#and it was just her moping to her partner the whole time about her appearance LOL

[baylardian-1]

My MLP OC, Crane! Her Changeling name is Spinneret but she prefers to go by Crane.

She's a Changeling hybrid. Her past is a mystery, she likes to lie and dare I say SPIN WEBS about her story all the time. She tends to disguise herself as a Kirin and sleep around, feeding on ponies' short-lived affection for her 'cuz she's PRETTY lol. She hates her natural appearance and thinks that no one could love her or look at her the same way they do when she's wearing a disguise. Her need to feed on love isn't as strong as a pureblooded Changeling, but I imagine some part of why she still feels the need probably involves her ability to change forms. At the end of the day she's VERY self conscious AAAAAAND a hopeless romantic who thinks she is unworthy of love. :)

[amrv-5]

I was hoping you'd play this game! for beejhawk: B, D, I, W

HELLO HELEN yaaay these are all so so so good thank you so much!!!!! and . I went on about them at extremely excessive length SORRY ABOUT THAT. answers below the cut:

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Sighhhh. You got me good with this one. I think they're both so insane about each other it's difficult to narrow down. Re: himself, I think BJ is pretty confident in his legs. (My take on) Beej is a runner, and I think Hawkeye is enough of a leg appreciator it'd make him feel even better about them.

For a favorite part of Hawk, I think BJ'd be hard-pressed to pick. Like, it's Hawk? He's literally Hawk. He's all amazing all over. But shoulders may win out by a very narrow margin--Hawk's awfully broad, and the straight-up breadth of his frame I think is a shorthand for a lot of other things BJ would be into, i.e. his masculinity, contrast with some of the softer/prettier aspects of Hawk, etc.

(My take on) Hawk I think, despite all of his confidence and showboating irt sexual prowess and thinking he's awful cute, might actually be a little uncertain about himself in the looks department. Like, he thinks of himself more as a force of personality and fun and charm and skill than an embodied appearance-having thing. Though he can get vain on occasion, he's complex, he contains multitudes. Anyway that's a lot of meta to say I think he'd probably be partial to, like, his hands or hair: something skill-based and dextrous or something he gets to style and determine for himself. I also think it hits him kind of hard when he starts greying in Korea, because, damn, well, there goes something he liked about and chose for himself spiralling out of his control again.

And for a favorite part of Beej, similar to above it's basically impossible to pick but I do think he's a leg guy. Long, lean, tall BJ--he likes being an inch shorter, too, I think.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Dirty secret for each:

BJ's dirty secret (this is all S2G2 verse I'm realizing, actually, sorry) is, like, he definitely used to get himself off to Hawkeye even before he had any realizations about his sexuality. He was probably weirdly possessive and jealous about Hawkeye going off with nurses. He'd just lie in the Swamp seething because He Had Plans With Hawkeye They Were Going to Play Chess (or something) and then he'd get to thinking and brooding over (as he so often does in canon) what exactly is going on outside his sightline. Sleepless and thinking, like, 'probably Hawkeye is leaning in and kissing her... maybe she's shy so he's pretending like he's a gentlemen (That Hussy) and taking it slow, licking into her mouth, one of those big surgeon's hands running up the back of her thigh' and then he's bringing himself off and he's not sure if he's angry or turned on or who, even, he's thinking about, but then of course he's rationalized it away into nothing by the morning. If he ever tells Hawkeye in the future, Hawkeye would laugh at him and also consider it just shatteringly romantic.

Hawkeye's dirty secret I think might be that for all his sex-positivity, he's got some kinks he's worried about indulging or admitting to. Breeding kink, for one, despite all his jokes about it. That's a whole lot of complex emotionality, intimacy, commitment, etc. to bring into the bedroom all at once. That, or it's something small like he didn't have sex until he was like 22. Bit of a statistically late bloomer, especially for the time and for his canonical levels of preoccupation, but he bloomed enthusiastically. And/or one time in college he had a particularly frustrating week and jacked off so frequently he gave himself a friction burn and had to mope around with salve on. Etc. BJ would find all of these probably embarrassingly hot, even the JO injury (he thinks desperate enthusiasm is appealing). I also think he'd probably be into a first-time roleplay scenario with Hawkeye doing a blushing inexperienced be-gentle-with-me bit. If I'm being real.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...) 

Answered here, but I'll speak a little more on the romance aspect, in that I think once they get together the center of all of their interactions is just that they genuinely really like each other. There's a really tangible fondness, love, respect, comfort in everything they do, and that obviously extends to intimacy. They just really like each other, and that's suffusive through everything! Leads to so much trust and care in the bedroom.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Beejhawk headcanon: switchy as hell in everything. I mean literally as in they're both open to topping/bottoming, if they ever play with dom/sub stuff they'd both like both roles, and I think with only a few exceptions they'd have fun switching off in kink scenarios. They both understand each other well, I think, and that level of intimacy and empathy would go a long ways towards getting the other on board from both points of view. Like, I think (no surprises from any of my work here lol) that BJ has a thing for getting to play a caretaking or providing role. But I think Hawkeye would get off just as much on turning the tables on BJ and letting him be the center of attention.

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Merry Christmas and happy new year!

I love your work so much! I'd love to know though what happened afterwards once alastors s/o left him? I actually dislike angel as a character which is a very unpopular opinion but I just dont like the spider so I'd love to see what if the s/o ran into angel after finding out about alastors one night cheating ?

Personally hate the ship of alastor with angel too since it's very far fetched and just the two are not in my eyes at all compatible lol I adore alastor as a character and think he deserves a partner that is as insane as him.

Run In

this is a sequel to Darling, Please... so read that before this one.

A month.

One. Single. Month. since you'd left Alastor.

Youd spent that time with your sister. Mostly feeling sorry for yourself and randomly bursting into tears every time you saw something that reminded you of Alastor.

Your loving sister, sick of seeing you just sitting around, moping all the time decided to take you out of the house.

So, with you refusing any clubs, she took you to her favourite cafe.

It was a nice little place in Pentagrams upper district, the place being very fancy. And by fancy, I mean it was actually clean, which in Hell, more or less means it's either expensive or you've found a one in a hundred restaurant owner.

And upon arrival, you realised why she picked this Cafe in particular.

The whole place was staffed with rather attractive and hunky guys.

There being a guy to match any bodies type, whether it be big and strong or lean and pretty, they seemed to have them on payroll.

Youd both order something, the staff being ever so flirty with your sister, your sister flirting right back.

It was clear your sister was a regular, calling multiple guys by there names, despite the lack of name tags.

And while you had a good laugh at how they flirted and played, that pleasant feeling quickly soured when your sis introduced you as 'recently single'.

Your maturer side knew she was just trying to help.

But it still stung.

Your sis noticed your mood shift, quickly apologising, you just telling her it was fine.

You sat there, sulking for a while until your sis reminded you of a time when you were kids, telling a story of how you'd had a huge fight. And as children do, you took it too far.

Your sis pushing you into the pool, and since you couldn't swim at the time, It almost killed you.

She remembered being so scared as she pulled you out, So positive you'd hate her forever.

But you forgave her, the act making her so happy and you'd been thick as thieves since.

You had some more pleasant conversations, giggling and reminiscing on your less then perfect lives.

It would be as you were reminiscing over your first boyfriend, remembering how he'd cheated on you, and youd cried and cried and cried, she being the only person that was there for you.

It was a bitter sweet memory.

But before you could move to a new subject, a familiar voice reached your ear.

And you froze.

Looking around you found Angel Dust practically climbing over the counter, leering at the barista with that smug little grin he always seemed to be sporting.

You clammed up in an instant, turning back to your sis, you just sat there. Your mind was going haywire, unable to think as a million emotions exploded in your chest.

Your sis noticed this instantly and quickly tried to figure out what was wrong. But before she could do anything, Angel appeared next to you.

The spider felt like a behemoth as he towered over you, you just sat there. Clenching your jaw.

Squeezing your cup so hard you feared you'd break it.

Not knowing what to do.

The spider took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke at you before he began his taunt.

"Well, Well, Well..." he began, shit eating grin stretched across his face. "Looky what we's got 'ere." His words utterly dripped with smugness. "Decided to get out and about since old Red Daddy left, aye?"

His words infuriated you more then you knew words could.

Youd only met Angel a few times, each of them being when visiting Alastor at the Happy hotel.

The 'effeminate fellow', as Alastor would call him, seemed to instantly sour to you upon finding out you and Alastor were together.

The demon was seemingly jealous Alastor chose you despite Angel's inherent superior sex appeal.

And you suppose he got what he wanted.

Angel taunted you some more before your Sister got up, clearly ready to fight the six armed shmuck.

Before she could however, you quickly stood up, grabbing her arm you began to drag her out, practically begging to to just leave with you.

However, just as you made for the door, Angel called out.

"Yeah go on, leave. Just like how ya boytoy left you... for me~"

That made you stop.

---

Alastor was barely holding it together.

He was a sombre, dishevelled mess, all the time. So much so, he couldn't even revel in the misery of others.

Although that was something he'd sparingly done since meeting you.

You werent fond of such behaviour, and over time, Alastor wasn't either, the demon seeming to lose his blood-lust.

But now he'd give all the chaos and misery to just see you again. To hold tou close, one more time.

Youd made him a better man. Or rather, better demon.

Something he never thought he'd say.

The radio inclined demon strolled down the street. Mostly aimless.

He would spend the time thinking on ways to win you back, but he'd already spent weeks thinking up enough plots to fill up several textbooks, and at this point, thinking about that stuff just made his heart hurt.

So there he was, walking, desperate for something to take his mind from his aching heart.

And it would be as he passed a small Cafe that he'd freeze.

Through the window.

Sat in a booth.

It was you.

Alastors heart skipped a beat at the sight of your smiling face. He felt joy bubble in his chest at the mere sight of you.

Oh what he'd do to have you look at him like that.

He stared at you, mind a mess, when he saw you pause.

He spied the towering figure of Angel beside you and almost had a heart attack.

He had no idea of what to do, again, an expression he never thought he'd say.

But he knew what Angel was like. The spider was likely pulling at every nerve in your body.

Should he do something?

If he barged in there he was sure it would likely end up terribly.

He couldn't just stand there and let Angel make you suffer.

He caught a glimpse of you as you passed another window, but suddenly, you stopped.

Before he couldnt make a decision, too fearful of causing even more suffering.

However, before he could think too long, you got up to leave, taking your sister with you.

In the blink on an eye, he saw you turn and pounce at Angel, the two of you zipping between the windows.

It took him to moment to process everything, but he quickly realised what was happening, realising he had to do something, NOW!

"Come on 'lil bro! Fuck him up!"

Charging across the street he entered the Cafe. Hearing the chime on the door, he found your sister cheering you on, the woman screaming profanities.

And upon stepping past her, he found you. You were pinning Angel to the floor, strangling the arachnid.

Despite Angel notable size advantage, and undoubtedly being more experienced in a physical fight, the Spider demon was clearly on the losing end of the tussle.

And upon looking at you, he saw why.

You looked feral.

Hair a mess. Your beautiful lips curled into a feral scowl, and an absolutely crazed look in your eyes.

Honestly, if he'd seen this look a few months ago, he likely would have found it increadibly attractive. But in the current day, he couldn't help but find the sight deeply disturbing.

And that's coming from the Radio Demon.

Youd strangled the spider for a solid twenty seconds before the spider managed to slipp a knife from his jacket, the glint of the blade catching his attention.

Just before he could impale you however, Alastor stepped in. Restraining the arm, and telling you both that that was enough.

You stumbled off the spider, realising you could have just been killed.

After a moment, looking up at him, you stormed out of the building in kind, leaving the building without so much as a word.

Angel got up, coughing and sputtering, taking in deep breaths.

He tried to start threatening you, yelling profanities. But Alastor quickly stepped in, and as threatening as possible, told him to go back to the hotel, throwing him to the floor.

The spider just angrily got to his feet, storming out of the Cafe.

Alastor followed after, moving your sister to the side without thought when she'd tried to stop him.

He followed your rapid pace wdown the street with his own, asking you several times to 'please, stop'.

Eventually you, after hearing him beg for the last block you spun around, tears staining your face. And began yelling at him.

"Why?!" You shouted at him, shoving him back.

But despite his moving back, you followed close behind, screaming out "Why?!" As you repeatedly shoved him.

"Why did you have to be like every other asshole?! Why couldnt you have just been special? Stayed sweet and loyal. Sing your fucking ancient show tunes and dancing like an old man! Why did you have to ruin EVERYTHING?!"

You screamed it all, battering his chest.

By the end you were a sobbing mess, barely staying upright.

You stood there, shaking, furiously wiping away angry tears, when suddenly you heard it.

Sniffling.

Looking up, you found Alastor tearing up. The sight leaving you in shock.

Youd seen alastor in many emotional states, happy and sad. But for him to openly show such emotion, and a negative one at that. That was a shock.

Wiping his eyes, he told you. "I'm sorry (Y/N)... I'm so... So sorry."

Emotions were growing thick in his voice, this being the first time you'd ever really seen him break down.

The words sounded so alien out of his mouth, the man clearly spiralling.

"I wish I had an answer, but I don't." He told you, voice fluctuating, thick with emotion.

"I wish I could tell you why I ruined everything. Why I betrayed you. Why I'm such a stupid piece of shit."

"But I don't."

Alastor reached out, you being to shocked to pull back as he grabbed your hand in his own.

"I'm so, so sorry. I wish I could change it. And if I could take it all back, I would. I would in a heartbeat."

"Life isn't worth living if your not a part of it. And I'm asking. NO! Begging you, (Y/N)... Please, give me another chance. Please, give me a chance to earn your trust. To earn forgiveness... Please my beloved. I do not know if I can live without you."

He fell to his knees, desperately clutching your hand in his own.

"Because I've realised in this past month, being without you... It's unbearable." He wiped his eyes, looking up at you and you were shock at the genuine, unfiltered emotions he was showing.

You stared down at this man.

One of the most powerful demons in Hell, as he kneeled before you, emotionally begging for forgiveness.

Forgiveness... the idea was almost laughable, especially coming from Alastor.

And standing there, you practically held his heart in your hands.

I suppose the question is.

And with all his faults.

All his sins.

And everything he'd done to you.

Would you forgive him?

Boom, I hope you enjoyed the last piece in my 'cheater Alastor series". I left it up to the reader to decide whether or not to give him another chance.

And I'd love to hear what you'd do, so leave a comment and tell me. Thank all so much for reading and I hope you enjoy.

[sturchling]

Adrien salt where Adrien tries to date a girl he thinks is Ladybug, but she's already dating someone and honestly doesn't like Adrien since he keeps pulling the poor little rich boy act. Adrien doesn't give up and it gets him in trouble.

Adrien was practically vibrating with excitement. Today was the day. Today was the day he would ask his lady out on a date as civilians. He had been working for weeks to determine who her civilian identity was. Adrien was sure that would prove to his lady that his affections were genuine. It had taken several weeks, but he was sure he had figured it out.

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

He had spent weeks pouring over security camera footage surrounding akuma attacks, and any students in the city that had unexplained absences or were frequently late. At first he didn’t see anything, and began to feel like it was pointless. Then Adrien noticed the same girl showed up on different security cameras around the city, near where Ladybug had just disappeared to detransform. 

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

At first Adrien thought it had to be a coincidence, this girl didn’t look  like Ladybug. Sure, her hair and eyes were the same color, but her hair was much longer. And she was more tan then Ladybug. But the more times she appeared on camera, the more Adrien was sure. After all, his miraculous makes his eyes completely green, who is to say the miraculous couldn’t shorten his lady’s hair and make her more pale. This had to be her. Adrien was sure. Plagg kept trying to talk him out of it, but Adrien was sure that Plagg was just trying to keep the secret. But it wouldn’t matter soon, once Adrien and his lady were dating, they would deal with whatever consequences came from knowing each other’s identities. He was sure their love could overcome anything.

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

After a little more research, he found that the girl from the security cameras attended his school, and even used to be in Mrs. Bustier’s class before she transferred to Mrs. Mendeleiev’s class. Now it all made sense why Ladybug’s kwami had been at his school, Ladybug herself went to his school. That even explained why the kwami had been in Mrs. Mendeleiev’s classroom, because that is Ladybug’s classroom. Everything made perfect sense now. This girl had to be Ladybug, it was the only thing that made sense. 

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

The only problem now was during his research, Adrien found out that this girl, who he learned is named Chantelle, is already dating someone. Of course Ladybug had told Adrien that she was already in love with someone else. But Adrien believed that she had said that to try and keep them from knowing each other outside the mask. Once Chantelle knew the lengths he had gone to prove his love, and that he already knew her civilian identity, she would leave her boyfriend and then they could finally be together.

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

Sure in his plan, despite Plagg’s best efforts to convince him otherwise, Adrien left for school, excited to profess his love to his lady. He got to school early, hoping to find his lady alone. He got lucky and found her in the library, reading. He walked up behind her, and said, “Good morning my lady.” Chantelle whipped around to face him, looking confused. “What did you say?” Adrien smirked, “I said, good morning my lady.” Chantelle rolled her eyes and turned back to her book. “I am not your lady. I’m not your anything.” Adrien hesitated a moment, before reassuring himself that his lady was just playing hard to get, and wanted to pretend at still have a secret identity. If that is what she wanted, he would play along.

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

Adrien switched gears, putting away his Chat persona for now. He and his lady could discuss their identities another time. All that mattered is that he made her his girlfriend. “I just wanted to tell you that I like you a lot and would love to take you out sometime.” Chantelle stood up, gathering her things since the late bell had just rung. She was just going to reject him as nice as she could and then leave. “Look, your Adrien right? While I am flattered, like I said, I’m taken. And while I’m flattered, I don’t feel the same way. All I ever see or hear you do is mope about how your father doesn’t treat you well. And while I feel bad for you, I don’t like this poor little rich boy act you do. So, sorry, but I don’t like you the same way. I have to go, I’m late for class.” Chantelle leaves the library in a rush, and Adrien is left standing there wondering what had gone wrong.

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

By the end of the day, Adrien was frustrated. He understood her wanting to keep identities a secret, and had even played along. But she still rejected him. Surely she could feel that they were destined to be together. Why didn’t she react to his confession the way she was supposed to? She must have thought that Adrien wasn’t serious. That he was just being Chat and playing around. But Adrien would show her she was wrong. He would prove his love. No matter what it took, she would be his.

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

The next several weeks, Adrien would constantly try to contact Chantelle. He had found out her phone number, and her email. He texted and emailed her constantly. And he still tried to talk to her during school. But Chantelle continued to play hard to get and wouldn’t give him the time of day. She even had the nerve to start running from him when she saw him coming. She had even started having her friends escort her to and from school. Like she was afraid of him. But Adrien knew it was all part of the game, and she was making him prove he loved her. 

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

Adrien started to become angry. As much as he enjoyed this little game, he wished his lady would just stop with the nonsense and admit she loved him too. So he decided to prove his love as best he could. He had found out Chantelle’s home address by following her friends when they went to pick her up one morning. Adrien decided to send her a dozen roses. When Chantelle went out that morning and saw the flowers, she initially hoped they were from her boyfriend, trying to cheer her up. But deep down she knew they weren’t. The note on the flowers simply said, I hope these flowers prove how much I love you. I will never give up on you my lady. - Adrien. Chantelle was horrified that Adrien had found out where she lived. She slammed the door shut, and locked it with shaking hands. She started to panic at the realization that Adrien was truly stalking her and wouldn’t stop. Then an eerie calmness washed over her and a soothing voice introduced itself as Hawkmoth.

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

Adrien arrived at the akuma fight slightly late, but was happy to see his lady. Surely after his gift this morning, she would be willing to speak with him after the battle. The akuma was a girl scared of a stalker. They quickly deakumatized her and Adrien was shocked to see Chantelle sitting there. Ladybug offered to help her with the stalker and Chantelle instantly burst into tears and explained the whole situation to Ladybug. Marinette was shocked to hear what Adrien had been doing to this girl, it didn’t seem like him at all. But this girl was obviously scared, so she knew something had happened. And when Chantelle mentioned that Adrien kept calling her my lady, Marinette felt the pit in her stomach grow as she realized that Adrien and Chat Noir were one and the same. She turned to face her partner, who was still staring at Chantelle in shock.

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

Adrien was standing in shock, just staring at Chantelle. She isn’t Ladybug? She had to be! It was the only thing that made sense. Adrien was so shocked, he didn’t notice Ladybug approach him and remove his ring. The transformation dropped, revealing himself to everyone watching. He turned to Ladybug, “Why did you take my ring!?” Ladybug glared at him, speaking in a cold tone. “After what you did to her, you don’t deserve this ring.” Adrien desperately tried to plead his case. “Please, I thought she was you! I was just trying to prove my love. I didn’t mean to betray you!” Ladybug’s glare somehow became colder. “That isn’t the issue. The issue is you have been stalking this girl for weeks and terrifying her. Someone who does that isn’t worthy of a miraculous.” Ladybug signaled to officer Roger, who had been observing the scene for a while and heard everything, for him to come over. Officer Roger placed Adrien under arrest for stalking and took him down to the station. The whole way to the car, Adrien pleaded with Ladybug to reconsider and to help him, but she just turned away from him. As Adrien sat in the police car, he wondered how things could have gone so wrong. 

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Can I ask what it would be like for Solsu having to take care of drunk romanced companions? Bonus points if they're told about their shenanigans afterword.

Cait:

(Angry drunk)

•It's best that you don't drink in polite company with her. She's already a feisty individual with a burning passion for inflicting pain, you make her drunk and it's only a matter of time before she incites some horrible fight.

•Sounds funny, but it's really not. Reign her back. Please.

Curie:

.......you aren't really gonna let her drink, right? I highly advise you don't....

Danse:

(Horny drunk 👀)

•Danse hardly ever partakes in more than a couple glasses with company and this is exactly why.

•At first it all starts off nice and smooth, just Danse beginning to gradually relax- which is "outstanding" considering his usual rigid disposition. However once that fine line of too many drinks have been crossed, all hell breaks loose.

•It'll start with comments on your appearance, simple incessant "you look beautiful"s spoken with dazed eyes...then it escalates to Danse pulling you into his lap where you're met with his obvious "intentions" prodding you in the ass, all while being held in a bear hug from a blushing, smiling Paladin who happens to look like a kicked puppy when you make him calm down with a drink of water. Don't worry, he might mope but he'll quit if you tell him to.

•Perks back up when you tell him it's time to go to bed...only to mope even more when he realizes that no, it isn't for sexy times. No worries, he'll be happy so long as you let him hold you..

•Is absolutely ashamed and horrified of his behavior when he wakes up and you tell him what went down. Probably will hide his face in his pillows and try to disappear. Swears he won’t drink again and make a fool of himself like that….will totally drink some more.

•Just be lucky he wasn’t feeling melancholic like a post BB Danse would.

Deacon:

(Stupid drunk..)

•Ever seen that one video of that guy busting through drywall like Kool-Aid Man? That's Deacon's level of maturity when properly intoxicated.

•No worries, Desdemona is going to bitch at him from the time he does something too stupid until he isn't even drunk anymore. Frankly, he deserves it too- he's destructive, reckless, and...well..hilarious, but that doesn't mean it's redeemable!

•He seems to perfectly remember all his antics, some he even reflects upon with a proud grin..until his hangover ends up making him wince in pain. Just...take care of him, there isn't any point in trying to scold him. Des has that covered anyways.

Gage:

(Emotional drunk)

•A drunk gage was both extremely rare because of his genuine hate for alcohol and also very shocking. Sure, one may assume that someone so rugged and tough like a raider- especially Gage- would have no issue handling his liquor....oh how wrong you could be...

•You weren't entirely sure what happened, much less where he got the idea, but somehow Gage got the absurd notion that you decided he wasn't good enough for you and you were going to just leave him behind. He'd keep it in for a while, slowly growing more quiet as he took practical gulps of his drink. That doesn't last.

•Eventually he starts to cry, silent tears pouring from his good eye. Whenever you actually notice, it's too late. Just pray no one else is around when this next part happens.

•All it takes is you coming to his side, placing a comforting hand on his back and he crumbles. He'll grab you and push his face into your chest and start sobbing, wailing incoherently as he begs you to not leave him.

•It might seem humorous, but it raised several questions.

•The morning after his outburst, you wake up extra early to present him with a half way decent breakfast in bed- extra grease on the food for good measure. Once he seems to be more coherent, you make sure to talk to him about his apparent fear of you not loving him...which brings him close to tears once again whenever you finally convince him that you do in fact love him and won't ever leave his side so long as he loves you back.

Hancock:

(Stealthy drunk)

•Unfortunately, the mayor of Goodneighbor doesn't really have any fun antics..well at least any that would point to him being intoxicated. Sorry.

Macready:

(Over indulging drunk)

•Mac is arguably the best one to get shit faced with, especially if you like drugs and food. Oh yeah, something about eating while intoxicated is irresistible to him. Think of it like munchies, but in Mac's case, five times as bad.

• After a couple drinks, Mac nonchalantly will reach into his pocket- gesturing for you to come close- before putting a cigarette in your mouth and lighting up- using your's to light his own. If you don't set a stopping point, the two of you will wake up down two packs, several empty containers of jet, and crumbs everywhere.

•When faced with the consequences of his gluttony, Mac will just sit there and whine as his stomach does cartwheels. That's punishment enough...

Maxson:

(Mr. Vomits-a-lot drunk)

•It takes a whole hell of a lot for Maxson to get shitfaced thanks to his rather strict habitual drinking. After all, it would be a strange day if you didn't see him knock a bottle of whisky out before finally turning in..which was kind of sad come to think of it..

•Nonetheless, he does occasionally push his limits when he's especially stressed and it's never pleasant when he does.

•It was sort of funny, in retrospect. One minute you and him were sitting on the flight deck together, casually talking whilst finishing off a bottle of shitty vodka (unknowing that he had already burned through countless bottles before meeting you) when suddenly Arthur started to look pale. It just kept getting worse until eventually he was frantically motioning for you to follow him as he ran to the railings, sticking his head over before throwing up whatever was on his stomach..sending it to a several hundred foot drop below.

•It's a good thing you held him, otherwise the brotherhood might've been short an elder and you short a partner.

•When confronted with his..let's say "overindulgence", he'll sort of look away and try to change the subject. It's probably best if you try to hide liquor for a while. 

Nick:

(Doesn't drink....)

Old Longfellow:

With his age and experience? He's the same as Hancock.

Piper:

(Daredevil drunk)

•Hope you're sober, because if you aren't- there's a good chance you'll be spending the night in Diamond City Jail.

•Piper is reckless on a good day, putting alcohol with that in mass quantities and she's wild. Just hope you have strong will, because she sure as shit isn't going to back down easy.

•It's kind of funny, but her go to is to do crazy shit. Jump off the roof? Hold her cup. Want to vandalize the great green wall? Fuck yeah. Nothing beats the time she wasn't careful and threw a lit cigarette down Ann Codman's cleavage during a heated argument with her.

•She has no regrets either, so don't expect her to be remorseful in the morning whenever you tell her what she did. If anything, she'll just laugh next time she sees Ann.

Preston:

(Over thinking drunk)

•If it wasn't lowkey annoying, you'd probably think Preston's drunken neuroticism was hilarious. Not to be gotten wrong, but even sober, your love could be extremely insistent..mix his anxious attitude with liquor and you end up with a terrible night.

•You knew better than to let him have more than a couple beers, seeing as his tolerance wasn't exactly the best, and yet here you were. Preston pensively sitting at the bar beside you, rich eyes narrowed and focused on the liquid in his glass- his hands resting against his head.

•"I know you're dying to ask...." "Okay babe, since you brought it up...do you think putting electrical wire around our people's settlements would be a bad idea? It might closely resemble a prison but it's for their own good. Wait- shit, what about the kids? Oh god..."

•He may just sheepishly rub the back of his head and apologize in the morning..but he'll be quick to revisit some of the key points and ideas with you if you so much as give him a chance.

X6-88:

(Ridiculous drunk)

•It was only one time..thankfully.

•You, and your whole group of friends had to convince him to try it out- but once he started, he couldn't stop.

•This asshole would throw down drinks faster than Hancock..which was terrible considering his painfully low tolerance to alcohol.

•One thing goes to another and next thing you know, "The Wanderer" is playing in the background, X is singing and dancing like an idiot, and everyone is gathered around- terrified at what they were seeing. It's sort of like seeing a deathclaw do ballet- so, totally understandable.

•He dares you to bring it up later, dares you.

[lemonjoonah]

Wrapped Together (M)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Word Count: 18K Rating: M Genre: Christmas AU, Romance, Drama  Warnings: Protected sex, oral (m. rec.), referenced illness/death of parent, swearing, classism. Summary: Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, to self-preserve and endure what will no doubt be the worst Christmas of your life, you are still roped into volunteering for the hospital's annual gift wrap fundraiser. The enticing factor that lured you out? The promise of a new shift partner, Kim Namjoon. Though your first day together starts off with a slight miscalculation of his skills for wrapping, he soon becomes your essential ally in the fight to get through this lonely holiday season.

| Secret Santa Collab | My Masterlist |

A/N: A big thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ for asking me to join her Secret Santa Christmas Collab, this was my first collab ever and I absolutely loved it. And of course to my beta readers @m00nchild-shi​ and @ladyartemesia​ thank you for helping me gain the courage to post this. I hope that this fic is able to bring a bit of comfort to those celebrating the holidays a little differently this year, so please enjoy!

...

-5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Amidst the chatter of the office, a dull rumble reaches your ears and vibrates the desk beneath your fingers, waking you from the repetitive haze of your hundredth call report. The moment of confusion switches to frantic action when your brain finally catches on and recognizes it as your own personal phone. Scurrying through your purse, you nab it just in time, but after checking the caller ID you desperately wish you hadn’t. 

You knew this call was coming, you’ve dreaded it since you felt the first freezing snowflake on the tip of your nose, when you heard the first carol blaring over the radio, and saw the first tacky inflatable gracing a lawn on your street. It happens every year, like clockwork, though this will be the first time she’ll be enlisting one and not two. Unable to put off the dreaded moment any longer, you answer, accepting that if you rip the band-aid off now and decline her invitation to join the wrapping fundraiser, it’ll be one less uncomfortable moment later. 

“Aunt Emma, hey it’s been awhile.” She’s not exactly your aunt, but you’ve known her ever since you and your mother settled down here ten years ago. With little other family nearby she was one of the few you and your mom could always count on. Making your task to turn her down all the more difficult now.

“My dear, how are you holding up? I’m so sorry to do this but I'm calling with some rather unfortunate news.”

“Oh?” You exclaim, careful not to sound too hopeful that you might be free of your heavy burden.

“Yes, well it’s regarding the wrapping fundraiser. I wanted to put you on the same shifts as myself or Maria. I didn’t want to have you alone, since, well, you know... but there are so many rookie volunteers this year. And with you being part of the organization for so long, I was hoping you work with one of them instead for the evening shifts? It’ll just be you and him, do you think you could manage it?”

“I-I uh...” Now this is something you had not expected. You spent the past few weeks worrying about how you might have to work side by side with pitying glances, condolences, and referenced scripture from the usual staff. Any thoughts and prayers for your loss would likely turn you into a pool of tears. Not something you want to happen in public, or private for that matter, but if you are partnered with a newcomer, one who knows nothing of your past, maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “I can do that.”

“I knew you could! I’ll put you down for the weekday evenings from the seventh up to Christmas. You’re off work at four, right? I’ll send you more details later, but do you want me to be there to introduce you to the other volunteer?”

“No!” You blurt out, insisting in a volume far louder than necessary, but you can’t risk her acting on the offer. Introductions when done by Emma are dicey at best, with one solid breath she has the capacity to share every bit of your sad history, leaving you exactly where you’d rather not be. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. No need to put yourself out like that, you can just tell me their name now and save yourself the trip.” 

“Thank you dear, always so considerate. One second let me just grab that for you...” She pauses on the phone line, as you look around your office in worry, not wanting to get in trouble for taking a personal call on the clock. “Ah here it is. You’ll be working with Kim Namjoon...” 

...

-Less than 3 Weeks Until Christmas-

After finishing work you head off to the mall for your first day on wrapping duty. It should be a relatively quiet night, since the majority of the crowd typically disperses at this time, heading home to be with families for dinner. Your own sits in a paper bag on the passenger seat of your car. A solitary meal as you battle the rush hour traffic. Finishing off the last of the salted fries with a lick of your fingers while you secure a parking spot. 

Flipping down your visor you scoff when confronted with your appearance, your makeup melted off thanks to the struggles of your earlier shift. You dab and blend a fresh blot of concealer on the dark bags beneath your eyes, determined to erase any evidence of your doleful days and sleepless nights. 

The rented store space is already set up, with a long table propped up right at the entrance. Dressed with a variety of paper and ribbon and looking particularly festive. The other volunteers give you a brief greeting and run down before they leave and pass the duties off to you. With them gone you take a seat, looking down at the selection you have to offer this year, trying with all your might not to focus on the empty chair beside you, one that is usually fill by your-

“Hi, sorry I’m late...” Your gaze flicks up from the table, startled to find a giant of a man. Greeting you with a smile warm enough to melt your frozen expression. 

“H-hi,” You stutter out, staring at his handsome face framed with light brown locks, feeling as though you’ve seen it before, but can’t quite place where. “You must be Namjoon?” You ask, running through the list of actors and singers in your mind but coming up empty on who he reminds you of.

He nods, before confirming your name too, and launching into the reason behind his tardiness. “The traffic was not in my favour today.” He gestures to the table and the vacant seat behind it. “May I?” 

“Of course.” You quickly scoot the folding table over so he can slip by the barrier that separates you from the mall. He takes off his coat to reveal a whole suit beneath, though he soon disposes of the jacket and tie too. You try not to gulp as he rolls up his sleeves in front of you, his arms flexing as they reveal themselves. 

“Pretty quiet?” He asks looking around the mall. 

“It usually is around now, give it an hour or two.”

“Have you been doing this long?”

“A few years...” You mumble, not wanting to dive too deep in that well, you quickly turn to pin the question on him instead. “What prompted you to volunteer? Did Emma enlist you during her recruiting effort?”  

“She did, I found her posting the flyer at my workplace.” Namjoon chuckles. “But I’ve seen you all set up here before, and since my usual Christmas plans with my family have changed, I thought I’d join you all instead.”

“Oh, so you’re not spending Christmas with them?” 

“No, they’ve gone to visit my sister and her family in her city this year. I unfortunately have a few work commitments I can’t get out of to make the trip in time, but rather than just mope about at home I thought I might be of some use.” Namjoon smiles again, his fingers folding the corner of the wrapping paper in front of him. “What about you, any plans?”

“No, I usually spend it with my mom, but she won’t be with me this year...” Or any year going forward, you consider while you give him a weak smile. She was the very reason you joined this organization all those years ago, when Aunt Emma was making her rounds and signing up everyone she could at the hospital, you and your mother were there for an appointment, your mom offered up both of your services lending you to a tradition that would extend for years through her treatment, remission, and the final return. 

“So we're in the same boat?” 

“I guess so.” His grin is so contagious, despite the differences in your situation you can’t help but agree.

Your first client of the evening comes forward and drops a small pile of kids toys in front of you both . “Thank god you're here. If I bring these home unwrapped my kids won’t hesitate to spoil the surprise.” You divide the presents between you and Namjoon while the mother keeps talking and flicking through the different styles of paper offered. “At least if they’re wrapped I can say I saw Santa at the mall and he gave me these early. They are so hard to fool these days.” 

“I take it you’ll want the Santa stickers?” You ask pointing to a closed box behind you, hidden away from the wide and prying eyes of young children passing by. 

“Yes, thank you so much!” 

“No problem.” You assure her while putting the last piece of tape on the stack of video games. Though when you look over to check on Namjoon you find that he has barely even started. He cut off a sheet entirely too big and is attempting to fold it around the boxed animatronic pet. Your eyes stare at the state of the poor paper unable to look away from the crumpled carnage. But the shock soon turns to amusement over his determination to salvage the mangled sheet, and you find yourself biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Luckily the woman in front of you hasn’t noticed but once you're finished with yours, you reach over for the assist. 

“Here, I can take over that one. Could you do the ribbon for me?” 

 Namjoon nods opening his mouth in an embarrassed grin. He does manage to secure the strand around the package but loses the spool before he can cut it. The red ribbon rolls all the way to your foot, before you stop it with a tap on the sole of your boot. Namjoon winces, while you let out a chuckle before bending over to hand it back to him, and finish wrapping the other present. 

The attempt at a ribbon curl unfortunately goes the same as the package before it, with him completely at a loss and using the wrong edge of the scissor blade. Trying to save him you make another suggestion. “If you want you can always use the premade sticker curls.” 

Namjoon nods and places them on the two packages along with the vibrant sticker of a cartoon Claus winking as he delivers the warning, ‘Do not open ‘till Christmas, Santa’s watching.’

As you load up the presents into a bag, Namjoon takes to the cashbox, looking expectantly from the client with his dashingly dimpled grin. 

“Oh right.” She comments with an awkward smile. Opening her Gucci bag and matching wallet, the corners of her lips turning down when she rifles through several triple digit bills unable to find any smaller denomination. 

The stand is by donation only, but the implication has always been that one should compensate the fundraiser for the service provided. You can usually tell when someone intends to leave no payment at all, and unfortunately you know this act all too well. She’ll apologize and say that she has to run to the bank and get some cash, but you’ll never see her again. Namjoon, unfamiliar with this ploy, continues to give his eager smile, and to your utter shock she submits, handing him a hundred dollar bill. 

Namjoon thanks her profusely as she melts too under his gaze muttering, “Not a problem.” Before walking off clutching her now wrapped gifts. 

You look to Namjoon in disbelief while he locks the money away in the cash box. Only breaking the silence when the client is fully out of earshot. “How the hell did you do that?!”

“Do what?” He raises an eyebrow completely oblivious to what he just achieved. 

“She... she... you got her to donate, and such a large amount. How?”

“What do you mean how? People give that much all the time don’t they?”

“No, they don’t!” 

“Oh...” He gives you another of his knee weakening smiles. “Sorry I assumed, I guess I’m just used to it.” He scratches at the back of his neck looking down at the table.

“Used to it? Where on earth do you see, do you get used to, that kind of generosity?”

“Through my job I suppose?” His grin turns to a look of embarrassment. “I work in art procurement, currently under contract with the museum. I seek out collectors and convince them to donate or loan out their assets.”

It would seem that getting people to open up their wallets is practically his profession. “Well... looks like manning the cash will be the perfect job for you.” That smile of his is a dangerous weapon, and one you would be remiss not to use in the fundraiser’s efforts. Though it still leaves one question unanswered. “But I have to ask...” Your previously concealed giggling comes to the surface. “Why on earth would you volunteer for a holiday wrapping station if you don’t know how to wrap?”

A blush reaches his cheeks. “Last year when I was here... I left with far more than I was expecting, and feeling as though I should have given more. So I figured if I couldn’t be with my own family, I wanted to do this instead.” He starts habitually folding a paper scrap. “And maybe I’d learn a useful skill-”

When a streak of red is left on the paper trailing behind his finger you jump to interrupt. “Is that...”

“Fuck.” He mutters pulling his index close to examine it. “Yeah, those scissors are sharp, didn’t realize I drew blood though.”

You immediately start rummaging around in your bag. “I know I have a couple in here, one second.” You pull out a small box of bandages and peel apart the papers to reveal the adhesive.

“You carry band-aids in your purse?” Namjoon asks, with a raised brow.

“You're the one who cut their finger trying to make a ribbon curl.”

“It wasn’t a criticism, sorry I just thought it was... nice.” He holds up the injury and you're careful to wrap the strip around it.

“Yes well,” Your face heats up as you catch yourself lingering. “Try to stay away from the scissors unless absolutely necessary. I’d rather not have to make a trip to the hospital.”

“That would be counter productive wouldn’t it?” Namjoon laughs outright. 

...

Despite you being the only one to wrap you both manage the evening surprisingly well, pulling in a record donation amount.

“You must be good at your job,” you mutter with a smirk, as you finish counting the lockbox. “I’ve never seen people so happy to part with their money.”

“I only showed them how good of a job you did,” Namjoon explains. “I’ve never seen someone put so much care into wrapping.” 

“First impressions for a gift can be important too.” You justify as you secure the cash in a deposit bag. “They put a lot of care into selecting the gift, why shouldn’t I exemplify that?”

“Even the gift cards?”

“Especially the gift cards. I have to make them memorable somehow don’t I?”

“True.” Namjoon concedes, with a small frown.  “Listen I’m sorry if I didn’t make a good first impression on you myself. If you want I can call Emma and we will find someone else to help you.”

“No, I enjoyed working with you. It just caught me off guard that you didn’t actually know how to wrap. If you get bored of handling the cash I could try and teach you if you’d like... you said you wanted to learn right?”

“You’d be willing to show me?”

“Definitely, though let's stick to the premade ribbon curls. I’d rather not have to use anymore band-aids if I can avoid it.” 

After pulling down the gate and locking up the station up behind. Namjoon accompanies you to the bank to drop off the deposit before you part ways for the evening, with you going out one exit and him another. 

The sudden blast of cold air forces you to huddle in your coat, and crank the heat the very second you step into your car. As the windows to thaw and frost retreats, you spot your tall wrapping partner waiting at the bus stop. 

“Now why would he...” You’re left perplexed judging from the description of his job and quality of his attire you assumed him to drive some sort of flashy car, never would you think he would take public transportation. 

You drive over and stop right in front of Namjoon, rolling down the window. “Where do you live?”

“The Swan Estates, but if you don’t leave near there that’s fine I don’t mind bussing home.” Namjoon looks down the road. “It should be here soon.”

“It’s no problem, I pass by that area on my way home.” You reach across the car for the handle opening the door. “Come on get in. It’s too cold to wait for a bus.”  

Namjoon nods, and eagerly hops into the car holding his hands close to his vents with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I didn’t think to ask, I just assumed-”

“That I could drive?”

You nod giving him a sheepish grin this time. 

“As you saw earlier I’m rather accident prone. I think it’s safer for everyone if I leave the driving to others.” He chuckles looking out the window. “What about you? When not rescuing people from cold transit stops or wrapping disasters, what do you daylight as.”

You grimace at the question knowing your answer is nowhere near as impressive as his. “I’m a phone-rep for Interlude Shipping, I work in their tracking department.”

His reaction is not the usual glazed expression you get when you reveal that you work in a call centre, but a look of awe. “You must be so busy this time of year, how do you have energy for volunteering too?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s... a paycheck. I needed a full time position with benefits right out of school and that was what was available. I would have preferred something else but...” You stop yourself, scolding how much you almost revealed. Finding it far too easy to talk to Namjoon. He doesn’t pester you to continue but lets your abrupt end linger in the silence until he points out his house within the estate. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Namjoon nods in agreement with his dimples on full display. “Looking forward to it. Thanks again for the ride.”

After he leaves your car another nervous giggle you’ve been holding in finally escapes you. Three weeks working with this kind, considerate and downright gorgeous man. Though there’s no ring on his finger, he has to be attached to someone. Men like him don’t walk around single for long. Your shoulders fall at the thought, despite the fact that you have no intention of forming an attachment at this time... it’s still too soon. 

Before you even pull out of Namjoon’s driveway, your phone vibrates from the cup holder you stashed it in. Aunt Emma’s name popping up on the display. You press the green button to accept and put her on speaker while you pull out onto the road. 

“Hello my dear, just checking in to see how the first night went?” 

“Good, no great actually. I think you’ll be happy with the result.”

“And your partner? Everything working well with him?”

“Yeah,” You confirm looking up in the rearview mirror taking one last look at Namjoon’s house. “He’s really nice, we already have a system in place so I think we’ll work well together.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. I was worried at first, wondered if I had made the right decision-”

“You did!” You encourage her, not wanting her to change her mind, and make another switch.

“Great, so we’ll carry on as is then. I’ll message Maria to let her know, I think she’s still on shift at the hospital though...” Aunt Emma mutters to herself. “Speaking of which I had to stop by there today and guess who was asking about you?” 

You freeze in the front seat of your car, unable to say his name, but that doesn’t stop your chatty Aunt from continuing on despite your silence. 

“That Jackson, such a nice young man, it’s a pity you-” 

“Aunt Emma, I’m so sorry but I should go. ” You cut her off unwilling to listen to her disappointment over your own personal matter. “It’s getting late and I have work in the morning.”

“Oh of course, no problem dear. Call me if you need anything.” 

When you arrive at your cold and empty apartment. The silence greets you with the usual punch to your gut, just as it has for the past eight months. She should be there to say hello and ask you about your day, just as she always had. But all that’s there to welcome you is the stack of dusty Christmas decor boxes thrown in the corner of the living room. Unwilling to spend another minute alone you sulk off to bed, ready to put another day behind and start the next. But for the first time in a while, you are actually looking forward to a fraction of the never ending cycle. 

...

Whoever said Christmas time is the most wonderful time of year, clearly never worked a customer service job. They’ve never been yelled at for four hours straight, gone to lunch, and then endured another four. With a couple weeks still left until the looming deadline of Christmas you can only imagine what you’ll have to listen to in the coming days. The woes of a parent trying to track down their child's number one gift... it’s enough to send chills down your spine. Just once you’d like to find someone happy on the other end of the line, someone who didn’t need something from you, someone who called just to say hi, and indulge you with a friendly chat. 

With the last call of the day done you throw on your coat, and bolt out of the office before anyone else. Elated by the fact that you have somewhere else to be, happy that someone else is expecting you. Namjoon beats you to the station today, chatting with the other volunteers as they leave. One of them pats you on the arm and delivers a sad smile, you seize with fear and the worry that they had discussed you, but when you find Namjoon beaming without a hint of concern the weight lifts and you can once again forget your loss for now. 

“Hey, how was work?” He asks.

“Good... good.” You cover with a smile not wanting to drag him down. He doesn’t look convinced his eyes narrow and the corner of his lip twitches, but you reciprocate before he can confirm. “How about your day?”

“Quiet, I’ve spent the past few months alongside the curators putting together an exhibit and with it finally finished all that’s left is to wait until it’s over.”

“So you had to stay here for Christmas only to wait for it to end? That’s too bad.”

“There are a couple other tasks I have to attend, an auction, and an event for the patrons, but the tear down on the 24th is pretty important, some of the lenders will want their pieces back in time for Christmas.”

“That’s such a miserable deadline for so much work. Why would they ask you to give up your Christmas Eve to do that? Surely it can be done after the holiday can't it?”

“Not this one, it’s ‘The Gift of Christmas’ Past’ exhibit,” Namjoon explains. “Many people were good enough to donate their family heirlooms for the majority of the season, but come the actual holiday, it’s time for them to return home.”  

You just about fall off your chair in awe. You’ve seen that exhibit advertised everywhere, even been tempted to go yourself, but the thought of going alone has prevented your attendance. “I had no idea, that’s such a popular exhibit, you worked on that?”

“I did, I even helped come up with the idea for it.” Namjoon beams, with a small amount of red rises to the surface of his cheeks. “The curators at the museum have been more than accommodating. I never thought I’d get the chance to step into their roll myself. I was lucky to be given the chance, so you can understand why I had to stay and help them once it’s finished. Of course it’s given me some other opportunities I would never have had in the past too, like the ability to help you here.” 

You nod still looking at him in admiration, while in your mind a further divide falls between you. As friendly as he is to you, it’s obvious that he’s way out of your league. Even if you wanted to pursue something more with him, someone of his status... really it’s a wonder he even looks in your direction, let alone chose to volunteer at this tiny holiday wrapping station.  

Your conversation is interrupted by a mall goer with a bag of gifts. Namjoon helps as best he can, supplying you with tape as he learns over your shoulder. Loaning you his finger to help you knot the ribbon around the gifts. With a sizeable donation left in Namjoon’s care you are both left alone at the table again.

Between clients you do your best to show him how to wrap the small boxes and ready cut paper at your disposal. Though his folding has improved, his use of tape can be considered... excessive. “You shouldn’t need more than three pieces on a present like this.” You chuckle as you catch his hand before it can apply the seventh piece of tape. 

“But your packaging looks so durable compared to mine. How is it supposed to hold together if not for more tape.”

“Years of practice with tighter folds and better adhesive placement.” You analyze his work. “You might be an up and coming art curator but wrapping is my craft.”

Namjoon laughs and grabs a fresh sheet along with the scissors. 

“Should I go fetch my band-aids?” You ask, gazing at the sharp implement with trepidation. 

“No I’ve got this, I’m ready to earn my redemption.” Namjoon folds the paper several times before cutting a rounded edge. “Wrapping might not be my forte, but this I mastered long ago.” He opens up the paper grinning madly as he reveals a perfect snowflake.

You giggle at the innocence of the piece in question. “That is quite impressive, when did you become such a proficient?”

“I’d say I peaked at eight. One evening when it was just my sister and I, we covered my whole house with them. Every surface, every window, plastered with paper snow. Though my parents were less than enthused I like to think of it as my first full art show.”

“What on earth possessed you to do it?” You ask, trying to imagine the look on his parents as they returned home to the indoor flurry.

Namjoon looks up with a heavy expression, for such a lighthearted story why does he look so wary to tell you “A mutual fri-”

But as chance would have it he is once again interrupted by another coming to your station. When the post dinner rush hits you hardly get another chance to chat. 

...

-2 Weeks Until Christmas-

The week passes in much the same way as the past two days, but with each evening session Namjoon is able to improve upon his wrapping skills a little more. To the point where you are comfortable to leave him alone for a few minutes to man the station.

“You’re sure it’s all right if I just run to the washroom for a minute?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could put up the be back in five minutes sign if you-”

“Go, I can hold down the fort... just leave the band-aids.” You are ready to let out a big sigh when Namjoon holds up his hands in defeat. “Just kidding, I promise, now go.”

You hurry off as fast as you can swearing when you find a line up. By the time that you are finally able to return you find Namjoon finishing up with an attractive woman and her single gift. You smile at her as you join him behind the table, she pauses, caught off guard for a moment but then hands him the donation along with a slip of paper. 

Namjoon opens it as she walks off. Blushing profusely before throwing it in the trash along with the wrapping scraps. 

“What was that about?”

“Nothing... she just must have gotten the wrong impression.”

“Did she give you her phone number?”

Namjoon nods looking down with guilt. 

“And you're not going to keep it? She was gorgeous.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Right, I assume that wouldn’t go over well with your girlfriend.” You speculate, seeking to figure out his status once and for all.

“No girlfriend.” Namjoon mutters.

“Boyfriend?” 

“No boyfriend either.” Namjoon smiles. “I just wasn’t looking to get her number.”

You look at him in disbelief. If she wasn’t good enough, there’s no way in hell you could ever dream of being with him.

...

The drive home in the evening is rather quiet. Namjoon’s fingers drag across his lips as if in deep compilation. 

“Any big plans for your couple days of freedom?” With Aunt Emma’s team working the weekend that gives both you and Namjoon some time off, but unfortunately apart. 

“What? Oh yes, I suppose.” He answers as though you dragged him from a stupor. “I have an auction to go to tomorrow for work.”

“Buying art for the museum are you?”

“Not exactly in the market to buy. But if you're not busy you should come along, I would love some company.”

“Not because you would love a drive?”

“No, not at all, I was planning on booking a car tonight. I could come pick you up on the way.”

You shake your head. “No, if we’re going together I’ll drive. No need to waste your money on something like that. What time should I pick you up?”

“I’ll have to double check and get back to you but likely late in the morning?” You nod in agreement as he pulls out his phone. “What’s your number?”

You give it to him and your cell vibrates in your pocket as he sends off a text a second later, leaving you with his own.  

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow now then.”

“It’s a date.” Namjoon smiles as he gets out and leaves you in the car. 

You snort in disbelief, staring after him while he runs off to the front door of his house. No, there’s no way, he can’t be serious, it’s not a date, date. The phone vibrates again, reminding you of the unread message he sent, prompting you to look at it before you drive off home.

This was the only phone number I actually wanted.  See you tomorrow,  - Namjoon  

...

You lie in bed caught between denial and anticipation for what’s to come in the next day. Every moment that excitement bubbles up inside, you are forced to push it down with the weight of scepticism. Namjoon was looking to distract from his lonely Christmas, you are just the band-aid to his superficial wound, but would that be so bad? Haven’t you been using him the past week in the same manner, a mode of distraction? The only difference is the depths of your injuries. While his might be a simple cut repaired by time, yours is a laceration straight to the heart, damage that will soon bleed through a flimsy bandage, but at least you can hide it for now, you can conceal the extent of your misery and enjoy the comfort that is him for the holiday. Ripping that band-aid off won’t hurt, not compared to the damage that has already been done.

You look back at your phone smiling at his message, confirming that this is what you want for now, when to your surprise another comes in. 

KNJ: Are you awake? 

You double check the time, 12:23 a little late for a friendly chat isn’t it?

YN: Yeah, everything okay?

KNJ: That depends, what are your thoughts on Hallmark Christmas movies?

You pause in confusion, questioning his motives for such an odd query. Coming up dry you can give him the most truthful answer you can. 

YN: They’re chestnuts.

KNJ: Chestnuts? 🤔

YN: Palatable only when thoroughly roasted. 🔥🔥🔥

Your phone starts ringing a second later, the caller Namjoon. You pick it up to hear him laughing on the other end. “I’ll have to remember that. You up for burning a film? I could use another open fire, there’s a pretty horrible one on their channel right now.”

“I’m sure I could spark an ember of criticism. How bad are we talking?”

“There’s a made up country, a town that looks like it exists solely for the purpose of celebrating Christmas-”

“And let me guess, a prince?”

“You know it?”

“Nope, just following the trend of tropes.” You grab your earbuds and venture out to the living room wrapped in your blanket, a beverage in hand, and ready to turn on your own TV. With one bud lodge in your ear to listen to Namjoon the other is free to take in the cringeworthy dialogue. “My god why were you watching this?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and I thought this would also help put me in the Christmas spirit, but I can’t stop laughing at how bad it is.” Namjoon chuckles deeply as the heroine stumbles over a mere pebble and falls into the hero’s arm. 

“I don’t think you have any right to laugh at that part.” You join him in laughter. “You two appear to have some similarities.”

“Wait, so does this make me the clumsy lead and you the dashingly perfect love interest?”

“Oh most definitely, I’ll be saving your Christmas.”

“I suppose you are pretty perfect.”  

You’re thankful that Namjoon isn’t there to see your response, silently choking on your glass of water, followed by spilling your sip all down your shirt, further emphasising your next point. “I’m not perfect.”

“Well you should let me see that side sometime, or I will continue to feel like this poor woman who is confronted with someone way out of their league.” 

Namjoon thinks that you're out of his league? “No, I’m sorry but in order for me to save your Christmas based on this movie I have to play the perfect hero.” Of course the leading lady swoons in her prince's arms. “I just wish the characters had more depth, I’ve read kids books with a wider emotional range.”

“Me too. And the timing,” Namjoon scoffs. “It’s always so perfect. They always meet at the perfect moment and latch on immediately only to have everything work out in their favour, and it all claims to be a Christmas miracle, it doesn’t work like that.”

“That sounds like someone’s been scorned before on Christmas.”

“Not scorned no. More like a missed opportunity, one that I’ve regretted for a long while.”

 “Anything I can help with?” You ask. “As the supporting lead that is my mission is it not?”

“Maybe, I’ll have to think about it. Unfortunately my dilemma isn’t so easy to solve.”

“I don’t think anyone's dilemma’s are ever as easy or clear cut as theirs.” You yawn as you lay down on the couch and watch the pitiful drama unfold. “Their world is perfect and always has their back through some sort of mystical power or being.”

   “I think people in the real world call that god...” Namjoon chuckles.

“Yeah well, our god is a shitty writer if this is what their creations come to expect.” You murmur, stifling a yawn.  

“Is that a crack in your shining armour I spy?”

“No, just commentary.” Though your own internal defences are askew, and the longer you watch the more you understand why. It’s jealousy, jealousy of how quickly they overcome any tragedy, and how they do so with a picture perfect life, as if the creators left all the negative emotions, the realistic impacts of trauma, on the cutting room floor. If only you were that perfect love interest that Namjoon wanted you to be... maybe you can keep the facade until the end of the holidays, at least one of you can have a better Christmas for it. 

All you have to do is continue ignoring the most painful parts, a practice you are well versed in considering the boxes still looming in the shadowy corner, still unmoved after all this time. You know nothing good will come from unpacking them, there is no comfort inside, the only thing that could help is long gone, the story which your mother used to read to you every Christmas before you moved here. You’ve hunted through those boxes so many times while she was still here with you, but now that she’s gone you don’t even have the desire to look, nor the strength to store them away. 

...

You wake hours later with a loud crumpling sound in your right ear. Your bud still in place, and your call time continues to count past the 7 hour mark. “Namjoon, are you there?” You inquire with a groggy yawn. 

“Fuck... yeah, did I wake you?” 

“It’s fine, sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry I did too. But unfortunately I seem to have lost an airpod at some point in the night.” The rustling continues as he chats to you. “I refuse to lose another to this couch, it’s taken so many from me already, you’ think I would have learned by now.”

“Oh, then this is a regular occurrence for you? Chatting up women until you fall asleep,” you scoff.

“No! God no, I just usually fall asleep listening to music and then my cushions eat them when I lower my defences.”

“I leave you to battle it out with your sofa, but what time should I pick you up?” 

“Eleven okay with you?” 

You double check the clock, ensuring you have enough time for a shower and to look presentable. “Yeah that works. I’ll see you then.”

...

You pull into the packed parking lot of a large warehouse. With Namjoon looking dapper in a blazer and peacoat. You yourself are glad to have chosen to dress a bit classier than your usual garb for a Saturday afternoon. When he said it was for work you couldn’t risk dressing down. 

But there is still an air of confusion about your reason for being here. If he’s not attending to buy something for the museum or a client, why is his presence required? The items up for auction are not exactly what you expected, with the majority of it being furniture and woven rugs. You tilt your head in confusion as Namjoon eyes up an old wooden desk. 

“Sorry,” He mutters, seeing you as he comes to from his distracted state. “I have a personal weakness for such items.”

“Don’t be, but is that why we're here?”

“No, although it is tempting.” He nods over to a collection of old black and white sketches on the wall across from you, graphite scenes of the city from long ago judging by subject matter and the yellowing of the paper behind the frame. “They’re the real reason we’re here. When I heard of this estate sale I knew that some of those works would likely come to market. I’m here to find out who buys them, and hopefully see if we can secure a possible loan for the museum in the future.”  

“So how do you do it? How do you convince them to part with such pieces other than that dangerous smile of yours?”

Namjoon humours you, flashing his most coveted weapon. “Many of the artworks found at estate sales like this, they’ve fallen into disrepair. They often haven’t been cared for, likely kept in some musty room where the humidity damages them. The museum has a team of top rated and highly respected conservators who would be able to properly preserve it and slow any further deterioration, and in exchange for their services we ask for a short term loan of the art. 

“A win-win.” 

“I like to think so, but some people are rather protective of their investment. It can be a tricky negotiation which I have been on both sides of when I worked for the private sector.” 

“Which do you prefer more?”

“Definitely the public. The museum doesn’t pay as much, but the audience and notoriety far greater. I really hope that I can continue my work with them once my initial contract ends.”

“I assume securing this for them will help in that goal?” You nod to the pieces, admiring the sought after collection. 

“One can only hope. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my Christmas miracle like the movies promised.” He jokes, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you on. 

While you and Namjoon continue to look around at the lots up for bidding, he proceeds to fawn over the wooden art and furniture, taking pictures and looking up the makers. 

You can’t help but enjoy his interest, watching his eyes go wide and his mouth gasp when he’s found something which intrigues him. “Have you ever purchased something for yourself at one of these?” 

“A few things, tables, chairs, and books too. It’s a great place to find unique pieces, or things lost to the past.” He gives you a shy smile. “Is there anything you’d like to look for?”

A possible item springs to the forefront of your mind. “Do they have any books here now?” 

Namjoon grins at your request and leads you over to several crates filled to the brim with books. All the copies inside look to be older editions of epic novels, nothing like what you hope to find. Your heart sinks as you let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Can I help?”

“Nah, I think I’m out of luck. I was looking for a kid’s picture book. I briefly met someone at the wrapping station who found a copy second hand, must have been at a sale like this. I was hoping I would have the same success, but that seems like a bit of a far reach.” Had it not been their gift to someone else you would have made them an offer for it or even gotten their name at the very least, but you were so distracted at the time... all you can see and remember to this day was the book in front of you.

“I’m sorry-” Namjoon starts with an unnecessary apology, it wasn’t his fault that you lost the favourite book of your youth, that you missed the chance to give your mother one last glimpse of the pages with you before she passed.

“It’s fine,” You cut him off not wanting to dwell on the loss or risk deteriorating that perfect cover right here in front of him, in front of everyone, when he has something important to attend to. “Should we go find seats before they start the auction?”

Namjoon nods, seeming to examine your eyes with careful study, but he will find no tears, no dampness there, those are locked away tight. He escorts you to a seat near the back. “This way we can get a better view of those bidding without looking out of place.”

The auction lots pass by with many remaining silent. Namjoon points out several antique dealers to you that are snapping up many of the pieces. But the rest of the buyers all appear to be waiting for the same prize that Namjoon is. 

“Do you have any favourites to win?” You whisper to him as the collection is carried into view.

“I’m hoping for anyone I’ve dealt with in the past.” Namjoon nods in the direction of a middle aged woman dressing in a fur trimmed coat and strands of pearls draped around her neck. “Mrs. Coleman already has a few works in one of the exhibits, and Mr. Roth over there.” He turns to a man wearing a tweed jacket and a sturdy wooden cane in hand. “Is one of the most notable patrons of the museum.”

Silence falls in the room as the auctioneer takes up the gavel again and describes the works. Many around you sit up a little straighter as Namjoon’s eyes dart around at those he thinks might attempt to purchase.

The bids flood in, with very few gaps for breath as the numbers are rattled off. It takes only two minutes before the going price is more than your annual salary. You lower yourself, pooling in your seat as the extravagant wealth is thrown around you. 

Once the pace slows, Namjoon's face highlights his concern, his eyes glancing back and forth between two people, the older lady in mink he spoke of before, and an unknown man with a cell pressed to his ear. 

As the wooden hammer drops so do the corners of Namjoon’s lips. 

“And sold to the gentleman on the phone number three-two-eight, number three-two-eight for sixty-five thousand.” The auctioneer announces. 

“Shit.” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“What, what happens now?”

“Now we have an anonymous buyer who I have no ability to meet or advise.” He sighs, hanging his head, with his fingers dragging across his mouth again.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper as he nods next to you taking several deep breaths. Your hand reaches out to his arm and he turns to you with a small smile.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out, but I might as well make the most out of my time here.” With the auction now over he rises from his seat and approaches one of the museum's patrons with an outreached hand. “Mr. Roth, good to see you, you’ll be attending the final night of the exhibit I hope, and who is this with you...”

While Namjoon continues to make pleasantries and exchange business cards you keep your eye on the sketches watching as they are rolled behind the desk and packed away in crates. You approach the area where one of the clerks is recording and distributing the information for the now rightful owners, with a mob of bidders descending on him for their newly purchased items so they might leave as soon as possible. 

It would seem that this business too is feeling the crunch of Christmas. A flurry of paperwork is exchanged in haste passing from one hand to the next, until one signed receipt of purchase escapes his notice and falls to the ground in front of you. Picking it up you wait for the crowd to clear, giving the clerk a chance to recover before you approach with the lost sheet, setting it on the desk before him. His confused gaze soon changes to outright shock over his loss when he realizes what you’ve returned.

He thanks you profusely, causing you wonder how much strife he would have encountered had you not been there to return it. “No problem, you look like you have a lot on your plate.” You smile politely, attempting to soothe your fellow casualty of the Christmas rush. “I just have a question for you though, if that’s okay?” 

“Not at all how can I help?” He agrees, his stance far more relaxed than it was with the horde a few moments before. 

“My friend, he was hoping to get in contact with the purchaser of those sketches there, on behalf of a museum. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could get a hold of them, is there?”

“I’m sorry but not at liberty to divulge that ma’am.” Your rising hope falls, you knew it would be a long shot but you didn’t want to leave without trying. “However... if there’s a phone number or information regarding the museum’s interest I can include that in the paperwork to send off along with the purchase.”

“Really? You would do that?”

When the clerk confirms, you immediately turn on your heel and take a step in Namjoon’s direction before bumping into his solid chest, not realizing that he had already come to find you. 

“What are you doing-”

“Getting you that miracle.” You grab one of his business cards from his hand, and turn back around to give it to the clerk who tucks it into the envelope along with the other documentation. “Thank you.” You smile at the clerk who returns the gesture.

“And you said I have a dangerous smile?” Namjoon mutters as he leads you away with a chuckle. “What did he say exactly?”

“That he would include it with the paperwork for the sale. I just hope they will reach out and call you.”

“Me too.” Namjoon smiles, but it doesn't quite appear to reach his eyes. “Shall we head out. I think I’m done here.”

The drive home is rather quiet, the weight of Namjoon’s gloom hanging in the air and he makes no attempt to hide it. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just trying to figure out where to go from here,” he groans. “Those sketches were going to be the start of something new for me. I know the buyer might still come through but I’m not going to hold my breath. I need to keep searching for what comes next, I’m just a little lost, but I’ll find my path again soon.”

“You make it sound so easy.” 

“Sometimes it is, sometimes life will drop it right in front of me and other times I will have to search for it, but that’s a problem for after the holidays.” Namjoon looks out his window at the lights which start to come alive as you drive home. “Are you ready for the big day?”

“Christmas?” You give a nervous laugh, “No, I haven’t even put up any decorations.”

“Why not?!” Namjoon asks in alarm. 

“Just haven’t really felt the need this year. There’s no one there to enjoy them but myself.”

“Which makes it all the more important to put them up.” Namjoon sits up in his seat, his whole persona changing. “I could help you if you’d like?”

You wince over the quandary. With your decorations sitting in your living room under an inch of dust it might arouse some confusion, and his heart would likely sink if he knew how long they actually rested there for. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for it yet. Maybe another time?”

...

-1.5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Work continues to degrade as the countdown progresses. The only thing getting you through the shifts is the thought of Namjoon’s help at the stand. But as soon as Christmas is over, you wonder if your friendship will go the same way as the festive season, cast aside like the wrapping of the gifts you tended to in the weeks prior. 

After a few days of busy shifts you’re both thankful to make it to another close. But when you are packing up the station Namjoon’s phone starts to ring. He looks down in confusion at the number without a contact attached. “Do you mind?” 

“No, not at all.”

He grins as he answers the phone pacing further back into the vacant shop space and away from the sounds of the echoing mall. You continue to count off the deposit, and roll the wrapping paper. Trying your best not to listen, to give Namjoon his privacy, however you can’t help but notice the happiness in his tone, spotting his dimples from across the room when you sneak a glance. When you grab to move the last box of bows Namjoon ends his call. Tears glisten in the corners of his eyes accompanied by the widest smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“That was- that was the buyer.” He explains as he comes to help you with the final box, taking it from your hands and placing it on the back shelf. “He wants to meet with me this weekend.”

He’s so close, vibrating with an overwhelming delight. His arms move around you as though he is about to pull you in for a gracious hug. You start to congratulate him as he embraces you, “Really?! That’s gre-” only to be cut off when his lips come for yours instead. Once the shock evaporates, you start to appreciate the heat of the moment, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his mouth. Your hands reach up to his toned shoulders and neck pulling him down, diminishing the space between you. Breathing him in like this with your eyes closed, nothing else matters in the moment, nothing other than his firm chest pushing back against yours, his hands on your waist gripping at your shirt.  

With a deep sigh and a bite to his own lip he pulls back. “Sorry I just-”

“Don’t, don’t apologize.” You cut him off this time.  

“I can’t even begin to thank you.” 

“I hardly did anything.” You laugh at the extremeness of his appreciation, though a small part of you dies when you realize his kiss was nothing more than a gesture of gratitude.

 “That’s not true...” He responds, giving you his wide eyes and a shy smile.

On the drive home your companion can barely contain his delight, breaking into random smiles and laughter as he informs his coworkers of the success via text. 

“There’s this event...” Namjoon starts, as you pull in front of his home. “At the museum on the twenty-third, a week from today, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.” 

“Next Wednesday? But we have a shift at the wrapping station.”

“I spoke to Emma a few days ago and she agreed to cover if we both wanted to go.”

“Emma, making a change so close to Christmas? I don’t buy it. What did you offer her in return?” You ask with a critical gaze. The woman runs such a tight schedule, only something great or important would have prompted her to agree.

“My next year of service.” Namjoon confesses, he looks down at his feet as though he might buckle from the embarrassment. 

“Next year? You already promised to work it?”

“If you want me there that is. I’ll practice more in the meantime, I promise I won’t leave you to all of the difficult packages.” Namjoon chuckles. “But what do you say, will you go with me?”

“Ye-yeah I would love it’s just...” You stutter trying to come up with a good excuse but your brain draws a blank leaving only the truth. “I don’t know how well... how well I’ll fit in there.”

“What? No, why would you think that?” Namjoon places his hand on your leg while you drive. A move which causes the both of you to pause in reaction and him to retreat. “Trust me when I say you belong there more than anyone else.”

You nod your head and give him a small smile, wishing more than anything his hand would return. “I’ll come if you want me there. What’s the attire?”

“Semi-formal, and don’t worry about driving I’ll pick you up.” 

...

-2 Days Until Christmas-

You stand in front of your mirror, wearing a dress which fits your shape perfectly, but stretches your pocket book significantly. The price tags hanging down from the zipper taunt you, tempting you to rip them away, to commit to the indulgence. Even if it’s only for a night, the payoff in the end might be worth the overpriced lace. You give in with a snip of the scissors and a swallow of guilt, letting the printed cardstock hit your bedroom floor. 

 You’ve spent the past couple of hours leading up to this moment in a fit of stress cleaning, disposing of the dust bunnies. Now at least if Namjoon comes over after... you won’t be completely off guard.

The phone on your bedside vibrates with a new message.

KNJ: Just pulling in.

YN: Be right down.

Sliding your shoes on and grabbing what you need, you leave your empty apartment with a growing smile on your face. The moment you can see the car from the buildings foyer both Namjoon and the driver exit the vehicle, though Namjoon is quick to wave the driver back to his seat, choosing instead to hold the door for you himself. 

The thoughtful gesture is made more appealing as if it gives you a full view of your date in his dark three piece suit, his hair tamed back framing his handsome face, whose gaze appears to be giving you the once over for you too.

“You wrap up nice.” Namjoon jokes.

“Of course, I couldn’t embarrass you now could I? Have to land that first impression.”

“You would never. Besides I’m sure my colleagues will be fascinated to know who has enough courage to teach me how to wrap.”

“And how do you plan on introducing me to those colleagues of yours? As your date or your teacher?” You laugh.

“I was actually hoping I could introduce you as my girlfriend.” 

“Your girlfriend for tonight?” You panic, not expecting this development. “Wait, is this one of those fake dating scenarios? Did you tell them you had one and then-”

“I think we’ve been watching too much Hallmark.” Namjoon laughs and shakes his head. “No this is not one of those scenarios, but I’ll take whatever form of companionship you are the most comfortable with.”

He gives you the stare of a man who is looking for more, but you know he won't need you once the holidays pass. His loneliness is temporary, yours is permanent. You’d rather not get your hopes up only to have them lost as he fades away in the cold gloom of January when his family returns. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Upon arrival Namjoon leads you through the massive doors by hand, taking your coat and checking it. The main hall just off the entrance is filled with patrons and staff all mingling and drinking while dining on tiny hors d’oeuvres. You look at the crowd with apprehension.  

Namjoon’s fingers interlace with yours again, a grip clearly intended to give you confidence. “I’ll introduce you to some of the staff first.” 

Several people congratulate Namjoon on the exhibit as he passes, he responds giving them a brief thank you as he ushers you through the crowd. Stopping at a small group of two, who greet Namjoon with a warm welcome. 

“Thank god you’re here, people have kept asking for the brains behind the exhibit.”

“And why didn’t you answer them.” Namjoon smiles before turning to introduce you to them, following up with the man who just spoke. “This is Eric Nam, a curator who I worked on the project with.”

“Don’t pass the torch, we both know it was your idea, I just helped put it into motion.” His coworker smiles gazing at you. “And you must be the one Namjoon has talked so much about.” 

The heat rises to your face as you look to Namjoon who confirms the statement with his own embarrassment. “Thank you Eric for sharing that with her...”

“No problem, it’s the least I could do for someone who gave you the insp-”

Namjoon coughs and shakes his head, cutting off his verbose friend. 

You're about to question your partner himself when the other colleague of his starts asking you questions. “What do you do for a living Ms....” You remind her of your name while Namjoon spotting refreshments wanders off with a whispered promise to get you both a drink. 

“I-I work for Interlude Shipping, in their tracking department.” You explain clasping your hands together in an attempt to settle your nerves.

“Oh, how nice...” The false quaintness in her tone is matched with a smirk as she takes a sip of wine. “Maybe you can help me find out if my sister’s present will arrive in time tomorrow.” 

“Valerie...” Eric growls. 

“What? I’m merely curious about her employment.” She smirks at him before continuing to her inquisition. “How long have you worked there? Did you have to get a degree for your role?” 

“No,” This is exactly what you were afraid of coming here, you just didn’t think the judgement would be coming from someone who works with Namjoon. “I started there right after high school. I didn’t have the luxury to go to an elite school to work in a place like this.” 

Eric comes over and claps you on the back. “Neither did Valerie; she just has family on the board.” Giving a coy smile to his coworker who scowls and stalks off without another word to you.  “In fact you’ve actually done more work here than her in the past month. I hear you’ve been helping Namjoon secure the collection we’ve been after?” 

You nod looking off after the departed curator, worried as to what impact your interaction could have with Namjoon’s position here.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just bitter that Namjoon didn’t ask her to accompany him here.”

“Oh, does she- do they-”

“Fuck no, but if she’s not everyone’s first choice she’s not happy.” Eric gets in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about Namjoon looking elsewhere, if he’s at all hesitant it’s just because he’s a little cautious with you.”

“Why would he be cautious?”

“Why would who be cautious?” Namjoon asks, handing you a drink as he appears by your side again. 

 “Mr. Roth, that man should be careful. I heard he had hip surgery recently.” Eric responds, cutting in with a lie to cover your discussion. “It's good of him to still join us tonight, but enough about that, why don’t you go show her the exhibit before it gets too crowded in there?”

Namjoon offers up his arm in agreement. “I suppose we can get started on the tour, if you’d like.”

“Yes please,” You answer, threading your arm through his. “Thanks again Eric, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.” 

The stand next to the entrance bears all the names of those involved in the creation and a countless list of those who loaned out pieces to make it possible. “There’s so many involved, how large is this exhibit?”

“Not too big, you’ll see why there’s such a long list soon.”

When the door opens you find yourself in a hallway amidst what you can only describe as a snowstorm. The walkway, made to look like an alley set adrift in snow, with flickering lights and paper creations hanging from the ceiling. “Did you make any of those?” You ask, grinning as you squint through the flurrying beams.

“No, I left those to the talents of the students who came by on school field trips. It didn’t take them long before we had enough.”

“Find any new prodigies?”

“Several.” He answers, before pointing to the mounted photos on the wall. “But these works here are some of my favourites.” The pictures are framed to seem as though the viewer is looking in through the pains of a window to happy holiday scenes. From unwrapping presents around the tree to the busy crowds of your very own mall, each image sets out to draw from you a sense of nostalgia. 

“I can see why.” You find yourself lingering on the last of the photos by an accredited local photographer, savouring the display as much as you can, worried that it might end too soon. 

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon whispers, taking your hand in an eager urge to press on, “There’s plenty more to look at.” He points to the end of the hallway, where you find another door, though this one is dressed with a knocker and wreath looking as if it’s the entrance to someone's home.

You open the door to reveal a series of rooms connected by one long hallway. The first you step into you washes over you with warmth and comfort, the sound of a cracking fire surrounds you while the light of fake embers flows from the side. Set up through the room are tables of items from old to new ranging from Christmas tree ornaments, and household decorations to handwritten cards. “All of these-”

“Were loaned by families from the region, they gave a piece of their history and traditions up for most of the season so everyone could enjoy it. Over here we have...”

You could spend hours sitting and admiring in this room alone, but more than anything you want to push on more to see Namjoon’s excitement in sharing it with you. Each room features a different spot of the home. A chilly shed with vintage toboggans and sleds, a kitchen, stuffed with cookbooks and the smells of baking featuring countless cookie cutters of every shape and size. 

The next room is a little unusual and different from the rest, throwing you off for a moment, when the distinct scent of pine hits your nose. In the centre you find what look to be the replication of a massive trunk, and above false branches twinkling with lights. All round in a circle you find toys in glass cases spanning generations, when it hits you. “Are we under the Christmas tree?”

Namjoon gives you his coveted dimpled grin. “Yeah, do you like it?”

“I do. I can’t believe you managed all of this.” You exclaim hurrying between each display like a kid on Christmas morning. From wagons, and Rubik’s cubes, all the way to Furbies and gaming systems he has the whole collection of popular toys throughout the years.  

Namjoon beams with pride once you’ve circled the entirety of the fake trunk and the presents beneath it. “Only one room left, but I think you’ll like this one the most.”

You're ushered into the next, a dimly lit space, a bed with a quilted cover stands in the centre, and on the walls you find countless story books, pinned open to so their stunning art is on display, papering the room with climatic holiday scenes and loveable characters. In one you find Scrooge meeting the ghost of Christmas past, in another you witness the Grinch save the sleigh from a perilous fall. Namjoon was right, this is without a doubt your favourite. While people filter in and out, you take your time looking at each set of pages. Your pace slow and steady, until you reach the special story that stops you entirely, the book you lost long ago, and have been trying to find ever since. Drawn on the pages before you is a little blue koala, with a pale purple nose, round ears, and a smile that lights up his face as he cuts out dozens of snowflakes. Namjoon stands behind you with a hand on your shoulder as you gaze at the book you know to be titled ‘Koya’s Christmas.’ 

You take a deep breath, while trying not to bend to the tears that threaten to break from your eyes. Focusing your attention instead to seek out the owner of the book, but unlike most there is no nameplate attached to this desirable artifact. “Namjoon, who loaned this? Is there any way I could contact them?”

When he gives you a sad smile, your gut clenches over the possibility that this might be a similar issue to what happened at the auction, a lender who wishes to remain anonymous. The only difference here being that you’ll fight Namjoon for the information if you have to. You’ve already let this book escape from you last year, you refuse to let it happen again. “Please, I’ll-” Just when you are about to plead with Namjoon’s integrity, another memory of your past walks into the room, but this one unfortunately has more tragic ties. “Shit,” you whisper, shifting to put your date between you and the newcomer. 

Namjoon catching the change in your expression immediately reaches out in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“There's someone I know just over there,” You nod in the direction behind Namjoon. “I’d like to avoid him if I can. Sorry, it-it’s complicated. ”

 Namjoon puts his hands on your shoulders, eyeing a path the closest exit without letting go of you. “Do you want to leave?”

“If that’s okay?” And just when you thought you were free, when you were ready to make a break for the door. The man in question, spots you and calls out your name.

You turn to face him, trying your best to keep your tone even and your lips pulled into a smile. “Jackson? Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s been so long, not since...” Thankful he stops, not dragging up the subject you wish to avoid. 

Namjoon moves closer, moving his arm from your shoulder around your waist, a comforting and protective gesture. “Dr. Wang... I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.” 

“You know him?” You ask Namjoon, your concern rocketing over what else your date might become privy to. 

“Dr. Wang was the phone bidder. I invited him here tonight to see the work we do.”

“The exhibit was impressive, I can’t wait to see what you have planned next.” Jackson confirms. 

“I should go and let the two of you discuss-” You ready to step away when Namjoon’s hand grabs yours and Jackson calls your name again.

“No reason for you to leave, we should catch up.”

“May-maybe later?” You plead with him fighting back the tears, pushing down the memories his presence drags up. “Sorry I just, I need to go.”

You pull your hand free and race to the exit.  

“Wait.” You can hear Namjoon call behind you. Though you continue to proceed out the exhibit and towards the closest exit outside, breaking into the cold evening air, only to find that he still followed. “Let me call for the car and we can go together.”

You stop in realization that your running will not deter him, he’ll pursue you unless you give him a reason otherwise. “No you should stay, this is your big event, I won’t ruin it for you.”

“Not without you.”

“Please Namjoon,” you beg, adamant that he return. “I don’t belong in there, I don’t fit in and I never will. Even when I try...” The ghosts of your past have a way of finding you and destroying your facade.

“I’ve told you before you belong in there more than anyone else-”

“That’s not true. I can barely keep myself together. I can’t, I can’t go back in, I'm sorry.”

“I don’t understand, what does Dr. Wang have to do with it? Did he hurt you? Did he-”

“No! No, he did nothing of the sort. Jackson was always very kind to me. Don’t let me affect your plans or any arrangement, you should go back and talk to him, I just can't be there.”  

“You think I’m going to just drop you for him, especially when he makes you so uncomfortable? No, I’m leaving with you.”

“Fuck, just... please listen to me. He is a good man, he’s a good doctor, you would be foolish to give up this chance.”

“A good doctor...” Namjoon pauses as a grimace hits his face. “Does he have something to do with your mother?”

“How-How do you know about that?” 

“I didn’t mean to pry, I swear. It's just, when I was first talking to Emma about you, out of concern she opened up about your past... about your mother, about your loss.”  

“She told you?” Aunt Emma, you should have known she would do something like that, god forbid at least one person not know your history. “Then all of this, these past few weeks were they all out of pity?” You should have known, there was no way he would like someone like you. It was all out of sorrow for what you’ve been through.

“Not pity no, I like you, I like you a lot. When Emma said you were pushing her and so many others away... I concealed it out of fear of losing you too. I wanted you to open up about it until you were ready. I was just trying to help you get through this.”

You look up at the museum, drawing a distressing connection between Namjoon’s daily life and you. “Why? You think I’m some abandoned project you rescued from a deceased’s estate? One for you to mend, and later show like an achievement? You should have just left me where I was, instead of breaking me further.”  

   Namjoon’s hands immediately pull back from you. “I never meant to hurt you. Only help you move on, you can’t deny that you are frozen in place. You have so much more potential, but you're living in denial.”

“I live there because it hurts less...” You snap back in fury, as he exposes your painful flaws. “I live there so I can work, so I can help others.”

“But what about you? When will you let someone help you?”

You step away unable to answer his question, turning your back on him you race to the sidewalk to hail a nearby taxi, refusing to let him see a single tear fall. 

Once home, you crawl into bed after throwing the dress to the floor. This was so far from the evening you had hoped it to be, with you instead left alone to ruminate on Namjoon’s words. Despising all the evidence he laid bare against you, turning it over again and again in your mind until your morning alarm startles you out of your stupor. Signalling for the last shift before your break for the holidays. 

...

-Christmas Eve- 

It’s finally here, the worst of all days at the call centre. With your eyes heavy from a lack of rest you take a seat at your desk with an extra large coffee in hand. On your computer you have this morning's team email pulled up, and attached to it a list of de-escalation tactics. You’ll need them today because if people don’t get their package by the end of the routes this evening, there’s no hope for tomorrow morning. 

The call board on your phone is already lighting up like a Christmas tree, but you know those little embers to be fuelled by wrath, fury and unkept promises of delivery dates.   

You try your best to remain calm during the egregious conversations. Offering up tips and tricks to parents who are worried that this will be the year that their child gives up on Santa because your company failed to deliver. 

Your lunch break can’t come soon enough. But when you finally check your own phone it’s littered with texts from Namjoon. Messages of concern, apologies, and the hopes that he will still see you at the wrapping station tonight. He even sent a picture of your abandoned coat and promised to bring it along. 

Fuck, you had completely forgotten about you wrapping shift together. Just one more night, then you can put it all behind you again. If you can just keep your cover for a few more hours then it’ll all be over and Aunt Emma will have what she was promised. 

You send Namjoon a quick message confirming that you will be there, but not promising any more before you head back to your desk. 

The calls get progressively worse with several people using foul language and demanding to speak to your supervisor, you try to talk them down as best you can knowing any call passed on to the higher ups will reflect poorly on your efforts.

Until one woman calling in search of her package finally wears you down, insulting you, your profession, even your family.

“Ma’am I’m sorry but if you continue to speak to be in such a way I am well within my right to disconnect the call.” A desperate bluff, your superiors would rather them end the call than you, you’ve been penalized for it before, and you’ll be damned if it happens again. But unfortunately she calls your hand.

“You will not! I have spent hours on the line trying to reach anyone. The shortsightedness of your company and staff is all too apparent.” 

“It’s the holiday sea-”

 “I know what time of year it is, but it seems your staff doesn’t realize Christmas is tomorrow!” 

“You ordered your package past the guarantee date, we could not insure-”

“Now you listen to me, if there was any form of intelligence in that office you’d be working hard to ensure that all packages make it out before tomorrow morning, but instead you just sit on your ass fielding phone calls and giving excuses so you don’t have to actually go out and do honest labour. You must be the biggest disappointment to your family, not even having a proper job. How can you go home and face them knowing you've left so many without their gifts?”

With the woman's last insult, something inside you finally snaps, giving you the freedom to do what you’ve dreamed of for so long. “I don’t,” you pronounce, building up to take your final shot at both her and your employment. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to let you go, as I’d rather not listen to your nonsensical bitching. So merry fucking Christmas to you ma’am, I suggest you go spend it with your own family if they’re willing to put up with your pompous ass.” You hang up the phone and pull off the headset, refusing to answer the next blinking light that comes on to replace it.

You just sit there looking at it denying the next caller their chance at verbal abuse, and your company's lax policy to protect you from it. The chatter of apologies continue to echo around you as your coworkers press on, but after the years of abuse you can no longer hold it in. Your company always said that this position was a stepping stone to greater things, that opportunities would come you just had to wait a little longer, but after being shackled by circumstances, and no forthcoming higher step to take, you refuse to press on any longer. 

...

You pull into the mall parking lot, far too early for your slot at the wrapping stand, with the contents of your desk now stationed in the trunk of your car. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom cleaning your face of the tears you shed on the way over as you try not to think too much about what you’ve just done. After refusing to concede and admit to any wrong doing you quit, telling them to shove their shitty policies right back where they came from.

Namjoon was right... and with the mall closing early tonight you’ll only have two hours with him, two hours to smooth the tension over and allow for an amicable goodbye while maintaining your cover. 

He’s already waiting for you, with your coat in hand, when you show up. The look of pity that you never wanted to see grace his face directed at you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine... I just would prefer if we didn’t talk about last night. I’m sorry for what I said, and now I just want to let it all go if that’s okay with you?” You smile up at him extending the olive branch.

Namjoon nods looking down at the floor as his hands habitually fold a scrap piece between his fingers. The silence between you is drowned out by the carols echoing down the emptying halls of the mall.

“Didn’t expect it to be so slow.” Namjoon mutters after what seems like an age with no one coming to the stand.

“On Christmas eve? Yeah generally people are home by now, spending time with their-” You force yourself to stop, unable to say a word which will bring sorrow to your heart and loneliness to Namjoon’s.  

 “I’m sorry I can’t do this,” Namjoon interjects. “I want to talk about last night, I need to talk about it.”

“Now is not the time.”

“There’s no one here but you and me. It’s just us, the mall is closing, it's our last shift, if not now when?”

“Anytime but now. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst in my life since-since...” You take a deep breath burying the wave of sadness and regret back down in your chest refusing to let it out. “Please, just forget it okay?”

“Not until you stop shielding yourself like that.” Namjoon scolds you. “I’m tired of you living in fear that your tears will erode your cover, and that your anger will tear it away entirely. I’m tired of you thinking that people will only appreciate you if you maintain this perfectly wrapped state. You might think it’s pretty, that it’s convenient for everyone else, but you are only keeping others out.” 

“Maybe I keep it on so that you won’t be disappointed in what you find when it’s discarded. A sad woman, with no direction, no dreams, unable to cope with loss, and I suppose I can add unemployed to the list now. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want to find?”

“That’s not all you are... and as for your job, I’m sorry but fuck it. It’s about time you moved on to better things, that place was only holding you back, you deserve so much more.”

“No I don’t, do you want to know why I worked there? Do you? I took that job to make sure she got the care she needed. I promised her when she got better I would quit and find something else, but she never did. But if I leave now I’m accepting the fact that she’s gone... that she doesn’t need me anymore, because I couldn’t do enough to keep her here.” The first tear falls breaking through the long standing divide.

“Staying there wouldn’t have brought her back. Tormenting yourself by remaining frozen in place, won’t bring her back. It’s Christmas for god sake and you are being kind to everyone else but yourself.” 

“This isn’t Christmas for me. If it was, she would be here... not you. I’m tired too. I'm so tired of looking at her chair and- and-”

Namjoon wraps his arms around you pulling you forward as your emotions tear through the shroud. He moves you to the back of the vacant store sitting you among the boxes. “I’ll be right back okay?” You nod, while he tugs the table in and drags the gate down to indicate that you are now closed. When he returns his eyes too are starting to redden. His hands brush through your hair, the side of his palm pressing on your cheek and catching your tears. After seeing one of his own fall you crush yourself against his chest, clinging harder to him than before. His lips touch the top of your head, his hands rubbing on your back and arms as he waits, waits for you to be the first to pull away. The lights for every other store shut off around you the music lowers, all that’s left is the retreating chatter of those going to celebrate the eve of Christmas, and still you hold on to him. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a very good substitute.” He whispers, encouraging you to finally lean back and admit your denial, accepting his efforts to help, when you yourself wanted to do the same for him. 

“Don’t say that, it was never going to be a happy holiday for me, just something I needed to get past. But for you, I at least wanted to make yours better, I’m sorry I wasn’t a very good one either.”

“You never were a substitute. You were the one I wanted to spend the holidays with. A different Christmas than usual but no less enjoyable.” 

“That’s sweet of you to say.” You smile, but you doubt it’s true. “I suppose we should go...” 

“What about all the supplies?”

“Emma will come by in a few days to collect it all.” You grab the small donation from the lock box and seal it in the plastic pouch, while Namjoon rummages through his own bag. “Do you still want a ride home?”

“If you're offering, I would love one.” The flap of his satchel closes as he stops his search and instead goes with you to the bank and finally your car. You hadn’t checked the forecast for tonight so finding your car buried in a few inches of snow comes as an unexpected sight. At least with Namjoon’s help cleaning it off is a quick task.

Once inside you both warm your hands on the sputtering heater, changing them on the wheel as you continue to thaw your fingers while you drive. 

“Do you have any plans for the next couple of days?” Namjoon presses, though hesitant in his tone.

“Maybe look for some jobs, and take a good long nap?” You answer with a dark chuckle, still preferring to miss the entire holiday if you could. “You?”

“No, nothing in mind. But if you wake up and want to come over, you're more than welcome to spend it at my place.”

You return both hands to the wheel as the road becomes more difficult to drive on, your tires slipping here and there on the ice beneath the snow. “I’ll think about it, though depending on how much snow we get tonight we might both be stranded at home.”

You pull through the neighbourhood gates and up Namjoon’s driveway. With the car stopped he once again dives into his leather bag and pulls out a thin rectangular gift he looks to have wrapped himself. Dressed as per usual, with far to many pieces of tape, he hands it over to you. “I know this won’t make up for everything, but I want you to have this. Consider it a very belated Christmas gift.” 

“Belated? But Christmas isn’t until tomorr-” You take the present and succeed in pulling back the wrapping to reveal the book that you were reunited with just the night before. “Oh...” You look up from the cover to find the return of the sad smile on his face you saw in the museum. “But if this is late then, last Christmas, it-it was you? You were the one at the stand... with this?”

...

-One Year Ago-

You are counting down the hours and minutes until the mall closes, until you can pick your mother up from her doctor's appointment and head home, to your promised tradition of putting up the decorations. The past few weeks have been so busy, with work, volunteer shifts, and her treatments at the hospital, you’ve made it all the way to Christmas eve with the tree and ornaments still packed away in boxes, sitting in the corner of your living room since December first. 

Aunt Emma is currently taking your mother’s position at the cashbox, thanks to the scheduling of the last minute check up. You light up your phone again checking the time, only an hour left. 

“You can head out if you want my love,” Aunt Emma offers while swaying and humming to the carols. “It’s quiet enough for me to manage myself.”

You grin embarrassed by your desire for a hasty departure. “No it’s fine. I’m still waiting for the phone call to say she’s done, otherwise I’ll just end up waiting at the hospital.”  

“Suit yourself.” She stands up to look down the halls of the mall. “Oh, I think we might have someone, he’s heading this way. He’s cute too, you should give him your number and put that mother of yours at ease.”

“Aunt Emma, I don’t need your dating-” You look in the direction she was speaking of losing the rest of your words when you find a tall beaming man coming closer to your station.

“If you need me I’ll just be in the back fetching more ribbon.” 

“But we have plenty.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She waves herself off when he makes it to your table.

“Hi,” He greets you with the warmest smile and an even tone. “I was wondering if I could get these wrapped together?” He holds up a bag of gifts which he hands over to you.

“Of course. Any preference on paper?”

“Whatever you think is best, it’s for my mom. Just a bottle of her favourite perfume and something a little more special.”

You open the bag to find a small box containing the fragrance, and the other what looks to be a kids picture book. But what initially seems to be an odd choice for his mother, slams your chest with nostalgia when you see the cover and read the title.

“Koya’s Christmas.” You laugh with delight, you can’t stop yourself from smiling when you examine the artistry. The memories it brings back is enough to make your eyes well with tears.

“You know it?” The man asks, looking pleasantly stunned. 

“Know it? I had it memorized as a child. I loved it so much I couldn't bear it when it was packed away at the end of Christmas each year.”

“Me neither, I flat out refused to let it go, I read it year round to the point where our old copy is currently falling apart on the shelf. Even made snowflakes to put in my windows like he did.”

“That’s right, that scene was one of my favourites. May I?” You gesture asking him for permission to look through it. He nods just as excited as you by the concept of something so sentimental. As you flip through the book you recall the beautiful storyline of a koala living in Australia, one who is so upset that they must celebrate Christmas in the summer, never getting to have a while Christmas described in the songs and shown in the movies. But once Koya talks to the leaves in the trees, and the other small animals of the forest, the realization hits that none of them would be able to stay there if it was cold enough for snow. 

You are so close to tears when you reach the page where the little koala realizes it’s more important to have friends for the holiday than the frozen flurries. Proceeding to stay up all night cutting out perfect snowflakes to hang in the windows for all to enjoy at the family's Christmas Eve party. 

“Where did you find a copy? I’ve looked for so long, I lost my own in the move here.”

“I actually found it by chance, amongst a bunch of rare second-hand books at an auction.” The man itches at the back of his head. “Sorry, I can’t be of more help in locating another.” 

“No it’s fine. I’m just glad I got to see it again. I’ll have to tell my own mom that I was lucky enough to see a copy, she loved it as much as I did.” 

You quickly wrap the two gifts in the one sheet as requested. Handing it back to him before you can be tempted enough to make an excessive offer of your own on his mothers gift. 

“Thanks again.” He hands you two twenties for the donation. “My mom usually helps me with the wrapping but I didn’t want her to see this, you’ve made her Christmas.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

When he walks off you notice that he makes several glances back to you, holding a smile each time. 

“So did you get his number?” Aunt Emma pokes her head back out from the stock area. “Maybe his social media, his dick-dock or whatever it is you kids do these days?” 

“No, I did not get his tiktok.” You answer, unable to contain your laughter. “I was distracted by-” You’re ready to defend yourself when your phone starts vibrating on the table, the screen lit up with the number of your mother’s doctor’s office. You answer it, excited to share your account of the book. “Hey mom, you all finished? You’ll never believe what I just wrapped-”

“Sorry dear this is Laurie, I’m just calling on behalf of Dr. Wang’s office. We were hoping you could come by as soon as you can, the doctor would like to meet with both you and your mother before she leaves for the day.”

“Y-yeah, I’ll be right down.” You hang up the phone taking a deep swallow of fear, the moment of happiness and nostalgia vanishing with the prospect of the news to come. It’s never been a good sign when they’ve wanted to meet with you both in person. 

Aunt Emma catches on in an instant, pushing your coat on your shoulders and your purse in your hand. “Go, I’ve got this. You give your mother a big hug for me, and I’ll stop by soon to see you.”

...

While you try to relive, to pull back and hold on to, that moment from a year ago, Namjoon nods confirming your suspicions.

You mentally kick yourself for not recognizing him, for not remembering a single thing about him except your connection with the book. But after everything you had gone through, in that night alone, the devastating news regarding your mothers health had blacked out everything else. You took her home that night, trying not to cry, trying to be strong for her. Helping her into bed for some much needed rest, leaving your previous plans boxed up in the corner... where they remain to this very day. And the year only got worse leaving your mind engaged elsewhere, far from the man with the kind smile and similar taste in literature. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

“No, it’s fine, it was a while ago, and I’m the one who should be sorry,” He whispers. “The moment I stepped outside that day, I realized you needed it more than my mother needed a second. I went back, but you were already gone. I was selfish though, rather than leaving it with another, I wanted to be the one to give it to you myself, I wanted to see you, to talk to you again, and so I kept it. I even put it in the exhibit on the chance that you might find it. When I met Emma at the museum and found out that you’d be doing the fundraiser again it seems like fate, but then I heard about what had happened since I saw you last. I realized how foolish I had been, how I had stolen your chance to share it with her before she passed.”

You reach up to your face attempting to wipe away the tears before Namjoon can see anymore, but he catches your hands before you can hide your grief.

“When you saw the book that day, you have no idea the impact it had on me. Watching you react, your emotions so close to the surface. You didn’t care where you were, what you were doing, all you could see was the memory in front of you. I wanted to create that for everyone.”

“Then the museum exhibit-”

“Was a result of my meeting you, my breakthrough idea which got me a chance to curate was thanks to your reaction. I was going to tell you when we were there, why you deserved to be there more than anyone else, but everything fell apart so quickly.” 

“I’m so sorry, I never intended to ruin your night. I just-” You take a deep breath, finally letting out the words you’ve been holding back. “I was scared. Jackson was one of my mother’s doctors, he was always friendly and kind to the point where my mother would joke that he would make the perfect son-in-law. We even went on a date, but when she passed... it was difficult, painful for me to see him again. Finding him there last night, I was so worried you would learn about what had happened, and that you would look at me with the same pity he did, so I ran.” 

“You didn’t ruin it, I deserved what you said for not being more open with you about what I knew. I was scared of losing you. So no more running, no more hiding okay?”

You give him a nod, unable to speak through the tears as you gasp between sobs. He hugs you across the cars divide. “Now will you please come inside? At least for a bit. It’s Christmas Eve and I can’t let you go home like this. I have the snowflakes up and everything but we both know it’s not enough without someone else to see them with.” 

You shake your head, now laughing despite the tears, “You really know how to reel me in.”

“I’m just admitting that I don’t want to be alone on Christmas,” He looks at you with a raised brow. “And I don’t think you want to be either.”

...

Namjoon’s house is the very opposite of your apartment, filled with warmth and light, wooden furniture and plants in every corner. The Christmas decorations bring another layer of himself into the fold. As promised, his window pains are full of snowflakes and the sills... you squint at several small blue lumps perched beside the glass. Moving closer you recognize them as clay koalas made by the skill and hands of a much younger age. Namjoon catches you staring at one position in a dozing state. He takes it off the ledge and hands it to you to give a better look. 

“Careful with that one though,” He points to another figure stationed in the corner. “It’s ears like to fall off.” He rolls the round bit of clay out of position chuckling as it exhibits the trait. 

“Did you make these?”

“When I was a kid. My mom held on to them.” Namjoon muses as he continues to fidget with the figurine. “She dropped off a box of decorations before going off to be with my sister and her family.”

“I’m glad she did.”

“Me too. But even with all the trimmings and decor here this year doesn’t feel quite normal.” He replaces them both in their rightful positions of honour and gestures to the massive couch behind you. “Make yourself comfortable,” he insists, before wandering off to the joint kitchen. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?” 

“I’ll have whatever you're having.” You take a seat on the monstrous cushions, which ease you in before swallowing you in comfort. Making it easy to see how this beast of a sofa has eaten several of his several earbuds. 

“Beer okay?”

“Perfect.”

He comes round with the drinks and takes a seat beside you. Turning on the television he lets it play with low volume in the background so you might continue your conversation if you wished, but at the same time eases the pressure from you if you’d rather not. 

You smile down at your beverage as the overly dramatic film plays out. Your mind still lingering on the damage that you might have caused with your hasty departure the night before.

“Have you talked to Jackson since, is he still going to loan the sketches?”

“He wants to, he sent me an email today saying so...” Namjoon pauses taking a sip of his drink, swirling the contents around in the can. “He asked if you were okay too. I haven’t responded yet, I wanted to talk to you first and get the full story, rather than speak on your behalf. But it’s clear he has feelings for you, if you told him how you felt, I’m sure you could still work things out if you wanted to.”

“No, I don’t think it’s feelings but his concern. He’s just too good of a person not to worry, and I’m sure his own guilt has a place in there too. Jackson and I never would have worked out, we went on that date, we didn’t have much in common, there was nothing there that I wanted to pursue, not like my time with you.”

Namjoon’s eyes perk open as he smiles. His arm reaches around, pulling you in to lean on his side and shoulder. As the strained plot plays out before you. 

“Why do you insist on watching these.” You ask as your eyes become heavy after a few minutes. Leaning into Namjoon more he lays back putting his feet up and sliding you down with him to do the same. Your head now resting on his chest the deepness of his voice carrying down to your ear. 

“They’re like the snowflakes-”

“A paper thin plot full of holes?”

“Funny and true, but not what I meant. I know they are by no means real, but they have this way of adding to the feeling of the season. I didn’t realize how much of a tradition it has become for me and my family until this year, when watching them alone just felt wrong. The movies were an excuse to sit down with them, to talk and laugh. The other night when I called, it wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep, I just wanted to spend the time with you.”

“But why me? You could have anyone, even Valerie seems to-”

“Why would I want anyone else when you helped me achieve something I’ve long dreamed of? You may think this cheesy but at the end of all these films, when everything comes together wrapped in a perfect bow, that’s how I’ve felt in every moment with you.”

“You’re right, very cheesy, but not unwanted.” You look up at him from his chest finding only sincerity in his face. “Now if we’re to continue in this similar Hallmark course of action, I do believe this would be the part where you kiss me again.”

“But I’m just the clumsy lead,” Namjoon jokes. “I’m pretty sure that’s your-” You lean in doing just that, cutting him off and pushing him against the couch as you kiss him. His chest quaking with silent laughter soon turns to rumbling groans as you fulfil the expectation of your role. “Though this would also be the part where I tell you we should wait before giving into temptation.”

Your nose scrunches up in displeasure over the notion of such abstinence. “Then let's omit that line, and go off script for the rest of the night.”

Namjoon takes his turn, flipping you over to push you down onto the plush cushions, where you sink under his weight. “Gladly,” he growls, his mouth trailing down your neck pulling on the collar of your sweater to seek further in. 

Desiring the same you discard your own knit garment, before moving on to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, pushing it back until he is forced to tear his hands from the sleeves himself and whip it down to the ground. 

Sliding between your thighs he wraps your legs around his back and picks you up off the couch. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he continues to kiss you while you squeal from being lifted into the air. 

“Bedroom?” You ask, excited by the possible prospect.

He nods, looking up at you with a smirk. “If that’s okay? I’d rather not risk losing you to the couch too.”

You giggle at the notion, while Namjoon heaves you up again to get a better grasp, his mouth tucking into your chest. He fumbles for the door now behind you looking as though he might break it open if the knob won’t turn to his grappling grip. You reach back to assist and push it open. The cool air of the room hits you, causing you to cling to Namjoon’s warmth. 

With two more steps you’re lowered onto the bed, where he grips the waist of your pants, unbuttoning and tearing them down your legs. Laying on the edge of the mattress, you watch as Namjoon kneels down between your legs. His hands glide up your bare legs and pause at the tops of your thighs massaging them as he asks to go further. “May I?”

You take his fingers and press them down on the dampening fabric. Namjoon groans and dips the tip of his index below the material peeking inside to find the warmth of your cunt. It’s a pity it’s so dark in the room, you would have liked to see his smile. 

But it seems you're not alone in this desire, as Namjoon gets up and reaches over flicking on the lamp beside his bed. “No more hiding, I want to see you, all of you.” 

“I want that too. I want you.” 

He smiles kissing you with both hands before rolling over and pulling you on top of him. You return the favour by taking off his pants and boxer briefs releasing his erection. Running your fingers down the soft skin of his shaft, curling them around the base. Tilting his cock towards your mouth you take the tip, teasing your tongue on the rim of the head. Namjoon groans in delight, thrusting his hips up, you take it again as far as you can manage, enjoying his reactions to your tongue trails downward, tracing the swelling veins of his dick. With another drag of his cock you release him with the pop of your lips and he reaches down to grip your arms, breathing heavily with closed eyes.

“I thought you said you wanted to see me?” You chuckle at his undoing.

“I do, but I also want to last.” 

“Condoms?” You ask, continuing to stroke his cock while you adjust to straddle his thighs.

“In there.” He mutters, pointing to his bedside table breathless and helpless to your touch. Only looking up when you have to free him to reach for the box and unwrap its contents. His own hands help you to roll it down his shaft. 

You guide yourself down on his cock while Namjoon arches against his pillow and mattress. His fingers tracing up your stomach and ribs. You reach back to unclasp your bra just as he reaches your chest, and lean down into his touch. 

With his firm grip you rock your hips clenching on his dick and grinding your clit on his pelvis. The louder he gets the faster you move, trembling as you chase your own high and pivoting down further. When Namjoon’s hands grip your hips pressing you into him the pressure becomes far too great pushing you over the edge, sending waves of pleasure through you until you collapse on his chest. He holds you in place as he thrusts from beneath, gasping as your climax continues, coaxing you to clench down on him, straining his thrusts until he comes. 

Dotting the side of your face and neck with his lips at a soft and slow pace, he succeeds in forging another smile in your still gasping lips. He tilts you off and beside him in your blissful haze so he may dispose of the filled barrier. When returning to your grasp you cling to him and he you, dragging the covers up and over the both of you.  

“I could get used to this.” You whisper, curling into his warmth. No longer afraid of the emotions that the holiday will bring. Glowing over the prospect of not facing Christmas morning alone, but wrapped together with Namjoon in the sheets of his bed. “Maybe even consider it a new tradition?” You joke with him looking up to witness his smile.

“If that’s a tradition...” Namjoon whispers, coming in for another kiss. “I plan on celebrating Christmas everyday for the foreseeable future.”

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: joshua x reader ⚬ word count: 5040 ⚬ warnings: mentions of alcohol ⚬ genres: FLUFF, shallow angst, guitarist/bandmate!joshua, some annoying neighbour tropes, a little bit of pining, wintery pizzazz, joshua is a hopeless romantic :( 

✧✎ synopsis: somebody new just moved into the upstairs apartment. they’re loud, irritatingly sweet, and unfortunately, very pretty. but you’re not looking for a new relationship, even if it comes in the form of joshua hong. 

✧✎ a/n: oooUUooouu YES! this is a gift to my lovely secret santa, @luvshuas !! ♡ in my first ask, i learned that dani liked using paint by numbers, AND I THOUGHT THAT WAS ADORABLE so i helped use it to create this fic! dani, you are such a joy to talk to AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS XOXOXO !! :D

Last week, someone new had moved into the empty apartment one floor above yours. You didn’t know who. Not their name, not their face, just that they occupied the once vacant space of room 24D. Supposedly, their next-door neighbours had already brought them some housewarming gifts. A watering can filled with flowers, a wreath of white candles, and an old sewing tin now converted into a container for oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

All closely resembling the gifts you received during your first week at the apartment complex. It made sense though, considering most rooms were home to very elderly couples. At first, you planned a brief gap in your day to visit this stranger and welcome them to such a small complex. Find out if they were old or young, endearing or irritable, sensible or flat out crazy. But you never visited room 24D, because you were currently in a moat about your ex-partner.

An extremely deep, inescapable moat.

Not only had they broken up with you on the day you planned to introduce them to your parents, they decided it would be most efficient to do so through a stupid text message. From Monday to Friday, you’d been moping in a curled-up ball on the couch, blowing into tissues and flicking through the holiday romcoms even though they were all so cookie-cutter and dull. To make matters worse, it had been snowing all week, shutting you indoors as a draft built up outside the windowsills.

You had completely forgot about the newbie who’d just moved in upstairs. Until one day, when they decided to make their presence known in the most jarring way possible.

That particular morning, you were finally feeling stable enough to not eat dry, stale cereal straight from the box. You were feeling well enough to avoid another twelve hours moulding into the couch. While a cold wind blew against the windows and rattled the glass, you poured yourself some tea with the new teapot your mother parceled as an early present. And that’s when you heard it: an eruption of electric sound from the floor directly above yours. It sounded like a guitar, if that guitar were plugged into a massive amp and its chords were being plucked by one thousand fingers.

Coincidentally, you spilt tea, scalding and runny, all over the countertop. It started dribbling down your cupboards and creating blotches on the tiled flooring. At random, the sound stopped.

By lunchtime you were unwinding in the shower, your eyes shut as the water poured onto your face and streamed toward the drain. When you squeezed out some shampoo onto your fingers, you heard the chord progression again. This time louder, if that was even possible. The bottle flung from your wet hands and crashed against the floor, startling you half to death, a trail of wasted shampoo then painted to the wall. But the sound didn’t stop immediately. Unlike last time, the stranger railed on their guitar for half an hour at least.

Yet the last straw didn’t come until evening.

Sitting at the kitchen table with a water jar next to your elbow, you were using your new paint by numbers kit. You had been waiting all day to try it, brushing in the mesmerizing colours of a watery-purple landscape. For the last time that day, you were jolted by the riff of an electric guitar, causing you to jerk a huge, thick streak of black paint right across the paper, effectively ruining it. How horrible. How Terrible.

And you were not going to let the incident slide.

Room 24D. 

The room directly above yours. After banging your fist rather inhospitably against the door, you couldn’t lie that the face which greeted you was a definite shock. A young man probably in his early twenties, with curly, brown hair styled neatly yet in disarray, and these wide, glass-like eyes that felt so penetrating you were afraid to glare him down. In fact, you were a bit nervous.

“I don’t know where you stayed at last, b-but at this complex, people don’t usually slam on their electric guitars.”

But so what if you were nervous? You had grown accustomed to sharing this complex with seniors. The thought of someone this young (and admittedly – quite beautiful) had somewhat stunted your brain. The stranger looked at you as though he had nothing to say. He started bobbing his head and shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I’m guessing it doesn’t happen ‘cause everyone here is over seventy and crochets scarves until bedtime. It’s not my fault you’re the only one who’s still got decent hearing.”

Your eyes narrowed; your brow heavily creased.

“What’s your name?” You asked.

 He hesitated at first, then replied, “Joshua.”

“Okay, Joshua, I’d rather have everyone in this building crocheting scarves out the damn window if it meant not listening to a stupid electric guitar all day. You ruined my paint by numbers kit.”

Joshua laughed. “Your what?” He then flashed a grin which suggested he was holding back a satirical comment.

“My paint by numbers kit!” You repeated, feeling your nervousness dissolve into irritation. “It’s ruined, and I’m blaming it on you because it’s your fault. My whole week has been awful and you just made it even worse. So there. I hope you’re happy.”

For some reason, Joshua leaned his shoulder against the doorframe like someone who had all the time in the world. He appeared way too comfortable. Something about it irked you while simultaneously pulling this weird, fuzzy string in your chest. The boy folded his arms and raised a curious eyebrow.

“Why was your week awful?” He questioned.

There was a sweetness to his voice which hadn’t been there before, and you absolutely weren’t going to fall for it, even if it sounded like he ate a spoonful of honey and might taste just as good.

“No. Forget it,” you sighed, waving a dismissive hand, “I said what I had to say. Just be quieter, please.”

You turned around sharply, making your way toward the elevator based at the end of the corridor. Those magnetic eyes of his seemed to be glued to your backside, an almost palpable feeling.

“Okay!” He called out. “Great chat! Nice to meet you too!”

The boy was being wholly sarcastic of course. After returning to your apartment, you cleaned up the kitchen table, sweeping away your paint by numbers kit into a drawer just in case you were one day struck with the motivation to fix it up. Probably not.

“Uh—excuse me? You called me, remember? So don’t go shifting the fault like always. I just can’t believe how immature you are! And, you know what, I’m hanging up now! Don’t call back!”

Smashing your finger against the phone screen, you ended the call, silencing the aggravated voice that had pounded through the line just a second before. An unfortunate misdial resulted in your ex phoning you at the supermarket. The interaction immediately turned south, prompting you to hurry outside into the snow, wedging the brown paper bag of produce underneath your arm and against your chest, all while you barked into the phone with the other hand.

Snowflakes were brimming the edge of your wool hat; your fingertips numb and stiff. Your pacing, impatient footsteps were stamped across the white ground. Things had been difficult enough without your ex invading even the most boring parts of your life, and now a mundane stop at the market had left you intensely unsettled.

As you huffed a web of your breath into the air, you spotted something unexpected: Joshua helping Mrs. Akané load the groceries into her small silver-bullet car. She lived alone on the bottom floor of the apartment complex, one of the kindest old ladies in the whole building. Every winter she had knitted you a pink pair of mittens. When Joshua opened the car door for her, she gave him a gentle pat on his shoulder and her patented rosy-cheeked smile.

Since you scorned him for his abrasive guitar playing, it only happened less often, though it was never any quieter. You realized that he belonged in a band. From time to time they would take the stage at the downtown bar, engendering a space so packed it was nearly impossible to wriggle to the counter for a quick drink. Joshua invited you to his Friday night gig – which was tonight – and while you had contemplated the decision to attend, the disheartening encounter with your ex had officially soiled the mood.

Joshua noticed you, probably looking cold and mad.

“So,” he began, “are you coming tonight?”

Adjusting the groceries underneath your arm, you shrugged, meanwhile the hollow nature of your eyes screamed a blatant no. If anything, you wanted to be back on that living room couch, eating an entire tray of frosted shortbread cookies and dabbing at your tears.

“Seriously?” Joshua frowned. “You’re gonna pass? It is ‘cause you’re still mad about the guitar playing? I’m sorry, okay.”

“No,” you shook your head, “no, no. It’s not because of your disruptive, loud guitar playing. I’m just not having a good day.”

Bits of snow began to powder Joshua’s brown hair. His cheeks were blushed and his nose rosy.

“No offense,” the boy laughed, “but it seems like you’re never having a good day.” He then shook his head, scattering the snowflakes from between the fibres of his hair. “How about you come to our little concert shindig thing, listen to our set – which is great, I promise – then we can talk about it, back at my place.”

For a moment, you paused, and this perplexed expression briefly eclipsed your features. Did he just subtly attempt to persuade you into some sort of… Date? No, it was too soon for anything like that. He was probably joking anyways (despite his straight face).

“I don’t know… I’m tired. Maybe another time.”

You started carrying the brown bag of produce to your car, parked just down the street. Joshua chuckled and tagged along at your side, the snow crunching softly under your feet.

“When’s another time?” He asked.

Throwing open the car door and sliding the bag inside, you sighed. “Another time is another time. It’s self-explanatory.”

“So you’re not coming?” Joshua questioned in finality.

“No.” You replied, rubbing your cold fingers together, attempting to spark some warmth. “I’m not.”

It was then that Joshua took your hands in his, a gesture that completely flicked you off your axis, and started to squeeze them, kneading your skin with his thumbs until you felt the uncomfortable stiffness gradually wear off. He brought your hands close to his face, pursed his pink, very pretty lips, and started to blow on them. A sensation fizzled to life in your lower tummy. Not only were you heating up significantly, but you felt too hot. Scary hot.

“That’s a shame.” Joshua said, releasing your hands carefully, like he’d just touched gold. “But I can wait for another time.”

You couldn’t sleep that night.

Most likely because you were regretting the decision to not attend Joshua’s gig at the bar. The fact that no matter how hard you pushed, memories of your past relationship would still linger like a heavy mist, preventing you from being happy, from detaching, from forming new connections. Wet drops of snow tapped against your window. And then, at around one in the morning, you heard a knock at your apartment door.

Joshua. Evidently intoxicated. His guitar case slung over his back. A foggy sort of look disrupting his usual countenance.

“Hey there,” he mumbled, rubbing at his eye, “couldn’t get into my room. Think I could crash—” the boy stopped midsentence to yawn and hiccup, his face flushed pink, “crash here?”

“Did you walk home from the bar?” You asked, disregarding his inquiry. 

“No, Jihoon drove me.” Joshua answered, bracing his hand against the threshold. “Pretty please? Can I stay?”

“Fine.”

You took the dark green guitar case from Joshua’s back, stamped with numerous luggage stickers that made it seem as though he’d flown all over the globe. After settling the case beside the couch, you helped Joshua lie down, though he flopped rather ungracefully with his face squished into a pillow.

For an awkward moment, you were just standing there, twiddling your thumbs as Joshua squirmed onto his back.

“Do you want a glass of water?” You proposed.

Joshua carded a hand through his brown locks and further dishevelled them. His face seemed to glow and the manner in which his eyes softly shut had you feeling oddly sympathetic. Like you needed to take care of him.

Rather than answering your question, Joshua sighed.

“I can’t believe you flaked on me.” He said. “I looked forward to seeing you there all week. I told my friends about you.”

Your toes dug into the carpet; teeth fastened into your bottom lip. You couldn’t tell if he was rambling drunken nonsense or being wholly truthful. Joshua titled his head to the side, nestling his cheek comfortably against the pillow.

“Like I said, there’ll be another time.”

“Can I have a blanket?” He mumbled sleepily.

Disappearing into your bedroom for a moment, you grabbed Joshua a spare blanket which often lied next to you on the bed, just in case it got a little too cold at night. Your heating was fairly shabby.

“Here you go.” You said, dropping it on him.

After pulling the fabric up to his chin and spending a minute getting comfy, Joshua started smiling, lashes long against his cheeks.

“Appreciate it.” He replied. ”Kick me out early if you want.”

When Joshua scheduled his next gig at the bar, you made sure to be there, settled near the back at the cocktail counter. As you anticipated, the space filled up quickly, and you kept tucking in your legs whenever someone scooted by to use the washroom or find a better vantage point. You didn’t mention that you were coming. It was supposed to be a surprise which had oddly excited you. Like you were someone important to him, even though you probably weren’t.

You enjoyed his band’s performance. While sipping at something syrupy and a little too cherry flavoured, you couldn’t help but smile behind the glass, shake your foot even, as Joshua strummed down on the electric guitar. There was a pink-haired drummer seated behind him, and a bassist with a dashing, heavenly smile. Eventually, the tone of their music shifted near the end of the set. Joshua exchanged his electric guitar for the acoustic one kept in that dark green, stickered case. And when he started to sing a slower, more sentimental song, you felt something cotton-like in your chest.

How could his voice be this soft? How could it turn so sweet? How could his eyes switch from a powerful ripple to calm water? And why were you heating up all over? The glass hit your knee as you continued to watch Joshua sing, as though you’d fallen into a trance, like a sailor caught by the lullaby of a siren.

But then, as your eyes scanned the crowd for a brief moment, they attached to some who looked awfully familiar.

Goddammit. Of course.

Why did your stupid ex have to be everywhere? 

Why did they have to invade every aspect of your life? Especially the enjoyable parts? Once the stage ended and Joshua began thanking the crowd for an energetic reaction, they turned around and grabbed their friend excitedly. Yet, the thrill on their face disappeared the second they noticed you, glaring bitterly, angrily, still clearly hurt. That’s when you decided to leave.

You were halfway down the block when you heard your name being shouted. Pausing beneath a street lamp, you attempted to peer through the heavy flurries sweeping down from the night sky. A silhouette began to take shape. Joshua finally pressed through into the light, without his jacket, his equipment, or even a damn sweater.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” You questioned him, wondering how cold he must be feeling in that white t-shirt.

Joshua took a few more steps forward. “I saw you there,” he replied, still trying to catch his breath, “but then you just stormed out. I nearly threw myself down the back entrance trying to catch up with you, y’know. How do you walk that damn fast?”

“I just—I wanted to beat the crowd home.” You lied.

Joshua took in another big breath, then nodded his head. “So, what did you think? You like the music?”

“It’s cool… Why did you leave without a jacket? I mean, it’s snowing like crazy. You’re gonna get hypothermia or something.”

“Well, I didn’t want to let you get away.” The boy laughed, brushing off some flurries compiling on his shoulder. “It was great to see you there. But, why didn’t you tell me? Why the secrecy.”

You shrugged. “Why should I tell you?”

At that, you weren’t expecting Joshua to have a response. Maybe he’d be a little puzzled and have to think about it. Instead, he seemed to be formulating a surprise of his own.

“Because I have a song for you,” Joshua revealed, “I wrote it with Jihoon. It’s an acoustic thing. But I could turn it hard rock too.”

It felt like someone had turned the table. Ironically, you were the one struggling to reply, your brow furrowing in the dim light as you stared at this boy with his glowing cheeks and his hair disrupted by the flakes of snow. You sniffled, cold air hitting your lungs.

“Why would you write a song about me?”

No one had ever done such a gesture for you before. Not that you had been acquainted with many musicians or lyricists. You felt strange, but also warm, and heart-fluttery, and like you were possibly falling for someone harder than ever before. Joshua approached you tentatively and grabbed your hand, his eyes soft.

“Probably because I like you.” Joshua murmured. “A lot.”

Your heart started to pound, and it felt like someone was banging their fists against your chest. Even if you had denied it in the beginning, the truth was that you liked Joshua too. And yet, those reciprocating words somehow fell to the bottom of your feet. Because as much as you wanted it, you still weren’t ready for someone new.

“Joshua…” you squeezed his hand and looked into those endearing eyes of his, “I-I can’t right now. I was in a relationship not too long ago, and now that’s over, but I’m still trying to get over it. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

The boy shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry.” Joshua answered, running his thumb between your knuckles. “You’re not ready, I get it.”

Breathing out slowly, you smiled at him. 

You were yanking open all the drawers in the kitchen, trying to remember where exactly you had stuck that little metal whisk. A bowl of unmixed cupcake batter was waiting to be stirred. Each year that it was open, you signed up for the Complex Gift Exchange, and it just so happened that sixty-five-year-old Miss Dupont really liked vanilla cupcakes. You pulled out the drawer that had been hiding the ruined, stained paper courtesy of your paint by numbers kit.

Rolling your eyes, you slammed it shut, only to realize you’d left the whisk sitting behind the big bag of flour on the counter.

Even though you had turned down Joshua that one night in the snow, he didn’t act spiteful or weird about it. And somehow, you two had grown closer since. Joshua was very easy to talk to. He was a good listener. No matter how many times you ran into each other on the elevator, or at the supermarket, the letter boxes in the lobby or at the car lot, Joshua always made time to listen to whatever mishap had bothered you that day. He still railed on his electric guitar every now and then, though you were beginning to accept it. Baby steps.

Apparently, one of his bandmates was visiting today. 

You knew exactly when he’d arrived too, because as soon as you pulled the cupcakes out from the oven to cool, this wave of intense sound; drumming, symbols, guitar, everything, exploded from the floor above, like someone had just thrown a clump of instruments into a hurricane. You stared up at the ceiling winsomely and sighed.

Dressed in a long, thick winter coat, you went outside the complex to visit the garden, now blanketed by snow and sparkling white. You brushed off the bench that had once sat before a fiery pink row of petunias and took a seat. It was much quieter.

“Hey!”

Or so you thought.

Turning around, you gazed up at the apartment complex, spotting two familiar faces hanging out from a fourth story window.

“What?!” You shouted back.

Joshua grinned, then cupped his hands around his mouth as an amplifier. “Were we being too loud?!” He asked.

“Yeah!” His friend yelled. “Were we too loud?!” You had learned the other face was Jihoon, the band drummer, his hair now a rusty shade of crimson. He helped write most of their music.

“No, I’m just sitting out here in the wind and snow and below zero temperatures because I want to!” You replied at the top of your lungs.

Waving at you apologetically, Joshua kept smiling. “Sorry! I’m gonna kick him out soon!” He pointed at Jihoon. “If you want, you can come up here and listen to our last rehearsal!”

Jihoon shoved Joshua’s head out of the way.

“Don’t come up here!” The drummer exclaimed. “It’s not even close to ready yet. He’s just saying that because he’s in—”

A hand clamped swiftly to the boy’s mouth, muffling the remainder of his sentence like it was top secret. Joshua then dragged him away from the open window. Quirking an eyebrow in confusion, you stared at the vacant space until Joshua reappeared a moment later, scratching the back of his head and looking sheepish.

“Sorry about that!” Joshua called. “We’re almost done!”

“I’m in no rush!” You answered, turning back around.

It was true. There weren’t too many pressing things you needed to get done today, besides making the buttercream frosting for Miss Dupont’s cupcakes. The weather wasn’t even as terrible as you made it seem. The wind was light, and the shining sun helped mitigate the usual bitterness of winter. It was quite nice out.

Until about ten minutes later, when Joshua threw a snowball at your back. You spun around quickly, glaring at the boy who was dusting his hands clean of snow, standing near the complex doorway. In that moment, you wanted to be angry at him. But, to be honest, you felt like laughing instead.

“Shouldn’t I be the one throwing snowballs at you?”

Joshua shrugged. “If you could even hit me.”

“Keep your eyes open tonight, Joshua Hong.” You comically threatened him. “Where are you going, anyways?”

“I have to get my person a gift for the exchange thing.” He said, pulling a hat over his hair. “And a new guitar pick.”

“Have fun with that.”

Then, waiting for him to turn around, you hastily packed together a snowball and threw it against the back of his coat.

Miss Dupont somehow figured out who was responsible for her gift. She asked you to give her the cupcakes early, because she swore, she was had been able to smell them baking through the air ducts. Maybe you added too much vanilla. Everyone was supposed to exchange their gifts tomorrow, leaving them by the door or delivering them in person. You didn’t have a clue as to who could be preparing your gift. As long as it wasn’t another candle wreath to collect dust in your closet, you figured you’d be fine with it.

Tonight would be your last opportunity in a long while to watch Joshua’s band perform at the downtown bar. You’d missed their last show, ruminating over the possibility of encountering your ex again; feeling those horrible emotions which were nothing more than poison in disguise. After the New Year, Joshua was planning to visit South Korea with his bandmates for a few weeks. It would be awfully strange to not hear another symphony from his electric guitar, or Jihoon’s drumkit. Jeonghan never really stopped by much.

It was at least an hour or so before Joshua was scheduled to perform. So, you decided to walk down the street to the lane of trees now wrapped and curled with lights. There were small, twinkling white lights. Large, blue lights shaped like hanging icicles. Some blinked in a specific pattern while others morphed colours. At night, it made quite the spectacle. Many people had stopped, much like yourself, to admire the aurora and pull their significant other a little bit closer. You huffed, hating this lonesomeness inside you.

But then you felt a quick pair of fingers dance up your back, and immediately recognized his eyes shining like stars.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you at the lights.” Joshua remarked, zipping up his jacket. “They’ve been up for a while now.”

“It’s always a magnet for couples.” You told him, glancing around at all the handholding and heads leaned adoringly on shoulders. “And I am—well, I was, standing here alone.” Inside your coat pocket, you played with a piece of lint, realizing that perhaps you finally felt ready and significantly healed to consider another relationship.

Looking at you from the corner of his eye, Joshua nodded.

It seemed as though the lights were a place he visited frequently, even amongst all the couples. To you, Joshua seemed like someone who was inspired by love. The not so subtle nature of awkward yet enamored eye contact which made people giggly. Holding onto the very tips of someone’s fingers because you couldn’t let go of their hand even for a second. Pressing an ear to a comfortable chest, listening for a rhythmic, thumping heartbeat. You bet he liked kisses too. Quick kisses on cheeks and gentle kisses on noses and slow, warm kisses to the mouth which could set a fire in your belly.

Out of the blue, you asked him something personal.

“How fast do you usually fall for someone?”

Joshua’s eyes traced the twinkling lights of the tree, all the way to the very top.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve never thought about it.”

Kicking at a lump of hard snow, you sighed. “I think I fall too quickly. Maybe that’s why my last relationship ended the way it did. I just… I don’t know, it could be that I jumped in without knowing what’s beneath me. I don’t want that to happen again.”

The boy glanced at you, snowflakes already beginning to stick in his hair. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with taking things slow. I mean, there’s always going to be some chance in a relationship. You don’t know until you’re in it.”

“I guess so.” You replied. “When I think about it, anything’s better than getting text message-dumped right before a family dinner.” Joshua wasn’t a stranger to the humiliating affairs of your past relationship. One night, after one too many beverages at the bar, you introduced him to the entire story.

“Bad luck.” The boy said.

“Bad taste, more like.” You sighed. “I mean, what was I thinking?”

Joshua shook his head, his hand rubbing your shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up. Seriously, the right person will come along.”

Short laughter burst through your nose, and you looked at him with a knowing, lighthearted grin. “Are you supposed to be that person, Joshua Hong?”

“I’d like to think I am.” He chuckled, his cheeks getting rosier. “But I know you’re not ready. I can be patient, though.”

“So, you’re going to wait for me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Joshua nodded. “For you, and you only? Of course.”

At that, something deep in your chest began to stir. The feeling robbed you of your words and left you breathless. Afraid of what you might do in the silence between you, quickly, you changed the subject.

“Am I going to hear that special song you wrote? Or have you scrapped it already?”

“You’ll hear it.” Joshua said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an ivory guitar pick. “Save your applause for the very end, though. I know you might be tempted to start cheering, come up on stage in front of everyone and try to kiss me or something.”

Rolling your eyes, you started to laugh, your breath becoming a thin cloud in the still coldness of winter.

“You wish, Joshua Hong.”

He sighed, a faint smirk on his lips. “You’re right. I do.”

At approximately five o’clock in the morning, you were awakened by a fist banging at your front door. For a moment, you believed it was nothing more than part of a fuzzy dream, and simply tossed over in bed as your arms dug further under the pillow. However, the banging resumed almost instantly, and though it was very muffled, someone was calling your name.

Groaning, you dragged yourself from between the sheets and into the washroom, taking a quick sip of water before splashing some to your face. In a loose pair of shorts and a poorly adjusted tank-top, you stumbled to the front door, throwing it open while yawning.

“J-Joshua?” You mumbled, rubbing circles to your eye.

He stood on the opposite side of the threshold with a glimmery-red gift bag in his hand. For some reason, he was dressed in his jacket, those dark brown locks of his seeming damp or partly soaking as they were brushed back from his forehead. His cheeks and mouth were rosy, eyes glistering, and he was breathing deep.

You thought he looked gorgeous.

“Hey!” He exclaimed a little too loudly, as though he’d forgotten how early it was. “So, uh, weird news. Turns out we’re leaving for South Korea today, and we have to catch this seven-am flight. We’re kinda pressed for time. Jeonghan’s been helping me throw all my shit into these suitcases and—anyways, besides the point.” Taking in another breath, Joshua then held up the pretty red gift bag. “I got you for the Gift Exchange. Well—not really. But I made Mrs. Akané switch with me. This is for you.”

The sudden splurge of information had for feeling even more disorientated than when you first awakened. Joshua had to leave already? Had he been packing ever since you walked home together from his show? He pulled strings to get you for the Gift Exchange?

Reaching into the bag and pushing around some tissue paper, you pulled out a rectangular-shaped kit. It felt fairly heavy.

And then you realized just what he’d gotten you.

“Really?” You smiled, letting the bag drop to the floor because all you cared about was the project in your hands. “Another paint by numbers kit? I didn’t even know they sold these here!”

Joshua nodded, brushing some melted drops of snow off his cheek. “It wouldn’t have arrived on time if I ordered it online. Trust me, it was a process. I had to get Jeonghan’s grandma to make some calls because she’s friends with this craft store lady.” He half-sighed, half-laughed. “I just remembered you were so upset about it when I met you. About a lot of things. And I never stopped feeling sorry. I know I laughed at it and everything, but I thought it was cute.”

You brought the project to sit on the dinner table. Looking outside into the street light, you were shocked at how heavily it was snowing. Huge, fluffy clumps. No wonder Joshua’s hair was so damp and his skin so flushed. You couldn’t believe that just a few hours ago, you were sitting on that barstool near the back of the dim room, listening to him sing and feeling like you were starting to love all over again. Now, Joshua was being whisked away.

“I should really get going.” Joshua said, rubbing his pink nose, “Jeonghan and Jihoon are waiting for me down there.”

“W-Wait!” You exclaimed before the boy could disappear.

Joshua paused, though you could read the look of urgence coloured to his face. It was merely a few seconds you stood in that spot, fiddling anxiously with your fingers and struggling to take another step, yet it felt as though time had stretched itself out like plasticine. 

And even though it was slightly terrifying, you had never felt so warm and full of thrill until you had crossed the space to kiss him. Your hands pushed against Joshua’s chest, searching for stability, as you experienced the soft sensation of your lips pressed so desperately to his. Joshua grabbed your cheek in his cold hand to tilt your head a little more left. He stared at you with a hazy, sort of dreamlike look, just for a moment, before kissing you again.

“Am I making you late?” You laughed breathily in between the heated breadth of another kiss.

Joshua shook his head, taking your face in both his hands, moulding his mouth against yours in a smile.

“They can wait just a minute longer,” he answered, “I can’t believe you’re doing this right when I have to leave. You’re really screwing me over, here.”

“Then finish it when you get back.” You smirked.

This time, you were certain of something: you hadn’t jumped too soon. You weren’t going to crash. You were falling in love.

✧✎ a/n: the end the end!! happy holidays !! <3 honestly think it’s kind of the dream to get joshua as ur apartment neighbour xoxo. HOPE U LIKED THIS DANI AND THAT IT GAVE YOU SOME SMILES heheh. i actually haven’t written for joshua in quite a while so i rly appreciated getting to experiment with this. i also love the idea of joshua in a band and being a sappy romantic who always writes abt his future muse ;_; i’m not a huge fluff person BUT I WILL GLADLY GIVE UP EVERYTHING FOR THAT! 

[astaroth1357]

Long Distance Longing with the Brothers

Want a little angst and sweetness? I love how this turned out and I think it’s a new favorite for me. I honestly should wait to post it... But I have no patience, I love it too much. Weirdly enough, thank Taylor Swift’s new album for giving me this idea. Go figure. 🤷‍♀️

Warnings: Angst, implied starvation

Intro:

The brothers knew it was going to happen eventually. The year can't last forever, and at some point they were going to have to say goodbye to their human for the break… But that didn't make the situation any easier. Nobody likes being so far from the one they love. It was only a matter of time before our boys are reaching a breaking point...

Lucifer

Lucifer has never really had a reason to not to work before… Like, yeah there are those days where things get stressful and he takes a step back, but actually taking an extended period of time to just... not work? A "vacation" if you will? He’s never had the desire. What would he even do with himself?

Well, for the first time in literal God knows how many centuries, he had an answer for that question. He was going to be with MC.

And that's exactly what he told Diavolo when he finally accepted that missing the MC was negatively affecting his work. 

He wanted a… "vacation."

Diavolo had never once thought Lucifer would ever ask, and to be fair the man never thought he would either, but he's more than happy to give his friend a few days off to visit his dear human.

Whatever brief hit that his pride took by having to admit that he needed a break was more than made up for by finally seeing the MC again. He knew he missed them, painfully aware of that fact, but just the sight of them waiting to meet him outside the portal was enough to nearly take his breath away…

His first vacation was sure to be paradise. 

Mammon 

Oh, the distance was killing this poor boy. Any day where he can’t have the MC on his arm feels worse than when he's on a losing streak…

Speaking of a losing streak, he's been stuck in one for a whole month without his beloved partner in crime with him. Did he lose his lucky charm or was he just too down in the dumps to gamble well? Anyone's guess.

Well he got fucking sick of it. He wanted to see the MC, ASAP. But how would he get to the human world…?

It takes a week but he gets an idea. It took another for it to actually trigger.

Like clockwork one of the witches he's regularly in debt to, one that just happens to be a bad gambler herself, summoned him out to give her a little extra luck. Usually, he'd just kick whatever slot machine she’s parked herself at and be done with it but this time he's got to ask… How long does that summon spell last, eh?

He made a new sort of bargain. She gets to take Goldie out for a spin if she gave him some time in exchange… 24 hours to be exact.

He didn't waste a second after striking the deal because he had a lot of flying to do.

The MC probably didn't expect to hear frantic knocking on their door at the break of dawn, nor to find a beat tired and disheveled Mammon leaning outside it….

But he embraced them for all it's worth anyway. If it meant feeling them in his arms again, he'd trade away the whole world if he had to...

Leviathan 

He… didn’t do so well with the distance. Like at all. He'd mope around the house, constantly bemoaning how unfair things were. Not even his favorite games can give him any joy because those were the games he used to play with MC…

Sneaking in the occasional video call was pretty much the only thing that could make him smile anymore. Just seeing their face felt like getting a cold drink in the middle of a scorching desert… But he wanted more.

Thankfully, the MC themselves gave him a really, really good idea…

For two weeks straight, Levi seemed to get out of whatever funk he was in to help out around the House… Like, really help out. Suck-up levels of help out. It creeped everybody out...

After a time he finally approached Lucifer and made a simple request. There was an anime convention going on in the human world soon and he'd like to attend…

The ulterior motive for this little visit is practically written on the wall, but he'd been acting so damn unnerving for the past two weeks Lucifer just gave him permission to make him stop.

When the MC agreed to meet him on the opening day, they said they'd be dressed up as someone he'd recognize. Frankly, he was expecting Henry or maybe Ruri-chan but he was completely floored to see them waiting for him dressed in a familiar black hoodie with coral-like horns on their head and a carefully crafted serpent's tail behind them.

To this day he still can't decide what made him happier: seeing the love of his life so adoringly dressed as him or finally feeling their body collide with his after they came running to each other outside the convention hall...

In the end it probably doesn't matter because for that whole day alone, he finally felt like he had everything he could of ever wanted right there with him.

Satan 

Satan's not one for idle moping so when he felt that yearning in his chest finally hit a tipping point, he didn't whine. He didn't complain. He got up and did something about it.

Teleportation magic is tricky to master and dangerous to perform even with sufficient skill. One wrong move and you could end up smearing yourself across three different continents…

But like that would stop him.

He pulled out every book he could find on the subject, researched for days, then practiced for weeks. First on books and apples, then on some of Lucifer’s belongings.

He had to keep making new excuses to throw Lucifer off the scent (especially after he started sending some of his shirts away to different parts of the house) but after some time, it finally paid off.

Satan was probably the last person the MC would have expected to see show up in their room randomly one night, sitting casually by a lamp and reading a book like he didn't just master time and space just to come say hi.

But who was going to be all that picky when they could finally shower their nerdy cat-lover in all the love and kisses they've both been missing for months now?

Asmodeus 

If you took Asmo at his word, then the sheer depths of longing and despair he was experiencing while the MC was away could far outweigh that of anyone else to ever have existed in the history of all time.

He was the Avatar of Lust, desire was in his nature. Couple that with a burning need to have his lover as close to him as he possibly could and it was safe to say he was losing his mind!

This might have been the reason Solomon finally gave in after his 16th-ish time trying to beg the sorcerer to help him. He really was quite pitiful in this state...

When Solomon told Asmo that he could smuggle him out of the teleportation gate between the Devildom and human world ONLY if he could magically disguised his appearance, he was kind of expecting Asmo to refuse. This was Asmo he was talking about. He honestly thought that he'd rather die than deprive the world of his beauty so selfishly…

The world is full of surprises, ain't it?

No matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, the MC was suddenly mowed over by a "stranger" running at them at top speed like an Olympic sprinter. It’d probably have been pretty scary before Solomon lifted the enchantment shortly after to reveal their demon’s gorgeously familiar face.

Solomon wasn't going to let him stay too long, lest he incur the wrath of Lucifer, but Asmo couldn't care less. Be it a thousand hours or a few short seconds, he could always find a way to make his time with the MC last a lifetime...

Beelzebub

Fun fact, Hell freezes over a little every time Beel says "I'm not hungry…" No. Seriously. A freezing wind blasts across the entire Devildom like the realm itself gets a sudden chill...

So imagine the levels of panic that went through pretty much everyone there when his appetite started to fail him.

It's not like the poor baby could help it, food just tasted so much better when the MC was there that eating without them was like trying to digest actual disappointment… He got tired of trying after a while.

A few days of this behavior were worrying, but when he started to get a little thinner the family went into an uproar, starting with Belphie but soon spreading to the rest of the House as well.

Lucifer's soft spot for the twins may have influenced his decision. I mean, it was awfully generous of him to get Diavolo to approve of an fully sanctioned, planned meeting between Beel and the MC. He probably wouldn’t have offered that to anyone else...

Not that Beel cared about all that background favoritism anyway. Hell, on the day that he was finally allowed to see them, he couldn't be bothered by anything other than holding the MC close and hoping they'd never let him go again.

His appetite did return to him eventually, of course, but as long as he had his human with him even the cheapest street taco tasted like a fine five star-meal.

Belphegor 

Frankly, Belphegor was sick and tired of missing people.

Ever since the Celestial War he missed Lilith. When he was stuck in the attic, he missed Beel. And now that the MC was away he was supposed to just sit patiently and miss them too? No way. Not happening. Something about that had to change.

It wasn’t the first time he'd gone to Lucifer in an angry huff, but admittedly he had more ammo than usual...

There was a… discussion between the two. It went on for a couple hours… There may have been some words to the effect of, "Don't you think you owe me?" exchanged… 

Honestly, it was kind of amazing Belphie didn't end up in another attic "timeout" by the end of it. But he got what he wanted, so what's to complain about?

With a little persuasion on his part, Lucifer managed to get Diavolo to approve of a weekly visit for the two, SO LONG as Belphie stayed on his best behavior in the human world.

There wasn’t really much worry about him acting up, though, since he'd have his nap buddy back. It would be pretty hard to be a threat to humanity when he was too busy staying snuggled up to his favorite person until well past noon...

[deaththesyd]

To The Brink Of Confession: Chapter 1, "He's not ugly"

I'd like to blame @mytanuki-kun for one of their works inspiring this side project that is now in the way of my Kisame week progress. As frustrating as this is, I'm having fun with this one and I'm excited to write my first true multi-chapter fic, even if it doesn't fit with the rest of my works and their timeline.

Summary: At first, she had shrugged it off as him simply being worn out from all the social interaction, but if that was the case, why was he only avoiding her?

At first, she had let it slide. Being super friendly and interacting with people was draining after all, and being forced to live in close quarters with such a loud group was sure to take its toll on even the most extroverted people. His avoidance lasted the entire rest of his time spent in her world, but she didn’t worry. As usual, a month passed by before she herself was teleported away into the foreign world of Jutsu, violence, and ninja. She even shook off her doubts when instead of her usual escorts, she was picked up by Kakuzu and Hidan, being told that the others were all preoccupied with important missions, ones that she would only be a distraction from. Entertaining as she found the duo and their antics, she couldn’t exactly hide her disappointment from the silver-haired loudmouth she had grown to consider a friend.

“What’s with all the moping, huh?” He said loudly, stood in front of her, face lowered to look her directly in the eyes as she had been watching the ground as she walked. Blocking her path forward, she stopped to look up at him, forcing herself to push down her thoughts and play them off as nothing. Surprising as it may be, Hidan wasn’t entirely self-absorbed and happened to be pretty talented at sensing other's emotions, a skill that he very rarely made use of. Not that it was really all that hard to see that something was up with her. Always easy to read, an open book, she was the worst liar and easily the most sincere person he had met. He seriously couldn’t stand her mood lately, it was worried and upsetting. Mixed with Kakuzu’s ongoing anger at everything and everyone, the irritating emotions were mixing and giving Hidan a headache. There were only two ways he could think of to fix this, either piss off Kakuzu to relieve his built-up stress and risk an explosive and painful response, or play concerned friend and get the woman lagging behind them to return to her normal upbeat self. Contemplating both options, the least painful option seemed the best bet.

“It’s not nothing, I can tell, so don’t bother lying, you’re shit at it anyway,” he cut her off as she tried to reply.

She tried anyway. “Really though,” she said, smiling almost convincingly, “I’m just lost in thought, we’ve been walking all day, can you blame me for tuning out?” Waving him off, she sidestepped him to follow after Kakuzu, who had not stopped for them and was quickly leaving them behind.

Knowing that the likelihood of being separated from Kakuzu was high if they didn’t keep up with the old man, he didn’t hold her back but stayed by her side to press for a proper response. “I said not to fucking lie,” he spoke casually knowing that anything truly harsh would only shut her up further, “you’ve been like this ever since you got here, it’s not just you being tired of walking.”

Sighing, she replied, “Ok, you’re right that I’m not just tired, but it’s nothing, really. I just need to manage it by myself.” No longer lying was a step forward, but she kept her lips tight on whatever it was. She was stubborn, but Hidan was persistent.

“What’s with you being all shy all of a sudden? You’re always so fucking talkative no one but Fishface can get you to be quiet,” he complained, almost missing how she reacted at the mention of the tall swordsmen. He grinned, seemed like he had a hook. “Awe, is this about your little crush on the big guy? Did you ask him out and he chickened out?” He laughed cruelly.

It wasn’t much of a secret that she had feelings for Kisame, she wasn’t very good at hiding how he caught her eye, often spacing out while watching him train, and making any excuse to get his attention. Everyone at some point had noticed the flush to her face around him, or the fond look in her eyes as she looked up at him. To most, it wasn’t anything to focus on. Kakuzu and Sasori couldn’t care less about it, as long as she wasn’t being obnoxious, Itachi seemed to keep a careful watch over her and her interactions with his partner, his reasons were unknown to Hidan who couldn’t care less about the Uchiha. Deidara and Hidan made sure to poke fun and tease her at any opportunity, making sure to keep their taunts from the man of her affections, trying to draw out their entertainment as long as they could. After months of this, she had become accustomed to the mostly friendly jeering from the two and had begun to poke fun at herself as well. It seemed she had resigned herself to watching from afar and keeping her flirting to a level that was easily mistaken for friendly conversation by the oblivious man.

Years of being acquainted with Kisame had only given Hidan a surface-level knowledge of the man, but recently he had noticed just how unconfident truly was of his looks, something he of course zeroed in on immediately. 6 foot whatever and hulking over even Kakuzu, it was hilarious to him that the member of the legendary Swordsmen of the Mist was both self-conscious over his fishy appearance, and his years of training as a ninja had not taught him to notice the obvious signs that a woman was into him. How anyone could be so unaware, yet so skilled was beyond him.

Her face saddened at his words, her brow furrowing, and her eyes cast themselves to the ground again. “I haven’t said anything, but I think he might have caught on,” she said quietly.

Despite her clearly upset confession, he grinned. “Way to go! Fishface finally figured out how to see above water, wondered if his brain was just waterlogged,” he snickered, excited that he could finally openly pick on him over the subject, but she didn’t smile and remind him to be nice like she normally did when he made digs at the sharkman. Clearly not a good sign then.

“I think he’s avoiding me,” she said, looking defeatedly at her shuffling feet. Now that made no sense.

Not long after it was clear to everyone but Kisame that she had an attraction to the tall man, it became more and more obvious that it was reciprocated. As much as she stared at him, he stared at her. Less openly, probably why it had taken everyone a while longer to see it, but it was well known that the two were complete idiots that had no clue the other was just as interested as they were. Part of Hidan had wanted to tell them immediately, embarrass them and make a scene out of it all, but another part of him had held onto their frustrations and fed off of it as a much more drawn-out entertainment source. Deidara was in on it too, saying that as much as he wanted to set off an explosive show by forcing their feelings out into the open, he also wanted there to be a build-up. In the meantime, they got to tease their fishy accomplice as much as they could get away with without pissing him off and alerting the other half of the pining duo. The fact that Kisame was avoiding her after finding out she felt the same was not what anyone had expected. For once in his life, Hidan was pissed at the drama of it. He would not admit that he was actually looking forward to the two becoming a couple.

“Bet he’s just scared that someone thinks his ugly mug is hot and is worried for your sanity,” he laughed. Her hand smacked him halfheartedly.

“He’s not ugly.” She said sternly, “Although with how forward I’ve been, he may have been creeped out,” she smiled, but there was a twinge of pain on her face that Hidan couldn’t help but notice. It pissed him off, his whole religion was about inflicting pain and death for his God, but seeing her genuinely upset gave him a feeling of frustration on her behalf.

“There’s no way he’s creeped out by your creepy staring,” he found himself attempting to reassure her, feeling as though he was betraying his and Deidara’s whole scheme. “He’s clearly just as much a creepy stalker as you are.”

Unsure that she had heard him correctly, she looked up to see Hidan avoiding eye contact, looking off the side of the road, ignoring her reaction purposely. “I don’t see how he’s the stalker,” she laughed humorlessly, “When he’s the one avoiding me.”

“Of course you don’t, you’re just as fucking blind as he is,” he muttered. Her sudden giggle made him look at her in suspicion. “The hell’s so funny?”

She brought a hand to try and stifle her laughter before she spoke, “What’s got you all grumpy now? Upset someones not crushing back on you?” She teased, eyes darting to look at the silent man trudging forward ahead of them, then back at Hidan.

The glare he shot her only made her giggles slightly louder. “What the fuck are you gettin’ at?” He spat, daring her to continue.

Humming whimsically, she spoke, “I just think that maybe you’re projecting some of your own frustrations onto someone else.”

He should have chosen to piss off Kakuzu. She may have been the lesser of two evils at a first glance, but the ability she had to force him into subjects he would rather avoid was something he had forgotten to account for in his earlier decision. Unlike the completely requited yet oblivious relationship between her and Kisame, Hidan’s own feelings were something he tried to ignore whenever possible. It was just a shitty joke she had made, something about how Hidan should leave her alone since he was really just trying to make the old man jealous. Something he should have shaken off with a normal insult towards the old miser, yet he had frozen, caught off guard by the accuracy. That was the one and only time he had ever allowed himself to come out to someone and let them live. It was shameful in the church to have feelings of devotion for anyone but Jashin, yet wanting someone that couldn’t produce more followers was even more so. Adamantly, he refused his feelings towards the man, but since that day she had treated his explicit flirting as nothing more than a show.

Embarrassed as he was, his comeback held no bite, and her teasing and further avoidance of the earlier topic increased. Eventually, it turned into a loud argument that reached Kakuzu’s ears, who ended their annoying discussion by threatening them both. She was easier to scare, but whatever they had been squabbling about had made Hidan more feisty than normal.

“Fuck off you old dick! There’s plenty of politer ways to ask to be included in a conversation,” came the danger prodding taunt from the young man. It was hard to guess why, but the older man’s fuse was shorter than usual, and the woman yelped as a dark arm split off from the man's torso to grab the face of the loudmouthed man right beside her. Flailing wildly and ineffectively he was dragged along the ground, yanked by the harsh grip of the intolerant man. Green eyes surrounded by red sclera flashed at her, warning her she would be next if she didn’t follow quietly. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she did just that.

[the-lady-writes-what]

21. Hizashi Yamada and Shouta Aizawa

          Theme: Fox spirits/gods

          Kinks: Threesome, double penetration, biting, marking, praise kink, oral      (receiving), breeding kink (if you squint), polyamory/polyandry

Sorry this is a little late. My brain was like, I know I said I was going to make these short one-shots but how about we make them bigger? 

(The gif has nothing to do with the story, obvi)

Masterlist

You climbed up the many steps leading to the shrine. This was your last resort. The humiliation induced by your vicious ex-boyfriend still left gashes in your heart. Your curse was that you fall in love too quickly and are blind to all faults until it's too late. Your most recent misadventure in love had been so cunning, so cruel that you wasted three years of your life with a man who was, in the words of your best friends, a massive cunt. Manipulative, emotionally abusive, but the cherry on top was the rumor he spread about you having an S.T.D. you'd gotten while cheating on him. Mind you, he was the one with the sexually transmitted disease. You were spared because you hadn't slept with him in recent months. The sting was a deadly blow to your self-confidence and trust in men.

After months of battling depression and anxiety, your aunt suggested a remote village trip and visit this exact shrine. Upon arrival, you were acutely aware of all the women either paired off or visibly pregnant. You noticed this at arrival. It was small at first—a lot of couples paired off, two by two like swans. Then, when you approached the marketplace and asked for directions, you noticed how the shopkeeper was pregnant, along with her sister and sister-in-law. There weren't many single men or single women as far as you could tell. Even a male couple looked happy.

You wanted to burn this town to ashes.

It was insulting, really. You came all this way just to have happiness and love shoved in your face while you, the miserable wretch, were forced to pine. You tried not to scowl as happy couples passed you by. Keeping your eyes focused ahead of you was all you could do to avoid knocking the smiles off their faces. Now, here you were, mounting the steps to a shrine shrouded by pines and red maples. Leaves rustled on the steps, which drew your attention. Fallen leaves littered the stairs and the shrine's sacred grounds, but that seemed awfully unauspicious. Was there no groundskeeper, no shrine maiden, no priest to clear them away? As you reached half-way up the hill, you noticed the smell in the air. Not a bad smell, but it was pervasive all around. The scent invaded your senses. It smelled a lot like jasmine and patchouli. You didn't think much of it and thought it was just someone burning incense at the shrine.

Two masculine figures lounged in the garden. One looked indifferent while the other moped. The latter was blonde; it matched the protruding fox ears on his head and the fluffy, swishing tail patting his thigh. He rested his head on the lap of the former, who appeared much like him except his hair, ears, and tail were black as ink. This one wore an indifferent expression. He looked out into the garden as he made a mental list of all the things he had to do around the shrine. Weeds had encroached where they weren't wanted during the summer and now choked the garden. Fall arrived early this year and made the trees shed their leaves too soon. The steps, as well as the grounds and roof, were covered in maple leaves. The inside needed moping, shining, dusting, and replacing oil lamps. There was still the matter of the hole in the sanctuary's ceiling that needed mending. But was there any human around to do it? No. The last priest died over fifty years ago. Shouta, the black fox, and Hizashi, the blonde fox, had been left alone to answer the whims of pilgrims.

It was almost thankless work. Ensuring happy marriages, love matches, and fertility was hard work when one was forced to clean their own shrine. As long as they were tied to this spot, Hizashi and Shouta had no other choice. The only thing more embarrassing than a shrine-god having to clean up his own shrine was a homeless one.

"I'm starting to miss the old man," said Hizashi. "He was so much fun to drink with. At least he had a sense of humor. Unlike the other fuddy-duddies, they tried to send us."

A few months after the last priest's death, his congregation tried to settle another to take his place. The successor was stern and took his job too seriously for Hizashi's liking. 'He's too dull,' Hizashi used to complain. Shouta wasn't much of a fan either, but it was more due to Hizashi's constant sighs and complaints that drove him to chase the priest away. Shouta ensured that no other settled down for too long. As far as the pair was concerned, the priest who died fifty years ago was their last worthy priest.

"It's so boring and lonely up here. There's no one to play with," Hizashi complained.

Shouta rolled his eyes. Hizashi was in one of his moods again. Boredom took a toll more on him than his 'co-worker' and sometimes lover. It was easy to get bored of making love for fifty-odd years while still working a thankless job. Only occasionally did some old lady or grateful newlywed came to offer incense and drop a donation. Whenever there was money, even a scrap, either Shouta or Hizashi would venture down the hill to mingle with the humans for a little bit. Men or women often flirted with them, but they couldn't decide on a partner they could both enjoy. Instead, everyone was declined.

"Maybe we could call up Nemuri and see what she's up to?" Hizashi suggested.

Shouta gave a flat answer. "No."

Hizashi pouted and went back to his pouting.

"You're no fun," said Hizashi.

"I know." Shouta petted Hizashi's ears to placate him.

Suddenly, a shudder rippled through both of them. They looked at one another. A smile quickly spread across Hizashi's face.

"We have a visitor!" He jumped up at once and dusted himself off.

"We have visitors all the time," said Shouta, but this was a lie. Visitors became fewer after the summer once pilgrims got their desire.

"But did you feel that, Shouta? A poor, miserable, broken-hearted young woman just crossed the path of our statues, and she's heading this way. Don't you feel it? Oh, the poor dear?"

The shrine-gods knew the hearts of all those who entered. It was their specialty to work in all the matters of the heart and the bedroom. Sniffing out broken hearts was a talent they both shared, but Hizashi was the more sensitive one. A fractured heart held an aura that most humans couldn't detect by sensing it alone. Sometimes it was a trifling matter. This time, however, Hizashi felt far more significant pain. Betrayal called out to him like a widow. He hadn't even seen the woman's face but could smell her despair, hate, and ache from miles away. She needed help.

Shouta felt it too. He pitied the human and wondered what brought her to that state. His curiosity was peaked, which didn't happen very often, if at all. Her presence was a sad one, and it threatened to taint the whole shrine with her negativity. Negativity drew hungry ghosts and pesky imps like moths to a flame. All of that meant more work for him. Aside from wanting to protect what little dignity his shrine had left, it was his duty to help this miserable wretch.

"Can we introduce ourselves, Shouta?" Hizashi's bright green eyes twinkled with mischief, hope, and something else Shouta could not easily define.

Shouta weighed the pros and cons in his head. By the time he came to a decision, he could hear the woman walking into the courtyard. Her voice was carried on the autumn wind. She was curious too, likely wondering why a shrine was seemingly left abandoned and in disarray. It would be rude to let her go forlorn after a trek up the hill.

You passed under the second torii gates and a second pair of fox statues. There were no lion-dogs as you saw in most other shrines, but this one had a strong love for foxes apparently. You looked at the water in the pavilion used for ceremonial purification. You cringed at the slightly brackish water and used very little to purify your hands. As soon as you got to the nearest restroom, you were going to scrub your hands raw. Walking down the narrow path leading to the inner sanctuary, you kept noticing very odd things. The shrine was in massive disrepair with cracks, debris, and brackish water. It wasn't a complete eyesore, but something did not feel right. There was not a soul you could find; loneliness pervaded every inch of the place. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself as you walked on. You found the spot where wishers and pilgrims wrote their prayers on wooden plaques to hang them up. While there were plenty of rustling in the wind, they weren't very many. You scrawled your desire for a loving partner, happiness, and to forget the man who wounded you so deeply.

You hung the plaque alongside the three dozen blowing in the wind. You went further ahead to pay your respect at the small public shrines built on the side of the shrine's complex. There were only two buildings. One foot across, seven feet long, and six feet tall, they were impressively big for small shrines. These were the only buildings uncovered by leaves and pines branches. You marveled briefly at their pristine appearance. In your bag, you brought along the incense your aunt prescribed. You retrieved two sticks of carnation incense and dipped the stick end in the bowl of sand. You lit the incense, clapped your hands twice, and said a prayer. You did this twice at both shrines.

You turned your back to face going all the way down the hill again when you spotted something at the corner of your eye. At first, it seemed like your mind was playing tricks on you. Out of the corner, you thought you saw a ball of glowing blue light flicker in the window of the main shrine. The main shrine was off to limits to everyone but the priests and shrine maidens. This was where the kami, the god, was housed and worshipped by the clergy. You turned to see if what you saw had really been there. Another flash of blue flickered in the window and then another. You swallowed hard, but curiosity pinched at you. You wanted to know. With a quick glance around, you wandered over to the main shrine.

You cut over the grass and walked into the oratory. There were no voices or footsteps other than your own. You called out to anyone who would be listening, yet no one answer was given. Your voice carried down the halls. However, just because no one answered, it didn't exclude the idea altogether that no one listened. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end as you drew closer to what you assumed was the forbidden connecting hall that led into the inner sanctuary, which was supposed to be off-limits to the public. As far as you could tell, no one was around to stop you or tell you no.

You took a deep breath and crossed the threshold. Your heart pounded inside your chest. The halls were so dark you had to grope around just to find a wall. You tried to turn around and head out only to get yourself more lost. It was as if you were stuck in a maze. Every direction looked the same, and turning around seemed to make matters worse.

In desperation, you called out, "Hello?"

Still no answer. You trekked further in the hopes of running into someone, anyone, and get them to show you the way out. You hoped that they had a flashlight on hand. You would barely make out your hand in front of your face if you held it up.

Another flash of blue had you whirling on your face. You whipped your head in that direction. Shivers ran down your spine as you felt a pair of eyes bore a hole into the back of your head. It didn't feel like something glaring at you, but the sensation frightened you nevertheless. You took off in the direction of the blue flash. Yet another appeared up ahead, further along than the previous. You started running after it. More appeared, and each grew more distinct in shape and color than the last. You managed to get close enough to hear the hiss and flicker of its fire. You stared at a ball of blue flames with its tongue licking the air. It disappeared into nothingness and reappear off in a different direction.

You found it hovering in front of a set of shoji doors. It disappeared once more. Lights flickered behind the rice paper. You pried your fingers against the seams and pushed the door open. Lamps lined the walls. They burned with pale blue and white flames behind their screens. You approached with caution and gripped your bag straps tight.

Wooden floors creaked beneath your feet. You mentally cursed yourself for dragging your shoes inside the holy place, but the longer you glanced around the room, the more it seemed that this was not an ordinary shrine. The room had a lower portion accessible by three steps, and a red mat covered much of the space. A shrine rested on the floor on the other side. In each of the four corners was a vase that held carnation flowers. Somehow, all the flowers were in perfect condition and thrived in the forgotten space. You stepped carefully towards the shrine when you felt something behind you.

You looked over your shoulder. Not something, but someone and just a someone but someones. It wasn't the fact that you finally met another person at the shrine or that they were men that gave you alarm. It was the ears sticking out on top of their heads, the tails swishing back and forth behind them, and the regal manner in which they bore themselves. The one in a black yukata folded his arms across his chest and looked quite serious, probably because you were trespassing. The other man wore a red yukata, but he appeared far more friendly than his companion. He smiled broadly at you as if you hadn't just broken one of the most sacred, unspoken rules about behavior at a shrine. You swallowed hard and bowed from the waist.

"I am so sorry for intruding, sirs. I-I didn't mean to intrude…I got lost and couldn't find my way out. I'll leave immediately if you just show me the way. I promise I'll never come back and disturb another shrine so long as I live!"

"Easy there, little sparrow. No need to get riled up," said the friendlier one.

Slowly, you raised yourself up. You looked at them again, still bewildered by their ears and tail. They were either the strangest priests you were likely to ever come across, or they were—

"What business do you have here?" Asked the more somber fellow.

"I-I" You choked on your words. "I had a boyfriend who did rotten things to me. I was hoping to, to, um, to…" Your voice trailed off.

You were too distracted by the fox ears on their heads. They looked too real to be fake, but how was that possible?

The blonde one snapped his fingers.

"My eyes are down here, love," he chuckled.

Your cheeks darkened with embarrassment. "Please, if you could just tell me how to get out of here, I'll leave you alone."

Your first instinct would be to bolt for the door. When you glanced behind them, the doors had been shut when you remember having left them open. Were these demons standing in front of you? Is that why the shrine seemed so empty?

"Leaving so soon? But you haven't even heard our proposal yet?" Said the blonde.

Your brows furrowed. "P-Proposal?"

The black-haired fox-eared man slipped something out of his yukata sleeve. It was your wood plaque you left hanging outside. His ebony eyes gleaned over your wish and read it aloud.

"I don't know who will answer this, but I want to find true love, a life partner who will never stick a knife in me and twist. A man, or frankly anyone who will love and care for me. Please bring me happiness and make me forget about the man who abused me for three years. Is this your wish, Y/N?"

Your face drained of color. "How do you know my name?"

"We have our methods. I'm Hizashi. The dour one is Shouta. It's lovely to meet you."

"W-what are you?" You ventured to ask.

"We're the shrine gods. It's been lonely up here for a while now. The priests haven't been to our liking for the last fifty years, so we're forced to take care of the place ourselves, which is rather insulting if you think about it," said Hizashi.

"And…what are you the gods of?"

"Love, fertility, happy marriages, love-matches, all that fun stuff," answered Hizashi.

"Are you the reason why every other woman I met in town is pregnant?"

Hizashi answered, "Of course. We've been blessing this region with successful pregnancies for centuries. There hasn't been but a handful of miscarriages in all these years thanks to us."

"We're not the cause of the pregnancies if that's what that face is for, Y/N. We just ensure that the infant comes to term and reduce sterility in men and women," said Shouta, who had apparently been studying your face very closely.

Your blush darkened.

"Otherwise, this town would be full of half-fox spirits roaming around, wouldn't it?" Hizashi laughed.

"Okay…" You thought for a moment about what you were going to say next. This was all too surreal, but this was better than feeling miserable. "But what do you want from me?"

Hizashi and Shouta exchanged looks. A soft smile crept upon Shouta's face.

"We'll grant you your wish. On a few conditions," Shouta began. "As you can tell, our shrine is in dire need of—what do you humans call it nowadays? T.L.C.?"

"Tender love and care?" You said.

"Yes. That. Our shrine has been in disrepair for some time, but as much as the villagers enjoy making offerings, they aren't too keen on cleaning it. As you can imagine, it's rather embarrassing cleaning up your own shrine," Shouta continued.

"So, what you're saying is that you'll get me a decent boyfriend if I clean your house?"

"We can do better than, little sparrow," said Hizashi.

You felt his eyes wander your body. You couldn't help but shiver. Out of fear or anticipation, you couldn't tell at this point. You might have been hallucinating for all you knew.

"How would you like to be the wife of a god?" Hizashi laughed again. "Or two?"

"W-Wife? I just wanted a boyfriend who loved me. I don't remember asking for polyandry. Besides, why would you tie yourselves to someone human and mortal."

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," said Hizashi.

"What do you say? Help us repair the shrine, and you'll have something better than a boyfriend. It sounds like a good deal, doesn't it?" Asked Shouta.

"Yeah," you said incredulously. "A little too good to be true. What's the catch?"

"You would have to live here and 'maintain' the shrine's cleanliness and reputation. We could get someone to teach you to perform the kagura dance. Learn a few things that would make you useful around the shrine and to the villagers. A shrine maiden, for all intents and purposes."

That did even things out. You weren't tied to your apartment, especially since it still had the ghosts of your past boyfriends lingering in there. You didn't go to college, and you hated your job. Becoming basically a shrine maiden and marry a pair of fox-gods seemed like a step-up from your hum-drum life.

"Hypothetically, if I agreed to all that, how would we go about making it official? Are we to have a big wedding? Does Ōkuninushi* have to be involved? Is there supposed to be a ceremony we have to follow?" The questions tumbled out of your mouth one by one in your unusual state of mind.

"So many questions. To answer all of them in one go, here it is. All you have to do is enjoy yourself," said Hizashi.

Before you could ask what he meant, Hizashi closed the gap between you. His mouth was suddenly on yours, and his hands settled on your backpack's straps. Your load was unburdened by your shoulders. Hizashi's hands ran through your hair, holding your head hostage. You heard Shouta's footsteps come along beside you. He worked your shoes off your feet and your socks as well. When he arose, Shouta's hands found your waist. He snatched your head away from Hizashi to kiss you himself. From there on out, it was a frenzy of hands, mouths, and tongues teasing you.

The first thing to go was clothes. Hizashi and Shouta worked together to get rid of the annoying layers that kept them from feeling up more of your skin. Your autumn outfit suited the chilly weather outside but was ill-fitted for their current needs. Their hands peeled off each layer of clothing until you wore nothing but your bra and panties. Somewhere between removing each item of clothing, one of them summoned an extra-large tatami mat out of thin air. You landed softly on the sleeping mat, cradled between them. Their kimonos were disposed of in the same manner as your modern clothes, with one exception. They were both utterly naked underneath their yukatas. Your blush spread down to the top of your chest at the mere sight of their hardening members.

"You look so pretty blushing like that, Y/N," said Hizashi.

He took his place between your legs. Hizashi playfully snapped the hem of your panties. He seemed to enjoy your small yelp as the elastic snapped against your skin. Shouta sat on his knees and pulled your back flush against his chest. He unclipped your bra and tossed it aside. Hizashi pulled at your underwear until the fabric tore. You opened your mouth in protest, but all the words stopped in your throat to make room for the moan. Shouta palmed your breasts and tweaked your nipples into stiff peaks. Your ruined panties were forgotten as soon as Hizashi settled one of your legs over his shoulder, and he ran his long tongue along your slit.

"It's been a while since we've laid with a woman. You'll have to forgive us if we're a bit rusty," said Hizashi.

Hizashi ran his tongue along your slit again and hummed at your taste. His tongue dove between your folds and pinched your clit. Meanwhile, Shouta kept at his administrations to your chest and kissing your shoulders. You arched your back when you felt the tiniest pinprick of sharp teeth graze your skin. Shouta smirked at you and gave you a nice look at the fangs he had. Hizashi had the same situation going on. You could feel his teeth carefully caress your sensitive bits.

"Do you like my teeth, Y/N?" Asked Shouta.

You bit your lower lip and nodded.

"Then you're really going to like this." Shouta lowered his head to the spot where your neck met your shoulders.

He bit down, but not hard enough to draw blood. His hands continued to tease you while his mouth and teeth left dozens of love bites all over your neck. Hizashi pulled his head up from between your legs. He watched for a moment how your face twisted in ecstasy as Shouta marked your lovely skin. It didn't take long for the idea to get in his head that he should do the same. Hizashi brought his teeth against your inner thigh and nipped. He repeated the process over and over until both of your legs bore his teeth marks and hickies. You squirmed for them. Heat traveled in two directions, to your head and your lower belly. Hizashi resumed his task of fucking you with his tongue and added two fingers to help him in this endeavor. Soft squelches from you gushing over him was enough to make you never want to leave.

"You're so pliable, and your breasts are breathtaking," Shouta sighed next to your skin. "Are you about to cum, Y/N?"

You bucked your hips to the rhythm of Hizashi eating you out. Slowly, you nodded. Your fingers clutched Hizashi's head, mindful of his ears.

"Then," Shouta whispered the next part in your ear. "Cum."

Hizashi worked faster, pumping and licking your cunt. You grabbed for Shouta as pleasure ripped down your spine. Hizashi and Shouta shoved you face-first down the precipice. Your walls clenched tight around Hizashi's fingers and tongue while your jaws hung open. No one else could make you moan as loud as you did. And likely, nobody else ever will.

When Hizashi came up for air, his mouth and chin were drenched your essence. He leaned up, but instead of kissing you, he planted his lips on Shouta's. In turn, Shouta licked Hizashi's mouth to get a taste of you for himself while he was at. Shouta reached down and played with your clit while making-out with Hizashi briefly. You felt their members stand proudly against your body, and your inner walls clenched at the thought of one or both filling you to the brim.

Shouta and Hizashi kissed one more time. Hizashi peeled you off of Shouta just long enough for the latter to stretch out on his back. You were turned around. Shouta gestured with a 'come-hither' crook of his finger, and you crawled towards him. His hands grabbed your hips, made you straddle him, and pressed the blunt head of his cock against your slippery, wet cunt.

"Are you ready?" He asked. It was child's play holding you up like that with his cock more than ready to impale you.

You nodded your head. Shouta slowly, carefully pulled you down on his cock. It stretched you open again. You sank down on him until you were fully seated. You tried not to let your eyes roll into the back of your head. Shouta then grabbed your shoulders and pulled you down. Hizashi was right behind you, fisting his cock. He wasn't as big, but he was just as long. Hizashi placed his other hand on the small of your back. You felt his cock probe the area where Shouta was already preoccupied. Something clicked in your head. Shouta grabbed and clutched your hands. Beads of sweat ran down the side of your face while Hizashi brushed his cuck against your cunt.

"Look at me," said Shouta. "Look at me. You're going to be fine. We'll make you feel so good."

"So very good," Hizashi cooed.

You tightened your grip on Shouta's hands. You stared at his face as Hizashi pushed forward, stuffing you close to the point of damage. You were well-lubed up to take both of them, but in practice, this was your first time having two men fill you at the same time. Inch by careful inch, Hizashi pushed into your cunt. When he was fully seated, he let out a long sigh.

"I can feel both of you against, and it feels so good." Hizashi shuddered.

"Can you move?" Shouta asked Hizashi.

"Give me a minute."

You were given a few minutes reprieve, and in that time, you felt your lower belly swell. You felt them stretch you to impossible measures. Though tears stained your cheeks, you never felt more pleasure. The mixture of both pleasure and pain blurred the lines. It wasn't long before you were being pushed and pulled in either direction, their cocks fucking you deep.

Wet skin slapped against skin. The men you were sandwiched between grunted and moaned your praises at your ability to take them both so deep. There weren't any words you could say with any cohesion. Words became meaningless when being fucked into oblivion. Hizashi and Shouta worked in tandem. When one pulled out, the other plowed right in. Both cocks kissed your cervix as they drove themselves, and each other, wildly into your cunt. You felt fluids rush between your legs that mingled with your sweat. You squeezed Shouta's hands and buried your face in his chest.

Higher, higher, and higher still, you were flying. You bit Shouta's chest as their cocks thrust in and out. Your brain turned into mush at this point. All you cared about was getting fucked on their cocks forever. Little else mattered beyond that.

"I'm close," said Shouta.

"M-Me too," said Hizashi.

"Then let's finish it."

Without another word, they started to drive faster than before, and you thought it was impossible. Shouta returned your bruising grip and rammed upwards to meet Hizashi's downward thrust. They both moved quickly and headed towards coming undone inside you. You felt it too. Your walls spasmed and fluttered around both their cocks, though the stretch made it hard to tell. They shifted into an erratic pace rather than a smooth move. Their cocks drove harder into your cunt. Animalistic grunts filled the room as both Shouta and Hizashi slammed home. You screamed your climax just at the same time they did. You kept screaming while ropes of cum warmed your belly. You were moaning into Shouta's chest as you felt buckets of their seed filled your womb. There was nothing for you to wonder about why they were the gods of fertility and pregnancy.

Hizashi pulled all the out first. He massaged your shoulders while Shouta lifted your hips off him. Hizashi's long fingers dabbed some of the cum dripping down your thighs and pushed it back inside your weeping pussy.

"You gotta keep it in, ya, little sparrow. You want to be a good wife to your husbands, don't you?" Hizashi cooed.

*Ōkuninushi- mentioned in both the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki as the god of nation-building, agriculture, business, medicine, love, marriage, and fortune

[lumosandnoxwriting]

True Love - George Weasley

Title: True Love Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader Summary: George may have married a girl his dead twin brother may have been in love with at some point but it’s really not what it looks like. A/N: this fic is born out of my hatred for a post I saw a few days ago that said George and Angelina only got together as a way to mourn Fred, and that they would eventually get divorced. Requests are open and feedback is always appreciated!

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George is tiptoeing past Roxanne’s partially opened door to get a glass of water when he hears the little girl call out to him.

“Daddy?”

George stops in his tracks and shuffles over to her door, peeking in the crack. The only light in the room comes from a pink everlasting fire Y/N had produced in a jar for their daughter to use as a night light a few weeks ago. Roxanne is curled up in a ball in her bed, drowning in her fluffy comforter. George and Y/N had tucked her in and kissed her goodnight a few hours ago, so he frowns when he notices that her deep brown eyes are open and blinking up at him.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” George asks as he pushes her door open.

Roxanne sits up a little, reaching out to him. “Can’t sleep.”

George smiles at her grumbly voice, sounding so much like her mother does when she’s tired. He enters her room with a small laugh and takes a seat on the edge of her bed. He strokes her mess of curls they call hair and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Well that’s no good, pumpkin. How can Daddy fix that?”

Roxanne, smiles up at him, leaning back into her pillows. “Can I get a story? Please?” she begs.

George lets out a chuckle. “Of course.” He starts to reach for the copy of The Tales of Beadle the Bard that Y/N had placed on Roxanne’s night stand a few hours ago after she had fallen asleep. But he stops in his tracks when Roxanne grabs his forearm.

“Noo,” she coos quietly. “A story from your head, Daddy.”

George raises his eyebrows and chuckles at her demanding tone. Yep, there is no denying that she is Y/N’s daughter.

“Of course, pumpkin, how silly of me.” He brings his hand that had been reaching for the book back and places it on her cheek. “Any requests, darling? I could always whip out the one about the brave knight who lost an ear in battle.” George winks at his daughter while gesturing towards his missing ear, causing her to giggle.

“No, not that one. You always tell that one,” she teases.

George laughs again, tapping Roxanne on her nose. “Well sorry,” he drawls. “How about the one where the three brave knights rescue the King from the dungeon using their flying stead?” George frowns slightly at the memory of his twin, a pang of sadness in his chest. George gives Roxanne a questioning look when she shakes her head. “What do you wanna hear then, pumpkin?”

“Tell me the story about how you and Mummy fell in love,” she asks, looking up at him hopefully.

George bites his lip, contemplating the idea. Y/N and George had never really told their kids the full story of how they met, considering that it was pretty questionable. All they had told Roxanne and Fred ii is that they had been friends while at school, and a few years after graduation they met again and fell in love. They never mentioned the fact that Y/N used to date Fred.

“Well sweetie you know that story. Mummy and I went to school at Hogwarts together, and went our separate ways after graduation and then we got together a few years after,” George explains, trying to dodge the question.

Roxanne rolls her eyes. “That’s the short version. I wanna hear the whole thing. Please Daddy?”

George sighs, he can’t resist her pleas. “Alright, pumpkin. I guess our story begins on the morning of May 3rd, 1998.”

-

George is sitting on the ground next to Fred’s body, mostly alone. There are groups of people scattered around the Great Hall, some mourning the loss of their loved ones, others waiting for Madam Pomfrey and the other Healers that arrived from St. Mungo’s to help them. Everyone seems to be leaving George alone, allowing him to spend a few more fleeting moments with his twin.

He’s looking down at his hands, tears streaming down his face, so he doesn’t realize that someone has joined him until she speaks.

“Hey, George,” Y/N speaks quietly, voice shaking.

George looks up at the sound of her voice. Y/N is sitting on the ground too, on Fred’s other side, tears streaming down her face. She’s covered in dirt and blood and George can’t imagine that he looks any better.

“Hey, Y/N,” he mutters after he clears his throat. His throat feels raw, probably from a mixture of the crying and the fact that he hadn’t spoken in a few hours.

George watches as Y/N stares intently at Fred’s face, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek. They’re quiet for so long that George jumps slightly when Y/N speaks up.

“It’s been years since anything has happened between us and yet I still feel,” she cuts off abruptly to let out a few sobs.

Y/N begins to cry harder and George places a hand over the one she has placed on Fred’s chest. He squeezes her hand tightly, wishing there was more he could do to make her feel better.

-

“Mummy used to be with Uncle Fred?” Roxanne asks, pulling George out of his thoughts. Roxanne and Fred ii had heard many stories about their dear Uncle Fred from both of their parents and various other family members throughout their lives. But George and Y/N made a point to make sure that no one ever mentioned her past with Fred. Not because she was ashamed at the fact that she had once been with Fred, but because she didn’t want to confuse them.

George nods, blinking away the tears in his eyes. “Many, many years ago, they were together. Back when we were at Hogwarts. Your Uncle Fred and I met your Mum when we were all in our first year at Hogwarts. You know we were all in the same house and played on the Quidditch team together. You’ve heard Uncle Harry talk about the Triwizard tournament, right?” George waits for Roxanne to nod before continuing. “We were all in our sixth year when that happened and there was this great huge ball on Christmas called the Yule Ball. Uncle Fred asked your Mum to be his date, and they dated for a few months afterwards.”

Roxanne purses her lips, thinking about what her father has just said. “And when Uncle Fred died, Mummy still loved him?”

“Not exactly,” he answers.

Roxanne groans and rolls her eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

George rolls his eyes playfully. “Maybe if you hadn’t interrupted my story you would know by now,” he teases.

Roxanne sticks out her tongue playfully but doesn’t say anything else.  

“So, I guess our story continues in June of 1999.”

-

“Hey George. The store looks great,” Y/N speaks, shocking George. He turns around from where he had been stocking a shelf, a smile appearing on his face when he sees the familiar girl standing in front of him.

George hasn’t seen Y/N since the day they cried together over Fred’s body. He heard that she came by his funeral briefly, but he hadn’t seen her himself. Now, a little over a year later here she is, and George can’t help but think how beautiful she is. Her hair frames her face perfectly, and she is smiling warmly at him.

“Hey, Y/N. Thanks, it’s definitely getting there. Not quite back at its prime but, it definitely will be soon,” he says wistfully, looking around the shop.

After Fred’s death he hadn’t been able to step back into the store he had started with his brother. It hurt too much, and it almost felt wrong to go back to work without his partner in crime. The store had always been their dream, and George didn’t think he could carry on without Fred. He spent the first six months after Fred’s death moping around The Burrow, spending most of his time in bed, alone.

Everyone in the family had been patient with him, all of them taking time to grieve as well. Until one night, Molly sat him down and with as much love as possible told him that enough was enough. She had reminded him that Fred wouldn’t want George to throw away their dream just because he couldn’t be there with him. That the best way to honor his brother would be to carry on making their dream a reality. George, realizing his mother was right, had started planning new products that very evening.

He spent the next 5 months after that developing new products and perfecting them. 2 months ago, he finally plucked up the courage to enter the abandoned shop for the first time and started to put it back together. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had officially been open again for 2 weeks and running the store has made George the happiest he’s been in months.

“Every time I would come to Diagon Alley I’d check to see if the store was open again, and I’m glad it is. If there’s anything people need these days it’s some Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” Y/N says with a laugh.

There had been mass celebrations after Voldemort’s defeat, but so many lives had been lost that they were short lived, and the wizarding community had needed to slowly heal. Things had been getting back to normal, Diagon Alley was just as busy as it had been before, and George could hear happy voices and laughter every time the door to the shop opened.

George chuckles. “A bit of mischief makes everyone feel better. Things have been crazy since I reopened, I can barely keep up on my own.” He gestures towards the shelf he had been restocking when she came in, and the other various shelves that were missing products. “I never realized how much work it was, it was way easier when there was two of us. Between selling the products, making them and stocking them I’m exhausted,” he admits with a small laugh.

“I didn’t want to say it but, you look exhausted,” she teases, smiling at him playfully. “That’s um, kinda why I came in. I mean I obviously came in so I could see you,” she admits, blushing. “But also, I was wondering if you were hiring? I’ve been working freelance for The Daily Prophet but it’s not enough to keep me busy.”

George tries not to let his surprise show on his face. Y/N had always been supportive of George and Fred’s antics, but had never wanted to actively participate. George scratches the back of his head like he’s thinking about her offer, not wanting to seem too eager. “Yeah actually, that would be great. I could really use the help. I’ll have to get some references of course. Make sure you’re not too difficult to work with,” he teases.

Y/N rolls her eyes, playfully shoving George’s shoulder. “We got paired together in potions one-time years ago and you’re still giving me shit about it, Weasley? Unbelievable.”

-

“Mummy used to work with you? Before Uncle Ron did?” Roxanne asks, interrupting the story again.

George hums as he nods. Once Ron quit the Aurors office and came to work with George Y/N had left. Her and George were beginning to start their family, and she wanted to be a stay at home mum. She started writing again as well and had become a pretty successful children’s book author in the wizarding world.

“Yup. Uncle Ron used to work with Uncle Harry at the ministry, before you and your brother were born. So, your Mummy helped out at the shop, and then me and Mummy got married and decided to have your brother, so Uncle Ron decided to quit his job and work with me,” George explains.

Roxanne has a bewildered look on her face, like she had never thought about the fact that all the people she loves had lives before she was born. “So how did you and Mummy get together then? Fall in love?”

George chuckles. “I’m getting there, missy, don’t you worry about it.”

-

Y/N had only been working for George for a few weeks when he realized he had a huge problem. He was developing feelings for her. He had always found her attractive, but when Fred expressed interest in her during their fourth year he pushed those thoughts away. He was always the more reserved twin and doubted that he would ever act on those feelings anyway.

But now that they’ve been spending so much time together and working together so closely he can’t help but feel those things again. She’s just as beautiful has she had been back at school but there was so many other things too.

Her smile was so bright that it could light up the whole shop. She was always there to offer him a warm smile and a helping hand, staying late into the night to help him restock shelves or coming in on the weekends to help make a new stock for the upcoming week. She was always sending him little winks too throughout the day as they worked. While she was upselling a product to someone, or when he just seemed down and needed a pick me up, all he had to do was look over to her and she’d give him a reassuring wink.

And it certainly didn’t help that she was so damn good at her job. She was always helping him to arrange the store in the best way possible, moving around displays and finding new, exciting ways to showcase their range of products. She was so good with the customers too, always able to help someone, their customers always raved to George about how amazing she was as they checked out.

And her touch, it sent electric waves shooting down his spine. Whether it was a reassuring squeeze on his shoulders as he stirred a new potion late at night, or a hand on his back as she passed behind him his brain seemed to short circuit whenever they came in contact with each other.

It didn’t help that her presence had begun to creep into other parts of his life as well. She had only been working there a few days when Molly popped in to see how things were going. His mum had been so excited to see Y/N and invited her to dinner at The Burrow that night; since then it has become a weekly occurrence. He’s bumped into her at The Burrow more than once during the weekends as well, her and Ginny flying around each other and passing a Quaffle back and forth.

“Morning, George!” Y/N calls as she pushes through the shop door.

George jumps at the sound of her voice, not expecting to see her. It’s early on a Sunday morning, and George figured he’d be alone in the shop all day to catch up on the things they hadn’t finished the night before.

George stands up from where he had been kneeling behind the counter, trying to count out the safe, but mostly thinking of the girl who just entered the store. He smiles as she bounds up to the counter.

“What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” he stutters, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “But you were here late last night, I didn’t think you’d come in today.”

Y/N smiles at George, taking off her bag and placing it on the counter. “Well we didn’t finish everything last night, did we? You’ll actually be able to go out and enjoy your day if we’re both here working.” George gives her a look, prompting her to continue. “Besides I don’t mind being here all the time. I like being here.”

George’s smile fades, figuring that Y/n likes being here so much because it reminds her of Fred. They haven’t talked about that morning, when she had practically declared her love for his dead brother as they both cried, and George doesn’t plan on bringing it up.

He’s brought out of his deep thoughts as she passes by him, her hand brushing his arm and sending electric shocks up to his neck. He clears his throat to try and get rid of the lump in it. “Well thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem! What do you need me to do boss?”

George looks to the to-do list he had made after closing on Friday. Well the to-do list Y/N had made for him; she really was a huge help around the shop. Even if she did distract him from his work from time to time.

“Well looks like the next thing up on the list is,” he pauses, suddenly nervous. “Next thing up is to restock the love potions. But uh, I checked in the back earlier and we’re all out, so you’ll need to brew up a new batch.”

Y/N nods, heading towards the storeroom to grab the needed ingredients. “Yeah I can do that, no problem.” She pokes her head back through the door. “Or are you still hung up on that whole potions thing and don’t trust me?”

George laughs with her, his nervousness melting away at her playful tone. “Just get to work, yeah?”

With Y/N out of sight George is able to get back to work, and he had forgotten that she was there. That was until she interrupted him while he was stocking the shelves, causing him to shout and drop all of the Skiving Snackboxes he had in his arms.

“Bloody hell, Y/N. Forgot you were here,” he says with a nervous laugh, his cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment. He turns to face her, glancing at the cauldron in her hands. “What’s up?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you Georgie,” she says with a laugh, causing George’s knees to quiver at the nickname. “I haven’t made a potion in ages, let alone Amorentia. Just wanted to see if you could check it? Make sure I did it right.”

“Yea, ‘course,” George says quietly, leaning close to look at the potion. He stirs it with the silver spoon, checking to make sure the consistency is right. He’s a little nervous, leaning in so close to Y/N that he momentarily forgets what Amorentia does. “Forgot to mention, but that new perfume you’ve been wearing smells really good.” Y/N gasps, taking a small step back. George looks up at her. “What?”

“Thanks but um. I’m not wearing any perfume today,” she stutters out, refusing to meet George’s eyes.

George is about to question her, since he definitely just smelled her perfume, when it dawns on him. He wasn’t smelling her perse, but the Amorentia smelled like her to him. And he just admitted that.

“Look, Y/N I. I,” but he trails off, unsure of what to say. He opens his mouth to say something else but is stopped by Y/N stepping close to him and pressing a hard kiss to his lips. It lasts just long enough for George to grip her waist and for Y/N’s hands to tangle in his hair. Just as quickly as she had kissed him her lips were gone and they were just staring at each other.

She opens her mouth to speak, but when nothing comes out she closes it again. And before George knows it she’s rushing towards the counter to grab her bag. “I should go. Yeah I should go. I’ll see you later,” she rambles. And before George can blink again the door is shutting behind her.

-

“So, Mummy kissed you first!” Roxanne says excitedly when George stops talking.

“What? Like it’s surprising?” George scoffs with a chuckle.

Roxanne shrugs her shoulders, playfully smiling at him. “I mean have you seen how pretty Mummy is? And you’re, well you’re alright I guess.”

George can tell that she’s teasing him, and as payback he tickles her sides, causing her to shriek with laughter.

“Shhh,” he whispers, realizing just how late it is. “We don’t want to wake your brother up, or your Mummy.”

Roxanne nods, taking a few deep breaths to settle down. “So, what happens next? You and Mummy kiss and then what?”

-

George is still horrified about what happened the next morning as he opens the shop. He’s exhausted, having stayed up most of the night finishing everything on his list. It shouldn’t have taken him that long, but he kept getting distracted, thinking of how Y/N’s lips felt on his.

He’s about to grab the door handle so he can unlock it and officially open up when the door swings open and Y/N is walking through it. They collide, and George instinctively reaches out and grabs her around the waist so she doesn’t fall to the ground.

A moment later he realizes what he did and he lets go, stepping back. His cheeks are red and he rubs his neck sheepishly. “Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t think you’d come in today so I was just. Sorry, sorry.”

Once he finishes his rambling he turns on his heel and practically runs towards the counter, not even daring to glance at Y/N. But he can hear her footsteps following behind him and when he turns around she’s standing at the counter, an apologetic look on her face.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing to you, Georgie. I shouldn’t have ran out on you like that. And I shouldn’t have kissed you that was… well anyway, I’m sorry,” she says quickly.

George opens his mouth to respond, but the door to the shop swings open and Y/N is off to help the few customers who came in.

“You need help with anything?”

George looks up from the papers on his desk to see Y/N poking her head into his office. They haven’t spoken since their weird moment this morning, and after the afternoon rush George excused himself to his office to work on paperwork while Y/N stocked some shelves and made up a new display. But that must have been hours ago now, as the sliver of shop George can see over Y/N’s head looks dark.

“Just been going over the books. Well trying to at least,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “I let Fred do it the last time. Well no, I didn’t let him, he insisted on it. Some crap about how he needed to know how to do it. But boy was listening to him a mistake,” he admits with a sad chuckle. “I can’t make out half of what he wrote and the half I can is completely wrong.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything, but gives him a sad look. George feels awkward in the silence, so he continues to ramble on.

“And I wanna be mad at him, for not taking it seriously but. Then I get mad at myself for feeling that way. And then I feel sad because he’s not here for me to just ask him what the hell it says and then I try and figure it out and get mad when I can’t and it’s just a vicious cycle.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything right away, trying to choose her words carefully. She comes into his office and takes a seat at one of the chairs across from George’s desk. George runs his hands through his hair again, silently pleading that she says something. A few more quiet moments pass before Y/N speaks.

“That sounds. Well frankly that sounds like hell. But it’s okay to feel like that, you know. It’s okay to be mad at Fred. It’s okay to feel whatever you want towards Fred, that’s a normal part of grieving, George,” she explains, leaning forward in her chair.

“So, years will go by and I’ll still feel,” George mumbles almost without thinking. He casts his eyes downward, not wanting to look Y/N in the eyes or see the expression on her face.

A pink blush flushes Y/N’s face. “You, um, remember that then? You never mentioned it, so I figured you forgot about it, or maybe never even heard it. I was kinda hoping that you never even heard it.”

George looks up at her then, staring deeply into her eyes. “Is that why you came into the shop that day? Why you started working here? So, you could feel closer to Fred? Is that why you kissed me?” His last question is quieter, practically a whisper. He feels ashamed as soon as he asks, he wants to take it back.

But then Y/N lets out a laugh, shocking George. He looks at her quizzically. “What? Are you laughing at me?”

Y/N shakes her head no, but continues to laugh, almost as if she can’t stop herself. It takes what feels like an eternity for her laughter to die down, and once it does she scoots closer to George, reaching out to touch his hand.

“That day, when we were sitting there in the Great Hall, I wasn’t talking about still feeling love for Fred. I never really loved Fred. Not in that way at least.”

George is taken aback by that. “What do you mean?”

“Georgie, Fred and I dated for like 4 months when we were 16. It was nice to have someone to go to Hogsmeade with or carry my books and it was fun spending time with Fred but I wasn’t in love with him. And Fred knew that, that’s why we broke things off.”

George looks at Y/N. He’s trying not to get his hopes up, but he’s still so confused about everything. “So, what the hell were you talking about that day? Because I sure as hell thought you were talking about still being in love with Fred.”

Y/N bites her lip, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I was talking about feeling guilty, George.”

George suddenly pushes away from his desk, beginning to pace back and forth. “Feeling guilty for what, then?”

“Feeling guilty for being in love with his twin brother!” Y/N admits suddenly, causing George to stop in his tracks.

“Come again?” he asks, looking down at Y/N. His eyes follow her as she stands up and walks over to him.

“I was never in love with Fred. And after we broke up I started to fall in love with you. But I never acted on it because I felt guilty. I knew Fred had strong feelings for me, so I never tried to act on my feelings for you. And that day, when I saw you in the Great Hall, even though it had been years all of those feelings came rushing back. How I felt for you, how guilty I felt for feeling those things. That’s why I came over there that day, because I wanted to see you, make sure you were okay. And I hoped that saying goodbye to Fred would make me feel okay to try and approach you.”

Suddenly it dawns on George. “That’s why you came to his funeral, then? To put those guilty feelings to rest once and for all.”

Y/N nods, taking one of George’s hands in hers. “That’s why I didn’t stay long. The second I saw you I wanted to run into your arms and kiss you. But I figured that was probably not the right time or place to fling myself at you.”

George laughs, trying to imagine what he would have done if Y/N had done that. He uses his free hand to reach up and cup Y/N’s cheek. “So that day you came into the shop, it was to see me?”

Y/N rolls her eyes but nods. “I said that, didn’t I dummy? That I came into the shop to see you. I would make excuses to head to Diagon Alley nearly every day to check to see if the shop was open. It took me two weeks to get the courage to actually walk in once you opened back up. And truth be told-“ she stops, letting her gaze drop to the floor. “I didn’t really need a job. I just wanted an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Suddenly so many things started making sense to George. “So that’s why you would stay in late? Come in on days off?”

Y/N nods. “And why I agreed to come to dinner at The Burrow every week, and why I agreed to help Ginny with her Quidditch training.”

“Not to keep the memory of my dead brother alive?” George asks, almost unable to believe everything he’s heard. Y/N shakes her head. “But to be close to me, because you’re in love with me?”

Instead of nodding Y/N grabs George’s face and brings their lips together in a heated kiss. George is frozen for a moment, his brain trying to catch up with what’s going on. Once it does he kisses Y/N back hungrily, his hands gripping her hips tightly. They kiss for a few moments before Y/N pulls away breathless.

-

“And that was that. Your Mum and I got together and the rest is history.”

George stops with his story, waiting for Roxanne to say something. When she doesn’t he looks down, a smile spreading across his face when he notices her eyes have fluttered closed and she’s breathing slowly. He presses a kiss to her forehead and tucks her blanket around her tighter.

He’s closing her door behind him quietly when he runs into his wife, nearly shouting at the scare she gave him.

“Bloody hell, how long have you been standing there, love?” he asks, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist.

“Long enough to hear you spill all of our dark secrets,” she responds with a quiet laugh.

George frowns. “Are you mad? I know we said we wouldn’t tell them, but you know I can’t resist her puppy eyes, just like how I can’t resist yours.”

Y/N doesn’t answer him, choosing to press a kiss to his lips instead. Y/N buries her hands in George’s hair as he deepens their kiss, his hands squeezing her hips tightly. They both can’t help but be reminded of the kiss they shared all those years ago that George had just finished recounting.

“Why did you get out of bed anyway, hm? You were sound asleep when I went to get my water,” George asks a few minutes later when they’re back in bed.

Y/N shrugs, snuggling up into George’s side. “You were gone for ages. Thought maybe you were sneaking some of those chocolate chip cookies I made, wanted to catch you in the act. ”George laughs, throwing an arm around his wife and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“So, you weren’t lying in bed awake, thinking of my dead brother?” he jokes with a chuckle.

Y/N smacks him on the chest lightly, laughing along with him. “You’re lucky I love you, Weasley.”

“You’re right, my love. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

[c-optimistic]

Hello! Supercorp + things you said when we were alone

It was Alex who suggested throwing a party. 

Lena hadn’t wanted it at first, still not quite sure where she fit in with the ‘Superfriends,’ but Alex had insisted and Nia had loudly proclaimed it would be the best party ever and even Brainy admitted he was excited by the prospect of a ‘normal evening’ with their friends. In fact, the only one who didn’t have an opinion about the party—its existence or lack thereof—was Kara. 

She was maddeningly silent, in fact. 

Oh, she helped with the preparations, insisted she be the one to take care of the food—

“I think considering I’ll eat most of it, I should have the choice as to what we eat,” she’d complained.

“Kara, it’s not your party,” Nia had laughed.

—was totally okay with having her apartment taken over for a day, and generally, was content with doing any of the hard labor Alex and Kelly insisted was necessary. The party would be spectacular, Alex had proclaimed, telling Kara to move the couch in her apartment for the sixth time, not liking the feeling she got when it was pressed against the wall. 

And when Lena asked what the party was for, exactly, Kelly had said it was a celebration of having the gang back together again—a celebration, specifically, of Lena, a proper send off for her since she was going to be working in Metropolis for the next few months and they wouldn’t be all together again for some time.

(“We’re not...useless, or anything without you,” Kelly had explained, smiling as she watched Alex complain to Kara that her apartment wasn’t as suited to this party as they’d thought. “But you’re indispensable, and we were lost without you. And we all missed you. You’re the witty, sarcastic one. Not having you around was hard. And it’s going to be hard the next few months.”

“For all of you?” Lena had asked quietly, her eyes on Kara. They hadn’t talked yet, not really. And Kara was still frustratingly silent. Kelly had followed her gaze, then reached out and squeezed Lena’s shoulder.

“For some of us in particular,” she had offered.)

And really, for the most part, the party was spectacular. Nia was slightly tipsy, and at one point she and Brainy disappeared for a few minutes, coming back and seeming far warmer with one another than before. Alex claimed Kara as her partner in literally every game, declaring that the Danvers Sisters needed a comeback. Kelly exchanged looks with Lena, a mixture of fond and exasperated, every time one of the Danvers Sisters grinned widely in victory. 

And then there was Kara. Kara, who seemed lost in thought when she didn’t think anyone was looking her way. Kara, whose eyes dimmed a little the moment Alex’s grins or Nia’s bright laughs or Kelly’s offers of food were directed elsewhere. Kara, who had looked over at Lena just once, her expression...broken. 

Lena wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, she wasn’t even sure if there was anything there that she needed to make something of it. Kara had a lot going on in her life. She was Supergirl, a reporter, her love life was confusing at best, and Lena had heard through the grapevine that Kara hadn’t seen her cousin’s son since she briefly held him what felt like centuries ago during Crisis. It would be the height of conceit for Lena to assume that Kara’s odd mood had anything to do with her. 

And yet...well. Kara was being so damningly, frustratingly, annoyingly silent. 

So, deciding to throw caution to the wind, Lena waited the others out, listening to them wish her luck in Metropolis and hope she came back soon, watching Nia go from tipsy to definitely drunk, smiling gratefully when Brainy offered to get her home safely. She pretended not to see Alex’s wink or Kelly’s knowing look as they also said their farewells. 

Once she was alone with Kara, she raised an eyebrow. “Well?” she demanded, pretending not to see Kara jump in surprise that she was still there. “Are you going to mope forever or are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” 

“What? W-what makes you think there’s something wrong?” Kara shot back, recovering fairly quickly, adjusting her glasses and turning her gaze to the ceiling. “There’s nothing wrong,” she denied, sounding like she was convincing herself, crossing her arms over her chest, and giving a little nod, clearly unaware she was doing it. 

It was inconveniently adorable, and Lena almost let the whole thing go. Almost.

“Come on, Kara. Do you want to leave it like this? I’m leaving for—”

“—trust me, I’m well aware you’re leaving,” Kara snapped, and her eyes were on Lena’s, the blue bright even behind her glasses. In fact, though Lena couldn’t be quite sure, she’d hazard a guess they were even a little bit...teary? 

“Are you—are you upset that I’m going to Metropolis? It’s not permanent, it’ll only be—”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Kara interrupted, shaking her head, though her eyes still remained on Lena’s. 

“Why not? You’re clearly bothered. I want to know why. Everyone else seemed okay with it.”

“I’m not everyone else.”

Lena nearly rolled her eyes. “Kara, I know that. I just don’t—”

“—you’re running away,” Kara interrupted again, throwing her hands up in the air, then taking several steps closer to Lena, hands clenched at her sides. “You’re packing up and running away.”

Lena’s mouth opened and closed several times before she was able to find the word. “My company—”

“—you’re making excuses. There’s nothing in Metropolis you couldn’t do right here. You’re still angry, still hurt, and you’ve decided running—”

“—okay, stop,” Lena shouted, holding up a hand. It suddenly occurred to her that Kara wasn’t even a foot away. Just a few inches, and they’d be touching. “You need to stop and listen,” Lena said, raising an eyebrow when Kara looked ready to argue. “Lex did a number on my company. There’s a lot to take care of, and I’ve taken business trips like this before. It’s the cost of running a corporation like mine. I’m not running anywhere, Kara. I’m just doing my job. So do you want to tell me what this is really about?” 

Kara stared at her for a moment, looking lost and scared and frustrated with herself. She ran her fingers through her hair, let out a groan, and closed her eyes. “I don’t want you to go,” she said in a soft voice. “I just got you back. We’re just starting to....” She trailed off, blinking her eyes open, a crease appearing between her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you, Lena. I can’t. I want you here with me. I need you here with me.” 

“Kara—”

“—I know you have to work. So just...just promise me you’ll be back, as soon as you can? That,” the strangest sort of expression flitted over Kara’s face, “that you’ll give us a chance?”  

It was a very ambiguous statement. A very ‘open to interpretation’ request. And yet, Lena had seen this expression before. She’d seen it when Kara mentioned her relationship with James, with Mon-El. And a part of Lena dared to hope and her heart pounded in her chest. 

So she closed those last few inches of space, pressing her forehead against Kara’s, gently taking her hands and tugging on her fingers until Kara unclenched her fists. Lena squeezed Kara’s hands briefly. “I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise to give us a chance.” Lena watches as Kara heaved a relieved breath, as her eyes fluttered shut and she actually brushed her nose against Lena’s. “Better now?”

“Yes, much,” Kara murmured, her thumbs running against the back of Lena’s hands. “Thanks.”

“It was an easy promise to make,” Lena assured her. “I don’t want to lose you either, Kara. I hope you know that.” 

Kara’s brilliantly blue eyes opened, a wide smile appearing on her face. She nodded, almost as if unaware of it, then pulled her hands away from Lena’s to pull her into a tight hug, sighing when Lena’s hands clutched at the material of her shirt, when Lena tucked her face into her neck. 

“I wish I’d said something earlier now,” Kara said into her ear, and Lena laughed, holding onto Kara even tighter. 

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

an: hmm. well. it is what it is. enjoy !

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Sipping on her tea, Elide stared across the table at Ress, who was steadily ignoring her and looking at his phone. She reached her leg under the table and poked his thigh, “Who’re ya texting, Ress?” 

“No one,” he muttered, blushing at the message he received. Elide poked him again, idly scratching Bear’s head as she attempted to annoy her bodyguard into cracking.

“Come on, just tell me. I’m very good at keeping secrets,” she said, jabbing him sharply. He hissed and shoved her foot away, his cheeks bright red. 

“Elide, seriously, it’s- it’s nothing.” 

Elide hummed, “Whatever you say.” She sighed dramatically, batting her lashes at him as she speared a chunk of watermelon on her fork. “Pretty please? I promise I won’t tell anyone, not even Aelin.” 

“You won’t tell me what?” 

Ress shot her a pleading look as Aelin swept in, heading straight for the drink bar to pour herself a cup of coffee. Elide nodded imperceptibly and made a dismissive gesture with her hand, “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just teasing Ress.” 

“Don’t be mean to him,” Aelin said, walking behind his chair and hugging him with one arm around his neck. “You’ll scare him away.” 

The door opened again, in walking Rowan who commented drily, “I don’t think there’s a single thing that could scare him off now, Fireheart.” 

Elide slowly drank from her cup, watching her cousin’s smile soften as her husband kissed her gently. Aelin deserved a love like the one she had with Rowan and Elide couldn’t be more happy for the both of them. She noticed Rowan had something tucked under his arm and nodded towards it, “What have you got there, Ro?” 

“This,” he said, tossing it down and sliding it across the dark mahogany table, “is for you.” Elide put her cup down and picked up the paper, a picture of her spread across the front page. The headline read Perranth Welcomes Home Its Duchess-To-Be!

Aelin slid into the seat next to her, trying to subtly sneak a piece of bacon down to Bear and failing miserably. Bear snatched it right out of her hand the moment she got a whiff of it. “Those pictures turned out well,” Aelin said, letting Bear lick the grease from her fingers before wiping them on a napkin. 

Elide nodded, “They did.” She flipped through the rest of the pages, scanning the article before dropping it down. “So, what’s happening today?” 

“I have a parliament meeting in an hour,” Aelin said, adding copious amounts of sugar and cream to her oatmeal. “Ro and I will be there for the morning.” 

“Am I not invited to parliament?” Elide pondered, knowing anyone who wasn’t a member or of royal status were barred from attending. Rowan rolled his eyes, quickly hiding his smile in his coffee. Aelin chuckled, sneaking another piece of bacon down to Bear. “Oh, woe is me. I shall wallow in grief until your return.” 

Aelin’s eyes held a wickedly amused look as she huffed, “Well, I should expect nothing less.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide walked with Aelin and Rowan through the castle to the larger of the conference rooms, where Perranth’s government was assembling. 

She mainly chatted with Rowan, as Aelin had her head stuck in her briefing file, going back between the meeting’s agenda and her personal notes. The queen barely gave Elide more than a vague wave before ducking into the side office. 

Rowan went to follow her, but stopped at the last minute to pivot neatly back to Elide, “El…” 

“Yes?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, concern flashing in his pine green eyes, “You seemed really upset last night. Are you sure you were just tired?” 

Disappointment clenched her heart, at the fact that her mystery partner hadn’t even told her his name and Lysandra hadn’t been able to get it from the guest list. She shrugged her shoulder, “Oh, I’m fine. Just tired and a little tipsy.” Rowan’s worried frown didn’t ease. Elide insisted, “Really, Ro, I’m alright.” 

He muttered something and pulled her into a hug, still wearing a frown, “Ok, but text me if you want company, I don’t really have to be here.” Elide smiled and hugged him back, shaking her head slowly. “Ok?” 

“Yeah, ok, Anneith above,” she exclaimed, rolling her eyes and pushing him towards the doors. “Aelin is right.” 

“About what?” His silvery-blonde eyebrows raised, an innocently curious light entering his eyes. 

He looked so earnest to know that Elide almost felt bad about saying, “You are a mother-hen, buzzard.” She cackled as his mouth dropped open and quickly ran away, waving at him before ducking around a corner. 

Her laughter was cut short when she saw her uncle, Vernon, and one of the most prominent women in Perranth, Maeve Nathair. “Oh, pardon me. Good morning, uncle, Ms. Nathair. It’s good to see you.” 

Maeve gave her a disapproving look, making Elide feel self-conscious when her hawk-like gaze snagged on Elide’s right ankle and the corners of her thin-lipped mouth turned down. “Lady Lochan.” 

Without another word, the pair swept away. Elide rolled her eyes, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling of… catching them in the corner, looking like they were conspiring. She shook her shoulders and went back to the dining room, skirting around the staff to get one last cup of tea. 

Elide bent down as she stirred her sugar in, “Bear, come on, you can’t stay here the whole day.” The dog wore a look that told Elide she was not impressed by being found out. Bear hung her head low, moping as she padded over to Elide’s side. Elide laughed, bidding good-bye to the staff as she pushed Bear out of the room. 

Bear pressed against Elide’s right side as they walked down the hall, her tail not wagging for once. She followed Elide into the entertainment room, passing her owner to hop up on one of the large couches. After sniffing it and turning around several times, Bear sat, whining softly until Elide sat next to her. 

Elide shook her head as she scratched Bear’s stomach, “You are the biggest baby I know.” She picked up the remote and turned on the TV to the local morning shows, flipping through the channels. 

They were all talking about her ball last night and what everyone was wearing. Only Remelle had a different subject. Elide frowned, putting the remote down, and watched Remelle’s show. 

Seated at her desk, the blonde woman stared directly into the camera as she spoke. On the screen behind her, there was a picture of Elide dancing with Rowan, her head thrown back as she laughed. 

A headline flashed over it, reading Trouble For The King and Queen?

Elide rolled her eyes and turned the volume up as Remelle spewed nonsense about Rowan’s first dance not being with Aelin. 

“Confirmed sources from royal staff have confirmed in the last few months, the monarch’s relationship has taken a downfall. Many attribute it to Queen Aelin’s near constant travelling and heavy workload.” A smug little grin appeared on Remelle’s face, “If I were her, I would spend more time focusing on her delicious king consort rather than unimportant busy work.” 

“Well, fuck you too,” Elide muttered, watching the rest of the segment out of pure spite. Bear shifted to rest her head in Elide’s lap, growling softly at the screen. 

“And that’s the lowdown, with Remelle DuBois. Tune in next time–”

Elide shut off the TV, “Yeah, I doubt that.” She rolled her eyes and stood up, “Well, B, where should we go next?” 

Bear loped after her, her nails clicking against the polished floors as they walked back to Elide’s rooms. She made a beeline to her bed, curling up and tucking her nose beneath her tail to sleep. Elide snickered and closed her bedroom door behind her, letting Bear have her little nap. 

She hadn’t had that much time to explore her rooms since her arrival home, so Elide opened the closest door in her entry hallway. It was a small powder room, just enough space for a toilet, a sink, and a mirror hanging above it. 

Elide looked at the artwork hanging on the wall, swearing she could see a shadow running along the wall next to it. Curious, Elide ran a finger down it, feeling a slight crash in the wall. With a small gasp, Elide pushed it and a section of the wall popped open. 

A cool gust of wind blew through the passageway, making her shiver. Elide glanced over her shoulder, debating just closing the secret door and forgetting about it but… curiosity got the best of her. 

She pulled out her phone, turning on the flashlight to see as she walked carefully. The passage twisted and turned, but there were no forks in the path. Elide ran a hand along the cold stone walls, looking up at the spiderwebs covering much of the ceiling. 

There was a soft light flickering a little ways ahead. Elide walked faster, eager to see what it was. 

The passage opened into a small room, the only exit the way she’d came. On the wall to her right, there was a small grate where the light was coming from. Elide looked at it, feeling around for a latch or something to open it. 

She found it and flipped it open, peering carefully through the peephole. Elide swallowed her gasp when she saw the parliament room. 

Her uncle was standing, a smug look on his face. Worry pumped through her and Elide looked to where Aelin and Rowan would be sitting. 

She only saw Rowan, the seat next to his empty. The king’s face was tight, the muscles in his jaws feathering. His green eyes were unreadable as he stared intently at his wife. Aelin remained poised from her standing position beside the speaker’s desk, but her hands were clasped tightly enough that her knuckles were white. “I beg your pardon, sir?” 

Vernon’s snivelling voice echoed up into the room Elide was watching in, “As of November of three years ago, when he turned twenty-one, he became eligible for the title.” 

“I understand that, Duke Lochan, but your niece is first in line.” 

Another member of parliament spoke up, raising a hand, “Not yet, your Majesty. Terrasenian laws state that a woman must be married before she succeed any royal titling.” 

Aelin made a helpless gesture with her hands, “We have never enforced that law, gentlemen. And- and this is the twenty-first century, by the gods. A man would never be forced to marry, why should Elide?” 

Elide felt tears well, her blood rushing through her ears. It couldn’t be true. She- all her life had been preparing her for this moment and because she was unmarried, she was unfit? She couldn’t focus on anything the congress said. Her lungs started gulping down oxygen, her vision fuzzy. 

She was having a panic attack, this she knew, but Elide couldn’t ground herself to anything until a heavy mallet struck down. The startling sound frightened her enough and she looked back down, seeing the parliament members pack their things up. 

They filed out of the room, one by one shuffling towards the double doors. Elide flicked her eyes to Aelin and Rowan, hoping maybe they had reached a verdict, something that would help her. 

But when all she saw was heartbreak on their faces, Elide fled back to her rooms. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide paced the carpet in her office, “How- how is anyone else in line for the title? I’m the only Lochan left and Vernon is the duke regent. He’s a placeholder, for the gods’ sakes.”

Aelin didn’t look up from the groove in Elide’s desk she had been staring at for the past ten minutes. She ran her nail along it, uncharacteristically silent. Elide looked to Rowan for help. 

He was standing at one of the windows, leaning against it with his arms crossed, a fierce frown gracing his face. Feeling her desperate gaze on him, Rowan turned to face Elide, sighing tiredly. “It goes back to the beginning, Ellie.” 

“What do you mean,” she whispered, picking at the skin around her nails out of nervous habit. “What aren’t you guys telling me?” 

Aelin finally lifted her head, the redness of her eyes making the blue pop, “I swear I didn’t know, El. No one- I didn’t know.” 

“You’re making me nervous, Ae,” Elide said, her voice trembling. “Just- just tell me. I deserve to know.”  

“Why don’t you sit down,” suggested Rowan, gesturing to the couch by the window. “We’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” 

Numbly, Elide walked over to the plush chair and sank down into it. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, “Tell me the whole story.” 

Rowan looked at Aelin, waiting for her to speak. The queen exhaled shakily, refusing to meet Elide’s eyeline. Instead, she picked at a loose thread in her pants, “The Lochans aren’t the only family in line to the throne. When- when Perranth was formed, there were two warring families.” 

“Who?” 

“The Lochans and… the Nathairs,” Aelin whispered, as if speaking any louder would summon some evil being. “The families settled here and fought over the crown. When-” her voice cracked, her face crumpling, but still, Aelin continued, “when the Lochans won, they agreed that if either ruling family couldn’t produce an eligible heir, the title would automatically go to the other family.” 

“But Maeve isn’t married either,” Elide said, a spark of hope igniting in her chest. She sat up, “She isn’t married either, how can she get the…” she trailed off when Rowan shook his head. “Oh, she isn’t- she isn’t talking about herself, is she?” 

“No, she isn’t,” Rowan confirmed, leaning against the desk. “Her brother, Cillian, had a son.”

Elide swallowed past the tightness in her throat, tears stinging her eyes, “How long do I have? They aren’t just giving it to him, right?” The conversation halted when the door opened, the three of them tensing. 

When they saw it was just Bear, intrigued by the noises, they relaxed. Bear ambled over to Elide, planting herself in front of Elide and growling. She bared her teeth and her hackles raised, the dog on edge due to her owner’s obvious distress. 

“No, you have time,” Rowan said. 

“How much?” 

He and Aelin looked at each other, avoiding Elide’s question. She repeated herself, her tone hard, “How much time do I have, Rowan?” She figured at least a year. It was still short, but she could make do. 

“Sixty days.” 

Elide gasped, floundering for the words. “No, that’s not right.” She looked at Aelin, pressing her lips together to stop from crying. “Ae…” 

Her friend dragged her gaze to Elide’s, whispering, “I’m sorry.” 

“But- please,” Elide pleaded, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Sixty days?” Rowan nodded solemnly, moving towards her with an outstretched arm. He let it fall when Elide shook her head, pressing herself further into the corner of the couch. 

“I’m so sorry,” whispered Aelin, her own eyes filled with tears. “I tried to make it longer, but…” 

Elide shook her head, “H-how can they expect me to find anyone I love enough to marry them in two months? It’s like-” she sniffed, crying anew when Bear bumped her nose into Elide’s leg, “it’s a big trick for an arranged marriage or…” 

But there was no ‘or’. It was the only option, she married whoever was most suitable or she lost her throne. “There is no ‘or’,” she said. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Rowan muttered. Aelin opened her mouth to say something, but Rowan cut her off, “No, Aelin. She doesn’t have to do this.” 

“How?” Elide asked, her voice cracking. “Tell me.” 

“Rowan…” 

Rowan shook his head, dismissing Aelin’s warning tone. “Elide, you don’t have to be the duchess. You- you can say ‘no’ and live a normal life.” 

Elide gawked at her friend, not entirely sure she’d heard him correctly. “Are- are you serious right now, Rowan?” Bear whined, clearly distressed by Elide’s visible upset. The dog pawed at Elide’s leg, her tail tucked beneath her. “I’m not just going to give up. I can- I can do this. It’s my throne and I won’t let some pompous, crown-stealing bastard take it from me.” 

Aelin chuckled a bit, wiping her eyes. She stood, walking across the room, and sat down next to Elide. “That’s my girl.” Aelin wrapped her arms around Elide, shooing Rowan away over her shoulder. 

Feeling spent, Elide practically collapsed onto Aelin. She felt calmer when the queen started rubbing her back and speaking in a soothing tone, “We’re going to get through this. It isn’t the end of the world.” 

Elide nodded, not entirely believing Aelin. “Yeah. I’ll be ok.” 

It seemed almost silly to think that in the morning, her biggest concern was the name she didn’t get of the man she would never see again.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an:.......hehe 🤭

@mythicaitt​ @tinywolfofeyllwe​ @schmlip-scribble​ @the-regal-warrior​ @empire-of-wildfire​ @ladyverena​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @shyvioletcat​ @alifletcher2012​ @tswaney17​ @ourbooksuniverse​ e @flora-and-fae​ @thesirenwashere​ @queenofxhearts​ @maastrash​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @cursebreaker29​ @empress-ofbloodshed​ @b00kworm​ @hizqueen4life​ @silversprings98​ @amren-courtofdreams​ @minaidss​ @superspiritfestival​ @sanakapoor​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​​ @spyofthenightcourt​​ @januarystears​​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​​

[dutchforstrangers]

I need you. Both. - A Taiorato Friendship one shot

Characters: Yamato Ishida/Matt Ishida, Taichi Yagami/Tai Kamiya, Sora Takenouchi Genre: Friendship, comfort Rating: K+ Words: 1500+

Summary: Losing a special someone will never be easy. Fortunately, we all have friends with shoulders to lean and cry on. Even when you don’t say a word, they just know they are needed.

More below, under read more! Enjoy.

A/N (feel free to not read it): For some unknown reason I found myself suddenly rewatching Digimon Kizuna (the english dub unfortunately, because I can’t find a properly version of the original with english sub - anyone who knows where to find it?) and I started wondering: what would Taichi and Yamato have done directly after losing Agumon and Gabumon? What would they say to each other? And how did they find out about Sora, who went through the same happenings on her own probably without letting anyone know... Well, here is my take on that!

Update on 27th of August 2021: So originally I wrote Sora and Yamato broken up (see fanfiction.net for the original one-shot), but after coming to terms with canon and Sorato during the past couple of months and this Kizuna meta I recently wrote, it didn’t feel right anymore. So I fixed it, Sora and Yamato are dating, but on a break (as I can totally see that happening with their personalities). 

Just to be clear, one last time: this is a Taiorato friendship! Which means all these dynamics are from a platonic point of view, even the Sorato parts.  Also fixed some typos :)

xxxxx

A cool breeze. Quiet after the storm. And the stabbing feeling of a loss.

He tried to fight his tears, burying his true feelings. In his one hand was the Digivice, petrified. He looked down on it, trembling, realizing what just had happened. With his other hand he brushed over the Digivice, then held his other hand preventing it from trembling too much. He needed to be strong. For himself, for the others. For Gabumon.

Gabumon.

Where would he be now? Yamato wondered. That thought freed the flow of tears he was failing to hide behind his eyelids. He wanted to scream. Shout. But what was the use? It wouldn’t bring his partner back. So he just stood there. Crying.

Mourning. The thoughts kept trying to fill the pit he felt in his stomach. As the crying died down because of those deep thoughts, he simply stared, following the flickering lights with his eyes. It being the only movement in front of him.

Movement. Life.

What was life? He knew for example life was not limited to earth only. There was a whole digital realm existing in between this world where he came from and the network where Gabumon had his roots. Was there even more? How far could he go? Space? Maybe space was where he should aim for. As far away as possible from here, from where he stood now. From the spot where his partner vanished.

“Yamato.”

He stood straight at attention upon hearing his name. It sounded vague and far away, though he knew it was close by. He turned around, letting his blue eyes meeting the brown ones now in front of him. He watched his companion scan the surroundings. His friend looked sad to him.

“No Gabumon?”

Yamato swallowed and shook his head, biting his lip to once again fight his feelings. The trembling made his Digivice almost fall out of his hand. He squeezed it tight and with that holding onto everything he knew. Not ready to fully let go yet.

Usually Yamato was the one far more calm and collected. Though this time, for once, it seemed like the guy who tracked him down was better at keeping his cool.

Taichi.

It was just Taichi, no yellow dinosaur following him. Yamato figured out Taichi must’ve gone through the same fate as him. Yamato wanted to be there for him, but he felt his feet stuck in his place. His legs were heavy, as was his heart. Any movement, except from trembling, seemed impossible. So he stood there, questionably looking for answers which he knew his friend neither had.

xxxxx

Yamato.

He just stood there, looking at him as if he had all the answers he wanted to hear. But he had to disappoint. He had one answer: both Agumon and Gabumon had vanished. With that their Digivices had turn into cold stone. Taichi figured out Yamato already knew that.

It had been one hour since it happened and he had been mourning since. But what Taichi knew too was that moping around wasn’t going to make things better. Besides, it wasn’t what Agumon would have wanted him to do, moping around.

Agumon.

Instead he had taken out his phone, the ring of light on the back vanished just like Agumon had. He was glad to see the phone still worked, though it looked like it was a little faded. Maybe he was seeing things. He had quickly updated the others in their group chat by sending them a picture of his petrified Digivice, then closed the chat. He did not want pity from his friends, from his sister, from the others. They did not understand.

In all probability, there was one other person who would come close to understand him. So Taichi tracked Yamato down through his GPS. As he found out his whereabouts, he silenced his phone and made his way to him. Without haste, because he knew Yamato wasn’t going far or fast for that matter, not even with that motorcycle of his. After all, he was mourning too, just like Taichi.

His feelings had been right as there was no sign of Gabumon. The only visible sign was the stone in Yamato’s hand. The same stone Taichi was carrying with him, in both his pocket and heart. Yamato looked completely lost in his feelings, emptiness overwhelming him.

Yamato turned his back again to him. Taichi’s hands balled into fists, at once feeling the urge to fight him just like the old days. Breathing in deep, that feelings quickly faded, replacing it with a sudden feeling of concern. He glanced to the blond, slowly walking towards him.

“I know how you feel,” Taichi said now standing beside Yamato, staring into the same direction. “It’ll be fine eventually. I promise.”

A careful smile appeared on Yamato’s face, making Taichi smile a little as well. It was a careful smile, but it was genuine, the feeling of concern growing bigger. Taichi placed a hand on the blonde’s shoulder closest to him before gently pulling Yamato to him.  

An embrace.

Back in the days the physical contact between the two of them were mostly fights with fists, but right now, Taichi knew it wasn’t the kind of touch he needed. What they both needed. Comfort, Yamato needed his friend, a shoulder to lean on.

“I know,” Yamato mumbled as he untangled himself out of Tachi’s grip after a little while. “It still stings though.”

Taichi nodded, completely understanding him, all the while grabbing the phone out of his pocket and switching it on to check the messages out of habit. He quickly scrolled through the messages in the group chat, but decided not to answer and leave them be for now. He looked through his private messages. 

One message from his worrying mother. A missed call from a bragging classmate. Another message from…

Taichi gasped. After a brief moment he placed his hand back on Yamato’s shoulder, making him turn to face Taichi. He held the screen to Yamato.

“We need to go. There’s someone who needs us.”

xxxxx

She had been standing near the window for what felt like days, the rain falling for hours and hours. And hours more. The tears on her face joined the crying sky, but there were no tears left. She sighed, swallowing the lump in her throat.

She turned around, briefly looking at her desk filled with both clothing and flower designs. It was loaded with things she loved, but it was empty to her all the same. Then her eyes trailed further down the room to an empty pillow in the corner, one that belonged to someone very dear to her. To someone who sadly wasn’t here anymore.

Piyomon.

The name lingered in her thoughts, making Sora want to cry, but nothing came. She felt empty, like the pillow, lonely and hollow. At the same time she was thankful. Thankful for the time she could have spent with her partner.

Would she still be here if Sora had chosen to keep fighting? Would it have made a difference? Sora wondered, feeling a sting in her heart. It had to happen eventually, so why not now... Because she knew she had to grow up, especially after that message they received from Koushiro about the glowing ring, counting down the time of her partnership. Little did she know that Taichi went through the same thing at the same time.  

Somehow it was hard to imagine him growing up. Into a man. To her, he had always been her childhood friend, the one making her feel strong, young and aware. She remembered the echoing sound of the whistle earlier today, immediately connecting the sound to him. By then she knew, even after they grew apart and had barely talked to each other during the past couple of weeks or even months, he was arriving at the same place where she already was at that time. 

Partnerless.

“Honey, there’s someone for you.” Sora heard her mother from the other side of the bedroom door, snapping her out of her thoughts. She walked towards the door, sliding it open and stepping into the hallway. Her head turned ninety degrees and her eyes grew wider.

Taichi.

There he was, with his back leaning against the frame of the door, her brown haired friend, as if he knew she was thinking about him. His arms folded across the chest, his head diagonally directed to the ground. Further outside she saw the silhouette of a certain blond boy she knew all too well.

Yamato.

After Taichi had sent a picture of his petrified Digivice in their group chat, she had sent him a reply through a private message. For Sora it was important that he knew and felt he wasn’t alone. But seeing Yamato standing there, leaning against the rail of the gallery, his blue eyes ice cold, she knew that Taichi already knew he wasn’t the only one.

As wasn’t she.

A few steps. Taichi looked up as Sora walked past him. Without looking she brushed over his arm and hand for reassurance, but her focus was on Yamato. It had been a little while since she saw him last. They maintained a steady relationship in the past, but with their busy lives and studies they decided to take a little break to take things slow. Very slow, distancing from each other to focus on their own paths first. 

Of course she missed him, and she still cared for him. A lot. And he needed her, she could feel. She knew he did. Standing fully in front of him, she placed her hand on one of his shoulders, finally making him look her straight in the eyes. She smiled her most genuine but soft smile, then carefully hugged him around the neck, placing a small peck on his cheek. She felt his heartbeat slightly increase, so she held on to him until his heart calmed down again.

As she let go and stepped back, Yamato flashed her a painful smile. Sora had to swallow seeing him like that, shifting her gaze to the ground. The touch of a hand on her shoulder brought her attention back up. She had thought she had no tears left, but that one touch did the trick.

Sora swiftly turned around, throwing her arms around the waiste of the owner of the hand on her shoulder. She felt Taichi pulling her even closer as she heavily cried, wetting his shirt. But she knew he didn’t care, because in that moment all he cared for was her. And Yamato.

Stupid.

And they just stood there, the two of them. Until suddenly she felt a warmth behind her, another body becoming part of their embrace. And she knew that whenever she was sad or lonely or in need of a hug, they were there within a heartbeat. 

“I need you,” she mumbled into Taichi’s shirt.

“Both.”

[millenniumpuzzle]

a flaw in the code

Kaiba runs his Twitter more or less automatically, including a function to mass-block people who interact with Tweets he has blocked. Unfortunately, this sometimes means that he blocks people he doesn’t mean to block. When he gets confronted over this, how will he respond?

my introduction to canon x oc (the oc being kazuko kubota, the child of me and @duelistkingdom ) and it’s from kaiba’s pov (feat unrequited rivalship), because of course it is. enjoy! read on ao3 here

“Kaiba.”

Kaiba’s spine stiffened at the familiar voice. He clutched his books to his chest, their reassuring weight giving him the courage to spin on his heel. As he expected, Yugi Mutou was behind him. Or, not Yugi, but the other Yugi. He was wearing the uniform jacket properly, unlike his tendency during Battle City, but he was no less imposing.

Kaiba swallowed, hoping his voice came out naturally. “Yugi. What’s this about?”

“My partner was discouraged this morning. When I asked him why, he pulled up his phone instead of actually talking to me. So, I will do the same to you: care to explain this?” With all the flair he usually saved for revealing a Spell card, the other Yugi flipped his phone towards Kaiba. Kaiba had to squint—he wouldn’t be caught dead in his reading glasses at school—but when he finally made out the text, he frowned.

“So you’re blocked by somebody on Twitter? Please, Yugi, this isn’t something to get worked up about. It’s not like it’s a personal attack.” He ignored the voice in his head reminding him that he had written a program for his own Twitter that would block anyone who associated with certain tweets. Tweets that featured Yugi boasting about his beautiful, talented, clever girlfriend in particular.

“Just somebody, huh?” The other Yugi fixed Kaiba with a stern look. It should have seemed out of place on Yugi’s round, friendly face, but Kaiba couldn’t help but feel suddenly small. “Try again.”

Kaiba sighed, but took Yugi’s phone in his own hand, finding the appropriate position where he could read the text with the least amount of eye strain. And— “What is this?”

The other Yugi was right; he wasn’t blocked by just any random loser on Twitter. The screen was on Kaiba’s own Twitter page. Instead of the Kaiba Land promos and Duel Disk news he had most recently retweeted, however, the screen was gray, apart from a block of tiny letters. “You are blocked by this user,” the website proclaimed, though as Kaiba met the other Yugi’s piercing eyes again, it felt more like an accusation than a simple statement of fact.

“I’d think you would know,” the other Yugi replied, voice startlingly cool.

To his horror, Kaiba found himself at a loss for words. “I don’t—I mean—” He cut himself off, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a couple deep breaths. As he did so, he searched his memory, but he couldn’t recall hitting the block button on Yugi. At least, not of his own volition.

“Use your words, Kaiba.”

Kaiba growled, but forced his eyes back open. “I didn’t block you.” At the other Yugi’s raised eyebrow, he rushed on, words running into one another in his haste to get them out. “At least, not on purpose. In fact, my account is more or less completely run automatically, using programs that I wrote specifically for that purpose. Some of these scripts do involve blocking users, so it’s possible that your account got caught in some filter accidentally.”

The other Yugi frowned, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers against his elbows. “So what you’re saying is, your computer programs blocked my partner by mistake?”

“Exactly.” Kaiba couldn’t help but feel a jolt of envy at how quickly the other Yugi picked things up. “It was a quirk of the system, nothing more. Tell Yugi that he can stop moping about it.” He felt ridiculous asking someone who, for all intents and purposes, was Yugi to pass along a message to Yugi. Ever since Battle City, though, he’d found himself a bit more amenable to the ridiculous, implausible things that happened around Yugi Mutou.

The other Yugi, for his part, perked up substantially at the mention of his own name. “I can do better than that!” A genuine grin spread over his features, drawing Kaiba’s attention to his plush lips, the dimple on his left cheek. “I can bring him out so you can tell him yourself!”

He continued speaking, but aside from a few mentions of the word “partner,” Kaiba was no longer listening. Ice had shot down his spine, while paradoxically, heat bloomed in his cheeks and sweat formed on his hands. “That won’t be necessary,” he snapped, interrupting the other Yugi’s joyful monologue. “Just tell him what I said. Goodbye.”

With that, he turned on his heel and fled the hallway, books still clutched close to his chest. He could feel his heart hammering in his ears, even as he turned into the men’s room and locked the door behind him. The wooden door was cool against his back as he sunk to a sitting position against it, letting his school supplies fall from his arms.

God damn it. Kaiba exhaled sharply, dragging his hands down his face, before pulling out his phone and opening Twitter. A rare occurrence, as of late; there wasn’t much that he needed to keep up with online, and he rarely wanted to check the inane tweets his contemporaries made. When his profile opened, he navigated to the “Blocked Users” page. There was quite a bit to scroll through, but eventually, he was face-to-face with Yugi’s smiling profile picture.

Almost immediately, he turned his phone off, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face in his crossed arms. He really did block Yugi. Prevented from interaction with one of the only people he actually wanted to interact with by his own programs.

He allowed himself a moment of despair, before pulling himself back together, unlocking his phone once more. Even so, he still flinched at the reappearance of Yugi’s picture. Keep it together, Seto. You’re just seeing what triggered the block. Think about it like a programming error.

One of the benefits of Kaiba’s auto-block program (nicknamed “Crush Tweet Virus” by Mokuba) was that if Kaiba blocked a tweet, not only did it block the person who made it, it also hid the profiles of anyone who interacted with it. What’s more, it allowed him to see the blocked tweet a given user had liked or retweeted. This was a nominally useful feature. In Yugi’s case, however, the reason for the block made Kaiba’s blood run cold. God. Anything but that tweet.

Unfortunately, no matter how much he tried to blink it out of existence, the proof was there. Kaiba opened the blocked tweet in question, and his stomach immediately turned over. He didn’t have a name for the emotions burning in his gut. All he knew was that the image of Yugi pressing a kiss to Kazuko Kubota’s outstretched hand, the caption declaring “These two are couple goals,” threatened to overwhelm him with discomfort. He had blocked it for a reason.

In fact, there was a theme to the posts he had blocked. They all contained some reference to Yugi Mutou, Kazuko Kubota, and/or the fact that they were currently in a relationship. As much as he wanted to lie to himself, he knew what irked him so much about the reminder that Yugi was dating somebody. It was the fact that he wanted to be the person whose hand Yugi was kissing—the reminder that Yugi clearly didn’t have the same feelings toward Kaiba.

His face was burning. If only he could take his uniform jacket off, splash water on his face, anything to calm him down without ruining his composed appearance. Instead, he navigated back to his “Blocked Users” page, once again making eye contact with Yugi’s smiling headshot. If his fingers trembled at all as he hit the “unblock” button, Kaiba certainly wouldn’t admit to it. He would have to reprogram “Crush Tweet Virus” to exempt Yugi entirely, as he would almost certainly interact with other tweets about his girlfriend. Girlfriend—the word made Kaiba’s stomach do another unpleasant flip.

He thought he was done with the whole endeavor. In fact, he was almost at peace, comfortably eating his lunch on the roof a few days later. Part of that had to do with the fact that he hadn’t interacted with Yugi in all that time, but nobody needed to know that. Unfortunately, things couldn’t be so easy for him.

“Hey, Kaiba! They told me I could find you up here.”

Kaiba nearly spit out his mouthful of rice. Surely, his ears were playing tricks on him. Kubota went to Rintama, she wouldn’t have time to make it onto the roof of Domino High during her lunch break. Yet, as he craned his neck up from his lunch, his stomach dropped. Those baby-pink hair buns could belong to nobody else.

He jumped to his feet, uncomfortable with looking up at the much-shorter duelist, then cleared his throat. “Kubota. What are you doing here?”

Kubota just grinned at him, though it looked more like a hostile baring of teeth to Kaiba. “I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d drop by and thank you for unblocking Yugi.”

“You knew about that?” Kaiba said, keeping his gaze fiercely locked with her lavender eyes.

“Of course! Yugi and I don’t keep things from each other,” she responded, sounding hurt. “He was really upset when he realized you blocked him, so finding out that it was a mistake made him feel way better. So, uh, thanks.”

Why was she thanking him? He and Kubota didn’t speak much, but when they did, she was usually admonishing him. The lashing she gave him at Duelist Kingdom flashed through his mind; he suppressed a shudder. Yet, analyzing her body language, he didn’t think she was being sarcastic.

She cleared her throat, then, and gestured towards him. Right, she had said, “Thank you.” What was the right response to give? He settled on a curt, “You’re welcome,” and a brief jerk of his head, an abridged bow. Yet, she didn’t turn to leave. Instead, she glanced up and down his form, hands on her hips. One side of her face twitched—a suppressed smile?

“So, the stowaway tells me your Twitter account is basically automated,” she said casually, slipping one of the straps of her bright red bag off so that it hung from one shoulder instead of both.

“Stowaway?”

“Right, you don’t hang out with us much. That’s what I call the other Yugi.”

Kaiba flushed with embarrassment at the memory of the prior conversation. “I see. Yes, he’s right. That is how Yugi got blocked.”

Kubota leaned in, one eyebrow raised. “So, what program blocked Yugi? ‘Cause Stowaway tells me that he didn’t think you were lying about it being an accident, but I haven’t heard of anything that blocks people so liberally.”

“What do you mean?” Kaiba asked, frowning. “One person getting blocked by my program doesn’t mean that I’ve blocked everybody.”

“Are you sure about that?” Kubota wasn’t looking at him anymore, instead focused on her own phone. She scrolled for a moment, fingers moving in time with the rhythm she chewed her gum, before turning her screen towards him with a cry of triumph. “This thread says otherwise.”

Again, Kaiba was forced to squint at someone else’s phone screen, and almost immediately, he regretted ever signing up for Twitter in the first place. The first tweet was from Mai Kujaku, reading, “Lmao, guess I pissed him off somehow!” It was accompanied by a familiar screenshot: Kaiba’s own profile, with the text “You have been blocked by this user.”

The next tweet was from Kubota herself, remarking, “Lol, I’ve been blocked since Duelist Kingdom.” After that, the replies were full of Yugi’s friends, all posting similar screenshots and complaining about (Mazaki) or rejoicing (Jonouchi) being blocked by Seto Kaiba.

Damn him for forgetting that Kubota was an excellent strategist in her own right; he shouldn’t have let his guard down around her. He would never admit he had been thrown off, though. Instead, he straightened his posture, using the extra inch of height to sneer down at Kubota. “So my program kept the dweeb patrol from interacting with me. Seems like it’s working as intended.”

“But you didn’t want it to keep Yugi out, right?” Kubota said, a confident gleam in her eye that he recognized from when she dueled. She was right, of course, but he kept his mouth shut rather than admit it. “Whatever your program does, it obviously has a chain effect, since I haven’t interacted with any of your tweets. Maybe it doesn’t involve your tweets at all? I can puzzle this out all day, Kaiba.”

“Fine! If I tell you, will you stop talking?” Kaiba growled, frowning all the harder when Kubota grinned in response.

“Sure.” Her voice was as bouncy as the curls escaping her buns. Kaiba hated it.

Kaiba paused, trying to collect his thoughts. All the while, Kubota rocked on her heels, humming a melody he didn’t recognize. Finally, he happened on a good starting point.

“I thought I was aromantic.”

To his dismay, Kubota appeared to choke on air, coughing hard before breaking into disbelieving laughter. He crossed his arms, glaring at her, until she finally collected herself enough to say, “I’m sorry, I just— That is not what I expected you to say.” At Kaiba’s silence, she sighed, putting her hands up in a placating gesture. “Fine, I’ll be quiet. I guess you’re not aromantic?”

Kaiba thought about saying something in response to her air-quotes, but thought better of it. “I thought that I was above all of that. I didn’t have time for romance anyway—I still don’t. But then, you and Yugi got together, and it made me feel...ill.” Kubota’s face twisted, but he didn’t address it. “At first, I thought I was having romantic feelings towards you—”

“What?” Kubota’s horrified cry was a bit much, in Kaiba’s opinion, but he felt the same way.

“Calm down, that wasn’t the case.” He narrowed his eyes at Kubota’s exaggerated exhale, but continued. “After some thought, it became clear that… I was experiencing romantic attraction, but not towards you.” The other words on his tongue died once that horrifying revelation was out, and he snapped his mouth shut, letting his confession linger in the air.

Kubota’s brow was furrowed, however. Why was she confused? Kaiba had told her everything she needed to know! He was about to accuse her of taunting him when she gasped, eyes widening. “Are you… Coming out to me?”

Kaiba’s already-pale face became even whiter. “No?”

“Yes, you are! You’re coming out to me! And you started your coming out speech by telling me my boyfriend was your gay realization?” With every step, she advanced on him, until she was close enough that when she pointed her finger for emphasis, it brushed his chest.

“That’s—a blunt description, Kubota.”

She just shook her head. “I mean, it’s fine, I’m bi, but it’s a weird way to tell somebody you’re gay. And this relates to Twitter...how?”

Kaiba scoffed. “I could be bisexual.” When Kubota’s brow raised, a familiar irritation began coursing through him. Better than embarrassment. “I could! You don’t know that I’m—that I don’t like girls.”

Kubota scoffed right back, undaunted by his bristling. “Whatever you want to tell yourself. I just want to know what this has to do with blocking Yugi on Twitter.”

“It has everything to do with that,” Kaiba said, but his mouth dried up as he realized exactly why Yugi and the rest of his friends were blocked. He cleared his throat, then balled his fists and looked away from Kubota. The words felt like venom in his throat; the only way to alleviate the burning they caused was to spit them out. “I set up a program to block anybody who liked certain posts. Posts that talked about yours and Yugi’s relationship.”

A raised eyebrow. “Just talked about? That’s kind of a broad net, even for you, Kaiba.”

“Fine. They were posts which included photographic or video evidence of you being a couple. Usually with highly supportive comments. Those were the kinds of things I blocked, and the virus associated with it blocked anyone who interacted with a post I blocked using this system.”

Kubota shook her head. “Even your weird Twitter bots are like Duel Monsters cards. I’d say to get a hobby, but it seems like you’ve got your hands full already.”

“Are you challenging me? Because I’ll wipe the floor with you in a Duel, we both know that,” Kaiba growled.

“No,” Kubota said lightly, “but not because I think I’ll lose. You’re so predictable, Kaiba. I should have seen this coming, though I didn’t think you would be this weird about me and Yugi. Guess I was wrong!”

Arms folded, Kaiba surveyed his adversary. Five-foot-nothing, blowing a bubble of gum at him while she rocked back and forth on her booted heels, skateboard underneath one arm. Her Buster Blader cards came to mind, and he cringed internally. He made a mental note: find a copy of her Battle City deck and run simulations against it, to discern ideal counter-strategies.

But, he needed to respond to her before that could happen. “Hmph. As long as Yugi doesn’t forget who his true rival is, I suppose I don’t need to make a fuss about his romantic decisions.”

Kubota’s shoulders shook, but she looked him in the eyes and nodded. “Thank you, Kaiba. Are you...sure you’re okay?”

“Of course I am,” Kaiba said, more off-kilter than he’d ever been. “Now, the bell’s about to ring, and I haven’t finished my lunch.”

Checking her watch, her glossy lips parted in surprise. “Shit, you’re right. I gotta get back to Rintama. Don’t be a stranger, Kaiba!” With that, she ran toward the stairs, waving at him over her shoulder before the door slammed behind her. Kaiba exhaled slowly, and looked at the remains of his bento. He wasn’t very hungry, all of a sudden.

What had he done?

[hyperspacial]

I Just Want You to be Happy

it’s missing Priya o’clock. I wanted to write a confrontation of my MC, Sveta, demanding to know why Bobby sent Priya home. This would be after day 17, when the girls come back from casa. Literally every run I’ve played turns into a Noah run, so fair warning, Sveta is pining for Noah in this one.

Warnings: Strong language

~2k

     She didn’t even mean to go up to the roof terrace, her legs just carried her up there. Gary may have said something from across the counter as she walked through the kitchen, but she just silently made her way towards the stairs with the same blank look on her face, mouth pressed into a thin line. Gary and her needed to figure things out too, but that barely registered.

     It seemed like she just appeared in the doorway of the terrace, silently standing, arms crossed tightly. To Bobby and Lottie it would’ve looked as if she was angry, but the pressure of her arms was desperately holding together her composure. They didn’t notice her for a minute, as they continued quietly talking while leaning against the railing. Bobby caught her eye first, or rather, caught isn’t the right word. Bobby felt her eyes boring into him and looked over his shoulder first. 

     “Sveta-” he said loudly, as much in surprise as a warning to Lottie, who quickly closed her mouth and frowned.Sveta started walking towards him, faster than necessary, and he put his hands up. She wasn’t going to hit him, or at least, that wasn’t the current plan. 

     “What your fucking game, mate?” She allowed herself to bark. She had a whole speech in her head that was rapidly dissolving. 

     “Sveta I-”

     “Don’t come up here like that with him, I’m fuming too,” Lottie took a step forward. “You know how I feel about Gary and after the casa-”

     Sveta took a sharp breath before turning to Lottie, her face softening.

      “Love, I know, and we’ll talk. I promise we’ll talk. But I need to steal Bobby’s ear for a minute.”

     Lottie rolled her eyes and started to say something when Sveta reiterated, “I promise, Lottie. You know I don’t lie to you. I need to have a proper chat with you, and Gary, and Noah, and basically everyone else in here. But I’ll come to you first. Please.”

     Lottie stared at the space above Sveta’s head as she pleaded, and then shrugged. “Fine, we’ll talk later. Later tonight.”

     Sveta nodded, smiling tightly, hoping to catch Lottie’s eye before she turned away and left. She had no such luck. She should’ve expected as much re-coupling with Gary, but… Lottie didn’t have a monopoly on that boy, and he had wanted to couple with her. Had said he just wanted to put all the villa stuff behind them and be a proper couple for a bit. That would be a feat to try and make Lottie understand, but at least her conceding a potential argument was a start.

      Bobby had turned to face Sveta, running his lower teeth against his lip, trying to figure out why she was so furious with him. Noah had switched on her, Lottie was his current partner, he couldn’t figure out why Sveta was targeting him. Or perhaps, he had an inkling.

     “Why, Bobby? Why. Just… Why?!!”

     “I don’t-”

      “We’ve always been good mates, right? I always give you a proper laugh, even if what you’ve said isn’t the funniest. I do it because I think you’re funny and we have a good banter, but… I also do it because I support you. I thought you supported me too.”

     “I do! What are you getting at?”

     “You sent her home, Bobby!” Tears that had been building now spilt out of Sveta’s eyes. Her ankles were starting to shake, which he hadn’t seen before, and when she noticed him looking she angrily kicked off her wedges. They were both silent for a moment.

     “It was the right thing to do.”

     “Oh was it? Was it the right thing to do?! I don’t understand your morality, then, Bobby. I thought the right thing to do is support your friends, to clearly tell people what you intend to do and then not blindside them. Priya had no idea! She told me she was relieved when you got to pick because she thought you two were solid-”

     “As a friendship couple,” he couldn’t help but allow some of the petulance into his voice. He was frustrated too. 

     “As friends, Bobby. A friend would’ve given her the courtesy of an apology. An explanation. Something.”

      “It was a weird situation, Sveta. No one knew going in that the singles weren’t going to all be sent home. I thought you and I might be both going home after Noah decided to bring Blake-”

      “I’m not talking about Blake or Noah, Bobby. When they decided singles get to pick who stays, you made a choice to send Priya home. Over Hope?!? Hope, Bobby. She’s been super controlling and rude all summer.”

     “I saved her for Noah, you know that.”

       “That’s what I don’t understand, because you were the one telling me to go for him. You knew I liked him and encouraged that. You encouraged Priya too. I thought you supported us.  We both were interested in him, and god has that been the one hitch in our relationship. First you, then when I didn’t want you and was kind of interested in Henrik she snapped him up, which was fine because Gary is so kind but then Priya and I both like Noah and-. And you know what, that was okay? Because she was such a kind person, Bobby! You knew that. She was the smartest, most beautiful, kindest person in here! We loved each other regardless of constantly competing, because we were both being fair to each other. Can’t say the same about you.”

        “Sounds like you wanted to couple up with her,” he quipped bitterly.

       “Maybe I would have! If she wanted it. But you coupled with her too. You know how wonderful she is. And you just sent her packing without a second thought-”

         “It wasn’t without a second though, Sveta,” the anger had been rising since she mentioned Noah, and if she wasn’t going to bring him up he sure was going to. “I cared about Priya too, and I care so much about you. You risked everything to be with Noah- the viewer’s favor, your relationship with Gary, everything! And you gave him everything the night before you all left-”

        “That’s not-”

        “-and then he spent all of the time with the new girls pining for Hope. And then switching to Blake. He hasn’t even tried to talk to you, Sveta. How could you let him do that to you? I’d never do that to you.”

         “I know! Okay? I know. I’m upset that he’s been icing me out for Hope and I’m absolutely humiliated that he let Blake go on like that.  I’m angry with Noah, but I’m more angry with you because at least he doesn’t feel secure in how he’s feeling, but you do.”

       “Sure seems like you’re angry at him, the look on your face when the producers announced that people from the least popular couples could be saved.”

        “Yeah, I was excited. Because it meant my best friend wasn’t doomed to leave. This is as much about Priya as it is about Noah and Hope. And yeah, because it also meant I could get a chance to talk to him. I don’t know what Blake told him or what went on here but I wish I did!”

       “You just keep giving him more chances, Sveta. When are you going to realize he’s not that into you.”

      “You’re the one who encouraged me to go after him in the first place!”

      “So that you’d see he’s not good for you!”

       Her jaw dropped open in shock. His gaze fell as he realized what he’d just said. The sound of crickets and muffled chatter floated up to fill in the sudden silence, but Sveta could only hear the blood pounding in her head. 

      It was a few minutes before she spoke, the tears having stopped rolling as her fury froze deep inside of her.

     “So that’s all this was for you, then. A game for me to lose interest in Noah?”

     “It’s not a game, Sveta.” He said quietly, still staring at the ground, “I didn’t control how badly he’s been treating you.”

     “So you kept Hope instead of Priya to keep me away from him.”

       He took an even breath, “maybe. I just thought that he’s hurt you enough and if he was going to stay, at least he shouldn’t get to mope around and make you feel miserable because Hope left.” 

      “So what then? Hope and Noah are back together, the only girl who would have grown fond of you is send packing.”

     He gritted his teeth, that comment cutting deeper than all the others. “Priya and I were just friends, and she’s not-”

     “She absolutely was, Bobby. I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing. I don’t know- Actually I do know what you’ve been doing. I’m not blind, I can see when someone has a crush on me. I’ve told you again and again I don’t see you like that. And for some fucking reason you’ve still held on. Is that why you felt the need to orchestrate all of this, because you thought I would fall back in your arms and be excited about it this time?”

     “I just want you to be happy.” He said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

     “I don’t want you, Bobby. I might not want Gary, but at least he’s nice about it and giving me time and space to figure it out. But I don’t want someone who will encourage me to pursue someone to what? Test me? Show me that there’s no one in the villa for me? Think that you know better than me about my own goddamn feelings and relationships? What the hell, Bobby?”

     He didn’t respond, tears in his own eyes, staring at the ground. She kept going.

     “You sent home my best friend. Priya’s the only one in this house that I can trust to tell me what’s actually happening. I can’t believe neither of us saw this happening. And yeah, you know what, Noah is being an ass? I can’t figure out if him not stopping Blake from saying that or the sweeping cinderella shit with Hope pisses me off more. But for some reason, I can forgive him for it. I knew he was uncomfortable coupling with me, but I had the smallest thought that maybe if Hope was gone we could work things out and grow together. And you know, that kind of felt like a bone the producers were throwing. Because I haven’t connected with anyone in here the way I want to, Noah’s my type on paper, and he’s really sweet when we get the chance to be together. Gary’s such a sweetheart and he’s been supportive through all of this but I can’t escape the feeling that I’m settling. I just keep thinking he’d be easy to just recouple with like he keeps hinting at and maybe I’ll learn to love him as much as he likes me. I mean shit, after a whole villa full of new boys and none of them were right- maybe I’m not meant to find someone. I even had the thought at some point like ‘did I write Bobby off too quickly, maybe I can make it work?’, god am I ever glad that wasn’t true. I just… I cannot believe you thought this would be a good idea.”

     “It wasn’t some sort of plot,” he said, pulling his eyes up from the ground to meet hers, a little surprised by the fire still burning behind them.

     “Then what was it, Bobby? You told me to go after Noah, after I kissed him you supported me, and now you’ve kept the person keeping us apart and sent home my only friend to do it.”

      “Priya wasn’t your only fr-”

      “No? Because you’re sure as hell making it seem like she was.”

      He exhaled loudly, not having the words or will to keep fighting her. He wanted to believe that she was just angry and venting at him, but some small part knew he deserved it.

      After a long pause, she walked over to him. He looked up expectantly, heart suddenly racing. His mind flashed to what he’d last eaten, when he’d last applied lip balm, when-

      Her voice was low and laced with poison as she stared into his eyes, “stay the fuck away from me. I don’t want to be your girl, and I certainly don’t want to be your friend.” 

      He opened and closed his mouth a few times, mind absolutely reeling, but she’d already turned and started to leave. He couldn’t muster anything to say as he watched her. When she was gone he just stood there, gripping the railing, shell shocked.

      Seven minutes passed, and he was still glued to that spot when she walked back through the door. He turned hopefully, starting to say her name.

      “Shut up. I just forgot my shoes,” she snapped, not looking at him. She snatched up her heels and left again. He didn’t watch her leave this time.