to communicate, spilling over in the heat of your breaking point. This is it. This is all you can take. This is where your patience and ability to keep your emotions in stops. "Three weeks! Three whole weeks I have waited for any sign that maybe, just maybe, I won't have my head sliced off my shoulder, and for—" you glance down at the letter to find the date, knowing Arlecchino marks the date of everything she sends as a precaution, "oh, about four days now— guess who has had an idea of how that investigation into his own husband is going?"

You barely even noticed you had blown a gasket until you were done, stood from the chair Pantalone should be sitting at, hands resting on the table. Your palms hurt; you must've slammed them down at some point, as the sting is dull but still there. More than anything, your breath is laboured, and you might start to cry again if you don't get a hold of yourself. You're so mad it makes you feel dizzy, like you might lose your footing if you're not careful. 

Ah. That's not your anger. The realisation hits you hard as you lose your balance and topple back into Pantalone's chair. You got so tense and behaved carelessly, worsening your health. You're not used to being so fragile.

"Don't get yourself too wound up—" Pantalone made his way to your side at some point— "you'll make it worse."

You don't care if you make it worse. You really don't, but you know that throwing a tantrum is childish and solves nothing but making Pantalone worry for you more. It only pushes him further away from you and helps no one.

But Archons, you're just so irritated, your emotions at an all-time high. You've spent three weeks forcing them into a tiny box they don't fit in. You've spoken to nobody about it, said nothing of the kind of thoughts you had stranded out there alone, the only survivor of your squad. An overwhelming abundance of guilt tells you that you should've died along with them; you were a coward for how you acted following their deaths. You're just a filthy coward, aren't you? Cowards are of no use to anyone, let alone the Tsaritsa. Maybe it would be best if it was declared you weren't fit for duty. Arlecchino should just decide you've tarnished Her Lady's honour.

At last, you understand. You understand why Pantalone has avoided you for three straight weeks — you are not the man he married. You are some imposter of that man who would brave even the strongest foes without an inkling of a thought he might lose. You are a cowardly and pathetic excuse for that man. You bury your face in your hands, rubbing harshly at your face in some attempt to outlet that frustration. It seems so stupid you didn't realise it before. It's terrible to divorce an injured man, so he must be waiting for you to recover enough for him to leave you—

"I'm sorry."

Out of all the anticipated responses, that wasn't high on your list. You bite your lip, waiting to hear what comes next, chewing at it nervously.

"I thought if I kept that from you…" he trails off suddenly like there is more. Maybe he lost the words to say it, or maybe he didn't have very nice things to say in the first place. "I thought it would be easier to focus on your recovery if you weren't aware of how far Arlecchino was delving into your private life. I didn't—" 

When you look up, you see a man with a look in his eyes like a kicked puppy, the visible distress you're in like a kick to his gut. He realises everything he's done to contribute to you ending up this way. You need him, truly, more than anything right now.

"You want to divorce me now, don't you?"

What possessed you to say that is far beyond both of you, but it's not any kind of accusation. It's just a question.

"No?" Still, he seems to think that's absurd; the look on his face is nothing short of pure confusion, like you just said the most ridiculous thing he's heard, and you had. "Why would I— No, I don't want a divorce."

"Then why are you avoiding me so much?" You shrink in your place, making yourself small as you were that night, and it raises the same pity in him that he felt then. "Why won't you talk to me? Why aren't you ever home?"

He is terrified. He is terrified to be close to you, even when he knows you need him.

A voice in his head asks what if you're still tricking him? What if this is only an act to gain his sympathy? He knows it's not, but the feeling, the paranoia, rings so clearly in his head he struggles to see you on the verge of tears. He doesn't want to trust you yet, even though he knows any comrades you had on either side are long dead. Even Arlecchino corroborated your story to some degree; she had yet to confirm the rest. So far, however, you were being liberated of any fault piece by piece. So why? Why does he feel so anxious about allowing you back into his home?

You live there; your entire life is in that house. He has built his everything up here, you by his side. It was hard to imagine that a singular mission gone south could cause this amount of damage. Yet, you are curled up in his chair while he stands beside it, taking your bandaged hand to squeeze it tightly and reassure you. He wants so desperately to believe that you told the truth. The nagging voice in the back of his mind constantly pushes the idea that you lied, trying to convince him your words didn't make sense. Everything makes sense. Arlecchino would not lie about that.

On the other hand, you've got such horrible anxiety, unlike the silly little thoughts you had before. It's not about whether Pantalone likes the flowers you get him or prefers silver jewellery or gold. It is about whether or not he secretly plans to divorce you. Your failure and the worry you caused him weigh heavy on your mind, all boiling down into one conclusion. You have caused him nothing but grief for what? A month now? Probably more than that. Who's to say you weren't a bother to him before the mission? What if you've always been a bother, and this is just his excuse to justify it?

That would explain why he pulled away so suddenly. Maybe it is about the flowers and the jewellery, perhaps he preferred flowers your money couldn't buy. You know he's not that materialistic, but it's the only way you can make sense of it. Maybe, for a Harbinger, you will never be enough. Perhaps he expected you would have taken Tartaglia's place as Eleventh before he got the chance. You were content and happy as a measly Captain under Pantalone's sector and never seemed to strive for more. You thought that would take your time away from him, but you also didn't want more than you needed. Were you meant to strive for more than that? Is that it?

Your deliberations are only working you up more, the opposite of what he warned you not to do. The tears start rolling down your cheeks again, warm and unable to be stopped by simply wiping them away as more only take their place. Maybe Pantalone doesn't want a crybaby for a husband. Then what? You would still be failing him even now.

You hiccup your sobs out for a moment, trying to force yourself to breathe so that you'll calm down. "I want you to tell me why you've been avoiding me and why you keep leaving so early and coming home so late." You quickly wipe your tears once again, the roughness of the bandages binding your hand quite unpleasant against your eyes. "Can we just talk? A-And be honest with each other like we promised we would."

Your pleas do not fall on deaf ears. Pantalone wants to listen to everything you have to say and tell you everything as long as you're willing to be as honest as you say you will be. He has faith you will, even with the voice that tells him you won't. If Pantalone never hears you out, then it doesn't matter how much truth you speak, as nothing will save your marriage from him refusing to believe it. If he wants to mend this as you seem to, he has to do his part. It should've been obvious it would be difficult after the heights of emotions you both experienced in a few days. 

The two of you must work through this eventually, preferably sooner rather than later.

"We'll talk for as long as necessary, my darling, and be as honest as possible with each other." Pantalone takes your other hand and brings it to his hands, warm and soft against your skin — just that much puts you at ease. One of his hands brushes your hair from your face and wipes your cheeks, a gentle, affectionate motion that is not lost on you. 

A man that did not want to be married to you would not be so tender toward you, would he? He would be cruel and taunting in your weakest moments. Pantalone is not sympathetic towards those he does not care about, and his idea of feigning it is vaguely veiled mocking. This is different — it's genuine. You nod in agreement.

"I don't want it to end," your words mumbles as you try to keep yourself together, "I don't want to break up over this."

"We won't," his reassurance comes hastily but is not insincere in the slightest, "we'll work through this. I promise we'll talk about it."

With confidence, you can't say everything you both have to say will be said, but you know that you intend to try to get as much as possible out. If that's all you can manage for a day, then that amount of progress is better than none. It's better than pushing and pulling forever; that is enough for you to know it will be alright.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3